You want a revelation,
You wanna get it right
But it's a conversation,
I just can't have tonight
You want a revelation
Some kind of resolution
- No light, No light, Florence and the Machine.
Their path over the mountains was fraught from the moment Frodo fell. Hedda met Boromir's gaze, unfocused, strange as it was and she felt fear growing deep inside her belly. She reached for him without thought, to comfort or still or warm him she knew now. But he stepped away from her, storming ahead of her party through the deep snow, the sun throwing light over the frost like diamonds. How had it felt, she wondered, watching him walk away, to hold the ring in his hand? To speak of power and the fate of the world, then to hand it back to the small creature? She had missed nothing of the encounter, her heart beating too fast, knowing, as they all did that this would test the man. She had seen the indecision on Boromir's face, seen Aragorn's hand tightening on his sword, and she had met his eye a moment, her own hand curling around the short knife at her hip. The knife of his house, the knife he'd given her. What cruelty was that? She asked herself again if she trusted Boromir with the ring, and had no answer. He lagged some way behind a way and she slowed her steps to walk beside him, but a few paces from the others and muscles taught with the chill of slowing down so.
"Boromir - Boromir stop!" She said, her breath difficult to take and burning her throat with the cold. She snapped out her hand and caught his wrist, but her voice was quiet. "You think this quest is foolish, you still think Gondor could use this weapon, it cannot." She made it kinder, stepping closer, knowing rough manners would not serve her here. "You would not be blamed, Boromir for returning home. It may be that you could better serve Frodo from your seat in Gondor," Her eyes were wide; honest and open. She hoped he could see the truth there in her eyes, and even her fear for him. He must know that she meant not to shame him or despise him, only save him. But he did not meet her eye, shoving her away so roughly she stumbled in the snow.
"I do not need the counsel of some girl of Rohan." He snapped back, sharp as a whip, storming ahead to meet the rest of their fellowship, leaving her there, shaken at the trailing end of their line.
When they took to more dangerous ground, the wind howling, the rock face cold as ice behind them and snow to their waist it seemed he had composed himself enough to speak with her again. He could not walk so far ahead now, the hobbits slung over his shoulders to stay out of the high snow. Aragorn had done the same and she had teased the dark ranger through chattering teeth for playing pack mule.
When Boromir spoke it was clear he was not in a gaming mood and had been stewing over her words since she'd offered them. "Aye Idis, and when you tire of walking you'll have to inspire the dwarf to carry you across the mountain, we've too many charges to suffer you as well," Boromir called loudly, though his words were not as biting as they might have been over the chattering of the fellowship's teeth and the screaming wind. They were a gentle jab, one might even think he was trying for humour had she not known this was not his type of jape. This was the kind of jab a courtly man would use to put another in his place. The hobbits looked at him curiously, not certain what his intent was and Pippin, chattering teeth and hair full of snow said his name, to calm or admonish she knew not. Perhaps he thought his dislike of her would warm him, perhaps he thought to knock her down for speaking to him so. Did he really think her so weak?
"Agreed, Boromir, and when you stumble next I'll leave you in the snow!" She snapped bitterly, too cold, too bone weary for him now. Hedda the rogue could be so cruel with ease, imagining leaving him here in the flurry, never to bother her again, never to reach for the ring or shame her. There were a dozen curses in her head, the skin of her face burning with wind chill and snowflakes on her lashes. In this high mountain, she cared little who thought her and her country crass, her blow low and unkind, only wanting him to hurt for an instant. All the fellowship knew she spoke of his mind, not his body, and his near slip with the ring, and the hobbits looked at her wide, shocked eyes. They thought this behaviour beneath her, but even a princess would be willing to curse in a place like this, she reasoned. A rogue would be screaming abuse at the wind by now if she were able. As if she called it herself a voice whispered on the wind, growing louder and louder to scream of foreign, dark magic, the very rock shaking beneath them. She looked up, her words to Boromir forgotten before he could bite back at her. Was this to be her last words? Cruel and cutting, to be remembered so?
She stumbled back, the snow falling heavy around them. Avalanche! she screamed, but she was certain no one could hear her. Her anger was forgotten, replaced by utter fear and pure ice, falling over herself, battered by the cold wall burying her. When it stopped her head spun and for too long she could not tell if her eyes were open or shut, staring down into an ground of snow bank or staring up at the sky. If this was the end, blanketed in snow, she felt curiously warm, curiously alive though her limbs were numb and heavy. Idiot Girl, she thought to herself, would you go to the stars so hateful? Would you carry such anger with you into the sky?
She felt a shift in her atmosphere, and she felt a warm body behind her, curled around her, arms ensnaring her slim waist. Numbly she moved, throwing out her hand in front of her, testing the bounds of pure white around her and breaking through the snow with a curious crack. She gulped down the fresh, cold air like a drowned woman, icy limbs flailing to warm her somewhat. Throwing up her arms she broke the covering atop her wider, revealing herself. When she turned back, the snow loosened after her motions she found her shadow, half buried in the snow and still. Seeing him so she panicked, reaching for his hand, near sinking through the snow again as she pulled him up. She prayed he had not perished in the snow, and though his hand was cold she felt his blood thrumming at his wrist, life still thundering through him. In her world of white, unsure if she was alive or dead his arms had been wrapped around her to keep her from the cliff face. When she brushed the snow from his form, uncovering his pale face she traced his jaw, brushing the snow from his short, slight stubble and dipping to his throat for his heartbeat again. She knew he lived yet, but hearing the throb of his heart and the heat at her fingers steadied her. She could see no one, and she would not be left alone, the only one alive while the fellowship lay dead and buried in the snow.
His eyes snapped open at her touch, and she was quiet, letting him focus as she had after such a fall. He seemed a moment as dazed as she had been, staring at her like she was the dead herself before he remembered himself. Aragorn breathed shallowly, brushing snow from his hair and helping her lever him onto higher ground out of the snowy cocoon she'd dug around them. It seemed the hobbits had come loose of him in the crush, and he spun, seeking them in the snow bank, calling their naes and she joined them, shouting for Merry and Pippin. Snow and ice-crusted every inch of their clothes and hair and skin, so cold it burned, but she felt as if the snow had cooled her anger and her hate a moment. Now she only sought every member of their fellowship alive and well. For one moment in weeks, she had felt alone, unburdened by the fellowships searching eyes and their expectations. She had thought herself a corpse, and she had not been ready to die yet. Not like this.
"Thank you," she breathed, lungs tight, still frozen and voice rough, dusting snow from his shoulders though in truth it was to warm her own bitter numb fingers. "His breath was a plume of cold steam between them and he took her hands in his own, rubbing them between his own to warm him. She bowed her head, blowing her breath onto their joined hands as she narrowed her eyes against the wind. She would long to have enough time to warm, to think and breath and quell the thud of her heart after such fear and anger, but she didn't have it, shouting for Merry and Pippin beside him.
When Legolas popped like a daisy from the cover of the snow the fellowship began to unearth themselves her fear abated somewhat, her lips turning into a grateful smile as she counted each head. Those closest she dragged closer, bidding them to group in the snow to share their warmth and she knotted her arms around Pippin and Merry, hefting them above the cover as much as she could, wanting them away from the ice.
As they shivered together, Boromir called out, pleading his own course once more. "We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!" Even then she could not feel the same anger for his stubbornness, her arms shaking around the hobbit's shoulders. He seemed to be begging, and she felt for him dearly, her anger stripped away. Over, under or around, their path was unsafe and unsure. Aragorn's sighed beside her, his chest pressed against her back, a warmth shared between them as the fellowship huddled closer, sharing their heat as they tried to shake their shock and take stock of their packs and cloak, beating the snow from their clothes.
"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" He called, trying to make him see sense once more.
"We're safer frozen on this mountain than trying to sneak past Saruman's door, Boromir, if you are so eager for us to die we may well make it harder for him to find us!" She said, and though her words were grim they felt more her own, honest. They felt to her like a challenge, but not for Boromir, for the darkness that had wormed its way inside her since the day she'd called herself Idis again.
"If we cannot pass over the mountain, and we cannot pass through it - let us go under it! Let us go through the Mines of Moria," Gimli demanded, and truthfully what option did they have? How could the stone halls of dwarves be more dangerous than a dark wizard hunting them or a glacial mountainside? Would they survive another attempt on their lives?
"We will go through the mines," Frodo said, voice strong and true and she thanked the stars for it. He was not the warrior or guide, but he bared the brunt of this journey, carried the heaviest load of all of them, and it was right that he chose where it took them.
"So be it," Gandalf said, mouth turned down and face, solemn and old. She saw some fear there once more, the fear that lead her to Rivendell and to falsehoods. His fear curled darkly inside her, but she pushed it down, trying to be lighter for all of their sakes.
The way down the mountain seemed quicker, easier, and they took it with more haste than up, all of them eager to leave the high cliffs. Around them each seemed lighter, even Boromir had lost the dark shadow to his gaze and seemed less burdened beside them. They still walked close as they walked the rocky paths, unwilling to separate far now in case anything befall them. They walked into the night, seeing no sense in stopping when they came so close to what Gandalf had decreed their path.
"Will your kin truly give us passage through the mines Gimli?" Hedda asked the dwarf, though she did not mean to offend him. She had longed for some excitement on this quest, meeting the ever elusive dwarves of the mountains was something she'd often thought of, and never managed. The most she'd met was a wayward blacksmith from the blue mountains, fighting for gold in the pits and spending it nightly in the taverns. She had liked him well, and his friendship had only made her more eager to explore dwarven caverns, no matter what danger Gandalf saw in them.
"Aye my Lass! My cousin Balin is a friendly sort, Moria and his feasts are the stuff of legend. Not one of us will leave his halls the weight we walked in!" He said with a wide grin and a belly laugh, clearly happy to take the path he'd hoped for through the stone. He patted his big stomach mildly, "an' a good thing too, the food of elves is nothing to the appetites of dwarves." He joked, laughing with her again, "You're like to waste away on the diet of Rivendell."
"Too much greenery for your taste, Gimli?" Aragorn interjected with a raised brow, speaking of the leafy, meatless diet of Legolas and the last homely house they'd suffered in silence.
"Dwarves are made of hardier stuff than these skinny wraiths, that's why they use feathers and sticks for weapons." Gimli mocked the blonde elf and his bow beside them, but he was near merry about it, teasing to fill the sharp wind, letting them laugh together as Legolas snipped back about dwarven affections for ale and axe.
Back and forth their jibes went, speaking of dwarven events and elvish parties in the misty woods until Gimli crowed with joy before the black cliff face to their side. "The walls of Moria!" He spoke in awe, the sound echoing on the cavern walls around them, though Hedda saw nothing but bleak grey rock, craggy and plain in the low light. She did not want to insult now, but words bubbled up "Not quite the gates of Imladris, Gimli," she snorted but was silent when Gandalf reached out a hand, drawing from the rock a slim an incredibly delicate silver light. It whirled a moment and solidified, forming the outline of a door directly against the rock, made of pure light. "Itidin...it mirrors only starlight and moonlight…" the old man murmured, the clouds above them clearing and the image glowing brighter, words in a language she did not know.
"I am corrected," She muttered, mostly to herself, following the gleaming patterns, reaching out to touch them herself and finding only rough rock beneath her fingers.
"But of course, Gandalf's paths was never so simple, and the door demanded a password Gandalf did not know. Did he truly not know, or was this his own, secret way of stopping their path into Moria again? Distrust spiked inside her and she tried to cut it down, not wanting to think so of the grey man. She wandered away, hearing him snap, rapping his staff against the rock and muttering different things in different tongues to no avail.
She stood over the black lake, flat and dark, looking over its mirror surface until it rippled, shimmering and reflecting the pale moon as Pippin and Merry disturbed it with rocks across the way, amusing themselves. Her eyes traced the delicate light on its surface, seeing her distorted reflection in its depths. Though their path had not been long she thought she looked pale, tired though in her life she'd known more exhaustive journeys than this one. Squatting beside the water she ran her fingers through the image, letting it distort and change until she heard Aragorn's words echo on the cliff walls, "Do not disturb the water," He said quietly, that deep voice serious, and he was obeyed, the boys stilling and tugging her own fingers from the lake quickly. She turned her eyes to Frodo and Gandalf, hearing them speaking of riddles and hearing the grate of rock. She allowed herself a smile, turning from the water carelessly, wanting to see the fabled halls as Gimli spoke of them and a small grin parting her lips as Gimli sang of the hospitality of dwarves, hardly listening, her eyes on the dark entrance. Strange, she thought, why would they not light the way? Are they truly as unfriendly as it was said? As they took a mere few steps into the black cavern something crunched beneath her boots, but in the darkness, she guessed it was rock or dust. Ahead Gandalf called light from his staff, the cold glow lighting the darkness as Gimli carried on regaling them of meat and mead.
"Gimli…" She murmured, wishing for him to stop a moment and think. Her own eyes grew accustomed to the light Gandalf called from his staff as the cavern began to light and she saw it was not rock that lined the entrance but bone. Littering the floor like hay in a stable were the bodies of dwarves, shot through with deadly shafts. Legolas snatched one up, spat "Goblins," and threw away their accursed arrows. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, was this the danger Gandalf had feared?
She cursed under her breath, taking a quick step back, left hand up to more easily slip the shield from her back should she need it and her right on the hilt of her sword. Gimli was bellowing, she heard, the sound echoing through the empty halls and she hissed at him to silence roughly, did he wish to bring every being in the mountain upon then? Boromir, Legolas and Aragorn drew their weapons and she followed after, sword singing as it left her sheath, looking into the shadowy tunnel. But the danger came from behind, and Frodo screamed, unprotected from the open door and the black lake behind.
Have the next chapter written and almost ready, and im enjoying Aragorn and Hedda getting closer, which they do a lot in the next one. Let me know your thoughts x