House of the Golden Flower

I was but a child when my village was destroyed. I woke to flames and the smell of death and blood, and fleeing my bed, managed to safely evade the band of orcs raiding that night. I must truly have been watched over by the Valar, for I was not captured.

Into deepest dark forest I slipped away, hiding myself like an animal, peering out from the cover of night-darkened thicket, my silvery hair in my eyes. I couldn't have been more than twenty at the time, young for an elf.

When day came I searched the rubble and ashes. Everything was destroyed, even the remains of my fellow elves. We had settled here from the mountains, coming from the hidden city when I was a babe at the breast. I did not remember the name of where I was born, and after that night I retained very little of my former memory and intelligence. But I was still keen of wit and my survival instincts strong. I knew only that we had come from the mountains, and so that was where I fled.

It was a long journey to a valley between three mountains with a stream running through it. I stayed there because it was the first place I had not seen men or orcs. There were foul beasts through here from time to time, passing wargs and the like, bute I e I remained for many years, years that were little tha than uncounted seasons.

Then he came.
I had forgotten how to speak then, and had not done it in many years. I had still a voice, for I sang and mimicked the animals and gave hunting calls, often singing simply to amuse myself during long afternoons. In all this time, I had no companion, and was fast drawing near the time when I would come of age and not only my hungry mind but hungry body would draw me forth, seeking sation.

If I had, I would have surely been destroyed easily outside of my sheltered valley, for the lands around had become darker and I well knew it. It was summer, and I was keeping watch on the north range of the smaller mountainside, watching a party of eastern men pass by on their own mysterious business when the far-off rush of wind on wings spun me around.

A great eagle passed within a mile of my position in the bare rocks, and as swiftly I ducked in instinctive fear of the great bird, baring my teeth and crouching in the boulders, I knew that it's lone rider had seen me.

I knew not what manner of creatures rode such birds, I had never seen either this closely before, and as the eagle wheeled around the pinnacle, returning for another look, I broke cover and fled down the steep mountain path, booted feet slipping on gravel, breechclout and unbraided fall of long blonde hair whipping behind me.

I was desperate to escape, uncaring that I'd been sighted. Going downhill I made very good speed toward the treeline where safety lay, but soon I felt a soft buffet of air from great wings and dove madly off a boulder into the trees below, rolling down the ravine and coming to a stop in the early spring's bushy growth. The eagle screeched its disappointment, sweeping over the treetops. After a bare moment to recover, I fled again, keeping cover.

Beneath the pines there were many clearings, and I raced toward the stream, knowing the thicker brush would hide me best from this brilliant new menace. As I broke cover again and fled for the nearest clump of heavy growth, the bird swooped low enough that I caught a glimpse of it's talons, extended to snatch me, and baring my teeth in a hiss, keep my pace. My eyes darted to the rider, little more than fifty feet from me, and I caught sight of shimmering silvery hair, flowing fabric and keen silver eyes before I placed sheltering oaks and pines between us again.

My headlong dashes soon brought me to the safety of my waterside haunts and I cowered there, panting as the eagle wheeled and circled, searching uselessly for me. At dusk eagle and rider departed and I was left alone with my pounding heart and fears.

By dawn I had determined to remain even more hidden in my valley, for it truly was not safe to leave. The winged rider did not come that day, or the next, or anytime after, although I saw glimpses of them sometimes, far to the southwest.

I had begun to forget about him by winter, and spring found me sweating over a hide, tanning the leather to replace my boots when I heard the nightmarish echoing shriek. I fled, and remained hidden deep in an old mallorn for three days, not venturing out even to gather food for myself. When I did, he was gone again, and my leather was sorely ruined. I berated myself for fleeing so foolishly and took up my wooden spear to sharpen upon a rock and hunt some new leather.

He came again in the fall, at dawn, and flew leisurely over the valley all day, pausing in the late afternoon to alight where he had spotted me the first time. Hidden in the treetops, I watched him, noting from the landmarks where he stood that he was taller than I, and larger. From watching the passing east men, I had gathered that I was rather tall, and I stared at him fascinated, munching dried berries and sewing crudely to repair a tear in my winter fur, a task I had left for the long, slow days of summer.

When he took wing again, he circled a while longer, then left just before dusk. I slept well, despite my overpowering curiosity. I was jumpy and nervous all morning watching the skies for him. When he did not appear by noon, I slunk out and went up to where he had settled down. His smell was there, as well as that of the bird, windblown and fresh. I found three bent feathers, stowing them in my clout, and poked about, examining his footprints and trail.

He had searched uselessly for any trace of me, as I hadn't gone up there again since I was chased down, instead using a different lookout point. In the dirt where I had crouched beside the boulder that day, I spotted something shining brightly. I ducked into the shade of the boulder and brushed my hair back, picking up the object. It was a stone in a chain of silver, and I vaguely remembered that my mother, now just a foggy figure in memory, had worn something similar on her wrist. It had been a gift from my father, I recalled disjointedly. The stone was a brilliant blue-green, probably turquoise like the rocks in the bend of the stream near a she-bear's winter den.

I fingered it absently a moment, peering at the fading sky. It was a gift, left here in the outline of my body in the gravel, meant for me, obviously. Yet what would I give in return? I had no beautiful things. Rubbing the stone with my thumb, I gazed at it anew. It was large enough to slip about my neck without undoing the clasp, and so that is what I did. I took up my spear and went back down the mountain in the growing dusk, puzzling over my problem.

I lay awake that night in the soft, thick grass of the gentle incline of the riverbank, my chosen sleeping place for that night, staring up at the bright stars through the black tree limbs. A sudden thought occurred to me. Perhaps a leather belt decorated with bored bits of rock? I had made dozens of rough beads this summer to use on clothes this winter when I would have time to sew. An intricate pattern leapt at me, and with a surge of adrenaline I smiled, laughed aloud, then turned over in the sweet smelling grass to sleep.

I spent the winter hunched over the long strip of leather, wishing I had measurement of the eagle rider's waist. In the end I simply measured it to my own slim hips at their widest point to be sure it would fit and braided what I did not bead. By spring it was finished, a glittering, smooth marvel of two season's steady work, and I hung it from the inside of the hollow tree that made up my winter home and beamed at it with pride every day. The gift had given me something to do, and I had made many new songs while working on it.

I was pleased, and that feeling did not fade over time, the ache in my shoulders a steady reminder of the thing I had created in my loneliness and search for approval. Eventually spring came and I waited eagerly for him to appear again, stroking the blue, black, white and gray beads every time I saw thpolipolishing them to a bright sheen. When summer came and he did not, I was nearly heartbroken, and quite disgusted with myself for all this silliness over a petty trinket.

Yet the comforting weight of the necklace against my bare chest was a gentle promise, daily bringing me hope that I was not, indeed, truly alone.

I sighted him in late fall, when snow was already beginning to gather heavily on the slopes. I wrapped myself in my winter furs and set out for the mountainside. I got there at midmorning, when a glance confirmed that the eagle was circling the other ridges near the river. I laid the belt lovingly in the same place, rubbing the necklace where it hung on my bare chest, shivering in the furs. I glanced up, and did not see the bird. Somewhat worried, I fled back to the shelter of the pines, making my way back to the river.

The lowlands were warm, but the wind held the first bite of cold. I dropped into my winter home and slept there, curled in the warmth. When I woke the heat of the old tree was nearly unbearable, but my clothes had dried of the snow I had gathered on them.

I dressed in them and set out again, first checking to be sure that the great eagle and its rider were nowhere nearby. When I arrived at the boulder, there was a neatly folded swath of cloth there. Curios, I picked it up and it unrolled to be a large, thick winter robe, perfectly fitted to my proportions. I held the fine heavy fabric a moment, breathing deeply of it's pleasant scent, very like that of the one who had brought it here, the smell that pervaded the area where I was.

Tossing aside my winter furs, I bundled in it and wrapped my furs around it, grateful for the warmth the fine cloth offered. I was pleased, and laughed into the wind, not caring if it carried the musical sound far off. I looked again to see if there was anything else there, and a bit of leather-wrapped paper caught my eye. I sat on my haunches in the snowy gravel and peered at it sadly. For some reason beyond me, it was sad to know I had forgotten how to read, and I wept.

I saved the bit of paper, poring over it long winter days, but it held no meaning for me even unto the day when it finally was lost to me, destroyed by time and the elements. That summer there was a lot of Orc and men activity outside the valley and along its borders, and that fall a band of orcs passed through, scaring off the wildlife for weeks.

I built more spears and braved the danger of exploring a cave that I might have a safe place to hide in, just in case. More seasons, years, came and went as I watched helplessly, defending myself from detection, hiding as the orcs came and built a garrison in the east of my valley, polluting the creek there, tainting the river and the lands they settled.

I forget how long it had been, how many seasons before I woke up one day with the sudden realization that I hadn't seen the eagle and its rider in at least four summers. I worried, and watched. The orcs left after about two summers, and my valley was slow to recover, the lands the orcs had marred seeming heartbroken. Another winter and summer came, and I began to live in my cave more often during winters.

I really wasn't expecting the wargs, and the night they came down from the hills they caught me by surprise. Five of them, one of me, and I only had three spears. Taking what I could easily carry, I left my summer haunts along the stream and fled for my cave. It was folly to fight them, but I preferred to do it on open ground and not in the confines of my cave, where I wouldn't have a chance.

I gave up trying to outrun them and fought, and when the sun rose it found me skinning the third of them, fighting off the carrion eaters, brushing flies from my bound and bleeding right leg. I was stubborn, valuing the large, thick hides more than my health, and when I had dragged all five of them back to my cave, I was dizzy and ill already.

Alone, I lay in the dark on the floor of my cave crying out with fever delirium, sweating and shaking. I didn't know how long it was when I woke, but I managed to drag myself to water and drink. When I woke, I repeated the process. About the fourth or fifth time I woke I managed to bathe my wounds and eat healing herbs, applying what I had chewed but couldn't manage to swallow to my leg.

The next time I woke I felt so much stronger I was able to treat my leg, binding it tighter. There was a livid slice trailing up from my ankle, crossing over my calf and shin, ending below my knee. I had a series of gashes on my upper left arm that were probably from teeth, and the cut on my hip wasn't too serious, although deep.

When I felt well enough to, I walked, and when I was tired, I slept. I hunted when I felt capable, not begrudging myself a few failed efforts. I attempted to tan the hides, and when winter came I was holed up in my cave, nearly as well as I had been before, and twice as vigilant. Every day I guarded the perimeter of my valley, ate, and slept. It became routine, and almost before I knew it, I began to roam restlessly with spring.

I gave myself release increasingly often, wandered without knowing what I sought and watched for the eagle rider in sheer desperate loneliness. My valley felt small and enclosing for the first time. Two more seasons brought me to the pit of despair. I lay awake at night, biting the back of my hand until blood flowed, screams of pure longing and need for someone, anyone of my shape and form making my throat hoarse.

By day I sat dejectedly in the rocks, watching over my valley. By summer I no longer held back the screams, and walked about at night, wailing in the shaming anguish of my need for intelligent companionship that dwarfed even my sexual desires. Inarticulate shouts welled in me day and night and I let them free, uncaring who heard.

Orcs came and I killed them, beasts came and I killed them, men came and I scared them off, until no one came anymore. Like an animal, I took out my rage on the trees, thrashing each sapling victim unthe the sight of broken branches scattered about appeased my lonely lust for destruction, my frustrated urges to give and take and please overwhelming.

I created things, weaving baskets and humming, until the finished creations accumulated and got in my way, and I tore them up and tossed them about, angry that nothing could bring me peace. Summer was miserable, long and hot. I began to wish for the end.

An unusually warm autumn day found me lying like a dead thing in the shade of the pines, surrounded by the evidence of my latest sapling foe. An eagle's screech pierced the air, and for once anger and loneliness overcame all other emotion, even desire to survive and fear, so I screamed back in full-voiced, gut-wrenching loneliness, all the pain of a hopeless, tortured soul.

The bird's cry came again, and I replied in kind, sitting up, my eyes tearing in hope and loss and need for companionship. I was near a large clearing, standing quietly, leaning against a pine, tears running down my face when the creature alighted. It's rider prowled about even as I watched, my voice hoarse, my limbs numb with long-desired hope. When he finally turned and sighted me there, he gave pause.

I knew I had grown taller, and I kept my hair roughly cropped at my hips, the robe long years reduced to the breechclout I wore on a slim leather belt like the one I had made him so very long ago. I waited quietly, motionless, eyes dull, for him to approach. He came forward slowly, half crouched, golden hair and silver eyes shining in the early afternoon sunlight. He approached slowly and stopped within four meters of me, standing at the edge of the brush line. He held out a long slim hand and waited, silver eyes searching me.

On an impulse,tepptepped forward out of the deep shade into the dappled light. My eyes met his. His mouth twitched, and my loneliness welled again in my gut, and for a moment I thought I would surely howl louder than ever before and drop dead, but I did not, instead I surprised myself, leaping forward and crashing my body against him.

I wanted to hold the solid warmth of another form to my chest and neck, to give the other creature like me my weakness, and I buried my face in his neck, immersing myself in the scent of him even as my weight drove him backwards. I lay atop him, my body pressed against his heavy, solid figure, breathing in the smell of him that went long ways in reassg meg me that I was not alone.

I wanted his weight atop me, to be crushed and weak and defenseless to the only one who had ever shown me love or care or even seen me for that matter, and when I rolled onto my back and pulled him atop me I let out a sigh. His weight alleviated the crushing loneliness and I laughed and cried at once in relief. He overcame his startlement and his silver eyes met mine, and I laughed joyously, tears flowing down my face into my hair, and I knew in that moment that I had found him, and with him, I had found myself at last.