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 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.