Aiër Chapter 15

Before the first light of day began to peek over the horizon—in the hours when the sky is dark but night is dwindling and the stars grow faint and fade—Shëanon abandoned her bed and dressed. Even as she pulled on her clothes and boots, she experienced a twinge of anxiety. She had absolutely no idea what to expect from her companions when she saw them. Would Aragorn and Legolas still be angry? Surely not, she reasoned, but doubt nagged at her. The prospect of facing them caused a knot to form in the pit of her stomach, but she tried to convince herself that such trepidation was absurd. In retrospect, nothing had really happened. So they'd been lying on the floor together, so what? But Shëanon frowned and worried the hem of her tunic. The confrontation of the night before had troubled her greatly; Aragorn was not easily moved to anger, and yet he had looked upon his own friend with such ire.

Shëanon looked down at the rug where only hours before she had lain. Her thoughts had gone in circles all night, but she had eventually reached the conclusion that if it could have been possible to hide from Legolas all the way to Helm's Deep, she would certainly have done so. How could she have told him what she had? How could she have so readily revealed to him such personal thoughts? She had never even spoken to Aragorn or Arwen or her father of the fears she had divulged to Legolas. It had scared in the moment to confide in him, but looking back she was altogether horrified. She had very nearly laid herself bare, and to her mortification she knew that Legolas must have been able to tell that she harbored feelings for him. And yet, he had been the one to tell her about his past and his mother. He had been the one to touch her hair and her body, and when she had so emotionally explained all her worries and misgivings, he had remained so…

Shëanon physically cringed. All night long, it was this matter that had caused her such distress and confusion and embarrassment and longing, for in truth Legolas's treatment of her in the night had been tender. Tender and patient and kind so that her skin burned to remember it. She didn't know what to think, and worrying about it all night long had given her no clarity of mind.

There are many things about those few days that we should discuss.

He had said those words to her about their time in Fangorn. Had he simply meant the way she had refused to answer his question about Amon Hen, and the way she had dissolved into tears at Gandalf's feet? Or did he know that she had wanted to kiss him, had wanted him to kiss her, and that she had fled from him for that reason? For hours Shëanon had agonized over that question, but she was resigned to not having an answer. Certainly she would not ask him.

Feeling rather frustrated with herself for her foolish pining and dangerous hope and her utter lack of nerve, she left her room at last. Expecting to be among the first to wake, she was surprised to enter the hall and find that there were already many others milling around. Small fires had been kindled in the hearths to illuminate the large space until the sun rose, and men and women alike rushed to prepare for the journey ahead of them. Her companions were already there; Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli sat at one of the long, low tables for breakfast, and reluctantly she went to join them. In silence, she sank onto the bench beside Aragorn, across from Gimli, trying not to draw attention to herself. She hoped that no one would pay much attention to her if she kept her head down and did not speak, but her hopes were in vain.

"Hmph," Gimli grunted when she had only barely sat down.

Shëanon grimaced.

"What?" she asked stiffly, looking with determination only at the dwarf. Beside her, she heard Aragorn set down his spoon.

Gimli made a sound that she took to mean he was displeased.

"This lass hasn't slept a wink," he huffed, bristling under his beard. "I'll never understand you elves, never resting, never eating. And that goes for you, too!" he exclaimed, looking accusingly at Aragorn, who had begun shaking his head. "You're just as daft as Goldie over here. Never met a man with less sense. You need a hot meal and a bed, all three of you," he grumbled.

"Your concern for our health warms my heart, my friend," Legolas said with a smile, and Gimli's expression darkened.

"And just what do you think you're doing, hmm?" he retorted, "Give the lass some food; she's paler than death."

Legolas grinned and began to ladle porridge from a large pot before him on the table into a small wooden bowl, which he slid across the table to her.

"How is your head this morning, aiër?" he asked, and she watched, astonished, as he began to pour her tea.

"Fine."

"Do you have a headache?" Aragorn inquired calmly, leaning back on the bench and lifting one hand towards the back of Shëanon's head.

"No, I'm fine," she muttered, embarrassed, but she allowed him to gently run the pads of his fingers over her hair. "It was just a bump on the head, Aragorn."

"Aye, she's a tough lass," Gimli said emphatically. Shëanon rather hoped that he didn't know what they were talking about. "Let her be so she can eat."

Aragorn lifted his hands in surrender while the dwarf continued to grumble that the three of them had no sense.

"She needs some meat in her. Who ever heard of a breakfast with no meat? Someone needs to find the lass some sausage and bacon. No color in her face. None."

Shëanon looked around the table in utter bewilderment. Aragorn and Legolas shared a glance and returned to their meals. She would almost have preferred the anger she had anticipated over the bizarre way they were treating her. Not to mention that the person at the table who seemed to be acting the most strangely was Gimli, for Shëanon could not fathom why he had suddenly taken such an interest in her wellbeing. It wasn't as though she and Gimli weren't fond of each other, but his continuous harrumphs throughout the meal were unprecedented and rather suspicious. Entirely bemused, she began to eat. The porridge was mostly flavorless, but the tea was hot and soothed her nerves, and for some reason it seemed important that she drink it because Legolas had prepared it for her. She blushed as she took another sip, wondering anxiously if something else had happened during the night while she had been in bed.

Several moments later, as Aragorn had begun to explain in a low voice what dangers they might face on the road, a small door behind them burst open and Gandalf strode quickly into the room.

"Come. Quickly," he commanded, hurrying past where they ate without waiting to see if they would follow. His eyes flashed and his face was haggard; his appearance told Shëanon that he had been in council with the king until that very moment, and the benches scraped against the stone floor as they rushed to obey. Gandalf led them out of the hall and down into the city, and even though the narrow roads were crowded with people, the wizard's pace did not slow. Shëanon almost had to trot to keep up.

"The king will not be swayed," he told them, navigating through the sea of townspeople who were tying bundles to horses and loading carts.

"Helm's Deep," Gimli snorted. "They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight. Who will defend them if not their king?"

"He is only doing what he thinks is best for his people," Aragorn sighed. "Helm's Deep has saved them in the past."

"There is no way out of that ravine. Théoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he is leading them to safety. What he will get is a massacre. Théoden has a strong will, but I fear for him," Gandalf said. "I fear for the survival of Rohan."

They appeared to have reached their destination, for Gandalf made a beeline for the stables. Despite the bustle on the streets and the fact that the city was near to emptying, no one but the horses was inside. Even they seemed to know that important business was underway, for they did not stir as the five of them flew past. Instead they watched with somber, doleful eyes, and in the last stall, waiting for them, was Shadowfax. The magnificent animal came forth as Gandalf approached, and Shëanon belatedly understood what was happening.

"You can't be leaving!" she cried, dashing around Gimli and Legolas to stand before her friend. Gandalf turned to her in surprise.

"Gandalf," she said in dismay, looking from him to the horse and back with a sinking feeling in her stomach. It had been one thing to go to Helm's Deep and face what was apparently imminent battle with the White Wizard by their side, but another thing entirely to have him leave them. "You—But we just got you back!"

"I am sorry, Shëanon," he said gravely, his eyes flashing. "With any luck my search will not be in vain, and I will return. Do you remember the message I gave you from Lady Galadriel?"

Shëanon blinked. With all that had transpired, she had not given the message much thought. Taken aback, she nodded.

"Good. Do not forget it," he commanded. He turned then to address them all. "Saruman's servant will have returned to Orthanc, and Rohan's secrets will have gone with him. You will find no refuge at Helm's Deep, only war. You will be outnumbered. Until my return, the defenses must hold."

"They will hold," Aragorn murmured. Shëanon shivered. The gravity of the situation had not truly hit her until that moment, with Gandalf preparing to ride away and she herself making ready to go to war. Perhaps it had been Théoden's surety that they could escape the conflict, or her preoccupation with other matters, but in the dim light of the stables she felt herself begin to fear. If Gandalf were leaving, then they would be at an even greater disadvantage. The war that she had only fleetingly considered suddenly became all too real and all too close, and she might have despaired had it not been for the quiet determination of Aragorn's resolve. He must have sensed this, for he laid a hand on her shoulder.

Gandalf's eyes shone.

"They will need you, Aragorn, before the end," he warned, but Aragorn only bowed his head. She felt his grip tighten on her shoulder as Gandalf turned at last toward Shadowfax. Before he had appeared powerful and capable, but a flash of weariness crossed his face such that she had never before seen, and he looked profoundly troubled as he stroked the horse's neck.

"Three thousand lives of Men I've walked this earth, and now I have no time." He swung up onto Shadowfax's back, the agile movement at odds with his aged appearance and harried expression. Any other horse might have stamped its feet or pranced in the stall, for the tension in the air was thick, but Shadowfax was calm and still. Shëanon shivered; the stakes seemed suddenly so high.

Gandalf gazed down at them.

"Look for my coming," he said. "At first light on the fifth day—at dawn—look to the east."

With that Shadowfax bounded forward, his hooves making hardly a sound over the soft earth, and Gandalf gave them no words of farewell. Shëanon watched Legolas and Gimli jump out of the way as horse and wizard raced past just as the sun appeared in the scarlet sky ahead.

The journey to Helm's Deep was slow. Shëanon sat atop Hasufel—alone this time, for Aragorn was astride a rather reckless-looking stallion—wondering if there was any way for them to pick up the pace. The sun was well overhead; they had been traveling for hours, but she felt that they had covered hardly any distance. The long train of Rohirrim stretched behind and ahead of her, and, not for the first time, she frowned to think how conspicuous they all were out in the open.

"We go as swiftly as we can," Aragorn said quietly from beside her. It was the first time all morning that he had spoken to her, for on his other side rode the king, and Shëanon had purposefully not tried to enter their conversation. Still, even though she did not think it her place to speak her mind to Théoden, it did not keep her from listening to what he told the ranger. From what she observed, the Man seemed to be of two very different mindsets. On the one hand, it was clear that he took the suffering of his people very seriously; Shëanon listened as he gave Aragorn a thorough account of all that had been done by Saruman. On the other hand, his optimism was disconcerting. He seemed to think that Helm's Deep held all the answers and indeed it was clear why Gandalf had been unable to change his mind. Shëanon however wondered just how much of his confidence was for show, and how much was simply because he needed to believe that he was doing the right thing. She did not miss the way his eyes narrowed as he looked into the plains.

Although she would have preferred to get the people to Helm's Deep as quickly as possible—the sight of so many young and elderly mortals made her inexplicably anxious—she could not deny that the journey was comfortable. Even with the threat of attack, the day was passed pleasantly. Gimli walked beside her, and he was much less gruff than usual. His strange attitude from the morning had persisted, and he even told her stories as they plodded slowly over the yellow grass.

"Mind you, I wasn't there," he told her, with a nod in her direction. "Too young, they said. Does sixty-two sound too young to you? Hmmph. But mark my words, at least fifty of those beasts, lass. The elf will tell you different, I'm sure, but my father is no liar. Fifty spiders at least."

In spite of herself, Shëanon could not keep from grinning. How differently this story would have been told a few months ago, when there had been so much animosity between Legolas and Gimli. That the dwarf could speak so pleasantly about what had surely been such a matter of outrage for his kin both stunned and amused her.

"And do you know what happened, hmm? They got thrown in the dungeons! The whole lot of 'em. Imagine that! Killed all those spiders and what thanks did they receive? Naught but a dark cell. Hmmph. But I'll have you know that we haven't had any escaped prisoners from Erebor. Those elves have a security problem over there, if you ask me."

Shëanon smiled, but it faltered as she remembered the rigidity of Legolas's posture as he had spoken to the council of Gollum's escape from the Woodland Realm.

"I hope you haven't said that to Legolas," she murmured fiddling with the reins of her horse. Gimli craned his neck to look up at her; he had refused to ride Arod, who was tethered to Hasufel. He had claimed that he preferred to walk, despite Shëanon's prodding. The dwarf squinted at her.

"I ought to," he grumbled. "Then maybe he'll do something about it."

Shëanon only smiled softly and shook her head as they ambled on. Every now and then, Men would approach to have words with Théoden and Aragorn, and a few times children with dogs scampered past, but Shëanon and Gimli were for the most part left to their own devices. The only exception had been in the middle of the day when, much to Shëanon's consternation, Lady Éowyn rode up beside her.

"Lady Shëanon," she greeted, and then bowed her head in Gimli's direction. "Master Dwarf."

She rode beside them for a while, which made Shea feel rather tense but which did not seem to bother Gimli in the slightest. He continued to speak of his home and his family and of dwarves as a whole, but Shëanon hardly heard him. Instead she watched Éowyn out of the corner of her eye, for it was clear to her that the woman was not there to keep company with them; it was obvious in the way she held herself, in the way that she had ridden up in the one moment all day that there had been enough space between Shëanon's mount and Aragorn's to fill the space between them, and that despite her genuine responses to Gimli's tales, her eyes flicked frequently towards Aragorn and her uncle. Shëanon frowned, realizing with a bit of surprise that, once again, the lady seemed to have taken on a completely different character. So far she had seen the woman act joyously and despairingly, harshly and warmly and forlornly, and as she rode beside her, Shëanon decided that her demeanor then was covert. Were all women this way? Shëanon did not consider herself to be very unpredictable or varying in her manner, but then again, she did not know Éowyn at all and she had met her during a very turbulent time. Still, she was wary.

"Tell me, Lady Shëanon," Éowyn asked abruptly. "Did Lord Aragorn find you last night?"

Shëanon blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

Éowyn raised her eyebrows. "You were looking for him, were you not? He came into the hall not very long after you had left. I told him that you'd wished to speak with him."

She told him…! Heat rushed to her face as she realized that the woman before her was to blame for her nightmarish situation during the night. It hadn't even occurred to her at the time that it had been a bit strange for Aragorn to come knocking at her door at such an hour.

"Oh," she bit out. "That was kind of you. Thank you."

Éowyn had the good graces to ignore the strain in Shëanon's voice. Shea knew that Éowyn had no way to know just what exactly her thoughtfulness had interrupted, but she still found herself feeling less than pleased. What would have happened if Aragorn had not come? She blushed harder just to think of it and decided that she wanted to drop the subject at once.

"Yes, I told him that you had likely returned to your chambers," Éowyn continued keenly, peering at Shëanon's face. "He found you there?"

"He did."

"That is well," Éowyn said, but her expression grew contemplative.

"Niece," Théoden called suddenly, as he and Aragorn seemed to notice the girl's presence for the first time. A spark suddenly seemed to kindled in her eyes, but as the king bid her attend to their people, the light flickered. She turned and departed then, and Shëanon was left feeling nervous for reasons that she could not quite have explained. All she knew was that Aragorn's gaze had followed the woman for longer than it should have, and Shëanon did not like it.

By dusk, they were stopping to make camp. Having grown accustomed to journeying long hours into the night, it felt strange to her to retire so early. It was a necessity, however, and admittedly it was nice to have some time to relax and eat with her companions. It reminded her of long before when the company had stopped to make lunch and the hobbits had teased her about wearing shoes in the snow. Then again, many things had been different then.

She, Aragorn, and Gimli accepted bowls of stew from the women who came by with large steaming pots. They ate their meals quickly, sitting side-by-side, and then spent a while in conversation. They helped with the distribution of supplies, sat watch for awhile, and conferred with the king's men. By the time that the sky had grown dark and the three of them were rolling out their bedrolls, Shëanon was beginning to feel truly dismayed. She had not seen Legolas since their departure from Edoras, and Aragorn and Gimli made no mention of his absence. As she observed the familiar motions of Aragorn lighting his pipe and blowing out a breath of smoke, pangs of worry throbbed in her stomach. She did not fear for his safety, for Aragorn almost definitely knew where he was, but rather she wondered why exactly he had left them for so many long hours. She tossed and turned on the lumpy ground, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of nearby children crying, the whispers of the Rohirrim that were as restless as she as Aragorn's pipe smoke curled into the air above where she lay. Eventually, however, she fell into a fitful sleep.

Everything was cold and wet. Rain bit at her face, at her neck, soaking her hair and running into her eyes and mouth as lightning flashed overhead. The sounds of battle were all around her: the shouting of male voices, the ring of metal. She stood upon slick stone, but she knew that she had to run, to flee, and then she was thrown off her feet, hurtling through the air as a colossal crash thundered in her ears. Again and again she relived it, again and again feeling the painful landing against unyielding ground, but no matter how she ran or how she cried out, she could not break the terrifying cycle. Then, finally, it ended. She was in a dark room, and pain tore through her arms and shoulders and wrists so that she had to grit her teeth against the agony. The scene changed again, and she was running, and torches were burning, and then another explosion, greater than the last, and then—

"Shea!"

With a gasp, Shëanon's eyes flew open and she threw herself forward, panting as she sat up. It took her a moment to understand where she was, to squint through the darkness and remember that she was on the plains of Rohan, beneath the starless sky. The dark figure beside her touched her shoulder, and she turned to find Aragorn peering at her through the night. Realizing what had happened, she made a sound of frustration and pressed her fists against her temples. Again. The same damn vision again. She felt a sudden urge to hit something.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, and, still disoriented and stressed, Shëanon nodded.

It had been worse than ever, so real that her arms and legs were trembling.

"What did you see?" Aragorn whispered.

How he knew that it had been a vision and not a nightmare Shëanon could not tell, but she found herself suddenly desperate to tell him, to relieve herself of the burden as though to speak the words would relinquish the weight of the images from her mind. She realized that she had never gotten around to explaining her visions from Fangorn or during their pursuit of Merry and Pippin, and she frowned as she looked at her friend.

All around her everything was quiet and still, so Shëanon told him in a halting whisper, speaking in a rush that hardly made sense and leaning her forehead against his shoulder. When she had finished her rasping description he remained silent, but she could sense the process of his thoughts and the pensive expression of his face even without looking at him.

"How many times have you seen this?" he inquired at last.

"I don't know. Several times since we left Lothlórien," Shëanon murmured, tugging her cloak and blanket more tightly around herself.

"You saw the end in Galadriel's mirror?"

She nodded, watching with appreciation as Aragorn started tucking part of his own blanket across her legs. He sighed.

"I know not what to make of it," he told her regretfully. "We will speak to Gandalf when he returns."

Shëanon had expected that answer and merely nodded again against his arm. He smelled so familiar and safe that she wanted to cry. Instead she gripped his sleeve and looked mournfully up at his profile.

"Nothing will ever be the same, will it?" she whispered, her voice sounding pitifully plaintive in the quiet of the night. Aragorn looked down at her. She continued, "Even if by some miracle we don't all die and even if we destroy the Ring and save Middle-earth, nothing will ever be as it was again. You will live among Men and ascend the throne of Gondor and Arwen will go with you as your wife and half of Imladris has probably gone West already… And if we fail…"

"Nothing is certain, Shea," Aragorn told her. His sharp words gave her pause.

She pulled away from him with a frown; something in his tone was wrong and she could see it in his eyes even through the gloom. They were dark and brooding and grieved in a manner she had not expected. Was he feeling the pressure of the tasks laid before him? Did he fear the future as much as she did? Shëanon wasn't sure. She might have asked—indeed, she wanted to—but he did not give her the chance.

His hand came to rest on the top of her head, his eyes glittering in the dark as he gestured with a nod back at the ground.

"Get some rest," he whispered. "I will wake you again if it comes to it."

He had changed the subject on purpose. She could tell at once, but for some reason she felt suddenly very worried about him… very protective. What if he had been very troubled, and she had not noticed because she was so concerned with… other matters? And with Gandalf gone and Legolas mysteriously missing… well, would Aragorn even confide in them, anyways? She knew that he kept his deepest worries inside himself and did not like to speak of them. She was like him in that way, but it hurt her to think that he was being forced to carry so much weight upon his shoulders. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around him, drawing him into a fierce hug that seemed to surprise him for a moment, but he returned the gesture nonetheless. The wind rustled through the grass as they sat with their arms around each other, her head resting against his shoulder. Finally, she drew away. His eyes were black and somber, and he brushed his knuckles against her cheek. She watched him expectantly, sure that he was about to tell her something important, but then he shook his head.

"Go to sleep," he told her again, and, because she knew that he worried she didn't get enough rest, she lay down. He did the same beside her, but she knew he was awake by the sound of his breathing. When she did fall asleep again she dreamed that she was a little girl lost in a forest, crying out for Aragorn and her brothers and her father and, strangely, for Legolas. No one came.