AN: See end of chapter for note and disclaimer.
Night Journey
Sunset
King Thranduil stared at the two traitorous elves, the dark haired female had her head bowed, showing some remorse, the light haired male was glaring, back straight and head lifted high. He felt sick, having to pronounce a sentence that should not have been used a thousand years after the Dark Lord's fall. His son, just over a thousand years old, watched in curiosity.
"Your crimes are horrific, but I will not give you death. That would be for a darker time." The female lifted her head a fraction. "But dark were your deeds, and dark are your hearts- Dark Elves." Neither flinched at the term. "You will be marked as such, and exiled- should any elf or elf-friend come upon you, they will know what you are and will have full permission to kill you." Two healers, though they hid their faces, came forward to put the mark on them. Thranduil halted them a moment. "Do you have anything you wish to say?"
"I hope you rot." The male's peculiar gray-green eyes flashed. "You say we are the monsters- fine, but you are the real ones. Cowards, you did not fight!"
"And you, she-elf?" The woman lifted her head, and met his gaze.
"I will not abandon my husband, no matter where the path may lead, or how painful it gets. I have nothing to say to you, Elf King."
Both didn't even flinch when the mark was applied, a circle with an arrowhead point down in the center. It was rather simplistic, but the ink was dark and it showed up clearly.
"What do they know of Darkness, the cowards . . . they did not fight, and they just left!" Blue eyes flashed as he spoke with his wife. They had wandered far from Mirkwood.
"I know. I know." The wife sighed, hand straying to her stomach.
"Are you still not well?"
"I . . . I think I might be pregnant." She glanced down. Her child would be born in exile; she would not be able to have any healer to help her.
Things became much darker, especially her husband, once the baby was born.
"What will we name her?" The Wife glanced up at her husband, his expression calculating. The firstborn elf child to any family was named by the father; the rest could be named by the mother. "Husband?"
"I won't name her."
"What?"
"She won't have a name, she's a dark elf, and she will not need one."
"She's a child! She needs a name. You cannot plan to- husband, she won't stand a chance!" His wife tried to stand up, take the child back. "She doesn't have to carry our shame; we could take her and leave her with another family- they would not object to raising her."
"We're Dark elves, she is already so strong, and she'll survive this life with no aid."
"Husband . . ." with a sigh she bowed her head. "As you wish, then, the child won't be named."
Not long after, her husband forbade her to speak to the child in elvish. As that was the only language the wife knew, she remained silent, watching as her baby girl followed, large grayish-green eyes curious. The family wandered some more, and the wife grew increasingly concerned about her husband's temper and plans. One evening though, was the breaking point.
"We're leaving her here." He scowled at his wife's horror. "She can grow on her own."
"Have you taken leave of your senses? She is a child; she cannot survive on her own!"
"Do not question me!"
Twilight
When the child woke up, her parents were gone. She did not understand why, nor could she ask. All she found were four elfish knives, one with blood on the blade. She picked that one up and wiped it off, before gathering them into the sheaths and then into her arms. With no sense of direction, or understanding of where to go, she started walking.
The hill men of Rohan were not lacking in intelligence, even if their language and living conditions seemed that way. When a young hunter came back with a girl with pointy ears and a mark on her head, they understood that she was lost and from a different race. However, even when they spoke common, the girl did not seem to understand them. The hunter's wife, settled matters by taking the child in. They named the girl 'Calwyn' or 'Lost maiden'.
Calwyn learned both the language of the hill people's language and what little of the common language they knew with ease. What she was startled to realize, though, was that around her everyone else was changing rapidly, but she remained mostly the same. Her brothers and sisters, born after she was found, grew up quicker than she did, and she did not understand why.
When they laid her foster parents to rest- old and gray and withered- Calwyn couldn't bear to stay anymore, she could not watch as her siblings aged. She had carried the knives on her back since her Foster father created leather straps that would hold them to her, so she ran. She made it to a stream and for the first time actually studied her reflection. In all the time spent with them, she looked like she had barely aged a year! She broke down sobbing, realizing that somehow, she would not age as her family did- she would still be young when her brothers and sisters died!
"Calwyn, why do you cry?" The Shaman stood behind her. "Your parents are at rest."
"I cry because I don't age right! I am still young, but my brothers have taken wives! Harkun expects his firstborn and I . . . I'm still a child!"
" . . . Come with me, if you cannot bear to return to the village . . . there is someone who may help you." Calwyn got up to follow the shaman, but her tears still fell.
The 'someone' turned out to be a talking tree! "Stonebark, my friend, how are your flocks?"
"Well enough, Shaman!" Lost thought the creature looked like an oak. "But who is this?"
"We call her Calwyn, but her true name is unknown, she does not age as our people, and is deeply grieved by the loss of the parents that took her in. Would you help her?"
"Barrum! Of course, the little elfling is welcome to stay, I shall teach her much." And he did, he taught her elfish and several other languages he knew, as well as how to talk to trees and plants. The hillmen, despite her never aging, had taught her to track and hunt. Stonebark did not call her 'Calwyn' though. He usually called her 'Sapling'. ("Names, Sapling, are words that define the bearer, I do not think of you as a 'Lost maiden' anymore, but a sapling, needing tending and care to grow strong. Perhaps someday you will find a name that truly defines you.") He tried to teach her the language of the ents, but she could only master 'Hello'. He laughed when she told him that their language took too long if there was an emergency.
Stonebark taught her lore and songs, but he could not tell her what her marked forehead meant. He had never seen the like before. She grew up in his care, finally reaching a point where she looked old enough to travel alone. Stonebark never told her where or how he got clothes for her, though she highly doubted the old ent stole them. They were in the style of the hillmen, and she had no problem wearing them.
"I almost don't want to leave." She glanced up at Stonebark. "The world is so vast . . . and I'd feel so alone."
"It is time for you to leave the nest, sapling. I dwell apart from my brethren because I chose solitude. You may find answers to those questions of yours, out there in the world." She bowed her head.
"Farewell, then, Stonebark. I hope to visit when I do have answers. I would like to tell them to you."
"Please do, Sapling, and I will make sure there is ent-draught enough!"
Night
The Nameless elf wiped the blood of the blades and scowled at the human. She was paid for assassination, but she had no problem taking the money of her victims, either.
She slipped into the tavern, ignoring the drunks and slipping into a corner booth. A man soon joined her.
"How was it, Whisper?" She absently scowled at the name. Just because she did not see the need for talking so the world could hear . . .
"As well as could be expected. Being a mercenary for hire sure doesn't pay as much as stealing, though."
"Like that would stop you!" He laughed, and she could feel her annoyance with this man rising. She had killed several men in the last mercenary group she had joined- the leader hadn't minded too much, but recommended she find a new group.
She lay on the cot- which had seen better days- and stared at the ceiling. Stonebark and her foster parents would not have approved this life of killing and stealing, but they weren't here. Getting an honest job had been trouble, Elves were strange to common men, and one with a marked forehead apparently made them cautious- no one had hired her, and so she turned to her natural stealth to start stealing coins for food and supplies. Assassinations came when she had tried to steal from a mercenary. He had been amused, and had taken her under wing to learn how to fight and kill.
What she was doing was wrong, she knew, but she no longer cared. It was just a matter of doing anything to survive.
Moonrise
She almost wanted to laugh at the 'cell' she was given by the guards of Minas Ithil. There were bars on the window, yes, but there was a bed and a nightstand. "Are all prisoners treated with such luxury?"
"No . . . the dungeon has been deemed in need of repairs . . ." The young guard that had caught and escorted her looked completely out of his depth. His captain sighed.
"I don't know who you are, lass, but this is the first I've seen of an elf stealing." The elf-maid just sat on the bed.
"Glad to know I'm unique." She glanced out the window at the trees.
"What's your name, and why do you have that mark on your head?"
"You tell me- I don't have a name, and the mark has been on my head since childhood."
"You don't have a name?" The young guard's eyes widened. She almost wanted to laugh. She had spent several hundred years as a thief and killer, that sort of innocence that the guard displayed was something any cutthroat would prey on.
"I find that hard to believe."
"Believe what you like, I don't have a name, people have called me lots of things, so you can call me whatever you want . . . a name is not important to me." She glanced out the window again, before looking back at the captain. "I was under the impression that this tower was more heavily guarded, though."
"It is guarded well enough."
She found out soon enough what they decided to call her, and she wished she had suggested a name. 'Bein' indeed! Did they miss the part where she was a thief and a killer? She answered to it, though. Several months passed, and she found herself actually enjoying the time spent with the guards. The peaceful time of incarceration, though, was only temporary.
"Can you track, Lass?"
"What?" She glanced up at the captain. He never called her Bein, just Lass. (She kind of preferred that to the other.) He looked haggard and she had a feeling something bad had happened.
"Can you track?" He repeated.
"Yes, I can, what's happened?" She followed him, curious, and was surprised when he passed her knives to her.
"Patrol was ambushed, Orcs, our other tracker is sick from an infected wound."
For the elf maid, it was a turning point. The orcs traveled quickly, and had retreated into Mordor. None of the men hesitated to follow her as she led them- and she somehow found the courage to do so. With the mercenary and bandit groups she had traveled with, she had never been comfortable with leading as they could stab her in the back, but this group was different, and so was the purpose.
"Everyone accounted for?" Some orcs had split from the group- going further in. The men looked ill, and even though the dark lord existed no more, the land was still a poisonous wasteland. Some of the wise doubted that stain would ever heal.
"Byroc was taken . . . they were laughing at how elf like he looked and wanted to have fun." For the first time, she paused, her heart beating strangely. Byroc was the young guard that not only caught her, but also always took time to talk to her, he said he had some elfish blood in his veins, and he was rather good looking. He was also innocent, despite being a warrior.
She wasn't going to let the orcs have their fun with him, and her heart seemed to beat stronger. "Then whoever is brave enough, come with me, I will not let Orcs play with him."
"You need not go that far."
"Yes, I do. It has been a long time since I had a friend," Was that what Byroc was to her? They had spent so much time talking- whenever he was off-duty he would come to talk with her- so he must be a friend, "and I would not see any friend of mine die while I can still do something about it!" But as she lead the way (with only half of the party, the rest had to take the injured to Minas Ithil for care) in the back of her mind she wondered if perhaps she had lost her senses. They were her jailers, and she was helping them. Yes, they were kind and treated her with honor, but that was not much. The thoughts were pushed to the wayside as she focused on tracking the orcs through the wasteland. They gained on the orcs quickly, and finally caught up to them.
'Bein' and the Captain slipped forward, scouting the orc camp. The orcs were all asleep except for a handful of sentries that were swaying on their feet- they'd been drinking, probably celebrating the 'success'. 'Bein' barely stopped from hissing as she spotted the missing guard. Byroc had been tied to a rocky overhang, arms stretched over his head. 'Bein' scowled as she realized more Orcs had joined the party, and the human had definitely been beaten and he was hanging awkwardly in ropes. The Captain's hand on her arm brought her attention back to the man. She ignored the concern in his eyes and forced herself to focus.
"I can get him out, but you might want to have your archers ready in case they wake and spot us." The Captain studied her a moment, then nodded.
"Alright, lass, be careful." 'Bein' slipped into the shadows, ignoring the oily feeling that seemed to permeate the air around her. One careless orc sentry was dead in an instant.
"Byroc." The man started, and she quickly put a hand to his mouth. "Take it easy, it's me, Bien, I'm going to get you out of here." She pulled her hand away so she could get him out.
"Bein, no, if they catch you-" Something in his eyes and the concern in his voice made her heart flutter in her chest. It was a strange sensation, and she didn't really like it so she pushed it away.
"Then the archers get some target practice. Relax, will you? This might not be the most charming place, but no one in their right mind would leave a comrade to die here." 'Bein' had to keep him from falling when she got the ropes undone. One of his arms hung awkwardly, and she had to cover his mouth to keep him from alerting the orcs. "Eru, I am going to kill them." She glared at the slumbering orcs. She quickly set Byroc down in the shadows, before grabbing the slain sentry and tying him up in the human's place. "C'mon, let's get you out of here." Byroc had to lean heavily on her, but they managed to get out of the orc camp with surprising ease.
"They were drinking, I don't know what, but it must've been pretty strong." Byroc murmured when he saw her look over her shoulder again. The Ithil guards quickly took his weight.
Getting back out of Mordor took a bit more work, the way they had come in had suffered a rockslide and could no longer be used. After a few days, they found a maze of tunnels- what they would later call Cirith Ungol- and a very large, very hungry spider. Thankfully, the orcs had pursued them, and the spider chose attack the orcs and not the humans and elf-maid. Once they were out of Mordor and in the forests of Ithilien, the entire rescue party all but collapsed.
Mordor was still an evil land, and the stay- however brief- had grated on everyone's spirits.
"Thank you for your help, Lass, You're free to go, if you wish." 'Bein' looked up at the captain, confused. "We certainly couldn't stop you if you chose to run." It was sort of funny, but she hadn't even thought about running, the idea actually never occurred to her.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to stay for a while longer." And she did, 'Bein' stayed with them for quite a while, and eventually the men began calling her Ithilriel, because she always took the night watch. For the first time in a long time, she had a place she could call home.
"Ithilriel, wait up!" She smiled as Byroc joined her on her way to the mess. "Did you hear? Reagar tripped in the armory again."
"Again? How does he manage that when the floors are smoothed over so you can't trip?" Byroc just shook his head, and held open the door for her.
"I imagine it's the same way that I have the misfortune of being 'Orc Bait'." Byroc gave a wry smile. "Someone apparently has it out for me, everytime I go on patrol I wind up running into orcs."
"Well, it could be worse." 'Ithilriel' gave a sly smile.
"Oh, and how?"
"You could attract dragons." She dodged the mock lunge and took off laughing, getting lunch temporarily forgotten as her friend chased her. The captain just shook his head as they went by.
Everyone noticed that there was something between Byroc and the elf maid, but no one ever commented on it. Where one went, there was the other. The elf almost forgot she was not mortal.
But the mortality of her comrades was not in dispute. 'Ithilriel' was painfully aware of that fact when Byroc, now a captain, was dying from an infected arrow wound that the healers of the tower couldn't heal. She wanted to run away, but she stayed with Byroc until he died, her wail of grief when he stopped living was the only notice the men needed. She did not attend the funeral; she could not watch her dear friend be burned on a pyre- and know that she could not stop the flames and bring her friend back to life.
"Is it true Elves can die from grief?" The former Captain, now a commander, studied her. They were standing on a balcony, watching the sunset.
"I do not know- I was not raised by elves, but by men and an Ent." The Commander nodded, believing her. "But, Mamek . . . she died a day after Papeg did, and I have heard of even dwarves that have died from grief and heartbreak, so I imagine that elves could." She bowed her head. He went silent, looking out at the sky. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, seeing the lines on his face that had deepened, gray that was starting to thread his hair. It was so much like her beloved foster-father. She closed her eyes. "I won't die from the grief, Commander, but I can't stay here, not anymore."
"Don't let my looks fool you, Lass, I've got several years left."
"And I have immortality. I'll still be here, young as ever, long after even Tolan has been buried." Tolan was the two year-old child of Reagar. 'Ithilriel' bowed her head, unable to imagine seeing the vibrant child growing gray. "I can't . . . stay and watch as the years slowly kill you. If I don't leave soon . . . I will die."
"We won't hold you then, Lass. Be careful." She was gone without a word the next day. Some of the men held out hope that their Ithilriel would return, even though they knew she would not be able to face their mortality.
Moonset
She had avoided mortal company for years, unable to face any man. She waited a long time, until she knew that none of her comrades that she had grown to love as friends still lived. When that period of grief was over, she returned to stealing occasionally, but she couldn't kill any mortal in cold blood, could not return to being an assassin or bandit. So she wandered alone. She wasn't sure what to do with herself, until she ran up against a small party of orcs that had strayed too far.
Soon enough, whispers and rumors of an Orc hunter began to dot the countryside.
For some, her focus on hunting orcs would seem like revenge for the death of Byroc, but she never thought of that as the reason she hunted them. She just felt the need to hunt and fight more keenly than anyone. So if she hunted orcs that were too close to villages and travelers she wasn't doing it for revenge- she was doing it to protect them from loss. Hunting buried her grief, and over time she began to deal with it, but she never truly got over the loss. She learned much about orcs and goblins and other dark creatures while she hunted them, and some of her information she gave to village leaders so they could defend themselves better.
There was a downside to her new life, before when she had been a bandit and assassin, not only did she travel in groups of men; she could also spend more time in inns, getting more meals and more sleep. Now she was pushing her limits- she had known she could go long periods without much food or rest as an elf- and finding out how much damage her body could take when she got into trouble. An orc whip had caught her on the cheek, leaving scars that never fully healed.
Well, she thought that 'Orc Hunter' was a much better name than 'Bein', anyway.
Grey Dawn
The nameless elf-maid coughed blood, and pulled herself out of the stream, an orc arrow stuck in her shoulder. "Well, lass, you sure know how to pick the best ways to almost die . . ." A twinge in her leg made her glance down. She had an arrow in her calf, too. "Oh, Commander would have a holiday if he saw me now." Neither arrow had gone too deep, but her personal concern was poison rather than bleeding out. With a sigh, she began the painful task of pulling the arrows out and doing her best to patch herself up. It was almost fifteen hundred years since she was found by the hill people. She'd wandered far, listening to stories in inns, hearing the changes that had swept through the lands she traveled.
Things had changed, though hunting orcs was still rather fun (and occasionally life threatening). She leaned back against a tree, too tired to try and climb it. The orcs were all dead, so she didn't need to bother anyway- a spasm in her shoulder and the faint sensation of burning made her curse. She was learning quite a bit of orcish on this never-ending hunt of hers. Hopefully the poison would not be too bad. Sighing, she rubbed the never-fading mark on her forehead. She really needed to look into covering it up more often, she'd nearly gotten killed by a group of elves a few years prior, and the orcs had started to equate it with her killing them.
Elves might heal quicker than mortals, but it still took a while. She struggled to her feet, reluctantly moving. She'd need shelter and not an open clearing to wait out the poison. The trees spoke of a cave, but they did not think she would get that far. They instead pointed her to a small grove, offering their protection. Thanking them, she made it into the grove before collapsing, her shoulder and leg throbbing with pain.
No matter how long she lived, she seemed destined to botch up healing, especially on herself . . . she really needed to find a healer or someone that could deal with poisoned wounds; her knowledge only went so far as to know that some herbs could draw out poison, if she could remember which ones they even were . . . a black void swallowed her up, and she welcomed it.
"She's hurt!"
"Quick, get Granny Goody!" Voices, high-pitched ones, sounded like children. She couldn't get her eyes to open, she was in so much pain . . . "Granny Goody, there's a hurt elf!" More babbling voices, blurring together. She hovered between waking and returning to the nice pain-free void . . . then slipped back into unconsciousness.
When she finally came aware and awake, she was staring at a ceiling. It was rather quaint looking, and the elf-maid blinked at it, trying to figure it out.
"So, you've finally woken. You had poisoned wounds and an infection." She blinked at the woman who stood over her, but it took a moment to realize that the woman couldn't have been more than three feet tall!
"Where am I?" There were several questions in her head, but right now the only one she could voice was that one.
"You're with the Riverfolk. We don't like trouble and we fish for a living. What sort of trouble did you get into?"
"Yrchs- Orcs." She corrected, noting the woman's confusion. "I'm afraid they didn't take to kindly to realizing there was an elf not too far from their camp . . . but your people should be safe enough- they probably think I'm dead." And I killed every last one of that band- I think.
"You almost were." The woman huffed. "I'm Gran Goody, our folk's midwife. Your name?" The elf maid was spared an answer when two even smaller little people came barging in the door, though they did try to be as quiet as possible. Though shushing each other really didn't work. "What are you two rapscallions doing, I told you to stay out of here!"
"We wanted to see the elf!" the taller of the two spoke up, while the smaller one peeked around him. The elf maid rolled her eyes, but shifted so she could sit up a bit. She might be able to stand, though she'd have to duck her head. "Hi! I'm Deagol! This is my cousin and best friend Smeagol!"
"Hello." Her shoulder twinged, but she could use it.
"What's your name?" Smeagol piped up from behind his friend.
"I don't have one. People just call me what they like."
"How can you not have a name?" Gran Goody frowned.
"I just don't. My parents never gave me one, and everyone else I've met has been willing to call me something different that describes me."
"Aren't names supposed to describe yourself?" She blinked at Deagol's question, before giving a soft smile. That sounded remarkably like Stonebark.
"For some. But I travel alone, so I have not had a need to describe myself."
"I'll think of a name!" Smeagol announced, then paused, trying to think.
"You're going to be here until he turns old and gray, then, Miss." Deagol gave her a rueful smile. "I'm the more cleverer one." Gran Goody shooed them out, Smeagol promising to come back with a name.
"Really, you have no name?" The shrewd midwife studied her.
"Truly . . . I've been called 'Calwyn', 'Sapling', 'Whisper', 'Bein', 'Ithilriel', 'Lass' and 'Orc Hunter'. Along with several other names that are not half as nice as those."
"I believe you, Missy." Gran Goody sighed. "You heal quicker than most, I suspect that's cause you're elfish. From what I can tell, you should be able to get up and walk around by the morrow. But I want you to stick around for a couple of days, you could still have a relapse." The elf maid dipped her head in compliance. She'd learned that any sort of healer was someone to be listened to, and they were all terribly underhanded with disobedient patients. "Are you hungry?"
"Yes." She was, she hadn't eaten in awhile. As the midwife bustled off, she gave a faint smile as she remembered Byroc demanding to know why she wouldn't eat every day, even going so far as to have the Commander order her to eat. They hadn't quite believed her when she told them that elves didn't need to eat as much as humans. Quickly she buried that memory and focused back on the present.
Smeagol and Deagol must have camped outside the door, as soon as she stepped outside they appeared, Deagol taking charge and offering to show her around. Smeagol was still trying to figure out a name for the elf, but most of the people just called her 'Miss'.
She planned to only spend a few days there with the 'River Folk', but like all her experiences with mortals, got drawn in to spend a little longer. It was like she was a moth drawn to the happiness and friendship that all mortals, even some of the real bad ones, glowed with. It didn't help that she wasn't exactly welcomed by her own race, either. Smeagol finally settled on a name for her, after Deagol convinced him that only objects should be called 'precious'. (Deagol earned her eternal gratitude.)
'Enigma' was one of the better names she'd had. She spent her time teaching her two friends how to climb trees and immensely enjoyed the riddle games that they played, Smeagol was especially good at them, though her time spent wandering gave her a lot more knowledge at figuring them out.
This time though, when she said she had to leave, she was given a pack and a cloak, and the riverfolk sent her off with waves. She smiled and set off, deciding that she would resume orc hunting soon enough.
She glanced back, knowing the little people couldn't see her, their sight was not as good as hers, and smiled as she saw Deagol and Smeagol still sitting in their spot, Gran Goody scolding them and trying to get them to budge. Deagol had wanted to go with her, but while she didn't doubt the little one's friendship, she was too used to traveling alone and honestly, she was used to the exile. He still had family, anyway, and she knew he would miss them. (A small part of her whispered that she just didn't want to see her young friend age and die while she could only watch.)
Family. She hadn't seen Stonebark in almost a thousand years. Silently, her legs took her towards her old home.
"You've grown, Sapling." Stonebark's deep voice had gotten deeper. "You've been kicked around a bit, but you've still managed to grow tall. Tell me, do you know the meaning of your mark?"
"Not in words, I'm afraid- just that elves and any that are dubbed 'elf-friend' are free to try and kill me. I cannot get near any of them without having to run." She glanced down. "I've made many mortal friends, almost all have passed from this middle earth . . . why must mortals die?"
"Harrum, It was decided long ago, little one. I do not know. Perhaps it is because they cannot deal with regret and pain as well as elves."
"It's so unfair, why must I suffer alone?" A sudden terror gripped her heart. "How long do ents live? You're mortal as well, are you not?" Stonebark scooped her up.
"Would that make me any less dear to you?"
"No! But . . . I could not bear it to watch you die . . . and know I can't save you."
"My dear sapling, mortal life is nothing to be sorrowful of. Yes, time is short, but I'm sure you've seen how mortals live that life. Some squander it, yes, but others live it to the fullest. Their lives are filled with Joy and love, even though they experience sorrow and pain, their lives are all the more beautiful and precious for it." Gray-green eyes stared at him, listening. "You are a warrior, Sapling, a hunter and protector. You fight very well physically, and I have heard of all your exploits as you've traveled dark and light paths to find yourself." She winced, knowing he probably disapproved of those dark paths. "Death is not something to be feared, little one, it is merely the beginning of another, greater, journey. The elves can sail to the undying lands, the lands of the Valar, but humans must take a different route."
"You mean mortals go to the undying lands as well?"
"Aye. Dwarves go to the halls of Aule, one of the Valar, do they not? And would not his halls be in the undying lands? Would not the halls reserved for men also be in the lands of the Valar?" Stonebark chuckled. "Do not fear death, my Sapling, yes it is painful, to be unable to protect those you love from time's ruthless passage, but that makes the moments all the more precious to spend with those you call mortals." She bowed her head, thinking over his words. "Mortals only wish to spend their lives with those they love, as friends, kin or lovers, a mortal well loved and valued will have a peaceful passing, even if they are suffering. That is all they require, and they understand as well as you that their time is short."
"I don't think I can bear it, to see hair turn gray and strong hands become weak not again. I fear it would break me, more than a death of a mortal soldier that died of an arrow wound."
"One day, I hope you will find a friend or two that you would not be able to leave, even as they age, and you will love them enough to stand by their death bed and help give them a peaceful passing." She personally thought it was a curse that he spoke of. "But in any case, unless I am burned or attacked with axes, I will be around for another few thousand years or so. Hopefully by then you'll be able to convince your elven race that you are not deserving of death." She held her tongue, and did not reply with what she had been feeling. She wanted the death that came with battle, if only so she could see her mortal friends once more.
She would not actively seek out death- though some would claim that hunting orcs counted as such- but if it came to her, she would be more than willing to slip from this world. Stonebark would not approve, and there was something that kept her from trying to die. A feeling that she still had a purpose in Middle Earth, though she had not, as yet, found it. A deed that she must do before she could even think of dying from wounds or simply from existing when there was no one to share her existence and travels with.
The elf maid stayed with the ent for a time, before resuming her travels and solo hunting of orcs.
AN: The next chapter will be called 'Daybreak'. This OC of mine has proven quite insistent that she still has a purpose to fulfill, and I fear that she has already insisted on making changes to parts of the story, and will not be dissuaded. Not that I mind, though. This story will only contain two chapters, but if I do wind up writing a sequel, my nameless character might finally gain a name that she likes.
Notes on words, names and characters:
Calwyn- I took the '-wyn' from 'Eowyn' and then I randomly chose the first part of the name. Since a lot of words (and I've noticed this while reading) for the common language of middle earth seem to have elvish roots, I figured '-wyn' was a shoot of from the elvish 'wen'.
Stonebark- A oak like ent that came into the story with the exclusive purpose of raising the OC after the loss of her foster parents. I needed someone who was long lived and I figured that an ent would be the best choice, given their long lifespan.
Whisper- originally her name was going to be Shadow for this section, but, well, I find 'Shadow' an overused name for assassins.
Bein- pronounced like 'Bane' and means 'Beautiful'. (If I ever write more on this character, not counting the second chapter, I can assure you there will be a joke on the similar pronunciation of 'Bein' and 'Bane'- as in bane of my existence.)
Byroc- he wasn't supposed to be named. None of the guards of Minas Ithil were going to be named. But I wanted him to have a bit more depth, since he was an almost-but-not-quite lover for the OC.
Ithilriel- 'Ithil' is 'moon' and 'riel' is the same as 'Galadriel', so it roughly translates as 'Maiden of the moon'.
Captain/Commander- I never named him, nor do I ever intend to. I never intended to name any of the guards, as stated before.
Reagar and Tolan- again, not supposed to be named, but I needed them, so . . .
Gran Goody- I needed a name for Smeagol's grandmother/village midwife. (Read the riddle contest between Bilbo and Gollum, Gollum faintly remembers his grandmother during the game). 'Goody' is the old English word for a nurse or midwife, if you want a better example, you should read The Crucible.
Enigma- Another word for Riddle or Mystery, again, I got the fealing that growing up Gollum was one of those kids that enjoyed figuring out riddles and having ones to solve, so when he met a person that didn't have a name, he was going to label them a mystery.
Deagol- well, his personality (as well as smeagol's) is based from the few minutes we saw of him in the third lord of the rings movie. Deagol acted opposite of Smeagol who acted very childish, and I honestly got the feeling that the two were inseprable as children.
Which, in my opinion, makes Smeagol's corruption by the ring a whole lot worse; it changed him from curious and innocent person to someone who killed his best friend.
Disclaimer: Really, do I look like I wrote Lord of the Rings, let alone own the rights, if I am posting a story like this on FanFictiondotnet? I do own copies of the books, though.
Please leave a review! (Or you could just put this on Story alert or favorite, just as long as I know people like the story!)