Author note: I have looooved writing this chapter! Also it's the first one to feature only OCs which is fun. The woodmen of Mirkwood don't get much development in LOTR canon so I'm giving them the spotlight here.
Thank you and hello to all new followers. This story has now had well over 70,000 views, which is UNBELIEVABLE. Remember the days when I thought 70 was a big deal lol? I kinda feel like Keren, the adventures just keep getting unexpectedly bigger! I'm overjoyed how it's grown. Hundreds of people getting updates - man I can't deal. Aaanyway before I get emotional *again*.
Thank you reviewers!
Captnschick58 (patron extraordinaire) I listened to the song you suggested. Not only does it touch my heart that you have a song that makes you think of my story, but wow it really does work doesn't it? I was sat with tears rolling down my face (again) at how much it fitted Keren and Legolas's challenges. Now is probably a good time to say I do have a playlist that has inspired parts of the story, and at some point I'll be sharing it on my P*treon page. (Anyone who would like to join my P*treon just search for singingsprite on their website. All legal disclaimers are there.) And yes I will definitely check out any LOTR fanfics people recommend - just at the moment I'm focussing on mine in case I unconsciously steal ideas, don't think I've actually read one for a couple of years now! But I will when I'm done with mine for sure. Looking forward to r + r-ing for a change!
Long chapter ahead. I've realised that I'm coming to the end of the story (we're now one chapter away from being halfway through the final book, waaah) and that each chapter will probably be longer as I have more to fit in than I thought! Maybe one day when it's totally finished I'll go back and do a massive edit!
Chapter Eight - Hrafn's burgh
When Keren came to she was slung over the shoulder of a heavy-set man, who was walking briskly. Nauseous and groggy, she tilted her head slightly and saw another man next to him, young, tall and muscular, with curious markings swirled on his face, the body of the boar over his shoulder. She felt terrible, but at least she wasn't dead. Whilst her right foot was strangely numb, an unrelenting pain was in her leg, and she shut her eyes against it, and soon fell into oblivion again.
The next time she gained consciousness she opened her eyes to the sight and sound of a small fire crackling in the centre of a large, round house, with mud walls and - she raised her eyes - a straw roof. She was lying on a simple, low bed that stuck out into the centre of the structure, and many eyes were gawping at her.
One of the people was a woman at her bedside, who immediately offered her a cup of water, roughly hewn of clay. Keren took it gratefully, but within seconds the overwhelming pain was back in her leg, and she clenched her teeth and felt the sweat slick on her forehead. She breathed heavily, not finding the strength to speak.
"Save your strength," the woman said. So she must have tried to do or say something. "Your ankle is broken."
Keren dropped her head back on her pillow. She could hear a low keening sound, and assumed it was her. How could she be so unlucky?
The woman's voice was matter of fact.
"The skin has not been punctured, which is good, and means if we set it right, and you rest, you will not limp. But it will be - "
"Which bone?" she managed to get out, letting out a tight breath.
The woman looked surprised.
"I'm a healer," Keren said to her. "Which bone, let me see." She tried to raise her head. But the woman put a firm hand on her shoulder.
"More than one. Best not."
"I'm sure… I know I'll have seen worse." Should talking be this difficult?
"Here." The woman ignored her, handing her some leaves. "Chew on these. Not for long. We need to set it. If you're a healer you know what's in store for you."
Keren recognised the herbs, and knew them to work, a little. It was the best she could hope for. She was in for a lot of pain - the worst she had ever known. She shoved the leaves into her mouth.
She also knew what this meant. A broken ankle, even with just one of the three bones broken, meant she would be bed-bound for a month, unable to walk properly for at least another. She felt her journey was suddenly all but doomed.
"Who are you?" A gruff, male voice spoke up from the darkness against the far wall of the roundhouse. She looked up to see the man with the tattoos on his face looking sternly at her.
The woman tutted.
"Let's get this done first, poor thing. Questions later."
Keren agreed, thanking her with her eyes.
She would need to think up another story. These must be some of the woodfolk, and they hadn't bought her disguise either. But her mind was already starting to drift thanks to the herbs. They would not knock her out completely, nor completely numb the pain, but it would at least make her screams less piercing to her.
Several men came next to her bedside - to hold her down, she knew. She needed to be still for the bone to go into the socket, and her body would automatically fight. She felt sick with fear. It was made worse when the woman gave her a rough block of wood to bite down on. She felt her breathing grow fast and panicky.
The woman stayed calm. It appeared she was to do the main work. She nodded to the men, and they firmly pressed Keren's arms and good leg into the bed. The tattooed man held down her shoulders, and she saw him, upside-down, looking grim, a lock of his short dark hair hanging in his face. He was the only one with such markings on his face. The woman took hold of her bare right leg in one hand and her foot in the other. Keren was determined not to whimper. She knew this needed to be done or she would forever be crippled. She could feel her whole body was tense, her fists balled up beside her body, her teeth clamped on the wood. She tried to make her breath steady, tried to relax her limbs. But she could not do it.
Palen I wish you were here, was her only thought. She wanted her calm, practical sister, full of love and patience, and kindness, and skill. She wanted to be back at the Houses. She wished she and Legolas had never come North, she wished -
A pop sounded, a blinding pain shot through her, she screamed once, twice, three times, tears streaming down her face. Then she vomited into the bowl a young girl was holding next to her head. Even as the girl stood to hastily remove the bile, Keren passed out again.
Hlíf looked down at the young woman in the bed. Her dark hair was still plastered to her pale face and neck. She had a slight fever, but Hlíf thought from shock only. Hrafn and the other hunters had said she had been well enough when they came across her - before she had tumbled from the tree. Where had she come from? Her accent was strange to Hlíf, though she spoke the same tongue.
Hlíf was ten, and her grandmother, Katla, was the healer in their settlement. She had never known a life before seeing operations, stitching, poultices, herbs. But this was the first time she had seen a stranger receive her grandmother's help.
At first she thought the lady had been a boy, but then she spotted the gentle rise of small breasts as the men had laid her down on the bed. The men had noticed too. Why was she trying to disguise herself? Was she in danger? Or was she dangerous? So many questions, and the lady was not in any position to answer them. It had been three hours since Hlíf had poured away and rinsed out the bowl containing the lady's stomach water, and she had not awoken. But she would be alright, Hlíf guessed. Often this happened, and they would wake, and the limb would feel better. Often. Not always. But Hlíf was hopeful. She wanted to speak to this strange lady, clad all in brown and green, with a cloak that seemed to change colour as she looked at it.
She dabbed at the lady's forehead with a damp cloth, then snuck a look at the ankle. It was very swollen, and bruised, but there were no cuts, nowhere for infection to grow, providing no pieces of bone had chipped off and were left undetected beneath the skin. Hlíf bit her lip. If that had happened the lady would almost surely die, or at the very least lose her foot, as the flesh around the shards grew infected. But her grandmother was an excellent healer, and only once before had she missed any such thing. And this lady - this lady had said she was a healer too. Where, Hlíf wondered.
She was quite young, around twenty, and fairly thin. The strangest thing was that she had no belongings, just the clothes on her back. But she did have weapons - two knives and a bow. Had she killed people? Maybe she was not a very nice person. What if she didn't deserve their help, their healing?
While Hlíf was having this internal debate, the woman started mumbling.
"Leg… leg…"
Hlíf looked at the foot, now supported firmly by four splints of wood around it, not allowing for any movement at all. The lady would be lying here a long while.
Perhaps I should try to wake her so she can take some more leaves, Hlíf thought. But the lady spoke again, a strange word.
"Leg… legolas… Legolas." And her eyes opened.
"Shh, shh," Hlíf said, in the way she had learned from her grandmother.
Keren looked into the eyes of the child that tended her, and saw herself - almost - as an eleven year old, fledgling, healer. Solemn, large, brown eyes looked steadily back at her. It was not the looks though, not really, more the studious air, the concerned expression, the child that was not ready to care for other people and yet had found herself doing it anyway. Keren immediately liked her. She tried to smile, but found herself instead searching out for any pain from her ankle. She could feel her foot, which was an improvement, and the pain above it was now a dull throb rather than a relentless agony. A success, then. She felt so very weak though, and hot. She looked to the water.
Hlíf immediately responded, sat her up a little and put the cup to her lips.
"What is legolas?" the child asked, once Keren had taken a few sips. Keren tried not to show any reaction in her face.
"It's… my home," she managed. "I'm… on my way back there."
"Are you lost?" the girl asked bluntly.
"Yes," Keren replied. "I got lost in the forest."
"Where were you travelling from?"
It seemed this was an interrogation of sorts. Keren knew she had to be careful. Though the girl seemed sweet, she could report back to parents that may perhaps not be so friendly.
She stayed silent, pretending to study her foot, then realised the girl was staring at her.
"And where are all your things?" The girl persisted.
"I lost them, in the forest." Not a lie. She was no doubt parted from all that food, her water skins, her precious gloves, forever.
"What's your name?"
"What's yours?" Keren said, a little sharply. She immediately felt regret for speaking so to a child, but it seemed to have no impact.
"You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine," Hlíf replied.
Keren raised an eyebrow.
"Elfwyn."
The child nodded. "Hlíf."
"Where am I, Hlíf?" Keren asked.
"In Hrafn's burgh, under the western eaves of the Wood."
"Does - does someone called Arlan live here?" She sat up a little straighter. "And do you think you could spare me some food? I feel a little dizzy."
"Keep drinking," the young girl instructed her. "Grandmother is bringing some food for you at sunset. She said you were not to eat before then in case it made you vomit again. I don't know any Arlans."
Keren's heart dropped a little. She would have little trust from them unless she could prove a connection with the skinchangers, who could vouch for her. But perhaps the elders of this settlement might have heard of him.
Hlíf must have picked up on Keren's unease, for she smiled.
"I can keep you company until food comes."
Keren was starting to feel very lightheaded, but she would rather keep talking, and distract herself from the growing knowledge, the panic, that she was stuck here for months.
"How old are you Hlíf?" she said quietly, lying back on the pillow.
"Ten."
"I was eleven when I became a healer. But you seem to already know what you are doing."
"Grandmother taught my mother. And mother would have taught me, but she died. So now I work with grandmother."
Something in Keren twisted at that. She missed her mother, she suddenly longed for her mother - both the happy Orwen she had never known, running through the glades in Lothlórien, and the serious but loving Orwen of her childhood. She missed Palen, and her old home. She missed Legolas - the pain of parting was close to a physical ache in her chest…
"Are you sure Legolas is a place?"
Keren met the girl's eyes sharply. Hlíf was looking at her with a very mature expression.
"My older brother says he is in love," she said, as if that explained things. "His face often looks like yours did just then."
Keren blinked.
"You are very clever, Hlíf," she said wryly.
Hlíf shrugged, but then she spoke quietly. "They've told me to find out everything I can about you, and tell them everything you say. And I will. But I won't tell about Legolas, if you don't want me to."
Keren was in bed for four weeks.
The young man with the curious face markings was Hrafn, the leader of the settlement. His father, also called Hrafn, like all leaders of that burgh for time out of mind, had died the year before, and he was now chief, at the age of twenty-seven. The tattoos marked him as such. He was an excellent hunter, and strong, and just. A little hot-headed sometimes, but wisdom would come, Katla said. His people already trusted and respected him, though Katla seemed to be the only one that could dictate to him. Keren trusted him too, for he seemed not at all put out at losing his bed - "it's only been mine for a year anyway," he had said - and talked with her every day. He was even more inquisitive than Hlíf, and Keren soon realised that this was more out of interest in her than any mistrust. His tone with her was definitely flirtatious, mischievous, and grew more so as time went on. Often he would smile, or wink, but never did he touch her.
She grew a little wary, for never before had she had to deal with a man who wanted her in that way, that she did not want back. But he seemed kind, and reasonable. When she had told him of her time with the skinchangers, he had nodded in recognition at Arlan's name, saying he was the son of the chief a few miles to the north. Hrafn, it appeared, trusted her too. She was safe, for now.
The roundhouse was Hrafn's own, which explained its size, and every night he and his servants bedded down on the floor. Privacy did not seem to count for much here. The only place she was allowed to hobble to, on rough crutches, was the privy, which was little more than a hole in the forest floor. Her lower leg remained encased in a wooden box, with splints all around. It itched terribly sometimes, and she felt such relief when the box was removed after the four weeks so that the area could be checked, and washed. It was still horribly bruised, and swollen, but it had set straight. Still she frowned, for she knew it would not be weight-bearing for some weeks yet, yet alone able to support her walking hundreds of miles, perhaps climbling, running… fighting.
Anxiety rose in her. She had to be on her way soon, somehow. But the chill wind and the fallen leaves now blowing under the thick fur hangings that covered the entrance to the roundhouse told her what she had been dreading - winter was upon her.
"Best to stay here 'til after the snows, I reckon," Hlíf had said one morning, when Keren was silent, pensive. "They'll come in a couple of weeks, before you could walk far. Wait for the thaw - you're safe here, and warm, and your foot can heal properly." And then she paused, before she added, slyly, "Hrafn wants you to stay."
"I can't - I don't have time," was the short, quiet reply, ignoring the insinuation.
"But where are you going in such a hurry?"
Keren stayed silent, and Hlíf huffed in response.
"Look, you can't keep it secret forever, you know. Hrafn trusts you, I think, and even if he doesn't he wants to bed you at least. And you could do far worse, grandmother says."
Keren raised her eyebrows at such a phrase from a ten year old. But it was a very different way of life, here in the forest. It was a fight for survival, for continuance - sex and death. Of course Hlíf had been exposed to it.
"But," Hlíf frowned, "there's still a lot we don't know about you."
Hrafn came to speak with her later that day.
"Hlíf says you still refuse to speak of where you are going, or where you are from," he said abruptly as he sat down, and the usual gently flirtatious manner she had grown used to from him over the past weeks was gone. "We have sheltered you at our expense for a month. You must tell me now."
She sighed.
"It's not out of malice, nor is it anything bad about myself I'm trying to hide," she said.
"Then what is it? Do you not trust me?" he asked, and his face was so open for once, so free of guile or suggestion, that she truly believed he cared for her, cared that she did not trust him.
"Ye-es…" she said, hesitatingly.
But she did not tell him the truth. Instead she told him that she was travelling south from Laketown to her home in Gondor, but that she was afraid of water and so couldn't use the river. And she knew it was utter nonsense.
"But the only other path lies through the wastelands and the marshes," he said, and he looked for all the world like he was trying not to laugh.
"That is my road," she had said simply, to which he shrugged and shook his head.
"And you are in elf garb."
"I am a friend to them, they crafted travelling clothes for me." She saw no harm in saying that now, for she could not hide it. "My father is a merchant, we often travel to negotiate trade with them."
Hrafn had raised his eyebrow.
"A man would send his young daughter, who is afraid of water, alone into the wild, all the way to Laketown? A town… on water?"
Keren could have kicked herself.
But Hrafn laughed.
"Look, it's alright. I have known your tale for weeks, but I was waiting to hear it from you. You are a terrible liar by the way - it was very funny, watching you pull that rubbish from nowhere. But we are your friends. If we weren't I'd have kicked you out long ago, foot or no foot."
She froze.
"You are from Thranduil's realm," Hrafn went on, "a sort of human pet of his, and now you have escaped, and you are trying to get home by hidden ways, lest he sends the pointy-ears to capture you."
Keren tried to set her face into a blank mask. If he believed that, it could work in her favour, but how had he got so close to the truth?
Hrafn must have read her wary expression accurately.
"The skinchangers told me," he said. "They share these lands with us. I know you have been staying with Grimbeorn. His children have been watching you on the road, a little, as bears far behind you, ready to sprint. And woodfolk in other burghs have seen you from beneath the cover of the forest. Word travels fast under the trees. We are pleased you are not in his clutches anymore. Tell me, does he really have a mountain of treasure underground?"
Keren's mind was whirring, trying to process this turn in her fortune. How had the bears known, or guessed? Had people been following her progress from the moment she had left, not to spy, but to keep her safe? Had Legolas ordered it, secretly, against his father's wishes, creating a false story to protect her? Her heart swelled with love at the thought.
She decided to run with this version of the tale, where Thranduil had, of all things, kept her as part of his treasure.
"He does, though I was never permitted to see it. Only he and his - his son, the prince, could visit it, other than the guards."
"And what were you to the Elvenking?" Hrafn looked grim. "Why did he keep you? Not for…"
"Oh, he would never debase himself by sleeping with a human," Keren said, aware that these people were straight-talking. "No, he - he kept me… for this."
Inspiration struck, though it was not what she was expecting. For she drew Tinúnil from its pouch and held it out in her palm. Hrafn's eyes grew wide.
"A seeing stone," she said simply. "Mine from birth, in my family for many years. It answers only to me."
She had no idea if that was true, or indeed where the idea had come from to share its existence with yet another person, no doubt now a whole group of people. But there, the words were in her mouth before she had thought to check them.
"With it I could answer any question he asked of me. Tell him anything he needed to know. He was never cruel to me, and I lived in splendour, but I wanted my freedom, my home, my family. So I ran, one night. His son helped me escape." Keren decided it was best to just keep talking, to keep spinning the tale, to stop Hrafn picking holes in her story, asking questions she couldn't answer. "Minas Tirith is my home, though I daren't use the swiftest route, as I am sure he is tracking me."
"But how did you come to his lands in the first place?" The question she had been trying to avoid.
"I - Well, his son, the prince, was in Minas Tirith, because of the war," - true - "and he saw me use the stone once, and thought I would be a worthy prize to take home. He was cruel then, and saw me as something to be used" - untrue, so untrue as to be humorous, but it was said now, and it was the kind of lie that could work - "so he took me back with him, to his home, and his father was pleased. And I was to be there the rest of my life. But the prince, I won him over to my side. It was only" - she did some quick calculations in her head - "two and a half years before I escaped. That was… well it was autumn, so three months ago, at the least."
A chill went down her as she said those words, despite her being mightily impressed with herself at having crafted such a story on the spot, from nothing. Three months at least. And the prospect of that time again stuck in Hrafn's burgh waiting for the snows to pass. Half the journey time would already be gone, with the worst roads lying ahead.
"How did you win the prince over?" He was leaning forwards, apparently completely invested in the lies she had just told. He was right - she was, normally, a terrible liar. She wondered if she was being helped somehow, by - dare she think it - Elbereth. That somehow the words had flowed through her from far away.
"The way I'd win any man over," she said bluntly, thinking of the boy in the docks, when they needed to leave their boat, when she had surprised herself with her ability to manipulate. And she would do it again. She found herself, even now, giving Hrafn a look that was designed to intrigue, perhaps to encourage his obvious interest. But it was a dangerous choice to use too often.
Hrafn huffed, amused. "Look. I will keep you safe, until you are healed, until the snows have passed. We have a truce with the pointy-eared King, but I will hide you, should any of his spies come near. But I ask something in return."
She knew what was coming.
"This stone. I want it."
Fool, fool, fool, she thought. What was I thinking?
"I said it will not answer to any but me," she said quickly.
"Then I want you," he said, just as fast, and there she felt the truth lay, the stone just an excuse to get her to stay. "Stay until the snows clear, answer my questions. Just stay. With me, in my house, in my bed. And then - " now his look did turn confident, alluring - "we shall see if you wish to leave."
She smiled automatically, flattered, but shook her head. He looked hurt.
"Is there someone else? This prince you… convinced?"
She was frozen. She avoided the question.
"I don't think I've ever given you the impression that I was… interested in you, in that way."
She felt so unbelievably awkward.
"Huh," Hrafn raised his eyebrows. "I'm not used to being turned down."
"Clearly," Keren said dryly. "I see hundreds of women here."
"You didn't answer my question," he said, and his eyes bored into hers.
"Yes, the prince," she heard herself saying. "And I love him. And I will not, will never, lie with you."
She saw, just for a second, pure anger blaze through him, but he covered it expertly with charm.
"But he is so far away. And you have run away from them. Are you sure I cannot persuade you?" he asked, giving her a roguish grin. "Make you forget, take your mind off him?"
"He is following me," she said, a little wildly. "We're starting a new life, together, away from his father."
Internally she rolled her eyes. She may as well have just told Hrafn the truth.
"Why did you not just run away together?"
"To - to avert suspicion. To make us harder to find."
He laughed again.
"If you're trying this badly to get out of sleeping with me by making up all this absolute kennel-muck, I find myself forced to believe you really don't want to."
"I don't."
He looked her up and down, and she wondered how starved for women he was, when she was lying there in unwashed clothes, her leg bandaged, and her short hair so tangled it was almost matted.
"Pity." And he stood and went to leave the hut.
"Wait,' she called him back. "Do I still have your promise of safety?"
He turned and frowned. "I'm not a total bastard. Of course. I was just trying my luck." And he gave her a wink before he swept beneath the hangings and left.
Just as she was about to chuckle at his shameful attempt to woo her, his head appeared again through a gap. "Oh, and we found this on the edge of the forest the day we found you. I assume it's yours. Only someone that had stayed with the bears would carry that much honey." And he threw her much-missed pack into the room.
The new year came, and with it the snows. Keren was very grateful for the thick furs these people used, and the warming diet of rich meats and thick stews. She felt guilty, wondering what Yrsa would say, but then an icy blast would dart under the door hangings and she would gulp it down. She had a bath, and Hlíf brushed the tangles out of her hair, now grown to just above her shoulders. With Katla and Hlíf's help she could now walk, albeit limping, from one side of the room to the other without crutches. It was stiff rather than painful, but she knew all the exercises to do to ease the resistance. Every day there was improvement, and within a week she went from both of them helping her, to just Hlíf, to a wooden stick. Round and round the hut she would go, in warm fur slippers, for her ankle was still too tender for her narrow boots. She was growing very tired of the inside of the roundhouse though, longing for a sight of the snowy forest.
"Patience is all you need," Katla had said, "although I'm sure you are pining for your pointy-eared prince." She looked at Keren knowingly.
Keren frowned. "Hrafn told you."
"We all thought you two would be wed by now, truth be told."
"Wed? What, me and Hrafn?!"
"Things like that don't take long here," Katla said. "You like each other, you marry. Simple, quick, practical."
"But I don't like - I don't like him," Keren said, as if it was obvious.
"Well, no, I know that now," Katla rolled her eyes. "But he's a handsome young man, a chief to boot, I just assumed… We weren't to know you were moon-eyed over an elf. That's a strange chance."
"News of it can't travel beyond this village - this house," Keren had said, far more desperately than she meant to.
"News of what?" Hrafn appeared at the doorway.
"Elfwyn's strange choice of husband," Katla said.
"Ah, yes, Prince Have-a-lass," Hrafn grinned.
"It's Legolas," Keren snapped, then looked at Hrafn with panicked eyes. "You know his name?"
"I do now." He smirked, but then grew serious. "Yes, I know his name. Of course I do - he's elven royalty, ruling in the same forest as I. He and his father will know of me, too. I knew who you meant as soon as you spoke of Thranduil's son. And I know he is not like his father, so I knew he would never be cruel enough to steal someone away from their home, as you claimed. So - "
He pulled aside the hangings from the door to reveal a large black horse standing in the snow.
" - we are going to go for a walk, away from any sharp ears, and you are going to tell me the truth."
At first Keren thought the single horse was an excuse for Hrafn to get close to her, but he had surprised her by lifting her upon it, and walking beside her, leading the horse, his fur-booted feet crunching in the compacted snow.
They made their slow way out of the village and into the empty forest. The snow blanketed everything, and made their voices seem flat, heavy.
"Was any of it true?" He looked up at her, his blue eyes gleaming amidst the black swirls that curled around his forehead and cheeks.
He was handsome, Keren begrudgingly admitted. But it was like looking at a beautiful painting, or a well-designed building. Whilst she could admire it, she felt… nothing. Her love, her bond with Legolas ran so deep she couldn't even contemplate having another man. She shrugged in answer to his question.
He sighed. "Is this where you tell me that your magical stone is just a piece of glass, used to trick gullible folk you come across like me? That you've a dozen of them hidden upon you, ready to bribe people with, should you come into trouble?"
"Would you believe me if I told you that's the only part that's remotely true?" she asked him.
He looked up at her for a long while. "Do you have it now?" he asked.
She got it out of the pouch. "It doesn't perform on request," she said archly. "But here it is. It doesn't answer any question you have either, that was a lie. But it does speak to me in times of need. Only me. I think. I suppose it's never had a chance to speak to anyone else."
"What does it say?" Hrafn did not balk at the idea of it having a voice, for he had seen their shaman speak with the voice of the wind, of the birds, of the scrying runes.
"None of your business," Keren said shortly.
"Would it talk to me?"
"You're not going to find out."
He chuckled. "Fine. But I'm not letting you go back until you tell me the real reason for your journey. The bears had it close, I think, but there's something missing."
"It won't do any good, telling you," she said. "I want to keep my journey secret."
"Why? When maybe we - I - could help you?"
She felt a hopelessness come in.
"I don't see how you could help me," she whispered, and the vulnerability in her voice made him stop the horse and look at her closely.
"Tell me," he said, gently. So she did, everything, right from the start, as the snow gently started to fall again.
The snows grew heavier, and food, for a short time, was scarce, as they ran through the dried provisions, and grains, and beans. Keren could not ignore the time passing, but knew it would mean death to set out in this, though her ankle was almost completely healed. She wondered where she would have been on her path had she not fallen from the tree that day. Lost in the Emyn Muil, with no shelter? Dead?
She often caught Hrafn looking at her, across the fire in the evenings. She had a friend, an ally in him, though she knew he wanted more, however much he joked about it. But no wife would he find in her, nothing at all, not even a stolen kiss. But she imagined strangers in these parts, let alone strange women travelling with no companions, were rare. She hoped he would find someone.
She had shown him the map, and he pointed out where they where, telling her that she was almost two-thirds of the way down the vast length of Mirkwood.
"From here you can cut straight down through the forest again, or keep following the river plains, skirting around. I would say take the forest, but then I'm a woodsman, I'd always choose trees. There is no clear path, and whilst the new pointy-ears have reclaimed that land for their own, there is still the memory of the Necromancer under those trees. You may be safer, and ultimately quicker, taking to the fields, despite it being near twice the distance."
Keren nodded, and she thought back to a similar moment with Legolas, both bent over a map, knowing the day for parting was soon upon them. She found she could not speak.
"Of course, if you had a woodman with you, then the forest would be best." Hrafn's voice came to her from far away, and it took her a while to process what he had said.
She looked steadily at him, knowing what it was he offered.
"You're not coming with me," she said. "I won't ask it of you, nor allow you to do it. And what of your people?"
"My people live in peace now." He turned to face her. "They won't miss me for a few weeks. Just let me see you through the forest." He shrugged. "It'll be fun."
She turned aside so he would not see her wince. She knew why he wanted to come. But he was also offering assistance towards her travelling to be with another man. That was noble of him indeed - that was kind. And she could use the help… Unless he thought he could convince her to change her mind on the road.
It would end in heartache, she thought.
"No, Hrafn," she said, gently. "You know why."
And they did not speak of it again.
"Why is it all so secretive?" he asked her one day, the first for a month that the snow had not fallen. "Surely people saw you together?"
She sighed. "My whole city knows of it, and perhaps even beyond, and all of his people of course. It's… big news. But my journey, the reason behind it, is not. I can't risk people knowing where I am in case Thranduil - anybody - tries to hinder me. Or even if they help me, it could go wrong - if I accept the offer of, say, a boat down the river, I'll have forfeited all claim to Legolas's hand in marriage. And I figured the only way Thranduil could know I've broken any rules was because he was planning to watch me somehow, send spies to follow me."
"Well, have you seen anyone?" He frowned. "My scouts report no other strangers on or near our lands, the bears too."
"…No, I haven't," she admitted.
"Well we haven't got any boats, so we're no real use anyway," he said. "But if there is anything I can do, when it is time for you to leave, just say the word. Although you know I… You know I don't want you to leave."
She nudged him with her elbow gently. "Give it two weeks after I've gone and you won't even remember my name," she said.
And normally he would have shrugged, or grinned, or made some inappropriate joke. But instead he just said, "no, no, that's not how it will be."
Keren's ankle was almost mended. Her boots caused her no trouble, she could walk unaided without pain, and was starting to feel as if she could tackle the journey once more. One morning she woke to find a beautifully carved walking staff leaning against the bed, the whorls at the top matching the ones on Hrafn's face. She smiled, though part of her twisted inside. She could not give him hope. And yet the gift was a sign that he knew she must leave soon, had accepted that she would.
The snows stopped, though the air remained bitterly cold, and snow still lay thinly on the ground. But she had to go soon. Six months, six months had passed since she had crossed the bridge from Thranduil's halls.
Hrafn had said if she walked as swiftly and carefully as he, in straight lines, and came across no trouble, she could make it to Ithilien in just two months.
"But then I have never left the forest, save to walk to the Great River. These are just miles and names to me," he admitted as he had looked at the map again.
But Keren knew there would be many dead-ends, mistakes, dangers and accidents awaiting her. Hills, and valleys, and streams to ford, and… marshes. She needed all the time she could get.
So it was with a heavy heart that the very next day she announced, to Hrafn, to Katla, to Hlíf, to the many friends she had made amongst the servants and the villagers, that she would leave with the sunrise. A feast was held in Hrafn's roundhouse, with what felt like the entirety of the small village crammed in, spilling outside. And there were tears, and laughter, and song. The shaman gathered his runes, and they all sat around the fire, and he chanted and murmured, but nothing of Keren's onward journey did he see, or choose to share. But he met her eyes and held them, as if wondering who, what, it was they had welcomed into their tribe.
Hrafn knelt before her, presenting the staff, and - to her surprise - a belt, shortsword and scabbard.
"You are a child of men," he said simply. "You should have a blade of men, too."
So as the sun rose she awoke, and dressed, and gathered her pack, and donned her weapons. The sword felt new, heavy, at her side. Her knives, quiver and bow were across her back, as always. Weapons of both elf and man now, her two lives feeling at war upon her, within her.
Her pack was full to bursting with dried meats, fruit, nuts, all she could possibly need to sustain her. She would not go hungry for many days. She took the staff in her hand, knowing that when her foot pained her it would act as more than a physical crutch. She did not want to leave these good, kind, wild people yet. But when she was still and quiet enough to feel it, there it was - that thread keeping her going, pulling her along. She wanted Legolas infinitely more than she wanted to stay.
And so she parted from Katla and Hlíf, with many thanks and kind words, and an invitation to Ithilien should she ever make it there - she felt Hlíf would maybe want to escape the forest one day. And then her farewell to Hrafn was upon her, and she felt awkward, and sad. But she allowed herself to be hugged tightly, and no words were said, until at the very last moment, he uttered something so quietly she wasn't sure she had caught it right.
"Whenever you see a raven on your road, think of me," he said. "I'll be thinking of you."
And she had smiled, and thanked him for his kindness, his generosity, his care. But she had turned away, then, and held aside the hangings of the roundhouse that had been her - unplanned and unexpected - home for three months, and disappeared through them into the forest beyond.
She had chosen the path around the forest, wanting sunlight in this cold weather, but close to the trees for shelter. Speed was her priority now. As she followed the curve of the trees south-west the mountains drew within sight again, their snowy peaks at the edge of her vision. Before them, but still many miles away, the cold winter sun shone on the Great River, winding its way south, within a day's march she reckoned. But that way was barred. And there, just across the river, a green smudge - the woods of Lothlórien. Her heart ached, and went on aching all the week that fair land was within sight. Memories, golden and warm, filled her, but when they stopped all seemed grey, darker, colder than before, until she tried to stop herself remembering.
The night they danced together, the night she had realised, or had finally been honest with herself. The day he had found her, and they had climbed the tall trees upon Cerin Amroth, and she had smelt the sea.
What was he doing now? Was he thinking of her? She did not want him to find her, follow her, which she knew at some point he would try to do. Though she would be overjoyed, beyond any happiness she would ever know, to see him unexpectedly, that joy would soon turn to anger, for him following her would mean he had chosen to risk forfeiting everything. She could picture him, wrestling with his mind, his heart - to leave her to fend for herself, or to run to her, ending her lonely journey, but ruining any chance of a future together. Truly, Thranduil had been cruel to them both. She wished more than anything that her journey was at an end. She walked through the darkness that night, not stopping for food or rest, running on love, and hope.
But her hope faltered as the trees came to a sharp point and then turned south-east. The final curve of the forest. She knew the Brown Lands would soon open up before her, and they marked the end of friendly lands. No shelter, no food. She had prepared herself for it physically, mentally - she hoped - but now they were so close she felt cold, real, fear rush through her. The lands of Lórien were now at their closest to her, but they were inaccessible. And instead of running barefoot through the beech glades and mallorn groves, she would stumble and hobble - for her foot was now troubling her again after weeks of walking - through the infertile soil of the cursed landscape now only a few days journey away.
But the prize at the end… She would do it, if she could.
She cut dead south across the fields, finally leaving the forest behind. She would hit the river eventually, and she planned to trail it for the most part, so as to always be close to water until the land grew too rocky and high to access it. But the Undeeps she would cut across, as she had calculated, hoped, that would speed her journey by almost a week in total. By then she would be well into the Brown Lands, and the quicker she passed through them the better.
The snow had almost all gone from the low-lying lands, and she could hear the roar of the river now, the meltwater making it rush even faster. A week's journey in the open away from the shelter of the trees prepared her for the Brown Lands somewhat, though the ground was still soft, and the tall, waving grasses long enough to feel hidden when she lay down to sleep. Her cloak always kept her warm, though it was just one thin layer between her and the ground. Indeed all her elven clothes were living up to their reputation, any rain running straight off them so she was never soaked to the skin, any biting winds only hitting her face, and her cloak seeming to always match the greens and greys and browns around her, though they differed vastly. She sometimes wore her gloves from Yrsa to feel a bit of luxury.
She had reached the start of the North Undeep, spending her first night under nothing but the stars - the first of many - when she started to feel as if she might be being followed. It was nothing at first, just a little, sneaking feeling, like when she knew the woodfolk had watched her from the trees despite not being able to see them. Nothing especially to worry about, perhaps folk on the river with farseeing eyes, wondering at the sight of someone walking through the desolation of the northern reaches of the Brown Lands. But then she felt it the next day too, and had slept with her new sword in her hand. But she saw no-one, and the lands were now bare enough so as to not hide anyone, anything, if they did draw near. She marched on, knowing if she headed south-west she would cut off the meander and find the river again in perhaps two days. She had learned how to use the sun, and the wind, and her instincts, for the most part.
The soil turned to hard, dry earth and rubble. A few dead trees replaced the lush grasses, and she knew she had truly come into the desolation that she had so feared. And now she was here… Well, it was not so bad. She smiled, grimly, thinking of the day that she must have sailed past this very spot, looking out on the wastes, asking if there had been a fire. She had thought then that she was on her last long journey, that all her adventures were behind her. And she had been proud of herself then, for going so far. Never had it occurred to her - why would it - that one day in the not too distant future she would be walking through that very wasteland that had been so distasteful to her. She found herself smiling fully at the memory. That had been before. Before everything shifted, spun, into place. Before she had taken all of her butterflies and shy smiles and awkward silences, and put them together into something she could no longer hide from. Before she had felt the bond. So silly it seemed now, their brooding silence as they had journeyed down that river. Now she would die for him, and he for her, and if she could go back in time she would hold them both and tell them what was to come, and that it would all be alright.
Until Thranduil comes along and decides he wants you dead, she thought coldly.
If she ever did make it to Ithilien, she had a mind to ban him from the wedding. His presence hadn't been on his list of requirements…
She reached the curve of the river again, and had it close to her right side for a whole day and night. She took the opportunity to refill her water skins, for she had just started to become parched after drinking sparingly through her days away from fresh water. Again she smiled, as she clambered down the rocky bank. She had insisted on boiling the Anduin's water against germs before - now she was just happy for anything clear and cold to touch her lips, soothe the back of her throat. She munched on some nuts and some dried deer meat, washed it down copiously, then filled her container again ready for the next few days.
Her body was tightening again with exercise, after months of very little activity with the woodfolk. If it wasn't for her foot she would feel entirely able to run a long way, to fight. She tutted in annoyance as pain pounded through it now, climbing back up the bank. She could not see a way for it to gain rest, to heal properly, if she had to maintain this pace, which she did. She found herself leaning more heavily upon her long wooden staff as the days went by. But she rallied herself, and set off once more, to cross the South Undeep.
And that's when she heard it, unmistakably. Hooves, moving fast, behind her. She turned quickly, and sure enough saw a figure atop a horse galloping in her direction. Was this the person whose eyes she had felt? But how had she missed seeing them before?
She realised there was nowhere for her to run to, or hide. They had seen her and were moving quickly. She held her bow, nocked an arrow - not to take aim, but to show them that she was armed. The rider raised their arm in a gesture of peace, and that was when she looked harder and realised who it was.
She let him ride up to her, and she could not bring herself to smile back when he beamed at her, his blue eyes shining, surrounded by his swirling tattoos.
"Need a ride?" Hrafn asked.
Author note: Hrafn is pronounced RAHfun. It means raven in Old Norse. Hlíf is pronounced LEEF and is a form of Liv - she's named after Liv Tyler lol, purely because of how adorable she was on the recent LOTR movies cast reunion video, I wanted to honour her haha. And while I'm at it Yrsa is pronounced URsa which is Old Norse for she-bear.
And yes, last week was 10 mins of boar research, this week was 10 mins of how you'd treat and recover from a broken ankle before casts and painkillers. I'm learning so much useless information writing this story!