The Night's Wanderer

35. Grieving Hearts

Hearing the light rustling of cloth Morel came to realise she no longer laid on the blood soaked ground by the gates of Mordor. Her body felt clean, warm and healed of any wounds that she had worn the days before combat. Her mind could not remember much after the elven bow and gentle hands but now her senses were dull, calm.

"Thank you." A quiet voice spoke up, a distance away, before steps of shoes on stone became quieter. With a slight creak something moved before the very quiet steps neared her.

These were elven steps.

Elven steps of a pattern Morel had taken to memorising to identify the Woodland Prince.

The steps stopped and a scratching of wood on stone was made as Legolas moved his chair closer to the bedside. Sitting in it he picked the book Aragorn had found in the King's library and opened the old leather.

The aged parchment remained well preserved in the black stained covers, the page binding not allowing any information to be lost.

Aragorn had, between visits to Morel and the hobbits as well as Kingly duties, found this small piece of history tucked far back in the library when searching for traditions of Minas Tirith. Once opening the first few pages and reading the elvish script in dark cursive ink on the parchment he knew Legolas would find the book useful.

It seemed as though the King of Minas Tirith had once been acquaintances with the King and Queen of Falma Coar. The elven King gifted the mortal King the book, it gave a summary of traditions in their home in the mountains, but as it had been written in Sindarin script the book became forgotten.

Reading the ink words Legolas let the pages softly fall as he learnt more of Morel's people. There was much here that he was sure she didn't know considering her own account of her people being brief.

Hearing the lulling fall of parchment every so often Morel furrowed her brows. She was trying to focus on the noise to wake, not to fall into unconsciousness again.

Twitching her fingers her wrist felt restrained, supported by something tightly wound up her arm. Letting the pads of her fingers glide over the soft material below her she focused on trying to open her eyes.

It felt as though sleep had paralyzed her; trying to tempt her back to the darkness of rest. Her body fought for control, wanting the elf to tumble back down to the void of rest.

Mustering more will than strength her eyes started opening.

Bright light from the sky shone into them, her eyes scrunching shutting in retaliation. It seemed as though where she rested there sat a window where the sun sat shining in, its golden light being a sign of life and hope.

A moment passed before Morel realised that the sun had just blinded her.

If the rays of light had just blinded her that meant she could see.

She could actually see.

It had not just been a temporary adjustment for combat like her Lady said.

She had her eyesight back.

Cracking her eyes open again she watched as they were blurred for a moment before focusing on the ceiling above her and the slither of moving fabric entering her sight as the wind blew the curtains gently. Everything seemed different now, the warm light and new hope casting a new look onto the world.

Shocked that she could see the colours around her and how specks of dust floated in the golden daylight, suspended in time, Morel's eyes glazed over. The moisture collected on the sides of her eyes and trickling down to her ears, the small tears absorbed by the soft pillow under her head.