The East-West Road

#1

After the last fiasco of an errand Gandalf had involved Oddberry in she had sworn to herself that she would never do anything for Gandalf again.
And yet here she was, on the road at his behest. She hadn’t truly believed her own promise if she was wholly honest with herself, but it had been nice to find herself in messes of her own making for once. At least this errand had not involved foraging through half-drowned libraries where wights hid in every corner. Yet. In fact it had so far been quite simple, journey to Rivendell and keep a low profile.

She was now a good way along the The East-West Road, and so far, so good. The lack of people around was troubling her though. There was never a lot of traffic along these roads, but there was usually some sign of life, of people who had gone before, yet now, there was nothing, just an empty land. And she suspected she was being followed. Every so often she would see a figure, black on the horizon, drawing ever closer. She told herself it was just another traveller, with a horse who walked faster than her pony, but her gut said otherwise.

Bizarrely enough the hobbitess had not yet visited The Last Homely House, though she had travelled most of the western regions of Middle Earth. It was a journey that had never quite worked out until Gandalf had asked that she go there, giving her little reason other than one small, strange request. He had asked that she bring an old treasure of old Bilbo’s. A small, insignificant golden ring. It had not taken it long to find it gathering dust on his mantlepiece. It was a slightly odd place to keep a ring she thought, but then Bilbo had become increasingly odd towards the end.

The old hobbit had had a fabulous party and then disappeared about a year before Oddberry’s adventure to Minas Tirith. Bilbo had still resented the Sackville-Bagginses for trying to steal his lovely hobbit-hole all those years ago, and not having any other relations to leave it to, he had agreed to sell it to Oddberry at a very good price. There had of course been more than a few rumours as to how to young hobbitess had afforded it, ranging from not too far from the truth to positively delusional. When asked she would usually smile mysteriously and then change the subject. Her kin would not appreciate the full details of her travels.

Oddberry had initially had some ideas of living in the place herself. She had loved Bag End as a child, when Bilbo had spent hours telling them stories, when he had tried to teach her to read and speak elvish as she got older, but she found she still spent most of her days in Buckland, and Bag End had become little more than a well-preserved memento of the time she had spent there. And a storage facility for whatever she brought back with her until she found it a better home, for the correct price. She had to confess that as the years had gone on she had found less time to keep the shelves dusted, to check to many papers and maps for damage, so much so that she had never before given the small gold ring more than a sideways glance.

It was a strange thing this ring. Worried it could slip out of a pocket she had placed it on a chain around her neck and tucked it under her shirt, out of sight. Not that it seemed to know that. Somehow it would slip out and warm itself in the sun and she would suddenly become aware that it was no longer hidden. And now, in the last few days she had found herself toying with it, absent-mindedly twisting it on its chain as she rode. She never truly thought about it, but somehow it was always there in the back of her mind, less a thought and more the acknowledgement of a distant song.

As she reached the Last Bridge and crossed the Hoarwell into the Trollshaws Oddberry looked over her shoulder, as she was periodically want to do, and she saw them again, that black figure on the ridge behind her. A shiver ran down her spine as it was joined by eight others, all black. At her current speed she reckoned she was still three days from the Hidden Valley. She could cut that down to two, maybe one and a half if she sped up. Maybe she should speed up, just a little, put some distance between her and them. Or a least maintain her current lead. She squeezed Biter into a trot, then a gentle lope, and didn’t turn back to see if the figures behind her did as well. She pushed on well beyond dusk, until the moon sunk behind a cloud and her pony tripped in the darkness. This is madness she thought to herself. So she set up a little camp and stared into the fire, unable to sleep.

She supposed she must have dozed off, for all of a sudden the world was lightening from black to grey. She reckoned it could not have been more than a few hours since she had stopped but that funny feeling in her gut was back and she swiftly tacked up Biter, barely remembering to make sure her small campfire was fully dead. Once her pony had warmed up a little she pushed him into a gentle trot. Her mood grew increasingly more foul throughout the day as her tension grew, as did that song in the back of her head.

It was not until midday that she crested a rise in the road and dared to look behind her. She was hoping she would see nothing through the trees. But her luck could not hold and as she looked back, they appeared on the next ridge. The hobbit stared at the figures until they began to flow down the ridge towards her. Oddberry’s eyes went wide and she drummed her heels into her pony’s side, urging him into a gallop, even as her gaze roamed the roadside. This was not a race she could win with speed alone. Biter was built for endurance, not speed, and even if he were, he was still a pony, and could not hope to match those behind them.

There! A small gap in the thick woodland around them opened up and Oddberry urged Biter through it. He would be more nimble than the larger horses of their pursuers, and while now her progress would be slowed, theirs would be slowed more. She reckoned, hoped, that the ford was half a day’s travel at most, and Rivendell perhaps another half day from there, even taking this slower route. She left the road behind her, then turned to what she thought was a parallel course. The woodland was thick and gave her little clues but she pushed her pony on at a lope anyway. She could become unlost once she had lost her pursuers. She knew this speed was not wise, even when she was on deer trails, not pushing their way through the undergrowth, through gaps between trees barely wider than Biter.

By the time nightfall came, she had heard no sound of her pursuers for at least an hour, but she could not settle and rode on, albeit slower than she had before, letting Biter nibble at leaves and vines as they went. She began to doze and Biter made his own way for a small time before stopping and stripping the leaves off a tree. This is madness she said to herself again. She should stop, she had to stop, if not for her, but her pony.

She was just about to act on that decision when the dull thud of hooves made Biter stop mid-chew and sniffed at the air. Oddberry sat up a little straighter, and looked around warily. It was good that she did so, for suddenly a loud shriek pierced the air, from somewhere close behind, and Biter bolted. Oddberry kept her seat, just, and crouched low over her pony’s neck as he weaved through the trees and brush. Another scream sounded to their left and Biter leapt sideways, slipping as he did so and Oddberry felt her right knee slam into a tree. That’s going to hurt. Yet now she barely even registered it. She did however notice that ever-present song in the back of her mind had turned more into a scream of its own, a desperate keening. In another situation Oddberry would have been intrigued by that, but now she gave it no more thought than the conscious effort to ignore it.

She frantically tried to regain some modicum of control over her pony, if not over his speed, then over his direction but it was to no avail. Another scream from the left and they emerged from pathless undergrowth onto a deer trail and Biter took the easiest route. Oddberry let out a small yelp as suddenly on their tail and screaming that terrible scream was a faceless figure, clothed all in black. A third scream from their left, and a new one from the right kept her pony on the path and Oddberry realised they were herding her. But towards what?

The trail bent sharply and suddenly ahead of her was a fallen tree trunk, wide and tall, stretching across the path. Oddberry kicked her pony on, though he needed no encouragement. He’d jumped her out of some sticky situations in the past and she hoped that the horses of her pursuers had no love for jumping, even as they gained on her. She did not need to look back again to know they were almost upon her. Her heart jumped into her mouth as they thundered towards the tree which grew ever larger. She was perhaps five strides out when she realised that it was as tall as Biter. But it was too late now. She could not have stopped the terrified beast if she had tried. She closed her eyes as she felt the pony’s hooves leave the ground, waiting for the jolt as they hit the trunk. But it never came, there was only a slight drumming as he scraped the top with his hind feet, and a brief pause as he stumbled on landing before he continued his flight. Angry screams told her that her pursuers’ horses did not fancy their chances.

She had no time to celebrate for the trees began to thin in front of her, and she could still not stop her pony’s flight. She saw moonlight on water and in front of it four horses on the road. She could not turn back, and there was no other way to cross this river. Not this side of the road. It was all cliffs, though there may be another crossing further downriver. She suspected she would not reach any other crossing alive.

It was not long until Biter saw the blockade too and he slid to a stop, snorting, eyes rolling at the evil that emanated off them. Oddberry knew there was no time to delay, and while she could not get through on the road, perhaps she could get round through the forest. It was even thinner on the opposite side and slowly a plan began to form in her mind. If she could ever think through the almost ear-splitting keening that she suspected nobody else could hear. As Oddberry considered she saw the heads of the cloaks turn and she realised they knew exactly where she was. They were what she was being herded towards.

Her plan decided on she urged Biter forwards. But he did not approve and when pressed, he only reared and tried to turn. “I know you’re scared, but there’s no way back.” She scratched his withers and the pony shuddered. A scream sounded behind her and he spooked forwards a stride. Oddberry whacked her substantial feet against his sides and the pony reluctantly moved forwards at a stilted walk.

“Atta boy. Now a bit faster.” The track they were on looked as if it would shortly join the road or at least draw close enough to it for an easy exit. Oddberry was banking on it doing so as she finally convinced Biter into a canter, and then a gallop. She was helped by another scream from the rear.

Luck was finally on her side and the track joined the road at the perfect point. The Black Riders were waiting for her. But instead of charging them head on, the pony streaked across in front of them into the more open woodland the opposite side of the road. A Black Rider urged his horse forward and his sword thudded into a tree at the height of Oddberry’s neck as hobbit and pony pivoted behind it and past the Riders, who spinned their horses in screaming rage.

The turn had given her a short headstart but it would not be long before the larger horses caught up the pony’s fear-fuelled flight. Oddberry had no further plans as they charged for the river. There was nowhere to hide now. She hadn’t actually expected it to work. She couldn’t bear to look behind, to see how close those faceless riders were. They were close, she could hear the breath rushing through the nostrils of the horses behind her.

The screaming in her mind built to a crescendo as hooves hit water and sunk up to their knees, though the pony barely noticed as he splashed through it and out the other side. Their flight continued uphill, until Oddberry realised they were no longer being followed, and the screaming in her head had subsided back to it’s usual distant, barely acknowledged song. She looked down at the ford and saw her pursuers wheel their steeds around, streaming back down the road. Even here she could hear their hideous shrieks. Any questions she had as to why the faceless creatures did not cross were buried under her relief that she had escaped and Oddberry fled on into the night.

It took a while for her to convince Biter to stop running, and once she did it was almost impossible to convince his shaking legs to keep moving. The hobbitess dismounted and resorted to dragging her exhausted pony behind her, pain spiking in her knee with every step. Now the adrenaline was gone she realised she was soon going to regret walking, but she could not stay still. Not in the dark.

The sun had long risen by the time she found the entrance to the Hidden Valley that Gandalf had mentioned. She had stopped at dawn and finally rested herself and Biter, who was looking less like he was about to founder now, though Oddberry still did not risk riding him. Instead she limped on, her knee crudely strapped up with some spare bandage. From the moment she entered the Hidden Pass, she relaxed, whether she knew it or not. The walls of the pass guided her feet into the valley, even as her mind wandered halfway between the realm of waking and sleep.

Later she would not really recall her first sight of the valley, only the sound of water, and gentle, helping hands guiding her along strange hallways to a nice soft bed, although she was assured that while tired she had appeared to be walking and talking as normally as could be expected. She was not sure she believed the elf who told her that.

Going to The Stables - Imladris