The Wild River Daughter

Stiff fingers poked through the gap in the crate and a soft purring immediately erupted. Haliel could not quite unfurl the fingers of her left hand, but the cat didn't mind and it's pink tongue licked and licked, while it's head butted against her. Black and orange fur pressed through the gaps in the wood, and the tip of a slender tail poked out. Lilotie did not need Haliel's fingers to bend well for petting. She could do most of the work herself.

“Lilotie,” Haliel giggled at the feel of her soft fur and rough tongue. Ever since her cat had returned home, the little girl's spirits had brightened considerably. With Lilotie home, the adventure to their new home seemed much more exciting, and Haliel was not so upset at the baby anymore. In fact she was rather enjoying being an aunt. Melian was here with them, and Miriel even let her hold the baby if someone was sitting with her, for though Haliel tried her best and knew how to support the baby, she could not quite make her arm work properly to do so, and at times her shudders took over. Either way, Miriel said that once Melian was a bit bigger, she would not need to be held so carefully.

Gilwen was with them all the time now too, and she had been since the autumn. Though Haliel had always loved the woman, from the first she had met her, she had grown even closer with her the past months. Haliel had spent hours pouring over her lessons during the day in the chair beside Gilwen. Coursing over her picture books, and reading her lesson's aloud to Gilwen. She was not sitting beside her now; rather riding up front on the carriage seat with her elder brother.

There they had been traveling some days now, on the grandest adventure of the little girl's lifetime! Haliel had never left the stone walls of Minas Tirith, save to go round the outer walls and lay flowers upon the grave of her Father once a year. The Pellenor had been vast and open. There were grasses going on for miles. They moved further from the tall mountains, though they could still be seen on the horizon, along the south road. They took the carriage through forests and over hills and plains. The sights were all a wonder to Haliel, like something out of her picture books.

Faeldor had said this was the long route, but to travel with the carriage they needed to take the smooth roads. Haliel looked up out the front window of the carriage. Her brother was steering the draft horses, Faelon squeezed in on the other side, with Gilwen between. Haliel sighed. Both Marileth and Faelon had been able to ride with him. They had also been able to take turns upon Lumiel when they wished, though right now the horse was simply tethered to the back of the carriage as they walked. Haliel though had not the balance to stay safely upon the front seat nor could she ride the horse by herself. The cushions on the floor of the carriage had not been unbearable though. There was Miriel and the baby. The best part of the ride had been Grandfather's stories. He had always been a storyteller, but the stories seemed to come to life with the ever changing scenery. Myth and legend intermingled with histories, though in the eight year old's mind, each word was living and true.

The carriage slowed, and Haliel drew herself to look out the window once more. Faeldor had stopped to talk with Mother, who was driving the other team of horses which pulled the covered wagon with their belongings. “It's the Crossing of the Erui,” Tinuves said knowingly before the little girl's questions started. The silver ribbon which had once seemed far off was now right in front of them, the current fast moving, and the banks far apart. “It is not deep. We'll be fording this one, and we'll be in the fiefdom of Lebennin on the other side.”

Melanir's smile seemed to grow. “Do you know the story of the Lone Lady?”

“Oh no,” Haliel answered, smiling back for she knew Grandfather would now weave his tale.

“She is a river-daughter, wise and old, and powerful, and she dwells here in the River Enui. One of the five sisters of Lebennin. Roamingstar, Grey-eye, Silverfroth, Truetongue, and the Lone Lady. They are ageless daughters of the river-woman. Born in the waters, and guardians over the waters. Silver of hair and raiment. We shall cross over the rivers of each on this journey. Once there was a time when the five sisters were friends with one another but now only four remain in friendship. The Lone Lady has gone wild over the years. Breaking her trust with the others. She uses the waters from the mountains with a force that rivals all others, sending waves and floods to wash men from the fords.”

“Grandfather, you're going to scare her,” Miriel interjected.

“I'm not afraid,” Haliel answered though her blue eyes were wide. “Why is she wild, Grandfather?”

Melanir had expected the question, and looked to Miriel for a moment. His own grey eyes only caught the blur of the eldest granddaughter rocking her child before he turned back to the little girl. “In the days of eighteenth King of Gondor, a woman married into the family who was not of Dúnedain descent.”

“Like your Mother,” Haliel commented.

“Yes, like your Great Grandmother,” Melanir confirmed. “Queen Vidumavi was of the North Lands, and though many loved her, there were those who thought less of her for here bloodline. They did not wish the Kings to dilute their lineage with the blood of an outsider. There are still those today who feel strife in the minglings of blood.”

“But blood does not matter,” Haliel pointed out. “Nobody is lesser for their blood, for all blood serves the same purpose and runs the same color,” she repeated rote from memory. Words Meleth had taught her already years ago.

Miriel frowned lightly, though tried to hide her change in expression as she looked down to her infant. Melanir could not see her look, and Haliel was not paying attention, yet Tinuves noted her granddaugther's expression. She knew the guilt she had felt over the very same thing. She had been so disproving of Faeldor's choice of Gilwen, for both the girl being of lower class, and the common blood. Even little Haliel had known better than she. Even though the idea of common blood had come to be a falsehood in Gilwen, for she was most of Belfalathrim herself; at least as much or more as her own family, the guilt still hung over.

“That's right,” Melanir answered. “Yet there were still those who did not have that wisdom, and feared that the Queen Vidumavi's blood would diminish the lifespan of the Kings. Right before her son Eldacar ascended to the throne, there was a revolt, and a great civil war broke out across the Realm of Gondor. Castamir was close to the crown, a Belfalathrim of full Dúnedain blood, and chosen as the new king of the divided people's and followed by the men of Belfalas, Umbar, and Pelargir. He had great forces in war, and he took the city of Osgiliath and Minas Tirith as his own, driving the true king Eldacar back to the northlands. Castamir though was not a good man, and the people soon learned this when he murdered Eldacar's son. Castamir was called the Usurper, and he ruled with an iron fist. He was harsh and cruel to the people of the kingdom, even though he was of noble blood.”

“After a time the North gathered enough forces to send down and army to banish the usurper forever. Eldacar led them south, all the way here to the crossings of the Erui, and a great battle was fought. Eldacar himself slew Castamir in the waters, and the lives of many men were here lost to ensure the throne be given back to it's rightful heir. Castamir's sons escaped with a number of the southern forces to Pelargir, then later back to Umbar. That is why Umbar is no longer part of Gondor to this day.”

Faelon was leaning over on the bench from the front of the carriage, his face in the window listening. “The blood of Castamir is in the Corsairs. The pirates!” he exclaimed, as he near tumbled off his seat. Faeldor's hand had reached to grab the back of his tunic and steady him, but the eldest brother's grumbles could be heard from the front.

“The Corsairs, yes, and they're a story for another time,” Melanir nodded, his eyes sparkling. Of course talk of the battle would draw his grandson into the story.

“But what about the river-daughter?” Haliel asked. “Why did Castamir make the Lone Lady wild?”

“The River Erui ran red with blood that day, and the bodies, hundreds and hundreds still line the bottom of it. It is said that men have seen the apparitions of the armor rise up out of the water when the floods come down. The Lone lady hated the blood, and if she wills it, she will never have an uprising in her waters again. Many a traveler has had trouble getting through the Fords, especially if they are coming from the south from Umbar or the Haradwaith. She will not let another kin-strife occur. Never does she wish the men of Gondor to war with one another, for there are much fouler things for us to set our sights against these days.”

Haliel leaned against the window on the side of the carriage, looking out as the carriage began to slowly move toward the waters of the ford. First the horses hooves splashed, and soon the rushing of the river was on all sides of them. Haliel gasped and clutched the wooden framed carriage as it jerked on the stream bed. Grandmother had been correct though, the waters were not deep and the carriage did not lift from the bottom of the river, though it took some time to cross.

Blue eyes coursed over the waters. Upstream, and down, searching as if to spot the silver clad river-maid, or the armor of ancient armies. Yet nothing was to be seen yet. Then, off in the distance, a sun flare on something moving across the waters. Was it an apparition of a dancing maid? Or just her imagination?

“I think she was right to go wild,” Haliel murmured to her Grandfather. “I would not want the southern armies to invade either. Nor do I wish for another kin-strife. Blood is blood, whether Dúnedain or not.”

“You remember that, child,” Melanir nodded. His story had come to fruition.