Chapter 26 – Witch-friend
"I am on the path to Rivendell, my lady."
A cloak of dark green was fastened at the rider's shoulders, and a hood fell over his features.
"Rivendell?" repeated the girl. The word slipped from her lips like silk. Too graceful to befit the lands around. "Where is Rivendell?"
Dusk was falling on the lonely road upon the heath. The dust choked path seemed to swallow the two figures at the wayside with its long shadows, deep as a forest shade. They made for queer company; Elf and girl. One bending low over his grey steed, and the other looking up at the hooded face above; perhaps in wonder, perhaps in fear.
"My lady, there are truly few who have not heard of the great Elven dwelling of Imladris."
"An – an Elven dwelling?"
The girl's mother had warned her of Elves. Friends of witches, she had called them, acquainted with sorcery themselves and possessing a dark magic. She stepped back a few paces.
The green-hooded figure, who seemed in the instant less strange and more frightening, dismounted his horse. Standing before her, tall and slender, he seemed somewhat less intimidating, and there was something gentle in his movements, graceful as a soothing stream over grey rocks. Summoning her courage, the girl ventured to speak.
"Are you an Elf?"
Her heat beat against her chest when the figure lifted his hood. She stared, hugging her elbows. A face appeared before her – not the face of a witch-friend, a sorcerer – but a fair face, open and young. Yet her eyes widened as she took his pointed ears, beneath long dark hair the colour of rust. An Elf. Not a dark creature, a witch-friend, but an Elf all the same.
The wariness must have shown upon her features for the stranger smiled. There was warmth in his eyes.
"My lady, you do not trust my kind."
"I – " the girl hesitated. "I did not."
Something passed in his clear gaze, as if he understood the unspoken meaning behind her words. A tilt of the head followed, almost birdlike, an imperceptible gesture but for how closely the girl was watching him; for he was so different, she could not help but stare. Now he seemed to be in contemplation.
"Well, my young lady," the Elf said at last. "Why did you bid me here?"
In the bewilderment of the encounter the girl had almost forgotten that it was she who had waved down the horse and rider. She cleared her throat.
"I wanted to know – I was supposed to ask any travellers – about the road to the Old Forest," she said. "If they – I mean if you – be familiar with the land, I would be obliged if you could draw up a map of some sort concerning the path there."
Another birdlike tilt of the head, this time followed by a not-so-imperceptible quirk of the brow. "I am afraid that I can provide no more than vague directions. Why do you so ask?"
"My sister bid me do so – she insists that there will be richer herbs in the forest soil."
She offered the pack to the Elf. "I have been looking for them all evening. They are sparse around here; tedious to find."
Something like a shadow passed over his brow. Wordlessly, the traveller sifted through the contents. The girl frowned as he lifted some herbs from the pack. "What do you see?"
Gently he placed the plants into her open palm. "My lady, but these are poisonous."
"They are not." she replied indignantly. "I mean no harm to anyone. Do not draw such assumptions."
Suddenly, the stranger stepped back. He touched a hand to the mane of his horse.
"I will show you the herbs you seek. What you hold are deceitful imitations."
Unease rose in her chest. She cast her glance back at the empty plains stretching into a darkening sky, the flat heather golden under the fading sunlight, and the birch trees casting long shadows over the soil. She was gripped with doubt.
"How can I trust you?"
She thought that the Elf sighed; she could not be sure.
"It is your choice to make. But promise me, my lady, not to administer those herbs."
His grey eyes flickered away from her, down towards the winding road. Like the brooks over the rocks, he was slipping away. He meant to pass fleeting as the rushing water.
The girl supposed that such was the way of folk like him.
But it would not do. She could not afford to accept such half-truths and dark remarks. She sucked in a sharp breath.
"Show me then, my lord."
The Elf smiled. His grey eyes were depthless, deep and warm. "Do not bother with titles. My name is Pelior; we are acquainted now."
Eroth twirled the quill between her fingers, hissing as it fell from her grasp. Pooling ink trickled along the open parchment. The elleth snatched it away before any more harm could be done, but her painstaking sketches were already stained. She looked helplessly down at the ruined map.
The ornate title she had taken many tries to mould into elegance, erasing all clumsy strokes and then starting anew. The northern corner of the map had already been marked out in charcoal; a rough structure still, but Eroth had taken pride it.
Alas, it was all for nought. In spite she swept the parchment from the table and rose sharply, biting down upon her lip. Her fingers yearned to grasp the handle of a dagger, to sense the low hum of a drawn bow. She considered abandoning her task if only for a moment's respite - if only to feel the familiar power of a weapon, or the lure of a book. The green door by the bakery swam into her mind.
Clasping her elbow, she came to stand at the tent's opening. The evening had fallen damp and cold and the elleth could feel the chill of gathering clouds. She shivered and crossed her ankles as well, as if she could ward off the biting wind.
Eroth started. Footsteps were whispering across the grass outside. She shrunk back, curling her fingers around the back of her neck, listening with a tilted head. As it was, she had not the grace to accept visitors at such a time, and in such a mood.
The day had passed and soured in idleness. Eroth had walked through Esgaroth's streets before the rain came, tracing out pathways for her hapless map. She saw nothing of the boy and his sister, and heard not the song again. The elleth ached for the soothing hush of the forest. Silence here was hollow, and din jarring. Often she lay awake in the early hours of dawn, waiting for the songs of birds which never came, trying to catch the murmurs of branches over the hiss of the river.
She could hear its waters still, the hasty currents rushing over sandy banks, but the sound was not alone in the stillness of dusk. The footsteps were nearing.
With a frown Eroth threaded fingers through her hair, smoothing out the snarls. It seemed that hospitality of some sort would be necessary. Grudgingly she tugged down the sleeves of her shirt and, having deemed herself adequately presentable, leaned back against the tent, awaiting the visitor.
It was not Legolas. Worse yet, it turned out to be an encounter she had been expecting with dread.
"Le suilon atar." she greeted.
"Ci maer (are you well) Eroth?" Her father parted the curtains and stepped in. He did not look angered; rather, he seemed oddly resigned.
"I am well," she replied, retreating further into the interior of the tent. "How fared the meeting with the Master of Esgaroth?"
Kneeling down she lighted another lamp, trying to ease the evening's darkness. In the glow of the flame Eroth saw that weariness lined the face of her father, and the usual severity of his countenance seemed marred by something old, something tired. It was surely a trick of the light.
"The meeting proved somewhat tedious," Balthoron murmured. His gaze suddenly sharpened again, like the flash of a blade unveiled from cloth. "But that would already be known to you, would it not?"
Eroth's heart leapt to her throat. "How so, atar?" she enquired, pleasant.
She met her father's gaze evenly, her chin lifting into defiance when she saw the accusation there. So be it.
"How so indeed," her father said, "lathron?" (eavesdropper)
Eroth frowned. "Father, do you doubt my integrity?"
A wry smile seemed to pass over his lips.
"I meant no harm," Eroth murmured.
"I know you did not." Balthoron softened, clasping his hands behind his back. He observed that the tension did not leave the elleth's shoulders, and though she lowered her head, her eyes were watchful of his every move. He had taught her well.
"However," he spoke, "there is another matter which has… recently… come to my knowledge."
This time his daughter's frustration became evident. Her brow remained smooth but Balthoron caught the nervous motion of her fingers as they clenched. He was almost tempted to let the matter drop, had it not been a father's duty to issue due admonishment.
"It seems," he continued softly, arching an eyebrow, "that you have caused quite a spectacle of yourself yesterday morn. Is that correct?"
Eroth looked as if she would protest; instead she spoke quietly, her voice low and steady – almost as if to counter his. "'Tis true that I was involved in the incident."
It was an elusive answer. "Do you realise your error, lellig?"
Her eyes darkened imperceptibly. "I was not aware that I had committed a fault."
Balthoron tilted his head. His daughter had come close to undermining the dignity of the Elves. If she accepted the warning, further such rashness would be prevented. He wanted to hear no more strange tales of an elleth diving into mortal rivers.
"You allowed impulse to rule over your better judgement."
"A child's life was at stake!" Eroth hissed. Her hands had clenched into fists by her sides.
Balthoron regarded her flushed cheeks coolly. "The mortal boy could have done so without your reckless input."
"I did what was expected of the Elven kind. Assuredly, that was not to stand by demurely, straightening my skirts while the river was snaring a mere girl in its currents –"
"Lease your temper, lellig."
Eroth raised her chin. "That's what you always say when your argument fails."
"It is what I warn of you when you refuse to consider matters reasonably."
He stepped forward, a sigh escaping him. His daughter was almost as obstinate as he had been in his youth; it was in those moments that the advisor wished Eroth had grown up to be more like her mother.
Balthoron laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder. When he spoke his voice was no longer stern, and he had lost the cold, birdlike tilt of the head. He was no interrogator.
"You endangered yourself, my daughter. I could not stand to see that happen. I have warned you once in Greenwood, and I will warn you again. Walk not into trouble. Do I have your promise?"
"Aye, atar. You have my promise."
But both father and daughter knew well the old fireside saying: uuma ten' rashwe, ta tuluva a lle.
Translations:
Lellig – my daughter
Uuma ten' rashwe, ta tuluva a lle – look not for trouble, for it will come to you
Author's Note:
Hey guys! I hope you are all doing well! A different story is unfolding on the other side of Middle Earth - yes, Eroth's traveler brother is not quite rid of mortal doings yet. Where do you think this will lead? As for Balthoron, are his parenting skills in need of improvement?
legolasgreenleaf15: I hope you are feeling better! Sleep a lot, take walks, drink water. Hydration is important :p
I am very excited to show you the answers to all those questions, alas they will be duly revealed in another day. For the moment, prepare for some elven antics in the coming chapters ;) For her part, Eroth has been assigned with the role of drawing a map for the reparations of Lake Town, though Arandrin is being strangely secretive about it. Is it just the leader's singular character, or is there something more?
I'm glad that you liked the Epping family! Nym and Ehlark do seem like they end up in all sorts of troublesome situations - they remind me a little of Eroth and Legolas. Your response to the daisy chain made me smile - a lot. Thank you! I enjoy this as much as you do, so be assured that there will be more!
By the way, what is your elven name mellon (if you have decided on one)?