The Hillside
Noldo tied his catch on the pack pony, and then watched Sindo mount his pony, Archer, and lead the pack pony away. Noldo took a different route home. He swung south, and rode homewards through the scrubby woods bordering the Ettenmoors.
When he was almost home, he tied Hunter and went into the woods a little further. The woods were warm, most of the trees were turning golden, and there was a light blanket of early leaves softening the ground. He found a pleasant hillside facing the sun, but as he approached it, all his heartache approached the hillside with him-- his disobedience to his father, his heartsick brother, the annoying girl he could not avoid, and his desperate desire to find a hobbit settlement and live a normal life-- all of this loomed before him. He had hoped to leave the heartache behind him as he rode; hunting or riding often helped, but not today. He sat down, sunk in self-loathing misery.
Come find me.
No, he replied, hardly thinking, you come find me.
He sensed her eagerness. She was on her way. He sighed, dreading her arrival, and lay back against the comfortable hillside.
She came far too soon, with shining eyes, a bright smile, and mischief all over her. He had no strength for it.
"Why don't you love my brother?"
She puzzled, uncertain. He wasn't angry, or indignant. He was weary. She came and sat very near him.
"Why not? He adores you. He loves you more than you can know. Why can't you love him?"
She tried the edge of his mind, asking to come in. He fought for a moment, but he wanted answers, and the stubborn girl did not want to talk. He closed his eyes and let her in.
Why won't you love my brother?
Because I love you, she replied.
Tenderness enveloped him, taking him by surprise. The tenderness was sweet, but it confused him, and puzzled him, especially after his afternoon of heartache and self-loathing. After a few moments, he asked, Why? Why do you love me?
Slowly, one memory at a time, she began to show him. Little kindnesses, jokes, encouragements were replayed. Moments of humor and camaraderie and gentleness flowed past, and little behaviors of his that fascinated her.
Knowing how often he had rejected her and been angry with her, each image brought him more guilt. After a while he said so, and he wearily expressed his sorrow and asked for forgiveness for all of the times he had hurt her.
Tenderness flowed around him again, and this time he sank into it, wanting it, opening to it and receiving it gratefully. She showed him more. She loved his love of hunting, and riding, his love of nature. She loved his love for his father and brother and mother. She loved his spark, his determination, his edge. He began to see, to believe, to understand that she loved him for who he was; that she had searched him as much as she had been allowed, and found him desirable, and noble, and strong.
He felt overwhelmed and unable to take it in, and yet she had already poured it inside him. He struggled, feeling as if he was somehow sinking, and he opened his eyes. She was watching him.
Her beauty struck him as if he was seeing her for the first time, which perhaps he was. He stared, and she drank in the stare. A small thought rose in his mind warning him that this was all very sudden and overwhelming, and probably rather dangerous, and that he should stop and think; but immersed in pleasure, he ignored it. He felt as empowered by her love and as overwhelmed by her tenderness as if he was flying and drowning and on fire all at once.
He sat up and leaned forward, brushed her lips with his, and silently called her. That filled her with hope and longing, and he kissed her and called her again; he knew that she wanted to respond, but she hesitated. His mind was drowning in her tenderness, and he sank back against the warm hillside, gazing up at her, drinking in her beauty, silently drawing her. Her hesitance was fading. He called her again.
In the distance something was crashing through the brush. He paid it no attention. Hunter snorted, but Noldo could not tear his concentration from Lorien; still he called her, drawing her. Then he heard hoof beats, and then Sindo's voice cut through the air as if from far away. "You've agreed? You're going to marry her?"
With a huge effort, Noldo tore his eyes from Lorien and looked up at Sindo, not comprehending.
"You're going to marry her." Looking down from atop his pony, Sindo's eyes narrowed. "Aren't you."
Reality began to seep in, and Noldo realized what he had been about to do. He struggled to rise up on one elbow, his jaw slowly beginning to open, just beginning to be horrified. Sindo was ahead of him.
"Aren't you, " Sindo threatened.
He could barely speak. "I-- I wasn't thinking-- "
In a normal, fair fight, gentle Sindo would never have had a chance against him. But despite his brother's clear desire to kill him, Noldo was still half focused on the tenderness his mind had been drowning in, and hardly had the presence of mind to shield his face as an outraged Sindo jumped off his pony onto his older brother. Archer, snorting, backed away as Sindo drove one knee into Noldo's stomach, pummeling mercilessly with his fists. Noldo could only writhe in pain, and when Lorien finally got over her surprise and wrapped her arms around Sindo's waist, Noldo could barely move. Sindo roared at her, but she clung tightly, hauling him backwards, until Noldo had half crawled to Archer, mounted, and galloped away.
Riding was agony, but he knew he needed miles of distance over rocky ground, or Sindo could track him. He headed south and then east, burying his hands in Archer's mane and focusing mainly on staying on and not getting sick. He rode hard for two hours, across whatever barren and rocky ground he could find, and crossed northward into moorland again, and found a trickling stream. He followed it until it broadened, painfully dismounted, and after letting Archer drink, Noldo lay down in the stream.
As various fiery bruises began to cool, Noldo considered his options; he had only his hunting knife, having left his bow with Hunter. He could not survive long away from home with just his knife, nor did he want to try. His guilt was too clear, and he had no desire to be alone with it any more than he had to. He knew that he had to face his father, and admit everything that he had done. But he had to be able to ride first, and Archer was all but spent.
He crawled up onto the bank and lay down. On the edge of his mind, he felt someone tugging. He closed his mind hard. Sindo was probably still trying to kill him, and Lorien he no longer deserved; he never had, he reflected. Before, he had been insensitive to her, and cruel. Now, to the misery he had been drenched in after the hunt, was added the guilt of having tried to seduce her. He shuddered, wishing again and again he had not ignored that little warning thought on the hillside. It would have been a good idea, after all, to stop and think. His sudden abandonment of self-control contrasted starkly with the many images he still held of Lorien's admiration and respect for him. He compared the two, baffled. He pondered the contrast late into the night, but came no closer to making any sense of it.
And suddenly he remembered Lily. A deep stab of guilt convulsed him, and he buried his face in his hands. His self-loathing spiraled deeper, and he had no refuge from it; thinking about Lorien's love for him only made him dread what Lily would have thought of his behavior. He lay awake with misery keeping him company, til he finally rose several hours before dawn, caught Archer, and headed home.
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The Fairy Wife