Summary: An outsider's thoughts on the elves that seemed to be the chieftain's brothers. *~*

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IV. Those Who Remember
. . .

I was fifteen the first time I saw them. A young girl, I was innocent, not particularly caring of that outside of my circles. Mother said I must learn to sew, so I did. My friends and I all wore our hair long with small braids woven throughout (like the Elven women, we all said). Every year brought new tradition, and it seemed my life changed more and more with every passing breath.

But that is not the point of my tale.

The elves? I saw them as a young girl when the times were still laced with hope. I had been gossiping under the cover of the trees (for young Adimae had recently been considered rather handsome in the minds of the young ladies) when the chieftain came running from his dwelling to the edge of the camp. I had never seen him with such purpose unless we were under attack. My friends appeared to have the same thought as we all jumped to our feet, eyes wildly scanning the camp.

No danger presented itself, far as we could tell. Not so much as a chill hung in the air. Where we stood felt evermore pleasant, the murmur of nature increasing into a peaceful hum.

At the time, I didn't feel it, but in hindsight the whole event was beyond strange. A puzzle for the mind and heart alike, as it felt like we should be happy despite the looming darkness. Over the years--they passed far too quickly--bits of the puzzle had come together. No matter where my life has taken me I've never forgotten the wonder of the single moment--ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Much too far, for before we could comprehend, three riders appeared over the sloping plain. Their mounts were almost silent, seeming to dance upon the grass with every step. I was mesmerized.

The three riders wore hoods, two being broad shouldered with a sword by their side; the other was slightly smaller, a bow and quiver upon his back. Lord Aragorn reached the edge of the camp at the same time that the riders brought their steeds to a halt in front of him. They began to speak and I recognized the use of Sindarin, picking out a few words, but they were all so fluent and able to speak so rapidly that I could hardly follow the flow of conversation. If their conversation told me one thing, it was that the riders were elven. The musical lilt of their speech spoke for itself.

As the riders dismounted, one--the smaller--grimaced and stumbled. I cocked my head curiously. My Lord Aragorn's curiosity appeared to be even greater than mine as he stepped forward, speaking in a rushed tone to the other newcomers. Laughter echoed over the meadow and the three visitors casually pulled their hoods back, revealing two that I could recognize even were I wee babe—Lords Elladan and Elrohir. They had been visitors to our village for longer than I could recall. The third, however, was light haired and I had no memory of him. Although he had stumbled, he appeared to be well enough, and the Peredhil were quick to assure Lord Aragorn of such. I caught scarce words that told me it was an injury of the past, on its way to being forgotten.

A wave of relief passed over me, one I could not identify. I had yet to speak to this stranger, only hardly to the sons of Elrond, but already my heart had borne concern. Perhaps because I could already see that my chieftain cared for them deeply and so the friend of one Ranger was a friend to all the Dunedain.

For years, as I saw the elves come and go, that is what I told myself, never finding reason to think otherwise, except now I wonder if perhaps it was because I could not stand to see those so beautiful marred by the evils of this world.

I was a mother when I saw them again. This meeting was more than a fleeting glance, for they were weary and therefore quiet, for once still.

Lord Aragorn had left some weeks before, reason for his departure unknown to me. When he returned, brought the elves with him. It had been days since they had arrived, but their mood remained melancholy. None had reason to complain; the elves were peaceable, undemanding, and they cooked their own food despite the women's offerings of a meal.

It was while I was cooking that I came to truly appreciate them. Before, they had simply been the ghosts of the camp. Then they became some of its champions.

Time had passed sluggishly that day, the air humid and wind dead. Bread was cooking and I was beating upon the meat meant for supper. One moment I had set my toddler beside his wooden blocks and the next I turned to find the back door propped open and no child in sight. I wiped my hands on my apron, and hurried outside in search of my son. While our encampment was relatively safe, many of our men--including my husband--were out hunting, those left spread sparsely along the border. "Tarn!" I called, squinting against the bright rays of the sun. "Tarn, where are you?" As I wandered through the village, I questioned several of the children on their knowledge of my son's whereabouts, my inquiries surfacing no new information.

An eternity felt to have passed before I found myself on the back edge of the camp. Panic had gradually been growing inside me and I was seconds away from sending a plea of help to the other mothers when I stopped. A distance away—too far for me to get to quickly—Tarn, my sweet babe, stood stalk still with his eyes trained on one... thing. Creature. Beast.

Warg.

I clamped my hands over my mouth to stifle a cry of despair. It would only startle both the beast and my child. I searched around me for anything--a branch, even rock--to fight with. My best option appeared to be my hands.

Hopelessness flooded me, heavier than the fear that shone in Tarn's eyes. Loss was so foreign to me at the time. My mother and father still lived. Any siblings I might have had had died in infancy. Some would consider my life a dream. During those days, so long ago, even I might have. Watching my son tremble, I lived a nightmare. If only I could awaken from it.

Not wasting a moment more than necessary, I pulled my skirt above my knees and ran. The creature had the same idea and lunged for Tarn.

Feasibly, I could not arrive in time. Still I ran and screamed and tripped, and when I looked up I found the scene to be nothing close to what I had feared.

I expected Tarn to be bleeding upon the ground, the warg standing proudly above him, but the opposite appeared to be true. Around them were three warriors, two dark haired, one light. They were a trio I could recognize upon a glimpse as they worked in harmonious union. The Peredhil decapitated the warg as the light haired--no one had decided upon a name for him--covered my son's body with his own, pressing Tarn's head against his shoulder. 

My feet somehow found a way towards the chaos, and tears filled my eyes. When I arrived, the warg was incredibly dead and my son was in the light-haired elf's arms, giggling at something one of his protectors had said. "Tarn..." My voice caught between a laugh and a sob.

"Ah, have we found your mother now, hm? You must tell her all about your adventure and how you defeated the big, bad wolf." The light-haired elf turned his eyes on me, a smile lingering on his lips. He passed Tarn to my arms.

"I go' da bad doggy!" Tarn exclaimed, throwing his hands above his head.

I was speechless and could simply cling to my child, mouthing a useless 'thank you' over his shoulder.

The three elves nodded and from that day onward I made certain Tarn greeted them within minutes of their arrival to the camp. He told me the light haired one's name was Legolas.

I saw them for the third time when I was weary of the world. The One Ring had been found and destroyed, hope blossomed throughout the land, and I had at last experienced loss. My parents were dead; my husband was dead; Tarn was dead. The two latter fought in the War and passed upon the battlefield. It was the way they would have wanted to die, but my heart was still torn apart each time I had a passing thought of it.

The news was devastating, but already I was numb to it. Weeks before news came, a void had been cut into my heart and I had known that I was alone. I wondered if it was only a matter of time now, until I would join them.

It was while I was wandering the streets, lost in distant memory, that something--or someone--well and nearly barreled me over. I stumbled back, landing on my rump but quickly scrambling back to my feet. I was completely prepared to give the offender a piece of my mind when my jaw dropped at who I saw.

Legolas lay sprawled out upon the ground in a disheveled heap. This day, though, he seemed so much more humane than the proclaimed hero of Middle Earth. Even as I thought such, Legolas climbed to his feet, turning to face me. His eyes were wide, panic glistening in the blue depths of them. "My lady, are you alright?! I am terribly sorry, things seem to have gotten out of hand—"

As Legolas spoke, the Peredhil approached from the alleyway. "Lady, we did not see you, please, accept our apology."

The penitence in their voice was remarkable. Others would have hardly spared a glance for the inconsequential damage that had been dealt, but they acted sincerely remorseful. "There is nothing to be forgiven." I said, nodding cordially. Boys—elf or not—will forever need to prove themselves in a good, friendly spar.

The three elves bowed briefly, "Thank you, lady. If there is ever a need of yours, do not hesitate to call upon us."

Smiling, I nodded again. "I will be sure to."

Not since has an occasion arisen that I have had need of their services. My life is quiet, demure perhaps, but it is the only one I have and I content myself to it. Every few weeks, one of the elves will ride out of Minas Tirith and days later another in. I sit by the window, gray hair long and braided, my eyes occasionally seeing them all together. In all these years, their laughter has not lost its light rhythm and constantly I recall it and hope to continue to—even come the hour my heart ceases its tired pounding.

finis

I remember writing this story in about two hours, back when I had actual hours filled with no responsibility. Ah, what a time.

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