Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.
I awoke the next morning, exactly where I had lay down the night before, by the now smoldering embers of the fire. My neck had a catch in it that would shoot pain through my spine whenever I moved my head in any direction. I had to be a pretty sight. My right cheek was plastered with caked on mud. I must have been drooling in my sleep. That was certainly a wonderful thought.
Someone had taken pity on me. I had a blanket draped across my body. Gimli had probably done that. I would have to apologize to him for being so hateful last night. I cannot believe that I had thrown such a fit.
I sat up and could feel the mud on my face begin to crumble and fall to the ground. My eyes felt five times too large for their sockets and my head ached. I blinked my eyelids, which felt as if they were coated with sand and were as dry as the deserts in Harad. Oh woe is me!
It was not quite dawn and the first shades of pink at sunrise were peeking above the horizon. I could hear Gimli snoring. I had no idea—nor did I care—where Legolas was or what he was doing. I wanted to move, but my body lacked the will. I sat there, slowly blinking the sand from my eyes and feeling the grit on my face flake away. Another wonderful day in paradise.
I sat completely up and was surprised when my rear didn't hurt quite as badly as I had feared. My neck would make up for that nicely, that was for sure. I couldn't decide what to do first. Should I just sit here and wait for someone to verify that I did indeed live? Or should I attempt to stand and maybe go find relief in the brush? If I was to do the latter, I would need to summon an audience, just to satisfy the King—the hateful ass.
I must not begin thinking about Aragorn's directives or I would start ranting again.
I heaved a long sigh and rose shakily. Confident that the Elf was somewhere near, guarding me from some foolishness I may do, I took myself into the trees and found a likely spot to drop my leggings. When I was finished with my business, I made my way down to the stream. I crouched at the edge and ran my hands through the water, which was very cold. I washed the remains of the mud pie off my face and rose to return to the camp. Once there, I rummaged through my pack and found some soap and clean clothes. I cared not who saw, I was going to bathe. If Eru be merciful, I just may drown and put myself out of my misery.
As soon as I was at the water's edge, I began to undress. First, I pulled the pins from my hair, placing them in the pocket of my tunic. I ran my fingers through my hair, working through the tangles as I snagged my fingers on them. I shrugged out of my tunic and removed my belt, along with the Ass King's knife. I removed my boots, shored up my nerve and took off the rest of my clothes. I was soon standing naked for all the world to see and I cared not. Let the whole of Middle Earth watch. I had no control over the eyes of those I traveled with, what did a few more observers matter?
I thought I would die, when I felt the coldness of the water on my feet, but I was going to swim. Throwing all caution to the wind, I plunged my whole body into the stream, ducking my head beneath the water. I came up sputtering, tilting my head back to keep my hair out of my eyes. As cold as the water was, it felt good. My eyelids were becoming wet enough to allow their smooth passage over my eyes. I ran my fingers over my face, making sure the mud was completely gone from my cheek. If I looked on the bright side, I could pretend that I was a highborn lady in Minas Tirith, one who lived in the seventh circle. I had just had my weekly mudpack, to keep my skin as smooth as a baby's behind. What a load of manure that thought was.
I scrubbed my skin until it was stinging from the cold and the roughness of the cloth I was using. After rubbing some of the soap through my hair, scratching my scalp and working up quite a lather, I dunked myself beneath the water again. I swam just a few strokes ahead, to make sure the soap stayed in the water and out of my eyes. I was shivering and my teeth were chattering by the time I made my way back to the bank. I quickly dried myself off with the one lonely towel I had brought with me, and dove into my clothes, seeking the warmth they would bring. I sat pulling on my boots and then stood. I felt better than I had before my bath—almost Human, truth be known. The nausea that assailed me at various times, night and day, was present as usual. I was almost to the point of being used to it. No, I do not think I could ever get used to retching. In fact, its unrelenting presence was becoming downright depressing. Carrying my dirty clothes and bathing items, I went back to camp.
Gimli was now up, smoking his pipe. I never understood how anyone could inhale smoke and find pleasure in the activity. It seemed stupid to me. Oh well, no matter. As long as I was not forced to do likewise, I suppose those who smoked could do as they pleased as well. My Elven friend was loading the packhorse. I draped my damp towel over a low branch and stowed my dirty clothes and such into a pack I had brought for that purpose. I took that pack, as well as my valise and the other items that had been stowed on the horse yesterday and placed them in a pile at Legolas' feet. I said nothing and neither did he. He picked them up and loaded the sweet horse down with them once again.
From somewhere—probably from one of the packs stowed on the extra horse—some cooking and eating utensils had been brought forth. There was sausage and some sliced potatoes in a skillet sizzling over the fire. For a moment, I thought it looked good. I was hungry. But just as I caught a whiff of the food, I had to make a dash into the brush. Sick again.
I emerged from the trees and sat down at the fire, after first retrieving my water skin. I drank the water and gave Gimli a woeful gaze. He looked back at me with sympathy.
"Gimli," I said, "I am sorry for my behavior last night. I was wrong to take it out on you."
"No harm done, lass," he replied. "I am sorry things are not to your liking. I know how I would feel if someone had ideas of taking over my life."
"You are very understanding, Gimli," I said. "Still, I acted as such a child. I hope you will both forgive me." By now, Legolas had joined us and I truthfully wanted to apologize to him also for taking my frustration with Aragorn out on him. I still had no affection for the Elf, but even he didn't deserve what I dished out last night.
While the other two ate, I put a pan of water on to boil and got some tea going. I asked if anyone else would be interested and got an affirmative answer from Gimli. In no time at all, we were enjoying a strong cup of tea. My but it was smooth going down. Hopefully, it would stay there. We would soon be traveling again and dealing with the up and down motion of the horses.
Oh woe is me!
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After a few hours on horseback, which did not upset my stomach further, thanks be, I was feeling quite a bit less depressed. Being out in the wild was good medicine for what ailed me. The fresh air and sunshine lifted my spirits like nothing else ever could. It was nice to hear the birds sing and see the green of the grass and trees. Riding atop my beautiful mare, whose step was sure and gentle, was itself a comforting thing. I felt content and that was a feeling I hadn't had in quite awhile. It was a nice change.
Being on this journey emphasized just how many drawbacks there had been to living in a city. The bustle of so many people going about so many different forms of work tended to drown out any sounds of nature that may be heard. The buildings and walls cut the view of the landscape so badly, that there was nothing to see but more buildings and walls. A person knew the Anduin was near, but there was no way to see it from the city itself, unless you happened to dwell in the Citadel. So this was a welcome respite from the everyday life in the city I had become accustomed to.
We didn't speak much to each other as we rode. In fact, Gimli spent a good deal of the time dozing during the day. I noticed how Legolas would keep an eye out for Gimli's posture. If he seemed to be listing to either side, Legolas would reach back, and tap the side of the Dwarf that was sagging. That was usually all it took to rouse Gimli enough to put himself back to rights. It was amusing to watch.
I was amazed at the care the Elf took of Gimli. Legolas looked out after Gimli, usually without him knowing he was being looked out after. I admired that about Legolas. He was a true friend in all senses of the word—if you happened to be numbered among his friends, which I wasn't. He kept his mandatory watch over me with as much stealth as he did his watch over Gimli. I suppose if I had to be watched every waking—and sleeping—moment, it was better that I was not made especially aware that it was being done. I suppose I should thank Legolas for not letting Aragorn's ridiculous directive to be thrown into my face constantly. I was almost able to forget that Aragorn had a way of making my life his business, even when he wasn't present.
We would be going through Rohan during the first leg of our journey. It was still about a four-day ride to Edoras, since we weren't making a great deal of haste. We would bypass Edoras, actually. Even before we had set out, I had voiced my wishes to not go very near there. I did not know if I had the strength left in me to ride past my home. The temptation to give Dori her head and steer her straight to my father's house would be too great. Yes, it would be better to go nowhere near the place.
We stopped at midday, to rest the horses and take a bit of a meal. We dined on a few fruits and some bread that had been brought along with us. All in all, it was a pleasant time, if one didn't consider the fact that you could cut the tension between the Elf and me with a knife. After I had eaten, I strayed a little away from the group and lay myself down in the grass. It felt good to stretch out and it wasn't all that rocky here, so I could almost fall asleep right where I had dropped. The ache in my neck that I had when I'd risen this morning was almost completely gone. My head no longer hurt and my eyes no longer felt as if they were five times too big for their sockets. Yes, if I didn't think about my life a great deal, lying here with the sun warming my skin was a pleasant activity.
It was then that I felt it. The first stirring of life in my body. The baby within me had grown enough to make itself felt at last. I mentally counted the months since the child had been conceived and it was right on schedule. It had been about four months since that fateful night in my garden, beneath the Wishing Tree. I knew not whether to laugh or cry. When a mother at last has tangible evidence that she has life growing within her, it is an exciting thing. She wants to shout the news for any and all to hear. But who would be interested in hearing this news from me now? Gimli was sweet, but I think he tried to forget the reason we were on this trip in the first place. And the Elf could care less about me or mine. And there was no husband to rejoice with. That was a sad reality.
So I lay there and rejoiced with myself. After a few moments, my bliss fell remarkably. I began to feel guilty that this child would have a very strange family. He would have a healer mother, a King father, various 'uncles and aunts' of different races, including Elves, Dwarves, and men. He would have a grandfather who, I believed, would accept him, even if he was misbegotten. Deciding not to dwell on the gloomy side of things, I sat up. I took one last moment to feel my baby's movement within my belly, then I rose. I walked back to the others and began to saddle Dori, so that we could resume our journey. After a few moments, Legolas and Gimli had completed gathering up the lunch makings and we were on our way once again.
I said a silent prayer to the Valar. I thanked them for giving me another child. Misbegotten or not, he was cherished.
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We had made good time today, and decided a few hours before sunset to camp for the night. As usual, Legolas and I were skirting around each other, walking on eggshells, as it were. If we had uttered three words to each other all day, that would have been a generous count. I cared not a bit if he ever spoke to me. When he did, I usually wished that he hadn't.
I was gathering wood for the fire Legolas was going to make. He was usually in charge of that chore, for whatever reason I knew not. I cared not, either. Gimli's task was to remove the reins and packs from the horses. At first I thought that Legolas would be better suited to that job, being as how he was taller, but I refused to voice my opinion in fear that I hurt Gimli's feelings. He did an admirable job, so my worry was for naught. By unspoken agreement, it appeared that my job was to gather the wood for the fire.
Today, it seemed I was unable to even do that simple chore to meet Legolas' standards. For every three pieces of wood I would drop down near him, he would throw two away. I ignored it for a while, but finally decided to test him. I began picking up wood he had already rejected, and as I expected, he was accepting pieces he had already discarded once. The pile of wood was more than we would probably need, so he wasn't desperate for more fuel for the fire. There was no reason for his behavior other than to irk me. That was evident.
"You realize," I addressed him sarcastically, "that you are now accepting wood you threw away previously?"
He paused for a moment, then continued to build the fire, ignoring me as if I had not spoken at all. I should have let him be. I really should have.
"What are you so worked up about, Legolas?" I yelled. "Do you believe a woman cannot even gather wood for a fire to your satisfaction?"
He slowly looked up at me. "I know that women are quite capable of finding wood for a fire," he retorted. "I just do not think that you are."
"Well, you are much dimmer than I thought it was possible for an Elf to be," I said, in a quieter, but nastier, voice.
He stood from where he had been crouched and walked toward me slowly. He stopped and his face was inches from mine. His face was as hard as flint; his anger was plain. I tried very hard not to flinch, thus showing my fear, for I was indeed petrified.
"You should mind your tongue at whom you call dim, lady," Legolas said with hatred shooting from his eyes. "Your intellect could not begin to touch that of any of the Elves. Unlike humans, none of my kind are in any way dim."
Gimli walked over to us and placed a gentle hand on each of our shoulders. "Now, children," he said, "you must not fight. I grow tired of the discord." He was trying to make light of it for my sake, I believe. But he was indeed serious. His tone spoke volumes.
Legolas did not back down. He was as a statue, still and rigid and cold. I did not want to back down, either, but Gimli had been my lifeline on so many occasions, I wanted not to give him any trouble. I let my gaze drop from the Elf's. I backed up and started walking away.
It seems that Legolas was not going to spare Gimli's feelings, however. He looked at Gimli, and said, "I need not take abuse from Aragorn's whore. I will not stand for it."
And with that, he walked away.
I had not wandered far, so I heard what Legolas had said about me. He had meant for me to hear. He had not been the least bit quiet in his speech. At first I wanted to tear his pointed Elven ears off, but it was not long before my anger died and my hurt bubbled up to the surface, overflowing in tears. Drat this ridiculous weeping!
I strayed into the trees just a little farther. I finally could no longer see for all my crying, so I stopped walking, and sat in the carpet of leaves and needles that had fallen from the trees surrounding me. I sat there cross-legged in my misery, crying silently. I lifted my head when I heard voices nearby. It seemed as if Gimli had found Legolas and was trying to calm him down.
"Legolas, my friend," I heard Gimli say. "What bothers you, that you would speak such foulness?"
"I speak foul of foul things, Gimli," he replied. "You know me. I speak truly. I do not lie."
"You may not lie, Legolas, for you believe what you are saying," Gimli returned. "But you could be wrong, you know."
There was a pause in the conversation. I should be ashamed of myself, for my blatant eavesdropping, but I could not help myself. Even if I were to hear more wickedness come from the Elf's mouth, perhaps I could find out more about why he was so hateful to me. I know we seemed to naturally clash, but the unmasked venom of his stare, and his searing words to me, must be coming from his horrid impression of me. I had never been called a whore or anything of the like before. I was hurt, angry, and very curious as to exactly why he had this opinion of me. Could Legolas be so straight laced as to cast blame on my behavior? If I thought about it, that could very well be, after some of the comments he had made before this last one. He had accused me of blaming my baby for something my lustful nature had caused. Is that what this was all about?
"I am not wrong," Legolas said stubbornly. "She is what I said she is. I did not lie."
"If she is a—what you said she was," Gimli said, trying to be fair, I suppose, "what does that make Aragorn?"
"It makes him a man. That is something we both know he is," was Legolas' reply. "Men are easily lured into doing things their sane minds would not usually allow. He was caught up in a weak moment, that is all."
"I see," Gimli said, although it truly did not sound as if he did. "Maeren lured him into the act, is that it?"
"Something like that," the Elf replied tersely.
"Legolas, my fine Elven friend," Gimli said. I could almost see him shaking his head. "What do you think Aragorn would say if he heard you speaking like this? He would already have Anduril out and pointed at your heart. Not only have you called him weak, but you speak of the woman who would be the mother of his child as a common bar wench. Do you really believe this drivel you spout? I believe Maeren may be right and your flame is a bit dim."
I was giggling to myself, trying to stay quiet. Gimli always made me feel better, even when he was not aware of doing it. It reminded me of my Dustin. He could always cheer me up, no matter the circumstances.
"What you see as dim, is only concern," Legolas replied. "I am concerned for Arwen. I have known her longer than the years of your life tenfold and when she is wronged, I am wronged."
"So that is what this is all about," Gimli said with apparent relief at finally knowing why Legolas disliked me so much. "Legolas, Legolas. Do you not think Arwen can fight her own battles? The Queen seems as if she does not feel wronged. Did you not see her at our parting? She embraced Maeren, as one would a close friend, not as an enemy. How or why she feels this way, is her business and her business alone. You have no right to bear grievance in Arwen's name, especially when Arwen herself does not feel grieved."
I barely heard Legolas' footsteps fading as he walked away from Gimli. Evidently, Legolas had heard his fill of Gimli's Dwarven wisdom. It was only a few minutes more when I heard Gimli mutter something about hard-headed Elves and go off somewhere away from me.
I continued sitting beneath the trees and contemplated my relationship with Legolas. If I were being honest with myself, I would have to admit that I did treat him unfairly. From the first time we met, he had been nothing but nice to me. I had somehow managed to take offense at everything he said.
He aggravated me.
Even if he was aggravating, I should be mature enough to take such things in stride. I had been acting childishly where Legolas was concerned and it had finally gotten me into trouble.
If I were to believe what he had just said about my character, I suppose that would explain his contempt toward me. It had been only since this trip had begun that I had started feeling open hostility from him. Ever since the day we left Minas Tirith, I had seen the disdain he felt when he looked at me. I remembered just before we left, when he was speaking with Elladan, I think it was. Legolas had looked at me and laughed, and the look he gave me was not teasing, it was contemptuous. Things had only gone downhill from there. He did not speak to me unless it was necessary and when it was necessary, his words were harsh or blunt.
I was beginning to see a parallel between Legolas and the staff in the Houses of Healing. Was I a witch, as they all seemed to think? Could that many people be wrong about someone? Perhaps I needed to look at myself—really look at my behavior with others and see how they may perceive me. This was certainly not how I thought this conversation with myself would go.
I continued the examination of my behavior. If I had trouble with that many people I came into contact with, what was the reason? In my defense, I could say that I had many good friendships, for it was true. But that still did not take away the fact that I also had my fair share of enemies. Well, maybe not enemies, but people who did not regard me as friendly. Why was this?
I decided to list things I was constantly irritated by. Well in the first place, I was constantly irritated. That wasn't good, for starters. So why was I constantly feeling like this? Let's see. I began to list the things that annoyed me and the number astounded me.
Number one, I hated it when people played dumb to get out of work. That was legitimate. Number two, I hated it when people defied me, just because I was in charge. That was legitimate also. Number three, I hated it when I felt that I was being talked down to. When I felt that I was being talked down to. Was that legitimate?
If I really thought about it, were they talking down to me, or was my perception wrong? Perhaps on some level, I was insecure about my abilities. The result of that insecurity may be anger when I thought others believed I was as incapable as I feared I was. Perhaps my standards for myself were too high. I would never settle for 'good enough', I knew that without question. But where exactly was 'good enough' on my scale of perfection? Perfection? That wasn't good either, for if I held myself as needing to be perfect, I was fighting a losing battle.
All right. Perfection is a losing battle and I may as well begin today in my fight against holding myself to impossible expectations. This was going to be hard. However, if I expected to improve my relationships with people I wrongly held in disdain, I would have to work at this.
Disdain? I held many people in disdain! Why? This was another sobering revelation.
I think it is because they do not live up to my high expectations in many cases. And if the goal I held for myself was perfection, perhaps I was holding others to that goal as well. I had not known that I expected others to strive for perfection, and that was something I apparently expected of myself.
I certainly was not happy with my behavior. It seems I am a snob and very intolerant. I know I make snap judgments of people, that is not news to me. I had done that with Legolas. I was the guilty party in this, at least as far as us not getting along was concerned. I could not help it if he thought me a whore. That was something he would have to work out for himself. Since he did not think himself wrong, he may continue to go on holding to that assumption. In the long run, it mattered not. We were never destined to be friends, I suppose. Now why did I think that?
I had not liked him on sight. I thought him feminine—pretty, as a woman would be. But now as I think about him, I know I was wrong. He moves with grace, as all Elves move, be them male or female. There is nothing feminine about his voice. It is musical, as other Elves' voices are. When I really think about him, there is nothing feminine about him at all. His hair is long and lustrous, but so is the hair of other Elves. His skin is flawless. Again this is a trait of his kind. His bearing is regal, his features beautiful in a classic way. His movements may be graceful, but they are stealthy when need be, and always purposeful. I had ridiculed him and that was never acceptable behavior toward anyone. Why would I behave so toward him?
As I thought about Legolas' appearance in reality, I was stunned by a new revelation. I thought him attractive. I really did. And that scared me. I wanted to think no male was attractive. That may lead me to feel affection for them and that may lead to something more. And that may lead me to betray my Dustin—again.
Revelations upon revelations today.
When I looked at Legolas with my mind's eye, I finally realized that he reminded me of Dustin, at least as far as his physical appearance goes. They both had blond hair, tied back from their faces. Dustin's eyes were the same deep blue as those of Legolas. The dimples in their cheeks and their young appearance. Even the hawkish frowns they wore when displeased. I pushed Legolas away as hard as I could, not because I despised him, but because I was attracted to him.
This is also why Aragorn scares me so—why I am so nervous around him. I find him attractive and that fills me with fear. I get along well with Arwen and Faramir and Gimli. Arwen is female, so that is why she is no threat to me. Faramir is betrothed, so he is also safe. And Gimli I love, but I do not find him attractive in that way.
What would Dustin have to say about this? Would he agree with me, that I should push away males I found attractive? He was not here and I was alone. Given those circumstances, would Dustin wish me to live a life of solitude? If it was I who had died, and he who had been left alone, would I expect him to never love again? The answer to that question was no.
I began to weep silently again. How I wished my Dustin was here. I wanted him. I did not want Aragorn, or Legolas, or Faramir, or any other man. I wanted my Dustin. Why did he leave me alone? Why? My life was not supposed to be this way. I was supposed to be in Rohan—living in Edoras—with my husband and son. Maybe two sons by now. Or a daughter. I was not supposed to be here alone! I was content with my life just as it was—being an assistant healer, with Lord Keodwen being the Warden. I had a little house and a little family. I had a husband I adored and who adored me. I wanted to be in his arms. I ached for his love. Why was this happening? Why?
It was apparent that I was still grieving after three years and countless changes in my life. Dustin was my life and he was gone. Did that mean my life was also gone?
I jumped when I felt Gimli's arm go around me. He was kneeling by my side, hugging me to him. When I realized it was him, I leaned into his chest, his beard cradling my head. I sobbed and he held me. I know not how long we were there together, but after awhile, I sat up, wiping my face on the back of my sleeve. My nose was running and I was so stuffy I could barely be understood, but I had to try and tell Gimli how much he meant to me—without treading on his Dwarven toes.
"Gimli, my friend," I mumbled tearfully. "I know not what I would do without you. Please, Gimli, never leave me. Always be here in the world and always be my friend. Will you promise this to me, Gimli? Please?"
I heard Gimli sniff. It appears that weeping is as contagious as laughter is thought to be.
"I promise with all my being, Maeren," Gimli replied, his voice rough with emotion. "I will always be your friend. Would that I had control over when my time here on Middle Earth would be over, but alas, I do not. Until my time comes, I am yours for the taking."
"Thank you, Gimli," I said quietly. He shifted himself to where he was sitting beside me. Tears continued to course down my cheeks. I unburdened my soul to him, like I had never done with anyone else—not even Faramir.
"Gimli," I started, "I was married for twelve years to a wonderful man. I had a son who would now be fourteen years old. They both perished in a fire three years ago. A fire set by a witless, careless fool, who was never identified. I have been alone since then and I miss them terribly. That is why I ask you to stand by me. I need someone on whom I can count. Someone who will love me no matter what. It seems as if that someone is you. I am sorry to burden you with this, but sometimes I feel as if I cannot breathe, with the ache of missing my family so. I need someone to hold onto me and help me breathe again." I paused for a few moments. When I started speaking again, it was with chagrin. "I am sorry, Gimli. I cannot believe I am acting as such a child. Please forget all the nonsense I have been spouting. Forget all but the part about being my friend. That is a gift you give me, which I will cherish until my dying day."
"Hush now, my dear lass," Gimli said. "You act as a bereaved woman, not a child. I am glad you have confided this to me. It explains a great deal about who you are. And I would like to know Maeren—not just the intrepid woman she oft-times portrays herself to be." He took a deep breath, and continued. "We all need someone, lass. You are no different. You need not stand alone ever again. Let me stand with you. It would be my honor and my pleasure." He paused again. It seemed as if he weighed his words carefully before he spoke. "There are others as loyal as I, who would gladly stand with you as well. You merely have to let them into your heart."
"I know not who they are, Gimli," I replied. "Perhaps someday, I may open my eyes and discover them. Right now, I cannot see anyone that you may see."
"Perhaps you are right," he said. "Keep your heart open and one day your eyes will open as well. I would wager on that."
He hugged me once more and stood. He laid his hand against my cheek and pressed my head against his hip. Then he left, but I didn't feel alone any longer.
Thanks be for sweet Dwarves—oops, I called him sweet.
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