Scars- Chapter 4 - Staggering Revelations
Disclaimer: This story is being written for enjoyment only. I do not own any of Tolkien's characters.
Author's notes: Thank you all once again for reading and commenting on my story. As always, your kind words are most appreciated.
WARNING- This chapter veers toward the dark side. Reading it might make some feel uncomfortable. My advance apologies if this proves to be the case.
With Aragorn's last step came revelation. For the Ranger had now finally succeeded in gaining a sufficient vantage to what it was that had eerily called out to him. There beside the gurgling brook, half hidden by the untamed brake, lay a still figure. The hooded cloak covering the inert form and the position in which the body now rested, obscured from the Ranger any further means at identification. Cautiously he moved forward toward the motionless shape. As he continued his approach, his hand grasped the hilt of his sword more tightly. All was quiet save for the ceaseless trickle of the babbling brook beside him. No further haunting wails filled the air, but still an uneasy chill took hold of the Ranger's limbs.
Finally moving within close enough proximity to the enigmatic form beside him, Aragorn made use of the soft leather toe of his boot to painstakingly turn over the body, while he maintained his steady grip upon his weapon. He was unprepared for the brutal disclosure his wary actions would reveal, and his breath left him in heavy rush while his throat tightened painfully in stunned response.
Halfdan approached the small group of First Born for a third time this day. He was hoping to ascertain if his Chieftain was once again amongst their number, but he was disappointed for Strider did not appear to be with them. One of the son's of Elrond, for he could not tell them apart, rested against the trunk of a tree. His hands were now bound. The Ranger thought at first that the raven-haired Elf was asleep, but he soon realized this supposition was unfounded since the Firstborn's eyes remained open though his figure was eerily still. The Ranger was unfamiliar with the queer lifestyle and customs of the Eldar and he felt ill at ease around them, though he was doing his best to overcome this discomfiture as witnessed through his earlier overture with the willow tea.
Halfdan could tell the fair-haired Elf's body still sought the curative rest of sleep, although the Being's face was turned from him. This one, whom they called Legolas, had suffered grievously this day along with his companion as they sought to put out the fires of this small village. Neither Elf had remained unscathed by its fiery touch.
As the lone Ranger turned to determine the whereabouts of the one final Elf, he was caught off guard only to find the Immortal Being now beside him. He had heard stories of the Eldars' covert capabilities at treading stealthily upon the terrain about them without so much as a sound or footprint. Such qualities were unfamiliar to his race, except for those witnessed in the exceptional tracking abilities of their Chieftain. It had long been rumored that Strider maintained unique ties with the race of Firstborn. Halfdan gazed up warily at the Elf now beside him.
"What can I help you with?" Elladan inquired stonily. For the Elf could not help but feel a bit put out by the circumstances they recently encountered. He had not only his own welfare to look out for, but Elrohir's and Legolas' as well. For now, neither Elf was capable of sufficiently defending themselves should trouble arise once again. And though he had no just cause to be suspicious of this sole Ranger, a wariness still lay claim to the Elf.
"I was looking for Strider . . . " Halfdan began awkwardly. "It has been some time since any have seen him." It had not been the Ranger's intent to draw cause for concern, but still a finger of worry began to play within the remaining unharmed Elf.
The passage of time did naught toward quelling the abject horror that now coursed through Aragorn. The face of death was certainly no stranger to him. He had encountered loss numerous times before especially upon the battlefields of Rohan and Gondor. It's unwanted company had never been far away from the Dunadan, but he had learned to accept its cost as an ugly truth associated with the existence led upon these Great Lands. And now as he permitted his eyes to glance back bleakly upon its heartless claim once again, while he relaxed his crushing grip upon the hilt of his sword, he suddenly questioned if perhaps he had allowed himself to become complacent to its sting. 'Had the toll of all the diverse faces of the past melded into one shapeless form now leaving him indifferent to its touch? No!' His heart cried out in quickening response. For all those countless times before had affected him also, but not like this. What was now confronting him was different. So unlike the demise of any of the men he served with during his lifetime thus far, who knew of the possible consequences opposing them as they made ready to do battle . . . So unlike the earlier devastating loss he had recently squared off with, the remnants of which still lent its smoldering stench to the air about him. For even the iciest of hearts could not steel itself in preparation to what had been revealed to him just short moments before.
Reaching a shaking hand forward, he made to pull back upon the hooded cloak still serving to eclipse from him the totality of this savage impact. His lips tightened in grim response as his actions hastened to uncover the harsh reality that was now his. "She is but a girl!" His emotion roughened voice exclaimed, while his mind reeled bleakly at the prospect. Upon the ground before him was the dead body of a maid no more than twelve or thirteen years of age The Ranger was not to be deceived by life's parting touch upon the child's now relaxed features. For though her face gave the appearance of rest, the maiden's still unclouded eyes spoke volumes of the turmoil she had suffered through before death sought its final claim upon her. Their darkened depths held the wretched horror that had been hers during her final waking moments upon these lands. Their disabling stare communicating to the Man events so abominable and distressing that Aragorn was compelled to momentarily turn his focus away to shield himself from the barbarity they now rendered to him.
Drawing a tightening rein upon his now spiraling emotions, the Ranger forced himself to look back upon her still countenance once again as he grimly began trying to unmask the harsh realities surrounding the final moments of this girl's life. His weary gaze traveled up and down her inert form and then toward the grounds around them as he tried to put some semblance of order to the strife about him.
The immediate grasslands blanketing the area appeared down trodden. As his discerning eyes scanned even further outward, he noted more visibly increasing evidence providing like claim in the manifestation of numerous tracks upon both sides of the muddy embankment of the swirling stream. Their departing path spoke of a random flight into the covert shelter of the surrounding hinterland. His only hope at present was that Eadred's contingent would meet up with them somewhere out in the Wild and exact punishment for the cruelty they had left behind in their wake.
Reluctantly Aragorn trained his gaze back upon his more immediate surroundings as he traced a steady path back toward the girl. He was loathe to unravel any further the mystery still surrounding her death, but the clues leading toward this heinous discovery would not abort their impassioned plea. His breath hitched in this throat as once more he allowed his eyes to note with more discernment the total disarray of her woven skirts and the irrevocable confirmation that her linen undergarments had been viciously torn away from her body. Crimson stains, now turning more rusty with the passage of time, sullied the remaining shreds of her clothing and confirmed to him the hostile conduct she must have endured. He could not stop the welling up of tears in his grey eyes at this cruel acknowledgment while he finally put voice to the pent up emotion he now felt.
"She was but a child . . . not yet achieving her maidenhood . . . " He choked out raggedly, as the raw grief of the moment cut into his voice, while increasingly staggering thoughts continued to swirl through the unprotected stratums of his mind. "How?" He tried to fathom. "How?" He attempted yet again. "How could any creature derive pleasure from such actions?" And finally kneeling down beside the child, he allowed his head to drop forward toward his palms catching its weight briefly before he rubbed the trembling flesh of his hands against his now watering eyes smearing his tears into his face. He knew such turbulent sentiment would do none any good, but he was helpless to defend himself from this rising tide of emotion. The heart within his chest felt ripped apart as his eyes moved still further up her motionless form. 'What foulness could begat such wickedness as this?' He strived hard to consider. Though he had witnessed much during his lifetime upon Middle-earth, he could not comprehend the vileness and corruptness that could spawn such inconceivable suffering.
Finally reaching an arm forward, he tried to clasp one of the girl's hands within his own, but was ill prepared for the jolting sensation that accompanied his effort. For he felt as if he was scorched by the contact, and he instantly abandoned the ill-conceived undertaking as his eyes dropped to where only seconds before his hand had preceded. Broken and bloodied nails, and bruised and shattered fingers met the Man's sorrowful gaze relating to him the struggle that this child must have unsuccessfully put up against her attackers. His sad grey eyes shifted even further to take in the ripped bodice of her coarse garment revealing to him, deep scratches and the cruel imprints of what could only have been bites left behind by the gnashing of teeth. Finally his gaze came in contact with the girl's throat. The advent of discoloration had begun to mark her once unblemished flesh. No bones appeared broken, but that only relayed to him the suppleness that marked her youth as he perceived that girl's breath had been slowly choked from her. The rupturing of fragile blood vessels that lined the delicate flesh surrounding her amber eyes gave the Ranger further proof concerning the accuracy of this last estimation.
Aragorn's lingering examination would have once more traveled toward the child's face, had his vision not been distracted momentarily by something poking out from the folds of the girl's apron, now laying bunched about her waist. At first all he perceived were bare green stems. One length appearing somehow entwined with another. Allowing his hand access, he smoothed back the folds of cloth to reveal to himself the crushed remains of some flowers. Drawing them out of her pocket, he was astonished to note what appeared to be a crown of now bruised blue bells. 'Creeping Campanulla' He considered distractedly. Such plants were native to these lands finding refuge in its fields and meadows, upon the rocky banks of its streams, brooks, rivers, and lakes and lastly an errant few, especially this creeping variety, amongst the fertile soil of the Wilds. The local populace had given this wild blue bellflower the more appropriate name of harebell since many of the small and bountiful long eared animals it was christened after sought the refuge of safety amongst its growth. Age-old folklore had related myths over time concerning the so called mystical potency of this bloom. The Ranger, recounting these tales of old, remembered hearing about how some, who had sampled the brew made from its stems, leaves and flowers, claimed it had rendered to them the ability to transform themselves, especially during times of trouble, into the vestiges of its fleet footed namesake. In all actuality these legends were unfounded. Through his studies of the flora and fauna of Eraidor during the days of his youth at Rivendell, he had learned from his Father that the leaves and stems of the campanulla were edible, and that a compress made from its roots was beneficial toward stanching the flow of blood. Never once had Elrond conveyed to him any mystical qualities of this plant.
Fingering the delicate wreath of flowers yet again, a grim picture surfaced in his mind. Sometime during the earlier hours of this day before her village was laid plundered to, this young girl had traveled out to this location to gather these flowers for whatever purpose. The pattern of the wind had concealed from her the ravages taking place in her village until unsuspectingly the ruthless foe had come upon her during their retreat. Swallowing hard, he already knew what had followed next. The delicate blooms had not empowered her with any stealth capabilities toward gaining escape. Letting go of the delicate circlet he watched as it floated gently back toward her vulnerable body. His face contorted once again in heartache as his mind reclaimed the final knowledge it held concerning these wild blooms she had gathered. Once again it entailed the words of local legend. For the harebells were considered by some as portents of bad tidings to the one, who crossed their path bringing to them only grief and submission. Never placing much validity in local lore, Aragorn could not help but think miserably of the cruel irony that had overtaken this child.
Hazarding once again now with his emotions more in check, Aragorn reached downward and took the girl's hands within his own. Her flesh was cold. Though her tortured cries had called out to him only minutes prior, the time of her death had preceded his investigation of the surrounding area by many hours. The encompassing landscape, however, oppressed by her misery, had echoed its sentiments out to him. The rigidity of death had yet to claim the young girl's limbs and silently the Dunadan smoothed and rearranged her remaining attire before he acted toward enfolding her hands upon her breast.
As his eyes diverted upwards, he encountered her face once again. Her curling brown hair lay in a tangled heap about her head. Most of it was still concealed by her drawn hood. Though a few strands had escaped and were haphazardly strewn about her face as if adhered to her flesh by the tears she had shed and had long since dissipated. Moving a gentle hand forward, he made to only smooth back a few errant wisps when his simple contact adversely revealed to him still one final cruelty. A deep and gagged gash had torn a pathway across her once flawless cheek. Only a vicious blow could have dealt such damage. It had not been the dampness of tears that had caused her locks to cling to her skin but the stickiness of blood. With all the violence he had witnessed thus far, this one final assault laid bare to him should not have affected him with such a profound intensity, but it did. His hands stilled their previous motions as he unconsciously he drew a hand briefly toward his own countenance. The heaviness of tears once again filled his grey eyes. Without further thought, he lightly fingered the flesh just above his mouth before withdrawing his hand as if remembering himself. Reaching forward toward the child once again he unhurriedly completed the last of his gentle ministrations by smoothing back the young girl's hair with one hand while his other sought out delicate flesh along her eyelids. Using his thumb and forefinger, he at last drew close the now sightless amber eyes before he laid his palm against her scarred cheek while he muttered emotionally. "Be at peace daughter of Breeland."
Unbeknownst to the grief stricken Man, another had tread lightly onto the scene to bear witness to his few final moments with this girl. The horridness of the scene unfolding before him acted toward cutting at the delicate heart of this Being. He, like his Human brother, had not been a stranger to the cruelties of this land. He had born first hand the grief and despair that the actions of the Enemy had wrought against its Free Peoples especially his Firstborn brethren. His own mother having suffered at their hands. Though he and his younger twin had reached her in time, he had been unable to spare from her the unrelenting enmity that embodied the minions of the Enemy and their actions. Little by little hope had been extinguished. While her body had begun to heal against the poisonous wounds inflicted upon her, the same could not be said for her spirit. Until at last it became apparent to all that the Lady of Imaldris could not inhabit the lands of Middle-earth any longer and necessity propagated that the sole means toward her ultimate recovery lay within the Undying Lands. And so she set sail leaving behind both her husband and children. That was many years in the past, but still the ache lay fresh within Elladan's heart and soul only to be companioned by another more recent tragedy. One that the Elladan could never let go of nor forgive himself for though it too lay several years in the past. For when he had caught sight of Estel lightly touching his own past hurt only seconds before, a torrent of emotions let loose inside the Elf.
Author's Closing Notes: Well if you've reached this point then thank you for reading Chapter 4 of Scars. Yes, this chapter was dark. Unfortunately, I'm sure the scene witnessed by Aragorn has been seen before during wartime situations. The young are not immune to the sting of death and violence. This was a very hard chapter for me to write perhaps because I am a parent of two young children. There will be one or two more dark chapters in the future, but this chapter was necessary . . . well at least for me . . . to move forward with the story and the revelations that this grisly encounter will bring about in its wake. The details regarding the harebell contained in this chapter are based on information I found while researching on the Internet. Harebells according to my research do represent grief and submission and bloom from May to September in Canada, the USA, England, and Scotland. My guess is they probably bloom elsewhere too. The bee, though it usually symbolizes a diligent worker, can also represent death. I hope this chapter hasn't turned too many of you off to my story. It is one of the story's darkest points and will in turn provide some conflict for me to work with. I hope to get the next chapter out within a week or so. Sue a.k.a. Quickbeam