Colors of the Sky by Astris

Colors of the Sky

Read Colors of the Sky

When Eilinel was a child, her mother often sat her on her knee before the fire and hummed a counting song, tapping each of her daughter's chubby fingers in time to the melody. It was a simple, lilting song – and whenever Eilinel tried to recapture it now, the notes slipped through her mind like so much sand in the wind.

She'd never had much of an ear for music. Better, for her, were the rainbow of colors that could be gathered from berries and clay, red and green and purple staining the tips of her fingers, the colors of the sky spread out across her hands.

Color was something she understood.

***

She met Gorlim for the first time on a bright summer day, near dawn. The smell of fallen rain sweetened the air, and the dirt roads of the town were damp, lighter marks in the dust scuffed by the hoofprints of her mother's horse. They were up early to bring her mother's weaving to the market in town – every new moon, Laidhril packed up her bolts of brightly colored cloth and loaded them onto their horse, waving a goodbye to her husband. Eilinel's task, for nearly twenty years now, had been to prepare a lunch for them: brown bread and elderberry preserves and honey – and to sit and mind the horse while her mother arranged their stall.

Today, she perched on a nearby wooden fence to keep her dress from getting muddy, holding the reins loosely in one hand. Nelde nosed at her elbow, snorting hopefully.

"I haven't got any sugar cubes," she muttered, scratching the horse behind its ears.

A deep voice sounded from around the corner of the nearest stall. "Hello?"

She jerked with surprise, instinctively ducking behind Nelde's neck. There were footsteps as whoever it was drew closer, heavy and crunching on the gravel at the roadside.

"I can see you, you know." He sounded almost amused – not angry, at least – so she decided to peek out.

The speaker was a man who looked to be only a little older than her, though he was nearly twice her size. He had a thin beard curling from his chin, and a shock of dark hair that feel over his forehead in lanky strands. His skin was the deep golden-brown of Nelde's mane, lighter than her own, and his smile was wide and kind.

"Gorlim," he said, pointing to himself. "Just passing through on my way to my farm. It was just sold to me, you see, and I've got to inspect it."

It took her a second to remember what she was supposed to say. (Talking to people wasn't one of her strong suits, either.) "I'm Eilinel."

"That's a pretty name." He grinned, leaning back against the fence. "Why're you here?"

She dithered for a second, the words tangling in her mouth, and concern flashed across his face.

"Am I bothering you? If you'd rather I left––"

"No!" The force of her exclamation started both of them; she felt a prickling blush spread across her cheeks and cursed her slow tongue. "We're here to – to sell cloth." Why could she not simply speak as everyone else, fluently and without stuttering?

"Cloth?" His eyes widened with interest. "What sort?"

 She paused, considering, then said, "Would you like to see?"

*** 

Gorlim was kind. This was something Eilinel realized within the first half-hour of their conversation – kind, and genuinely interested in everything she had to show him. (That, or he was very good at pretending he was.) They spoke for most of the morning, standing in front of her mother's stall and running their hands across the fine fabric, Gorlim marveling at the tightness of the weave, the vivid colors. She let it slip that she was the one best at finding plants and stones to dye the cloth, and he was suddenly bubbling with questions.

"How do you get this red, this yellow?" he asked, and she described the clay down at the banks of the river, the crumbling rocks from the northern hills. In turn, he told her of the plot of land he had purchased, the fields and woods he had yet to lay eyes on. He had yearned to own a place of his own for a long time, he said, eyes far-away and dreaming. 

When noon came, Gorlim bade her farewell, waving cheerfully all the way up the path.

"I'll come see you again," he called, and she smiled.

***

The sound of a tap on her window woke her in the middle of the night. She sat up, still half-asleep, and blinked as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness of her room. Down the hall, her father let out a massive snore, and she wondered if that was what had woken her.

The noise came again.

Frowning, she rose from her bed, flinching slightly as her bare feet hit the chill floor. She stole to the window, avoiding the wide board in the middle of the room that always creaked, and peeked out the window.

And nearly broke the shutter in her haste to pull it open, when she realized who was standing there.

"Gorlim!"

"Good evening." He stood in the middle of her mother's garden, feet carefully planted between the juniper bush and the yellow-flowered woad. Another pebble winked in the moonlight as he tossed it into the air and caught it again.

"Why are you here?" she blurted out, realizing too late that it sounded terribly rude. He simply smiled and shrugged.

"I thought I would stop by. My land is perfectly wonderful, and the innkeeper in town said the weaver's house was just down the road. A little farther than just down the road, I'd say, but maybe distances are reckoned differently around here. I enjoyed our conversation today, besides." He tilted his head to one side. "If you'd rather I left you alone, do tell me so."

She wondered if he had any concept of convenient timing, but she was wide awake now, with no desire to return to bed. "S-stay there," she ventured, heart pounding loud at her own daring. "I'll be right down."

He nodded, looking nearly boyish in his eagerness.

*** 

"What does this plant do?" Gorlim asked, fingering the leaves of a vine that twined around a slatted wooden trellis. The five-pointed flowers shone pale in the faint light of the crescent moon. Eilinel had brought a lantern out, though the flame was guttering low, and set it on a nearby rock.

"Bryony, for purple," she replied. "Duller than what we can get from lichen, but lichen is harder to harvest."

He nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. She was leaning against a small maple tree (for a pale grey color, and flying seeds she used to stick over her nose to amuse herself). The sharp smell of crushed juniper berries rose from beneath his feet, mingling with the heavy odor of earth.

"There is a small river running through my land," he said thoughtfully. "You mentioned using clays, earlier – could you use anything there?"

"It would depend on the minerals in the clay."

Gorlim leaned on one of the maple branches, dislodging a moth that flapped irritably past his nose. "It's truly a lovely piece of land," he mused, the faraway look returning to his eyes. "Flat enough to grow a good amount of crops, and a lovely grove of pine trees. I love pine trees, you know – they smell like green."

Their hands brushed on the thin maple branch, and she shivered, though the night was warm.

On a sudden whim, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, an action she had seen her father use to cheer her mother up when she was in one of her moods. His mouth was warm, the scratch of his beard against her chin a strange and not entirely unpleasant sensation.

When she pulled away, the distance in his eyes had disappeared. He smiled, cupping her cheek with his rough hand. "Did you really mean that?"

She nodded, half-breathless, and he laughed.

"Ah, Eilinel. Will you allow me to return the favor?"

"Of course." She tilted her head up, kept her eyes open to watch how his drifted shut, tasting the faint spice of something strong on his chapped lips.

Eilinell would have willingly stayed till morning, talking with him there in the garden, but he insisted that they part ways until the morrow – no need to raise suspicion, lingering alone in the dark together. She bid him farewell at the garden gate, clasping his hand one last time, sure that he would forget, or not care to return.

Creeping back up to her bed was easy enough, though she could hear her parents stirring in the other room. The sky outside her window might have been growing lighter, but she dove under her covers regardless, pulling them up to her chin.

She closed her eyes, tapping her fingers on the carved wood of her headboard. (One, two, three.)

Why would he come back?

She could not sing, she could hardly speak without stammering. She was no beauty.

Why?

It didn't matter, she decided. The why of it had never mattered.

She trusted him to return.

***

They married the autumn of the next year, Gorlim in a spotless white tunic, Eilinel in a deep blue dress woven by her mother. The dye on Eilinel's dress cost more than a month's wages – lapis from the Ered Luin mines instead of the woad in their garden, carted overland and packed in pocket-sized velvet bags, ground carefully on a dish of smooth stone.

Blue, for faith and security, yellow for life and light, her mother had whispered, stitching a band of weld-dyed yellow along the hem.

They danced as evening fell, the cool of dusk and soft whine of insects filling the silence between the rippling music from her father's harp. Eilinel's clumsy feet were made graceful by Gorlim's strong arms, lifting her from the ground as they whirled breathlessly under the brightening stars.

The next year passed in happiness, then five, then ten. Gorlim's patch of land was only a half-day's ride from the town, but Eilinel loved the solitude of this corner of the world. She could go days without speaking to any but the birds, or only listening to Gorlim's constant chatter as she tended her blossoming garden.

Sometimes, when the evening shadows stretched long and the heat lay like a haze over the land, they joined hands and strolled in the shade of the pine grove, ducking into the cool gloom and laughing like children. 

He lay her down there, under the arching trees, and made love to her on a bed of pine needles, the smell of the forest surrounding them as they moved, the air bright and green and tinted by the rays of the setting sun, the two of them cradled in the soft shadows.

***

The messenger came in the middle of the night, wide-eyed and smelling of smoke, bearing tidings of fire from the North. Even before Gorlim retreated into their bedroom to search for his sword, Eilinel knew that he had no choice but to go.

"It will not be for long," he told her, tension working its way into his voice despite his soothing words. His shirt was on the wrong way out, the buttons misaligned in his haste. Eilinel stood in the doorway, watching him buckle on his armor with fumbling fingers. "Morgoth attacks with great force, they say, but Lord Barahir will drive them off––"

"With your help, and that of the others," she finished for him, stepping forward and finishing the buckles for him, fingers moving nimbly despite the rising anxiety in her chest.

He bent down and kissed her, hands holding her in the gentle way he had, as though he were afraid of breaking her.

"You will return," she said when they broke apart, and it was not a question.

He nodded, trying for a smile. "Only a fool would think to leave you, Eilinel." The shield, embossed with Barahir's sigil, went over his back. "This battle will be over within the week, and then I can help you harvest that alder bark you needed."

Never quite sure what to say, she rose on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his bearded cheek.

***

He will return.

She sat under the quiet shadows of her house, watching the dead leaves rustle across the yellowed grass on the stoop. This year had been a dry autumn, and the winter wind held a cold sharp enough to drill straight through her bones.

Gorlim had ridden off nigh on an hour ago, urging on his elderly brown horse and swearing at his slipping shield. He had paused at the edge of the wood to raise his sword in salute to her, fumbling it out of his sheath with an embarrassed laugh.

He will return. He must.

The more she told herself that, the less she believed it. Gorlim was loyal to his lord, as he was to all he loved, but he was no fighter.

There was an unsettling glow in the sky to the north.

At some point, she fell asleep curled up in the carved wooden chair, knees drawn up to her chest. She dreamt fleeting images of fire, and woke with a shock to a pounding at her door.

"Eilinel! Eilinel!"

She shook out an ache in her neck and unfolded herself from the chair, wincing at the faint creak of her joints. "What is it?" she called, hurrying over. It was nowhere near dawn – she must have only slept for a few minutes – but the sky outside was getting brighter. She only had a few seconds to consider how strange that was, because when she wrenched the door open, she found herself face-to-face with the midwife from farther down the path, Neril. The normally staid woman was visibly shaken, eyes wide and chest heaving from what must have been a mad dash up to Eilinel's house. Her grey hair had come loose from her bun, sticking to her forehead with sweat.

"Fire," Neril gasped out, leaning heavily on the doorway. Eilinel grasped her elbow, concerned, and Neril waved her off with a curt gesture. "There is an attack from the north, there may be Orcs coming to Ladros already, we must flee––"

"Flee?" Eilinel repeated, feeling slow and stupid. This all felt like some distant dream, slipping away even as she moved to support Neril. Soon, perhaps, she would wake in Gorlim's arms in the quiet moonlight, turn over and forget – but Gorlim was gone.

Neril pushed past her, dropping something bulky just outside the door, and Eilinel realized she had been carrying a pack on her back, stuffed haphazardly with clothing.

"Pack whatever you can get your hands on and go," Neril was shouting, rummaging through Eilinel's drawers. "The town is nearly evacuated, we nearly forgot that you were still – but we must hurry, must go south before they reach Ladros."

Eilinel packed in a daze, urged on by the frantic tugging of Neril's hands. In went her pile of dried herbs, her wedding dress, the precious bag of lapis her mother had left for her. Half a loaf of bread left from the evening meal. A small dagger given as a wedding present by a distant cousin. It filled her bag to bursting, and it wasn't enough. How was she supposed to pack up her entire life?

"Come." Neril pulled her from the house before she was sure she had everything she needed, moving with surprising speed for someone of her age. Eilinel managed one last glance over her shoulder at her home before the darkness swallowed it. 

She wondered how Gorlim would find her now.

***

Bit by bit, the tale of what had happened on the plains of Ard-galen reached Eilinel's ears, in between hungry days of trekking across the increasingly dangerous highlands of Dorthonion.

The fire descending from the north, consuming the tents and soldiers in the northern cavalry. The last stand of the southern cavalry against an army of Orcs that were steadily working their way southward. Aegnor and Angrod, lords of Dorthonion, had already fallen. It was rumored that the High King was riding north, riding to doom. That this was the end of everything, the demise of all hope.

Dagor Bragollach, they called it. Battle of Sudden Flame.

"Not much of a battle," Neril sighed one night, warming her hands over the meager fire she and Eilinel had managed to build from scraps of gathered wood. She spoke low enough that the other members of their group could not hear.

"We did fight back," Eilinel insisted, though she had no way of knowing if it was true.

Neril glanced up at Eilinel, remorse flickering across her face. "No. Of course we did."

She didn't need the pity on Neril's face to tell her that everyone fighting in the north – including Gorlim – was doomed. (She didn't need the sinking grief already filling her heart to know that it was likely the truth.)

There were only twenty or so of them in this refugee band, most of them women and children – they could not travel in too large of a group, or the Orcs would find them. They stayed close to the southern mountains, hoping to reach the pass before the enemy. What little food they could forage was given first to the single nursing mother, then the three children, only one of whom was still with her parents.

Somehow, Neril ended up leading them. Eilinel wasn't entirely surprised – the midwife was a formidable force when she put her mind to a task. Stories had once circulated in the village of how the grey-haired woman had urged birthing mothers back from the brink of death by shouting at them until they surged back. With Neril in command, they reached the pass before the first snowfall since the battle.

"They said you scared Death away by shaking your fist at him, and that's why you've never lost a baby," she told Neril that night, curled up under a threadbare blanket to watch the spiraling flurries of snow descend on them.

Neril threw back her head and laughed, the sound wheezing and muffled. "Do they, now? Well, I'll be certain to tell Death to keep away from us, in that case!"

They spoke, too, of where they would go from here – they had escaped Dorthonion, the one goal that had kept them trudging onwards for the past few weeks, but had nowhere to turn from here. Eilinel was the one to suggest Doriath.

"Surely King Thingol would let us into his kingdom," she offered hesitantly, and was surprised when Thevril, the nursing mother, voiced her agreement.

"He cannot turn away allies of the Eldar," she said, one hand folded over her son's head, the other clutching a blanket around her. Around the fire, heads nodded. 

Neril cleared her throat. "Then we will find the river and follow it south. If we stay on the western side, we should be – safe. Once we reach Doriath, the Girdle will protect us."

Eilinel suppressed a shiver. South of Dorthonion, in the passage between the mountains and the forest of Doriath, was the land of terrors. None who entered Nan Dungortheb returned again alive, they said. (There was too much truth in the half-remembered bedtime stories of crawling shadow and ancient, hungry creatures for any of them to sleep well at night out here.)

The river will keep us safe. It will.

"It is decided, then," she said, voice echoing a little too loudly. (She would never learn to speak before others with the confidence that Neril seemed to have as naturally as breathing, but she was getting better.) "Tomorrow morning, then, we will head for the river."

***

The first death came scarcely a week after the decision to head south. Cadunir was one of the few men in their group, too old to lift a pair of tongs to tend his fire, let alone a sword to defend his land. He had a habit of wandering off, and a far-off, forgetful look in his eyes whenever he was not absorbed in forcing his shaking, liver-spotted hands to tie knots in a piece of rope Thevril had given him to keep him occupied.

Thevril was the one to find him, a wasted shape huddled under a blanket beneath a bare-branched bush as though asleep. They stayed long enough to scratch a hole in the frozen earth and lower him into it. Neril sang a song of passing, and Eilinel mouthed the familiar words without making a noise, preferring to listen to the midwife's rich voice rather than add her own croaking.

"We will survive," Neril whispered afterwards, clutching Eilinel's wrist hard enough to bruise. Eilinel nodded wordlessly.

We have to.

***

The river was closer than Neril remembered, and they stumbled upon it unexpectedly. By then, the snows had begun to melt. Eilinel couldn't help but notice that what remained was coated with a thin layer of grey, as though a fine layer of ash had fallen upon it, borne by the wind. They were many miles south of Ard-galen, but she did not like to think of what might be in that soot.

"We will cross to the other side," Neril called, but even Eilinel could see that the river was too deep here, that the cracking ice could not hold their weight. The western shore was more than a stone's throw away, and the rushing black water was visible through the gaps in the ice.

Behind them, the twisted hills of Nan Dungortheb loomed like a blot of ink against the icy rock.

After several tries, it became painfully obvious that they could not cross the river. Worse still, night was falling swiftly, blue dusk creeping over the grey mountains. In the stillness, the murmur of the forest behind them could be heard, accompanied by an inhuman rustling noise that drifted in and out of perception, only half heard at best. One could almost pretend it wasn't there.

Neril seemed as nervous as any of them about remaining on the eastern shore for any extended period of time, but it was soon too dark to see more than silhouettes bumbling around in the dark and tripping over loose stones.

"We'll set up camp for the night," she finally called, clearly reluctant. Eilinel could sense the fear, palpable in the very air, and did not know what words might soothe them. A fire, however – she could gather wood, and start a fire.

Fire is a better protection than it is a danger, here. Besides, the temperature was dropping swiftly with the setting of the sun. With this decision in mind, she made her way over to the beginnings of the forest, searching for dead branches.

She was at the edge of the forest when the darkness moved.

Thevril screamed, the sound piercing, and they had been so carefully quiet for so long, even the children struck mute by the fear of marauding Orcs, that the volume alone was enough to stop Eilinel dead in her tracks, a fallen branch clutched tight in one hand.

Something was coming out of the shadows of Nan Dungortheb, something with too many legs and glittering eyes. Some of the refugees were splashing into the river in their terror, cracking the ice and wading through the chill water. Someone else screamed, and the sound was cut short as the shadow turned.

The branch fell from Eilinel's nerveless hands. She turned and ran without a second glance.

***

She fled through the woods, breathless, a spreading tightness clawing at her throat.

What do you see, Eilinel?

(Thevril's gasping scream, the darkness surging from across the river, run and don't ever look back––)

Her foot caught on a root that protruded from the ground and she fell hard, hands shooting up too late to catch herself. She scraped her palms on the rocky ground, and felt something give a wrenching twist as her back struck a tree, rebounded. The jagged pain was enough to shock her awake.

Heart pounding hard in her ears, she forced herself to pause, listen. Nothing. There was nothing following her.

Nothing except the darkness that surrounded her.

She curled up on the frozen earth with a cry, nursing her stinging hands. When she brought her fingers to her mouth, she tasted blood mingled with dirt.

Sleep, Eilinel, or the monsters will get you. Her mother's voice, singing a lullaby. Gorlim's salute, moonlight reflecting from his blade. Too much. Too much. Where was she?

There was something hard in her pocket, and she reached for it, frantic for something solid to hold on to. Her fingers explored the contours of the object in the darkness, breathing slowing slightly – soft cloth under her fingers, rough edges underneath. The lapis her mother had given her, somehow still in her pocket after so long.

She clenched her fist around the bag until she could feel the rocks digging into her palm, and drifted away with the colors of the sky clutched in her fist.

***

She woke in a bed not her own, and for a second thought she was back in her house, that Gorlim had stepped outside for just a moment and would return to her side. Sunlight slanted through a window set high in the wall. She watched dust swirl in the beam, wondering why it looked so unfamiliar, and why she could not remember falling asleep. There was a distant pain in the small of her back, throbbing dully, but she couldn't recall hurting it.

"Finally awake, are we?"

Eilinel yelped, instinctively scrambling backwards in the bed, bunching the sheets up under her. Her head smacked into the wall, and she leaned forward, panting, sparks dancing in front of her eyes. She nearly shrieked again when she felt a gentle hand laid on her arm.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have––" The hand was removed, and Eilinel let out a long breath of relief. "Shall we begin again?"

She risked raising her head.

The woman standing at the edge of the bed had long, golden hair that caught the sun and made Eilinel think of sunset on pine needles. She wore a long white apron around her ample waist, and she offered Eilinel a hesitant smile, holding out a tray. The scene was so perfectly, surreally mundane that she could almost believe that the past few months of cold and terror had been only a dream. 

"Porridge?"

Eilinel nodded, acutely aware of the empty ache in her stomach. 

"I'm Glóredhel, incidentally," the woman said, laying the tray down across Eilinel's lap, smoothing down the sheets where they had been mussed. "Found you in my garden last night, quite the surprise – come from the north, did you?"

Eilinel, who had just taken a bite of the steaming hot porridge, swallowed quickly enough to scald the back of her throat. "N-north, yes. We were – fleeing from Ladros, and the––"

The darkness, closing in on them. Neril and Thevril and the rest of them, and herself running scared.

"You don't have to tell me," Glóredhel whispered, laying a hand just beside Eilinel's knee, and she realized that she had tensed, holding the spoon as though she would be called upon to defend herself from unseen enemies. Despite the stomach-twisting fear, she managed a bitter burst of humor.

Not going to fight off many enemies with a porridge spoon, am I?

"This was in your hands," Glóredhel continued, producing a small velvet bag from within her dress. "I didn't open it, but I thought you might like to have it back."

Eilinel accepted the bag and emptied it onto the tray, spilling out a sharp-edged, dark blue rock.

(Her mother's trembling hands, holding out the flowing wedding dress. Put it on, Eilinel, let me see. Tis blue for faith and security, to make your days with Gorlim long and happy.)

"You shouldn't have saved me," she mumbled, shoveling more food into her mouth to hide her sudden burst of grief. It was sweetened with honey, and tasted like heaven after so long without a proper meal. Glóredhel's brow knit with concern.

"Don't be ridiculous. I couldn't have some stranger dying in my vegetable patch."

"I could not have left a – subtle trail through these woods. Something will find you."

"Let them," Glóredhel laughed, patting her hand. "I have enough in me to meet whatever might come my way. Now, you get some rest, and you'll be better in no time at all."

***

She woke screaming, clawing at the sheets until she felt cloth give under her nails. Glóredhel was at her side in an instant, making soothing noises and lighting every candle in the room until the whole chamber was filled with light, flickering flame chasing away the shadows. Then she reached out hesitantly, head tilted to one side and a question in her eyes.

Eilinel fell forward into her arms, burying her face in the shorter woman's shoulder.

"Tis only a dream," Glóredhel murmured, running a soothing hand up and down Eilinel's back. Her cool fingers chased away the burning near the center of her back, whatever injury she had sustained re-lit by her frantic thrashing. "Nothing will reach you here, I swear. Not while you are under my protection."

Eilinel sucked in a deep breath. (You're okay. Nothing's after you.) She was holding something, she realized, and glanced down.

She had fallen asleep clutching the lapis again. When she uncurled her fist, the red marks in her skin where the edges had dug in remained. Glóredhel pulled back, fingers drifting over the palm of her hand, not quite touching.

"Is this important to you?" she asked, tapping the lapis with one finger. Eilinel nodded.

"Tell me about it." Glóredhel's hand in hers banished the darkness, bit by bit. Eilinel swallowed hard.

"I used to dye the cloth my mother made," she whispered, and Glóredhel nodded encouragingly. "Lapis for deepest blue, but you can get a lighter blue from woad. Bryony makes purple." A litany of seeds and stones, every color on the earth streaming from between her fingers. "Weld for yellow, and madder for red."

Eilinel ran her fingers along the tears in her blanket, tracing the jagged rip in the cloth. She was no fool; she could see what Glóredhel was doing, trying to distract her from her fear. It did not mean that she did not appreciate it.

"I can fix this," she added, voice low, then glanced up at Glóredhel.

"Oh, good," Glóredhel grinned, folding her fingers over Eilinel's. "I've always been hopeless at sewing."

There was a heartbeat of silence, their hands entwined on the blankets, the warmth of human contact unfamiliar and comforting after so long. Seized by a sudden burst of daring, Eilinel blurted out, "Stay with me tonight?"

Glóredhel climbed up into bed beside her in lieu of answering, tugging aside the blankets and slipping underneath with a soft laugh. "Move over, then."

***

Glóredhel was one of the most cheerful people Eilinel had ever met. She had a song on her lips at every idle moment, a brilliant smile to offer Eilinel whenever their eyes met. Her hands were calloused with hard work and handling a sword, but gentle and firm whenever she helped Eilinel stand or sit. When Eilinel made to apologize for her lingering weakness, Glóredhel smiled and told her that it was a natural reaction to injury, that surviving even the edges of Nan Dungortheb was no mean feat for a mortal woman. That recovery took time for a reason, because her body wanted to do things the right way.

She learned that Glóredhel had grown up in the foothills of Ered Wethrin, daughter of two warriors. Gildis had taught her daughter the dance of swordplay, and Hador the precision of a bow and arrow. She had married Haldir when she was just out of girlhood, and had loved him well enough because she knew nothing else of the world.

"Why do you live alone?" Eilinel ventured, when Glóredhel divulged that fact. There was no wedding token on her hand, and Eilinel had not know she even had a husband. Her own love for Gorlim had been so great that leaving even her empty house had been painful; she could not imagine how anyone would choose to live their lives alone. Glóredhel smiled sadly.

"I could never conceive a child – or, rather, have never been interested in the acts necessary to conceive. Perhaps a baby would have given us something in common, but... there was not truly anything that we had as incentive to stay together." She sighed. "He lives farther into Brethil, closer to the other settlements. I value my solitude more. He is... we are still good friends."

Eilinel considered this. Her memories of Gorlim, treasured though they were, had begun to fade. She recalled the sharpness of hunger more easily than the smell of pine needles, the creeping darkness better than the light in his eyes.

"Here." Glóredhel startled her by emptying another one of her seemingly countless pockets onto the bed. Eilinel recognized the tall spears of weld flowers with a start. "I knew it as reseda, but this is the one that makes – yellow, correct?"

Eilinel nodded, poking through the stems with one finger.

"I thought – well, I thought that if you desired it, you could remain with me for a time." Glóredhel shifted from one foot to another, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. "And if you did stay, you doubtless would wish for something with which to occupy your time. My garden has an overabundance of fallow space as it is, if you wanted to plant something – if you even wanted to stay, that is––"

"Of course I wish to stay," Eilinel interrupted before Glóredhel could say anything more, and the smile she received in answer warmed her all the way through.

***

Eilinel was roused one day by the distant tramp of armored feet, marching closer to the house. They were too uneven to be the footsteps of any human, and she immediately (naturally) assumed the worst.

"Glóredhel?" she called, pitching her voice as low as she could. Her legs were still too weak to support her for too long, but she managed to lever herself up and off enough to dangle them down to the floor before Glóredhel appeared in the doorway of her room.

"I hear them," Glóredhel said soothingly, rushing over to support Eilinel. "Only three, by the sounds of it – scouts, maybe."

"Orcs?" Eilinel whispered, and her stomach swooped sickeningly when Glóredhel nodded. "I – I told you, they doubtless tracked me here, I cannot allow you to die for––"

"Who said anything about dying?" Glóredhel moved to a nearby chest and pulled out a long, clinking mass of chainmail. "Here. Do me up in the back, will you?"

Eilinel stared. "You can't possibly––"

"Can't possibly what?" Glóredhel turned, an unfamiliar fire burning in her eyes. She held a sword in an embossed leather sheath, curling letters of protection and valor worked in madder red. "Can't fight, Eilinel? How do you suppose I've stayed this safe for so long? All the women of Brethil know how to fight, when the need arises."

There was no argument she could find. (Don't die for me. I've never deserved that.)

Glóredhel must have seen the fear on her face, because she clasped Eilinel's hand suddenly, grip strong and sure. "Do not fear," she whispered, eyes earnest. "Did I not tell you that I would protect you?"

***

The Orcs came close enough that Eilinel could hear the noise of battle, low animal grunts and Glóredhel's sharp yells. She huddled under her blankets, breathing fast as though she were the one out there fighting.

Coward.

Something hit the ground with a loud thud and she flinched, biting her lip.

Can't you even face it?

She couldn't do anything. She was as useless in a fight as a – as a horse at a weaving loom, there was nothing she could do––

But she was tired of waiting idly for everyone to return to her.

Her feet hit the floor with a soft creak of wood, and she stood, hands outstretched for balance. Something very large passed in front of the window, blotting out the sun. She cringed, then bit her lip, steeling herself to look out.

Glóredhel's usually cheerful face was contorted in a savage snarl, her golden hair whipping about as she hacked at the heavy shield of the last remaining Orc. Eilinel spied one of them lying at the edge of the forest, the other crumpled in the middle of the garden, and some small, distant part of her wondered if the juniper she had planted the day before was still intact.  Almost immediately, she felt a hot flush of shame for worrying about such a petty thing when Glóredhel was risking her life before her very eyes.

There was a massive roar, and she saw the Orc hunch its shoulders and charge Glóredhel. The woman stood perfectly still in its path, raising her sword and holding it perfectly level, an expression of serenity washing over her face.

Run, Eilinel thought frantically, digging her fingernails into the windowsill hard enough to drive splinters into her skin. 

At the last moment, Glóredhel stepped aside, swinging her sword up in a shining arc. There was a spray of black blood, and the Orc staggered onwards for a few more paces before plunging face-first into the ground, plowing a long furrow into the dark earth and then falling still.

Eilinel's legs shook as she crossed the room, hurrying towards the door of the house. Glóredhel came back inside just as she reached the doorway. She did not consider much the way her hands instinctively clutched Glóredhel for balance, or the electric thrill that swept through her at the sight of Glóredhel's flushed cheeks.

Without giving her heart time to slow or cool, Eilinel grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her hard, tasting the salt of sweat and something sweet.

***

They lay side-by-side in bed that night, just as they had for the past few weeks. Eilinel could not remember ever being so aware of how close Glóredhel was – a mere inch of crumpled sheet between them. Glóredhel was the first to move, reaching over to tangle her fingers in Eilinel's.

"Did you mean what I think you meant by that kiss?" she whispered into the darkness, and Eilinel trembled at the warmth of her hand.

"I – I did." 

Glóredhel rolled over. Eilinel could see the glint of her eyes in the dark, the lightness of her hair across the pillow. "What do you want, Eilinel?"

She leaned forward, kissed Glóredhel clumsily, not quite managing to land on her mouth. For the first time, she found the right words. "I want to – spend time with you. Perhaps a very long time. I owe you my life twice over, you know."

"Do not do anything because you feel you owe me something." Glóredhel pulled her closer, pressed her mouth to the corner of Eilinel's jaw.

"I'm not."

Glóredhel's lips traveled up Eilinel's neck, fastening on the swift race of her pulse, sending an aching shiver through her. At her movement, Glóredhel fell still. "What are you afraid of?"

Losing you, she thought, and clutched Glóredhel tighter, thinking of Gorlim's final salute, of Neril swallowed by the darkness. "I shouldn't be alive," she breathed. "Not when so many have died––"

"How many dead do you carry? How many of the lost? Let them go. Hold what you have." Glóredhel's arms were strong around her, her breath warm against Eilinel's cheek. "Hold me, Eilinel. I will not leave you."

The last time––

She swallowed, said it aloud. "The last time someone told me that, they never returned."

Glóredhel kissed her, long and lingering. "I shall not leave you at all, then."

***

Glóredhel's fingers were strong and deft, and she held Eilinel with a steadiness that buoyed her up. She did not touch her as though she were made of spun glass or delicate cloth, liable to rend at the slightest brush of her fingers.

Every time Eilinel woke, afraid that she was gone, Glóredhel was there to whisper reassurance in her ear. Remember, Eilinel. I am here.

(Eventually, Eilinel only woke to burrow deeper into Glóredhel's arms, sighing at the comfort there even as she slipped back into warmth that cradled her. She remembered on her own that she was no longer alone, and slept through the night in peace.)

***

"Teach me how to do that," Eilinel said one evening, watching Glóredhel practice striking a worn stump with her sword, sending chips of rotten wood flying. When the shorter woman looked up at her, surprised, she shrugged. "I should know how to protect myself, don't you think?"

Glóredhel's face broke into a dazzling smile. "Of course. Come here."

Eilinel rose and crossed to her, sidestepping a stand of weld sprouting from seeds she had scattered nearly a month ago. (Yellow, for life and light.) Glóredhel held out the sword, showed her how to hold it, wrapping her hands around Eilinel's woad-stained fingers. (Blue, for faith and security.)

The dress Glóredhel wore was yellow with a lapis-blue sash, the colors Eilinel knew meant love.

This was no betrayal of the past, she reminded herself as Glóredhel positioned her arm, steady hand keeping the point of the sword from trembling. It was the nature of love to change and grow. It was the nature of the sky to shift from dark to blue to all the colors of fire.

Glóredhel was her sky, her sunset. She was blue and yellow, a kind smile, a warmth through the darkness of the night.

"You have it," Glóredhel whispered, stepping back and letting Eilinel hold the sword herself. "You're a natural."

Eilinel took an experimental swing, overbalanced. She lurched forward, laughing, and Glóredhel caught her.

"Again?" she asked, a smile playing across her lips, and Eilinel nodded.

"Again."