in which the witch of the wilds has spent her whole life avoiding the prophecised true king of gondor until he shows up on her doorstep with four hobbits, an elf, a dwarf, a warrior and an old wizard with a sparkle in his eyes and asks her to join t...
'IT IS BITTER-BITTER', HE ANSWERED. 'BUT I LIKE IT BECAUSE IT IS BITTER, AND BECAUSE IT IS MY HEART'.
- stephen crane, in the desert
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
AS THE night grows darker in Lothlórien, the Fellowship gather beneath pale blue tents, listening to the elven song filtering through silvery trees. Yseult stretches across a camp bed near the hobbits, just below a gap in the tent flaps that allows her to see the twinkling ceiling of stars up ahead. The stars shine so much brighter here.
Would it be so bad if she stayed here?
Legolas brings back the waterskins he was sent to fill. "A lament for Gandalf." Even the trees are singing, losing the friend they had dearly loved as much as the rest of them. Their song pierces the heart of the witch curled beneath the stars. Something stings the back of her eyes and she turns her head away to hide it from the rest of them. She is sick of crying in front of them.
Aragorn's whetstone slides across the silver steel of his sword.
"What do they say about him?" asks Merry. Yseult squeezes closed her eyes, for just a moment, to rid herself of the stinging tears. As soon as she is sure they are gone, she turns her head back to see Legolas wince just slightly.
There are tears gathered on his icicle-like lashes. "I have not the heart to tell you." Yseult stares at the stars up above again. Samwise, at her head, is fitting his freshly cleaned clothes back into his pack, not caring to fold them. "For me the grief is still too near."
For all of them, really. Stuck thinking, always, of the man who had pierced their hearts in different ways. For Yseult, she had lost the only man she could ever find a father in. She lost her peace-weaver. Her heart. It has been taken from her and crushed. Just as it was when she found Sílon, trampled beneath the hooves of horses, blood slashed across his chest as if a sword had been taken to him. It is a memory she still dreams of.
Her hand curls around the green leaf brooch she has transferred from her dress to her cloak, using it as an extra blanket despite what they were provided by the elves.
"I bet they don't mention his fireworks," Samwise grumbles. He fluffs up his pillow, frowning. She almost giggles, really, at the sight of the pout on his lips. He is so sweet. So easy to warm her soul when she believes it is at its coldest. "There should be a verse about them."
"Do you have one in mind, Mr Gamgee."
He blushes as he stands, brushing down his laundered trousers. The others in the Fellowship all watch him too, smiles playing at their faces.
