Chapter 33 - Heavy burdens

The light of the midday sun shone in Merry's eyes as he walked, dodging behind the trees for a moment before blinding him once more. His legs were numb with walking, and his back stiff and sore with the seemingly endless load they transported from the lower slopes of the western shore to the rise above the rapids.

The trouble with this part of their journey, he had decided, was that the boats, while light enough for the Hobbits to bear on flat land, were a dangerous burden to them on a slope.

The Fellowship's second trouble came from Gollum. He was a slippery creature, and more than once had he attempted to escape his watchful guardians. But Gimli had taken it upon himself to watch over the creature, and beneath the Dwarf's fiery gaze Gollum's whining had shrunk into obedience.

This, it seemed, had pushed Legolas to scout ahead and escape the company of the creature he so fervently disliked.

Merry was not sure whether he understood Legolas' feelings. There was certainly a sly air about Gollum that spoke of deception and wickedness, but there seemed also to be a part of the pale creature that deserved pity.

Legolas was now nowhere to be seen. At times Merry had thought he caught glimpses of the Elf's golden hair through the thin trees, but he could never be sure.

He sighed, frustrated once more, and shrugged his shoulders to even out his burden. With Aragorn and Faramir carrying the boats, one by one up the hill, the hobbits had been left to shoulder much of the supplies and belongings of the Fellowship.

Behind him Pippin was thrilled to be carrying Faramir's bow. It stood a foot taller than the Hobbit and Merry would have laughed were it not for the solemness with which his cousin took to the task.

He had been worried about Pippin for a long time now, sensing a building anxiety within his friend that would, he felt sure, come to a head close in the future.

Merry himself was carrying some of Aragorn's belongings, and even when divided between Sam, Frodo and himself, the load was astoundingly heavy. He marvelled at how the man could have carried it so far without complaint of the back-ache he himself was already beginning to feel. And remarked as much to the man as he drew level with the boat.

Panting, he gathered his breath, "I cannot understand how you carry all this!"

Aragorn looked down at him amusedly, raising an eyebrow to the comparatively small portion Merry was supporting. "It is all in the shoulders," he said, hefting the boat into a more comfortable position.

As Merry looked up at him, he noted the darkness of the other's eyes, and with further scrutiny picked out the slight limp with which the Ranger moved. It was obvious the weight of the boats was taking a larger toll on the man than he would show.

"I have never seen such strength before," Merry exclaimed, attempting to distract the man from his arduous task.

"Believe me, my friend," Aragorn replied, "Rangers are little known for their strength, but rather for their stealth and intelligence, is that not so Faramir?"

Merry glanced back at Faramir for his answer. The young man's face was creased in strain, and again Merry saw the similarities between him and Aragorn.

"Aye, it is as you say," he nodded, shifting the weight on his shoulder. "Were you to come to Minas Tirith, Merry, you would see warriors taller and stronger than any you could imagine. My brother..."

Merry glanced back at the sudden pause in the light conversation, and saw that the young man's eyes had misted over in recollection.

There was a long silence in which he hesitated to speak. He glanced up at Aragorn, who always seemed to have the right answers, and found the man searching his own face for what had happened. The silence continued, and only the tread of their feet on the slippery ground, and the low conversation of the three Hobbits behind, disturbed the peace.

"Can you see ahead, Merry?" Aragorn asked at last, causing Merry to jump slightly, "Legolas should have returned with news of the path we are to travel."

Merry looked up, scanning the skyline for any sign of Legolas. He gasped at what he saw, though it was not the Elf who had caused his surprise. To the left, through the trees, the river was foaming on the banks, pushing and shoving to crowd into the channel formed by the great pillars of stone on either bank. And the pillars were carved into the shape of two great figures of men, standing high and proud above the landscape, palms outstretched as if to ward away enemies from their mighty land.

He heard Aragorn sigh, "The pillars of the Kings, the Argornath. Long I have desired to look upon this place."

And as they continued on, the great sentinels rising every moment of the horizon, majestic and somehow threatening in their grandeur, Merry looked up at the silent Ranger who walked by his side. And he saw not the ragged stranger whose dark eyes had first fixed upon them at the Prancing Pony. This was Aragorn uncloaked. There was a strange look in his eyes, and even as his back bent beneath the weight of the Elvish boat, he grew taller and the wisdom he had gained in years of exile revealed itself in his eyes. And Merry thought, as they passed the crest of the rise and stood for a moment looking down, that the sun glanced upon his dark head, and that there was a white star upon his brow. But the moment passed, and the clouds drifted across the sun.

Below them Merry could make out the figure of Legolas in a small clearing. He was turned from them, and Merry could almost feel the alertness of the Elf's senses, even at such a distance. His body was tall, and the bow he held did not waver.

As they began their decent the Elf turned and jogged lightly up the hill to meet them.

"I have looked ahead, Aragorn," he said when he reached them. He said nothing more, but his countenance was dark.

Aragorn looked at him gravely, "What have you discovered?"

"There is nothing to be seen," the Elf replied hesitantly, "and yet I feel there is something amiss. The trees are unusually silent, as though they are afraid."

"We should not forget that your bow-work a few nights before brought down an evil upon these hills, a remnant of that evil may remain on this shore."

The Elf and the Ranger shared a dark look, and Merry felt excluded from their confidence. He thought it might be better if he hung back and walked beside Faramir or one of his fellow Hobbits, but at that moment Legolas spoke to him, "Are you well, Merry"

"Quite well," he assured the Elf, "but how long will it take to bring the other two boats to this place, and then where will we rest? The bank here is muddy."

"Fear not," Aragorn said, "it is not yet midday, and if fortune shines upon us we shall be through the Argornath before dark, I would not brave that great chasm at night."

"And which boat will carry Gollum?"

Legolas visibly flinched, and upon seeing Aragorn's eyes darken, Merry felt ashamed he had asked the question.

Without hesitating Aragorn answered, "Frodo and Sam will travel with Legolas, Gollum can be taken in my boat."

Merry nodded silently, trying not to notice the strain this decision was putting on the friendship of his companions. If this went on, he thought, the Fellowship would be weak and vulnerable if placed in any tight situations. Their loyalty and unquestioning devotion to Aragorn had enabled them to escape Caradhras and Moria, without it their Fellowship would be broken.

It did not take as long as Merry had thought it would to transport the two remaining boats and the rest of the baggage to the clearing beneath the pillars of the kings. They were to launch their boats immediately, for the sun was sinking swiftly, and Aragorn, it seemed, feared to make the journey in Darkness.

Keeping the middle of the stream was a harder task than any of them had expected, for the water, although clear, rushed swiftly towards the chasm beneath the great pillars, and it took all the strength of Faramir, Pippin and Merry himself to guide the boat safely.

As the passed beneath the tall stone men they bowed their heads. A sense of the greatness of these men, and of those who had created their likenesses came over them, and they were humbled beneath their stony shadows.

Then they passed into the chasm, and all was darkness and rushing water. Merry wondered whether they would ever return to the sunlit land, and was beginning to fear that they were trapped within an endless whirlpool. It was then he realised he could not swim. Swimming was not high on a Hobbit's list of important things to learn, though now Merry regretted he had not taken to the Brandywine and learnt before it was too late.

And then, just as his despair began to choke him, the boat shot out of the chasm and they were in the sun once more. They were now cruising upon an open lake, and the sun, that was shining pink from the midst of dark clouds, gave the whole place a rather romantic atmosphere.

"Faramir," Pippin asked quietly, his curiosity obviously defeating his reluctance to disturb the silence. "Who were the men carved from stone back there?"

"They are the likenesses of Isildur and Anárion," Faramir told them, and Merry deemed his clear voice perfect for telling tales of old, for he could hear the reverence with which the young man spoke. "They are Aragorn's ancestors, and were the founders of Minas Tirith, which was then called Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun."

Pippin was strangely silent for a moment as Faramir steered the boat to the western bank, then he smiled, "I thought I recognised that frown. Aragorn certainly takes after his ancestors!"

"Watch your tongue, little Hobbit," Gimli growled from the other boat, "I would not wish our very own king of old to capsize this flimsy boat in his wrath."

The shore seemed solid enough even after the days of rain. The boats were drawn up and set half in, half out, of the water so that they were ready in case of a quick departure.

And then the Fellowship moved under the cover of the trees and gazed around at each other. They had come to it, though no one had really the courage to mention the decision they would now make. Even Merry himself was startlingly clear about the dangers ahead. Thought, he thought, at least my choice is simple. I began this quest to help Frodo to the end and nothing has changed. For Pippin, though, he could not speak. This saddened Merry, and frightening him to think his cousin had a different resolution in mind. His loyalty and feeling of debt towards Faramir was strong, and Merry sensed Pippin's determination more keenly every day.

"It is a hard choice," Gimli said at last, speaking for them all. "And it is hard that the final decision should lay with but one of us." Eyes turned to Frodo, and Merry saw his cousin tense. "But I say bad weather is coming, by the looks of those clouds, and whatever decision is made I am sure we will all stand by it."

"I know that haste is needed," Frodo said, his voice strained so much that it pained Merry to hear it, "But I cannot decide, not yet. Give me an hour, and I will speak. Let me be alone."

Some nodded, but Merry felt as though a hand was tightening around his heart as he gazed around the circle and found the bright, moon-like eyes of Gollum to be fixed on Frodo. There was malice there, and greed, and Merry cringed in fear. The clouds swept over the moon.

They sat in silence. Waiting...

By Merry's reckoning Frodo had been gone quite a long time. He was sitting against the trunk of a thin tree, Pippin by his side. Sam was pacing restlessly by their feet, muttering to himself. Down on the shore, Aragorn spoke quietly with Legolas, every so often glancing up at the trees at their backs.

"We should not have let him go on his own," Gimli grunted to Faramir, hefting his axe in his palm. "It was most unwise."

"Frodo needed time alone to think," Faramir responded calmly, "it is a perilous decision."

The Dwarf grunted, then sighed, "Aye, I suppose you are right. And who would not need solitude with those eyes fixed on every moment."

Merry followed Gimli's gaze to Gollum. The creature's rope had been secured to a tree some distance away, and still Merry was unnerved by the pitiful stare those large eyes bestowed upon him.

"I still feel it is cruel to keep him like this," he muttered.

"Some things just have to be done," Faramir said, "for the greater good."

Merry was not sure if Faramir believed this to be true himself, for the Hobbit could see that even as he said the words he was questioning their truth. But Merry could find some little comfort in the thought. There had to be a way to justify imprisoning a poor creature, for surely Aragorn had never made a wrong or an immoral decision in the past.

As though he had heard Merry's thoughts, Aragorn walked up to them at that very moment. "It is long since Frodo departed, he said, his darkened eyes revealing his troubled thoughts, "The hour has passed and still he has not returned."

"Should we search for him, then?" Gimli asked, bounding to his feet in his eagerness to do something.

"I will go," Aragorn said, "Ready the boats for our return."

"Are you so sure he will choose the road to Mordor?" Gimli asked, his face showing frustration at being ordered to stay.

"Frodo knows his duty to the quest," Faramir said, "He will make the right choice. I will come with you, Aragorn."

Aragorn nodded slowly, and Merry could see he was resisting the urge to look back over his shoulder to where Legolas was angrily watching them. Although Merry had not over heard their conversation, he easily comprehended the subject of their disagreement.

He glanced over to Gollum's tree, wondering if the creature knew just how much trouble he was causing within their company, and gasped. For a terrible moment he was unable to speak. His heart pounded horribly and he did not breath.

"He's gone!" he finally managed, "Look, look there! see?"

The others turned in bewilderment to the direction of his mortification. The rope Gollum had been tied too was frayed and lay abandoned beneath the tree, he was gone.

Frodo had wandered long, and had come at last to the top of a high hill. Rowan trees grew there, and upon a rock he seated himself, feeling the weight of his burden more heavily than ever. The wind blowing in his hair felt refreshing, as did the small drops of rain that splattered against his cheeks from above.

He knew he should go back, and that the others would be worried about him. He was also sure of his decision, which seemed strange to him after so long pondering the consequences of the choice he would have to make at this moment. But he had seen, as he left them, the eyes of his companions, and how his own fears were reflected in them. They were all afraid, it would be foolish not to be, but they all accepted his choice now as the only way.

So he stood, and looked out one last time over the valley. There was a dark mass below him, a patch of blackish leaves perhaps. And as he looked his heart quickened. They seemed to be moving. He shut his eyes, willing away his foolish thoughts and chastising his imagination. But when he opened his eyes they were still there, and now he could make out their true forms.

He bit back a startled cry and he began backing away from the crest of the hill. He knew he should run, but his eyes could not leave the forms of the black Orcs swarming towards the base of Amon Hen in great lines. The leaders were issuing orders, Frodo could see their plan all two clearly as the group split into two halves, each taking a side of the hill.

His foot struck something as he moved backwards, and again he stifled a cry. He felt himself tumbling backwards, rolling down the slippery slope. The fresh rain did not aid him in his plight, for again the ground was wet and slicked with mud as he tried to grab onto something.

His back struck hard rock, and he stopped rolling abruptly. He struggled to control his breathing, feeling all the aches of his newly pained body. Then he struggled to his feet, feeling his ankle twist painfully beneath him. With a great effort of will he was able to remain standing, and catching the scent of the terrible black creatures swarming towards his friends at that very moment, he began to run.

Branches reached out to grab and trip him as he passed, and the rain-soaked earth beneath his feet slid precariously with each step. His Elvish cloak felt heavy with the thick mud that clung to it from his fall, but he knew better than to cast it aside. It was his only hope to remain unseen till he could reach his friends.

His wet hair fell before his eyes, blinding him for a moment. And in that moment a think root of a tree slammed into his ankle and he fell once more. This time he could not even find the strength to look around him, and when he heard footsteps running in his direction all he could do was shiver and hope the magic of the elves would shine upon him, and that he would not be seen.

He cringed as the steps slowed to a walk close to him, and he reached his hand beneath him to clutch the ring. If it came to the worst, and he was discovered, he would put it on and disappear, even if it meant drawing the eye of Sauron in his direction.

A hand clamped down upon his shoulder.