𝕰𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖆

Chapter Twenty-Eight: To Edoras

<><><><><><><><><><>

Ahead of me, leading the deep-brown horse, Aragorn was silent. Behind me, atop the white stallion, so were Legolas and Gimli. I offered Aragorn's shoulder a gentle and comforting squeeze as we neared the billowing smoke. The smell was overpowering, burning flesh and hair hung heavy in the air. My fingers, still clasped around Aragorn's arm, shook desperately as I tried to calm my nerves. Merry and Pippin were likely dead. Théoden, mindless and helpless. Théodred, in grave condition. And Éowyn in mortal peril.

Thoughts of going to Edoras were prominent in my mind. But I couldn't. I couldn't leave until I was sure of Merry and Pippin's fate, whether could or bad. I could not leave until it was a solid, concrete, undeniable fact that they'd either lived or died.

I was jolted out of my train of thought by Aragorn's hand on top of my own. I then realized we'd come to a stop in the midst of the slaughter of the previous night. Aragorn squeezed my hand once, before sliding off the side of the horse and waiting for me to do the same. Legolas and Gimli were dismounting behind us.

The first sight we were met with, was that of an Uruk-Hai head mounted on a spear. Its mouth was agape to reveal crooked, slimy brown teeth and a black tongue. Its skin was black and peeling. Its hair, matted and yellow.

The next thing I laid my eyes upon was the mountain of carcasses behind it, from which the pillar of smoke spawned. The bodies were numerous, charred, and black, and still burning by the second.

It was revolting. And I prayed to Varda that Merry and Pippin were not a part of it.

Gimli removed his axe and began to prod at the carcasses, turning over bodies and digging through ash for any sign that the hobbits had been there. The rest of us spread out, searching the field for anything that could evidence the hobbits' fate.

It didn't take long for one of us to find something. Something that pointed us in the direction of a very unpleasant conclusion.

"It's one of their wee belts," Gimli said, drawing our attention to the small belt and sheath he held up.

I outstretched my arm, silently asking that he give it to me, and he did. I scanned it, as though hoping to find that it wasn't one of theirs. But, I'd have recognized the intertwining leather sheath of Lorien anywhere. In fact, I wore one of a similar design round my waist that very moment. It was indeed one of theirs.

My heart sunk. With each discovery, we were led closer to the truth. The sad, unpleasant, horrible truth, that tore at my insides, as it did when Boromir had died. Gimli's word echoed in my mind.

The Fellowship has failed.

I jumped at a crash that split through the quiet. I turned to my side, where Aragorn had kicked a helmet across the field in anger. He collapsed to his knees with a prolonged yell that echoed over the land. I couldn't help but feel surprised at his anger, one I'd never seen in this magnitude. But still, it was entirely warranted. Because the Fellowship had failed. Gandalf, Boromir, Merry, and Pippin. They were all gone.

I stared down at the small belt in my hands again, like it might suddenly change, like it might not be theirs. But then, I noticed it. I brought it closer to my eyes. The leather appeared to be stretched at the sheath, as though it had been pulled on. And at the front, it looked like it had been snapped in two. As though it'd been ripped of by its wearer. As though they'd tried to escape.

"Aragorn," I approached, kneeling down at his side, "I believe Merry and Pippin tried to get away. And perhaps they might've," I showed him the belt.