Disclaimer: I don't own LotR
A Willful Heart
Prologue: Evelyn
This wasn't the hunting trip he had planned it to be.
Aedelrik trod through the snow, bent double. It wasn't as though the wind was strong enough to permeate the layers of skins he had on, nor was it because he had a lot of weight to carry. He only had several rabbits and a vole slung across his back, much to his disgust. It wasn't nearly enough to feed his family for the rest of winter, and supplies were running scarce in town.
It had been nine days since he had left to hunt, with little to show for it. Gwynnethir would be disappointed.
Although, he did have several more days before he needed to return home. So perhaps he would encounter the tracks of a large buck while he wandered, as unlikely as the thought seemed. His thoughts drifted in a downward spiral of pessimism.
The short yip of his dog brought him out of his cynical musings. Something had alerted the canine. He glanced around, on edge. What bothered the animal?
Apparently, he had missed the wolf tracks that surrounded them.
The dog's fur stood up on end, but nothing else signaled that the predators were near them, even though the prints seemed to be rather fresh. They had been hunting something.
He followed the tracks, with his dog sprinting ahead, but the longer he followed them, the stranger he felt this hunt had been. Where were the tracks of the prey? Dread began to grow in the pit of his stomach.
Fortunately, it didn't take long before they converged together for the kill. By then, the forest had become dense, and it was difficult to see his dog bounding through the snow-covered landscape several paces ahead of him.
He brushed through the thick foliage, muscles taunt and eyes darting about cautiously. Wariness seemed to stifle the air, making it seem as though he were trying to breath underwater.
The middle of the clearing held a very beautiful woman. Or at least, if he looked past the carnage the predators had inflicted, what had seemed to be a beautiful woman.
His dog was whining and pacing around the body as if distressed by its lifelessness.
In his slow pace towards the carcass, he realized it wasn't at all a woman. By the points of her ears, it was a she-elf.
He knew little about such creatures, except for the legends that had been passed down in the forms of stories told to the children. He had loved them as a boy. In common knowledge, elves were the Firstborn of the Ilùvatar, unimaginably beautiful and impossibly graceful. They held a much different connection with all living things that humans did, and they were able to use magic.
He sighed, his heart heavy with sadness. This was the first elf he had seen, and she was dead.
He looked up at the sky, knowing it would be a much longer day than he had anticipated. Perhaps there would be animals caught in the traps he had set, for there would be no time left to track another animal after giving this woman a proper burial.
He began the process of burial, with his dog lying at the side of the dead she-elf, whining in misery.
xXx
It was finally done.
He had, at first, been unsure if his rites were suitable for such a creature as this. But he had nothing else to give, so, once he lowered her into the ground, he sung the song used for the death of the village leader, hoping it would be sufficient. Afterwards, he had filled the grave with dirt and snow, sealing the body of the she-elf in the earth, forever.
He walked away, his steps heavy and his gait slow, as if weighed down by the world. His dog trailed after him, its tail limp between its legs, paws shuffling through the snow, as though mimicking its master.
The sun had dipped below the horizon long before the funeral rites had finished.
He headed southeast, back the way he had come, in order to return to the cave he used as shelter on these hunting trips. The traps he had set up were close to the shelter. He had no strength left to check them tonight.
The two quickly reached their destination, and settling down, huddled together for warmth. They shared the remaining dried venison, and Aeldrik worried that he wouldn't bring home enough meat because he himself needed sustenance to survive.
Fortunately, the worrying didn't last very long because he quickly fell asleep, exhausted from the day's events.
xXx
A cry wrenched through the air.
Immediately, Aedelrik woke up, hunting knife in hand. His dog was beside him, teeth bared and fur bristling.
It took several moments before he realized it wasn't the cry of a prey's last breath, bringing with it, a potential dangerous predator.
It was the cry of an infant.
His dog had already ran out in his stupor, eager to search for the source of the sound. He quickly got up and began his pursuit of the excited animal.
It took less than fifty paces to reach the dog. It was circling a large tree, growling and yipping energetically.
The source of the notice came from a large hole about several arms-lengths above his reach. The tree seemed slightly hostile as well, for the branches grew high up in the tree. The lowest branch was within reach, but it would take a lot of work getting to that hole.
He sighed in defeat. The trip had already become more trouble than it was worth.
xXx
The climb was successful. From it, he gained a human infant, countless cuts and bruises, and a severe headache.
The climb had almost killed him.
He had reached the nearest branch without much problems, but after that branch, everything began going downhill. Twigs and branches scratched at his face and arms and legs, almost as if protesting his intrusion. All the branches he had stepped on groaned and creaked, threatening to break. Several, in fact, did, and those close calls drove him to climb faster, foregoing his usual caution.
It had been the last branch that was the most difficult to handle. The branch looked thick and sturdy, but that wasn't the problem at all. It was the fact that the branch was just outside the reach of his hand. Moreover, the branch he had been on before that last one had broken under his weight. It took all his skill to jump while he fell, catching the desired branch with his left hand, blood roaring in his ears from his near-fall. He had quickly scrambled onto the branch he held in an iron-grip, shaking from the experience.
As for the journey down the tree, it happened quite quickly.
He had fallen.
That was where he had gotten his pulsing headache, and the more serious bruises.
He now lay there, staring up at the sky, wondering if he had broken anything, while the babe he held in his arms cooed at him, now happy in the warmth under his cloak.
His dog sniffed at the child, tail wagging so hard it looked close to breaking off and bouncing away.
It was time to go home. Too much had happened, and he couldn't care for an infant while hunting. Too much could go wrong. Besides, he knew nothing of caring for children. His wife would. Gwynnethir had grown up as the eldest of twelve. She had cared for her siblings when her mother had perished.
Yes, it was time to return.
xXx
Gwynnethir was busy. She had no children of her own, but several ran about her anyways, clutching at her skirts and chattering to each other animatedly, even though it was getting dark and they would soon be getting ready for bed.
It never ceased to amaze her, the unyielding energy children seemed to have.
She was cooking dinner for her and four children. Their mother was sick, and no one was willing to care for her young during the hard winter. After much hesitation, she had offered her help, despite knowing that the parents would not accept her help gratefully.
After all, only a rare few liked her.
It was only the children of the village and her husband who seemed to enjoy having her around. All others tolerated her presence among them due to her husband's high position in the village, and it was stifling. She rarely went out these days, not because of the cold, but rather because she hated feeling those glares and the dark mutters behind her back. It was intimidating, and she didn't want to bother the townspeople any more than she already seemed to.
Moreover, her husband remained oblivious to all of it. Even though she sometimes wished he knew, that she could feel safe and sheltered, she knew it was for the best to keep it this way. There was no need for him to get involved in her problems. They weren't abusing her at all. It was just uncomfortable.
The littlest girl suddenly began screaming and crying, pulling Gwynnethir's attention out from her thoughts.
"Oh, Freida, what happened child?" The woman knelt beside the bawling girl, using the side of her apron to rub away the grubby tears.
After a few more sobs, the little girl was able to choke out, "Lady Gwynn, Cyneric took Millie and hid her from me!" She promptly began a new set of screams and tears.
Gwynnethir internalized a sigh. "Now, now, dear girl. Be brave! Come on, we'll get your doll back in no time!"
Just as they were about to begin a little brawl with her older brothers, the door slammed open and a cold breeze fought to extinguish the flames in the hearth.
"Sir Aedelrik!" All the children scrambled to their feet and lined up before her husband, standing at attention.
"Hello you rascals! You haven't been running my wife to exhaustion have you?"
"No sir!"
"What have you brought back, Sir Aedelrik?"
"I want to be a good hunter just like you!"
Amongst the chattering of excited children, Gwynnethir was perplexed. He had come back early, carrying a strange bundle in his hands. Something must have happened.
"Aedelrik, what's that?"
The eldest of the children, Hamon, pointed inquiringly at the bundle she had been staring at in all the ruckus.
"This boy, is a babe I found in the woods. You all would care to be quiet or you might awaken her."
Immediately, all four clamped their mouths shut, the littlest adding emphasis to being quiet by shoving a her small fist into her mouth and sucking on it.
The woman, with curiosity eating at her, walked up to her husband and embraced him, while whispering in his ear, "You must explain how you brought back an infant instead of the meat you promised, husband. But do so later, after these children have been put to bed."
His chest rumbled in a throaty chuckle. "Yes dear wife. I will eagerly recount everything if you so wish."
She quickly ushered the children into their seats, for the preparation for supper had finished a while ago. Her husband sat down with them, eager to have a hot meal after the two weeks of eating dried foods and things he could scavenge that survived in the harsh winter.
"I know you all are hungry. But we must give thanks to Eru for providing first. Hamon, would you like to do the evening prayer?"
He did so eagerly, and they all ate until they were full and starting to drift to sleep. She carried the littlest on her left hip, balanced with her left hand, while holding the hand of a drooping Mildryd in her right.
Her husband carried the two boys in the same fashion she did Freida. The infant had been carefully placed on their bed, swathed in blankets, quiet, but not sleeping.
After putting them to bed, the two adults cleared the table in quiet, glancing towards the bed every so often to make certain that the youngest in the household was comfortable.
They finished cleaning and sat down on the bed together once they had changed.
Gwynnethir gently took the bundle from the middle of the bed and held it to her bosom, slowly rocking and humming a well-known lullaby. Although her curiosity had grown throughout the night, she was a patient woman. And she knew her husband had not forgotten her request from earlier that evening.
"I found the child tucked inside a hole up in an ash tree. It took quite a few injuries to get the child down."
The young woman looked up in alarm, glancing about his body trying to find anything serious. Her husband chuckled and tugged her gently into an embrace. He whispered into her hair, reassuring her that nothing was broken.
"Her mother is dead. Or the female who had been her guardian.
A she-elf. I know not her name or where they came from, for I found her dead. By wolves."
He heard his companion make a small whimper of pity in the back of her throat.
He sighed in agreement, for the tale was sorrowful.
"Gwynnethir, I don't know what we should do with the child."
"We are going to keep her, and raise her as our own."
There was no hesitation in her voice, rather a tinge of solemn finality. "That is the least we can do for the child and her dead mother."
He stroked his wife's hair, knowing that tone of voice allowed no room for argument. Nor did he want to continue to discuss the matter, for he had felt...drawn to the child as well.
"Very well beloved." He kissed her brow. "We will keep her. What shall we name her?"
His wife stilled for a moment, thinking.
"Evelyn."
~fubunny