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Old 05-12-2007, 01:31 PM   #348
Ealasaide
Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad
 
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Benia

As Benia let Gilly lead her back inside to a quiet corner where they could await the arrival of Amandur's party in safety, she knew that her friend remained haunted by the events that had been set into motion mere days earlier in that very garden. Benia was haunted by them too, knowing full well that her own naive carelessness in that garden had led to the deaths of two, possibly more now, good men. In fact, she was happy to escape the beauty of the garden, although not for the same reasons as her friend. While Gilly was concerned for their safety, for Benia, the place simply harbored too many ghosts, chief among them a tall man with pale blue eyes and a shattered face.

shattered soul

Upon returning to Imladris with Gilly, Toby Longholes, and Dúlrain, Benia had discovered that the Elves had been quick about laying the two Rangers to rest in the halls below the foundations of the Last Homely House, entombing them alongside their own battle-slain kin. As those tragically touched by an evil of Elven making, the Elven folk had claimed both Kaldir and Rauthain as their own and provided for them in death. On the eve of the first day, Benia had slipped away to visit Kaldir’s grave.

It was in a cool and quiet place, at the end of a short hallway, unmarked other than by a simple, yet stately white marble slab that bore no inscription other than his name, Westernesse, and the dates that bound his life at either end like parentheses. What else was left to be said? How could all the pain, the strength, and the horror that had been Kaldir in life ever be distilled into a line or two of doggerel etched upon a tombstone? She knew that to the Elven Bards who would compose the song cycles that told the Saga of Naiore, Kaldir would be little more than an aside, his part in her story, ultimately, a small one. The affairs of Elves were of a different fabric and, to them, a man’s life bore little significance, like the mere shadow of a cloud, passing windborne over the face of the sun. To Benia, however, it was different.

She stood there for a long time, tracing her fingers over the freshly carved letters of his name. She would not forget. Finally, she reached into her pocket and closed her fist around the spangled chain that she had worn for so long across her cheek, that Naiore had ripped from its place and left for a clue that would lead Kaldir to his death. Dúlrain had returned it to her as they had traveled across country, and it still bore traces of Kaldir’s blood. Taking it from her pocket, she smoothed it out and laid it across the narrow ledge that ran below the tomb’s inscription, hoping to leave it for him as a token that she would never forget him. She would write a song for him, too, if the Elven bards would not, and she would sing it at dusk on evenings when the air was clear and the breeze blew in the direction of Imladris. Perhaps then he would hear it and know that she had not forgotten.

Now, sitting with Gilly, she waited anxiously for the return of the other travelers, hoping that they brought with them tidings of Naiore’s demise. The notion that Elven Witch still lived and that her pursuers returned home in defeat sat ill with her. Unconsciously, she reached over and squeezed Gilly’s hand. If Naiore still lived, then Dúlrain would undoubtedly rejoin his captain for the continuance of the hunt. He and Benia would marry as planned, yes, but any hopes for a cottage in the Ranger kingdom of Arthedain would be delayed, as would any hope of starting a family. Although in the field following the death of Barrold Ferny, she had counseled Dúlrain rather passionately against the pursuit of revenge, she had since come around to the decision that should Dúlrain follow his duty and go off again in the pursuit of the Witch, she would go, too. Left to her own devices and with the help of her tribal kinsmen, scattered and hunted though they were, there was surely something she could do to help. What she sought, however, would not be revenge but expiation for her own tragic blunders. It would be a hard sell to Dúlrain, who harbored the expectation that she would sit in Imladris or elsewhere and await his return, but she had not entirely made up her mind whether even to tell him of her plans. After all, he could scarcely forbid what he did not know about.

As though reading her mind, or perhaps merely responding to the pressure of Benia’s hand, Gilly gave her a studied look. “What will you do?” asked the hobbit lady quietly.

“If she has escaped?”

Gilly nodded.

Benia shrugged. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I suppose it depends on what happens next. I would like to travel with you as far as the edge of The Shire to see that you are delivered home safely to your husband and boys, for I imagine you will be heading home, regardless. I should very much like to apologize to your loved ones for dragging you away on this misadventure and to tell them what a heroine you are.” Benia gave her friend a gentle smile. “For I know you well enough to know that, left to your own telling, you would play down your role to that of a mere piece of baggage with passable cooking skills.”

“Oh, no!” protested Gilly, laughing. “I shall be the very image of old Bullroarer Took! Riding about on great, snorting horses and slaying orcs left and right with naught but a frying pan and a paring knife!”

Benia laughed as well. “Tease if you must, Gilly, but you are a heroine and an exceptionally brave hobbit.”

“No,” rejoined Gilly. “A very average hobbit, I’m afraid, who was terrified nearly every step of the way. I wrack my brains and can scarcely come up with a single moment when I didn’t believe that the next moment might be my last.”

“Nonetheless,” Benia reminded her. “I shall never forget the way you followed Kaldir into that grove of trees, not knowing who or what awaited in their shadows, just as the orcs were closing in and we were making that last desperate dash for the stair. It was surely one of the most selfless acts of bravery as I have ever seen.”

“Well,” grumbled Gilly. “I couldn’t very well let him go in there all alone.”

“Of course not.” Benia was just opening her mouth to remind Gilly of yet another stalwart act of courage when she was stopped by the arrival of Dúlrain, who had jogged up from the direction of Elrohir and Elladan’s counsel chambers.

“So they have returned!” he said slightly out of breath, but pausing long enough to give his beloved an affectionate kiss on the cheek. When the women had both acknowledged it was true, he nodded and moved decisively in the direction of the door. “We should go forth to meet them.”

“We should indeed,” answered Benia, rising. She was an eager as anyone to know the fate of the Ravener, since so many of her future plans depended on the success -- or the lack thereof -- of the returning party’s grim mission. She looked questioningly toward Gilly, who shook her head.

“No,” the hobbit said softly and picked up the basket of flowers she had gathered in the garden. “I really should be getting these blossoms back to the healers before they are completely wilted and useless. I’m sure the healers are already beginning to wonder what has become of me as it is. Besides, Toby may be awake again by now and need something. My guess is that I’ll find out more sooner than later, anyway, what has become of that awful Elf.”

Once Benia had re-assured her friend that she would seek her out and tell her all tidings as soon as they were known, the two took leave of one another, Gilly scurrying off in the direction of the Halls of Healing, while Benia followed Dúlrain outside. By the time they arrived at the top of the stair, the travelers had already gained the lower end and were slowly ascending. Benia stayed back with a party of Elves who had assembled at the top as a welcoming party while Dúlrain bounded down the stairs to greet his weary captain. Reading the facial expressions of the returning party, Benia found it difficult to determine at first whether the mission had been a success or a failure, but, as they grew closer she saw that, while weary and emotionally drained, they carried about them an aura of calmness and peace that told her all that she needed to know. The deed was done. A flood of relief swept through Benia’s slender frame. It was over.

Last edited by Ealasaide; 05-13-2007 at 09:45 PM.
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