Author's Notes: My apologies in the delay of this chapter. The first two chapters already had most of the dialogue written and were up closer together than usual as a result, then life had to intervene and I've not had a chance to write until now. I've debated saying anything because I don't want to come across as "Review or the story gets it!", but I'm not sure there's enough enjoyment coming to the readers or the writer to bother continuing right now. :-/

As usual, constructive criticism is appreciated. Yes, even from you.


"Tess Barliman?"

A Ranger stepped out of the darkness. Tess drew a quick breath and gripped her skirts.

"Yes?"

For the briefest moment, her mind raced ahead. She knew it was going to be a green handkerchief. She began to list the "weapons" the Breemen would have to hand- pitchforks from gardens, bows meant for hunting. Traps too, she was certain there would be ways to adapt the traps used for hares for something larger. Something more dangerous.

"I have come for your help," the Ranger said. "Gorlim said that you might be of some assistance."

This was not what she had expected. For the past few nights, her dreams had been haunted- strange men delivering green cloth without a word, or some spectre that was once Gorlim coming to warn her in her dreams. She blamed the latter on his telling of his namesake, but it had frightened her nevertheless. None of those had played out like this though; the Ranger seemed apologetic, not forbidding.

"You have something for me, I presume," she said, trying not to sound frightened. It failed miserably; her voice was shaking nearly as badly as her outstretched hand.

"No. I have come to ask something from you. I had hoped you could supply us with some clean cloth, suitable for bandaging."

Tess was taken back.

"Bandaging?"

The Ranger gave her a smile, and she noticed how haggard he looked. As if he had ridden here in the dead of night after days of no sleep. She knew him; the Grey Ghost he was usually called.

"How many wounded?" she asked.

"Too many," the Ranger replied. "Any assistance you can render us would not go amiss, ma'am. We have found ourselves shorter of supplies than anticipated, and Bree was the closest source."

"What else?"

"The cloth will be more than sufficient," the Ranger replied.

Tess barely heard him; her mind was racing.

"Meet me at the clover patch near the West Gate in an hour," she told him. "I will bring what I can."

When he had left the stables, Tess took a deep breath. She could not ignore injured men, especially ones injured in the defence of her home. Cloth was easy to procure- clean but stained sheets were kept in The Prancing Pony for nights of unexpectedly high occupancy. Food would be a little more difficult, as it was all accounted for, but she had no doubt the men would be hungry. Something would have to be arranged.


The hour passed more quickly than she had anticipated. She had left a short note for her father in the kitchen, near the kettle so he would see it when he awoke. When it was time to leave, Tess looked at her mare critically. Old Pansy was loaded heavily, and it would cause problems getting out of Bree. Tess reached beneath her dress and took off several layers of petticoats before mounting. She spread the skirt over Pansy's rump, obscuring the parcels. In the darkness of the night, she hoped it would be enough.

She urged Pansy into a walk, and headed towards the West Gate. Dav Thistleweed was on guard that night, and she pasted on her most charming smile.

"Hello Dav. Lovely night, isn't it?"

Dav was an older man, the type who thought himself a ladies' man but was mostly harmless. Tess knew him from the Pony. He was surprised by her presence.

"Tess Barliman, why ever are you about at this time of night?"

"My aunt near Combe has taken ill, sir, and I did not receive her letter until the Pony closed this evening."

"Your aunt, eh?" asked Dav, eyebrow raised. Even the little light from a lamp was enough to make Tess realise that her story was not going to work. All it would take to reveal her deception was a question to the wrong person- and in Bree, the wrong person was just about anyone. She had to deflect curiosity.

"And if I were to tell you it was a sweetheart ill, one Pa does not approve of?"

Oh, it was a bold lie. She was surprised that she had used it so easily.

"Then I'd wish your aunt well," Dav said, smiling as he opened the gate.

Tess gave him a weak smile as she passed, and for the first time realised what she was attempting. The clover patch was only a little outside the gates, and she found the Grey Ghost waiting for her beside a large black horse. She bowed her head in acknowledgement.

"Lead the way, sir."

If the Ranger was surprised, he did not show it.

"The cloth?" he asked.

Tess lifted the hem of her skirt to show the packs beneath. "I hope it will be sufficient. I have a few other things…."

"You were not intended to accompany me, ma'am," the Ranger said simply. He did not mention the dangers of her accompaniment; not only were there still orcs in the area, scattered and with any luck fleeing back to the Misty Mountains, she herself had the potential to be a threat.

Tess was surprised. Somehow, in her mind, she was central to this story. She would ride to the men's camp, get a taste of adventure, perhaps see that Gorlim was well, then return to Bree later in the day. It had never crossed her mind that she would be unwelcome.

"Intended or not, I am," she declared, chin set.

For a moment, the Ranger seemed to hesitate.

"Keep close," was all he said as he mounted his horse. As the animal began to move, he called back over his shoulder, "And if I have reason to believe you are are a threat, I will kill you."

Tess tried not to let him see how his words had rattled her. She followed him quickly, not speaking. This Ranger seemed more serious than Gorlim had, less inclined to trust her. It made her wonder if perhaps adventures were not best left to the storybooks.

After a few minutes the Ranger veered off the road and into the Chetwood. Tess followed, struggling to keep her seat on Pansy. The old mare was not a sure-footed creature at the best of times, and the darkness only made matters worse.


Hours passed; Tess fell off her horse once, and had several scratches on her face from low-lying branches. The Ranger did not seem fazed in the least, riding along as if on a large road on a clear day. The sun had been up for nearly an hour when they came to the camp.

"Halbarad!" another Ranger called out as he approached them, but Tess was too absorbed in taking in her surroundings to notice.

She was not sure what she had expected, but it was not this. Three fires in a clearing, around which sat Rangers. Many seemed to be wounded; a few were lying on the ground, and Tess assumed those were the worst injuries. Several seemed to be unconscious. To one side were laid the corpses of those who had fallen in battle- Tess felt the bile rise in her throat as she took in the number. The scent of their blood hung in the air, mingling with the smoke from the campfire. It smelt almost of a butcher's shop. The corpses of the orcs were in a heap at the opposite edge of the clearing. She tried not to examine it too closely; her first glance had been enough.

Two dark-haired men stood on the far side of the camp. Not men. They drew the eye too much to be men; they were too tall, too old-but-young, too beautiful. Tess realised they must be elves. But the merry creatures she had heard of were not present; these men were great and terrible, not cheerful. Their faces were grim as they surveyed the woods surrounding the encampment. They frightened her, if she was honest.

"Young love?" the approaching Ranger asked, nodding towards Tess.

"I hear young men are particularly prone to it," Halbarad replied, smiling. "Loneliness makes a kind word seem like a declaration of adoration, a pretty smile the reason for being. Most of them grow out of it soon enough."

Tess blushed furiously at The Grey Ghost's flippant declaration, and wished she could think of a stinging reply. But her irritation was soon forgotten when she spotted Gorlim near a fire. He was lying down.

A step closer showed a heavily bloodied bandage across his torso.