Disclaimer: See Prologue. Gwen is mine.
The Light Within,
Chapter Three: Choices
by: Sherrywine
Gwen paced her room, her thoughts running together so quickly she couldn't make heads or tails of anything she was thinking about in that moment.
You have to make a choice, Gwen, and fast. Strider and the others will be leaving before morning. She fingered the edge of the finely-wrought dagger Strider had given her "for protection" before they left the town. It was a gleaming silver blade, coupled with a contoured grip that fit very well in her hand. It was deadly sharp. Ironically, Gwen was twice as likely to cut herself with it as she was to actually hurt someone else, but there was no convincing the forceful man of the North of that. He had simply shoved it into her hands, given her a hard look, and went on his way, sternly telling her to forget all about them. As if that were possible!
it was as if her mind had zeroed in on the hobbits and their new guardian, and was unable to stray from it. Logically Gwen recognized that she was using this current situation to divert her attention away from the giant chasm of hell that had become her reality in the last twenty-four hours. It was an understandable protective mechanism, and one she didn't really care to fight.
She studied the ornate weapon warily from where it sat gleaming in her hand, wondering where such a blade might have been made, and how. She had always enjoyed keenly learning how things were made, and the countless medieval objects she was encountering were no different. Gently she ran a thumb along the whisper thin edge, jerking away sharply with a hiss when it nicked her skin. It was wicked sharp, actually, and the cut brought to mind memories best left alone. The last time she had seen a knife like this, its' wielder had been trying to kill her. The wound reminded her how easily she could be harmed. I have no business wandering about a place called Middle Earth following a bunch of hobbits and a human. A Ranger. A Dúnedain. Whatever he is. She really didn't. Her ability to survive in an unforgiving world such as Middle Earth was questionable at best, even following others who did know how harsh the terrain and landscape could be.
She had turned over her options so many times now. I need to go home. I need to find Jessie. Her parents were surely frantic with worry by now. A pang of homesickness and dread hit her hard at the thought of them alone, wondering where she was. That was the hardest part of being in this surreal world, besides being worried for Jessie - knowing that her parents were surely heartbroken by her absence. It was a difficult thought. Gwen sank to the feather-stuffed bed, tossing the dagger to the floor in the process, heedless of the blade. Oh, God. I want to go home.
Hopelessness swamped her, buffeting her already thin, control of her emotions into fragility. Fat, hot tears fell and wet the pillow beneath her face. For the first time since arriving here, Gwen allowed herself that single moment of weakness.
Mom and Dad would hate to see me this way. She wept bitter tears at the thought. They wouldn't want me to sit around crying over something I can't change. The'y'd want me to find a way back to them. After a few minutes of helpless emotion, her tears slowed, and then stopped. Without a shadow of doubt, Gwen knew the path to her decision was clear. I can't exactly sit around safe and sound within a hole-in-the-wall tavern in a town called Bree waiting to fall asleep and wake up back in California, if that's even possible. Gwen had no money to rent a room within said tavern, at any rate, and precious few skills that would be considered strong enough to earn a wage in a place like this.
Sighing, she sat back up quickly, drying the wet trails on her face, wrenching the leather thong that held back her hair away from her scalp with a hint of temper, taking a few strands of dark, curly hair with it. Despite knowing she had little choice in leaving Bree, Gwen couldn't help but feel doubts. I can't exactly go traipsing off into God-knows-where followed by a bunch of evil, soul-sucking wraiths. The mere idea of it sent chills into her torso. Even if the others allowed her to come with them, it would be very dangerous.
The problem was, neither the hobbits nor Strider intended to allow her to travel with them, even for a little while, and they wouldn't tell her why. It was all very hush-hush, and Gwen couldn't get anything out of them to save her own life – literally. If I don't follow them, where will go I go? What will I do? Decisions, decisions. Which is the lesser of two evils? Out in the streets or out on the road?
It wasn't in her nature to be indecisive, but the past few hours had drained Gwen mentally, and she had been able to do little more than mull over her options and replay Strider's words in her head. She hadn't been able to get much out of the man, especially once he had realized she was plainly listening to his words, but what she had learned was more than she ever needed to know, and none of it was good; put plainly, Middle Earth and all the races of its' lands were in the first throes of a war. A bloody war, if the history Strider had mentioned was to be believed. An ancient, evil magic guy - Maiar, Strider had called him - named Sauron had once nearly taken over Middle Earth a couple thousand years ago, decimating entire populations of various races in his quest to rule the continent.
Now, Sauron had seemingly reappeared again in a land to the east called Mordor and set up shop, building armies and sending out his minions to cause trouble across the lands. How that was possible, Gwen didn't know, but anything that refused to die, frankly, scared the shit out of her. And that was where the black-rider-evil-wraith-things came in. They were apparently Sauron's undead minions, having used to be great Kings or something. The ranger had been sympathetic to her fear of them, but he, and the hobbits, seemed too preoccupied with their own business to worry about her overmuch – not that she could blame them. She was, after all, virtually a stranger to them. Still, it didn't comfort her to know she wouldn't have anyone to watch her back if she did venture out of the town limits.
The hobbits were obviously in a dangerous spot of some sort – after all, they had chosen to trust the ranger even when he had not given them a reason that she knew of. Strider was insisting that they leave for Imladris, the home of some great elf, immediately, and leave Bree behind altogether. Strider mentioned this right before he remembered her presence in the room and shoved the dagger she held currently in her face, telling her in no uncertain terms to go and leave them be. It was clear she would not be a part of whatever plan he had for the hobbits. As shaken as she had been, the ranger's plans to leave Bree sounded fairly promising for her. Logically, if the elves had the power to defend against the terrifying wraiths, they might have the power to help her find Jessie, and maybe even get her out of Middle Earth.
It would be a dangerous road, though, what with Sauron's undead minions roaming about.
She certainly wasn't going to figure out a way home in Bree, though, where the most intelligent and understanding individuals couldn't begin to imagine her situation. Sbe barely understood her situation! It was impossible to know more than she did without some outside guidance. There had been no sign of Jessie that Gwen could see, as she hadn't passed through the most logical place a hungry, tired person might go - the inn. Gwen herself had no money or influence with which to proffer help or rent a room to stay here for longer, (she highly suspected that Frodo and the other hobbits had paid for her room thus far, as the bartender hadn't asked her about paying for it herself) so she would be out on the streets soon anyway. At least if she followed the hobbits she would have a chance of surviving in the wild.
And, despite her knowledge of their age and capabilities, as well as her fear of the dangers she could face as a result of traveling in the wild in this unknown land, Gwen couldn't help but feel slightly protective of her new hobbit friends. They looked so much like children it was easy to feel the urge to mother them. Sighing, Gwen stared down at the dagger laying innocently on the wooden floor. It was all but decided, then. She would follow them to this place of the elves, and find out what she could about finding Jessie and going home.
The next step from there would come then, if she had to make it. Let's just hope the elves know a way to get me back to California, and that I see Jessie or some sign of her along the way. It was really the only acceptable option. She would follow the hobbits, to Imladris – and hope to God Strider didn't catch her in the process. Her mind growing somewhat more settled now that she'd come to a decision, Gwen quickly gathered her few meager belongings which by now was only her aged leather backpack, her blanket, and a half crumpled cheap plastic water bottle, sweeping from the room. She had no time to waste. Barliman Butterbur, the tavern-keeper and owner of the inn, stopped her hastily at the door.
"You'll not be wanting to go out of doors tonight, little lady." His eyes roved about nervously, and sweat rolled from one round cheek down his neck. "There are dark things about." Bushy eyebrows emphasized his point expressively, and she swallowed hard at how genuinely frightened he seemed, but Gwen was resolute and wouldn't be swayed. If she waited for daylight, the ranger would be long gone, and with him her chances of ever understanding how she had come to be in Middle Earth. She flashed the rotund man a kind, steel-lined smile, but inside hoped he couldn't see her own nervousness.
"I don't have much of a choice, I'm afraid." Swallowing, Gwen gave the kindly-featured man a tentative smile, which the big man returned hesitantly. Business had slowed to a trickle in the tavern, she noticed. Even the flirtatious bar maids seemed to be absent, and the lack of immediate work to do seemed to have allowed Mr. Butterbur the luxury of talking to her about something other than food, drink, or directions. The massively rotund barkeeper was enthusiastically rubbing down the cherry-stained wood of the long bar with a clean rag that was stained permanently a yellowish color from God-knew-what, and the motion made his bushy sideburns wiggle and move in the most fascinating way. After a moment, red and puffy-cheeked, he returned his attention to Gwen.
"Little lady," he began in a stern, no-nonsense voice she thought wasn't nearly as effective as he surely did, "You entered this establishment without proper clothing, food, or yer own wits, don' think I didn't notice." He poked a finger at her over the bar, rag in hand. "Yer in little proper position to go out hereabouts alone, especially on a night like tonight!" Wheezing a little, he leaned over the bar as if to emphasize his point. Gwen flushed, a little embarrassed by what the man had observed of her. Still, she had no intentions of being kept from leaving. Who knew if she would ever have the opportunity to follow another person to the elves!
Nodding, she said, "I realize that, sir. But I must go." Meeting the barkeep's serious gaze, Gwen moved around the tall bar, heading for the door. Stopping one last time, Gwen turned. "Thank you for everything - the room and the food," she murmured appreciatively. Barliman Butterbur sighed, knowing he couldn't let the strange girl-child leave unprepared for a journey altogether. Something told him that she had little idea how harsh the lands of Middle Earth could be. A warrior or hunter she was not, even to his untrained eyes it was clear to see.
"Miss. Wait." He moved as quickly as he was able with his unusually large gut in the way. The girl stopped, and he didn't miss the exasperated look on her face. She didn't appreciate his interference now, but she would have two or three nights without a hot meal in her belly, he knew. "At least take some rations for the road?" What compelled him to aid her, he didn't know rightly, only that he felt she could use the rare kindness. And it didn't sit right with him, knowing she'd starve out on the East Road alone without aid.
Checking first to ensure his patrons were all happy for the moment, Barliman waved her back into the Pony's storeroom, where he handed her a number of items that would survive the journey: aged cheeses, day-old bread, a bit of salted pork and venison, and even a little pouch of dried melon, which was counted among one of his favorite snacks. Barliman was happy to see that she now seemed much more appreciative of his time and effort, and with a spot of heat rising in his cheeks, he realized she seemed speechless by his actions. Never mind that it would take him a good few hours to remake what coin she had taken in foodstuffs, the look of gratitude and humble appreciation in her eyes was enough.
The world had precious little kindnesses to be found in it as it was.
For her part, Gwen was struck dumb by the stranger's generosity. As if he knew she couldn't pay, the tavern keeper didn't ask for gold for the goods he had shoved into her bag. He just ushered her back into the main room and returned to his bar without a look back. With one last quietly thank-you and a silent farewell, Gwen exited into the streets, and was almost immediately overwhelmed by the revolting stench of horseflesh, shit, and ammonia. It was obviously that plumbing and hygienic bathroom facilities had not yet been widely implemented in Bree, as Gwen was almost positive she saw a half-drunken slob with his penis out a few feet from the door of the inn, which she was charmed to see was named the Prancing Pony. Revolted at the sight, she quickly turned away to begin her journey.
The cobblestone street was nearly empty, and she saw no sign of Strider or any of the hobbits, even as she came to the outskirts of town. Gwen began to worry that she might have missed them entirely by following Mr. Butterbur. Hefting the considerably more heavy rucksack a little to adjust the weight along her shoulders, Gwen sighed, sniffing when her nose began to run a bit from the cold air she was breathing in. Well at least it's not raining.
She'd have to do her best to catch up to the hobbits. Gwen hoped that their shorter legs might slow their pace a little more, and started quickly out of town in the same direction she'd been going before – east. She had only seen the map Frodo carried briefly, but Gwen, who's memory was nearly eidetic, recalled the long road running through Bree and curving south and east towards a long ridge of mountains. It was the main road that ran through much of this part of Middle Earth, if her memory was to be believed. While she had her doubts, it was the best thing she had to go on right now.
Hoping for any sign of the others, she moved cautiously and as quickly as she was able, knowing her chances of them still being inside the town limits was slim at best. Strider would push them hard, she felt. His nature seemed very intense and focused, and Gwen supposed his actions would mimic that nature very clearly. She would just have to be more focused. The new day's sun would not show for many hours yet, making it difficult to see, much more so than she had anticipated. The sky had barely begun to lighten ahead of her. More than once, Gwen bumped into a barrel or tripped over an uneven cobblestone in the road, but resolutely she kept going, passing by a rickety stable, where a few horses were quietly speaking to one another in gentle nickering sounds. Maybe I should get a horse? Gwen quickly dismissed the idea, as it would amount to stealing – and she would feel terrible about it later.
Just as she reached the outer, stronger palisade protecting the town, a shadow that moved more quickly than she could hope to pulled her back roughly, jerking her to a stop with a shove. Immediately, a strong hand clasped to her mouth, to stifle any cry of alarm she made. "What are you doing, woman?" the figure hissed, dragging her away from the town gates, nearly pulling her from her feet altogether. "I told you not to follow us," the person continued after a pregnant, fear-filled pause. A heartbeat passed, and Gwen's mind caught up to what her relaxing body had already told her. It was Strider. Relief replaced fear. She hadn't been too late after all.
Defiantly, she wrenched her arm from his grasp, almost smiling when the four hobbits materialized out of the darkness behind Strider, looking none too happy to see her. Well at least they haven't left Bree yet. One less thing to worry about...
"Who said I was?" She said indignantly. Never mind that she had been...she couldn't let them know that! The ranger crossed his arms over a broad chest and stared down at her, anger bleeding out of every pore, clearly not believing her indignant words. Gwen knew she was caught, so she tried a different tactic. Gwen mirrored Strider's own pose defiantly. "There is no law that says I can't. You can't stop me." She hoped there wasn't, anyway; she didn't really know. Strider cocked an eyebrow at her. Something about his eyes told Gwen he wasn't amused with her, nor truly annoyed. It was as if he had expected her to try exactly what she had. Still, he regarded her with a mix of open distrust and curiosity. The hobbits stood to the side, paying close attention to their words.
"Why shouldn't I tie you up and leave you for Butterbur, girl?" He declared. "I've already told you to leave us be."
She shrugged, meeting his flashing eyes with feigned bravado, but she couldn't think of any good reason for Strider NOT to do such a thing. All she had to fall back on was her own stubborn need to find Jessie and go home. A moment later, she grew distracted by the sight of her tent strapped securely across Strider's back. Indignantly, Gwen forgot his question as outrage beckoned.
"Hey! That's my tent, you thief!" Strider's pupils dilated, the only sign that she had startled him with her realization. He had the grace to look vaguely shamed, but he didn't apologize. He simply waited for her to explain herself as he originally asked, and Gwen resisted the urge to pout like a little girl. What's so damn bad about me going with them anyway? It's not like I'm going to kill them in their sleep or something. The mature side she had within her insisted that their behavior was only logical.
Gwen sighed, meeting Strider's hard stare directly. "Look, I just want to get home." She knew the hobbits had explained her situation - what they knew of it - to Strider already. He had been concerned himself by her circumstances, but clearly unmoved past the point of sympathy. Even now, his stoic features remained a blank page, and he was clearly unmoved by her need. Strider and the hobbits watched her like a hawk, and the ranger never released her arm from his grip, as if he feared she would do something unpleasant. Gwen's own stubborn nature kicked in, and she tried again to make the man of the north understand.
"I know you said you have no idea how I can go home," she began heavily. "But maybe one of those elves you were talking about before could help me." She lifted her eyes to his, unaware that they were pleading with him as much as her words were. It looked as if she was prepared to kneel before him in supplication within the next few moments. Gwen's expressive eyes followed his when they broke away from her face to glance down. Was he softening? "
Please, just take me with you and after we get there, I swear you'll never see me again," she begged.
He stared at her for the longest time, aware of the growing sun glowing in her hair, until finally he released her with a deep sigh, capitulating. "I'm going to regret this," he muttered to himself. This mission was fraught with enough danger and unknown factors as it was. Watching this unknown and unusual girl would require him to be even more focused than without her. But at least if she was with them, he wouldn't have to wonder about her. She would be right under his nose and eyes. Frodo jerked noticeably, clearly not expecting his acquiescence. His movement drew both Gwen and Strider's eyes. To Gwen's shock, he was staring at her, utterly terrified. It was as if they were not even acquaintances. His eyes glimmered in the growing morning light, Strider that losing the cover of darkness could be even more dangerous for the stout hobbit.
"Strider, you can't be serious!" he exclaimed, stunned. When he saw that Strider, was, indeed serious, he shot her another look of fear tinged with worry and anger before shaking his head and turning away from them, striding away and through the gates of Bree. Gwen stared at his slowly retreating form, incredulous and slightly wounded by his reception. What, does he think I am some kind of thief or killer or something? Sheesh! Gwen's interest primarily lay with getting home, and she didn't care what she had to do to get there. Frodo and his friends were simply a means to an end, even if their child-like stature tweaked some instinct inside her, and the undead minions on the road scared the crap out of her.
Strider, uncomfortable with Frodo's reaction to his decision, regained Gwen's attention with a stern shake. "Come on, then, girl," he growled lowly, almost quietly. "But I'm watching you, and I think you know by now I'll kill you before I let you hurt anyone here." Before she could reply – his words had shocked her to stunned silence – he turned abruptly and followed a fast-moving Frodo. Gwen couldn't believe he believed her capable of harming someone like Frodo! What kind of world is this?!
Sam didn't seemed to give her much attention at all, and was hot on the Ranger's heels, but Merry and Pippin dallied behind a moment, staying with her, and she could see they felt out of sorts over their kinsman's behavior. Gwen shuttered her emotions as best she could, knowing that there was nothing she could do to change Strider and Frodo's minds about her yet. Still, it hurt her feelings, and she knew that they had seen a small glimmer of them in her eyes. "These are dark times, Lady Gwen," Merry whispered gently, by way of an apology. "Dark times." He acknowledged her solemnly before turning and following the others through the gates.
Dark times indeed, thinking a girl like me could hurt a guy like Frodo, she mused.
Strider led them past the outskirts of town, his eyes watchful and his movements careful. They stopped several times, and Strider seemed to be listening for something. Gwen surmised it might be the undead things - the riders - that made him so cautious. As long as it took, she definitely did not want to meet up with one of them anytime soon. They all moved in a loose diamond, of which Sam took the rear with his pony, while Pippin and Merry walked on either side of her. Frodo walked quietly just in front of her. They were all as quiet as church mice, obviously wary of any lurkers or people who might be following them. Anyone, Strider had warned whilst giving her a suspicious look, could be a spy for Sauron. Gwen scowled but said nothing at the barb.
So they stole carefully out of Bree, and there was a palpable sense of relief when the town disappeared from view behind them. The journey had officially begun. Gwen, at least, was happy to leave Bree for good; felt there was a lesser chance of Strider leaving her in the wild than in town. Grateful beyond words for his unwilling aid, she walked without complaint, even when each step became painful and difficult. It was cold - very cold - and the ground was slippery and full of mud from the previous days' rain.
They walked until the sun rose altogether, and for a few hours afterward. Strider avoided the road, calling the path too dangerous, and opted instead to take the group into the Midgewater Marshes. A few hours into the morning, they stopped for a meager, cold breakfast of venison jerky, chunks of apple, and 'brick bread,' aptly named squares of hardened bread that wouldn't easily stale. Probably because it's already hard enough to break teeth. Gwen sank her teeth into a piece, chewing it many times until it became soft and slightly more palatable. She attempted a gesture of peace when she pulled out the pouch of dried fruit Barliman had given her, passing it around eagerly. She wanted desperately to prove she was no threat to Strider, much less the hobbits. Gwen glanced up at a stone-faced Strider, and was disappointed to see he was unmoved and had no appreciation for her kindness.
After a full day's sun had passed in the sky, she was exhausted, achy, and wishing for bed. Whining might have been a decent option had she not been in such inhospitable company. Strider was not sympathetic towards her at all. "You insisted upon this journey," he muttered as he passed by her limping form, once. She flipped him off behind his back in a fit of temper, but knew he was right. She didn't regret her choice, but it was damn hard to keep going when she wasn't used to it like he was.
Merry walked beside her after a brief stop for dinner, as sulky as she was because he hadn't had enough to eat that day. Strider was a decent ways ahead, scouting out paths to take through the marshes. Hobbits, Pippin had explained earlier, ate many meals a day, and if they missed them, it could get nasty. Judging by the thunderclouds brewing in the Merry's expression, Gwen believed him without a doubt.
"How do we know this Strider is a friend to Gandalf?" Merry said this in a whisper, but Gwen and the other hobbits heard him easily. She could tell he was not really suspicious of the ranger, but was merely lashing out in petulent anger. Still, his words were ironic, given how little trust was shown to her. Merry, at least, seemed to trust her enough to speak to her. She wondered who Gandalf was, but didn't dare ask, for fear of being accused of gathering information. Gwen shrugged and tried to ignore the ache growing up her back that throbbed fiercely. "You don't, I guess," she whispered in reply. "No more than you know I'm friendly." Though the last thing I want is to hurt some hobbits who look like kids. Gwen sighed, continuing,
"Some things you just take on faith, for better or worse."
The air thickened to a dense cloud of gases as they grew closer to the marshes and the fog that lingered on them unnaturally was eerie and too quiet. The ground was growing ever wetter, and it was becoming harder to keep a sound footing on the ever soft ground. "I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer, but feel fouler." Frodo added, softly to his kin after a moment, speaking for the first time in her presence all day. Gwen was pretty sure he didn't mean for her to hear him, but she agreed with him nonetheless. She wondered if he thought she didn't look foul enough to be a friend.
Merry scowled blackly, not bothering to hide his response to Frodo's kinder words. "He looks foul enough." Gwen was shocked at his words. Though Gwen might not call him the friendliest of men she had ever met, she knew how important it was that the group had Strider. "I've never been the type to bite the hand that feeds me," she warned gently. "You shouldn't either." She paused, peering at the large bit of water in front of her. Deciding it looked to deep to want to walk through, she jumped lightly over it. The motion made her legs tremble, and she teetered briefly before straightening. Gwen glanced back at Merry, and it turned into a long look over her shoulder. "Strider didn't have to help any of us." She paused, coughing when her breath turned into a faint wheeze.
"Well, me anyway," she murmured, straightening to continue her slow plod-and-jump routine through the boggy marsh. "Where would we be so far without him?" Sam's pony snuffled her neck, spurring her on through the marshes towards the ranger ahead. "Dead in our beds, I'd say," she huffed, unaware that Sam and Frodo were listening to her words as well, and they invoked for the quiet hobbits a feeling of faint guilt. After all, she had defended him against an unknown foe as well as Strider had, even if her efforts were not needed at the time. It had been quickly forgotten - too quickly forgotten.
"Those wraiths knew where we were supposed to be sleeping." Sam's voice was soft in the mist, reminding them all why Strider should be trusted. Merry looked disagreeable, but didn't respond. "Gwen is right; we have no choice but to trust him." Frodo's words rolled over them. Gwen was surprised that he would agree with her at all. She glanced at him, and he met her eyes, smiling a small smile at her, and it was an olive branch between them.
For a long while after, no one spoke.
The Midgewater Marshes were a complete and utter nightmare.
They were aptly named, too. Enormous clouds of swarming, minuscule insects buzzed about all over in nearly every direction she looked, gathering heavily over the cold, dark pockets of water that the more dry land wove in and out of. Gwen had, at last count, more than two dozen tiny bites on her face and hands alone. They lit her skin up with a fierce itch, forcing her to use every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep from scratching at them and scarring her skin. Strider led them through the center of the marshes, knowing the wraiths that tracked them wouldn't follow there. Gwen could see why, too. Even the wraiths would be carted off by bloodsuckers the size of plates. She swatted at a niggling bug on her neck. Her hand came away smeared with blood and bug guts. Yuck.
Gwen had lost her footing more times than she cared to count, and she had been unable to avoid becoming sopping wet from head to toe with each fall. The water was growing deeper the farther into the murky swampland they traveled, but Strider himself seemed unconcerned - or maybe less concerned with the dangers of the marshes than he was the danger of Sauron's minions. Still, it was miserable being cold and wet, and Gwen was sure she would never get used to it. As she half dried, her hair caked into muddy ringlets around her face that stuck to her skin and hardened. Inevitably, though, she would trip again and re-wet herself, beginning the process anew. The sucking, sticky mud of the land they walked on was a trap for injuries as well. Her ankle had been twisted more than once from her many falls, slowing the group considerably. This caused Strider to grow frustrated and eventually, he began to haul her up without waiting for her permission, growling lowly at her apparent weakness.
"What does he expect, exactly?" she grumbled under her breath, trying to ignore the pain shooting up her leg with every step. Luckily the joint didn't seem too puffy just yet, but Gwen was terrified she would break the bone given a few more falls. It was just simply difficult to maintain balance with all the mud and water. "Its not like this is familiar territory for me." She really was doing her best to keep going, and the last thing she wanted was to slow the group down.
Ahead, Strider called out, "I expect you to keep moving without complaint, girl," he growled back at her, proving his hearing to be superior to hers. Merry muttered something lowly under his breath, and Gwen wasn't able to make that out, either. "We'll soon make camp," Strider said more gently a moment later. Apparently he has really good hearing, on top of being perfectly suited to the outdoors. And he really was – he had yet to trip or lose his footing on their way through the marshes.
Strider's singular annoyance with her plight grated on her nerves, because she wasn't the only one struggling; the hobbits had it even worse than she did. Every step they took carried them through water and mud that sank them to their waists, forcing them to practically wade through the deeper patches of water and mud. No one, except Strider, seemed immune from the hell that was the marshes. Between the water and midges, the cold almost became an afterthought. Gwen's breath puffed into steamy clouds in front of her face, a clear reminder.
When at last Strider called for them to make camp, they all breathed a collective sigh of relief. Gwen's first instinct was to find the nearest perch and sit down immediately, but she knew there was work to be done. While the Ranger hunted for their supper in the marshes, Gwen pitched her small tent and the hobbits made a fire just large enough to cook whatever Strider returned with. Sam thoughtfully boiled a spot of water to pour on an old rag, which he passed to her with a tentative smile.
"Girls like to be clean," he said by way of an explanation as he offered it up. "My momma always said that," he added with a hint of red in his cheeks. He held it out like a peace offering between them. Touched beyond words at the hobbit's thoughtfulness, Gwen pressed the hot rag to her face nearly moaning aloud when the heat suffused her icy skin. She hadn't truly realized how cold she was until she felt that heat against her face.
"Thank you, Sam," Gwen replied gratefully. Her voice came out an exhausted murmur, and even Frodo looked at her momentarily in apparent sympathy. She was clearly the least hardy of the bunch of them, and the most ill suited for this journey of theirs. Quiet fell over the makeshift camp, except for Merry and Pippin speaking quietly with one another a short ways from their fire. Merry, it seemed, was still moody, and his eyes flashed angrily at whatever Pippin was telling him. Gwen grew distracted when Strider returned a short while later with a trio of long-eared rabbits, which he tossed carelessly on the ground beside the fire pit before hunching down to enjoy the warmth a moment, balancing his weight evenly on his legs. He eyed her tent, then her leg, thoughtful. "You should put that leg up tonight," he ordered sternly at last. "It's not broken, but I can't afford to have to carry you the rest of the way if you weaken it further."
Anger rose in her at the implication in his words, even as Gwen knew he was right. "I would hate to force you to go out of your way, Strider," she spat nastily. The weariness in her bones was making her foolish. He glanced at her, meeting her eyes with his own, which were mildly rebuking. "I wouldn't," he answered bluntly. "I would simply leave you here to the midges and the wet." Her temper, it seemed, would not be controlled at the moment, and she sneered at him childishly.
"Oh, you – you...ass!" Gwen took a step toward him defiantly, then went down with a squeak when her weakened ankle gave out beneath her weight. As furious as the sudden, clear proof of Strider's words made her, the fall didn't hurther as it normally might, and Gwen could only glare at him from her place on the ground. "I'm not a weak child," she declared hotly, "and you have no right to talk to me like that!" Strider, a scoff faint across his features, approached her calmly before standing over her and merely staring down her from his vantage point. After an uncomfortable moment, in which the complete silence of the camp permeated the air, the man bent down and picked her up as he had for the dozenth time that day, placing her gently against a mossy rock protruding from the ground for support before hunching down and hiking up her pants to take a look at her ankle. He ignored her vocal protests, and, silent, he began to inspect her injury. His long fingers prodded the weakened joint, making her hiss and pull away.
"It's definitely not broken," he declared after a moment. "Just badly bruised." He rose to full height smoothly and looked down at her with his unfathomable blue-gray eyes. Anger flashed there. "Next time, tell me if you hurt yourself – do not wait," he commanded before turning his back to her fully, preparing to deal with his meager catch for their dinner. Remembering all he had done for her and the hobbits made Gwen feel shamed at how she was acting. "And while you may not be weak, you still act like a child." He tossed the last words over his shoulder before sitting himself beside the fire and ignoring her completely in favor of the rabbits.
Flushing, Gwen wanted to protest and argue with him, but she knew he was right. She was acting like a child. Gwen nodded, but he didn't see her gesture. Crap. She had always been stubborn when it came to apologies, but she really did owe him one. "Strider?" she called out hesitantly. He lifted his head, his eyes annoyed. Gwen swallowed. "You're right, I acted like a child just then – I'm sorry," she apologized. The Ranger did not reply, but inclined his head in acknowledgement of her act of maturity. Well then, it'll have to be a good enough apology for now, won't it? She sighed.
Strider set to cleaning the rabbits, and before long, he had a nice rabbit stew boiling, and Sam was softening the brick bread with a bit of water. Gwen They ate in silence, keeping the fire low so there would be less smoke in the air. Not that it'd matter much in this fog. It lay as heavy and as thick as a blanket over the land, making it all but impossible to see beyond a few feet. As night descended completely into inky black, an even heavier, cloyingly thick fog rolled over their camp in clutching waves, making almost impossible to breath. Gwen, feeling battered and exhausted, retired to the tent for bed, all but daring Strider to say something otherwise. After an hour of tossing and turning, Gwen found she couldn't sleep a wink. Night sounds increased in duration all around her, disturbing her rest, but the others seemed used to the noise.
Frustrated with herself and her inability to sleep, Gwen unzipped the tent and rolled out. She was surprised to find Merry, Frodo, and Strider still awake around the fire. Her surprise must have reflected in her face because Merry gestured defensively to the stew pot. "I was hungry." Gwen nodded in understanding, moving gingerly on her ankle to the fire to take a seat. She waved a hand at the makeshift dwelling she had erected. "Take the tent, you two, when you're done," she offered. "There will be fewer midges in there." Gwen didn't provide an explanation for her offering, feeling at this point they would either begin to trust her intentions or not, but the hobbits failed to complain and were soon zipped gratefully inside the small contraption. Gwen was left alone by the fire with Strider. She wrapped herself in her throw, grateful she'd had it with her when she 'came through' to this world. Silence descended again, except for the soft sounds of the fire popping every so often, and Strider puffing on a pipe and shifting occasionally in the dark.
Above her head, the star-studded sky gleamed brightly, and for a moment Gwen was lost in the constellations, awed at the number of diamond-like twinkles she could in this land. California was lit often by only neon lights, and a person could hardly ever see the stars. And never like this. It was as if there were more stars shining in the sky than there was the black of night. After a while, her eyes began to droop in sleep. Strider remained awake, clearly on guard against their enemies. Unbeknownst to her, he turned to inspect her as she lay by the fire, taking her small form curled as it was against the cold.
"I was not wrong about you, you know," Strider intoned suddenly, jerking Gwen back from the precipice of sleep suddenly. "You are a child. But not in the way I meant, I suspect," he murmured around his pipe, so low he might have been talking almost to himself. Gwen tried to puzzle out his words, but her mind was hazy with sleepiness. Annoyance crept back into her but he did not give her a moment to answer. "Children are selfish and prone to complaints," he explained, "And you have shown neither of these qualities in great abundance today." He is complimenting me, after all. Huh. Gwen couldn't deny the very idea had grown shocking, given the disregard he had shown her since they had met.
"Well...thank you, I guess," she replied hesitantly. There was a faint note of disbelief in her voice. He smiled slightly, and removed the pipe from his lips to wave it at her impatiently. "Let us have peace between us, my lady," he requested. "Though I do not agree with your stubborn desire to follow us, I can understand your need." He moved the few crackling logs of the fire around with a long stick, and added two more good sized pieces to the mix. His eyes gleamed in the firelight as he met her curious gaze. "This is a dangerous journey, lady... one you are ill equipped for," he added without venom. Gwen, feeling thoughtful, leaned up on one elbow to study him. He's right about that.
"Do you really think I'm a threat to Frodo?" she asked, unaware that her inner feelings were leaking through, and his surprise at her question was clear in his eyes. "I'm not, you know," she added strongly. Strider returned to his seat by the fire and took up his pipe again, taking a few puffs before he removed it from his mouth, sighing. "These darkened days have told me to trust no one..." he trailed off, and for a moment Gwen thought that would be the extent of his disappointing answer. "But," he continued, "I do not think you would harm Frodo, no. There is too much kindness in you for that, and far too much gentleness." He returned the pipe to his mouth, his lips twisting in a grimace.
"But I do not believe Frodo's troubles should be yours," he concluded finally. "Indeed, Frodo's cares are far too much for a girl unfit for the wild places of the world to help carry."
"Now sleep," he commanded. "You need your rest if you're to continue farther tomorrow."
She agreed completely, and Gwen settled back into the curled position she had been in before, shuddering a little at how cold she had become. Long minutes drifted off into silence. Closing her eyes fully, Gwen would have drifted off into sleep had she not heard Strider begin to sing in an unknown language. It was a low, whispered melody and his voice was a beautiful tenor. The sound of it pushed her back into wakefulness again. "Tinúviel elvanui, elleth alfirin ethelhael...O hon ring finnil fuinui, a renc gelebrin thiliol." The language itself was something she had never heard on Earth, and it was beautifully melodic. It was also entirely foreign, which after everything she had seen so far, didn't seems odd.
"What is that language you are speaking?" she asked, unthinkingly. It came out breathy and drowsy, for Gwen was very nearly asleep. Abruptly the singing ended, and Gwen mourned its passing with a hint of sadness. For a moment longer, Strider stared into the night sky, silent. She thought he would not answer her.
At last, his voice drifted towards her over the fire. "Tis Sindarin," he whispered softly. "The elvish tongue," came his explanation, before she could ask. Curiosity rose in Gwen, and sleep was all but forgotten now. She wondered how a harsh man like Strider had learned such a delicate language. Gwen opened her eyes and sat up again, fully interested in knowing more. "It is beautiful. What were you singing about?" she asked.
With a heavy sigh, Strider turned to face her, but he clearly did not want to speak about it and was doing so under duress. "The Lady of Lúthien," he explained stiffly. "The immortal elf maiden who gave her love to Beren ... a mortal man." Gwen's heart ached at the note of sadness in his voice. She was confused. "Is that a bad thing? How does the song end?" Strider looked at the blanket of stars glittering in the sky. "She becomes a mortal for her love, and died as a result."
How tragic, and yet, she chose the path to mortality. For her love. Gwen's romantic nature bled out of her mouth before she could filter herself. "That is how real love should be," she declared. Strider turned away from her then, silent and considering her words. "Love that causes death is not how it should be."
Under the blanket, Gwen traced the raised white scars that lay on her abdomen, thinking of her own near experience with death, and couldn't help but feel they were suddenly talking about something much more personal for Strider. The silence between them lengthened, the sounds of night moving back in to fill the void. The thick, shiny scar below her ribs throbbed, serving as a reminder of her past.
"We all have to die sometime, Strider," she murmured knowingly. "And it seems to me that most of the time, it's a horrible, awful, painful thing to go through." She paused, considering her words carefully. "I'd choose to die for something beautiful, too, if I could."
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