Disclaimer: A little math to lighten the mood:
1 = O, 2 = E, 4 = M, 5 = N, 6 = I, 7 = T, 8 = S, 9 = H
T+H+I+S = N+O+T + M+I+N+E
Chapter Seven
By Waters Clear and Cool
Brooke didn't hear the explanation the others gave to Troi. She didn't care what they told her. Brooke remained collapsed in a heap by Riker's lifeless body, clutching the Horn of Gondor tightly. At the moment, it was the only thing that seemed real. More real than any of the people around her.
They were all wrapped in their own grief, trying to comfort each other. Wesley and his mother were wrapped in each other's arms. Troi was crying into Geordi's shoulder, and he had his arms around her. Data stood behind them, not quite sure of what to do to help. Only Worf lingered on the edge of the group, silent.
At last, he spoke. "His death will be avenged," he vowed, and his words echoed loudly off the stones.
There were plenty of things she could have said. What did he expect to do? Go back and smash the pillar to bits, or mash the troll's body into a pulp? Or did he plan to seek revenge against Q, which would be even less productive? But Brooke said nothing. Better to let him think there was something he could do.
Brooke tucked the Horn of Gondor back into her belt. Q had tried to warn her. It was her recommendation that had brought them here, against his attempts to dissuade her. But any other choice would have meant certain death for all of them. Riker had died here, but they would all have perished in Rohan. He had been willing to make that sacrifice.
As had she, she realized as a fiery pain filled her left arm. The moment the Balrog's blade had met hers, her image of the demon had been changed forever. It had left no visible mark, save for singing her armor, but she would never forget that fire. Yes, she had been willing to die to save the others. And almost she wished that death had claimed her, ridding her of her burden. But that was not her fate, she reminded herself, looking around at the group. She had to lead them on. She had to lead them home.
At last, Data spoke. "We must continue on, Brooke. The Orcs have fled, but they will return. Come."
Brooke nodded and allowed the android to help her to her feet. Data lifted Riker's body, and Worf lifted Picard. Brooke managed to stand, but the moment she tried to walk, no longer able to rely on Picard's staff, her right leg gave way beneath her. Dr. Crusher caught her and lowered her to a seat on the floor.
"I'm all right," Brooke insisted, trying to get up again.
"Hardly," Data observed, handing Riker's body over to Worf. Data lifted Brooke easily, and they turned to leave Moria.
As they headed down the path, light began to show through shafts in the ceiling. The path widened, and, at last, led them out of the Dwarf kingdom. The sunrise was red in the east as they gazed at last upon Dimrill Dale.
They were out.
But they were not safe. Not yet. The Orcs, Brooke knew, would follow them from Khazad-dum. Together, she and Data urged the others onward. On they went toward Lothlorien, stopping only once and briefly in order to eat a little – enough to keep up their strength – though none of them were hungry. Soon after, they came upon the Silverlode, the river they would follow until it met the Nimrodel in the Golden Wood.
It was late in the afternoon when they reached the borders of Lothlorien. "Take out your sword, Frodo," Brooke advised. "In the darkness, we may not be able to see the Orcs following us, but Sting will glow blue if they are close."
Wesley was too tired to argue. He took out Sting, and they pressed onwards into the forest. Brooke knew they were all slowing, except for Data, who still carried her. They were tired. Or perhaps wary of the woods. Or both. "Pippin," Brooke said as the android slowed to let them catch up. "We'll stop once we reach the Nimrodel."
Data nodded, and Brooke called the news to the others. At the idea of a rest, at last, they pressed on a little faster. Soon, they came to another river that joined with the Silverlode, and they all collapsed, exhausted. Data set Brooke down gently by the banks of the river. Brooke ran her hands through the cool waters of the Nimrodel and splashed it on her face. Softly, as if in a dream, she began to sing,
An Elven-maid there was of old,
A shining star by day.
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,
Her shoes of silver-grey
A star was bound upon her brows.
A light was on her hair
As sun upon the golden boughs
In Lorien the fair.
The others stared, too tired and too overwhelmed by everything to even think of asking why she was singing. It was no stranger than anything else that had happened to them in the last few days. Besides, it seemed ages since any of them had heard the sound of singing. Brooke was no elf, but she had a decent voice, soft and low.
Her hair was long, her limbs were white,
And fair she was and free
And in the wind she went as light
As leaf of linden-tree
Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By waters clear and—
"Daro!" came a voice from the trees. Brooke's song immediately ceased as an Elf leapt lightly to the ground. Others emerged from behind trees, their bows pointed at the various members of the Fellowship.
Just then, Picard's eyes opened. "What the—" he started, but got no farther before he was once again shushed by Brooke. "What is going on?" he whispered.
"They're Elves," Brooke said quietly, but not quietly enough, she knew, to escape Haldir's ears; she was counting on that. "We have entered the Golden Wood, hoping that the rumors were true that Elves still dwelt here in these dark days. For it is said that their people are healers, and we had hoped they might aid us in tending your wound."
"And Riker?" Picard asked, noticing that his First Officer lay beside him.
The Elf who had called to Brooke shook his head. "Even the power of the Elves cannot return the dead, Mithrandir."
"What?" Picard demanded, crushing Brooke's hopes that he had caught on to what she was trying to do. "Brooke, what have you done? What has Q done? Q! Q, I know you can hear me! This is enough! Enough!"
Haldir exchanged a look with his companions, and Brooke knew they would be lucky not to be shot soon. "Who speaks for this company?" Haldir asked impatiently, using the Common Tongue.
Before Picard could say anything, Brooke spoke. "I do. I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. Our company has come from Rivendell and passed through the Mines of Moria. This is Frodo Baggins, a Hobbit of the Shire. The other Halflings are Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took. This is Gimli, son of Gloin, a Dwarf of Erebor. I believe Aragorn, son of Arathorn, is known to you, but he fell in Moria. Gandalf you already know, and this is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. He, too, was injured in Moria by the power of a demon I will not name, and has been drifting between this world and the world of shadows. I doubt he is even aware of us," she added, hoping Troi would take a hint better than Picard; she couldn't have the Elves finding out that Troi didn't speak Elvish. "We must take him to the Lady Galadriel."
Haldir studied them for a moment. "This is a strange tale. Indeed, there are those of us in this realm who recognize Aragorn, son of Arathorn, as well as Mithrandir. When we saw you bearing them into this land as though dead, we feared you to be servants of the Enemy. Yet the Halfling called Frodo bears an ancient Elvish blade, which gives off a light when such beings are near. For this reason, we spared your lives, and were content to watch you. Then we heard your song."
Brooke nodded. So it had accomplished what she had hoped. It had made the Elves curious enough to show themselves, curious enough to ask questions before shooting.
"Strange it must sound in the voice of a man of the South," Brooke agreed, choosing her words carefully. "Yet in Gondor tales are still told of this realm, and our company stayed a while in the house of Elrond, where such songs live in abundance. My companions were in need of a melody to lift their spirits, and though I am not sure that this was successful, it seems to have brought us good fortune, for we are deeply in need of your protection and aid."
Haldir considered this for a while. "These are strange times, indeed, Boromir of Gondor, if that is in truth who you are. The Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel will judge whether you are friend or foe. But your company is in need of rest. We shall stay here tonight, high in the trees. In the morning, we will take you to the Lord and Lady. You must go blindfolded, all of you, for strangers are not permitted to see the path."
"You said you knew me!" Picard objected.
"Yes, Mithrandir, but I am not yet certain that you, or any of your companions, are who you appear to be. You shall go blindfolded, or you shall not go at all."
Brooke looked up at Haldir. "We shall go blindfolded. We have nothing to fear from you, or your Lord and Lady. We mean no harm to you or to the Golden Wood."
"That shall be seen, Boromir of Gondor. Now, let us climb, for we shall be safer in the trees." A rope ladder descended from a tree that towered high above their heads. Another came down from a tree nearby. Haldir turned to Brooke. "You and the Hobbits shall stay with us. The others shall stay in the next tree, with two of my kindred to watch them. We shall send messengers to the Lady Galadriel, and they shall bear Aragorn to her."
Brooke nodded. "Thank you … you didn't tell us your name," she pointed out, though she knew it well.
"Haldir," the Elf replied, and started up the ladder.
Slowly, Brooke got to her feet and made her way over to the ladder. Using her arms and left leg, she was able to climb steadily, allowing her right leg to dangle beneath her.
Haldir noticed. "You're injured," he realized as he pulled her up onto the flet. "Come; we will tend to it."
Brooke shook her head. "Help Gandalf and Legolas first; they are in worse condition than I."
"They will be cared for," Haldir assured her as the others began to climb up. He removed the armor and clothing around Brooke's lower leg, and his face grew grave. "What happened?" he asked.
"Something heavy fell on it." It was a lame explanation, but she didn't have the energy for anything more complicated.
"Very heavy," noted Dr. Crusher, who had just come up. "It looks like your armor kept the bleeding down, or you'd be dead by now, but it also kept us from seeing how badly you were hurt. I never should have let you walk on it at all."
"Yeah. You definitely had a choice there," Brooke observed. Sitting up a little more, she forced herself to look. Her entire lower leg was a bruised shade of purple, smeared with dried blood. In a few places, fragments of bone had broken the skin. Brooke lay back, her head spinning.
"My kindred and I will tend to this," Haldir said firmly. "Take some rest, both of you."
If Dr. Crusher had an answer to that, Brooke didn't hear it. She had fallen fast asleep, the stars of Lorien appearing overhead and the creatures of the night beginning to sing their songs. At last, safe in the Golden Wood, she found rest.
Haldir woke them with the sun, but Brooke felt amazingly refreshed. The Elves had expertly bandaged and splinted her leg, and the once sharp pain had been dulled to a steady throb. As she climbed down the ladder from the flet, she tested her weight on it lightly. She could even walk on it, she realized. She turned to the Elves. "Hannon le." A few of the Elves looked at her strangely, but said nothing as the others climbed down. They would assume it was something she had learned in Rivendell.
After a light breakfast, they set out. One of the Elves was carrying Troi, who was still acting convincingly as if she was under a spell. Picard had wisely decided to leave the talking to Brooke – for the moment, at least. Riker's body was gone; the Elves had taken it, as they had said, to the Lord and Lady of the realm.
Before long, Haldir stopped beside the river. "Here we will cross, but in these times we do not build bridges." He called across the river, and an Elf stepped into view. Haldir threw him one end of a long, silver rope. They pulled the rope taut, and each fastened the end about a tree. To everyone else's surprise, but Brooke's absolute delight, Haldir walked lightly along the rope to the other side and back again.
"You have got to be kidding," Wesley said, shaking his head. "No way."
The Elf who was carrying Troi leapt lightly up onto the rope and crossed easily. Data followed, and then, much to Haldir's surprise, Worf did the same. Brooke couldn't help smiling at the bewildered look on the Elf's face. This was a Dwarf?
Before anyone could object, Brooke stepped eagerly up onto the rope, but had barely taken two steps when her right leg gave way beneath her, and she lost her balance. Into the river she fell, but managed to grab the rope, and so was not swept away by the current. Haldir held out his hand to help her back to shore.
"That was rather foolish, Boromir," he told Brooke, who was shivering with cold from the river. "We will fasten two more ropes, and using these, you and your companions will be able to cross." He and the other Elf did so, one rope waist-high, the other shoulder-high.
Brooke got to her feet, ready to try again. Taking hold of both ropes, she started across the river. This time, she crossed easily. Picard came next, almost as quickly. Wesley followed, hesitantly, as if the rope would break at any second. Brooke realized her obvious advantage. She knew the strength of these ropes, knew they would hold. She had used them to climb down cliffs in her mind, and they had always held.
After Wesley was safely across, Dr. Crusher followed, looking down at the water nervously. How cold was it? How deep? How strong? Doubt played on her face even as she stepped onto the safety of the riverbank.
Just as Brooke was about to suggest that someone return to help Geordi, Haldir helped him find the rope, and he started across easily. He reached the other side with surprising speed. Haldir then followed, once again using only the first rope.
"You have now entered the Naith of Lorien," he said solemnly. "Here I will blindfold you, as agreed. Have no fear; the paths are straight and smooth, and I shall lead you well."
"Very well," Picard agreed, trying desperately to sound as if he was still the one in charge. Brooke heard a low growl behind her as an Elf bound a cloth about her eyes; Worf was not pleased. She heard Geordi chuckle softly at the pointlessness of the ritual; he, at least, was not upset in the least.
Thus they set off along the path, which was, as Haldir had said, remarkably straight and smooth. The sun was warm overhead, and Brooke could already feel her clothes drying. After several hours, they stopped for lunch, some bread and fruit. Then they continued on, and kept pressing forward until Brooke could no longer feel the sun on her face. Yet even at their pace, with her injured leg, she felt none of the weariness of their previous journeys. Here, in Lothlorien, all of that was forgotten.
But as the day wore to an end, she could hear the others slowing behind her. She had been walking quite easily for some time, guided only by an occasional word from Haldir. His light steps barely made any sound on the path, but it was not so for the others. Brooke could hear her own steps, uneven but steady. Behind her came Data, his stride constant and quick. Beyond that, Brooke could distinguish no one, though the steps were slow, and an occasional growl revealed that Worf was nearby.
Finally, Haldir bade them stop and at last unblindfolded them. They stood at the base of a large tree. Around it wove a flight of stairs, rising steadily upwards as it curved around the tree. Brooke smiled. A favor from Q at last. The book had described the way up as a broad ladder. This would be at least a little easier.
Three Elves rested at the base of the tree, robed in white. They rose in greeting, and one of them spoke. "The Lady is waiting for you."
Brooke shot a confused look at Haldir, who answered with an equally surprised expression. Only the Lady? Why not Celeborn, as well?
The others, however, had no reason to find this disturbing. Led by Haldir, they started to climb. Brooke started out beside him at the front, but, as they climbed, her leg began to ache, as if all the pain she had been spared during their walk that day was coming back to haunt her. Still, she resisted Data's offer to carry her, as well as Wesley's to let her lean on him, and used the railing instead to help her climb.
After these initial offers, no one made the slightest suggestion to help her, or that they slow down. Brooke fell farther and farther behind as the steps wound onward. Pain coursed through her right leg as she shifted her weight from her left to the railing and back again. Still, no one turned to help.
It was Haldir who at last turned back, calling to the others to continue as he descended the stairs. "I had not realized you had fallen so far behind," the Elf explained. "Come. There is no need for such haste. Rest a while."
Brooke accepted the invitation gratefully and collapsed onto a stair. "I'll be all right," she assured him. "I just need a moment."
Haldir nodded. "It is a difficult climb even for those who are not injured, if they are unaccustomed to such things."
Brooke leaned back, gazing at the stars that now shone overhead through the treetops. "In Moria, we climbed stairs such as these – and worse than these – without end. But in Moria, we had need of haste. But we weren't fast enough…" The memory of the battle washed over her. She had forgotten such things during their walk, entranced by simply being in the Golden Wood. Now, reality rushed back at her like a wave. Riker was dead. There was no escaping that, even here.
"Do not speak of such things," Haldir advised. "Your tale should be told first to the Lady, though I wonder that the Lord Celeborn is not there, as well."
Brooke nodded. "I hope nothing is amiss."
"As do I," the Elf agreed.
After a moment, Brooke got slowly to her feet. Her leg still hurt terribly, but that would not change. Together, she and Haldir started up the steps. At last, Brooke allowed him to help, and he half-carried her around the last curve.
The stairs ended, and they entered a house built into the very branches of the tree. The walls were silver, and a roof of gold was above them. Brooke glanced at the rest of the Fellowship, only to find that they were staring as if entranced.
Brooke looked where they were staring, and, if not for her leg, would have jumped in surprise. There sat Galadriel, and yet not Galadriel. It was Guinan, clothed in white and seated on a chair across from them. "Thank you, Haldir," she nodded. "You may go now."
Haldir bowed and left, but not without a glance at the empty chair beside Guinan. Where was Celeborn?
"Welcome, everyone," Guinan said once Haldir was gone. "Now, will someone please tell me what is going on?"
But before Brooke could utter one word of explanation, yet another figure appeared beside Guinan. He wore long, silver robes, and his hair, now silver, ran long down his back. Like Guinan, he now had pointed ears. A smirk crossed his face, and a light was dancing in his eyes. "Hello, Honey," he crooned in a fake, syrupy voice. "Did you miss me?"
