A Rather Chaotic Revision of The Fellowship

Twenty-six

So perhaps it was something else that drew him away. A subtle but persistent sense, a prickling impatience with the deadness and quiet surrounding him. After a failed attempt of sleep, Carnistir shifted beyond the circle until he was just within earshot of a gray-haired wizard, sitting wide awake despite the heavy shadow surrounding them.

Caranthir turned around and shot him a look. "What do you want, Olórin?"

Silence from Gandalf for a moment, as he observed the Noldo with disquiet. "That. . . was a risky move, Carnistir," the wizard muttered. Quiet enough to escape the earshot of any onlookers. "The Dark Lord now knows for sure that you are alive."

"Then let him come." Caranthir shut his eyes, blocked out the loud and cluttered world even if for an instant. The tunnels were long and sleek, and they would perhaps keep him lost for a while. "So far his power has failed to keep this company walled apart."

"So far indeed," Olórin warned, and his eyes were dark. "But you must remember it's unwise to speak so quickly of things. Such rashness will only lead you nowhere."

Caranthir contemplated for a moment if anyone he knew could have used that advice.

"Either way, it is more foolish still to let ourselves be crushed under our own fear," Caranthir said. "Acting out of cowardice can lead to worse ends than mere temerity."

Suddenly, Olórin gave him a very sharp look. "Perhaps if you were a different person speaking, that might have sounded less amusing."

"Amusing?" Caranthir snapped. But he caught the regretful look in the wizard's eyes, and he paused. "Well, better to be rash than a coward."

"I will agree to that," said Gandalf. "It is no question that the world would be a good deal darker and graver without those who are foolish enough to reach for the impossible." And for a moment, his glance slid sideways, to the figure of Aragorn as he was crouched and giving attention to an injured, exhausted Frodo.

"Then thank Illuvatar for those humans," Caranthir muttered. It had been under his breath, a thought—and he went rigid for a moment as he caught the words out loud.

A strange look had come to Olórin's eyes. "Really?"

Caranthir looked away. His face felt slightly warm against the empty air of the tunnels. Finally, he mustered an answer. "Yes," he said, just softly enough to hover in the air before fading. "We would all be in a good deal of a mess if not for those fools." Those strong fools. Foolish and fleeting and unbreakable.

"Well, you should take some time to get to know them when this mess is over," said Gandalf. "The Men of this age are proud. They will take good care of the land in the coming ages. . . when the others depart." His voice trailed off, and the old wizard gazed off to the skies.

". . . How so?" Caranthir asked, though it seemed a pointless question. If what the wizard meant was true, and he'd been. . . right all along. It was too late.

"Your people are leaving these shores," Olórin said, tone softening to something old and grim, but kind. "The last of the Eldar are leaving, heading away to their one home. To the Blessed Realm, where they will not be threatened by malice again. And thus, the Secondborn will be left. . . left to inherit Middle-earth."

Silence for a moment. Caranthir shut his eyes, something heavy and hard taking hold of his chest. He'd missed it all, hadn't he? And now, look at them. . . Crawling right back to the Valar, as if they were better than the wild lands in Endor. The lands they had bled and died for in ages past. "I wish I could have seen more of this," he muttered, suddenly shaking his head, suddenly desperate and hollow. "We've spent so much time away in those Halls as the others flourished. . . So long, we became something else entirely. But it would have been nice to see things before it all started to go."