Aiër- Chapter Six
The company was making good time as they journeyed ever south along the foothills of the mountains. The terrain had become unforgiving and the nights grew longer, but the days at the very least were passed in pleasant conversation. Even when their feet were aching and they were cold or hungry, longing for the comforts of home, no one complained. Shëanon was not at all perturbed by the long hours of walking, and although she missed Rivendell, missed her brothers and sister, the novelty of the outside world was still enough to capture her interest. Monotonous as the days were, she enjoyed the feeling of purpose, the sense of adventure.
She also had a lot on her mind.
Since their night together keeping watch, the dynamic between Shëanon and Legolas had changed. She had been surprised to find that it was easy to talk to him—as easy as talking to Aragorn. While at first she had been nervous and hesitant, stammering through most of her words, Legolas never wavered in his kindness or patience, and his genuine interest in her thoughts and enthusiasm in their conversation had eventually put her mind at ease. For the rest of the night, she had spoken freely. After having graciously answered her many questions about his homeland, and then about other places he had seen, she was surprised when he had asked her questions of his own. At times they spoke lightly and pleasantly, and at others their conversation grew more serious, and when the sun finally rose, Shëanon felt that they had spoken for an eternity and yet only for a few moments at once. Every day after, Legolas stayed near her as they walked, sometimes speaking to her and sometimes not, but the silences were no longer awkward.
Not many days later, the fellowship was stopped on top of a large hill, mottled with rocks and barren shrubs. The boulders were not those that Shëanon was used to, jutting out of the earth at strange angles and in strange formations, sometimes sticking bizarrely straight up. She sat atop one of the more ordinary stones, with her legs bent and crossed under her as Aragorn drew on his pipe. Gandalf had decided that they could afford to rest a bit longer than they usually did, for they had covered more land than he had expected them to. Unsurprisingly, the announcement was welcome by everyone, and as another fire was kindled and hot food was dished out and passed around, the company sat and unwinded as they had not previously done, for the prospect of travelling on was for once not immediate and pressing on their minds.
The sun shone down on Shëanon's face, and she basked in its warmth as she breathed the cool wind that came down off the mountains. Frodo and Sam sat a ways away with Gimli and Gandalf, the four of them still eating lunch, but Merry and Pippin were being given a lesson in swordplay by Boromir while she and Aragorn watched in amusement. Shëanon smiled as the hobbits brought their small blades enthusiastically through the air; they were unskilled but eager and fast to learn, she saw, calling out encouragement to each other and goading their teacher. Boromir himself was a good instructor, his eyes lit with mirth as he laughed at the antics of his small students.
"Move your feet!" Aragorn called as Pippin teetered under Boromir's blows. Shëanon grinned at him, remembering how he had once given her similar instructions. Aragorn had helped Elladan and Elrohir teach her swordsmanship, and she reminisced over the calculating, appraising expression on his face as he watched the hobbits jump about.
"Alright, alright, very good," Boromir chuckled, pushing his hair out of his face as the clang of metal on metal momentarily died down. "Rest for a few moments and then we will start again."
"He's obviously afraid of how good we've gotten," Pippin said devilishly as he and his friend walked over to Frodo and Sam, clearly intent on using their break to have another few pieces of bacon.
"Of course he is," Merry agreed, looking over his shoulder at the man of Gondor. "He wants time to re-gather his strength lest we overcome him too easily."
Boromir, taking a drink of water, only rolled his eyes good-naturedly and propped one booted foot up on a rock, and Shëanon giggled a bit at the look of resigned exasperation on his face. Boromir heard and turned towards her.
"They show no appreciation for their teacher," he smiled. He gestured to the open space before him. "Would you like a turn, my lady?"
Shëanon's brows rose on her forehead. She opened her mouth in surprise.
"A turn?" she asked hesitantly.
Boromir's smile widened and he nodded.
"Yes. You have a sword, I see. I will show you how to wield it."
Shëanon felt her face color as she realized what was happening. Boromir thought that she could not fight, and she did not know whether to be embarrassed, indignant, or angry. She cast a startled glance at Aragorn, hoping to gauge his reaction and see if maybe he would intervene on her behalf, but all he did was grin and quirk an eyebrow at her. She glared and turned her eyes back to Boromir, whose kindly, patient gaze filled her with both chagrin and consternation. She clasped her hands in her lap.
"No, thank you," she said awkwardly. "I can already, um, wield my sword."
Boromir chuckled and Shëanon blushed, for he was looking at her with a knowing expression, and she could tell that he had misinterpreted her reluctance as bashfulness to rise and be taught.
"Well, there is always room for improvement," he said, and twirled his sword in his hand. The blade caught the midday's light and threw it about as the sound of the sharp metal cutting through the air met Shëanon's ears. "If evil should find us, I would have you be able to defend yourself."
At this, Shëanon clenched her jaw and lifted her chin. She was capable of much more than self-defense. For a fleeting moment, she was tempted to accept his offer, only to relish the surprise on his face when she effortlessly blocked the slow, obvious swings he had given to Merry and Pippin and advanced on him, driving him back with the perfect form and precision she had spent the past thirteen years working at, but she repressed the urge. Boromir, she knew, was only trying to help; it was not his fault that she looked like a helpless little girl, and she was not such a person as to throw kindness back in someone's face. Her father's image flitted suddenly across her vision, and she thought of how he would have disapproved had she so haughtily and scornfully shown the man up.
"Thank you, my lord," she said politely, if stiffly, feeling her blood hot in her cheeks as she realized that their interaction had drawn the attention of the others. "But I assure you, I would not have burdened myself with arms that I could not bear. I know already how to defend myself."
Boromir raised his eyebrows, seeming surprised and slightly skeptical, but he recovered with a quick smile and a slight bow of his head. "A spar then, to showcase the skill that you possess."
Shëanon bit her lip. Boromir was not being unkind, but she still felt a twinge of animosity toward him. She would absolutely not spar with Boromir—not because she was not up for the challenge, but because she did not like to have an audience. The hobbits were leaning forward, calling out for a contest while Boromir looked at her with a teasing glint in his light eyes, standing tall and confident before her. Shëanon felt suddenly trapped and looked again at Aragorn, who was staring at Boromir with a peculiar look in his eyes.
"Come now, Boromir," a calm voice called, and Shëanon turned to see Legolas coming over to them. He had been standing a small distance away from the others, surveying the land. He stepped lightly to Shëanon's side. "We have walked for many days without respite. Lady Shëanon is surely tired."
Shëanon stared at him. He was looking at Boromir, but she could see even just by his strong profile that while his tone was light and joking, his eyes were slightly hard. She was slightly taken aback. Legolas seemed adamant; she knew instinctively that he would not permit her to fight with Boromir whether he accepted the claim or not, but she doubted that the man would perceive this.
Boromir's eyes widened, however, and regret showed on his chastened face. "Of course," he said apologetically, smiling at Shëanon once more. "Forgive me, my lady. I will let you rest."
Blushing and slightly flustered, Shëanon looked down at her hands. She was annoyed that while he had chuckled at her claims of skill, he had been all too ready to believe that she was tired and in need to rest. She was an elf! She did not tire as quickly as he! And although Boromir admittedly had more battle experience, she was sure that he was no more skilled in combat than she. What bothered her, however, was that Legolas had been the one to suggest that she possessed such physical weakness. Did he truly think her tired, or was he just trying to save her from having to spar? If that was the case, did he intervene because he sensed her reluctance? Did he think she was afraid to lose?
"Merry and Pippin," Aragorn called suddenly. "Are you ready to go again?"
The hobbits hurried to their feet, unfazed by the slightly uncomfortable tension amongst the men and elves, and Aragorn touched her arm. Shëanon looked up as he leaned close to her ear, his face suddenly thoughtful and serious.
"I do not want you to draw out your bow or sword unless it is absolutely necessary," he murmured in elvish.
Shëanon stared, but Aragorn had turned his face back to Boromir and the hobbits.
"Why?" she asked quietly, although there was an edge to her voice. She was not to use her weapons? Why then was she there?
Aragorn shot a meaningful look at her. "It is an advantage to be underestimated by your enemies, Shea. Let it be believed that you are no threat."
"I had not realized," she said slowly, not taking her eyes from the ranger's face, "that I was among enemies."
"It may be that you are not," he answered. "But even so, secrets are best kept when they are known by as few as possible, and we do not know who might be watching us."
Shëanon said nothing as she mulled over his words, and then she nodded. Aragorn squeezed her shoulder.
Everyone else was watching Boromir teach Merry and Pippin, but Legolas still stood beside her, his strong arms now crossed over his broad chest. His face was impassive and smooth, but she knew by the way he and Aragorn traded a significant glance that he had been listening to their conversation. Understanding flashed across her mind, and she realized that Legolas had shared Aragorn's thoughts as he excused her from Boromir's insistence. Something fluttered in her stomach as she considered this.
Just then, as she watched Boromir correct Merry's stance, a sudden wave of unease washed over her, and she tensed. She looked at Aragorn again, but he had relaxed once more, his eyes again smiling and his pipe back between his teeth. Just as Shëanon was leaping to her feet, her boots making no sound as they landed on the stone beneath her, Legolas stepped quickly away from her, leaping agilely onto one of the many boulders that formed the uneven surface upon which they rested. He was looking up at the sky, and as Shëanon followed his gaze, her eyes widened in surprise and bewilderment. Something dark and sinister hung on the air far in the distance, no more than faint line in the sky, but as she looked at it, she saw that it was coming gradually closer. She blinked. The shape seemed to be almost writhing, and she knew that it was something alive.
Without looking away from the strange mass coming swiftly towards them, she scurried, alarmed, up over the bumpy, mossy rocks to stand at Legolas's side. Distantly, she could hear Boromir and the hobbits still roughhousing behind them, and she knew that they had not yet noticed the elves' sudden unease.
"Revia anna," Shëanon observed nervously, not because she thought that Legolas was unaware that the black shape was approaching, but because she needed to voice her worry.
She watched Legolas's eyebrows draw together as he strained to identify the shadow.
"What is that?" she heard Sam ask from his place by the fire, and the foreboding that plagued her increased as the others finally noticed that elves had seen something.
"Nothing," came Gimli's voice, dismissively. "It's just a wisp of cloud."
Shëanon took another step forward, the distant shape becoming clearer, more definitive. The dark form flew momentarily over the sun, and as it passed through the rays of light, she saw that the shape was not one solid mass, for the sun's beams were not entirely obscured, only broken. It was instead, she realized, many creatures flying together… on wings. 'Birds?' she thought, confused. They were surely not any birds such as she had ever seen, no mere migrating geese…
"It's moving fast… Against the wind."
We do not know who might be watching us.
Just as the answer came into Shëanon's mind, it came also from Legolas's lips.
"Crebain, from Dunland!" he shouted, whirling around and leaping from the boulder.
"Hide!" Aragorn cried, and Shëanon snapped her eyes away from the approaching spies and spun, jumping off after Legolas.
There was ensuing chaos as the company scrambled to flee from the flock of crows. Aragorn and Gandalf were hollering orders to extinguish the fire and throw rucksacks into the bushes. The hobbits were frantically trying to gather up the food, their eyes wide and their hands clumsy as they fumbled with packs of supplies, but Boromir snatched the cooked meat from their hands and tossed it unceremoniously into the underbrush as Aragorn seized Bill by the reins and urged him into a cluster of rocks.
Shëanon thought she could hear her heart pounding in her ears, but it sounded all wrong, and as she grabbed up Merry and Pippin's abandoned cloaks from where they had lain, crumpled on the ground after being cast aside to practice with Boromir, she realized with a flash of revulsion and panic that it was not the beating of her anxious heart that she heard; it was the beating of wings. She could feel the air shudder under the sinister cacophony that the birds wrought, disturbing the wind with their unnatural speed, and the cloaks almost fell from her hands as she tossed a glance over her shoulder at the approaching creatures, close enough now that her half-elven eyes could make out individual feathers, black as the night but for where they gleamed silvery blue under the winter sun. They were large, she saw, too large for ordinary ravens, and their sleek bodies seemed to cut like knives through the sky.
Shëanon turned again as the first cry sounded, not so much the cawing of a crow as the shrieking of a foul beast, and shiver ran down her spine. The others were hastily taking cover, rolling under bushes and into the gaps under the ancient rocks. Watching Gimli dive into a shrub, she realized with a start that she too needed to hide. She whirled around, seeking Aragorn amidst the commotion. She found his eyes watching her from beneath an overhanging boulder across the way, silently bidding her to get out of sight, and instinctively she ran to him, the cries of the crebain ringing in her ears. She had only taken a few steps, however, when something closed around her wrist and pulled.
With a small yelp, Shëanon felt her feet come out from under her as she was yanked backwards and down, the world suddenly a blur of grey and brown and blue as she fell. She hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of her from the impact on the unyielding rock, but before she could react, an arm came around her waist and pulled her, so quickly that she at first didn't know what had hit her, back and into something very solid.
"Be still," a voice breathed, right against her ear, and Shëanon's whole body tensed as Legolas pulled her closer against his chest, further into the shadow of the rock under which he had dragged her, the flapping wings and shrills screams of the birds unbearably loud as they descended upon the company. Less than a heartbeat's length passed, and then in the space between the unforgiving earth and the jutting boulder there was the flash of talons. She could see large, dark shadows on the ground as the crebain swooped low, their cruel eyes searching, their wing beats as loud as the hammering of rain on the Bruinen during a storm.
Shëanon held her breath, praying that the birds noticed nothing—that no trace of their presence had been left amongst the rocks to give them away. She wished desperately to cover her ears, for the piercing sound of the crows' calls echoed off of the great boulders in harsh waves, but Legolas had ordered her not to move. Her whole body was shaking, she knew; a combination of the crows' probing eyes and the fact that she lay in Legolas's arms. She could feel his breath at the nape of her neck, the rise and fall of his chest against her shoulder blades, but her panicked mind could hardly register it with the crebain flapping so close.
Suddenly, a black feathered wing beat inches from her face and Shëanon recoiled, unconsciously drawing back, away from the vile thing and into Legolas. She felt him tighten his grip around her, as if he was trying to pull her away from the evil creature, even though they were already impossibly close.
Finally, the screeching grew fainter, the sound of beating wings fading on the wind as the birds passed on. Shëanon lay still as a statue, straining her ears, closing her eyes against the feeling of Legolas against her, and then finally, when she was sure that it was safe, she rolled out from his grip, from under their cover, and pulled herself to her feet.
She stood, trembling slightly and panting, as Legolas rolled out after her and rose gracefully beside her. She looked away from him, distantly aware of the others also emerging from their hiding places.
"Are you alright, aiër?" Legolas asked, bringing his hand to her shoulder and lightly touching the place where she suspected a bruise was forming from falling so heavily to the ground. Shëanon looked up at him in surprise. His brow was creased with worry and his mouth was turned down into a slight frown.
Shëanon blushed under his gaze and, although she tried to ignore the feeling, she could not help but flush a bit in pleasure. She only knew a little of the sylvan tongue, for it was seldom spoken in Imladris, but she knew enough to know what Legolas had called her. Aiër meant 'little one' in the languages of Lothlórien and the Woodland Realm, and although she had been called such in Sindarin many times, something in Legolas's voice as he had said the word resonated deep in her heart.
"Yes," she murmured, "I'm alright."
Legolas turned and squinted off in the direction that the crebain had flown, the dark mass of the flock still visible in the sky. His hand was still on her arm.
"They knew we were here," he said flatly.
"Yes, they did," said Gandalf in disgust as he came up beside them. "Spies of Saruman."
The wizard's expression was grim, as was Aragorn's as he stepped up to Shëanon and placed a hand on her head. She wondered if she looked shaken, and hoped that if she did, he would attribute it to the crebain. The other members of the fellowship all stepped forward—the hobbits wide-eyed and pale, Boromir somber, and Gimli surly and covered in dirt and leaves and twigs. Everyone turned to Gandalf.
"The passage south is being watched," he sighed. "We must take the path of Caradhras." His voice was hard as he looked over his shoulder, eastward, at the formidable peak of the mountain, terrible and intimidating where it rose into the sky in the distance. Gandalf brushed off his hat and placed it back on his head as everyone absorbed the horrible news.
Shëanon traded a glance with Aragorn, whose face held all the trepidation that she felt. Not only would they have to backtrack a bit to take the mountain pass, wasting another few days; but to go through the mountains with winter hard at their heels was madness. They would surely freeze to death amongst the high, frozen peaks.
"Come, we have no time to waste," Gandalf commanded, looking sharply at each of the company. "Those foul creatures may return; we must go quickly if we want to keep our whereabouts secret."
With much of the lightheartedness gone from the group, they walked with heavy steps back in the direction from whence they had come, veering eastward as they went.
"I do not care what they say about hobbits and enduring the weather," Shëanon whispered to Aragorn a few days later. "The mountain is bitter and ruthless. They will freeze to death."
Aragorn winced as he glanced over at Frodo, walking with Sam and Gandalf ahead of them, his hobbit trousers only reaching midway down his calf and his cloak hardly much longer.
"We have wood for fire," he said reluctantly, and Shëanon could feel his worry, the burden of it a heavy weight on his shoulders. "We will make it."
The did indeed have firewood, for Boromir had warned them of the risks of traveling through the mountains, but Shëanon suspected that he could not feel the icy breath of winter on the back of his neck, as she could on hers, nor hear with increasing clarity and dread the howling of the wind the closer they drew to the mountain pass. If Shëanon thought that the hills had grown steep, it was nothing compared to the foothills of the Misty Mountains, through which the company now journeyed.
That night when the company stopped, there was apprehension and unease. They had reached the base of the pass that would lead them high up into the cloudy shroud about the rocky ridges, and the mountains loomed tall and daunting against the night.
Shëanon was grateful that there were at least some trees to seek comfort under, although she knew that they would not last for very long; she could see as she craned her neck upward where the bare branches became withered and weak and then vanished entirely, unable to withstand the cold of the high altitudes that awaited the fellowship.
Sighing softly and sending out a wordless prayer to the Valar, Shëanon lay out her cloak and sat, braiding her hair and waiting for Aragorn. The members of the company were less spread out than usual that night; Boromir lay right beside Merry and Pippin, who as always were lined up with Frodo and Sam, and Gimli had settled right at their feet. Shëanon and Aragorn alone had laid their packs down a ways away, for although Gandalf had the first watch, she knew that he would lie at Frodo's other side, as he did every night.
Shëanon frowned. The wizard had disappeared for an hour, vanishing into the trees, and when he had returned it was to seek out Aragorn, who sat beside her on the cold ground as they silently passing her pouch of dried berries back and forth between them and made themselves comfortable for another night in the cold air. Gandalf had come to stand before them, the dark shape of him obscuring the stars which served as the only light for the fellowship, as they could not again risk open flame unless their need was dire. He spoke Aragorn's name, and although the sound was soft, his tone was not, and as Aragorn set aside his pipe and rose to speak with the wizard, Shëanon had known that the conversation that they were to have was not for her ears.
She could see them from where she sat, cross-legged on her cloak and wrapped in her blanket. The wizard's face was in shadow, the wide brim of his ragged hat hiding his features from her, but even from a distance she could read Aragorn's face with ease. As Gandalf spoke, the ranger had stood straighter, lifting his chin even as the light in his eyes flickered; it was the solid stance of determination that he assumed in the face of hardship, and Shëanon wondered what ill news the wizard was imparting on him. If she had tried, she could have listened in, for the two in the shadows of the trees were not so far that they were out of her range of hearing, but she dared not. Aragorn would tell her what had been said, if he wished to.
Shëanon studied the night sky, the movements of the constellations as the night grew older and she waited for Aragorn to finish his discussion. A cold wind blew at her face and assaulted her weary eyes. She curled closer into her blanket, wanting to lie down and yet not trusting herself to stay awake. Through her reverie, she heard the faint sound of elven footfalls over the sparse, dying grass.
"You do not have the watch tonight, aiër," Legolas murmured as he lowered himself to the ground beside her. Although she did not avert her eyes from the star-scattered heavens, Shëanon allowed a bashful smile to take to her lips. Legolas had been calling her 'aiër' since the run-in with the crebain a few days before.
"I do not," she conceded, seeing him shift in her peripheral vision. It did not surprise her that Legolas was still awake while the others slept soundly; Shëanon had noticed over the weeks that the elven prince stood gazing out into the evening long after the others had retired and was awake before the rest of the company rose. Whenever she had the watch or when she sat watch with Aragorn, Legolas always sat up with them until the dawn. She knew that he surely slept sometimes, but she had not yet seen him do so; certainly she always slept sooner and woke later than he, for he had noticed that her rest was not the rest of the elves.
"I am waiting for Aragorn," she explained softly, finally meeting his eyes. At her words, Legolas glanced over her shoulder at where Aragorn and Gandalf stood speaking in hushed voices, occasionally peering out at the horizon as they did. Shëanon watched his eyes narrow slightly, and she was certain that he was momentarily listening in, before he looked back into her face.
"I am sure that he would appreciate your devotion," he said quietly, and Shëanon could not help but blush, "but I do not think that Aragorn will be rejoining you anytime soon. You should take some sleep."
"I don't mind waiting," she insisted, and she meant it, for although she had grown slightly sheepish to hear her undisguised dedication to the ranger spoken of, she knew that she would indeed do anything for him—even if it was waiting up for him all night. However, her motivation just then was not entirely selfless, and so she did not elaborate.
Legolas seemed mildly amused, the corners of his mouth turned up into a grin as he observed her fierce expression.
"I do not doubt it," he assured her, and for a moment Shëanon was captivated by the sight of smile. She internally shook herself as he continued to speak. "Tomorrow, however, we take to the mountains, and the journey will be arduous. By nightfall you will wish you had rested, and I cannot say whether you will be able to do so once we are a day's walk up. This may well be your last opportunity for sleep until we come down from the cold."
Shëanon bit her lip as she considered his words, remembering when Aragorn had given her a similar warning on the first night of the quest and how she had been all but dead on her feet the following day. She looked anxiously over at where he stood with Gandalf, and knew that Legolas was right that he would be talking for a long while longer.
"Well—Well then Aragorn should rest, too," she stammered, and Legolas's eyebrows rose on his smooth forehead. "Perhaps Gandalf will not keep him much longer…"
"Perhaps not. But Aragorn would not want you kept up as well."
"I can manage," she said firmly, and something in Legolas's eyes glinted.
"Shëanon," he sighed, and she was instantly alarmed by the regret in his gaze as he looked over at Aragorn before turning once more to regard her anxious face. His expression had grown serious. "Aragorn asked me to get you to sleep," he said quietly, and Shëanon felt her face harden.
"Get me to sleep?" she repeated flatly, indignation flaring up inside her as she glared over her shoulder at where the ranger stood, but he did not meet her eyes. She turned back to Legolas, a scowl still on her face. "I do not need to be put to bed," she whispered fiercely, although her face had grown hot as she thought of the childish reason why she so desperately awaited Aragorn.
"Your father asked us to look after you," he explained patiently, meeting her flashing gaze. "We swore to him that we would."
Shëanon was thoroughly taken aback by these words, and she stared at him in astonishment for a moment. She had of course been present when Aragorn had promised Lord Elrond that he would protect her, but it had never occurred to her that her father might have asked his friend's son the same favor.
"My father asked you to look after me?" she breathed, stunned and dismayed.
Legolas bowed his golden head, and Shëanon could have wept as the implications of this entered her mind. She felt suddenly, unbearably foolish. Certainly he had been showing her kindness over the past weeks because of this oath to her father, the Lord of Imladris and longtime friend to the Elvenking. She found that she could no longer meet his eyes, and she looked instead at where her knuckles were white from her grip on her blanket. Her eyes were burning again, although she knew it was no longer a result of the bitter wind, and a lump had formed in her throat.
Shëanon remembered with a pang how he had sat by her that night in the rain, trying to shield her from the wind with his own body and warming her numb fingers with his own hands and breath. Aragorn, he had said, with a pointed look at the ranger, the child shakes with cold. She remembered how he had sat up with her all night keeping watch. It was very difficult for your father to let you go, he had informed her in the darkness, and she had not wondered how he had known. She thought of the other day with the crows, how he had pulled her down just as they swept over the company, how she had trembled in his strong arms, how he had touched her shoulder where she had fallen with such concern in his piercing eyes. Shëanon closed her eyes, humiliation burning her. How obvious it was, that he had been acting on her father's orders. She was nothing but a burdensome child to him, a little girl that he promised his friend he would safeguard, and she had thought, she had dared to think…
'What?' she thought furiously. 'What did I think? That he might have—that he could have…' She could not even finish the thought, too embarrassed by the notion even in the privacy of her own mind.
"I am sure my father meant well," she said softly, bitterly, straining to keep the tremor from her voice, "but I can look after myself."
"I never thought you could not," Legolas said calmly, but Shëanon kept her eyes glued on the stars directly ahead of her. She wondered if he had any idea how crushed she was, and she was angry that she was allowing herself to be so upset. Even though she knew that it should not have mattered if Legolas had made a hundred promises to her father, it did. It mattered greatly.
"Come now, Shëanon. I will guard your sleep," he said softly. The words were said with such kindness and understanding, but Shëanon felt every nerve in her entire body light with new suspicion, with dread.
"What do you mean, 'guard my sleep'?" she asked, her tense voice hardly louder than the wind. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears; the stars she had been studying went out of focus as she waited for his response, everything in her praying, desperately hoping that he didn't know…
"Does not Aragorn take it upon himself each night to wake you when your sleep becomes troubled?" Legolas asked quietly, almost casually.
If Shëanon had ever felt so distressed and dejected, she could not remember it. He knew, then. Perhaps it had been naïve of her to think that he would not; several times since they had left Rivendell, Aragorn had had to shake her in the middle of the night, for Sauron and his wrathful flame haunted her dreams. The first time her eyes had snapped open and found Aragorn propped on his elbow and leaning over her, his face shadowed in the early hour before dawn, Shëanon had not known where she was.
"Aragorn?" She had breathed, her limbs shaking. He had nodded, his eyes dark and probing.
"You were having a nightmare," he'd whispered, and as soon as he'd said it, the dream had come back to her with startling clarity and she was almost amazed that the whole world was not in flames.
"Oh," she had whimpered, bringing her hands to her eyes. Aragorn had drawn her close to him then, one arm wrapped around her.
"It wasn't real, Shea," he had murmured close to her ear. "Go back to sleep."
She had spent the rest of the night with her face against his shoulder, his fingers occasionally at her hair and rubbing against her temple as if she were a cat, but despite this closeness, she had found no more sleep that night.
"Was that another guess?" she asked Legolas dully, instinctively putting up a front of apathy, her voice hollow and low.
"It was not," he admitted. Shëanon did not look away from the night sky, but she could feel his eyes on her. "I have seen him do it."
"I see."
Shëanon drew her legs close to her chest as a wave of heat washed over her, her face and ears and neck burning. Too many of her secrets were lost to her in the night.
"If Aragorn wishes it of me, then I will try to sleep," she muttered at last, still looking away from him and hoping to end the conversation. "But you do not have to… guard me."
"I know that I do not have to," he said, and she was surprised and almost angry to hear the smile in his gentle words. At last she turned to him, noting immediately the warmth of his expression, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, ever so slightly lit with mischief and teasing; she felt equally furious and miserable as she realized that he was mildly amused.
She wished he would leave, that she could leave—that she was back in Imladris in her room, alone and in privacy, or else out on the practice fields, shooting with such ardor that she became numb in her heart and body. She dropped her eyes, saying nothing, for what could she have said?
"Aiër."
Shëanon glanced back up at him, almost against her will, but the sound of the endearment spoken low in the night was too much and she found that she needed to look at Legolas, needed to see his face. He no longer seemed entertained. Shëanon stared at him, hesitating, her heart in her throat, for Legolas was looking at her strangely. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes pensive and bottomless, his mouth set in a line, and she could almost feel his gaze touching her as it lighted over her face. She could sense then that he had finally caught her distress, and she wanted to hide from his keen appraisal, lest he find something in her face that she did not wish to share.
Finally he spoke, his voice solemn and thoughtful.
"I know not what evil plagues your dreams, penneth. Aragorn has not told me, and would not do so were I to ask. Does that comfort you?"
Mutely, she nodded, and Legolas smiled at her. Shëanon felt profoundly affected by him in that moment—frighteningly so—though she could not have put the feelings in words. She knew that whether or not he had told her father that he would look after her, his heart was truly kind, but for some reason the notion made her feel worse.
"Good," he murmured, still with that gentle smile. "Lie down, then, aiër. The hour grows late, and we should both be well rested on the morrow."
Shëanon did not want to lie down; she did not like the idea of it with him so close, and indeed what if she did have a nightmare, or something worse? She flushed to think about it, but she knew that she could not protest any longer, with the stars high in the sky and the rest of the company lost in their own dreams; she would have to shove her own emotions aside. She knew that they did indeed need their rest, and furthermore she felt that it would not have helped her case to argue like a little girl.
Shifting to kneel on the cold ground, Shëanon spread her cloak over the grass and tried to make a spot suitable for sleeping, painfully aware that she was being watched. Her fingers fumbled as she reached for her pack and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Legolas move. She glanced up to see him sprawling out beside her, stretching out on his back and bringing his hands together behind his head. He caught her gaze and raised his eyebrows at her, and Shëanon looked back at her fingers. Never in her life had she felt as young and naïve as she did in that moment, seeing Legolas lying so close to her, his strong body so close to hers, his skin the color of moonlight, the stars reflected in his eyes.
Feeling awkward and overwhelmed by the conversation they had just had, Shëanon lowered herself to the ground next to Legolas. She rolled onto her side, facing away from him, lying much further away than she would have been beside Aragorn and yet still feeling terribly close. She pressed her eyes closed, but her mind would not settle. Your father asked us to look after you. I will guard your sleep. Eru what was wrong with her? The words they had spoken in the dark echoed in her ears for many hours, until she grew so angry, so upset and anxious and embarrassed and horribly, foolishly hopeful that her exhausted mind finally relented and she fell into a quick sleep.
When next Shëanon opened her eyes, the dark of the sky had given way to a bleary purple in which the stars were only fading memories. Aragorn was leaning over her, and one look at his haggard face told her that he had not slept. Shëanon frowned as she sat up, but she held her tongue, for she knew that Aragorn did not need to be chastised. She cast a wary glance to her left, but Legolas was gone.
The next few days were bleak. The path that the company took was steep and narrow, and with every step she took Shëanon could feel the air get colder, the wind more severe. Soon their feet found snow beneath them, and all the world was frozen and white. Shëanon noted as they climbed ever higher that the hearts of those around her were troubled and dark. The hobbits of course were miserable in the icy wind, but Frodo's steps were wearier, and she was troubled by the despondency in his eyes. Gandalf's words to the others had become as sharp as the wind, and Aragorn walked beside her, silent and brooding. She wondered if their ill moods stemmed from their conversation of a few nights before, for she could tell that they were burdened by worry and doubt. Indeed, as she turned and studied Aragorn's profile, it was more marred by dread than she had ever seen it, and her heartbeats were painful in her chest.
The sun's pale light shone on the surface of the snow as the company endeavored up an icy slope, Caradhras barren and hard alongside them. Shëanon walked at the back of the group, away from Gandalf, whose temper had grown fearsome, and from Legolas, whom she did not have the courage to face. Although Aragorn acted as a poor companion, grim-faced and absorbed in his thoughts, she found solace in his company and hoped that he found comfort in hers.
The sun was not yet high in the sky when a cry sounded on the air, and Shëanon glanced up as Frodo came tumbling down the mountainside, arms outstretched and casting about for something to grab onto as he rolled through the snow. The hobbit came to an abrupt stop as he collided with Aragorn, who bent to pick him up. Shëanon's eyes, however, were not on Frodo; glinting benignly several yards away, the One Ring stood out against the white of the snow in Frodo's wake.
"Aragorn," she called quietly as he brushed snow from the hobbit's small shoulders. Shëanon took a step forward, but Boromir was closer and as she watched he grasped the chain that kept the evil thing about Frodo's neck and lifted it from the ground. Fear filled her heart as Boromir held the ring aloft, and a shadow passed over his face.
"Boromir," said Aragorn from behind her, but Boromir did not seem to hear him.
"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing," he murmured as he stared in fascination at where the ring hung from the shining chain, and the cutting cold on the exposed skin of her face and hands faded from Shëanon's awareness as she studied the man before her on the mountain. There was longing in his eyes, she saw with much uneasiness, and—adoration? Shëanon stared at him, trying to perceive his intentions, fearing suddenly that Boromir would not relinquish that which he held. His fair eyes were lit by some unnatural light, and Shëanon suddenly felt his desire like poison in her own blood, and for an instant, as he reached to touch it with the gloved fingers of his free hand, her eyes flitted to the ring.
The mountain vanished, and fire leapt before her, brighter than anything she had ever seen before, and the sky was no longer blue but black with ash as the enemy spoke inside her mind.
"She-elf."
All at once, she felt as though a thousand white-hot pokers were being laid against her skin, and with effort such that she would not have thought she was capable of, Shëanon tore her gaze from the ring. Her whole body whirled around, and she stood panting for a moment in the snow, her eyes streaming, her limbs trembling violently. The freezing air did little to soothe the sudden sensation that had assaulted her flesh; Shëanon was tempted to pull back her sleeves and see if there were burn marks, though she knew that that was impossible. She felt nauseous—this was no coincidence. It knew. The ring knew—Sauron knew.
"Shea?"
She jumped and flinched as Aragorn spoke close behind her. Fearfully, she looked over her shoulder. To her immense relief, the other members of the fellowship were looking warily at Boromir, or else with concern at Frodo, who seemed to have gotten the ring back and had started back up the snowy incline, and only Aragorn seemed to have noticed that anything was wrong with her. His eyes were searching and dark, and for the first time his gaze seemed to her very much like Lord Elrond's, blue suddenly gray as a storm cloud, and Shëanon looked away from them.
"I do not trust Boromir," was all that she said, her voice slightly wavering but fierce nonetheless, and then she turned and followed the others.
Shëanon closed her eyes and cursed the mountain when snow began to fall late in the day. Although it began as only a gentle flurry with large, fluffy flakes, she knew that it would not stay that way as they reached higher altitudes. Sure enough, they found themselves in the midst of a formidable blizzard before night had fallen. The pass led them over a narrow ledge that hugged close to the ice-slicked rock of the mountain and fell away sharply to their right. The wind was howling in their ears, biting at their numb faces. The whole world was white and angry with the snowfall; chunks of ice were in Shëanon's hair, sticking to her eyelashes and gathering on her shoulders, but she said not a word.
The snow had become deeper than the hobbits were tall, and so Aragorn and Boromir had taken a halfling in each arm, Gimli leading poor Bill as Gandalf forged ahead with his staff, using his own body to try to make a path for the burdened men and stout dwarf behind him. They had been toiling thus for hours; the weather was too extreme for them to stop, and as the Gap of Rohan was being watched, they had no choice but to go forward. Shëanon shivered where she walked atop the snow. While the others struggled with each step, she and Legolas stepped lightly over the amassing snow banks by their heads, their feet leaving almost no prints behind them. Shëanon was cold; unlike Legolas, who seemed almost unaffected by the low temperature, she had her cloak clutched tightly about her shoulders, and she shuddered each time another frigid gust of mountain air assailed them from the north. Legolas wore no cloak; he had taken it off and bundled it around Pippin's little body, for the poor hobbit was convulsing in the cold.
Squinting through the storm, Shëanon glanced mournfully at Aragorn, shoulder deep in the drift. His hair was frozen to his face, which was beet red and raw from the onslaught of ice against his skin. He looked exhausted, his body bent against the wind, and his jaw was clenched as he forced himself onward. His hood had blown back, but he had no free hand to pull it back into place, and Shëanon saw that his ears were purple. Frodo and Sam had their faces pressed against his shoulders; their feet were blue.
A hollow, aching feeling had formed under her ribcage as she watched her companions' slow progress. For the first time in her life, Shëanon found that she hated her elven blood. Who was she to flit over the icy banks while Aragorn froze half to death, completely soaked and bearing the weight of two hobbits as he went? What had she done to be worthy of such grace? She was glad that her eyes already watered from the wind, for her throat had become tight with emotion and she feared that she might weep.
Feeling absolutely disgusted with herself, Shëanon stopped in her tracks and turned, intent on jumping down into the trench with the others, but she had hardly taken a step when strong fingers closed around her arm. Through the haze of snow, she met Legolas's gaze. There was sleet in his hair and frost on his face, but he did not seem troubled by it.
"That will not help anyone, aiër," he said, bringing his face close to her ear.
"It's not fair," she cried, heedless in her despair that she was losing her grip on her composure.
Legolas said nothing, but his expression was sorrowful as he brought an arm around her shoulders and held her against his side as they walked. Shëanon did not feel awkward for once; she was too cold and disheartened. Legolas rubbed her arm as they stepped ahead of Gandalf, for the ledge had grown too narrow for them to walk alongside the others and the drop was long and perilous over the edge. Shëanon wished desperately for the blizzard to subside; the company could not continue for much longer if the weather did not take mercy on them. The wind was past howling now—it was screaming. To Shëanon's ears, it seemed almost to be laughing, jeering, goading Caradhras against them. Almost…
Still tucked under his arm, Shëanon looked up at Legolas and saw that he was squinting out at the distant, snowcapped peaks—he heard it, too.
"Legolas?" she asked, and he squeezed her arm as he called back to the others over the storm.
"There is a fell voice on the air."
"It's Saruman!" Gandalf shouted, and Shëanon heard a sound like thunder as rocks broke away from the cliff above them and tumbled towards their heads. As one, the fellowship flung their bodies out of the way, exclaiming and cursing as they did.
"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn yelled, still somehow clutching Frodo and Sam to himself. "Gandalf, we must turn back!"
"No!" Gandalf screamed, and Shëanon saw the fire in the wizard's eyes as he climbed up out of the snow and chanted into the storm, desperately calling over Saruman's evil spell and commanding Caradhras to go back to sleep. His voice echoed off of the mountains, magnified and terrible in the cavernous, frozen space before them, but Saruman's power must have been too great, for a bolt of lightning came forth unbidden from the cloud and struck high above them, and the company only had seconds to react. Shëanon dove as far from the ledge as possible, bringing her arms over her head, and then everything was dark and freezing cold.
Shëanon tried to breathe, but succeeded only in taking in a mouthful of snow; it bore down on her from every angle, as if she were drowning. Trying not to panic, she punched her arms in the direction she thought was up, and felt her fist break the surface. Quickly, she thrashed her way out of the crushing avalanche, gasping for breath as she watched the faces of the others break through the snow around her.
"We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!" Boromir shouted, his face pale and his lips so chapped they bled.
"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isenguard!" Aragorn protested, looking beseechingly at Gandalf as Shëanon crawled awkwardly onto the surface of the snow, her clothes now soaked and freezing to her skin.
"If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it! Let us go through the Mines of Moria!" Gimli cried, and as Legolas grasped her arms and lifted her carefully to her feet, she felt him tense. Shëanon spun around to look at Gandalf, horrified. Moria? She would rather freeze on the mountain than pass through that forsaken place. Surely, they would not…
"Let the Ringbearer decide," said Gandalf, and Shëanon could see that he was not without fear himself; it frightened her more to see it.
"We cannot stay here!" Boromir screamed. "This will be the death of the hobbits!"
He was right, Shëanon thought in despair. Merry and Pippin were as white as the snow all around them.
"Frodo?"
Shëanon closed her eyes and tried not to cry, for she knew what Frodo would say, so cold were he and his friends.
"We will go through the mines," he announced after a moment's hesitation, and Shëanon's very mind flinched as she heard Gandalf sigh, full of resignation and doubt.
"So be it."
A/N: Hey guys! I'm pretty sick right now, but I just wanted to thank you all again for reading and reviewing! Your comments literally make my day every time. I'm really excited about the next chapter; I've been waiting to write it since before I even did the prologue so I'm pumped. It's five in the morning now so I'm gonna go to sleep but thanks again! :)