Wrong Neighborhood [October 3010] [Open]

(I'm going to timeskip this to morning, but let me know if you'd rather not.)

He seemed certain that he would never see his home again, though her feeble attempts at lifting his spirits were appreciated nevertheless. She couldn't help but cock a brow at his, however. "Never heard of any 'Valar'. Grit and good luck, that's all that's keeping me going it seems. Or bad luck, given the state of me right now." Neither Wyn nor any of her kinfolk had ever given much thought to any higher powers. There was them, the uruk, and that was it. As far as she was concerned, mortals were on their own.

She was far more interested in this elf's apparent longevity than whatever Valar were, though. So, not only were elves apparently formidable enough to curry the hatred and fear of orcs in equal measure, but they also got to live for thousands of years. And then, after that, they got to sail away into their own little happy ending. Meanwhile, all the men were left behind to muck around in the dirt, eking out a miserable living before something finally pounced them.

Life just wasn't fair, it seemed. 

"How fortunate for you," she murmured, turning and laying on her side once more. Drawing her cloak tightly about her, Wyn shut her eyes and went quiet, letting exhaustion finally pull her into a deep and dreamless sleep.

---

She awoke in the predawn darkness to relieve Adanedhel of his watch. Luck seemed to be smiling on them, for the night passed without incident. Once during her watch, she heard a lonely howl rising into the sky, but it lacked the savage, bone-chilling notes of a warg--just a mundane wolf crying to the moon. Other than that, she spent a quiet watch wrapped in silence and her own thoughts. The morning would eventually dawn foggy and grey, with the night's chill still in the air. Shortly after the sun's first rays began to peer over the horizon, Wyn rose up and slipped deeper into the grove, hoping to find something that could pass for breakfast for the two of them.

Pickings were often slim when in unfamiliar territory, and finding food for two was a bigger undertaking than just foraging for herself. She was nothing if not tenacious, however. The catkin clusters hanging from the birch trees around her were bitter in flavor, but nutritious and would at least taste a bit better once roasted over a campfire. Further examination of the leaf litter covering the ground yielded several edible mushrooms and herbs to round out the meal. With her spoils carried in her cloak like a makeshift basket, she'd return to their little campsite. "Rise and shine, Adan." she called to elf, before crouching down nearby and gathering up a pile of kindling. A bit of flint and a sliver of metal were produced from a pouch tied to her belt, and she set to coaxing a small fire into being. She had been freezing her arse off the whole night, and now that the sun had finally begun to rise, a campfire wouldn't give away their presence as readily.

The damp twigs and leaves were proving to be a stubborn thing to light, though she kept at it, striking the flint and steel together to produce a shower of sparks onto the kindling. She heard Adan mumble something, and suddenly a tongue of flame blossomed within the smoking pile. She sat back, startled, only to look up as Adan spoke again. Evidently, he had caused the fire to start, with some sort of weird elven magic. She eyeballed him for a moment, saying nothing, then gave the fire another strike from her flint and steel as if to assert that she was capable of doing it herself. As the flame grew, she added in larger sticks and branches, until they had a merrily-crackling fire going. Delicious warmth began to seep through her skin, and she held out her palms to the fire for a moment, letting herself enjoy the simple bliss of a warm campfire.

The greens and mushrooms were pushed between the two of them, along with a ragged waterskin untied from her belt. It was only half-full, she'd have to find a spring or stream soon, but there were a few swigs of water there for each of them. The birch seed-clusters were set upon a flat stone and pushed into the embers, where they would roast away some of their bitter flavoring. Taking a small yellow chanterelle from the forage pile, she impaled it on a thin branch and held it over the flames to cook, watching the edges slowly brown. "So," she said finally, breaking the early-morning silence, "assuming we make it away from here without getting torn to shreds by uruk or dying from our wounds festering, what are you going to do now?" He had seemed certain he wouldn't be able to return home, but he had to go somewhere. The edge of the Dead Marshes was no place to live. "I could take you west to the big river, get you on a barge. There's a few towns on the other side." She withdrew her mushroom from the fire, poking it experimentally. "Not sure how they'd take to an elf, though. Still, you keep your ears covered, they might not even know." She raised a hand to tug off her facewrap, then paused, glancing at her companion. She wasn't used to exposing her maimed face around others, though there seemed to be no way around it. She couldn't eat with a mask on. With a quiet huff, she slipped it down her face and popped the still-warm mushroom into her mouth. It had a pleasant nutty flavor, with an aromatic hint of sweetness, made all the more delicious by the simple fact that she hadn't eaten in two days. 

(Sorry for the short post!)

While the elf tried to maintain a sense of decorum as he ate, Wyn didn't bother. She was hungry, food was in front of her, and experience had taught her to eat quick. The birch nuts were pushed out of the fire with a stick and she plucked them off the hot stone, pulling a face at their slightly bitter tang. They were filling, at least, and would hold her until she could find something bigger. She glanced over at her companion, noting that her question had sobered the elf. He stared into the flames for a moment, confessing that he wasn't sure what to do or where to go. She watched him silently for a moment, recognizing that helpless look in his eyes. She had seen it in the slaves she tried to help, she had seen it every time she saw her reflection in a still pond. He was lost, in every sense of the word. Her irritation at his magical showboating abated slightly, and she sighed. "You're right. You couldn't fool them forever." He expressed at least some hope of returning home, though, which was a marked improvement from last night. She grunted an agreement and ate another mushroom, only to pause and look up as he suggested she come with him.

Swallowing the morsel, she let out a cynical snort. "If your kind wouldn't welcome you back because you got captured, I doubt they would let in someone like me." She sat up and gestured to herself, all disheveled clothing and tattered leathers and scarred, sinewy limbs. "Maybe you're still swooning from my dashing rescue of you yesterday," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "but in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly the most presentable of travelling companions." She slouched again, and some of the vitriol seemed to drain from her as she glanced away. "Besides, I...I belong here." She looked out towards the horizon, where dark mountains rose up and walled off Mordor from the rest of the world. "It's a pitiful excuse for a home, but it's still home." She couldn't bring herself to confess the truth, that she came from the lowest dregs of a society that was itself the lowest dreg of the whole world. She wished she could leave it behind, and in truth there were times when it was so tempting to cross the Anduin and never look back, but she could never bring herself to do it. What right did she have to live free while her people languished in slavery under the uruk?

"I'd escort you home, if you needed me to," she murmured, "help you stay safe on the road. But I wouldn't--I can't stay."

"I've lived out here alone for seven winters now," she retorted defensively, beginning to bristle. If the elf thought to pity her, take her along just to save the poor dumb little human from the big bad wilderness, then he would be disappointed. "I don't need your protection, and I don't need your pity. I don't need anyone but me."

Beneath the simmering anger, she knew she was in the wrong. Adan was only being kind, offering her safety and solidarity--something she had never truly had. But she couldn't accept the way out he offered. In her mind, she simply didn't deserve it. She was nothing, just an impudent little scrap of a human fighting a losing battle against the numberless hordes of Mordor. No matter how many orcs she killed or slaves she freed or supplies she stole, it would all be meaningless in the end. Sooner or later her luck would run out, and she'd find herself on the business end of an orc's spear. All the time before that was just for causing as much trouble as she could. She didn't matter, only her work did. The elf had a future. A home, training. A family. He could go back to Mirkwood and be someone worthwhile in the thousands of years he had left. She'd probably be dead in the next decade or so.

He called attention to their sorry states, and she huffed, drawing her cloak self-consciously about her. "I've had worse." It was only when he spoke again, seemingly seeing through to her true dilemma, that she sat bolt upright and stared at him again with an expression somewhere between alarm and suspicion. "Can elves read minds, in addition to starting fires?" she said with a humorless laugh, "or was it just that obvious?" At any rate, however formidable a warrior he might be, they had no chance of freeing every slave in Mordor on their own. Wyn's life was a hard one, and not something she was eager to get others involved in.