Hey! From encouragement, I have become brave enough to start posting my NaNo novel online. After all, it’s vaguely coherent, even if it’s RILLY RILLY BAD. (So you have been warned.) This is really a practice novel, practicing certain things (character type, building to a climax, etc.) so constructive criticism is welcomed but not necessarily acted upon.

This is going to be (in later chapters) largely based on the experiences Esgalwen/Illinia had while I was RPing as her in a D+D session once upon a time. We never finished the campaign, though, so the ending will be largely my own. I am, however, going to attempt to make it NOT like this.

This chapter came out fairly quickly and easily, considering I’ve never really thought about this part of her life before, and I think the style is pretty good for the setting. Currently, I’ve lost any semblance of style. I do think that if I were to develop this as a book, I would cut this whole section in some fashion because it really don’t establish much that is important later. All these people? This place? Never see ’em again. I’m 99% sure. …Unless Tharash decides to take Flairé and/or Gullac for a mayhem-causing visit.

……… >_>

Keep an eye out for random cameos in future chapters!

Chapter 1

Esgalwen stared out at the grey of the ocean, gentle wavelets lapping at her bare toes.
She had been that way for nearly fifteen years, now, going out every day to see if she could perhaps spy a small white sail – or possibly grey, by now – returning, returning to her. And she walked along the beach, her crimson dress dragging in the wet sand and shells and seaweed, and her long black hair fluttering rapidly in the strong winds that blew from the sea, and she sang. She sang old songs, love songs, lonely songs.
She lived on the shore of the Bay of Belfalas, in a place where few went. Sauron had fallen many decades before, and she and her husband had moved from Mirkwood – now Greenwood the Great, as of old – to Gondor, to be near the new, charismatic King Elessar, although her husband called him by his Northern name, Aragorn. But the great King had been dead twenty years, and his son, while a good man, was just not the same to her husband. Her husband had heard the call of the sea, and soon had built a boat, a little white boat, and had taken his closest friend, and set sail from the Bay of Belfalas, saying to Esgalwen: “I’ll be back. Do not fear. I will return for you once I have found Valinor.”
The local people, few as they were, called her the Scarlet Lady of the Sea, and some were frightened of her singing.
She lived alone, unafraid, for there were few living things in those parts at all, let alone dangerous things, and what there might be to threaten her, she could defend herself against. Perhaps a prowling wolf, or once a pair of fleeing goblins would go by her little hut. She had some skill with a bow, and a very little with bladed weapons.
And every day she went down to the water’s edge and gazed out across the vast green-grey-blue expanse, hoping for a tiny speck of white.
Esgalwen was a very patient young elf-maid, but she wearied and fretted in her own serene way. And at length she ventured down to the nearest human village for help.
She was not wearing red, but they recognized her anyway. Some hid in fear, while many, particularly young men, followed and stared in fascination.
She went straight to the shipbuilders and asked her question.
“Can you make me a boat?”
The old man stroked his beard thoughtfully. “For you, lass? I thought the Elves were supposed to be master shipbuilders?”
She blushed, and was embarrassed by her blushing. “I am only a singer, sir. I want to follow my husband.”
He chuckled and nodded understandingly. “Well, if I built you a boat, a good little boat to take you on the Great Sea, do you know how to sail it? And how would you pay for it?”
“Oh, I have some money,” she said nonchalantly, having very little idea how much she actually had. “I hope it is enough. If it is not, I can get more somehow or other. Perhaps I can help you build it?”
“The rough beams are heavy, lass.”
“I am stronger than I look, sir.”
“Well, you may try. But would you know how to sail?”
“I don’t, yet. I can swim, but not sail.”
“Ah, well, I can teach you that as well. A singer, eh? That explains why you are always singing, they say. Perhaps you could teach my daughter to sing?”
Esgalwen smiled, a broad childish smile. “I would be delighted to do so! Thank you very much!”
“All right. I’ll begin drafting plans.”

The boat took the rest of the year and into the next. The shipbuilder’s daughter was a spoiled little brat who was quite tone-deaf, but Esgalwen heard beauty in her voice and tried and tried to open her ears and calm her impetuousness. “When she is a woman, she will be the most beautiful woman in the village,” she said one day, and the next day the shipbuilder showed her how gracefully the prow of her boat was carven.
And of course, now that she visited the village, she had to defend herself gently from the young men who were enamoured of her, and from the old who feared her.
And every day, she still spent all the evening wandering, watching, and singing.

At last, on a sunny summer’s day, the boat was done, and the shipbuilder began to teach her to sail. She was a quick study, and after two weeks, she was able to handle the ship in the little harbour of the village.
It was only a few days later that her tremulous plans were upset entirely.
She had gone to the village as usual, now no longer afraid to wear her crimson gown. Her black hair was tucked behind her small pointed elf ears; she had a red flower behind the left ear.
“You are back again?” asked Earstellen, the old herbwoman of the village. Earstellen hated Esgalwen, and she couldn’t make out why.
“Yes, I am, my lady,” she answered, as she always did. If she showed respect always, perhaps the hatred would lessen. But not today…
“You little harlot. Prancing around like you own the place… encouraging our youth to idleness with your witchcraft and wicked charms…”
Esgalwen’s eyes grew wide with consternation and hurt. “Why do you think such of me?”
“Bewitching our good Shipman into granting you favours and working your wicked ways on his impressionable young daughter! You should be gone from here, you sea-witch! You mystic elf-spawn!”
Esgalwen’s eyes were filling with tears when help came to her.
“Oh, shut up, old woman,” drawled a baritone voice from behind her. “She’s just a girl.”
Esgalwen turned to see Joyun, one of the village youths, standing protectively beside her. He gave her a grin and a wink, and she felt herself blushing, her eyes falling to the sandy road.
“See what I mean?” Earstellen’s voice rose to a shriek. “She has caught you in her spell! You poor boy, who will save you from the dead race, the ones who come over the sea to taunt and to destroy our minds?”
Joyun shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Come on, miss. Let’s leave her ravings. Don’t worry, we all like you!”
Esgalwen blushed some more. “Th-thank you. I don’t know why she would say such things…”
“Oh, some of the elders don’t like elves. They never met any before, you know? And you’re so mysterious, living alone on the beach way out there like you do. They think you must be powerful to do that, and so they’re afraid.”
“Y-you’re very perceptive…”
“Thanks!” He puffed out his chest. “Now we younger ones, and some of the more book-learned old ones, we know better. In fact,” and he leaned in with a conspiratorial grin, which Esgalwen shied away from but couldn’t help responding in kind, “sometimes we sneak out and go find you, and watch you singing.”
Esgalwen covered her face with a little cry of alarm.
Joyun laughed, thoroughly amused by her embarrassment. “Oh, don’t hide! We love your singing! I have no idea what it means, but it’s very pretty. And we’d never bother you, you know. Sometimes we also sneak up to Shipman’s house in the mornings to hear you teach. You should really teach all of us. They say girls like a guy who can sing.” And he raised his eyebrows at her.
Esgalwen hardly knew where to look. True, this happened periodically, that one of the young men would approach her and flirt with her. But she was so unused to it! Even after all these months, she was still as awkward as when it had first happened. Besides –
“Oh, you do know I’m married, right?”
“I know…” and his face fell. Then it brightened. “But you’re just so cute! And beautiful. And vulnerable. I mean, I don’t want you to be sad, but if your husband is gone for good… I might have a chance?”
Esgalwen hunched up her shoulders a little. “He isn’t gone for good… but I do have to find out what happened to him. I am sorry for you, but I hope you find a lovely girl someday.”
He pouted a little. “But now I want to marry an elf maid… and there aren’t any others around here!”
They had reached the dock, and Esgalwen gave him a little curtsey. “Th-the world is full of surprises. Please excuse me…”
“Of course. See you later, miss!”
She was in the boat, holding the mooring line with a wide, excited smile as the shipbuilder came to teach her.
“Good afternoon, lass! Eager as always, I see.”
“Yes, sir.” She paused awkwardly. She never knew what to say at this point.
“Well, let’s see how well you…” he trailed off, and with one foot in the boat, looked back towards the shore. “One moment, lass, I must see what that is all about.”
There were bright gleaming flashes from the centre of town, and a black and silver banner. Esgalwen frowned anxiously. That was the banner of the King of Gondor, and while this village was part of Gondor, knights had never come before.
The shipbuilder got out and walked to the end of the dock, where Joyun was still leaning casually. The soldiers were coming nearer, rather casually. Esgalwen leaned closer, listening intently, trying not to be seen, although her bright red dress made that hard to accomplish.
“Is that her?”
“It looks like it…”
“What do you want with the lass?” the shipbuilder asked politely.
“Well…” The lead soldier drew out a scroll and held it up. “His Majesty King Eldarion Telcontar, King of Gondor and Arnor, and Lord of the Men of Middle Earth, is concerned for the well-being of Esgalwen of Mirkwood, who is the wife of the friend of his father. Having heard that she is in this area and that she is desirous of pursuing her travelling husband which King Eldarion deems to be unsafe, he requests that she relocate to Minas Tirith, capital of Gondor, where she may be under his care and safekeeping. For if any harm were to come to her, her husband would surely be most grieved, and for his father’s sake, King Eldarion would wish that to be prevented at all cost.” He rolled up the scroll. “So, Lady Esgalwen, I am pleased to request that you return with us to the capital, until your husband returns.”
Esgalwen’s flushing cheeks and large unhappy eyes seemed to disconcert him. “My lady, what is the matter?”
“But…” she whispered, “I want to find him. I can no longer bear this waiting.”
“Eh? Sorry, I can’t hear you, my lady.”
“I will find him!” she said more strongly, and trembled at her boldness. “I am not as weak as I appear. When he was in the War of the Ring, I ventured from Mirkwood to Gondor (by accident, it is true) to find him (although, again it is true that he came south to find me). I will find him again, although he is in the unknown lands where none know his name.”
“But Lady Esgalwen… the King…”
“I am grateful for the King’s attention. He always was a sweet boy.” The soldiers tried to hide a grin at their King being called ‘a sweet boy’; their King who was in the prime of his life and very manly and wise. “But I must decline. I take responsibility upon myself… and Lord Eldarion must not worry about me.” She smiled. “I assure you, I have every incentive to remain alive and whole and well.”
“But…” the soldier began helplessly.
“I’d advise you to listen to the lass – er, lady,” the shipbuilder said. “She knows what she’s talking about.”
“No, sir,” said the soldier, more firmly. “My King’s command is to be certain that Lady Esgalwen is safe. This is also the wish of her brother, Lord Hano, who is even now in Minas Tirith.”
“Oh, would Hano come with me?” she cried impulsively.
The soldier looked startled. “Well, my lady, you must come back and ask him.”
For a moment she hesitated… and then cast loose the line. “I am so sorry, my lords, to make you come all this way… but I cannot come back with you… I would never be let go again! I must find my husband above all else.”
“Hoi! Wait! Lady!”
She paddled out of easy reach. “I am so sorry! Please beg my brother to forgive me… I know this will hurt him terribly. But I must… Please understand…”
“No! Stop her!”
“Let her be!” Joyun stepped forward, and several others of the village youths followed him. “Go on, Miss Esgalwen!”
“Obstructing the King’s Soldiers…”
“I know! But Miss Esgalwen shouldn’t be cooped up.” Joyun stood firm, a strong young man, ready to grapple with the first solder who should come at him. “You should see her wandering the shore; then you’d know. She’s not a city girl.”
Poor Esgalwen looked back and saw villagers struggling with soldiers, but her sail was up, and she was rapidly moving away from shore. As the soldiers saw that it was useless to catch her by the dock, a few began attempting to launch a boat, but most just stood and watched her.
“Goodbye!” she called. “Thank you for everything!”
“Goodbye, Miss Esgalwen! Lass!”
There was a bitter screech from the old women.
“Please reconsider!” called the soldier. “If you should return, you will always have a warm welcome in Gondor or Arnor!”
“I know.”
The soldiers began to spread out, no doubt to patrol the long length of shore nearby, so she would not be able to return to her house for water or food or other supplies. She turned her back to Middle Earth and set her hands to the lines and the tiller, sailing out onto the bosom of the blue ocean.

Four days later, and things did not look so good.
She lay curled in the bottom of the boat, watching the sun rise in a different place than she had ever known. She had just set out wherever the wind would take her, and it was taking her southwest. There was no sign of land in any direction.
Her throat was parched so dry it rasped when she swallowed, her tongue swelled in her mouth, and her belly gnawing itself to pieces.
She drifted, under a sun brighter and hotter than any she’d ever known, huddled miserably behind the sail to protect herself as she could – her pale northern skin was burning. For that reason, also, she could not take off her long dark dress, which had sleeves to the wrists and skirt to the ankles. Besides which, her natural modesty made it impossible for her to even undress to her underwear, even though she was completely alone.
So she lay, sweating and burning and suffering, wondering if the torment of the wicked after the world ended would be any greater, and the sun turned overhead.
In the evening, finally, a new scent came to her on the wind, a stronger scent – a smell of greenery, with a touch of unfamiliar flowers thrown in. She sat up cautiously, stretched her small cramped drained body, and looked around at the horizon.
South of her there were some low shadows on the horizon. So she pulled the sails to catch the wind to carry her there.
The wind grew stronger as she approached, and her heart held more and more hope. Hope that she might find water, that she might survive long enough to properly begin her mission.

It was long into the night when she heard the rush of waves on shore far ahead. They did not sound violent, so she continued, slowly, until she felt the keel of her little boat scrunch on gravel. Not even bothering to touch the unfurled sails, she weakly clambered out of the boat and found herself waist-deep in water. She floundered ashore and stood for a moment, breathing carefully, trying to maintain her strength.
She staggered closer to the rustle of trees. Reaching one, she put out a hand to steady herself on it, and sniffed for water. The sound of vegetation was driving her crazy. She plunged recklessly into the undergrowth and headed for the sound of trickling.
She found it! A tiny brook, spilling through plants she couldn’t identify in the dark. She half-fainted beside it and put her face in it, gulping the life-giving water.
She did not drink too deeply; she had experienced water deprivation before, in the Brown Lands, although it had not taken her four days to save herself. But that time she had drunk until her stomach was bloated, and then vomited it up again. So this time she was more careful, although her body urged her on.
She lay, panting, on the edge of the brooklet, rejoicing in the coolness of the night.
Then it occurred to her that her own was not the only panting she heard.
She stiffened, and thought she heard a growl.
With a half-stifled shriek, she rolled over, to discover a wild animal of a strange kind practically standing over her. It was like a wolf, or a dog, but it was smaller and had larger teeth. But no matter how small, it was large enough for Esgalwen, and she could hear more than one in the darkness.
She tried to scramble away, to grab a rock or a branch or anything, but it came at her with a single bound and pinned her to the ground, straddling her. She had one arm up over her vulnerable throat, but that wouldn’t stop it for long.
It snarled, and lunged for her…
With the suddenness of lightening, an arrow pierced the creature in the head and it slumped on her, needle-like teeth tearing her hand with its weight. The others fled, making strange howling noises of fear.
Esgalwen fainted.

Chapter 2