Echoes by grey_gazania

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Echoes

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  FA 248

 

The stave of seasoned yew was springy beneath Galwen’s hands, and she breathed in its sweet, dry scent as she pulled her drawknife down its length. It would make a good bow; she could feel it already, could feel the potential in the wood waiting to be brought out by her tools, and she smiled to herself as she worked. She would give it to Heledir at the midwinter festival, for she had noticed that his current bow had begun to develop hairline cracks in the back and belly. Orcs may have been few and far between in these peaceful days, but it still wouldn’t do for one of Lord Amras’ chief scouts to have his weapon fail on him.

The scouts liked her bows. While it was true that they were plain, unlike the intricately carved ones crafted by the Noldorin bowyers, they were also well-made. It had taken her over a century to truly perfect her technique, but by combining her Noldorin teacher’s knowledge with what she had learned from her brother Tor, she had created a new style of bow that was short but powerful, perfectly suited to the scouts’ needs.

She would know what they needed. She was one of them.

 

Amras and his people had been more generous to her than she could have possibly wished for, adopting Istonion’s sign language and treating Galwen as one of their own. In return, she had proven herself as an archer, a tracker, and a bowyer, and she had counseled Amras and Amrod on the ways of the Danas and the Kinn-lai. Now she was a scout like her foster-father, though not so highly ranked.

 

She continued to shape the stave, working with care and precision, until the sun had climbed high overhead and the bow was ready for tillering. Then she set it aside and rolled the kinks from her shoulders and neck. Her clothes were dusted with wood shavings, and she brushed herself clean as she left her workshop. The market at the edge of the southeastern woods would surely be open today, for the winter snows had yet to set in this far south. Galwen thought she would go and see what the Danas and the Noldor had to trade. While she had crafted Faeldis some new tools of fine boxwood, she felt that something more was needed for her foster-mother’s midwinter gift.

 

With coin in her pocket, she ambled away from the town. It was a fine day, and walking would stretch her stiffened muscles. She could hear the market long before she reached it, buzzing with chatter and laughter and snatches of song, for the Danas brought music with them wherever they went. Hearing it no longer made her chest ache the way it once had. She could still whistle, at least, even if she could no longer sing or hum.

She had reached the edge of the market and was looking over some finely-wrought bone combs when her ears caught a familiar word.

“Linn?” a man behind her was saying. “Is that you?”

 

She didn’t turn around. No one had called her Linn in over two hundred years, and it was hardly an uncommon name among the Danas. Surely the speaker was addressing someone else.

 

That illusion was shattered when she felt a hand on her shoulder. “By the stars, it is you,” the man said, moving to look her in the eyes.

Her mouth fell open. It was Orn, who had lived across the river and had liked so much to hear her sing.

 

“We’d given you up,” he said, looking as shocked as she felt. Turning, he called over his shoulder to one of his companions. “Dam, come here. Look who I’ve found.”

Galwen stood rooted to the spot. She’d known Dam well. He was from her own village, and he had been Bel’s dearest friend. She had never expected to see him again. Her heart was racing in her chest, and half of her wanted to turn and run from this sudden echo of her past.

 

Dam’s eyes widened when he saw her. “Linn!” he said. His gaze landed on her scarred neck, and he reached out a hand as though he would touch her, but then pulled it back at the last minute. “What happened?” he asked, staring. “We thought the four of you must have been taken, because we never found your bodies.”

 

She couldn’t answer on her own. Looking around, she spotted her neighbor, Uilos, passing by with a large jar of wild honey in his arms, and she reached out and tugged at his sleeve. Translate? she signed when he looked at her, and then gestured between herself, Dam, and Orn.

 

“Of course,” Uilos said immediately. He knew her signs well, and he was always willing to help her speak to those who didn’t. Once she had told him what she wanted relayed, he turned to Dam and Orn and said, “She says that she and her brothers were attacked by orcs. Her brothers did not survive.”

 

“But where have you been?” Orn demanded. “It’s been two hundred years, Linn!”

She pointed to the fortress in the distance. They saved me, she signed. I stayed with them.

 

“Why?” Dam asked, looking baffled. “Why didn’t you come home to us? Mute or not, we would have taken care of you.”

 

Galwen didn’t know how to answer. She’d had reasons -- the village would not truly be home anymore without her brothers, her family had always been pushed to the fringes as it was, her voice was gone, and she owed her life to Lord Amras -- but she wasn’t sure Dam would understand.

 

They saved me, she signed again. I stayed. My name is Galwen now.

Dam and Orn both stared at her in silence as Uilos translated her words. Dam mouthed her new name to himself and then said quietly, “That I can understand. I wouldn’t want to be called Linn anymore either, in your position. But we are your people, not the Golodhrim.”

 

Are you? she asked. It seems to me that we were always outsiders, my brothers and I. I’m an outsider here, too, but at least the Golodhrim value me.

 

She knew she was being harsh -- she could see it in Dam’s face -- but she remembered the way her mother had been treated, and the whispers and sidelong looks that had been aimed at her and her brothers even after her mother’s death. Morben. That had been centuries ago, but the recollection still stung.

“I loved Bel,” Dam said, his eyes flashing. “I’d have taken you in myself, and damn anyone who said a word about it.”

 

Galwen shook her head. You were always good to us, she acknowledged. But the Golodhrim saved me. I owe a debt.

 

As Uilos relayed her words, she saw that his eyes were alight with curiosity, and she felt her heart sink. He would surely press her for an explanation when this conversation was through. Thus far she had told only Heledir and Faeldis about this part of her past, and even they did not know everything.

 

I’m glad to see you well, she said, when Dam didn’t answer immediately. But I will not go back until I have paid what I owe.

 

“Stubborn,” Orn muttered, and Galwen flashed him a crooked smile.

Dam reached out and took her hands in his. For a moment she feared that he would plead with her, but all he said was, “Be careful.” The words were quiet and grave, and she knew then that he had heard the stories of what had happened at the Swanhaven.

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He didn’t return the gesture, but merely looked at her with troubled eyes. “Farewell, Galwen,” he said. Then he grasped Orn by the arm and turned away.

 

Uilos watched them go and then looked over at Galwen. She braced herself, but the question he asked was not what she’d expected.

 

“Do you really feel like an outsider here?”

 

Galwen shrugged, feeling pinned by his words. I’m no Noldo, she said. That’s plain to anyone with eyes.

 

While Amras’ people didn’t view her with suspicion, some of them did think themselves superior. They were from the Blessed Realm, and she was not. They could speak aloud, and she could not. They were wise and learned and could read and write. She could not.

 

“You’re still one of us,” Uilos said. He shifted his honey to one arm and placed the other around Galwen’s shoulders. “Just like Heledir and Faeldis are your family, even if you share no blood.”

 

But they aren’t my family, Galwen said, shaking her head. They’re my foster family. Those are different things. And this is my home now, but that doesn’t make me one of you.

 

She had a place here. She could craft a fine bow. She could track her prey and take it down with a single arrow, whether animal or orc. Her hands were deft, her eyes and ears were sharp, and she could read the land around her the same way the Noldor could read their books. Amras and Amrod valued that just as much as they valued any skill with letters. But she was no Noldo and never would be. She was herself, alone -- a Kindred of one.

“Well, I think you’re one of us,” Uilos said, as if that settled the matter.

It wasn’t worth arguing with him, so she merely shrugged and then extricated herself from his embrace. I need to find a gift for Faeldis, she said. Thank you for your help, Uilos.

 

He waved her thanks away and leaned forward conspiratorially. “There’s a man down from Thargelion over by that big elm. Ask him about his cinnabar pigments.” Then, with an exaggerated wink, he turned and carried his honey back towards the town.

 

Cinnabar? That would be a fine gift indeed. Faeldis was forever lamenting the limited range of reds that iron colorants produced, though they were far easier to find in Beleriand than the other pigments she had learned to use in Valinor. She’d be thrilled to receive some cinnabar.

 

Smiling to herself, Galwen pushed the unexpected meeting with Dam and Orn from her mind and made her way to the elm tree.