~ Wynne is plagued by frightening memories and intimidated by the elves' immortality, and gets comfort from an unexpected direction. ~
8. Hard to Sleep
The singing and flute music went on for long after Wynne had excused herself and gone to bed in her lonely tent.
She had abandoned all thoughts of another try to seduce Thranduil. It was obvious he still mourned his wife, despite the many years that must have passed since he lost her, and even if she somehow could make him want her that way it was unlikely he would allow anything to happen.
She suspected King Thranduil never did anything of an impulse.
Besides, she didn't even want to seduce an elf anymore; not him, not anyone else. It had been a bad plan from the beginning, one that had made her feel false and wicked.
She remembered her resolution from yesterday, that she would act like she was strong and experienced. So little time had passed since then and yet she felt completely different now. Like she was another person.
The elves were becoming her friends – even Thranduil though he scared her wits off at the same time – and she didn't want to pretend in front of them.
Perhaps she should go somewhere else after the quest was over? Mother couldn't punish her if she never came back home. Wynne could just take the horses and run away.
But she knew it wasn't that simple. There were evils other than orcs; human men in packs could be almost as bad, if the rumors from her hometown were true, and a woman living alone would be easy prey.
Sighing deeply, she buried her face in her blankets. There was just no way out of this.
She moved fitfully in her bedroll, unable to sleep. Her thoughts kept alternating between Mother's demands and the upsetting memories of the orc fight today. It had scared her more than she had believed possible. All had gone well, yet the shock refused to ease its grip on her.
In the end she gave up sleeping and went back outside. The fire had burned down to red embers and all was quiet, not even a snore. But elves were probably too beautiful to snore.
She spotted Galion on his watch, walking leisurely with his hands behind his back.
How could he be so calm? Wasn't he afraid another pack of orcs might sneak up on them?
She joined him.
"Cannot you sleep?" His pale face had an almost ethereal glow in the faint light.
"No." She sighed. "Too much on my mind tonight."
If Galion had been an older man like her father she might have asked for a hug, but he was an elf and hugging him would feel like touching an exquisite porcelain doll with dirty hands. She wasn't worthy.
"Shall I play something for you?" He picked up his flute.
"I'd like that. Thank you." She sat on the grass, resting her forehead on her knees.
Galion played a beautiful tune that sounded vaguely familiar.
"It's from Rohan, isn't it?"
"Aye. An old ballad about Fram and the dragon Scatha, written by his son. I was reminded of it when you told the story yesterday." He resumed playing.
Trying to relax, she let the music fill her feverish mind.
She didn't recognize that particular song but it was similar to many others she had heard. Back home, there were musicians who wandered from farm to farm to entertain the household with an evening of ballads and tales, and in return they got a warm meal, what old clothes the family could spare and in wealthier homes maybe even a few silver coins. Wynne must have listened to hundreds of ballads and folk melodies in her days.
It struck her that if Galion had learned the melody from Fram's son he must have been alive thousands of years before Wynne was even born – and then this ballad could be the origin of all the ones she had heard as she grew up.
The thought made a chill creep down her spine.
When Mother told her to marry an elf she had been frightened of the prospect of marrying anyone at all, believing elves to be like the human men she had seen. Their physical appearance had eased her apprehension on that part, but now it was their immortality that discouraged her.
She was a human and would live a hundred years perhaps, maybe twice as many if she inherited Grandmama's Dúnedain longevity, but elves lived forever. They were a completely different kind of being and as such they were unapproachable.
Galion's music couldn't soothe her anymore, rather the opposite. She had to make up a reason to leave; he wouldn't understand why he only made her more distressed.
"Thank you, I love when you play but I must see to the horses before they wander too far. The orcs scared them so bad earlier and I ought to make sure they are alright." She made a slight bow and abruptly rose, hoping he wouldn't be offended.
He only nodded in response and continued to play.
Wynne didn't have to walk long. The horses were grazing just behind the tents; it was still light enough to make them visible as gray shadows. She found Vatna and wrapped her arms around her broad neck, pressing her nose into the soft fur. The musty smell was comforting and finally her shoulders relaxed a bit.
She wished, not for the first time, that she could abandon the quest and just go back home. Mother's marriage assignment was both impossible and ridiculous, and now it was clear even her task as a horse keeper was too much for her. If today's battle had scared her so, what would the next one be like, and the one after that? Wynne was useless. A burden like Thranduil had anticipated when she first joined him.
She tried to muffle her ugly sobs in Vatna's fur.
"Is everything alright?" A tall figure emerged from among the other horses.
Startled, she backed away, but then she saw who it was. "Legolas. Please, not now. I'm not in the mood for jokes." She hid her face again.
He didn't reply at first but she heard him come closer. Maybe he was still a little tipsy, for elves normally made no sound at all when they moved.
When he spoke it was in a low, surprisingly gentle voice. "You did well. Everyone is afraid the first time they fight for their life. It will pass and the next time will be easier." It was as if he had read her thoughts.
She kept her face against the mare's neck but Legolas' unexpected kindness made her feel a bit better.
"Were you?" she mumbled. "I mean, afraid the first time?"
"Very much. Terrified, actually. I soiled my pants." He chuckled mirthlessly and she knew he was serious for once.
"What happened?"
"I was only an elfling and it was a giant spider. It caught me by surprise and stung me with a poison to make me sleep. When I woke up I was wrapped in strong silk and unable to move, and above me the spider leered and gloated over what she would do to me and how tasty I looked. If not my father and his guards had come searching for me I would have become spider breakfast that morning."
Wynne wondered how long ago that had been. Her grandparents had taught her history and hence she knew that monsters had only begun taking over Mirkwood in the latter part of the Third Age. Legolas must be much younger than Thranduil and Galion if there had been giant spiders in his childhood.
"I'm sorry that happened."
"Don't be; it was a good learning experience. I have since lived through many worse things, and with less fortunate outcomes. I have learned how to handle it – and so will you."
"Thank you for cheering me up." She wiped away her tears and met his eyes for the first time.
"Do not mention it. However, if you ever meet my friend Gimli, please keep it a secret a spider caught me unawares. I would never hear the end of it." His normal impish smirk had returned.
Wynne repressed an urge to hug him.
For some reason he didn't remind her of fragile porcelain dolls at all, despite his handsome features and immortality. How come she felt more at ease with Legolas than with the others?
A/N:
This fic will deal a lot with immortality and its consequences, and how difficult a relationship with an elf can be for a human. This is only the beginning of Wynne's hardships...
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