VI. “Welcome Home.”

            I could not remember the last time I had really bathed. Ugh, if my odor got any worse, I would smell like a corpse. Quite honestly, I was sure I was the only one who could not tolerate the smell. The Men were used to stinking; their noses were probably immune to their foul body odor.

            Even though I had been with them for far too long, my nose did not acquire the immunity it desperately needed.

            We traveled through woods now; the only light given to help us was the few lit torches some of the scraggly, dirty Men held. Our formation was always the same: a rider and his horse in front with a torch, most of the group squished in the middle, a few carrying torches, and then there would be another horse and rider picking up the rear. It would look like, from a distance, that those walking were slaves. However, I knew that I was the only real slave in this group.

            “We should just rest here for tonight,” one of the Men complained. It was always the same one every time, who complained. Though he was a strongly built Man, he groaned like a little child.

            I debated on whether or not to agree with the Man, but I remembered past experiences with talking when I was not supposed to, so I reluctantly kept my mouth shut on the issue.

            “Why, you scared?” another Man taunted. Yorin never seemed to want to shut up nor miss a chance to pick on anyone. How he was still alive, I was not sure. Normally, Wild Men did not appreciate bullying each other, which was ironic considering they bullied others on a more extreme level.

            “Don’t tell me your feet aren’t worn out,” the complainer, Delvin, retorted.

            Why can we not just stop so that these two shut up? If we do not, something is going to happen, I thought. This was fact. On occasion, things escalated dangerously, sometimes to the extreme point of where we had to leave a body behind and continue on. It was rare for the Wild Men to bury one of their own when they fought amongst each other.

            “All right, to save all your hides, we’ll stop,” the rider in front, Jace, decided.

            The Men groaned, thankful to be resting their sore feet. Immediately, a fire was going and food was being made. Like always, the menu consisted of one item: stew. To be honest, I was glad for the little rations I was given, even though the stew was not really good. It was sad to say that I preferred deer meat over stew any day of the year. I would even prefer leaves and tree bark over the stew. When I was little, I almost never ate meat. Now, that was all I wanted to eat, being that I was with these Men—and many generations of them—for years.

            For being in their captivity for so long, it was amazing how long I had survived. It even shocked me, because I was sure that I would not survive very long with them, with strange people I did not know. The only way I was surviving was because I observed and took notes, learned from experiences on the best way to keep on the Men’s good side, and how to not tick them off.

            Jace and the other rider dismounted as the rest of the Men gathered around, getting the stew that they apparently loved. I wrinkled my nose at the food, wondering when change would come along.

            Even though I was amongst their company, the Men acted as though I did not exist. Quite honestly, I was content with that. If I kept this up, being quiet to where they forgot about me, one of these days—or nights, night was my better shot—I would slip away from these Men once and for all and seek refuge far away from them.

            My breakout day was coming soon; I could feel it in my bones.

***

                Shockingly, the dream/memory had been one of my tamer ones. I remembered that night well. It had been the night I begun to hope that I would escape my captors one day and lose them once and for all. I tried to recall how long ago that night had been.

            When you are an Elf and have lived life for as long as I have, time blends together. You cannot tell apart days from years, or centuries from decades.

            I woke early, greeted by the grey stallion. Overnight he had to have settled down beside me. He turned his head to me, one big eye watching my every move. I smiled at the animal, stroking his thick, strong neck. If there was any way I could keep him, I would. Honestly, in the short time we had been together, we bonded.

            I noticed Legolas was still asleep. I did not bother to wake him, he probably needed the rest. I looked back to my companion, an idea forming in my head. Maybe a little morning walk with him would not hurt. I would not go very far with him; I did not want Legolas to panic when he woke.

            “What do you say about a little morning exercise?” I cooed to the stallion. He kept watching me. “You will have just me on your back; I do not want to hurt my shoulder further trying to saddle you up.”

            I clambered onto the grey’s back, settling myself. It was an entirely new feeling, not having a saddle under me. I felt the horse’s warmth, felt his sides expand and retract as he breathed. Since he was still lying down, I lay across the length of him, burrowing my head into his mane. I blew strands away from my face.

            My heart sprinted when the stallion suddenly got to his feet. My legs locked around his sides, my fingers had an iron grip in his mane. I let out a breath when he stood still, realizing I had not fallen off. I planned to not.

            I squeezed the stallion’s sides, nudging him forward. He took off at a lazy walk, a pace which we could both agree on. I used the slow gait to adjust to him under me, to feel my body sway with him as he walked.

            We continued our leisure walk until the sun could be seen in full view. By that time, my Elf hearing picked up Legolas rising. I turned my steed so we could head back to greet my guardian.

            “Good morning,” I said cheerily, stopping the stallion, who snorted, shaking his head.

            “You are riding bareback?” Legolas asked, a hint of surprise in his tone.

            “I did not want to test out my shoulder today.” I shrugged. “Besides, riding bareback is an entirely different experience. If you have never tried it, you really should sometime.” I scratched the stallion’s neck. “Are we heading out right now?”

            “Do you not want to at least eat something first?”

            My stomach rumbled. “I suppose it could not hurt.” I slipped off the stallion, crossing to Legolas to retrieve the fruit we had been eating the past two days. Legolas had an amused twinkle in his eye. I looked at him. “What?”

            “You have a follower.” He chuckled, bobbing his head behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see the stallion, his breath tickling my face. “It is amazing, the bond you have with him—how he is loyal to you so quickly.”

            “Are you going to continue to gawk or are you going to eat?” I joked, biting into the fruit in my hand. The stallion tried to reach for it, but I gently pushed his nose away. “You go eat some grass, this is my breakfast.” But the stallion would not leave me. I sighed dramatically.

            Eventually, my partner wandered off to join the mare and graze for a little while.

            “How is your shoulder this morning?” Legolas asked.

            “It is better,” I reported, rolling it slightly. “How far away do you suppose we are from Lórien?”

            Legolas laughed. “You must be really eager to go back home, you have not stopped asking me how much further along we have.”

            “Sorry.” I blushed. “If you were away from home as long as I have been, you would not be able to wait.”

            “Actually, I have been away from home for a while.”

            “Oh, so you are not from Lórien?”

            “You assumed that I was?” Legolas raised an eyebrow.

            “Yes,” I muttered. “But I know there are other places Elves live; I just do not know where they are or what they are named.”

            Legolas chuckled lightly. “Maybe in the future, if you want to explore, I would be more than happy to accompany you.”

            I grinned sheepishly. “I would like that. I will hold you to it.”

            It did not take long for us to finish breakfast. Legolas saddled the horses; he did not want me to test my shoulder. One of these days though, I knew I would not be able to rely on that excuse to get me out of saddling a horse.

            Once everything was ready to go, at a steady, fast trot, we continued our voyage to our destination: my birthplace.

*      *      *

I could not complain about the conditions we encountered today. The weather was very tolerable, the horses seemed to be in high spirits, and my mood was at its best. Despite the murder of the Wild Man yesterday, I was in good spirits.

            We let the horses rest briefly when we encountered a small stream. We all took mouthfuls of water. Eventually, as time passed, the endless, boring, open plain terrain started to become forest. The stallion’s ears perked forward, curious about where he was heading.

            “Are we close?” I asked Legolas.

            “We are nearly there. The sight before you is home, Nimalia.” I heard the smile in his voice.

            With my heart pounding in excitement, I urged the stallion onward. He gladly took off in a near sprint. Legolas laughed at my enthusiasm, I heard him urge the mare on after us.

            My companion and I burst into the border of the woods, immediately taking in the placid atmosphere. I noticed the grass was not as lush and abundant as I had expected—or vaguely remembered. We were just crossing the border, so trees were scarce, but even as we rode deeper, the tree population did not increase drastically.

            The idea took a while to really hit me as I slowed the stallion to a walk. I was home. I had finally returned to the very place I had known as home since the day I was born. I sighed in content, happy to feel like I was in a safe haven.

            “Welcome home,” Legolas murmured, pulling the mare alongside my steed. All I could do was smile, and I felt as though I did not want to stop.

            My acute hearing detected soft, alluring singing—the voices of my people, their songs. I was too entranced by the beauty of the voices to really bother to understand what they were singing.

            “How much do you remember about home?” Legolas asked me curiously.

            “Not much. You have to remember I have lived a long time, and I spent a very small fraction of it here. I am sure things have changed greatly since I was last here.”

            “If I may ask, how long have you been around?”

            “Asking a woman about her age?” I laughed. “I may be older than you think.”

            As we ventured deeper into the forest—which I might add had many spots of sun poking through—the singing became slightly louder, and we passed an Elf or two. They slightly bowed to us; I dipped my head back to them in a daze.

            It felt strange to be back amongst my own kind—strange but wonderful at the same time.

            “So…where is Nikita?” I asked Legolas, scouring the woods for her.

            “Oh, knowing her, she is probably talking with others about plans.”

            “What plans?”

            “You will find out soon enough.”

            “You will not tell me now?” I feigned hurt, pouting at him.

            On occasion, my head would snap up to the skies—I could hear movement in the trees. I noticed some Elves were perched in branches, watching with sharp eyes. I swallowed, a little startled. Were they considered the guards of my home, ready to halt any unwelcome guests?

            My partner’s ears were swiveling around constantly, taking in the new, unfamiliar sounds in. He did not seem tense compared to me; the Elves hidden in the trees unnerved me a bit.

            “Do you know where we are going?” I asked Legolas after a while.

            “Of course. I would not steer you the wrong way, Nimalia.”

            I had to take his word for it.

            I noticed the deeper we rode into the woods; I could sense civilization was near. My head snapped to the trees in panic on occasion when hearing leaves rustle above. I looked to see there was more grass now and that trees were much larger. Seeing far ahead with my eyes, I saw something peculiar up ahead—something was wrapped around a large tree, winding up its length. My head tilted to the side curiously. I looked to Legolas for an answer.

            “That is one of the many stairwells that leads up to the flets,” he explained.

            “Excuse me?”

            “It is what the houses in the trees are named.”

            “Oh.” I felt idiotic for not knowing that about my own home. “Please tell me we are expected, the last thing I want is to be ambushed.”

            “I assure you, we are.”

            We stopped at the first stairwell that my eyes came across. I stopped the stallion, only because I noticed an Elf gliding lithely down. I was taken aback by her, immediately deeming her different than most of my people. Instead of the usual blonde hair, blue eyes arrangement that we Elves normally inherited, she was the opposite. Her dark brown hair was extremely curly, her ringlets falling to about the middle of her back. That was where the differences ended with her, for she had blue eyes.

            I sat in the saddle, in awe by the Elf. I stole a glance at Legolas. Using him, I figured out who came to greet us: Nikita. I swallowed, a bit nervous. Though she was very beautiful, she looked intimidating.

            Legolas dismounted his ride just as Nikita’s feet touched the ground. I was taciturn, blending in with the silence in the forest as the two embraced each other, talking in whispers in our native tongue, completely ignoring me. Busying myself, I slid off the saddle, landing perfectly on my feet. The stallion kept me company, making the awkward air disappear as I paid attention to him.

            “Who is she?” My head snapped up at hearing Nikita speak Westron. “I did not expect you to bring back company with you. You told me you were visiting an old friend in Minas Tirith.”

            “I was, and I did,” Legolas told her. “She happened to be in the White City at the same time.”

            Nikita’s eyes fixed on me. Immediately, I felt the need to run away. Why did I feel so intimidated by her when her voice sounded so gentle, as though she would never hurt even an insect?

            Nikita abandoned her beloved to come closer to me. With trembling fingers, I stroked the stallion’s neck.

            “She may not be willing to talk to you right away,” Legolas told her. “She is timid.”

            “She was no different from me when I met others.” Nikita smiled at me. “Welcome to Lórien. I am Nikita.”

            “I already know of you,” I spoke quietly. Nikita’s eyebrows rose on her forehead. “Legolas has mentioned you a few times.”

            “Has he?” She looked over her shoulder at him before looking back at me. “I am not surprised. Sometimes he will endlessly babble about me.” She lowered her voice to a whisper even though there was no point—Elves had sharper hearing than most. “Come, you must be tired.”

            While Nikita led me up the stairwell, I looked down briefly to see Legolas take care of our horses.

            The winding staircase seemed to go on for ages. It would certainly prove to be good exercise for those who really needed it. It was monotonous though, going in a winding path for a while. It was nice to finally leave the stairs and take in the flets. They were simple, platform-like houses. Of course, I never expected the Elves here to all live in palaces like royalty.

            “What business brought you to Minas Tirith?” Nikita asked me. I swallowed, wondering how much I should really tell her. I just met her after all. Nikita noticed my silence and turned to look at me. “Do I not have a right to know?”

            “It is…complicated,” I said slowly, looking around at the branches above my head. “I would rather not discuss it.”

            “I understand. How long do you plan to stay here?”

            “Permanently. This is my home.”

            Nikita’s eyes lit up. “It is? Why, then, were you in Minas Tirith?” I shot her a look. “It is complicated?” I nodded. “Hmm, you must have an interesting past if you can only tell me ‘it is complicated.’”

            You do not know the half of it, I wanted to say.

**Yay, Nimalia is finally home! First impression of Nikita, you guys? I have a feeling most will be with the Nimolas ship, but who knows? Maybe there are a few who ship the beloved pairing. Oh, and my Sherlockian readers may know who Nikita is played by ;)**