Chapter 15: Under Stone

Something had shifted. Something had changed. In the darkness of the mines, in the deep, fathomless, never-ending night under the earth, things were different now. Anariel not only felt a renewed lightness under her skin, deep in her heart, but the air itself didn't seem so heavy and oppressive. Such a simple thing. Words exchanged during the night watches. A hand to hold. Keen, grey eyes to gaze into…she shook herself as she realized she was staring vacantly at the hard tack she held in her hand.

The "morning" had arrived after the most peaceful night's sleep she'd had for a while. Gandalf still sat, as frozen as a stone, puffing away on his pipe and furrowing his beetled brow as he stared down the three stone archways. While she was confident that he would recall the way at some point, Anariel couldn't help but hope it would be soon, and they could resume their journey. While she felt lighter and more hopeful now, she was yet ready to be done with their time in Moria. She shifted her position and stretched her leg gingerly. She winced as her bandage pulled at dried blood, but it wasn't as searing a pain as before. She thought for a moment, contemplating whether it was worth healing it the rest of the way, weighing the loss of energy against the loss of movement. This was one of the times she most hated the limitations of her gift—when it became a matter of tactics and strategy, the weighing of pros and cons, of reward and risk. Yet even worse times could come, she knew. With what awaited them along the road, a far worse choice would come. She was sure of it. How could it not?

"How are you today, Miss Anariel?" A lilting voice, yet with a serious edge to it, sounded at the same time a curly head popped around her left elbow. Merry smiled but shot a sharp look down towards her injured leg. The next moment, a second curly head appeared on her right.

"Yes, no lies today, if you please. No evasions, maneuvers, or diversions!" Pippin chimed in gleefully, sitting himself on the rock beside her and swinging his legs slightly. He held a slice of bacon in one hand and an apple in the other, which likely accounted for his cheery mood (well, cheerier than usual).

Anariel huffed out a light laugh. Hobbits…how they could stay so light in the depth of this darkness truly did amaze her.

"I am well. Honestly, you two! Much rested and improved since last night…that is, assuming it was night when we last spoke," she answered with a bit of a wry grin. Merry shrugged as if to say that her guess was as good as his. Pippin nodded as he chewed his bacon. "In fact," Anariel continued, "I may be even better in a few minutes. I just…" she paused as she turned to scan the group.

She let out a sudden breath of air as his eyes crashed into hers. Drawn inexorably, as if he'd sensed she was looking for him. Before she could get completely lost, she caught herself. She did have a reason for looking for him after all…She smiled slightly and tipped her head, hoping he'd read her request.

He did. In the blink of an eye it seemed, he was before her, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Not that she was looking at them…not at all. Really. Such a ridiculous thought. Oh, and now that smile was growing. Oh dear…

The sharp stab of an elbow in her ribs made her jump and glare at Merry as he barely contained his laughter.

"You were saying something about your leg…" he said, ironically. She rolled her eyes just slightly and took a breath to keep her voice from coming out a bit snappish, but before she could say anything at all, her breath was stolen once more. At the mention of her leg, Aragorn had immediately dropped to a knee before her, one gentle hand cradling her calf while with the other he ran his fingers along the bandages. Fire blazed across her cheeks. Anariel knew that her face was scarlet, and she tried desperately to control the frantic beating of her heart and the sudden goosebumps that erupted across her skin.

"Are you in more pain, my lady? I do have some more athelas, though we should use it but sparingly…" His brow was creased, and Anariel noticed with some discomfort that he had called her "my lady" again…though she couldn't help but wonder if it meant something a little more to him than just an honorific? And it wasn't as though he could use the name he'd given her last night in front of the hobbits. That was too personal. Private. Just for them…she shook herself. This was not the time.

"No…no! No-nothing like that," she said, cursing her slight stutter. Now even Pippin was sniggering as he chomped into his apple, eyes bright and curious. "I was simply considering that it may be time to heal it completely, and I wanted to get your more knowledgeable opinion as a healer before doing so."

There. That had come out coherently. Nearly eloquent, even! And if her voice was still a bit on the breathy side, her cheeks still rosy, well you couldn't blame her. Not when she could still feel his warm, callused fingertips softly holding her ankle, nor when his piercing eyes held hers irresistibly.

"I'm sure that you would be a much better judge of the wisdom of such an action than I would be. While I have healing skill, I am yet unfamiliar with the exact limitations of your gift, and what the price of healing your wound now would be," he replied with a calm, sure voice.

He dropped his eyes to her leg and began slowly unwinding the bandages. He frowned as the wound became visible, his brows drawing together in concentration. Anariel winced as the last of the bandage was pulled away. The cut was wide and a bit deeper than Anariel had thought, though not as deep as she'd feared. The skin around the gash was slightly pink and very tender, though she'd guess that it wasn't quite infected though it could be on the way to it. A wave of frustration ran through her—frustration at her own inadequacies. Why hadn't she studied more of the healing arts? In all her centuries, she'd treated her powers as a given, with no need of honing them or adding to them the knowledge of basic skills. You waste so much time when you think you'll have eternity. And now, now, there was never enough…

"Anariel," Aragorn said firmly. She realized she'd once again drifted off, her mind traveling rapidly down far off paths. She shook her head slightly. "Anariel, if you can do it without too much of a strain, I'd recommend it. Your wound has healed well so far, but I worry that there is a chance of infection. It could go either way, but in any case, it will slow you down and be a liability in the event of any need for sudden movement." He looked down at the angry wound once more. "Such is my advice, poor as it may be with my limited understanding."

Anariel slowly reached a hand down to cover his where it rested on her knee. He twitched slightly in surprise, and she wondered if he'd even realized that he'd placed it there. But he relaxed instantly and gave her a small smile and a nod. Then he rose from his kneeling position and took a seat on a boulder across from her, eyes still fixed on her face. She took a deep breath.

"Very well then. Now's as good a time as ever, since Gandalf's still determining our next move. Well then…" Anariel squared her shoulders and shifted off of the rock she was on to sit on the ground so that the rock was at her back. She was likely to pass out after expending the energy necessary to heal the wound completely, so it was best to be as close to the ground as possible. When she explained this, Merry and Pippin were quick to move as well to sit on either side of her.

"This way, we can catch you if you fall over!" Pippin said stoutly, his bright grin bringing out a reflection of it on her own face.

All of this movement and conversation had apparently attracted the attention of some of the others of their company. Legolas and Gimli were on watch further away, but Boromir, Frodo, and Sam soon drifted over, varying degrees of curiosity showing plainly on their faces. Boromir clearly tried to reign his in, but to no avail.

"What's going on over here, Merry? Pip? Are you annoying Miss Anariel again?" Sam asked rather gruffly, though his eyes twinkled. Frodo shook his head at Sam's question, but also tipped his head towards Anariel, raising an eyebrow. Anariel felt a sudden onslaught of nerves at receiving so much attention.

"I was just going to…well, that is to say, I think it would be wise to take care of this leg wound now that it's healed part way," she forced the words out in a bit of a rush. Now that she'd decided what to do, she'd rather just get on with it. Ideally, without such an audience. But the longer she waited, the tighter her nerves were drawn.

"And by 'take care of,' I'm supposing you mean to use your powers to heal it?" Frodo asked softly, his inquisitive look fading to mix with such a look of compassion and understanding that it almost made Anariel want to weep. Sam's eyes widened at the mention of her powers, and even Boromir didn't even try to hide his interest anymore.

"Yes," Anariel responded. "And the longer I wait, the more likely it is that I'll lose my nerve. While I did used to heal myself of minor injuries while I lived alone for those fifteen years, this is by far the worst of my own injuries I've attempted to heal. I'm not sure how much it will take, exactly…" Even as she spoke she realized that she was more worried than she'd even thought she was. And the more she talked, the more she delayed, the more she worked herself up to wondering if it was even worth it at all. The pain wasn't too bad after all. She'd experienced worse. Maybe it wouldn't become infected…

A hand fell onto her shoulder, kindly but with weight to it. She looked up into Frodo's bright blue eyes, filled with sympathy.

"Don't second guess yourself. Do it," he said firmly. "You know your own strengths. Deep down, you know you need to do this."

And she did.

So, Anariel nodded once, took a deep breath, and leaned forward slightly to rest a hand on either side of the wound on her lower leg. She closed her eyes and followed the dim, golden thread that always had rested inside of her. It started somewhere in the region of her heart, but as she followed it, it reached even deeper inside of herself, somewhere that seemed to be beyond her physical body. As she followed the glowing thread deeper, deeper, it grew brighter and brighter as it led her towards that familiar yet terrible place that was filled with light and fire and flame. The burning core of her very being where the only remaining vestiges of her immortal life still lingered—the scorching gift of the Valar, meant to heal not hurt. Even as it almost terrified her to see this swirling, golden torrent of healing power blazing deep within her, it also brought comfort. It was still there. She was not forsaken. She still had something important to give…

And as this thought crossed her mind, she was fully there, embraced by the flame and the burning. She reached out with her mind, pictured her hands reaching into that blazing fire, cupping it gently as if it were streams of water, directing it towards her wound, towards the torn flesh, willing it to knit skin and mend muscle. The burning increased. She wasn't just on fire—she was fire. Every cell in her body was ablaze. Agony. Pure, coursing agony ripped through her, concentrated in her leg. It felt like it was being torn in two or being completely unmade, piece by piece. Pain was everything. Pain was her beginning and middle and end. It would never end, and she would be lost forever in this eternal torment…

And then it was over. As suddenly as the pain had taken hold, it was gone. For a split second, everything was stone cold. As if a blanket made of pure ice had been dropped over her flesh, her spirit, her soul. Not even an ember sparked in the darkness.

And she knew no more.

When Anariel awaked, she was disoriented. And for a moment, just a moment, she imagined she was back in her room at Rivendell, with the singing of the elves floating on a breeze outside her window and the warmth of the sun on her face. It only took a second for her to feel the cold stone at her back, feel the sharp bone of the shoulder that her head rested on, and realize that the warmth on her face was of a soft, wet cloth and the singing was Legolas, humming an ancient Sindarin lullaby. Even as these facts became clear in her mind, she still reveled in the momentary peace she felt. A leaden weight was in all of her limbs. Her eyelids felt as heavy as mountains, and she wondered if she'd even be able to lift her head. But there was no pain in her leg. And her heart beat steady and sure.

Other sounds began to trickle into her ears. She could hear the soft murmur of voices. That was Aragorn and Gandalf, speaking further off. And then Frodo and Sam, closer. Gimli's gruff voice made some comment that received a low chuckle in response from Boromir. And then Merry's voice, loudest of all, because it was right above her ear. It must belong to the shoulder she was resting on…

Finally, she opened her eyes. And for once she was grateful for the darkness. Even the dim light cast by the fire, torches, and Gandalf's staff stabbed her eyes like spears. She winced slightly but forced her eyes to remain open. Legolas' singing stopped, and his face swam into view, glowing softly like moonlight trapped underground. He smiled.

"Good morning, my friend. Have a good rest?" he said as his smile shifted into a smirk. Anariel groaned as she tried to lift her head from its resting place on Merry's shoulder. "Don't move too fast, Anariel," Legolas said as he crouched closer, his hands reaching for her elbows.

"You worry too much, Lad. I'm just fine," she said stubbornly, though her words were belied by the way she swayed suddenly as she tried to sit upright. Merry gripped her hand tightly and frowned at her. "Please, help me up, you two."

Between Legolas and Merry, Anariel was soon on her feet, though her limbs felt as weak as a new lamb's. And she suddenly second guessed her decision. Who knew what still awaited them in the Mines? What dangers, what foes…she'd only be a liability in her current condition. She could feel the panic start to take hold, even as her legs began to shake in their effort to hold her upright.

Legolas appeared in front of her once more, hands gripping her shoulders. He leaned over her and stared directly into her eyes with his piercing blue gaze.

"Stop it, Anariel. Stop it now. You made the right decision. I can feel that we have a slight reprieve—not much, perhaps, but enough. You will regain your strength soon enough, before we have need of it. You made the right choice," he said firmly.

Anariel gazed at him wonderingly.

"How did you—"

"—know that you were on the precipice of panicking? Lucky guess." Legolas rolled his eyes slightly as he let go of her shoulders and stepped back. She swayed a moment, but Merry's firm presence at her side, his arms holding onto her, kept her steady. Legolas continued, "Really, old friend, every thought you have was writ plainly across your face as if you'd spoken aloud. You forget I've known you my whole life."

"You really should know better than to bring up a lady's age, Lad," Anariel huffed as she tentatively took a step forward. She was encouraged to find that her legs had lessened their trembling. She still felt shockingly weak, but it wasn't such a leaden weight as before. She rather thought she'd be up to continuing, slowly of course, and with plenty of stops. But she may not hold them back quite so much…

"What was that glowing thing you did?" The question came suddenly, and Anariel huffed out a soft laugh as Sam turned bright red and looked as if he wished he could snatch back his words from the air. Anariel placed a hand on Merry's shoulder and took a few more tentative steps forward.

"I'm not entirely sure I can answer your question, Samwise. All I can say is that my healing power has always felt to me like fire, deep down somewhere. And if I knew exactly why it was so, I would be far, far wiser than I am," she said gently, smiling at him as he nodded at her words.

"I have made up my mind," Gandalf's gruff voice broke the momentary silence that had fallen. "We shall take the right-hand passage, for the air is less foul that way. And it is time we began our upward path once more. Let us move on. Gather your things. Anariel—a word?"

Anariel turned back from shuffling towards her pack to raise an eyebrow at Gandalf's request. What could he want with her? Surely…he wasn't worried she'd hold them up?

While the others began to break camp, Gandalf appeared at her side and took her arm, leading her a bit away from the others to give them some privacy even from Pippin's curious ears. Anariel let out a slight sigh of relief when Gandalf led her to a rock she could sit on. And if she let herself drop down a little more heavily than usual, he didn't say anything about it.

"You perhaps wonder why I wished to speak to you," Gandalf began, leaning against his staff and staring at her intently. But there was a warmth in his gaze that kept it from being oppressive. "You need not worry overmuch, dear one. I would echo Legolas' words to you from before—do not doubt your decision. It was a difficult choice, but well made. Even I know not what may await us before our path brings us out into the daylight once more. A great darkness continues to grow in my mind, and our path is veiled to me. I have a foreboding…one that I wish not to burden the others with."

"Yet you do not mind burdening me?" Anariel broke in as Gandalf's words began to worry her. He couldn't mean what she thought he might. He couldn't.

"My dear, you are strong in ways you can scarce imagine. Perhaps not physically," he smiled wryly. "But there are deeper strengths than mere brawn. You have a strength of spirit that has already been of priceless value to this quest, and I know that you have yet larger roles to play. As have we all. But mine is hid from me as of late. And regardless of the darkness of the path before our feet, I could not let us continue without saying these words to you: you must stop doubting. Do not doubt your own heart. And do not doubt his."

Anariel's eyes widened, and she could feel her nails digging into her palms from where her hands were clenching tight. Gandalf's eyes twinkled brightly, and he was smiling kindly at her, as if he could see every one of her muddled, racing thoughts. He couldn't really mean that, could he?

"But, Gandalf, you can't mean—" she began. But he waved his staff impatiently in front of her face.

"Yes, I can mean. You are prudent and wise, daughter of Elros. But it is high time you ceased fearing to embrace the full repercussions of your choice. You have a great deal of love in that now-mortal heart of yours. And it is not just anyone who would be worthy of it. Worthy of you. And I could say the same for him. There is something that is right about the two of you, and though I know you won't heed my words now, I say them anyway. That they may, in time, bear some kind of fruit."

Gandalf drew back from her and headed towards one of the yawning archways, leaving her stunned and silent. The others were nearly done packing up their small camp. She didn't think she could move right away. She was reeling with Gandalf's words. He was right about one thing at least. She couldn't heed his words right now—how could she? She'd already resigned herself to holding her feelings close and hidden, deep down in that same place within her where her powers resided, warm and secret. She had already admitted to herself that she was in love with him. With this king among men who set her flesh and spirit aflame with his mere presence. But to think that it could lead anywhere…that it could be reciprocated…that there could, one day, be some kind of future for…

No.

No.

This quest was too perilous and too important. There were too many other things warring for attention—survival, victory, and so many steps between the two. And Gandalf's own fate shrouded in darkness. How could he encourage this now, of all times? How could he?

In the midst of her swirling thoughts, she was dimly aware of someone stopping before her. And then the slight clearing of a throat pulled her out of the maelstrom of emotion and confusion. She looked up and met his eyes. He smiled—a small, but warm smile that crinkled the corners of his grey eyes. And suddenly she'd never felt smaller, dirtier, more insignificant than she did in that moment. She probably looked a complete fright. Nervously (she was the most nervous she'd ever been in his presence), she dropped her eyes from his, and her fingers fumbled with her hair, trying to wrangle it into some kind of braid.

She was startled from her efforts by the warmth of his hands grasping hers as they tangled fruitlessly in her riotous curls. She froze and looked up once again. He was kneeling before her once more, and she suddenly felt like she couldn't breathe. Who was she to have this king kneel before her with such kindness and humility and care shining in his eyes?

"You are well?" Aragorn's deep voice washed over her, and she suddenly just wanted to close her eyes and hear him talk to her. Far away from here. In a warm room somewhere, safe and sunlit, with just them and life and love and the promise of tomorrow and his voice washing over her…but he went on. "I am sorry to have left you before you woke. Gandalf was desirous of counsel. But I'm sure I couldn't have left you with a fiercer protector than Meriadoc Brandybuck."

As he spoke, he had pulled her hands away from her hair and was deftly braiding it himself, pulling the tangles over her shoulder and swiftly managing to make order out of her chaos. She couldn't help but relax, her mind calming and her worry over Gandalf's words fading into the background as she just listened to his voice and, for one weak moment, let him take care of her as she reveled in his presence.

"But I did not hear an answer—you are well?" Aragorn asked, as he quickly tied off the braid and reached for her hands. Anariel cleared her throat, which suddenly felt dry and tight.

"Yes. Weak still from the energy I used, but I will be well. I don't feel that it will take long for that energy to be restored, though I suppose I worry that I will keep us from the pace that Gandalf and the rest would perhaps prefer," she answered honestly.

Aragorn smiled once more. He seemed to be doing that more now than before they entered the Mines…and he grasped her hands firmly and lifted her to her feet. She gripped his forearms tightly as she waited for the lightheadedness, but it didn't come. Her feet already felt more firm beneath her.

"It will, perhaps, be a slower pace than that preferred by the long-legged among us. But between just you and me," here he leaned a bit closer, and Anariel's breath caught in her throat as she had to tip her head back to see his face "I think the dwarf and hobbits may just silently bless you out of gratitude for the slower pace."

Anariel let out a startled laugh and without a thought dropped her forehead to his chest. She felt his fingers tighten on her arms, and she was flooded with the sudden sense that this was exactly how the world was meant to be. With her in his arms, by his side, close to him. Belonging to him.

Was this what Gandalf meant?

She abruptly drew herself upright once more, momentarily thankful for her short height. It meant she could avoid his gaze easily because her eyes were in line with his shoulders…not that those were any less distracting, really…

"We should get going, should we not?" she asked. "The others are ready to move on, I believe."

If she hadn't been standing so close, she may have missed the soft sigh that escaped his lips. But as it was, she felt it brush the crown of her head like the slightest breath of the first spring breeze. He eased her back from him slightly and ran his eyes across her face. She couldn't help but do the same, despite the faint blush she felt warm her cheeks. His was her favorite face, after all. But then he gave her a single nod, and they turned to slowly join the others, one of his hands still firm on her elbow to ensure she kept her feet.

Anariel was prepared to fall to the back of the company once more, but Gandalf called out to her as soon as she and Aragorn reached them.

"Anariel, you must join me at the front. That way we can set an appropriate pace—not too slow, mind you, but not so fast that you tire too quickly."

And so Anariel joined Gandalf as he led the way into the darkness lying beyond the cavernous archway. She felt Merry and Pippin follow close behind.

"Don't worry! We'll make sure you don't trip or fall down one of those terrible cliffs or anything!" Pippin said cheerily. Merry moved up by her side and nudged her elbow slightly.

"Don't mind Pip. He means well but isn't always tactful. He is right though. Let us know if you need any help," he said seriously but with a smile.

Anariel grinned back, and she decided then to push everything else to the back of her mind for the moment (something she was becoming quite adept at)—Gandalf's words, Legolas' admonition, even Merry and Pippin's knowing looks. Just the path in front of her, the shared quest, her own role to play. And if that role included playing a part next to the one who had slowly claimed every part of her heart…well, she would thank the Valar that at least for now, their paths lie together.

Aragorn's mind was at war with his heart yet again. Though he wasn't so certain that it wasn't more for show than anything at this point. He knew he loved her. Every day, every moment he fell even further. And yet his thoughts still centered on all of the reasons why he should not, could not, let her know it. Why he could not act on it. Not now, perhaps not ever. His own path was hid from him. He knew not what would come to pass and the less certain he was of the future, the more certain he was that now was not the time to reveal the depth of his feelings for her.

Now, as he once again took the rear of their company, he found it even more difficult than usual to temper the churn of emotions swirling at the very center of his soul. She was far ahead, her slow, fumbling steps steadied by Merry's hand at her elbow. Gandalf, Aragorn could see, was sending frequent sharp glances backward and was moderating his pace so as to not wear down her slowly returning strength. Aragorn was glad of it. While he had known that she was fine, the knowledge hadn't kept his heart from beating hard with fear when she had passed out after healing herself. Her skin had been ashen, devoid of all life and color, her lips tinged blue and her hair a dull red. Such a contrast to how ethereal she'd looked when her power took her! Then she had glowed with such a clear, golden light that he almost had to shield his eyes. Angelic. Beautiful. The most breathtaking thing he had seen in his long years of living.

But then it was done, and she'd looked so drained and lifeless that for a moment he thought it had been too much. Maybe she had overestimated her abilities? But he knew her well. She was the last one to do so. And her breathing had been steady and heartbeat sure.

Then Gandalf had called to him, and Aragorn had reluctantly left her side. He recalled their conversation with some consternation, continuing to ponder Gandalf's words…

"You care deeply for her, Aragorn," Gandalf stated after a long pause. Aragorn raised a foot to set it on a nearby boulder and leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee. He stared at the three doorways before them. Three choices.

After a moment, he responded.

"You know I do," he said quietly. "But you must also know why it is impossible."

"Nonsense," Gandalf immediately replied, almost cutting off Aragorn's last word. "You are two of the stubbornest people I've had the misfortune to meet in my many long years. You have never doubted your heart before. You have never wavered. Aragorn, in all the years I've known you, you have been a man of conviction. You know who you are. You know what you are destined to be, and you have never shied away from that path. Your instincts have been true. Why do you doubt now? Why do you hold back? There is no one like her in all Middle Earth, and she is the only one I see standing by your side. I sense this more strongly than many other things that have become dim to my sight. What is it that you fear?"

As Gandalf spoke, Aragorn felt a curious combination of awe, hope, and fear rise within him. He shook his head, and his shoulders drooped slightly.

"Gandalf, my friend and counselor, I have always regarded your wisdom and prized your counsel, but in this we may not find an accord. I cannot deny anything you say in regards to her—you say nothing I have not thought myself. And I have long since given up denying my own feelings. But Gandalf—" Aragorn stopped abruptly. He took a deep breath and stood up tall, looking Gandalf straight in the eye. No twinkling now in those deep, burning eyes. They were as serious as Aragorn had ever seen them. "Though I would make her my queen, my wife, my heart, I would not do so before I have anything to offer. The quest is too important. You know this. There is far more at stake than our hearts. When I stand in the Citadel of Minas Tirith, beneath the shining Tower of Ecthelion on which the standard of Elendil waves once more, when I can offer her more than the life of a ranger, when Middle Earth is rid of Sauron's filth and the men of the West can once more live freely without fear…then, only then, can I reveal myself to her."

Gandalf shook his head once more.

"Spare me from the stiff-necked pride of Men! Pretty words, my lord. You shall indeed make a fine orator. If only you would be as truthful as you are poetic. Nay, nay," Gandalf held up a hand as Aragorn opened his mouth to protest. "Let us not quarrel on this subject. But know this, Elessar—while I would never discourage you from your path, yours is such a one as would welcome companionship. And I sense that she has more of a part to play in leading you there than you might yet know. All I ask is that you consider well what you might stand to lose if you insist upon holding her at arm's length."

Aragorn's thoughts sharpened back to the present. Gandalf's words have haunted him since they were spoken. Arm's length? Was that even possible at this point? He'd thought he could do it. Keep his distance. Be friendly, but not get too close. But he was drawn to her in ways that defied explanation. He just wanted to touch her so badly. And once he started, he wasn't sure how he could stop. A hand on her elbow, helping to braid her glorious hair (no less glorious for being tangled and dirty—still so soft and wild, curls twisting between his fingers as he plaited it like wisps of flame…), tipping her chin up towards his face, leaning ever closer, breathing in her very presence, never leaving her side.

No! Once again, his thoughts betrayed him. Aragorn returned his focus to the rocks before them, to the darkness pressing in on every side, to the soft distant slapping of those loathsome feet that had trailed them for miles now. This was why it must wait. It was too distracting, too difficult to focus on anything else but her. There were so many dangers yet lurking in the Mines, and the best way to protect her was by keeping her at the periphery of his thoughts.

Gandalf's advice would still be there later. In the night watches. When he could consider it over again carefully, consider whether it was true wisdom, or merely advice he wanted to give in to. He had not survived this long without considering every step. And when it came to his heart, he would not be so reckless again. Hers it may be, but for right now at least, he was more determined than ever that she should not know it.

And with that less than comforting thought, Aragorn continued to follow the light from Gandalf's staff deeper into the heart of Moria.