Chapter 6

Still confused and disoriented, Ceirin watched Frodo get to his feet and begin to walk away, swaying precariously as if drunk. Her eyes were still unfocused, and the image of Frodo seemed shifty like a ghost, trembling in the strong light like a mirage.

"Frodo? What did you say? Where are you going?"

Her urge was to follow him, follow something, so as not to be left alone in a blurry state of mind. She began to crawl after him on all fours, not quite trusting her legs to handle the job on their own. She heard Aragorn's voice like white noise in the background and was vaguely aware of its urgency. Frodo was moving away. Gathering her legs underneath her, much like a newborn foal, she broke into a sort of leaping sprint, tripped on a rock. Frodo turned around just in time to see her tripping and falling like a foal with its legs in a knot. Flailing wildly in search of something to grab a hold of, her hand found the chain around Frodo's neck and broke it.

Ceirin's eyes suddenly focused and she seemed to snap out of a stupor, sitting on painfully chafed knees, looking with disbelief at the Ring in her hand as if wondering how on earth it got there.

"Oops," she said sheepishly, holding the hand with the Ring out to Frodo while her ears couldn't quite seem to agree on where they should point. "I'm sorry about that. But don't worry, I'm sure the chain can be mended. You can use this for now," she added, fishing a grimy length of ribbon from a pocket with her other hand and pulling it through the Ring.

Aragorn, who had also come after Frodo, stood stock-still with his hand at ready on the hilt of his sword, looking intensely at Ceirin. Frodo had been pushed down and was on the ground, eyes on Ceirin like a beaten child, suspicious of the grown-up holding out the candy.

She stretched her arm towards Frodo, jiggled it as if trying to tempt him. "Stop playing about, Frodo," she said tiredly. "Take the Ring or I might drop it, I'm not feeling very peachy at the moment."

After seconds that seemed like hours, Frodo reached out, hesitated, snatched the Ring sharply from her hand as if worried that she might bite him and quickly fastened the ribbon around his neck. The broken chain, he put in his pocket for safekeeping until it could be fixed.

Ceirin unsteadily regained her feet, rubbed at the chafed patches on her trousers, righted her back with an agonized groan and turned to look at Aragorn as if seeing him for the first time. "What?" She glanced from him to Frodo and back. "What?" she said again.

Her eyes were sore and watered as she squinted into the sun, wondering why nobody was saying anything.

"Come. We must go. Now," said Aragorn after a long awkward pause.

Ceirin shook her head like someone trying to dislodge soap from her ear. She touched Frodo on the shoulder as he moved past her to follow Aragorn. He flinched.

"Frodo," she said in a tiny voice. "Gandalf. What did you say about him?"

He stared at her hand on his shoulder, and then looked up into her face, a single tear running down his cheek. "He died. To save us," he said in a voice like the rustling of broken feathers. "While you were passed out," he added and immediately seemed to regret it when he realized how accusatory that might have sounded. A strange feeling crept over him. In the debating chamber of Frodo's mind, where Grief and Loss were wailing at the tops of their lungs, Wariness got up and cleared its throat, but was wrestled to the ground by Gratitude and Trust. The fairy didn't want the Ring. She seriously, honestly didn't want it. That was... unusual.

Ceirin shook her head again, while Frodo's words refused to quite sink in, and tottered uncertainly after the rest of the Fellowship.

The flight to Lothlorien was at the same time nervous and dulled. Everyone's mind seemed to be elsewhere, not least of all Ceirin's, who felt like she was stepping in and out of a dream. She was seeing sharp edges around things and blazing bright colors and her legs were moving without seeming to consult with her brain. As the day progressed and she'd been in the sun longer and they closed in on Lothlorien, she gradually began to feel better. But the appearance around them of a group of armed elves still came as a surprise. Normally, she should have heard them coming.

Aragorn was arguing with their tall blond leader, who apparently was named Haldir, she'd caught from Legolas. He didn't seem to have noticed her, but one of the other elves was eyeing her with a funny expression. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, reached up to smooth her hair down to cover her ears and hoped that the coquettishness of the gesture would disguise its true intent.

Too little, too late.

The elf's nostrils flared as he tilted his head and addressed his leader. "Haldir. Why did not the Lady of Light alert us to this unwelcome presence?"

"To whom do you refer?" asked Haldir, looking a little displeased at being interrupted.

The elf stepped forward and took the tip of Ceirin's left ear between thumb and finger, carefully, and pulled it out from underneath her hair.

"A fairy," said Haldir. It wasn't an accusation so much as a mere observation. He raised his eyebrows at Aragorn but it was Legolas who stepped up.

"A fairy," he said, "who was brought up in Rivendell under the care of Lord Elrond. She is one of us. I share your concern that a fairy's loyalty could not be more than questionable at best, but if that is the rule, this one may be the exception."

The conviction of his words was a bit dubitable, but his body language spoke volumes. He stepped into the group from where he'd been waiting, somewhat aside, and came to flank Ceirin. It plucked her heartstrings that he would now use the same gesture to defend her as he had once used to condemn her, though she would have sooner eaten her own boots than admitting as much to him.

Haldir seemed to consider this vote of confidence, though it wasn't really possible to tell what he was considering. He had more jolliness in his face than the average elf, Ceirin decided as she waited with trepidation for him to make up his mind, but he still had the elven blank stare down to a fine art in the face of an unexpected unpleasant surprise.

"You will all follow me," he said abruptly before turning to lead the Fellowship to Caras Galadhon. Ceirin resisted the temptation to stick out her tongue at the elf who had been rude to her ear. She fell in line behind Merry and Pippin, who seemed almost as nervous as she felt. They didn't stop among the gigantic trees, but were led straight up a winding staircase into the grand court of Celeborn and Galadriel.

As the Lord and Lady appeared, a strange sensation washed over Ceirin, as if her body had been hooked up to high voltage. Hyper-aware of every tense tingling muscle and every hair on her body standing on end, she felt extremely vulnerable and exposed. She wished desperately for somebody's back to hide behind, but the only ones with whom she would dare try that were the hobbits, and there didn't seem to be much point, physically speaking. Also, she had a hunch that hiding wasn't really an option. This was when Ceirin acutely felt the terrible loss of Gandalf.

No one spoke to Ceirin at first, or even looked at her, which was fine with her. Celeborn and Galadriel spoke of the future of the Fellowship. They appeared to see things rather gloomy, but she felt that this was somehow underestimating the Fellowship.

Then, abruptly, they were dismissed. Was this it? Ceirin wondered. Was nobody going to pick on her?

She practically jumped out of her skin when she heard Galadriel's voice in her head. "Do not be afraid, creature of the windswept sky," said the voice, "for I have seen your heart and I know that it is true."

Ceirin suspected that this might explain the sensation she had felt, a sort of scan by Galadriel. The others were at this point being led out of the grand court en route to refreshments, rest and possibly a bath. Pippin looked at her anxiously. "Go on," she told him, with a smile that was braver than she felt. "I won't be long. Go on."

She was left alone with Galadriel now, and had to swallow a few times before daring to look up into her face. The elf stood tall, stately and imposing, bathed in some ethereal light and smiling enigmatically.

"Did you wish to speak with me?" said Galadriel, neither unkind nor exactly friendly.

Ceirin blinked at her. "I was under the impression that you wished to speak with me," she said, aware of how stupid that sounded. Elrond had sometimes spoken into her head, but only if he was pissed off about something. He knew that she didn't like it much, held that it was an invasion of her skull and therefore rude. Which was exactly why he did it when he was pissed off.

Galadriel laughed a little. "I merely meant to put you at ease. You seemed frightened."

Ceirin grinned sheepishly. "Don't take it personal. Elves tend to have that effect on me."

"You grew up among elven kind, did you not? Do we still frighten you after all these years?"

"Frighten me? No, not so much. Unnerve me, yes." She grinned again. "But then, I don't take that personal, either."

"There is much bad feeling between my folk and yours. And you have been somehow caught in the middle, unfortunately."

"Do you know why?" said Ceirin suddenly and more loudly than she had intended.

Galadriel tilted her head thoughtfully but didn't speak.

"I'm sorry to be asking this so bluntly," Ceirin said, ears pointing up like antennas. "I don't mean to pretend that you owe me any answers, but I can't seem to get them anywhere else, not even from my own folk. You, who see things that no other does, who know things that are beyond knowledge, you must know this... Why? What is my purpose?" she asked, feeling as if she might as well be asking the sky to change colour. "Do I even have a purpose?" she added sadly, studying the floor in front of her.

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you what you wish to know," said Galadriel, seeming to genuinely regret it. "But I can tell you this."

Ceirin perked up in anticipation.

"Nothing happens without a reason, without a purpose. And all will be revealed in due time."

Ceirin's ears drooped. "Thanks, but I've sort of already been told that."

"Then have faith."

"I try, but it's hard without knowing anything at all."

"That, little fairy, is the true test of faith."

"A test..." Ceirin rolled her eyes, and immediately wished she hadn't.

Galadriel didn't seem to have taken offence. "Trouble yourself no more," she said. "The answers you seek cannot be found here. And they cannot be found tonight. Go with Najathiel." She waved a hand and an elven woman stepped onto the flet. "Do not be afraid, Ceirin," she added. "You are our guest here, and you are welcome."

Ceirin nodded in thanks and followed the woman down the staircase. However unsatisfactory this conversation had been on the obvious front, she felt oddly satisfied with it. Even while a little shred of guilt was gnawing at her like a gnat, that she could easier accept the assurances of an elf than those of Amabel.

A/N: If you want more chapters, keep sending reviews. It's just not worth it without them.