Aiër- Chapter Eight
Shëanon could hardly see as Legolas set her down outside the mines, such was the brightness of the sun. It was too much after the long days of darkness—such a dramatic difference that it actually hurt and she had to shield her eyes against the overwhelming light. She felt fresh air on her face and in her hair, but stronger than anything was the burning pain in her chest. Legolas's hands had left her, but she hardly noticed. She wanted to cry, to scream, to fall onto the smooth stone under her feet; she wanted to punch the unyielding rock, to run back into the mines—to do anything to relieve the pain inside her, but she couldn't move. Around her, her companions were holding each other and weeping for Gandalf. Everything was as it had been in her vision: Merry and Pippin holding each other and crying, Boromir practically having to restrain Gimli, and Shëanon was sure for a moment that she was going to be sick. Her fault. All her fault. She looked down at her hands; they were filthy and covered in blood, both scarlet and black, and there was dirt caked under her nails. A deep cut ran across her right palm which she did not remember getting, and she found herself despicable. Frozen in her mind was the image of Mithrandir's face as he let go, and her ears rang with the sound of Frodo's scream. Her fault, her mistake, and Gandalf had paid the price…
"Legolas, get them up."
Shëanon blinked and looked up at Aragorn, seeing for the second time his grieved expression, and she turned away from him, unable to bear the sight. She could not decide who or what she was most angry at, but her anger was almost unbearable, surpassed only by her horror and grief.
"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir cried, indignant.
"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs," Aragorn shouted, but then his voice became less hostile. "We must reach the woods of Lothlórien. Come on Legolas, Boromir… Gimli, get them up."
Shëanon listened as he beseeched them all to rally the hobbits, and she knew that they had to leave but she hardly cared if she was attacked by orcs. She almost wanted to be.
"Shea?"
Numbly, she turned. His hand was on her shoulder, and she looked into his face. There was a darkness there that shook her; never in her life had she seen him so forlorn, so aggrieved and despairing that his eyes cut her, but his jaw was set and his shoulders squared in desperate determination, and she understood that he would lead them on in Gandalf's place even if it claimed his life as well. She couldn't bring herself to speak to him. Did he know? Had he guessed? She swallowed thickly as he watched her, still with that terrible thing in his eyes, but then she saw that his brow was furrowed and his anger gone and she realized that he was waiting to see if she would fall apart. The notion shamed her. All her fault… Wretched but determined, she lifted her chin. His expression seemed to grow grimmer still, and he looked at her for one more long, agonizing moment, and then he squeezed her shoulder and stepped away from her.
"Get them up," he told her, and went over to pull Sam to his feet.
Their path to the golden wood took them down through the rocky foothills of the mountains and across the shallow pools and streams that descended from the icy peaks. The water was freezing cold around their ankles and shins, but they needed to reach the wood before the sun set behind them and the straightest, swiftest way was splashing through the frigid rivulets. Sunlight flashed like diamonds on the surface of the water, reflecting on their faces and glaring in their eyes; too bright—everything was still too bright. No one spoke as Aragorn led them, although Shëanon could hear small sobs from the hobbits as they ran. She herself felt as though her body and mind had become separate, for her legs were moving and she was running but her thoughts were not on the fall of her feet.
Finally they left the pale rock behind them and were barreling across grassy plains. Aragorn kept increasing his pace. In the distance there loomed the edge of a great forest. At first it had just been a line of trees far ahead, but as they drew closer Shëanon could see the branches and leaves sway ominously in the breeze, waiting for them. She had thought to feel anxiety as they approached, but she felt instead bitterness and resentment, and still the burning, like a hand of flames gripping her heart. When they were but feet from the forest, she realized belatedly that Aragorn had been speaking to her, but she had not heard him and did not respond. Her mouth tasted like blood; she felt like she might choke on it.
Eventually, Aragorn halted and turned, waiting for the others to catch up before stepping under the silver boughs ahead of them. Shëanon waited by his side, still not speaking, as the panting hobbits and Gimli drew near. Their faces were all ashen and despondent.
"We are not yet pursued," Aragorn announced to the fellowship. He seemed to want to lift the hobbits' morale, but the heaviness of his heart was evident in his voice and this bleak undertone ruined the effect entirely. "But we are losing the light. Come. The borders of this forest are well protected; with any luck, we will be granted entrance to the city." It was not yet dusk, but the sun was behind them now. Aragorn turned and stepped into the woods, leading the fellowship behind him.
The trees of the wood were unlike any Shëanon had ever seen before. Their trunks and boughs were of a smooth, pale grey and seemed like silver in the approaching dusk. There were yet leaves on the branches; Shëanon knew that the leaves of the land did not fall during the winter, and despite the forest's name, she was still taken aback by the color of the foliage. Any green had waned in the winter's chill, leaving instead a color of pure gold. Lit by the westering sun, the leaves appeared luminous and otherworldly—an ethereal canopy overhead. There was no doubting the beauty of the wood or the fairness of the trees. After the blackness and fire of Moria, the light and purity of Lórien was plain to them all. Shëanon however found that she was not calmed by the gentle breeze of clean air that whispered in the gilded leaves and danced along her skin, nor was she reassured by the protection the wood might offer; in her anguish, she looked at the shimmering bark and delicate leaves with bitterness and an awe tainted by resentment. The forest was beautiful, yes, but after what they had been through, it brought forth anger in Shëanon. She wanted to kick at the trees; what right had they to sit there lovely and undisturbed while Gandalf was falling, falling…? And what right had she?
The company carefully picked their way further into the forest, stepping around wide trunks and over thick, sprawling roots. The deeper into the wood they went, however, the more uneasy Shëanon began to feel. Despite the supposed safety of the land, she did not feel any peace of mind there under the gold and amid the silver. The very air felt charged and aware, and she felt that the great trees themselves were watching their progression. 'No,' she thought to herself, 'not the trees…' for as she brushed her fingers against the smooth bark, she knew that the trees, though aware, were serene and unperturbed; the presence of the fellowship was not worth their attention. Shëanon glanced around nervously. There were eyes upon her: eyes watching her, following her, flitting over the branches and yet making no sounds. She knew it without question, and yet she could not see them. How long would the wardens let them walk uninhibited? Shëanon was not sure, and although she had realized that it was only elves who watched them walk, she still felt paranoid and tense and even afraid. Four days she had blundered through the darkness, knowing she was being watched, knowing they were being followed, and then orcs and the balrog and Gandalf, and now around every tree, upon every branch they might be lurking, watching, waiting to come upon them unawares…
"Stay close, young hobbits," Gimli whispered to the halflings from somewhere behind her. "They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods… an elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell and are never seen again."
Shëanon shuddered. She had almost forgotten about Galadriel. Was she watching them, too? She thought it very likely. Perhaps that was the cause of the unease she could not escape, the sentient presence she felt everywhere, even in her own mind. The anxiety in the dwarf's voice had raised goosebumps along her skin. Shivers ran up and down her spine, and she was straining to hear even the slightest crack of a distant twig, but she could hear nothing but the footfalls of her companions and the rustling of the leaves high above. She gripped her bow tightly, instinctively; Aragorn walked ahead of her, and she quickened her pace to catch up with him, despite her lingering shame. She hated the anticipation, the waiting. With every step she took, she expected them to jump out.
"Well, here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily," Gimli continued. "I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox—"
Shëanon felt them a split second before they were before her, and in that moment she reacted as she would have but hours ago in the mines. Startled even though she had been waiting for it, the spike of adrenaline and fear in her surpassed reason; in that one moment she felt like a threatened animal, and before she had even realized it, she had knocked an arrow and raised her bow, and then there were ten others aimed directly at her face. There were gasps from all around her as her companions found themselves likewise surrounded. The wardens of Lothlórien were clad all in grey, and their neutral uniforms blended almost perfectly into the wood.
"The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark," a cold voice said suddenly, and Shëanon turned her head to face the sound. An elf had stepped from behind a tree and was standing in front of Aragorn. His face was completely impassive; his hair was the same pale silver as the others around them, but his shoulders were broader and he did not have his bow in hand. With her heart still pounding in her ears, Shëanon decided that he must have been in some position of authority.
"Haldir o Lórien," Aragorn spoke immediately. He held his hands up before the arrows aimed at his chest and face. "Henio, aníron, boe ammen i dulu lîn. Boe ammen veriad lîn."
Hesitantly, Shëanon glanced at the ranger. She was surprised that Aragorn had known this elf's name, but even more surprised at the tone that he used. In his voice was absolute desperation as he implored Haldir for his help and protection. Her stomach twisted anxiously, and she felt even more on edge than before. What did Aragorn think these elves intended? Was he afraid they would not allow them refuge? Surely they would not turn them away, leaving them at the mercy of following orcs? She looked back at the elf. His countenance had not changed at all, and he said nothing for a moment. Shëanon watched his silver eyes appraise Aragorn, and then the others. Suddenly his gaze fell upon her.
"Be at ease, Daughter of Elrond," he told her in Sindarin, and Shëanon blinked in surprise. How had he known who she was? Aragorn's words from that night in Imladris rang through her head: The Lord and Lady of Lórien do not need to send a representative to know what will transpire here. The notion made her uneasy. Haldir was watching her carefully with his keen eyes. Be at ease? What—? With a jolt, Shëanon realized that she still had her bow drawn, the string pulled taught and the arrowhead directed into the face of one of the elves before her. He and the wardens beside him still held bows aloft, as well, and although their faces were as calm as Haldir's, they looked at her with something strange in their eyes. Hesitant and slightly embarrassed, she slowly lowered the weapon. There was a very tense silence during which she felt like everyone was looking at her, and she fidgeted, her nerves at an all-time high.
"What evil has befallen this child?" Haldir asked finally, turning his gaze back towards Aragorn. His voice was as hard as steel. Shëanon's mouth went dry, her entire face burning. She might have spoken, but she found that no words would come and Haldir was looking at Aragorn with something akin to anger in his eyes.
"We have just passed through the mines of Moria," Aragorn explained carefully, still with his hands held up. There was a hushed murmur amongst the elves—in silvan, so Shëanon could not quite understand what was being said, until Haldir held up a hand. The wardens fell silent again, and Haldir seemed to be considering.
"Aragorn," Gimli called suddenly. "These woods are perilous. We should go back!"
"You have entered the realm of the Lord and Lady," Haldir said sharply, looking now at Gimli. "You cannot go back."
Everyone remained still for a moment. Shëanon's stomach was in knots and her breathing was slightly uneven. She wondered if the wardens around her could hear it and thought that she was afraid of them. The fellowship did not move or speak, waiting to see what would happen; the elves did not confer or lower their arrows, and all that could be heard was the sway of the golden leaves until at last Haldir spoke.
"Nightfall approaches. You will follow me," he said, and though his voice was calm, there was no mistaking the command in his words. He nodded at his wardens and beckoned to Aragorn before turning and striding deeper into the woods. At this signal, the elves lowered their bows and allowed the company to pass, but they kept their arrows at the strings as they walked alongside them and consequently Shëanon had the absurd feeling that they were being taken prisoner. Haldir led them through the trees until sunset, the gold of the leaves becoming like amber until they seemed to burn in the orange of the day's end. No one had spoken at all as they marched, not even the hobbits, and Shëanon wondered vaguely if it was because they did not dare or because they had not the heart. Even as she followed closely behind Aragorn, the events of the morning and afternoon played over and over in her mind.
Eventually, Haldir stopped at the foot of a great mallorn tree, its trunk wide and its branches large and sturdy. As the procession drew to a stop behind him, he gave a quick, low whistle and a moment later a latter fell from the branches high above. It was woven of iridescent, thin rope and swayed slightly with the soft wind of the twilit forest. The elf stepped aside and indicated with a gesture of his hand that Aragorn should go up, and so the ranger stepped forward and began to climb. Shëanon watched as he ascended into the leaves, feeling rather wary, but Haldir was watching her in a way that she did not like and so she took hold of the ladder and hoisted herself off of the ground. The hithlain was smooth and strong beneath her fingers, so she was not worried that she would fall or that the rope would not hold. She felt the weight of Legolas coming up behind her, but she kept her gaze on each rung that she took hold of. When she came to the top, she found that, as she had expected, the ladder had been thrown down from a talan high up in the tree, and Aragorn took her hand as she came through the small hole in the floor of the flet, pulling her up and onto her feet. There were several other elves already there, standing in the shadows, and they observed the members of the company silently as they came up one by one onto the talan. All were as pale blond as the ones who had drawn their bows on the company, and Shëanon decided that these Lórien elves also seemed more haughty and severe than those of Rivendell. Perhaps it was her imagination, or maybe it was because they were on their guard against the strangers in their homeland, but Shëanon felt wary nonetheless. At last Haldir came up after Boromir, and then a few more elves, and then the ladder was retracted and neatly coiled by one of the wardens.
"Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion," Haldir said respectfully when everyone was on the flet and the fellowship stood together uncertainly amongst the elves. He bowed his head and brought a hand to his heart as he spoke.
"Govannas vîn gwennen le, Haldir o Lórien," Legolas replied from next to Shëanon. Like Aragorn, he seemed completely at ease, but she could not shake her trepidation. Haldir looked next to her.
"Shëanon od Imladris," he murmured, inclining his head to her as well. Shëanon nodded; she wondered if she should give some words of gratitude as Legolas had, but she did not know what to say and she was aching and so she hoped that the slight bow would suffice. If the elf found her response lacking, he gave no indication of it. His sharp eyes fell next on Aragorn.
"Aragorn in Dúnedain, istannen le ammen," he spoke, and Aragorn too brought his hand over his heart.
"So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves," Gimli suddenly interjected. Shëanon turned at the sound of his voice and saw that he was looking at Haldir with open dislike. "Speak words we can all understand!"
"We have not had dealings with dwarves since the dark days," Haldir replied icily. His cold tone and the inflections of his voice made it clear what he thought of their companion, and the knots in Shëanon's stomach coiled tighter.
"And do you know what this dwarf says to that? Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul."
Shea did not know the exact words the dwarf had said, but his intent was clear and she watched the fire come to Haldir's eyes; his wardens seemed to stand taller as well, and Legolas did not seem pleased either.
"That was not so courteous," Aragorn hissed at Gimli, turning and glaring over his shoulder. It seemed that he would not need to defuse the situation, however, for Haldir had lifted his chin and seemed to have decided to ignore the remark. He looked now at the entire group.
"I am Haldir, the Marchwarden of these lands and Captain under the Lord Celeborn. I have sent a message to Caras Galadhon to tell of your presence here, and await word from the city. You will take refuge here tonight, and at daybreak I shall bring you before the Lord and Lady," he said, still in that firm, authoritative voice. "Few of my wardens speak the common tongue; my brothers, Rumil and Orophin, know very little," he explained, gesturing to the two elves who stood at his left and right shoulders. He looked then into the faces of the hobbits one by one, and then at Boromir and Gimli. Seeming satisfied that there were no misunderstandings, he spoke again. "We have provisions for you. Take rest while you can; it will be many hours of walking before we come to the city tomorrow."
While the wardens procured blankets, flasks of water, and food for the company, Haldir turned once more to Legolas and Aragorn and spoke with them quietly in Sindarin. Shëanon stayed close by them but turned away from the conversation, looking instead out at the branches of neighboring trees. Night had fallen now, the forest full of shadow, but all was still lovely in the light of the first stars overhead. Peering through the darkness, she could see more flets close to theirs, and some of the elves that had been with them earlier had walked off across the branches, so that now only a few remained with the fellowship. Finally, the hobbits were whispering amongst themselves again, though they sounded subdued and ill at ease. Boromir and Gimli seemed uncomfortable as well, Gimli for his distrust of the elves, and Boromir for his distrust of the forest. He had said before to Aragorn that he had heard ill tidings of Lothlórien, and he did not look with favor upon the elves on the flet.
Shëanon stood in silence for a long while, listening to the voices of those around her without really hearing any of what was being said. She was burning again, in her chest and in her stomach. Her mind was both numb and screaming at once. In the night, now with time to think, to reflect on Moria, on Gandalf… she could hardly bear the hurting, the guilt.
'Do not cry,' she repeated over and over in her head, but her eyes stung. Why had she not told Gandalf what she had seen? Why had she not told Aragorn? Then perhaps they might not have lingered, and Pippin would not have disturbed the well, and they could have passed undetected and Gandalf would not be gone. She felt bile rising in her throat, guilt and shame encompassing her. She stood there immersed in her tumultuous emotions for a long while, and the stars were well out when she realized that the conversation behind her had grown heated.
"I will vouch for him," she heard Legolas say firmly.
"We shall await the word of the Lord and Lady," Haldir replied. "He can stay behind while I take the rest to the city, until I have had orders."
"We will not separate," Aragorn cut in sharply. "We will go all together, or we will all remain."
"I am not at liberty to keep the rest here at the border. You have entered into the wood and must be taken to Caras Galadhon but as I do not yet know the will of Celeborn or Galadriel, I cannot allow the dwarf to cross into the Naith."
"He was selected by Lord Elrond to accompany us on this quest," Aragorn protested in a tone that Shëanon recognized as frustrated and exasperated, and perhaps even anxious. The strain was clear in the ranger's voice; it seemed that a problem had arisen concerning Gimli. Shëanon frowned as she listened to the argument transpiring at her back. Haldir seemed sympathetic, but unwilling to transgress the ancient law while Aragorn continued to push him. Shëanon wondered if she ought to speak, but she decided that her word did not count for much and what was more, she had not the heart to involve herself. For once, she chose to remain silent, brooding on her own thoughts while Haldir, Legolas, and Aragorn grew steadily less patient in their responses. The night air had grown chill, a wind blowing even in the shelter amid the branches, and so Shëanon wrapped her arms around herself and awaited the dawn, hoping that perhaps she might find solace in the new day.
Eventually, some conclusion seemed to have been reached on the subject of Gimli, for Aragorn turned and placed his hand on her shoulder. Wordlessly, he handed her a water skin and Shëanon took a few sips of the cold, clear water within. She could feel his gaze on the side of her face, but she could not bring herself to meet his eyes.
"There are yet some hours left of the night," he murmured when it became clear that she had nothing to say to him. His hand moved to the top of her head. "We both should sleep."
Shëanon cringed. The very idea of sleep was unthinkable to her in that moment, and at once she shook her head. There was just no way that she would find peace of mind long enough to drift off and she knew that any sleep she might have had would be plagued by balrogs and orcs and Gandalf's eyes as he let go. She bit her lip.
"Shea."
"You sleep, Aragorn," she muttered, her voice hoarse and raspy. "You are weary."
She waited for him to go, but he did not move from her side, watching her. She burned under his regard, her skin becoming as heated as the searing inside her, and when she could stand the silence no longer she chanced a glance at him. There were dark shadows under his eyes, which were black as ink in the gloom of the night and roving over her face. He was frowning at her, and Shëanon had the impression for the first time in a very long while that he didn't quite know what to say to her. The awkwardness of the moment pierced her. Their eyes met briefly, his brow furrowing, and Shëanon looked away. The concern that she saw was too much for her. What would he say if she told him what she had done? Surely that warmth would be gone; she did not deserve it.
"You are not alone in your grief," he whispered eventually, giving her shoulder a significant squeeze that seemed to say even more than had his words. Shëanon bowed her head. She needed to tell him, but she could not bring herself to. Aragorn stayed by her side for a few more moments, and then he went over to the hobbits. Shëanon did not move for the rest of the night, listening instead to the quiet voices of Legolas and the other elves, and watching the stars through the mallorn leaves, pale in the soft light.
None of her companions seemed very well rested when the horizon was burning red and Haldir was announcing their departure for the city. Shëanon was quiet as she climbed back down the hithlain ladder. The morning was cold and she could see her breath in the air; a stark contrast to the flaming leaves in the dawn's scarlet light and the now insupportable fire inside her. When the fellowship stood alongside each other on the forest floor and their escort of wardens had assembled around them, Haldir came forth once more and led them deeper into the forest. They walked for some time among the fair trees, eventually crossing the Celebrant, and by midmorning, Haldir stopped them again.
"We now enter the Naith of Lórien. Few strangers are allowed passage through these lands," he said in his commanding voice. He turned then towards Gimli. "I regret that you must go blindfolded, dwarf, to proceed to Caras Galadhon."
There was an astonished silence at these words, and then Gimli seemed to realize what was transpiring.
"Blindfolded? Now you wait just a minute! I am no spy! I do not seek to betray you. I will not walk blind like a beggar or a thief!" he said furiously, his face turning red beneath his beard. Shëanon fidgeted uncomfortably, remembering the conversation she had heard during the night.
"I do not doubt you," said Haldir. "Yet this is our law, and I have not the authority to set it aside. I have already done much in letting you cross the Celebrant."
"I will walk free, or I will go back," Gimli growled, laying his hand over the haft of his axe. Shëanon watched Haldir's eyes narrow as he followed the movement.
"You cannot go back now that you have come this far," he said harshly. "You must be taken before the Lord and Lady."
"Gimli is no less trustworthy than the rest of us," Boromir cut in angrily, coming to stand at the dwarf's side.
"We will not have Gimli singled out unfairly," Aragorn agreed, stepping forth. "Come, we shall all walk blindfolded, if you will not give exception to your law."
"No," Gimli said gruffly. He seemed to have grown sheepish to have made a scene, though no less willing to have his loyalty questioned. "A group of nine blind fools, we'd be." He turned to Haldir, lowering his axe and lifting his chin. "I will take the blindfold," he said grimly, "if Legolas walks blindfolded with me."
All eyes turned to Legolas, who looked surprised and not at all pleased. "I am an elf and kinsman here," he said plainly, looking at Gimli with his eyebrows furrowed. "I will not walk blindly through the heart of Elvendom."
"Then I will not go forth."
"We cannot remain here, Gimli," Legolas said firmly.
"And we will not, Elf, once you and I have both been blindfolded," the dwarf said angrily.
Shëanon watched the exchange anxiously, very aware that Gimli had his axe in hand and the wardens around them were fingering arrows, some even bringing them to string.
"We will all go forth, and we will all go blindfolded," Aragorn said impatiently.
"There is no fairness in that," Gimli growled, brandishing his axe at Aragorn, who had to step back to avoid the blade.
"And so you deem it fair to blind only me?" Legolas asked haughtily, crossing his arms over his chest. His hands were balled into fists.
"If I am to be led like a dog on a leash because of some elven injustice, then you, Elf, will be led along with me!"
"Enough!" Aragorn barked.
"I will go blindfolded," Shëanon said loudly, stepping around Aragorn to stand before Gimli. Already her nerves were strained, and she could not endure the arguing any longer. She looked down at her dwarvish companion. "I will go blindfolded with you, Gimli. Will that suffice?"
Gimli looked taken aback for a moment.
"Er, no, lassie, you don't… That's not…" he stammered, looking hesitantly at Aragorn.
"Am I not also an elf?" she asked sharply, snatching the blindfold from between Haldir's fingers and lifting it to her eyes. A hand closed around her wrist, pulling it and the blindfold away from her face.
"You are not walking blindfolded, aiër," Legolas said furiously. He looked mutinously at Gimli, as though the dwarf had put her up to it.
"I would prefer not to stand here all day," Shëanon retorted, grasping again for the blindfold with shaking fingers, but Legolas held it out of her reach.
"You are a lady and the daughter of Lord Elrond," he said fiercely. "You will not walk blindly through the Golden Wood. When Gimli sees it fit to set aside his pride—"
"Oh? And what of your pride, your Highness?" Shëanon snapped, and she saw a flash of anger in his eyes as he stepped back from her, silent and glaring.
"That is enough," Aragorn spat, exasperated. "Am I not now leading this company? You will do as I say, and I say that we will all fare alike. We will all walk blindfolded, Haldir."
Haldir bowed, seeming almost as annoyed as Aragorn, and gave orders to his wardens. The elves drew dark strips of cloth from their packs and set to binding the eyes of the fellowship. While Gimli and the hobbits were having the blindfolds tied behind their heads, Legolas strode around Shëanon and walked up to the Marchwarden. She watched curiously has he leaned close to his ear and spoke in a flurry of silvan that she could not at all understand. Haldir frowned as Legolas spoke, and then answered swiftly in the same tongue before calling out to one of his wardens—Shëanon remembered him to be one of the two brothers, but she could not recall if he was Rùmil or Orophin. The elf, who had begun fastening a cloth around Boromir's eyes, glanced at Haldir before looking directly at Shëanon and nodding, and then conferring with the other elves around him. Instantly suspicious, Shëanon shot a look at Aragorn, though she knew that he could not have understood either.
"We have only eight blindfolds," Haldir announced as Legolas fell back into place among the fellowship. "It would seem that the lady need not walk blindly."
"What?" Shëanon asked, stunned. "Why—"
"Do not argue, Shëanon," Legolas said curtly from beside her. He had brought his own blindfold to his eyes and was knotting it at the back of his head. "We have delayed long enough."
"What did you say to him?" she demanded, indignant. Everyone was now blindfolded except for her, and the wardens were placing a long length of rope in the hands of the members of the company. "I am the one who volunteered! Let someone else—"
"Were not you just speaking of pride?" he asked in an infuriatingly calm voice, and Shëanon colored, blood rushing to her face in her anger. She had to bite her tongue to keep herself silent. She glowered at him for a moment, seething, and she had the impression as he raised his eyebrows that he could sense her gaze, and then she turned back to Haldir.
"I will have us at the gates by dusk," the Marchwarden said placidly, taking the end of the rope that her companions were gripping tightly. "Worry not; we shall lead you well."
They set off at a steady pace; their path was straight and even, and so the fellowship could walk well even without seeing. Shëanon stayed at Aragorn's side, thinking to help him should there be any roots or logs to trip over, but there were none. The group walked in relative silence, not even the wardens talking amongst themselves, so Shëanon had ample opportunity to think while she gazed around at the golden forest; she would have preferred conversation to the unsettling quiet. Although she hardly felt like speaking, she longed for some distraction from her thoughts. Her guilt and grief had been joined by another emotion: anxiety. It grew worse with every step that she took towards the heart of the forest, and reached a nearly unbearable level around dusk when Haldir stopped them for a third time. Another warden had appeared, speaking urgently to his captain in their woodland language, and Shëanon was surprised when he nodded and then almost smiled. He turned towards Gimli.
"I have had word from the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim, Master Dwarf. They say that you are to walk free. Be glad, for you are the first dwarf since Durin's Day to look upon the Naith of Lórien," he said, and as the elf nearest to Gimli removed his blindfold, Haldir gave a dignified bow and told the rest of the company that they need not remain blinded any longer, either. As soon as the blindfolds had all been removed and the hobbits were rubbing their eyes in the fading light, Haldir ushered them all forward and around a bend. He pushed aside some willowy branches, and revealed what he clearly was pleased they were now all able to see.
"Caras Galadhon," he announced. "The heart of Elvendom on earth. Realm of the Lord Celeborn, and of Galadriel, Lady of Light."
Shëanon stared. Not very far in the distance, upon a hill and standing taller than anything else in the wood, were what appeared to be a hundred enormous mallorn trees. The pale gold of their gilded leaves seemed not only to reflect the light of the setting sun, but also absorb and radiate it, creating a luminous sight which Shëanon decided was the closest she would ever see to the trees of Valinor.
"There is not far left to walk," Haldir assured them, and with their every step from that moment on, the city grew larger and closer in their eyes. Shëanon felt as though a lead weight had settled in the pit of her stomach, so nervous she was almost on the verge of tears, for they would soon have their audience in Caras Galadhon.
They were not stopped as they passed through the gates of the city, the guards there nodding at Haldir and the other wardens. The sun had only just fallen below the horizon when they arrived; the sky still pink and bearing only a few faint stars. These however were no longer visible as they passed under the silver eves and gold laden boughs. Shëanon took in her surroundings with anxious awe. There were a few buildings that she could see on the forest floor, but around the vast trunks of the trees were intricate staircases that spiraled up into the branches, and she could see lanterns glowing already in the telain high above, beneath the glinting canopy. The company followed Haldir over a path of smooth, grey stone that wound between the mallyrn, and then he turned toward the base of the stairs.
"It is a long way up, but the stairs are not steep," he said, and began the climb. Shëanon swallowed against the lump in her throat, suffering from intense pangs of anxiety. Her mouth was dry and her legs trembled as she mounted the ornate steps.
When Arwen had returned from the Golden Wood to live again with her father, she had filled Shëanon's head with descriptions of the forest, and Shëanon had wanted very badly to see Lothlórien for herself. When she was twelve, she had had an opportunity. Elladan and Elrohir were journeying to the land of their grandparents to escort an elf from Rivendell there, and the twins had offered to take Shëanon along. As she followed the swish of Haldir's stormy grey cape up the ever-winding stairs, she remembered how she had initially longed to accept their invitation, but she remembered also why she had not. Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir called her sister because Elrond had taken her in and adopted her as his daughter, but Shëanon had never met the Lady Celebrían. She had sailed west long before Shëanon's birth. As a result of this, Shëanon had been wary of Celeborn and Galadriel from the first time she had ever heard her siblings speak of their grandparents. What would the Lord and Lady think, she wondered, of a child who had been taken in by their son-in-law long after their daughter's parting? Did they approve of Elrond's decision to not only give her shelter but also call her daughter? Did they think it a gesture of poor taste, to add to his family even while his wife mourned in the Undying Lands, sundered from her husband and children? The prospect of meeting the infamous couple at last terrified Shëanon almost as much as had the mines. Would they find her lacking? Surely they would. After all, she paled in comparison to their true grandchildren.
This worry that she had harbored all her life had increased tenfold, however, given the recent circumstances. It was said that Lady Galadriel could look into the minds of others, perceiving their thoughts, and Shëanon knew that she also saw much in her mirror. She would know, then, what had transpired. If she peered into Shëanon's mind and memories, she would know that she was to blame for Mithrandir's death. She would know of the vision, and of Shëanon's silence, and how as a result, Gandalf had fallen. Perhaps she knew already. The idea made Shëanon feel sick, and as the company finally reached the top of the staircase and Haldir led them into a room illuminated by silver lanterns, she wanted to turn and run.
"The Lord and Lady will be with you presently," he told them, before sauntering over to stand beside the grand archway opposite the staircase they had just climbed. The archway, which framed a set of wide, smooth steps and which Shëanon assumed led to the Lord and Lady's private chambers, was adorned with intricate, carven mallorn leaves and shone with more of the celestial light. Unconsciously, she took a step closer to Aragorn, wishing foolishly that she could hide behind him and be unnoticed. She was suddenly aware of her appearance, of how filthy and unkempt she looked, covered in mud and blood and soot, her hair escaping from her braid and falling around her face. She did not have time to dwell on this, however, for the Lord and Lady had appeared in the archway and were descending the steps.
Shëanon was awestruck. Even having been raised among the Eldar, the fairest of all beings, she was taken aback by the sight of Lothlórien's rulers. Both were tall, taller even than was usual, and both seemed to be lit by some kind of radiant aura. Shëanon recalled how Elrond had seemed to glow to her as a child, but the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim seemed brighter even than he. Both were fair haired; Celeborn's hair pale as the silver of the mallorn bark, Galadriel's as golden as the leaves and falling past her waist, and their eyes were ancient and wise as they reflected the ethereal glow that seemed to be both in and around them. Wordlessly, they joined hands as they came down the steps, and when at last they stood before the fellowship, their fair, noble faces were grave. Shëanon heard some of her companions gasp in surprise, and beside her Aragorn had brought a hand reverently to his brow, but she could only avert her gaze, looking instead at the floor while Celeborn and Galadriel appraised them in silence.
Finally, Celeborn spoke.
"The enemy knows you have entered here," he said somberly. "What hope you had in secrecy is now gone."
Shëanon did not look up, but she could sense that his eyes roved over the group.
"Nine there are here, yet ten there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar," he said slowly, and at his words she felt another wave of hurting and shame wash over her.
"Gandalf the Gray did not pass the borders of this land," Galadriel murmured, sounding slightly stricken as she spoke for the first time. "He has fallen into shadow."
"He was taken by both shadow and flame," Legolas told her grimly. He stood almost directly behind Shëanon, and she could hear the grief in his voice. "A Balrog of Morgoth, for we went needlessly into the net of Moria."
"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life," Galadriel responded, her voice both firm and gentle. "We do not yet know his full purpose."
There was a moment of pained silence as the fellowship absorbed these words. Shëanon's eyes were burning, and she heard Gimli sigh.
"Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-Dûm fill your heart, Gimli, son of Gloin," the Lady said gently, "for the world has grown full of peril, and in all lands love is now mingled with grief."
Hesitantly, Shëanon glanced up, for Galadriel's tone had drawn her attention and she saw that the Lady was watching Boromir intently; to her astonishment and unease, the man sobbed under her gaze.
"What now becomes of this fellowship?" Celeborn asked. "Without Gandalf, hope is lost." His voice seemed to reverberate around them with some innate power that raised the hair at the back of Shëanon's neck.
"The quest now stands upon the edge of a knife," Galadriel said seriously. "Stray but a little and it will fail to the ruin of all." Her keen blue eyes continued to look into the faces of the company as they despaired over the gravity of their plight. Shëanon was awash in anguish; hope was lost, Celeborn had said, for Gandalf was gone and she…
Shëanon froze, her entire body going rigid, for she could feel with a certainty the presence of another in her mind. Startled, her eyes flashed to the Lady Galadriel, who she was alarmed to find was watching her closely. To Shëanon's horror and extreme discomfort, she could feel the probing that was Galadriel delving into her thoughts and emotions, and her hands instinctively flew to her temples in her desperate desire to put an end to the sensation. She saw Aragorn's head turn toward her sudden movement, but she could not look away from Galadriel, though she was sure that her expression was one of shock and reproach. Finally, the Lady looked away, and, shaken, Shëanon brought her gaze back to the ground.
"But hope remains while the company is true. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep in peace," she said soothingly. The Lady offered them a gentle smile and then Celeborn gave quick instructions to Haldir, who bowed before his lord and lady and led the group from the talan.
Shëanon was vaguely surprised when Haldir did not lead them back down the enormous staircase from before, instead bringing them over delicate bridges and walkways that lead amongst the enormous branches, suspended high in the air. They wound their way steadily across the city, descending as they went. From the arched doorways of the telain and standing upon nearby balconies, many elves watched them pass and Shëanon dropped her gaze to her booted toes. Soon, Haldir motioned for the company to stop. They had a reached a talan not very far from the ground, and the Marchwarden turned to her.
"The Lady has had these quarters prepared for you, Shëanon of Rivendell."
Surprised, Shëanon looked from him to the talan, and then glanced apprehensively at Aragorn.
"Your companions shall take their rest on the forest floor, not far from the base of this tree," Haldir said, following the path of her eyes and seeming to guess at the train of her thoughts. He took a graceful step forward and opened the door for her, the dark grey of his eyes watching her as she hesitated. She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder, and felt a sudden, childish urge to throw herself into Aragorn's arms and be held by him, but instead she nodded at him, seeing his solemn face, before stepping away from the others. Haldir gave a slight bow as she passed him, and then he and the rest of the company continued along the winding walkway.
Shëanon stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the room provided to her. The furnishings were not unlike those of her bedroom in Imladris, and once again she felt a pang of homesickness. Along the far wall, across from the door, was a wide bed shrouded in a cloud of downy white pillows and blankets. A small, spindled table with two chairs sat in the corner beside the door, laden with a tray of food and a decanter of water, and a small wardrobe, not taller than the height of her shoulders, stood against the last wall beside a second arched doorway. The wood of the furniture was all of a pale silver-gray reminiscent of the mallyrn bark, and Shëanon knew that it had all been fashioned from the trees of the forest. There were candles lit around the room, bathing the space in a golden light, but more of the strange orb-like lanterns shone near the ceiling. At her first glance, they seemed to be hung from the eaves above her, but upon further inspection she saw that they appeared to be a part of the structure of roof, suspended amid the beams.
"My lady?"
Startled, she turned. She had forgotten that the door had been ajar and an elleth had appeared behind her.
"I am Silùen," she said politely, giving a small curtsy. "The Lady Galadriel has asked that I attend you during your stay here. I have drawn a bath for you in the adjoining chamber, and there are refreshments here for you as well." She gestured to the platter on the table, watching Shëanon expectantly through her pale eyes.
"Oh," Shea murmured, glancing toward the bathroom. "Thank you." She didn't know quite what to say, and she hesitated before the maid, hoping she would go so that she could finally be alone but not wanting to be rude.
"Is there anything else that you require?" Silùen asked, her voice clear and cool in the evening air. Wordlessly, Shëanon shook her head. "There are fresh clothes for you in the wardrobe there. I shall wash whatever you need laundered; please put any dirty things in the basket in the corner. There is a bell beside the bed. I will hear it and come if you have need of me."
Shëanon blinked at her, not finding it at all likely that she would summon the elleth in such a manner, but she thought it unwise to say so.
"Thank you," she said again, wearily, and the elleth gave another small nod of her head, backing gracefully from the room and closing the door behind her.
Shëanon stood still for a moment in the quiet of the room. She wasn't sure why she had been given her own quarters while her companions camped on the ground, but she would not question it. She felt her composure rapidly leaving her, and her eyes were stinging and her chest burning again even as she stood there. Finally, she brought her hands to the fastening of her cloak, pulling it off and draping it over the back of one of the delicate chairs. Her fingers went next to strap of her pack, hefting it from her shoulders. Her quiver and sword followed, and she set them carefully by the foot of the bed before crossing into the next room. The bathing chamber was small, one wall curved slightly as it hugged against the tree. There was an ornate mirror framed by a design of silver leaves hung on the wall over a narrow table bearing a basin of water, candles, and a metal comb, but Shëanon's attention was on the tub of steaming water.
Her insides were ablaze with her grief as she slowly began peeling off her filthy clothes. Shivering despite the warmth of the air, she dropped her tunic and undershirt to the floor and kicked off her boots. She winced as she stepped out of her leggings, the bloody fabric having adhered to her wounded knee, and then cast aside her undergarments. The size of the room left nowhere to stand other than in front of the mirror, and Shëanon grimaced at the sight of her reflection. She hardly recognized herself. Dark circles were around her eyes, which were frighteningly empty of emotion despite the tumultuous, searing pain in her, and she had lost weight since leaving Rivendell. Biting her lip, she reached behind her to unbraid her hair; it was as filthy as the rest of her.
Not wanting to sully the clean bathwater, she used the washcloth by the basin to sponge the putrid black blood from her hands and face. Had it been only the day before that she had been fighting for her life, for the lives of her companions? She shuddered, remembering the yellow eyes and sallow skin of the orcs she had battled, and she scrubbed harder at their vile marks on her, the water in the basin running black with her efforts. When the visible grime was gone from her skin, she turned at last toward the bath. The water was still hot, and it burned her hand and knee when she lowered herself into the tub, but she was glad for it. Crystal bottles and vials sat on a small ledge beside her, and she set to washing her hair, her body. She found, however, that no amount of lavender soap or scented oil could cleanse her of Moria. She scrubbed at her skin until it was pink and raw, desperately lathering her arms and legs and chest, but still she felt contaminated. Furiously, she whipped the washcloth into the water.
Why had it happened? Why? Why did they have to go through the Mines? Why did Gandalf have to have died? By Eru, why had the Valar shown her what they had? How was she supposed to have known, to have understood? They had given her only glimpses of flames and of sorrow. How could she have known what was to come? How could she have changed it?
By telling someone, a voice screamed inside her head—her own voice, she realized, and with that thought, finally, she burst into tears. Why had she not told Mithrandir what she had seen? Why could she not have told Aragorn? It was her fault. Gandalf was dead because of her fear and apprehension, her foolishness. He had fallen because of her. Shëanon's sobs echoed in the small chamber as she sat crying in the tub, her tears running down her cheeks and mingling with the soapy bathwater. Her despair consumed her. She hated herself, hated the Valar, hated Sauron and the One Ring and every other force in Arda that had brought Gandalf's death.
She hugged her knees to her chest, remembering how much joy Gandalf's visits had brought her as a child, how she used to run to meet him at the gates when he arrived. He always had something for her—some tiny gift from his travels: a little bracelet woven of silver string from the Grey Mountains, a tiny carven horse from the Wold that fit in the palm of her small hand. He would not give them to her right away, waiting instead until dinner time when she would beg to hear about where he had been and he would regale her with some magical story before procuring the present seemingly out of nowhere. It had meant so much to Shëanon, the notion that she mattered enough to someone to be remembered on important journeys. His visits had grown less frequent as she had grown, but always she would think about him. She thought of his twinkling eyes, his kind smile. He was one of the very few people that seemed to think that she mattered, that she could do something worthwhile. While she loved the elves she had been raised by, it was often difficult for her not to be intimidated by their wisdom and experience, but Gandalf had never made her feel that way. Bitterly, she remembered how he had spoken on her behalf that day in Rivendell, taking her side when she had wanted to join the fellowship. He had had faith in her, and she had let him down. She had failed him and everyone else. If the world fell into darkness, she would be to blame.
Shëanon's body shook with the strength of her cries until she thought she might suffocate and she took gasping, shuddering breaths until finally her sobbing became less violent. She hugged her knees, huddling in the now tepid water. Her tears began to fall more slowly, but the crying had brought her little relief; it seemed that nothing could assuage her guilt, abate her sorrow and grief. She wrapped her arms around her torso, hurting from the inside out as she reflected on all that had happened. Her thoughts whirled through memories of Sauron's voice in her head, and of Caradhras and the watcher in the water. She closed her eyes, remembering the orcs and the balrog, and Gandalf's order to flee and leave him.
With a sniffle, she wiped at her eyes; the salt of her tears stung the gash on her palm and Shëanon dully contemplated the wound for a moment. It would almost definitely scar, as would the one on her knee. A lump rose again in her throat. Slowly, she stretched her legs out under the surface of the water and looked down at her flesh. Fainter now that she was grown but still clearly visible were the long, thin scars that crisscrossed over her thighs. Shëanon traced one with her fingers, feeling even beneath the water the contrast between it and her unmarred skin. A wave of nausea washed over her. Sometimes, alone in the dark of the night, she could not help but remember it, the strong hands holding her down, the red-hot metal being held against her while she thrashed and screamed. It was a part of her childhood that haunted her sleep, and uneasily she remembered how she had felt it again that day in the mountains when her eyes had locked on the ring and Sauron's voice had hissed in her ears. She had wanted to think it was a coincidence, but she was not so sure. She had a horrible suspicion that the ring had seen more of her thoughts than she had first realized, for why else would she have felt searing pokers being laid over her skin when she looked at it? Shëanon could find no answer, but she somehow felt mutilated on the inside now, too, as she was on the outside.
Not until the bathwater was cold did she finally get out of the tub. Feeling suddenly terribly vulnerable, both because of her aching emotions and because of her state of undress, Shëanon wrapped a towel around herself and padded back into the main chamber. Reluctantly, she dropped her soiled clothes into the basket as Silùen had instructed. Inside the wardrobe was an assortment of dresses, nightgowns, and undergarments, and Shëanon tugged on the plainest dress she could find. Bizarrely, she felt that the attire was somehow inappropriate and wished instead for her worn leggings.
For a long while Shëanon sat in silence, forcing a comb through her tangled hair. She picked at the food on the table, but found she could hardly make herself swallow each mouthful; everything tasted like ash on her tongue. When Haldir had shown her to the talan, she had selfishly relished the opportunity to be alone, to succumb to her grief and tears in private, away from the eyes of the others. After she was clean and dressed, however, she felt profoundly uncomfortable with the knowledge that she had private chambers and the rest of the company was camping down on the ground. What was more, the long, dark hours of the night that stretched before her were a frightening prospect alone in the silence, with nothing but the horrors of her own mind to occupy her thoughts. Shëanon hesitated only for a moment before putting on shoes and slipping into the darkness.
A/N: Very angsty whoops. Please proceed to Part 2 :)
(I just cut the chapter in half because it was like 39 pages long. I have no self control.)