Part Five - The Road to the Shire

-3-

The bombardment around them was becoming worse and only the storm prevented the giant from throwing his rocks accurately. But it was only a matter of time before one of those deadly boulders would meet their mark. Aragorn saw the resolve in Gandalf’s eyes and knew that he had to obey. Even kings knew obedience when faced with the wrath of wizards and Aragorn knew that Gandalf did not give him orders lightly. With reluctance, the former ranger nodded in compliance and quickly averted his gaze to Frodo and Sam. "Stay close to me you two, this will not be easy."

"Gandalf…" Frodo opened his mouth to speak when he saw a large rock looming over them.

"HURRY!" Gandalf ordered and Frodo instinctively broke his pony into a gallop. Following Aragorn and Sam, Frodo cast a look over his shoulder and saw the wizard escaping the reach of the boulder that crushed the space where they had been. Realising that he had to trust Gandalf to his own devices, Frodo’s eyes returned to Aragorn and Sam before he too rode through the canyon without looking back.

Gandalf felt fragments of rock biting into his skin as the rock shattered into a multitude of smaller and large pieces that scattered across the snow covered ground. He squinted as he looked above and saw that there was indeed a giant perched at the top. The creature resembled a cave troll and although it was larger its desire for destruction was just as a vile. It saw Aragorn and the others riding away and was now giving chase by flinging as many rocks at the parting trio as possible. Fortunately, this allowed Gandalf the time to deal with the giant without interruption though he could not afford to waste any time in doing so in case one of those rocks met their mark.

Taking a deep breath, Gandalf remained steady on Shadowfax as he raised his arms, clasping his staff on each end as he gazed at the turbulent heavens above. Whether or not the giant saw him, Gandalf could not say but as it was often with such creatures, its attention was quick to wander and at this time it was more concerned with killing the riders he could see clearly in a group, instead of one alone. Holding his staff up high, Gandalf did not need to speak the words for only two penny conjurers required words to make a spell work. For Gandalf the words were spoken in his mind and from his mind they became something real. The giant was somehow able to precipitate the storm that had blinded so many and led them to their deaths.

It was not the only one who knew how to summon storms.

A crack of lighting splintered the sky with its thunderous roar. Like spidery webs of blue and white, it struck the top of the mountain, creating a tremendous sound that made all the other noises before it pale in comparison. It screamed above the howl of the wind and Gandalf did not need to instruct Shadowfax to move. The horse, sensing the danger, broke into a gallop as the ledge upon which the giant had made its murderous assault crumbled underfoot. Gandalf looked up and saw a mountain of earth and rock making rapid haste to the ground. He thought he might have seen the giant itself but the wizard could not be certain, for he was too busy trying to riding beyond the path of the oncoming barrage.

However, as he rode away from the looming destruction, he heard a scream through the snow that was neither wind or the sound of breaking rock but rather like a voice that was filled with fury and despair. It grew from a great distance and neared until Gandalf could almost feel its heated breath against his back before coming to an abrupt end when the broken edge of the mountains finally landed in the confine of the passage way. The ground shuddered beneath Shadowfax’s hooves and even Gandalf could feel its tremors in his bones. Yet with that cataclysmic end, the storm suddenly abated. The wind died where it blew, its gale quickly slipping into a whisper.

When the wind died the clouds rolled away and behind the thick gray canopy were blue sky. Gandalf felt the sunshine upon his face and knew that the danger had passed. He brought Shadowfax to a halt and gazed behind him at what he had wrought. The passageway was completely blocked by the great weight of rock and soil. The usefulness of the pass was no more for the destruction had sealed it. As the dust cleared, Gandalf wondered if the evil creature that had brought about so much death was now itself a victim of its own malice. He watched the rubble, waiting to ensure that this was so, that beneath the dirt, nothing stirred to cause further mischief.

"Gandalf!" he heard Aragorn call before him.

Facing forward again, he saw the Fellowship returning to him, no doubt having paused in their escape when the weather had changed for the better. He could see the relief in the eyes of all but especially in Frodo’s and Aragorn’s for they were always mindful of his misfortune at Khazadum.

"Is it dead?" Frodo asked, looking over the wizard’s shoulder.

"It will cause no more mischief that is for sure," Gandalf replied, not eager to admit that he might have killed the thing though it certainly deserved death.

"Perhaps next time you shall bear little more caution Lord of Ithilien," Gandalf stared at Faramir who looked rather admonished for his rash advance into the passage.

"I have been properly chastised by my king already," Faramir confessed somewhat embarrassed that his impulsiveness had almost cost him and his friends their lives. He did not think it was possible to hear the King shout so loudly through a blizzard but somehow Aragorn had managed it. What was worse, and it was to Faramir’s shame that he could not refute any of his king’s angry words, fired mostly by his concern for Faramir’s life and that of the Fellowship. "I promise, you will not see me behave so rashly again."

"Not unless he wants to explain to his wife why he is the lord of Ithilien in the guard tower when we return to Minas Tirith," Aragorn retorted, giving him a wry look of mock anger.

"If you were not my king…" Faramir started to say.

"I’d still throttle you about the ears for what you did," Aragorn cut him off.

"Ah," Pippin said with a smile as the two argued. The hobbit beamed as he exchanged amused glances with the rest of the Fellowship who were all reminded of how it had been during the quest to rid the world of the One Ring, when Boromir and the Ranger Strider could never seemed to agree on anything.

"It is like old times isn’t it?"

**********

They arrived at Bree only a few short hours before dawn after travelling for nearly three days.

True to her word, Melia had taken them through unfamiliar paths, no doubt known only to Rangers and people with intimate knowledge of this part of Middle Earth. Nevertheless, despite the twists and turns in their journey through what to Arwen and Eowyn seemed like uncharted territory, they did arrive at Bree a full day earlier than expected which was pleasing to all concerned since time was such an enormous factor for the fulfillment of the quest.

For Arwen, Bree was something of an experience. In her long life, she had journeyed extensively through Middle Earth and she had seen much of the lands to the south, Gondor, Rohan, Isengard and since the fall of Sauron, even Mordor. She had chance to travel to the Grey Havens but this was the first time, she had ventured so close to the realm of the halflings. Although Bree was not considered a part of the Shire, it was the last settlement where men could be found before entering the land of the hobbits.

Enclosed completely by high walls, the only way to enter the town was by way of the main gates which were guarded at all times by a lone sentry whose business it was to ask questions of visitors. The practice had arisen shortly after the trouble with Sauron had begun and it was still in full force even though Mordor and the Ring Lord’s reign was no more. A rather dour and grimy looking man had made peered through the small peephole when Arwen and her companions arrived at the large wooden gates. Under their cloaks and concealed by the shadows of a moonless night, she supposed they must have appeared rather intimidating to him at first. However, upon learning that he had three ladies awaiting entry, his attitude changed considerably and he allowed them in with what could be considered a civil tone.

Inside the gates, Bree appeared much larger than the fortifications would have visitors believe. Although it was difficult to tell because they arrived in town shortly before dawn and most of its inhabitants were still in bed, there were more than enough homes and businesses to show that this was a thriving community. It was also to her amusement that in search of lodgings for the night, they came across the inn called the Prancing Pony that had figured so prominently in her king’s recollections of his first meeting with the halflings before the War of the Ring.

Arwen saw no reason why the inn could not provide them with a comfortable bed for a few hours. As it was, the inn did not appear to have any difficulty furnishing the needs of men, elves and hobbits alike and Arwen was not about to deny herself the pleasure of a comfortable bed and a warm fire after so many days sleeping out in the open. Despite Melia’s protestations that perhaps the Prancing Pony was not the best place for two noblewomen to select as their choice of accommodation, Arwen knew that it would serve them well.

As much as she loathed to confess it to the others, she tired more easily then she was accustomed to. Arwen knew that the cause of this was most likely because she was with child but it was for her child’s sake that she pressed on despite the limitations of her strength. If Eowyn could force herself to ride, having sustained injuries after their encounter with the great spiders at Cadras Nar, how could Arwen ask any less of herself? Yet there was a point, when exhaustion would not be denied and Arwen’s decision to lodge at the Prancing Pony had as much to do with her curiosity about the place as it did the fact that she was too tired to seek anything else.

Fortunately, nothing of note took place during their stay in Bree. They remained there long enough to capture a good day’s sleep and by the evening of the next night, they had been completely rested and were able to dine on a hearty meal before they set out again. Although the temptation to linger for another day or so was strong in all of them, Arwen dared not risk the time they had gained because of Melia’s guidance to Bree. It would be two days before they could think about experiencing such comforts again, if all went well and they arrived in the Shire without encountering any trouble. So far, there were no new signs of the Enemy or his Orcs but Arwen was not foolish enough to believe they were gone. She could feel their presence on the edge of her consciousness and knew it would be only a matter of time before she and her companions encountered them again.

For the moment however, it was hard to think of Orcs or any other threat when they took the main road into the Shire.

For years, she had heard Estel, Mithandir and the halflings themselves, speak of their beloved Shire but until now she had not realized why it was so dear to them. While not at all majestic like the White City or Imladris, there was beauty in the simplicity of the small houses and the seemingly endless fields of green meadows. The halflings liked their homes underground and until one actually entered the community, one could never really guess how unique these burrows truly were. They looked like grassy mounds with doors and windows positioned in the front and a stone chimney protruding from the top. Arwen was somewhat sorry that Frodo was in Minas Tirith with Estel for she would have dearly loved to have seen what it looked like inside one of these charming little homes.

The Shire was not used to visitors, Arwen decided as she, Eowyn and Melia rode through the meandering track that led to the heart of Hobbiton. The inhabitants of the Shire were a curious sort who by their furtive glances were curious about them but much too well mannered to stare with any kind of deep scrutiny. Instead their examination was like their very natures, unobtrusive and discreet. They were a curious sort when the object of their fascination wandered into their immediate vicinity but as a race, they were not prone to travel beyond Bree. It was very much a close knit society, where everyone knew everyone else’s business and upon seeing the sense of community that existed in Hobbiton, she marveled at the courage it must have taken for Frodo to embark upon the quest of the Ring.

How hard must it have been for all of them, not just Frodo, to leave the Shire, when it was their entire world? Not merely to leave but to set out upon a quest that had since changed the face of Middle Earth. Arwen found herself infused with a new respect for the hobbits, even more so than had existed before. She only hoped that she could find as much courage in the undertaking of her own quest for if it was only a fraction of what Frodo and the other halflings possessed, then she was blessed with ample.

"So this is the Shire?" Eowyn remarked as they rode through Hobbiton.

"It is a pretty place," Melia replied as she saw a group of children following the leisurely pace of their horses by concealing themselves in every bush that came along. She offered them a friendly smile when they dared peer out of the shrubbery, a gesture that only caused their withdrawal into concealment again, followed by a stream of excited giggles. "I see now why the king is so determined to protect it. I would hate to think of Orcs or any of Sauron’s evil minions set loose upon this place."

It was true, Melia thought as her gazed swept across the luscious green fields with the air filled with the harvest’s ripe seed. It was reminiscent of the village she had grown up in so long ago, far away from the known lands of Middle Earth. She glanced once more at the children who were now visible as they followed the visitors with youthful curiosity unabated and offered them another smile before facing the road ahead again.

"We will be to the Havens in a few days," Eowyn stated as they approached Hobbiton where it was agreed they would break their journey to rest. From their discussions with Frodo and the rest of the halflings, Eowyn was under the impression that they could find lodgings at the center of town for the night. "We will need to stop and freshen our supplies. Once we depart from there, there is no telling when we will be able to do so again. Beyond the Havens, there is little in the way of villages or towns. It will be a long journey to the Blue Mountains."

"We will ask Lord Cirdan for a guide," Arwen answered, not wishing to think about that part of their journey but since they were drawing close to their destination, she supposed that it was time they discussed the matter somewhat. "They can lead us to the mountains, to the remains of the forest of Brethil."

"You realise once he learns what you intend to do, he may not be inclined to let you go," Eowyn pointed out.

Arwen was aware of that fact more than she would like to admit but Cirdan had no choice in the matter. Either he let her and her companions go on their way or all their futures would be jeopardized. There could be no debate upon this point. "He will let me go," she sighed. "He must."

"What exactly is at Brethil that we must journey there with such haste?" Melia asked, for this part of the quest had not been explained to her.

Eowyn herself could not answer, other than to know that they were in search of a sword, the sword of Turin to be exact for it was the weapon forged that could kill the Enemy. "We seek the Sword of Turin, beyond that I do not know." She glanced at Arwen for that was where the answers lay.

"The Sword of Turin is meant to be made of a substance even harder than mithrail," Arwen replied, recounting what she knew of the legends. "In the past, expeditions have been sent to recover the weapon but all have failed. Those who have attempted have never returned to speak the reason for the failure of those before them."

"What substance could there be that is harder than mithrail?" Melia looked at them both in confusion. In the elemental world of Middle Earth, there was nothing harder, save for perhaps dragon’s scales but since one needed to extract the latter from the actual creature, the supply was scarce to say the least.

"I do not know," Arwen answered. "I only know that Turin’s sword is said to have been fashioned from a fallen star."

"A fanciful description," Eowyn frowned. "Hardly descriptive."

"I suppose we shall know the truth when we arrive there," Arwen shrugged, aware of nothing else she could say at this point to make it any clearer. "It is for us to accomplish what no one else has."

"Let us hope we fare better than they," Melia frowned, not liking the lack of information.

"Think of it this way," Eowyn smiled not one to dwell on the negative. "We can only die once."

Melia gave her a look. "I admire your ability to see the good in any situation."

"It is one of her many talents," Arwen retorted with just as much sarcasm.