Chapter Three - The Keeper of the Well
The kestrel's wing had mended cleanly. In another day or two, the bird would be ready to fly away. Gilthaethil smiled, satisfied with a job well-done. Cooing a word of comfort, she set the bird on the lowest branch of a pine tree. A spring bubbled up from the ground near the tree's roots, tarried briefly in a sandy bowl before leaping free to splash its way down the hill. Gilthaethil knelt by the pool, and skimmed the soft ripples with her hand to remove pine needles, leaves and debris that clouded the waters. She gazed at the reflection of the first stars of twilight dancing on the surface, delighting in the ineffable beauty of the moment, then, swirling her hands about, she broke the spell, and laughed as the reflection vanished and reappeared, scattering across the water.
At her belt, she wore an oddly fashioned cup, which she now unclasped and dipped into the water. She sprinkled a few drops on the ground to honour the powers who protected the fountain and its surrounding glade, then thirstily swallowed the rest. Her thirst quenched, she once more dipped her hand in the spring, splashed water onto her face and neck, rose, stretched, and breathed in deeply. The air was rich with the sun-warmed fragrance of the forest, and wonderfully restorative. The shadows had grown long, and the daylight hours were slowly giving way to the twilight. Gilthaethil's world was at peace.
She cleared her mind, settled her back against sun-warmed outer wall of her dwelling, and was surrendering herself to the stillness of the night, when a raucous cry shattered the tranquility of the hilltop glade. From not far away, came the frantic rustle of feet hurrying through the brush, followed closely by growls and dissonant cries. A deadly pursuit was on.
Gilthaethil sprang to her feet, and ran to hide herself in the dim recess of her cavern entrance. Seconds later, as she crouched in the shadows, an Elf came stumbling into view. Running, turning every few steps to hazard a glance over his shoulder, he did not see the fountain. In his haste, he set his foot down in the pool's soft bottom, felt a disconcerting pop, and pitched face first into the turf. The kestrel screeched in alarm, which only upset the intruder even more. He struggled to his feet, but found his ankle could not bear his weight. He bit back a cry of pain as he crumpled again to the ground. The bird expressed its displeasure all the more wildly. "Shut up, you ridiculous creature!" he hissed. Cursing softly, he groped about until he found a small stone, and after a third screeching squawk, he drew back his arm and took aim at the feathered fiend.
"Drop it, lest you should care to find my knife lodged in your chest!" The female voice was cold and deathly earnest.
Maeldhuin opened his fingers, and the pebble fell to the ground. "I...I mean no harm. Truly, I do not," he stammered. "Only, silence your wretched bird, before it calls that band of Orcs down upon us."
Gilthaethil smiled frostily from her hiding place. "If indeed there are Orcs about, then that wretched bird may have saved your miserable skin by alerting me to your predicament."
Maeldhuin struggled to his feet, and tried to take a step, but pain lanced up from his ankle and the glade swam darkly before his eyes. He swayed dangerously, and only saved himself from another humiliating fall by grabbing a branch to steady himself. The same branch, regrettably, where the enraged bird was now attempting to tear the skin from his hand. "Please, if you will not help me, then, by the Valar, drive your blade into my throat, and put an end to it! Only, be quick about it, and begone, I pray you."
Gilthaethil stepped out from her hiding place, and made a quick appraisal of the situation. The intruder's fair features were grey with fear and pain. Whoever he was, she deemed his plight was genuine, and strode into the clearing, reaching an ungloved hand towards the agitated bird. "Hush, Mîm!" she said, stroking the kestrel's feathers, and to Maeldhuin's great surprise, the bird instantly grew still and docile.
He had no time to ponder this strange partnership, for at that moment, his sharp ears registered the din of the approaching chase. "Quickly, I beg you. This hill is swarming with Orcs. We must get away!"
Gilthaethil approached him with not a hint of haste. "They will not find us here," she assured him. "Lean on me, and I will help you to safety." Maeldhuin was too dumbfounded to think of anything coherent to say, and so he silently allowed himself to be led inside Gilthaethil's secret cavern.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he caught his breath in awe. At the end of a gently sloping tunnel, a large room opened. A brazier in the centre of the room held a few glowing embers. Shelves and niches had been carved out of the stone, and these were lined with drawings, books, crockery, jars, baskets, bundles of herbs, and skeins of yarn. Here and there, animal skins were stretched in frames. At one end of the room, there was a large loom, while an elaborate and richly -coloured tapestry depicting a majestic white stag dominated the opposite wall.
"What is this place?" he asked, forgetting for a moment the throbbing pain in his ankle.
"It is my home, my sanctuary." She led him to a deep fur-draped ledge in the rock wall of the cavern. "Sit here," she said and disappeared up the tunnel, where she dropped a heavy cloth before the opening of the cave. None but the most discerning eyes would spot her refuge now.
She returned with the kestrel, and placed it on a perch on the far side of the room. She lit a candle and sat by her guest. "Best lay back and put your foot up," she said. Maeldhuin did not stir, but stared anxiously towards the shadowed depths of the tunnel. "There is nothing to fear. Your pursuers will not find you here."
Maeldhuin relaxed and lifted his foot onto the ledge. "It is broken, I think." he said with a rueful half-grin.
"We shall see," she murmured. She sat down, and began to run her hands over his boot, feeling the injured ankle beneath the soft leather, saying nothing while her fingers gently probed the swollen tissue. Gently, she lowered his foot back onto the ledge, and without a word, disappeared behind a curve in the cavern wall, taking the candle with her. Maeldhuin waited in dim glow of the brazier. After a few moments the room grew bright again and his hostess returned bearing a tankard. "Drink this," she said.
He eyed the cup and its contents suspiciously. "What is it?" he asked.
"A simple sleeping draught." She noted his wary expression, and sparks of amusement danced in her eyes. "It is quite harmless, I give you my word on it."
He sniffed at the potion and his nose wrinkled at the cloying scent. "What is in it?"
Gilthaethil maintained her bemused expression. "Poppy, rosemary, honey ... and other things."
Maeldhuin scowled stubbornly. "Nay, I will have none of it."
"Suit yourself," she said, with an air of unconcerned superiority. "You can play the brave warrior, if you like. Let me assure you, however, that this will hurt. You can suffer, or you can spare yourself the pain by drinking that infusion, and sleeping until morning. The choice is yours."
Maeldhuin felt decidedly put out by this wood sprite's condescending airs. Who was she to address him thus? There was little enough in her appearance to inspire confidence. For all he knew, she may be in league with the Enemy. His hand travelled to the pouch he wore next to his skin, and he fingered the outline of the tokens within. Best he keep his wits in such dubious surroundings. He held the cup out to her. "I do not wish to sleep, I have a task to complete."
"Oh, aye?" She tugged lightly on his boot. Maeldhuin winced and could not hold back a gasp of pain. "Your task will have to wait, I think. Now, will you drink, or will you suffer? It is all one and the same to me."
Maeldhuin gritted his teeth. "I do not fear pain."
"As you wish." She knelt by his side, and began unlacing his boot. The stranger's jaw was rigid, and his breathing harsh. Tears gathered in the corners of his clear grey eyes, but he stubbornly blinked them away.
With a quick glance, Gilthaethil measured the distance between them. She drew back her fist, and struck him squarely on the jaw. Maeldhuin's eyes opened wide in surprise, then rolled back into his head as he collapsed against the furs. Gilthaethil rubbed her knuckles. "Warriors!" she sniffed, and chuckling quietly, she set to work.
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To be continued