((For all those who read on!))
Gondor, Anórien,
City of Legelinn
Late Summer T. A. 3017
Torfrid raised his eyes and looked into the star covered sky, that appeared like a narrow, black band of velvet between the roofs of the houses. Scattered the stars were glistening and send their cool light down unto the earth.
Since good two years now was he traveling with the monk Matuk, an elderly man who was once a provost of one of the houses of Ilúvatar, through all of Rhovanion, in the search for someone or something. And as if that would not have been bad enough, he had lost the woman who he would have liked at his side despite all the differences, from belief to the entirely other being.
»Ælbdís«, he said quietly, closed the eyes and called upon the most precious memories during the journey.
Surely, her heart he would have conquered most likely never for himself, but at least she had been in his near. Now was the beautiful priestess lying together with his dead men, lifeless in a grave before the gates of Lake-Town.
»I hope your god Manwë did find you«, he mumbled and went to bed.
In this night, the knight had a terrible nightmare.
He saw the snow-covered graves at the side of the road. Then suddenly the surface of Ælbdís' grave began to move, the white cloth was blown away by the wind and the twigs beneath were rolling over the ground, scattered into every direction, until the priestess lay free. Pale-blue was her frozen body, else she seemed to sleep.
Closer and closer he went in his dream.
As he had her face in front of him, she suddenly opened the blind eyes, clinging the to ice frozen lids were shattered. Instead of having the warm and comforting silver, the iris was glowing in a menacing yellow.
Ælbdís shot up, opened her mouth and bared the sharp teeth that seemed to have grown in size. The frozen lips had gotten cracks and broke, the entire face was suddenly adorned with a wild pattern of rifts. The flesh split off the bone until only the fibrous remains of muscles, solitary skin and the white-blond hair was hanging on her head.
The knight stepped back in his dream, but the creature followed, caught up with him and took his head softly between her hands. Pale finger bones showed from beneath the burst open skin.
Slowly Ælbdís' half putrid mouth came closer and pressed a cold kiss on his lips.
»We will meet again, lord knight«, the nightmarish creature promised with glowing eyes. »Very soon. We will all meet again.«
The stone on the graves of his men began to move now as well and gave the dead free. Arduous the deceased rose up, came quietly towards them.
Stunned did Torfrid look on the fallen men, who had started to move again like the living through dark powers. Whatever happened here, it was not the will of Oromë. He grasped after his sword, but could not find it.
»But first I must gather my strength«, Ælbdís whispered.
Abrupt she turned around and brought one of the men to fall. With his own dagger, she broke a large piece of flesh from the body of the helplessly flailing one and began to greedily feast on it.
Torfrid awoke with a shiver from his dream and took in reflex the elvish sword. The blank blade in his hand, he sat in his bed and stared into the darkness, before his inner eyes, the last moments of the dream were mirrored.
Soon the tension was fading and was gone.
The knight stepped out of the bed, knelt down and spend the rest of the night with his silent prayer to Oromë. Maybe he would give him a sign what the meaning of his dream had been.
Completely consumed in litany and reverence, he did not notice the figure that was perching before his window. Crimson glowing eyes observed him attentively until the dawn, then the creature disappeared.
Rhovanion, Outskirts of southern Mirkwood
Late Summer T. A. 3017
Mid-Summer had passed, made place for the arriving of its brother autumn.
For now however, the days should remain warm. Only at night it sometimes became colder, when the next morning would carry the harbingers of the approaching rain. It was the time of the last heavy thunderstorms, but this late afternoon, the sky remained clear, with but a few white clouds roaming over the blue, like ships over the great ocean.
The small camp that had been set up, half a mile off the road on a hill, was calm and just a single person sat there. A girl with flowing red hair, an attractive, shrewd face that was covered with hundreds of freckles.
Creowyn's attire was plain, held in simple green colors on which dirt would not show easily and any holes or loose threads would not come to be noticed right away.
She shivered briefly in the fresh wind now rising, that she had to start the melody that she was humming from the beginning, for the uncontrolled motion of her body had brought Creowyn out of tact. Quickly she drew the scarf and the cloak closer, thankful for both. On her lap lay a harp and what few would have expected from her, a sword leaned at a rock just beside her.
Two horses were quietly grazing a few steps off, calmed by the presence of the constant music that came either from the instrument or her lips.
Creowyn had taken the second bedroll and leaned so against the trunk of a small tree. Several bags lay scattered about.
The girl was so recessed in her quiet rhyming and playing of notes, that she did not notice the tall figure in the distance, closing in on her location. Already from afar could the white-blond hair be spotted, that shimmered in the last rays of the sun.
The closer the figure came, the more details were able to be seen. With determined steps of the long legs was the person moving who had both arms crossed and placed above one another, before the broad and armored chest. The protection was held in night-shade green colors, appeared strange and many-jointed. Metal, wooden and leather parts had been chosen as components. Two sword-hilts protruded up from behind the back of the figure.
One of the horses noticed the new-comer. The ears twitched and now also Creowyn seemed to have taken notice. Glancing first several times to her swords as she had done often in the past hours, whenever she had heard a sound that made her suspicious, she decided to take a closer look at the one who came there up the hill.
The sun was blinding her a little, but she noticed the white-blond hair.
»Well met!«, the girl called out, suddenly realizing that she had found her rhyme with sunset. Creowyn laughed merrily and waved, albeit she knew that her god-mother was blind.
All too surprising was it then for her to realize that whoever was there coming towards, was not Ælbdís, her adoptive mother.
The figure halted and the outlines of a second shape appeared from behind the first, clothed in the very same manner, with even as white-blond hair.
Creowyn was shaken for short by a sensation of uncertainty, thinking about either running or to grasp after her weapon, but the curiosity of her young being overwhelmed the initial fright. Warily she stood before the low burning camp-fire, awaiting the two travelers to arrive on top of the hill.
As they arrived, the girl could see the magnificently armors and the interlacing engravings that formed a vivid pattern of ornate lines and symbols. She also took notice of the leaf-shaped ears of both warriors that looked, maybe a bit perplexed around, scanning with their silver eyes the surrounding.
The taller one of the two pointed at Creowyn. »Ælbdís?«
The red-haired girl blinked. While the taller of the warriors focused her, the other showed his open palms and bowed to the slightest. It could have also been interpreted as swaying forth and back.
»Milady Ælbdís, you seek?« Creowyn well noticed the strange similarities between these Elves and her god-mother. The same eye and hair-color, yes, even the skin was of about the same beige and soft tone that she knew from the priestess. »I fear, she is late this evening in returning«, she began carefully again, having taken a deep breath. »But, please, do wait here for her if you would like. She will come back any time soon.«
While the two warriors sat down next to the fire, she looked over to Ælbdís' bags and belongings and wondered when this any time soon, would be.
The priestess had left before she had awoken this morning, leaving the girl with provisions and freshly gathered logs for the fire. No note did Creowyn find or any other hint that would give her certainty where the elvish priestess had gone and when she would return.
The red-haired girl caught herself staring at the two warriors. Luckily they did not seem to take notice of her. They were now whispering with one another, performing gestures with their hands, that Creowyn attempted to decipher, curious why they were looking for the priestess and what they were talking about.
Although she had good ears, the words sounded to her like nothing comparable and even the few lessons of her god-mother were of no use here. The warriors simply spoke too fast for the girl, to hear out any concrete syllable even. The gestures they made with their hands gave also no clue of the matter they conversed about.
As the smaller of the two threw a look at Creowyn, their eyes met and while she felt how her head became more and more crimson, the warrior smiled, displaying his tipped teeth.
These exemplars were even a bit larger than those of Ælbdís and made his smile look like the grin of a predatory beast. He certainly can shred a man's throat with these things, Creowyn thought to herself.
»My friend speaks thy tongue not very well, mortal-child«, he said suddenly with a heavy and foreign sounding accent. »I am Símar, the Younger and this is Waisûl Hìub`Sor.«
Creowyn made no attempt on repeating these names in her response. She could have never pronounced them correctly.
»Well met, milord, and ... welcome«, she said instead. »My name is Creowyn, or Es- ... and I hail from Rohan« She was a bit nervous, as she wanted to introduce herself as always, but it seemed suddenly a bit silly to her, to greet these warriors with a dramatic swirl of her cloak.
Waisûl narrowed his eyes at her, while Símar remained in his friendly stance, continued to smile.
»You hail from the same place as Ælbdís, do you not?« Her voice was full with embarrassment. She wished she would know how to speak correctly with these Elves. Other than Ælbdís, she had never met any other of their kind before and with her god-mother the conversation were not as formal as this one was now. Creowyn just hoped not to ask the wrong questions. »You look a lot alike, especially from a distance.«
»From the land we come, that thy kind calls the Withered Heath, yes. The priestess who we seek is of our kin.« The two warriors focused now on the rohirric girl. In Símar's eyes lay suddenly an amber glow. »That we look so alike is the doing of our god Lakastra, or Manwë, as the Elves of the Great Journey called him. He is the one of who thou wearest the idol around thy neck. Speak, where didst thou acquire it?«
Creowyn's hand rose up to her neck, not recalling that she wore it at all. Her hands closed around the eye-big amulet that seemed to be made out of a porous, dark green alloy. A hair-line thick crack indicated that it had been broken once.
»Oh, by Bema. Lady Ælbdís gave it to me. It was a gift from her to me. Not that you think I stole it from somewhere«, she said quickly.
The two warrior exchanged a questioning look, before they turned to Creowyn again.
The atmosphere of the meeting had taken a sharp turn. Both Símar's and Waisûl's faces had lost all of their friendliness, focused her through the flames of the fire before them.
»Art thee the one she calls Estra. Her daughter?«, came the Younger's question suddenly. He sounded imperious, demanding so that no doubt was left about the fact that this Elf would not accept that she would answer him with silence or evade his question.
Slowly Creowyn nodded. »Yes, milord. Not by blood and birth, but by choice and heart.« She sat still, scurrying with her eyes over the faces of the warriors to seek after any form of expression.
Suddenly Símar and Waisûl stood up. Like chiseled into marble was the determination brought into their visages as their silver eyes rested hard on Creowyn. »Then follow us now. We have order to bring thee before our king.«
The red-haired girl thought that someone would pour a kettle full boiling water over her, just to throw her then into a hill of snow. Hot and cold overflew it her.
Unconsciously she had retreated back at the rock and pressed herself against the hard, cool surface. »What? Why? ... Why, I ...«, she stammered, but she trailed off. Creowyn could only gulp at the sight of the tremendous warriors. Like two insurmountable mountains they suddenly stood in front of her, the arms crossed in front of their broad chests, but they made no attempt to seize her by force - yet. Judging their appearance however, they seemed capable of doing so, would she try to flee or to stand against their word. The two Elves were awaiting her answer.
Creowyn went to open her mouth, as the well-known figure of Ælbdís appeared on the hill. Waisûl and Símar had been turning around almost at the same in an alerted stance as they noticed someone closing in. As they saw the priestess, they returned to their relaxed posture.
The red-haired girl took the opportunity as soon as it had arrived, ran past the warriors to Ælbdís. She felt the protective mantle of the blind priestess being cast over her, not unlike the wings of an eagle. As Creowyn looked up, Ælbdís' eyes appeared scandalized, as Símar spoke a few scarce words in the Elves' own language.
»Lakastra's winds with ye, Símar, the Younger and Waisûl Hìub`Sor. This girl has not yet learned to speak our language and so I ask in respect to her to speak a tongue that she understands«, Ælbdís said and slight anger was swinging in her voice.
»She is not a warrior«, came Símar laconic answer, »nor is she of any other group of our people.«
»I adopted her as my own flesh and blood. Hence the law demands thy respect to her!«
The answer was enough to rebuke the warrior, who then bowed to the priestess and Creowyn, this time a bit deeper than he did the first time.
Creowyn stood awkwardly by, feeling the arm of the priestess holding her close and the white-blond hair stroking softly over her face.
»Our lord demands thy presence, priestess of Lakastra, as well as the presence of thy daughter«, Símar repeated his orders. Ælbdís tilted her head.
»Then we will make our way to him as soon as we have ordered our minds and belongings. In a few days we will follow his word.«
But the warrior with the even as white-blond hair took a step forward, raised a finger. The eyes he had narrowed to slits. »Do not step too far, Ælbdís. Thou may be priestess, but even thou must bow and obey to the word of the Lord of us warriors. He demands ye presence now and naught shall hinder us to execute his will.« Now it was the blind elven priestess who appeared rebuked.
Worried, Creowyn looked up to her. O mother, she thought, what trouble have we gotten into now?
