A Mírea Nénar - Chapter three
Peditham hi sui vellyn?
The stars faintly danced in the rapidly changing skies when Karin woke. Blue eyes burning with strain as he struggled to grasp a sense as to what woke him. It was far too early with the barely approaching morning to consider packing up camp and starting on foot. Watching the stars fade away into the familiar purple-orange hues of dawn, he felt a chill. ‘Where could this child have come from?’ His heart ached deeply at the thought. Something unsettling and ugly coiled in his gut. It was strange, terribly so for one so young to be so far without anyone else. Suspicious in its own way, but none in their party was one to turn away a soul in need. Much less so a child. The urge to reach for his favored pipe gnawed away at the forefront of his thoughts. But children have delicate lungs; turning in his bedroll, he sniffed and settled against it. Smoking would be of no use here.
It wouldn’t be until just an hour after dawn broke before he next woke.
Unforgiving morning light drifted through the mists of the new day. The sweet smell of morning danced on the breeze with a rich cacophony of moisture and thriving vegetation. Thin, papery wisps of fog sprawled ghostly across the foothills in the far distance. Glistening drops of dew slicked the verdant grasses, dampened sturdy bedrolls, and cooled sun-kissed skin. Every morning was the same. Rising up before the sun had fully risen in the sky, packing up camp, and preparing for another long walk. Silence rolled over the small party as thick as freshly sheared sheep’s wool. Today, it was Farin’s turn to lead the small party. His brown beard swayed in time with his heavy footfalls. Tiny stray hairs twisting and dancing about his face like flies. After him came Karin, his axe glinting in the sun’s light. And after Karin came the rest. Barik, Carik, and Teor. Five in total, now with a new sixth member of their group.
“We’re running low on supplies.” Teor rolled his eyes at Barik’s tone. The meaning of supplies is not lost on any of them. What he really meant was ‘food.’ Running low on food.
Teor gave thanks to Aulë when Barik didn’t press on any further.
The crunch of boots on gravel and the squelch of rough soles on grass broke the monotony of nature’s sounds. They counted their blessings, as the weather they had been granted along the southern Vales of Anduin was considerable. Each day the dwarves rose before the sun, as was their habit. The rhythm of the road was already pressed into their bones. Between the front and back of the single-file line they had taken a liking to for walking was the child. Held securely against Carik’s back by a few scraps of linen and cotton. His belongings found another place for the time being on Barik’s other shoulder. ‘She’s light as tinder. Lighter than any proper child should be.’ The first time they’d taken turns carrying her was the morning after she stumbled onto the campsite. In the dawn’s early light, he’d nearly dropped her, having been expecting more weight. Her squeal of terror that day peeled off into what surely must have been curses in whatever strange tongue she spoke; at least that was the general consensus of all who were present.
“Is she awake yet?” Carik called out to Teor in the back, who could see past his hat and hair clearer than Carik could his own.
“No, sleeps like the dead.” Came the sturdy dwarf’s reply.
They had learned, over these past three days, that her ankle was worse than it had first initially appeared. And wherever she had come from, none could begin to hazard a guess. Her tongue sounded nothing like Elvish from what they could tell. Possibly some foreign tongue of man’s language, but it didn’t seem likely. As human as the child acted, it was odd how taken with the dwarves she was. Almost like how a baby chick imprints on the first thing it sees upon hatching from its shell. ‘Too mannish, yet not like them at all,’ mused Teor as his thoughts wandered back to her ankle. It didn’t look bruised or swollen, but the way she cried out at even the smallest pressure was cause for alarm. Through trial and error, they found that she could limp when the ground was level, but when there was an incline or decline in the terrain, she would stop. So, in order to not lose any more time, they carried her—Carik in the mornings when he was filled with a new day’s strength, and Farin in the afternoon when it was time to switch carrying packs. Barik sighed as he stepped forwards, his wide body moving with a grace unexpected of one of his stature and build. ‘How absurd,’ he chided. His eyes roamed the landscape for any signs of danger. ‘Out of work, exiled from home, now we’re reduced to nursemaids for an elfling who can’t speak a lick of Westron.’ But even the loudest grumbles of protest had grown quieter with each passing day.
“Strange thing, isn’t she? Her gestures make things easier.” The sound of Karin’s voice was pointed but not directed at anyone in particular.
The conversations were light for most of the morning. By midday, the morning mists had burned away, and the forests gave way to rolling grasslands. They’d learned little of her—only that she was an elf-child of some kind, though from where they couldn’t say. Even where they had found her, there was no marker on the map that signified an elvish settlement. The lack of clothes and her appearance told of there being no elven camp nearby. She spoke no word of Westron, nor of any tongue known to them. It was baffling.
“Elves speak fancy languages, all pointy ears and fine silks. Tall bastards, the lot of them.” Karin chortled out.
“Not this one.” At the sound of Teor’s rebuttal, Karin shook his head.
“Not this one? We’re not keeping her. Waste of time and supplies.”
“Gah! Come on, brother.” Chimed in Farin. His lighter timbre easily worming its way between the two baritones. “Just for a while, then we drop her off at a mannish town. Someone can help her further then.”
As if on cue, sensing the shifting of their thoughts, the girl stirred awake on Carik’s back. One of her tiny hands was clutching and gently pulling at the coarse braid that hung over his shoulder. A soft sound escaped her, almost a squeak with how parched her throat must be. It sounded like a question in tone, but none understood its meaning. Yet all in the party turned slightly, ears listening despite themselves.
The group in all had figured that the elfling couldn’t have been more than twenty summers by the look of it. Though the ways dwarves differ from elves in terms of their life cycles are vastly different. Twenty had seemed to be a good estimate at the time. But her lack of knowledge and wonderment of how they set up camp and watched them do each mundane chore make her seem years younger. She had tried to communicate before. First, with her strange speech and mannerisms. But when blank looks met equally blank gazes, her speech turned to gesture and expression. Mostly nods and head shaking, hand gestures, pointing, miming, and mimicking tone and actions. These small glimpses offered only the smallest fragments of sense that any rational mind could make. Karin frowned, ‘Slow then.’ He decided. Though her eyes shone bright with intelligence.
“Here,” Teor called, voice rough from lack of water. The waterskins they all carried now bordered on being dangerously low thanks to one more mouth to feed. “Set her down. Let’s see if that ankle’s any better.”
Carik gently eased the girl from his back, shoulders aching from the way her small body was being carried rather than from her weight. She blinked, disoriented, then winced as her bare foot touched the ground. Her coat that Farin had given to her slipped around wobbly knees, revealing the thin, haphazardly mended trousers and oversized spare shirt that had once belonged to another party member that no longer resided amongst the living. Karin winced at the sight of something dwarvish in make hanging off the shoulders of a being so small. ‘She deserves to be in the arms of her kin, not the likes of us.’ By the looks of it, the others had agreed to the same thought days ago. Elves don’t belong in the company of dwarves, but that doesn’t mean that they would leave her out to die on her own. The natural elements could be too cruel in those regards. Wordlessly, Farin crouched, gesturing to her leg.
“Foot,” he said in Westron, enunciating slowly. The child only furrowed her brows, her lips pressing together in what looked to be a pout. That sour of an expression shouldn’t belong on a face so fair. By the look of it, Karin was close to cracking a smirk.
“If our maker Mahal wanted me to play healer, he’d have made me an elf.” Barik snorted. “Aye, and cursed you with silky hair and ears like sails.”
The girl tilted her head, not understanding, though perhaps she caught the tone. Judging by the way her lips curved into a faint ghost of a smile. ‘By Mahal’s balls, the poor lass doesn’t understand anything we say.’ Was the only thought that ran through Barik’s mind as he watched Farin try speaking to their newest burden. The way her eyes shone with tears from pain. Her blank gaze watching their hands rather than their faces further reinforced the idea of a non-understanding between them. Farin’s calloused fingers pressed lightly along her ankle and shinbone. Nothing appeared to be broken, but she hissed in pain. The bruising her pale skin sported had already begun to fade to a dull greenish-yellow.
“Better,” he murmured. “You’ll walk again soon, little one.”
She sniffled once—a wet sound that didn’t quite match her appearance. She didn’t understand, but she seemed to know what he meant.
“She’s learning, you know.” His voice cut through the calm. Karin paused at the sound of his tone.
“Look at her eyes. She watches every word we speak. Our hands—she’s trying to learn.”
“Aye, Learning like she’s deaf and dumb.” Barik grunted. “We’re no teachers.”
Teor ignored them, instead taking an interest in the ground beneath his feet. Taking a flat stone, he drew lines in the dirt—simple marks for sun, moon, tree, and mountain. Then he pointed to each and gave their names:
“Aman” was sun. The drawing was illustrated by a simple circle with small lines radiating from it.
“Shem” was the moon, a simple crescent shape. Tree was “gabil,” which looked more like a drawing of a cloud on top of a misshapen stump.
And mountain was “khrun.” Teor sighed wistfully as, instead of the mountain range he intended to draw, it looked more and more like Erebor with each stroke in the dirt. The girl watched with wide, fascinated eyes.
Her lips parted in a look of awe. ‘Like my son,’ thought Teor as he leaned forward. Mimicking the sounds of each shape, she laughed when she stumbled over the guttural sounds. No question about it, the dwarven tongue felt strange to elfling lips. It wasn’t much. But it was something. After more hours of walking, stopping by streams that they happened on by chance, and setting snares for the unfortunate rabbit or two that wandered too close. The bright midday sun soon fell to the dusk of evening. They had settled for camp when the last rays of light glimmered through the trees. The fire crackled from its spot in the pit. ‘A poor excuse of a hearth,’ thought Barik as he tended to the fire, watching it grow. On nights such as these, the world felt infinitely larger than it once did. Too large for a group of five dwarves and a single elf child. Memories stirred of Erebor and its great forges, craftsmen at their places and making only the finest for the nobles of both the race of men and dwarves.
Times had been simpler back in those days. ‘How the mighty have fallen.’ Too soaked up in pride and ego to appreciate all the good times fully. Now here they were, as a race—scattered apart in the lands like wandering ghosts. Working for men who underpaid for quality work and expected nothing but the best. Walking endlessly from town to town, city to city. Dropping the stragglers like flies. Only the strongest made it when traveling in small groups like this. Drifting his gaze from the crackling embers and shifting flames. He watched the child as she lay on her side. Her front was facing the flames, with her head resting on Karin’s boot as a makeshift pillow. Twenty was the number they had guessed, but she looked so young. Frail even. Barik’s eyes ghosted over the duo. Karin and the elfling—a strange picture indeed. Everything about her looked painful. The sun did more damage than they had originally supposed when they first met. She was sunburnt, not in the way when one stayed merely outside for too long and did not notice. But had the appearance of one who had been beaten down by the sun’s heat and harsh light. Flakes of skin had already been peeling off from her shoulders, back, neck, and knees. Her face, they had feared, would have grown to be swollen—but thankfully no such thing had come to pass.
“All she does is eat, sleep, and look scared.” Karin raised his eyes. Green meeting blue. “Why do you think she acts the way she does?”
Karin swallowed dryly. “Don’t want to know.”
She looked to be seven when compared to the race of men. Her limbs looked too delicate for the race of dwarves and, if compared to the race of men, too weak. Spitting grossly into the fire, Barik shook his head. Her eyes, when open and alert, looked like the richest of soil. Filled with life and goodness that makes the trees grow and lands abundant with life. Her hair, as matted and tangled as a rat’s nest, burned with the color of hot iron in the sun and a deep russet in the shade.
“I thought elves didn’t abandon their own.” The sound of Karin’s voice broke Barik’s inner musings. Turning his gaze to look at the one-shoed dwarf. Barik gestured for him to continue.
“You think she was abandoned?” The look Karin gave him made him feel fifty years younger. Like he had asked his mentor a dumb question after having the topic be explained in length beforehand.
“As do you.” There was no need to speak much of such dark topics when the next few days would prove to be dark enough in themselves.
The map, which led to the nearest city, showed that they would be a few days away. Their charge would eventually go from their hands to another’s. There was no telling whether they would find anyone remotely trustworthy in the next town. But there was no chance they could care for a child while going from one town to the next. She just wouldn’t last. By dawn the next morning, the mists had returned, curling low around their ankles as they set off once more. The child limped a few steps, then gestured insistently toward Farin with her soft palms. Big brown eyes pleading like a dwarfling for its mother.
Farin sighed, “Can’t be doing this all the time, you know.” But he knelt down regardless to let her climb onto his broad back.
“You’re spoiling her,” Teor said, though there was no real heat in it. “She’s not going to want to walk on her own if she expects you to carry her the whole time.”
“Bah! She’s alright. Let her enjoy it. Doesn’t weigh as heavy as my pack.” Farin retorted as he hoisted her up and clasped his hands under her kneecaps. The sound of her soft sigh of contentment made the gesture all the sweeter.
“There’s a city not two weeks south of here according to the map.” Karin butted in, squinting his steel eyes to the horizon. “They’ll need smiths and masons; they always do. -”
Memories of previous jobs came and went. From shoveling manure from the dirt roads to make them passable and more pleasing to the eye. Or the time when chopping down trees in the dead of winter proved to be too taxing on the mannish residents of one of the last towns they resided in. Three dead men in total. Died from hypothermia; cold exposure. Skin all waxy and discolored. Flaky bluish-grey lips and fingers. ‘Poor bastards.’ Karin wiped at his eyes. ‘They made some ugly corpses.’ Pity turned to resentment when the town mayor decided it was better to hire dwarves to do the work. Idly he stroked the rim of his pipe from within his side pouch. He could almost taste the leaf and smoke on his tongue.
Carik stroked his beard, tone gruff as anxiety swelled in his gut. “-Aye, IF they’ll take dwarves. Men have grown skittish these last few years. Think of us as thieves.”
“Then let them think,” Karin said. “Work is work. We all need food in our bellies and a roof over our heads. We know when to keep our heads down.”
Barik eyed the girl, who was contentedly watching them all gather up camp and ready themselves for another long walk to their next campsite. She smiled and waved shyly when their eyes met.
“And what of her, then? She’s no smith and not much use with an axe. Too weak, too scrawny. No one will want another mouth to feed.”
“We’ll find someone who can take her in.” Teor’s gaze softened. “Elves—doubt we’ll run into any. But maybe some kind-hearted folk, if such still exist.”
Barik grunted again, though not unkindly. “Aye, if we live that long. These lands aren’t known for their kindness to the weary.”
“What about Mirkwood? We can drop her off at the outskirts, make some noise, and let the elves find her.” Carik rumbled with a smirk. Already he knew that changing course was out of the question. And that there was no sure-fire way of guaranteeing that any elves would come at the ruckus of five measly dwarves at their borders.
“Durin’s beard, your father raised you to be as empty-headed as your stomach at supper.” Was Karin’s reply. “They’d probably shoot us down before we could even say we have one of their kin.”
“But we’re closer to that dreaded place than any other elvish settlement.” Grumbled Carik.
“Aye, and the great bear that wanders these parts? What of him then?”
“What of him? It’s just a bear?” Black bears are nothing to worry about. But brown bears are a whole different matter.
Karin could feel his temples throbbing. “Beorn—if that is his name. Is not JUST a bear.”
The silence that followed was stagnating. When they had walked no more than an hour, the child had begun to hum. Her tune was bright, with small breaks that almost made one pause. Up and down her little voice went, her small fingers occasionally drumming on Farin’s shoulders in time with her voice. An odd creature she was she didn’t act as an elf nor a dwarf. Sometimes they would see glimpses of her actions as sort of mannish. Her mannerisms and gestures were more relaxed, and casual compared to the stuck-up elves they had seen and heard about. Though, those times were rare and few in between. Barik sighed; a small sad smile tugged on his lips. ‘Two weeks left.’ His mind supplied, and his heart stung at the thought of not having their elfling for much longer.
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