Chapter 10: The Wanderer

The sun was hidden away behind grey clouds and a chilling breeze swept through Lucina's hair as she walked the paths of Bree, leading her horse by the reins. She was to make for the South-Gate, then onwards to Combe. Alone, though, as Edd Willowdale had business of his own in Bree. Yet before she could meet Edd at his home, there was somewhere else she needed to investigate.

She passed by many of the Bree-folk on her walk. Some waved to her, but the majority still gave her blank stares. Not that she cared. It was better to remain distant and not try to make many friends here.

The streets broke away from the closely huddled stone houses leading down towards a path she'd only seen at night, but she tried her best to remember. At last, Lucina reached her destination; a solitary dwelling; the last house in Bree. In the morning's light she could better see the sorry state of the masonry and the rotting timbers. The hedge that surrounded it appeared wild and unmaintained, and the stones that led to the front door had overgrown with weeds.

Another chilling breeze swept past her, and she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. With keen eyes, Lucina examined the house where she'd overheard those men the previous night. To her it seemed impossible that anyone could live here. Which made it the perfect spot for dubious gatherings.

She left her horse standing and approached the hedge, looking around for anything untoward or out of place. Near a few bushes ahead of the hedge she spotted hoof tracks in the dirt and more boot prints leading to it. She knelt down to examine them, a grimace coming to her face as she recalled seeing a striking black horse standing here. Looking up from the tracks, a need to search further within the house arose, but sudden trepidation would not allow her any further.

"Ho there! What are you doing poking your nose around my plot?" came a familiar voice, startling Lucina. She looked to see a man staring boldly over the hedge; a short black pipe held near his mouth. Lucina's eyes narrowed behind her mask.

"Mr. Ferny, I did not know this was your house," she said.

Bill Ferny spat onto the floor. "Pah! It don't matter whose house it may be, you ought to not be snooping around where you're not wanted. Be off, blue boy, else I'll call for the Watch!"

Lucina did not linger. She grabbed hold of her horse's reins and marched off, her mood a little soured. Though, she felt some satisfaction at the exchange. At last she had confirmation of to whom the house belonged, and of course Bill Ferny of all the Bree-folk would be the recipient of nefarious fellows. Yet strangely the familiar voice she'd heard at the gathering was not Ferny's. Nor had she seen his form. She wanted to stay and question him but felt she was being too suspicious. Looking back she saw that Ferny still watched with scowling eyes.

Some time later, Lucina drew near the South Gate of Bree. Sitting upon a stool near the door was the South-Gate Gatekeeper, his back arched forward and chin resting upon his hand. The fellow looked dishevelled, and by his drooping head seemed to be just barely holding on to the last thread of wakefulness. Then, she caught his eye, and he shot up as if renewed with vigour.

Lucina gave him a small smile and a wave as she came near. "Good morning to you, Master Gatekeeper."

But the Gatekeeper did not return her greeting. Instead, he stood staring blankly at her as she passed beneath the gate. She stopped in her tracks for a moment to watch his face, puzzled. Was something amiss?

"Master Gatekeeper, are you all right?"

"Aye… where are you off to?" he said at length, his tone flat.

"Combe, once more. I shall return ere the midday."

The Gatekeeper was at first silent. "... All right then," he said at last, rather monotonously. He turned away and disappeared behind the hedge.

Lucina remained still, staring off after the Gatekeeper. She huffed, there was little time to dwell on his odd behaviour. She mounted her steed and faced the east road to Combe, where she dearly hoped to find a proper course for the journey home.


"Well, this is the last of them," Mr. Willowdale said as he handed her a rolled-up map. Lucina unravelled it, and stared at the parchment in silent contemplation.

This one, much like the other four maps Mr. Willowdale had presented, only seemed to show the general area around the Breelands and the Shire. Though this particular map was greatly expanded, showing more of the great road which spanned east and west, and much more of the Greenway running north and south. Bree seemed perfectly placed as a crossroads of these, leaning into the idea that a town such as Bree should by all rights be a far more prosperous settlement. Though, a hundred dimly lit houses did not at all present that.

Her eyes followed the Greenway as it ran south past places with names such as Andrath, and the Barrow Downs. Southwards it intersected another road that ran west, crossing the Brandywine river at a point called the Sarn Ford.

'I journeyed through here,' Lucina realised, looking next towards an area at the edge of the Shire's Southfarthing, 'then this must be where I had arrived.' Seeing this left her with a bitter feeling. A simple turn of direction would have led to presumably more welcoming lands, if she judged Hobbits correctly. Yet instead she had ill fortune to choose to wander the emptier plains beyond the Sarn Ford.

A troubling thought of the Black Riders came. The first she'd seen had been travelling along this very road, to the Shire it seemed. To what end, she did not know, but it left her heart feeling heavy for those poor hobbits.

With these thoughts leaving her, Lucina returned to examining the boundaries of this map. They cut off rather abruptly and she couldn't see what lands lay beyond the Shire, or north and south.

"Do you perhaps have anything — bigger?" she asked, to which Mr. Willowdale could only shake his head.

"I'm afraid this is all I have. It's not for us Bree-folk to travel far beyond our borders, save for in the Shire."

Lucina attempted to inquire more, asking him of what lands lay beyond the borders of this map, but Mr. Willowdale proved an unknowledgeable fellow. Despite being a merchant, his business only presided over the Breelands and the Shire, only trading with southerners if they happened to pass through.

"How shall I find the sea?" she then asked. It was an obvious question, and she berated herself for not asking it sooner.

"To the west, you'll go. East if you fancy walking."

"And are there any port cities that you know of? Or men I might find who possess ships?"

Mr. Willowdale could only shrug his shoulders, "I don't know of any men these days that sail the wide seas, that was the business of the Sea Kings of old, but they've been gone for thousands of years, and I dare say no man since has ever tried to traverse them. Save for pirates — and yourself of course. Pardon my wondering, but what became of your ship?"

The question caught her off guard. "It — there was a shipwreck, and I'm stranded here." She didn't like to lie, but it seemed easier than explaining what the outrealm gate was. Not that he'd believe her, anyway.

"Ah, that explains it well enough. The sea is always bad trouble, I've heard tell. You should've never crossed to begin with."

Lucina sighed, "had I known what awaited me, then perhaps I wouldn't have..."

The two became silent as she contemplated her situation. The most worthwhile destination was west, it seemed. And she could simply follow the Great West Road if needed. There was still the issue of what awaited her at the end of it.

"Are you the only one in the Breelands with maps, or knowledge of the wider world?" she asked.

Mr. Willowdale at first hesitated. "Well… actually…" he trailed off, as if debating with himself if he should speak. With a deep sigh he finally continued. "There is one fellow — in Archet. The man who had made me these maps to be precise. His name is Willard Rushlight, Old Will as he's known to us of late. He's a map-maker. He himself has journeyed far east, west, and south to lands I've only ever heard of in old ancient tales. I've even seen in his home maps of the whole of Middle Earth!"

Lucina's interest thoroughly piqued. He'd likely not have any knowledge of lands beyond this 'Middle Earth', but all she needed was to know where to find ships. She considered it almost impossible for there not to be some sort of sea-faring folk around.

"I suppose I need to find Old Will then. Thank you for the information today, Mr. Willowdale." Lucina said as she rolled up the parchment and returned it to him. She pulled out her coin purse and meant to give him a silver penny or two, but Mr. Willowdale stopped her.

"There's no need for that, young sir. Just be kind to Old Will is all I ask. He's grown rightly frail in his old age."

Lucina nodded, "I'll be exceptionally courteous, I assure you." The two bid each other farewell, and she marched back to her horse.


The road to Archet was silent, with not a sight of boot nor cart of any travellers along it. It didn't worry her much, the heavy clouds above and chilly air could only mean it would rain soon. Meaning folk wouldn't be so keen on going abroad.

Some time later, Lucina leapt off the back of her steed and approached a well situated in a thicket of woodland with a narrow dirt path leading to it. The path itself was the only sightline she had to the stone well, otherwise the closely huddled trees and foliage concealed it from the road. She felt she made good time so far, and so she could afford a stop to water her horse. Upon reaching the stone well, she lowered a wooden bucket to draw water from it.

Heavy footfalls came to her ears — Lucina's gaze jerked sharply left to see two men stroll out from deep in the forest. One was a shorter and burly man with a hairless head, save for a patchy beard. His eyes shadowed by his pronounced brow, and he sneered with crooked teeth. The other man was taller and had a head of curly brown hair with eyes almost bulging from his head as he stared at her. The both of them appeared raggedly dressed in hooded cloaks and brown tunics; torn, foul, and dirty looking. Lucina almost thought they were Rangers, but they were too short and they lacked the characteristic sea grey eyes.

Lucina drew the bucket from the well, bringing it to her horse's muzzle. Her front faced towards them and she cast her cloak back on her left side presenting the full length of Falchion. Her head was cast downwards, but she did not take her eyes off the men as they approached.

The men stopped before the well, staring at her smugly, whispering faint words to each other.

"Good day to you," Lucina said, acknowledging them.

"Aye, it is a good day," the taller man said, almost giddy with excitement. The bald man then came forward, getting within a few steps of her.

"Finish up quick, I'm rightly thirsty, I am," he spoke, his voice sounding strangely familiar. He gestured for the water bucket with an outstretched hand. Another clearly had a firm hold on something beneath his cloak, and she spotted the taller man make careful steps to the other side of the well.

Lucina took in a deep breath. These weren't any regular Breefolk, she knew. These were bandits, true bandits. They either wanted her valuables, or her life. Neither was she so inclined to give. They appeared to be unarmed, though doubtless they had knives hidden away under their cloaks.

So it seemed to her then that today was the day she'd cut down a living man for the first time. Her stomach churned at the very thought of it. With the Rangers, she'd gotten lucky. Their fight hadn't lasted long enough for her to deal a killing blow. But these men didn't seem like honourable fighters to her. Though she could easily take the two on, Lucina was no fool. She was probably surrounded. She took swift glances past them and to her flanks, searching for any movement in the brush.

The bald man seemed to grow impatient. "Right, lad, give it here…" Then suddenly he trailed off, and she curiously saw his face drop as he looked towards her, or rather passed her. The taller man had stopped dead in his tracks too, looking fearfully at something behind her.

Lucina moved, dropping the bucket to the dirt. She sidestepped away from them, hand upon Falchion as she turned sideways to see what was behind her. She froze.

Strider stood before her, his sea grey eyes staring daggers from underneath his hood. Not at her, she realised, but at the two men.

"Wh-what do you want, longshanks?" the bald man said with feigned courage.

"Nothing, I came for a drink of water," came Strider's deep and gruff voice, gesturing at the well. He moved swiftly, picking up the discarded bucket and, true to his word, began lowering it down to the water within.

The two men exchanged frantic looks at one another, and back at the ranger. The bald one then stomped over to the taller man and dragged him away, speaking hushed words to him, glaring at Lucina and Strider over his shoulder.

Lucina did not move. Even as the two bandits disappeared into the woodland. Her eyes scanned the surrounding trees, searching for archers, or men hidden away. She saw none. Her focus turned to the Ranger, her hand firm upon Falchion's hilt, waiting to see if he tried anything.

"I hope you do not mean to draw," he said as he turned to her, "It would be most unwise."

"No," she spoke, "certainly not." Her right hand fell from the hilt, but her left was steady upon the sheath, just in case. Strider nodded and returned to filling up a flagon with water.

She made steady and careful steps towards her steed, her front always facing the Ranger. Suddenly Strider's long arm shot out and grabbed hold of her horse's reins. She leapt back, hand returning to Falchion.

"This is a fine steed," he said.

"Indeed… might I have my horse's reins?"

"His name is Bethron," he said.

She hesitated. "H-how would you know that?"

"I knew the man who named him. And he would never part with his steed no matter where he went. Nor would he give him away to just anyone."

"... I found him wandering along the Greenway… I don't know what happened to his rider," Lucina said, and it wasn't entirely a lie either. Whether it was the Risen or the Black Riders, she truly did not know who slew the Ranger. She wished only to deflect any suspicion on herself, yet Strider's sea-grey eyes only grew more intense as he stared at her from underneath that dark hood.

"Very well," he said after a brief silence.

His hand left the reins and Lucina snapped out to claim them. But she didn't leave just yet, for she found herself too curious of the mysterious Strider. She watched him for a moment as he stood at the well, now using the water to clean a long and beautiful hunting knife. The blade appeared finely forged of glittering steel, and the handle was intricately carved with patterns of twisting vines. The whole thing, blade and handle, was curved most elegantly. Such a graceful weapon in the hands of a man so ragged and worn produced many questions in her mind. Did he steal it? Was it given to him? In that moment she forgot her real purpose along this road, and let her curiosity get the better of her.

"Who are you?" she asked, the words leaving her mouth before she could think better on them.

"I am called Strider."

"No, I meant — you, the Rangers. Why do the Bree-folk hate you?"

"We do nothing that warrants such contempt, I assure you. The Bree-folk are simply not at all fond of mysterious types."

"Why remain secretive then? What is it you hide?"

Strider chuckled as he inspected his knife. "Your inquiries will not bear any fruit, Master Marth."

"I'm certain folk would be more kind to you if you announce your intentions clearly."

"Indeed, and you have revealed all that you are, is that right? Or have you some secrets of your own to keep? It is a strange thing that you go about with that mask upon your face, yet you had come to this town without it on. You were most unwilling to remove last night in the inn as well. Why was that? Is there something about your face you do not wish to be seen? And as for my other suspicions, I shall spare you of them, master."

An icy chill ran down her spine. Lucina opened her mouth, but could not form any response.

"Have you nothing to say?" He spoke, not even looking at her as he inspected his knife. When it seemed Lucina would not put forth any explanation, he turned and faced her, staring down with hardened eyes.

"Then do not try to divulge secrets from a man if you would not dare have your own revealed." He sheathed his knife and marched off, disappearing into the forest.

Lucina let out an exasperated sigh, relieved to be rid of him. She didn't yet know what to think about the mysterious Strider. On one hand, he seemed almost as foul as he looked, yet there appeared to be an inkling of sincerity in the man; she felt much the same about the other Rangers. She mounted and rode away in haste.


Lucina halted upon Bethron, looking out at the little village just up the road. A multitude of houses stood scattered about, most tucked away in the little groves before the thicker forest that lay northwards. Further out into the open lands she could see farmsteads and cropland. At last, she reached Archet. She started her horse forward, cantering down the road.

She approached the first of the croplands, now empty from the early autumn's harvest. Sheaves of wheat lay bound in the fields, some being hauled off in carts drawn by kine. Though the main bounty was gone from the plots, much hard work remained to be done. Men, women, and children toiled in the fields pulling weeds and readying the land for winter's sowing. Such labours often required one to work from the moment the sun rose to its setting. Lucina herself had her own hand in farming, in the future. Farmlands often had shortages of hands to work the fields. While she went from village to village to battle the Risen, she did what she could to ease the struggles of her people, often making her friends take part as well. It was back-breaking work, and she did not miss it.

The folk of the fields looked onwards to her with inquisitive stares, which she had long gotten used to by now. This time however, some folk had taken much more interest in her coming. She noticed that some children and young men had left their toilings to trail behind her. Soon enough, she found herself surrounded by a band of sour-faced youth. One of them, perhaps no older than seventeen, came forward and stood in front. He was larger than the rest and a crude wooden club sat resting upon his shoulder.

"Who are you? And what business have you here?" the boy said in a hostile tone. Lucina was caught off guard and at first felt unsure how to proceed.

"Good afternoon to you, young sir," she finally said, feeling civility was the best option when dealing with rowdy children. "I came seeking one of your townsfolk. Old Will, he's named. Do you know where I might find him?"

"Which Will would that be? My Pap's named Will, and so is little Rowlie's. Speak quickly or I'll give you a good knock!"

Lucina looked down at him from her steed, hands tightening around the reins. In any other situation she would have found such brashness respectable, but not now. "Willard Rushlight," she said, annoyance clear in her voice.

The boy gave a haughty laugh. 'You're looking for a dead man! Haven't seen that fellow go about for a whole year."

"When did he pass? Or are you simply speculating because you haven't seen him?" she retorted.

"It don't matter for nothing, you're not going any further! We've had enough strange horsemen coming through here. Bugger off I say, or I'll have you!" The surrounding youth sneered and jeered, readying their stones and sticks.

Now she realised where such hostilities were born from. The Black Riders must have paid Archet a visit, so their misgivings seemed fitting, especially for one upon horseback. But before she could call for peace, the rebukes of an angered woman filled the air.

"Come now! What's wrong with ye? Jumping in front of horses like that! Back to the fields, all of ye!"

Lucina watched with an amused smile as the irate middle-aged woman shooed them away. A chorus of protesting groans coming from the youth.

"Come on, Betsy!" the leading youth complained, "I'm to keep these vagabonds from our village green!"

"Fancy yourself the defender of rick and cot, eh?" The woman grabbed the youth's ear and twisted it. "Has he the look of a wild man to you? No? Back to your work then, Robby, or I'll have you shovelling manure for the next fortnight!" She shoved the youth away, and he shuffled off massaging his ear.

Lucina dismounted and gave the woman a small bow. "Many thanks, mistress."

The woman sighed. "No trouble, young sir. And pardon them, we're all still a little shaken up by what happened yesterday. Two black horsemen came up here asking questions. And these weren't no regular folk either. Uncanny, I would call them."

Lucina pursed her lips, "so I've heard. What did they want?"

The woman shook her head. "I'm uncertain myself. Heard they was looking for some hobbit. Bigguns? Ah, I don't remember the name, I wasn't the one who'd spoken to them. In any case, I must be wary too, I'm afraid. Never have I seen a fellow with blue hair, and what's more a foreigner by your look and talk. So who are you, stranger?"

Lucina now took notice of the hatchet in the woman's hands, and her determined look. She folded her hands out in front of her away from Falchion's hilt to try to present herself as peaceful as would allow.

"My name is Marth, hailing from the Halidom of Ylisse," she said, "I've come looking for Willard Rushlight. I heard he was a map-maker from Edd Willowdale of Combe."

Upon hearing those names, the woman seemed to soften a bit. "Mr. Willowdale is a good man. So is Old Will, but he's been ill for months. It wouldn't be right if I let an outsider see him."

"I understand your misgivings, but I assure you I mean no harm. I wish to leave and return to my home as soon as I can, but I need a map to know where to head," she replied, relieved to know Old Will still lived.

The woman paused for a moment, seeming to contemplate her. Finally, she gave a soft sigh, "all right, but you best be careful. Poor fellow seems already at the end."

"That is plain to me. You may have someone go with me if it would ease your heart."

The woman nodded, "well, I was meaning to stop by his house today anyhow. Come on, then." She gestured for her to follow, and the two began walking down towards the village proper.

While they walked, the woman properly introduced herself as Betsy Thistlewool. Her and her husband Ralph were the only one's in the village who cared for Old Will, as he had no remaining family, save for a son who went abroad to some faraway land in the south. Betsy was actually distantly related to Will, a twice removed cousin on her mother's side. But his branch of the Rushlight family died out many decades ago.

"Brigands got them in the night, they say. Burned down all their houses. But little Willy Rushlight's body was never found. Folk thought him to be dead, till some thirty years later he turns up with a wife and child from some southern land."

They came at last to the tree line of the Chetwood. Here the road ended, but another smaller path led further into the trees. They walked this path and came to a spacious hamlet isolated away from the rest of the town. A clearing sat beside it, and contained within was a finely built barnyard that could house more than a few great beasts, though it stood empty now. And there appeared no sign of any animal contained therein for a long while. Further within the clearing Lucina spotted two mounds of dirt. One appeared to be a clearly marked grave, marked by a moss covered headstone. Beside the grave there appeared to be a deep and freshly dug hole.

"Ralphie and Edd dug that yesterday…" Betsy spoke in a flat tone, pointing at the prepared grave. "Best hope he's still with us."

Betsy led her to the front door, and she gave two solid knocks. "Will! It's Betsy! I'm coming in now!" she shouted.

The rotting wooden door creaked loudly as Betsy pushed it open and they came into a single spacious room with modest furnishings. The windows had been blocked, with but few strands of sunlight peeking through to shine against the dust covered surfaces of the room. A light musty smell tickled her senses, making her nose twitch.

A table of solid wood stood near a wall covered in various crockeries and tools. Few shelves were built above the table, filled not with cookware but with books and scrolls. Maps and open books lay scattered about on the stone floor and the table covered with a fine layer of dust. A few chairs sat near a hearth on the far wall, glowing embers still burning within.

"Pardon me for the mess, what with the harvest and all I've barely any time to straighten this place out."

"It's no bother, mistress," Lucina assured her.

Her eyes next fell upon a sword and shield hung up above the mantle of the hearth. The shield appeared to once have been painted a brilliant green, though the paint had mostly chipped off. In the centre she could barely make out a white horse drawn in full gallop. The wood was withered, seeming as if it hadn't seen battle for a life-age of man, but seen battle it had. Cracks and splits littered the edges of the shield, no doubt struck by many blows. The sword too seemed well used, the wooden handle worn thin, sheathed in cracked and fraying leather. Tucked away in the corner Lucina spotted a large whetstone, worn down from many years of use.

'A warrior dwells in this house,' she thought.

"Leave that thing by the door, I ask," Betsy suddenly said, pointing at Lucina's hip.

"My sword?" she asked.

"Aye, begging your pardon, but I don't truly know who you are."

Lucina hesitated for a moment, her hand unconsciously squeezing the sheath of her blade.

"I'll make sure nobody steals it, if that's what's got you bothered," Betsy said.

Lucina pursed her lips, but finally conceded. "... All right." She slowly undid her sword belt and left her ancestral blade leaning against the wall near the door. Her eyes did not leave Falchion for a brief moment. She felt exposed, almost naked without her father's blade by her side, but she was willing to part with it for just a moment. She looked back to Betsy.

"Good, come on then," Betsy said. They went over to a closed door at the back of the hamlet. She gave it a few solid knocks before opening. They entered the room and there lying in a bed Lucina witnessed a man who had seen far too many winters. His breaths were rasping and drawn out, uttering a guttural cough now and then.

"What sort of ailment does he have?" Lucina whispered to Betsy, now conscious of her own health.

"Not any that can be passed along, else I'd have been dead a year ago," Betsy said, much to Lucina's relief.

"Will," Betsy said loudly, "Will, are you up?" To which the old man responded with a weak grunt, seeming not to have the strength to open his eyes. She went over and sat at a chair positioned beside his bed. A bowl filled with water and a cloth sat on the floor near him, and Betsy began blotting at his fevered brow with the cloth.

"We've a visitor for you," she spoke in slow and loud tones. "Will, we have a visitor for you, his name is Marth. He wants to see your maps." Betsy waved for her to approach, and Lucina went over and awkwardly stood at his bedside.

"Good day to you, Mr. Rushlight. I am Marth of Ylisse. I heard you were a well-travelled man in possession of maps. I'm lost and was hoping to see a few to find my way home."

The old man began mumbling something, but she couldn't understand.

"Where do you keep your maps, Will, the big ones?" Betsy asked.

"...Marth…" he finally croaked out.

"Aye, that's the lad's name, it is."

He began to mumble again in a weak voice. Then suddenly a few words rose up, loud and clear, and gave Lucina pause.

"...Hero-King…"

She looked to Betsy, who could only shrug her shoulders, "He mumbles all sorts of strange things, can't ever judge his meaning. Go on then, lad, I think I saw a few maps on the table out front."

Lucina nodded and turned round to leave the room. How he knew that title, she could not say. Her only guess was someone from Archet had heard her tale last night and relayed it to the old fellow.

"...Medeus…"

Lucina's heart almost skipped a beat, and she whipped back around. She was certain she heard him right, he even repeated it a few times. Never before had she uttered the shadow dragon's name here, not even in her tale, and she stood in place, dumbstruck.

"Something the matter, lad?" Betsy asked firmly.

"He… that name is from an ancient tale of my people. How would he know of it?"

"Will's been all over Middle Earth, maybe he's been to your land."

"My — my land's not on Middle Earth."

Betsy looked at her, her brow furrowed in confusion. But before she could form a response, Old Will began mumbling again. This time longer, and in complete sentences.

"... Marth, descendant of Anri, the champion of his day. In the War of Heroes he fought, and Medeus did he slay…Bearing forth Naga's fang, to end what Gharnef sought. Five jewels he had claimed, and the Fire-Emblem he had wrought…"

This was it. With this rhyme of lore Lucina was left with no doubt; he knew the tale; the tale of her ancestor in the wars of old. Just who was this man? How did he know the ancient lore of her people? Though she knew Old Will couldn't give any answer of value in his current state.

Betsy placed a hand upon his brow. "He's talking nonsense now, and he's burning up." She suddenly rose, "I need to draw some more water from the well and fetch a few things from my house. Stay if you please and take a look at his maps. But — mind yourself. And leave him be."

Lucina nodded, though such hostility from the woman was beginning to get on her nerves. Though strange compared to the Bree-folk, she certainly wouldn't have regarded herself as dubious-looking. Lucina held her temper now, however. She was a stranger after all. She went out and positioned herself at the wooden table in the other room as Betsy left in a hurry.

She began to examine the first of the maps thrown about the table and the floor, brushing off the dust with a delicate touch. When seeing its contents, she sighed. It appeared to show the same areas as Mr. Willowdale's maps. Her eyes then fell upon a rather peculiar map. It depicted an entirely different area. She saw a single solitary peak at the mouth of a long river. 'Erebor' it read in delicately curved letters, and a great city was drawn at its base named 'Dale'. West was occupied by a massive forest called Mirkwood, and even more westerly stood a great range of mountains, tall and commanding by the way they were drawn. The Misty Mountains, the range was called, and the map did not end there. Further west there lay the land of Eriador.

She hastily compared it to another map, seeing the same name drawn in the area Bree was located in. 'So, that is what lies to the east,' she thought.

A heavy thump came to her ears, and Lucina looked to see Old Will in his night-gown leaning heavily against the doorframe, panting hard.

"Mr. Rushlight!" Lucina cried and hurried to him, catching the old fellow just as he was about to fall over. "Let's get you back to bed."

"No… no," he pleaded in a shaky voice. "Take me to my chair, I wish to sit."

Lucina hesitated. He appeared in no condition to sit now, shivering from fever still.

"Please," he said again. "Do this for me, Marth."

She obliged, for who was she to deny a dying man his modest desires? She sat him upon an armchair by the hearth, then hastened to relight its flame. Soon enough the heat of a cheerful blaze enveloped them. She then fetched some blankets from his room and bound the shivering fellow tightly.

"Thank you, my lad,' he voiced weakly. She gave him a small smile but could only think about the wrath she'd receive from Betsy once she returned to see Will up from his bed. "Come sit," he then said. Lucina grabbed one of the smaller wooden chairs and took a seat by the hearth.

"You are an Ylissean?" he asked, his old eyes regarding her carefully.

"I am," Lucina replied, "you know of my people?"

"I do. In truth, you're the first I've met, and I thought your people a myth. In my travels far east, west, and south I had never heard even a whisper of your Halidom. Though, I've heard many strange tales. Most prominently of the Hero-King, Marth." He paused and gave her a curious look. "Do you descend from him? You bear his name, and he was said to have blue hair, much like yourself."

"N–no no!" she sputtered, "my parents were great admirers of him, that's all! And blue hair is quite common in Ylisse."

The old man laughed, "I was only jesting, my lad! But I seem to have gotten you all bothered like! Begging your pardon."

"It's all right, Mr. Rushlight," she breathed out. "But how is it that you have come to know these tales? None in Bree have ever heard of Ylisse, much less its royal history."

Will's smile faded as he stared into the flames. His face seemed pained as if haunted by some grim memory.

"A wanderer," he finally breathed out, "In my youth. He was a man both old and young who hailed from where I did not know and from which he would not say. He told me many strange tales of Ylisse, of Plegia, and of the realms of Valm."

"Was he an Ylissean?" she asked.

"No, he made it plain that he didn't hail from those lands, nor would he be welcomed among them."

Lucina laid back in her chair, relieved by this information. Clearly this wanderer was not one of her friends that had somehow arrived decades before herself. It would have been too much for her to bear knowing that her friends had come, grown old, and died before she had even arrived, and so she would never see them again. But she was still curious as to the origin of this man.

"How did you meet him?" she asked.

The old Rushlight did not speak, his face now scrunched up as he breathed out a shaking breath. "It is a dark memory…"

"Then I won't burden you to dwell on it, Mr. Rushlight."

"No," he said at length, "I must speak, for I've kept my silence for sixty years." He grew silent again, as if he was mustering up the courage to speak.

"When I was a boy," he finally began, "while toiling away at my daily chores, a man came to my father's farmstead. He appeared old at first glance, but beneath his long white beard I saw a bastion of youth. He was cloaked in long robes, but frail he was, for he did not have the strength to carry even his own weight. And he came to us crawling and begging.

I asked my father then to take pity on the poor fellow, and my father, being the generous man he was, let the strange wanderer take refuge in our barn with the animals, in exchange for what labour the man could give of course. He was a strange man. He did not laugh, nor joke, nor even smile. I could see… there was a darkness about him, and he carried himself as if burdened by some deep regret. My father did not truly like the man, but he kept him around as he did good work. And extra hands were always welcome. My brother and sisters and myself were forbidden from drawing too near to the Wanderer, save for necessity.

I did not like this rule, for I thought he deserved kindness, same as other folk. Often, I would risk sneaking off to offer the Wanderer some more food and other goods, for which he seemed grateful. In these rare meetings he told me all sorts of strange tales of lands I did not know to exist. And of strange creatures beyond count. But he would not speak of his own past, for it seems to cause him great anguish for reasons I would never understand.

A month had gone, and strange things began to occur. Our sheep would sometimes venture into the forests to the east, and never be seen again. We thought wolves prowled there, but we would find their carcasses intact and cut open as if from some sharp tool. Like a sword or axe. My brother said he would hear hideous moans coming from the forest to the east. He saw eyes even, glowing red in the night. One night my uncle took the hounds and stormed into the forests himself to see just what was out there. He never returned.

My mother, my poor mother, did not sleep for days. We had no way to defend ourselves. For in those days, when men dwelled more than a day's ride east of Bree, no help could come to us in time.

And the Wanderer, he… grew more restless by the passing day. He mumbled constantly, and appeared to always argue with himself, as if speaking to a voice we could not hear. Eventually he ceased his work entirely, taking to yelling at the stars. My father had enough of the Wanderer's strange habits. He took him by his beard and threw him off our farm, saying he would cut him clean open if he ever returned. And so, the Wanderer disappeared. That very night, they came…"

Will paused and brought a shaking hand to grasp at his forehead. "Creatures, shaped in the manner of man, fell upon us in the night. Their skin was greyed, and their eyes shined red, brighter than the moon. They were as strong as oxen, and faster than a flying bird. And their masks! Their horrible masks! I see them still clear as day!"

Lucina, for the third time in the span of an hour, was struck dumb. She couldn't believe what she heard. Risen, she was certain, had attacked Will's family a whole sixty years past! Her mind raced, thinking of what this could mean, and she suddenly was finding the room to be too hot.

"My family all perished by their blades," Will continued after a brief pause. "And my farm burned to the ground. But I? I had lived, saved in the last hour by none other than the Wanderer. In my shock and grief, I could not even utter a word for three whole days. So, he bore me away far into the forests.

When finally I was able to speak, he told me he couldn't remain in the Breelands, and he would leave at first light. He beckoned me to follow… and I did. For what choice did I have? My inheritance had turned to ash before my very eyes, there was nothing left for me in the Breelands…. From here the tale grows long and for many years we journeyed in this Middle Earth. Eventually, I had departed from him, after dwelling for time in Rohan in service to Thengel King. My feet brought me back home, and I settled here in Archet with my wife and son. As for the Wanderer, it has been well over forty years since I last saw his face…" Will took a deep breath in and out and grew silent again.

Lucina looked on to the lit hearth, dark thoughts lingering in her mind. The Wanderer, as strange as the man seemed, did not trouble much as this new revelation of the Risen. 'Sixty years. The Risen have been around for sixty years...'

What then could this mean? What did it mean for her friends? Would they have come now, or a hundred years ago? Or perhaps a hundred years in the future, when she was long dead?

'What if this is not the past at all, but the future of my own time?'

No, she wouldn't allow herself to think that way, if nothing else but for the sake of her own sanity.

The immediate problem was truly the Risen. They were here, causing pain and suffering for many long years, just like in her future. Was this then her fault? Had Mr. Rushlight's family died because of a decision she made?

"I'm sorry," Lucina said at length, "for your loss, Mr. Rushlight."

The old man then smiled at her. "Don't be," he said, "From the waves of grief I found happiness again. I saw things, learned things, forged bonds with people that I would have never known if I had dwelled all my life on my father's farm. I mourn their loss, truly, but I am more gladdened for what came after. There is a time, my lad, when it seems that darkness rules over the skies above you, but the sun always rises again, to shine ever the brighter."

'Just as Father used to say,' Lucina thought with a pained heart, a small smile creeping onto her face. She was glad for her mask then, to hide the tears that stung her eyes.

"Now then! You wished to see some of my maps?" Will said cheerfully.

"Ah, y-yes I was! I had already seen a few you have on the table over there."

"Oh, those won't do. Go ahead and fetch my big map, you'll find it underneath my bed. Careful now! It is my most prized possession these days. Bring it here! I wish to look at it as well."

Lucina stood up from her seat. "Thank you, Mr. Rushlight."