A/N: I'm so sorry that it's been more than two months since the last upload. Time really does fly! Phew.
I've written this chapter amidst a huge writer's block and wasn't even sure of any line or word that I wrote. But think that it turned out well enough. Leave your thoughts :)
Important Notice!
So now the story is taking off into the war and all the drama. I thought that it'll be impossible to tell the story right if there is only one perspective. So there will be POVs of many other characters intermixed. The example of which is the very first scene. The pov of Lanette will be the one that is in FIRST PERSON.
Okies. Thanks for your time.
LunaDansLesEtoil: Thank you so much :) and well the ships are only gonna be ships if there is chemistry. Glad that you feel it. Enjoy this chapter too!
Vita: Thank you so much for your amazing review. Hope that you stick around to see where this goes! Enjoy this chapter too :)
To all those who favorited or followed, you guys are true homies.
Hope that you all enjoy! RR.
Chapter 24: Fireworks (Many meetings Part 2).
T. A. 3019 was the year Merry found his best chance to make friends. It was also the year that he worked hard to ensure comfort, among the people that he held dear and some that he wanted to hold dear.
T. A. 3019 was the year Pippin hit the lowest, the year of foolhardiness, of recklessness and of decisions that left some, if not much regret.
The year when Cathiel discerned the bitter realities of life and Brinielel lost the small swarm of courage that had held together their kindred and all those that were slowly losing their paths.
It was the year Eohere found the true essence of his courage and the willingness to go to the deeper depths of peril for just a single person.
The year when the sea spoke out to Filvendor and the meaning of love solidified for Elladan. While it was the year when Elrohir's heart was torn yet his bravery was tested. It also was the year of glory for the inimitable twins.
It was also the year Arwen was tested on her love and Aragorn on his devotion. Boromir on his loyalty and Sam on his bravery.
The year when Eowyn found love and realized that true courage was never only to rebel. The year Faramir lost of all what was pure, and the year Eomer had his heart torn again and again, amidst a few deaths and the smile of a woman that took hold of his dreams and of every waking moment of his existence.
For them, it was a year of decisions wrong and strong, of impulses primitive and desires beyond their perception.
And perhaps it was the year when Lord Elrond had stood by the brooks, his sighs a bit too deep and stare dejected, as his mind whirled in a swarm of questions he himself couldn't answer.
It was also the year that Frodo had the worst exploit of his life and it was the year when all his dreams and desires and thoughts of his home (beautiful, peaceful, breathtaking home) left an aching hole in his heart.
But most importantly, it was the year when the world teetered on the brink of devastation and was held back barely to see the eve of salvation.
It was (most importantly) the year when the dark Lord (finally) was defeated.
And it was the year when Lanette Anderson would remember the most in her life, the cavernous pit of possibilities and desires that had shattered in those brief battles as screams of helplessness echoed in the horizon. (But more on all that later)
But before, the month of December dawned, quiet with a hint of buzz that held everyone askew. It was a month of hopes, of potential, of prayers, of aspirations but it was also a time when friendships were tested, love had waned (and yet had strengthened) and arguments had ensued. It was also a time of goodbyes, of hopes and of promises to meet once again.
But most importantly, it was a time of advice, of new friendships to be forged, and of conversations that could warm one's soul or shatter it to pieces, for it was the month when everyone knew the answer to everything except the very questions they themselves needed answers for.
Meriadoc Brandybuck was an ordinary man (quite figuratively of course) but ordinary nonetheless. Nearing the age of thirty-seven and being the only son of the one Saradoc Brandybuck, his life, despite a few respites here and there, had decisively been quite easy and peaceful. With most of his free time spent among the ponies (with a rare breed being his pride and happiness) and navigating the green paddy Hills and the crystal blur of the streams gushing about the peaceful abode of Hobbiton, everything was peaceful and ordinary.
His life was tumultuous of ordinary, of nondescript decisions and stale life and no matter how defiant he seemed, he was quite in peace with these factors of life.
Which was why, he himself couldn't understand his decision to poke his nose into the matters of Bilbo (that he could blame on curiosity), or finding about the power of the One (that he could blame on his imaginative power) or why he helped Frodo undertake an adventure that had bespoke trouble from the start (perhaps He could blame that on his friendship) but for the love of his life, he couldn't understand his resolution to follow down the worst rabbit hole along with his friends, he just couldn't understand his willingness to undertake a journey as perilous as the fellowship of the ring, (that's how they've decided to call it these days). Yes, it was this decision that he couldn't fathom. What was there not to understand, you ask. Well, Meriodac Brandybuck was many things but most of all he was ordinary.
He did not stand out, he did things well but never well enough to be called a genius. He galloped while being one with the very winds but not well enough to be called a champion, he rowed a boat well but wasn't obsessed like his uncle. He loved the maps but he didn't hoard them like Bilbo, he was wise but never wise enough to be genius, he was swift but never enough to be agile, he was also brave but never enough to be courageous. Everything that had happened in his life had resembled some sort of normalcy, a mundane cycle that he had worked hard to keep. But now, now his world, those long homely decades were being shaken at the very roots. With the uncertainty of the future dangling at the front and the fear of the unknown eating up his insides, he was suddenly not quite sure of what he was supposed to do. All his decisions felt impulsive, his thoughts childish and his fears full of cowardice until he felt closed up in his own thought. In the end for all the love he had for his friends, Pippin was a fool, Sam too devoted, Bilbo an old chap and Frodo...Well, Frodo was too caught up on his own verdicts.
So now as he sat with his feet, long and broad, dangling in the passing stream, the cool wind of December causing snot to accumulate in his nose, his heart sank at the realization that perhaps he had signed up for more trouble than it was worth. He, for a moment could see the tired and lanky figure of his father, staring at the door for the return of his only son like he had done so many times before and with guilt eating up his insides he discerned that it will be years before he finds the ability to go back to the peaceful and ordinary abode of his homeland. With his feet covered in dirt and grime and the disapproving yet kind look of his father directed at him over the newspaper as the old figure got up to retire.
(Now that he thought about it, he had never asked his father to not wait up for him.)
Another moment passed and his sigh dissolved in the wind as the cold taunt made him shiver in his robes. He wondered whether he should not sit with his feet feathering the surface of the stream. The drops of the gushing water were freezing and caused involuntary goosebumps to rise along his arms. With his mind caught up in the recent turmoil that had led to his decisions, some of which he had made knowingly and some quite impulsively, he did not hear the sound of feet coming up his behind, neither did he decipher the little peek the woman had made and didn't even decipher the small sound she made at the back of her throat to alert him of her presence. Rather he sat with the knees, now drawn up to his chest and wondered at how this all mess might end and for once all the possibilities, his wise mind had come up with, left him stranded and no less fearful. His stomach did a somersault and he gulped down the fear, his eyes suddenly tracing the ground, the smooth frozen grass, until they collided with the bump of leather boots mashing up the grass by his side.
His eyes snapped up and he made out the kind (and pretty) smile of his companion. Her eyes stared down at him and the knowing look of her gaze caused something to be struck down his throat, forcing him to stare at the crystal water gushing about the grey mood of the weather, of that particular morning.
"Much on your mind?" she asked, her voice soft yet a hidden edge that he couldn't place. His answer was masked by his sigh, another one, yet again, and he shook his head. For a moment he found that he had lost his tongue, for, in the face of a person whose problems were perhaps greater, he found his own musings juvenile and quite a bit selfish. It was this reason that he turned his face down, his eyes boring holes into his mitted hands, suddenly finding the deep green to be quite mesmerizing rather than the lady by his side.
He remembered the tale that Bilbo had told him, of the home that she had lost and of the life that was blooming once more and because he was wise and because he was perhaps a bit of a cynic, he, rather than the awed silence of Pippin had given a defensive snort and had continued with his tale, the far fetched story at the back of his mind. He had gone over the map of Gondor, very detailed and precise he would have to admit. It wasn't until Bilbo had given the Lady credit for that masterpiece had he been interested and now after perhaps a month of knowing her and putting up with the eccentricity (of her or of her race he wasn't quite sure, for humans themselves were quite an eccentric race, he had come to the conclusion) he had believed her words and had developed a nice companionship with the lady. He found that she was quite a listener and an even better adviser. So he had found that perhaps a friendship with those whose feet were not long enough to be small paddies was not that bad and had developed quite a shy demeanor in the face of the blooming alliance, still struggling to believe the fact that this lady was a decade younger than him. Then again he supposed that the ages of men were not that long (a fact that was quite heart-rending, to be honest) and had still accepted her as someone whom he could look up to. With her exemplary skills in healing and sword fighting, while he remembered the day a few weeks ago when he had been lucky enough to peep into a session with her and that fair elf, Filvendor perhaps was his name.
It was this awe that had glued his mouth shut and he tried to ignore her eyes boring into the skin of his cheek while she settled beside him.
The cold of the December wind, the cutting edge of it appeared sharper as he struggled to place forth some thought. He found himself quite desolate, though, when his mind kept drifting back to the fellowship and the fear that had gripped his stomach was becoming nauseating.
"Are you scared?" she asked and for a moment he couldn't help but marvel at how she hit the nail on the head. His eyes widened a fraction and in the back of his mind, he thought that perhaps he should negate the fact but the forsaken words had somehow struck right in his throat until he couldn't even find the air to breathe. His eyes watered as he gasped and a string of embarrassment passed his gaze. It was soon suppressed when his eyes shifted to the kind understanding in her orbs and he found that perhaps his fear of being childish was the one thing that was most childish. "Sort of" he found his voice to reply a moment later, "perhaps I shouldn't be" he continued missing the furrow in her brow at his words, "perhaps getting fearful of the promise after making it is quite dishonorable." he murmured at the end, his voice trailing off in contemplation.
He had expected kindness, or pity or some more contemplation but nothing could have prepared him from the snort that emitted from her. He looked at her, surprise glazing his features and for a moment the flash of irritation across her face scared him.
Then she looked at him and he realized that it wasn't directed at him, for her gaze was still warm and kind and held the understanding that made his chest squeeze with warmth.
"you needn't be appalled by the fear," she was saying a while later, "it'll be more childish to not be scared in the wake of such uncertainty. But remember one thing Merry, it is that you're not alone in this."
"There ain't one person in the abode of Rivendell that is not scared of what lies ahead, that is not uncertain of their decisions and does not regret their impulses." and then a smile towards him_warm and soft that elevated a bit of his troubles, "Just remember that everyone is here for you, right" she said and then as if remembering something, said something (short and harsh) in her other language and was soon out of his sight.
He stared at the place where she had been just a moment ago and couldn't help the sigh of relief that passed his mouth. Somehow he had not realized but the only thing he wanted was for someone to be there, and it was warming to hear someone speak the words, even though he might not hold her to those.
It was this observation, that someone was there, someone was present for him that made the cold bite of the December wind pleasant with the warmth of hope and he couldn't help the smile that bloomed on his gratified face.
Gandalf uttered a long sigh, that seemed to reverberate through the very bones of the old man and turned to face his only companion.
"Not as ludicrous as you've made it out to be"
Lord Elrond made a small sound at the back of his throat, which might've been a snort had his inherent elegance not stopped him midway,
"Sending a dysfunctional woman to carry out a task in these times will not be considered ludicrous? But perhaps you're right, not ludicrous the, thought that is-it is downright hysterical."
And then he uttered a sigh as if tired of the world,
"Gandalf, the message might be important but it will not bode well to send her, and alone at that! The times are dark and the roads ever darker. Sending a woman alone on such a venture, into the territory that has already been taken over by the orcs spreading across the lands in the form of a plague, is a tremendous gamble. One that we perhaps should steer clear of."
Gandalf stroked his beard, "The road will be tough," he said a moment later and the look he received from Lord Elrond was significant, "it is the reason why it should be her."
The silence extended as Gandalf sipped his tea. For once his hands itching for the weed pipe that he had left by his bedside. He waited for the wind to settle a bit, not bothered and yet waiting to collect his thoughts, "No one will wonder about a woman traversing alone towards the area she came from once. No- they will wonder, it will be quite peculiar, but the people that will wonder will only do so after the message will be safely conducted."
And he paused for another sip,
" The orcs, on the other hand, although vile and gruesome with thoughts and actions dangerous enough to make the road unsafe for even the best of the soldiers, would be called to assemble, the moment the ring steps afoot from this safe. The danger of the Dark Lord is much more than attacking a woman that can easily slip by the shadows... if she's careful that is."
Elrond stared ahead, his mind still not accepting the facts, "And pray to tell if, somehow, the lady avoids all the trouble, which is highly unlikely in itself, and gets to the Land of Rohan, another possibility that looks improbable by the day, pray to tell, who will be able to receive your message. Who will accept the words of a man that had been banished from their hall by the King that owns their fidelity? "
Gandalf was quiet for a moment, a faraway look taking over his mind, as it often did when he liked to stare into the smoke rising from his mouth when the grey wisps took the shapes and vanished into a bout of nothingness as the wind blew all the shapes into the past.
"She knows Eohere," and then on Lord's curious look elaborated, "a man of the rangers he is, I have known his family for generations and although I might not know him now I'm still sure of the fact that the man I knew about years ago, the boy that had evolved into a man in front of my gaze will not hold the warning in a small light. "
"He's a man you would trust, " Lord Elrond questioned a moment later and Gandalf nodded, another thoughtful expression, highlighting his wrinkles in the pale winter glow, "perhaps not with my life, but surely with the lives of his countrymen. "
And this was enough confirmation for Lord Elrond for in the times of destruction and gloom a person to trust was truly hard to find, "Although Lady Lanette..." his voice trailed off and for a moment doubt had taken over his face, an expression that not many in the world were privy to. Gandalf nodded, his voice now more calm and collected. He seemed taken by the suggestion with every passing second. "Lady Galadriel wishes for her to leave, in your vision you spoke of"
Lord Elrond shook his head, "the visions are indecipherable in certain peculiarities. It might've been something other than that, that I was to be warned off or perhaps it was nothing at all."
"How many times had the lady been in your visions without a reason? Besides, we are sending hobbits with no previous experience, no power to protect themselves on a task that requires much more strength and courage."
"Courage, yes, the courage they all have in spades," Lord Elrond murmured, the fight in him leaving. Still, he carried on with his explanation, "yet the ability to fend off orcs and still deliver the message successfully requires much more than that alone"
Gandalf nodded at that, the lively twinkle for a moment flickering in his eye, "much of which the Lady has in spades, I'll say."
"she's the only option that is probable now."
"Sending your generals or any elf would be too striking and a gamble. Aside from the rest of the fellowship, there aren't many that can carry your caution to the far west."
And then the Lord was awarded a raised brow, the bushy white of Gandalf's hair creating a sarcastic effect with his deep, knowledgeable eyes.
"Perhaps you feel that the heed is good enough to be carried by Gloin."
For that Lord Elrond had no reply. In the end, he sighed, the cold tea in his hands made his nose wrinkle in distaste and he set the cup down, China making a sharp snap with the saucer. It showed the distressed mind of the Lord and he seemed to undergo an internal battle, finally sighing and getting up in one graceful motion.
"It shall be you who informs the Lady of the decision," he said before moving out of the veranda and then stopped, his shoulders tense, but couldn't be known by those who didn't know the Lord well enough. When he next spoke his voice was clipped and the message short but meaningful,
"The elves will not be held responsible for her safety, nor what may befall her. No matter what protests you might hear"
And Gandalf smiled at that, a small ironic pull of the lips but his eyes stayed cold as he nodded in confirmation.
For when you had the weight of the whole world to pull, as it teetered dangerously on the brink of annihilation, you could hardly keep the interests of a single soul in mind. That was the fact. Also, a fact that left a bitter taste in his mouth and the next time he saw his reflection while passing through the mirrored hallway on his way to the Lady, he felt as if another piece of himself had chipped away.
For him, the eyes that stared back at him were too alien and his heart too stony to be affected by the realization.
"The history suggests the evidence of a plant whose mythical, to an extent, properties, lend power to the thread keeping the life of a man connected to his soul. Although the suggestions were fanciful, they were not far from the absolute truth..."
The light of the lantern, whose flickering flame sent shadows across the pale parapet. The scribbling of the Quill across the surface of the parchment lent a constant disturbance to the quiet surroundings. The rustling of the sheets and the pause of the pen for a moment before starting again, the strokes this time were mixed with irritated energy,
"Heratwreath, the flower that first bloomed during the battle of the Warring Clans, aside from bringing Revolution to the outcome of the battle was something that the people, taken up by their loss and changing tides of time, gave much thought to. Times changed and the plant whose properties had once lent about the power to fight just for one more day faded into a mystery as the world moved on in ignorance... "
The pile of books scattered in front of me threw a silhouette on the table and the yellow glare of the flame mixing with the shadows lent a gloom the room. The languor due to the continuous Insomnia from the previous week was magnified and I could only blink my eyes a few times before going into the script once more, the constant supervision of the librarian lending a certain agitation to my demeanor. I couldn't help but wish that he would leave me alone; alone to wallow in my misery. Alone, so I didn't have to hide my weariness behind a mask of concentration and perseverance. Pinching my nose and looking at the notes scribbled on the page, I started on the scroll again,
"The Great was the war of men brought about the Curse of the Blades (of Agnaria) and the healer Gerabard rose from the exile to help their dwindling numbers. Their mortality posed a threat to the extinction of mankind and once again the Magical abode of Hollin bloomed into the starlight of Eldars with the settling Sun lending way to the blossom of the purple flower..."
I stopped for a moment as the librarian got up, Sillvean was his name. He arranged the scrolls on the table and with a fleeting look at the rest of the library moved to leave. His calculated gaze stopped to survey my desk and the momentous mass on it and lingered at my hunched figure. I met his eyes with a small smile and what I hoped was nonchalance that did not betray the storm brewing inside. His mouth twitched for a moment as if to smile but I had not seen such emotion on his face forever and was not surprised when he departed with a nod.
I returned to the work in front of me, turning my mind to the same concentration that I had been retaining in the presence of the librarian,
"The base of the said flower was found to contain the starlight of the Eldar whose properties lent the magical power to the fleeting life of man. The essence of life, called so rightfully, could extend life for a day, not any more than those specified hours but not much more, their effect could be succor a life that required sometime or perhaps could even be used to prolong suffering for someone as was used to make Laoqdes receive his punishment, of a thousand nails through his body, for another long time. This effect-"
"This effect-"
I thought again but my mind ended up in a blank and all I could think of was the look of Gandalf, the one that was mixed with indecision and apprehension, hidden beneath a veil of indifference as he had told me of the news of their decision not even a week ago. The thing that had scared me, at first, had been the loss of dazzling twinkle of his eyes, the same mischief that had been there, hidden in the shadows, even when he had spoken of the ring, of the fellowship and the war that caused the people to teeter on the brink of human annihilation. It was this fact that proved that even he thought of this as a suicide trip.
"You should carry the warning to Eorlings after the fellowship leaves and the first embers of the war began to burn," he had said and I, without another thought, had agreed because it was a plan that I had planted and I was the one who had magnified it with my passion to just do something. Turning back on one's word was something that I couldn't forgive, especially for myself.
"In the situation," he had continued and I had looked at him startled "such that you feel it be the end, waste away the message." The message had rung clear and a sudden tension had hung in the air. He had lingered there for a moment, his old face looking tired and the eyes hiding a swirl of emotions that were too many to be placed. In the end, he had just nodded, his face set in stone and without as much as an encouraging line, he had left me stranded with my own thoughts. Something that was just not expected of him.
I had given it thought. I knew that wasting the message was important for if it was taken up by the orcs it could alert Saruman, the traitor, and if taken up by Eorlings can perhaps consign both me and the unassuming Eohere into the bounds of treason. But the fear of failure was something that had been looming over my senses for the whole week and I could only bemoan why I always thought of the ways I could end up, only after taking up the responsibility.
I had pressed that I was stronger. Was I strong enough to take up even three orcs at the same time? No, I was not. I had been sick. I had been on the verge of death, I had been spent. I would have truly fallen to my demise if the luck had not been in my favor. If I hadn't seen the company on the last day, perhaps I would have never completed the journey. The recollection of those days, of vulnerability as the rain thundered down on my helpless figure laying in the wet mud and the fever burning through my veins. The fear that had gripped me when I had faced the orc. It had all mixed in my dreams and every night I woke up with a clamoring heartbeat and cold sweat glazing my brow. With my mind hammering with the disquietude of my own anguish and the yearning (the ache) for my home that had gotten to me out of nowhere, the past week had been nearly hellish and I had projected all the free energy into the medical study and the application of Heratwreath. The constant work and the knowledge brimming over the surface of all the perceptions was enough to make the consciousness subside into the deepest furrows of my mind. It was only today when the first company had arrived, Gwestofiel and his companions, that my mind had also registered another detail. That I had to explain all this mess I had plunged into to Filvendor, Elladan, and Elrohir. It was this thought that had made the barely kept under the bay anxiety, surface again and the paper of a concise history and properties of Heratwreath that I was to finish today was pushed to the back of my mind.
To be honest, I was carrying a message for Eohere, to make him aware of the brimming forces of the enemy and the caution of the Council about what would be better. In the times of peace something like this would be taken up by interest but considering the fact that one could not even travel from Hollin to the gates of Moria without being attacked by hungry orcs, who's the only purpose was to raid and kill, it was an uphill task. Considering the dread that even I felt, I was sure that their reaction would not be positive. It was this thought, of convincing them that this was something that was supposed to be done and if I could do this then I should, that caused another headache.
I was myself trying to quench my fear and to make a game plan and the thought of someone cultivating my uncertainty was not a pleasant thought in any way.
I groaned out loud at the wave of pain in my head and pushed away the scrolls to let my forehead rest on the polished wood. The cool texture the table was a pleasant sensation against the ever increasing temperature of my forehead. I marveled for a moment at the quiet, and the sudden serenity of my surroundings. My eyes fluttered-
The bang of the door ruffled my mind with a jerk and I stumble to my feet, blinking away the blurred vision of the disrupted sleep. I opened my mouth to snap but the voice died on my tongue as I made out the figure of Filvendor.
I had known him for months now, and with the association that had not taken long to bloom into a beautiful friendship, we hadn't had one moment when things had not been casual and light. Understanding and concerned sometimes, even annoyed, yes, but still not once I had seen such rage flickering through his eyes as I saw at that moment.
The unease surfaced in my stomach. Still seeing him safe and sound brought a grateful smile to my face and I took a few steps towards him,
"Hey-"
"Who gave the plan for such idiocy?" his snap, short and quivering with anger cut off my words and I halted in my place. The smile that had been strained for a while now bloomed into a sarcastic smirk and with another chance at lightness, I threw the jab.
"Well, good to see you too"
He looked torn as if he couldn't decide whether to snap back or continue but the look was fleeting and the anger in his emotions was too prevalent to look at much else.
"Who was it?" he asked. He covered the distance with two long strides until there were no more than two feet between us. From this close, I could see the grey flickering ominously in the blue of his orbs.
My stomach lurched again and the bile that rose in my throat was unpleasant and off-putting. Perhaps it was the stress of explaining something that seemed too much like a suicide mission even to me to a person who will be dissecting even the best of the logic or perhaps it was just the sleeplessness catching up with me but whatever it was, the end result did not bode well. With a lurching stomach and a heavy heart, I looked at him, but my expression was too soft and tired and voice too calm and passive to lead to fighting,
"What are you going to do if you know?"
Looking at the series of expressions that passed his face I knew that he was thinking of persuading Lord Elrond and it was something that I didn't want to allow. Instead, I sighed at the irony and awarded him with a small pull of my lips, my face dry of all humor,
"It has been decided Filvendor, as something that must be done so just keep it cool."
His look turned condescending and the sardonic pull of his lips seemed scary in the light of the anger barely leashed in his eyes,
"Decided?" and then a chuckle, that verberated across the empty room. The quiet sting of the winter lend another edge to his tone and I barely heard his words as another wave of pain hit my head,
"Decided by whom?"
The room spun in a vibrancy of oranges and greys and I looked down to not let him see this bout of weakness as this would only serve to strengthen his argument. When I didn't seem to reply, he continued with a sigh,
"I knew that the war was leading to the disconsolate conclusions but this is unexpected even given the circumstances"
"It is the need of the hour Filvendor."
I sighed, leaning a bit towards the chair that I had jumped out of
"I did not ask you to describe the need," he snapped again, and when I looked up his eyes were scrutinising my figure; the disheveled hair tied at the base of my neck, the dark circles and lost eyes that stared at his burning orbs and the skin that had grown too pale in the winter storms,
"Who gave the proposal?" he gritted out. The pounding in my head and the stiffness of my neck seemed unbearable and my body burned In a sizzle of hotness. I gave another long look to his expectant figure and the calm in me snapped in annoyance,
"I did!" I snapped, jabbing a hand at my chest as I drew back to lean at the chair. I rested my hands on the back of it to hide the quiver that had overtaken them, "Okay? Just-" Another deep breath, "I made the suggestion and I volunteered for it."
He quietened for a while and the lull was a comfort that I sought, almost doubling over in weakness. Remembering the painkiller that I had left in the room of apothecary I nearly groaned out loud but instead opted to focus on his figure.
My brain was getting woozy and slow and I had trouble keeping my eyes open, just wanting to go to my room and collapse on my bed because I knew that only when I would be troubled with this much pain and would be half unconscious would I get a few blinks of sleep. And it was asleep that after a week of doing anything but rest was extremely welcome.
Filvendor stepped forward, his indignation mixing with concern as he met my gaze but it was soon lost when he saw the annoyance contorting my face and his jaw locked in rage,
"The war will start whether or not someone alerts them and the generals of Rivendell are not yet dead that we have to send a mere healer to alert them. This is a moronic idea without a doubt. How can you dare to make a decision like that without us?"
The glare that I issued him right there was worse than I had even given Elladan when he had made his pleasing comments last time. Dare, did he say so. I am daring to plunge into a crook deep out of my comfort zone, just so the casualties might be reduced. Just with the hope that I would be able to help the people. Just so that I could get up and move, do something rather than sitting holed up in the comfort of this magical abode while the world burned all around us.
A world that I didn't even want to be in, I thought scathingly. It was this thought, that came unbidden and a bit unexpected that swirled all the pent up indignation and frustration in me into a huge ball of anger. Because in the end, the thing that was bothering me the most about this week was that every one of my helpless thoughts ended at the loathsome reality that this was just not my world.
It was with this thought that all the carefully constructed ideas of belonging, of wanting to belong shattered into fine shards because how could I belong in a world that I wasn't even allowed to strive for?
Where I was so helpless and so weak. Where all my knowledge came to a standstill and all my actions were viewed as condescending. Where every step I took shattered my confidence until I was just a hollow shell of the confident independent woman that I once was, striving to keep the rags of my old self intact by making all the reckless decisions only to enjoy a moment of freedom. Of self.
I stepped forward, towards his towering figure and reveled in the doubt that flashed across his eyes.
"How can I dare Filvendor? How can I dare?" I jabbed a finger at him, the anger causing my hand to quiver until all I could do (while not slapping him) was to curl it in a fist and bring it back to my side. I continued with a voice that was gritted and yet barely above a whisper, knowing well enough that yelling wouldn't be of any effect, "I'll tell you, you idiot, how I dared. While you all are out here taking a hold of your feelings and not letting them go, I am being the bigger person who is sidestepping a life that I can develop for some lives that could be saved with this single step. Because I'm not selfish enough to stay hidden and safe in comfort while the people, the men of the same race as I burn in their homes!"
An expression, bordering on hurt flashed through his face and suddenly we were both so tired. I just wanted to not fight about this, I wanted them to accept this as my challenge and to help me overcome it rather than pulling me from the behind.
I wanted them to be the railing that I could lean on for support, not the parapet that blocked my view. And with the uncertainty of the future and the promise of war and misery that hung over us, I wanted there to be no more fights. And judging by the fight leaving him, I thought that perhaps he felt the same. Yet he continued because for the first time I was thinking clear enough to realize that the anger was veiling the fear that he actually felt,
"You have already started a life. You're one of us now." he started, his soft speech tinted with an edge, "That is why you dared. Dared to do something that serves as a slap to every inch of compassion we showed!"
I could've replied back or perhaps validated my point but his words uncovered a gaping hole that I didn't realize was there. Started a new life? Had I truly. The one thing that I had come to the realization was that my stay in Rivendell never felt permanent to me. Never in all those months did I think that this was where I was to live out my days and it was this fact that caused something to stick down my throat until I couldn't breathe,
"I have not." I murmured. I didn't look at him for a moment and the silence that stretched gave a cue that it was my time to talk.
"You-" I started and the calculated expression, the expectant look that I was awarded was nothing short of a slap, "You might say that I have but I've not. There is no life that I've begun here in Rivendell, Filvendor. I've made friends and I've made memories but my days are passing by."
The blankness of his eyes was scaring me, so the words tumbled out of my mouth,
"I won't be here forever Filvendor. You ask me to start life over, to adapt, to follow whatever I see here but it just wouldn't be possible, right?"
"What are you speaking of?" he said, his voice for once a whisper,
"I'm a mortal, Filvendor." I replied, "There is no blood of Eldar that ever ran through my veins, I'm no hobbit, no dwarf or no noble of Gondor."
"That's irrelevant." he started but I shook my head, a sad smile pulling at my lips,
"Is it?" I replied, and my whisper rang through the stifling quiet, filled up only by the emotions of my voice, "I don't think so. It is this clock that is tickling above my head that is pushing me Filvendor, that made me realize that I could do it, even if I play with my own life but in the end saving lives or just the mere thought of doing it... That is what I am and that is what I would continue to be"
His face crumbled at my words and the eyes shifted away from me to look at the mantle behind my head. Even though my expression pleaded him to understand,
"The way is dangerous, the times are in their favor-" he continued, the same words as if playing a same broken record but the words were hollow and dry, all the emotion seemingly sucked out and I cut across him, my own voice marked with a certain dryness,
"I know."
"I-" he started and then looked at me, truly looked at my expression, into my eyes and I could see his own orbs struggling to come to a decision, "You've made up your mind."
"I did accept the challenge, making up my mind is still in process."
"Someone from us can carry the message. I can still convince Lord Elrond"
I just shook my head at that. The generals of Lord Elrond were sought by all the orcs. Sending them alone, as the message was supposed to be carried, with the fellowship also in tow as to not draw attention, would be foolhardy,
"You know that it's not true. The orcs would likely pay more attention to you all because of your recent endeavors. If this message is to get delivered then I would perhaps be the most unassuming choice"
"Is that the truth inside your heart?" he asked a moment later and I moved to sit on the chair. My hand, that had taken up the quill to twirl paused a moment, he dragged the chair back, the screeching sound of it filling the space before continuing,
"That you have not made a life here?"
"I try not to," I stated. And then stopped, thinking over what I was gonna say. The words sounded hesitant and quiet, "But I still haven't, I haven't found a sense of. How do I say this? A sense of-"
"Home"
My head snapped towards his and I nodded after a moment,
"Yes, home. In Rivendell. I'm not sure if this is because a part of me will never let go of my roots, or just because I haven't just found a sense of comfort, of truly belonging yet."
I paused to get my breath and looked at him with a shy smile, that bloomed immediately with an onslaught of the beautiful memories,
"I mean I love you guys, you're some of the best people I've met. You're my people but I'm just..."
"You're just not a person of this home" he completed, yet again. Leaning forward in his chair another contemplative look took over his features and some part of me realized that the anger had left him,
"Or perhaps it's because you haven't found your people yet"
I opened my mouth to say something but the words ended in a halt and his look turned knowledgeable with a tinge of sadness that constricted my heart.
"In the end, you're right, we are elves cursed with immortality and you... You're destined to fade into memory." he continued with an ironic smile, "I never knew why people strive for this immortal curse, I would rather die with the people who are mine"
"Don't say it." I rebuked, my borrow furrowing at the thought and saw the same old twinkle return to his eyes. No matter how diminished it was, it was still there and we're off to a nice start. For a moment it seemed that he'll make a hilarious remark but the effects of our little spat were not too far off and we were both not in our best shape. My fever still burned and head pounded yet in the light of the gloom that had settled over the silence my health was of the least concern. For the first time, I truly took in his appearance, the slightly disheveled hair, the mud on his collar and the sweat and grime covering him, although by the standards of men he was perhaps clean enough, by his own standards this was the worst I've ever seen him. The tired bags under his eyes and the drop of his shoulders was enough to know how taxing all of the trips had been on him and when he looked up from tracing the crafted design of the table his eyes held a softness and hurt that felt out of place,
"It's true." he said and before I could comment, he clasped his hands in his front, a serious tone prevailing again, "What about your sword practice?"
I smirked at that and this cued another conversation, this time light-hearted and companionable as we spoke of our days, his spend in the rush of adventure and mine in the misery of one's own imagination. For a while we sat there, the light of the flame flickering across the walls and with the night growing deeper and darker causing an increase in the chill of the December, and we talked to our heart's extent as two friends would and should, the worries and fears and anger for a moment placed at the back of our mind. With just compassion and acceptance that we both had in spades for each other.
As we walked down the corridor with the scent of the winter's miracle, nightingale, arousing with the wind, the thoughts of failure and fear were a far thought from the warm feeling that had settled over me in his company. He spoke again, this time his expression held a contemplation that was unreadable to me,
"And Lanette, even though I will accept this decision doesn't mean that my heart is with it. It won't be as easy to tell this to Elladan and Elrohir."
I looked down at that. The fiery temper of Elladan coming to mind but looking sideways at the tired yet relaxed figure of Filvendor I couldn't help but hope for the best,
"They'll understand. You did too."
Filvendor snorted, shaking his head in denial,
"Elladan won't."
"Why wouldn't he?" I murmured casting a worried look over to my companion. Filvendor's steps slowed to a halt and he looked down at my puzzled expression a sudden realization drawing on his face that got a breathless laugh out of him, and a look that was simultaneously surprised and bothered,
"You're not aware." and he shook his head to himself, his voice dropping to a murmur, "Which is no surprise as I'm sure even he isn't"
"Aware of what?"
He registered my presence again and the mischief flamed into life in his expression before mock seriousness took its place and he started walking,
"I hadn't had one meal for the whole day"
"You don't need a meal. What were you saying.-" I retorted and huffed at the sudden velocity of his steps, "Hey! Stop right there" and I was only awarded a loud laugh that propelled a chuckle out of me and soon his words were forgotten with the relief of things taking up a semblance of normalcy.
One down two (one) to go.
"Shift your feet to the side!" his voice rang out just before his swipe came from my left, barely missing the loose strands framing my face and I stumbled to the right. Another swipe from behind me to destroy my stumbling balance and one dab on my wrist to drop the blade, I was sadly but surely taken down by just three steps.
Stumbling back to my feet, I positioned the blade and the spar started once more. Pushing the blade forward I stopped his heavy strike and pushed with all my will, turning to the side just at the tipping point to make him lose his balance but it was Filvendor, the commander of Elves and the one chief of whose skills even Lord Glorfindel was proud of and such cheap tricks wouldn't work on him. Especially when it was he who taught those to me. He slipped his leg, arching towards the front and my escape to the side was blocked by a tumble that made me eat the mud. I groaned out loud at the misery but the impatient click of the tongue was enough to draw me out of my never-ending embarrassment,
"Don't just throw your weight to the left, you have to twirl while still keeping an eye on the surroundings"
I pushed to the fours, sending him a withering glare in an attempt to hide the muscles that were vibrating with exhaustion. Filvendor in the past four days had taken up the demeanor of a leader and a commander with me and for the first time, I had to see the professional and unyieldingly strict side of him. To say the least, it left much to be desired.
He gave me a once over, his stoic gaze travelling from the bedraggled hair that was half unbound from the tie, now framing a face covered in grime mud and sweat, to the cuts covering my arms and the developing bruise on my wrist from all the times he had smacked his hilt on the delicate bone, to the clothes that had lost their crisp freshness of the morning and were doused with the sweat that I had never, in the twenty-nine years of my life, seen in the winter.
The moment his eyes met mine, there was a mixture of irritation, disbelief that fought with the amusement at my state and I closed my eyes before dropping back, showing that I was too tired to continue.
He clicked his tongue, but sat on the ground beside me, while prodding my legs into a more stable rest position with his feet,
"Have you even been eating? There is more muscle in the hundred old woman that ran the pubs in the Village of Farnborough than you seem to have, Lanette" he replied once he was settled with his arm cushioning his neck and the cold breeze of the winter cooling the heat radiating over our sweaty selves.
"You must be proud to be so original" I snorted in return and saw a smile, brief in its execution, extending on his lips and then he was teaching again,
"Don't get dragged, push to the front before escaping to the side," he said and as if realizing something turned his eyes from the cool grey of the sky towards my heaving figure,
"Don't even think of taking an orc on one to one. You'll be dead before you even have the chance to plan an escape."
I nodded in confirmation knowing his words to be quiet true. Still, I hoped that this never will be the case.
The rustling of the leaves felt calming and the cold noon was much different from the lively and warm summers of Rivendell. For once the life that had been chirping away in the barks was now hidden to protect themselves and this lent a gloom to the already colorless dome of the sky. My eyes closed for a moment of peace and the smooth flow of the chill, with its cold nip, felt pleasing yet unfamiliar and-
"I still can convince Lord Elrond."
"I'm tired," I replied simultaneously, getting into a sitting position, half ready to be up and ready to leave,
"No, you're not." he snapped and in a swift move was up to his feet the blade hung loosely in his hands, "You have only gotten down three techniques in last four days." and then as if he couldn't even believe his own words he continued in an indignant murmur, "Four days."
I rolled my eyes at his exaggerated effects and followed him to a standing position yet the blade stayed firmly by my feet,
"Well, sorry for not being perfect in the sport that I never even saw before two years."
"Get it up now," he said, motioning to the blade while sorely ignoring my pained expression. I groaned out loud at his words. All the joints of my body were creaking with the pressure, my legs twitched with every step and my arms felt soulless with the wrist throbbing in torment. I was pretty sure that if I wanted to carry on with the practice tomorrow, today was to be it.
"We've been at it for six hours Filvendor, Six hours!"
His face lost his humor for a moment and his next words were spoken with a certain calm,
"And still I can't assure anyone that you'll escape an encounter with orcs."
For a moment I wondered what to reply and my heart felt like stone dropping into my stomach. I knew he was telling the truth yet, I needed to think of my health too. I hoped that my face showed a certain amount of nonchalance and that the fear and dismay coursing through my veins was not too visible.
"Gee thanks." I tried humor. My voice was dry as if I couldn't find the will to speak and our demeanor suddenly became too similar to the day he returned,
"This is not a sensible plan."
"Yes, you've already said that, let me see, just a hundred times" I snapped, rolling my eyes and yet taking care to not look into his for the fear of my emotions being displayed,
"Lanette," he replied. His voice was tinged with a softness that forced me to look at him and in a battle of my own heart and mind it was always that my mind won, crushing all the negative emotions into a pile of nonchalance,
"Look, there is a fellowship that is waging towards the land of Mordor and I don't see you complaining"
He shook his head as if the argument was already old to him. Which it probably was,
"There are nine of them, two of them are the greatest warriors of men and one is the bearer of the ring of flame."
"They're going into an area where there are going to be at least a thousand orcs." I replied, "Whereas I," I motioned to myself and for a moment his eyes lightened at the dramatic flair of my arm, "am going to deliver a message, through a route I've already gone by before with a fifty percent chance of even encountering an orc."
"ninety-five."
Giving him a dirty look, I continued,
"Ninety-five, and in light of that, I'll say that I'm at the better end of the spectrum."
"You" he started and suddenly stopped. He hesitated at his place. For a moment his eyes seemed to fix on a spot above my head and when I looked back all I could see was the trees surrounding the clearing, which was an ideal training ground a little ways from the main valley.
"What is it?"
He looked down at me and his eyes seemed uncertain as for if coming to a decision. They cleared a moment later and an apology passed through them,
"This is something you brought n yourself."
"What are you" I started looking back around and from between the cluster of the evergreen trees, I could see the familiar figure wading. Even from this far, I could tell the tightness of the shoulders and the hands clenched around the hilt,
"No," I whispered, grabbing at his arm which he managed to maneuver out of my grip at the last possible moment. I stumbled forwards coming to a standstill just in front of him, enough that there were just a few inches between us, I took this distance as an opportunity to glare at him, my whisper turning harsh and desperate, "Filvendor, stay right there!."
"And die, no thanks" he snorted and before I could say anything was out of the clearing with a nod to the sudden intruder along the way.
With a grimace that I barely held and a breath that was heavy with weariness, I turned to look at my companion, his stoic and chilly gaze sending a chill down my spine and it didn't take me a moment to realize that this was an anger that I had not seen before. I stumbled forward, the tense muscles of my legs making it hard to walk and stood a few feet away from him.
"Hey" when I spoke my voice was laced with a certain tenderness and it was also the first time that I registered that for all our spats I really did not want to fight with him. Not now. Not at such a significant point in life. "Elladan."
His jaw clenched at the softness of my voice and for a moment I could see the old anger, the burning passionate one surface in those clear orbs and it was quenched a moment later. As if ice was doused over the burning flame. That old Elladan, the old anger was something that I could work with but this stoic, unfeeling man with a gaze cold enough to send chills down one's spine was someone that caused a stone to settle into my stomach.
The silence stretched for a long while. He did not speak and neither did I say anything. Feeling stifled under the grey of his eyes, my own warm ones dropped to the ground tracing mindless patterns on the pale grass.
It was his voice, rich and strong yet fearful and cold that snapped me back to attention.
"Will you speak or shall I?" he said in a crisp and calculated tone,
"Look, I-" My response was prompt and before I could constitute a comprehensive thought his voice cut across mine,
"You won't leave." his voice was not a question and yet... It wasn't a demand, either. His eyes took on the light of a predator as if baiting his prey and I hesitated a moment before uttering my reply,
"I will."
He snorted at that and the sound was so devoid of humor that it echoed in the clearing, accented by the sudden rustle of leaves as another breeze blew across.
I was pretty sure that this chill that had overtaken my chest had nothing to do with the weather,
"Just because you have the twisted sense of confidence doesn't mean that you have the knowledge about the shadows that lurk out in the open," he said, his voice cold, calculated, void,
I tried at another smile,
"I'll be alright-"
"Don't you dare say it when you're plunging into the hellflame." his rough voice cut across again and he took a step forward. This time as he stared into my eyes, to see what I felt, I glared back, with a sense of confidence that was wholly false and constructed. In the end, there was a flash of disappointment through them and I wondered if I should say something yet he beat me to it,
"I see you've made your decision."
"This is something I must do-"
"No," he cut across. It was quite surprising how something spoken so calmly could have such a halting effect on me. I felt my mouth clamp shut,
"This is something that you chose to do. It's a choice that you made with that need to be independent when there is no one in the world stopping you from being."
I shook my head furiously, hoping to make him understand, that all these ideas he was getting into his head they were not my thoughts,
"It's not about-"
"Is it not?" he replied, "Is it because of the people that might be saved, is that what you say, that you're venturing to the west will save the lives but look into your heart Miss Anderson, is that truly what it is?"
Miss Anderson, the words were spat like acid from his tongue, the venom causing me to flinch despite myself. This was not the man that I was used to dealing with. It was the first time that I realized what Elrohir had referred to as a shell of Elladan's old self. Just because I had never been privy to this cold destructive man, whose very words were spoken with such accuracy to break one's heart did not mean that he had any qualms showing him to me,
"Can you say confidently that it is not your inner sense of wanting to prove yourself, to do something because you're tired of staying here. Because you are sick of the compassion that you were shown because it holds you to a few responsibilities, a few ethics?"
The words felt like a slap to my face. I shook my head and in another attempt to just explain myself, I looked at him pleadingly,
"Elladan-"
"You speak so high and mighty about saving people but in the end, it is just your selfish desire and worth that helps you to spit in the faces that had always helped you."
"I've never-" I started and then stopped myself, the face of Raforta, kind and forgiving flashed across my brain followed by the look of Cathiel, so fearful and utterly disgusted in her own self and somehow the argument would no longer form words. Instead, my voiced reduced to a murmur as my eyes burned in disgust,
"Spitting on your faces was never my intention"
He gave a humorless smirk and a moment later it was wiped out by a truly thunderous expression,
"Fine then, choose to do what you may but remember one thing Lady Lanette Anderson, we bury whatever there was between us the day you choose to leave"
My eyes snapped towards him and in an onslaught of the memories of the past months, the jabs, the talks the jokes, the friendship,
"How can you just leave everything Elladan, all the memories-"
"You made a choice and I made my own."
We stated at each other for a moment and it was at this moment that I realized two things. One was that I wasn't going to leave this mission and the other was that Elladan had no plans of understanding or forgiving in the near future. He seemed to realize the same details as his jaw locked in place and the eyes looked over my head towards the bark stretching towards the sky. His Adam's apple bobbled with emotions before he turned to leave. Just before he could do so, he spoke once again,
"And it's Lord Elladan for you," his voice dropped in hesitation and the next words he spoke were no longer stoic and stern rather there was a certain thickness and emotion that left its burn on my chest, "since you've already decided."
The silence stretched a moment as if he was giving me an opportunity to rectify this all, to back down, to stay here with them so that we could all continue the way we were. So perhaps we all could be happy.
But ignorance was bliss and the irony was that none of us was ignorant of our duties or of what we could achieve.
So with heavy heat and a throbbing mind, I felt my voice, thick and heavy with passion suspended in the stifling quiet, stopping him at the very edge of the clearing,
"Goodbye, Lord Elladan."
And this moment it was me who walked away, leaving from the other end with Agnaria laying forgotten in the mud and the regret and apology burning on the tip of my tongue.
"I see that you've made your choice." Say that you haven't.
"Because you are sick of the compassion that you were shown because it holds you to a few responsibilities, a few ethics?" The hurt flashing through her eyes should've stopped him. It should've.
"You speak so high and mighty about saving people but in the end, it is just your selfish desire and worth that helps you to spit in the faces that had always helped you." He had spat those words in the face of the one woman whose compassion had warmed his heart.
He sees her mind whirling, he sees all those emotions filtering through her eyes and they stop at a sense of pain. Her goodbye freezes his heart and he realizes that perhaps he shouldn't have done it. Her back vanishing under the moonlight leaves him in the black abyss of the forest with the looming figures of the trees closing in around him.
He finds himself in a cavern, the blood and gore splattered across the walls and a broken body of his mother laying forlorn and broken before him. He sees those despicable figures and hears those strangled cries that had followed the next months of her mother's rescue. He sees the spirit of his mother shattered and those soft words of goodbye as she sails towards an eternal goodbye.
And then suddenly it is the words of Arwen "I love him" she had said and they still haunt him to this day.
"I shall choose mortality if it entails a life with him," and no matter how many tantrums and threats he had thrown, the love had stayed and had cultured into a force that was intangible. He sees himself standing beneath the cavern as his sister looks over the horizon and he feels another person slipping out of his life, yet he can't reach no matter how fast he ran.
In the end, it is her face, instead of his mother's that lays broken, her eyes that move farther and farther away. Her look of hurt and apology that he had seen not a few hours ago and the little tendrils that held together his heart are ripping apart.
He grasps one significant detail, there had been three women that he had held close to his heart and all three of them he had lost due to his own inability to understand.
How could he understand others? He thinks when no one saw the gaping hole in his heart?
The shadows seep across the grounds. The chilled air of December cutting through the Courtyard and for a moment his eyes remain fixed on a flickering flame because for him the world was once again burning. The embers of the night burn in the solitude, the raging fires in the burning Valley fly across his mind and for a moment all he can see is the hell breaking loose and the shrill screams that douse him in cold sweat to this day.
"Gloin!" his companion calls, Berthor, was his name and all the world trending in his imagination comes to an abrupt halt. The raging embers fade into the cool darkness of the valley and the mounds of the flame filter into a small lamp who's fire flickers in the breeze. He heaves a breath, realizing that he was not there, in the burning Valley and the Battle of Erebor and turns to his companion.
He chatters about something, in that gruff tone of his voice yet feels his mind drifting off into the abyss that had become prevalent in the stay at this Valley.
The great hall is bursting with life but a heavy air around the room hidden by the stoic smiles. His place is beside the queer Lady and he strikes up a polite conversation that bordered on him boasting all his past beautiful memories. She listens politely, nodding at appropriate moments but he had lived far too long to know when a person was present not only in body but the mind as well. His eyes trace her hesitant gaze to the table where the two brats of the Lord sit, their elven faces set in haughty arrogance.
"Much on your mind lass," he asks a moment later and she snaps back to attention. Her smile is strained and fake, "Don't us all?" she replies, much like she always did, with an effort to hide her true feelings.
For a moment he stays quiet, his old age while making him boastful and full of pride also makes his mind weak, his mind wanders too often in the past. The melancholy air of the valley beats at his heart and the next time he looks at the twins sitting a few tables away, he sees Filli and Killi. He sees their haughty expressions hiding their fear and he sees their courage masking their insecurities and he can't help but imagine their broken faces as they fought to protect those that were their life. It is then that he finds that he could dissect their masks. That he could see all their anger, fear and grief hidden behind a mask of nonchalance. It is those eyes swirling with emotions that make him realize that those youthful twins were not those he had seen buried in the mud and that these two had seen more centuries and more heartbreaks than even he had perhaps.
He sees the stubbornness in the commander's eyes and finds the face of him blurring with the adamance of Killi, suddenly the years are mixing and he doesn't know which pair he was talking of when he next speaks,
"Forgive them. Reconcile. Take all the be best memories with you." he murmurs and she looks at him with a sad smile, "There is nothing to be forgiven and even less to say."
She says but she doesn't realize, she doesn't realize that the cold faces, when buried in the mud, can no longer reconcile.
The week before the fellowship was to depart flew by yet it remained in the memory as a significant patch that crawled by in the consciousness. It was that time that when around seemed to slither forward and when the days pass you can barely remember why that small fragment of time seemed so significant to you. (A/N: Disclaimer. It is an English translation of an Urdu poetry verse)
"And then our paths couldn't align,
For he was egocentric and so was I"
I remembered murmuring in rebuttal as Filvendor and I sat under the soft glow of the lantern on the roof of the library after a long session to decide which road was the best to take. The choices were few and even those few, dangerous and unfavorable. In the end, we had climbed on the roof, a feat that I was not sure was possible before today and the tall post with a decorative lantern was not more than a meter from us, imparting a warm glow that seemed to dull the fearful winds. A bottle of sweet wine sat before him and with his arms resting on his knees and a look so forlorn, staring at the twinkling spots in the dark abyss of the sky, a pang of regret hit my chest. With the choice that I had made, I had hurt the few people that had become a part of my life, my heart in this new world.
I knew that Filvendor was putting up a facade, just to spare me the stress for he was one of the purest people that I had met in this world. Yet whenever I looked at the sadness flickering on his face, barely hidden by the snarky jokes I felt myself becoming more and more remorseful. I couldn't help but think that, 'would this even make a difference?'. Was destroying that peaceful melancholy was truly worth it? What if it was all for nothing what if... I had just wanted to make the world better, just by a few cents of my own work but somehow I had spit back in the faces of the people that helped me every corner of the way. I couldn't help but remember Elladan's face, more than a week ago when he had stared at me, and that look of sadness and betrayal that had passed his face was imprinted in my mind. I haven't spoken to him since then. There hadn't been any words to say or perhaps there had been so many and I didn't know what to say. I wanted to apologize, to tell him that I would be safe, that I will carry out this small mission and that as long as the world survives I promise that I would too. But these words felt like a lie even to my own tongue and thus all the thoughts and feelings were left buried in my chest, as I saw him pass the courtyard towards his rooms with the coldest composure I have ever seen on his face.
Filvendor had asked me to talk to him and he had quietened when I told him that there was nothing to say. The verse had felt fitting and the ironic smile that it had pulled on his lips lent melancholy to the air. Ego was a big thing and when none of us was willing to compromise, perhaps it was better to let the things rest. And so I chugged the bottle, the taste burning down my throat and the bliss of unconsciousness felt a welcome escape from the horrendous feeling of this week.
The day dawned, finally, when the small courtyard was filled with the members of the fellowship with Lord Elrond speaking in quiet tones with Gandalf. I stood above the ledge, overlooking the scene from meters away. There was something picturesque about it, to be honest, as if a scene straight out of an adventure epic, with the people of all species, coming together despite their differences to walk towards the greatest peril to ever exist in this mortal land. With a burden of the whole world hanging on their proud backs. They disappeared with the dawn, the figures blurring along with the dawn until all that was left were the echoes of their steps and the sand filtering through the air in the wake of their steps.
Lord Elrond turned and even from this far I met his gaze, the solemnity of his eyes matching my own. They spoke quite truthfully of the fears and perils that fluttered in my heart and filtering on the low breeze of December I heard the words "It's your turn now, to complete what you started."
The stone that settled in my stomach had nothing to do with the spinach that I had eaten at night, no matter how much I tried to convince myself so.
December 25, Third Age 3018, marked the day when, with hearts full of fear, shoulders heaving with the burdens and mind heavy with the regret of broken promises, departed the nine souls to overturn the fate of those of moral bearings. Carrying the blessings uttered in the dark of the nights and in the last breaths of those lost in the annihilation and with the gazes of the whole of civilizations burning into their backs.
January 6, Third age 3019 was the day when I departed, during the late hours of the night and with a promise of dawn right before me. I strapped my bags on the stallion, with the gaze of Filvendor imploring me to think again and my hands felt cold and body hollow as I mounted his steed. The smile that I gave him was strained and for once he made no joke to lighten the situation and I wished that his crystal gaze, sad and helpless was not the last memory I had of this place as I turned and rushed away, leaving the warmest and fulfilling part of my memories in a mess of broken shards that I had not taken the time to recollect.
All the while was oblivious to the grey orbs, forlorn and regretful following my vanishing figure down the trodden route.
To be continued...
A/N: So love it? Hate it? How was the new format? Would love your views to know how to proceed further!