Icy Grip to Stone Flame
I was perched upon a stone, jolting out of the other stones surrounding it, glancing across the cloud-scattered sky. I thought carefully about most topics currently in my mind excluding the death of my sister. For I knew, from experience, that such memories would turn me into a weak, tearful fool. I tossed my braid over my shoulder and resumed watching the sky. I caught sight of a cloud of darker colours and frowned. It was approaching fast. After several moments the others noticed the mist, and stared at it curiously. My mouth dropped as I realised what such was.
“Crebain from Dunland!” I leapt off the stone, gathered an armful of possessions and herded a stray hobbit underneath the security of a bush. Through the foliage I saw the dark birds screaming with a cry of anger and hatred. I shuddered as the birds then turned south once more heading towards the tower of Isengard. I cautiously moved out from under the green leaves, casting despising looks at the departing crows.
“Spies of Saruman,” Mithrandir spoke lowly. “Our path south is being watched. We must take the path of Caradhras!” I flinched. The blanketed mountain loomed above us and I looked at it doubtfully. An elf could perhaps successfully take that path, yet a hobbit? Surely not… I shrugged and swung my pack onto my back once more. Mithrandir was the guide, not I. He would have a reason for all directions we took. My hesitation was clearly noticed by the youngest hobbit, Peregrin Took, who patted my hand reassuringly. I smiled at the little mortal before stepping off the stone. If the hobbit did not fear such, then why should an elf? Because… I shook my head. Must I continually answer my own rhetorical questions? Ah… Ugh! I was doing such again! Arwen had once told me such was a habit, one that I would eventually grow out of. I closed my eyes briefly; remembering the days when such a war over the ring was nonexistent, for it was lost. I smiled at the distant memory then turned to face the piercing peak, reflecting the sun’s light. It seemed almost too simple, to take another path when one had been destroyed by an ally of the enemy. I threw a suspicious and distrusting look at the gleaming crag. It was too…calm.
*
The journey across the mountain seemed simple enough…at first. I adapted a type of walk, leaping carefully from one snowdrift to another. Until the blizzard began. The cold sliced through my clothing, hitting my skin with unbelievable vengeance. Using my right arm, I sheltered my eyes from the harshest of winds. And at this precise moment, a sob choked my throat. I flinched sharply and a tear rolled down my cheek, freezing as a droplet onto my cheek. I briefly shut my eyes and focused on the storm, and surviving such, ignoring anything else. I would not fall. Nor fail. It was after a quarter-hour of battling these elements that I paused, muttering under my breath. “‘Tis the work of Saruman.” Through the cruel snow slashing at my face I could see the faint outline of a frown upon Legolas’ face. “The work of Saruman?” I nodded as a deep booming shook the mountainside. I cringed at the voice, recognising words of evil. Mithrandir stepped forward as I ducked under the small shelter the cliff-face brought, jerking slightly the cape of Aragorn. He understood my unspoken message and brought the Company, excluding the shouting Mithrandir, underneath the insignificant refuge. At that moment I heard a sharp crack and grimaced as boulders came hailing down as pebbles. The blanket slipped and fell with the rocks, enveloping us in sudden coldness and holding us with an icy grip. I darted out of the bitter clutch the frost held and began to rescue those unable to escape. We stood unsteadily among the growing mounds of snowflakes and decided quickly on a course of action. We shall take the mines. I caught a look of disturbance placed on the wizard’s face and I frowned. Surely he was not to lead us through the abandoned mines that were riddled with stone and flame? I attempted to shake off my uncertainty, the guide knew best. And if he supposed that to follow blindly in the dark was the most appropriate option, so be it. Yet a slight feeling of fear still whispered in my heart. At first, the frozen grip of the height of the mountains had trapped us, and now the flaming hand of the depths reached out. I knew not which I would prefer. Fire or Ice?
*
We left our iced cage simply enough, backing to the end of the mountain, defeated. And we approached the fire in the deep. “And what news of the happenings of Mirkwood?” I had rotated around every member of the Fellowship, except Mithrandir who was still struggling with the door, asking them of their countries, and happenings that had occurred there. I had reached the end of the circle, dismayed. And the door showed no sign of shifting. Legolas only smiled.
“Faith, you know the forests of Mirkwood as well as your own valley!” I slumped against the rock, mumbling.
“And what displeases the Princess?” Aragorn looked teasingly at my frustrated face.
“The fact that I must sit still.”
“You do not like to remain seated?” Merry asked incredulously.
“Actually, no. I cannot stand such. And since I have drained all source of conversation, I have nothing to do. Mithrandir? Could you please take me out of my torture, give me mercy, and open the door?” Mithrandir cast an annoyed look at me.
“Always impatient!”
“Well, in all the years I have known you, when has there passed a time where I sat, still, for over an hour, without being forced to do so?” He paused, considering, and then looked at me in shock. “No! I believe not!” I shrugged. “And there lies your answer. Please open the door!” My voice picked up on a begging tone.
“I am trying, child! For the lack of patience you possess, it seems impossible that you are related whatsoever to Elrond!” I rolled my eyes at his words. “You and many have spoken so.” He left the conversation, running into a stream of ancient elvish commands. I dragged my knees up to my chest and sighed. Lord Boromir, who had been watching the faces of the conversationalists intently with much amusement, burst into laughter. I stared curiously at him. He quietened quickly.
“And what, may I ask, did you find so witty?” He pulled a straight face.
“Nothing, Princess.” Again I rolled my eyes, muttering,
“Then you should be praised on your acting skills. For I am not deaf.” Faint smiles appeared upon the Fellowship’s faces.
“Faith, do you wish to grace us with a song?” I glared at Aragorn.
“No, Estel. I shall have to kill you first.” A wave of humour swept over me, changing the tone of my voice from sharply sarcastic to faint humour. We bit our lips, attempting not to chuckle. We failed miserably and were practically rolling on the ground, laughter escaping our lips. It seemed almost odd to laugh, as if I had been imprisoned into a dungeon of bars of grief too long. I ignored the aspect and attempted to compose myself. Frodo looked at us most curiously.
“And what does Strider and the Princess hold amusing?” he whispered to Merry. I picked up on his words.
“Twas from a banquet in Rivendell many a year ago. I dislike with a passion such entertainment. And Strider, here, spoke up after such, asking for a song. For some odd reason, all eyes turned to me.” I broke off in uncontrollable laughter so Aragorn finished the tale.
“She presented me with the most venomous look. And spoke those words, ‘No, Estel. I shall have to kill you first.’ I, unwisely, called her bluff and we began a swordfight, in the centre of the great Hall of Fire, being watched on by various important guests.” The remainder of the Fellowship burst into amused smiles. Even Mithrandir’s face twitched. Merry halted, questioning Aragorn.
“And who won the battle?”
“Neither of us. We had to postpone such when a stray swing took the last thirty centimetres from Gandalf’s beard.” The Company unsuccessfully endeavoured to keep straight faces.
“I can still picture the expression on the wizard’s face! My blade was supposedly confiscated for the remainder of the year!” I cried.
“Yet she regained it after three days,” Aragorn chuckled. The dwarf blinked. “How?”
“You would be surprised at how charming the Princess can be when she wishes. None can deny her seemingly innocent face. Especially not her father,” Aragorn responded quickly. “You would think he would have learnt to resist that face after more than two thousand years! Yet, it still never fails. A perfect weapon to fall back on when disarmed.”
“Overused as it may seem,” Aragorn said.
“A trusty blade suitable for any conditions,” I beamed.
“Demonstrate such.” I grinned at Sam’s words and turned to the hobbit Merry, who was in his own little world, unaware of the situation that he would find himself in. He was toying with a mushroom, the most beloved of all foods to the hobbit race.
“Merry? Could I have that last mushroom? Please?” He cast a suspicious look at my ‘innocent’ face. With great reluctance, he passed me the object, tearing it away from his very heart. I tossed it back to the hobbit that became startled at the clapping I was being awarded.
“Thank you, thank you,” I mock curtseyed, well, as well as I could, being seated on the ground. “Mithrandir? Is the door opened yet?”
“Child, when it is opened, it shall be opened! Not a moment sooner!” I leapt to my feet and ran my finger slowly over the words. I crack a smile before announcing, in my most formal voice, “Mellon!” The gates unlocked and opened with a scraping noise. All jaws dropped and I turned triumphantly to Mithrandir. “You said I was not like my father. I have proved you wrong. We both hold a liking for riddles and the unknown. Thus we spend much time trying to find solutions to questions that we cannot answer.”
“And you did not tell us this before?” I smiled strangely. “You did not ask.” Mithrandir stared at me. “Yet, you…”
“Mind not what I said. I am the most odd elf to ever walk Middle-Earth. Now, allow us to enter the mines!” I slung my pack on my back and stepped confidently into the darkness. I learnt quickly. Confidence leads to ruin. Never turn your back.
***
