Hello, y'all! I am so terribly sorry about the long update and hope that people haven't given up on this story! I know I haven't. Life has just been so hectic - it seems to have conspired against me in order to cut into my writing time! I am going to try to update every week now that life has settled down, but we will see. Thank to everyone who has reviewed this story - your reviews make me want to keep up with this story! Enjoy this chapter and don't forget to review! Odilyn
Chapter Six
"These are troubled times! Much is at stake and all must make sacrifices! I know how much she means to you, but her gifts could be the single coin that tips the scale in our favor."
She did not mean to eavesdrop. But when she heard the raised voices of her uncle and Mithrandir floating down the hallway and her name was mentioned, how could she help but stop and listen? But now she understood why it was said that those who heard things not meant for them never prospered in the knowledge. She stood, frozen in the hall, her head reeling slightly and shock clear in her startling blue eyes.
Mithrandir wanted her to go with the Fellowship? Rivendell had been abustle for the past few weeks with preparations for the Company's departure. All knew that this was a solemn occasion. Some would never return from this dangerous journey and all their hope, and the hope of all Middle-earth, rested in the hands of one small hobbit. It may have seemed foolishness, but Anariel knew, as did everyone else, that it was the only way. The Fellowship consisted of nine. Anariel was disappointed to learn that her friend, Legolas, was among the group. But she had tried to spend as much time as possible with him before he left and their friendship had strengthened till they felt more like kin than anything else. The man of Gondor, Boromir his name, had become somewhat more familiar to Anariel. She thought that he probably felt more at ease around her than the elves, for she was more approachable than the high and noble beings. They did fight quite often, as they both were high strung, proud people with many differing opinions. But they remained on good terms, despite their love-hate relationship. Aragorn son of Arathorn had been abroad much during the time since the Council. She had yet to meet him directly and she half dreaded it, half yearned for it. Something about the man confused her greatly and Anariel didn't like to be confused. She had always been independent and sure of herself, sometimes to the dismay of her family.
Anariel shook her head and returned to listening to the heated discussion in the room. Mithrandir wanted her to go with the Nine. Not as part of the Fellowship, mind you. No, but as an asset, a tool. Her temper began to rise and she felt betrayed. She had known this was how it would be – get her to come back with promises of acceptance, offer her love and support, and then pawn her abilities off to the worthiest cause. She was nothing more than a tool. Her anger quickly turned to sorrow and loneliness. Had it all been a ploy? Then, her uncle spoke:
"No, Gandalf! I know Anariel's gifts could help, but it is too dangerous! I have just got her back. I am not going to let her go just because she might possibly be needed. That is my final word."
Anariel felt her heart warm at these words. At least her uncle was against this scheme. He did not see her as an asset or merely someone good to have around in case of emergency. She turned and continued down the hall. She didn't know what would come of that discussion, but she did know that she wouldn't go without a fight. She wanted to help the Ring-Bearer, make no mistake, but her going along on such a treacherous journey would more likely be a hindrance than a help.
She made her way to one of the many gardens in Imladris. She was supposed to meet Legolas here. He was going to help her with her archery skills . . . or rather her lack of them. She confessed herself to having horrible aim. One would be safer if she was aiming for them than not. She laughed quietly to herself. All those in Imladris know to stay far from the training grounds when Anariel was practicing with her bow – the danger was simply too great.
She entered the garden and took a deep breath. Though autumn was slipping by rapidly, the air retained its warmth in this protected valley. The colors were at their most vibrant and Anariel's hair blended in for once, instead of drawing attention to itself. As she stood under the fiery maple, the russet leaves shone just as brightly as her hair. She smiled happily. She liked to blend in once in a while. It was a nice break from the pitying glances she received on a regular basis from those in the city. She needed no man's, or elf's, pity. Save it for those who truly needed it.
He wandered aimlessly along the garden path – his mind wandering as well, reveling in the peace and tranquility that the place of his childhood gave him. His time was coming. He could feel it. Though he still felt inadequate to the role and the tasks that accompanied it, he knew that he needed to embrace his path. Excuses would not help. They would but encumber him with needless doubts and fears. He would fight and he would win. He must win.
He turned around a bend in the path and stopped, struck by the sight that met him.
The strange woman sat under the glowing branches of a large maple. She was humming gently to herself as she wove the fallen leaves into a circlet. Her fingers were long and slim, deftly weaving the scarlet stems. He smiled. It was such a pretty scene, made all the more comforting by the simplicity of the lady. She wore a faded blue dress and he imagined it would complement her eyes. He half hoped, half feared that she would look up at him. She did not. He continued his observance. Her hair really was a remarkable shade, brighter even than the fiery leaves she was twining together. He thought they looked dull in comparison to her tresses. For a moment, his fingers twitched and ached with the desire to run through her long, flowing hair. He reprimanded himself for such thoughts.
She looked up then, and he quickly stepped behind a tree with the silence and agility of an elf. He peered around the trunk and realized that she had looked towards another path leading to that clearing.
What was wrong with him? Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, heir of kings, had stood transfixed by this plain woman. It was not that he thought her below him or that he thought himself too good for her. No, it was that he had never behaved in this frivolous fashion ever before. Never had a woman so entranced him. He tried to clear his mind. He must get away. That was it. He was probably getting restless.
Looking around the tree, he saw his good friend Legolas approaching. He smiled. He had been patrolling the borders with the sons of Elrond and so had spent little time with Legolas. That would soon be remedied as they were to travel in the Fellowship together.
The lady sprang to her feet and ran toward Legolas, giving him a quick hug. Aragorn felt a strange feeling in his stomach when she embraced his friend, one he had never felt in his entire life. Maybe he was hungry? It was almost lunch time.
She stretched up on her toes and placed the wreath of leaves on the son of Thranduil's head. She really was very small. He almost laughed at the look on Legolas' face. It was one of disdain and laughter, humiliation and humor. The lady laughed gaily and the sound was as rain on the meadows or sun on the water. He was stricken suddenly for a moment and his vision was widened – he saw this same woman holding his hand as they walked by a mallorn tree; he saw her crying as he held her; he saw a circlet of gold sitting on her shining head as she rocked a sleeping child in her arms.
He shook his head. These visions assailed him only rarely and none of them had come to pass . . . yet. This was folly! He knew nothing about this woman, not even her name. Well, that he could remedy.
He moved silently away from the tree, back up the path he had come down. Then he turned toward the clearing and walked casually down the path, whistling an old lullaby he had heard in his youth.
As he turned the corner, both Legolas and the woman were looking at him. He felt his heart leap at the sight of her bright blue eyes fixed on his. He turned his attention to Legolas.
"Legolas, old friend, it has been awhile. I see you are making clear your rank as Prince of Mirkwood," he said, clasping his friend's shoulder and gesturing to the circlet of leaves on his head. Out of the corner of his eye he noted again how short she was. She barely reached his shoulder. An overwhelming feeling of protectiveness rolled through him, but he stubbornly fought it back.
"Well, you have been busy with patrolling the borders. But in your work you have missed out on many things." Legolas' clear eyes flickered toward the lady and a faint pink tinge graced her cheeks. "May I introduce you to Anariel, niece of Lord Elrond."
Anariel. It was a beautiful name and somehow fit her perfectly. He had begun to lose himself in her eyes, when the second half of the introduction hit him. Niece of Lord Elrond – then this was Elros' daughter? He had heard of her of course, but he had never understood, and no one had ever cared to explain, the reasons for her choice.
"My pleasure, Lady Anariel. I am called Strider the Ranger."
Her eyes lit up and he had the feeling she was laughing at him. His temper rose just slightly.
"No need to hide from me, Aragorn son of Arathorn, also called Estel, the hope of Men." Her voice was pleasant, but sad, like a song that was once alight with hope but had faded in the cold dawn of reality. It tugged on something inside of him. All he could do was look at her. "I knew your father. He was a good man. It's getting harder to remember, but I know he was always kind to me, despite some reasons he may have had to dislike me and my cousins." Her eyes were now full of laughter and mischief and he couldn't help but smile.
"Lady, what ere your deeds, I'm sure my father would have found it as difficult to dislike you as I."
He wanted to bit his tongue as he saw color flood her cheeks and her eyes widen in surprise. Legolas was holding back a smirk. When had he become so audacious? He had never said anything so bold to Arwen. What was Lady Anariel doing to him?
"Excuse me, but I recalled something I must discuss with your uncle. My lady, Legolas," he bowed politely and made his escape, before he could foolishly blurt out any more embarrassing thoughts – like how her eyes were like the sky at twilight or how her hair was like a river of living fire. He sternly reproached himself. The heir to the throne of Gondor did not behave like a fumbling school-child. He must control himself. His emotions could not be left unchecked. He was leaving soon and Lady Anariel would be staying. Soon, she would be out of his head for good. Somehow, though, he felt as though he might miss her presence there.
She watched him till he disappeared around the bend. Her insides were twisting and turning in ways she didn't know they could. He had spoken to her! He had smiled at her! She didn't think she was even worthy to have such a man look at her the way he did. His eyes were piercing, a cloudy grey like the sky before a storm. They could swallow her up and she would gladly be consumed. He was truly a noble man. She could see it in the way he carried himself – the set of his shoulders, the lift of his chin, the light in his eyes. He would be a great king of Men. She saw it. He would rise far beyond any height she could even dream of attaining, and this man and this man alone made her feel things she had never felt before – things glorious and frightening, comforting and bewildering all at once. She shook herself and looked at Legolas. He smirked at her.
"What is it?" she asked, irritated. Her eyes glowed a little more brightly.
"Aragorn is very . . . kingly, is he not?" he said slyly. Anariel hit him in the arm.
"What was that for?" he complained, even though his eyes danced with mirth.
"You know very well what it was for. He is kingly and it is fitting, for he shall be a king." She fixed Legolas with a fiery stare. "He shall be the greatest king since Elendil. And I am Anariel. Just Anariel, with no pretensions, no hopes, no dreams, nothing to lose. And you would do well to remember it."
She turned on her heel and started toward the training grounds, her hair even more brilliant in the sunlight and in her anger. Legolas sighed. That woman was aggravating sometimes. She didn't like to be belittled and she had a certain amount of pride, and yet she almost didn't have any self-respect. Her family's reaction to her choice had made her doubt herself and her worth beyond her gifts. Legolas turned to follow the small, but angry woman. He hoped Aragorn knew what he was getting into, but somehow he doubted it.
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