Chapter 7 - The Traveller
Galadwen woke in the cool dawn light, with a sense of excitement and apprehension. Today she was going to camp out with Toron. It would be a small taste of what was going to come. And come it would, sooner rather than later. Last night she had seen the hobbit and company were in the home of a skin-changer, preparing to enter the Mirkwood Forest. If she did not leave soon, she would never catch them.
"Good morning my dear child," Nestor said as she approached with a bundle in her arms.
"Good morning Mam," Galadwen replied, standing up.
"I have something for you, child," Nestor said, offering her the bundle. "It is not much, but I hope it will help keep you safe and comfortable."
Galadwen opened the offered bundle to reveal a leather jerkin, greaves and braces, as well as new leggings and a long tunic. The smooth leather of the jerkin was embossed with silver in the shape of the mallorn trees, and the greaves and braces had silver mallorn leaves embossed on them.
"Wow," said Galadwen, as her fingers gently traced the lines of the mallorn trees that glowed in the dawn light. "It is too beautiful to wear."
"Nonsense my child," said Nestor. "It is as beautiful as you deserve. And this way, you will always have the mallorn trees with you, protecting you."
"I will?" Galadwen asked.
"Yes, child. That is not silver but the sap of Laerorneth and Valief Tar-Vardarianna infused into the armour."
"I did not know such things were possible," Galadwen said in awe.
"They are possible," Nestor confirmed. "But not common. There are few the trees of Lothlorien will give such a gift to."
"I am honoured," Galadwen said, bending to send her thanks to Laerorneth.
Nestor smiled at her. "Now will you please put it on so I may see you in it," she asked.
Grinning at Nestor's impatience, Galadwen quickly got dressed. The silver green thick soft tunic felt more comfortable than anything she'd worn before. It was just below knee length to give extra protection, but the split at the front and back allowed full movement. The leather armour felt strange, but not uncomfortable. She could almost feel the strength of the trees in the leather. It felt like home.
Smiling, Galadwen looked up at Nestor. "It is perfect. Thank you, Mam," she said, giving her a tight embrace.
"You are more than welcome my child," Nestor said. "But you are not quite ready." She picked up Galadwen's cloak and did it up over her shoulders, then fastened her quiver, sword and bow on the outside, through the small holes in the cloak.
"There," Nestor said, taking a step back to look her over. "You look like a true traveller now."
Galadwen smiled. She may look like one, but she did not feel like one.
Hurrying down her tree to meet Toron, Galadwen was pleased to find that the armour did not hinder any movements. In fact, the leather jerkin helped her quiver sit more firmly as she ran.
Galadwen arrived at the bench under the Great Tree a few minutes after dawn had broken. Toron was casually leaning against the trunk. Dressed in leather armour, he watched her approach, a small smile playing in the corner of his mouth.
"I am pleased to see you so well equipped for our small journey," he said.
"It was a gift from Nestor," she replied.
"It suits you," he said, smiling.
Galadwen smiled in pleasure.
"Here," Toron said, throwing her a satchel. Galadwen caught it and put it over her shoulder like Toron had done with his. "With the exception of your weapons, in there is everything you will need. Now let us start while the morning is young." With that, he led them off at a quick but steady pace.
In the bright morning light, Galadwen smiled at the guards on the city gate as they nodded to her and Toron. Passing through the gate, it was the first time she had been outside the city borders since the orc attack. Unconsciously, she rubbed at the scar on her left shoulder. The forest that had felt as safe as home to her, now almost felt like a stranger.
"We will follow the east road along the river, then turn north at the first willow. There is a patrol path there that we can follow," Toron said.
They walked in silence. Toron moved with silent, graceful strides. Galadwen tried to do the same. The dark waters of the river silently crept along beside them, the birds fluttered in the forest around them, the wind moved the leaves in the canopy far above them, and Galadwen started to relax. She knew the forest was the same as it always had been, but to her, it all felt different. It seemed so much more awake and alive, but she knew it was only her who was more alive.
"I heard," Toron said, breaking their companionable silence, "that your archery has miraculously improved to that of a master, just like your swordsmanship."
"You heard?" Galadwen asked. "I did not realise there was anyone watching."
"I do not know if there was, but I could hear you training last night. As I stood at watch, when the rest of Caras Galadhon was quiet, I could hear an archer with your rhythm, hitting target after target, at speeds of a master."
"Yes," she replied. "I applied the same knowledge I learnt when fighting you two days ago. I am learning better control. I still draw on my life force, but with only a couple of short rests, I was able to train all day and half of the night without tiring."
"Good," Toron replied. "It may be that archery comes to you more naturally than swordsmanship."
"Yes," agreed Galadwen. She had felt that archery was easier than the sword, but had assumed that was just because it was.
"It is quite miraculous the impact your gift has had on your ability to fight. I have never heard of another elf becoming as skilled as you in such a short time. I'm sure there would be many who are envious of such a gift."
"I am pleased that this gift that made my life so trying has finally given me something in return," Galadwen said. "But I would still trade it all to have not seen the things that I have seen or know the things that I do. To have had a normal childhood."
"That is the wish of many," he said. "To be normal. To fit in and feel as if you belong. To just live a normal life. But you, dear Galadwen, are not normal. Even without your gift or lineage, you are so much more than normal. You are an extraordinary person. To selflessly care about this world and all who live within it as you do. In all my years, I have met only a few I could say the same of."
Galadwen bowed her head in embarrassment at his generous words. She had no idea how to respond to such kindness.
Toron put a hand on her arm, stopping their walk. "Galadwen," he said, turning to face her. "I must apologise." She looked up in surprise. "I did not have the faith in you that you deserve. I did not believe that you will succeed."
"Then why offer to train me?" she asked.
"Because my conscience would not allow me to do nothing. Even thinking it was a lost cause, I still had to help."
"Then you owe me no apology," Galadwen replied.
"But I do," he said. "Because I want you to know that now I have faith. I believe in you. I believe that you will succeed in this quest you have set for yourself. I believe you will stop the void that you have talked about. I believe that you will return here to Lothlorien. I believe you will be welcomed as a hero with open arms by all. And I believe that we will continue this friendship, and when my tenure is over, we will travel Middle Earth together."
Galadwen had never felt the extreme mix of sadness and joy that she now felt. To have someone believe in her filled her heart with joy, but at the same time, her heart was breaking at the pain she was going to cause him. She did not have the courage to tell him that she would not return, even if the quest was successful. Her mother was never wrong.
"Thank you Toron," she said gripping his shoulder affectionately. "Your faith in me means more than I could have imagined."
"And your friendship means more to me than I imagined," he replied. "So please," he said, drawing a beautiful sheathed knife from his satchel, "accept this knife as a token of our friendship."
Galadwen took the offered knife, inspecting it in her hands. It was a thing of exceptional beauty. The black sheath was etched with elegant silver swirls. Looking closely, she saw the swirls were actually ancient words of blessing. The hilt was decorated with green emeralds, set in silver. And the blade's graceful curved steel was of ancient elven make.
"A Valinor blade," Galadwen said in awe. "Where did you come by such a rare blade?"
"It was a gift," he said smiling fondly at it. "But now it is yours."
"I cannot accept a gift as precious as this," Galadwen said, trying to give the blade back to him. "It should be a family heirloom, passed down to your children."
"I have not children," he replied. "Besides, the emerald blade should belong to the elf with the emerald eyes. But if you must, you can give it back when you return."
"But Toron," Galadwen said, feeling her emotions start to overwhelm her. "What if I do not return? I cannot accept this."
"You will and you must," he replied softly, closing her fingers around the blade.
Galadwen could hear his heart racing as he continued to hold her hands. Surprisingly her heart was doing the same. Neither moved.
"Thank you Toron," she eventually said in a voice that nearly shook with emotion. With the moment broken, Toron released her hands and stepped back.
"Let us continue, we have much to do today," he said, setting off along the path once again.
Galadwen fastened the knife to her back, on the belt that held her jerkin down over her hips. Then she hurried after Toron.
They continued following the river until they reach a large weeping willow standing guard over the track. It's long arms reached into the river, swirling in a dance with the current. They followed the track through the willow's protective branches to the enclosed clearing beneath. As Galadwen passed through the branches, she could feel the tree. It was awake and aware of them. Smiling, she ran her fingers through the branches, sending it a greeting.
"Sealh," she said smiling. The tree's name had formed in her mind like a whisper on the wind as she greeted it. The tree was very old for its species, but she could sense a fun, mischievous streak that reminded her much of Nestor.
"Come," said Toron, as he led her into the protective enclosure under the tree. Behind the old trunk that was rough and cracking with age, was a small opening in the rocky bank. Galadwen followed Toron through the narrow gap into a dark tunnel beyond. After only a dozen yards, it opened up to a rocky cave, dimly lit by thousands and thousands of tiny green lights lining the ceiling.
"What is this place?" Galadwen said in amazement.
"It is given many names," Toron replied. "Sealh's Grotto, Emerald Cave, and The Cave of Tiny Souls are but a few of the names."
"It is magic," she said in awe.
"That it is," he replied. "Although, not in the way you think. Those lights are not from elven magic, but from tiny insects who live in here."
"It feels like there are more lights in here than stars in the sky."
"Yes, it is quite a sight," he said. "Come let us take a seat and enjoy it for a moment." Toron led her over to a bench carved into the stone wall. As they sat, all was silent except for the trickle of water as it gently tumbled down the opposite wall into a dark pool, giving a shaky reflection of the green stars above.
As time passed, Galadwen still struggled to believe the sight before her eyes. "Where did such insects come from?" Galadwen asked, her voice echoing in the silence.
"No one knows," Toron replied. "As far as I can work out, they were here before us."
"Before elves?" Galadwen asked in disbelief.
"Yes," he confirmed. "I was shown this cave some years after the war. They fascinated me, and after spending a long time studying them, a traveller told me of another cave he had seen years before with the same green lights in the Greenwood. Now Mirkwood. I had to find the cave he spoke of, so I left Lothlorien in search of it. On my way there, I checked every cave I came across and was surprised to find that some of them had these green lights. Although, not nearly as many as here. When I found the cave in the Greenwood, I wondered where these insects had come from. So I kept looking for caves in the hopes of finding answers. I travelled Middle Earth exploring the caves and found that wherever there was pure air and clean water, these little creatures lived. Even in the deepest reaches of the Lonely Mountains where even dwarves would not go. In the end, the only conclusion I had left was that these insects were here before humans, before dwarves, and even before elves."
"There was magic here before elves," Galadwen said.
"Yes, there is magic in all life of Middle Earth, and it will live on long after elves have left this land. It is the magic of creation, the magic of the Valar."
Galadwen sat in silence, thinking about what he had said. "Why did you show this to me?" she asked.
"I want you to know that I understand why you are doing this quest, even if I still do not agree with you going alone. I have seen the magic of this world. The things you have seen in only your dreams, I have lived them. I know there is much darkness out there. There has been, from when the Valar first shaped these lands. I have seen from the haunted look in your eyes that you have seen too much darkness. You have seen great evils and terrible deeds that spread fear and destruction across the land. But I still believe Middle Earth is worth saving and I know you will save it. So if you ever find yourself despairing for this land, remember there is always good and beautiful things to be found, even in the darkest of places."
Galadwen smiled into the darkness as Toron took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Now come, the day is getting late and we have far to travel," he said, standing.
With a final lingering look at the marvellous grotto, Galadwen followed him out. It amazed her that she had lived in Lothlorien for nearly a century and there was so much she had not seen. Nestor had been right, she had not really been living her life. But now she would. Even if that meant her life ended prematurely, it would be a fuller life than what she would have lived if she stayed here doing nothing but dreaming of the future.
Blinking in the bright light as she stepped out into the dappled light under the willow, Galadwen followed Toron around the tree's trunk to a small pile of staves stacked against the tree.
"The Border Guard have these here to use in the Soft Lands. I'm sure they won't mind if we borrow a couple," Toron said as he selected two from the pile. Galadwen accepted the offered staff. It was about shoulder height, light and straight. The silver wood told her it was mallorn made.
"Why do we need these?" she asked.
"You will see," he said, looking to the sun. "The day is late. We will need to hurry if we are to get to camp before dark. Come," he said, turning and disappearing through the branches of the willow. Galadwen followed him through the branches, feeling Sealh's presence as she passed. At a fork in the path, Galadwen followed Toron as he took the left path. They ran up the steep track, bridged a small rise, then ran back down the other side. They continued like this, up then down, up then down, in a north-east direction. Galadwen realised she was smiling as she ran. It was nice to stretch out and feel the wind on her face and just run like she used to before the orc attack.
She had seen much of the forest in her hunt for hiding spots for her dreaming, but she had never ventured this far out. The trees were getting significantly smaller, and the mallorn trees were almost outnumbered by a multitude of other varieties. Galadwen recognised many of them from the books Toron had her read. To amuse her mind, she made a game of naming the trees to herself as she passed each one. There was a beech, an oak, and an elm. Then down the bottom of the slope was a hawthorn, and up the next bank, a maple and another oak.
As they reached the bottom of yet another slope, Galadwen sighed in relief when she saw there was not another hill to run up. Instead, the track wound away through of grove of Black Ash trees. Running down the track, Galadwen saw there were no mallorn trees at all here. It felt almost lonely to not be surrounded by the familiar majestic trees that she had been around her whole life.
When the ground started getting soft underfoot Toron slowed to a walk.
"We are nearing the Soft Lands," Toron said. "A large area of the northwest corner of Lothlorien forest, near the Anduin, that is waterlogged. The Mallorn trees do not grow here, for it is too wet for them. It is beautiful in its own right, but for the untrained, it can be unpleasant and even dangerous. It is the closest to camping outside of Lothlorien without having to leave the safety of our borders."
"But the days are numbered before I will have to leave the safety of our borders anyway."
"Yes," Toron agreed. "And those first few days will be the most dangerous if the orcs are hunting you. Fortunately, I have heard that our army is preparing for a battle with the orcs northeast of our lands. Lady Galadriel has asked that I advise you that the army will be leaving three days hence. I believe she intends the army to be your unofficial escort. "
"Then I will be ready," Galadwen said more firmly than she felt. Since she had made her decision, Galadwen knew her time in Lothlorien was limited. But that time had gone faster than she had expected. She did not know if she was ready to say goodbye to her home, to her beloved Laerorneth, the mighty King of All Trees, to Toron, and her mother. But most of all, she was not ready to say goodbye to Nestor. Saying goodbye scared her more than the dangers she would face.
Toron put a hand on her shoulder. "You are ready Galadwen. I have faith in you."
Galadwen smiled at him. "Thank you, Toron. It is because of you. I do not know how I can thank you for all you have done for me."
"Do your bit to save this world then return to me," he replied. "That is all the thanks I need."
"I will do my best," she said, as guilt filled her heart. But she did not have the strength to tell him that she would not return. She could see now that Nestor had been right. He cared for her deeply. So much so that Galadwen feared what he might do if he knew she would not return. Would he try to stop her from going? Or perhaps he might even abandon his sworn fidelity to Lady Galadriel and follow her.
"That is all anyone can ask," he said. Galadwen gave him a reassured smile and they continued walking.
The ground got steadily softer under foot until Galadwen felt as if the plant litter under her feet was floating.
"Are we walking on water?" she asked Toron.
"In a sense, yes," he replied. "Years of leaf litter, twigs and branches have built up a floating platform that we are walking on. The waterlogged ground underneath is less of a water and more of a dark thick mud that sucks you down into a tangle of roots and branches. A misstep is unpleasant at the least and possibly deadly. Careless elves have died in the Soft Lands. The platform is thick here, but there will be thinner areas so follow my steps carefully."
Galadwen followed Toron, placing her feet where his had left. Holes in the ground started to appear, showing the thick black mud beneath. Soon they were no longer stepping around the holes but were stepping from floating island to floating island. As the floating islands got smaller, they also got less stable. With each step, the sticks under her feet wobbled with her weight. Although Toron was larger and heavier, he continued with his usual ease and grace, lightly stepping, hopping or leaping from island to island. With less grace than even the clumsiest of elves, Galadwen had to use her staff to keep her balance. With each wobbling step, she stared down at the black mud that threatened to remind Toron that she was an incompetent half-breed. Fortunately, the floating islands soon increased in size and Galadwen could return to a steady walk.
The forest was starting to darken with the oncoming dusk when Toron stopped. In front of them was a strip of mud nearly half a dozen yards wide. It stretched to their left and right as far as Galadwen could see. On the far side was solid ground rising up above the mud.
"This is our stop for the night," Toron said. "One of only a few solid islands in the Soft Lands. This one is completely surrounded by a moat of mud."
"How do we get across?" Galadwen asked, staring up at the trees, wondering if they could swing across.
In answer to her question, Toron backed up a few steps. Then to her surprise, he ran towards the mud moat with his staff extended in front of him. She thought he was going to run right into the mud, then at the very last step, he planted the end of the staff in a tree stump and catapulted himself over it. She watched as Toron soared over the mud, his cloak flying out behind him. He landed gracefully on the far side, with a couple of quick steps to halt his momentum, before turning to look back at Galadwen.
Terrified that she would embarrass herself, Galadwen took some extra steps back. Then with a deep breath to steady her nerves, she ran at full speed for the mud. Planting her staff, Galadwen catapulted herself into the air. The wind whipped at her clothes as she sailed up and up, before starting to fall back down. The mud and the island were fast getting nearer. It was close, but she could see her trajectory would land her on the island. Smiling, Galadwen landed victoriously. But her momentum kept her moving forward. Unable to keep her feet under her, she dropped her staff and turned the momentum into a roll, coming to a stand beside Toron.
He grinned at her. "Nicely done," he said, picking a leaf out of her hair. Galadwen couldn't help herself grinning back. That had been exhilarating.
"The camp is just up here," he said, leading her up the small rise.
At the top of the rise was a clearing with a fire pit in the centre.
"This is where we will camp for the night," Toron said. "First I will show you how to light a fire that will give off limited smoke and light."
Having never lit a fire before, Galadwen happily shadowed Toron as he went through the steps for her. He made it look easy, but when it was her turn, she found it was anything but in the damp Soft Lands. In the end, Galadwen finally got a spark from her flint to ignite the tinder long enough to really get the fire going.
"Good," said Toron, as Galadwen sat back on her heels, grinning at the fire. "Now perhaps you remember from our first lesson that I speak the five main languages but have only gone through four with you. Tonight I will teach you the basics of the fifth. It is not a language that can be spoken in Caras Galahon, for the sound of the Black Speech is less than pleasant on elvish ears."
As darkness descended and they ate supper, Galadwen struggled to twist her tongue into odd shapes to produce the harsh growls and grunts of Black Speech. The night was nearly halfway gone by the time Toron was finally satisfied that she had sufficient understanding.
"That will do," he said. "Rest for what remains of the night, I will keep watch."
By the light of the dying embers, Galadwen wrapped her cloak around her, and leaning against a Black Ash, she made herself comfortable. She could feel the life of the tree behind her, but it wasn't familiar and welcoming like the mallorn trees. She still sent it thanks for its shelter and support. It would have been rude not to.
"Where did you learn Black Speech?" Galadwen asked.
"From one of the Istari on my travels," he replied.
"What are they like? The wizards?"
"I cannot speak for them all, as I have only met three of the Istari. Sauramon the White, the wise and proud leader of their order, Gandalf the Grey, and Radagast the Brown. Sauramon, Gandalf and Radagast are as much the same as they are different. They walk Middle Earth as old men but do not be fooled by their looks. From what I have seen and heard, they are strong, intelligent, and cunning. But that is where their similarities end. Radagast cares for little else than the plants and animals. He loves and protects them as if they were his own children. I met him in Mirkwood during my search for the caves. A fascinating man. He had a lot of knowledge to share if only his mind would stay focused long enough to voice it. He would flutter from topic to topic like a sparrow hopping from one branch to the next, never staying still longer than a breath."
"Whereas Sauramon would be better compared to a mountain. Proud and strong, but unforgiving and dangerous to those who try to cross him. Now Gandalf, I would say is more like the ocean. Soft and patient, he sets people on the correct course, like gentle waves moulding rock to suit its purpose. But just like Sauramon, if you cross Gandalf the wrong way, he can be as great and frightening as the fiercest of storms to a lowly sailor."
"It sounds as if you speak from experience," Galadwen observed.
"I do," Toron admitted, looking at the hands in his lap as an expectant silence stretched between them. "But please forgive me," he eventually continued. "It is a story I am not yet willing to retell. The emotions are still too close to my heart. But I will tell you this. He is the reason I finally gave up my wandering ways and swore my fidelity to Lady Galadriel."
"I am sorry," Galadwen replied.
"Do not be," Toron said with a kind smile. "It was a hard lesson, but it was one that I had to learn. Now if you will not rest, perhaps you would like to learn the basics of fighting with a staff?"
In answer, Galadwen bounced to her feet, grinning. The rest of the night was filled with the clack, clack, clack of staff hitting staff as Toron took her through some basic drills.
As the sky lightened, heralding the new dawn, they stopped for another meal and rested. Galadwen leaned against the same tree as before, but this time it seemed more welcoming. It recognised her from before and she could feel its acceptance. She could feel her life force merging with it, feeling its strength flow through her. It felt different to the mallorn trees. Younger and more impressionable, as if it's conscious thought was only just beginning. Galadwen realised that it was only now waking up. She sent a thought of welcome to the tree, wishing it a long beautiful life full of long summers and short winters.
"What are you doing?" Toron asked, shocking Galadwen out of her conversation with the tree.
"Just talking to the tree," she replied, feeling a little guilty.
"I can see that," he said, indicating the branches above her. They were moving of their own accord, almost like a stretching child waking from sleep. "I think both myself and the tree would be honoured if you would grace us with a song?" he asked.
Smiling at his invitation, Galadwen nestled back into the tree and began to sing. Her mind was too full of confusing thoughts and mixed emotions to sing about them, especially when words of the Black Speech kept popping in. So she chose a song that Nestor would often sing for her. Sung in Quenya, it told the tale of the awakening of the heavens by Varda. Although her voice was not as pure as Nestors to do it true justice, she sang with all the awe and reverence that the song always filled her with. As she sung, Galadwen could feel the tree stretching and moving beneath her, and by the rustling sounds around them, she could hear the other trees on the island were also moving to her song.
As the last long chord faded from her lips, the glade fell into a hushed silence. Toron had a strange look on his face, and although a gentle breeze drifted through the clearing, not a single leaf stirred. Then as the rising sun filled the clearing with a golden light, the trees around them shivered when the light touched them.
"Like a dog shaking water from its coat, I do believe these trees are shaking the sleep from their limbs," Toron said in awe. "By the power of Elbereth, you have awoken them."
"But they are trees of Lothlorien, were they not already awake?" she asked.
"They were like sleepwalking children, who would only move in their sleep or under our guidance. But now," he replied, looking around the glade in awe. "I can almost hear them thinking, and talking. They have their own voices, like the mallorn trees of Caras Galahon. To have such a gift to give conscious thought, you are surely blessed by the Valar."
Galadwen looked away in embarrassment. She didn't feel blessed. In fact, she believed her tree singing skill was only from years of practice. When she had no other friends, the trees had kept her company. But she did not try to explain such a thing to Toron, for she did not want his pity.
"Come, blessed Galadwen, we must return to Caras Galahon by dusk, and I have much to teach you on the way," Toron said as he stood. "And your first lesson is to see the past. Not with any gift, but with your own eyes. Elves have a keener sight than any other peoples of Middle Earth, but there is little use of it if you do not understand what it is you see. So let me teach you."
Galadwen followed Toron around their campsite as he pointed out where they had been, then showed her other markings not made by them. He showed her how to tell the age of the markings, and to read clues about the person who made them.
"These prints here," Toron said indicating one set on the edge of the clearing. "Two days old, are the prints of Haldir, Captain of the Marchwardens."
"How can you tell such a thing?" Galadwen asked, amazed he could see so much in a couple of vague footprints in the dirt.
"The size of the print and the type of shoe. The light rain of three days ago has not touched these prints," Toron replied.
"I fear I see little more than two footprints in the dirt," Galadwen replied, feeling upset at her inability to see as much as he did.
Toron was smiling at her. "Do not despair, for although I see these things, they are not enough to tell me it was Haldir."
"Then how do you know?" Galadwen asked.
"I know because I asked him to stand here," Toron said with a grin.
"Oh," she sighed with relief. Galadwen returned Toron's grin. She had never been included in such a thing as a joke before.
"Now I asked Haldir to take a not so direct route back to Caras Galahon," Toron said. "So your task for the morning is to follow his tracks as best you can."
Galadwen swallowed nervously.
"Do not worry," Toron advised her, "Haldir took all the care of a dwarf. He will be easy to see, although his tracks will be unpredictable."
With a determined nod, Galadwen stood and carefully inspected the surrounding area. Haldir had indeed left a clear trail out of the clearing. She followed it slowly, careful to not disturb the trail as she passed in case she had to backtrack.
Toron had been right about Haldir taking an indirect route. Galadwen felt as if she had walked nearly every foot of the island as she followed Haldir's trail this way and that, with Toron quietly following behind. When the trail finally told Galadwen that Haldir had lept off the island over the moat, she found the place he crossed was exceptionally wide.
Concerned that she wouldn't be able to make the jump, Galadwen used her gift of foresight to determine how much effort she would need to leap the moat. In the mere moment that her eyes were closed, she watched herself fall into the black mud as the most probable outcome. Backing up as far as the slope of the island allowed, she checked again, to see herself soaring across the moat. Judging the effort required, Galadwen took off at a run. Leaping, she cleared the moat, just as she'd seen. But then landing on the floating ground of the Soft Lands, her right foot broke through the bracken as the force of her landing pushed the island down. Unable to free her trapped foot in time, Galadwen watched in horror as the black water washed over the island, engulfing her legs. It receded just as quickly as the island's buoyancy pushed her back up, leaving her legs covered in a black mud. Toron lightly landed a few paces to her left, quickly leaping again to avoid the black water that came rolling over the island. When it had receded again, he walked over to Galadwen with a grin.
"Would you like a hand?" he said. "Or perhaps a foot?"
Ignoring his humour, Galadwen berated herself. "I should have known. I should have looked further into the future," she said while pulling at her trapped foot.
"I am glad that you didn't," Toron replied as he bent to snap the branches holding her in place. "For every lesson you learn here, is one less you have to learn out there, where a mistake like this could be deadly."
With her foot finally free and his hands covered in the black mud, he stood and smiled at her. "Now we are both filthy," she replied.
"And what a muddy pair we make," he said with another one of those smiles. "So if you wouldn't mind, could you get my spare tunic from out of my satchel?"
After Toron had cleaned his arms with his spare tunic, and given it to Galadwen to clean her legs, she returned to her tracking. They had disturbed the area around where Haldir had crossed, so it took some time for Galadwen to find his trail again. But the longer she tracked him, the easier it became. She became familiar with his markers and was soon following his trail at a jog.
"Galadwen," Toron said as he followed three paces behind her. "It is past midday and you are making excellent time, so let us rest."
Galadwen slowed her jog to a walk, then at the next mallorn tree, stopped. She watched as Toron took off his weapons and sat with his back against the tree. She did likewise, sitting beside him against the tree.
"I fear I have underestimated your ability to track," Toron said as he handed her his water skin. "This does not seem a challenge to you."
Galadwen gratefully drank from the offered skin before handing it back. "I am no stranger to the forest, and know what is natural and what is not. Once you showed me what to look for, it is easy enough to find," she replied as Toron drank from his skin.
"Then after we have rested, I will make it harder for you. We are not far from the river. I want you to track me to the willow. But unlike Haldir, I will not try to leave you a path to follow."
"What if I lose your track?" Galadwen asked as she passed Toron a handful of dried berries.
"Then keep walking south and you will reach the river. Once there, it will be easy enough to follow it upstream until you reach the willow."
They sat in silence, savouring the taste of the summer berries. Galadwen silently talked to the tree as she watched Toron out the corner of her eye. He was lost in thought, with a sad set to his face. "What troubles you Toron?" Galadwen finally asked.
He looked at her a long moment before replying. "Although our Lady advised me against speaking of it, I will tell you," he finally said. "After you finished practising with the bow last night, I left my post and went to Galadriel. I had to know why she would not let me accompany you. Her answer was to invite me to look in her mirror. I saw your halfling. I saw him as he is, and as he will be. Wrinkled with age, boarding a ship to sail west with Nestor at his side. I have seen that you will succeed, and that brings me great joy. But that was not all I saw. There was a man, a king of old returned, destined to unite the peoples of Middle Earth against the coming darkness. I know his line. I knew his ancestors. There was a fortress in the mountains, and a great army of orcs swarmed its walls like a tidal wave. So much death was illuminated with each flash of lightning. In this midst of it all, this man hopelessly fought on while elves guarded his back. I saw myself there. I fought on as hopelessly as he, and like so many others, I died. I have seen my own death. And while I struggle with this knowledge, I finally realise the burden you carry. For I know what I have seen is but a glimmer of what you must see every time you sleep." He reached out and took her hand in his. "You ask what troubles me. It is finally understanding your burden, but knowing not how I can help ease it."
"Your faith in me is enough," Galadwen replied with a gentle smile. "And to promise to never call it a gift again."
"I promise," he said, squeezing her hand affectionately. "But how do you do it? How do you keep going, knowing what you know, having seen what you have seen?"
"Faith," she replied simply. "I have faith that things happen for a reason. There is a reason I am who I am and can do what I can. Like this King you saw, I have a destiny. It may not be as great as uniting Middle Earth against the oncoming darkness. Great or small, my destiny is to fight this darkness, however I can. But do not despair Toron, for what you see in that mirror may not come to pass. Not if you use the knowledge you have to change the future. That is what I aim to do."
"Then I will have faith that I was shown my death so I can change it," Toron replied, smiling at her again. "Now before you get me to share all my deepest thoughts, let us continue with your training. Close your eyes, count to one hundred, then track me to the river."