Chapter 13
How different it is to view the forest through the eyes of one who is leaving it! If it were not for my expectation, this endless walking would grate on me. But, excitement outweighs the claustrophobia of my green-walled home, this verdant prison. I will at last escape my sanctuary, the forest which has so long trapped me.
It is frightening, to leave what has been my home for a millennium. I fear that what I hope for, happiness among the Rohirrim, will come to naught and I will again face exile in the woods. This fear shows how tangible I have become. My shadow-self is rapidly disappearing, leaving flesh and bone and, though I fear to say it, a spirit. No more am I empty, for I have felt compassion and care from someone who knows nothing of me. Save, no, he knows of my heritage.
Curse my pointed ears! If not for them, he would think me a simple wanderer, if a bit strange. Now, he realizes that I am alone, an outcast Elleth, who is cursed, never to speak.
How hard it is to maintain silence when around him! He looses my tongue till I am barely able to keep words from spilling forth. If he only knew of my past, he would not try so hard to hear my voice. A child of a rape at the hands of one of Sauron's marauders, I am unwanted. To speak would be to reject the weight the Elves placed on me, and to reject that would be to cast away the only link I have to them. A hated link, yes, but it is a connection, nonetheless.
In this state of contemplation, I plod along steadily with the soldiers who have become my companions. The one to my left is Thengel, named for the King who was father to King Theoden, and the one to the right is Éomen. I know all the soldiers now, as Éoden felt the need to introduce me to them all, believing that I should be made to feel welcome. Most of the men were courteous, if not openly curious. But some had eyes that wandered, lips that formed into predatory sneers, hands that clenched in tension as I met them. I will not become like my mother; I will not be a victim. In this camp, I am known to be protected. That is why Éoden has resumed his place at the front of the line, knowing that I am safe.
It is our fifth day of walking, the fifth day of sleeping in a tent instead of under the stars, the fifth day of wearing Éoden's clothes, the fifth day of belonging somewhere.
Despite my intentions of trying to keep distance from their reality, I realize that I am joyful to belong.
Belonging means sitting around a campfire, whose boisterous flames fling orange light toward the stars, as if struggling to mirror the brilliance of their distant fire. It means sharing a bowl of hot stew with my companions, an exhausted, smelly group of men who willingly include me in their world. They are my teachers, opening my eyes to a world that would, to any other, seem commonplace. They taught me how to hastily erect a tent in the near dead of night and just as quickly break it down in the dark hours of morning. I would not be swayed from learning this, for I refuse to be a burden. And so, each day, I learn something new, like how to make a stew that requires little to prepare and yet still is filling and tasty. I clean, I cook, I learn. It is wonderful.
But as much as I am taught, I am also a teacher. The grace that I inherited from the ancestors of which I am proud serves as a lesson to the clumsy, loud soldiers. Instead of crashing through heavy brush and branches, I gently move these aside and pass through, leaving all just as it was. They are ashamed to act awkward in the face of such poise, and so mirror my example. My knowledge of the forest is a lesson to them as well. Though they know the route, I know the path. Casually, I point out clearings for a perfect campsite, rivers and streams for freshwater, and tall trees with sturdy limbs for the lookout. They seem surprised at my knowledge, but the do not understand what it means to have the patience that comes with time.
"My lady?" questions Thengel, his hand on my arm.
I turn to him, wondering what is the matter. He knows I will not speak and so waits for no answer.
"I called to you, but you did not respond. I meant only to tell you that we are stopping for the night."
My eyes say a soft "thank you" for his gentle admonition and I walk toward Éoden who holds my gear in the rucksack on his back. Though I insisted, with as piercing a glare as I could manage, to carry the gear allotted me, he would not allow it. It makes me happy to see how much he wants to keep me comfortable and safe.
When I reach him, he smiles and hands me the pack with my effects.
"I trust you are not overly tired, lady. If you are, I can have Haled or Éomen pitch your tent," he says, concern written on his face.
I shake my head in assurance that I am not tired and can take care of myself. With assured speed, I empty the pack and begin to assemble my tent, only to find a pair of hands helping me. He knows I do not need the help, but Éoden likes to feel needed. And I am not proud enough to dismiss him. He is not being patronizing; he is simply being kind.
With my tent built, I crawl inside to lay out my bedroll and blanket. He holds the tentflap open for me as I crawl back out, my task completed. Smiling, he drops the heavy material and turns from me, toward a group of soldiers holding spears and arrows.
"I will return shortly, lady. We must find something to eat. The rations grow smaller and we have many days, still, of walking." He turns back to me, a soft smile on his face, "Do not worry. This will not take long."
I am not worried, but I do, very much, want to accompany them. The fruits the forest provides are well known to me, including those that must be hunted. I have no small amount of experience as a huntress, and know that I could easily help them.
So, I reach out and grab his arm, shocked by the ease with which I do this. Five days of contact with people and already my hesitancy is gone.
He, however, is amazed at my boldness. Somehow, he expects that I will remain the same as the woman he found in the clearing. He will be surprised by how adaptable I am.
My eyes are the only part of me I can use to express myself. So, I struggle to tell him that I want to join the hunting party. I think he understands; he is adept at reading my cryptic stares. In any case, realization brightens in his face, followed by what I know is a negative answer forming.
"No, my lady, you can not join us." I knew he would say that. "It could very well be dangerous."
Now I am angry. His overprotectiveness is often endearing, but now it is unnecessary.
He must see my eyes smoldering, because he quickly says, "Besides, you are poorly dressed for a hunting excursion. You would frighten away all the game with all that loose fabric."
His reasoning is faulty, and I will prove it to him. I stride up to him and reach for his belt, snatching the short dagger that hangs there from its sheath. These clothes are mine now, and worn, so I feel no guilt as I pull the tunic over my head and cut into its sleeves. The day is chilly, and I shiver in the small, white undershirt I am wearing. But, I firmly grasp the hilt of the dagger and cut several inches from the shirt's sleeves. I take one of the strips of fabric I've cut off and hold it in my left hand. With my right, I pull my hair into my fist and then wrap the strip of fabric around it, tying my hair off securely.
The tunic is still long, so I cut off three, long thin strips from its base and then slip it back on. The tunic still hangs to my knees, so I sit on the ground and slip the riding breeches off, discreetly. My legs are covered by the shirt, more out of respect for his modesty than mine. What do I care for modesty?
Holding the riding breeches, I cut double slits into the waist, spacing them so that each pair is approximately four inches apart. I then cut several inches from their length and slip them back on. The thick strips of fabric from the base of my tunic still lay on the ground, so I pick them up and knot them together at one end. I then braid the strips together and knot them again at the loose end. With this done, I slip the braided fabric through the slits in the waist of the breeches and cinch it tight before tying it off.
There, now I am no longer a hindrance because of my clothes. I look up into Éoden's face, a smile in my eyes.
He is merely standing there, staring, his mouth wide open in shock. I reach up, and gently pat him on the shoulder, shaking him from his stupor.
He coughs, and takes back the dagger I hold out to him, slipping it onto his belt and saying, "But, you have no knowledge of weapons," he mumbles, searching for a reason to leave me in the safety of the camp.
I could almost scream in exasperation. Instead, I ball my fists at my sides and storm over to the hunting party. Impatiently, I snatch a spear from a sputtering Thengel's hands and stalk back over to Éoden.
Calmly, I raise my arm to the level of my eyes, flip the spear over so that my knuckles face up, and bend my elbow. With a calculated deep breath, I run away from Éoden until I am more than one hundred paces from him, spin back around, and hurl the spear.
I must give credit where credit is due; Éoden does not flinch as the spear buries itself in the ground directly in front of him. It is almost vertical, the heavy iron point stuck deep into the earth.
Already, I am running back to him, a confidence in my gait. But, the look on his face is no less wary. One more demonstration is all I will give him. I snatch the bow from his hands and reach over him to pull an arrow from the quiver on his back. This, I have done only a few times before. My fifteen years in Imladris allowed for only a small amount of weapons training, and what little I had was self-taught. Still, I am confident in the inherent skill of the Elves.
I pull the spear from the ground, then jab it back down again, so that it is perfectly vertical, and directly in front of him. I then run back to my starting point, notch the arrow into place, level the bow to my eyes, pull my arm back, and let the arrow fly.
This time, Éoden is slightly less prepared. He jumps back with a cry of "Ai! Eru!" as the arrow buries itself in the wood of the spear. Had the spear not been there, the arrow would have lodged itself between his eyes.
He needs no further convincing as I hand him back the bow and pull the arrow free from the spear.
"I concede, lady. No further arguments will suffice. In any case, I fear that any argument I might make, you would casually disprove," he says, his hand coming up unconciously, to rub the bridge of his nose, where the arrow would have hit him.
He is so easily fooled. I am no master in weaponry; most of the soldiers in the camp could best me in a fight. But, it is almost completely dark now. They will need my eyes so that might eat tonight.
"We must prepare you," Éoden says, before walking toward his own tent.
When he returns, he is carrying a heavy leather belt and dagger, a bow and quiver of arrows, and a spear. He hands me the spear and puts down the bow, holding out the belt. I raise my arms to the side so that can buckle it around me.
He inhales sharply, perhaps expecting me to do it myself. Foolish men and their over-modesty! I give him a look which screams impatience over his foolishness, so he coughs and reaches around my back, our faces close together. He will not match my eyes as he pull the belt around me, buckling it so it lays low around my hips, the dagger pulling it down slightly on the left. His hands are shaking as he finishes cinching it tight enough so that it will not fall off during the expedition. Poor soldier. He has obviously spent little time around women. Still, his polite nervousness is endearing to one who has spent to long without touch.
Done, he pulls back and hands me the quiver. This he will not assist me with, and understandable so. I lay the spear down at my feet and pull the thin leather straps over my right shoulder and the other around the left side of my chest, under my shoulder. I buckle these together in the center of my chest, and reach for the bow. Once in hand, I pick up the spear, which I know I will not use, for its heaviness is overkill.
I nod, ready, and walk over to the restless men. I hand Thengel the spear Éoden gave me, to replace the one I took from him, and then keep walking. I am already far ahead of the rest of the men by the time Éoden catches up with me.
"Were you not going to wait for us?" he asks, breathless from running to meet me.
I stop, and turn to him, laying a hand on his shoulder, in less of a friendly gesture and more of a "wait-here" gesture.
While he struggles for an excuse to stop me, I jump up onto the nearest low branch of a tree. From there, I climb higher, and higher, until the branches are thick and strong. I run lightly across one, until I am close enough to jump the next tree.
I climb, and run, and jump, the ghostly moonlight painting the rough bark a delicate silver and casting an eerie glow on my skin. I feel at one with nature as the moon's luminence slides over my skin with the whispery feeling of a soft breath. For once, I do not feel entirely outcast, no longer an unnameable curse.
How quickly this change has come upon me, I think, as I come to a stop on a high branch. Only five days ago, I was contemplating the end of my life. Now, now I finally feel alive!
But, with this feeling comes a sense of guilt. For, no matter how alive I feel, I am still accursed. Should I be feeling so good and at peace when I was meant to live a life of utter solitude?
Yes! I scream in my mind. With a shocked gasp, I realize how angry I am with my mother, who cursed me to embody a name which shadowed me. What right had she to put such blame on a blameless child? It is my turn to belong. I want to be happy!
This epiphany is earth-shattering. For a millennium, I believed that I would never know peace. And though I am still unclean with the evil of Sauron, I no longer feel empty. I no longer feel incomplete.
Still, I know I will not speak. This burden was placed on my by the Elves, not my mother. They want none to know of her shame, her pain. It is my charge to be silent, to protect her. But I know that I also do not want my story told. I want no one to know of my half-bred heritage. All my new companions need know is that I am Elf-kind.
This Elven part of me is what rules now as I crouch on the moon-painted branch. This particular tree lies at the edge of a clearing that is well-known to me. In this clearing, many animals come to be watered and to rest. Even now, a strong buck drinks from the tiny, silvery creak which meanders through this small version of the picturesque spot in the woods which ended my solitary life.
In absolute silence, I pull an arrow from the quiver and notch it into the bow. My fingers play with the arrow's feathers as I summon the courage to pray. I have never felt worthy of prayer to ones so above myself. But, I must ask their help and offer appreciation for their gifts. Perhaps, they will hear me.
In thoughts, I pray, "Ai Nessa, wife of Tulkas, and sister of Oromë, forgive my taking of your cherished animals. Ai Oromë, the hunter, bless my bow and speed my arrows to their target."
With this thought, I sigh, feeling instantly comforted. Not due to the blessings of the Valar as yet, but simply because I know they have heard me. How I know this, I am uncertain. But I know.
So, with utter confidence, I pull back on the taut line of the bow and release the arrow, knowing it will fly true.
And it does.
The arrow is merciful and ends the magnificent beast's life quickly. I silently utter a "thank you" to the Valar, and drop to the ground. I then turn to run back the way I have come, needing to reach the hunters before some other animal steals my quarry.
In only a few minutes of speeding past those trees which I climbed, I catch sight of a worry-stricken Éoden. He sees me and runs to meet me.
"Where were you? Running off like that was foolish at best," he says, condescendingly.
I ignore him and grab his hand, pulling him after me. Hurry! my mind screams, or you will lose what you worked so hard for. Hurry! Hurry!
The moonlight wanes in the sky, but my natural luminescence brightens the path enough for Éoden and the rest to see. At last, we reach the clearing. Thanks be to the Valar! Nothing has stolen what I strived to catch.
Sensing the need for swiftness, Éoden calls to Haled and Fengel to help him lift the massive deer. There is pride in my eyes as Éoden looks into them and calmly smiles.
"Forgive me, lady," he says softly, "I will not underestimate you again."
I nod, accepting the praise with no small amount of joy.
In one day, I have convinced Éoden of my skill and convinced myself of my own worth.
"Ai Elbereth, Gilthoniel," I pray silently, "Thank you for peace."
Hope you guys caught the symbolism of her killing the deer and wanting to get to it in time.
Did I change her to quickly? Was her transition too abrupt? Honest comments.