Revised March 2020

Bits and Pieces

:::

III III III

As promised, Liecia accompanied Anne back to the maidservants' quarters after she had finished her breakfast. She opened one of the large chests, and carefully pulled out two large packs that were attached to one another with sturdy leather straps.

"These are the saddlebags that were tied to your horse. We thought that they might contain clothes or the likes - so no one opened them."

She placed the bags on top of Anne's bed, offering her a cautious smile. Anne found that she could not quite manage one in return.

"Perhaps they will help you remember something." Liecia cleared her throat, lowering her clear-blue gaze. "Also, there is this—" She handed the smaller package to Anne, who took it hesitantly, feeling oddly apprehensive. The linen was grimy, and there were dark-brown spots on it. "It was in a pocket of the gown you wore when you arrived here."

Anne could not help noticing how the maid absently wiped her hands on her apron, once she had handed her the sad-looking bundle. The maid looked as though she might wish to say something else, but then merely offered the other woman another tight smile. "I shall leave you to it now, I have to help with lunch preparations."

Anne was grateful for the young woman's tact. She had not been too thrilled by the thought of having to deal with these remnants of her past while being watched by someone she barely knew – no matter how kind they were being about it. "Thank you," she muttered.

Liecia nodded, briefly touched Anne's arm and left the room, closing the door behind her. Anne sat down on her bed, putting down the cloth-wrapped bundle on the blanket next to her, and slowly started unbuckling the straps on the saddlebags with shaking fingers.

Inside, as Liecia had suspected, she found an assortment of garments, slightly musty-smelling and fairly crumpled; about half a dozen dresses, shifts, and smallclothes. There was also a cloak, tightly folded, and lined with reddish-brown fur. Some of the gowns were linen and coarse cotton, but one or two were made of heavy silk, smooth and cool to the touch. Slowly Anne let her hand glide over the different textures. Who was this woman, she felt less and less connected to? What had she been running from?

A Bogskirl screeched outside, causing her to flinch and snap out of her thoughts. She put the saddlebags with the clothes aside and turned her attention, somewhat reluctantly, to the small, grimy package. It was very light. Again, Anne eyed the dried brown spots on the linen and felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Cautious not to touch the dark stains, she unwrapped the bundle, feeling her pulse quicken a little. To her disappointment, however, inside was nothing but a piece of folded paper, dirty, thick and yellowish. As she unfolded it, she saw that it was handwritten and appeared to be the right part of a page that had been torn vertically in half.

ys already, and Elias

he does not deem us

g. Maybe I do deserve

Yet I am selfish and

here with someone

his side. I think I

I am weak, barely

write this down,

it, Someone

e, who will face

happened and

I will come to

some broth, but I do

p anything down.

Anne read it several times, and then slowly let her hands sink into her lap, biting the inside of her lip in frustration. This was no help at all. The words made no sense to her; they did not seem familiar or evoke any memories whatsoever. Now that she thought about it, it wasn't even certain that she had written this. Perhaps it was a letter she had received or something that had nothing to do with her whatsoever.

Somehow, she did not believe that to be the case, though. From what she could make of the disjointed words and half-sentences, it seemed like nothing someone would write in a correspondence. It read more like a journal entry. Not that it mattered. Without the rest of the page, sitting here and brooding over this was no use. Anne stared at the handwriting; slender, black and anonymous. Her eyes wandered back to the first line. Elias. Was that him, she wondered, the brother Liecia had mentioned? Or someone else entirely? Someone who had no part in this?

With a resigned sigh, Anne refolded the paper and, after hesitating for a moment, carefully put it in one of the little side pockets of the saddlebags. Even if it was useless, throwing it away seemed wrong, somehow. She stood, took the bags and placed them on top of the nearest chest, then reached to scoop up the piece of linen cloth, which the torn paper had been wrapped in. As she lifted it, something small and glittering fell out of its folds. Curious, she bent and picked it up. It was a silver pendant, about half a finger's length, on a thin chain. Squinting, Anne looked at it more closely. The pendant had the shape of a leaf, with very sharp, jagged edges.

There was a knock on the door suddenly, and Anne straightening up, stuffing the pendant into her skirt pocket. It was Nesta, asking if Anne would like to eat some lunch with her and the other servants. Anne nodded, relieved in spite of herself. What was there to be gained, after all, from stumbling through the dark without any real clues?

Nardil was probably right, she thought as she followed Nesta downstairs and into the kitchen. She would just have to give it time.

:

Over the next couple of days, Anne filled her waking hours by trying to take her mind off things and make herself as useful as possible at The Rolling Barrel. She helped Nesta and Liecia with their chores and offered to assist Odo in the stables, which he rejected firmly — and slightly appalled. Keeping herself busy, she found that she could achieve, if not a sense of inner peace, then at least a sort of patient resignation concerning her situation.

One late afternoon, a little over a week after Anne had first woken up from her unconsciousness, she left the safe borders of the Inn for the first time when Nesta took her along to do some laundry. Both women were carrying baskets with sheets and clothes as they left the Barrel through the side entrance. They crossed the courtyard, and went through an archway that led them onto the high street of the town.

The few people they met greeted Nesta with smiles but gave Anne odd looks. Anne tried to ignore it. She could only imagine that everyone here already knew, at least roughly, about the circumstances that had brought her to the village. Considering what Nesta had told her, people had probably a good reason to be wary.

The street, Anne saw, was leading to a small town square. They did not go there, however, but turned a corner and left the street down a narrow lane, which was bordered on both sides by back walls of houses and high fences. Nesta explained to Anne that this was a shortcut to get to the edge of the wood.

"The wood?" Anne asked, surprised. "Aren't we going to use that well in the town square?" She was sure that she had glimpsed one.

Nesta shook her head. "That is drinking water. During summer, we use a small pond for washing laundry, just beyond the forest border. It is only a few minutes walk."

They passed the last building and stepped through an open gate that led them out of the shadowy lane into the warmth of bright sunlight. Anne could see the forest clearly now, gently sloping hills in varying shades of green and bluish grey, forming an uneven horizon. From what she could tell, it stretched for hundreds of miles in all directions.

They followed a gently winding path, cutting through a meadow of tall grass that was dotted by clusters of oak trees here and there. The air was filled with the scent of blooming grass and flowers, the hum of bees, and the lulling, monotonous buzz of crickets.

It was very warm. Anne's hands clutching the handles of the laundry basket were slick with sweat. She was relieved when they reached the outskirts of the forest, where the sharp and earthy scent of peat and rotten leaves greeted them, and the trees provided some welcome shade. They did not venture very deep; after a couple of minutes, they reached a small clearing with a pond in its centre.

Washing the clothes and sheets was exhausting work, and Anne was grateful for the shade and the lukewarm water. She had brought her own shoes, which Nesta had returned to her earlier, to wash them as well. They were rather simple, about ankle-high boots made of unstained leather that could be laced up at the sides. The shoes were caked in dried mud, and Anne soaked them repeatedly, trying to get them as clean as possible.

Several hours later, they gathered up their things and headed back to the village. Anne realised then that they were even closer to the edge of the forest than she had thought. She could still see patches of sunlit meadow between the tree trunks to her left.

Anne let her gaze wander to the right, where the trees stood closer and the light was a lot dimmer. Tall pines alternated with birches and oaks. A thick carpet of old leaves covered the ground, and further in, it was nearly obscured by sweetbriar thickets and dense clusters of fern—

Anne blinked, stopped in her tracks and looked back. Her heart skipped a beat — then was thumping, hard and fast. Perhaps fifty yards away, barely visible in the forest gloom, there were people — standing silently between the trees.

Four, five, maybe six tall figures stood completely motionless in the twilight; all of them were facing the path and even though they were too far away to make out their faces, they seemed to be staring at the two women. Unable to take her eyes away from the eerie sight, Anne staggered in her hurry to catch up with Nesta, who was a few steps ahead of her.

"Nesta, there—"

"I know," Nesta said in a clipped voice. "Keep walking."

"But—"

"Keep walking."

Anne obeyed; with her heart hammering, and fighting the urge to look back. She followed Nesta, who walked with brisk steps, along the path. When they had left the last trees behind and were back in the meadow and the sunlight, Nesta started to run with Anne close at her heels. They did not stop until they reached the gate that led back to the narrow alley and into the town. Only then, Nesta paused, lowered her basket to the ground and both women leaned against the gate for a few moments, catching their breath.

"Who—" Anne panted once she felt like she could speak again. "Who were—"

But Nesta cut her off with a rapidly raised hand and a shake of her head, her face still drawn and tense. "Come on," she said, bending to pick up the laundry basket. "We have to get back."

Nesta and Anne arrived back at the Inn's courtyard and had almost reached the entrance when the door of the stables opened and Odo emerged, pushing a wheelbarrow full of dirtied straw. Nesta called out to him.

"Odo! Where is Master Dockleaf?"

Odo straightened and brushed a few wisps of sweaty, wheat-coloured hair out of his eyes. "Is something amiss? You look like—"

"Where is he, Odo?"

"In the parlour, I think," Odo stammered, obviously taken aback by the sharp urgency in Nesta's voice. "Mayor Rathar came by, and—"

Nesta did not wait for him to finish but hurried towards the door. Anne gave the young man an apologetic look and followed her inside. They found Dockleaf in the parlour at one of the round tables, deep in conversation with Nardil and a grey-haired man with a ruddy complexion and deep-set, piercing eyes. They had large jugs in front of them, and Nardil was smoking a pipe. All three looked up when Nesta and Anne entered.

"Forgive us the interruption, sirs," Nesta said, still panting slightly, "But I am afraid, this can not wait. We just saw a few of them."

The men immediately straightened in their seats, their expressions grim, and Nardil let his pipe sink. There was a sharp intake of breath behind them. Anne glanced over her shoulder and saw Liecia standing in the doorway, her blue eyes wide with shock.

"Where?" Dockleaf demanded at last.

"Near the washing pond. We were on our way back -"

"How many of them?" Nardil asked sharply.

"I counted five or six," Nesta said, throwing Anne an uncertain glance. "But, of course, we did not linger."

"Of course," Nardil muttered, seemingly more to himself. "They did nothing? Did not follow you?"

Both women shook their heads.

"It looked as though they were watching us," Nesta said slowly. "They did not move at all, merely stood there and stared at us."

"Very well, and we shall not wait until they try something else," the grey-haired man growled. "We must act now!"

"And what would you have us do, Rathar?" Dockleaf growled. "They are probably well away by now, and we do not exactly have an armed division on demand. Should we set Odo, Terric and young Forwin on their trail? No, I fear we have no choice but to ask for help. We need to send word to the Woodland Realm."

"Thranduil has no interest in Carrockton," Rathar said dismissively. "If the Altered are coming this close to the village, it would seem that he is not even able to guard his own borders anymore. We have been relying on the protection of the Elves for far too long already. I say we warn the people, tell them to send their wives and children to Edoras."

"Edoras?" Dockleaf looked at him incredulously. "That is some five hundred odd miles. It would take at least two weeks, in the best of cases!"

"The small group that left for Rohan at the end of March arrived safely, if you recall, Dockleaf."

"Yes, Rathar, I do indeed, but that was months ago!"

"I agree with Dockleaf," Nardil spoke, his voice calm and firm. "Sending a messenger to Thranduil is probably your best option. Yet, what you say, Mr. Rathar, is also true. The people need to be warned, though you might want to tread cautiously, lest you create a panic. Fear is a poor advisor."

"With all due respect, Master Ranger," Rathar retorted. "I am aware that your people are friendly with the Elvish folk, but they never sought close friendship with us here in Carrockton, nor did we with them, though you might call us close neighbours. By all means, send someone to them, should you manage to find anyone foolish enough to go there. If you will excuse me now, sirs, I have a few people I need to speak to."

With that, he stood, nodded curtly at Nardil and Dockleaf, and bowed slightly in the direction of the women, before marching from the room. Dockleaf stared after him, his brow crinkled. "That man is too damn jumped-up for his own good."

Nardil knocked out his pipe, eyes narrowed pensively. "So it begins," he said at last. "If you cannot find someone willing to ride to Thranduil, I shall go myself; the Eldar need to know about this if they are not aware of it already. Otherwise, I must continue on the morrow. In the event that someone from Imladris arrives here, I shall give you a message for them..."

"Come on," Liecia muttered, taking Anne by the arm and leading her out the door and back into the kitchen. Nesta followed, closing the door behind them. Liecia turned around to face the other two.

"Oh dear, are you two all right?"

"Yes," Nesta replied, "As I said, they did not try to harm us. I suppose it was only a matter of time... Mr Rathar is right in a way, is he not? Everyone has been relying on King Thranduil to guard the borders."

"I don't understand," Anne said slowly. "This King, Thranduil—" she stumbled slightly over the name, "—why do you think his people stopped protecting their realm if that's what the forest is?"

Liecia's smooth brow knit into a small frown. "Perhaps they have simply retreated further into the north. Or they are busy with other matters. One way or another, Elves—" she raised her shoulders in a delicate shrug. "I mean, who knows how their minds work."

Anne fell silent. She had heard people mention Elves randomly on several occasions, and still did not really know what to make of it.

"It is no use worrying ourselves," Liecia said now. "Remember that we are still safe here. Carrockton has not been involved so far, and I, for one, can see no reason why that should change overnight."

Little could any of them have known how prophetic these words would turn out to be.