Aiër Chapter Ten
When at last there were no gifts left to give and no more counsel to be taken, Celeborn gave his final farewell.
"The Valar go with you," he said to the fellowship, his powerful voice ringing as he stood once more with Galadriel at the head of the group of gathered Elves. Their fair faces were austere, their keen eyes flashing. "Beware the eastern shore of the river. Above all else, do not forsake your purpose or your companions. Namarië."
Celeborn laid his hand upon his heart, and so did Galadriel and Haldir and all the Elves on the smooth bank, and Shëanon followed suit, bowing her head before turning to the boats. Instinctively, she followed closely behind Aragorn, thinking to travel with him, but seeing her at his elbow he frowned at her apologetically and shook his head.
"With me go Frodo and Sam," he told her, gesturing to the hobbits at his side. Sam looked incredibly nervous, and Frodo just looked tired.
"Oh," Shëanon said, disconcerted by this, but there was a hand on her arm before she could wonder in which boat she would then go.
"You're with us, lassie," Gimli said gruffly, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to the boat where Legolas stood waiting. It seemed that Merry and Pippin would go with Boromir in the last of the elven boats provided to them. With a hand at his arm, Legolas helped Gimli clamber in first, as the dwarf's short legs gave him some difficulty with the boat rocking gently back and forth, and then he held it still as Gimli climbed over the benches and bags to sit at the bow, the front beam of the small wooden vessel crafted to look like the head of a swan. Gimli settled there, waiting, while next Legolas held out his hand to Shëanon.
She probably didn't need his help, for Shëanon was well used to boats and in any case her balance would likely not have allowed her to topple or fall, but she did not protest as he saw her safely into the middle seat. Legolas climbed in last, untying the tether that had kept them from drifting as the men and hobbits to either side of them took their places. It was noontime when the fellowship finally departed Lothlórien, gliding gently away from the bank and the mallorn trees that grew there. There was no current in the still water of the little inlet where they had been docked, and so Legolas, Aragorn, and Boromir took up paddles to push the boats along. Shëanon looked back at the Elves as they passed them, and saw that their hands were lifted in farewell, and their faces were pinched with sorrow.
In silence, the fellowship travel in a single-file line with Aragorn's boat first and Boromir's at the back. The only sound to be heard as they came into the quicker flow of the Anduin was the fluid stroke of the paddles in the water and the wind whispering in the branches. It was clear that they all grieved the loss of Lórien's safety and comfort, and the words of the Lord and Lady were ringing in Shëanon's ears.
"I have taken my worst wound at this parting," said Gimli suddenly from in front of her. His rough voice was softer and more forlorn than she had ever before heard it. "For I have looked my last upon that which is fairest." The dwarf sighed sadly. "Henceforth I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me."
Shëanon was not sure what to say to this, nor even if he was speaking to his companions or to himself and she really had no idea what he was talking about. It took her several bewildered moments to realize that it was Galadriel of whom he spoke. Dumbfounded, she gaped at the back of the dwarf's russet head, wondering when on earth he had taken to looking on the Lady of the Galadhrim in such a manner. Had he not thought her an elf-witch and a temptress not four days past?
"What was her gift?" Legolas asked curiously from behind her.
For a moment Gimli did not speak, and she wondered if he had heard, but then at last he answered, his tone alarmingly wistful.
"I asked her for one hair from her golden head," he murmured, pausing again while Shëanon's jaw dropped. "She gave me three."
In astonishment, she looked over her shoulder, astounded by this news, but if Legolas shared in her surprise, he did not show it. Meeting her shocked gaze, he smiled at her, continuing to paddle, and, reeling, Shëanon turned forward again in her seat. She didn't know what answer she had expected, but certainly not the one he gave. Three strands of the Lady's hair?! She wondered if Gimli understood the implications of his request or the greater significance of Galadriel's action, but she decided that he probably did not and that maybe it was better that way. Even so, what with his friendship with Legolas, his adoration of Galadriel, and her gift to him, Shëanon could not help but feel that every notion she had ever had of relations between dwarves and elves had been overturned, and their boat floated on.
The river carried them swiftly enough that they did not need to paddle very often, for which Shëanon was glad; she had felt guilty to sit and let Legolas row while she and Gimli sat idly, and she decided that she would try later to persuade him to give her a turn. Soon enough, the golden leaves of the mallyrn were far behind them, the trees to their left and right bearing instead straggling green leaves here and there. Despite her reluctance to leave the security of the land that had been their refuge, Shëanon felt strangely reassured to be back on their way. She found that she welcomed the sense of purpose that came with their travels, for she had felt so very lost when they had emerged from the mines and her respite in Lothlórien had been one of aimlessness and confusion. Her bow and quiver were on her back, and the weight of her sword at her hip had been missed after the weeks without parting from it.
Although there was a hole in the company where Gandalf ought to have been, the fellowship fell back into their former routine as best they could in his absence: they traveled through the day—though at least now they did not have to tarry on foot—and then they stopped after dark to rest. As before, they took turns with the watch, but Shëanon did not sleep very much for the first few nights; partly this was due to the fact that she had three evenings of deep, restful sleep behind her and also because Legolas and Aragorn also sat up, one of them on watch officially but really the three of them together scanned the eastern bank. Mostly however this was due to the fact that she was not sure what she should do or where she should be. Before their journey through Moria, Shëanon had lain each night close by Aragorn's side, and although she felt that that was where she ought to return, she harbored a troubling desire to sleep again close to Legolas. Certain anxieties had been soothed in Lothlórien, such as her fear of Celeborn and Galadriel's reaction to her, but a new realization had taken root in the most private places of her mind and it frightened her more than she would ever admit.
In the end, Aragorn had made the decision for her, calling her over to him on the third evening and telling her to lie down beside him. It seemed that he had taken it upon himself once more to make sure she was well rested, and she did not complain. Thankfully, she had no nightmares that night, but still her sleep was not as restful as it had been in Lothlórien and she stirred many times before dawn.
For a week, the company traveled without incident down river. Shëanon knew that Gollum pursued them still, a fact which brought dark memories to her mind and left her feeling nervous after sunset, but he had not tried anything by the seventh day. They had left the calm forest far behind them and instead were surrounded on both sides by flat, sprawling lands. To the east, all was barren in the Brown Lands, and to the west were grassy plains and stunted plants that gradually turned into woods once more. Early in the morning Shëanon woke. The sun was not yet risen—the horizon still murky and grey—and for a moment she wondered what had roused her from her sleep. Then she heard the voices behind her.
"You were quick enough to trust the elves," she heard Boromir say sharply, and Shëanon instinctively tensed. "Have you so little faith in your own people? Yes there is weakness, there is frailty, but there is courage also, and honor to be found among men, but you will not see that! All your life you have hidden in the shadows, scared of who you are, of what you are—"
"I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city," Aragorn hissed, cutting Boromir off as his voice rose near to shouting, and Shëanon lay motionless, holding her breath. She could hear footsteps approaching and almost feigned to still be asleep, but she recognized the footfalls that drew near. She looked up at Aragorn with wide eyes as he passed, noticing his furious, worried features in the gloom. He happened to glance down and see her stunned expression, but he only clenched his jaw and strode away.
Cautiously, Shëanon eased herself into a sitting position, stiff from lying so long on the uneven, rocky bank. Boromir was nowhere in sight, but she could see that others were stirring, most likely having also been woken. Legolas was lying about a foot away from her, and he sat up as her gaze fell upon him. Anxiously, she saw that his eyes were almost as troubled as Aragorn's.
"What—?"
"Lasto enni, aiër," Legolas cut across her, speaking in a low voice and leaning closer to her. His face looked hard and dangerous, and Shëanon's mouth snapped shut in surprise even though she knew that the severity of his voice was not because of her. "Odhen no diriel," he said, the words slow and significant. "Danna nan corf. Heniach?"
Hesitantly, she looked again over her shoulder, now seeing Boromir hunched over on the ground behind one of the boats, and then her eyes darted over to where Frodo lay between Pippin and Sam. She swallowed anxiously. This was not news to her; already she had begun to suspect that the influence of the ring was affecting Boromir, for she had seen for herself the look on his face on the pass of Caradhras and in Lothlórien he had been moody and brooding. Still, Legolas's words had surprised her. Did he think that Boromir was so far gone that he was dangerous? Shëanon wasn't sure, but the intensity with which he looked at her and his warning to stay away from the man surely made it seem that way.
"I understand," she answered after a heartbeat of silence. An uneasiness had come upon her, and she waited only a little while on her blanket before she scampered off to find Aragorn, who had walked a ways down the bank. They did not speak of the conversation she had overheard, for he shook his head when she reached him, but the look that passed between them said more than could any words.
They were on their way again soon, journeying ever south down the river. Although she yearned for more activity than sitting still in the boat for several hours, Shëanon could not complain. Legolas and Gimli were good companions and conversation was easy between the three of them, but she could not shake the shadow that had fallen over her heart and she found that she was anxiously glancing behind her at Boromir's boat throughout the day. Was it her imagination, or did Merry and Pippin seem ill at ease?
When the sun was directly overhead, enormous shapes looming in the distance ahead of them came into view and Shëanon felt her eyebrows rise on her forehead, realizing what they were. She knew of course that they stood guard on the borders of the old kingdom, but she had somehow forgotten until then that they would be passing by the Argonath. Everyone else seemed to have noticed them as well, for as they drew nearer, she saw Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam stirring in the boat ahead of her.
The Argonath were taller than any structure Shëanon had ever seen. On either side of the river, the immense stone pillars were a stark contrast as they rose high into the sky, and she was taken aback by the sheer size of them. The stone was hewn in the image of kings, and the long years of the world had not worn on their majesty; both statues bore crowned helms upon their heads, their palms held aloft to warn outsiders who might approach, and to Shëanon's surprise she saw that their rock faces were not unlike Aragorn's. The likeness was not so much in shape or features, but the massive sentinels wore expressions of quiet nobility and wisdom that she saw fleetingly in Aragorn's face in the moments where Strider fell away and the heir of Elendil was apparent.
While the current carried them between the statues, Shëanon, Legolas, and Gimli did not speak. She could not say for sure whether they felt the same awe as she did, but Gimli was craning his neck to look up at the ancient stone men and an air of reverence and admiration had fallen over their boat. Onward they went for some time until the river widened into a long, broad lake and Legolas broke the contemplative silence.
"Rauros is not now far," he murmured. The words had hardly fallen from his lips when from ahead Aragorn waved an arm at them and gestured to the western bank. Immediately, Legolas began guiding their boat to shore, following in Aragorn's wake until all the boats had been dragged from the water and the company stood together at the land's edge. Behind them were a sparse forest and a great hill that sloped steadily upwards beneath the trees, though the ground was flat upon the bank.
"We have reached the watch of Amon Hen," Aragorn told them as he surveyed the trees behind their heads. To Shëanon's relief, he seemed to have cast aside the argument he'd had in the morning, and had begun unloading some supplies as the hobbits set to building a small fire. "The Falls of Rauros are ahead, and from there we must forsake the boats and turn our course eastward. We cross the lake at nightfall, hide the boats and continue on foot. We will approach Mordor from the north."
"Oh yes!" Gimli exclaimed, sounding half sarcastic and half disbelieving. "Just the simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muir, an impassible labyrinth of razor sharp rocks! And after that, it gets even better! Festering, stinking marsh lands as far as the eye can see."
The hobbits glanced at each other uneasily at this proclamation, and Shëanon saw this and glared at Gimli.
"That is our road," Aragorn said simply. He was standing beside her, and although his tone was serious, his eyes words were not as harsh as they could well have been as he spoke to their companion. "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf."
"Recover my—?"
Shëanon had to turn away to hide her grin while Gimli spluttered at what he clearly saw was a jab at his endurance. Even so, she was not also without her reservations. It was not the prospect of Emyn Muir that troubled her, but rather the words of Lord Celeborn that had been echoing in her mind since they had left Lothlórien: you will not find safety on the western bank, he had said, and yet very night they had camped on the west side of the river without any problems. Shëanon felt that their progress so far had been too quiet and unhindered, and her nervousness had only grown since the morning. She was not too keen on lingering long on the western shore, but orcs were said to hold the eastern bank and she could not say which would be the safer side of the lake.
Shaking her head, she sat by Aragorn for a little while, hoping to distract herself from the growing knot in the pit of her stomach. The bags under Frodo's eyes had been becoming more pronounced with each passing day, and the knowledge of Boromir's waning will weighing on her mind with her uncertainties regarding their halted progress had made her rather anxious.
Nervously, she re-braided her hair and watched while Aragorn sorted through their provisions. Lord Celeborn had given him a curved dagger inscribed with various runes and markings, and on an impulse Shëanon drew her own knife from within her pack. She considered it for a moment, running her fingers over the leather straps of the sheath, and then she pulled off one of her boots.
Aragorn raised his eyebrows as she wound the straps around her calf, buckling the dagger to her leg and then tugging her shoe back on. The top of the knife's handle was not visible, but she found that she could draw the blade without difficulty.
"That was meant to go around your waist," Aragorn pointed out dryly. Shëanon scowled.
Seizing the handle of the dagger already secured to her belt, she pulled it from its spot at her hip and held it, glinting, up by her face. Aragorn smiled at her reaction as she showed him the weapon, and she huffed as she wordlessly replaced the blade.
"At least now the knife is somewhere I can reach it," she said defensively. "Before, it was in my pack."
Aragorn held up his hands.
"It is no concern of mine where you keep your weapons, not even if you choose to hide knives in your boots," he said calmly, but she knew that he approved by his sideways glance at her and the way he briefly squeezed her shoulder.
Shëanon stretched her legs, cramped from sitting all day in the boat, as she scanned the eastern bank. She was wondering whether or not to voice her concern to Aragorn, but it seemed that she would not have to. Legolas came over to them, wearing a wary expression, and at once the ranger rose to speak with him. Shëanon listened closely to what Legolas said, though he kept his voice low so as not to alarm the others.
"We should leave now. A shadow under threat has been growing in my mind; something draws near…"
Shëanon could have groaned aloud, for these words seemed to confirm what she had been afraid of. Clearly she was not being paranoid or overly anxious, if Legolas too felt that something was amiss. Aragorn and Legolas started debating what to do in hushed voices, for Aragorn clearly felt that any danger to the east was greater than what they might face on the western bank, but Shëanon's eavesdropping was interrupted as movement beside her caught her eye. Boromir had risen and was making off into the trees. At first she thought nothing of this, for he had spoken earlier of finding more firewood, but a cursory glance around at the rest of the group caused her to tense; Frodo was no longer there, though she had not seen him slip away. A call of warning rang through her mind, but it seemed that no one else was paying any attention. Hesitantly, she glanced up at Aragorn and Legolas, wondering if she should say something, but they were absorbed in their words, trying to devise a plan, and probably Boromir really was only looking for firewood…
She glanced back at him, now almost gone between the trees, and Shëanon made a decision. Stealthily, she stood and edged away from the others, acting as inconspicuous as possible, and when she was sure that no one was looking her way, she turned and strode after Boromir up the hill. She made sure to stay far enough behind him that he would not notice her, and she sent up a prayer of thanks that her elven blood permitted her to step soundlessly over the twigs and leaves that littered the ground. If Boromir did see her, she would just say that she had come to help him find some dry wood, or that she was looking for Frodo, which was not exactly a lie. Something in the man's gait, however, unsettled her even more. It was not the careful walk of a man searching the ground for old branches, but rather the determined stride of someone with purpose. Surer now in her choice, Shëanon followed him for quite a while, her senses crying out now in her worry, and not even when Boromir did eventually snatch up some sticks did she feel any better. Like a shadow she crept behind him, remembering Legolas's words from the morning.
Suddenly, she heard something up ahead, and the little form of Frodo was visible in the distance. The hobbit seemed preoccupied, lost in thought as he wandered among the trees, and she wondered vaguely what foolishness had possessed him to leave the safety of the camp. Boromir noticed Frodo almost at once, and Shëanon could not help but think that now his steps were cautious, as if he did not want to call attention to himself. Steadily, he drew closer to Frodo, Shëanon creeping along several paces behind him.
"None of us should wander alone," Boromir called as he finally reached the halfling, and her anxiety grew as he made a show now of hunting for wood. "You least of all. So much depends on you…"
From where she stood downhill, Shëanon thought that Frodo's guard was up. He was clearly nervous to be found alone in the woods by Boromir, and she wondered if she should make her presence known.
'Not yet,' a voice seemed to whisper in her mind. 'Wait and see…'
"Frodo?" Boromir asked when he was given no response, his arms now laden with sticks.
"I know why you seek solitude. You suffer; I see it day by day. Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly? There are other ways, Frodo, other paths that we might take…"
"I know what you would say," Frodo interjected. "And it would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart."
"Warning? Against what?" Boromir asked innocently. "They're all afraid, Frodo. But to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have—don't you see? It is madness."
Shëanon's heart was racing now as Boromir inched closer and closer to Frodo and to the ring, and although his back was to her and she could not see his face, she could distinctly hear the strained chord in his voice, a desperation beyond reason.
"There is no other way," Frodo said sharply, looking at the man as though he did not even recognize him. Something in Boromir seemed to snap.
"I ask only for the strength to defend my people," he cried, and Shëanon jumped as he violently flung the wood to the ground in frustration. Her heart was in her throat, and she slowly began to edge closer to them, one deliberate footstep at a time and keeping against the tree trunks.
"If you would but lend me the Ring…"
"No," Frodo said at once, beginning at once to back away.
"Why do you recoil?" Boromir demanded even as he advanced on the hobbit. "I am no thief."
"You are not yourself," Frodo told him.
"What chance do you think you have?" Boromir snarled. "They will find you. They will take the Ring, and you will beg for death before the end!"
Frodo seemed to finally have had enough, for he turned on his heel and made to walk off, and Shëanon stopped in her tracks, shaking. Her hand hesitated on the hilt of her sword, but she did not know if she would dare use it and she stood holding her breath as Boromir watched Frodo stride away from him.
She saw the change come then to his eyes.
"You fool!" he shouted, and in a bound he flung himself after Frodo. "It is not yours save by a happy chance! It could have been mine; it should be mine! Give it to me!"
To her horror, he tackled Frodo to the ground, and the two began a desperate struggle. Shëanon had quickened her steps, but now she was running as fast as she could up the hill, unable to believe her eyes.
"No!" Frodo screamed, thrashing.
"Give me the Ring! Give it to me!"
Terrified, she drew her sword, running as fast as she could to where her companions were grappling on the ground, a cry upon her lips, but then-
Frodo disappeared. Shëanon drew up short, still several yards away as Boromir was knocked over and the hobbit escaped. She could hear the sounds of his retreating footsteps pattering through the bracken, but she knew not where he went and she dared not follow.
"I see your mind!" Boromir cried out in fury, whirling around and shouting into the air as if to find the invisible halfling. "You will take the ring to Sauron!" he screamed. "You will betray us!"
Shëanon was shaking like a leaf now, standing motionless on the hill as he raged and not knowing what to do. She did not want Boromir to see her, and while she knew she should go get Aragorn, she did not want to leave Boromir alone. What if he found Frodo again? The hobbit would stand no chance. She was breathing quickly, panicking, as Boromir continued to yell.
"You go to your death! And the death of us all! Curse you! And all halflings! Curse you! Curse you—" his rampage was cut short as he tripped and fell face-down in the dirt. Truly frightened, Shëanon took this as her chance, seeing him lying motionless and whimpering in the leaves, but as she turned to flee back and get the others, a searing pain filled her mind.
Shëanon screamed, falling as her eyes were filled with fire. She could no longer see the forest or feel the earth beneath her; she was aware of nothing but the fire that burned her, and then there was the Great Eye before her. It was as she'd seen in Galadriel's mirror, wreathed in flame, looking at her, seeing into her mind, and she screamed and screamed and screamed…
"Shëanon!"
Just as quickly as it had come upon her, the pain was suddenly gone.
"My lady? What devilry is this?!"
Shëanon opened her eyes. She was on the ground, and Boromir was leaning over her, his hands on her shoulders.
"Get away from me!" she screamed in shock and fear, grasping for her sword where she had dropped it in the leaves. "Leithio nin!"
Boromir recoiled as though she had hit him, immediately releasing her. His face was aghast, his features contorted with wild misery and fear.
"You were crying out, lady," he said. "I will not hurt you."
Shëanon scrambled to her feet, recovering her blade and holding it before her, pointed at his chest.
"You attacked Frodo," she spat at him, hiding her fear with anger. Boromir looked like he might weep, gazing at her sword in alarm and dismay.
"I know not what came over me; my actions were not my own," he implored her. "The madness has passed, I swear it."
He held is palms out, pleading with her, but Shëanon did not lower her sword. She could see in his eyes the remorse that he felt, but she understood now that he was not in control of himself and for this reason she would not drop her guard. For one agonized moment, they looked at each other, both breathing heavily and covered in leaves, and both fearing what the other might do.
"My Lady—"
"Do you hear that?" she asked sharply, holding up a hand to silence him. Boromir froze, staring at her while she strained her ears.
"Hear what?" he asked, and ironically he looked like he doubted her sanity.
Shëanon stayed very still, desperately trying to hear over the pounding of her own thundering heart, but then, clearly, she recognized the sound: the ring of metal on metal.
"Battle!" she cried, whirling around. "We are under attack!"
Immediately she forgot her fear of her companion, for although Boromir had briefly succumbed to the Ring, it was obvious that he was still on the side of the light and an ally against any creatures that might assail them. She heard him draw his sword, but she had already taken off in the direction from whence she could hear the tang of blade against armor. Frantically, she ran up the hill, zigzagging through the trees, flying over dead logs and crumbling ruins. The path was hard, for the straightest way was steep and slippery with fallen leaves, but Shëanon and Boromir ran with all haste. She could hear Aragorn shouting in the distance, and, impossibly, she quickened her pace.
"Over here! Hey you! Over here! This way!"
Hearing Merry's voice from behind her, Shëanon stopped so abruptly that Boromir collided with her.
"The hobbits!" she wailed, her horror increasing. Grabbing the man's arm and pulling him with all her might, she bolted now back in the opposite direction. They raced at a diagonal back down the hill, and then Shëanon could see them. Merry and Pippin running, their little legs flying, and the most monstrous creatures she had ever seen pursuing them. They were like orcs, grey-skinned and vile, but they were enormous and they seemed to be coming from every direction. The White Hand was stark against the wretched skin. Shëanon was sprinting now, seeing that the two hobbits were surrounded, their eyes wide with fear as the uruk-hai bore down upon them, and Shëanon thought for an instant that she would see them slaughtered before her very eyes. They would not reach them in time…
With a final, desperate burst of speed, Shëanon threw herself in front of the hobbits, Boromir at her side and her sword clenched in her hand. She had no time to think, no time to reason; the creatures were upon them, and her blade flashed as it flew through the air.
Never in her life had Shëanon fought as she fought there on the hill of Amon Hen, not even in Moria. They were desperately out-numbered, and for every orc that she cut down it seemed that ten more appeared. Side by side, back to back, she and Boromir battled madly while Merry and Pippin tackled as many orcs as they could with their short swords. Terror lending her strength, Shëanon drove her weapon through necks, dodging scimitars, spinning and parrying and slashing. Orc after orc she felled, but more kept coming over the hill.
"There are too many!" she cried as Merry and Pippin began throwing rocks. She knew that she stood little chance with her sword, just for the fact that she could not possibly fight ten blades at once, but her bow would not serve her in such close combat. If she had had any sense, she would have taken to a tree so that she could pick off the orcs with arrows from the branches, but there had been no time and she had had to act quickly.
Boromir suddenly drew the horn from his belt, frantically sounding it as many times as he could before he had to lift his sword again. He was screaming at the hobbits to run, but Merry and Pippin would not flee.
"The she-elf! The she-elf!" one of the uruks suddenly screamed, and it seemed that the number of orcs upon her suddenly doubled. Shëanon continued to fight, but something was terribly wrong and to her horror, she realized that the orcs were no longer trying to cut her down but to seize her. She balked, never having had to defend herself from such an attack, for instead of meeting her blows the orcs were grabbing her, trying to haul her into the air and there were so many, so many…
Again she heard Boromir sound the horn of Gondor, and she was cutting off arms and slitting throats with a speed and ferocity she would not have thought herself capable of.
There was a split second where the uruk-hai immediately around them lay dead, but more were coming and Shëanon hardly had time to draw a breath when she heard the unmistakable sound of arrow piercing flesh.
"NO!" she screamed, seeing Boromir fall to his knees, but she could not go to his aid for she was still fighting for her own life. "Boromir!"
With a cry so mighty that she felt it in her own bones, the man rose again and fought with new fury. Shëanon, however, knew that she was outmatched. Her skill was of no consequence now, for there were more orcs on her than she could count and there was no physical way for her to defend herself from all of them. Arms like iron closed around her waist and lifted her into the air, and she was upside down as she drove her sword into the back of the creature that held her. Its scream roared in her ears as it fell and she dropped again to the earth, but just as quickly she was seized again, her sword ripped from her hands. Thrashing madly, her hand flew to the dagger at her waist and she stabbed blindly at the orc's neck. Again she fell to the ground and again another uruk lifted her into the air, each time carrying her for several steps before she managed to break free. She could hear Merry and Pippin screaming, and as she struggled, she watched their small bodies be snatched up and carried off until she could not see their terrified faces against the blinding sunlight behind them.
Shëanon's dagger was now lost to her, buried in the skull of an orc, and so she had to resort to kicking and punching. An uruk grabbed her from behind, holding her under her arms, and she was able to seize an arrow from her quiver and stab it over her shoulder, through the monster's eye. She hit the ground hard on her back, the wind knocked out of her, but still she managed to kick hard at the face of the next orc that stooped to grab her. The orcs grew more violent when they realized that she would not easily be taken, punching her in the face and bringing their knees up against her ribs and she felt the crack of her bones. Shëanon was strong, but the uruk-hai possessed brute strength and were twice her size, and she could only wriggle from their grasp so many times.
Finally, an enormous orc laid hold of her arms while another seized her legs and she knew that she could not get away as she twisted and kicked and thrashed, screaming curses at them and struggling frantically as their cruel, filthy fingers dug into her skin and they were running with her and Shëanon was thinking that she must find a way to kill herself sooner than be taken alive, and then suddenly one of the uruk-hai dropped her and fell, and as her upper body plummeted her legs were released as well and both orcs landed on top of her.
Adrenaline still coursed through her, and Shëanon immediately tried to scramble out from under the disgusting, reeking things, not understanding until the bodies flew off of her and landed with sickening thuds on the blood-stained earth. Silver-fletched arrows were in the necks of the corpses, and Shëanon looked up into Legolas's face as he pulled her to her feet.
"Merry and Pippin!" she cried at once, her entire body shaking as he used his hands to wipe the putrid black blood from her face. "They have taken them! I tried, but—"
"Be still. Are you hurt?"
"Where are the others?!" she demanded frantically, shaking off Legolas's hands. She remembered then the arrow in Boromir's chest. "Boromir! Where is Boromir?!"
The look in his eyes was answer enough to her question, and in a panic she stumbled back through the trees, almost tripping several times over the bodies of the orcs she had slain. She did not have to go far before she came upon them. Boromir lay on his back on the forest floor, with not one but three shafts protruding from his body, and Aragorn kneeled over him with tears in his eyes.
Horrified, Shëanon bounded forward, but Legolas had followed her and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back and restraining her as she struggled.
"Let me go!" she cried at him in Sindarin, but Legolas wrapped his arms around her.
"There is nothing we can do for him, aiër," he said, and Shëanon could not contain the sobs that rose to her throat as she saw the truth of these words through her burning eyes. It was clear that Boromir had only a few moments left of life. Her legs gave out beneath her, her body crumpling, and she fell to her knees as she looked upon the scene before her, pressing her hand against her mouth to stifle her cries. Tears streamed silently down her face.
"It is over," Boromir gasped out, his voice rasping as he struggled to draw breath, his face pale and grey. "The world of Men will fall, and all will come to darkness," he despaired. "And my city to ruin."
"I do not know what strength is in my blood," Aragorn said fiercely, his voice breaking with emotion that Shëanon had never before heard, "but I swear to you, I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail."
"Our people?" Boromir asked in disbelief. "Our people."
Aragorn nodded solemnly, and a change seemed to come over Boromir then. Desperately, he reached for his sword, and Aragorn placed the hilt in his hand so that he might clasp it over his chest, the death of a warrior.
"I would have followed you, my brother," Boromir said, his chest heaving as he spoke, his eyes blazing, and somehow Shëanon knew that this was his dying breath. "My captain… My king."
His chest did not rise again, and Shëanon wept earnestly now as Aragorn closed his eyes and bent to kiss Boromir's brow. Distantly, she was aware that Gimli was there, and that Frodo and Sam seemed to be missing, but she could not contain her sorrow. Legolas crouched down beside her, taking her again in his arms, and she turned her face into his neck so that she wouldn't have to see Boromir's dead body.
"They will look for his coming from the White Tower," she heard Aragorn say behind her, "but he will not return."
For several moments, no one moved. Shëanon took gasping breaths, trying to overcome her shock and grief as Legolas held her tightly, and then at last she drew away from him. The intensity in his face brought more tears to her eyes, and on trembling legs she stood.
"Frodo and Sam?" she dared ask, her voice hardly more than a croaking whisper.
"They are halfway across the lake," Legolas said, and she nodded, taking comfort in this one relief: the Ring was safe.
She turned then to look at Aragorn. He was bleeding in several places, most noticeably through a gash high on his arm, and there were tear tracks on his face. He stood still beside Boromir, but his gaze was fixed on her, his dark eyes turbulent. He looked away.
"Legolas," he called, his eyes on the ground. Shëanon was not sure what was happening as Legolas strode forward, but then he and Aragorn knelt down and she understood with a jolt.
"Steady, lass," Gimli murmured while Aragorn and Legolas lifted Boromir's body from where he had finally fallen. She and the dwarf followed them back down to the bank and hastily they emptied all the supplies from one of the boats. Boromir was carefully lowered into it; they made sure to lay his shield by his head and his sword in his hands, and Shëanon placed her hand over her heart as they pushed the boat out into the current and it drifted away from them to the falls. Side by side, the four of them stood watching the boat as it reached the end of the lake and toppled over Rauros. Shëanon had not known truly what death was before her journey. Gandalf's fall in Moria had undeniably devastated and scarred her for the loss she suffered, but she had not had to watch the life leave his eyes, nor gaze upon him in his death, and then there was the knowledge that Boromir had died trying to defend against the orcs that were there to kidnap her and the hobbits, and she had heard his labored breath, his battle cry, saw the arrow that pierced him… He had tried to take the Ring, yes, but he had been their companion and he had fought beside them only to be cut down.
Shëanon recovered her sword and dagger, and Aragorn was strapping Boromir's leather gauntlets onto his own wrists. He came up beside her and placed his hand on the back of her head, his fingers gripping her hair for a moment at the nape of her neck, and she almost started crying again.
"We must hurry," Legolas said at last, turning towards the one remaining boat. Alone of the four of them he was unscathed. "Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore." He began pushing the boat into the water, but Aragorn did not move and Shëanon glanced up at him anxiously.
The boat halfway into the lake, Legolas saw the torment in Aragorn's eyes. It was clear to all of them that the ranger had no intentions of catching up to the remaining hobbits.
"You mean not to follow them," Legolas murmured. It was not a question.
Aragorn sighed and stepped away from Shëanon.
"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands," he said grimly, and Shëanon squeezed her eyes closed tightly. It could not be. They had sworn…
"Then it has all been in vain," Gimli said mournfully, bitterly. "The fellowship has failed."
In shock and despair, Shëanon let these words wash over her. Failed. They had failed. Gandalf was dead. Boromir was dead. Merry and Pippin were taken by the enemy and Frodo and Sam were gone where they could no longer protect them. How could it be? After all that? After everything they had done, they had failed. They all stood in silence for a long moment, trying to come to terms with this truth, but suddenly Aragorn shook his head. He lifted his chin in defiance and determination and stepped towards them once more.
"No," he said firmly. He placed one hand on Shëanon's shoulder, the other on Gimli as he looked steadily at each of them. "Not if we hold true to each other," he said, and Shëanon watched tremulously as Gimli clapped the ranger on the arm, lifting his head.
"We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death," Aragorn announced fiercely. "Not while we have strength left." With a meaningful glance at each of them, the light now returned to his noble eyes, he crossed over to the abandoned pile of supplies and snatched up his pack.
"Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light," he told them. With a quick, grinding hiss he sheathed his dagger and looked back up. Shëanon stared at him in shock, unsure if he was really saying what she thought he was.
"Let's hunt some orc," he growled, and with one last daring look, and turned and ran back through the trees and up the hill.
Stunned, Shëanon, Legolas, and Gimli stood for an instant unmoving.
"Yes!" Gimli cried, a triumphant smile on his face as he hurried after Aragorn, brandishing his axe.
Alone, Shëanon and Legolas stood upon the bank. Shëanon hardly dared believe, to hope when she thought all had been lost. Stricken, she turned to face Legolas. Their eyes met for a split second before he grinned proudly, his expression one of purpose and furious resolve and Shëanon felt her own heart lift again with determination. Together they sprung forward, their footsteps landing fast as they sprinted after Aragorn and Gimli, the man and dwarf now far ahead in the trees. Do not forsake your companions, Celeborn had said, and they would not.
Her heart racing in time with the fall of her feet, Shëanon gathered her courage. They had business with some Uruk-hai.
Translations:
Lasto enni, aiër. Odhen no diriel. Danna nan corf. Heniach?- Listen to me, young one. Do not go near him/ Beware of him. He is falling to the ring. Do you understand?
Leithio nin!- Release me!
A/N: Well. The fellowship has broken, and now it's time to move into Two Towers! I stayed up all night finishing this because I've been so busy haha. I've been trying really hard to make sure that everyone is staying in character with what they say and do, but I will say that writing Galadriel was such a struggle for me. Hopefully so far everything is living up to your expectations! Thank you for reading and reviewing! I really can't say it enough. To those of you who have asked, yes you will eventually find out who Shea's 'master' was. I seriously cannot wait to get to that part of the story, but Shea has some more developing to do before then. During the next phase of her journey, she's going to really start coming into her own and also I'm sure you're all anxiously awaiting a certain event... I'm so pumped for Rohan, you have no idea, so I'm gonna go get started on that now! Thank you for your support! I can't believe the amazing responses I've been getting from you guys, and I'm so happy that you all seem to love Shea as much as I do. Next chapter will be up soon! :D