Aiër- Chapter Four
Shëanon lay on her back on her bed, her eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. It was just past midnight and her mind was racing as she reflected on the events of the day.
When her father had stormed away from her earlier, his harsh words ringing in her ears, Shëanon had stood in a stunned silence for several moments, tears still falling from her eyes. She could feel the eyes of the others watching her closely, but she had hurried down the steps in her father's wake before anyone could speak. She had not wanted any company, and so she had turned off the path back to the house and instead took to the trees. Perched on a thick branch high above the ground, she had passed the remainder of the day listening to the sound of the wood creaking with the wind as she tried to process what had happened.
For all intents and purposes, Shëanon had won; her father was not going to stop her from leaving with the rest of the company in the morning, but she found that she did not feel at all satisfied. Long had she begged Lord Elrond to send her out on patrol with her brothers, for her desire to help others and take aim at the evil that plagued the world was very strong and her heart was now bursting with the will to see the One Ring destroyed. Despite her conviction in this, however, she also felt that her shoulders were burdened by regret. Her father's opinion was extremely important to her and she had always striven to make him proud. She had applied herself to her studies with such fervor that she had often taken to shutting herself in the library to read all night, poring over volumes of history and literature until she could recite entire works of poetry and give accurate accounts of all the ages since the making of the world. She had pushed herself so hard on the practice field that she had all but crossed the line between passion and obsession: such was her desire to master the weapons she had taken up. She had even dabbled in music and art; she had crammed as much into the few years of her life as had been physically possible, and all to earn her father's pride. Desperately, Shëanon wanted to prove that she was worthy of his love. More than that, Shëanon's respect for her father was unequaled, and consequently she was terribly upset that she did not have his approval in what she would set out to do.
She had fidgeted in the tree, grappling with her conflicted emotions. In the end, however, her will to do good was stronger than her yearning for Lord Elrond's affection. Morally, she felt that there was no question. She had been rescued from evil and suffering and given a life of safety and peace; she had been blessed by the Valar. Who was she if she did not then try to do the same for others? It was her duty to try to repay this fortune, to do all that she could to save Middle Earth.
She had thought until her head ached, but the quiet of the day and the steady presence of the tree beneath her, the bark rough but cool against her skin, were soothing in the last day's light and not until the sun was sinking behind the horizon had she finally dropped from her haven to the leafy ground below.
Shëanon had hurried to her chambers after that, keeping her gaze on the ground so as not to make eye contact with anyone. She was painfully aware that many of those at the council had not reacted positively when she had stepped forth and she did not want to have to see it again on their faces that evening, not after her father's scornful departure. It had been part of her decision to stay in the woods for many hours.
Now she spent what she knew could very well be her last night ever in her room in silence and in memory. She tried to drink in every detail of the space, remembering how her father used to tuck her in for bed, how she and Arwen used to lie side by side and talk and laugh. It would be a cruel end to her short life if she did not return. When the stars began to fade, Shëanon ended her melancholy ponderings and turned her mind instead to what was to come. The Fellowship's path would lead across the earth and into the very heart of Mordor, and she would need to be well prepared.
Rising to dress for the journey that lay before her, she tugged on sturdy leggings, her warmest undershirt, and a well-worn tunic under a thick cloak, dark brown to help her remain unseen to any enemies. She slid her feet into the soft leather boots she wore on the practice field and then lifted her hands to her hair, unruly but soft against her fingers. With a sigh, she wove it into a single braid and let it fall down her back. She grimaced as she caught sight of herself in her mirror; she looked like a boy. Biting her lip and trying to keep her mind empty, she filled a small rucksack with the supplies she saw fit to carry with her. This pack she wore across her back with her bow and quiver and around her waist she strapped her sword, a water skin, and a small dagger. Although she had never before been out on patrol herself, she knew what her brothers carried with them. She had only just buckled the belt when there was a knock at the door—Arwen, she suspected. She shifted a bit on her feet. Surely Arwen supported her decision?
"Come in," she called quietly, and the door swung slowly open. It was not Arwen, but Elladan and Elrohir, she saw with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Shëanon looked at them apprehensively; she had not seen them since the argument the day before, and for the first time in her memory, she did not know what to say to them. Their expressions were grim as they stood in the doorway, and in the dim light, they had never looked more like their father: strong and unwavering and severe; their eyes even seemed to pierce her as his did. Her mouth went dry.
"Good morning, sister," Elladan murmured as they stepped into the room. His voice held none of his usual humor. "We have come to help you pack, but it seems that you have done so already," he said as he appraised the weapons upon her back and slung at her hips.
"I have," she confirmed, looking back and forth between them. They were both staring at her as she stood in the middle of the chamber. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat.
"You have dressed well," Elrohir said at last, looking at her boots and leggings. Shëanon remembered how horribly angry he had been the previous day, yelling at her to sit down. She wondered if he was still angry now, but his face was as smooth and unforgiving as marble, cool and emotionless. She had seldom seen it thus.
Elladan stepped forward and walked around her, and she felt his hands open her rucksack and rummage through its contents. Elrohir stood still across from her, his arms folded over his chest as he watched his brother take note of her supplies. Neither spoke.
"Bring a needle and thread," Elladan said finally. "Be it for stitches in cloth or in flesh, you will surely need them before your journey's end."
"Alright," Shëanon whispered, wondering if they would leave now that they had performed their perfunctory duty, but neither moved. The silence lengthened.
"Are you angry with me?" she asked at last, looking pleadingly into Elrohir's dark face. For one embarking on a dangerous mission, her voice came out sounding terribly fragile, but she hated the thought of leaving with ill feelings between them. Elrohir's eyebrows rose.
"We are not angry with you, tithen lum," he said slowly. "We worry for you, little sister, but we do not scorn your decision to go, for if your heart feels pulled to this fate, it is not for us to stop you. I do not deny that I very much wish for you to stay here where you are safe, but I could not resent you for your desire to rid this world of darkness."
Shëanon closed her eyes. "Thank you," she breathed, a great weight falling from her shoulders at his words. When she opened her eyes again, her brother stood in front of her, and a ghost of a smile was on his face.
"You had best put our teachings to good use," he said, almost teasingly, but she sensed also that he meant his words. She smiled softly, and promised that she would.
Arwen did come then, bearing a tray laden with fresh bread and jam and some cheese, and a cup of steaming tea. Shëanon was not hungry and her stomach was in knots but she ate everything on the tray, for she did not know how long it would be until she had another good meal.
When the sky outside was growing pale, Arwen brought her hands to Shëanon's cheeks and pressed a kiss against her head.
"The Valar go with you," she breathed in Shëanon's ear as she wrapped her arms around her. "If ever there is doubt in your mind, remember that I believe in you."
Shëanon hugged Arwen tightly, unable to voice her gratitude through her constricted throat. Arwen always knew what to say to bring her peace, but she wondered if she knew just how much her words meant to her.
When she drew back, Shëanon saw with a pang in her chest that there were tears in her sister's lovely eyes.
Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir walked with her from her room. The sky was pink in the east, but the sun's first rays had not yet touched the valley. With steps that fell heavier than was usual, Shëanon made her way across the city, trying to absorb every detail of the elegant buildings and bridges of her home. She suddenly wished that she had gone once more to the library, to breathe in the familiar smell of old parchment and ink, or down to the stables to bid farewell to the horses. She balled her hands into fists.
As they turned a corner, Shëanon saw that a figure stood waiting for them. She faltered slightly in her steps, but Elladan's hand on her shoulder guided her forward before he and his brother and sister continued down to the gate, leaving Shëanon with her father.
Lord Elrond stood tall and resolute in the murky light of the young morning, and upon his face Shëanon saw sorrow and grief, for which she felt unbearably guilty.
"Adar," she greeted him nervously, feeling suddenly very small.
Elrond gazed at her intensely as a cool wind stirred the air.
"I will not say to you that I approve of your part in this," he said at last, his voice deep and grim, and Shëanon looked at the smooth stone under her feet.
"I did not expect you to," she answered dejectedly.
"I do not approve," he continued, "because a father seeks always to protect his children."
Elrond stepped forward and rested his hands on her shoulders.
"It was not for a lack of faith in you that I sought to keep you here, Shëanon. My blood may not run through your veins, but you are my child nonetheless, and you have grown to be all that I could have hoped for," he said firmly. Hot tears came to Shëanon's eyes and fell down her face.
"Look at me, hên nín," Elrond said quietly, and through her streaming eyes she looked into his face. The sincerity she saw there was almost too much, for his words spoke directly to her heart.
"You have grown up much too quickly," Elrond said sorrowfully as she wiped at her tears, "but I would not send you on this quest if I felt that you were incapable of what awaits you. You are brave and good, iell nín, and stronger than you think, and I am so very proud of you. If it is indeed my fate that you should be parted from me now, then I will send you forth with all of my love."
Shëanon cried earnestly now, and Elrond pulled her close. In the midst of all the commotion and anxiety of the past few days, his acceptance of her overwhelmed her completely and her whole body shook with her tears. He was proud of her. The notion gripped her heart tightly as he held her for what could have been the last time. She shuddered.
"The sun is rising," he murmured after a long moment, and Shëanon heard that his voice too was tight with emotion. She drew back from him and clumsily dried her tears.
"You are sure," he asked in his low, serious voice, "that you want to go? There may be no turning back."
His gaze, penetrating and troubled, seemed to reach all the way to her heart. Shëanon nodded solemnly, and her father's answering sigh was somber in her ears.
"Very well. Come now, hên nín."
Shëanon felt a terrible combination of turmoil and resignation as she walked with her father to the main gate. She was very aware of her footsteps, and of the smell of the valley, and the sound of the river.
When they finally came down to the gateway, she saw that many people were gathered already. Before she had the chance to look for faces, however, a small crowd descended upon her. She stood frozen as in the still, crisp morning, elves stepped forward to clasp her hands, to embrace her, to touch her face and kiss her brow. She had known these people for almost as long as she could remember, she realized—they had carried her when she was little, chased her through the valley, taught her to swim, to read, to fight. She regretted avoiding them all the day before, and suddenly she did not want to go at all, but she knew that she could not forsake the oath she had given.
Glorfindel came to her last, taking her face in his strong hands and bending to kiss the top of her head.
"May the Valar protect you," he said, and then Shëanon hugged her brothers and sister once more. She held them tightly, feeling the beating of theirs hearts against hers, and then when at last she knew that her goodbyes were over, she turned to those assembled behind her.
All the members of the company stood waiting in the shadows of the great pillars that marked the city's edge—all but one, Shëanon realized suddenly, for Aragorn was not yet there. She wondered at this as she stepped away from her family and approached her companions. The hobbits looked as tired as she felt, Pippin yawning in the gray light, but their faces looked calm and almost eager as they glanced around. Frodo alone wore a different expression: one of quiet resolve. Gandalf stood next to him, his eyes twinkling and kind and Shëanon went to stand close by him, more glad than she could ever express for the comfort of his presence. He placed a warm hand on her shoulder when she came to rest at his side and she smiled tremulously at him.
No one spoke as they waited for the last of the fellowship to arrive, neither the members of the company nor those waiting to see them off. The elves of Imladris stood in silent clusters behind Elrond and his children, their ethereal gazes unwavering and wise. Shëanon knew that they would watch until the ten companions had passed from the valley and out of sight, and she took comfort in that knowledge.
Just as the first rays of the morning sun broke over the mountains, Aragorn appeared at the top of the steps. He was attired once more in the worn clothes of the ranger that he was to the outside world, but to Shëanon he still looked very much like the son of kings. She peaked at Boromir as Aragorn strode slowly down the stairs, but the man's face bore no sign of ill will towards the Dúnadan. She was glad, for there was no room for discord among companions on a quest such as theirs. She was not certain what lay ahead of them, but she knew that it was ever the desire of the Enemy to turn the free peoples of Middle Earth against each other.
Shëanon looked into his eyes as Aragorn came to stand at her shoulder, seeking the reassurance of his gaze, but instead she found that his face was weary and grieved, and she wondered briefly what had happened while she had secluded herself the day before. Her father's voice interrupted her ponderings.
"The Ringbearer is setting out on the quest of Mount Doom," he announced as he stepped forth. Shëanon had the feeling that he was looking directly into the minds of each of the company as he stood looking at them all, one last time. His eyes met hers and she drank in the details of his face in a moment of desperate panic. She had not hugged him again when she had hugged Arwen and the twins, for she did not want to lose her already shaky composure before the other members of the fellowship. "On you who travel with him, no oath or bond is laid to go further than you will," he said meaningfully, and then his countenance softened and in his face she saw both hope and regret. "Farewell. Hold to your purpose, and may the blessings of elves and men and all free folk go with you."
Elrond placed his hand over his heart, and behind him the other elves did the same and extended their palms to the company. Shëanon mimicked the movement, bowing her head and clenching her jaw against the onslaught of emotion that came at her. The goodbye seemed horribly permanent. Gandalf squeezed her shoulder.
"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer," he said firmly, and Frodo turned and slowly strode through the gate behind her. As the rest of the fellowship fell into step behind him, Shëanon cast one more glance over her shoulder. She had not anticipated how hard it would be to finally walk away from her home and family. Her eyes roved quickly over the many familiar faces before landing on her father's. She regretted very much then that she had not hugged him again when she'd had the chance. Something flickered in his eyes.
"Go," he said, his brow furrowed but his voice firm, and with that Shëanon turned her back on him and followed the others over the threshold of the city, over the bridge, and along the ledged path that lead from the valley.
Her legs felt like lead as she followed Aragorn over the earthy pass, the sound of the Bruinen rushing in her ears. Only when she reached the very top of the valley did she look back; her breath caught in her chest as she beheld Rivendell, the falls of the river golden and luminous in the sunrise and the city's buildings fair and familiar and magnificent, looking as if they were a part of the valley itself, rising out of the rock since the very beginning of time. Shëanon could just see the tiny forms that were the elves watching them go. She closed her eyes, took one last, deep breath, and left Imladris behind her.
The company walked for many hours. The land was hilly and scattered with trees and bushes and the imposing outline of the Misty Mountains loomed ahead of them. They would not go over them, Shëanon knew, but around them. Gandalf had told them as they set out that they were to go to Mordor by the Gap of Rohan, and those had been the last words spoken for some time; the company walked in silence as the sun climbed into the sky. Aragorn had hung back as she taken her last long look at the valley, and then with a hand at her back he had ushered her in front of him. He seemed as lost in thought as Shëanon was.
She frowned. Arwen had seemed upset when they had departed—even more upset than one who was saying goodbye to a lover. Her gaze had been fixed on the ground as the company had embarked, and her manner was uncharacteristically nervous. Could she and Aragorn have quarreled? Shëanon hoped they had not parted on bad terms, as she had almost parted with her father and brothers. In the darkening times, it seemed almost foolish. Sighing, she listened for a while to the sound of Aragorn's footfalls behind her.
The fellowship had fallen into a single file line. Gandalf had taken the lead, the head of the company. Behind him walked Legolas, and then Gimli the Dwarf, and then the four hobbits and Bill the pony. Boromir walked directly in front of her, and when Shëanon was not looking at the land around her, she took to looking at the shield he carried on his back. It was round and heavy-looking, and around the middle it was engraved with seven stars (for Gondor, she assumed) and two great wings. She traced the elegant markings with her eyes as her mind wandered.
'What have I gotten myself into?' she wondered apprehensively. Out of the safety of the valley, the world seemed very big.
After a time, Shëanon heard voices ahead of her, for the hobbits seemed to have decided that they were awake enough to converse. For a moment she listened to their words, but her stomach dropped when she realized that they were talking about Rivendell. She blocked them out and focused again on her surroundings, unwilling to become homesick so soon. The trees around them seemed narrower and more spindly than the ones in the valley, and their bark looked rougher. The ground beneath her boots was riddled with rabbit holes and many rocks, but the grass was thick upon it, though it had turned yellow with the season. On they walked.
Not until well after noontime did the company stop to rest. The hobbits had been speaking hopefully of food a few hours before, and finally the others agreed that they too could do with some lunch. At the top of one of the rolling hills, they all set down their packs. It was a good spot that Gandalf had picked; there were a few trees nearby, but they had a mostly clear view of the surrounding land. The hilly terrain seemed to stretch endlessly to the north, south, and west, and if Shëanon had not known that Imladris lay eight hours behind them, she would never have guessed that the beautiful valley existed at the end of the great expanse of sloping earth. Although she knew that not all the world could be the same bumpy landscape, she found it hard to imagine anything else. Indeed it was hard not to picture more hills on the other side of the mountains.
As Sam began unloading supplies from the bags atop Bill, Boromir began snatching up dried sticks and twigs from the feet of the trees. Aragorn plopped down in the shade and pulled out his pipe, and Gandalf seemed keen on doing the same. Unsure of what else to do, Shëanon knelt in the grass to help Boromir start the fire.
"Do not trouble yourself, little maiden," Boromir said before she had taken even one stick from the ground. She looked up in surprise. "I will start the fire."
Shëanon blinked.
"I don't mind helping," she said honestly. Boromir smiled at her, his arms full of fallen branches.
"We have walked for several hours now. You are surely tired," he said kindly.
"Not so tired that I cannot gather twigs," she protested calmly. She was not tired at all; half a day of walking was not enough to make her weary, although her mind was strained from passing two sleepless, emotional nights in a row. She did not want to contradict him, however, and neither did she wish to be snide, so she held her tongue.
Boromir's smile widened. "I have enough wood already," he grinned. "I beseech you, Daughter of Elrond, rest a while and I will get you flame."
Shëanon stared at him, feeling her cheeks grow hot. "Alright," she muttered reluctantly. "Thank you."
She sat back on her heels, sipping water from the flask at her waist, as she watched Boromir pull out a flint. The hobbits were impatiently arranging sausages and bacon on frying pans, she saw, and when the small fire was finally started they all dropped to their knees around it to cook.
"Careful, Merry, you're burning those!"
"I am not! Some people might want them crispy!"
"Sit down, Mister Frodo! I'll cook yours for you!"
Shëanon smiled and Gandalf chuckled from where he sat perched upon a boulder. She scooted closer to him, happy to see that his eyes were twinkling and mischievous. The air quickly filled with the smell of sizzling bacon and burning wood, cheerful little puffs of smoke dancing away on the soft wind, and Shëanon momentarily forgot that they were on a perilous quest.
They walked again until past dusk, and the hobbits told them stories as they went, of the adventures of other "great" hobbits and the deeds that they did. Shëanon had a feeling that the stories were embellished—a suspicion that was confirmed when it became clear that Merry and Pippin were exaggerating for the sole purpose of outdoing each other with the grandness of their tale—but it was nonetheless pleasant to listen to their happy voices as they trudged over the boulders and hills. It was, all in all, a good day, and even Aragorn seemed to be in better spirits as the group set down their belongings at the edge of a small wood when it had grown too dark to continue. They would rest there until daybreak and then they would walk again.
The company settled down in a circle, their faces illuminated only by the light of the crescent moon.
"Won't we light another fire, Gandalf?" Pippin asked as he pulled out some bread.
"No, we will not," the wizard replied, and the hobbits all looked crestfallen. "Although we are still close to Rivendell, it would be unwise to light a fire in the night and alert others to our whereabouts. We do not know what spies of the enemy might be looking for us."
Shëanon was not surprised, but winter was coming upon them and the nights would be long and cold without the heat of a fire. The bread that Pippin had taken out was being passed around, and Shëanon handed it wordlessly to Aragorn when Boromir offered it to her, wanting nothing but a steaming cup of herbal tea that she would not get for a long while.
"That's one day out of forty," Sam said as he popped a piece of bacon in his mouth; everyone was munching on leftover sausages, but Shëanon had not the stomach.
"Yes," Gandalf nodded. He still wore his pointed hat, even in the darkening night. "And then our road turns east, to Mordor."
Mordor. The word sent a chill down Shëanon's back, but as of yet, Gandalf did not seem terribly worried. They still had secrecy on their side, at least, and if the weather held they would make good time along the mountains.
The company sat chewing and murmuring to one another for a while longer, but the darkness seemed to dissuade them from more animated conversation and soon the dark silhouettes of her companions rose and started to rummage about, getting ready to settle in for the night and sleep. The hobbits took blankets from the baggage borne by Bill the pony and they were handed out, and as she took the one that Aragorn held out to her Shëanon realized that they were of elven make, thick and soft and warm. She held the blanket close against her, knowing that her father must have provided them.
Aragorn was pulling off his pack and setting it upon the ground, and so Shëanon unbuckled the straps of her rucksack and quiver and laid them upon the grass. She unstrapped the leather belt about her hips and carefully set her sword down with the rest of her things; despite the peace of their first day, she felt rather wary of disarming herself.
"I will take the first watch," Gandalf announced as the jovial sound of the hobbits' chattering died down. He set himself down on the stump of a tree felled long ago.
"I will take the second," Aragorn said firmly as he spread his cloak upon the ground. Around her, her companions were stretching out under the night sky. Shëanon glanced over at the four little shapes that were the hobbits, lying all in a row right beside where Gandalf sat. Boromir had set his great shield leaning against one of the trees and was pulling one of the blankets about him where he lay beside it.
Shëanon looked dubiously at the ground. She had never slept out of doors and although the trees stood a vigil behind her, she felt very much out in the open and she didn't like it at all. She peaked back at Gandalf; the wizard sat still and calm as he watched the land around them. Slowly she knelt and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders, watching Aragorn grab his pack and use it as a pillow. He looked up at her bemusedly.
"Lie down, Shea," he said quietly. Already Gimli was snoring a few feet away.
Reluctantly she did as he said, clutching her blanket as she lay flat on her back. Stars had come out, she saw. They sparkled high above her and she stared at them, listening to the breaths of her companions become deep and slow as they fell asleep one by one. Shëanon felt that she could hear the rustle of each individual leaf, the sway of every blade of grass as a cold wind swept down over them. The sky above her seemed fathomless, unending—beautiful and yet somber, almost daunting, and for the first time Shëanon found no peace gazing at the night sky. She thought of Elbereth embellishing the dark of the night with shining balls of light, and wondered what the Valar thought of Middle Earth's plight.
"Shea," Aragorn whispered suddenly from beside her, interrupting her musings. She turned to look at him. His eyes were closed.
"Go to sleep," he breathed.
"I'm not tired," Shëanon answered softly.
"I don't care. Sleep anyways."
If Aragorn's eyes had been open, he would have seen the dirty look she cast at his peaceful face. She looked back at the sky.
She had lied, of course; Shëanon was very tired. She had not slept since the night before the council, but out in the vast world, away from her home and in the dark of the night, she felt too vulnerable and uneasy to sleep. Even though she knew that Gandalf was on watch, she did not like the idea of lowering her guard and putting herself at the mercy of the darkness. Anything could be out there, even Gandalf had said so. Spies of the enemy, he had said, and Shëanon almost felt their eyes upon her. To her left stretched the endless hills, shadowy and dark and marked by black shapes of trees. She didn't know what would be worse, to turn her back on the terrain or to lie and face it, and so she remained on her back, uncomfortable and fidgety though she was.
'That is why I cannot sleep,' Shëanon thought, but a whisper sounded at the very back of her mind. Who are you? Who are you? She shuddered. The voice and the fire had been haunting her the past two days, a constant shadow over her heart, and although she was ashamed of her own weakness, she knew that she was afraid that if she slept, she would have nightmares or worse. The One Ring was less than ten feet away from her; what if her mind found it again? Shëanon bit her lip and pulled her blanket closer to her face. It smelled like Imladris, like warmth and safety, and she nuzzled her cheek against it.
There was movement beside her, and Shëanon jerked awake. Had she dozed off? She must have. A dark shape had appeared to her right and woken her.
"Mithrandir has finished his watch. I said I would wake you."
"Hannon le."
Shëanon sat up and rubbed her eyes, which were burning and foggy from sleep and did not want to stay open. Finally, she was able to focus her vision.
A cloud had blown over the moon, but still Shëanon was able to see Aragorn next to her. He was sitting up and fastening his cloak around his neck, and Legolas was kneeling at his side. Both looked at her.
"Forgive me, my lady," Legolas said quietly, his hair silver and his eyes dark in the night. "I did not mean to wake you."
Shëanon felt her face get hot.
"That's alright," she stammered, her voice hoarse and groggy. How long had she slept?
"I am sure Shea is grateful," Aragorn muttered as he rolled his blanket into a ball. "She has made it her own personal quest not to sleep until we reach the Black Gate."
"Just to spite me, I'm sure," he grumbled under his breath, and Shëanon glared at him. Legolas, however, only smiled.
"The night has been quiet," he said, glancing past Shëanon and out at the hills before looking back at Aragorn. "Gandalf saw nothing amiss."
Aragorn nodded and pulled himself to his feet. "That is well," he said as he strode off.
Shëanon watched him walk away with Legolas, and then looked down at where he had lain before. She hesitated only for a moment before she too rose slowly and stepped carefully over to where Gandalf had been keeping watch. Aragorn was leaning against the weathered old stump, rather than sitting on it as Gandalf had, and Legolas was sitting next to him, his elbows resting on his knees.
Aragorn glanced up at her as she approached, and even without the light of the moon she could see the exasperation on his face, though he hefted an arm around her shoulders as she plopped down at his other side.
"When morning comes, you will wish you had slept," he murmured, but his gaze was now fixed on the dark landscape.
"I would not have slept anyways," she shrugged.
Aragorn sighed. "It is a waste for three to do what could be managed by one," he said dubiously.
"And yet you have not ordered the prince of Mirkwood off to bed," Shëanon pointed out, and then froze, wishing she hadn't spoken.
Legolas laughed quietly; it was a bright, clear sound and to her consternation Shëanon found that it raised goosebumps along her arms and down her back.
"Indeed, Aragorn," he said good-naturedly, "send me off to sleep."
Aragorn shook his head and said nothing, and Shëanon was glad. She pulled her blanket closer to her—it was still wrapped around her shoulders, for the night was cold and she was unwilling to so quickly forsake the comfort that the soft cloth brought her.
For four hours the three sat in the grass, keeping watch for the rest of the company. They spoke little, and that suited Shëanon just fine. In fact, she found that she felt nervous and self-conscious when she spoke. She doubted everything that she said, for she felt completely robbed of her wits. In truth, she had avoided Legolas in Rivendell, and his going with the Fellowship had almost kept her from joining. She knew it was a foolish thing, but she had not forgotten her embarrassment at the gates of the city when she had stared dumbstruck and stupidly at him, nor the intense feeling that had struck her then, and she was not eager to experience that feeling again. Indeed, every time she had seen him since, she felt her face burn and she became inexplicably uneasy and uncertain. He and his companions had sat and dined at her father's table for the few days between his arrival and the council, and on those occasions Shëanon had only been able to pick at the food on her plate. He had shown up on the practice fields once, late in the morning when the sun was well risen, and she had carefully slipped away.
She sat bleary-eyed and cold, curled in a little ball beside Aragorn as the sky gradually grew lighter. If she and Legolas were to be companions, she could not avoid him any longer. She would just have to try to behave like a normal person.
"The dawn draws near," Legolas said after a very long time of silence during which Shëanon had listened to the songs of waking birds in the trees behind them.
Aragorn nodded and rose. "I will go and wake the others," he said. He looked down at Shëanon before he turned. "When we stop tonight, you will sleep whether you want to or not," he said wearily. "Your father would have my head if he knew I allowed you to traipse across the countryside for days without rest," he said seriously, although his eyes were light. She almost smiled.
Legolas stood also, and Shëanon was hurrying to disentangle her limbs from her blanket cocoon when he came before her and held out his hand. She looked at it for a moment, surprised. With more trepidation than she let show, she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.
"Hannon le," she said with a blush, waiting for him to release her. With a flash of heat through her body, she remembered how he had kissed her hand only a few days earlier. She looked into his face—easier to see now that the night was ending—and saw that he was looking at her intently. She almost pulled away, but she was caught once more in his direct, penetrating gaze. She felt suddenly very silly, wrapped in the blanket, and resisted the urge to smooth her hair.
"It is well that you are here, Shëanon," he said lowly, pensively, after a moment, and Shëanon's eyes widened in surprise. Did he know that she had felt unsure in her decision? "Your presence is good for Aragorn," he murmured, glancing briefly at where Aragorn crouched, rousing the hobbits before looking back at her. "And I am glad to have another of my kin in this company," he said with a gentle, genuine smile. He let go of her hand and with an incline of his head, he turned and strode away.
Shëanon stood still for a moment, stunned. She looked down at her feet, knowing that her whole face was surely scarlet, and then, with an odd little flutter in her chest, she went to prepare for the long day of walking that lay ahead of her.
Translations:
Tithen lum- little shadow
Iell nín- my daughter
Hên nín- my child
Hannon le- thank you
A/N: I am so so so sorry that it took so long for me to update! I was on vacation in Florida and I didn't have any of the free time that I thought I would. I just got back a few days ago and I wrote this as fast as I could. I don't plan to take so long again! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, you guys are awesome and I hope you're enjoying the story so far! It's still kind of winding up, and hopefully the next chapter or so will be more eventful. Let me know what you think. :)