Haunted, Hunted by Rocky41_7

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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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