WHISPERS OF THE DRAGON

Chapter 9 --- Nazgûl

"Young hobbit, I may be forced to sit on you."

Pippin and Gimli were sharing the afternoon watch on the eighth day, sitting together in one of the moored boats. Pippin had insisted he was feeling fine again, but Aragorn had quietly told Gimli not to let him exert himself too much. The Dwarf was beginning to think he had been given a task as impossible as finding mithril on the moon; he hauled the hobbit back just as Pippin was about to dash off for the third time.

"Gimli, I feel like I've slept through everything! It's hard to sit still for so long. I want to..." Suddenly Pippin's voice trailed off. Gimli looked at him, and noticed Pippin looking at his axe and frowning.

"Strider's sword has a name, and so does Frodo's. I suppose Boromir's does, too. Maybe I'll name mine if I ever get to do anything important with it," said Pippin. "Does your axe have a name?"

Gimli fingered his axe almost lovingly.

"It does not, Peregrin. Perhaps we can think of something."

"Well," Pippin said seriously, "you're certainly skilled with it. And you hate Orcs, that's plain. ‘Orc-Bane’ might be good."

"That is a good name. I will consider it." Gimli noticed Pippin shifting slightly, facing away from the sun. "Come, sit on this side of me. The air is chill, but the sun is bright. You do not want your headache returning."

Pippin was going to say no, but he did feel a slight ache starting. He moved around to the other side of the Dwarf and let Gimli shield him from the sun. After a few minutes, Gimli felt Pippin lean against him, just a little.

When Legolas and Merry came to relieve them, they found Pippin fast asleep, his head pillowed against the Dwarf's luxuriant beard. Gimli motioned for them to leave them be.

"Let him sleep," he said softly. He sat for awhile longer, his arm wrapped around Pippin, thinking. Thinking about Orcs... Khazad-Dûm... what lay ahead for them in Mordor. Orc-Bane, he thought approvingly. Indeed.

*~*~*~*~*

That evening, Aragorn gathered everyone together.

"I believe we can risk one more trip by night. If I am correct in my reckoning, we should reach the rapids of Sarn Gebir tomorrow morning. Just above the rapids is a small beach, at which point we will have to leave the River and find the ancient portage-way. The boats and gear must be carried until we have passed the rapids and can take to the River once more."

They set out in darkness.  In the lead boat, Sam kept his attention straight ahead. If anything was going to make the boat rock or become unsteady, he wanted to know about it. Indeed it was good that he was so attentive, as some hours later, he suddenly cried out as the River before them suddenly resolved into white-capped swirls and became turbulent. At the same time, a strong current started to draw the boats steadily toward the eastern shore.

"The rapids are upon us sooner than I feared," shouted Aragorn to the boats behind. "Paddle strongly back toward the center of the River or we will be driven onto the shore!" He and Frodo drove their paddles forcefully into the water, attempting to turn their boat.

Without warning, something sharp and hard hit Frodo from behind.  The force of the blow drove him off the seat onto his knees, his paddle flying from his grasp. Sam gasped as Frodo fell at his feet.

"Sam! Get Frodo's paddle. Now, Sam!" Aragorn was driving his paddle deeply into the water, urgently trying to turn the boat away from the eastern shore. Sam was reaching for Frodo, who was trying unsuccessfully to get up. "Keep down, Frodo. Sam, you have to help me, NOW!" At the last possible second, Sam grabbed Frodo's paddle as it swirled by and then leaped into the middle seat next to Aragorn. Mere seconds had passed, and only now he realized that there were harsh cries and yells coming from the eastern shore and arrows whizzing past them. "At least there's no moon," Aragorn muttered. "Paddle, Sam. As hard as you can."

Sam heard a yell from Pippin, but the other boats were behind them, and he couldn't turn to see what was happening.

"Paddle hard!" yelled Aragorn to the others. "Fight the currents and make for the shore!"

Sam didn't know how long they fought to turn the boats in the swift current, but his arms were aching by the time he realized they were making headway. The western shore loomed near, and for some reason the arrows had ceased to pursue them.  Aragorn was equally exhausted.

Apparently, the dark night -- combined with the subtle colors of the Elvish cloaks and the boats -- had camouflaged the Company sufficiently to confuse the Enemy. Sam’s eyes kept straying to Frodo, but there was nothing to be done until they reached the shore. He silently blessed the mithril coat that had probably saved his master from death. Again.

Finally the three boats scraped up on land, and Legolas instantly leaped ashore, an arrow nocked to his bow.

"Stay in the boats," the Elf urged. "Stay down."

Everyone but Gimli obeyed as the Elf scanned the eastern shore, the dark skies, and the River itself. Gimli stood next to Legolas, his axe in hand.

"Orcs," Gimli muttered. "Let them come!"

Sam could stand it no longer. He dropped his paddle and kneeled next to Frodo, trying to protect him with his body. He could feel Frodo breathing heavily, in obvious pain.

"I do not see anything," Legolas said. "Wait, what is that?"

Frodo suddenly felt an icy, piercing dart shoot through his left shoulder, a spreading, numbing cold he had not felt since...

"No," Frodo gasped, bowing his head in terror. As this new pain joined with the blow from the arrow, he started to find it difficult to breathe. He started to shake, and Sam wrapped his arms about him, holding him tightly. Sam was saying something to him, but louder still was a hollow voice, whispers coming closer. No, leave me alone I won't listen no...

Aragorn saw Frodo's distress, but Legolas' intense gaze drew his attention.  He saw a shadow in the sky blotting out the stars. Something was approaching from the southeast, coming directly at them. Something large... winged... a feeling of dread fell over the Company. Aragorn was reaching for his bow when Legolas let fly an arrow. There was a scream -- a chilling cry, familiar to the hobbits -- then the winged creature fell from the sky and landed somewhere on the eastern shore. There were faint yells, then silence.

Sam felt Frodo go limp in his arms. Frodo sighed as the icy pain faded somewhat, leaving a throbbing ache where the arrow had hit him and been deflected by the mithril coat. He sat up slowly, supported by Sam. He felt drained, weak. There was no doubt in his mind what had been approaching. But Elrond had cured him... hadn't he? How could the presence of a wraith affect him so? He shook his head, confused and frightened.

"Merry," Pippin whispered, "that awful screech sounded like one of those Black Riders. What was it riding on?"

"A Black Rider?" Boromir looked grim. "Aragorn, if the Nine now ride the skies, there is nothing to prevent them from crossing the River anywhere, at anytime. We cannot delay in carrying a warning to Rohan, to Gondor." He grew insistent. "Aragorn, we cannot delay! There can be no further thought of crossing to the eastern shore. It was unwise before, now even less so."

"That choice is still Frodo's, Boromir."

"Frodo, we must stay on the western shore, we must! How can you even consider---" Boromir stopped. "Are you injured?"

Aragorn suddenly realized that Frodo was still leaning against Sam, sitting weakly in the bottom of the boat.

"Frodo, let me see where that arrow hit you. Mithril or no, I'm sure that hurt quite a bit."

"I am all right."

Sam looked confused. "Mr. Frodo, Strider just wants to---"

"No, Sam." Frodo's lips were set in a hard line, and he looked grimly out over the water.

Aragorn glanced at Sam, then back at Frodo.

"I thought I knew you pretty well, Frodo, but this may be the first time I've seen you angry." Aragorn waited, not pressing the hobbit further.

Frodo just looked at him, then sighed.

"Gandalf said Elrond cured me."

Aragorn looked puzzled. "Go on."

"It was in Rivendell after... after I woke up. I believed him." Frodo looked away again, but now his eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

"Frodo," Aragorn said softly, "I have never seen anyone come closer to death and live; I hope never to see such a thing again. If you do not know, ask Sam sometime what those days in Rivendell were like for him, for all of us." Frodo heard Sam catch his breath and felt his arms tighten about him. He swallowed hard and took Sam's hand. "Do not ever doubt that Elrond cured you, Frodo," Aragorn continued. "No one else could have."

"But---"

"Elrond cured you, or you would even now walk in the shadow world forever lost to us. But once touched by a weapon of the Enemy..." The Ranger sighed. "Frodo, you are the first mortal ever to come through that and live. No one, not even Gandalf, could foresee everything that might happen. Gandalf used to say that even the wise could not see all ends. He did not intentionally deceive you, Frodo, there was just no precedent."

Aragorn reached out his hand and gently touched Frodo's right shoulder. "Your body now seems to respond to the presence of the Nazgûl; perhaps you can look on it as another sense, like sight or sound. If you can bear it, you may find it useful. You are one of the strongest people I've ever known, Frodo. You'll find the strength to handle this." He gazed at Sam. "Strength is all around you." Aragorn looked around, then smiled. "Son of Gloín, perhaps you would be kind enough to share some of that waybread you are consuming?"

Gimli grinned and handed out some of the lembas. As Aragorn had hoped, it helped distract the hobbits somewhat from the horror of the Orcs and the presence of a wraith so near. From the way Frodo kept glancing back across the River, the Ranger suspected that the wraith was still there, now lacking the means to reach them. They should be safe until morning at least -- as safe as it was possible to be in such a situation.

The Company paddled slowly and quietly back upriver, soon finding a shallow bay where they stopped. They spent the night huddled in the boats, concealed by a thickening fog. Sam saw a black arrow embedded in Boromir's boat, and discovered that Pippin's yell had come when he saw the arrow miss Merry's hand by less than an inch. Merry still seemed a bit shaken.

Frodo finally felt the icy, numbing sense of the Nazgûl fade entirely.

"I'm sorry, Aragorn, I didn't mean to be cross," he whispered.

"Frodo, if anyone deserves to be 'cross', it is you. Let me see if you're hurt. We have a long night ahead of us."

Frodo nodded, and the Ranger took Sam's place beside him, sliding his hand up Frodo's back beneath the soft leather shirt next to the hobbit's skin. He would not permit Frodo to remove the mithril coat; the Enemy was too near. It was difficult to determine in such darkness, but it appeared to Aragorn that Frodo's shoulder was bruised and tender, but no worse. He asked Sam to keep a cold, wrung-out cloth pressed gently to the sore area, which helped ease the pain.

As a damp fog closed in about the Company, they settled down to wait out the night.

** TBC **

Andrea:  Pippin is a wonder, isn’t he?  What an adventure for a tween.

aprilkat:  The films didn’t really show how practical, clear thinking, and strategic Merry is; I like to bring that out whenever I can.

Armariel:  Movie-Boromir is very endearing and “human”.  It’s hard not to like him!

Cuthalion:  That was a long trip down the River, and sharp-eyed and sharp-thinking Merry would have been picking up clues and putting them together all the day.

French Pony:  I suspect that a warrior like Boromir is used to shrugging off injuries -- minor or otherwise – and just “getting on with things”.  Perhaps, also, he doesn’t want the hobbits to feel that one of their ‘protectors’ is weakened in any way.

GamgeeFest:  I agree!  Our young Took, like his cousins, is always thinking.

Garnet Took:  I’m glad you’re enjoying the conversations.  And when I began writing this story, I didn’t know it would have so many “PippinHealer” moments!  It just evolved that way.

harrowcat:  Each member of the Fellowship had choices to make... but I agree -- in their hearts, each knew what he had to do.

Linda Hoyland:  Poor Boromir!  Yes, his tragic destiny grows ever closer... and yet he, as the others, could only endure to the limit of his strength.

lovethosehobbits and Pearl Took:  Chartering a flight on Gwaihir Airlines would certainly have shortened the story! 

periantari:  So much would have been different if there had been no involuntary “breaking” of the Fellowship.  What fun that fanfiction can explore every “what if” we can imagine.

pipspebble:  Our hobbits are so brave and loyal!  How we do love them.

SlightlyTookish:  Our dear Took is growing up – and what wonderful mentors and teachers he has around him.

SurgicalSteel:  One of the Professor’s major themes is definitely ‘freedom of choice’ – such as I tried to bring out in Aragorn’s discussion with Merry in Chapter 7.

Tigger:  Thank you, Tigger!  And I hope you’re feeling well.  Yes, Frodo was surrounded by conspiracies of love, wasn’t he?  How fortunate that Elrond let his cousins go with him on the Quest.