6 The Road Less Traveled

The pack slapped rhythmically against his back as he moved northwards and Earendil used the sound to help keep his pace. 150 paces per minute, of moderate stride, were equal to two leagues every hour. At that pace he could run for as long as he could remain awake, covering as much ground as a rider could if he was not trying to wear out his mount. Of course, he'd be more tired then the rider when he got to his destination, and he was told he ate more than a horse.

Earendil smiled. He did eat a lot, but his mother said he was a growing boy, a difficult point to argue as he could pass through very few doors unbent, and no longer fit in his bed. He had left camp with two hours until nightfall, choosing to travel along the less traveled east coast of Long Lake. It was a slightly shorter to Dale in that direction, but with only a rutted path that dropped into washes and gullies, it would take him at least an hour longer to complete the trip. The road followed the shore and connected three small fishing hamlets spaced out along the coast, but the truth was there was little use for a road in the east as the lake provided passage between all the various townships and the city of Laketown.

By the time night fell he was five leagues from South End, having just passed through Hookley. The moon had been waning for several days, but still provided light enough to see by. Certainly enough for him, as his vision in the dark seemed better than most. There wasn't much for him to be wary of on this coast. To the West nearer Mirkwood, spiders or wolves would occasionally make their way from the forest looking for easier prey. They hunted the goats and sheep raised by the lake men in that area, but had been know to carry off a youngster if they were available. The swamp along the Forest River was also treacherous in the dark, at least if you wandered off the roads.

But to the east stretched nothing but grass, 50 leagues to the Redwater and then further into Rhun. Wild horses could be found there in great numbers, and the small, scattered settlements in that region frequently made their coin by capturing and training these animals. There were some wolves, and more fearfully in the north, wargs, but they had plenty of meat and rarely came to the shore of Long Lake to hunt. The lake men here had little food to steal, and were a tough group willing to fight ferociously for what little they did have. Regardless, the wind was blowing from the grasslands out across the cold water of the lake, and so he was downwind and would have warning.

The ground had been rising slowly during the last hour. At this point the shore of the lake was high above it's surface, precipitous drops of many fathoms straight into the water. Looking to his left, Earendil could easily make out the lights of Laketown glinting near the far bank. It was this reason he had chosen the eastern shore. Belem had sent him to Dale to inform the king as to what had transpired with the elves of Lothlorien. On the western road patrols would have stopped him and asked him his business. He would have been allowed to continue of course, but the captain wanted the news to reach Dale before it reached the ears of the Master of Laketown. Even needing to slow his pace over rough terrain, he would be in Dale just after dawn. News would not reach Laketown until the evening, at best.

An hour later, as the road began it's decent, Earendil passed through Jaleb's Bay. A face appeared at a window as he moved through, and the sound of merriment spilled through the open door of the only well lit building in the village, but he went unnoticed moving quickly northwards and back into the darkness. Laketown was still there over his shoulder. He had lived there his entire life, until his mother moved them to Dale four years ago. Dale was completely different, a city of stone and masonry. A city where, until recently, dwarves outnumbered men, and where the sound of chisels on rock rang throughout the daylight hours.

But the town glittering on the horizon wasn't his home either. Looking southward down the far shore he saw only darkness, but it was there that he had lived. It was ruined now, the body of Smaug lay in 9 fathoms of cold water, the shattered remains of Earendil's old home strewn about him. The site lay between the new Esgaroth, which had been rebuilt further north, and the mouth of the Forest River, and lay along the shortest trade route between Laketown and the Woodland Realm. Still, no one dared cross those cursed waters, and instead trade hugged the shore, giving what was now mostly a pile of bones and scales a wide berth.

He and his mother had not been there the night Smaug had breathed death on his home. He had watched with the others as Thorin and his band left Esgaroth to great fanfare, heading north to reclaim their rightful inheritance, and in doing so restore Laketown to it's former glory, glory meaning wealth to the people of Laketown. Three days later he and his mother had left, traveling west into Mirkwood to visit his father. They visited every year around his naming day in mid summer, spending ten days with him deep inside the forest. However this trip was different, leaving with no notice near the end of November. When he asked, his mother told him that the dwarves going to Erebor might bring wealth to their city, but that they could just as well bring ruin. She wouldn't explain this, but every ten year old boy knew the rumor of the dragon under the Lonely Mountain.

Earendil thought about those summer trips too as he ran. They had been what he looked forward to most as a child, and what he still looked forward to. His mother and he would depart Laketown near the end of June, leaving the tavern in capable hands. They brought with them a sturdy horse which his mother cared for all year especially for this trip. It was laden with a shelter, provisions, and enough food to last them both three weeks. They moved west along the forest road, passing through the reed swamp and spending their first night at the edge of the great forest. On the second day they traveled along the southern bank of the Forest River, his mother pointing out a wide bridge which crossed the river northward, disappearing through broad doors set into the side of a hill.

"That is the entrance to the Woodland King's Halls," she would say, but no amount of cajoling ever convinced her to go visit the elves, though her son begged. Elves in those days were rare in Laketown. There was much trade between the two cities, but the Woodland Folk preferred not to enter the halls of men and they were a great mystery and source of rumor.

The second night was spent by the shore of a quickly flowing tributary to the Forest River. It's waters were black, and his mother warned him every year that he was not to dip in so much as a finger. Here there was a sturdy bridge that arced high over the stream, and Earendil knew that on the trip home they would stop here again. This stop would see his mother donning long leather gloves and filling about 20 small metal vials with water from the stream. She stoppered these with cork, and then using wax she had brought for this purpose, would seal the vials completely. She used the water as a sleeping drought, frequently added to healing concoctions when rest would help with whatever ill a patient suffered from. She used it very sparingly.

It was always at this point that the elves would begin to follow them. Earendil would see them moving between the trees, often on the far side of the river. They stayed in the shadows, and were seemingly trying to remain out of sight. This they achieved most of the time, but he still caught occasional glimpses. When he mentioned this to his mother, she simply said, "It's rude to tell an elf you see him, particularly in a forest. Keep your eyes on the path." And so he did.

They were traveling along the southern side of the river still, but the path they had been following had turned southward just past the elven halls, and instead they walked along the bank, spending another night on its shore. The elves were still there, even at night. He wouldn't see them in the gloom of the forest, but he would occasionally hear them, although they were very hard to hear. And of course, if the wind were blowing in the right direction, he would smell them. He mentioned this to his mother also, and she smiled, asking him what they smelled like. But he couldn't explain. All he could say was that they smelled "elfy", which made his mother laugh.

On the fourth day of their trip near midday, they would arrive at a broad clearing which lay along the river. His father would always be there waiting, a huge, black haired man with a broad chest and hairy arms, who towered over the young Earendil. He was dark eyed and had a full beard that hung halfway to his belt. He spoke very little, and angered easily, but each time he laid eyes on his mother, his grim face would soften and his eyes would light up. After setting up the camp, he would spend the first afternoon asking Earendil about his life, about what he was being taught, his friends and how he spent his time.

With the coming of the first night, his father and mother would leave and go alone into the forest. Earendil was never afraid, after all the elves were still there watching the camp, and when he awoke his parents would both be back. Of course they slept away most of the next day. They would pass another ten days together in the forest, during which time Earendil's naming day would come and go. His father seemed not to approve of gifts, but he would pull the young boy aside and tell him that he was proud of the man he was becoming. It was the only time the large man would speak emotionally, and it seemed to the youngster that he sincerely meant it. Throughout his stay his father would walk with him through the forest showing him plants, roots and flowers that could be eaten. His father avoided eating meat, but recognizing that others were not so inclined, he taught his son to track and to set snares for small game.

His mother too was learned in herb craft, although her knowledge lay in how they could bring relief and heal. Hagsweed, a floating plant found on stagnant water, could be made into a tea and used to fight corruption or poison in the blood. Redmace, a rust colored grain, similar to wheat, and which could be made into flour, could also have its roots boiled and mashed into a paste that healed wounds and prevented rot.

His mother had always told her son that he was different. "Aware", was the word she used. She taught him words in an old language that she said came from his distant forbears. They were words of praise, spoken to the creator, Eru Iluvatar. A few had the ability to feel His being, she explained, and when one of those few spoke these words, all the creations of Eru were strengthened by His presence. She would have her son speak these words, exhaling onto the poultices and salves she created, showing her boy various means of alleviating suffering. This, she promised, would make the power of the medicine more potent, but truthfully, until three years ago, he had never felt anything.

It was late in the first evening of their visit, three days before his 12th name day, and as was customary on the first night with his father, his parents were in the forest alone together. Earendil felt his face warm a bit as he ran. Now he was older what his parents were doing, alone together all night, was quite evident. As an young child, however, he was lied to.

"Your father and I want to talk alone, and hear what the other has been up to for the past year," he mother had told him. And so off they went. Earendil was left with the four elven guards, alone in the clearing. After several years he had gotten very good at spotting them, and there always seemed to be four. Using one of his senses or the other, the young boy noted that none of them followed his parents.

He felt a smile cross his lips. "Very decent of them," he thought as he ran.

On this particular evening alone, Earendil would realize what his mother meant by "aware". While jumping between some rocks on the shore of the Forest River, he had slipped, his leg twisting suddenly. There had been a snap, and a terrible pain shot up his right side, sending him tumbling into the water. Fortunately he was in the shallows, and so, wailing hysterically, he pulled himself up onto the grassy bank.

"I'm afraid that your leg is broken". The voice was soft, and calming, and Earendil looked up to see a tall, thin woodland elf standing next to him. He had a thin face and attentive eyes, blue like Earendil's. His hair was down below his shoulders, straight and light, and it was pulled back, tied with a leather thong, exposing his pointed ears. He was dressed in brown britches and a green vest, both well made and intricately stitched.

Still sobbing uncontrollably, Earendil hiked up his trouser leg and looked at his injury. His leg did appear broken a few inches above the ankle. It was not a bad break, if what his mother had taught him was true. Swelling was already becoming noticeable, and a blush of purple had begun to crawl over the inured area, but the skin was unbroken and the leg appeared in line.

"I'm afraid you are too big a lad to carry," said the elf with a smile designed to reassure, "but I can help you walk back to the camp."

Earendil shook his head vigorously. "I don't want to move," he said between sobs. The pain was still excruciating and he couldn't picture himself having to hop the distance back to the tents.

At this the elf sat down cross legged next to the injured boy. "That seems a problem, young master. What will you do?"

Earendil shrugged his shoulders and snuffled loudly, at which the elf reached down to his belt and pulled out a finely embroidered handkerchief. "Here," he said, handing it to the injured boy, who blew heartily. This cleared out his nose and made him feel much better.

Refusing to take back the cloth when Earendil offered to return it, the elf said, "what do you think Tindomial would do in this situation?"

Tindomial was his mother's name, although everyone just called her Tin. "Y-y-you know my m-mother?", he stammered.

The elf shrugged. "I know her name, and I know what she has shown you." Looking down at the injured leg, he asked again, "so what do you think your mother would do?"

Earendil tried to ignore the pain and think this over. After a moment he said, "w-would you please go to the small tent in the clearing. There will be a leather bag with pouches sewn to the outside. Bring that to me, if you could?"

The elf smiled. "I would be glad to do that, good lad," and springing straight to his feet, he left at a swift jog across the tall grass towards the camp. Returning in just a couple of minutes with a brown leather satchel, it was placed next to Earendil and he sat back down again, cocked his head to the left, and watched with a curious expression.

Earendil thought he gave the appearance an inquisitive bird, looking at him that way, but kept this to himself. Instead, he gritted his teeth against the pain and began looking though the pouches. First he would need the bark from an alor tree, that would dull the pain enough to move, and begin the healing. He found a good sized piece wrapped in linen cloth, and breaking in in half, folded the remainder back into its wrapper, replacing it in the bag.

The elf nodded in approval. "It is good that you remain organized during a difficult situation."

Earendil nodded his thanks, but really didn't see how it mattered. Now he had to chew on the bark to extract the sedative, but before he could, the elf reached out and stopped him.

"There is more you have to do, young master," looking at the boy knowingly. "What did your mother teach you?"

The boy sighed. "The words never change anything. I've been trying since I was eight."

The elf shook his head. "Not just the words, you have to find Him before you say them."

He meant the light of Iluvatar. It was the spirit of the Creator, and his mother was sure her son would be able to see it, but it had never happened. Earendil snatched his hand from the elf's grasp. "I have to deal with this leg," he cried. "I will look for God when I can walk."

But the hand was back, restraining him. He tried to pull away again, but this time the grip tightened. "He was strong for such a thin fellow", Earendil thought.

"Eru comes to you when you need him, in times of stress or pain. And also," the elf added after a pause, "you are of the right age to receive the gift. Or so I have been told." The elf leaned forward across his knees and locked the boy in a strong gaze. "Look for Him. Close your eyes and find His light. Ask Eru to help you relieve this pain."

Earendil continued to try and pull away in frustration.

"I will not release you until you do," the elf concluded.

The youngster's shoulders sagged. "Alright. I will try once again." He sighed deeply to let his new mentor know he thought this was useless, and then slowly closed his eyes. His mother had taught him to look for warmth, a light, to ignore anything that tried to make it's way in from outside. The pain was still strong, a throbbing darkness in his thoughts making concentration difficult, but he tried to push this from his mind, looking for something else.

He sat quietly for some time, and soon his mind became restless. He was about to give up, when a voice came from outside.

"How is the pain?"

Earendil imagined rolling his eyes in annoyance. "His pain?" he thought, "It's…..not as bad."

That was a surprise. He went looking for it, and pain leapt back into his mind, perhaps worse than before. He reacted instinctively, turning and running from it. At least, that was how he could best describe it. It seemed safer over here, wherever here was inside your own mind, and so he went that way. Did he feel warmer? He thought he might, but it was probably just something imaginary, and it began to fade.

No. It had been real. He stopped walking, if that's what he was really doing.

"It's here", he thought. "I'm going the wrong way." Turning, to his left perhaps, he continued looking. It was getting warmer, now he was sure. It was coming from right over…..

It burst over him, warm and bright, flooding his mind with peace and awareness. There was no form in the light, no great voice of the almighty, no words spoken at all. Just bright, brilliant silence, but the boy knew that he had been acknowledged, recognized. There was safety here, and somehow the light seemed proud of the young boy. Earendil could sense the world outside, his leg was still broken and the throbbing gnaw of the injury continued, but he could ignore it easily.

He opened his eyes. The elf was leaning in, no more then a hand away, watching, an intense look of curiosity on his face. But for some reason Earendil saw profound sadness in his eyes. In his mind the light was gone, and he could feel the pain in his leg, but he wasn't worried. Raising his palm he exhaled deeply onto the smooth, silver bark and said his mother's words.

"Ârû zîrân. Yôz anki kastar anni. Ki-yôzahê abâr nê-nada, Zâira 'nki."

Earendil felt the light move through his fingers, a tingling warmth that passed from him and into the bark. Placing it into his mouth, he chewed for a minute and then pushed the fibrous mass into his cheek. The pain in his leg subsided almost immediately, quickly becoming bearable.

"I don't know your name, my lord," he said to the elf, "but if you are still willing, I could use your help getting to the tents."

The elf smiled, and began to help the boy to his feet, but the sadness in his eyes remained. Earendil wasn't sure what that meant, but for the time being other matters had to be attended to. Together they hobbled slowly back to the camp.

Sitting down on the grass, Earendil began rummaging through his mothers kit once more. He was looking for marian, a type of thistle with purple flowers. He found it, clearly labeled with his mother's neat script, in a small drawstring pouch. He need to crush the petals and make a tea from the flowers, so the elf headed into the forest to collect twigs to start a fire. By the time the preparation of the flowers was complete, there was a merry little blaze going. A metal cup, made by dwarves as part of a set of cookware that could be placed directly into a fire, was already bubbling, and Earendil once again said the words, before sprinkling the purple powder into the water.

Pulling the last metal vile of sleeping drought from the satchel, he peeled back the wax seal and added just a a few drops of the water.

The elf watched with a quizzical look. "You are being very sparing with that," he noted.

Earendil nodded. "It's the water from that black stream near your halls," he explained. "It will allow me to sleep, and speed healing, but there will be a memory loss. With just this small amount, I shouldn't lose more than a day or two."

"You're not afraid you'll forget how to find your way to the light?" The elf sounded concerned.

Earendil had not considered this, but knew quickly that he wouldn't. "No," he replied, sure of himself. " Being in the presence of God is not the sort of thing you forget." Removing the tea from the fire, he placed it to one side on the grass. "Lets talk a bit as the tea cools."

Prodding the fire with a stick, the blue eyed elf nodded. "By all means. What would you have us discuss?"

Earendil rotated the bark in his cheek releasing a little more of the juice to help with the pain. "Let us start with who you are."

The elf laughed lightly. "I am my father's son, as you are yours," he replied cryptically. "Unfortunately, my father had instructed those of us guarding you not to reveal ourselves."

"You four, is what you mean."

The elf raised an eyebrow. "You believe there are four of us?"

Earendil nodded. "Unless I missed one of you. The fellow across the river is making very little effort to remain hidden, and of you all, is the most careless with the twigs he steps on."

The elf looked impressed, and feeling good about himself, Earendil continued. "The fellow to the south is somewhat shorter than you, although I have only seen him twice today. And I have detected two scents to the north, and one of them is yours."

This brought a surprised look from his new companion. "I'm sorry my lord," Earendil apologized. "It is not that you smell bad, only that the other fellow smells…." he struggled for a description but failed. "Different."

"You can smell us?"

"When the wind is in the right direction." This seemed self explanatory to the young boy. "I didn't think my knowing you were there mattered," he explained, "or you'd have taken more care to conceal yourselves."

The elf looked a little chagrined, but then laughed softly "We elves have a talent for remaining unseen, I assure you, but it seems you are more attentive then we gave you credit for. And if you believe we can tell someone is hiding in the woods using our noses," he continued, "unfortunately you are mistaken." He poked the fire once more. "I will admit we did not consider the wind direction when observing you."

Earendil felt a surge of pride pass through him. To be better than an elf at anything seemed a very great achievement to a 12 year old. He shrugged. "I assumed others had the same abilities I do."

The elf shook his head. "No. You seem fairly unique in this area. Although," at this he paused, considering, "I imagine this is a gift from your father."

"You know my father?"

"Your father is known by my father, and I have been introduced."

"They are friends, our fathers?"

There was a small chuckle before the elf responded. "Your father is a great man, but I am not sure that he really has friends. He is a neighbor however, and also not someone we wish to antagonize."

"Then you know my father's name?" Earendil said this quietly, not sure if he should ask. His parents had kept this from their son, telling him that it wasn't time yet. Earendil had grudgingly accepted that, but he was growing older, and he felt an explanation was owed him.

The elf nodded. "I do know his name, young master." Then silence.

Earendil sighed. "But you're not going to tell me."

Silence again, and a shake of the head. "This is something for your parents. I would be violating that bond if I were to discuss what I knew without their consent."

The boy's head dropped and reaching over to the tea, he tested it's temperature. It was still hot, which helped the healing properties of the marian, but not so hot that it burned. Grimacing at the bitter taste of the thistle, he began to drink deeply.

"May I ask another question before this tea causes me to doze off?"

The elf nodded. "Of course, although I am sorry I have not been able to properly answer the questions you have asked me already."

Earendil shrugged. "Elves are a secretive bunch, I've been told." He was immediately sorry for bringing that up. Humans did find elves secretive, but Earendil was sure the elves found men to be equally difficult to grasp. The mixture of the tea and the alor root were probably lessening his inhibitions and making him impolite.

"You seemed so sure I could see the light," Earendil began hoping the elf hadn't taken offense. "And when I opened my eyes, I could tell you wanted to ask me what I had seen, to describe it to you."

The elf closed his blue eyes and nodded. "You are very perceptive, young master." There was that sadness again, so Earendil decided to push on before the effects of the medication truly took hold.

"So why were you so sad?"

The blue eyes opened and the elf smiled, but again his eyes told a different story. "You saw that in my face, child?"

Earendil nodded. "It seemed clear."

"I have failed to answer any of your previous questions, but if you wish to hear a tale, I can answer this one." Prodding the fire one last time, the elf dropped his twig into the flame and stretched out on the grass, lying on his side, his head propped up on a hand, looking at the youngster. "You are asking for the tale of the Gift of Men, although it is a lesson in theology, and not a story of noble warriors or fearsome dragons."

"That's fine," the lad responded, drinking more of the tea and stifling a yawn. "I'd be very interested to hear it."

The elf pursed his lips, and pondered for a moment. "Let us begin then, with the curse of immortality."