The Unforgiven { Legolas x OC - LotR Fanfiction}

7. A yak in the Dark

Night fell like a heavy cloak over the Fellowship as they approached the long and winding path that would lead them toward the Pass of Caradhras. The air was cold, sharp with the scent of snow, and the moonlight cast silver streaks across the jagged peaks of the Misty Mountains. Caradhras, the Redhorn, rose before them like a ghost crowned in frost—its heights steeped in ancient silence and veiled in storm.

At the base of the trail, Gandalf paused, eyes tracing the path etched into the mountain's flank. "If we climb the pass called the Redhorn Gate, beneath Caradhras, we will descend by the Dimrill Stair into the deep vale of the Dwarves. There lies Kheled-zâram, the Mirrormere, where the River Silverlode is born from the icy springs of Kibil-nâla. But for now, we rest. Set camp, and gather strength."

A shadow of longing passed over Gimli's face as he stood near the wizard. "Kheled-zâram... and the cold springs of my people. My heart trembles, thinking I may gaze upon them once more."

The Hobbits had already begun bustling about, circling Bill the Pony, rummaging through packs.

"Merry, are you sure the pots are in your bag?" Pippin whined, patting his rumbling belly.

"I put them there myself," Merry retorted, joining him in the search.

Gandalf gave Gimli a firm nod. "May your heart find joy in the sight, Master Dwarf. But we tarry here only tonight. Tomorrow... we enter Caradhras."

A triumphant shout came from Pippin as he raised a pot above his head and ran toward Sam. "You're cooking tonight! That was the deal!"

"Wait," he paused. "We need firewood first. Merry, let's go gather—"

Before he could finish, Boromir gently stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "No, little ones. We'll gather it. It may not be safe beyond the ridge."

Ethir stepped forward from the shadows. "Allow me to join you, Lord Boromir," she offered, her voice quiet but deliberate.

Boromir gave a stiff nod. The tension between them had yet to ease. As they walked through the brush and bramble, searching for kindling, Ethir finally broke the silence.

"You still distrust me."

Boromir stopped mid-step and turned, holding a branch in one hand. "It's not personal, Lady Ethir. But this quest is perilous enough. A woman among us—it complicates things. This is not a burden you should bear."

She gave a short, amused breath. "You think I will slow you down? I don't think so. And even if I did, it's too late now. You don't have the luxury of choosing your companions anymore."

Boromir looked away, then nodded curtly. "That is true. But it doesn't mean I must like it."

"I didn't ask you to," she replied, cool and clear.

They returned to camp with firewood in tow. Sam lit the fire while the Hobbits laid out pans, dried herbs, and what remained of their provisions. A flickering warmth blossomed at the heart of their circle. Around it, the Fellowship gathered like moths to a fragile flame.

"We'll eat soon," Pippin declared proudly. "We missed all our meals today!"

Ethir looked at the sizzling food for a long moment. Something stirred in her veins—an itch in her limbs, a craving not for food but for movement, for the thrill of the hunt.

"I should hunt. Bring back fresh meat," she said, adjusting her coat. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her blade.

But Aragorn stepped into her path, placing a firm hand against her shoulder. "No. We can't risk drawing attention. We have enough."