Rise (Lord of the Rings)

30 - A Shred of Hope

Hooves ferociously pounded the earth as the horses sprinted towards our destination. With each stride, the white smoke cloud became bigger as we got closer. My stomach was flip-flopping uncomfortably, whether from riding the horse, fearing what carnage we would see up ahead, or a mixture of both. My bet was on the latter.

My nose wrinkled when coming into contact with the burnt aroma. The pile of bodies wasn't hard to find, they still smoked. The ground was littered with remnants of the battle between the Riders of Rohan and the Uruk-hai. Helmets, with the occasional head still inside them, laid around the ground. Spears and arrows were rooted in the earth. There was even an Uruk's head stabbed on a stick.

Aragorn dismounted from the horse and helped me down. I heard Gimli's feet thump on the ground as he slid off the gray horse him and Legolas rode.

In my mind, I tried to paint what happened here last night besides the obvious. I carefully strolled along the battlefield, trying to not stare at any dead bodies that had their eyes still open.

There was no way Merry and Pippin could have partaken in the fight when the Riders of Rohan tracked down the beasts and killed them. If anything, they had to have run for their lives. That's if they were alive when the riders came upon the Uruks, I reminded myself grimly.

I had to remember that—as much as I hated to think it—there was a chance that Merry and Pippin hadn't even been present last night, that the Uruks had done away with them before the fight. If that was the case—which I prayed it wasn't—then this tracking had been all for naught.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Gimli prodding the crispy-looking bodies, trying to dig through the pile for any clues. My stomach rolled uneasily just watching him do so. Legolas got off from the horse; he was now on the ground as well.

"I don't see why you're picking through," I told the Dwarf. "I doubt you'll find anything in there."

Gimli stopped sifting through the pile; different emotions swam in his blue eyes. Curious, I crept closer. The Dwarf reached into the pile—I held back the bile that threatened to jump out my throat—and pulled out a strip of something.

"W-what is that?" I stammered, afraid to hear Gimli's answer.

"It's one of their wee belts," the Dwarf whispered, appalled.

My heart stopped for the smallest second. It was as if the ground had been ripped out from under me. Gimli's words had sealed Merry and Pippin's fates.

I instantly dropped to my knees. My thoughts muffled Aragorn's outrage as I heard him kick something—a helmet, I believe—that was closest to him.

I clutched at my heart, hyperventilating. Compared to me, Aragorn was furious. He now yelled wordlessly, expressing what I had yet to.

"We failed them." I almost didn't believe that those words had slipped out of my mouth, but they did.

The Fellowship was now down two more members.

It was my fault they were dead—not Legolas', Aragorn's, or Gimli's. I recalled the last few words I said to Merry before splitting from him in search of Frodo and Boromir. Nothing will happen to any of us. We'll meet up again soon, I promise. Oh, how much the irony hurt.

Tears pricked in my eyes, threatening to stream down my face. If only Merry and Pippin hadn't crashed into Sam, Frodo, and I back in the Shire when leaving for Bree. They could have avoided this death. They surely would have stayed in the Shire had they known that dying young would be their fate.