I left early the next morning, before the sun rose. Papa had paid a Ranger to meet me at the village inn and take me to the Great East Road where it crossed the river; he told me that I was to join a group of merchants traveling south from the Last Bridge. At first I thought he meant me to walk, or ride behind my guide; I didn't know what to say when he led his own sturdy grey mare out of the stables and handed the reins to me.
"She's yours now, daughter. Take care of her, and she'll always be loyal." He studied me for a long moment, then boosted me up into the saddle. He held onto my hand for a few moments before going back into the house and closing the door.
I urged the mare through the quiet streets toward the inn. Here and there I saw faces peeking out at me from behind curtains and between shutters. No one came out to wish me safe journey, or to say goodbye, not that I expected them to.
The Ranger waited for me outside the inn. He was adjusting his packs when I rode up, fastening the bags securely to the saddle and settling the load as evenly as possible. He half-turned at the sound of my horse's hooves on the dirt road and eyed me over his shoulder. I suddenly felt uncomfortable in my patched brown dress and worn-thin green hood. I curled my toes, trying to hide the scuffed leather toes of my boots. His mouth twitched slightly at the movement.
"So you're to be my fare, are you? Well, at least you can ride. The last lady I escorted went faint at the sight of a horse and insisted on a coach and driver."
I couldn't tell if he was amused or annoyed by me. I sat, silent and still, until he was ready to leave. He spoke once or twice more, some comments on the weather and the road, but I was too nervous to chat with him and he eventually gave up. I watched him finish his preparations, trying to figure out anything I could about him.
He was taller than me, not that that was difficult, with broad shoulders and strong-looking hands that wouldn't be out of place on one of the local drovers. His hair was dark brown, about the shade of my old pony's coat, and his eyes were a peculiar shade of brown-green that seemed to change slightly in the early light. I wondered how old he was; he seemed older than the boys I knew and was probably younger than my father, but that left too many possibilities to figure out. He swung up into the saddle at last, an easy movement that wasted little motion or energy, and gestured for me to follow him out of the town.
~***~
I'd traveled a little with my father, on to the next settlement to sell ale or buy chickens or some such. I was not in any way prepared for the next few hours. We rode steadily along the Old Forest Road until we reached the edges of Mirkwood; we stopped just inside the treeline to camp for the night. Every muscle in my body was screaming and raw; I felt like I'd been beaten with a stick and left to die. I barely realized that we were stopping, I was so exhausted.
The Ranger swung out of his saddle in the same smooth motion he had used to mount that morning. Blearily, I watched him strip his horse and start to rub it down. When I didn't dismount, he reached for my horse's reins.
"We're stopping for the night. You might as well get down, stretch your legs a bit."
I stared down at him while his words registered in my mind. I slowly hefted one leg over the saddle. The foot still in the stirrup had fallen asleep without my notice and, as I lowered myself toward the ground, it collapsed and I tumbled off the horse. The Ranger caught me, carefully setting me on the ground. I winced as my muscles stretched in directions they had forgotten they could move in, and he chuckled under his breath.
"Don't worry. You'll remember how to walk soon enough. Just sit there and rest and I'll take care of your horse." He stripped the mare with the same efficiency he had used on his own horse, rummaging around in the packs for her combs and brushing her down.
"What's her name?" I blinked at the sound of his voice and stared at him, puzzled. He repeated himself.
"I don't know. I don't think my father ever called her anything but 'girl.'"
"That's too bad. All things should have a name." He brushed her a while longer. "You should call her Gwenn."
I blinked again. "That's an odd name. It's not Westron, is it?"
He shook his head. "No, it's Elvish. I learned it from another Ranger-he has dealings with the Elves."
"What does it mean?" His mention of Elvish had piqued my interest despite my tiredness.
"It's the Grey Elves' word for girl. Since your father called her that." He smiled, more to himself than to me, and continued brushing the mare. I thought for a long time.
"You're right. She does need a name, and Gwenn seems to suit her." I watched him tether the horses to graze and rummage around in his packs again, this time for cookware. Once he had the fire laid and a pot of water boiling, he sat back on his heels and regarded me closely. I squirmed under his eyes for the second time that day, blushing for no reason I could put my finger on. He chuckled again and dug a packet of tea out of his bag.
"Speaking of names, lady-- did your father name you, or does he just call you daughter?" He smiled at himself again.
"I have a name. Do you?" I didn't intend to sound so angry when I said that and I just hated hearing the same voice I had always used when the village boys picked on me coming out of my mouth. I looked away, my face hot with shame.
He burst out laughing, a rich, ringing sound that filled my ears. "Fair enough."
He poured the now-hot tea into a thick pottery mug he dug out of his bag. He handed one to me, waited until my stiff fingers could grasp it securely, then settled back on his heels again.
"Most people just call me Shadow. That'll do, I suppose." He half-smiled at me, a slight twitch of amusement at the corners of his eyes. "And you, lady? Shall we make this a fair exchange?"
"I don't have a very interesting name, I'm afraid. Nothing like yours. My mother named me Merowyn, and you're right again-my father usually just called me daughter." I smiled at the memory, a small comfort. We sat for a while; he produced an assortment of vegetables and dried meats from his pack and started a stew that made my mouth water just looking at it. While it cooked, he starting talking.
"You've not traveled before, have you Merowyn? You can ride, but you don't sit your horse like you would if you were used to it." When I shook my head, he went on. "I'd be willing to bet the price of your journey you haven't been more than, what, maybe a few miles from your village in your life? So why is it your parents suddenly decided to pack you off to the city? Marriage or service?"
I blushed again, this time with anger. "I'm not getting married, and I'm not a maid. I'm going to be fostered, to study."
He shook his head, eyes narrowed. "You're too old for fostering, surely. You're seventeen if you're a day, and that's past the age for learning a new trade."
I interrupted him, muttering, "I'm not that old. I'm only just turned sixteen."
He grinned again, acknowledging my irritation. "Are you sure your parents don't have a husband waiting for you?" He started ladling stew into his empty mug.
A sudden panic swept over me. What if they did? What if I got to the city and found out that they were marrying me off? My fear must have shown on my face; Shadow paused, eyes searching my face.
"I wasn't serious, Merowyn. I didn't mean to frighten you." He held out his hand for my mug. I handed it to him and pushed myself up off the ground. Once standing, I picked up my bedroll and cloak and stared down at him.
"I'm not frightened. And I'm not hungry--I think I'll just sleep." He started to protest, changed his mind, and nodded once. I rolled up in my blankets at what I figured was a safe distance away from him and drifted off to sleep.