A/N Sorry for the delay! I have actually had this written for a few weeks but because of a delay in the editing process decided just to post it as is. Feel free to let me know if there are any blaring mistakes you catch!
Thanks forever fanfiction 1999 and Literary Melody for your lovely reviews! To answer some questions for everyone: Aragorn and Rahlsma do have a close bond, but I will not say of what kind yet - you'll just have to keep reading! Sorry, but same goes for the great questions about her father. Rahlsma's past will be revealed more and more as the story goes on, but I am afraid it is up to her to do the revealing...and it takes her a while to trust others and open up, so hopefully you're patient ; ) Muineth, her horse's name, is an Elvish translation for the name Cheri, which has origins meaning 'dear female,' so it's basically a term of endearment (sorry, I think I gave you a wrong answer in our messaging). I found it on the site arwen-undomiel.
Thank you to FrlBarth, katosade, Mghtandtrdt, and any other new followers that I may have missed.
If you read, PLEASE review. Thanks!
Their third day of travel passed much like their first. They were well fed and well rested, and they rode hard northward along the Anduin. They found a shallow place to cross the Gladden River around midday, Rahlsma nibbling more Lembas bread en route, as they did not wish to stop until nightfall. By the time the light was beginning to fade, they were approaching the path connecting the Old Forest Road with the High Pass. But Gandalf did not slow nor show any indication of turning.
"Are we not taking this way?" Rahlsma asked him above sounds of their horses' galloping hooves.
"No. We will cross on the Ford of Carrock." He looked reassuringly at the woman riding near him. "It is not much further."
She nodded, her face set. "Will we be able to do so once it is dark?"
"Worry not. We will have light."
Rahlsma ignored this mysterious statement and questioned the Wizard no more. Instead, she focused on continuing her ride despite her sore backside and aching legs. She was used to long days as well as riding cross country, but this journey's pace was pushing her limits. She desperately hoped she could dismount and stretch her legs soon.
Sure enough, it was just before dusk when Gandalf finally slowed and came to a stop facing the river. They could hear the moving water, but the cloudy night made it difficult to see. Rahlsma fidgeted in her saddle, uneasy at the prospect of crossing, both because of the dark and because she had never before travelled east of the Anduin so close to the forests of Mirkwood. Muineth shifted her hooves beneath her.
Reaching into his long robes, Gandalf retrieved some kind of jewel and placed it atop his staff. He seemed to whisper to it, then held it aloft, a bright light suddenly shining forth. They could now see the great flat stones stretching to the opposite coastline.
"Ready?" he asked.
"After you," she responded, gesturing to the wide river.
He cocked his head at her but then wasted no time in commanding his horse forward, them making a small, unnecessary jump onto the first stone. Rahlsma waited until he moved to the next one before likewise urging Muineth forward and following him across, grateful for the light that helped guide what otherwise would be a perilous journey with limited sight.
"Halt!" someone shouted when they had almost reached the far bank. "Crossing in the dark to avoid paying the toll, are you?"
A man holding up a torch stood at the water's edge, surrounded by a handful of other men. All were armed.
"Shall I clear our way?" Rahlsma whispered in Elvish.
But Gandalf shook his head sharply, then raised one palm towards the group in a gesture of peace. "I have long been friend of Beorn the warrior and his people. We journey to the Halls of Thranduil and seek a safe place to stay the night."
Some of the men shared potent glances. The first man who spoke did so again. "Then you will be sad to hear that Beorn is with us no more. His son now rules in his stead."
"This news does grieve me greatly" the Wizard relied, placing his hand on his heart. "Please lead us to Grimbeorn so that I may express my sorrow to him."
The group huddled together and seemed to debate this, while Rahlsma patted Muineth's neck and sighed softly. Finally, an agreement was reached.
"Dismount your horses," the spokesman declared, "and we will bring you to him."
The two travelers looked at one another, Rahlsma's gaze full of dissent. Gandalf merely muttered, "Tis alright," as he climbed off and landed on the hard stone, groaning and stretching a little as he waited for Rahlsma to follow suit. She hesitated, glaring at the men at the water's edge, but then swung down, as well, following Gandalf onto the bank.
Her relief at being back on solid ground was stifled by the untrusting looks the group of men were now giving them. Rahlsma and Gandalf led their horses by their reigns, following the spokesman and one other; two other men flanked them, and the final two followed behind. The woman knew the men were undoubtedly no match for the two of them, but she still did not like being surrounded so.
Their party moved away from the river and headed east. Before long, fires from their destination were visible in the distance, and far beyond that, the tall trees of Mirkwood were silhouetted against the sky. She never would have admitted it, but Rahlsma was glad at the prospect of having shelter tonight and not having to enter the forest until the morrow.
As they were escorted through the small village towards its center, where a massive fire awaited, Rahlsma noticed a large, dark shape moving towards them from the opposite direction. She watched it carefully, wondering why no one else seemed bothered by its presence. It moved into the light of the fire and Rahlsma stopped walking immediately, dropping the reigns to grip Gandalf's arm in one hand and reach for one sword with the other.
"It's quite alright," he told the alarmed woman.
"There's a bear, Mithrandir," she hissed back.
"I know," he said with a smile, slipping out of her grasp and walking straight for the animal, which had stopped near the fire. "Grimbeorn, the joy at seeing you grown and leading your people is mingled with despair at the news of your father's passing. May his great spirit roam peacefully wherever it desires."
The Wizard bowed slightly, and it was only then that the memory of one of Bilbo's stories surfaced in her mind. According to the tale (which Rahlsma thought was rather a tall one), Beorn was a skin-changer, able to shift from man to bear and back again at will. But she had assumed the details had been greatly exaggerated and never imagined she would ever encounter such a person. So she watched closely, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, still ready to jump onto Muineth any moment, just in case.
Some people from the village had finally responded with movement as she stared, leaving their places by the fire to hold up a large sheet-like cloth around the animal, blocking it from view. The flames lit up its figure from behind, and Rahlsma watched with a deeply furrowed brow as the shadow on the fabric shifted in front of her eyes from one of a great bear to that of a much smaller creature, still crouching on all fours. Someone rushed behind the visual barrier, and Rahlsma was shocked when the shadow stood, revealing it as the form of a man. A moment later, the sheet was lowered and removed, and where the bear had stood just a few moments before, now stood a large, dark-haired man clothed similarly to the others, save for a crown of sticks with some kind of long, thick grass weaved throughout it upon his head.
"It has been many years since I last laid my eyes upon you, Gandalf the Grey, friend of my father. And I am pleased to welcome you upon your return," the man said, his hand stretching out toward his guest. "But while I accept your condolences, please despair no more on my own or my father's behalf. For I have done more than my due of grieving and like to believe that any such heaviness is no more for the great Beorn."
Gandalf nodded with a smile. "So be it, then," he replied, and then looked towards Rahlsma who was still standing in shock near the horses. He gestured for her to come closer. "I am accompanied this journey by an old friend of mine, Rahlsma, who hails from Rivendell."
The woman, whose mouth had finally closed, was standing near, now, and the mysterious man looked her over. "She does not look too old to me!" he said with a laugh, and there were some chuckles about them. "I am Grimbeorn, son of Beorn, and you are welcome here, as well, Rahlsma friend of Gandalf. I am guessing from your reaction that he did not forewarn you of some of our…special skills?"
There was more laughter and she shot her companion a quick look of annoyance, before remembering to nod at their host in acknowledgement of his hospitality. "I am afraid my friend takes far too much pleasure in catching others off guard…and me, especially."
Grimbeorn laughed heartily before taking them both by the shoulders and leading them to seats around the fire.
Rahlsma was thinking on the previous night fondly the next morning as she and the Wizard rode quickly towards the great wood. She unconsciously licked her lips, remembering the large amount of food she had happily consumed. There had been wide slices of bread, sweet and dense, covered in butter and jam or honey, as well as a delicious soup made from some type of squash, and berries mixed in thick cream. After the meal, which was unbelievably filling, she happily listened to stories about the people's old leader, who apparently had been much grumpier and more short-tempered than his son who laughed heartily and loud, one arm around his wife who had sat beside him.
The image was interrupted by Gandalf's voice as he pointed to the North.
"Through those fields lies Beorn's old homestead," he called back to her, "where I first met him. Bilbo was with me, you know."
"Yes. You left him and the Dwarves at the edge of Mirkwood," Rahlsma responded, moving closer for ease of hearing. "I hope you do not plan to do so to me."
"What's this?" Gandalf questioned with a smirk. "The fierce Rahlsma knows fear just like the rest of us?"
She rolled her eyes and shot ahead as if she did not mind their upcoming destination. But, deep down, she knew she did. She had heard her teachers, Elrohir especially, speak of the place with distrust and disgust, of its darkness, its tangled growth, and its many strange creatures. And once he discovered her dislike of spiders when she was but a girl, he loved to tease her by describing in detail the giant ones that he had encountered on his errands there. Elladan would admonish his brother for trying to scare her and would remind her that the Elves who lived there were their allies.
Nonetheless, Rahlsma had managed to avoid the place so far. But not for much longer.
They had begrudgingly left their hosts as early as they could that day. Had their current task not have been of the utmost importance, they both would have preferred to tarry much longer. But with their early start and the speed of their horses, they found themselves instead at the edge of Mirkwood by mid-morning, stopped and staring at the small entryway the path before them offered.
"You seem to remember the stories well," Gandalf said, his eyes focusing on the way ahead. "What is the most important rule for travelling this way?"
"Never leave the path."
"Yes," he nodded, then turned his eyes on hers. "No matter the circumstances, Rahlsma. Even if we somehow become separated or you think it is otherwise necessary, never step foot off the path."
"You know following rules is not my best strength," she teased, trying to detract from the seriousness of the moment.
He smiled at her, then clucked at his horse and encouraged him forwards.
"That is true," he said, ducking down so his pointy hat would not be caught in the hanging branches. "But surviving is."
She smirked and followed him into the darkness of Mirkwood.
