South of Forochel, April 2, SA 542
THRANDUIL followed Bodvar who led him past the mounds in the village to a small hill away from the longhouse in the center of the village used as a gathering place and as the residence for Bodvar's father, Bjorn.
While Bodvar led him further away from the village and the bustle of the people, Thranduil discretely picked up a long stick. It wouldn't replace his sword, but he didn't have any weapons and knew how strong Bodvar can be, especially in his bear form. Perhaps they shouldn't have agreed to surrender their weapons at the longhouse. But Bodvar's people had required it before his injured group could be given a place to rest and heal.
Both Baldor and Eryn gave up their weapons willingly. Thranduil was certain if Elrond was in a condition to do so, he would have agreed with those two. Thranduil, however, had not been willing, and Thoron seemed to agree with him. But in the end, they did not have a justifiable reason to oppose Bjorn's request when they were in a position of asking.
Thranduil weighed the stick in his hand as he glanced around the remote area away from the heart of the village. The moss-covered roof was already green with early spring growth. Unlike the other mounds in the village, this one was built with rocks for the walls. It stood at the very top of a small hill which looked down at the village and the river. A small stream wound around the back of the house and flowed down the hill to join the river. Behind the house, you could see the snow-covered mountains in the distance.
Elrond would reprimand him for being overly cautious and for not trusting. Bodvar and his people helped them. While true, Thranduil did not know these people. Worse, these people were Men. Thranduil had seen, firsthand, how faithless Men can be if offered enough gold. Thranduil never liked Men, especially after his unpleasant experience. That dislike grew when he learned about the betrayal of Ulfang and his sons at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears from Pengolodh. It was clear Men could not be trusted.
Not all of them, Thranduil reminded himself, remembering the two siblings who had stood against the entire village of ungrateful people and their lust for gold. There were always exceptions. Buri the Dwarf was one and so was that Captain of the Silmacil. And Lord Onar. That stubborn Dwarf. And even among Men. But, that incident with those villagers had hurt him, more because he had almost died fighting to protect them from the slave traders from the east. The villagers had been grateful for their freedom, but not so grateful when those same slave traders offered them a chest full of gold for him who had been too injured to resist them. He had learned a hard way why his father avoided villages of Men during their travels. That had been over five centuries ago now, but it was a lesson he never forgot.
"My home. Build with these hands," Bodvar said with a wide grin.
"It's… different. I thought you have something important to say to me." Thranduil looked about, noting the group of boulders and the rows of tall pines in case he needed to take cover.
"Hroar! Yrsa!" Bodvar called once he arrived at the front yard which had a long table laden with food.
The door sprang open and a young boy ran out, his dark brown eyes wide open and excited. He flashed a toothless grin before Bodvar swept him up.
He squealed as the great bear of the man laughed out loud, rubbing his bearded face onto the boy.
"This my boy, Hroar, you rescued, ya?"
Thranduil raised his brows. "What do you mean? I rescued no one."
"Hroar said you did, ya, boy?"
The child nodded, pointed to Thranduil, "Pinks. Pink hair."
"Pinks?" Thranduil frowned down at the boy. He didn't appreciate the boy bringing attention to his hair which he didn't want to think about.
Bodvar pointed to Thranduil's head. "Color like pinks. Flower, tiny, sawtooth? My Yrsa's favorite, ya?"
The door opened, and a woman and a child came out. Both females were surprisingly fair with hair the color of dry grasses under summer sunlight.
All the people in the village Thranduil saw were dark-haired so their light hair surprised Thranduil. By how they looked very much like each other, Thranduil guessed their relationship.
"This lovely thing, my ooif Sif," Bodvar said as he grabbed the woman to rub his hairy face on the woman who laughed. And the younger, he padded the child's cheek, "My daughter, Yrsa. So what think you?" Bodvar asked as if he expected an answer. "She beauty, ya? My oomen most beautiful in all the mountains."
Thranduil wasn't used to having people declare the beauty of their wife and children to strangers, but he admired the man's undoubted pride and joy in his family. He placed his hand over his heart in greetings. "Please to have met your acquaintance, Mistress Sif. Miss Yrsa."
The woman giggled and hugged the girl.
"He handsome. What think you?" she said to her daughter.
The girl blushed, but squared her shoulders, then held up her head. "That is just one condition."
"Come, come," Bodvar pulled Thranduil down onto a chair, the sudden motion making him drop the stick in his hand.
"Sit. Sit," Bodvar insisted as he took a seat at the head of the table. Sif pushed a jug onto Yrsa's hands who poured mead into Thranduil's cup. The heavy honey scent of the mead mingled with the aroma of freshly grilled fish and the sour scent of the pickled vegetables making Thranduil's mouth water.
"I hope you like fish. Ee don't eat meat although Sif is from the ice bay and used to eat seals.
"Mistress Sif is from a different village?"
"She White Bear, ya?" Bodvar pointed to Sif's pale hair. Then pointing to his dark hair, he said, "We Black Bear."
"You Pink Bear?" Hroar asked, his wide eyes on Thranduil's hair.
Bodvar laughed, then mussed the boy's dark brown hair with his great hand.
"He no bear. He don't change. Ya?" Bodvar turned to him as if to ask.
"No, I don't change." Neither am I a man, Thranduil almost said out loud, but bit his tongue.
Sif took a sizeable chunk of grilled fish and loaded Thranduil's plate with it along with a heaping spoonful of pickled vegetables.
"Is he a good ahrrior?" Yrsa who had been silent spoke up, glancing at Thranduil from under her lashes.
"Ya! I fought with him against the Green-skins. Very fast. Very strong. Good ahrrior. Don't let his girlish look fool you."
Girlish? Thranduil glanced at Bodvar then at the girl. Somehow it sounded as if Bodvar was trying to convince his daughter. Still, Girlish? There was nothing girlish about him.
"He no beard and no hair on chest," Yrsa said.
Praise Valar! Thranduil bit into the fish and the vegetables, ignoring the girl looking him over. For a child, she had a peculiar taste. Perhaps he should offer her Elrond. The Half-elven had plenty of hair.
"He's young." Bodvar turned to him. "How many summers have you seen? Twenty? Twenty-two?"
Thranduil blinked. Twenty? Were these people real? He turned to the girl. "How old are you?"
The child turned her chin up again. "I turn nineteen this summer."
"She little older, ya?" Bodvar nodded gravely as if he was admitting something terrible.
"But, I am the prettiest in the town," Yrsa said. "Everyone wants my hand."
"Well, good for you." Thranduil took another bite of the fish.
"Nobody ahnts to hear about you, Yrsa. Tell us about the battle, fa," Hroar pounded on the table. Yrsa glared at the boy, but Bodvar laughed out loud.
The early afternoon sun shone down on them as Bodvar related to his family the events of the battle two nights ago. His family listened to Bodvar's slightly exaggerated tale with apt attention.
"And I swiped to the other side and the other two flew over and kicked it straight down at the horde, ya? And Thrandu over here yells at me, 'Swipe it over here, Bodvar!' And I sent it back to them, he shouts at me 'Send it back!' So whack! Whack!" Bodvar punched the air with his left then right hand. "Just like that between the five of us, ran over half of what left of Green-skins."
"But, the tree, fa, your paws not shred it?" Hroar asked wide-eyed. Bodvar's paw-like hand swiped the boy's head affectionately.
Bodvar shook his head. "This tree trunk magic, ya? My claws left no mark."
Hroar sat up, his eyes shining. Even Yrsa who listened quietly looked up with a flushed face.
"Goddess protect you, Bodvar," Sif said.
Thranduil was tempted to tell them that they had enchanted the tree trunk with a varnish spell to give it almost a steel-like coating. It had nothing to do with this 'goddess' Sif mentioned. But, Thranduil did not. There was something about them that drew his attention.
The sunlight added a gold tint, their laughter, the way Bodvar's hands grazed over his son's head, then onto his daughter's face. Something Thranduil had forgotten for a long while. Home. Family. Things he had pushed far into the shadows of his heart, a door to which he had nailed shut, burst forth and carved a painful path in Thranduil's chest.
There was a time when his own father laughed like Bodvar with his mother on his lap, a time when Thranarin joined them for dinner and the four of them laughed together under bright sunlight. It seemed so long ago now, the light bright gold, the table laden with ripe fruits of many colors. The very air had been vibrant and alive then. Thranduil held his breath, afraid the scene he was seeing in his mind would disappear.
But it was also a reminder of the family and home he no longer had. And his heart ached for his father, the only one who remained to him. His hand sought the leather-covered gems around his neck. His heart filled with a yearning for his father and the warmth of the years gone by. What would it feel to have a home again, a place to go to after a long day to be with those who he loved and who loved him?
Father, do you miss me as I miss you? Have you found peace?
Thranduil dropped his hands onto his lap and steeled his heart. What good was it to reminisce? There was a more pressing matter. Aron was still out there.
"I am grateful for the bountiful meal you have prepared to share with me, but my friends would be looking for me." Thranduil wondered why they had singled him out for this meal. He wished he didn't suspect them of anything, but he could not help the feeling that they wanted something from him, something they did not seek from other Elven soldiers.
"Ah, your friends. I not ask them here because this is for you to meet Yrsa."
"I don't understand."
"I know what my father promised. But, my children are my treasures. I wanted to be sure my Yrsa liked you."
Thranduil frowned. "Your father promised me something?" He did not remember if Bjorn had. He was talking when Elrond fell forward. Thranduil had caught the Half-elven and had stopped listening.
"Yrsa?" Bodvar turned to his daughter. The girl bit her lip, her face flushed red. She nodded.
"Ahahaha!" Bodvar laughed aloud, his joyful laughter ringing in the air. "I knew it. Good. Good." The man laughed again. Then, he surprised Thranduil by getting up suddenly, grabbing him up and pulling him into a bearish hug. "You family now."
Thranduil pulled back. "I still do not understand."
Bodvar kissed his daughter, then taking her hand, he surprised Thranduil further by taking his hand and linking it with his daughter's.
"Yrsa yours now. Be good to her, ya?
Their customs were foreign to Thranduil, but he could not mistake the intent. Thranduil blinked rapidly, taking his hand away.
"I…uh…" his head which was usually quick to turn was a vast empty space. "I really do not understand."
"You save Hroar, ya? It is our practice to offer life for life. That is how I won Sif. I saved her brother, and her father gave me her. You saved my son; I give you my daughter."
"But, I didn't save your son."
"You did, you did," Hroar said. "Very foggy morning I fell and I thought I died, but you came down and saved me."
Then the fog cleared. Thranduil remembered leaving Eryn and Elrond on that foggy morning. He had heard a strange mix of sounds, half beast and half human. The receding fog had transported the forest into a different world. When he followed the low keening, he came upon a strange scene of a white bear in rage and two large moose fighting a group of wolves.
When Thranduil shot down one of the wolves, the beasts turned tail, and the white bear and the moose followed after them.
He had stood and watched the bear and the moose disappear into the misty forest when he heard a noise from underneath him. The fog was lifting, but a thick carpet of fog had remained deep enough to reach his ankles. It was only his instincts that had kept him from falling off the cliff beneath him. A young moose calf wailed, and next to it was a baby black bear knocked unconscious.
"That baby bear was you?"
The boy smiled widely, nodding enthusiastically.
"And that white bear was your wife?" Thranduil glanced at Sif who smiled back. "I see now. But you had not known that there was a ledge there. And I wouldn't have known it if that calf did not wail." He had climbed down and carried the bear and the calf back up. While he was caring for the calf, the baby bear had woken up. Thranduil had checked it for any injury and when he was satisfied and let it go, the baby bear had ran away. He had not thought much about it until the two moose returned.
"I thought I had lost him," Sif said as she pulled Hroar into her arms.
"Well, as much as I would like to take the credit, I did nothing except to carry the bear and the calf up from the ledge. You and the moose were the ones who fought off the wolves."
"If left alone, he would have died. You saved Hroar. Sif thought him dead," Bodvar pulled both his wife and son into his arms. The pain in his voice stirred Thranduil and reminded him of his father's unfathomable eyes the last time Thranduil saw him in that swan ship.
"Whatever you think you owe me, you have returned it by coming to our aid at that glade. And your people have opened your home to care for our wounded. It is we who owe you thanks." With his hand on his heart, Thranduil inclined his head.
Bodvar shook his head. "I supposed to be there and help Hroar in his first changing, but the waterfall so loud, and I busy with preparation, I not hear Sif calling, ya." The man's eyes filled with tears. "I almost lost Hroar because of that. Sif and Hroar came back to the camp, I so angry, ya? I ran after the group of the oolves. I after them to loose my anger on them, not to help you. Didn't know you there until after oolves gone and I saw your hair. And I knew you the one Hroar said."
"I not believe him," Sif laid her hand on Hroar's shoulder. "Hroar said hair like the pinks and I told him there no such thing."
"But I can't marry your daughter."
The smile disappeared from Bodvar's face and on his wife and daughter.
"You don't like Yrsa? She not lovely?"
"She is lovely, but I can't take her. We don't…we don't take children from other people, certainly not to marry."
"She not child. She ooman. This year, her nineteenth summer. Full grown now, ya? Most ooman marry at fifteen."
Thranduil shook his head. A girl who had not even seen her nineteenth summer? She was a babe even if he were to entertain the idea, which he didn't.
"Where I come from, we do not marry strangers. We believe marriage is a sacred meeting of two hearts that beat as one. That does not happen overnight and definitely not among two strangers." According to Thranarin, his mother had his father wait for a century before accepting his proposal of marriage. And that wasn't considered very long of a wait among his people.
"Yrsa no stranger. You met her and she met you, ya?
"Out of the question. It is not done where I come from."
Bodvar's face hardened, all laughter gone now.
"Among my people, it is an insult to turn down gift given with honor. Yrsa not beggar. Her dowry bigger than any other ooman in the village. I give her many goats, sacks of grain, and jars full of sweetest mead. If you no home, I give you land here."
"It is nothing to do with what you can give me." Thranduil glanced at Yrsa whose face turned red, but not with embarrassment.
"I not marry a man who not want me," Yrsa said, her fists clenched. With her head held high, she entered the house, banging the door loudly.
"I didn't mean to be disrespectful," Thranduil said, wanting to kick at something. He wished Elrond was here. The Half-elven would be better at explaining things like this than he was.
Bodvar picked up his palm, a clear sign, telling him to stop. The man glanced at his wife who took Hroar and went inside the house after Yrsa.
"You think my Yrsa not good enough?"
"Please, I do not mean that. I just cannot marry."
"Cannot? You married?"
"No. Right now, I am chasing after the Orcs because my brother is taken. I don't have time to think about things like this."
Thranduil stared down Bodvar whose dark brown eyes probed.
"Green-skins took your brother?"
"Yes. That is why soldiers from my people were out there, looking for him. I cannot stay here or talk about marriage and wife. My brother's life is at stake. If you are grateful, help me find him. Please."
Bodvar sat back down onto his chair. Thranduil did not know what Bodvar could do for him. Perhaps the man can give him a ride or help him find Aron's trail again. But, he could not stay, not when both Silmacils he wanted to avoid were here. Thranduil did not know what the Silmacils could do now, with the soldiers injured, they could not possibly insist on taking him back to Lindon, can they?
"White Bears send us a raven. They saw the movement of the Green-skins and the oolves all gathering by this mountain near their home."
Thranduil's ears perked. "Can you take me to this mountain?"
Thranduil was certain that is where they took Aron. And if this was Sauron, the Sinda was certain that Sauron wanted him. The voice in his head, the pain in his arm, they all made sense now. It had been calling for him for the past several months. Thranduil had tried to block the voice from his head, but after hearing what that Orc said, everything clicked into place. That Orc, however, wanted not only him but Elrond as well.
That also meant another thing, that if Sauron knew he and Elrond were here, these people and this village would be in danger.
"I could send raven to Sif's brother. He clan chief there."
"Can someone give me a ride to meet him or someone who can tell me where the Orcs are gathering?" If Sauron wants him and Elrond, then they should not stay together. It would only make it easier for this necromancer. But, if he leaves, Sauron would have to divide his forces. It would be easier for the Silmacils to defend Elrond. And Thranduil was certain Elrond would be their priority. Gil-galad had no heir. Celebrimbor and Elrond were next in line should anything happen to their king.
Thranduil did not worry about other soldiers. Sauron would not bother with them. If he and Elrond were not here, there was no reason for Sauron to send the Orcs here.
"Is there someone who can give me a ride today?" Earlier he left, it was better for everyone.
"My father was having the feast tonight to announce the betrothal of Yrsa and you, but I see that will not happen." Bodvar turned back to his house as he got up. He looked at his house then at the village that lay before him. He turned to Thranduil and said with a resolute voice. "I take you."
Thranduil was grateful, but at the same time, he knew what danger they were walking into. He felt sorry that he even entertained the thought that Bodvar may have had an ulterior motive for helping him and his people. Perhaps he should learn to trust people more. The friends he had made, were they not all strangers once?
"I just need a ride there, nothing more. You have your family to take care of here. They need you here, Bodvar."
"It is our way, ya? To give life for life. I take you and help you find your brother, ya?"
Ulfang (Sindarin. Ugly beard)-During the First Age, some easterlings crossed the Blue Mountains and entered Beleriand. Ulfang was chief of one of those group of people. He served under Caranthir, fifth son to Feanor. He and his three sons joined in the Battle of the Unnumbered Tears, but he was employed by Morgoth and betrayed Maedhros by delaying him with false reports and later by attacking Maedhros' army from the rear. Elves never forgot this betrayal and it became the seed of distrust between the Men and the Elves. (another victory for Morgoth)
Battle of Unnumbered Tears (Nirnaeth Arnoediad in Sindarin)-the fifth and the last great battle fought in Beleriand. Elves utterly lost this battle. Gil-galad's father, the High King Fingon, and the Dwarven King Azaghal, died in this battle, giving Morgoth complete control of the north.
Pengolodh (Sindarin, teaching sage)—born to Noldorin lord and Sindarin lady, he is known as one of the great loremasters after Rumil and Feanor. He is also referred to as "Sage of Noldor". He was born in Nevrast at Beleriand during First Age. He wrote Annals of Beleriand (stories of the First Age) and edited Annals of Aman (stories of Noldor in Valinor).