Haunted, Hunted by Rocky41_7

Chapter 1

To readers I will say: portions of this story are metaphorical...don't tie yourself in a knot trying to work out how wolves overthrew an entire kingdom. It's a fairy tale. Also, Maedhros is a liar liar liar.

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Once upon a time, the woods of Doriath were safe for Elves. Behind the magic girdle of their serene and deathless queen, the Iathrim had delved wonders into the earth and penned music so fair it was said to be unbearable to mortal ears. They had faced the armies of Morgoth when first (it seemed to them) he arrived, mowing across the continent with death and torment in his wake to make secure his foul fortress in the Iron Mountains, but when they perceived that they could not best him, they retreated behind the arm of Melian the Maia and her Elven king, Elu Thingol. For many years they so lived, staving off the shadow of Morgoth and his minions as best they could, and there was great joy and life to be found in the knotted foliage of those woods.

But that all changed with the murder of Elwing’s great-grandfather, the Greymantle.

Without her Elven love, Melian the Maia took her leave of Middle-earth and without her Girdle, the safety of her subjects bled away, until successive assaults had destroyed the kingdom entirely.

This was why the one-time Princess Elwing now lived with her nurse, Evranin, in the makeshift house by the sea, and had to travel many times over again as far to visit her friends and family abroad. Moreover, to get there, she had to pass through a narrow jut of the forest of Doriath, over which Evranin fretted when she had the time. Evranin herself would not venture into the woods, for she said the memories evoked under its dark canopy were too painful, but Elwing had been too small when they fled in the night to remember about the old kingdom.

When Elwing had grown old enough to make frequent demands to visit her distant family north of the forest, Evranin eventually gave in to the girl’s demands, in spite of her misgivings. She had hoped that Elwing’s regular nightmares about wolves would keep her too frightened of the forest to make the request until she was older, but she had her parents’ courage and would not be kept down by fear. Before she would allow Elwing to go, she wove for her a thick cloak of deep red, which she said would keep Elwing warm and safe, for she had whispered into it such small magic as she possessed to grant some protection to the wearer. Elwing sat on a stool beside her and helped her with the finishing touches, so that the hands of the wearer might take part in its creation. It had a fine deep hood which Evranin trimmed in dark yellow and sized to frame Elwing’s oval-shaped face neatly when drawn up.

On the morning of Elwing’s first trip, Evranin braided her sleek black hair, and clasped the cloak about her small shoulders, hooking it over the necklace which Elwing always wore out. Then she gave her some warnings:

“Do not overnight in the woods,” she said. “But if you have no choice, you must climb a tree to spend the night.”

Elwing nodded.

“Do not speak to strangers, nor allow them near you,” she said. “They may look harmless, but looks are deceiving.”

Elwing nodded.

“Do not leave the path,” she said, “and most of all, do not go looking for Menegroth. It is terribly dangerous there, and if you became lost in the Thousand Caves, we would never see you again.”

Elwing shivered and nodded.

“And take this with you,” Evranin added, passing Elwing a basket. She could smell the tantalizing scent of baked goods inside. “A gift, so you will not arrive empty-handed.”

With that, and a great many swallowed anxieties, Evranin allowed her out. Elwing waved goodbye as she went down the dirt path that led to the edge of the property, and swung the basket as she made her way out of town, towards the great darkness of Doriath. At the threshold of the great wood, she paused and looked back. In the distance, near the horizon, she could see the smoking rooftops of the village and beyond that, a thin sliver at the limits of her sight, a faint blue ribbon of sea. Forward was the rank gloom of the woods. Elwing drew in a deep breath and held it as she took her first steps under the trees.

The trees were thick with moss and it hung beard-like off the lower branches of the trees and stretched between them like hairy ropes, turning much of the forest a brilliant green. The air there felt moister on her skin and in her mouth. The ground between the trees was thick with saplings, ferns, and other low-growing shrub, and endless debris of the forest. When she looked up, she could not see the sky through the tree canopy. A few minutes in she glanced back, but found she had already lost sight of the entrance.

The forest was not an overly pleasant place, she thought. It was heavy with the smell of leaf mold and growing, rotting things; it was dark even so early in the morning; and there were sounds all about—things scurrying and thrashing and calling out which made Elwing jump and shiver. But she found that when she had walked for a good while—perhaps an hour or two—she grew accustomed to these things. She did not notice the smell anymore, and her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and many of the sounds became repetitive rather than alarming. She was surprised to find her fear ebbing.

After this, the walk became more pleasant. She resumed swinging her basket, and examined a few mushrooms and a fat yellow slug along the edge of the path (which she did not leave, Evranin!), and even dared to hum to herself for a little while, although she did so very softly.

“As long as I listen to Evranin, there’s no need to be afraid!” she said aloud to herself when another few hours had passed, skipping for a few steps for a change of pace. One thing Evranin had not warned her about was that walking alone eventually became rather dull. She sneaked half a little sweet cake, reasoning she could eat the other half later, and no one would be any the wiser about one missing cake.

It was around that time that she spied not far from the path a deer, foraging among the leaves, and she stopped in wonder and delight, holding her breath. What an elegant creature! she thought. It had sleek brown fur and long legs, its wide brown eyes framed with long black lashes, and it moved with unhurried, even motions. When the deer caught sight of her it froze, and Elwing stepped forward, but the moment her foot had pressed into the earth off the path, the deer took flight into the shrubbery, springing away through the plants with such skilled form as took Elwing’s breath away.

“Goodbye!” she called quietly.

Realizing she had stepped off the path by mistake, she quickly righted herself and continued on her way.

The only signal she had about the passing time was that at some point, the forest began to grow darker, and Elwing realized midday must have passed. Impatient as a child is, she ate the other half of her cake, and immediately wished she had saved it. She took a long drink from the waterskin Evranin had attached to her belt that morning and sighed heavily. Perhaps if she told herself she was on a very important quest, the walk would feel less boring. Eärendil liked to play at slaying dragons—he was good at thinking of games that way—and maybe this could be her own pretend adventure.

It was not long after this that she turned a curve in the path and was abruptly faced with a pair of cold gray eyes staring out at her from the branches of a bush not two feet from her face. Gasping, Elwing stumbled backwards so quickly she nearly fell. Over the painful pounding of her heart, she heard a quiet snuffling and she found herself holding her breath.

There was a noisy rustling in the bushes and she saw a colossal paw pass through the undergrowth.

“No need for such a alarm,” said an even, reassuring voice. “I doubt there’s much in your basket I might want.”

Elwing swallowed, trying to quell her alarm, and rearranged her cloak.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Me? No one,” said the voice. There was a low growl in it, smoothed almost into a purr. “Consider me a guardian of the woods. But who are you?”

“My nurse told me not to talk to strangers,” Elwing said, almost accusingly.

“If we share our names, we will no longer be strangers, isn’t that so?” said the voice. Elwing hesitated.

“I…I don’t know,” she said.

“Are you taking that food to friends or family?” asked the voice. “That’s a noble goal. Caring for your family.”

“I’ve never met them before,” she admitted. “My nurse said it was best to arrive with a gift in such circumstances.”

“And quite right she is,” said the voice. “A clever woman, your nurse, and what a good girl you are, to heed her so.” Elwing wasn’t sure she liked being called a good girl, as if she were an obedient pet. “But don’t you know there are things out there in these woods which might hurt you?”

“My nurse said if I stay on the path…” Elwing said hesitantly.

“And have you stayed on the path?”

“I have!” she said fervently. There was a quiet rustle, like the sound of something brushing over the fallen leaves.

“Ah, what a smart child you are! Oh—but what did you say your name was?”

“Elwing,” she said at once.

“Elwing,” the voice said slowly, carefully, the way Elwing savored hard sweets from the candymaker. There was a quiet, wet clicking sound. Elwing tugged her cloak more tightly around herself. “What a beautiful name. Did your mother choose it?”

“My father,” said Elwing. “I think. What did your mother call you?” she asked, in a moment of boldness.

“My mother?” The voice sounded surprised, and then made a rasping noise she could not identify. “My mother called me Well-Formed One. It is no longer very accurate, if it ever was, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure that isn’t so,” said Elwing politely, because it was very rude to agree with a stranger’s assessment of their own ugliness.

“Oh, it is, but I’ve learned to live with it,” said the voice. There was a greater disturbance in the bushes, and the owner of the voice stepped out, and Elwing almost screamed.

The largest wolf she had ever seen (in fact, Elwing had no memory of ever seeing a wolf, but she had forgotten that for a moment) stalked out of the plants. The behemoth was shaggy with reddish-brown fur, its shoulders broader than Elwing’s own, its face just about level with hers. A bald, smooth scar cut across its side, over the ribs, and up close, its eyes seemed to burn. Its right foreleg ended in a stump; it balanced its weight expertly on the remaining three legs. Elwing knew she had made a mistake now and her throat felt as if it were swelling up, so that it was difficult to breathe.

“Why so startled?” the wolf asked, sounding almost amused. “Did I not tell you I was ugly? And yet you are surprised?”

The little girl’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. My parents, she thought. My parents, my parents. My brothers. She could not look away from his eyes and she had the strangest feeling she had dreamed of them before.

The wolf had emerged so that Elwing could back towards the rest of the path, which she did, so that as the wolf tried to circle her she was able to put more distance between them.

“I…”

“Wolves frighten people,” said the wolf thoughtfully, bobbing his broad head. “How hard it is for us to make friends, with faces like these!” Elwing swallowed hard.

“Wolves killed my parents,” she said. “And my brothers.”

“Well,” said the wolf, drawn-out. He took a seat, his eyes never leaving her. “That must have been terrible for you.” Elwing continued her mincing backwards shuffle. “Wolves can be dangerous. It’s important for you to remember that. But I, as I have indicated, mean you no harm. Why do you walk away like that?”

“You frighten me,” she whispered around the constriction in her throat.

The wolf bowed his great head, his ears dipping.

“I had hoped we could be friends,” he said mournfully, his eyes flicking back up to her face. “I too, have lost family in these woods. Three of my brothers were slain here, and nothing have I to show for it. Know you how much this pains me?”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Elwing said. “But I must be going. My nurse told me I am not to be in the woods overnight, and my aunt awaits me.” This was a lie. Her aunt did not know she was coming. But Elwing hoped it would encourage the wolf to let her go.

“But there is something you can do for me,” the wolf said, rising to his feet and making Elwing startle backwards again. “Something to soothe my heart from the ache of my brothers’ deaths.”

“O-oh?”

“There was a necklace, which belonged to my father,” said the wolf. “I should very much like to have it back.”

“Where is it?” Elwing asked.

“I am not certain,” said the wolf. “I have been looking for it for a very long time. It is made of the purest silver, and in it is set the most beautiful jewel you have ever seen.”

“But all jewels are—”

“This jewel is unique,” interrupted the wolf. “You will know it if you see it. It almost seems to glow.” Elwing’s little heart beat fiercely against the weight of her necklace. “If you know it…if you find it…would you bring it to me?” he asked. “In return, I will protect you from anything else in these woods that might mean you harm.”

Elwing took another step back.

“I…If I found it…” The wolf was nodding again.

“Bring it here, and set it on the path. I will come for it. No one else need know. Best not to trouble your nurse with such things; she must be very busy.” The wolf began to move forward again, towards her, and Elwing felt her insides go weak.

“These woods are not a safe place for a little girl,” said the wolf softly. “I am not the only wolf who roams these parts. And consider, if you will, Elwing—each time you pass through these woods, you must be lucky enough to evade the wolves who mean you harm. But the wolf need only be lucky once.”

Elwing’s eyes stung and watered; how she wished in that moment that she had stayed at home with Evranin!

“I don’t know your necklace!” she cried, and turned and ran. She half expected to hear the pounding of dinner-plate paws behind her, but there was none. All the same, she kept running, leaping over the tree roots and branch growths which invaded the long-untended path and once screamed when a bird swooped overhead, until her legs were throbbing and her throat was hot and raw.

There was no more humming or deer-watching the rest of the walk. Elwing hurried along just as quickly as she could after she had paused to recover, refusing to look to either side of the path. When she left behind the dim woods, evening was fast on the approach and a tear of gratitude slipped from one eye. Hastily, she rubbed it away and followed Evranin’s instructions to the small village. The woman was not really her aunt, but a more distant mortal relation too complex for Elwing to recall. It was simply easier to call them her aunt and cousins. There, she was welcomed warmly and set by the fire with a bowl of noodle soup, and the memory of the wolf receded from her mind.

That night, Elwing lay among the blankets her aunt had given her, and examined the jewel that hung about her throat. The necklace was a family heirloom, Evranin had said, and it was the most beautiful jewel Elwing had ever seen. It seemed to glow, and sometimes she could almost feel a warmth radiating gently off of it. Before he had sent her away with Evranin in the dark of midwinter, her father had given her this necklace—it was the only thing of his that she possessed. And more importantly: it kept her safe. She was sure of it; this was why her father had given to her, to keep her safe from the wolves; this was why she had lived and the rest of her family had not; this was why she had to keep it close.

She pressed the jewel against her lips and whispered a soft thank you to it and its maker for protecting her from the wolves that afternoon.

Away from the immediate danger, she found in her heart pity for the wolf. He could not help looking like a beast, could he? And she herself knew the pain of losing brothers. What could kill three wolves, she wondered? Especially if they were of a size as this one? With a shudder, she tried to put that thought aside (the only answer that readily came to her was “a dragon”).

Usually, Elwing removed the necklace at night and did not wear it about the house, but that night, she desired the comfort of its closeness, and went to sleep with the jewel beating warmly against her chest, and she dreamed of a long trip through the woods, at the end of which she was welcomed home by her mother and father and both of her brothers and their playmates.

Two weeks she stayed with her aunt and cousins, and on her way home, there was no sign of wolves. When Evranin welcomed her back and asked her how the trip had been, Elwing hesitated, for she still had not decided what to tell her nurse. If she told Evranin about what the wolf had said—that she had foolishly given it her name—Evranin might not let her visit again. But she also misliked the idea of lying. So she said:

“Many birds I saw, and a deer, and a wolf. But it came not near me, and I ran.” Evranin crouched down to Elwing’s level.

“You must not run from wolves,” she cautioned. “They are fleet of foot, for they have four legs and you only two. Next time, you must climb.” Elwing frowned slightly, and something shifted in Evranin’s expression. “I have neglected some of your education. We shall teach you how to properly climb and traverse the trees,” she said. “This is a skill all Wood-elves should know.” Elwing wanted to protest, for her own sake, that she was quite a strong swimmer, but she bit her tongue—Evranin wasn’t criticizing her.

Evranin put a hand on her shoulder as they turned towards the house, but Elwing looked back towards the woods, and that night, and ever night after, the wolves in her nightmares had gray eyes.

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Chapter End Notes

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Chapter II

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On Elwing’s next trip to visit her aunt, she stashed in her basket a midsized kitchen knife, and began to choose high-necked dresses and tunics and shirts for her trips—things that hid her necklace entirely from view, cloak or no cloak. It was true the red wolf had insisted he meant her no harm, but to the point of both the wolf and Evranin—there were many things in the world which might harm a young Peredhil.

Before she had left with the knife in her basket, Evranin had reminded her yet again about running from wolves:

“Where there is one, there is a pack,” Evranin cautioned. “Even if you escape the one wolf, her sisters will catch you by surprise. Wolves do not travel alone.”

But the nearest Elwing came to seeing that wolf or any others was catching a flash of gray eyes watching her from the darkness, something that came and went so quickly she was sure she had imagined it each time. Her mind had never shown a limit of creativity on ways to torment her.

No, she didn’t see the red wolf again until several years after their first encounter.

By then, she had begun to think the whole thing had been but a dream, that there had never been any talking wolf, only a child frightened and alone and haunted by the ghosts of her past. It made sense, she decided from the lofty reason of adolescence, looking back on her childhood, that she had been so frightened about the woods her imagination had created something more tangible to fear. Evranin had become less tense about Elwing’s trips as several had come and gone with no excitement (to her knowledge), and Elwing had stopped carrying the knife.

This time, Elwing sang quietly to herself on her way through the woods, and the basket was full of things she herself had made. There was a fall chill in the air and she had tied her red cloak tightly around her neck, but it only reached the tops of her thighs now, and Evranin despaired of how quickly she grew. The forest was slightly less green, as some of the trees yellowed and then went orange and dropped their leaves, leaving the remaining evergreens standing proud. The fog which had blanketed the seashore that morning had also stretched its fingers into the woods, carpeting the forest in a low-lying mist.

As Elwing picked her way along the overgrown path—it was really becoming less clear by the year where the path was and was not—she was considering what to do for Eärendil’s birthday later that month, and these two considerations so absorbed her that she was caught by surprise when the red wolf sprang out of the ferns, blocking her way. In that moment, she became aware at once of how quiet the woods had gone.

Elwing jerked back with a gasp and the jewel about her throat felt hot against her skin.

“Elwing,” the wolf growled lowly, its tail lashing from side to side through the mist. “It has been quite a while, hasn’t it?” He was both every bit as large and also larger than she imagined. He had loomed so massive in her memory she had thought her childish mind must have exaggerated—but no. Seated, he would have been as tall as she was; his ears, taller; his head wider than hers; his paws as broad as the hand of a grown man.

“I began to think I had dreamed you,” she admitted.

“You did not,” said the wolf, in a tone that sent a chill down Elwing’s back.

“Have you been well?” she asked politely, because it seemed proper to speak politely to a beast that could tear her throat out, and because she did not think she done anything to warrant the wolf’s testy manner.

“I have not,” he barked and for the first time, he flashed his teeth at her. His canine teeth looked as big as her finger. “I have yet to recover my family’s treasure. The one which you promised to bring me.”

I did not promise you, Elwing thought.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” said Elwing.

“Are you?” The wolf began to pace back and forth, but such was his size that he could only manage two steps before he reached the width of the path and had to turn around. The muscles in his shoulders rippled thickly with the movement.

“Indeed I am,” she said. “I would know of lost family—”

“Then why have you not brought it to me!” the wolf snarled. Elwing quailed inwardly, flinching at the noise.

“Because I do not have it,” she said. “And still I do not know what this jewel looks like.”

“You would know it,” the wolf insisted. He stared up at her, his eyes boring into hers. “It is very valuable,” he said softly. “Beyond measure, in fact. It comes from a land you have never seen, presided over by the divine powers. Many have coveted it, and many have died for it. Do you know what I think?”

Elwing could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Silently she begged the necklace to protect her as it had done before.

“What?” she asked.

“That you are lying to me!” The wolf lunged at her and Elwing screamed, throwing herself backwards. The wolf’s paws hit the ground where she had been, but he made no further advances, though she must have made an easy target sitting in the dirt. She realized she had wet herself, but this humiliation only girded her anger.

“I am not lying!” she said.

“I think you have what I want,” the wolf said quietly, lowering his head, his stiff ears angling back. “Do you know why? Because your father had it. In fact, he stole it from me.”

“That’s not true!” Elwing shouted immediately. “My father was not a thief!”

“Oh, your father was a thief and your grandmother was a thief and your great-grandfather too! A whole line eager to grasp what they could never make themselves!” The wolf’s hackles were rising, the coarse fur bristling along his spine. Elwing found she could not look away from his eyes; she was pulled to them, as if there was something her mind was trying to tell her, something that drew her thoughts back to her muddled nightmares.

“No one in my family is a thief,” Elwing insisted, pushing herself up to her feet. She wished she had done as her younger self had done and brought a knife. Perhaps it wouldn’t have helped her at all—but she might’ve felt braver with it. “My—perhaps you lost this jewel on your own!”

The wolf paused, his tail flicking, and then a terrible look that vaguely resembled amusement crossed onto his face.

“Things do tend to become lost in these woods,” he agreed, and those eyes that had decorated her worst dreams pinned her to the ground. “Many and valuable things. Hasn’t your nurse warned you of that? And hasn’t she told you,” he went on, flexing his claws against the earth, “that wolves do not travel alone?”

Evranin’s warnings echoed in Elwing’s head. Her alarmed gaze snapped up to the woods, away from the red wolf, and peering at the scene from the gloom beyond the path behind him were three more sets of eyes, alike to those of the red wolf.

The pack, she thought, swallowing a whimper. There was a rustling and a slightly smaller, russet-colored wolf began to emerge, but the red wolf gave one lash of his tail and the russet beast subsided back among the leaves.

“I do not have what you are looking for,” she asserted, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “If you have lost something here, you should look in the Thousan—”

“Ah! As if we have not already delved Thingol’s warrens for our treasure!” snapped the wolf. “Many years has it been since it was lost to us—if it were here, we would know it.” He sat down, still unnervingly large, and relaxed his shoulders. “You must forgive my temper,” he said mildly, in a jarring shift of tone. “It is a terrible stress, you know, trying to maintain the legacy of your family. You must be familiar with the feeling.”

There were certainly those who expected a great deal from her, but Evranin made sure that too much pressure was not placed on her, and she had the council to rely on also, who still took care of most practical things, given her age. It was her duty, and most days she was content to do it. She and Eärendil spoke of this at times, though he had Lady Idril still to carry the mantle of Gondolin and the line of Fingolfin and Anairë.

“It can be hard,” she allowed, wanting to cultivate this calmer avenue of conversation and hopefully win her escape.

“This jewel was made at my father’s own forge, by his hand,” said the wolf. “He is lost to us now, but this was his greatest achievement. So you must understand how it pains me not to have it in our possession.” When Elwing hesitated to respond, the wolf went on: “Truthfully, your father was likely not aware of its true value. And of course, what it means to me and my family.”

Elwing wanted to agree, because agreeing with the wolf seemed her best chance to not die, but she could not bring herself to even imply her father was any kind of thief.

“But you do understand, don’t you?” the wolf said, curling his tail around his paws as if he were one of the fluffy sheep hounds back in town. Elwing’s eyes darted back to the bushes behind him, but if the other three wolves were still there, they had retreated so she saw not even their eyes—or they had moved around behind her. “You see how easy it would be to fix my problem, and how much it would mean to me. You’re a clever girl, aren’t you, Elwing?”

Perhaps it was being spoken to as if she were a child still learning her alphabet that steeled her spine.

“I understand,” she said, wishing she could speak aloud as angrily as she did in her head.

“Good,” said the red wolf, inclining his head briefly. Elwing exhaled silently, thinking their encounter at an end; soon she would be on her way, and indeed the red wolf moved aside, so that he was no longer blocking the path forward. “And of course you of all people appreciate the danger of these woods for children,” he added as Elwing began to move past him. She halted, hearing the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. “You must have been very fortunate not to meet the same fate as your brothers. Your nurse must be very brave.” Elwing’s tongue tasted of iron.

“She is,” she whispered. “She protected me.” The jewel felt like it was humming against her breast; she would not have been surprised to feel it vibrate.

            Elwing did not remember the fall of the kingdom of Doriath, but she knew that it had come about in the darkness around the winter solstice, and she knew herself how far temperatures plummeted after dark that time of year, even in the woods. Far too cold for children.

            “As any noble nurse would,” said the wolf most graciously. “And look how you have grown under her care! Old enough to look after yourself now, aren’t you?”

            “I still have much to learn,” Elwing demurred, as Evranin would have appreciated.

            “Clever and wise, then,” said the wolf. Elwing remained tense, but he allowed a lengthy pause before speaking again. “I can see that you have kept our meetings to yourself. This too, is wise. You and I, as scions of royalty, understand these complicated situations, where others may not grasp them. And your nurse surely has enough on her mind without my problems adding to her woes. I would not wish to trouble her.”

            Elwing was not sure what to say to that, except that she was not certain this praise was a good thing, so she said nothing, merely nodded and carried on her way. She did not ask what he meant about his being a “scion of royalty.”

“You will remember our bargain?” he called when she was a yard or so from him.

            “I remember,” Elwing replied.

            When she arrived at her aunt’s house, she felt so exhausted she nearly collapsed the moment she crossed the threshold. Blessedly, when she made noise to her aunt about laundry, the woman assumed it was her menses—which came horribly irregularly for Elwing, which Evranin (who was an Elf, and knew nothing about menstruating) said tentatively must be her strange blood, and on which the Men in the village generally agreed—and asked no questions. She also respected Elwing’s privacy enough to let the girl wash her things herself, rather than insisting on doing it for her, for which Elwing was intensely grateful.

            As she scrubbed, she replayed again and again her conversation with the red wolf. How had he known about the deaths of Eluréd and Elurín? Why pick her to ask about this mystical jewel of his? There was a simple explanation, but it seemed too coincidental to believe. Could they be the same wolf pack who had slain her family? And if so, she wondered with alarm, was it true that he knew she had the necklace (for she was by then nearly certain that her own magic jewel was the one sought by the red wolf)? Yet it was so that the necklace itself had been made by the Dwarvish allies of Finrod Felagund of Nargothrond, and the jewel rescued at great risk by Elwing’s own grandmother, a tale she had been told countless times and could now recite herself with considerable accuracy.

            Turning these thoughts in her mind, she spoke little for the rest of the night.

            When she went to bed, she expected to dream of the wolf and his terrible teeth, but instead, she found herself lost in Menegroth, running through the winding tunnels, calling out for her mother and father, for Eluréd and Elurín, but all she heard was the thin echo of her voice and her own footsteps around the empty halls. Eventually she came to the throne room and here dread pooled in her stomach—for when she opened the door, surely she would see the bodies of her parents, who had of course been killed in these halls, but her hand moved against her will and pushed open the door. When she entered the room, though, it was empty, as if no one had ever been there at all.

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Chapter End Notes

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Chapter III

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The last time Elwing went to visit her aunt, Eärendil was out to sea.

            She had gone so long without direct confrontation from the red wolf she had again begun to question whether it might have somehow been merely a figment of her childhood and adolescent imagination. It seemed unlikely, but she had nothing to prove it had been real, and she would hardly be the first to lose track of what was real and what was a dream within those woods. I was frightened, because of what happened to Doriath, she thought. Was it any wonder her mind might have invented a confrontation with the wolf pack who had killed her parents and her older brothers?

            The nightmares of her youth still came and went, though with less frequency and somewhat less vividity than before. Waking with Eärendil beside her helped.

            “You’ll be careful, won’t you, my girl?” said Evranin, needlessly straightening Elwing’s light summer cloak over her shoulders. Evranin looked precisely as she had when Elwing was six years old, nary a wrinkle nor age spot to be seen. Sometimes Elwing looked at her hands working alongside Evranin’s and wondered how long it would be before she began to look older than her former nurse.

            Evranin had promised to stay at the house and look after Elwing and Eärendil’s twin boys while Elwing was away.

            “I’ll be careful,” she promised. A faint smile quirked the corners of her lips, but faded quickly. Elwing had a sober manner about her that Evranin had never fully placed as natural or a result of her tumultuous and traumatic childhood.

            “Evranin,” said Elwing then, “I had thought to take another path this time. I wanted to see—”

            “No.” Evranin cut her off at once, a shutter drawing down over her face. “I tell you Elwing, steer clear of that place. The soil is soaked in blood; nothing good can come of it. Ghosts abide there; there is a poisoned air about it.”

            “But it was my home,” Elwing said softly.

            “And now it is not,” said Evranin. “And your mother and father did not send you away to save your life that you might end it poking around old graves. Let it lie, Elwing. Menegroth is gone. What survived its assault has been picked off by scavengers or destroyed by the elements years by now.”

            All of the Iathrim carried an ache in the breast for the loss of their homeland, but for Elwing it was a curious grief, less the loss of a home and more the denial of a chance to have ever made it a home. She had no memory—not a real one, anyway—of the land of her birth, nor of her mother and father, nor of her brothers. For long years her mind had persisted in believing that laying eyes on Menegroth—wandering the halls which once belonged to her family and her people—would bring something back.

            But Evranin was likely right—nothing good could come of it

            So Elwing bade her goodbye, kissed the boys’ plump cheeks farewell, and took the usual path, which was nearly entirely consumed by the forest at this point. It took Elwing just as long to traverse it now as it had in her childhood, a result of the many obstacles and portions where the path simply seemed to disappear, and required finding before she could continue. The others who had once used this path had slowly ceased as the forest swallowed it up, as if withdrawing the last physical memory of the Kingdom of Doriath into itself, turning the whole thing to soil fertilizer as it did with the bodies that fell there.

            Her mind was still ruminating on Doriath’s history when she reached the midway point of her route through the forest and she realized there had been a persistent rustling following along her for some time. Immediately she came to a halt, her mind conjuring the image of the red-brown wolf with paws like dinner plates and eyes that seemed to stab through the darkness. She had started carrying a knife again after the last such encounter and had never stopped—it didn’t hurt to have at least a last resort tool of protection.

            For a long moment she stood, hearing the sound of her own breathing and the restless swaying of the trees.

            “Hello?” she called at last, thinking that if the wolf were tracking her, better to have it out and have him say what he wished to say.

            But there was no answer. No one stepped out onto the path.

            Elwing turned about in a circle.

            “Hello?” she called, raising her voice. “Are you there?” For a bizarre and certain moment, she expected to see an Elf emerge or hear them call out in response.

            The jewel of her necklace was comfortingly warm against her breast, reassuring in its steadfastness.

            For several minutes Elwing waited, listening, but she could no longer pick out the distinct rustling of before, and was forced to accept it must have been some other animal whose path had merely run parallel to hers for a while. She continued on her way and emerged on the other side of the forest in the evening, which at this time of year was still reasonably bright.

            Cheered by the uneventful trip, Elwing hummed a little to herself as she drew near the broad dirt path that would take her up to her aunt’s home, smiling at bird of prey passing overhead, and it wasn’t until she touched the gate that something seemed amiss.

            It was unlatched, for one, which wasn’t in and of itself unusual, except that the front door was ajar as well, and the sign proclaiming the family name hanging there was askew.

            Drat these woods, Elwing thought. She was always unnerved after passing through Doriath, even when the trip itself was perfectly lovely. Wasting no more time, she went up to the door and knocked.

            “Hello?” she called. “It’s Elwing.” Even as she spoke, the smell reached her, rank and coppery, like she’d just stepped into an abattoir. A shudder went through her, ending in a trembling exhale, and for half a moment, she was tempted to simply turn around and leave as quick as she could, never mind having to walk back through Doriath in the dark.

            But that was not what her mother and father would have done, and she would do herself no favors with cowardice. Instead, she stepped into the house.

            The parlor on the left side as one entered the door and the small guest room where Elwing stayed these days on the right were both empty. It was in the kitchen that she had her fears confirmed.

            Aunt was lying in a pool of blood beside the counter, a great wrenching bite taken out of her throat. The blood sprayed up the cabinet and across the floor. Her oldest cousin was nearby, his fingers gripped loosely around a knife he had not quite managed to secure in time to defend himself. Gobbets of blood gathered around the meaty mess on the floor, already drying and congealing. The other was just beyond the threshold into the dining room, as if he had been trying to run. There was no sign of her third cousin.

            For a long moment Elwing only stared at this scene, feeling as if gears were turning in her mind and failing to catch. An empty, stupid click, click, click as her mind tried to process. Then, she went into the parlor and set her basket down. She wiped the sweat of her palms off on her dress. She picked up the iron fire poker beside the fireplace, where a hearty little blaze was going. It was as she was contemplating the burning of a fire at this time of year that she heard a floorboard creak behind her and spun to see one of the russet wolves pacing towards her. She had not seen the other three since the one time they had revealed their existence to her, but she was certain this was one.

            “You killed my aunt,” she said, flummoxed by her own flat tone. “That wasn’t necessary.” The poker hung limply and heavily from her hand.

            The wolf did not bother to respond. It merely leaped.

            Elwing reacted on instinct and did not have the wherewithal to be grateful for her self-defense lessons growing up. Belatedly her body moved and she swung the poker in from the side, far later than she would have liked, but the effect was that while the wolf’s teeth grazed her shoulder, tearing through cloak, dress, and chemise, the iron poker caught the wolf directly in the temple, flooring it immediately.

            Elwing stared dumbly at the still body, and then some part of her mind reminded her she did still need to survive this encounter. She approached, her heartbeat filling up her ears, and pressed the poker against the furry flesh, between two ribs. She leaned her weight on it and the wolf’s skin and meat gave way, the poker sinking in several inches. It took her three tries to yank the thing back out, at which point she heard a noise deeper in the house, in the direction of the dining room. Quickly, she mounted the steps and in one of the upstairs bedrooms, found the corpse of her third cousin abed, as if she had been napping when the beast had sprung on her. The coverlet which this cousin had embroidered herself was ruined with her blood.

            Elwing’s eyes flashed around the room, looking for something more effective than a fire poker with which to defend herself, and as she realized that she had left her own knife in the basket downstairs, the guttural howl from below sounded. A wolf howl was loud enough in the open air or at a distance through the forest—inside the closeness of her aunt’s house Elwing clapped her hands over her ears, banging the twisted metal of the poker against the side of her head. Then, the racing of paws on the stairs.

            She tried to brace herself, taking a wide stance and gripping the poker with two hands, as the second russet wolf came barreling into the room. She swung the poker as soon as the wolf came at her, but this time she caught it on the top of its thick skull and the poker clanged off, staggering the wolf, but not much more. There was now a slight bend in the poker where it had made contact with the canine skull.

            Never would she have known it was a talking wolf if she had not spoken with its packmate; it snarled and spat and made noises she had never heard from any dog before. It lunged at her again, and Elwing tripped backwards over her cousin’s upturned laundry basket, crashing to the ground. The wolf was on her in an instant.

            Flinging the poker up, she caught it between its jaws. Hot, rancid breath billowed over her face and flecks of spit sprayed over her as the wolf gnashed its teeth, trying to reach her around the metal. No scream came from her, which surprised her, but it was as if something had seized up her throat. Finally, the wolf drew back to lunge again. Elwing fumbled with the poker and thrust up forcefully with a squeal, and there was a burst of warm blood against her chest and arms. Peeling her eyes back open, she saw the poker had pierced straight through the wolf’s throat. Its paws wheeled with rapidly increasing weakness, and she noticed one had clawed open her arm. She didn’t feel it.

            The wolf slumped, dead, its full weight then borne up by Elwing’s trembling arms, drained from holding back the powerful force of the wolf’s assault. She heaved it to the side and tried to wrench the poker free, but it was caught fast and she could not afford to waste time fighting with it.

            She looked at her cousin’s body, the open gashes in her flesh and the smell of death-loosened bowels in the room.

            “You didn’t have to kill her,” she said.

            She went to the casement and threw it open, peering into the rear yard, seeing nothing amiss. She dangled out the window by her fingertips, then dropped, remembering how to catch her weight so she didn’t sprain an ankle, something any child who loved climbing trees must know.

            For a moment, she pressed her back against the wall of the house, waiting in case something might spring out at her, but nothing came. Someone had been trimming the plants recently; she saw a pile of clippings not far from the back door. Bereft of her one weapon, however ill-suited, she went there and took up the largest branch she could reasonably wield. Ideally it would have been less leafy and more sharpened to a point, but she would rather have something to put between her and the slavering jaws of a wolf than nothing.

            Thus armed, she re-entered her aunt’s house.

            She passed through the dining room, then went left around the back of the stairs towards the parlor, where her basket and knife were still sitting. She reached the parlor at the same time the red wolf appeared in the front doorway and caught sight of the dead russet wolf on the floor.

            For a heartbeat, they looked at one another, and then Elwing charged. The wolf came to meet her, springing forward on those long, agile legs, and she caught him in the face with the brush end of the branch, certain in that moment that she had been right all along, and this was the same wolf pack who had slain her family in Menegroth. More inconvenienced than anything else, he was nonetheless knocked aside, and began a series of short lunges, driving her back towards the wall with snapping teeth.

            “Get out!” she screamed, jabbing at him with the branch.

            “Give me the fucking Silmaril!” the wolf snarled. “You had to make this so complicated! Look what you’ve done! You and your whole wretched family!” Elwing swatted him aside once again.

            “You killed them!” she shouted.  

“I did,” the wolf growled, his voice dropped lower than Elwing had ever heard it. “Because they kept something from me that I wanted. And do you know what you have?”

Elwing’s heart seemed to be trying to burst through her chest as the wolf lowered itself to spring again. She thrust the branch back into the fire place, so that it was alight when she swung it at him again. Alarmed by this turn of events, the wolf retreated for the first, his ears flattening back. Elwing flailed the branch about, knocking several crosstitches off the wall and nearly catching an armchair.

            “You’re going to burn the whole house down!” the wolf exclaimed.

            “Then I’ll take you with me!” And she ran at him, brandishing the flaming branch. “Get out! Get out!” The wolf looked at this wild-eyed woman charging at him like she would be happy to fall into the same grave, and turned tail. Elwing continued to shriek at him as she chased him out the front door, her words blurring into senseless howl as she stood on the front porch, waving the branch back and forth, sparks leaping off to singe her arms and face. The noise resolved once more into words and she screamed until her throat felt raw: “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

            From around the back of the property she saw a dark brown wolf come running, take one look at the scene and the fleeing red wolf, and follow his brother, tail between his legs.

            She went on yelling at them until they were gone from view and the branch’s flames were getting dangerously close to her hands. Quickly, she took it inside and stuffed it into the fireplace, hacking off the unburned bits which were too large to fit inside. Then she sank down to the rug and sat there, watching the branch burn down and listening to the wind whistle through the open door until night was halfway done, and then she barricaded herself in an untouched bedroom and lay down until morning.

***

            It was only right she stay and see to her aunt and cousins’ effects. She arranged to give the house over to the village, to do with as they saw fit, though she hinted she should like it kept available for refugees if any should come through with intent to settle. The other belongings she gave away, overseeing this only to prevent squabbles. The morning on which she had made the decision to remain, she had sent a letter home, in case Eärendil should arrive back before her and worry, and to reassure Evranin and thank her for looking after Elrond and Elros.

            The bodies of the people were buried; the bodies of the wolves burned after the pelts had been salvaged. Elwing was not familiar with the funerary customs of her aunt’s people, but she let them proceed as they saw fit, and as she stood at the yet-unfilled grave, gripping the Silmaril around her neck, she wondered why it could not protect more of the people around her. Forget the ghosts of Menegroth—was she herself not an omen of death?

            Early in her stay, she purchased from the local smith—for the village was not large enough to have a specialized weapons-maker—a short sword and from the tanner a belt in which to wear it. In the afternoons and evenings, she practiced with it, working through self-defense routines she had left by the wayside too long.

            When it was all done, she declined offers by several of the villagers to stay, and left with her basket, now with a scarf knit by one of her cousins tucked into the empty space once filled with food, her small sword at her waist.

            At the threshold of the forest she stopped. She could go around. If she could get a mount, she could go around. It would take thrice as long, but it could be done. There was no promising she would not meet other dangers on that route. There was almost a guarantee the red wolf and his dark brother were waiting under the undulating forest canopy for her. But Elwing set her jaw against the long route—if the wolves would come for her, let them come. She would kill these two as well, or else they would kill her, and at least it would be done. She had had enough of being haunted by the ghosts of Doriath’s destruction.  

            She took the whole route through the forest with a hand on the hilt of her sword, jumping at every sound, once drawing the blade on a pair of crows, yet she saw not the wolves, nor any sign of them. The path seemed to have degraded double-time in her absence; it was all but gone, and only her memory of it helped guide her through the tangled undergrowth, heart pounding all the way, taking great care not to trod on any mushrooms or beetles or animal corpses. Several times, she had to stop and choose her way forward carefully, and she tried so hard to imagine how this place could have once felt safe and homey for the people who lived there.

            “Adar,” she whispered. “Naneth. Are you with me?” Silently she called out to her great-grandparents as well, who had once ruled in mighty joy over this realm and given shelter to those who lived in it. A breeze stirred the still forest air, shockingly fresh, at at once Elwing heeded its direction, and found a remnant of the path on which to continue.

            As usual, the end of the woods came suddenly upon her: she was cautiously picking her way through the trees as carefully as she could, and then she was stumbling out into the evening light, once again feeling the wind on her cheeks. A squad of bats wheeled overhead, passing inward towards the heart of the forest.

            Elwing sheathed her sword and took several deep, slow breaths. She sat down in the grass for a few minutes and drank from her waterskin. It took this time for her to try to relax the tension in her body and accustom herself to the thought that she had not been mauled by wolves. She was not so foolish as to think she had scared them off for good, but perhaps, she thought, they were still regrouping. Perhaps the village could augment defenses in case they once again ventured out of the woods, which she had never known them to do ‘til now.

            Never had she been so relieved to see the village appearing over the horizon; if she had not been so weary, she might have run to her own front door. Silently praying with all her might that Eärendil had returned while she was gone, she approached their admittedly rickety and slightly lopsided front gate, and realized it was open. The front door was ajar too.

            No. She dropped her basket and ran. Bursting into the house, she set to tearing it to pieces, wailing the names of her sons. “Elrond! Elros! Elrond! Elros!” Evranin lay dead and bleeding in front of the boys’ bedroom and Elwing could not stop herself from being sick reflexively.

Only when she had made a disaster area of the house emptying out any place something much smaller than a little boy might have hidden, throwing things aside without a care for damage as she searched, did she emerge back out front and see in the mud at the corner of the property, seemingly angled towards the edge of the village, a mess of wide, fat pawprints, big as a grown man’s hand.

---

Chapter End Notes

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