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Love is a fickle thing, determined by the whims of fate and chance when their interests align. Life that was predictable and steady suddenly becomes turned on its head by the beating of a weak heart and the chemicals rushing to the brain to form that oh so important mental connection. Chance meetings happen to become more frequent, which grows into friendship, which grows into love, which sometimes becomes so much more.
They couldn’t be more different really. An elven man dissatisfied with his home forest, striking out to find the wild, chaotic side of life and find his purpose. A human woman travelling with merchant nomads since childhood, washing her clothes in a stream while her caravan rested out of sight. But they happened to meet, and they happened to talk, and the elf’s quick, bright humour complimented the woman’s sharp and dry wit in a way that had him laughing within minutes and she smiling from the corners of her mouth.
Yes, their first meeting was chance, but what happened after it was nothing short of fate.
1128 PGE – 32 years before current time
Theoren Amavangwë was his name, although he was known simply as ‘Theo’ to friends.
The village he was staying in overnight had a merchant caravan passing though and, as one who was drawn to odds and ends like a magpie drawn to glass, Theoren simply had to take a peek around. There were woodcarvings and music and an acrobatic display by two young human men, and then, lo and behold, a young human woman selling silks to an aspiring customer. Theoren watched with eyebrows raised in surprise as currency changed hands and the happy customer went away with their newly purchased silk, and then the woman’s eyes raised and met his own. The flash of recognition was immediate, followed by two words she whispered to herself with what looked like mildly fond resignation.
Oh no .
Theoren grinned. Aha, she remembered him. He was immediately walking up to her with a grin, leaning over her stall but careful to not touch her wares. “Ah, Miss Keylina Angel, what a delight to see you here.”
Her last name was not Angel, but Theoren had insisted the last (and only) time they had met and she was wise enough to know a lost cause when she saw one. “Master Amavangwë,” she replied with a stunning pronunciation of his last name. “You are far from home. Have you come to buy?”
“Only if you’ll be able to convince me,” he said with a beaming smile.
Keylina gave him a critical gaze up and down and Theoren felt a flash of fear at the sight of a true saleswoman. “Elf, an eye for fine quality. Life on the move, requiring something durable and practical. Clean clothes, well kept, won’t let his equipment go to waste. Wears green with patches of brown…” She reached underneath her table and brought out a folded blue silk with green and brown patterns speckled across it. “I think this will be suitable.”
Theoren was a little hesitant as he took it. “Well I- Oh. Oh .”
The fabric was beautiful , soft and silky in his hands but he could feel the strong weave and sturdy thickness. Keylina chuckled at his obvious awe and shock. They bantered some more, struck a deal for the trade of the silk and Keylina’s sewing skills for precious stones Theoren had collected. During this, Theoren casually mentioned his intent to temporarily join the caravan as they moved onto their next location, in answer to which Keylina told him “You’d be best to speak to Tussok then, over at the woodworking station. Assuming he doesn’t scare you off, he’ll arrange for you to come with us.”
Theoren had tripped on his way to greet Tussok and comically face-planted right in a dirt puddle at the burly man’s feet, sending Tussok into great fits of laughter that took several minutes to subside. Of course, he welcomed Theoren immediately.
1131 PGE – 29 years before current time
Theoren wasn’t a good salesman. He couldn’t barter and exchange, not to save his life. But while his way with words couldn’t sell someone an antique carving knife, he had that smile and easy-going nature that made people warm up to him in a moment, with a quick wit and smooth tongue to quell all kinds of emotions. He took habit to going on ahead of the caravan to reach a village a day early, showing off examples of the wares to come and energising the village for a roaring weekend of trade that brought the caravan more success than before.
He had other skills to lend to the caravan as well (one week’s stay turned into two weeks, which were extended to several months), and one of them was his keen hunter skills. Having grown up in Thor Aru’s forests, Theoren knew how to read the trees, the wind, the temperature, the weather and the trail to find where animals hid and how to get the best game. Food was always a necessity when the caravan travelled on the road and with Theoren’s help, the caravan never went hungry.
There was not a single time he returned empty handed from a hunt (even if his catch was something as small as a handful of rabbits or a pheasant or some local roots to eat), and there was not a single time that Keylina was not gifted with some small trinket upon his return: a spring of flowers, a smooth rock, a strange or perfect leaf, a description of a bird he saw, or a small creature caught just for her personal dinner pot that night. Each gift was accepted with the same slightly joking bow and smile from Theoren, and a sigh of resignation and smiled acceptance from Keylina.
Their friendship was a little like excited golden retriever and tired dog owner.
And Theoren wasn’t just a hunter, he was a musician too. If he wasn’t playing on one of his wooden flutes he had carved himself, then he was whistling; he whistled when he woke up in the mornings, he whistled as he set off hunting, he whistled as he cleaned his clothes and mended wagons and prepared food and lay down on the grass to rest.
“If he keeps whistling, I’m going to sew him a noose and make arrangements for the next cliff we see!” Keylina would complain on occasion, behind closed doors and frequently with Tussok, her old friend.
“At least we always know where he is,” Tussok would always laugh. “And besides, don’t think we don’t notice how you smile when we hear him whistling his way back from a hunt.”
“W- I- It means he’s brought back food, it’s hardly a personal assessment,” Keylina would always insist with a pink face, and Tussok would politely ignore the trinkets from Theoren arranged lovingly on her shelves.
1133 PGE – 27 years before current time
There was no clear moment when the Theoren and Keylina officially started their relationship. Perhaps there was never really that ‘official’ moment but simply a mutual recognition over time that what they had went deeper than simply friends, and it was a journey they were both happy to undertake. They would spend evenings staring up at the ever-expansive sky, eat meals together, set up Keylina’s stall together, and talk without end for the long hours of journeying from one village to another. Keylina would listen with rapt attention to Theoren describing what he knew of music and playing songs for her, and she would occasionally barter her silks for some sort of musical equipment Theoren could use. As if in return, Theoren would assist Keylina with her sales in any way he could, and upon returning from his hunts, he would immediately greet her before handing out the results of his efforts to the rest of the caravan.
It was the evening of one such hunt when Theoren was standing contently beside the night’s fire with Tussok, Razdil, and the twins Ethan and Daniel, both of whom were lying eagle-spread on the ground. “You two comfortable down there?” Theoren asked the two humans with a laugh.
“Perfectly comfortable,” Ethan assured.
“Except for the rock in my back,” Daniel grunted, shifting to no avail.
“So, how’s that little project of yours going, Theo?” Tussok decided to casually ask. Razdil chortled as the elf’s face flushed red.
“Uh, good, it’s going good. Well, I mean, not good,” Theoren said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I uh, I found the perfect rock this morning to finish it off so that’s all good. And uh, yeah.”
“And anything else you want to tell us?” Tussok pressed with a grin.
“Uh, nope, not really. Hey that reminds me, I spotted some peltogyne trees while I was out today, it might be good to grab some special stock for your stall while we’re out here.”
The change of topic was just as obvious as it was effective. “Just call it purpleheart, no need to use these fancy official names,” Tussok grunted, waving a hand. “I’ll get you to show the boys where it is tomorrow-“
“ Theoren Amavangwë !”
The five men jumped at the woman’s yell and spun around (or awkwardly twisted in the case of the twins) to see Keylina sprinting towards them and bodily tackling Theoren to the ground in a tumble that resembled both a wrestle and a hug much to the mild alarm of the others. “You absolute buffoon, yes! Why would you be so nervous?!”
“Wait wait!” Theoren managed to somehow stop their tumble enough to have them both half-propped up on the ground. “You will?!”
Keylina nodded rapidly, tears in her eyes and Theoren gave a laugh of pure joy, throwing his arms around her neck and hugging her tightly as Keylina did the same in return, clutching a carefully carved ring box in her palm.
Razdil and the twins stared in confusion at the two, then at Tussok who was beaming wide. “Get ready gents,” he said low to the other three. “We’ve got a wedding to plan.”
Theoren and Keylina got married five months later on the outskirts of Thor Aru’s forests, underneath two trees that had their branches woven together to make the red and white flowers mix. Their marriage was witnessed by the caravan and a select number of Theoren’s family and old friends, and then they set off once again to pursue that endless horizon.
1135 PGE – 25 years before current time
Theoren’s gifts of course didn’t stop just because he’d married the love of his life. If anything, they only became more frequent. It was common for him to approach Keylina during the middle of a sale and tuck a flower into her hair and plant a kiss on her cheek before moving off again, beaming to himself. He had, of course, become a walking advertisement for his wife’s silks and sewing capabilities, but he still put in the effort to meet with the rest of the caravan’s sellers to find the best way to sell their wares for the upcoming week.
During one such meeting, Keylina interrupted with a “Theoren, can I talk to you for a moment?” and the elf was pulled aside. “Oh he’s in trouble now,” Razdil guffawed to himself, crossing his burly arms over his equally burly dwarven chest.
The others chuckled along and continued their conversation in Theoren’s absence, only to be interrupted by the elf’s yelp of “WE’RE GONNA HAVE A BABY?! ” and looked over in time to see him collapse to the ground in front of Keylina’s feet.
“Everything okay there Keys?” Fini asked, idly adjusting a fake fruit display on his hat.
“He got so excited that he fainted,” Keylina called back. “I have married the most pathetic elf in all the continent.”
Theoren was indeed unbelievably excited. He quickly learned not to unnecessarily pamper Keylina but was attentive to her every need. His trips ahead into villages quickly became trips of him showing off the caravan’s wares while saying “Look at this silk sash, most fine silk you’ll ever feel, made by my wife, she’s pregnant, we’re having a baby in the Seventh Cycle, I’m unbelievably excited I feel like I’m going to cry happy tears whenever I think about it.”
In reality, his rambling only attracted more customers for the caravan (and gifts from elderly figures and experienced parents eager to support an expecting young couple).
It was evening during the Seventh Cycle when Keylina went into labour and even at 3am, Theoren was pacing around the low-burning central campfire of the caravan, biting his nails. “Is it supposed to take this long?” he questioned.
Tussok, tired but staying up to support a new dad, tried not to sigh (this was the seventh time Theoren had asked that in the last hour). “ Yes Theo, this is normal. Look, you know Anya and I have had five kids already and our sixth is due in three Cycles, Keylina is in the best hands with her around.”
Theoren groaned and paced faster. “I know. I know . I know how birthing works, I used to help animals for it! I know Keylina’s in the best hands, I’m just- I just- Agh!”
“Yeah you’ll be a great dad,” Tussok said with a slight smirk.
“Are you sure? I mean, how do you-“ Theoren cut himself off and Tussok wasn’t surprised when he turned to see his own wife standing at the edges of the fire’s light.
“Come on then, young dad,” Anya said, waving her hand. “Your wife and child are waiting for you, both are well.”
Unsurprisingly, the new parents weren’t out and about early the next morning with the rest of them, but a bit before lunch when the caravan’s families were milling around (they’d set up camp for a few days near a village, as they always did for births in their community), Theoren arrived in the common circle with a beaming smile and a bundle of blankets in his arms.
“Let’s see the kid, Theo!” Harold called, raising an ale jug (full of water) into the air in salute.
Theoren needed no further encouragement and immediately walked over and was surrounded by the family, all of them who cooed and awed at the baby half-elf girl in his arms. “You both have thought of a name for her, right?” Fallrunn asked after shoving her husband Razdil aside so he’s stop making silly faces and noises at the newborn.
“That’s been the discussion for the past three hours,” Theoren informed. “Keylina has absolutely refused to call her Martzia for reasons I cannot fathom, so we’re going to call her Maria. My personal little nickname for her will still be Martzia though.”
Tussok chuckled. “Brave man to stand up to your wife like that- I mean it in the best way, Anya, I promise.”
The caravan celebrated the birth of their newest member, and glasses were raised in honour of little Maria.
1136 PGE – 24 years before current time
Maria grew up strong in her first year of life, but it quickly became apparent that something about her… wasn’t quite right. She was babbling at the correct time and slept well (for a baby) and ate just fine, but while she learnt to sit up and would grab things when handed them and immediately put them in her mouth, she rarely went crawling by herself. She wouldn’t realise food was around until it touched her, and she didn’t watch people as they passed her door or walked in front of the stall. But she’d giggle and reach out her hands when her parents’ footsteps passed by her and she’d cry when she was put to bed and her bedroom door was shut.
One of the times she would crawl was when Theoren was doing chores around the wagon, whistling to himself as he often did. Then, she would babble and crawl her way towards him without fear until he’d laugh and scoop her up and ask “And what are you doing over here little missy?” But her lack of other developments was concerning, and when the caravan arrived at a larger village than normal, a doctor specialising in babies came to their wagon to check on little Maria.
Maria happily sat in her baby chair as the doctor handed her things, critical eyes watching that lack of reaction when he brought out an object compared to when he handed it to her. He watched her reaction as at his word, her parents would speak then quietly move as Maria waved a hand at where they had been. Finally, he shone a flashlight into her eyes and hummed when she didn’t flinch, focused on chewing a rubber ring with her growing teeth.
“Unfortunately, I think your daughter is completely blind,” the doctor informed. “However, the positive side of a two-sided negative coin is that she won’t have the uncertain sight that half-blind people have, which means she shouldn’t develop that innate anxiety to an inhibiting degree.”
“So what do we do?” Theoren asked. “How do we help her?”
The doctor shrugged. “Well, she seems to be developing quite well in her motor skills already, so you’re clearly doing something right. You’re both clearly caring parents, so raise her like normal. Guide her, encourage her, usual parent things. She might take a little longer to crawl and walk confidently but she’ll get there. The most important thing, as is with all kids, is to encourage her to be confident.”
He gave them a few more tips before leaving, during which Theoren picked up his infant daughter and cradled her in his arms. “Do you know what this means, my love?” he asked his wife solemnly once the doctor had left.
“… What does it mean?” Keylina asked, understandably concerned.
“This means I am doomed to whistle for the rest of my life. It’s the only way Martzia will know where I am.”
“Oh goodness gracious Theo, the gods have no mercy left for me,” Keylina exclaimed, throwing her hands up into the air as a wide, playful grin split Theoren’s face.
“What, but my love! You adore my whistling! And I adore your singing voice! No no don’t go, I want a kiss! Angel! Smooch me my love! No wait- Don’t throw that pillow, I’m holding the baby!”
1138 PGE – 22 years before current time
Theoren’s head rested on his hand as he penned a letter under the meagre light of a single candle. The letter was to his family back at Thor Aru, to whom Theoren always tried to write when the caravan passed by the forest (though the letters weren’t as frequent as they probably should be). It was late at night but as an elf, Theoren naturally had an abnormal relationship with sleep to begin with. A relationship that he wasn’t alone in sharing.
His ears pricked up as he heard the quiet pitter patter of tiny feet, followed by a rapid patter and the giggle of a child who was getting away with something they shouldn’t be. Theoren’s eyes darted up and caught sight of little Maria making a clumsy break for the closed front door. Or rather, the wall beside the door.
“Woah!” Theoren quietly breathed, flinging out his hand and a forest green mage hand flashed between Maria and the wall, catching her head before it could make contact and then steadying her too before she could fall.
“You’re really making me use my magic now, huh?” Theoren sighed to himself, setting his quill down and getting up as Maria giggled with glee. “Come here Martzia, come to daddy!” he called softly, kneeling down and opening his arms.
Little Maria giggled and clumsily made her way over, guided by his quiet whistling until she fell into his arms with a laugh.
“Shhh, shhh Martzia, otherwise we’ll wake mummy!” Theoren giggled, picking up his daughter and booping their noses together. “Mummy needs more sleep than Daddy. And you should be asleep too, little missy. If you don’t sleep, you won’t grow up big and strong.”
Maria giggled and clumsily pat her hands against her father’s face. “Dada sleep!”
“No no, Maria should be asleep, not Daddy,” Theoren corrected with a giggle, carrying Maria back to her room.
“I not tired,” Maria pouted, resting her head on her daddy’s shoulder.
“Not even a little bit tired?” Theoren asked. “You have to be a little bit tired. How about I tell you some stories until you fall asleep? Would that help?”
“Mmm yes!”
Little Maria loved his stories, even if she couldn’t yet fully understand all the words he said.
1139 PGE – 21 years before current time
It was the Second Cycle of 1139 PGE.
The day started like any other; waking up at dawn, eating and then packing up and continuing on for the next village. They always had to use wide roads to move their caravans and the meagre hills dispersed between the plains they crossed had no impact on their travel. But bandits did, and a slow-moving caravan was often seen as an easy target. Bandits learned quickly though; no bandit had attacked them twice.
Theoren was carrying Maria on his shoulders when one of Tussok’s older kids came running back shouting they’d sighted Daybreak bandits on the horizon. A little questioning said that the bandits were ragged and lacked any uniform apart from the badges, which were probably either stolen or they were extraordinarily low-ranking Daybreaks. Still, a threat was a threat, and they couldn’t be allowed to get near the caravan.
“This won’t take too long,” Theoren told, swinging Maria down from his shoulders and throwing her up in the air and catching her again, setting the child giggling with joy as she was handed to her mother.
“Don’t do anything foolish Theo,” Keylina warned. “I don’t want to have to sew up your pants again because you decided to flip in mid-air and failed.”
“Would I do that, my angel?” Theo asked, planting a kiss to her cheek. “Don’t answer that actually. We’ll be quick, and I’ll be careful.”
The elf rode out with Razdil, Tussok, and a few other fighters from their group, his longbow hooked proud against his back. He turned as he did, raising his hand to wave at his wife and blowing a kiss in her direction.
The fight was easy. The bandits were no match for the small caravan group and half of them fled simply on sight. The victorious group laughed and talked as they slowly walked back to their caravan, knowing there was nothing to fear now. Theoren was halfway through joking with Tussok when the head of an arrow pierced out from the front of his chest, the shaft sticking out of his back.
One of the bandits had turned mid-way through retreating and had hurriedly shot an arrow, running away before even seeing where it had landed. Fate had decreed it to be a perfect shot through Theoren’s back and straight into his heart, killing him instantly.
They buried Theoren underneath one of the few trees in that plain: a grand, ancient tree with sturdy branches hanging heavy with leaves. His name was carved into the tree, along with the names of the family who outlived him, the name of their caravan, and the dates of his life.
Late one night, only a few days afterward, Tussok stooped his head as he entered Keylina’s wagon, unsurprised to find the human woman sitting on the couch, cradling a sleeping Maria in her arms. The burly man was ever so gentle as he approached and sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry Keylina,” he murmured.
They said little after that. Keylina hadn’t had much to say at all since Theoren’s death, and Tussok knew that silence was a balm sometimes. But the silence broke when Maria shifted and yawned, rubbing her hands with her pudgy toddler fist.
“Hey there little Maria, had a nice nap?” Tussok asked.
“Unc Toosok? Where is Dada?” Maria yawned.
Tussok winced and glanced at Keylina, who looked like she was about to cry and was doing all she could to hold it in. How were you supposed to tell a young child that her father had been killed and was never coming back? There was no way to say that. The burly man sighed and gently took Maria from her grip, sitting her on his leg while he kept an arm around Keylina. “Don’t worry Maria, your dad’s safe.”
“But where Dada?”
“Hm… You know how Dada sometimes leaves for a little bit to travel ahead of us? But we always meet him there, and he comes and gives you a big kiss and hug? It’s a little bit like that. Your dad’s gone somewhere we can’t reach yet, but we’ll catch up with him soon and when we do, we’ll all be back together again.”
Maria pouted. “But it’s been long long time! I want Dada!”
Tussok chuckled slightly. “Yeah… Your dad’s gone somewhere very far, it will take us a while to catch up. But don’t worry, he’ll be there. And he’ll be thinking and missing you too. Now, where’s that new puzzle of yours? Could you show it to me?”
Suitably reassured and distracted, Maria slid off Tussok’s lap and pattered her way through the wagon, old enough and smart enough to use the walls to guide her. In her absence, Tussok rubbed Keylina’s arm gently.
The human woman took a shuddering breath. “I’m going to call her Martzia,” she whispered. “For him. She should know his special name for her.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Tussok whispered to her.
Keylina looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears. “I can’t raise her alone. I can’t do this without him, Tussok.”
“Yes you can, Keylina,” Tussok insisted gently. “You’re every bit as strong as Theoren was, and you will never be alone. Most of us have little ones in this caravan. We want to help you, and we will help you. We will help you through this grief, and we will help you raise Maria, and we will help both of you navigate this world. Together.”
Tears spilled down Keylina’s cheeks and she buried her face into Tussok’s shoulder as her old friend hugged her tightly. “Remember that old saying, that it takes a village to raise a child? This community, our whole caravan, that is who will raise Maria. You will never have to do it alone.”