Chapter 31 - Flying horrors

Frodo trailed a hand in the cool water, somehow not feeling the sensation upon his skin. He felt numb and empty leaving the land of the Elves. Although, as he had told Sam, he had begun to feel that they could no longer prolong the inevitable, he still felt a great sadness at the thought that this could be the last comfort they found till their quest was done, or proved vain.

He could not resist the temptation to look back one last time at the Elven home that would fade after their passing. This, revealed to him by the Lady when he and Sam had gazed into the mirror, had struck a great sadness into his heart. It seemed wrong that such beauty would fade whatever the outcome of their quest.

The Lady was standing on the shore, one hand raised in a final farewell. Her white garments shone brightly, and Frodo glanced down at the starglass in his hand. He felt his mind return to something of itself. With help from such fine folk there would always be hope.

The Fellowship were vastly different from when they had stumbled into Lorien days before. They had found rest and strength to carry on the next stage of their quest, and Frodo wondered what new horrors it held in store for them. The darkness they had stumbled into in the Mines of Moria seemed like a bad dream, though Frodo perceived even darker paths lay ahead.

They rounded a bend in the river, and Lorien was lost to them.

Frodo heard Sam's sigh, and saw Aragorn's shoulders droop slightly as he continued to paddle.

"It's strange to think we should never see it again," Sam murmured, his eyes still fixed on the bend in the river.

Frodo smiled sadly, "Is it not better to remember the trees of the Golden Wood in their splendour, than to stain memory with another visit?"

"I suppose you are right," Sam said, dragging his eyes away and turning back into the boat. "I wish I had not seen the Shire in the mirror, for now when I think of it I see smoke and trees that aught never have been felled."

They had been drifting for many nights, and the light of morning was beginning to show. Merry had not counted the time or even the passing of days. The landscape had changed slowly as they meandered south, imperceivably, and with a slowness that belied his senses to reckon when exactly the bare hillsides had been grown a forest of thin trees then become rocky and grey.

Merry gazed ahead through the stillness, unaware of the presence of Pippin and Faramir behind him. The silence had lasted for so long he felt as though it was choking him, and he longed to become involved in the conversation of which he had caught murmurs between Gimli and Legolas in the other boat.

It was the eighth day, by Merry's vague reckoning, and the rocky land had risen to tall cliffs seemingly overnight.

They had brought the boats together in the middle of the stream to discuss their course.

"The Rapids of Sarn Gebir lie ahead," Aragorn told them, shifting his paddle to steady the boat, "though by my reckoning it is many miles before we shall reach the impassable region."

"It is said none have passed through the Rapids to tell the tale!" Gimli said loudly, with a hint of warning in his tone.

"Have no fear, Gimli," Aragorn assured him, "I would not risk the rapids even if it cut days off our journey."

Merry looked ahead down stream. There was no sign of rocks or even the current quickening its pace. Though in the early morning mist it was hard to tell whether the rapids were before them.

"We must post a firm watch on the leading boat," Legolas said gravely, "it would not do to recognise the rapids only as we are sinking."

"Dwarves are fine swimmers and would have no trouble braving even such waters as these!" Gimli turned to the Elf behind him as a challenge.

Legolas shifted the paddle, leaning it dangerously close to Gimli's head, "I would be honoured to test my strength braving these waters with you master Dwarf, though you seem to have an advantage."

Gimli raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Elves have little in the way of.. padding. And when we came to the Rapids I would..." Legolas ducked as Gimli swung an angry punch at his head.

"Very well," Aragorn laughed. "We will rest on the bank at first light and travel on once more as soon as the day grows dark."

Beneath Merry's feet the muddy bank was cold and wet. It had been raining again for some time and Merry felt damp to his bones. However well his Elven cloak hid him from unfriendly eyes, it did little in the way of keeping him dry and warm.

He had been sheltering beneath a low bush with Pippin, but had began to feel restless and eager for the Fellowship to be on their way. Pippin was sleeping fitfully, groaning quietly as he manoeuvre himself in order to find a comfortable position on the wet bank.

As Merry scrambled out from beneath the foliage, he almost tripped over Gimli. The Dwarf was pacing unceasingly, grumbling to himself about the need for a fire. Legolas had disappeared suddenly, revealing nothing of his location, and Merry suspected this had irked the Dwarf far more than the lack of warmth.

Beyond the small camp Aragorn was crouching on the bank close to the water with Faramir. And as Merry approached, the two men looked up with grim expressions showing from beneath their hoods.

"Is something wrong, Aragorn?" he asked, looking around himself to try and perceive what was troubling them.

Aragorn hesitated for a moment before answering, "I can be sure of nothing, Merry. Through our tracks I can see little, and I wish we had been more cautious when we came ashore. For something strikes me as strange..." The man stopped, shaking his head slightly at his own thoughts. "But I speak in riddles that are the product of my over cautious mind..."

"It is better to be more cautious than less," Faramir said, and Merry was somewhat surprised to hear him speak after the long days of his silent contemplation in the boats.

Aragorn sighed, straightening his shoulders and rising to his feet. "I feel something other than ourselves has been here... though I cannot say who or what could have been walking the banks of the Anduin."

"Orcs?" Faramir suggested with a shrug, "Sauron's minions have been sighted across many lands. It would not surprise me to learn they had crossed to the western bank of the river."

"You may be right," Aragorn nodded, "but it is also the birds on the cliffs that worry me."

Merry had seen the large black shapes flying around the rocky outcrops above the river. They seemed to have followed the Fellowship in the previous days, ever watching as they camped during the day. Sometimes Merry had sensed a presence above them as they paddled, though it had been too dark to make out shapes.

Aragorn had narrowed his eyes while Merry was thinking, as if listening to something he alone could hear. Merry concentrated too, though he could not pick out anything other than the gentle rain and the rushing of the river.

"Something approaches," Aragorn murmured, grasping Merry's shoulder and slowly drawing the Hobbit back towards the camp, his eyes searching the sky.

"Aragorn!"

Legolas' warning came only a moment before the creature itself. A great dark shape above blanketed the evening sky, covering them all in darkness. A shrill cry pierced Merry's ears as the thing swooped towards them.

Merry felt himself thrown upon the ground, his face hitting mud as Aragorn's body held him firmly down. The creature shrieked again, and Merry's heart shrunk at the sound. He felt venerable and in clear sight of the Thing above. Aragorn's cloak was covering them both, though the thin material did nothing to shield him from the eyes of the Nazgul, now mounted on a terrifying winged steed. Merry drew in on himself, feeling despair envelop him as the shadow loomed closer.

Then the darkness diminished slightly as the Wraith pulled out of its dive. Merry felt the black cloud, he had felt once before in Bree, lift slightly. And he thought that perhaps the Wraith had not sighted them and that it was only by chance that it had been searching the river banks.

But Aragorn was taking no chances, and the moment the shadow passed them Merry felt the Ranger's strong grip pulling his him up, and then they were running to the safety of the higher ground.

Merry saw the others of the Fellowship, wide eyed and as fearful as he himself had been looking up to where the Wraith blackened the dark sky.

"It is coming again," Legolas said, squinting into the night, "take cover!"

The Elf was right, and Merry was once again flung down by strong arms as the creature approached. This time he had landed on his back, and he saw with horror that Legolas had not hid with the rest of them. The Elf was outlined by the growing moon as he drew back his bow. Merry felt a rush of fear as the black shape grew larger. Surely it would see them!

Legolas' arrow flew straight and true, and his shot was rewarded by a harsh shriek from the creature. It reeled in the sky, veering backwards and away from its enemies. Merry did not see where the Wraith landed, but he heard the dying shriek from the flying beast as it, and its rider, crashed to the earth.

"It has come down on the western back," Legolas said, jumping down from the perch he had been standing on and helping Merry to stand.

The Hobbit's legs felt weak and it was only a with a great strength of will that he forced himself to remain standing. Pippin's hand was suddenly on his, and Merry felt grateful for the comfort.

"What was that thing, Aragorn?" Gimli asked, leaning on his axe as he regained his breath.

Aragorn looked troubled, "I will not speak of it here, Gimli. Night is approaching fast and we have no time to waste in talk."

Gimli was not satisfied with the answer, but he could see the warning in Aragorn's eyes and did not speak on it. "A fine shot, I must admit," he said after a moment, thumping Legolas hard on the back. "Never have I seen such precision! Not even the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain could be so accurate in their mining."

"I thank you for the complement, master Dwarf," Legolas touched a hand to his forehead. "That is fine praise indeed... from a Dwarf."

"Is it dead," Sam asked, looking up at Aragorn hopefully.

Aragorn looked pained. "The Wraiths are not so easily destroyed, Sam. You saw this in Rivendell when the Wraiths survived the waters of the ford. While their steeds may perish, they live on."

"Do you think it saw us?" Frodo asked. "The boats were in plain sight on the bank."

Everyone turned and saw that the Hobbit was right. They had forgotten to disguise the boats!

Aragorn said something under his breath that Merry could not catch. Then he said, "We will take no chances. We will travel on the bank for a few days and carry the boats, they will not expect that."

Merry agreed heartily with the suggestion, somehow the thought of travelling in plain sight along the river terrified him.

"Aragorn," Frodo whispered suddenly. "There is something moving on the bank. There, see? By the boats."

Merry looked, holding his breath. There was something there, something small and shadowy creeping around the boats. But Merry could not make it out in the gathering darkness.

"It is Gollum," Legolas hissed after a moment, and again Merry was amazed by the sight of the Elves. "Do I shoot?"

Aragorn hesitated long, his brow creased with worry. He did not seem as surprised to see the creature as the others were.

"We must kill it," Gimli hissed, "it has followed us far too long. Now is our chance to free ourselves."

Aragorn still hesitated. At last he said in a whisper Merry could hardly catch, "Do not shoot to kill, we would learn much from questioning the creature."

Legolas and Aragorn shared a hard stare, and Merry could not understand what either of them were thinking. Then Legolas lifted his bow...