Live Journal FeedChapter 15: Hunters and Horse-Lords
The air whistled past Hermione’s ears as she clambered swiftly up the rocky hill, bending forward and pushing against the stones to propel herself upward. They had been running for three days now, from daybreak to sunset each day, and she was exhausted.
It wasn’t that the trail the Uruk-Hai left behind was difficult to follow. Telltale signs were scattered everywhere, from the crushed grass blades to an occasional mark against a rock – presumably where a weapon or armor had scraped against it, as Aragorn had said. They were unsubtle, true, but they moved quickly. Hermione and her companions had been following hot on the trail, but they seemed to be coming no closer to rescuing Ron, Merry, and Pippin. In fact, the Uruks seemed to be pulling farther and farther away.
Aragorn had sped ahead earlier. Hermione rounded a stone and found him lying with an ear pressed to the earth, Legolas standing silently behind him. Gimli was leaning on his axe, catching his breath.
“Their pace has quickened,” Aragorn said.
“Do they know we’re here?” Hermione asked, wiping the sweat from her brow.
“It must be so,” he replied. “We must hurry – come!” With that, he began running down the other side of the hill.
A huffing and puffing sound made Hermione and Legolas turn around to find a very cross-looking Gimli. “Three days…” he panted. “Three days, and no sign of our quarry!”
“And I thought the Dwarves were hardy folk,” Legolas said, smiling slightly.
Gimli scowled but only retorted, “Hardy, yes, but we’re not made for running great distances! And my legs…” He shrugged. “Nothing for it but to keep going.”
The Elf nodded. “Come, we are gaining on them! We may catch them soon!”
Hope made a new energy surge into Hermione’s tired limbs. She began to run once more.
I’m coming, Ron. The Uruks don’t scare me – but the thought of what may be happening to you and the Hobbits…
The landscape flew past, and the sun climbed higher in the sky. The four companions descended the hills, running in and out of their shadows as the day wore on. The Uruks had passed here, that much Hermione could tell. But how recently they had gone by was something she could not yet guess – the others, who were far more experienced trackers, could understand the signs far better than she could.
Aragorn and Legolas had halted and were looking at something in the man’s palm. Gimli was just catching up to them as Hermione reached the crest of the hill; when she finally reached their sides, the three of them were conversing in low tones.
“How far ahead are they?” she asked.
As they looked at her, a glint of silver caught her eye. In Aragorn’s hand was a Lothlórien brooch.
“Is that – ”
“The Uruks would not touch these willingly, nor would they fall by mere chance,” Aragorn said. “No, one of the captives meant for this to be found.”
“A large chance to take,” Legolas added, “but it tells us that at least one of them is alive.”
“All of them are,” Hermione whispered. “Uruks are clever, but they cannot hide a body without leaving obvious traces. All three of them have to be alive.” Even as she said it, she knew that the fierce flame of hope made her sound childish.
The Elf and Man exchanged looks. Finally Aragorn replied, “Of course. You must be right – and they are less than a day ahead.” He stowed the brooch in a pouch at his side. “And there is not a moment to waste!”
Hermione was still catching her breath as all three of them began their quick jog once more, Man and Elf leading the way, Dwarf following behind. Groaning but refusing to admit her now obvious weakness, she drew in a final deep breath before forcing her legs to move.
At last they reached an outcropping of rocks that looked out across an open plain. The Uruks were a small black streak and cloud of dust in the distance.
Legolas had reached the edge of the rocks before everyone. “Where are they taking them, Legolas?” she called.
He studied the horizon hard before saying, “They are headed towards Isengard – see how they turn northeast!”
“Isengard? You mean…” A sinking feeling settled within the pit of Hermione’s stomach. “Saruman?” she asked in a small voice.
He nodded grimly. The faint bubble of hope that had been growing inside of Hermione burst abruptly – but the mere fact that she could see the creatures in the distance angered her, sending a rush of adrenaline to her legs. “Come on, then!” she cried, beginning to clamber down the hill.
Aragorn and Legolas soon overtook her and continued to lead the way. Gimli soon followed, his heavy armor clanking. How much further? she wondered silently. Seeing the Ranger and Elf before her, running ever further ahead, brought back the weariness from running. It was barely past noon, and they had only stopped for a little while to take bites of lembas and sips of water. The Elven bread provided strength, but it was not enough to fully counter the days of settled-in fatigue. With an extra effort, she ran up to Gimli’s side.
Through his huffing and puffing, he tried to make conversation. “Aragorn and that Elf are tireless. Look, they have no sympathy for us…they just run ahead and farther ahead…”
“It’s the Elf blood in both of them. Aragorn has a little, doesn’t he?”
“Aye, lass. But his kind are a dying breed – few of them now exist.”
Hermione already knew this, and could think of no suitable reply. After a few moments she said, “This is tiring.” Even to her, the obvious words sounded stupid.
“Altogether too true. They may want to press on – ” he indicated Aragorn and Legolas, “ – but if the Uruks are as close as they say, one night should not hurt our chase. The Uruks make camp as well.”
Aragorn and Legolas had stopped, waiting for Hermione and Gimli to catch up. “We come ever closer to them; the tracks are growing fresher,” Aragorn said. Hermione looked at her three companions. They wanted to press on, to continue the pursuit well into the night – and then they glanced at her.
“This Dwarf is tired,” Gimli said after a few moments. “And the lass looks like she could use a bit of rest.”
Legolas agreed after a short stretch of silence. “Yes. Aragorn, we are closer to them than we have been; let us take a short rest.”
The Ranger had looked as though he were about to protest, but looked again at Hermione and acceded. “Very well.”
* * *
They had set up a very small camp, insisting that Hermione take the last two-hour watch of their rest. She slept, but fitfully, rising when Aragorn gently shook her awake. It had been her first proper rest in days, so she had arisen without any hesitation.
Dew began to settle on Hermione’s cloak as she kept the final watch of the night, her bow in her hand and her wand in easy reach. The fire grew lower as the first red rays of dawn began to creep over the open plain, and though she was now shivering, she felt no desire to conjure up new flames. It was peaceful, to finally be by herself, with only the low snores of her companions to break the silence.
Hermione knew she was slowing them down. Though her mind strongly willed her body to keep moving, her limbs could only withstand so much, even with the lembas. Her skill with the bow she now held was something to be remarked upon, she knew, but what use was it if she was always too tired to properly use it? There was her wand, but how much would it protect her in battle?
She glanced at her quiver of arrows. Ron’s sword was bundled and tied carefully to it. Gimli had found the sheath thrown hurriedly aside close to the boats, so Hermione had slid the sword in and wound the strap around Ron’s wand, securing it in place. She did not mind running with the burden too much, as the Elven blade was light and easy to carry. Yet every day she felt its weight more, paralleling the growing weight of worry in her heart.
A soft rustle upon the grass beside Hermione made her look up to see Legolas with his arms crossed and his eyes fixed upon the horizon. “Hello, Legolas.”
He looked down and offered his hand to help her up. “Fair morning, Hermione.” He regarded her as she stood. “Something is troubling you.”
“And what gave you that impression?” she said in a falsely cheery tone.
Legolas shrugged. “Elves can sense certain things. Do not worry; we will find Ron and the Hobbits soon.”
“I – ”
“We are nearer than ever today. Avo 'aro niphred.”
Have no fear. “I can’t, Legolas.” She turned away from him, pulling her cloak closer against the chill morning air. “I don’t want to think about what is happening to him; if he gets hurt, it’s my fault, and then Harry is going to kill me because I let his best friend get hurt!”
“Hermione.”
“What?”
“Do not forget that we found a Lórien brooch yesterday. They are alive. If Saruman truly wanted them dead, they would have been killed at Parth Galen, helpless as they were.”
“Oh, that’s comforting,” Hermione retorted sarcastically. “They won’t be killed, they’ll just do something else to them!”
“Hermione – ”
“And I – I am the only reason that you haven’t caught them yet!” she said. “I’m slowing you down!” Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes, and she brushed them away roughly.
Through her tears, she could see the Elf’s concerned gaze. “You need rest.”
“Well, I’m not likely to get any, now that the sun is coming up.”
Legolas did not reply. Hermione drew a deep, shaky breath, willing herself to remain composed as she turned to face the east. It was difficult to keep her face empty of emotion, empty of anything save a grim purpose. Focusing on the moment – anything from the dying fire to the blood-red sunrise – helped drive thoughts of Ron’s fate from her mind. Bad enough that her sleeping mind imagined all sorts of horrible possibilities; she did not need to speculate while she was awake.
“Shall we press on?” Gimli’s voice called. “After we’ve had a bit to eat, that is.”
“No, Gimli,” Aragorn responded. “We must begin running as soon as we can.” His eyes passed over Hermione’s face, and she knew he was trying his best to refrain from commenting upon her tired features as he began to stamp out the remains of the fire.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, squaring her shoulders. “I want to catch those Uruks quickly.” There was a clawing feeling of hunger in her stomach, but she ignored it. I’m a Gryffindor, she thought severely to herself. I’m supposed to be brave.
“Are you – ”
“I’m fine.”
Aragorn regarded her for a moment before rummaging through a pouch at his side. “Here, drink this,” he ordered, holding out a small flask. “Just a little, though – a sip is all that is necessary.”
Hermione took the flask and opened it. A fresh, invigorating smell drifted up from the small bottle. “What is it?”
“It is miruvor, Cordial of Imladris. I have carried it since we departed from Rivendell, though I have been loath to use it. It is too precious to be used save in the most important situations.” He nodded to the flask. “Drink it.”
Hermione lifted the flask to her lips and allowed herself a tiny sip. Instantly she felt refreshed; the effects were similar to a Strengthening Solution, but the miruvor tasted much sweeter. Ready to face the day, she corked the flask and handed it back to Aragorn. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “I have no wish to see you stumbling again. Your determination to rescue your friend is something to be remarked upon indeed; few women, even among the Dunedain, would dare to pursue Uruks.”
“I am not from this time. I don’t share most of the views on women that are of this age.”
“True enough,” Aragorn agreed. “Though it seems that your desire to rescue Ron is driven by far more than that.”
He had struck too close to the mark; Hermione glared stonily back.
“Leave it, Aragorn,” Gimli advised. “The lass wants to continue the pursuit – shall we begin?”
* * *
They stopped only when the sun was well above the horizon, sitting hidden within the shelter of a rock formation.
“We are close,” Aragorn said, crouching into the small space. “The tracks look fresh; I believe they were made last night. It seems as though another band of creatures joined the Uruks just yesterday.”
“Reinforcements?” Gimli asked, munching loudly on his lembas.
“No. The tracks were not made by the heavy feet of Uruks. A band of Orcs joined their company and – ”
He broke off suddenly, a frown forming upon his face.
“What is it?” Hermione asked.
With a gesture that asked her to remain silent, Aragorn pressed his ear against a rock.
“Horses,” he muttered. “Rohirric Riders out on patrol, like as not.”
With that, he stood and peered around a boulder. He turned back to his companions, a silent question in his eyes. Legolas nodded, followed by Gimli, then Hermione.
The riders thundered past, their armor glinting in the sunlight. All of them carried spears and wore helmets that half-concealed faces full of grim determination. As the last rider galloped past, Aragorn emerged from the hiding place, followed by the other three.
“Riders of Rohan!” he called. “What news of the Mark?”
The leader signaled with his spear, directing the column to turn about. Hermione realized that they were coming closer and instinctively drew her hood up and let her hand stray so that her wand was in easy reach. If they were not the friendly – Rohirric? – riders that Aragorn had thought, she did not want to give away the fact that she was a girl. They could use that against me so easily.
In a matter of seconds the four companions were surrounded, sharp spears pointing at them from all directions. Hermione froze as the leader came forward, tall and commanding upon his horse.
“What business have you here?” he demanded. “Speak!”
Gimli bristled. “Give me your name, horse-master, and I shall give you mine.”
“Hold, Gimli,” Aragorn ordered. He turned to the leader. “I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. These are Gimli, son of Glóin, Legolas Thranduilion, and – ”
“Hermione Granger,” Hermione finished, drawing back her hood. If Aragorn wanted to give her name to the Riders, she supposed there was no use in concealing the fact that she was a girl. “We mean no harm to your King’s realm.”
A collective gasp rippled around the circle of Riders. “A woman?” the leader asked. “But no, she is a mere girl! Why does she travel in the company of three males?”
Whispers broke out amongst the riders. Hermione struggled to maintain her composure, but Aragorn spoke first. “I would know your name first, now that we have given ours.”
“Éomer, son of Éomund,” he replied. “Now tell me – why do four companions, a Man, a mere girl, an Elf, and a Dwarf, run westward across the plains of Rohan? For you may not be as you seem. Saruman’s spies have slipped through our defenses before.”
“We mean no harm to Rohan. King Théoden has received me as a friend before; surely he will do so again,” Aragorn said.
Éomer’s expression grew dark. “Times are dark, son of Arathorn. Théoden can no longer distinguish friend from foe. This company of Riders – ” he gestured around the circle “ – remain loyal to Rohan. For that, we have been sent from the realm on pain of death.”
“But surely your King isn’t so inexperienced as that!” Hermione cried. “Only a very naïve man could be so foolish as to send his most loyal followers away!”
“No, he has been King for nigh on forty years,” Éomer said. “He seemed strong and hale but a few months ago. Yet now his appearance is haggard and his wits addled.” He sighed. “It is Saruman – Saruman who seeks to destroy the kingdom of Rohan from within by poisoning the King’s mind.”
Something stirred in the back of Hermione’s mind. “And he hasn’t been able to fight it off?”
“It was a slow decline, but now I know this for certain: Théoden’s will is no longer his own.”
The Imperius Curse! Was it possible that Saruman was using a form of that Unforgivable Curse? “And you say that he appears older and weaker?” she asked.
“Yes, but – ” Éomer broke off, suspicion growing in his eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I may know what is making your King act as he does.” Hermione strove to keep the anger out of her voice. Hatred for Saruman burned within the pit of her stomach – first he took Ron and the Hobbits captive, now he sought to destroy an otherwise peaceful kingdom. Doesn’t he already have enough? She could only imagine how the people of Rohan coped with it, struggling to survive in this dark time with a King turned fool by dark magic. That’s what it must be – I’ve read about it, I’ve felt the effects of the curse, and I’ve seen the long-term consequences firsthand.
“Do you?” he muttered. “How does a mere girl understand Saruman’s black arts? How do I know that you are not an apprentice of Saruman’s, come to further weaken the realm? And I suppose that these are your bodyguards. How do I know that you are not spies in fair guises sent to trick me into allowing you free reign within these borders?”
“Spies!” Gimli growled indignantly. “Certainly not!”
“Saruman’s creatures have taken three of our friends captive,” Aragorn said. “Two Hobbits, and one young Man, Hermione’s friend.”
“Ron,” she whispered. She looked back up at Éomer and implored, “Please – just allow us enough to rescue them!”
He remained silent for several moments. “Last night – last night, we attacked the Uruks, just beyond that ridge.” The Riders moved aside so that the four companions could see where Éomer gestured.
The burning hatred in Hermione’s stomach was swallowed by a growing sense of despair. “No…”
“Did you see them, then?” Gimli demanded. “Two Hobbits, and a young Man?”
“The Hobbits would be small, the height of mere children,” Aragorn supplied. “And the young Man had unmistakably red hair. He would have fit in with the folk of Rohan, now that I think on it. But his clothes are of Elven make.”
Éomer shook his head. “If they were there, we did not see them. All I know is that none were left alive.”
After we came so far? Hermione wanted to rage and storm at Éomer, but she knew it was not his fault.
“We piled the carcasses and burned them,” he added. Sure enough, when Hermione looked again, a thin plume of smoke rose from the dark mound up ahead.
A sob threatened to burst forth from Hermione, but she swallowed it back. She felt Legolas’s hand upon her shoulder, but she shook it off roughly.
“All – ” Gimli trailed off.
Éomer bent his head. “I am sorry.” For several moments the only sound was the breeze stirring the horses’ tails, then Éomer whistled. “Eadwine! Arod! Hasufel!”
Three horses came forward, riderless but still bearing the saddles and reins. “These horses are for you,” he said, swinging into his saddle. “Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands.” He called back to the Riders and began to gallop away once more.
Legolas helped Gimli onto Arod, the white horse, before mounting the horse himself. Aragorn was already sitting in the saddle on Hasufel’s back. Hermione, on the other hand, stood by her horse, not knowing what to do.
“Hermione?” Legolas asked. “Come, we must ride swiftly.”
Something – was it fear? – made her unwilling to climb into the saddle. “I’ve never been riding before.”
Aragorn’s horse pawed the ground restively. “It is easy enough to learn,” the Ranger assured her. “Do not worry – the horses of Rohan are well-bred. He will not allow you to fall.” He sprang down to help Hermione onto the grey’s back.
Something told Hermione that he was not being entirely truthful. “I thought only the Elves could tame horses so well?” she inquired, sliding her feet through the stirrups.
The Ranger was murmuring softly to the Horse, stroking its neck gently and avoiding Hermione’s gaze. A few words of Sindarin reached her ears, and she sat for a few moments, listening to the musical language. But she did not forget her question. “Aragorn?”
With a final pat, he began walking back to his horse. “Aragorn!”
“Eadwine will not let you fall,” Aragorn reassured. “Do not worry; riding is not altogether to difficult.”
“But – ”
Aragorn slapped Hermione’s mount on the rump, and the horse began to canter forward. Hermione gasped in alarm and clutched at the reins, disliking the jolting sensation that came with every footfall of her horse. The saddle seemed to slide underneath her, and she was sorely tempted to bury her face in the horse’s mane.
It’s not much more comfortable than a broomstick, Hermione thought uneasily. “I don’t like this,” she muttered as Legolas rode up, Gimli sitting behind him.
The Dwarf heard her. “Aye, lass. You and me both.”
Hermione clung tightly to Eadwine’s reins throughout the entire ride, trying to keep her eyes from closing in fear. Fear from what, she was not sure. Perhaps it was her aversion to riding broomsticks – and now horses, she thought wryly – or perhaps it was mostly fear of what she would find when they arrived.
The still-smoking pile gave off the cloying smell of death that Hermione had become all too familiar with in the past few days. The companions drew up next to it, looking closely for any sign of the captives.
Legolas and Aragorn slipped from their saddles easily and helped Gimli and Hermione down. Even after that short ride, Hermione’s lower body was all sore. As soon as Gimli’s feet touched the ground he headed over to the carcasses and began looking through the burned remnants with his ax.
Hermione stood there, numb with shock. It can’t be…
“Nothing,” Gimli said. “There is no sign.”
No sign that they had even been there – so they probably lay at the very heart of the pile, completely destroyed beyond recognition. Hermione sank to the ground without realizing it and felt the tears beginning to pour from her eyes. A scream of despair and frustration loosed itself from her throat.
The other three came to her side. Legolas knelt and touched her arm. “Hermione – ”
“I – I never – I never told him,” she babbled, more to herself than to anyone else. “I should have at Parth Galen, then I could say – say g-g-goodbye without – ” She could not complete her thought. What will Harry say? I was too late…
“Wait.”
“Aragorn, how can you tell her to hold back her tears?” Gimli said. “He was one of her dearest friends!”
Aragorn sighed. “Look. Hermione, look and tell me what you see.”
Tears still blurred her vision, and she brushed them angrily away. Two indentations on the grass, and – she looked again – she sat in a third one that was longer.
She looked at Aragorn, who was still focusing upon the tracks with determination. “They lay here,” she gasped. “But that – ”
“Look further.”
Slowly she stood and let her eyes wander further along the ridge. “They crawled.” Aragorn nodded at her guess and led the way.
“The fallen sword,” he said. “They undid their bonds – one slowly at first, then he helped the others remove theirs.” He walked several more feet. “They crawled partway down the hill.” Pointing, he indicated where much heavier feet had fallen upon the grass. “The Uruks – or some of them – pursued them.”
No…
He studied the tracks carefully. “The three tracks here become one at the base of the hill. Ron must have tried carrying the Hobbits.” Whistling to call to the horses, he continued for several more yards. “A Hobbit fell here and ran to keep up – and was picked up by and Uruk, it seems,” he finished grimly. “The pursuit continued to the edge of the trees…”
Aragorn studied the ground. Hermione could now make little sense of the jumbled tracks and waited for Aragorn’s word, but she thought she knew what was coming next. Ron would never have left a Hobbit behind…Not the Ron I know…
Bluntly, Aragorn said, “They were recaptured.”
“All this in vain?” Gimli asked. “You do know what this means, Aragorn, don’t you?”
Aragorn remained silent, pensively staring at the tracks.
“What?” Hermione asked. “What does it mean, Gimli?”
The Dwarf turned to her, his expression heavy. “We can no longer follow them.”
“What? You’ll just leave them in Saruman’s clutches to die?”
“No!” Legolas said. “But we cannot assail Saruman alone. Four of us against Uruks and Saruman? We would not survive. And remember – ”
“Don’t say that if he wanted them dead they would already have been killed.”
Legolas fell silent.
“Hermione,” Aragorn began, “I wish to follow them as well, but you must consider that we are only four against a much greater number. I mean no offense, but your magic can only go so far. Who knows how Saruman will break your power? Your friends say that you are talented in the art of magic, but Saruman is the leader of the Istari.”
The sword on her back seemed to grow heavier. “But we can’t just leave them!”
“We won’t,” Aragorn insisted. Noticing her skeptical look, he added, “Believe me when I say that I would try to rescue them if I could. But we would come far too close to Isengard to be sure of our safety. That is Saruman’s land.”
“How do you know they won’t be killed?”
“I don’t. Truthfully, I have no idea what Saruman has in mind. But we can hope.”
“What hope I had is gone,” Hermione said bitterly. “I see your reasoning, much as I hate it.”
Ron was there. She had been so close, and now he was snatched away once more. How long will I have to wait before I know what has happened?
She understood now how Harry felt about Voldemort, for whatever she felt now must be something akin to his sentiments. If she ever found the chance to fight Saruman, the old Istar would have much to answer for. Perhaps she could not come close now, but if a full army were to assail Isengard and keep Saruman within his tower…
But her rational half tugged at her mind. You cannot interfere.
I have done too much already, what difference would attacking Saruman make?
It would change events far too much. Let them run their course.
And leave Ron and the Hobbits to die?
Her inner voice was stilled at this question.
They could not follow now; that much she understood. “What are we to do, then?”
Aragorn thought for a moment. “We must ride to Edoras to see King Théoden,” he said. “He may be able to provide some assistance…”
Legolas protested, “Aragorn, did you not hear? Théoden’s mind is no longer his own – ”
“Which is why we shall go to him – and I will be the one to bring him back.”
Hermione was startled by the grim determination in her voice. The others turned to look at her incredulously.
“You?” Gimli asked skeptically. “How would you be able to do it?”
“Do not be foolhardy, Hermione,” Legolas said. “You are young yet, and Saruman is old and clever.”
“Old and clever? I’ve been laying out plots and I’ve been using spells more advanced than my year since I entered Hogwarts. Anyway, I know what spell Saruman is using. I would have been able to recognize it two years ago.”
“And you know how to counter it?” Aragorn asked.
Hermione hesitated for the briefest instant before saying, “Yes.”
It was a lie; she had never actually performed the series of complex spells that would result in the removal of the curse’s effects. She had read about it, however, and knew all of it by heart.
A strong desire for justice – not unlike the one she had felt when she founded S.P.E.W. – flamed up inside of her. For ruining a kingdom and capturing Ron and the Hobbits, Saruman would pay.
Hermione just hoped she was strong enough to see it through.
