The Secret Life Of The Forest by Agelast

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Chapter 1

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Coming back from the hunt, Elwë heard the news of the missing child. A young mother stood before him, weeping and hanging on to Beleg’s arms as if she had no strength left in her limbs. But her fingers dug into his arm, leaving red crescents on pale flesh. She had only looked away for a moment, distracted, and her child had been spirited away.

Beleg pressed his lips together and said nothing. He looked at Elwë. Something had to be done.

Though Elwë had given no word, the march halted.

Oromë would not like it; he urged them always to keep going. But the Vala was not here, he had not been in many cycles of the stars. His hands were full, perhaps, with the Eldar who had already gone ahead. Elwë tried not to feel bitterly about this. His was the largest group, and they took the longest time to move. And even then, every day it seemed that there were less of them. If not taken by the Enemy, like the child, then others who had found the land they passed through fair, and better than some distant promise of paradise.

It was hard to see them go, and harder still push on.

Even his own brothers doubted. One was too young even to remember their parents, snatched away in the dark. And the other... Elwë knew his brother, believed in him, knew what he was capable of, given a chance. If his thoughts lingered by the waters of Cuiviénen with longing, it was because he did not yet know of greater waters ahead of him.

Elwë knew, could remember sitting stiff and frightened against Finwë’s back as the air whipped around them, and water below, dark and deep, deeper than the waters of Cuiviénen. When they had come to shore, he had collapsed on the beach and scooped out some of the water to drink. Then, he had spat it out again.

“Salt!” he cried out.

Finwë laughed and stamped his feet against the sand, sinking into it. ”What shall we call it?”

Ingwë turned his gaze away, already intent on the bright horizon.

Elwë followed them both, and when he saw the light of the Trees and all his astonishment and wonder had burned away into pure conviction. His people would to come here, and be happy and safe. They would go, and he would lead them.

If only they would follow...

There was nothing for it. He missed Finwë, so quick-witted and brave, and decided to seek him, and ask what could be done about the missing. Perhaps Finwë could give them more arms, his people were prodigious at making them.

“We will seek out Finwë’s people, and seek to arm ourselves. And our missing child!” His voice rose at the dubious looks from the crowd. The missing child’s mother was led away, still weeping. Beleg shifted his stance, using his great bow as a staff to lean on.

“You will not find her,” he said.

It was true. They never found them, the missing, the ones the Enemy took.

“We will try, Finwë will help,” Elwë said, and his tone brooked no disagreement.

*

It was a strange wood that Elwë was on the borders of -- far stranger than any he had ever been in before. It seemed that the trees closed around him until he was separated from the others, the leaves and branches muffled their voices until they died off and he was left alone.

His spears fell away from his side, tumbling onto the moss-covered ground. He went on. A branch caught the strap of his quiver. He left it behind. His bow slipped from him if pulled away by invisible hands. He did not mark where it fell.

He heard a song. It was faint and soft, but it pulled him down a path, one that was an exactly fit for an elf of his particular size.

But he did not think anyone had walked these woods before.

With every step he took, it seemed that his thoughts fell away. The missing child, Finwë’s advice. the tensions of the journey, every hurt, every loss grew less and less. The light of the Trees faded from his memories, until it seemed that all he had ever been was this, and all he had ever done was this, walking down this path, in these woods. Towards what object, he did not know.

The trees blocked out the light of the stars, but he could see clearly the bark of the trees, the shape of the leaves, and the path, faintly gleaming. The song was stronger now, but the words unfamiliar. It mixed with the sound of birds, a music familiar yet strange.

It called him forward. It spurred on his limbs until he stumbled blindly on, his arms outstretched.

With great effort, he stopped. His legs protested, his knees bent painfully forward. Elwë felt frantically at his side, his fingers seeking a familiar shape. There. He hissed, for his fingers had nicked the sharp blade of his knife, a gift from Finwë, one of the first things he had forged.

Elwë pulled it out and held it out in front of him.

There was more to these woods than he could comprehend. He was one of the lost now, he thought, just as the trees failed at last and he came upon a clearing. Overhead, the stars wheeled, in different positions than they had had been when he had started his search. He observed them calmly. He felt no hunger, nor any thirst.

But for all that, when his eyes fell upon a small pool of water, he rushed to it, sheathing his knife as he went. The pool was ringed with white stones, and the light of the stars gleamed in its depths. It sang a song he did not know.

As he bent down to drink, a streak of white appeared in the corner of his eyes. He turned quickly, but it was gone. The song too had stopped; when, he had not noticed, and he was alone.

He sat, for a time, in despair, until she came to him.

She took the shape of a woman, but she was unlike any woman Elwë had ever seen before. She was as naked as the day that she was born, but the smooth expanse of her belly, untouched by any mark, gave lie to that assertion.

One of the Unbegotten, then.

But even as he thought this, he knew it to be untrue.

Her skin was white and somehow unreal, as if it was new-formed. Her hair was dark and trailed behind her, longer than on anyone he had ever seen. She walked to where Elwë sat, stunned, and stood.

She spoke then, harsh-sounding words that made the ground seem to shake and Elwë’s heart to contract painfully in his chest. He recognized it, the language if not the words. It was the same tongue that Oromë spoke, the first time he had come among them, before he would deign to speak in their tongue.

Then she was of Oromë’s kind, and not elven.

She blinked, her eyes bird-bright.

“Have you come to me at last, Elwë?” Her voice was sweet and high. He recognized it. It had been her song that led him here. He flinched at the sound now, as if it stung.

He did not question how she should know his name, nor how she came to speak his tongue. When she held out her hand, he took it. He got up from the ground and stood with her. He was taller than her, and yet he felt dwarfed.

“Lady,” he said, “you know my name, but may I have yours?”

Her face, beautiful and strange, divine, broke forth into a smile. She lifted her hand to her mouth, as if curious at the reaction. “Beloved,” she said, at last. “I am Beloved.”

Then her lips touched his, and he was lost.

*

The trees were taller when next he woke, and his clothes had all but rotted away. His knife was stuck in the ground, its handle green with moss, the metal rusted away. A centipede crawled on his thigh, its segments moving smoothly together. He could hardly feel it.

She was still here, humming softly. Clothed now in a dress as grey as twilight, she looked at him. He reached out for her, to touch her, to reassure himself of her reality.

She smiled and touched his forehead and he was gone again.

*

Every time, the trees were taller.

Every time, the light was less.

*

He was buried under pile of leaves, when next he woke. She helped him free himself from his boots, now painfully strunken, and the remnants of clothes that left marks on his skin. The pool had shrunk down to nothing, but he did not thirst, and felt no hunger. Instead, he leaned over to kiss her, but she evaded him. Through the trees she went, and he came stumbling behind.

They come back to the same clearing. Once, he was sure there was a great deal for him to do, people who had depended on him for… something. But it was no matter. The memories of his old life were faded and dull, untouched by any thought of urgency.

Only she mattered, only she... She had come again, with a cloak in her hands, the same color as her own dress. He felt the smoothness of the fabric, the way it shimmered in the starlight, and then seemed to fade when he wrapped it around his body.

“Lady,” he said, “Melian.”

Melian brightened at her name. “Yes, Elwë?”

“Tell me some of yourself.”

“Sit,” she said, and he did, on the ground of moss and stone. She sat opposite of him, her eyes never leaving his. “I wandered. Once, I lived in a garden with my sisters. We were commanded to come to this shore, and see if we could keep alive its plants and animals in this darkness. Here,” she said, pressing her open hand into the soil.

“I felt my power take root and grow. And when I was commanded to return to the garden I did not go. There are others of my own power here, but their way is not mine. They wish to rule me, to change me, to break me. They are my enemies.” She clenched her fist and looked at him. “I think they are yours too.”

Elwë nodded. He remembered enemies -- things that lurked in the dark. Melian looked up, her eyes large and grey, holding more light that he had thought possible.

She said, “Elwë, I will not have any of that done to me. Or anyone I care for.”

“And me? Why me?”

She placed a cool hand on his cheek. “I saw you and wished to have you.”

“Oh.” His eyes fell to his lap, and he felt her take her hand away.

“If I wanted you to rule with me, Elwë, would you?”

His head was clearing, was clearer than it had been for centuries.

“Yes,” he said. “I would be beside you for whatever you do.”

She smiled.

*

When Elwë came out of the woods at last, he was wholly changed. He was taller, and his hair silver-bright, and even then, he was overshadowed by the woman who walked beside him.

All eyes drew to her, and soon, all were enraptured.