Acceptance
(winter)
The next day, Sindo tried to talk Noldo into heading south to the hobbit settlements instead of going west, but Noldo refused. "She needs some sort of healing, I think," he said, "and I think the elves must be able to help her. And she needs her own food. It's time she went home."
Looking at Lorien, Sindo couldn't argue about the food, or about the healing either. He reluctantly submitted to his brother's leadership.
They rested for two days; Noldo's pony stopped limping, Lorien was warm and able to ride. They prepared to set off westward. Lorien could have ridden by herself, they thought, but she was still easily chilled, and the old arrangement they had used crossing the mountains made sense to them both. So they used her pony for a pack pony, and Lorien rode in Sindo's arms all morning and in Noldo's arms all afternoon. She stayed much warmer that way, and the brothers were better aware of how she was. They kept up a consistent chatter about her well-being for the first few days.
That was partly because it was easier than missing their parents. They did not talk about Doldo and Mallie; neither of them were able to. It was as if it was all a bad dream. But when Noldo felt brave enough to open his mind to Lorien, that illusion perished. It was all too real, and it was beyond his strength to share, he realised. He closed his mind again as tenderly as he could, and kissed her brow gently, and spoke to her. She curled up against him and hid her face.
When two weeks had gone by, she began to be her old self again, a little; her eyes brightened, she smiled occasionally, and spoke more. They picked up the pace, and more and more Lorien rode behind, with her arms wrapped around Noldo or Sindo's waist. She was even warmer then, with her cloak wrapped all the way around both riders. And warmth was needed. The sky was a grey wall before them. The sun never made it through for weeks on end, and they went westward by the best guess they could. In the featureless landscape, they sometimes wondered if they were going in circles, but every morning the sky behind them lightened first, and every evening the sky in front of them faded last, so they pressed on.
Sindo had worried whether Lorien would eat, but in Noldo's arms, she would eat whatever he offered her. Sindo obligingly roasted every catch, and meal after meal, watched Lorien eat her fill. Hot or cold, it was clear that she had grown to hate the stuff. But it was also clear she would not refuse Noldo's request. Sometimes that worried Sindo, a little.
While meat was better than nothing, it was clearly not what she needed. She lost color, and weight, despite Noldo's persistence. His determination to find Mithlond grew daily.
They had been riding for a month, when they came to gently rolling hills. They pressed on, enjoying the change at first, but then the hills became as dreary as the wild flatlands had been.
One afternoon, as the three ponies trotted abreast up and down the dreary hills, Noldo felt Lorien on the edge of his thoughts. He turned instinctively to look at his brother, but his brother was lost in his own thoughts.
Cautiously, Noldo opened his mind to her. He found her thoughts gentle, and peaceful. She waited on the edge of his mind, patiently.
He waited for her to think about something.
She waited for him.
And somehow, he found that very relaxing. She sensed he was content, and that made her content too. They rode like that, completely peaceful, for an hour or so, and then he grew weary of keeping his mind open. She sensed that, and gently withdrew.
That night at dinner, Sindo noticed something different about Noldo; an added hint of tenderness, maybe, than he had seen in him before. He wondered if it was real, or he was imagining it. And he wondered what might have brought it about. He thought he could guess.
Once every morning, and once every afternoon, Lorien would open her mind, ever so quietly, to Noldo, and he grew to anticipate those times. Before a week had gone by, he relished them. In two weeks, he began approaching her thoughts instead of waiting for her to come to him. She smiled in his mind then.
One afternoon in the third week, as they rode peacefully along, she asked him permission to ask him a question. He smiled in her mind, and asked her what she wanted to ask.
Her question surprised him. Very gently, she asked him to tell her about Lily.
He had not thought about Lily in a while. The loss of his parents had given him enough grief, and he had steered clear of grieving for Lily on top of that. But as Lorien brought up Lily's memory, he was stricken that he had neglected her.
Lorien waited, gently, patiently. Noldo fought with himself for a while, uncertain of his willingness to open up his private thoughts to her, uncertain of her motivation for asking, uncertain of how they would be received, before he realised how patient Lorien was being, and how gently she was waiting for him to make up his mind. And somehow that decided him.
He reached two years back, to the Inn on the banks of the Langwell. Ned was there, and they were finishing up their beer; and as they left the inn, Lily joined them, her arms full of herbs gathered on the hillsides above the riverbank. For a moment Noldo stood transfixed, nervous, shy, and longing to be near her; Ned kept up the banter and the joking, trying to help Noldo hide his awkwardness and nerves; Lily was kind and smiling, laughing good-naturedly, and in a few moments Noldo unfroze, and the three of them walked along the road to Ned's house. When they got there, Missus Fairbanks invited Noldo in for supper, and as it was sunset out, he agreed; and all during that meal, the candlelight flickered in Lily's eyes, and gave her skin a soft, ethereal glow, and her hair shone. More than once, Ned had to repeat himself because Noldo was absorbed in gazing at his sweet sister. Ned didn't complain, and Lily seemed to smile more softly than ever. Ned's parents said little, but looked happy enough, and were especially kind to Noldo after that night.
Noldo sighed, and suddenly wondered how Lorien felt-- he was not hiding any of his feelings from her, as accustomed as he was to showing Sindo everything without reservation. But she reassured him, and asked him to show her more about Lily.
Memory after memory surfaced, with Lily shining more and more, and Noldo growing ever more fond of her, and her parents growing ever more fond of him, and Ned smiling through it all and saying nothing.
Lorien watched it all, gently, and waited, with an open mind. Noldo grew weary, and she wondered if he needed to rest. But he wondered how she was.
"You love Lily," Lorien thought. It was an agreement, not a challenge.
"And I miss her," Noldo agreed.
"Poor Noldo," Lorien said, very gently.
At that moment, Noldo flashed back to the day on the west hillside, when he had confided in his father that he missed Lily, and his father had told him that he believed she was dead, and grief had flooded him. Lorien had pressed close to Noldo that day, full of sympathy, and he had refused her sympathy. He apologized to Lorien for that.
She apologized to him, for being so pushy with her sympathy that day. He thanked her.
You are weary now, she thought. You should rest.
I should, he replied. But I don't want to let go yet.
In answer, she tightened her arms around his waist, and then gently began to release his mind.
Wait, he begged. Don't leave yet. Stay with me.
Gently she hushed him. He begged again. Suddenly beside them Sindo turned and gave Noldo a quizzical glance. Lorien hushed him again, and Noldo let her go, and closed his mind. He kept his face blank, and they rode on in silence.
The next afternoon, Lorien asked him about Lily again. He was less surprised this time, though no less puzzled, and continued the narrative from the day before. But it wasn't long before he arrived at the last time he had seen Lily, about three days before the deer hunt, the fire, and their departure over the mountains with Lorien. That last memory of Lily, often replayed, and the memory of their flight over the mountain pass, and his vivid recollections of his father and mother, overwhelmed him.
Sindo turned, and saw the sorrow on Noldo's face, and gave him a quizzical look. "Noldo, is everything all right? What are you thinking about?"
"Too much," Noldo replied.
"Mother and Dad?" Sindo asked, very softly.
"Yes, and Lily," Noldo replied, honestly.
"That's a lot," Sindo said. Lorien withdrew suddenly from Noldo, but just seconds later, Noldo sensed Sindo on the edge of his mind.
Noldo let him in, guard down, wide open, out of habit both emotionally and mentally. At the same time he wondered if that was wise, and he could feel Lorien tensing behind him.
Sindo didn't explore his mind at all. Instead, he painted a picture of two hobbit holes side by side on a hill, and said, We'll go hunting and riding and we'll spend time at the inn and sing and drink and laugh together. And we'll be happy. You'll see.
Then Noldo did weep, a little. Lorien held him tighter, Sindo gently stayed with his thoughts, cheering him with hopes about the Hobbit settlement, and the afternoon slipped gently away.
That night, Sindo approached Noldo while Lorien had stepped outside of the camp. "Thanks for letting me in this afternoon," Sindo said.
Noldo looked at him quizzically.
"I'm doing my best not to pry," Sindo continued. "But if I trespass, please let me know somehow. All right?"
Noldo frowned, and nodded, waiting for something more. But Sindo said nothing else, except to give him a light shove, and murmur "Idiot."
"Pesky, " Noldo replied, shoving him back. They clapped each other on the shoulders, and Sindo returned to roasting the rabbits while Noldo melted snow.
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The Fairy Wife