Chapter 17: Distance
Coran drew her hood tighter as she was assaulted by another blast of wind, which carried the harsh rain on its coattails. The storm had come down from the mountains to release its icy breath upon the foothills and plains. She was glad for her cloak for she could feel winter beginning to set its claws into the land. Frost covered the hardened land and her own breath twirled delicately from her mouth as if she was a dragon. Goldor had been complaining that soon when the terrain was covered in snow that he would have to wear his dreadful paw covers. She had assured him that she would not put them on him until the first snowfall.
She wanted nothing more than a warm fire to warm her frozen bones. This storm that had been assaulting them had lasted since before dawn through midday. She feared it would sit over the region for a week or more. Surely if that happened, she would fall ill. A risk neither of them would want to take as they passed through the Gap of Rohan.
Telthedir glanced back at her shivering form. Vowing that the next cave they would come upon would be their camp site for the night, he slowed Thalion, waiting for her and Goldor to catch up. Rain had plastered both of their hair and clothes to their bodies. He did not suffer from the cold as much as she. They needed to find shelter. "Goldor," he called out as they neared. "I need you to scout for shelter. A cave or an overhang would work best. We do not have much time before it gets dark."
Pulling off his drenched cloak, he passed it to her. It wouldn't provide much relief from the cold but it was better than just her cloak. "Here, Coran." He breached the gap between them, adjusting the cloak on her shoulders.
"Thank you," she said through clenched and chattering teeth. The cold sunk into her bones, an acute pain that she could not quite place or combat. Shelter, she thought sadly, was what separated this experience and the cold winters of the North. She found no refuge from the cold or the rain out on the plains, but the small comforts of home, furs and a fire drove out the cold on even the chilliest nights in the North.
Since they had departed Rivendell, her fears and doubt had escalated. Worry soaked her thoughts like the rain and again, she found no shelter from her anxiety. Goldor and Telthedir offered no additional support as they too were considering their course of action. Coran was not made for this adventure like Feredir and Calithil. She was soft and easily worn where they were hard and steadfast. She wondered if they ever questioned their competency in the jobs they were given. Of course, she knew that they had as they were human, but they must have felt at least a tiny bit more prepared than she currently did.
Except, she had felt this way since her move to the Shire. Training as a warrior, like Feredir, like Calithil, like Aragorn? Who did she was? Who did they think she was? Her incompetency had helped no one during the attack on the Dúnedain outpost, or at Weathertop. As she berated herself more, she thought about the death of Gilraen and her failure to save her. She was even incompetent in her most skilled area. How would she be able to help Rohan?
Yet, despite all of her doubt, she felt the surge of determination set in. She had sworn her life to this cause. She had told Elrond, her mother, all of them that she would see this done until her last breath. And Coran found no hesitation in her desire to fulfill that oath. It was a testament and tribute to Feredir, a last attempt at avenging him through offering what little talent she had to try to save the world from the evil that took him. And maybe the rest of the Fellowship had similar feelings and desires.
She was sorely missing the Fellowship. She missed the company and the conversations. Telthedir was still very withdrawn and often scouted by himself, leaving her alone with Goldor and Suldal. It was lonely on the plains and she worried that they may never get to Rohan. Both Goldor and Telthedir seemed to be on edge around her, their additions to conversations short and at times distant and cold. If she had more energy, she would have inquired, but with this storm and all the traveling they were doing, she had not the heart to argue with them.
None of them had seen the end of the mountains yet nor any sign of villages. The only signs of civilizations were the ruins that popped up in the distance that dotted along the foothills of the mountain. She was beginning to think that all of the maps were wrong, that the mountains just continued forever. Currently it was the soundest theory she had as she grew impatient and irritable with their journey.
"Are you feeling well, Coran?" Telthedir's voice rang out a little louder than it should have, to cut over the pouring rain. It startled her from her thoughts and she had forgotten she had more companions than just her mind.
"As well as to be expected. I grow weary with our travel and all this rain." She looked at his back as they rode along, hoping her would at least look at her and remind her that there was another being on these plains with her who actually talked and smiled and felt alive. It was currently just the wisp of the elf she had known before. "The horses do as well," she added. She knew he knew that as well.
Her answers seemed to satisfy his curiosity and he was silent again. She huffed loudly at his distance, growing even more irritable yet she said nothing. She prayed Goldor would return soon so that they could rest, but more importantly so that she could hopefully have more than a two sentence conversation.
She did not expect him to speak again as quickly as he did. Maybe he was just thinking, mulling a decision over. When he had reached a decision, he told her, "We will rest for the day tomorrow. You need to care for yourself and continue your lessons on healing. We are nearing Dunlend."
Coran began to speak, opening her mouth, but shut it quickly. It was no use asking him to do the same. Sadly, she wondered if this is what she looked like after she lost Feredir. She frowned, a dark emotion close to anger surged briefly within her. Except Telthedir did not have to watch Lhûn die, beheaded brutally. In fact, Lhûn was not going to die; she was peacefully sailing into the West to the Undying Lands, a place where she would be safe, a place called home.
That emotion faded as quickly as it had come and she now wondered if Feredir had found peace, if all of her praying had worked. Was their creator not but merciful? Did He not want them to find everlasting peace?
Just then Goldor emerged from behind a few out of place rocks and led them to a nearby shelter they could find in a small grotto carved out of the hillside. Coran followed Telthedir's lead as he dismounted Thalion, sliding from Suldal's saddle. They led their horses inside the cave's entrance, seeking protection from the rain.
The cave looked like it extended far back, but the darkness enveloped much of carved out rock. "How far back does it go, Goldor?" Telthedir asked, following the large dog further into the cave, as he signaled Coran to wait. She was more than happy for them to go away and search out the cave as the rain had stolen her warmth and her energy.
She could not think of what to do first. Her cloak and certainly her attire were soaked through. Her pack was enviably drenched as well. She feared she would catch a cold with all of her wet clothes, but there was no solace of dry clothing or a fire to warm and dry by. She shook off the two cloaks adorning her shoulders and dropped them to the ground. Shivering, she began to care for Suldal and strip her of the saddle. She moved to Thalion, taking the saddle from his back. Coran struggled to keep her eyes open, exhaustion taking over her.
She dropped to the ground, sliding down the wall. Coran pulled her knees up, trying to still her shivering body. What she wouldn't give for a fire or dry hair. Reaching up, she squeezed the water from her braid and began to follow suit with her tunic. She pulled off her boots and dumped the water out of them. Further stripping her feet, she took off her socks, placing bare feet on freezing ground.
Standing, she retrieved the saddle bags, searching through them for any remnants of semi-clothes. She pulled out a tunic that was mostly dry. Her wet one was taken off and discarded. She stood only in her bindings and leggings. Even her bindings were wet. She began to unwrap them, fully leaving her top bare. Her skin chilled, but dried, and she graciously pulled her mostly dry tunic over her head.
"We found some wood in the back of the cave. From what we can tell, no one has been here for a long while," Telthedir's soft voice turned her around. He set down an armful of dry wood. Goldor followed in his footsteps, dropping a few twigs into the pile of wood. Telthedir quickly started the fire. "Thank you for tending to Thalion."
"You're welcome. I am glad you found something to make fire with." She scooted closer to the fire, beginning to warm her body. "I do fear for my health. I am fearful of this journey," she admitted softly. Her eyes lingered on the fire. She hoped her candor would encourage him to follow suit.
Telthedir did not look at her as he took off his boots and socks and stripped his tunic. "We will persevere. Resiliency flows in your blood. I do not have a doubt that we will complete our task. Do not be afraid of uncertain futures."
Her head snapped up, anger once more flooding her. "Lord Elrond showed me futures. I am afraid of what could pass. As we draw closer to Dunlend and Rohan, we draw closer to those futures." He did not speak as she continued. "I know the dangers of the North King."
That got his attention. He ceased fiddling with his tunic and lowered it to the ground. His eyes rose to meet hers, an unknown emotion crossed his face. "And what do you know of the North King?" A dangerous tone rushed through his voice.
Goldor's fur rose at the question and he emitted a low growl. Coran frowned deeply. "He takes me a slave, holding me for ransom and beds me. He has thousands of men in his camp. Rohan cannot fight both his army and Saruman's."
Telthedir tried to conceal his release of the breath he held. She did not know. He turned his eyes back toward the fire. "I will not let you be taken. But you are correct. The threat from the North King is imminent and we should be vigilant."
"What do you know of the North King?"
A hesitation gave him away. Her eyes narrowed and she realized he was keeping information from her. "I know that he usurped the last king and has pledged allegiance to Saruman. He has committed thousands of warriors to take the lands of Rohan. I know he is a danger to us."
Coran did not answer him, letting the topic drop. Disappointment and frustration still coursed through her at his censoring. He knew something about the North King. In silence, she stood and retrieved her sleeping mat, placing it on the ground near the fire. "I am exhausted from our ride," she said evenly. She laid down, turning her back to him. Goldor came to her and curled his body next to hers.
"I will keep watch."
She could not close her eyes, her mind racing. What was he hiding? She forced herself to remember the vision Elrond showed her. Had she missed something? She thought of the thousands of tents. Matted and braided hair. Tattoos and hair ornaments. The North King. His eyes were gray like winter skies. His hair the same shade as her people's. He was familiar. His voice. His likeness. Everything familiar.
Sleep grabbed her too quickly for her liking. It was cruel as it showed her the vision again of the North King. Except, it hid his face. Each time the dream played out, his face was hidden from her, despite her best efforts. Each time, she was lost to the North King.