June 5, T.A. 3003
"Hello Ardith. And what have you been up to this fine day?"
"I went to the edge of the wood to pick flowers."
"Beyond the gates? Even with the orc raiders making their way through our lands from Mordor?"
You will not go out in haste, nor will you go as a fugitive. But I will go before you and be your rear guard.
"The woods are safe. At least, I did not sense anything wrong. The animals were peaceful. And you have always said you trusted the horses above the men that ride them."
"I did say that. But I suppose I worry about you. You are brave, but young still to wander so much by yourself."
"Ríndir, do you know of the Valar?"
"Only what I remember from old stories."
"Do you think they're real?"
"If they are real, and they have allowed the evil in Mordor to grow unchecked then they are either not very powerful or heedless of the suffering of men. Perhaps they care only for the Elves."
"I think they talk to me sometimes."
"Do they?
"Mother thinks I make things up, but I hear things…whispers almost. It might be the Valar."
"Do you ever think perhaps you spend too much time alone, Ardith?"
"I prefer to be alone."
"That is probably what concerns your mother."
"I do not care what she thinks, or what anyone thinks. Sometimes I would like to run away and live in the woods."
"You would find it hard work, I imagine."
"I don't mind hard work. You know, you should hang the horses' tack in order of size. It would be easier to fetch them quickly."
"It is not my stable to oversee. I just help care for the horses."
"I think you should be the overseer. Old Alf is too nearsighted and lazy to really care about how things are run. If you would speak up for yourself, maybe you'd have a more desirable position."
"You're a high-handed young miss."
"Why should I not speak out if I see a better way something can be done?"
"People rarely like to be made aware of their own flaws."
"Mother says I need to learn to hold my tongue if I want a man to court me."
"Thinking of that already are you?"
"She is. I am not."
"How old are you now?"
"Thirteen."
"Well when you're my age you'll probably feel differently about it."
"Do you? Are you courting anyone? Surely you're old enough?"
"I am old enough, but there are few who see a stablehand as a good catch."
"Then they're silly, and you shouldn't want to marry them anyway."
"My very thoughts."
"Ríndir?"
"Yes."
"How old will you be when I'm your age?"
"That's rather a roundabout way of asking, but I will be almost thirty."
"Oh. Then I suppose you can not wait for me to grow up."
"Probably not. And your family would not see it as suitable anyway."
"I am to be apprenticed to Lord Denethor's tailor. So it would not matter so much if you remain a stablehand, because I will be earning wages as well."
"That is a bold and gracious offer, but I'm afraid there's a bit more to courting and marriage than just earning a good wage."
"Oh…Well if I can't marry you, then I hope I find someone just like you."
"And why do you say that?"
"Because being with you is almost as good as being alone."
"That is quite a compliment, but I think you should run along home now."
"Very well. But I meant what I said about the tack."
"And I will take the advice to heart, I assure you."
"Goodbye, Ríndir."
January 21, T.A. 3021
A bitter wind whipped around the stone and sod hut, rattling the wooden door. Ardith poured the boiling water over the tea leaves and watched them unfurl and swirl around the cup. Funny that this memory should come to mind, the first time she wondered what it might be like to be married to that stablehand. She'd quite forgotten about the voice, that it had called out to her when she was young. But thinking on it now she realized that was also the day she had begun to intentionally tune the voice out. Ríndir had felt the Valar weak or perhaps uncaring, and if that was what he thought, she did not want to hear from them again. And for fifteen years she had not, not until the day of King Elessar's coronation almost two years ago.
Since that time the voice had been relentless, speaking of fire and death and destruction. She wondered if the deaths of her husband and sons had been punishment for ignoring it. Losing everything had pushed her to withdraw from the life she had known, and Ardith left with no plans other than to put as much distance as possible between herself and the White City. Then two days into her journey she had stumbled upon this house, more a hut, abandoned in the woods. It wasn't quite as far out as she had thought to go, but it was far enough away that she could not see the rise of Minas Tirith against the horizon.
The qualities so despaired of by her mother that labeled her reckless, stubborn, and unsociable, Ríndir had called out as fearlessness, perseverance, and a simple desire for solitude. And the attributes had served her in good stead out here in the forest. She was able to find most of what she needed to survive, and only occasionally ventured out to a nearby village, another day's journey beyond for supplies or to sell pieces she had sewn.
You will not go out in haste, nor will you go as a fugitive. But I will go before you and be your rear guard.
And the voice of course had followed her out to this small glen in the forest, and in the midst of its warnings there were whispers of hope and love and peacefulness, things she had not felt for months. And it kept on at her about waiting for someone. It was unsettling, but in the curious way that humans adapt to all manner of strange things, Ardith settled into her seclusion and resigned herself to living with it, waiting for whomever it would send, and acknowledging it would probably drive her to the brink of insanity before the end.
24, March, Fo.A. 1
The stranger grew very still and Ardith could feel his stare, though his face remained shadowed by the cloak. "You want to know of Eru?"
Ardith nodded once.
"Because you think he has been speaking to you?" There was no trace of skepticism in his tone, but Ardith bristled regardless.
"You need not heed my words," she snapped. "I have told you there is a place for you to sleep in the barn. Go and leave me to my madness."
"Sit down," he said sternly. "There is no cause for you to take umbrage at my questions. Mad or not, I am perfectly willing to speak with you about this…and if you would not mind perhaps making us some tea first, that would be most welcome. It is rather a chilly night."
With a sigh, the stranger removed his cloak and draped it over the back of a chair before sinking wearily into it. Ardith watched him out of the corner of her eye as she filled the kettle with water from the bucket and lifted it onto the metal hanger in the fireplace. He removed a long pipe from leather case on his belt, and then rummaged in a small pouch for enough pipeweed to fill the bowl. Taking a long straw from the kindling box, he lit the tip in the fire and from that lit his pipe, drawing on it gently.
"What is your name?" Ardith asked abruptly, taking the seat across from him.
"Údar," he answered simply.
"And how do you know of this voice, this Eru that disturbs me waking or sleeping?"
"That is a longer story," Údar replied, puffing on the pipe. The scented smoke rose serenely into the air and Ardith felt herself calm. "Eru Illúvatar is…well, he simply is. He is the Allfather, one who gives life, who began creation with the Valar…Out of curiosity, what has he said?"
Ardith gave a slight shudder. "He speaks of the end of the world, the doom of all creation. And then he will speak of hope, of peace. It confounds me. He also said that you were his."
Údar stared at her, his dark eyes startled. "Did he?" He shifted uneasily in his chair and drew once more on his pipe, exhaling a cloud of smoke that obscured his face for a moment. "Did he indeed?"