Aravan {A Lord of the Rings Story}

T•W•E•N•T•Y • O•N•E

A/N: I feel like this chapter is incomplete, but at the same time, I don't know what else to add to it. If you have suggestions, please let me know! I will gladly consider them! Nonetheless, I hope you guys enjoy! Your feedback seriously means to world to me; it's what I look forward to every time I post a chapter! You guys are so awesome, thank you so so so much for your support! <3

T•W•E•N•T•Y • O•N•E

Aravan rode as fast as she possible could, digging her heels into the horse’s side and leaning forward. Her hair whipped out behind her, and despite her destination, a feeling of exhilaration spread through her as the wind whistled in her ears and made her eyes water. She cracked a small smile, forgetting her troubles for a moment and replacing her thoughts with those of things that made her happy. She remembered all her talks with Éowyn, and of holding Pippin on the balcony the night before, and of exploring Tharbad with Blue. She took a moment to clutch his cloak closer to her heart, an ache for his company settling in her chest. She thought of Merry’s laughter ringing through the King’s Hall at Edoras, and of Legolas’s telltale smirk, and of Gimli’s incessant banter with him. She thought of Gandalf’s kind old smile, and of Éomer’s unfailing loyalty, and of meeting Hallas. And finally, she thought of Aragorn, with his mysterious eyes and strange care and connection to her. She let out a shaky breath, then regained her composure and finally came to a place of acceptance of what she must do. After all, she thought, he will never be the wiser.

Time passed quickly. Aravan shifted her thoughts to a plan, knowing that it was impossible to simply stroll through the Black Gate and walk right up to Mount Doom. She periodically stole sideways glances at the looming black mountains that ran along her left. When she finally passed by the Black Gate and was well away from any Orc activity, she stopped next to them and dismounted, subliminally keeping her fingers knotted in the horse’s mane. A feeling of dismay tugged at her heart as she looked upon the Mountains of Shadow. She frowned, thinking, This is impossible. How am I supposed to accomplish this task? I am nothing but a girl. I cannot defeat this darkness on my own. But then she shook her head and told herself that that was Sauron talking, and proceeded to place her hands upon the rock face, her sack dangling loosely against her back. Digging her fingers into the visible crevices, she pushed her feet into the mountain and began to climb.

 She hugged her body as close to the crag as she possibly could, making sure that her grip was solid before she continued upward. It was a tedious process; it took almost an hour before she had even made it a quarter of the way up. But she was safe so far, and that was enough for her. The moon glittered against the black stone, almost creating a lit pathway for her to climb along. She glimpsed back to Minas Tirith longingly, knowing that she could never return. She shook her head and tore her eyes away, reminding herself that her one purpose now was to save the people she loved. And with that thought in her head, she realized that her death was worth it; they were worth it. And so, she resolved to think of returning no more, but instead to think of those who still resided there. With a sudden burst of motivation, she began to scale the rock face a little more quickly.

The closer she got to the top, the wearier she became. Her fingers and arms shook with fatigue; her breathing was rapid and short; she felt the tips of her fingers and toes begin to break open and callus as she persistently scraped them against the tough rock; her shoulder throbbed and her head swam. Despite all this, she repeatedly told herself that it was the evil buried deep within her, attempting to slow her down, and she would not allow it to assume command so soon. She fought against it with each inch that she continued onward. And with each inch, her spirit grew stronger, even as her body weakened.