The Fellowships of the Gems 4/?
Mar. 28th, 2007 03:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Chapter Fourteen: The Beginning of the End. The Companies Depart.
Emer came downstairs, a feeling of unreality filling her. Her face was white and she was silent as she stowed her gear. She looked over at Deagol, happily munching on a piece of hard bread.
She longed to take the dagger from her boot and stab him until he begged for mercy.
Someone spoke next to her. "Burn it all."
She spun around. No one was there.
~*~
Edric and Morrolan had been up in the library all night, studying maps and old runes. Theirs would be a rough journey through wild country, fraught with dangers unknown. Edric watched Emer, standing still as a stone near the table. Gently he laid a hand on her shoulder. She jumped as though burned.
"Though he has laid his hand upon you, it is still not too late to turn away. Tell me what you saw, and what you heard, and let me heal you of the deeper wound before I depart."
Emer's face grew ashen, her eyes brimming with tears as she faced Edric.
"There is nothing you can do Edric, he has had his hand on me for many months now. He invades my dreams, he poisons my soul. I should not go on this quest, I will bring danger. I feel a-kinship with Arwen, because of her pain. He told me to burn Rivendell, but I won't, I won't . . ." Emer lurched forward, grateful to close her eyes, for it seemed the Wizard could see inside her, see what she had struggled so hard to overcome, to ignore.
"If you could turn his gaze from me, I would thank you with my life," she sobbed.
Silvermoon entered as Emer stopped speaking. He looked from Edric to Emer, then back again.
"I see there is much healing that needs to be done in this Fellowship . . ."
"No single man could hope to turn back his gaze alone," was Edric's answer. "Listen to me, Emer. It is very hard for evil to take hold of the unconsenting soul. Somewhere within you lies a weakness, a vulnerability, and he has taken advantage of this. The path to healing lies inward. I cannot do this for you, but I can make it easier for you."
He placed his hands on the Elf's auburn hair, his thoughts spiraling toward a trance-like state. Sifting through her memories, he found the mark that had been left on her. He could not totally remove it, but dull the edges of it, making it easier for her to overcome. Edric's spirit fell when he saw what the Dark Lord had asked of her.
He mumbled the words of a spell that would lessen the Dark Lord's grip and strengthen her own resolve to resist him. More than this he could not do. He opened his eyes, smiling gently at her.
Zindel had heard from Silvermoon about the problem with Emer, he walked to Emer and Edric and said, "I agree with Silvermoon. There is much healing that needs to be done, but we need you in this Fellowship. With that being said we need to head out . . ."
"He is right, Edric. You must make haste, or Bain will get too far ahead. I thank you from my heart for all that you tried to do, and all that you did do. My heart is greatly lightened, and strengthened. Please, go now, before you fall too far behind."
~*~
"I must speak to Lady Evenstar before we depart," Bain said with sadness to the rest of his group.
He knelt before Arwen, taking her hand and kissing it. "Lady, I thank you for your mighty gift, but most of all, for your friendship. Word has already gone before me, there will be no more strife between our peoples. An old wound was healed. I only hope that the burden you carry will somehow be lightened before the end, and that I may look upon your beauty again, in times of peace."
Bain took from his pack a tiny Dragon wrought in silver. He placed it in her slender white hand.
"This was of Smaug's hoard. As it came from the darkness and into the light of the world of Men, may it symbolize my wish for your happiness, that light will return to you, and follow you and gladden all your days, for one such as you should never know so heavy a sorrow."
Bain stood, bowed, and returned to his company, his massive hammer swinging at his side. The Fellowship departed.
Arwen watched after Bain, smiling. The Dwarf was possessed of a deep kindness, and it touched the gray corners of her heart, warming her.
Arwen strolled outside while Emer still spoke to Edric. Suddenly she felt anxious to be gone. The Green Silmaril felt heavy next to her chest, under the mithril coat she wore.
~*~
Emer strapped her spear to her back, picked up her pack and joined Arwen and the others. Soon they found their horses and began the ascent out of the valley. Emer did not look back.
Chapter Fifteen: A Brief Return to the Shire
Doireann buzzed back into the Shire, divebombing two Hobbit children who were playing in the muddy banks of the Brandywine. They gave chase, huffing after her all the way to Hobbiton. When she finally landed on the roof of the Green Dragon they stopped, holding their sides.
"Come down!" they squealed. Doireann's laughter tinkled back at them.
"I have a message to deliver," she said back.
They looked disappointed, watching her dive into an open window on the upper floor.
Pansy was in the kitchen washing mushrooms. She looked aghast to see Doireann alone. Doireann landed on her shoulder.
It took some time to explain the quest Marigold had gone on, and Doireann had to wait to continue while Pansy alternately shouted or wiped away tears. Doireann hummed patiently when the story had been told.
Pansy wept until her face was streaked. She grabbed one of the bar towels and washed her face, her shoulders sagging. It felt like her heart had been ripped out and stomped on.
"Marigold, what have you done?" she said to herself. Doireann sat on the back of the chair.
Pansy sat down again across from her, scowling when Digger came in.
"Digger, go out there and serve those roustabouts and keep them quiet." Pansy's eyes were red-rimmed, and Digger knew better than to question her when she got a full head of steam.
"When's Mari coming back?"
"Never, by the looks of it. And you're not to go crowing about that in the pub. I'll tell them in my own good time." Digger shuffled out, closing the door behind him.
"Well, who's this Draco then? Will he look after her? Everyone knows who Syntoc the Green is, even in these parts."
"The White," Doireann corrected. "Draco is the son of Faramir and Eowyn of Minas Tirith."
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Fine breeding doesn't necessarily mean good character. Will he protect her?"
"I wouldn't worry. I think he would lay down his life for her. He's in love with her, you see."
Pansy began to cry all over again. Her beautiful, daughter, gone on a quest, her heart stolen by a Man, no less.
"Is he very tall?" Pansy asked.
"Yes."
"They must look a pair." Pansy smiled through her tears. All parents must one day let their children go out into the world, she hadn't expected it to be this wrenching, so many milestones all at once. And Mordor wasn't exactly Pansy's idea of leaving the nest. Pansy had always thought she be there when Marigold first fell in love, to help her through the ups and downs.
"Will you carry a letter to her for me, Doireann? I'll make it as light as can be."
Doireann chittered yes, and Pansy hurriedly found a quill and some parchment and began to write.
When she was done she rolled up the parchment and tied it carefully to Doireann with some string. It took some doing to avoid the large wings, and Pansy was careful not to touch them, they were very fragile.
"Please come back with news, when you can," said Pansy tearfully, and Doireann was off again.
Chapter Sixteen: On the Road. Afternoon.
Geharion swooped back down into Rivendell, flying like thought, diving over the company that had already left. He landed before Legolas.
"I have flown far. No enemies did I see, but that does not mean they do not lurk nearby. Take care! If you have need of me, call on me by my name, and I will come!"
He took to the air again, and brought his tale to those still in Rivendell, bidding them call if he was needed. He would fly between them all, and aid when he could.
Off he ran, riding the thermals, until he found a lonely forest pool to fish and stave off his thirst.
~*~
Marigold watched the Great Eagle fly away, it circled over them once before tearing off. It must be something to be so free. Yet even those great creatures felt the seeping threat of the Dark Lord.
She began to lose her fear of the horse, which was as big as an oliphaunt to her. Saying goodbye to everyone still hung in the air around them. Marigold still couldn't help the surge of happiness she felt at being so close to Draco. In spite of the road ahead, she felt safe with his arm around her. She looked down at his hands clenching the reins, and she took in the countryside, and she wondered at the sword she now carried.
Doireann had gone back to the Shire to tell mother Marigold would be away. She wasn't going to be happy. That left her only Digger Gamgee working at the Inn and her only child on the way to Mordor. It must be a sad life sometimes, to be someone's mother. Draco's mother had cried when he said goodbye to her. She thought about Eowyn, how she had faced the Nazgul, not caring for her own safety. There were many perils ahead, Marigold had to be ready to face them. She closed her eyes and hoped the courage she needed was somewhere inside.
After the party had traveled for a few hours already, Syntoc approached Draco. "My pupil, do you yet understand why a Wizard's power comes from his innermost thoughts, and not physical things?"
"Yes," Draco replied. He had thought of little else since they had departed but Syntoc's words and his parents, and Marigold, whose curly head was tucked under his chin.
The landscape seemed to stand out in bas-relief to him, and he felt connected to everything. There was a delicate balance between the ocean of air above and the land below, and all creatures who dwelt there, an interdependence which had never occurred to him in so profound a way. It seemed to him that the working of magic and the wielding of power worked within this frame, and were interdependent on it, and that the only thing that set Mankind apart from the rest was the choices he made between good and evil, and the will to act upon them.
He tried to tell Syntoc this, wondering what he would say.
~*~
Lunea looked about her, spoke some words softly to her steed, then flew on ahead. Her horse followed the others.
After some time, she sat down in a branch overlooking the road. The breeze played with her hair. She started to swing her legs like a small child.
"Darkness comes to overtake us, hanging in the air like fog in the morning. What shall perish now from this world so faced with turmoil?"
~*~
Vlad watched silently as Lunea went away. He clung to his horse tighter as it jarred him a bit.
:Relax, boss. You're not going to fall.:
:Hm. Think about this; if I fall, you fall too.:
:I can fly.:
:Shut up, Loiosh.:
The Jhereg laughed in his mind. Vlad clung tighter as his head began to pound again, blocking the pain from Loiosh.
"Hey, Syntoc! The symphony started again. Do you have any idea what might be doing this? A headache once in a while, can be accepted, but I know this headache isn't normal."
"Let's see, Vlad. You first had these headaches when we spoke of the Dark Lord. I am assuming you have them when he does damage to something, when he asserts his little authority. I sense that he is doing something now. This is causing you pain, Vlad."
Syntoc walked in silence over to Draco. "I am pleased at your answer. I now have another task for you, Draco the Wise. Close your eyes. Let your thoughts guide you, and your ears. You should perceive your surroundings, not see them."
~*~
The afternoon was long, and the sun riveting. It dried their mouths only minutes after drinking. In late afternoon they found a shaded place near a quiet pool to fill their bottles and eat.
While the others stretched out for a few moments and the horses drank, Legolas pulled Ayala aside.
He dug through his pack until he found what he was looking for, withdrawing a small circlet of gold. In the center was set a radiant opal, which caught the light and bent it, sending it back out in a thousand different colors. He placed it on her head.
"I meant to give you this earlier, but there was so little time." He stepped back to admire her, the sun in her hair, and the opal shining like the evening star on her brow.
"You are finer than any queen," he said, kissing her. "I love you Ayala, every day with you brings new happiness. No matter what comes . . ."
He did not finish the sentence, knowing she knew all to well what he meant to say.
"Legolas . . . it is beautiful!" said Ayala with great delight. "If only . . ." Ayala's face suddenly became hard, and her eyes distant. "If only my parents and brother were here." Ayala looked at Legolas, and the mood left her. "But you are here, and it lightens my heart. They would love to see you again. Before my brother left over the Seas with Elrond, he asked me to give you something. This gift you have given me brought it back to my mind."
Ayala took her pack and searched through it. She removed a thin, fairly long dagger within a sheath. The sheath was silver with one leaf and an eagle, the symbol of the Proudbows. The blade itself gave off a faint, green aura. The hilt was gold with leaves engraved in silver. "We made it together, him and I. He believed it would be appropriate to give to you."
Ayala handed the blade to Legolas, her face filling with color.
"It is wonderful," Legolas sighed, measuring the weight of the knife in his hands. It was perfect.
He tucked it into his boot lovingly.
"Ayala, I know your pain, I know that you miss your family. One day we will meet them again, together, your family and mine, for now they are our family." He drew her into an embrace, feeling closer then ever to her now.
Chapter Seventeen: As the Crow Flies. Fires. From the Ashes.
As night charged in, overtaking day, a single stately crow spread its wings in defiance before vanishing in a thicket near the House of Elrond.
Its eyes, like two pebbles of jet, regarded its surroundings with a cool disdain. The sky above deepened from purple to black, the color of his wings.
He hastened from limb to limb, unseen, making no sound, avoiding the trees in which Elves sang or slept. The crow fluttered off in the direction of the gardens. On the western edge, a shrine was kept in memory of those who had departed from the Grey Havens, those who had shirked their responsibilities and gone over the Sea.
A single torch burned there, a flame lit on the day the last had departed and never since quenched. It flickered harmlessly, casting dancing shadows on the rune-covered wall behind.
The crow perched on the side of the sconce, pecking and clawing until the torch tipped. When it landed on the damp grass, the crow flew off, gathering tinder dry leaves and pine needles, which he dropped onto the smoldering torch until flames sprang forth.
A willow wept nearby, it's tendrils swept in the breeze, and the flame licked and jumped until the limb went up in orange ecstasy. Soon the tree was consumed, and the fire went on its way from treetop to treetop. When it began to truly rage, the crow flew up and off, into the cool darkness which was all his heart's desire.
~*~
Kazushe watched as the flames slowly began to consume the trees. He shook his head sadly.
"You try to break their spirits, Dark Lord, but you do not realize the strength these spirits have. It shall take much more than that to destroy them . . ."
~*~
"Arwen!!" cried an Elf. "Lady Arwen! A great fire has started! It is coming from Rivendell!"
Silvermoon stood up in shock.
"A fire? What could have . . .?" Silvermoon's voice drifted as he realized what could have started the flames.
Arwen jumped from her horse so swiftly that it nickered in alarm. She found the tallest tree she could and began to climb. The tree swayed under her quick passage. When she reached the top she shielded her eyes.
In the distance was the smoke of a great burning, it's shadow darker than the darkness, like a stain on the horizon. She hurried down again.
"We must go back," she implored Edric. He agreed and the race was on. Arwen was very glad they had tarried, for they hadn't gone far. The horses stumbled in the darkness, but the riders drove them on, back to Rivendell.
~*~
Bain, Larz, the Wanderer, Morrolan and Edric had marched far, this was a quiet company full of grim faced men and little had been said and a lot of distance already covered.
The quiet was so deep that Edric stood bolt upright, rooted to the spot when he heard Arwen's call in his mind.
The others stopped at the abrupt halt in the march, looking quizzically at Edric.
"Rivendell is burning," he said almost inaudibly.
"Bain. I must make use of the Arkenstone. I know we agreed not to bring it out into the light of day, if the need were not desperate I would not ask."
Bain reached into his pack, solemnly passing the heavy stone to Edric. Edric raised it over his head in a gesture of invocation, calling to Arwen to do the same with the Silmaril she carried. As Edric began a deep chant, a beam of light burst from the stone. In less time than it took to draw breath twice, the white beam of the Arkenstone was met by a green beam from many leagues distant. Arwen had heard his call.
Edric's eyes closed as his chanting rose and fell, finally reduced to sibilant whispers as together he and Arwen called the clouds.
Edric lowered the stone, spent, when he felt the first torrents of rain begin to fall on Rivendell. Would it be enough to save the valley? Wearily he handed the Arkenstone back to Bain, his face grey with effort. They had just given their positions away to the Dark Lord as surely as if they called to him themselves. Though Edric was drained in body and soul their need to march on was more pressing than ever.
The company grew even quieter and more dour at this ill turn of events, and each in his own heart pondered the fate of the Elves who had been struck at the heart, and the three fellowships whose peril was now greater than ever before.
Larz sidled over to Edric. "Lean on me," he said gruffly, seeing how the Wizard now struggled.
~*~
"No, Lady," Emer screamed, seeing what Arwen was about to do. "The Dark Lord will know where we are . . ."
"He already knows, or Rivendell would not be burning," Arwen snapped back.
Emer stood by helplessly as Arwen raised the stone, Zindel at her side. Emer saw the other ray of light, pale white, from very far away, which met with the power of the Silmaril at the very same point in the sky. Emer heard the rumble of thunder after what seemed like hours.
Weakly Arwen lowered the stone. "We must go back. Our help will be needed."
"The Dark Lord seeks to delay us," Emer spat.
"Of course he does, and he will do so again many times before we reach our destination. We cannot leave our people in Rivendell so wounded."
"What is our destination?" Emer asked fiercely.
Silvermoon put a hand on Arwen's shoulder.
"It is painful for me to say, but if we turn back now, we shall give the Dark Lord more time to catch us. We must continue along our way, and hope Rivendell shall remain standing," he said. "There may be something I can do . . ." Silvermoon turned away from Rivendell and started to walk.
"Silvermoon," Arwen called. "We are bound for Lothlorien. Edric and I have brought the rain by the power of the stones." Arwen's voice was strangled by a sob. "Tell them to come, all who still live, and we will fill Lorien with life again."
Arwen turned away, blinded by tears, thankful that her father was not here to see this day.
"But I am here, Daughter," Elrond called softly from the shadows. He took Arwen in his arms, and she wept. Elrond did not weep, his grief was too deep, far beyond mortal tears.
"Even across the Sea, I heard you. I could not stay, knowing what you face. Cirdan made for us a ship, a ship which cannot return to our land across the Sea. I bring an army. We bear for Rivendell now, Daughter. You brought the rain, you did well." Elrond held Arwen against his chest until she grew still.
"Continue on, to Lorien. We will follow as soon as we have gone to Rivendell, to see what, if anything, can be done there."
Elrond nodded respectfully to the rest of Arwen's fellowship. "Make haste, and follow your instincts. I will come as soon as may be."
Lightning flashed, and the fellowship got a good look at Elrond's followers: a battalion of Elven footsoldiers waited for his next order. He gestured to them and they marched away.
Elrond's expression was fell, thinking of Arwen. Evenstar of her people, with gray touching her hair, the ugly hand of mortality everywhere leaving its mark on her. And Rivendell, the verdant valley, home, burning.
The Elven army cut a wide swath and marched on in all swiftness toward the place where the Dark Lord had infiltrated that which had once never been seen by mortal eyes.
Arwen stood a long time, looking at the spot where her father had stood, wondering if perhaps she had lost her mind completely. The sounds of the Elven troops marching away still rang in her ears like bells, and her eyes smoldered in the darkness.
Suddenly she turned. "Let us carry on." She leapt back into the saddle and they resumed their course.
Silvermoon walked to Arwen, his shoulders sagging.
"Rivendell, or what is left, shall be protected now, not by Elves, but by others. They shall be undetected by any except other Mages and the Dark Lord. Come now. The burden shall be lightened now."
~*~
Elrond surveyed what was left of Rivendell, his jaw set and his eyes fierce. For what had been done here, a payment must be exacted. For now, he must determine who yet lived.
The wounded were gathered, staring in disbelief at the smoking ruins and surreal, alien landscape that remained. The trees were blackened skeletons, and acrid smoke still filled the air. The sound of coughing was everywhere.
Small, temporary camps were set up, and water and food brought to the wounded after they had been tended to. The army Elrond had brought surrounded all, but there was little fear the Dark Lord would strike again. The damage had already been done.
It wasn't until the deepest hours of the night that Elrond allowed himself to feel again, and then he thought of nothing but Arwen, proud, beautiful Arwen. The immeasurable well of grief he had felt upon being parted from her, and now to return, and see her so fragile, as if she would shatter were any more laid upon her shoulders.
He wandered the camps, unable to be still.
~*~
Now began the difficult task of leaving Rivendell altogether. Litters were built from branches left unburned, and the wounded were dragged out. The heat was now unbearable in the scorched and desolate remains. Elrond was thankful many times for the thousand Elves who had accompanied him.
Between the unharmed and the troops, they cleared the valley quickly, marching five by five, their sights set on Lothlorien.
Chapter Eighteen: Rivendell Burning. Aftermath.
Legolas was half listening to Syntoc and Draco talking quietly when he gasped. His throat closed on the words Syntoc had spoken at the exact same moment Legolas had been about to say them: "Rivendell is burning."
"We must go back, they will need our help," cried Legolas.
Lunea flew back to the party.
"We cannot return to Rivendell now. Every step we take backwards gives the Dark Lord a chance to move forward," she said.
"But our people will be hurt!" cried Ayala. "We must help them!"
"If you wish to see the whole world burn, then turn back now!" snapped Lunea. "We have to get the third stone now!"
"Master, I don't mean to question you, but should we not go back? To Rivendell?"
Syntoc shook his head sadly, his hat in his hands.
"There is nothing we can do, Draco. Many forces are at work, for good, and ill. The balance will soon be restored. Close your eyes. Do you not see it?"
At first he saw only the chaos of his own emotions. This, then, was what Syntoc was trying to teach him; how to see past his own heart and into the hearts and minds of others.
He saw the trees of Rivendell, alit, and Elves running, maddened by the destruction, trying in despair to stop the fire. He saw the powers of the two stones brought together, and the rain coming down, and a kingly Elf leading a mighty army towards Rivendell. They ran, tireless and swift. They were almost there . . .
"Now you see with your true eyes," said Syntoc softly. Draco looked at him, with wonder, and fear, and still he felt they should go back. He was torn. He felt Marigold reach for his hand, his face wet with tears. What would happen to the Elves? If they went back, the Dark Lord could trap them all there, if they went on, they would surely meet him anyhow.
"There is no way but forward," said Syntoc. They urged their horses on, a pall of depression over all of them.
For the first time since he could remember, Syntoc felt himself begin to cry. He was a man of many emotions, yet rarely showed them. He shouted at the top of his lungs, "Geharion!"
As promised, the bird arrived swiftly.
Syntoc wiped away a tear, and turned to the bird. "I have a very dangerous task for you, but it must be done. I need you to travel to Mordor. I hear there is one near to the Dark Lord that may defect and save us by delaying his master. If we go on while the Dark One knows where we are, we will be destroyed early. Now, GO!"
Geharion screamed one final scream of rage, circling over the fellowship before turning west.
"If you have need of my brethren, Syntoc the White, call on them. I know the one of which you speak. Look for my return, though it may be long.
"Farewell!"
Geharion rose into the air, catching the warm thermals of summer, and shot away like an arrow, his broad wings beating down, powered by his anger. He had flown over Rivendell, it was ruinous to see. Ahead, a crow flew, pointed also to the west. Geharion followed it, sensing, faster, until he was near enough to snap the crow into his beak and crush it.
~*~
Marigold watched Syntoc. Draco, behind her on the horse felt like an anchor, the only thing solid and real in a world now gone utterly mad. She held onto his hand until her knuckles were white.
It impaired his ability to rein the horse, but the horse seemed to know where it was going, or didn't mind the slack on one side. Marigold bit her lip, trying to keep from crying again herself.
How could they go on, the Elves had been so kind, and beautiful, everything they now had with the exception of the horses was because of the elves, including hope. If the Dark Lord could burn Rivendell, the most beautiful of places, more beautiful than anything Marigold had dreamt of, he would do anything, destroy anything in his absolute lust for power.
Marigold was no Wizard, but it seemed to her this was what it was all about, the Dark Lord wanted only to control, no matter if he controlled a lifeless wasteland. It was beyond her comprehension.
Draco's hand was cold, and Mari could feel his heartbreak and his silent sobs. She caressed the back of his hand, trying to comfort him, hoping that he knew she loved him. She intended to tell him at the very first opportunity, no matter what his response was. It was a rare thing in one's life to care for someone as she did him, and tonight she had learned that time was very short indeed.
They rode on a few hours more, before stopping to camp. Though they rolled up in their cloaks and tried, no one slept, they stared up at the night sky, feeling betrayed, and lost. Marigold snuggled up to Draco, feeling cold in spite of the warm summer evening. She kissed his cheek, feeling the tautness of his clenched jaw.
"I love you, Draco," she whispered.
"I love you, too," he whispered back, holding her tightly. For a long while neither of them could speak, so heavy were their emotions, from one extreme to the other.
"Arwen," said Marigold after some time. "Do you think, will she be all right?"
"I don't know. She used to be so...untouchable. Not like the rest of us. When I was a child, she seemed to me some sort of goddess, walking among living men as a reminder of what could be, but now what was. Once, I heard her sing. I was walking, looking for my guardian, Nemeth. I was frightened, for I was usually made to stay only in one area of the city, and I was certainly never allowed to wander until I was old enough and knew every corner and turning. Looking back, I suppose I had wandered off and Nemeth was probably searching for me, and I came to a small garden, it was open to the sky. Ivy covered the walls, and the trees were all in flower, and still I was afraid, till I heard her voice. I don't know if she knew I was there. I sat down, listening to her sing, an Elven song...at first the words were meaningless, but I closed my eyes and my mind quieted and my heart opened, and suddenly I knew the meaning of the words. It was a song about travelling to the Havens, and about the Shipmaster, and passing over the Sea, and what waited there, and as she sang I could see that fabled land, the highest tower catching the last rays of the setting sun. There was a sword set in the tower, and it burned like fire, and the clouds were like mountains behind the land...that was my first experience with Wizardry, hearing that song, and understanding, though it was sung in a foreign tongue. In a very large way it was Arwen who set me on this path, who opened the door for what my life will become, one day." Draco's words trailed off and he crushed Marigold to him, his mind filled with images of Rivendell burning, and Elves running, screaming, dying. He tried to push the thoughts away but they kept returning.
To his very great surprise, Marigold kissed him.
Her lips were very soft, and he kissed her back until he was light-headed with longing, and love.
He stroked her hair, kissing her until she fell asleep at last. He tucked his cloak around her, and got up to join Syntoc, who was smoking a pipeful. Draco passed him a small leather bag.
"Pipeweed from the South Farthing," he said. They sat together blowing smoke rings; Syntoc's were round and floated merrily up and off, Draco's were sort of unformed looking and broke apart.
"Like this," said Syntoc, showing him how it was done.
It was then that Doireann winged her way down, flying directly through the center of one of Syntoc's smoke rings. She landed near Marigold, who was still asleep, then flitted to Draco's knee, the piece of parchment still tied to her thorax.
"Please take this off me, it's a letter for Marigold," said Doireann, raising her wings out of the way as Draco untied it.
"Ah, that's much better." She sat on Draco's knee until Marigold roused, just before morning.
~*~
Deagol was eased by the night, his eyes did not hurt, and the Elves were quiet, deathly quiet. He capered over and peered down at Legolas and Ayala, his arms were around her, their bright eyes closed. Deagol could tell by their posture they were not sleeping.
Wicked Elves, bad Elves, now you have paid for your cruelty, he thought.
Now they were all forlorn, the fire had come, and Deagol saw his chance, off he ran, hearing water running somewhere, not far, not far, lovely cool water and fat fish to eat, he was so hungry, and wretched after the day's heat which dried his skin and eyes, and burnt his feet. He slipped into the water and dove under the surface, back in his own element once again. He longed to follow the stream west, to his master, but he must stay with the hateful Elves and the Wizard who could see right through him, he must not let them come to where the white stone was hidden, thieves, they had stolen it, but the Dark Lord had promised to give it back to Deagol, if he led them astray, led them to him, for they had other gems, which the Dark Lord wanted, more valuable than his precious white stone.
When Deagol had held the white stone, all his wretchedness had fallen away, he had stood upright, strong and fierce, and from his eyes came flames that would wither any Elf, and from his lips, the words of spells. Without the gem he was nothing, nothing, and it angered Deagol that the thing he wanted most was of the Elves themselves, of Galadriel. Galadriel, who had once rejected him, sent him wounded at the heart from Lothlorien, banished. Galadriel was out of his reach now. Others were not.
Deagol spied a plump fish and dove deeper, snaring it in his clawed hands. He sank his fangs into the back of it, so it writhed before dying.
~*~
Lunea stood up, her eyes cold.
"I'm going out again, Syntoc. Be careful. That creature went away again."
Without another word, Lunea flew off. When she was out of sight, she let her tears fall.
Someone has to be strong, she told herself. Everyone has broken down with the destruction of Rivendell. I gotta be strong . . .
She wiped the tears from her face and weaved through the trees. Finally she stopped near a stream and sat down.
:Silvermoon?:
:Hm?: came the reply.
:Are you ready?:
:Yes, of course.:
The two minds, though far apart in distance, linked.
:Mages of the Light, hear us now! We are seeking your assistance. Rivendell in Middle-Earth has been burnt. The Dark Lord's powers are rising . . .: They called together.
:Do you wish us to watch over Rivendell then?: came a voice.
:Would it be possible?: asked Lunea.
:I do not like this plan,: said another voice. :If either of you were to need assistance . . .:
:Can a barrier be set up by at least two?: asked Silvermoon.
:Two of us can set up a barrier, but still . . .:
:Then that will have to do. The twins will be best . . .: said Lunea.
:Or perhaps the life-bonded,: said a voice. :We are at this moment near your region with some other Rangers. It would be best if we stayed.:
:Fine. Can you life-bonds handle it?:
:Yes,: came a voice with mock-irritation. :We taught you to set up barriers, Luna-chan. Remember?:
Lunea nearly let go of her link as she nearly exploded with laughter.
:Ok. So I made a mistake. Good luck.:
:Luck to you, Luna-chan.:
The links were released, but Lunea remained where she was, waiting for the party to come.
~*~
Vlad laid down, with his hand on his head, his eyes closed in pain.
"I wish this head-ache would go away . . ."
:Yeah. Me too.:
:Sorry, Loiosh. I'm trying to block it as much as possible . . .:
:Don't worry about it.:
:Yeah?:
~*~
Legolas was restless and sick at heart. He kissed Ayala's forehead and found his way to the rushing water, dropping to his knees, he bathed his face and hair. The water was icy, even more so on this warm evening, and he tore his clothes off and dove in, swimming downstream to where the water gathered in a great dark pool, overhung with branches. He swam down, and down, trying in vain to wash clean his thoughts. He should be going back, Rivendell was his home, his birthplace. He surfaced, flinging his dripping hair from his face, to see a pair of yellow eyes regarding him.
They grew wider as he swam quickly towards them.
"Deagol," he uttered, his voice full of more menace than any Orc's. "If ever I find you played any part in the burning of Rivendell, I will show you a fire the likes of which even the Dark Lord cannot fathom." He fixed the creature in his gaze, knowing how much Deagol hated the gaze of Elves. So intent was Legolas, Deagol could not look away. He cringed and whimpered, but was held fast.
"Get away from me before I burn the eyes from your head, you hideous wretch," Legolas hissed, and Deagol sprinted off, his head swiveling back to look at Legolas again and again. When he had gone, Legolas heaved himself up onto the back and wept, feeling his emotions snap within him. He felt without a soul, empty.
~*~
Deagol slunk back into the camp, still carrying a half-eaten fish. The fish fell forgotten in the dirt when Deagol saw the enormous Dragonfly on the Man's knee. Crunchy it would be, and sweet.
Deagol crouched, ready to spring.
~*~
Marigold was dreaming. She sat in a clearing, all around was evidence that the rest of the Fellowship had camped here, they had been here when she went to sleep. Now she was all alone.
She got up, disoriented. Paths of footprints led off in all directions. The fire was dying.
Just as she was about to open her mouth to call out, to scream, she heard a woman calling, singing. She followed the sound toward the trees, and was thrown to the ground when suddenly they burst into flame.
Her eyes flew open just in time to see Deagol poised to leap. "Doireann, LOOK OUT!"