Hi!
Long story short: I'm back. Woo. As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter; it's totally a happy one, a last breath of air before the plunge.
My heartfelt thanks goes out to all who reviewed the previous chapters (You know who you are!). Hope to hear from you all again, despite my long, long absence.
Little Sparrow
Chapter XXVI: Living with Regret
It had taken Brenion's return – standing in the doorway with an armful of firewood and a bucket of water, fetched from the village well – to calm his mother's unrelenting rebuke. And even then, it had taken a while and an effort. The words had been sharp, her disapproval so palpable it was almost tangible in the air, but Rell had remained quiet throughout it all. Allowing the admonishment to wash over her, obediently listening, silently hoping it would cleanse her of her own terrible guilt. For certainly she felt so – to the very marrow of her bones, and in the deep-beating part of her chest, tightly clutched in shame.
But when the woman's tone shifted, and a peace fell upon the gathered, Rell suddenly found a pair of arms, strength veiled beneath softness, wrapped around her frame. Bregnis pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "I am so glad you are safe." Grey eyes met grey, as Rell was then held at arm's length. "We all are, I hope you know that."
Rell ducked her head, cheeks aflame as she mumbled a reply. "Yes." Her gaze flickered to Brenion; he stood, half-leaning against the doorframe with a smile and an air of self-righteousness, watching the entire spectacle as one would gawk at street jugglers performing tricks of great wonder and amusement. When he noticed her attention on him, his grin widened. Then, with a roll of his shoulders, he heaved his load higher and stepped forward.
"Let us cast aside this miserable gloom!" The bucket hit the hard surface of the table with a little too much force, sloshing water everywhere – for this he earned the stern glare of Bregnis, and a muttered command to clean it himself – yet he carried on unrelenting. Rell marvelled at his courage, foolish but brave nonetheless, when he merely rubbed at the puddle with his sleeve. "What is done is done, and that is much beyond the changing of any Mortal. She is safe, and she is home. All else matters little."
His mother shook her head, sighing. "I cannot believe I raised such a son."
"One wise beyond his years?"
Letting out a sharp, barking laugh, Bregnis shuffled Rell into a chair and then shooed Brenion away; swatting at him like a pesky fly, buzzing much too close for comfort. "Lazy! That is what you are! Now, go fetch your sisters from whichever strange spot they are hiding in, it is time to eat." While one left to find the twins, who had likely found the most peculiar place to avoid their mother's wrath; the other sat down on the small stool by the fireplace. The woman picked up a ladle, stirring thoughtfully in what smelled like stew. "You put a real fright in my heart, young lady, when Brenion told me all that had happened."
"Ah, well ... Yes," Rell stumbled for words. Her hands were fidgeting, clenching and unclenching in her lap, as her gaze was staring straight at the clay vase in the middle of the table; small red-berry branches and dried flowers of many colours, it held her eye for a moment longer. But then she looked away, instead finding Bregnis watching, awaiting a proper reply with a gentle smile. "I do – and yet, at the same time, not – regret my choices. To the day I die, I must live with my own decision."
A brief, sharp pain shot through her arm at the thought.
"As well as the consequences," Rell said.
With a solemn nod, and another smile, the older woman stood once more; bringing with her the pot to the table, a deep smell of rabbit and thyme filling the warm air, it was placed before Rell. "The Valar have a plan for us all, and sometimes we do not know the path before it is revealed in the very end. And take comfort in this, since comfort you seem to need; how shall we ever discover whether the time to act or not is upon us, if we do not act at all? You listened to your heart, and in that you can never find fault."
Rell paused, yet no answer came from her, for in that moment there was a noise from within the adjacent room; a child's laughter, and the sounds of scurrying feet accompanied by squealing. One twin came bolting through the door, closely followed by Brenion. The second girl was slung across his shoulder, handled like one would a sack of potatoes – though Rell knew the veiled care – and neither seemed too fussed.
"I caught this one crawling the shelves," Brenion laughed, shaking his sister up and down until she hung head downwards. Grey eyes twinkled, and her hands swished across the floor. "And I do not even want to know–," he pointed to the second girl, now seated courteously by the table; a smile of innocence wide across her face. "–where that one was hiding, but she nearly tripped me."
Bregnis seemed utterly unamused by the antics of her own children. "That is all good and well," she said, shooting first one, then the other, twin a hard stare. They kept giggling, albeit with a little more quiet. "Now, if you two squirrels want supper, sit. And sit properly!"
With the clanging of cutlery and plates, it was not long before they were all seated; on one side Rell found Brenion, halfway through a roll of bread long before the food had been served, and on her other the girls; Idril and Imrin, perfect reflections that made it hard, even for their own parents at times, to tell them apart. They were chattering excitedly, having once more returned to all their previously unanswered questions; questions that had been swept aside by their mother's angered outburst.
"Did you see the Elves?" One asked.
Imrin, Rell thought, regarding them quietly; there was a speck of silver in her eyes.
Accepting an offered bowl, steaming hot and filled almost to the brim, Rell answered. "I did. The Elves of Imladris, but those I have told you about before, yes?" The girls nodded. "Brenion and I – and Halbarad, too – traveled through the Golden Woods, where Spring is forever and the trees are silver and gold." Rell did not tell them why they had ventured through Lothlórien, or how long they had stayed. "Some trees are taller than the eye can see, so tall they may reach the very sky. Each night the canopy would twinkle and shine, like hundreds upon hundreds of stars."
It was not entirely the truth, yet both girls gaped in wonder at the Elves' magic. Brenion snorted into his bowl, muttering lowly about lanterns; his words were much disregarded. "And did you see the White Lady?" Idril chimed in, a more melodic tilt to her voice; one was like the quietly tinkling stream, the other the rapid river. And together they wielded a force rivaling the very ocean.
Rell shook her head. "I did not. Do you not imagine her much too important, and with far too many matters to handle, to take time for little, old me!"
Their disappointment lasted no more than a breath, and another question soon followed the last.
It was dark, and had been for a while, when they finished supper; the pot was empty, and they had shared buns with cherries and honey by the fire. Through a combined effort, and subsequent struggle, Brenion lost his to the twins. They drank tea made on nettles and cinnamon. Rell had told more of her journey; the people she had met, from brave children and riders in Rohan, to a true captain of Gondor under the eaves of Ithilien's trees. She spoke of tall peaks and deep snow, wild rivers and soaring eagles. Not once did she speak of the vileness she had encountered.
She sang the song of the Man in the Moon; three times over, until the two girls could recount it in turn.
But as evening waned to night, small heads and eyes had drooped lower and lower, until the twins could keep awake no more. Despite their best attempts.
Bregnis had tucked them in for sleep in one of the small alcoves, humming a song of warmth and black birds Rell knew well from her own childhood; a faint memory, one of very few she could still remember, of her mother's hand and voice. She had sat, and listened, with her eyes closed until long after the melody had dimmed to nothing. Recalling distant times that felt like they were not quite her own. I often dream of you, Mother, she thought, though I cannot remember your face.
Then, together with Brenion, she had gotten up.
There was nothing to see outside, and the night was airless and windless. Rell walked side by side with Brenion, and in his hand he carried a lantern to show the way ahead; it cast but a pale circle of light below their feet. But the walk did not take them far. She could smell the horses ahead in the dark, and the sounds of shifting and stamping could be heard long before they came to the stables. The two animals stood half-asleep, seemingly annoyed by the sudden company of their own riders; and there was little need for their visit.
Rell had wanted somebody to talk to, for an unease and disquiet had crept over her throughout the evening. Too many thoughts, and no answers. The pair leaned against the enclosure; Brenion hung over the fence, trying to get his horse's attention with soft calls and wriggling fingers. He was without luck. Rell, on the other hand, stood with her back against the wood and stared into the dim, clouded sky that seemed utterly dark and unending. The darkness seemed foreboding. "What time is it now?" She asked.
"Who knows," he replied, casting a glance to the skies. "All is night now. And will be for many hours more."
Rell could feel tears start in the corner of her eye, but she soon wiped them away with frustrated vigour.
Sensing eyes on her, she worked her lip between her teeth; swallowing bitterness and hopelessness, along with the brimming sadness. There was a darkness in her, despite the words and care given by others; how many had not already spoken words of forgiveness? Yet she could not cast it aside. It was part of her, as if her heart was dipped in acrid grief and tarnished, to never again be set right. She wished to speak – to cry, or scream, or shout until there were no more words – but the ability escaped her.
But while Rell was incapable of speech, Brenion was not. "I know you too well."
It took him only a few brisk steps before he was before her; and less to pull her into his arms. He gripped her tightly, holding on as if her life depended on it. And, right then and there, it felt as if it truly did. Gently, he rocked her back and forth as he had done many a time before with his sisters – when night-terrors, or distant thunder, or bedtime stories turned too real, had gripped their hearts with fear.
Rell's grip tightened against his shirt.
"There have been many evils in the Ages passed, and other evils there are yet to come; but what you have done was not one!" His voice was muffled through the tangles of her hair, and through the befuddled thoughts of her own mind. He seemed so far away. His hand combed faint traces over her head, and for a while after they stood without speaking.
The night was quiet; a faint wind made wood and fence creak, a witch's cackle, yet the air around them did not move. It was cold, and Rell could smell rain in the air. Or maybe snow. Winter had given way to Spring, yet it was till early, and the weather fought back with obstinacy. In the end, as it always did, the Sun would prevail – but for now, the chill held the lands of Rhudaur in an iron grip.
As her mind wandered, Brenion lessened the pull of his arms around her shoulders and took a step back. Rell looked up at him; he had grown taller since last, in the days before her first departure. His grey eyes shone, a silver line from the flickering light of the lantern. Then, suddenly, he blew a breath into her face; strands of hair danced across her forehead. "You put far too much importance upon yourself." At this, her brow furrowed; there was a familiar tone to his voice. One of mischief. "Do not let your head get too big for your hat."
She smiled and swatted her hand against his chest, muttering a reply. "I do not own a hat."
The pair grinned at one another. "I shall buy you one. One fitting your,–" He poked her brow. "–Massive head."
Strangely enough, Rell felt light at heart; and, as she mockingly laughed and hit him again, it seemed the dark shadow had passed. "Well, it had better be the biggest hat in town! Or it will not be good enough for me." Taking one step, and another, and a third away, she turned on her heel. Motioning above her head, she added loudly, "And it must have a very large feather!"
She could hear Brenion laugh, before he followed after her. "Raven or eagle?"
"Both?"
"Certainly, you shall be a fine lady then! Fairer than the land has ever seen."
They followed the path around the house, until they came once more to the door; yet they did not enter. Instead, the pair sat on the large, flat stepping-stone outside, where light came as tendrils through shuttered windows. Brenion placed the latern on a tuft of grass. The roof gave shelter, for the wind had come alive, and it came now colder and closer; sometimes loud and rowdy, other times low and sad in its call. A hurrying came to the clouds and fitful stars peaked out in-between. It seemed grey – and Rell became certain of rain.
Her shoulder bumped against Brenion's.
"Have you missed me?" She spoke into the dark night, watching her legs stretch into the gloom until even her own boots were hard to see.
"Unfortunately, yes, with all my arrows so far." With a hard glare sent his way, he became solemn and replied then with honesty. "The truth? Of course, I have. More than anyone. I wanted to ride after you the very moment I heard, and I would have ..." For a moment he paused, pulling his cloak around them both, and together they watched Anarríma twinkling just above the eastern horizon. "If not for Halbarad. He refused to have two reckless children alone in the wild. One was plenty enough to worry about."
Rell gave a tired smile at the thought. "I must have given you a fright," she said. "But I felt, really believed, I had to do it – that my uncle needed me with him. I will never know if my actions were just, or wise – no, wise they certainly were not, I know that now – but I try so hard to live with my own choices." Her fingers trailed down her arm, and she then mirrored his words from earlier; trying hard to believe them as they left her lips. "What is done is done."
A bright, jagged flash carved across the gap between sky and hill, and a rumble followed soon after. Thunder and rain. A storm was brewing in the horizon; and the wind would fast bring its gales upon the Angle. Their talk died down to a listening silence. But the pair remained on the stone, watching and waiting, until they could remain no longer. When the rumbling, louder than ever before, rolled in the ground and echoed between the buildings, Rell and Brenion retreated. The first cold pinpricks tapped lightly against her skin.
The sky groaned and opened up, the wind mingled with a sudden, constant, roar of rain. Stomping and shaking, heat met them when they escaped inside; they found the occupants had all turned to bed, leaving only a stillness and a fireplace left smoldering. Rell crouched down, poking through the embers, before turning her attention to the small alcove. A tiredness had snuck up on her; and rightfully so, for it was many hours after midnight.
She stretched and yawned.
The alcove was cramped but large enough for two – and warmer that way – so she quickly did as Brenion. Stepping out of her boots, and removing the sword and belt from her waist; she then tugged off her tunic and shirt, until she was left in a woolen shift, and crawled beneath the covers. It took a bit of poking to have him move over, though in the end she managed. The blankets were coarse, and heavy, and it was some minutes shifting and turning, until she felt comfortable. But it was a far better place to sleep than any in the wild; it was safe, protected, and as the storm grew and raged outside, dry.
And they had shared the bed many a time before.
There had been times when she was younger, when her uncle, and Halbarad too, had been away; when Rell was too young to stay alone. They had spent hours whispering beneath the covers, giggling and plotting, until Bregnis eventually caught them. Making up stories as shadowy flames danced across the walls, or when howling winds cried like hunting wolves in the night. He had comforted her when she missed her parents; whenever she had curled up and cried silently into the night, he had known.
He had always been there.
Staring up at the dark ceiling, lit by a low gloom of fire, Rell found his hand beneath the cover.
"I missed you, too," she whispered.
Lofty hills rolled up, rising from a sea of fresh green and yellow flowers, messengers at long last heralding the arrival of Spring. The cold Winter months had been harsh on many; even in the Angle, where the people were hardy and weathered, supplies had run scarce. It had seemed as though the cold had been colder, the snows rougher, more biting. More evil. The old folks spoke of malice known only through legends, for no one still alive had seen it for themselves – if one did not count the Elves, for they had lived through every Age, and seen all the wars others only knew as stories.
With the warmth came news from beyond the Mountains; snow melted to open the Redhorn Pass and the Gap of Rohan, and riders came and went to Rivendell bringing word of what happened beyond the borders of the watchful peace. It was no longer safe to traverse the Anduin, for its northern banks had been lost to Orcs; the Brown Lands infested with swarms of goblins and vile creatures, spewing from the mouth of Mordor. And even on the outskirts of home, from the Ettenmoors came trolls, venturing close. So close even, that a group of Rangers had fought them by the very East Road. Trouble brewed in the East, and more and more people seemed on the move; fleeing what was to come, travelling up the Greenway in search of peaceful lands.
It seemed the days grew darker, as the light grew brighter.
Each night Rell would listen to the reports that filed in, and each time her heart filled with another drop of dread; and by the morrow she would be out, with the first rays of Sun, doing what little she could to prepare for what was to come. Some could argue it was a waste of her skills, to herd the small pack of goats that provided meat and milk for the Angle's families, out on the grazing fields. But she enjoyed it. They would greet her every morning with soft cries of familiarity, munching at her boots and weaving between her legs.
They were eager to be out – and so was Rell.
It was peaceful, and gave room for healing thoughts and wondering plans.
It had not taken her long to find a favourite spot. Under a pair of ancient willow trees, overlooking a small oval lake – branches so long they brushed ripples across its surface. Half whispering. There were only small light green buds, not yet waking, though the silver-grey boughs provided enough cover. Reeds and grasses grew dense; and from within came soft bleating and a constant buzz of flies. The sunlight was mild, shifting through patches of shade, and the simple task gave her ample time to practice other things.
For Rell had brought her bow.
Or rather, a new bow – the old one still accompanied her uncle and Gollum, on their lonesome journey to Mirkwood through hostile lands. And for each arrow that sung a path through the air, a silent prayer hopefully reached the Valar. With each shot that missed, or hit its mark, she prayed for her chieftain's safety – that they would see each other again. Home and well.
Pale blue skies and puffy clouds drifted by above, and there were traces of warmth in the air. One day soon came to look much the same as the last; and for each that passed, she found her aim growing true. Surety and strength found a way back in her grip, and into her fingers, and what had once been second nature to her was slowly remembered. Rell was seldom interrupted in her practice; at times a solitary, adventurous kid would wander from the herd and, bleating and crying, require help to return – born in the late Autumn months, the small, mischievous goats were certainly a handful.
Though they had learned quick enough the comforts of their mothers, soon weaned and grazing alongside the rest.
It was on one such late afternoon, that Rell returned to her place of rest beneath the willows. In her hands she held a quiver, ten white-feathered arrows that had all hit their mark – a tree stump she had hauled across the field as a makeshift target. There was a bounce of pride in her step, for the arrows had been so close together, they could be pulled out with one hand.
Rell perched on a root, a leg on either side, with her back against the willow bole. Placing the bow and quiver within reach, she relaxed, leaning her head back and shutting her eyes closed. The grass stirred and rustled, a wind – and soon after, footsteps – brushing through it; someone was approaching. They seemed to move with cautious skill, tap by tap, and followed the bank of the lake. A small chip of rock was heard, with a plop sinking beneath the still surface, and a voice. "Can you not throw it further?"
Peering through half-lidded eyes, Rell saw Brenion approach. The twins stood bickering, pointing and taking turns to throw rocks into the water a distance further behind. He came to her by the tree, arms crossed, and taking what little sun there was from her. His face was cast in shadow, but a faint crease on his brow told her much.
Rell sat upright. "What has happened?"
Brenion shook his head, angling his gaze to the girls, before he sat beside her. He shrugged off a heavy satchel, and it hit the ground with a low thud. "More orcs, and goblins ..." He murmured, and she saw now how his eyes were filled with anger and disgust. Though he tried to hide it. If it was for her sake, or his sisters', Rell did not know. But she leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder to draw his gaze to her. There was a hard tint in his eye, and a grieved look of resolution. He spoke in a quiet voice once more. "Hatholdor came by the midday bell, bringing with him word. We are stretched thin–"
"You will join them," Rell said in finality. Then, with a soft smile of understanding, she added, "You have to, I know. It is pledged, and so therein lies your duty; I am not surprised, for all the tidings have been of attacks and strife." With a swift glance to Imrin and Idril – still quarrelling – she was thankful he had sought her out for counsel. "You are too good to leave our kin to fight alone, and we are bound to be called."
At her words, his lips pursed. "And you?"
"No." She stretched her injured hand before them both, flexing her fingers. Holding it still for a moment, it was not long before it began to tremble. Her fellow Rangers were called to duty, leaving her with the women and children. And rightfully so. "It is not yet my turn. But when the time comes, I will answer."
There was truth in her words, and while Rell knew she would, if asked, wield her sword and ride without doubt or fear into battle; she was not ready. The scars of her body worried her not – but the ones in her mind, and heart, ran deep. She refused to be a hindrance. Never would she allow herself to be the reason another Ranger lost his life. Brenion heaved a sigh of relief. "Good. I feared I would have to talk you out of it."
Rell snorted. "And you would have failed. Be glad I have learned some things."
Together they sat for a while in silence, watching as a whirlwind of activity happened further along the lakeside. The quarrelling had turned to a squabble, bordering a fight, but the onlookers were in no rush to stop the twins. It was a valuable lesson. Bruises or wounded pride would hurt far less than what could happen in a battle of life and death. "No, not like that, Imrin!" Brenion called, chuckling and halfway up from the root of the tree with a shake of his head. "Would you drag an orc around by the hair?"
It seemed his sister heeded his advice, and instead locked her arms around Idril.
The latter would have none of it, though, and before they could do much else but cry out together in surprise, both toppled into the lake. Luckily, the water was shallow. Two heads popped back up, spluttering, to the peels of laughter from their older brother; he cheered them on as they trudged back to shore, clothes drenched and hair dripping. They were not even on dry land, before he dove into a string of advice.
Rell, on the other hand, drew a hand across her eyes and stepped away in search of firewood.
And so it was, in the late afternoon, while the twins were drying off by the flames, borrowed cloaks tucked up above their ears, that Rell and Brenion sat side by side – for the last time in what would likely be many weeks, if not months. They watched distant hills cloaked in grey cloud, both, silently, wondering what the days ahead would bring. In the large satchel, previously discarded with matters of greater importance, they found bread and sausages, skins of milk and a handful of apples – quickly lost to the goats. From Bregnis, Brenion had explained.
As they sat around the fire, Rell told one of many stories learned from Bilbo during her stay in Rivendell. "Have you ever heard the story of the brave Hobbit, all alone facing the terrible might of a real dragon?"
"No," Idril gasped and was at once sitting closer; she adored any and all stories, often asking for them over and over until she knew them by heart. And then some.
"There are no dragons in the Shire," Imril huffed. There was an air of boastful knowledge about her – although she, too, seemed keenly interested.
Rell smiled, reaching out to brush hair from the girl's face. "That is true. You have listened well, Imril, but this was not in the Shire." Collecting ash from the fire, she tried to recall how the story had first been told; when Bilbo had paused and allowed anticipation to grow, when he had whispered or shouted; the moments of sadness, and how heroic deeds turned hopelessness to hope. She began drawing on the ground. "Our story begins many years ago, in a distant land far beyond the Misty Mountains and further still. Even beyond Mirkwood, what the Elves call Eryn Lasgalen. Here was a great Dwarven Kingdom, ruled by Thrór.
Lines spread in the ash, until they wove together and created a map of mountains and hills, forests and, in the end, a solitary peak. Erebor. "The Dwarves' wealth grew, until they had great piles and treasuries filled with gems, gold and silver, jewels beyond anything you can imagine. Their halls were so great you could get lost and never find your way out. But alas ... News of the riches within the Lonely Mountain spread, until they reached the ears of the greedist creature of all." Rell lowered her voice until it was a mere whisper. "The dragon Smaug."
And so the story continued.
It did not quite do Bilbo justice – but surely he had had time to practice and rehearse it many a time, and Rell had not. By the time she came to the end; reaching for her own bow, as Bard the Bowman had when he had faced the enraged serpent, she sent an arrow soaring across the lake. It disappeared somewhere within the tall reeds. "His aim was desperate, and with only one mark in mind. For the old thrush had told him of a scaleless spot just below the wing ... The only way to pierce the dragon's impenetrable hide. And the Bowman's aim was true!"
The malicious creature of old was slain, plummeting into the deep lake in a torrent of fire and water, and the Dwarves reclaimed a homeland. It ended in applause and a string of questions; the fate of the Hobbit and the company of Dwarves, of Thorin Oakenshield and the people of Dale. Saddened they were, upon learning the fate of the King under the Mountain. "So he never saw his kingdom restored?" Idril asked.
"No, he did not," Rell answered, pondering what to say next. "He rests now in the Halls of Mahal, cared for by Aulë until the Last Battle; or so the Dwarves believe, for what is true or not is hard to say. What I do know, though, is that he was a righteous and honourable King. He fought for his people, and died for them."
An hour later, the girls had dried, and together they gathered the goats with the ringing of a bell and clicking tongues. They walked back to the town, watching shadows grow longer before them. The blue sky had darkened, and night fell heavy over the land. The discussion of the Hobbit and the thirteen Dwarves continued throughout their journey, and Bilbo fast became a favourite character among the twins. Never before had they heard tales of brave Hobbits, let alone one to return home with bags of jewels and gold.
But in the meantime, Brenion and Rell walked some steps behind and their whispered talk fell on matters far more grim.
"I will ride with Hatholdor to the East Road," he said. "There are many people fleeing West, and bandits and other foul things follow close behind."
Her friend had been called away for duty, and Rell would miss him dearly. "I will follow, as soon as I am able."
And follow him she would.
For the call came.