Vaniel, My Heart

Disclaimer: All familiar characters are owned by JRR Tolkien and are used without permission. No monies are being made from this work. Original characters are part of the story and owned by the author.

Vaniel, My Heart
by Sienna Dawn


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Chapter 6- Vaniel's Rescue

Sixty-six years later.....Fourth Age, Year 63....Tharbad.....

Vaniel looked around her and sprinted close to the river's edge. There, close to the western banks she caught sight of it. Mithril! Glinting off the bright sunlight. She wanted to cry out, "Here! Here I am!" but her throat constricted each time she tried to speak and the torque around her neck tightened. Soon, the shimmer of silver faded as did the hope in her heart, and she turned back to the settlement.

She knew that escape was useless. Whatever strange magic these people possessed they certainly knew how to wield it well against elves. Vaniel remembered the stories she had been told of the Wild Men of the Woods, also called the Druedain, whose unique powers were feared by many. Reaching up to yank at the torque she felt it constrict gently around her neck, a grim reminder that she was, and would always be, their captive.

Trudging back to the ruined city, she pondered on her life and the years spent as a slave to the Wild Men.

Soon after her arrival at the ruined settlement, she had been taken to a structure which was still partially standing and retained intact most of its stone roof. Vaniel's keen eyes had noticed then that mud and silt covered much of the area. Indeed, many buildings looked buried as if under a great mudslide. Vaniel had remembered the Fell Winter of years past which had brought floods in Spring, destroying many of the dwellings and villages south of the Greyflood, especially a larger city called Tharbad by Men. She had wondered then if this was the same long-deserted city.

Once she had been settled indoors, a group of women had forceably removed her clothing and thrown a coarse tunic and pair of men's leggings in her direction. She had resisted donning it for several days, until beaten into submission. Only then had she relented and worn the soiled garments that reeked of filth.

On what she believed was her tenth day in captivity was the torque brought to her and placed about her neck, while she fought and tried to kick the legs of the men who held her. But once she felt the torque lock in place, her energy drained and each time she tried to speak the metal band tightened 'round her throat, cutting air away from her lungs.

Thus had she begun her life amongst these people, who shunned contact with all, save the animals of the forest, for whom they had a strange affinity and gentleness that did not extend to any other.

Vaniel had come to learn that they dwelled in large numbers, usually deep in the forests, near the river. Sometimes, they ventured closer to the realms of Men, where they would silently watch, concealed by the woods, as humans went about their business, oblivious to the eyes that watched them.

It had quickly come to Vaniel that she was looked upon as a slave and thus treated without deference or mercy. Sometimes she was beaten for either real or imagined slights and many were the times that she was exchanged in a complicated system of barter and trade used by her captors.

No one touched her, save for the beatings, which were administered with a small tree branch that caused superficial welts on her back or arms. And because of her elven blood, the cuts healed quickly. And this always led to the wondrous "oh's" and "ah's", as her cuts disappeared sometimes under their very eyes.

And so for years, so many she had lost count, did she dwell amongst these wild people, watching them grow old and die, as she herself did not age.

Often she wondered about her mother, Eryniel, and hoped that she had passed to the West and there lived in peace. At times such as these, when her heart brought her to the memories of her life before, did the pain in her spirit deepen and tears came to her eyes. But never did she openly weep for this was a thing she would not do before the eyes of her captors. And so, her sorrow turned inward, bringing to Vaniel depth of character and wisdom of spirit, for she knew that even in her misery she was serving the will of Illuvatar. Never had Vaniel forsaken her faith in the Valar and many were the prayers that her lips brought before them in the darkest nights of her soul.

Because she was of elven blood, Vaniel knew these Men feared her. And she had grown wise enough to understand that Men eventually destroyed what they feared. And so it had come to her understanding that her life was but in the hands of creatures who knew not her heart. For this reason, she knew she had to escape, no matter what it cost her.

And yet she did not understand why she had not cried out earlier by the river bank. That the torque tightened was certain. But would it have killed her? She did not wish to find out....at least not yet.

And so, with these thoughts heavy on her mind, Vaniel returned to the settlement, carrying a large vessel of water. But upon nearing the footpath that lead directly there, she heard the distinct clash of metal against metal and she stilled, listening, waiting.

Within moments, several warriors dressed in mithril came crashing out of the woods to her left, knocking her off her feet and causing her to drop the water jug. She scrambled away on her hands and knees, scraping her palms raw against the sharp stones on the ground.

Her face a mask of terror, Vaniel observed as three tall warriors, garbed in flashing armor, thrashed several Wild Men to the ground. She watched, fascinated, as the Wild Men, five in all, leapt onto the shining warriors. Flailing with their arms and legs, screeching obscenities, the Wild Men hung onto the backs of the warriors, trying to pull off with their bare hands the helmeted heads of their adversaries. And Vaniel knew the Wild Men possessed the strength to carry out this feat, for in the heat of battle the Wild Men fought with the strength of sheer hate. Yet, the shining warriors seemed to possess a deliberate power that rendered even the fiercest Wild Man a mere weakling. Who were these fighters? Confusion swirling in her mind, Vaniel focused her eyes on the warriors and then suddenly held her breath in disbelief, her honey-colored eyes widening.

Elves! The armored warriors were elves! She knew this from their tall stature, lithe movements, and from the blonde hair which flowed loose beneath their helmets. But most of all she knew from the chevron emblazoned upon their helmets, a design she knew represented the eternal elanor, symbol of the Lorien elves. Were they the same she had seen earlier?

As Vaniel watched, she heard a shout from behind her, and still crouching, her eyes wide with terror and excitement, she turned. A small band of elven warriors, helmeted and armored as the first, ran toward their comrades and joined in the melee. She frowned. She had never seen elven warriors in hand to hand combat before. She reflected. Indeed, she had never seen any elven warrior in any form of combat before and she was stunned by their graceful movements even in such deadly endeavors. She mused, they looked as if they were locked in a lethal dance.

Yet her ears caught a sudden sound to her side and this time she jumped and ran to the cover of the woods. The entire village of the Wild Men had emptied onto the footpath and things were quickly escalating into a free for all. Grunts and shouts mingled with the flash of mithril. The clanging of metal soon reached her and she saw the elves begin to gain the upper hand as they fought with cold precision, slashing their way free of the long-haired Men-creatures. After what seemed to Vaniel like hours, she heard a whispered word behind her and turned abruptly, fear piercing her heart. She never felt the sharp pain of the branch as it gashed her forehead, only the deep torturous agony of the torque as it cut off her air supply. Her world began to dim and all around her grew gray, and then there was darkness and she knew no more.

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