[Written with respect for, but no ownership in, the works of J.R.R. Tolkein, Peter Jackson, Philippa Boyens, and Fran Walsh. Mar 1, 04: I am reposting this to make a small correction. Hopefully I will have a new chapter up by the end of the week. Your kind reviews have kept me going. I'd appreciate any suggestions on where to take the story or what I can do to improve it. Thanks again. Joelle]
8 January, 3019. Third Age.
A fortnight passed and the Company found themselves on the slopes of Hollin Ridge. They had been traveling mostly at night, but on this day had journeyed with the Sun. They stopped at noon, everyone having grown tired at Pippin's bellyaching. Sam started a fire and began preparing a meal while the others spread out across the landscape's many boulders.
As she had done many times since the journey began, Anarwen lingered near the edge of the camp, waiting to see where Legolas would rest. His distance, physical and otherwise, had taken a toll on her. There seemed little way for her to fix the situation and little hope of him doing so on his own. In her more cynical moments, Anarwen thought it might help matters if a lost Easterling magically appeared and attempted to kill her. But she knew the answers no longer lay in their past.
Turning to the mountains, she caught sight of the peaks of Caradhras and Celebdil. The Company's road lay between them through the Redhorn Pass. Snowcapped and brilliant in the sunlight, they separated a West still clinging to peace and an East teetering on war. They marked a different boundary for the elleth. Once the Company had crossed the pass, it would be time for her to decide. Remain with the Ringbearer and all that might mean, or return to Mirkwood.
Was this second choice still worth considering? Taur e-Ndaedelos. Forest of great fear. There would be no one there to greet her homecoming. No duty to resume or obligation to await anyone's return. She briefly considered trying to rejoin the Elven-king's forces, but abandoned the idea quickly. How does a former guard to the heir ask to be put back on patrol? No, if she took the road to Mirkwood, it would only be to retrieve her possessions. And what then? Anarwen had never felt so alone.
She glanced over to where Legolas was talking with Aragorn. He looked up and met her gaze for a moment before turning away. Perhaps an Easterling should appear and try to kill him, she thought in irritation. There he stood, beautiful and fair as anything in Eä, loved by his people and the sole object of her loyalty for 20 years. It had been only a fleeting interval in the lives of Elves, but the weight of its loss was crushing. And for what? I have never betrayed him, and yet he cannot bear the sight of me. Anarwen continued to stare at Legolas and her expression began to harden. Whatever her path beyond the mountains, this would end now.
He stood only yards away from her, but to Legolas it seemed like a yawning abyss lay between them. He had handled this badly. The certainty of it was clearer with every passing day. He should have spoken to her long before now, but the words and the will to say them would not come. And remaining silent had only deepened his feelings of guilt. She had done nothing wrong, and whatever need he had to protect her, to spare her this journey, should never have led to this. He was a fool.
The weight of Anarwen's stare caused Legolas to meet her eyes again. What is she thinking? The expression on her face was grim. I have seen her greet spiders with less malice. She began to walk towards him, and Legolas knew that whatever tongue-lashing he was about to receive was well-deserved.
But Fate and Hobbits had other ideas. At the prospect of food in the near future, Pippin's sunny disposition had returned. With Merry at his heels, the youngest member of the Fellowship appeared in front of the girl and brought her to a halt. "Come, Anarwen, why don't you sing us a melody? Then Merry and I shall honor you with the songs of the Shire."
She gave him a faint smile. "I am afraid I have only my father's voice, not the fair tone of the Elves."
Pippin squinted at the girl's gently tipped ears in confusion. Before he could utter any other sentence that began with How, What, or Why, Anarwen added, "I am more skilled with a blade than a ballad. Would you like a lesson?" In their travels so far, she had become increasingly worried at the Hobbits' obvious inability to protect themselves. Ill-equipped to traverse the Shire, let alone Middle-Earth, she had thought more than once.
Pippin jumped up, "Yes! See, I have brought a blade of my own." He produced a small knife from his belt.
Anarwen turned the short, dull instrument over in her fingertips and considered her reply. "This weapon has already seen much use." In your kitchen. "Perhaps Boromir can lend you something more fitting to spar with, so I won't be in danger."
Pippin ran off in search of the lord from Gondor, certain that the girl had praised his abilities and experience.
She has a way with small men, Legolas thought wryly.
With one Hobbit dispensed with, Anarwen turned to Merry, who surprised both elves with the next question. "Anarwen, are there many female soldiers in Mirkwood?"
It should have been simple enough to answer, and it would have been under most circumstances. But Anarwen knew that Merry and the other Hobbits did not know much about her or Legolas. Of her own situation, her duties, or what they had been, it seemed too awkward to discuss any of it as if nothing had changed. As for Legolas, it was difficult to talk about Mirkwood and its soldiers without mentioning him, and Anarwen knew that the Hobbits did not understand him to be Thranduil's heir. They had been calling him by his first name since the journey began. She suspected he preferred this anonymity, even if it only extended to part of the Company. Like Aragorn, Gandalf, and Gimli, she had not revealed to the Hobbits that it was a prince who protected their safety.
The truth was that as of her last conversation with Legolas, there were no Elven-women in Thranduil's forces. While pondering this sad reality and all the history that went with it, a truly evil idea occurred to her. Maybe there was another way to deal with her lord.
"No, Merry. I think the maidens of Mirkwood prefer the duties of home and family more than those of our realm's defense."
Mirkwood's heir silently observed this conversation, much more closely now that Anarwen had resumed walking towards him. She stopped beside Aragorn, who was also eavesdropping. Joining the ranger on his boulder, she gestured for Merry to sit with them.
"But it seems a shame that it is so. I tell you truthfully, the fiercest warriors among all the Elves are the maidens of my King's court." Anarwen leaned forward conspiratorially. She ignored Aragorn's widening grin and the soft sounds of someone shifting their feet behind her. "They are beautiful to behold, but you must not be deceived," she continued to her audience. "They are fearless in the face of their enemy and will do anything to defeat their foe."
"What do they battle?" Merry whispered, as if the Elven-women of Anarwen's tale might hear him.
She leaned closer. "Each other."
At this, Aragorn began to choke with laughter and Anarwen swung around to face him. "You think I jest, Heir of Isildur?" she continued. "You have not seen their slaughter. I have stood on their battlefield and witnessed art of war such as you will never master." She turned back to whisper to Merry, who was now giggling at her dramatics. "Volley…counterassault…carnage. And for what, you may ask, Master Merry?"
By now Gandalf and Gimli had joined the spectators. Legolas cast a glare at the girl and then at the dwarf. He knew where all this was headed and half suspected Gimli to be somehow responsible for it. Clearly the dwarf's flare for a story had rubbed off on his traveling companion.
"They have only one prey, Master Merry. All their hopes lie with one quest."
"For what, Anarwen?"
"Our most gracious, most charming, and most unmarried prince," she replied with a wide smile. Her audience burst out laughing. The sheepish expression on the face of her story's subject was just too hilarious. Merry did not really understand the joke but was happy to enjoy everyone else's amusement.
Anarwen leaned back down toward the Hobbit. "Mark my words, Master Merry. Should you ever encounter a woman in battle, be sure you are her friend and not her foe."
Pippin returned from his errand with a short sword and handed it to the girl. Anarwen held it out before her, considering its craftsmanship and weight. The members of her audience began to drift away now that the tale had ended. As she swung the sword around in her right hand, a quiet voice came from behind her.
"And what say you of Mirkwood's heir?"
Anarwen turned around slowly. Blue eyes held hers, and she searched them for some sign of which road her answer should take. Their crystal depths gave nothing away. "I think…" She paused to look down at the weapon. There was too much to say and yet nothing at all. She met his gaze again, and as she did so, she flicked the sword in the air with the smallest of wrist movements. Her eyes did not leave his as the blade fell back perfectly into her grip. "I think he is not to be underestimated."
Legolas and Anarwen could not have named what passed between them then. They continued to stare at each other until Pippin tugged at her elbow in impatience. She turned back to her would-be student. For a moment, she had forgotten he was there. They walked a short distance away to an area where there was room to maneuver. The prince watched while his former guard and the Hobbit moved through every Elf's first lessons with a sword.
Anarwen was patient with Pippin's poor form and wandering attention, but eventually Boromir intervened. She left Merry and Pippin in his care, hoping that Boromir's idea of improving the Hobbits' manhood did not include drawing blood. Within ten minutes Merry and Pippin decided that the lesson was over.
"For the Shire!" they shouted, dragging Boromir down to their level. Legolas continued watching with amusement as Aragorn became their next conquest, but something in the wind caused his smile to fade. He did not recognize the source of his growing apprehension, but it seemed to be coming from behind him. Back where Anarwen was now scanning the southern sky. He was at her side a moment later. "What do you see?"
"There…" She gestured toward a pinpoint amid the clouds. Slowly it grew into a small dark patch. Anarwen blinked and drew in a sharp breath, but Legolas was first with the warning.
"Crebain from Dunland!"
"Hide!" yelled Aragorn as he grabbed up Frodo.
The black patch swirled toward the North, spreading out as its approach quickened. Legolas leapt down from the boulder and dove under a holly-bush. The rest of the Company sprang to their own hiding places. Anarwen jumped down behind Legolas, but then realized that he, Gimli, and Gandalf had taken the closest cover. Precious seconds passed as she quickly scanned the area for shelter.
A hand snaked out to her ankle and yanked her to the ground. Before she had time to react, Legolas wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her back under the holly and against his chest.
"Lie flat and still," he whispered in her ear. The crows wheeled overhead, croaking out a terrifying noise. As their shadow tracked behind them, Legolas peered over Anarwen's shoulder, trying to decide if the Company had been seen.
Determining that they were probably safe now, Legolas let his eyes fall to the elleth in his arms and saw for the first time how close they were. His nose was the barest distance away from her ear and he was still gripping her tightly. In the tense moments after he had dragged her to his hiding place, her hand had fallen to his at her waist, and like him, she had not let go yet.
Legolas was dimly aware that he should move, but the intimacy of their position paralyzed him. He stared down at her soft features and stilled his breathing.
Anarwen continued to peer up at the sky, focused only on the threat from above and not yet certain that all was safe. Then she felt Legolas begin to slide his hand slowly out from under hers. Suddenly, the full awareness of what she was doing and who she was laying against hit her. She flushed hotly with embarrassment.
Legolas had freed his hand from her grasp but did not move away. He shifted up on his elbow and continued gazing at her. Anarwen was about to shy away from him when she felt his fingertips stray to her face.
In his haste to protect her, Legolas had pulled her to him with little grace. A holly branch had raked across her forehead, and a small drop of blood was now welling on her pale skin. He carefully brushed it away.
Very slowly, Anarwen turned over to look at him, and as she did, he shifted a little so that she came to rest on her back.
Legolas had not stopped staring at her, but now he was looking directly into her dark eyes. Long lashes swept down as he caressed her skin. He should not be doing this, but he no longer knew which rules governed the two of them. With all that had happened and all that this quest meant, it seemed that they now stood outside of all he had known or thought to be true.
More than anything, he did not want this fragile moment to end. When her eyes slowly opened, he saw a storm of emotions in them. And the stirrings of desire to match his own.
Both held their breath. He was about to touch her softly parted lips when he caught the sounds of the others coming out of hiding. Clamping down on the sensations running through him, he tried to find an answer for the question in her eyes.
"I…You are hurt." Even to his own ears, this excuse sounded ludicrous. In the years since her run in with the Easterling's poison, Anarwen had broken several ribs, survived at least two nasty knife wounds, and nearly lost a finger to an Orc that got too close. The tiny scratch now marring her forehead hardly qualified as an injury.
She flushed again with complete humiliation. She had been confused by his touch, but now she was mortified at her body's reactions. "I am sure it is nothing," she said and began backing up.
As Legolas watched Anarwen scramble away, she leaned her hand directly onto a fallen branch, opening small cuts in her palm. "Ai!" she gasped out in surprise and cursed in her father's tongue. Legolas stifled a grin. Freeing himself from the holly bush, he offered her his hand. Anarwen took it to rise but avoided his eyes, certain that she could not look more ridiculous.
"Spies of Saruman," Gandalf remarked with disgust as he followed the crows' direction of flight.
Aragorn observed the elves drift away from each other. The girl still wore a faint blush, and the boy cast a look of regret at her retreating back.
When the ranger had told Gimli that there was nothing between Anarwen and Legolas, he knew it to be only part of the truth. He had told the dwarf what he knew to be their understanding of each other. Aragorn, however, had seen something else long ago. Somewhere between the circumspect picture they presented and the nasty gossip that followed them, a different truth lay waiting for discovery: that Mirkwood's prince had met his match the day he first saw this peredhil girl bring another warrior to defeat.