Thorongil made his way down the stone stairwell towards the Healing Hall. The path was undesirably familiar. Throughout his time under King Thengel, he had visited many soldiers in the Healing Hall, along with a few treatments for himself.
The stone building, secure and sheltered, was a cavern of rooms. Last he saw the elleth, she had been placed in a ward with others wounded from the battle. He had been told she had been moved to her own room, but had not awakened since they moved her the night before last.
Thorongil bit the inside of his cheek in worry, though worry would do him no good. Elves healed quickly, and with the help of the small amount of Elvish medicine he knew, she overcame the worst of her wounds and had begun to heal - her physical wounds, at least. Wounds of the mind and heart - he did not know how to mend.
Healers brushed past him, busy with chores and patients. Finally stopping one healer, he was able to find where they had moved Ophelia and made his way to the room.
The rooms had no doors, only curtains blocking the hallway, so Thorongil did his best to knock on the wall outside the room before peeking past the fabric.
Ophelia was awake and sitting up. Her bed against the wall allowed her to support herself as she sat up. Her head turned towards the soldier, eyes wide and face vacant. He felt as if she was looking both past him and through him. He hesitated, but knocked on the wall in another attempt to appear polite.
"May I come in, my lady?"
She blinked and nodded.
A soft blanket lay up to her waist. She now sported a clean, brown tunic and the only bandages he noticed here around her head. The wounds on her hands, chest, and arms had scabbed or scarred but were healing. Knowing the ways of the Elves, he knew the markings would soon be erased and her skin return to flawless porcelain.
Thorongil pushed past the curtain, fully entering her room. A part of him regretted checking in on her - he should be packing, preparing for the journey ahead of him tomorrow.
"It is good to see you awake and well. Many of us have worried about you."
He slowly made his way into the room, not wanting to frighten her, and sat down on the wooden stool next to her bed. Her eyes never left him, watching him as if she were waiting for something - whatever that was, he did not know.
She turned away from him when he sat down. A small fire in a fireplace crackled and flickered. Wood would need to be added soon to maintain it.
He had just come to check on her before he left. He hadn't expected much, but the silence felt awkward. It was a few moments before she acknowledged him, though it felt much longer. He rubbed his knees, about to stand and leave the woman when she finally spoke.
"Thorongil."
Her voice surprised him. No longer was it the small, raspy voice of the frightened girl on the battlefield, but crisp and clear as the streaming river. It was not loud but still remained sturdy and direct.
She remembered his name - the name he currently used at least. He had not expected their introduction to be remembered as she had been in quite a daze last he saw her.
The woman turned, looking at the soldier once more - studying him intently. Her gaze unnerved him but he dared not show it.
Letting out a breathy sigh, Ophelia drew her knees to her chest, crossing her arms and resting them on her folded knees. She lay her head down on her arms, still looking at Thorongil. He clenched and unclenched the fabric of his pants as he forced himself to relax. She looked…nervous.
Briskly, she finally continued. "Can you tell me what happened to me?"
His eyes widened at the question she asked of him. It was abrupt, though perhaps this question had been on her mind for hours - days, maybe.
He was not sure what to say or exactly what she meant - did she not remember the battle or how she came to be with the Wild Men? What could he tell her? What was it she wanted to know, exactly? He had only happened upon her during the battle and had no way of possibly knowing how she got there.
Ophelia bit her lip as he remained silent, but continued. "I don't know how I got to where I am. I don't understand where I am or why I'm here. I don't….I don't know where I am or why I'm like this." Her voice was hushed, fading as she rambled on.
Thorongil also noted her informal speech; if he did not know she was an Elf he would think her a woman from the country, far away from bustling cities and their politics. His brows furrowed as he leaned back on the stool before answering her questions as best he could.
"You are in Edoras, my lady, in the Halls of Healing. We brought you here after finding you with a group of Wild Men from the East - they appeared to be heading towards the White Mountains."
She frowned and let out a hum - yes she heard him, but no she still did not understand.
Her hair was slowly growing in. Thorongil could see small wisps of dark auburn sprouting from her scalp through the edges of the bandages. Or perhaps he only noticed them now that she was clean.
Ophelia said his name again and he looked into her blue, Elvish eyes. Growing up with the Elves, he had become accustomed to how deep their stare could feel - how transparent he was made to feel, as if he were nothing more than an opened book.
She brought her thumb to her lips and lightly bit it - a nervous habit perhaps. She sighed again and further explained herself.
"Thorongil. What I mean to say is, I don't know where Edoras is. Or the White Mountains. I don't know who the Wild Men from the East are. I don't know why I was with them or how I got hurt."
Thorongil's eyes widened in bewilderment. "Edoras is the capital of Rohan, my lady. North of Gondor and south of the Woods of Lothlorien."
Her lips pursed together in annoyance but she attempted to hold back her frustration. Seeing how easily she displayed her emotions on her face was slightly startling to the soldier. Not that Elves didn't show emotions, but they were often more guarded - especially with strangers.
And he was definitely a stranger to the peculiar girl in front of him.
"I don't know where Rohan is, or what Gondor is, or the Woods of Lothlorien." She sighed and hid her head in her elbow, mumbling. "I just want to go home but I don't know where home is. Don't you have a map or something?" She was exasperated.
Thorongil scanned the elleth. Her questions were surreal, unfitting. She only seemed to grasp part of reality. Home? Where had her home been where she remained unfamiliar with the lands of the West? Had she been brought from the East? The South? Even so, that did not explain her lack of basic knowledge.
He inhaled deeply and stood from his chair. Did she perhaps lose her memory?
Brushing his hair from his face, he answered. "I do not have a map with me, but I can find one, my lady."
Still mumbling into her elbow, the bandaged woman responded. "Can you just call me Ophelia? Everyone here calls me 'my lady' and I don't…I don't think I like it."
Thorongil hummed as he processed what she said and slowly nodded. He echoed her name and she peered up at him with one eye as she remained hunched on the bed.
"Would you like me to bring you one, Ophelia?" Her name passed his lips again, an unfamiliar and foreign name. Certainly not Elvish.
She straightened her back as her arms fell into her lap. Rubbing her hands together, she looked up at Thorongil. "Do you only have one? Do you have different ones of the area?"
"I believe there is one of the continent I can get you, though the East of Mordor has not been deeply surveyed by us of the West."
Ophelia stretched out her knees,leaned against the wall once more, and released what Thorongil thought to be a sigh of frustration - a sound he believed was common coming from the elleth.
Looking away from him and towards the fire, she spoke in an almost whisper. "I don't even know what Mordor is, Thorongil."
Thorongil had grabbed every map he could borrow from the storage for the Marshalls. He was able to find three in total - one of Rohan and Isengard, one of Gondor, and one of Middle Earth, though the Northwest section past the Misty Mountains had not been as detailed as the rest of the map.
Curiosity and concern rushed him back to Ophelia's room in the Healing Hall. Did her injuries cause her memory loss? How much did she remember? She knew her name at least but was that all she knew? Home. Home. Where was this home of hers?
Forgetting to knock, Thorongil pushed back the curtain, rolled maps in his arm. Walking towards Ophelia, she swung her legs over the bed and stood, taking the maps from him and unrolling them on the bed.
Her tunic had been a dress, linen and simple, though perhaps a bit too thin. He kept his eyes focused on the maps.
Ophelia unrolled each map, urgently but gently. Looking over them and still not knowing where she was, she glanced at Thorongil.
"Where are we now?"
He moved next to her, leaning over the maps and pointing to Edoras on the map of Rohan and Isengard. "We are here, my - Ophelia," he corrected himself, "We found you with the Wild Men here." His finger traveled from Edoras, south by the White Mountains.
Looking down at his hand, Ophelia glanced at the map of the continent. "So we are in Rohan, which is here?" Her finger circled the general area of the kingdom. The two fingers bandaged together appeared uninjured, perhaps healed already, as she did not struggle to move them as her hands flickered about the page.
The map was written in the Common Tongue - perhaps she could also read it as well as speak it? Yet she was unfamiliar with the tongue of her own peoples. His mind filled with more questions than answers.
Thorongil glanced at Ophelia from the corner of his eye before returning his gaze to where she had circled on the map. "Yes."
Her eyes scanned the map. It was so foreign - the mountains, the valleys, the ocean to the west..
"Where are the Wild Men from? Here?" Her finger traced to Gondor, Ithilien, and then Mordor.
Instead of responding, Thorongil watched the woman hovering over the map. Her eyes flickered back and forth as they read it. He heard her mumble the names listed, repeating them to herself as her fingers traced the parchment.
"My lady," he hesitated to question her. She had been through…something dangerous, he believed. He had a hundred questions but knew she would have less answers, but he might as well begin asking.
Ophelia straightened and looked at the Man next to her.
Thorongil crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "Can you read this map? The letters? The words?"
Her eyes widened slightly and she looked back down at the map on the bed, studying it once more, as if she hadn't processed that she had been reading and understanding it before then.
Finally, she answered, though her response sounded more like a question than an answer.
"Yes?"
"Man agórer allen?" What happened to you? The question flowed past his lips in the wispy tongue of the Elves. Perhaps he had been mistaken early, perhaps she did understand Sindarin.
Ophelia tilted her head forward, towards Thorongil, confused. "Man..ago..?" She struggled to repeat what he said, obviously confused and not understanding.
Leaning at the maps next to her, Thorongil's voice softened to a whisper, concerned and questioning. "What do you remember, my lady? What do you know?"
She turned her bandaged head to him, her eyes piercing through him in a gaze he could not read.
"My name is Ophelia. I'm a….I'm a woman. And I'm alive. I'm…" she struggled to continue. Her hand covered her mouth and he could tell she was thinking hard. Her eyes widened as she struggled to think of anything more to tell him.
Did she think she was of Men? It gave him pause before he responded to her. Briefly glancing at her again from the corner of his eye before looking back at the maps, Thorongil hesitantly corrected her before she continued.
"Do you know of the Elves?"
She stood up straight, this time correcting the way he addressed her as her hand left her mouth. "The Elves?" Her brows furrowed together, wrinkling her forehead.
He could tell how her breath quickened. Her hand grasped at her dress, wrinkling the linen in her hands as she held it tightly. She was..scared. He wasn't sure what to think of her.
This time it was Thorongil who tilted his head in confusion, not sure what she needed answered - not sure how she did not know of her own kind or perhaps never thought herself as one of them.
Ophelia continued, her voice rushed and urgent. "What do you mean by Elves? Like, little people?" The pitch of her voice elevated with each question.
Thorongil would have laughed if he thought it remotely appropriate. Was she confusing Dwarves with Elves? Thank the Valar that only Men remained in the Healing Hall and that no Dwarf or Elf had visited Rohan's capital city in years.
Opheilia knew….absolutely nothing. As far as Thorongil was concerned, she truly did only know her own name. He had never met anyone who struggled with memory loss, let alone memory loss this selective.
How could she not know her own race? Her own kind? He believed that knowledge had been ingrained in all Elves since birth - like breathing. Elves had been the first Children created, they were so incredibly connected to the land and spirit of the earth.
He did not know where to begin, but perhaps he could use the map to briefly explain the race of the Eldar. From there he would share some history - again brief. The story and mythos of Middle Earth in its entirety was too grand for one Man to know, let alone share.
"My lady….Ophelia," he corrected himself in an attempt to put her at ease. "Let us sit at the table. I will answer your questions to the best of my ability."
Silently, Ophelia turned away from him and walked toward a wooden table between two chairs. The chair scruffed against the floor as she pulled the chair away from the table and sat down, still only looking at the table in front of her.
Thorongil grabbed the maps from the bed and walked over to the table, placing them down gently in front of her as he took his own seat across from her. Her eyes never left the table nor the maps, as if her mind was rushing to explain and process what he had told or what he had not yet told her.
"Elves are the eldest of the Children of Ilúvatar."
Ophelia looked away from the maps and at the Man in front of her. Her eyes widened and face paled but she folded her hands on the table in - what Thorongil believed - was an attempt to remain or appear calm.
And thus, Thorongil with as great of patience as he could muster, spent the rest of the day and evening explaining and answering all of Ophelia's questions as best he could. She also did her best to answer a few of his own.
Healers came and brought lunch and dinner and tea, leaving it on the table near the door and not disturbing the couple who delved deep into the history and cultures of Middle Earth.
He also confirmed that she did not know her own race - her own peoples and culture, it thus made sense that she did not know the language of her people, Sindarian. He understood why she had not responded to him when she had first awakened some days ago. She did not know of Elves or Dwarves. She did not know of the forests or mountains. Dangerously, she did not know of Mordor or Orcs or Goblins or Trolls.
She said absolutely nothing when he asked her if she knew her race. Her wide eyes stared deeply into his own, but her face remained blank, even as he further explained her origins.
She neither questioned nor commented on the subject, so Thorongil moved on, further explaining the races of Dwarves and Men before going over Orcs and Goblins. He watched her eyes glaze over and hoped she was at least attempting to understand his lesson, no how shallow it was.
Time passed slowly for Thorongil but the sun had set and the moon had risen. Even in this windowless room, he could tell how late it had become - healers no longer rushed down the halls, patients quieted down as they finally came to rest.
He had gone over things he thought important and still knew that one night of stories would not be enough. He had not planned to stay this late. He was to leave for Gondor in the morning.
"Ophelia."
She looked up from her seat across from Thorongil at the table. She was pulling apart a loaf of bread and eating small pieces one at a time. The tea had gotten cold but he still finished his cup.
His voice came out in a hushed whisper. "Ophelia, I am leaving in the morning."
Ophelia nodded, she had heard him clearly though the words barely escaped his mouth. She finished chewing and swallowed the bread. "Where are you going?"
"South."
"To the White Mountains?"
He shook his head, but said nothing more.
"To Gondor?" She questioned again, her own voice a whisper.
Placing his empty cup on the table, he didn't look away from it in his hand. "Yes. Then I hope to follow the Great River to return to the North."
She tore another piece of the bread and nodded. She understood. "To the…far North?"
He nodded. He had also planned to go West, but she did not need to know his entire plan. He hoped to return to the life of a Ranger once more.
"Lorien is where Elves live?"
His brows furrowed in confusion but he nodded. "Yes, my lady. Lorien is one of the Elven Kingdoms." Where was she going with this? While he could guess, it would be easier for the both of them if she stated it plainly.
With her elbows on the table, she ate the torn bread and pulled away another piece. Her eyes looked past Thorongil towards the fire. He waited for her to speak, to finish her thought. The taste of the cold tea lingered in his mouth.
"When you make your way North, will you remember me? Would you take me with you? I would like to see the Elves for myself."
Oh. So this is where her thoughts lie. He had guessed as much, but was not sure if he wanted to continue this….relationship with the mysterious stranger - though he seemed to know more about her than she did.
'The Elves' - her words made him believe that she felt herself separate from them. A line in the sand had been made and she was not crossing it at the moment.
Thorongil had merely stated he was going North, not to Lorien. He had planned on visiting the forest, but knew he made no mention of doing so.
He didn't want to give her an answer. He tapped the table with his index finger before meeting her eyes. "That is quite the journey for one who does not know the way."
She met his gaze but turned away as she shrugged.
"You'll be there. You can take a detour from the Great River to the Entwash, if you write to me I will meet you at the Fingers of the Entwash."
Thorongil shook his head, his shoulder length hair brushing against his face. Throughout the day, he had determined that she could read the Common Tongue - not once had she struggled with the names scrawled on the maps. Her mind was sharp.
"It is a dangerous road, my lady."
Ophelia glared at him and he corrected himself. "Ophelia." The name still felt strange to speak.
She did not want to travel to the Elves by herself - understandable. But how was she able to trust him so easily? Perhaps he was confusing trust for desperation. He had told her how few Elves traveled outside of their lands, she probably realized that Elves may be able to assist her more than he and her only choice at the moment was to trust that the helpful stranger would continue to lend her a hand in her quest to understand herself.
She clicked her tongue and ate another piece of bread, her elbows still on the wooden table as she continued her interrogation.
"When do you plan on making your way North?"
Thorongil hesitated before responding to her. He tapped the side of his empty cup.
He should not have even told her that much, but the words stumbled from him before he could refrain. Talking to her felt like talking to an expectant elder - her questions were more like tests. Why did he feel like proving himself? What did he even have to prove to her?
"Not for a while. It could be years." And in years, she could remember more of what she had forgotten. In years she may not even want to follow him to Lorien. She may not even stay in Rohan, let alone Edoras.
Ophelia didn't quit. "You are a Man and not an Elf, correct?"
He let out an almost exasperated whisper. "Yes." Man was all he could be right now. Nothing more. Where was she going with this?
"Won't you be too old to journey by yourself?"
His head shot up at her response. A small smirk played upon her lips and disappeared as she popped another piece of bread in her mouth.
"I assure you I am quite capable of the journey." He snorted. He knew that - if everything went correctly - he would live a long, long life as is common with his bloodline. He also knew that he did not look his age of 32 but perhaps younger, if in comparison to other Men. Her regard for him surprised him.
"I'll see you then, Thorongil. I'm willing to wait. My time here will help more than hinder. I have a lot to learn. To….remember." The last word caused her mouth to twist as if she ate something sour.
Though their meeting had been incredibly short and that he truly knew nothing of the the elleth in front of him, Thorongil understood that years from now, he would send a note to Edoras, to Ophelia, to meet him at the Entwash - though he would journey as far West as he could along the river towards Edoras.
Despite how she looked now, beaten, bald, and bruised, she was strong willed and the look of determination in her eyes forced him to take her seriously though hesitantly. He was beginning to make promises he wasn't sure he could keep. For a stranger.
He raised an eyebrow, questioning. "You will stay here, in Edoras?"
She put the last piece of the bread in her mouth, still looking at Thorongil.
"Yes. I'll figure something out. Just make sure to write to me when you begin your journey and I'll meet you at the Fingers of the Entwash River and join you until Lorien. If the Lady of the Woods you speak of…" She trailed off, not finishing her thought, though he felt he understood. She tapped her bottom lip with her bandaged fingers.
Thorongil crossed his arms against his chest and leaned back in the chair, nodding.
"I understand."
The fire crackled. He had replenished the wood not too long ago but it would need a few more logs for the rest of the night. However, that would not be taken care of by him.
The dark haired man stood up, stretching his legs and back, and grabbed the rolled up maps. He would have to put them back before his short rest. He had packed up earlier in the day and had been given a horse as a reward for his help to King Thengel. He needed to leave before he changed his mind.
"Thorongil."
Ophelia looked up at him, the wooden chair scuffed against the stone floor as she pushed away from the table to stand.
"Thank you for…"She gestured to the maps he held. "All of this. For…everything."
A small smile formed on her lips. It was gentle and relaxed, he felt she meant it - that she was truly thankful for his assistance not just today, but perhaps in rescuing her, healing her, teaching her - no matter how little it had been.
While he still held the rolled maps, Ophelia reached out and gently touched his arm and patted it. She leaned away, still smiley softly.
Thorongil returned the gesture, placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it in an effort to assure Ophelia. "I will write to you when I begin my journey North. Together we will travel to Lothlorien and I hope you can gain the answers you seek."
She nodded and walked away from him towards the fireplace, placing a log in the low flames.
Thorongil left, pushing the curtain away and leaving Ophelia to her own thoughts.
He had his own journey of discovery to attend. Though he looked forward to picking up a wandering Elf upon his return. Hopefully the Lady of the Woods could give her the answers she sought. Or perhaps she would regain her memory. It would be years until he would be ready to return North, return to the Homely House.