I'm back!

For some strange reason (probably from my extended break from writing), my brain cannot for the life of me figure out if I'm writing present or past tense. This chapter was not a struggle to write per se in terms of the plot, other than actually forcing myself to sit down and write, but I have spent an incredible amount of time checking verbs. And I probably haven't spotted everything ... Errors lurk within, beware. Who would have thought that was the challenge. Oh well.

At least it took me only a day to put this entire chapter to paper. Bilbo took the reins, and I just went along for the ride. Glad to be back!

Enjoy! :)

And as always, my whole-hearted thanks goes out to the lovely people that have continued reviewing this little story of mine. I'm totally replying to you guys here, rather than personal messages, because I have a tendency to forget if I've replied or not (I promise to do better!) ... Thank you to:

- Britt: Thank you, and welcome! To think you've read some of my older stories, that's both a compliment and rather nerve wracking to think someone's dusted off those old trainwrecks! Sometimes I go back myself to try to read them, but I can never get further than like a chapter or two, then I cringe my way back out :)

- alienhands: Thank you, and welcome as well! I'm actually going to be nice to Rell in this chapter, for once, because she admittedly deserves it. For a while longer at least.

- kyulkyul: I wasn't actually planning to have Bilbo stumble into the story, but having brushed up on the timeline, I felt it quite fitting to add him. I'm glad you liked the representation of him, I do enjoy writing him, albeit I find him tricky. And noooo, it's not like her going out into the wild world again is going to bring any drama ... Just, maybe, a tiny bit? (It'll be a lot, and we all know it)

- guest: Thank you! Brenion and Halbarad shall return soon(TM).

- Diarona: As always, you're so much spot on, that I feel like you know this story better than I do. Reading your reviews always inspire me to add some extra little details. I find that amazing, and your review is a treat as always. Rell has indeed been knocked back and forth a bit (courtesy of certain people), and she definitely has scars that run much deeper than just her skin. And you caught the part with the sword, I'm glad! I look forward to what you see in this chapter :)

- shari1: Thank you, and I certainly don't plan to stop anytime soon. This story will be finished, no matter how much time it takes to get there. :)

- Doria Nell: I think we both might be curious where this story is headed (I know most, but if I'm honest, it has a tendency to change along the way. Guess we're in it for the ride). She won't be a 10th walker, I leave that adventure mostly untouched in this story; Rell has another part to play elsewhere. Where exactly that is, well, time will tell.

- vandena3: I do try to contain the amount of suffering I force upon my characters, but ... I feel I fail at times. Poor Rell. At least she'll have a couple of chapters more before she's thrown into the ring once more. As to your question of her being a 10th walker, I can say for certain that she won't be!

Little Sparrow

Chapter XXV: Returning Home

They sat in amicable silence, once more – one final time – finding the peace of the land around them in a, perhaps, unusual companionship. A friendship that had bloomed despite, or rather because, of their differences. Rell's fingers fumbled a dance across her skin, a strangeness to her injured arm now suddenly without bandages; the Healers had removed the linens that very same morning, prodding her once-broken limb this way and that until they seemed truly pleased. While she could still feel strength amiss, like a piece of herself no longer there, hope and joy swelled in her chest.

They mirrored the words of Lord Elrond.

Rell gave a small smile at the memory, turning her lowered gaze upwards to the light blue and dove skies above.

The river's roar soared beneath them, a rumble of white foam and rapid waters that spilled from tall cliffs. The balcony, upon which the pair found themselves, spanned the gully below; blue-crowned flowers peaked from beneath dark vines, and the sun broke every so often through the grey-clouded skies. It would not be long before nightfall's rain would pass entirely beyond the mountains, and the day promised fairer weathers. The wind came in bouts of mischief, howling and singing through every crevice; winding its way between pillars of marble and trees of early Spring, to tug at her hair or ruffle her clothes. It was fresh, but not cold.

Winter was in an ever losing battle to the changing of Seasons.

Mayhap the gales were not entirely without a bite, as if they knew well her thoughts and blew then with a little more vigour, and Rell shifted to pull her cloak tight. The fabric between her fingers was smooth, a light grey wool that seemed to shimmer as if caught by the light; it was new, not yet worn, as were the rest of her garments. Gifts from the Elves; in celebration of her recovery, and a way of parting to ease her travels fast approaching. For, soon, she would leave. Her eyes flickered to the sword, sheathed by her belt, and she resisted the urge to draw it out into the sun – something she had done many a time before, to marvel at its beauty, its lightness, and the sharpness of the blade.

It had been a kingly gift, and much welcomed.

Yet her musings were disrupted; not by startlement or wariness, but rather the sudden, insistent scratch of a feathered quill, making its way twirling and leaping across parchment. It seemed her companion had found a moment of clarity. New words formed – he had groused some, about the wiliness of an old mind and how memories could be hard to recall when youth turned to age – and life was now breathed anew into the pages of his red book. Rell glanced to the Hobbit with a smile, watching for many moments as the tiny creature worked. His brow was downturned, hard-set in concentration, and his lips parted in silent words; engrossed in his work, the enthralling tale of his life he muttered to himself, as hairy feet swished back and forth above the stone floor.

Rell would miss the stories, and his company more so, dearly.

But her heart yearned to reunite with her kin beyond Rivendell, to once more walk the small, dusty streets of the Angle; with all that transpired, in the six months since her departure, she struggled to remember their faces. So dark had the lonely days and long nights been, so cloudy and grim they left her mind, and for a flickering moment she feared light would not return to her inner vision. As if the fondness of her childhood was forever tarnished, sullied by the long Winter and all its hardships. Rubbing her forehead with set determination, eyes closed, so forced the hopelessness aside with a heavy, drawn-out sigh.

So loud it was, that even the Hobbit's attention was brought away from his own deliberations.

The quill came to a pause against the parchment.

"A heavy heart does not see the beauty of the world, not even that which lies just beyond its own nose," he spoke quietly, regarding her with blue eyes alit with curious care. Rell returned his inquiry with a raise of her brow, and he shifted in his seat to face her. Her fingers stilled and clenched. The quill clacked against the marble as it was put aside, the red tome closed. "What troubles you so? Should your spirits not be lifted, soaring into the skies above, for you are to finally go home?"

With a smile, albeit tired and somewhat strained, Rell decided to stand. "It is hard to explain," she said, shoulders lifted in a half-shrug.

Hesitating, she stepped to the edge of the balcony, and her hand found the coolness of the balustrade anchoring to her thoughts. The sight before her went down steeply as she peered out over the stony shelf. Her lips pursed, furrowed, as she attempted to read her own muddled feelings and thoughts. Behind her, Bilbo patiently and quietly awaited her whirring thoughts to settle.

The grey clouds had faded into distant blues, and the far mountain peaks were tipped in gold and hues of fire; many great birds had taken flight in a partnered dance, accompanied by the wind's merry gusts as it decided the tune upon which they climbed. They seemed almost to be calling out to her. Free-moving and wild.

Her grip lessened against the stone, and she looked back to the Hobbit.

Rell swallowed tightly, hand brushing over her – no longer so injured – arm. Her breath had shortened, and her answer was hoarsely whispered; almost too low for him to hear her properly. "Perhaps it is shame that binds me here," she finally acknowledged, breaking the silence to look at him for many long moments. There was a brief desire to not resist the emotions that rose up in her chest, overwhelmingly so, beckoning for her to once more drown in the darkest parts of her mind. Their intent to embrace the ragged, hard-wrung pity and self-loathing that had festered and grown in her heart. "My choice caused so much harm. How can I ever face them?"

"How can you not?"

His question pulled her suddenly back; dark waters withdrawing, and Rell found herself once more standing on the shore of hope. Astounded by Bilbo's bluntness and the unfaltering surety in his voice; she blinked, incredulous, opening and closing her mouth at a loss for words. "What?" Rell stammered. Clearly, the Hobbit found her perplexity to give some amusement, for he quickly stifled a chuckle to, instead, pat the spot next to him on the bench.

With a few, brisk steps, Rell sat down once more; a breeze swept across them, plucking at her rigid back. "If you truly believe you have caused such harm to those you care about, should you not return? The first step in righting your wrongs, by all accounts, should be to apologise. One can only do such a thing when standing face to face!" The simplicity of his explanation, in all its straight-forward honesty, took her aback; and if she was without words before, she was then left utmost speechless.

At first her expression hardened, and she took a deep breath to argue; attempting to untangle the mess that was her thoughts.

There was something about Bilbo's adamancy, like a bolt of lightning from clear skies, that left her head lighter with slow-settling revelation. Forgiveness would not fall freely into upturned hands; it was to be earned. Suddenly, feeling immensely flustered, Rell had fallen into laughter as if there was nothing else to do. It bubbled out of her with such mirth and relief, with confusion and ebbing distress, that she struggled to contain herself.

For so long she laughed, and so heartily, it left her without breath. It echoed between the stones of the gully, ringing clear in her ears above the water. Struggling to contain herself, Rell gave a reply. "Truly, Master Baggins, you are the wisest of Hobbits!"

Bilbo beamed at her, chuckling along with her. "One does not live to the ripe old age of onehundred twenty-six without knowing a thing or two."

"It must indeed be so," she replied, fighting to regain her bearings as she appraised him quietly. For so very long, Rell had felt fear and doubts ripple through her, hesitant to do what was truly right. They were her kin – her family. Certainly, they, of all people, would forgive her for her shortcomings; for her deceit and betrayal, the lies and the hurt. Unwittingly, mayhap, yet the damage had been done. But it could be mended. The first step was hers to take, and hers alone. Rell looked up, just in time to watch a swallow, swift-flying, carve a path through the skies. She smiled.

A serene silence had then fallen upon them, drifting over them, so genuine and hopeful that Rell dared not break it.

Her heart felt so much lighter.

After many long moments, it was Bilbo who ended the quiet.

"Fate is like the current, sometimes wild and uncontrollable, other times slow and steady ... Yet always are we caught in its waves. Every choice and every action that you make, it shapes this river's pull on you. Sometimes–," he paused, taking her hand in his own pair, and smiled good-naturedly. Rell looked back down at him. The kindled gleam in his eyes seemed knowing. "Sometimes it may feel as if we are drowning, fighting against turbid waters or rough storms, but fate always brings us to where we are meant to be. Sooner or later, we all wash ashore."

Rell knelt before him, knee digging into the soft earth; leathers rustled, cape fluttering, as she held out her hands for him to take. Bilbo gripped them quickly, a smile lighting up his face; in farewell they faced each other, and with both gladness and sorrow the Ranger and the Hobbit were to part. He would remain in Rivendell, to live out his days in tranquillity and peace; and Rell would finally return home. And, with it, face the consequences of all her thoughtless choices and rash actions. There was a pause, a brief respite of quiet as the unlikely friends smiled at one another.

Morning, then noon, was fast waning, and she planned to start her journey while the sun was still high.

Many miles lay still between her and the place of her birth.

Now, after the conversation by the river rapids that had revealed much to her, Rell could feel a bubbling urgency to finally return home. It is time, she thought, gripping the smaller fingers within her own. She hoped Bilbo could see the emotion in her gaze, for it was difficult to put to words that would honour her heart. Her high opinion and the esteem, upon which she regarded her unusual companion, could not be expressed in full and with truth. "I do not know how to voice my admiration, nor my gratefulness, for the wisdom you have imparted to me. But carry it with me I shall."

The Hobbit gave a sprightly nod, patting her hand with kindness before he released his hold.

She leaned back on her haunches, allowing the grey cloak to settle around her crouched figure. "You best return to Rivendell in the coming months. I much wish to hear more – and, by then, I may have finished my next chapter! I expect you to speak your mind of it." A shimmer of mischief caught the blue of his eye. "Perhaps you can bring along that fellow of yours," he said the last part in a whisper, leaning close to her ear in feigned secrecy. "To liven up these old halls where my poems are not quite favoured."

Rell gave a laugh. "I shall try to bring Brenion, Master Hobbit."

"Good, the more the merrier! And if he is half as partial to my songs and stories as you, then he will be a most welcome guest."

And so they said their final farewells; in the shadows of willow and pine, under clear skies that left her journey free of trouble, Rell stood and bowed. "My blessings upon you, Bilbo Baggins." Both they smiled, before Rell turned to her steadfast companion and swiftly mounted. Luin stomped, a skittish dance from one hoof to another – the horse mirroring the restlessness of its rider, and not even the care and comfort of Elves in kingly stables could quench the call of the wilderness.

Rell settled into the saddle, hands gripping the reins with astonishing strength she knew not she had. Then, glancing to the Hobbit, she gave a nod.

Spurring her mount forward, she left the courtyard of marbles and vines, to follow the narrow bridge across the Bruinen until nothing could be seen behind her. As she rode from Rivendell the light was in her eyes, golden and bright; she followed the beaten way, along the hills of rocks and bramble, between sharp-edged cliffs until even they passed. Then, following the way south, it did not take long before the path led her up and down in a green country, of rolling fields and small swift streams that parted from the river.

On her left stood lofty peaks, shimmering in the haze as the jagged horns of the Misty Mountains broke through the blue. Thrust up into the sky through parting clouds, Caradhras, Celebdil, and Fanuidhol. They were far in the distance, and grew ever smaller in her sight as she rode further. There was a quiet around her, the tinkle of water and the breeze plucking through the grass her only company; it worried her not, for the land was safe to travel, but still she rode with swiftness. With eagerness and a pounding heart.

Only once did she rest for a brief space; for water and food, and a moment to stretch her stiffened limbs along the bank of the Bruinen.

The ground beneath her feet was soft with sand and they were surrounded by tall reeds and bending trees, as she crouched to fill her waterskin in the rapid stream. Spring was busy around her. Small woods blooming green, many kinds with names known and unknown to her, and small flowers were already opening in the turf. Luin stood by her side, eagerly drinking its share; deep and fresh, the surface of the Bruinen gleamed fitfully, and for a while still she would follow its way. But she lingered not for long, and Rell sound found the saddle once more; the day wore on, and when afternoon faded to early evening, she turned her back on the river and moved further inland.

A little way from the river, shadow began to rise as cliffs rose around the Ranger. The rocks were crowned with old cedars, overgrown with briar and trailing vines, drawing a veil over the dull grey. The small gully descended steadily, winding left, then right, until once more opening into a plain of rolling greens. The valley of her birth, the Angle was before her. Nestled between Loudwater and Hoarwell, the sanctuary of the Dúnedain met her return with a rush of wistful familiarity and longing. For a moment she paused, at the very edge of the dale to look far ahead.

Not once did she look back.

Rell steeled her heart, breathing deeply, before allowing Luin to trod ahead; the sun was slowly setting, and a mist was drawn up in the valley as gloom settled. Floating in, as wisps of white borne on the stiffening breeze of the North; a last remnant of Winter pulled in over bending hills. The distance was lost to a haze and a shimmer, and Rell could not see the plain laid out before her – but memories came to her, welcome images that she knew well. Of dotted woods and lakes, with roads skirting hills before passing from sight; paths choked in prickling shrubs and scrambling hedges wild and unkept. A smile came to her.

Evening followed her. The light of sun waned to that of dusk. There was a chill in the air and little cover, and Rell, shuddering, drew her cloak tight. Almost straight ahead, still far beyond, in the growing darkness were tiny fires; from that of a great burning glow of orange, flickering dots where her kin stood watch. As she gazed at it, she suddenly, truly understood. Almost with a shock. I am home.

With the last leg of her journey, Rell was without doubt or hesitation, and when she could clearly see the braziers there came a voice, carried to her through the dimness. It was a call of warning, for one who approached without message. "Halt! Who goes there?" The voice was of one familiar to her, and a blurred face came to her mind.

Rell advanced down the path, a thrumming in her chest and a smile on her lips. "It is I," she called back. "Avarell, returning once more. Has the light dwindled so that you do not recognise me?"

A figure came to meet her at the stone passage to the village, cloak drawn and with a long spear downturned in his hands; Rell dismounted swiftly, now face to face with the Ranger. She came to a halt before him. His grey eyed swept over her, lingering long on her face until he spoke once more. "So it is." He smiled, broad and with welcome, and it reminded her much of a younger man that shared many of his traits. They were much the same, if one had not been touched by age and hardships; streaks of grey and furrowing lines spoke of a longer, harder life. "My son was adamant you would soon be back with us."

He took the last few steps forward, a limp to his stride from an arrow many years prior, and Rell met his embrace. "I am back, Maldil," she muttered into his shoulder, feeling strong hands wrap around her back; for a long while he held her close, allowing her the chance to relish the feeling – to settle into the thought of being home. She stifled a sniffle. "And how I have missed it."

When he finally released her, he held her at arm's length and regarded her.

"I am glad to see you safe. Brenion told us some of your travels, and your hardships, and I know my wife will have a word or two of reprimand for you." Mayhap he saw the paling of her face, the sinking feeling of dread, for then he laughed. "All will be said with love and borne from concern! I have long since learned it is best to listen to her share of wisdom without retort. If one values their own hide, that is." Maldil gave her a gentle shake by the shoulders, then nudged her towards the passage between stone fences leading into the village. "She will surely have food ready for you."

Rell took Luin by the reins, guiding the horse down the dusty path with a glance backwards to the flames; Maldil stood watching her, until shadows took his face, and so he turned once more to his duty at the gate. He had been injured – in the very same ambush that claimed her own father – and the life of wandering the wild had been taken from him. Brenion had taken the mantle from him, the duty as the oldest child and only son; the thought had always resonated with her, for how it mirrored her own fate.

Each step she had taken, he had taken the same.

Darkness came down swiftly, and only a few lights twinkled within the homes she passed. Most were shuttered. The smell of smoke and fire was in the air, and above her misty white stars shimmered in and out of vision. The road swept round the corner, and Rell followed it. When Rell came to the right house, she hesitated outside in the gloom; there were sounds within, and for a moment she stood listening. A bout of clamour, the argument of tiny voices belonging, she knew, to a pair of unruly twins, until someone else cut through above the din. Then she turned, instead leading Luin through a gate into the adjacent courtyard.

It was but a small enclosure, and here she found another horse already waiting for them. The black filly barely looked up from its trough of oats as Rell approached, and Luin was likewise swift to ignore her ministrations when it came close enough to the food. She then worked quickly, removing the saddle and bridle; padding down the length of the great animal, until finally finding clever eyes meeting her own. "Eat to your heart's content." Rell pressed her forehead against the velvety muzzle. "You deserve it more than anyone ... Thank you."

Luin blew a breath of warmth into her face.

Knowing well the horse was settled well for the night, she picked up her few satchels and returned to the entrance to the home once more. The rowdy racket had quietened, likely stilled by the stern scolding of their mother – a woman as fierce as any warrior, if not more if truly vexed – and Rell could only hear small tinkerings through the wood. She squared her shoulders, well aware such a fate awaited her, and knocked. It would be well deserved.

There was a silence, a brief pause, but then came the scampering of feet. The door was pushed open, and the first of two identical faces peered out; the second joined immediately after, and both broke into wide grins when they saw her. "Rell!" Leaving her no time to reply, she was grabbed by the hands and pulled inside, tugged along with insistency; the two girls spoke too fast, with much excitement, and she barely understood half of their ramblings.

"Brenion said you were coming home–"

"–Did you see father–?"

"–And is it true you met the Elves?"

Rell indulged their unyielding march ahead, unable to reply to one question before the next was already asked, as they led her into the small, but homely living room. Lamp-light bathed the room in warmth, a dim glow; a pot bubbled away above the fire, the lid rumbling, and the air smelled of freshly baked bread. The constant, disjointed ramblings of the children had seemed to draw the attention of the mistress of the house; from another doorway she came, drying her hands in an apron, and eyes hard set in prepared disagreement. "What is all this fuss about, you two?"

But when she raised her gaze, eyes falling on Rell, she froze mid-step and yanked to a halt.

"Good evening, Bregnis," Rell said.

It was the only thing she managed to get past her lips. Anger, to some, was like the deep calm seas; hidden beneath a still surface, unbeknownst to those that sailed its waters. Other times, all knew well when a line had been crossed. Brenion's mother, a woman one seldom wished to displease, was the roaring tempest; of a hurricane, tearing up tree and root and all things in its path. That, is what met Rell – managing but half a smile of apology, the woman unleashed every ounce of fury she could muster upon Rell the moment words returned to her.

The twins had in an instant made themselves scarce.