CHAPTER 15 - Counsels Taken
Not even the slightest gust of wind disturbed the silence of the night. Within the dark, musty and sparsely adorned space which made the inside of a shack, one could discern the faint light of a small candle. On one side of the shack lay Kal with her eyes closed, her brow lined with beads of feverish sweat. Her shoulder had been crudely bandaged, and a widening red stain seeped through the material. Half awake and half drifting amid shadows, the half-orc barely recalled the events that followed after she had been so shamefully struck down in plain sight.
"I thought she would harm Celeg, forgive me," the old man had said to the elf, hovering over her, and Kal saw hard grey eyes stare into her own. She was angry, nay she was furious. She would show him what he could do with his plea of forgiveness.
She had then tried to halfheartedly pull at the arrow embedded under her clavicle, felt the elf roughly swat her hand away. And then all went black.
Now she stirred anew and dimly recalled her whereabouts. From the sound and feel of it, she was reclined on a cot of straw and hay. Kal tried to move but the decision proved an ill one as the pain only sharpened in intensity. A moan of pain escaped her, causing the half-orc to immediately clamp her mouth shut. No weakness, show no weakness, were the words which had kept her alive in Mordor. But now she was weak, and it certainly showed. How had she been so foolishly unaware of the new presence until it was all but too late? Kal was suddenly very grateful this was not Mordor. As more of her senses returned she discerned a flickering light, and voices. One voice she knew well. Moving only a fraction, her good hand fumbling about, the half-orc felt soft fur and a wet nose. Eron was grumbling and turning, but also offering much needed warmth. As her leg tilted to the right Kal felt another body strewn alongside her. It must be the human child. She sighed at the hilarity of her condition.
"And then?" the elf was asking.
Kal did not wish to drop eaves on what was being said, and indeed she tried not to. But it was quite hard to unwind her mind presently, and all the harder to attempt and rein it.
"As first news of the outcome reached us, we fled with the rest. Eowyn was adamant in staying to face them. But when she saw the skies darkening and the Black Land rising in ash and flame, she relented. We fled and hid where we could, as did others. You recall the chaos which ensued. None of the larger known cities were safe. We eventually ceased our flight, and settled in what we hoped was a hidden place near the river Serni, in Lebennin. I need not tell you it was a hard and hidden life. A child came of our union." The old man paused.
Legolas regarded the one who had once so valiantly ridden to his death during another war, in another age. The ravages of time upon the Second Children never failed to astonish him. The only reminiscence of what he knew of the likeness of Faramir, captain of Gondor, were his eyes. Eyes still burning bright and ruthless, despite their light being marred by much hardship and toil. His hair went past his shoulders in waves of white and grey, and a white unkempt beard hid half of his face. He wore garments which barely held together, and ever the ranger he held his weapons close. A bow and a worn quiver of arrows reclined to the wall on his side.
"But the years had not been kind to my Eowyn. She had fought with the rest of us, bled with the rest of us, all the while caring for the only child we ever had. When she passed, Elboron was fifteen. We buried her by a willow tree near the Serni. If ever I leave here, I should wish to go to her again."
Legolas tried to rein the emotions washing over him at the tidings. Eowyn. The brave, beautiful, fiery woman of Rohan. She had astounded him, as few mortals ever had, or ever would. And the memory of her, young and golden with the harsh winds of Edoras sifting through her hair would be forever ingrained in his mind, his heart.
"I regret your loss," he said solemnly, looking to the small wooden table sat between them where the candle burned. There were no chairs, and both stood with their backs against the uneven and mossy wall of the shelter.
Faramir shook his head. "None more than I, my friend. None more than I."
The elf allowed the former ranger a respite before continuing his life story. They had spoken of many things that evening after their unlikely meeting. The last person alive, that either of them had expected to find. And yet, here they were. Despite his anger and ever growing resent at the Valar, Legolas could not help but wonder.
"And then Elboron grew into manhood," Faramir continued, "and in turn found a maid of his liking among our then small but knit community. Miniel."
"So then, the child-"
"Celeg is my grandson."
"I see."
"Then more raids and attacks came, and it was clear to us that safety was no more. So we decided to leave, all too late. We lingered, overconfident in our abilities." He shook his head. "They were upon us one night, and many perished. We barely escaped with our lives, Miniel, Celeg and I. My son was not so lucky," and his voice was thick, the words stunted.
Legolas closed his eyes tightly. "Faramir..."
"I led us as best I could," the man continued, not wanting to linger, "knowing a few places in Ithilien we could attempt to dwell in. We found this spot. But then, one day Miniel went by the Anduin to wash a few rags. She never returned."
The elf knew not what to say. This man was past any words of comfort and regret.
"And so, you linger here?..."
"In hopes she does."
A fool's hope. But he would not tell the old man this. How could he?
"And what about your companion?" the old ranger changed the topic rather abruptly.
Steel blue collided with grey. "What of her?"
Faramir paused, and when he resumed his thought his eyes were strange. "At first, from afar I took her for one of your kind."
When the elf stood silent the former ranger went on, his eyes never leaving the elf. "How have you come across each other?"
"Is this an interrogation, captain Faramir?" the elf asked with a sigh, though his words held no bite.
The old man studied the elf before speaking. "Nay, prince. But think you not that I ought to know what lies at my doorstep? Such as it is," he added bitterly, looking to the sparse and ruined surroundings.
Legolas bit the inside of his cheek. He gave a slight nod. "I came upon her during one of the slave scouting missions I surveyed. She aided me. Somewhat."
That much was true, Kal thought from her corner. She waited for the elf to speak of his capture, and her role in it all. But to her amazement, he mentioned neither. She wanted to avert her hearing, but it was near impossible now to focus her thoughts elsewhere.
"Do you know what she is?" Faramir was asking.
The elf grimaced. "I care not what she is," he finally said. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
"Legolas, the years have caught with me and time has shown me much less mercy than it does you. But my eyes are still sharp, and clearly discerned the weapon she wields. And I have heard that accent from fouler mouths and viler faces. But it is one and the same. I must ask, for we each have suffered much under the ruin of His rule."
The elf looked to the dagger he was twisting in his hand, his face devoid of any outward emotion.
"Why do you travel with a servant of Mordor?" grey eyes were hard on him.
The following words surprised the half-orc.
"A former servant of Mordor."
The old man tapped his fingers against the wood. The two old acquaintances regarded each other eye to eye. "You believe this?"
Legolas looked briefly to the darkened corner of the abode where Kal lay covered in crudely stitched furs.
"The arrow had been dipped in a weakening resin. She will be asleep for some time yet," came the severe yet hedging words.
Legolas drew his gaze away from Kal and set it on Faramir. He could hear the change in her breathing and a quickened heartbeat, as even and alert as many nights before. She was not asleep. Then again, it mattered not if she heard. "I sense no danger from her," he said tiredly, as if it took from him much to say so.
Faramir sighed. "Forgive me, Legolas. If she is worthy of your trust, then I have no reason to doubt her."
The elf looked away. "I cannot say that I trust her. But there is honesty in her goal."
"Which is?"
"You are far too curious about my traveling companion," the elf grinned with narrowed eyes.
"You speak to a former ranger and captain of Gondor. Inquisitiveness was a needful trait to have, and one hard to relinquish," the old man quipped, though not unkindly.
The elf mulled over his thoughts for a few moments. "She aims to be free of her bonds, live on her own."
Faramir smiled sadly. "Oh, my friend. You have ever been the idealist."
Legolas scoffed weakly, but could not help a smile.
Kal closed her eyes, fatigue taking hold again. I care not what she is... Drifting back into sleep the words stayed with her, though why that was, the half-orc thought she might never truly know.
The elf and human stood for a while in silence, the lonesome flame of the candle flitting across their faces. At length the elf spoke.
"Will you not come with, Faramir? I can lead you and the boy to a safer place-"
The old ranger shook his head wearily. "I cannot leave Legolas. I cannot. If Miniel should return..."
The elf looked to his old friend, who suddenly appeared much, much older than before. His grey eyes dimmed with unspoken grief. But there was also hopeless hope, the kind he was so familiar with.
"Faramir..."
"I know, a fool's hope-"
The elf raised a hand, now shamed that it was the very thing he had thought earlier. "I am, possibly, the last who should judge such things," he said with a sad smile. "I only, wish you would reconsider. For Celeg."
Faramir looked into the fire. "You noticed he never speaks."
The elf nodded.
"He had come to say sparse words, as children do. But then came that night. That night, when he saw his father speared through, and his mother barely escape from being raped and burnt to death. It is since that night that he has not uttered a single word."
Legolas shuttered his senses to the overwhelming anguish coming in tides from the mortal. Once, he could have withstood it. Once he could be the pillar others could lean on with their grief and sorrow. Not so today. Now it depleted him.
"And if there is but a sliver of a chance that she returns, that they are reunited... at least that. At least to have his mother."
When the elf met his eyes he saw the man's were full. He only nodded once in understanding before lowering his head.
"You are free to dwell here until your companion is fit to travel again."
The elf brought a hand to his chest and inclined his head respectfully. "Gratitude, my friend."
"It is not much, but this I can do," the old man sighed.
Once the candle died Legolas rose, leaving Faramir to head into a corner to rest. He would stand watch tonight, all things considered. He mused over hope, and how it did not elude even those most battered by fate. How it brimmed and heralded change and pushed forward the most unfulfilled of dreams, and the most outlandish of wishes. The elf noticed he had come to pass by the now truly sleeping figure of Kal. In the darkness his vision caught a sight of her still form as she lay on her back, with Eron curled to her side. The boy had somehow crawled beside the wolf and slept with one arm placed over the animal. Three heartbeats were pulsing in a slow cadence, roughly in the same rhythm.
Aye, even the most outlandish of wishes.
His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he disappeared through the stooped entrance, quiet and swift as a shadow into the listless night.