Aiër Chapter 25

Shëanon was mindless with desire. Legolas kissed her with increasing passion, his hands holding her ever closer, moving over her with such reverence and intent that she was gasping against his lips. They were in her bed—he was above her, pressing her against the hard lines of his powerful body as though he could bear no distance between them, and Shëanon could only clutch him in return, desperate to make known to him her bliss and agreement. He slid his palm under her, against the small of her back, and she arched beneath him in fevered acquiescence. Distantly she knew it should have been shocking—somewhere, blearily, away from the haze of her pleasure, in the back of her mind, some voice whispered that she should have been stunned to find herself so entangled with Legolas beneath her sheets, trembling and panting as he kissed and caressed her. Instead she caressed him in return, grasping at his tunic and his flaxen hair—

"Shëanon," he hissed near her ear. All through her flesh some hot wave washed over her, some persistent burst of rapturous want, a heated ache that was both torturous and welcome—that she yearned both to assuage and provoke.

Shëanon drew back and opened her eyes, needing to see his face—to see if he was as overcome as she was—

She blinked in confusion. Legolas was gone. Her bed was cold and empty, the dark of the room absolute.

"Do you wish a new master, you simpering brat?"

The cruel voice doused the flames of her desire at once. Shëanon looked, in startled horror, to the foot of the bed, where she could see him standing and peering through the shadows. Stark and terrible, piercing the shrouding veil of the gloom, the face of Saruman was whiter than death. He stood utterly still, unmoving before her, and she was likewise frozen, unable to do anything but stare in immobile dread.

As he beheld her his cold eyes seemed gleam, and then from the quiet there came the sound of footsteps, slow and impossibly loud, as though whoever walked had an immensely heavy gait. Shëanon wrenched her gaze away from Saruman and saw that her bedroom door stood ajar. The corridor beyond was brightly lit as though by some great fire, and as the resounding footsteps grew louder and louder a shadow could be seen in the hall looming larger and larger, closer and closer as the coming figure drew near, and Shëanon opened her mouth to scream, for she knew who it was, but as she tried to cry out she could make no sound—

Shëanon shot up in bed, panicked and covered in a cold sweat. For one instant she didn't know if she had awoken—the darkness was menacing and absolute, her fear lingering. The fire in the hearth had gone out while she'd slept and for a moment she peered in frantic terror through the pitch blackness, seeking the sheen of Saruman's white robes or the glint of his eyes, and expecting to hear the footsteps of Sauron moving someplace close by. As the moments passed however no danger was revealed, and slowly her eyes adjusted in the dark. Through the window the dim glow of the fading stars came in and she could see her room in Edoras, empty but for her.

She slumped against her pillow.

'A nightmare,' she told herself in relief, shaking and shivering beneath her bedcovers. 'Just a nightmare.'

Still though her heart continued to race, her breaths short even as she tried to calm down. It had been so vivid—all of it had seemed so real. She could still feel the eyes of Saruman upon her and feel the danger of Sauron's approach. With trembling fingers she ran her hands through her hair and drew her knees to her chest.

'I am just frightened by what I saw,' she assured herself, peering nervously into the corners of the room. An uncertain thought occurred to her—what if it had been no nightmare at all? But she shook her head and dismissed the notion at once, for no matter how realistic a nightmare it had been, it could not have been a vision. Had she not seen Saruman die before her very eyes? And certainly Sauron himself would not come marching into Edoras, and that was nothing to speak of the positively indecent things that she and Legolas—No, it was nothing but a dream.

Cold in her damp shirt and leggings, Shëanon continued to take deep breaths, trying to forget the nightmare entirely, but the longer she attempted it, the more unnerved she felt. A threat was growing in her mind, her every instinct crying out in warning. There was a presence somewhere nearby that raised every hair on her body. It was as though her nightmare had bled into her waking life, and she was beginning to feel more and more that it was not simply the bad dream that stayed with her. Indeed, she was awake now and had her wits about her; she should not have been so wary. Yet suddenly Shëanon felt that the Enemy was bearing down upon them, as though if she peered out her window she would see Nazgûl or Uruk-hai or worse. Every inch of her skin was pricked by goosebumps.

For a long moment she sat hesitating beneath her blanket, trying to convince herself it was all a trick of the night. Over the pounding of her heart she listened carefully for sounds of evil tidings somewhere in the distance, but all was still and eerily silent—so silent that she could hear the wind moving in the grasses outside. Shëanon held her breath, straining, but there were no shouts to be heard, or screeching beasts of Mordor, or ringing swords. There was nothing. Letting out the breath she'd been holding in a nervous rush, she drew her blanket closer, resolving to go back to sleep.

Just as she began to lie back down she heard it, somewhere close by: a single, unmistakable gasp of fear.

Shëanon shoved off her bedcovers with a startled jolt and ran from the room. Something was terribly awry; she was certain now.

No one was in the hall, but she understood as she flew by the extinguished torches that she had anticipated finding some foe waiting to cut her down, and she cursed as she realized that she had left her sword and all her weapons behind on her dressing table. The malevolent presence felt stronger now that she was no longer trying to ignore it. Increasingly frantic, she darted down the corridor in her bare feet until she came to the room where her companions slept, intent upon waking Gandalf and Aragorn at once.

Shëanon threw open the door and barreled into the room. In the low light of the chamber she saw that not everyone was asleep—Merry was awake, and Pippin—

Her jaw dropped.

"Help him!" Merry cried when he saw that she had come in, and in shock she bounded forward. Pippin was crouched on his bed, grappling with some glowing, hissing orb that he held before him in both hands, his face contorted with pain and wild fear. From within the dark depths of the foreign object shone a fiery light that threw Pippin's agony into sharp relief, and at the sight of it she felt a spike of desperate fright.

Somehow even in her horror Shëanon had the sense not to grasp the ball itself, instead thinking to close her hands about Pippin's wrists and lift them from the orb, but as she neared his bedroll she looked down—

The Eye of Sauron looked back at her, and Shëanon heard herself scream. Raging flames were suddenly all that she could see, obscuring the chamber and all else. Through the blaze of the consuming conflagration emerged a dark figure not unlike the one from her nightmare, crowned by shadows and wreathed in the fire. He seemed to look directly at her.

"Peredhel," he said, in the same voice she had heard from within the One Ring, terrible and taunting, and—

"Shëanon!"

Shëanon opened her eyes, gasping, to see Legolas leaning over her, his eyes wide with alarm. To her bewilderment she realized she was lying flat on her back on the cold floor; the flames were gone and Sauron was nowhere to be found. With a wince she tried to sit up, and she felt Legolas's hand move beneath her shoulders to help support her weight. Shëanon was glad for it, for she was so disoriented she wasn't even sure if she could rise, her entire body shaking. Frantically she sought Pippin on his bedroll, but instead she saw Aragorn lying on the floor as she was, sprawled near her feet. Not far from him Merry stood ashen-faced, and Gandalf knelt with his back to them all. Shëanon could hear Gimli's harried voice somewhere behind them demanding to know what had happened.

"Are you hurt?"

Legolas gripped her arm and she glanced up into his face to see that he was frantically looking her over from head to toe as though he half-expected to find another poisoned bolt piercing her.

"No, I'm—I'm alright—" she managed, grasping his wrist. "Pippin—"

It was only then that she understood Gandalf was blocking the hobbit from her view, leaning over him and speaking to him hurriedly.

"What did you see?" she heard the wizard ask.

Shëanon released a breath of relief, still shaking, and leaned her head upon Legolas's shoulder. If Gandalf was questioning him then at least it meant that Pippin was unharmed. Reeling, she ran her hands over her face and drew another steadying breath.

Legolas rose then and held out his hand, and Shëanon grasped it gratefully and allowed him to pull her to her feet. As she watched, trembling, he bent and helped Aragorn clamber up from the floor, and the three of them stood shoulder to shoulder in the still chamber as Pippin began to weep.

"Minas Tirith," she heard Gandalf press, his voice grave. "Is that what you saw?"

"I saw... I saw him!" the hobbit gasped, "I heard his voice in my head."

Shëanon flinched—she could still see the fire before her eyes, and feel the heat of it on her skin. The understanding that she had looked into a palantír—for she knew that indeed a palantír was what it was—and had come face to face with Sauron made her stomach churn. Valar, she thought, the room spinning, he had known immediately who she was—

"What did you tell him," Gandalf demanded. It was clear to all of them what he feared. "Speak!"

Pippin seemed to quail before Gandalf's inexorable command, and she couldn't blame him.

"He asked me my name... I didn't answer... he hurt me..."

"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?"

Shëanon had to close her eyes, suddenly so nervous that she felt sick. There was an unbearable and pronounced silence, and she felt Aragorn's body go utterly still beside her. It seemed they all held their breath, even Gandalf, as they awaited Pippin's answer, but he did not speak. If he had revealed their quest… She bowed her head and almost needed to crouch down on the cool flagstones, for her trembling was only getting worse, and she was nauseous with dread as she imagined what Pippin might have told the Enemy. What if even now Frodo and Sam were set upon and captured—? And what if she had said—?

"Nothing," Pippin said at last. "I told him nothing!"

"You must tell me, Peregrin Took," Gandalf urged. "If Sauron has learned of Frodo and Sam, we must know it—"

"I told him nothing! I swear it, Gandalf!"

A long pause followed. Shëanon pressed her palms against her flushed cheeks, feeling stiflingly hot. No one moved.

"Fool of a Took," Gandalf sighed finally, the force gone from his voice. He seemed at last to cast aside his worry. "Did you learn nothing in the blackness of Khazad-dûm of the dangers your curiosity may unleash? Few among us have the strength of will to look safely into a palantír, and even fewer the authority."

He rose wearily to his feet as though a great weight had been set upon him.

"And you are not one of them," he scolded gently.

Pippin's face was haggard and dejected as he sat up upon his bedroll, white as a ghost.

Then Gandalf nodded and grasped for his staff.

"But it would seem that your inquisitiveness may have saved us," he said, with measured praise and rebuke. He turned to Gimli, who stood closest to the door.

"Bid the guards in the hall wake the king," he told him. "We must speak with Théoden at once."

Gimli hurried from the chamber, and Gandalf bent to retrieve what Shëanon realized must have been the palantír covered by his cloak.

"Did you touch it, Aragorn?" he asked.

Aragorn's expression was grim.

"Yes."

"Even this may turn to our advantage," Gandalf sighed. "Come, we must tell the king—"

"Shëanon looked into it, as well."

She cast Aragorn a look of dismay, but he was still appraising Gandalf with the same tense bearing. As she stood watching warily, the wizard stopped mid-step and faced Aragorn in evident astonishment, then wheeled around to fix her in his disbelieving gaze. Shëanon grimaced.

"Then two fools we have!" he barked. She could feel everyone else's eyes upon her, too, and clenched her hands into fists to keep from wringing them nervously before her.

"I did not touch it," Shëanon said as evenly as she could, but Gandalf did not seem to think that mattered.

"Not with your hands," he said heavily, shaking his head. His foreboding regard reminded her of the night before the council in Imladris, when he had stood before the fire in her father's study. "But with your mind?"

Shëanon winced, guilty. An icy wave of fear and uncertainty washed over her like a cold shadow.

"It was an accident," she whispered. "I was trying to help Pippin—"

"Such accidents we can no longer afford," Gandalf said sharply. He took yet another step closer, his eyes flashing. "For too long your power has gone unchecked—you must learn to control it."

She opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off.

"Was he aware of you?"

Again the silhouette of Sauron flashed before her eyes, shrouded and yet terrible, and she swallowed thickly.

"Yes," she confessed, feeling another anxious twist in her stomach. What might have happened if Aragorn and Legolas hadn't come in or if Gandalf hadn't woken up when he had?

"What did he ask of you?" he questioned insistently, his expression unfathomable.

"He asked nothing," she rushed to assure him. "And I said nothing."

"Listen to me," he said. "You know too much."

Shëanon stared.

"We can keep the palantír out of a foolish hobbit's reach," Gandalf shook his head, "but we cannot keep it from your Sight. What will happen if your mind finds it again? Or worse still, finds Sauron himself?"

"I wouldn't—" she balked.

"Would you not? You have found the One Ring with your mind more than once," he reminded her.

She felt suddenly very hot again. He was right, of course. How many times had it been, now? On the eve of the council, and on the pass of Caradhras, and upon the hill of Amon Hen… Sometimes without having even been anywhere near the Ring at all.

"We can leave nothing up to chance," he told her. "You have been having visions. What have you foreseen?"

In the hushed chamber, before the wizard's unwavering scrutiny, she hesitated. She glanced at Merry and Pippin, who were seemingly bewildered by the turn the conversation had taken, and at Aragorn, whose brow was furrowed, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I have foreseen nothing that would be of use to the Enemy," she hedged. Her mouth was terribly dry.

"I will be the judge of that, Shëanon Peredhel," Gandalf said at once, and she flushed, chastened.

"I just... I have seen myself... in Barad-dûr," she admitted, struggling to keep her dread from showing on her face or coming through in her voice. To speak the words aloud seemed to seal her fate—somehow Shëanon was now certain that it was inescapable, that she would be Sauron's prisoner. "Held captive."

A steadying hand suddenly grasped her shoulder, warm through her clothes, and Shëanon looked, with her heart in her throat, at Legolas beside her. He gazed levelly back, and though neither spoke she felt something pass between them that was absolute and binding.

"That is a future we cannot allow to come to pass," Gandalf warned.

She turned back to him, less shaken now, and Legolas's grip tightened.

"What does he want with me, Gandalf?" she asked determinedly. "Saruman said—"

"Saruman wanted you specifically because Sauron has some need of you—of that I have no doubt," he said. "You would have served as a powerful bargaining chip for him."

"But what of Sauron?"

"That, I cannot say."

"Can you guess?" Aragorn asked.

"I have many guesses," Gandalf sighed, "and none bode well."

He cast his gaze about the room and abruptly began to speak in Sindarin, and Shëanon raised her eyebrows and looked at Aragorn and Legolas uncertainly, for she knew the only reasons Gandalf might have had for abandoning the Common Tongue would be to keep Merry and Pippin from understanding what he said… or to keep their conversation from being overheard.

"Sauron is no fool," he said. "There are three rings of power unaccounted for, and these he desires above all others, save the One, but even if our quest should fail and the One Ring should return to the hand of its master, he would still not get all he wants. As when the Ring was first forged and set upon his finger, the bearers of the Elven rings would feel his presence and take their rings off, and so remain beyond the reach of his will and corruption. But there are few in Middle-Earth wise enough to keep them. He will surely have guessed that Lord Elrond has one of these three rings. It is possible that he wishes to capture you in hope that your father would trade his ring for your safe release."

Shëanon gaped in astonishment.

"He wouldn't," she said at once. "My father wouldn't give Sauron anything—"

Gandalf said nothing, and she watched him apprehensively, suddenly doubtful. Surely, Lord Elrond would never hand over the ring Vilya to Sauron…

Beside her, Legolas spoke.

"Many guesses, you said," he murmured. His hand was still on her shoulder. "What else?"

"My second guess," Gandalf said darkly, "is the same as the first: Sauron will hold her prisoner to ransom for her father."

Shëanon felt herself go rigid, his meaning clear to her at once.

"You mean my sire," she said plainly, her heart thundering. Gandalf did not contradict her.

"Do you know who he is?" she asked at last.

For a long time he looked at her, his expression inscrutable, and she looked back in desperation.

"There is no way to be certain," the wizard said quietly. "But Saruman spoke of your blood, and if it is indeed the blood that runs through your veins that gives you value to the Enemy, it stands to reason that it is the bonds of that blood that Sauron would use for his purpose."

He fell silent, and no one else seemed to know what to say. Shëanon felt so dizzy that she heard a ringing in her ears.

Suddenly the door behind them opened and she jumped, startled, but it was only Gimli returning.

"The king is waiting," he said, looking over his companions questioningly.

Gandalf nodded and turned to Merry and Pippin.

"Come," he told them. "Make haste."

With that he hurried from the chamber, the hobbits scrambling to follow. The door closed behind them with a sound that was loud in the renewed silence, but Aragorn and Legolas made no move. Shëanon stood stalk-still before them, unable to bring herself to speak.

"What did I miss?" Gimli asked calmly. Shëanon looked into his face, and then in turn at Aragorn and at Legolas, who both were watching her closely, their brows creased and frowns upon their lips.

"Aiër?" Legolas asked.

"Let us go," she whispered at last. "Gandalf said to make haste."

XXX

In the Golden Hall a fire had been kindled in the middle of the room, and Théoden stood before it, his face drawn and weary in the early morning. As he had listened to their account of what had happened with the palantír, his expression had grown only wearier. Dawn was finally breaking; dim shafts of light came in from the high windows, but most of the chamber was still and steeped in shadow.

"There was no lie in Pippin's eyes," Gandalf said confidently. On his perch before the fire, however, the hobbit seemed to wilt rather than take heart. "A fool, but an honest fool he remains. He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring."

Shëanon scrubbed her hands over her face, exhausted. She sat on one of the benches that had been set before the hearthstone, her elbows resting upon her knees. Aragorn stood beside her with Legolas and Gimli, and they all looked to Gandalf as he paced and spoke.

"We've been strangely fortunate," he explained. "Pippin saw in the palantír a glimpse of the enemy's plan. Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith. He will act quickly—if we are to thwart him, we cannot delay."

At these words she chanced a glance at Aragorn, but his face remained impassive.

"If the beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war."

There was a long pause as everyone in the hall absorbed this with grim acceptance. Shëanon gazed tiredly into the fire, trying to make sense of what she was feeling. Long had she known that it was Aragorn's wish to turn their course toward the White City, and indeed just the night before had she not sat worried and restless, wondering where their path would next lead them, and feeling guilty to relax and make merry? Yet now to hear Gandalf speak of such impending danger, she found herself dreading the thought of doing battle again so soon. It seemed they had only just weathered the storm at Helm's Deep, and she was now plagued by terrible anxiety over her foresight.

Suddenly Théoden's voice broke the silence.

"Tell me," he asked slowly, "why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours?"

Shëanon saw Aragorn and Legolas look at each other, but she lifted her head and stared at the king.

"If saving innocent lives is not enough reason, then perhaps because once Gondor is defeated, the Enemy will set his sights on Rohan next," she said in astonishment.

Théoden's eyes darkened.

"You forget yourself, Lady Shëanon," he said sternly. She remembered abruptly how he had refused to heed Gandalf's warnings about Saruman and Helm's Deep, and how he had called her 'witch' after hearing of her vision about the Deeping Wall. She sat up straighter.

"No, you forget yourself," she told him. "For last night you swore you would sooner perish than see the bonds of this country broken—of what bonds did you speak if not those you share with the free peoples of Middle-Earth? Perhaps Gondor did not come in your hour of need, but my people did. You dishonor the life of every Elven soldier slain at Helm's Deep if Gondor should call for aid and you turn your back."

Théoden glared, visibly affronted.

"When you know the weight of a crown and the burdens that come with it, then may you judge my rule, Lady Elf," he said sharply. "But not before."

Shëanon opened her mouth to reply, furious, but she felt a hand upon her shoulder and turned to see Aragorn's reproachful gaze. She bit her tongue.

Aragorn turned back to the king.

"I will go," he said adamantly.

"I will go with you," she vowed at once, leaping to her feet.

"No," Gandalf cut in, striding toward them.

"They must be warned," Aragorn protested. She had never heard him so blatantly challenge Gandalf's decisions before, and she could tell by the set of his face that if it were up to him, he would already be taking his leave to ride for the city with all speed. She grasped his arm.

A strange light came then to Gandalf's eyes.

"They will be," he said mysteriously.

The wizard then set his gaze upon each of them in turn.

"Understand this," he told them all, appearing to Shëanon mightier and wiser than perhaps he ever had, the knowledge of long ages upon the earth apparent in his every word. "Things are now in motion that cannot be undone. Sauron did not know that we had defeated his servant, but now he has looked into his seeing-stone and instead of finding Saruman, he has come face-to-face with a hobbit and an elleth who, if they had been captured, should have been sent straight to Barad-dûr. He will order one of the Nine to Isengard at once."

He turned back to Aragorn.

"Worse still, he now knows the heir of Elendil has come forth, and is with one of the very Halflings he fears has the Ring. He will think you have taken it, Aragorn, and Saruman's death will only seem to confirm this. He will reason that his servant, in his treachery, found Shëanon and the Halflings and betrayed him, and that Isildur's heir has rescued his captives and taken the Ring for himself. Sauron fears this above all else. He cannot risk the peoples of Middle-Earth uniting under one banner. He will raise Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a king returned to the throne of Men."

As the hall was illuminated by the light of the burgeoning day, Gandalf strode across the room to stand before Pippin.

"I ride for Minas Tirith," he said. "And I won't be going alone."

Pippin blinked.

"Am I to go with you?" he asked in confusion.

"Oh, yes," Gandalf smiled. "I think, Peregrin Took, that an inquisitive hobbit may be just what I need."

Shëanon raised her eyebrows and looked to Aragorn, who traded a glance with her.

"Now," Gandalf said. "Quickly! There is no time to lose."

The company hastened to follow Gandalf from the hall and through the city to the stables. Outside the sun was fully risen overhead, the morning bright and cool. Shëanon remembered the last time Gandalf had brought them there, when he had left them before their departure for Helm's Deep. Then, he had ridden to bring reinforcements for the battle, but she felt a brewing pressure in her chest as she realized that, this time, they would be the reinforcements—they would be the arrival of dawn at the end of hopeless night for the people of Minas Tirith.

"Why does Gandalf take Pippin with him?" Shëanon whispered to Aragorn, panting. Indeed, Gandalf had meant it when he'd told them to make haste—he had all but run through Edoras with them at his heels. Pippin was looking about in bemusement, as though he had no idea how he had gotten roped into making such a journey, and the wizard was ordering him to move faster.

Aragorn squinted in the sun.

"Sauron thinks I have rescued Pippin from Isengard and taken the Ring," he said lowly. "If word reaches him of a Halfling appearing at Minas Tirith, it will seem to confirm his suspicions."

"And he won't be looking for it elsewhere," she nodded, a nervous flutter in her stomach. "He will still be looking for me," she told him anxiously.

"Let him find you," Gimli huffed from Aragorn's other side. "We can take him."

Shëanon smiled weakly but could say nothing to that, her stomach twisting with nerves.

Gandalf set Pippin astride Shadowfax, who was white as snow in the blinding morning, and mounted behind him. The rest of the company gathered before horse and riders, and as with each goodbye she had yet faced, Shëanon could not help but to wonder if it would be the last time she would see them.

"It is a three day ride to Minas Tirith," Gandalf said. He nodded to the high mountain peaks beyond, where Shëanon noticed for the first time there was an immense pyre built far in the distance. "Look to the beacon of Amon Anwar, and be ready to ride to battle."

"Take care," she begged with a lump in her throat, seeing Pippin's trepidation and Gandalf's fierce resolve.

"Don't worry about us," Pippin told her, earnest. "We'll be quite safe, won't we, Gandalf?"

The wizard's eyes twinkled as Pippin glanced up at him, but then he turned to look into each of their faces in turn, what was left of their fellowship standing shoulder to shoulder. As he beheld them the kindly light of his eyes was extinguished, and his gaze instead was as piercing as a steel blade.

"The hour draws near," he said gravely, "when we shall each be tested, and if any one of us should fail… I fear the doom of our time may be decided."

Shëanon's eyes widened.

"Look to the beacon," he said once more, and with that he bid Shadowfax run, the mighty steed bolting forth and bearing hobbit and wizard with him. Merry suddenly dashed across the way and hurried with obvious desperation up the stairs of the guard tower by the gate, clearly wanting to watch his friend ride off. Aragorn rushed to follow after him, but Shëanon couldn't bring herself to move. She was rooted to the spot, deeply disturbed by Gandalf's parting words.

"Do you think he meant… tested in battle?" she asked Legolas and Gimli uneasily, standing with them in the middle of the road side by side.

Legolas looked almost as troubled as she felt, his eyes narrowed as he tracked Gandalf and Pippin in the distance.

"No," he said grimly.

"Bah," Gimli scoffed. He clapped them each on the arm, and Shëanon blinked down at him in surprise. "What were the Balrog, and Amon Hen, and Helm's Deep if not tests?" he asked. "We've been tested many times already. Now come on, you two. Let's get some food—we'll pass no tests on empty stomachs."

With that he turned and began the hike back up to the Golden Hall. Shëanon glanced up at Legolas and found him looking at her. He touched the small of her back, and together they followed Gimli up the hill.

"If the beacon is lit," she asked him softly, climbing the steep steps in Gimli's wake, "do you think Théoden will call upon the Rohirrim to fight?"

Legolas paused at the top of the stairs.

"I think Théoden is an honorable man," he said, "but I think that he too shall be tested in the days to come."

As they came to stand before the open doors of the hall, Shëanon cast one more look over her shoulder to the looming beacon far ahead.

XXX

Breakfast was served in the time they had been gone. Shëanon sat at one of the long tables beside Legolas, and to her consternation Gimli set a plate before her laden with so much food that she thought it easily could have fed three hungry hobbits. She was so perturbed however by everything that had come to pass that morning that she could not find it within herself to protest. Just when they had all been reunited, their company was broken again—and on most ominous terms. Picking at her breakfast, she thought with worry of Sauron and the palantír, of Frodo and Sam and the coming battle at Minas Tirith, and Gandalf's ominous farewell.

Aragorn and Merry came in shortly after and joined them at the table, Merry sitting at her other side, and while he piled his plate with even more food than Gimli had given her, she was astonished to see that he was barely eating any of it, either.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly.

Merry shrugged and jabbed his fork sullenly into a sausage.

"I shouldn't have let him touch it," he muttered. "I watched him the whole time—I should have woken Gandalf straight away. I knew there would be trouble."

Shëanon bit her lip.

"Well, if you had, then we wouldn't be able to warn Minas Tirith," she reasoned at length. "So maybe it was lucky—"

The hobbit set down his fork and fixed her with a look that she found to be surprisingly sage.

"If Aragorn had ridden off to Minas Tirith without you, would you have thought it lucky?"

Shëanon blinked.

"No," she confessed regretfully.

Merry nodded, and to her shock he pushed his plate away entirely.

"Sometimes I think him a fool," he sighed. "But then I ask if I'm any better. He steals from a wizard and I sit by and do nothing."

"You will see Pippin again, Merry," she whispered. "I am sure of it."

"Maybe," he shrugged. There was a note in his voice like a desperate wish he thought would not be granted if he spoke it aloud. "If he doesn't find the one evil thing Sauron made in Minas Tirith and meddle with that, too."

"Sauron did not make the palantír," she said in surprise. "And it is not itself evil."

Merry frowned.

"Did he not? Was it Saruman, then?"

Shëanon hesitated.

"The palantír is a seeing stone—and it was made by the Elves."

"Well, whoever made it, Sauron is using it now," the hobbit shrugged.

Shëanon fell silent, suddenly uneasy, for indeed she knew who had made the palantíri… She set down her fork, as well, a feeling of great foreboding washing over her.

Suddenly Aragorn appeared at her side and leaned down near her ear.

"Come with me," he murmured, and, surprised, she nodded to her companions and rose to follow him from the hall.

Wordlessly he led her outside back into the sunshine, back down the great stone steps she had just climbed, and back through the city. Shëanon followed at his heels, over the dirt roads and through the crowded streets, until to her consternation she realized he was heading back to the very stables they had only just left.

"Where are we going?" she asked in confusion when he went inside and began to saddle Brego. Hasufel was in the next stall, bumping his nose happily against her cheek, and she bid him a distracted greeting as she began to make him ready, too.

Aragorn's expression was enigmatic as he swung up on his mount, waiting for her.

"I'm not sure yet," he said.

Shëanon halted with her foot lifted to the stirrup, looking up at him in bewilderment.

"You don't know?" she asked. She found him studying her with a peculiar look on his face.

"For a ride," he said simply. Then, as she stood watching—mystified—in the hay, he spoke lowly to Brego and rode off.

Shëanon hurried to heave herself astride Hasufel and followed swiftly after, but unlike Gandalf, Aragorn did not ride in haste. He let Brego and Hasufel keep an easy walk that Shëanon had to admit was nice. It was peaceful, even, to ride beside him in the young day, breathing the clean air in the warm sun, though she was more than a little worried about what he intended. She had assumed, when he'd called her away from the table, that he had meant to change her bandages, or perhaps that he might have wanted to discuss the morning's events with her, but surely if he had only wanted to talk, they could have done so back at Meduseld. Her confusion grew as he led her through the city gates and out into the plains. Shëanon glanced questioningly at him, but Aragorn only met her gaze and said nothing, urging Brego on. It was clear that he'd told the truth when he'd said that he didn't know where they were going, for they rode for a long time without direction. Shëanon thought he seemed to be surveying the terrain as though in search of something, though what he sought she could not say. They passed by the stream where she had sat the day before, and kept riding.

"Should I not have brought my bow and quiver?" she asked uneasily, as they drew ever further from the city.

Aragorn tapped the hilt of his sword.

"Oh, good," she frowned. "You can defend us, and I will watch and comment on your footwork—"

"We will not meet any trouble," he assured her, shaking his head. "Not this close to Edoras."

Shëanon frowned deeper still, and they continued on their way. At one point she almost thought he was letting Brego wander where he wished, for it did not seem to her that he was guiding his steed in any way, but then finally they reached a place where the rolling fields were level and the grass was dry and green, and at last Aragorn murmured to Brego to halt. He seemed to cast a speculative look at their surroundings before nodding to her and dismounting, giving his mount a grateful pat. Baffled, she followed suit, and swung from the saddle to see the distant glimmer that was the Golden Hall far behind them.

Aragorn paced over to a crest and sat in the grass, unconcerned as Brego began roaming. Only when she remained unmoving, grasping Hasufel's reins, did he look to her, clearly waiting for her to join him.

"Aragorn," Shëanon asked in bewilderment, wondering if perhaps he had hit his head when he had fallen on the floor that morning, "what in Eru's name are we doing?"

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"We are trying," he said, as though it were exceedingly obvious, "to control your Sight."

Shëanon stared. A brisk wind blew and shook the grass, stirring his dark hair about his face. Then she looked around at the wide fields and early flowers, and at the happily grazing Brego, and glanced back at far-off Edoras once more.

"Why have we come all the way out here?" she asked.

Aragorn gestured pointedly into the grass before him, and finally she moved to sit as he bid her, propping her elbows on her bent knees as he did. She faced him with nervous expectation, but his face was calm and unhurried, and as she waited across from him it was clear that he was deep in thought. For a long moment he did not speak, his discerning eyes trained on hers and his brow furrowed in evident concentration. She watched him anxiously.

"I think the best way to keep from doing something by mistake," he said at last, his gaze piercing her, "is to learn to do it on purpose."

At once Shëanon's stomach plummeted, for she understood his intentions instantly.

"I want you to try to touch my mind," Aragorn continued, as she had expected. "Out here, you can reach out with your Sight—"

"And there is no one else nearby who I might find instead," she finished, gazing around at the sprawling field once more. She grimaced and looked back at Aragorn. "It might not matter," she told him uncertainly. "I don't think the distance is of much consequence—"

"Gandalf is right, Shea," he interrupted. "We cannot risk what might happen if your mind finds Sauron again."

"Aragorn," she said, shaking her head. "I don't think I can. After you fell off the cliff, and we feared you were dead… I tried desperately to find your mind. I did everything I could think of… It didn't work."

Aragorn appraised her in silence, his calm demeanor unchanged.

"You must try again," he said steadily.

Another breeze moved the grasses, and suddenly she felt the same way she had at Helm's Deep, when he had commanded her to go to sleep and foresee the coming battle: overwhelmed and uncertain. The gravity of the situation seemed to at last catch up with her. She had found Sauron, through the palantir, with her Sight! She had put the fate of the quest in jeopardy—she could have cost them everything, and both Gandalf and Aragorn worried she would do so again. The pressure she suddenly felt was immense, for what if she could not master her power? What if she did indeed find the Enemy again?

She could not let it happen.

"Alright," she said, ignoring the nervous flutter she felt inside.

She folded her legs beneath her and leaned forward, drawing a deep breath, but in truth, she didn't even really know where to start. Cautiously she studied Aragorn before her, wondering how she might go about reaching for him with her Sight, and feeling suddenly inexplicably shy to do so. She bit her lip, apprehensive, but he appeared entirely at ease, his familiar face wholly relaxed, and he sat motionless in the grass clearly waiting for her to begin.

"Are you certain about this?" she asked.

"Very certain," he said seriously. "Unless you wish to try it on the horses."

"I have no idea what might happen," she warned. "Lady Galadriel allowed me to feel her touch upon my mind in Lothlórien, and it—it was…" Shëanon broke off, wincing a bit as she remembered how unnerving it had been, standing upon the high flet in Lórien while she had felt the Lady breach the sanctity of her mind and probe her thoughts. She swallowed. "I have not her skill—"

"Shea," Aragorn said quietly, his keen eyes glinting in the bright sun. "I trust you."

Shëanon faltered, unsure what to say, and humbled because she knew it was true. Had he not at once believed her at Helm's Deep when she had told him of her vision, vouching for her before the king and staking his entire battle plan upon what she had told him? And had he not stood at her side long before, in Rivendell, when she had offered her service to Frodo and her family had not wanted her to go?

She felt suddenly desperate not to let him down.

"I will try," she said.

Drawing one more deep breath and taking one last look at him, Shëanon closed her eyes. The sounds of the wind and of the swaying grass grew louder; she could hear Brego and Hasufel nearby, and birds overhead, and the stream far away. Shëanon tried to drown them out, thinking instead only of Aragorn—of his face, of his voice. As she had on that dark day when she had feared he was gone forever, Shëanon pictured him as clearly as she could. She tried to reach out with all of her senses, hoping too to reach out with her mind, but it seemed no matter what she tried, nothing happened. She envisioned seeing his thoughts as though she could will her success into being. She even remembered the last time she had found him with her Sight and tried to think of what she had done before, though she could recall no clue or detail to help her.

After a long time had passed, Shëanon opened her eyes and looked at Aragorn in frustration.

"It's not working," she told him.

"Keep your eyes open," he suggested, undeterred. "It was when you looked at the palantír that you found it with your mind, was it not? And I know that your mind touched the Ring when you saw it on the pass of Caradhras."

Wincing to remember, Shëanon nodded and shifted in the grass, looking into his face. He looked back expectantly, his abiding regard fixed steadily upon her, and she fidgeted self-consciously before him.

"I think it would be easier if you didn't stare," she confessed.

Aragorn raised his eyebrows but looked obligingly at Hasufel and Brego instead.

With her eyes open this time, she tried again. For a moment she observed Aragorn sitting before her beneath the blue sky, as patient as ever, and tried to reach out to his mind. She watched him watch the wandering horses, and strained to find him with her Sight. It was harder to concentrate without her eyes closed, but she thought again of her encounter with Sauron, and tried harder. After what felt like an age, however, she had to stop, her head pounding.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong," she apologized, massaging her temples and finding that Aragorn had looked back at her again. Indeed, she was feeling foolish, muddling along with no idea what to do. She wished she had asked Galadriel when she'd had the chance—why had she not thought of it before? Or—

Shëanon bowed her head, suddenly longing for her father desperately. He would have been able to help her. He could have taught her what to do… not only with her Sight, but everything. How she wished she could speak to him of her worries…

"You have found my mind once already," Aragorn reminded her firmly. "You can do it again."

Abruptly Shëanon thought of the night in Fangorn Forest when Legolas had taught her to listen to the trees, and indeed, when he had later shown her how to sense his fëa. She looked at Aragorn uncertainly.

"Can I touch you?" she asked.

At once he held out his hand, and Shëanon grasped it and closed her eyes, focusing on his beating pulse, the warmth of his palm… She could hear his breath, and she could smell his skin, and she could feel both the force of his life and his noble spirit. Frowning, she tried to press further, to touch his mind as her senses touched every other part of him, but it was to no avail. Skimming her fingers over the bark of the ancient trees had allowed her to hear their voices, but taking Aragorn's hand in hers seemed to have no effect.

"Perhaps it is not me," she huffed, opening her eyes. "Perhaps I am doing everything right, and your mind is just an impenetrable fortress."

To her surprise, Aragorn chuckled and shook his head.

"A fortress you have penetrated before," he grinned. He held out his other hand, too. "Let us try again."

She didn't know for how long they sat together in the grass, but the day wore on and she was no closer to finding his mind than she had been that day at Helm's Deep. Many times she had to take a break, for her headache was worsening, and once she even lay down to rest, dizzy after countless failed attempts. Aragorn waited patiently each time, until at last he told her that they would try again the next morning. The sun was low in the sky by then, the day beginning to wane. Shëanon rose and called to Hasufel but said nothing else, feeling terribly disappointed in herself. She had to learn to control her power, Gandalf had said, or else it would end in disaster. The horses cantered back across the meadow and Shëanon felt a pit in her stomach.

When at last Hasufel and Brego came to stand before them she went to mount, but Aragorn stopped her with his hand on her shoulder.

"Nothing can be mastered in a single day," he told her meaningfully. "We will try again."

"We have very little time," she reminded him. Ahead in the mountains she could see the beacon of Amon Anwar again, cold and dark. How many days before it would be lit? Two? Three? "Soon we will ride to war."

Aragorn looked into her face for a long moment.

"I have faith in you," he said.

Shëanon's eyes widened, and to her dismay she felt them sting with sudden tears that shocked her. She blinked them hastily away, at a loss for words.

He squeezed her shoulder as though in understanding and turned to Brego, but she grabbed his wrist before he could leave her side.

"Do you know that I have faith in you, too?" she asked, suddenly determined to convey to him her allegiance. She watched his eyes widen in surprise, but she could not say if it was because of what she said or because of the fierce emotion that was clear in her voice. "Aragorn, when the beacons are lit… We will deliver Minas Tirith," she vowed. "I know it. You will—you will keep your promise to Boromir," she whispered.

She remembered it, the terrible grief and despair of Amon Hen, when Merry and Pippin had been taken and Boromir had lain mortally wounded on the hillside, for all his valor powerless against inescapable death. She could still hear the horn of Gondor ringing in her ears, and his mighty cry to rise again and fight echoing on the wind. She remembered kneeling in the wet bracken in Legolas's arms, knowing by the look on Aragorn's face that he was beyond their help.

"I do not know what strength is in my blood," Aragorn had said, "but I swear to you, I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail."

"I would have followed you my brother. My captain. My king."

Shëanon could not have said whether Aragorn had known, then, that it might have come to something such as this: the siege of Mordor upon Minas Tirith and the fates of Gondor and indeed the race of Men hanging in the balance, but there upon the hill of Amon Hen, she had taken Boromir's dying words into her heart not only in grief and remembrance for his sacrifice but in utter and uniting concurrence— Boromir could follow no longer, but she could and she would. Shëanon would follow Aragorn anywhere, even into death.

"I don't know what help I can be to you, but whatever it is, I will do it," she swore to him, grasping his shoulder as he had grasped hers.

In the orange light of the late afternoon Aragorn's eyes shone, and for a long moment he did not speak, and they stood facing each other in the rustling grass beside the waiting horses. Then as she watched he lifted his hand to the top of her head, but he did not muss her hair as he might once have done in her childhood. Instead he smoothed his palm over it and let his hand come to rest at the nape of her neck, holding the back of her head, his gaze unwavering, his face bathed in gold.

"I know," he whispered.

He did not let her go.

For the length of several more heartbeats they did not move, until finally he gently touched her arm, and at last they broke apart to mount the horses and ride back to the city. The plains were amber and bronze with the coming dusk, the gilded roof of Meduseld in the distance gleaming, and beside her Aragorn rode straight-backed and silent, the sky behind him streaked by copper. As she looked at him he passed before the sinking sun, so that its bright light was at his brow and its rays shone about his head, but his face was in deep shadow, and Shëanon could sense the weight of a great burden heavy upon him.

XXX

That evening at dinner, she and her companions dined with the king and with Éowyn and Éomer, and she sat between Aragorn and Legolas at the table. They were quiet; Aragorn seemed to listen more to Éomer and Théoden than to speak himself, and Legolas said hardly a word the entire meal. Even Merry was solemn, and only Gimli appeared unaffected by the events of the morning. Shëanon smiled apologetically at the dwarf when he harrumphed and mused aloud that they were poor dinner companions, but she could not bring herself to make better conversation. All she could think about were the palantír, and her visions, and Aragorn's disquiet, and the powers she could not control. When at last the hour had grown late enough for her to rise and excuse herself from the table, Legolas stood at once and offered to escort her to her chambers. Shëanon blushed as they bid their companions goodnight and left the hall together, but she couldn't deny that she was relieved and extremely gratified as he strode with her down the long corridor toward her room—their breathless kisses after the feast seemed a faraway dream in the wake of her fear and anxiety that morning, and the long day of trial with Aragorn.

When they came to stand before her door however Shëanon hesitated, unsure what he intended. He had walked her to her chambers the night before, too, but both of them had seemed, without discussing it, to agree that he would not come inside. Somehow, after the way they had embraced and held each other, Shëanon had felt that perhaps it might no longer be appropriate for him to lie with her in her bed, even if he only did so to help her sleep. Instead he had kissed her hand and bid her rest well, and she had lain awake alone for many hours thinking about the touch of his lips. But now, amid so much uncertainty, she was surprised to find she didn't care anymore what was and was not appropriate, and when she looked up at him and found him watching her closely, his eyes dark in the dim torchlight, she had the sense that he did not care, either.

She bit her lip.

"Shall I come in?" he asked. Shëanon nodded, her stomach fluttering wildly.

Inside her room, Legolas closed the door behind them and moved to the bed. She followed, taking off her boots and climbing gingerly onto the mattress without looking at him. She was immediately reminded of the first time she had asked for his help sleeping in Lothlórien—how nervous she had been—and then, with a hot flush, she remembered the first part of her nightmare from the night before, and the passionate scene her dream had conjured. Shëanon blushed furiously and looked with determination anywhere other than at him, lest he see the color in her face and somehow discover the nature of her thoughts. She wondered if Legolas could tell how tense she was, or indeed if he felt even half as tentative as she. After all, what had he said to her? 'Neither of us has walked this path before…' Everything seemed different between them now, and though the changes were welcome, she wasn't quite sure how to act or what he might have expected.

Then Legolas sat and leaned back against the headboard, and Shëanon reclined beside him and rested her head upon his shoulder as she had many times before. At once she felt at ease, her trepidation melting entirely away, and she realized that the only things that had changed between them were that he had answered what was possibly the most vulnerable moment of her life with care and tenderness, and that he had met her following desire with an ardent display of his own. Suddenly Shëanon considered his usual stoicism and self-possession, and then she thought of the look on his face when she had asked him to kiss her; it suddenly occurred to her that whether he had consciously allowed her to see such wanting emotion or whether his self-control had slipped, it was possible that what had passed between them had felt as revealing for him as it had for her. Her heart in her throat, she grasped for his hand between them, and she felt him rest his cheek against the top of her head.

For a long moment neither of them spoke, and the only sounds were those of the crackling logs and flickering flames of the fire burning steadily in the fireplace. Shëanon found to her surprise that she was utterly exhausted. Even though they had not been physically strenuous, her attempts to touch Aragorn's mind had been mentally and emotionally taxing. She was also still not fully recovered from her wounds, and after the long day, she was left drained both in mind and body. Legolas began caressing her hand, and she watched his thumb move back and forth over her knuckles, entranced. His fëa was like a gentle hum around her as she leaned into the warmth and hardness of his body.

"Did you sleep last night?" he asked quietly. "After I left you?"

Again she thought of her dream, and the way he had kissed her in it. Certainly he had not kissed her like that before, with such obvious and unrestrained hunger… The sound of his voice so close to her ear, the way he had said her name—Shëanon felt that her face was hot again, and indeed she felt hot all over. She hesitated, wondering if she dared tell him.

"Yes," she answered at length. "I dreamed that Saruman and Sauron were here in Edoras, and when I woke, I could sense that something was wrong…"

She couldn't help but to glance uneasily to the foot of the bed, where in her nightmare Saruman had appeared, unmoving, chilling… The memory stifled any lingering heat at once.

"I felt it, too," Legolas murmured as though in disgust. "His gaze upon us."

Shëanon shivered and nodded. Silence fell between them again, and beside her he seemed deeply pensive. Her thoughts drifted as well as she watched the firelight cast dancing patterns over the fur rug before the hearth. As his heart beat under her ear, she found herself contemplating everything that had happened since she had awoken in the early hours…

Legolas suddenly shifted.

"You seem deep in thought," he commented, squeezing her hand.

"So do you," she said. She could feel his gaze upon the side of her face, and knew that he was waiting patiently for her to speak. His thumb began moving over the backs of her fingers again.

"I have been thinking about something all day..." she confided, frowning.

"Do you wish to speak of it?" he asked.

Shëanon bit her lip.

"It might sound mad," she confessed, glancing up at him at last.

Legolas's eyebrows shot up.

"Try me," he said calmly.

Shëanon drew in a deep breath and sat up, looking back to the fire.

"Something that Merry said about the palantír made me think…" She trailed off, struggling to gather her thoughts, and indeed wondering if she should give voice to them after all, but something about lying so warm and comfortable beside him, in the haven of her room where before—more than once—she had shared so much with him compelled her to continue.

"Fëanor made the Silmarils, and Morgoth stole them," she began uncertainly. "Sauron served Morgoth, and Fëanor and his sons swore an oath to reclaim the jewels at any cost... then Beren tried to take one and was captured by Sauron, and Lúthien faced Sauron to rescue him... They bested him and escaped, and went on to steal a Silmaril together..."

Her brow creased as she mulled it over.

"And to reclaim the Silmaril that Beren and Lúthien took, the sons of Fëanor laid siege on their descendants: their granddaughter escaped into the West to her husband Eärendil and took the Silmaril with her, and that is when the eldest sons of Fëanor—Maglor and Maedhros—kidnapped their twin sons, who were my father and his brother Elros... And raised them."

Beside her Legolas was utterly still, and in the flickering firelight Shëanon chanced another glance at him and found he was watching her intently. She swallowed.

"And did not my father himself go on later to stand against Sauron in the Last Alliance of the Second Age?" she asked. "And the descendant of his brother Elros—Isildur—is the one who cut the One Ring from Sauron's hand, and he and my father were the two that stood together inside Mount Doom..."

She shifted in agitation, her mind racing.

"And was it not Celebrimbor, the grandson of Fëanor, who was deceived by Sauron and made the rings of power?"

Shëanon began counting on her fingers, holding up first her thumb as she spoke.

"So in the First Age, there was Fëanor with his sons, and Sauron serving Morgoth, and Beren and Lúthien and their son and grandchildren, fighting because of the Silmarils."

She held up her index finger, lost in thought.

"Then in the Second Age there were Celebrimbor—the grandson of Fëanor—and Sauron, and the great-grandson of Beren and Lúthien, my father; and Isildur—the descendant of his twin brother—all fighting because of the rings of power."

She held up a third finger.

"Now we are in the Third Age, and… And Sauron is again returned, and is not Aragorn, through Isildur, the descendant not only of Elendil but of Elros and so of Beren and Lúthien, too? As are my father, and Arwen... And now to aid him in his quest to destroy the One Ring, Frodo carries with him the light of the very Silmaril that Beren and Lúthien took."

Shëanon pressed her hands to her temples, for her head had begun to pound.

"And so too did Fëanor make the Palantíri, and now thousands of years later Sauron uses them to suit his purpose."

Finally she looked back at Legolas, whose face remained unchanged.

"Does it not all seem a tangled web?" she asked. "Sauron, and the Fëanorians, and the line of Beren and Lúthien?"

"Yes..." he answered slowly. "But perhaps it is not so surprising that the fates of such great houses should be entwined. After all, Fëanor and his sons, Beren and Lúthien and your father, Isildur and Aragorn and Arwen... they are the descendants of kings."

"So you think it is fate?" Shëanon pressed. "You think that Aragorn is fated to face the threat of Sauron now because he is of the line of Isildur, and Elros, and Beren?"

Legolas was silent for a long moment.

"Is not all that comes to pass a matter of fate?" he asked.

"I don't know..." Shëanon thought frantically. "If it is indeed fate that Aragorn should face this evil now, when was it fated? Does that mean it had been decided ere he was even born? The moment Isildur refused to cast the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom? Before? And if, for his ancestors and their deeds, Aragorn was destined for this course, then was Isildur not also doomed by fate for the blood that ran through his veins? Was... was his fate sealed before he ever cut the Ring from Sauron's hand?"

"Perhaps it was," he said.

Shëanon shook her head.

"But does that mean... If their fates are tied up with Sauron because of what happened in the First Age… Does that mean that all of this has come to pass because—?"

She broke off, and Legolas suddenly grimaced as though he had at last understood the direction of her thoughts.

She took a deep breath and finished.

"Are we still paying the price of the Silmarils, and for the oaths of Fëanor and his sons?"

Legolas stared at her in evident astonishment, and did not speak for a long time. Shëanon watched him avidly, feeling more self-conscious with every moment that passed before he finally spoke.

"It does not sound mad," he said at last, his penetrating gaze roving over her. She could see that he was giving thorough consideration to all that she had said, and then he drew her back down beside him.

"I think it is true," he said carefully, "that the deeds of Fëanor and his kin have echoed through the ages... but whatever else they may have done, they did not make Sauron what he is. His evil is his own, and it is why we are here."

Shëanon nodded in acknowledgement, but still found herself feeling inexplicably troubled.

"And what of us?" Legolas asked.

"Us?"

He turned onto his side and laid his hand upon her arm, looking into her face.

"If Aragorn and the rest have been set upon this path by fate, then is the same not also true of us?" he asked. "Perhaps I am no Fëanorion, and you are not a descendant of Beren and Luthien, but if it is fate that spins this web of which you speak, then it is surely fate that has led us, too."

"I have never thought about it like that before," she admitted.

"No?" Legolas asked in apparent surprise. There was a strange light in his eyes, all of a sudden. "I have thought on it more than once these last months."

Shëanon raised her eyebrows.

"You have thought about fate?" she asked dubiously.

"Yes," he said. "Tell me, does it trouble you or reassure you, to think that perhaps you were meant to be part of our fellowship?"

Shëanon paused, momentarily speechless. She suddenly remembered how she had felt at the council, as though some unseen force had urged her to rise and volunteer. 'I am meant to go,' she had told her father. Now she could not help but think that perhaps it had been no foolish notion…

"It troubles me," she whispered, deeply unsettled. All of a sudden she heard the words of Galadriel, how most often the future could not be changed, and she thought about her visions of Barad-dûr and her dreadful feeling that it was inescapable. The thought that perhaps it was her doom, that she was fated to meet her end there, and had been set on this path to lead her there… "Let us speak no more of this."

Legolas looked as though he had more to say on the matter, however, and so Shëanon shook her head and spoke, eager to change the subject.

"What is it that has been on your mind?" she asked, certain that something was bothering him. "You have seemed… distracted today."

"Distracted," Legolas echoed blankly.

Shëanon steeled herself, knowing that what she was about to say had the power to call up unpleasant conversations between them that she did not wish to relive.

"At Isengard… It was not only to me that Saruman spoke. I know you told me not to believe him," she whispered. "But..."

She studied his face.

"Are you troubled by what he said... about your people?" she asked cautiously.

She could not see it but she could feel, where they were touching, the way Legolas tensed.

"He said nothing that I did not already know to be true," he said flatly, his voice betraying no other indication that he might be uneasy. Indeed, he had already warned her that Sauron would strike from Dol Guldur…

Shëanon bit her lip.

"Do you worry for your father?" she pressed hesitantly.

"It is you who looks worried, aiër."

"I am worried," she confirmed. "I'm worried about you. I worry for your father, and for your people, and—and I worry over Lady Galadriel's message to you—"

Legolas frowned and drew her into his arms, so that they lay facing each other. His calm expression was gone, his brow creased and his fair face marked with concern. He touched her cheek, his eyes dark as he beheld her.

"Let us face the Lady's warning when we must," he said, after seeming to consider her for many moments. "If indeed the Sea-Longing comes upon me…"

To her surprise, he broke off and seemed reluctant to continue.

"It is the least of my concerns right now," he said eventually. "And I will be glad if it is the biggest challenge we must face, but…"

He clenched his jaw, visibly perturbed, and Shëanon felt a jab of anxiety, for Legolas was seldom so discomposed, but she also marveled at what he said and the way he had said it—not a challenge he would face, but one they would face together…

"But if I am distracted… I cannot lie to you, Shëanon. What you told me about your past—and your visions—disturbs me greatly, and this morning, the palantír…"

Shëanon felt her stomach plummet and tensed in his arms—she heard him say—past—disturbs—she looked abruptly away from his face—

Legolas lifted her chin at once.

"I fear for your safety," he said adamantly, his expression so fierce that she could not doubt him.

She didn't know what to say. How could she reassure him when she was also afraid, her worry over her visions growing day by day? She thought of what Gandalf had told them, about how they would be tested, and tamped down the growing dread she felt.

"None of us is safe," she whispered, after a long pause. "Perhaps… perhaps it is as you said… we will face it when we must."

Legolas was obviously dissatisfied with such an idea, and she felt like he was scrutinizing her as she waited for him to speak.

"How fared you today with Aragorn?" he asked at last, his gaze intense and tumultuous.

Shëanon winced. She should have known he'd been aware of where she'd gone off to all day. Wordlessly, she shook her head, and the set of his mouth as he ran his hand over her hair was grim. He took her back into his arms then. Shëanon reached her arm around him, too, holding him almost desperately close, and they lay together unspeaking. She could tell that the same misgivings weighed heavily upon them both.

"Legolas," she whispered, when she could not keep her silence any longer. She drew a deep breath, wary of his answer to what she was about to ask, and grit her teeth. Part of her did not want to ask it, but she remembered his hand upon her shoulder early in the morning, when Gandalf had been questioning her, and she yearned to hear his thoughts. "When I asked Gandalf today who my father is… Do you think he knows?"

Half of his face was in shadow as the fire in the hearth burned lower, the flames reflected in his eyes. He said nothing, but he did not need to, for she could tell at once what his opinion was.

"I think—I think he does know," she whispered tremulously. "And I think Lady Galadriel knows, too. And I think my father—I think Lord Elrond must also know."

The look on Gandalf's face when she had asked had been the same as the one that Lady Galadriel had worn when she had gazed at Shëanon beside her mirror, and she could no longer convince herself otherwise. If they did not know, then she was sure that they all suspected, at least.

Legolas did not deny it.

"Why would they not tell you?" he asked.

She didn't answer aloud, but she feared she knew why; she feared that they did not tell her because they thought she could not bear the truth.

He must have seen this dark thought come over her.

"We know nothing for certain," he said resolutely. "Do not despair."

His arms tightened about her, bringing her more firmly against him, and Shëanon leaned eagerly into his embrace, relishing the comfort of his touch. If indeed she did not despair, it was only because his body against hers was so strong, his fair voice so assuring, and the weight of his fëa so calming that she was hard-pressed not to feel safe. So much had changed since she'd slept against him in Moria, and indeed even since Lothlórien—after all they had endured together, it seemed surreal and yet was unsurprising to realize what a refuge his arms had become. Legolas rubbed his hand up and down the length of her back and she sighed in relief, the simple contact astoundingly soothing and pleasurable. Then she looked into his face and saw that he was watching her closely, still gently trailing his palm back and forth between her shoulder blades.

Shëanon bit her lip, suddenly uncertain. Legolas had offered her so much physical comfort since they had left Rivendell, even before they had spoken of their feelings for one another, but she was acutely aware that she seldom reciprocated. Perhaps it was because of his title or because of how long she had spent convincing herself that he would never share her feelings—or perhaps because she was so inexperienced in such matters—but she had been reluctant to touch him as freely as he had taken to touching her. The overwhelmed feeling she'd had when they'd first gotten to her room returned, and she was again left unsure of what to do. Would Legolas want her to caress him as he caressed her? The thought made her blush, but surely she had free rein to return his attentions? She could not imagine that he would object, not lying as he was in her bed, holding her, having kissed her with such longing the night before… But would it please him? If it would give to him the same peace and bliss that she felt, then Shëanon would readily give it, and she found herself yearning to familiarize herself with more of his body…

Why did it seem such a vulnerable, daunting prospect?

Then Shëanon remembered again the way he'd closed his eyes when she'd all but begged for his kiss—the tremendous reprieve she'd seen—and decided that if he had reacted in such a way, he must have craved this closeness as much as she did.

Legolas was still watching her, and she wondered if he could tell what she was thinking.

Tentatively, before she could lose her nerve, she ran her hand over the broad plane of his back, feeling hard muscle beneath her fingers and heat through his clothes.

Legolas seemed to go still.

She glanced at him cautiously, doing it again, and to her chagrin she found that the corners of his mouth had turned up. She might have thought he was laughing at her, except the look on his face was so tender that he could not have been. He also did not seem to want her to stop, and so she didn't, trembling to touch him so boldly.

He ran his hand over her braid, and continued rubbing her back, and then to her amazement he closed his eyes as he had when he'd stood with her in the starlight, only there was no torment this time that she could see, just utter contentment.

"I mathad lín dae maer tenda, aiër," he whispered easily.

Shëanon's eyes flew wide, and she faltered, blood rushing to her face.

Legolas opened his eyes and must have seen that she had gone scarlet, for he smiled softly and drew her yet closer, laying his cheek against her forehead. Shëanon held him tighter, too, resting against his chest, dizzy from the caresses they shared.

"Do you mean to stay here tonight?" she asked, breathless, against his shoulder.

"Do you wish me to?"

Shëanon did not hesitate; she did not want to be parted from him.

"Yes," she said softly.

In response he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, just barely grazing her skin, but she felt that his slightest touch sent sparks of sensation all through her body.

"Then I shall not go," he promised. He brushed his thumb over her cheek and she caught his hand and drew back to look at him, clutching his strong fingers.

"Will you sleep?" she asked in concern. She suddenly realized he had not slept the night of their confrontation at Isengard, for he had stood watch the many hours before dawn, nor the night after, when he had held her through her tears after their distressing conversation… and he had not been asleep when she had run into the room he shared with their companions that morning. "You must not have rested for days—you did not sleep last night—"

"I slept for a time, aiër," Legolas murmured gently, as though he could see her growing dismay.

"When I found Pippin with the palantír, you were not in your bed," she frowned.

"No," he conceded. "I woke from a dream, and could not return to sleep."

Shëanon propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him in alarm.

"Have you also been having nightmares?" she asked in astonishment, disturbed and horrified to think that he might have driven off so many of her own while suffering himself.

Legolas shook his head.

"No," he said. "Not a nightmare." He ran his fingers beneath her hair and caressed the back of her neck so gently that she could not help but to shiver. "It was of you that I dreamed."

Shëanon blinked.

"Me?"

"Yes."

Instantly, her own dream came back to her, more vivid even than before: how Legolas had been braced over her beneath the sheets, how he had run his powerful hands over her, and how she had willingly arched into his touch. Her mouth was suddenly terribly dry, and the heat she had felt before returned with staggering force, every part of her burning.

Legolas seemed to be gauging her reaction, but she was speechless for a long moment.

"Was it a good dream?" she managed to ask at last, her voice uneven even to her own ears.

"Yes," he said. She watched him look at her lips, and then he traced the line of her jaw with his knuckles before settling his hand calmly at her waist. "One from which I did not want to wake."

He lay before her with his head on her pillow, in her bed, so utterly relaxed that she thought she must have misunderstood his meaning, for surely if he meant what she thought he did, he could not have remained so nonchalant. There was something in his regard, however, that was both affected and affecting, and she was certain of what he had dreamed. Shëanon could not have been more taken aback, and she looked at Legolas in bewilderment. She almost told him outright that she too had had such a dream, astonished that his reveries so closely matched her own, but she didn't quite have the courage. For one thing, she would certainly not have been able to describe it to him if he were to ask—she could barely stand to think about it in front of him, much less speak of it. And then, too, Shëanon worried what they might do if she were to tell him just how he had handled her in her dream. While the idea of being kissed and touched by him in such a way was deeply appealing, the thought of it in reality was also more than a bit intimidating.

"Will you not tell me what happened in this dream?" she asked instead, her heart pounding. She could feel her pulse race, and waited with bated breath for his answer.

Legolas was quiet for a long time, his expression indiscernible, and Shëanon trembled as she waited to see what he would say and indeed, what he would do. Would he recount it for her, imparting in his fair voice the way he had dreamed of kissing her? Or perhaps he would simply show her…

"I think tonight I should not," he said finally. He ran his hand carefully over her ribs. "The hour is late, and you are weary and still healing. We both should rest while we still have the chance. I think we will not sleep much on the ride to Minas Tirith."

"Will you tell me after?" she asked quietly before she could help herself. They had not spoken at all of after—not of after their quest, and even after the battle seemed a dangerous thing to discuss, for she knew it was possible that one or both of them could be slain before the end; the closest they had yet come was when Legolas had spoken of the Sea-Longing, but Shëanon couldn't help it. She wanted very badly to hear some mention of "after," some hope that there would be an after, that their errand would end and they would have peace.

Legolas's gaze then was terribly serious—startlingly so—and after the length of several breaths, she almost thought he would not respond.

"After," he repeated at last. He lifted his hand and, while she lay utterly still before him, he ran his thumb over her lip, and then her cheekbone, and then over the shape of her ear so that she almost gasped at the fierce rush of pleasure that it sent tingling down her spine. He looked deeply into her eyes. "After all this is over, I will do anything you ask of me."

Shëanon felt her mouth fall softly open. Never would she have expected or asked for such a promise, and yet a promise it clearly was. Legolas had spoken so gravely, and had touched her as though she were so dear to him, that she knew it had been no idle thought. She had no idea what to say.

He pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Let us rest," he said, before she could say anything.

That was the first night that she struggled to find sleep at his side, for she lay awake for many hours, hearing his words again and again. They held each other for a long time, and she listened again to his heartbeat. She knew that he did not sleep either, for even though she could not see his face, he continued to rub her back and caress her hair and her arms, both of them silent and thoughtful. The banked heat that he had incited did not recede, his every touch leaving her only more afflicted, and for a long time Shëanon lay pondering their conversation and his pledge with measured joy and disbelief. To her it seemed he had it backwards, for didn't he know that it was she who could deny him nothing? She felt as though she had been falling helplessly in love with him from the moment she'd first laid eyes on him, and more than once she almost told him so.

Then she thought again of the horror that had been Helm's Deep and of the coming battle at Minas Tirith. She remembered the screams of the wardens dying all around her, and the moment that she had thought Legolas was about to be shot down before her eyes. When only embers were left in the fireplace, Shëanon squeezed closed her eyes and pressed her face against his shoulder, terrified of what the future held.

Translations:
I mathad lín dae maer tenda: Your touch feels so good

A/N:
Hello, everyone! I hope you are all safe and well. As always, thank you SO MUCH for your kind words on the last chapter. I have been having a really difficult time in quarantine, and your reviews really make my day!

As for this chapter, I know it took a while to post, but the good news is that it's by far the longest chapter to date at nearly 14,000 words. I hope it is worth the wait! I know it might be a rather dense chapter, but there were important conversations to be had! Hopefully it's not hard to get through :/

At this point, we have been in Edoras for over 35,000 words (yikes). I'm really excited for the coming chapters, when obviously the action of ROTK will ramp up! And also excited to continue building upon Legolas and Shëanon's relationship :)

Stay safe and healthy! xoxo Erin