Chapter 7

I'm alive! It's a wonder how I am; English this year has been killing me. And don't get me started on Psychology.

Anyhoos, apologies for the wait again, and thank you so much for staying with the story. I was looking over the reviews again today and fangirled a little, I have to admit. You're all so lovely it's unreal.

As usual, reviews are greatly appreciated, and enjoy the chapter.

P.S – anyone interested in an X-Men: First Class (Alex/OC) fanfic? I've got a couple of chapters written already, but I'm not solid in my idea just yet.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Lord of the Rings, only Maethoriel and any other unrecognisable characters.

Maethoriel finished strapping her belt around her waist and slipped her tomahawk and dagger into their holds, examining what she could see of herself. The elves had been immeasurably kind and made a new shirt of dark grey that was thicker and therefore warmer than her previous shirt, and they had made her a leather, sleeveless doublet to wear over the top of the shirt – she was immensely impressed at how accurate their measurements had been, for the leather fit every curve from her hips up to her neck perfectly. She pulled her boots up over her leggings and tightened the strings, secured her cloak around her neck, and slipped her bow and arrows over her back. Her black hair fell down around her shoulders and back, though her fringe was pinned back to keep it out of her eyes.

Taking a breath in through her nose, quiet and deep, she allowed herself a moment to study the comfort of the room she had been allocated and imprint everything she saw and felt into her memory, knowing that she would think back to it over the course of the approaching journey when she lay on beds of stone and soil. Maethoriel was not perfect – she knew that in her heart – she knew that misery would wrap her in its icy, unforgiving fingers and elicit a longing for a time when she had not consented to partaking in such a harsh, dangerous quest. Even now she felt reluctance and apprehension; yet, regret never once crossed her mind – she also knew in her heart, as sure as she knew that her father was watching over her, that she was doing the right thing.

A soft knock at her door drew her from her thoughts and she turned towards it, subconsciously adjusting the clasp of her cloak at her neck. "Come in," she called.

Her gaze dropped from the expected height to the fluffy, white hair of the ageing hobbit, and she smiled fondly at him when he gave her a watery smile. "It seems that I have been saying far more goodbyes in the past year or so than I ever have in my life," he sighed, closing the door behind him.

"They are not forever, dear Bilbo," Maethoriel replied softly, walking to him as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Have you spoken to Frodo yet?"

He sighed again. "No. I have that to look forward to," he remarked sarcastically, wariness seeping into his voice. "I think that is going to be the worst goodbye of all."

She knelt in front of him and took his wrinkled hands in her unblemished ones, feeling his muscles shake and his fingers clutch hers tightly. "You will see Frodo again," she told him firmly, "I swear on my life."

He looked at her with sad affection. "You are too righteous for your own good, my friend," he replied. "And too keen to sacrifice your own life," he added, chuckling.

"It is for a good cause," she retorted.

"It is folly when there are other ways to protect someone."

"What if it is the only option?"

"There are always other options," he smiled wisely, confusing Maethoriel. She could not see how a drastic situation that would determine life or death for someone would have more than one option. Either they died, or they lived, and that would come about by refusing to sacrifice, or giving her life willingly. "Besides, I don't think you know how fiercely people would miss you," he continued, giving her a knowing look. He took his hands from hers and walked to the balcony overlooking a beauty like no other.

"What do you mean by that?" she questioned suspiciously, standing to her full height again.

"I'm sure you'll come to see it over your journey; I can think of no better way for it to be exposed than the risk of death."

"For what to be exposed, Bilbo?" she asked, lightly frustrated. "I thought it was only elves and wizards who spoke in riddles."

He laughed good-naturedly. "And I thought that stars were the wisest of folks."

She sighed tiredly at his mysterious talk and shook her head. "I am an emberling," she reminded him.

"It is still the same race, my friend."

He turned away from the view and walked slowly back to her, all merriness washed from his face by a rain of solemn foreboding. His pained gaze turned upwards to look at her and he smiled with such sadness her heart nearly broke. "I will truly miss you, Maethoriel. You have no idea how much I have enjoyed our time together."

"No more than I have enjoyed it, I'm sure," she replied sincerely. She was unfamiliar with situations like these and the appropriate rituals such as hugging and crying, and so she settled with taking Bilbo's head in her hands and placing a kiss upon his brow. "Stay safe, Bilbo, and fear not for your nephew – he has more courage and strength than most kings, and he has the most loyal of friends by his side. He will come back to you, I promise."

Bilbo's smile was shaky as tears built up in his sorrowful eyes. For a moment his throat bobbed as he struggled to create sounds, then he barely managed to say, "You have a beautiful soul, Maethoriel; be sure that you do not lose it." And then he scurried from her room with a sniff and went off to prepare himself for his farewell to Frodo.

Maethoriel was left standing in the middle of her room, feeling strangely empty inside as she stared at the wooden floor. It felt alien for her to be so emotionally affected by separation; the bonds she shared with her father and brothers were strong, yes, but they did not produce the same ache she felt in her chest once the ever-cheerful, ever-friendly, personality of Bilbo Baggins hurried out of her sight. No other emberling she conversed with who had previously gone on a quest of their own spoke of such emotional distress, so why was she any different? Perhaps they all felt the pains of goodbyes, but kept it to themselves so to not make others reluctant to travel. She could understand if that was the reason; she was sure to grieve Bilbo's presence during their journey, and she knew that Frodo would too, more so than her – she would not wish the feeling upon anyone.

"Maethoriel?" She blinked and looked to her open door, her gaze landing upon a concerned and apprehensive Legolas. "Forgive me; I knocked, but it seems your mind was elsewhere."

She shook her head and managed a smile. "There is nothing to forgive."

He took a step further into the room, eyebrows furrowing over his clear, blue eyes. "Something troubles you; what is it?"

The intensity of his gaze was too much for her and she turned away from him to look at the view from her balcony. Dusk was descending over the valley: pale pinks and oranges were painted softly across the sky and illuminated the world in an orange glow, lining the edges of leaves, tree trunks, and buildings. It was a beautiful sunset, and yet it was a tragic moment. "This is where serenity, contentment, and joy end," she said finally. "Once we leave this valley, everything will change." She should have just lied; she did not know why she confessed her troubles to him.

Thanks only to her sensitive elf ears, she heard the whisper of his movement as he approached and stood by her side, his gaze following hers. "Our quest will require vigilance, wariness, and bloodshed, yes," he began softly, his voice flowing like soothing music, "but that does not mean it will be without joy or contentment. Bonds will form between all of us, of friendship, companionship, respect, admiration, protectiveness; they will provide us solace from the misery, distraction from the horror. Do not surrender to ominous thoughts before our journey has truly begun, Maethoriel; such a foul mood suits you ill."

She turned her head to look up at him, meeting his bright gaze, the corner of her lip twitching. "You should be the Prince of Optimism."

She watched as a grin grew easily on his pale face, his eyes sparkling with mirth and pleasant surprise. In the light of the sunset, his hair glowed golden like a crown of silk down behind his ears and onto his shoulders. It was pulled back from his forehead and temples, woven intricately in a braid above his ears. The sunlight hit the side of his face so that his prominent cheekbone was illuminated above a lightly shadowed cheek and the angled slope of his jaw. The radiant beauty of the Elves was apparent to Maethoriel more than ever before as she observed him, allowing a smile of her own to spread across her more tanned features.

After a while, his grin faded to a small smile. "I am glad that there is no negativity between us," he told her. "I was worried after we spoke in the gardens that I had offended you. I'd planned on speaking with you again some time when we were both alone, but you managed to slip out of Rivendell before the opportunity arose. When you returned, I was relieved, to say the least; but I could not find the courage to approach you after your meeting with Lord Elrond. I was sure that you would not wish to see me, after everything I had said."

"Of course you did not offend me, Legolas," she assured him. "I was – and still am – unfamiliar with compliments like those you so generously gave me. I was only caught off guard. As for the other occasions, I apologise if I seemed unapproachable to you; that was certainly not my intention."

"Perhaps I should continue with the compliments, for practice," he smiled good-naturedly.

She chuckled. "I think I have had enough for a lifetime, but thank you."

He regarded her seriously for a moment. "I acknowledge that you are capable of defending yourself against our enemies, Maethoriel, but I still stand by all that I said that day. You require protection too."

"We all require protection," she told him, "Aragorn especially, and, without a doubt, Frodo; even you need protection, Legolas. You are a prince; you rank higher than most."

"Only in title," he retorted. "Not in moral or practical worth."

Maethoriel sighed, her gaze trailing over his stubborn features. "Perhaps we should avoid this matter in conversations from now on; I doubt either of us will relent and agree with the other at any time in the near future."

He smiled down at her. "Wise words. Wasting time arguing when I could be learning more about you is pointless, and not something I wish to do."

"I was thinking the same thing," she replied, smiling back at him.

"I must admit," he said, glancing at where the tip of her bow poked up over her shoulder. "I look forward to witnessing your skill."

"Do not worry," she teased him, "I have had more than enough time to practice for a little competition."

He grinned. "That would certainly be interesting."

Another knock on her door startled the two of them, and they turned to see an elf standing in the doorway. "The company has begun to gather, my lord, my lady."

Legolas nodded his head politely and the elf left, while Maethoriel stared curiously at where he had stood. "He addressed me as a Lady," she said as if to herself, a little bewildered.

Her blonde companion chuckled at her as he placed a guiding hand on her back to lead her out of the room. "I agree; it is so much of an understatement that it is almost an insult. He shall have to try a much grander word next time."

Maethoriel rose from her confusion and surprise with an amused but disapproving expression. "You seem to have a tendency to dramatise the simplest of situations."

"Perhaps you should address me also as the Prince of Drama, then?"

She let out a musical laugh that was completely out of place given the severity of the state of the land and the journey they were about to embark on, but Legolas was right: there was still room for joy; they just had to make the most of it when they could.

As soon as she and Legolas had joined the growing collection of their Fellowship, merriment was but a faint memory in the back of their minds. Frodo stood staring into the depths of a beautiful, short blade, given to him by Bilbo, who had decided that he could not bear to stand witness to their departure. Aragorn sat upon the steps of the Hall of Fire, his head in his hands – Maethoriel's heart went out to him and his love, devastated that they had to be separated in such an unpredictable manner; who knew whether they would meet again? Merry and Pippin sat by Frodo, talking glumly in low voices, while Sam stood stroking the muzzle of his beloved pony from Bree, murmuring soothingly to the creature. Gimli stood as tall as he could, back straight, his hands braced on his axe like a walking stick before him. Boromir sat off to the side, his shield propped up against his knee and the Horn of Gondor in his hands – his eyes had a distanced, longing look in them, as if seeing memories in the horn's curved depths. Legolas and Maethoriel stood silently together, relishing their last moments in Rivendell before the beginning of their journey, observing the small crowd of elves that had wordlessly gathered. Maethoriel vaguely humoured the idea that the occasion was hidden from most in Middle Earth, and yet it would be remembered for thousands of years, if they succeeded.

After a while, Gandalf and Elrond emerged from the hall, and the lord of Rivendell called the company to gather before him. "The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On you who travel with him no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will."

"Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens," Gimli stated.

"Maybe," Elrond began, choosing his words carefully so to not insult the dwarf, "but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall." The dwarf only muttered something under his breath, so Elrond continued to address the company as a whole. "Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves, Men, and Free Folk go with you." He touched his palm to his chest and then swept it outwards slowly; Maethoriel noticed Legolas and Aragorn reciprocate the action, but she settled with bowing her head to him.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ring-bearer," Gandalf spoke up from the back of the company.

All eyes went to watch the hobbit as he glanced around at their audience and then turned to face his Fellowship, fear and nervousness buried deep in his blue eyes. Walking between them, looking up at all the faces as he passed, as if to memorise their last expressions of peace, he made his way out of the group towards the archway that led out of Rivendell.

Maethoriel fell into step with Legolas as the company followed Frodo's footsteps. She barely heard him whisper, "Mordor, Gandalf, is it left or right?" She glanced up at Legolas, wondering if he too had heard, and watched as he looked down at her with soft amusement dancing in his gaze; she smiled at him and looked away again.

"Left," Gandalf replied quietly, putting a hand on Frodo's shoulder in silent comfort.

Maethoriel looked at Merry and Pippin in front of her, listening to Sam lead Bill, his pony, behind her, and felt comforted that Frodo had his friends with him to share the burden of his quest with. From this point on, each and every one of the Fellowship would know companionship like no other, and Maethoriel had no doubt that they would all be more than willing to support each other, and the Ring-bearer especially, along the way.

"Be careful where you step, Bill," she heard Sam say quietly behind her. "The dark can be misleading and dangerous."

Detecting the fear and unhappiness in his tone, she said to him, "Do not feel disheartened, Samwise Gamgee; the Stars shine brighter tonight to guide us on our way."

Sam blushed and looked up into the sky. True enough, the thousands of lights in the darkness were shining radiantly, more-so than ever before, he was sure of it. A soft smile crossed his face then, and his steps became more enthusiastic. The others also looked up and found a sense of comfort and courage warm their hearts; the Stars were watching over them.