Under Cloud and Under Star by StarSpray

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Eight

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Peony had lost count of the days by the time they finally saw the grey ribbon of the Anduin in the distance. She had crossed it before far to the north, near the Carrock on her way to Beorn's house. It had been a pleasant place, full of flowering meads and the growing homesteads of the Beornings. The land was much different this far south, past Mirkwood and nearing what Maglor called the Brown Lands. He said they had once been beautiful gardens, but that Sauron had burned and destroyed them long ago. More than that he would not say, and looked so sad that Peony did not ask again. Maybe elves had lived there once, she thought.

After they met the small party of Beornings they picked up the pace, turning more sharply southward toward the river. Maglor seemed to have an idea of where he wanted to cross, but he continued to keep to the rear, looking back often. Peony, when she changed places with Lagreth to ride Apple, looked back often too, but all she saw were wide rolling lands with nothing moving or growing on them.

But she kept feeling like icy fingers were creeping up her spine, and like something was pressing down on her, making it difficult to keep moving forward, or to even think about moving forward. Even though the river drew closer each day it felt as though they would never reach its banks, let alone find a way across. It would be too wide, the current too strong. Perhaps the Elves could find a way to cross, but Peony was only a hobbit, and she would be left behind or swept away downstream to drown, and no one at home would ever know what had become of her—

Maglor's hand came to rest on Peony's shoulder, jolting her out of her thoughts. "Look," he said softly, "the river is just ahead." And so it was, clearly visible now only a few miles distant, a silver ribbon gleaming in the sun. "If all goes well we'll be across by sunset."

"What about him?" Peony asked, jerking her head back toward wherever the strange man chasing them was.

Maglor's small smile faded. His eyes shone very bright, like stars. "Leave him to me," he said, his hand going to the pommel of the sword the Beornings had given him. It was not quite long enough for him, Peony thought, but it was well made, and he seemed confident enough in it. Peony was less confident. She could remember far too clearly the feeling coming off of the man at the River Running—and he had not even spoken, then. And Maglor was even more weary now than he had been then.

They came down to the river bank late in the afternoon, when the sun's light was beautiful and golden, well past its noon height but still with plenty of time for them to cross the water before twilight fell. A little ways to the north Peony saw another glimmer to the west, that Maglor said was another river, the Silverlode flowing down from Dimrill Dale. "You'll have heard that name, I have no doubt," he said, "if you have spent enough time listening to the Dwarvish tales and songs."

"Yes," said Peony. "They have the carvings of the three mountains over Moria all over the place, but I can never manage to wrap my tongue around the Dwarf names."

"Few can," said Maglor. "I know only a few words of their tongue, though my brothers knew more. The Elves often cross over the Redhorn, from Eriador down into Lothlórien."

"We have heard tales of the Dreamflower, and the gold and silver trees that grow there," said Hethwes, where she stood up to her ankles in the clear river water. The water was not deep here, and with a pebbled bed it seemed as good a fording place as they were likely to find. "Are you leading us there, Maglor?"

"No," said Maglor. "Not if you do not wish to linger for many seasons on this side of the Misty Mountains. There is great power at work in that land—not evil, but strange to me, and I think it would be easy to lose all track of time passing by outside of the woodland borders."

"Then how are we crossing the mountains?" asked Limwë. "You've spoken before of a Gap…"

"The Gap of Calenardhon," said Maglor. "Now known as the Gap of Rohan. It lies between the end of the Misty Mountains and the White Mountains farther south that mark the land of Gondor—we won't have to cross mountains at all, only go around them." He paused, as though in thought. "We could follow Anduin to its mouth in the Bay of Belfalas. There were elf havens there once."

"But not any longer," said Limwë. "I would rather pass through the west lands to the Havens of the Shipwright."

"None of us know how to build boats, you see," added Silivren with a smile.

"Redhorn is not fond of Elves or Men, anyway," said Maglor. "He is often stormy and temperamental. I crossed over only once, long before the mallorn trees were brought to Lórinand, when it was still a wood of beech and ash and trembling aspen." He gazed to the north at the glitter of the Silverlode, before looking back over his shoulder. "We should cross now. Limwë, take the pony's reins. Someone must carry Lagreth, and Peony."

"I can wade across, I think," said Peony, trying to measure the depth in the middle of the river with her eyes.

"Nay," said Silivren, coming to scoop her up unceremoniously. "There is an islet or two that I can see, but before that the current is swifter than you guess."

"Hurry!" Maglor cried suddenly, drawing his sword. As it flashed in the sunlight another party appeared over the crest of a low hill behind them. It was the same man with the strange ring from before, and he had several other men with him, all armed with bows. Lagreth screamed as arrows arced down toward them. "Go!" Maglor pushed at Gêl's shoulder to make him start to run. Limwë pulled Apple into the water, and Apple did not need to be told twice, splashing in without hesitation. Peony flinched as an arrow passed near Silivren's head to hit the water nearby. Silivren ran, but stumbled, crying out when an arrow struck her in the shoulder just before they reached the first pebbled islet. Both she and Peony plunged into the water, and it was all Peony could do to keep her head and squirm her way to the surface. Silivren dragged herself onto the islet, coughing up water, the black-fletched arrow sticking out of the back of her shoulder. Another skipped off of a stone near Peony's foot. She scrambled to her feet and grabbed the first stone that she found, cursing as she realized she'd left all her other river stones in Apple's saddle bag—but the archers were too far away, still well back from the bank. Maglor had not yet left the shallows where they swelled around his ankles. Gêl and Hethwes stood just behind him, firing their own arrows. Peony watched as first one archer and then another fell, and did not get back up. But they did not hit the man with the ring, all of their shots somehow going wide, disappearing into the dirt or the grass. Peony hefted her stone as he drew closer, glancing at Silivren. Limwë was already halfway across the river with Lagreth and Apple.

"Are you all right, Silivren?" Peony asked.

"I will be," Silivren croaked, before coughing some more. "Where is Lagreth?"

"Nearly across," said Peony, watching as Lagreth, somehow no longer on Apple's back, stumbled and floundered a little in the current before righting herself and half-wading, half-swimming in Apple's wake. She turned back to the eastern bank just in time to see Hethwes and Gêl give up and flee into the water, leaving Maglor all alone to face the man with the ring as he strode down the hillside. And as he came he started to chant, in a loud voice that was harsh as metal scraping over stone, in an ugly, jagged language that brought to mind images of barren stony lands running with rivers of fire, and heavy clouds of poison fumes sinking low overhead. Peony dropped her rock and quailed, clapping her hands over her ears. Beside her Silivren wretched again, and cursed in her own tongue.

It felt like a heavy weight fell over her suddenly. Peony had to lock her knees just to stay on her feet, as a powerful will ground down on her, so that she could hardly think of anything at all, let alone trying to flee, or fight.

Then another voice cut through the chanting, clear and bright as the sunlight on the river, singing of clear skies and starlight to guide lost wanderers trying to find their way home. Where the harsh voice chanted of chains and whips the clear voice sang of doors opening and chains crumbling, of clear water washing away all things unclean. Peony looked up and had to shield her eyes; it seemed to her as though two bright flames were standing on the river bank, one golden-white and the other red with black shadows licking at the edges. They strove against each other, one flaring as the other dimmed each in turn, and for a terrifying few moments Peony thought the dark fire was going to overwhelm the golden.

She fumbled with her skirts and tore a strip long enough to make a slingshot, and grabbed the first stone big as her palm that she found. It took a few tries as the striving powers threatened to overwhelm her, but at last, squinting through teary eyes, she took aim and let the stone fly. It struck the dark fire-pillar, and the fell chanting faltered.

And then Maglor's voice rose into a great crescendo as though a hundred other singers had joined him, and Peony felt the ground tremble beneath her. The wind whipped her hair around her face, and the river water swelled up around her ankles, threatening to drown the little islet. There was a terrible scream, and then all of a sudden it was quiet, and Peony looked up to find the shadows lengthening and the sun nearly gone behind the horizon in the west. Maglor stood alone on the bank, swaying.

Peony splashed back across, ignoring Silivren and Gêl who called after her, and reached Maglor's side as he dropped the sword he'd been holding. It was blackened along the edges, and notched. "Could you do that all along?" Peony asked, stepping carefully around the ring-wielder's body to peer at his face. It was frozen in a terrible grimace, his lips drawn back from his teeth, and his eyes still wild and staring.

"No." Maglor sat down, apparently uncaring that he'd just sat in the water. It swirled around his waist, tugging at his clothes. His face was damp with sweat, and he wiped at his brow with a shaking hand. "I very nearly did not do it at all. It was a near thing. Once I could have…" He shook his head. It was growing dark now, twilight settling in cool shades of purple and blue. The stars were starting to peep out. After a long stretch of silence he staggered to his feet, water pouring off of him. He joined Peony by the body, and after considering it for a moment he knelt and worked the ugly ring with its blood red stone off of the man's finger. Though its wearer was dead, the stone seemed still to glow, and it made Peony uneasy.

"What are you doing with that?" Peony asked. "Isn't that what made him…?"

"I do not know how he came to wear it," said Maglor. "Most likely he chose it, and chose it with open eyes, knowing to whom he was pledging himself. But anyone else might stumble upon it and take it up without knowing, and still be ensnared. Better to take it away and find a way to destroy it, or to cast it into the sea perhaps, than to risk that."

"Couldn't you just pop it in a forge fire somewhere?" Peony asked. She pulled a sodden handkerchief from her skirts. "Here, wrap it up in this."

"It isn't painful to hold, Peony," said Maglor with a small smile, though he accepted the handkerchief anyway, wrapping up the ring and knotting it tightly. "And I doubt a regular forge fire would be hot enough to melt this. Objects of power are made to withstand a great deal."

"Oh. I suppose you should take it to Elrond, then," said Peony. "There are lots of elvish craftsmen in Rivendell."

"Perhaps," said Maglor, with a sigh. Then he smiled down at her. "Once again I must thank you, Peony. That stone was well-timed."

"Oh, well. I'm sure you had it all well in hand—" said Peony.

"I didn't."

"—but I'm glad I could help, all the same."

"I remain deeply in your debt," said Maglor. "And I name you Elf-friend, and a marvel among hobbits, surely the bravest of your people."

Peony smiled up at him. "Thank you!" she said. "I don't know about debts, but if you really feel you must repay me you can start by giving me a hand across the river. I don't think I can manage it in the dark."