Invitation
Stooping down, she examined the large patch of web at the base of a tree. The lack of dust on it showed her that it had been made recently. She cursed, the spiders of Mirkwood had never come so close to her home before. Standing up, her left hand went back to her sword, a gesture she often repeated during the day to assure herself it was still there. After a deep breath and a moment to think, she went off in the way of the webs, hoping she would find the spiders soon. She'd been travelling after them for two days now, the webs becoming more frequent and she guessed she was close to their nest. After a while, she had found that the spiders rarely lived alone, preferring to live in a large group, and hunt together. But it only took one to hunt them down. Starting to jog, she twisted her body to avoid the webs that were rapidly appearing as she got further into the nest. It wasn't as large as some she had seen before, she guessed that perhaps ten spiders had made their home there. Finally, when the webs grew too thick for her to move quickly past them, she slowed down, taking one step at a time.
After a few more minutes, she saw the first of the spiders, their grotesque bodies bulging, as if they'd just eaten. They moved more slowly than usual, which she found disappointing, it was less of a challenge to deal with them that way. Before attacking, she watched for a minute, trying to see how many there were. She counted seven, but it was hard to be certain. Kneeling down, her hand moved from the hilt of her sword towards a stone on the ground. It was a little small to fit well in her palm, but she picked it up and drew her hand back. Swinging it forward, the pebble flew from her hand. She'd been aiming for a gap between two trees, but her aim was a little off and struck the trunk of a tree. It achieved the same effect though, the clack! sound it produced made every spider turn and rush forward, whispering. There were eight of them, she had missed one up in the tree above her. Sure she could handle the eight of them, she pulled the sword from her scabbard and ran forward.
Before they noticed her, she had already cut one of the spiders down, leaving its abdomen twitching as it bled out from the stab in its underside. Then the others turned to her and shrieked,
"Whiteblade!" was the name they had given her, after the white diamond weapon she wielded. It was often the last things the spiders saw, after it cleaved them in two. Anger made her swing the sword faster, for she despised the twisted mockery of the human language that they spoke. A few moments later, another two lay dead and a third was twitching as her sword embedded itself in its skull. Then the others had surrounded her, dropping their foul webs in an attempt to trap her. The white sword flashed in the dim light and she parted the web as easily as silk, it had been enchanted by the elves a while ago, in an attempt to give her an advantage over the creatures. They shrieked and she pressed her attack. She had learned long time ago to attack their legs when they were in great number. Their two strengths were their speed and their venom. Once she stopped their movement, and stayed out of the way of their stingers, the spiders could do no damage. The battle was a quick one, lasting no more than a few minutes. One spider gave her trouble when it decided to flee, but after a short sprint she removed the legs on its left side one by one, as she caught up to it. It fell, screaming, as blood poured and it writhed in the dirt. Knowing that it would not live much longer, she left it twisting among the leaves.
Wiping the blood from her sword with a cloth she kept folded through her belt, she walked back towards her home. The journey would take her perhaps three days, for she was in no hurry to get back, and chose not to dash through the trees as she had when pursuing the spiders. Her sword clean, she returned the weapon to its sheath and the cloth to her belt. That night she bathed in one of the rivers that ran through Mirkwood, savouring the cold touch of the water on her skin. Then, after a meal of nuts and a few berries she found, as well as one of the black squirrels that had been caught in one of her snares, she fell asleep.
Two days later, during early evening, she arrived back at her house. It was a tall tree with three round rooms, each on top of each other, and a cellar among the roots. A kitchen, a library and a bedroom. Enough for one person to live well, especially with the amount of wine she had in the cellar, as well as a few small barrels of ale she had traded for with the men that lived in the forest. So it was strange to see the two horses grazing outside of her house, both of them different shades of grey. One was smoke, the other was silver. Both were saddled and packed as if ready for a short journey.
It wasn't completely uncommon, she was friends with the elves of Mirkwood, and one would visit her every few months, often with a gift. They were good to her, allowing her to live in the forest. Idria Oakheart was what they called her, the Guardian of Mirkwood. Removing the cloak, she entered her home, smiling, unsurprised, at the pair of elves sat at her table. Between them rested an open bottle of wine, three goblets, one full, one empty and one half-empty. The first elf she knew quite well, his name was Legolas, the prince of the forest, son of Thranduil. He had long white hair and sharp blue eyes as clear as ice. The other was a closer friend, an elf by the name of Thirnen. He had light brown hair which he kept short, green eyes and the pointiest ears she'd ever seen on an elf. She nodded her head at the two,
"Make yourself at home." She said sarcastically. Legolas sat up straight, his hand around the goblet full of wine, it didn't look as if he'd drunk any. Thirnen lifted his own goblet into the air in a toast, his voice clear even in his drunken stupor.
"Come join us! The night is young and there is drink to be had!" His laugh was light and seemed to cast away any other feelings than happiness. She sat and retorted,
"Only if you haven't drunk it all already!" Then she filled her own goblet, raising it to knock against his, and then took a swallow. Holding it out to Legolas with a questioning look, he raised his own and smiled, the two connected and she took a second, longer draught. "What brings you here?" She asked, setting the wine down, briefly seeing her reflection in the dark liquid and realising she should soon change.
"A letter." The elf prince said, holding it out to her. Recognising the handwriting, she still inquired,
"From Bilbo?"
"Probably, it was delivered by a man who said a short little fellow asked him to get it to us." Smiling, she took it and opened it, breaking the neat wax seal. Bilbo had written to her a few times over the years, and she back. It was difficult; the only way to send a letter was to give it to someone passing through Mirkwood, which did not happen often. But when it did, Idria would always help them get through, keeping them alive in exchange for news and small favours. She had almost become a figure of legend or mystery, the Witch of the Wood was what smallfolk called her, she had learned. Thankfully, the letter was only addressed to Idria Oakheart, and it was indeed from Bilbo.
"There's to be a party." She said, "His 111th birthday… I'm invited."
"The Shire? That could take a few months to get to. When is the party?"
"In four months' time." She trailed off and did some calculations; she would get there in time if she left within the next few days. But to leave the forest… she had not done that for… she could not quite remember. If Bilbo had been fifty at the time of the quest they had been on together, that meant… sixty years. She suddenly felt sad, her gaze once again travelling to the dark liquid in her goblet as she saw her reflection. Appearing no more than five and twenty, she was in reality, over eighty years of age. She sighed, then took a long draught. Thirnen had done the same calculations as her, though it took him longer in his state,
"You should leave tomorrow, then you'd get there in time. But not tonight, tonight is for drinking and making merry! Come, drink." It was as if he'd read her thoughts and tried to lift them. Elves truly were the most perceptive of all the races. She nodded and smiled at him,
"Then let us hope the night shall not end! Seasamin." She finished with the elvish for My pleasure. She had learned a little over the years, though not enough to speak fluently. Of course, she could still understand a conversation perfectly; somehow she had a gift for understanding languages as easily as breathing or walking.
They spoke and laughed into the night, Thirnen even bursting into song several times, his voice as sweet as nectar in a flower.
The next morning, she woke in her bed, her head aching. She rubbed her eyes and sighed, then swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood. In a few minutes, she had washed herself and dressed in her usual kind of clothes. Boots up to her knee, brown britches, a light brown shirt with long sleeves and a leather jerkin the colour of red earth. She no longer wore her cloak; the bloodstains on it never seemed to wash out, even when they were impossible to see. It carried too many memories; she had burned the cloak but kept the copper brooch that had fastened it. Wearing the brooch that was shaped like an oak leaf above her left breast, above her heart, it was a strange parody of her name. Over the years, the brown of her eyes had sharpened, giving her a stare that could have made even the strongest of men shiver. Her hair had lightened, turning from the colour of freshly-turned earth to the lighter brown colour of a deer's pelt. It was longer than it had been before, it brushed her waist when it was loose, and tumbled over her shoulders in waves. Quickly and deftly, she twisted it into it's customary braid, so that it fell between her shoulder blades and would not get in the way. Satisfied that she was ready for travel, she packed a small leather bag with things she would need for the journey. Her tinder-box, a skinning knife and a whetstone to sharpen it, dried meats and berries that had been stored away, a waterskin, rope (She was a firm believer in being prepared for anything) and clean linen that could serve as bandages, should she need them. The last item was a purse of dwarvish gold, a thing from a quest long ago, but never forgotten.
When she left her home, after a breakfast of more berries and salted fish she had caught from one of the rivers, she saw that both of the horses were still there. Both had empty saddles, but she heard Thirnen's laugh and he approached from the trees,
"Come, mount up. I'll accompany you to the edge of the forest." She wasn't surprised he had decided to do that, once or twice they had hunted together. She was better than him at catching fish, though he loved to show that he could best her in swordplay and he could wield a bow. It was impossible for her, her right hand had never been useable since she had once taken an arrow through it, she could not even grasp a bow.
Shaking her head, she pulled herself onto the silver coloured horse. She had not ridden much, and not at all for the past fifty years, and the silver seemed smaller and more sure footed to her. And so, with Thirnen at her side, she rode through the forest. Sometimes they followed the old elvish road, the one she had taken when she travelled on her last quest, but most of the time they stayed in the trees. She knew the forest well enough to not get lost, despite the sheer size of it.
Within a fortnight, they had reached the borders of the forest, where Thirnen and her parted. Since they had spoken together during the trip, all that needed to be said had already been said. Simply, she just spoke a word in elvish,
"Namaarie." Farewell. He responded in the same tongue, a goodbye he taunted her with, for she did not know enough of the language to speak it herself, though she understood it perfectly well.
"Aa' menle nauva calen ar' ta hwesta e' ale'quenle."
May thy paths be green and the breeze on thy back. She raised her hand in a wave as she rode off, without turning. I was strange to leave the forest. The light was brighter and she was aware of the vast expanse of space ahead… the world ahead. The wind was warmer outside of the forest and the scents were lighter. The only sound was the gentle thump of the silvers hooves on the ground, as she began to gallop towards the misty mountains. It wasn't until she finally stopped that she realised she was no longer under any enchantment, she felt no different, but until she returned to the forest, she had her mortal life back.
Because she would return, she was going there and back again… the road would take her home.
She did not know the road was not that simple. Nor did she know that the home at the end of the road may not be the same home she left behind.
/ If the references in this story about her past do not make sense, then you should know that this is the second part of Idria's tale. The first is based during The Hobbit. And you may want to read it, as some of this story will refer back to it, and it'll help you gain a clearer understanding of her and her motivations.
Anyway, I plan to release the first few chapters of this story this year, and if it is well received, I shall continue it in 2015.