Home.
The word felt foreign on her tongue. It kept repeating itself in her head, a woodpecker constantly hammering away at a tree, nothing to stop it.
She thought leaving the house for the night and travelling for a few days would clear her head, remove the incessant rattling that just would not leave her alone. Malethion had frowned at her request, no doubt noticing that something was amiss, but did not question her. He simply kissed her goodbye and murmured that he’ll always be near.
She had no moments of peace. Day and night, her mind spoke and toiled and wondered and worried.
Everyone had a concept of home. Whenever she asked Malethion, he always smiled and said that a warm kitchen was all he needed to call a place home, a constant reminder of his mother and how much joy he derived from cooking. Bethrelfin felt nothing towards any part of any house. Rooms to serve a purpose, sometimes a haven of safety, but nothing more.
The hobbits around the Shire had told her that home is where it’s warmest, a fire in the heath to keep bones warm and spirits high. Some had even said that home was their childhood house, full of memories and laughter and first steps. Bethrelfin thought of her parent’s abode in Mirkwood and shuddered.
She had left Mirkwood for a reason. The air was heavy, almost suffocating, ready to fill your lungs, trapping you in a cold, deathly embrace that you could not escape. The trees ensured that any sliver of sunlight is devoured, leaving darkness in their wake. Full of treacherous paths that would lead you astray on their own accord. Clicking, slithering, scuttering noises would make even the bravest warrior cower in fear and paranoia. Their abodes were akin to the dwarves, cavernous, illuminated by lanterns and candles. The cold was constant, seeping through your bones, an ache you could not shake.
Her elven kin were no different. Cold, calculating, on edge, constantly looking over their shoulder. There were no friendships, merely strained alliances. Trusting someone enough that they would not leave you for dead. The only companion she ever had during her time in Mirkwood was her little cat Dumpling, gifted to her by her mother.
Through her travels, she had experienced something akin to warmth. Stars she had never before seen had become her companions, the moon a constant nightly presence ready to light her way. The sun, she still remembered the first time she felt it on her freckled face, chasing away the cold from her bones.
She had hoped that settling down with Malethion in the Shire would help. A place full of warmth, trees that whisper to you in greeting, grass that tickled your feet, flowers that brightened even the darkest of forests. The Shire folk were merry, living in simplicity, the smallest of things bringing such a bright and beautiful smile to their faces.
Malethion had fit right in. She did not.
In her desperate attempt, she had joined the Company of the East Road. Like-minded people who wished to help and protect the east roads from anything that threatened it. Elves, men, hobbits and dwarves from all forms of life. Surely, someone there would understand her plight.
During her travels, she stopped by a tavern called the Knackered Neekerbreeker, opened by one of the Company’s kinwomen, a lady called Tivlyn. She met some of her kin, laughed and drank. Her heart almost felt warm, she almost felt that feeling that everyone would describe to her when explaining the word home. But then they began speaking about their own homes, in tones full of mirth and happiness. Her heart broke. She had gathered Dumpling, her ever constant companion, in her arms and bid them farewell before leaving and beginning the ride back to the Shire.
Her tears flowed freely. She was unable to stop them. She wept until the skies took pity on her and wept alongside her, soaking her clothing. Dumpling took shelter underneath her cloak, nestling closely, hoping her presence was enough to soothe her owner.
Malethion found her on the floor in the doorway, soaked to the bone, braid unravelled and sticking to her face. He couldn’t tell what was rainwater and what were tears staining her face. He did not question, just took her in his arms and held her as sobs racked her body, her hand clenching his tunic tight as if she was afraid he would disappear. He held her as her body stopped shaking, as her sobs turned quiet, as her tight grip slowly loosened, as she murmured softly to him, “I want a home.”
