Got this finished in time for Thanksgiving! :)
guest, yes, it seems Sam is always the one they turn to.
Warriorheart, I agree, she did deserve it! There will be some enlightenment on that particular subject in the next few chapters.
SpectralWolf3344, wait and see. ;)
annie, here ya go!
Enjoy!
Tauriel sighed softly, letting one of her fingers dip into the water. The river Anduin was ice cold, and she immediately removed them, flicking small beads of water away. They sparkled like diamonds in the faint light of dawn.
She shivered, a chill racing down her spine.
Hope. Cling to it in the coming darkness.
Frodo turned to look at her, his face strained. She smiled at him, and it was not forced. His strength against Shadow gave her hope, small and fragile though it was.
Strength. It will shield you.
She glanced at Aragorn. Cords stood out on his neck as he dipped the paddle into the water, though the effort was small. There were glints of dread deep down in his eyes, and she wondered what the Lady of Lorien had told him. He surely was strong, to resist the Ring's pull. And yet . . . There was a shred of wariness towards him in her heart, though she wanted to destroy it. Although she had not spoken to him often, when she had he had been brutally honest and hopeful. Her heart was glad for him and Arwen.
Joy – for there will be very little of it.
Her eyes flicked to Merry and Pippin. They were doubled over laughing, their breath coming in short gasps. She frowned, listening for any hints of what had happened to make them laugh so.
"Did you see his face?" Pippin wheezed, clutching his stomach.
At the head of the boat, Gimli sat grimly, his shoulders hunched slightly forward. His back was soaked. He turned briefly towards the two hobbits, scowling at them, and the humor of the situation made her mouth twitch. Their presence in the Fellowship did indeed bring her joy. They were always cheerful, and something told her they were braver than she had given them credit for. It was so easy to dismiss their cheerful faces and clumsy attempts at fighting, and she vowed to herself that she would do so no longer.
And love, for though it has hurt you in the past, it may very well be your only shield against Shadow.
She forced herself to look at Legolas. He half-stood at the prow of the boat, his jaw tight. He had remained silent ever since she had joined them, and something told her that he was avoiding her.
Tauriel inhaled deeply, bracing herself. "Legolas, mellonamin?"
Legolas barely glanced at her. "Man anírog?" The words were barely a question; his tone was harsh and unforgiving.
She paused, uncertainty flooding her. "Ci maer?"
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Man?"
"Manen le?" she asked hesitantly, phrasing her words slightly differently.
"Im maer," he snapped.
"Goheno nin," Tauriel murmured. She fell silent, all conversation ceasing amongst her companions. Even Merry and Pippin appeared slightly disheartened. Merry's eyes were questioning, surely wondering why they were quarreling.
She closed her eyes against the pain.
Feet, stained with blood and gore. They pounded across the earth, covering ground with alarming speed.
A helmet clattered to the ground. Someone snarled viciously in a harsh, unforgiving language. A hand reached downward, veins standing out in the muddy skin. White paint coated one finger. A flash of small, bright golden eyes, and then everything went black.
A flock of birds shot into the sky, wings flapping frantically. They screamed loudly to each other, their voices shrill and raspy, and the sound echoed through the gorge.
The boats drifted gently on the river, and the pace was excruciatingly slow. Tauriel's eyes flicked from the Gondorian statues to the river and back again, occasionally drifting towards Legolas or Boromir.
"Frodo," Aragorn said in an undertone.
Frodo looked up, his eyes widening as he took in the massive pillars of carved stone.
"The Argonath," Aragorn continued, almost to himself. "Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old. My kin."
Tauriel frowned, filing away the piece of information for later examination. Slowly, the current carried the boats between the great statues' feet, the water rippling softly as they went.
Tauriel jumped smoothly from the boat, her booted feet splashing through the shallow water as it lapped against the shore. Aragorn followed closely behind.
"We cross the lake at nightfall, hide the boats, and continue on foot," he said sharply. "We can approach Mordor from the north."
Gimli mumbled something into his beard, then raised his voice. "Oh, yes, just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil, an impassible labyrinth of razor sharp rocks," he complained, "and after that it gets even better! A festering, stinking marshland, as far as the eye can see."
Aragorn turned to him, his face unyielding. "That is our road. I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf."
Gimli sputtered furiously. "Recover my strength!"
Legolas swung around to face them. "We should leave now," he said urgently. Silently, Tauriel agreed with him.
Aragorn shook his head. "No. Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for the cover of darkness."
"It is not the eastern shore that worries me," Tauriel said flatly, her eyes flicking towards the Parth Galen forest.
Aragorn looked at her sharply, surely wondering why she was taking Legolas's side. "We will wait for the cover of darkness," he repeated.
"A shadow has been growing in my mind," Legolas murmured, his words almost unintelligible. "Something draws near, I can feel it."
"No!" Frodo cried, lurching backwards.
Bormir approached him, a wild smile twisting his lips and a dangerous glint to his eyes. "Why do you recoil? I am no thief."
"You are not yourself."
"What chance do you think you have?" Boromir asked. "They will find you, they will take the Ring, and you will beg for death before they are through."
Tauriel pulled herself away, doubling over, her stomach clenching violently. She retched into the back of her throat, acid spilling into her mouth. Wiping it with a shaking hand, she pushed herself upright. Legolas and Aragorn looked at her in concern.
"What is amiss?" Aragorn demanded.
Merry dumped a small pile of kindling at Gimli's feet. "Where's Frodo?"
Sam sat abruptly upright, and Aragorn's head snapped around.
"Gone," Tauriel rasped, pushing the words past her clenching throat. "He is gone, and Boromir with him."
They looked at her in horror, their faces tightening as they began to fully understand her words.
She closed her eyes, trying to push away the pain and the heat. "The Fellowship is breaking," she sang, her voice eerily sweet. "He will try and take the Ring. One by one, it will destroy us all . . . "
"You fool!" Boromir roared, veins bulging in his neck. "It is not yours save by unhappy chance. It might have been mine. It should be mine! Give it to me! Give me the Ring!" He exploded forward, his hands reaching, grasping for the small circle of gold that was slowly, so very slowly, destroying them all.
And then his hand changed. It changed and shifted, and suddenly his fingers were black and covered in metal, cracking and popping as they moved - the fingers of the Ringwraiths.
Frodo cried out, his eyes panicked, and suddenly the Ring was on his finger – and he was gone.
Boromir spun wildly in the leaf-litter, screaming mindlessly after him. "I see your mind! You will take the Ring to Sauron. You will betray us! You go to your death and the death of us all! Curse you," he cried, and he was almost weeping. "Curse you and your Halflings!" He fell, and when he rose again the mad glint to his eyes was gone. "Frodo?" he whispered. "Frodo! What have I done? Please, Frodo . . . "
Her eyes popped open, and suddenly the unquenchable flame was gone.
"Boromir," she gasped, struck with a terrible certainty that if she did not find him, this would be the last day he ever saw.
She glanced around, and she was alone. They had left her, and the thought made her furious. She ripped away her cloak, baring her large arsenal of weapons. Swinging another quiver of arrows around to the front, she nocked one on her bow, checking the bowstring for any signs of wear.
She hesitated, and then another three arrows jumped onto the taught cord. She turned and ran, her legs pumping furiously, pushing herself to her limits.
I have to find him, she thought, and immediately corrected herself. I will, or I will die trying.
She ran, racing time, leaping over fallen logs and tossing aside leafy branches. Her hair rippled out behind her in a silvery wave, tumbling down to her knees when she paused.
And then - finally, finally - she found him. Weeping, his face buried in his hand as salty tears streamed down his face.
"Boromir," she said softly, kneeling beside him.
He lifted his face from his hands. "I - I tried to take it," he rasped. "I tried to take the Ring from him - from Frodo."
She shifted slightly, leaning forward so they were but inches apart. "Listen to me," she hissed. "It was not your fault." Her eyes were burning with green fire.
He shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes. "It was my doing."
She sat back. "It was not, and until you have accepted that fact you may as well be dead." He lifted his head slightly, and she pushed on. "Your heart will die. You will feel it wither, turning into ashes and burning until it is nothing."
"How do you know?" he demanded, but it was whispered.
"Because I, too, have felt Shadow's embrace. It pulls you in, whispers sickly sweet promises in your ear, but then it leaves you and, inside, you die."
He stood on shaky legs. "How can you ever face yourself?"
"You don't," Tauriel said. "You muddle along, and try and make amends as best you can. You fight, both for your sanity and for the ones you once betrayed or cared for. And maybe, one day, you make peace with who you are and what you have done." She rose, and though he was several inches taller than her she managed to gaze at him from an equal height.
His eyes closed for a moment. "I know not how I would make amends."
The sound of pounding feet was filling her ears now, and throaty cries echoed through the air. Orcs, she thought, filled with loathing for the foul creatures. Her face hardened. "You fight."
The glamour fell away, and Boromir took a step backwards.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice shaking.
Tauriel smiled sadly. "An old - friend - of Legolas's." She whirled, sending an arrow hissing through the air. Several hundred feet away, an Orc toppled to the ground. She turned back to Boromir. "Blow your horn!"
He shook his head, his eyes wild. "No!"
She grasped him by the shoulders and shook, hard. "Yes," she growled. "You want to make amends, do you not?" He nodded, and she shoved him away. "Then fight!"
More arrows flew, and though her aim was true, the Orcs were approaching too fast.
Suddenly, silver music filled the air, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Boromir poured air into the horn, sending the pure sound echoing through the forest. The Orcs were upon them now, and she ducked and slashed without thought, all moves purely instinctive. Beside her, Boromir tore through the creatures, rage clouding his senses and sending him half-mad.
They fought together, and slowly, dozens of small scratches covered her arms and legs. A nick here - a lock of hair slashed away there - and then an arrow hissed through the air and smacked into Boromir's chest. He staggered, but forced himself onward.
She cried out in shock and horror, searching wildly for the archer.
"Boromir!" Aragorn roared, forcing his way towards him.
"Run," Boromir cried, "run!"
Another arrow smashed into him. He cried out, falling to his knees, but staggered onward. Tauriel was weeping openly now, tears racing down her face. She fought desperately, killing countless Orcs as she tried to make an opening to kill the archer.
A pair of Orcs ran by, with Merry and Pippin tossed over their shoulders. The two hobbits writhed, kicking and hitting in vain, as they cried out for help - from her, Aragorn, Boromir.
And suddenly, the Orcs were streaming away, racing after their leaders. She turned towards the archer, looking at his paint-coated face with intense hatred. She saw him raise his bow, saw him draw it back, saw the arrow begin its flight through the air - and without a second thought, she threw herself in front of Boromir. It smacked into her shoulder, half-in, half-off her leather armor, and the pain was mind-numbing. It dulled her other senses, leaving her gasping and retching. She looked up, waiting for another projectile to coming hissing through the air, and knowing full-well she would not be able to stop it.
Aragorn roared something, throwing himself at the Orc. The bow shattered, falling in pieces to the ground.
Tauriel forced herself onto hands and knees, swallowing bile. Her face contorted as she grasped the wooden shaft embedded in her shoulder and snapped it. Hissing through clenched teeth, she moved towards Boromir, who had collapsed on the ground. Three arrows were buried deep in his skin, and muscles twitched spasmodically in his stomach and arms.
"Suilad Boromir, mellonig," she whispered, swallowing hard.
Boromir turned his head, his breath rasping in his throat. Blood trickled from his mouth. "Are - they safe?" he gasped.
She was silent, the pain of her own wounds forgotten. "Tancave," she lied, unconsciously speaking in Elvish. She eyed the arrow shafts, then whispered, "Goheno nin, mellon." She quickly snapped the shafts as his body bucked against the pain.
"S-stop!" Boromir growled. She hesitated, but complied. "I'm dying," he said harshly. "Do not try and save me. I - I have accomplished want I wanted."
Her mouth tightened. "No!" Tauriel snapped, quickly examining the arrow heads. Only one could be pushed through all the way and removed. The rest she would have to dig out with a knife, and pray that she did not puncture a lung.
She glanced at Boromir's face, and paled even more. He was fading, and fast. Blood loss was taking its tole.
"I have to get you back to camp," she whispered, rolling him to one side. He grunted as she forced the arrow head through thick layers of muscle, cutting it off the shaft and sliding it all the way out. Praying that there were no splinters - or even worse, poison - still embedded in his flesh, she quickly did the same to her own wound. Blood poured from her shoulder, and she choked back a scream.
"Seena?"
She whipped around, one hand still wrapped around the arrow shaft in her shoulder. It was Aragorn. "Boromir," she rasped. "Get him back to camp. I - I can try to heal him."
He rushed forward, looking down. All color drained from his face. "What happened?" He knelt, grunting as he attempted to lift Boromir. "I can't move him. I need help." He glanced at her, taking in the change in her facial structure, and to his credit, remained impassive. "Can you assist me?"
She nodded. "Remove the arrow head first, I beg you."
He nodded, stepping behind her. With a quick, sharp movement, he broke off the arrow head and slid out the rest of the shaft. She gasped in a mixture of pain and relief, letting the wound bleed. It had not severed an artery.
Together, they hefted him, staggering towards camp. Blood stained Tauriel's hands, mingling with Boromir's and Aragorn's. The pain had subsided, and her mind was numb, but she knew it would come later. It always did.
"I need water," Tauriel rasped. "Hot water. And a needle." She sagged against a tree, her eyes scanning the area. A boat was missing. "Where is Frodo? And Sam?"
Aragorn turned to her. "They have left us," he said bluntly. He began to rummage through one of the packs, removing a small satchel within moments. Pulling out a small jar of antiseptic balm, he brandished a needle. "I must stitch your wound first. You cannot care for him in your current state."
She hesitated, but nodded. "Do it quickly."
Within seconds, the needle was punching through her flesh. She flinched, almost welcoming the tug and pull. Aragorn tied a knot, snapping the thread. She shifted, pulling the ragged edges of her armor and shirt together, giving up soon afterword and letting them fall apart.
"Give me the balm."
Aragorn did so, and she knelt at Boromir's side. He hissed and flinched as she applied it. Drawing a dagger, she sterilized it and began to work it into the wounds. Boromir reared up for a second, a wordless roar emanating from his chest, then collapsed into a dream world.
Soon, one arrow head had been successfully removed. She set to work on the final one, her jaw clenched. As she forcefully lifted the metal point from his flesh, setting it aside for later examination, someone spoke.
"Tauriel."
She closed her eyes, then rose, slowly turning to face him. "Legolas, mellonamin." She waited, waited for the greeting that would surely come - that had to come.
Instead, she found herself with an arrow pointed at her heart.
Three words: She doesn't die. This scene happened for a reason, I promise. I will update as soon as possible. I apologize for the nasty cliffie!
Happy Thanksgiving!
As always, reviews are love. :)
