The sun and the tree-shadows had barely moved when Legolas found her in the edges of the forest. He'd followed the rumor of the forest, footprints had long been rained out, and heard the raven speech. With a sinking heart he followed the wise birds to the last bits of their banquet. They sat in the trees, chattering to him, mostly young ones who hadn't been allowed too close to the feast until now. A silver-furred form, little bigger than a cat, tiptoed away on pink daisy hands, from a spot among rocks and ferns. Legolas did not remember its name, but he marked the slender bare tail, clever and grippy, like a fifth hand, and the long whiskery nose, the bright eyes, the flower-petal ears. Tree-climbers and carrion eaters they were, and odd; they carried their young in pouches on their bellies, or so a traveler had told him, he had never stopped one to look. He slipped up to the place the silver-furred climber had left. Little was left but bones, not even the smell remained, but the teeth and the tail were that of thulesilme. He knelt for a time, silent, he knew no songs of passing for this creature out of time.
Far away, thin and faint, came a mournful wailing. Gulls, come up the river, circling over the farm fields. The familiar ache stirred in his heart. He thought of the many new clearings he'd seen in the last month. The tree-groves burned to clear them the faster. Ancient forest giants felled for cabins. The lack of wolf-song under the moon. These new folk had not learned from the Eldar, they did not understand gaea galadhremmin ennorath. The old world was passing, things were changing, too fast for Thulesilme. Too fast for the Sindar.
He finally stood, considering what he must do now. There were no arrows among the bones. Either she had pulled them out herself (unlikely, they would be broken, as her mate's was), or... He moved out from the bones in circles, searching the ground. Less rain had come here, and there were places more protected that yet harbored tracks.
"Ahh." small, soft-soled boots, and the great wolf-like tracks he'd seen before. He had thought to backtrack Thulesilme to her den, to find the pups. But his heart was telling him, as it had from the beginning, that even if he found the den the pups would be gone.
He needed to find his goat-thief.
'Don't stare into their eyes, for that is a challenge.' Gimli sat, trying not to stare at 'Silme', arms folded over his axe head, trying to remember all the other bits of advice his friend had given him regarding the elvish way with all good beasts. So far, Silme was ignoring him, prefering to work on the rest of the venison from his and Legolas's packs. Gimli eyed the mighty jaws with special interest. It looked as if not even Dwarf mail would be proof against them.
The sun walked her slow path across the sky, the tree-shadows wheeled over the rocks. The fire died. Gimli did not move to replenish it, afraid of disturbing Silme, now sleeping.
Suddenly the beast was on his feet, growling low, wobbling a bit on his injured haunch, dark eyes measuring the potential power of the Dwarf's axe. Or so it seemed. No, the eyes were not fixed on Gloin's son, but past him.
Gimli turned to find the second arrow in two days pointed at his heart. He had come to admire his friend's skill with the bow, it had saved both their skins many times. But he much prefered an opponent doughty enough to face him at axe-length. Facing him now from the top of a rock was a boy of fourteen or fifteen, grey eyes peering through a wild horse mane of dark hair. Two great white beasts flanked him. For a moment Gimli thought they were sheep, or mountain goats, or great white bears...then he realized they were some sort of enormous, ropey haired dog, like the sort the drovers of Dale used to move cattle and sheep to market. He stood, placing himself between the boy and Silme (thus turning his back on the dreaded great jaws), turning his axe broadside out. A small shield, but it had turned arrows before. "Hold young master!"
"What are you doing with Thulesilme, Dwarf?" it was said in a way that suggested a deep suspicion of his kind, and the voice was no young man's.
"I am guarding the beast till my friend returns. How do you know its name?"
The leveled arrow sank half a hand's width, dark eyebrows knotted.
"If you are tracking him to repay him for the theft of your sheep, you'll have to discuss it with me first." the Dwarf said, rooting his feet into the ground.
The arrow drooped further, the expression on the young face looked perplexed. "He has stolen sheep from you? I didn't know Dwarves kept sheep."
"We do not."
The girl's grey eyes scanned the camp, the wounded creature, the Dwarf's face. She leaped lightly to a nearer rock. Gimli noted an odd lumpiness to her tunic front.
"Why does your shirt move? And how do you know the beast's name?"
"My mother sang it to me, in the old songs." The bow remained half-drawn.
"Then you do not wish to kill him?"
The bowstring tightened a bit. "What do you wish to do with him?"
"I wish to find him more venison before he decides that a Dwarf would make a good afternoon tea. My friend has gone to try to find his mate. It was he who drew the arrow from this one's haunch." Gimli frowned at the well-made shaft aimed, now, somewhere near his knees. Not much like the one Legolas had pulled from Thulesilme's haunch. "I guess it was not your arrow after all."
"No. Nor yours, for you have only an axe. So, no doubt does your friend, I've never seen a Dwarf who could wield a bow well." she inched closer, peering into the rockshadow where Thulesilme had retreated, then frowned at Gimli, "What do you mean he pulled the arrow from this one's haunch? How? I could not get near the beast!"
"I have traveled under mountains and through great darkness with him, and I still do not understand it." The Dwarf let out a breath, gave a brief, cautious bow, "I am Gimli, son of Gloin, of the Lonely Mountain. As I said, I am guarding Thulesilme, till my friend returns. It seems we have the same purpose." He turned and sat back on his rock. "You may come and share our camp, though all our rations have been fed to Silme."
The girl made a sharp sign toward the two great dogs, they vanished behind a boulder. Thulesilme stared out from his rock crevice, silent. "I am Eryn." was all she said, unslinging a light pack, and two fat rabbits therein. She lay them as near Thulesilme as she could get, then sat on a rock facing Gimli.
"Eryn. Eryn Lasgalen was the name of the Greenwood the Great, before the dark things came, and folk called it Mirkwood."
She looked up startled, "I was named for that wood. How does a Dwarf know such things?"
"My father was lost in its depths once, a long tale, full of stone trolls, goblins, giant spiders and dragon's gold. My friend is from that kingdom, the Wood of the Green Leaves. And now, that the Dark has fallen from power, they are green once more." He eyed the odd movement in her shirt-front.
Eryn crossed her arms protectively over it. "The only folk who live in Mirkwood are woodsmen and woodelves."
"My friend is one of the Sindar."
"Hah!" she glared at him from under her tangled mane, "maybe you lie about what you plan to do with Thulesilme too." her grey eyes had the look of sky before a storm.
It was one thing to threaten him with arrows and sudden death, but to say he told less than the truth was to ignite a deep, fierce fire. He glared at her, eyes gone dark as mine-shadow. Elves would sit all day and discuss such things, but Dwarves would take action.
She stood suddenly, arms clenched around her shirt-front, glaring defiantly out of a face somehow young and old at once. It reminded him of Legolas, although this one was surely one of the Edain, the Children of Men. One who had seen much in her short years, he thought. The deep fire in his heart mellowed, burned itself out. One thing he had learned in his long travels with the Fellowship, was not to act in haste.
"Sit child."
"I am no child."
"So you are not. We both wish to help the beast. And I do not tell less than the truth. Maybe you should tell me what burden you carry there."
She was silent, watching the striped beast in the shadow of the rock. From somewhere at the edge of the rockfield Gimli heard the faint bleating of a goat. He turned his head toward the sound, and the girl noted it.
Gimli smiled, "So you are indeed our goat-thief! I can guess the burden you carry; Thulesilme's children."
She looked at him with wide, startled eyes. Rose again, as if to flee.
"Nay, nay girl. Stay. It is as Legolas thought, the goat was taken for its milk. But how did you find the den?"
"There is no den. They carry their young with them, at least, when they are this young."
"I suppose they have backpacks, like my folk on a long journey?"
"Yes. In a way. They have pouches, on their bellies. The females, anyway. The pups stay there till they are old enough to follow on their own feet."
"That's a stranger tale than an Elf traveling with a Dwarf."
"Well maybe they are both true then." She reached into her tunic and pulled out a cloth sling, wriggling in the way a nest of puppies does. She withdrew one, and unslung the flask at her waist. A moment later the handful of tawny fur was busier at the bottle than a Dwarf at a good keg of ale. "Your goat-thief, you said. Then you are friends of the settlers?"
"We shared their roof last night, and they are good people. We thought to repay their kindness by finding their lost livestock."
"I have need of her."
"I see."
"You will have to get past my guardians, and me."
"And a fierce battle it would be, I have no doubt." the Dwarf stirred the fire, adding some wood, fished in the camp supplies for the last bit of venison. He eyed the fat rabbits, now being gnawed by Thulesilme, sighed and cut the venison in two. He held out a piece to the girl.
She answered with a curt nod of thanks and continued to feed the pups in silence.
Hours passed with only the light wind in the trees and the sounds of birds preparing for twilight. Eryn rose once to check on her animals, and returned without a word to sit on a rock near Silme's den. He inched forth, raising his nose towards her, sniffing, but kept his distance. Gimli had questions about a young girl in such travel-worn clothes (like a certain Ranger he remembered), but his folk were not inclined to pry. If she wished to talk, she would.
She didn't.
The sun slanted orange through the trees, late day dappled light playing tricks on Eryn's eyes. She had caught herself dozing half a dozen times, standing suddenly to shake off sleep. She'd had little last night, and did not entirely trust sleep in this Dwarf camp. Nor would she leave Thulesilme totally in the Dwarf's care. She took a swig from her water flask, a handful of dried fruit from her dwindling belt pouch.
A bit of tree-shadow detached itself and became a man. A young man dressed in tree-colors, like her father and his companions had worn, moving silently as they had, and carrying a bow. A fair dream from the past. She blinked, realized she was quite awake. Her hand went to her bow, she glanced at the Dwarf. He dozed where he sat. She stood, feet braced, between the stranger and Thulesilme, bow raised. He did not quite look like one of the settlers, but she was taking no chance. She met his eyes with a hard, silent challenge.
It was like looking at sunlight on the surface of deep water. Memories moved in Eryn's heart like the half seen flash of a fish in the depths; a tall man with the same sea-grey eyes and dark hair showing a four-year old girl how to draw a bow, how to hear the whispers of tree-talk.
"Sedho thalien, nuitho i 'ruith."
the young man said softly.
Not a Man, not one of the Edain.
Eldar. An Elf. The words were familiar to her, she had learned them before the Common tongue, and he knew that she knew them the way her long-ago teacher knew when she was stretching the truth. She returned her arrow to the quiver, lowered the bow. She bowed, keeping her eyes fixed on him. Be still, valiant lady, he had said, hold your wrath. His face had a trace of a gentle smile. He came down to the fire, glanced under the overhang at Thulesilme, then poked the Dwarf in the shoulder.
"Wake up, fox-ears." he unslung his gear along with a fat bundle of rabbits. Two of them he took to Thulesilme. He knelt, laying them before the beast with something like reverance. He rose, turned to Eryn. "Havo-dad." he said, gesturing toward the rocks and log by the fire, as if they were carved and cushioned seats in a meade hall.
She sat by the fire, eyes wide. So the Dwarf had told the truth. "Are you Legolas?" she asked, then blushed at his nodded answer, for the stranger should declare herself first, and this was their camp. "I am Eryn." she blurted.
Gimli started, harumphed, and straightened in his seat.
"I see you've caught our goat thief, and are guarding her well." the Elf said.
"And very soon the chief guard had no keys." Gimli snorted.
Eryn, confused, looked from one to the other. The two locked eyes, but both faces had growing looks of amusement on them.
"He refers to the incident with the dragon." Legolas said, "The time thirteen Dwarves and one Hobbit crashed my father's party in Mirkwood, but would not say why they were there. They wound up our 'guests' for some time."
"If you can call a dungeon a guest room."
"Dungeons? Dungeons?" on his fair elvish face there was a look of mock distress.
"Dungeons and dragons and too much Elvish wine for the guards." Gimli said, " And a ring of invisibility. And some very tight fitting wine barrels out the trapdoor and into the river and a clever Hobbit. So my father tells the tale. I was not there."
"Then how did you come to be traveling together?" Eryn asked. "The Elves my father knew did not...did not travel with Dwarves."
"We met much later, over the same magic ring. It is a long tale, full of orcs and Dark Lords, and nearly the end of the world; you may hear it if you wish, though Thulesilme's children would be hunting on their own by then." Gimli said.
"So you have found the pups?" Legolas said.
Eryn drew forth the cloth pouch with the wriggling horde of three, held them out to the Elf. He took them in his fine-chiseled hands, like eggs that might break.
"Elo!" he breathed, "How did you find the den?"
Gimli sat back, quickly burying a knowing smile. Legolas glanced at him, cocked an eyebrow. "There is no den beleg angol cherdir erynist."
Eryn saw Legolas raise the other hawk-wing eyebrow. She understood the Dwarf's slightly mangled Elvish to mean mighty-wisemaster-keeper-of-all-woods-knowledge. His face was perfectly straight now, under his beard, but his eyebrows were twitching like two crazed ferrets. Eryn broke into a grin.
"I suppose they carry their young about in great backpacks, like Dwarves on a day trip." the Elf said.
"Yes!" Eryn laughed.
Legolas looked puzzled. He handed the pups gently back to Eryn.
Gimli was bent double, trying to contain a laugh far too large for him to wrestle.
"I said, yes, they do carry them. Not exactly in backpacks. In belly packs. They have pouches in their belly skin." Eryn said. She withdrew one of the pups, turned it upside down and showed Legolas the pouch on the tiny female.
"Ai! What a strange thing. I don't remember that from any of the songs I heard."
"And yet your songs told of the Onodrim, the Ents," Gimli said, "but you had never seen one before we came to Isengard. Nor knew that they yet walked the forests of Fangorn."
"Na belegaer a gilith!"
By the Great Sea and stars! "Indeed, many of the songs have been lost." he turned to Eryn, "How did your mother learn these tales?"
Something like cloud shadow passed over her face, "From her father, he was of the Avari. Though where he went after my grandmother died, we do not know. Urentin nallant nirnaeth arnoded."
His heart wept tears unnumbered. Legolas's smile faded. He thought of the eight friends he had traveled with, fought beside, and their short years (save only Mithrandir the Istar). But to marry one of the Edain...he knew well one who had made that choice, and why.
"My father was of the Dunedain." Eryn continued.
"Dark Elves and Rangers." Gimli said. "So that's how you learned to leave no trail."
She nodded. "And my father learned much from the Elves he traveled with, before he met my mother. He traveled somewhat after, and at first his old friends would come to call. I learned their tongue, and a few of their skills, but I was very young. And soon their paths split from ours."
"My father didn't think he should be so far and so long from home, so they built a house in the woods south of Sir Ninglor, between Anduin and Hithaeglir."
"Not far from the Gates of Khazad-Dum!" said Gimli.
"Or the darkness of Dol Guldur." said Legolas. Dol Guldur, the dark tower that plagued the Greenwood till it became Mirkwood.
"Yes. We weathered that darkness until it was broken. I thought all would be laur inath arnediad bin revail gelaidh like the old saying..." her voice faltered and stopped, she stared hard into the tiny fire.
"Golden years without count like the wings of trees." said Gimli softly. "Where are your kin?"
Legolas knelt beside her, "They are gone."
She cleared her throat. "When I was small, I liked to pretend I was hunting orcs. Fighting the Dark. I went one day...not long ago...to hunt. I had the dogs...and my pony and my bow and supplies for a day trip. When I returned, all was dead, burned or taken." She curled around the three pups, face hardened. She would not cry before these two experienced warriors.
She felt a warm, gentle arm encircle her, like a memory from a childhood so long gone she was not sure it had ever been. She leaned into the soft rough leather of the tree-colored tunic, felt elf-hair brush her face like a summer breeze.
The nirnaeth arnoded , the tears unnumbered, broke their long-held dam at last.