To the Waters and the Wilds

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.