Chapter 10. Watchers Leave their Post

A day earlier, two travellers had pulled up their horses to survey the slow-moving Baranduin. The stony ford lay quiet before them, the great River rolled lazily under the autumn sunshine, an easy crossing this time of year, before the swelling rains began.

'I don't like it,' one said. Travel-stained and half-hid in a dusty cloak, he sat very still on his horse, as if the whole of him listened to the silence of the land.

'It is quiet,' the other said, pushing back his hood to reveal a dark head, a few silver threads gleaming amongst the darker strands. Serious grey eyes swept the land around them. 'Not even the birds sing.'

'Quiet,' the cloaked one agreed, cocking his head to add, '...and afraid. All the little creatures are in hiding.'

'Not even bird song,' the Ranger repeated. He turned his horse's head aside, toward the hidden camp. 'Let us see what news those set to guard the Ford may have...'

The only news they were to find was the state of the deserted guard post, abandoned in haste, with signs of struggle scuffed in the dust.

While one scoured the ground for marks to tell the tale, the other examined the dead coals of a fire left to burn itself out, the spilled pot of savoury stewed meat and herbs lying on its side, kicked over and left for wild things to devour. ...and yet no wild things had come, not even a hungry fox or mouse, to lick up the unexpected bounty. Nor did flies rise, disturbed from the feast left spread upon the ground.

'Driven off,' the Ranger said, grim. 'Overtaken by surprise as they were preparing the daymeal.'

'And the Watchers gave no warning?'

The Ranger shook his head, his mouth set in a hard line. 'I see no sign... nothing left for us to see... Whatever it was, it came upon them so suddenly they had no time...'

The cloaked one raised his head to sniff at the air.

'What is it?' the Ranger said.

'We will follow.'

There was nothing more to be seen in the camp. They had been able to discern the marks left by horses, a number of horses, seemingly more than those kept by the Rangers at that post, though difficult to distinguish on the churned ground any specific numbers.

They followed the trail, splashing over the stony ford, travelling eastward rather than turning to the north or south along the Greenway. They followed the track, finding signs of harried pursuit in the trampled grass, the silence marking the trail.

'Fear passed this way.'

A nod in reply, though eyes never left the task of following the trail.

And then the trail split, some of the riders turning to the north, while the main body continued eastward.

The Ranger sat on his heels, the cloaked one stood at his shoulder as they pondered. 'Not our horses,' the Ranger said, tracing the clear hoofprint left in the ooze of mud from a trickle of water. 'See the marks of the shoe...'

His companion had no need to bend close for clear sight. He threw back the hood of his cloak, revealing a pale, stern face, raven hair and eyes that flashed grey as he turned his gaze to the north. 'They've entered the Shire,' he said, 'and we must follow.'

'But my Men, Elladan!' the Ranger protested, rising to point eastward. 'They are pursued to the east...'

The son of Elrond paid no heed, simply began to walk the track as one drawn, his horse following close behind him.

Speaking a choice word or two, under his breath, the Man jumped to his feet and lightly ran to join him. 'My Men...' he continued.

Elladan was studying the ground before him, the tall grasses and small woody growth to either side, the shadowy copse that rose ahead and slightly to the east. 'So long as they stay ahead of Those who ride after them,' he said, adding after a pause, '...I think that they are pursued to leave the way open, the Shire vulnerable. The real objective is not the guard, I think, but rather, that which they have been set to guard.'

'I must get word to our Chief,' the Ranger said, but the son of Elrond forestalled him.

'I have the feeling he'll know soon enough. The rest are riding eastward, are they not?'

'Then he might be...' the Man said, tensing.

Elladan shook his head. 'No, Halmir,' he countered. 'He is not their quarry; not at this moment, at any event. They are after something else entirely, and if Mithrandir has the right of things...'

Clearly torn, the Ranger stared to the east, and then looked to the track they followed. At last he nodded. 'Very well, Elladan,' he said. 'We will follow. Though what we might do when we come upon them... From the marks I read some four have passed this way...'

The son of Elrond threw back his head to laugh. 'Some four, against a son of Elrond and a chief among the Dunedain? How can the outcome be in doubt?'

Halmir stared, a moment only, and then a grim smile touched his face. He sketched half a bow to his companion, and extended his arm, palm up, in invitation. 'Lead on, my lord.'

And so they continued, into the Shire, walking and leading their horses, scarcely remarked by the folk of the Southfarthing who toiled to take in their harvest on this bright and sunny day, a harvest, if only they knew it, destined to be carried away to the Southlands in waggons. Men were appearing in the Southfarthing in ever increasing numbers, and so what were two more, though curiously cloaked and hooded, walking across the fields? At least they seemed to be careful where they stepped, rather than indiscriminately trampling the crops!

Ever northward, as the Sun rose higher in the sky and then began her decline, they followed the trail, here fainter and there clearer, hoofmarks of horses pressed into the softer ground on the banks of a stream, heading northward, toward the high Green Hills of the Tookland that rose, dark and misty in the distance before them.

At last they must stop, to rest their stumbling horses. They had already come a long way before they'd reached the Ford, riding the Bounds of the Shire to gather reports from the Rangers posted in a loose ring about the land of the Shirefolk.

The Man cast himself down, covering his face with his cloak, and was quickly asleep. The son of Elrond stood guard over horses and companion, seeming tireless, gazing to the north, his fair face troubled. His senses warned of impending disaster. Should the Searchers find what they'd been sent after...

Some time after middle night, they were on the move again, following the trail. The Ranger blessed the unerring eyes of his companion. Even in the mist that had first gathered in wisps and then thickened to shroud the land in the darkest part of the night, Elladan did not lose his way.

The ground rose steadily before them as they approached the great Green Hills in the heart of the Tookland. The coming of the morning was evident in the lightening of the mist surrounding them, though they could not see the countryside any more clearly than they had in the night. The morning was pale and clammy, and they met no Shirefolk as they went, though occasionally they smelt the smoke of a fire, rising from a distant chimney, and imagined the inhabitants cooking and chattering cheerily as they began the tasks of the day.

As they walked the Sun rose higher, and by the time they'd reached the rolling countryside that preceded the greater hills to the north, she was peeping through the mist, smiling a greeting before setting down to the serious business of burning the fog away. Indeed, by the time they reached the first of the great hills, the day had turned fine and hot, the trail fainter now, barely to be discerned in the grass before them. Still it continued northward.

'Bywater, I think, or Hobbiton perhaps,' the Man guessed, as they paused to let their horses drink from a trickle issuing from the rocks of the steep hillside they were skirting. 'Nothing between us and Bywater but Tuckborough, but I can't think what they'd be after, in the Tookland, unless it were the Thain himself.'

'Mithrandir told us to watch over the Shire in general, and Bilbo in particular, until he left the Shire, and then we were to keep watch over young Frodo's comings and goings,' Elladan said quietly. 'And these... if they were crows flying, they'd be going on a direct line to Hobbiton.'

'But horses must by necessity go around the steeper hills,' the Ranger said, 'and thus a little slower than crows...'

'And yet, they must have reached Hobbiton by this time, and what did they find there?' Elladan's sense of urgency burned anew. 'Something waiting ahead of us is terribly amiss, I fear, and we must not delay further.'

They froze in the moment of stepping up into the saddle, by the sound of a cold voice calling, a high, thin wail that chilled the bright sunshine for a moment, freezing the cheerful birdsong around them into stunned, fearful silence.

But that was not all. Far away, borne upon the wind, came an echo... or an answer.

And then all was stillness, until Halmir's horse broke the silence with a snort, a toss of the head, rearing half up in alarm. It was a good thing the Ranger had a firm grasp on the mane, one foot secure in the stirrup, or he would have been sent flying. He managed to get his leg over the saddle, fumbling for the other stirrup, as the son of Elrond leapt lightly to his own horse's back.

'There were words in that cry,' he said grimly. 'I only hope that they do not portend...'

'On!' the Ranger answered, urging his horse into motion. 'On to Hobbiton... or to follow the trail continuing from that point... We'll follow to the ends of Middle-earth, if need be!'

'Or far enough to know, at least, if they found that which they were seeking,' Elladan put in, 'and then...' He shuddered, and his eyes dimmed briefly, before he shook himself. 'On!' he agreed, and onward they forged, scarcely needing the trail now, for they now felt sure of their course.

***

A/N: Thanks to Dreamflower and Larner for listening to me spin ideas, and for helping me keep this story within the bounds of canon. Some turns of phrase in this chapter may have come from Fellowship of the Ring, by J.R.R. Tolkien, which at the moment is missing from our library, and probably under someone's bed.