Helo, dearest readers, let us see how the Traditional Treck the Tracker Tournament goes!
Celebrisilwth, if we have misundestandings among us humans, it would be a surprise if there weren't among dwarves and men; but, like us, they can talk to each other and find solutions to their quarrels.
pallysd'Artagnan, they may be safe for this night, but what of the whole of their journey?
salwyn77, thank you so much, there will be more sweet moments in the future - but not only...
=^.^=
The searching party was slow in covering terrain even with dwarven help. It took them days to ride what would be done in a short while, looking for signs of the so-called kidnapper.
During supper none was too keen to talk, worried as they were, but the warmth of the meal in their bellies and of the fires around their camp settled their mood. Men and dwarrow both defined watches, and some went to their bedrolls early. Bard, worried to the last drop of blood, circled the camp as far as the light of the fires reached, a bear caged in the circle of light.
The night owls, like Bofur and Nori, played cards whilst hens, like Dwalin and Dori, were long snoring. Thorin rested his back against a large boulder, keeping his own watch over his closest family. Bilbo, always the curious one, sat cross-legged near a fire, where some Dalemen shared stories with the Rohirrim. One of Bard's rangers, a mature fellow with clever eyes, was finishing a story.
"… And the poor fisher, after rowing all the way to the springs of the river, found the place the old woman told him. Once he pulled his boat to the shore, and said the magic words she taught him, the sand in the chest she gave him turned to pure gold. Then he gave it to a beautiful maiden who stood there waiting, exactly as the woman said there would be. In the end, not only did he keep the gold, but also found the woman's daughter and they wed and lived happily ever after."
"But why didn't the old woman spend her gold and pay for her ride across the lake? I never understood this part." One of the younger guys asked, annoyed.
"That's because you don't pay attention, Jarred. The old woman was a fairy, and she was testing the fisher. She wouldn't let anyone greedy near her daughter, that's why she begged for the ride and only then told him there would be a prize."
"Oh, I see." Bilbo shared his opinion. "It's like the stories where the hero must have a pure heart to achieve his goal. I've heard some of the kind."
"But this, master Halfling, is not about achieving a goal. It's about having a pure heart and keeping faith. If he were greedy and said the magic words before he reached the right place, the boat would sink with the weight of the gold. He would drown and wouldn't find the maiden. The fisher was selfless and kept faith on the fairy's words, that he would find happiness at the end of his journey. And so he did."
Bilbo nodded, agreeing, happy to have one more story to add to his collection.
Dunwine cleared his throat, granting the attention of the story sharers for the next one.
"The pure of heart might journey even when they ain't aware of it. There are paths, hidden to most, that only the pure of heart might tread."
"Are there? Where to?"Asked Bilbo. "How can one journey without being aware?"
Dunwine smiled, knowingly. The hobbit asked exactly what it took to hook the audience.
"There are. There are places far, so far away, no mortal can reach them."
Bilbo nodded again, understanding. The Undying Lands. He heard about them in the House of Elrond.
"Bulshit. Wherever an elf can go, a man can go too." Said one of the Dalemen, not to challenge Dunwine's words, but to induce him to continue.
"Really? Would you dare to go to the Golden Forest, where the elf witch is queen? Or to take one of the swan ships that sail away from the Gray Havens and never return?"
"Oh, come on. Everybody knows nobody enters the Forest of Golden Leaves and comes back unscathed. Only a fool would set foot in Lórien."
"And yet, it is about Lórien that I'm about to tell. Not the forest, but the Power."
A chorus of ohs and ahs followed the statement, and Bilbo felt someone sit beside him. He didn't need to look to know it was Dís, the scent of her warm skin so close taking him by surprise.
"I love to hear stories too." She whispered in his ear, rising goosebumps. Bilbo smiled and reached out his hand, unsure if it was proper to hold hers in public. She squeezed it affectionately, making clear it was all right. If not for everybody, for her, and this was what mattered.
"When the world was young, and no Sun nor Moon were to be seen in the skies, the Powers could ride from East to their lands in the far West with nothing more than their will. Anyone with eyes sharp enough could stand on the sands of the shores of Vinyamar, in the long sunken lands of Beleriand, and look straight to the shores of the Undying Lands in the West. It was long, long ago, before the world was made round."
Lots of nods and words of agreement. Everybody knew some legend of the First Days, and the terrible War of Wrath that defeated the Enemy, Morgoth, and rearranged Middle-earth as it was shaped now. Dunwine took a sip of tea and continued.
"When my grandsire was a bairn, he had a strange dream. In this dream he walked a long time in the dark, through deep banks and amidst overhanging hedges, and then tall trees and brambles, always hearing a whisper that seemed alive. The moon shone not, yet there were great glow-worms creeping about the borders of the path, so then it was no more a complete dark. When he made his way through the last of the vines, the day was clearing, yet he couldn't see the sun. The land was covered in mists, and he could feel sand under his feet, as well as hear the sound of waves on a beach. Then, the scent of fresh baked bread made his belly to growl with hunger. Ye all can relate."
Dunwine earned some laughter, used this gap of time to bite down some bread himself, and resumed.
"He ran to where the delicious smell came from, and found a small cottage, with many small curtained windows, on a small hill. It was made of wood and had living offshoots growing from its columns, and lianas flowered wild. Now, take heed: it was winter in Rohan, and he wore a woollen sleeping gown. Yet, flowers bloomed all around the cottage, and his feet were warm even walking barefoot."
Dunwine was a good storyteller, and his small audience was silent as a mouse. Fíli, hungry for stories like a wee dwarfling, had found his place beside Dís not long after she joined Bilbo, and barely breathed.
"A beautiful woman appeared at the door when he was about to knock on it. If it was an elf or a fae, none knows, but she was kind, and invited him in. Her name was Vairë. Soon he was fed fresh bread and cream and honey, and other children, as young as him or yet younger, sat beside him and ate too, laughing and chatting like old friends. When they all had their fill, a handsome man came and invited them to a large chamber with a fireplace. My grandsire found it strange, because the chamber was larger than the whole cottage as seen from the outside, but he was afraid to ask any question and be shooed away from that beautiful place. As soon as all those children sat down on the rugs and cushions, the man and the woman sat down too, in front of the fire, and he began to tell a story."
"A story inside a story. It's a beautiful technique." Bilbo whispered in Dís' ear, and she smiled, agreeing.
"The man introduced himself as Lindo, and said: "Ye all wandered to these lands and were invited to our home. Ye are to know the story of the Cottage of Lost Play so ye'll never forget it, and can tell others not to be afraid if their feet ever wander hither. It began the day when the Powers hid Valinor, enclosing it from the rest of the Earth. There are two paths left for those who might wander in peace. A gorgeous path, the bridge of the rainbow, was set by Oromë, yet so slender is the work of his hands that only the Powers themselves travel it. No living Men may tread it's swaying threads and few of the Eldar have the heart for it. The Eldar travel more often through the Straight Road, which lingers where the old path of Belegaer once was, their ships allowed this grace by the Powers themselves after Arda was made round." The children exchanged curious glances, as many of them didn't even know it hadn't been round since forever. The man, or elf, noticing their confusion, resumed. "The day the last king of Númenor, Ar-Pharazôn, fell to the lies of Sauron and set his fleet against Aman, it was also the last time Erú Ilúvatar, the One, intervened directly on the matters of his Children, Elves and Men. So, he crushed the Númenorean host under stones, and made the world to become round. This is why mortals cannot sail over the seas and try to find the Undying Lands anymore. Yet, there is also the path ye all trod, made by request of Manwë himself, who looked with sorrow upon the hiding of Valinor. Irmo,one of the Masters of the Spirits, who is also called Lórien, created this path, through which you came, the Olórë Mallë, the Path of Dreams. Children of the Eldar, and of Men, and of the peoples who came after, all are welcome to our little Cottage. Older people might come, once and again, yet it is only the pure of heart that are allowed this path."
Bilbo heard those words and wondered if some of his childhood weirdest dreams didn't find an explanation in the Olórë Mallë theory. As memories of early childhood often befuddled his brain, it would not be a surprise if he found out some of them were really memories instead of whisps of dreams. Yet, wouldn't it be too much presumption to deem himself pure of heart enough to have trodden the Paths of Dream?
Dunwine resumed, mesmerizing the audience . The hobbit obligued.
"Then Lindo said to my grandsire and all the children at the Cottage of Lost Play: "This path ye'll tread back to yer homes, and may yet tread back to hear more stories and play more games. But now is time to go home, and sleep yer rest, and be in peace." With these words Lindo said his farewell, and my grandsire and the other children left the cottage to find each their own path back home."
Dís sighed.
"It was a beautiful dream your grandsire dreamed, master Dunwine. I wish this Path of Dreams could really be trodden."
"But it is, your Highness. My grandsire trod it, I just told you. Do ye doubt my words?"
The dwarven princess smiled sheepishly, written on her face that it was hard to believe such a fantasy.
"Then allow me to tell you the last words of this story, for they are yet to be told. When my grandsire left the Cottage, he asked Vairë for a token, to remember it, as he knew he was growing up and the world was harsh, so he feared the night would come when he would wish to find the Olórë Mallë yet his heart would not be pure enough anymore. Vairë smiled and picked a flower from the lianas growing on the roof, put in his hand, and closed his fingers around it. When he woke up next morning, shivering from the cold the snow outside granted, the flower was still in his hand, unwithered."
As if daring anyone around that fire to dispute his words, Dunwine brought his own hand to his collar, fingered something and produced a necklace with a locket. The necklace was made of silver, sturdy enough to endure the rough lifestyle of a rider of Rohan. Inside the locket, a crystal ampoule filled with clarified oil contained a single, five petaled, white flower, of a kind none of them ever saw.