Aiër- Chapter Five
The midmorning was overcast and cool, and though the earth had grown rockier and the hills slightly larger, the wind was not terribly cold and the clouds did not seem to threaten rain. As they trekked up another steep incline, the air was sharp and invigorating on the faces of the company and Shëanon was glad, for with every step that she took she felt more and more that Aragorn had been right; she was exhausted and she wished she had slept. Her weary mind wandered and her eyes burned, and now the dry, dying grass beneath her feet seemed as inviting and comfortable as her lovely bed back in Rivendell. Unlike on the previous day, Aragorn was walking in front of her, and he kept glancing over his shoulder at her, an infuriating, knowing smirk on his face. Shëanon ignored him each time, deliberately keeping her steps light and her expression clear, but she was relieved when Gandalf came to a stop and announced that they were stopping to rest.
"I think," he called as he surveyed the surrounding land and the fellowship halted behind him, "that everyone could do with some lunch, and this seems as good a place as any. We will light a fire—a small one—with the cover of the trees."
Merry released a hoot of approval, and Shëanon grinned at him, sharing in his enthusiasm.
The fire was quickly seen to, the members of the company gratefully sinking onto boulders and rocks around the flame. Although she did not eat the sausages that the others skewered and roasted over the flames, Shëanon was glad for the warmth on her tired body. She sat cross-legged on the ground, eating pieces of bread and handfuls of imradaes, elven meal consisting of oats, nuts, and dried berries, out of a small pouch from her pack. Earlier in the day, the group had encountered a small stream winding through the hills, and so her water skin was full of clear, cold water.
"This isn't so bad so far," Pippin said cheerfully, and Shëanon glanced up. He and the other hobbits sat side by side on an old log, sticks bearing roasting food held out over the fire. As they chattered, she took in their appearances. They all looked out of place to her in their little overalls and waistcoats, and their faces were all too innocent. Pippin had been especially eager to set out that morning, Shëanon had noted, seeming much less reluctant than the other hobbits to forsake the warm elvish blankets and begin to walk again. "I hope the journey stays like this the whole way to Mordor."
"That wouldn't make for a very good story," Sam said thoughtfully from beside him, across the fire from where Shëanon rested.
"A good story!" Frodo exclaimed. "Do you want something dangerous to happen?"
"No, of course not," Sam said, shaking his blonde head in defense. Shëanon smiled softly as she looked in on their conversation. "I was only saying, is all."
"Well, good story or not, at least the weather's been fair enough and it hasn't rained." Pippin said sagely, and stole a sausage from Sam's skewer.
"Or snowed," Merry agreed.
"Well, now you've done it!" Gimli huffed, with a disparaging look at Merry and Pippin. "You've jinxed it! If it rains now, ladies, it'll be on your wee hobbit heads!" He cast a wary glance up at the cloudy sky and pursed his lips under his russet beard. "Not that I mind the rain," he added as an afterthought, with a meaningful glance at the others. "Or the snow. In fact, I once walked forty miles in a blizzard. Didn't trouble me at all."
Shëanon smirked and bit her lip, but suddenly a thought struck her and she looked over at the hobbits' bare, hairy feet, stuck out toward the warmth of the crackling fire.
"Does it snow in the Shire?" she asked them abruptly from where she sat in the dirt. Everyone looked over at her in surprise.
"Of course it does," Merry informed her, an almost proud note in his voice.
"The shire's a fair place even in the winter, milady," Sam said wistfully, and the others hurried to agree, but Shëanon was still dubious.
"And what do you do when it snows?" she asked seriously. The faces of the hobbits brightened further, clearly pleased that she was so interested in the Shire.
"Oh, loads of things," Merry said happily, leaning back to rest his elbow on a boulder behind them. "Drink hot chocolate—"
"Roast chestnuts," Pippin cut in.
"Good time of year to roast potatoes," Merry continued.
"That it is," Pippin agreed, "and for baking cookies, too! And cake! And—"
"But do you go outside?" she asked curiously.
The hobbits stared at her.
"Of course we go outside," Frodo said, looking at her strangely.
"Did you think they hibernate?" Boromir laughed from next to Gimli, his shoulders shaking under his leather tunic. "They are hobbits, not hedgehogs!" Shëanon ignored him.
"Do you wear shoes in the snow?" she pressed, her eyes appraising each of the halflings in turn. They all look as confused as she felt, glancing at each other and then back at her, and she became aware that Gandalf and Aragorn had started chuckling.
"No," Pippin said blankly. "Hobbits don't wear shoes."
Shëanon felt blood rushing to her face and she squirmed as the laughter around the circle continued at her expense.
"But… But don't your feet get cold?" she asked desperately, now wishing she had not brought up the subject. "Or frostbitten?"
All the hobbits laughed at that, and Shëanon looked down at her lap, exasperated. How was she to have known that hobbit feet fare well in the snow?
"Come now, do not laugh at the lady," Boromir said, but he was laughing himself. "It was a fair question."
"Indeed it was," Gandalf chuckled and then turned to address Shëanon. "It does not get so very cold in the Shire, Shëanon, nor does it snow very much or very often," he said kindly, though she could see that his eyes were alight with mirth, "And a hobbit's feet can withstand many kinds of weather."
"I was only wondering," she said ruefully, to more laughter.
"Does it snow in Rivendell, milady?" Sam asked, with genuine interest, and Shëanon looked at him gratefully.
"It does," she said, now twirling the end of her braid around her fingers.
"And do you wear shoes in the snow?" Merry asked, and he and Pippin had another small fit of laughter.
"Yes," she said sheepishly, although she could not deny that the sight of the hobbits laughing was a welcome one after several hours of monotonous walking.
Boromir suddenly leaned forward and regarded Shëanon with a thoughtful expression, one elbow resting on his knee.
"I have heard tell," he said slowly, "that elves walk not through snow, but upon it and leave no tracks. Is it true?" His eyes were intent upon her face, and she saw the hobbits also looked very interested. They had stopped laughing and intently awaited her answer.
"It is," she admitted, although she felt somehow hesitant and awkward, a poor representative of the Eldar to boast of her own grace.
"Can you?" Pippin asked eagerly. Over the fire, his sausage was charred, forgotten. "Can you walk on snow?"
Shëanon nodded, feeling weary again, and Boromir and the hobbits looked impressed.
"And you, Legolas? You can walk on snow, too?"
Shëanon followed Pippin's gaze and looked over her shoulder, startled to find that Legolas stood very close behind her. In her exhaustion, she had not noticed that he did not sit around the fire with the others, and he had not spoken since they had stopped to eat.
Legolas turned, having been looking out over the hills, and grinned at the hobbits. His hair, Shëanon noted, looked silver in the grey, misty light, and he seemed even taller and broader than usual from her vantage point on the ground. She averted her gaze.
"I can," he assured them. "And it is well, for in the winter it snows much where I am from."
Gimli snorted. "It snows also at Erebor, and we dwarves manage just fine without cheating nature and walking on it like fairies."
Shëanon raised her eyebrows. She thought herself nothing like a fairy.
"Cheating nature?" Legolas asked from behind her, and she glanced back at him as he spoke. His tone was mild, but there was something haughty and challenging in his eyes, now the color of ice. "Eru Ilúvatar created nature and thus the snow, and in turn he created the Eldar and made them light of foot. Of all the peoples of this earth, it is not the race of the Eldar that is a cheat of His creation," he said, and his voice had grown grave.
Gimli growled and clenched his fists, and Shëanon looked uneasily at Aragorn. He exchanged a significant glance with her, but rather than unease, she saw annoyance in his eyes. She remembered the words the dwarf had shouted at the council, "No one trust an Elf!" and she frowned. There was an awkward silence, and then Boromir cleared his throat.
"It does not snow often or a lot in Gondor," he said bravely, his eyes darting from Gimli to Legolas and back, "For we are too far south. But when snow does seldom fall, you could not find a fairer sight in all of Middle Earth than that of Minas Tirith. With snowflakes drifting like gifts of crystal from the clouds, dazzling, cold white against the white of the White City, and frost glittering on the ground, it is truly a place of dreams," he murmured, his eyes shining and his tone both reverent and wistful, and everyone gaped at him, taken aback.
"That sounds beautiful," Shëanon said after a moment, picturing the scene he had described. She had never thought much about journeying to Minas Tirith, but she decided that for all the awe in Boromir's voice as he spoke of it, it might be worth a visit.
Then Gandalf slowly rose to his feet, leaning heavily upon his staff as he did so. "I think we have rested for as long as time could afford us," he said. "We should journey on."
With that, everyone stood up and packed away the remainders of their lunch, and although Shëanon's eyes were still burning and tired, she had plenty to think about as the Fellowship began once again to walk.
"We stop here for the night," Gandalf called when the sun was long gone beneath the grey line of the horizon, and the night was dark and starless. Shëanon could not ever recall such weariness, though she had grit her teeth all day and journeyed on, over the patches of lingering grass and gravelly, rocky slopes of the hills. After lunch, she had realized after nearly an hour of walking that Legolas was walking behind her, and so in addition to her exhaustion she had also felt foolishly jittery and nervous, and once she had even tripped over her own feet and staggered, staring down at her booted toes in utter astonishment of her own clumsiness, her whole face burning; she had not lost her footing like that in years.
The place that Gandalf had chosen to take rest that night was a small knoll alongside the smooth face of a small cliff, a large hill that seemed to have been long ago cloven in two. Shëanon did not wait to see where Aragorn would go; as soon as Gandalf halted and announced the end of their second day, she sank immediately to her knees. She must have made more noise than she had thought, for the ranger turned to look at her as the others set to making a temporary, makeshift camp. She could see that his brows had risen on his forehead, but he mercifully refrained from chastising her and with a smirk that was at odds with the concern in his eyes, he turned to unburden the pony.
Shëanon sat numbly while the others milled about, eating another cold supper and lying out blankets and bedrolls for sleeping. There seemed to be less ceremony tonight; everyone was clearly intent on swallowing food down as quickly as possible so that they might sleep all the sooner.
"I will take the first watch," Boromir declared, and Shëanon watched dully as the man hefted his shield from his back and chose a spot to watch from. Distantly, she was aware of Aragorn handing her her blanket, which she held in her hands for a moment without moving. He was laying out his own blanket now on the hard ground beside where she knelt.
Gimli volunteered for the second watch as Shëanon finally brought her fingers to the buckle of her pack, removing it and her weapons and laying them on the grass close by. Her limbs were heavy and her mind was as cloudy as the sky above, and she longed for the relief that sleep would bring, but…
She lay down, the pebbly earth under her back feeling as blissful as the most luxurious mattress in Imladris in her worn out state. She looked up again, hearing as if from a great distance the sounds of the others still fumbling about, the hobbits still eating and speaking quietly to each other, Bill whinnying softly.
She brought her eyes to Aragorn, sitting on his blanket to her left. She was waiting for him to lie down, but he had pulled out his pipe and was reclining against a rock, his eyes far away. With one hand he held the pipe against his lips, but it was not yet lit, and with the other he was rummaging absently through his rucksack, presumably searching for pipe weed with his fingers. Anxiously, Shëanon turned away from him and looked up at the heavens as she had the night before.
The sky had only grown darker as the day had progressed, the cover of cloud becoming ever thicker and more foreboding, and as the sun had set a mist had risen between the hills. No light, neither from stars nor the thin sickle that was the diminishing moon, breeched the thick blanket overhead and even in her terrible exhaustion, even with sleep within her grasp, Shëanon forced her eyes to stay open. Into her mind, unbidden and unwanted, the voice came and echoed. You are afraid.
Shëanon swallowed thickly. She would hear it again, she knew. If she closed her eyes and let herself sleep, her mind relax and wander, she would relive the horror of Sauron's presence again, be it through a nightmare or the ring itself. She wanted to cry aloud, for there in the hazy dark of the overcast night, the feel of the flames licking at her skin was all too near in her memory and, somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind, another pain, more fire, searing skin as she screamed and fought. Her throat closed against her revulsion and she sat up, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head upon them. How could she sleep, knowing what she might see—what she might relive?
"Shëanon."
She looked over at Aragorn in complete misery. He had lit his pipe at last, the scarlet embers the one spark of light in the gloom. The tendrils of smoke that rose into the air were only barely visible, discernible only where they momentarily danced as a veil before his sparkling eyes. His gaze was no longer distant, but fixed on her sternly.
"We had an agreement," he said quietly but firmly.
"I cannot sleep," she whispered, rubbing at her burning eyes.
"You are exhausted, Shea," Aragorn hissed, and Shëanon winced to hear his admonishing tone. "Not even elves can go without sleep forever."
Shëanon blinked, and it took her longer than it should have to open her eyes. She could tell that Aragorn had reached the end of his tolerance, thinking her stubborn, and she blinked back tears of shame.
"I cannot sleep," she admitted, lowering her voice to the softest of whispers, "because I am afraid."
Aragorn's brow furrowed and he lowered his pipe, looking at her in surprise.
"We are not yet far from Rivendell," he whispered after a moment. "And Boromir is on watch."
Shëanon shook her head, in frustration and in desperation, and ran her hands through her hair. It was not fell creatures of the night that she feared, and so his reassurance did not soothe her troubled mind. She let out a low, shaky breath, feeling suddenly the stillness of the air; it increased her unease and she longed for a breeze, cold though it would be. Finally, and with difficulty, she met Aragorn's eyes again.
"I am afraid that if I sleep, I will… see again what I saw the other night," she breathed, and she could not tell if she felt better or more wretched for having confessed her fear to him. His expression had changed; she could see it even in the dark.
Aragorn leaned toward her then, and Shëanon watched dolefully as he brought one of his large hands to her shoulder. It was warm even through the thick layers of her clothes.
"I will wake you at once if you have any nightmares," he whispered, his voice pointed and solemn. Shëanon felt her chin tremble
"You have to sleep, too," she protested, her heart in her throat. She shivered, not from coldness but from a combination of extreme weariness and the tenderness in Aragorn's eyes. His grip tightened on her shoulder.
"I will hear you if you stir," he whispered. "I will wake you. I promise."
She looked at him for a moment, hesitating and reluctant, but finally the surety of his promise and her own exhaustion won out, and she nodded tiredly.
She lay back down, on her side now, facing him, and curled into a ball with her blanket wrapped tightly around her. 'He will wake me,' she thought fervently. She had one more look at his face, and then finally her eyes closed and she succumbed to her exhaustion. Her sleep that night was dreamless and deep.
Her relief the next day, however, was short lived, for Gimli's words had proven true: it was raining. Not ten minutes after the company had woken, they felt drizzle on their faces. By noon, the light misting had become large, fat raindrops and soon after, the sky opened up and they found themselves in a torrential downpour the likes of which Shëanon had experienced only once or twice before. It rained for days on end and the fellowship was soaked to the bone; Shëanon's hair was plastered to her face as she walked, her clothes waterlogged and heavy and clinging to her damp skin. The ground became muddy and slippery, and everyone save for Shëanon and Legolas slipped and fell at least once as the company trudged up the sludgy sides of the hills. Their boots were caked with mud, and despite what Gandalf had said about hobbit feet, Shëanon still suspected that the soggy, mucky earth was not pleasant for them to tread. Indeed, their feet were filthy.
As the days went by, the trees became fewer and far between, and giant boulders began to appear, until the hills were more rock than grass and the landscape became less sloping and more jagged. As a result, the fellowship was hard-pressed to find suitable shelter from the weather during the night, and more often than not they awaited the dawn out in the open, under the merciless sky, cold and wet and miserable.
On the seventh night of their journey, after another long day of ceaseless walking with water splashing as if from great buckets over their heads, they came upon a face of rock rising sharply to a ledge above that, Shëanon suspected, rolled down the other side in a steep, muddy mound as was the manner of the other broken hills about them. The wall of smooth rock jutted out over the earth very slightly, offering the slightest bit of protection from the relentless fall of water. Without waiting for Gandalf's word, the group made for it immediately.
The sun had just set, though through the dense clouds Shëanon had not seen it, and from the bottom of her heart she raised a prayer to the Valar, for now they could stop and take this small shelter for the night; how mournful, how bitter she would have surely been to have come to this spot during the height of the day, and to the brief reprieve that it offered, only to have to pass it up and endure the rain again until the coming of the night when they may have found no other cover waiting for them.
Everyone let their packs fall from their backs and to the sodden ground as they huddled under the small overhang. Even Bill seemed to be pressing as close as possible to the rock, though he could not completely bring his body out of the rain, and Shëanon felt a pang of pity as she regarded the miserable, soaked creature. She saw Aragorn slowly slide to the ground, leaning against the rough stone, dripping clumps of his hair falling in his face as he did. She followed his lead, sinking down next to him; she found that if she pressed as far back into the rock as she could and pulled her knees to her chest, only the very tips of her boots would be rained on.
One by one, the members of the company sat, each keeping as close to the rock as possible. No one spoke, and the sound of the water hammering into the earth was loud and severe in Shëanon's ears. She could not see far into the distance, for the sheets of rain acted as a curtain before her, obscuring much of the landscape and blurring the rest. Rivulets of water ran down her face, into her eyes and mouth, dripping from her soaked, cold hair. She pulled her cloak more tightly about herself, her whole body chill as a result of her wet, clinging clothes. The thick Rivendell blankets were as water logged as her drenched clothes, and none of the fellowshipped bothered to use one. As the night grew steadily colder, however, everyone inched slowly together, into a tighter line. Shëanon pressed her body shamelessly against Aragorn's, her right arm and leg flush against his left. She suspected that she was not as cold as the others—she could hear the hobbits shivering from where she sat—but still the piercing air cut through her sopping clothes and assaulted her clammy skin.
Eventually Aragorn brought his arm around her shoulders and she huddled against his side as he tugged his cloak around her, enveloping them both. His attire was as wet as hers, but the fabric of his tunic was warm against his body and she curled into the heat that he gave off. The darkness became more absolute around them, and there was a collective shudder as a cold wind began to blow. Even Shëanon could not suppress a shiver, for even with Aragorn's arm around her, most of her body was still exposed to the biting chill. At that moment, she sensed movement to her left, and then solid heat. Surprised, she turned.
She was startled to find that Legolas was sitting beside her, not only because he had been the only member of the fellowship not to sit on the dank, wet ground, standing instead tall and still and peering out at the hills through the veil of silver rain, but also because she was surprised that he sat so close to her as to touch her. Legolas had no human blood in his veins and he was hundreds of years older than she—certainly he did not feel the cold?
"Aragorn, i hên gîr na helch," he murmured, looking over her head at Aragorn, and Shëanon tensed. The child shivers with cold, he had said. She blushed. For the first time since it had started raining, since he had helped her to her feet days before and told her that it was well that she had come, she looked directly into his face. His hair was as wet as everyone else's, but it was not disheveled and stringy like Aragorn's had become in the rain, although even in the dark she could see that the water had made it the color of wheat. She knew his eyes to be cerulean blue, but in the deep of the night and the gloom of the rain, they flashed like silver. His otherwise smooth face was creased at his brow, concern in his expression and voice—concern for her, she realized.
"I'm alright," she cut in as Aragorn opened his mouth to reply. "I am not as cold as the others," she said softly but earnestly, and admittedly, a bit defensively.
The corners of Legolas's mouth turned up and his eyebrows rose, and Shëanon flushed; she could see that he did not believe her.
"Forgive me, my lady," he said apologetically, and she knew that none but she and Aragorn could hear him over the pounding rain, "but the others are not so small or… slight as you, and their lips are not blue, either."
She stared at him, searching his eyes for one startled moment to see if he might be joking, but although she did see slight amusement, she saw worry and regret also and she knew that he spoke truthfully. She hastily bowed her head. She bit her lip, and to her dismay, she found that it was indeed numb from the cold.
A lock of hair, come loose from her braid, fell against her face, cold and wet and harsh against her skin. With her eyes still fixed on her knees, she brought her hand out from under her cloak to push it aside, tucking it behind her burning ear. As her hand came away from her face, however, Legolas caught it and gently tugged it closer to him. He gripped her fingers for a moment and Shëanon watched, frozen, as he shot a significant look at Aragorn and leaned across her to take her other hand as well.
"In caim lîn nar sui heleg," he frowned, cradling her hands between both of his. He began rubbing feeling back into her numb fingers, and she shivered again to feel his skin against hers. Legolas, however, seemed to interpret her renewed shaking as another reaction to the chill, damp air, and he moved closer to her still. "Do not worry. It will not rain for much longer."
"I would rather keep the rain, if it remained the worst of our troubles," Aragorn said lowly beside her, squeezing her shoulder as he spoke. Though she kept her eyes trained on her hands, on those of Legolas holding them, she heard something in his voice that reminded her that this was not by far the first night Aragorn had spent shivering and soaking wet in the wilderness, and she frowned. She almost looked up at him, but something would not let her meet his eyes.
"Even so," Legolas conceded, "if we have the opportunity to have neither rain nor any other trouble, I will gladly take it."
Suddenly he bowed his head and lifted her hands close to his mouth, breathing warm air over her knuckles. If she had not been so taken aback, Shëanon might have pulled her hands away, but surprise and—something else would not allow her arms to move. She blushed furiously, knowing that even in the dark Legolas would be able to see that her face was bright red. He did not release her hands after that, keeping them clasped between his.
Shëanon found that she was trembling, though it was no longer from the cold. She was terribly aware of everywhere that her body touched Legolas's, all the way down her left side. His hands were much larger than her own, and though they were not as rough as Aragorn's, she knew that he used his bow and knives often; there was strength in his hands—indeed in his whole body—that both frightened and exhilarated her. Unable to further endure the sight of her hands cradled in his, she looked instead at where the rain pelted the earth at her feet, splashing and rippling in the puddles all about them.
Shëanon had no idea what was wrong with her; she only knew that she wanted to sink into the rock behind her and disappear entirely, mortified by the physical contact between the Elvenprince and herself and yet unwilling, unable to break it. And why? Legolas was only being chivalrous and kind, trying to warm her numb fingers and shield her from the biting wind, and the intensity of her reaction was both disproportionate and foolish. Surely she would not have felt so suddenly wretched if anyone else had done the same, if Gandalf had sat closer or if Boromir had taken her hands. She remembered then how she had behaved when she and Legolas had first met, how she had felt so blindsided and nervous and awkward, knowing that her embarrassment and unease were unreasonable and silly and yet unable to tamp down the feelings. The depth and suddenness of the emotions had startled her, and as Legolas ran his hands over her own, rubbing his thumbs along her fingers, she realized that she felt the same then as she had in that first moment.
Aragorn shifted a bit, pressing closer to her, and Shëanon was suddenly, inexplicably embarrassed that he was there. Could he tell what she was thinking? Could he feel the shaking in her limbs, the pounding of her heart, and know that his friend was the cause of it? The notion that he might made her want to die.
After what was to her mind an eternity but what was in reality perhaps only a quarter of an hour, Legolas released her hands, returning them to her lap. They felt cold the moment he let go, colder than they had before he had held them, though Shëanon did not say so. In fact, she could not manage to say anything, and while her mind screamed for her to thank him, her mouth would not move.
"Hennaid," she managed at last, but her voice sounded almost foreign to her ears as she ground out the awkward thanks. She glanced up at him anxiously and saw that he had taken once more to watching the darkness, but he turned and offered her a soft, knowing smile. Shëanon dropped her eyes again.
She did not sleep that night, but she did not think that anyone else did, either. Certainly Aragorn sat awake all night, and Legolas, too. She did not even hear Gimli snoring; clearly the rain and the cold were too much for everyone, but Shëanon knew that even if it were not so, she would not have found sleep anyways. All night her mind raced.
The child shivers from the cold. Your hands are like ice. His words sounded over and over in her head, as vivid and real as if his smooth voice was once again in her ears. He had noticed that she was shivering; he had seemed genuinely concerned. She frowned. He had called her a child. Surely she was indeed a child in his eyes; how old must he have been? As old as Elladan and Elrohir? Her brothers thought her a child, too, but for some reason it bothered her greatly that Legolas should agree. It almost… hurt. Shëanon tried to assure herself that it was because she was a member of the fellowship and desired to be counted as equal with the others, but while that was indeed true, she felt that her displeasure stemmed from something else. It is well that you are here, Shëanon. She closed her eyes, remembering how her name had sounded on his lips. That was the only time he had used it, and she had thought on it many times since.
She clasped her hands tightly together as dawn slowly approached. She almost wished that Legolas would take them again, but she also hoped desperately that he would not. She was no longer very cold; Legolas was solid and warm beside her, and although she was tucked under Aragorn's arm and pressed to his side, she found that she was warmed more thoroughly by Legolas than by him, for heat seemed to radiate through her entire body from where it touched his. She remembered again how he had kissed her hand; his lips had all but burned her skin. She fidgeted, feeling disconcerted and self-conscious of her own thoughts. When morning came at last, she rose immediately, looking at neither Aragorn nor Legolas.
She was so very confused.
Just as Legolas had promised, it stopped raining later that day. The downpour did not slowly let up and then finally stop altogether; it ceased so suddenly that it seemed almost too good to be true. No one said anything about it at first, everyone fearing that to speak of it would bring back the torrents of icy water, but then the clouds began to clear and soon patches of blue were visible above them. With bated breath, the company watched the sky, heedless of the ground over which they strode as they walked with their heads craned back, until suddenly, miraculously, beams of faint silver peaked through the last of the clouds, and then the early winter sun came out.
"Ai, thank the Valar," Shëanon sighed, gratefully letting the warm rays of sunlight caress her face. Aragorn grinned at her as the hobbits applauded and cheered, and though everyone was still cold and wet, their clothes still sodden, the discontent had faded from their faces.
"If that had kept up much longer, we would have had to swim to Mordor," Boromir chuckled from somewhere behind her, and Shëanon smiled as the others laughed.
"I wasn't troubled at all," Gimli said happily, and her smile widened as they walked on.
When Gandalf stopped them for lunch, his own smile was broad and his eyes twinkled.
"Let us stop here to eat," he said happily. "Despite the weather, we have made good time. If we continue at this pace, we shall reach the Gap of Rohan in less than the forty days for which I had planned."
The place where they had stopped was riddled with rocks, and Gandalf moved to sit on one, his staff resting across his lap. The whole of the terrain seemed to sparkle slightly, the remaining moisture catching the sun's rays and throwing them back. The company moved about, eager for a meal in which their food would not be already soaked before it reached their mouths. Even Bill seemed to share in the good mood, whinnying happily and swishing his tail as packs of supplies were pulled from his back and Sam tended to him.
The air smelled wonderfully fresh and clean, Shëanon observed, the world purified by the week of rainfall and despite the lateness of the season and the coldness of the air, she felt that the grass was slightly greener and the earth less downtrodden.
"Any who have dry clothes should put them on," Aragorn called as he rummaged through a bag of food, procuring cured meat and cheese sealed in wax. At his words, Merry and Pippin seized their packs and began pulling out clothes, exclaiming that they had been wet for so long that their skin had become perpetually shriveled.
With her water skin halfway to her lips, Shëanon paused, blushing. She had dry clothes in her bag, kept safe by the smooth leather of her rucksack, and she longed to peel her wet clothes from her body. She shuffled closer to Aragorn, hovering uncertainly at his side as he worked, hoping desperately that no one would think to change in front of her. Her form cast a shadow over him, blocking the sun from where it had kissed his head, and he looked up. He must have seen something amusing on her face, for he smiled broadly for a moment and stood. She might have scowled if she were not so genuinely distressed.
His expression softened as she looked up at him, almost pleadingly, and to her relief he didn't laugh at her predicament. Bringing his hands to her shoulders, he scanned the area around them and then nodded at something behind her. She turned and saw a group of large boulders a small distance away.
"Over there, Shea," he murmured, steering her towards the outcropping of rocks. Shëanon walked quickly, lamenting the loss of the trees they had left behind. She noted as she went that the others were clearly waiting for her to go, and she ducked her head and quickened her pace. Aragorn walked with her across the large expanse of grass and brush and stopped when they reached the boulders, which were smooth and rounded from centuries of rain and wind upon them.
"I'll be right back," she mumbled, casting him a bashful but grateful smile as she hurried around the rock to change. She found a small space amidst the mercifully large boulders in which she would be shielded from every angle, and she dropped her pack.
Shëanon sank to her knees as she dug through her few belongings and extracted her spare set of clothes, still perfectly folded and dry. She laid them atop her pack and tugged off her boots, but as she brought her fingers to the hem of her tunic, she hesitated. She knew that no one could see her from where they were making camp, that Aragorn would let no one approach her as she dressed, but she was still reluctant, for despite the wall of rock, she still felt very much out in the open.
Finally she undressed, the damp fabric clinging to her skin as she clumsily cast it aside, goose bumps rising on her exposed skin. She tugged on the dry attire as quickly as she could, relishing the comfort of the dry cloth on her damp body. When she was once again dressed she headed back to where Aragorn waited for her, pausing just around the side of the boulder.
"Aragorn?" she called hesitantly, biting her lip.
"Yes?"
"Are the others, um…?"
She heard him chuckle. "Everyone is dressed, Shea. We can go back."
She emerged to find him waiting patiently where she left him, looking at the mountains to the east, noble despite his humble clothes. His eyes were warm as he looked over at her and, unexpectedly, he reached up and laid a hand upon her head, not quite mussing her hair as he often used to, before clasping her shoulder.
"Are you warmer now, mellon nín?" he asked, his tone serious though his eyes still smiled slightly.
Feeling a bit abashed, Shëanon nodded.
Aragorn tilted his head and offered her a small grin.
"Good," he said, bringing his arm now around her shoulders as they started back towards the company. "I worried about you during the night. I was grateful for Legolas."
Shëanon almost faltered in her footsteps, unable to meet Aragorn's eyes. She knew that to say nothing might be conspicuous, for Aragorn knew her so well, but she could do nothing but shrug as they came back up the hill to where the others sat eating their lunch. If Aragorn noticed her sudden awkwardness, he made no mention of it, and they sat down by Gandalf and Frodo and ate for a while, and then they journeyed on.
The weather held over the next days, cold but clear-skied and mild, and for that everyone was grateful. There were very few trees in the land, but there were bushes and thick brush, and eventually they found twigs and sticks dry enough to make a small fire, rejoicing to have a hot meal. Although there was tension still between Legolas and Gimli, the mood in the company was amicable and light. Shëanon had not herself spoken very much with the dwarf, but whether it was because she was young and a girl or because of the histories of their fathers, Gimli seemed not to mind her as much as he did the prince of Mirkwood. In fact, he was the only member of the company other than Gandalf and Aragorn not to address her as 'lady,' calling her instead 'lass.' Shëanon decided that this meant that he did not dislike her; at the very least he did not dislike her enough to call her 'elf,' as he called Legolas, and for her part Shëanon found that she was glad for the dwarf's presence, for he made her smile often and easily.
Despite the good weather and camaraderie, however, Shëanon had started to feel wary. A shadow had taken root in her mind, and she found that she felt eyes on her always. She took to watching the horizon, for she felt a warning on the wind that she could not ignore, and sleep came to her with more difficulty each night. When the company was settling down to sleep on the sixteenth night of the quest, Shëanon volunteered to take the first watch. Aragorn sighed, for she had sat up with him all the night before while he watched, but he did not protest as she strode away from him and clambered onto a rock from which to watch.
She sat facing the south, resting her elbows over her knees. The horizon was a jagged line. The hills no longer rolled into the distance but rather rose and fell sharply, and the company had spent the day hiking rather than walking. She suspected that the others were less than pleased by the change in the terrain, but Shëanon found that she preferred the new geography, unpredictable and uneven, to the monotony of the hills. That had been her opinion during the day, however; with the sun gone and the world in darkness, the unforgiving shapes seemed dangerous. She was relieved that the stars were out; the many sunless days and starless nights during the rain had unsettled her, and she was glad for the lights glittering high above her, familiar and permanent and steadfast, a reminder of the goodness of the Valar.
After several moments of listening to the others get comfortable and go to sleep, she felt someone come up behind her. She did not turn, for she knew who it was; only one member of the fellowship could step so lightly and come behind her so silently.
Legolas pulled himself gracefully up beside her, drawing in his knees to sit as she was.
"You watched last night, my lady," he pointed out, and Shëanon tore her gaze briefly from the shadows before her to see the small smile on his face. She blushed. He had been up with her and Aragorn the night before, and she had been jittery the entire time.
"So did you," she replied calmly, though her stomach had flipped when he had hoisted himself onto her perch. He was not sitting very close to her, not as close as Aragorn might have sat and certainly not as close as he had the night under the overhang, but he did not sit far, either, and Shëanon could feel the heat of his body. She quickly turned back to the horizon.
"I did," he agreed. They spoke softly, aware that the others were trying to sleep, and the sound of his hushed voice brought heat to her face. She waited for him to continue, to say something else, but he remained silent after that. Shëanon fidgeted nervously as the moments passed. Was he going to sit there with her all night? The thought horrified her, and she stared fixedly into the distance, hoping that maybe he would rise and bid her goodnight.
"Are you troubled by the south, my lady?" he asked when the quiet weighed so heavily on her ears that it hurt. She looked at him in surprise.
"Yes," she said after a moment of consideration. "It does."
Legolas furrowed his brows and looked in the direction that she had been so desperately staring.
"It troubles me also," he said slowly, and she suddenly saw something in his eyes that she had never seen before, a brief flicker of something potent and perhaps dangerous. "The very earth seems to call out in warning the further south we travel, and there has been something sinister in the air. Can you feel it?"
Shëanon stared at him, startled to hear her own thoughts from his mouth. Finally, she nodded.
"I am… unsettled by the sound of the wind. There is something wrong with it, but I cannot tell what. It has been tugging at the edge of my mind," she admitted quietly, averting her gaze. "And I find it troubling that we have not yet encountered any of the spies of the enemy, for Gandalf said that they are everywhere and ever watchful; I have felt in the past few days that there are eyes on us, and that they are not the eyes of something good."
Legolas looked at her intensely, the same gaze that so often robbed her of words, and her face began to burn anew.
"You are perceptive for one so young," he said finally, his eyes still on her face. "It is no wonder that Lord Elrond has such faith in you," he murmured, and Shëanon looked down at her hands. "You are right. Something is aware of us, and I fear that it will soon find us."
Shëanon looked up at the sky, sending up a silent prayer for their safety. It was quiet again for another long moment; she heard Boromir roll over somewhere behind them, and Sam mumble something about roses in his sleep.
"May I ask you a personal question, my lady?" Legolas asked softly, and a new wave of uneasiness washed over her. She considered for a moment, her mind racing, before she nodded apprehensively. Legolas shifted, angling his body to more directly face her.
"Which of your parents was human?" he inquired quietly, and Shëanon felt her entire body freeze.
She turned to him, completely bewildered, to see that he was watching her with curious, patient eyes. He could not have said anything more startling; of all the questions he might have asked, that was the very last one she had expected. She looked nervously over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the others lying awake, listening, but everyone except for the two of them was asleep and even if they were not, no one could have understood their elvish conversation anyways who did not already know the truth of her blood. She lowered her voice, regardless.
"Who told you that I am human?" she demanded, her voice almost a hiss. She was alarmed that she could have even come up in any conversation that the elven prince had been included in, and a feeling of hurt and betrayal appeared unbidden in her heart to think that someone had revealed her deepest secret to a complete stranger. While it was true that the elves of Imladris had surely figured it out for themselves—she had grown up five times faster than she should have, after all—very few people knew truly that she was Peredhel. Had Aragorn told him? He would never, Shëanon thought frantically. Although he and Legolas were friends, he knew more than anyone how sensitive Shëanon was about her parentage. Surely Elrond would not have revealed such a thing. Her brothers? Arwen? Why would they even mention it?
Her distress must have been on her face, for Legolas leaned toward her and smiled at her compassionately.
"Forgive me, Shëanon," he murmured apologetically, laying a hand over his heart and seeming to understand the reason for her sudden anxiety. "It was a guess."
Shëanon stared at him, dumbfounded.
"A guess?" she repeated blankly. Her heart was still pounding.
"Yes. I assure you, no one told me any such thing," he said solemnly, and Shëanon could see the honesty in his eyes. She blushed deeply and looked away from him, feeling foolish and strangely vulnerable. She had always believed that other than her small stature and perhaps her unusual hair color, she did not give any outward signs of being half-human.
"How did you know?" she asked, wringing her hands in her lap. She was not sure she wanted to know the answer, but she felt that she had to ask.
Legolas looked at her for a moment, and she almost feared that he would not answer.
"You sleep with your eyes closed, my lady," he said finally, almost off-handedly, but there was a tenderness in his eyes that burned her. "At first I thought that you slept so on the first night because you were so exhausted, but your eyes have been closed every time I have seen you sleep in the past weeks."
"I—" Shëanon didn't know what to say, and felt her face glowing scarlet as embers. She couldn't tell what was worse, that he had noticed this human quality, such un-elvish behavior, or that he had observed her sleeping enough times to notice it. Impulsively, she brought her hands to her cheeks as if to hide her blush from him, and drew her knees closer to her body. The ensuing silence grew so awkward to her ears that she was tempted to get up and walk away just to escape it, but she knew that she could not have justified such cowardice later.
"Lord Elrond and his children are half-elven," Legolas said steadily after a moment, and although she was still gazing out at the distant shadows of the night, she could feel his eyes on her. "And they are among the most revered elves on the earth today."
"Yes, they are," Shëanon agreed hollowly.
"Shëanon."
Shëanon turned to him, not entirely because he had spoken her name, but because his voice had become low and serious. The sound of it made the hair at the back of her neck stand up. His eyes bore into hers, his gaze intense and piercing once more, but for once she did not look away.
"I will speak of this to no one, if you do not wish it," he said solemnly. "But, by the Valar, do not ever wish to be other than as you are. Eru Ilúvatar does not make mistakes."
Shëanon swallowed thickly. For someone who hardly knew her, Legolas had guessed at her thoughts with startling accuracy, and she felt both embarrassed and taken aback by his words. His face, however, his gentle, honest expression soothed some of her anxiety. She glanced away, her heart racing. She grimaced to think he might hear it.
"I do not know who my parents are," she confided, her voice hardly louder than a whisper. "Elrohir and Elladan found me wandering in the woods when I was a child."
"I am sorry."
Shëanon shrugged.
"It was very difficult for your father to let you go," Legolas murmured. "I am sure he worries even now."
"What of your father?" Shëanon asked quietly. She was surprised by her own nerve, but she took a breath and continued. "He will surely also worry for you."
"He will, but when word reaches him of our mission, he will understand why I have gone."
Shëanon was jealous of how sure his voice sounded. Thranduil, she was sure, would indeed understand. And, she reminded herself, Legolas could take care of himself. He was a powerful warrior, head of the guard of Mirkwood, and the most talented archer alive in Middle Earth. His place in the company was not as preposterous as hers; his father did not have to worry that he would freeze in horror at the first sight of trouble and be slain on the spot. Shëanon did not have any battle experience, but she knew that Legolas fought ruthlessly to keep his homeland safe. How must it feel, she wondered, to go to sleep each night wondering that your home might be taken by evil in the morning?
Suddenly, Elladan's voice was in her ear. I am sure these messengers would love to speak with you about their home. She bit her lip. Legolas was no mere messenger; he was the prince of the Woodland Realm.
She shot a sidelong glance at him and saw that he, like she had been, was looking out at the ragged land. Did she dare? She hesitated for a long moment.
"Um—your highness?" she managed at last, her voice small.
Legolas turned to look at her with raised brows, seeming surprised, and then, to her horror, he laughed. It was a quiet sound, and not unkind, but she still flinched at it.
"You need not call me that, my lady," he chuckled, shaking his head a bit.
"Well, you do not have to call me 'my lady,'" Shëanon answered defensively, feeling her blush even at her ears. She wanted the rock beneath her to swallow her up.
"Fair enough," Legolas smiled, his eyes still warm and full of amusement. "What is on your mind, Shëanon?"
"Well…" Shëanon faltered, her already shaky confidence diminished, but it was too late to turn back. Legolas regarded her patiently, light still in his eyes. She drew in a breath. "Well, I have never—obviously—journeyed to Mirkwood, and I—I just—I wondered…" her voice trailed off awkwardly as she floundered for words that would not sound foolish. She wanted to slap herself. What was wrong with her that she could not even ask a simple question?
"You wish to speak of Mirkwood?" Legolas asked, looking surprised again. He was grinning once more, she noted, a fact that did not help her, flustered as she was.
She nodded hesitantly, hoping he would not laugh at her again.
"If you don't mind…" she muttered, fidgeting a bit.
He smiled more broadly, and her heart lurched to see that he seemed pleased.
"I will gladly tell you anything that you wish to know," he said, and, somewhat reassured, Shëanon smiled shyly back at him.
They did not wake Gandalf for the second watch, and sat instead talking quietly until the sky grew light in the east, the Misty Mountains a dark silhouette against the vivid pink of the dawn behind them.
Translations:
I hên gîr na helch- The child shivers with cold.
In caim lîn nar sui heleg- Your hands are like ice.
Hennaid- Thanks.
A/N: Filler chapter, lots of "and then they ate lunch. And then they slept. And then they walked." Lol. Guess what though stuff actually happens in the next chapter yay! Let me know what you think, thanks to anyone reading! I'll try to get the next chapter up in the next few days. :)