A/N: Due to an existing concern that has piqued my interest, I would like to clarify a matter regarding Goldberry. No, she is not an elf despite me describing her as such (I believe I called her an elleth?). I would like to clarify she is an entirely different kind of ethnicity that is of a higher degree versus elves. I have not tackled too much on this detail in as much as it is not the central topic of the entire story. However, it may open up as a topic for another fanfic. Thank you!
Habren had watched a full cycle of day pass her by once. When it had occurred she could barely remember when. This morning she had just observed the last drop of nightfall evaporate into dawn, leaving a pale yellow light from the sun dappling upon the trees. She had felt at peace the moment the last lyric of the passing elves drifted ever westward. She made no move to return back to the home after all that, leaving the hobbits to scout for her the moment they realized she did not show up for breakfast.
That morning the time to depart the halls of Tom Bombadil had come. Saddened with this, the hobbits started to complain amongst themselves. Exchanging words amongst themselves in private while Habren came over to the couple.
"Much gratitude do we give the both of you for your hospitality." She said with a slow bow. "We will not forget it."
"The perils are far from over, young one." Said Goldberry. "Remember courage when you will need it most."
Tom withdrew the blue hat from his head, putting on a solemn smile. "I will lead your company to the edge of the woods safely. Wouldn't want to step into Barrow downs' soil."
They bade Goldberry farewell as she remained on the porch, standing tall like an elven queen, smiling warmly like the sun. It felt an eternity when they finally emerged from the somewhat incessant sea of trees, the sight of the wide green-grey plain a breath of fresh air.
It was Tom's turn to say goodbye. "And here ends our time together, for now. Farewell, good hobbits! Farewell, elf child! May you have a merry journey!"
Habren knew with a quest as heavy as theirs, a 'merry' journey would almost seem impossible. The only 'merry' they would possibly have in the end would only be the Brandybuck. "Thank you." She said nonetheless. The moment the company ventured out of the borders of the woods Habren turned around. "Tom?"
Tom's red eyebrows rose up with a heartwarming smile. "Yes?"
"Should the quest be completed and our hearts set homebound, leading us back into these woods, will we find you again?"
Tom laughed a jolly laugh. "Your answer, it is like my dear Goldberry's lilies. It will take time for them to flower." Then he disappeared into the trees, singing the song they first heard him sing. Habren smiled a little before joining the others.
It started to shower the moment Bree was within their line of sight. A thick blanket of rain making linear patterns in the air and everything it touched the ground. Their cloaks clung to their skin, making the natural night chill all the more less comforting. Their vision became blurry as the constant rain drop splashed onto their eyes.
Habren spat out the water that had sneaked into her mouth. "Almost there."
The gates that gave access to Bree were rather large. Crafted with sheer simplicity and the practicality that resources have allowed. It was crafted with planks of wood, large brass handles on each door and two small metal boxes, one placed higher than the other that served as the gatekeeper's sort of 'peepholes'.
As if on cue, the aforementioned gatekeeper, head hooded from his cloak slid the metal panel to one side, then abruptly shut it in favor of the lower set one when he found no one of the stature of man, apparently missing Habren, who stood a little far away from the hobbits. "What do you want?" he said in a grouchy voice.
"We're headed for the Prancing Pony." Frodo spoke on their behalf.
"Hobbits!" exclaimed the gatekeeper. "Four hobbits! And what's more, out of the Shire by your talk. What business brings you to Bree?"
Habren emerged from the shadows, the most part of her face protruded by her hood. But no one would have missed her eyes, a dark brown that read no emotion. "Good evening." She spoke in a voice filled with authority.
The gatekeeper looked up with confusion, but it swiftly cleared away the moment he saw her. There was a slight tinge of alarm in his face. "Are you—"
Habren did not speak, only lifted the right side of her vest to reveal a silver pin of a many-rayed star upon her tunic. The old gatekeeper cleared his throat. "Forgive me of any misunderstandings... mean no offense. You may enter."
The gates creaked open and Habren took the lead this time. She bent down and gave the gatekeeper an ear when he motioned to her. "Sorry ma'am, was just doing my job. There's talk of strange folk abroad. Can't be too careful."
Habren nodded. "I understand."
The elleth felt the gazes of the hobbits at her back as they followed. They weaved together through people and horse-drawn wagons. Habren surveyed the villagers she passed by, noting one stout, bearded villager eating a fresh carrot. Habren knew Bree like the back of her hand, taking little time consumed in finding the Prancing Pony.
Swaying in the wind and pelted aimlessly by the downpour, the green sign of the Prancing Pony led them on. The warmth from the far hearth when they entered was a good blast on their skin away from the chills that came from outside. The hobbits quickly peeled of their hoods and shook the rain water from their heads. Habren kept her hood on, slightly shifting it from the inside to mask the pointy edges of her ears. She bent to Frodo's ear, "Talk to the innkeeper, Barliman Butterbur. Get a room and some dinner and ask for Gandalf. I have errands to run."
She quickly left to find the local blacksmith, taking no more than a few turns on the road to find him busy in his shop hammering away on some sort of sword. "Good evening, sir." She greeted him. The blacksmith halted his work and turned to her, face kept stern at the sight of her. "It's you."
"Aye."
The blacksmith sighed. "What brings you to my humble business?"
"I just need four short swords, fit for a hobbit and I shall leave you to your own devices."
"Aye," he replied as he searched through a shelf filled with piles of iron and steel work. "And I rather not ask what for. You have your own privacy to take care of. Rather too protective of it I fear. Hard to tell you from friend or foe with that hood of yours always plastered on your head. Here, just made 'em this morning." He offered her four identical short swords which Habren quickly surveyed. All four seemed to be in excellent condition. "Thank you." She said.
"I should be thanking you." The blacksmith said. Habren paused in thought before turning back to him. "How's your leg?" she asked. The blacksmith chuckled. "After all these years you still remember." He commented, walking towards a tool on another table with a slight limp in his right leg. "Damage would've been worse if you never arrived in that pitiful ally. Thugs and bandits have been getting around less frequently after you dealt with 'em years ago. You may still be a stranger, I would think you queer and most folks still post wary on your kind, but the people of Bree are ever grateful."
Habren bit her lip but smiled at him with her own kind of gratitude. She said goodbye and made back towards the Prancing Pony. She found the hobbits inside with pints of ale coiled up in their hands, but with thoughtful faces. They relayed to her the information they receive from Butterbur.
"Are you sure?" Habren insisted.
Frodo nodded. "We're sure. Gandalf isn't here."
The elleth did not speak. In her mind she was processing the news and formulating a back-up plan at the same time. Sure, Gandalf had a very different mental clock compared to most but something this urgent would not be enough for him to be tardy. Something was hindering him along the way –or someone.
Habren thought of the traitor they had tried to hunt down all those years ago. The mission she dared not remember. For all that she knew, the traitor might actually be the one endangering her teacher.
She did not notice Frodo call out to a rather busy Butterbur. The good-natured innkeeper bent down. "Excuse me," started Frodo. "that man in the corner, who is he?" Butterbur started to look worried. "What his right name is, I never heard, but round here he's known as Strider. He's one of them Rangers, dangerous folk they are, wandering the wilds." He then notices Habren from across the table, arms crossed and her expressions shadowed by her hood. The elleth had a queer skill of becoming unnoticed for a short while here in Bree, which, along with previous events and her dark grey hood in turn led to her alias. Unnoticed at first, but when emerged from the darkness was as imposing as a,
"The W-wolf." Laughed Butterbur nervously. "H-he a, erm, friend of yours?"
"Barliman," She greeted. "I can't say I know him."
"W-well then, I better be –um, off." Butterbur hastily nodded to her, gave a few quick double-takes and scurried off like another customer was calling for his attention.
Pippin snorted a laugh. "The Wolf?"
Habren fiddled with her hood. "Got the nickname years ago, when last I visited Bree. A couple of criminals were beating down the blacksmith's son for not giving them any money and I stepped in the way. Knocked the living light out of them all. Folks say I looked as predatory as a she-wolf making some kind of frontal assault from the shadows. I wonder if they've noticed I'm an elf yet."
"You looked like you haven't age at all." Smirked Frodo. "They'll realize."
"But all my concern falls on that Strider." said Sam. "He's done nothing but stare at us ever since we got here."
"I'll speak with him." Said Habren as she lifted herself up without another word. In all her years, why hasn't she heard of this Strider? Maybe he just came up these past seventeen years. No one would dare pose as a Ranger, so anyone brave enough to take on the role had a low urge for fraud. If this man is one of the Dunedain, surely something interesting can come up from him.
"Milady." Strider greeted her as she approached.
Habren sat down leisurely like the man before her could be of no high threat, though she kept a wary eye if ever he foolishly attempted to stab her with a knife. Or crush her skull with his tankard. "I'm the Wolf inside these village walls –Strider."
Habren took a better look at him. Even from here she cannot see his face, but she saw that little glint in his eyes with some nostalgic effect on her she couldn't explain to herself. One hand was pre-occupied with a pipe, the smoke swirling in lofty curlicues. He had a scruffy short beard like he never knew what a shaver was in weeks. "We shady folk with our hoods always get the brand of an outsider. No one will easily trust us."
"So can we trust each other?" questioned Habren. "If you are a Ranger, where shines the star?"
Strider, with his pipe-less hand drew his cape away from one side like a dark green curtain, and like it was embedded into a black, cotton sky underneath another layer which was his jacket, was the symbol of the Rangers of the North. Habren's false calmness turn into a sincere one. She heard herself sigh in relief. "I was worried for a moment there."
"Just because I have the badge?"
"That badge is sacred to our cause! And besides, I'm exhausted."
Strider smirked. "You let our guard down too easily."
"I let my guard down at the right time."
"…You sound like someone I know."
"Do I now?"
"We may be Rangers both," said Strider. "But we do not know each other to truly share trust. For one, I do not think you are human. You're entire aura tells me so." Habren's eyebrows furrowed. He was right, they didn't really know each other well enough, yet just a moment ago they had talked with so much casualty –as if by an invisible aspect, they knew each other.
But no one could talk next. Habren's ears perked up from underneath her hood when she heard Pippin yell. There was a glint of gold that was rising from the ground. The ring. It all came so fast Habren couldn't react. One second the ring was airborne, the next she saw Frodo then again, he was gone. Habren darted forward to where he had disappeared, trying to assess which direction the hobbit went in his invisible state. She needed to distract the townsfolk, she mustn't let Frodo get into more trouble.
It was by instinct, but Habren raised both of her hands. A thought ghosted inside her mind, too intangible to understand what she was planning to do. She shut her eyes, and with a swift move she slammed both palms unto a nearby table, letting all the tankards—full and empty jump and crash into the floor, the amber color of beer washing onto the ground. She fluttered her eyes open and she felt her eyebrows rise so high it could probably rival the peaks of the Misty Mountains. All around her, every single person she saw were sprawled on the floor like some drunken party had just fanned out. Her knees buckled a bit, her hand grabbing on a table edge to keep her from stumbling. The thoughts rushed in swiftly. "Sleep."
So far, she had the advantage. Taking the opportunity, she collected as many tankards as she could, sprawled them all over the floor, coiled some within the hands of a few. After quickly relishing in her handiwork she searched for the hobbits. They were nowhere to be seen. She looked sharply around. Strider was gone too.
She picked up the voices of the hobbits in one room somewhere on the second floor and she charged straight ahead, Caransul already drawn out of its sheath. The door was left open and the first thing that came to sight of a man in dark clothes and a dark green cloak before the hobbits. A perfect position. She leaped like the she-wolf she was, an escaped battle cry piercing the quietness. There was a loud thud and Strider's hood flew back a bit, the Ranger pinned to the ground by the neck, Caransul towering above him. But before Habren could clearly see his face in the darkness he gave the elleth a generous smash on the head, staggering Habren and allowing him in turn to pin her to the wall next to the window, his own sword hovering close to her neck. The force was so strong Habren's lungs locked out of breath. The hobbits screamed for her name.
Strider clutched her hood and yanked it off of her head, elven features exposed by the moonlight from the window. She glared at him automatically, her teeth gritted. That was when she finally found his face. His dark hair looked unkempt, like along with his weathered clothes he forgot about maintenance altogether. His eyebrows looked sparse, but its shape still evident. He had clear blue eyes, a sort of blue that reminded her of someone. The longer she observed him, the more she slipped away from her wrath. Memories started piecing together like a puzzle, connecting to the face before her. He looked so different, so much older, wiser, and weary.
She finally realized and her demeanor became calm. She noticed Strider had observed her as well, but not in the face of recognition she experienced –it was a different kind of recognition. The grip around her neck had loosened, but Habren was too overwhelmed to feel the air rush back into her like a hurricane.
"Those eyes were Arathorn's." She muttered. She was there when he died. She was there when they took his son. Strider's eyes grew wide and he yanked on her arm towards the outside. "Not here."
"Where are you taking her?!" Frodo exclaimed in alarm.
"Fro, stay there!" Habren said in a way that sounded like a command.
The pair finally stopped in an empty room. Strider shut the door hastily before turning towards Habren. "What do you know of Arathorn?"
"I was there during the raid on his village! And I know enough to recognize his own son! After all these years, after all this time, Estel? Is it really you?"
Strider turned stiffer. "How do you know that name?"
Habren moved toward him a little. "Don't tell me you've forgotten? You were but a child then. We escorted you and your mother to Imladris. I even held your tiny hand."
Strider's eyes grew solemn. "Your kindness I have not forgotten, but forgive me, I cannot recognize you."
Habren sighed. "I did leave the next day. But that look you gave me earlier, you recognized me. Why is it now that I do not exist in your memory?"
"I saw someone," Started Strider quietly. "But it was not her."
Habren could not say anything else.
"Something is going on in our present time." Said Strider. "A rumor of Black Riders have been circling around. They say they have attacked Sarn Ford."
"No! Halbarad and the others—"
"Halbarad lives. But the casualties are great in number."
"Everything seems to be falling apart." Said Habren. "The Riders are still on our trail."
Strider made a brisk pacing towards the door. "Then we need to divert their course."
