A/N: Enjoy! ;)
R&R
Chapter Thirty-eight
Heavy footsteps down the stairs woke her. Serafina sat up groggily, her stomach grumbling in satisfaction from her large feed courtesy of Legolas and Gimli.
"On your feet girl," came a familiar voice she was fast tiring ok. Éomer stood before her in the low light unlocking the cell. She frowned noticing his dress; he appeared before her as she had first met him in armour and travelling gear. He swung the door open and stood back motioning for her to step out of her cell. Shaking her head to try to bring her mind into the present she walked through the doorway and looked at him with trepidation in her glance.
"Am I free?" she asked disbelievingly.
Éomer's face gave her no answer but he lifted his hand to reveal to her what he carried. Chains.
Serafina's head snapped up, now fully awake and she glared at him, "You are not sending me to Minas Tirith," she warned him in a dangerous voice.
Éomer smiled at her condescendingly, "If I were, how would you stop me?"
Serafina rose to the challenge and reached quickly for her knife. Éomer, who had apparently been anticipating some sort of reaction caught her wrist easily in one hand and held it in front of her.
"That was an obvious play," he said shaking her wrist in front of her eyes, his tone was admonishing. "Granted," he continued as an afterthought, "not many know of this last dagger you carry, so perhaps it will save you in the future. Give me your other hand," he instructed.
Raising an eyebrow she stood her ground without moving, "If you chain me, I will pick the locks,"
Éomer sent her an exasperated look. Grabbing her other wrist, he wrenched them into the cuffs. Squatting swiftly he did the same to her ankles and stood stepping back. "Can you walk?" he asked in a no nonsense tone.
Serafina took two steps towards him, head held high.
"Good," he said handing her back her dagger, "Now listen carefully. It is almost dawn, we are evacuating the city - orcs are coming. We travel to Helm's Deep, on foot. You can try to escape, but it would be foolish. Aragorn seems to think you will not attempt it with Uruks roaming the plains, but I do not have so much confidence in your judgement. So consider yourself warned! Apparently you were lucky enough to escape death once, do not try your luck twice in the same week," he paused looking her up and down, a deep frown appeared on his brow and he shook his head. "I suppose there is nothing else for it," he said and turned to walk up the stairs. Pausing on the first step he looked back at her, "Keep your head down," he barked before continuing up the steps.
Serafina stood momentarily shocked. Was she indeed not going to Minas Tirith? How had she escaped such a fate? She would be travelling out in the open with the entire people of Edoras. Closing her eyes in relief she sent up a prayer of thanks, opportunities for escape were being handed to her on a silver platter.
"Are you coming girl?" he asked from the top of the stairs. Serafina could not help a self-satisfied smile creeping onto her face as she climbed the steps to join him. Perhaps all was not lost after all.
When she stepped outside the strength of the sunlight made her squint as she looked on at the chaos below them in the streets. In the back of her mind she acknowledged that she had not seen the sunlight in a day and a half, so the painfulness of the bright sunshine was to be expected. The people of Rohan were being herded in different directions; families clung to one another desperately trying to not be separated. She frowned at the scene, trying to remain detached from the panic surging around her and lifted her hands to her hair as well as she could in her bonds and pulled it out of her face.
Éomer stopped her, his hands firmly pushing hers back down in front of her. Roughly he fanned her hair out so that she had to look though a curtain of lank brown locks. She flinched away from him but he ignored her.
"Keep your hair down," he said frowning at her. He beckoned to her and she followed as he traced his way through the crowd. As she walked she kept an eye out for those she knew but she saw no familiar faces until she saw Asteard, the young man who had ridden behind her when she was first taken captive by Éomer. He nodded at her and she returned his nod curtly. She should have guest that she would not be riding with Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn. Glancing down at her feet she realised that she wouldn't be riding at all. Asteard looked equally as unimpressed as she was; obviously this was not his idea of serving Lord Éomer and King Théoden.
Éomer left them sending Serafina a stern warning look. She sighed feeling her spirits sink; it would be a long and tiresome day before she was able to put any plan of escape into action.
#
It did not take long for Serafina's sinking spirits to turn into a foul mood. Before the sun had reached the apex of its daily climb she was fed up with Rohan and it's people. Walking towards the back of the large company she was tailed by Asteard, who she had thus far succeeded in ignoring. Her other companions, she surmised were the lowest form of society Rohan had to offer. Being the only female in the group she was the object of all of their jeers.
There was something deeply familiar about the situation that bothered her. Gritting her teeth she kept her eyes on the uneven ground, focusing all of her energy on locating the source of the familiarity. She let her mind leave the open plains of Rohan and travel back in time to a place where she felt the way she did now. A moment came to mind; she was standing in an alleyway in Bree. All around her were men, not too dissimilar to those she currently walked with. Slowly the circumstances of the moment came back to mind. She had just returned from a nearby Inn, where she had been working as a barmaid for a few weeks. She had been stealing enough money each night to keep her fed and to pay back some debts she owed, but not enough that they would notice. The men in the alley had just been in the Inn, drinking and singing rowdily. She walked past them ensuring her back was ramrod straight but there was noting she could do to escape their notice. They called out to her, making remarks about her clothes, instructing her to loose a few inches off the hem and the neckline of her dress, grabbing at her as she walked past.
Another moment came back to her when she had reluctantly told Garth about her encounter with Sylnor. He had been surrounded by some of his associates, each of them old enough to be her father. They had laughed and joked that they would have found some way to lock her in and prevent her from running.
More and more memories from Bree raced through her mind. She tried desperately to make sense of what she was feeling. She did not hate the men for treating her that way, she had never felt victimised, she simply had assumed that that was how men behaved. How then had she gone through the past months without feeling this feeling? She tried to imagine the members of the fellowship jeering at her and she stopped dead in her tracks. Nothing. She could not imagine any of them speaking to her in such a manner. Even Boromir didn't treat her in that fashion. Admittedly he had threatened her, but his motivations were different. An unbidden surge of gratitude washed though her as she realised the quality of men she had been travelling with.
"Uh, Miyra," a polite voice sounded behind her accompanied by a gentle hand resting on her good shoulder.
She turned to face Asteard who looked at her with concern in his eyes. "Yes?" she asked curtly, not expecting him to call her by her false name. She had assumed he remembered that her name was Serafina from when she tried to kill Aragorn with the whole of Éomer's men watching.
"We need to keep moving," he said nodding forwards, "I think we will be stopping for a meal shortly."
She stared at him for a moment, startled by the tender encouraging tone in his voice, before reluctantly lifting a chained foot to begin the monotonous trudge again.
#
Eventually they did stop for lunch. She stood surveying the crowd; the people of Rohan stretched across the plain farther than she had guessed.
"Come," Asteard took a step in front of her, "let us find some food! I may be merely baby-sitting but I'm sure they will not refuse us a good feed!" he said brightly.
Serafina followed him obediently, she had no reason to run off; she was hungry and chained and had no way to disappear without his, or anyone else's notice.
After winding their way through the throngs of Rohirrim, eventually Asteard found someone he knew. They were pointed in the direction of large steaming pot. Serafina's stomach growled loudly and she gladly followed Asteard to the food.
She was handed a bowl of watery looking soup - it looked a lot like what they had fed her in the cell, and a hunk of crusty stale bread. They started making their way back to their place in the company but Serafina couldn't wait. Impatiently she took a slurp of the soup as she walked. A horrible taste filled her mouth. She stopped and desperately tried to swallow but her body refused it. Gagging she coughed the foul liquid up and it dribbled from her mouth back into her bowl. Asteard looked back at her wrinkling his nose.
"I was afraid of that," he said sympathetically.
"What?" she asked coughing, trying to resist the urge to wipe her tongue on her sleeve, "You thought there was a chance it could taste like horse manure in dirt and water?"
He laughed but nodded sadly, "Lady Éowyn has many talents," he paused obviously searching for a tactful sentence "She doesn't normally cook…" he said quietly. Looking dubiously at his soup he dipped his finger in and stuck it in his mouth. His face screwed up in disgust and he spat on the floor. "Here, pass me your bowl," he said. Serafina willingly handed him her bowl and he tipped the contents of them between two rocks. "Wait here, I'll see if I can find something else" he instructed and took the bowls back to where they got them.
Serafina sat miserably on the rocks. How the soup could taste worse that the food they feed their prisoners was beyond her. Distracting herself from the terrible food she searched the landscape for familiar faces. Eventually she located Legolas and Gimli in the distance, she thought of going to speak with them but the possibility of more food from Asteard kept her stationary. Looking down at her piece of stale bread a sigh left her lips; it was at least better than the soup.
Chewing heavily, a golden head bobbing in the sunlight caught her eye, it was Éowyn. Serafina began to smile as she thought of walking up to her to tell her exactly what she thought of her cooking but her smile was short lived. Éowyn was talking with Aragorn her head was bobbing with laughter. A striking pang of jealousy seared her and she couldn't help the scowl appearing on her face. Suddenly Éowyn's arm was resting on Aragorn's chest.
Of course Éowyn would be interested in Aragorn. She berated herself for not thinking of this sooner. Could this possibly be the reason why she had seen so little of him? She watched them stubbornly, mechanically chewing the tasteless bread as she watched. By the time Asteard returned she had finished it.
"I'm sorry Miyra," he said stumbling over her name slightly, "There is nothing else left. Even the rest of the bread has gone,"
Serafina nodded and stood ready to follow him back the rest of their company.
"Don't look so sad Milady," he said smiling, "I'm sure she won't be cooking dinner too. I'll even have a word to Lord Éomer - but I don't think it will be necessary, he know what her cooking is like better than any of us."
She nodded again, intending to smile at him, but her eyes were immediately drawn behind him to where Éowyn was walking away from Aragorn. She looked back at Aragorn to see if she could make out any expression on his face. Instead she was rewarded with something much better, the sight of him tipping out the contents of his bowl onto the ground.
#
Serafina waited another few minutes lying completely still in the darkness. Asteard appeared to be asleep next to her but she wanted to be sure before she started picking the locks on her chains. Her plan was simple. Unlock her bonds, steal a horse, leave. She knew there would be someone on watch but she did not know where and she couldn't waste the whole evening locating them, she would just have to move quickly and silently.
After a good few minutes of even, heavy breathing from Asteard, she reached behind her belt with a finger and pulled out the pins she needed. Soundlessly she worked away as she lay horizontal on the ground. Before long she eased the last of the cuffs from around her ankles and crouched on the ground, searching for movement.
She saw nothing. As low as possible she made her way across the camp, careful not to stand on anything, or anyone. She stole from wagon, to tent, to rock, each time stopping to reassess if the path was safe. Eventually she caught sight of the horses. She made a beeline for them crouching as she ran her heart pounding with adrenaline. She hesitated when she reached them, basking in her victory.
Strong hands shot from nowhere. One clasping her mouth, stifling any sound she might make. The other wrapping around her waist lifting her off the ground. Serafina thrashed against her captor but he held her fast. Eventually he put her down by a tree a few hundred yards from the horses. She spun to face him drawing out her knife. Her eyes met grey ones. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at her. She stood up straight and sheathed her dagger.
"I see Éomer let you keep it," he said indicating to where she had hid the knife.
She didn't answer.
"How are you?" he asked concernedly.
"I would be better if I hadn't spent the day in chains," she answered flatly.
"They do not appear to have slowed you down," he noted taking a step towards her.
"I thought I'd stretch my legs," she smiled at him slyly.
"Before stealing a horse?" he asked her knowingly.
"Actually I was looking for food," she lied quickly, knowing he would see through it, but not wanting to fight him yet.
"Did you find any by the horses?"
She smiled sweetly at him, "Well after getting a taste of manure at lunch today, I could hardly pass up the opportunity for seconds,"
Aragorn laughed loudly. Serafina smiled at the sound and relaxed. She looked at him as he stood before her and was struck by her urge to ask him about himself. Embarrassed by her own awkwardness she squared her shoulders and decided to start small, "How are you?" she asked almost too seriously.
Aragorn however took no notice of her clumsy question and frowned, "I am well Fia," he said halting, his tone however said the opposite and he looked as if he wanted to add more to his statement. She raised her eyebrows at him conveying her doubt. He sighed then spoke, "We walk a dangerous road, and we are extremely vulnerable to attack if the Uruks catch us,"
Serafina took a moment to digest his words. "Would it have been better if we had stayed in Edoras?" she asked eventually, shuddering at the thought of being found in her cell by the large Uruk who she had killed.
"I do not know," he answered honestly, "But I dislike this open travel. How is your shoulder?" he said changing the subject.
Serafina shrugged, "Much the same,"
"May I look?" he asked quietly.
"It's only a bruise," she said dismissively.
"Show me," he said darkly.
Serafina felt that familiar blush creep up her neck. At once she was grateful for the tree behind her to draw strength to stand from, yet she was simultaneously cursing it for blocking her escape route. She nodded briskly and he stepped forwards raising his hands to her left shoulder. Gently he eased the mended fabric over her shoulder. She stood nervously, but ever the gentleman he pulled the fabric down only so far as for him to see the bruised shoulder. Her mind was whirling, she wondered if he would insist on looking at her hip? She shuddered involuntarily at the thought. Unbidden, the memory of how he tended her first wound came to her; the splinters of wood in her stomach back in Bree. She remembered how nonchalantly she had lay on the bed in only her breast-band and pants, unembarrassed and unblushing. She knew that technically there was little difference between that occasion and showing him the bruise on her hip now, but in her mind the two scenarios were almost incomparable. So much had passed between them.
His hands moved over the skin so tenderly that she wondered how he could touch her so lightly. She noticed that his breathing was sharper than normal and his breath swirled around them in the cold night air. She brought her hands to her stomach to support her but it was almost no use. His hands on her bare skin, his closeness and his breath caressing her neck was intoxicating.
Mustering her strength she lifted her eyes to look at his face. His expression was tortured. With the gentlest touch he spread out his hand and placed it over the dark handprint left by the orc. Eventually he lifted his eyes to hers and said with the fiercest intensity, "I would have killed each of them with my bare hands for what they did to you."
Serafina raised her eyebrows in surprise. Then forced some amusement into her voice to try to ease the tension on his face, "Do you not think that would be slightly extravagant? Surely a sword would do as an aide."
He looked at her in disbelief and hurt, "I would protect your honour to the – "
"My honour?" Serafina laughed outright, "I hardly think my honour is hurt. My pride, I'll admit, did not fancy being passed around and - "
"Fia, not even you can laugh at this so easily," he reprimanded her darkly.
"Easily?" she hissed at him her mood changing instantly, "I laugh at this easily?" she repeated pushing his hands off her. "I laugh because I cannot spare the strength it would take to admit what so nearly happened. But it is not easy!"
At her speech Aragorn bowed his head briefly before looking up and cupping her face in his hands. Serafina could not find the strength to push him off, but she would not give way to him. Not yet.
"What do you expect me to do?" she asked, hating the shake of vulnerability in her voice, "I have been a prisoner of Rohan for days now, and still they threaten me with Minas Tirith,"
"I will not let them take you to Minas Tirith," he said fervently, "When you go to Minas Tirith it will be with me by your side, I will protect you. I swear it,"
She shook her head in his hands, "What if they had sent me today? What if they send me tomorrow? You would not know!" she whispered back spitefully bringing her hands and instinctively to his chest, "I walk with my own; the low-lives and criminals," he shook his head in disagreement but she pushed at his chest to make him listen, "You ride with the King," she said emphatically, "and Éowyn," she added under her breath.
He frowned at her last words and said, "Serafina, I do what I must. In time you will understand,"
"I would understand now if you trusted me!" she spat bitterly.
"This has nothing to do with trust," he countered evenly moving his thumb against her cheek.
Her argument died on her lips as he continued to caress her cheek. She looked at him questioningly and watched as his brow furrowed at her expression. He offered her a sad, small smile and brought his forehead down to rest on hers.
"Trust me," he whispered pleadingly.
Serafina swallowed at his tone, of course she trusted him. He was Aragorn. As her anger faded, his closeness hit her anew. She could feel the heat of his body surrounding her in the cool evening, warding off the night. His hands on her face had moved their way behind her head so that only his thumbs were on her cheeks, his fingers burying themselves in her hair. She breathed in sharply at his intimacy, his scent rushed into her lungs. Heart pounding she gripped his chest for strength. With great effort she looked up at him. He lifted his head off her forehead and looked at her questioningly, waiting for confirmation.
Swallowing thickly she nodded and whispered, "I trust you,"
But she was not rewarded with a smile. His features relaxed slightly but a frown still played on his brow. He brought a hand from her face and pulled her right hand over his heart, holding it there tightly. He leant back down closer to her but did not let his forehead touch hers, instead he lingered inches from her face. Serafina's breathing was becoming ragged. She heard a tiny voice somewhere in the back of her mind screaming at her to stop, but for whatever reason she could not, or would not hear its arguments. He moved his had that was cradling her face to trace his fingers along her jaw line and neck, then back up to her chin. She turned her face upwards slightly and her nose brushed against his lips.
"Fia," he whispered, bringing his fingered around to her lips; they parted at his touch. She could feel every callous and scratch on his fingertips as they passed over her dry, chapped lips. He was so close, too close. She could see nothing but him, she was practically breathing him in, gripping his chest with both hands as if she was holding on for life. She blinked and felt her eyelashes brush against his cheek. Her eyes dropped to his lips, then back up to his eyes. His fingers found their way to the nape of her neck, and he gently pulled her closer. Her heart was hammering in her chest as he lent towards her, closing the last breath between them. His lips lingered above hers, she knew they were both hesitating, wondering where the next step would take them. She snaked her left hand up to his neck to signal that there was no need to be unsure. Slowly he sighed and pressed his lips onto hers, kissing her gently. She felt her knees buckle and clung to him weakly. His lips were soft as he coaxed hers apart. Gradually she gave in and kissed him back, opening her mouth and touching his with her tongue. He responded immediately with a low groan that brought a smile to her lips. The warmth of his mouth began to spread through her body and she shifted her weight from the tree and leant into him, standing on her toes to deepen the kiss. Torture, was all that she could think. He is torture. Her left hand moved from his neck to his head, burying itself in his hair and holding him closer to her. His arms snaked around her pulling her so that she was flush against him. She felt his hands move down to her waist and then without warning he grabbed her hips and pulled her roughly against him. Searing pain ripped through her.
"Ahhh," a strangled breath escaped her. Her hands flying to her mouth to stifle the cry. She cringed involuntarily, eyes welling up from the agony in her right hip.
He pulled his hands away and looked at her, "Fia, I'm sorry," he began his voice still husky. Tenderly he lifted a hand to her cheek in apology.
Suddenly the vision of Legolas handing her Aragorn's ring flashed before her eyes and she flinched away from his touch. What was she doing? Was she trying to get him killed? She had told herself to keep a safe distance from him. Kissing him most certainly did not fall into that safe distance. Her heart sank as she straightened her back, she knew what she had to do and she hated herself for it. "This is a mistake," she whispered, bringing her hands down by her side. She clenched her teeth, mentally hardening her resolve to fight whatever argument he put forward. When he didn't speak she turned quickly and left him standing there.
She needed to walk quickly. She wanted to make the most of her lead - if she could just get to the horses before he recovered from the shock, she might get away. She heard footsteps behind her in the night and she broke out into a run. Heart pounding she jumped the rocks and people in her path. She wanted to look behind her but she couldn't waste even a second; she had to escape that future somehow. Reaching the horses she pulled out her knife - she didn't have time to bother with the knots and buckles. She heard footsteps growing closer behind her and felt panic set in. Moving to the closest horse she found its tether and set her knife to it. Before she could make a cut, strong hands grabbed her arms holding her fast.
"Please?" she asked breathlessly not looking up at him.
"Please?" he asked her in disbelief. Aragorn's voice had lost its huskiness, but he was slightly out of breath. "Please let you go into the night when Uruk-Hai roam the plains of Rohan?!" he shook his head in disbelief.
Serafina would not show defeat, she struggled against him but it was pointless. Face unreadable, he stood her up and marched her back to her place with Asteard. She fought him the whole way but she was no match for him. Upon arrival he found her chains next to Asteard who fast asleep where she had left him. With ease, Aragorn held her as he fastened the cuffs around her ankles and wrists.
He stood back to survey her and she glared at him defiantly. To her surprise his hands were suddenly on her body, but the contrast between how he touched her now and how he was holding her not two minutes before was staggering. It took her a moment before she realised what he was doing. He was searching for her pins, preventing her from being able to pick the locks again. Without thinking she pulled her hips away from him, but that only signalled to him where to look. He ran his fingers ever so gently along the inside of her belt. He smiled grimly at her when he found his prize. She watched him pull each one and examine it closely before pocketing them one by one. She wasn't surprised to see the look on his face as he pulled pins that look like nothing more than hairpins from her belt, they didn't look like much but they were extremely useful. Eventually he appeared satisfied that he had them all.
A steely silence stretched between them as he stood in front of her. His hair hung about his face and she couldn't make out his expression. She badly wanted to step forward and tuck his hair behind his ears but she stood firm. Pleas for him to excuse her actions ran through her head, willing her to spill them but she knew she could not. It was clear to her now; she needed to put distance between their friendship if she wanted physical distance between them.
"And what now, when the Uruks come?" she asked brandishing her cuffed wrists at him, "You said this was not about trust and now you chain me like an animal!" she goaded him, hissing though her teeth.
"You accuse me of not trusting you, yet you seek only to run from us with no reason and no obvious destination," he said in a low, calm voice. Serafina couldn't help a shiver running up her spine, there seemed to be a note of warning in his tone. She closed her eyes briefly, willing herself not to do it, but her mouth opened and the words came out.
"I have no destination. My objective is only to leave, to be rid of this quest and everyone associated with it!"
Aragorn stood very still. She stood a little straighter and lifted her chin to strengthen her failing resolve. After a long moment Aragorn stepped forward. His hand reached out to her shoulder. Serafina tensed but forbid herself to flinch. She felt his fingers graze her left shoulder gently as he pulled the fabric back up into place. His hand dropped to his side and he looked at her earnestly, "Be careful that you don't spin me so many lies that I may one day begin to believe them. There is more to you than you would have me believe - don't make me doubt it."
She closed her eyes, trying desperately to block him out of her senses, but they were still on edge. She could smell him standing close to her, in her minds eye she could see him, her ears reeled from his words and her shoulder tingled where his fingers brushed her skin. After a moment of standing there with her head high and her eyes closed she heard him sigh, and felt the cold air rush as the heat of his body left with him, leaving her standing cold and alone in the night.