Busy with work so my time at home to actually write is pretty limited. Sorry for the delays.

And it keeps deleting the things I write - I bloody hate it!

Thanks to all that reviewed, favorited and followed this story! Every little thing is greatly motivational, and I hope you enjoy this chapter although it will most likely qualify as a filler chapter. If only I could give you all an action-packed scene, but we're unfortunately not at a point in the plot where that is an option. Enjoy!

When Ravens Fly

Chapter VIII: The Kingdom of Dale

Fingers clasped around the hem of the cloak, pulling it tight around her body.

Ranel wrapped her arms close to herself for comfort. A chill, festering within her very core, proved to be an overwhelming enemy against the warm May weather; with eyes downcast she, in that moment, felt incredibly lost in the great wide world. She had been alone long before the Dwarven company had retaken Erebor, long before the dragon Smaug had unleashed his wrath and died as a consequence of his actions – but then it had been by choice. There had always been a shimmer of hope, a faint ray streaked across an otherwise dark-clouded sky that she could once more return.

Now, on the other hand, she truly was without family.

It had been forcefully torn from her ...

A longing ached in her chest, squeezing her heart in painful waves until she finally caved in to the grief. Ranel crouched, head lowered to shield her gaze from the blackened contours out on the lake; brown tresses of hair rolled over her brow, ticklish and gentle caresses brushing against her nose as new tears welled up. Their separation had stemmed from indescribable hatred and betrayal, running so deep she knew better than to ever be reunited. Even still, the hurt and sorrow remained – it always would, she feared. A scar that could not be healed nor forgotten.

The minstrel remained by the shore for several long moments more, face buried in her skirt, and with quiet sobs escaping into the stillness.

She cried until no more tears came out; the buzz of insects and soft chuckles of water upon the shore her only company. The midday sun burned relentlessly down on her back, her body hurting and tender from her beatings and injuries. She felt drained. Exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep, right then and there; to find an undisturbed place between the bulrushes until the pain turned to numbness and her mind settled into darkness.

Then she breathed deeply, repeatedly – in and out – until the pressure in her chest had subsided to a manageable extend that did not feel suffocating.

Rubbing her eyes with the edge of her sleeve, Ranel willed her legs to move; first shakily, unsteady until she finally returned to her full height. The satchel sagged halfway down her shoulders, wrinkling her Dwarven gift, and she quickly readjusted her belongings with a frown. She peered out over the landscape, truly taking in her surroundings for the first time then. The dust path snaked alongside the twists and curves of the lake, meeting the currents of the river a distance away.

White stones shone brightly from the newly repaired bridge, spanning the rapids rushing past underneath. Further, pass the green open fields, the even stretch descended into hills, quickly turning into steeper and steeper rock walls extending like tendrils from the Lonely Mountain. The once destroyed city of Dale, now flourishing with both life and trade, could be seen peaking out over the jagged contours. Streamers of the Northmen's descendants fluttered in the wind, red and gold; bright against the blue skies as a clear sign that the city was once more claimed by the race of Men.

The township was formed back when Erebor flourished under Thrór's rule; set as a strategic advantage for both races, making use of the elements for their natural protection between both rocks and rapid waters. Once, now long ago, the city of Dale had prospered due to trades with their Dwarf neighbors. Food supplies in return for skills and craft-pieces; for while the children of Aulë were masters of rocks and precious stones, they were seldom blessed with green thumbs. And as such, Dwarven settlements often found themselves dependent on the surrounding farmlands.

Ranel drew away from the shore and returned to the road.

A shadow passed above her.

The large bird followed the wind's dance, until it was nothing but a small, black dot in the distance above the rocky spires. Her sore muscles complained with every step she took, her body stiff from several days without walking. It would be another couple of hours before Ranel would reach the city gates, even if she was to set a swift pace.

The air was dry and warm, and it had not been many minutes before the first beads of sweat trickled down her brow. She wetted her chapped lips, ignoring the bite that followed from the cracked and partly-healed skin; a taste of iron and dust mixed within, forcing her to swallow with a frown.

A roar rose, louder and louder as she approached the bridge spanning the river Celduin, where cold snow-melted waters met the stillness of the lake. With fingers absently running over the smooth, even pieces of stones, she paused momentarily; resting, she peered towards the Lonely Mountain.

Two large statues, donning full battle-armor and heavy axes, flanked both sides of the gate as silent guardians. The young Dwarf lords she had previously encountered were nowhere to be seen, likely returned to their homes under the mountain. While Ranel had visited most cities of Men, both massive fortresses protecting kings of old and small wooden outposts far out in the wildernesses, not once had she ever set foot within the grand halls of a Dwarven kingdom. She could not help but imagine the splendor within; buried deep beneath in vaults of stone.

What it would be like to walk the halls so full of history.

"Under the Mountain dark and tall, the King has come unto his hall," Ranel hummed below her breath, pushing off against the railings and set off down the road once more. She held no interest in gold nor treasures, especially not after a dragon had spent the last two centuries lying upon them, but rather the magic and lore deeply engraved in Erebor's very foundations. In every pillar and slab of stone.

The sight would truly bring her stories to life.

Perhaps she should stay long enough for the gates to open to outsiders – for her Dwarven companions to call upon her for a visit? Ranel had not quite planned to linger around in Dale longer than truly necessary. Her plan had merely been to see the fate of the city and its people; to know for certain the end that had befallen her last of kin. Where her journey would then take her she was uncertain, except for the fact she would head west. Away from the darkening shadow, its reach growing continuously longer and longer; hiding in the lands of old evils. A buzz of energy, a malicious power, heavy and oppressive in the air for those who knew how to listen.

Ranel felt torn. She disliked strife and conflict, and the region was uncomfortably close to old strongholds of the enemy. But the fear of war was still distant; yet but a whisper on the wind, and as such it would still be years before it would truly take shape. She had time ... By the time open war would be upon the free peoples, Ranel could settle down in the lands of Eriador, where the summers were warm and the winters mild. There she could live in peace, telling her stories and singing her songs without concern for the outside world.

But she had, a long time ago now, promised to witness all the wonders and beauty of the world. Erebor would be one of them.

In contemplation, Ranel carefully weighed the pouch at her belt. It was light, but not completely without heaviness thanks to the dead bandit left behind in Rohan. It would be enough to get by the first weeks in Dale, at least until she could find worthwhile means of support. Unlike craftsmen and shopkeepers, a woman of her profession could rather easily move from one place to another. There was usually work to be found in larger cities as long as they held at least one tavern or inn. Her only problem was that none wished to look upon a dirty, mud-caked and bruised girl, let alone allow her entrance to their lodgings.

She would have to pay her way into the establishment; trade coins for both a room and a proper, thorough shower to wash off all the grime and filth – neither of which would come cheaply, she feared.

Ranel's trek through the sweltering Spring heat left a sheen on her skin, the fabrics of her clothes clinging uncomfortably tight, when the city walls finally came into view some hours later. Scaffolds lined the stone walls as well as the taller buildings, peeking out over the ramparts. Repairs were ongoing, mending not only the damage caused by the fire-breathing serpent's first arrival, but also the destructive forces of time and the great battle following in the wake of Smaug's demise.

Voices travelled with the wind, speaking of the mesh of life bustling about just beyond the opened gates. Horse-drawn carts moved to and fro, pulling with them materials for the stoneworkers busily fortifying the city walls. Upon closer inspection, she was surprised to see several small, but stocky, frames weaving in and out between the men. Dwarves. Apparently the new King under the Mountain had generously lent his own workers to assist in the rebuilding of the ransacked city. The wooden boards creaked below her feet as she crossed one of several drawbridges accessing the town, easing her way past the workmen in an attempt to not disrupt their flow.

The keeper of the gate gave her a long disparaging sneer from below his helmet, likely not seeing past her ragged beggar-like appearance. Although her ears burned, both in discomfort and distaste, Ranel kept her gaze held high and spared no attention on the ill-mannered man. She knew well how bad she looked. A shadow fell over her while she passed below the archway; a brief cover from the harshness of the sun.

Cobblestones, round and smooth below her downtrodden shoes, led her into the city. The path opened up ahead, revealing large stone houses; red-tiled roofs and white-washed walls. Both men and women were busy at work, and the hectic street was a mesh of colorful fabrics. Loud voices boomed without pause; shouts and laughter, yelling and haggling. A burly bloke pushed his way through the crowd, dragging along a pair of equally large pigs and she quickly sidestepped him to create room.

Less than eight months earlier the city of Dale had been but a ghost town void of all life.

But with the dragon's fall, peoples from all across Middle-Earth swarmed back smelling the chances of a new livelihood and profits – if any was to fall their way after the recovery of riches from Erebor's previous lord, and if the new King under the Mountain was to be true to his promises made with Lake-town. Riches would once more flow from the mouth of the mountain.

Ranel walked towards the town center slowly, instead finding herself preoccupied as she took in all the sights around her. Several of the grander buildings had gotten new fronts, polished and glistening beneath the light, but there were still marks left from Smaug's rampage as well as the great battle following the reclaiming of Erebor. Dark smudges of sooth ran across a spire, the pointed top completely missing and broken off; other walkways and balconies were left without proper railings or with gaping holes left unattended. Charred to black. Though, slowly, the city was rebuilt – soon to return as the center of trade in the region of Rhovanion between Men, Elves, and Dwarves.

Small boys, clothes tattered and faces dirty, slipped with practiced ease in and out of the crowd; Ranel's hand quickly found her pouch when one came a bit too close, and she did not plan to let go, for the children of the streets were highly skilled. One brief moment of unawareness and she would be without a coin to her name. Pickpockets were one telltale sign of the current state of Dale, but as she approached the town-square several others could be spotted from the corner of an eye; within the shadows and narrow alleys, huddled together in low whispers.

Men of seedy and unsavory dealings.

No city was ever truly without such people, but with the lack of a properly functioning guardsman force, they had more leeway to settle into.

The town square was a wide open space, holding several dusin stalls set up around a grand fountain in the middle. Blooming flowers of red and yellow matched the banners flapping loudly above the noises. To show the rule of the new lord of Dale. Noblewomen in fine silks strolled leisurely about, arm in arm, and took in the goods lined up with an air of bored admiration. Gruff men, with hands calloused from work, carried heavy sacks of grain or seeds, and woven baskets of firewood. A small group of Dwarves observed and assessed wood-carvings in hushed voices, turning items over in gloved hands to take in every detail and line.

Ranel halted when a low growl escaped as her nose caught scent of newly baked bread. Her last meal had been early morning with the sun's rising, back when her travelling companions had packed up camp. she rubbed her stomach soothingly; she would have to wait.

That did not discourage her from approaching the stall, though. The vendor gave her a quick look-over and an upturned nose.

Her eyes rolled over the breads, hungrily, almost hoping just the sight would be enough to quench the hollowness inside her stomach. Sugar-icing, raisins, and dried fruits. Honey-cakes and braided rolls. She stood quietly for several long moments until the man cleared his throat in annoyance; clearly dissatisfied about her taking up space instead of valuable customers. Mumbling a low apology, Ranel shuffled away and back into the crowd.

Continuing further into the denseness of people something else caught her interest. A merry tune, strings of a story being told, woven by the playful calls from a fiddle working with the gentle tunes of a flute. Drawn in by the familiarity of her own craft, Ranel pushed her way through the gathered, attempting to see the show unfolding in the busy marketplace amidst the crowd. Managing a clear view between a couple of broad-shouldered men, Ranel watched with rapt interest.

An elderly man, resting on a seat by the fountain, played the stringed instrument in his lap with swift hands. Slender fingers worked their way across a flute as a woman, much younger, spun round and round in a dance of colors, enticing onlookers; the third member, face a perfect mirror of the flute player's, urged coins from their audience. She slyly dodged grabby hands and approaches from the workmen, smile never faltering and she returned most attention with playful winks. Their bright clothes clung to their skin, perfectly bringing out their best assets.

The melody was uplifting, speaking of a future full of brightness and hope so very fitting Dale's new beginning.

Ranel knew the old man and his granddaughters, though not as close friends nor real acquaintances. They had once – some years ago now – played at the festivities following the coronation of Angelimir, the twentieth Prince of Dol Amroth. The trio had then, too, gathered quite a crowd and left very little work to the other minstrels during the weeks long celebration.

But she did not worry about their presence; Ranel was not without confidence, for she had practiced hard and long to hone her skills. Perhaps the twins could attract the notice of men, while she, on the other hand, was much more accustomed to people of finer social standings. Although fewer in numbers, the pay was greater. She stayed until the end of the song, greatly enjoying the music, then quietly slipped back into the mass of people.

She had still to search for an affordable place to spend the night.

And wash, she thought, once more catching the scent of her clothes.

Dale consisted of several streets – wide and narrow, forking into alleys or leading to open places and gardens. Twisting and bending, climbing and descending with the rocky mountain slope upon which the city rested. In her search Ranel quickly came across several establishments, but with only a glance at the fancy interiors, knew well any entrance would soon be followed by a swift leave.

So she took to the smaller streets, seeking comfort from the sun.

Some time later, satchel heavy on her shoulders, the minstrel finally stumbled upon a sign; partly hidden behind green vines and white flowers, the Three Kegs could be read on the wooden board. She paused in her step, looking into the small, empty courtyard. Several benches were placed around the open space, and a saddlecloth had been slung across one. Pots of marigolds adorned the walls.

A high-pitched whinny came from the shadowed stables to her left, and a boy's soothing but muffled voice followed.

Ranel attempted to scrub the worst dirt from her face with a sleeve, likely only making the smudges worsen, before she crossed the courtyard with purposeful strides. The door was open, allowing the cooling breeze to enter, and she stepped into the dim room. It did not take long for her eyes to adjust to the light, or lack thereof; the tavern room was small, consisting of no more than half a dusin tables and the counter, where Ranel found herself waiting for the innkeeper.

An unlit fireplace took up half a wall, while the rest were left bare. The small windows were grimy and allowed only a slimmer of sunlight to filter through. On her other side, two narrow staircases led to the upper floors and the basement. "Excuse me?" She spoke into the quiet, voices cracking from lack of use; clearing her throat, she called again, this time louder. "Excuse me, is anybody here?"

Several long moments of silence followed. Then thuds; heavy footfalls sounded from upstairs. First faint, but swiftly growing louder until a person appeared over the railings. "Welcome to the Three Kegs, I'll be right there with you." Bundling up her skirts, the plump woman took the steps two at a time; shortly after stopping in front of Ranel, gooseberry eyes tilted in a brief smile at the sight of the guest. "What can I do for you, Miss–...?" She trailed off.

"My name is Ranel, Madam. I am looking for an affordable room, something to eat and," she responded while motioning to her clothes, "–a bath."

The woman followed her gesture, shifting the attention to the tattered attire of the minstrel. "I imagine you do," she muttered with a laugh, then stepped to the side and walked into the tavern room. "Rough roads?" Ranel gave a short nod, her grimace telling lengths. "My daughter will set up a room for you. Meanwhile, how about you take a seat and I'll get you a nice bowl of stew? Choose any place you like – we don't have many customers this time of day." Ranel did as told and shortly after slumped into a chair.

The hostess vanished through a door behind the counter.

Barely having slipped off her satchel and lute, a wave of exhaustion overcame her and she closed her eyes momentarily. Her head spun, streaks of light flashing over her eyelids; sharp against the dark. She breathed heavily, rubbing the side of her neck tenderly and with a wince.

It had been weeks since she had set off from Minas Tirith, on a journey she knew would stir up old and painful memories, and now she had finally arrived in Dale. She knew well she could not continue her travels without knowing the fate of her kin, but in that moment she regretted ever setting foot within the city. The creaking calls of hinges brought her back, eyes snapping open to attention; the woman shouldered the door open, both hands full. "Here we are."

Steam welled up from the bowl placed before her. "Thank you," Ranel said with a nod and a grateful smile. "It smells delicious."

"Enjoy your meal, Miss." The keep lingered, watching her with veiled interest; Ranel picked up the wooden spoon, immediately digging into the meal prepared for her. A mouth-watering taste filled the insides of her mouth. Still feeling a gaze upon her she glanced upwards, meeting the woman head on. "If I may ask, from where does the Miss come from?"

"Gondor," she spoke, "Minas Tirith to be precise. Travelled through the East Emnet, then further north across the Anduin."

"We do not receive many visitors from those parts. What news do you have from the plains of Anórien?"

Taking another sip, biding her time until she swallowed, Ranel shrugged lightly and placed the spoon back on the table. "Nothing much, except for a few stray orc packs wandering too close to the borders." Though she often earned an extra coin or two by trading news, at that moment all she wished for was a quiet moment to finish her first real meal that day. "Trade is flourishing and even the harvest was beyond exceptional this year."

"My ... Well, hopefully we shall have the same, or you would have been better off staying home!"

Ranel smiled wryly, but gave no other response.

Having just in time managed to finish her dinner, the matron returned to inform Ranel that her bath was ready.

She hastily gathered her belongings, then followed the portly woman up the stairs. The corridor on the second floor was narrow and parted in two, both with oaken doors leading into rooms. "We only have a few lodging with us at the moment, but we expect more once we approach the Midsummer festival. It will be the first in many years – with the serpent gone and all, you know?"

The woman paused in front of a door, fishing out a keychain from behind her apron. Rattling, the key slid into place and soon after the unlocked door swung open. Ranel was guided inside and she quickly scanned her surroundings; it was a small, rectangular room with whitewashed walls and a single window, ajar and facing south. A stream of light filtered through the dusty air, bathing the small bed in a golden glow. In the open space she found a tub, barely large enough to fit a full-grown man but good enough for her to get clean. A cloth to dry off after the bath was left on top of the bedsheets.

"You can bolt the door from the inside," the matron noted offhandedly, "I guess that's some comfort for a young woman travelling unaccompanied."

"Indeed," Ranel responded. "That will be all – thank you."

After watching the woman leave, she slid the iron bolt into place and turned to face the hot water, hands on her hips. She suppressed the urge to wash her clothes, wanting to get rid of the mud and dried blood, and settled with at least getting her skin scrubbed clean. Carefully placing her belonging on the newly made bed, she proceeded to then remove her garments. First she took off the cloak with great care, folding it neatly and with fingers stroking the fabric with utmost care. Ranel slipped out of the skirt, discarding her shoes along the way; she tossed away both her outer and inner shirt until she stood stark naked on the tiled floor.

In the May weather the air was comfortably warm, but she still hurriedly tested the waters.

It was hot, almost scalding against her skin, when she finally dipped her body into the tub. Every sore and bruised muscle relaxed instantly; first in her toes, then moving up her legs, spreading out through her stomach and over her shoulders. The clear water turned a brownish grey as the filth was washed off, but she did not care. She closed her eyes, exhaling in satisfaction before ducking down under the bathwater entirely. Her brown hair, filtered and messy, brushed against her naked skin in soft caresses.

Her ears thrummed in the underwater stillness, heartbeat a loud hammering.

Ranel resurfaced, droplets falling off tresses of hair and into her eyes; running her hands tenderly across her bruised face, cleaning the remaining cuts, she hummed below her breath. At that moment she felt almost content, with both worries and responsibilities forgotten. With the dirt washed off and from the hot water, her skin had turned a healthy pink hue yet she continued to scrub away. It was her first proper bath in ages – and properly her last in the weeks to come.

If she wished to be clean, now was the only time.

When Ranel finally emerged from the bath, it was long after the water had gone cold and turned a muddy brown. She gathered her hair and twisted the last drops from it; as she ran her fingers through the tangles, constricting and complaining against her tugs and pulls, Ranel picked up the large cloth. Wrapping it around her body, she sank down on the mattress. Her brown tresses seemed like too big of a hassle then. "Maybe I really should cut it," she mumbled thoughtfully.

Legs outstretched, her head met the soft pillow and only moments later she was claimed by a deep, dreamless sleep.