Author's Note:
This update took about twice as long as I thought it would, but in all fairness, it also contains twice as much text as anticipated – being the longest one yet.
Bows being destroyed/damaged by dry firing – aka firing a weapon without ammunition – is a real (and terrifying) thing. Google it if you don't believe me. Compound bows are more prone to suffer such a fate, due to their ability to store so much more power, but it can happen to recurve- and longbows too.
This chapter (in particular the lunch-scene where Pippin tells his little story) is dedicated to the fabulous and talented Ruiniel, for being kind enough to indulge my endless rambling/complaining and for putting a ridiculously hot Glorfindel into tight, black jeans. What else could a girl ask for?
Thank you so much to everyone following this story, and especially those who take the time to share their thoughts with me! You spur me on :)
Prepare the Paths
:::
III III III
"Believe me, it is too big for you."
Legolas' voice was slightly muffled, as he crouched down at Dûrfang's side and began wiping dried mud off the horse's fetlocks with a damp cloth. "You are too short and lack the size to attain a good balance."
"I'm not so short," Anne protested half-heartedly.
She was sitting on a bale of straw in the aisle outside Dûrfang's stall, alternating between idly watching the Elf, and examining his bow, relishing the empowering feeling of simply holding the large weapon. She had developed a sort of morbid fascination – considering how they had first met – with how effortlessly Legolas bent the powerful bow. On a whim, she had asked him whether she might try to draw it herself, and to her surprise, he had responded with a short and soft, but unmistakable snort of laughter. Anne had been a little miffed by this, but her resentment was short-lived; she liked the sound of his laugh too much.
He now threw her a sidelong glance. "Small, then," he said in answer to her idle objection, sounding absent-minded and rather indifferent.
"Compared to you, perhaps," Anne muttered as she watched the Elf rise and unfold his long body to his full height.
He did not deign her argument with a response, but merely reached for a hard grooming brush, which he had deposited on top of the cobbled wall dividing Dûrfang's stall from the neighbouring one. Anne's gaze wandered towards the far end of the barn, where Maeren Blackthorn stood amongst stacks of crates, bags and caskets inside an empty horsebox. The tall woman was holding a long roll of parchment, which she consulted now and then, while running her hand over the various goods and mumbling quietly to herself.
Huddling further into the Elf's thick cloak, Anne stifled a yawn and leaned back against the wall. The stable was gloriously warm after the crisp, rain-heavy air outside, and she liked the smell: a combination of horses, dust and damp hay, which was oddly soothing. Perhaps, with the headstrong merchant along for the journey, there would be more chances to sleep in a place with an actual roof over their heads, Anne mused. Maybe even a chance to bathe somewhere that wasn't a freezing cold stream or lake.
Legolas' deep voice roused her from her reverie. "Not the length alone is the problem, but more so the weight," he said while brushing down his horse's neck and shoulder with gentle, even strokes. "It is too much for a slip of a thing like you."
Anne scowled at his back. "Yes, yes, you have made your point. You are big and strong, I'm small and weak." She weighed the bow in her hands. "Besides, it's really not that heavy," she ventured, even though, in truth, she had expected it to be lighter. Furthermore, the thing was indeed nearly as tall as she was herself.
Legolas glanced at her and shook his head. "No, I mean the draw weight," he said while sliding one hand down his horse's front leg, coaxing the stallion to lift its foot. "You possess not the upper body strength to pull back the string far enough," he said as he swiftly brushed out the hoof. "If you cannot bend a bow properly, then there is little use in it." He straightened up again and turned towards her. With a slight raise of his chin to indicate the bow, he stepped out of the bay. "By all means, though, go ahead."
He had been right in his assessment, of course. Anne attempted to copy what she had seen him do on occasion, but didn't even manage to draw the string back towards somewhere near her face. While she had expected it to be more difficult than it looked, this was still a bit disheartening. She sighed and made to let the bow sink, admitting defeat.
Legolas, who had been watching her closely, had the grace to forgo something along the lines of 'I told you so'. Instead, he said quickly, "Now, do not release the string like that – slowly ease off the tension before you let go."
Taken aback, Anne did as he had said, even though the muscles in her arms were shaking by now. "Why?" she asked, nonplussed. "What can happen if there is no arrow on it?"
Legolas crossed his arms and cocked his head. "Were there an arrow on it, the built-up energy would be released into the arrow, thus launching it." He arched an elegant eyebrow. "Without an arrow, where do you think that energy will go instead?"
After a moment of trying to wrap her mind around this causal chain, Anne understood, to some extent. "Oh."
"Exactly," The Elf said with a wry curl of his lips. He leaned over and reached past Anne to grab the bridle from its hook on the wall behind her. "Back through the bow and into your body. Even with the limbs not fully bent this may bruise your arms and shoulders. Unless the string snaps and whips around your face, or the limbs shatter from the recoil before that. Then, with some ill luck, you might lose an eye."
Anne stared at him in horror. "Lose an eye?" She was fairly sure she spotted a wicked gleam in his eyes.
"I have seen it happen," he said, sounding a little too unconcerned for her liking.
She shuddered and looked down at the bow with renewed respect. She was so absorbed in unpleasant thoughts of what it would feel like to receive a sharp piece of wood in the eye, that she nearly missed the Elf's next comment.
"And would that not be a pity in your case."
When the words registered properly she did a mental double-take. A pity in her case? Was he possibly implying that he liked her eyes? To her chagrin, Anne felt her cheeks grow rather warm. She told herself not to be baited. "You- you think so?" She just couldn't help herself, it would seem. At least she had tried to sound off-handed.
He glanced back at her over his shoulder, his brow furrowed slightly. "Why yes – you are a bit young to lose an eye, I should think."
"Oh… right." Well, what had she expected?
Legolas was still looking at her, studying her no doubt still flushed face far too thoroughly for Anne's comfort. Perhaps she had dirt on her nose. She lowered her head and raised a casual hand to surreptitiously wipe away any potential smudges. The Elf made a noise like "Hn." It sounded like the audible version of a smirk, somehow, but when Anne darted a look at him, his face was inscrutable.
"Pippin has a point," he said pensively, before turning back to his horse.
Anne looked after him, utterly mystified. "What?"
He didn't react though, seemingly disinclined to explain his cryptic statement.
"What point?" Anne pressed him, eyes narrowed in curiosity.
"Nothing important," Legolas said lightly, while reaching his long arm around Dûrfang's nose to pull the bridle over the horse's head. "I trust that you believe me now?"
"Yes," she said, slightly impatient, "you were right, this is obviously hopeless, and it was a silly idea. What did you mean, 'Pippin has a point'? Regarding what?" If it was making him smirk, even just audibly, she really wanted to know.
"If one were to ask him, probably regarding everything."
He was obviously evading, or possibly baiting her, Anne wasn't quite sure. It only served to kindle her curiosity, even though she was a bit peeved that he and Pippin had been talking about her in her absence. Presumably, it had been nothing flattering either. She made a mental note to ask Pippin later.
"What did he say?" she now demanded from the Elf nonetheless. It couldn't hurt to try after all. "If it was about me, surely I have a right to know."
"Do you now." He sounded faintly amused.
"Well yes, otherwise you shouldn't mention it in the first—"
"Going hunting?"
Anne turned to look at Maeren Blackthorn, who, apparently finished with her inventory or whatever it was she had been doing, was walking towards them. Her dark eyes were fixed on the bow in Anne's hands and there was a faint – but at least visible – smirk on her handsome face.
Anne forced a weak grin in return and shook her head. "No, I just wanted to try it."
Maeren raised her eyebrows. "Bit big for you, isn't it?"
"Yes, I know," Anne said, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice. "I was just curious, it was a stupid idea."
"Not at all," Legolas surprised her by saying. "And I said no such thing. It is good exercise and focuses the mind. I merely said that this one is not right for you."
"Rod Heatherbell makes decent bows," Maeren Blackthorn chimed in now, while rolling up her piece of parchment. "Smaller ones too, for hunting and such. I believe he is local and sells at the Bree market, but also from his home, I wager." She raised her eyebrows at Anne. "I have traded with him before, I could probably arrange a good price for you if you are interested."
"Oh no, thank you," Anne said hurriedly, slightly alarmed at the idea. Leaving aside the fact that she had not exactly the means to come up with any price, no matter how good it might be, she could only imagine some of the Breelanders' reaction if she were to start arming herself while still within their town. After the events of the previous morning, they might not take to it overly well. Thankfully the topic of purchasing arms was dropped when Legolas reminded her to be ready for their departure after lunch.
"You might want to get some rest, even if you do not feel that you need it," he advised her while leading Dûrfang out of the stable.
"Oh, wait!" Anne reached towards her neck and began to unfasten his cloak.
Legolas, who had paused and half turned to look back at her, hesitated before glancing outside and then waving his hand at Anne. "Keep it. You can return it when I get back, it will not rain until late afternoon."
Anne looked doubtfully at the sky as well. "Are you sure?" The clouds seemed to hang even lower.
"Yes, fairly," Legolas said with just a tinge of mockery, while placing one hand on his horse's withers, and the other one on his back, before lightly leaping up. He straightened and looked back down at the women. "I will see you both later."
As he turned Dûrfang around and walked him out of the yard, Anne noticed that a man, sandy-haired and with a slightly ruddy complexion, was standing at the entrance to the Prancing Pony, and following the Elf with a rather unfriendly stare. She vaguely recognised him as one of Rooklar's companions.
What's your problem, she thought, suddenly irritated. Neither of us did anything to you.
As if feeling her gaze, the man turned his eyes on the stable, looking right at her. Anne quickly turned away; she didn't need to draw any more attention to herself than she already had. Maeren, who had stepped next to Anne, stared out the door and up at the darkening sky.
"I suppose it is too much to hope for that he is wrong about the rain," she groused. "I never should have agreed to this."
Anne frowned as she glanced at the other woman, a memory from the night of their arrival in Bree tugging on her mind. "Didn't you plan on leaving today, anyway?"
Maeren turned to her, her eyebrows raised in mild surprise and amusement. "Why yes, how do you know?" Before Anne could reply, she hummed in comprehension and rolled her eyes. "Oh that's right, Hal and his big mouth. Well yes, I did plan on leaving today, but I'll have you know that I might just have postponed my departure if I didn't have to take an imperious elf-lord into consideration."
Anne turned fully towards Maeren. "May I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"Why did you say no at first? To his request, I mean?"
Maeren raised her eyebrows. "Getting right to the point, aren't you?"
Belatedly Anne asked herself whether she might not be jeopardising the whole thing once again. "I am sorry," she said hurriedly, "I didn't mean to pry, it's none of my —"
"Calm down," Maeren interrupted her with a short snort of laughter. "I'm not that easily offended." She shrugged and turned her gaze on the courtyard, frowning slightly when her eyes fell on the man by the entrance, who was still staring at them. "I avoid dealings with the Eldar," she said finally, casting Anne a sidelong, glance. "Too much clashing… rubbing each other the wrong way, if you will. It's nothing personal against your guardian."
"My what?" Anne said blankly.
Maeren looked at her, clearly surprised. "Isn't he? I understood you were something like his ward."
Anne wasn't exactly certain what being someone's ward entailed, but she was pretty sure that she wasn't one.
"No, he —" she began, but was interrupted by a shouted "Maeren!" from across the courtyard, which caused both women to turn.
The young, brown-haired man who had been with them in the parlour before breakfast was walking towards the stable. "Frór and Nithri are ready to leave," he said, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the arch leading back onto the village street, "and Nithri said he has something for you."
Maeren grinned. "That is always nice to hear. All right, I am coming. Where is the cart?"
"Out front. There are only a few bolts of dyed linen left."
"Then what were you doing inside," Maeren demanded, frowning at the young man. "Please tell me you weren't stalking Rosalin again. Butterbur was not amused last time, and I shall never hear the end—"
"Keep your hair on," the young man cut across her, rolling his eyes. "The little bint told me to get lost anyway, no need to nag."
"Did she now?" Maeren was looking mildly impressed. "Well, I cannot for the life of me, imagine why, with a gallant fellow such as you. Forget the fabrics, I will deal with them. You can get the cart back to your father's house, so I can begin loading up as soon as I get over there."
"All right then." The man shrugged, a distinctive air of bored petulance about him, and sauntered off, back towards the street.
Maeren gave Anne a long-suffering grimace. "I had better deal with this and see off the Dwarves. I will see you later no doubt."
"Yes, all right." Anne watched Maeren follow the young man out of the yard, before turning and ambling over to Peg's stall. The skewbald came to the stall door to greet her – or perhaps in hope of something edible – and made a long neck to sniff her pockets.
"Sorry, I have nothing for you," Anne said, stroking the horse's long, dark-brown nose, and making a mental note to be more considerate in the future. Further travel meant that strengthening her friendship with her means of transport was probably no bad thing. "What do you think," she asked the horse quietly. "Will we regret doing this yet?"
Peg, unsurprisingly, did not answer, but tried to nibble on her sleeve.
"That's some queer company you keep."
Anne turned around at the sound of the drawled, slightly raspy voice behind her. The blond man she had noticed before in the courtyard was standing in the entrance to the stable, his back leant against the door frame. Anne's first thought was that he was looking a lot friendlier than before, his narrow mouth twisted in a smile that did not quite reach his pale-blue eyes.
"Excuse me?" she said uncertainly. His tone had been light but there was an odd tension in his bearing that somehow put her on edge.
In answer to her question, the man jerked his head backwards, indicating the yard and direction of the street. For a moment Anne thought he might be referring to Maeren Blackthorn, but then she remembered the way he had glared after Legolas. Before she could think of something to say, he went on.
"Always thought those fellows weren't exactly known to..."— he paused and his smile grew wider —"interbreed."
It took Anne a few seconds of confused puzzling before she understood his meaning. He thought she and Legolas were lovers! Or presumably, something rather less wholesome, judging from his wording. Anne's face was burning, but at the same time, her stomach twisted with anger at the man's crudeness.
"I'm only travelling with him," she told him coolly.
"Ah, well then," he drawled, and Anne could tell that he didn't believe her. "Would be mighty brazen if they started claiming our womenfolk, too."
Anne bristled at the way he said 'our womenfolk'. She was marginally curious as to what else he thought the Elves were supposed to be claiming. She didn't ask though, not wanting to engage him in further conversation.
"What's your name then?" he now asked.
"Elena," Anne said tersely and with barely a second thought. Somehow, giving up the name she didn't remember felt less intrusive. She turned away from him and back to her horse, hoping he would take the hint. He didn't.
"So, you are from Lake-town?"
Groaning inwardly, Anne contemplated how rude she would have to become to get him to leave her alone. "Yes," she said curtly in answer to his question.
"Nice enough place," he said, apparently undeterred. "Yeah, I've been up there huntin' – further north, that is. No pea-stuff, mostly wolves and bears for the pelts… and of course bethmunds, you know."
"Right," said Anne, who had no idea what a bethmund was.
"Pretty rough land up there, nothing for faint-hearts," the Dunlander said off-handedly, and started to pick dirt out from under his fingernails. "Nearly broke my neck when my horse tripped into one of those accursed crevices – up north, near that queer, old dwarfish settlement. Snapped its leg like a rotten branch."
Still smirking, the man stared intently at Anne, as if the fact that his misfortune had occurred near her home-town made it somehow her responsibility.
"I am sorry to hear that," she said as non-committally as possible, while trying her best to appear as indifferent and haughty as Legolas.
His grin became toothier. "Are you? That's sweet of you."
Apparently, her impersonation of the Elf had been somewhat lacking. He probably only had to narrow his eyes at people to be left alone, Anne thought enviously. She decided she had had enough. Giving Peg a last pat on the neck, she turned and purposefully walked towards the door, aiming for a confident gait. Even as she approached him, the blond casually propped a hand on the wall and leaned against the door with one shoulder. Anne was left with the unpleasant sensation of having her escape route sealed off.
"Excuse me," she said firmly, when she had reached him and he didn't budge. "A friend is waiting for me."
He still didn't move, merely kept grinning. "Didn't he just leave?"
She balled her hands into fists when she realised they were shaking slightly. "Someone else."
"Really? You have a lot of friends?"
He was eyeing her up and down in a way that made her skin crawl. Anne was starting to ponder how angry Legolas would be if she were to cause another scene in order to get out of this. Her mouth felt dry all of a sudden, and she cleared her throat. The blond man was still staring at her, pink, thin lips slightly parted. There was a wet sheen on them. She felt her scalp prickle.
"Please," she said through gritted teeth, "I really need to get back."
His grin turned into a leer. "Sure you need nothing else?"
All right, this was it. Causing a scene was entirely justified. Anne felt her limbs tense as she prepared herself to shove him aside, even while recoiling from the thought of getting any closer to him.
"Do you mind, sir?"
Both of them startled slightly and the man turned around; Maeren Blackthorn was standing behind him, carrying a bolt of deep red fabric under one arm, several bags slung over her shoulder, and managing to look both bored and faintly annoyed.
"What?" The Dunlander spluttered, staring at the tall woman, as if he had never seen one before.
"I said, do you mind," Maeren repeated slowly, her eyebrows raised. "You are blocking the door there a bit."
The man gawped at her for a moment longer, then shrugged and, without another word or even a glance in Anne's direction, turned around and sauntered off. Anne noted that his head was slightly redder than before. She took a deep breath while standing aside to let Maeren enter the stable. The other woman cast a morose look over her shoulder as she walked towards the empty stall with her wares.
"That sort never dies out, does it? Resilient as cockroaches."
Anne had half expected that Maeren would ask her whether she was all right, and was, for some reason, extremely grateful that she didn't. "I suppose so," she muttered, crossing her arms in a rather belated, protective gesture in front of her chest, while slowly trailing after the merchant.
Maeren glanced at her. "That bearded fellow you had your little row with is by far not the worst of that bunch."
"You know them?" Anne asked, surprised.
Maeren shrugged while untying one of her bags and examining the contents. "I have come across the sort. There are worse out there, obviously, but it might still be a good idea to keep your distance – although I probably don't have to tell you that now."
"No," Anne said drily. "It became pretty clear once he opened his mouth."
Maeren gave a short, mirthless snort of laughter. "Good. Some men tend to think that all things in life were made for their service, never mind what the object of their attention has to say about the matter." She cast Anne a tart smile. "I expect one might be relatively sheltered from such unpleasantries while in the company of an armed, seven-foot-tall ellon. An elf-man," she added in response to Anne's puzzled expression.
"Oh." Anne pondered this for a moment as she watched Maeren carefully stow away her things. Next to them, a tiny, dark-brown pony struggled to put its head over the wall of its stall, and Anne automatically reached out to pet the small, velvety nose.
Had she been sheltered? It was certainly one way to look at it, she thought. Aside from being attacked and chased by some madmen, not to mention seeing far more dead bodies than she cared for, she probably had been pretty removed from the world while being with Legolas. Or rather, isolated. And now she had willingly chosen to continue on this more or less sheltered path of isolation, with no idea what might lie at its end. Anne absently ruminated on how strange this must appear to others.
"So, the elf-lord is not your guardian," Maeren said, casually picking up their conversation from earlier even though she seemed a little absent-minded herself. She had unrolled her list again after putting down the bolt of red cloth, and was now scribbling something down with a partially wrapped piece of charcoal.
Anne looked up from the pony. "No," she said. Then she paused. "I mean… I don't think so."
Maeren briefly looked at Anne before returning to her parchment, letting out a soft huff of laughter. "You don't think so? Well, did someone entrust you to him? Or to his people?"
Anne shook her head. "No, nothing like that. I got separated from the people I was travelling with and ended up in the woods. He just… sort of found me." Somehow she felt reluctant to disclose all the details of their first meeting. Considering Maeren's obvious misgivings about Legolas, or rather Elves in general, it might not be the most helpful thing she could do. Though, why exactly she should feel the need to defend the Elf's action of shooting her in the back, Anne wasn't quite sure.
Maeren let her list sink and looked at Anne, her expression a mixture of amusement and incredulity. "He found you," she repeated, eyebrows raised. "What, and then he just kept you? Like an injured bird?"
"Well… no," Anne stalled, thinking that this was probably not the most inaccurate comparison. "He wanted to take me back to Carrockton, but then we met another Elf from, er – Imladris..." —she struggled for the memory— "...Glorfindel. He told us that the town had been attacked and completely abandoned." Maeren glanced up from her list again, and suddenly Anne remembered that Legolas had actually mentioned the golden-haired Elf to her at the night of their arrival in Bree. "So, after that, he brought me here with him," she finished with a shrug.
Maeren was still looking at her and Anne thought she saw the ghost of something cross her face – not quite anger, not quite sadness, but something in-between. Before she could be sure of it though, the other woman had lowered her gaze to her list once more.
"I am sorry," Maeren muttered.
Anne shrugged again, seized by the same awkward helplessness she always experienced whenever people expressed sympathy over losses that didn't really feel like hers at all. "I wasn't there for long. But they were kind... and they helped me." She wasn't sure why she said this. It had been much more.
She looked up to see that Maeren was looking at her again, with the hint of a resigned smile on her face. "Perhaps they made it out all right," she said.
Anne nodded, her throat feeling tight. "Perhaps," she conceded. She wanted to ask Maeren how she knew Glorfindel, and why he had asked Legolas to seek her out – but it seemed much too familiar a question somehow. "Does your family not worry when you travel on your own?" she asked instead, both in an attempt to dispel the suddenly gloomy atmosphere, and because this was something she was genuinely curious about.
Maeren gave the low, humourless chuckle that Anne was beginning to recognise as her habit. "Oh, they are not thrilled about it. Most of them do not live here in Bree though, so I am, for the most part, out of reach of my aunt's wrath. She is the one who wears the britches in the family, strictly figuratively speaking. Usually one of my cousins, Temnar – that pleasant fellow from before – accompanies me, but he is needed here at the moment. Anyway, another one of my uncles lives in Tharbad, and he will be joining us from there to Rhûn and until back home." She raised her gaze from the roll of parchment again and gave Anne a lopsided grin, tilting her head as if in answer to an unspoken question. "Yes, I do have a large family."
"Is that good or bad?" Anne asked curiously.
Maeren shrugged. "I should say it has its moments on both ends of the spectrum."
They were silent for a moment; Maeren's brow was furrowed, as if she was already regretting having said so much. At last, she cleared her throat and rolled up her list before pocketing it once more. "Well, I need to get back to my uncle's house, I still have a bit of packing to do." She smirked at Anne. "Try and stay out of trouble."
Briefly, Anne wondered why everyone seemed inclined to tell her this – before acknowledging that they might have a point. She nodded and attempted a sardonic smile. "I will just go to my room then."
"Judging from the little I have seen, that sounds like a good idea," Maeren said, not unkindly.
:::
For lunch, their last meal at The Prancing Pony, Legolas, Pippin and Anne were joined by Maeren, as well as two Hobbits. These last two, Anne now finally learned, would also be travelling with them as far as Tharbad, both to trade with some pipe-weed, and to visit friends and relatives. One of them was Hal Gardner, whom Anne had already met on the evening of their arrival, as well as during the disastrous breakfast of the following day. The other one, Doregar, was introduced as Hal's nephew; he was a merry young fellow with red cheeks and a tousled mop of light-brown, curly hair, who looked to be in his late teens, even though he assured Anne that he was thirty-one. He immediately insisted she call him Dorry because – as he explained in great detail – he was named after a distant and rather unpleasant relative with whom he had "nothing at all in common, thank you very much!", until Hal rolled his eyes and told him to be quiet, so others might get a word in as well.
The meal was an unexpectedly entertaining affair. Pippin saw it fit to regale them with a thorough account of a visit he and his cousin and friend Merry had made to a place called Ithilien in Gondor, about thirty years ago. Or, more accurately, one specific day, and a trip that had gone slightly awry. Incidentally, Anne learned that Legolas was, in fact, a vassal of Gondor, and had been residing in Ithilien since after the last great war, even though Eryn Lasgalen, formerly known as Mirkwood, was indeed his home.
Merry and Pippin had made the long journey to visit both Legolas and Lord Faramir, the Prince of Ithilien, as well as his wife, Lady Éowyn. During that stay, they had gone for a ride through the woods of Ithilien, accompanied by Lord Faramir, Legolas himself, another Elf called Daeron, who was one of Legolas' seneschals, and lastly Faramir's young esquire. They had stopped to rest by a stream, and as it had been a very hot summer's day, they had decided – being amongst men – that it might be a good idea to go for a swim in order to refresh themselves.
What they had not reckoned with was that the Lady Éowyn, her sister-in-law, Lady Lothíriel of Rohan, and several maids from her household who were also visiting at that time, had spontaneously decided to have a ride as well and perhaps catch up with the men. Now it so happened that the path, which the women had taken, also followed the stream — albeit along the opposite bank — and, unfortunately, led them right past the spot that the men had chosen for their respite.
"At least you were in the water," Anne pointed out, amongst the chortling of Maeren and Hal.
Pippin cocked his head. "Well, actually —"
"Is this truly necessary?" Legolas demanded wearily, his cheek propped against one hand and with the air of someone who has resigned himself to the worst. They had finished eating a while ago, and Anne was surprised that he did not simply put an end to his chagrin by leaving the table.
"Now, I for one would want to know sooner rather than later if I am to travel with someone of dubious morals," Maeren declared loftily.
Legolas, without even raising his gaze, waved a slim hand in the woman's direction as if to prove a point. "Thank you, Pippin."
"Oh, shush now, all of you, and let me finish," Pippin said gleefully.
"Weren't you there as well?" Doregar asked, slightly perplexed.
"Something tells me that his, er, modesty fared better than others'," Hal quipped.
Pippin just flapped his hand at him. "So, as I was saying, before being rudely interrupted —" He shot Legolas a pointed glance. The Elf mutely stared back.
One had to hand it to him, Anne thought, his ability to convey a roll of the eye without actually doing so was truly impressive.
"Anyway, we had been there for a while already, and the water was getting a bit chilly," Pippin went on, undeterred. "So, by the time the unsuspecting ladies arrived, it was in fact only Faramir who was still in the river. The rest of us had decided to lie or sit on the bank, to dry and warm up a bit."
Maeren snorted. "And so the plot thickens."
"Faramir was also the first one to spot them," Pippin continued with a wicked grin. "Everyone else was chatting, and Legolas, Daeron and Faramir's esquire – what was that lad's name again?"
"Duilin," said Legolas, seemingly unable to help himself.
"Yes, Duilin! So the three of them were not even facing the other bank, since they were lying face down on the grass. As luck would have it, Merry and I were sitting on some rocks just by the river's edge. So, when Faramir made this strange, choking noise and sank into the water up to his nose, we were able to react quickly enough and jump in as well —"
"Splashing and squealing, and thus alerting them even further to our presence," Legolas remarked drily.
"Why did you and the other Elf not hear them coming?" Anne wanted to know, remembering the keenness of elvish hearing. "If they were riding as well, they must have made some..." She faltered when the Elf's icy stare slowly slid towards her. "Ah, never mind."
"Oh well, they were not to be blamed," Pippin said jovially, as if in defence of his friends' sensitive ears. "The noise of a river can be rather drowning—"
"What also can be rather drowning," Legolas, in dulcet voice, cut in, "is the constant prattling and singing of two over-exuberant Hobbits."
"I don't remember us singing," Pippin said, mildly indignant.
"Oh, I do, and quite clearly," Legolas pounced. "Something about a cat playing fiddle, and a calf jumping over the moon or some such nonsense, over and over again."
Pippin looked genuinely impressed. "How can you possibly remember things like that?"
Maeren turned towards Anne. "So, you have travelled here with both of them?"
Anne shrugged. "Only for a day."
"What did you do then, my lord?" Dorry now asked Legolas, wide-eyed and with a look of horrified fascination at the thought of such an indignity.
"I think," Legolas said, his tone deceptively pleasant, while gracefully rising to his feet, "that this is my cue to go and ready the horses. Stay," he added towards Anne before she had a chance to say anything. "I will be quicker by myself."
Alright then, my apologies, Anne thought, slightly disgruntled, while leaning back into her chair.
Once the Elf had left the room, Pippin turned to Dorry. "Well, what do you think they did? There was no time to cover themselves or making a dart for the river. So, they just stayed where they were."
Maeren let the cup of wine she had been sipping from slowly sink to her lap. "Wait, weren't you all completely —"
"Unclad?" Pippin supplied helpfully. "Yes, yes, not a stitch on, of course."
"My word, those ladies must have been awfully surprised, I bet!" Dorry exclaimed, while Hal was chuckling into his napkin.
"That they were," Pippin sniggered. "But they were very good about it, made their exits as soon as could be managed. The Ladies Éowyn and Lothíriel were more amused than anything else, I think. Those younger Rohirrim maidens though got quite a bit more of an eyeful than they bargained for, I wager."
Dorry shook his head in wonderment. "Weren't the elf-lords and that other young fellow terribly abashed? To imagine that I'd be caught in the buff, and by a whole group of young ladies, too! I'm sure I wouldn't leave my house for a week at least." He went scarlet and shuddered at the very thought.
"Oh, poor, young Duilin was quite embarrassed." Pippin sniggered at the memory. "Daeron and Legolas were impressively stoic about the whole affair though. And to be fair, I should mention that they had been lying flat on their bellies when the ladies caught sight of them, so it could have been worse. Imagine that!"
"I think, I'd rather not," Maeren professed drily.
"Hm," said Anne, who was trying very hard not to imagine anything at all.
:::
Shortly afterwards, Maeren, Hal and Dorry excused themselves as well, to put some last finishing touches to their loaded carts.
Pippin smiled at Anne across the table. "Here we are again."
"Perhaps we are the greediest ones," Anne suggested while reaching for another slice of bread from the basket in the middle of the table. Pippin busted out laughing and followed suit.
"Will you be leaving today, too?" Anne asked, while picking pumpkin seeds out of her piece of bread. "You bought a pony, didn't you?"
He shook his head. "Tomorrow morning. But yes, I did indeed find a pony, a sturdy young mare – and not such a bad deal it was neither. She'll even make a decent riding pony for my son in a year or two, I could imagine." He peered at the window. "Seems to be dry enough outside – shall we get a sniff of fresh air? Mind you, not that you'll be needing it, but I could use some." He wagged his eyebrows at Anne. "We can watch the others being busy," he added, making her snigger.
They made their way to the same spot Anne had been with Legolas that morning, underneath the inn's overhanging roof. The rain and wind had blown down most of the wilted roses, and the ground was covered in pale, fragrant petals. Even though the heavy, leaden clouds had begun to darken with the promise of more rain, the weather still held up. The air was brisk and the wind had picked up again.
The two wagons belonging to Maeren and Hal had been wheeled into the inn's yard, outside the barn. Maeren's was pulled by a tall, sturdy bay – the Hobbit's small cart was harnessed to a shaggy, dappled-grey pony named Tom, which Anne had already noticed in the stable. Both vehicles, she noted, had awnings to protect their cargo, currently rolled up and fastened at their sides. Hal and Dorry were securing the kegs, crates and barrels on their cart with sturdy-looking ropes, while Maeren was still busy carrying out smaller items from the stable and stowing them. Legolas was nowhere to be seen. In the weak afternoon light, the courtyard seemed bleak and cheerless. Even the maple's brightly coloured leaves looked somewhat dulled.
"I wonder why are we leaving so late" Anne voiced her concern while huddling closer into her cloak, glad for its warmth. "Legolas said it will start raining again this afternoon."
Pippin followed her gaze up at the sky, while fishing in his jacket pocket for his pipe. "There is a good spot to rest for the night about a half day's ride from here, down the Greenway, or so I gather," he told her. "Apparently, Miss Maeren and Hal always stop there for the first night when they journey together. 'For a nice and light start' - that's what Hal said."
Anne smiled. "Not exactly Legolas' approach, I think."
"Perhaps not," Pippin laughed. "But he will acquiesce to them, I'm sure."
Anne found that somewhat hard to picture, but held her tongue. It was a good job she did too, because not a moment later the Elf emerged from the doorway behind them, carrying his pack, bow and quiver, as well as several rolled-up blankets.
"Did you put your luggage and saddlebags in the stable?" he asked Anne in passing.
"Yes," she said, quickly straightening up. "Can I help with any—"
"No, stay there." He cut her off with a raised hand and a brief shake of his head.
Anne's surprise at his abrupt dismissal and the clipped tone was peppered with a tiny stab of hurt when he walked off without another look, or even the weakest smile to soften his words. Annoyed with herself for even caring in the first place, she glanced at Pippin, who was watching the Elf disappear in the stable, his brows knit.
"What did I do now," she asked, attempting to make light of it.
Pippin looked up at her, his smile a little tight. "Oh, don't worry yourself. He is just eager to be leaving, while also preoccupied with what lies ahead, I think."
Anne nodded, even though not sure what to make of this. What did lie ahead?
The Hobbit next to her had fallen silent as well. He took out his bag of pipe-weed and, still frowning slightly, began filling his pipe. Anne glanced at him and waited. She had a feeling that he had something else on his mind.
"The Elves are leaving, did you know that?"
Startled, Anne looked at the Hobbit. This wasn't what she had expected. "Leaving?"
"This place," Pippin clarified absently. "Our part of the world, if you will. They sail from the Grey Havens, west of my people's home, and then ever on westward."
There was a strange sadness in his eyes, and Anne felt the strong urge to ask him if he was all right, but it seemed much too forward a question. She didn't know why, but somehow she could tell that it was an old sort of pain, which he had long since come to terms with, and it wasn't her place to intrude on it.
"They're not all going at once, mind you," Pippin now went on, still sounding slightly distant. "Though they will all leave eventually, I suppose."
"Where are they sailing?" Anne asked cautiously.
"They call it Aman – or Valinor, I believe, but they have other words for it, no doubt."
"It's an island?"
"More like a continent, I gather. It's sort of a blessed place, and removed from our part of the world – home of the holy ones, they say." Pippin shrugged lightly, as if he thought this too lofty a theme to concern himself with. "For the Elves it's also a sort of resting place, a final home, so to speak. Once they go there they almost never return. Many have left already, some of them ages ago. There used to be many, many more of them here, you know – more than Men, or any other people." He smiled at Anne's surprised look. "That was long ago, so long that normal people like you and me can't quite wrap their minds around it, I reckon."
"Why are they leaving?" It was a sad notion, Anne thought, and made her feel strangely desolate and lonely, for reasons she couldn't fathom.
Pippin shrugged again, and his smile was bleak. "They're tired of this place, I suppose. Most of them have seen too much, lost too much… lived through too many dark periods. Their time here has come to an end, they say. Many have loved ones waiting for them in the west, they have nothing that keeps them here. Some of them are still invested in this place though, still rooted to it, if you know what I mean."
He paused, staring straight ahead. Anne followed his gaze towards the stable, where Legolas was standing by the carts and speaking – or perhaps politely arguing with Maeren about who knew what.
"Legolas is like that," Pippin said quietly. "Still partaking in this world's comings and goings, still tied to his duties and his responsibilities and such – both with his people and with others." The Hobbit looked at Anne. "I'm sure you realise that he's also, to some extent, invested in the things that are going on now – whatever they are exactly. Though I do not doubt that there's something very evil about them."
He stopped there, but Anne thought she knew what he was implying. "If he is involved in… something," she said slowly, "then going back east with him will be more dangerous than staying here, you mean to say?"
Pippin breathed a huff of laughter. "To put it simply, yes. Very simply, mind you. Then again, who knows?" He had produced his bag of leaf again, even though he had finished stuffing the pipe. He began to absently fiddle with the strings that fastened the small pouch. "It might not be long before things will start looking darker here as well. If an Elf thinks it safe enough to take you along, then it must be. Legolas wouldn't willingly endanger you, he is too sensible a person for that."
He finally met her eyes again; although his grin seemed easy enough, Anne couldn't shake the feeling that he was grappling with something. Just like during their conversation after breakfast, it was clear that he was unwilling to speak of it, though. Anne watched him light his pipe, and felt a nervous prickle in her stomach.
On an impulse, she turned to face him fully. "Is there something —"
"Anne!"
They both turned to look towards the stable, where Maeren stood in the doorway and had raised one arm, beckoning somewhat impatiently.
"You had better get over there, it would seem," Pippin said with a faint smirk and blew out a wreath of smoke. "Go, I'll wait here until you are all ready to leave, and to make my farewells."
"All right," Anne said reluctantly, recognising the gentle dismissal, and turned to hurry over to the stable; Maeren had already disappeared inside again. As she reached the entrance, Anne slowed and sneaked a look back over her shoulder at Pippin. The Hobbit, however, was now merrily chatting with Hal, looking thoroughly unconcerned.
Perhaps I am really reading to much into things, she thought as she watched Pippin laugh at something the other Hobbit had just said –
The next moment, Anne collided with something warm and firm – her arms automatically came up to steady herself and she turned her head back around so fast that she felt a sharp twinge in her neck, just as Legolas' soft, deep voice reached her ears.
"Eyes up ahead."
Startled, Anne looked up to find the Elf calmly gazing down at her. He was leading both Dûrfang and Peg behind him.
"Sorry," she blurted, and hastily drew back her hands from his chest where she had instinctively braced herself against him. "I didn't see you," she added, unnecessarily and oddly out of breath, while taking a step back to allow him to step through the doorway with the horses.
"Careful," Legolas told her, using that smooth, velvety tone that was somehow both soothing and disquieting at once. "One might begin to suspect that you are doing such things on purpose."
After some puzzling, Anne realised that he was referring to their near-collision on the inn's staircase that morning. His expression was customarily blank, so she couldn't tell whether his comment was aimed to ease her discomfort or to further it. The latter option seemed more likely, however.
"Right," was all she could think of saying, as he walked past her and led both horses outside. "Thank you for readying Peg," she added as an afterthought. Manners cost nothing, after all.
"You are welcome." The Elf glanced back at her over his shoulder. His hair was completely gathered up and tied at the back of his head, which made his chiselled, clean-cut features appear more pronounced. "You may reciprocate by preparing supper for the duration of our journey."
Before Anne could think of something to say to this unfavourable trade, Legolas nodded his head backwards. "Maeren wants something with you."
At least it probably bodes well that he is now using her first name, Anne thought as she made her way over to where Maeren was standing in the back of the stable, folding up a long cloak. Next to her on the ground was a large pack, which Anne suspected might contain personal luggage, as well as a few smaller packages, including something about the size of a broom or a walking staff, roughly wrapped in old linen.
Maeren looked up when Anne neared her. "There you are! Come here," she said while carelessly stuffing the folded clothes into her pack. "I nearly forgot and threw this on the with the rest of the lot -"
Abandoning her pack, Maeren turned and picked up the long, stick-like parcel, and began untying the strip of leather that held the threadbare cloth in place. "It needs a new string, and the limbs could do with some oiling, but it's still in working order, I should think." She had finished untying the cord and unwrapped the cloth, revealing a slender bow made of a dark wood. It was unstrung, the tips of the limbs curved outwards, and the handle was wrapped with green-dyed, slightly faded leather. Anne just stared at it, wondering whether she had somehow missed an important piece of information along the way.
Maeren was now critically eyeing the handle. "The grip might need a new wrapping at some point as well, but it should do for now." She held it out to Anne. "Oh, for heaven's sake girl, close your mouth, there are flies in here."
"I… what am I supposed to do with that?"
"Why, use it of course," Maeren said a little impatiently, as if Anne were being intentionally difficult. "Didn't you say this morning that you wanted to try?"
"I- well yes, but..." Anne still felt like she was one step behind. "I don't think I can—"
"Why not? Bows are light weapons, and it cannot hurt for a woman to be able to shoot herself some supper if there are no men around to do it. It's good exercise as well."
"But, I can't accept—"
"Nonsense, don't be ridiculous," Maeren said brusquely. "It's not even mine, if that makes you feel better, it used to be my younger cousin's, but I warrant it hasn't seen use in years. When you talked about wanting to try, I remembered my uncle mentioning that this was still at his house, collecting dust. I reckoned that it might be a little more your size."
She raised her eyebrows at Anne, who had still made no move to take the bow, proffering it to her again. "Well? I'm not getting any younger here."
Tentatively Anne took the slim weapon. It was much lighter than the one Legolas used, and also shorter, not quite reaching up to her shoulder when stood on the ground. She looked back at Maeren, who had now turned to grab another cloak that was hanging over the stall's enclosure.
"Why are you just giving it to me?" Anne asked, genuinely confused.
Maeren raised her eyebrows as she shrugged into the cloak and began tying the fastenings at the neck. "The normal – and more polite reaction would be to say 'thank you'," she said pointedly.
Anne blinked. "Uhm, thank you?"
"And besides, I'm not giving it to you. Look at it as more of a loan." She gave Anne a crooked smile. "You may pay me of course, if you want to."
Anne frowned. "I thought you said it wasn't yours."
"Maeren sighed and lightly shook her head. "Ah, should have kept my mouth shut, shouldn't I." She crouched down and began gathering up the smaller packages. While stuffing them into the large pack as well, she glanced up at Anne. "It sounded to me like you would like to learn."
"Well… I suppose so," Anne said uncertainly, looking down at the bow in her hands. She was beginning to feel cautiously excited about this. "I don't know the first thing about it, though."
"Well, that is why we call it learning," Maeren countered, seemingly unconcerned, as she straightened up and hefted the pack over one shoulder. She turned back to Anne, holding out her hand. "Here, I will store it for you on the cart – lest you lose it or something."
Handing the bow back to Maeren, Anne looked at her hopefully. "Can you teach me?"
Maeren let out a rather indelicate snort of laughter. "Me? Oh, no, I am no archer. I might be able to bring down a partridge, if it is really fat, and I am really hungry, and if it were so kind to sit still for long enough. I am certainly not fit to teach anyone. What about your guardian – or whatever he is. He seemed willing enough this morning."
"Er, I don't know," said Anne, thinking that if she had ever been witness to Legolas appearing willing to do anything regarding her person, she must have missed it.
"Well, in any case, you can ask him for a spare string, at least," Maeren said. "Come on now, we are losing daylight."
Still feeling slightly dazed, Anne followed Maeren outside to where Legolas, Pippin, Hal and Dorry were already assembled around the two carts and the patiently waiting two riding horses. Mr Butterbur came bustling outside to bid them goodbye, before hastily excusing himself, somehow still finding the time to explain that he had an errand to run and therefore could not stay to properly see them off.
Pippin courteously bowed to both women and wished them a safe journey. Then he turned to Anne with a cheerful grin, telling her to behave and not to seek trouble. Even though she somehow felt like a six-year-old being seen off by a kind but very shrewd uncle, Anne found that, for once, it took her no effort at all to accomplish a smile in return.
Legolas bent down and embraced the Hobbit warmly during their farewell. Pippin said something Anne didn't understand, the words muffled against his friend's chest. In response, the Elf pulled back slightly and burst out in a short, clear laugh, his voice so filled with warmth and age-old light that Anne thought it should have brightened the very sky above them. She didn't realise she was staring at him until Maeren nudged her slightly to get her attention, asking whether she had anything that needed to be stored on the cart.
Anne shook her head and concentrated on shortening her stirrups while doing her best to ignore the warm tingling in her stomach. She waywardly decided it was fortunate that the Elf almost never smiled. Because when he did, as it turned out, it was actually a bit dizzying, and that couldn't be a good thing.
It was not until they were almost ready to leave before Anne realised that she had forgotten to ask Butterbur about purchasing a comb or hairbrush.
"Perhaps you may still catch him if you hurry," Pippin suggested to her, although his slightly bemused expression made it clear that he couldn't quite understand her pressing need for such accoutrements.
"Oh well, it's not really important," Anne said, wavering and glancing at Legolas. "I mean, can I –"
The Elf sighed, as if to make sure to express his exasperation with such female frivolities, but he nodded. "Go on then, if you are quick."
"Sharpish now," Maeren called over from where she was already perched on the box seat of her cart. "We want to be off in five minutes!"
Butterbur wasn't behind the counter of the entrance room and Anne resigned herself to a missed opportunity, since she could hardly just walk into the kitchen or the private rooms – but decided to check the main common room at least. Only Tostig was in there, apparently just finishing replacing a few burnt-down candlesticks. When Anne asked after the landlord, the young man deploringly shook his head, nervously wringing his hands around the empty candle box.
"Begging your pardon, Miss, but he's out – you just missed him. I can run and find him if it's urgent."
"No, no," she hurried to assure him, "it's nothing important."
"Ah – very well then. Wishing you safe travels, Miss."
The young servant bowed as Anne thanked him, and then hurried back in the direction of the inn's kitchen. Mildly disappointed, Anne turned towards the door.
"Leaving, are you?"
Startled, Anne turned and looked back towards the dimly lit corner, only a few yards from where she stood. Rooklar was sitting at a small, round table, wrapped in a dark cloak. He sat slightly huddled as if to protect himself against a cold wind, his arms crossed and propped onto the polished wood of the table. She briefly wondered how she hadn't noticed him before.
"Yes," she said, feeling wary; she only hoped that this would not escalate again.
He slowly nodded, his eyes leaving her, and made no further comment. Anne stood there for a moment, waiting, feeling more and more awkward. After about half a minute of strained silence, she decided to just leave; the others were probably becoming impatient. She had just turned towards the exit when he surprised her by speaking again.
"So, your name is Elena?"
She looked at him in surprise, before realising that the blond man from the stable this morning had probably told him.
"Yes," she said again, since there really was no point in denying or correcting it.
"And you're from Lake-town. That Halfling said so." It was more of a statement than anything else.
"I… yes," she said cautiously, and with increasing confusion.
"You happen to know someone called Elias?"
Anne froze.
Elias…
The memory came to her with strange clarity. Back in Carrockton, the day after she had woken up in The Rolling Barrel, the inn's maidservant Liecia had returned her things to her. Mostly clothes, but there also had been the strange necklace – and a torn page of parchment, which was now buried somewhere at the bottom of her pack.
Anne didn't know someone called Elias – not anymore. But she must have known him at some point, because his name was written on that piece of parchment.
Rooklar stared at her for a moment before lowering his gaze to the empty table in front of him. Anne had not replied to his last question, but it did not seem like he was expecting her to do so anyway. Perhaps the look on her face was answer enough.
Anne swallowed, trying to get rid of the sudden dryness in her throat. "How- why do you ask?" she finally managed.
"My men and I were attacked on our way here," he muttered, apparently ignoring her question.
"I know," she said after a moment. She had no idea why he told her this again, nor did she understand the abrupt change of subject.
"Ambushed, in the middle of the night," he continued in a toneless voice, as if he hadn't heard her. "Killed several of us, took most of the animals -" He looked back up at her; his deep-set eyes were burning with helpless fury again. "We managed to cut down two of them, though. I searched the bodies myself, figured we might as well take whatever they had on them. Useless muck… cheaply forged knives, rusty swords… those accursed feather signs -" His eyes dipped to her bare neck. "Not like yours though, but bigger, one of them made of wood -" He snorted in contempt – "One of the bastards had some coins in his pocket at least."
His lips twisted into a mirthless sneer and his dark eyes met hers. "You know what else he had on him?"
Anne mutely shook her head.
Rooklar reached into a pocket of his cloak, swiftly drew something out and dropped it onto the table in front of him, where it landed with a soft thud.
When Anne realised what it was, she felt the blood drain from her face.
On the scrubbed table top lay a thin book, bound in leather. It was battered and soiled, its original colour barely recognisable, though it might have been blue. The back was broken, some of the binding sticking out, and part of the leather had peeled off and hung down in limp shreds.
Anne did not remember approaching the table, but suddenly she was standing right next to it and reached out a shaking hand — her arm moving as if it didn't belong to her. She tentatively opened the cover. On its mottled inside, written in brown, faded ink, were a few lines in scrawly, bold handwriting.
Property of Elena Thurgood of Esgaroth
Private – Do NOT read
That includes you, Elias!
The word NOT had been underlined several times.
"I didn't read any further than that."
Rooklar's gravelly, sardonic voice sounded muffled and distant in Anne's ears. She started turning the thick, stiff pages, which were filled with more of the same, careless handwriting, sometimes with dates on the top – they were slightly wrinkled and curled from dampness, and some of them were stuck together. In several places, the yellowish parchment was stained a pale, mud-brown colour.
She didn't have to search for long — as if exerting a mind of its own, the book fell open somewhere in the middle, which appeared to be the place where the back had broken.
Anne's hand stilled. Her heart was beating fast and hard against her ribs and there was a faint ringing in her ears.
There it was.
The second half of the torn page, the missing part to the one she had been carrying around for months, and which she had never looked at again after that first time, back at The Rolling Barrel. This half still stuck to the binding of the journal, if only barely. The torn page, as well as the following ones, were especially crumpled, as if someone had wrenched at them with all their might.
Anne felt like she couldn't get enough air. She didn't know where this gnawing, dully swirling dread came from. There was something off, a nagging sense of wrongness about this whole situation, as if reality had cracked and been put back together – only something didn't quite fit anymore.
She looked back up at Rooklar, and found him staring at her with an apathetic sort of disbelief.
"What are the odds, eh?" he muttered darkly. Then he heavily got to his feet and walked around Anne. It took her a moment to rouse herself enough from her stupor to turn and call after him.
"Why are you giving it to me?" It came out almost accusingly.
Rooklar paused at the door and glanced back at her, his thick eyebrows lowered in a weary sort of scowl. If he was surprised by her tone she couldn't tell. He rose his shoulders in a weak twitch.
"I want no part in this," he growled, but there was no real bite behind it. He left without another word.
Anne belatedly thought that perhaps she should thank him, but as she opened her mouth to do so, the door was already closing behind the Dunlander. She slowly turned back towards the table and reached out – her hand hovered over the tattered journal, reluctant to touch it again, without a clear idea why. Disturbing apprehension warred with a curiosity that felt almost morbid, for some reason.
For an instant, she was gripped by the grotesque impulse to simply leave it lying there and run from the room…
"Anne."
She nearly jumped out of her skin before the familiar voice registered with her brain, and she shakily turned around. Legolas was standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowed in a slight frown. For a moment she stared back at him in dull incomprehension — his presence seemed to make no sense — then she realised that she obviously had been much longer than the allowed five minutes.
His gaze swept over the empty common room and then back to her. "What are you doing?"
"I..." Anne's voice caught in her throat. Probably looking like a fish out of water, her mouth worked silently as she tried to form words around what had happened just now. Her mind was blank though, providing nothing as the silence stretched between them.
"Mr Butterbur isn't here," she told him at last, her tone apologetic and a little wild.
Legolas eyes narrowed further, perhaps trying to determine whether she was making a joke. "Yes, so I see," he said slowly, his voice edged with dry annoyance. He shifted his weight, lightly resting one shoulder against the doorpost. "A good thing it is then, that I came for you and not for him."
"Yes," Anne agreed readily.
He regarded her for a moment before he cocked his head and his frown deepened with a hint of concern. "Are you all right?"
"Yes!" she said again, perhaps a little too quickly. She saw his eyes dart towards the book on the table behind her.
"You forgot something?"
"Oh…" Anne followed his gaze and paused, hesitating, her thoughts bustling and stumbling over each other.
She desperately wanted to tell him, but she knew he was impatient to be off, she had delayed them long enough already – and the truth was that she didn't quite know what to say to him right now, anyway; she didn't know why this scared her so much. A muted, oddly detached part of her brain wondered if she was overreacting. Her decision made in a desperate rush, she turned around and picked up the book, the motion clumsy with reluctance, and hastily stuffed it into the pocket of her cloak.
"Yes," she said in answer to his question, her voice hoarse, not looking at him. "It's nothing though, I am sorry I took so long." She tried to shake off the lingering sense of unrealness, jerked herself into action and hurriedly walked towards the door.
Legolas was watching her as she approached him, his grey eyes sharp and strangely calculating. For a moment Anne was sure that he would say something, press her on what was going on – and she half hoped that he would. She had reached him now but the Elf was still leaning against the door frame, blocking the exit, and regarding her closely.
Out of nowhere, Anne thought of the obtrusive Dunlander in the stable that morning, who had done something so similar, and she wondered, vaguely and irrelevantly, how one and the same thing could feel so different.
It's all right, she told herself. There is time, you don't have to tell him right now.
She looked up and uneasily sought his eyes. He was returning her gaze, still as a statue. There was a tiny crease between his eyebrows, like the barest hint of displeasure. Only his eyes moved, flitting between hers and across her face – searching, probing, perhaps reading the things she didn't say out loud, trying to find the fault.
Suddenly Anne was sick of being under scrutiny – the Breelanders, the Elves of Imladris, Rooklar and the other nameless Dunlander, Maeren and her cousin Temnar, and even Legolas himself. She was being unfair, she knew, because the Elf appeared to be genuinely concerned, but all she wanted to do right now was leave.
"Can we go?" Her plea came out as little more than a hoarse whisper.
Legolas' expression seemed to relax, become smooth, his gaze losing some of its intensity. He gave her the tiniest nod, his eyes not leaving hers.
"Very well," he said quietly, as if speaking with an upset child. He lightly pushed away from the door and then flustered her momentarily by reaching out a hand for her cloak, which she had swept back over her shoulder at some point. With a soft sigh of dispassionate irritation, he tugged it back forward so it covered her properly again. "We are late as it is." His hand was warm as it brushed past her arm.
Then he made room for her and held the door, so she could step past him. Anne did so with her heart in her throat, her head still buzzing without any clear thoughts, and feeling heavy with both relief and disappointment. There were other things, stirring, biting and nagging, but she refused to try and decipher them now. As she crossed the entrance hall she could see, through the open door ahead of her, the gathering, dark clouds beyond the neighbouring rooftops. The wind seemed to have died down, but Anne could still hear the soft rustle of leaves, like whispering voices. The air smelled of thunderstorms.
:::
III III III
Quick chapter endnote:
Just for 'reference', the scene in which the torn parchment first makes an appearance is right at the beginning of chapter 5.