The Stars You Ate

In all truthfulness, Anavi Kapur lived her life in idleness, which is most likely why it amounted to nothing. She dreamed big; she had an idealistic mind that expanded with every event in her life. Her hamartia was that she failed to act on these dreams. She never willingly moved from her place, instead the world moved around her and she forced it to adjust to her presence.

When her mother told her about her absent father and the haven that she needed to go to in order to be safe, she did not leave home. She thought of this mystical place known as Camp Half-Blood and she thought about her father, meeting him to be exact. But she stayed in the comfort of the two bedroom apartment and did not take one step out of the door. Only when she was pulled out by the elbow by a young man that was not actually human did she begin the first leg of her journey.

She did not initiate her physical training at camp or her lessons in the Greek tongue. The others had pressured her into these things and brought her along for the ride. Anavi was skillful in a variety of things common to offspring of Apollo. Archery came naturally to her, as did poetry, music, art, and healing. It was almost unfair for her torpid mind and body to pick up things others spent years mastering.

Anavi had somehow gotten through life based on luck and a touch of stubbornness. It was only when she graduated high school and her mother expected her to move on did she get stuck. She was rooted in place as usual, but she had been forced to make an actual decision for once. Having little work experience, barely any money, and no interest in college, Anavi turned to Camp Half-Blood. It had acted as a second home since she was thirteen and she had no quarrel relying on it.

She had become a counselor at the camp and helped others of her kind survive just as she had. But her time ended soon as the summer days grew shorter, the leaves browned and fell, and a chill ran through the air. Having no where to turn to when the camp closed, she seeked solace in a friend.

Jeremy Crawford was as smart as any child of Athena. But he was a fool in social niceties for no book could truly teach him how to behave around another person and not be scammed. He learned from Anavi who mooched off him for the next few years. They had entered a romance at his awkward request and lived together in a cramped apartment. His intelligent paid the bills and kept Anavi’s dreams of something greater alive. He was the only person to ever spur her to something. He convinced her to put her godly skills of writing to use and earn some cash in return.

At twenty-four years of age, Anavi found herself found kicked to the curb and alone once again. Jeremy had finally seen through her after all these years. She hadn’t intentionally used him, she just ended up floating on nothing but published poems and short stories and a whole lot of nothing as usual.

It was only then, in the middle of spring, with no where to go and no one to rely on, did she change. Or rather, the world adjusted to her one last time.

***

As Third Marshal of Riddermark, in charge of the Eastmark, and nephew of the king, Éomer did not have time to waste. He had a duty of protecting Rohan and pulling women that weren’t even Rohirric out of rivers was time consuming and not part of his job description. However, a strongly worded letter would not be sent anywhere, much less written.

It was Éothain who had seen her. His second-in-command had a keen eye and had caught sight of something in the currents of River Snowbourn. Recognizing the figure to be humanoid, he had broken rank and charged to the rocky banks. Éomer wondered what had gotten into his friend and officer. Seeing the man dismount his horse and then go in the river, he knew something wasn’t right.

Within a few steps Éothain was waist deep and still trudging forward. He was a large, sturdy man, much like all Men of Rohan, but still the force of the water threatened to sweep his feet out from under him. The temperature was chilling and had not the situation been an emergency, he would have taken off at least a few layers of clothing and armor to stop from freezing and being dragged down into the murky depths.

As he got closer to intercepting the figure, he was shocked to find that it was a woman! He quickened his pace, desperate to reach her soon. The water was up to his chest, but that did not deter him. She rushed toward him, laying back on the current as if enjoying the ride. He made a grab for her once she was within an arm’s reach. He grasped the white cloth that covered her and pulled the woman to him. He noticed a strange bag with two handles, one of which was strapped over her shoulder. He considered taking it off as it would only pull them down, but decided against it. Who knew what valuables of hers were in there. He would save it with her if he could.

Turning back to the shore, he saw the rest of the éored. Éomer was shouting orders for blankets and towels. He struggled to fight the current with the woman at first, but decided to conserve his strength to fight off the cold. He allowed the river to sweep him downstream, all the while slowly making his way to land. The company followed his movements, ready to take over as soon as possible. Once they emerged from the water, the challenge would be not dying from hypothermia.

When the water level was at his knees, the other men surged forward. One took the woman from him and other took the bag. He was quickly administered to, shedding his armor and wet clothing and blanketing himself with thick, warm towels and cloths. His blond hair was partially towel dried to avoid anymore wetness.

“How is she?”was the first thing he uttered since coming from the water. His words slightly stuttered as he shivered from the cold.

“Renweard is taking care of her right now, sir,” Cniht told him.

Renweard was the eldest in Éomer’s éored and was also the healer of their company. Gray streaked his blond hair and his leathered skin wrinkled as he frowned in concentration. “We will have to fight off the cold, my lord,” he told Éomer whom towered over him.

Éomer frowned and looked down at the young woman. She appeared to be about five years his junior and had skin color he’d only seen in the Haradrim. Her lips were pale and possibly tinged with blue if his eyes weren’t tricking him, meaning she was actually darker than the shade she was now. Despite clinging to the edge of life, he noticed that she was quite pretty in a foreign and exotic way.

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he told his man, “Do whatever needs to be done.”

Renweard nodded and informed his superior, “Her clothes are wet and will only make her colder; we need to remove them and get her warm.”

Éomer hesitated, but while he wanted to protect this woman’s dignity, she needed to be saved. And his men were honorable, they wouldn’t lay a hand on her, much less look at her the wrong way. He crouched down and assisted the healer with removing the woman’s clothing. She wore a chiton, but he did not know that as he had never seen anything like it. The fabric itself was like silky white sheets and certainly worth a shiny penny even when soaked. A thick string was tied around her, just under the bosom, making them stand out. The dress ended just above her feet, which were bounded in sandals that laced up her calves. The wet cloth stuck to her skin like a second layer and he could easily see through it. His eyes betrayed him as his gaze lingered on her breasts and he could see her dark, hardened nipples through the sheets. He adverted his eyes and chastised himself for disgracing her and being distracted from her impending death.

He held her in an upright position as Renweard took off her clothing. From his peripheral vision he could see the men either turning away or only watching so they could jump in to help with their towels ready. She began to shiver, but it soon turned to shaking and jerking movements. He held her to him, the water on her bare back soaking through the front of his shirt. He tried to restrict her flailing and unconscious fighting as Renweard dried her down.

With dry skin and a thick blanket around her, Renweard warned Éomer, “She cannot stay here. It is mere days before winter and she will certainly die in the plains. She needs to be taken somewhere warm, and soon.”

Éomer nodded in agreement. “I will take her to Edoras as Aldburg is too far.”

“Edoras is an hour away, my lord. I fear she will not make it,” he expressed his concern.

“We will arrive within half of the hour. Quickly, dress her in whatever spare clothing we have. And give me her bag.” Éomer marched to his horse, Firefoot, and grabbed the reins. Cniht brought him the saturated bag, wrapped it in a towel, and securely attached it to the saddle. The marshal mounted his horse and watched as Renweard brought the shivering girl over. He took her in his arms easily and found she was quite light in weight. He settled her in front of him and between his thighs. With one arm wrapped around her, keeping the blanket and girl in place, he grasped the reins in the other.

“Éothain,” he called to his second-in-command, “you are to lead the others to Aldburg.”

“Yes, sir,” he responded, fighting off a shiver.

Éomer nodded and bid his éored a goodbye. “Farewell!” He spurred Firefoot and galloped through the plains with a woman’s life hanging by a thread.

***

Dreams always came in different forms; there were ones where you knew it was a dream, and others that you had no idea. Anavi knew she was asleep and that her mind was in a place that was more than just a dream. Visions often plagued a demigod’s sleeping mind, but the children of Apollo always possessed a limited form of precognition.

She saw herself, bow in hand with a notched arrow, firing down a hellhound as it attacked someone. Once it dusted, the victim rose from the ground with a gash running underneath his jaw. His visage was murky, but his stature was huge and his hair was long and pale. His steel armor was pierced from the fangs of the hellhound. A sword was gripped in his hand but it was not celestial bronze. Dream-Anavi ran to him and the top of her head only came to his collar bone. She reached up and skimmed her fingers over the fleshwound. The man said something and shook his head, blond hair swishing with the movement. He grasped her hand and pulled it away from his jaw. He brought it to his lips and kissed her skin softly.

The scene blurred and changed to a battlefield. Both she and the mysterious man were fighting, but not each other. The steeds they rode were not pegasi, but normal horses. She fired arrow after arrow, but not from her magical quiver with celestial bronze arrows, but normal steel ones. The man protected them both from close range attacks with his sword and spear. Their enemies were nasty looking creatures and rode hellhound-like dogs.

“These are the things that will come to pass,” a voice whispered in the wind. The voice was ambiguous in gender, but was leaning toward being feminine.

“Who are you?” Anavi asked, watching the battle rage on.

“I have many names, but you may call me Varda.”

“Varda?” she asked. “There are plenty of gods and goddess, but I’ve never heard of you.”

“That is because I am not of your world, half blood.”

She paused, shocked by this news. “Then… what world are you from?”

The voice chuckled softly as if speaking to a naive child. “Middle-Earth is what it is often called. Evil and war looms in the near future, half blood. Many will die and the fate of the world is in the balance.”

“Uh,” she stuttered, “you want me to stop it or something? I’m not - surely there are better demigods. Percy Jackson for instance.”

“Perseus Jackson has his own quest to complete. And no, you will not stop the war that is to come to Middle-Earth. Your destiny is to tip the balance in favor of the Free Peoples. The barrier between worlds is torn and monsters from your underworld are coming back to life in Middle-Earth. None of the Free Peoples have the weapons or knowledge to stop them. You must save them all.”

The dream cut out like someone had blown on a candle. She could feel that her eyelids were shut and heavy. She saw red as light pass through the skin and illuminate the blood inside. She was cold, very cold. It felt as if she was laying in snow with only thin clothing on. Something heavy was draped around her shoulders and a solid, warm form pressed against her back. Eager to get whatever heat she could, she snuggled closer to it.

She heard a grunt and became too aware of whatever she was sitting on. Her legs straddled it and it moved underneath her. Nausea swam in her stomach as the feeling of rocking became more apparent to her. Panicking and afraid she was going to fall, she started struggling. It was useless and not very well thought out, but none of that occurred to her.

“Damn it, woman, stay still!” a voice snapped in frustration.

She came to the conclusion that it was a chest pressed against her back and it belonged to whomever she was riding a horse with. The words of the man were sharp and rough and she didn’t understand a word. The language was like barks and growls and unfamiliar to her. The thick arm that wrapped around her tightened and held her in place. She whimpered and stilled the best she could. Her muscles shivered uncontrollably to build up heat.

Éomer turned his head to the side as her black hair whipped against and into his mouth. Her head hit his chin several times and was quite annoying. He felt her shivers and tried to bring her closer to him despite his annoyance so she could take in some of his body heat. She made the sounds of a babe as she lingered on consciousness.

“We are almost there, my lady,” he said in a nicer tone.

She moaned in response and her head lolled back onto his shoulder. He glanced at her face and pale lips. Her white teeth chattered from the cold and made a sound he couldn’t hear over the roar of the wind. He looked ahead and breathed a sigh of relief to see the small mountain of Edoras in the not too far distance.

“Thank the Valar,” he muttered.

The gate opened for him as he approached. Normally the citizens would greet him cheerfully and he would smile and wave a bit in return.However, there was no time to waste as Firefoot galloped through. Not bothering to take his horse to the stables, he stopped at the bottom of the staircase of Meduseld. He dismounted swiftly with one hand balancing the woman. He pulled her from the saddle and dashed up the stairs.

Barging through the doors, he shouted, “I need a healer!” People scattered about in response.

An elder woman came forth to inspect the girl cradled the horse lord’s arms. She placed a wrinkled hand to the foreigner's forehead and sucked in air sharply through clenched teeth. “She is freezing! What has happened?”

“We pulled her from Snowburn naught an hour ago,” he explained. “We did our best to warm her, but only so much could be done on the plains.”

The woman nodded hurriedly. “Come, take her to a guest room.” They rushed through the corridors and entered a guest room. Éomer placed her on the bed as the woman dashed about and called for servants to get her things. “You must leave, my lord,” she told him. “It is not decent for you to stay here.”

He nodded understandingly. “Call for me when she awakens, Lyfides.” At her hum of agreement he left, eyes lingering on the woman shivering in bed. He then headed for the stables and found someone taking care of Firefoot. The young stable hand was removing the woman’s bag wrapped in towels. “Hold,” he called to the boy. “Give the bag here and put Firefoot in his stall.” The boy complied to the order and gave the towel covered rucksack to his lord.

Éomer left to his own private chambers. He was curious about the woman and hoped the answers were inside her odd bag. He found the chiton wrapped inside the towels and still damp. The bag was an olive green color and simple in design. The straps were black and each side of the bag had pockets. Strange metal teeth were pinched together in a straight line that went over the top and part way down the sides. Another of these trails were on the front and both had little metal tags at the end.

He placed it on the table in his chambers and sat, looking at it. He wasn’t sure how to open it, but figured it had something to do with the teeth. He grasped the tag between his large fingers and tugged. Nothing. He changed tactics and pulled it across the line and was shocked to see it opening. This contraption was amazing, yet so simple. It would be useful in securing items of import.

Once opened, he looked inside. One of the first things be noticed was a quiver made of black leather with red stitching. There was only a single arrow with red feathers for the fletching. He spotted no bow and focused on the other things. There were strange clothing, ones stranger than the white dress. A pair of trousers made of a strange, blue material as well as a soft fabric shirt that was red and had a black picture of a horse with stripes and a short mane. He found two other articles of clothing, both of which were quite small. Judging from the shape of the black lacy one, he was holding her undergarments. He quickly dropped it back in the bag and looked at the other. It was black and oddly shaped. He guessed the straps went over the shoulders, meaning the cups…

He blushed and put it away too. He did not find women’s bodies to be blush-worthy, but he couldn’t stop himself imagining her in such skimpy underwear. Had he rescued a whore?

The last two notable things he found were not so embarrassing. One was a bottle made from a clear container he had never seen before. The liquid was golden and warm, but he doubted it was piss. He tried to remove the white cap, but gave up when his pulling did nothing. Setting the debateable drink aside, he grabbed the last item. Its container was made from a similar clear material, but it was much more flimsy. Inside was a gold, square pastry that looked to be cut out from a large batch. At what he guessed to be the opening of the little bag were lines, but he didn’t know how to open it without breaking anything. He replaced everything in the bag and leaned back into his wooden chair that creaked from his weight.

Who was this woman?