The broken man stumbled through the woods, the first creature in all of
Middle Earth who was completely ignorant of its beauty.
So much pain... so much agony had been endured in the last few days. Nothing compared to the misery that was his meaningless existance, but trial enough to make days seem like aeons. The pain of sleeping on hard- packed earth, and the greater pain of waking with all his joints afire. The fever that seemed to constantly wrack his body made the cold seem that much colder, the mist seem that much more damp. His back warped and twisted itself even more than usual, forcing him to walk almost bent double. The bastard of a King had not, of course, permitted him to take any of his belongings with him, so he was without even the simplest of herbs to ease his pain, and he did not know how to gather them in the wild.
The miserable wretch of a man stumbled through the woods, until at last he fell and waited to die.
He stared up at the green leaves and saw none of their beauty, and finally his eyes closed and did not open again until he felt the pinprick of an arrow's point against his nose. He blinked, struggled to consciousness, and stared.
He had only rarely seen an elf, only when his wizard master had chosen to bring him to the questioning and tortures he put them through. He had only seen an elf often enough to recognize what one was, although of course he had heard stories from the Horse-Lords. He had, he realized then, also heard stories about this woods, where dwelled the sorcerous Lady, said to bewitch any who came in her presence. It didn't matter. He had already been bewitched, first by the White Lady and now...
And now...
He stared. The arrow, its wielder having seen that he was not prepared to get up, much less flee or fight, had moved away, although the bow was not unreadied. The tortured man did not see the bow, he saw only the preternatural beauty of the elf who stood before him, watching him curiously. His heart leaped to his throat, and his breath stopped.
"What are you doing here?" the elf-lord asked, not unkindly. Even that simple courtesy was more kindness than he had known in a dog's age. He thought he might weep.
"Dying," was the only thing that he could think of to say.
The elf laughed. He actually laughed, without malice or rancor, and returned his arrow to his quiver. "I am certain there are better things to do in these woods than dying," he said, grasping the human's arms and pulling him to his feet. The fevered man nearly screamed with the pain, and the elf almost dropped him in startlement. "You are ill?" It wasn't entirely a question.
"I have been ill for as long as I can remember," he replied simply, shrugging and dragging himself to an approximation of a standing position.
The elf stared at him slowly, measuringly, and finally with great pity. "Come with me."
He was led through the forest by a circuitous route, as though the elf had somehow sensed his aversion to social activity and was respecting it. After a little bit of a walk they arrived at what appeared to be an infirmary, and an elvish healer-woman turned and spoke to him.
"Where are you injured," she asked him, and then, "Are you fevered? Chilled?" and a barrage of other questions. He answered them as best he could, but he was sorely unnerved by her presence, and taxed by the weight of his illness. He would much rather have been treated by the elf who had brought him, alone, but...
Tea occured.
The lady elf served him a tea that smelled suspiciously like the ones he had had in the castle, and then she disappeared. The other sat with him, one leg drawn up into the chair, the other extended, hands wrapped loosely around one knee... the picture of elegance. The man, on the other hand, was all too supremely aware of his raggedness, his unkempt and filthy robes, his matted and tangled hair, his broken body. He sipped at the tea gingerly, almost afraid they would poison him because he was not as beautiful as they were. Instead it warmed him, and eased the pain and trembling in his limbs.
"Better?" the elf asked with a touch of amusement. The man could only nod, ashamed that his voice did not rival the music of elfspeech. "Good. Today is a day of feasting and lights, and there should be very little work for the healers."
The man nodded again; he could hear the music from where they were sitting, in the quiet healer's room. He wanted to ask what occasion was there for the feasting, but dared not. The elf seemed to sense this, seemed also to know that the man was not about to speak, and tilted his head in an attitude of wondering. "It's all right," he said quietly after a little bit. "I will not hurt you."
The man ducked his head in shame. "I ..." he started, and his voice was at the same time raspy and watery, weak. "I am sorry... I am..."
The elf shrugged it off. "You are tired, and hurt, and most probably hungry. There is nothing to be ashamed of. It happens to us all."
The man, weeping, nearly prostrated himself before the unearthly creature. It had been so long. "Thank you." he said, in tones of begging, "thank you. I.." He began to remember himself, remember the last time he had knelt in abject humbleness before someone, and tried to straighten up. Surprisingly, he found he could almost manage it. "Thank you," he repeated, with somewhat more dignity.
The elf smiled, standing and bowing low. "You are most welcome. Now." and he extended a hand to the man. "Come and join the feasting."
And such feasting there was, such as he had never known, such as he suspected his wizened, wizard master had never known, such as the halls of the Horse Lords had never seen. He tasted of a hundred strange dishes, each of them exquisite and all of them different. He saw lights that reflected and refracted colors from their glass cages that he had never seen elsewhere. He listened to music, sad, until he thought his heart would break, and then merry, until he thought he might actually leap up and dance. And everywhere, everywhere there were elf-lords and elf-maids, joyous and glad as he had never seen any thinking creature. It was a sight that emphasized the difference between the woods and all the pain and agony that his life had been, and belied the thought that misery was all there was to life.
"You should have seen us in happier times," the elf who had greeted him first said, once, "These are days of privation and rationing. Once we would have had such grand celebrations that they would last for a fortnight, and the trees themselves would sing."
The man thought it best not to mention that he could fancy the trees were singing. "I have never known such splendour," he did say, "or such merriment. It seems glorious enough to me."
And the elf smiled, and took his hand, and led him into the dancing.
They smoked a pipe, afterwards; that is to say, the elf smoked a pipe and blew shapes into the air. The man only watched, restful and content. "They say there will be war e're long," the elf said absently, making conversation to pass the time. "Our Lady may yet bid us to fight."
The weary, yet much becalmed man did not want to talk about the coming war. "I had thought that you did not deal in the affairs of men."
"We do not, and have not for scores of years, yet now we may have no choice. War goes where it wills, and if it wills to venture into the borders of our land, then we must fight it, however much we may wish it were not so."
Illusions were shattering before his eyes. "But surely you have magics that protect you."
"Magics, yes," the elf sighed wearily, setting his pipe down. "But the ancient enemy has magics too, and it has not yet been determined whose will prove the stronger."
"But."
The elf looked at him.
All words died away. Grief was understood and shared by both, the man saw now, both the races. The elf's eyes held in them a sadness, acute and deep, and he felt tears trickling down his own cheeks. He closed his eyes, willed himself to be calm again, and felt the touch of the elf's hand on his cheek. The man opened his eyes again, and the elf was smiling.
"All things come to an end," he said quietly, "We have had a long life in the Earth. We will not go before our time."
He leaned forward and kissed the man on the forehead, soft, lingering. The grieving man, who knew too much about the war to come, said nothing. He rested his head on the elf's shoulder and kept his own counsel, afraid to disturb the moment. It would be disturbed soon enough, and that he knew for a fact as solid as the stones from which he had journeyed. "But." he tried one last time for a hope that would ease the pain he now knew, wash away the guilt.
"Hush," the elf said, and gently stopped all further conversation with his lips.
The man woke to the sound of war drums and flashing golden armor. Even the mobilization of the elven army was more magnificent than anything he had ever seen. He looked to either side, but his new-found elven lover had stolen away in the night. Afraid, he looked to the corner of the room. An empty armor rack stood there; the hooks where weapons might have lain was bare as well.
The broken man, grieving, ashamed, turned to the window and watched as the elves formed neat ranks of glittering gold and deep blue. He forced himself to watch as they received their orders and their blessing from the Lady of the Woods herself. He saw his lover, gleaming in the dawn sunlight, leading the march from the forest. He stayed at the window until he could no longer see the shine of the sun from their armor. Then he turned, gathered his things, and made his quiet way out of the trees.
So much pain... so much agony had been endured in the last few days. Nothing compared to the misery that was his meaningless existance, but trial enough to make days seem like aeons. The pain of sleeping on hard- packed earth, and the greater pain of waking with all his joints afire. The fever that seemed to constantly wrack his body made the cold seem that much colder, the mist seem that much more damp. His back warped and twisted itself even more than usual, forcing him to walk almost bent double. The bastard of a King had not, of course, permitted him to take any of his belongings with him, so he was without even the simplest of herbs to ease his pain, and he did not know how to gather them in the wild.
The miserable wretch of a man stumbled through the woods, until at last he fell and waited to die.
He stared up at the green leaves and saw none of their beauty, and finally his eyes closed and did not open again until he felt the pinprick of an arrow's point against his nose. He blinked, struggled to consciousness, and stared.
He had only rarely seen an elf, only when his wizard master had chosen to bring him to the questioning and tortures he put them through. He had only seen an elf often enough to recognize what one was, although of course he had heard stories from the Horse-Lords. He had, he realized then, also heard stories about this woods, where dwelled the sorcerous Lady, said to bewitch any who came in her presence. It didn't matter. He had already been bewitched, first by the White Lady and now...
And now...
He stared. The arrow, its wielder having seen that he was not prepared to get up, much less flee or fight, had moved away, although the bow was not unreadied. The tortured man did not see the bow, he saw only the preternatural beauty of the elf who stood before him, watching him curiously. His heart leaped to his throat, and his breath stopped.
"What are you doing here?" the elf-lord asked, not unkindly. Even that simple courtesy was more kindness than he had known in a dog's age. He thought he might weep.
"Dying," was the only thing that he could think of to say.
The elf laughed. He actually laughed, without malice or rancor, and returned his arrow to his quiver. "I am certain there are better things to do in these woods than dying," he said, grasping the human's arms and pulling him to his feet. The fevered man nearly screamed with the pain, and the elf almost dropped him in startlement. "You are ill?" It wasn't entirely a question.
"I have been ill for as long as I can remember," he replied simply, shrugging and dragging himself to an approximation of a standing position.
The elf stared at him slowly, measuringly, and finally with great pity. "Come with me."
He was led through the forest by a circuitous route, as though the elf had somehow sensed his aversion to social activity and was respecting it. After a little bit of a walk they arrived at what appeared to be an infirmary, and an elvish healer-woman turned and spoke to him.
"Where are you injured," she asked him, and then, "Are you fevered? Chilled?" and a barrage of other questions. He answered them as best he could, but he was sorely unnerved by her presence, and taxed by the weight of his illness. He would much rather have been treated by the elf who had brought him, alone, but...
Tea occured.
The lady elf served him a tea that smelled suspiciously like the ones he had had in the castle, and then she disappeared. The other sat with him, one leg drawn up into the chair, the other extended, hands wrapped loosely around one knee... the picture of elegance. The man, on the other hand, was all too supremely aware of his raggedness, his unkempt and filthy robes, his matted and tangled hair, his broken body. He sipped at the tea gingerly, almost afraid they would poison him because he was not as beautiful as they were. Instead it warmed him, and eased the pain and trembling in his limbs.
"Better?" the elf asked with a touch of amusement. The man could only nod, ashamed that his voice did not rival the music of elfspeech. "Good. Today is a day of feasting and lights, and there should be very little work for the healers."
The man nodded again; he could hear the music from where they were sitting, in the quiet healer's room. He wanted to ask what occasion was there for the feasting, but dared not. The elf seemed to sense this, seemed also to know that the man was not about to speak, and tilted his head in an attitude of wondering. "It's all right," he said quietly after a little bit. "I will not hurt you."
The man ducked his head in shame. "I ..." he started, and his voice was at the same time raspy and watery, weak. "I am sorry... I am..."
The elf shrugged it off. "You are tired, and hurt, and most probably hungry. There is nothing to be ashamed of. It happens to us all."
The man, weeping, nearly prostrated himself before the unearthly creature. It had been so long. "Thank you." he said, in tones of begging, "thank you. I.." He began to remember himself, remember the last time he had knelt in abject humbleness before someone, and tried to straighten up. Surprisingly, he found he could almost manage it. "Thank you," he repeated, with somewhat more dignity.
The elf smiled, standing and bowing low. "You are most welcome. Now." and he extended a hand to the man. "Come and join the feasting."
And such feasting there was, such as he had never known, such as he suspected his wizened, wizard master had never known, such as the halls of the Horse Lords had never seen. He tasted of a hundred strange dishes, each of them exquisite and all of them different. He saw lights that reflected and refracted colors from their glass cages that he had never seen elsewhere. He listened to music, sad, until he thought his heart would break, and then merry, until he thought he might actually leap up and dance. And everywhere, everywhere there were elf-lords and elf-maids, joyous and glad as he had never seen any thinking creature. It was a sight that emphasized the difference between the woods and all the pain and agony that his life had been, and belied the thought that misery was all there was to life.
"You should have seen us in happier times," the elf who had greeted him first said, once, "These are days of privation and rationing. Once we would have had such grand celebrations that they would last for a fortnight, and the trees themselves would sing."
The man thought it best not to mention that he could fancy the trees were singing. "I have never known such splendour," he did say, "or such merriment. It seems glorious enough to me."
And the elf smiled, and took his hand, and led him into the dancing.
They smoked a pipe, afterwards; that is to say, the elf smoked a pipe and blew shapes into the air. The man only watched, restful and content. "They say there will be war e're long," the elf said absently, making conversation to pass the time. "Our Lady may yet bid us to fight."
The weary, yet much becalmed man did not want to talk about the coming war. "I had thought that you did not deal in the affairs of men."
"We do not, and have not for scores of years, yet now we may have no choice. War goes where it wills, and if it wills to venture into the borders of our land, then we must fight it, however much we may wish it were not so."
Illusions were shattering before his eyes. "But surely you have magics that protect you."
"Magics, yes," the elf sighed wearily, setting his pipe down. "But the ancient enemy has magics too, and it has not yet been determined whose will prove the stronger."
"But."
The elf looked at him.
All words died away. Grief was understood and shared by both, the man saw now, both the races. The elf's eyes held in them a sadness, acute and deep, and he felt tears trickling down his own cheeks. He closed his eyes, willed himself to be calm again, and felt the touch of the elf's hand on his cheek. The man opened his eyes again, and the elf was smiling.
"All things come to an end," he said quietly, "We have had a long life in the Earth. We will not go before our time."
He leaned forward and kissed the man on the forehead, soft, lingering. The grieving man, who knew too much about the war to come, said nothing. He rested his head on the elf's shoulder and kept his own counsel, afraid to disturb the moment. It would be disturbed soon enough, and that he knew for a fact as solid as the stones from which he had journeyed. "But." he tried one last time for a hope that would ease the pain he now knew, wash away the guilt.
"Hush," the elf said, and gently stopped all further conversation with his lips.
The man woke to the sound of war drums and flashing golden armor. Even the mobilization of the elven army was more magnificent than anything he had ever seen. He looked to either side, but his new-found elven lover had stolen away in the night. Afraid, he looked to the corner of the room. An empty armor rack stood there; the hooks where weapons might have lain was bare as well.
The broken man, grieving, ashamed, turned to the window and watched as the elves formed neat ranks of glittering gold and deep blue. He forced himself to watch as they received their orders and their blessing from the Lady of the Woods herself. He saw his lover, gleaming in the dawn sunlight, leading the march from the forest. He stayed at the window until he could no longer see the shine of the sun from their armor. Then he turned, gathered his things, and made his quiet way out of the trees.