Chapter 2
The Fellowship had been on the road for a few days now. After having left behind the safety of Rivendel, all were on their guard and pushing hard to make good time.
Ceirin had been on her best behaviour, never complaining, taking her turn carrying one of the hobbits if they threatened to fall behind on their short legs, even if she was not much taller than them herself. At first, she'd tried to keep to herself as much as possible, staying well out of Legolas' way. Until, one morning, he'd looked at her with his flinty eyes and told her: "You, with your fairy sight, use it."
She'd understood then. Every single one of them held responsibility for the safety of the group. Each pair of eyes and ears was needed. Even hers. Not that she hadn't been paying attention, but Legolas' simple command expressed a sense of togetherness that, for the first time, explicitly included her. It pleased her, in a way, and she became extra alert.
Gandalf walked beside her often, asking her questions about fairies that she didn't know the answers to.
"I don't know, Gandalf," she frequently had to tell him. "You had to learn your magic, didn't you? You had to be taught, you weren't born with it. Well, if my folk have a special kind of magic, no one's ever bothered to teach me, so I don't know."
She often found herself eyeing Gimli with an odd kind of envy. He and Legolas were continuously bickering, wise-cracking about the other's race. She'd never understood much of this age-old animosity between elves and dwarves, but enough to know that while much of it rested on disdain, there was also an undercurrent of respect. Strangely, she would be wishing that Legolas would mock her, too.
As the landscape changed from woodlands to mountainous terrain, the Fellowship settled into a balance, all baggage they bore from their diverse backgrounds evened out beneath the burden they shared – except, perhaps, for the good-natured squabbling between the dwarf and the elf. Ceirin's youthful excitability was inspired in unexpected ways. Where there had been anticipation of wild adventure and perilous encounters, she found simple awe for the rough beauty of a world she'd never seen, so different from the careful grace of Rivendel. She was a little disappointed that the hobbits had so quickly lost their fascination with her, when it had come to seem unlikely that she would use her wings or do any fairy things.
The Fellowship had put up camp one evening just before sunset. Aragorn had pressed for them to make use of every hour of daylight, but had conceded after a good look at the hobbits. They were by far not so well-trained as he and Boromir, or so sturdy as the dwarf or so light-footed as the elf and the fairy. They needed rest.
Each was busy with their own occupation. Aragorn, Boromir and Gandalf were softly conversing with each other, Legolas was closely inspecting the tips on his arrows for signs of weakness, and the hobbits were roasting something above a small fire.
"So are these stories they tell about fairies true?" asked Frodo of Ceirin, out of the blue. She'd overheard him asking Gandalf to tell him some of the stories the evening before.
She looked at him intensely, which worked especially well, considering the unusual colour of her eyes, plain grey but with a touch of lavender. "Does it matter?"
This counter-question confused Frodo momentarily. "Of course it matters," he said somewhat uncertainly.
"What's the difference, in the end, between made-up stories and real ones, when everyone believes them anyway?" she said sharply.
"I don't know. I mean, there should be a difference, shouldn't there. They say things about fairies that are not very nice. That's not fair, if they're not true."
"But it's so easy to tell stories about what you cannot see, and talk bad of those who don't care to come and defend themselves," she replied, hyper- aware of Legolas being within earshot.
"You're here..." Frodo tried weakly.
"Yes. But how am I meant to defend my folk when I myself do not know what they're like? I've never met another fairy, Frodo, or at least I can't remember ever having met one."
"Ever?"
"No."
They both fell silent for a while.
"If the elves were the only ones who knew of the existence of fairies," he asked then, addressing Legolas, "why did they keep it a secret?"
"What would others have done with knowledge of such a race?" said Legolas, putting down his arrows. "They are dangerous creatures," he continued emphatically. "I'll not change my opinion about that on the basis of acquaintance with one of them."
"I know. And I do not ask that you would," said Ceirin, looking pointedly at the tips of her boots instead of at the elf. "But I can't help being one of them. I am not a danger to you. There is a great evil threatening the world. But fairies are not it. They are the ones who help all forms of life to become what they are meant to be, in case you forgot that."
"I did not forget. And I never called fairies evil. I called them dangerous. There is a difference. Good and evil lie in the hearts of all sentient beings. There is no easy distinction to make like that between light and darkness. It is not so that one can only exist in the absence of the other. Every intentional act reflects both."
"Exactly. Do you remember what Frodo said at the council... To let one's actions speak for them. But you will not give me a chance, will you? All you give me is coldness."
"You mistake reserve for coldness."
"Right," said Ceirin, picking imaginary dust off her trousers.
Frodo had been looking back and forth between them, like watching a match of kickball which, the way hobbits played it, usually consisted of the ball being kicked clear back and forth across the field with all the players stampeding after it. He couldn't help but suspect there was something of a competition being played here, too. If elves and dwarves disliked one another in a way that allowed for light-hearted mockery, the discord between elves and fairies apparently ran much deeper.
None of the others had been following this conversation, and they looked after Ceirin with various degrees of surprise as she suddenly sprang up and strode briskly out of the small circle of light around the fire. As soon as she was gone, they returned to what they were doing. A slight tension in Legolas' shoulders betrayed a momentary uneasiness with the conversation's abrupt end, but he ignored it and went back to inspecting his arrows. Only Gandalf looked unsurprised as his eyes followed the girl until darkness swallowed her.
They were high up in the mountains, above the tree line, so there was nothing for her to clamber up into as she usually did when wanting to be alone for some reason. The moon was high and bright that night, and almost full. Inviting. Tempting. She was tempted, like most nights, to spread her wings and fly into it. A brief moment of doubt, then she shrugged off Elrond's voice telling her to her mind's ears that she should keep her feet on the ground where they belonged. Pushing off with her feet was not necessary, as her wings did not rely on the limited buoyancy of air like those of the insect they mimicked. As gravity lost its hold on the fairy, she soared up, leaving behind one by one the thoughts that weighed her down as she gained height. There were little grace and beauty in the form of her wild airborne dance, but its reckless abandonment spoke of an exuberance that cared not about beauty.
Hours later, she tiptoed carefully past the sleeping forms around the fire, to find her own place for the night. Only Legolas was awake, predictably. The others slept soundly thanks to complete trust in the elf's vigilance.
"Good night," she said softly as she rolled up in her cloak and settled down.
A few moments of silence, then, "good night," came a whispered response.
Aragorn was the first to awake just before sunrise the next morning and began rousing the others from their slumber while Legolas poked up the fire to improvise some class of a breakfast.
Merry sat up, smacking his lips, and prodded at Pippin who was still snoring next to him. "Hello," he grinned sleepily, spotting Ceirin. "And where were you off to, last night?"
"Morning, Merry," she replied. "I was just off. You know, airing my thoughts a little. Actually, I went flying," she added with a little smile.
"What?" Legolas' head shot up to glare at her. "You went what?"
"Flying," she said timidly. "What's wrong? Didn't you know I could do that?"
"Of course I knew, don't be daft," he snapped. "But are you completely out of your mind? What were you thinking?" He stood up to tower over Ceirin who was still on her knees, rearranging her cloak. "Remaining undetected is our best chance. Sauron's spies are everywhere, you silly fairy. And the best thing you can think to do is to go fluttering about, giving away our position to any ring wraith within a fifty league radius!" His voice was uncharacteristically hard and merciless.
"I... I'm sorry, Legolas..." Ceirin stammered. "I didn't think about that." Her long ears had dropped to stick out just below horizontally, which gave her a very young, very remorseful look.
"No, of course you didn't," he replied, serving her a look of undisguised loathing. "It would make sense that you'd go flying on the spur of the moment, and forget to think about the consequences for the rest of us. You put us all in danger."
Aragorn heard what was happening and intervened. He grasped his friend by the shoulder and turned him away from Ceirin. "Legolas, lighten up a little, will you. You're right, it was very unwise. But if we had been spotted by a ring wraith, he would have been upon us by now. We've been lucky. Do you understand?" he said, turning to Ceirin. "We've been lucky. Do not let it happen again." He gave her an especially Aragorn look, face even, jaw tight, eyes flat blue.
The girl was on the verge of tears, had to swallow them back to nod and say: "Yes, I understand."
Gandalf, who was adjusting the tilt of his hat behind the man and the elf, caught Ceirin's eye and winked at her. She blinked back once, twice, then rolled her eyes and sighed deeply.
As soon as the hobbits had organized breakfast, all dug in. Legolas sat cross-legged, chewing on a mouthful of food, when Ceirin sidled up to him and held out a tasty-looking piece of fruit. "For you, if you'd like it," she said, barely audible.
He swallowed his food, turned his flinty stare on her, ignored the fruit proffered in her hand. "I don't need your flag of truce," he said flatly. "I'm not angry, only disappointed. Give that to one of the hobbits." Then he returned to fixing the middle-distance ahead of him.
Ceirin crept away quietly. She took a seat somewhat aside from the rest, looked at the fruit in her hand, at Legolas, back at the fruit, then shrugged with one shoulder and bit into it.
A few minutes later, as the others were packing up to leave, Legolas appeared suddenly in front of her. "That was rude of me. I'm sorry," he said simply.
She made no reply, held out the half-eaten piece of fruit to him. He hesitated, then took it gently from her hand and ate the rest of it while walking away.
The Fellowship had been on the road for a few days now. After having left behind the safety of Rivendel, all were on their guard and pushing hard to make good time.
Ceirin had been on her best behaviour, never complaining, taking her turn carrying one of the hobbits if they threatened to fall behind on their short legs, even if she was not much taller than them herself. At first, she'd tried to keep to herself as much as possible, staying well out of Legolas' way. Until, one morning, he'd looked at her with his flinty eyes and told her: "You, with your fairy sight, use it."
She'd understood then. Every single one of them held responsibility for the safety of the group. Each pair of eyes and ears was needed. Even hers. Not that she hadn't been paying attention, but Legolas' simple command expressed a sense of togetherness that, for the first time, explicitly included her. It pleased her, in a way, and she became extra alert.
Gandalf walked beside her often, asking her questions about fairies that she didn't know the answers to.
"I don't know, Gandalf," she frequently had to tell him. "You had to learn your magic, didn't you? You had to be taught, you weren't born with it. Well, if my folk have a special kind of magic, no one's ever bothered to teach me, so I don't know."
She often found herself eyeing Gimli with an odd kind of envy. He and Legolas were continuously bickering, wise-cracking about the other's race. She'd never understood much of this age-old animosity between elves and dwarves, but enough to know that while much of it rested on disdain, there was also an undercurrent of respect. Strangely, she would be wishing that Legolas would mock her, too.
As the landscape changed from woodlands to mountainous terrain, the Fellowship settled into a balance, all baggage they bore from their diverse backgrounds evened out beneath the burden they shared – except, perhaps, for the good-natured squabbling between the dwarf and the elf. Ceirin's youthful excitability was inspired in unexpected ways. Where there had been anticipation of wild adventure and perilous encounters, she found simple awe for the rough beauty of a world she'd never seen, so different from the careful grace of Rivendel. She was a little disappointed that the hobbits had so quickly lost their fascination with her, when it had come to seem unlikely that she would use her wings or do any fairy things.
The Fellowship had put up camp one evening just before sunset. Aragorn had pressed for them to make use of every hour of daylight, but had conceded after a good look at the hobbits. They were by far not so well-trained as he and Boromir, or so sturdy as the dwarf or so light-footed as the elf and the fairy. They needed rest.
Each was busy with their own occupation. Aragorn, Boromir and Gandalf were softly conversing with each other, Legolas was closely inspecting the tips on his arrows for signs of weakness, and the hobbits were roasting something above a small fire.
"So are these stories they tell about fairies true?" asked Frodo of Ceirin, out of the blue. She'd overheard him asking Gandalf to tell him some of the stories the evening before.
She looked at him intensely, which worked especially well, considering the unusual colour of her eyes, plain grey but with a touch of lavender. "Does it matter?"
This counter-question confused Frodo momentarily. "Of course it matters," he said somewhat uncertainly.
"What's the difference, in the end, between made-up stories and real ones, when everyone believes them anyway?" she said sharply.
"I don't know. I mean, there should be a difference, shouldn't there. They say things about fairies that are not very nice. That's not fair, if they're not true."
"But it's so easy to tell stories about what you cannot see, and talk bad of those who don't care to come and defend themselves," she replied, hyper- aware of Legolas being within earshot.
"You're here..." Frodo tried weakly.
"Yes. But how am I meant to defend my folk when I myself do not know what they're like? I've never met another fairy, Frodo, or at least I can't remember ever having met one."
"Ever?"
"No."
They both fell silent for a while.
"If the elves were the only ones who knew of the existence of fairies," he asked then, addressing Legolas, "why did they keep it a secret?"
"What would others have done with knowledge of such a race?" said Legolas, putting down his arrows. "They are dangerous creatures," he continued emphatically. "I'll not change my opinion about that on the basis of acquaintance with one of them."
"I know. And I do not ask that you would," said Ceirin, looking pointedly at the tips of her boots instead of at the elf. "But I can't help being one of them. I am not a danger to you. There is a great evil threatening the world. But fairies are not it. They are the ones who help all forms of life to become what they are meant to be, in case you forgot that."
"I did not forget. And I never called fairies evil. I called them dangerous. There is a difference. Good and evil lie in the hearts of all sentient beings. There is no easy distinction to make like that between light and darkness. It is not so that one can only exist in the absence of the other. Every intentional act reflects both."
"Exactly. Do you remember what Frodo said at the council... To let one's actions speak for them. But you will not give me a chance, will you? All you give me is coldness."
"You mistake reserve for coldness."
"Right," said Ceirin, picking imaginary dust off her trousers.
Frodo had been looking back and forth between them, like watching a match of kickball which, the way hobbits played it, usually consisted of the ball being kicked clear back and forth across the field with all the players stampeding after it. He couldn't help but suspect there was something of a competition being played here, too. If elves and dwarves disliked one another in a way that allowed for light-hearted mockery, the discord between elves and fairies apparently ran much deeper.
None of the others had been following this conversation, and they looked after Ceirin with various degrees of surprise as she suddenly sprang up and strode briskly out of the small circle of light around the fire. As soon as she was gone, they returned to what they were doing. A slight tension in Legolas' shoulders betrayed a momentary uneasiness with the conversation's abrupt end, but he ignored it and went back to inspecting his arrows. Only Gandalf looked unsurprised as his eyes followed the girl until darkness swallowed her.
They were high up in the mountains, above the tree line, so there was nothing for her to clamber up into as she usually did when wanting to be alone for some reason. The moon was high and bright that night, and almost full. Inviting. Tempting. She was tempted, like most nights, to spread her wings and fly into it. A brief moment of doubt, then she shrugged off Elrond's voice telling her to her mind's ears that she should keep her feet on the ground where they belonged. Pushing off with her feet was not necessary, as her wings did not rely on the limited buoyancy of air like those of the insect they mimicked. As gravity lost its hold on the fairy, she soared up, leaving behind one by one the thoughts that weighed her down as she gained height. There were little grace and beauty in the form of her wild airborne dance, but its reckless abandonment spoke of an exuberance that cared not about beauty.
Hours later, she tiptoed carefully past the sleeping forms around the fire, to find her own place for the night. Only Legolas was awake, predictably. The others slept soundly thanks to complete trust in the elf's vigilance.
"Good night," she said softly as she rolled up in her cloak and settled down.
A few moments of silence, then, "good night," came a whispered response.
Aragorn was the first to awake just before sunrise the next morning and began rousing the others from their slumber while Legolas poked up the fire to improvise some class of a breakfast.
Merry sat up, smacking his lips, and prodded at Pippin who was still snoring next to him. "Hello," he grinned sleepily, spotting Ceirin. "And where were you off to, last night?"
"Morning, Merry," she replied. "I was just off. You know, airing my thoughts a little. Actually, I went flying," she added with a little smile.
"What?" Legolas' head shot up to glare at her. "You went what?"
"Flying," she said timidly. "What's wrong? Didn't you know I could do that?"
"Of course I knew, don't be daft," he snapped. "But are you completely out of your mind? What were you thinking?" He stood up to tower over Ceirin who was still on her knees, rearranging her cloak. "Remaining undetected is our best chance. Sauron's spies are everywhere, you silly fairy. And the best thing you can think to do is to go fluttering about, giving away our position to any ring wraith within a fifty league radius!" His voice was uncharacteristically hard and merciless.
"I... I'm sorry, Legolas..." Ceirin stammered. "I didn't think about that." Her long ears had dropped to stick out just below horizontally, which gave her a very young, very remorseful look.
"No, of course you didn't," he replied, serving her a look of undisguised loathing. "It would make sense that you'd go flying on the spur of the moment, and forget to think about the consequences for the rest of us. You put us all in danger."
Aragorn heard what was happening and intervened. He grasped his friend by the shoulder and turned him away from Ceirin. "Legolas, lighten up a little, will you. You're right, it was very unwise. But if we had been spotted by a ring wraith, he would have been upon us by now. We've been lucky. Do you understand?" he said, turning to Ceirin. "We've been lucky. Do not let it happen again." He gave her an especially Aragorn look, face even, jaw tight, eyes flat blue.
The girl was on the verge of tears, had to swallow them back to nod and say: "Yes, I understand."
Gandalf, who was adjusting the tilt of his hat behind the man and the elf, caught Ceirin's eye and winked at her. She blinked back once, twice, then rolled her eyes and sighed deeply.
As soon as the hobbits had organized breakfast, all dug in. Legolas sat cross-legged, chewing on a mouthful of food, when Ceirin sidled up to him and held out a tasty-looking piece of fruit. "For you, if you'd like it," she said, barely audible.
He swallowed his food, turned his flinty stare on her, ignored the fruit proffered in her hand. "I don't need your flag of truce," he said flatly. "I'm not angry, only disappointed. Give that to one of the hobbits." Then he returned to fixing the middle-distance ahead of him.
Ceirin crept away quietly. She took a seat somewhat aside from the rest, looked at the fruit in her hand, at Legolas, back at the fruit, then shrugged with one shoulder and bit into it.
A few minutes later, as the others were packing up to leave, Legolas appeared suddenly in front of her. "That was rude of me. I'm sorry," he said simply.
She made no reply, held out the half-eaten piece of fruit to him. He hesitated, then took it gently from her hand and ate the rest of it while walking away.