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All That Glisters  by Lindelea

Chapter 59. Kidnapped! 

Denethor allowed himself to sag against the sturdy bole of an apple tree, allowed his sword to hang in his hand, assessing the situation. He knew he had bare seconds to act, knew also that time had slowed to a crawl and he must make each second count.

The wound was recoverable, he thought. The arrow was not buried deep, but hung caught in the broken links of his mail. Mail by itself was no guarantee against archers, but his luck had held and the pyle had glanced from a rib—breathing was painful and his heart was hammering in his ears, but he’d come out of this much better than he deserved. Once he located the archer, he’d put the tree between himself and more arrows. Hilly would keep the ruffian busy with shots of his own, while Denethor worked his way from tree to tree and...

He found the archer, just emerged from the field of tall grain near the orchard, and saw that his trick had worked. Thinking the guardsman mortally wounded, the archer had turned his attention elsewhere.

A choked cry from Rose and terrified shrieks from young hobbits drew Denethor’s attention with the archer’s. Pippin had pushed Diamond and Elanor down on the blankets, Frodo had followed suit with young Rose, Gamgee baby and toddler were shrieking in a most distracting way. Hilly sprawled upon the ground, Posey sobbing over him, and not far away another ruffian had dropped a club and was dragging two of the little ones from a tree branch. Sam had hauled himself to his feet and was hammering away at the Man with his sturdy walking stick, and the archer was taking aim at the Mayor! There was no time!

The guardsman pushed himself upright, raising his sword and rushing across the picnic ground, silent and deadly as a charging wolf. He saw the archer’s eyes widen, saw the bow swing back in his direction, was bare feet away when he felt the impact of the shaft striking through him, but he was already bringing down his sword so it mattered not. The archer gave a howl of pain as the bright sword clove, losing all interest in matters around him at that moment, sinking down, with the hand he still possessed clutching at the stump that remained of the other.

With a vicious kick for the Mayor the other ruffian pried the little hobbits free and ran from the clearing.

 ‘Pippin!’ It was the cry of a mother’s despair. Rose clutched her screaming toddler close, sitting frozen in horror, as the baby wailed nearby.

And yet the Thain himself was calling his own son’s name. ‘Farry!’ And Diamond was screaming and sobbing. Two young hobbits...

Denethor understood suddenly, through the rushing in his ears, that the Mayor’s wife called not for the Thain, but for her young son. Two young hobbits...

He tried to raise his sword again, but turning he could not seem to make his legs obey his command. The world was darkening around him, but he saw enough to know that he’d failed in his duty, utterly failed. The remaining ruffian had escaped, bearing with him two of the young hobbits.

His sword was too heavy, and he was diminishing, sinking into the ground, shrinking to the size of a hobbit, for now somehow Pippin was there, staring eye-to-eye. The Thain had seized him by the hauberk and was shouting, words that had no meaning. Denethor opened his mouth to reply, but there was no air to be found. No air. No...

Pippin eased the kneeling guardsman the rest of the way to the ground. ‘Diamond!’ he shouted. ‘Do what you can!’ To young Frodo, huddled with his sister, the Thain snapped, ‘Run, lad! Run for help!’ Frodo nodded, jumped to his feet, and bolted towards the City.

Pippin swept the picnic ground with one more glance and turned to follow the ruffian.

 ‘Pippin!’ Diamond shrieked, but her husband did not look back. He’d run though it killed him to do so, for the ruffian had their son!

Hilly rose, shaking off Posey, and though he was gasping for air after the blow the ruffian’s club had dealt his mid-section, he staggered after Pippin.

Sam, who hadn’t the legs to join in the chase, crawled over to Rose, scooped up the shrieking babe, and embraced wife and toddler.

Rose buried her head in her husband’s shoulder. ‘Pippin!’ she sobbed brokenly. ‘O my little Pip-lad!’

***

Jack jerked upright, puzzled. He thought he’d heard shrieks from the other side of the River, over the noise from the waterfalls. He listened a moment, then shook his head. Seabirds, it was, seabirds come inland to the great Lake, gulls with white wings, dipping and swirling and crying their doom to any Elves that might pass by.

Still, it was past time for him to be returning. Why, he was greedy as any hobbit, going after “just one more”, and one more after that! His bag held enough mushrooms to serve all the visiting hobbits, on a great serving platter. Well, considering the number of little Gamgees, perhaps not quite enough to satisfy the lot. But enough to serve them, certainly!

He secured the top of the bag under his belt and turned towards the River and the jumbled rocks at the top of the falls that Will liked to call the Stepping Stones.

***

Pippin ran, grimly determined. He knew his limits, and he would not push himself to the point of collapse, not when that Man ahead of him bore Farry and little Pip-lad to an uncertain fate. Uncertain? Pip snorted at himself and shook his head. He knew enough of Men to fear the consequences, should the Man be successful in evading pursuit.

He was weaponless, for the armourer had Pippin’s sword, to make a small repair, but there were plenty of fist-sized rocks near the River, and that was where the Man was headed. If Pippin could get a good shot at him, he might yet bring him down.

The roar of the River grew in his ears. The Man was headed there... but what was his objective? Would he turn northwards, towards the Lake? Was a boat waiting there? Surely he’d excite comment, carrying struggling young hobbits over the causeway. Perhaps he was making for the old bridge, to disappear into the ruins of Annuminas.

Pippin nodded to himself. That was the most likely course. No one would be on the Annuminas side of the River. Hardly anyone went to the ruins these days, unless the hobbits badgered the King into making a visit there, to sit upon the sun-bathed rocks and tell stories of the past.

Why had the Man taken the little ones? Pippin thought he knew, all too well. Ransom. He’d become familiar with the concept while visiting Gondor. But he’d not heard of many happy cases where the desperate family recovered their loved one safe and unharmed, not even after providing the gold demanded. More likely the gold was taken and the body was never found.

Bodies, in this case. Pip-lad and Farry had been clinging to each other in their terror, and the Man had been forced to take both lads, unable to pry them apart. Undoubtedly he’d still be trying to separate them as he ran, that he might cast off the “worthless” lad and keep the one whose father was reputed to sit upon a hoard of gold. If he reached the River before Pippin could catch him, he’d likely throw Pip-lad into the stream, to be carried over the falls and broken on the rocks below, or drowned in the tumult of roiling waters.

The ground was rougher here, and Pippin, topping a rise of broken ground, saw his quarry ahead. The Man had stumbled, fallen, was climbing to his feet. All the better! Pippin could gain some ground... a fine, round rock beckoned from a bed of moss, and the Thain stooped just long enough to pry it loose. It had a satisfying heft in his hand.

His breath came short, but he had plenty of breath for his purposes. He was very nearly within throwing distance, and the ground was rough and rocky, fine going for a sure-footed hobbit but slow and difficult for a burdened Man.





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