I've just realized that I'm going to sob like a little girl when the Battle of the Five Armies is over... Tolkien just had to go and kill of two of my favorite characters... I have the Kiss of Death, I have yet to find a story where one of my favorite characters does not die. *Sigh* Well, as usual, I don't own anything recognizable as Tolkien's works or characters. I do own Elva, Isil, and Aerin. Reviews are welcome, and all flames shall be used to make s'mores! :D Enjoy! Also, the title I have here in the document is the actual title... it was just too long to put in the chapter heading.
Chapter 5: The Coward, the Scholar, the Tactician, and the Gentle Spirit.
"What?" Elva asked unsure.
"I'm going to tell you a story." Bofur elaboration. "But I need to know what kind you prefer."
Elva blinked at him suspiciously. All she wanted was an answer. Now he was going to tell her a bedtime story? What was the Dwarf playing at? She sighed in irritation, but gave him a chance. Maybe something would come out of it after all.
"Give me a tragedy." She said. "Maybe my own story shan't seem so bad after one."
Bofur gave her an interested look but proceeded with his tale.
"In a little village to the east lived a man who never left his home." He began.
"For what reason?" Elva questioned.
"I'm not sure." Bofur thought. "Perhaps he was rich enough that he had his servants go and get everything he wanted, or perhaps he was simply a coward."
Elva tilted her head at him.
"One day," He continued. "A new woman entered the town to work in her uncle's inn. She was as beautiful as a flowering rose. The coward watched the people of the town from his window, as he often did, and spied the young woman. At once he felt his heart go out to her and knew that he would make her his wife one day. His only problem? He had never spoken to a woman before and did not know how to go about initiating conversation. So the man asked advice from his servants who had wives and children of their own how he could speak with this new, enchanting woman in the town. They gave all the advice they could and the man took it all to heart. He gave an oath that he would go out upon the next morning and seek out the woman. And on the very next rise of the sun, the man who had never stepped outside crossed the threshold of his house."
"It sounds miraculous he did not have a stroke and die on the spot." Elva commented dryly.
"Aye, he nearly did though. The outside is a terrifying thing; especially for cowards." Bofur agreed. "But he did it anyway and sought out the woman. Finally he found her at her uncle's inn as a barmaid. She was even more beautiful in person, he thought. And so he went to speak with her. Taking all of his servants' advice to heart, the man bowed to the woman and said 'Fair lady, I know not your name nor whence you came, but my heart knows that it can only be whole if you are near.' The woman, and the rest of the town, was taken back in surprise. 'Dear sir, your words are very kind. But I know nothing of you.' The woman replied. 'You need only know that every moment of my existence shall be spent with the fragment of hope that one day I might be worthy enough to call you my own.' The man said earnestly. Of course the woman was very taken back by this. And she did not doubt the sincerity of his words. Never before had any man pledged themselves to her as he had. 'Then, my good sir.' The woman said. 'If that is your intent, I shall gladly see what happens next.' And so the man and woman fell in an unbreakable love. They were wed not long after and the woman was then soon pregnant with their first child. Neither of them could have ever been happier than right then."
"I thought you said this was to be a tragedy." Elva quipped.
"Patience." Bofur told her.
"That's never been one of my strong points." She sneered, but fell silent to let him finish.
"However, their joy was not to last." He began again.
"Much better." Elva snarked.
"The woman began to have many complications with her pregnancy." Bofur continued solemnly. "And when it came time for the baby to be due, the doctors had little hope for either of them. The woman gave birth to a stillborn child, a beautiful baby girl. Together the man and woman grieved for their lost child. And in the man's arms, the woman too passed from the trauma of the birth and from grief of the heart. The man was distraught. No comfort could he find in even the most uplifting of his hobbies that he once found great joy and pleasure in. Even his closest kin could not shake him from his darkness. One day, not long after his wife and child had died, he climbed to the top of a mountain and disappeared into the wind. On windy days atop the highest peaks, some say you can still hear the mourning cry of his heart in the wind as he forever grieves the loss of his love and his child."
Bofur fell silent and stared at his folded hands in his lap. Elva watched him in curiosity. She picked apart his story, throwing away the embellishments and focused on the important details. Bofur was the man in the story, and the woman his wife. They were happy together, but not for very long it seemed. Perhaps less than five years if she was to take a wild guess. It was probably wrong, but a close guess. The woman became pregnant with his child, but neither the child nor the wife lived. And so Bofur was left alone to grieve. But it was the last part of the story that gave her the most pause. The man in the story had given himself to the winds, his own kin unable to bring him any semblance of joy. Yet Bofur, who was more than likely the man, was sitting there before her. And he had, on many occasions, been the one who was the first to crack a joke or lend a smile.
"There is a discrepancy in your tale." Elva stated after a short time.
"Oh?" Bofur glanced up at her.
"The man could not have given himself to the winds." She elaborated. "From what I heard of his tale, he went on a dangerous quest with his kin and countrymen. And he could not have been so overpowered by grief either, for in the tale I heard, it is rare to find him without a smile, a jest, or a quick hand to help."
"Well, every story has a grain of truth in it." Bofur waved his hand. "And anyway, every story needs a bit of embellishment."
"Perhaps so." Elva conceded.
"Now it is my turn." Bofur said. "What about you?"
"What about me?" Elva asked in confusion.
"Why are you a part of this quest?" The Dwarf expanded.
Elva looked at him for a moment, wondering what she wanted to say to him. He allowed himself to be an open book to her. He showed her his deepest pains and sorrows with not thought of whether she would use them against him or not. He was so willing to trust. Not just his kin, but her as well whom he knew nothing about. The wolf woman with an overly abrasive side. No, her entire being was abrasive. She made sure of that centuries before so that no one would ever hurt her again. But this Dwarf had somehow managed to make his way past many of her defenses in only a small period of time. How much more could she expose to him before being left raw for the world to cut open again. It was only fair that she returned the favour, however. Elva blinked and glanced at a painting on the wall.
"Do you know why the wolf's howl is so sorrowful?" She asked.
"No, I don't believe I've ever heard." Bofur replied, knowing he was getting somewhere with her.
"Do you prefer romance or tragedy?" She smirked.
Bofur gave a quiet laugh.
"Surprise me." He answered. "And maybe you'll surprise yourself, too."
Elva gave him a sidelong glance and looked back at the painting. Bofur's eyes stayed glued to her in anticipation.
"Once there was an ancient race that came down from the mountains." She began.
"Who were they?" Bofur asked.
"Ilúvatar had carved them out of the very stones themselves, and so the people below called them 'Children of Stone', or 'Mountain People.'" Elva replied. "And so their true title was lost to all save themselves. Each had the ability to shift into an animal that matched their personality and abilities. Some were River Otters, others Boars, and so on. In this ancient race were three siblings. A brother and two sisters. Each worked under a great king. The brother, the eldest, was servant to the king of the Elves. He could change into an Owl, and was the scholar. The second sibling was servant to the king of the Dwarves and could change into a Wolf. She was the tactician. And the youngest was servant to the king of Men, she could change into a Doe. She was the gentle spirit who loved all and always tried to see the best in everyone. The siblings cared very deeply for each other, and always found time to be together as often as their studies and servants' duties would allow them. The Wolf would also spend time with another servant of Dwarf king. His name was Marous, though he was not a skin-changer like the siblings.
The Wolf was young, and foolish. She opened her heart to Marous and allowed him to taint her mind and spirit. He poisoned her thoughts against her siblings and she grew distant from them. Marous enflamed a jealousy inside of her heart and whispered dark things in her ear. She began to believe the lies he told, that the Wolf's sister, the Doe, thought herself better than her. The Doe was filled with beauty, and grace, and serenity. Perhaps it was because Eru and the other Valar seemed to favour her more. 'What could the wolf offer them?' they must have thought. Marous twisted the Wolf's mind against her sister, and tricked her into letting him into her thoughts. It was then that he fulfilled his plan. For the Wolf was the key to his plan. He broke into her consciousness and took control of her. In an act of violence, that the Wolf would never have acted out had she been in her right mind, she took the life of her sister. Marous fled and forced blame upon the wolf for the Doe's murder. As punishment for her crimes she was stripped of the things she treasured most. She was forced into exile by the Valar, shunned by her brother and her closest companions, and stripped of her ability to speak or to sing with her beautiful voice. The Wolf was banished to the earth where she would spend the rest of her days in solitude.
The Wolf allowed the hatred that Marous had leaked into her heart to remain there and fester. It took over and built impenetrable walls, and she took an oath that she would never allow herself to feel again. The Wolf became numb to the world around her and refused to let anyone close to her. She spent her days running from the past, but it always managed to catch her and tangle her up again. Many say that on the day the Wolf lost her voice, the wolves of the world gathered together and howled such a mournful song that the stones themselves wept. And they refused to sing joyously ever again."
Bofur watched Elva for a long time. He had no words to say. What could he say? No joke sprung to his mind to lighten the mood, no words of comfort found their way to his thoughts. He noticed a tear run down her cheek. He lifted his hand and gently wiped it away with his calloused fingers. Elva leaned into his touch slightly, closing her eyes. Bofur held her cheek in his palm and stroked it with his thumb. Elva leaned in a little more, then suddenly snapped her eyes open. She jerked away and glared at Bofur, her eyes hardened once more. She stood up and stalked away.
"Good night, Bofur." She said coldly.
In a flash she was gone around the corner and the slam of a door resounded. Bofur watched where she had disappeared for a while before glancing up at the painting. It was set it a brightly lit part of the forest. A large, honey coloured wolf ran through the trees with a doe at its side. Above the trees flew a great owl that looked down fondly at the wolf and the doe. Bofur blinked at it in surprise, then back to where Elva had disappeared. He stood up slowly and walked away to find the others. He was thoughtful, and quiet. An unusual combination for the light hearted Dwarf. Around the opposing corner stood two shadowy figures who had listened to the entire conversation.
"I fear it will take more than we bargained for, Olórin." Aerin stated with worry.
"We must have patience." The Wizard replied. "You can see her walls are already faltering. A few gently pushes in the right places will send it crashing to the ground."
"But what happens when she opens herself up again?" Aerin questioned. "Will her heart be too damaged to handle it?"
"We cannot know unless it happens." Gandalf said.
Aerin glanced at the Wizard solemnly. He knew the Valar's plans better than Aerin did. So he would have to trust the Wizard knew what he was doing. Aerin nodded to Gandalf and walked to the edge of the balcony. A wind stirred up around them and a soft blue light emanated from him. Where once stood a man was a great, tawny owl that stood nearly six feet tall. Aerin pushed off the ledge, spread his great wings, and soared into the clouds. Gandalf stood in place for a moment longer, but he had an urgent meeting to attend with Elrond and Thorin. The Wizard turned and left as well.
As the great and wise Rafiki once said "The past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from, it or learn from it." Elva has been running a very long time, it may be hard to learn.