Lady of the Valley
TA 2911, year of the Fell Winter
Gildor's POV
You said I'll be back before –
Now the Darkness returns
Silence again , fading to white
- Tracks in the virgin snow
- Black trees in the glare of the sun
Time is so precious
if we only knew how –
Killing to live is simple no more
The seasons change but I can not
- Beyond the night the wind will die
And winter comes again
Now you are back , returning
with darkness and cold
- Tracks in the virgin snow
- You left the trees in the sun
Our time is so precious
You know that so well
As the blowing wind dies
the year returns
from winter back
to winter
I had gone back to the valley for the next moons, fed up with bad weather in the wild, but Raven could not face staying the coming spring and summer there. He longed for the wolf, and the valley frightened him. So we had separated and agreed that I would remain in Imladris while Raven – or rather, the black wolf – would roam the wild lands around on his own.
Until winter. Then, so we agreed, Raven would meet me a safe distance from the Rim, and we would judge what to do next. I had not been pleased at the idea of separating, and if he was honest, neither was Raven really happy with it. But he also wished desperately for time alone, time as wolf only. And it was obvious that we could find no common ground in that respect.
Maybe not yet. Maybe not ever. Neither of us could yet say.
I wondered if Raven would spend the coming winter with me, stay in Imladris. Up to then, for a few moons, he would not care for that in any way. No Elven worries at all. Only the wolf.
I felt a bit envious.
The Nirnaeth. Nothing of the historical facts, no battle account, no paintings, no reports carried the true meaning it had for me.
Looking back. As much as Imladris was a safe place, a refuge, a location I had to return to over again, it was so full of memory. I could not avoid walking into something that would remind me of those times. Weapons, banners, books, it followed me whether I was careful or not.
Nights were deceptive. Dream and memory were two things, but dream tended to be crueller. And much less controllable.
The Nirnaeth. We had fled then, behind a living wall of Men. Like cowards, we had fled the lost field! For what?
For the sake of the city. For hiding.
It had become night, a clear night. The moon had been almost full. The fumes had dispersed slowly, and only the destruction had remained as we looked back from the hills.
And then, Beleriand was destroyed. It took a while until I could call it that. Until we realized what was happening. The earth shook, mountains fell, plains rose. Like roaches from the light we scuttled from the water that suddenly poured inland.
Bless the rhevain and their knowledge of their lands. They knew where to go, to run. Again.
And then the tidings came. The Valar had come. They had destroyed the Black One. And now?
Take ship. Go west. So many do. Go with them.
Things will get well once more. Go west. The Valar will help, will heal. Return - .
I woke from a long unconsciousness slowly, uncertain if I wanted to at all. Then something tugged at me, tried to keep me from waking. That was unacceptable. Just for the sake of fighting that force, I resisted, pulled back.
"Leave that be" – I tried to shove the healer away.
"But you must rest, you have been hurt"
Healers. Typical –
"But you must let-"
"I must let nothing and no one" I was irritated no end, without knowing why. Could not just everyone leave me in peace for once? I blinked. I vaguely remembered, someone dragging me off, out of the worst of the chaos. What had happened?
I did not want to remember. Enough had happened that I considered dropping dead on the spot. Everything hurt. I had not known I possessed such muscles or bones in such places.
The healer let me be, mercifully. There were enough wounded the healers had to attend to. Simple expediency decided he should not bother fighting with me. People who could argue were getting better.
Silver moonlight. I got up, feeling I would burst if I lay still a moment longer. Time was writhing. The Nirnaeth had been long ago. I wrapped a long robe tight around me to hide my constitution and make sure the guards would let me pass. Leaving the healers and sentinels behind I made for the coast.
We were near the coast now. Because the sea had come up to meet us. In the moonlight, the raw, unnamed cliffs shimmered white like ice. The shore was empty, pale-white the sand as well. On the sea, the moon cast a glittering line as it sank towards the west.
A perverse little voice wondered why here was sand, here, where green forest had been before all lands had bucked and twisted?
Many were going. The summons were out. Even I had heard them, here with the rhevain.
Some had already left.
When the Valar had returned west.
I walked down to the water. The distance had been greater than I had expected, from the camp across the dunes and down the steep path zig-zagging over the cliff-face. To the shoreline, until I was on wet sand. I dropped to my knees there, both because my legs refused to carry me further and the memories suddenly seemed too heavy to bear.
We had left together. We would not return apart. Moonlight on ice, moonlight on the wide plains of Beleriand, long before the whole land had been explored at all, the grasses waving in the night-wind. I remembered Silmarussё that night, after the ice, when the moon rose, spreading her arms wide and whirling around. The moonlight glittering silver on her armour, on the hilt of her blade which had given her her name. Her hair flying, silvered as well.
"I want to travel this land. I want to see it all!"
And now they said, return, plead for forgiveness. Just as they had said before the Ice. Do not go on, return.
We had survived the Ice, and I had survived the white city and the wars. I would not go back. They were all dead. Even if I went, what would I have?
We are not children any longer – we are warriors. So she had said. And going back – what would it be, but to walk streets and forests I had known long before, I had walked with her? What would it be but eternal memory of a time that never returned, not even in the Blessed Realm?
She had wanted to travel – so I would.
She had been proud – I would not shame her by leaving now.
Time writhes in dreams.
We were lying together, and Silmarussё was leaning over me, laughing. The world narrowed to the space between our faces, framed by her hair, the feel of her muscular fighter's body pressed to mine.
Ice, white-washed sea-cliffs, high walls of orderly white blocks – a dark tunnel, and the grey rock of high cliffs, shouting and cries. Faces that rushed past, someone screaming my name and hands on my arms, keeping me back, dragging me down – shadow and flame -
I woke, panting. I disentangled myself from the covers and got up, crossing the room and pushing the windows open to look out over the valley of Imladris, still and quiet under the deep night. Only the sound of a light wind in the beech trees, and rushing water.
Dreams and memories.
I closed my eyes and breathed the fresh night air deeply until my heart stopped racing. The cold echo of the dreams remained, making me feel hollow.
Why could not the wolf be here now?
When things were out of tilt, walk, run, go out into the forest. That was alright for him, but I was trapped here. Why could not Raven be here?
Because he was running from his own troubles. And probably getting himself into even more in the process. Valar's grace, I could have used his company now!
Even if he were only here, that was better than…what? What was this feeling of senselessness and loss, if not the unending return of memories that could never be anything other than ghosts and echoes?
Perhaps it was loneliness. As strange and different as Raven was, he…was dear to me. Whatever that might mean. And damn, I missed him. May the Valar – I interrupted myself. Old habits, right? I of all the world should realize I was definitely out of range of any Valarian favours. I squeezed my eyes shut again. Orome, protect him, I thought darkly. If there was anyone who might understand a wolf, it should be you, Great Hunter.
Somewhere in the wild:
The black wolf was close enough to the valley now and slowed his trot. The fresh spring green of the forest was ruffled by a cool breeze which brought a lot of interesting scents to the wolf's nose. The sky was clear yet, but the smell of rain was on the wind already.
The pack had passed here a day ago, and they weren't far away now.
Joy.
Not a name, for wolves did not give names.
More a concept of her character.
Lowering his nose to the ground the black followed a thin tendril of scent through the undergrowth to a particular spot. Yes, he was at the farthest border of their territory now. They would easily hear him if he called them now.
He got an answer almost immediately. But the leader's one voice wasn't joined by the others. The wolf was puzzled. He recognized the voice as belonging to her easily – but…
He left the marking spot and ran down into the valley. Since he wisely approached from the smooth, green side he needed not bother with rocks and landslides. In a short time he had reached the valley's bottom.
The black followed the brook flowing through the valley, splashing through the water and snapping at a few frogs which lay lazily at the bottom. He met her suddenly, her light grey coat showing her up against the dark background of trees behind her as she stepped out on a slightly raised mound at the bank. She looked down on him with a smug expression.
The wind was behind him, the black realized, berating himself for this inattentiveness. She had smelled him all along and probably outrun him to intercept him now.
She didn't seem to have changed, the black wolf thought. Still almost white and unruffled.
But she was alone. No trace of cubs, or of another male.
The black went forward to greet her properly as the pack mother and leader she was. When he leapt up to her mound with his tail and head lowered she didn't wait for him to reach her, and pushed his head up with her muzzle, an inquiring look in her yellow eyes.
The black wolf tried to evade her eyes, not wishing to challenge but Raven met her gaze. She was quite aware of what he was, and he knew that though wolves tended to take things as they came and his kind were always welcome she would wonder.
'why are you here, changewolf?'
That was much more direct than wolf standard. She was talking to unfurred more than to the wolf. The black wolf flicked his ears, puzzled. The changer felt tempted to return a 'why do you ask' but rhetoric questions weren't something a wolf understood.
'I wish to see my people again'
'your people. That is well'
She looked away, breaking the frail contact and invited him to follow with a flick of her bushy tail. Wait and see the black wolf counselled his bewildered and worried elven part.
The pack was gathered in a small clearing, the fresh grass dotted with tiny blue flowers. The pack – both unfurred and furred immediately surmised the members – had shrunk. Three he had known were missing, and their scent gone from the others. Three remained, a young grey male, a yearling male, and an old grey wolf the black one recognized as occupying the lowest rank.
He knew only him, not the youngsters. As changewolf the black knew he was a temporary addition to the pack and would be expected to take his place below the lowest ranking wolf. They greeted him almost enthusiastically still, with much less dominance he would have expected from a severely decimated mountain pack.
After a nap the wolf's mind usually turns to hunger, and the hunt. It wasn't different today, and an additional set of teeth seemed more than welcome. The changer had not hunted in a pack for a long time. The conventional ranks were out of order while hunting, but he kept behind the wolves as they started a brisk trot into the forest.
The hunt and the meal were finished some time after nightfall, and the wolves had curled up to rest. Though he had had to dutifully wait for his turn on the prey even the black wolf felt sated now. The grass beneath him was crisp and covered in yellow and reddish leaves, and the worries of unfurred were mercifully far away.
The sun ran its course until the first snow fell. The wolves of the pack were tensed and fights arose over little things. Joy kept her pack-mates at bay as winter deepened. Though they fought among themselves, the order of rank was not changed. The black kept out of the fights if he could. One night in midwinter after a successful but exhausting hunt in deep snow he was preparing to sleep when she came to lie down beside him. She had a wary look in her eyes and her ears were shifting towards her pack-mates. The black wolf recognized this for what it was. He caught her yellow-eyed gaze for a moment. The young grey, just below her in rank, growled without standing up. She growled back. The black wolf tensed, caught between unfurred and his instincts for a moment. In the spontaneous world of the wolves he had moments to decide how to react. Her implication and query had been clear though she never once had spoken to his mind directly. For the pack mother and simultaneous leader of the pack to turn to the lowest ranking spelled conflict.
Unfortunately question and action fell together. If he got up now he acknowledged her leader status and his low position as well as rejecting her offer. If he stayed and accepted, he also accepted the challenge of the pack.
The other wolves had raised their heads at the snarl but would not side immediately with anyone. The black wolf flicked his ears and got into a half lying half crouching position, ready for defence.
'why? I'm neither furred nor unfurred ' he directed sharply at her. She rose as well, shaking out her fur with a twitch and facing the grey one.
'you'd be good mate' was her terse sending, encompassing the wolf's whole emotions on the grey wolf and him.
'pack fails'
The young grey one got to his feet, so did the black and they began circling each other. Behind the wolf's mind Raven was debating ethics he had never bothered about, all in the flash of a second. She sensed his dithering, and took mercy on him. Turning away from the scene, with her back to the males, she walked a few paces away. The simple action dispersed the whole incident. The grey hesitated a moment. The black wolf lowered his head and turned away. Abruptly, routine returned.
The black flopped to the ground and settled his head on his forelegs. This had not been strictly the way, but all wolves tended to be lenient when a changer was involved. And the white leader had not cancelled the scene completely, merely postponed the solution.
Raven was puzzled. He had run with her pack before, had kept watch over her cups. But she had never overtly courted him.
She had never before lacked a proper mate.
That was it. Wolf mind-speech was as weird as howling, but he took her statement to mean that. Pack fails. She had obviously rejected the young grey as a mate, coming right behind her in rank. He would have been suitable.
In theory. He was not one of her own cubs, but the yearling male probably was, so he was out of the question as well. And the old one had displayed great disinterest in the recent confrontation.
The black noticed her missing. Of course it was her right to be absent as pack leader. But that she left now, leaving him with a strange and unstable pack told him she was adding a subtle – very subtle, unwolfish – question.
The decision was his. So what could he do?
The only choices were acceptance or rejection. She would accept either without grudge. But he could not completely reject unfurred, now that she had appealed to the changewolf and not just the black.
The wolf was easily decided. Only the grey was a true rival. Why dither?
Unfurred held back with fears he had never considered. There had never been stories of changewolves mating with true ones. The old songs implied it, but not even Saka'nor or Nightchaser had been able to figure out the correct meanings.
Even with their closeness, what would happen? Was it right? What would their offspring be like? If there was any.
He had wished uncountable times to be wolf, and wolf alone.
Maybe khai'tohr's concepts of proper love and such had entered fluff into his set of morals. The wolf watched him, smugly and amused at the same time. The nighthunter's eyes burned his mental back.
Who are you? Who am I?
Right now, he was wolf. The wolf was decided.
What of misborn?
Now that was a thought.
The black took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Raven felt his contempt for dithering thoughts, and his non-understanding.
Try. Simply try. Did he want it? It was no question of sexual ethics for him.
"Both ways are open to you"
Nightchaser's words.
Would not the shaman know?
But he had been speaking about a lifetime decision. Leaving unfurred to oblivion and becoming wholly wolf.-
The black got to his feet and left on her trail. Concealed almost completely, he found her by scent, not by the white of her pelt. Her yellow eyes met his with obvious concentration. She always got that look when she was trying to 'think words'.
'decide?'
He flattened his ears in denial. 'you risk'
Now how to encompass his doubts to her. Would she care? She rose, aggressively, but keeping the threat out of it by holding her tail low.
'my pack'
'your life. What of danger?'
'my pack is my life'
It all came down to the wolf. And only the wolf.
The black lay down, not taking his eyes from her. After a moment, she joined him, resting her chin on his shoulder.
Tomorrow would mean a fight.
The black came into the clearing, the white female by his side. He stopped, and the wolves turned their heads in their direction simultaneously. He met each gaze in turn. The yearling drew his lips back and rose, but without much decision. The black raised his tail and advanced. The yearling hesitated, then looked away. The old one held his gaze, but didn't even rise. The grey was on his feet, tail raised, his ruff bristling.
The black reacted by stepping into his line of advance. He fanned his own ruff out. There would be no leniency now. The changewolf had crossed the border to the true wolves; demanding their ways meant acting their way.
Niy'ashi had been a grey when he changed.
The black put that thought firmly out of his mind and let his challenge stand, waiting for the grey to attack. He was taller than the mountain wolf. But the changer also knew that he was no leader. The right to mate went with the obligation to lead.
The ability to lead.
That was his greatest fear. The grey sensed that, his reluctance to fight wholeheartedly for the lead.
Once at the pack's top he needed not worry – she would remain leader. And she had not chosen the grey. But this was between the males.
The grey attacked with fangs bared, holding no aggression back. The wolf took over completely, obliterating Raven's doubts. The grey crashed into him and the black felt teeth on his neck. For a second he withdrew. He had never before earnestly fought a true wolf. Not for the lead.
Then he hurled himself forward, wrapping the grey with his forelegs and driving the snapping wolf back with his greater weight. The ensuing fight gained in speed, and attack and retreat became instinctive. The black forgot everything but the will to kill.
The grey knocked him to the ground. Twisting over the black saw his chance. The grey's teeth closed on his flank, drawing blood, but in his upward surge the black buried his fangs in the fur on the grey's throat and bit down until he felt flesh.
Both wolves froze. With a yelp the grey twisted away, and the black released him, panting. His opponent turned away in submission, then, being at a loss, shook out his fur and sat down to lick his bleeding shoulder.
The black shook himself, waiting. He was not challenged again.
The cubs were born late. Earlier fight forgotten the whole pack helped raise them.
Time passed, though the wolf heeded it little.
The Hunter's Moon though, that was one thing even a wolf regarded as constant. Faithfully it returned each sun-round, and brought sometimes rich prey and sometimes scarce. This year it was rich, but as the moon hung low in the sky and the pack enjoyed and communicated their success to all possible listeners the black was reminded of something.
He had to go. Why, that was not the wolf's concern, but once having realized it, Raven was adamant. Time had passed. He had promised.
Thick and glittering frost rimed everything when he neared the Elves' valley. It had been the night of the first snow when he had left the high mountains. Now he drifted along the valley's borders and howled, announcing his presence and waiting for an answer with a trepidation he finally acknowledged as fear that there might be no response.
Chapter Notes:
Nirnaeth Arnoediad: The Battle of Unnumbered Tears; Turgon had to retreat in secret and under cover of Hurin's fighters to keep the location of Gondolin secret.
Beleriand: In the 40 years of the War of Wrath the Valar came to Middle-earth and defeated Morgoth. The Western lands of Middle-earth were destroyed and sank under the rising sea.
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