"The IQ of a mob is the IQ of its most stupid
member divided by the number of mobsters."

― Terry Pratchett, Maskerade

37. Meat on the Menu

Kat had never before felt this small. The ground was mostly barren with coarse grass between a scatter of rocks and a few trees; there were no hiding places to be seen. She was trying to make a wide circle around the enemy army, but they were marching much too fast. Relentlessly they came closer, and so did the illuminated area beneath their torches.

Cats were not built for long distance running, and in addition she had been spoiled by her friends, allowing Legolas and later Gandalf to carry her around rather than building up her own strength and endurance. She paid dearly for that inactivity now. In no time her paws felt raw and worn, and her legs trembled in fatigue as she doggedly trudged on.

She heard Sauron's soldiers clearly now. Coarse orc voices chanted something in a foreign language, accompanied by a steady drum beat, and every now and then came a dark growl that made her fur stand on end. They had some sort of monsters with them, and judging by their heavy footfalls they were enormous.

Suddenly Kat's path was blocked. A stream! It was narrower than the Anduin, but looked deep and the water flowed by speedily. If she tried to cross, the current would drag her with it.

Dismayed Kat turned back, but by now the line of torches was close enough that she could see the front orcs' hideous faces in the flickering light. Their stench reached her too, that mix of blood and rotting entrails that seemed to always surround their species. It was too late to escape.

Wildly looking around for a place to hide, Kat's eyes fell on a couple of rocks around her own size. They were better than nothing. Crouching behind the largest of them, she forced herself to be still and not make a sound. The creek behind her should limit the army's passage as well; with luck the enemy would march past without noticing her.

They were upon her now, filing by only a couple of meters away, and at last she saw the source of the hideous growls she had been hearing: a group of gray-skinned, vaguely humanoid creatures towering over the horde of orcs.

Trolls. It had to be; though Kat had only seen the foot of one that time in Moria, and a foot alone had been scary enough. Here the monsters were complete in all their terrifying glory. They had massive necks and bald heads with small, beady eyes, and walked with a stoop, their swinging arms thick as tree trunks.

After the trolls an even stranger sight approached: an elephant cavalry! If that was what it was; the animals were so large she only saw them as dark shapes against the clouded sky. The ground shook like an earthquake when they passed.

Cowering in her hiding place, Kat imagined what the elephants and trolls together would do to the walls of Minas Tirith – and to her friends, for that matter. Could Legolas' arrows penetrate thick elephant skin or a troll's leather armor?

Time went slow, and the waiting was agonizing. Row upon row of orcs, trolls and even human warriors went by her hiding place; it seemed there was an endless supply of troops, and with each hour her heart sank deeper. How could Minas Tirith have a chance against this neverending host? Even if Rohan got there in time, they would be vastly outnumbered. The situation felt completely hopeless.

Just when she thought it couldn't get much worse, a sudden chill crept over Kat's flesh, making her hair rise as she trembled with a new terror. There must be Nazgûl nearby. She hoped it was less than four, or she would leave her body like last time – but Ronald had said that wouldn't happen again, and since he knew her future it was probably true.

Carefully peering out, Kat soon saw the cause of her chills – it was easy, because he rode alone; apparently even his own troops kept a distance. The Nazgûl wore a pitch black cloak and hood, and came forth mounted on an equally black horse. The horse looked real enough, but something about the rider was terribly off.

When he came closer, she saw what was wrong. His face! He didn't have one – only a pair of glowing eyes in the empty air under the hood, burning like red embers.

Despite having heard them called ringwraiths, Kat had not realized until now they actually were ghosts. Shocked, she crept back behind the stone, squeezing her eyes shut like a child with a nightmare. This was a nightmare. The empty darkness in combination with the Nazgûl's chilling presence was the most horrifying experience she had ever had, and one she would probably have a hard time dispelling from her memory from now on.

She had better start believing in ghost stories, for she was in one.

/\_ ,._ ,.
( ಠ_ಠ )

The chanting voices and heavy steps subsided when the rearguard passed, but Kat's trembles remained, and she did not dare open her eyes in case the rider was lingering. Therefore the rumbling voice took her completely by surprise.

"Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys!" A hand gripped her by the scruff of her neck and she was brusquely lifted high into the air by a muscular orc, almost as tall as a human. He proudly held her up for his two shorter and darker fellows to see.

"That scrawny rat?" one of them jeered. He had his pants down and was unabashedly peeing into the creek. "Can't see much meat on it."

"And I can't see much meat on your little rat tail there." The tall orc scornfully indicated the other's bare front. "Besides, this kitty's enough food for one, which is all that matters since I ain't sharing." He put Kat closer to his mouth, and when he opened it the stench was sickening. Clearly he intended to bite her head off and eat her raw.

The sight of his yellow, sharp jugulars woke her up from her temporary daze. Hissing and spitting she lashed out with her paws, digging four sets of claws deep into his face.

The orc had not been prepared for resistance. He howled in pain and instinctively brushed her off, and as usual she landed smoothly on her feet.

"Get back here!" he roared. The long, red scratch marks down his cheeks made him look like he was crying blood.

I shouldn't think so. Kat was already running, dodging the peeing orc and slipping between the legs of his comrade.

The orcs would not let her escape that easily, however, and they were fast. She knew with certainty she could not outrun them, even if there was somewhere to run to. Desperately she evaded their grasping hands and stamping boots, making slalom moves between them until she was stopped by the stream.

There was nothing for it, and Kat didn't even pause to think – she just jumped. The angry voices faded at last as icy cold water engulfed her.

When she resurfaced, wet, bedraggled and chilled to the bone, Kat was briefly relieved she had survived. But then she noticed where the current was taking her: back to Osgiliath and the Anduin – the same direction she had come, and where the army was heading.

She tried to turn, paddling like crazy, but to no avail. At a merciless speed she was dragged towards the rest of Sauron's host and its terrifying ghost leader.

/\_ ,._ ,.
( O _ O )

Nellas regarded the burning island with a twinge of jealousy. At least they were warm over there.

Then she checked her feelings. Most of Boromir's people on Cair Andros had fled, but many had died too – and now the orcs and enemy men were burning their corpses. She should not envy that kind of fire.

Instead she tried to force her jaw to be still and stop her teeth from chattering. Boromir had said she must wait and be quiet while he checked if the area was safe. She found it sweet that he thought she needed protection when it was she who had saved him just now, and she didn't want to embarrass him by pretending otherwise. If he wanted her to remain in the river while he scouted the beach, then she would do just that. If only the water was a bit warmer.

She looked up, hoping the stars and moon would have returned, but sadly the accursed darkness remained. It was impossible to tell if a new day was dawning, or if it was still the same night when they had lost their boat.

Nellas didn't want to think about the short and ugly fight that had followed, but her mind would not obey. She had been afraid, terrified even – which was an emotion she had rarely felt before. Boromir could have died there. She too, but that was less important. And though they were safe now, the fear was hard to dispel.

In her head she again heard the sounds of Boromir's grunts and labored breathing as he tried to defend them in the compact darkness. When he had lost the horn and the boat, he drew his sword and fought bravely in the deep water, but a well-aimed swipe from an enemy weapon struck it from his hand. It was not fair; the orc could see in the dark, but Boromir could not.

Besides their vantage of having better vision, the foes were too many for a single warrior, and Nellas was unarmed. Well, until that moment, at least, for she had dived into the water and caught Boromir's dropped sword. The fear of losing him had done something to her head and made her angry. Real angry. Furious.

She could not quite recall how many she had killed before Boromir's voice brought her out of her frenzy. He had called her name, softly begging her to come to him so they could flee. When she obeyed, he took his sword back, and still fencing began the retreat.

The enemies gave up the chase fairly soon; they had a fortress to invade and no time to swim after two single fugitives. But crossing the river without a sound still took hours, for every now and then Boromir turned and paused to watch the sad scene of Cair Andros becoming overtaken. Nellas understood how badly he hated what he saw; hated to be helpless and unable to stop the massacre on his people, but he was not stupid. One man and one elf could do exactly nothing against a host of several hundred orcs and men. So he clenched his fists and cursed under his breath and even cried a little – though he tried to hide it – and then they had arrived at the beach and he took on himself to protect Nellas.

He deserved to be her protector. That was the only thing making him feel better.

She heard him come back now; she easily recognized the sound of his movements, and soon saw him as a darker shadow against the cursed night sky.

"Come," he whispered.

Gratefully she obeyed, at last able to leave the chilling river water.

When she joined him on the beach, she noticed he was shivering quite as badly as she, and there was a scent around him she did not like at all. Blood.

"You are hurt."

"It is just a scratch," he replied dismissively. "Now come, I have found a sheltered spot in a thicket over there. I saw no trace of orcs on this side of the river, so we should be safe for now. But keep your voice down just in case."

Not happy with the answer, she followed him into the dense underbrush lining the forest. She would make sure this 'scratch' was seen too, that was for sure.

"Here we are." He held a fir branch to the side for Nellas to pass.

She appreciatively explored the hiding place. It was a good spot despite the carpet of needles underneath; the fir had a very dense, evergreen foliage of branches that leaned towards the ground like a tent. The area below was dark and cosy, and protected from the wind as well. The fresh scent of resin was a bonus.

Boromir shuffled around a bit until he could manage to find a comfortable position for his large form, and leaned his back against the thick trunk.

"Now let me see where you are injured." Nellas crawled over to him and sat down very close.

"Don't bother. You cannot see it anyway," he murmured, and loosened his cloak so he could wrap it against them both.

"Boromir," said Nellas sternly.

"Nellas," he replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice. Then she felt his hand slip into hers. "Here you go, then. I was slightly cut when they disarmed me. But trust me, it really is nothing to fuss over."

Ignoring his protest, she carefully prodded his palm with her fingertips until she reached the base of his thumb. It was wet and sticky, and contrary to his words, the long gash across it felt both deep and swollen. He tensed involuntarily as she touched it.

"I hate them," she muttered under her breath, feeling her heart pound faster at the thought of his pain, and what she wanted to do to the one responsible.

"Me too." His reply was heartfelt.

She ripped fabric from her chemise to clean and dress his wound as best she could in the darkness. The garment had become very short by now; Boromir had used a lot of it on her own wound during their many days in the Dead Marshes.

It struck her that she had felt no discomfort from her injury in a long time; not even when she fought before, or waded across the river. That was good. It meant she could help Boromir, rather than be a burden like before.

While she worked with his hand, he spoke in a low, anguished voice about his concerns. "The enemy holds Cair Andros now. What a disaster. Our allies in the northwest – Rohan – will be cut off if Sauron launches an attack on Minas Tirith, and what is worse, I cannot warn my father because you and I are cut off as well. Nobody can pass the fortress unnoticed, and– Ah!"

"Sorry. But I need to bind it tightly or the cut will open again."

"Of course. It was just a reflex. Anyway, like I said, we cannot go past the island now, and yet we have to somehow. I just wish I knew how. But wait... Perhaps I could warn the Rohan king instead? Or rather, his son, Théodred – a very valiant man, and a good captain. His father is getting old, so it will probably be he who leads their riders now. Yes. I think I shall warn Théodred. That is a plan at least; something for you and I to do. And as for your injury, there are healers in Rohan as well, I am sure, though not as skilled as those in Minas Tirith. They can take a look at it."

"And at yours."

"If you insist." His voice was smiling again.

Nellas had finished the bandage now, but didn't drop his hand. She leaned close, enjoying his warmth and the pleasant scent of leather and musk.

"Are you cold?" He secured his cloak more snugly around them.

"Yes." It was not a lie, but even if she were burning hot she would have said yes; she was not wasting the opportunity to be in Boromir's arms.

He cupped her hands between his own and blew warm air on them. "Better?"

Nellas' heart skipped a beat. "A bit. Do it again, please."

He did, and when he had finished blowing, his lips lingered. Now her heart beat faster instead, in anticipation.

When he kissed her palm, it was light as a butterfly. "Thank you." His low whisper was barely audible even for her ears.

"For what?" Her own voice was breathless.

"How many more times are you going to save my life?" He gave her another soft peck. The feeling of his lips and warm breath on her skin sent chills down her spine, and not because she was cold.

"As many times as it takes." She caught his good hand and stroked it. It was rough and calloused; a warrior's hand, but at his wrist his skin was smooth. She kissed it, and felt his quick pulse under her lips.

"I am a warrior and a man. I should be protecting you, not the other way around."

"We can protect each other."

"Are all elf maids this stubborn?"

"I haven't met all elf maids, so I cannot say."

His responding chuckle was as unexpected as it was heartwarming. "Oh, Nellas. You really are one of a kind." He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug.

She gratefully rested her head on his broad chest and slipped her hand around his waist.

Despite everything, she felt completely safe.

A/N:

I hope some Boromir-Nellas-fluff was compensation enough for leaving Kat on a cliffhanger. :D

As always, your comments and votes spark joy! It's people like you that give authors energy to write. Thank you all for supporting the story. ♡

Image Credits:

Screenshot from The Lord of the Rings movies.