The following five days passed strangely for Ërna. Whenever her stomach rumbled, squirrels arrived bearing seeds, nuts, and berries. Whenever she shivered from the cold of fog and dew, foxes and raccoons came to share their sheddings. And whenever she felt lonely, birds came to sing songs with her. Their kindness, though bought with Gylda’s reputation, filled her heart with love and humility.

That’s not to say that she was without worry, however, for she also spent those days fretting over the news that had come from the west. What could be so urgent that Valýría was pulled from her prey? What else…but soldiers. Faced with that likely truth, she hoped it was at least limited to a ‘normal’ troop, because if her brother had been sent after her…

She shuddered at the thought.

Her brother was, quite literally, the star of her people. He had been shaped to their father’s wishes—unlike Ërna, who stubbornly took after her mother. Out of all five children, she alone had a different mother from the rest; and it was she alone who felt out of place.

Now she feared that her family strife was seeping into Gälenor. If so, she deserved the cruel, inevitable fate coming from the assembly Gylda spoke of. If her fears were true, then she wasn’t innocent. Whether she meant it or not, she led them here.

So it was that self-loathing gnawed at Ërna’s soul for the days leading up to the assembly, which passed as has been told; and the silence of that day, when all the folk of Gälenor had gone to gather beneath Gälnos, made her anxiety all the greater.

It was night before Ërna heard any sign of life. Peering timidly out from her den, she squinted to see who or what was approaching. Would she be captured? Questioned? Enslaved? Killed? All of the above in that order? Her mind swirled franticly with panicked thoughts until finally she saw a pair of green eyes gleaming back at her.

They seemed worn, aged beyond counted years; and they belonged, of course, to a hoary old bear that sometimes seemed more like a mountain of moving moss. He stood solemnly amid the luamýr in the moonlight.

“Little herb,” he spoke softly, “Your judgment has been passed. Our folk have decided to make you our hostage to negotiate with the enemy. Only two voted against it.”

“T-two?” Ërna questioned with hoarse wonder. “That’s twice as much as I had hoped for…and twice as much as I deserved.”

She laid her head upon her arms, slumping sadly.

“Was one…Fëor?” She finally asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Oh yes,” Bëolnos replied, “and he gave us quite the speech, too. It was a jumbled mess of emotional arguments, but he certainly spoke from his heart of hearts.”

Ërna smiled softly, feeling as though she may have found a good friend, after all.

“I’d like to get to know him better, if I can,” she wished. “But even then, he was only able to win one more over? Your folk seem headstrong.”

“As impassioned as it was,” Bëolnos laughed bitterly, “it could hardly have been said to do more than give those voting against you a guilty tug in their hearts. Nay, Gylda was the other who voted in your favor, though her people know it not.”

Warmth filled Ërna’s heart once more, even as cold despair swirled around her from the outside.

“Alright,” she proclaimed, standing up and brushing off her soil-sullied dress. “Take me away.”

Bëolnos blinked. Even in the dark of night, with only patchy moonlight, his astonishment was impossible to miss.

“Seldom am I surprised in my ancient age, dear herb, but I was going to ask if you wanted a chance to escape.”

Ërna started at him, mouth agape, with shock of her own; but she soon steeled herself and pressed on.

“And why would the so-called lord of this land defy his own assembly? The will of his own people?”

“And to be scolded, no less,” Bëolnos laughed from his belly. “You’re right, of course. My faith in your warm, gentle wind had, perhaps, blinded me. You see, I sense that your star-bound soul yearns desperately for the soil below, to dance with the spirits of the earth just as Árentás, who forsook the heavens entirely, had long ago ‘ere your kind came to be. Such a soul means no harm here. Indeed, I daresay that you would willingly help us, if we merely asked.”

Ërna fell silent, troubled then by many things. Would she help them against her own people? Was her love of the land so deep? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t ready to face those questions. She was still simply running.

But that would come to an end now, whether she liked it or not.

“Thank you kindly,” she curtsied. “To be compared to the protector of my people, Árentás Herself, is a high honor. I am hardly as bright and beautiful as She, but I accept the warmth of your words nonetheless.”

Bëolnos bowed his head while studying her carefully.

“Little herb, I have but one question before I leave you to enjoy your last night of freedom however it would please you.”

Ërna stood with clasped hands, waiting.

“You are a princess from Pelren, are you not?”

Cold gripped her heart.

That was a question she wished to avoid even more than where her loyalties may lay. Her position, upbringing, home…they were the reasons why she ran, the roots of her anxiety and inner turmoil.

“I can sense your discomfort, but it will come up. It pains me to put it this way, but your value as a hostage depends upon it. But it is plain to those of us who have interacted with you, chiefly myself and Gylda, that your attire and mannerisms bear the weight of aristocracy.”

Ërna bit her lip. Why was it so painfully hard to erase an identity that was never wanted to begin with?

“Yes,” she finally conceded. “I am the eldest daughter of Hëána-Elëa, daughter of Eld-Álnëa of Eldanor, and…”

She hesitated.

“…and Ása-Älynor, King of Pelría.”

Bëolnos’ eyes widened.

“Then you are indeed the brightest jewel of the west, most precious among the Eldásrí.”

“No,” Ërna shook her head slowly. “That title belongs to my brother. I’m my father’s greatest shame.”

“I see,” Bëolnos acquiesced, “then perhaps I should consider you their sweetest flower, instead.”

“If you must,” Ërna said with blushed cheeks, “though they hardly admire those stars anymore.”

“Indeed not,” Bëolnos agreed, “and from that lost love our woe has been wrought.”

A heavy silence dwelled between them.

“D-do,” Ërna started. “Do you think I’ll be treated well?”

“Ah, you needn’t worry about that. Gylda herself agreed to hold you once you are found. You will be in her personal care.”

Ërna sighed with relief. She hardly knew Gylda, of course, but their short exchange was pleasant. Just as she had felt drawn to Fëor, she felt as if Gylda were a childhood friend or even a sister.

“You treat me too well,” Ërna managed. “In that case, I go even more willing than before. I don’t need another night of freedom here in this den, though the spirits and animals here have also treated me too well. My situation is far from ideal, but I can see that my fortunate has been greater than I know.”

Ërna bowed deeply.

“To have the most precious princess of Pelren bow to me so,” Bëolnos awed. “I can see clearly now that your beauty truly comes from within, for you are humble and grateful too life great and small. You have done well not to fall victim to the haughtiness of a pampered life.”

“You have my thanks yet again,” she said with another bow. She was, however, slightly frustrated upon having her life described as ‘pampered.’ It was true enough in many ways, but she felt as though it discounted her hardships. It was no time for a nuanced discussion of her life thus far, though, so she let it pass.

“I’m ready to move forward,” she continued. “Take me to Gylda, if you please. Let’s put your people’s minds at ease.”