The floor around her was covered in scrunched up papers, splattered ink and her frustrations. She threw the quill on the desk, wet ink leaving stains in its wake. She put her face in her hands and let out a groan. This was a waste of time, another feeble attempt at trying to understand why she felt so out of place. She threw her chair back and stood up, grimacing at the mess she had made this past hour. Sighing, she kneeled and slowly started picking up her discarded attempts.
She felt such a flurry of emotions, as if they were being carried around her in a gust of wind, circling around and around, engulfing her, choking her. Her breathing became heavy, and she found herself clutching at her chest, as if that would entrap the air in her lungs and allow her to breathe properly.
“Care to explain why our beautiful little study looks like you left Dumpling in here with a shrew?” came a voice from the door. Bethrelfin groaned once more, her face reddening in embarrassment, though her breathing slowly steadied.
She watched as Malethion kneeled in front of her, picking up one of the many discarded papers and slowly unfurling it, trying to straighten it out. Most of the ink had not dried yet when Bethrelfin threw it away in anger, covering it in blotches of ink and smudged letters, a testament to her mood.
“This writing business is silly. How will this help me understand what I want? How will inked words on a piece of tattered paper convey what I'm trying to look for?” she muttered, her frustration evident. Malethion was still reading what was on the paper, or what was legible. She watched as he grabbed another, trying to smooth out the wrinkles to read what she had written.
“You mention your kin a lot-“ Bethrelfin quickly cut him off before he could continue his sentence. “No.” Malethion raised an eyebrow in question.
“It’s not.. I’ve tried fitting in, but everyone seems so…” he words trailed off.
“You spoke highly of them when you fought alongside them at Brandywine Bridge,” Malethion remarked.
“I know, but ever since I’ve been going to the tavern, everyone seems so cold and distant. The elves are either silent, too witty for their own good or just too damned proud. I thought they might be different to my kin in Mirkwood but clearly not.” She sighed.
“I tried speaking to two others, though one made his disdain for elves extremely clear. I tried to show him that I do not fully approve of certain elvish behaviour, but he was more interested in speaking to Dumpling than actually listening. I think his hatred runs too deep to even care.”
“I feel horrible speaking about them in such a way, I really do. I’ve been trying to be like you, to see the goodness in people’s hearts. But it’s difficult to do so when no one gives you a chance to try.”
Bethrelfin sighed, her frustration growing with every paper she picked and put away in a basket. Every single attempt, every single reasoning she tried, every single word she blurted onto a paper to try and ease her constant worrying.
“What about Tivlyn and Fymrin?”
Bethrelfin looked up, startled, finding that Malethion had taking yet another piece of paper and read it. She couldn’t help but smile at their names.
“They’re the only two women who actually took the time to speak to me, properly speak to me, not just niceties and pretenses.” She remembered how Tivlyn had gushed at her dress, leading her around the tavern and quickly bringing treats for little Dumpling. She had even procured a little cat bed for her. Fymrin was a fiery woman from Rohan, her demeanor cheerful and warm, her eyes full of care. She had comforted her the last time they met, a simple gesture which meant the world to her.
Malethion tried to smooth out the paper as much as he could before handing it to her. “Keep this,” he murmured. Bethrelfin slowly took the paper in her hands, smudged ink and barely legible writing, but she could see the names of the two women, the ones who brought such a genuine smile to her face.
“I believe that you are a lot closer to finding a home than you think,” he told her, taking a hold of her hand, his calloused fingers feeling almost soft against her skin. She looked up at his face, his blue eyes like the shining rivers in the Shire. A soft, gentle look which seemed to be trying to tell her something. She could usually read his face quite easily, but there was something else there. Something almost akin to… understanding. But also, worry? Sadness?
She felt his lips brush against her hands, a gentle kiss on her knuckles, a gesture so soothing she felt her shoulders finally relax.
“Perhaps my writing idea wasn’t as silly as you thought?” he said, a smile teasing his lips. She found herself laughing, looking once more at the tempest of crumpled papers around them.
“Come on, let’s clean this up before Dumpling decides that she would much rather tear them all apart than continue her hunt for shrews.” She let Malethion help her up and continued cleaning up her mess.
He was right. She did feel closer to feeling accepted, perhaps not by her own kin, but by others. Yet, there was still a thought which persisted in her head. She glanced at Malethion and was about to speak before she thought against it.
Not today. Perhaps, not ever.
