Into the Woods – Part One –

   The travellers took the easternmost hut to provide shelter for the night, but still Daevan felt much too close to the site of the devastation and the crows, which had only left after sunset. It was distressing and at the same time felt appalling to use the provisions the people had left behind, but their own need of food after the march through the fen made Daevan swallow his objections and disgust. They prepared a meal after which Strider had searched the surroundings of the settlement while the day waned. For a time they sat in silence near the crackling fire. Daevan could not quieten his mind, and every sound he heard made him think of the ugly beast, which had feasted upon the flesh of the dead villagers. There was no escaping from this memory.

   “Did you know about those…?”

   “Wargs.” Strider's brow twitched as he stared into the flames. “Aye, I have seen them before. The Orcs use them for riding for no horse would bear them.”

   Daevan tried to sound calm, but failed. The incident just two hours ago had deeply troubled him, and he glanced at the door, where the darkness peeped through a gap.

   “Are there more of those monsters around here?”

   “I found no more fresh footprints of wargs near the village. But there are many foul beings roaming the lands, worse than wargs and Orcs.”

   Daevan exhaled noisily. He was scared and could not hide it. The sight of the dead warg and fighting Orcs had been gruesome, and now Strider was hinting at even more monsters. He shuddered.

   “Where did those Orcs come from? I mean, are they a race of their own? Or… well, a bad variant of Men?”

   “Lore tells us that the first Orcs were Elves once. Then by black magic Morgoth twisted them and made them work for him in the dark confines of Thangorodrim. There he bred the race of the Orcs to be a mockery of the fairness and beauty of the Elves.”

   Daevan gaped at him.

   “You mean…”

   Strider did not listen, but continued in a gloomy voice:

   “Whatever the Valar created was of great beauty and endurance. They gave the land light, and trees, and beasts. All that they did was meant to brighten Middle-earth, to make it a place worthy to live on for those, who were announced by Ilúvatar to come. But Morgoth cheated on the creations, and everything that he touched turned to evil and ugliness. He despised the work of Yavanna and Aulé and Manwe, and he longed to destroy everything. But the Valar and Maia were mighty enough to preserve some of the things they had made. Not all could be saved, and some things would never mend. Yet finally - after long toil and torment - Morgoth was defeated and thrown into the void where he will dwell forever.”

   Daevan swallowed. His mouth was dry, and the tankard almost slipped out of his hands. He had never been so compelled to a story since he had been a child. Hastily he drank and then asked:

   “So if Morgoth is dead, what made the evil that is coming after us now?”

   Strider set his jaw. For a while his thoughts travelled back to the Morgul Vale, where he had met with peril beyond reckoning. He had had many narrow escapes, and he did not wish to think of them. He exhaled and threw another twig into the fire. He longed to smoke, but he had no leaves left. The night turned cold, and though they had shelter he felt the chill in his bones.

   “When Thangorodrim was overthrown and laid waste and Morgoth put in chains, there were still creatures dwelling in the deep tunnels. No one searched there. The Valar did not heed them and thought them to be unimportant. Yet a servant of Morgoth, Sauron, escaped the downfall of his master's fortress. He fled the place of destruction, and for a long time vanished from sight.” Daevan bent forward without knowing it. His eyes were fixed on Strider's lips, and he frowned when the older man spoke again. “Sauron the Deceiver he was called later on for his look could be fair and full of wisdom. He gave himself a noble appearance and those, whom he could not threaten, he lured by flattering them. Men were easily deceived.” Strider sighed. “They heeded his words more than they should, and for all that Sauron did he only wanted to destroy the dominion of Men and Elves and revenge his master.” Strider frowned deeply, and a shadow was cast over his face.

   “And then? Was he killed by the Elves?”

   The wanderer woke from his reverie.

   “No. He was not killed. When the time came and his power could have been destroyed for all time to come those, who held that power, faltered and failed.”

   “Then… he still lives like a, what, Valar? Maia? Does he exist like Men exist?”

   “He has no human shape anymore, but lingers like a shadow far in the east, in Mordor.”

   Daevan shivered visibly.

   “Then… is it but a shadow that we fear?” Strider's lips twitched. “Is he nothing more than… mist? Like a cloud?”

   “Alas, he is far more than that. And though he cannot take physical shape yet, his minions are real. And there are many, who follow his call. Men and beasts alike.”

   For a while they both watched the flickering flames. Strider closed his weary eyes. Now that his voice had ebbed away the silence lay heavily on him. The absence of chattering children, neighing of horses, the clatter of pottery, and the sudden laughter of people, enjoying themselves, was hard to bear. Too often in the wake of an attack he had endured the shocked stillness of the survivors. It was a fear deep inside him he could not free himself from: that more and more places in Ithilien, Gondor, and Rohan would become as quiet and lifeless as this village. He breathed in deeply, but knew he would not shake off the feeling that whatever deeds he wrought, he would not be able to utterly destroy the Evil that tried to take possession of all of Middle-earth.

   Daevan hung his head in misery, and when he finally spoke again his voice sounded depressed and low.

   “When Doran told about the battles, the enemies, and the strong men standing up against whoever got close to Minas Tirith, I always thought that some of these stories were, well, lore.” He looked at Strider apologetically. “I mean, I would not say that he made them up to frighten the children, but I never thought they could be true… completely true.” He had been hungry on the way here, but now he stared at the bread in his hand and would not eat it. “And now you sit here and tell me things that scare me more… and I have seen things that scare me more than all of the stories my grand-father ever recalled.”

   Strider looked up to him solemnly.

   “Your grand-father might have told you less than he saw and endured.” His gaze fell upon the sword Daevan had put aside. “It bears a name, does it not?”

   “He hardly spoke about it. It was some sad story he did not wish to tell to us. But, aye, it's got a name: Ranaél.” For the blink of an eye Daevan thought Strider's features to darken even more, but it might have been the flicker of light. “Doran only said it was given to him so that he would be its keeper.”

   “And now it is upon you to watch over it.”

   Daevan's mouth twitched.

   “I'm not worthy to be a keeper, I suppose. I did not even draw it.” He lowered his head in shame. “You consider me a coward, don't you?”

   “Nay.” There was something in Strider's voice that made the fisherman gaze at him with a frown. “I do not. You already proved yourself in the defence of your village. The sword was a well-deserved gift.”

   “And I will honour it if I get the chance.” Daevan narrowed his eyes, uncertain about the older man's thoughts. “Still… I do not even know how to wield it.”

   “Such skills can be learned. As can many others.” Seeing Daevan's interest Strider took out several pouches from his pack. Daevan watched him check their contents until he could not hold himself back any longer.

   “Show me what you have got there,… please.”

   “You are interested in herbs?” Strider asked with unconcealed astonishment.

   “I'm interested in everything you do. You’re the son of a great man and if what is said is true. I should learn what I can from you.” And quietly he said, “Nilana also said you carry quite some odd stuff with you.“

   “Did she?”

   “And that your pack smells strange. Apart from the odd stuff. Or because of it. I can’t tell.” And even more quietly he added, “Maybe… well, if you don't mind my curiosity…”

   Strider's lips curled to a grin.

   “I do not. Let me show you.”

~~~~~~~~~

   After a night without much rest Daevan hurried to gather his belongings, replenish their provisions, and walk down the riverside to the damaged boat. He did not want to look at the corpses, and he wished he could close his ears to the sounds of the birds of prey gathering for their feast. Eager to escape the dreadful place he dragged the boat out of the water.

   “Can you repair it?” Strider said from behind him, startling Daevan. He jumped, and paled instantly. “Have you got enough wood to cover the leak?”

   “Aye…,” Daevan stuttered, catching his breath. The crows croaked unnervingly, and he exhaled in frustration. “The fishermen were well equipped. I found everything I need. Where have you been?”

   “I took a look around.” Still his gaze swept the opposite shore.

   “Did you find anything?”

   “Some tracks further into the Nindalf. Some settlers might have made it through the fen.”

   “Good.” Daevan read the concerned expression on Strider's face, but – determined to leave the subject alone – turned to the boat again. “Give me a hand to turn it.”

   When the boat was upside down Daevan rested his hands on his hips, cursing silently. The leak was the size of a man's fist, caused by a stone or a boot. Thoughtfully the fisherman's eyes turned to the swift stream.

   “What do you think?” Strider asked.

   “Is the boat needed further than for crossing the river?”

   “I would prefer to row upstream than to march the long way round.” His gaze travelled northwards up the mighty stream.

   Daevan frowned.

   “With due respect, Strider, but… if the Anduin's like that here in the south, it might be stronger and even swifter beyond the falls.”

   Regretfully Strider nodded, and Daevan went to fetch tools and planks.

   “Tell me,” he said while he hammered on the wood, “why did you look at the surface of the water… back there?”

   Strider made no reply. Too vividly he remembered his failure and then falling. He had no memory of Gollum's attempt to escape, only of his own vain fight against the water and the shadows overcoming him. He still heard the accusing voice of the dead Elf in his head.

   Daevan took the second nail and drove it into the wood.

   “And that thing you had and has gone to… well, some hiding-place in Rohan. Or it let itself drift down the river if he can swim. Who can tell?”

   “He had once been in the mountains and felt safe there. He will try to get there again.”

   Daevan looked up while his fingers groped for another nail.

   “The mountains are vast. How do you know where to look for it… him?”

   “I do not. But I tracked him for too long to give up now.”

   Daevan nodded and hid his bewilderment by looking down on his work.

   “Aye.”

   Strider watched the young man finish the planking.

   “This is not your search, Daevan.”

   “I will get some tar to make this thing watertight,” Daevan stated and brought back the tools he had used. When he reached the hut he considered his action stupid for there was no one left to claim possession of them. He swallowed hard, and for a moment hesitated to leave the hammer and nails behind, but – sending a prayer of forgiveness to the gods – he only searched for the covered up bowl with tar and a brush. There was not much left, but it sufficed to finish his work. When Daevan looked up he found Strider in a restless mood and not for the first time the young man thought the hunt for that beast to be of greater importance than Strider had told him yet. The few pieces of information the traveller had revealed held no meaning for him. “We are ready to leave.” Strider nodded, and together they turned the vessel and carried it back to the shore. “Do you think the Orcs will return?” he asked in a conversational tone as they packed their belongings into the middle of the boat.

   “Not so soon. Are there more settlements down the river?”

   “Just one. But it's about twelve leagues away.” Daevan watched Strider take off his sword to stow it away in the hull. “I don't wish to offend you, Strider,” he then said politely, “but do you know anything about boats?”

   Strider pursed his lips.

   “No offence taken, Daevan, and, aye, I know how to row a boat.”

   Relieved Daevan gave the boat a push and jumped into the hull behind Strider.

   The same moment the current grabbed them with greedy hands, ripping them off the shallows, and sending them in a whirl eastwards. They quickly put the paddles into the water to steer against it. Tthe stream roared loudly in their ears as they fought to control the boat, which was swept into the middle of the river. Foam sprayed into their faces, and within seconds their hair and faces were wet. The other shore seemed a league away as they were carried downstream. The boat bumped up and down on the crests of the waves, and both men needed all the strength and skill they could muster to manoeuvre the vessel between large boulders, which stood upright like watchmen wherever they looked. One seemed to jump at them out of the foam. With a yell of shock Daevan thrust the paddle into the water with more vigour. Strider paddled with him, fighting ferociously against the current. The boulder kept coming closer, growing in size in front of their eyes. It would have been the end of the boat if Daevan had not thrust out his boot against the rock to push them to the side. The boat went about, and gained speed again in the vortex behind the barrier. Water splashed into the hull. Daevan kept the paddle in the water, shaking his head. Droplets sprayed from his wet hair as he tried to see through the haze rising from the surface. He cursed under his breath. They were going too fast! The next boulder was just ahead! The boat bumped into the valley of a wave, and more water splashed over the edge as they almost toppled over. Daevan used his weight to counter the movement, then leant sideways to paddle faster on one side to turn the boat again and avoid the obstacle.

   “Hold your paddle down in the water and keep it there!” he shouted over the clamour. Strider heeded him, and finally they faced forward again. Trying to row the boat to the southern shore developed into a difficult task. Swirls of water kept the boat hard to steer, and when they got closer to the riverbank a shoal they did not see almost stopped the vessel. Strider would have fallen overboard if it had not been for Daevan's quick reaction. He grabbed the wanderer by the collar of his coat and pulled him roughly. Strider thudded backwards with a grunt. Not a moment too late: the next wave caught the vessel and drove it further downstream. Strider sat up quickly and they thrust the paddles into the shallow water like an anchor. Both men sweated with the supreme effort of pulling the bucking boat closer to the shore. With a nod Strider jumped over the edge to drag it upon the sand. Daevan followed swiftly, but even with combined strength the besetting river was hard to beat.

   When they finally secured the vessel on the shore Daevan and Strider were both out of breath, exhausted, and wet to their skins. On the sand, Daevan sank on his back and wiped his face with both hands. He was deafened by the stream's noise, wretched like he had not been during their march through the fen, and glad to have survived the river's menace.

   “You did quite well for someone, who does not live near the water. I mean…” Daevan broke of and held his breath, inwardly cursing his insolence.

   Strider, lying three feet away from him, turned his head. In his eyes shone amusement as well as gratitude.

   “I would not have made it without your help.”

   Daevan swallowed and exhaled.

   “You're welcome. Where do you live… usually, I mean, when you not wander… abroad?”

   Strider wrinkled his nose and sat up slowly. The young man's smooth features reminded him of a friend he had not seen for years. Again a longing gripped his heart he wished to quench. He let his gaze rest on the river.

   “I used to have a home when I was young.” He grimaced. “And even that was not meant to last. There is a home I should live in, but I closed the doors to it long ago.” Strider got to his feet. “We lost half a league. We must hurry, Daevan.”