Getting up was difficult. His legs were not used to carry the weight of his body, even the little that was left. As he walked, again and again he had to hold on to the walls and pieces of furniture, sitting down frequently. As old and exhausted as his body felt, his mind was flowing with energy, his will rekindled. And so he made himself get up and walk among the trees as often as he could muster the strength. The peace of the wood and the ever present whisper of a song in the air soothed his physical pain and strengthened the resolve of his mind.
After he had gotten up from his bed for the first time and washed his face in the bowl of water, a haggard face with a scrubby beard and hardened grey eyes had stared back at him. He had touched his facial hair on his cheeks, realising how long he had been bound to the bed. He had always been particular about his clean shaven sides and a fine-trimmed goatee. Now, he felt this new look suited him. He had changed over these past weeks in which he had wandered around the darkest places of his soul, far from the realities of the world that now surrounded him. And so he had taken out a knife and began sheering around the fringes of his beard, only civilising it here and there. He had been pleased with the result and continued with his hair, cutting it above the shoulders when he heard a slight chuckle from the corner of the room.
He had raised his eyes to see a young, slender Elven woman sitting with her arms around her knees on one of the drawers of his chamber. The piece of furniture did not look like a particularly comfortable place to sit on, but the elf had looked like she was as cosy as others would only feel on top of the softest mattress surrounded by down bedding.
“You need some help with that?”, she had asked cheekily while looking straight at him. Balisan, still holding the knife in his right hand, close to the piece of hair he held in his left, had been staring dumb-struck at her. As he finally regained his composure and let go of his hair, lowering the knife, he raised himself from his knees. “Who are you?”, he had asked her.
The girl, or young woman, or somewhere in between, had jumped from the drawer. As she landed feather-light on her feet without making a sound, she made a grand gesture towards a big object that was attached to the rear of the drawer on which she had just been sitting. A richly decorated golden frame surrounded what was a huge mirror that reached almost to the ceiling.
“Using this might have eased your struggles, wouldn’t you think?”, she had teased with a grin.
Balisan hadn’t even heard the ridicule and simply repeated his question. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my chambers?”
“Oh how impolite of me!” The elf had smiled. “I - of course – am Morwen of Halloth, but please call me Morwee”, she had said, as if knowing Her was the most natural thing in the world. “I serve the Lady, and she has asked me to look after you for a while and help you with whatever you need help with - and it seems I will be rather busy these days.”
She had by no means been rude in her cheekiness and Balisan immediately had liked her. It was also good to have someone around who didn’t judge him. Anyone from his past who might see him in his current state might have shown him the pity that Balisan didn’t want to see or feel. He wanted to move on, to follow his new path that he had chosen. But for that he needed to be strong.
Now, days after their first encounter, Morwee was patiently walking alongside him. She had helped him with his hair that day and with many other things since. Most importantly, however, she had practiced with him outside the city, for weapons were forbidden in Calas Galadhon.
He hated her, in the nicest way possible, for her swiftness in combat that made Balisan feel old every time they trained together, as each movement to attack or parry felt so cumbersome as the elf disappeared from under every one of his blows. He could hold her attacks back quite some time on his shield and armour, but there was never a chance to counterattack her blows, and Balisan felt how his movements were impeded by the lack of strength in his arms and legs – that only slowly seemed to return to him.
Realising his weakness, as embarrassing as it was for him, helped him understand why Morwee – on behest of the Lady – had stopped him from following Iaurmenel, once Balisan learned of her departure. Knowing now his true physical weakness he appreciated the time he had with Morwee, and soon – very soon – he would be back in the saddle, riding to fulfil his duty.
He looked at Morwee as they walked outside the city towards the place where they would have the third training session of the day. The elf seemed all in thought herself, looking up into the forest’s ceiling of leaves above them, where the evening sun broke into a thousand rays. She seemed so very calm and at peace with herself. The slight smile across her face and the serenity of the moment made Balisan let out a relaxed sigh as he began to smile himself.
