If I had known then how atrocious my eating habits were as compared to any
other person's, never again would another morsel have passed my lips. Ever.
Sitting crosswise with my elbows leaning on the small table, I shoved a whole muffin in my mouth and it spun around while I chewed. When that was gone, I reached across Galadriel and grabbed a roll; slabbed butter on it, then it was shoved in my open mouth. Celeborn, the prim elf that he was, tried his hardest not to stare at me, though I had no idea as to why. I knew of no other way to eat; reaching and grabbing were common happenings at my family's table. I'm amazed that I didn't start throwing things; food fights were as much an occurrence as shoving, snatching, belching and burping.
I manhandled the glass goblet of wine that was set in front of me, and involuntarily spit it out over the elf I later came to know as Elrond (he was the one who spoke about me being among my people, too), when I heard the familiar bark and cry of the Isengard wolves.
It was followed by a faint female scream.
Before I realized it, I was on my feet and running towards the last spot I had seen Maethor the night before. He had fallen asleep, but was now wide- awake while the warg barked triumphantly in the distance. I was on Maethor's back in a flash and we were flying over the plains, faster than we ever had before. I heard a faint, but shrill, whistle behind me and I knew Haldir, or some other elf, was calling for his horse. I didn't care if they were coming after me; the only thought on my mind was my family.
Soon, very soon, Maethor and I were within one hundred feet of my home, and since I wasn't armed, we went to the barn, where there would always be some easily manipulated farm tool. Inside, the biggest Warg I had ever seen was preying on something, below him I could see a scrap of fabric from my mother's favorite dress. Grimacing, I grabbed a pitchfork off of the wall, and sent the rest of the tools clattering loudly to the ground. The warg, momentarily surprised, spun around, and licked its chops at seeing me, another food source. I had no clue what I was doing so I threw the pitchfork at the beast's head.
Bad idea. Very baaad idea.
He dodged the three-pronged spear and charged at Maethor and I. My horse reared onto his hind legs to avoid the animal, and I was thrown to the ground. I sat up and shook my head to clear stars from my vision while meanwhile Maethor kicked the Warg into the wall with his powerful hind legs. For being the leader, it wasn't too bright. it kept trying to pull its head away while bearing its teeth and growling. only making it's neck and head bigger..
I slowly got to my feet and pulled the pitchfork out of the ground. Tossing it once in my hand, I threw it with all my strength and anger at the wolf from Isengard. It fell to the ground, but did not stop kicking feebly as it whined in pain. I knew it could stand again, and that it would most likely kill me, but I didn't care; at that moment I only cared for one thing. A whimper emitted from the mangled pile of cloth and blood that was my mother. My dear, sweet, intelligent mother.
I let out a sad scream and dropped to her side, putting my hand on her face to let her know I was there. She moved her hand and laid it on my cheek, the blood on her fingertips stung my eyes, but I held her hand on my face. She cracked open her eyes and smiled dreamily as she saw me.
"My little sunshine." She whispered in Rohirric, her first language, as blood dribbled from her mouth and down her cheek to her brown curly hair.
"Mother-" I started to say.
"G-go wuh-with them. but re-ee-member, we will. always. love. y-" She managed to make out in words before she exhaled her last. My mind registered a whooshing sound from behind me, and a gurgling whimper from the warg, but that still was not what I was paying attention to. I was staring into my mother's open eyes. Her clouded open eyes. Her lifeless open eyes.
I sensed, rather than heard, someone come up behind me, and again, somehow, I knew it was Haldir. He crouched down next to me, and closed my mother's glazed eyes with a gentle brush of his fingers.
I looked up at his face, but he wouldn't meet my eyes. Instead he wrapped his arm around my shoulders in support. This silently told me that they others were gone too. A tear fell slowly down my cheek, followed by its twin from the other eye; and both heralded a river of tears.
I leaned onto Haldir and beat his chest with my fists in a rage of sadness. For his sake, I was glad that he was wearing armor again. Somehow knowing he would understand, I let myself cry.
I wept for little Mala who had been only five years old; her blue eyes and imagination seemed indistinguishable. I wept for twelve year old Keiro, our father's younger twin. I wept for my mother, how she would always come between my father and I.. But I wept the hardest for Gunth, by far my favorite family member. How I would live without our daily races was impossible for me to imagine. Though I cried hardest for Gunth, I shed the most tears for my father. I had left him when we were angry at each other, and I hadn't said good-bye.
Now I never would.
At this thought, I wailed even louder, but Haldir still held my head comfortingly, though I'm sure I hit him more than once where the armor did not protect.
When I finally quieted down, most likely from exhaustion, Haldir picked my limp body up and set me on Maethor, who obediently moved near us to help. Haldir climbed up behind me, and gingerly wrapped his arms around my waist before Maethor sped back off towards the elven encampment. What I didn't know then was that Haldir's own horse, Celeg, had been killed by a warg, but I was in no state to worry or care.
The Marchwarden kindly carried me into Galadriel's tent and explained some of what happened. In response, the woman said nothing out loud, but Haldir nodded and carried me to his tent. In my grief, I could only concentrate on the slight up and down motion of his walking and the cool feel of the leather strap of his arrow quiver compared to the warmth of his red woolen cape on my ear. Suddenly I was set down, and I felt softness below me, and the weight of a light blanket over me. I rested in a fitful, dreamless sleep until the next morning.
When I was conscious again, I realized that Haldir was gone, but another elf sat in his place at the head of the cot.
"Here, drink, Gliriel." A soothing voice commanded lightly, it sounded like Haldir, but the hand under my head was not the correct size - it was too small to be Haldir's - and the voice was just not right. The sound held more jokes in it, and was more carefree and light, though troubled at the moment.
He pressed a cup against my mouth and I could feel cool liquid grace my lips. Obligingly, I took a sip, and the drink coated my dry throat enough for me to talk. I asked him his name, for I didn't know who he was.
He shot me a strange look, but proclaimed himself Rúmil, youngest brother of Haldir. I nodded in appreciation, and unquestioningly took another sip of the cool, refreshing drink that was plainly not water. Before I could protest, though, I was nodding off to sleep with help from the potion.
Sitting crosswise with my elbows leaning on the small table, I shoved a whole muffin in my mouth and it spun around while I chewed. When that was gone, I reached across Galadriel and grabbed a roll; slabbed butter on it, then it was shoved in my open mouth. Celeborn, the prim elf that he was, tried his hardest not to stare at me, though I had no idea as to why. I knew of no other way to eat; reaching and grabbing were common happenings at my family's table. I'm amazed that I didn't start throwing things; food fights were as much an occurrence as shoving, snatching, belching and burping.
I manhandled the glass goblet of wine that was set in front of me, and involuntarily spit it out over the elf I later came to know as Elrond (he was the one who spoke about me being among my people, too), when I heard the familiar bark and cry of the Isengard wolves.
It was followed by a faint female scream.
Before I realized it, I was on my feet and running towards the last spot I had seen Maethor the night before. He had fallen asleep, but was now wide- awake while the warg barked triumphantly in the distance. I was on Maethor's back in a flash and we were flying over the plains, faster than we ever had before. I heard a faint, but shrill, whistle behind me and I knew Haldir, or some other elf, was calling for his horse. I didn't care if they were coming after me; the only thought on my mind was my family.
Soon, very soon, Maethor and I were within one hundred feet of my home, and since I wasn't armed, we went to the barn, where there would always be some easily manipulated farm tool. Inside, the biggest Warg I had ever seen was preying on something, below him I could see a scrap of fabric from my mother's favorite dress. Grimacing, I grabbed a pitchfork off of the wall, and sent the rest of the tools clattering loudly to the ground. The warg, momentarily surprised, spun around, and licked its chops at seeing me, another food source. I had no clue what I was doing so I threw the pitchfork at the beast's head.
Bad idea. Very baaad idea.
He dodged the three-pronged spear and charged at Maethor and I. My horse reared onto his hind legs to avoid the animal, and I was thrown to the ground. I sat up and shook my head to clear stars from my vision while meanwhile Maethor kicked the Warg into the wall with his powerful hind legs. For being the leader, it wasn't too bright. it kept trying to pull its head away while bearing its teeth and growling. only making it's neck and head bigger..
I slowly got to my feet and pulled the pitchfork out of the ground. Tossing it once in my hand, I threw it with all my strength and anger at the wolf from Isengard. It fell to the ground, but did not stop kicking feebly as it whined in pain. I knew it could stand again, and that it would most likely kill me, but I didn't care; at that moment I only cared for one thing. A whimper emitted from the mangled pile of cloth and blood that was my mother. My dear, sweet, intelligent mother.
I let out a sad scream and dropped to her side, putting my hand on her face to let her know I was there. She moved her hand and laid it on my cheek, the blood on her fingertips stung my eyes, but I held her hand on my face. She cracked open her eyes and smiled dreamily as she saw me.
"My little sunshine." She whispered in Rohirric, her first language, as blood dribbled from her mouth and down her cheek to her brown curly hair.
"Mother-" I started to say.
"G-go wuh-with them. but re-ee-member, we will. always. love. y-" She managed to make out in words before she exhaled her last. My mind registered a whooshing sound from behind me, and a gurgling whimper from the warg, but that still was not what I was paying attention to. I was staring into my mother's open eyes. Her clouded open eyes. Her lifeless open eyes.
I sensed, rather than heard, someone come up behind me, and again, somehow, I knew it was Haldir. He crouched down next to me, and closed my mother's glazed eyes with a gentle brush of his fingers.
I looked up at his face, but he wouldn't meet my eyes. Instead he wrapped his arm around my shoulders in support. This silently told me that they others were gone too. A tear fell slowly down my cheek, followed by its twin from the other eye; and both heralded a river of tears.
I leaned onto Haldir and beat his chest with my fists in a rage of sadness. For his sake, I was glad that he was wearing armor again. Somehow knowing he would understand, I let myself cry.
I wept for little Mala who had been only five years old; her blue eyes and imagination seemed indistinguishable. I wept for twelve year old Keiro, our father's younger twin. I wept for my mother, how she would always come between my father and I.. But I wept the hardest for Gunth, by far my favorite family member. How I would live without our daily races was impossible for me to imagine. Though I cried hardest for Gunth, I shed the most tears for my father. I had left him when we were angry at each other, and I hadn't said good-bye.
Now I never would.
At this thought, I wailed even louder, but Haldir still held my head comfortingly, though I'm sure I hit him more than once where the armor did not protect.
When I finally quieted down, most likely from exhaustion, Haldir picked my limp body up and set me on Maethor, who obediently moved near us to help. Haldir climbed up behind me, and gingerly wrapped his arms around my waist before Maethor sped back off towards the elven encampment. What I didn't know then was that Haldir's own horse, Celeg, had been killed by a warg, but I was in no state to worry or care.
The Marchwarden kindly carried me into Galadriel's tent and explained some of what happened. In response, the woman said nothing out loud, but Haldir nodded and carried me to his tent. In my grief, I could only concentrate on the slight up and down motion of his walking and the cool feel of the leather strap of his arrow quiver compared to the warmth of his red woolen cape on my ear. Suddenly I was set down, and I felt softness below me, and the weight of a light blanket over me. I rested in a fitful, dreamless sleep until the next morning.
When I was conscious again, I realized that Haldir was gone, but another elf sat in his place at the head of the cot.
"Here, drink, Gliriel." A soothing voice commanded lightly, it sounded like Haldir, but the hand under my head was not the correct size - it was too small to be Haldir's - and the voice was just not right. The sound held more jokes in it, and was more carefree and light, though troubled at the moment.
He pressed a cup against my mouth and I could feel cool liquid grace my lips. Obligingly, I took a sip, and the drink coated my dry throat enough for me to talk. I asked him his name, for I didn't know who he was.
He shot me a strange look, but proclaimed himself Rúmil, youngest brother of Haldir. I nodded in appreciation, and unquestioningly took another sip of the cool, refreshing drink that was plainly not water. Before I could protest, though, I was nodding off to sleep with help from the potion.