Hello, everyone! Once again, I have taken a frightfully long time in getting the next chapter out. I am so sorry and I have no excuse to make other than the usual 'my life is a dizzying hole of madness'. I hope that everyone is still enjoying this story and I will try for quicker updates over the summer.

I had a difficult time with this chapter and I guess you could say it is more of a 'filler' chapter than anything. I hope you enjoy it anyway and don't forget to REVIEW!!! Thanks!

Odilyn

Chapter 7

Why would anyone in their right mind want her to go with the Fellowship?

"You're crazy," Anariel said bluntly, turning toward the Istar. He didn't even blink, but his eyes twinkled mysteriously. She felt rather young and foolish under his gaze, an odd feeling.

"You are afraid?" His gruff voice asked incredulously. She went rigid and her eyes flashed furiously.

"I am not afraid to die. I am not afraid to fight. But I am no warrior. I would distract the Fellowship in a fight. The Ring-Bearer himself could be killed. I would not wish to die to no purpose." Her eyes seemed to dare Mithrandir to contradict her words.

"You would not die." Lord Elrond spoke for the first time since the conversation had begun. Anariel turned slowly toward him, her mouth slightly agape. She had thought he was on her side. He had a far-off look in his eyes.

"Uncle?" she said softly, wonderingly. His eyes refocused and they were sharper than ever. They drove into her like nails.

"You would not die, not needlessly at least." His voice was stronger, more certain. "Many things are hidden from me and not all is clear. But I have seen this – were you to accompany the Nine, you would be in no more danger of dying for no purpose than you are now and I sense, though distantly, that it would do good, of what sort I know not." His eyes took on the look of Lord Elrond, wise leader of his people, dutiful guardian of the Last Homely House. Anariel knew her uncle was still there, but what he was going to say was not what she wanted to hear. "Perhaps you should go."

Her back stiffened and her chin lifted. This was preposterous! Perhaps she wouldn't die in battle. Perhaps not. But the reason they wanted her was for her healing powers and what if they didn't understand her limitations? What she could and could not accomplish? She would be a burden – perhaps she could protect herself, but the men would feel responsible for her. They were princes, lords among men and elves. They were noble and would not leave her to fend for herself in a skirmish. Her pride rebelled at the thought of holding them back, of being watched and coddled like a child. She would not cooperate. Her feelings were in turmoil and she shook her head in an effort to clear it. Her eyes met those of Gandalf.

"Make me."

With those words, the door slammed behind her, the two wise lords still stunned by the fiery glow she had emitted in her anger. Gandalf recovered first and began to chuckle softly to himself. Elrond looked as though he didn't know whether to laugh along or be extraordinarily angry at his niece's stubbornness.

"Elrond, your niece is one of a kind, sure enough. She will come with us and we will not have to force her. Just wait and see."

And for once, Lord Elrond doubted the wizard's foresight. Though he loved Anariel dearly, he had never truly understood her. It appeared that Gandalf understood something about Anariel that he didn't. And, truly, he hoped this would prove to be another time the wizard was right.

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Hot tears streamed down Anariel's cheeks as she quickly made her way to her room. She tried to keep all her feelings at bay until she reached it, but it was vanity. Shame, anger, pride, sorrow, and . . . fear – all mingled together to create the pangs in her chest and the tears in her eyes.

Finally the door of her room appeared and she was through it in a heartbeat. She buried her head in her pillow and let the sobs overtake her. She was afraid. She was afraid. Mithrandir was right and she hated that he was. It was not pride, it was not concern for the success of the quest. It was fear, plain and simple. She was afraid to die and it shamed her. Every individual being in the Fellowship was more important than her and they were all risking their lives for the sake of Middle-earth. Could not she also?

Her sobs lessened and her soul calmed. She had to think calmly and rationally, like her uncle, and not let her feelings keep her from doing what was required of her. For, if she denied the Fellowship her aid, would she not also be denying the very reason for her choice? She had to be more like her uncle, level-headed, and push aside the hot-blooded temper that she had inherited from her father. Deep down, she knew that she had a lot to offer the Fellowship; that she could help.

She sat up and moved to her dressing table. She splashed her face with cold water and tugged her fingers through her tangled hair. She concentrated and shoved her fear deep down inside of her, along with her shame, her sorrow, her self-pity, and about half of her pride. She needed the other half to make it through a journey of this magnitude with naught but males for company.

She looked at herself in the mirror and part of her self-pity rose to the surface, but she pushed it back quickly. No more, she thought. No more would she feel sorry for herself, but she would strive to be more like the sturdy hobbits – cheerful in her self-sacrifice and mindless of self-interest. She would be like her uncle – only concerned for the well-being of Middle-earth and heedless of her own suffering. She could do it and she would. But now, it seemed apologies were in order.

Straightening her rumpled gown and smoothing down her hair, she exited her room. She was calmer and in control and she resolved to remain so. Her mind and emotions had changed drastically in the last half hour and she was slightly stunned that she had managed it. But she knew better than anyone that emotions could be controlled and reigned in, though at times it was harder than others.

She chuckled to herself. A sudden image of the expressions on the Fellowship's faces if she had one of her emotional outbursts in front of them came to her mind. She wondered how they would react to the presence of a female in their midst. It would definitely be interesting to find out.

The doors of her uncle's study appeared before her more quickly than she would have wished. She stood for a moment, staring at them apprehensively. Her pride (or at least the half she had kept) rebelled somewhat at the thought of confessing her faults, but there was no alternative. And her father had always told her that there was no shame in admitting one's shortcomings, but the shame lie rather in denying them. She knocked.

"Come in." The unreadable voice of Lord Elrond bade her enter. She held her breath and entered, eyes lowered and hands clasped before her in a sign of remorse.

Gandalf and Elrond looked with amusement on the sight of Anariel's attempts at humility. She was doing fairly well, but the rigidity of her back and slight glow to her hair told them that the fiery maiden who had slammed the door in their faces was still there. She lifted her chin.

"My lords, I was wrong to let my temper take hold, and I apologize. I did not act respectfully and I pray you to pardon me." This was said very formally, but the light in her eyes was one of sincere remorse and the kindly elf lord and the wise Istar did not hold grudges.

"Anariel, it was wrong of you but I have regained you too recently to stay angry now," her uncle said softly. She looked to Gandalf. He smiled.

"My lady, your impulsiveness is part of what makes me more sure of my idea." He winked at her and her mouth dropped open slightly. Mithrandir just winked at her. And what was he talking about? Her impulsiveness? He chuckled at her.

Anariel sank into a chair nearby and looked down at her hands in thoughtfulness. There only remained one thing to be done.

"Mithrandir, you were right," she spoke softly. His eyebrows rose, but there was gentle look on his face that encouraged her to continue. "I am afraid to die. I am. That was the main reason for my refusal. But I now see that to remain here, in relative safety and comfort when my gifts could be useful elsewhere, would not be living the life I chose for myself twelve years ago. Thus far, I have hidden from the problems that plagued Middle-earth. No more. Though the fear is still present, I will not let it dictate my actions and keep me from helping how I can. I will accompany you."

Throughout this speech, the differences between the faces of the two listeners grew. Pride was evident in both, but the sorrow grew in Lord Elrond's and the confidence grew in Gandalf's.

As Anariel spoke, her own confidence grew. This was right. This was what she had always wanted – a chance to do some lasting good for the world she loved with her whole being. Unlike her kindred, even before she gave up her immortality, she had loved Middle-earth more than was typical in the elves. She had never felt the Sea-longing or the desire to see Valinor that many felt. It pained her to the very core of her being to see the evil that was growing in her world – her sweet, beautiful Middle-earth. Now, she could help save it, albeit in a very small capacity. Even as she was speaking, and thinking of what she was saying, a new fire sprang to life within her. It was the fire of sacrifice, of love, of heroism. It was the desire to see Middle-earth purged of the foul darkness that flowed out of Mordor, no matter the personal cost. It almost consumed her.

As these feelings grew, her light shone brighter, so that the tears started in Lord Elrond's eyes. It seemed to him as if his old niece, his child of the Sun, was returned to him once more. But it faded as quickly as it started, though Anariel's feelings remained. Lord Elrond sighed. The past was long gone. Now, the future was more important. That was what they were fighting for – a free future for all the races of Middle-earth.

"Anariel, my dear niece, I respect you for your decision more than you can know." A tear sprang to his eye and he bowed his dark head over his hands. She went to him and embraced him. Mithrandir turned to a bookshelf, sensing a private moment between the two.

"Uncle, since my father's death, you have been as a father to me. I love you more than anybody. But, this must be. You've never quite understood my reasons, my feelings. But understand this – no matter the course of events to come, my love for you remains, as surely as the stars in which you heart delights shine eternally down on us every night, whether we see them or no." He embraced her tenderly, running a hand over her bright head and praying silently to the Valar that he would see her once more as she was of old – smiling, carefree, happy. He released her.

"There is much to be done then. If you are to accompany the Nine in a week's time," he said solemnly, pulling on a stern mask, but letting his love for Anariel shine in his eyes. She understood. Her calm, cool mask that she had inherited from her father, along with her fiery temper, was one of her most valuable tools. Her temper and turbulent, sometimes violent, emotions were difficult to check and it helped to cover them over, to shield them from other eyes. She understood well.

"Lady Anariel," Gandalf began. Anariel stopped him quickly.

"Mithrandir, if we are indeed to be traveling together for some span of time in the near future, I would much prefer to be addressed less formally. 'Anariel' should do quite well." She smiled brightly, placing another mask she had mastered the art of wearing on her face – joy. The sharp look on Mithrandir's face told her he was not fooled, however. But he let it be.

"As you wish. I will need to alert the Fellowship to the change of plans. Perhaps it would be best if I did so alone, Anariel," he added as she made to accompany him. "Give them some time to get used to the idea."

"Indeed," was all Anariel's response, with a small smirk. Come on, if she had to do this, she might as well get as much enjoyment out of it as she could. She sighed once more. Well, she'd best pull out her sword and start practicing. She had a feeling she would be glad of it in the near future.

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There you are! What did you think? Am I going the right direction? Please, please, PLEASE review! I love knowing what you think of my stories, even if you have something that you don't really like about it! So let me know. Thanks for reading! Now, hit the button, and my world will be complete . . .