The Green Witch

The door to the small cottage burst open to reveal Eskamë, her hair still flying in behind her. In her arms was the small form of Fili, barely clinging to consciousness. Immediately Thorin stood in front of the witch.

“What happened?!” he yelled, not able to mask all of the worry in his voice as he looked upon his eldest nephew. Eskamë pushed through the wall of dwarves that had now huddled behind her.

“Make way- please!” she commanded, trying to get to the back bedroom of the cottage.

“Fili!” she heard Kili yell once he realized whom she was carrying. “Is he alright?” he asked with concerned desperation in his voice. Eskamë looked over at him and stopped for a moment. She noticed a great fear in his dark eyes.

“Your brother will be fine, Kili,” she said to him before she continued her way to the bedroom. Once there she lay Fili down on the bed and turned to shut her door. Thorin stood in the archway, Dwalin and Balin close behind him, while Kili still watched, worried, from a distance.

“I demand an explanation!” Thorin bellowed. He stood still as a stone, blocking the witch’s reach to her door.

“Thorin, I must have quiet if I am-“

“What happened?” he asked, interrupting her. Eskamë held her tongue and took a deep breath.

“In due time I will relay the events of today to you, Master Thorin, but now I do need peace and calm to heal Fili’s wrist,” she said evenly. At the mention of Fili’s wrist, Thorin’s eyes drifted down to him on the bed. He hesitated, and the witch leaned closer and put a hand of comfort on his shoulder. “I assure you, your nephew will be alright.”

Thorin looked back at Fili and then nodded silently.

“Now tell me,” she started, standing upright once more. “Where is Gandalf?” she asked, her eyes searching quickly above the heads of the dwarves. “I need to speak with him.” At the last statement, Thorin once again grew cautious. He didn’t like to think of the lady having things to say to the wizard that he, Thorin Oakenshield, was not allowed to hear.

“He is in the stables, saddling the ponies,” Dwalin said, gesturing towards her stables.

“Tell him that is no longer necessary. Tell him I need to speak with him,” Eskamë said hurriedly. When none of them made any effort to move she added a stern, “Go!” to urge them off. Thorin strayed for a moment longer, meeting the witch’s eyes and making sure she could see and sense how little he trusted her.

Finally alone and in the quiet of her bedroom, Eskamë set to work mending Fili’s wrist. His eyelids were fluttering and every now and then a small moan would escape his lips. She knew he would be waking up and the pain would be strong.

“This is going to hurt, Fili,” she said softly as she gently took his wrist in her hands. She straightened his arm out, the action causing Fili to open his eyes entirely and call out angrily, in pain.

“You’re making it worse!” he said, not quite registering where he was or who was causing him such pain. He tried to pull away, only to be met by an even stronger surge of pain.

“No, you’re making it worse,” Eskamë said sternly. She held onto him, and he settled down, clawing his good hand into the blankets on the bed. He looked over at her while she worked. There was a book out in front of her. It was a beaten up, ancient looking book. The page she read silently was filled with text, some Fili recognized, and some he did not. On the opposite page were pictures of what appeared to be hands- skeletal hands, of various species.

“Mending bones is easy and painless, but it will take time,” she said, feeling his eyes on her.

“You call this painless?!” he half shouted. She looked up at him sharply.

“The break is what hurts. This part, the mending, does not. It will start to feel better soon,” she spoke, moving her fingers delicately up the dwarf’s wrist, muttering incantations under her breath. Fili began to feel a strange sensation in his fingers, as if he’d fallen asleep on his arm and then woken up to the tingling feeling left behind. Instinctively, he tried to move his fingers. Pain, once more, shot up his wrist. He flinched and Eskamë raised her head, her concentration broken. She frowned at him.

“Do not move until I say so!” she said harshly, then went back to her spells. Fili lay on his back, suffering from pain and a bruised ego.

“Don’t you have anymore of that chewing stuff? I was in a far better mood while I had some of that in my mouth,” Fili muttered. She did not reply but kept her concentration. He looked over at her. Her head was bowed and both of her hands held his wrist, her fingers pushing down ever so slightly onto his bones. The witch’s eyes were closed and through her lips Fili could hear whispers in some foreign tongue.

“You were much more pleasant to be around too,” he said quietly. Though she did not open her eyes, he saw a smile form on her face, and, somehow, the touch of her fingers on his skin seemed even softer. He smiled too, and tried to relax, his pain beginning to subside.

When he felt her let go of his hand he opened his eyes, and just as he did, the door flew opened and in walked Gandalf. His expression was concerned, but once he saw that they both were in good enough health, he relaxed.

“What happened?” he questioned Eskamë. She looked at him and then turned to place her book back on the shelf.

“Mithrandir,” she began, “you did not tell me everything you knew.”

Gandalf looked at the witch, first with confusion, but then, once he knew there was no fooling the woman, sighed.

“We were attacked. By orcs,” Eskamë said. “Orcs on wargs. Gandalf, I knew my lands had grown dangerous of late, but never had I thought that I could not even venture to the foothills without risking life and limb,” she said sternly. She waited for the wizard’s reply.

“They have been chasing us for some time. Azog is the once who leads them,” he said, placing his hat on the foot of the bed and taking a seat in an old armchair near the door.

“Azog?” she questioned intensely. “That is no ordinary orc.”

“No… no he is not.”

“Gandalf, there is a new evil at work here, something stirring in many places of this world, and you have felt it too, though you have yet to give it a name,” Eskamë said as she began to pull different plants and seeds out of jars that lined her walls. Gandalf nodded.

“Yes, indeed. The orcs in this land are growing larger in number-“

“And now breeding the wild wolves for their own evil purposes,” she interrupted him.

“That is true as well. This evil may be new to us, but it has been hard at work for some time,” he said quietly. She looked at him and then the two of them looked to Fili, who lay on the bed looking groggy, but listening.

“What do you mean? What’s he talking about?” Fili questioned, but the witch and the wizard ignored him for now.

“What have you heard of it?” Eskamë pressed on.

“I have heard little, other than the frantic whispers one picks up on the road,” he began and then paused to look at her gravely. “But I have seen much more.

“We ran into trolls before we reached Rivendell on our way out of the Shire. They were further south than they’ve been for an age. And then there were the goblin armies of the mountain, who’ve grown very vicious indeed.”

“They’ve always been vicious,” Eskamë countered.

“No,” Gandalf said, shaking his head. “They’re worse. They’re… working with someone. Or something,” he finished, Eskamë stopping once more to look at him.

“Do you know who- or what- it could be?” she asked, and something in her voice made both Gandalf and Fili (who still listened intently) feel as though she already had an answer for herself.

“No, I do not. But Radagast spoke of evil in the forest as well,” Gandalf spoke, and Eskamë stopped working abruptly.

“Radagast? You did not tell me you spoke to Radagast.”

“We crossed paths as he was fleeing his home in the Greenwood. He said that evil has come over that forest, even over his own home,” Gandalf explained. Eskamë thought on this for a moment, her brow furrowed.

“What else did he-“ she began to ask, but cut herself off. A feeling washed over her, a vision almost, and she dared not ignore it. “He brought you something,” she said, barely above a whisper. Gandalf nodded.

“It was an ancient weapon. Believed to be buried with the Witch King of Angmar,” he said, and at the last bit, Eskamë’s eyes opened wide, and fear washed over her face. Fili watched from the bed as the two in front of him stared across at each other for a time, somehow communicating with just their expressions.

“Sauron…” Eskamë started, but Gandalf cut her off.

“We have no proof that any of this evil is the work of the Dark Lord- none at all,” he countered. She did not fall for it.

“That is not you talking, Mithrandir. I know you have felt the same. You recognize this evil as I do,” she said, and then paused again. Once more a vision of emotion danced behind her eyes. Fili was starting to recognize this look as the one she wore when she’d completed a puzzle in her mind. “We are not the only ones who recognize it, are we?” the witch asked and Gandalf averted his eyes. When he did not answer, she asked again. “Who else has sensed this power growing?”

Gandalf shut his eyes before he answered. He could not ignore the growing fear in his heart any longer, even in the presence of those who doubted him. He may trust Sauroman, but he also trusted Eskamë greatly. And, of course, he trusted himself.

“Galadriel has voiced her concern.”

“Gandalf,” Eskamë started, her voice becoming slightly breathless, “If the Lady of Light has felt the return of the Dark Lord, who are any of us to deny it?” she questioned, and Gandalf nodded reluctantly. “There are many elves in this world that I do not trust, and for good reason, but the Lady Galadriel is not one of them. She is most wise and most fair. Far more wise than even the highest wizard,” she said knowingly, thwarting Gandalf’s revere towards Sauroman.

“Yes, but for all our information, we still need more answers,” Gandalf said, shaking his head.

“Answers to what?” the witch questioned.

“Answers to the riddles. To the whereabouts of the Ring,” he said, and Eskamë felt a great swell of evil and disheartening emotion crash through her. It was silent before Fili spoke up.

“What ring? What are you talking about?” he asked. The two others looked at him as if they’d just noticed him for the first time. In truth, they had been so caught up in their conversation that they had quite forgotten the dwarf’s presence. It was Eskamë who answered him.

“The One Ring,” she said, though Fili still looked confused. “Have you not heard the rhyme?” she asked and Fili shook his head. Eskamë sighed and recited the ancient poem.

“Three Rings for the Elven-Kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his Dark Throne
In the Land of Mordor where the shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the shadows lie.”

“That’s just a legend though, right?” Fili asked, his eyes going from Eskamë and the Gandalf, and back to Eskamë. Neither of them answered, and eventually Gandalf rose from his chair.

“Right. Well, I will tell the others that we will all leave as a company at dawn, for Fili will be quite ready then,” he said, and then nodded to Fili and left. Eskamë looked down at the dwarf.

“I will go comfort your worried uncle and brother and bring you some tea,” she said, kindly, smiling at him before she left him alone.

In the kitchen, while Eskamë brewed her tea, she regaled the company with the story of what happened to Fili and how he came to break his wrist.

“When we took shelter in the hills, we were ambushed again. I did my best to fight them off but,” she stopped, her eyes drifting downwards, the memory fuzzy and dark. “I fell. I fell and struck my head and did not recover. And, when I woke… they were gone.”

“Gone?” questioned Thorin.

“They were called off?” Bofur asked, confused.

“No, they were slain. All of them,” she said, and met Thorin’s eyes as he understood. “Fili killed them all. Nearly a dozen of them and their wolves. I owe my life to him, and to the line of Durin,” she said, and bowed her head to Thorin before picking up her tray holding the kettle and mugs and going back down the hall to Fili.

When she entered, she saw the dark haired dwarf sitting beside Fili. The two of them were talking. They stopped when she entered.

“See, I told you he would be right as rain,” Eskamë said to Kili with a smile. He was the first one in the room as soon as she’d allowed Fili any visitors. It comforted her to see Kili looking bright again now that he knew no exceptional harm had come to his brother. The younger dwarf stood up in front of Eskamë.

“I must thank you, Lady Eskamë, for saving my brother. I am indebted to you,” he said, and bowed his own head low. Eskamë looked past him to Fili and arched an eyebrow.

“Did he not tell you then?” she questioned, and Kili looked back at his brother, confused.

“Tell me what?” Eskamë smiled down at him.

“It was not I who saved him, but, rather, the other way around,” she said, and Kili furrowed his brow in confusion. Eskamë turned away to pour the tea. “We will have time for stories later,” she said, handing Kili a cup. “For now, your brother needs rest if we are to leave in the morning.” Kili nodded in understanding and left, shutting the door behind him. Eskamë poured another cup of tea and turned to see Fili staring at her, smiling.

“What is it?” she asked. Fili continued to look over at her, standing in front of her window, the afternoon sun blanketing her body in visible warmth.

“My lady, did you know when you stand in the sunlight you positively… bloom?” he asked, and she laughed and felt her cheeks redden.

“Your mind is still cloudy, my Fili,” she said, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. She set his cup of tea down on the bedside table.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No it isn’t,” Fili told her, reaching up with his good hand and taking one of her braids in his fingers, twisting it gently. Eskamë broke the silence.

“Fili, I must thank you for what you did for me,” she said, and Fili opened his mouth to object, but she placed a finger on his lips. “I do not care to hear your stubborn, dwarvish rebuttal, but only to say that I am indebted to you,” she said, and he shut his lips as her fingers moved down to graze his chin and beard. When their eyes met and held, Eskamë could hardly contain herself and her longing. She leaned over him gently, allowing her lips to first graze his own with a light kiss, and then his forehead. She lingered above him for a moment and whispered “Diola lle,” her breath on his skin making him shiver. Fili grinned up at her.

“I know that one,” he began. “Lle creoso,” he said. She smiled at him and kissed him once more before leaving him to his rest.

Diola lle= Thank you
Lle creoso= You’re welcome