Chapter 154
Clearer Vision
Travel with so many people is a slow affair, though, having said that, it's easier to cover the miles without the Mûmakil. And we were not in any particular hurry now, so we set a leisurely pace. We rose at dawn, ate breakfast and then set off. At the end of the day, we set up camp before the sun set, had a meal and then had a bit of a knees-up around a campfire. The whole thing was pleasantly relaxed.
Had it not been for the horse-riding bit, I could have got used to it.
Faramir took to his abduction remarkably well and if that doesn't speak volumes about his sense of self-preservation, then I don't know what does. He woke as we set up camp the first day and made a bit of a fuss about his current situation. Peter and Boromir went and explained their motives and although I don't know what they said, it must have been good, because he never mentioned turning back again.
We said goodbye to the Rohirrim first. Once we crossed the borders of their land they went one way and we another. To my extreme relief we would also take our leave from the Rivendell elves. Since I had seen enough of them to last me a lifetime, I'd be very pleased if I never clapped eyes on them again. Fat chance, with them being Aragorn's in-laws of course, but for the time being, they'd be gone and that was good enough for me. Arwen of course was the exception to this. From what I had seen of her she seemed perfectly lovely. The few interactions I'd had with her until then had been nice and indeed she remained unfailingly friendly throughout the journey.
Théodred I was sorry to see go. I liked him. He'd become a good friend, which I think is a law of nature of some sort. If you've saved one another's life, then you're meant to be friends for the remainder of your days.
Thank goodness Elrohir didn't save my life, because that would have been awkward.
With the Rohirrim gone, the rest of the party was a great deal less noisy. Elves can outtalk even a hobbit, but they tend not to do it at a volume audible from five miles. The silence was strangely disconcerting at first. I had been surrounded by noise for so long that I felt its absence as a bit of a loss.
The Rohirrim went west and we were off north. In fact, our route led us past a very familiar site…
Beth
There'd been something familiar about this little spot from the get-go, but Beth couldn't put her finger on it. Something bugged her about it, but when no obvious answer presented itself and there was no apparent danger, Beth shrugged it off and got on with the business of setting up camp.
There was a rhythm to it now, a way these things were done. The elves kept mostly to themselves, although Almárean tended to drop by every other evening. He wasn't as bad, as elves went, very otherworldly of course, but friendly and with a disarming manner that was winning hearts left, right and centre. Helm and Freda adored him and, after a fashion, he seemed to return the feeling.
We'll be seeing more of him, Beth wouldn't mind wagering. A few times she'd seen him in deep conversation with Elvaethor and everyone knew what he had done lately. He'd had no small amount of disbelieving looks from the Lothlórien elves. Almárean should watch how much time he spent around Elvaethor.
Boromir and Thráin, as per usual, went off to give sword training to Helm and Thomas, with, equally as per usual, many assistant coaches standing by the side-lines to shout advice and muddle the waters.
It was a surprise they learned anything at all.
Beth grinned, recalled her early sword-fighting days, and busied herself unpacking and setting up tents, at which she was becoming rather good. She may not have been any good on a camping trip a year ago, but now she could set up camp, start a fire and even prepare a somewhat decent stew with the best of them.
I've got survival skills now.
And she liked it.
Stranger still.
'Auntie Beth, look, I won!' Thomas's triumphant shout made her look up from her work. Thomas stood, waving his hands, one foot on Boromir's chest to signal his complete victory over his foe. The fact that Helm had his arms wrapped around Boromir's legs of course had nothing to do with this unlikely outcome. Boromir grinned like he, not Thomas, was the victor, so all was apparently just fine.
'Well done,' she praised, trying not to smile. 'You're turning into a fierce warrior, I can tell.'
'Aye, and better by the day,' said his not-so-modest teacher. Thráin took in the whole scene with arms crossed over his chest, but he was wearing the cat-that-got-the-cream look, so no doubt he had a hand in it somehow.
'Do you want to have a go, Beth?' Pippin asked.
'Thanks, but no thanks,' Beth replied, holding up the pans to demonstrate that she was otherwise occupied. 'Little busy here, but have fun.'
If she had any say in the matter, her fighting days were over. She could defend herself and she would try to keep up the practise, but she hoped those were skills she'd never need again. I've fought in the greatest war of our age. Let that be enough. She wasn't made to fight. She wasn't made for a lot of things that she had done regardless, but now that she could choose again whether or not to do any of that, it wasn't a hard choice to make.
Not hard at all.
Truth be told, she enjoyed this strange sort of domestic life. Yes, she was still on the road, but she had her husband and her children, her parents and her brother, her friends and her somewhat extended family. It was more than enough to suit her.
I am content, she realised the next morning, waking up at first light with her husband's arms around her. In a tent nearby she could hear the dwarves busy at their nightly snoring competition. Helm mumbled in his sleep, turned over and was quiet again. Freda had rolled over and was lying half on top of Thomas. Beth spent half a thought on trying to turn her back, decided that would probably wake her up and decided against it. Both seemed fine as they were and she was lying too comfortably to even contemplate moving.
Well, not yet.
Of course now that she was awake, she wouldn't fall asleep again. She was a lighter sleeper on the road. It was no longer that horrible adrenaline-fuelled watchfulness, but she was more alert all the same. This wasn't England. This was Middle Earth and no one knew if they hadn't accidentally missed an orc or two.
And now that she was awake, the mystery of the familiarity of the place started bugging her all over again. Why did this place, of all places, strike such a chord? She'd seen quite a bit of Rohan on the quest and most of it looked all the same. There were hills, there were little villages and farms and there was an awful amount of grass. Really, it didn't end. What was so special about this place? They were in the middle of nowhere and…
Hold on.
Could it be?
Sleep had well and truly fled and so had the wish to just lie here and enjoy it. The thought had occurred to her now, so she couldn't let it go until she had at least checked. Wriggling out from underneath her husband's arm without waking him was no easy feat, but she managed it at last. She took only her boots and cloak and left the tent.
It was a little later than she thought. In the east the sun was hesitantly peeking out above the horizon. There was not a cloud in sight; it promised to be a gloriously sunny day.
It's a good day to travel.
Most of the company were still asleep. Thráin had drawn last watch, so he was sitting by the remnants of their cooking fire and a little further away a couple of elves were keeping watch. Beth nodded at them all in passing, but otherwise ignored them. There'd be time for good mornings and breakfast soon enough. It wouldn't be too much longer before people started waking up anyway.
She reached the edge of camp, which left her at the western edge of the hill, looking out over Rohan. Bingo. This was it and it was exactly how she remembered it. Here was the grassy plain, with the first sunlight brushing over it. Of course she hadn't realised at first that she wasn't looking at it at the right time of year; there wasn't a tree in sight to tell the season. But this was definitely it. This was the vision she had seen in Galadriel's Mirror, the one that she'd never known how to interpret.
Well, at least that hasn't changed.
She still didn't know what it meant. It offered a nice enough view, especially in the early morning light, but other than that, there was nothing special about it. It wasn't a momentous occasion now any more than it had been back in February.
So what did it mean?
Maybe, she thought, it will mean something when we go here on the way back?
'Morning.' Thráin's arrival saved her the fruitless guessing.
'Morning,' she returned the greeting.
'You are up early,' Thráin observed, rather needlessly. 'Have you decided to resume those morning runs you used to do when we were in Rivendell?'
She hadn't thought of that. 'Not really, no. I might, though.' It had been a while and, while it may once have begun as a bit of a necessity, she had come to enjoy it. And she missed it. 'I…ehm, just don't know if it's considered entirely appropriate for me to still do that. What with me being the Steward's wife and having to be all ladylike and such.'
Thráin shrugged. 'Why should that matter?'
Right, she was asking the wrong person. 'Yes, but you've never conformed to expectation if you could help it,' she pointed out. 'And if you have ever cared about what people say about you, I certainly never noticed. I'm not like that.'
'Why should you care what folk think?' Clearly this was something of a mystery to him.
'Because it matters.' If she had kept up with her writing, she wouldn't be so rusty with her words now and she would be able to explain this better. 'Because I'm in some sort of elevated position now and people have expectations.'
'They also call you Death's Bane and revere you for slaying a Nazgûl.' He poked holes in her arguments without even trying. 'Can one such as that not make her own rules and live by them? I don't think that you are bound by such things. And if you are, it is only because you are choosing to do so.'
That gave her pause. Could he be right?
Either way, he didn't give her time to summon up a suitable retort – not that she had one, mind – but gestured to indicate the view before them: 'If not for a run, then what did bring you here this early?'
A part of her considered holding back, but they'd shared most of the visions they'd seen in the Mirror – although she was sure he didn't tell her all he saw of his future, just as she had never once mentioned the white house visions to him – and for all she knew this could be quest related material.
'I've seen this before,' she replied, indicating the view with a similar arm gesture as he had just made. 'We rested here a bit when we were chasing the orcs. But I've seen it before that, in Galadriel's Mirror, just as it is now, at sunrise.' Would that it was any less confusing. Then again, two heads were better than one.
'Why did you see it?' Thráin asked.
'Haven't got the foggiest.' Just theories and none of them held up to scrutiny. 'Back then I hoped that it told me something useful about the quest, only it didn't. We were here at sunrise then too.' She remembered theorising about it with Boromir then, in those days when she didn't realise she loved him yet.
'Perhaps it did not yet mean anything,' he suggested.
'Yeah, I figured.' She cast her eyes over the landscape again in the vain hope that it might yield a clue now. 'Only I don't know what it means now either. Nothing's happening, nothing spectacular was happening in that vision either. So what does it mean?'
Thráin shrugged. 'Perhaps it means nothing. Perhaps it could have meant something if we had made other choices. I recall that the Lady told us that it could show us things that could happen. No future was set in stone.'
'Except perhaps yours,' Beth remarked wryly. And maybe hers too, although she didn't mention that.
To her surprise he was shaking his head before she had even finished. 'No, mine is not either. It is a choice.'
'I thought you despised responsibility.' But even as she said it she knew that this was not entirely true. He had proven differently many times over now.
'Aye, I do.' He avoided her gaze. 'But it's better than the alternative.'
She shouldn't ask, but did it anyway. 'Which is?'
'The slow decline of my people until none are left.' With an answer such as this, she was stunned that he had even answered at all. Small wonder he was going to accept the crown. Who'd want to be responsible for the extinction of their own people?
She certainly wouldn't.
'That's…' But she did not have the words for that. 'So,' she said, just to change the topic, 'did anything spectacular happen last night?'
He shook his head, apparently as eager to talk about something that wasn't death and doom and gloom as she was. 'No, all was quiet. There haven't been orcs here for some time, or so Elvaethor says.'
Well, he should know. Even after all this time it was a little unsettling just how sharp elvish senses were. It made her wonder what they had been able to see and hear in Minas Tirith, especially at night and…
Whoa.
That train of thought led her to another realisation. Blimey, but she should have realised. Of course she hadn't. She'd been busy and on the road, but that had never been an issue before. Her body had always been quick enough to remind her of the date even when her mind was firmly on other things.
But now she realised: she was late.
She cast her mind back, counted again just to be sure, but yes, she was definitely late. Her period should have started four days ago and it hadn't. Usually Beth was regular. You could set a clock by it, almost to the hour. Even the quest hadn't thrown it out of whack. It didn't matter what was going on. She could be running or fighting for her life and it wouldn't matter. Her body did as it pleased.
The only exception was when she was pregnant with Harry.
Oh.
Oh!
She looked out over the landscape that by now she could have pictured with her eyes closed. Was that what it meant? Was that what she was supposed to take away from this? This place meant something not because of the location, but because this was where she realised that she was tied to this world in a way that she had never been before.
I'm not so high and mighty now.
Not so very long ago she would have had opinions about this sort of thing. Not so long ago Beth Andrews would have had headaches over this, because this world and her world were supposed to be separate. Those lines should not be blurred. Not so long ago she had cringed at the mere idea of becoming so entangled in this world. And now she was. Marrying Boromir was one thing, knowing that one day that marriage might result in children wasn't so frightening when it was still a vague notion. But now it was real. Very real.
Frighteningly real.
A year ago she would have run.
But I'm not running anymore.
Thráin looked at her oddly. 'Beth, are you well?'
'Yes.' Surprisingly so. A bit stunned of course and she didn't think it had quite landed. There'd be things to deal with later, but for the life of her she couldn't think of them now. All she could think of was the absolute sheer irony of this whole situation.
I'm sure I'll laugh about it one day.
Thráin, being a true novice at the art of being concerned over anyone, nevertheless made the effort: 'Should you not sit?' The tone was wooden and awkward, although she suspected that the sentiment was not. 'You are quite pale.'
'No, really, I'm fine.' A chuckle escaped without her say-so. 'It's just…' To her horror she actually giggled. Maybe somewhere Kate Andrews was laughing her head off too. As she had every right to. 'It's just that I think I know what the vision was meant to tell me.' After all, it was as good an explanation as any. And something momentous had just happened. Or rather, she had just realised it happened.
He wasn't following. 'What is that?'
She so wished she could stop laughing, but it was just too much. Oh, the bloody irony. 'It's just…' She managed to get enough air into her lungs to get the rest of the sentence out. 'I realised that, after bloody everything, I am really quite a lot like your mother.'
He didn't get it.
Somehow that made it funnier.
Elvaethor
'Is that it then?' Peter asked. 'The river?'
'That is indeed the Anduin,' Elvaethor agreed, not quite sure why his newfound friend sounded almost disappointed.
The party had stopped for the day. It had been a longer march, but they had managed to reach the banks of the Anduin late in the afternoon. It would be a good thing to have a ready supply of water so close at hand. So camp had been made and now they found themselves with some time to themselves on their hands.
'Well, it's big,' Peter offered. 'I just thought it'd look more… spectacular.'
'For goodness sake, Peter, it's just a river,' Beth said in exasperation. 'Like any other river. It has water in it and it floats in the general direction of a sea. As all rivers do.'
'Well, the Fellowship didn't travel over just any old river,' Peter objected. 'It travelled over this one.'
Beth grimaced. 'Yeah, and it was cold and damp and horrible. You are really making way too big of a thing out of this, you know.'
Peter shrugged. 'Well, I've been reading about this almost since I was old enough to read. You can't blame me for being a bit excited.'
'There is no bit about your excitement,' Beth pointed out.
Something about the exchange had drawn Elvaethor's attention. 'You say that you have read about this?' He'd heard little bits about the book. He had read the one that Kate had brought with her all those years ago, but although he had heard much about the other book, he had never yet laid eyes on it, never mind read it.
'Right,' said Beth. Although she bore but little resemblance to Kate, the tone was very familiar; she had just reached a decision. She crouched down to the pack at her feet, rummaged through it and came up with a book. She stood back up and held it out to him. 'It's… ehm, it's Kate's old copy. She wrote her name in the front.'
He held out his hands on instinct, though his mind could scarce comprehend.
'It's yours,' Beth said. 'I mean, I never knew Kate, but you were one of her best friends, so I don't think she would have minded if you had it. I made notes in the margin, but the text is still perfectly legible, so…'
'You have given me a great gift,' he said and those words did not do justice to the thing she did by far.
'I'm not going to need it anymore.' This too was so familiar, because Valar forbid that she would allow anyone to tell her that she had done something kind. Instead, like most of her kin, she would insist that it was nothing. And so she did: 'It's not even new, so it's not much of a gift anyway. I just thought you might like to see what the fuss was all about. And it's not like I can't get my hands on another copy if I wanted to. Which I don't.'
'Why were you lugging it around then?' Peter asked.
'No reason. Force of habit, most likely.'
He recalled that too, that Kate had not touched the book that had served as her guide either. 'Kate thought like you did,' he observed. 'When the quest was done, she put the book away. I do not think she ever touched it again. She never threw it away, but she had no desire to ever read it again.'
'Unpleasant reminder,' Beth clarified. 'Besides, it didn't even offer reliable information on the journey. And afterwards it's just… a fantasy, that bears a passing resemblance to the true events. You'd get more truth from a history book.'
'No one's got round to writing those yet,' Peter pointed out. 'Maybe you should.'
She narrowed her eyes at him. 'Have you been talking to dad?'
Ha managed to look very, very innocent. 'Should I have?' He grinned. 'Anyway, I thought that you could write the history book and I could become the tour guide to those groups of people who like to visit historic places. This was where the Fellowship camped, this was where the Fellowship…'
Beth groaned. 'Good grief. I'm heading back to camp. I can't listen to this.'
She turned around and walked away.
'Give her time, she'll mellow out,' Peter said, apparently not put out in the slightest.
Elvaethor suspected that there was another reason for Beth's mood. It was never a secret from him when a woman was with child and Beth was. She had not been so for long, so she may not yet be aware of it herself, so he would say nothing of it. He recalled that Kate had not appreciated being made aware that others knew before she knew herself. He had learned his lesson there.
'I do not take it to heart,' he assured his newfound friend.
'Well, that's good,' Peter said. 'But I thought I'd tell you, just to be sure. Are you hungry? I'm sure dinner is ready.'
There was something remarkable about this man, although Elvaethor could not lay his finger on it easily. He walked among living legends as though he had done nothing else his entire life, while Elvaethor sometimes felt as though he strayed into times long gone, for it had been so long since their like had walked this world. He found it easy enough to speak to Thráin, Gimli and Legolas, for he had known them before they set out and became heroes. The others were different, though even he could not quite describe how.
Peter declared that he would try and find some dinner and if Elvaethor was not coming back to eat, he would deliver some later. So Elvaethor remained at the river bank with only his thoughts for company. Not unexpectedly, they returned to his lost friend. There was no tomb for him to visit here, but he never truly needed that.
I do not think even you knew what your coming to this world would bring. As far as Kate was concerned, the only thing she did was that she got married and had a few children, as countless other women did all the time. True, Elvaethor would then object, but not all those countless other women wed the King under the Mountain.
And now your son is the prophesised Durin the Seventh. And your kinswoman brought yet more change to the world. Oh, how I wish you could have lived to see how magnificent your children became.
Although he had a lingering suspicion that she would not have willingly remained ignorant of that. The past war had never been very far from her mind. Gandalf may have forbidden her from speaking of it, but it would take one stronger than the wizard to truly stop her.
I wonder what work you did that he never knew of.
It was Thráin who returned his mind to the present. 'I've been sent to deliver your food.' He held up a bowl for Elvaethor to take. 'You've not gone all maudlin, have you, avoiding our company?'
He took the bowl and shook his head. 'No, my thoughts were pleasant company.'
'Quieter company than you'd find at the fire, I'll grant you that,' Thráin agreed. 'Would you like to spend more time with them?'
He declined. 'No, I've thought all that needed thinking about.' Now actions were perhaps called for, or at the very least words. Thoren had sent him south with a dual purpose, the first of which had been achieved. Thráin was here with him and so were all who had walked with him on the way to Mordor. Now one other task remained. Thoren had asked him to go because someone who knew what Thráin would become must be there.
And in this I will not fail.
It was the matter of how to convey this news to Thráin that was giving him trouble. Thráin was aware himself, though it was telling that he had not once made mention of it. Never keen to have all eyes on him, he would sooner avoid speaking of it perhaps.
Once he may have spoken as an elf would and perhaps that was why the words had not come to him, for he was no longer counted among the elves. So he would speak as his new people spoke: with both bluntness and honesty: 'The Lady Galadriel spoke to me, and Thoren, about you,' he announced. When this statement was met by confusion, he added: 'She spoke of what you saw in Mirrormere, Durin.'
This was too blunt for even Thráin to misinterpret. The confusion made way for realisation and then, quite predictably, for annoyance. 'Am I now to assume that everyone knows?'
'No.' It had seemed unfair to speak to his companions about this before he had spoken to Thráin and so he had held his tongue. Of course there was no telling who had heard the news from Thoren since his departure. 'I would speak with you first.'
Thráin snorted; clearly he knew Thoren well enough to know that no force in the world could ever compel him to remain silent on this matter altogether. He'd tell Duria and then, before long, everyone under the Mountain would know when she voiced her opinion of this matter in as loud a tone as she could manage.
'All the Fellowship knows,' he said. 'Lady Galadriel revealed that secret when we took our leave of her woods.' He gestured back towards the camp. 'I assume that all her folk know. We may as well tell all the others.' He didn't groan, but the intention was most assuredly there.
Thráin was not as he had been, Elvaethor reflected. A year ago he would have found a reason – or rather, an excuse – to go on an extended trip until the whole thing was quietly forgotten about. The fact that he made no such move now indicated that he would not run.
'You have it in you to take on this role and perform it well.' More bluntness. He found that he liked it better.
'Perhaps.'
At least it was not a no.
'What does Thoren make of it?'
This required more delicacy of phrasing, but it needed an honest answer just as much. 'During the war it gave him hope that there was a future for our people still.' He had resigned himself to dying if his death was necessary to bring about that future the Lady spoke of. He'd never said it, not in so many words, and Elvaethor had never asked, but he knew Thoren was almost surprised to find that he had survived the war. And now he was at something of a loss to find his place in the world again. 'I think that for a time he believed that, even if the war was won, our people could never recover from such a blow.'
Thráin digested this in silence. 'And now?'
'He is weary of war.' The fight had left him. A soul could only take so many blows before it was beaten down and Thoren came very near that point. 'He longs for the days of peace. He believes you will be the one to bring them about.' And perhaps, although Thoren had not spoken about that either, he was considering giving up his crown to his very unappreciative younger brother.
He suspected Thráin heard those words. 'Erebor is not for me,' he said brusquely. 'It never has been.'
Privately Elvaethor agreed. He knew Thráin loved his homeland, but in some ways he had never truly belonged there. He had been born and raised in those halls and for that reason alone he would always have a fondness for them. It was where his nearest and dearest lived. But if he held them so dear, he would not have wandered from the moment he was old enough to do so.
'Am I wrong in thinking that Khazad-dûm is where you would be?' A gamble, but an educated guess. After all, the waters of Mirrormere lay before the doors of that lost kingdom. It was there that the first Durin saw the crown of stars. It was from that place he set out to found his kingdom. Surely it was not coincidence that Thráin now had a similar experience, and that after a long time of wandering too.
'Are you now as omniscient as the Lady of Lothlórien, Elvaethor?' Thráin complained. 'I wonder if I shall ever be in the possession of a secret that I will have the leisure to reveal to others in my own time before some other reveals it to them.'
The grumble was so reminiscent of Jack that for a few moments Elvaethor did not know what to say.
Thráin misinterpreted. 'Apologies,' he said. 'I did not intend to speak so rudely to you. This was not of your doing.'
'None necessary.' He knew what had been meant and insult was not in Thráin's nature, not toward one of his own kin at the very least. 'You misunderstand; none told me. I guessed.'
'You… guessed.' He laughed. 'Ha, in all the time I've known you, you've never once guessed at anything. You've always known things in your heart, even when you had no solid foundation for any of it. You've always been sure. You never guess.'
To some extent this was true. 'Yet then I was an elf,' he pointed out. 'And now I am no longer.' Not by law and not by sentiment. 'Perhaps those days are now behind me.'
In many ways he had not changed. He was still who he had been. But his soul had always sung more in tune with those of his mortal friends. Perhaps he had at long last ceased to avoid the inevitable. He had gone there where he belonged.
'I do not believe that for even a moment.' Thráin looked at him.
That was neither here nor there. 'So,' Elvaethor said. 'I am not wrong?'
'You know you are not wrong, for you never are,' Thráin reminded him. 'Yes, I shall go to Khazad-dûm in due course and clear out those abominations who have desecrated those halls for far too long. Erebor is not for me and never has been. Khazad-dûm…' Here he hesitated.
'What of Khazad-dûm?'
Thráin hesitated only a moment before the words spilled from his mouth. 'It's like nothing I have ever known in all my days, Elvaethor. Though I had never been there, I knew those halls. It seemed as though the stone itself was alive and spoke to me, not in words, as such, but speech of some kind most definitely. Even now I long to go back there, to dwell there.' He took a deep breath. 'I am made to be there. I should prefer that it could be without the crown, but I know that can never be. But I must go there. Not now, not immediately. But soon.'
There were many things Elvaethor could say to that – Thráin had given him much to think on in just so few words – but there was only one thing he did say: 'Of course you must. And when you go, my brother, it will be with my sword at your back.'
He would have it no other way.
Next time: Dori involves himself in wedding preparations. The world may never recover.
I have a bit of an announcement: since I am almost done with writing this story – about a thousand words left on the last chapter and then only the epilogue left to do – you can now have updates twice every week until the story's completion. So you'll have the Sunday update and then another mid-week, either Wednesday or Thursday depending on my schedule.
As always, thank you for reading. Reviews would be very welcome!
See you in a couple of days!
