A.N.: Thanks Wenont for betaing this chapter. Sorry about the delay (emrys, you in special). RL interfered. I'm uploading two chapters at once as a peace offering…
Chapter 10: The Redhorn Pass
'Live as brave men; and if fortune is adverse, front its blows with brave hearts.' Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC)
Eámanë knelt upon the snow-covered ground. 'Twas cold in the mountains, and winter was upon them already. She was too tired, too worried, too saddened. She had the impression that liquid weariness flowed within her veins instead of blood. But, though the path grew worse as they travelled, Erestor and Morin allowed no more stops on the march, and the unforgiving cold made her limbs numb as well as tired.
Up in the mountains the scattered rocks and scrub grass had completely given way to the snow. Tonight, there would be no shelter or, anywhere to hide. It made Erestor nervous. Thrice he had checked that his sword was loose in his scabbard, and at every sound he jumped, as if expecting battle. He took a sparing sip of Miruvor to calm himself down, before passing the flask round.
Eámanë walked and paused a tad far from the Ellyn, dropping to the ground heavily) -->. Keeping her deceit was a tiring matter, and her strength was waning- she did not wish for them to see her wearied state just yet. Folly it might be, to fool her companions into thinking she was anything but drained, and yet her pride- what was left of it- would not allow her to claim respite. So it was wiser to stand out, and let the cold starlight offer her what comfort it might. The path of elven dreams was not as soothing as usual, but reality was everything she did not wish to face.
The Elleth sighed and re-braided her hair, carefully tidying every stray strand of golden locks. The day had flown past in a blur of haste and worry. Thankfully, Morin had insisted that they rest a few hours, lest they risk her collapsing ('I am perfectly fine," she had lied, but the healer would have none of it). She would not be able to walk another step. The song escaped her lips almost in fleeing, and the sound was at once a plea and a benediction.
Eámanë sang of the Sea. She'd never seen the ocean before of course. Wood elves had a longing for the sea that was most dangerous to awake. It was not The Undying Lands that she longed for though, but the cessation of all struggles.
She snorted softly in indignation. Not a very auspicious beginning for someone who wanted to join the fight against Dol Guldur.
She was only vaguely aware of Erestor approaching her while Morin made himself as comfortable as he could on the snow. Their rest would not be long, just enough to allow tired muscles some respite, but still it made sense to keep watch. They had been attacked twice, and the present site held no more shelter than the previous ones had. Oh Valar, for all that's holy, not another watch round. And in the name of everything green, not with him! But it was necessary, Eámanë knew. They were entirely much too vulnerable, more than ever before on this ill-fated mission. Not a single rock; not one shadow to hide them from the prying eyes of their foe. All their chances lay on catching sight of their enemy with some anticipation. So, wearily she rose, and awaited the inevitable.
"You're not standing guard tonight," he said, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You look exhausted."
"I feel it, too," she confessed quietly. "But are you sure? These plateaus are wide, and another pair of eyes might be useful"
Curse manners. But truth was still the truth, and the need for survival was as strong in her as it'd ever been. Eámanë ran her hand over her braided hair, and checked to see if her knives were secure. They were. She'd lost a few arrows, but that was a small matter and not to be worried over.
Another twenty elf-warriors would be useful, thought Erestor, but he didn't say it.
"I'd rather you got some rest," he said. "The mortals may think we Eldar can endure anything, but sleeping occasionally is necessary on a journey such as ours."
"If you say so, Erestor, I'll take what rest I can now."
"Good. I will call you when the time has come." He smiled, regarding Eámanë's slender face, her pale skin catching a little of the starlight. Even dusty, dirty and tired from days of travel, she still managed to gleam like a bright crystal, in the gloom of the wilds in winter. Erestor sighed, and continued. "I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from your rest." A flicker of pleasant memory flashed across his face, and he smiled. "At least we don't have to make tea for all..."
"Great stars", Eámanë burst in laughter. "I will be glad if I do not have any tea for the next century! You High and Mighty drink entirely too much of the stuff. If we come back through the woodland men's settlements, I'll show you how it is done in the Rhovannion." At that her eyes glittered with mischief. "Let us see how much fire water you can handle."
Suddenly, things seemed a lot more hopeful then Erestor had initially anticipated . Eámanë was not angry with him any more. "Fire water?" he asked apprehensively. "Is that what gives you of Greenwood your legendary courage?"
"Pfuit," Eámanë remarked simply- not a very ladylike noise, but the look in his face was absolutely priceless. "Legendary courage..." she muttered bitterly. "We merely have no other option. Taur-e-Ndaedelos is surrounded, my lord, make no mistake. If we do not defend ourselves through strength of arms, the King's palace would be under siege."
She sat down, her back leaning against a cold rock, then brushed her hair back over her shoulders with a mock petulant expression and stated, her voice an uncanny imitation of Glorfindel. "Just something to warm the heart, child."
Erestor gave his first true laugh since they started their quest. "Then again, we Noldor are no better, with our Miruvor..." he said. "We shouldn't talk such outside the Elvenhomes, lest our good Secondborn friends get the wrong impression about our people... I've already heard all kinds of strange tales about our ways, from supposedly distinguished mortal scholars."
"Ever heard of the abduction myth before? That was one of my favorites when I was growing up," Eámanë rambled on, her former fatigue forgotten. "It was said that the wardens of our forest- oh, I do not know if with yours it is the same- would take hostage any fair maiden that wandered too far. I wonder if the Children of the Sun really think we are as luscious as they are. I even met several families in Esgaroth who swore upon their houses that their line was thus created. Most disturbing. Especially when you are trading with them."
"It does make you wonder," conceded Erestor. "I think we frighten them a little, to be honest. There was a village of men near Ost-in-Edhil, when I was a lad. They used to have a ring of stones around their village, to protect them from our faerie magic."
Eámanë's head spun so fast she could nearly hear a 'crack' sound. She stared at him for a moment, her mouth agape. "Protect them from our faerie magic? They think they need protection from us? By all the stars, that's rich!"
She felt her neck complaining when she stared up at him- the stars shone brilliantly above, but her muscles were too stiff to sustain that exercise much longer. Oddly, she was totally uncaring about the watch - they were elves, and they were up on a mountainside, if anything approached, they'd know. With that in mind, Eámanë lectured Erestor, "Oh, please, sit down! You're making my head hurt looking upward!"
"Oh... sorry," he said, and dropped himself back down on the rock. The thought of actively keeping watch had crossed his mind too, but the conversation was too pleasant. "I meant to talk to you earlier… I intend to thoroughly interrogate you about your customs in Lasgalen." Seeing her inquisitive glance, he added, "For my book, of course."
Eámanë smirked and arched her eyebrows upward. "It would not have anything to do with the fact that you also wish some information before entering the realms of Thranduil?"
Erestor gave an aw-gee-shucks shrug. "That too."
"Oh yes, your book. I think it will be quite an interesting piece of literature. I will ask you only this, in exchange for my information - lthough you could gather it from any other person, and I'm just another maiden in Thranduil's court. Write it in Sindarin, if you would be so kind. Quenya is not easy to read when you are unfamiliar with it, specially for a Sylvan like myself."
"I fully intend to write in Sindarin. Despite the tales you hear, most elves of Rivendell speak Quenya only as a ceremonial language, or just out of curiosity. Besides, Sindarin is my mother-tongue," he added, giving a, 'hey I'm just a normal elf' kind of smile.
"Are you serious? For some strange reason, I've always thought the Noldor would speak their own mother language among themselves. I guess it's the whole buried-in-scrolls thing."
Erestor raised one eyebrow at this. Eámanë had the funniest way to express herself at times. "Buried in scrolls? Is that the impression that I give?" He smiled, unconsciously scanning the line of the mountains ahead. "Actually, I've always been more interested in learning Sylvan. Quenya was the language of Valinor - it's very beautiful, truly, but no longer reflects the Noldor. Your tongue is bound to Middle-Earth, and in every saying you hear the streams, the wind in the leaves." He wet his lips, and continued. "I don't suppose you could teach me a couple of phrases?"
"'Al en assith.' she replied with a mischievous smile. " As you please. But do you think, when we are gone to Valinor, that this language of Middle-earth will fade in memory and the older will resurface?"
"I do not know," said Erestor. "Perhaps, but for the Noldor, I do not think Quenya will ever become our dominant tongue again. Too much has happened."
Eámanë suddenly felt near tears and knew not why. Erestor cleared his throat, still looking out to the distance, whilst she made herself more comfortable on the ground. She decided she needed a lot more practice in the area of ground-sleeping..
"If you feel inclined, I would be most interested to know more about your home."
Eámanë was almost slipping into the dream path when she heard Erestor's statement, and did not come back all the way. "I told you of the palace yet. But most of our people live on flets or cottages nearby. My family lived in as foresters, seven days from the main city until my brother joined the service. We have been pushed up north a handful of times, enough that we have learned to pack quickly, not to take for granted the roof above our heads. Ada resisted as long as he could, but one day we received orders from the king to abandon the settlement and for us to be close to the Guard's quarters."
Eámanë shook her head, trying to force out the memories that flooded her mind. This was not the time. She moved within her cloak, trying to get what comfort could be taken from stillness, and let her speech resume her storytelling.
"Oak and ash, pine and linden, chestnut and lime trees. All those grow wild where we live. And tall. The elder say there was a time when you could travel for weeks without encountering anything fouler than a stray group of mountain goblins. Now we cannot travel more than four days from Taur-e-Ndaedelos without meeting spiders and orcs, olog-hai and trolls. But ever the woods resist to the covering darkness, Erestor. Even with all the darkness, they still lighten our hearts. From the wood itself we take the example we wish to follow and, it is after our home we are shaped. Mirkwood has... I cannot explain it; for I am not proficient in the games of words. But there is something in there that captures the heart, in spite of all the troubles it has. It is not fearsome, not unless you do not respect the place- but, is that not so with all the places? Sometimes I think of Mirkwood as the sea would be. You have to respect it. Say rather that it is unpredictable, full of temper, and fascinating."
She gifted him with a tired smile. "I keep telling you I talk too much."
"Well, I did ask," Erestor said, smiling back. "You've made me glad that I have to visit your land and see it for myself. Odd, really, that I have lived in Middle Earth for almost five thousand mortal years, yet have never explored so much of it..."
They fell quiet then, each wandering the paths of their own thoughts. Eámanë was clearly grateful to rest, and before long, she too slept. Yet long into the night, Erestor lay awake, thinking of the forest canopy melding into the dark waves of the sea, and through it all he glimpsed golden hair.
It was Morin who woke them up, a little before sunrise. Eámanë cursed the fact that they were crossing the pass in early winter. The Redhorn had been much more merciful in late spring. Now all that existed was the infindable cold path, the endless snow falling and the tricky road. They needed to get to the other side, reach the Old Forest Road and make their way into Thranduil's halls safely. They held a fast pace, and did not stop to rest again until they had reached the western side of the Misty Mountains the next day.
The three elves stood up straight, taking in the beauty of the forests ahead. On the far south, the Golden Wood with its tall mallyrn; on the west and north, dark green ancient trees, so tall and close, sunlight almost did not reach the round at all.
"Home,' Eámanë said simply. Then she strode in the northwest direction. "We go through the woodmen settlements and the Old Forest Road." She glanced back at the two Ellyn. "We must not stray from the road. Let us find the Mortals quickly, and keep your wits about you! We still have goblins near, and from here we are bound to meet trolls, olog hai, orcs and spiders."
"What I do not understand," muttered Morin, fixing the position of his bags upon his shoulders, "is why she looks so glad to come to a place with such guests."
Erestor shrugged, and followed them.