Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: To the Waters and the Wilds (#2333)
Author: eresse
Chapters: 4
<br />
<b>Warning</b>:  Undefined variable $retval in <b>/home/httpd/vhosts/openscrolls.net/httpdocs/fanfic/download.php</b> on line <b>105</b><br />

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Femme Fatale
Description: In an attempt to evade the imminent destruction of her homeland Dúrvain and her family flee to Rohan, although the trip doesn’t exactly go as planned and Dúrvain finds herself among the elves in the House of Elrond. Set long before the war of the ring. Co-written with MissJov. This story contains a respect for canon.
Published: 28 Oct 2005
Updated: 04 Apr 2006
Warnings: Slight violence due to rabid wild animals.
Type: General
Characters: Elrohir; Elrond; Elladan


Chapter 1 - Prologue: Leaving Home

To the Waters and the Wilds

By Miss Jov and PEF

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and original characters. Actually, I don’t even wholly own those, as they’re shared by Miss Jov. And it’s necessary to point out that I don’t own the title either. It’s from “The Stolen Child” by W. B. Yeats.

Summary: In an attempt to evade the imminent destruction of Tharbad Dúrvain and her family flee to Rohan, although the trip doesn’t exactly go as planned and Dúrvain finds herself among the elves in the House of Elrond.

Author’s Note: First off, I must point out this was co-written with Miss Jov. The entirety of the credit does not fall to me, and those reading should be wary of that.

And now, a brief history lesson: Tharbad was in fact a town in Middle Earth. It was destroyed by the flooding caused by the snow from the fell winter (which began in 2911 of the Third Age). There is a more detailed explanation of why we made some of the choices we did with this (particularly to do with her heritage) at the end of this chapter. As far as I know no one has even mentioned Tharbad in anything so I thought I’d give it some publicity.

That said, I also feel it necessary to point out that this is not a romance story.

Prologue: Leaving Home

"Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you

can understand.

-W. B. Yeats, “The Stolen Child”

Tharbad, Eriador. 2912 of the Third Age of Middle Earth.

Dúrvain sighed and looked once more around the room, hoping to take in every last detail for posterities sake. The room was still relatively full, as her family had to carry all their possessions and brought only what was absolutely necessary. Somehow all the things that she had grown up with and come to love dearly were deemed ‘unnecessary’. She’d packed as many trinkets as she could possibly get away with; hiding them in clothes, shoes, bags, pockets, basically anywhere she could possibly stuff them. Yet still, things were being left behind. Her father’s carving knife, with which he created the beautiful toys that had enchanted her as a young child. Or her grandfather’s pipe, long and elegantly carved, that sat alone on the windowsill.

He mother had taken most things of her family’s work value, those that weren’t already sold of course. Dúrvain knew that her mother was only hoping to sell them once they arrived, not keep them for what they were worth. Particularly things of her grandfather, of which there were few, as they often sold for more.

She turned as she felt a light tug on her sleeve, “Dúrvain, come on! Mama’s waiting for us!”

She sighed and turned back towards the small house, giving it a final once over before closing the door and leading her younger brother towards the east gate of the town. Her younger brother, only ten, awaited the long journey to Rohan with much more excitement then his sister. For him it was an adventure, instead of relocation and the leaving behind of everything they had known.

The winter had been unbelievably harsh that year, and the snow and ice buildup in itself was enough to worry those who lived along the shores of a river. It was unlikely, should the ice melt, that the town would survive the resultant flooding. So Dúrvain’s mother, in desperation and fear, along with several others of the town were making the long pilgrimage to Rohan. Harsh weather conditions aside the road would be difficult, as they could not take the road because it travelled along the path of the Greyflood river, and would likely suffer the same fate as Tharbad. Instead, they would be forced to hike through freezing countryside, heading towards an ominous looking mountain range, all the time hoping that the white wolves that had begun to prowl in the cold won’t attack them.

Her younger brother had absolutely no idea just how dangerous this adventure would be. Perhaps they would be safer just waiting out the flood.

But her mother had obviously thought differently, as she was standing rather impatiently with their belongings when they arrived.

“Have you got everything? Warm clothing? Fimondír, where are your gloves? Put them on!”

“Yes mama.”

Her mother turned her attention towards Dúrvain, “You went back again? I thought I told you not to. We’re leaving Dúrvain, please, you must accept that.”

She sighed, “Yes mama.”

Dínenwen nodded almost imperceptibly in acceptance of her daughter’s statement. “Good. We’re leaving very soon.”

Fimondír looked up and started hounding his mother with questions again, “What’s Rohan like? I mean, what’s it really like? Surely you must know mama! And what’s great-aunt Blídhe’s family like? Are they like us? Do they have different toys there?”

Dínenwen silenced her curious son with a frown as the company set off into the freezing cold. There were no horses, as the few people who owned horses had either lost them to the cold, or to the wolves. So those making the trip were carrying everything they owned, which Dúrvain soon decided was more work than it looked. She was not particularly unfit for a young lady her age, but she was certainly not used to walking great distances, particularly in the cold. She had never really been outside the boundaries of the town before, as her mother often preferred to keep her children close.

She shivered slightly and pulled her cloak tighter around her, she’d only been walking for about an hour and she was getting tired already. She and Fimondír were not the only children there, and the others looked equally as cold. It was most certainly to be a miserable trip.

Fimondír was surprisingly silent; she had expected him to complain about the cold, or the fact that they were simply walking, or asking endless questions. But he remained silent, for which Dúrvain was grateful. His silence allowed her to think about where they were going and what they were leaving. Having never set foot outside their village before the snow-covered landscape was exhilarating. She had, of course, wanted to travel beyond their borders before, though she had been encouraged in every possible way not to by her mother.

Her grandfather had been a ranger, and spent little time at home with his family, and Dúrvain’s mother had opted to cling to her children hoping they wouldn’t in turn leave her as well. But gossip of rangers and their doings had long since convinced Dúrvain that meeting one would be most extraordinary.

Rohan however, was both far and foreign to her. She knew very little of it, save that it was a new kingdom and it had a great love for horses. She suspected her mother knew little as well, as she was reluctant to speak of it at all. Though she could never really tell why her mother did what she did…

The day wore on rather sluggishly for her. There were few rest stops, and the cold weather was always a problem. But at last, as night approached it was decided that a camp should be set up before it became dark.

Dúrvain sighed and sat down on a nearby rock, grateful for the rest.

“Are you tired?”

She turned slightly to see her brother looking at her with a small half smile on his face.

“Yes. I am unbelievably tired. I am sick to death of walking, and I am so glad we have stopped. And you?”

He frowned, “Of course I am not tired! Do I look tired?” He did, but she didn’t comment, “Warriors do not get tired.” He added.

Ah, so that’s what this was all about. “They do not?”

He shook his head, “Of course not. They’re warriors.” He added the last sentence as if it explained everything.

“I see.”

“Do you know what else warriors do?”

“No, what else do warriors do?”

He grinned, “Help damsels in distress.”

She frowned, “Are you implying that I am in distress.”

“Of course!” He stood up and walked over to her, “You said yourself that you were weary. And that you were sick to death of walking, and that you were so glad we stopped. You are obviously in distress. And I am a warrior. That works out nicely, do you not think so?”

She laughed despite herself, “I am no damsel in distress Fimondír, simply a tired maiden.” And with that she stood up to help the other women begin cooking dinner.

As she stepped forward her foot slipped, causing her to crash dramatically down, and immediately drawing several people to her side asking questions all at the same time.

“Are you hurt?” Her mother asked, shoving aside several onlookers to gain access to her daughter.

“I’m fine.” Dúrvain however, chose that moment to attempt to stand up, and as soon as she put pressure on her knee realized that she wasn’t as fine as she thought.

“You are hurt.” One woman from the crowd observed, and Dúrvain was tempted to thank her for pointing it out. However the presence of her mother deterred her from entertaining such an idea.

“Ow.”

Her brother suddenly appeared at her side, “Silly damsel, you should have simply let the warrior help you. Now you are truly in distress sister.”

She scowled and limped over to the rock that she had earlier occupied.

“It is not that bad mother. I can see to it myself.”

However Díninwen was not deterred, she gathered the medical kit and began wrapping the knee tightly.

“If it is not properly dealt with it will slow you down tomorrow. Rest now, we cannot afford to linger.”

Dúrvain brushed her black hair out of her face in an attempt to mask the tears now forming in her eyes. She would have to walk all day tomorrow, just as she had that day. There would be no rest for her, despite her injured state, and it frightened her. She wished that she had looked where she was going and not made a fool of herself in front of the entire encampment, and in doing so possibly lessened her chances of reaching Rohan.

“Do not despair fair lady. All is not yet lost.” Fimondír commented noticing the tears despite her attempts to hide them.

She smiled briefly in his direction before turning her gaze back to the snow-covered ground before her. Perhaps if she stared at the snow long enough it would disappear and their road to Rohan would be easier.

Despite her vigilant staring the snow remained the same when her brother brought food to her. Dinner consisted of some sort of stew, which was mostly water (the only easily attainable thing for miles). But she was hungry after the long day, and ate it anyway pleased by its warmth.

After she had finished her meal she was promptly informed to get some rest by her mother. And she pulled her cloak around her like a blanket fully intending to oblige her. The last thing she was aware of before sleep overcame her was her young brother moving to stand protectively near her and giving her a small smile as he did so.

…

She awoke in the dark to the sound of petrifying howls in the distance. Her blood ran cold and she was instantly wide awake, as were most of the others in the camp. Howls could only mean one thing: white wolves. Fimondír was awake and pale as the snow on the ground clinging to her mother. The few men that there were in the group gathered their swords and prepared to fight to the death, most likely theirs. As the men began to move the women did as well, gathering their children and lightest belongings to them, then fleeing off into the distance away from the sounds of the wolves. Díninwen was soon among them, gathering Dúrvain and Fimondír to her and running.

…

A/N: Alright, I thought I’d explain our decision in having her grandfather be Dúnedain. First off, it meant that her family hadn’t been living in Tharbad for generations upon generations and thus were more likely to leave. The Dúnedain people live in Eriador, thus it’s significantly more likely that she would have Dúnedain blood then say Haradrim.

Please read and review. I know this is short, but there will be more. Feedback is my dearest friend.


Chapter 2 - Chapter 1: Of Running and Rescues

To the Waters and the Wilds

By Miss Jov and PEF

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and original characters. Actually, I don’t even wholly own those, as they’re shared by Miss Jov. And it’s necessary to point out that I don’t own the title either. It’s from “The Stolen Child” by W. B. Yeats.

Summary: In an attempt to evade the imminent destruction of Tharbad Dúrvain and her family flee to Rohan, although the trip doesn’t exactly go as planned and Dúrvain finds herself among the elves in the House of Elrond.

Author’s Note: First off, I must point out this was co-written with Miss Jov. The entirety of the credit does not fall to me, and those reading should be wary of that.

And now, a brief history lesson: Tharbad was in fact a town in Middle Earth. It was destroyed by the flooding caused by the snow from the fell winter (which began in 2911 of the Third Age). As far as I know no one has even mentioned Tharbad in anything so I thought I’d give it some publicity.

That said I also feel it necessary to point out that this is not a romance story.

Chapter 1: Of Running and Rescues

“Lost in the darkness of a land

Where all the hope that’s offered is

Memories of being taken by the hand

And we are led into the sun”

-- McLachlan, Sarah. “Lost”

Dúrvain was running. Trees whizzed by her as she ran full out, vaguely aware of her brother and mother running along beside her. She was trying to ignore the pain in her knee, focusing instead on what would happen if she didn’t run fast enough. Her brother was panting and making small sounds of fear as her ran, and her mother was practically dragging him along beside her.

She stumbled as her knee gave out from underneath her. She tried to call out to her family, but all she could do was give a short raspy gasp. Reaching for a nearby tree she tried to pull herself back up. She managed to get standing on her good leg, but as soon as she placed weight on her bad one it collapsed under the strain.

She could hear the sounds of fighting in the distance; the growls of the white wolves and the sounds of the men desperately trying to fight them off. It was run now, or not live until morning. She grabbed a fallen branch from the ground and began using it as a walking stick, hopping along as quickly as she could on her good leg.

She kept going, refusing to look back and unable to block out the fading sounds of battle in the distance. From what she had heard, the wolves had remained in a pack and chased some of those trying to escape the camp, but had not come her way. Yet. She remained relatively alert, still aware of the possibility of another attack.

It had, however, begun to seem as if there wasn’t going to be one. She had been hopping for what seemed like forever, though was probably more akin to two hours. She was freezing, her fingers going numb from clenching her walking stick so tightly, and her leg screaming in agony. The idea of stopping for a small rest was becoming increasingly appealing.

It was quiet now, she could just sit down for a moment and check her knee, as well as rest. Then, after a small break she would be more able to continue. She had a nagging feeling that stopping would be a bad idea, but her ability to resist the temptation to stop was decreasing. She was shivering, now suffering from hypothermia among other things.

She blinked as a snowflake made contact with her nose. Looking up she saw that it was not alone, as dozens of small white snowflakes swirled down towards her. She barely bit back the impulse to scream, and the snowflakes began to fall faster and more frequently around her.

She looked around, realizing for the first time what being outside her city walls really entailed. Trees; on every side, for as far as she could see there were trees. And she was alone in the midst of them; unlikely to ever find her family again, and probably doomed to freeze to death if the wolves didn’t find her first. She started to cry, and her tears immediately began to freeze on her face, which in turn only served to make her cry even more. Finally giving into her exhaustion she crashed down into the nearest snow bank and passed out.

All around the lone dark-haired figure the snow swirled, quickly turning into a full fledged storm.

…

Beldír shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around him regretting his decision to ride on through the night. He was cold, and fairly miserable. Only the thought that he could make home by tomorrow if he kept going now kept him going; that and the idea of sleeping alone in the snow with the wolves prowling. No, it was most definitely a good idea to remain awake through the night. Things would have been much simpler if he had Hírvegil with him. Or if he had simply decided to travel with the rest of the rangers instead of heading home.

But he had promised his Gaerlín that he would return to her before the spring, and he was duty bound to make good on that promise. He had been away from her for almost a year now, and owed it to her to return, cold or not. He began to pass the time coming up with a list of things to do when he returned home. Start a fire and light his pipe were most certainly up there. Due to the weather he wouldn’t be able to take a bath, which was regrettable, but he would perhaps be able to attain a decent meal. And then of course make up for lost time with his beautiful wife. Yes, going back would most definitely be worth the trip.

He frowned as it began to snow. Snow in the dark was not exactly his idea of a good time, and he adjusted his cloak once more to compensate for the change in weather. Hopefully it would be a light snowfall, and not affect his visibility greatly. Unfortunately, as it soon became apparent, he had no such luck. Snow swirled down faster and faster, the cold biting at his face and making him well and truly miserable.

Heading for a clearing ahead of him Beldír prepared to stop. There was absolutely no use continuing in the freezing cold, with little visibility in the middle of the night. His wife would have to wait one more day, as would he.

As he entered the clearing however, all thoughts of getting home were pushed aside from his mind. On the far side of the clearing, in a snow bank lay a maiden. Her dark hair flayed out against the snow and made her skin look deathly white and at first Beldír feared the worst.

He dismounted quickly and jogged over to her side, quickly checking to see if she was still breathing. Upon detecting a slow and shallow breathing pattern he picked her up and carried her to a tall tree on the edge of the clearing.

He quickly established a small fire under the tree, hoping that its branches would be enough to protect the fire from the snow. If it were not, it was not likely the maiden would last the night. Actually, it wasn’t all that likely she would survive even if his fire did last, at least from her appearance and the pallor of her skin.

He went through his pack, pulling out the spare cloak, blanket, and pot as he did. He wrapped the maiden with the cloak and the blanket, moving her towards, but not to close to, the fire. Then placing a pile of snow in the pot, placed it above the fire and waited for the water to boil. He had no herbs with him, as they were all buried in snow and the stores that he had were used.

While the water was boiling her turned his attention back to the maiden. He removed her wet cloak and quickly surveyed her body for injuries. He noted her knee was swollen and bruised, but other than that she was suffering only from the cold. He pulled her close to him, hoping his body warmth would aid her recovery and gently began massaging her fingers in an effort to restore warmth to them.

…

It was early in the morning when the fire died out. Beldír had fallen asleep, despite his attempts not to do so, and it was Dúrvain who first noticed the absence of its warmth. The second thing she noticed was that she was significantly warmer, and that her snow bank was breathing. It took a moment for the second thing to register with her mind, as she was pleasantly content to be warm. Opening her eyes slightly she was surprised to be looking at the remnants of a fire. She was even more surprised however to find herself lying on a dark haired man, in the middle of the wilds where there was previously no one.

She sat up rather abruptly, which caused the man to wake up with a start. His surprise at seeing her awake surprised her and they both wound up jumping to their feet and backing away from each other.

Beldír cursed himself inwardly for falling asleep. He hadn’t intended to, most certainly not with the maiden in his arms. He had only intended to warm her, and then let her rest.

“Who…?” Dúrvain asked, her voice shaking slightly.

“Beldír son of Bregnír at your service, my lady.” He winced, realizing just how ridiculous that sounded at that time.

“Oh.”

“And you, milady?”

She frowned as if contemplating whether to answer or not before speaking, “Dúrvain, daughter of Dínenwen.”

He frowned, “You’re named in Sindarin? What village do you hail from?”

“Tharbad.”

He frowned, “I was unaware that the Dúnedain resided in Tharbad.”

“They do not. I am not… I mean, my grandfather was, but I am not. My family is not…”

“Ah.”

She looked up, suddenly realizing what his questions meant, “You are though? Are you not?”

Beldír frowned, “I am what, milady?”

“A ranger! I should have known when I first saw you…”

He nodded, “Yes.” Then he chuckled lightly, “Though I do not hold it against you for not realizing it right away, you were fairly startled upon waking.” She blushed lightly, and he noticed it and added, “Though it was entirely my fault, I had not intended to fall asleep.”

“Why… why were you holding me at all?” She was shivering now, and it was beginning to worry Beldír.

“You were freezing, I was attempting to warm you up.” He spoke in slight exasperation, what did the silly girl think he had been doing? “And you are still cold, come I will restart the fire. Where is your family? I will take you to them.” He began busying himself with restarting the fire as Dúrvain cautiously moved back and sat down with her back against the trunk of the tree.

“I know not. Long gone by now I suppose.”

“What do you mean?”

She ducked her head in an attempt to hide the tears forming in her eyes, “I… fell behind. They couldn’t hear me and kept running. They got away I suppose. Or I hope at any right.”

“Why were you running?”

“Wolves.”

Beldír started slightly, “How far from here?”

“Close enough that I could walk.”

“And yet you managed to escape?” He questioned sceptically.

She scowled at his tone, what did he think? That she had fed her family to the wolves in order to escape? The very thought revolted her, and she responded rather harshly, “Nay, they chased some of those fleeing the camp, but not in my direction. I was lucky.”

He nodded in weary acceptance, “Apparently so.” It was unlike the white wolves to allow some to escape, but he could come up with no other explanation than hers, so he changed the subject, “Where were you travelling to?”

“Rohan.”

He smiled as a small blaze began again under the tree then walked over to his pack and removed a long bandage before returning to Dúrvain. He knew her knee would need attention, as the sooner it healed the faster they could travel. “May I see your knee?”

She looked startled, then nodded slightly gently extending her leg so he could better get at it. She watched curiously as he bound the knee with the bandage. Once he was finished he moved back to the fire and began to boil water.

“Well I certainly cannot bring you to Rohan. The journey is much longer than one I am prepared for, but,” He bit back the urge to sigh, realizing he had no choice but bring her with him, “I would be willing to bring you to bring you to my home. There will be a warm fire there, and food.” His wife would not be happy with him…

“I, I do not wish to be a bother.”

He frowned, “Well I certainly can not leave you here in the cold, can I?”

She noted that he had not said that she would not be a bother, but accepted seeing the logic in his statement. She also gratefully accepted the cup of hot water he handed her with a smile. He nodded and turned his attention to his own cup of water, wishing it would turn to wine simply by staring at it. Now he was not only out in the cold, not going to make home for at least a full day, but he was also carting around a lost (and wounded) maiden, to whom he had offered out of moral obligation a place in his home for the time being. This was most certainly turning out to be a miserable trip.

Unbeknownst to Beldír, Dúrvain was equally as unhappy with their current arrangement. She was, of course, grateful for his offer of hospitality, but she was still upset about his scepticism about her escape from the camp. He made it sound as if he thought it unbelievable that she could have escaped! Granted, she was doubtful herself as to whether she was even truly awake and alive, or simply dreaming, but he had sounded like he was implicating her! Yet she said nothing, as he had warmed her, lent her the cloak that she was now wearing, and offered her a place to stay, and she owed him a great deal.

She looked up as he began moving, putting things in his bag and preparing his horse for travel. She quickly finished the last of her water, fearing he would take it from her, which he did – the empty cup at any right. He then offered her a hand and brought her to a standing, then lifted her atop his horse before jumping into the saddle in front of her.

Dúrvain started slightly as he jumped into the saddle before her, but quickly adjusted herself to make herself comfortable realizing that they probably would not be stopping for a long time.

“I apologize, but I have very little food. We will eat later today, but the hot water will have to suffice for now.”

She nodded, then realized that he could not see her gesture and spoke her agreement aloud. He nodded slightly and kicked the horse into motion beginning their long horse trek across the snow-covered terrain.

Beldír was pleased to discover that Dúrvain was a competent rider, and did not feel it necessary to cling to him in an effort to hang on. But he could not shake the feeling that she had gotten off to easily, it was not like the wolves to allow anyone to go free, and she was injured making her an obvious target for their attack. He was also now constantly alert, weary of any sound and worried that they were still around. From what Dúrvain had said, Beldír supposed that most of the people travelling with her would have fled away from where his village lay, but he was still worried that it might suffer an attack of its own. He was startled out of his reverie however by the sound of soft crying coming from Dúrvain.

Dúrvain sighed, happy to no longer be walking, but now able to think about the events that had taken place. It was finally sinking in that she was separated and alone from her family, who for all she knew were dead. She was completely alone with this ranger, who had been unreasonably untrusting of her and obviously didn’t like her. She would have given anything to simply be with her mother now. The thought of her family brought tears to her eyes, and she tried desperately to brush them away. The first one fell, and she lifted her hand to rub her eyes and brush it away from her cheek, but another fell and she brushed that off as well. Soon, more were falling than she could catch, and tried to silence herself worried that Beldír would hear her and think she was just a silly little girl.

He sighed his compassion coming forward, and feeling slightly awkward. He had, so far, had no children, and had absolutely no idea what to do with a crying girl of any age. He grasped one of her hands in his hoping that it would reassure her and stop the flood of tears. It didn’t.

Dúrvain’s attempts to stop her crying were only causing her to cry more. She felt Beldír grasp her hand and heard him tell her that everything was alright, but it did nothing but cause her to miss her family more. She missed her brother’s silly jokes about being a warrior; that warriors didn’t cry, and that he would protect her, the damsel in distress, from anything that would harm her. But he wasn’t here, and Beldír’s attempts to stop her crying were actually rather pitiful.

He gave up after a while; seeing that it was doing no good, and opted to simply let her cry herself out. Though to him, it seemed to take a lot longer than it should have. He hoped that she wouldn’t spend the entire trip like this, because if she did he would likely go insane.

…

A/N: Well that concludes chapter two. This chapter had a bit of switching back and forth, but I probably won’t be doing as much of that in future chapters. It, however, was necessary. I hope it wasn’t at all confusing to anyone. I hope that anyone giving this story a chance found it at least moderately entertaining. If you did, feel free to tell me so. Or you know, just let me know what you liked, what you didn’t like, why it sucked (if you thought it did). Reviews make me happy.


Chapter 3 - Chapter 2: Of Wolves and Close Calls

To the Waters and the Wilds
By Miss Jov and PEF
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and original characters. Actually, I don’t even wholly own those, as they’re shared by Miss Jov. And it’s necessary to point out that I don’t own the title either. It’s from “The Stolen Child” by W. B. Yeats.
Summary: In an attempt to evade the imminent destruction of Tharbad Dúrvain and her family flee to Rohan, although the trip doesn’t exactly go as planned and Dúrvain finds herself among the elves in the House of Elrond.
Author’s Note: First off, I must point out this was co-written with Miss Jov. The entirety of the credit does not fall to me, and those reading should be wary of that.
And now, a brief history lesson: Tharbad was in fact a town in Middle Earth. It was destroyed by the flooding caused by the snow from the fell winter (which began in 2911 of the Third Age). As far as I know no one has even mentioned Tharbad in anything so I thought I’d give it some publicity.
Chapter 2: Of Wolves and Close Calls

“Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect."

-- W. B. Yeats, “Sailing to Byzantium”. 

	Dúrvain cried for hours. She was miserable, left with a headache from the experience. Beldír also had a headache, but not from crying, although her constant sobs had made him want to break down and beg for her to stop more than once. So, understandably neither was in a particularly good mood at that moment. 

	“Do you need to rest?” Beldír asked his companion, out of politeness. If he had been on his own he would certainly have ridden on later, but he could tell by the way she held herself that she was tiring from the riding and would eventually need rest. 

	Dúrvain did indeed need rest but she wasn’t about to admit it. “No, we should continue riding, should we not?” 

	He was surprised slightly; he had expected her to be frail and demanding, but her willingness to continue showed strength that he had not seen in her before. Perhaps she wasn’t simply a sniffling little girl. 

	“If you are willing, we shall continue.” 

	She nodded, then realized that because she was seated behind him he could not see her gesture. “Yes.” 
	The rode on in a slightly awkward silence. Beldír was tempted more than once to start a conversation, but came to the rather harsh realization that he had nothing to say. He knew nothing about her with which to start a conversation, and didn’t particularly wish to start a conversation about her home or family because he was worried she’d react badly and start crying again. Which was the last thing he wanted. His problems were solved, however, when Dúrvain piped up from behind him. 

	“Do you have a family?” 

	He thought instantly of his wife, and was painfully reminded of how unhappy she would be to see Dúrvain. Her presence would most likely cause only more work and limit their time alone together. Time he had been looking forward to. 

	“Yes. I am married.”

	“Oh. Do you have children?” 

	“Nay.” Dúrvain smiled at his response. She was not surprised. He looked young, though she had been told that the Dúnedain lived long and aged slowly. She simply knew that he had no children, almost by instinct. Something about the way he behaved… 

	“Your wife then, what is she like?” She regretted speaking so forwardly immediately, she was often told not to pry as she could be, at time, far too curious, “I apologize. If you do not mind me asking?” 

	“She is named Gaerlín, she is fair and young, we are happy. Though I see her rarely.” 
	
	“Why?” 

	Conversation was nearly as bad as the silence and Beldír almost wished for it back, “Because I am a ranger. I spend many years out in the wilds before returning home.” 

	“Oh.” 

	It fell silent again, this time a more relaxed silence, broken eventually when Dúrvain spoke once more. 

	“That is awful. I wish you were able to see your family more often, though I know it is not possible.” 

	He was surprised by her compassion, another trait he had not seen her show before. Perhaps he had underestimated her, believed her to be more shallow and immature than she was. 

	“Thank you.” 

	She smiled, but he didn’t see it. 

	“Thank you, for bringing me. I know I am a burden, and I apologize for it.” 

	He acknowledged her apology, pleased by her sudden change of character, “As I said, I could hardly leave you stranded. It was certainly the least I could do.” 

	“And I am thankful for it.” 

	Dúrvain was trying to recall every lesson her mother had given her on proper conduct, and trying to utilize it to her full extent. She doubted Beldír thought highly of her, and wanted to at least be polite to him, as he had, after all, saved her life. He was also offering her a place to stay, and the use of a cloak, so he certainly deserved her respect. She was pleased to see him relax slightly and gradually warm up to the conversation. He seemed pleased by her apology and thanks, which in turn made her pleased with herself. And her mother had said she could never be a lady even if she were to try her hardest. 

	Oh if only her mother were here…

	“I am sure that travel to Rohan can be arranged for you when the winter is over. You shall be reunited with your family then.” He spoke kindly seeming to have sensed the direction her thoughts had taken. 

	“Thank you. Do you think they survived?” 

	“It is possible.” But not likely, he added mentally. As unfortunate as it was, the white wolves rarely let any escape and her family was most likely dead. He was, however, not prepared to break that to her now, nor deal with the repercussions of such news. 

	“Have you ever been to Rohan?” 

	“Nay, I have not. I hear it a magnificent rolling plain though, and that they breed some of the best horses in the world there. They value their horses greatly.” 

	She nodded, that she had already known, “I speak no Rohirric. I fear that I would be out of place.” 

	“I am sure that you will learn quickly if you are exposed to the language frequently, which living in Rohan would provide. I speak little Rohirric myself, and thus could not teach you.” 


…

	Beldír loaded his bow almost instantly, holding the arrow with three perfectly placed fingers and drawing the bow back expertly, almost unconsciously after years of practice, and rapidly surveying the area to discern the wolves’ location. A movement to his left caught his attention, and apparently his horse’s as well as she reared up on her hind legs throwing Dúrvain off her back and onto the snow behind her. 

	Beldír cursed and leapt down from his mare and pulled Dúrvain up from where she had fallen. She managed to mount the horse but unfortunately distracted Beldír enough that he did not notice the wolf creeping up behind him. 

	He was first aware of its presence when it let out a low long growl. He turned around and fired almost simultaneously managing to hit the wolf in its shoulder, but it did little more than slow it down for an instant. Reaching for his sword Beldír prepared to battle with the wolf as Dúrvain looked on terrified. 

...

A/N: Yeah... It really did take forever. You have my full permission to hate me. Feel free to review, feedback improves my writing, which in turn improves the quality of things I post and gives you something nice to read to boot.


Chapter 4 - Chapter 3: Of Fights and Flights

To the Waters and the Wilds By Miss Jov and PEF 
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and original characters. Actually, I don’t even wholly own those, as they’re shared by Miss Jov. And it’s necessary to point out that I don’t own the title either. It’s from “The Stolen Child” by W. B. Yeats. Summary: In an attempt to evade the imminent destruction of Tharbad Dúrvain and her family flee to Rohan, although the trip doesn’t exactly go as planned and Dúrvain finds herself among the elves in the House of Elrond. 
Author’s Note: First off, I must point out this was co-written with Miss Jov. The entirety of the credit does not fall to me, and those reading should be wary of that. And now, a brief history lesson: Tharbad was in fact a town in Middle Earth. It was destroyed by the flooding caused by the snow from the fell winter (which began in 2911 of the Third Age). As far as I know no one has even mentioned Tharbad in anything so I thought I’d give it some publicity.

 Chapter 3: Of Fights and Flights

“Dreams, inconsistent angel things, 
Horses bred with star-laced wings…”

- Sixpence None the Richer, We Have Forgotten. …

	Fortunately his many years of battle training enabled Beldír to block out all extraneous noise, which consisted mostly of Dúrvain’s terrified screams. He focused solely on the wolf in front of him. He waited as it lunged, watching as its eyes became darker as it got ready to pounce. Then, with well-practiced fluidity he swung his sword at the same moment it attacked.

	Dúrvain screamed in near hysteria as the wolf’s blood splattered onto the skirt of her dress. This was far closer to any battle than she had ever been before, and she was rapidly becoming ill. She watched helplessly as the wolves circled the horse and Beldír, their yellow eyes looking hungrily at her. She clutched desperately at the horse’s mane as it began to swing its head wildly in fear.

	Beldír considered himself fortunate that the pack was relatively small, though he desperately wished he did not have to watch out for Dúrvain, as she would make his escape much more difficult.

	Another wolf lunged from his left and he swung his sword fast enough to kill it. The remaining four circled their eyes fixed hungrily on the horse.

	Another two lunged, one at Beldír and another at Dúrvain. It latched its large jaws onto her leg, and the force was more than sufficient to pull he from the horse again. Beldír frantically beat off both wolves, killing one and driving the second back. Quickly, he grabbed Dúrvain and threw her onto the horse, quickly mounting it himself as well.

	Almost before the command left his lips the horse bolted past the wolves, and Beldír reached back smoothly obtaining his bow and loading it before shooting the three remaining wolves.

	They rode on for a substantial distance, partly to avoid the stench of the wolves, but also to avoid any stragglers from the pack. He would have kept riding however he had reached the point where he could no longer convince himself that Dúrvain could handle it.

	Her face was far to pale, and it contrasted badly with her dark hair. The wound in her leg was severe, and it was unlikely she would be walking any time soon. And should it become infected, it was unlikely she’d even have a leg to walk on again. Perhaps with a skilled healer she had a chance, but out here in the wild it was unlikely she would survive. Though he had adequate healing ability, this was certainly not the time nor place, nor did he have the supplies to properly do so.

	He sighed and realized that the route to his village was to long, as the most direct route led them right back the way they came, and he could not risk another attack at this point. That left him with one option. Well, two rather, however he didn’t consider leaving her here to die a proper option. The closest place she would receive decent care, and that he would be welcome and known was Imladris.

	His wife was definitely not going to be happy with him.

	The wound to her leg was deep, he patched it up as well as he could, managing to stop the bleeding for the most part, but she had already lost a great deal of blood and strength. All his attempts to speak with her and keep her conscious were met with only incoherent mumbles. He was rapidly becoming worried. Though he had just met her, he had no desire to see anyone hurt, particularly a helpless female.

	With that in mind he re-mounted his horse and set off at a rather hurried pace in the direction of Imladris. 	…

	Dúrvain was mildly aware that she was riding. She didn’t particularly like the sensation as it only made her more nauseous. For a moment she was sure she could see her brother running along beside her.

	“Fimondír?” Her voice was barely audible and fairly garbled. She wondered why she was unable to speak.

	Her brother looked up at her then suddenly changed into the form of a fierce wolf. She recoiled in fear, nearly falling of the horse, saved only by Beldír’s quick reflexes of which she had no awareness. The wolf snapped its jaws at her then began to laugh. At first it sounded like the laugh of her brother, but quickly began to get louder and louder until it became an overwhelming howl which she couldn’t block out.

	It didn’t cross her fevered mind that this was all just an elaborate illusion, and although she knew her brother was no wolf she could not offer an explanation as to why he had just become one. The only reason she could think of was that he had been eaten by one, something which troubled her greatly.

	“Fimondír, oh Fimondír. I am sorry. I did not wish for you to be eaten, and I did not wish to leave you. Please, come back! Please… forgive me…”

	Her incessant rambling increased both in intensity and emotion for an hour before she lost consciousness. A development that worried Beldír, though he was shamefully aware that he was glad for the silence. He would be glad when they arrived at Imladris.

	…

	Elrohir sighed and resigned himself to his sleeplessness. Undoubtedly something was troubling him, as he was never able to sleep when he was troubled, yet what was most troubling about his current situation was that he had no idea what he was troubled about. Which was, of course, in itself troubling. Deciding that he would find no rest anyway, and staring at his ceiling was serving only to drive him mad, he got up and began to wander through the halls of his home.

	As feet tend to do when left to their own devices his wandered with a mind of their own. His feet (and the rest of him) were particularly fond of the stables, a place that he had gone to think even when he was a young elfling. He strolled absently between the stalls, feeding the horses treats (which seemed to please them immensely – it was not for no reason that he was known as a favourite among the horses).

	But despite its usual inviting environment it was quickly becoming obvious that the stables weren’t going to suffice tonight. He was beginning to become agitated with his sleepless state.

Elrohir exited the stables and looked up at the stars, suddenly glad to have a peaceful night to himself. Needless to say he was not expecting his peace to be shattered by Beldír’s sudden appearance. He looked up in surprise as the ranger rode his horse at a fairly quick pace into the courtyard of Imladris that housed the stables.

	He was even more surprised to find Beldír was not alone on the horse. But a several of his questions were answered as he noted the unconscious state of the maiden.

	“Beldír, are you well? What has happened?”

	The ranger adjusted the weight of the maiden in his arms, “She was with a company travelling to Rohan, she became separated and we were subsequently attacked by the wolves. Her wounds are grave, and I had nowhere else to bring her.”

	Elrohir nodded and gestured for Beldír to follow. He led him through the halls and into a room that was clearly reserved for healing purposes.

	“Lay her down on the bed, I shall fetch my father.”

	Not five minutes later the Lord of Imladris strode into the room and over to the unconscious figure of Dúrvain. He began examining her wound, occasionally asking Elrohir to fetch things for him, all the time working steadily binding and stitching the wound.

	Beldír stood awkwardly to the side, not quite sure what to do with himself at this time and awaiting instruction. He was tired, he desired mostly to change, and to rest. He silently began to hope that Lord Elrond would finish soon.

	As if he was able to read his thoughts Elrohir turned and addressed Beldír, “You must be weary, it has been a long journey, has it not? Come. We shall find you a room and you may gain some rest.”

	Beldír smiled gratefully. It was not his home, nor his wife as he had hoped, but the beds in Imladris were more than comfortable and he would gain a good night’s sleep here. Beyond that, Dúrvain was no longer exclusively in his care. He wondered absently if he would be able to leave her here. After all, at least here she was safe, yet no closer to Rohan. In fact, she was farther. He decided that the specifics of her location in relation to Rohan would not be something he would be telling her.

	Though despite his pleasure at being rid of her, he remained slightly worried about her condition. He resolved himself to at least asking of her in the morning. And beyond that he did not think of Dúrvain at all that night.

	…

	A/N: Another short chapter. But on the bright side: another chapter! I’m not entirely sure if there’s anyone out there actually reading this, but should you happen to give it a shot and like it please leave a review. Or if you hate it, tell me that too… though it would be most helpful if you tell me why you dislike it so I could improve.
------------------------------------------------------------------

Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net) on Sun Nov 15, 2026 2:45 am