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III III III
AN: Apologies in advance for very bad Sindarin grammar.
The figure drew back their hood.
Immediately, Anne forgot all thoughts of impending dangers. She had thought that there was something slightly transcendent about Delior, something that did not entirely agree with the human eye. A whiff of otherness that pricked at the back of your neck. The man now standing in front of them was obviously another Elf — had to be. That very same otherness that surrounded Delior, but it was just... more.
The stranger was at least as tall as Delior, making Anne feel more and more dwarfed, and his measured movements exuded the same quiescent strength. He, too, had skin pale as cream but unlike Delior, his hair was fair; it seemed to be quite long, gathered in a braid that fell across the Elf's shoulder, and wherever flecks of sunlight reached through the foliage, his head appeared to be strewn with specks of gleaming gold.
It seemed to Anne that he was a lot older than Delior, though why she thought so, she could not have said. The skin of his fair face was smooth; there were no deep lines around his eyes, nor was there any sign of grey in his hair. And yet — similar to her first impression of Delior — there was something about the Elf's bearing, in the strange, bright light of his grey eyes, even in the clear voice —
The wisdom of eternity... or is it?
A whisper of pleased malice.
Anne blinked, feeling disorientated. She glanced between the two elves, but no one had spoken.
Delior's expression was somewhat distant but he now bowed his head.
"Glorfindel."
The other Elf smiled; Anne thought there was something rueful about his expression, though he did not seem surprised at the cautious welcome. He now glanced at Anne, giving a slight bow of the head, then started speaking urgently to Delior, his voice low and his eyes fixed on the dark-haired Elf's face. He was using that strange, fair-sounding language again, and Anne could not have told where one word ended or the other began.
Delior listened quietly while slinging his bow back over his shoulder, which finally assured Anne that there was no danger. At length, Delior replied to the other Elf in a somewhat guarded tone in what appeared to be the same tongue.
At this point, Anne remembered that her current raiment consisted of little more than a large square of linen. In light of this, it seemed like an excellent idea to quietly slip away and head back to the cave ahead of Delior, and possibly the other one — perhaps he had come to stay at the shelter as well?
No one made an attempt to stop Anne as she left the Elves behind and hurried along the uneven, rocky path that led up the hillside. After reaching the cave, she spread out her damp clothes on a flat, sun-warmed boulder and hurriedly slipped the pair of long underwear back on, even though they weren't completely dry yet. Meanwhile, Anne could not help but wonder who the visitor was, and what he and Delior might be discussing. It had seemed as if they knew each other, but while the other Elf had appeared glad and even relieved at their meeting, Delior himself had seemed reluctant and cautious. On the other hand, from what she knew by now, he had probably just been his usual reticent, and not so endearing, self.
Anne did not have to wait long; perhaps half an hour had passed when quiet voices reached her ear, slowly growing more distinguishable as they drew near. Anne, who had retrieved her clothes and got dressed in the meantime, looked up and watched as both Delior and the stranger, who was leading two horses behind him, approached the base of the small cliff.
When Anne heard Delior call her name, she leapt up from her bed of pelts where she had been trying to brush her hair with her fingers and went to meet the two Elves at the entrance. She half expected to be scolded for running off, but Delior merely frowned at her half-dried clothing, before indicating his companion.
"This is the Lord Glorfindel of Imladris, an elven dwelling west of the mountains, also called Rivendell in your tongue. He bears news that may be of interest to you."
Something stirred in Anne's mind, but it was gone before she could grasp it. Also, she had no time to reflect on the matter, as Glorfindel now turned to her with a gentle smile, which she found rather distracting.
"Well met. Forgive us our previous misbehaviour," he said with another slight bow of his head. "Be assured that not disrespect was the reason, but mere haste and urgency."
"Oh, no, that's fine," muttered Anne, who was immensely grateful that she had not been introduced while wrapped in a towel. Feeling both intimidated and strangely giddy at being addressed by him, her awkward gaze strayed away from the Elf and instead landed on the two grazing horses. One was a tall, magnificent grey, powerfully built, its coat as pale as fresh snow. However, it was only when Anne's eyes fell on the second horse that her jaw dropped. It was smaller, had a coat of dark brown with large, white patches, and looked oddly familiar — just as did the saddlebags and the rolled-up blankets, which the gelding was still carrying.
"Wait… how—"
incredulous and momentarily forgetting her awe, Anne slowly approached the animals. The skewbald turned his head to look at her and have a low snort. "We brought this horse with us when we left from Carrockton. She reached out her hand to touch the horse's dark, softly gleaming neck. "Where did you find him?"
"Nearly sixty miles southwest from here, at the height of Dimrill Dale," said Glorfindel. "He and two of his travelling companions — both riderless — were grazing peacefully in a small clearing just beyond the western borders of the forest. I took the lot with me, yet on the very next morrow I was able to return the other two back to their rightful owners."
"The people from Carrockton?" Anne turned back to him, feeling her throat tighten. "You met them? They were all right?" But even as the question left her lips Anne remembered Anselm and the other rider, whom she had watched being shot and fall. She swallowed. "Did you... I mean, did you see how many were left? How many women?"
Glorfindel, who had waited patiently for her to pause, shook his head.
"I fear it is not in my power to ease your worries. The Dúnadan who travelled with the villagers said that the group had been widely scattered and the whereabouts of many were yet unknown. They suffered losses, that much I know. However, the group I met had seven women with them who appeared unharmed. Three of them were well advanced in years, the remaining four were maidens."
Anne felt a small wave of warm relief wash over her. Liecia, Goda and the two girls from their cart had been the only young women in the group. If Glorfindel spoke the truth, Liecia was safe, at least.
"Oh," she muttered. "That— that's good then. Thank you."
Delior made a soft, thoughtful sound. When Anne looked up at him, she found the dark-haired Elf regarding her with unusual attentiveness.
"You seem not overmuch affected by tidings of your fellow villagers and neighbours, whether they be ill or glad—"
"Legolas."
It was Glorfindel, who had interrupted the other Elf before Anne had had a chance to think of something to say. He now said a couple more words in their own tongue, which, nevertheless sounded to Anne like a mild reprimand. Delior did not exactly appear contrite, but he inclined his head and his watchful gaze left Anne to return to Glorfindel, who now switched back to the common tongue as he continued speaking.
"I am glad to lend some aid in the reunion of at least two members of your company," he said with a glance at the skewbald horse. "Your travelling companions and the Dúnadan would not take him back. It seemed they hoped I might come across you on my journey northwards but fortunately Legolas found you sooner than that."
Anne, who slowly realised that Glorfindel was talking about Delior, wondered wryly in how much detail the latter had explained about the circumstances under which he had found her. On the other hand – admittedly, he had saved her life, and seeing as she was not about to be rid of him for another week or so, it probably would not be wise to elaborate on the matter right now. Furthermore, along with the horse she had also received her luggage back, which improved her mood considerably.
"The question remains: What shall happen with her now?" Glorfindel continued, speaking to Delior once more. He was still using Westron; Anne suspected this was out of consideration to her. "Will you take her to Rohan, following the villagers?"
Delior shook his head. "I would rather not take such a detour, much less if I were to take your advice."
"You should and I hope you will," Glorfindel said, his brow furrowed. "Though, I still hope that someone or something will discourage you from following through with your plan. Alas, I can tell your mind is made up, so I beseech you to heed my words and first head to Bree, where you may find the help I mentioned." Glorfindel paused, seemed to hesitate, then went on, "Ad ae..."
"Baw." Delior had spoken the single word with such calm finality that Anne felt sure he was rejecting something, even though she had no idea what was going on.
"Amman-ú Estel? Gîn hîr adar?" Glorfindel suggested quietly. "Maethor dîn—"
"I shall not risk lives on a hunch."
Surprised, Anne stared at Delior, not understanding why he had said that last sentence in his softly accented Westron again. To her astonishment, she saw the corner of his mouth lift; the faintest ghost of a grim smile.
Glorfindel, too, appeared taken aback for a moment but then his slight frown disappeared and he bowed his head. There seemed to be an air of reluctant acceptance about the small gesture.
"We have digressed, it would appear." Glorfindel sighed. "If you will not go to Rohan, where will you bring her?"
"Back to Ecthel, I think. That was the plan, at any rate."
Glorfindel suddenly looked dismayed. "But that is not possible! I believed you must have heard of it, or I would not have kept quiet till now. The town of Ecthel has been abandoned." He turned to Anne. "There was an attack, merely a few days after you left."
Anne couldn't speak. She thought of the innkeeper Dorlas Dockleaf, grumpy and brave, as he dragged a bleeding man into the dimly lit inn's common-room. The reek of unwashed, emaciated bodies with much more strength than they should have. Nesta's pale face, the weak smile as she had bid Anne Goodbye. The nauseating pain as Anne's head was pushed roughly to the hard ground, the sound of the fabric of her dress being ripped apart. Anne felt sick to her stomach. Dimly, she registered Delior's following clipped demand.
"Who?"
Glorfindel looked between them. "A fair number of the creatures you have both encountered already. Some orcs as well. And there was something else—" a shadow seemed to flit across the Elf's face. "What, I cannot say with certainty, but it left an evil presence."
An odd numbness spread across Anne's face. So disconcerting was the sensation that she raised an absent hand to vaguely touch her cheek. Glorfindel's following words were muffled as though something was pressing down on her inner ear.
"There was a fight, it seems, but the townsfolk were outnumbered by far and in the end had no choice but flee. Not by any means you can return there. I dare say the village is being plundered as we speak if it has not already happened."
"Those are bad tidings indeed." Delior's expression had turned grim. "Orcs between the Carrock and Eryn Galen... Never would they have dared such in the days of Beorn."
"True perhaps," said Glorfindel, "but they are but a small part of this, unless I am mistaken. And the fact that no word of such evil seems to have reached the forest yet troubles me more. I cannot linger any longer."
Still trying to fight down the sense of disorientation and dull nausea, Anne vaguely noted that the two elves had started conversing in their own tongue once more. At this moment Delior shook his head at something Glorfindel had said, before replying in a low voice, and indicating the horses.
Not that I would understand a word, even if you were yelling, Anne thought sullenly as she watched them, wrapping her arms around her stomach. Glorfindel now laid a hand on Delior's arm and spoke in a very urgent and insistent tone; Anne thought she heard the word Bree again. Delior averted his eyes while the other Elf spoke, but at last he looked up and gave the tiniest nod.
This appeared to satisfy Glorfindel, yet he still looked concerned when he bid them adieu shortly afterwards. He said a few kind words to Anne while taking her fingers in his. His hand was warm and felt very strong, and Anne was so flustered by his touch that she promptly forget every word of his polite farewell. After the fair-haired Elf had mounted his horse, he addressed Delior one last time in elvish; Delior muttered a response and then both he and Anne watched Glorfindel ride off down the slope in a slow trot, his golden hair and the pure white of his horse's coat shining in the twilight beneath the canopy of green, until they finally disappeared between the denser growing trunks and vanished from sight.
The skewbald gelding had begun to snort, prance nervously and tossed his head when Anne tried to grip the reins more firmly. Clearly, he did not like being left behind and seemed on the verge of breaking loose to follow Glorfindel's horse. Delior laid a hand on the horse's neck, his fingers splayed against the dark coat, while quietly speaking his own tongue. The Elf's tone was calm and gentle, and quite different from anything Anne had heard from him so far. She could almost imagine to feel the soothing effect herself as she watched the horse quieten down and allow Delior to lay his other hand on its head until it finally snorted and stood still.
Delior's hands fell back to his sides as he turned to look at Anne.
"You should pack up your things and also sort out the contents of these packs," he indicated the saddlebags, his voice now considerably less tender. "Then get as much rest as you can. We shall leave on the morrow at first light, and the journey that lies ahead of us will be long and difficult."
With that, he turned and went to fetch his knife and the doe's leg from the ground, then walked towards the fire pit where he crouched down and started rekindling the glowing embers. Anne was left standing at the entrance with the distinct feeling that a very important piece of information had escaped her notice.
"W—wait," she finally managed, letting go of the horse's reins — that fortunately merely started grazing — and followed the Elf inside the cave. "What do you mean, 'We leave on the morrow', leave for where? I thought it was out of the question to return to Carrockton."
Anne was very much aware by now that she must be a considerable nuisance to the Elf, and whilst knowing that it was hardly her fault, the thought made her feel defensive and annoyed. After all, it was not like she wanted to keep clinging to his coat-tails. If he wanted her to go somewhere, especially if that going was supposed to be long and difficult, Anne wanted to know what was happening.
Delior looked up in time to see the glower on her face. He sat back, laying down the oak branch he had been using as a poker.
"There is no need to scowl at me," he said, his grey eyes seeking hers. "As matters stand, you have but two choices: Remain behind in this cave on your own, or follow me to the township of Bree, west of the Misty Mountains. Would you rather stay here?"
Anne bit her lip and looked away from his sharp eyes. "Why Bree?" she finally ventured. "It must be very far if it lies on the other side of the mountains. Also, you told me that you had been travelling to the east when you… when we met."
Delior turned his attention back to the fire. "That is my purpose, yes," he said calmly. "First, however, my path leads west. I have to meet with someone in Bree, and it should be possible for you to stay there, I expect."
It would seem that being shoved around from one place to the next was to become her everyday life, Anne thought darkly. That being said, there really was no particular place where she wished to go, so it probably did not make much of a difference. The realisation came with a sour taste and made Anne feel dismal and quite alone. She quickly swallowed down on the annoying lump in her throat and instead focused on something else that had given her food for thought.
"Why did Lord Glorfindel call you Legolas?"
"Because it is my name."
"Then why did you lie to me?" Anne asked, surprised.
"I never lied to you," he said, sounding absentminded.
"Yes! You told me that your name was Delior."
"I told you that you may call me that."
Anne fought the urge to groan. "Well, what should I call you now, then?"
"To tell you the truth, I care not," Delior sighed. "It matters little, so call me whatever you please." He waved the branch at her.
"Now go. Pack up, rest, sleep or tend to your horse, but whichever you choose, do it quietly, you are beginning to tire me. Also, get out of those sodden clothes, for otherwise you will be unfit to go anywhere tomorrow."
He fell silent after that, and Anne had no choice but to make do with these disclosures. Therefore, with a huffed "They are hardly sodden," she turned and headed back outside, with the purpose to heed one of the Elf's suggestions, and make an effort to befriend the horse. While underway, it might be pleasant to have at least one friendly face around, so she reasoned. This was going to be a very long journey indeed.
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III III III