Day 1
Deorwyn, the Lost Child
The monsters had finally gone.
Deorwyn trudged on, stumbling now in her weariness. It was getting late, she had to get back or her mama would be worried and might even cry….
But she couldn't go back. The monsters had set the village on fire, and everything had been burning and so hot it had hurt to be near and the flames had roared at her like the dragons Gleowine had told her about in his lisping baby talk, and she'd been scared.
She hadn't been able to find anyone, not her Papa or Mama, not her baby brother Gleowine or her twin sister Delwyn, not even Eothain… or Eomer….
Thinking about her brother Eothain made tears roll down her cheeks, but she hastily wiped them away. Only babies cried, and she was a big girl. She was six whole years old! She wasn't gonna start crying like a baby!
What would Eothain say?
What would Eomer say?
Eomer, who was strong and brave and big like her brother, and nice, not like the other boys who were friends with Eothain.
Eomer, who promised to teach her how to ride, how to dance, both on her own feet and on horse back, with knives and with swords.
Eomer, who told her that one day, they would ride along the plains together as Riders of the Rohirrim, even though she was a girl.
Eomer, who told her that even girls could be brave.
What would Eomer say if he could see her crying?
With that thought, she dashed her tears with one clenched fist and kept walking. Tripping over her own feet, she tried to pretend it wasn't getting dark as she made for the forest.
Gleowine and Eothain had told her about fairies and elves and things who lived in forests and helped little girls who were lost and didn't know the way home. She would go find one in Fangorn, even if she had to wander around in the scary dark to do it.
But… maybe she'd suck her thumb a little, and hold Beornulf a bit tighter. No one would see, so no one would make fun of her babyish thumb sucking and doll coddling because the dark was coming, and with it, all the scary things the older boys who played with Eothain said came in the night and ate cry babies.
She kept walking, deeper and deeper into the forest, holding her Eorlingas doll to her chest, tripping every time her skirts caught on sticks or nettles.
When she could go no longer, she huddled up against a tree- a roan, she thought, I think that's what Mama called it- and fell asleep with her thumb in her mouth and her doll, her wooden and cloth doll her Papa had made for her to always feel safe, as if one of the riders of Rohan were with her always, clutched tight to her chest.
She suddenly wished for her sling, the sling Eothain had made for her to keep the wolves away from their sheep. She could hit a wolf from yards away, and make it hurt, make it mean something. Even Eothain and Eomer couldn't sling stones like she could.
She wished for her sling, but more than that, she wished for Delwyn- they'd never been apart for more than a few minutes, ever, not since they'd been born- and she wished for Eothain.
Even Gleowine, with his soft, lisping voice, timid as a mouse in a kitchen, and his stories that helped her sleep after she'd had nightmares.
Her Mama and Papa…
Eomer….
Deorwyn began singing softly, only to herself, and then remembered what Gleowine said, that trees liked music, too. So she sang a song that Gleowine had made up once, to help her sleep, and sang it to the tree.
"Ni mera ten i aure ar i lauca numen vaiva
Ni mist i landa tier esse utuv o vana Tuile
I ancale selma fain ar i vilya selma luine
Yare ni utuv i irima laiqua Rien Tuile
Quen erin ni selma utuv i laiqua Rien Tuile…."
She knew it was just her little brother's baby talk, but somehow she knew what he meant, what the song meant, and the song lulled her into sleep.The rowan tree whispered something with its leaves, and the wind carried its messages on through the great forests. The late winter air tasted Elder whispers, and wondered at this innocent mouth that sang such sweet words.
In the darkness, wild things caught the child's scent, even from the great distance, and followed the sweet smell of innocence.
oo8oo8oo8oo
In the words of JunoMagic:
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