"What?"
Gwendolin and Iris turned as one to the hoarse voice that startled them with that weird statement. The woman clutched her ring tightly and looked wide eyed at the elderly dúnedain who stared at her from his cot. She felt Iris' arm around her shoulder, a reassuring hand on her arm, as her world turned upside down.
"Who… who are you?"
The young woman whispered almost to herself; she knew the man's name, and had spoken a little to him the day before.
"Please, don't be so dramatic as Luke Skywalker, ok?"
"What?"
It was Iris turn to be astonished, What was a dúnedain talking about Star Wars, of all things in this world? But then it hit her. Star Wars was not of this world. Nor was it usual to hear people of Middle-earth to say 'ok'.
"I might be wrong, but from what I've heard from you, and about you… And then your ring… Aragorn had a good chance to see it, he told me… It is not expected for him to be mistaken about this kind of heirloom, master Elrond taught him well…"
"Wait, are you really telling me…"
"Gondolin, I'm your father."
Gwendolin opened and shut her mouth like a fish before speaking.
"You're my... What?"
He looked at her, eyes shiny with moist that had been held there for too much time. "I believe... that I'm you father."
Iris rolled her eyes.
"No, wait. What kind of soup opera is this?"
The blonde woman blinked, then studied his face carefully. For the most part, he looked very different from herself, but his eyes seemed to a perfect mirror of her own. Just like the nuns had supposed they would be. She smiled slowly and tried a word she never dared to use before.
"D…daddy?"
"For what absurd this might seem, I think so, honey. Gondolin... Is it really you? I mean, you are from there, aren't you? From the world of Men?"
Gwendolin smiled shyly and nodded in agreement, then pursed her lips and asked, as confused as possible and every second getting worse.
"Hey, what makes you be so sure she is the one you think she is? Not that anyone knowing about Star Wars is really usual here, but…"
The grayhaired dúnedain smiled lightly at the hobbit-lass.
"You have a right in doubting, as I had when Aragorn first told me. But there are some evidences that cannot be denied, and all of them say your Gwendolin is my Gondolin."
"Like what…?"
The man looked down at his fidgeting fingers that played with nothing but its own knuckles.
"My family is not as important as the great houses of Man that bred heroes, like the house of Hador, Haleth or of Bëor, but the house of Túrion has its own value, and we've always been faithfull to the King. The ring of Túrion has been passed down from generation to generation since the great days of Númenor, and it was the only thing I had to give your mother when we… came together. There is no other ring like it, Gondolin, there's no chance to be mistaken."
The woman kept fingering said ring.
"But why do you keep calling me Gondolin? The nuns named me Gwendolin, or Gwen for short."
"No." He spoke lightly, even in his emotional state trying to keep his ribs in place, but visibly moved. "They must have misunderstood it. Your mother chose the name Gondolin, because of a city of the elves that was very hidden from any enemy. She loved the story and… and said you should be as protected as the city of the legend." He swallowed hard. "She only didn't know it would not be enough..."
The young woman looked from him to his fidgeting hands and back to the dúnedain warior's face.
"What happened to her?"
Brannen frowned, visibly uncomfortable with the question, and the memory of that tragic day.
"I think you know more than me. When Marcia's mother's witchcraft sent me back here, you were in her arms and... and I saw no more." He looked down, avoiding her face, and fidgeted with the brim of his blanquet. "I hoped she would be all right... but I heard you telling she died..."
Taking one of his hands in hers, the woman felt curious albeit all her world coming apart; things were so weird already, a little weirder would not be a surprise. Would it? She frowned. Gwendolin had seen too much things in Middle-earth to feel sure her parents should be ordinary people.
"Wait, my... grandma is a witch?" Brannen's deep frown was answer enough. "Did my mother have magic too?"
The dúnedain in the cot shook his head.
"No. That's why she hated me, she hoped Marcia would marry a sorcerer of her allegiance, so she would have grandchildren capable of witchcraft like herself. I was... not in her plans."
Iris almost tripped on her own feet whilst steeping down f the cot.
"Wait, waaaait..." She turned to the man with broken ribs. "You're telling you went to my world and married the daughter of a witch?"
The man lowered his gaze, ashamed. "We were not allowed to get married... But I confess I loved Marcia enough not only to marry her but to give up my very world for her."
Gwendolin frowned as she stated.
"If grandma didn't like you, then she wouldn't like me. I doubt a college graduated costume maker for a granddaughter would make her very happy."
Brannen managed to smile.
"I'm sure it wouldn't. But by the sound of it, it makes me very proud... my daughter..."
She smiled, and leaned down to hug her father gently, so as not to move his ribs. It was hard, because she waited for this moment all her life long without actually waiting, knowing she would not be adopted as at the age she got conscious of her situation it was very rare for an orphan to be adopted, and then… It was almost unfair that the day she found the one who was her father she could not even hug him properly.
"Erm, sorry by the interruption of this warm family reunion, but how in goodness name did you go to Earth, master Brannen?" Iris' curiosity was stronger than her consideration for a sensible moment. "What kind of portal did you travel through?"
The man took in a breath as deep as he could manage with his broken ribs.
"I think it is time to tell you a story..."
Gwendolin sat beside him, holding his hand.
"I will love to listen."
"And I wouldn't miss it for any money in the world!" Iris completed.
Smiling at the hobbit woman's curiosity, Brannen began.
"I was barely nineteen in 2809, under the chieftainship of Arathorn, that some years later would be father to Aragorn, the Estel you know. I was with a scouting party west of Bree, we had information that followers of the deceased Witch-King of Angmar planned to perform a ritual in the place known as the Barrow-Downs to enhance their magic powers, and we intended to prevent it if we could. The light of day was fading when a heavy mist surrounded us, and I got lost of the group. I shouted, trying to find them, and heard voices always further and further. I ran in the direction where I thought the voices were coming, stumbled on something and fell forward. I thought I had hit my head, because next thing I knew it was day again. I was worried because I couldn't find any of my companions and there was no track no be seen. I wandered for some time and noticed the sun was setting again when I found a road. It was very different from what I knew of the Great East Road, but I took anyway because I hoped to reach Bree and from there to have news of my companions and head back to our settlement. I had no idea of how far I was from Bree or any other known place."
Iris could relate to the situation.
"I have some experience in stumbling and falling in a place you didn't know existed, I know how it feels."
The dúnedain nodded.
"Then you know how confused I was and can imagine my shock when I heard the sound of a jeep coming in my direction. I imagine it was just a little less than the shock of the driver when he saw a man in leather armour and a drawn sword facing him from the middle of the road. Poor Tom, I'll never forget his face!"
"So you came to know him?"
"Yes, mister Thomas was a blessing in a young lost lad's life. He stopped the jeep, stepped out of it with raised hands and talked to me very calmly. Later I would learn that he was used to strange things happening in that site, it was close to an indian cemetery and all kind of bizarre thing made its apparition in the neighbourhood. |when he was sure I was mad of flesh and bone he convinced me to enter the jeep and took me to his house. He and his wife, lady Elizabeth, treated me like a son for the time I lived there."
"And how long has it been?"
"Almost two years. As we didn't know how to send me back, I offered to help Tom with the horses, so I wouldn't be a weigh on them, I would not feel comfortable living on their expenses when I could do some of his tough chores."
"And how did know my mother?"
"Marcia… Tom and Beth worked for her mother, Lorraine. I refuse to call her 'lady'. I got there by the end of winter, and when spring came it brought the most precious flower to me. Your mother came to the horse farm to spend some time, she was a very skilled painter and wanted to work a little with natural scenes and the horses too. I never understood why Lorraine had the horse farm, she never went there, which was lucky for us. It didn't take long for us to fall in love. Having being risen by a witch made it easy for her to believe I was from another world, and we used to spend hours just talking about our worlds. It was easier for her to explain things, she could always show it on TV or rent a VHS, while all I could do was to tell her tales of my world." He made a short pause, arranging his thoughts. "I had already decided I would not look for a way to come back, that I would stay at her side in her world, when we discovered she was pregnant. We were enthralled, we couldn't be more overjoyed, but then… Lorraine found it out, of course. And she was quite upset to find out the reason why her daughter spent so much time in the horse farm. The day she went to the farm… it was terrible. I was both poor and a muggle, whatever it means in the witch society, so I was unacceptable for her standards. Later we found out she married Marcia's father because he was rich, albeit being a muggle, but when Marcia was born a muggle too her good friends in witchery cast her out. Her hope was to marry Marcia to a wizard so she could have grandchildren that were not muggles, and that made me a nightmare for her. Long story made short, we ran away, Tom and Beth helped us to hide, and you were born. It's been too a long time since, but I will never forget the feeling of your tiny hand holding my finger, your golden halo of hair…"
This time the tough warrior was unable to hold back his tears, and let them flow freely down his cheeks. Gwendolin wiped them with her fingers, still in shock from all the information she had to process in so a little time, and to know how much she had been loved by a father she didn't remember. But he had more to say yet.
"Lorraine found us. She convinced us that she regreted being against us, that she wanted the best for you, and offered for us to live in her mansion. I had my doubts, but Marcia… Marcia was too good, too innocent, too confident… We went. As soon as we stepped into her living room she cried at me that she would send me back to the place I belonged and begun to chant a spell, and I was stuck, I could not move. Two employees from Lorraine held Marcia away from me, you were in her arms, crying. I could do nothing, none of us could do anything but to stare at each other in horror as she finished the spell and Marcia, you, everything faded from my sight. I was back in the Barrow Downs, twelve years after having disappeared. My people deemed me insane, it took a long time and effort for them to understand that I was myself."
"It is all right, Daddy, it's all right… We're together now, ok?"
"We are… but for how long?"
Then it hit her. How could she go back to earth when she had finaly found her father? That is, if it was true that he was her father…
"Wait! How can it be that you were barely nineteen when you went to earth and now you're so old when I am just twenty-two? You cannot be my father!"
"What? But I am! This is the ring of the house of Túrion! You are my daughter!"
"Mister Brannen, may I ask your age?"
He sent a severe look at the young woman who demanded on him.
"I'm one hundred seventy five, until mid winter. Why?"
Now her expression was of disbelief.
"You're kidding! What kind of fool do you take me for? Nobody lives that long, mister! What's the next lie?"
Iris was next to her and held her arm.
"Hey, Gwen, wait! I don't know if someone told you yet, but there's a time mismatch between our worlds. Don't you remember your father saying it had been twelve years here while he spent less than two years there? I waited four years to come back here, but it's been twenty-eight years for Bilbo. The time doesn't run the same way in every place!"
Still doubtfull and confused, Gwendolin kept her gaze on the man.
"But over hundred-seventy years, Iris? Nobody lives that long!"
Brannen held her gaze, gray-blue eyes shining proudly.
"I'm a Dúnedain from the House of Túrion, that rarely mingled with lesser men. For your information, the numenoreans used to live up to thrice the life span of ordinary men."
"Wow. And I was happy because hobbits live a little longer…"
"This is… this is too much for me!"
With that, a confused Gwendolin – or was it Gondolin? – ran out of the infirmary, tears running down her cheeks and a huge silvery snow dog running beside her, leaving behind a stunned hobbit woman and an elderly man with an extended hand trying to grasp the thin air, where someone he waited for for more than a century was just a moment before.
"What did I…"
"Nothing, mister Brannen, just keep calm and I'll talk to her, ok?"
He looked at Iris as his lifeguard.
"Ok. And may the Force be with you."
