Chapter 62: Chapter 62: Mirkwood PT 2
"Are you the son of Lady Tindómiel?" the elf asked me, and at first glance, I observed how her emotions overflowed; what seemed like a simple question to me appeared to be of utmost importance to her.
Her movements were clumsy as she descended from the tree. I felt the urge to answer the moment she asked, but I waited until she had fully descended. It was a matter of good manners to wait until the other person gave you their full attention, or at least, that's how I had been raised in my previous life.
It took her only a few seconds to climb down and approach me. Although she appeared relaxed, her movements betrayed otherwise. Every gesture was carefully coordinated; the way she stood in front of me indicated she was ready to react to any of my movements, which was understandable for someone who seemed to be a warrior.
I don't blame her for being cautious; I would have done the same in her place. In fact, that's exactly what I was doing. Although I had lowered my sword as a sign that I didn't want trouble, my posture was far from relaxed. I was prepared to react to any sign of hostility, although I should keep an eye on Bombur, the fool is still asleep.
Our eyes met, and in that instant, the world seemed to fade away around me. Her eyes, a bright green, sparkled like emeralds magically illuminated by the small rays of light that the dense forest allowed through.
They were a delight, and from her perspective, the same could be said of my eyes. She was captivated by their soft and bright honey color, a trait I had gratefully inherited from my mother. Nostalgia, sadness, and perhaps a hint of affection reflected in her gaze; it was like an open window that allowed me to glimpse the carefully guarded feelings within her.
"You have the same eyes," she murmured, her voice as soft as the whisper of the wind on a spring afternoon, a sweet melody that would have hypnotized any being, if not for the firmness of my will. I can't deny it was one of the most enchanting voices I had ever heard. From a distance, I hadn't perceived its true charm, but now, so close to me, her tone revealed itself like a siren's song in the ears of a sailor.
"Yes, I am Tindómiel's son, and everyone tells me the same thing," I replied, and upon hearing my words, her eyes met mine again. A flash of joy lit up her gaze, and with a graceful movement, she took a step back. The warrior's stance faded, transforming into that of a woman. The change was so drastic it left me speechless.
The figure of the warrior, ready to pounce fiercely at any movement of mine, vanished, and in her place stood a beautiful lady, a radiant smile adorning her face, enhancing her beauty even more. The curve of her lips, the delicate rise of her cheekbones—everything about her was a masterpiece that would captivate anyone who laid eyes on her.
'Mr. Tolkien, thank you for allowing me to admire such beauty,' I thought, paying homage to the creator of this universe. And the best part of all, this elf was a red-haired beauty, her hair so vibrant, as if it had been kissed by fire itself.
"In that case, how has she been?" Her question snapped me out of my reverie, her eyes expectant for my response. It's a pity I have to disappoint her because even I wouldn't know how my mother is or if she has already recovered in Valinor.
"I don't know. The last thing I heard was that she went to Valinor," I said with a hint of frustration and sadness. It wasn't a secret that I longed to know more about my mother, to experience her warm maternal love.
To some extent, I didn't understand why I was so sentimental when speaking about my mother. I don't know if it was because the longing for maternal affection intensified due to my elven side. I recall my great-grandmother mentioning that these feelings amplified, as elves embodied all pure, unconditional love.
This was demonstrated by the enormous bonds they formed with their family and loved ones. Their love was so pure that they would only have one partner for the rest of their lives, even after the death of one of them, they would remain single for eternity, still loving that person.
An example is how my great-grandfather Eärendil, despite feeling more in tune with his human side, chose to live with elven grace for the rest of his life just to be with my great-grandmother Elwing, who was an elf.
Another well-known example in Tolkien's universe is that of Beren and Lúthien, where Lúthien gave up her elven grace to embrace mortality and be with her beloved Beren.
Although we must give credit to Beren, a mortal man, who, in order to marry his beloved, accepted an almost impossible task from Lúthien's father, which he successfully completed, stealing a Silmaril from the crown of the darkest being in Tolkien's universe, Morgoth, the Dark Lord and master of Sauron.
"Did she go to Valinor? Why?" she asked in a trembling voice. There was no doubt that this news affected her deeply. I don't know what she experienced with my mother to react this way.
"She was wounded after giving birth to me, and the injury caused by Sauron couldn't be healed. It was likely she would die if she didn't go to recover in Valinor," I explained, recounting what my uncle Elrond had told me, a pang of sadness accompanying each word.
I saw how the brightness in her eyes dimmed slightly at my response, but she quickly concealed that emotion, her eyes once again shining, her vanished smile reappearing. 'Why do I love seeing her smile?' I thought.
I didn't feel the same with the elves of Rivendell, and our meeting had been somewhat curious; the white stag revered by the Silvan Elves appeared before me, guiding me on the right path, only for me to encounter this beautiful elf seconds after the stag departed.
Call me crazy, but it's too much of a coincidence. Plus, her melodious voice is like that starry night in Rivendell, as if fate wanted to bring us together. I wouldn't oppose pairing up with such beauty, but there's no need to rush—I can court her over time.
…
Wait a minute. Reddish-brown hair? Only one elf came to mind with that description. 'Could it be her?' I wondered.
"Is that so? Such a pity. I held Lady Tindómiel in very high regard. But could you tell me what you're doing here with a dwarf?" she said, frowning slightly when she looked at Bombur asleep behind me.
"Before I answer, can you tell me your name?" I asked. Perhaps I should have done so from the beginning, but I didn't see it as necessary with the tension we had before she confirmed I was Tindómiel's son.
Her face showed a bit of embarrassment, unlike those readings where it was unclear if she blushed. Perhaps it's because she wasn't of the same constitution as the Japanese, who tend to blush when drunk, a curious trait of all Asians in particular.
Avoiding my gaze, she cleared her throat, clearly embarrassed by her discourteous behavior. Recovering a bit, she gave me a charming smile and uttered a name I was very familiar with, confirming my suspicions.
"My name is Tauriel."
-With the Dwarves-
"Damn it! Who was the idiot that suggested we take this path?" Glóin grumbled. For some reason, they didn't wait for Aldril to get Bombur out of the lake, deviating from the path, a very stupid decision.
"It was Thorin," Bilbo replied in a bored tone. He didn't know if the dwarves' stupidity had rubbed off on him or if the forest prevented him from reasoning, but he followed the dwarves when Thorin indicated they should move on, believing Bombur and Aldril would catch up sooner or later.
"Oh, sorry," Glóin whispered. He knew he had messed up when Thorin turned to look at him with a serious face, as if saying there would be consequences if he responded differently.
It was just a casual conversation that made them wake up and realize they weren't on the right path. Perhaps their instincts warned them of this, as they immediately stopped.
"Aldril and Bombur aren't following us, Thorin. We need to go back for them," Balin suggested nervously. He was worried about the last two, just like the rest of them. They didn't understand why they decided to leave them behind; this was clearly not typical of them.
"There's no time. Besides, it's Aldril; there's no need to worry about him, he can take care of himself," Thorin grunted. A while ago, something had moved him from his position, urging him to walk in this direction. He felt disgusted for having left two members of their company behind, but he consoled himself with the fact that Aldril was the strongest among them, so sooner or later, he would catch up.
"I don't feel well. Hey Aldril, you finally caught up with us?" Bofur said with a silly smile. The dark magic permeating the forest had caused him to hallucinate, as he mistook Dwalin for Aldril.
"Shit! Why is everyone Bilbo?!" Nori shouted, stepping back, tripping over a branch, and falling on his rear. He looked in shock as everyone who had once been dwarves was now Bilbo.
Thorin was alarmed at this; in a matter of seconds, his entire team had gone mad. It was at that moment he woke up and realized something was influencing him. With persistent fear, he searched for the path, only to realize they had strayed from it long ago.
He turned to look at the group urgently, noticing that the only one who seemed sane was Bilbo, who was watching the dwarves' hallucinations with surprise. This made sense since the ring, despite not yet awakening its will, offered protection against any kind of magic. After all, it was the most powerful ring ever created, which is why Bilbo was the only one still sane. This showed that it was just a moment of stupidity not to wait for Aldril and Bombur.
"Bilbo, climb a tree and see which direction we should take," Thorin said, this time in a tone more serious than usual.
Bilbo stared dazedly at the dwarves for a few seconds. After hearing what Thorin said, he nodded, understanding that they were lost. Quickly, he climbed a tree, demonstrating why Gandalf had mentioned that Hobbits had light feet—the agility with which he climbed was like that of an animal in its natural habitat.
At the top, he felt the fresh air, filling his lungs with enough oxygen. Up there, he felt full of vitality. It was indeed difficult to breathe inside the forest, so he took advantage of the moment to breathe a bit more. At the top, he observed the sun beginning to set; it was an incredibly beautiful sunset, and he wouldn't have minded admiring it a little longer if he weren't on an urgent task.
Shifting his gaze from the sunset, he spotted the river in the distance, the one that would lead them to the Lonely Mountain. An involuntary laugh escaped his mouth as he shouted down from the top.
"I can see the river! We're close!"
With the same agility he had used to climb, he descended. A joyful smile adorned his young face. He was eager to point out the direction they needed to take, only to freeze when he stepped onto the muddy ground.
The dwarves had vanished, leaving him alone. Fearfully, he drew Sting, following Aldril's advice: whenever something felt wrong, he should draw his sword and stay alert, never letting his guard down.
This advice saved him from being taken by the spiders as in the movie, as he managed to hear a crack behind him. Quickly, he turned, only to see a spider lunging at him.
"Ahh!" he screamed in fear, but that was all—just a scream, as his body instinctively reacted, stabbing the spider in the face. The spider, still in the air, fell onto Bilbo's body, dead from being impaled.
"Ugh, what are these things?" he asked in disgust, as the spider's blood began to drip onto his face. He didn't know where they had come from; just a moment ago, he was in that tree and hadn't seen any of these spiders. Pushing the spider's corpse aside, he got up and quickly wiped the blood off his face. While cleaning himself, he noticed one of the dwarves' backpacks lying near another tree.
"Could they have been taken? Ugh, I need to find them," he murmured as he hesitantly walked through the forest, searching for the dwarves. It was fortunate that just a few steps away, he saw huge webs spun in the trees, so despite his fear, he resolutely headed toward them in search of the dwarves.
-With Tauriel-
"Tauriel! What are you doing with a mere human?" Legolas asked in a disdainful tone. The disgust he felt toward Lady Tindómiel's son was palpable, and a look of annoyance formed on my face.
"You're the last person who should be belittling a 'human,' Legolas," I said. It sounded very hypocritical on his part, considering I never spoke disdainfully of the human he had been seeing.
"Besides, he was just about to tell me his name, so please, don't be rude," I continued. A few moments ago, I had asked him his name, and just as he was about to tell me, Legolas appeared, souring the atmosphere that had formed between us.
***
Nasty smelly orcs! Here's your chapter for today.
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