A/N: Half way there! Roughly!
LadyForlong - Thank you haha. Not gonna lie, crafting the troll scene was equal parts difficult and fun lol. Truly disgusting. And yes, Rinior absolutely thinks he's right. Feanorians so often tread that line between sanity and madness. Delusions of grandeur, one might even say. I do so love them.
Chapter Twenty-Four - Maedeth
Mountains towered above her. Maedeth looked up at their dark peaks against the midday sun, wind rushing past them as they galloped on. The days blurred together. How long had it been since Rivendell? Too long.
Too long. Time worked against them. Spring rolled into summer, flowers bloomed in ruined Eregion. The world moved on. The sun set and rose again, not caring that each passing moment brought doom closer at hand.
She shook herself. Thoughts like this helped no one. Her brother had made his choice, one he could not come back from. But Maedeth had made hers, as well. She'd chosen to go forward, through hopelessness because that was what had to be done.
They didn't speak much. Maedeth relished the moments she spent close to Elladan, separated by their steeds but held together by shared purpose. They knew their mission: secure aid from Gondor. They knew their enemy: the flow of time.
Caradhras loomed above, a sharp spear into the sky. A decade ago she'd come with hopes, with dreams of bringing together an alliance across races: elves, men, and dwarves. She'd left with nothing but despair. It gladdened her heart that they would not be traversing Hadhodrond again.
Celebrían had suggested they take the Redhorn Gate. Maedeth agreed with her. Ten years ago the winter winds had sealed that path off, even had they not needed to speak with King Durin VI. Now, speed meant everything. They needed their horses beyond the mountains. The pass would have to humor them.
Not that the mountain crags were without peril; goblins occasionally harassed travelers and the mountain had a fickle temper. She prayed that Elbereth would see them through. What else could be done?
They reached their destination by early evening. The Sirannon ran gently through the blooming, green land before the Walls of Khazad-dûm. But this time, they would not continue to the towering holly trees that marked the entrance to the Mines. Instead, they followed the water.
A path wound upwards through a half dozen switchbacks. Where once the path had been smoothed with dirt and sand, now weeds and sharp stones slowed their progress. But on the fourth switch back, it was not the land that halted them. It was dwarves.
Armored like the guards of King Durin, six dwarves manned a crumbling stone archway across the path, where it joined a larger, ancient roadway. They branched across in the likeness of two holly trees. Much of the detail had been lost over the years, exposed to wind, rain, and snow. But still the dwarves defended it.
"State your business."
Maedeth dismounted her brown horse. She offered it a quick word of thanks, noticing the rough breathing from days of exhausting travel. Then she turned all attention to the dwarf who spoke.
"Greetings. I am Lady Maedeth of Arthedain, at your service. This is Lord Elladan of Rivendell. We seek passage through the Redhorn Gate," she said.
The dwarf returned her bow with his own. But he did not loosen his grip on his great axe. "By order of King Durin VI of Khazad-dûm, all who seek passage must pay their toll in gold or mithril."
Maedeth frowned. Rumors of the greed of the dwarves increasing had reached even the ears in Rivendell. They had expected a toll but gold or mithril? She had precious little of either.
"How much?" she asked.
The dwarf guard studied her. She could just make out brown eyes beyond the helm obscuring his face. He stepped forward.
"What do you offer?"
Maedeth turned to Elladan. He had dismounted also, staying quiet while she negotiated. But he must have seen the fear in her eyes, the fear that they would be stopped in their mission so early. He took two golden rings off his fingers and handed them forward.
"This is all the finery we carry," he said. "Please, let us pass. We ride south in great need."
The dwarf took the rings. Another guard handed him a small, glass loupe. He used examined the facets of the inlaid gems. With a half frown, he pocketed them and put hands on his hips.
"Very well," he said. "You may pass. But the guards on the other side may not be so generous when you return."
Maedeth thanked him, speaking no words about their return. She could not even give that a thought yet. Returning to Arthedain meant little if they didn't first reach their destination. With the toll paid, they led their horses by leads beyond the Redhorn Gate.
It took almost no time to be left alone on the mountain path. Maedeth watched her feet. She trusted that Elladan would watch their surroundings. Some daylight remained. They would push on as far as possible before darkness fell.
It fell quickly. Even though the warm air of late spring filled all the lands below them, on the side of the peak of Caradhras, a chill breeze blew. Maedeth wrapped herself in her cloak, knees to her chest, as Elladan poked at the fire with a branch. He stoked the flames. She drove away the shadows in her mind.
"You're shivering."
She glanced up. The firelight glinted off Elladan's grey eyes, turning them into little embers themselves. As she adjusted herself, untangling her limbs from beneath the wrapped cloak, pain shot through her. Each joint and muscle ached.
"I'm alright," she said. "Rest is difficult, that's all."
Elladan nodded. He looked at her for another few heartbeats, not moving, before he scooted around the fire to sit beside her. She felt the warmth of his side as they huddled next to each other beneath the overhang.
"Have I ever told you about the first time Glorfindel trained us to fight?" he asked. He began to smile, memories flashing across his mind. "We were just children, barely able to hold the wooden swords our father gifted us."
Maedeth forced herself to chuckle. She tried to imagine what Elladan and Elrohir had looked like as children. Puffy cheeks, brown hair, wobbly little legs. Her greatest joy in life had come from watching Mírien grow into the strong young woman she had become.
"Our parents wanted us to be able to defend ourselves," Elladan said. "War is not unique to any age of Arda Marred. Though I know you know this for yourself."
Maedeth nodded. She wrapped the cloak closer again. "Indeed."
"Well, Glorfindel did not expect that we would pick up the basics of swordplay so quickly. Nor did he anticipate the chaos we could sow. I wonder if they regret training us!"
Another laugh, but Maedeth felt the cold creeping in. Her thoughts raced faster even than her heart. Defend herself. She remembered the weight of the warg on her chest a decade ago. She remembered the despair at Rínior's betrayal. She could see Tiniel fading before her eyes. How could she defend herself? What meager training with a blade she'd had as a young woman had faded long ago.
"I feel so helpless," she whispered, staring into the dancing flames. The brilliant light deepened the shadows all around it where it could not touch. Maedeth covered her face. "You have your sword, your bow, your strategy in war. What do I have? Books?"
"Intelligence," Elladan said. "Kindness. Endurance. Empathy. These are traits that will defend not only you but all you believe in. Kingdoms fall, Maedeth. Realms change. But truth does not."
She took a deep breath. Maedeth turned to him, so close it was tantalizing. He brought such comfort in the dark. She knew he felt the same way. She saw his breathing quicken, could see the flush of his face. But they were at war. Duty came first. And though he spoke wisely, she could not continue on to preserve the truth if the servants of the Witch-king killed her.
"Teach me to fight," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "Please."
He paused, but he nodded. She had a sword strapped to her horse in case of an emergency. They would not be sleeping that night regardless, too many emotions stirred in their hearts.
"Now?" he asked.
"Yes."
They stood from the ground. Maedeth's eyes adjusted to the dark as they put a bit of distance from the blinding camp fire. The blade felt wrong in her hands, a deadly weight she had no desire to use. But in days of evil, she knew it was necessary to be prepared for the day she had to kill to save her people, her friends, her family.
Elladan stood opposite her. He started by demonstrating a proper stance. Maedeth did her best to copy him, but the blade refused to cooperate. Mere minutes into the midnight lesson and she already wished to throw it all away.
He stood beside her. Elladan placed a hand on hers, guiding her arms, hands, fingers to their proper grip. She breathed him in, his safety and security. And with each moment that passed, each gentle correction of her blade and grip and footwork, her fears eased. She would learn how to defend herself. But Elladan, he would be there too. And if that were true, perhaps hope was not so dead after all.