Chapter Text
Nellas walked under the leaves for as long as she could remember. The memories of crossing the mountains to Beleriand were only a faint shadow, like morning mist clinging to a spring dawn.
She had been among the Edhel then, been among them, sang and danced among them, dined among them but something was amiss. She loved them all dearly and she was loved in return, yet something was amiss. There was a faint shadow of something she could never grasp, the otherness that silently taunted her. Not enough, it whispered to her on nights the thick clouds veiled the stars. Not enough it whispered when the lull of the day set in. The otherness was in the hungry looks, and eager touches of young lovers, in the eyes of married elves, shining brightly. A love, she never understood, a love she did not covet, and yet she yearned for something like it, one which escaped description, nameless and wordless.
The children she loved. Their love was uncomplicated, she understood that, but not the love of the ellon who offered her sweet fruits and asked to court her, not the love of the elleth who wished to wed her. Nellas loved them both with all of her, but not for courtship, not for marriage. Not enough.
When they reached the girdle, Nellas chose the company of the forest instead of the brilliant city of caves. At least in the forest, the otherness would not taunt her. In the forest, all of her would be enough. Under the leaves, all her short-comings faded away like last year’s fallen leaves, she was who she was and that was enough until it was not. The centuries turned her refuge into a cage, yet she could bring herself to leave. The forests asked not more than she could give, but could not give her all that she needed. That nameless bone-deep yearning grew as each year passed, until it coursed through her veins and occupied her thoughts. Her sanctuary in isolation slowly turned into her jailor, but she loved her jailor too much to leave. For centuries, she nibbled on traded morsels of love and affection in the form of camaraderie with the March wardens, the occasional Doriathrim who came to take solace in the forest but all of them only a fleeting tryst. It did not matter if Nellas wanted it to be more.
Many a time Nellas wished to court- no, not court. She could not find the words to ask what she wanted of them. Words could not capture the meaning of her nameless love, of her nameless yearning and want. The words would only show a pale shadow of all she felt. They could offer her all she needed, but her love would only be morsels, only morsels. Who would want to live on morsels?
She struck down the meager words on her tongue, washed it down with sweet wine to soothe the bitterness of it all. Tears stained the bark of many a willow and beech, and her grief ran deeper than the roots of the oldest tree, for what she wanted to give would not be enough, never enough. Each time, she shed those desires, like culling deer before they ate the forest faster than it could grow back. Each time she told herself that she would find the words for the next edhel to tell them of her nameless love. Words failed her over and over again.
Then it was one spring festival that she forced the words out of her mouth, clumsy, inelegant, and dithering. Mablung smiled at her, and squeezed her hand. A small hope flickered alight, unbidden. A small hope she dared not hold.
‘Nellas, of course we are friends.’ Mablung said. ‘After the centuries of walking under the leaves, I thought it was obvious. Perhaps still nice to hear the sentiment said out loud.’
No! she wanted to say. It is much more than that , she wanted to say. It is…. it is… words died on her tongue, along with it the small flicker of hope. The walls of her steel wrought resolve crumbled, Nellas smiled.
‘Yes, we are friends.’
In the next moment, she fled back into her leafy cage. Not enough, the otherness chided. Her words were not enough, her unnamed love was not enough. Not enough, never enough. She ran through the forest, tears streaked down her face. She ran deep into her cage, seeking a solace it no longer offered.
Nellas returned to her duties the next week, resigned to make a feast of her morsels and fleeting trysts. Perhaps one day, she would find the words to name her nameless love and yearning, and perhaps one day her nameless love would be returned.