CHAPTER FOUR
If my mother were here, she'd be shocked. Her only daughter, dry heaving on the ground as I recover from what a five-mile run through dense forest. You'd think I had been chased.
No, I was just trying to keep up with them. There's something otherworldly about their stamina, keeping up their speed as they run, like deer, through barely-there forest paths. They know their way back like homing pigeons, but I... it's only a matter of time before I get lost on one of these morning runs. And knowing them, they wouldn't bat an eye.
It's training.
The conditions of my release from prison was so: I'm under the watch of Eryn Lasgalen's guard. If they're trying to be lowkey about it, it doesn't work very well. I feel eyes on the back of my neck wherever I go. Lariel's kind as ever - keeping pace with me on the morning run, giving her regrets when she has to leave, and catching up with me in time for meals. The rest of the elves..
Oh, yeah. About that.
I feel more nauseous as I remember. It was when I'd asked Lariel why everyone's ears were pointed, and she'd looked at me in disbelief for a few minutes. Then she'd explained what she was. What everyone here was. Immortal. Undying. The word for their species was edhel. She had told me the difference between us: I was firya - human. That was why everyone treats me with suspicion, like I'm an intruder. Why I'd had bows drawn on me that morning, weeks ago, when I'd opened my eyes in this forest.
Even the forest seems to be pushing me out sometimes. Like it knows I don't belong here. Like I'm breathing the wrong air. Just this morning, I'd come back - maybe the better term is stumbled back - to a few elves sticking around in the training yard, giving me condescending looks. It was as if they'd expected me to get eaten back there.
Or worse.
There's always a worse in situations like this.
I wipe sweat from my brow and push myself to my feet with a grunt. "Don't talk to me," is the first sentence out of my mouth.
Ettrian, whose mouth gapes like a fish and then slowly curls into a smile, dips his head towards me. "You must have the ears of an owl if you could hear me approaching, Leoma. Are you walking away from me?"
I am. Ettrian is... it's hard to explain Ettrian. He's tall, handsome in the annoying way that ellyn tend to be. His shoulder-length, burnished auburn hair is tied back behind his pointed ears, and his glittering smile betrays sharp, white teeth. Green eyes twinkle with mirth at my expense.
If I didn't know any better, I'd say he likes me. He's always following me around. Something about firya - about me - is funny to him. Why else would he always be laughing at me?
You know it's rough when this guy and Lariel are the only two people who talk to you.
"Yeah, I am," I say over my shoulder. My thighs burn from the exercise, but I force myself forward. I'm thirsty, but the fountain of bubbling spring water we use to drink is surrounded by a few elves in armor. They're all pretty, but one stands out with brilliant golden hair and a thin circlet resting on his brow.
Lasgalen. He's always hanging around, so I've gotten used to him. He's kind - his blue eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles - but... he's still the same man who'd pointed an arrow at my throat the morning I arrived here.
I square my shoulders and march towards them. I would normally be shy around them, but I refuse to to show any signs of weakness in front of Ettrian. It's like the advice for bears: just slowly walk away.
I know he's following me, though, because after I push my way through the ring of elves and dish a ladleful of water, he sits on the edge of the fountain, hands resting against the rim, and face tilted up towards me. "You shouldn't ignore your golodh, Leoma. What would our prince say of this behavior?"
The son of the Eldatár - Lasgalen - doesn't seem to be paying attention to us. My eyebrows crease, and I cast a brief look to Ettrian. "He'd probably say you're being a.. an ass." I finish in English. Nobody's taught me Sindarin swear words yet... which is probably good. Could delicate Elvish ears even handle the sordid bog-water I spit half of the time?
Probably not.
But from the way Ettrian is looking at me, I realize he's understood my meaning. He opens his mouth to speak, then appears to rethink his decision. And then, after a few seconds: "I'd think he'd rather suggest you wash your mouth. Let's ask him."
"No!" I fling my hands towards him, as if that'll stop the redhead from speaking any further.
It doesn't.
"Lasgalen!" Ettrian calls, dodging me, his own hands cupped around his mouth. The prince is standing just feet away, and hesitates a few minutes before turning to us. My gaze immediately falls to the ground - focusing on the toes of his shiny boots. It's habit; I don't like looking him in the eye.
It's not that he's unkind, or even ugly. God, the opposite. He has the handsome, chiseled face of an actor - angular and masculine - but that's what makes him intimidating. His body shadows the pair of us - Ettrian and I - as he approaches. I'm not small by any means, but like most edhel, he's over six feet.
I bend my torso forward. A bow is the common form of respect here - although not everyone gives Lasgalen that privilege. Ettrian doesn't. But as he's said to me, the pair of them have run around together since they were kids. Two thousand years ago, or something.
If he really expects me to believe that.. no. It's too much.
"Is training faring well?" Lasgalen asks Ettrian, the braids in his hair swinging slightly as he looks at me. "Leoma, are you alright?"
"Yes," Ettrian says impatiently, clapping his hand against my shoulder. I emit a noise somewhere between a squawk and a sob. "She always looks like she has a toad stuck in her mouth. Unfortunate, isn't it?"
I want to hit him back, but that probably wouldn't be a good move in front of the prince. As painful as it is to admit, Ettrian's probably right. I'm not happy here, so why would I look like I was? I just know that my expression has turned even more sour, and I give him a glare evil enough to kill. He doesn't shrink back. I'll have to work on that.
The look Lasgalen gives him, however, does make him shut his fat mouth. I find a newfound respect growing in me for the prince, but not enough to make me forgive him. He glances back at me, his pale eyes meeting mine, and offers me an apologetic smile. It falters when I don't return the expression. "I am glad you summoned me, though, Leoma," he starts, and I say, "But I didn't," and Ettrian holds back a snort. Lasgalen takes it in stride. "Having spoken with Daelen and the guard leaders, we have determined you will be quite ineffectual in the field. Until you are more proficient in weaponry, you will be assigned to stable duty."
"Perhaps you will be of use then," Ettrian chimes in, and Lasgalen doesn't correct him. Why would he bother? I am pretty useless. "But I doubt it. If you are incapable with a mock sword, how can we trust you with our horses?"
The prince turns on his heel, not unlike the queen bees of my high school, and returns to his group from earlier. I'm flooded with relief: both that he's gone, and that I don't have to deal with sword practice this afternoon.
"Did you even understand what he said?" The redhead next to me asks, reaching for the ladle to scoop water out of the fountain. I sit on the rim, placing my head in my hands. "You're still here?" I grumble in English. I can just tell Ettrian is rolling his eyes. He has a talent for annoying me even when he's out of my line of sight.
But, yes - I had understood what the prince said. There isn't much to do in my free time besides study, and Lariel is a good teacher. I spend a lot of my evenings in the library, poring over books that I can barely read. I had a scrap of paper translating the Tengwar alphabet into English sounds. If I tried hard enough, I could usually get through one chapter a night before bed. I'm glad my speech is improving, because it gives me chance to tell Ettrian to stick it up his ass.
"Do you want me to go?" Ettrian feigns shock. "It is almost time for me to take up sentry. Shall I show you to the stables before I go?"
I wave him off with a flop of my hand. "Don't bother. I know the way - Lariel showed me."
When I look back at him, he's giving me a lopsided smile. "Be good. Remember, you can only get away with trouble when you're with me."
"Because you're the one causing the trouble," I reply, and he doesn't argue. With a last wave in my direction, he trots off, and I hope I don't see him for hours. Days, if I'm lucky. But I know that won't happen.
After a few more moments of rest, I force myself to stand. My calf muscles ache in protest, but I keep moving, past the elves speaking in low tones, past the training field, and, taking a sharp turn, I enter a deeper part of the city that I'd only been to once.
The stable houses around forty horses, that I knew, and from what Lariel told me, these horses were only used on expeditions out of Felegoth. Since the city-state didn't trade much with firya settlements - part of the reason everyone was so wary of me - the steeds were kept for hunts and for the use of long travel. I knew I was close when I could smell it: the comforting, earthy scent of manure and hay.
My mom had kept a few horses when I was growing up, so I'm glad to be around something familiar. Barns are like my second home. Lasgalen probably didn't assign me here on purpose, but I thank my lucky stars he did. I'm walking in to warmth and the low rumble of content horses. A few look up at me curiously when I enter. There's nobody else here - just me and them.
I approach the nearest stall slowly and gaze in wonder at the creature within. When I had come here before with Lariel, she'd rushed me through, not given me time to properly say hello. Now I extend my fist towards the mare, admiring her powerfully arching neck as she extends her head towards me. Nostrils expand and warm breath puffs against my skin.
I wish I had a treat to give her. When I mumble, "Sorry, girlie. I'll bring one next time," her eyes gleam with an intelligence not usually found in animals. I rub my hand under her mane one last time before assessing the stables. I'd later learn that the groom was a man of few words, respectful but not friendly, by the name of Haldôr. I would be his second apprentice - the first being what passed for a teenager in the Edhel species, Gwedhion, a smooth-skinned boy unfairly taller than myself.
Haldôr's way of bossing around was to bark orders at Gwedhion and wait for the boy to pass them on to me. I catch onto this pretty quickly while helping the kid - I could only guess he was somewhere in his two-hundreds, despite looking fifteen, which made me vaguely uncomfortable - and quickly built up a camaraderie with him. Maybe he's scared of me - haven't quite figured it out yet - but he patiently stands there and listens to me coo and gush over the horses that I'm brushing. Haldôr even has to break up a game of flick-the-hoof-clipping between us.
Don't like that guy... Gwedhion seems cool, though.
By the time we're dismissed, it's well after sundown, and my feet ache from standing on them nearly all day. I wave goodbye to Gwedhion - he's not a member of the guard, and lives with his parents, which I think is kind of cute for a guy one-hundred and eighty years my senior - and make my way back to the barracks.
Today... I'll be honest. That wasn't so bad. Compared to yesterday, and the day before - its events at the training field proven in the bruises on my arms and shins - I actually.. maybe... had a little fun. Would I let myself admit that? Or maybe the better question was, should I?
As a general rule, I don't really like having fun among people that don't like me. It's the same reason you wouldn't hang out with a gun-toting racist.
But... these people aren't like that. When I enter the dining hall and Lariel sees me, beckoning me over with a gentle wave of her hand, I can admit that much. They're not all that bad.
"Well? Tell me how badly you failed!"
Okay, Ettrian is definitely that bad.
As soon as I sit down across from Lariel, he squishes in the chair beside me, plunking his plate of food down with a thump. Lariel ignores him, bless her heart, and I've already gotten used to doing that. "Good evening, Leoma. Your day went well?"
I pile some food - roast boar, apples, flaky herbed bread - onto my plate and nod. "It did, actually. I enjoyed it." I send a dirty look at Ettrian. He grins through a mouthful of food. This guy must have missed the memo that elves are supposed to be ethereal and polite.
Or maybe he's half Goblin? I haven't figured it out yet.
"Judging by your head on your shoulders, I'd say you impressed Haldôr, too," Ettrian says, picking at his food. Between the two of them - Ettrian and Lariel - I wonder how I ended up attracting them both to me. Kind, pretty Lariel and... this guy.
"Don't listen to him. He's a goat," Lariel says quickly, which sums up my feelings of Ettrian exactly. If there was a more egregious word for him, we all know what I would say.
"Excuse me, I'm right here," Ettrian butts in, and I wrinkle my nose at his leer. "You're disgusting, you know that?"
From his expression - a toothy smile dotted with remnants of his meal - he does know that. I debate asking Lasgalen for a new archery teacher - but then I remember how nervous I get, and... maybe that's not a good idea.
So, stuck with the rat it is.
Mealtimes and training aside, I don't have to spend that much time around him. I'm able to fall into a routine: as I build up my endurance on the morning runs, I'm able to get to combat training faster, and then munch on some fruit as I head to the stables - suffer a few hours of Haldôr's drunken, bossy stupor - and, if I have a little time, practice archery before dinner. Then study before bed, and wake up the next morning to do it all over again.
I'm not a girl that likes repetition. But the days dragging by gives me less and less of a chance to think about my circumstances. Sure, the fuckers still exchange bets on whether or not I'll make it back from the morning run. And, yes, I do get into trouble for nailing Ettrian in the butt with a mock arrow.
The horrible truth remains: weeks pass by and I'm no closer to getting back to my family. There's only enough time for me to think about that in the few minutes between my head hitting the pillow and my brain shutting down for the night.
And, sometimes, I'll allow myself to forget that these people aren't human, and I don't belong among them.
It's easier that way.
. .ㅤ THE GREENWOOD GUARDㅤ. .
AUTHOR'S NOTE. The Sindarin used in this chapter is translated from elfdict dot com's dictionary, "Parf Edhellen". There may be some mistakes, but I've structured the sentences as best I can given the resources we have on Sindarin! I'll provide translations and explanations on why I used these in chapters where Sindarin, Westron, or any other Middle Earth language is prevalent. If you enjoy the story, please leave a review! Shameless self promotion: I'm writing another fic set in The Silmarillion, please check it out on my profile!
TRANSLATIONS
Edhel - "elf". I've already mentioned eledh as another translation of elf, so for the sake of the story, edhel is the species context and eledh is the cultural context.
Firya - "human".
Golodh - "teacher", literally translating to 'one of the wise folk'.
Lasgalen - "Greenleaves". The formal name of Legolas and a particle of 'Eryn Lasgalen', the Sindarin term for Mirkwood, or "forest of green leaves".