She knew something was about to happen. Everything was quiet, almost too quiet. It all seemed still, as if frozen in time. Except for the golden and auburn leaves, they said otherwise as they effortlessly left the too familiar twigs, only to slowly dance in the wind. Those leaves and her moving chest reminded her that things happened. Things moved.
She was alone, sitting on a stone bench, a place people, or better said elves, called Rivendell. She respected elves as she respected the order of nature. As all her people did. Her dead people. She wouldn't think of it, she wouldn't. But remembering her parents' laughs and shining eyes made her eyes grow painfully wet with tears. They were dead, as dead as they could be.
They were still, frozen in time. But things moved, right?
She forbade herself to think of them and of the recent turn of events. They had been careful, it shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't have, but it happened none the less.
And she was hurt, her stomach felt empty, even though the elves kindly invited her to eat. She was cold, hurt and most of all alone… on a bench, watching the leaves flow, reminding her that her time was not frozen yet. Her heart was unfortunately still beating. Her chest moving.
"My lady." The smooth voice startled her, making her sit straight up from the hard stone bench. As she turned around, the appearance of a tall, black-haired elf smiled at her shyly. "I apologize for startling you." He made a step forward, walking silently. She couldn't hear it. "My lady is invited by our kind Lord Elrond to a meeting he now has."
She was eager to go, see some living creatures, hear their voices, and forget the silent ones. In the same time, she wanted to be alone, to mourn over her loved ones, to remember as much as she could of their faces, kind words and warm voices. She wanted to keep everything alive in her mind, to always have them with her.
But they were dead. She was alive and she would never see them again.
Burned. They burned.
"My lady." The elf insisted when he understood that her thoughts drifted to darker and colder places. "Will you please follow me?" She wiped her wet cheeks with the long white sleeves of her simple white dress. More of a long piece of cloth really, but she liked it that way. They had tried to dress her in something else, most likely in expensive and delicate garments, in tight and appropriate dresses, but she refused those gifts. They were uncomfortable, right? And she wished to feel the wind embrace her, the rain touching her skin. The cloth veiling her needed be something as light as a feather, as if didn't exist at all. The elves saw it as a bad thing, it seemed. It didn't leave much to the imagination, she'd been told.
But who cared about imagination? Who cares about garments? Who cares about such foolish, pointless things? she wandered. But she did it too in what seemed like a very long time ago, when it really had happened days before.
She glanced at him, eyes red, and he read the pain in them. He seemed to look right into her broken soul, discover her darkened heart and all of her secrets. Yave hated it, the pitiful look, the 'I'm so sorry's.
She slowly nodded, glancing once more to the far away woods, and into them she could almost see the meadow where she used to read, where her parents often found her late at night… she looked once more before turning her back to it, slowly moving in the elf's direction, up the two stairs and into the portico. The elf waited for her before silently following behind.
She didn't know where to go, but as there was no other way then straight ahead, she just walked. She didn't look up; she watched the stone tiles and her bare feet touching it. She couldn't feel the cold of the stone. She never wore shoes anyway. She enjoyed feeling the materials, understanding them, as they were the work of nature.
She loved nature. Her people loved nature. They were called the melesse, the loved ones, but they were simply humans. They didn't have many years ahead, as elves did, they were not dwarves, as they didn't like living underground. They didn't live as men did in castles or villages. They thought of themselves as being one with the nature.
They loved and worshipped all elements of nature: air, water, earth and fire. When Eru acknowledged their love and faithfulness, he had the elements respond to the melesse. He made them vow to protect all his creation. In return, Eru responded their worship with a single phrase: Let it grow inside you. And they did, mostly to protect themselves from the horrible deeds of men. That is what it's told to the children, a legend, something people could understand, and something that might not scare them to hide. But she always wandered, how come she was like that, and the others not. What was different?
"Yave" she heard her name spoken. It was Lord Elrond's voice; she recognized it, the kindness that rested in it… almost like her father's. She remembered it, the way her father had called her name so many times – the same way. But she would never hear that voice again, because he was dead, burned. "Daughter, look at me." But she didn't dare, she would surely cry. She would cry for wanting so badly for her dad to be the one talking to her and seeing other man in his place.
But she had to be brave. She knew that opposed to how freely her people talked between one another, all these people were not hers. They believed in different approaches, their respect was shown in different ways. For one, she should not ignore a lord while being addressed to.
She looked up, in front of her stood Lord Elrond, how she knew she would. But she didn't cry… yet. She held the tears somewhere deep into her heart and tried to think of other things.
He smiled at her, a true, honest and damned pitiful smile. He nodded towards her, turned slightly to his left and gestured for her to look behind him. And she did. Yave encountered many different pairs of eyes watching her: men, an elf, a dwarf and children... and a grey clothed old man. Their gazes locked and Yave's heart skipped a beat. He must be one of the…
They were watching her eyes, analyzing her.
"Dear fellowship, meet Yave." Lord Elrond said, taking a few steps towards what seemed to be his place around a small stone table. "Yave is, how you must have figured out, one of the melesse." There were a few loud gasps, probably from uncertain figures. "I believe that she should be part of the Fellowship."
"What?" Yave said out of a sudden, not being able to control her confusion. She later regretted her outburst as she believed they would find it inappropriate. "I apologize, lord Elrond. "
"There's no need. You must be confused." She nodded slowly. He gestured with his chin towards the stone table in front of them. "Do you know that ring, Yave?" She looked at it, tried to find some details that might tell her what it was, so she wouldn't seem ignorant, but in the end she had to shake her head. "It needs to be burnt."
At the word burnt, Yave's eyes finally gave in. Her body shuddered violently and her vision blurred. "Burnt?" she asked with a trembling voice. She lifted her hands, placing her palms to her face so her tears couldn't be seen and her weakness acknowledged.
"My lord Elrond, I don't think she is prepared for such a journey…" she heard a man speak, but didn't dare look.
"Aragorn, don't underestimate someone's force by how sensitive said person is in a moment in time." Yave heard the lord say. Then he addressed her. "Yave, do not let sorrow control your strength. There is fire burning deep inside you." Yave let her hands fall to her side and raised her face to look straight into Lord Elrond's eyes. Hers were red, but his were blue like the clear sky. A tint of confidence tainted them.
"W-what… journey should I take?" her voice started as a low tremble, but then Yave found the power to speak clearly.
"This rings needs to be thrown deep into the fires of Mount Doom." Yave's eyes widened at the mention. Her eyes searched the golden ring, stared at it, watched for some sign of darkness… but she couldn't find any. It looked as any other golden ring, simple, untouched. Mount Doom was not something that could have been blurted randomly amongst her people.
"This is the ring of Sauron." The silence that followed her affirmation was an approval she didn't want. From how calm she was before, her inside fire burned so powerfully that it exploded and bursted out.
She turned to face their precious lord Elrond ignoring everyone's stares. "You want me to travel to Mount Doom and help see the end of this ring." He nodded. "You want me to get involved and fight a war that is not mine and die for a purpose I do not believe in." Lord Elrond's eyes narrowed at her words, concern flooding his eyes. Yave's unshed tears stung her eyes.
"Yave, you cannot remain here." Lord Elrond said after a moment of silence. Wind blew around them, it embraced Yave in a tickly touch, making her limbs tremble. Pained blood-shot eyes searched around them in an attempt to find a support, in someone or something, a voice to raise from the ground and say she can't go!, but it didn't happen. Many pair of eyes watched her, some curiously, some pitifully. When she met a certain pair of grey eyes, time seemed to finally stop for her too. Despite the pity looks she received from every present man, those eyes looked at her differently, as if they understood her loneliness. Who is he? She wondered. But the moment disappeared; time went back on track. Elrond spoke. "We can not give you the training you need, child." He gestured towards the old man. "Gandalf can. He can teach you how to control things that now seem uncontrollable."
"My lord, you know I should not die." Her voice trembled thinking again of the horrible picture of her people slaughtered, their blood spilled on the once emerald grass, their guts cut open and their insides hanging from their soiled clothes. The darkness embracing them and screams of pain, of torture, of mercy… that was all Yave could remember to had happened that night. Her throat felt dry, but she tried to speak. "I have to live." It came out as a whisper, one with the wind. Except for the two elves, no one else managed to hear her. It was a confession, a need. She could hear her voice screaming, flooding her ears like waves breaking against stones during hurricanes 'Do it! Live, Yave, my child. You have to do it, there is no other way.'
Elrond got up from his sit on the stone chair, he approached Yave slowly, before raising his cold white hand to her sun tainted cheek. "I know. You will live." the emptiness inside her scared and terrified Yave. "I know Aragorn is going to protect you. I trust it on him." Aragorn, the man that didn't want Yave to join the fellowship? She looked over to him, a black haired man, in his forties or older. His face was serious, he looked as if he had defeated a lot of darkness, he looked as if he could be trusted. He looked.
"And how will he protect me from him?" she referred to Sauron, the most powerful dark lord of over 3 thousand years or more. How could a simple man, with a simple sword, how could this Aragorn ever even think of being able to protect her, probably the last of the melesse, the ones Sauron desired more than anything to destroy? How could he? How could any of them?
"Yave" the voice of the old man named Gandalf startled Yave, interrupting her thoughts. It was calm, as a father's, concerned and protective. "We will all protect you." Then he smiled at her and in that smile rested peace and love, something that made her heart flutter, it was something that she had missed… the warmth of the smile her father gave her many times. All Yave could do was reticently smile in return.
"I thank you, my lord, for the kind intentions you have. But still… how could you protect me from him?" An army of more than a thousand elves fought against Sauron and were almost defeated. What could this… fellowship… do to help her?
Sauron was her worst nightmares. Yave was terrified of his name, let alone his armies, power, and the eye… oh dear Eru, that eye… it made her whole body tremble with a coldness she had never felt.
"With a little faith, my dear." Gandalf said. And so, it was all settled.
.
.
.
In the tall hall Aragorn, Yave and the old man Gandalf quickly followed behind lord Elrond. She didn't know where or why, but wasn't really interested in finding out anyway. She had had enough of the talking, planning, and deciding. She wanted nothing more but to wander free into the great town of Rivendell, around the nearby wood, into the streaming rivers.
How could you not stop to admire it, to appreciate the beauty of things made with Eru's love and materials? The hall was lovely, the white stone shone under the golden light of the twilight sun. She approached a column and touched the warm rock, white skin touched white and she could feel the pads of her fingers meet the rough and unfinished stone. Her eyes ripped almost painfully from the extraordinary encounter and turned disappointingly to the sudden noise.
"My lord" Yave heard Aragorn's voice break through the peaceful silence. "I know what your wish is, but I do not believe lady Yave does." She rolled her eyes at the honorific. Why would they believe that the melesse had such meaningless hierarchies, some bowing and others looking down at them? They did not, they would not! And what wish was this man talking of?
Elrond stopped in his pace and turned around, first looking at the men and then eyeing Yave. He let go of a long held sigh. "You will follow Aragorn and you will live by his side in Gondor once the ring matter is done with." He pointed some of the words, trying to make the young woman understand, but Yave was too young and naive.
"Forgive me, my lord, but I can not seem to understand." Weren't they all supposed to protect her? The brunette lord kept looking at her, waiting. The others didn't make a noise.
Crimson eyes turned to her left were her shoulder almost touched Aragorn's, and so she was reminded to keep away from him. She didn't like being touched. One step to her right and she almost bumped into Gandalf. She saw them both keeping their eyes to the floor beneath them, head slightly bowed.
To say that Yave's eyes widened in shock the moment she realized the meaning of the words would not actually describe how wide her eyes opened. He wants me to… marry this man? A man she didn't know, a man much older than she was, a man she didn't care for.
She would not do as he wished. She had her free will, she could choose. She was Yave of the melesse, she was as free as a bird of the sky. She had Eru's blessing to do as she wished, after all! She would not succumb to this irritating elf's wish! He could not tell her how to live her life, he had no right whatsoever.
"No." was all she said though. She looked with irritation in his grey eyes. Damned be the rules, what was appropriate and what not. She couldn't care less right then.
"No?" lord Elrond repeated. "Whoever told you, Yave¸ you have a choice?" Her eyes narrowed. "Both of you will do as I say, that is final. Or do you wish for everyone to know what happened several days ago and how come you are still here?" He searched for her eyes. Yave's eyes changed from furious to afraid. The lord touched a sensitive spot for her. How could a man turn from a father's figure to this? To a ruler, commanding around as though she was his slave and he could do as he wished. "I am glad we have come to a conclusion that will benefit us all. Have a nice day, you are leaving tomorrow."
Benefit all of them? No, he was the only one benefiting from all of this. Of course, all these centuries after, and the lords of elves were the only ones benefiting from others' lives. Yave was disgusted, upset and furious. And why should she accept this? Why did it matter if everyone found out, she couldn't care less. Right?
"My lady" the man called Aragorn whispered watching the change of emotions on her face occur. "We will find a way to live with lord Elrond's decision." She turned her gaze from the elf's retreating back to the tall man next to her.
"When will that be, in or out of our future sleeping chamber?" She decided then that she was going to hate this man, more than anything in the world, the man who would take her innocence and freedom from her.
.
.
.
Yave thought she could rest once her head met the softness of the pillow, but she was terribly wrong. Sleep wouldn't take her, no matter how much she stayed, face up to the grey vaulted ceiling, eyes closed. Her mind restlessly wandered. Yave thought of the grey eyes she saw at the meeting, everything before that dissolved in a black mist as if it didn't even happen. Only the grey eyes stayed with her all day long and now, all night.
She couldn't comprehend why.
She knew he was an elf, a striking one, but they all were. She hated not knowing every single man from there. The fellowship of the ring, they called themselves. She was supposed to be a member.
She sighed and gave up the idea of sleeping. Instead, she sat up from the bed, slowly moving the soft sheets aside and stepping on the floor. For someone who was used to living in the nature, in forest, walking every day on untouched earth, those stone tiles were really hurting her feet.
But Yave didn't have any shoes to cover her wounded and trembling feet, and she also made the mistake of politely declining the ones offered by the elves.
She wanted to take a walk, let herself be embraced in the chill air of the night, see the shining moon and walk through the forest. She wanted to experience something familiar, something from a long and lost time in the past.
Even if the pain was more present than ever.
.
Outside the walls of the castle, everything was dark.
She walked the path into the nearby forest, her bare feet leaving the rough stone tiles and touching the most familiar earth. It wasn't cold, not for her, as she was made of hotness and fire, as her parents used to tell her. The night was silent, the only noise heard was the sound of her stepping on the forgotten lifeless leaves.
Walking for some time, she reached the soft racing of water, it came from a river, which she didn't know the name of. But its flow brought her comfort in that deadly silence. And once her feet touched the river bank, her knees gave in the burden her soul carried. Her long auburn hair danced around her head in the rhythm of wind. Her palms steadied her body, buried into the moistened ground.
She couldn't do it anymore. She was once strong, confident. She used to long for adventure, she had dreamt of riding horses, meeting elves and dwarves; escape the boring routine that her people had, because rarely something ever happened in the small camp of the melesse. It happened; she was now free to explore the whole world. Because everything she knew was gone and she regretted not treasuring it more. It pained her.
The first tears escaped Yave's red eyes unnoticed; afterwards she gave in their persistent will. And she cried. She cried for her parents, for her brother, for the small farm they treasured more than anything; she mourned the life she'd lived. Was she even alive now? Only because her lungs filled with air and her heart pumped blood in her veins, was she alive? Yave felt like a living corpse, walking around, feeding and breathing, but her insides were dead. Her heart was broken in thousands of pieces, impossible to put back in place.
When she heard steps behind her, she turned around, still on her knees. She saw an elf, the grey eyed one that she had seen at the meeting, standing under a tree a dozen feet away. Yave knew her face must have been disgustingly wet with tears and her eyes even more red from crying, if that was possible. She knew she must have looked pitiful like that, on her knees, broken, weak, feeling sorry for herself, but even so, she couldn't find the strength to at least pretend to be fine. She couldn't behave.
She tried to stop the tears and brought her dirty right hand to wipe her cheeks, but her eyes burnt with tears that didn't fall yet. She had to cry, she needed to.
His steps sounded louder when he approached her. Then, when he sat next to her, she felt embarrassed. She looked in his direction, over her left shoulder, and he was eyeing her, a piercing stare right through her flesh and to her bones. It was a stare she couldn't hold, not right then.
Yave let her gaze turn to the ground in front of her, keeping her head bowed in a failed attempt to hide her face – the proof of her weakness. "My apologies" she started speaking with a trembling voice. "I believe this to be a very inappropriate way of greeting you, my Lord."
"Would you have me leave then, lady Yave?" She wanted to say yes. But she knew it to be a lie. She was ashamed of herself, but she couldn't handle the loneliness. She needed someone to know.
She shook her head, her hair moving around her face, sticking to her wet cheeks.
"For what it matters, I think you are very strong." His voice caressed her, it touched her freezing heart with warmth, like a fire burning in the stove in the middle of winter.
"My lord is saying that as I am crying my heart out in front of you." Yave let a harsh giggle escape her lips.
"You survived something that many people could not even dream of surviving, Yave." She didn't even know his name.
"I would rather not have." Yave smiled, a bittersweet smile, and her eyes grew watery once more thinking of the smell of burnt flesh. "I would rather have died with them." Yave closed her eyes forcing her tears back. A warm hand captured her chin slowly turning her head in his direction. She was shocked, but found comfort in the warmth of his touch and she opened her eyes. Scarlet met grey. And while her eyes were filled with pain, his were filled with understanding.
"Don't long for death when it has yet to come for you." His lips moved slowly, and the sound of his voice soothed her aching heart. "You survived to live. Live." The elf moved his hand to her side and opened his palm to cover Yave's right cheek. You are not alone. That's what he meant to say and that's what she felt for the first time in days. He continued. "No one expects you to be strong now."
She rested her cheek in his palm feeling the smooth warm skin. She lifted her right dirty hand and placed it on top of his.
Contrary the expectation, Yave felt an extremely intimate gesture in her action. It reminded her of the times her mother would encourage her to fight when times were hard. But the person she was clinging to was not her mother, not a relative, not a friend. He was a complete stranger, who knew nothing of how she felt and would surely laugh at her foolishness.
Her palm grasped almost brutally his hand and yanked it away from her face. I am such a fool. Tears blinded her, but she wanted to get as far away from him as she could. Away from the shame. She got on her trembling feet, trying to walk slowly. But her legs were numb from siting on them too long. Yave almost fell to the ground, but was able to steady herself instead. She would have made a fool of herself once more. She heard him get up too, but tried to ignore the sound of his steps on the grass behind her as she started walking.
He didn't let her get too far before catching Yave from behind by grasping her hand. "My lady…" he started. Her hand was extremely warm which concerned the elf. The night was very cold, so she shouldn't be like that.
"I am no lady, my Lord." She yanked her hand free. Yave turned around so she could face him with angry spitting eyes. "I have no title so you don't need to pretend and be respectful towards me." Contrary to her expectations, he smirked.
"No?" he asked. "How do you know that I have one? Are you just respectful towards me without knowing? Or are you perhaps… pretending?" Yave discovered then that perhaps he was not a lord like Aragorn or Elrond. There was no reason to hold grudge against him, right?
After all the anger left her, she sighed feeling ashamed of how she had
"Forgive me, -"she seemed unsure of how to call him.
"Legolas should do." He smiled to her, a genuine shy smile. It was so sincere that Yave felt her heart flatter. He was beautiful, his long white hair embracing his tall and slim body, covered in the moon light, and his grey eyes looking at her under long and white lashes. There were not white haired men amongst the melesse, she was sure. Either way, she wouldn't be feeling so foolish for openly admiring him.
"The same for me, Legolas. I am only Yave." She muttered after what seemed like a long time.
"So be it." For the first time that night, she smiled. Legolas smiled in return and then briefly glanced at her. Her nightgown was ruined, surely. Under her tights, it turned from white to brown from when she sat on the wet earth. In the night light, he could see the skinny body underneath, the body of a girl, more than a woman.
Legolas felt ashamed to have even looked. How old was she anyway? 16?
Her eyes followed his gaze and then blushed in return. He was analyzing her. Was this normal for them?
He then talked. "Perhaps I should walk you back."
And they walked, at first talking about the castle, the chill night, their future journey. Afterwards, they grew silent, from time to time watching each other, confessing things that their mouths didn't dare speak.
And when they reached Yave's door, they wished each other a good night, but knowing damn well that they wouldn't be able to sleep for Yave dreamed with her eyes open at befriending the elf, while Legolas thought of her, how young she was, and how much she had suffered.
Sleep met them at dawn.