*****Hello again! SOOOO LONG SINCE I LAST UPDATED, I am so sorry. Things have been hectic, and life has been throwing me for a loop, but finally. Finally you can read this next chapter. I have always found the relationship between women beautiful and strange. I feel that someone of Asta's experience sees people at face value, but when presented with upfront nudity of a fellow female, especially one as beautiful as Galadriel, I can't help but think she would compare herself, as we have all done this, even if we are confident in ourselves. When I met Gwendloine Christie, or as most people know her, Breanne of Tarth, I was astounded at how beautiful she was. I am straight for the record so this is all in a very non sexual way, but she just shone. She was kind, smiling, wonderfully responsive and passionate. I drew on that experience for this. I think in a way we all need to sometimes be reminded why we are also awesome and I think that in some relationships; be they platonic, romantic or otherwise, we lose a bit of ourselves, and sometimes that is good and sometimes bad. I think in this chapter Asta comes to realize what it means to not only be a woman, but be who she is and who she built before the dwarves. Hopefully this is conveyed and well. I worry about it coming off too strongly, so opinions on that would be lovely. Thanks again for the read guys, love getting the emails that say that more people are reading and adding to favourite lists! Thanks so much!*****
When the morning came so did Galadriel's servants, waking Ori to take Asta with them. He tried to stop them, as much as a troublesome brother could, but the servant's determination could not be tested. Asta was having a hard time standing on her own, it having been only yesterday that they were attacked. Eventually she was dressed and Ori set at ease, so the two elves assisted her towards an unknown goal.
The elves were gentle with Asta and they let her depict the pace, even if she did not know how long they would be going on for. Down stairs of twined wood, ivy and blossoms the morning light hit her eyes and she recoiled from the brightness. Throwing her arm up to shield her face caused her left side much pain and soon she was doubled over. She could hear birds chirping and the pulsing of her own blood, but these were the only sounds of the morning, stillness lay upon the elven house. She began to question the nature of this when Galadriel herself came to meet them.
"You will bathe with me, young one." She pivoted, her dress getting turned about her feet and yet she stepped out with no trouble. Asta fumbled behind, led by the servants, little energy in her to refuse. They traveled down one of the hallways in silence, Galadriel's eyes ever forward while Asta focused on her footwork.
The doors to the bath were white, engraved with a large forest and in the centre a giant tree stood, its roots reaching out to the others. The elf queen pushed the doors open, splitting the large tree down the median. As it spread and the light from the room fell upon it, leaves came and went flickering into view while blossom petals fell to the base of the door. The sound of the doors shutting rumbled in her head long after their work was done.
The bath was singular, although hardly visible; the steam filled the air thick like smoke. The attendants set Asta near the bath and being left to bear her own weight, she fell. Galadriel turned to look at her on the floor. She bent down and set her hands out in front of Asta who took the opportunity to put hers in the Queen's. Her hands were small, childlike and rough when Galadriel enclosed them in hers. She led Asta to the edge of the tub with little effort; she then disappeared into the mist. One attendant brought a basket, devoid of items while the other brought one filled with towels the same pale white as the bath. The air was heavy despite just being steam and Asta's head was growing lighter, so when they undressed her she did not argue or struggle. When Asta became aware of her vulnerability she wrapped her hands under her arms, the odd sensation of cloth wrapped around her torso. In the morning light and mist her body was dull in lustre and the whiteness of her scars shimmered like the doors to the bath, reminding her of images and people long ago.
She used all her strength not to lurch forward and decided to slip into the water. The heat seared her new and healing skin, stinging and ripping at its infancy. Yet she was glad of it, the steam now coming from her own body concealed her nakedness. By the time her feet touched the stone bottom of the tub her body was relaxing, steam entering her nostrils, simultaneously clearing her lungs and suffocating her. The lightness she felt left her numb and slow, alarming her senses. The warrior told her to run, this was unfamiliar and unsafe, yet intoxicating. She had no choice but to stay, her body too relaxed to move.
The Queen lowered herself into the bath, her skin was the colour of moonlight and even without the wash her skin seemed to glow in the hazy atmosphere.
Reminded of their hands touching, Asta looked down at her own. They resembled diseased trees, knobs for knuckles, stumpy and short. Her fingernails were evidence of the necessity of the bath. Her skin flaked off in the heat of the tub. No scars existed for Galadriel, and the morning light seemed to make her seem as if magic flowed through her veins, but for Asta it was what made the scars on her body more prominent. She lowered herself below her shoulders so they could not see her past so plainly plastered on her body.
The Queen spoke to her, but her mind was slowing beyond comprehension of words; all she could hear were the gentle drips and drops amongst her own slooshes and sloshes. Once again she looked to the Queen, a golden halo of hair surrounded her as she motioned to a servant who scuttled off. Looking upon her own disheveled locks, Asta realized that this woman did not require a bath; she merely desired it.
The air began to clear and the majesty the haze brought left an even less ambitious Asta attempting to cover want nots and memories.
"What is it Child of the Mountains? You cower beneath the water." The voice rose above the steam and water echoing throughout the room, yet it was as gentle as the scent along the air.
She didn't speak.
"Are you in pain?" Still, there was no response. Galadriel stood, golden hair clinging to her shoulders, breasts exposed. The line down her stomach led Asta to the lower abdomen and ashamed, she looked away while the Queen smiled slightly.
"Do you fear me?" Asta looked back at her as she reached to gather some bottles, each a different colour, and set them at the edge of the bath. " Your Mother used to bathe with me, long ago. She would have been about your age, in human years." She paused and slowly shut her eyes and smiled as if remembering. Asta couldn't recall the last time she had bathed with someone. It was probably her mother but it was such a difficult thing to recall. No, no; it was a warm summer day. A shallow, wide barrel on a small hill where flowers grew and a round green door let you into comfort's finest house. Two youngsters played, splashing with abandon.
Queen Galadriel was watching Asta now. Her questioning eyes impenetrable and blue; not deep like the depths of water but similar to the bath they were in; clean and bright.
"Why won't you let me hear the forest?" She looked up to match those perspicuous eyes.
She blinked slowly and cocked her head slightly, "You are in a state of healing. Does your new responsibility make you more comfortable?"
"You treat me as you treat a child. The forest is my responsibility, and I do not shirk my duties, whatever they may be." Asta's voice was loud and reverberated off the walls. Galadriel shut her eyes and upon opening them many voices entered Asta's mind.
'Child of the Mountains! Child of the Mountains, where are you?' Her head felt like it would explode, 'Silence, silence,' she tried to tell them, "Silence!" she yelled aloud, and the voices stopped. Asta knew the Queen had suppressed the forest again.
"You are not ready now. I shall teach you to tame the forest within yourself, as I have taught others."
"Others?" Asta clutched her head which was pounding now.
"Your Mother was one. She was very knowledgeable of the forest and the mountain." She moved to the edge to collect something. "Come, let me wash your hair while I tell you of her."
Asta did not move.
"You do not trust me?" Surprise slipped out of that low silky voice.
"You coo in the same manner as Thranduil and that did not give me happiness nor trust in the end."
"Would you rather I was cruel?"
Asta stared at her, some unfound reserve of courage flowed from her, "I wish you to be honest."
Yet another mysteriously devious smile appeared, as if she knew something Asta did not. "Your Mother disliked his cooing as well." She paused to laugh and look up into the air, set her elbow on the edge of the stone basin and gently rest her first finger on her lip.
"What was she like when she was here?"
"She is still here. You mean when she was alive."
"What do you mean?"
"Come and let me wash your hair, then I will tell you." This was no longer an invitation but a condition. With apprehension she moved through the heat, each muscle tensing with pain. Upon reaching the Queen she looked into her face, which was much like a triumphant bully winning a victor over its prey.
"It is good to move, your muscles need to move. The resistance the water provides will help make them stronger." Asta turned, allowing access to her hair.
"Your Mother was much like you, although more free. She was foolhardy, compassionate and demanded the highest quality of integrity from everyone. It made her both laughable and laudable." She paused, her hands lathering Asta's head. "She was revered. Her hair was the colour of ebony, with eyes bright as a full moon. She sang like a lark on the last day and she also told excellent stories."
"She always told the best stories. She often told them to me in elvish."
"Yes, she used to say that the elves isolated ourselves and taught many of us the common tongue." The Queen was silently inspecting Asta's head, "How strange. Your hair is thick, it must be your father's; the colour is a close match as well."
Asta grew quiet. Her mother had spoken fondly of her father but had never said his name or what he looked like. People told her of the wonders of her mother, countless times Thranduil would tell Asta stories of her, but no one before had mentioned both.
"Do you know how they met?" Galadriel asked. She grabbed a bristle brush, brushed it with soap then began scrubbing Asta's shoulder, which was a pain she would gladly live without henceforth. "It will smooth the skin and take away the decay." She scrubbed careful of Asta's wounds.
"They met here. A group of dwarves needed passage through the forest to another dwarf kingdom, and King Thror arranged to have some of them stay here. Although not fond of elves we had paid our due respect to the stone when he unearthed it. Your father was among those that stayed. He had wide shoulders and less beard than most of your company. His hair was as red as Master Gloin's and yet as bright as Prince Fili's. His eyes were honest and straight forward. They loved each other very deeply."
Hearing it made the story sounds like an ancient tale of forbidden lovers of a distant time.
"When they had to part, sadness was felt by all; and they never saw each other again, to my knowledge. She missed him terribly."
The scrubbing had stopped and the Elven Queen was lathering a substance that smelt of lemongrass. "You said she was still here…?"
"Her spirit dances in the forest trees and the wind. When she left, a hand print appeared on the trunk of the tree we used to read under. Perhaps you will see her."
The bath continued on in silence with much scrubbing, lathering and rinsing. Asta had not known a bath to be such an ordeal, but under the weight of the steam she was taught how to make her skin shine, what herbs and ointments made one smell the freshest the longest, and how to braid her hair like the female dwarves of Erebor. Galadriel passed knowledge to Asta that a mother would impart to her daughter, and in doing so solidified in Asta a trust and bond that grew with every drip. There was no doting or complimenting, merely a passage of knowledge between one woman to another. She knew she would never be the woman that Galadriel had come to be, and when they shared stories and laughter, she had the impression that she did not have to be. Still, when they left the bath it was a small comfort that her skin shone with the same brilliance as the Queen's did.
"Do not be ashamed of your shell, Child of the Mountains. It is only a container and even then, it is not what you are, but rather who you are that others will covet." Asta looked at her chest, her stomach, her legs and her toes. Strong. Her body was strong, and fierce, she had been caught so much in living to the dwarf's standards and in recognizing herself as a part of the forest that she forgot her original name: Warg Slayer. Being a part of the forest did not mean that she had become somehow weaker. It also did not mean that she had to don dresses and walk about enigmatically. She could be the Warg Slayer and a woman, as she always had been. With her renewed confidence she stepped out of bath on her own and asked the question that had been on the tip of her tongue since they began this journey.
"The forest calls me that, why do you also call me that?"
"Because it is the name of both your past and your future."
***** So I do have more written, I just have to type it out, so hopefully soon you will receive more! Hope you enjoyed! Leave your comments, I appreciate them!*****