Chapter 49. Hide and Seek

Arwen was the first to react. ‘It’s a game,’ she said. ‘We’ve played this in the garden. She hides behind a tree or bench and we try to find her, paying no mind to her giggles, of course.’ Raising her voice, she called out, ‘Liriel-love! Liriel! Now where has that Liriel got to?’

No resulting giggles were heard, and Arwen’s smile faded.

Elessar knew a moment of frozen panic, very unlike himself, but though his thoughts were racing, his body seemed mired in place—his little daughter, brightest gem of all he treasured, his Liriel was missing! The panic dissolved into nightmare memory as hobbits scattered from the clearing, calling... only instead of Frodo! as in the nightmare that still returned to haunt him some nights, they called little Liriel’s name, their voices fading against the tumult of the unseen river as they spread out in search. Sam sat up abruptly, seeming to grasp the situation at once. He looked around at his own peacefully slumbering little ones, counting noses, and jumped to his feet, darted from the clearing, and soon they heard his voice. Liriel!

 ‘Estel,’ a soft plea, a touch on his arm, and Elessar turned, memory-spell broken.

 ‘Arwen,’ he said, taking hold of her arms. ‘We’ll find her. She cannot have wandered far.’ He turned to the guardsmen, immobilised by shock and surprise, not so quick to react as the hobbits, who were used to chasing after wandering little ones. ‘Denethor! Call out a company of guardsmen to take up the search! Bergil! Go towards the Baranduin; I will head for the falls, for their roar is loud and might have sparked her curiosity. Arwen...’ he added, dropping his voice and turning once more to his wife. ‘Stay here; watch over the little ones. We don’t want anyone else to wander.’

He could see in her eyes that she wanted to protest, but she nodded and moved to stand by the blanket where the young hobbits still slept. She watched Elessar scout the ground, frowning, knew by his expression that their daughter’s pattering footsteps had left no mark. Elessar turned towards the roar of the waterfalls, disappeared into the forest, and then she was alone. Clasping her hands together, she sank down upon the blanket, bowing her head, uttering silent but fervent pleas to Elbereth, that light might be shed on the path of the searchers.

She did not know how long a time passed, but raised her head at a light touch on her shoulder. Posey stood there, her expression filled with understanding. She had not run far before becoming winded, and had decided she’d be of more help in the clearing. Arwen raised her hand to cover Posey’s, and the two mothers waited in silence as their ears strained to hear a joyful shout.

It was fortuitous indeed that when Denethor broke from the woods, pounding down the last stretch of the path that joined the Road, two riders were just passing. They reined in at his hail, turning their horses towards him, and one slid from the saddle as he approached.

 ‘What is it?’ Elrohir said. He and Elladan were riding out on an errand for the King, and had not been able to join the picnic this morning. ‘What’s happened?’

 ‘The little princess,’ Denethor gasped. ‘Liriel... she wandered... in the forest!’

Elladan gave a sharp exclamation and started to urge his horse towards the trees, but Denethor grabbed at his bridle. ‘Wait!’

 ‘What are your orders?’ Elrohir said, understanding at once.

 ‘I'm to call out a company of guardsmen to join the search,’ Denethor said. ‘Most likely she’ll already have been found by the time I reach the City, but...’

 ‘Take my horse,’ Elrohir said. ‘You’ll go faster.’ He spoke softly to the beast, words Denethor did not know, but the guardsman did not hesitate. He jumped into the saddle, turned the Elf-horse’s head towards the City, and was off at a gallop, bells on the horse’s harness ringing in a mad jangle. Meanwhile, Elrohir vaulted into the saddle behind his brother and Elladan guided his horse down the path into the forest.

Hilly had grabbed up his bow out of force of habit, and now he chided himself. ‘What were you going to do when you found her, bring her down with a well-placed shot?’ He headed towards the sound of the river, in part because it drew him as a moth to the candle, and in part because he’d first watched and then joined the little princess in laughing and splashing in the shallows of the Lake under her mother’s vigilant eye. Kindred spirits, they were, throwing the water into the air to watch it break into sparkling gems as it rained down again.

Posey had laughingly scolded him that he’d catch his death, wetting his clothes that way, and he’d replied that he’d felt refreshed from the heat of the day.

Now he stopped short at the top of a steep and rocky bank, grabbing at a nearby sapling to keep from falling headlong. The river danced below, pouring over and past rocks, throwing water into the air, roaring with vigour and energy. And there, at water’s edge, river foaming around her ankles...

 ‘Help!’ he shouted. ‘Here! Help! The river!’ He thought he heard an answering shout, but there was no time, really. He took the first step down and went skidding and sliding, grabbing at rocks and roots and little bushes to stop himself from plummeting directly into the river. ‘Liriel!’

Reaching the bottom with a scattering of dirt and stones, he called again, ‘Liriel! Come away, little one!’

Mesmerised by the song of the water, the little princess did not turn at the call. She waded a little farther, laughing at the tickle of the moving water on her fat little legs.

Hilly reached the edge of the water. ‘Liriel!’ he shouted again. The little princess turned her head at his call this time, eyes alight with mischief in a face dimpled with delight.

Hilly did not want to frighten her into losing her balance and falling. He forced a smile and held out his hand as he stepped into the water, his toes feeling for footholds as the rocks shifted under his weight. A step or two beyond the princess, the water turned white with menace. The Brandywine that ran through Buckland was a sedate old plough-pony, compared to this playful but powerful young colt of a river. ‘Come, lassie,’ he coaxed.

He heard the giggle that so delighted him, and at the same time pained his heart, so much was it like sweet Liliana’s had been... ‘Come, lassie,’ he said again. ‘I have a surprise to show you!’

Liriel’s eyes lit with joy; how the toddler loved surprises. ‘ ‘Prise?’ she said.

 ‘Yes!’ Hilly answered, taking a step nearer. How she had managed to keep her feet, wading on these smooth, slippery stones, was beyond him. Perhaps it had something to do with her Elven blood. ‘Surprise! Come, lassie!’

 ‘ ‘plash!’ she said, and bent to the water to slap a dimpled hand against the surface.

 ‘Come, little darling,’ Hilly said, using one of Arwen’s pet names as he took another cautious step.

 ‘Catch!’ the little darling said, and the hobbit groaned inwardly—a game of chase? In this?

 ‘No!’ he shouted, but she’d already taken the next wobbly step.

Rivers are tricksy things at best, and the princess was not watching her feet, not looking ahead to step safely, not mindful of such things as holes. One moment she was there, and the next...

Hilly gasped, and in the next second he’d thrown his bow and quiver behind him, hoping they would land on the shore to mark the place, and a bare second later he’d drawn as deep a breath as he could while plunging after the princess.