The two walked silently away from the castle, across the low hills towards
the campsite. Tenmelion and Kerrinais had already returned, astride their
mounts. When they saw Legolas and Kizea, both galloped off to meet them.
Pulling hard on the reins of Moaanen, Kerrinais was first to stop. Moaanen
was fidgety coming from the forest, and reared on her hind legs. Gently
patting her neck, Legolas looked up at the elf.
"What news?" Legolas asked looking at his friend, "Have you found Mithrandir?"
"Nay," he replied looking back to the forest, "All is quiet. Are you sure Mithrandir is come here?"
Legolas sighed as he gazed over the mist. Only now were the sun's rays beginning to burn off the fog of the morning, revealing a spectacular open field with flowers and rambling hills. Legolas tried not to think of the lush greenery transformed into a savage battlefield. Kerrinais too surveyed the area as if he were in another place and time. Kizea knew that both elves had been indelibly marred by the battle. She could understand Legolas, but Kerrinais was somewhat more introverted and spoke little of his past while in her presence. She finally decided it was not worth the effort, and fixed her concentration on more serious matters.
"We must do SOMETHING," she said losing her patience, "If the wizard is in the area, then we MUST find him. I will ride forth to the northwest, along the Bruinen. He is, I presume, like most creatures? In need of food and water? Perhaps I shall find him along the river's edge, or in the other elven city you spoke of, what was it? Imladris?"
Both Legolas and Kerrinais glanced sideways at each other.
"We all may ride north along the river, four sets of eyes are better than one," Tenmelion said, "And I don't suppose you have better than an elf's vision when hiding behind a mask."
Kizea was annoyed.
"I need no help," she replied angrily, "Go where you will, but my horse is bent on the Bruinen and Imladris."
Indeed, the bickering within the group had subsided greatly in the short time they were riding together, but not completely. Yet, in this sorrowful place, Kerrinais had grown tired of all the discord. Legolas was not the only elf in the group that had lost a loved one in the battle at Isodor. Kerrinais's own sister, Alneinwen, who rode side-by-side with the queen, had also fallen to Rakal. In an unusual bid for peace within the group, Kerrinais, spoke up.
"He is right about one thing Kizea, all of us looking may bring about better results. In any case, you are now wandering in elf lands, although it may not seem like it. You should at least have some company that might explain away your presence. Legolas and I are well known here. I do not know if Gandalf has passed this way or no, but one thing I am certain of, come alone to Imladris, you would find less of a welcome than you did in Mirkwood."
Kizea's eyed raised. The Mirkwood elves, then, were not the most inhospitable of their kind? It was finally agreed that they should ride north along the magical elven river, the Bruinen, which itself runs through the elven city of Rivendell, home of Lord Elrond. Legolas actually had no intentions of journeying to Rivendell, but he had also decided not to break up the group at that time. His plans were to continue to the Eyries to find Gwaihir the Windlord, who, as far as they all knew, was transporting the Stone of Anor to Gandalf, seeking his council. None of the group had seen Gwaihir fly overhead, which was a discouraging sign to all. Gwaihir was not in the area looking for Gandalf, which led the elves to believe they were searching for the wizard in the wrong vicinity.
It was an eight day journey from Isodor to Rivendell, and Legolas thought to leave the group on the fourth or fifth day, circumventing the city and traversing the High Pass with Kizea in tow; the north-most crossing over the Misty Mountains. Once across, they would be but 3 or 4 days journey to the Eyries, if they could make it that far. There were but four ways to cross the mountain chain, which cut across Middle-Earth, North to South. Legolas was certain that Gandalf had not journeyed to the Gap of Rohan, nor to Moria, the ancient city of the dwarves, rumored to have lately been peopled with Sauron's goblins. He shuddered thinking about Moria, and quickly blotted the thought from his mind. Thus far, they had not crossed paths with Gandalf over the Pass of Balsor. The only way left then was the High Pass, with it's treacherous snow-capped peaks and bitterly cold winds.
However, the elves thought little of the weather. Snow or rain or heat of day had little effect on them, but Kerrinais and Legolas both had noticed Kizea's reactions to the blistering heat on the Anduin plains. Although she attempted not to show it, she wiped the sweat from her neck often during the heat of the day or huddled close to the fire at night. Despite all of the elven rumors regarding the indestructibility of Fendowan warriors, she did eat and sleep and bruise. The elves surmised that Kizea was, in fact, entirely mortal. Legolas and Kerrinais both wondered secretly if Kizea knew.
The days were cooler now in the higher elevations, and the Kizea was grateful. Her injured hand, which had been merely an annoyance in Tuluth, was now burning and swollen. Her fingers could hardly bend, and she kept her hand concealed under her tunic or underneath her long shirtsleeve in a bid to keep the elves from discovering her weakness. Dislocating her finger had been only painful, but the knife wound she had sustained at the tavern was worse. She often felt sick to her stomach, and sweaty. She was losing what little appetite she had, and she was lethargic. She realized she had to do something or she would soon collapse. To be attacked by Melune or one of her the other Fendowan in such a condition would be certain death. So that first night away from Isodor, after the horses had been groomed and fed, the firewood gathered, and the elves left to make their rounds of the surrounding perimeter, she retreated secretly in the direction of the river, and she did so for several nights thereafter.
Little time was actually spent at their campsites. Almost as soon as it was set, the elves left and searched the surrounding areas for signs of the wizard, or Melune. When the elves departed from camp, Kizea would either ride to the river or walk, depending on the river's nearness. Here she attempted to heal her hand. Leaning over a boulder on her stomach, she gingerly dipped her fingers into the elven river, which was rumored to have healing powers. The water was cold, and it stung the tips of her fingers at first. But as she held her hand beneath the water, a sense of calm seemed to come over her, and her mind began to drift to the mesmerizing sounds of the current rushing over other boulders in the river's path.
"You'll not get better that way," Legolas said stepping up to her, "I believe I can help you."
Kizea's attention snapped back as she jerked her hand from the water. She watched the elf calmly wade directly into the river until the water was up to his hips. He stood there, his hand outstretched to her. Although the moon was only halfway visible, there was no cloud cover that night. It reflected brightly upon the water, betraying its exact likeness in areas where the current was not strong. Legolas too, being an elf, emanated his own light from his body. He was a lantern in the middle of a magical river on a moonlit night, the fairest of all the Mirkwood elves. It was a picture from which the Fendowan could not remove her gaze and Kizea watched him with fascination. A vague memory came to her mind, one that had troubled her over and over along their journey. She began to think of the same image of a man, a lover from a previous existence, standing perched upon a rock in the middle of a stream, and she gasped. Kizea realized that the man in her vision was not a man, but most likely an elf. But she had no room in her life for now for such revelations, if indeed they were true. And as quickly as she had the revelation, it was gone from her thoughts.
"Come," Legolas said amiably, "You must speak the elven chant, or your hand will never be healed by the water."
Kizea watched him another instant, and then slowly stood up. She dipped her feet hesitantly into the water and walked up to Legolas, careful to keep a respectable distance from him. The grip of the icy water made her breath deeply, but she was determined not to show her weaknesses in front of the elf. She placed her swollen hand into his. Gently, he pulled her closer to him. Legolas was smiling at her, but it slowly left his face when he saw the infection in Kizea's hand.
"Why did you say nothing?" he asked her frowning.
"I did not think it urgent enough to warrant the attention," Kizea replied, "Our goal is to find the eagle or the wizard and thereby the stone, everything else is unimportant."
"It will do you no good to die from a fever. You must be smarter than this," he admonished.
Kizea looked away from him and sighed. Legolas placed his other hand over Kizea's, so that her own tiny hand was sandwiched between his own. It brought Kizea's attention back to the task at hand, and she looked at his handiwork with curiosity. Dipping their combined hands below the water level, Legolas closed his eyes and began whispering an elven chant over and over. Much to her amazement, their hands and the water surrounding them began to radiate. Strange warmth penetrated her icy fingers and began rising up the length of her arm. Immediately her injured limb began to feel much improved. Kizea remained still, feeling the firm grasp of Legolas's hands over hers. They remained like that for a full 10 minutes, with Legolas chanting and Kizea standing silent. It gave her a marvelous opportunity to look closely at his perfect face in the moonlight. At length, he slowly opened his eyes and reluctantly let go of her hand. The light that had shone about them like a beacon in the middle of the river waned and quickly disappeared altogether. Lifting her hand up in front of her face, Kizea tried moving her fingers. To her surprise, they responded normally, the swelling was nearly gone. She looked back at Legolas incredulous and realized they were standing so close to one another that they were nearly touching. It was an awkward moment for Kizea.
"Thank you," she whispered to the elf, "I did not think such healing was possible but for the stone."
"Your hands are so small and delicate," Legolas blurted out softly, "I think my eyes deceive me when I look upon their owner; that they should belong to such a hardened warrior. I knew someone once whose hands were like yours, so small and delicate. Hers were softer than the most delicate flower. I thought I should never feel such things again."
Kizea could not escape the elf's gaze. He held her as a prisoner for that moment, for she did not wish to look away from him. Slowly the elf raised his hand as though he would brush it across Kizea's mask, but in an instant she lurched back away from him.
"Thank you for the help," she stammered, turning back towards the shore, "We must return to the camp now, for our day will be long tomorrow."
Legolas stood watching her make her way onto to the embankment, dripping wet. By now the water had entirely soaked through their clothes, and Kizea was wet from head to toe. When she reached the shoreline, she turned back, waiting for him to follow suit, which he did. They walked back through the woods together, but the mood was subdued. Legolas could still feel Kizea's nervousness, and he smirked. The Fendowan were renowned for their fearlessness; nothing could ever shake their dauntless self-confidence, nothing except a tender moment, of course. It amused the elf to recognize the girl's inability to accept a compliment, such as it was.
"Be sure to wrap the knife wound, " he told her, "It is only partially healed. Such injuries normally take elven magic several days to heal properly."
"Yes, yes," Kizea replied. Suddenly she stopped, kicking a stone at her feet. The elf stopped, still smiling.
"I would not seem ungrateful to you my good elf," she stuttered, "I simply..."
Kizea stopped mid-sentence and looked up at the elf, who looked too entertained to suit her.
"You have never held another's hand before?" he asked earnestly. Kizea sighed, looking to her wet boots once again.
"I have never had any physical contact with anyone, except of course, in battle," she replied, "But I do not presume that to count. I have never received a gentle touch or word from anyone, not even my brother. Such generous behavior is considered unbefitting a supreme warrior. And that is what we were, Legolas. I could not afford the luxury of such simple things. That is why the stone compelled us to wear these accursed masks, so we would remain nameless and equal, with no thought to who or what we once were. What you said to me in the river just now...well...it was rather an unsettling feeling for me. That is all."
"Well," grinned Legolas as they turned to walk again, "I will suppose since you've put no knife to my throat for it, that you hold me to no insult. I would take that as a Fendowan's gratitude."
They continued on through the forest in silence, and although Legolas could not see it, Kizea smiled underneath her mask.
"What news?" Legolas asked looking at his friend, "Have you found Mithrandir?"
"Nay," he replied looking back to the forest, "All is quiet. Are you sure Mithrandir is come here?"
Legolas sighed as he gazed over the mist. Only now were the sun's rays beginning to burn off the fog of the morning, revealing a spectacular open field with flowers and rambling hills. Legolas tried not to think of the lush greenery transformed into a savage battlefield. Kerrinais too surveyed the area as if he were in another place and time. Kizea knew that both elves had been indelibly marred by the battle. She could understand Legolas, but Kerrinais was somewhat more introverted and spoke little of his past while in her presence. She finally decided it was not worth the effort, and fixed her concentration on more serious matters.
"We must do SOMETHING," she said losing her patience, "If the wizard is in the area, then we MUST find him. I will ride forth to the northwest, along the Bruinen. He is, I presume, like most creatures? In need of food and water? Perhaps I shall find him along the river's edge, or in the other elven city you spoke of, what was it? Imladris?"
Both Legolas and Kerrinais glanced sideways at each other.
"We all may ride north along the river, four sets of eyes are better than one," Tenmelion said, "And I don't suppose you have better than an elf's vision when hiding behind a mask."
Kizea was annoyed.
"I need no help," she replied angrily, "Go where you will, but my horse is bent on the Bruinen and Imladris."
Indeed, the bickering within the group had subsided greatly in the short time they were riding together, but not completely. Yet, in this sorrowful place, Kerrinais had grown tired of all the discord. Legolas was not the only elf in the group that had lost a loved one in the battle at Isodor. Kerrinais's own sister, Alneinwen, who rode side-by-side with the queen, had also fallen to Rakal. In an unusual bid for peace within the group, Kerrinais, spoke up.
"He is right about one thing Kizea, all of us looking may bring about better results. In any case, you are now wandering in elf lands, although it may not seem like it. You should at least have some company that might explain away your presence. Legolas and I are well known here. I do not know if Gandalf has passed this way or no, but one thing I am certain of, come alone to Imladris, you would find less of a welcome than you did in Mirkwood."
Kizea's eyed raised. The Mirkwood elves, then, were not the most inhospitable of their kind? It was finally agreed that they should ride north along the magical elven river, the Bruinen, which itself runs through the elven city of Rivendell, home of Lord Elrond. Legolas actually had no intentions of journeying to Rivendell, but he had also decided not to break up the group at that time. His plans were to continue to the Eyries to find Gwaihir the Windlord, who, as far as they all knew, was transporting the Stone of Anor to Gandalf, seeking his council. None of the group had seen Gwaihir fly overhead, which was a discouraging sign to all. Gwaihir was not in the area looking for Gandalf, which led the elves to believe they were searching for the wizard in the wrong vicinity.
It was an eight day journey from Isodor to Rivendell, and Legolas thought to leave the group on the fourth or fifth day, circumventing the city and traversing the High Pass with Kizea in tow; the north-most crossing over the Misty Mountains. Once across, they would be but 3 or 4 days journey to the Eyries, if they could make it that far. There were but four ways to cross the mountain chain, which cut across Middle-Earth, North to South. Legolas was certain that Gandalf had not journeyed to the Gap of Rohan, nor to Moria, the ancient city of the dwarves, rumored to have lately been peopled with Sauron's goblins. He shuddered thinking about Moria, and quickly blotted the thought from his mind. Thus far, they had not crossed paths with Gandalf over the Pass of Balsor. The only way left then was the High Pass, with it's treacherous snow-capped peaks and bitterly cold winds.
However, the elves thought little of the weather. Snow or rain or heat of day had little effect on them, but Kerrinais and Legolas both had noticed Kizea's reactions to the blistering heat on the Anduin plains. Although she attempted not to show it, she wiped the sweat from her neck often during the heat of the day or huddled close to the fire at night. Despite all of the elven rumors regarding the indestructibility of Fendowan warriors, she did eat and sleep and bruise. The elves surmised that Kizea was, in fact, entirely mortal. Legolas and Kerrinais both wondered secretly if Kizea knew.
The days were cooler now in the higher elevations, and the Kizea was grateful. Her injured hand, which had been merely an annoyance in Tuluth, was now burning and swollen. Her fingers could hardly bend, and she kept her hand concealed under her tunic or underneath her long shirtsleeve in a bid to keep the elves from discovering her weakness. Dislocating her finger had been only painful, but the knife wound she had sustained at the tavern was worse. She often felt sick to her stomach, and sweaty. She was losing what little appetite she had, and she was lethargic. She realized she had to do something or she would soon collapse. To be attacked by Melune or one of her the other Fendowan in such a condition would be certain death. So that first night away from Isodor, after the horses had been groomed and fed, the firewood gathered, and the elves left to make their rounds of the surrounding perimeter, she retreated secretly in the direction of the river, and she did so for several nights thereafter.
Little time was actually spent at their campsites. Almost as soon as it was set, the elves left and searched the surrounding areas for signs of the wizard, or Melune. When the elves departed from camp, Kizea would either ride to the river or walk, depending on the river's nearness. Here she attempted to heal her hand. Leaning over a boulder on her stomach, she gingerly dipped her fingers into the elven river, which was rumored to have healing powers. The water was cold, and it stung the tips of her fingers at first. But as she held her hand beneath the water, a sense of calm seemed to come over her, and her mind began to drift to the mesmerizing sounds of the current rushing over other boulders in the river's path.
"You'll not get better that way," Legolas said stepping up to her, "I believe I can help you."
Kizea's attention snapped back as she jerked her hand from the water. She watched the elf calmly wade directly into the river until the water was up to his hips. He stood there, his hand outstretched to her. Although the moon was only halfway visible, there was no cloud cover that night. It reflected brightly upon the water, betraying its exact likeness in areas where the current was not strong. Legolas too, being an elf, emanated his own light from his body. He was a lantern in the middle of a magical river on a moonlit night, the fairest of all the Mirkwood elves. It was a picture from which the Fendowan could not remove her gaze and Kizea watched him with fascination. A vague memory came to her mind, one that had troubled her over and over along their journey. She began to think of the same image of a man, a lover from a previous existence, standing perched upon a rock in the middle of a stream, and she gasped. Kizea realized that the man in her vision was not a man, but most likely an elf. But she had no room in her life for now for such revelations, if indeed they were true. And as quickly as she had the revelation, it was gone from her thoughts.
"Come," Legolas said amiably, "You must speak the elven chant, or your hand will never be healed by the water."
Kizea watched him another instant, and then slowly stood up. She dipped her feet hesitantly into the water and walked up to Legolas, careful to keep a respectable distance from him. The grip of the icy water made her breath deeply, but she was determined not to show her weaknesses in front of the elf. She placed her swollen hand into his. Gently, he pulled her closer to him. Legolas was smiling at her, but it slowly left his face when he saw the infection in Kizea's hand.
"Why did you say nothing?" he asked her frowning.
"I did not think it urgent enough to warrant the attention," Kizea replied, "Our goal is to find the eagle or the wizard and thereby the stone, everything else is unimportant."
"It will do you no good to die from a fever. You must be smarter than this," he admonished.
Kizea looked away from him and sighed. Legolas placed his other hand over Kizea's, so that her own tiny hand was sandwiched between his own. It brought Kizea's attention back to the task at hand, and she looked at his handiwork with curiosity. Dipping their combined hands below the water level, Legolas closed his eyes and began whispering an elven chant over and over. Much to her amazement, their hands and the water surrounding them began to radiate. Strange warmth penetrated her icy fingers and began rising up the length of her arm. Immediately her injured limb began to feel much improved. Kizea remained still, feeling the firm grasp of Legolas's hands over hers. They remained like that for a full 10 minutes, with Legolas chanting and Kizea standing silent. It gave her a marvelous opportunity to look closely at his perfect face in the moonlight. At length, he slowly opened his eyes and reluctantly let go of her hand. The light that had shone about them like a beacon in the middle of the river waned and quickly disappeared altogether. Lifting her hand up in front of her face, Kizea tried moving her fingers. To her surprise, they responded normally, the swelling was nearly gone. She looked back at Legolas incredulous and realized they were standing so close to one another that they were nearly touching. It was an awkward moment for Kizea.
"Thank you," she whispered to the elf, "I did not think such healing was possible but for the stone."
"Your hands are so small and delicate," Legolas blurted out softly, "I think my eyes deceive me when I look upon their owner; that they should belong to such a hardened warrior. I knew someone once whose hands were like yours, so small and delicate. Hers were softer than the most delicate flower. I thought I should never feel such things again."
Kizea could not escape the elf's gaze. He held her as a prisoner for that moment, for she did not wish to look away from him. Slowly the elf raised his hand as though he would brush it across Kizea's mask, but in an instant she lurched back away from him.
"Thank you for the help," she stammered, turning back towards the shore, "We must return to the camp now, for our day will be long tomorrow."
Legolas stood watching her make her way onto to the embankment, dripping wet. By now the water had entirely soaked through their clothes, and Kizea was wet from head to toe. When she reached the shoreline, she turned back, waiting for him to follow suit, which he did. They walked back through the woods together, but the mood was subdued. Legolas could still feel Kizea's nervousness, and he smirked. The Fendowan were renowned for their fearlessness; nothing could ever shake their dauntless self-confidence, nothing except a tender moment, of course. It amused the elf to recognize the girl's inability to accept a compliment, such as it was.
"Be sure to wrap the knife wound, " he told her, "It is only partially healed. Such injuries normally take elven magic several days to heal properly."
"Yes, yes," Kizea replied. Suddenly she stopped, kicking a stone at her feet. The elf stopped, still smiling.
"I would not seem ungrateful to you my good elf," she stuttered, "I simply..."
Kizea stopped mid-sentence and looked up at the elf, who looked too entertained to suit her.
"You have never held another's hand before?" he asked earnestly. Kizea sighed, looking to her wet boots once again.
"I have never had any physical contact with anyone, except of course, in battle," she replied, "But I do not presume that to count. I have never received a gentle touch or word from anyone, not even my brother. Such generous behavior is considered unbefitting a supreme warrior. And that is what we were, Legolas. I could not afford the luxury of such simple things. That is why the stone compelled us to wear these accursed masks, so we would remain nameless and equal, with no thought to who or what we once were. What you said to me in the river just now...well...it was rather an unsettling feeling for me. That is all."
"Well," grinned Legolas as they turned to walk again, "I will suppose since you've put no knife to my throat for it, that you hold me to no insult. I would take that as a Fendowan's gratitude."
They continued on through the forest in silence, and although Legolas could not see it, Kizea smiled underneath her mask.