Hello! I live!

Let's all just pretend I haven't been MIA for a while now, and just get right to the fun part. I am rusty and out of practice writing, and this was a far greater challenge than first anticipated. But at least inspiration struck me and I typed this entire chapter in one day (what I've done all the days before that, is a story for another time). Not my finest work, though it is a start – trying to write anything without someone suffering is hard.

As always, thank you to the people who reviewed the last chapter (and I hope you're all still around): 94Spring (I shall see you on AO3!), zlyons3, meticulouself, kyulkyul, Diarona, and Doria Nell. Enjoy!

Little Sparrow

Chapter XXIII: The Comfort of Kin

In the days following the Rangers' reunion, Rell spent her time on very little by order of Halbarad.

Fatigue clung ever still to her, both in body and mind, and strength returned was needed for the journey coming ahead; mostly she rested in her flet in the trees, brooding and pensive, or walked through enchanted glades and meadows until her leg could carry her no further. Forcing the limbs so injured to move in a matter of her will. But soon return was upon them. The hospitality of the Elves was boundless, yet they could not delay their leave much longer – with her uncle away, duty fell to the older man of their small company, and many awaited them back in the Angle.

While peace seemed constant in the glades and woods of Lothlórien, it was not so beyond its borders.

War was brewing, dark clouds gathering in a distant, eastern horizon, and each were they needed.

So it was, that Rell sat astride Luin one early morning. Wrapped in cloak and wool, she listened to the chorus of bird-song under a growing sun and fading mists, grey eyes taking one final look at the beauty of Caras Galadhon. Around her, her companions worked. Inhaling, long and deeply, she saved the memory in a corner of her mind untouched by darkened thoughts. The shadows of night passed and fled, setting the trees ablaze in shimmering silver and gold. Beside her own horse stood another pair of similar build, steeds of the Dúnedain. One, a black filly, laden with most of their belongings – with satchels and supplies – it was tied with a thick rope to the dark-coated mare ahead. Upon this sat Halbarad, quiver and bow across his back and sword at his belt.

Approaching steps turned her gaze downward, away from the trees and the light, as Brenion came to her side. Hands clasped together for warmth, his hood was drawn and hid most of his features, yet the smile was unmistakable. Rell huffed but said nothing. She understood well from where his mirth came, and so, instead, shifted in the saddle to make room for him. How he had laughed, upon learning she could not ride on her own; Rell had already then known he meant no harm, it was merely in jest – she was much the better rider of the two – but something sharp, bitter, had lodged in her heart.

It was a painful reminder of her crippled arm and leg.

He swiftly swung himself into the space behind her, arms encasing her waist as his fingers gripped the reins. Rell patted the strong muscles running the length of Luin's neck, speaking loud enough for both horse and rider to hear her. "Let not this trouble your heart, and do not throw him off because he is not I!" A chuckle came from behind, brushing warmth against her hair, as Brenion dug an elbow into her side. With a smile, she added below her breath an afterthought. "Or do."

"Behave, or I will bring you down with me," he replied.

Rell swallowed her next words, for Halbarad drew closer to them; knowing the pair well enough to sense a squabble brewing. Like ducks in a pond far too small for the both of them. "I can tie one of you to the horse like one would a sack of grain, and the other can walk behind after it. Or you can ride together without a word of complaint." With a fleeting glance across her shoulder, catching the eye of her companion, they mirrored grins. Halbarad sighed. "Both of you, behave." And with his last words of warning, they took to the road.

They rode the straight way North, following paths of white, pebbled stones and ancient bridges; they passed the wall of green earth and fosse, beyond Caras Galadhon until coming to Cerin Amroth. Westward the tree-clad slopes climbed towards distant mountains, and Rell could hear the chuckling of water. A glade opened before them onto a hill, encircled by two rings of trees; the outer with white bark, and the inner of Mallorn. Now, out in the open, the wind blew freely. The grass was green and tall, and between the thin straws grew elanor and niphredil; sun-stars and moon flowers.

A solemn tenderness, of understanding and sorrow, came to Rell then, for they had come to the mound of King Amroth. Behind her, Brenion leaned in closer to whisper in her ear. "Can you hear it, too? The singing of Nimrodel?" For a quiet moment she listened. Then, Rell nodded. As the wind blew through the branches, borne upon northern gales, were the sounds of distant seas and cries of birds. And within, barely discernible if one did not listen well, the voice of a maiden once fair.

"Where now she wanders none can tell, in sunlight or in shade," Rell sang quietly, remembering times long ago spent in Rivendell; by the hearth of a fire, in the company of minstrels and those who had lived the tales of old. How she had longed for the world beyond, to follow in her uncle's footsteps, and to walk in strange and foreign lands. Tugging her cloak tighter, voice faltering she finished the verse. She bowed her head. "For lost of yore was Nimrodel, and in the mountains strayed."

But soon the travellers turned their backs to the mound, and with it the green hill dotted with flowers, and went downhill once more. The Rangers crossed the river Nimrodel, pausing not, and the day wore on. Rell felt restless, and she could do little more than peer into the woods.

When the small company passed the last golden Mallorn trees, finally crossing the border of Lothlórien to enter the vast woodland valley beyond, the country changed with it. After they had ridden for some miles they were surrounded by wilderness of weeds and thorns; brambles trailed upon the ground, and small streams intertwined with rock and stone. It seemed to Rell a sad country, just as ancient as the forest behind yet devoid of the beauty of Elves, silent but for the noise of hidden rivers. They had come to the waning edge of Lothlórien's magic.

Sullen clouds drifted high above, and the riders did not speak as they passed further through the ever-thinning woods. They had been half a day's riding on the way when the weather first changed. Where previously a flickering, but bright, sun had followed their path above the canopy of trees, came now swift-flowing clouds of white and grey. Around them the boles, once uncountable in their numbers, dwindled, and the forest broke into open patches of land.

Familiar watchfulness came to their gazes. They were truly beyond the protection of the marchwardens, and entirely on their own. Yet there was no fear in her heart, for Rell did not approach the remote, white-tipped mountains by herself – this time, she would not brave the wrath of Hithaeglir alone. She peered ahead to gleaming peaks of snow, grey teeth cutting across a clouded sky, and wondered how long before she was home. There was a heaviness in her stomach. A churning feeling she could not discern, be it longing or shame, and return was a difficult thought to dwell upon.

Rell worked her lower lip between her teeth, deciding instead to rummage through the pouch at her belt. Within were small treats of bread, honeyed and sweet; a parting gift from the Elves for their journey. They had attended to her with fond kindness, as one would a small child – something, perhaps, she likely was in their eyes. She chewed slowly, handing one to her companion. He was quick to accept her offer, and quicker still to nudge her for another. "They will not last the journey, if you eat them all now."

"I will not last this journey, if I do not get another now."

With a laugh, she broke a bread in two equal halves – one for him, and one for her – and disregarded his grumbles. "Be thankful you get any at all." She wiped her sticky fingers clean on his sleeve, angling her head back so she could see his face. "Or perhaps I should keep them all for myself?" His eyes were lit with veiled mirth, a smile on his lips, when he replied.

"I am thankful for your gifts, be they scarce and miserly, o mistress of the bread." Brenion ruffled her hair, despite her protests, and she knew she would end up looking like a wildling. They laughed until it was hard to breathe, allowing Luin to trod a way after the other horses; Halbarad had watched their foolery with content, shaking his head ever so slightly as he led the company forward.

A large pair of wings pulled their eyes away, just in time to see the form of a bird vanishing into the air; startled from its hiding place within the tall grass, the heron took to the skies. Rell shielded her gaze with a hand and peered after the animal; it soon disappeared in the settling gloom, for night-time seemed fast approaching. Day grew on to dark, the light turning from glowing yellow to deep orange, and the horses' pace lessened from the demanding work of the day. They pressed on, hoping to make a way further in the last light.

Though it was not long after, when Halbarad finally called for camp.

By then the pouch at her belt was empty.

They searched for awhile for a place to rest, until they came to the bank of an oval lake. Its waters were mirror-still, flanked by tall-growing sedges and bulrushes and outcrops of grey stones. A solitary frog leapt into its depths; rings formed and spread across the surface. Brenion was first to dismount, rolling shoulders in a long stretch, before turning back to Rell in the saddle. He did not ask, yet merely wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her carefully from the horse. Finding her bearings, she could feel a dull-throbbing pain cutting through her leg; a pain she was quick to swallow, feigning disregard.

With a quick word, Halbarad left their campsite to scout the area; to search for hidden enemies or unseen paths, mayhab an animal or two not fast enough to escape his arrows. It was not long before his grey cloak shimmered from view, swallowed by the mists of night. She looked for a moment, listening to the sounds about them and his fading footsteps. But then came quiet.

Brenion turned his attention to the three horses, and there he removed a few bags and satchels used for their camp; the rest remained strapped to the packhorse. Better it was, if need came to them and they were forced to vanish into the night. An ambush in the dark was always a looming threat this close to the mountains – or anywhere else it seemed as of late.

Afterwards, the young Ranger led the animals to a small tuft of grass, not far from them, and gave them free reign to roam. They needed not be fastened, for steeds of the Dúnedain would never bolt from their masters. The black filly attempted to chew his hair, as if greeting a dearly missed friend, but he swatted it off good-naturedly. A grin tugged at her lips at the sight, but, pressing a hand to her lips, Rell glanced away and worked meticulously on a fire. She was of little else use, with her crippled arm, and so she had found a spot on the sandy edge of the lake.

The mirroring waters looked as if on fire, dark crimson and orange streaks whirling against the deep blue, and beyond, perched against the dimming horizon, stood vague contours of lonesome peaks. The mountain ridge was but a faint outline, a thin line of white against a darkening horizon. The land appeared tranquil under the setting sun, but darkness was not far behind.

At first it was a struggle, working the flint and steel with only one hand, but it did not take long before embers took hold. A small feat that filled her with quiet pride. Soon a growing flame flickered to life. She kept it burning low, to avoid smoke. Then, Rell sat back, cradling her broken limp between her legs, and allowed heat to wash over her. Hauling the satchels over, Brenion sat down beside her and clasped her shoulder.

"How are you faring?" He asked.

Rell did not look at him, instead willing her focus to remain on the dancing light before her, even if she felt his appraising gaze resting on her features. She replied slowly, flexing her fingers open and close. So rigid they felt. "I am well. Exhausted – but well." For a brief moment, her eyes flickered to him. She tried to smile, to reassure him and battle away his worry. A worry that was clear on his face.

But she could not.

"It hurts," she admitted, wincing at the weakness in her own voice. The frailty she could not hide. "And even more so, it pains me to know nothing can be done. That I can do nothing."

He was quiet and thoughtful. Then he hummed, pulling her even closer until her head rested against his. "Even before we left Lothlórien, your leg was fast healing. Be of good hope! Soon you shall walk, and run, and all other things as you did once before. Before you know it, you will outride me again." His hand stroked her dark hair, tugging it behind her ear; Rell fumbled with her bandaged arm, eyes stinging with unshed tears before she drew her cloak tighter. She wanted so desperately to believe. Brenion continued. "Some things take time – and some more than others, you know this. Bones the longest of all."

Rell nodded. "I know."

"Good." Once more he smiled. "And besides, your head is not big enough for you to carry worries."

Brenion was up and with a good deal of distance from her, long before Rell had mulled over his words. With him he carried a brass pot, dented and oft used, and he stepped to the lake's bank with a laugh. Bending down, he cupped his hand to taste the water, before filling the pot to the brim. A stone whirred past him, hitting the still waters with a plop; Rell had missed, although with no real intent to hit her mark. She shook her head. "You are insufferable."

The light of the fire fell on his beaming face; the white scars illuminated by shadows dancing as he came back. He flexed his fingers, chill droplets of water hitting her skin, when he answered. "And you love me for it."

Rell snorted.

"Perhaps. Say what you like, but one day you will earn yourself a beating." She shuffled to make room for him once more. Her back came to meet a small boulder of mossy grey, and from there she watched him. With a bit of work he suspended the pot over the fire; now the only real light to be seen in the glum dusk. If not for the surrounding hills, perhaps they would not have risked a fire – but they were three, and with horses, and the thoughts of peril lost to the hope of a warm meal.

Waiting for the water to boil, Rell leaned back and caught glimpses of the sky. Dark shapes and shadows passed over the high stars and crescent moon, fading and flashing in and out of view. There was a black look in the sky, one she did not like. The wind had now turned round to the northwest. The snows of Caradhras were in the air, biting and gnawing; the deep Winter was behind them, yet still the warmth of Spring was still further away.

Rell listened anxiously to the howling breeze, for it had travelled far over mountains and valleys, and with it came news. Whispered words of what it had seen. Light steps swept through the grass, approaching their camp. They were much familiar; neither Ranger moved or startled, and soon Halbarad came before them. "It is naught but skin and bone," he said, holding up a rabbit by its ears. "But for a stew it will make do."

"Did you see anything else?" She asked.

Shaking his head, Halbarad finished their small circle around the fire and brought forth a knife from his belt. "A fox passing through on business of his own, and nothing else. This land seemed much abandoned." With that he began his work, skinning and carving the unfortunate victim of his arrow; it was not long before the smell of supper took to the air, and the last breath of the mountains vanished with it. Rell was offered a cup of bitter medicine – a wooden spoon pointed at her with orders of no complaints – of green leaves seeped into boiling water; something she drank dutifully, although reluctantly, for it was made by the Elves.

The taste lingered long after on her tongue.

In the hour following they ate and talked, voices quiet and conversations light. Fear only grew when one spoke of dark things in the hour of twilight. Rell told them of her journey. The green wardens of Ithilien, how they had seemed so much alike in bearing and plight. How capture had turned to kindness. And she spoke of the Horse-lords, amazed to learn it had not been a fevered dream; the face on that grey morning had been familiar, yet distorted and warped, and Rell could not recall if it had ever been real. When she had been reunited with the Dúnedain, he had been there. The young Marshal of the Riddermark.

Gladdened she was.

Steadfast in his duty – and safe.

"That reminds me," Halbarad said. Then, he rummaged through the satchel at his side, searching for something within. Finishing the last of her stew, Rell sat aside her bowl and watched on with interest. "Here. This was a gift." Flat in her hand came to lie a smooth, cool stone of changing colours tied by a coarse string. She turned it over and watched the silver-greys dance. "It was a gift from children you had saved, the ones you spoke of; the Marshal passed it then to you, and you carried it with you on the way to Lothlórien. It was removed, when the healers worked on your ... on your arm."

Rell smiled, curling her fingers tight around the pendant. "To think I was remembered."

And with a warmed heart, Rell welcomed the deep of night under hard clear stars. The small fire flickered in the midst of their circle, and for a while Rell sat hunched over. Through half-lidded eyes she kept her head down, transfixed by her own shadow in quiet contemplation, as her fingers trailed the water-smoothed stone. Silence settled, and the rest of her company appeared in no need to break it.

When the time for rest was upon them it was utterly dark around her. Rell could see nothing as she lay on the ground; bundled in her cloak. Her eyes were strained and grew accustomed to the dimmed moonlight, for Halbarad had choked the fire for the night; they did not risk attention drawn to them during sleep, even if the chill air was biting and cold. The world had turned to a somber grey.

Thought she could not see them, she knew her companions were beside her. She could hear the soft breathing, rising and falling in a quiet, calm lull. The horses stamped and moved every so often, somewhere beyond the hill. Brenion had taken the first watch, and she could see a faint, dark silhouette standing by the mere. He stood at his full height, craning his neck eastward and southward; a quiver and bow on his back, and his cloak fluttering, caught in the breeze. She closed her eyes resolutely.

But though she was tired, Rell could not sleep. The wind was whispering, and rattles brushed through the grass; her mind was filled with thoughts, too many to count or make sense of. She pulled her cloak tighter until only her hand was free, and there, between her fingers, she watched the stone for many long moments. Under the stars it appeared shimmering like silver. She pulled the string above her head, tugging the pendant safely into her shirt, and turned to lay on her back.

Footfalls shifted through the sand, and her friend sat down next to her. "Can you not sleep?" His voice was low, so as to not wake the last Ranger; for Halbarad had no such troubles as she did, and his deep breathing told them he was fast asleep.

"No," she said, shifting to sit upright. "I have too many thoughts."

His warm hand found her brow, and he kept her from rising. "And they will still be there in the morning light. Close your eyes, I am here." At last Rell beckoned her worried mind to ease, and her fingers to find his; he squeezed them with reassurance, to let her know she was not alone. He would be by her side, a silent company, until his watch would end. And certainly she was tired. Her body was heavy, weighed down with exhaustion, and her mind dizzy. She wanted to sleep.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For finding me."

Darkness claimed her, and she did not hear his answer.

The day passed much as the day before had gone, though the stifling silence in the air seemed heavier. And another day followed soon after, sunrise and sunset, and all during the long hours of fitful sun and growing gales they hardly paused. At night they slept fitfully, woken by howling cries in the air; yet never was Rell tasked to watch. They let her sleep, only waking her when all had been packed and they were set to leave.

But on the fourth day something dark was brewing in the clouds, and it was not long passed noon when thunder rolled across the hills. With haste they carried on, and as their march drew on and light waned, came the first cold drops. The had ridden far throughout noon, following the outer ridges that had been bending gradually north. The land had turned to wide flats of weathered rock, at times cut-through by gullies and clefts; and for each they passed, they seemed to become deeper and taller.

There were still trees, but they grew scarce and stumped. Twisted birch for the most part, and here and there a solitary fir, bitten to the core by the winds. The foothills of the mountains were taken by bracken and shrubs, the only life of green resilient enough to withstand the ever-changing temperaments of Caradhras. When the rain came that day, it came with an unbroken roar on the still air. A blinding sheet. Brenion took the worst of the storm, his larger frame shielding her and his cloak pulled around them both, for the wind was on their backs.

All Rell could do was hunker down and allow herself to be led forward. They had covered many miles, many more than she so many months ago – the way had been foreign and new to her, searching for tracks; signs of her uncle that had never been. But the leader of their company had travelled the path to the passes many a time, and he knew the way around the Misty Mountains back to Rivendell.

But the day wore on, and with it the storm, and when afternoon faded to evening the rain had yet to lessen. They had followed a sheer face of rock, a ridge that would soon veer the straight way West. An opening to Caradhras' steep slopes. At last they were brought to a halt. The grey fence took a sharper bend, and on its further side it reared upwards; climbing and climbing, up to the very heart of the mountain. A flash carved the sky. Another crack of thunder that seemed to roll endlessly in the distance, growling and rumbling.

A few small rocks and pebbles rolled down the slope, coming to a stop not far from their horses.

Rell was wet and shivering, peering up to the towering teeth of rock and stone, when Brenion dismounted alongside Halbarad. "I can see a sliver of light in the distance," he said, a hand pointed to the East. The wind was in his face. "I do not think the storm will last. Should we risk the climb or wait?" It was but a flicker of a moment, but she felt their eyes on her. A doubtful glance.

"The rain has nearly given over," she said, teeth clattering. From the saddle she, too, could see the lessening clouds in the distance. Clear skies were brought ever closer. "You should not delay for the sake of I. I am doing nothing, whether it be in camp by the fire or on the back of a horse. And I would rather brave the mountain in daylight, than sleep in the foothills with Orcs as my neighbour!" A cold drop of rain trickled down her nose, and she wiped it away, only to look back at her companions. "I can endure this."

Halbarad stepped close and took her hand in his own, much warmer they were, and he gazed long, and searchingly, into her eyes. Rell did not turn aside. "Well, so much at least is now clear." His face seemed haggard, burdened by worry, yet he gave a tired smile. "I do wonder ... From where do you get your stubbornness? I do not recall your father ever giving me this much trouble."

So it was, that they for a short while followed the ridge as it carved upwards. But as it forked and went one way and another, they turned left and took quietly to the higher pass. The horses went in single file, hooves clip-clopping in an endless echo. Above them the clouds opened to narrow streaks of light; the storm had broken, rolling further ahead, somewhere over Eriador until it would meet the great seas. Rivulets of water ran down the stone ground, winding black ribbons. As they began to climb, Rell looked back and ahead, watching for enemies.

But the climb passed uneventful.

After a brief rest when night was at its darkest, they used the light of the moon and started on their way again. All were eager to get the journey across the mountain over as quickly as possible, for the rocky lands were covered in a blanket of white. Too cold it was to sleep; no fire would burn and no heat came to them. And so they were willing, tired as they were, to go on marching for several hours. But Rell was loath to ride – for out of the three, she was the only one covered in wool and blanket up to the very tip of her ears. Her companions had taken to their own feet, then guiding the horses forward through high piles of snow.

Their walk was slow and laboured.

She hated her own words previously spoken. How she had declined the warmth of a fire, so sure in her own promise that she had taken respite from her own kin. "I am sorry," she called ahead; but the wind caught her voice, and they seemed not to hear her. With sharp, cold-cutting gusts it tugged and pulled at her. A laughing mockery, and she could do nothing more than huddle together. "Sorry ..."

The passage twisted round a few turns, then began to descent. It went steadily down for a long while before it became level again. Despite the gloom and all the windings of the road, Halbarad did not falter and he knew where he wished to go. There was no sound but the sound of their own feet, and the howling wind; the dull stump of booted feet and hooves in the crunching snow. Rell listened, and imagined, and thought she saw and heard many things, but each time it proved to be nothing. And with the moon still hanging high in the sky, she saw ahead a far-stretching land of trees and open fields. Rhudaur and the Trollshaws.

Brenion paused, turning to look back; snowflakes dotted his hair and painted his pale skin red with frost. "It is not far now!" He called up to her.

She smiled and nodded, uncertain of what to say, and instead beckoned him to look ahead once more.

They would soon find familiar places, following hidden paths and river-spanning bridges, that would take them to Rivendell. With a glance down, Rell ran her fingers over her broken arm; a small flickering hope burned warm in her chest, mayhap – hopefully – the Lord of the Last Homely House could help her. So many others had been saved by the master of herbs and healing. Long where the shadows before them as the began their final descent.

In quiet thought, Rell thought of Aragorn.

Uncle. I will do my utmost ... so that I can serve you better when you return.

For return you must.