Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening

Elrohir looked up as the first flakes of snow started falling. “Are you sure that you want to go back tonight? You’re more than welcome to stay.”

Lilleduil considered the question seriously for an entire moment, but the restlessness that had consumed her of late would not be denied. Work was her best solace now.

“No, I will go on back, my lord.”

A wolf’s howl sounded close by. Elrohir looked at her and lifted a meaningful eyebrow. The sun had just set, though the night had that odd, dimly illuminated quality it possessed when it was snowing.

Lilleduil grinned. It felt odd on her lips. It had been a while. “Mine is bigger.”

Elrohir snorted in amusement. “I’ll say! You could almost ride him! Very well then. Stars light your path, Lilleduil.”

“And yours, my lord.”


The stars were, of course, not in evidence, but it was a pleasant enough night nonetheless. The air seemed almost warm, there was no wind and the snowflakes, of moderate size, neither fat and wet nor crystalline and dry, drifted down, muffling the sound all about. Lilleduil called Faencarch as soon as she had gone a little way from Thorenhad-the horses there were not so agreeable about having a wolf the size of a small pony about them as was Braigsul, and even he had needed persuasion at first. Faencarch was very quick to come and fall in beside them, which made Lilleduil wonder if he had not been hunting wolves himself. He seemed to take the corruption of his brethren very seriously.

She’d never seen a larger wolf-except in the company of fellow Loremasters-and had wondered to herself more than once if these wolves were the equivalent to normal wolves that the great Eagles were to their smaller brethren. And also, if some of them had not fallen into the Enemy’s hands at some point and had been used to breed up the large riding wargs. But she’d not ever been able to bring herself to discuss the matter with Faencarch. She wasn’t sure she could do it in a way that would not offend. For now, it was enough that he was here.

And his presence apparently had scared away the lesser wolves. There was no more howling and absolute silence fell over the roadway, broken only by the muffled steps of horse and wolf. Which allowed the her entirely too much freedom to think, something she‘d been avoiding whenever possible. To think about the cold house she was returning to, so stark and chill seeming now that Fingolrin’s light and warmth had been removed from it. To think about the lonely days, filled with duty and nothing else, that stretched ahead. To think about the lonely nights… Once, duty would have been more than enough for her. But that was before she had tasted love, before she had known the joy of belonging with someone, solitary hunter no more.

There was something deep inside Lilleduil, the feral thing she could tap into that allowed her to speak to almost all wild things, that made her unfit for polite company at times, that wanted to slash and bite and strike back when it was hurt. That part was raging within her, had been for days. How could you leave me? Would you not stay and fight? I would have fought for you, with you!

The rest of her, the elf part of her, knew better. Knew that it was next to impossible to fight shadow, innuendo, lies. After all, she’d not had much luck, when that had happened to her! Knew that for all his fierce protectiveness and dauntless courage, Fingolrin possessed a gentler nature than she did. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him, after all. Knew that nothing could wound him more than having his honor questioned. He had been in pain, she had felt that pain, and she had given him her blessing to leave. She had known the separation would pain her as well, but duty bound her here and if he could find peace in Lindon, then knowledge of that peace would salve her own hurt. Or so she had reasoned to herself at the time.

Married elves often parted company for decades at a time, it was said. And they had had years of living together. Surely two people who had just begun their romance would suffer less! But it seemed that it was not so. The bond, new-started, wanted to complete, was driven to complete. She absolutely ached with it.

Braigsul halted beneath her, in response to a cue she didn’t remember having given. His black mane was spangled with snowflakes like scattered stars. Lilleduil lifted her head to the grey skies above, let the snowflakes melt upon her cheeks, let them mingle, fresh, with the salt water she hadn’t realized was already there. And the rage at those who had harmed her beloved, and her knowledge of his pain and her grief at their separation grew and grew and grew. It swelled inside her until it burst forth in a howl that made her war steed jump beneath her and would have probably sent birds flying in fear from the trees in daylight.

Beside her, Faencarch sat down, lifted his chin and answered with a howl that was much more eerie, less raw than her own. He looked up at her and his amber eyes glinted invitation, plain. So she lifted her head and opened her throat and howled again, howled with her wolf friend until her throat was sore but her stomach less knotted, her head a bit clearer. Then she scrubbed her face clean impatiently with a gloved hand, and urged Braigsul forward again.

She would not ask an Eagle to bear Fingolrin word, in winter storms all the way to Lindon. But there were other ways, hardy traders who traveled even in winter, the Dunedain who never stopped wandering. She would not interrupt Eirallyn’s studies with such a request, though she knew Eira would do it for her. But perhaps a way to send a letter could be found. And if not, she might be able to travel to Lindon herself in spring. It was so beautiful there then…

A long, dark winter stretched before her, but duty would have to serve to fill it. And she had leagues to go before she slept this night. Lilleduil leaned forward and Braigsul snorted, tossed his head and leapt into a canter.