Disclaimer: The One Ring isn't mine, neither is LotR, even if sometimes I call it 'my precious.'

What prompted me to write was a stray thought that I have a handful of stories posted around here for some of my fandoms, but none for LotR, although it's the first fandom that drew me into it deeply enough to create something based on it. Thus, to correct the oversight, here is a fic with one of my favourite characters.

This is Third Age. About one hundred years before Aragorn's birth.

The Road West: 1

It was past their afternoon meal as the shadows began to lengthen when a group of merchants, holding a steady course along the Old Forest Road, heard a low howl. Still distant, it crept through the land with an eerie intensity of a lonely hunter whose life held no meaning without the prey. This call into the wilderness alarmed living creatures for it meant that the beast had found a trail, vague and snowed in, but one that contained hope for blood.

"Is this a wolf call?"

A small hand emerged from a pile of blankets inside one of the roofed sleighs to latch onto the adult. Erulien secured a bowl, in which she had been grinding minerals with dried plants into a warming paste, between the furs and her hip before gently covering the trembling hand with her own.

"It is," she confessed steadily like it was something ordinary, something that needn't be feared. "Have you heard such howls before?"

The eight year old wrinkled her forehead, attempting to arrange recollections and emotions, which was no small matter when instincts urged monsters to lurk behind the passing snowdrifts. "Yes, when I travelled with my father. Long time ago, maybe two or even three years. My father is not afraid of wild animals because he knows how to chase them away. He is always so strong. But…" she looked sadly at the man lying prone beneath the blankets. Tightly closed eyes and ragged breathing gave away an ill state in which he could not protect them anymore.

"Your father will get better." Erulien hugged the girl closer. "Meanwhile, we have Garan and Rohan. They won't let anything bad happen to us."

Black eyes scrutinised the adult, deciding whether to accept reassurances. Right outside, the sleigh blades swished across the land, following the hoof beat of the hefty horses. A mild gust of wind tugged at the flaps. Its appearance carried a word that the weather was soon to change. Erulien heard it, securing the child beside her.

At last, the trust they've been building for the past two weeks won and Evalyn nodded. "You will make him better," she implored.

"Have faith. I've been healing people at least for one thousand years," Erulien smiled. "But, your father will get well sooner only with your help. I believe we can depend on you."

"I'll help," Evalyn promised. She shifted into a more comfortable position, restless to perform some task that would help in making her father well again.

The mortar was still warm as Erulien passed it to the girl. "Secure the bowl like this." She put Evalyn's hands into the right positions and held her hands over the smaller ones to teach proper movements. The paste swirled sluggishly under the guided ministrations. "We don't want any lumps in the mixture," the elf explained.

Evalyn became quickly immersed in the procedure, wrinkling her nose as she dealt with those pesky lumps. None were to slip past her vigilance. She picked up the skills fast. Most secondborn did; perhaps, because their lives flew by in a flurry, almost as fast as the snowflakes that waltzed down from the winter clouds.

"I need you to work on this paste while I get something from my saddle bag. I will return soon," Erulien added as the child tensed, unwilling to lose a comforting presence. "Can I trust you to stay here and take care of your father?"

The nod was an uncertain one, but honest nonetheless. Accepting it as permission to go, Erulien hopped off the sleigh and moved to the side of the road, waiting for the middle of their group to ride past. Natural blessings of the firstborn kept her on top of the massive snowdrifts where her companions would have fallen through up to their waists. Her attention was on two men who rode side by side, discussing something in muted voices.

Garan was a burly man in the late forties who shouldered over thirty years of trading experience. Even since he joined a passing caravan at the age of fourteen, he had gone through all difficulties of the craft. Hardship taught him how to protect his wares from the packs of robbers and how to keep his people safe from the wild beasts. His mind was sharp and the moderate signs of grey in his beard matched the grey steel of the sword, sheathed reliably by his side until skills of a seasoned fighter were called upon by necessity. He secured leadership in the group through trust, including from the man beside him.

Rohan was broad in the shoulders like any respectable mercenary and towered a head above his employer. Greatly surpassing the other in strength, he listened intently to his fifteen years senior like a student. Seeing them together, intensified the elf's ill premonition. Evalyn's doubt when she asked about the wolves had not been unfounded. There was a shadow following them, more dangerous than a common beast.

Garan stopped as Erulien put her hand on his mount's withers when the pair aligned beside her. There was no room for Rohan to stop as well, thus he rode past. From the elevated position, Erulien didn't need to raise her head high up, which allowed a quiet exchange.

"Those were no wolves we heard."

"Rohan and I thought as much."

The word 'wargs' drifted between them unspoken. The shadows began to dim as the sky lost its blue vibrancy. Erulien adjusted her footing on the slippery surface. Garan still waited for her ideas, but she had none. The warning in itself had been meant to be helpful. There was a sting of awareness that she shouldn't have interrupted the pair while they were discussing the defensive strategy.

"I will leaf through my map for a safer location," Erulien said, motioning for him to proceed.

"Thank you for looking out for the well-being of this group."

There was no rush or panic, just a strong sense of purpose, as Garan adjusted a thick, leather glove to grip the reigns tighter and motioned his horse to the head of the column. Of course he knew how to defend this group. He and Rohan had already figured out the danger. Just because she was three thousand years old, didn't mean she knew better. It was mystifying how men could obtain greater wisdom by the age of fifty than some elves after millennia, but she had to put trust in Garan to form a defensive strategy without getting in his way. A healer knew far too little about fighting.

Erulien straightened her shoulders to shake off the doubts. The men were going to do their jobs and she had to do hers. The snow was crisp as she jumped down and exchanged greetings with a middle-aged woman who rode an elegant mare. Slimmer and light on foot, though not as enduring, this steed was much different from the rest of the caravan's horses.

"She missed you," the woman chuckled as the horse neighed softly at the sight of her owner.

"Is she behaving?" Erulien asked. Velvety muzzle, turned towards her, demanded to be petted. Though, her mount had reached an understanding with the edain woman, Cloud was deeply attached to her elven owner.

Galina's dark eyes, surrounded by emerging web of wrinkles, shone with clarity and intelligence. "Oh, she has gotten used to me riding her, but I could have sworn a few hours ago she was slyly eyeing one of the snowdrifts with an interest of depositing the rider into it."

"You be good to Garan's wife. They're the ones providing our passage you know," Erulien chided gently as she stroked proudly bent neck.

Cloud snorted. She was good. Erulien wished she could shortly indulge in jogging beside the pair and exchange playful banter. Except, Evalyn was waiting, protected only by duty of holding onto the bowl. Real monsters were not the healer's expertise, but at least the imaginary ones could receive a good scolding from her.

"I need a map from my saddle bag and a dark-green roll hidden all the way at the bottom," she said to Galina.

As the woman searched for the items, Erulien looked over her shoulder past the last sleigh. Behind the caravan stretched a flat landscape all the way to the silver curvature of the river bound in ice. Between them lay an unshielded bareness: just a few stubby hills and scant trees with their branches stretched up in a frozen prayer. There were no beasts wandering between them. Their group crossed tracks with no one.

Sharp, elven eyes strained to see past the river all the way to the line of Greenwood the Great where the caravan had left a trail two days ago. It was hard to call it so these days, even for Silvan to whom it meant a beloved home. Mirkwood it became as the ancient evil stirred beneath the moss, snaked between the roots, rotting great trees from their source of life, and foul wind went as a ghost between the bushes and flowers, corrupting all touched by its breath. The roads no longer were safe even for warriors. Beasts, unseen since the Last Alliance, crept through the land. She could imagine them stumbling onto a human trail and hearing an instinctive whisper from the dark. At last – a chance to strike at the weakened link, separated in the wilderness.

"I found them."

Erulien nearly jumped out of her skin. She blinked. There was nothing behind them. She accepted the items from Galina and excused herself. The wind carried low clouds from the east. Small puffs of breath escaped as she laboured to catch up to her sleigh. There was no evident rush, but the caravan's pace increased as soon as Garan rejoined the front of the column.

Erulien secured the flap behind her tighter than necessary, glad for Evalyn's presence as much as the child found comfort in her elven friend.

"The mixture is perfect now," Erulien praised the girl without unneeded flattery before the other asked why she had to leave. Evalyn had done a very fair job of moulding the substance into a paste ready for use. "We're going to apply it to his upper chest," the healer explained. She folded a long cloth in half before smearing half a finger thick layer onto one side. Evalyn was trusted to hold on to the cloth, least in the narrow space someone stuck a knee or an elbow into the paste by accident, while the healer unbuckled a leather strap across his shoulder, and unbound the heavy coat and shirt. Together, they prompted up the patient and secured the bandage.

Atamir regained awareness during the jostling and tried to rise up on his elbow. Her arms were around him and his breath was hot on her cheek. "You're stronger than you look," he told her quietly.

Erulien was saved from an awkward reply by Evalyn's joyful yelp. Like a tiny whirlwind, she took possession of her father, securing the blankets around him. Galina called Garan a bigheaded snow-pig in the morning and Cloud licked away Dalik's stew while he was looking the other way. Atamir had to be informed about everything he had slept through.

Erulien curled up with the map on the other end of the sleigh at times suppressing a smile at the bits of conversation. The caravan travelled along the west bank of the Great River of Wilderland. The narrow strip of land between it and the Misty Mountains was flat, offering very few defensive positions, all too far from their course. If any advantage was to be gained, it was at the feet of the mountains only a couple of hours away. Even on the map they stood out secretive and majestic, presenting a formidable barrier to a fabled city of Imladris lounged behind their eastern slopes. Sadly, Erulien hadn't the knowledge of the hidden passages controlled by the Noldo. Maybe she was just a little bit lonely, being the only elf in the group. Imagination created a surge of warmth where her finger touched the spot marking the city. Giving up her entire collection of the special healing herbs just to walk among kin, hearing their melodious chant in the winter and prayers to Elbereth would have been a small price. But, it was faulty to search for those unreachable. Garan wanted to know only about the real possibilities.

A glance stolen at Evalyn showed how much the girl was occupied, thus the elf slipped outside to inform the leader of her findings. Unconsciously, Erulien pulled the coat closer to her body as if to ward off the dangers of the outer world. The cold may not have affected the elves as much as men, but the brittle air and stinging gusts of wind brought a sense of discomfort. One of the women called out to the head of the group, seeing Erulien struggling to catch up. Garan motioned his steed to a standstill and then his broad hand lifted the lithe figure into the saddle behind him.

Erulien wrapped her arms around his waist. She was tempted to rise higher to speak into Garan's ear. "We'll be coming to the crossroads soon. One road continues south and the other leads west towards the mountains. It should be safer to go west, even if it adds to our journey."

"I thought about cutting towards the mountains regardless of the terrain," Garan conceded. "The wargs have too much advantage out in the open. Has your map provided a specific place where we can set camp overnight?"

"Not exactly."

Erulien hesitated to tell him about the city. Garan's previous dealings with her kind were not encouraging. King Thranduil never supported an open door policy, keeping old grudges against elven kin and far too proud to consider other races as equals. Weary relationship evolved into near hostility over the past decade. The encroaching corruption of the Greenwood realm caused great suspicion of any outsiders who could have brought more harm. Being chased away at an arrow point by armed elves from the woodland areas that were secured by Silvan, hardly inspired trust in edain. Given the experience, she doubted Garan would be excited by the prospect of meeting more elves, even if they were Noldo. He, however, had read into her silence and didn't allow her to drop the subject.

"Erulien, I must know anything that may concern this caravan."

The healer sighed. Garan accepted her after all. A few weeks on the road had to amount to some trust. "There's no threat," she said with a far greater confidence than she felt. "I believe we may be within outer boundaries of an elven city, known as Rivendell by your kin. We may encounter their patrol or rather they will see us coming and follow until they understand our intentions. I could ask for a sanctuary on our behalf should they choose to speak with us." Many years had passed since her last visit to Imladris when she was an apprentice who followed her teacher, carrying a massive book for reference in the crook of her arm. Living in Mirkwood, all she had were the news from afar and rumours that the valley's ruler welcomed men into his realm.

"I appreciate that you're willing to serve as intermediary between our people, but I don't believe it wise to deviate too far from our route. We should reach Greendale village in four days where we will replenish supplies and place our ill in a warm home. Whereas to solve the immediate problems, we must find refuge in the mountains where we can build fire and set camp overnight."

"What if someone is injured when those wargs attack? I wouldn't dismiss possible help."

"I do not have the luxury to dwell on imaginary scenarios."

Garan's voice was hard. A first snowflake spiralled down from the clouds onto his shoulder, which in several hours was to be covered by a thick mantle of snow. He could not put faith in a city hidden somewhere on the other side of the mountains nor in armed sentinels that appeared out of thin air whose opinion about men was very much a mystery. Garan knew little about such people, but he did know that whenever someone bothered to hide their home, they most assuredly wanted no visitors. She had to accept that he bore responsibility for the consequences of that final decision.

"You have my support no matter what," she claimed softly enough to keep a challenge out of their conversation. "But, allow me to dwell on those better scenarios for the two of us."

"I'll think about it if they will include me by the fire with a large mug of warm ale and a roasted lamb leg."

"It's a deal."

They chuckled, mostly to end the argument without an upset, even though neither felt like laughing. Another howl came from the east, closer and surer. This time it found support that washed over the land with malevolence from the south.

Erulien didn't look back. She rose up, placing her hands on Garan's shoulders, in search for the way west. It was there, twisted around an elevation that stood just a notch above the snowdrifts. "Head that way," she called, thinking about the mountains the caravan was turning towards and the beasts that were coming with the storm.