Chapter Seven

Crying in the Night

A/N: And we're rollin' (rollin'), rollin' (rollin'), rollin' out the chapters, rollin' out the chapteeeeeeeeers...!

The residents of Bree were quietly shaken the next morning. The gatekeeper's crushed body had been found in the early hours, and Tom of the Prancing Pony knew not what to make of the wrecked pillows discovered in the empty hobbit ro0ms.

The hobbits themselves were outdoors, ready to leave. Strider stayed with them outside the fallen town gates. Frodo didn't know how to feel about this mysterious man - he hadn't slept the entire night, and yet looked more awake and alert than the rest of them.

'If I might ask, how did you come into her company?'

Frodo glanced back up the path; hooded once more, Ember was leading a newly purchased pony down the slope towards them.

'It was quite accidental, really,' he said. 'I was looking for my uncle in the house, and there she was, with Gandalf.'

'Are they close friends?'

'I honestly couldn't say. I feel as though if they were, I should have heard Bilbo mention her at some point in the past, but he never made even the slightest hint. In fact, he's never been one to talk about his past in great detail. I think he was just as surprised to find her in Bag End as I was. It's as if she appeared out of nowhere...and yet he trusts her greatly.'

'Trust is good,' Strider nodded, before adding, 'In moderation. It is how we survive. Do you trust her?'

Frodo didn't answer right away.

'I think so. I have to. But the more I dwell on it, the more I realise just how little I know about her.'

'All in good time, Frodo,' said Strider, as Ember returned to their side with the brown pony. They saddled him with their bulkiest supplies, which made walking considerably easier. On their way out of Bree, up other hills, under gathering clouds, and through tunnels of trees, Merry and Pippin decided on a name for the pony: Bill.

'Like Bilbo,' said Frodo, smiling.

'Actually I was thinking more me great-uncle Bill on me mam's side,' said Pippin. 'But that works just as well.'

Mountains appeared in the distance, towering, grey, and unmovable.

'Where are you taking us?' asked Frodo. Strider looked to the sky as if it were a map.

'Into the wild.'

They walked for hours, taking turns to lead Bill the pony. Ember said very little, preferring to lose herself in thought while gazing upon on the lands they traversed. By early afternoon, she had fallen to the back of the group.

'How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?' Merry muttered to the other hobbits. Frodo seemed reasonably calm.

'I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer and feel fouler.'

'He's foul enough!' said Sam.

'We have no choice but to trust him,' said Frodo, 'And besides, we have Ember; she certainly is a friend of Gandalf's.'

'True,' said Sam, with a polite smile at the witch. He looked less favourably on the Ranger. 'But where is he leading us?'

'To Rivendell, Master Gamgee,' Strider answered unexpectedly, without looking back. 'To the House of Lord Elrond.'

'Rivendell?' said Ember, her first word in hours. She recalled that place from the dwarves' tale of their journey.

'Did you hear that?' said Sam, 'Rivendell! We're going to see the Elves!'

Ah. So she had heard about Rivendell even before the night she first met the dwarves, when her life was irrevocably changed. Her mother and father took turns reading to the girls from an illustrated children's history of Middle Earth. In those faded pictures, the Elves of Rivendell were drawn as refined, but somewhat mischievous. Having encountered the tough, ambivalent Elves of Mirkwood, Ember wondered how accurate a reflection that was. And whatever had happened to that picture book.

In the following days, the terrain they covered became snowier, as though icing sugar had fallen from the sky to coat all the earth.

'That would require an enormous sieve.'

'What?' said Strider. Ember blinked, unaware she'd just spoken aloud.

'Nothing,' she said.

'Speaking of sieves,' said Pippin. Ember and Strider turned at the clatter of pots and pans being taken off Bill. The hobbits looked ready to cook.

'Gentlemen, we do not stop 'til nightfall.'

'What about breakfast?'

Ember tilted her head at Pippin.

'We've already had it…?'

'We've had one, yes,' he said. 'But what about second breakfast?'

Ember and Strider exchanged A Look before starting to walk again.

'Hobbits…' they muttered.

'Don't think they know about second breakfast, Pip,' said Merry.

'What about elevenses?' he persisted. 'Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? They know about them, don't they?'

'I wouldn't count on it.'

'It's no wonder hobbits shy away from excursions,' said Strider as they ducked beneath leafless tree branches. 'They treat their needs and comforts as one and the same.'

It was then that Ember had a bright idea. She had a sufficient amount of energy to tighten her hands around an overhead branch and infuse it with quickened growth. Before the hobbits could catch up, they were almost concussed by flying apples.

'Ha!' Merry, Frodo and Sam were delighted; Pippin was simply shocked. Strider was quietly impressed.

The joy did not last all day, however. The further they pressed on, the rougher their terrain grew. Snowy forests devolved into thick, swampy marshlands, and the air grew green and heavy. The group had to fast acclimatise to trudging through mud and murky water dotted with weeds. Particularly with the extra burden of Bill the pony, it was slow-going.

'Gah,' Sam winced as he slapped another hungry midge against his neck.

When they got onto firmer soil, Ember held up an arm and slowly moved her pointed index finger in sweeping curves. At first no one could figure out what she was doing, but then the midges seemed to crash into thin air and die before reaching the hobbits.

'Did you just make a shield?' said Merry.

'Yes.'

'A hundred thanks.'

'You couldn't have done that for the Black Riders?' said Sam. Ember raised an eyebrow.

'Fending off tiny creatures isn't so taxing. Trying to put a barrier between just myself and a Rider, on the other hand, I am sure would be like trying to move a boulder with my foot.'

They made camp that night on ground that was somewhere between dry and wet. Strider disappeared into the darkness for half an hour and returned with a deer for their rations. After that, the hobbits curled up beneath their blankets to sleep as comfortably as they could manage. Once more, Strider stayed awake. He kept watch by the fire, but less vigilantly than on previous nights. Ember was also awake, but lay on her back to watch the stars and track the moon's slow ascent. She didn't notice Strider's humming right away, but when he softly sang Elvish poetry, Ember found herself unable to ignore it.

'What is that tune you sing?'

He didn't appear embarrassed by her audience. Simply sad.

'It is about the beauty of an Elf-maiden.'

'Any one maiden in particular?' she asked, sitting up.

''Tis the Lay of Luthien,' said Strider, keeping his voice low, 'The Elf-maiden who gave her love to Beren, a mortal.'

Ember gave nothing away in her expression.

'What happened to her?'

'She died.'

Strider calmly stoked the fire, in whose weak light his eyes shone. Ember hugged a knee to her chest and gazed at the stars again. She debated with herself for some moments about whether to tell him what she did:

'My first and only love was not of my kind.' Strider stared at her. 'I take it that escaped my preceding reputation,' she added.

'Does it pain you to speak of them?'

'…No,' said Ember, frowning. 'But that lack of pain seems to bring forth its own pain.'

Strider nodded, warming his hands over the flames.

'Who was your love?'

'A dwarf,' Ember replied. Strider could not help but look surprised. 'A very noble yet humble dwarf, with eyes like the darkest night surrounding stars.'

'What happened to him?'

She met Strider's stare, calm as a gliding kite.

'He died.' Strider looked as blue as the words sounded. 'I may not need sleep,' she said in the silence, 'But I feel like it nonetheless. Goodnight.'

'Goodnight,' he murmured.

Ember wrapped herself in her cloak and lay on her side, away from Strider and the hobbits. In her stillness, she sought out pain, some raw, burning, overdue emotion for Kili's death. For any of their deaths. For anything and everything that had happened. There was nothing but calm. Neither fire nor ice, merely water.

After her dreamless sleep, just as dawn was creeping into the sky, Ember saw him again, so close and so vivid. She said nothing, and neither did he. Ember stared into Kili's eyes until tears fell from her own, but only because she refused to blink.

. . .

The next day, they packed up and left the swamps behind for rockier lands. Strider made no reference to the previous night, for which Ember was grateful. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other, again and again and again, until they stopped at the foot of an immense hill, topped with stony ruins.

'What is this place?' asked Ember. She could have used some pastsight to learn its story, but if she didn't ask questions, making conversation would be that much more difficult.

'This was the great watchtower of Amon Sul,' said Strider. 'We shall rest here tonight.'

The weary hobbits were thoroughly relieved to hear this. Once they reached a hollow beneath the actual summit, they leisurely set up camp. While they took cookware and bedrolls from Bill, Strider drew their attention to a bundle of his own, hidden in the folds of his clothes. Ember peered over, intrigued, at the five swords he revealed to them. Four were short, almost dagger-sized. But the fifth was long, and glinted in the sunset.

'These are for you. Keep them close and stay here. I'm going to have a look around.'

'Thank you,' said Ember, sizing hers up. It felt lighter than a sword should, unless she had grown stronger, which was entirely possible. 'Would you like me to come with -'

But when she looked up, he was already climbing up and over the watchtower. Sam, Merry and Pippin marveled at their swords as small boys did with ones fashioned from wood; Frodo stared at his, intimidated.

'Do not worry yourself too much over using it,' said Ember. 'Just make sure the enemy is on the pointy end.'

It worked: he lay the sword on his bedroll with a light laugh. By the time night fell, Strider was still scouting, or at least Ember hoped he was. Were he to be captured and/or killed, it would be entirely down to her to lead the hobbits to Rivendell. Eventually, she left Merry on watch while the others slept, and climbed to the summit to have her own survey of the landscape, in case she might catch sign of Strider running in the distance. All that greeted her was blackness, blackness and more blackness, with some grey thrown in for contrast. The wind ruffled her white hair, but her skin was like armour for what little cold she felt. She would have lingered there awhile longer, when the hobbits' voices travelled up from below. And the crackling of a fire.

Ember dashed back to their camp, as alarmed and furious as Frodo, who had woken with a start at the sound of cooking.

'What are you doing?!'

'We saved some for you, Mister Frodo,' Sam said blithely.

'You fools,' said Ember, throwing looks at the dark lands beyond. 'We might have already been seen!'

'Put it out, put it out!'

Frodo frantically stomped with his resilient hobbit feet to starve the fire of air.

'Oh that's nice,' whined Pippin, 'Ash on my tomatoes!'

He hushed up, along with everyone else, as soon as a familiar screech poisoned their ears. It was like the cry of a demon from the deepest and nastiest depths.

'Well, as long as we're here,' said Ember, 'Draw your swords.'