No Road Home

Part the Fourth

When the meeting was over, Elrond sent the Elves away and emerged in search of Windwalker, knowing the degree to which their words had hurt her, and recognizing too, that the woman had been in physical pain of some sort. This latter troubled him as much as the former, as he had noticed the pains coming and going in previous days, and he now determined to see what the problem might be. But Windwalker had fled the Elven dwellings, not wishing to be subjected to further ridicule.

He knew she had a camp somewhere in the wilds of Aman. But she had never shown anyone who walked on two legs where it was, save perhaps, he suspected, Mithrandir. 'Knowing Mithrandir,' he considered, 'he likely helped her set it up.' And, although he called Mithrandir, there was no answer. With a sigh, Elrond stepped forth, into the woods.

It took Elrond much searching that afternoon to find Windwalker's carefully-hidden little forest camp. In the end, and much to his surprise, he was forced to ask Buck, who guided him to her shelter. He found her soundly asleep in a little lean-to made of suimhallorn saplings bent and tied together at the crown. Her bed was a pile of leaves, a moth-eaten old Navajo blanket spread over them, and wrapped about her thin body. (like-mallorn)

He studied her face as she slept, suddenly able to see much of her that she normally kept guarded. He saw the slight smile on soft pink lips, and wondered for a moment what her dreams were. There were dark circles under her closed eyes, bespeaking her weariness, and her pale flawless complexion seemed slightly pinched, as if, even in her sleep, she felt the selfsame pain he had noticed earlier. Her cheekbones were wide and high, almost Elven in their gently-chiseled beauty, and long, tangled black lashes fanned lightly against them. Her black hair was pulled back into a neat, sleek braid, exposing delicately-fluted, rounded human ears, and a long throat which disappeared down the collar of her much-patched, but scrupulously clean, chambray shirt.

Elrond's eyes swept down over her body, and it reached his consciousness for the first time that she was TOO thin. Granted, the appropriate feminine curves were there, but, he mused, they were not as full as they should be, for a human woman of her frame.

Elrond's eyebrows knit together in puzzlement, and he glanced absently around the little camp as he pondered. Outside the lean-to, a fire simmered the contents of a battered copper pot, and a savory smell rose from it, wafting to his nostrils on the breeze. He crouched down in the opening of the shelter, to watch her sleep, and the change in light awakened her.

"Mmh," she groaned groggily, raising her head and opening dark, sleepy eyes, filled with confusion. "What...?"

"It is only me," Elrond said softly, touched by her vulnerability. "I came to see how you were."

Windwalker shrugged, retreating into herself. "I'm fine."

"You were in pain earlier. You held your side."

"No big deal," she waved it off. "Happens...a lot." She rubbed her fists into her eyes, suddenly looking very childlike, as she strove to shake off sleep. Elrond hid a smile.

"Will you let me treat it? Perhaps I can help. I am a healer."

"Don't worry about it, Elrond. It...just is. There's nothing you, or anyone else, can do with it. Trust me."

"You are certain?"

"I'm positive. I already talked to Gandalf about it."

"Very well, then."

He assisted her as she crawled out of her shelter, and watched as she went to the pot on the fire and stirred it. "That is your dinner?"

"Yeah, such as it is."

"It smells good." He took a seat on a log.

Wind looked at him hesitantly from the fireside, and he saw her awkwardness return. "I'd...I'd offer you some, but..."

"There is not enough?"

"No, it isn't that. I...well, it's just scraps from the village, thrown together in water, with some wild herbs for seasoning, and all cooked down into kind of a stew. Not fit for a Lord of the Eldar."

"You are eating SCRAPS??" Elrond was horrified.

"It's what I always eat, Elrond. When I can find any, that is. I don't have any money, and no one at the markets would sell to me anyway. Sometimes Gandalf comes by with fresh food for me, but I haven't seen him in a couple of days. That's always a treat. No one's ever done that for me before. He's...very kind."

"He is," Elrond agreed, chagrined. "Is your stew nearly done?"

"Yes." Wind averted her gaze. "I...I'm not sure I should continue trying to train, Elrond."

"Do not let them stop you, Windwalker. They do not know of what they speak."

Windwalker sighed, and it seemed to Elrond to come from the depths of her soul. "Elrond...you know they do." She shook her head. "I'm hopeless. I've always been hopeless."

"You are trying hard, Wind. You have gained my admiration in that. You will get there. Give yourself time. We have all the time in the world."

"YOU do. I don't."

"Why? You are in Aman."

"I...just don't." She paused, swallowing hard. "Go ask Gandalf. Tell him I told you to."

Elrond took that in, realizing that there was something she wanted him to know, but was incapable of telling him, for reasons of her own. "I will, when I can. You know Mithrandir. He is off on a ramble of some sort."

Unole chuckled to herself. "Yeah, that sounds just like him. Well, it's no big deal. He'll return soon enough. With something interesting to tell, I've no doubt."

"He will." Elrond watched as she fed the fire carefully, and made a decision. Mithradir had been right; he needed to try to see her point of view. Perhaps then he would understand why she was here, and what drove her so hard. "Wind..."

"Yes?"

"Will you share your meal with me, when it is ready?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, shocked, and recognizing he was trying to reach out to her for the first time. "I...oh, Elrond, don't put me on the spot like this. Please."

"Why?"

"It's the way of my people to share meals, and never, EVER, to turn down a guest who requests food and drink...even to such a 'home' as I've made here," she explained unhappily. "But I can't feed you this, Elrond. I already told you, it's --"

"It is what you eat," he pointed out. "If it is good enough for the daughter of a Chief, as Mithrandir has told me, it is good enough for a lord of the Elves."

"My father was never a Chief, Elrond. Descended from them, yes, but not one himself. I'm nobody much. Just a street urchin."

"Nevertheless, I would eat with you tonight," he pressed.

"All right," Wind sighed. "I just hope it doesn't make you sick."

"Elves do not get ill. We can be injured, but we do not get diseases."

"Well, that's something," she admitted. "Do you mind sharing one mug and spoon between us? It's all I have. It's clean. There's a nice stream back there --" she pointed behind the lean-to, "with a sandbar. I scrub everything out with that." She gathered the utensils as she spoke, showing them to him.

"I do not mind." Elrond watched her, his expression relaxed and thoughtful.

"Is there any soapwort around here? Or does it grow in Valinor? I could use some. I need to wash my clothes. And my skin's getting tired of being sandblasted, frankly."

"I believe so. I will show you later."

They sat and talked quietly for a bit, Elrond careful to steer the conversation to innocuous subjects, such as the herbs of Aman. He found that Unole was quite knowledgeable on the subject of herbalism, and they discussed their formulae for various ailments. Sometime later, Windwalker ladled out a mugful of the stew, and brought it to Elrond, with her spoon. "I hope it tastes decent to you," she said quietly, apologetically. "You don't have to eat it if you don't like it."

He sampled it, and his eyebrows rose. "You have talent. I would not guess this was made from discarded leftovers. It is very good."

She blushed, pleased. "I do the best I can."

"Here. Taste." He offered her a spoonful of the concoction. She accepted it, considering.

"Hmm. It didn't turn out too badly, at that," she agreed. "I have to thank Buck for showing me that patch of wild basil."

"Sit," he patted the log beside him. "We will eat together."

"Okay."

They bent their heads over the common mug, as the Lord of the Eldar and the Cherokee almost-chieftess shared a meal in the wilds of Valinor.


"It's getting dark, Elrond," Windwalker noted later that evening, as, over the Calacirya, copper and gold glowed, and in the East, over the Sea, the first stars began to appear. "You should go home. People will be looking for you."

"I have notified them," he informed her obliquely, habitually glancing skyward to see Earendil, glowing brightly above the sunset. "They will not be concerned."

"What," she laughed, "are you gonna stay all night?"

"The thought had occurred to me."

"But..."

"I wish to see how you live, Wind." Elrond gazed at her, and she saw the sincerity in his eyes.

She shrugged. "You've pretty much already seen it." Unole waved her arms around. "This is it."

"What will you do for food tomorrow? To break the fast?"

"Oh, that's easy." She stood gracefully and walked to the edge of her camp, reaching into a small tree to pull a large gourdlike fruit into view. "This stuff...Awi, Buck's mate, showed it to me. It seems to be like what we call breadfruit. I'll put it into my pot and bake it over my fire, and...that's breakfast. It's not half bad."

"You will sleep in your little tree-shelter?"

"Yes."

Elrond nodded thoughtfully, then went to the lean-to's opening, studying the pile of dried leaves that constituted her bed. Wordlessly he walked to the forest edge and began gathering a huge armload of leaves. Windwalker watched in some surprise as he brought the leaves back to the lean-to, bending and stepping inside. He placed the pile down on the other side of the lean-to from her bed. "There," he remarked. "I will sleep here."

"Elrond...you have a lovely house, with fine beds and such. This won't be very comfortable by comparison."

"I have been a soldier, Windwalker. I have slept in far worse conditions than this, during the first campaign against Mordor."

Windwalker's eyebrows went up. "That...you have," she admitted. She cocked her head, sitting down by the fire as twilight deepened. "Would you...?" She bit her lip, chagrined, as the all too familiar shyness hit again.

"Would I what?"

"Tell me about it?"

"It...is not a story for the darkness."

"Oh."

He saw her shoulders slump, and realized she interpreted his response as rejection. He joined her at the fireside, seating himself on the ground gracefully. "But I can tell you of the exploits of Aragorn, and how he came to meet my Arwen. Do you recall Lord Tolkien's account of the flood at the Ford of Imladris?" he offered.

"Yes!"

"Then let me tell you of Aragorn's first encounter with it," Elrond's eyes twinkled in amusement at the memory, and Wind sat up straight, hoping that she was in for an evening of mirth.


When Windwalker could catch her breath from laughing, she looked Elrond straight in the eyes. "If you weren't who you are, I wouldn't believe a word of it!" she exclaimed, and his eyes glittered with amusement in the firelight.

"So you believe me, merely because I am Elrond?"

"Yep. Never heard tell of Elrond Half-Elven lying to anyone yet."

"What about tall tales?" Elrond was grinning openly now.

"You know I can always check your story with Gandalf," she teased.

"True," he chuckled. "And so is the story. I would not lie."

"I know."

"Tell me a story now," Elrond encouraged.

"Ummm...lessee," Windwalker thought. "I know! I'll tell you about how strawberries were created! This is an old story of my people."

"That sounds fascinating, Wind. I should like to hear the history behind the story, as well. Lore always fascinated me."

Windwalker smiled, pleased. "All right. I can do that. Oh, that's right, you were THE lore-master of Middle-Earth, weren't you?"

Elrond permitted himself a slight smile at her emphasis. "Yes, I was a lore-master. Continue, please..."


Elrond lay snugly in the bed of leaves, listening to the soft, rythmic, soothing sound of the human's breath, as she slept nearby. It was cool, and he heard her burrow deeper into the leaves in her sleep, wrapping them about herself like a comforter. He could see the stars above, as he gazed up through the canopy of branches, and he mused over the story Windwalker had told him. Odd, he thought, how the story of the strawberry bore a close resemblance to a similar legend of the Eldar. He wondered if, somehow, the legend had been passed down to humans through Aragorn's and Arwen's offspring. Curious.

His thoughts turned to the woman as she slept. 'Resourceful,' he thought. 'She may not have our skills in some areas, but she lives as close to the Earth as any elf. Closer than I myself in recent centuries.'

He pondered over how that might be turned to her advantage. 'If we can teach her more of our woodland skills,' he thought, 'that may be enough to turn the tide.' It did not occur to him to wonder when his focus had changed from getting rid of her to helping her stay.

He resolved to put his idea to the test tomorrow, and set his mind to wander, letting his body take its rest.


Windwalker fed Elrond a breakfast of breadfruit, and he ate ravenously, remembering how sleeping outdoors had always made him hungry. She smiled as she ate, pleased that her little offering could sate his appetite. When he was finished eating, he watched her finish consuming her own meal.

"Windwalker," his voice was soft, "I have had an idea."

"Yes?"

"Perhaps we have been trying to teach you the wrong things."

"How so, Elrond?"

"You are very good at living close to the land," he noted. "Perhaps, instead of teaching you the more sophisticated, so-called learned, matters of Elven existence, we should be teaching you more skills such as you already possess."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, liking the thought. "That makes a lot of sense. I might pick up on those faster..."

"Exactly. Will you come to my house mid-morning?"

"Yes. I have to go to water first, but I should be done scavenging by then, and have my dinner on the fire."

Elrond hid the wince. "Would you join me for luncheon?"

"Oh." Her voice was flat. "I...don't belong in your house, hon."

He thought swiftly. "Then...will you allow me to help you...'scavenge'?"

"No." Her answer was firm. "No leader of his people should be seen doing that." She nodded down the pathway. "You head on home, and I'll do what I need to do, and meet you on the terrace mid-morning."

Elrond rose, internalizing the sigh, and made his swift, silent way back to his own home.