Ethiriel was barely aware of the darkening world around her. Everything was blurry, and she couldn't walk straight. She wanted to fall to her knees and cry out to the treetops to make a gap between their leaves so she could see the stars. She wanted to cry out for nightfall, so the air would be cool. Stars were hope signified in glorious jewels embedded in the night sky.
Though she knew not why she had an attraction to the stars, she knew her brother shared the same wonderment as she did.
He limped along beside her, his jaw clenched and his eyes intense. His hair reached to his shoulders, and was a shining Jet black. At least, on a good day it was. They hadn't had a good day in ages. She didn't look much like him; she had her father's Golden hair. They both had the same deep grey eyes, pointed ears, and dependence on one another.
Together they struggled along the path they had come across, silently and fearfully.
Had the birds been chirping she would not have heard them. The amount of pure exhaustion took its toll on her as she pushed forth, with an unspoken determination to find a place to seek for shelter.
She imagined her brother, Meldarion felt ten times worse. His limp was making it hard to keep up, and the slower they walked, the more likely they were to run out of water and food. So she walked close to him to ease the guilt he was feeling at holding them back.
He was brave. Far braver than her, and wiser still. It was hard to look at him limp. For so long he has been her rock to cling to, and there he was, weaker than her, practically leaning on her shoulder.
They trudged slowly along a path they had found, stopping to let Meldarion catch his breath.
She paused for a second when a flash from the corner of her eyes blinded her momentarily. She squinted, moving forward to see what had reflected the light, for the sun was behind them, beating down on their backs.
With a small gasp she realized it was a sword she had glimpsed.
There were people here. Close to them.
"E-Ethiriel..."
She spun around, masking her hesitance with an unconvincing smile. "Do not worry yourself, stay here."
"No," he panted. "I feel...feel faint-" and she watched with wide eyes as he collapsed to the ground before her.
"Meldarion!" Immediately she rushed to his side, her heart crying out in despair. She had lost far too much; she could not bear it if she had lost him as well.
She dropped down to push him onto his back, and wiped the dirt off of his brow.
"Rest, Meldarion." She whispered. "It was foolish of me to keep you walking."
She sighed, watching him breathe for a few minutes.
Despair overcame her. She found herself trying to grasp the fact that they were both going to die out in the wilderness. No one would remember their names, they had forgotten long ago. They would be lucky if their bodies were found.
As this sunk in, she found herself sobbing into her brothers chest. There could be no hope for them.
They had lost so much, risked all they could, and in the end, death held on tightly, with an unrelenting grip upon the backs of their necks. The likelihood that a shining knight upon a steed would rescue them at that moment was one in a million.
Should she accept defeat so soon? It seemed logical, but it was selfish of her to give up without a fight.
As she cried into her brother's chest, the sobs wracked her body and suddenly everything felt hopeless. The amount of sorrow she was feeling was overwhelming. Her thoughts cycled to everything that had ever gone wrong in her life until it was unbearable.
Ethiriel stopped abruptly when she felt something cold press against her neck. Her breath hitched in her throat when she realized it was the blade of a sword.
Had they found them again? The two elves had left three days ago without a chase. There was no way they could catch up.
"I thought the elves do not easily fall ill..."
Through that one sentence she deduced two things: The stranger was male, and he was not an elf.
She clutched her brother tighter than before. "We are weak," she whispered, the touch of the blade the only thing her body was registering. "Even the bones of an elf can break."
"Yes, and so can their flesh be pierced..." She felt a small amount of pressure on her neck, and gasped loudly in fear.
"No!"
"Tell me, elf, why should I spare the likes of you? I'd rather put you out of your misery than leave you to die here. Consider it…a mercy."
She let out a desperate sob, scrambling closer to her brothers unconscious form. Her body shook violently and she almost had half a mind to end it all herself.
Ethiriel resorted to the one thing she knew how to do.
"No! Leave us be!" She begged the stranger through her tears, still not able to face him. "I'll do anything! If you shall harm me, at least save my brother!"
"Ha! Pathetic! Don't worry...it'll be nice and swift."
When Ethiriel felt the blade leave her neck she immediately twisted herself over to look at her captor.
He had his sword raised above his head, glinting in the sunlight menacingly. He was a delusional man, perhaps lost in the woods himself.
She screamed, much to his amusement. "My boss will be proud of me tonight, don't you think? Two dead elves...that would set a new record."
He brought the blade down swiftly, and she had no strength to comprehend it, nor dodge its future blow. Instead she watched as it came closer and closer towards her until she screamed once more, and squeezed her eyes shut.
The pain never came.
Her eyes hesitantly opened until she was no longer staring into the face of a living being. He was dead, and his blade fell to the ground, at her feet.
He crumpled beside it.
The world seemed darker; it spun slightly as the urge to cry overwhelmed her. She pushed it back, fighting against it.
She sat extremely still, waiting to catch her breath. She couldn't believe she was so close to death, and she had done nothing about it but watch. Ethiriel leaned forward to examine the lifeless body. A dagger stuck itself out of his back, the blood still spreading.
When she reached over to touch it, she heard a twig snap. Her head shot up. Of course the dagger had to have come from another person! She cursed herself for not thinking properly.
"Are you alright?" Out came a young man, holding both hands up to show he had no intention of hurting them. His voice was cautious, slightly nasally, but otherwise completely monotone.
She said nothing, eyeing him warily as he unsheathed his sword, looking for more villains. He found no one. The sword in his hand was lowered, but he clutched it as if it was an extension of his body.
Compared to him, she could already tell she was hopelessly under-armed; the only weapon she had was a club that she had snatched before they had fled.
The man posed no threat; still, she threw herself over her brother's chest to protect him and cried into his shoulder.
"Leave us alone!" She wailed. "My brother and I have not slept in three days since we escaped, his leg is hurt! Let him be! Let me be!"
"I mean you no harm." Came his calm voice. "Will you not speak with me?"
She only grasped her brother tighter, tensing when she felt a gentle hand rest upon her shoulder.
"I can help your brother, if you wish. It must be quick, I'm afraid, for we are traveling."
Ethiriel lifted her head when he mentioned the offer to help her brother. She looked at the stranger's feet crouching not too far from her.
His blue eyes examined her face, peering through locks of dark hair. He released her shoulder and stood.
"Come," he said, holding a hand out for her to take. "We will take you to Rivendell. There your brother will get the medical attention he needs, and there you will be among your people."
For a while, she was torn. How did she know this man wouldn't kill her or her brother? So far, she had no luck when it came to trusting the right people. She was also exhausted, Meldarion was unconscious. They were on the verge of death, regardless, so why not take a chance? She winced at how low she had stooped.
Hesitantly, Ethiriel accepted his outstretched arm, and he helped her up. As soon as she stood, the young man leaned over to pick up her brother.
"They call me Strider," he grunted, heaving her poor brother onto his shoulder. "May I inquire of your name?"
"Ethiriel."
"It means river. A nice name, fairly common for one of your kind. "
She looked confused as they headed for the man named Striders campground, ducking under a low tree branch.
He gave her an odd looking side-glance.
Seeing another intelligent being caused her head to throb. It had slipped her mind among the time she spent in captivity that she was an elf. It never mattered to her. In a land full of creatures of all kinds, she had not seen another elf in ages. Except for her brother.
Strider said nothing but continued on to a small clearing.
"Make a fire," he ordered to someone. "We have guests."
"Guests?" Came a heavily accented voice. "What do ya mean 'guests?' Who is that?"
"This is Ethiriel, she will be joining us for the time being. Rivendell is only a few hours away by now."
"Well hello, strange woman!"
"Mind your manners, Pippin!"
"Oh, sorry."
She looked down at the two small men in front of them, feeling a little overwhelmed. Her head throbbed harder.
"H-Hello...?"
"I am Merry," one said. He had wavy hair, and a mischievous face. "This is Pippin," he gestured towards the other, with similar hair, waving emphatically at her.
"Now, what would ya like to eat?" Pippin stopped waving.
"Sam's out gathering wood, he'll cook you up something real nice," Merry added.
"We only really have a couple bites of sausage, bread, and chicken, so ya don't really have much of a choice."
"Gentlemen," Strider called. "A rag if you please."
The two scurried off, and she glanced worriedly at her older brother. Meldarion was paler than before, his breathing was steady, which reassured her.
There was a hand suddenly placed on the back of her neck. She jumped.
"Forgive me; he managed to mark you with his blade. I only wish to stop the blood from flowing."
She did not reply, out of fear, distrust, and confusion.
It was as if the moment he mentioned the wound it began to sting and throb, though it was nothing compared to her aching head.
Once the blood had stopped flowing, she silently refused his attempts to properly clean it. That was enough contact for a lifetime. It made her extremely uncomfortable.
"Your brother," he began, cleaning the blood off his hands. "Is a brave elf. He noticed the scoundrel before you, and tried to steer you away. But what of your story?" He stared at her intently, furrowing his brow as if trying to figure the two out.
When he received no answer, he tried his hand at prying it out of her.
"The scratches on your face suggest you were running, without a look behind you. You both appear underfed, under clothed,"—Ethiriel had no sense of dignity, and thus, did not blush—" and many scars adorn his body...he has a history of protecting you. From what?" He turned to look at her "Pedich Edhellon? (Do you understand me?)"
She nodded just barely enough for him to see.
"Perhaps it is too soon. Rivendell is near, after we eat, we will continue on."
She opened her mouth to protest.
"Your brother will last. He is strong." He reassured her politely, and gestured for her to sit by the campfire. The heat was the last thing she wanted, she wanted to dip herself into a river, ridding herself of the dirt and grime.
She could not see any nearby.
By the time another figure joined them, Ethiriel had about had it with the social interaction for the day. Granted, the chubby one had a wonderful personality, though he was very tense and muttered incoherently under his breath. Thanks to her strong hearing, she understood perfectly well.
She stood from her spot on the ground and went to check on Meldarion.
The color was coming back to him as he rested beneath the cool shade of the tree. He looked so at peace, unlike the provoking scenarios they had to endure over the years. No, it was like it never even happened. Once he woke up it would be a different story. He would worry, mourn, and try to mask it for her sake.
She couldn't let him do that. Not when she had almost lost him.
Sighing, she watched from a distance as the two shorter people tried to lift the chubby ones spirits up.
What were their names? She would learn them later. It didn't matter now. How long has it been since she had been in an elven city? She shook her head. "Too long..." She whispered to herself. What did home look like? Where was she from? She did not remember, and it broke her heart. Her brother would know, for his strength had always stemmed from the hope of going back. Ethiriel knew that as children, their father traveled a lot, Meldarion had told her on a particularly dark night in captivity.
She rubbed her hands on her face, welcoming the cool breeze that swiped her long hair over her shoulders. Her breathing steadied when she parted her lips and opted to listen to the crackling fire, clanging of cooking utensils, and the leaves swaying in the wind. Never before had she been so at peace.
She felt herself smile when she realized where she was.
Free.
She was free. Free from the torture of wondering if the next day would be her last. Free from the pain, anguish, and soulless tormentors.
For once she felt strong, and all at once her muscled relieved themselves of their tension.
She had not experienced this in ages. It felt wonderful. It felt surreal. She was in heaven for sure, and she didn't want to leave.
She had lived through a miracle.
Then, suddenly, she heard a small voice in her head, one of a child.
"Ethiriel," it said, and she jumped up to her feet, twisting her head all around.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched her, but she ignored them.
"Are you alright, Ethiriel?" Strider asked cautiously. He eyed her suspiciously, when she turned to face him with wild eyes.
"Did you hear it too?" She whimpered.
Strider clenched his jaw and straightened his neck.
Confirming her fears, he shook his head slowly. "I heard nothing. I do not have ears as strong as an elf. Tell me what you heard."
"The voice a child," she trembled. "Whispering my name."
"You know of this child?"
She stared at him blankly, and then at her palms. "Yes. He was my brother."
"Your brother is safe; I have tended his wounds to my best ability." Strider insisted.
"You're wrong..."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It is not Meldarion's voice I heard...It belonged to my youngest brother Glandur...he-he-" she found she could not finish her sentence, and she fell to her knees, crying. "Forgive me," she gasped through tears. "It has been too long since I have had the proper time to-to-" her face contorted, and she let out a sob. "To mourn!"
Strider dared not near the young elf, and when Sam, Merry, and Pippin rose from their spots, he held a hand out loosely that halted their actions.
He stared at the young girl with intense eyes, slowly letting his hand drop to his side.
"Whatever happened to you and your brother, is over. You may take your time mourning, but remember it is in your best interest to gather your strength. I promise to protect you two...you have my word. Does that help to ease your burdens?"
She only had the strength to nod, before a large bird swooped down from overhead unexpectedly.
Ethiriel yelped in surprise, hiding her face beneath her arms.
Had they found them? Would they kill their new acquaintances or take them too? There was a thud, and the flapping of wings.
She braved a glance up to find an old man holding himself up with a walking stick as he greeted Strider.
They talked for a few minutes, and she watched intently, honing in on every word.
"Gandalf!"
"Yes?" he squinted distractedly, then examined the small clearing "no, no, where is he?"
"If it is Frodo whom you speak of, then he should be in Rivendell by now."
"What?" He scratched his head in frustration. "I said I would meet him in Bree at the Prancing Pony,"
"Where'd you go, Gandalf?" Asked Sam.
"I was regrettably delayed..." There was vagueness in his raspy, deep voice that implied betrayal. Even from far away, she could see it in his eyes.
Strider offered for him to sit on a rock, which the old man accepted gratefully. After a while of thinking, and a long awkward silence, the old man raised his head.
"What became of Frodo that he had to be rushed so quickly?"
Strider sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ring-wraiths."
"Ah... It is as I feared...this complicates circumstances entirely."
"What's that mean?" Voiced Pippin. "Frodo will be fine, won't he?"
"Do not worry yourself, Peregrin Took, we shall see soon enough."
That didn't seem to encourage anyone, and as they all became lost in their thoughts, Ethiriel felt herself drift farther and farther into sleep.
It felt like only five minutes later when she was being shaken.
"Ethiriel needs to eat. Has she awoken yet, Sam?"
She opened her eyes and stared up at the person she assumed to be Sam. He looked like the others, but his eyes were soft and brave.
"Hello," He smiled.
She burst into tears once again.
Sam jumped away, startled at her remorse. "I'm sorry!" He cried out. Then he drew near again, albeit hesitantly. "Please don't cry...I don't mean to hurt you, I mean to help. Please...stop crying. I'm a hobbit of my word, an honest hobbit!"
She tried to find it in herself to speak, but couldn't.
The small man smiled kindly, going to the fire.
"Elves suffer from terrible sorrow."
She gasped, her head shot towards the old man, Gandalf, who had just finished his own meal. He placed a small bowl down beside him and leaned back against a tree, staring into the flames.
"Do not let it overcome you. Your brother needs you."
"My brother?" Ethiriel whispered.
"Yes," Gandalf turned to look at her. "He is doing well, he will make it to Rivendell, and they will heal his wounds."
Sam came back to hand her stew, and she accepted it, for it warmed her hands. He then went to go sit with his two friends.
"What's a hobbit?" She asked Strider.
He stared at her, looking perturbed. "A halfling."
When he saw there was no recognition he continued.
"These three come from the Shire. Have you never heard of Hobbits?"
"If I had, I think I may have forgotten. It has been a long time since I had ever been home. I'm afraid I do not know what home looks like." As she said this, a single tear rolled down her cheek, and she prevented torrents of bitter rivers to flow freely down her face.
Strider said nothing. Just as he was about to offer his condolences, Sam turned and looked with sad eyes at the Ranger.
"Do you think," he began, "that Mr. Frodo will be okay?"
"He is in good hands. Frodo will pull through. Do not lose hope so soon." Gandalf replied.
Sam nodded tiredly. "You're right...it's just..." He teared up, eyes stinging with frustration. He slammed his fist onto the ground. "He's just got to be okay! He's got to!"
Merry and Pippin sat beside him sadly, no longer in the mood for stew.
"I'll save it for supper," Merry muttered.
"We've already had supper," Strider furrowed his brow, as if this conversation had come up one too many times.
"No, we had dinner. Supper is the last meal of the day," Explained Pippin. "After Breakfast, second breakfast, elvenses, lunch, and afternoon tea."
"Of course." He said dryly.
"Shall we get ready, gentlemen? It is not far."
"But what if it gets dark? Who knows what's out in these woods?"
"No." Sam said, packing quickly. "We have to be getting to Mr. Frodo."
Ethiriel rested as they gathered their things, watching Meldarion's chest rise and fall. It reminded her that he was alive. If only barely.
"Now, let us be on our way."
A/N: Just an experiment! I appreciate constructive criticism! And I'm sorry if anything is inaccurate, I only recently became obsessed with it…thank you for reading!
