"How old are you Aiedale?" asked Pippen the next morning.
"Why do you ask?" she inquired with a surprised glance in his direction.
"We don't know anything about you," said the hobbit as if it was obvious, "but you know a great deal about all of us." Pippen raised his face to look at her as they all sat around the small fire on which their breakfast was being cooked by Sam. The mountain side rose up around their small hollow and soon they would once more be on their way up the Carahdras and towards the hopefully still clear pass. Though, from the grey clouds swirling about the mountain peak, it did not seem they would enjoy favorable weather.
"I am eighteen," said the Shadowhunter with a bemused smile.
"You are younger then Pip and I!" said Merry with a wide smile. The hobbit had long since finished his breakfast and he was sorting through his pack for some article of warm clothing. As they climbed higher up the mountain the air grew chill and snow had begun to appear in patches of shade.
"Where are you from?" asked Pippen with persistent curiosity. "What is your home?"
Feeling a bit bemused and surprised Aiedale continued, "I was born in Alicante, where only Shadowhunters live. It is warded against mundane intruders and it will always be home to me. No demons can enter the city and we can be free of our glamours."
"But you don't live there anymore?"
"No," she said and she could not stop the note of sadness that entered her voice. "I had to leave and now I live in Paris." She spoke the word 'Paris' with a lilting French accent for, to her, it was too pretty a word to say in straightforward, harsh sounding English. "Paris is a mundane city and it is far larger than any city in this world. But it is very pretty and full of many beautiful monuments, gardens and homes."
She remembered running up the stairs of the Eiffel tower with her brother and cousins so they could gaze out across the bright lights of city. The bridges across the Seine on which one could pause and either watch the painters at work, gaze into the river or merely examine the many people who came and went. Yes…Paris was a beautiful city as far as mundane cities went. It was an old city and full of twisting streets and forgotten nooks where one could find all sorts of things from adventure to solitude.
"You should see Minas Tirith," said Boromir from his place across the small fire. "It is a beautiful sight when the sun rises and the marble glows white like a beacon." The man's gaze flickered to Aragorn, seemingly without any reason but the dark Ranger did not say anything. He was gazing into the flames of the fire, listening and thinking but not willing to rise to Boromir's words.
Aiedale examined the man's face briefly. It seemed that speaking of his city made the man happier, less dark faced and brooding. She hadn't the heart to be cold or distant to him that morning when he spoke of something he clearly adored more than anything else. "I am sure," she said politely, "that it is beautiful."
She had read about Gondor in Imladris. There had been whole passages devoted to the White City and its beauty – the marvelous architecture, the history and the strength of its people. But she had also heard that city and its surrounding provinces had struggled these past few decades as the power of the Shadow increased and the power of Boromir's house declined. She would never say that to the man - she did not hate him that much to wound him in such a way.
"Your mother," said Gandalf, "spoke of the Glass City with great fondness."
Trailing a finger around the edge of the small bowl Aiedale thought back to the towers of enchanted glass, the hanging gardens, the elegant houses and the sense of freedom, of protection, that the city inspired within her world weary heart. She tried to ignore the memoires of those tall towers stained with blood, the fires raging through the gardens, the smashed windows and shocked fear. Instead she nodded, "It is my home. It was my mother's home to. All Shadowhunters think of our city and country with fondness especially when we are far away from it."
"That doesn't really explain much about you," said Pippen rather grumpily from beside her.
Ruffling his hair Aiedale laughed a little at the young face. He may be nearly twice her age, but she could not bring herself to think of him as anything but a child. "Let me tell you four things I have always lived by in my world." It was just impossible to say no to the little hobbit who was so innocent in his questions. He didn't want to know because she might be a useful tool, but because he wanted to be her friend and it made her a little more open. Besides she wanted to have a little fun and show her youth a little. After all she was a girl who wore stilettoes because she could and never forgot the power of bright red lipstick.
She wanted them to be reminded that she was a girl and she wanted to tease them and their noble honor code of behavior which could be both charming and terribly irritating to. It didn't matter her hair was greasy or she needed a bath - that didn't matter for the little bit of conversation she was planning on.
"What?" asked the hobbit. Everyone was looking at her, hanging on her words.
"Well," she said with a mischievous smirk, "they are things you will never have heard before, but any girl knows them where I am from." Unable to stop her smirk from growing wider she continued with one finger in the air as if she was giving a lesson on the alphabet. "The rules for heartbreak are these: be ready to run fast, don't get attached, wear your heart on your cheek and never on your sleeve lest you want to concede defeat and," she said with a wave of her finger, "always leave him at the door." Of course she had picked up the 'rules' from a mundane song but they didn't have to know that. It was just this priceless moment of stunned silence that she wanted to enjoy.
They were all staring at her, shocked into complete silence that Aiedale found more amusing then she should have. No doubt, to those raised to always been honorable and trustworthy when it came to a woman's heart, the idea that she would turn these rules on their head was shocking and embarrassing. But she really had enjoyed more than one twenty four hour romance complete with flowers and eyes that practically flashed heart signs. She really had taken them and done just that and it was so amusing to see their expressions which ranged from fascinated horror on Merry and Pippen's face to downright shock on Boromir to Legolas who seemed trying hard not to show any emotion at all.
Yes, she thought with a very wide smirk, this was funny. It was nice to shock them, spin them and leave them struggling for words. In fact it was one of the funnier things she had seen or done for weeks and definitely something to remember for when she got home. Because, of course, she WOULD get home.
"What?" asked Frodo staring at her with very very wide bright blue eyes.
With a flick of a finger at a smudge of dirt on her arm brace Aiedale said, "I told you. Those are the rules one follows when one is in the mood to break a heart."
"Why would you break a man's heart?" demanded Boromir and he was gazing at her with horror. His voice rose a little, "One should treat love with respect and truth!"
"Maybe in this world," she said with a wide smirk, "but in mine? It takes time sometimes before that special someone comes down the pipe…what do you do until then?"
It was so hard not to giggle, she thought as they packed up camp and everyone was suddenly acting so embarrassed around her. With a cough and a faint flush on his cheeks Boromir had mentioned that he thought it wise to carry some wood with them for, as he said, they would meet 'bitter cold, if no worse, before we come down on the other side.' Even Gandalf's dark words about not using the wood unless it was a choice between fire and death could completely extinguish the flash of amusement that lingered inside of Aiedale.
Her spirits were lighter than they should have been as she turned her footsteps to the path that led to the steep mountain pass. The shadows were behind her for a little while. The conversation with Frodo and the argument between Gandalf and Aragorn was all back there.
But she hadn't forgotten it.
When she got the chance…yes when she got the chance she would corner that bloody wizard and turn on her considerable questioning abilities. If it took charm or wit or double edged questions - she didn't care. Whatever dark and secret way the Ranger and wizard had spoken of had clearly filled Aragorn with dread and that was enough to make her immediately wary.
The sides of the mountain were dark and at the head of the mountain there was a grey cloud. A cold wind from the north east rustled the branches of the pines around them. The mournful whispers of the trees followed their company as they made their way up the steep sides of the mountain and only died away when they left the protection of needled boughs for the open patches of rock, wind blasted shrubs and shifting scree slopes that had been frozen by a mix of snow and icy wind.
Where do you run o'warrior?
Why do you smile in the shadow of the sun?
She was running.
The alleyway was slick with a thin sheet of murky water and she slid a little bit as she hurried down it. The walls pressed in on her, no light illuminated her path and she had to rely on her superior vision. A smell, hot and thick, made her want to gag. It was the smell of demon mixed with fresh blood.
There wasn't much time left.
Her heart pounded in time to her footsteps.
Beat.
One more step.
Beat.
Oh please!
Aiedale decided, very early on, that she hated snow more than any other form of perspiration.
It was cold. It was wet. It froze her to the bone. Legolas could walk on it.
Yes, she decided as she pulled her cloak tighter around her body, it was Legolas's display of light footed agility that made her the most annoyed. She wondered if anyone had ever invented a rune so that she could walk on top of the snow as well. To cap it all off the elf didn't seem to feel the biting cold of the blizzard. What kind of person weighs less than snow? Part of her wanted to throw a good snowball at him and see if that had any effect on him. That part also wanted to chuck him down the mountainside and was only partly soothed by the fact that, from the looks on the hobbits faces, she was not the only one irritated by the prince's talent.
She HATED the cold. A thousand curses upon it!
The company had made good speed at first; but soon their way became not only steep but twisting and difficult to find even for Aragorn. A bitter wind swirled among the rocks and the low scrubs that gave way to bare scree. The narrow path now wound under a sheer wall of cliffs to the left, above which the grim side of Caradhras towered up. To the right was a gulf of darkness where the land fell suddenly into a deep ravine.
Then the snow had begun.
A few small flakes at first and then that gave way to thick curtains of the white which swirled before them. Aiedale had found she was barely able to make out the shape of Bill the pony and Sam who were right in front of her as she trudged along as best she could. At first she had rather enjoyed the few white flakes that had drifted down upon her and dusted her cloak as if with icing sugar. But that had quickly faded and, now, the cold wind whipped her hair around her face and stung her skin with the small flakes of snow. She had long since lost feeling in her cheeks. Her fingers toes and ears were beginning to feel numb and her cloak was soaked with snow and lacked any kind of wind proofing material like the mundane winter clothes back home. What she wouldn't do for a good eiderdown jacket right then. Despite herself and her general dislike of the mundane Gondorion, Aiedale felt a pang of gratefulness towards him for suggesting that they all carry some firewood for it appeared that, before the end of this journey, they may have need of it.
Frodo, laboring just ahead of her, could not help but remember the stories of the Fell Winter of 1311 when white wolves had invaded the Shire. Bilbo had told him stories and the young hobbit wondered if this blizzard could match the stories passed along of that cruel year. It certainly felt that way. The Ring was heavy around his neck, seeming to pull him downwards and he thought he could hear it whispering.
The hobbit had always thought of snow as a pleasant event and a chance for fun. Now, he decided, he would be quite happy to never see the stuff again.
"I don't like this at all," panted Sam from beside him as he pulled Bill the pony along. "Snow's all right on a fine morning. But not here!"
By this point even Boromir was struggling to go on and the hobbits had to be all but carried along by the two men. Indeed, Merry and Pippen were now firmly fastened underneath Boromir's arms and Gimli, stout and uncomplaining, was even beginning to flag. Gandalf was leading them, his head bowed as he plowed forwards in the thigh deep snow. At one point he and Aragorn shouted something about 'Saurman' and Aiedale had perked up a little – where they deciding to turn away? Surely any other path was better than this frozen one.
Walking suddenly seemed incredibly difficult to her no matter how much she concentrated on it or tried to keep going. The storm seemed to have gotten worse – if that was possible – and the wind was all but screaming around her. Aiedale came to a sudden halt as she collided with Aragorn who, she realized, had come to sudden halt along with the rest of the company. A rumble suddenly sounded somewhere above them.
Legolas, his voice calling out over the raging wind, cried out "There is a voice in the air!"
It was true. Aiedale's keen hearing caught whispers on the wind. A dark voice, a cruel one that spoke of foul deeds in another language, echoed through the shrieking wind. Gandalf raised his staff in defiance and shouted something back into the winds.
But it didn't seem to work.
A giant crack suddenly came from above. The snow beneath Aiedale's feet suddenly shifted and lurched as a cornice of snow above them broke loose and tumbled down. There was very little time, just enough for the Shadowhunter to press herself against the cliff face and catch sight of her companions doing the same. Then, in a cloud of tumbling white ice, the avalanche thundered down on them. One loose bit of ice hit Aiedale squarely on her shoulder, the impact sending a wave of icy pain through her body as the snow tumbled around her. She lost her balance and was pushed away from the safety of the rocky wall as the snow closed in around her.
It was over rather fast and the Shadowhunter found herself buried in an icy tomb of snow. She struggled against it as best she could. The weight of the snow had pushed all the air from her lungs and she was beginning to feel the lack of oxygen. Her lungs burned as she tried to fight her way from the rapidly solidifying frozen water. Black splotches began to dance in front of her eyes and she could feel cold numbness spreading through her body. Her shoulder hurt, though distantly, and she could barely feel the rest of her body.
Aiedale had never thought she would die in an avalanche. It hadn't been the place she had ever expected to meet her maker in. This was not the death she had wanted for herself – this quiet loss of oxygen in a prison colored white that stole all the heat from her body. Part of her was accepting of this. She had always been prepared for it, but another part of her was furious.
No!
This was not right! That part encouraged her rapidly fading struggles that made little head way and, she knew, might only be digging her deeper into the snow. What way was up? What way was the precious molecules of oxygen she so needed to survive? She didn't know and the not knowing was almost panic inducing. How ironic, she thought, that I could be digging my own grave even deeper. It's like digging a hole for oneself and then filling it with water...
A crunching sound above her reached the small part of her mind that still fought. Was that a hand? Was that a gloved hand against her face? Her eyes were struggling to stay open and her last conscious thought was: Was that cold, blessed air?
Aragorn searched the faces of those around him. His eyes flicked over Boromir who was helping Pippen and Merry while Gandalf helped shield the shivering Frodo with his thick grey cloak. Legolas was out of the snow and so were Gimili and Sam. Already the dwarf was arguing with Gandalf about turning around and making for Moria.
Suddenly Aragorn's eyes widened.
"Aiedale!" he shouted into the blowing snow. She had not surfaced and there was no movement in the snow to suggest something struggling to break out or any hand grasping for help. The Ranger searched the snow around him; Aiedale had been close to him when the avalanche had struck the Fellowship – she could be anywhere now. Each second that trickled by could be one second too many.
Calling to Legolas, the two searched the snow and the Ranger had to fight against growing panic. He had experienced avalanches before, knew their awful sweeping power. He pushed chunks of ice aside and, with the elf's help, did his best to cover the area he thought she might be.
Suddenly, as he dug through the quickly freezing snow, he struck against something: a quiver. Then, as he continued to dig, something softer than snow – her too pale cheek. With Legolas's help he managed to pull the unconscious body of Aiedale from the snow. She was as pale as the snow that had entrapped her, too light it seemed to Aragorn in his strong arms. Already her lips were turning blue and she made no movement or sound as he frantically called her name and felt for a pulse. His fingers pressed firmly against her cold skin searching for any beat of life and Legolas, pale and gold against the raging blizzard, looked on with open worry in his blue irises.
It was there. It was faint and slow against his fingers but it was there.
"Aiedale," he called, but the Shadowhunter made no response.
"Is she alive?" asked Legolas as he helped Aragorn carry her back into the shelter of the small cave that Gandalf had found in the side of the mountain. The wizard had thrown caution to the bitterly cold wind and lit a small fire around which the hobbits were huddled. From the dark scowl on Gandalf's face, Aragorn knew the wizard had lit the fire with magic and the entire situation was deeply irritating and worrying for him. They both knew what this meant. They both knew which path now lay before them.
"For now," he said to his old friend, "but she is very cold."
He had to get her by the fire, warm her frozen body and get some miruvor into her. Then they had to get off this mountain side for the hobbits were already struggling and Aiedale would not last long in her already dangerously cold state. She had to wake up or there was no point to trying to save her from frostbite. If she didn't wake soon then there would be no hope for her survival at all...it didn't bear thinking about.
Stripping off the young woman's ice crusted and soaking cloak, he pulled her gloves off and began to rub her hands to try and ward off frostbite. Legolas, seeing what he was doing, set about doing it to Aiedale's other hand. In his rubbing Aragorn pushed her sleeve up a little and caught sight of the black lines that traced their way up her arms. A scar caught his attention and he looked at for a long moment as he rubbed the hand that was so small when compared to his own. The scar was an old burn mark and it was about an inch long and an inch wide. It was neatly cut in half by a rune of an open eye, but there was something about the mark that made Aragorn pause. The milky white mark seemed to speak of a story and Aragorn wondered if it was story that could, somehow, unlock the secrets of this girl's life.
Aragorn had seen the marks before. In the few times she had lowered her 'glamour' in Imladris and allowed them a chance to see the twisting marks and the faint networking of thin scars that were left as the ones that weren't permanent faded. Now, as he swiftly pulled her sleeve back down and wrapped her tightly in a spare cloak, he wondered about them. The black lines were graceful in their swoops and curls – a meaning of power that just lingered on the edge of Aragorn's understanding. They reminded the man of Aiedale herself. Almost within understand but just escaping him.
Taking the flask of Miruvor that Gandalf had passed around the companions, he managed to force a little of the liquid into her slightly parted lips. The elvish cordial had been a gift from Elrond and Aragorn could not help but wonder if his foster father had seen this moment and specially readied it for them. Putting those thoughts aside Shaking Aiedale, the man called her nickname 'Day' into her ear.
She did not move.
Despair began to rise within the man as he gazed down at the lovely, cold face of the girl before him. A cold statute, as unmoving and unfeeling as marble it seemed to him right then. She did not move and her eyelashes, dusted with snow, did not flicker. Aragorn sighed, they had been just a little too late it seemed and the girl had been buried for just long enough. He wished, suddenly, that he could say he knew more about her and that he would place her in a grave without being able to tell any of her relatives. What would they think? What would her brother, her cousins and friends think when she never returned? Was that just the world they lived in – a world where someone could go missing and everyone else was just expected to go and keep fighting? That was, however, exactly what Aiedale had told him did happen.
A sudden shift of her head upon the cold, bare ground of their small cave caught his eye and the man felt a sudden surge of hope. His breath caught as she let out a small cough and, then, those eyelids open to show her deep, dark eyes. They stared up at the Ranger, a faint glimmer of confusion in them before it faded and a weak smile flitted across her pale face as comprehension dawned on her. A smile broke onto Aragorn's face and he laughed in relief. She was alive and, now, he knew she would make it to see a warmer dawn.
Raising his head to look at the worried expression of the hobbits as they huddled together and the others who all stared at him in silence, he grinned. The red light from the small fire was on their tired and anxious faces; a few flakes of snow blew into their small cave-like shelter and outside the storm continued to hollow its fury to the mountainside.
Answering their unspoken question he nodded, "She's alright. She will live."
Outside their small shelter the storm continued to rage as if furious it had not been able to take the lives of the companions. But it didn't seem quite as bad now; it seemed to be spending its fury as if it had come to the conclusion that it would not kill them that time.
Saurman would not get them that night and neither would Carahdras.
Aiedale was cold and weary. She found it very hard to resist the tempting idea of sleep as she sat with the others around the small fire. The night seemed to trickle by with impossible slowness and it was with some relief that she heard Aragorn say when he popped his head out of their small shelter. "The night is getting old. The dawn is not far off."
"If any dawn can pierce these clouds," said Gimli with a dark look. He seemed to have developed – like the rest of them – an intense dislike towards the mountain as if Carahdras actually had a mind of its own and knew exactly what it had done. For all Aiedale knew of this world, the mountain may very well have a mind of its own and enjoy inflicting such horrendous weather.
Boromir stepped out and stared out into the blackness. "The snow is growing less and the wind is quieter. Perhaps we can start to make our way now."
Frodo gazed warily at the flakes still falling out of the dark to be revealed white for a moment in the light of the slowly dying fire; but very slowly a dim light began to grow in the east and the flakes were becoming larger and fewer. As the light grew stronger it showed a silent shrouded world. Below the Fellowship's refuge were white humps and domes beneath which the path that they had trodden was altogether lost; but the height above the company were hidden in grey clouds still heavy with the threat of snow.
"Well," said Boromir, "the strongest of us must seek a way. Our path turned up at that shoulder of rock down below. If we could reach that point, maybe it would prove easier beyond." The man shrugged his shoulders and a little of the frozen ice fell away.
"Then let us force a path," said Aragorn. The two men slowly began to move off, digging their way through the snow.
Legolas looked after the men and then let out a quiet laugh. Leaping up to the top of the snow he said, "Let me see if I can go find the sun. She has lingered in the south for too long and should shine her light down upon us!" He was gone, light across the top of the snow with barely an imprint of his thin elvish boots.
Aiedale was sorely tempted to throw a snowball after him. She was fairly sure her aim was good enough to land one on the back of his neck so that the cold, wet snow could dribble down the prince's back. The Shadowhunter restrained herself only because it would have involved opening her cloak and that would have meant a draft of cold air. In the interests of trying to warm herself up again she had to sacrifice the o'so opportune snowball moment.
But she would get him…oh yes she would get that elf with a snowball before the day was out.
At long last the small group Boromir, Aragorn and Legolas who had weathered the storm as if it had been a small squall and not a raging blizzard, reappeared. With the hobbits perched on the shoulders of the men, Gimli sitting on the pony and Aiedale, whose limbs still felt stiff and sore, had to accept a firm arm from Legolas. Gandalf took up the rear and, as they came down to the last giant drift, a rumble sounded from above them and a collection of ice, boulders and snow tumbled down to cut off the path.
Gimli scowled as he looked back and shook his fist at the mountain peak. "We're leaving!" he called. "Save your wrath for the next group of travelers Carahdras!"
It was not a natural storm and that became quite apparent when they at last broke through the final snow drift. The snow became steadily shallower as the company went down, so that even the hobbits could trudge along. Soon they all stood once more on the flat shelf at the head of the steep slow where they had felt the first flakes of snow the night before.
A cold wind followed down behind the company as they turned their backs on the Redhorn Gate, and stumbled wearily down the slope. The Caradhras had defeated them and the Shadowhunter in the party was not at all amused. She was cold, weary and she still had not had a chance to corner a certain wizard. All in all, decided the young woman as she tried to keep herself from stumbling on the uneven, rocky ground, this entire adventure was for the birds.
It was evening, and the grey light was again waning fast, when they halted for the night. They were all weary. The mountains behind them were veiled in deepening dusk, and the wind was cold. It echoed over their small campsite which was tucked into a small stand of pine trees and well sheltered both from the wind and from any unfriendly eyes. Sam was busy over the small fire and a small pot that promised a little warmth for the still chilled Aiedale.
It was then that Gandalf called a sort of meeting together. "We cannot go on again tonight," said the wizard. "We still have our journey and our errand before us. We have no choice but to go on."
"But how?" asked Frodo as he fingered the now dry material of his cloak.
The conversation – no argument – that began then was something that Aiedale tried to stay out of. She knew too little of Middle Earth politics, history and geography to suggest or defend any kind of other route for the Fellowship to take. Boromir remained fixed on the Gap of Rohan which, to Aiedale, sounded infinitely more preferable then this mountain or a mine. However, Gandalf was solid in his conviction that the Gap of Rohan was closed to them and there was no talk of going back even from the two youngest hobbits who still thought of Imladris with great fondness. The conversation went nowhere and only seemed to frustrate all who tried to make their opinion the strongest or, in Gimli's case, the loudest. Frodo, while he did not actively participate, he was the one to who the decision finally fell.
Aragorn, his voice very quiet said, "I will follow you Gandalf. For you all followed my lead almost to disaster in the snow. I just have this to say: if you pass the doors of Moria, beware!"
Legolas, his face set in an unreadable mask only said, "I do not wish to go to Moria."
The hobbits said nothing through all of this. Sam was looking to Frodo and the two younger to Gandalf for some sort of sign of whether they should also be against this plan. Boromir had made his opinion quite clear and so had Gimili.
Aiedale said nothing. She did not wish to speak or expend any energy in an argument she could add nothing to. But, finally, Frodo made the decision that it would be Moria that they would take. This road seemed to cheer only Gimli for, it seemed, that the others saw it as place of legend of vague fear and a place to be avoided.
But, at last, Aiedale could not hold her tongue anymore. She had listened to all the arguments for taking this route and she had realized that this was the path that Aragorn had so dreaded – that Gandalf said she would be of such use on. True Frodo had already made the decision, but she wanted to ask things of Gandalf and now seemed better than later. As Sam began to serve them some dinner she moved closer to the wizard and, her eyes fixed on the wizard, she asked quietly, "You do not like the path through the mines."
The wizard looked down at her with sad grey eyes. An old, weary man's eyes that had seen too much, decided Aiedale as she met their grey stare. He looked as if he knew too much about what awaited them and feeling of dread rose up within her. "I do not, but it is the only one open to us. This is not the first time I have been to Moria and I came out again alive."
Gimli sounded boisterous as he told the hobbits and Boromir about the welcome that would be waiting for them, but Aiedale felt none of this as she looked at the wizard – she ignored everyone else in her search for answers. She had read about the mine of the dwarves and heard things about that place – dark things. Her eyes were fixed on the wizard's and, in a very soft voice, she asked, "You fear it."
"I do," said the wizard, "for there are things that the dwarves awoke that were better left sleeping."
"Is that why you wanted me?" a note of anger entered her voice and her eyes flashed. But their conversation was lost in the wind hissing among the rocks and trees – it was as private as it could have been. All the others saw were Aiedale and the wizard saying something, but not what or why the aloof young woman sought the wizard out.
"You light the darkness," said the wizard and he looked away from her. "You bring light to the deepest of darkness and I hoped that you would be able to light this path to." He moved closer to her and his words were so soft she had to strain to hear them, "I do not know what will happen, but I trust that you and Aragorn will be able to lead this Fellowship if I am lost."
She looked at him hard. So hard that the wizard was reminded of her mother – Aiedale was her daughter through and through. He wondered, not for the last time, if the girl knew this and how her mother had lost her life."You act as if you do not think you will also survive."
"I might not," he said steadily and, with a flourish, he drew out his pipe. "But you out of all of us understand the risks of confronting darkness and how not everyone makes it to the other side."
She nodded. That was all she needed to know and she suspected that wizard would have more to say to her before they reached the mine. As she returned to the fire feeling weary and sore she glanced up at the stars. They had reappeared and she found herself tracing invisible constellations. Her mind drifting back to old friends and old memories of her home as she settled by the fire.
"Senor Lopez," said Aiedale with a slight bow of her head. Her white, embroidered blouse was thin and she was cold in the chilled, marble Sanctuary. The young warrior had wrapped a long soft blue silk scarf with flower designs on it around her neck.
The tall, paper white vampire gave her a faint, tight lipped smile. "Shadowhunter," the word was smooth and exotic sounding in the vampire's Spanish accent. "It has been far too long. Your beauty grows each time I see you."
"It has," she said with a polite smile and then, knowing he preferred to speak in his native language, she switched to Spanish without further preamble. "Please have a seat." Pulling out a chair from the large oak table that was in the center of the high ceilinged Sanctuary she offered it to the elegantly dressed, handsome vampire. He took it with grace and she followed suit, taking the other chair.
"Why have you summoned me here?" asked the vampire with a faint smile as he responded in his native language. He was, thought Aiedale, as beautiful as a pressed rose. He was an enduringly perfect memory of the living thing.
"There has been some," said Aiedale delicately, "rumors that you are not interested in supporting the renewal of the Accords. You occupy a position of influence among the Paris Clan. We merely wish to ascertain what side you are preparing to take in the coming weeks."
"Is that a warning?" asked the vampire with a casual flick of his fingers at an invisible spec of dust on his suit. He shrugged his shoulders, "I do not know where you get your rumors, but I can assure you I do not plan to go against Nephilim and you're Accords."
"Thank you," said Aiedale with an incline of her head for she could see no lie or sense any about the vampire before her. She had known him for a long time and this had been more of a warning that perhaps he should look to his clan in case someone was plotting against him. "You are a close ally and a friend to me."
They both rose, the vampire's eyes never leaving Aiedale's as he gazed at her with those old, watchful brown irises. "And you a friend to me," said the vampire. "I take pride in calling you a friend."
Aiedale smiled and the two exchanged a few more pleasantries before the Shadowhunter opened the Sanctuary door for her vampire guest. Before the vampire stepped out into the quiet Paris street that ran in front of the Institute he stopped and rested a cool, long fingered hand on her shoulder. "If you find whoever is spreading these rumors…"
"I will find you," said Aiedale and she felt goose bumps rise along her arms. The hand was too cold and the air outside chill with the promise of winter. He was gone in a swirl of his long, black, expensive coat and he became just another pedestrian on the wide sidewalk.
This, she thought as she closed the heavy door and barred it close again, this was the world she lived in. Readjusting her silk scarf she hurried back into the Institute. This was her home. A world where things were never as they seemed and friends could be found in the most unexpected people in the most unexpected places.
This has taken a while and I am sorry - my other story has been front and center while this one is more on the back burner. Hope everyone enjoys this chapter and my apologies for the ice age of a wait. It really was not intentional and I suddenly went 'I need to be writing this one again!'
Thank you to all of you who have offered your support :) it means a lot and always provides encouragement.
Review Replies:
Hanane El Mokkadem: Thank you! Hope you like this chapter to!
Ray: Glad you understood it okay...yes there are some similarities between Zoe and Aiedale. The portal hopping being one of the more obvious...thank you for the review and look for a Zoe update soon. Almost done the next chapter ;)
Shadow Pheonix: Sorry about this wait...and I don't plan on a couple at this point. I just think that is so overdone and I don't want to try my hand at a LOTR romance when there are so many ones out there. Its one think my IC fic but I don't feel brave enough in this book universe lol. Thank you for the review and hope you like this chapter!
Lady Archer: Thank you for catching that mistake! Ugh I hate typos like that lol Hope this chapter is okay after the long wait and thank you for reading :)
chris: Thank you! Hope you like this new chapter and, never fear, there will be a Zoe update sometime in the near future!