#little woodland creatures gather at his feet and understand him when he speaks. he bursts into song unprompted

[boyrobott]

sorry but this is hands-down the funniest fucking scene in the entire movie. there was absolutely no need for the animators to let him fall so gracefully. he’s just out here swooning like a damsel for the aesthetic of it all. this boy is so disney princess coded.

[maidenoftime-ffxiv]

gabriel and the fae - part 2

(( You can find part one >here!< ))

“I’m telling you, Adam, I saw her! The girl they tell all the stories about! Except... Except she wasn’t some wicked temptress or anything evil at all-- she was a girl! An Elezen. And she did... she did have eyes like starlight, and she was-- Nymeia take me, she was the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, but she wasn’t evil! She was just a girl, Adam! But animals came to her so easily and she sang like... like a nymph, so sweet and so pure--” 

 “Och! Will ye keep yer voice down, lad?” Adam snapped at his companion. Others in the hunting lodge were looking up and over at the two young men and, considering Gabriel’s enthusiasm, one couldn’t really blame them. He had burst back into the lodge all wide-eyed and fresh-faced, like a babe that had been swept over with the first snowfall of the season. 

 “But it’s important,” Gabriel insisted. “She seems so... so isolated out there. If she’s a normal girl, then that can’t be good! She deserves to be... to be out here! With other people. I heard a man call her and she ran off, so maybe she isn’t entirely alone, but I can’t just leave her there in the middle of the forest!”

 “So do ye plan on kidnapping some lass just mindin’ her own out in the middle of nowhere? Maybe she’s happy there!” 

 Gabriel was about to offer yet another rebuttal when he noted an old woman approaching the table he and Adam had settled at. She was a very small Hyur woman, donned in robes of emerald green and amethyst. Large rings set in gold and adorned with gemstones were on her small and gnarled fingers, and she used a crooked stick to help her walk. Eyes that matched the emerald green garments she wore peered over at Gabriel, her face deeply impressed with wrinkles and her wiry white hair tied in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. 

 “Your friend has a point, young man,” the stranger spoke, raising her eyebrows before settling in on a chair, uninvited. “Forgive me. These old bones need a rest, and I couldn’t help but to overhear your tale about meeting the girl with the starlight eyes out in the middle of the forest. If you’ll humor an old woman, son-- why do you feel so strongly about rescuing a damsel that, by all accounts, doesn’t seem to be in distress?” 

 Adam and Gabriel blinked at each other, and then at the old woman. She seemed perfectly content with her decision to interrupt, clasping both wrinkled hands over the top of her walking stick as she observed the darker haired boy. How much had the old crone heard, anyway? She tutted quietly at their silence and shook her head, shaking out one of her skirts. 

 “Young people just don’t know how to speak to their elders these days. It’s a shame. Linkpearls are ruining face-to-face communication,” she sighed. “I ask because I, too, have met the starlit maiden. She seemed to be perfectly content where she was, and well-looked after.” 

 “B-...but she was so frightened and surprised to see me,” Gabriel said in a hushed tone. “She nearly took off running when she saw me.”

 “Maybe she was just frightened by yer ugly mug.”

 “Shut up, Adam. But-- ma’am, you’ve met her, too? The one with the long auburn hair and the lips like berries? Plump and sweet and...”

 “That’s quite enough,” the old woman replied with a frown. “I see what’s going on here. It’s a shame, really. I thought your intentions might be noble, but you’re much like any other young suitor who would chase after a creature they believe to be mysterious and ethereal and magical. Tell me, and tell me honestly -- I’m very good at sussing out a liar. Young man, you fancy yourself in love with the starlit maiden, do you not?” 

 “Of course!” Gabriel boomed, louder and more quickly than he had anticipated. Even he was surprised at the suddenness of his reply, and Adam raised a brow at him, taking a deep sip from his tankard of ale. “I-- I mean, yes, of course. It was love at first sight, wasn’t it? She’s the most exquisite, most gentle creature I’ve ever beheld, with so much... curiosity, and...” 

 “If she is as sheltered as you seem to think, do you think you ought to be her first introduction into the world at large?” the old woman asked flatly. “A young man with hardly any life experience himself, who thinks himself quite in love with a girl he spoke to for all of... Five minutes? Am I close to the mark?” 

 Adam snickered into his tankard, and Gabriel could feel the tips of his ears growing red, along with his cheeks. He cleared his throat and took a deep swig from his own tankard of ale that was starting to go flat. What did this old woman know, anyway, about Juliette? About him? 

 Enough to call you out, a voice nagged in the back of his head.

 “I wish you luck, son,” the old woman sighed at Gabriel’s silence. Slowly, she began to rise to her feet with the help of her walking stick, pushing herself up. “The girl may yet eat your heart out, if you’re not careful. Or if you don’t leave her be. I don’t know if you’re quite her type.”

 “What does that mean--!” 

 Too late. The old woman had somehow already disappeared by the time that Gabriel got to sputtering, and he frowned, swiveling around on his chair to try to find her. Adam laughed again, slapping his companion hard on the back. Gabriel shot a glare at him as the smack stung his shoulder, and then he exhaled, lowering his head and banging his forehead lightly against the table. 

 “Cheer up. Here-- next round is on me, lad!” 

The garden outside of the little woodland cottage was in full bloom. Juliette had her skirts tucked up into her apron as she knelt among the fragrant blossoms, carefully cutting an assortment of bouquets. Her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she focused, and a beam spread across her face as she pressed snapdragons close to her face, inhaling deeply. Did any flower smell more heavenly than these pink petals? 

 Her head tilted at the sudden but familiar little ripple in aether, gray eyes lifting to see Grandmother Andete appearing just a few fulms away from the garden. A fresh smile graced the girl’s lips, and she hurried to her feet with a bouquet in hand, fresh earth caught beneath her fingernails.

 “Grandmother! You’re back. I cut you a whole bouquet of passionflower. They’ve grown beautifully this cycle. You shouldn’t want for anymore until next season,” Juliette said brightly, the medicinal flowers tucked in a large bouquet in the pocket of her apron, purple blooms bouncing lightly in the soft breeze. 

 “They look perfect, little dove,” Andete replied warmly, smiling up at the girl. “I’m glad I turned most of the garden work over to you. I could never get the flowers to bloom quite so beautifully.” 

 The old woman took a moment to assess her granddaughter. In her many years, she had never met a creature quite so good or so gentle. A bit naive, perhaps, but far from stupid. She simply lacked experience. In her young eyes was the look of a woman who had lived a thousand lives, shrouded by sweetness and kindness and curiosity. It was a disservice, Andete knew, to keep Juliette so far from civilization, from her peers, from the world. The girl had powerful magic she knew not yet how to properly control, magic that could be taken advantage of or cause great harm. There was a deep desire to protect others existing within the young girl, and if she lost control in a dire situation...

 Andete smiled and reached out, grasping Juliette’s hand to lead her back to the garden. Raphael was away to get more supplies from Gridania, not to return for a couple of days yet. It was for the best. Juliette was, as far as they were both concerned, his one and only child. The man was overprotective, but it, at least, came from a good place. But one could shelter a vulnerable creature too much, leaving them to grow only more and more vulnerable and inexperienced. 

 “I met the young man you said found you by the brook,” Andete said, looking up at her granddaughter and watching the color drain from her face. “Worry not, child-- you’re in no trouble. I mean only to offer a suggestion.”

 “A suggestion,” Juliette echoed as the two of them sat on the rickety old wooden furniture outside of the cottage, in the midst of the blooming flowers. 

 “Mm. Think of it as a training exercise. I want you to focus on that boy, and I want you to try to see something of him-- not his past, but his future or his present. I want you to think of him, and only of him, until you see him.”

 Juliette looked at Andete curiously, setting the bunch of passionflower down upon the old, worn table. The old woman smiled benignly and reached over to pat the back of the girl’s hand before squeezing it. Her head dipped towards the cottage as she continued.

 “You have seen people who would be significant in your life in your visions before, yes? Call it curiosity, my dear. I’d like to know if this boy will be significant to you, or if he’s another passerby. It’s as good an opportunity as any to hone your magic and see if you can control it.” 

 It is time for to you learn how to protect yourself. A boy who believes himself to be saving a damsel in distress is a dangerous thing. I saw the look in his eyes. He will be hellbent on rescuing you until you make it clear you need no rescuing. This is your time to learn.

 Of course, Andete didn’t speak these words aloud. She simply held her smile and her granddaughter’s hand as Juliette seemed to mull over the idea. The thumb of her free hand ran over the bouquet of snapdragons she’d gathered, just upon the stems, clearly deep in thought. After the silence, her gaze lifted up to her grandmother, and she nodded slowly. There was understanding in her expression. Andete, it seemed, did not need to speak her mind for Juliette to understand what she meant.

 “I will. I’ll try to find him in the other world, and see if anything pops out. And I won’t tell Uncle,” she added with a nod. “I know he would be uncomfortable.”

 “You’re a clever little nymph, my child,” Andete said warmly, reaching over to gently pat Juliette’s cheek. “Work hard. If nothing else, it will be an interesting experiment, no?” 

 Juliette didn’t answer. Her eyes were already unfocused, a dreamy expression on her face as she stared at a spot in the garden that had nothing Andete could see but flowers. A slow exhale came, and soft, shimmering silver wisps of visible air came to pass through Juliette’s lips, trailing out of the corners of her eyes as they started to glow, just faintly. The girl started to slump to the side, and Andete reached out to catch her, gently lowering her onto the soft grass rather than leave her to collapse out of her chair. 

 “And a hard worker, to boot,” the old woman mused as she looked down at the girl on the ground, auburn hair splayed around her. She reached over for the bunch of passionflower Juliette had put on the table, beginning to pluck out the petals to be crushed inside of the cottage later. 

[lady-of-starlight]

Let the Star Lead the Way - Chapter 18 - There is no Love in You

(Warning: graphic, major character death, mental instability)

Thranduil walks the corridor towards the stables, giving orders to his lieutenant while strapping his sword around his hips.

 “Send the fastest tracker back to the city. Tell him to keep his eyes open but to not engage before the rest of the company has arrived. I want this to be handled with as little unwanted attention as possible. Once they have her, they will return to us. We will build the camp near the edge of the forest.”

 “Understood, my Lord. I will send the tracker on his way immediately.”

 “Oh, and Feren…” The elf male turns back to his King. “She must be returned, unharmed. If I see a single bruise on her…”

 “What if she fights back, my Lord?”

 “Oh, she won’t.” Thranduil waves his hand dismissively. “I know which strings to pull to get her attention.”

Feren looks questioning, until Thranduil continues: “Bring up the two younglings from the river caves and take them with you...”

✽ ✽ ✽ 

Despite feeling sure that you would not be able to fall back asleep after the intense dream you just had, you find your eyelids suddenly feeling heavy, alongside with your body, as you sink beneath the bedcovers. After a while, you’re back in deep sleep, wandering aimlessly around in the dark, accompanied only by fleeting flickers of light.

Out of nowhere, an unfamiliar presence enters your dream. It does not feel intimidating, but you stay alert nevertheless.

“Who’s there?!”

“Do not be frightened. I mean no harm to you. I only wish to speak with you.”

You look around you, but see nothing. “Who are you?”

At once, a flickering image of an elf appears in front of your eyes – an umfamiliar figure, yet kind-looking. Dressed in a white gown, she approaches you, holding her hands up as a sign of peace. She has long hair, entwined with strands of silver, with a pale jewel resting on her forehead.

“I am Silevreneth. You may not know me, but you know my husband.” She smiles gently. “I trust you know him very well.”

You gasp. “Thranduil?! You are his wife--?”

 “Yes, although I would say I now stand here as his late wife. And I have come to you as I find myself worried over the well-being of my King.”

“Is this... Really you, not just a dream?”

“You might have heard of the practice of ósanwë. It is less used these days, but there are still some that find it to be a good way of communication... Lady Galadriel, your home’s protector, being one of them. It is also possible for the deceased, like me, to contact the living in the times of great need.”

Shaken, you now begin to think about your latest dreams... Could it be....?

“How does it work exactly?”

“You can pass images, sensations, even scents to another person, if you so wish. And, judging by the scent that still lingers around you...” She steps closer, “I would dare a guess that Thranduil has visited you not long ago.”

Blush spreads over your cheeks as you, with panic spiralling in your head, try to make sense of it all. “H-he--”

“Worry not, I am not here to confront either of you. Quite the contrary, in fact.”  She looks at your steadily. “You have been able to rekindle the love in his heart. And I believe your soul carries feelings for him as well”

Shifting uneasily, you stutter: “Y- well yes, but... My feelings play no part in all of this--”

“But they do. I am here to give my blessing for both of you. He has been alone for so long, isolating himself... He deserves to find happiness, even though he now denies it from himself.”

“Am I to understand--  You want us to be together?” But... You love your husband and son, do you not? And despite your current state, you may still be reborn in Valinor... Most elves are preparing to leave as we speak, if Thranduil and Legolas leave as well you will be reunited through your rebirth--”

“I will not be returning from the Halls of Mandos, not for a very long time at least. My situation is too complicated.”

Shocked, you stare at her. “But why--?”

Silevreneth looks apologetic. “I believe I must show you – but it will feel quite uncomfortable. Apologies.”

Before you have time to speak, she raises her hand and touches your forehead – and your world bursts into noise and flashing images.

In a second, the turmoil sets, and you see a familiar landscape in front of you – Mirkwood.

✽ ✽ ✽

You’re evidently seeing everything through Silevreneth’s eyes. She walks the same hallways you have paced so many times yourself, yet the athmosphere itself seems different - more serious and rigid. There is no laughter, and everyone she passes has a grieving expression on their faces.

“Your Highness...” One of the servants bows to Silevreneth. She nods accordingly, and moves on. It still feels strange to be called with such a title - it hadn’t been long since she had still been the wife of the prince of the Woodland Realm. Now, she is the queen. And she has work to do.

She enters a chamber full of other elves, everyone turning to face her and bowing as she passes them. Approaching a desk full of papers, she seats herself behind it.

“Any news from the battlefield?”

“No, your Highness. Based on the latest information, it seems that the armies have not been able to advance from the Plateau of Gorgoroth.”

“Their losses have been too big... After the battle in Dagorlad I wonder if they have any men left to return home once this is settled....”

You realize that the vision must take place somewhere at the end of the Second Age - War of the Last Alliance, to be specific. You had not been born at the time of said events, but knew more than well what had happened.

But if this was, in fact, happening at that time, then it would also mean...

“Has my husband been able to retrieve his father’s body?”

“We do not know. They have been searching, but as the body count is so severe... It might be that king Oropher’s remains will be lost for good.”

Silevreneth lays down her gaze, to the numerous scrolls of paper that have brought news to her regularly after Thranduil, his father and their army had left the realm to fight the evil in the south. So far, none of the scrolls had brought any good news.

She misses him so very dearly. They had been able to share a few moments together in dreams during the nights but, as the battles had been so unpredictable and sudden, Thranduil had had little time for rest.

Sighing, Silevreneth gathers up all the papers and puts them away. On that moment, the doors open as Erchiel enters the chambers, with baby Legolas in her arms.

“My lady, you wanted to see your son?” “Yes, thank you, Erchiel.” Silevreneth smiles as she gazes lovingly at the small child, now awake and reaching for his mother.

Lifting her son to his arms, she gives the last instructions to the elves around her. Then, the queen of Mirkwood walks to the doors, with her servant at her heels.

✽ ✽ ✽

Later, one day, Silevreneth is out in the woods with her company, when something happens – a pack of orcs appears, and a fight takes place. They are seriously outnumbered, and once everything is over, she is taken captive.

Once she regains her consciousness, she sees nothing but walls of stones around her and chains that hold her, etched deep into the rocks. An iron door that opens only when a pair of orcs enters the room.

They torture her for days, laughing for her pain. Silevreneth’s body is broken and bruised, but she refuses to leave her body, to free her fae, as the only thing she can think of is that she wants to see her husband and son once more. So she endures.

Until the day they bring forth their worst weapon.

The same orcs enter the room once more, but they are now accompanied with a third, even more repulsive orc and so old-looking that it seems ready to collapse on its feet at any minute.

The orc holds a plain box, crafted from black iron and carved with words on a language she cannot read. They observe her for a moment, as if she was an interesting experiment they were ready to put into good use.

Despite being weary, she lifts her chin. “There is nothing worse you can do to me. I can endure your swords and daggers, the spikes and poisons you pour on me, for my mind is intact.”

“Oh, but that is where you’re wrong, little elf Queen – for this isn’t a device for physical torture.” the orc brings the box closer, running his filthy fingers over the lid, “this is the last gift from the Dark Lord. It carries the remains of his power, and it will break you, from the inside out.”

Silevreneth feels coldness spreading through her body. “Sauron has no such power. You’re only trying to frighten me.”

“It is not lord Sauron we speak of, elf Queen. No. We speak of his master, the one he answered to on the glory of his days. The first Dark Lord, he who planted the seed of darkness in the heart of every elf, men and other creature that roams these lands.”

Silevreneth’s eyes widen in horror, as the realization dawns to her. “Morgoth.”

“There is darkness lurking in the soul of every living thing. And this..” The orc grabs the lid of the chest, beginning to lift it, “…will help to lure it out.”

 When the lid rises, a horrible sound fills the room. It is worse than anything Silevreneth has ever heard, as it pierces not only her body but her mind, burning and twisting. With a dark smile, the orc speaks:

“This world was created with music. And with music, it shall be destroyed.”

That is when Silevreneth’s mind shatters. Everything cracks apart, casting her into darkness, as her mind splits.

   ✽ ✽ ✽

“Rise, your Highness.”

Silevreneth opens her eyes, feeling new, raw power surging through her. Twisting her fingers, she notices the shackles to be gone.

She looks around her: There are more orcs now standing in the room, waiting, watching. She rises to her feet, not feeling any pain in her limbs.

“It worked”, one of the orcs hisses, with victory gleaming in its eyes. “She’s changed.”

“Yes, but it took all that still remained of the Dark Lord’s power”, the old orc says grudgingly, eyeing at the last bits of the box that now covers the floor in the form of black dust. “We cannot use it ever again, so make it count.”

Silevreneth straightens her back, walking around the orcs. “Interesting... For such a power to even exists...” She looks at her hands, admiring her newfound strength. She feels like she could take over the whole world, burn it down and conquer every last part of it.

“How do you think we came into being in the first place?” One of the orcs scoffs. “Long time ago the Dark Lord and his servants captured some of you pretty elves and then tortured you until we were born.”

The old orc nods his head. “Although our Lord is now gone and we have found other ways to recreate, it is his power that has created the most powerful ones of us. And now... You.”

“I believe we have a task to offer that would make your Highness very pleased”, the orc continues, pulling a map out of his filthy clothes. “It would be quite sad if you could not join all your servants together, would it not?”

Looking at the map, a cold smile spreads on Silevreneth’s lips.

✽ ✽ ✽

With most of the Mirkwood’s army gone, it would have been the perfect time to try to take over their kingdom. The orcs had thought about it, yet had known that their numbers were still too limited to manage such a trick.

But now that they had someone with them who knew the realm and could lead them inside, it would be worth trying. They didn’t have much time as the orc scouts had seen the elven army returning, the last sightings of them coming from the south end of the forest. They had to act fast.

Silevreneth runs between the trees, leading a small army of orcs towards the direction of the Woodland realm she knows to be most poorly guarded. It doesn’t take long before they reach the solid rocks of the mountain under which the kingdom lies. .

They meet unexpected resistance - the lieutenant in charge must have added more guards during her absence, Silevreneth notes angrily. She makes the decision to leave most of her army behind, leaving them to fight with the guards as she slips inside the realm, accompanied with only a few of the orcs.

 “You stay here and keep this tunnel open, I will go and open the gates so that the rest can get in.”

Silevreneth runs through the corridors, slipping in the shadows whenever someone approaches. There is a slight mayhem inside the realm, as everyone is trying to gather arms to fight off the orcs outside.

Nearing the gates, Silevreneth picks up her speed, when she hears a familiar voice calling out for her.

“My lady?! We have been so worried! Are you well?!” Erchiel runs towards her, carrying a small figure.

“My son.” Silevreneth smiles coldly. “Give him to me.”

“My lady—?”

Silevreneth turns her gaze straight at Erchiel, and she freezes as she sees her eyes. Erchiel trembles and falls backwards, clutching the little, sleeping prince against her chest.

“You—“

“But Erchiel, do you not recognize your dearest friend?” Silevreneth purrs, walking closer. She grabs Erchiel’s arm, whispering in a foreign language, as images fill Erchiel’s mind, trying to gently persuade her to let go of the small boy she’s carrying in her arms while promising that no harm will come to her.

“Hand him over, Erchiel, my friend. I wish to hold my son.”

 Erchiel, her eyes locked with Silevreneth’s, trembles from head to toe, but slowly, so slowly, she begins to extend her arms, offering the little baby to its mother, who is triumphantly reaching forward –

 “STOP!”

 A familiar voice yells from behind them, causing them both to freeze. Silevreneth turns on her heels, facing the gaze of eyes she knows better than her own.

Thranduil stands before them, panting and drenched, but alive. He holds his sword, with his hands shaking slightly as he points the blade towards his wife, who now has the sweetest smile on her lips. A few of his soldiers stand behind him, looking just as tired and worn out as their King, and Silevreneth can hear new shouts coming from the hallways above her: The army has returned.

 “Welcome home, darling”, she purrs. “I did not expect for you to return so soon.”

 “Step away from him”, Thranduil growls, his eyes filled with fear as he looks upon the scenery in front of him. “Don’t you dare to touch my son.”

 “Oh, but he is my son as well, is he not?”

 “No.” Thranduil moves closer. “You are not his mother, and you are not my wife. What have you done to her?”

 “They broke her. She is gone.” Silevreneth curls her lips into a feral grin. “I am the new Queen of the realm, and I shall take what is mine.”

 “Not before you’ve gone through me.” In a split second, Thranduil leaps towards her, his sword flashing.

They fight, but even in her haze, Silevreneth sees that Thranduil cannot win the fight: He strikes, but not to kill. He cannot bring himself to kill her. And that is all for her advantage.

The next time Thranduil strikes with his blade, she raises her own, and with a quick twist of her wrist, she manages to hit the sword from his hands.

Weaponless, he stands in front of Erchiel and Legolas, protecting them with the only thing he has left: His own life.

 “Step aside, darling.”

“Never.”

 “I will not ask again. Step aside.” She takes a step closer.

“Silevreneth...” Tears fill his eyes. “When I left, I was worried to leave you two here alone. You promised to keep him safe from all evil, do you remember? Some part of you must still remember. You promised.”

“I promised….”

Suddenly, something stirs in Silevreneth’s mind: Her old self, returning once more, trying to gain control over her body.

She raises her hands to her temples, as a splitting headache races through her. “No, go away…”

But the real Silevreneth won’t allow herself to be pushed away, not now. For a moment, she gains control over her dark side. The sword falls from her hands, and Thranduil kicks it aside.

Thranduil recognizes the change in her. “Silevreneth? Is that you?”

She turns to look at him.

“Everything will be all right, my love... Just let me help you.” He reaches out for her with desperate eyes.

At his words, the darkness stains the edges of her vision once more, and she knows... This is beyond their powers. Her control starts to slip, as her fingers find their way to the dagger she had taken with her, pulling it out and holding it between herself and Thranduil.

“Silevreneth, please...”

She stops for a second, taking one last look upon his husband, her eyes trying to deliver the emotions she cannot speak anymore.

 “I will keep him safe. I will keep you safe.”

 Then, she raises the dagger she’s holding in her hand. Thranduil realizes what she is about to do and jumps forward, but it’s too late.

The blade pierces her heart, as Silevreneth drives it through her own chest. Blood runs over her fingers as she collapses forward, to the hands of his beloved one as he grabs a hold of her.

 “No, no—“

 He holds her, tenderly, raising her face so that he can look her in the eyes. His tears fall on her cheeks, as she raises her hand, touching his chest before muttering her last words:

 “I am sorry…”

And so, the Queen of the Woodland realm dies, her hand falling lifeless against the ground as her King lets out a yell, the sound the embodiment of pain and grief that echoes through space.

✽ ✽ ✽

His scream splits your ears, and in the next second you’re thrown back into your own body, the vision now gone.

You gasp for breath and try to calm down, as your heart races and your whole body shakes.

“I… I never knew…”

“Neither do most elves.” Silevreneth says silently. “Those who witnessed everything vowed silence. I was told to have died during the invasion, which was told to be the result of me managing to escape but being followed home by the orcs.”

“And now...” She looks at you, “I must stay where I am. For how long, that I cannot tell.”

“But... It was not your fault, none of it! Those creatures did it to you. There is no reason to keep you in the Halls for all eternity, as you are not one of the wrongdoers who are never to be let out!”

Silevreneth’s face suddenly twists, as she raises a hand to her temple.

“It matters not, the effects are the same. The darkness still lingers in me. I have been able to find peace here, but even lord Mandos does not know how long it takes before I am fully healed. Our bodies can be remade and healed relatably fast. Our minds, however... It may take quite some time.”

She sighs. “What I am trying to say... As my fate is so very unclear, I want for my husband to be able to move on. And now that he has you, I feel confident that he will be able to find happiness.”

Speechless, you turn to look at your hands, suddenly feeling tears rising in your eyes.

“Something troubles you, I see?”

“I... I just cannot believe I could be enough. Enough for someone like him to make him happy...”

Silevreneth touches your cheek tenderly. “The happiness is found within, my dear. Sometimes you just need the right person to help you find your way back to it. You have already started that journey for him - You might as well continue and see where it takes you.”

“Speaking of journeys, do not forget the one that sent you to him.”  Her voice grows weaker, as the light surrounding her slowly fades. “Darkness is coming, and there isn’t much time. You need to be prepared to face it.”

Removing her hand, she steps back, disappearing in the shadows. “And please... Keep him safe.”

- End of chapter 18 -

Notes: Phew, that was one heck of a chapter. Hope you liked it!

As, based on Tolkien, the whole world of Middle-earth was created by the music of Eru Ilúvatar, and Melkor/Morgoth did his best to ruin it by weaving his own nasty chords into it, I thought it would be an interesting idea to see how “the music of evil” could have been used to create much of the darkness in Middle-earth. Of course, in the later times when Melkor/Morgoth was no longer present himself, it was presumably up to his successors to keep up his filthy lil’ legacy (although it was less impressive in terms of creation), as he had done most of the ground work already.

Also, referring to the fae mentioned in the chapter, a quick FYI - fëa and hröa (in Quenya) were the terms to describe the soul and body of elves (their Sindarin equivalents being fae and rhaw). When an elf’s fëa separates from their hröa, they die. It could be unwilling, such in the case of getting slain, but it could also be done willingly, if the elf so decided.

Tagged persons: @shady-teenagers @danidac7 @bellastellaluna @blackcat995 @the-ship-amitiel @evyiione @tenduelimagines @raindancer2004 @bunnysneverdie @yhunakaye @chibiyanai @abbyg217 @fndmsrndmyfvcknglfe

As always, if you wish to be tagged on the future chapters, please leave a comment on the most recent one! :)

[scurvgirl]

Once There Was A Dragon

Calling this the Fairy Tale AU because I’ve been referring to it as a Snow White meets Beauty and the Beast and 100% more dragons.

Every Friday, Adannar sets out to collect necessary alchemical components and food. The food part usually doesn’t take so long, he isn’t particularly picky, but the alchemical components can be very tricky. For instance, he needs a type of moss that seems to only grow on this one hill on the outskirts of his territory. The hill has an altered state of being due to the life and death of a spirit of Renewal. Every now and then, Adannar will see another Renewal lingering around the knoll, which means the hill is in radiant bloom. He saw the spirit yesterday, so if he hurries, he thinks he can make it in time to harvest the moss.

The moss is infused with wisps of Renewal’s energy and aid in the creation of his little creatures as well as general maintenance. But today he is looking to augment building.

To gather the moss, Adannar must shift his large, draconic body into a form more suited for the task. He shifts into an elf and walks the rest of the way to the hill. This way, he also avoids alarming the spirit. The creature has been known to take to fright overly much, accidentally shattering itself. Such a delicate thing.

After a moment of walking, he realizes he has neglected this form. His hair has grown long and reaches his ankles, and he is thinner than previously. He is not gaunt, but the robe he has attached to this form is looser, giving it a much billowier look than intended. No matter, he is simply here to gather the moss.

He walks up the hill to where the moss grows in thicker patches on stones, shaded by the tall tree Renewal likes to spend its time. Adannar sets his basket down next to a large rock and takes out the small pairing knife. He gently works the knife along the rock to remove the moss, placing it in the basket as he goes. He needs a good bit of it, so he makes his way to several other rocks before feeling satisfied with the amount he has collected. He won’t return to the hill for some time to gather more. Renewal will need time to cultivate more.

With his basket packed and the day’s main task accomplished, Adannar shifts back into his true form. He picks up the basket with a particularly dexterous claw then launches himself into the sky to fly back to his roost.

The forest is in the foothills of a great mountain range that acts as a natural border between two kingdoms. He…doesn’t know the names of the kingdoms, but he does know that the one he is flying from is smaller and the kingdoms don’t always get along. His nest is in a lone, small mountain that he has dug and carved out for himself through the centuries. It was his primary objective for many years until he was satisfied with the outcome. It is not as gigantic as some dragons’ lairs, but he likes it – it’s homey and allows him to work.

He’s created all of the decorations in his lair, from crystal chandeliers to beams that support some of the ceilings to burnished floors. It is the only home he has ever known, and while on the modest size for dragons, it can feel large and lonely to him. His seclusion is not by his choice, but rather by the choice of others to create spurious rumors about dragons.

Every so often knights fancying themselves as dragon slayers find his home. They demand he relinquish a prince or princess he has not stolen then attempt to kill him. The ones that live because they wisely run have spread tales of him and his little automatons. They know him as the Mad Dragon in the Forest. But to his kind, he is simply Adannar the Lonesome.

His home is just as he left it, in a disarray that he has felt unobligated to fix due to his lack of visitors. His friends have taken to solitude as well, and he is unsure of how to broach the subject on breaking it. He longs for the days when his kind could just be, visiting not only other dragons, but people – elves, humans, dwarves, even the horned people to the north. But the dragon slayers have risen in prominence, dragons have been killed for being too…prominent. So they lay low, even if it means seclusion and depression.

Adannar does his best to remedy his loneliness by creating. As a result, he has created many, many little creatures – wisps woven into mechanical bodies that resemble woodland creatures. They populate his home and the forest, not harming anything, just…being. He has struggled to give them language to converse, however, despite figuring out how to give them full personalities and lives. He loves each and every creation, and each is given a name, but he longs for more.

He has moss to create and repair but a heavy melancholy overwhelms him when he returns home, the piles of stuff only reminding him of everything he should do. But he lacks any of the ability to actually do any of it.

Instead of doing of the work he ought to be doing, Adannar collapses into the pile of pillows and blankets that make up his bed. He falls asleep and drifts into the Dreaming much more easily than he has in the past, his soul drifting and floating through familiar pathways.

He is not seeking anything in particular but feels strangely drawn to a small cottage in the forest between his home and the kingdom to the west. He lets his curiosity pull him to the long-abandoned home. Or supposed to be abandoned. Through the bright colors of the Dreaming and the familiar spirits drifting through the space, Adannar sees a horse tied to a tree, nibbling on a bush.

Curious, Adannar floats down into the cottage, his body wispy and delightfully formless. It is strange to be this way, like he was before he was a dragon, but not entirely unwelcome. He admits, there are days where he longs for the simpler days of a bodiless existence. And it comes in handy for exploring his territory when the weight of his body is too much.

Inside the cottage, a small fire burns. It has the look and size of a fire recently made, or made by someone not accustomed to building fires. Curled by said fire is an elven woman with her legs pulled up in front of her body and her forehead leaning against her knees. Hair black as ink spills down in front of her face and down her back. Pastel pink and blue robes are torn from her ankles to her knees, stained by mud and dust. But her hands are soft looking, her nails delicately manicured. Not accustomed to building fires, then. A noblewoman, but a noblewoman far from where she is supposed to be.

Her shoulders shake, from cold or crying, Adannar can’t tell. But he can tell that she has very few items on her person, and there is no food in the cottage, he knows. The poor thing! She must be so scared and lonely.

Adannar drifts out of the cottage and back to his body, forcing himself to wake. A burst of energy fills him and spurs him to gather a few foods that are palatable to elves – bread, fruits, and cheeses. He even packs a wine that’s been sitting in his kitchen for some time.

With all haste, Adannar takes to the skies and heads for the cottage. He lands and shifts into his elven form before reaching the home, however, careful to not scare his guest away. Several of his mechanical creatures follow his path as he strides to the cottage. Once, twice, he knocks before opening the door.

“Hello?” He calls before entering. The woman gasps and shifts back, scrambling to her feet and fishing out a dagger in her robes, pointing it at him.

“Who are you?” She demands.

He blinks, “I could ask you the same, seeing as this is my cottage.” Alright, not really his cottage, but it’s in his territory and it’s been abandoned for some time, so it could be said it is in his possession at least.

She hesitates before speaking, voice laden with suspicion, “I did not think anyone was living here.”

Adannar shrugs, and smiles, “Well, I now live deeper in the woods, more room you see. Old wards alerted me to your presence.”

Her eyes narrow for a moment, her lips pressed into a harsh line, “How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know she didn’t send you?”

Adannar blinks, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. No one sent me, just…myself I suppose.” He lifts the basket, continuing to smile pleasantly, “I brought food.”

“How do I know it’s not poisoned? She…she would do something exactly like that,” she says, taking a step back, hand still firmly gripping the dagger.

“I really do not know who you speak of, but it is a fair worry, there are some very concerning sorts in the world.” He opens the basket and samples each food item, careful to show her each one before he nibbles on it. He even tries the wine. A delicious rose that matches her eyes.

By the end of the demonstration, he can see the hunger on her face, lips parted and eyes devouring the bits still visible. He places the basket on the floor and steps back.

“You are welcome to as much as you like, I am not an impolite host.”

She eyes him for a moment longer before settling down next to the basket. First up are the strawberries. Then she nibbles on some cheese and bread. She pours a glass of rose with a shaky hand and seems to have to resist from downing the entire glass.

She must be starving to eat so quickly. But even as she devours the food, he notices her posture is straight, her fingers delicate and poised as they hold her food. A noblewoman retains her manners everywhere it seems.

“My name is Adannar, by the way,” he says. She pauses and looks up from her meal, bashful and without a napkin to properly dab away the fruit juice at the corners of her mouth.

“How remiss of me, I am simply so used to everyone knowing who I am. I am Serahlin El – just Serahlin. A pleasure to meet you, thank you for the food, it’s delicious.” Her smile lights her entire face up in a brilliant display and he feels his heart stutter for a moment.

It has been far too long since he has had company to feel this way about simply conversing with a woman. A woman who had just threatened him, no less.

“A pleasure to meet you as well. And if you have need of the cottage, you are welcome to stay, though I must insist on letting me actually fill it with things to make it habitable.”

“Oh that is,” she pauses, biting her lip, blushing, “that is too kind of you. This is your home and I would hate to impose.”

He waves her off, “You would not be imposing in the slightest. As I said, I live deeper in the woods. I would be a terrible host if I did not ensure your comfort, correct?”

Serahlin pauses, then nods slowly.

“Great!” He claps his hands and walks outside where many of his little creations have gathered, curious to see the mystery woman. The mystery woman who follows him outside and gasps at the sight of the creatures.

“Wh-what are they?!”

“They are my creations, do not worry, they will not harm you. Here,” he holds out his hand to her while a deer-construct named Huirin sniffing at Adannar’s other hand, “let me show you.”

**

Serahlin stares at the…mechanical deer and wonders briefly if she has fallen into one of the stories her maid used to read to her as a girl. The man, Adannar, holds his hand out to her, clearly gesturing for her to follow his lead and perhaps touch the creature. It is…overwhelming, to say the least.

It must be the lack of sleep over the last few days because she takes his hand, rough from building these…creatures. But he is gentle as he guides her hand to its muzzle. The metal is warm and smooth and the deer responds like a real deer, blinking and sniffing, curious. A curious air surrounds it as it steps closer to her.

“Oh, that is…”

“Alright, Huirin, give the lady space. I apologize, he is a glutton for treats and rubs.” A soft whirr emanates from the deer in what she can only assume be a noise of communication.

Serahlin swallows and retracts her hand.

Adannar, the man, is very…earnest in his kindness. When she had found the cottage it had been a blessing after the three days on the road, trying to get as far away from the palace as possible. Even if getting far away meant braving the Dragon’s Forest and even the dragon itself. There was no food or furniture, but it was something, which was more than she had.

The food Adannar brought was blessedly not poisoned and the more he acts, the more she is convinced he is not sent by her mother, but just a strange man who lives the dangerous woods…making mechanical woodland creatures.

It is too much to fully process at the moment lest she risk completely melting down in a sobbing mess. First her mother tries to kill her and now she is in a strange wood with a strange man and stranger creatures. Too much. Better to ignore it and let it happen than to think about it.

Adannar gives the creatures instructions, requesting they bring back everything necessary to make the cottage livable. But really, Serahlin doesn’t need it, she just…alright, perhaps she does need it. She hasn’t even been able to find food on her own, and only luck granted her finding that small brook to drink from.

“In a few hours, the home will be ready. Would…would you like a change of clothes? I have some robes that can fit anyone easily.”

She must look horrid for him to ask her such a thing, but she supposes it is part of the deal after spending three days on the road running from her tyrannical queen of a mother. She nods.

“That is too kind.”

“Nonsense, the world can always use more kindness.” He turns back to a creature, a large bird this time, telling it to bring back robes. She pulls her clothes closer to her body, stupidly worried over her appearance. He doesn’t know who she is or her status or anything. She is just Serahlin.

It makes his kindness nigh unbearable.

Don’t think about it don’t think about it.

Her hands return to her front, clasped together to keep them from shaking. Her distress must be obvious for Adannar to turn to her, brows drawn together in concern.

“When was the last time you slept?”

She swallows and considers lying, but what use would that be?

“Sufficiently? Three days ago. I have attempted to sleep more but the forest…I’ve never been without a bed.”

His expression turns soft, “And fear keeps you awake nonetheless.”

She startles, “I said nothing about fear.”

“You pulled a dagger on me when I first entered the cottage, your robes are torn, you have no supplies – you’re running from something. Do not worry, I don’t even know who to report you to if I even was the sort to do such a thing. And I’m not! I promise. Lots of people run from things! Often from monsters.”

Not for the first time she thinks of how strange he is. His way of speaking is foreign, as is his accent, robes…truly everything about him is odd. He is not from the neighboring kingdom, his mannerisms are entirely wrong, too open and honest. But he is not of her kingdom either, he is too earnest and bombastic. Besides, he is…in quite the disarray aesthetically, though it looks entirely more purposeful than Serahlin’s own current state of ruined robes. His hair has been allowed to grow significantly past fashionable length and what are his robes even supposed to be? They hang loosely on his frame, too big, and yet they are exquisite.

“Monsters?” She asks carefully.

“Yes, I’ve met many people fleeing monsters. Gurguts are common enough to run from, nasty buggers, they smell terrible. Bogfishers, though they’re less aggressive as long as you give them room. I once saw an entire village flee a giant that had decided to take over the village for some strange reason. And of course, there are more sinister monsters, abusers who make fleeing almost impossible. You don’t need to tell me what monster you’re fleeing from. Just know that you are welcome here as long as you need.” The mechanical creatures disappear into the wood, theoretically fetching the items Adannar has requested.

His words are reassuring in the least. She had not dreamed of finding safety in the Dragon’s Forest of all places, running from her mother of all people. And speaking of monsters…

“Isn’t there a dragon living in the forest?”

Adannar blinks and shrugs, “I’ve never been bothered by the dragon. Keeps mostly to itself from what I can understand.”

“That is a relief,” she sighs, leaning against the cottage wall. The knights had all said the same thing about the dragon in the forest being terrible and cruel and mad. She ran here because she knew that it would give anyone pause chasing her. Leave Serahlin to the forest, she’ll die soon enough with that dragon in there.

And perhaps she would have if she had not met Adannar.

Don’t think about don’t think about it.

“You are exhausted, please, sit, allow us to fix the place.” He guides her to a stump to sit on and she turns away from him.

“I am not an invalid, good sir, I am fully capable of helping.”

“I am not saying you are incapable, I apologize for insinuating such. Rather, I am striving to be a good host. Though I am failing if I am insulting you – what would you like to do?”

What a question. What would she like to do? What she wants is to sleep for week and to be taken seriously and not just as a silly princess. Not that she wants to tell Adannar that. He doesn’t need to know that she is more than what she seems to be, and that the monster she’s running from looks more like herself than a gurgut or bogfisher or whatever else he was on about.

Sitting is nice though, and she appreciates his candor. She is unaccustomed to such openly kind and honest behavior. He is bound by manners, clearly, but not in an effort to one-up her, but to genuinely be good to her. It is as foreign to her as his garb.

“I am quite fatigued from my journeys,” she says, “but if there is a task you need assistance with, please ask.”

He nods and continues to smile, “That I will. Rest is important, it is how the body naturally heals itself.” Several of the creatures return from their venture, carrying various objects in their talons or mouths or on their backs. Adannar waves his hands and conducts the items into the house by floating them in. There are thuds and scrapes but the entire spectacle is quite…amazing. He must be exceptionally gifted to be able to move all of this, and there is quite a bit, on his own.

“Do you require assistance? Telekinesis is not my forte but I can certainly reduce any strain.”

“What? Oh no, this is not very difficult me, don’t worry,” he affirms before returning to the task at hand. Posts and lamps and rugs and even dishes are floated in, arranging themselves into proper formations. But no, it’s Adannar doing all of this.

Exactly how powerful is this man? He says he made these mechanical creatures and now this blatant display of power is…it’s a bit concerning. Is she his guest or his prisoner?

“You are quite gifted with magic,” she says.

“I suppose.”

“It makes sense then for you to live out here, many would seek to use you or your power for their own gain.”

He hesitates but nods, “That is very true.”

“But it’s not why you live out here?” She presses.

The flow of items reaches its end and he lowers his arms. When he turns to her, she expects a harsh face, a turn in his demeanor to show that she is more prisoner than guest. But he only looks…sad, even with his smile and kind, yellow eyes.

“Not entirely. Many do not understand and what people do not understand, they seek to hurt or tame. I have no interest in either.” He turns from her, gold hair flowing away from him as he strides to his creatures.

“Food will be brought to you. If you are interested, I can teach you, or one of the spirits of the forest can teach you to hunt and gather and cook. I imagine noblewomen aren’t taught such things.”

Feeling suddenly defensive, Serahlin narrows her eyes and straightens her back, “I am not a frivolous dependent. I went out on hunting trips regularly with the hunts master.” Not that she learned that much from those trips, but still, his tone leaves much to be desired.

“I do not wish you to starve, Serahlin. I apologize for poor manners, the exertions of the day have left me fatigued,” he turns toward her, serious and solemn, “a caution about the forest - do not pass the waterfall to the east, many who do, do not return.”

What a cryptic thing to say. Before she can question him by what he means, he slips into the forest, seeming to disappear within the shadows. Strange, but it the Dragon’s Forest, strangeness is probably the norm as backwards as that sounds.

When he leaves, the creatures go with him, taking the low whirring that had filled the air with them. It leaves her with a sudden heavy silence and a full cottage for her to explore anew. Serahlin rises from the stump and heads into the cottage, now alight with warm candles and a much more sufficient fire. There is a sofa with cushions covered in a vibrant floral pattern that makes her smile. Behind the sofa against the wall is an oil lamp; and next to a bookshelf that even has a few books on it – old and weathered tomes on flora and fauna of this part of the world and even a few fictional stories.

She wanders up the stairs into the bedroom to find the fireplace in there lit as well, and a small oil lamp sitting on a side table. The bed is smaller than what she is used to, less extravagant, but it is beautiful all the same. It appears to be hand carved from a light wood, swirls and symbols etched into the small posts at the head and foot of the bed. The bedspread is floral as well, though different from the cushions on the sofa it’s still a beautiful print.

She wanders to the wardrobe on the other side of the bed and opens it to find it filled with robes. They are unlike any of the fashionable robes she had in the palace, but they are radiant in their own way. Best of all, they are clean and untorn.

Opting for comfort for the day that is winding to a close, she chooses the night gown, wrapping the soft simple robe to her body. She spends many minutes simply brushing out her hair, getting all of the knots and tangles that have formed over the past few days of running. It is not easy and by the end, the brush is covered in hair.

But her hair is brushed, and her clothes are clean, and she is exhausted. This place is strange, and she is alone. Before a few days ago she had never really been alone. There had always been people around her – servants, her mother, her sister, knights, nobles…. It is not a terrible thing, she doesn’t think, but it is not good either. She is alone because her mother wants to kill her, because another kingdom demands it due to their supposed honor. It’s ridiculous and sad and terrifying.

She lies back in the bed and looks up to the ceiling. As strange and scary this entire thing has been, she thinks she’s at least temporarily safe. Safer here at least than at the palace. Adannar seems kind, if odd and exceptionally powerful. He seems to be bound to a code of hospitality that obligates him to see to her needs, but she is unfamiliar with this code. Hospitality is expected back home but so is a certain amount of distance and an “accomplish what you can on you own” attitude.

Or maybe he’s mad and being quirky to get her to like him so she won’t question it when he starts performing magical experiments on her. If that’s the case, she has the knife and the horse to run. Though for now she is safe and in a very warm, soft bed. She waves her hand, switching the oil lamp off as her body drifts into the best sleep she has ever had.

[spiffyb]

Annabelle’s Totem

Deep in the Ya Ha Tinda, forests filled with firs and aspen trees are punctuated with fields of wild horses, Mustangs running free in the wind which shakes the tall, coarse grass.

           Annabelle gazed out the window of the cherry red pick-up truck, which was firmly closed to stop the dust getting in, as she drove along the dirt road to nowhere. Her GPS had cut out over a mile ago, and she wondered how she was going to find the ranch in the first place. Luckily, all the roads were in grid out West, which made things easier, and there was no traffic to speak of. But there were also no gas stations. The nearest one was in Sundre, so she just had to keep driving. She wasn’t lost yet.

           Finally, the trees cleared and a log cabin on a hill and a sizeable red barn, bordered by a wooden post-and-rail fence, appeared in the distance. Annabelle turned the truck into the driveway, putting it into park and climbing out to clumsily open the gate with a hand-carved sign inscribed ‘Lucky Diamond Ranch’. Sounds like the name of a Casino. After closing the gate, she pulled up right by the cabin, and looked around for signs of human life. The air was rich with the smell of horse hair, horse dung and silage.

           ‘Howdy,’ a lean man wearing a Stetson, worn-looking leather cowboy boots, Wrangler jeans and a blue plaid shirt swung one leg and the other over a fence and jumped down like an agile cat. ‘I’m Lenny.’

           Annabelle introduced herself, reluctantly shaking Lenny’s rather dirty outstretched hand. Lenny and his brother Bryn, who was really his half-brother, ran the ranch. Bryn happened to be a veterinarian, and was out on a farm call at the time. Something about a cow with a prolapsed uterus. Annabelle said she didn’t want to know.

           ‘You want anything? Coffee? Some Jack Daniels?’ Lenny offered. Annabelle had almost stepped in some horse apples.

           ‘Coffee, please.’ She followed Lenny inside the log cabin, which consisted mainly of one room, with paintings of country scenes and all manor of animal heads hanging on the walls. She took a mug of tar-like substance that smelled something like coffee in her hands, and thought better than to drink it. Lenny just smiled. He was handsome but, Annabelle thought, wasted on this solitary existence. What kind of man lives out in the boonies with his brother and other animals, anyway?

           After exchanging few words, Lenny lead Annabelle out to the paddock. The horses stood around, their coats gleaming in the bright Alberta sunlight, swishing their tails back and forth. One, a buckskin gelding, nuzzled Annabelle’s palm. ‘He likes you,’ Lenny said, ‘That one’s Joey.’

           Annabelle regarded the beast. He was around 15 hands high, probably a quarter horse and young, maybe three. ‘Is he broke?’

           ‘Yeah, he’s a fine animal,’ Lenny beamed, ‘Strong, though. Not suitable for beginner riders.’ He gestured to the gelding’s flank and powerful quarters.

           Annabelle rolled her eyes. ‘Can I take him out?’

           ‘What, all by yourself?’

           Annabelle said of course by herself. As a girl, she loved watching the show jumping at Spruce Meadows, and she had taken lessons in dressage as many years ago. Lenny shrugged and went to the barn to get a saddle. As he hoisted the leather saddle onto Joey’s gently curved back, fixing the girth in place, Annabelle noticed Lenny was smirking and shot him a questioning look.

           ‘Out here we call you folks “Coca-cola Cowboys”.’ Not funny. Annabelle found it about as amusing as she found the horn at the front of the saddle, and she unwillingly found herself imagining what sorts of injuries a person could sustain from that appendage. She said nothing while Lenny continued saddling her horse fluently. ‘Do you know how to neck-reign? No? Well, you can pony-reign if you need; most horses understand it.’ He gestured a neck-reign demonstration, which looked rather as though he were miming how to change gears in a stick-shift car. Annabelle drove automatic for a reason.

           Having mounted the horse with some elegance, Annabelle gathered the smooth, brown leather reigns in her right hand and sat straight with feigned confidence. Lenny told her to go straight across the field to the west of the ranch, and head along the well-worn path through the forest towards the Blue Mountain, said the ride took about an hour there and back.

           Commencing at a walk, Annabelle rode Joey through an open barb-wired gate into a lush green field, with hills and forests in the distance. She nudged him gently with her heels to guide him into a trot, but also squeezed him slightly with her legs, prompting Joey to burst into a gallop. His long, beige legs propelled them forwards with ease, as his hard, black hooves danced rhythmically across the field. He moved so smoothly, Annabelle felt like they were flying.

           After a while, Annabelle left the city behind and relaxed her shoulders. This expedition felt like the most natural thing in the world. For the first time in weeks, Annabelle forgot about Eric. She could have gone to a spa or done yoga in a comfortable studio with a hardwood floor and a vast window overlooking the mountains. Eschewing luxury, she opted to get as far away as possible, which the Ya Ha Tinda promised. In reality, she found herself in the middle of nowhere: the antithesis of glamour. She thought of Lenny, about how ridiculous he must have found this yahoo with her designer handbag and brand-new Levi’s.

They came into a clearing in the forest, where a large elk stood wearing a crown of great antlers. Annabelle didn’t see the elk, and neither did the horse at first, so she was unprepared when her mount leapt sideways with all four feet in the air.

           ‘Whoa, boy!’ the command came forth instinctively. ‘Whoa! I said “whoa”!’ Surprise became panic, as the horse kicked his hind legs towards the sky, bucking like a bronco at a rodeo. The rider flew into the air, and fell onto the forest floor like a bird shot out of the sky. The elk had already dashed into the woods. Annabelle picked up a small, smooth stone and threw it at the horse, who whinnied and took off down the trail. ‘Stupid animal!’

           Annabelle started to shiver slightly, and she looked up at the sky, blue streaked through with crimson, lilac, flame orange and pink, like a painting of meadow flowers: Indian paintbrushes, fireweed and pale pink Alberta roses. She pulled her denim jacket around herself. It was still Spring and the nights could get cold. Having shaken off the shock of her little misadventure, she scrambled to her feet and walked slowly to the edge of the clearing, hoping to find the trail. Appraising the ground, she couldn’t make out any hoof prints. Deer, elk, and coyote prints all mixed together. If a horse had walked there, Annabelle didn’t know. Tears sprang from her eyes, running down her cheeks like the Red Deer river which roared in the distance, too far away for her to hear.

           Grasshoppers clicked their legs, chirping softly. A small bird, high in a Balsam tree sang chick-a-dee-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee-dee. Compared to the city, it was so quiet, but Annabelle hated the silence and every noise the forest made. When a coyote howled like a ghost, Annabelle thought it was a wolf, great and grey with menacing fangs. In the clearing, bushes decorated with bright red berries clustered around. Although her stomach growled, she dared not touch the berries for fear they were poisonous. What Annabelle didn’t know was that these fruits were named bearberries, and the grizzlies who feasted on them were somewhere in the mountains enclosing the Ya Ha Tinda’s Western perimeter. For a moment, Annabelle took her cell phone out of her pocket and laughed. That was useless out here. There was no way to call for help. If, in her panic, she cried out frantically for help, there’s no telling what creatures she would awaken. If she climbed up a tree, there’s no way she could get away from a mountain lion, with its sharp talons and unnatural speed.

           Stick to the trails and be back before dark.

           As the sun disappeared, the painted sky turned inky black, dusted with stars. Far from the city, you could see every star with clarity, and a group of stars gathered in the shape of a ladle. And at the tip of its handle was the North Star. And if Annabelle had known this, she could have found her way back through the thick forests, down the hill and across the grassy plain. But the forest was forbidding, a sea of trees standing still like totem poles.

           Annabelle turned around. Something rustled in the bushes, heading towards her. Two brown eyes peered at her from the dark forest. Suddenly the beast burst into the clearing.

           ‘Joey!’ Annabelle cried, startled. Moonlight revealed the familiar outline of a horse. The animal had appeared like a spirit from the forest, a shadow of the history of the Stony tribe who once wandered these plains and mountains. The western wind moved through the trees, gently tousling Annabelle’s auburn mane like waves on the sea. Surrounded by this wonderful wilderness, she paused and hesitated mounting on the horse. She was lost in a dream. While her feet were planted firmly on the ground, she stood on a higher plane. While the wilderness was filled with mystic, it managed to simplify life. Before, Annabelle had only imagined that such places still existed, untouched by the urban sprawl.  Joey lowered his head and strolled shamefully towards Annabelle, who hugged his neck, as he bent his neck towards her, hugging her back. Joey looked different somehow, Annabelle thought, almost human. His big brown eyes were filled with apology. ‘I’m sorry too, boy,’ Annabelle said, gently stroking his nose. Sliding one foot in the stirrup, Annabelle got back on her horse. For a moment, she remembered she was still lost with no idea how to get back to the house.

           As they traversed the woodland in search of the trail, Annabelle breathed in the scent of lodgepole pines, listening to the call of a barn owl asking who-who-who? She couldn’t see a darn thing. The odd Alberta rosebush pricked her legs, and when Joey walked too close to a poplar she felt its corrugated bark against her calves. The young horse ambled along cautiously, until they eventually reached the edge of the forest. The night sky illuminated the field; its reflection played on the waters of a lake, so that it was impossible to differentiate the Earth from the atmosphere. Under the starlight, Joey galloped in the direction of an artificial light glowing in the distance.

‘Annabelle’s Totem’ by Barbara (Wilson) Drury (c)