I am still very much alive! And I'm still writing, agonisingly slow and oh-so-terribly malcontent with my own work, but with a rekindled energy to push this story forward. I had a bit of a moment where I just was not satisfied, and felt like I had turned in a direction not first planned, but I am back on track.

I still love this story, and I will see it through to the end (in a very, very distant future, because oh boy are we far from done!). Rell should feel very blessed, because apparently with the coming of Spring in the real world, I have taken pity on her.

This chapter is a happy one – to think any of us would live to see such a day. And, saying a lot about me, I have a very hard time writing happy things compared to suffering and hurt. Why is it so much easier to throw a character off a cliff, than give them a moment's peace and quiet? Good thing we all know what's coming in the books ...

Thank you all so much for your continued interest in this little story of mine. I hope you will keep me company still, I appreciate it. As always, your reviews kindle this writer's fire: THANK YOU to saddlesore, turtlethewriter, kyulkyul, Diarona, Doria Nell, vandena3, StarKidOnPigFarts, 94Spring and the guest review. You are all MVP's in my head.

Now, hopefully, enjoy!

Little Sparrow

Chapter XXII: Under the Golden Light

She saw a pack of beautiful horses, shining like mother-of-pearl in the light of a clear sun. They ran towards her on a field of flowers, and their manes were white and pure as snow. With tails held high they came in mirth, moving playfully and lithe for there was no evil in their lands. They were not wild, although they were moving freely and without command. But further behind the playful and unsaddled horses came another. Riding on it was a young man.

She raised an arm, for the bright sun was in her eyes. The rider came before her. She saw not his face, though knew he was fair and noble. It was as though she knew him. He spoke, but she could not hear the words. Around them, the horses thundered by and the ground trembled; he spoke again, though to no avail. The light grew until she could see nothing more than a black silhouette before her. He reached down a hand for her, and she stretched her own to meet his.

She took it.

Rell woke.

Soft light filled everything. As if walking in a field of shimmering gold, where she could see nothing but brightness before her. Behind her, around her, and everywhere. And everything was warm. Was she still dreaming? It was as if the pack of horses still thundered by in the distance, a tremble caught in her ears that rolled by over and over again. Loud and deafening. All other sounds were submerged into deep, black waters, and her mind could recall so little else. The hand … his hand … She blinked, blurriness fading, as her surroundings became slowly clearer. Who?

Her limbs were heavy, unmovable; so heavy and dark, so different from the beautiful light of gold that encircled her. Then, suddenly, as if sleeping had become perilous, panic took her. She held no control over her body. A lifeless lump of stone, immobile and useless – and pain. So much pain. Such agony overcame her, all at once, as if her entire being had caught fire. She cried out, yet the sound drowned against the thundering, rolling beat and died on her lips.

She trashed and struggled, but could not move.

Caught. Like she had been by the Orcs on the banks of the Anduin; the excruciating torment, the helplessness. The struggle. Dying. Have I died? And still the light-gold glow filled her vision, blurred by tears with every small return of memories; though, slowly, dark-woven silhouettes broke through the brilliant sameness, and her eyes fought to keep focus on them. She struggled against the light.

Something gripped her hand. Fingers.

Gentle, but firm; someone – a reassurance and unspoken promise – was with her in the light, now already fading all around into nothing, as the shadows grew and melded. A voice spoke to her. But it came to her through the constant roar, intangible and indiscernible, and, despite her desire to, she understood it not. The shadow became clearer. Her vision swam. "Where–," she tried to speak, though could get nothing more out; from thoughts to words. The question died on her lips.

She knew him.

A warm, careful touch came to her brow, and her eyes closed. Cool and near. "You are safe," he said. At his words, she cried. "We are here with you." The voice was light, masking concern, and she could not hear everything, though he spoke still. It came in fragments, pieced together by her confused mind. A feeble attempt to understand. "Rest now and regain your strength. When you wake, we will have much to talk about."

And so it was that Rell allowed an exhausted sleep to reclaim her muddled thoughts, where many questions and little reason whirred enmeshed. The golden light had dimmed, faded to nothing.

Then, everything became entirely dark.

Whether Rell slept for a day, or mayhab weeks, was hard to tell, for fatigue clung ever still to her when once more she came to. Every part of her would ache, deep and dull throbs, or with sharp tugs of pain her constant companions; she could not sit without aid, let alone move, and only for short moments at a time. No strength was in her gaze to marvel at the beauty of Lothlórien – of Caras Galadhon, under the great canopy of mallorn trees, to where she had been brought some time after the river-drop.

On a flet in the trees she spent her time, watching day and night of eternal gold slip by; unchanged, always the same as she weaved between fevers and wakefulness. It was much like her dream, but Rell knew she had lived. The shadow; the horses and the rider; the intangible shapes from her dream did not visit her again, and she was left wondering if it had been truly real or something else.

But she was never left alone with her thoughts for long.

The Elves tended her wounds, gracefully and with care, and Rell allowed all of it without grievances, albeit with much wonderment. No matter how hard she wondered, it made no sense; from the eastern borders of Rohan by the outskirts of Anduin's forests, to the hidden realm of the Galadhrim. How did it come to be? Of all she remembered – and most things very, if not too, vividly – from the ambush in the night, the fight and the fall … the river, struggling and drowning; Rell could recall nothing more beyond the vast field of gold upon which she had stumbled.

She tried to find answers with her caregivers, by questions mumbled through her bouts of fever, or in the brief moments where clarity struck her. One day soon came to follow the next, yet Rell received the same reply. Rest now, they would tell her. All would be explained in due time.

And in the whirlwind of unanswered inquiries and nothing else to do but rest, Rell could watch the true state of her injuries; her bandaged leg that hurt from a mere touch, a cut bone-deep from the Orc's jagged blade. She would walk again, the Elves assured her. Scarred. Still useful. But, what truly made coldness overtake her and dread fill her heart, was when they on the third day of clarity revealed her bandaged arm to her.

No words of comfort could ease her sorrow then.

While the bone had been set properly after her fall in Emyn Muil many moons ago, the hardships Rell had faced after had left the limb crippled. Her fingers did not heed her will; would not flex nor move the way she wanted them to, and their grip felt rigid. For this, she cried, long and inconsolable until a rawness burned her throat. The healers spoke words of comfort, that time could heal many things – and perhaps the arm as well – but Rell knew in her heart the bitter truth.

The arm was lost from use.

She mourned it, just as she mourned her father's sword, and Luin's fate within the darkness. Her failed pledge. More than anything, she worried and wondered. Her uncle. His fate, and Gollum's with him, on that fateful night where they parted ways. Has he made it? He had promised to wait for her under the eaves of Lothlórien, as long as he was able; hopeful she would make the daunting path through the night.

Surely the Elves knew of his journey. Surely he had made it?

Dismal was the wait for answers, until finally they came to her on the fifth day. Immeasurable relief flooded her heart, when all at long last was revealed. It did not take long before she came to understand what had transpired – after her collapse in a field of wheat, waiting for death to claim her. For one morning much like all the others, with the dawning light she awoke, feeling a gentle touch on her brow. A face – familiar and impossible – became clear before her.

"Halbarad?"

"Hello, little one." The man smiled, tired but touched by gladness as he brushed hair from her face. Rell reached out and clasped his hand in hers; unsure if he was truly there. His skin was cool, and there was a sheen of grime and exhaustion to him, as if he had just then returned from the road. But he was real. "You certainly gave us all a fright," he said, "I feared we had lost you."

She struggled to sit upright, half assisted by him, and felt a bout of faintness overtake her. It was a moment longer before Rell recollected her thoughts, vision swimming with specks of light from a gold-flecked sky. "I am sorry for what I did, for … Leaving." Grey eyes met grey. "But in my heart I knew, felt, he needed me." As her mind dwelled on her uncle, hope lived again as she recalled his words in the night, and all else was pushed aside for more important matters. Desperate was her question. "He said he would wait – is he here? Have you seen Aragorn?"

Five days. He had promised to wait for her, under the eaves of Lothlórien. But for how long have I slept?

Halbarad shook his head, and dejection seized her heart. "No, I have not." His fingers gripped hers, drawing her gaze back to his. Reassurance. "He was here. We missed him but within a day's journey, and now he is making his way East once more together with his companion. To Mirkwood as he had first planned."

They made it. Aragorn had traversed the dark night of the forest unscathed, avoided the hunting Orcs that had turned hungering eyes on her; Gollum remained captive, and their arduous journey had not been in vain. Rell breathed deeply, a jagged gasp against tears – for once of gladness and relief. "Thank the Valar. Is he well? Was he hurt?"

"They had slipped unnoticed by the Orcs, and while he was weary with exhaustion – and great worry for you – he was without injury. He left a message with the wardens, words to be passed on to you should you come by the Golden Woods." With a gentle pat on the top of her hand, Halbarad pulled a small, carefully-folded piece of parchment from his pocket. "Forgive me for reading what was intended for you, but we were left blind without knowledge. I hoped to learn more. You must understand how troubled we were, and have been for quite some time."

He passed the letter to her. "I cannot blame you," Rell said, turning the weathered parchment between her fingers. Then, fumbling, she opened it. Everything became a struggle with one hand, and she was eager to learn its contents. For a while, as her eyes danced across the work of a familiar pen, there was silence around them; in the distance, beyond the quietude of the flet, soft voices came upon the breeze, and the Elves joined together for another day of peace and tranquillity.

Neat scribbles dotted with care, yet swift they had fallen and much remained unsaid. But still, Rell was gladdened by the words, knowing now fully that her uncle had made the daunting flight through the night. And he had waited for her, for as long as he was able.

Avarell,

I pray this letter finds you, and that you have found protection in Lothlórien. Loath I was to leave you, though worse yet is my grieving heart that I cannot wait longer for you here. Our captive must be brought to his destination, much and many depend on this duty, and so I shall see it done. Know that I am proud of you, always I have been and always shall be. When we meet again, let it then be by the hearth of a homely fire.

You will be in my thoughts as I venture onward,

Aragorn

She folded the letter once more, neatly resting in her lap; with a quick stroke of her sleeve, she wiped her eyes. It pained her greatly that he had to carry on his journey – burdened with worry – without knowing if she had survived or fallen by the hands of Orcs. Does he believe me dead? It was a lonely path, now leading her chieftain through hostile lands East. "Did he go alone?"

"The wardens followed him to the border of their lands, but could walk with him no further. Alone he carried on," Halbarad said, finding her uninjured hand in his own as Rell reached out. He was warm, a stark contrast to the coldness beneath her skin. It was difficult to put words to her emotions; indescribable relief, first and foremost, for his safety. But grief remained ever-present in the pit of her stomach, hard and gnawing, churning until bile coated her mouth. She could not go with him. "Worry not, little one. He will be safe."

"I know."

For a long while after, the pair sat together in the shade. Daylight grew about them and soon turned to noon; a golden fire that bloomed brighter and brighter. A cooling wind blew, rustling leaves and branches, and Rell could hear little else beyond the flet. They spoke of many things; most often Rell told parts of her tale, of her long journey across the lands and the people she had met. Ashamed she felt at first, to have left under the cover of darkness and without a word.

Yet Halbarad calmed her, speaking words of reassurance. Again, his warmth encompassed her hand. All had been forgiven – the only thing of importance was her safety. And now, finally, after many moons and months, Rell truly was safe. For a brief moment she marvelled at that thought; how many times had she come close to harm? To death. From the Dunlending attack on the plains of Rohan and her capture in Ithilien. Dread seized her heart as her mind wandered, following along every path she had taken … She knew not which was most terrible; the fall in Emyn Muil, or the plunge into Anduin's rabid waters.

She told Halbarad everything.

It felt to her as though the Valar had held a protective hand above her, shielded her from true harm.

And now there she was, once more reunited with her kin. Rell smiled to herself, pausing in her long tale, and so they sat in thoughtful silence. Turning her face aside she watched small patches of open skies; cloudless and bright, she drew in a deep breath. Her mind was a constant whirl of intertwined thoughts; so difficult it was to separate gladness and fear, and it was not long before her smile faded.

"I was so afraid," she whispered, gaze once more returning to the Ranger by her side. There was sorrow in his grey eyes, but he did not speak; Halbarad watched her, quietly, allowing her a chance to continue. Her useful hand clasped the injury, rubbing circles into the linen until pain was drawn from the wound. Her vision turned blurry.

She was crying.

Unbeknownst to her and for how long, tears had trickled silently down her cheeks, but it now seemed as though a dam was breaking. Opening up for all the horrid things she had buried deep, so very deep down, inside her own head. Rell sobbed like a small child, desperate for comfort, and soon strong arms wrapped her in an embrace. Sinking into warmth, she allowed herself this brief moment – to be vulnerable and hurt – and there was no need to be strong.

The fighting flame within her had suffered much, until it was but a small, dull-flickering ember; truly, if her lonely journey had continued for much longer, it would have extinguished entirely. Her defences were down, and she was once more but a small girl; a child that had taken on a burden too heavy for her shoulders to bear. "You did well," he said quietly, soothing words almost drowned by her cries. "I am so proud of you."

Her fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt, knuckles whitening, as Rell struggled to regain her breath. She heaved and hiccupped, leaning into his touch, and a gentle hand stroked reassurances across her hair. She was allowed to cry. For a long while after they sat there, giving her a chance to sift through her muddled thoughts; to finally come to terms with all that had happened. For her tears to abate and calmness overtake her. She was still alive.

Rell had survived.

When finally her turbulent heart and mind settled, once more lulled to a quiet, and her many questions had been answered, a new curiosity came to her. Caras Galadhon, chief city of the Elves of Lothlórien – never before had Rell walked within its shadow. She had seen little of what was around her, through small and narrow openings in the flet, and her time had been spent tending to her many injuries.

But with the release of all her dread and worry, came room for restlessness. She could no longer stay in bed, nursing her wounds and growing pity. So it was that Rell implored Halbarad to bring her outside her small sanctuary. And, despite a brief flicker of concern in his gaze, he indulged her; she was dressed anew in thick, woolly clothes that ran like silk through her fingers, warm against the wind. The air of early Spring was cold and fresh. Her travel-wear was beyond mending, torn and bloodied, and the Healers had but looked at them once before discarding them.

For a moment she wondered. What had happened to the star of her cloak?

Her arm was left useless and limp in a sling across her chest, and she could not walk without a crutch and the constant support of her fellow Ranger. Yet Rell dwelled not on that thought; refused to let the dark whispers seep back into her mind that had long plagued her. I am safe. It was a difficult task – to stand and take her first steps – but she forced herself forward.

The flet, a platform built atop one of the hundreds of mallorns of Lórien, suspended them a dizzying drop above the ground. They paused before their descent, allowing Rell a view of the ancient fortress of Elves. Great trees; golden leaves touched with speckled green, of Winter turning to Spring, grew as far as the eye could see. And in each Rell saw housings much the same as her own place of rest, with white lights as shimmering stars, and below stretched a vast sea of green grass and flowers.

Her eyes looked further. In the forest's centre stood the tallest of the Mallorn trees, barely discernible through the woodland, and she knew it was home to the Lord and Lady of Lórien. Then, finally, Rell found the outskirts of Caras Galadhon; a wall of green earth, the great and distant border surrounding the hill, and saw a dim haze of rising mists; rivers hidden beyond the trees.

Rell tightened her grip on Halbarad's arm, and they began the slow and careful climb down. The path was long, a staircase winding a way along the bole, and left her faint long before they reached its end. There was little time to watch much else, gaze fixed on her unsteady feet – it felt as though she had not walked in many ages, and had almost forgotten how to put one foot ahead of the other. But each time she stumbled, Halbarad was there.

He would squeeze her hand in reassurance, and they would carry on.

Fighting for breath, Rell could finally feel soft earth and grass beneath her feet, and a new view opened around her. Pebbled paths wove between tall boles and archways of white wood. Strange it was to think that, just beyond the enchanted forest, Winter's hold remained a firm grasp of the surrounding lands; in Lórien all was fair, forevermore, and the clean air brought with it the smell of blooming flowers. For a moment she stood, just feeling the forest. Time flowed differently in the Golden Woods.

When asked where she wanted to walk, Rell could not answer. The climb had left her full of weariness, yet still a fitful undercurrent ran beneath her skin. The urge to move had been great, impossible to ignore, but there had been little thought or reason behind it. "Then," he said, "I have something to show you."

And so it was that Halbarad took charge and led her through a smaller pathway, away from the flet. Arm in arm they ducked beneath a canopy of white-flowered vines and interwoven branches, following slow-tumbling steps and he seemed sure of the way. His feet fell light, soundlessly, upon each smooth stone, while Rell's broke the quiet peace about them with each step she took.

She glanced around, but found them to be alone.

"Where are we going?" Rell asked.

He patted her arm, a smile on his lips. "You will see."

Grey eyes watched his face, searching, though he schooled his features quickly; nothing was revealed to her. So Rell followed dutifully. It was not long before the small alcove, under which they had walked, opened up ahead to a meadow; the grass grew tall, like a sea of green waves in the wind; a small stream ran languidly from somewhere beyond the forest's edge, a tinkling song. The music of the meadow came to her ears above the sound of water, a buzzing chorus of insects and whispering winds. High above them the sun had reached its highest point, a daystar bright and golden, that soon would descend for nightfall; no cloud was in sight. It was all so very beautiful.

But the enchanting vision was not what halted her mid-step. For there, amidst the green sea, stood a group of lithe horses; they shone in the light, silver and pearl and gold, ethereal, as they moved in play and mirth. Elvish. It was as if she was met with her dream-vision once more. As if sensing the newly arrived company, the herd stilled, immediately shifting to rapt attention; ears stiffening and tails held high, and soon clever, dark eyes were turned upon the Rangers.

Rell found her at once.

Immediately the mare broke from the flock, letting out a loud whinny that filled the meadow. Rell stumbled forward on eager feet and met the horse that was soon before her; for the second time that day, she cried, as she wrapped her arm around the strong neck and buried herself in familiar warmth. Luin. She could feel her companion – her best friend – inhale quickly, then puffing a deep breath into her hair.

Through her tears she spoke. "I thought I had lost you!"

With a tight squeeze, feeling coarse hairs rub against her cheek, Rell breathed in the mare's scent before withdrawing. She brushed her hand over the grey-dabbled coat, searching for injuries or harm, though found nothing. The horse was unscathed, another blessing from the Valar. Luin sniffed her broken arm, then nibbled her shoulder lightly, ticklishly, in an almost insistent search; Rell could not help but laugh.

"I am well," she said in a whisper, taking the soft muzzle in hand and looking into the dark, almost human-like eyes. Then Rell planted a kiss on the horse. "Thank you for being all right." She received a puff of hot air in return, blown directly into her face.

Steps came from behind her.

Rell glanced over her shoulder; Halbarad had joined them on the field, and he was smiling. "Truly a clever horse. It came four days ago to the eaves of Lothlórien, wandering under the shade until the Wardens found it. Where it came from was unknown to them, but they recognised the make of the saddle. Our marks. And it refused to leave them once their paths had first crossed." As he spoke, Rell did not lessen her attention; fingers running through the silvery mane, or scratching behind twitchy ears. Anything that solidified reality; Luin was there. Unscathed. It was a touch she had missed dearly. "They worried for the rider, and searched for many days … But came upon no one."

"I told Luin to find a home with the Elves. It was my last command to her that night." She smiled, fondness and pride both feelings stronger than the sudden stab of a dark memory. Rell refused to recall anything, and she smothered the half-distorted flashes of images. Of pain. Everything was well. "It would seem she listened."

"Then–" A new voice spoke, and before Rell could startle, she felt arms wrap around her. She was pulled up and spun around, an involuntary cry forced through her lips. "–Clearly the horse listens better than its own master!"

Returned to her own two feet, she turned to the young man; keen and clear his eyes were lit, and their gazes met evenly. His raven hair was tousled, his face tired, but the smile was unmistakable. The star on his chest, twin to the one she had lost, shone as the glow of sun fell on him. At first Rell did not speak. Rather, she found repose in the sight; as if the world had been slightly tilted, misaligned, and now everything shifted back into its rightful place. Though it did not last for long, and soon she took the few steps forward to embrace him. "Am I dreaming, or are you truly here as well, Brenion?"

His arms wrapped around her, carefully but incredibly tight, as if he feared she would disappear. She could feel his shoulders tremble ever so slightly. A pang of guilt rushed through her, twisting her heart. So much grief I have caused them. "You are very much awake. I am here, Avarell." Rell clung to him many long moments longer, reveling in the sudden appearance of her friend; though, after a while, he took a step back and held her at arm's length. "Let me see you proper!"

Rell smiled, a smile touched both by weary exhaustion and gladness; with a pull of her shoulders, she shrugged. "Do I look as you remember?"

For a brief time he looked, pondering, and she could feel the sharp throbs of her arm. With a great effort and pretence, she held her head high and shoulders squared. How much have I changed, from all that has happened ... Do I still appear the same?

"Worry not," Brenion grinned, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "You are as foul on the eye as I remember!" Too quick for her to catch up to him on her bad leg, he jumped several steps backwards; out of reach, and she tried – and failed – not to laugh. In the middle of the talk stood Halbarad, shaking his head, but knew them well enough not to interfere. Little harm would come from their bickering, for the pair had known each other since they were not yet weaned from their mothers; Rell had learned to fight, ride, and hunt side by side with the young Ranger, and always were they in competition.

No one came as close to a brother as he. "It is good to see you," she laughed, shifting the crutch into place after a swift attempt to hit him. Then, with a glance to Halbarad, she spoke again. "Though I did not expect it."

"Many searched long for you in the wilderness, and we were but two of a larger company. I have sent the others ahead of us, to Rivendell with word, and only Brenion and I have remained." As he spoke, heat came to her cheeks; a blush of shame, for truly her thoughtless actions had caused grief to many of her kin. And all were they needed elsewhere, on patrols in Eriador and Arnor – and what of the watch of the Shire? Surely now, more than ever, it was imperative they kept to their task. In the midst of her gloomy thoughts, Halbarad seemed to look right through her. "Come, let us find a place to rest and talk."

After a brief farewell to Luin, promising to return again in the evening, they slowly passed beyond the meadow, speaking no more as they walked. They came to a large pavilion of white wood, roof carved resemble birds in flight and the canopy of trees, with walls curtained off with broidered hangings. Rell found that food was made ready on several rows of tables; here sat a handful of Elves, clad in the garb of Marchwardens. There was little speech between them, and they seemed to eat and drink for the most part in silence. Yet the Rangers were not forgotten.

A servant, one of many passing to and fro, came before them.

They were offered a place by the tables, and for the first time in a very long time, Rell ate until she was full.