Disclaimer:
Honestly, it's implied at this point that I don't own the rights. I do this out of admiration and respect for the immortal works of J.R.R. Tolkien.
~TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both, And be one traveler long I stood, And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth~
Robert Frost. The Road Not Taken. 1920.
The Last Homely House East of the Sea
The snow begins to fall just as the day begins to dawn and it is cold as she rises to her feet. The tall woman with flowing dark hair shivers a little but she is Aelswyth of the North and she does not think much of the snow. She always thought it was beautiful and when thing froze over the land looked crystal and pristine. Aelswyth pulls her cloak around her and snuffs her fire out. Carefully, she erases all evidence that she had passed this way. Unremitting caution! some wise man had told her once though now she cannot recall his name, only his merry, old face. Modig gives a little huff as she mounts him but it is only ritual. He does it every day just as she goes through her own rituals every day. She rides on through the every changing landscape and the snow continues to fall thickly untill it blankets all the ground. She knows that she is being followed though and so she is coiled like a spring and ready to pounce at a moment's notice. Her deft fingers play at the hilt of her father's sword... And then... And then she hears it off to her left. A tiny snap that reverberates louder than anything across the frozen, dead landscape. She sees a flash of metal, a blur of leather and she is thrown from her Modig. Falling now she hears Modig as he whinnies and runs, taking an Orc down as he bucks and kicks.
The wind goes out of her as she hit the ground but she is quick and she rolls as she lands. Going to her feet, she unsheathes her father's sword Narnimwen and the thin, cold light seems to dance along the ancient blade. She glances at the seven of them, all hulking and furious, and is not dismayed in the slightest. She smiles slightly as they come at her. She fells them down to their last and then he comes at her, scowling and howling. With something akin to a roar, Aelswyth parries and holds the blade of the last Orc at length. She would not fail. She could not fall. She is a Daughter of the Dúnedain. She was born in the North where Eagles fly free and failure is unknown. She lets out another vicious cry before thrusting the thing away from her. Raising her sword, she parries another mighty blow and then hews the head of the Orc from its grimy body. Panting, her breath creates little puffs of white air. With heaving sides, she sheathes her sword and groans with each step.
She looks around with wide, frightened eyes but she does not where she has wandered. The terrain is unfamiliar to her now and she thinks she has gone too far south. I was not heading south! she tries to tell herself but she would not listen. She hears another little crackle and crunch of snow under hooves and is relieved to see Modig making his slow, easy way back to her.
"I knew you would come back," she mutters as she take him by the reins and springs into the saddle. She stifles a wail and realizes she has been wounded. She looks to see blood running down her arm and she cannot move her fingers. She looks around again, eyes still half-wild, but she is no longer fearful. Her mind is clear and she is purposeful as she sets Modig at a canter. She is jostled in the saddle but she grits her teeth and presses on as she tries to glean where she wandered in her ranging. She hears the rushing of water not far off and she then she comes to the Road, dusted over by snow. Relief floods her and she lets out a little, pained sigh as she slumps forward. She clings to Modig's mane desperately as he starts forward on the path made old and familiar by Men and Elves alike. As she passes through the shaw, she knows how far south she has come but she feels faint and her head spins and spins around itself. She doesn't know where her Modig is taking her but she has faith in him... despite his yellow streak.
"Good horse," she says faintly as she holds herself in the saddle. "Good... horse..."
And with that, she slips from the saddle and tumbles into the snow outside the gates of Imladris. Modig stops and huffs again then he whinnies loudly. A blonde, boyish Elf is passing by the gates and he sees Modig standing there, shaking his mane. His sharp eyes fall to the heap of tattered raiment that lies in the snow. His gasp is small but the Man stirs in the snow. He opens the gates and picks the Man up as if she had been made of glass. So fragile... he realizes as she shivers against him Yet so strong. He feels her heart racing inside her chest as he sets down in the Hall of Healing; no one here in Imladris truly needs it but many of the Edain and their heirs pass this way and it is a precaution only. For once he is grateful for it...
... As she comes to, she hears voices, soft and lyrical. She drifts for a moment, her eyelids still heavy for her to open.
"She is waking,"says one of the voices softly.
"No, I'm not, "she protests weakly as she rises from her slumber.
"Just as stubborn as the rest of them," she hears the rather severe looking one mutter as she props herself up on an elbow.
"Orcs... There were seven of them... That damned horse ran off on me," she explains, the exhaustion easy to hear in her voice.
"Orcs? Are you sure, Dúnadan?" asks the severe looking one. There is something familiar in his gray eyes and grim face but she cannot place it.
"Quite certain. Aye... there were seven of them," she insists again.
"That is as good a number as any for your people," says the blonde Elf, a positively impish smile playing at his boyish features.
"Seven stars and Seven stones... How far have I come?... I mean, where am I?" she wonders aloud, looking around her.
"You rest now in Imladris, pen-neth(young one)," says the blonde Elf, his eyes dancing with light and life.
"I have come too far south! I knew I should not have-," And she rises swiftly to her feet but both Elf-lords are rather bent on her staying for they set her back down.
"You are wounded still," insists the severe Elf-lord. "I would not have the wrath of your lord upon me.
"Nor would I," she mutters, thinking of Strider with his grim face and keen eyes.
"Then you shall stay here in my halls untill such a time that you are fit to ride again."
"Th-thank you," she stammers, sounding like a little, lost girl before falling back into the pillows and sleeping once more.
When she wakes once more, the blonde Elf is perched by the window, a book held limply in his hand.
"Are you well, pen-neth?" he asks in his musical voice.
She looks around and slowly remembers where she is. "I... am as well as I can be."
"Well, pen-neth, what are you called then for I can not carry on calling you that."
"Aelswyth," she says after a moment of scattered thought.
"Do you remember where you are?" he questions as he comes to her bedside. There is something in his face that tells Aelswyth he is more than what he seems. He is tall and stand straight and there is a keen wisdom in his eyes as he smiles at her. It is a soft smile and it is not without a certain amount of sadness.
"Imladris," she answers slowly, the name rolling of her tongue easily. "Now, it is your turn, Elf-lord! What do they call you here in these halls?"
"Glorfindel," he replies in that musical voice of his.
"Gîl síla erin lû e-govaned 'wîn(A star shines at the hour of our meeting)"
Much healing of hand and of heart did Aelswyth of the North receive while she rested in the Halls of Imladris but like all good things her time in those Halls ended. All good things must come to an end, she tells herself as she saddles Modig up. He snuffs and seems indignant that she would dare place a halter on him again. She shushes him but it is all in good-natured humor. She hears the soft, musical laughter of Glorfindel.
"Lalala," his laughter sounds like bells and for a moment Aelswyth of the North closes her keen, gray eyes and sighs. She is as content as she will be for a long time. She will miss this place, she realizes, and she wishes she could stay but she knows she cannot.
"He's the most ungrateful creature I have ever come across," she informs Glorfindel crossly as Modig paws at the ground.
"Hmm... He cannot possibly have picked that trait up from you," he quips quickly, his eyes shining like twin stars.
"I am not ungrateful-" she begins, treading carefully now.
"You would have left without saying farewell, pen-neth."
"Boe i 'waen(I must go)," she murmurs sadly.
"No gelin a velthin idh raid gîn(May your paths be green and golden). My heart shall weep untill next we meet again, pen-neth, and these Halls will not know a fairer voice untill you return." He smiles and laughs again, still trilling like bells. "Keep your map on hand, pen-neth."
"Yes, Mother," she teases and her voice is light though there is a heaviness to her eyes and her shoulders are slumped. Part of her is hoping he will ask her to stay. And the other... The other part just wants to go home. "Ú-firo i laiss e-guil dhîn(May the leaves your life not die)."
He inclines his head to her as springs into the saddle and sets off out of the barn at a gallop. The Gates were opened already and soon she would be heading North though why he did not know. There was nothing left there and he wishes she would have stayed a little while longer. He can still see her, riding hard and fast like some wild, dark shooting star.
She is a wanderer as all of her people are and she will not be allowed a moment of rest untill the Heir of Isildur claims his throne. The Elf-lord frowns almost imperceptibly before he returns to his library. The Lay of Leithian rests by the window and he picks it up.
"A night there was when winter died ;then all alone she sang and cried..." he recites softly and frowns again. What is waiting for you, pen-neth? And who calls you?
A.N.:
I know what I said but I couldn't help myself. This littlt peice has been waiting to see daylight again for awhile now. Anyway, I tried something a little different with my P.o.V. Most folks don't go for present tense but that's the way it spilled out. Hoped you enjoyed it! Review pleas! I'll give you home-made cookies.