4 months. 4 bloody months without an update. I cannot begin to apologise enough! I've now got a bit on my profile where you can go to check the status of all my stories, so I recommend that whenever any of you (if you're still left) get very curious about this or any other story.
I am terribly sorry for the delay, and I really hope this satisfies you for the time being.
Just thought I'd mention too that I now have a Wattpad profile, where I'll be dabbing in non-fanfiction writing. I have quite a few projects in mind, but only one is up at the moment given the fact that I already have two stories on this site and I've gone and started another one. But anyway, here's the link in case you want to drop in: user/thelosernextdoor
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of Lord of the Rings.
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Maethoriel was avoiding Legolas. It was immature and would inevitably prove completely futile, but it was giving her a brief reprieve from the calculating, disapproving looks he was always casting her way. She knew she had gotten herself far too panicked when Saruman's spies swarmed above them, and that she would have to control herself if the company was going to go up against more formidable opponents, but she had never had such a responsibility placed upon her, and it was proving challenging to carry out. Legolas would tell her to stop worrying about the rest of the Fellowship and focus on her own safety instead, which wouldn't be useful to her, and it would end in the two of them arguing again, which also wasn't useful – and, frankly, wasn't something she enjoyed at all. So, she kept up the appearance that the two weren't once again at odds with each other, even though they hadn't spoken a word to each other since the spies returned to their master, and even though he was leading the company while she was determined on staying at the very back.
With one hand resting around the bowstring sitting across her torso, and the other clutching the handle of her dagger, she kept her gaze pinned to the spot a foot in front of her as she trudged through the snow behind the rest of them. The cold, harsh wind tore at her clothing and exposed skin mercilessly, threatening to force her hood off of her head; a chill had long-since settled over her, though she knew the others would be suffering far more than she. From above, she had always seen snow and ice as something beautiful and pure, but now that she was experiencing it firsthand for once, she found that it was monumentally more pleasant to look at than to feel, and it was the first time she found herself wishing she was experiencing something about this world from her father's Starpost instead of walking on its surface. She instantly resented the longing, knowing that it would not help her in the slightest.
The only benefit of the wind blowing straight at her was that it carried the noises from the rest of the company to her more easily, and this was how she heard the sounds of Frodo losing his balance and tumbling backwards over himself several times before Aragorn caught him, calling his name. Frowning in concern, she quickened her steps to reach them both. She could not see Frodo's face from her angle but she could see his arms jerking wildly as she assumed he searched for the Ring, and it worried her how frantic he was in his movements.
When he stilled, he looked up to see Boromir straightening, his fingers gripping the golden chain of the Ring. He looked upon the piece in grim awe, silent in his concentration. Maethoriel paused in her steps at his intensity, briefly thinking that he looked as if he were under some kind of spell.
"Boromir," Aragorn's voice sounded.
"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing," the man stated quietly; if Maethoriel had assumed the form of any other race, she would not have managed to hear him. "Such a little thing." His gloved hand began to rise, fingers outstretched as if to grab the Ring.
"Boromir," Aragorn called again, sharp and commanding. "Give the ring to Frodo."
The man of Gondor blinked, his fingers curling over the chain possessively, his face a picture of confusion and yet determination. Then he slumped towards them, beginning to extend the Ring towards Frodo. Maethoriel did not miss the wary glance he sent Aragorn, and they way he seemed to force himself to speak. "As you wish." Frodo reached out and snatched the Ring, holding it down out of the man's reach. "I care not," Boromir continued, struggling to convey impassiveness when it was obvious the Ring was affecting him. Then he chuckled and ruffled Frodo's hair before turning to catch up with the rest of the company, who had stopped to observe the ordeal.
Maethoriel came up beside the hobbit just as Aragorn removed his ready hand from his sword's handle. When he noticed her, the Ranger shared a grim look, communicating that they were both suspicious of Boromir. "Go on, Frodo," he said quietly to the hobbit, patting his shoulder encouragingly. The two of them watched as he struggled through the snow towards Merry and Pippin, who had waited for him so to not leave him alone with Boromir.
"We should be more wary of Boromir," Aragorn said to her as they began to move again. "We cannot trust him."
Maethoriel considered his words, tone, and facial expression. "You do not seem reluctant," she observed.
He lifted his head to look at the looming peaks surrounding them. "It is no secret that I have never been fond of Boromir, nor him of me. I am not without imperfections, and one of them is that I struggle to be amiable with someone who treats me with hostility and contempt."
"Boromir is a difficult person at times," Maethoriel nodded. "However, I have seen him with his brother, with his people, when he proves that he is also honourable, caring, and loyal."
"What good is honour when faced with the One Ring's power of manipulation?"
Maethoriel sighed. "Yes, I know. It seems he is the weakest of us all in terms of resisting the Ring's power."
"We have not put enough consideration into the possibility of it driving someone mad," he said, lowering his voice as if paranoid they would be overheard.
"I do not see what there is to consider," Maethoriel frowned. "As soon as someone becomes too infatuated with the Ring, to the point that we fear an attack from them, they will be separated from the Fellowship, banished to return home."
"They will follow us."
"They will not know where to go," she retorted. "As soon as we cross from wariness to reasonable fear, we stop informing the entire company of our daily, weekly, monthly goals. They will know our final destination but not the specifics of how we will reach there."
"How do you plan of separating them from us?"
"We wait until they sleep and sneak away."
Aragorn looked away from her, facing into the wind as the snow began to grow more dense. For a while he was quiet, to the point that the emberling imagined their conversation to be over. "We both know that it is Boromir of whom we speak," he said quietly. Maethoriel bowed her head, regretful to be speaking ill of a companion. "How long until he breaks?"
"I cannot say," she replied grimly. "Hopefully not for a while yet, for he is beneficial to us and he is not an evil man. It is not his fault that the hearts of men are weak when faced with such power."
"I fear how it would affect the Fellowship."
"As do I, my friend. But the moment is not yet upon us, so we should enjoy the peace while it lasts."
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Maethoriel was in awe. The weather conditions had worsened significantly – the wind was crueller and colder, the snow was as high as the men and wizard's thighs, and it was growing darker by the second – yet none of the company voiced protests or complaints. They were walking along a narrow ledge on the side of a mountain, without any certainty of whether they were standing upon snow or rock, wading their way onwards without pause.
She was also suffering the pains of immeasurable guilt, as she and Legolas both had it far easier, being elves. The two of them merely walked atop the never-ending barrier of snow while the rest ploughed through, expending more energy and feeling more miserable and freezing. She was still determined to stay at the back, although this time it was more to do with the fact that she did not want to make the others feel worse, seeing her walk easily past them. Legolas was still at the front, but she could see that he was attempting to slow himself so to fall behind – whether it was for the same reason as she or so that he could talk to her, she did not care to know.
After another half hour, however, it became clear that she was about to find out. Legolas was finally walking merely a step ahead of her, his blonde hair flailing wildly in the ruthless winds. Maethoriel tried to keep her head down, her hood surprisingly still covering her, but was unfortunately forced to face her fears when she heard the musical voice she so dreaded.
"You avoid me," Legolas said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the winds, but not enough so that others could hear him since he knew she had sensitive ears. "Is there a particular reason for it?"
Maethoriel sighed. "It is not you I avoid, it is the lecture I sense you wish to give me."
Legolas walked beside her now, his shoulder pressing against hers since the path was so narrow. For some reason she now felt more nervous than wary. "I do not wish to lecture you," he told her, glancing at her with a frown, "It is not my place to do so."
"I just would rather we did not discuss anything since I know it will lead to an argument, no matter how mild it may be. I am not fond of being at odds with my friends."
"I understand that you have been tasked with protecting the Fellowship, and I know you do not want to disappoint. However, you do not have to concern yourself so drastically. It is-"
Suddenly they both faltered, alert and curious. There was a noise, low and continuous, and it brought an ominous sense of danger with it. Without a word, they hastened towards the front of the company, passing without a glance at their struggling companions. The sound came clearer now, and it was easily identified as someone chanting.
"There is a fell voice on the air," Legolas spoke, loud enough for Gandalf to hear.
The voice suddenly sounded familiar to Maethoriel, and the owner of it registered in her mind just as Gandalf shouted out, "It's Saruman!"
As if triggered by his realisation, the mountain above them began to crack and crumble, chunks of rock and snow falling towards their heads. Quickly they leapt towards the safety of the mountainside, narrowly avoiding being crushed.
"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn yelled up the company, his arms clutching two hobbits freezing in their cloaks. "Gandalf, we must turn back!"
"No!" Gandalf immediately shouted. Using his staff for support, he pushed himself up onto the snow and faced the sound of Saruman's chant, beginning to chant himself in a loud, strong voice. Maethoriel watched with wide eyes, feeling completely useless against a wizard outwith her reach. Legolas stood at her side, glancing between Gandalf and the mountain above.
"Saruman will not shy from this," Maethoriel said, "He will not stop until we are dead!"
Just then a fork of lighting lashed out from the clouds and struck the mountain, unleashing a fresh bombardment of rock upon them. Maethoriel lunged forwards and grabbed Gandalf, pulling him back against the mountainside with her as Legolas turned towards her, pressing his chest against her shoulder and pushing her further into the rock. She just managed to witness the rocks avoid the company before a great torrent of snow came falling down, this time reaching them all and burying them deep.
As soon as the noise died down, she clawed at the snow around her, pulling and pushing at it until it gave way and her head broke through the surface. A second later, Legolas' head emerged, swinging wildly around to take the scene in. Hands, shoulders, heads, axes, and Gandalf's staff steadily began to emerge from the white sea, and the two elves rushed to help the rest of the company free themselves up to their chests.
"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir shouted over the noise of the wind. Maethoriel felt hope spark in her chest at his sense of clarity. "Make for the Gap of Rohan, and take the West road to my city!" That hope was quickly drowned.
"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn argued.
"We cannot pass over the mountain; let us go under it!" Gimli joined in. "Let us go through the Mines of Moria!"
Maethoriel swallowed. They would be in grave danger no matter what path they took. She, along with the rest of the company, looked to Gandalf for a decision. Eventually, he spoke, though it was not what they expected. "Let the Ring Bearer decide."
Maethoriel shared a look with Legolas before turning to the hobbit, sympathy and concern clenching her heart at the state of him and his kin, shivering miserably. At first he looked shocked and scared to have the decision fall on him, and the look intensified after he turned to Sam, who could offer him nothing.
"We cannot stay here!" Boromir cut in. "This will be the death of the hobbits!"
"Frodo?" Gandalf asked grimly.
Frodo's lips failed to form words for several seconds, before he finally decided. "We will go through the Mines."
Maethoriel had not been able to see Moria for some long time – and that was considered long in her race's terms, not elves' or men's – so she knew not what specific danger awaited them there, but she knew that it was worse than anything they had faced yet, and it birthed a great uneasiness in her heart.
"So be it," Gandalf murmured.