A/N: After being pestered to update 'very soon', I have done my best to deliver ;) Sorry if it was not quite as quick as you wanted… The previous chapter was hard to follow.

Please enjoy! …And if you enjoy, please review!

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Chapter Twenty-six

Aragorn watched Serafina as she walked in front of him. She had lost much of her vivacity since the night spent on their way down the mountain and had not spoken at all the next day, until night when he checked on the withdrawal of her frostbite and tended her arm.

He had tried to console her, but she would not hear him. She'd sat in front of him, her eyes cast down, apparently ignorant to his many failed attempts to get her to talk. Eventually he resigned his endeavours at conversation and focused solely on her wrist. He asked her a number of times if where he was pressing hurt, but she did not respond in any way. As a last attempt at obtaining a sign of life from her blank face he'd asked loudly, "Fia? Does this hurt?" He had not planned on mentioning the pet name again for fear of reigniting the pain she must be feeling. But any form of feeling would have been preferable to the deadness she exuded.

Her eyes met his for the first time all day and her expression unreadable as she looked at him. She lowered her eyes to her arm where his hands held it softly. "No," was all she'd said, before she turned away and stared into the night.

He sighed as he brought himself back to the present. His pack clanked as he walked, heavier for the addition of her many daggers to its contents. She had not even argued when he's asked them from her. She'd pulled them numbly from her boots, thighs and belt. Since entering the mines she had, at least, looked at people but none of her usual spark had returned to her. Aragorn tried to convince himself that all she needed was time to digest the tragic circumstances and accept them if she could. But as yet he was not persuaded, and continued to worry as he watched her small frame walk on before him.

Serafina strode on, her mind oddly blank. She knew only to follow the elf in front of her. Occasionally thoughts of spite would cross her mind as she remembered how little Legolas had been looking forward to entering the mines, but her own unhappiness at the void of blackness overran her unkindness and her mind returned to its blank state. She didn't stumble, though the ground was strewn with loose rocks, for she never looked far beyond her feet, untrusting of the small ledges they traversed.

They travelled in silence. Intermittently her mind would meander back to that evening on the hillside. In instances like this she would thrust it mercilessly back into Moria, concentrating of the shape and texture of the stone beneath her recently healed feet, a topic much more easily dealt with.

Serafina trusted that time was passing, though it's passage was imperceptible. They were surrounded by the same level darkness whether they were walking, sleeping or eating. Gandalf, however, seemed still able to determine meal times (though the hobbits thought he was deliberately stretching these out to speed the journey), and eventually he stopped them for a would-be lunch on their second day through the mines.

The company began the cheerless preparations for a meagre lunch. Serafina excluded herself slightly from the circle – she did not feel like conversing. There was, however, little conversation to be had, each of them caught up in there own world of bleakness. She caught Gandalf looking her way as they ate in silence; she met his eye with a challenge, but he looked away slightly agitated. Serafina thought she heard him mutter something about a pipe, but she was beginning to think she could not trust her ears or eyes in the darkness.

Serafina began to fidget. Distractions from her mind were scarce and images of a broken and crazed Olin began to flood her senses – he was unrecognisable from the boy she'd known. Horrified at the tricks her mind was playing on her she tried to bring what was before her eyes into her mind. Something reddish swam into view next to her, she recognised Gimli's beard in the pale light from the Wizard's staff. A breath of relief escaped her and she turned her face unknowingly into Aragorn's penetrating gaze. She balked at its intensity and wondered if some of what she'd seen in her mind had displayed itself on her face.

Tearing her eyes away from him she stood sharply and took a swig from her water skin as Gandalf's voice broke the silence, "Boromir, have you ever visited the bulrushes of the Anduin, nearest to Minas Tirith?"

Serafina gasped. Water flew down her windpipe, a strangled noise escaped her and a few of the fellowship turned towards her. Gandalf continued heedless, "I have heard it is a place where many things can be found." Serafina coughed and spluttered, water spaying uncontrollably from her nose and mouth. A gruff cry of disgust sounded beneath her.

Still coughing harshly she looked down to see Gimli standing, his face as red as his beard and as wet as the Anduin. Before she'd had time to react to the sight laughter exploded around her. Gimli too chuckled good-humouredly and slapped her powerfully on her back, "There now lass," he said as he continued hitting her, she nearly fell face first into the ground from the force. "Get it out. You're alright."

She straightened slightly and Boromir's voice rose above the laughter, "How did you like it Gimli?" he asked flippantly, "You too have had the thief spit in your face."

"There are only seven of us left now lassie, want me to line 'em up for you?" Gimli asked as he wiped his face on his cloak, chortling at his joke.

Serafina couldn't resist, a grin spread across her face and she felt part of the burden she'd been carrying for the past three days lift as she saw the faces of the fellowship smiling with amusement in the dim light. She turned to Gimli and a roguish glint appeared in her eyes, "Please," she answered, "I'll just need some more water".

…

The mood of the party had lifted slightly after Serafina spat over Gimli. Aragorn's lips curled into a smile at the memory, as he trudged onwards through the mines. The levity though was short-lived, and over the next day the atmosphere remained dark. He looked around him as he walked, noting the sheer scale of the mines, or what he could make out in the blackness.

That evening the hobbits attempted to lighten the oppressiveness by recounting stories. Aragorn listened in the darkness, as Legolas took his turn and began to narrate the introduction to the tale of Beren and Lúthien. His expression became grim as he thought of Arwen. His mind wandered, he asked himself if he shouldn't have insisted on her leaving, it was not what she had wanted after all. But she left nonetheless. Had she stayed, would their story have become as legendary as the Lay of Lúthien? Had they been destined to be joined? Had he altered the course of fate by ensuring her safety? He pondered the consequences of his demanding that she leave. Had it been necessary, he wondered. Was love not enough?

He was wrenched back to the present by the sound of a voice that seldom spoke over meals.

"A story?" Serafina asked, surprise at being spoken to written all over her face, "About love? There is one I know, though it is quite different to yours…" she warned, indicating to Legolas.

"It is your turn," said Gandalf matter-of-factly, "You may tell whatever you choose."

"Very well," she said.

Aragorn saw a light come into her eyes, one he had not seen in days. He listened intently as she began to talk.

"Once upon a time, there lived a woman. She was young and beautiful, but her splendour was not of the elves for she belonged to the race of men. She was at once arresting and yet subtle like the light at dusk. Any man who ever saw her would describe her beauty in the same words, as if learnt by rote. Her eyes were wide and soft, yet never betrayed their secrets to the beholder. Her hair was the same black as midnight, and her mouth was full and yielding – as that no man who had seen her talk or smile was able to resist wondering what it would feel like under their own. Simply to run their lips across it would bring such pleasure that no other indulgence in the world could produce. Her stature was not tall, yet her figure was so balanced that all other women, no matter their beauty or height, appeared awkward and lacking by comparison." She paused to take breath; Aragorn could not take his eyes off her. Her beauty had become painful to him. He watched her mouth, it appeared so soft and compliant that he began to wonder what –

"Ahem," someone cleared their throat loudly. Aragorn started, and looked around for the interrupting noise. Gandalf surveyed the company with a raised eyebrow and Aragorn followed his gaze. All around him the gentlemen of the fellowship were shaking their heads, some looking slightly sheepish, others rubbing their eyes. He knew they'd had similar wonderings in their own minds – Gandalf alone had remained impervious. With fresh eyes he turned back to Serafina; it was with relief he saw that she looked once again like herself. She continued the story, unaware that they had been momentarily bewitched. Aragorn wondered briefly whether it had been some trick by the darkness of Moria, or the magic of the story. The question though, was driven out of his mind as she spoke.

"She knew her talent – her beauty had won her many admirers over the years and she began to use it for her advantage. One by one, men fell into her net, declaring their lives nothing without her. They pledged themselves to her alone, forsaking all others; family, lovers, wives, children, friends. The woman however left each man in turn, leaving each with nothing but their broken hearts and lives to keep them.

"One day she met a man who loved her beyond all others. She'd planned to disappear from his life like she had with the other hopeless men, but this man was equal to her. He caught her in his own trap and led her to matrimony. Be still she would not be held captive. As soon as she could, she escaped him and their child and went on in search of her next victim.

"The King of the land soon fell under her spell. He was mesmerised like countless before him by her grace and beauty – never did he wonder why this exquisite creature had chosen him. The woman seduced him so completely that the King's wife, who he had loved so dearly and who had born him two sons was forgotten in a moment. The seductress wound her way around his heart – pumping her poison through his veins, securing her hold on him.

"All this time, her husband who had won her fairly, refused to forget her or to be forgotten in turn. He followed her to the castle and watch through a window as she betrayed him. Soon the torture became too much and one night he stole into the castle. In the black of night he dragged his obsession away from all that she knew hoping it would be enough to win her. He promised himself that now her affection for him would be undying.

"But still she escaped him. Years past, but the husband did not forget her. The child grew, becoming more like the woman every day. A morning dawned when he could not look at his own child without bitterness overcoming his heart. Spite began to fill him. He took the child to the steps of the castle and demanded an audience with the King. The King saw him, gracious yet grave. And then he saw the child. The King insisted on the child's heritage but the man pretended not to know, saying only that its parents could not stand the sight of it. He asked if the King would not take the child. He himself could not care for it alone. The King regarded the child with fear in his eyes; the face he'd known so well had come back to haunt him. He wondered if the ghost of his wife was behind it – he had found his Queen dead in their old chambers the morning after the woman had left without explanation in the night. The healer had told him that her heart had been weak for years, and had finally given in. The King knew this to be the truth – only his actions had been the cause. Guilt, like he hadn't felt in years assailed him. Immediately he went to the room where he'd found his wife dead in their bed and took his own life, leaving the man and child standing alone in the castle.

"The husband went forth, dragging the child in his wake to find his wife. No one knows what became of them. Some say he took his own life, wracked by bitterness and hate. Others think he is still out there, in search of her. The only certainty is that the seductress still walks the lands, ensnaring all who see her."

Silence fell on the air. Serafina smiled as she surveyed the company, every last one of them staring at her as though spellbound. One by one they came back to themselves, as if each waking from a dream.

"I have heard a similar story, though without the child," said Boromir, his expression unreadable for the darkness.

"And so have we all about such enchantresses," said Gandalf grumpily, "Beauty is often as much a blessing as it is a curse."

"Could you tell another?" asked Gimli.

Serafina smiled with amusement, but answered, "No, I certainly could not. I don't know any others."

"What do you mean you don't know any others?" asked Merry doubtfully. The thief opened her mouth to answer, but Sam interrupted.

"Of course she knows others, she just doesn't want to tell them. Such is the way she is, you know" he said sourly, "She's obviously had plenty of practice telling them. I'll wager she's read hundreds of nasty stories like that one and they're all stored up in her head, only for telling when she chooses."

Serafina blushed profusely at his words, she was grateful for the darkness but she could not help thinking it may not have escaped the elf or the Ranger. At his words Aragorn stood and addressed the company with finality, "As you do not have watch, I suggest you take some rest Master Hobbits, we rise early."