Cottoncrow's Cry - Chapter 6
A man carrying a baby walked in, his eyes dazzled and unseeing. Outside, the cries of a desperate woman and mother could be heard.
Gimli caught a glimpse of her, before the door was locked again. Two guards were holding her, preventing the poor woman from following her husband and child. The number of guards had increased, Gimli noticed as well. Samuel had wasted no time, the dwarf mused.
Chapter 6
A man carrying a baby walked in, his eyes dazzled and unseeing. Outside, the cries of a desperate woman and mother could be heard.
Gimli caught a glimpse of her, before the door was locked again. Two guards were holding her, preventing the poor woman from following her husband and child. The number of guards had increased, Gimli noticed as well. Samuel had wasted no time, the dwarf mused.
One of the sick, an elderly woman, neared the newcomer, trying to help. The baby was crying and the woman could see that the child's father was in no condition to offer any comfort then.
"Do not touch my child!" The man screamed when he saw her nearing. "I will have none of your sick hands touching my daughter!"
In his shocked state, the man saw and understood little of what surrounded him, apparently failing to realize that him and his hands were as ill as the woman's.
The two strangers, standing by the closed window, caught his attention. His face contorted in anger, blind rage replacing the helplessness of before.
"This is yer fault!" He yelled, launching an attack against the elf. "Undo this wrong now, or I will kill you with me bare hands!"
Legolas sidestepped the man's charge and circled him from behind with ease, restraining the man's movements and preventing him from hurting himself and the child in his arms.
The man tried to wrestle free, howling in rage with the realization that he couldn't. Slowly, the anger lost its violence and the man slumbered against his captor. Quiet sobs broke the silence that had built around them, and only then did the others realize that Legolas was softly whispering in to the man's ear.
The ones alert enough to watch and understand what had passed were suddenly reminded of how different that creature was from them. The whispers of 'witchcraft' and 'sorcery' were quickly silenced by the menacing looks Gimli was sharing with the rest of the room. Their eyes, however, kept murmuring the same accusations.
Truth be told, even Gimli was surprised with such display. He had before seen the elf's ability to reassure and quieten horses and other good beasts… he had even seen Aragorn do the same, using that squeakiest tongue of the elves. But to see it used on a man, and seeing it work just the same, was a novelty that the dwarf wasn't sure to be of his liking.
Legolas led the man to an empty cot and bade him to seat. The baby had fallen asleep in her father's arms.
The man looked at the creature crouching by his side, and could not recognize in him the vile monster that Samuel had described. There was no doubt in his mind that this was an elf, for even dressed like a man, he could tell the differences. But the eyes looking at him and his child, with nothing but concern and care, were not the eyes of evilness.
'Evil has many faces, and most of them are fair', Samuel oft said. But in his heart, this man could not see this being in that light any longer, not when he had understood its kindness.
"You have placed a spell on me," was his reasoning.
"I have no such ability," Legolas said, rising to leave.
The man reached for his leg, stopping him. "I do not understand what powers you might have, but I beg of you, save my child!" The man cried softly.
The elf shook his head. There was nothing he could do.
"She is healthy, she should not be here," the man added in a despair laced voice.
Legolas and Gimli exchanged a look. The man's pain had blinded his reason, for sure.
"I cannot imagine how hard this must be to accept, for certainly is not fair, but only a healer can help your child now, not us," the elf tried to explain.
The man grew more agitate, shaking his head vehemently.
"No, you don't understand… my child is not sick! She hasn't been touched by the Bruisenbite!"
The man feverishly pushed the child's sleeves back, showing the marks in her arms, and then doing the same with his.
"I am responsible for this," he cried, pointing to the dark bruises in the baby's chubby arm. "When I found that I was ill, I lost my mind… and my reason," he admitted guiltily.
Legolas' eyes widened as he started to grasp the meaning of the man's words.
"See the difference between the two?" The man asked eagerly, presenting both arms to the strangers. While his bruises were of a dark shade of purple and wider spread, the child's were lighter and ordered, resembling the mark of fingers that had grabbed too hard.
"Sweet Erü!" Gimli cursed. He had seen the way the others had looked at Legolas' bruised arm, thinking it to be perhaps a sign of disease rather than consequence of his capture. Fear clouded their judgment and he could see how any bruise would be suspicious to them.
"You understand now?" The man asked with a glint of hope.
"Have you explained this to the healer?" Legolas asked.
The man covered his daughter's arm, nesting her against his chest. "He is as frightened as the rest… he would not believe me."
A look usually reserved for Orcs passed through Legolas' eyes. "His ignorance condemns her to death," he said in anger.
The man shuddered, holding the child tighter. "My wife will not bear the lost of us both."
"She is not ill?" Gimli asked.
The man shrugged. "She had no marks."
"And yet you all live under the same roof," Legolas reasoned, lost in thought.
The man nodded. "Sometimes, it takes the all family, sometimes just one… we can't understand how," he explained.
"Tis not normal behaviour for a plague," Gimli concluded.
"Aye… and yet, we can not be sure that the child will not be in danger if she stays," Legolas added, looking firmly to his friend. "You must get her away."
Gimli frowned. And then nodded. He couldn't fool the elf. Legolas knew he was the prisoner there, and that Gimli remained only on account of his own stubbornness. He had to take advantage of that freedom of movement and save at least this life.
The man saw that the two strangers had reached some sort of silent understanding, and smiled. He looked at his sleeping child one last time, committing her auburn curls and freckled face to memory and placed her in Gimli's hands.
The dwarf looked slightly disturbed by the child in his arms, awkwardly trying to not let her fall.
"Take good care of her, master dwarf," the man begged, the tears in his eyes not enough to show the pain in his heart. "See that she is taken to my wife and tell her that…" a sob broke his voice, "… tell her…" The man could not finish, his grief eating any parting words he might have had for his wife.
The man turned and left, resisting the urge to see his daughter one last time.
Gimli cursed the disease that caused such grief to each it touched. In front of him, the elf was pale and his eyes reflected the pain in his heart. Of grief elves understood, even if Legolas couldn't completely grasp the concepts of illness or death.
They concentrated on getting the child to safety, with the help of all that had understood the situation and were willing to aid. A large sling was fashioned and placed around Gimli's chest. The child, peacefully still asleep, was secured inside the sling, covered by the dwarf's tunic. His large beard, free of its braids, was enough to hide the hole made, so that the child could breathe, and to help create the illusion that the new lump in Gimli's physic was due to too much ale, rather than a hidden baby.
The sun was beginning to stretch its long arms over the horizon when the two friends parted, at the house's locked door.
"Samuel gave me three days to bring him the two headed creature," Gimli said.
Legolas raised and eyebrow and smiled. "Another?"
"Do not jest, foolish elf!" Gimli rebuked. Then he added more calmly "before that time is over, I shall be back and we will leave this place, by force, if needed be!"
"We can not fight a whole village," Legolas said seriously. "And nothing short of that will do, if we choose the way of force."
"You have another way?" The dwarf whispered.
"I might," Legolas whispered back. "Take the child to safety and, if all goes well, I shall meet you at the ruins tomorrow." He grasped Gimli's right wrist, in farewell. The dwarf returned the warrior's greeting. "May the Valar watch over you."
Gimli nodded, his gaze holding the elf's eyes. Silently, it held the promise that, if Legolas failed to show, the dwarf would shatter earth and sky to prevent his death at Samuel's hands.
"Guards!" Gimli shouted. "I wish to leave!" He commanded.
With one last look at his friend, Gimli left through the unlocked door.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooo
Whatever concern Gimli might have harboured about finding the child's mother, it vanished as soon as he stepped out in to the chilly dawn.
The poor woman had refused to leave, not bearing to lose sight of her loved ones, even if it was through a closed door. The despair and grief had robed her of all will and not even her legs could hold her upright any longer.
One of the guards had remained with her, while a group of five others went to meet the dwarf.
"You can't be coming and going as it pleases you," one man complained in ill humour.
"I don't plan to return," Gimli replied in the same manner. "Samuel has given me a task, and I plan to get it done!"
The guard shrugged, not really caring. This assignment felt more like a punishment than his usual functions anyway. The sooner his shift was over, the better. "Show me your arms!" He demanded.
The dwarf complied as before, moving carefully as to not disturb the sleeping child. To have her cry now would mean the end of their plan.
The guard confirmed that he had no marks of the disease and, with a sigh of relief, Gimli was on his way.
Free of that first obstacle, the dwarf faced now a harder decision. The person he needed to look for was no more than ten feet away, and yet, to seek her attention now would gain him the guards' attention as well. The woman's grief stricken eyes, devoid of all will to live, met his for a brief second, and Gimli almost gave in. Make no heed of reason, walk just right up to her and ease her suffering.
The baby moved against his chest, signalling that her position was not as comfortable, and her sleep not as heavy as before. And before all was lost, Gimli made use of the stone resolve that graces all dwarf kind and, moving as if he was made of stone, turned his back and walked away.
Sooner or later, the woman would leave, or be forced to leave. He would follow her and return the child then.
Venturing deeper in to the woods, Gimli undid the contraption from around his chest and awkwardly held the baby in his arms. From amidst a freckled face, large, innocent brown eyes stared up at him, unblinking.
"You will behave, aye?" The inexperienced dwarf asked in a pleading tone.
The child seemed to carefully consider his question, and then giggled. "I'll take that as an yes."
In the cover of the trees, Gimli circled the guards' position and looked for a hiding place, from where he could spot the road leading back to the village, without being seen himself. Clearing a small area of any rocks or branches, Gimli laid his cloak on the dirt and the child on it.
"Now, let us hope that your mother doesn't take too long."
But the woman's resolve was as hard as a dwarf's. The sun was high in the sky and still she had no passed by them.
"Mayhap she took another road," Gimli mused. The waiting was eating at his patience.
More than once he had considered returning and, under some excuse, drag the woman away from the guards. But each time, he would look at the baby girl, and lose the courage to leave her alone, to fend for wild beasts on her own. To add to his growing sense of despair, the child, who had been so peaceful and quiet so far, started to cry.
"No, no, no," he rushed to hold her, lost on how to make her stop such angst sobs. "Hush, child, tis no time for wails!" He begged, lolling the baby up and down. But nothing would pacify the crying girl.
So focused was the dwarf on his impossible task, that he failed to see the figure quietly approaching through the trees. The figure stopped behind a trunk, studying him for a minute, and then decided to near him.
The hand on his shoulder made Gimli jump in the air.
"Ah!" He turned around, ready to defend himself from whoever attacked.
A woman, still young, with light brown hair and green eyes, was staring at him. She smiled, reassuring him of her intentions.
"I know of only two reasons for a baby to cry like that, and, as I can't smell nothing foul, I would say he's hungry," she said.
"She," Gimli corrected, dumbstruck He looked around, making sure that this strange woman was the only one the baby's cries had attracted. She was alone.
For a moment, a storm of doubts assaulted Gimli's mind. He was a stranger in a strange place and, for all he knew, this woman could be the local witch, alluring him to her lair, to kill them… or worse.
Her eyes, however, held such gentleness and sadness that the dwarf found it difficult to associate them with aught but a pure heart. In an odd way, her eyes reminded him of lady Éowyn's, the Rohan shield maiden. The same mixture of sorrow and strength glittered in those green orbs.
The baby redoubled her cries, reminding Gimli that it truly wasn't his choice, since he didn't knew the first thing about feeding human youngsters. Casting one last look at the empty road, Gimli followed her deeper in to the woods.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooo
Gimli's absence only made worst the suspicious way in which the sick ones regarded the elf in their midst. The stony and down to earth figure of the stout stranger had worked to smooth their worries somewhat, for they instinctively trusted the dwarf.
The high manner in which Samuel had always talked about his dwarven acquaintances had helped matters too. But now Gimli was gone. And Legolas could feel all eyes on him. Hostile eyes. Eyes full of fever and hate.
To them, he was the dam that stopped water from reaching their thirsty mouths, a stone blocking their path to salvation.
He knew none would have moved to attack him, due to the weakness in their limbs, but the air in the small house was so laden with such contempt and spite that the elf could feel its weight on his shoulders like a physical thing.
The idea of turning his back to the people of this village, in so dire need of help, was uncomfortable to his views of right and wrong. The warrior parcel of his heart, the rational whisper that always had sound advice for him, however, told Legolas the obvious.
He was no healer. His knowledge of those arts resumed itself to a few practical skills he found use for in battle, skills that were nothing but were mere delay actions to keep the threads of life together, until a real healer could be reached.
Even if he did possess such knowledge, even if it was as profound and vast as lord Elrond's, these people would not accept it from his hands. He had tried to warn them about the water, tell them it was soiled and would make them worse, but they would not listen. They refused to listen.
Such a warning, coming from the elf, could only mean trickery for them. Maybe a way to drive them to thirst and madness, as a way to amuse himself. So, they drank more.
And Legolas realized that anything he tried to do would only make matters worse.
So he would leave, and pray to the Valar that they'd provide these people with help better than his.
To escape the house was not a difficult task. The windows were bared shut and the only door was bolted, but the lock was open every time food and water were brought, and for each turn the dead were taken out or the newly sick taken in. The security, even numerous as it was now, was pitiful, for the guards refused to stand nothing less than twenty feet away, fearful of the ill. He needed but to wait and seize his chance.
Opportunity presented itself at dawn of the following day.
The fires were starting to burn, and they had three bodies to put to them. Two had succumbed to the disease. The third was the father of the child that Gimli had carried away, who had taken his own life during the night, unable to bear another sunrise in such a gloomy existence.
The others had not tried to stop him when he broke one the food pots and used one of the jiggered pieces to cut his wrists open. He died peacefully, and the sick envied him, for they no longer possessed the strength nor courage to do the same.
Legolas carried the bodies outside, for no one else was able to. Some resented the fact that their neighbours and friends had to suffer the touch of that creature after they had passed away, but, alas, they had no other choice. There was some even who believe that the man had taken his own life because of a spell that the elf had cast upon him. But such beliefs and accusations were only whispered and thought, never spoken openly, out of fear.
Most did not dare to stay an arm's reach from the elf. The sound of Legolas' voice had become poison, his presence a torment.
The day that greeted Legolas when he stepped outside was as downcast and sad as all else in those parts. Fog covered the land, hiding everything around behind a curtain of white and the wind, running away, was of little help.
The air was stifling and loaded, turning the crack of wood in the fires in to numerous thunders, trapped without lighting under the dense atmosphere.
Legolas took great care in studying his surroundings. The shadows of the guards stood at the fog's frontier, some carrying bows, other long swords, but all weary of seeing the elf outside, free of bonds.
Behind the guards, the shape of a road could almost be seen. To the village, Legolas presumed. And all around them, the woods, the same that filled the landscape of green.
He carefully laid the dead woman he'd been carrying on the ground and went back to fetch the others, planning his next move.
Legolas figured that, with such a heavy mist, the men would be hard pressed to catch his every movement, particularly when he passed behind the large fire, pilling the bodies.
The wood had been gathered not long before dawn and the dew-laden leaves made the fire raise more smoke than it should. With the lack of wind, the smoke and fog hide Legolas well, making it almost impossible for any stray arrow fired to ever hit him.
He could easily outrun the guards and, as he returned to collect the last body, Legolas decided that the time had come for him to escape.
But, as he came out of the house, he saw the large group of people that the dusty road had produced. Samuel was at the head of about twenty villagers, and Legolas knew that they were coming for him.
The path to the pile of bodies led him even closer to the fast approaching men and women and, for a fleeting second, Legolas considered the idea of abandoning the dead body he carried on the road and run. He had kept the unhappy father for last, for reasons he could not understand. Mayhap dread, of the grief that that soul carried, mayhap fear of the grief it would add to his already heavy heart.
Being as it may, the man looked pacified now, in his death, and as Legolas looked at his ashen face his features morphed in to those of another grieved father, led to kill his own son by a flick of fate.
The elven warrior could not deny this man the respect his dead body deserved. So he never stopped his stride, purposefully marching towards the hostile group. Legolas gently placed the man's body next to the others, feeling every pair of eyes upon him.
Legolas forced his tense muscles to relax, willing himself to remain calm. It seemed hardly fair that every time the odds balanced to his side, fate would shake its feathers and turn everything against him.
The group surrounded the elf.
"You will come with us," Samuel commanded with more confidence than what he truly felt.
Oooooooooooooo
"What is this place?" Gimli asked as soon as they arrived.
"Home," the woman answered.
And the dwarf wondered how loosely she was using that word. 'Home' was nothing but some twigs and leaf-covered branches, interweaved and bundled around a tree trunk that had been sundered in half by a lightning. One portion had fallen against another tree, bending it slightly, while the other had fallen against a large rock, forming an open angle between the three. In an ingenious, almost elven way, it felt solid and welcoming.
"Why don't you live near the others?" Gimli asked, surprised to find out that he could walk straight inside the odd house. The woman worked slightly bent, busying herself around the scattered items that Gimli could see about.
"I prefer it here," she answered tersely, the tone of her voice clear about her unwillingness to pursue the matter. "I have no milk, but this will do," she said, carrying a cup with a red hotchpotch inside.
"What is it?" He asked, curious, watching as the woman gave a few drops of the mix to the baby.
The child seemed to like it, for her cries stopped and her small hands curled around the woman's, as if asking for more.
'Even a stone can be a mother, if the baby only cries', was a dwarven saying that seemed to apply to the race of Men as well. Gimli watched as the strange woman cared for the little girl as if she was her own, holding her in her lap, against her breasts and feeding the child with the uttermost care.
"Tis but crushed berries and water," she explained without looking up, all of her attention on the giggling baby.
Gimli frowned. "Legolas said that water around here wasn't that good," he remembered.
The woman dismissed his concerns. "I take mine from a fresh spring in the woods. It's the same I use for long now, and it has never done me wrong," she told. "Legolas… is he the stranger that arrived with you?"
"Aye."
"He is an elf, am I right?"
"Aye."
"And yet, you are not afraid to travel in his company," she said, sounding surprised.
"He is my friend," Gimli simply said, as if that short sentence explained enough.
And strangely enough, for the woman, it did. A friend, not an elf, a dwarf, a man, nor even a dog. Just a friend, a being that had a secure place in our heart and that, for the fortunate, called you friend as well.
And yet, the woman had been raised in a place where not all could be called friends and where race and sex had to speak louder than the heart.
"These are strange times, master dwarf. Our beliefs prove to be daff guides everyday," she sighed.
The baby had fallen asleep against her chest, her hunger satisfied. One tiny hand found its way up and curled around the necklace the woman wore, with a strength that only babies could master.
"Careful there, little one," the woman said with a giggle, prying the little fingers open. The hand gave up the necklace and twisted around her long hair, content to rest peacefully there.
The white, noble metal had not gone unnoticed by Gimli's trained eye. He took his chance then to watch it more carefully, taking advantage of the woman's distraction. The links of the chain were small, a work of detail, with each fine octagonal piece perfectly connected with the next, in a way that made the all chain lay flat and close to the woman's skin, in a contact more intimate and sensual than most necklaces, as a lover's caress. From the chain hanged a hammer, resting on top of small, but detailed, anvil. The symbols of Aulë.
Gimli wondered how, in such a distant and closed village, things like that necklace, managed to find their way in. not only was the jewel a work of art, it was also a gift fit for kings. How had it ended there, around the neck of a simple peasant girl?
"That is a fine piece of dwarfish craft," he couldn't help himself from saying.
The woman's fingers were instinctively drawn to the pendent, hiding the strange symbol from view.
"A gift," she said with sadness in her eyes. "From someone I have lost."