Gypsy's Way

-"This is my December. This is my time of the year.
This is my December. This is all so clear..."-
 




It would be far more than a three nights ride to anyone on any other type of steed. But to the Two Mirkwood Elves and one of the Galadhrim, there horses were of the finest Elven lines and it would be a day and a half before they reach there destination.
They had the advantage, they knew the secret passage way through the mountains in which the Gypsy's took every three years.

At a steady gallop to save there horses if need be, Tinnuldur took the lead of the small group. His long black hair was pulled back clear away from his face and kept with three Elven braids. He wore a simple tunic of silvery grey, and a cloak that matched. On his back was a quiver filled with green ended arrows, and a bow made of light color wood.
His outfit and manner was that of the Galadhrim, the people of Lothlorien. The kindred of his mother.
He had been born there, raised there. To him, they were his people.

Though his dark hair and Azure blue eyes made him stand out. Lothlorien's majority of Elves were blonde, there eyes light blue like the skies. And the people of Mirkwood shared these traits.

Tinnuldur had received his hair and eyes from his father. Calden, of the Noldor. A soft-spoken Elf-man and talented archer who had taught his son everything he knew. He had taken up residence in Lorien for the love of Tinnuldur's mother, Altawen.

Beside Tinnuldur on grey horses rode the two eldest princes of Mirkwood.
Mithisil and Thrandohir.

Proud and loyal, Mithisil was the crown prince of the former Greenwood the Great. His royal air was that which benefited him as the future King of that land.
He had long white-blonde hair that was kept back in a single warriors braid, two more resting on his shoulders.
He wore deep greens and a velvety dark birch grey cloak and hood.
At his side was his Elven sword Aegolas, ready for use at any moment.

Beside him, with his head tilted up towards the soaring Elven Hawk Avenway, tracking the birds flight pattern, was the second Prince of the Mirkwood.
His usual smile faded from his face. The concentration only that which an elf could posses taking its place.

Both princes were devoted to their friend Tinnuldur.
His sadness had been great since the departure of the Gypsy, and after a while it had been Mithisil, surprisingly, to convince the young elf to go after her.

They would hold true to there friendship, even if there father liked it not.

An internal struggle had consumed Mithisil's mind shortly before there departure. He was the Crown prince and thus, he had many duties within Mirkwood.
But he also had one to his friends, especially when they were in need, and it had been he who had so readily brought up Elven traditions and the logic for letting Akilah leave.

He realized his error, and the dispute in his mind was settled. He would accompany Tinnuldur to find his lover, and they would bring her back.
His father did not approve of the Mortals, saying that she had warped Tinnuldur's mind, and that to love one was to invite tragedy.

Mithisil simply reasoned his father did not understand, it was as if he had forgotten the great love he shared with there departed mother. As if he had simply forgotten the the feeling as if he would jump off the end of Arda simply to glance upon the one he loved.

Mithisil had never been graced with the gift of love, he was young enough yet and his duties took up most of his attention. He knew his father was pained to see that none of his sons were wed after there 50th birthdays, he wished grandchildren as any father would.
It wasn't that Mithisil was not ready, he was just a disciplined man-elf who's duties to station and friends came first.

He would wed one day if the Valar willed it, he even looked forward to it.
But now more than anything he wished to right what he had helped set wrong.

//Perhaps then you would allow yourself to search for a Mate Mithisil.// he reasoned with himself, and after he had decided he would take this into serious thought later, he pushed it back into his mind.
Though he knew it not yet, he would not think get that chance for a long while.


 

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-"This is my December. This is my snow covered home.
This is my December. This is me alone..."-


 
 

The Trail would have slowed them down, even for the eyes and skills of an Elf. The Valar though had graced them with the company of a Falconry Master, and Thrandohir's companion was proving his worth.
He slowed his mare's speed to read the signs right.
"He slows and Circles, it seems we have come close" Thrandohir commented softly, his head still tilted up to the skies as he often did when being guided by his finely trained bird of prey.

All three were now reigning there mounts to a stop. The horses breathing a bit harder but not labored. They were Elven steeds, among the first lines that had graced Arda. Second perhaps only to the very best steeds of the Rohhirim.
In the Air, high clouds had begun to form and to the ears of the Elves the air was softer. But something was not right.

"The air calms and the wind chills, It will snow soon." Mithisil stated aloud, he knew that all in company were quite aware of this. It was more for the benefit of hearing something other than the silence.
"All is wrong, Arda should be peaceful but the trees tremble from there roots" Mithisil's grey eyes darted to and fro, the lack of noise making him nervous.

"Do you smell that?" Again he made another discovery.

"Avenway is wary" Thrandohir revealed with eyes wide. He had hardly ever seen the animal so nervous and aspartic in its flight pattern.

"Fire" Was the only word Tinnuldur uttered.
To him the fire was not that of burning foliage, but tainted with something else.
His heart skipped a beat, and at an invisible cue his Mount cantered and galloped in the direction the smoke was coming from.

The sudden move had taken the two princes off guard. Tinnuldur was not a person known to make rash decisions, they knew it must be of most seriousness. Also asking for speed they followed there companion.




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-"Just wish that I didn't feel there was something I missed.
Take back all the things I said to make you feel like that.
Just wish I didn't feel there was something I missed.
Take back all things I said to you..."-


 



Tinnuldur pushed his horse faster and faster, his senses screamed in anticipation of what he would find just over the hill.
His rapidly beating heart felt as if it had frozen with the coming frost, and sunk deep into his stomach.

The Caravans of the Gypsy's stood below him, a distance away from the hill top he rode on. The once beautiful moving works of unique woodcraft now ablaze in the distance.
He leaned back as his horse walked and slid down the steep hill. Splashing into the waters of the ice cool brook that lie before the campground. His mount moved slowly, it was as if even his horse felt the apprehension.

Ears pricked forward and nostrils flaring at the fire, it moved ever toward the gypsy's mobile encampment.
Or that which was left.

He reached the opening of the semicircle, and his horse stopped. Not on the account of its rider, but out of some inane sense and knowing far beyond the steeds of mortal men.

Middle-earth was a harsh place. Since the Marring of Arda by Melkor in all his malice and hate of the other Valar.
Built, destroyed and rebuilt.
The children of Eru had a harsh tough life, some more than others.
And through History, even to this day, we read and study the revelations of our true past.
The story of the Valar, and the music they helped create. The tales of the first born, Elves. Wise, beautiful beyond the measure of mankind and Immortal.
The legends of the Dwarves, the children of Aule, hardy and strong. The beloved half-lings, Hobbits in there own name. Hungry for life and fun-loving, and surprising at every turn.
And the legends of Men and there ongoing odyssey.

But some Tales are never told, and sometimes it is best as such.
For what lie before Tinnuldur was a picture of such carnage that it was said the Valar were saddened, and many of the Maia moved to tears.

Some would call it the weakness of man, others the fault of the mighty Valar whom seemed to forsake the youngest children of Iluvitar.
A sadness wrought by the hand of a man who was less than human.

Slowly sliding from his horse, Tinnuldur's feet touched the ground just as the first snowfall of the year made its ascent from the heavens.
His footsteps were silent as he walked past the caravans, a few still burning to ash.
His legs taking him where his mind and heart would not.
When they would no longer hold him, they buckled before the body of the one he sought.

Her face was turned away from him, and he wanted nothing more than to see hers. His hands trembled as they made the motion and turned her on her back ever so gently.
And some sick strange relief had come across him, he could not explain it at the moment. Her eyes were closed, he had been pardoned from having to see the nothingness of death in her eyes.

Eyes that were always so full of the purest essence of life. Her face was peaceful, only as if she had been sleeping.
Tinnuldur did not remember pulling her completely into his arms, or how long he had been there after that.
He did not acknowledge the calls of his friends as they came into the encampment.

Thrandohir turned his head quickly away from what he saw, and for many moments he could not bring himself to turn it back.
Briefly Mithisil could not help but think of the bit of innocence his slightly younger and joyful brother had lost this night.

Neither brother knew what to do for a very long time. They just took it upon there mounts in silence, then decided themselves to do the Gypsy's honor.
Picking each one up best they could, they placed them carefully in the caravans which had not completely burned or the two which had not caught fire.
With a piece of wood used as a makeshift torch, Thrandohir set them ablaze.
He knew it was the gypsy's way.

Making a count he realized three were missing, save for poor Akilah which Tinnuldur held in his arms. Tinnuldur meanwhile had ceased to move.
Mithisil would not dare attempt to make him.

Moving around and unhitching the two steeds that lived. The animals did not flee, instead making there way over to the waiting Elven horses. It was almost as if the Eldarin steeds were a source of comfort for the Gypsy's horses.

A fleeting movement caught Mithisl's eye as he located the young boy and the elderly fortune teller.
It was a gruesome sight.
At least the others had died fighting as warriors or had been dealt clean blows.

His hands now shook as he reached unsteady to retrieve her head.
His whole body seemed to rebel, but schooling himself, he knew this had to be done.
To do honor to the elderly gypsy who had been so very kind to him.
Wrapping it in a cloth he had pulled off of her being, he delivered her from the ground and into the second to last caravan. Then turning back for the boy.

It was lightning fast as he thought he saw some sort of movement.
He attempted to pass it off as the wind, moving the cloth of the boys garb. His heart jumped.
There it was again. It was the boy, he lived!

Kneeling down to check his vitals Mithisil was careful not to jar the boys body.
He suffered from a deep stab wound and from exposure to the cold.
But he would live if they could tend to him fully in the next two nights.

Lifting the human boy in his arms he called for his brother, coming back as quickly as he dared.
Thrandohir turned his head to see if he was needed and was truly surprised. The young horse-caretaker was indeed alive.

Brining his brothers horse around for him, he helped him mount and get the young man into a comfortable and secure position. Though still a youngster, he was growing at the incredible rate that human children seemed to. Tall and lanky, but not at all heavy.

Thrandohir turned himself to look at Tinnuldur. He had never seen his friend so very lost. His heart ached at the sight, the young warrior and archer in such pain.
He took a few silent steps and stood beside the brunette Elf.

"Nin gwathor, i hen innas baur edhellen nestad an cuinar."
He spoke softly in his tongue, hoping this might bring Tinnuldur back to them. It had, but as he turned his eyes up to his friend a cold shiver ran up Thrandohir's spine.

The look in his eyes was something the elf could not identify.
To his relief, Tinnuldur nodded and tilted Akilah easily into his arms. He walked slowly to what had been her caravan, surprisingly it remained untouched by the fire. The thin layer of snow that had fallen remained unmoved by Elven footfalls. To Thrandohir's view he climbed inside for a while.
Secretly the prince knew it was to say a last goodbye.

He allowed him his privacy and turned to collect the other horses. He thought it wise to take the two remaining steeds with them, or else they might die in the cold of winter.
He tied leads to each of them, connecting the small of the two to the larger. Then he made sure there was enough slack for him to lead them.
He sat a wait, never had the pull of time seemed to slow and too fast to him.



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-"And I'd give it all away, just to have somewhere to go to.
Give it all away, to have someone to come home to...."-
 



 


Tinnuldur knew where the sleeping area was. He knew that the names and purpose of the hanging herbs in the cooking area, he even could recall the meaning of the colorful symbols bordered along the walls.
He had been here enough before to know all this.

This was Akilah's home. And as she had once told him, it was his home too.
He placed her down on the sleeping area, and watched her. It was as if she were simply sleeping.
Like those nights he woke beside her and watched her face for countless hours. Remembering every detail.
There time together had been far to short, fate it seems had indeed had the last laugh.

He ran his fingers through one of her braids, moving beside her face. It was an absent motion, and brought him little comfort.
His heart wrenched in his chest and the young Elf's hand shook as it gripped the blanket below her. Tears stung his eyes and his cheeks burned with the struggle to keep them back.

"I should have never let you go." the words were heavy with emotion as he sat beside her still body.
"I should have begged for you to stay. Should have told you that I wished you to stay." his voice quivered and he unconsciously slipped into the greytounge.
"Sen na nin girithron, im innas no erui. Gerin eglan le nin seron, a meleth innas awartha-nin an-uir." he could say no more.

There was so much to tell and his body began to shake with sobs as he realized he would never get to say them.
Lowering himself over her body his tears fell on her cold cheek.

"Aranna nin..."

Somehow he managed to sit up, and to wipe away the moisture from his face.
He covered her with a sheet and by will he didn't know he possessed, he began to make his way out.
After a moments contemplation he found the box he had given her, inside a stunning Elven necklace. Made in Rivendell and set with green cabochons, he had given it to her to symbolize his love. It had reminded him of her. It had been intended for her to wear it when they wed. She had loved it so.
Now she would never wear it.

Something else caught his eye.

A toy, or what he thought might be a toy. A child's toy. Simple, and made of cloth it was a doll. It's clothing mimic the gypsy's but to smaller scale. It was miniscule in his hands, fit for the smallest of children and for some reason he slipped it into the inside of his tunic. The soft doll fit easily.
He wished he could save each and every of her belongings.
But the doll, and her necklace would have to be enough.
 
 


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-"This is my December. These are my snow covered treees.
This is me pretending, this is all I need..."-


With an aching so deep it almost made him weep again, he step out of the caravan. Thrandohir and Mithisil watch him with concerned eyes, it was almost more than he could bare.

He passed them and took up a piece of wood, dipped it into the dying fire and it easily caught. He walked over and stood there for another moment. The fire casting shadows across his face, then he tipped the top of it on the outcropping of her caravans roof.
It caught easily and spread, re-lighting the ones that had half burned.

Tinnuldur took a step back and watch as all that he had left of Akilah was taken by the heat of the fire. He dropped the piece of wood into a small back of snow that had collected and it hissed and went out.

Quietly he made his way back to his horse and mounted in one motion.
All three watched for a while, then one by one turned there horses and began there ascent up the same hill. It was now being covered in a flurry of snowfall.

Both Thrandohir and Mithisil reached the top of the hill and turned around. Tinnuldur still sat, in the shadow of the burning caravan. The others had mostly burned out and were now a ghost of there former self.

More than anything at that moment he wished to find who had done this.
He knew in his heart this was no work of Orc's, but of man.
Weather they be Thieves or what have you, he wished to find them.

The fire of his Noldorin blood burned with the fury fit for Feanor. If he knew who it had been, he would have caused them the pain that each of these innocents had suffered this night.
But the thought of Pendran filled his mind, he would save the boy. He would save one if he could.
With one last silent goodbye said in his mind, turned his horse and followed his companions.
There were no words in any tongue that were enough.

He knew not the significance of the tiny doll he had cradled inside his jerkin. He only knew the pain in his heart and the emptiness left there by a mortal girl. A child of the gypsy's who would come to own it, and to fill it with love he never knew possible in all his long Elven years.

He thought he had painfully left all that he ever would love behind him.
He was wrong.



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Translations:

Aegolas=fell-leaf

"Nin gwathor, i hen innas baur edhellen nestad an cuinar."=My sworn brother, the child will need Elvish healing to live.

"Sen na nin girithron, im innas no erui. Gerin eglan le nin seron, a meleth innas awartha-nin an-uir."=This be my December, I will be alone. I have forsaken thee my lover, and love will forsake me forever.

"Aranna nin" =Forgive me

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To Be Continued...