Sword and Arrow

Chapter 19

The outside of the East Gate of Moria was very different from the West Gate. The sun shone from behind thin clouds and the land was all flat stone and hard-packed soil and scraggly plants. There was a certain beauty to it, the beauty of a landscape that has seen war, genocide, and drought. Slowly, to the southeast, the land shifted to one of shrubs then one of trees, eventually fading into the forest of tall trees that heralded the far-reaching borders of Lothlorien.

Of course, none of the Fellowship was paying attention to all this. How could they? Gandalf was dead. He had been immortal to all of them. Immortal, immovable, undefeatable. And now he was gone.

Their mad flight out of Moria slowed as they reached the sunlight and they spilled out on the layered rock that lay before the gates. Beruthiel stood stock-still, her eyes riveted on the horizon, refusing to cry for yet another person who had come into her life only to quickly and gracelessly fall out of it. She winced. No pun intended.

Behind her, Merry and Pippin had their arms around each other, together in their grief and tears. Boromir restrained Gimli from venting out his rage and sorrow, and Legolas merely stood on the highest point of the rocks. He too was looking at the horizon, but his eyes showed shock and disbelief, confusion even, instead of Beruthiel's more raw anger and grief.

Aragorn, coming last, squatted on the ground. Taking a piece of cloth, worn threadbare over the years, out of his scabbard, he wiped his sword clean of the grime and blood of assorted Dark species. He sighed, looking at the blade. The blade's bent, his mind numbly noted. I'll have to replace this sword soon. Pity, it's a good one. His thoughts refused to focus on Gandalf, instead noting inane things like the sun high in the sky and the grass waving in the wind.

He sheathed the sword — it only went about halfway in — and turned to the others. "Legolas, get them up." Heavy voice, heavy heart.

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir said back. He rested a hand on Merry and Pippin's shoulders.

Beruthiel momentarily closed her eyes. Valar, please don't give us our first lovers' quarrel right here.

Aragorn shook his head. "By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with orcs." Hard voice, hard heart. "We must reach the woods of Lothlorien. Come, Legolas, Boromir, Beruthiel, get them up."

Beruthiel. He never calls me Beruthiel. Beruthiel's eyes burned with unshed tears as she helped Pippin to his feet. She patted him on the back and nodded. It will be alright, she wanted to tell him. It's all going to be fine. But that would be lying.

It's always been Ruth, she thought as she told Merry to follow Aragorn. Why Beruthiel now? Does he want to distance himself because of... because of Boromir? She was happy for them, that was impossible to mistake. Very happy. Aragorn was happy with Boromir, in love with him, and that made her glad that he'd found someone... But would it mean losing herself her best friend? Her best friend, who she'd known for more than sixty years, who had been at her side for every single danger she'd been through?

A knot wound her way into her stomach and she clenched her fists as she trudged after her companions. She'd done a lot for Aragorn. And he'd done just as much, maybe more, for her. How far was she willing to go? How much was she willing to sacrifice?

She felt Legolas at her shoulder as they picked their way across a stream dotted with grey rocks. The water was shallow but cold. Aragorn didn't seem to mind as he splashed across, running up to the top of a large rock and looking out at the woods beyond it. Come to think of it, he didn't mind anything. Since Gandalf's disappearance — she did not dare say death, for that would mean acknowledging the horrible truth — he had been faraway. Blank. Lifeless.