Chapter 4
They had been nearly two months in the House of Elrond, and November had gone by with the last shreds of autumn, and December was passing, when the scouts began to return. They brought tidings from far afield; some venturing the great distance to Mirkwood, and others returning from the South. Yet none had travelled right down to the south, and followed the Anduin to its last. There war was arising, and the peril of the hour becoming apparent – there was it felt most greatly, and there it was that the Fellowship was headed.
For his part, Elrond had not forgotten the last words of the Mariel, and neither had he forgotten his suspicion. But as he knew he could not, or would not prevent her departing with the Company, he began to hope vainly that she would not return to fulfil her promise. Days rolled into weeks, weeks became months, and no news came from Mariel; and although not satisfied, the mind of Elrond was comforted, for the moment.
And so the day came for the Company to leave. There was, rather than sorrow, a sober realisation that sat heavy on all those assembled: Elrond amongst them. Talk and speculation was finally becoming reality. Bilbo waved goodbye to the hobbits and the Ranger, with whom he was close friends, and the pale silhouettes of the Fellowship – four small hobbits, two tall men, a dwarf, an elf and a wizard – eventually faded from sight and sound of those gathered by in Elrond's house. The hour was grave.
But suddenly, out of the forest and into the pale morning light, a figure and horse came bolting out, breaking the silence and disturbing the quiet doubt. The figure astride the horse wore a sword at their hip: underneath their cloak their mail was bound tightly and a bag was slung across their back in the manner of a weatherworn traveller. They wore boots of thin but strong fibre and in addition to the long blade, a small dagger was fastened on the opposite side. The figure dismounted swiftly and leapt to the ground with light grace; the cloak flew back, and in a second the rider's garments underneath were revealed. Only then did Elrond realise it was a woman.
Mariel stood there, proud and determined – silently forcefully as she had been at the council. She wore a rider's gear but her shirt was fashioned so that it hung a little below the belt, like a neat skirt. She bore her sword with apparent ease and her hands were bound with tight linen woven into a glove. There was no helm on her head, but the crown had vanished and her hair – once so long and boundless – was fastened back with no visible holding. She stood both elegant and threatening, determined in her task. She wore grey, and against the dim light of the early day her eyes sparked more than ever.
For a while no one spoke. Then Elrond said.
"Lady Mariel has returned. The Fellowship is complete." And he sounded none of the resentment and suspicion that was playing on his heart.
"Forgive me," said Mariel, addressing them all. "I had not meant to delay nor discredit you. I have been travelling these past months, and it is nothing that I say against your fair house, Lord Elrond. I am grateful to still find my place in the Company."
"Lady Mariel," said another, and turning Mariel saw that it was Aragorn. "I do not wish you ill, yet you ride a horse and the rest of us walk, and though we are pleased of your return we must hasten away while the day is still fresh. Do you bring your horse or not?"
Mariel smiled. "I do not," she said. "And your feelings are not those of ill. I shall walk with you, for how unfair is it to bear myself on horseback whilst the rest bear themselves on foot? Finrodel shall remain here, if Lord Elrond will have him, and enjoy the gentle company of the Elves."
"I will take him," replied Elrond. "Although he may be restless, while his Lady walks abroad."
"He is faithful," agreed Mariel, "and will know if I am in need. I ask of you only that he should be allowed to walk free should he so choose; he will come if my situation requires it."
Elrond bowed his head. "It shall be so."
And so the Company – full now with the final member – began their long journey, across hills and mountains, rough and easy terrain and into a peril that none could imagine. Through the course of the days – forty days and forty nights, by Gandalf's reckoning – the Fellowship spoke freely to one another, Mariel among them. As the days lengthened and weeks dragged forwards, they began to settle with the other nine who accompanied them. Tales were told, and secrets disclosed – though none of desperate importance, and all of them a far cry than anything that might surprise Mariel. But still throughout the long days and rough nights, Mariel felt the dividing walls of preconceptions drop from around her Company members as they began to install more and more trust in her, and ever did she hope to hear of information that could be of use to the council – something to revive their faith in her. Yet none came. To the world around, the bearers of what Mariel guessed to be the greatest secrets, the grim ranger and the ill-tempered wizard, kept adamantly silent: and the journey proceeded without her even coming close to the confidence of Aragorn and Gandalf.
There were others though, who lightened her heart from its grave and unspoken purpose. The small hobbits proved sturdier than expected, and of irreplaceable good humour. Of the youngest Mariel was especially fond – the mischievous hobbit Peregrin: subdued somewhat by the seriousness of the Quest and often reprimanded the older members of the group, but still with an unquenchable cheerfulness that could provide a light in dark times. With his friend Meriadoc they battled to bear in mind the responsibility of what they had undertaken, but it was not the nature of hobbits to be overly serious, and they couldn't help but jest, even when the road looked unending. Mariel looked at them and wondered if eternal life could really bring the happiness she saw in the Halflings. She pitied the Ring bearer, but perceived in him a much stronger heart than any of his companions. It was perhaps only to be rivalled by his friend, Samwise, who showed more and more each day the steadfast loyalty of true companionship. In her deepest heart, Mariel knew this would prove a problem before the end.
There was one other whose company she especially enjoyed though. The other man, Boromir, the Heir of the Stewardship and proud with the knowledge of his bloodline. He was strong-willed, and resilient to the point of denying the desire that she could see burned inside him. She tried to ignore this, because it reminded her too greatly of the very same desire which branded her own treacherous heart.
She was distant from the elf and from the dwarf also. Gimli she had little to say to, though she doubted his honour and loyalty not. But of the elf Legolas she was wary, for being millennia old herself she was surprised at how different their attitudes appeared. For her part she was weary and regretful of the decision of her forefathers, yet he seemed tireless and beautiful in his gratitude for the long life bestowed on him. Yet Mariel knew she should not be shocked. She was an elf of Sueth, and he of Middle earth, and the feelings of the two had never been one and the same, but rather opposed and conflicting. Sueth people were bitter, Mariel knew, and never had she felt it so in her own heart, than when she spoke to the tall fair elf of Mirkwood, and felt the natural grace of his temperament.
And so they proceeded. Slow yet steady was their course, and hopes, though restrained, were higher than might be expected on such a hopeless mission. Yet Mariel knew that the way ahead would soon grow darker, weak though the details of Middle Earth were in her memory. She heard Gandalf and Aragorn speaking in undertones after dark, and whispering aside from the company in the hope that they might not dismay them. But still Mariel had overheard the name.
Moria. That was the way if Caradhras was closed to them. She prayed it would not come to that.
She told nothing of her doubts to the others, and for their part they remained silent or oblivious. Winter racked the wilderness, and the company proceeded into an ungovernable fate.
* * *
Leagues behind them, though not lost to their path, Amdenia rode fiercely. It was fortunate for Aradstar that he was bred by Sueth, and strong-willed to the extent of aggression. Amdenia's riding could drive a horse to death, and in her many years on the earth, many had fallen at her demands. She rode with the determination of Rohan, yet with none of their respect for the beast beneath her. Her consideration was to the speed and distance, nothing more.
She rode now in fading daylight. She had found it essential to replenish her supplies at a small town, about a mile out from the road – she was aware of the barrenness before her, and knew of the scarcity of civilisation further out. She rode on behind the Fellowship with grim intent. She herself was lacking in faith of Mariel: not of her loyalty, because that was guaranteed no matter. But more so was she concerned of her sensitivity. She knew Mariel was surprisingly compassionate for people of their race. The only one, in fact. In Sueth there was no love, only bitterness for the curse of old bestowed forever on their realm and its people. A curse that could only be lifted by the quest the people of Sueth now undertook, as the armies massed in the south and the one ring set out.
And yet they sent Mariel. Amdenia was not surprised. Mariel's grace and gentle temperament was the only deception that Sueth had to offer. None other could fool the wise immortals of Middle Earth. Mariel was more like an elf of Middle Earth herself than of Sueth.
But despite her hard exterior, Amdenia was more sympathetic than appeared. She knew what it was to love. Aradstar strode forward with even greater speed as Amdenia now forced him on – tears in her eyes and aggression in her heels as she thought of the one she had loved. Aradstar snorted in pain: Amdenia was digging her feet so tightly into his flanks that her almost reared in shock. Amdenia was oblivious; trees sped by and the path spread out long before her, but she paid it no heed. Her thoughts were now far away.
It had been long ago: so long it was almost lost to the depths of her memory. She was millennia old, but almost at her 3000th year before she realised she didn't know all that she had thought. Before then she had been vain and arrogant – drunk on the ecstasy of her own beauty that was hers by right of bloodline, and confident with her own knowledge. But she had grown restless of the confines of Sueth, and assumed herself wise enough to walk all the paths of Middle Earth. She had ventured further afield, and grown more obnoxious – dismissive with her own skill.
Yet one time, travelling further east than ever before she had dared, she had met him. The one she had loved; the one she still loved. More than anything, with all the heart that she so desperately tried to conceal from all others. And somewhere in the vast possibilities of Middle Earth, he still dwelt. Somewhere he survived, probably remembering her, though maybe indifferent to the unbearable pain that tore across her heart –across the emotions that she swore she did not possess.
And she still loved him. She remembered those wonderful hours with him, the precious years that had seemed to stop time itself. But now they were gone. With her better judgement, they were no longer possible.
She resented her better judgement. Night fell gradually, and Aradstar bore away the tearful Amdenia. She had sworn to forget him, but she realised she could not forget. She could only ignore. And half a millennium of ignorance awoke inside her a desire stronger than ever before.
* * *
As Amdenia raced away, two figures charged behind. Their steeds were tireless, even to Aradstar, and in their wake they left chaos. They could not foresee the end, nor the thoughts of their prey. Yet they had good mind what it was, and what my sway it in their favour.
They were ruthless and arrogant with the very same things that had always made Amdenia so much like one of their race in the beginning. They were cruel and mirthless, unless it was in the suffering of others, and although they were restless also, they restrained to keep a distance behind the two women they hunted.
They were determined to succeed. The worst weapon that Sueth has to offer is its determination. Its people will never stop if they have will.
Dianor and Felren had never been so intent as they were now.
They rode swiftly on in the blackening night.
Author note: now this is actually going somewhere, so don't lose faith, please!! I do know what's happening, and I think you'll like it if you like it so far, so please keep reading. Will try to get new chapter up as soon as poss. Oracle-x-
They had been nearly two months in the House of Elrond, and November had gone by with the last shreds of autumn, and December was passing, when the scouts began to return. They brought tidings from far afield; some venturing the great distance to Mirkwood, and others returning from the South. Yet none had travelled right down to the south, and followed the Anduin to its last. There war was arising, and the peril of the hour becoming apparent – there was it felt most greatly, and there it was that the Fellowship was headed.
For his part, Elrond had not forgotten the last words of the Mariel, and neither had he forgotten his suspicion. But as he knew he could not, or would not prevent her departing with the Company, he began to hope vainly that she would not return to fulfil her promise. Days rolled into weeks, weeks became months, and no news came from Mariel; and although not satisfied, the mind of Elrond was comforted, for the moment.
And so the day came for the Company to leave. There was, rather than sorrow, a sober realisation that sat heavy on all those assembled: Elrond amongst them. Talk and speculation was finally becoming reality. Bilbo waved goodbye to the hobbits and the Ranger, with whom he was close friends, and the pale silhouettes of the Fellowship – four small hobbits, two tall men, a dwarf, an elf and a wizard – eventually faded from sight and sound of those gathered by in Elrond's house. The hour was grave.
But suddenly, out of the forest and into the pale morning light, a figure and horse came bolting out, breaking the silence and disturbing the quiet doubt. The figure astride the horse wore a sword at their hip: underneath their cloak their mail was bound tightly and a bag was slung across their back in the manner of a weatherworn traveller. They wore boots of thin but strong fibre and in addition to the long blade, a small dagger was fastened on the opposite side. The figure dismounted swiftly and leapt to the ground with light grace; the cloak flew back, and in a second the rider's garments underneath were revealed. Only then did Elrond realise it was a woman.
Mariel stood there, proud and determined – silently forcefully as she had been at the council. She wore a rider's gear but her shirt was fashioned so that it hung a little below the belt, like a neat skirt. She bore her sword with apparent ease and her hands were bound with tight linen woven into a glove. There was no helm on her head, but the crown had vanished and her hair – once so long and boundless – was fastened back with no visible holding. She stood both elegant and threatening, determined in her task. She wore grey, and against the dim light of the early day her eyes sparked more than ever.
For a while no one spoke. Then Elrond said.
"Lady Mariel has returned. The Fellowship is complete." And he sounded none of the resentment and suspicion that was playing on his heart.
"Forgive me," said Mariel, addressing them all. "I had not meant to delay nor discredit you. I have been travelling these past months, and it is nothing that I say against your fair house, Lord Elrond. I am grateful to still find my place in the Company."
"Lady Mariel," said another, and turning Mariel saw that it was Aragorn. "I do not wish you ill, yet you ride a horse and the rest of us walk, and though we are pleased of your return we must hasten away while the day is still fresh. Do you bring your horse or not?"
Mariel smiled. "I do not," she said. "And your feelings are not those of ill. I shall walk with you, for how unfair is it to bear myself on horseback whilst the rest bear themselves on foot? Finrodel shall remain here, if Lord Elrond will have him, and enjoy the gentle company of the Elves."
"I will take him," replied Elrond. "Although he may be restless, while his Lady walks abroad."
"He is faithful," agreed Mariel, "and will know if I am in need. I ask of you only that he should be allowed to walk free should he so choose; he will come if my situation requires it."
Elrond bowed his head. "It shall be so."
And so the Company – full now with the final member – began their long journey, across hills and mountains, rough and easy terrain and into a peril that none could imagine. Through the course of the days – forty days and forty nights, by Gandalf's reckoning – the Fellowship spoke freely to one another, Mariel among them. As the days lengthened and weeks dragged forwards, they began to settle with the other nine who accompanied them. Tales were told, and secrets disclosed – though none of desperate importance, and all of them a far cry than anything that might surprise Mariel. But still throughout the long days and rough nights, Mariel felt the dividing walls of preconceptions drop from around her Company members as they began to install more and more trust in her, and ever did she hope to hear of information that could be of use to the council – something to revive their faith in her. Yet none came. To the world around, the bearers of what Mariel guessed to be the greatest secrets, the grim ranger and the ill-tempered wizard, kept adamantly silent: and the journey proceeded without her even coming close to the confidence of Aragorn and Gandalf.
There were others though, who lightened her heart from its grave and unspoken purpose. The small hobbits proved sturdier than expected, and of irreplaceable good humour. Of the youngest Mariel was especially fond – the mischievous hobbit Peregrin: subdued somewhat by the seriousness of the Quest and often reprimanded the older members of the group, but still with an unquenchable cheerfulness that could provide a light in dark times. With his friend Meriadoc they battled to bear in mind the responsibility of what they had undertaken, but it was not the nature of hobbits to be overly serious, and they couldn't help but jest, even when the road looked unending. Mariel looked at them and wondered if eternal life could really bring the happiness she saw in the Halflings. She pitied the Ring bearer, but perceived in him a much stronger heart than any of his companions. It was perhaps only to be rivalled by his friend, Samwise, who showed more and more each day the steadfast loyalty of true companionship. In her deepest heart, Mariel knew this would prove a problem before the end.
There was one other whose company she especially enjoyed though. The other man, Boromir, the Heir of the Stewardship and proud with the knowledge of his bloodline. He was strong-willed, and resilient to the point of denying the desire that she could see burned inside him. She tried to ignore this, because it reminded her too greatly of the very same desire which branded her own treacherous heart.
She was distant from the elf and from the dwarf also. Gimli she had little to say to, though she doubted his honour and loyalty not. But of the elf Legolas she was wary, for being millennia old herself she was surprised at how different their attitudes appeared. For her part she was weary and regretful of the decision of her forefathers, yet he seemed tireless and beautiful in his gratitude for the long life bestowed on him. Yet Mariel knew she should not be shocked. She was an elf of Sueth, and he of Middle earth, and the feelings of the two had never been one and the same, but rather opposed and conflicting. Sueth people were bitter, Mariel knew, and never had she felt it so in her own heart, than when she spoke to the tall fair elf of Mirkwood, and felt the natural grace of his temperament.
And so they proceeded. Slow yet steady was their course, and hopes, though restrained, were higher than might be expected on such a hopeless mission. Yet Mariel knew that the way ahead would soon grow darker, weak though the details of Middle Earth were in her memory. She heard Gandalf and Aragorn speaking in undertones after dark, and whispering aside from the company in the hope that they might not dismay them. But still Mariel had overheard the name.
Moria. That was the way if Caradhras was closed to them. She prayed it would not come to that.
She told nothing of her doubts to the others, and for their part they remained silent or oblivious. Winter racked the wilderness, and the company proceeded into an ungovernable fate.
* * *
Leagues behind them, though not lost to their path, Amdenia rode fiercely. It was fortunate for Aradstar that he was bred by Sueth, and strong-willed to the extent of aggression. Amdenia's riding could drive a horse to death, and in her many years on the earth, many had fallen at her demands. She rode with the determination of Rohan, yet with none of their respect for the beast beneath her. Her consideration was to the speed and distance, nothing more.
She rode now in fading daylight. She had found it essential to replenish her supplies at a small town, about a mile out from the road – she was aware of the barrenness before her, and knew of the scarcity of civilisation further out. She rode on behind the Fellowship with grim intent. She herself was lacking in faith of Mariel: not of her loyalty, because that was guaranteed no matter. But more so was she concerned of her sensitivity. She knew Mariel was surprisingly compassionate for people of their race. The only one, in fact. In Sueth there was no love, only bitterness for the curse of old bestowed forever on their realm and its people. A curse that could only be lifted by the quest the people of Sueth now undertook, as the armies massed in the south and the one ring set out.
And yet they sent Mariel. Amdenia was not surprised. Mariel's grace and gentle temperament was the only deception that Sueth had to offer. None other could fool the wise immortals of Middle Earth. Mariel was more like an elf of Middle Earth herself than of Sueth.
But despite her hard exterior, Amdenia was more sympathetic than appeared. She knew what it was to love. Aradstar strode forward with even greater speed as Amdenia now forced him on – tears in her eyes and aggression in her heels as she thought of the one she had loved. Aradstar snorted in pain: Amdenia was digging her feet so tightly into his flanks that her almost reared in shock. Amdenia was oblivious; trees sped by and the path spread out long before her, but she paid it no heed. Her thoughts were now far away.
It had been long ago: so long it was almost lost to the depths of her memory. She was millennia old, but almost at her 3000th year before she realised she didn't know all that she had thought. Before then she had been vain and arrogant – drunk on the ecstasy of her own beauty that was hers by right of bloodline, and confident with her own knowledge. But she had grown restless of the confines of Sueth, and assumed herself wise enough to walk all the paths of Middle Earth. She had ventured further afield, and grown more obnoxious – dismissive with her own skill.
Yet one time, travelling further east than ever before she had dared, she had met him. The one she had loved; the one she still loved. More than anything, with all the heart that she so desperately tried to conceal from all others. And somewhere in the vast possibilities of Middle Earth, he still dwelt. Somewhere he survived, probably remembering her, though maybe indifferent to the unbearable pain that tore across her heart –across the emotions that she swore she did not possess.
And she still loved him. She remembered those wonderful hours with him, the precious years that had seemed to stop time itself. But now they were gone. With her better judgement, they were no longer possible.
She resented her better judgement. Night fell gradually, and Aradstar bore away the tearful Amdenia. She had sworn to forget him, but she realised she could not forget. She could only ignore. And half a millennium of ignorance awoke inside her a desire stronger than ever before.
* * *
As Amdenia raced away, two figures charged behind. Their steeds were tireless, even to Aradstar, and in their wake they left chaos. They could not foresee the end, nor the thoughts of their prey. Yet they had good mind what it was, and what my sway it in their favour.
They were ruthless and arrogant with the very same things that had always made Amdenia so much like one of their race in the beginning. They were cruel and mirthless, unless it was in the suffering of others, and although they were restless also, they restrained to keep a distance behind the two women they hunted.
They were determined to succeed. The worst weapon that Sueth has to offer is its determination. Its people will never stop if they have will.
Dianor and Felren had never been so intent as they were now.
They rode swiftly on in the blackening night.
Author note: now this is actually going somewhere, so don't lose faith, please!! I do know what's happening, and I think you'll like it if you like it so far, so please keep reading. Will try to get new chapter up as soon as poss. Oracle-x-