4. Fighting in the Rain
“Maeve!” I heard my name being cried out over the force of the wind. Struggling, I bounded over the fallen tree that lay in my way and quickly shot an arrow into the neck of a nearby orc. I smiled as I remembered how hard it was for me to use the human bow after being used to an elegant elvish one for so long. Yet I had adapted, and here I was.
The rain poured down buckets on top of Telir and I as we darted rapidly through the trees. The orc attack had come upon us so suddenly as we lay asleep in our makeshift beds, trying to keep the rain from bothering us. The last thing I had wanted to do was jump up and fight a couple of orcs after looking forward to getting the first good rest in a long time.
A scar still ran along my side, sensitive to the touch. It was the only thing that remained from the day Telir had found me. Now I often would run my finger down it and shiver, thinking back and remembering all the changes that I had made. First, I admit to being stronger, if that was ever possible. I now knew how to live in any condition, anywhere. Telir had taught me many things and he had done it well.
“I’ve over here!” I shouted, trying to project my voice of the power of the storm. I couldn’t see him through the thick rain and horrid wind. As a matter of fact, I could barely see my hand in front of my face. It annoyed me, but not to the point that I was unable to see. Telir was the one with the problem. After calling out to him, I sought shelter underneath the wide branches of a pine tree. He joined me within a moment or two, a smile on his soaking wet face.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He said with a laugh. I could not help but laugh with him. We had cheated death yet again. It was what we had done together for the past two years, hardly ever separated for long. Grinning, I playfully brushed a strand of his wet hair out of his eyes. He grinned back for a second, then frowned as he reached up to touch my cheek.
“You’re bleeding.” I heard him say as his hand came away wet with my oddly colored silver blood. A tree branch must have whipped me right across the cheek and in the heat of the battle I must have hardly felt the pain. I sighed and pressed the sleeve of my tunic to the cut for a moment.
“You still have never told me why your blood is silver.” He said. I sighed again and sat down under the tree, sinking to the wet ground as if in defeat rather than victory. He followed suit. I waited until I had wiped most of the rainwater from my face before speaking.
“My sister passed on from grief when I was young. She sailed for Valinor before her time, leaving behind a grieving husband and three children. I could never really forgive her for that. She was more than my sister. We were best friends.” I slowly leaned my head against the tree and turned my face to the sky, hoping the rainwater would mask my teardrops.
“At first, my parents assumed that the grief that lay upon me came from her passing and would eventually thin out and dissolve. But it did not. I grew close to death, almost dying from a broken heart left from her departure.” Telir nodded. I assumed that he understood what I felt to a certain extent, having lost both his parents. So I continued.
“They took me to the Lord Elrond in Rivendell, hoping he could save me. All the finest healers in all of Lorien had said I was too far gone, that my soul had buried itself so deep I would die from it. My parents would not believe it. Elrond told them that there was a cure, but a price rode upon it.” I paused, and Telir nodded for me to continue. Gathering strength from the blissful silence around me, I went on.
“He would have to inject a poison toxic enough to stimulate me back to life but tame enough to allow me to live. The only one that would achieve both was the herb Norelin. The side affect was, of course, the silver blood to make my grief. I find it a fitting scar.” Lowering my head, there was nothing but silence for a moment as Telir soaked up what I had just told him. I prayed that he would accept me.
“This doesn’t change anything between us. We’re still friends.” He said after a long pause, grasping my hand tightly in his. Now it was my turn to grin. “We’d better go find the horses and our supplies.” The rain had let up just a little bit, allowing for a bit more visibility.
After we returned to our camp the rest of the night passed by uneventfully. It was the morning that I dreaded. Telir and I had been ordered to deliver an urgent message to the lord and lady of the golden woods. This did, of course, make me less than pleased. I had no desire at all to return to the home that I had once known and loved.
“How long has it been?” Telir said to break the monotonous silence as we rode along. At first I didn’t understand what he meant. How long since what? Plenty of things that might be considered important had happened since we had met. It took a little while to realize that he meant since I had been back home.
“Two years or so. Maybe more.” I mumbled. This was one topic that I did not want to dwell upon. Telling him about the reason for my silver blood was one thing, but revealing my whole life story did not sound like a good idea to me. Better to leave some things up to the imagination.
As we approached the woods, I reached towards the back of my cloak and pulled my hood strategically over my face. I had a feeling that I would be meeting the source of all my past problems very shortly, and the last thing I wanted him to do was recognize me.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.