The Tale of Luwén

Chapter 4: Descendant of the Bloodline

The many branches and roots of the ancient tree appeared to be delicately braided into a tunnel, giving a clear direction to the slightly dazed young woman as she continued on her way, following the soft white light that emanated in front of her. Her small fingers, icy white from her already half-forgotten outdoors journey, brushed one of the smaller branches to her right. Unbeknownst to her, her fingertips glided over intricate carvings that heeded ancient warnings. Alas, her body had grown too cold to sense the many sensations that were eager to guide the Ranger away. As she descended deeper underground, the outside world became a distant memory, allowing her near-frozen feet to carry her onwards until she at last reached the end of the makeshift hallway.

Find me.

The voice that had awoken her earlier that night and had urged her onwards whenever she faltered, spoke again in Luwén's mind. The young Dúnedain frowned as she noticed something odd. The voice had grown weaker. She slowed her step a little, tilting her head as she tried to pick up the words that were spoken. Closing her eyes she focused as best she could. There! If she listened very closely she could still make out the voice in the distance.

Come... to... me...

Her necklace, though still glowing, lessened its light. Her world steadily becoming one of colour once more. Slowly, the white that had overtaken her eyes faded, making place for its natural green. A shudder ran down her spine as her mind became her own, though Luwén feared for how long it would last this time. The calm that had settled upon her was replaced by one of dread as she realised she had entered the darkness of the underground roots of the tree.

Her once dazed gaze became frantic as her heart skipped a beat. What had happened to her? What was she doing here? Her eyes flickered over her surroundings. Everywhere she looked were tree roots and, to her great surprise for it was only now that her head was clear and no longer believing dream-logic, branches. Since when did branches grow underground?

Curiously she took a step towards one of those branches, only to gasp and quickly step back again. Her cold hand shot to her mouth, muffling the sound she made. However, before she had the chance to let it sink in that the tree that surrounded her was very much dead and turned to stone, her heel slipped and she fell backwards with a loud thump. Grimacing she silently cursed, realizing the end of the tunnel had led her to different surroundings with a lower ground.

With great effort she pulled herself up into a sitting position before she started looking around. Though she wanted to stand, the coldness had finally caught up with her mind and took away the strength in her legs, her feet too numb to keep her upright as well. Instinctively she hugged her body, her teeth chattering, as the freezing temperature seeped into her bones.

Or perhaps it has already done so and I am only realizing it now, she thought to herself.

Cowering Luwén quickly analysed her surroundings. The branches and roots that had served as a ceiling were gone, instead a grand wooden circle stared back at her. Realisation dawned upon her. The young Dúnedain appeared to be directly under the tree, in the centre. 

I am near the heart of the tree. 

With effort, she crawled on her hands and knees to one of the many roots that served as a wall. Or the bars of a cage, the morbid thought escaped her before she realised it. Using what little strength she had left, Luwén pulled herself up, breathing heavily as her lungs felt like they were filled with ice. Her heart was beating loudly as she managed to somewhat stand on her wobbly legs, though she knew that if she did not have something to lean against, she most definitely would have fallen flat on her face. Black dots appeared before her eyes and she had to blink rapidly to make them disappear. She needed to get out of this place or she would freeze to death.