Chapter 2
Ayarel shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her. The balmy day had given way to a blustery evening. As she and Arwen had tried to guide the pitiful horse through the shallows of the river the wind had seared through her skin and chilled her to the bones. She was huddled now beside Arwen inside the room of Lord Elrond's house where the stranger was being treated for his wounds. He was still unconscious, but his breathing had steadied and his skin no longer resembled cooled wax and there was some color returning to his cheeks. After they had assured a comfortable resting place for the warrior's horse, Arwen had hurried off to find the stranger, though for what purpose Ayarel was unsure. Arwen had been unable to heal the man earlier, and she was unsure of what would possess her to think she could now. Nevertheless, Ayarel had followed obediently though she longed to return to her own home and change into her softest gown and burrow herself under the warm blankets of her bed.
Arwen sensed the discomfort of her friend and left the injured man's bedside. She placed her hand gently on Ayarel's shoulder. "You should go and rest now," she said softly. "You have done much this day and deserve a nice long sleep."
Ayarel smiled. "Then I shall return home and warm up some," she replied. With a small bow to Lord Elrond and a quick wave to Arwen, Ayarel retreated once again to the breezy outdoors. She hurried along the path and finally found the refuge of her home. It took her mere seconds after she had crawled into bed to fall fast asleep without a trouble in her mind.
Arwen remained steadfastly in a chair beside the soldier's bed through the rest of the night and well in to the morning. She was satisfied that her father had done an adequate job of healing. Already some of the wounds showed visible improvement, and some strength had returned to the man. He hadn't woken up yet, but he was turning and mumbling softly in his sleep.
Near dawn, the man's eyes opened, and he gazed around dimly with a look of complete bewilderment on his face.
"Where am I?" he asked in a scratchy voice.
"You are in Rivendell, sir, in the House of Elrond," Arwen said softly. "Are you thirsty or hungry?"
"Well, thirsty yes," he said. He made an effort to sit up a bit straighter, but fell back in defeat on his pillow. "I don't think I have the strength to eat yet."
Arwen sought the mug and flask of water from the arrangement she and Ayarel had prepared during the night with food and drink should the man wake up and need anything. She filled the mug and set it gently on the stand beside the bed, and then helped to arrange the pillows so that the man could sit up and drink.
"So, you're an elf then?" the man said after he had drained the glass of every last drop.
Arwen nodded. "I am Arwen Undomiel," she said. She refilled the mug.
"I encountered some Elves once," the man reminisced. "In the South of Mirkwood, dodgy place that it is. They called me Errandir. I've been told it means 'lonely wanderer.' Funny sort of a name, wouldn't you think?"
"I suppose they named you that for a reason," she said, hoping not to sound too forward.
"Well sure," he said, chuckling. "It was before my days of fighting. I was out on a reconnaissance mission with some of the other men, when all the trouble with goblins was brewing, perhaps you remember?" Arwen nodded politely and he continued. "And a group of the nasty creatures besieged us. It was really quite awful I remember, and I escaped from the battle fast as I could before they tired of my companions and came after me. I was but a child then, and my whole mind was on flight. I left quick as I could and sought cover in the trees. I wandered for days, my horse having been injured, and I'd had to leave him. I was on the brink of death from thirst and starvation and pure loneliness for my companions, even my horse when a group of elves stumbled across me in their search for the remains of the goblin battle. They took me in, and at once declared that it was my situation in life to be a lonely wanderer. The name just sort of stuck." The man grinned and shook his head, and sipped some more at the water. "How times have changed. The Elves are not there to save us anymore."
"I beg your pardon," Arwen said, slightly offended, "but it was the Elves that have saved you just now!"
"All the same, my lady," Errandir said, inclining his head. "You have saved one man, and an insignificant one at that. The rest of the mighty army I was with are laid to waste by orcs of the fiercest sort, those bearing the White Hand of Saruman."
"And what exactly were Saruman's orcs doing so close to the borders of Rivendell?" Arwen asked suspiciously.
"They weren't so close to Rivendell as you might think," Errandir replied. "Closer to Fangorn really, but that's to be expected as Isengard is right on the borders. But they've been passing over all sorts of lands, in pursuit of a motley collection of creatures."
Arwen's heart sank. The Fellowship would surely not withstand the journey to Mordor being pursued by Saruman's armies as well as that of Mordor itself. "What. what sort of creatures?" she faltered, feeling tears well up in her eyes.
"Rumor has it that there's men and elves and even dwarves all traveling together with little creatures they call 'hobbits' but I've never heard or seen such a thing," Errandir explained. He fidgeted a bit. "I hate to be rude, my lady, but that food over there on the sideboard begins to taunt me. Do you think I might trouble you for some?"
Arwen leapt up far too quickly and scuttled over to the prepared arrangement. "Of course!" she cried, but her voice sounded choked and oddly distorted. She took a deep breath as she placed the repast on a tray and gave it to the man, who set to it quickly.
After a great pause in which he devoured all the food on the tray, the man swallowed a gulp more of water and then looked back at Arwen. "Have you heard much about that group I spoke of then?" he asked. "I heard they started here, from the heart of this stronghold not so long ago."
"Indeed they did," Arwen said. "A fortnight has not yet passed since they were gone. I fear greatly for their safety. It is not a burden that they should have to bear."
"Well, I know nothing of their burden except for that of being pursued by the least savory creatures of all Middle-earth. Huge bands of them too; it'll be a wonder if they ever get to wherever it is that they are going, I'd say!" Errandir said, suppressing a yawn. "Bless me! Now that I am properly fed and watered again, I must say that I'm quite tired. I hate to draw this chat to a close, but I'm afraid I can't keep my eyes open much longer!"
Arwen nodded and rose from her chair. "Then I bid you farewell for now," she said, moving towards the door. "If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask for it; we are at your service should you need it." And with those words, she slipped from the room and out of the house, making for the tall trees and her favorite brooding spot along the river, tears streaming down her face.
Ayarel shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her. The balmy day had given way to a blustery evening. As she and Arwen had tried to guide the pitiful horse through the shallows of the river the wind had seared through her skin and chilled her to the bones. She was huddled now beside Arwen inside the room of Lord Elrond's house where the stranger was being treated for his wounds. He was still unconscious, but his breathing had steadied and his skin no longer resembled cooled wax and there was some color returning to his cheeks. After they had assured a comfortable resting place for the warrior's horse, Arwen had hurried off to find the stranger, though for what purpose Ayarel was unsure. Arwen had been unable to heal the man earlier, and she was unsure of what would possess her to think she could now. Nevertheless, Ayarel had followed obediently though she longed to return to her own home and change into her softest gown and burrow herself under the warm blankets of her bed.
Arwen sensed the discomfort of her friend and left the injured man's bedside. She placed her hand gently on Ayarel's shoulder. "You should go and rest now," she said softly. "You have done much this day and deserve a nice long sleep."
Ayarel smiled. "Then I shall return home and warm up some," she replied. With a small bow to Lord Elrond and a quick wave to Arwen, Ayarel retreated once again to the breezy outdoors. She hurried along the path and finally found the refuge of her home. It took her mere seconds after she had crawled into bed to fall fast asleep without a trouble in her mind.
Arwen remained steadfastly in a chair beside the soldier's bed through the rest of the night and well in to the morning. She was satisfied that her father had done an adequate job of healing. Already some of the wounds showed visible improvement, and some strength had returned to the man. He hadn't woken up yet, but he was turning and mumbling softly in his sleep.
Near dawn, the man's eyes opened, and he gazed around dimly with a look of complete bewilderment on his face.
"Where am I?" he asked in a scratchy voice.
"You are in Rivendell, sir, in the House of Elrond," Arwen said softly. "Are you thirsty or hungry?"
"Well, thirsty yes," he said. He made an effort to sit up a bit straighter, but fell back in defeat on his pillow. "I don't think I have the strength to eat yet."
Arwen sought the mug and flask of water from the arrangement she and Ayarel had prepared during the night with food and drink should the man wake up and need anything. She filled the mug and set it gently on the stand beside the bed, and then helped to arrange the pillows so that the man could sit up and drink.
"So, you're an elf then?" the man said after he had drained the glass of every last drop.
Arwen nodded. "I am Arwen Undomiel," she said. She refilled the mug.
"I encountered some Elves once," the man reminisced. "In the South of Mirkwood, dodgy place that it is. They called me Errandir. I've been told it means 'lonely wanderer.' Funny sort of a name, wouldn't you think?"
"I suppose they named you that for a reason," she said, hoping not to sound too forward.
"Well sure," he said, chuckling. "It was before my days of fighting. I was out on a reconnaissance mission with some of the other men, when all the trouble with goblins was brewing, perhaps you remember?" Arwen nodded politely and he continued. "And a group of the nasty creatures besieged us. It was really quite awful I remember, and I escaped from the battle fast as I could before they tired of my companions and came after me. I was but a child then, and my whole mind was on flight. I left quick as I could and sought cover in the trees. I wandered for days, my horse having been injured, and I'd had to leave him. I was on the brink of death from thirst and starvation and pure loneliness for my companions, even my horse when a group of elves stumbled across me in their search for the remains of the goblin battle. They took me in, and at once declared that it was my situation in life to be a lonely wanderer. The name just sort of stuck." The man grinned and shook his head, and sipped some more at the water. "How times have changed. The Elves are not there to save us anymore."
"I beg your pardon," Arwen said, slightly offended, "but it was the Elves that have saved you just now!"
"All the same, my lady," Errandir said, inclining his head. "You have saved one man, and an insignificant one at that. The rest of the mighty army I was with are laid to waste by orcs of the fiercest sort, those bearing the White Hand of Saruman."
"And what exactly were Saruman's orcs doing so close to the borders of Rivendell?" Arwen asked suspiciously.
"They weren't so close to Rivendell as you might think," Errandir replied. "Closer to Fangorn really, but that's to be expected as Isengard is right on the borders. But they've been passing over all sorts of lands, in pursuit of a motley collection of creatures."
Arwen's heart sank. The Fellowship would surely not withstand the journey to Mordor being pursued by Saruman's armies as well as that of Mordor itself. "What. what sort of creatures?" she faltered, feeling tears well up in her eyes.
"Rumor has it that there's men and elves and even dwarves all traveling together with little creatures they call 'hobbits' but I've never heard or seen such a thing," Errandir explained. He fidgeted a bit. "I hate to be rude, my lady, but that food over there on the sideboard begins to taunt me. Do you think I might trouble you for some?"
Arwen leapt up far too quickly and scuttled over to the prepared arrangement. "Of course!" she cried, but her voice sounded choked and oddly distorted. She took a deep breath as she placed the repast on a tray and gave it to the man, who set to it quickly.
After a great pause in which he devoured all the food on the tray, the man swallowed a gulp more of water and then looked back at Arwen. "Have you heard much about that group I spoke of then?" he asked. "I heard they started here, from the heart of this stronghold not so long ago."
"Indeed they did," Arwen said. "A fortnight has not yet passed since they were gone. I fear greatly for their safety. It is not a burden that they should have to bear."
"Well, I know nothing of their burden except for that of being pursued by the least savory creatures of all Middle-earth. Huge bands of them too; it'll be a wonder if they ever get to wherever it is that they are going, I'd say!" Errandir said, suppressing a yawn. "Bless me! Now that I am properly fed and watered again, I must say that I'm quite tired. I hate to draw this chat to a close, but I'm afraid I can't keep my eyes open much longer!"
Arwen nodded and rose from her chair. "Then I bid you farewell for now," she said, moving towards the door. "If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask for it; we are at your service should you need it." And with those words, she slipped from the room and out of the house, making for the tall trees and her favorite brooding spot along the river, tears streaming down her face.