Chapter 6
Friends of a Name
Author's Note: Took a bit longer for me to finish this one. I was stuck on imagining what to include that wasn't a Brianna or Aragorn POV in this chapter and then work and reading caught up to me. Plus traveling this month took a lot more time off of my hands than I thought it would. Work has been interesting which also took away from my writing for a little bit. When I have been writing I've been working on editing my original work, Elf-Beast, which is of no relation to the LOTR work posted on this site (though the one on this site helped give me the idea for it's creation). Enjoy this chapter! I get into some world-building lore that help explain a little bit about the division of worlds and then also some character history.
"You're pain's been getting worse and you didn't bother to say a damn thing? Are you trying to die and piss me off, Frodo, because you're doing one hell of a job!"
Strider looked up from where he helped Sam cut the last of their potatoes. Their elf friend was in rare form today with her foul language (most unbecoming of her race) and indignant worry. Frodo, for his part, merely sat on the ground nearest the fire and took her ranting in silence. It didn't escape his notice that the young hobbit's eyes were cast to the ground and doing their best to avoid meeting her gaze. He didn't blame his charge in the least as it seemed that a Brianna on edge and worried was not an ideal Brianna to displease.
"She's got a right foul temper on her, Strider," Sam muttered.
Strider didn't respond. Sam wasn't used to elves and likely didn't know that Brianna could hear them in such close quarters. Despite this she didn't give a hint that she heard the remark as she laid upon Frodo's shoulders a great and terrifying dialogue of all the cruel things she was going to do to him if he ever ignored his wound again. Brianna was right to be concerned. Strider had made the call to make for the road despite his misgivings. Reason; however, won out. The land in the wooded hills became too impassible save for The Last Bridge. There was no helping it. They had to cross and it meant returning to the road.
Frodo remained silent as she set about inspecting his wound. She backed away looking grim.
"Well, there's not much I can do about it. You need the hands of a real healer. I'm not. I may have been able to help stave off the more lethal effects until Rivendell, but even then I can't be sure. Sit by the fire and eat something. I'll scout around," and with that she faded into the growing shadows.
Strider moved and placed a hand on Frodo's shoulder. The young hobbit held his hands clasped before him. The firelight cast deep shadows on his face that promoted deep ridges once covered by healthy fat. All of them looked less like happy country folk and more like wild children of men. Sadly, Frodo looked far too pale to be both healthy and of the wild.
"Just now," Frodo said in a small voice, "she reminded me of Gandalf. He would have said the same thing."
Strider grimaced a smile, "That he would have. It is a shame we could not meet up with him. The wisdom of wizards would have been welcomed."
The other hobbits joined them. Sam offered Frodo a bowl of the finished soup. The invalid gingerly took the offering in his uninjured hand, set it on the ground and began to eat. Sam ladled food out for Merry, Pippin and Strider before taking some for himself.
"I'll keep the pot over the fire so Miss Brianna can have some when she gets back," Sam muttered and sipped some of the soup.
"I suspect she will be grateful for the gesture," Strider said.
The hobbits ate their food. Frodo took his time as he only had one hand to work with at that moment. Once all were finished they huddled around the fire and tried to fall into varying degrees of a fitful slumber. Strider watched the flames absently as he considered the road they needed to take.
"We will soon be on the road."
He looked over his shoulder at Brianna who approached as silently as a stalking cat. Elves were quite good at not being heard. The darkness, it seemed, held no sway over her. Faintly her skin glowed white like moonlight. As she approached the fire it did not abate and reflected the orange flames. She lowered herself next to him and smiled.
"But," she continued, "there isn't a sign of the enemy, so that's a blessing. A bit of one at least."
"They must be waiting for Frodo's condition to deteriorate," he remarked.
She nodded and turned away from him to watch the flames. He noticed much of the dirt and grime had been washed off of her skin and clothes. Her hair, once pulled back into a tight braid, now spilled over her shoulders in long bronze waves. The tips of some strands were longer than the others as if she purposefully cut them to frame her body in a certain way.
"Busy, were you?" He asked.
Brianna didn't ask what he meant and shrugged before answering, "I didn't go to the river. I had to find a secluded rock pile and bring water to me. Where I come from people, humans included, wash their entire bodies every day. The grime was driving me nuts."
Strider repressed a smile. Such a… feminine urge! It was endearing.
"In such a case I am surprised you made it this long," he said.
She snorted, "I wasn't going to bathe around men. Besides, you couldn't even handle me taking my tunic off. I certainly couldn't bathe around you!"
Strider remembered. She had been far more appealing than he'd originally wanted to admit. Elves of Middle Earth were typically tall and thin with very little else to recommend them other than a stagnant beauty. Arwen, Elrond's daughter, was an example of an exception to the rule and only because she had human blood, however distant, running through her veins.
"Did your family mix with humans?" He asked.
"Oh yes, that's far more common on earth than you would think. We have to protect you. That's our creed, but by the Triune you lot breed like rabbits!" She said, laughing quietly.
Yes, he thought, that assessment is not unfounded. We do reproduce quickly.
They sat in silence for a good long while staring at the flames. Yellow, orange and red flickered and twined through the other participating in its solemn dance. Despite their hypnotic light Strider didn't feel tired. He was alert, stiff in the neck, and muscles strung taught. Any moment now a rider or that foul being Brianna fought could appear and try to steal away Frodo and the Ring.
"Strider," she said, "go to sleep. I've warded this place and I can stay awake longer than you. Rest for a few hours."
He shook his head, "In truth I can't. Too much horror plagues my mind. I will not be rested."
She looked at him. Her eyes sent a shiver up the length of his spine. From fear or wonder he knew not only that she seemed to look right through him. A being of another world who was more of the heavens than of the mortal world.
"What do you think you're going to do? Defeat all the evil in the world if you just stay awake the entire night?" She asked.
"No," he said, "that is not it."
"Then stop worrying about things you can't help and go to sleep."
He held her gaze for a bit longer than sighed. She was unmoved. Gingerly Strider stretched out on the ground and bundled his extra cloak under his head to sleep.
"Good night, Strider," she said almost as an afterthought.
"Aragorn," he said, "my name is Aragorn."
He didn't expect to hear her soft reply, but as he drifted off into a fitful sleep several minutes later he did. It jolted him awake again with a start for a single moment. His heart pounded in his chest and cheeks flushed warm.
"Mine is Aracasse."
Strider – nay, Aragorn – didn't react. He forced his mind to calm and drifted back into that same troubled state of unconsciousness he was used to.
Brianna wanted to pull her hair out. To think that the two of them shared each other's real names, to have made herself vulnerable in such a way as to speak her name to the open. Irrationally – because she did ward the place before returning to camp – she worried that a soy from her enemy's bosom may have overheard her. The light snores from Strider – Aragorn – lifted into the night's air beside her. She hugged her knees to her chest and worried her bottom lip. She hurried her head into her knees. How long had it been since she even spoke that name? Three years? Four?
She looked to the sky. Stars scattered thickly across the vast canvas of space. None were recognizable. Even so, despite how foreign she felt, there was still beauty to be found. As Earth grew in industry with each passing year the artificial lighting blanked out the stars of the sky. While such growth was exciting and helped by the elves themselves the lack of a night light show was disappointing. Brianna remembered the days long passed when very little industry existed. Despite the beauty before her and the comfort found in pondering history she experienced the shock felt deep into her bones continued to unsettle her. It was as if she brought the past to life by saying that name – the one she would rather forget – and the fate she was destined to have ever loomed before her.
Aracasse ven Aldura. That hated, cursed name! Everyone who suffered and died for her did so because if that terrible name! She loathed it as much as she despised herself.
Strider – Aragorn – shifted in his sleep. Sam muttered something about petunias being hard to grow. Merry and Pippin seemed to be dreaming about fireworks and ale. Frodo slept like the dead.
One day all of them would know her name. Now that she told it to Aragorn it was only fair to inform the others… eventually. Not now, though. This time she would enjoy the luxury of anonymity. Strider didn't know the significance of it and likely would understand her need to remain unknown. The Hobbits, like everyone else, would be awestruck.
If we don't die first, she thought morosely.
Erebus couldn't be the only one in Arda. He never worked alone and was known for being hired by various entities for a considerable price. Whoever sent him needed him to befriend Sauron and help him find his ring.
But to what end? Why did they need to come here? Sauron wouldn't – couldn't – possibly be a reliable ally. What's in it for him if he comes to help them do whatever it is they want to do? Arda? Sauron could take Arda if he tried. He's been a thorn in their side for as long as Ba'al had been in mine. What do they want? She wondered while glaring at the flames.
She stood in one fluid motion. The position of the moon told her it was time to check the viability of her runes and reinforce whatever she needed to. The sleeping men did not stir.
Cairo was hot and dry and dusty. Maf never had been a fan of Egypt. Deserts were impractical at best and living hell at worst. It was why, in his early years when the Fertile Crescent region of the Middle East looked like it was being taken over by sand, he'd packed his bags and traveled northwest into what was now known as Europe. He'd never gone to Egypt purposefully and never thought to set foot there for any sort of casual stroll. His mother may had enjoyed the excitement of battle, myth and political and social intrigue of the region, but Europe was something far more predictable and calming. When Cronus became king of the elves Maf had moved to Gaul just in case the usurper king tried to go after him.
The Raiphahim and the dark Fae that ruled Egypts lands as gods and goddesses hadn't appealed to him. His mother enjoyed the discourse between the two and played her clever games with them during that reign. All the while, Maf had remained in Gaul watching the movements of Queen Mab and The Morrighan as they sought to ensnare the human populations. The elves lived in seclusion trying to escape notice of both usurper kings, Cronus and Odin, and built a life of myth and fable. The humans didn't worship them. Maf had pointedly started the order of the druids and wise women – the humans with elven blood running through their veins with no place on the earth other than as his students – to counter act the worship of The Morrighan and Mab.
What became the beginning of the end was the arrival of Athena ven Turthin out of the vast expanse of forest from the east. Prince Hades, lord of the undead and the necromatic arts, had placed a violent curse upon her that caused her body to waste away.
Maf smiled at that memory. Athena had certainly been one of a kind. She had a will of iron that snapped in two when it broke, but could also be forged together again into something stronger and more durable. Brianna was exactly like her grandmother in that respect and many more. Reluctant to be queen, defender of the week, as stubborn as a mule, as brittle as glass, and as brilliant a battle tactician as anyone could be. It was expected of the granddaughter of the elven queen of wisdom and battle and worshipped as such by the Greeks.
"But she gets herself into trouble, just as Athena did," he muttered to himself.
"What?"
Maf started from his reverie and glanced at Artemis whose expression could only be described as incredulous. He rolled his eyes.
She must think I'm starting to go senile, he thought.
"I'm remembering your sister, Athena, and how much like her Brianna is," he said.
Artemis blinked at him for a moment before nodding and continuing her trek down the scorching paved street of Cairo. Just then a powerful gust of wind bulldozed through the streets and kicked up an angry cloud of sand. The dusty grit slapped Maf in the face and he coughed and sputtered in an attempt to banish the offending stuff from his nose and throat.
She laughed, "However did you survive the days you were forced to come here?"
The wind returned to its gentle breeze. Maf clapped his hands together before wiping the dust off of his face. Artemis, of course, had opted for a blue head scarf and tunic and brown pants. Knee high boots curve along her calves and down into the sand. They were heavy, practically seamless structurally and could trudge through the desert without allowing an ounce of sand in. Dwarf made, he guessed, and likely the ones who lived along the coast where ruins of old cities lay in their crumbling misery. All dwarves tended to live underground. Few of them stay closer to the surface and those tended to live in desert climates.
"I didn't. I was the most miserable sot to ever exist. And so was Brianna, might I add! She hates the desert just as much as I do!" He exclaimed far more dramatic than he had meant.
Such an outburst was met with the appropriate chortle from Artemis' throat. Maf would have felt his cheeks flush as red as a tomato, but his body was too over heated as it was to generate any extra.
Some half-elf I've turned out to be! I was born in these regions and I can't even insulate myself in this heat! He thought.
"Brianna acts more like a princess then she cares to admit," Artemis quipped.
"And what are you trying to insinuate?" He asked indignantly.
"Nothing, I assure you," she replied with a side tilt to her lips.
Maf shook his head and they continued to their destination. A large apartment building loomed before them a few blocks from what was considered the old Cairo district. They entered the building and he breathed in the clean air conditioned environment that was thankfully devoid of dusty sand particles. Artemis removed her head scarf and hung it at the crook of her left arm. Slowly they climbed the winding staircase to the fourth floor and slipped into a dimly lit hallway.
"Here it is!" Artemis chirped.
Etched in Arabic from brass was the number 456. Maf frowned to himself. He missed the beauty of the more ancient languages of his people. Babylon; especially, had enraptured him. But all things came to an end in that regard as the land changed and the desert invaded the fertile lands. Maf had left after the death of Japheth his forefather during the reign of Laurealasse.
As he remained lost in his thoughts the door opened and blank white eyes peered out of the door. Silver-white hair settled on a frail, thin shoulder and framed a delicate face all angles and perfectly smooth planes. As fragile as a lily, Ailya ven Du'Gratha, high seer of the elves and prophetess of the Triune, still unsettled all who met her with those twin pools of unseeing eyes that seemed to stare into a person'a soul.
"Mafortion Japhethelion and Artemis ven Turthin you are most welcome to this house," Ailya greeted sagely.
"Your hospitality is most welcome," Maf replied before Artemis could.
"We found many troubling things in the past few days," Ailya informed them before stepping to one side to let them through, "we have much to discuss. I fear it is unsettling news."
"Such incidents always unearth unsettling news," Artemis remarked dryly as she stepped passed Maf and through the doorway, "and my niece always seems to be the herald of it."
Maf rolled his eyes. Artemis certainly possessed her own dramatic streak. He followed after into the dimly lit living space. Loki was already there splayed out on a grand red velvet couch looking as relaxed as he always did. Blond hair fell around his shoulders and gold eyes peered at them from under hooded lids.
"Good afternoon, Loki," he greeted.
The Elder smiled, "Greetings son of the historian. I've heard your apprentice continues to resist taking your lessons in caution seriously. She's certainly full of spirit."
"Of a sort, yes," Maf replied wryly.
The Elder stood and his form shimmered and changed into a diminished version of the grand elf male. His face, once that of a proud elven male from the north with a strong square chin and broad cheekbones, subsided into a thin angular face. His eyes remained gold and the same light of mischief glowed within.
"The situation she currently landed herself in seems to be graver than we first thought," Loki said.
Artemis' lips thinned and Maf watched her slide a glance to Ailya. The female Elder inclined her head. On most daily occasions the seer kept her expression blank and emotionless so as to remain as detached from mortals as she could while the Triune communed with her and she, him. This day was different. Even she looked unsettled.
"I fear it is a serious matter. Mab descended into hell six days ago. I felt the change in the atmosphere as it happened. She seeks to bring forth the one she believes is elven king. Prince Hades the blooded son of the usurper king has left hell, but is not on this earth. I fear these rips were made to herald his coming," she explained.
"Rips?" Maf asked.
"There are walls separating one reality from another. The best I can describe them is this: they're the veil between galaxy's that keep us from experiencing omnipresence and maintains a balanced natural order to our worlds. Such an occurrence keeps the stars in our galaxy from being knocked out too drastically. The Morrighan tore through that barrier and into the nearest galaxy, Andromeda, to enter Arda a land much like our own with the occasional subtle nuance here and there. Brianna is there and so is Hades. He doesn't seem to be looking for her as of yet, but we can't get definitive answers until we go over there ourselves using what we know to hopefully decrease the strain placed on the wall at this present time," Loki explained.
Maf lowered himself to the couch and leaned his elbows on his knees. Few knew that his mother had gone to Arda and several other worlds shortly after the catastrophic flood that wiped out ninety-eight percent of the Earth's population. Those who did kept the copies of her recorded travels locked away safely to never be gazed at by anyone but those they deemed worthy. They didn't know much about inter-dimensional travel. It was, in fact, just as taboo as time travel but with less risk of disrupting the fabric of reality. Unless, it seemed, the traveling was done by sorcery which only enabled the direct damage to the wall between worlds.
"I am pleased to say that I didn't follow an ounce of what you said. However; it does seem to be important. I thought space separated us from different galaxies?" He asked.
Loki smirked, "For mortals and the simple minded 'space' is the best way we can describe this phenomenon."
It took Maf a long exercise in patience to refrain from answering Loki's smug sarcasm with a biting retort that wouldn't actually effect the man in any way. Raiphahim always held a modicum of arrogance, but Loki was in a different class of his own. Few of the Raiphahim ever took the path of righteousness. The history of their births were horrendous at worst and disgusting at best – a perversion of a blessing the Triune had hoped to introduce one day and was now ridiculously delayed. Loki hadn't followed the darkness despite being the son of The Fallen Heylel ben Shachar and the high knight elven sorceress, Kareyla di'Markeria. A master of lies and tricks Loki had played the evil and the light until the very end when those who would know his allegiances revealed them to the world much to a certain princess Rhaidien ven Aldura's astonishment.
Maf only knew what his mother had told him. Loki had never spoken of his early days; especially those with the princess, but enough was recorded from all who remembered many things could be learned. Maf never bothered to get into it. His focus was learning his magical craft he'd inherited from his mother. The fifth element – Syre – wriggled and writhed within his very soul. It begged for periodic release. Every once in a while he did just that and there were moments when that release allowed him to see glimpses of the immediate past and future. He never saw anything so far back since before the Triune allowed the dead and dying stars to reform themselves and begin anew after so many worlds had been ravaged.
It was why, according to Loki, inter-galaxy travel was limited by the walls created by space and time. Humans understood it to an extent and created their string theories and speculations on alternate realities. It wasn't that there were different universes. Everything existed in one gigantic universe for several millennia. The Triune created space and time in such a particular way that it took careful manipulation of that space and time to cross from one galaxy to another. Unless one happened to deal in sorcery and managed to pound right through it while shattering the wall in its wake.
Artemis didn't sit and remained standing with her legs two feet apart and arms grumpily crossed over her chest. Her lips pulled into a frown and her brows wrinkled in their deep furrow. Maf caught himself staring, again, and looked away with a curse. It seemed he never could quite erase this admiration for her.
"What could be in Arda that Mab would want? I doubt Hades would be thrilled with that unholy alliance as it is? What was the dick's name? Morgoth? The one who acted like he was some hot shot king of darkness? I doubt Hades will share with such a man," she remarked stoutly.
"Morgoth is chained," Ailya said gravely, "Sauron, his acolyte, is the one who currently holds power. He was temporarily diminished, but is regaining his strength. I see Brianna there, sometimes, and she is as safe as she can be. Erebus hunts her and another, but…" Ailya faltered and her typical mask broke into an uncertain frown.
Maf's brows rose. It was a rare thing to see their seer uncertain, but it manifested every so often. Clearly her world extended to only their galaxy and no where else. Andromeda was close enough to see glimpses, but not close enough to see all.
"There are shadows. They fight me and rage against me. I can't see the entirety of the situation. All I can know is that Brianna is safe for now, but is hunted all the same. The enemy knows she is there," she concluded.
"You can't see? I thought you can see everything?" Artemis asked.
"No, I can't see everything. My sight is limited to our galaxy and will not stretch beyond," Ailya said.
Maf glanced at Loki who watched their seer with no small amount of concern reflected in his eyes. The Elder Raiphahim merely shrugged and settled back into his previous position on the couch.
"What has been done as of now. Who knows she's missing?" Maf asked.
"Laurel sent word to Brianna's cousin. As regent he needs to know she's disappeared. The rest of the Elders are informed as is the wizard council and the Hunters, I'm assuming," Loki replied.
"I spoke with the Shadow Units. They'll be accompanying us to Arda to both find her and root out whatever evil decided to make themselves known to that world. Whatever pact Mab made with this Sauron we can't let it continue," Artemis said.
"I spoke with the wizard high council. They will bring our brightest minds together to make certain the process runs smoothly," Maf added.
Loki nodded, "I've a word with Thor. He's agreed to keep the peace on his side on threat of being turned into a chicken should I return and find the elven peoples in shambles. The dwarf king, Beowheln, is willing to work with your young wizard, Matthias, to create durable weapons and armor. We've already had words with the professor concerning progress of time in that world. She doesn't believe they've bettered themselves beyond what we consider Medieval. She's working with them to ensure period appropriate attire is manufactured."
Artemis nodded, "Good. We'll need to blend in as best we can. I don't want to place my hunters in too much danger until we completely understand the gravity of the situation."
"I intend to herald your coming," Ailya informed them, "my skills as a healer will be useful in gaining knowledge of the land. I will be able to see more once I'm there, of that I have no doubt. Once you arrive I can help inform you of the climate."
"I'll go in ahead as well," Maf said, "my main focus will be to find Brianna. You can direct me in her general direction and maybe even accurately see where she'll be," he told Ailya.
The seer inclined her head ever so slightly, "There is wisdom to this. I agree."
Maf caught Artemis' look and knew she most certainly did not like the suggestion. As per usual she didn't say a word and averted her gaze to Loki. As those two launched into a logistics debate Maf offered Ailya whisky from a crystal decanter on a side table nearest him. The polite curtesy helped hide the disappointing pang in his gut that always came up at least once when he was around the huntress.
They made it to the bridge the next day early in the morning. Brianna waited with the hobbits while Strider – Aragorn – inspected the bridge and the road beyond. He returned with a slight light in his eyes that made her mouth go dry. His eyes were quite beautiful when they weren't lost in somber thought.
"I can see no sign of the enemy," he said, "and I wonder very much what that means. But I have found something very strange."
He held out his hand, and showed a single pale-green jewel. Brianna leaned forward for closer inspection. The gem wasn't emerald or diamond, but it certainly seemed to have a similar clarity. She met his gaze with a raised brow.
"I found it in the mud in the middle of the Bridge," he said, answering her unvoiced question, "It is a beryl, an elf-stone. Whether it was set there, or let fall by chance, I cannot say; but it brings hope to me. I will take it as a sign that we may pass the Bridge; but beyond that I dare not keep to the Road, without some clearer token."
They passed over the bridge and went a little farther along the road before turning aside to step into the land beyond. With such a deep forest ruins of old villages and great buildings littered the land about them. Brianna felt the ever present itch to explore, observe, and look for clues of such clearly ancient life. The stones of each building felt old though she couldn't divine an exact age. She supposed she could have, but such a display of magic was risky this present time. Frodo's condition didn't allow for too much time to dally.
Strider took his time to tell them of the land around them when asked. Humans dwelt there and fell to darkness through some evil country or another.
"Their dwelling here has been long forgotten by most, even the land no longer remembers the touch of man," Strider explained.
And yet you seem to know all about such things the land forgot, Brianna thought and narrowed her eyes at his back, Who are you, Aragorn who calls himself Strider?
They walked for two days until rain began to cascade from the sky like a gigantic water fall. Brianna quickly sheltered them under some modified trees and moved the water away from their gathered wood so they could spark a fire. They waited out the night and set out again. It was still raining, but the drops fell in a thin mist instead of a torrential downpour. The hills rose higher and Brianna felt the air beginning to thin as high hills gave way into mountains only a few more miles away. Strider – Aragorn – turned them northward and well out of their intended pathway.
"I don't like this weather," he told her shortly after Sam took Bill's reigns and Brianna joined him silently.
Brianna smiled, "No one made it happen other than the Triune, bless his names."
The ranger didn't comment on the blatant expression of religious affinity, though he did seem to have done a double take. For Brianna, this was an experiment more than anything else. She knew so little of her people that chose to settle in this world and she wanted to learn as much as she could without asking too many questions. Strider's reaction could have meant several different things, but the lack of incredulousness told her that deity worship of elves was not uncommon. At least there was some familiarity in that regard.
"I know, but the weather makes our journey slower and worse for Frodo. He can't remain in the cold for too long," he said.
"It will pass soon. The winds are blowing from the south and the rain will be redirected elsewhere," she assured him.
"It's been ten days. I can't say how much longer Frodo will remain stable," he responded.
Brianna placed a hand on his shoulder, gave a quick squeeze, and removed it. Strider – Aragorn – started as if he hadn't expected any sort of familial comfort from her. Something clearly the females of her kind refrained from expressing. As usual he didn't remark on the oddity.
"We will get Frodo to Rivendell safe and sound. He will be healed even if I have to carry him the rest of the way on may back and leave you lot behind," she promised.
He smiled wryly, "You don't know the way."
She shrugged, "I'm only speaking in desperate terms. That may not need to happen."
The walked in silence as listened to the soft chatter of the hobbits behind them. They camped for the night and Strider made Brianna sleep the entire night so as to help her regain any energy she might have lost in the last couple of days she never slept. This night, after she warmed Frodo's cloak to mimic a heated blanket, she settled close to where Strider – Aragorn – sat to keep the night watch.
Just in case he needs to wake me for any reason, she told herself.
She settled down and closed her eyes. A breathing exercise she'd leaned long ago when she resolved to try and keep a regular human sleep schedule was brought forth from the recesses of her mind. With a steady intake of small breaths over thirty minutes she would drift away.
"Good night, Aracasse," he whispered.
Startled from the beginnings of her exercise Brianna opened her eyes and met his. They gazed at her with an intensity that made her mouth go dry again and butterflies form in her stomach.
"Good night, Aragorn," she whispered and returned to her attempt to fall asleep.
It took longer than it normally did this time. Brianna attributed it to his using her real name. Maybe, just maybe, his intense searching expression unsettled her as well, but she wasn't too keen on trying to discern the reason why.