Prologue
Near there at the oldest oak,
Far beyond the forest's edge,
Near there at the ancient Elven shrine
Have I seen them,
Dancing in the fainting shine.
They come silent
Just as now in this moment
When neither Day or Night
When neither dark nor light.
Dance three times in mirth
Upon the ancient Elven Paths.
At three will open be
The Otherworld - Thou wilt see.
They are but shadows
To the mortal eye.
Sometimes very fearsomely
Sometimes of figure beautiful and high.
Dance three times in mirth
Upon the ancient Elven Paths.
At three will open stand
The Otherworld - Let us go beyond;
Give me thy hand.
'Otherworld',
sung by minnesinger Vanna of Greenwood
Twilight ruled over the ending day. The light of the sun had not quite gone and yet Tillion had not brought Isil quite up on the sky. A faint silver gleam however was the harbinger of the approaching vessel that would bring the moon up into the company of the dark blue velvet that was the night sky's panoply.
But the reign of the twilight in which this dusk, colors had lost of brightness and descended slowly into a mixture of blue, red and deep violet tones, was short. Only a few hours it ever lasted before the soothing dark would put the land to sleep. Solitary stars began to become brighter with each moment that passed, first appearing upon the horizon; above and beside the descending sun, before their brethren also conquered the highest spot on the sky and one would have to lay the head into the neck to observe them. It was an evening in which poets would write.
Though the light was fading, the woman sitting midst the leaves that lay on the ground of the grove would not cease to patch her mantle. With a rough yarn and a needle out of herringbones, she stung into the edges of the hole, then pulled on the thread, making it each time smaller. The pinholes she made through puncturing the cloth with the thick needle were obviously not to her objection.
Many would have squinted their eyes by the available rest of light and such work, but this woman did not even look at what she was doing.
Her silver-grey eyes with the dark ring around the iris were looking straight forward. They did not move nor blink. As if they would still focus something upon the horizon that was gone already since a very long time.
The deep dark red hair hung down in mild curls the sides of a slender and lovely face, adorned with a number of freckles over the cheeks. The mouth was small, although the lips well formed. The only flaw on the first look seemed to be the bright flashing scar that made its way from her chin over the right side of her lips and ended just on the height of her nose. Leaf-shaped ears peaking out below the rugged mane were clearly indicators that Gaomee's beauty was not of human nature.
Little luggage did she seem to carry with her. Save her grey and worn off clothes there was only a backpack that had lost one string already, an unstrung bow, a quiver with only half a dozen arrows and a sword leaning on the side of a thick branch next to her.
Even if Gaomee's possessions appeared to be worthless so was the sword alone a kingly treasure. The knob and the parry guard were made of gold and heavily ornamented, the hilt was of nacre as well as shining copper. The blade itself was not very long but also not very short, so that this weapon appeared with its broad parry guard to be a crossover of short- and long sword. Interlacing Tengwar runes read 'Gaomee' on the hilt.
Now that the stars had been assembled almost to the full, everyone of them seemed to be reflected in the shining metal of the blade.
"Tisnae as bad as it looks," sounded a deep voice up, that startled Gaomee a bit. Her head turned towards the thicket from which a dwarf and another elf stepped. "Ah telt ye, didn't ah?" demanded Wengalf to know.
The fuzzy dark beard of the sturdy creature was almost covering entirely his mouth, so that to his strange way of pronouncing the common tongue came this constant mumbling. He was of average size for his kin. In height that was. Would have Wengalf and Gaomee be standing side by side, so would the dwarf only reach to her hip, while he would be double as broad as she was.
As Wengalf was very broad and very robust looking, even for a dwarf, so was Gaomee quite wiry even for her kind.
"I never objected your choice of our ways, dwarf. I simply wanted to be sure that we would still follow the path", came as answer to words of Wengalf. The third of the group, an elf with long silver-white hair and deep blue eyes as the sea was far more expensively clothed than his kinswoman. A green hauberk would conceal Farodir from too curious eyes as long as they intended to remain hidden. Elven-silk and velvet were used to tailor it especially for him.
"Then the river Lune is free to be crossed?", asked Gaomee.
Farodir nodded. "Yes, it is. Although I believed orcs or wolves of the north to have come down the hills of Evendim so remained Wengalf to be right. Since-," but the Dwarf cut the Elf off and continued for him, while he was looking through his own backpack for something to eat. It appeared as if Wengalf would reach in further than the pack was actually deep. "... Since mai cosin's brother-in-law is havin' a word in the affairs of the Blue Mountains, no mucky pups have been sighted again for a few miles east aboot the river."
Mucky pups. Gaomee enjoyed the company of Wengalf. Certainly more than Farodir did. While she heard how the Elf clapped his hands in unspoken distress over his head together, did Wengalf go on about telling of his family. Occasionally slurping indicated that the sturdy creature was drawing reserves from the dried meat in his bag.
As if we would not know all it already, thought Gaomee. She laid down the sewing kit, carefully touching over the patched mantle with her fingertips. Indeed, she and Farodir knew almost anything there was to know about Wengalf's family. It was his family and long gone ancestors that had lived in the Iron Mountains. They were those who found Gaomee when she was without conscious, when she began to loose her vision and became blind.
Farodir she got to know later, in Greenwood, as she visited Oropher's court.
Together with him, the dwarf Ógodr and his son Torgrim they had wandered beyond the east of the sea of Rhûn as well as north to the Withered Heaths. That was the reason why they knew every story that Wengalf would tell them of his ancestor Ógodr. The two had been there.
"Oi! Wuldn't yese listen?!", protested the Dwarf.
"I have heard the tale more times than I can count Elbereth's stars in the week that has past friend," answered Farodir, who by now had made his bed on a thin blanket. His mantle served the elf as pillow.
Muttering was the respond of Wengalf. Gaomee could not but display an highly amused grin. Wengalf was always too easy to be vexed and Farodir knew that well.
"Farodir is right, Wengalf." commented the blind maiden, stood up and with an surprisingly well orientation relocated herself on a large branch, the long legs crossed beneath her. "Rest would serve us all well. The hills of Evendim lie but a few days before us. The terrain will prove itself hard to be ascended; camp we shall make not again ere we have reached the top."
Feeling strengthened in hi point, Farodir nodded, what Gaomee could of course not see.
"Terrain hard tae bee ascended?" Farodir had described to the blind that Wengalf would look a lot like Torgrim, though would be more of a spirit alike to Ógodr. Strong, certain but hotheaded and stubborn in his ways. Though Wengalf preferred a different weapon than his ancestor.
A horseman's pick, heavy, made of dark metal was the Dwarf's love. Whenever the trio would engage a band of orcs, Wengalf would pound his hammer on his small shield, calling for the orcs 'Oink! Oink! Little mucky pups!', before he then would swing left and right, shattering the monsters' skulls. The dwarf was a terrible enemy to be made.
Though this time reason was stronger than pride in the sturdy creature. Instead of answering or beginning an argument about the endurance of the dwarves with the two elves, Wengalf lay down. It took only minutes than snoring echoed through the grove.
Even Farodir's breathing had become low and rhythmic, that Gaomee could easily perceive as she sat there, with her thoughts again alone. She preferred the silence often enough. It made her thinking more relaxing. It was simply her way to rest, before the next big instance on their journey to Mirkwood.
Initially she would have set out alone to spread the news of more approaching enemies against the forest and the remains of Thranduil's realm. Farodir had insisted to accompany her however. Now they would return, with no allies but a single dwarf.
At least he might be the key to a renewed alliance between the dwarven-kind of the Erebor and Thranduil's people. Since the Battle of the Five armies the relations had not been very well.
"Didst thou actually meet with these wardens?"
Farodir's sudden question made Gaomee twitch her shoulders and head in surprise. She nodded. "I stayed a little longer with them than I had actually planned. I had hoped they would still come to offer their help to us. To no avail as thou seest." A bit helpless, her hands rose up, holding nothing but air.
"What was the matter?"
"The distance. So I believe. Mirkwood, the wilder lands, Dol Guldur - all these places we will not reach within the next two months. The wardens are to be remaining here to safeguard the cost. They said they would have had increased dealings with the corsairs in the last weeks. Dost thou think they would leave their duty for us?"
It took a while until Farodir answered. A while in which Gaomee realized how pessimistic she must have sounded. By now they had fallen into the Elven tongue of Sindarin. Even if Wengalf would be awake, he would not understand a word of what the two elves would say.
"That means Curugirion and his wardens would rather go sailing, looking for pirates rather than coming to the aid of Thranduil."
"Wouldst thou not do the same in his stead?" Gaomee felt Farodir's look on her like two burning puncturing holes. But he knew that she was right. Everyone was being occupied by defending his and her own home. The Elven forces were too thinly spread and needed on two many places as if they would reunite under one banner.
"Then maybe the lady will know a way," she heard him saying and knew exactly whom he meant with 'lady'. As in reflex, Gaomee drew a grimace. "I do not understand thy aversion, Gaomee. The Lady Galadriel is wise. A true queen who we should trust," continued Farodir.
The blind maiden shifted on her sitting spot a bit to acquire a more comfortable position. In the meanwhile Wengalf went on snoring. "Thou knowst what I deem about pledging my loyalty to a king or queen."
"Thou art fighting for Thranduil."
"That does not mean I serve him, Farodir. I help my kin, nothing more. Pledging thyself to a monarch will hardly ever end well. Trouble arises and duty will call thee to do something eventually which will let thee test thy loyalty against thy own believes."
The noise of stones bumping of wood told her that Farodir had begun to pick up pebbles and lob them against a near-by tree. "I find that a bit superficial, Gaomee. As is thy idea about the Lady."
Gaomee sighed. She was tired of the endless discussions with Farodir about the honor and good, deriving of serving someone higher. They were two persons with two different views that would never be brought into equilibrium.
"I never saw her, but I once was there and she passed us. As carrying for her people she may be and as enchanted the elves around me were, there was something cold about her that I do not quite trust. It makes her ..." The blind hesitated for a moment, searching for the correct word, with which she was sure not to say something wrong. " ... distant. I believe that I can say it that way. A queen should be like a mother to her people. But the Lady thou worshippest is too distant for me."
A long moment of silence emerged between the two. Gaomee had to gulp heavily, afraid her words had somehow been offended Farodir.
"I understand," he said finally.
