Disclaimer: "The Lord of the Rings" and all related items belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This is merely an excursion into Middle Earth as it changes from a land of hobbits and elves to the domain of man.

The Dark Forest – Part XV

My nurse came this morning, long after I had awoken – for I woke early in the night and stayed awake until well after the sun had risen – and she brought me good tidings and fresh raiment. First she told me that my wounds were nearly healed. I wonder which wounds she meant? Those that plague my body, or those which fester in my mind? The garments she laid out for me were far more costly than any I have seen before. Melin would be amazed; truly, gods, she would be. I doubt that even Sir de Marinty can provide her with gowns of such beauty.

I am loathe to even touch them, for fear that I might somehow spoil their purity; for fear that my fingers will leave blemishes wherever they fall. There is a long, soft green gown, as dark as the leaves of mistletoe in winter, and threaded through with a glittering golden thread. It is soft to the touch, so light and somehow fluid. I wish very much to wear it. But there is another gown, equally as beautiful: this one is a pale, gentle blue, and it suits my mind increasingly as I gaze at it.

Alas! What have I come to, that my great dilemma is to choose between two gowns? Gods, I should prefer to think that my journey through the forest indicated some greater depth of mind than this.

I will wear the blue gown. I pick it up, carefully, lest I tear the material. It is so fine – much finer than human hands could have woven – and embroidered all over with tiny, starlight violets. I press the material to my face, smothering a smile. I am reminded of my failed attempts at embroidery. Quickly, I undress and slip into my gown. There is no looking glass in my room; fairly, I have not seen a looking glass in some time, and so this is no great nuisance to me. I attempt to rake my fingers through my hair, but it is such a tangled web of knots and snarls that I doubt even the stoutest brush could make some sense of it.

I am pacing in my room. It is a very open room; the window makes it so. I am quite interested in seeing what is outside, in the garden. A hidden haven in the centre of the Dark Forest. I wonder if the darkness of the trees can be seen from here?

I do not wish to think of the Dark Forest. As long as I am inside this place, with my rescuer, my heaven-sent saviour, then there is no need for me to dwell on the shadows and nightmares that plague me in the twilight hours. Yet I cannot help but think of that boar…I did not think that it was a boar when it came crashing through the underbrush toward me. It seemed so intent on catching me, on hunting me down and goring me to death. Even in its dying moments, it tried to crush me. No animal is so vicious, so vindictive. What did my saviour say? That there is a darkness in the forest? Surely, even barring its name, there is. I do wish that I knew what he did with the boar – what would one do with such a creature? Eat it? I do not think that I would ever be able to eat an animal that tried to attack me. I would rather it be disposed of far, far away.

Lately, this morning, it is thoughts of my father that have plagued me. I had forgotten him in these past few days – and my guilt at this entirely consumes me. I was so dreadfully worried about him when I set off into the forest, and then at the slightest inconvenience, I promptly forgot my purpose here. I have a small, sneaking suspicion that my hosts made me forgot him while I rested and healed, but that does not make me feel any better about myself.

I am terribly worried about Father. If he was in the forest, he might have been hurt by the same boar that followed me – perhaps he is still in there, somewhere in the trees, wounded and dying…

Why such morbidity! I am standing here before my open, sunny window, dressed in a beautiful gown, and bathed in such sweet garden scents as I have never known, and yet all I can think of is death and destruction. I am to meet with him who I have longed for in a few short minutes, and my heart is inexplicably weary and downcast. Why such morbidity, indeed. Why such sadness in this peace?

I must ask him to find my father. Or at the very least, to aid me in finding Father. I must. I must. I cannot bear to wait a minute longer.

I make my way to the door of my room, and push it open. It is unlatched – there is no latch on my door. My hosts are very trusting. I peer into a long, empty hallway – it stretches many steps on either side of my doorway, tiled with red-brown stone and lined with many more doors and windows. There are large stone vases set at varying intervals along the hallway, between the doors and windows; they are filled with bushy, blooming flowers. Entranced, I step into the hallway towards one to have a better look. The vase nearest me bears a rose bush. Soft buds are hidden behind thornless stems and vividly green leaves; one is opening, unfurling. I can almost see the petals unfolding themselves as I stare at it.

But I must remember my purpose. I glance up and down the hallway – I have no idea where I must go to find him. Though I have heard footsteps when my nurse comes to my room, I do not know from which direction she comes. At random, I turn to my right and walk towards the end of the hallway. It comes quickly; the hall is much shorter than it seemed from the doorway of my room. It abruptly curves around the corner of a wall, and then I find myself in a great, open room…

He looks up and smiles at me.