Under Cloud and Under Star by StarSpray

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Two

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TA 2966

Dear Cousin Bilbo,

I must thank you again for your letters of introduction. Master Elrond was of course wonderfully welcoming regardless, and we had a very nice chat about your stays in Rivendell, and he did ask to be remembered to you when I found time to write. That was some months ago now, I'm afraid, but you know better than anyone how little travel allows for letter writing.

I also met Gandalf while in Rivendell, and he was kind enough—or perhaps just amused?—to accompany me over the Mountains (oh, the Mountains! I shall wax poetic as an elf about them when I get home for a proper visit with you!), though we ran into no trouble: no goblins or foul weather, and only one stone giant standing thoughtfully on a cliff a good three miles away. Evidently the main forest road is still in disrepair, and no one particularly likes to go into that part of the forest even though the Necromancer is gone, so we went along north and passed by the Carrock on our way to the Elven path. The land was very different from your descriptions. The woodmen are positively thriving along the river. They call themselves the Beornings, now, and Beorn himself is not nearly so solitary as he was when you met him. In fact he is married, did you know? His lady wife was very kind and open-hearted, quite different from her husband—not that Beorn isn't kind, in his way, but you know what I mean. He knew Gandalf and remembered you fondly, though Gandalf had to read him the letter you wrote because he has no use for reading and writing himself.

Gandalf left me at Beorn's, saying he had business with Radagast at Rhosgobel. I would have liked to go with him and meet another wizard, but it was no business of mine, as Gandalf rather briskly informed me, and so off he rode, and I continued on from Beorn's house with a party of Beornings on their way to Laketown, which is mostly on solid ground now, rather than built out onto the lake—although some have rebuilt that bit, well away from the ruins that Smaug destroyed. You can still see scorched posts sticking up out of the water, and for all the boats that go skimming over the Long Lake, none go anywhere near.

Your Dwarven friends have certainly been busy, Cousin Bilbo! There is a beautiful road built now between Laketown and Dale, always filled with traffic from all parts. I met merchants from Gondor down in the south, come to trade rosewater and perfumes from a place called Imloth Melui, which is evidently known for its roses. Perhaps I shall come home by way of Gondor? Or perhaps not. From what I have heard there isn't much traveling between there and the north, not even to Bree, and those merchants were considered quite brave and maybe a little foolhardy. Still, I should very much like to see Minas Tirith with its great white towers, and the roses in Lossarnach.

Anyway, I am writing this from a very splendid room in the Lonely Mountain. King Dáin is a splendid fellow, and all of your friends were delighted to receive your letters and packages, and alongside this letter you should be receiving their replies, and a truly beautiful tea set and a new kettle that really sings a song when it boils! That is Bofur's work, and I have already commissioned another to send to Mama. I really don't know if she'll be horrified or delighted, but I think it's marvelous. I also purchased some perfume from the Gondorian merchants for my sisters, and some silver cuff links for Dad. Gimli—that's Glóin's son, did you ever meet him?—has promised to send them home for me when Mama's kettle is done. I have heard a great deal here about the Sea of Rhûn, and I am very eager to see it. A caravan of horse and pony traders from Rhûn has agreed to let me travel with them. I shall help with the cooking and with the ponies to earn my keep. I hope to come away with some new recipes. We are leaving bright and early tomorrow morning, and it's nearly time for supper, so I had best end this letter. I will write you again when I come back to Dale!

Much love,
Peony

The road to the shores of the great inland Sea of Rhûn was long and at times winding. From Dale the caravan that Peony joined followed the River Running as it made its way south and then curved eastward, until it met the Redwater that flowed down from the Iron Hills. They stayed a few days for their turn to cross at the rivers' joining, where there was a wide and shallow ford much used by travelers and traders going east and west. The road continued to follow the river on either side, but before they came to the Sea, Peony's party split away and headed north into the hills and plains, where there were very few permanent towns, for the people were nomads, guiding their herds of cattle and sheep and horses to follow the greener grasses and better weather. Sometimes they came to the shores of the Sea, but most often they were content with the sea of grass that rippled like water in the wind beneath the wide and open skies. Peony had never seen such open space before; it was beautiful, but so vast it was hard sometimes to really believe that it was real.

The family who had agreed to let Peony travel with them was led by a stern-faced man named Ravil. He had made the journey to Dale only a handful of times since it had been rebuilt, and this last time was the first journey that his youngest daughter Amina had accompanied him on. She was sharp-eyed and smiling and quick to learn new languages. Peony's descriptions of the Shire and of her journey east intrigued Amina, and they spent much of the journey to Rhûn talking of Wilderland and of the lands west of the Misty Mountains. "I have never seen mountains, except for the Dwarves' kingdom," Amina said. "There are only rolling hills in my land."

"Mine are much the same," replied Peony. "The Barrow Downs are the highest hills near the Shire, but no one goes there at all. But we have woods and streams and farms, nothing at all like this." She waved her hand at the wide grasslands around them. "I've never been to a place where I could see so far before!"

"Do your people often travel to the Long Lake?" Amina asked.

"Oh heavens no. Only my cousin Bilbo has been there. He was with Thorin Oakenshield and his company, you know, when they came to retake the mountain. Hobbits as a rule don't approve of such journeys or adventures."

Amina laughed. "And yet here you are, and you a young woman by herself!"

"Well I'm a Took, you see. So is Bilbo—on his mother's side, I mean. A different branch of the family, of course. Mine is descended from the Bullroarer, who was my great-great-great-grandfather, and he was tall enough to ride a horse instead of a pony…" Amina listened with gratifying fascination as Peony told her all about the battle with the goblins that had been won when Bandobras managed to behead the goblin king Golfimbul, which sent the rest of the foul creatures scrambling back north and east. Eventually they had left Eriador altogether, though the hobbits had had little to do with that.

For her part, Peony had no desire to meet any goblins, let alone kill any. The dwarves had given her a knife similar in size to Bilbo's Sting, but it felt strange hanging from her belt, and she hoped she wouldn't have to use it—she wanted adventure, but not that sort. But as they traveled farther into Rhûn it seemed that she might find herself in that sort of adventure whether she wanted it or not. There were bands of soldiers riding about in strange armor and bearing the sigil of a red eye upon their shields and tabards. There were other signs and sigils, too, but they only served the Eye. Ravil argued with one such party who seemed to want all of the horses and ponies that he had acquired in Dale. Only after a very long debate did they relent and depart. Amina told Peony that her father had promised them more horses and better, if they came back in a few years. "They were especially interested in the black ones," Amina said. "I do not know why. It is that brown stallion who is the most promising stud. But you had better stay close to me, Peony. I do not know what the soldiers will think of a hobbit from the faraway Shire, but it would be better not to find out."

"Where do the soldiers come from?" Peony asked as they fell into step beside Ravil.

"The Dark Tower," he said shortly.

"From the Black Land, that some call Mordor," Amina said, almost in a whisper. "But do not say the name aloud."

Peony shuddered. Mordor was a name on the very edges of the most frightening tales in the Shire. Cousin Bilbo knew a bit more about it, but Peony had never asked. Perhaps that had been a mistake, since it was rather suddenly not so far away at all. She looked over her shoulder to watch the soldiers ride away; one also glanced back, but only briefly before he vanished over a hill.

When they finally caught up to the rest of Ravil and Amina's clan, they were greeted with delight and not a little relief. Peony was regarded with friendly astonishment. But though the homes were all really just large tents, made to be put up and taken down quickly and easily, the place was very homey, and Peony settled in very quickly. Amina was often busy with the horses and other livestock, and so Peony got to know her mother Zifa and her elder sister Dinara, though at first speaking was a bit of a challenge, as Peony was still learning their language, and neither Zifa nor Dinara knew the Common Speech of the West. But Peony kept at it, and eventually she got along well enough that she was able to go with Dinara and Amina to the nearest permanent settlement for the market. It was a bustling place, full of colors and noises and smells—of animals and people and various cooking meats and breads and fish. Everyone was talking and shouting at each other as they bartered, though in nearly every instance both parties came away smiling.

There was something strange about the whole scene, however, but it took most of the morning for Peony to put her finger on what it was. She never would have, if soldiers of the Eye had not ridden through. The leaders rode black horses, and the man in front had a ring on his finger that drew one's gaze, set with a stone redder than any ruby Peony had seen in the Lonely Mountain. She shrank back behind Dinara's skirts as he passed by. She did not at all like the look in his eyes. He put her in mind of a wolf—one of the fell wolves that hunted with the goblins in the mountains.

But then the company passed and behind it came a wagon holding a cage made of heavy iron. It was drawn by four very large, very weary looking horses, and the wheels creaked ominously as it trundled along down the path. The village was very quiet; somewhere a baby cried but was immediately hushed. In the cage was a bruised and battered figure, bound with iron manacles at his wrists and ankles. His hair was long and dark and matted with blood and dirt, and he slumped against the side of the cage unmoving. For a moment as the wagon passed before her, Peony thought he was dead, and the soldiers had not yet noticed. But then his eyes opened, their gazes met. She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. His eyes were very bright, glinting like silvery stars beneath the dark tangle of his hair. There was no mistaking such eyes—that was an elf in that cage.

Then the wagon was past and the soldiers were leaving the village. "Poor soul," Amina whispered as voices started to murmur and then to speak normally about them. With a determined air the market returned to normal. And it was then that Peony realized what was so strange. There wasn't a single man of fighting age to be seen—only a few very old men, or very young boys. The rest of the bustle was made up of women, old and young and in the middle, with babies on their hips or with their long white hair coiled up about their heads in braids and ribbons. Peony wondered if the men were staying out of sight, or if they had already all been taken away—to be soldiers, or to serve them somehow. But she did not ask—it seemed like the sort of thing best left unspoken of. Like Mordor.

But she could not get the elf in the cart out of her mind. "Where will they take him?" she asked Dinara as they made their way back home.

Dinara only shook her head. It was Amina who answered, "There is an old temple to the Dark Lord near the Sea. It was empty and crumbling for a long time, until the priests came back and repaired it. Now smoke rises from it more often than not. I think they will take him there. Or perhaps they have other plans. Sometimes it is said that such prisoners are taken all the way to the Black Land."

"But is there nothing to be done for him?" Peony asked.

Both Dinara and Amina looked at her in astonishment. "Done for him?" Dinara repeated. "No! Did you not see all of the soldiers? There are more where they came from."

"But surely it won't do to just—do nothing."

Dinara looked over her shoulder, but they were alone on the path. The only living thing to be seen was a hawk circling very high above and very far away over the hills, looking for its dinner. "There is nothing to be done for him," Dinara said finally, keeping her voice very low. "Do not think we are all only standing aside or falling into line. But we cannot risk everything only for a single stranger. That prisoner was not one of our people. I do not know who he was or where he came from, but we are hard pressed as it is."

"I will light incense for him this evening," said Amina. "It is all that we can do."

Peony tried to forget about the elf in the cart, but by the next evening he was all that she could think about. It seemed terribly wrong to leave anyone to such a horrible fate as—as whatever it was that was going to happen to him. But especially it seemed wrong to leave an elf to it. So when night fell and everyone was asleep, she wrote a quick note to apologize for leaving without warning and to thank her hosts for their hospitality, and then gathered up her things and slipped away out of the village. It was easy to fetch her pony Apple from the paddock. She led him creeping down the path until they were well away, and then she mounted and urged him into a brisk trot. The moon was high and bright, and she made good time, slowing only to pass unseen and unheard by the market village. It was not hard to find the road taken by the soldiers, and she followed it as quickly as she dared, fearing at any moment soldiers would appear before or behind her and catch her up the same way they'd caught the elf.

In the end, no one caught her, and after another day of travel she found the temple. Dusk was falling like a purple curtain over the grass when she spotted it in the distance. Dark smoke curled up from its roof, and even from a distance Peony could catch a whiff of its foul stench. She wrinkled her nose, and slid out of her saddle. "Well, Apple," she said, patting his neck, "we've found the place. Now I must find out if the elf is still there, and if he is, how to get him out! I wish Cousin Bilbo were here. I'm no burglar."

Of course, neither was Bilbo, really. But he knew more about sneaking into dark and dangerous places than Peony did. She left the path and led Apple to a thicket a good distance away from the temple. There were more trees and bushes in this region, fortunately, as it was growing very close indeed to the Sea of Rhûn. When the wind shifted Peony thought she could hear the sound of waves, faint and far. She found a short but sturdy tree and hoisted herself up into its branches, from which she had a good view of the temple without fear of being seen herself. There were people moving about, going in and out. The cart she had seen before stood in front of the entrance, though it was empty. Peony squinted through the growing darkness, and saw a figure dragged out of the temple and down to the cart. It was hard to tell if it was the elf, but Peony thought that it was. He seemed taller than the soldiers, though the way he was hunched over made it hard to tell. He moved in stiff, jerking movements, as though he were in a great deal of pain. Peony gripped the tree branches hard and gritted her teeth as the soldiers forced him up into the cart. A few minutes later the cart trundled off. It had a much smaller escort this time, however. Only a handful of soldiers on foot went with it.

Peony followed at a distance, keeping away from the road, and going on foot and slowly, so that Apple did not make so much noise. More than once she halted, hardly daring to breathe, when one of the soldiers turned his head in her direction. But always he turned back and kept on. If the elf knew that she was following them, he made no sign.
They stopped near midnight and made their camp. Peony watched for a while, but it seemed they were sure enough that no one would bother them, or that there were no wild animals to fear, that they set no watch. So when she was certain that the soldiers were all asleep, she left Apple hidden in the brush and crept forward, silent as only a hobbit could be. She even reached the cart before the elf noticed her approach. He started, as though he had been dozing, and looked at her with eyes that seemed to shimmer faintly in the gloom, though one was swollen and bruised and could not open all the way. For several long seconds they stared at each other in silence. Then the elf looked toward the guards; one of them sighed and turned his head, but did not wake. "What are you doing?" the elf whispered finally, in the tongue of the people of Rhûn.

"I'm here to rescue you," said Peony. She did not know the word for rescue in that language, so she spoke in the Common Tongue of the West, which seemed to surprise the elf even more than her sudden appearance.

"Rescue—you are a child!" he hissed.

"I beg your pardon," Peony replied, as she rifled through her pockets for her lock picks, "I am certainly not a child." She retrieved her tools, and with one more glance at the soldiers she set to work. Locks, and opening them, were something of a puzzle game among the dwarves. They delighted in trying to make more and more complicated locks that could not be broken. Peony, compared to someone like Gimli or his uncle Óin, was only a novice, but she had spent many hours learning how to use the tools, and she always liked a challenge. Fortunately for her and for the elf, the sort of locks set in prisoners' chains were not nearly as complicated as the padlocks the dwarves made for their games. Getting the cage unlocked was the work of a moment; only she was wary of actually opening the door. It creaked just a little as she pulled on it, and both she and the elf froze, looking toward the soldiers. When they did not stir she opened it further, pausing with every noise, all of them seeming much louder to her ears than they really were.

Once the door was open just enough for a hobbit to slip through, she hoisted herself up into the cart, and reached for the chains. The elf jerked back and then both of them froze as the jostling of iron sounded horribly loud and discordant in the still night air. Peony looked over at the guards. One stirred but did not get up. She glared at the elf, who glared back. "Let me see!" she whispered, holding out her hands and making grabbing motions. Slowly, he held out his wrists. The locks were smaller and not quite like the lock on the cage, but Peony had mastered stranger contraptions under Gimli's watchful eyes at the Lonely Mountain. She fumbled a bit, but managed to get first one wrist free, and then the other. And then she tackled the ankles.

As she freed his second ankle, however, the manacle fell to the wooden floor of the cart with a heavy clank-thud. They both froze. This time one of the guards did sit up. "Oops," Peony whispered.