A Rather Chaotic Revision of The Fellowship

~Fourteen~

Under the stars, for no apparent reason, Caranthir snapped awake, ripping himself from his bedroll. With mad eyes he stared, breathing fast and wild, at the darkened skies. It had happened again.

A sharp rustling from the sides of the camp followed this -- he had woken Olórin.

"What is it?" the wizard hissed, jerking to his feet in a panic.

Caranthir froze, choking down curses. "It -- it's nothing," he spat. "Didn't mean to wake the camp."

Olórin stared at him, eyes flashing intently. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Something clearly troubles you."

"As I said, it's nothing."

As the Maia once more rested, Caranthir sat back, letting his breathing slow. The vision had returned, just days after leaving Rivendell. The one where Eärendil's star vanished, the skies darkened, and Caranthir stood, alone, on that hill. But it was not something to dread.

If it was foretold the star would vanish, surely the Oath was not in vain -- was he in fact destined to shoot down that star?

It had to be so. He was bound to that jewel by fate. But he could not tell Gandalf. If the wizard knew anything, even a hint more than he did now, he would surely thwart his fate.

Caranthir could not let anyone stop him.

~~~

The Maia said nothing of this in the morning. It was unspoken between the two, that the incident would remain strictly private. The fellowship would move on, with or without the disturbance -- and the less the others knew, the better.

The group got going rather quickly, despite a short incident involving the dwarf Gimli, Legolas, and "those thieving Woodelves." Following this, Caranthir had been obliged to explain in a very stern voice how he was of the Calaquendi, a tribe of elves superior in knowledge, valor, and particularly honor, and that it was not he who had taken his axe in the night. In the end, Merry and Pippin were unmasked as the culprits.

Frodo was still laughing about it afterwards. "I can't believe we went through so much trouble scouring the camp, worrying and getting in each other's faces, and in the end, it turned out to be those two." As a finishing touch, he shot a playful glare at the guilty hobbits. Gimli grunted, still very irritable about this.

"It was Pippin's idea," Merry objected, one hand busy stroking the pony Bill.

"Let me tell you, Meriadoc, I've had enough of your foolishness!" Sam cut in, steering the pony away and glaring. "I'd better not wake up tomorrow to find Bill gone as well!"

Merry trailed off, rolling his eyes. "Calm down, Sam, it'd do you good."

Sam fumed as Frodo breathed a weary sigh. The hobbit had long since healed from his injury, though he was by far different -- quieter and solemn, seeming many years older than the lively hobbit he was. His journey would be rigorous, that was clear enough. But whether Frodo Baggins would admit to himself the difficulty of these trials, it would skew heavily the course of the quest.

Caranthir scoffed and shook himself to awareness. He shouldn't worry about these things.

"These days are long, but it seems we are making hardly any progress towards the Mountains," Gimli grunted behind him.

"Really?" said Caranthir, not looking at him.

The dwarf huffed irritably. "I feel like we'll hardly ever make it past those things, much less to Mordor!"

At this, Aragorn turned around harshly. "Do not speak that name here, and so loudly," he warned.

Gimli snorted. "Look, there's nothing in this valley. Do you think He can hear us, all the way down in here?"