The chilly, autumn night found Nautiel sitting by the pond in Imlad Gelair. The crescent moon and stars were reflected back so clearly within the pool which was supplied by the now frigid runoff from the Hithaeglir. She was seated at the very edge, heedless of how the mud would likely saturate the hem of her clothing. Her legs were tightly crossed and almost pulled to her chest as she went about her trance-like work – long fingers weaving strands of raven dark hair together into deceptively simple braids. Every so often, errant strands would escape her grasp but she remained unfazed by it, continuing her work while her eyes stared straight ahead into the surrounding trees and outbuildings, blinking but not truly seeing.
It was like a dance she was slowly remembering with each plait, creating a style she had suddenly remembered as if she had worn them only yesterday.
But, that couldn’t be, for she had denied herself such things for over an age. How could she think to reclaim them now? Yet, here she was in the light of the moon, defying the gentle but cold breeze that played with the strands of black even as she both feverishly and reluctantly coaxed them into new places.
And when she had loosely looped and knotted the last plait she set back stiffly on her hands and turned her face to the barely clouded sky, watching as her warm breath created mist in the chilly air, rising and then disappearing as if it had never existed in the first place.
Would it not have been better if I had never—
She abruptly cut off that train of thought and leaned forward, bracing herself with her hands on her thighs as she peered down into the pond and studied the new reflection therein. She didn’t often look at herself in mirrors and most of her time spent around water was during foraging, following, hunting, and making the best use of her speed and spear. There was no real need to look at herself. That’s what she always told herself… How long had it actually been?
She stared downwards and found her own green eyes, the color of new spring leaves, staring back at her. They seemed darkened, like a veil of shadow settled over them for the moment. She wondered if they always looked like that when she was alone and thought of far too much for far too long. Her gaze lingered not so very long upon her face and instead alighted upon her hair.
Has her hair always been this unruly? Or had it always been this way – at least, a little! – since she was very small? She couldn’t decide in this moment whether the braids made her look more or less like herself… or more or less like her.
No one mourned for her.
Nautiel closed her eyes as she felt her heart beat faster and faster in her chest, sending the blood through her veins to her extremities and warming them. She breathed deep and held the air within her lungs for a moment. 1… 2… 3… Then she let it all out slowly and opened her eyes, knowing that it did her little good as her mind continued to wander farther and farther away from the present. She could try to reach out to grasp her consciousness by the heel and drag herself back if she wanted to. But… no. There was something about letting go of what could be seen, felt, heard, and sensed in reality; the lure of letting the walls of what is fall away and give over to a place where she could feel something else. Sometimes it was safety, sometimes it was remembrance. Still, other times, it was a nightmare.
But when she at last arrived to where her mind wanted her to be, she did not feel fear. This was to be no terror; at least, not yet. The woods about her were lit by twilight and the fireflies had come out to dance. They were not the only ones dancing in the night. The turning of the season had come and in the distance, within the hallowed and flower-bedecked halls of Menegroth, elves danced and celebrated. The music was just as she remembered…
As she stood and drifted towards it – not too close, she remembered, for that was her way – she found someone else in her path, sitting alone in silence, outside by the edge of the city. This person was most certainly a child with hair like midnight, braided up and away from her pale face with a flower or two stuck in between the plaits. The girl watched the festivities of Enderi carry on without her, though the last blooms before the snows of winter that were fashioned into the garlands that were hung about the halls were the works of her small hands. Eyes the color of new spring leaves watched almost listlessly as her small fingers fidgeted with one last remaining flower held in her equally small hands. Though she was still young, it seemed a heavy burden had already settled on her shoulders and that the pang of sorrow was familiar… and expected. The girl did not shy away from it. Rather, she seemed to let it wrap about her like a blanket, hiding her away.
No one mourned for her.
Nautiel remembered this very well. She had loved the festivals of Enderi the most. There was much to be said for spring but something about the chill of autumn putting everything to sleep for the long winter while the harvesters reaped the last and final rewards of their efforts spoke to the deepest parts of herself for as long as she could remember.
She remembered what it was like to be Dineloth – quiet in every sense of the word, alone, fearful of things that had yet to be if she let them, befriended by near no one, walking in a world where she could not feel akin to anything. Every festival that had come and gone she would always be found here; watching but never joining. Understanding but never being understood. Hidden but never searched for.
Well, save for her mother, who always looked at her with that same sad but fearful gaze, as if she were becoming someone that she, too, couldn’t understand. But she was never here when Dineloth was on the outside looking in. Perhaps, the girl had come to accept it and yearn for the space where she could be among the calm and quiet.
Something in Nautiel’s chest stirred as she slowly, haltingly, knelt down by this child, this self, that she knew so very well and yet did not often think on if she could help it. And why would she want to think on it? No one else did. Were not things so much better now?
She had people she could call friends. She did not have to hide if she didn’t want to. And, if she did, there would be those who would wonder where she was. If she felt like doing something, well then, she could do it. She could smile, dance, and find temporary joy in small things that were so mundane and yet so valued. She was not this shadow of a child anymore. Why would anyone want to think on a memory such as this? It didn’t matter in the end. All of Doriath and the memories that lived there had long sunk beneath the Sea. It was all gone, just like this child that nobody mourned.
But why was she here then? Why did her wandering mind take her to this? Was it because she had found her hands itching to remember how to do what she had left behind so long ago? She used to be good at it and perhaps, she had thought, she could finally find proper joy in it. Just because she was forced to break her own ties for her own safety and the peace of mind of others… Did it really mean she could never take them back?
Perhaps she didn’t deserve it. There were a lot of things she felt she didn’t deserve. But feelings and reality were sometimes so different. Just because she didn’t deserve something, didn’t mean she couldn’t have it, yes?
Why did it feel so wrong?
What was this strange, horrid feeling blossoming in the deepest cavities of her chest that made her feel as if she could implode from within? It felt like anger but also like grief and toed the line of despair. It was her fault. This child, Dineloth, who was crowned with sadness and cloaked with silent resignation. She had been left behind with the very last tear Nautiel had shed as she was all but dragged away from Menegroth. Why couldn’t she just stay there with all the other things she never much liked to speak about, no matter how much it haunted her when she was left in her head for too long? When everything had turned to ash and blood, no one asked about the child. No one asked where she was or who she had been. No one in the new world she stepped into cared to know and she did not ever care to tell.
No one mourned for Dineloth. Not even me.
She swore she could hear that child cry like children do when in the depths of a despair they were never meant to know. The child before her moved and spoke not, but she swore she could hear the wracking sobs and she could bear it no more!
In the blink of an eye, she wrenched herself back to the present, hand darting out to plunge into the water before her, ruining the calmness of the pond and her reflection therein. The wind made haunting whispers in the treetops above her as she inhaled the frigid air that felt like icy daggers in her chest with every shaky breath she took. She hated how she could hear herself breathe. It sounded wrong, unpleasant, unwanted. It was all she could do to keep herself from falling back into that old, fearful state, heart beating right out of her chest—
Enough!
She tore at the braids in her hair, undoing them frantically, ripping a few strands out here and there but seeming to care very little. She sucked in air and let it out like a panicked beast and kept ripping at her hair until every single last braid and plait of her careful design was gone. Relief did come when she felt the looseness of her messy hair about her neck again but it remained coupled with some other feeling; one she didn’t want but couldn’t ignore.
Nautiel let herself fall back into the damp grass, grounding herself with the feel of damp earth and cold-dewed grass underneath her. Her hands were like claws as they dug as far into the ground as she could force them, as if doing so would keep her here in the present so that she would not have to go back to that sad, strange memory her unruly mind had dragged her to.
The moon and stars above her remained as they ever were as clouds drifted in and out, telling of coming rain in the next day or even the next hour.
No one mourned for Dineloth. Not even me. Not yet. Not now. Someday…
