Chapter 2

Calen sat up all night, looking out her window. She did not notice the sun rising, and it was the birds singing that alerted her to a new day. And, like every other morning, she could smell the maltakáno brewing near the fire. She smiled to herself, 'What would morning be without Naurion making that wonderful drink?'

Lindion called to her from her doorway, "Get up, we are leaving in an hour. Unless, of course, you wish to be left behind."

Confused, Calen rolled from her window-seat, and ran to the door. "I beg your pardon?" she called into the hall, "Where are we going?"

Amarion peered around the corner and grinned. "We are going on an adventure, of course! Is that not what we discussed last night?" He looked down at her sleep wear, "Will you be getting dressed today, or do you intend to prance around the countryside wearing nothing but your nightdress?"

Calen turned back into her room, and began to rifle through her wardrobe. "No, no, no," she muttered, as she discarded one outfit after another. Then, at the back of the closet, she found the perfect one - comfortable for walking, made especially for riding... and it was her favourite colour. She donned it as rapidly as she could. After quickly making one small braid just above each of her ears and merging them in the back, she joined her brothers for breakfast.

"That was fast," Naurion laughed over his maltakáno, "One would think you are eager to leave."

"I am," Calen replied, smiling happily. She snatched up one of the small cakes from the table and poured herself a cup of maltakáno, "I have waited decades for this opportunity. But where is Nenion? Is he coming as well?" she asked, looking around the kitchen.

"Yes, I am going," Nenion himself replied, walking in from outside, "while some people were sleeping the day away, I was readying the horses. They cannot do it themselves." With that, he stalked back out the door.

"Oh, dear. He is still very upset with me," Calen said, her mood deflated rapidly. "Could he not get the honey out of his boots?" she asked, looking from one uncle to the next.

It was Naurion who replied. "No, not entirely. And he claims his feet will smell like bees' wax for days... I did not tell him it would be an improvement," he grinned, advising, "Just do not mention either matter to him, and he will be himself again in a few days."

Amarion finished packing the food into saddlebags and shoulder bags, and handed Calen her cloak. "I think we have everything we will need for a few weeks," he said, scanning the room for any forgotten items, "shall we proceed?" And, offering his arm to Calen, they all went out into the sunshine.

*****

Elsewhere in Middle Earth, two weeks later...

Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee lagged behind as the group ran away from the Orcs of Moria. It was getting harder to breathe and grief threatened to overwhelm them. Finally, Legolas looked back and noticed Frodo and Sam some distance away. He called attention to the others. Aragorn and Boromir reversed course, and ran swiftly to the labouring Hobbits.

"Forgive me, friends," said Aragorn humbly, "I had forgotten about your injuries in our haste to escape. If you will bear it a little longer, Boromir and I will carry you to a safe place, where I can tend to your wounds." Saying this, Aragorn and Boromir scooped up the little ones and ran to catch up with the others.

After running a little farther, Aragorn allowed the group to stop for rest and healing in a clearing, by a stream, near the edge of the Golden Wood. The other Hobbits, Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck, and the Dwarf, Gimli, set about kindling a fire to boil water as Aragorn knelt beside the injured Halflings.

Sam's wounds were ugly, but superficial. Aragorn was not overly concerned, though he did instruct Sam to wash his cuts with boiled water and athelas leaves before they were bound. Aragorn was more worried about Frodo's injuries. He had, after all, just been knocked into a stone wall by the thrust of an Orc's spear, and thrown across the hall. The fact that he was still standing was nothing short of miraculous. Despite Frodo's assurances that all he required was food and rest, Aragorn carefully peeled off Frodo's tunic, and was astonished to find a mithril corslet. The whole Fellowship marvelled at the intricate handiwork of the garment. Aragorn instructed Frodo to leave it on, even in sleep, so long as he was on his quest.

After the wounded were tended, the entire group sat down for a meal. It was a silent repast. Everyone was lost in his own thoughts, depressed, missing Gandalf.

Legolas, sitting off to one side, cocked his head, listening intently. "Does anyone else hear that?" he asked, looking around.

His friends looked at him with concern, hoping he did not hear the Orcs approaching.

"What do you hear, Legolas? Are they upon us?" asked Boromir, reaching for his sword.

"No, no, nothing like that," Legolas said, shaking his head in bewilderment, "It sounds like... sobbing." He looked at the Hobbits, to ensure that it was not them. All four Hobbits looked ready to cry, but no sound came from them. "I will go investigate."

Aragorn rose from his place by the small fire, "You shall not go alone; these woods are filled with surprises." He drew his sword and Legolas readied his bow with an arrow. After charging Boromir and Gimli to protect the halflings with their very lives, the two disappeared silently into the wood without a backward glance.

The two warriors strode noiselessly in the direction of the lessening sobs. They approached a small clearing with a large tree in the centre. There, huddled against the far side, was a cloaked figure, still sniffling.

They tightened their grip on their weapons, and Aragorn called out, *You, there. Stand up.* The figure started, and a hooded head peered around the tree trunk, but no other motion was made.

Legolas, watching from slightly behind and to the left, whispered, *Perhaps he does not speak an Elven language?*

Aragorn tried again, this time in Westron, "I said, You there. Stand up."

Slowly, the figure rose to his feet, grasping a long staff, wearing a bag slung over his shoulder. Walking around the tree, he came to a halt facing them, his back to the tree. He braced his feet apart, and stood still, ready for a fight. Looking back and forth between the sword and the bow trained on him, the figure let out a resigned sigh, straightened, and tossed the staff on the ground at their feet.

Aragorn and Legolas looked at each other, surprised at this unexpected gesture. They turned back to study the unarmed figure, standing before them in the shade of the tree. The manner in which he stood indicated great weariness. The traveller's boots were worn, the thick dark blue cloak was mud stained and frayed at the edges.

"Who are you?" Aragorn asked.

"A traveller," came the hoarse, whispered response, "No one of consequence. Let me be on my way."

Legolas turned to Aragorn and said in hushed tones, *There is something... I cannot identify it... telling me this man is not as he seems. I do not think he should be allowed to proceed on his journey without further questioning.*

Aragorn nodded in agreement, *You speak wisely, my friend, I think we sha-*

While they were talking, they had slackened their hold on their weapons, and the stranger had taken advantage of the situation. He had snatched up his staff and bolted into the glade, running swiftly in the direction of the Fellowship.

The warriors took chase, overtaking him rapidly. Legolas tackled the man around the waist, both of them falling to the ground. The man wriggled and managed to throw a handful of dirt in the Elf's eyes and kick him in the chest before Aragorn put a stop to the fight simply by placing the tip of his sword under the stranger's chin. The struggling ceased immediately. Legolas quickly hauled the small man to his feet, wiping his eyes with one hand, and pinned the stranger's arm behind his back.

The man let out a cry and gasped in pain. Startled, Aragorn tore back the hood, causing a cascade of wavy, light brown hair to fall down his... no, her back. He was not a he, after all. He was a she! Aragorn peered at the girl closely. Tear tracks marked her face, but she was not crying now. She glared back at him angrily.

She had blue eyes, and *What in Middle Earth...* he asked himself... pointed ears. He was not only a woman, she was also an Elf?

Aragorn and Legolas looked at each other, then back at the woman. What kind of woman, Elven maiden notwithstanding, would travel alone, on foot, essentially unarmed in these dark days?

Legolas asked, in a hushed tone, "Who are you?"