Hello, all! Thanks to those who reviewed and thanks to those who favorited and followed! I was thinking just a few days ago that we are beginning to close in on 200 reviews! And just so everyone is aware: the 200th reviewer will get a one-shot dedicated to them. It can be about whatever you want to see happen within this fandom. It doesn't have to include Arathell; it can be canon or not. Whatever you want. Just no slash and no smut. I don't write that. But we are only 36 reviews away, so let's get there, everyone! :)
I'm very intrigued to see how you all like this particular chapter. I have gotten some very interesting reviews about some things and your reactions to this, I'm sure, are going to be priceless. Remember: most of this is already written, so all of your wishes, while THOROUGHLY enjoying to read and thrive off of, cannot all be granted because it has already been written. :) Everything will turn out as it needs to, I promise. I reread this story ALL the time to make sure it comes together as it should.
Long chapter today, so yay!
Oh, and I hope that you all had a wonderful holiday!
Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Tolkien or Jackson. I own Arathell, Kara+kiddos, and horses however!
Part Three - We Barely Make It
Familiar Taste Of Poison - Halestorm
"I breathe you in again just to feel you
Underneath my skin, holding on to
The sweet escape is always laced with a familiar taste of poison"
December 16, 3018 – Imladris
Arathell was weary when she returned to Imladris, the sight of the falls brightening her mind only a little. Her horse was just as tired. It was at moments like this where she deeply missed Daeroch. He had been too magnificent for any rider, but he had allowed her to ride with him. They had been a unit since his birth, and with the blessing of the Elves, was granted long life, but not eternal.
Faerdhinen, her Silent Spirit, she thought had been named rather aptly. This horse, a mare, was gentle, but there was perseverance in her soul. Maybe that was why Arathell struggled to connect deeply with her. This horse simply was hopeful. But she was trustworthy and did not turn her head away from a challenge – the only great similarity between rider and horse. Faerdhinen executed her duties with hope, while Arathell just executed them.
She could remember complaining to Elrond about the horse when he picked the mare for her. Arathell, still bearing her gift at the time, could see easily into the soul of the animal and knew that they were not a match for each other. But Elrond had insisted, saying that it Faerdhinen would be her rock and would never fail to give her hope, something that Arathell was in dire need of.
She squirmed in the saddle, hearing her mount continue to trot on. The horse really was silent, which was another trait that Arathell supposed she could admire. But it was nothing like Daeroch. Daeroch was filled with personality and most likely would have huffed in annoyance if she had just adjusted herself the way she just did on him. He had always hated her squirming.
When they reached the stables, she dismounted and absentmindedly stroked the neck of the mare. Her brothers looked just as tired on their great grey stallions. But their mounts were fierce and proud, walking with honor to their stables to begin munching casually on the oats already prepared for them. Their grey pelts glistened with sweat, and the servants approached with water and brushes.
Arathell looked back to Faerdhinen. She was smaller than her brothers' horses. And her pelt was not grey and was not black either, like Daeroch was. No, she was a pure white mare, dirt clinging to her flanks from the long journey. Her eyes were a deep brown, practically black. She looked like a symbol of hope.
"It will not do well to discourage the mare so, Sister," Elrohir scolded. She turned and looked at him as he removed his riding gear from his horse, taking the brushes and water to cleanse his horse. "She is your companion and has agreed to carry your burdened shoulders. You should be grateful to her and should shower her with praise."
"We cannot bond," she said simply, removing her saddle and setting it aside. "She is as silent as the grave and will not confer any thoughts with me to bond over. And she is not Daeroch."
"Daeroch has gone to the Valar," Elladan said briskly. "Faerdhinen is your mount now. She will never be able to do what is truly best for you if you cannot bond with her."
She clenched her teeth and began washing her animal down. She reached into the discarded saddle bag, withdrawing some oats and offered it to her. Daeroch had liked carrots. Faerdhinen liked oats.
Arathell suspected that her brothers continued to talk to her about her inappropriate behavior with the horse, but she paid them no mind. While connecting with her horse was difficult, she found it even more difficult to connect with her brothers. They used to be so close. She could remember the first time they left Imladris as if it was yesterday. She had been so happy for them to come home and they had given her such happy smiles. But this was no more. They looked at her with abandon, like she was lost.
She could still see them sometimes when they spoke with Arwen. They were happy and joking when around her – playful. Those three were still close. But Arathell was not included in those jokes and games. Nor did she want to be. Or at least that was what she told herself. But when they looked at her, all they saw was the argument that ended their friendships. They hadn't even been directly involved! But they had taken Arwen's side in the matter, calling her too dark and too cruel to be their family.
After the decades since the fight, they were slowly allowing themselves to talk to her again, but it was only to scold her for some misdoing or other.
They continued talking, but she looked into Faerdhinen's eyes. They were calm and steady, so unlike the fire in her brown eyes at that moment. The mare's breathing was even, blowing warm air across Arathell's face, like a drying wind. Arathell sighed, taking a deep breath and feeling her heart rate slow. At that moment, Faerdhinen let out a playful whinny, catching everyone in the stable off guard. Arathell couldn't help but grin at the animal, reaching up to play with her ears. Arathell laughed merrily, feeling some strength left in her yet.
"It seems that we both can agree on how annoying the two of you are," she commented with mirth, turning to give her brothers a wry smile, one that neither of them returned. But it didn't matter so much now, and she returned to cleaning Faerdhinen, whispering sweet words into her ears and getting little huffs occasionally.
Once she was finished, she placed a gentle kiss on her nose and left the stables, leaving her brothers to continue cleaning their much bigger animals.
She walked inside of the house, wondering how long she could postpone changing into proper ladylike clothing. Arathell walked surely to her father's study, finding Elrond and Gandalf discussing something. "Perhaps the Fellowship will bring him to his senses," she heard her father say before she announced her presence.
"Father." Her elders turned quickly to look at her. "I wanted to inform you that our journey was safe." She glanced warily at Mithrandir. Her father had made it quite clear that the details of their scout were to be only reported to him, and not even their destination was allowed to be disclosed.
Gandalf seemed to sense this, taking a small bow before leaving, no doubt to check on the Hobbits. "You have told our kin in Lórien of this impending quest?"
She nodded. "Grandfather had already foreseen it, apparently. But he was unclear of the details, which my brothers explained to him while I had counsel with Lady Galadriel. She is faring well, but it is evident that the power of her own ring is starting to mass in all of the current commotion. Nenya is displeased and is causing grief."
Elrond stared at her with a hard jaw. "How long have you known of Nenya? She cloaks it with her light, Arathell. That was not meant for you to see."
She shrugged. "When my gift was still present, I knew she had such a ring the moment I first met her, Father. But take heart; I have told no one, not even my own kin that I know of it. But I knew that you knew. It would be inconceivable for you not to, especially since you carry the ring, Vilya." His eyes widened. "You carry the mightiest of the Three, the Ring of Air, and Mithrandir carries Narya, the Ring of Fire."
Elrond sighed, displeased, but he did not say anything further about Nenya or the other rings she had commented on. "You say that Galadriel is grieving?" he asked.
"I worry that she is beginning to lose hope, Father," she confirmed, her brothers entering the study then. "She is merely tired from all of her years in Middle Earth, I suspect." Her eyes told her father though that it was this Nenya that was fatiguing her grandmother. "Grandmother always spoke of the days when Middle Earth would need her help. It is her belief that these are those very days."
Her father nodded. "But they know that the Fellowship is likely to go through their woods?" he asked.
Elrohir came up beside her and nodded. "They know that it is likely. And they will try to be receptive if it comes to their doorstep. Already, they are massing their people by their borders."
"Father, why did you have Elrohir and I take our sister with us?" Elladan suddenly asked, and she looked up at him with confusion. He didn't meet her gaze and it stung.
"I am present for this conversation, Brother. If you wished to know the answer to such a demeaning question, you should at least have the courtesy for me to be away so that I may not be stung by your words or your tone." Elladan looked sheepish, but still didn't look at her. "I see no reason why Father would not have me go along with you on this journey," she continued. "Quite frankly, I wonder why we would take care to be so secretive about it. There has always been the possibility that we will go through those woods."
"But having you along to talk to our kin about it solidifies that whatever road you are looking to take currently is not the road you will actually be taking," Elrohir mentioned lightly. "Father and Lord Celeborn have clearly seen that something will affect your path and will cause you to reroute yourselves. It is not well for people to know their own futures so intimately, Duvainith."
Arathell frowned at the name. "Then why would the Valar bless a number of the Firstborn with the gift of foresight if we were not meant to know our fates?" she rounded, glaring at her brother. "Elves are gifted with the very least visions. Nothing they are given can greatly impact our futures."
"You do not have foresight," Elrohir retorted. "If the Valar wanted you to know personally, they would have given you such a vision."
"The Valar did want me to know!" she snapped. "The sent such a vision to our father and our father has told me about it." Elrohir looked like he was about to retort, but she stopped him suddenly, "Are you questioning the judgment of Lord Elrond?" He silenced at this and she smirked. "But the matter still stands," she drawled, looking at Elladan. "My brothers are both much crueler than I could have imagined. You have become even more proficient in causing people pain, Brothers. " The words were familiar in her mind, words that her own sister had spoken to her in the presence of her brothers. It seemed only right that she confront her family with the same words that they had so harshly thrown at her. Maybe then they would see that she was not the only one who was outspoken. Maybe they would see that she was not the only one who knew how to be cruel.
Their faces probably had the worth of all of the precious gems hidden beneath the earth and all of the light of Valar combined. She didn't wait to hear a retort from either of them, turning her back and leaving the way she came. She hurried back to her chambers, finding a warm bath already prepared for her. As she sank into the comfortable waters, her mind traveled away to her horse in its stable. Maybe there was something more to the animal than she had originally given her credit for. She was named for her silence, and yet she had been rather vocal while Arathell had been washing her down.
Faerdhinen would never be able to replace Daeroch, but Arathell could no longer hold her new mount in contempt. Faerdhinen was young and not used to her yet. If the world wasn't as doomed as it was, Arathell was almost positive that she and the mare would have been able to bond wonderfully.
When she donned her grey gown, her mind then thought of Boromir. She hadn't seen the Gondorian in almost a month, and there was a part of her that had actually missed him. He would have wished for her to wear a different color other than grey; she was sure. But he did not understand; grey was her signature – it was her color. Her name was Shadow, not Vivacity.
Arathell wondered how he was faring in her home. He had said before that he had seen her kin in Ithilien, but she was confident that he had never really had contact with them before. This was a great change for him, and he had no one to take comfort in. If she wasn't so committed to distancing herself from him, she supposed that he would be who she would want to see first.
But as she thought about it more, Glorfindel's words from weeks ago spoke to her: she was about to embark on a journey with this Man. And it would not do well to not be acquainted with who was going to be in her company. She needed to know him better, and it was silly to try to avoid him when she was going to be quartered away with him and eight other people.
With this decision in mind, she left her room, walking to the balcony where she had seen him so angry before, thinking that it was as good a place as any to start her search. She was pleased when she saw him there, staring out over the woods. His shoulders were not hunched, and his back muscles did not look tense; it was a good sign. "My lord?" she asked quietly. What would she say to him? She hadn't had a proper conversation with him for months and she was attempting to speak with him as if no time had elapsed. Then there was the matter of the two kisses she had shared with him.
With all of these thoughts in her head, she realized just how awful of an idea this all was, and was about to turn away and go back to her room. "My lady?" The words froze her to the spot and she looked into his steel gaze, trying to evaluate him. He looked more shocked than anything, but if his word choice meant anything, then it was just as clear that she had not been forgiven by him.
"How are you?" she asked lamely with a blush rising to her cheeks, but she fought it, continuing to stare into his eyes, daring him.
"There have been worse times," he acknowledged. She nodded and slowly walked to stand next to him, staring into the woods. For a moment, she saw Arwen, the lightness of her white dress glimmering. Her two brothers were trailing after her, and she could tell that all three were talking, but she could not hear their words. "And how are you? You have been gone from Rivendell for a time, yes?"
"Yes, I have," she replied. "I am sorry, my lord, I am not permitted to speak of it. The details of it are solely for my father's ears."
"And you have reported to him then, these details?"
She nodded once. "I suspect that the Fellowship will be making its journey soon. The longer we linger in Imladris, the stronger Lord Sauron becomes. In all honesty, I think I would have preferred to leave weeks ago, but the Wraiths have made our exits difficult. Do you know any word about them?"
Boromir huffed. "Aragorn has brought back his reports. It would seem that eight, black horses were found dead scattered in the shallows of the Bruinen. However, there is no sign of the Nazgûl. Mithrandir believes that they are scattered and ultimately have no choice but to turn back to Sauron." He chuckled mirthlessly. "I do not suppose the Dark Lord will be very forgiving."
Arathell smirked smugly. "Yes, it not something I would be likely to be happy about. Frodo was stabbed by Angmar, and then they all let him fly away in the company of a Man and three Hobbits, only to then be intercepted by an Elf. They failed their master."
"Thank the Valar they have done so," Boromir clipped. "Otherwise, this would be over before it'd begun."
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, watching to see if his body would tense up at talk of the Ring. Arathell knew that he could be influenced by its power and therefore could be corrupted, as Men have been before. But she was determined to fight for his sanity, even if he wouldn't. Again, her hope of keeping him was little, but she owed it to him to try. He stayed calm beside her though, his eyes fixed on her unabashedly. "How much hope do you have for this venture, my lord?" she questioned, keeping the question light, even with the subject being dark and ill.
He scoffed, and she felt his eyes travel over her lithe body as she leaned against the balcony railing. She may have not been forgiven, but that did not prevent him lusting after her, it seemed. "I give it to many, but I do not keep any for myself, truthfully. Are you in need of hope?"
Arathell tilted her head to the side, looking back at her sister, the beacon of hope and light. "Do you see my sister there, in the distance?" she asked him, not taking her eyes off of her kin.
Boromir seemed stunned by the question, but settled to lean on the railing beside her. "I have found in my time here that it is difficult to not see Lady Arwen. She radiates not only light, but hope and love. I see her in the woods now. She looks as if she glides over the fallen leaves of autumn."
Her lips pursed in the answer. "My sister is the beacon for hope in my family. The others carry little for themselves, but I carry even less. People say that while in her presence, they feel motivated to do anything. They all believe that they can accomplish such tasks as well. People do not think this way while in my presence." The last words she uttered were in a whisper, but she still did not allow her weakness to show. She would not have Boromir know the true depths of her resentment for her sister.
"No, I would not think so," Boromir agreed and she harshly looked up at him. She had argued with him before, to be sure, but she had not been ready to have her shortcomings proven. It didn't seem lordly for him to agree with her, and she wasn't sure how she liked his honesty. On one hand, she had always been rather frank with people and cared little for their feelings, so she appreciated that there was another who could do that for her. However, her own feelings at that time were fragile to begin with after her discussion with the twins and she wasn't sure how much longer her constitution would be able to take such a battering. She was already weary from her brothers and she certainly didn't approach Boromir to be berated more. "But you offer something different for everyone here." The words caught her off guard and she met his eyes with confusion that she didn't bother to hide from him. "You offer orders and you demand control." Again, she looked at him with confusion. "People are lost here, never knowing what it is that they need to be doing. But with you present, they relax a little. You tell them what they need to do, and I think it brings them comfort to know that they are not the ones who have to be in charge."
She considered this, unsure of how she should interpret it. It sounded like a compliment coming from his lips, but she wished that there was something more to his answer. It made her feel nice to know that her men respected her position as much as they did, considering that she was a woman as well, it was an honor. But there was a part of her that knew that she wanted more from them than just respect. They could be ordered to follow her to their deaths, but they would willingly follow Arwen without needing such an order.
But it was better than nothing, she figured. "Thank you," she said, flashing a small smile. "Is that the way Gondorians look at you when you march from city to city? Or do they look at you as they look at Arwen?"
He chuckled at her side and tentatively reached for her hand. Just as tentatively, she allowed him to take it. He heaved a sigh of what she believed to be relief. "I do not know," he answered. "It seems strange to me to talk about how my people consider me. I like to think that they approve of my leadership, and I have not been provided evidence that has proved contrary to that. But their thoughts are their own, and I cannot tell."
She arched an eyebrow at him curiously. "Yet you see clearly how the people here look at their leaders," she pointed out.
"I am an unbiased party, able to see everything, my lady," he said simply. "I am quite biased when it comes to me. It is only natural to only see the bad things or only the good things about how people perceive me. It is very hard to see both."
"And how do you see things then? Do you see them liking or disliking you?"
He shrugged. "I see them liking me," he admitted with a sly grin. "But that does not mean that my reputation is not torn to shreds when I cannot hear."
His words evoked a genuine, wide, smile out of her. When he didn't say anything, she looked up at him, her smile still plastered on her face. He looked dumbstruck, and his cool grey eyes were darkening. Before she had the chance to question him, his arms were around her waist pulling her against him. His lips molded themselves to hers in desperate movements, little groans pouring from his mouth into hers. All of the wisdom she prided herself on was stripped away in his arms, and she found herself returning the kiss with as much vigor as he had. With her hair wrapped around her left shoulder, she didn't push him away when his hands moved across her back in possessive holds and grabs. She held onto his shoulder, her nails digging into the leather of his coat. If it had not been there, she was confident she would have been able to draw blood from his pliant skin. Her other hand was tightly entwined in his tunic before it snuck under it and rubbed small pieces of his chest. His mouth devoured hers, but she pushed back until they were inside of the house once more, his back against a sturdy column. Their pants and moans were echoed in the chamber, but she couldn't think of anything except the feeling of his lips on hers. Aside from the fact that he was truly the cornered one, the way his head bent to meet hers and the way his arms held her, made hers the one who felt more trapped. And she loved it.
She wasn't sure how long it lasted like that, angry teeth biting at gnawed lips and tongues licking the wounds clean. At one point, she was sure she had tasted blood, but she did not know whose it was. All she knew was that they fought over who would lap it, both wanting to bring the other into them more. Arathell couldn't breathe, but she was loath to break this moment – she needed his rough touch; she needed his anger as much as he probably needed hers.
When a throat cleared, she groaned, keeping her eyes closed as they pulled away. Only then did she feel like her senses were coming back to her, and she was almost afraid of whoever it was going to be when she opened her eyes. The fact that they were caught was enough to make her terrified. After the few kisses that she had shared with him, she was surprised to feel such a strong need to be close to him. She was drawn to his darkness as much as he was probably drawn to hers. But if whoever had caught them decided to turn them in to her father, or if it was her father, then either she or Boromir would be thrown from this quest. Most likely it would be her, as Boromir needed to make his way back to his homeland anyway.
So when she did open her eyes, she couldn't stop the tiny grin from forming that Boromir had kept his eyes as tightly squeezed shut as she had. She turned her head to the intruder and gasped out a laugh when she saw who it was. "Sam!" she barked. "It's you!"
"Of course it's me," he grumbled, looking upset and then guilty, "my lady," he finished. "Master Elrond would not be happy with you, I'd wager, if he knew what the two of you have been up to. It's not at all proper for a maiden like yourself to be… to be like this with a Man."
She nodded her head, but still smiled. "I know," she agreed, "which is why I'm begging you to not tell anyone about what you just saw." Sam looked hesitant and glared at Boromir who seemed to be finding keeping a straight face too difficult to maintain. "Please, mellon nin!" she begged, quitting Boromir's arms and kneeling down in front of the gardener. "I cannot tell you how it has happened, for I do not know either, but it has. And I do not regret it for the tiniest fraction of time." She didn't need to look back to already know that Boromir didn't regret their kissing either. He had instigated it, after all. "My father would send him away from me, and I could not bear that, not now. Please, you must keep this a secret for me."
"You're Lord Elrond's daughter!" he exclaimed. "What would happen if he learned of your connection, and then learned that I was hiding this from him?! Maybe you do not realize this, but your father is the last person I would want to anger."
"No, Master Gamgee, the last person you should want to anger would be me," she rebutted, giving him a stern look. "I have come to see you as my friend, Sam." Sam didn't look at her, focusing on the marble floors. "And friends must be loyal to one another. This, you know already."
"I don't like it. I don't like it one bit, Thellie," he muttered. She smiled at the nickname. The Hobbits had taken to calling her it before, but it still meant something far greater to her than any other name she had been given in her lifetime. This name was born out of pure affection. It had no meaning whatsoever. It was a name where she didn't have to be a Lady of Imladris like when she was Arathell. She didn't have to be a fierce huntress and murderer like when she was Shadow. And the greatest thing was that she didn't have to be Arwen's beautifully dark sister, with a name like Duvainith.
"This quest we are to go on," she murmured in a softer voice. "We must learn to trust one another with all of our possessions. That includes our lives. Loyalty has never been so needed before now, and we should not start this journey off with already someone distrusting another. I know that what you just saw was not nearly on such a scale as the safety of lives, but it is important to me – to us – nonetheless. Please, Sam. I am begging you not to tell a soul about this. It will not be well for anyone."
Sam stared at her with a scowl but eventually nodded. "You have my word, Thellie." He walked over to Boromir and she hid her smile as he glared up at the Man. "I swear that if you hurt her on any counts, it'll be more than just this secret I'll be serving to everyone. And by that, I mean that your head could very well be on a dinner plate. Lady Arathell is not to be mistreated!" Boromir nodded hastily and Sam straightened out his vest and left the chamber with his head held high on his stout body.
She couldn't help but laugh when Sam was out of earshot. She met Boromir's gaze and saw her merriment reflected in his eyes. After her laughter had subsided, she smiled up at him. "There are not many people in this world that can make me laugh like Sam does," she told him. "His heart is as stout as his body. But you need not fear from him. He will not reveal our secret. For he is truthfully one of the most loyal I have ever come across. But I believe that Hobbits are a very loyal people."
"Do you always take care to explain your laughter to whoever is in your company, my lady?" Boromir asked, and she saw the tease in his gaze.
She held her chin high, unaffected by his words. "My name is Arathell," she told him. "And I believe that it has been far too long since I have heard my name fall from your lips, Boromir," she finished with a flash of arrogance. Calling him by his given name was not a capability that just anyone could lay claim to having. Only family members were given pure permission, and others had to earn it. By saying his name to him now, she tested him. All of their future as more than friends fell on this one response that he would give her.
"Arathell Duvainith, you have bewitched me body and soul," he murmured passionately, and she grinned with even more pride than before. She could ignore his mishap of saying her full name, but he would learn. She knew that he would.
She rose from her still kneeling position on the floor and marched to him, tracing the contours of his tunic and the red patterns that adorned it. "Many would not deem it wise to tell his lady of her hold over him as you have done. For now I know that you will do whatever I wish. Men do not relinquish power of their women."
"Are you that, Arathell?" he breathed into her hair. "Are you my lady and my woman?"
Her eyebrow rose on its own, and it was her smugness that kept the blush from staining her cheeks. "That remains to be seen. A wise woman never reveals her hand until she knows for certain she has won. As etiquette demands: behind the smile of a woman, there always lies a secret."
"I surrender now. You have won," he said brusquely, taking hold her forearms tightly.
With ease, she pulled herself out of his grasp and walked a few paces away. "I will see you at dinner."
There it is! I hope that you all are still enjoying this! Keep the predictions coming as to what is going to happen with Borothell or with any other pairing you can think of! I know that I have been pretty light on the romance so far with this story, but stick with me - we are getting soooo close to all of the romance.
Will Borothell last? Or will Mystery Male come in for the kill? And who is Mystery Male? Let me know what you are thinking!
Check out the music as always!
Love you all lots!
- LM
