Thanks for the warm response to my first chapter, I greatly appreciate it!
Please enjoy the second part of Ranel's journey.
When Ravens Fly
Chapter II: The Long Road Ahead
The air was clear, fresh against her face as Ranel fastened her belongings onto the leather belt, tight and heavy around her hips. With both lute and a satchel slung across her shoulder, she knew the journey – already a several months long trek through the rough wildernesses that lay ahead of her – would be tediously long. Of course the burden of her supplies, that had left her money pouch painfully empty, would hopefully make up for her only worries before reaching Lake-town. She fiddled with the scruffy cloak, its edges caught and wrinkled below the straps of the satchel.
Her fingers worked with ease, gently tugging the fabric out and the weight slumped against her back.
While the green fields of Anórien were safeguarded by Gondorian men, creating relatively safe passing for travelers, the flat grasslands would soon open up for untamed domains. She had spent most of her morning with a deep frown across her features, mulling over her various possibilities and the route to follow; only responding in half sentences to the traders, Ranel had quickly stocked up on various items and food. The fastest, most direct, road was through the swamps of Nindalf, then further into the Dead Marshes, a place she preferred to stay clear off. The lights of the long forgotten were company she could do without. At the mere though, she felt a chill rush over her.
No, even if it would be a hundred mile detour, it was far less dangerous if she followed the roaring waters of the Entwash through Rohan. Ranel inhaled for a long moment, hands pressed to her sides, as she looked out through the opened gate to the unending stretch of green, continuing far ahead and beyond the horizon. Right, she thought, corners tilting into a small smile, this will not be the first time.
Then she took her first step onto the long road ahead.
Her shoes, well-trodden from use, quickly slipped into a comfortable pace; not too slow to be a walk, nor fast enough for a run, and it did not take long before she passed the few settlements and caravans around the city walls. The chatter and noise dimmed into silence, only broken by her soft footfalls against the dry dust of the road. The tall grass rustled, danced, in a pleasant eastern wind, almost enlivening in the warmth that had claimed the region in the passing from Spring to Summer. Though it had been some years since her last real journey, a familiar, enjoyable sense of quiet solitude washed over her from being on the road again.
Perhaps she had lingered too long in Minas Tirith.
The history, the stories, of the city had kept her lingering for longer than first planned, taken by the towering white walls so clear below the sun – even if her songs had not been quite as appreciated as they should be, Ranel had liked her audience and the pay had been enough to get by. The road twisted south, following the distant mountains covered in misty clouds, glowing almost gold as the sun rose above the peaks and ridges.
Fingers aimlessly fidgeting with her belt, clasping and unclasping items, Ranel slipped into thought once more as her feet led the way.
Images flashed her mind's eye. Soft waves rolled across the glistening stones as she stood by the shore, looking out over the Long Lake.
The mirroring waters looking as if on fire, dark crimson and orange streaks whirling against the deep blue and beyond, perched against the dimming horizon, stood a single lonesome peak. While the land appeared tranquil under the setting sun, a sorrow had taken hold of her on the shore; she had known to go no further, even if her heart pulled her towards the mountain, and she had fled back into the shadow of the woods. His voice – filled with seething anger, with hatred – echoed in her mind, the threat blindingly clear.
If she ever stood before him again, he would take her life ...
A large pair of wings flapped loudly, pulling her away from the memory, just in time to see the form of a bird vanishing into the air, startled from its hiding place within the tall grass. Ranel paused in her step, shielding her eyes with a hand and peered after the animal. Endless blue skies stretched high above and she stood there, unmoving, for a long moment. Ever since she had heard the tale, shared in the dim light of tavern, a sense of undoubtable certainty had filled her. Her last of kin had left the lands of Middle-Earth.
Then, letting out a breath she did not know she was holding, her head lowered with newfound purpose.
Her brow furrowed at the sight some distance down the road; a shape stood motionless, staring directly back at her. She watched him warily, eyes lingering at the large axe resting uncomfortably close to his gloved hand and the light armor protruding beneath the thick travel cloak. Ranel's fingers moved slowly, a clandestine attempt to reach the small knife in her belt, but still he made no motion to move. Feeling the handle against her palm, she gripped it tight, even though she knew it would pose little challenge to his own weapon if they came to clash. It was meant to cut roots and vegetables, not flesh and bone. She swallowed, clearing her throat and called out to the figure. "I bring no intentions of evil nor ill will."
She held up her free hand in a gesture of peace.
He did not respond.
Ranel attempted a step closer, on guard for any sudden movements from the person. "I am traveling from Minas Tirith and wish for no trouble," she said, a hint of confidence slipping into her voice as he seemed without hostility, but rather wary vigilance mirroring her own. Her gaze flickered past him, then noticing the wagon behind him, a little further down the road. Her eyes narrowed in puzzlement then flew back to truly see the axe-wielding figure. The man in front of her was too short to be a man, the frame stocky, with broad shoulders.
A Dwarf?
"Remove your hand from the knife and I shall believe you, lass," he responded with a voice but a low, gruff rumble.
But she heard no real threat within the warning and with that, she loosened her grip, stretched her arms away from her body and then pointedly looked at the Dwarf. "May I approach, Master Dwarf?" He gave a short nod, his thick, dark green hood slipping down to hide his eyes fully; a large palm swept it back, revealing dark orbs beneath bushy eyebrows; a great mane of black hair had been pulled back and intricately braided, matching the long beard that masked most of his face. "I apologize if my approach stalled your journey," she spoke, tilting her head towards the pulled-up wagon and spotted another two Dwarves emerging into sight.
"Can never be too certain who might cause trouble around these parts," he murmured and followed her gaze. Then he turned his dark eyes to take in her attire, clearly assessing every little detail; from her tattered and patched skirt that had seen better days – a long time ago – to the lute on her back, poking out behind her mop of unruly brown hair. "Dangerous for a woman to travel alone – even for a minstrel well versed in the ways of the road."
She gave a slight smile. "So far I have managed."
He watched her for another long, contemplative moment, and then gave a bow. "Frár, at your service."
"Ranel–" She managed to stutter her own name in response, the customary Dwarven greeting flabbergasting her and she blinked repeatedly, perplexed. "–likewise at yours." The Dwarf's leather boots fell heavy against the ground when he turned, silently making his way back to his companions. At first she stood there, opening and closing her hands while not knowing what to do with herself, and wondered if she was supposed to follow – was she meant to see the introduction as an invitation to join the small group? Pulling the satchel up onto her shoulder, she quickly followed.
When they approached the group another Dwarf stepped forward, dressed in similar light leather armor and an equally large axe held loosely in his hands; she received a glance of both caution and curiosity, while she recognized a resemblance between the two Dwarves and found the second to have a youthful, less haggard face behind the well-kept beard. The two shared a few mumbled words in Khuzdul, barely above a whisper and clearly not for her ears to hear, so she politely stood back, allowing her eyes to wander in her wait.
She could not believe her luck ... Though she had hoped to catch up with the Dwarven company from the story before they crossed the river, keeping a swift pace to do so, Ranel had not expected their paths to cross this early on in the journey. "Lady Ranel," a voice said, catching her attention once more. The title nearly made her splutter, her ears turning red. "I am Lóni, son of Frár, at your service."
The second Dwarf, Lóni, bowed and she hurried to mirror his actions. So they were related; father and son to be exact. "Ranel, at yours – and please, I am no Lady," she quickly added, waving her hand dismissively at the notion. If she was lucky, perhaps a Miss could apply."I am merely a lowly minstrel making a living with my songs and stories, and I can assure you I do not deserve such a honorary title."
With two pairs of eyes on her – one with Dwarven suspicion towards strangers and the other with mild interest – she shifted, hiding her eagerness to inquire about their travel and if they truly were the group heading for the Lonely Mountain. She did not wish to come off as prying, knowing well the secretive nature of Dwarves. Frár turned to his son, once more speaking lowly and the younger Dwarf followed the orders quietly; he passed Ranel to approach the wagon, where he discarded his axe against the wooden framework. "What is your destination?" Frár asked.
"I am heading for Lake-town," she said.
His brow knitted slightly, an indication of his surprise and, more so, his distrust towards her. "What a strange coincidence," he responded slowly. Though she was more than a head taller than the Dwarf, she still felt incredibly small under his dark gaze that put her under scrutiny. "So are we." It really is them, Ranel noted and a smile tugged at her lips, though her features were not betrayed by her inner thoughts.
"Perhaps you heard the rumors as well?" She said, greatly hoping to hear the words from a Dwarf to confirm what could just as well have been the ramblings of a drunken man. "That the great kingdom of Erebor has been retaken – and the dragon is no more?"
"What interest do you hold in Erebor?"
She shook her head. "None, Mister Frár, what is in that mountain belongs to the Dwarves that used to dwell within. My reason is ..." She hesitated, pondering how to possibly explain her reasons. "It is family. I wish to know what happened, how it all came to pass and, possibly, to bid farewell." Hoping her sincerity was clear in her voice, she looked directly into the old Dwarf's eyes unwaveringly.
"Let the poor lass travel with us, you grumpy old pot!"
Ranel nearly jumped at the voice, head turning to face the sound from the wagon. The Dwarf let out a gruff snort in response.
The wagon was covered, a large piece of cloth spread out tightly above to provide protection from the ever-changing weather to their possessions – and the pair of forest green eyes staring directly back at her from within the shadows. They quickly disappeared, followed by a rustle and then a third Dwarf climbed out; while quite alike in appearance to the companions, she could easily discern the Dwarf as female even behind the distinct downy hairs of a beard; long dark hair kept in place by clasps of woven gold, the softness of curves – not to mention the simple red dress that posed an obstacle as she stepped down from the wagon.
Lóni promptly assisted her, speaking softly though Ranel managed to make out the word Amad – apparently they were now in the presence of Frár's wife and the mother of Lóni. The dwarrowdam locked eyes with Ranel and smiled reassuringly, before walking over with hands on her hips. "Don't worry, dear, stubbornness is hard to come around when you're dealing with Dwarves. Now," she said and huffed. "Would you let a girl journey through this wilderness on her own – she's so scrawny the wind would probably knock her over!"
Her cheeks caught heat at the comment, but she remained quiet.
The stocky Dwarf grumbled an answer, muttering about 'humans' and 'precious Dwarven gold' but withered under his wife's gaze. "Good," the dwarrowdam said lightheartedly, patting Ranel gently on the arm, who felt like she had been swept up and carried away by a storm. "Then it is decided. Come this way, dear, let's get you into the wagon. I could use some proper company on this journey."
"I–, uh, thank you, Madam–"
"Just Nola is fine, my dear."
Unable to believe her luck, she found herself ushered into the covered wagon – in a stream of questions she had no time to answer, if the Dwarf expected her to at all – and barely managed to slip a silent prayer of gratitude to the Valar.