Chapter Twelve
That night, the group did not stop to rest. They pushed on, and only one dared to sleep: Ilmare. Her head lay against Gandalf's chest for several hours, giving the illusion that she was sleeping peacefully.
The sun glinted through the trees, sending only slight shadows into the golden light. Even the brown-gold bark of the trees seemed to shine. Standing in front of her was Olorin. His white hair glistened in the light. A smile stretched over his face as his grey eyes shone with admiration and love.
Eagerly, he took her hand and led her off into the forest. As they walked, night seemed to fall in a matter of minutes, yet still he led onward.
He only stopped when the darkness was complete. At that point, he turned to face Ilmare again. This time, however, he took her face in his hands, cradling it gently. He leaned forward until their foreheads rested against each other. She could feel his cool breath against her lips, seeming to invite her to come closer. Her eyes drifted closed as she revelled in the softness of his skin against her own.
Suddenly, pain ripped through her face as fingernails dug into her cheeks. Ilmare's eyes snapped open to meet piercing black eyes. These were nothing like Olorin's, or even Curunir's. A warm liquid dripped down her cheeks to drop to her shoulders. Her eyes flicked down only to see rivulets of blood dripping from her cheeks onto his hands.
Ilmare looked back to the man before her. Alarm was clear in her eyes. He smiled bitterly and said, "Mae govannen, Ilmare. Ugolodhlye pelalye im? Hiruvaim oio lye." (Hello, Ilmare. Did you truly think you could escape me? I will always find you.)
His black eyes pierced her very soul as his arm reached out to wind around her waist tightly, pulling her close. Everything went dark. She could see nothing but the light from his cold eyes. They stared into hers from only a few inches away, taunting her, beckoning her...
"Ilmare..."
"Ilmare."
Ilmare! Ortano!" a familiar voice called. (Wake up)
She could feel a repetitive jolt throughout her body accompanied by an arm wrapped around her, holding her in place. Her eyes flew open as she looked about wildly. She very quickly met Gandalf's eyes. Despite this, she did not recognize him until he spoke again, saying, "Naim si." (I am here)
"Olorin," she sighed, relaxing to rest against him once more.
"Aeraim heruva," Gandalf said. There was no hint of guessing in his voice. He knew. (You saw him)
"Heruva nwalmeim si," she said quietly, resting her head on his chest as she closed her eyes to banish the images from her mind. (He torments me still)
"Ugolodhim heruvo," he said while spreading out his fingers on her shoulder to stroke her. (Do not think of him)
"Naim ambarimo untupaim heruvo," she whispered before looking at their surroundings.(It is my fate to ever hide from him)
It was apparently the middle of the morning already. The sun had begun its ascent into the sky, casting a shadow on the surrounding landscape by use of a very large hill with a small city atop it. "Edoras," she said under her breathe.
"You'll need to keep your hood up," Gandalf said in Westron. That, out of all they had spoken of, was the one thing which he did not mind being overheard.
Ilmare smiled and looked up at him as she said, "I had expected as much."
Gandalf looked down at her, smiling, and said merrily, "After all, what would they think if a silver-haired beauty came riding into their city accompanied by most likely the oddest group they have ever seen."
"Perhaps we would be considered so odd that they believe they are seeing visions," she returned.
"We can only hope the people of Rohan are not so misguided as to think such a scraggly band of wanderers are a vision," Aragorn chimed in from behind them.
Ilmare's head whipped back as her eyes flashed to him. As she did, her hood fell back, allowing her silver hair to glint in the light. Quickly, Gandalf took his hand from around her waist to replace the disguise. He found himself missing the contact with her, though he attributed it to his not seeing her for centuries.