The Lucky One by grey_gazania

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Chapter 2

Linn woke to an unfamiliar light, blue and steady in a way that flame never was, and a woman bending over her and wrapping something around her throat. She tried to pull away, but the woman stopped her with a hand on her chest.

 

"Lie still," she said gently. "I'm changing your bandages. My name is Thíniel. I'm a healer."

 

Where am I? Linn tried to ask. But no sound came from her mouth, and she felt her eyes grow wide as panic bubbled up in her breast.

 

"Lie still," Thíniel said again, her hands still working deftly. "Don't try to speak. You've been badly wounded, and you need to rest." She stepped away, returning a few moments later with a cup of water, and then helped Linn to sit up enough to drink.

 

The water was flavored with a strange herb, and Linn made a face before sinking back down onto the bed. Thíniel continued to move around her, but the woman's figure soon grew fuzzy and dim. The pain in Linn's neck receded, her eyelids fluttered closed, and whatever medicine Thíniel had given her sent her falling back into slumber.

 

 

When she blinked her eyes open once more, she saw that she was in a room built of smooth hewn stone. The blue light was still present, emanating from a crystal that sat on a carved wooden table beside her. She was lying on a low bed near a half-open door, covered by blankets and propped up against several soft pillows. Reaching up, she slid one finger beneath the bandages she bore. She could feel stitches crisscrossing her aching neck, and she frowned. What had happened? She had been hunting with her brothers, and--

 

Orcs. Orcs had found them. She remembered now, remembered seeing Tor and Aras die, remembered the orc's teeth tearing into her flesh. She remembered, too, that she hadn't seen Bel fall, and she tried to climb from the bed to look for him. But her limbs were weak and shaking, too weak to support her, and her efforts left her short of breath. As she collapsed back against the pillows, she heard footsteps and a voice echoing outside the door.

 

"--woke briefly last night," a woman said. Linn thought from the accent that it might be Thíniel. "She's going to survive, but she's still quite frail, and she can't speak."

 

"Is it permanent?" a man asked. His voice had the same odd cadence as the woman's.

 

"I think so. Honestly, my lord, she's lucky to be alive at all. Heledir and I only barely got her here in time."

 

Permanent. Linn felt a chill run through her, and she tried once more to say something, anything, but to no avail. Her voice was gone.

 

More blue light flooded into the room as the door was pushed fully open. A man walked inside -- the same man who had slain the orc and saved her life. "You're awake," he said in surprise when he saw her open eyes. He stuck his head back out into the hall and said, "She's awake."

 

Thíniel's reply was inaudible, but when the man turned back to Linn he said, "Thíniel says you should eat. She's gone to get you some food."  He offered her his hand and, once she'd taken it, helped to pull her fully upright before adjusting the pillows behind her to support her back. "She also tells me that you can't talk," he added apologetically.

 

She shook her head.

 

"My name is Amras," he said, sitting down on the end of the bed. "If I bring you paper, could you write your name for me?"

 

She shook her head again. She couldn't write at all; none of her family could. What use did they have for it? They were hunters, not scholars like King Thingol's people. And even if she could, what would she write? Linn? That name was laughable now. She would never sing again.

 

Amras gave a pensive hum. "Well, we'll have to figure something out until we can find your family," he said. "You've been with us for nearly three weeks. I've had my people spreading the word that we found a wounded Nandorin girl, but we haven't encountered anyone who seems to know of you."

 

Nandorin? What was Nandorin? She'd never heard the word before, and she looked at Amras in confusion.

 

It took him a moment to discern the source of her puzzlement. He repeated the sentences to himself in a mutter, and she saw the moment his mistake slotted into place. "Danas," he said. "Not Nandorin. My apologies; I'm still getting used to your tongue. In my language, your people are called the Nandor. I'm one of the Noldor -- the Golodhrim."

 

She'd never heard of the Golodhrim. She'd never even seen anyone like Amras or Thíniel before. She would have asked Amras what he and his people were doing in Ossiriand, and how they had found her, and whether Bel, too, had survived. She would have told him that she wasn't fully one of the Danas, but she couldn't, and she felt her skin heat with frustration.

 

Amras looked at her with worry in his face, but they were both distracted by Thíniel's return. She bore a tray that held bread, a bowl of stew, and a wooden cup filled with water, and she placed it in her patient's lap before retreating.

 

"Eat," Amras urged. "You need it."

 

The girl complied hungrily, and he waited to speak again until she had finished her meal.

 

"Your people have hand signals for when you hunt, correct?" he said. "I think my brother knows them."

 

At the word brother, she nodded vigorously and hit her closed fist against her chest, hoping that he would understand and would tell her what had happened to Bel.

 

"My brother?" Amras said.

 

She shook her head and repeated the gesture, striking herself three times.

 

"Not my brother... Your brother?"

 

She nodded again and held up three fingers.

 

Comprehension dawned on Amras' face. "The men you were with." He shook his head, his bright eyes turning sad. "I'm sorry. Two of them were already dead when we arrived. My healers tried to save the third, but he was too badly wounded."

 

She thought she felt her heart stop. If she still had had a voice, she would have screamed. As it was, she hunched over, bit down on one fist, and began to weep.

 

"I'm sorry," Amras said again, resting his hand on her shoulder. "If it's any comfort to you, we buried them just outside the forest." He paused and then added, "We nearly had to bury you as well."

 

If only they had. Perhaps Amras meant to make her feel better, but how was she supposed to live without her brothers? They were all the family she had. How could she live without Bel's gentle teasing, or Tor's warm hugs, or Aras' honey-rich voice in counterpoint to her own?

 

She pulled away from Amras' touch. He seemed to understand, and he withdrew, closing the door behind him. Once he was gone, she sank back onto the blankets and curled up on her side, her body shaking as she cried.

 

Her brothers were dead. Her voice was gone. Even her name was no longer hers. She was alone among strangers, and she had nothing and no one left.

 

 

For three days she lay in a grieved stupor, refusing food and drink, as memories of her brothers wound in and out of her head. They were the sum total of her family. Her father and his hunting party had vanished when she was still a babe, and she hadn't even been fifteen yet when her mother had been killed in the dark years before the rising of the sun, leaving Bel, Aras, and Tor to raise their younger sister. Now they, too, were dead, and she was alone.

 

Even if Amras managed to find her people, what did she have to return to? Her neighbors would likely take her in, but they would pity her -- a voiceless, kinless, half-Moerbin child. And they would continue to sing. She would be surrounded by music, but never able to join in.

 

She couldn't live like that, alone and trapped in silence. She couldn't.

 

Her eyes were closed, but it seemed to her that she could suddenly see her brothers' faces waver before her. She wanted desperately to go to them, but they were shaking their heads. Their mouths opened, and she could almost hear them speak.

 

Would you die like this, hidden behind stone walls? Tor seemed to say. Would you forsake the life we fought to give you?


Would you leave your debts unpaid? Aras asked. Amras and his people saved you. You know what is due to them.


You are stronger than this, little sister, Bel said. We taught you better.


Then they were gone, their presence bursting like a soap bubble. She blinked her eyes open and stared at the blue-lit wall as her brothers' words echoed in her head. A spark had flared up inside her, and she made a decision. She would not die here, boxed in by stone. She would not let her brothers' deaths be in vain. And she would not enter the land of the dead with debt on her soul.

 

Stumbling to her feet, she grabbed hold of one of the blankets and wrapped it around herself for warmth before making her way to the door on shaking legs. The corridor was bathed in the same blue light as the room, but she could smell fresh air, and she turned towards it, steadying herself against the wall as she walked.

 

Within a few minutes she had reached a set of wooden doors. One was propped ajar, and a breeze trickled through the gap. She shoved at the wood with her shoulder until she could squeeze between the doors and, stumbling through, she found herself outside on a sort of stone platform. It was dusk; the moon had risen, but the sky was too light for the stars to be visible yet. Still, she closed her eyes and turned her face upward, breathing deep as the cool evening air caressed her face.

 

She stayed there, losing herself in the waning light, the smell of the air, and the sound of the bats and owls as they took flight. So intent was she on reacquainting herself with the world outside that she didn't even realize she was no longer alone, until someone spoke behind her.

 

"You must be our guest," a man said quietly. "I didn't expect to see you on your feet."

 

She started at the words, and her knees buckled. She was only saved from falling in a heap by the quick hands of the man, who caught her by the elbows and lowered her slowly to the floor. She thought at first that it was Amras, but when he sat beside her she saw that his hair was a few shades too dark.

 

"I'm Amrod," he said, evidently noticing her moment of confusion. "Amras is my twin. He tells me you're something of a mystery."

 

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. From his perspective she supposed that would be true. After all, she couldn't speak for herself, though there was much she wished she could say. The frustration made her jaw ache and her eyes sting, and she pulled the blanket around herself more tightly, shrinking into its folds.

 

"I know some of the hunting signals the Danas use," Amrod said. "Can you tell me anything?"

 

She thought for a moment and then signed, River.

 

"Your people live near the river? Which?" Amrod asked. "The Legolin?"

 

She nodded and signed, North.

 

"North of the Legolin." Tilting his head, Amrod studied her with eyes that were just as bright as his brother's. "Are you one of the Danas at all? Amras assumes everyone is, but you look more like the Hwenti, or the Kinn-lai."

 

Her eyes widened in amazement that Amrod knew those words. Even the Danas couldn't always name their neighboring peoples' tribes, and some didn't try, but simply called them the Moerbin, as the Iathrim to the west did. Half, she would have said to Amrod, for her mother had indeed been one of the Kinn-lai. Several of her neighbors had never let her or her brothers forget it, had never stopped seeing her mother as a Morben, an outsider, someone with strange ways and a strange tongue. But Linn and her brothers would still properly be counted among the Danas, like their father, so she settled for nodding once more.

 

"It was just a thought," Amrod said, his eyes searching her face. "I hope I haven't caused any offense."

 

Again, she shook her head, and he smiled at her, warm and friendly.

 

"So, we should be looking for a group of the Danas who live near the northern bank of the Legolin," he said. "That's where the rest of your family will be?"

 

At that, she shook her head more vigorously. Dead, she signed.

 

He frowned. "All of them? Your parents, too? You have no living kin?"

 

She shook her head again. Unbidden, tears came to her eyes, and she hid her face beneath the blanket as she began to cry.

 

Amrod didn't speak, but neither did he leave. Instead, he sat beside her in silence until she had regained control of herself. "How old are you?" he asked, once she had emerged from her blanket cocoon.

 

She held up four fingers and then six.

 

"Stars above, you're still a child. We'll have to find your people. We can't just send you out alone."

 

She didn't know how to answer. She couldn't go back to her village. She knew what she owed Amras for saving her, but she had no way of communicating it. And she was tired. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the low wall behind her.

 

"Should I take you back to your room?" Amrod asked quietly.

 

Again, she shook her head. Stay, she signed. Sleep.

 

"What, here?" Amrod said, raising his eyebrows. "Thíniel would have my head if I let you sleep out in the cold."

 

She frowned. I need the air, she wanted to say. I don't want to be walled in. But there were no signs to convey that, so she reluctantly took the hand he offered her and rose to her feet. Swaying, she realized that the walk had tired her more than she'd thought it would, and she had to lean heavily on Amrod as they slowly made their way back down the corridor.

 

"I'm going to get Thíniel," he said once he had helped her back into bed. "You're exhausted."

 

She nodded tiredly, letting her eyes fall closed. But she had a plan, and when Thíniel arrived she feigned sleep. She could hear the woman set something down on the bedside table, and then she felt a cool hand on her forehead. But she was careful not to stir, and when Thíniel left, she waited for two hundred heartbeats before moving. Then she sat up. There was a pitcher of water on the table now, but she didn't drink, afraid that it might have more of Thíniel's medicine in it. Instead, she gathered the blankets around herself, climbed shakily to her feet, and tottered out into the deserted hallway.

 

Slowly, silently, she struggled towards the outside doors. She didn't quite make it before her knees gave out, but she forced herself to crawl the last few yards. The plan had been to return to the stone platform, but it took all of her remaining strength just to push the door ajar. A breeze crept inside, carrying with it the smells of the night forest, and she breathed deep before curling up right there on the floor and falling asleep.

 

Chapter End Notes

A note for readers who may be unfamiliar with some of the terms used in this chapter: Hwenti and Kinn-lai are two of the attested tribes of the Avari, the names of which can be found in "Quendi and Eldar" in Volume 11 of HoMe (The War of the Jewels). Morben (pl. Moerbin) is also discussed there. It was a word used by the Sindar and Nandor to denote anyone who lived outside of Beleriand or who entered Beleriand from the east. At the time this story is set (FA 35) it was mostly used to refer to the Avari, though it would later be applied to some Men as well, particularly the Easterlings. Its connotations are rather derogatory.

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