Tales of Fear and Woe by lightofthetrees

Chapter 1: All shall fade

Aredhel becomes lost in Nan Elmoth. Eöl is a creep. 
If stalking (via magic) makes you uncomfortable, consider this a content warning. 
Thanks for reading!  

“Mist and shadow,
cloud and shade,
all shall fade,
all shall fade.”
(excerpt from “A Walking Song” - Tolkien)

Not long after Írissë entered the forest, it began to rain. Water dripped from the leaves of the gnarled, twisted trees, turning the soil beneath her boots to thick mud. It was nearly nightfall, she knew, and it was steadily becoming even darker here. Colder, too. The wind chilled her even through her cloak.

Still, she trudged on. According to her estimation, she would reach the edge of the forest again soon.

“Ecthelion?” she called. “Laurefindil?” After so many hours alone, shouting their names into the encroaching night was more of a ritual than anything else. If there was the chance that they might hear her, though, it would be worth seeming foolish.

She could not tell how much time had passed before she called out for her companions again, but it was fully dark now.

“Ecthelion?”

There was only the whistle of wind and the sound of falling raindrops.

“Laurefindil?”

An owl called from high in the trees above.

Her chest tightened as she realized that, despite her best efforts, she was well and thoroughly lost. Alone. Pulse and pace both quickening, she walked on. The path twisted and turned beneath her feet, wandering like water on a windowpane, and in her weariness, she followed it thoughtlessly, pausing only to push away brambles and keep her footing on slippery rocks.

Midnight arrived, and neither the edge of the forest nor her companions were anywhere in sight. She sank to the ground in the hollow of a rock-formation, her legs refusing to carry her any further. Pressing her back against the stone, she pulled her knees up to her chest and enveloped herself in her cloak. Curled up in this manner, she fell into a fitful slumber, numb and cold.

It was difficult to tell whether it was morning when she awoke, and even more difficult to tell how long she had been sleeping. What had woken her, though, chilled her to the very bone.

A whisper, ghostly as mist. The feeling of soft lips close to her ear. Ar-Feiniel.

But when her eyes snapped open and she looked about, there was no one to be seen. Not even when she rose to peer around the rock and scan the high branches of the trees did she see any living being.

Deciding to try and re-trace her steps from the day before, she forced her stiff body to obey and set off down the path she thought she had followed before falling asleep.

Again, the way forward seemed to be more circular than was natural, like a maze turning inwards on itself. As her confusion grew and her confidence in her navigational abilities waned, anxiety crept in. Every sound in the forest, every birdcall and snapped twig, irked her until she felt like screaming.

She stopped, dizzy head in her hands, breathing hard. Think, Írissë. Think!

Another whisper, feather-light. This way.

As Írissë turned her head to follow the whisper, she saw a narrow, bramble-lined path she had not noticed before. The way the words had crept up her spine may have been unsettling, but at least they gave her some direction.

The wind sighed through the trees as Írissë continued onward. She shivered at its touch upon her face. Although she knew the thought was ridiculous, it felt too much like a caress for her comfort.

For hours, or perhaps even days, she wandered. Time in this place was as thick and inscrutable as the mud the ground had become. Thorned branches tangled in her hair and tore at her skirts and cloak. Thoughts swirled in her mind and fear and hunger lodged in her stomach. Her lips grew dry and cracked with thirst, and the chill of the air seeped into her very core, but there was nothing to do but to keep moving.

That is, until she staggered among a web of spidery roots, one of them suddenly catching her foot.

Pain raced from up her calf and glimmers of agony attacked her ankle like tiny stars. She barely caught herself in time as she fell to the muddy ground, muscles straining with the impact, and her breath released in an undignified grunt. Mumbling curses, Írissë scrambled to gather herself, to inspect the damage to her leg.

She could move her foot a little – her ankle wasn’t broken – but how would she ever escape the forest now? She felt tears burn behind her eyes.

“Here, let me help you,” a silken voice said, jarring her from her despair. A gloved hand, politely proffered, hovered at the edge of her vision.

Írissë looked up to meet a pair of dark, dark eyes set in a face paler than moonlight.