Carving A Path

by PerpetuallyDisappointed

In which a girl with no memory is rescued from a certain death on the banks of a river on the edge of a forgotten city. Her savior-a mysterious old woman of unknown age and origin with dubious intentions. She learns how to survive on the fringes of Middle Earth. She keeps to her tiny settlement and becomes practiced in the ways of best surviving the trials of her new home.

2. Stars

Idhrenith and Merethel are taking refuge in what appears to be the largest, most well-preserved building in the settlement. The cookfire is crackling, keeping their stew simmering away and chasing the hint of a nightly chill away. Idhrenith contemplates her new companion. She's unfamiliar, with odd speech, peculiar mannerisms, and coverings the likes of which she's never seen. She's seemly, at the very least, putting her exoticism aside. For all she had claimed hunger, instead of keeping her eyes on the rather tasty smelling (if Idhrenith didn't say so herself) contents of the pot, her dusky face is turned upwards to the sky, pupils blown wide in apparent wonder.

"Little Lady, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you'd never've seen the sky before." The crone comments drily. Merethel's had snaps back towards the earth. "I have!", she retorts, a blush coloring her cheeks but faintly. "I just...the moon is bigger. Like it's closer. So close I could touch it. And the stars! Lord in Heaven, the stars!". Her voice is exultant, no more than a breathless whisper, as she stretches an elegant hand skyward, as if to really attempt contact with the twinkling lights set against the velvety darkness of night. Idhrenith's eyes soften marginally. She lets out a sigh and admits, "Aye. The majesty of Varda's work is a blessing to behold on a clear night."

Merethel's brows furrow ever so slightly. "Varda?" The confusion tangled up in the word causes Idhrenith to arch a brow. Idhrenith doesn't respond right away. She takes the time to serve out two portions of stew, giving her young charge the larger helping. "Thank you, ma'am." The younger of the pair, is grateful for the sustenance and remembers her manners. As Merethel eats, digging into her supper with no small amount of gusto, Idhrenith rubs her gnarled hands together and tells the tale of Arda's creation, the best way she knows how.

About halfway through, the food is finished and Merethel is simply gazing into the fire, her left ear tilted forward across the fire, as if in attempt to catch every inflection, strain, and hesitation in her words. Briefly, Idhrenith wonders if her companion might be slightly hard of hearing on that side. As she's detailing Melkor's insubordination, there's a flash of something across the girl's face- too obscure and too quick to put a finger on. But, it's clear the story is wringing a little emotion out of the girl. Her eyes are shut now, and her body tense. She decides to stop just before the creation of the Elves. No need to overwhelm the child, right?

Idhrenith falls silent, and she observes as Merethel relaxes. Her eyes open as there looks like there might be a tinge of red to the whites, like her eyes had been watering slightly, although now they were perfectly dry. She releases a shaky breath. It's a handful of moments before she speaks. "That was beautiful...and infuriating. Why would you do that? I don't think I've ever been a sliver that spiteful and petulant." She complains. It's plain that she's referring to the Dark Vala. The old woman shrugs. "Who knows why people, let alone the Valar or Ainur or Eru himself do anything?".

The look on Merethel's face is a mix of frustration and concession- most amusing to witness. "You have a point. But, you...I can ask. Why'd you bother saving me? Now you'll have to work out how keep me alive." Idhrenith snorts. If this young one thinks she's going to doing all the giving and no taking, she has a storm headed her way. "I saved you because it was the right thing to do. And I'll not be keeping you alive. You will. You'll just be doing it with some help."

The girl has a long way to go. Her eyes are soft. Her body is softer. Her hands are softer still. For all her simple speech and odd bearing, she has the countenance of someone who's never done a hard day's work in her life. She's more suited to hearth and home and nobility's comforts than the hunting, and fishing, and gathering that would be required of her out here, leagues away from anywhere worth being. Idhrenith would see her through to self-sufficiency and then send her on her way. But if she takes her time doing so to keep her young companion as long as is realistic, who's to stop her?