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Onwards, brave souls

It wasn't always the same story.

If one were to ask a man of Gondor what he knew of Éolith the Vanished, he would scoff and tell a tale of carelessness, a silly girl who couldn't handle her family's burden, who cracked under the pressure of the duties she was faced with. Ask one of the Northmen of Rhovanion and they would tell of a tragic romance, first love gone wrong, stolen kisses and secret meetings that led to a shameful exile.

Each one was inconsistent. They all had a different account to give.

Ask one of the Dúnedain and they would give you a telling of heart, strength, and a battle long lost. If brave enough to seek out and ask an Easterling, he would shake his head and whisper not to speak of things that dwelled in the dark, that shadows and spirits had their own type of magic, and no one could escape the wrath of a shade who'd heard the call of her name.

Ask a Hobbit and he would invite you in for tea, over which he'd describe how difficult an untameable spirit could be, and that wild things were bound to run when faced with a cage. Ask the Dwarrow and they would give a harrumph, a sigh, and a reluctant explanation of Dwarf-friend, one of the few humans who could appreciate fine craftsmanship, one whose true, dwarven, heart wasn't accepted by those she loved, and so into stone she hid, away from those that weren't worthy of her.

They all knew her name.

Ask one of the Eorlingas, a man of Rohan, what he could tell, and he would gather his village to sing their histories. Together, they would tell of their Éolith, her fierceness, and the grief they felt when she vanished. They would speak of she who loved her people so much that she became the land they called home, whose love they could still feel with every sunrise and every spring rain. They would give you their legends to go and give to others, so everyone would know of her, their lost princess who would return to them someday.

It was quite beautiful, in a way.

On the other hand, if you asked me, I would tell you to shove right off. Éolith was a liar and a coward, and the love given to her from the Rohirrim was unwarranted, undeserved. There was nothing about Éolith's story that was worthy of praise, nothing that merited love, nothing for anyone to be proud of. I kept her secrets, I knew the truth.

Everybody had secrets. The people with the worst secrets take offense to this. That's what my brother used to say, that having secrets was alright, but as long as you never had one too many or one too big that it caused you to deny that you had any at all, that was the giveaway of anybody with a truly alarming secret, that was the tell.

I hadn't reached that point, and I hoped that I never would, but I wasn't fool enough to believe that I wasn't on my way there. Secrets were all I seemed to have anymore, keeping track of them was all I seemed to think about, making sure that they never came to light. Were I an honest person, I would say that the little secrets didn't actually matter, that they were only a preamble to the big one that they covered. However, I think that we've already established that I wasn't an honest person, and so that little part of me would probably never see the light day for a long, long while, if ever.

My secret was everything. It was my safety and it was my freedom, it was her freedom, and if everything stayed in the dark, neither of us would have to give that up.

It bothered me a little, I'll admit, all the lies required to keep her secret hidden. I'd never liked lying, and despite all the lies I'd told, despite how good I'd gotten at telling them, I still hated lying, I hated the dishonest person I'd become. It wouldn't stop me, though, not even Morgoth himself could stop me protecting her secret, it was the key to keeping her free and, consequently, keeping myself free. I wasn't going to give that up, no matter much I hated it, how much I hated her.

And I did. I hated Éolith. She ignored everything she was taught, everything she had a duty to, and she made me lie for her. She deserved to rot. Rohan was better off without her, anyway, its people were evolving, the wildland was growing away from the ancient, wild ways. A wild princess wasn't needed.

My name is Leóga, and I had a secret.