Slowly, Arya lifted her eyelids. As soon as they were opened, bright, dazzling sunlight filled her vision, and she closed them quickly, wincing. Blinking, she tried again, this time prepared, and was able to look out at the pale blue sky. The sun rising, low to the ground, just coming over the high peaks of mountains visible on the horizon. Birds were chirping loudly, and a horse was braying somewhere off in the distance. She could hear hushed voices faintly.

She lay there for a few seconds, trying to get her bearings. Her memory was suddenly flooded with the events just prior to her losing consciousness. There had been a fight. The dark shapes had fled. And her arm…

Furrowing her brow, she realized that her arm was no longer in any pain. It still felt a little numb, and had an odd, icy cold sensation whenever she moved it, but its condition had been much improved. She lifted her head to look at it.

It was coated in some kind of wet, crushed, green material, like seaweed. Arya propped herself up on her good arm, examining the substance more closely. It looked like leaves.

She sat up, grunting with the effort, and looked around suspiciously, trying to figure out where she was. Tall earthen walls loomed up around her, and the ground was firm dirt. The smoldering remains of a fire sat off to one side, and smoke drifted up lazily. The dell. That was it. She was still in the dell where she had fought the dark creatures. Except now, it was sunny and bright out. As she looked around, her gaze settled on a figure slumped over against a boulder, sleeping. He was snoring softly, eyes flickering back and forth behind his lids. Laeric.

"Laeric." She called softly. When he didn't answer, she tried again, louder. "Laeric!"

He snorted and sat up, blinking away sleep. He looked around wildly before spotting her. When he did, his eyes widened in surprise and he scrambled to his feet.

"Oh! Forgive me, m'lady. I was supposed to be watchin' ye, I was." He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Only, I was mighty tired, ye understand…"

She smiled slightly. "That's alright, Laeric. I'm fine. But what happened after I… fell? Where is everybody else?"

His eyes darted to upward, where the ruins on the top of the hill were visible. "They're up above. Talkin', I think. Some strange folk, they are. Downright queer."

"Did you talk to them?" Arya asked. "The man and the children?"

"Well…" Laeric started. "That's one of the strange things, m'lady. They ain't children. Jus' really short. Like that fellow back home, I should say. The Imp, ye know?"

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Well, that is very interesting. I'd like to meet them."

Laeric nodded and walked over to her. "Of course. Strider said ye could take them leaves off when ye woke up. How's yer arm feel, if ye don't mind my asking?"

She looked at him quizzically. "It's fine. Great, actually. Is Strider the man?"

"Oh yes, that's the one. Tall, grim fellow. Seemed to be leading them short folk. He's the one that done and fixed yer arm, m'lady."

Arya started scraping the wet leaves off of herself. They came off easily, but left her skin pocked with oddly shaped red marks. Faded greyish-black marks were visible too, crossing at random around the afflicted limb. She frowned and rolled her sleeve down, covering them up.

Standing slowly, she almost toppled over, her legs wobbly and unsteady. Laeric tried to help her, but she brushed him away, and took a few unbalanced steps forward, regaining control of her body. She started the walk to the top. Laerci followed close behind, anxiously watching to make sure she didn't fall.

Halfway up, they came upon the stone pathway Arya had seen the night before. She stepped onto it and began following it. It wound upward, curving along the rim of the hill, and was never very steep. Looking outward, Arya could see for miles around the flat, grassy countryside. To the South, wisps of smoke and cloud were drifting on the wind, as if the remnant of some great fire. To the East, the peaks of mountains towered dark and black.

At last, they crested the hill, and found themselves standing at the edge of a circular stone platform that perched like a crown at the top of the incline. Ruinous walls adorned the edges, and the cold hard floor was scorched black, as if a great fire had rolled over it. Around the area, seated on various chunks of rock, were Colden, Galdor, the four small people, and the man Laeric had called Strider.

As Arya got closer, she noticed that one of the short people was lying on the ground, much as she had been just a few minutes ago, with a damp cloth placed on his forehead. His eyes were closed. Strider and the one Arya recognized as Sam were stopped next to him. Sam was reaching up occasionally to brush tears from his eyes.

Colden immediately stood up when he saw her, and strode over. He was smiling, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"It's good to see you on your feet." He told her. "You gave us quite the scare last night."

"Well, I'm alright now, I think." She said, then gestured to the figure lying on the ground. "What happened to him?"

Colden frowned. "I'm not really sure. As near as I can figure, he got stabbed. But it looks like the blade was poisoned or something."

Concerned, Arya walked over to the victim. Strider looked up as she neared, and gave her a small nod. Sam just stared despairingly at the ground without acknowledgement. She sat down on a large stone block that was crumbling with age. Laeric lowered himself onto the ground near her, his one good eye darting around.

Now that she could get a look at them, Arya noticed some odd things about the people she had mistaken for children. They were clearly adults, as Laeric had said, but they had several peculiar features. They all had curly mops of hair on their heads, as well as on their feet, which were uncommonly large and hairy. Sam had lighter hair and brown eyes, while the one on the ground had darker hair, and wore clothes of a finer caliber. The other two were huddled off to the side, conversing quietly.

"Will he be okay?" Arya asked softly.

Strider didn't look up. "His wound is dire. It requires healing beyond my skill, but your friend Galdor has told me of one among you who might possess that ability."

"Aye." Laeric said. "We sent Barroth off to fetch him, and the rest of the horses. Should be back soon, I reckon."

Arya nodded slowly. "I'm sorry I couldn't get there in time. I came as fast as I could."

Strider stilled, and raised his head. "And for that, my lady, I am grateful. But there lies yet another mystery. How came you to us in our time of need? And why? Greatly those questions press at my mind. Once young master Frodo is well again, I would learn the answers."

"I have many questions of my own." Arya said. "I think we all do."

"So it would seem."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the small man on the ground, who Strider had called Frodo. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow, though he appeared to still be sleeping. The cloth wrapped around his shoulder was beginning to turn crimson. Strider reached down and unwrapped it, revealing an ugly stab wound, tinted black around the edges. He had placed more of the crushed greens under the wrappings. Both Sam and Laeric flinched when they saw it, but Arya's expression remained neutral. She had seen far worse in her lifetime.

The sound of trotting hoofbeats reached their ears, and Colden leaped up, walking toward the edge of the ruin. He shielded his eyes with his hand, looking downward.

"Barroth's back." He reported. "And he's brought everyone else."

"I would help them up." Galdor said, striding over. "Or at least tend to the horses. For haste, now, is our chief hope."

He started down the path and disappeared from sight. The hoofbeats came to a stop, and they waited patiently in silence. Frodo gave a small moan in his sleep and shifted restlessly. Sam quickly reached down and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Frodo stilled at the touch and relaxed slightly. Arya regarded the two curiously. She couldn't quite tell what the relationship was between them, but they seemed close.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the silence loudly.

" Cin thír gum, nin mellon !"

Strider's head snapped upward a moment before Arya's did. At the edge of the hill stood Círdan, blue robes billowing lightly in the breeze. He was smiling warmly at Strider, who was staring back in wonder.

" I dú na- dúr a an." Strider responded in the same language. Then his face broke down into a broad grin, and he rushed forward, pulling Círdan into an embrace. The elf lord looked uncomfortable, but remained smiling. Arya watched the exchange with mounting interest.

"My friend!" Strider cried, this time in the common tongue. "Well met indeed! Had I known you were the companion spoken of, I would have gone in haste to greet you myself! But alas, ill is the hour of our reunion. I have here a hobbit, gravely wounded by some devilry of the enemy. I have done my best to remedy it, but it is beyond me to cure such a hurt. The hands of an elf, perhaps, would be better suited to the task."

Círdan looked past him, and, seeing Frodo, he walked over and bent down, examining the injury. He murmured softly to himself, passing a hand lightly over Frodo's face. Sam scooted away and looked on in wonder. Arya kept looking back and forth between Círdan and Strider. She was about to say something, but was cut off when Barroth crested the ridge, followed closely by Teidrin and Galdor. His face lit up when he saw her.

"M'lady!" He said. "Well, I'm glad to see you alright, that's for sure." He glanced around, and saw Círdan stooped over Frodo's limp body. Leaning in conspiratorially, he whispered, "Looks like I'm not the only one with a bite on my shoulder any more, eh?"

A ghost of a smile passed over Arya's lips, and she shook her head slightly. Barroth smirked but said nothing more, and instead sat down heavily on the ground, gingerly tightening his bandages. Arya stood up abruptly, and turned to face Strider.

"You know Círdan?" She asked.

He nodded. "I have spent many years travelling these lands. He has always been a friend to me when I have journeyed far enough Westward to come to his havens."

Arya considered that. It made sense, she decided. Of course Círdan would know people. He had been around for a long time, if what he told her was true. She sat back down, thinking. She didn't trust Círdan completely, and she definitely didn't trust Strider yet. But she was willing to put up with them for the time being, at least until she learned more. Círdan stood and spoke then, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"It is a grievous injury." He said gravely. "But not deadly, perhaps." He turned to face Strider. "You did well bathing it with athelas , Estel, and other than that, my skills here will not be of any avail. We must bring him swiftly to Elrond in Imladris. There are few maladies he cannot cure. Our road lay there from the beginning, and now it seems our paths have aligned."

"Our road lay there also." Strider answered. "But we have no riding horses save those you and your company brought."

"Then I would bid you ride ahead alone with your wards." Círdan said. "I would send also the Lady Arya with you, for her errand is of great importance, and her injury, too, is in need of proper healing."

Arya started at her name, but said nothing, watching Círdan keenly, trying to sense any evil intent in his words. She found none. It did make sense for her to get to Elrond before he did. Strider looked over at her.

"Do you object to that, my lady?"

She shook her head slowly. "No, It makes sense. I'll go, as long as my men can go with me."

Círdan stroked his chin thoughtfully. " I believe we could make that work. Galdor and I will stay with the three perian , which leaves seven remaining. We will go on foot, and should reach the valley nigh two days after you, with luck."

"Then it is settled." Said Strider. "We will leave immediately. Time, I fear, is against us."

Sam, who had been listening in from his position next to Frodo's body, jumped to his feet indignantly.

"Beggin' your pardon," He started, "But I ain't gonna leave master Frodo. No sir, I ain't. You'll have to bring me with you."

He looked up at them defiantly, a small, bright fire blazing in his eyes. Arya suppressed a laugh at the sight of such a small, ordinary little figure like Sam glaring at the noble, kingly elf lord. Strider, too, had a look of amusement on his face, but kept his voice steady as he answered.

"Of course you won't, Sam. I shouldn't have expected it. You and your master should both fit on one horse. Anyway, I doubt he'll be able to ride long on his own."

Sam gave a curt nod, but the relief in his eyes was clear to see. He straightened his back, and gave another small nod before casting his eyes downward.

"I… uh… Well, thank you, sirs. I'll take good care of him, you can count on that."

Strider smiled. "I know you will."

They all set off together, descending the hill. On the walk down, Arya was up front, beside Strider. Galdor brought up the rear, bearing Frodo in his arms. As they passed the dell where the battle had taken place the night before, Arya suddenly remembered something.

"S-Strider." She began haltingly. The name felt strange in her mouth. "Where is my sword? I lost it last night."

"Ah, yes. I had almost forgotten." Strider pulled aside his long, shabby cloak, revealing Needle hanging from his belt, next to another sheathed sword with an ornate handle.

"I found this on the hillside, where it fell. It is a fine blade, I must say, if quite small."

He handed it over to her carefully, hilt first. She accepted it gratefully, and slid it back into its place in her own belt. The familiar weight was comfortable, lifting her spirits. She did not like to be parted from it, even if it was only for a little while.

"You have a sword of your own." She pointed out as they continued. "Why didn't you use it?"

Strider looked down at the sheath at his side, then gazed out over the plains, as if deep in thought. Arya wondered for a moment if he had heard her or not. Eventually, though, he answered.

"It would not have done me much good." He reached down and unsheathed it. To Arya's surprise, it was broken off just above the hilt jaggedly, as if it had been torn in two.

"Then… Why keep it?" She asked.

"The day is coming when it shall be reforged." Strider told her. "And it is an heirloom of my house, and has been passed down through the generations. I would trust it to no other man."

He slid the broken weapon back into its resting place gently, almost reverently. Then he gestured toward Needle, hanging at Arya's hip.

"What of your sword, then? Would it not be better to exchange it for one a bit… Larger?"

Arya smiled as they came to the end of the path, and found the horses tethered to a large, crumbling stone pillar, fallen from the heights above. Findel snorted in recognition when she came into view. She stroked her horse's head gently, then turned back to Strider.

"In my experience, I've found that it's not the size of the blade that matters. It's how you use it."