abnormal tragedy

Chapter 12: set off

The day had finally come. Hearing someone approach from behind, Rowan turned to find Elrond and Gandalf striding towards her. Aragorn and Legolas had arrived at the yard some time before; with Gandalf's arrival, the travelling party was now complete. 

Beyond the small group of sombre-looking elves that Rowan assumed was the official send-off party, she could see countless faces peering from windows and walkways. She could hardly blame them for their curiosity. By now the whole of Rivendell had heard that the One Ring had been found; that an epic quest was underway to destroy the Ring once and for all; and that a team had been assembled to accomplish this impossible journey. The ranger adjusted her pack as she walked. Although her travelling leathers were considerably lighter than the mail armour she usually favoured, the journey had been long and her pack was heavy, and she tugged irritably at the straps where they were digging into her shoulders.

Gandalf clapped Rowan on the shoulder in what she assumed was meant to be an encouraging gesture. Gandalf gestured for Aragorn to join them and he stepped forward. "Frodo," Gandalf called, "the Ring." For the first time, Rowan spotted the hobbit standing a few paces behind the Wizard. Maybe Gandalf's ribbing from a few days earlier was correct; her ranger skills were rusty.

Frodo put his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat and Aragorn held out her hand expectantly. For the longest time they remained like that; Frodo with his hand in his pocket, shoulders haunched as if shielding him from a strong gale, and Aragorn waiting patiently with his hand outstretched. Rowan could see something in the hobbit's eyes, something like doubt, something like greed. Finally Frodo snapped to. He placed the Ring in Aragorn's hand, face looking noticeably relieved, and he slipped it onto a gold chain. "It's not really your style," Rowan joked as her brother clasped the necklace around his neck. It was a poor attempt at humour but Aragorn appreciated the effort. 

"This is going to be a very long trip," sighed Gandalf.

When the last final equipment checks were complete, Elrond stepped forward to survey the assembled group. "The Ring Bearer is setting out on a quest for Mount Doom. Of you who travel with him, no oath or bond is made to go further than you will. Farewell, I hold you to your purpose. May the blessings of elves, of men, and all free folk go with you." No one made to move. "Frodo," Gandalf prodded gently, "lead the way. The fellowship awaits the Ring Bearer." Rowan walked over to Frodo as they began to walk towards the exit of Rivendell, "We go left." She smiled.

...

The fellowship stepped forth from Rivendell and followed the hidden elven roads to the Ford of Bruinen where they turned southwards. Here the road ended and they continued along the open countryside of the folded lands. Their intention was to continue along the west of the mountains for many miles and days before passing the Misty Mountains by the Redhorn Gate. 

The land was rough and barren on the west of the mountains, and Rowan wished they were walking instead through the verdant lands of the green vale on the eastern side of the range. But Gandalf and Elrond had stressed the need for secrecy in their journey and while this route was slow and hard, it increased their chances of escaping the notice of unfriendly eyes. 

Despite the burden of their undertaking, spirits were high among the fellowship. Good food and plenty of rest at Rivendell meant that the rough terrain was little hindrance to sprite legs. Autumn was also late this year and the weather was unseasonably warm. At night, Gimli and Legolas regaled the fellowship with outrageous tales of their exploits. Stories of cave trolls and treasure, drinking and ill-advised bets.

During the day, Rowan sang travelling songs to the Hobbits and anyone else who was listening, usually lilting elven tunes but occasionally bawdy human songs as well. Gandalf had no idea where such a diminutive, elegant half elf had learnt such crude language but she happily joined in tunelessly but enthusiastically. Aragorn was the most reticent of the group but when they stopped to rest he would sometimes talk of far off places he had travelled or histories he had heard of times long past, and the fellowship would listen in rapt silence.  

Listening to the singing and bickering, the tales of heartbreak and the tales of implausible victory, Gandalf found himself feeling increasingly hopeful.

As Aragorn handed Rowan a plate of food fresh from the fire, he commented on the swift progress of their group. Rowan concurred, although she questioned whether they were taking the best route. The Redhorn Pass was famously perilous. Why not take the High Pass and then follow the Anduin valley to Lorien? Or they could continue through Enedwaith and into Gondor south of the White Mountains. 

Gandalf bristled slightly at Rowan's critique of his chosen path, "you're forgetting, old friend, that secrecy is paramount if we are to succeed in our quest. There is little hope in getting through the High Pass unnoticed. I will not risk taking us so close to Goblin-town or Dol Guldur. And the path through Enedwaith takes us passed Isengard; we will find no safe harbour along the Greyflood."

"And what of the Ettenmoores?" asked Rowan. "The Ettenmoores are troll country, servants of Sauron." Legolas answered as he took a seat across from her. "Come now, when have we ever been deterred by mere trolls. Have you forgotten our encounter with the mountain trolls of Mount Gundabad?" Gandalf gave a dry chuckle, "I could not forget even if I wished. But your cavalier attitude towards trolls aside, it is too late in the year to attempt the northern route. The weather may be fair now but it could quickly change and then we would be trapped."

Rowan looked out across Eregion towards the Glanduin river and the dark clouds she saw gathering there. "Perhaps you are right," she conceded, "winter is coming and our good fortune with the weather is unlikely to last. Look, I can see storm clouds approaching even now."

Legolas stilled and the steady rhythm of his bow fell silent. Observing the storm clouds in the distance, his brow became furrowed and he found himself growing uneasy. Abandoning his weapon, Legolas climbed the ruined walls of the watchtower with the easy grace of an elf until he had reached a better vantage point.

"Legolas," Gandalf called, "what do your elven eyes see?"

"That is no storm cloud. It moves too quickly, and against the wind." With a start, he scrambled down the watchtower to the assembled group. "It's Crebain from Dunland!"

"Hide!" commanded Gandalf. "Merry, Pippin, Sam.. Frodo take cover!" Boromir ordered.

The group then scattered to different hiding places among the old ruins and shrubbery, Aragorn only pausing long enough to douse the flames of their cooking fire. With bated breath they waited as the crows circled and swooped overhead, the air heavy with their foul croaking and squawking. Rowan found herself standing there, unable to move. Suddenly she felt a strong pair of arms wrap around her small frame pulling her down and out of sight. At length they passed and the fellowship cautiously vacated their hiding places.

They all stagger to their feet and Rowan turns to meet the eyes of her saviour and to her surprise sees Boromir. "Oh... thanks Boromir." Rowan smiles as she dusts the dirt from her clothes still seated. "You're very welcome, Rowan." Okay this is very unusual, Rowan thought to herself. Rowan looks up to see Legolas glaring at Boromir. Boromir notices, "A helping hand for m'lady?" Rowan blushes and Legolas glares again, Aragorn shakes his head noticing what's going on. 

"Thank you Boromir."

"The eyes of Saruman," said Gandalf, "surely now you see why I take this route. We must hurry to the Redhorn Pass without delay."