Chapter Fifteen
She had grown bored of riding, her legs aching from sitting on the horse for hours on end. Still the mountains never seemed to finish, on and on they stretched until even she had lost all interest in them. One white peak looked much the same as another, each turn in the road held nothing new. The excitement that had kept homesickness at bay had worn off and she was silent and sullen as she rode behind Curunír. For his part he did nothing to relieve the lack of conversation, having little to say to her it seemed. Galdor was not there to talk endlessly and tell her about the rabbits and deer they passed. She could name the birds and mumbled about them to Curunír for a few hours until she ran out of things to say and retreated into what would have been a sulk had she had a corner to sulk in.
The first sign that something was different came at sunset, when instead of stopping to build a small fire and sleep, Curunír did not even slow his horse. She was tired, her arms sore and ready to let go yet he kept riding down the path. It was then, in the sudden darkness that comes once the sun dips below a peak, that she realised the path led them downhill, the incline slowly becoming steeper as the dusk turned to night.
"Curunír?" she asked quietly.
"We have almost reached Isengard. There will be a warm hearth for you and a roof for the night if we keep going." She lay her head against him and tried not to fall asleep, thinking of the name she had never heard of.
"What is Isengard?"
"A fortress of Gondor."
"Then we are almost there?"
"No." Gondor, she reminded herself, was far larger than an elf-haven. A true kingdom. She tried to imagine how large Lindon was but could not, for she knew that some of what she had travelled through was Arnor too. In her mind she formed a picture, built upon the paintings of Gondolin and Nargothrond that covered the walls of Imladris. A great pearl tower soaring high filled with valiant archers and knights in golden armour.
"I see lights!" she called forwards as they turned to descend a steeper path and she saw out across the flat expanse below them. There, nestled between the pitch black shadow of a forest, was a single pillar of torches, candles at windows that rose high towards the stars ringed with buildings.
"It is very dark."
"Buildings of black stone have a habit of being dark, child." His tone told her to keep quiet and she did until they had entered the edges of the forest.
"Ioer yrn," she whispered. The trees were old, making her feel as small and insignificant as a field mouse. Still she smiled, looking up at them. They mumbled things she vaguely understood, long greetings that echoed around her but she did not know how to reply. The forest sang, an old song that was little more than drawn out words so faint they were almost only audible in her mind.
"Fangorn," said Curunír.
"No. Fangorn is but one of them." The forest was unlike any wood she had seen before, even the trees of Lindon, long lived and strong in the sea air did not hold as much memory as those that surrounded them. She could hear them calling to her, eyes staring out, inviting her to meet them.
"Sit still, child," she was told firmly. "The trees will wait for you." It became a promise, repeated a thousand times as they rode. The trees would wait, they had waited longer for less, they were patient. So too did she promise something in return, that she would come, for that was what she wanted then, all thoughts of Imladris and even Mithlond were gone, it was only to that forest that she wished to return.
"Can we stay here and not go to Gondor? I should like that better."
"For now we must go to Isengard, for an elf may be content to stay under trees but a wizard is not. I have business with the lord there and his garrison will not trouble themselves to keep an eye on you. Come and see the trees then."
The wall surrounding Isengard failed to impress, she hardly looked at it as she strained to look back at the dim eyes in the forest. Then suddenly they were inside the ring, the smell of horses and Men hitting her squarely in the face. She crinkled her nose up and hid in the folds of Curunír's cloak, feeling eyes on them. Voices were over loud, footsteps sounded like stamps on the ground and the torches were too harsh after the calm lights of Imladris.
"Get down, child." She unceremoniously slipped off the horse and somehow landed upright.
"Curunír!" Peering around she saw a Man marching forwards in chain mail. He spoke again in a tongue she could not understand, akin to what Valandil sometimes tried to speak to his mother's men in. She slipped behind Curunír anxiously.
"Come out, child." She scurried after them, not quite holding onto Curunír's cloak. Curunír and the Man kept talking as they walked until they strode away from her and she found herself sat by a fire in the long low building that seemed to contain more Men than she thought were alive and handed a cup of milk whilst Curunír disappeared into the black tower.
They were talking about her, she could understand occasional words that seemed to sound like Sindarin but twisted and distorted. She huddled inside her cloak away from their stares.
"Little girl?" one kindly voice murmured. "Here you go." A steaming bowl was placed gingerly before her, drawing out her nose out of curiosity. The smell turned her stomach slightly and she retreated again. "Do you have a name?"
"Yarna," she squeaked, surprised that she could understand him.
"Are you not hungry, Yarna?" He had a flat face, she decided, less fine boned than Valandil's and covered in a brown fuzz. She shook her head, even though she was for she did not want to touch what was in the bowl. "Where are you from?" She opened her mouth but could not answer at first, torn between saying Mithlond or Imladris.
"The north." He had a wide smile, too full of teeth to look right somehow. The more she looked at the Men the more she felt there was something imperfect about them.
"Well, Yarna, shall we find you somewhere to sleep?" She shook her head again, Curunír had as good as told her she could go to the trees. With that thought in mind she stood up, barely coming to the Man's waist before she scurried out of the building. The courtyard had emptied but she heard him coming after her, calling for her to stay inside in the warm. She ignored him, running through the gates until she was surrounded by trees.
They greeted her, welcoming her to their branches. Like a mouse she burrowed into the eaves, smiling. It was not the sea, nor any haven built of stone, but it was safe.
"Safe," a voice murmured. "Hmmm, yes, I think so." Finglas curled the branches around her and she fell asleep perched alongside a family of squirrels.