A/n: Hello to my faithful yet motley bunch of reviewers!
Some notes: There's a lot of geography discussed in this chapter, so
consulting the map in the back of the Lord of the Rings, or if you have it,
your very own Atlas of Middle Earth for clarification would not be a bad
idea. I have no great talent for writing out the descriptions of land
forms and stuff, so it might get a little confusing, though I do want to
point out that all descriptions are written consulting the Atlas of M.E.,
so I'm trying to be as accurate as possible.
I'd also like to apologize for the exceedingly long delay. I won't try to
explain, I'll just humbly beg your forgiveness!
Standard disclaimer.
Kenshin was stiff when he woke, and cursed his decision not to sleep on his back. Old habits had gotten in the way of his transition from the manslayer, and so he would try to break them. Stretching as much as his aching muscles would allow without pain, he stood and began to clean up his camp. The fire had gone out during the night, he noticed. No wonder he was so cold.
"Isn't it supposed to be warmer when one goes south?" he asked aloud while trying to warm up, watching the sky fill with dark thunderclouds. He decided it was best to be off quickly, and get as far down the river as possible before the rain started. Breaking fast with a quick meal of lembas and clear spring water, he piled his things into the boat and was about to set off when he looked back to his former campsite. The ring of stones and his makeshift campfire were still there, an obvious mark of his presence.
"Didn't Lord Celeborn say that those others would be going south by the way of the river?" shaking his head slowly, he walked from the boat over to the ring of stones, and with a fallen branch he drew out the kanji for "friend" and "south" in the dirt with an arrow pointing towards the river. "This one doesn't know if they can read his language, but perhaps they'll get the general idea, if the rain doesn't wash this away." He returned to the boat and with a last look at his campsite, pushed off into the river.
Returning to the river, however early he did it, was not a wise choice. The storm clouds had rolled in far faster than Kenshin had ever imagined, and had proceeded to pour down buckets of rain, turning the river into a churning mass of raging water. Kenshin desperately tried to stay in the center of the river, as the once soft, lightly wooded bank on either side had turned to sheer rock cliffs.
The intensity of the storm ebbed, and Kenshin heaved a sigh of relief. Until he saw that the water was not slowing, but becoming wilder than before. There were rapids ahead? Just what the worn-out wanderer needed. He could no longer control the boat, and any attempts at steering sent him wildly plunging towards either more treacherous rapids or the rock walls looming on either side of him. Letting the boat take it's course, he grabbed onto either side of the small craft and braced himself for a rough ride.
The normally treacherous conditions of the rapids of Sarn Gebir were multiplied ten fold because of the storm. And the trip through them was the most terrifying thing he had ever experienced. At one point the boat was shot up through the air and landed hard. The bow tipped dangerously into the water, and Kenshin threw all his weight towards the stern to bring it back up. A sigh of relief came from the wanderer as the water slowed, only to change to a strangled yell as the boat plunged down into a sinkhole. Finally, the water smoothed out into the gulf of Nen Hithoel, which Kenshin had seen on one of Celeborn's maps. Passing down into the wide bay, Kenshin passed two enormous statues of whose size and age he could only imagine. There faces were carved to seem kingly and noble, and one of the faces seemed familiar.
Kenshin stared out into Nen Hithoel, seeing the circular coast come in again at the far end to form the falls of Rauros. Even from his position near the statues of the kings, he could hear the pounding of the waterfall. He rowed out toward it, but taking a western angle towards a grassy lawn he had seen on Celeborn's map: Parth Galen. This green sward was at the foot of Amon Hen, and directly across the falls was Amon Lhaw. In the middle stood Tol Brandir, a great rock that marked the edge of the falls.
The tide was strong, and threatened to pull the exhausted rurouni over the waterfall. However, Kenshin was able to steer towards Parth Galen and reach it with only a little difficulty, just after he passed the great rock of Tol Brandir. He dragged the boat onto the southernmost part of the lawn, not really sure what to do with it now. According to Celeborn, this was as far he could go with it unless he wanted to carry it down the stair that led down from Amon Hen to the waters of the Anduin, which flowed south into a place called Gondor. Either that, or walk west on foot into the land of Rohan. After that, Kenshin's knowledge of the land failed, as Celeborn's description had been steeped in the history and culture of the lands, and Kenshin had found it hard to follow.
"Well, perhaps a good rest and some food will help this one make a decision." He pulled the boat farther up onto the bank, making sure it wouldn't be pulled back into the water by the strong current, just in case he needed it again. He gathered wood for a fire, and made a camp that closely resembled his first. He made a lunch of lembas, still yearning for some nice fish, though he wasn't sure if the Anduin held any fish that were good enough for eating.
Munching on the Elvish bread made him wonder how things were back in Lothlorien. Had the storm reached the Golden Wood? Kenshin wondered how the beautiful talans high in the trees would fare against the rain. Few he had seen were covered, how DID they keep out the elements? The mystery of the elves would have to go unanswered. Kenshin doubted he would ever return to Lothlorien, however much he wanted to. The elves, and especially Galadriel, had the uncanny ability to look beneath the surface of a person, something that worried Kenshin greatly. How was Galadriel able to let him stay when she had figured out his past? He assumed something as gruesome as that would have churned her stomach, and that she would order his expulsion out of their borders or worse.
Wondering about that made Kenshin uneasy, but it was better than other things. His first night on the river, what had come over him? That tide of memories that nearly sent over the edge of sanity. He sensed trouble. Could the darkening times Haldir had described be invoking a sense of duty from him? A feeling so powerful, it could bring forth memories of which he had never wanted to face again?
All this thinking was bringing him further away from his initial choice. He shook his head, wondering how his thoughts could have wandered so far. Down the stair or west across the plains? It was a hard decision. He nibbled a corner off a piece of lembas bread, hearing his stomach begin to rumble.
Wait... that wasn't his stomach rumbling! Kenshin wrapped up the lembas and stored it quickly, erasing any sign of his presence. He hid the boat in some reeds near the river, and jumped into a tree, then passing up the hill from branch to branch, tree to tree, to find out what was making the distant noise, that would not have been audible save for his heightened senses.
He climbed and climbed, until after long his traveling brought him to the end of the trees. He had climbed over Amon Hen, and around it, following the noise. 'What could it be?' he thought, and then he spotted them far off. A group of over fifty, or so he estimated, strange, dark creatures that he could smell even from his perch in the tree; they were coming up through the trees, making their way towards the hill. Every so often, he could hear them make low, guttural noises- like animals. They wore crude armor, each one matching the other; it had been mass-produced.
It seems to sessha that the dangers Celeborn spoke of have caught up with this one. Kenshin thought to himself morosely. This one should stay out of sight, that he should. Kenshin made his way carefully back to his campsite through the trees, taking care not to upset the limbs of the trees more than would be possible by the wind.
"What should sessha do?" he wondered. There was the North Stair, which could take him down to the bottom of the Falls of Rauros, but where on from there? The only other direction he could take would be west; directly into the paths of the strange creatures. In his heart Kenshin knew some evil was at work in the arrival of these creatures, and would most likely mean trouble for any travelers coming down the Anduin like himself. But he could not do battle with fifty or perhaps more of those things. No, not with this sakabatou, he reminded himself.
As he stood on the green lawn of Parth Galen, considering his options, a sweet, gentle wind blew, lifting strands of red hair into the air. The color of blood whipped in front of Kenshin's eyes, and for a moment he could see himself fighting the creatures, slaughtering every last one of them. The self of his imagination was covered in blood, his sword stained with the red hue of the waters of life. It was in that moment that Kenshin nearly lost control, and the mask of the Wanderer nearly slipped off to reveal the Battousai's frightening countenance.
No. Kenshin thought calmly, and the mask returned; it was not easy, but the Battousai relented to come forth another day. Just the sight of the color red, and the thought of killing, this was enough to make him nearly loose control? He had faced few battles since abandoning his killing sword, and he rued the day he would face an enemy and loose control.
For now, he was content to avoid battle at all costs. Not at the expense of other's lives of course; he would do all he could to leave a warning. Making sure every last trace of his presence had been hidden, he found two sticks and crossed them on the ground. With the sharp edge of his sakabatou he cut a lock of his bright red hair and placed it underneath, so it would not be blown away.
"Perhaps the man sessha met in Lothlorien will come this way. This one is sure his hair will be easily recognized." With his sword, he then cut the figure of "aku" deeply into the grass. "Perhaps if sessha had taken the time to learn the elvish symbols, he would be able to leave a clearer message. But this will have to do."
Kenshin took a final look at the lawn and then pulled his boat from the reeds. "It is a shame to have to loose so beautiful a thing, but this one has no time." He pulled what provisions he needed from the boat, then waded out into the river with it. He left it there to drift slowly and indefinitely over the falls. The sopping wet wanderer made his way back to shore and moved through the trees. It took him little time to find the path that bypassed Amon Hen, and traveled southwards parallel to the falls. He could no longer hear the orcs, not even if he strained his ears. Perhaps they were lying low for now. In minutes he had reached the stair. It looked old and worn, but well cut out of the stone of the cliff. "Well, there's no where to go but down." Said Kenshin, and he stepped onto the stair; taking the symbolic first steps down into uncertainty.
Hardly two hours later, a company of eight reached the northern most tip of the lawn at Parth Galen. Among the company were two men, an elf, a dwarf, and four hobbits. One of the men, Aragorn, found nothing amiss at the place, and so they made camp.
"Now we come to a time of decision. Shall we go on south towards Minas Tirith with Boromir, or continue south and eastward towards the Black Land?" On this the hearts of the company were divided, and so the decision was left to the Ringbearer.
"May I have some time alone, to think?" asked the young Hobbit of Aragorn.
"You may, but stray not far, Legolas tells me he senses a shadow drawing near." The Hobbit nodded in consent. Not long after, Boromir disappeared. There was confusion among the fellowship; all were separated.
As the orcs attacked, Samwise Gamgee stood on the southern end of the lawn. He looked all about him, finding himself in an unfamiliar place, and called out for his master. He stumbled as his foot caught on a stick. He looked down to see a lock of red hair. He had not the time to puzzle the meaning of it however, as one of the gray boats of Lothlorien drifted without a passenger towards the eastern shore. Drifted? It was going against the tide it was! The Hobbit rubbed his eyes. And there was its paddle pushing through the water! It could only mean one thing.
"Master Frodo! Please wait!" and the Hobbit plunged into the water without a second thought to the lock of hair on the shore. Just as his master revealed himself, a wind came that lifted the red lock, and sent it flying far from it's original spot on the shore.
Boromir was dead. The fellowship broken. Kenshin's warning had gone unheeded.
Standard disclaimer.
Kenshin was stiff when he woke, and cursed his decision not to sleep on his back. Old habits had gotten in the way of his transition from the manslayer, and so he would try to break them. Stretching as much as his aching muscles would allow without pain, he stood and began to clean up his camp. The fire had gone out during the night, he noticed. No wonder he was so cold.
"Isn't it supposed to be warmer when one goes south?" he asked aloud while trying to warm up, watching the sky fill with dark thunderclouds. He decided it was best to be off quickly, and get as far down the river as possible before the rain started. Breaking fast with a quick meal of lembas and clear spring water, he piled his things into the boat and was about to set off when he looked back to his former campsite. The ring of stones and his makeshift campfire were still there, an obvious mark of his presence.
"Didn't Lord Celeborn say that those others would be going south by the way of the river?" shaking his head slowly, he walked from the boat over to the ring of stones, and with a fallen branch he drew out the kanji for "friend" and "south" in the dirt with an arrow pointing towards the river. "This one doesn't know if they can read his language, but perhaps they'll get the general idea, if the rain doesn't wash this away." He returned to the boat and with a last look at his campsite, pushed off into the river.
Returning to the river, however early he did it, was not a wise choice. The storm clouds had rolled in far faster than Kenshin had ever imagined, and had proceeded to pour down buckets of rain, turning the river into a churning mass of raging water. Kenshin desperately tried to stay in the center of the river, as the once soft, lightly wooded bank on either side had turned to sheer rock cliffs.
The intensity of the storm ebbed, and Kenshin heaved a sigh of relief. Until he saw that the water was not slowing, but becoming wilder than before. There were rapids ahead? Just what the worn-out wanderer needed. He could no longer control the boat, and any attempts at steering sent him wildly plunging towards either more treacherous rapids or the rock walls looming on either side of him. Letting the boat take it's course, he grabbed onto either side of the small craft and braced himself for a rough ride.
The normally treacherous conditions of the rapids of Sarn Gebir were multiplied ten fold because of the storm. And the trip through them was the most terrifying thing he had ever experienced. At one point the boat was shot up through the air and landed hard. The bow tipped dangerously into the water, and Kenshin threw all his weight towards the stern to bring it back up. A sigh of relief came from the wanderer as the water slowed, only to change to a strangled yell as the boat plunged down into a sinkhole. Finally, the water smoothed out into the gulf of Nen Hithoel, which Kenshin had seen on one of Celeborn's maps. Passing down into the wide bay, Kenshin passed two enormous statues of whose size and age he could only imagine. There faces were carved to seem kingly and noble, and one of the faces seemed familiar.
Kenshin stared out into Nen Hithoel, seeing the circular coast come in again at the far end to form the falls of Rauros. Even from his position near the statues of the kings, he could hear the pounding of the waterfall. He rowed out toward it, but taking a western angle towards a grassy lawn he had seen on Celeborn's map: Parth Galen. This green sward was at the foot of Amon Hen, and directly across the falls was Amon Lhaw. In the middle stood Tol Brandir, a great rock that marked the edge of the falls.
The tide was strong, and threatened to pull the exhausted rurouni over the waterfall. However, Kenshin was able to steer towards Parth Galen and reach it with only a little difficulty, just after he passed the great rock of Tol Brandir. He dragged the boat onto the southernmost part of the lawn, not really sure what to do with it now. According to Celeborn, this was as far he could go with it unless he wanted to carry it down the stair that led down from Amon Hen to the waters of the Anduin, which flowed south into a place called Gondor. Either that, or walk west on foot into the land of Rohan. After that, Kenshin's knowledge of the land failed, as Celeborn's description had been steeped in the history and culture of the lands, and Kenshin had found it hard to follow.
"Well, perhaps a good rest and some food will help this one make a decision." He pulled the boat farther up onto the bank, making sure it wouldn't be pulled back into the water by the strong current, just in case he needed it again. He gathered wood for a fire, and made a camp that closely resembled his first. He made a lunch of lembas, still yearning for some nice fish, though he wasn't sure if the Anduin held any fish that were good enough for eating.
Munching on the Elvish bread made him wonder how things were back in Lothlorien. Had the storm reached the Golden Wood? Kenshin wondered how the beautiful talans high in the trees would fare against the rain. Few he had seen were covered, how DID they keep out the elements? The mystery of the elves would have to go unanswered. Kenshin doubted he would ever return to Lothlorien, however much he wanted to. The elves, and especially Galadriel, had the uncanny ability to look beneath the surface of a person, something that worried Kenshin greatly. How was Galadriel able to let him stay when she had figured out his past? He assumed something as gruesome as that would have churned her stomach, and that she would order his expulsion out of their borders or worse.
Wondering about that made Kenshin uneasy, but it was better than other things. His first night on the river, what had come over him? That tide of memories that nearly sent over the edge of sanity. He sensed trouble. Could the darkening times Haldir had described be invoking a sense of duty from him? A feeling so powerful, it could bring forth memories of which he had never wanted to face again?
All this thinking was bringing him further away from his initial choice. He shook his head, wondering how his thoughts could have wandered so far. Down the stair or west across the plains? It was a hard decision. He nibbled a corner off a piece of lembas bread, hearing his stomach begin to rumble.
Wait... that wasn't his stomach rumbling! Kenshin wrapped up the lembas and stored it quickly, erasing any sign of his presence. He hid the boat in some reeds near the river, and jumped into a tree, then passing up the hill from branch to branch, tree to tree, to find out what was making the distant noise, that would not have been audible save for his heightened senses.
He climbed and climbed, until after long his traveling brought him to the end of the trees. He had climbed over Amon Hen, and around it, following the noise. 'What could it be?' he thought, and then he spotted them far off. A group of over fifty, or so he estimated, strange, dark creatures that he could smell even from his perch in the tree; they were coming up through the trees, making their way towards the hill. Every so often, he could hear them make low, guttural noises- like animals. They wore crude armor, each one matching the other; it had been mass-produced.
It seems to sessha that the dangers Celeborn spoke of have caught up with this one. Kenshin thought to himself morosely. This one should stay out of sight, that he should. Kenshin made his way carefully back to his campsite through the trees, taking care not to upset the limbs of the trees more than would be possible by the wind.
"What should sessha do?" he wondered. There was the North Stair, which could take him down to the bottom of the Falls of Rauros, but where on from there? The only other direction he could take would be west; directly into the paths of the strange creatures. In his heart Kenshin knew some evil was at work in the arrival of these creatures, and would most likely mean trouble for any travelers coming down the Anduin like himself. But he could not do battle with fifty or perhaps more of those things. No, not with this sakabatou, he reminded himself.
As he stood on the green lawn of Parth Galen, considering his options, a sweet, gentle wind blew, lifting strands of red hair into the air. The color of blood whipped in front of Kenshin's eyes, and for a moment he could see himself fighting the creatures, slaughtering every last one of them. The self of his imagination was covered in blood, his sword stained with the red hue of the waters of life. It was in that moment that Kenshin nearly lost control, and the mask of the Wanderer nearly slipped off to reveal the Battousai's frightening countenance.
No. Kenshin thought calmly, and the mask returned; it was not easy, but the Battousai relented to come forth another day. Just the sight of the color red, and the thought of killing, this was enough to make him nearly loose control? He had faced few battles since abandoning his killing sword, and he rued the day he would face an enemy and loose control.
For now, he was content to avoid battle at all costs. Not at the expense of other's lives of course; he would do all he could to leave a warning. Making sure every last trace of his presence had been hidden, he found two sticks and crossed them on the ground. With the sharp edge of his sakabatou he cut a lock of his bright red hair and placed it underneath, so it would not be blown away.
"Perhaps the man sessha met in Lothlorien will come this way. This one is sure his hair will be easily recognized." With his sword, he then cut the figure of "aku" deeply into the grass. "Perhaps if sessha had taken the time to learn the elvish symbols, he would be able to leave a clearer message. But this will have to do."
Kenshin took a final look at the lawn and then pulled his boat from the reeds. "It is a shame to have to loose so beautiful a thing, but this one has no time." He pulled what provisions he needed from the boat, then waded out into the river with it. He left it there to drift slowly and indefinitely over the falls. The sopping wet wanderer made his way back to shore and moved through the trees. It took him little time to find the path that bypassed Amon Hen, and traveled southwards parallel to the falls. He could no longer hear the orcs, not even if he strained his ears. Perhaps they were lying low for now. In minutes he had reached the stair. It looked old and worn, but well cut out of the stone of the cliff. "Well, there's no where to go but down." Said Kenshin, and he stepped onto the stair; taking the symbolic first steps down into uncertainty.
Hardly two hours later, a company of eight reached the northern most tip of the lawn at Parth Galen. Among the company were two men, an elf, a dwarf, and four hobbits. One of the men, Aragorn, found nothing amiss at the place, and so they made camp.
"Now we come to a time of decision. Shall we go on south towards Minas Tirith with Boromir, or continue south and eastward towards the Black Land?" On this the hearts of the company were divided, and so the decision was left to the Ringbearer.
"May I have some time alone, to think?" asked the young Hobbit of Aragorn.
"You may, but stray not far, Legolas tells me he senses a shadow drawing near." The Hobbit nodded in consent. Not long after, Boromir disappeared. There was confusion among the fellowship; all were separated.
As the orcs attacked, Samwise Gamgee stood on the southern end of the lawn. He looked all about him, finding himself in an unfamiliar place, and called out for his master. He stumbled as his foot caught on a stick. He looked down to see a lock of red hair. He had not the time to puzzle the meaning of it however, as one of the gray boats of Lothlorien drifted without a passenger towards the eastern shore. Drifted? It was going against the tide it was! The Hobbit rubbed his eyes. And there was its paddle pushing through the water! It could only mean one thing.
"Master Frodo! Please wait!" and the Hobbit plunged into the water without a second thought to the lock of hair on the shore. Just as his master revealed himself, a wind came that lifted the red lock, and sent it flying far from it's original spot on the shore.
Boromir was dead. The fellowship broken. Kenshin's warning had gone unheeded.