Loena sat alone, feeling the warm tears track down her face. Moria loomed behind her, and the rest of the world whispered ahead. She felt stunned, beyond movement, beyond thought. She was her grey-self, barely moving, barely aware. She heard, again and again, that final moment, finger on stone, and then a breath, and then the shifting air.
She found herself holding her breath. She released it, but it brought her no comfort. The chill was complete now, about her eyes, down to her hips, her knees, her toes. She was her grey-self, her stone-self. She would not bloom again.
Because he was gone.
A small sob escaped her lips, and the emptiness pushed and pushed at her. Gandalf was gone; this wouldn't be fixed, this couldn't be fixed. No amount of courage or determination would turn the tides of fate. He was gone; his body hollowed, his eyes closed. She would never see him again.
Her mind prickled, her fingers ached against the stone she sat on.
She would never see him again.
"Legolas," she heard Aragorn call. "Get them up."
She realised he must have been talking about the hobbits, who all around her were loud in their grief. She heard Sam as he gasped through his tears, and Merry and Pippin as they held each other through it all.
Loena picked herself up carefully, wiping the tears from her cheek roughly with the back of her hand.
"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir demanded, outraged.
"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with Orcs! We must reach the woods of Lothlórien."
Loena had never felt less desiring to move, but she pushed her legs forward nevertheless. And the going slow to feel for the change in the path before her. And her breath came hard and rough, when it came at all.
The going was tedious but she managed it by herself, kicking her foot forward gingerly to see the size of the rock ahead of her was before attempted to over it. She had come beside Sam, she could tell, hearing his caught breath as he sobbed.
"Come, Sam," she said quietly, her own voice full, and wavering. "We must go. Please, come."
"Frodo? Frodo!" Aragorn called, Loena turned her head in the direction that he'd called. There was no snit of his mithril armour near her, nor did the sound of his sobs push against those of his kin.
"He's gone and walked on ahead," Sam said miserably. "He's all out o' hope, Miss Loena."
Loena paused. She knew she should say something now to lift his spirits, but she had no energy for kindness. She had no energy for anything at all. "I am not," she said softly, and unconvincingly. "Come on, Sam. You'll need to guide me over the rocks. I fear we've lost my rope somewhere in the mines."
It was a mean tactic, but Sam complied easily. He rose and grabbed her hand, navigating her carefully over the rocks and onto the flatter ground.
"We jus' left him," Sam whispered to Loena, after they'd started to move again. He still had his hand in hers, and she felt him tighten it. "We jus' let him fall."
"This isn't our fault," Loena said flatly, and without any certainty. "We…we had no way—"
We could have used the Ring, Loena thought swiftly.
She swallowed and closed her eyes, dismissing the thought entirely. The Ring had one Master. The Ring was entirely evil. The Ring and its master probably watched with glee as its old enemy tumbled to his death.
It was that thought that she snapped her eyes open at, and felt anger pooling in her belly. She was tired of evil things. She was tired of the darkness in the deep places of the world, of the Orcs and the Goblins, of the great towers that marked the powers of terrible Wizards.
She had felt angry at Saruman and Sauron before, of course. She had felt her stomach heat at the thought of them, and what they had done. She had hated how her people had been treated, and had been outraged at how her countrymen had been forced to die to protect the Westfold as the Orcs had become bolder. But she'd never hated the Evil that they used, that they adored. Not like this.
She did not know if the heat would sustain itself in her belly. She did not know if she could control it. She knew that she now wanted nothing more for Sauron to perish, for Saruman to suffer, and for all dark and decrepit things in the world to be ended.
She would go to Mordor in the black of mourning, as was the custom of her people. She would see the Ring destroyed, and she would find glee in seeing Sauron diminished beyond light, and sound, and fury.
Saruman, she would not kill immediately. Saruman would suffer. Saruman would see his great collections burnt, his staff snapped, his tower toppled. Saruman would be stripped of his power, and dignity. He would be mocked, and taunted, and spat on. She wanted him to beg for it, before the end. She wanted him to want her sword in his throat.
She gripped Gíed, as if already preparing to deliver the final blow.
They walked across the open earth quickly, and funnelled into the soft cool of the trees soon thereafter. Going became difficult again as roots and trees pushed up in front of Loena's path. She was getting better at making them out, by touch and smell and sound, but she still needed Sam to pull her on the path of least resistance.
"We have come to the eaves of the Golden Wood!" Legolas announced, the first to speak after a great passing of time in silence. "Alas that it is Winter!"
Loena paused slightly, moving her head around, testing the rush of the wind against her ears. The quietness of the wood seemed different now, it was true. More ancient. Perhaps reverent.
"The trees are grey and gold, Miss," Sam whispered to Loena softly. "They look rather grand, their big boughs are as tall and as thick as a man."
They moved further on, the company treading with slightly more care than it had before. They walked for some minutes more when a sweet, sparkling sound arose before them. It was a splashing stream, Loena realised, with a sweetness to its sound that was a striking shadow of a soft voice singing.
"Here is Nimrodel!" Legolas announced, more excited than Loena had seen him since they'd taken off from Rivendell. "Of this stream the Silvan elves made many songs long ago, and still we sing them in the North, remembering the Rainbow of its falls, and the golden flowers that floated in its stream. All is dark now, and the Bridge of Nimrodel is broken down. I will bathe my feet, for it is said that the water is healing to the weary." He called for them to join him to wade across. "The water is not deep!"
With curiosity, the Fellowship obliged, turning their course and making their way to the bank. Loena found the edge of the water with Sam's help.
"Just ease down here, Loena," he offered her softly. "One step…and then the other…"
She followed his instruction carefully, and found herself standing in the river soon after. The rush of the current was a helpful indication of how she needed to walk to cross it. The touch was cool, and comforting, like a damp rag on a feverish brow. As she walked, it felt as though the aches and tiredness of travelling were washed along with the flowing water.
The company helped each other out of the water, and began to walk again, a new bounce in their step. They stopped for lunch, pushing in the little of their stores remaining, and as had been their tradition in the first days of their Fellowship, they were entertained by story and song. This time Legolas regaled them with the hymn of Nimrodel herself.
When Legolas finished, and silence once against descended, Loena could tell that all had fallen back to thinking of Gandalf. Remembering what it was that they had lost. She would have sat there forever, mourning, but Aragorn did not let them rest much longer.
They moved on through the day, and Loena felt the sun wane above them. The air was becoming cooler, though she couldn't be sure that it wasn't the foliage above them becoming denser and blocking the sun's warmth.
A twig snapped a ways ahead of the travelling group. Loena perked her head up in curiosity. "What was-?"
"Stay close!" Gimli interrupted her. "You Hobbits especially. They say there's a great sorceress who lives in these woods. An Elf witch of terrible power. All who look at her fall under her spell and are never seen again."
"The Rohirrim enter these woods all the time," Loena said. "Normally they even have all their limbs intact when they return." She didn't say, though, that the people who had wandered back to Edoras had come changed. Wide-eyed, and as innocent as children. They'd drift aimlessly for the remaining years of their life, unsatisfied, and searching. Sometimes they'd return to the woods, and disappear again.
"Are you alright, Frodo?" Sam whispered ahead of her. She heard the swish of Frodo's curls on his collar, like he'd turned to Sam and nodded.
"Poppycock and propaganda!" Gimli smarted. "For here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily! I have the eyes of a hawk and—"
Loena stopped, stricken, with the sounds of bows being pulled back all around her. The wood strained under the tension. And all around she heard the sounds of boots on wood, and breath, and hair. It was not the smell of humans that surrounded her, bearing down with sweat and steel, but something far softer. Earthier. As though the sound of the leaves had been distilled to an essence.
The Elves.
"The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark," a deep, melodic Elven voice sounded out drily, accented slightly. Loena wondered at it, but could not place it.
"We mean you no harm," Loena called out. "We're wearied, and have travelled a long way."
"We know your party, Loena of Rohan," the same Elf answered her, with the same easy, patterned emotionlessness. "But this is not the place to greet one another. Follow us further into these woods, so that we may converse properly."
Loena was relieved that the elf didn't plan to make good on his threat to have them all shot, but she was nonetheless concerned that they seemed to have been following them. She had heard the twig break, but other than that there had been no sound to them. Loena had never felt the need for quietness in her own battle strategy, but she could see how it might be useful for questing.
They walked with more haste now, and with the energy only granted when the end of the journey seemed near. Each of them were exhausted. It was more surprising than anything that they all remained standing. They stopped, finally, at the same Elf's order. Sam carefully led Loena around so that she stood with one hand on the trunk of an enormous tree.
The Elf began to talk with Aragorn and Legolas in Sindarin. Loena couldn't understand much, but she could make out that Legolas called the elf "Haldir", and that they were being welcomed rather warmly.
"So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves!" Gimli growled. "Speak words we can all understand!"
There was a silence, and in clear distaste, the elf Haldir replied; "We have not had dealings with the Dwarves since the Dark Days."
Loena felt weariness crush down against her eyes, and against her tongue. She was irritated at them both; at Gimli for his rudeness, at the Elves for their clear disregard for inclusivity. She wanted to sit, in the shadow of the tree she leant against, and close her eyes and mind to the world just for a moment. She wanted a bed of soft moss, a full moon, and a few spare hours to mourn her friend.
Gimli snapped back at Haldir in his language. It's meaning was lost to Loena, but she could tell by the barbs on his voice that it had been some sort of insult. A feeling confirmed by Aragorn's chastising of Gimli.
"You bring great evil with you," Haldir said suddenly, and with a pang, Loena realised that the Elf must have looked to Frodo. To all of them, he announced; "You may go no further."
Loena let her legs collapse beneath her, and slid against the tree she'd been leaning on. She rested her head against the bark, resting into it with a sigh. She felt a movement beside her, and realised that Sam must have sat down as well. All around her, the rustling of clothes and leaves, and the slight gasps of air, told her that the rest of her companions had followed her lead.
The only exception, it seemed, was Legolas, who'd gone to a group of the Elves just beyond the group, and was speaking to them in his language so quickly and fluidly that Loena could pick out no words that she understood.
Loena…
She turned her head, sharply.
"Miss?" Sam asked her cautiously.
"Did you hear something, Sam?" Loena asked quickly.
"You mean, somethin' out of the ordinary?" Sam guessed. He paused. "Well, I guess a little bit o' everythin' around these parts is pretty far from ordinary."
"No, someone saying—"
Loena.
"There!" Loena said quickly.
She couldn't see it, but she knew Sam was drawing back. She could sense it in his tone. "I didn't hear that, no, sorry."
"That's…" Loena scrubbed at her temple, wondering if her long stint in the Mines was turning her to madness, or if this was another symptom of the Rings hold on her. "That's alright, Sam. I'm sorry I scared you."
Loena, listen well.
She heard it, as clearly as someone speaking next to her shoulder.
You shall not find what it is you seek here.
She felt her stomach plummet.
But you shall find something else.
Before Loena could demand anything from the presence, a strange weight she hadn't noticed lifted from her mind, and a chill wind stole through her cloak. She shivered and pulled it tighter around her. She rested her head against the bark of the tree and ignored the voices warnings. It could have been anything; it could have been a lie. Gandalf had always told her to never believe the word of evil creatures, for the lied and truth-told in equal measure.
The presence hadn't felt evil.
Loena ignored it all, buried her face into her hair and steadied her breathing. She listened to the sound of Aragorn arguing with Haldir, and something soothed her about the way his tongue lifted and fell over the ancient language. Sindarin was the native language of Gondor. Not all spoke it, but Loena had heard it plenty during her stay there. Aragorn didn't speak it like those men, though, he spoke it like an Elf.
She began to drift, images of the great, winding city of Imladris rising up before her eyes. She remembered every great turret, and every merry river. How different, it had been, to find reception there.
"You will follow me," Haldir suddenly, announced, snapping Loena from her trance.
She pulled herself up warily, using the tree to lean on.
"The girl is blind, yes?" she heard Haldir ask someone off to the side.
"The girl is blind," Loena snapped back. "But the girl is not deaf."
"My apologies," Haldir said quickly, and without feeling. "Do you need to be carried, or can you walk?"
"The girl has two working legs," Loena snapped back. She swallowed and kept her jaw tight. "I can walk. I just need someone to guide me."
And so it was that Loena was sent to the front of the group to hold onto the forearm of one of the Elves that had accosted them. He was silent and swift beside her, and spoke only to warn her of when she had to mind her step. When he did, his words were simple, uncertain, and strongly accented. Loena surmised that the elves spoke little of the Common Language in the depth of their woods.
It made her pang, slightly, for the rounded, quick language of her people. Generations before her birth, they had spoken Rohirric exclusively, until a king raised in Gondor encouraged the spread of the Common Language. Most still spoke Rohirric, and in some of the more far flung areas of her country, they spoke it exclusively. But in the large towns, and in Edoras especially, more children were being raised with Westron than their forebears words.
It made Loena sad. She felt as though a great swarth of knowledge was threatening loss.
Loena pushed her tired, aching legs as hard as she could as the company made their way up a steep hill. The Elf next to her seemed to bristle with a new energy, which Loena scowled at. She could barely keep her head from lolling against her chest.
They emerged together atop the hill, and Loena felt, with a strange tearfulness, a new sun's rays pressing against her face. She knew not how long she'd been awake, but she could feel it ache into her bones nonetheless. The sun kissed her skin, rejuvenating her.
"Caras Galadhon. The heart of Elvendom on earth. Realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light," Haldir announced, just ahead of her.
She heard the Hobbits murmur to each other in appreciation. She wished she knew the elf beside her well enough to ask him to describe it for her, but she didn't, and she'd feel foolish if she did and he found her request strange.
They pushed on. The grass beneath Loena's feet felt soft under the leather of her boot, and the smell of the world changed. She regretted that she did not know the flowers' names, from which wafts of sweet perfume eased along the weary travellers on the breeze. Perhaps it was some plant native to the woods of Lothlórien, and grew here only because of the magic of the Elves.
The Elf, who she'd learnt was called Rúmil, talked to her a little more as they walked through the forrest.
She responded in Sindarin as well as she could, but her speech was so garbled and grammatically incorrect that it had been easier to say it in the Common tongue and let him translate it for himself. She had learnt some from Aragorn and Legolas while they'd walked together, and some again from Arwen whilst she'd been in Imladris. Not enough, it seemed, to keep her from embarrassing herself.
"Shall we see the Lady Galadriel?" she asked him, after spending a rough five minutes trying to conjugate "see" in her head, before giving up.
Rúmil nodded. "Yes." He paused, and Loena wondered if he had more to say. "She…" he trailed off again, and she felt as though he was desperately struggling for words to respond to her with.
"Hannon Le," Loena said, saving him. She stumbled a little over the pronounciation of 'le', and sounded very Rohirric to her own ears.
The Elf seemed to enjoy it though, and laughed. "Gi nathlam, sel Rochand."
"Where do we walk now?" Loena asked, feeling heat rise up her neck to her cheeks, eager to move the conversation on from her terrible Sindarin.
"We walk through the first arches of Caras Galadhon," Haldir narrated suddenly, his voice calling from up ahead. She wondered if Haldir had thought to come and save his brother from accessing any more of his Sindarin. "I lead us to meet with the great Lady atop a talan." Ahead of them a horn sounded, and then another further along answered it. "They are informing the Lady and Lord of our coming. We will begin walking the stairs very soon."
The stairs in Lothlórien were far easier for Loena to navigate than the ones in Moria. Here each were set at the same height as the one before. Once she'd figured into a rhythm, with a hand tracing the tree the stairs circled, she could walk by herself. She bid Rúmil farewell, and he hurried ahead of her, catching up to Haldir and Legolas. The grace of the Elves had allowed them to alight the stairs quickly and easily.
It was a far longer walk than Loena had realised, and she had to take two breaks before she broke through, stopping unsteadily as the stairs seemed to end, and the material beneath her feet had changed.
"Loena, just here," a voice pierced through her personalised darkness. Legolas came to lead her away from the top of the stairs, placing her hand onto his arm. Soon after her, she heard the sounds of Aragorn and Boromir. Then the hobbits, breathing hard, stacked up one after the other. Finally Gimli emerged at the end, who'd suffered the stairs worst of them all.
"The Lord and Lady are coming out now," Legolas said to her in his quick, soft voice.
"Greetings, to those who journeyed from Imladris," a new, male voice called out in the Common tongue. It would have been Celeborn. Each of the members of the Fellowship were greeted in turn, coming eventually to; "Welcome some of Thranduil! Too seldom do my kindred journey from the North. And welcome to the daughter of Rohan, too oft have we neighbours neglected the courtesy of meeting the other."
He was pleasant, and kind, but he turned grave quickly after they had all been named. "The enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you had in secrecy is now gone. Nine there are here, yet ten set off from Imladris. Where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar."
Loena grimaced at the name of their lost companion, and ducked her head. His loss pushed at her chest.
Galadriel spoke, her voice rich, and strong. "Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land. He has fallen into shadow."
All around them, the Elves gathered called out in their grief. It rose like a great tide, and Loena felt her soul cry out to join them. It felt as though they were each raising their voices for a great chorus.
"These are evil tidings," Celeborn said, emotion colouring his voice. "The most evil that have been spoken here in long years full of grievous deeds."
"He was taken by shadow and flame," Legolas, beside her, said bitterly. "A balrog of Morgoth. For we went needlessly into the net of Moria."
"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life," Galadriel chastised him gently. "We do not yet know his full purpose." She paused, and turned to Gimli. "Do not let the emptiness of Kazad-dúm fill your heart, Gimli son of Gloin. For the world has grown full of peril, and in all lands love is now mingled with grief."
Loena felt the same pressure on her head that she'd sensed as they walked through Lothlórien.
You stand at a crosswords, daughter of Leofwine.
She recognised the voice now, as that of Galadriel's. It filled her head, her mind. The pressure wasn't unpleasant, but she feared it. Could the lady read her thoughts?
Your fate has not yet been decided. And that fate is tied to the future of the Eorlingas.
Loena remembered, suddenly, and feeling foolish, that it had been Galadriel who had told Gandalf of the prophetic future her line claimed. She remembered the conversation with some surprise, and detachment. It felt like a life belonging to someone else.
She felt as though she no longer desired to know what the prophecy had said. She had not the energy to agonize over the words, and her purpose. She wanted to go home, to the arms of her mother, and ride her horse across the plains of her home. She wanted to see Edoras, golden in the sun, one last time before the unstoppable evil of Orthanc tore her kinsman from the ground like weeds from a garden.
She wanted to be held up. She was tired of standing alone.
She returned to the conversation as Celeborn said; "without Gandalf, hope is lost."
Loena tightened her jaw, agreeing.
"The quest stands upon the edge of a knife," Galadriel told them all. "Stray but a little, and it will fail to the ruin of all."
Loena had been given new clothes when those gifted from Elrond, filthy from months of travel, were sent off to wash. The transition from travel had been one desperately needed. She'd scrubbed the grime from her body as best as she could in the warm pools of spring water gathered at the base of some of the broad, grand trees.
She dismissed the Elf who had brought her new clothes to her and set to work. She spent rather more time than necessary figuring out how the buttons and folds worked with her hands. The fabric was soft beneath her fingers, and she enjoyed the challenge. The Elven material was cool against her cleaned skin, and she felt refreshed. Almost human.
The Elves had set them up a space to rest on the ground. They collected soft couches and pillows and had lain them out with sweet-smelling blankets. The site was space enough for a warm fire to stave off the chill of the fall of night. Loena was relieved that they hadn't been given one of the talan's, for she was certain that she'd awake in the morning, and without thinking to check with her hands, step innocently into empty air.
When Loena had returned to the camp with the help of one of the passing Elves, Aragorn called to her.
"Hello, Aragorn," she said.
"Walk with me, Loena," he said.
Loena rubbed a hand across her aching eyes. "I would, my friend, but I would also sleep."
"This will not take long," he promised, and she felt him come up beside her, and take her arm in his, like they were a lord and lady walking into court. "I have some things I wish to speak with you about."
Loena knew refusing would make her seem petulant, and irritable, but she was close to not caring. To make up for it, she was obstinately silent as they walked, making no effort to start a conversation, and pulled her lips into a surly grimace.
"There is something that has been unclear to me for a long while, Loena," Aragorn said, finally, after a while of walking. They stopped, and he directed her to sit on the root of a large tree. He sat beside her. "Why did you volunteer for the quest?"
Loena stopped in surprise. She hadn't thought much about her decision after making it. "Gandalf brought me to Imladris to fulfil the role of my ancestor. You know this, Aragorn."
"I know that he told you to sit upon the council as a representative of your line and kin, yes," Aragorn allowed her. "But he could not have intended for you to join the company. He did not know of its existence before Frodo volunteered himself."
"He knew the Ring had to be destroyed," Loena argued.
"And the original thinking was that only one person would take it to the fires of Mount Doom," Aragorn countered. "That was changed with Frodo." Loena heard the pause, and wondered if he were watching her over, checking for any signs of tension. "I do not see that he had intended you to bear the Ring. Merely that you would have some role to play as we structured our opposition against the two towers."
"Gandalf was not resistant when I volunteered my sword," Loena argued, though she was curious what Gandalf had had in mind for her before the Fellowship had formed. "None were. If I were not meant to be on this quest, he or Elrond would have raised some objection."
"Perhaps," Aragorn allowed. "But that does still not explain why you decided to volunteer your sword to begin with." He paused. "There was no pressure from Gandalf, and with myself and Boromir, the race of Men had been represented already."
"I…" Loena had been about to say that she had volunteered to represent Rohan, but the words died at her lips as she realised that they were untrue. "I was at the Council to fight for my people. And the quest was an opportunity to do that. With the Ring destroyed, Orthanc will fall, and Rohan will be thrust from the darkness that has enveloped it."
"There were nine of us gone already," Aragorn pressed, and Loena, beginning to become irritated, wondered what point he wanted her to arrive at. "Nine or ten in a mission of discretion is not much different."
Loena paused, because he was touching on something that had tortured her in the days leading up to leaving Imladris.
She wasn't of them. She had none of their stature, nor importance. She wasn't even the blood of her King. If she'd been the princess of Rohan, then she might have felt differently, but…she wasn't. Boromir was heir to the Stewardship, and was a captain of Gondor. Aragorn was the blood of Isildur. Legolas was the son of the Elven lord of Mirkwood, Gimli was nephew to a great lord of Dwarvendom, Gandalf was the Grey Wizard, with a staff of magic. What was she? She had some command and authority as the ensign within the eored, that was true, and she had a relationship with Éomer and Éowyn. She was the blood of an ancient line, that was true as well, a line with prophetic ambitions.
But that wasn't enough. Baldor's line had had the aspiration to return to its grandeur for generations, and it hadn't. There was nothing innately special about them, excepting their opportunity by birthright.
She was a woman, and her gender was rarely the fighting type. She wasn't as strong a fighter as Boromir and Aragorn. She couldn't shoot an arrow like Legolas could, and axes were too heavy for her to swing. She didn't have the hardiness and steadfastness of the Hobbits.
Her hopelessness deepened.
And since her blindness, she'd been more of a hindrance than a help. She'd slain two orc, that was true, but the others had slain many.
In her heart, she knew the answer. She knew why she was hopeless now, and why she'd been adrift since her sight had been stolen from her.
"I desired the Ring," Loena said finally, heavily. "I justified it to myself by pretending that Gandalf had always intended on me accompanying the Quest, but I had no hope in destroying it."
Aragorn was quiet for a long while beside her. "I desired it too, when I first saw it."
Loena looked up in surprise. She had expected Aragorn to react in anger, to command her to return to the halls of Edoras. "Not as I, my friend."
"It is true that your desire overwhelmed your better judgment," Aragorn conceded. "But the Ring is more powerful than we could ever properly understand, Loena. Gandalf was right; Saruman had created the chink in your armour, and the grief of the sliding darkness of your country cracked it open." Aragorn paused, and when he spoke again, there was more emotion in his voice. "And in the end, you upheld your oath, and you rejected the Ring."
Loena was quiet, mulling over his words. Then finally, she said; "Galadriel has told me that I face a crossroads here." She paused. "I do not think we should be delicate when it comes to me, anymore Aragorn. It is clear that I am no longer any use on this quest. I cannot even walk without assistance, let alone raise a sword against the terrors of Mordor."
"We still have hope in the healing medicine of the Elves," Aragorn reminded her.
Loena remembered the words spoken to her as she'd walked through the woods. You shall not find what it is you seek here. She spoke them allowed to Aragorn, and explained the nature of how she'd heard them.
Aragorn considered them for a moment, tasting them properly. Finally, he said; "I have come to Lothlórien before, and many other Elven settlements apart from that. I know that the language the Elves use is purposefully vague, and even misleading. Galadriel – for it was Galadriel who spoke with you – could have meant many things."
"But it is a possibility," Loena countered, feeling miserable, properly, now. She hadn't expected Aragorn to fight against the idea of her returning to Rohan, and had no idea he had so much hope in her seeing again. She had wanted a swift conversation about it, one to be held in the coming days. She would say her farewells to her friends and journey the short distance to Edoras. "One we must contend with."
Aragorn paused. "No oaths bound you to go further than you will," he said finally. "I cannot force you to stay, and I do not mean to."
"And besides my blindness," Loena added, suddenly. "You were right. There is no essentiality to my being here. And my motives for joining were impure to begin with."
"An extra sword is always welcome," Aragorn said softly. And then, with more feeling; "I worry that you don't see your contribution clearly, and I never meant to intend that you have been a mere straggler. I merely questioned your motives for joining because I worried that you, yourself, had no clarity on the matter." He paused, and then, with more emotion, "Please believe that I know that you are kind, Loena, and fearless, and determined."
"What have I accomplished, thus far?" Loena demanded. "What historical evidence do you have that I ought to stay? That I am as you so profess?"
"You tracked with Legolas as we walked through the woods from Imladris," Aragorn said readily. "You taught the hobbits how to hold their swords. You spoke well with each of us, and eased some of our pain."
"Legolas could have scouted by himself—"
"But he didn't—"
"Boromir taught the hobbits more than I did, all I really did was help them along—"
"That is unfair on yourself, Loena, you taught them many essential things—"
"And you could have spoken to any one of the company, any of them would have taken the time—"
"Enough," Aragorn stopped her, his voice now noble, now grave.
But Loena was not finished. "And all of that is overbalanced out by how much hurt I have cost the Fellowship; first by my desire for the Ring, and then for all the assistance I required thereafter."
"You have not convinced me," Aragorn told her. "And I am disappointed that this is all it has taken to convince yourself. A person's influence should not be measured in single, grand accomplishments. More than this, I know it in my heart. There is a way that this is all playing out that matters in the end. I know it." He paused, before saying; "I would apologise if I thought that my line of questioning brought about this response, but I do not believe that to be true." Another pause, before, "you must hold yourself to a higher standard, Loena."
"Why did you seek to talk to me, if you were to be unsatisfied with my answer!" Loena exploded, frustrated.
Aragorn had become quiet again, and sad. "Because I had noticed you drifting, and I wanted to see if I could pull you back to us." He sighed. "I wish Gandalf were here. He always understood how people worked and reacted better than I."
Loena swallowed, and she felt the thickness of her grief against her throat. "As do I."