Shiros was melancholic and forlorn in the following days. She stayed far from Boromir and retreated into herself. She did not participate in conversation during their meals or rests other than curt answers. The scarf was back around her mouth and nose to hide the extent to which Boromir's words had stung.
Legolas fell to back to where she sulked. In an attempt to cheer her, he asked more about her language, making sure they were well out of earshot of Boromir. Aragorn glanced at them and walked ahead to distract Boromir.
"What does meh-keer mean? You often call the hobbits that."
"Meh-heerr." she corrected softly. The 'h' was harsh, and it came from the back of the throat where the back of the tongue pressed against the roof of the mouth. The 'r' was slightly rolled, clipping the end of the word. He tried it again, but it was not quite correct. It was an odd contortion of his voice, different from the velvety quality to the elven languages. This was sibilant. But one day, he would master the pronunciation. "Mechir. It means 'little one.' Mechim for 'little ones.' It's a term of endearment."
"And ath-ee-g-knee?" She frowned. When had he heard her say that?
"Just before we left Imladris."
"Ah-hig-nay. Athigne ni Eru." The 'h' again a hiss. The 't' was silent. "Eru's blessing. Breld athigne ni Eru irtha. It means 'Eru's blessing be with us.'"
"Breld athigne ni Eru irtha," he repeated. His Elvish heritage made itself clear through his mispronunciations, but then again, her accent was present when she spoke Sindarin and Westron. "It's beautiful."
She smiled under her mask. It was a strange but pleasant experience for someone to take interest in her language, and Legolas had been rather adamant about learning it. It was the first time she had shared it with outsiders, and he was a quick learner. He had already mastered the alphabet. She taught him a few more basic words and phrases, still promising to detail the grammar at another time. It would take some time to explain it.
Their lessons were put on hold during their next break. While Aragorn and Boromir continued to teach the hobbits how to use a sword, Shiros was crouched next to the wizard on a rock with Legolas not far behind them. Her gaze was not focused on the practice fighting nor towards the mountains Gimli pined after. Rather, she stared at nothing. There was a gnawing pain in her stomach, and tremors were beginning to wrack her body. Her breaths were deep and even, but several waves of shakes caused her to physically shiver. A quick glance of her hand confirmed her worry; it trembled. Legolas and Gandalf witnessed it as well. Noticing their concerned stares, she spoke words of reassurance. Nothing more than a bout of fatigue that would pass with proper food and rest. Neither were convinced.
Earlier in the journey, Gandalf had provided their path – they were to travel west of the Misty Mountains for forty days. If their luck held, they would take the Gap of Rohan, and from there, they would go east to Mordor. Though they drew closer to her beloved Rhûn, Shiros was not filled with relief but dread and fear. Several days had come and gone since then, but Gimli continued to hold a grudge.
"If anyone were to ask for my opinion, which I note they have not, I would say we are taking the long way round," he grumbled. "Gandalf, we can pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome."
Gandalf would not have it. "No, Gimli. I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice."
There would be no more conversation, and Shiros tentatively patted Gimli's shoulder in an attempt at comfort, but the dwarf was inconsolable in his frustration. Another wave of shakes stuttered her breath, and Legolas forced her to rest. He chastised her for not taking care of her self. Under his stern, unwavering watch, Shiros shifted onto her back and closed her eyes. The sun was cold.
It was Legolas who saw the Crebain first, but it was Shiros who smelled them. She bolted upright. The wind carried the disgust of hundreds of rancid breaths, and the air filled with an overwhelming smell of decay and carnage. The shrieks grew louder and the smells stronger as they flew closer, and Shiros bent down and pressed a hand over her mouth and nose. She wanted to warn them but when she opened her mouth, she gagged.
Legolas warned the Fellowship urgently. "Crebain from Dunland!"
There was a mad scramble to douse the fire and destroy any signs of their stay. Packs and weapons were grabbed, members were forced under any shelter they could find – stone outcroppings, divers, bushes, shrubbery. Shiros herself slid under a tangle of thick bramble branches. Her body curled inward, and hands were balled around the scarf she had tightly pressed to her nose. Her eyes watered at the smell, and she tried to breathe as little as possible.
The tension unfurled once the beasts were further away, and Shiros gasped, drawing in large breaths. Legolas, who had hidden under the rock just outside her patch, noticed her struggle and helped pull her from the tangle of branches. Shiros hardly had time to thank him before she was pulling her scarf drown and dry retching over the bush. Legolas stayed by her side, hovering a hand over her back. After a minute, she was able to stand straight, and Legolas sent Pippin to fetch him Shrios' pack and water skin. She took them gratefully and dug into the bag to pull out an unknown herb. He did not see much of it before it was swallowed with grimace. Shiros nearly gagged again and drank deeply from the water skin. Legolas continued to hover over her. Her reaction was not normal, but Shiros continued to claim health. He withheld his frustration at her obvious lying when it became clear she would not answer otherwise.
"Spies of Saruman. The passage south is being watched." Gandalf looked at the Fellowship and gestured to the high mountain pass. "We must take the Pass of Caradhras."
It left a sour taste in everyone's mouths, and Shiros privately pulled Gandalf aside. Speaking in her native tongue so they could not understand her, the others saw her speak more expressively and more desperately. She seemed to both wilt and grow angry with each counter Gandalf gave her. A shaky hand was cast in the direction of the white peaks. Her breathing was ragged.
"Shiros!" Gandalf's yell brought her from her panic. He spoke calmly to her and pointed in the direction behind them. She nodded slowly, not entirely reassured, and picked up her weapons from where she had stolen them away and headed down the path they'd just travelled. Gandalf solemnly watched her go and turned to the group.
"Worry not about Shiros; she simply does not like cold and snowy lands." The half-truth was given halfheartedly and did nothing to soothe the unease brewing amongst the Fellowship, who exchanged looks between themselves. None were fond of the cold, but none had reacted like Shiros. Her apparent 'dislike' bordered on hysteria and terror. "I have sent her to gather food for the way ahead will be barren. Let us stay here for the night lest the Crebain find us on the open road."
The Fellowship was exhausted, and they were not greatly inclined to argue with the wizard. They reestablished their camp and kept a watchful eye on the sky. The Crebain flew overhead once more to return to Mordor. Shiros waited for the threat of the Crebain to pass before reappearing at the camp, carrying a string of three field rabbits and two grassland birds. She tried to appear composed and strong, but everyone noted her anxiety. After laying the game at Sam's feet, Shiros retreated to a rock separate from the group and started sharpening her arrow tips with a whetstone from her pack. The repetitious movement sought to soothe her. It was a common practice amongst those who travelled long stretches; Aragorn and Legolas themselves had used it to escape boredom and to distract the mind.
Pippin stared at her faint outline. "Is she alright, Gandalf?"
"Of course. I suspect Shiros will be fine for the time being." Fine but not well.
"Have you known her for long? You seem to know a lot." Merry's question captured the attention of the Fellowship, who failed to eavesdrop subtly. It was a question that'd been on all of their minds.
"Hm? Yes, I have known Shiros for many, many years. But you are a fool if you believe I will divulge the details of her life. They are hers alone to tell."
"Do we not have a right to know?" Boromir's voice was not quiet, and Legolas noticed Shiros pause in her sharpening. She was listening. "She is an Easterling, one of Gondor's sworn enemies. I have been asked much to look past that, but I cannot sit in ignorance and be told to have patience. What separates her from those who'd allied themselves with Sauron and ransacked my people!?"
"Boromir!" Aragorn and Gandalf admonished simultaneously, and Aragorn's eyes flashed warningly. 'My people.' Boromir fell quiet, and the absence of blade on stone was deafening. Legolas knew she was holding her breath. In anticipation or in sorrow, he could not tell.
Surprisingly, it was Frodo who came to her defense. "Lord Elrond trusted Shiros enough to join the Fellowship," he said. The Ring-Bearer lowered his voice and continued, "Though I do not know her well, I trust her."
"Have faith in Shiros for a little longer, Boromir," Aragorn added placatingly, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "We do not know what guides her silence, but we cannot be quick to condemn. And Frodo is right; we should trust in Lord Elrond's judgement."
Boromir huffed and took his leave for the night. Pippin and Merry attempted to fill the awkward atmosphere with conversation, and Shiros' sharpening continued. One-by-one, they retreated for their bedrolls until only Legolas and Shiros were awake, though it was not her turn to keep guard. Legolas had noticed she'd been sleeping less and less as their journey progressed and when she did fall into the abyss it was unkind to her. He did not remember her sleeping last night or the one before it. Though the tremor from earlier was gone, she jeopardized it returning. He joined her on the rock.
"You should sleep," Legolas told her softly in Sindarin.
"I can't." She sounded terribly tired. "I close my eyes, and I have terrible dreams. I see snow and fire, and I feel a frost too cold and a blaze too hot. I see stars, but they are in disarray and corrupted. I think about Boromir…" She rested her head on her hands. "I should not have reacted as I did that night. My anger had gotten away from me, and now he believes himself justified in his view of me."
He shifted. The animosity was perpetrated by both parties, and there would be no solving it without forgiveness, compromise, and compassion. "Will you pardon Boromir?" he petitioned on the Gondorian's part.
"I will." She looked to the night sky with a heavy heart. Seeing the stars in their natural position always calmed her. "He does not understand, nor do I not think I can make him. His prejudice runs deep, and I cannot not blame him. But," she clutched at the fabric over her chest, "my native language is precious to me. It is one of the few things I have left of my people. I fear that if I lose it, I will have nothing except a distorted legacy."
"I'm afraid do not understand, mellon nin," Legolas confessed. "You speak of an endangered people, but the Easterlings still live."
"That is because I am not of Easterling descent, despite what Boromir claims. Their native tongue is not mine, I do not follow their traditions. I was merely beget and raised in Rhûn – my blood is of something much older. My people are do not have a land anymore to call ours, so we wander. We are so few now, and I fear we will not be for much longer. Then Boromir's wish will be true. He resents me for something I am not but will also resent me for the thing I am."
He pitied her. Being part of a dying people, losing a home, a language, a culture – a truly horrendous thought. He, as an elf, knew how things bloomed and faded and were lost throughout the ages. Several Elvish cities were no more, and many of his people were sailing from the Grey Havens. But there were still thriving nations of elves; he was a prince of one. They had their homes, their customs, and they had the other elves. Her people possessed none of that. He was overcome by compassion for her loneliness.
"Come," he beckoned her to the spot next to him. Tentatively, she inched closer and laid down at his request. He began to sing an Elvish lullaby. She fought against its pull to sleep until he rested a hand on her furrowed brow. "Your mind and body are weary. Sleep."
Slowly, she calmed and drifted into a slumber that carried her through to the morning, one devoid of terrors.
Her attitude was improved after her first night of well-resting since leaving Rivendell, and she thanked Legolas profusely. 'Mir goil diod lurn' – 'My many thanks to you.' He gave her a bright smile and told her it was nothing. He was happy to help and see her healthy. If there was a tinge of red to her cheeks, she would fervently deny it.
"Brelda rir mir sulth." 'It is my pleasure.' She applauded him enthusiastically. The pronunciation was nearly perfect, just needing to roll the 'r's more.
"Brelda tin al gulni narisha, Legolas! Beph, breldich tin al inchali nos min," she praised him joyfully. He ducked his head and asked for the translation as they packed their belongings. "You are learning quickly. Soon, you will be speaking like me. It has been too long since I have heard someone other than Gandalf speak my language, and your voice is much more pleasant to listen to." If there was any sort of rose on the tips of his ears, he would fervently deny it. He did not miss Aragorn's pointed grin.
But the comfort of the morning could only last so long, and Shiros' apprehension returned as they started towards the Pass of Caradhras. Legolas provided a wonderful distraction, but even his energy waned. The poor hobbits were dead on their feet, spirits low. A frown did not seem natural on their otherwise happy faces. The way the sun glinted off of the snow reminded her of its reflection upon the Sea of Rhûn, and she remarked as such. Thinking of Rhûn made her heart light, and she recounted her first encounter with one of the Blue Wizards. He'd appeared from nowhere on the banks, and she'd nearly fallen into the water in fright. His name was something lovely, but try as she might, it eluded her. They looked to Gandalf for help, but he did not know either.
"I, too, have quite forgotten, and whatever name you knew him by is certainly not the name I would recognize."
"Why is that?" Merry asked.
"Our names change with the Age so it seems."
Shiros cleared her throat and continued her tale. "It was the Blue Wizard who pointed me this way when he had found me after a terrible dream. I was supposed to arrive in Imladris days before I did, but a flood had delayed me two weeks. And Rohan…" she frowned. "There was a blanket of sickness over the plains, and I was wary to pass through it. I was forced to move slowly and cautiously, but it was better than journeying close to Isengard."
"You knew Saruman had turned?"
"No. A warning came to me in another dream and diverted my path from the White Wizard's land. I did not learn of his misdeeds until I'd arrived in Imladris."
"You have met two Istari. That is quite the honor," Aragorn said. Many would go their whole lives without meeting a one much less two Maiar. There were no stories of the Blue Wizards in the East, and he was eager to hear more. Though the meeting had been brief, Shiros described him as splendid. Mellow and tranquil if not a bit morose. It was a great fortune to meet him. Gandalf hmphed, and Shiros rolled her eyes. It was a great pleasure to have met the Grey Wizard as well.
Legolas went next, describing his first encounter with Gandalf, but soon the stories dwindled as fatigue settled in their bones. The path grew steeper and colder with their quick work in climbing the mountains to the Pass, and the mood chilled with the temperature. Snow came up to the hobbits and the dwarf's thighs and brushed the knees of the other races. It dampened and weighed down their clothes. Shiros had never held any ill will towards Legolas but seeing him run atop the snow and remain unbothered by the icy wind that lashed at their face and clothes made her bitter. He alone went ahead to scout out the passage while Shiros was left shivering miserably next to the hobbits. Pippin practically huddled against her side in hopes to leech some warmth, but she was no warmer than him.
They were made colder by the slick ice hidden under the powdery cover that caused them to stumble and slip, drenching their fronts and backs with snow. Partly through their journey up to the Pass, Frodo became a victim to the ice's tricks and tumbled backwards. Aragorn and Shiros, who were traveling nearest to him, rushed to catch him. They picked up the halfling and helped him stand. Shiros bent to brush the snow of his cloak and chest and froze. Her eyes were wide, and she patted his chest again.
"Where's the Ring, Frodo?" she whispered. Frodo felt his chest frantically and panicked when he could not feel it around his neck. He searched the snow around him, but the Ring was not there. Shiros spotted the chain some paces away and went to retrieve it, but someone else grabbed it first. Boromir stared in awe, entranced.
"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing." He was mesmerized by the gold band.
Aragorn called his name in warning, and Shiros' hand was deceptively relaxed on her sword's hilt, prepared to strike at any moment. But Boromir handed the ring back to the dark-haired hobbit and ruffled the curls. Her breath return only once the Captain of Gondor turned his back. Legolas waited for her and fell into step, wrapping his cloak around her shoulders.
"Can you feel it? The Ring's effects on Boromir?" she whispered to him. Deep in her heart, something turned at the thought. The Ring was already seducing him. Every day, she heard its call but denied it. Her resolve was wavering but not broken. What was the state of Boromir's?
It wasn't long before a blizzard set upon them and blocked the sun. The sky became muddled and dark, and snow and wind relentlessly pelted them from every direction. It was so cold that Shiros' fingers were tinted blue under her gloves and thick, fur coat. Oh, to be an elf! She scowled at Legolas as he remained largely unaffected by the cold, though he'd been forced to take back his light cloak. Noticing Merry's windburned cheeks over Boromir's shoulder, she unwrapped her scarf and pulled it around Boromir's neck so it covered Merry's face. The Gondorian looked at her own pale, chapped lips and nonstop trembling and begrudgingly expressed his thanks. The Fellowship edged towards a thin ledge with a steep drop. Shiros clung tightly to the rocks, keeping her eyes on the figures ahead and not below. Heights of this extent disagreed with her.
"There's a foul voice on the air," Legolas alerted them from his lead. Shiros scanned the blurry distance, but the voice's origin was obscured.
While she was not the first to react to the breaking of rocks overhead, she was the quickest to react and dove to draw Boromir and the hobbits in his arms away from the edge. They were buried by feet of heavy snow a second later. For a moment, there was a blackness and then all she could see was white and all she felt was cold. Her mind was slow to process what had happened, and she was still in a daze when Gimli's digging reached her and he pulled her out. She gasped like she was deprived of air, and Gimli helped her stand on wobbly legs. Her head was buzzing, and she wavered. Legolas caught her before she could fall and let her lean against him. Boromir was shouting at Gandalf, desperately trying to convince him to abandon this path and make for the Gap of Rohan, but his words were ignored. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach as Gimli spoke of the Mines of Moria. Frodo decided their new path.
The journey from the Pass of Caradhras to the Mines of Moria took the weary travellers a full day. They were cold, wet, and anxious. They were utterly exhausted, but their guards could not be dropped. Shiros thrummed her fingers along her sword's hilt, constantly looking over her shoulder. Her moment of dizziness had passed, though a purple bruise formed over her left eyebrow. She detested mountains. She had never been to the Orocarni, the Red Mountains, to the far northeast of Middle-Earth, but she had been to the very edges of the Grey Mountains once. She hated the mountains. They were desolate and barren of food. They were cold and enclosed. The hills and forests around the Sea of Rhûn were open and bountiful if one knew how to navigate them. Mountains and deep cave systems were not.
However, she could admit that the Walls of Moria were a sight to see, so tall and imposing. If in better tidings, she would have been pleased to see them. The Fellowship moved cautiously around the dark lake resting in front of the Walls, and Shiros watched it ripple in the distance uneasily. Gandalf approached the stone and brushed away the dirt to trace an inscription. She had heard stories of Dwarven doors, but seeing the doorway appear under the soft gaze of moonlight took her breath away. Gimli looked on with pride at the work of his kin.
Gandalf translated the Tengwar. "It reads, 'The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.'"
Elves and their infamous vagueness. Even Legolas was confused. Merry asked the question on her mind, "What do you suppose that means?"
"Oh, it's quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open."
It did seem simple enough until Gandalf's Elvish chant was denied. His second attempt yielded no success either.
"Nothing's happening," Pippin remarked.
"I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves…Men…Orcs," the wizard muttered to himself.
"What are you going to do then?"
"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words."
Shiros gently guided Pippin away from the angry wizard and placed him beside his cousin. The others soon settled at the edge of the dark lake to rest their weary legs. Shiros, at the quiet request of Legolas, went into an uneasy sleep with his help. It would take time, he promised her. Enough that she was not needed now. He vowed he would wake her, but it was unnecessary; the grinding of stone against stone jarred her to awareness, and the doors to Moria opened before her eyes. She scrambled to her feet to join them in the dark opening but stumbled and slapped a hand over her nose.
"Soon Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves." Shiros coughed noisily. "Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone—"
"Gimli," she hoarsely called to him, but he did not hear. At the front of the group, Gandalf created a light and looked into the dark.
The dwarf was oblivious. "—This, my friend, is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a Mine. A Mine!"
"Gimli!" Her voice was harsher and louder, finally drawing attention to what lied around them.
"This isn't a mine," Boromir said in a horrified whisper. "It's a tomb."
Skeletons covered the ground, covered over with dust and cobwebs, coating the air with a scent of decay. Goblin arrows littered the bodies. They drew their weapons and made to retreat. But what Aragorn had feared to disturb, what Shiros had sensed in the lake, had awaken, and the Watcher in the Water grabbed Frodo. Being the closest, Shiros hacked at the tentacles, but one harsh swipe had her thrown into a rock. She cried out and clutched at her ribs. The beast dangled Frodo over its mouth. Boromir and Aragorn slashed at it with greater viciousness, and the Watcher writhed with each cut until it lost grip of Frodo. Boromir caught him and ran.
"Into the Mines!" Gandalf yelled.
Shiros pushed herself off the rock and sprinted into the darkness. Running past Merry, she caught the back of his shirt and hauled him in front of her. The Watcher swarmed the Door, trying to get through to them. But stone is breakable. Behind them, the Watcher brought down the rocks, and the Door was sealed.
They were left in total darkness Shiros blindly felt around her for a sense of orientation but gasped sharply when she felt a skull crack under her hand. She scrambled back and knocked into a strong body, who steadied her.
"We now have but one choice." Gandalf's staff illuminated the mine, and Shiros looked up into the face of Boromir. He helped her upright, and for a moment they stared.
"Thank you," she whispered, and he nodded. They quickly moved apart, and Shiros retreated to Merry and Pippin.
"We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world," Gandalf warned as he guided them further into Moria. "Quietly now. It's a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed."
General Notes:
Firstly, I want to say that I have not yet read the books in their entireties, so most of this is coming from the internet (sorry!)
The Blue Wizards: The two Blue Wizards travelled the East, and their original names were Alatar and Pallando. Not much is known about them really. The names Morinehtar (Darkness-slayer) and Rómestámo (Helper of the East) were also tossed around. It's unclear whether these were the names given to a new set of people or just new names for the Blue Wizards. I like the second theory, so that's what I'm going with.
Language Notes:
- Mechir (pl. Mechim): Little One(s)
- Athigne ni Eru: Eru's blessing (blessing of Eru)
- Breld athigne ni Eru irtha: Eru's blessing be with us
- Mir goil diod lurn: My many thanks to you (Thank you)
- Brelda rir mir sulth: It is my pleasure (You're welcome)
- Brelda tin al gulni narisha, Legolas!: You are learning quickly, Legolas!
- Beph, breldich tin al inchali nos min: Soon, you will be speaking like me
