Aiedale brushed a strand of damp hair out of her face.
The dampness that hung about the river made the air heavy with moisture that accumulated on everything. Aiedale despised being damp and, combined with her already dismal feelings about the future, her spirits had rarely been this low. Nothing seemed to lift the heavy dread or ease her strained nerves. Nothing she could think of seemed to soothe the vicious homesickness that trailed her or calm her restless movements. Being angry didn't help and neither did the breathing exercises she had been taught as a young warrior to slow her racing mind. Drowning her thoughts in gruelling physical activity or the mindless blur of fighting was out of the question for she did not want to let any of the Fellowship out of her sight. Besides, for the most part, they had spent the past few days in the elven boats.
This was a new situation for her and she didn't like it one bit.
Now she sat watching the river move past as her companions sat in various clumps around the small fire that Aragorn had coaxed into existence through some woodcraft magic he must have in his hands. The plan of portaging their boats and supplies around the jagged and powerful rapids of Sarn Gebir had been unexpectedly postponed by the sudden arrival and settling of the fog and, half anxious to be moving and half hating moving at all, Aiedale wasn't sure if she should be angry or grateful for the weather.
After a few hours the pea soup fog lifted enough that they could travel.
Of course continuing to move along the Anduin sparked another bitter, angry discussion between Aragorn and Boromir. The man of Gondor snapped that the way to his home no longer followed the path of the Anduin and they were fools to continue on in such a way. It was too difficult and too dangerous, he argued, to continue so. "The way you are purposing is not easy," said the Gondor man as he cast a dark glance over the group. His eyes lingered on the hobbits and on Gimli but, when they tried to pin Aiedale with the same scorn, he was quickly stopped by the poisonous look sent his way by the Shadowhunter.
The Ranger, eyes hooded, waited out the other man's hot words and merely said, "Yet such as we are we will try it." What he truly thought of Boromir's words and what he truly meant in his simple statement, however, Aiedale could read in the words that went unspoken in the tightness of his shoulders and the tight grip he kept on the hilt of his sword.
Shouldering her share of supplies and assisting the hobbits, Aiedale trailed at the end of the group as they picked their way through jagged, bare rocks. The river surged along beside them and drowned out both the words shouted back by Aragorn occasionally or the chatter of the hobbits. Boromir was right that the path was difficult but the Shadowhunter would have been the last to admit that she found it hard going.
Pride…she supposed one day it would get her killed.
After a brief rest that night, the Company returned to the water and floated onward. South, ever south; south on the river that bore them onward and closer to whatever trouble awaited them. It would be soon, thought the warrior as she listened to Legolas and Gimli tease each other in whispering voices. Her gaze focused on the back of Boromir, watching his shoulders and the movement of the paddle in his hands.
The dawn came like fire and smoke.
It came like the burning flames that had engulfed her city; the vengeful flames of revenge and hatred that drove the demons to kill her friends and family. The rising sun lit the heavy clouds with reddish light that was chillingly similar to a funeral pyre. Flames like these turned things to ashes, they spoke of death and destruction.
Aiedale shivered at the sight of the dawn. She had heard the mundane saying: Red sky in morning, sailors take warning. The Shadowhunter had no doubt that this was a warning and she took heed.
Braid your hair, she told her numb fingers sternly, so that it does not get in your way. Fasten your quiver so it does not interfere with the ability of your left arm to deflect a blow. Keep your gloves secure beneath the cuffs of your gear and your stele cannot shift from its place along your right side. Everything has a place, she reminded herself as if she were were a drill sergeant preparing his troops for a final offensive. Not only does it have a place but it has that place because it is there - and only there - that it can be of use. You were taught this as a little girl, don't let it go now just because you are surrounded by people that were not.
As the Company ate in the silence of Parth Galen, Aragorn's voice came softly but determinedly. "The day of choice has come. Shall we turn west with Boromir and go to the wars of Gondor? Shall we turn east to the Fear or shall we break our Fellowship and go this way and that, as each may choose?"
Aiedale remained silent through this speech. She would go with Frodo if he would have her company, her oath made so long ago in Imladris bound her to the hobbit until he released her or death took her from this world that was not her own. Perhaps it was because of that, the simplicity of a Shadowhunter's oath, that Aiedale felt surprisingly calm about this whole situation. Even the biting anxiety and worry seemed to have settled a little, a sign she took to mean her body was subconsciously settling her into the clear, dangerous battle calm of the warrior she was.
"The enemy," continued Aragorn, "is on the eastern shore, but I fear that Orcs may already be on this side of the water. I fear, Frodo, that the burden is laid upon you. You are the Bearer appointed by the Council and your way is yours alone to choose. I am not Gandalf," said the Ranger with clear pain and regret. "I do not know what design or hope he had for this hour but - without him - the choice is yours to make."
Frodo sat very silently under the scrutiny of his companions. Eventually he said, "I cannot yet choose." His bright blue eyes were desperate and his hands rose beseechingly. "Give me an hour longer, and I will be able to speak. Let me be alone."
"Very well," said Aragorn. "You shall have an hour, and you shall be alone. We will stay here for a while but do not stray far, or out of call."
Aiedale watched the Hobbit disappear into the surrounding woods. She would have been out of her mind with worry a few hours before but, strangely, she felt quite calm about this. When something - because it would - she was quite ready for it.
Time passed mostly in silence although Aragorn did try to lay out some sort of plan about who should go with Frodo and who should not. However, his words were quickly silenced by Merry and Pippen along with a dark glare from Aiedale.
It was Sam who alerted them to the terrible thing that had happened under their very noses. Later on Aiedale would curse herself for being so mysteriously blind to what was happening around her.
"Where is Frodo?" asked Sam.
Frodo.
Oh Raziel.
Why couldn't they just enjoy this place? Why was it here in the peaceful, merry clearing of Parth Galen that the world came crumbling down?
The first betrayal, hissed a voice in her mind, is always the worst and the most dangerous. It always leads to mo…
The Shadowhunter cut the thought mid sentence and leapt to her feet as her eyes scanned their small camp. A sick feeling grew within her when she realized that not only was Frodo gone but so was Boromir. Aiedale could almost hear the sound of a clock ticking down the seconds before a final catalyst. She had been waiting for this moment, this realization of the end, for days now.
Aiedale was moving.
She was long gone into the woods even as Aragorn the others to form search pairs. Her eyes tried to follow the tracks of light-footed Frodo and heavy-booted Boromir but she was not suited to such wood craft. She knew cobblestones, concrete and metal. She knew the signs of Downworlders and monsters but not the hard, dry ground of a forest where light hobbit feet and the boots of a reasonably skilled woodsman left little to no imprint. The Shadowhunter caught a glimpse of Legolas and Gimli racing past - obviously heading towards the top of the hill that rose up from the river but she did not know whether to follow or not. The hobbits were calling out behind her for Frodo.
Aiedale felt like a blind fool. She felt like she was running - half tripping and half stumbling over tree roots - for no particular reason and with no direction. Frodo and Boromir could be anywhere and she had that feeling - a sick feeling - that she wasn't the only thing looking for them. She was only one hunter out of many. There were others and their intentions were not to safe guard the little hobbit.
Turning her steps so that she ran along the base of the hill, the Shadowhunter burst into small clearing and skidded to a halt. She froze and had to bite back a curse as she took in three monsters that all spun to face her with a low growls. She was right. The Fellowship were far from alone in this isolated corner of the world.
They were faintly orc-like but bigger, stronger and with keen eyes that met her's with unbridled anger. They wore mismatched armour all decorated with a white handprint. All in all, Aiedale thought, an upgrade from orc but that wasn't too difficult and an upgrade really only meant slightly harder to kill. Damn. The Shadowhunter had almost seen something like it before during her midnight adventures through Paris but her past experiences weren't going to help Frodo or Sam or…she stopped the train of thought before it derailed her completely.
Smarter than an orc the creatures might have been and stronger but they died just the same. Using her superior speed to her advantage the Shadowhunter dealt with the threats as efficiently and quickly as she could. The fighting cleared her head away, allowing her to return Leaping forward and away from the final corpse, Aiedale barely halted her run as she yanked the dagger out of its neck. Roots and dead branches threatened to trip her as she raced through the forest towards the sounds of her companions.
Dashing around a tree she found herself nearly slipping on a bloody orc corpse impaled through the heart with one of Legolas's arrows and, catching a branch with her left hand, she felt the painful sensation of muscles being pulled in the wrong direction. The pain made her slow her reckless pace a little. It would do no good to find Frodo and be incapable of even throwing a dagger or, worse, not getting there at all.
Where was the hobbit? She didn't know and it made her come to a halt.
Think, she screamed at herself. Come on! Stop running blind! Your so smart - that's what they said - so think…
If I was Frodo, thought the Shadowhunter, I wouldn't trust any of my companions with the Ring. I I would go…I would go East. I would not wait…I would use this battle to my advantage. Alone. To the East.
The thumping of Orc-boots reached her and the Shadowhunter flinched. Aiedale didn't think on it anymore - she could not afford to waste any more time. She turned on one heel and dashed back the way she came. Her stride lengthened and her heart pounded hard in her chest as she ran back towards their camp beside the river. She was almost there when she came upon Sam; the hobbit stood, small and lost, amongst the tall trees. His eyes were screwed tightly closed in frenzied desperate thought. He had clearly been left behind as the others raced ahead. The hobbit's eyes flew open again when he heard her.
"Aiedale!" he cried desperately. "Mr. Frodo…"
"Come on," she said. "I know where he might be. We don't have much time." Behind them, coming distantly and intermediately through the trees, was the sound of fighting and battle cries both monster and Fellowship.
The hobbit gripped her hand tightly and ran with her. It was amazing how he kept pace with her longer legs but Aiedale knew well the wonders of adrenalin. She knew a little to the power of friendship and loyalty. Sam, she bet, could have flown if it was required of him. They both could have flown.
The two came to a sudden stop on the edge of the river. A boat was slowly moving into the water but it was being moved by an unseen force - the Ring and its bearer were floating away from the shore. Aiedale didn't know what to do and neither it seemed did Sam. They were frozen in place.
The hobbit turned his head slightly and looked up at the young woman beside him. She was fresh from the fight and her knife was coated in black blood. Her face was pale and her eyes shone with adrenalin. He had seen her like this before and, when once it had frightened him, it now made him glad that she was there for she, like him, had sworn to be there for Frodo. He didn't know if he should jump into the river after his best friend or stay there - neither did she.
"Sam?" she asked again and he struggled to find his voice to reply but words would not come. "We need…" but her voice trailed off, lost and uncertain in the great expanse that suddenly seemed to surround them.
Sam knew, right then, that he would never forget a word or a gesture of Aiedale's right then, as they stood together on the edge of a river. He stood, small and afraid, looking up at the bright eyed warrior before him. She looked young but fearless and brave to his eyes. He needed to ask her and only her. Only Aiedale would tell him the truth. She had never lied to him or concealed the true danger of something and he knew they didn't have long before Frodo was out of reach.
"If it was valuable to some cause for me to go….to go some place evil and dark…would you want me to do it?"
She stared at him. "I don't think I'm – no I'm not – brave enough to put someone in a position where they might have to die or watch another die. I have always avoided it."
"Should I go?"
"You will go if I tell you to or not."
"Would you go? If you were me…would you go?"
"I would hope that I was brave enough to do what you will do."
"I am not brave like you or…"
"You are brave," she said with such conviction he dared not argue with her. "If you dare to do something like this then you are bravest person I have ever met or ever will."
"Good bye," he said and he suddenly felt the doom of the world upon him. He felt nothing but despair and fear and it made him tremble. Sam could not force his feet to move and he knew he had to. Frodo, he tried to tell himself, I must get to Frodo. But he could not move.
Aiedale touched him gently on the shoulder and slipped one of her knives into his hand. "Go," she said softly into his ear with her hand across her heart in a kind of salute. "Go with the blessings of the Angel…go with my friendship."
Then, suddenly, she took his hand and pulled him forward into the river. She was going to help him, realized Sam, get to the boat which was lucky for he could not swim. They plunged forward and the Shadowhunter supported him as he half paddled and kicked his way towards the boat. Suddenly Sam felt the Shadowhunter push him forward and away from her. He was almost at the boat and, just as he managed to latch onto the edge of the elven boat, he took one last look over his shoulder. Aiedale was standing, past her waist in freezing cold water, and she was looking right at him. Sam remembered her words and there was something about the way she was looking at him that made him warm. It made him feel strong suddenly, a warm glow and a promise that wrapped around his heart and would remain with him.
Her words, the memory of her tight grip on his hand and her knife would stay with him for the rest of his life.
Aiedale watched Sam pull himself into the boat and she felt a small bubble of happiness rise up within her to hear Sam telling Frodo off for taking off to the East alone. The black haired hobbit had reappeared to help Sam clamber into the boat. Friendship…what a wondrous and powerful force. Aiedale was quite prepared for him not to look her way but maybe he sensed how lost she was. She didn't know what to do about her oath or about any of it and only Frodo could cut her loose or not.
The water flowed around her. It was cold and it pulled at her, trying to sweep her off her feet and beneath its black surface. She was adrift in a river in more ways than one and she hated the doubt, the lies and hatred that seemed to be trying to drown her just as this physical real water wanted to.
But the hobbit did look back with those large eyes that she had first seen so many months before. He called out to her, "Are you coming? Or will you stop me from going?"
Aiedale did not think. She dived forward and swam towards the boat, kicking hard so that she was not pulled too far downstream by the strong current. The young woman surfaced right beside the little craft and held onto the side of the boat for the river deepened alarmingly here and she could no longer touch the bottom. Aeidale looked hard at the hobbit and she measured what she saw. She looked at him harder then she had ever looked at anyone before.
"I am yours to command," she reminded him gently as they drifted.
"Maybe," said the hobbit and they both had to smile a little at the words and the memories of some of her more memorable displays of free-will. "But you understand…why I must go on like this. You understand it."
The Shadowhunter could hear the malicious whispers of the Ring. The hissing whispers battered against her iron hard walls with promises of home and answers. It was so hard to ignore. It conjured such longing and pain in her battered soul. The Ring didn't just make promises, it somehow accessed the very deepest wishes of her heart and the most private of memories and feelings. These things - so personal and private - were then used against her in the most malicious of ways. How she hated the invasion into her most private of private hopes, dreams, thoughts, memories and desires! But how she wanted to accept its offers of help!
Aiedale took one last look of Frodo, taking in his pale face and slightly trembling hands. She could see the Ring and for a second she considered how easy it would be to overpower the two hobbits in this River and take the object for herself. For a second she considered that path of action with cold logic and practicality. She saw the various possibilities and the way to accomplish it. Then she looked away from it, dismissing the Ring and the idea of taking it for herself. This was her choice, she thought, and she knew she would hate herself forever if she let herself give in like a mundane. She was no weak willed human and she would be damned if she ever ever made the mistake of acting like one. Her life was too short. The Ring had made a mistake in trying to control her, thought the warrior coldly. She would match it even if it was the last thing she did.
Her hands tightened around the smooth wood as she treaded water beside the slowly floating craft but, instead of lifting herself into the boat, she gave it a mighty push and sent it on its way. They were gone to the East and the Shadowhunter knew she had done all that she possibly could for them. She did not know the answers to many thousands of questions. She did not know the truth of her mother or the reason for her own arrival in Middle Earth but there was one thing she did know: Hobbits could teach Shadowhunters a lesson on courage.
If you care about hobbits, thought Aiedale fiercely as she swam back towards the western shore. If you care at all my Lord Raziel then look after those two. If you care what happens to this world then make sure those two…oh please Angel let those two live.
Aiedale discarded her water soaked cloak with the rest of the packs and examined the forest before her. Frodo and Sam were safely on their way and that was a relief in a way. She had only six companions to worry about now and that was quite enough as it was. The sounds of battle were growing closer and the Shadowhunter was about to follow the noise and try and rejoin with her companions when Merry and Pippen burst out of the trees.
"What are they doing?" cried Pippen as he caught sight of the boat was quickly nearing the opposite bank.
Aiedale opened her mouth to reply but Merry answered for her instead. "He is leaving," said the young hobbit.
"We should go," said Pippen.
"No," said Merry and the two hobbits shared some sort of significant look as if they were saying 'well what can you do?'
"What are you…" began Aiedale suspiciously but the two hobbits turned around quickly and dashed into the forest. With a curse the Shadowhunter followed but she was hampered by her water logged boots and clothes. It was for that very reason that she was just a little too far behind to stop the two youngest members of the Fellowship from their incredibly brave but stupid act.
"OI!"
Aiedale gasped as she realized what Merry and Pippen were planning to do. Ducking behind a tree the Shadowhunter watched helplessly as the hobbits began jumping up and down in the middle of a forest path upon which more of the enemy were moving. Catching sight of the hobbits - clearly the prey they were hunting - the orc-like-things let loose more of their roaring battle cries. The two hobbits fled through the trees and away from the river - away from Frodo, Sam and from Aiedale. Such incredible courage. It was the kind of loyalty that Aiedale could only wonder at and admire with every fibre of her being.
Helpless. You are so damn helpless, thought the young warrior. She could not quite believe how badly this whole day was going and how totally incompetent she felt when faced with the selfless sacrifice and daring courage of the hobbits. Aiedale, however, wasted no more time on the whirlpool of despair and helplessness that threatened to catch her.
She met a few of the orc-hybrids but they did not slow her down much. Aiedale knew she was gaining on the group that was chasing Merry and Pippen when the sound of horn blared through the trees.
The Shadowhunter froze.
She had heard that horn before but this time it was being blown not because its owner was a proud git of a man but because that owner was in terrible need. This time the air reverberated with urgency and desperation. Aiedale knew that alone against the orcs chasing Merry and Pippen she stood no chance but, maybe, she could help Boromir. The direction of the horn was not far from the trail left by hobbits and pursuing orcs. They seemed to be going in some sort of twisting serpentine pattern - no doubt the hobbits were using their size and speed to confuse and anger their pursuers.
The horn rang out again.
Aiedale leapt forward once more and raced through the trees. Bursting into a clearing she found Boromir surrounded by orcs but fighting tooth and nail. The Shadowhunter whipped out a fresh knife and dived into the fight. In this situation, at least, she not only knew exactly what to do but what and who she was. There was room only for cold logic and ruthless practicality. The Orc closest to her stumbled slightly and the Shadowhunter leapt forward, a knife already slashing upwards to catch him under the throat. The black blood stained her blade and splattered across her Gear, but she had no time either for disgust or to curse. Spinning she avoided a too slow slash to her left side and, at the same moment, threw a knife. The blade hit a creature in the shoulder but Aiedale had no time to finish the job because instinct made her duck. A few auburn hairs floated past and the Shadowhunter realized with mute horror how close the weapon had come to her head. Dropping low Aiedale dropped and spun, one well placed kick followed by a swift stab ended that threat, however. Using the momentum of her movement the Shadowhunter sprang up and did a flip to land behind her enemies, confusing and enraging them all at once. The movement had, however, placed her beside Boromir whose face was twisted in concentration. The warrior was on a role, all her training and instincts working together in perfect harmony and it was the most invigorating feeling she had felt in a long time.
The man of Gondor was fighting as he had never fought before. The hobbits, he thought furiously, I must help Merry and Pippen. I failed Frodo and my honour is forever tarnished but I can still help Merry and Pippen. They need not die today…
"You alright?" she asked a little breathlessly, taking note of the cuts and bruises on his face and arms. He was breathing heavily. Winded and not a lot of good to her in a fight, analyzed her Shadowhunter mind.
"Just you?" he asked with what was probably a breathless laugh and a half smirk.
She grinned coldly and said with a flick of her wet hair, "Rest mundane. I will take it from here."
Boromir cast her a disbelieving glance. He had to admire her in a way - respect her certainly. He knew her well enough now not to be insulted by whatever barbs she casually threw his way and he was glad to see her. Aiedale was a remarkable ally in a fight. But sometimes she was insufferably arrogant and confident. His attention was called back to the fight at hand, however, when his sword shuddered with the force of a brutal orc blow.
Aiedale didn't know where Aragorn, Gimli or Legolas were, but she didn't have time to worry about them. This was her element and the Shadowhunter was lost in its welcome familiarity. An intricate, bloody dance. A dance that she knew better then was maybe wise but she didn't care, it was what she was born to and knew inside out. She didn't have time to realize that she herself was injured as she fought. An orc in his dying blow had slashed her right arm, a deep wound that immediately soiled the torn fabric of her Gear. Boromir's horn rang out again. The sound pulsating through the air and making the leaves on the trees around them shake.
Through the haze of battle, however, Aiedale became aware of a deep dread that shadowed her heart and filled her veins with ice even as she battled fiercely on. Casting a quick glance around the clearing Aiedale searched for the source of such dread. She had last felt this way in Moria and a couple of times before that. In all of the occasions she had nearly died or lost someone she was close to. Now in this clearing in Middle Earth surrounded by enemies - some dying and some alive - she felt fear creep into her.
Aiedale suddenly caught sight of one of the orcs on the edge of the clearing, bow in hand and raised. He was larger than the others and his eyes keener. A captain? Sound suddenly seemed to stop and time slowed. Aiedale opened her mouth to cry out a warning to Boromir but she was too late. She heard everything with perfect clarity. The sound of a bow string snapping, the woosh of the projectile and the dull, sickening thump of the arrow hitting Boromir's right shoulder was incredibly loud.
A single enemy.
A single Orc.
Move.
NOW.
Aiedale was moving towards the enemy, slashing and ungracefully barreling her way towards the orc and his bow even as Boromir cried out in pain and fell to his knees. Another agonized cry of a man in great pain as another arrow found its mark. Aiedale emerged from the pack of struggling orcs like a panther, eyes sharp and teeth barred, determination mixing with killing intent in her young face. The string was drawn back. A third arrow just about to be released.
Aiedale had one knife left.
Her vision tunnelled on the orc before her. She took in his twisted features, the glee in his beady eyes and the cruel blackness of the arrow with its barbed point. The warrior took aim and felt the weight of the knife leave her hand as it took flight. She was famed for her accuracy in the art of knife throwing and she had never quite been this determined or focused on the flight of a blade as she was right then. She followed the path of the missile through each centimetre of its flight, praying that her aim was true and that Shadowhunter craftsmanship would see her through. The knife found its mark in the chest of the orc who staggered backwards in surprise at the sudden pain but the arrow was already sent winging in a deadly arc but not towards Boromir.
Aiedale was not quite fast enough in her bedraggled, bloody condition to avoid the arrow completely. The young woman avoided the worst of the impact but the missile still hit her, burying itself in top of her left shoulder, a painful but hardly life endangering injury. She gasped in shock at the strange, unfamiliar indignity of being hit by an arrow. For a second the Shadowhunter could not see, her vision covered by blackness but then, to her relief, adrenalin kicked back in. Adrenalin - that old friend - gave her the room she needed to think practically. The orc was clearly dead, the knife buried up to the hilt in his chest. There was, however, an arrow in her and, without stopping to consider how much this was going to hurt, Aiedale gripped the black shaft and pulled hard . Everything went white and then black as the Shadowhunter fought back the desire to scream in pain as she maintained a constant stream of mental curses.
As her vision cleared, Aiedale cast away the bloody orc arrow and turned. There were a fair few bodies in the clearing and the rest of the orcs in the clearing scampered off. She felt chilled, however, when her eyes landed on Boromir. Aragorn had arrived at some point in the last ninety seconds of motion, pain and fear. The Ranger was bent over the body of...of Boromir.
Aiedale cast another look towards the dead orc. She felt numb; distantly aware that she was covered not only in orc blood but in red, Nephilim blood. Moving slowly Aiedale walked over to Boromir and Aragorn, half falling to her knees beside the Ranger whose face was flecked with black blood. Aragorn had clearly been fighting his own battle.
Aiedale had seen many injuries in her brief life and her eyes scanned Boromir's chest with hopeless realization. No mundane, she knew, could lose so much blood and hope to live without the modern assistance of a Earth hospital and blood bank. She could not save this mundane with Nephilim runes - her chance to save him had been too late it would seem. There had been an opportunity but she hadn't been good enough or strong enough or quick enough…Aiedale closed her eyes briefly.
"I will not let the White City fall," said Aragorn, his eyes full of determination and genuine emotion.
Aiedale pressed Boromir's sword into his hands; Boromir clutched it with a grateful half-grin. She refused to look away but it was hard. Warriors would never do that disservice to a fallen comrade. She would look, offer whatever comfort she could even if it broke her heart. She would not - god, never - cry.
Boromir smiled, his dry lips cracking and his cheeks too pale as he turned his eyes to Aiedale. "I hope you find your way home, my lady. It was…was an honour to fight with you."
Aiedale bit back tears. "Hail to you, Boromir son of Denethor. The honour was mine."
The man of Gondor turned his fading eyes back to Aragorn. His last two words, barely a whisper, spoke volumes in the silence.
"…my King."
Aiedale held back her tears as Boromir's harsh breaths suddenly failed and silence descended upon the clearing. It was the sound of her failure, thought the Shadowhunter. Boromir was dead. Merry and Pippen were nowhere in sight. Frodo and Sam were gone on a hopeless quest to a mountain of fire. She felt very alone and lost.
"You are wounded," said Aragorn suddenly, his grey eyes leaving the still face of the dead man and taking in his still living but bloody companion.
Aiedale shrugged and stood carefully. Aragorn rose beside her and she felt him gently take her by the shoulders and guide her towards a nearby fallen tree trunk. The Shadowhunter didn't have the strength to protest as he pushed her down and began to examine the arrow wound in her shoulder and the deep cut on her arm.
"You need to heal yourself," he said calmly. "I do not know how to."
"Why?" asked Aiedale dully.
"Because you will die of blood loss or poison or infection or all three."
"You do it then."
The Ranger read the emotions that passed across the pale, young face before him with ease. She clearly didn't think there was any point. Aiedale clearly was not only taking the blame for Boromir's death but also revealing her hopeless dread that she would never again return home. The Ranger's inability to draw a healing rune was a final straw - another reminder of the distance and foreignness of Middle Earth. Aragorn had to stop this, had to return her to the person he knew she was and had come to respect and care for. The Aiedale before him was not the person he knew. He remembered admiring her rare ability to overcome adversity in a quiet garden in Rivendell but, occasionally, even the bravest of warriors needed to be reminded. She had reminded him, first on their journey to Rivendell and after that…so many times after that.
The Shadowhunter cried out in pain as the Ranger took her by the shoulders and shook her roughly as his voice became harsh with frustration. "Do you want me to have to explain to your brother that I let you die because you wouldn't heal yourself?" he demanded. "Would this be what Gandalf or Boromir wanted? I know you, Aiedale. Don't lie."
"You don't know me!" she snapped angrily even as she sagged slightly in his tight grip. "You know nothing about…"
"Yes," said Aragorn in a low voice, "I know a great deal about Aiedale Darklighter. You can't hide everything. I know you have a brother you love. I know that your parents are dead but that your mother came to Middle Earth. I know that you like to pretend to have no feelings at all and never let anyone see into that damn head of yours. I know that you are a Shadowhunter and that you have sworn oaths to protect those around you even if you don't want to. Do you want to break those oaths? Disappoint that brother? Fail in your duty as friend and warrior? Lie? LIE?"
She flinched and dropped her eyes from his. Aragorn knew he was being cruel but he hoped Aiedale could forgive him. He would not lose another member of the Fellowship that day. Whatever it took to save this girl - he would do it.
"My stele," she said finally in a low voice and gestured at her left side, reluctantly sitting back down, "is here. Can you bring it out?"
Aiedale felt numb as she quietly instructed Aragorn to open the tear in her Gear enough that she could use the stele to heal her injuries. She didn't know what to say to him after the words he had snapped at her. Aiedale knew he was right to do what he had done but she couldn't help but hate him slightly to. It was embarrassing to show such weakness.
Legolas and Gimli reappeared not long after Aiedale finished her healing and, with their help, they were able to move Boromir's body back to their was not until the Shadowhunter saw the man laid out, shield at his feet and sword on his chest - the pose of the dead - that a single tear traced a path through the blood and grime that stained her pale face. Steeling herself, the warrior carved a pattern of runes into the side of the boat with her stele. Three were the traditional runes for the dead but the rest were the runes for warriors setting out on a mission. Aiedale hoped that should any person who could read the hidden meanings of these graceful runes would know that here lay a man who a Shadowhunter had honoured.
Legolas and Gimli spoke their own farewells and then, Aiedale helping despite Aragorn's protests, the group pushed the boat out into the current where it was swept up into the centre of the river, gathering speed and finally rushing over the edge of the waterfall.
Go well, thought the young woman. Go well and go free, Boromir. I knew you too little but well enough to say you were a friend and I learned something from you. I learned something I will never forget.
Aiedale did not let herself fall apart as she listened to Legolas quietly finish an elvish lament in his clear voice. She quietly controlled her face and her emotions.
"It's over then. The Fellowship is broken," said Gimli from where he stood, leaning heavily on his ax. His face was crumpled with emotion.
Aiedale looked over at the dwarf. She felt like telling him coldly that they still lived and that their fallen companions would not have wanted them to think such things. The Shadowhunter wanted to remind the dwarf of Merry and Pippen - brave, rash and daring - and their fate at the hands of orcs. But she held her tongue, leaving it to Aragorn and Legolas to point out what she thought was obvious. She would husband her strength, save it for the important things. Aiedale had never been called an optimist, a realist would have been a better description. But right then she knew she would have to change her ways - just this once - because she needed some hope, some blind belief to save Merry and Pippen, to honour Frodo and Sam's selfless decision, to find the answers, to remember Boromir in all his grand heroism and, in the end, to be true to herself.
So it was that she was ready, in every sense of the word, when Aragorn tossed her pack and dried cloak to her. She caught them easily, swinging the elven fabric around her slight shoulders where it settled securely. Weapons had been quickly gathered from the various corpses and stored in their proper place in readiness for this moment. Hair, crusty with dried blood, was firmly pulled back and gloves straightened. She was totally ready.
"Let's hunt orc."