Little Sparrow

Chapter II: To a Homely Hearth

After their morning meal the Rangers began to pack their belongings with easy, movements practiced and fluid for they had done it many times before. Rell stomped out the last embers, making flakes of ash flutter into the air around her, while her uncle hoisted the deer up onto his horse. In the early morning light, he had roused her to take the second watch, and she had watched the sky slowly turn lighter. Dark blue, until the stars faded and the dim sun rose above the eastern horizon. A misty glow of paleness, red and yellow intermingled.

Nothing happened that night worse than a brief drizzle of rain an hour before dawn. And as soon as it was fully light, they started on the road again, their horses well rested and fed from the moist, dewy grass about them. The plains were covered in mist, thinning in the rising sun, and the world appeared ghostly pale in the dimness. The further they travelled, the pair was soon fenced by steep grey hills whose sides were clad with trees, until the grass beneath them made way to grey rocks.

Time passed, and they continued on; through willow-thickets and past great oakwoods, climbing on the skirts of the hills. In the shades of dark boles and cliff walls. In the distance to her left, the mists lay over the marshes fed by the Loudwater, and an acrid stench was in the air as the wind was brought to them. They followed the path in silence, taking the winding way up the green shoulders of the hills; and down once more.

Mile by mile the path wound away, all the lands were green and grey and still.

At length the rocks towered up as the sun climbed across the sky. The clear light bore down on her, warm on her dark hair until beads of sweat trickled down her brow, despite the passing of seasons. She rolled up her sleeves, and it was not long before she had emptied her waterskin. It had been a warm Autumn. Clacking hoofs reverberated between the rock walls, now jagged ridges so tall on both sides they obstructed her view of the surrounding lands.

Nevertheless, she worried not, where she might have any other place, for there was a thrum in the air that spoke of ancient and powerful magic. Elvish magic. White flowers bloomed, their green vines twisting around saw-toothed stones with little care; in the distance a roar rose, first but a soft mumble in the air that steadily grew, but soon the first waterfalls came into view in the valley below.

The path was narrow, following the bluff while slowly descending, and an abrupt drop met her when she gazed down.

Rushing waters cut through the valley, white foam crushing against the riverbank in rapid swirls. Rell expected guards had already spotted them upon entering the valley, bringing news to the Lord of the Last Homely House East of the Sea, who would soon stand ready to receive them. Around them there were no great walls nor fortifications save for the natural protection, provided by the valley's high ridges; yet Rell felt no worry once the silent hum of magic engulfed her. Here was safety.

There was only a single pathway across several bridges, spanning the rolling river, too narrow to be taken by any host of enemies if there were any within that could hold weapons. And certainly they would be met with resistance, for many a great Elf-Lord called Imladris home. Rell gazed with wonder, for it was more splendid than any other place she had visited – only truly rivalled by the woods of Lothlórien, where she had walked only once years before.

No matter how many times she came to Rivendell, she would admire its beauty with reverence.

They passed beneath the arch at the last bridge, and the warm sun that shone down beyond the ridge glowed here on the smooth walls and pillars. Blindingly white and with an ethereal beauty that left visitors breathless. Rell dismounted and pulled her horse into the courtyard. Already it seemed, just as she had predicted, that word of their coming had gone before them.

Servants of Lord Elrond took away their travel-weary horses, neither mount appearing in the slightest reluctant to part with their masters at the soft words of Elvish promises, of oats and carrots. Traitor, she thought with good humour, knowing well she would have done the same. Another Elf, fair to behold as they all were, led them inside, but here the Rangers parted ways. This time it was promises of a warm bath and fresh clothes that lured Rell to a small and private chamber. Her uncle had council to seek in the Hall of Fire, which interested her very little in that moment. She had smelled terrible for weeks now.

The small room was familiar; Rell had stayed there many times before when they returned from the road, and she could not help but wryly wonder if not the Elves soon thought the place to be hers. Clothes were already laid out for her on a small cabinet; soft wool and silks brushed against her hands as she pooled them, feeling the fabrics run through her fingers. A dark blue shirt embroidered with thin, golden threads, and trousers in a brown almost black fabric. Simple but indisputably beautiful.

Rell loosened the belt around her waist, setting her weapons aside as a large tub caught her attention. The wood was carved with small, intricate flowers and leaves, running along the edge. It was already filled with clear water; steam welled up, filling the room with a floral scent of honey-flowers and daffodils, and she dipped her fingers in to gauge the temperature. Perfect.

Then she stepped fully out of her clothes, folded them carefully before putting them aside, and quickly submerged herself in the warm water with satisfaction. A sigh escaped her lips. Her muscles instantly responded to the heat, the tautness draining like a dam breaking. Holding her breath for a few, long moments to soak her hair below the water, she soon resurfaced with droplets trickling down her skin.

Rolling her stiff neck, she watched rings forming on the surface, growing large only to soon disappear, while scrubbing away at the grime and dirt on her skin with vigour. The water swirled to a murky brown from all the gathered dust and mud from the road, and she absently fiddled with a few small scabs running the length of her leg. It would not be long before they would heal fully, fading into small and white-dotted scars to accompany the many others that littered her skin.

Her body was flecked with bruises and injuries, most naught but small nicks collected during practice, though a larger mark bloomed over her lower abdomen, a yellow-blue flower of blackening discoloration. A hand brushed over the skin to appraise her injury and she winced, pulling a face. She had dodged the blade swung at her, aimed to separate her head from her shoulders, but in her resulting fall she had instead landed down hard onto rocks.

With a sigh she leaned back, resting her head against the edge of the tub, and allowed her mind to wander.

Golden light shone through the opened doors, leading out to a small balcony overlooking the valley below. Thin curtains fluttered in the breeze, and long shadows danced across the ceiling; Rell stayed in the water long after it had turned cold, knowing well her presence would not be needed until evening. There was no rush. And she was tired and weary, and all the on goings of the world she left to her wise uncle for there was little she could say. The world was a vast place; with many people, from the common farmer in his field, to great kings and queens in halls of white marble. Rell knew very little of such things, and she was much content leaving her uncle to handle matters of great importance.

She was no great leader of Men.

Rell had spent time in Rivendell before; here she learned to read and write, to speak the languages of the Eldar – although the ancient Quenya proved a challenge that, in the end, she gave up on. Her teachers, Elves, who had indulged the young mortal in her quest for knowledge and with little else to spend their eternal time on, had found her sullen temper delightful and pressed no further.

Here was a place of learning, of shared knowledge, but it was never forced upon its visitors. Of course, her uncle had another opinion on that matter. He relented when she instead mastered Sindarin; for most Elves still living East of the great seas understood the language, and – as Rell interjected – she spent much more of her time amongst Men. They would understand very little. All the foregone days of old had long passed to be forgotten, and her interests lay in the open lands and a world yet to be explored. While she could recite every lineage of Kings, backwards and forwards; standing on her head; from the First Age to present day, her passion drew her mind elsewhere.

In the great libraries she found beautifully preserved scrolls, the thinnest of parchment so light to the touch that it would almost crumble, and trace every border of land, mountain range, and river until they became unforgettable in her mind. They called to her. Gripping the edge of the tub, she climbed out and draped a soft towel around her body. Water pooled around her feet. Youthful rashness, her uncle fondly called it, whenever she attempted to shy away from lessons of nobility and courtly manners. Avoiding subjects she found of no interest.

Pointless, was her usual response.

Rell stepped out onto the balcony, the cloth secured tightly around her, and felt the warmth of sunlight on her skin. Down by the river a small group of elves rested upon the stones, and the music they created weaved up in the air; it was playful and light, the tune a witty race against the roars of rushing waters, in a race to find the quicker one, and she leaned against the banister with eyes closed.

She listened, drying in the warm air for a while she knew not how long.

When finally dressed, the young Ranger left the small chamber and ventured out into the house. First considering to track down her uncle, Rell followed the corridor and passed several doors on both sides; on second thoughts, she instead steered towards the gardens, for even if he had finished council with Lord Elrond, surely the Dúnedain chieftain had sought out other company rather than hers. For, earlier that very year, word had been sent for Lady Arwen to return to Imladris as the lands eastward grew increasingly dangerous.

Rell smiled at the thought.

The courtship was the very epitome of bashful propriety, but the affectionate looks and hidden glances did not go unnoticed by Rell. Indeed not, the endearment between Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar, and the mortal Estel, Aragorn son of Arathorn, was obvious for those who knew them well. Rell prayed he would find happiness, for the life of a Ranger was often grim, walking the road of hardships and tribulations, and surely peace could be found with the beautiful maiden.

He deserved happiness.

Rell stepped outside.

White flowers bloomed, the air heavy in sweetness, as if the passing from Autumn to Winter had no power over Imladris; the path she walked was cast in shadows, branches intertwined above her head where the trees grew dense, and it winded down the slope away from the main house. A stream wove in and out between flat stones, chuckling as it went along, but soon a small clearing opened before her between silvery boles.

For a moment Rell halted, gaze transfixed on the still statue bathed in golden beams of light that fell upon the trees and glade. But then a wind drew a blanket of clouds over the sky, and the glow faded. Her eyes grew accustomed to the newly fallen gloom; then she stepped forward, the pebbles crunching below her boots as she approached the grave. Rell had never met her grandmother, for Gilraen had resided in Rivendell ever since her husband's death many years ago.

She kneeled at the foot of the statue, so life-like in appearance; solemn and sorrowful, in a way that spoke much about the woman's life. Rell could scarcely fathom what it would be like, to lose the one you love and live more than seventy years without him. No beauty or magic of the Elves could heal a wound to the grieving heart. But she had raised two children to adulthood, done her duty to carry on the bloodline of the old Kings of Arnor, before she had joined her husband in the world beyond theirs.

"Greetings, grandmother," she said softly, a smile playing at her lips. It was but a silly notion to speak with the dead, but she found some unexpected comfort in doing so. "I have returned – and I made sure to keep your son out of trouble." Rell pulled a face, considering her own words for the briefest of moments. "If he was here with us now, he would likely claim it to be otherwise and rather I, that need watching. But we both know better, yes?"

Calloused hands gently brushed away fallen leaves and earth from the marble stone. The Elves were diligent in their care of the grave, but still it was seldom visited upon, as to them years were but the blink of an eye. Only the Dúnedain truly came to pay their respects, and more often than not they were called away by duty. Time and neglect showed, even if only in the smallest of details. The slight discolouring; the pure white turning dull. Greying. Shifting in discomfort from the cold protruding stones digging into her legs, Rell gazed up on the smooth face.

A soft and melodious laugh stirred the quietude, and even though she knew not to fear enemies here, under the protection of Rivendell, she nonetheless startled at the sound. Rell turned quickly; not with the intent to strike at the person, but rather with a wry smile spreading across her features. "Le suilon, Lady Arwen!" She scampered to her feet, bowing in greeting at the revered half-elven. A palm pressed flat against her chest. "I did not expect to meet you here."

Not when my uncle is elsewhere, she added in silent thought.

The Elf, an ethereal beauty rivalling that of the fair maiden Lúthien of olden legends, mirrored her motions – though with a whole lot of grace more than Rell. "Avarell," the lady spoke; her voice was kind, other-worldly gentle and light-hearted, and the grey eyes twinkled in the sunlight. More than likely with amusement. "My father wishes for you to join them, and I was tasked in finding you for him."

"My lady, you should have but sent a servant to collect me, and not yourself," Rell said, apologetic to have forced one so fair to such a task.

It felt awfully wrong to her.

A smile was the first reply, but then Arwen shook her head; dark locks of hair rolled down her shoulders, gleaming almost inky black in the dimness of the glade, and she held out a hand. Beckoning for Rell to come to her on the path. "It was no inconvenience to me, for I much enjoy the freshness of the air before dinner. And the garden is beautiful this time of year. Now come, if you please, let us walk together."

While Rell was tall for a mortal, due to the blood of the Númenor flowing unbroken through her veins, she was of no match against the maiden at her side. Slender and tall in the perennial blue robes girt with silver, a regal air in her bearings that bore the half-elven forward with grace; where the Ranger was lean and toned, with strength to throw most men she came about. Even those twice her size. The Elf turned and went slowly up the path towards the house, barely making a sound on the gravel path.

In the presence of the other, Rell felt like a mûmak trampling through the garden; despite the quiet, accustomed feet of a Ranger that left her steps still, in comparison it seemed not so. The sky above and to the east was darkening, fading into distant grey, and wind-blown clouds approached with a promise of rain.

Far away lightning flickered among the tops of hidden hills, but in the wind she could feel a shift to the north, and soon the storm would recede. It would roll away to the rough sea, sparing them from the downpour and the thunder. The pair walked in silence, and it was not long before they passed back into the great house. Lady Arwen led her to an open hall, with windows overlooking the valley below and light slanting in, and here she found her uncle seated. While Rell had enjoyed a long bath, it appeared her companion had had little time to do the same.

His muddied cloak had been discarded, but he still wore the boots and clothes from the road. Sharp-eyed she regarded him, a frown upon her features.

How long had his council been with Lord Elrond? And what about? His eyebrows were deeply furrowed in thought, and many small puffs of smoke welled up from his pipe. Rell knew that look all too well; news – and no good ones for certain, she thought glumly – had reached him. Besides her uncle, four guests sat she did not recognize, and the Lord Elrond. When the customary greetings had been exchanged, and the the great lord gave a brief and humoured comment on her successful hunt, Rell was showed to a seat at the high table with cheeks and ears flaming.

Dinner was served.

After so long journeying and camping, and days spent in the lonely wild, the evening meal seemed a feast; pale yellow wine, watered down for her, was cool and fragrant. To eat bread with butter; salted meats on clean plates, with a fork and a knife. Without dirt under her nails! It was all a very quiet affair, where she first spoke only little and ate much. Over the evening she came to learn that the guests were emissaries from Mirkwood, the great forest in Rhovanion – although they, of course, introduced it as Greenwood the Great. And rather pointedly, at that.

What news brought on behalf of the Elvenking Thranduil they would not speak, but one silver-haired Silvan Elf seated to her right told her other tales of the world. Rell listened more than she spoke for she had little of her own to share that could be of interest. There was much to tell of the events in the northern regions of Wilderland, and in the lands between the Mountains and Mirkwood neither orc nor wolf yet dared to go. Or, at least, ever managed to escape alive.

"Though it is still a hazardous journey to Imladris," the Elf explained. His words were in Sindarin, for Rell had quickly learned how little he could speak in the Common tongue. It had not come to her as a shock; Silvan Elves were known to be secretive and proud, and often they preferred seclusion from the other races, unlike their distant kin that were open to the neighbouring lands. They had little use of other the tongues of the wide world beyond their borders.

Dangers lurked in many places, he told her, and while the gates to the Elvenking's Halls had previously been barred for most, they now broadened their relationships with both Men and Dwarves. One more welcome than the other, the Elf had added, and Rell, of course, knew of which he preferred. He shared with her stories of great spiders, with webs un-pierceable by most weapons, and goblins and trolls venturing further from the Grey Mountains. Darkness spreading, reaching ever further. The enemy grew bolder. Too bold. She latched on to his every word and was an ever captivated listener, asking many questions about all he said.

At length the feast came to an end. Elrond and Arwen rose and went down the corridor, and the last of the guests followed them in due order; they then entering a great hall flanked by pillars on either side, where a bright fire burned in the hearth. It was a place of stories, one where they had often spend the hours of night and the first of dawn, listening.

While the elves each found a seat and minstrels began to make music, Aragorn led Rell to a alchove partially hidden from the company. Her gaze swept across his features attentively, for her unease had grown much during the dinner. The Dúnedain chieftain had spoken only very little, hushed and in secret, with Lord Elrond and no one else; weariness was in his face, even more than it had been on the road, and it was a great concern to her.

Rell chewed her lip, debating whether to voice her thoughts or keep quiet.

But then Aragorn made the choice for her. He pressed a sealed envelope into her palm, insistently, and, as she turned it over in her hands, he then spoke. "I need you to return on your own." Her thumb ghosted over the gleaming seal of red wax, the six-pointed star, allowing the words to settle in her mind. Her brow furrowed, and her finger paused. "Bring this letter to Halbarad, in it he will find instructions to follow while I am away."

"Away?" She repeated in surprise; Rell found the word to be strange in her mouth, foreign, as if she had heard him wrong. He was to go, and she could not follow? So very little sense it made to her. "Am I not to go with you?"

Sensing her apprehension he placed a hand on her shoulder, but his tone was strict and closed for discussion. There was no patience in his words. "You have yet to finish your training, and I have received news from Rhovanion that must not be ignored. I cannot do both, and this is of grave importance. I will depart soon, tonight at the latest. And for this task I shall go alone."

"Then surely I should come with you!" Rell argued, brushing aside his words. She clutched at the letter until it was crumbled in her hand. If she had been a little younger, she would surely have stomped her feet. "It would make much more sense in order to complete my training as a Ranger. I have yet to experience those lands so far beyond the mountains; I know everything there is to know about Eriador, the rivers and hills are as familiar as my own hands. The paths, well-trodden and hidden – I know them all. Every bird and beast. Should a Ranger not know all of the world?"

Aragorn shook his head, but she did not allow him to speak.

"If you will not allow me to go with you, then I shall just follow on my own!"

At this his gaze hardened. "No, Rell, you will return to Halbarad with the letter. As your Chieftain I command this of you." His words made her divert her eyes, ashamed, now turned to the shadowed floor in quiet resignation; even if she wanted to, there were some things she could not argue against. This matter was not for disobedience, and while her uncle gave her many liberties now was not one of them. The order was direct, and she was sworn to follow. "Do I make myself clear?"

She remained silent.

"Rell?"

She chewed the inside of her mouth, remaining silent.

"Avarell?"

"Yes," she murmured, "I understand, uncle."

Yet her mind reeled in disarrayed thoughts. Where was he going that made it too dangerous for her to go? Was it the strange creature he had hunted for years, now to bring the Ranger far from home? When would he return? With her mind still jumbled, Rell was then informed of her own departure that very same evening; a light meal and water had been prepared by servants of Lord Elrond, and her clothes cleaned, washed, and dried. New arrows, long and strong, filled her quiver. She was to depart from Rivendell at the same time as her uncle, but soon the road would split and she would continue on her own – and he would disappear into the thicket of trees, going into the East.

Where the enemy's power grew ever stronger.

Without her.

Riding was not unpleasant, for the slopes were but gentle hills and the sun was shining, clear but not too hot on her hooded head. The woods in the valley were still full of colour, and it all seemed so peaceful; Rell followed many turns, winding between great boulders and small chuckling creaks, and indeed it would not have been at all unpleasant – if not for the fact she was returning to the Angle alone.

She saw no sign and heard no sound of any other living creatures, except for a swift-passing shadow of a bird high above, or a quick-footed fox slipping through the bushes, and she was left alone with her thoughts. Despite the letter weighing close to nothing, it felt heavy in her pocket; a feather coated in lead. Burning into her mind, gnawing at her heavy heart. Rell had left Rivendell in the late afternoon, and she had spent the day feeling miserable and lonely. Worried. Ahead, a line of hills rose from the horizon, and soon it would close in around her and the slope she now walked would steadily descent.

All that day she plodded along, until the cold and early evening came down upon her. Mists lay heavy over the plains, grey and damp, and the bleak and treeless backs of the hills loomed on above. The road was still running steadily downhill, and there was now much grass and nothing else growing on either side. Soon the light of the sun paled, dimmed, until the sphere set in a last blaze of orange and red. Then darkness came about her. The only warmth radiated from her horse, trotting faithfully along and proved quite undisturbed by her sullen mood.

Several times she found her fingers absently fumbling with the silver brooch, fastened to her cloak, turning it over in her hand.

When finally lights gleamed through the vapours, only tiny dots in the dark at first, she could soon make out the contours of a village. Dark, almost one with the night, but there it was. The Angle was a bowl-shaped hollow, sheltered by steep cliffs and hills, just a day's journey from Imladris to the south-west; the only road was the one Rell was following, winding through a landscape of hills watched by both Elves and Rangers. Here lived the last remnants of the Dúnedain of Arnor – her family, and friends she had known since childhood.

She reined in her horse on top of the last hill and looked back, away from the village lights, into the darkness of night. Hesitation fell on her, her gloved fingers balled into fists, and a pull drew her heart to the distant east. Foreboding thoughts drained away her already waning resolve. Biting the inside of her mouth, she stirred her steed forward, and they scrambled on through the weary night. A wind brushed against her face, chill and damp.

With her head bowed, she reached the small village of thatched roofs and stone hedges.

The guards, huddled around a brazier for warmth and cloaked in wool and fur, stepped forward upon her approach. They wielded long spears, but could easily recognize one of their own even in the dim light, and greeted her with cordiality. She lowered her hood, nodding a swift acknowledgment to all three Rangers. "Well met, Avarell," one said and stepped forward, spearhead now rested against the ground. Then his gaze flickered past her and a look of bewilderment came over his features. "Has the chieftain not returned with you?"

"No," she responded tersely, saying nothing more. Bowing her head in farewell, she motioned to carry on and her horse tripped in mirrored impatience. The guards stepped aside, allowing her passage down the uneven road. Their faces held confusion, and she paused. "His presence was needed elsewhere," Rell added quietly.

There were no more than a dozen houses in the village, and often more than one family shared a home; the women found solace in each other when the men were away, and – her mind added – so few remain. Many homes stood empty. Their numbers were ever dwindling. Lights still burned in a couple of cottages, but most had turned in for the night. A quietness lay heavy over the settlement, only broken by her horse's clip-clop of hoofs beating down on the dust path. A goat bleated softly. Rell came to the largest house in the village, and here she found the orange glow of a fire pouring out from the windows.

She dismounted, quickly securing her horse to a wooden post and, after digging a carrot from her satchel to feed it, stepped up to the door. At first no response came from her swift-falling knocks, but then booted steps approached from beyond; the door was pried open on screeching hinges to reveal a familiar face. The man, hands relaxed but hovering close to the hilt of his sword, appeared surprised and his grey eyes swept swiftly over her. "Already, you have returned?"

"I have," she said and stepped past him inside.

The heat of the room hit her immediately, setting her chilled skin ablaze. Rell pulled off her bow, quiver, and cloak before turning to him; Halbarad, trusted captain to the Dúnedain chieftain, looked the same as when she set out a month earlier. Dark greying hair, a weathered face, and the large build of a warrior – other than the already healing gash across his cheek and purple-swelling marks.

Rell nodded her head at the injury. "What happened?"

"Just a bandit that got lucky," he replied.

The door was shut with a low click. "Or you are getting slow in your old age," she laughed, and even more so with the look he leveled her way. Discarding her cloak over a chair, she then walked to the fire and crouched, hands outstretched before her. A pause followed, where Rell watched the dancing flames in deep thought, as dreadful fears chased one another through her mind, but finally she spoke again. "I bring a message from my uncle, for he had to continue the journey further east and could not yet return."

She rose, finding the letter, and she handed it over. The Ranger quickly broke the seal, pacing back and forth across the floor, while she slumped into a chair by the fire. Her gaze followed him, waiting quietly, silently; her weariness and concern slowly giving way to fatigue, though she refused sleep to claim her mind. Not yet. "I see," Halbarad finally spoke, pace lessening, before he glanced her way thoughtfully.

He quickly walked off, entering what she knew to be the small adjacent pantry, and soon after returned. Rell was then offered a wooden bowl and a loaf of bread, and so her attention was turned to the pot over the fire with a nod of his head. She did not argue against the offering of food, for her stomach churned at the mere thought. The road and her worry had been long-stretched.

The soup was hot, almost scalding, but it warmed her chilled body – and she was starved.

While she ate, the pair sat in silence, but her gaze flickered ever so often to the letter now on the table before her. Rell chewed slowly, carefully thinking, before finishing a second bowl. The bread was long gone. Stifling a yawn, eyes watering, she fell back in the chair and stretched. How long had it been since she last slept properly? The freshly made and comfortable bed in Rivendell had been left behind, unused.

"You look exhausted," Halbarad said, keen eyes watching her. "Take my bed and get some rest, preferably before you fall over your own two feet! I will take care of your horse."

Suppressing the urge to inquire about the letter, she mumbled her thanks and slipped into a small alcove, shielded from view by heavy curtains. The wind howled as the door was opened and shut again, but then she focused her attention on the bed. While her trousers were mud-flecked from the road, Rell found herself to be too tired to discard them, and instead left the problem for the morning light.

She pulled off her boots, loosened the belt and her weapons to rest them against the bedside within reach; then she rolled the coarse covers around her body, and attempted to settle for the night. Turning over once, twice, thrice until she finally curled into a bundle of sheets with only strands of hair poking out.

The only problem proved to be that, despite how tired both her mind and body felt, sleep evaded her.

At first Rell lay with her eyes closed, attempting to empty her mind of whirling thoughts, while lights danced across her eyelids. Listening, as Halbarad entered the house once more, the footsteps across the floor, and the rattling and creaking boards as the winds of the night raged outside. With a soft sigh she turned over, now watching the darkened ceiling. Despite her best attempts, conflict still brewed in her gut, and she was no less against leaving her uncle than she had been in Rivendell. In fact, if anything, she felt even more obstinate.

She pressed open palms against her eyes, letting out a muted groan.

How could she disregard the orders from her chieftain? Disobedience would surely – and rightfully so – deserve punishment, but neither did it feel right to leave her uncle. Whatever the Grey Wizard had tasked him with, and even if she had not been allowed in on the council, surely two Rangers were better than one. The letter has been delivered to Halbarad, the alluring call of her mind whispered, enticing her to act, that was all he asked of you.

Rell sat upright, eyes snapping open.

Her uncle's orders said nothing about her staying in the Angle.

Knowing well she was twisting his words to fit her, warping the truth, the idea quickly settled in her mind. If it ever came to her arguing what was right or wrong in this matter, she was likely to be scolded worse than ever before. But it was an excuse, good or terrible mattered little to her in that moment. Rell took it without hesitation.

Now waiting, Rell listened intently for Halbarad's breathing to calm beyond the curtains, and she carefully slipped into her boots. It was no easy task to sneak past a Ranger, and she could feel her heart hammering in her chest. When finally she felt assured he was asleep, a good hour of agonizing anticipation later, she pulled the curtains aside and stepped out onto the floor. He was sleeping in a chair, arms crossed over his chest by the warmth of the fireplace – and the letter on the table nearby.

Silently stepping closer, she picked up the letter all the while her gaze flickered nervously to the sleeping form. It would be wrong to read the contents, but knowing very little of her uncle's destination Rell needed more information. No harm could come from it – and no one would ever be the wiser. Inside, written in his strong but swift script was the following message:

Halbarad,

News have reached me here in Rivendell, and I must go off at once. I shall leave command to you in my absence. It is imperative that the watch around the Shire must remain until my return, and you may choose who you must for the task. The training of Avarell I leave in your hands, and if you deem her fit for it, she may join the western post alongside you. I will be travelling through the Pass of Imladris and further along the Anduin, but I will disclose no further of my way for I know not what I will find. The road may lead elsewhere. I will return as soon as I am able.

Strider.

Rell read the letter twice over, committing it to memory, before returning it to its place on the table. She swept the pantry for dried jerky and apples, as well as a couple of honey-breads; a wrapped block of cheese, and a small bag of nuts soon followed. Her waterskin she could refill on the road whenever she passed a stream. With her sword at her side, bow and quiver across her back, Rell breathed deeply. Then she grabbed her satchel and noiselessly slipped out of the door, hoping the hinges to be silent as to not alert the Ranger of her departure.

Outside was black, the waning crescent but a thin line of silver in a cloudless sky. With purposeful strides she crossed the square, knowing well a figure sneaking through the dark would raise suspicions, and slipped into the large stables. Most horses were fast asleep, only few stirring as she passed them with ears twitching; halfway down the line, Rell found a pair of clever orbs watching her. Halbarad had fed her horse a good deal of oats, and it was far too occupied to be asleep – let alone pay her any attention.

"I am sorry to take you from a well-deserved meal, Luin, but we must be on our way again."

Pulling the saddle down from the fence, Rell prepared the horse in a hurry, while her ears were trained on any sound from outside. The grey-dappled mare tripped back and forth, and more than once nudged her with its long neck to show its reluctance. When done, she took the bridle and steered the horse from the stables into the cold night. As if sensing its owner's mood, the mare made no sound, and she could mount without issue; then they rode through the sleeping village in a slowed pace, until finally reaching the guard-post once more.

Rell quickly explained her purpose; that she had only returned as a messenger, and that she was to join her uncle in the Wilderlands. They did not question her – and she pretended to let their hesitant glances go unnoticed. Then, hand raised in farewell, she spurred her horse forward. At once it sprang away and sped like the wind along the path, hoofs thundering in the silence. She looked back for a moment over her shoulder, fearful to see shadows springing out after her.

But the shadows of the village grew smaller, and soon only the lights of the braziers could be seen; two yellow eyes in the dark. She rode far in the cold chill hours before the first stir of dawn, and the moon was low; if she did not know the lands as well as she did, never would she have risked such a pace. But a distance had to be made, before the older Ranger would notice her disappearance and a pursuit would begin.

She felt no pull of sleep, but rather a vigour renewed with the fresh wind against her face. Cold stars were glinting in the sky. Eagerness welled up inside of her to hurry southwards, and she pushed Luin through the night and further still. With morning, the weather was grey and overcast, with an unrelenting wind bearing down on the traveler. The great green hills passed her in a blur, and the sunset was pale over its contoured ridges. Only a few hours after dawn, she left the jagged rock-lands of the Angle.

Ahead stretched open and unclaimed lands, for many miles still, until they would reach the foothills of the mountains.

Faintly she could make out the snow-capped peaks of Hithaeglir, through the haze that lay about the plains as a grey cover draped over the world. A stillness in the heavy air foreboded storm, and she urged her horse forward. If luck was on her side the rain would hide the trail, and the pursuers – for surely Halbarad would send someone out for her – would lose track of her path.

I shall apologize upon my return, she thought, knowing well the trouble she was causing. And hope that they will come to forgive me.