Aiër Chapter Eleven
"Their pace has quickened. They must have caught our scent. Hurry!"
The sun in her eyes, Shëanon grit her teeth and sped up, racing after Aragorn as he heaved himself off the ground and led them in the orcs' wake. On after the burning twilight and all through the night they had run, toiling over the jagged earth with naught but the stars to light the way—and they were strangely faint and dim in the vault of the heavens high above. The new day's dawn had illuminated the harsh landscape over which they pursued their foes, for the woods of Amon Hen were behind them and Emyn Muil was a hard, forsaken place of rocky, broken earth. It seemed to Shëanon that the ground had been raked by some enormous, clawed foot; the hills were steep and severe, small cliff faces falling into narrow paths. Truly, it felt like they had been in a maze, and so they had not only been running but also practically climbing and desperately trying to keep the trail in the dark.
Shëanon did not know how she had endured. With her body humming with adrenaline at first, it had not been so bad. The only thing she could think or feel was anger. Anger and determination and a strange kind of desperate thrill in her veins as they ran to save their captured companions. Now however, she was feeling her injuries. Her face was sore and she was sure that it was terribly bruised; various cuts stung at her flesh, but these things hardly troubled her. Much more problematic was the intense pain in her ribs. With every jolt of her sprinting footfalls and every ragged breath that she drew, Shëanon felt a sharp pain in her left side. Every expansion of her ribcage was a labor, and as a result she was much more out of breath than she might otherwise have been. She had tried to delude herself into hoping the bone was only bruised, but memories of the uruk-hai's blows and her pain as she ran told her that this was not so. Clenching her jaw, she pushed herself.
"Come on, Gimli!" Legolas shouted from a few yards ahead of her. He seemed to have made it his responsibility to look over his shoulder every so often to make sure that the dwarf had not fallen too far behind, for Gimli's legs were much stouter and shorter than those of the others. A few times, Shëanon had caught him glancing at her as well, and each time this happened she made a conscious effort to relax the pained set of her face.
Into the afternoon they ran. Shëanon's braid streamed behind her, their speed constant and the wind in her face as they sped over and between sharp ridges. She kept her gaze focused on the man and elf ahead of her, determined to keep pace with them despite her difficult breathing. They had not slowed for a long time, but the ranger did not yet show any signs of weariness and of course Legolas ran so lightly and so swiftly that he left no tracks. Suddenly, she came around a bend and found Aragorn on his knees, Legolas beside him.
"Not idly do the leaves of Lórien fall," he grinned, showing the two elves the green brooch in his palm. For the first time since they had begun their chase, Shëanon felt a surge of renewed hope, and met Aragorn's glimmering gaze. If the brooch was lying in the grass, then either Merry or Pippin must have put it there for them to find.
"They may yet be alive," Legolas murmured, seeming to hardly believe it could be possible as Aragorn rose again to his feet. He took again to scanning the dry, trampled grass, his posture slightly bent as he continued.
"Less than a day ahead of us," he replied and ran up the rocky incline. Shëanon followed close on his heels.
"Come on, Gimli!" she heard Legolas call again. "We are gaining on them!"
The pale sun had been bearing down on them all day, their boots clapping against rock and stone. Only a few times did they stop to walk, for they could not run ceaselessly without pause, but these breaks did not last long; it was a good thing that they had the sustenance of the lembas bread and bottles filled with water. Just when Shëanon thought that the jagged rocks would never end, they came over a final crest and the bleak terrain finally broke off. Instead, sloping plains stretched before them in the distance—green and rolling earth such as she had never before seen.
Aragorn halted.
"Rohan," he murmured as Shëanon came up beside him, panting. Her gaze was drawn to the strange landscape, so different from the one of her own home. She felt a strange wave of trepidation; at last, they had come to a domain of Men. "Home of the horse lords."
They stopped for a moment and waited for Gimli to catch up, as he was huffing and puffing his way up the rock in their wake. Shëanon herself was trying very hard to take shallow breaths, but her exertion had made this impossible and instead she had to focus on not grimacing while Legolas leapt onto the rocks ahead, surveying the land and looking out towards the horizon.
"Legolas," Aragorn called to where he stood framed by the panorama of blue sky and grassy field. "What do your Elf eyes see?"
"The Uruks turn north-east," he shouted back to them, his powerful voice ringing in the open space before them. Far in the distance, she could just barely make out what she realized was the orcs storming over the grasslands. "They are taking the hobbits to Isengard."
Shëanon and Aragorn exchanged a grim look as Gimli finally hiked to their side. They had known that Isengard was probably where their foes were headed, but there had also been the slight possibility that they would turn towards Mordor.
"Saruman," Aragorn said with disgust. "His evil gives speed to these creatures; sets its will against us."
"He knows that one of the hobbits carries the Ring," Shëanon murmured when she could manage to speak without betraying her pain. "Why then would he not send them directly to his master?"
"Why indeed," Aragorn agreed, with an ominous narrowing of his eyes. "But I can think of a few reasons. Perhaps the Enemy's servant is not as loyal as he seems." Suddenly he cast her a sidelong glance, seeming to look her up and down before meeting her eyes and holding her gaze. "But that is not the most pressing question in my mind."
Shëanon shifted her weight anxiously and looked away. She could tell at once by the furious look in his eyes what Aragorn meant, and it was a matter that had been gnawing at her mind as she ran: Why had the orcs tried to take her? Saruman knew that the ring was in the possession of one of the halflings; what then did he want of her? The uruk-hai had not tried to kidnap any of the others. Still she could hear the words ringing in her ears: The she-elf! The she-elf! She swallowed thickly, her throat raw from all the running and from the screaming and crying she had done the day before.
Much more gently than usual, she felt Aragorn lay his hand on her head.
"We must continue," he said. "Come."
The four of them ran for several more miles, covering a great distance. The trail was not hard to follow, for the uruk-hai trampled the earth in their flight and so Aragorn did not have to stop often to search the ground. They kept a swift pace; somehow Shëanon managed to keep up despite her pain. She was astounded by Gimli, who did not complain once even though his strides were only half as long as his companions'. By nightfall, however, even Aragorn seemed to grow tired, although Shëanon could see that he was pushing himself. They eventually slowed to a walk, and Shëanon grit her teeth and tried to breathe through the throbbing in her side. A dense fog had rolled out over the sprawling grasslands and there was no moon to be seen. It was very dark as night fell completely. The stars overhead were shrouded in mist, and the plains were still and eerie. Aragorn stopped altogether.
"We cannot go on without rest," he sighed, looking over his shoulder as his companions came up beside him. "Or maybe the Elves can, but Gimli and I surely cannot."
Shëanon shook her head, trying to catch her breath. "No," she panted, "I cannot go on either."
"The orcs, too, must stop at some point," Gimli pointed out through his huffing gasps. He looked ready to collapse. "Even those stinking creatures need sleep and food."
"It matters not whether they stop or push onwards," Aragorn said ruefully, pulling his pack from his shoulder and taking his flask from his belt. "As I said, we cannot go on this night."
Shëanon winced as she drew in a deep breath.
"If we stop and they do not, then they will pull too far ahead for us to catch up again," she said anxiously, thinking of all the distance they had covered that day, and of Merry and Pippin at the mercy of such evil things.
"We will have to take that risk," the ranger said grimly. His features were hardly discernible through the darkness, but she could hear in his voice that he knew the truth of her words. "And I cannot say whether we could keep on their trail in this fog," he added with a dirty look at the heavy mist.
The four of them stood in silence for a moment. Shëanon was torn; she was exhausted and in pain and wanted desperately to rest, but she could not bear the thought of relinquishing the hobbits to a gruesome fate.
Suddenly, she saw Legolas tense in her peripheral vision, and turned to see him peering through the mist, up into the murky sky. She tried to follow his gaze, but had hardly raised her eyes skyward when she was startled by his sudden movement.
"Wraith," he hissed furiously, drawing an arrow before she had even realized what he'd said.
"Get down!" Aragorn ordered. Shëanon did not even have time to move before Aragorn had all but tackled her to the ground. She hit the lumpy earth hard on her injured ribs, some of Aragorn's weight landing on top of her, and she could not suppress the agonized cry that left her lips at the sudden onslaught of pain. Aragorn clapped his hand over her mouth almost immediately, and she could see even in the gloom that he looked both furious and shocked. Even when she had gotten control of herself, his palm remained clamped against her lips. They lay frozen for several heartbeats, eyes locked as they waited to see if she had given them away. Shëanon did not understand. She could not fathom how Legolas had seen a wraith while looking into the sky, but then, to her horror, she heard what sounded like the beating of enormous, powerful wings. Aragorn glanced up, and a single screech filled the air. It raised the hair at the back of Shëanon's neck; she had never before heard such a sound. It echoed in the dark, reverberating off of the rocks and sodden ground. She could feel the air stirring on her skin, and feared that whatever was above them would disturb the mist and reveal them where they lay. She did not even dare to breathe. She could feel Legolas behind her, and knew that he still had an arrow knocked. Would he shoot? She did not think that would be advantageous to them.
After several long, terrible moments, the screech came again, but now it sounded further away and the beating of the wings was more remote, fading in Shëanon's half-elven ears. Finally, Aragorn pulled his hand away.
"What was that?" she asked at once, keeping her voice to an urgent whisper as she surveyed the clouds above. She was taken aback, however, by the look on Aragorn's face. He looked like he wanted to hit her, and she recoiled.
"Where are you hurt?" he demanded in disgust, ignoring her question and scanning her body, which was laid out before him on the ground.
Shëanon flushed. "It's nothing," she insisted.
She thought then that Aragorn actually was going to hit her.
"Where are you hurt, Shëanon?" he asked again firmly, emphasizing each word through clenched teeth. His eyes flashed like fire in the gloom.
"It is her ribs." Legolas said calmly from beside them. He was also sitting up, and still he held his bow in his hand, his fingers still keeping an arrow at the string, and he was looking down at the fletching before glancing up at them. "Two at least are broken on her left side," he said grimly, and although his voice was not as harsh as Aragorn's, Shëanon did not miss the displeasure in his expression when their eyes met. The disapproval. She scowled.
"They're just cracked," she protested quietly, shoving away Aragorn's hand as he reached for her.
"You should have told me at once," Aragorn said in frustration. His face had fallen into shadow as he leaned over her, but she could picture his expression clearly in her mind and knew that he was probably glaring at her. "The bone could have splintered. You've run for many miles."
"Nothing is splintered," she retorted.
"You do not know that," the ranger disagreed, his voice low, again trying to probe her side with his fingers.
"I checked, Aragorn. I'm fine." Shëanon drew in a sharp breath as Aragorn pressed along the injured bones, her eyes watering slightly until he seemed confident that nothing was out of place. He sat back with a sigh, and she could tell from the look on his face that her ribs were indeed only cracked.
"You should have told me you were injured," he said again, shaking his head. Shëanon huffed, although truly her heart had been pounding as the Nazgûl had flown overhead and she was anxious with guilt for having almost given them away.
"That would only have worried you," she said as the mist wafted against her face. "And we have to rescue Merry and Pippin. I didn't think my ribs would be of any concern when two members of our company are dead and two more are being carried to their deaths as we speak. And I know that you would not have said anything of cracked ribs, either, Aragorn."
"She's got you there, lad," Gimli said while Aragorn shook his head in resignation.
"The beast heard your scream," he said sternly.
"Perhaps you should not have tackled me," Shëanon answered dully.
"I would not have done so if I had known you were hurt."
Shëanon groaned and covered her face with her hands.
"I am sorry, alright? I didn't want to be any trouble. One of the uruks… kicked me when they…" Her voice trailed off as she tried for the hundredth time that day not to relive that panicked moment when she knew she could not break free from the orcs' grasp. She shook away the memory and changed the subject. "What was that thing? I thought the Nine were horsemen."
"It was a creature of Mordor," Legolas said quietly. Shëanon saw that he was still gazing through the fog. "A fell beast. It seems that the Nazgûl have taken to the skies."
"News that does not bode well for us," Aragorn murmured.
For several moments the four of them did not speak. Shëanon felt almost nauseated by the idea that the Nine were patrolling high in the air, seeking for them, seeking for Frodo… She shuddered on the ground in the mist.
It seemed decided that they would rest right where they were, as Aragorn and Gimli were hastily pulling food and drink from their packs and trying to get comfortable for their short rest before they would take again to their chase. Shëanon instead slowly stretched out on the grass, trying not to jostle her sore ribs. The fog was unsettling as she lay on her back, and she could hear no movement anywhere around them. Indeed, it seemed that they were the wraiths, existing in some ghost-realm with no light and no other living thing. Even Legolas and Aragorn on either side of her looked eerie.
"This mist is unnatural," Gimli grumbled as he lay down to sleep. "There are no stars."
"The stars are there," Legolas assured him. Shëanon could see only the dark of his silhouette through the haze of silver. "Even if you cannot see them."
The dwarf bristled and shifted on the other side of Aragorn.
"Still, I don't like it. Not one bit. I wish Lady Galadriel had given one of us a star."
Frowning, Shëanon turned her head in his direction.
"What?" she asked, confused.
"The Lady gave to Frodo the Light of Eärendil," Legolas explained quietly. Alone of the four of them, he was still sitting up. Shëanon knew that he would take the watch while the three of them got a few hours of sleep, but she blinked at him in surprise as she processed this information.
"Eärendil is Lord Elrond's father," she said blankly, unsure what to make of such news.
"Your grandfather then?" came Gimli's gruff voice, and Shëanon could feel both Aragorn and Legolas look at her then. She considered that briefly, surprised.
"Yes," she murmured after a moment, frowning deeper still.
"Your grandfather has a star? Hmph. How did he come by that, I wonder?" Gimli inquired, sounding rather annoyed and strangely exasperated.
At this, Shëanon propped herself up on her elbows, though she flinched as the movement irritated her throbbing side.
"It is not a star," she told him thoughtfully, turning her eyes to the clouds above. "It is one of the silmarils of Fëanor."
There was a beat of silence.
"I know of that jewel. The elves killed many dwarves to take it into their possession. You say your grandfather has it?"
"The elves killed the dwarves who killed their king for that jewel, Gimli, and I will not argue with you over that now, but yes, it is that silmaril. There were three of them, and many people—many elves—perished because of them," Shëanon murmured. She wondered what that meant, that Frodo carried the light of a silmaril with him.
"If it is a jewel, then why did the Lady name it as a star?" Gimli pressed. Did he think that Shëanon was contradicting Lady Galadriel? She did not know whether that idea amused or annoyed her.
"Lord Elrond's mother cast herself into the sea with it when the sons of Fëanor came to take it from her. Many elves were slain, but the Vala Ulmo bore her from the waves and gave her the form of a bird. She found her husband Eärendil on his ship, and together they sailed to Valinor to seek the aid of the Valar. Now he sails the seas of heaven with the silmaril upon his brow, and it can be seen even in Middle-Earth as a light shining in the west," she said softly. "It is a wonder to me that Lady Galadriel has this light to give. It is the light of the Trees that shone in Valinor before the sun and moon lit the skies. I would have thought that its light no longer existed in Middle-Earth."
"You said there were three."
"Yes," Shëanon conceded with distaste. "One lies at the bottom of the ocean. The other burns in the fires of the earth."
"You sound angry," Legolas observed quietly. He had finally drawn his eyes away from the distant clouds, and Shëanon turned to see him gazing at her face.
She shrugged and eased herself back down, biting her lip.
"Elves should not slay other elves," she mumbled. "Not for a hundred silmarils. The kinslayers deserve their fate."
"It is of the Everlasting Darkness that you speak, aiër," Legolas murmured.
"I know of what I speak," Shëanon replied. Even she could hear the edge in her voice. "I hope only that Maglor has followed his brother."
"Your father would not like to hear you say that," Aragorn said calmly. He was lying on his back in a position of sleep, but his eyes were open and scrutinizing her face. "Maglor showed much kindness to Lord Elrond."
"I do not think that changes anything," She answered tiredly.
"Vengeance is a powerful thing," Legolas told her as he peered through the mist. "What lengths would you go to if your father had asked you to avenge him?"
Shëanon did not answer. She had never considered this before, but decided that it did not matter. She would still not slay hundreds of innocent people. She would not do what the sons of Fëanor had done. She thought fleetingly of the scars on her back and legs that had been inflicted upon her by Men. All through her childhood in Imladris, she had had the memories of that pain lingering in her heart. The difference between the ways she had been treated by Men and by Elves struck her even as a child, and she was aware even as she lay there in the dark between Aragorn and Legolas that she had internalized the idea of Elves as the embodiment of goodness and Men as the embodiment of evil and pain. Any evidence of her half-human blood had horrified her, and for many years she had truly hated that part of her heritage. Indeed, if it hadn't been for Aragorn and the fact that Lord Elrond was himself only half elven, Shëanon might have had a very dark view of Men.
Although she had grown to realize that the suffering she had endured had been a singular event that did not speak for the race of Men as a whole, still she knew that such abuse did not exist within Elvendom. Not where children were concerned. Not where anyone was concerned. The very notion of such atrocities being carried out by one of the Eldar made her stomach turn, and for that reason she felt almost personally offended by what the sons of Fëanor had done. Not only for the terrible nature of their actions, but also because it was an evil she had always assured herself was a trait of Men but never of Elves. If elves were capable of slaying each other over a jewel, of leaving small children to starve to death in a dark forest, of destroying entire realms for the sake of greed and revenge, then it was not such a leap to say that elves might be capable of pressing hot iron to the flesh of little girls, of whipping their backs and locking them in the dark.
This was a thought that Shëanon could not endure. She shifted on the damp earth, trying to get comfortable and find a way that she could lie that would not put pressure on her sore side. Aragorn was watching her with his brows furrowed, and she wondered vaguely how much he had understood of her sudden agitation, until he looked away and back up at the dark dome of the heavens above. Gimli started snoring then, apparently uninterested in where their conversation had led, and Shëanon sighed. The poor dwarf had only been trying to express his disdain for the darkness, and she had seen fit to give him a history lesson which had resurfaced the deep bitterness that she had long harbored. She decided she did not want to think of kinslayers or the light of Eärendil. As intriguing as she found it that it had been given to Frodo, thinking of the hobbit made her anxious. How could he and Sam destroy the ring with no one to help them? It had seemed an impossible task even when there had been nine of them, and Shëanon swallowed nervously.
Despite the throbbing of her ribs and the uncomfortable ground, she was quite tired. All the endless running they had done had left her exhausted, and she found that her eyelids were heavy as she tugged her cloak more tightly about her. Aragorn fell asleep quickly beside her, and she urged her weary mind to allow her to do the same; she needed sleep badly if she was to run again in the morning. Still, Shëanon could not help but glance every so often at Legolas, who sat still and silent to her other side. She assured herself that this was because the sudden appearance of the wraith had left her anxious, but it seemed a vain effort even in her own mind. Impulsively, she rolled onto her side, facing away from him, though even as she fell asleep she thought she could sense his eyes on her prone form.
There was a light, bright and white as the break of dawn on a winter's morning, shining on fallen snow. Sounds of groaning wood and wind stirring leaves were in her ears, but they faded away to the agonized screams of many men. She could see them running everywhere around her in the darkness, brandishing steel weapons and shouting to one another, seeming to fight against an enemy that she could not distinguish through the vague haze of her dreams. A crash like she had never heard before exploded in her mind, and she felt that she was falling. The scene changed again, this time to show her a dark room that even in her unconscious state stirred unease and fear in her heart. She felt that she was in pain, and she felt that she was being watched. Then there was another crash, and fire and stone and there was a scream upon Shëanon's lips…
Her eyes flew open. She was lying on her back in the grasses of Rohan, trembling and breathing heavily, and she found that Legolas was crouching beside her, his hand near her shoulder. Dazed, Shëanon looked up into his face. His regard was solemn and troubled as he stared down at her, his dark eyes roving over her face, his silver hair hanging above her and his body dark against the dull purple of the sky.
"It is time to wake," he said at last. "We must take again to our chase."
Shëanon nodded, seeing in her peripheral vision that beside her Aragorn was also stirring, blinking blearily in the pale hour before dawn and turning over to rouse Gimli. She could hear the dwarf grumbling and huffing, but her mind was reeling and Legolas was still kneeling at her side as she gingerly sat up. She could feel his eyes on her face as she winced, her stiff, injured ribs protesting the movement. Fleetingly, she met his gaze. He said nothing, still watching her in such a way that she wondered if she had spoken aloud in her sleep, until finally he rose and offered her his hand, pulling her carefully to her feet. A shiver ran down her spine that she attributed to the eerie images she'd seen while she slept, and she hastily moved away from him.
"Shea."
Aragorn put his hand on her shoulder, and she turned to see that he held a small piece of lembas for her. Even in the dimness of the morning he looked as ill-rested as she felt, dark circles around his keen eyes.
"Thank you," she murmured, accepting the morsel of bread while Aragorn began rummaging around and pulling his pack onto his back. She felt distracted and wary as he began to speak.
"The uruks will be now far ahead. We shall have to go quickly, swifter even than we went yesterday," he told them all grimly as Shëanon swallowed the nourishing waybread and took a sip of water. In silence she watched the ranger move about, searching out the trail once more and listening briefly to the sound of the earth, before he beckoned them all forward and trotted off.
Gimli bristled and hurried after him, but Legolas was gazing far into the distance and Shëanon hovered near his side, wondering what he could see that she could not. It disturbed her greatly that she had not heard the wraith the night before—not until the Nazgûl was practically on top of them—but Legolas only glanced at her briefly and lightly touched the small of her back before nodding and setting off after their companions. So it was that the four of them spent another day on their chase, their feet flying again over the green grasses as the sun rose and sailed over their heads. Shëanon forgot the pain in her side as she ran. The vision she'd had in her sleep had been unsettling; she felt that the strange images had caused her more alarm than they should have, although for the first few hours of the morning she could not figure out why. After wracking her brain, however, she'd almost come to a halt mid-step as she'd realized that she'd seen one of the images before. In Galadriel's mirror, she had seen the dim room with the fire. Panting while she ran, Shëanon felt doubt settle in her mind as she considered this. Had she only been having strange dreams and dreamt of the room that the mirror had shown her? Or had she been having a vision, foreseeing that same scene for the second time? She wasn't sure, but the things she'd seen in her sleep had been so real…
Subtly, she cast a sidelong glance at Legolas. He was running beside her, and Shëanon frowned to herself. She'd realized as they'd run that the way he had been looking at her when she'd woken was much the same as the way we'd looked at her in Moria, when she'd foreseen their terrible fates and almost fallen off the ledge… His gaze had seemed too knowing that day—too discerning for her comfort and again as she followed after Aragorn she had to wonder what exactly Legolas had guessed. Very few people knew of her visions, but on more than one occasion Shëanon had had the feeling that the woodland prince suspected her secret.
It was even darker that night when they stopped to rest; the mist was back and all the world seemed empty and unnaturally still. There was not a star in the sky, and the moon was pale and faint. Legolas paced back and forth while Shëanon, Aragorn, and Gimli tried to sleep, and she kept jerking awake to see him moving beside her. The imagined cries of Nazgûl sounding in her sleep roused her again and again while the memory of the Uruk-hai's eyes and the fear of more visions plagued her. From the other side of Aragorn, Gimli kept sitting up, and she was dimly aware of Aragorn rolling over again and again. She wasn't sure if she imagined it, but once when she woke she thought that Legolas had his bow in hand.
Finally near dawn she woke again, and this time both Aragorn and Gimli were up as well. Her entire body felt sore from her fitful evening on the ground, although they had stopped for no more than five hours.
"A red sun rises," Legolas said lowly to them as they pulled themselves to their feet. Shëanon followed his brooding gaze to the horizon, where she could see that the sky was stained a vivid crimson. "Blood has been spilt this night."
His tone of voice, hard and foreboding in the dawn's scarlet light, sent a chill down her back. Feeling the icy tendrils of dread curling into a ball in the pit of her stomach, Shëanon looked anxiously at Aragorn. His face, however, betrayed nothing of his thoughts.
"Let us run," he said darkly, and once more they all sprang forward. Their footfalls were heavier, though their pace was just as swift. Shëanon had no idea how much ground they had covered, but she felt that they ran for miles and miles before the sun was directly overhead. Her ribs were aching terribly and her mouth tasted of the metallic tang of blood, but still Shëanon continued. Did Legolas think that Merry and Pippin had been killed in the night? It could not be true; they had run so far…
Suddenly Aragorn halted, holding out his arms to stop Shëanon and Legolas on either side of him while Gimli caught up. Sounding slightly out of breath, Aragorn nodded his head and they all turned to see many figures in the distance, thundering towards them on horseback.
"Rohirrim," Aragorn sighed.
"There are one hundred and five of them," Legolas murmured, and Shëanon looked at him in surprise. "Each is armed with sword and spear, and some others with bows as well."
"Over there," Aragorn pointed to a rocky area not far from them, and the four of them hurried over and knelt between the boulders as the earth began to tremble beneath the hooves of the approaching horses. Shëanon felt a pang of acute wariness as she watched the riders draw nearer and nearer. Their faces looked harsh and unforgiving, weathered and severe; their fierce eyes glinted as the bright sun flashed on their spearheads, and they wore the mail and helms of men who had just done battle. Or men about to do battle, Shëanon thought anxiously. She saw Aragorn and Legolas meet each other's eyes as the Rohirrim approached and passed right by them, but she did not have time to wonder over its meaning before Aragorn rose suddenly and strode out from between the rocks, bellowing out into the plains.
"Riders of Rohan!" he called. "What news from the Mark?"
As one, the riders, pulled at their reins, turning their horses about, and without thinking Shëanon leapt from their cover and hurried to Aragorn's side. She could feel Legolas and Gimli behind her as she barreled over the soft grass, even as the earth rumbled with the running of the horses. Beneath the iron helms, she saw the eyes of the men glaring at them; the Rohirrim had surrounded them now, guiding their horses into a circle that grew tighter and tighter until all gaps were closed and the four companions had nowhere to go. Shëanon turned in circles, trying to assess the situation. The riders were practically on top of them now, and she, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were back to back. She could feel Aragorn grasping for her arm, pulling her closer to him and Legolas, and suddenly there were one hundred and five spears pointed at their faces.
"What business do two Elves, a Man, and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!"
Shëanon whirled around to see one of the men ride forward and address them. He was clearly their leader; from his helm—which was far more ornate than those of the others around him, embellished with many marking and the carven shapes of horses—streamed as an emblem a white horse tail paler even than the Man's own blonde hair, and Shëanon noticed then that all the riders around them had suntanned skin and light hair beneath their helmets. The man gazed menacingly down at them from his enormous horse, which was breathing heavily, blowing hot air from its nostrils. She swallowed nervously but said nothing, waiting for Aragorn to answer, but it was Gimli who spoke.
"Give me your name, horsemaster," he said calmly, looking up to stare the tall man in the eyes. "And I shall give you mine."
She watched with bated breath as the man passed his spear to one of his companions and dismounted the enormous beast, stalking towards them silently. She had half a mind to grasp the hilt of her sword, for it was clear to her as the man approached that he had not at all liked Gimli's cool response.
"I would cut off your head, dwarf," he snarled when he stood before them, "if it stood but a little higher from the ground."
So quickly that Shëanon would have missed it had she blinked, Legolas drew an arrow and brought it to his bow string in one fluid motion, raising the weapon and taking aim at the rider in a flash.
"You would die before your stroke fell," he said coldly, heedless of the spears now directed threateningly at his body from every direction. Shëanon stared at him in shock, startled by this sudden display of aggression when he was usually so calm. The fury in his eyes and the lethal tone of his voice were unmistakable as he stood unmoving amid the Rohirrim, effortlessly holding back the bowstring, showing no signs of strain or exertion and paying no heed to the one hundred and four other men around him. Anxiously, Shëanon cast a glance back at the man, whose eyes had narrowed as he assessed the elf before him. He did not flinch or drop his gaze from Legolas, which she found both astounding and troublesome, for it was clear to everyone there that he could and would kill the man where he stood. Her heart pounded in her chest as a result of the thick tension while everyone waited to see who would make the first move, and hastily Aragorn laid a hand on Legolas's arm, forcing him to lower his bow. Although Legolas did not take his eyes off of the rider for a second, keeping him fixed in a stare that made her blood run cold, Shëanon saw and easily understood the flashing expression on Aragorn's face: do nothing rash, or there will be bloodshed.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he said firmly, with one last stern look at Legolas. "This is Gimli, son of Glóin, Shëanon of Rivendell, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm. We seek no trouble with the Rohirrim."
"Yet trouble it seems you have found," the man replied darkly. He had hardly looked at Aragorn as he'd spoken, instead keeping his eyes trained on Legolas, who beside Shëanon had lifted his chin and continued to glare. He looked to her like some kind of deadly predator. She had never seen such an expression on his face, unless maybe in Moria, but everything had been different in the darkness of that place and she was stunned to see such unbridled power and anger in the light of day.
The men around them had not lowered their weapons, and the leader did not move. Suddenly his eyes flickered instead to her face, and she was startled to find him staring at her. She thought he almost scoffed as he looked her up and down, and Shëanon shifted in agitation.
"It is said that elven maidens seldom journey from the lands of their own kind," he said, still seeming to consider her, but it was clear to her ears that he was addressing Aragorn and his riders, and not her. Shëanon blinked in surprise, feeling the eyes of the other men fall on her as well. The words had been uttered darkly, as though he thought that her presence before him was proof of some ill news, though of what nature she could not guess, and she did not at all like the sensation of having so many armed men stare at her so suspiciously.
"There is reason enough for that," Legolas replied in a voice as hard and cold as ice.
The man took a step forward as the horses all around them stirred and stamped their feet; in the same moment Legolas moved as well. At first she thought that he meant to step closer to the rider, but instead he seemed to widen his stance, shifting just a little so that Shëanon was now slightly behind him, his shoulder in front of hers and his long bow held in front of both their bodies. The air became suddenly still and silent, and her ears picked up what she thought was a sound of frustration to her left. She turned and she saw that Aragorn looked not at all pleased, clenching his jaw and running a hand over his face.
"Is that an accusation?" the rider demanded while Aragorn strode forward.
"Legolas," he said in exasperation. Or perhaps it was in warning.
"I do not like what your words imply, Elf," the man growled. "Take care what you say."
"Take care where you look," Legolas said sharply, and Shëanon's face flooded with colors as she realized, stunned, what turn the situation had taken. The man reached for his sword and the riders all around the circle suddenly called out in anger, brandishing their weapons and condemning Legolas for his audacity.
"You come into our lands," the man said coldly, "clad like conjurers to escape our sight and then appearing out of the grass like phantoms and thieves. I shall look at any stranger that comes unwelcome through sorcery into this domain."
"We have walked into this land," Shëanon said hastily, though her cheeks burned like fire and she could suddenly not look any of her companions in the eye. "On foot in the light of day as you now see us, as neither thieves nor sorcerers." She hesitated a moment, unsure of how much she should say, but she could see that she once again had everyone's attention and she knew that there would be trouble if the situation continued to escalate. The riders had clearly jumped to conclusions about their business and identities, and that would not bode well. "We have passed through the Golden Wood of Lothlórien with the favor and gifts of the Lord and Lady. Such is our raiment," she explained, indicating the elven cloaks that the four of them wore. "That is why you did not see us in the grass."
To Shëanon's consternation, the man looked only more suspicious at these words, and eyed the four of them darkly.
"I have heard the tales of the Lady in the Wood," he said slowly. "They are of devilry and enchantment. It is said that none ever leave whom she ensnares."
"Now it is you, horseman, who must watch his words," Gimli said angrily, but at this Aragorn held up a hand and finally spoke again, and with authority.
"We set out from Rivendell with Gandalf the Grey on an errand against the Enemy. We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden, your king," he declared, looking beseechingly around the circle. Shëanon realized that he must have either lost patience or foreseen trouble if he was making any mention of their task, but astonishingly his words seemed to have an effect.
"Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe," the rider said, and to her surprise he lifted his helm from his head and held it instead under his arm. His face was more noble and fair than she had expected, and there was some strange regret in his eyes as he spoke. "Not even his own kin," he continued. At last, the many mounted riders lowered their spears, the sound of clattering wood coming to her ears. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. I am Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshal of the Mark. My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that we are banished." He walked then back and forth before them, gazing into each of their faces as he spoke, and Shëanon stared back as she processed what he was saying. "The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man hooded and cloaked… and everywhere his spies slip past our nets."
"We are no spies," Aragorn assured him. He gestured to the direction from whence the riders had come. "We track a party of uruk-hai westward across the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive."
"The uruks are destroyed; we slaughtered them during the night," Éomer said at once, and Shëanon thought again of the fury she had seen in the riders even from a distance.
"But there were two hobbits!" cried Gimli with some desperation. "Did you see two hobbits with them?"
"They would be small," Aragorn explained, placing a hand on Gimli's shoulder. "Only children to your eyes."
With her heart in her throat, Shea turned her eyes back to Éomer, but he had started shaking his head even before Aragorn was done speaking.
"We left none alive," he said grimly. "We piled the carcasses and burned them."
He pointed into the distance where Shëanon could just see the faint wisps of smoke curling into the air, surely marking the place where the charred remains of the orcs lay in a scalding heap, proof of Éomer's words. She looked to Aragorn in horror, but his expression was hard and unreadable, even to her.
"Dead?" Gimli asked in disbelief.
Éomer nodded, and Shëanon stood frozen, aghast.
"I'm sorry," the man said, and although to his credit he did sound sincere, Shëanon could not tamp down the sudden fury she felt. They had come all that way, only to have their friends killed by men who were supposed to be on their side? A sickening image of Merry and Pippin entered her mind; she pictured them near to tears with relief at the arrival of the men, calling out for help as the orcs were massacred, expecting to be saved and brought to safety, only to find painful deaths at the ends of the cruel spears she saw before her, and she wanted to spit on the ground at the riders' feet.
"You mean to tell me," she asked in disbelief, ignoring the glare she received from Aragorn, "that over a hundred of Rohan's revered horsemen, men who even now were lifting their chins at the mention of their loyalty and honor and demanding to know how we managed to slip past their ever-vigilant eyes, slaughtered two innocent halflings because they were so eager to shed blood that they did not even bother to look at the creatures they were killing? Surely you could not have mistaken two hobbits for orcs! Even in the black of night you should have been able to tell children from Uruk-hai!" she said furiously.
Éomer gazed at her steadily, and she wondered if again he had been moved to anger, but when he spoke his tone was measured and controlled.
"You had best hope that your friends were also wearing these magic elven cloaks of yours, she-elf," he said, "for only then can I say that there is any chance that they yet live."
Suddenly he turned and gave a sharp whistle, lifting one gloved hand to snap in the air.
"Hasufel! Arod!" he called, and even as her raging emotions still pounded in her veins, she watched two large horses obediently step through the ring of riders to stand before him. Éomer turned to them once more.
"May these horses bear you to better fortunes than their former masters," he told them solemnly, handing a set of reins to Aragorn. He stepped away then to grasp at the pommel of his own saddle, stepping into the stirrup and swinging back onto his horse. "Look for your friends," he said, glancing over at the smoke in the distance. "But do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands," he said bitterly, and then his horse sprung forward at a command that Shëanon did not hear or see, though she heard him calling to his riders as she stood in a dazed silence. The horses all thundered away, the ground shaking again beneath her feet, until the four of them were left alone with the two horses.
Shëanon looked at her companions around her. Her limbs were shaking and her heart was pounding. Already they had failed Gandalf and Boromir; they could not have failed Merry and Pippin, too. She would not stand for it. She could not bear it. She remembered Legolas's words from the morning. Blood has been spilt this night. He had been right. She had not doubted him at the time, but still she had been able to assure herself that it could not have been Merry and Pippin. After what Éomer had said, however, it seemed that their chase had indeed been in vain. She looked over at the elf, her hands balled into fists so tight that her fingernails dug painfully into her palms, and he met her gaze.
"If the hobbits are dead," she ground out, her voice trembling with emotion and anger. "By the Valar, those horsemen had best ride far away from here."
Legolas looked at her for a moment, his blue eyes bottomless and piercing. Behind him, Gimli had made a noise of agreement and was pacing back and forth, and Aragorn was looking at the ground.
"Do not speak of vengeance yet, aiër," Legolas told her quietly. His brows were furrowed and his gaze intense, and she blushed as she remembered first what he had said about revenge two nights before, and then of the confusing fury in his eyes when Éomer had looked at her, but she held his gaze. "The hobbits may still be alive."
"The riders did not see us in broad daylight," Aragorn said as he walked up to one of the horses. He glanced over his shoulder at them before swinging up into the saddle. "I do not think they would have seen Merry and Pippin in the dark if they still had the Lady's cloaks. Hope has not forsaken Rohan, and it has not forsaken us."
The horse shifted anxiously beneath the ranger, who took the reins in hand and looked at his companions with a gaze like fire.
"Shea will ride with me. Gimli with Legolas. If they yet live, Merry and Pippin cannot have gone far."
Shëanon looked at him doubtfully. She did not think she could stand to hope and have it be for naught—not again—but Aragorn was fierce and determined atop the warhorse.
"Shea," he said again, holding out his hand for her.
"Come, Gimli," Legolas said quietly as he leapt lithely onto the horse called Arod. Gimli, too, seemed to hesitate, more for a fear of horses than for a fear of loss, Shëanon thought, but eventually he stepped forth and allowed Legolas to pull him up beside him.
More aggrieved now than furious, Shëanon walked over the trampled grass and looked up into Aragorn's face. He said nothing, waiting patiently with his hand outstretched, but she thought she saw a gleam in his eyes when at last she took it and allowed him to pull her up behind him.
"Do you think they are alive?" she whispered against his back as she wrapped her arms around him. She could almost feel the adrenaline coursing through him from where their bodies touched. Beside them, Gimli was anxiously commanding Legolas not to let him fall.
"Gandalf always said not to underestimate the hobbits," he replied.
He dug his heels into the horse's flanks, and Hasufel bolted forth.
A/N: Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry SORRY! More on the way ASAP, along with a more legitimate author's note. Thanks for reading, everyone!
PS: Welcome to Rohan!