Chapter 8
Aaaaand we're back! Good lord, it's been a while.
Welcome to the next instalment of Emberling, and thank you very much for flying with thenerdnextdoor airways on your journey to Middle Earth today. Apologies for the delay but I had a little bit of a writer's block, and then I went and watched all the films and was practically itching in my seat to get down all the ideas that suddenly blossomed, so, here we are!
Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews; I'm thrilled to see that my story seems to be unique in terms of the other fanfictions out there and I'm honoured that all of you are here on this journey with me.
P.S – I think I want Maethoriel to look somewhat like Katie Cassidy, because that gal is beaut. However, if you already have preconceived ideas of how she looks then, by all means, stick to them if you prefer! I wish I could see into your minds and find whatever image of her you've subconsciously made – that would be so awesome..
Anyway, enjoy - reviews are warmly welcomed as always!
DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise from the books and movies does not belong to me.
They had been travelling for only a week, but to some of them it seemed as if they had been suffering the pains of endless walking for an eternity. A dull ache had settled in the core of Maethoriel's feet that throbbed whenever they made contact with the uneven ground, and her skin stung from where the icy wind bit at her relentlessly, but she knew that the others were suffering more than her – save Legolas – due to their races. She made sure to spend time with each of them in hopes of distracting them from their aches and pains.
"We must hold this course west of the Misty Mountains for forty days," Gandalf told her while she was trying to distract him, "If our luck holds, the gap of Rohan will still be open to us. From there, our road turns east into Mordor."
"Rohan is a dangerous place, Gandalf," she replied grimly, thinking back to her previous journey. "Théoden's mind is not his own, and Saruman's servants descend upon the land like plague, killing any in their path – including women and children."
The wizard's eyes grew distant. "There is a chance that I could free Théoden from Saruman's grasp; if we are hindered on our passing through his country and brought before him, I will try my utmost."
Maethoriel felt concern gnaw at her heart and she let out a small sigh. "The world seems to shrink day by day," she mused quietly. "Evil closes in around us, and our allies – if we have any – are too far spread and occupied in battles of their own."
"Our allies would give us an army if they did not try to take the Ring for themselves," Gandalf replied. "An army is too obvious. Sauron does not expect us to destroy the Ring, just as he does not expect such a small number of intruders in his land. This is how it must be done – we must only rely on each other."
"Gandalf," Aragorn's voice called from behind the two. They stopped walking and turned to face the rest of the Fellowship. "It is nearing midday."
The wizard nodded, his pointed hat bobbing animatedly. "Let us find a place to rest."
After Legolas spotted a thicket of thorn-bushes dense enough to provide cover for the ten of them, the Fellowship made their way over and set up camp. Aragorn offered to take watch, and Maethoriel said that she would accompany him, given that, although she could actually sleep now, it was only for a few hours a night anyway.
The two of them sat next to each other a few feet away from the rest of the Fellowship, looking out of their hiding place towards the mountains that towered over them. Aragorn sat with one leg bent at the knee, his elbow leaning on it as he held his lit pipe. Maethoriel sat with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap, her hood brought over her head to block out the cold winds. The companionable silence was much appreciated by both of them – the company got on well with each other, but sometimes hearing five conversations at once felt a little overwhelming. It was nice to calm down and enjoy the peace every once in a while.
Maethoriel closed her eyes. She inhaled, listening to the sound of her steady heartbeat as it pulsed within her chest, then exhaled, losing the quiet woosh of the action in the heavy noises of the wind. She lay a hand on the ground beside her and felt the individual blades of grass, the small, rough stones, and the moist, gritty soil beneath her skin. It was simple, what she was doing, but she felt more at peace than she ever had after leaving the safety and comfort of Rivendell, and it reminded her of what needed to be saved in this world. If Sauron won the war, there would be no peace, there would be no harmony, there would be no amity – there would only be death and desolation.
"Boromir does not feel that Gondor needs a king," Aragorn murmured quietly, bringing Maethoriel from her thoughts.
She blinked and looked over at him. "Does this bother you?" she asked softly, reassuring herself that the eight people behind her were breathing deeply and evenly.
She watched as a frown creased his forehead and he inhaled the substance in his pipe. When he exhaled again, tendrils of smoke almost imperceptible in the sunlight escaped his lips. "I am not certain," he finally replied.
Maethoriel brought her hand back into her lap and interlaced her fingers. "Step out of yourself," she told him suddenly, "Look upon the White City as my people do, and tell me what you see." He looked over at her for the first time, his brows pulled together again and his mouth turned down in confusion. Uncertain of where these words and ideas were coming from, she decided to just go along with it. She reached over and pressed her fingertips to his frown. "Forget your name," she murmured, "Forget your title, forget your mission, and forget your pressures." He closed his eyes, his countenance softening. "Breathe deeply. Clear your mind."
When she felt his calmness radiating off of him, she found herself closing her eyes too, an image of Gondor surrounding her mind as she breathed. "Think of Gondor, think of Minas Tirith; picture the walls, the buildings, the gates," she paused for a moment, "The people, the White Tree. What do you see in your mind?"
"I see.." he began unsteadily, his skin creasing under her fingertips. "I see a great city, and a great people.. but they should be treated with more honour and respect.. more love." His voice became slightly strained. "But I do not see a people wishing for a king."
Maethoriel knew that Aragorn would not be swayed within the space of a few minutes – she was not that naive – nor would he go against what he truly believed was right for the people. She would not force him to become king, and she would not manipulate him, but she could help him see what would become of Gondor if he shunned his birthright as well as if he accepted it. "And what do you see when you look beyond the White City? When you look at the towns and villages, the peasants beyond the walls, what do you see?"
"I see innocent people," he replied grimly, "Scared within their own homes. Defenceless. Alone. I see people worth defending, but they are without protection."
Eyelids opening to reveal emerald orbs that were so deep and intricate that it was like looking into the universe itself, Maethoriel smiled softly and removed her fingertips from Aragorn's forehead, watching as he blinked tiredly and struggled to focus on her face. She held his cheek in her palm, seeing the confusion, exhaustion, desperation, and doubt in his gaze.
"What did you do?" he asked, awed by what had transpired.
She took back her hand and turned her face to the clouds looming overhead, blocking their view of the heavens. "I opened your eyes," she told him, slightly unsure of what had happened herself. "I gave you a different perspective so that you could truly see Gondor for what it is."
He turned away, fingers gripping the pipe so hard that his knuckles turned white. Maethoriel's forehead creased with concern as her gaze ran over his hunched shoulders, tense and stiff. "But I am no closer to making a decision," he finally told her, his voice strained with overwhelming emotion.
"I did not do it to give you a solution," she said. "From what you saw, what do you think Gondor needs most?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Someone to protect the people." His head turned back to her quickly, a protest bursting from his lips: "But I-"
"Do not have to be king to protect the people," she interrupted, smiling understandingly. His lips remained parted in bewilderment, his eyes searching hers for a meaning behind her words. "Aragorn," she began, turning her body so that she faced him fully. "You know that many people wish to see you on the throne, and you know that many others wish for your nonexistence. My father and I believe that Gondor will thrive and be safe under your rule, but that does not mean that you have to take up the responsibility against your will. The choice is, and always will be, yours – no one can change that. If you do not choose to rule them, you may have to work harder to keep them safe, from a position of little power, but if that is truly what you wish then you will be at peace." He blinked and looked away again, pondering everything that she had said. "However," she continued, softly, "Fighting with wood and steel is not the only way one can protect a people, and sometimes it is not enough."
Another week passed by them; the mountains had been growing steadily closer, but they still had some distance to traverse before they would be upon them. The mood of the company improved instantly when dawn came swift and brought with it clear skies and golden sunshine that bathed their surroundings in bright, warm light. They had reached the edge of Hollin, and Gandalf thought it a good idea to let the Fellowship rest for the day and the night as well. The proposition was welcomed warmly amongst them, though there was a growing uneasiness in the depths of each heart.
"I have a sense of watchfulness, and of fear, that I have never had here before," Aragorn told them.
"Then we must be more careful," Gandalf replied. "If you bring a Ranger with you, it is well to pay attention to him, especially if the Ranger is Aragorn."
As the Fellowship settled down for a few hours of sleep, Sam readied himself as the member on watch. Maethoriel leant her back against a tall rock behind her and stretched her legs out in front of her, pulling the sides of her cloak around to cover her crossed arms. The three remaining hobbits lay side-by-side next to her, tucked into their own cloaks, and almost instantly fell asleep. As she watched the rest of the company drift off, feeling her own eyelids grow heavy, she saw Aragorn stand and approach Sam, his deep voice murmuring about joining the hobbit, and Maethoriel felt slightly concerned that she had only confused him further in terms of what path he would take.
A few hours later, the company was fully alert again, though they seemed more relaxed and at ease than earlier. Sam watched over the small fire he had been allowed to build, ensuring that their first hot meal in weeks would be perfect. Boromir and Aragorn sat with Merry and Pippin discussing swordplay and trading stories. Gandalf sat on a rock off to the side, lost so deep in his thoughts that no one dared interrupt him, while Frodo sat a few feet away from Sam with a similar expression as the wizard's. Maethoriel sat next to Gimli with Legolas perched on a rock facing them, listening in to their conversation.
Gimli was staring off into the mountains with a distant look in his eyes, words tumbling from his lips coated in fondness and awe. "Only once before have I seen them from afar in waking life, but I know them and their names, for under them lies Khazad-dûm, the Dwarrowdelf, that is now called the Black Pit, Moria in the Elvish tongue." Maethoriel smiled at the love he held for the land of his people, and caught the clear, blue gaze of Legolas, who returned her smile and held her gaze for a second longer than she expected. "Tell me, what have you seen of Khazad-dûm, Maethoriel?" Gimli asked, turning his furry face towards her.
"Not much," she answered truthfully, feeling a stab of guilt at the disappointment that clouded his features. "It requires more effort to see underground than it does to see the surface of a world; for some stars it comes easily to them, but for stars like my father who specialise in areas such as battle, it takes a lot of concentration that can be broken by an emberling's presence."
Gimli's disappointment quickly morphed into grumpiness, and he stood abruptly, stretching himself as high as he could reach and balling his fists at his sides. "I see how it is – we dwarves are too taxing to watch over, so you neglect to behold our race and its creations in favour of easier, less impressive races." As Maethoriel's mouth opened and closed, struggling to make any sounds go forth out due to her shock and helplessness, his brow furrowed above his eyes and he huffed out, "So be it," before stomping off to another rock, away from the two elves.
Maethoriel watched him go, completely at a loss for what to say in reply, and only turned back when she identified a strange, musical noise as Legolas' laughter. It occurred to her that he was laughing at her expense, and her mouth snapped shut instantly. "He completely misunderstood me," she told the blonde elf defensively. "I meant him no offense, nor did I mean that the stars could not be bothered to look-"
"You don't need to explain yourself to me," he assured her, grinning brilliantly. Pushing himself off the rock, he took a few strides towards her and held out a hand expectantly. "Come, let him be for now to calm down; then you can talk some sense into him."
Maethoriel looked up into his pale face, her gaze tracing the soft smile on his lips and then meeting that beautiful blue colour of his eyes that she found she was beginning to love studying. His irises were surprisingly changeable, darkening whenever he was agitated or uneasy, and brightening with his warm smile and laughter.
"I hope he calms himself soon," she finally replied, reaching up to grab the elf's hand. His skin was soft, smooth, and warm, and his grip was firm as he pulled her up onto her feet. "It does not sit well with me that someone in the company feels bitter towards me and my people." Legolas' fingers slipped from her hand and relocated themselves on her shoulder blade, his palm pressing against her gently. For some reason, her skin felt tingly there, even though there were layers of fabric between her back and his hand.
Suddenly his head turned to the side, away from the company, while the noise of swords clanging against each other brought her attention to the fact that Boromir was teaching Merry and Pippin swordplay while Aragorn offered advice to the inexperienced hobbits. Gimli had stomped his way over to Gandalf and interrupted the wizard's thoughts to voice his complaints – Maethoriel wondered if he felt more comfortable giving out to Gandalf than he did to her, seeing as she was more rare and therefore intimidating.
"If anyone was to ask for my opinion, which I know they're not, I'd say we were taking the long way round," the dwarf announced. "Gandalf, we could pass through the mines of Moria," he proposed, and Maethoriel sincerely hoped that he was not just suggesting that because of what she had said. "My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome."
"No, Gimli, I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice," Gandalf replied seriously.
Legolas' fingers suddenly pressed firmer into Maethoriel's back, and she turned to him to see a fierce frown growing on his countenance. "What is it?" she asked softly, concerned. In reply, he removed his hand and quickly navigated the rocks before him to reach one on higher ground at the edge of the company, gazing out into the sky. Maethoriel followed him easily, coming to stand by his side, and let her eyes find the object of his attention. He held his bow in front of him, ready as always in case of an ambush, but she was not sure that they would be defending themselves against the swarm of black heading towards them.
Over the top of the playful shouting from the swordplay lessons, she heard Sam ask in confusion, "What is that?"
"Nothing, it's just a whisp of cloud," Gimli replied gruffly.
The shouting died down, and Boromir joined the discussion. "It's moving fast, against the wind," he observed gravely.
"Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas called out to the company, as he and Maethoriel easily identified the swarm as a flock of black crows.
"Hide!"Aragorn instantly shouted, rushing to gather his things.
"Merry!" Boromir called.
"Frodo, Sam! Take cover!" Aragorn ordered.
Maethoriel and Legolas jumped down from the rock, quickly gathering what little belongings they had brought with them. Suddenly a hand wrapped around Maethoriel's wrist and she was pulled along behind the elf before he guided her down under the cover of a low rock next to him. She tried frantically to see if the others had made it to safety, but he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her in to his chest, tucking her head under his chin as he bent over her to hide them further.
For a second, all she could hear was his steady breaths, the calming rhythm disrupted by her panicked and heavy exhales. His hand rose to cup the back of her head, his thumb stroking her hair slowly in attempt to calm her. Her eyes closed of their own accord and her fingers clutched at his tunic, anchoring herself to him since he seemed so solid and unwavering in his composure. Slowly, she began to match her breaths to his, and she felt the pounding of her heart gradually return to a normal, stable beat.
Then they came. Caws and screeches and the relentless pounding of flapping wings pierced the silence and had their bodies tensing instinctively, the noises culminating and amplifying until they were all she knew. Fear gripped her in its ice-cold clutches as images of the hobbits and the others being seen and captured played mercilessly in her mind. Her emotions must have been palpable, as Legolas' other arm encased her in his embrace, tightening around her body with his fingers stretching across her back. Focusing on his warmth, on the comfort his touch brought her and the sense of protection he emanated, she strove to block out everything else, knowing that she could do no more than wait for it to end.
And end it did, after a painfully long moment. The noise died down until it vanished completely, and only then did Legolas' grip start to loosen. She unclenched her fingers from around the fabric of his tunic and stretched them out, pulling her head away from his collar. His darkened gaze stared intensely down at her, and she found her voice unwilling to sound. "Thank you," she finally murmured, knowing that he would understand why she was saying it.
His hand came around from the back of her head to cup her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, concern creasing his brow.
"Yes," she breathed. She was aware of the fact that they had been looking at each other too long, and her mind was slightly fuzzy, only really focusing on where his skin was pressing against her own.
But then there was the snap of a twig outside their hiding place, and it slapped sense back into her. Moving swiftly, she came out from underneath the rock, disentangling herself from Legolas, and examined the other bodies rising around her. Certain that something terrible would have happened in the time that she lost herself just seconds before, she heaved a sigh of relief after counting each member of the company safe and sound.
"Spies of Saruman," Gandalf told them bitterly as he stood. Maethoriel turned to face him, briefly catching a glimpse of Legolas' face as he studied her. She knew that he saw how distressed she was about the ordeal, and how calmed she was when she realised nothing awful had happened to anyone – and she knew that he would most likely confront her about being so extreme, given the look of disapproval he was sending her. "The passage south is being watched," the wizard continued, oblivious to the moment between her and the elf, and she walked closer to him in anticipation of what he would decide. "We must take the pass of Caradhras."