Three months later
Winter came to Ithilien almost overnight, bringing with it a cold chill that permeated through the caves, a frost covering the grass like crystals in the dim morning sunlight. Daeril stood outside the cave mouth, breath like smoke in the air, shivering even in her fur covered cloak.
"Fuck, it's cold!" Exclaimed Mablung, shifting his cloak about him. "Why do you wish to speak outside, Daeril? We could sit by the fire inside and not freeze!"
The woman smiled weakly, beckoning him to follow. Together the rangers walked down the path toward the hidden stables, entering the barn to a chorus of neighs.
"Much warmer in here!" Mablung said with a sigh of relief. "Everything alright?"
Daeril turned, shutting the door behind them, then nervously approached Mablung.
"No. I received a letter early this morning."
His smile turns to a look of concern. Daeril tries to speak, but her breath catches, lip trembling as tears begin to well in her eyes.
"A letter from the King," she gasped. "My brother is dead."
"Daeril... I'm so sorry! What happened?"
"Stabbed," she gasped, trying to breathe through the sobs. "He was... in Bree."
Mablung's arms wrapped around the devastated woman, a small comfort in a world full of pain. He held her until the sobs subsided and she began to talk again.
"I need to leave," she said, wiping her eyes. "Not that it will bring him back, but I want to visit his grave. And maybe... find those responsible."
"Were there any leads?"
She shook her head.
"His body was found in an alley. He'd been dead for hours. My people there are probably looking, but I don't know. I know I need to go there, for my own sanity."
"Of course. I will ensure you do so."
"I do not wish to abandon my post, but... he's the only family I have. My next closest relation... well, is the king."
Mablung shifted his stance, softening.
"You are not abandoning your post. This is important. Family comes before all. Pack your things, and I will send word to Captain Faramir and provide you with an escort to Minas Tirith. I am certain King Elessar will wish to speak to you before you set out on the long journey."
"Are you sure?"
Mablung nodded.
"I am in charge here, my word is law. Go pack, now."
Daeril returned inside the cave complex alone, and within the hour had everything packed. Her entire life could still fit inside one bag, she mused to herself. Daenir taught her well- travel lightly and your back will thank you. The thought of her brother hit like an arrow to the heart, and she found herself overcome with dark dread as she made her way back to the stable. What meaning has life when those you love are taken from you? How does one go on?
Daeril found Rocky already tacked up and tied outside and a familiar horse next to him. Syren, Mablung's grey mare. Without a second thought, the ranger packed rations and a water skin into the saddle bags, and was just about to go find Mablung for further direction when he showed up. She looked him over, noting he was in fact dressed for traveling.
"Are you my escort?"
"Indeed I am. Is that alright with you?"
"But you're in charge here?"
"Damrod will be fine in my stead. I need... I want to be here for you. And a ride to the city would be most refreshing."
They set out quickly, making good time in reaching Cair Andros, crossing the river and proceeding directly to the city. With a few stops to water and rest the horses, as well as taking food themselves, the two Dunedain reached Minas Tirith with a few hours to spare before sunset.
Up through the levels of the city they rode, at last coming to the King's Stable in the High City. The horses seen to, they entered the Hall of the King, two soldiers in the King's livery escorting them through past the throne room to the back corridors. They were not expected so soon, but let in regardless. King Elessar received them in his study, surprised to see them.
"My king... I..." Daeril choked on her words, tears coming unbidden.
He set down his quill, standing from his desk and went to the young ranger. Daeril could not hold back the emotions, now in the presence of the only family she had left. He took her in his arms, holding her as a father would. Her own had been taken from her very young, Daenir being both brother and father to her.
"Ni dem achin, Daeril. I am so sorry."
"Why did this happen?" She asked, face buried in the rich suede of his tunic. "Bree is safe!"
"There are dangerous people everywhere," he said. "There is still unrest in Breeland. Reports of Southron gangs. In our absence it became somewhat overrun."
Daeril pulled away, composing herself as best she could. She realized Mablung had not come in, and found herself missing his presence. Hopefully he had not gone far.
"I wish to go to Bree," Daeril said. "I request permission to leave my duties in Ithilien and travel there."
The King's brow furrowed, pondering her request for a moment.
"What will you do there?"
"Find who killed my brother."
"And if you find them? Then what?"
"I suppose kill them."
"Will that make you feel better?"
The more the king asked questions, the more Daeril questioned what she really wanted. Would taking a life make her loss any less painful? She sighed, rubbing her tired eyes.
"No. It won't. But I have to do something. I have to visit our people. Make peace with all of it."
"Very well," he said. "I give you leave to travel. However, I ask that you not go alone. There is a caravan leaving tomorrow, heading to Rohan. Two elves travel with them, and will be going on to Imladris. I would ask that you join them. There is safety in numbers."
"Of course, my King."
"You may rest here tonight, I will see that rooms prepared for you and Mablung."
—-
That night as Daeril prepared for bed, candles burning by the bed and window illuminating the room in a soft glow, a knock came at the door. Drawing her dressing gown around her, she answered it. On the other side stood Mablung, a bottle of wine in hand.
"I thought you could use company," he said.
She opened the door wider, allowing the man in before shutting and locking it. Mablung sat in one of the plush armchairs by the fire, pulling out two glasses and pouring. Daeril joined him, sitting down and taking the offered glass of wine.
"Thank you," she whispered. "It feels strange being here."
"It does. I haven't been in the city since the war."
"Same," she took a sip, enjoying the crisp taste. "I don't know if I will ever get used to it. It's too loud, and so many people."
"What is home like?" Asked Mablung.
"I come from a village called Taurdal. It's in a part of Eriador called the Angle. But I spent the past several years on post near the Shire, and then in Sarn Ford. Until the black riders came, that is."
"So, tell me of Taurdal," he smiled over his glass of wine. "Who was Daeril in her formative years?"
"I was a little shit, is what I was," she laughed. "I lived with my father, when he wasn't away in the wild, and my aunt and uncle took care of me in his stead. I was always getting into trouble, playing with weapons I could barely lift, riding horses I was too small for.. I wanted to be like my father, so badly."
Daeril, her stomach suddenly recoiling at the thought of wine, set the glass back down on the table.
"We had a dog, a half-wolf. He was golden furred and very lazy. I always liked dogs."
"Maybe you should get one?" Suggested Mablung.
"Maybe one day. I have Rocky, he's dog enough for me."
"That horse is a menace!"
"Yes, I know. But he's brought me very, very far. Enough about me- What about you?"
"I grew up in Ithilien. It was just my mother, father and I. We also had a dog, a big hound. My mother still has one of her pups. I was a climber, I loved getting up high in the trees. Then the orcs overran my village, and we were forced to retreat to Osgiliath. My mother settled in Cair Andros, and I became a ranger in Ithilien. Is the wine alright?"
"Huh? Oh, yes, it's fine. I just don't have the stomach for wine tonight, it seems."
"I'll finish it," he said with a smile. "You look weary, shall I leave you to rest?"
"No! I- I rather enjoy your company."
"As do I. Which, reminds me. I will be going with you North, if you will allow it."
"Of course I will! Are you able to?!"
"Yes, I have the kings permission."
As Mablung sipped his wine, Daeril watched and admired him. They'd enjoyed a night together, three months prior, and she'd thought of it a lot since then. Due to their duties, they'd been only on cordial, official terms. It was nice to let loose, despite the circumstances, and be together here and now.
"What are you thinking about?" He asked, noting her far off look.
"The wedding, actually. That night... it was a good one."
"It was. You were beautiful that night. As you are now."
Daeril laughed. She could clean up well, but beautiful isn't the word she would use to describe herself.
"Thank you, you are too kind."
"It's true. You are a very beautiful woman. As well as smart, and brave. I haven't stopped thinking about you, ever since that night."
Daeril tried her best to maintain composure, the heat of embarrassment rising to her cheeks. Male attention was never her strong suite.
"I haven't either. Mablung, I want you to stay with me, tonight. If you wish."
Mablung set down his empty glass, standing from the chair and offering his hand. Daeril took it, and he pulled her to her feet.
"I would like nothing more."
In the flickering candlelight, he kissed her. Gently at first, caressing her cheek. Then his hands ran through her hair, falling to her hips.
—-
At first light, the two rangers left the warm embrace of each-other and the bed they shared, readying for the journey from the city. Mablung returned to his room to fetch his gear as Daeril went on ahead, with a spring in her step. It had been a good night, and Mablung had been just as pleasant as her first night with him. She headed straight to the stables, where she readied Rocky for the journey north.
Soon Mablung joined her, and together they rode out to meet the caravan. As promised, two elves rode with the caravan, a male and female both with copper colored hair.
"You must be Lady Daeril," said the male, greeting her in the elven way. "I am Carafind, and this is my sister Eredthel."
The rangers introduced themselves, and fell in with the elves as the caravan set out. Their journey would take them into Rohan, where the elves and rangers would split off to continue through the Gap of Rohan and further north. In fair weather and a fast past it would take four days of travel, but the cargo being transported from Minas Tirith to Edoras would slow things, adding a day or two.
The first day of travel was uneventful, and they traveled until the caravan leader called for circling the wagons at dusk. The rangers chose to rest by their own fire, the weather not quite too cold to sleep outside. Winter was certainly coming, but had not yet overtaken Gondor. The elves kept watch, and if they slept Daeril did not know.
Night passed uneventfully, and in the morning Daeril woke warm despite the frost clinging to her exposed hair. Mablung had relit the fire sometime in the night while she slept, it seemed, and he was already awake and getting ready for the days travel.
"Breakfast!" He said, handing her some jerky.
"Thank you, Mablung! I guess I overslept."
"You needed it. I've already readied Rocky for you."
Daeril ate while packing up her bedroll, strapped everything to Rocky's saddle, and soon they were mounted up and setting out with the caravan.
Four more days of travel and finally they came to a parting of the roads. They had reached Edoras in the early afternoon, the caravan's final destination. The caravan leader wished them safe travel, and with that the two rangers and two elves headed on towards the gap of Rohan. Their speed increased dramatically, and by the time the sun began to set they had nearly reached the halfway point to the Fords of Isen.
"Tomorrow we will pass Helm's Deep. That is where my people and I came across King Aragorn and company, and rode to war. Feels like a lifetime ago."
"It does. Perhaps we will have lasting peace, now," replied Mablung. "As long as our people keep the lands safe."
"Yes, that would be ideal," said Daeril. "Seems nowhere is safe anymore. There is still evil in some men's hearts."
Overcome with grief for her brother, Daeril retired to the fire, drawing her cloak about herself. She tried not to think about him and the reason for this journey, but ever her thoughts drifted to the cold reality of his death. She tried not to shed any tears, but they came anyway. She wiped them away as soon as they fell, but still Mablung could see her grief. He took a seat next to her, his hand resting on her shoulder for a moment before he lifted her chin. She looked into his eyes, so full of concern, and wept.
"We will find the ones who did this," Mablung said. "I will do anything in my power to help you, I promise."
"Thank you," she sniffed. "For everything."
After a dinner of vegetables roasted over the fire and dried meat, the party of four shared stories and songs to keep the chill of the early winter night away. The rangers elves came from Imladris, and had stayed in Minas Tirith for the wedding of their lady Arwen Undómiel. They had not wished to leave with Elrond's household when they traveled months ago, finding their skills in metalwork highly sought after in the rebuilding of the city.
"We are both metal smiths," said Carafind. "My skills lie in jewelry making. Eredthel is one of the finest weapon makers of this age."
"You flatter me, brother!" She laughed, pulling out a sheathed dagger. "I merely make things as have been made for thousands of years before my time. The only difference is my decoration. Here, Daeril, this I made one hundred years ago!"
Daeril took the dagger and pulled the weapon from the sheath. The handle was made of fine steel and polished wood, the hilt carved to look like a bird's wings. The blade, a dark tempered steel with an oil slick appearance, shimmered black, purple, green and blue as she moved it.
"This is gorgeous! You do beautiful work!"
"I thank you! I call this one Crabansigil, Raven Knife. Not very creative, I'm afraid."
"I think the work speaks for itself," Mablung laughs. "Your artistry is very appreciated."
"You should see Carafind's work! This pendant is one of his!"
She holds up her pendant, a diamond wrapped in platinum, shaped like the moon framed by tree branches.
"Spectacular!" Said Daeril. "I've worn expensive jewels borrowed from the princess of Dol Amroth, but none so lovely as that."
"Oh yes, we have met fair Lothiriel," Carafind said. "She asked for a custom piece, but sadly all my materials are in Imladris. It would be my pleasure to show you more when we get to Imladris!"
"I would be honored!"
That night they all took turns on watch, a bit more cautious so close to warg territory. However, the night passed uneventfully and the party pressed on in the morning. By noon the towers of Helm's Deep came into view, but they did not stop. Daeril noticed the trees were different now, the dense forest she had remembered passing by was now much smaller. Not burnt or torn down, but moved on. So the stories of the ents, tree herders, were true. There were many things in this world that Daeril had heard of, but never seen. After a war with giant eagles and creatures beyond her very nightmares, nothing surprised her anymore.
Another day of safe travel behind them, they crossed the Fords of Isen just before sunset, and made camp a mile past. The night passed, morning came, and with it a snowfall. It started light as they began the morning's ride, but grew heavier and heavier through the day. The winds began to pick up, strong gusts chilling them to their very bones even as they braced against them in their furs and cloaks. They pressed on for hours, but by late afternoon it became evident they would need to find proper shelter to weather out the storm overnight.
After some searching Eredthel spotted a cave sheltered by a copse of trees, and upon further exploitation it seemed to have been used recently. Perhaps by tradesmen going to Isengard from the North, but who could say. Daeril only hoped it was not the home of anything sinister- bears, wolves, Wildmen. They made a fire outside of the cave mouth, the trees keeping out most of the wind and snow, and Mablung made a stew over the fire.
Night fell, and as the two rangers huddled close, listening to Eredthel telling her rendition of the story of Beren and Luthíen, the wind began to really howl. Eredthel looked up in alarm, gazing out into the darkness.
"Did you hear that?"
"The wind?" Asked Daeril.
"No, listen."
Daeril could only hear the wind. Mablung looked at her and shrugged. Of course, elves are blessed with far superior hearing than humans.
"Wolves," said Carafind. "They're close."
"Do we put out the fire?" Daeril whispered, fingers creeping toward her sword.
"Nay, they do not like fire," replied the elf. "If we are lucky they will not approach. If they are starving..."
Unfortunately, they were. From either side of the tree-line came dark shapes, crouched low and moving slow. The firelight reflected green and red off their eyes. Five sets of them. Daeril got to her feet, drawing her blade, and readied for their approach. Mablung followed suit, standing just in front of her, as the elves did nothing. Carafind instead grabbed the pot of leftover food, and walked forward with it. He dumped it out on the fresh snow, and returned to the fire.
"What are you doing?" Mablung asked, completely confused.
"Watch." Was the elf's simple reply.
One dark figure moved forward, and into the edge of the light. A small, grey wolf, with a beautiful fur coat but clearly hungry. She sniffed the food offering, and with a short bark to the pack, began to eat. The other four walked forward, joining her. Soon the two humans and two elves were standing together and watching the five hungry animals finish off their next day's lunch. As soon as they finished, they bounded off into the night.
"Well that was unexpected," said Mablung. "I'm used to more aggression."
"They can be, but these ones are just hungry. The wildmen have lessened in number, and the wolves have not been as well fed. They keep them as pets around here."
"Will they attack in the night?" Asked Daeril, sheathing her sword.
"They could, but I do not believe they will," said Eredthel. "They'll move on, looking for prey or other kindly travelers to feed them."
"As long as they don't eat me," mumbled Daeril.
"Don't worry your pretty little head, I won't let them near you." Mablung said with a laugh, sheathing his own sword. "Let's get some rest."
It was a cold night, but drawing in close to Mablung kept Daeril warm. She woke in the morning completely wrapped in his arms, warm and content. The elves did not say anything; perhaps they knew about their relationship, and perhaps they did not care. To be sharing a bedroll and intimate with a man and not officially courting was frowned upon in most places. The elves did not interfere with or follow human constraints.
—-
Ni dem achin- I am sad for you
--
A/N: I'm not sure anyone is still around to read this considering my long hiatus, but wanted to get something out there. I discovered RPGs 2.5 years ago after going through some not so great life changes, and doing a lot of campaign recap writing. My writing style has changed a lot, so going back to this has been extremely difficult! Please drop me a review, I've missed this place!