Hello, my lovely readers!
I have (surprisingly) not died and have somehow managed (even more surprisingly) to write up and post another chapter! I can hardly believe how long this story has been in progress. Life is incredibly crazy and unfortunately updating this story has had to take a back burner to many other things. But I still intend to finish it. If any of you have been with me from the beginning, you deserve a medal! And for all of you who have discovered this story along the way, thank you for holding on, for following this story or my author page. You are the bee's knees.
I decided when I started this story that I wanted it to be primarily Book Canon. While I enjoy the movies, I belong to the "the books are the best and the movies mere shadowy adaptations" team (also known as the TBATBATMMSA Team). ;) And so I drew heavily from the chapter "A Journey in the Dark" for this chapter. That said, there may be a few things that take their influence more from the movies just for the ease of cutting material. Any descriptions or dialogue that appears familiar was borrowed from the book (or movie) and belongs to Tolkien. The world of Lord of the Rings and all characters that are not original belong to Tolkien. I am playing in the shadow of his genius.
Enjoy! And please leave a review.
They moved now with a sort of frantic energy, constantly looking behind and jumping at every howl. Anariel, as much as she was terrified of the darkness of the mines, almost longed for the relative security that they offered compared to their current exposed position, with the wolves at their heels. At least in the Mines there was the benefit (and danger) of enclosed spaces, places to hide, to run. . . if only it wasn't so dark.
She suppressed a shudder as her fear of the mines once more sank its teeth into her bones. She couldn't help it – she hated the darkness almost more than anything else. Ironic, perhaps. She smiled wryly to herself as she tugged her cloak more tightly about her shoulders. She'd given up so much light. She'd given up so much for. . . well. Her reasons were still kept close. She knew that she had tried to explain to her family, to her uncle. But he had never really given her much of a chance to fully open up, to bare her soul. So many wondered. Why would she do it? Why give up the immortality that was the designated feature of her race? Why give up the light, the sensations, the knowledge, the length of days, the hope of Valinor? She shook her head as every question, accusation, rumor, and falsehood played through her mind. She knew though. She knew her own mind and heart. She had answers to all of them, whether good or not, wise or not. She still believed in her choice. She held it close to her heart, nurtured and sheltered as a weak flame, sometimes only an ember, that she protected from the harsh winds and cold without. Nurtured it, shielded it. For now. Hoping against hope that it would one day burst back into the flame it had been when she first made that fated decision. . .
And even now, she felt it flicker and brighten as she gazed at the bent head in front of her. She could imagine his grey eyes, keen and deep and yet ever gentle when turned towards her, flicking across the path, perceiving every bent blade of grass or impression left in soft earth. The eyes of a Ranger. The eyes of a King. Even as she stared at him, he turned, a softening taking over his entire face. The slightest of smiles and the clouds seemed to part and he no longer looked ragged and worn but kingly and powerful with a hidden strength that made her heart pick up its rhythm. The moment passed as a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds on a rainy day and turning all to silver. She turned her eyes back to the path. The path that was drawing them nearer and nearer to the darkness.
Gimli's voice called her out of her thoughts and she saw that he was standing a short distance ahead of the group on a small knoll, pointing to the right with a strange light in his eyes. As the Company straggled up the knoll, they saw a channel open before them, with a bare trickle of water flowing along its stones. A narrow path ran along the near side. Gandalf was pleased with this sight, as a sign they were on the right path. But they still had far to go. And it was getting late.
The darkness fell gradually, like a cloak of night, as they neared the great walls. The stream had been dammed, creating a large still pool of water by the cliff face. They skirted its edge as the night fully descended, a bright moon hanging overhead and casting silver ripples on the water. Anariel was glad of the light, even as her pragmatic side knew that it would lend speed to any pursuers just as it eased their own path. But she let it calm her and she cast her eyes on the dimly glowing head of Legolas as he strode ahead of her. She felt not a twinge of jealousy. Her own hair and skin remained dull and flat in comparison, but she smiled as she looked at her friend's shining head. She felt a great warmth in her chest, almost as if that small flame, the belief in the rightness of her choice, flared and grew stronger. She didn't envy him any more. It was a blessing that she had willfully forgone in order to take up a new, different role, to gain different blessings, many of which had yet to see fruition. And as she looked at Legolas in the moonlight, she felt a great weight removed. The weight of the remaining regret, the remaining longing and jealousy and bitterness. She knew that there would likely always be a streak of regret, a sliver of longing that would exist in her innermost self. But the weight of it – the sheer, burdensome, leaden weight of it – was gone. And even as they neared the great, shining holly trees that flanked a bare expanse of rock where she knew the gates stood, she let out a breath of relief that had nothing to do with reaching them at last. It was a relief at finally letting go of something that had been sucking at her soul for far, far too long.
Anariel felt a twinge of guilt at her relief as she saw Sam's downtrodden face. They would have to part with their steadfast, four-footed companion. The mines, as Aragorn said, were no place for a pony.
No place for anyone really, Anariel thought to herself as she moved closer to the downcast hobbit.
"I assure you, Sam, he has a much better chance at surviving out here than in the mines. There will be places where he will simply not be able to go and then the parting would be made bitter indeed for it would spell certain doom to our friend." Anariel spoke softly, her hand resting on Sam's shoulder as he gently stroked Bill's nose. He nodded and brushed a hand roughly across his face. Aragorn began sifting through the packs, even as he appeared to be trying not to look at Anariel's face. She frowned slightly. That was not like him.
"I know that, Miss Anariel," Sam spoke softly and she turned her attention back to her companion. "I know it. Doesn't make it easier now, does it? And with all those nasty wolves and the darkness. . ." He buried his head in Sam's neck.
Anariel smiled a soft, sad smile at the sight and gently placed one hand on Sam's curly head and the other on Bill's soft nose. She bent her head and closed her eyes, whispering soft words in an ancient tongue. It was so soft and flowing that it almost sounded like singing, but a song so sad (Sam always said afterwards) that it would break your heart before healing it again. Her hands glowed very slightly as Sam lifted wide, tear-filled eyes towards her. The glow faded as quickly as it had arisen and, if Sam had not been paying very close attention, he would have almost thought it was a trick of the moonlight. But the glow was too warm, too golden for that.
She slumped just slightly against Bill's neck and her eyes fluttered open.
"What was that?" Sam whispered.
"A blessing. As poor and weak as it might be, I blessed the bond between you. You both have as good a chance as any of seeing each other again. It is the best I can do in these dark days."
Sam straightened up and gave her a firm nod and a wobbly smile. And then he continued organizing their packs. Anariel found that Aragorn was still steadfastly avoiding her gaze, choosing rather to stare blankly at the still water.
Anariel pulled her concerned gaze from Aragorn's still form and turned to see what was holding up their progress. The doors were still closed shut, the shimmering strands of ithildin twinkling mockingly at a hunched Gandalf, muttering to himself and tapping his staff now and then against the stubbornly shut gates. Anariel shook her head – the wizard would figure it out without her interference. She wasn't keen on riddles but she knew that Gandalf's mind was a labyrinth of information, storing centuries upon centuries of knowledge. He had the answer. He just had to find it. She moved to stand by Frodo who, like Aragorn, was also looking at the water, but with more fear than contemplation.
"I will not ask you if you are well, for I know that you will bend the truth out of courtesy," she said softly as Frodo turned at her approach. A smile tugged at his lips. "And I know that any attempt to lighten your burden by treating it as less heavy than it is would be no comfort. So all I can say is this – trust Gandalf. Trust Aragorn. Trust the council's decision to send this company with you on this quest. You have a burden and a duty that is all your own and none can take it from you. But there are things that we can do to help you. And you must trust that we see this task as an honor and no burden."
She spoke quietly, lest her voice carry over the water and against the stones. She didn't quite know what led her to offer this speech, only that seeing Frodo's forlorn posture and solitary stance tugged at her heart. She knew what it was to have to make a decision, to voluntarily carry a burden, to feel inadequate. But she did not know what it was like to have his burden. And she did know that when those who attempted comfort pretended to know exactly what you felt, it was not helpful. It was not needed. And it pulled away any hope of the comfort that was being attempted. When someone has their own peculiar burden, their own peculiar trouble, the primary comfort is in knowing that you are not alone. That if you stumble, there will be someone to help you up. That if you veer to the right or to the left, there is someone to pull you back to the path. That if you fall into darkness, there are friends who will bring you light. If she had any light left, any at all, she wanted Frodo to have it.
Frodo straightened his shoulders slowly as she talked and he turned his eyes towards hers, awe and hope and relief and thanks shining in their depths. She gave him a half-smile and he returned it. But a sudden splash caused them both to jump slightly and look back towards the pool. Boromir had tossed in a stone and the ripples formed rings that slowly spread wider and wider.
The fear flickered back to life in Frodo's eyes.
"Why did you do that, Boromir?" said Frodo. "I am afraid of this pool and do not think it should be disturbed!" Anariel shot Boromir a reproachful look and he had the grace to look slightly abashed.
Suddenly, Gandalf gave a triumphant cry.
And with a great groaning sound the doors began to swing outwards until they stood open against the wall and a wide dark opening yawned before them, beckoning them forward even as every instinct told them to flee in the opposite direction. Anariel felt eyes on her and turned to see Aragorn finally fixing his eyes on hers. And for one moment, she thought she saw a hurricane of emotion brewing in those grey eyes – fear, longing, righteous anger, determination, terror – before iron shutters fell and they became still and cool, like the surface of the pond behind them. But she had, for an instant, seen what lie beneath. Was it an omen? She shook herself and turned back to the darkness ahead.
"You see, it was simple in the end," Gandalf was saying. "Merry was the closest to the correct answer – it is almost a childish riddle, from a friendlier and less suspicious time."
Gandalf strode forward, showing no hesitation in entering the yawning blackness.
But as he set his foot on the lowest step, the stillness erupted into complete chaos. Frodo gave a great cry as he was flung backwards. Bill gave a wild neigh and went galloping away back up the path into the dark night. Sam at first made to go after him, but hearing the cries of his master he turned back as the rest of the group spun around. The waters of the lake were seething as if an entire den of vipers were writhing up from its depths.
One of the green, luminous tentacles had Frodo by the ankle and Sam was on his knees, hacking at it with a knife before any of them could make a move to intervene. The arm suddenly let go, but before Sam could pull Frodo to his feet, twenty other arms came writhing out of the water.
"Quick! Quick! Up the stairs!" shouted Gandalf as he herded the other hobbits into the entryway. The rest of them sprang into action. Aragorn and Boromir leapt in front of Sam and Frodo, slicing at tentacles left and right with their swords until their blades were mere blurs of silver. Legolas stood to the side, drawing arrow after arrow to take care of any tentacles not maimed by the two great swordsmen. And Gimli rushed in to lift Frodo and Sam to their feet, pushing them back through the gates. Anariel just tried to stay out of the way. But she did not follow Ganalf – she waited inside the gates, watching closely for any weakness or failure or injury, her hand gripping her sword-hilt.
Gimli ushered Frodo and Sam through the gates and the others were right behind. They were just in time. The seething tentacles that remained crawled and clawed their way across the narrow shore and gripped the doors on either side of the gate. With a shuddering, thudding echo the gates were torn and slammed down. As the light was lost, Anariel was thrown to the ground, a searing, razor-sharp pain slicing through her leg. She cried out in pain before the heavy silence fell, the only sound the heavy breathing of ten souls.
She couldn't see a thing as she lay on the hard ground, but she slowly slid her hand down her leg. From what she could tell, a large, sharp rock must have knocked into her leg and sliced into her shin. She could feel a great deal of wetness on her leg. She hoped there was nothing embedded in it.
"Anariel?! Anariel!" A voice tore through the silence. She recognized his voice and in the darkness she was struck by the pure fear she heard. She wondered what was showing in his eyes now.
A faint light began to glow from the tip of Gandalf's staff and before Anariel could even take in the dirt-smeared faces and wide-eyes of her companions, Aragorn was at her side, inspecting her leg closely and tearing back the ripped strips of her leggings to expose the wound. She felt the heat creep into her cheeks. She hoped her face was as dirty as Sam's.
She let out a gasp as Aragorn prodded a tender spot where the rock had cut particularly deep. He cast a concerned gaze up at Gandalf and Gandalf slowly shook his head.
"Sam, do you have the pack with the athelas and bandages?" Aragorn asked quietly, his brow furrowed and sadness shining in his eyes. Sam started hurriedly rummaging through his pack. Legolas had his bow drawn and was eyeing the darkness warily. Boromir looked confused.
"Can you not heal your own leg? Is that not why we brought you along on this dangerous mission?" he asked.
Anariel took a shaky breath as Aragorn chewed some dried athelas and then gingerly pressed it into her open wound. She knew that Boromir did not mean to sound accusing. He simply did not understand. But it was hard enough to face the reality without having to explain it. She took another deep breath and Aragorn began quickly tying strips of cloth around her calf.
"I have healing powers, Boromir. Yes. You are correct in saying that this is the primary reason that I was asked to accompany the Fellowship. But. . ." she closed her eyes as Aragorn finished off the knot and offered her his hands. She slipped both of her hands into his and felt her heart leap as she felt his smooth calluses and large hands envelop hers. He swiftly but gently pulled her to her feet and she held on to his strong forearms for a moment, his hands on her elbows. She looked back at Boromir.
"But, there is always a price for special powers, Boromir. "Magic," you might call it, never comes free. There is a cost. For me that cost is two-fold. Every act of healing takes energy, nearly the same amount of energy that the wound would require to heal naturally, and I must re-live the pain of the original injury. Secondly, I cannot heal myself without expending nearly three-times that amount of energy all at once. If I healed this injury, I would probably be unconscious for the next few hours."
She took a cautious step forward and inhaled sharply as pain lanced up her leg. But she did her best to keep her face passive and even flashed a small smile at Boromir's dumbfounded expression.
"So you see, I am not all-powerful. But I put my services at the feet of the Fellowship. I will help where I can. And for now, I do not think this scrape will keep us from keeping the pace that Gandalf desires." She met Gandalf's knowing gaze and flashed him a pleading look. He understood.
"Yes. We must move onward. It is a long journey to the other side and we must pass swiftly and undetected. Try not to make any unnecessary noise or attract any attention."
Boromir tore his stunned eyes away from Anariel and moved to follow the wizard. As the rest of the company fell in, Aragorn still held on to her elbows, his eyes piercing deeply into hers. She felt like he was trying read her soul. Or tell her something. But the shutters were still nearly all the way down, only thin shafts of light slipping through the cracks. She stared back. She had no idea what her eyes were showing to him. But she knew what she felt, and she was not strong enough at the moment to pull down her own shutters. Her hands tightened on his arms and she could feel the muscles of his forearms tense beneath her fingertips. She thought for a moment that she felt his thumbs rubbing across the inside of her elbows, but then his hands were gone and his eyes had left her and he gestured for her to move in front of him.
She took a tentative step forward, eyes fixed on Legolas's back. Pain went running up her leg, but it was dulled by the athelas that was already at work. She only hoped it wouldn't become infected. She clenched her jaw and took another step, following the wizard deeper into the mines.
All of Aragorn's muscles were tense and aching. He had been strung as tight as a bowstring for hours now, his eyes trained on Anariel's feet as they moved steadily in front of him. He was watching for even the slightest stumble, the slightest sign of fatigue or pain, or the mere suggestion that she might slip and fall into the vast chasm that had opened up to their left about an hour ago. He felt a small bead of cold sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He had failed her. He would be damned if he failed her again.
He could still hear her cry of pain. It echoed in his mind, again and again. He had been trying to. . . not ignore her, exactly. But to pay her less overt attention. It was ridiculous, really. A foolish notion. She drew him like nothing and no one ever had. She was flame and he was drawn into her brightness and warmth like a starving man lost in the wilderness is drawn to the glow of a warm campfire and the promise of food and shelter. He had been wandering for most of his life. And with her, he felt like he'd found home at last.
But now was the most foolish time to fall . . . in love. His mind betrayed him and the word slipped past his defenses. As soon as it did, his eyes jerked up from her feet and trailed up to her bright head of riotous curls tumbling down her back like a fiery waterfall in the flickering torchlight. Her head turned as she glanced warily at the chasm beside them and he caught the look of pain that flashed through her eyes, though her face remained still. His heart clenched. Love. Oh, how he had fought against letting that word through. He had pulled down all of his defenses. He had tried not to pay as much attention to her, even as she made herself more and more winsome and kind and good. Her comfort of Sam, her words to Frodo, how she had not taken herself completely out of danger but lingered on the edges in case she was needed. She was stitching herself into his soul. And he didn't think she even knew it.
He had lost control when he heard her cry out in the darkness. He hadn't known what to think or where she was and the loss of control terrified him. When he saw her leg covered in blood, he thought his heart had stopped completely. But she was so brave and wise and was more concerned about the limits of her ability to help them than she was about her own injury. She was worried about holding them back, about the success of their mission. And he could not resist holding her, longer than he perhaps should have.
He was still hiding from her. He could feel his walls holding strong, but she could not know that she had already slipped in the secret gate in the back. Behind the walled fortress of his emotions, the battle was already nearly over, the city surrendered. And at the look in her eyes, in her face, the first swing of the battering ram collided with his carefully constructed façade of passivity. Her eyes were blazing with feeling, with pain and sorrow, but also with life and hope and some burning passion that he felt strike into his very core. Her hands tightened on his arms and he couldn't help but feel her, resisting the temptation to pull her to his chest and, this time, never let go. His resistance was quickly becoming a farce. Her blazing eyes had set his soul on fire. He wanted her. He needed her. He . . . loved her.
And as his eyes again returned to the steady onward march of her feet, once again focusing on noticing any inconsistency, he acknowledged that he had been conquered. She had won. And she likely didn't even know it. Could she know it? He had determined that this was not the time or the place. But what if the time and the place existed in a future that would never be? Did they not only possess the present? Should he continue to withhold the feelings from her, hide his true desires, until the appropriate time if the appropriate time might never come?
And with these troubling thoughts, the Company moved deeper and deeper into the Mines, like wraiths in the darkness, no one hearing or noticing the small shadow that haunted their steps.
A/N: Please leave a review and let me know what you think! Love you all!