"She was also, by the standards of
other people, lost. She would not see it
like that. She knew where she was,
it was just that everywhere else didn't."
― Terry Pratchett, Equal Rites
38. Into the Wild
Boromir snored gently, and the comforting sound mixed with a more foreboding one: Drums. Drums in the night. Not from the orc island, but from the forest behind their hiding place.
Nellas knew she ought to wake him, but could not bring herself to do it. She did not want him to worry.
Maybe she could borrow his sword, slip out and kill the drummer, and anyone else with him? Assuming they were enemies and not allies, of course. She could ambush them from the trees.
But then Boromir would wake up alone, and worry even more. No, they must stay together.
She reached up to his cheek, feeling the interesting, coarse hairs of his beard under her palm. "Boromir," she whispered. She loved saying his name, loved how the r:s rolled over her tongue. Boromir. He had a beautiful name.
He was moving in his sleep, still not awake.
She followed his cheekbone with her fingertip until she reached his ear. That was interesting too; round rather than pointed like her own. She traced its contours, and then down along his broad neck. "Boromir," she whispered again.
His eyes fluttered open; her own eyes had become enough accustomed to the darkness that she could see it.
"Anything wrong?" he murmured.
"Maybe." She touched the warm skin in the hollow above his collarbone, and continued along his shoulder.
He covered her exploring hand with his bandaged one, holding it still before she could slip it under the hem of his tunic. "Can you elaborate?" He sounded a bit hoarse, and his heart had begun to beat faster. With her ear so close to his chest, Nellas noticed it clearly.
"It's probably nothing," she murmured loftily. Apparently he could not hear the drums with his human senses – and now they sounded farther away, at that. Maybe they would go away by themselves? She almost regretted waking him.
"It was something," he insisted. His hand was warm on top of hers.
Using his shoulder as support, Nellas drew herself up into a sitting position, until her face was level with his. "Did you sleep well?" she asked, trying to change the topic.
"I– Uh. I guess so." He removed her hand from his shoulder and sat up straighter too, increasing the distance between them. "And you?"
Nellas was disappointed. "Why do you move away?"
"Oh. I just– It is not... That is to say, we should be careful not to..." He broke off.
"Not to what?"
He took her hand again, bringing it to his lips. "It is...complicated to explain." He broke eye-contact. "I am a bit confused about– Well, this whole, uh...thing between us. And now is not really the best time to, uh, think about...such matters."
She smiled at his obvious embarrassment. He admitted there was something between them then; that was a start, at least.
After a few awkward minutes, Nellas heard the drums again, a lot closer now.
Hissing, Boromir sprang to attention, scrabbling after his sword. "Did you hear that?"
"Yes."
"It could be the orcs coming ashore. Damn. We should have hid further from the river."
"No. It comes from the forest."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course. My ears don't lie." She smiled.
"I doubt the orcs have gotten that far yet," Boromir mused, relaxing slightly. "They would have to finish conquering the island first. But either way, we must check what it is."
Preparing to leave the fir tent was quick work; they had lost their packs, and thus could not even have breakfast. Soon they were making their way through the thick underbrush and into the even more compact darkness of the wild forest.
As they walked, Nellas looked around appreciatively. Here was life everywhere, and she let her mind roam freely, greeting the old, wise trees as well as their younger friends, and all the animals and birds inhabiting them. At this hour mostly the small rodents were awake.
Boromir was less pleased. The drumbeat kept moving, sounding sometimes close, sometimes further away, and he seemed frustrated that he could not find its source as easily as he had expected. It did not take long until he began to grumble and curse under his breath.
"Shall I ask directions?" Nellas offered.
"I am not lost," he muttered sourly.
Not heeding to his words, she reached out to a nearby owl who kindly agreed to help. When the bird swooped down in front of them on pale, silent wings, Nellas took Boromir's hand. "This way."
Not long afterwards the couple stepped out into a glade that was lit by many lanterns in the trees. It was full of surprised, lightly clad humans.
"See?" Nellas smirked. "You should trust me."
He squeezed her hand, smiling excitedly. "The Woses of the Woods! I didn't know there were any left. The wild men are not unfriendly to my people, or at least in the past they weren't."
Several of the wild men came closer, slowly and cautiously. Their skirts of grass looked much too cold for the season, but Nellas appreciated seeing their intricately tattooed and muscular torsos.
Boromir held out his empty hands to show his friendly intent and began speaking in Westron, which was a language Nellas understood but didn't like to speak.
At his words, the men led him and Nellas into the glade, where a very old man sat on the ground. The others bowed reverently, before gesturing for Boromir to sit in front of him.
Boromir and the old man spoke for a long time. Nellas meanwhile sat on a nearby log, sadly stroking the rough surface. It had been cut down on purpose.
After a while, she was approached by some women, who regarded her with curiosity. Like the men they wore only skirts, and she hoped Boromir would not notice that. She figured bare breasts were probably among the things that would make him uncomfortable.
One of the women asked her something in her own language.
Ignoring her, Nellas looked at Boromir. Was he finished soon?
The woman spoke again, while touching her ears, pulling them up to make them pointed.
"Yes I'm an elleth." Nellas shrugged.
"Elleth." The woman pronounced the Sindarin word with some difficulty.
"Elleth," repeated the others excitedly. Apparently they had never seen an elf before.
"Drúedain," said the first woman then, indicating herself and her friends.
"Drúedain," Nellas obediently repeated.
That seemed to please the others immensely. One of them disappeared into a wooden hut at the edge of the forest, and returned with a plate of dried meat and nuts that she put in Nellas' lap.
"Elleth," said the woman, and then made eating signs.
Smiling, Nellas gratefully accepted the food, half-starved by now. "Thank you, Drúedain woman." Then she turned to Boromir: "Come and eat," she called.
Boromir didn't pay attention, and continued speaking some more with the old man.
When at last he had finished, he came to sit next to her on the log. "That man is Ghân-buri-Ghân, and he is the leader of the Woses. They–"
"Drúedain," interrupted Nellas.
"Right. Drúedain." Grabbing a handful of nuts, he continued: "The Drúedain have many scouts and can move through the treetops like elves, it would seem, and they too have noticed that Cair Andros was invaded. Ghân-buri-Ghân said that the orcs have waded across to this shore now, and are beginning to block the road to Rohan. These people hate orcs with a passion, but they are hunters, not warriors – so when the leader found out I am the son of the steward of Gondor, he asked me to get rid of the orcs. Which I of course had every intention to do anyway, but he need not know that." Grinning, he popped a couple of nuts into his mouth, and swallowed them. "The Wo– uh, the Drúedain claim to know another road through the forest so we can pass the orcs unseen, an old, forgotten path. Ghân-buri-Ghân has agreed to lead us there in the morning, and when the horse lords arrive – he says they are on their way with a great cavalry – he will show it to them as well. This is fantastic news! If that path really exists, we can be home in only a few days' time!" Boromir's excited smile took several years off his usually so haggard face.
Nellas smiled back, not really caring about secret paths or troop movements, but if Boromir was happy, she was too.
Then she caught his hand. "First you must eat, and then I will see to your wound properly. Then we can go look for old roads."
ʕll * _ * llʔ q( * _ * )p
Groping frantically with her paws at the slippery mud of the bank, Kat was carried away in a direction that was opposite to the one she wanted to go. There was not much a small cat could do against the relentless pull of the stream; though her cat's body instinctively knew how to swim, the current worked against her, sucking her down until she barely held her nose above the surface.
As if worrying over drowning wasn't enough, she was beginning to hear Sauron's army again; chanting voices and drums coming closer.
Was this the end? Had she come this far only to die again, either at the hands of an orc or drowned?
No! That would not happen. She had a mission. She must survive and do her job; there were no alternatives. Sending a thought to higher powers – more a desperate plea than a coherent prayer – she continued to fight, forcing her weary, numbing limbs to cooperate and keep her afloat.
After tumbling and tossing helplessly another couple of meters, a hard, unyielding surface hit Kat so hard she saw stars. Despite the thundering pain in her head, she was grateful to stop moving, and clung hard to whatever it was until her vision cleared.
It turned out to be a big stone protruding near the middle of the stream, and after a few heartbeats Kat managed to crawl onto it. She was shivering heavily, both from the icy water and adrenalin.
Perched like a dead duck right in the open, she felt horribly exposed. Could anyone see her? She could not risk staying there – the three hungry orcs might still be on her track.
Still dizzy from the impact of the boulder, she unsteadily peered around until she spotted the line of torches. It was a relief to find that some of the army was still ahead of her, but she would be passed by the brunt of it a second time around. Was the ghost-rider among those who had already gone past, or not? The thought of being forced to see him again increased her shivers.
Then she noticed that the warriors presently marching by looked decidedly smaller than before, and their chanting voices sounded more distant. That meant the road must be taking them farther from the stream! Perhaps she had a chance to evade exposure after all.
She must hurry, though. Maybe she could jump to the other side? The stone was fairly close to the far bank, perhaps a meter and a half, and she thought she could make it. It would feel a lot better to have a channel of rapid water between herself and the army.
Fixing her gaze on where she wanted to land, Kat braced herself, and a heartbeat later she landed smoothly on dry grass.
Thank God for her cat's agility!
She didn't wait to see if anyone had noticed her jump. While the progress of Sauron's host continued at the other side, Kat started her way back upstream, sneaking through the grass like a tiger on the hunt.
The grass actually grew a bit taller at this side, she noticed. Finally some luck! Only if an enemy came quite close could they discover her now – and she would not have to see the Nazgûl again either.
Because she had to crouch low, her progress was slow, and in addition she grew tired by being constantly on edge, high-strung and ready to bolt if she was exposed. Yet, the gradually fading sounds of drums and chanting voices cheered her. Once again she was putting a distance between herself and the enemy.
When the most acute worry of discovery left her, she began to feel the chill of the night uncomfortably. She had been soaked through and through, and beneath her insulating outer coat of fur, her thick, downy undercoat dried very slowly. Soon she was shivering, colder than she could remember ever being on this journey. No wonder cats hated water so much; the experience was truly awful.
After about an hour or two of miserable walking, Kat could no longer see the light from the enemy's torches, and decided to risk returning to the road. She found a place where the stream banks were a bit closer together, and where a scatter of stones jutted out from her side. Despite the distance, which was still fairly great for someone her size, she gracefully flew across the gap. No more bathing for this cat!
Back at the other side, however, the road proved difficult to find beneath the trampled and worn turf of the army's passing. Their trail cut like a dark river of mud through the lands, littered with the usual debris of discarded soldiers' gear and the occasional pile of horse- and elephant dung.
Kat could only hope they had come from the cross-roads and follow their tracks back there. It would make sense if they had, for as far as she had understood, one of the four roads that made up that crossing led from a city Sauron held, located right outside the border of Mordor. At least she thought it did. Again, she wished she had studied Faramir's map.
As she continued, she gradually felt a little less cold and wet. Instead she began to worry about food. She was not yet hungry; the fear over becoming orc dinner had effectively quenched her appetite, but what if her lembas supply had been ruined by the water? She would need to eat eventually, and moldy bread was not her favorite fare.
Risking a short break, she nudged one of the harness bags open and took the lembas packet inside between her teeth so she could place it on the ground. It was wrapped in layers of large golden autumn leaves from mallorn trees, surprisingly still looking fresh and alive so many weeks after they were picked. Peeling them open with some difficulty, she found to her relief that they apparently were waterproof as well; the lembas bread within was completely dry.
The aroma of the cracker made her stomach growl, and she decided to take a bite after all. It would probably do her good.
With the sweet taste of lembas still lingering on her tongue, she had just put the package back in the bag when a gleaming object on the bottom drew her gaze. The geode! Gimli had put his treasured stone in there when they parted.
Kat was overwhelmed with a sudden longing after her friends. She missed Gimli and his pebble collection, as well as his cute crush on Galadriel; Boromir's reassuring strength and bravery; the hobbits with their easy banter and love of food; even Aragorn despite his sometimes intimidating awesomeness and dramatic speeches. And... Most of all she missed Legolas.
She glanced at the tiny portrait he had made for her, still dangling in its pendant around her neck. Suddenly her heart ached so badly for him that she wanted to cry. But he was far away, probably busy surviving, and now she doubted they would ever meet again. The silly daydream she had earlier was nonsense, for even if he survived the war, Legolas didn't want love, he had said so repeatedly. They could never be together.
Invigorated by the food, Kat continued her trek, but her heart was heavy.
/\_ ,._ ,.
( u _ u )
The hours blended together as Kat plodded along on weary paws. There was no light, nor any sounds – not even from insects or small rodents – as if the only living creature left in the whole world was her. All alone.
She had left the open land now, and walked between a scarce scatter of trees; gnarled oaks mostly, still in buds though other trees already sprouted leaves. Surprisingly the grass on either side of the scarred ground of the trail was full of spring flowers, the same ones Kat knew from her home: sweet scented hyacinths and blue and white anemones. How could something that beautiful grow so close to the Dark Lord's realm? It felt surreal in contrast with the foul sky and looming mountains ahead.
It was slightly less dark when she finally reached what must be the cross-roads. It might be morning now, though the penetrating darkness emanating from Mordor made it impossible to say. A ring of very tall trees grew here, and in their center there was a large, defiled stone statue, covered in crude writing and obscene sketches Kat had seen countless times in boy's school books. It seemed that orc anatomy was not different from the human one.
When she went closer, she saw the statue had been a king once; its crowned head lay discarded in the grass a few meters away, overgrown with plants and tiny flowers. Instead a round stone had been put on the wide stone shoulders, and someone had drawn a grinning mouth and a single eye on it.
Dismayed, Kat recognized the eye from her Illuminati visions. She now knew it was supposed to be Sauron's eye, the one Frodo had seen in the Mirror and herself in Vairë's weave.
Tearing her gaze from the horrid face, she looked around, trying to decide where to go next. The army's trail continued straight ahead through a narrowing valley, passing from the Osgiliath road towards the towering walls of Mordor. She did not want to follow it further if she could avoid it. Then a smaller path led left, and another led right.
Which direction had Frodo, Sam and Gollum taken? She had thought it would be easy to track them – after all, she had a very sensitive nose – but to her dismay she realized the passing army had effectively hid all smells but their own.
She had to guess, then. Just choose a route at random, and hopefully she could pick up their scent once she was far enough away from the army trail.
Starting with the path leading right, she followed it for a couple of hundred metres before stopping again. It had obviously been unused for a long time; not only was it partly overgrown, but there was also no smell of anything alive whatsoever.
The other one it was, then. The left path was wider and more worn; Sauron's host must have split, for some of them had clearly taken this way. Again, any traces of Frodo and the others would be buried beneath the strong stench of orc.
Exasperated, Kat paused again, trying to think. What would she do now?
A knot of worry was growing in her stomach. She had screwed up. This quest had gone wrong from the moment she left Minas Tirith, and now she would fail everyone. Gollum would die, and Aragorn's heirs as well, and the world would end.
Mr Pretty Voice, can you hear me? I can't do this. I can't find them. Help.
There was no answer.
Mary, then? Hail thee... And please ask God to help me. Thank you. Amen. She crossed herself.
But the deserted wood was silent.
Again, she returned to the circle of trees with the defiled statue, where she began to restlessly circle it. Where would Frodo have gone? She had to be logical about it. He was heading to Mordor to destroy the Ring – and the army had obviously come out of Mordor! How stupid she was! Of course he had gone in the same direction as their trail. She must take the route straight ahead.
Relieved to have made up her mind, she left the cross-roads and continued.
The road was soon beginning to slope upwards, and here it was much better kept. When she came closer to the enemy city, the trampled mud was replaced with stone paving. She saw it in the distance across the stream that she still had to her right; black contours of turrets and towers against the paler sky. The city seemed abandoned – and no wonder, with that huge army leaving it – but yet watchful.
Feeling exposed to those imagined, spying guards, Kat resorted to walking beside the road in the grass near the stream. The water, however, had turned dark and foul, stinking of sewage and unknown garbage she did not care to examine.
After a while she came to a white bridge, from which the road wound itself up to the black city. It was guarded by more statues. These were hideous, twisted things; monsters with strange, many-toothed mouths and too many limbs. Somehow evil emanated from them – unless it was from the black city at the other side of the bridge – and Kat felt like their stone eyes watched her, perhaps alerting their masters of her arrival.
Had Frodo and Sam walked between them and out on the bridge? Try as she might, Kat could not bring herself to follow; not unless she absolutely had to. Instead she continued past them along a much smaller path, nurturing a desperate hope that her friends had done that as well.
Strange flowers grew along this path, small and white, and though they looked pretty, they smelled oddly of rotting meat. To Kat's cat nose that was actually not too bad a smell, but still a bit disconcerting, and she had to suppress an urge to taste them. It would not surprise her if they were poisonous.
Very soon the cocktail of smells from the army faded, and left only the rotten-meat flower odour. What a relief! Kat breathed in air in large gulps.
That was when she felt it; a familiar scent, reaching her through a gap in the wall beside the road. It was faint, very faint, no more than a trace – and unless she had breathed so deeply she might have missed it completely.
It was Frodo and Sam! She had found their tracks at last.
A/N:
Tomorrow marks one year since I began this story! Can't believe it's been that long already. :) I still enjoy writing this above all others, and I hope you don't feel disheartened if I don't post as often as I used to – it's the end of school term, and a very busy time for teachers (and students lol).
In the next chapter we'll find out what Legolas is up to. Stay tuned. :)
PS. I'm glad so many enjoyed the Nelomir fluff from last chapter! A reader made up that cute ship name, haha.
Many hugs for all lovely comments and votes. You are the best. xx
Image Credits:
The Lord of the Rings Wiki, https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki