The Road to Rivendell Part 2
When Fargrin returned from scouting, Melnor was giving Charles a lesson in the use of bows and arrows. The boy was a quick study, and would have made a great Ranger one day. But Charles was not theirs to keep. He, his mother, and the girl would be meeting the rest of their companions in Rivendell to go back to their home.
Christine was the first to notice that the Ranger had returned. She stood as he approached Thorgin and Aidan.
"There is no sign of trouble," he assured them. "We are safe thus far."
"Thsafe?" Jillianna asked, walking into the conversation. Fargrin nodded.
"Yes. Gandalf and Strider both intimated that there was some danger surrounding the halflings that your friend was accompanying," he replied. "Neither said what the danger was; Gandalf was too wary to speak it, and Strider did not know. We were told to watch in case any enemy came after the three of you for your connections to them."
"Frodo'th ring..." Jillianna whispered, realizing the danger Arabelle had wandered into.
There was silence for a moment, and a wary light filled Melnor's eyes.
"This... ring," the Ranger began. "What did it look like?"
"I remember it," Charles spoke up. "It was golden, and when Gandalf put it in the fire, weird letters appeared on it."
"By Eru..." breathed Aidan. "The One Ring..."
"Quiet!" Thorgin barked. "It bodes ill to speak of It."
"Why?" Charles asked, cocking his head to one side and looking up at the Rangers and his family. Melnor smiled sadly.
"Go back to your archery practice, lad," he suggested softly. "You are too young."
Charles exploded.
"No I'm not!" he cried, taking a firm stance, crossing his arms, and reminding Christine very much of his father. "I'm not too young! I can handle knowing!"
"Charles," Christine began, but Melnor interrupted.
"No, my lady," he said gravely. "If the boy wishes to know, he will."
Melnor looked at Charles and spoke.
"The danger your sister and father have gone into is deadly. The ring that your hobbit friend carries is evil, infused with Its own life, almost. It has Its own will, and will seek to twist that of Its bearer and the companions around him.
"Worse still, Charles, it emits a sort of call. All fell things can feel its dark power, none moreso than the Ringwraiths."
"Ringwraiths?" Charles whispered, spellbound.
Melnor nodded.
"Yes. They were men, once. Kings of the nine kingdoms of men. Long ago, they were given rings to aid them in their ruling. But they were cheated. Greed blinded them to suspicion, and so they took the rings they were offered, little knowing that the Dark Lord Sauron himself had had a hand in their making.
"The rings transformed them through the years, until they faded away from this world. They became wraiths, creatures of shadow invisible to human eyes. They go about all hooded and cloaked in black, riding black steeds. They can sense the presence of the Ring. They follow It wherever It goes, and will not hesitate to kill the bearer, or any who stands in their way, however unintentionally. This is the danger they are in. That you all are in."
There was a heartbeat of horrified silence, then Christine whirled in a flurry of skirts and ran to her pack. She scrambled to roll up her sleeping pallet.
"We don't have much time, then!" she cried. All she could think was that her husband and her daughter were in danger, and she had to warn them. "We must warn them."
Fargrin stopped her gently, and took her blankets from her hands, setting them on the ground again.
"Our task was to see you safely to Rivendell," he said softly. "We must not deviate from that course."
Christine wrenched herself away, suddenly in a panic. They were not going to warn Erik and Arabelle. Her husband and daughter would not know the danger they were in. They would be killed!
"You can't mean this!" she shrieked, in hysterics. "They don't know!"
As she began to flail, Melnor jumped forward and caught her wrists.
"My lady," he said calmly, gently. "You do not know how to fight. You would be more hinderance than help."
Christine let our another scream and tore away.
"I left him to die once before, I won't do it again!"
She dropped to the ground, sobbing, her hands clutched at her throat. A necklace hung there; years ago, back beneath the opera house, Erik had pressed a flower, and laquered it into a round setting. He'd presented it to her that Christmas - their first knowing one another. The necklace had been little more than a thoughtful gift from a dear friend when it was given, but through the years, it had become the symbol of their love; the symbol of everything they had made together and all that Christine held dear.
The flower was a blood red rosebud.
"Oh, Papa!" Arabelle sobbed, clinging to her father and laughing wildly. "Oh, Papa!"
Erik pressed her in close, one hand clutching her dark curls, the other on the small of her back.
"Oh, ma fille cherie," he breathed, lightly kissing the top of her head. Thank heaven they had not been apart for very long. The stress of three uncertain days, and at first thinking it might be as many weeks had been a strain on his mind, and he was only too glad to have her back at his side again.
"Je vous manque, Papa," Arabelle murmured against his chest. "I missed you so much."
Erik smiled and took her chin in his hands.
"I know, my dearest," he said gently. "I missed you, too. But I'm here now. We are together. Everything will be alright."
"You cannot stay in your room tonight," Strider stated, returning to the business at hand now that father and daughter were reunited. "It is not safe. You will stay here, with Erik and myself."
The Ranger spoke almost as though he expected to be challenged, but none would now. Relief had flooded over all four of the hobbits the moment they saw Erik, and Arabelle's reaction to his presence. If their friend's father trusted this man, then so could they.
...
...
Erik had clutched her fiercely close against him when Arabelle told of the terror she and the hobbits had found in their encounters with the Black Riders. He vowed never to let her wander into danger alone again.
The hobbits slept well that night, but Arabelle did not. She hardly tried to sleep. Her papa was here and she was too relieved and overjoyed to sleep. So she sat up with him and told him all about her three day adventure.
"We were chased for quite a while," she whispered, mindful of her sleeping friends. "But we made it through without being caught. I was so frightened, Papa, I could think of nothing but escaping. I do not want to know what those shadow things would have done with us."
"You're safe now, dear-heart," Erik assured her, squeezing her shoulders gently. "Soon we will go to Rivendell and go home."
The word 'home' struck an unhappy chord somewhere inside Arabelle, and she looked away.
"I... I don't know that I want to leave yet, Papa," she sighed. "I want to protect the hobbits. They need someone, Papa. I know I do not know how to fight yet, but I cannot abandon them."
Erik frowned. This was not what was supposed to happen. How much had she changed in three days?
Or did he really not know her as well as he thought?
Was she really so grown up that she would put her own safety and her love for her home aside for the hobbits? Had she grown so attached to them?
But that was beside the point. The point was; he was not about to let her endanger herself further. Like her mother and her brother, she was his, and if any one or thing was going to hurt her, it would be him alone, and then only to save her further harm. And as hurting her for any reason was quite beyond him, she was not allowed to get hurt out here.
"We are going home, Arabelle," he said firmly. "You are not safe here. When we reach Rivendell, we will meet with your mother, Charles, and Jillianna, and this elf-lord Elrond will send us home."
Arabelle frowned, but did not speak. She wanted to go home, really she did. But part of her said wait. Wait until she was sure the hobbits were out of danger. Until they were safe.
Erik sighed.
"It is late, dearheart," he whispered, standing. "Get ready for bed. I will be right back."
Arabelle nodded. She swallowed a yawn - it had been a long three days, and she was tired - and lay down on the other bed from the hobbits.
Erik returned about five minutes later with a glass of warm milk. It was laced with a little laudanum and meant to give Arabelle a night of sleep without dreams of what she'd been through. He would not have her suffer nightmares when he was there to prevent it.
"Here, darling," he offered, gently pressing the clay cup into her hands. "It will help you sleep."
Arabelle took the cup, and part of her knew what had been done; Arabelle had never had laudanum before, and Erik had wanted to spare her the sight of it being poured into a drink meant for her. Arabelle trusted him explicitly and would have drunk the milk anyway, but Erik's insecurities from the past still lingered, and some part of him would have wondered if seeing him put the sleeping powder in her drink might have damaged that trust.
"Thank you, Papa," she whispered, smiling and lifting the cup to her lips.
Erik smiled as she slid into sleep moments later, and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders, and bent to kiss her forehead.
"Sleep well, ma belle petit ange," he breathed at her ear.
...
...
"I do hope nothing has happened to Gandalf," Samwise sighed as they left Bree the next morning. Arabelle agreed. Though she'd slept through the comotion of the night before, the hobbits had filled her in the next morning, and the news was not comforting.
Nine. There were nine of those things that had chased them the other day. Nine. They could sense the presence of the Ring, and were drawn to it. They would never stop following until the Ring was either destroyed, or reclaimed. They would not hesitate to kill anyone who stood in their way.
Arabelle shivered at the very thought.
A soft snort at her side made her turn, and she gently patted the pony's cheek. Strider and Erik had found the animal earlier that morning and purchased him from his owner. The poor thing looked half-starved, but proved sturdier than appearances suggested.
As a result, Arabelle took an instant liking to little Bill.
Pulling her pack around to her front, Arabelle dug through it for an apple, and offered it to the pony.
"There you are, boy," she whispered. "You deserve as much as you can eat."
By the time they were out of the village and into the woods, Arabelle had drifted back to walk with Erik.
"I am so glad you came, Papa," she said, beaming up at him. Erik smiled; even after so many years, her warmth and love for him still brought tears to his eyes.
"When I learned that Strider was going to meet you," he replied, gently touching her cheek with the very tips of his fingers, "I could not let him go alone. I could not continue to leave you to strangers."
Arabelle giggled.
"Hardly strangers by now, Papa," she smiled. Then she leaned in against his shoulder, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I did miss you, Papa. Terribly."
Erik kissed her forehead, and led her on.
"As I missed you, dearheart. As I missed you."
...
...
"Merry, be still," Arabelle insisted gently. "Come here."
Pippin had tripped and twisted his ankle slightly. Merry felt incredibly guilty, believing it was his fault for having told his younger cousin that the path was safe. They had all made it across, but Pippin's foot had caught in a root in the twilight. Arabelle could have slapped herself; she had stepped right on that root herself without truoble. She'd thought it low enough to not cause harm, but Pippin had fallen, and Strider was now making sure there was nothing wrong with the little hobbit's ankle.
"Listen to me," Arabelle continued, taking Merry gently by the shoulders. "It is not your fault. Do you understand this? Go get ready to sleep."
Erik started at the change that came over Merry while Arabelle spoke. He saw the familiar glazed look come into his eyes, and saw Merry relax as though some unseen force had flipped a switch.
He was shocked, and wondered why he had never seen it before. Arabelle had his tone and his musicality, why not his ability to control? It was obviously unconscious, but it was there, and he determined to speak to her about it at some point.
Then again, he could be imagining it. Arabelle was - and had always been - a naturally calming presence, at least to her father. It could simply be her calm demeanor giving reassurance to Merry.
But it could just as easily be her voice. Erik did not know, and part of him did not want to know, because what if she knew what she was doing? What if she'd discovered that control at a young age, as Erik had, and merely kept it, and honed it in, secret?
All his thoughts of her voice were forced away when she turned to him, with a tired smile on hearing from Strider that there was indeed nothing wrong with Pippin's foot. No sprain, no fracture, no break. He was fine.
...
...
That night, Arabelle slept curled in her father's arms, absolutely relieved to not be away from him anymore. She had missed him terribly, prayed that they would meet up again soon.
They had, now, and Arabelle was sure that all wwould be well.
Erik remained awake for most of the night, just watching Arabelle sleep. He feared there would come a time soon when he could not be there for her, whether he wanted to be, or not. It frightened him. So he wanted to remember everything of her as best he could. She was so dear to him, he could not bear to lose her.
"She is a sweet child. Very clearly devoted to you."
Erik turned at Strider's soft whisper.
"She is my life," he replied. "She, her mother, and her brother. I live only for, and because of, them."
The Ranger smiled.
"You are a good man, Erik," he said softly. "You deserve her love."
Erik sighed and shook his head.
"I was not always so honorable," he murmured, clearly ending the conversation. Strider did not see because he'd turned away, but there were tears in Erik's eyes.
Chapter the 11th finished at last! I'd had such a great bit going before, and then it didn't save so I had to re-do it. I got frustrated, but eventually managed to get this out.
Review, please!
