Over Hill and Under Tree (Shiva x Traveler)

[Shiva the Cat]

His hand was more reassuring than she had expected, and Maerwyn was tempted to grasp it further when he let it go. But the ground was beginning to slope more drastically, and was coated in such a thick coating of loose pine needles that their footing could be precarious at times. "We should have taken those sticks after all," she muttered to herself, having declined the gift of the walking stick from her father out of pride against her wounded leg. Thankfully the stiffness of it was quickly fading, but every now and then she experienced a quick little seize of the muscles, not painful, but probably dangerous if it should occur on the higher mountainside paths.

She wouldn't attempt that until tomorrow, probably early in the morning when they'd have plenty of light. In the meantime, there was a little trickle of a stream beside that would no doubt have enough fish for their supper. They'd need to cook it quickly; even with the eagles overhead Maerwyn didn't like the idea of giving away their location on the eastern slopes with a fire after dark. While Orin began to gather wood she made her way to the streamside, peering into the water for signs of habitation.

"I doubt we'll meet anyone on this side of the mountains," she remarked, rolling up her sleeves and picking up a likely-looking stick. "If we followed the road over the High Pass we might have, although there's just as good a chance the people we meet might be goblins. But we aren't taking the High Pass." Pulling out her knife, Maerwyn began to sharpen the stick into a sharp point that would serve as a spear. "We probably won't encounter anyone until we come down the other side, and even then we ought to be careful. The goblins keep to the eastern slopes, but trolls like the west. They usually stray farther north than where we are though."

Satisfied with her tool, the mercenary crept to the waterside again and was silent for a long time. But less than a quarter hour later, her wrist suddenly splashed downward, impaling a fat brown trout on her stick. "There's one for you," Maerwyn grinned triumphantly, pulling out the spear and setting the fish aside on a wide flat stone on the riverbank. She caught her own a short time later, along with a couple more they could either eat themselves or leave as offerings to the eagles instead.

"As for finding work with a mercenary corps," she continued once the fire was roaring and the fish were slowly turning over the flames. "Anyone looking to cross the mountains would hire guards well before they crossed the river. Even if we did meet someone and they wanted to hire us, they're either too cheap to pay a proper wage, or they've had a nasty streak of bad luck that I'd not care to share." Pulling her flask from her belt, which had been refilled with the rich liquor of the woodmen, she took a deep drink before holding it out towards the dwarf. "No, Master Dwarf, I don't think we should expect anything to fall into our lap until we each a proper village west of the mountains. But that's probably for the best. A large group of people couldn't manage the road I intend to show you."

Her eyes sparkled a little as she glanced upward towards the rocky bare heights of the mountainside, already being swallowed up in the shadows of the setting sun. "It's a good thing you've got those strong legs and shoulders. I expect we'll need to do a bit of climbing in the morning. Think you're up for it?" Grinning, she picked up a wild raspberry from the small pile she'd gathered from the nearby bushes, and popped it into her mouth. "I can't exactly carry you on my back after all."

After dinner, she was insistent about extinguishing the fire completely, but didn't feel the need to go to sleep just yet. It was still relatively early in the evening, and between the boughs overhead she could see the stars beginning to blossom in the sky. "We'll need to go back to sleeping in shifts again," Maerwyn sighed, recalling how nice it had felt to wake up that morning with Orin's head resting heavily on her chest. "Shall I talk the first watch tonight? I don't imagine there should be too much trouble, but we can't be too careful..."

 

[Traveler]

Maerwyn had a way with fish. It seemed that she could always read the water, and when it came to catching them for their dinners she never came up short. Orin wondered if it had something to do with her father’s shape-shifting, or if she was simply as gifted as the bear.

The dwarf tried to minimize the sound he made and stayed far from the streamside to not cast a shadow over his partner’s fishing area. He enjoyed his duty in the camp; coaxing the fire to light always reminded him of working the forge, and that was one memory that he cherished from the mountain. When she announced that she had one for him he had to wonder why she always cared for his needs first.

He sat by the fire with her as she turned the fish, nodding at her assessment of their chances of being hired. “Are you sure that we can manage the road?” he asked gently. He felt like she had too much pride to suggest going in a direction that might be problematic for her. “I mean, I’m a clumsy, heavy-footed dwarf, and if I got injured it would be difficult for you to help me on a narrow path.” His eyes shined with concern. And then she joked that she couldn’t carry him on her back, and he grinned across the fire at her.

“Maerwyn…” he poked a stick into the embers, playing with the remaining fire before it had to be put out. “You’re always taking care of my needs first. Like with the fish; you said that the first one was mine, and I have a mind to think that you would go without rather than see me hungry. I understood it when I was just your employer,” he looked up at her. “But we’re partners now. Everything I have is yours.”

He leaned back on the log and then stood. “I don’t want you to put aside your own needs for me, Maerwyn. So if you’re tired, let me take first watch. And…if this route is going to be dangerous, for either of us, let’s find another way.” He held his hand over the soil where the fire was, testing it to make sure that the fire was completely out. “I’m going to miss sleeping with you. Now I understand why Havus and Lorryn gave up traveling.” He stood and put his hands on his hips as he looked up into Maerwyn’s face. After a moment of losing himself in the memory of their last night together he drew in a breath and shook himself out of the daydream.

“But if you’re not tired, I’ll sleep first.” He gave her a grin. “I gotta trust my guide, right?”

He helped to straighten up their camp and laid out a bedroll near the fire, then made sure to bury the fish bones to discourage any scavengers from coming around. Traveling with Maerwyn had taught him a lot about the world. He imagined that there would be a lot he learned about scaling the sides of mountains that was different from spelunking in a cave. He had to trust that Maerwyn had been through the pass before and knew what she was doing. She was seasoned, despite her fewer years. She certainly knew more about their route than he did.

He just hoped they didn’t come across any previous members of her group. The last ones they met had been wanting to see her dead for double-crossing them. That memory sent a chill down his back. If there was something that his partner did well, it was to leave an impression on the people she met.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Maerwyn couldn't hide the blush on her cheeks at Orin's insistence that everything he had was hers. "I assure you, Master Dwarf, the day I can only catch a single fish is the day you'll go to bed with an empty belly. In the meantime, eat what I give you and don't make a fuss about it. We're hardly going to starve anytime soon." Of course, that was assuming they could make their way through the hidden paths across the mountains without delay. If the weather held out (which seemed likely) and they weren't detained by goblins (which was hopeful, if not likely), she was sure their food would hold out, and the traveler was well acquainted with several fresh springs that would provide them with plenty of water. The trouble would only come if they deviated from the course she had in mind.

"If I can drag four of your countrymen at a time up the face of Hatholtaen, I think you'll manage," she replied, gesturing towards a peak a little ways to the north of their current location. "I took a party of merchants from the Iron Hills up that way two years ago, and I didn't lose one of them, even though I was tempted to throw them off the edge myself with all the grumbling they were doing." Rolling her eyes at the memory, Maerwyn helped herself to another drink from her flask. "Besides, if you have the energy for other physical activities, you wicked little lecher, I have no doubt you're strong enough to climb."

Smiling a little, she leaned over and brushed her lips against his cheek before rising to her feet. Going over to her pack, she withdrew a bit of canvas that had been firmly threaded with thick ropes. "I think the girls gave you one of these, didn't they?" the mercenary remarked as she began to tie the ropes to various branches of the oak overhead, creating a sort of hammock slung about seven feet off the ground. "I'd recommend using it if so. There are wolves on these slopes at night. Or you can just use mine if you like." Once her bed was secured, Maeryn pulled her old bearskin out of her pack as well tossed it into the sling, then began to scale the branches as easily as a squirrel.

"Wake me when you can see the moon through those trees," she instructed, pointing at a gap in the foliage overhead before pulling the cloak of her hood over her face. "Good night, Orin," she added in muffled tones, before immediately falling into silence.

*****
​

Despite the occasional howl from the north, the wolves didn't dare to come so close to the eagles' hunting grounds, and the night was relatively uneventful. Shortly before dawn, Maerwyn wandered a short distance away to gather some berries for their morning meal, and squealed in delight at coming across a wild plum tree in full fruit. By the time Orin was awake, she'd amassed a colorful pile that would have made them both rich if it had been jewels instead of breakfast. Whatever they couldn't finish the mercenary was careful to pack away in her bag, hoping they'd be able to enjoy the rest as a midday meal once they'd scaled the shining gray wall of Hatholtaen.

Once they'd packed up again, she led him along the stream, pausing only to break off a sturdy-looking branch that could serve as a walking stick as the trees gradually fell away. The sun was warm on their backs as they made their way ever upward, and when they finally reached the little spring and waterfall that served as the creek's headwaters, Maerwyn finally let them pause.

"And here's where it gets interesting," she remarked, taking off her pack and cloak. After making her sure braid was tight down her back, she began to fish around in her bag for a long coil of rope as well as several small metal spikes. "You should relax a bit and eat something if you need it. I'm going to climb up there and lay a path for you first. Then I'll come back down to get my bag, and you can climb up after me. Think you can manage that?" Her tone was light, but there was genuine concern in her eyes as she looked over at her companion. The rocks leading upward were smooth and could be downright treacherous in the rain, but so far the skies were still clear, and Maerwyn could still remember all the right crevasses in which to place the anchors for the ropes. Placing these in a small pouch that hung on her belt, along with a small hammer she'd gotten from the smithy in her father's house, the mercenary began to ascend the slope without a second thought, never daring to look back as she climbed ever higher.

It took her more than an hour to reach the top of the cliff, and by the time she did the young woman needed to pause a few minutes to catch her breath and flex her hands. The rope was rough in her hands, and she hadn't thought to put on gloves before climbing, though thankfully she'd had a pair tucked in the pouch that had held the anchors (all now driven at regular intervals up the mountainside). After giving her fingers a good stretch, Maerwyn sighed in relief as she felt the soft leather covering her red palms, and she rose to her feet to take a look westward before descending again.

Then she saw the clouds. Fuck was all she could think. They were far off yet, at least a couple of hours away, but black as night with silvery flickers of lightning around the side. Her first instinct was to get back to the bottom of the cliff as quickly as possible and tell Orin to wait until the storm had passed, knowing the dangers of being on an open mountaintop when thunder was ready to strike. But as she looked back down towards the waterfall, she realized in alarm that the spring had cut a small canyon on the side of the mountain, one that would no doubt flood quickly once the rain started to fall.

Thankful Orin would be too far away to see the alarm on her face, she quickly began to scan the immediate area for anything that could serve as shelter, finding nothing but a little shelf of rock jutting out over a goat path perhaps thirty yards away. It probably wouldn't keep them dry, but at least it would probably keep them from being struck by lightning. They would have to move fast though.

After making sure the rope around her waist was secure, Maerwyn began to descend the cliff at a speed that probably would have appeared alarming to her friend at the bottom. When her feet finally touched the ground again, her face was pale and her breathing was hard, but hopefully the dwarf would assume that was due to physical exertion alone.

"Ready?" she asked, trying to sound as calm as possible as she began to secure her pack on her shoulders. "Do you want to follow me up, or do you want to go first?" It probably would have been wisest for the woman, being the lighter one of the two, to go ahead just in case of missteps, but at least if Orin was ahead of her Maerwyn would be able to drive him faster up the mountainside, and speed was of the absolute essence.

 

[Traveler]

Maerwyn had a way of making the serious light, and as she hinted that one fish would mean she was fed and he was not, he chuckled into his flask. She eased his concern and turned his thoughts to other things as easily as others waved off an annoying fly. She made him wonder what his kinsmen were doing, going to Hatholtaen peak, and whether there were minerals there to be mined. A flash of covetous desire crossed his mind before he reminded himself; it was not his mountain. It was not his home; there were more than enough treasures to be found by all the clans, and anyway, he had decided that his treasure was not going to be found in things but in experiences.

Even now, a small fortune was sewn into this vest and jacket, and he’d spent just a fraction of all he had saved from his smithy work. And no matter how much he spent, he could have never bought the brunette human’s affections, or the wisdom she had shared, or her loyalty… those things had no price. He frowned slightly as he thought of the implications; he had tried to buy Dís’s love with this gifts, and she had been honest in her dismissal of him. Perhaps that was a lesson he should have learned years ago, but it was his own stubborn pride and fixated focus that blinded him.

Maerwyn drew his attention again, calling him a wicked little lecher. He laughed heartily as he watched her come in for a soft kiss. ‘Ah, she missed,’ he thought, wishing she had kissed his lips in stead of his cheek. “A mountain’s not as fun to climb as you are,” he said, standing and brushing off his trousers. He pulled at his beard, relishing the additional length it had gained, and stretched as he tossed the remnants of his meal into the fire.

There was something nice about watching the guide work. As she began to untie the canvas and rope, he nodded. “They did give me one,” he said, wary as she began to tie it to the tree. He looked up as it swung there, much too high to be of use. “I thought it was for hauling wood, or some such.” He frowned even deeper as she tossed her bearskin into the hammock and scampered into it.

“You’re not seriously going to sleep up there, are you?” He shook his head and grumbled something about taking his chances with the wolves, and elves swinging from branches like monkeys. She wasn’t an elf, but she was certainly sleeping like one. He found himself a good place to watch the camp, hidden from view but still able to see all there was to see, and though the wolves cried their songs that night, none came through on his watch. When the moon finally came into view he waited longer, giving her the gift of a fuller night’s sleep since, despite her claims, he thought she was still healing. When he decided it was time enough and woke her, he curled up in his blankets near the embers and fell asleep, knowing he was safe under her watchful eyes.

Dreams flickered through his head of Maerwyn, smooth, and eerily lovely in her humanness, against this skin. Her body was flawless; silken. His, hairy and hard, moved roughly against her. Then as he turned to kiss her, he noticed a soft fuzz along her skin. ‘Why Maer, are you growing a little beard?’

In his dream she smiled at him and ran a hand along his cheek. ‘Seems only fair,’ she said, ‘as you are loosing yours.’ In her fingertips she had pulled a tuft of his beard from his chin. Orin startled in his sleep, then heard his brother’s voice behind him.

‘Good thing you’re not completely like Ma,’ he taunted and pointed, and as Orin turned his shocked eyes to see, he realized that Havus had grown tall and slim, and her ears had tapered points upon them. Then he saw that she was clean-faced, and with a startled snort Orin woke.

He heard the morning birdsongs calling forth the sun, though the sky was still velvet and dark. Orin brought a hand to his face, afraid of what he might find. As his thick fingers patted his jaw and chin, he discovered that his beard was fine. Still there. Still thickening and lengthening, and completely intact. He sighed with relief and crawled from his blanket, eager to be on their way.

Maerwyn gifted them with a bushel of fruit, and though Orin thought that only one thing was sweeter than the taste of their juices on his lips he bit back the thought and tried his best to not let his thoughts of her dominate the day. Like all dwarves, he tended to be obsessive. And without a forge or the distractions of the mountain’s dramas to fill his mind, he naturally focused on her. Thankfully, she tended to walk before him. He let himself feast visually on his guide even though his hands remained empty of her for the first part of their hike.

“So you’re going to climb up,” he observed, his hands on his stout waist as he surveyed the cliffs, “and I’m to relax down here and do…nothing?” He grimaced. “I can manage that,” he agreed. The question in his mind was, could she?

As he watched her climb, painstakingly setting each spike when a natural foothold was missing, he flinched inwardly each time he thought that she might slip or her hold was too tenuous. He watched her climb as if, by watching, he could keep her safe. A morose thought that if she fell he could at least find her entered his mind, and like an irate house wife with a broom after a mouse, he chased that thought around until he could sweep it out the door.

It seemed like hours before she reached the top of the climb. As she stood there, safe, Orin reached a hand behind his neck and stretched the kinks out, then glanced up again to see her begin to descend. She rappelled down the cliff like a dwarf born and raised underground. He felt a swell of pride at her speed, thinking that she was quite clever to bring enough rope to ensure she could return.

When she finally reached the bottom, the look on her face alarmed him. “Are you sure you’re ready to go up so soon?” He asked. Then he realized his mistake almost as soon as he said those words. “I mean… you must be thirsty,” he said, and it’ll be difficult to pull the stakes up behind us.” His eyes roved over her face and noted the rapid pace of her breaths. He twisted his mouth in thought.

“Take a quick break, at least; a drink and sit. And then you can go first, and I’ll follow and pull the pitons free as I go…unless you mean to leave them?” Once it was decided, and she paused long enough to catch her breath, he eyed her pack warily. She was carrying a lot in that bag, and the fruit added extra weight, but he felt that her pride wouldn’t let her share her burden, so he eased his concern by telling himself that if she slipped he would catch her weight on the rope.

They’d be fine. Wouldn’t they?

Finally, they started up the hill, and Orin, though experienced, found it hard at times to reach as far as she had. He bit his grumbling down, remembering her comment about throwing certain dwarves off the cliff, and followed, albeit slowly. He sensed the haste she felt and tried to hurry, though he tested each spike and hand or foothold to ensure that the ledge that supported the slim human would take the weight of a dwarf and his pack.

Somehow, they made it to the surface, and as he clambered up the edge, his pack shifted and nearly pulled him off again. With a heave of his strong legs he propelled himself up, and over, and then scrambled to his feet to look at the valley below. It was both beautiful and terrifying. The sky was dark and restless, and the valley grew more dim with each passing moment. “That looks like…a storm,” he said, shielding his eyes from the breeze.

The vertigo nearly did him in. The caverns were different; though there were cliffs in there as well, the walls and ceilings always gave him a feeling of being grounded. Of being locked in. The open sky, despite the clouds, were vast. He felt like he might drift away if the breeze were to get much stronger. Hastily he began to help her roll the rope. “We need to find some shelter,” he said, though he knew that she was already thinking the same thoughts, if not… “Did you know this storm was coming?” he asked. “Why didn’t you say something?”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Maerwyn pointedly looked away as she felt Orin's eyes lingering on her thigh. She wouldn't have minded so much if he'd had that familiar lascivious gleam in them (and who knew dwarves had such appetites?), but she knew that beneath the close-fitting wool of her trousers he was staring at the ugly white scar that lingered there. "It's fine," she insisted, tossing him a length of rope he could use to tie a harness before adjusting her own. "It's been almost two weeks, and thanks to that elvish medicine or whatever it was Iorhild used, it's just a little stiff. But it feels better the more I use it. And if you're going to spend the next year fretting over me like a mother hen, Master Dwarf, I'll leave you at the bottom of this cliff right now." Her tone was light, but had an edge to it that made it clear the subject was closed.

After ensuring her pack was fully secured on her back, she took a deep breath and reached for the first handhold. "Now let's get going. I want to be at the top while the sun is still at our backs. This is going to get a lot more difficult if we have to climb with the light in our eyes." Although she knew the clouds would probably be over their heads before the sun was, but this didn't seem like the time to bring that up.

Her pace this time wasn't nearly as light as the first climb had been. Her pack was throwing off her balance somewhat, and one more than one occasion she missed the hand- or foothold she'd been reaching towards. Please don't let Orin see she prayed silently, unsure how he would react if he saw his guide go tumbling down the slope and shattering her body on the jagged rocks below. But always on the second try she managed to secure herself, and eventually they did make it all the way to the top, although by the time they reached it the air had turned cold and the wind was beginning to pick up.

Now Maerwyn finally did take the break Orin had insisted on, and sat back a few feet from the brink with her back against a gargantuan boulder. With the darkness coming in from the west, the sunshine east of the mountain seemed brighter and more beautiful somehow, and as the mercenary raised her flask to her lips, she pointed out in the direction they'd come with her free hand. "See that?" she remarked, pointing beyond the silvery-blue line of the Anduin below, and the vast emerald sea of Mirkwood. Beyond that an endless bank of fog had washed over the west of wilderland, but there was a small promontory peeking out over the top.

"There's the Lonely Mountain," Maerwyn remarked with a smile over at her companion. "You've come quite a long way, haven't you Master Dwarf? And summer's only halfway gone." Although the gust of wind that roared past them seemed to argue otherwise.

Orin seemed little interested in the beauty that lay behind them, only at the threatening shadows that loomed ahead. Sighing, Maerwyn took another drink then stowed her flask and rose slowly to her feet. "Yes, I imagine it could get quite violent. We ought to find shelter, and quickly. We're above the treeline, which means we're all the more likely to get struck by lightening." Giving the dwarf a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, she began to lead him towards a gravelly trail that hugged the edge of a deep ravine until it led to the rocky outcropping that would have to do for their cover.

“Did you know this storm was coming?” Orin asked, and Maerwyn thought there might be a hint of accusation in his voice. “Why didn’t you say something?”

"Because I was quite sure you wouldn't climb up if you knew," she replied cheerfully as a few loose rocks tumbled down the slope to her left into the debris-filled canyon hundreds of feet below. "And I didn't want to drag you up behind me if I could help it, or spend another night down in the woods." A crack of thunder rang out over head then, and the long-dreaded rain began to fall. Glancing back over her shoulder, Maerwyn gestured towards the ledge then quickened her pace, ducking under the low-hanging rocks just as the rain began to turn to hail.

For once Maerwyn was glad she was shorter than other humans, and she doubted Orin would have any trouble walking right under the shelf, which couldn't have granted more than an inch or two over five feet of clearance. The space underneath was large enough for both of the travelers to sit underneath with their baggage on either side of them, but it did nothing to protect them from the bitter wind or the occasional hailstone bouncing harmlessly off of their packs.

"Believe it or not, we're actually quite safe up here. Wolves don't come up this high," the mercenary continued once the dwarf was safe underneath, hoping the pleasant conversation might ease any concerns he had about the storm. "There's nothing for them to eat. The paths aren't wide enough for mounts, so the merchants don't use them either, and if there's no merchants to rob, that means there's no goblins either. I have heard rumors that there are giants in the northernmost reaches of the mountains, but I've never seen one. Not even sure if they exist, if I'm being honest."

A blinding flash of lightning streaked across the ravine in front of them, and the following crash of thunder was enough even to make the levelheaded Maerwyn jump a little. She was quick to laugh it off though, and smile gently over at her companion. "It'll be over soon, I'm sure. These mountain storms always burn themselves out so quickly. And at least it isn't snow!" Although the wind was cold enough to threaten it, and shivering a little she pulled out her bearskin, wrapping it around herself before offering a length of it to Orin, in case his own layers weren't enough to keep him warm.

 

[Traveler]

Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. If Maerwyn had a beard she’d be a perfect dwarf. He had seen the blaze in his eyes when she refused to rest, and each time he glanced up at a bouncing pebble, she was stoically moving forward as if nothing had happened. If he hadn’t had his own struggles (and pride) climbing that cliff, he might have started to grumble.

That, and the fear of being tossed over the edge by his guide. Despite her chuckle when she mentioned it, he could well imagine her hauling a flailing dwarf over the edge and screaming down after he fell “You should have had a better attitude!” She was a fighter to her core; hard pressed and worn down until the shine and polish made her what she was today.

He looked down at her now as she sat. The weariness and worry on her face concerned him, and though the light had dimmed, the sun stroked across the sky to brighten her face as he gazed upon her rough-hewn beauty. His eyes softened and he turned to look where she had pointed, unsure if he would see dragons or clouds. As his eyes traced the line of the ridge, he heard her description and shuddered.

“Yes,” he whispered; his voice hushed in awe. He stared for a moment as homesickness tugged at his heart. He had to look away. It was too painful to fathom the distance between him and home. Besides, he had a new home now, and she was slowly getting to her feet.

Maerwyn didn’t seem too concerned about the storm, though lightning strikes didn’t sound fun. He’d seen their effect on trees and such, of course, once they storm had passed and the mountain opened, but never seen it happening. In a way it excited him. In a deeper way, he was terrified.

The rocks tumbling from their feet to the ground below did not excite him. Quite the opposite. “You know,” he said, ducking under the ledge after Maerwyn and feeling the pelting rain turn to frozen rocks as he did, “I think you should know. I don’t really like heights,” he confessed. “It feels like falling pulls harder from up here.” He edged out of his pack and set it nearer the door, blocking a bit of the wind. It howled outside the cave, sending sprays of moisture in stinging bites to taunt them. He pulled up his legs and wrapped his arms around them as Maerwyn began to settle herself and speak of the creatures that might, or might not, hunt them in the mountains.

The lightning streaked across the sky, making him jump in surprise. Then, like a curious pup he crept on his hands to peer outside, in time to hear the thunder. It sounded like boulders being rolled across the mountaintops, and the trail of smoke where the strike had hit was quickly being put out by the rain. His eyes turned towards the darkness, wondering how long it would last.

Slowly he crawled back in, then went to cuddle next to Maerwyn. After pulling the end of her bearskin around his shoulder and wrapping an arm around her, he rested his head next to hers. “This isn’t so bad,” he said.

After the storm had sent a few more light shows streaking across their window, Orin decided to address the Ogre in the cave. “Maerwyn? You do know that I trust you, don’t you?” He turned his head slightly to look her in the eye. “I trust your experience, and your wisdom,” he said, using a thick finger to brush away the hair from her brow and tuck it behind her ear. “And if you tell me that we have to do something, I might ask you questions, but I’ll do it.”

He rested his head against hers once again. “You don’t have to lie to me. If you’re worried, let me worry with you,” he said, “because you’re not in this alone.”

Another streak of light lit the sky, and this time the rumble moved over their shelter. The storm was directly overhead, and it sounded like hundreds of little goblins were hurling pebbles against their packs. He smiled softly. “I’ll follow you through any storm,” he said, “even if I think you’re crazy for it.”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

“I think you should know. I don’t really like heights.”

"You don't say," Maerwyn replied drily, adjusting her position slightly to allow him more room under the rock shelf. "Well, I can't say I've ever met a dwarf who did like them, so you're hardly alone in that. I was rather impressed, you know, when your mother agreed to go off with Emlin, considering her people like to build their houses up in the trees. I suppose you must get your courage from her, hm?" Smiling, she leaned a little closer to him, his warmth easily chasing off the bitter chill of the wind.

She was content to sit there with him in silence, letting the storm blow out its rage around them in the hopes that they might still have a few hours of late afternoon light that would at least get them to the far end of the pass. Perhaps the effort of trying to plan their route had twisted her face somewhat, or maybe the thunder just had him on edge, but the mercenary was surprised at Orin's gentle inquiries into her fears and concerns. Her eyes widened a moment before she let out a soft chuckle, then leaned her back against the stone wall behind her.

"Well, I'm a bit worried the rain might wash some of the trail down into the ravine. That would mean there's more climbing ahead of us," the woman remarked, finding the dwarf's hand beneath the bearskin and giving it a little squeeze. "But luckily it seems to be more wind than anything else, so I think we should be all right." Pausing, she looked more seriously over at her companion. "I'm glad you trust me though, Orin. You know I'd never let anything happen to you, don't you? Not just for the money you owe me, but...but..."

Another peal of thunder saved her from needing to finish the though. Releasing Orin's hand, she quickly turned her face away again before he could see the emotion in her eyes. "Anyway, I'll protect you, so you needn't worry. And truth be told, I'm not worried either, other than for the little day-to-day things." Very slowly, her smile began to return. "Believe it or not, Master Dwarf, this is my life. Storms and heights don't trouble me, although if I'm being honest I don't care much for those underground caverns your kind seem so fond of. Feels rather like being in an early grave to me, no matter how large and grand the tombs might be."

A little shiver ran down her back, to the point where she actually seemed to relax at the next crack of lightning. After the following thunder had settled, Maerwyn finally steeled herself enough to look back into Orin's eyes. "And how do you like it?" she asked softly, searching those shadowy depths for any sign of fear or distaste. "You've lived the wandering life for almost two months now. When your year is up, will you go back to your home under the mountain, with your forge and all your high relations?" There was a hint of bitterness in her voice as she spoke of the latter.

"Or...do you think you could be happy, living like this?" Speaking the question seemed to take more strength even than climbing the face of Hatholtaen. If his answer was 'no', what did that mean? Well, it meant that after a year they'd part as friends, and Maerwyn would go on alone. The idea had never trouble her before, but now...

"I know it's not luxurious," she added quickly, trying to speak loudly and quickly enough to drown out the thoughts in her head. "And times like this, with the cold and the noise it can be downright trying. But there's freedom in it too, knowing you can go where you like and do as you wish. You never need to worry about getting trapped somewhere too dark--or too high--because you can always choose to go somewhere else. That's what I like the most."

But a nagging voice at the back of her mind suggested. Wouldn't it be better if you had someone at your side during all of that? Yes, yes it would. But Maerwyn wasn't about to risk rejection by outright asking the dwarf to stay with her. Besides, he seemed to admire her strength. If she showed the weakness of a fawning young girl driven mad by her first infatuation, there was a good chance he wouldn't want her at all, either on a road or under a mountain.

"Oh! Look there!" the woman said quickly, pointing off to the west. A faint line of pale blue was growing thicker beyond the passing line of stormclouds. "I think we should be done with this soon after all, thank the stars. I know of a decent campsite for the night too. A very wide ledge, absolutely no chance of rolling off the edge at all."

 

[Traveler]

He smiled as she shard her worries with her, and when she squeezed his hand he squeezed hers back. Then she turned and told him that she would not let anything happen to him. Not just for the money he owed her… and he scowled in the darkness. Hadn’t he told her that everything he had was hers? How could he still owe her anything?

It seemed there was still a barrier between them, and it caused a sharp pain to flare in his chest and the palms of his hands. Thankfully, thunder roared across the sky, and his small gasp was hidden in its rolling rumble. He cleared his throat, hoping that his discomfort was hidden in the storm.

But as she continued, assuring him that she would protect him, he wondered if she thought that she needed no protection. And if she did, certainly, she didn’t think it would come from him. Because… in her eyes… he was not capable of being a shield for her against the world. Perhaps she saw him as just… a child. Naïve.

Useless.

Then she told him as she smiled, that traveling was her life. Her life. She loved the storms, loved the heights, but didn’t care much for caves. And his heart, already tender from the last few months, felt shredded. He thought about the way he had clung to Dís, and the sorrow it had led to. Not just for him, the fool, but for the poor dwarven maid who had told him at every twist and turn that she was not interested. How had he been so blind?

And when he had proposed ‘forever’ to Maerwyn she had dismissed it. She had said that she could never be his wife. She had told him to seek his forever later on… and earlier she had told him that she had not settled down with Aevar because she preferred the open road. She didn’t want to be tied down forever. He was beginning to wonder if that applied to people as well.

She asked him how he liked their travels, and though he had loved every minute of it, he felt he had overused that word. His eyes met hers, though the shadows hid their glisten, and as her questions turned towards the Lonely Mountain he felt his mouth grow dry. He began to open his mouth to reply when she continued.

She spoke of freedom, and never being trapped. Of being able to go somewhere else. ‘And perhaps, to be with someone else,’ he thought. There was a short break in the conversation, and Orin, always the polite one, began to answer her questions.

But then she quickly pointed and exclaimed, and his attention was drawn away once more. It was beautiful, the line of blue. It looked like a streak of hope beyond the storm. And hope was in short supply.

“I would like that,” he finally said. “Falling off ledges in my sleep is not on my agenda.” He pulled her closer as the winds picked up, pulling the bear skin higher around them. It seemed morbid that they would take shelter under the skin of a bear when her own kin walked in their skins, but the young dwarf decided not to question his human lover. After all, there was no telling how long this would last, and he wanted their time together to be pleasant. He rested his head against hers and watched the storm rage before them.

After a particularly bright streak of light passed their window, and a few moments later the thunder rolled across their cave, he spoke. “It does seem that the storm is moving,” he observed. Soon, they might be moving too.

“I have enjoyed these past two months. It…doesn’t seem like it’s only been that long. And I don’t know what I’ll do when our year is up, but I’m not going home until I find that dagger,” he reminded her. “So… I suppose I’ll have to get used to living like this. That gives you a lot of time to teach me what I need to know… in case you get restless and want to leave.

“I know you like your freedom. You won’t have to worry about feeling trapped with me.” He didn’t want to make the same mistake with her he had with Dís, imposing his wants upon her own. What had Maerwyn said? That she would be old and grey before he was ready to be married? Perhaps that was her way of telling him ‘no’. She loved the open road. She loved the ability to go as she wished, and explore… not even the tall, handsome human fletcher had been able to convince her otherwise. What chance did a stubby dwarf have, no matter how handsome she had told him he was? She had said those things in bed; many lies were said in bed, he had been told. Lies to inflame the passion and increase one’s lust. Maerwyn knew her way around the world, and part of the world was the pride of men, was it not?

He swallowed down his doubts and sighed. He had ten months with her, before their contract was over. Perhaps he should just enjoy the time they had, and let tomorrow care for itself.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Maerwyn's expression hardened at Orin's mention of leaving. "Now listen here, Orin Indrafangin," she said in a tone that was almost a snap, tightening her grip on his wrist. "The only person I ever left was my father, and you know why I did that. Why I can't...well, nevermind. You know how things are between me and him." Was that a guilty look that flashed behind the proud mask on her face, or just a final flicker of lightning in the retreating storm?

"Anyway, I leave places, not people. It's not my fault if someone decides they'd rather be someplace else than be with me, is it?" Thilion could have joined her in the mercenary corps after all; the Captain had certainly wanted him in their ranks. Aevar could have chosen to stay with her as well, but he'd chosen Laketown and his haughty wife instead. Even her mother had chosen to let Maerwyn go. Beorwyn could have run with her into the woods, she probably could have even picked the girl up and carried her to safety. But instead she'd forced her daughter to run off on her own, and she too had stayed behind to face her death at the hands of monsters.

Releasing Orin's hand, the mercenary clenched her fingers into fists as she turned her face away. "No, Master Dwarf. I think it's rather more likely you'll fall in love with some pretty spot out in the wide world--there are so many of them, you know--and give up the road for a chance to make your pretty rings and things, and impress the bearded lassies with their fine clothes and rich fathers. I'll not begrudge you when you do, though you'll forgive me if I say 'I told you so,' when the times comes." Taking a few deep breaths, she forced a smile when she looked back at him, rising slowly to her feet.

The storm had all but cleared now. There were still a few drops of rain lingering in the air, and a scattering of hailstones mixed with the gravel beneath their feet. Maerwyn took her time rolling up her bearskin and stowing it in her pack, but once the straps were securely slung over her shoulders again she reached out a hand to the dwarf, and her expression was softer.

"If you are a mad dwarf though, as I'm beginning to suspect," she continued. "And you do prefer a life of wandering to one of security and wealth, then I'd be more than happy to have your company as long as you're willing to offer it. It's nice to have a partner to watch your back in a fight, and to throw down a rope if you do have the misfortune to fall off a cliff. Having a regular fuck doesn't hurt either; good for the nerves, you know." With a teasing laugh, she pulled the dwarf to his feet, then jerked her head towards the west. "Come on, we'd better get moving. We'll have to move slowly while the ground is wet, and we've quite a long way to go."

By some miracle, they did make it to the campsite before the light was entirely gone, but Maerwyn was firm about not traveling after dark on such treacherous ground. There was no wood for a fire, but they still had the rations the woodmen had given them, and they could huddle together for warmth after dark. The next morning was equally chilly, but after they'd hiked for a few hours the sun had crossed the first line of peaks behind them, bringing enough heat to mix with the gentle west wind and make them relatively comfortable. As the mercenary had predicted, they had little trouble from either goblins or wolves, although the weather had tended towards storms in the afternoon, and they'd nearly been washed away by an untimely rockslide on their fourth day of travel.

After that incident, Maerwyn had decided it was perhaps time to find a way into one of the lower valleys, and was pleased on the sixth day when they came across a blue-black mirror of a lake, surrounded by scrubby pine trees and tough grasses. The latter had clearly been gnawed by deer, and despite it not even being noon yet the mercenary insisted they make camp for the day in order to hunt and catch their breath after the treacherous paths above. They still needed to be cautious of course; she could see the peak of Orchaeg peeking ominously out from between the nearer mountains. "We're at least a few days' ride from the goblins' stronghold," she explained, laying aside her swords and pack so she could venture deeper into the woods unencumbered. "Farther by walking. I don't think they'd have any reason to come up this way, but we should be careful nonetheless."

The only thing her arrows found that day though was a young buck, his horns freshly sprouted but his reflexes not quite quick enough to avoid the hunters. Maerwyn needed the dwarf's help to carry the carcass back to the lakeside, but she made quick of the butchering on her own, and before long the smell of roasting meat filled the little valley. For the first hour or so the mercenary was tense and quiet, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps of either animals or worse. But when nothing came in pursuit of their meal she relaxed somewhat, though she kept her swords close at hand.

As her hands flexed around the hilts, realizing she hadn't had a chance to use them in weeks, she looked more thoughtfully over towards her companion. "Orin..." she said slowly, eyes moving from his face to his axe. "While we're waiting for dinner, what would you say to a little bit of sparring practice? Just to make sure this leg of mine won't slow us down too much in case of a fight?"

 

[Traveler]

Was she asking him if he would find that he loved a place more than he loved her? At first he thought to deny the notion, to deny that he would ever choose anything over her company, but as she continued to defend her life and tell him that he’d fall in love with some pretty place and set up shop, he couldn’t tell her that it would not happen. After all, she understood the ways of the road and the world so much better than he. Perhaps she knew the signs. Perhaps…she was right.

He lowered his head as she rose, convinced that she had spoken prophecy. It shamed him. He wanted nothing to do with it, but she had cast doubt upon his heart. He looked up, seeing her silhouette block the revealing sunlight as the storm let up.

Orin barely noticed as the bear skin was rolled up and stowed into Maerwyn’s pack. He took her hand as it was offered, standing to his stout feet. And as she suggested they leave, he agreed. “I do like the road.” And he had the next ten months secured. A lot could happen in that span, and if it were alongside Maerwyn, it was guaranteed it would not be boring. Especially the nights. And as he thought those things, she echoed them as if she could read his mind. He gathered up his pack and followed her along the precarious path. Areas her light-footed steps moved easily, shifted under his weight. He balanced himself with one hand on the cliff, or grabbing onto roots and branches, until the path widened, and he could walk more firmly. By the time they made it to their camp sight it was too dark to do more than take shelter and keep from the wind.

They talked no more of leaving or falling in love with a pretty spot. They barely spoke at all, though Maerwyn tried her best to keep their mood light.

But even so, his dwarven heart felt heavy. Gone was the joy he had felt at the Woodman’s home, and gone was the elation he had experienced when he had held the mercenary on Midsummer’s Night. It was as if the impending shortness of his time with her had dulled the very light of the sun. Later in their travels, that feeling was further compounded when she consistently provided for them, never requesting his help, or it seemed, allowing it. The buck that provided that night’s nourishment was slain and butchered by her alone, and Orin was beginning to feel like a spectator in the edges of Maerwyn’s life.

He stood by the fire as it crackled in the evening light and looked at the small pile of wood he had gathered. He began to shred the bark off with the edge of his axe, stacking one piece on the end of the other. At Maerwyn’s suggestion, he chuckled.

“Oh, I don’t think so. I don’t use a sword… “ His eyes flickered up to her. “And I might hurt you.” He gave her a cheeky grin. “Unless you’re willing to spar with sticks?”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Quite confident in yourself, aren't you Master Dwarf?" Maerwyn laughed back. "I know it's been a few weeks since I've had to do a bit of slashing, but I'd wager I'm still fast enough to avoid that axe of yours. But if it makes you nervous, I'll not force you into anything." Removing her swords, she looked thoughtfully up at a low-hanging pine branch overhead. With a mischievous grin, she jumped upward and caught it in both hands, breaking it off with the weight of her body.

"I don't mind a little stick play though, if you're of a mind," she continued, feeling the weight of the branch in her hand. After cutting off the needles with her knife and breaking it in half over her knee, each half felt similar to her swords in length and weight, although they were a little thicker than she was used to. Stepping back a ways to avoid accidentally bashing her companion in the head (it probably wouldn't do much damage if she did, but Maerwyn couldn't imagine it would feel very nice), she began to assume the practice stances that had been drilled into her head all those years ago. "This is how I learned how to fight," she remarked, glancing back over towards her friend with a mischievous light in her eyes. "I wasn't allowed to use swords until I got so impatient I stole a pair."

The mercenary took a few more practice swings, the sticks not moving quite as gracefully through the air as her blades would have, but still rushing with alarming speed before her face. Satisfied that they would serve her purpose, she fully turned her body back towards the dwarf. "I do have to insist you not use your axe. That versus wood doesn't strike me as a very fair fight," she laughed, setting aside her makeshift 'swords' to see if she could help him find a branch to serve a similar process. It would be more of a challenge, considering the heavier weight of the larger weapon.

"Did your father teach you to use that?" she asked curiously as she moved from tree to tree. "Seems like most dwarves are fondest of axes. I know a few that carried swords though, and one who had the largest hammer I'd ever seen. We were going over the High Pass one spring and ran into a small party of goblin bandits, and he smashed one of the bastards' head in like it was a pumpkin. One of the strangest things I ever saw." Shuddering a little at the memory, Maerwyn decided perhaps it was best to let Orin manage his stick on his own, and returned to the fireside to give the meat another turn.

Satisfied with the progress of her roast, she picked up her own sticks again and resumed her practice swings. "Ready whenever you are, Master Dwarf," Maerwyn grinned, positioning one stick defensively across her body while the other poised to strike downward from her shoulder.

 

[Traveler]

Confident was not a word Orin would have used to describe himself. He chuffed a laugh, then leaned his axe against a log and began to stack the wood. He tried not to let the taunting tone of Maerwyn’s words egg him into play, but when she jumped up and broke off the branch, he was both worried for her and sad… for the tree.

He walked over to where she was weighing the broken bough, then eyed the torn bark and seeping sap with a critical eye. True, a live branch would have more flexibility than a dried one, but the dwarf couldn’t help but feel a bit of sadness for the injured tree. He took a draft from his flask and watched the girl as she prepared the stick, then the other, for their little game. “I think you just want an excuse to whack me,” he said as he began to strip off his heavy belt and the items attached to it. His eyes flared in surprise as he watched her taking her stances, seeing the distinctive Elven influence in her moves.

“Why didn’t you just ask for a sword, instead of stealing them?” he asked, stepping around the edge of their campsite as she took her practice swings. He thought that a lot of her troubles came because of her penchant for taking what wasn’t hers; Thranduil… Torwald… who knew how many more people were out there with a score to settle with Maerwyn Stickyfingers? She wanted what she couldn’t have, shouldn’t have, and perhaps even things she could buy.

Her insistence that he not use his axe drew a smirk. “As if I would even consider that,” he said. He started looking for a decent stick among the deadfall; something about the right length, with a hook or an offshoot. Something that would give him some of the advantages his weapon held, even if he couldn’t meet the weight and balance.

“My father uses hand axes, and a pike,” he said, “When he’s not mining. But he never had much time to teach me, so Holt and Margo did, among others.” He found a sturdy piece of oak with a side branch that suited him and brought it over to the fire to trim off the remaining bark. His body flinched when she described the poor goblin. “Are all goblins evil?” he asked, his voice lilting at the last word. His eyes darted to the forest before returning to his task. His stick was long and thick, but it felt like air in his hands compared with his normal weapon. He was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea.

At least she wasn’t talking about him leaving, so he counted it as a win.

He flourished the branch with each hand, testing its feel before bringing both hands to its shaft. Maerwyn looked playfully wicked as she grinned at him, her eyes sparkling and her ‘swords’ both in defense and offense. He circled her, taking in the stance of her legs as he did. “I don’t know if I can attack you,” he said, thinking that he’d only want to attack her in bed, “I suppose I can spar.”

With a grin he moved forward and feinted a strike, before reversing its direction to swing across her side.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"To my credit, I did ask first," Maerwyn remarked as she suddenly lunged for the dwarf. She wasn't trying to hurt him really, just give him a light tap on his side with one of her makeshift weapons while fending off his own blows with the other. "But for some reason, my teacher thought it would be inappropriate to give a twelve-year-old girl a pair of Elven short swords. Can't imagine why, though I suspect he might have been a little afraid of me." Laughing, she feinted sharply to the left, then whirled quickly to the dwarf's other side.

Her breath still came easy as she spoke, although her movements were getting quicker. "A short time after that, I came across a band of mercenaries traveling along the northern borders of the forest. I didn't think they'd miss a couple of old blades, so I snuck past their guards after dark and helped myself to their supply wagons. I made it almost all the way back before I learned their Captain had spotted me and followed me back out of pure curiosity." Was it just her imagination, or was Orin picking up speed in his motions as well? He certainly wasn't having any difficulty managing his own stick, and Maerwyn was beginning to feel splinters digging into her palms from her own.

Still though, her smile was warmer than it had been in weeks. "Well as it turned out, the Captain was willing to sell me a pair of blades if I agreed to join up with the company for one year as a scout. I accepted, and that was the start of my illustrious career as a sell-sword." As if to emphasize how illustrious that career had really been, a particularly strong blow from Orin's stick sent Maerwyn's left one flying, the other one gripped rather awkwardly in her left hand. For a moment, the mercenary stared at the broken stick on the ground, then glanced back at her companion. "Of course, there wasn't anyone among the company that knew much about two-handed fighting. But they did teach me a trick or two."

Winking at him, she suddenly tossed her left stick into her right hand and shot straight forward to strike Orin in the chest, while her foot stomped down on the other stick so hard it flipped upward into her open hand. Continuing their little "dance," Maerwyn began to circle around the dwarf again. "Holt...that's your brother, isn't it? You haven't spoken much of him. Not close?" She could hardly blame him if that was the case, considering she couldn't even remember the names of all her brothers' children and wives. "And Margo's your sister? I didn't know she was a fighter too. It seems the Indrafangin clan is full of mysteries."

Now her breath was beginning to hitch, and she was beginning to gasp the way she often did when they were in bed together. Maerwyn would have been more than happy to keep the play-fight going all night if it had been possible, but out of the corner of her eye she saw a little tongue of red rising up against their roast.

"Oh shit, it's caught!" she gasped, immediately dropping her sticks and running to the fireside. The damage wasn't too bad, just a small corner that was going to be overly crispy for whoever had the misfortune to eat it, but the mercenary decided it was probably a sign that they should stop for the night. "Call it a draw?" Maerwyn asked with a giggle, pulling out her knife. "I'm starving. But that was immensely enjoyable, Master Dwarf. Thank you for humoring me. Now come get your supper, you've earned it."

Cutting him a generous portion of the meat and placing it on one of the metal plates Isvera had given her before leaving, she then served herself up a portion and sat comfortably with her back against a tree. "You asked about goblins before," Maerwyn commented after she'd had a few pleasant bites. "Are they all evil? All the ones I've ever met, yes. I suppose there might be some out there inclined to mind their own business and not go about troubling others, but...I doubt it. Mama always said goblins, orcs, and wolves serve The Shadow, and they can never be trusted."

A child breeze kicked up then, making Maerwyn shiver as she took another stab of meat. "We'll still need to keep a watch tonight, if that's where you were going with your question," she continued, giving him a pointed look. "But perhaps when we reach Rivendell...did you figure out how to get there yet, by the way? Because I still haven't the slightest idea where it is, besides west of the mountains in general and I think somewhere along the Loudwater."

 

[Traveler]

Sparing with Maerwyn was unlike sparing with other dwarves. She laughed and made easy conversation, though her swings and blocks were skilled and she did not hold back from tapping him whenever she broke through his defense. As she whirled and feinted, he let out an ‘Oh ho!’ of surprise, his brows shooting up at her quickness.

“Scared of you?” He teased. “I can’t imagine why…” She sped up and made him focus more on her movements then on her words or the way her hair teased the air around her face. He found her more difficult to keep up with, but soon he was catching her rhythm as she reversed her strikes and made to break through, and a few times he responded by trying to breech her defenses, though her double-handed approach was wickedly quick. The lightness of his ‘axe’ made switching directions easier, which made him wonder if he should practice with a weighted axe to hasten his reactions.

And then she mentioned that she signed on with a company of mercenaries when she was still very much a youth, and Orin almost dropped his stick in surprise. “What?” Had she not continued to assail him, he would have stopped right then to get the rest of that story. “I can’t believe you started working at that age,” he grunted, then ‘Ooofff’d’ at her poke in his chest.

His brow shot up, both amused and perturbed that she threw him off with a wild story and a wink, before he came around to continue in their spar. She seemed half juggler, half warrior, and all sensual distraction despite the sweat and dirt.

“Yeah, Holt’s my brother and Margot’s my sister. We’re not really close, but we’re not enemies either,” he said as he used the shaft of his stick to block another blow, then stepped away from her next move. He was just getting warmed up and felt like he had begun to reach his stride. The cool mountain air refreshed him, reminding him of the cool breezes that filtered up from the depths of the canyon caverns back at home. “They’re both older than me. I was… a surprise,” he added, wondering if the age difference was what made them seem more like acquaintances than family.

He was about to elaborate when the fire caught her eye and Maerwyn sprinted off with an enthusiasm that made him wonder if she was as easily distracted when she started as a mercenary. And when she suggested they call their spar a draw and stop for the night, he was a little disappointed. It was like smelling and seeing dinner but never being able to put it in your mouth. “Sure,” he replied, setting his practice stick against a tree and joining her. “I think you’re good enough that we could try, slower of course, with our real weapons next time,” he said. Then worried that she might be insulted at his words. “I’m not that good actually,” he amended, his cheeks growing flush. “In truth, I might not be good enough to practice with someone who isn’t as skilled as you are, you know, because I might not stop soon enough.”

It was lame. He felt lame. But it was true; the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her because he wasn’t good enough to control his swing.

He accepted his portion, noting that she was overly generous, but aside from a ‘thanks’ simply sat across from her. There was so much that she did for him without asking; things that went beyond a hired guide. It felt strange, not having had much experience with relationship and the things that went with them, and he wondered if she treated all her employees like this, or if he was truly special. Then, understanding where his thoughts were taking him, he mentally put them in a tiny room and barred the door. There was no profit in musing about things that might not matter.

“Goblins, orc, and wolves, hmm?” He wondered about that. He supposed she was right; only a few peoples chose whether they were good or bad, among them humans, dwarves, and elves. But it seemed that some of the two-legged folk were born bent towards evil; and so the goblins were best considered so rather than risk a dagger in the back. “Your mother sounds like she was a wise woman. I wish I could have met her,” he said, then looked across the fire at his companion. “She would have probably been very proud of the strong, smart woman her daughter became.”

The meat was good, though the quick cook and lack of light made some parts cooler than others, and the flesh was tough at times. It nourished their bodies and for that he was glad, and it wasn’t another serving of fish.

When she mentioned watch, and gave him a pointed look, he felt his ears turn pink. “What?” he asked again, his mind racing to figure out what she meant. Then her look took root and he furrowed his brow. “Is that all you think I think about now?” He laughed and shook his head. “No, Maerwyn, I just thought… there’s a story of an old goblin who traveled with some people,” he explained. “A fairy tale. I just wondered how much of it might have been based on fact, and how much was true.”

He chuckled as he continued to eat, shaking his head at her insinuation. Sex was like whiskey; great to have, better to share, but not something that he needed to drink every day.

“Rivendell – through the pass and south,” he said. “At least, according to the map. It’s between the river and the mountain range.” He thoughtfully tapped a piece of meat against his bottom lip as he gazed into the fire. “There’s a dwarven rumor…” he began, then thought better of it. “Nevermind. It will be nice to see the lands, even if they’re filled with mostly elves.”

His eyes took in the sky and the swift movement of clouds far above them, little wisps of white that captured the moonlight. “Do you think they’ll let us stay a while? Or… you haven’t stolen anything from Elrond, have you?” His grin widened playfully. “There’s no reason for us to avoid the area, right?”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Maerwyn nodded in agreement at the idea of sparring with actual weapons. "If you're serious about becoming a sell-sword--well, a sell-axe, in your case, I suppose--you need to be able to handle your weapon without even a shred of doubt in your mind. You never know when you'll be fighting in close quarters, and there's no faster way to lose your wages than to accidentally take off your comrade's head. Not to mention no other company will be too keen to hire you on." She took another bite of the meat, swallowed, then shook the shank in Orin's direction like an old woman wagging her finger. "No, if it's advice you want when it comes to this line of work, Master Dwarf, I'll offer you this: Control before all else. Better than speed, better than strength. Til--I mean, my teacher always made me practice one hundred sword swings a day when he was teaching me. And since I was two-handed, he made me do one hundred with each."

She rolled her eyes in mockery of the cynical student she had once been before she broke into another smile. "It was annoying but it did work. You might try the same thing with that axe of yours if you're unsure of yourself. Well away from me, of course," she giggled as she tossed the clean bone into the fire. Maerwyn was content to sip from her flask for a moment until Orin mentioned her mother, at which point she sighed and replaced the vessel on her belt.

"She was wise. If she had lived longer, I know she could have taught me about more important things than swords and arrows," the mercenary sighed. "I like to think she'd be proud of me, but...I don't think she meant this life for me. Of course, it's not unheard of for our women to carry weapons, you've witnessed that firsthand. But I know she would have liked to see me married with children and a home by now, and I know she would have taught me everything I needed to know to live that life properly." The woman forced a smile. "I'm not a bad cook if I do say so myself, but I'm absolute rubbish at sewing beyond the simplest repairs, and I know just enough of medicine to keep from dying in the wilds. I don't know the first thing about handling children though, let alone raising them up properly, and I'm much too spoiled to ever be brought to obey a husband," she added with a wink.

"Still," she continued thoughtfully. "I always tried to be brave like she was, and I've tried to remember as many of her stories as I can, though I'll admit over the years a few have escaped me. And I keep thinking someday I'll try to go find Old Radagast and see if he can't teach me a thing or two about speaking with birds, the way he taught her. Not until the Shadow's retreated a bit from that part of the forest though. Rhosgobel is far too close to the old fortress for my tastes." Maerwyn shuddered at the thought of it, but the glancing upward she took some fresh comfort in the sight of the towering peaks that stood between her and that particular evil.

Still, there were other dangers that weren't so far away, and the mercenary seemed unimpressed by Orin's mention of the strange goblin. "I suppose if it was a particularly clever thing, it might be able to trick some soft-hearted group of travelers into accepting its presence," she acquiesced. "But I'd fully expect any goblin to cut the throat of its fellows as soon as they let their guard down. And it would be their fault for being so stupid, really. Goblins might not be quite as dangerous as orcs, but I think that's rather like saying a rabid wolf isn't as dangerous as a wildfire. Technically true, but I wouldn't wish to be caught at disadvantage with either." Maerwyn took another swig from her flask, then held it out in offering to her companion. "No, Master Dwarf, if I were you I'd avoid all goblins just to be safe. Stick to troubling yourself with elves if its mischief you're after."

"Speak of elves, may I see that map of yours again?" she continued, the item having been completely forgotten until Orin had mentioned it. Maerwyn was still skeptical that Rivendell would be easy to find, considering the generally secretive ways of the elves, but at least it would give them a better direction to aim for once they were completely out of the mountains. She raised an eyebrow at the mention of having stolen something from Elrond, but did not look directly at the dwarf. "Well, if I have stolen anything from him, I didn't know it was his. I told you I've never been there before, so I can hardly have had a chance to rob it. But Elven artifacts do end up in strange hands on occasion, and I won't say I've never had dealings with people of that sort. I don't imagine Lord Elrond would be aware of such things though. Seems rather below his notice, all things considered."

She finished with a shrug. "I don't see any reason to avoid Rivendell, but I don't see any real reason to go there either. But if it's what you want, then that's where we'll go. Stars know I can't deny you anything when you get that look in your eye," Maerwyn teased, reaching over to ruffle his hair before rising to her feet. "I think I'll wash up in the lake a bit. Keep an eye on the fire for me?" Grinning, she stepped out of her boots before making her way to the water's edge, removing one piece of clothing after another until she stood naked in the still, cold water with the light of a full moon washing over her skin.

 

[Traveler]

Orin handed over his map. It had new marks on it that he had placed there to depict their route when he had time to note it. Like his journal, it was filled with observations. He watched her examining it with a critical eye, and worried that she would find a reason for them to avoid it altogether.

“You would think those things would be out of a lord’s notice, Maerwyn, but oftentimes they are not. As long as you don’t think you have reason to avoid them, I’d rather visit the area if you don’t mind. Just… to find out if certain things I’ve heard are true.” He gave her a smile as he rolled the map back up and slid it in its tube. Fairy tales and daydreams; that’s what his brother called those rumors. But Orin was a romantic at heart, and if there was any chance they were true, he couldn’t let the opportunity pass. Who knew when he’d come that way again?

When she teased that she couldn’t deny him anything, he winked. “Oh, I’m certain you can deny me many things I’d like when I get that look,” he said, giving her body a once-over. She seemed to take the jest in stride though her ruffling of his hair made him feel like she saw him as, well… as a youth. He pressed his lips together at her announcement that she was going to the lake. The implication was that she was going alone, and she didn’t want him to follow her.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll watch the fire.” He picked up a stick and used it to draw idly in the dirt. He watched her walk to the edge of the water, then strip in the moonlight before easing herself in. An ache gripped his chest. He wanted to be in that water with her.

The light cast by the moon was bright. Orin’s eyes were drawn to the full, pale blue orb above the water. People were prone to acting out during a full moon, and some believed that those enchanted with lycanthropy were controlled by evil when the round face of the moon was completely lit up like it was tonight. Frowning, Orin took out a sharpening stone and began to work on his axe, giving the forest an occasional glace as he went from the axe, to the lake, to the edge of the woods.

He didn’t know what he was expecting to happen. Werewolves coming from the forest? Tentacles from the lake pulling Maerwyn from him?

Orin put his axe aside so he could place a few more large pieces of wood on the fire, stacking them as well as he could to keep the cone going. He felt restless, and realized it was because he wanted a warm bed with her in it. Traveling with Maerwyn was fun, but there was something that had sparked in him when they stayed with her father; he liked the hominess of it and the safety of the walls around his loved ones. Around her.

Maybe she was right. Maerwyn loved the road. She would never want to settle down, and Orin, though he loved the road as well, wanted to know that eventually he would have a home to return to. He wanted to know that he would have a place to light his forge and work his craft.

He glanced over at the lake and felt a pang, as painful as if today was the day they would part, and not some undecided date in the future. As much as he wanted to fight it, he had the dwarven need to put down roots deep into a mountain’s foundation and keep strong, solid earth and stone between his people and danger. He swiped at his eyes with the back of an arm and raised his eyes to the stars. They blurred and danced in his vision despite his attempt to blink them clear.

He stood and picked up his axe. They could use another armload of wood to get them through the night, and he needed something to do to take his mind off wanted to be with Maerwyn and feeling… Orin frowned at himself. ‘Am I feeling rejected just because she wanted to take a bath without me?’ He nearly scoffed at his own soft-heartedness. This was not the actions of a burly and strong dwarf. He was supposed to be as hard as a rock! As deep at the mountains’ feet! Why was he getting all emotional over a woman?

Orin grunted at himself, and casting one more glance at Maerwyn, went to the edge of the woods to find more fuel for their fire.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Despite the warmth of the summer days, the water in the lake was still bitterly cold as Maerwyn waded along the pebbly bottom. The sensation made her gasp, but it was refreshing overall, and she even went so far as to dunk her head under briefly, washing away the sweat and dirt of their precarious mountain crossing. There was a little creek that flowed out of the western end of the lake, and if her estimations were correct it would hopefully meet up with the Hoarwell and lead them straight to Rivendell in only a couple more days.

Shivering and sighing, the mercenary looked back towards the figure seated beside the fire near the treeline. Does he really need to go there? she wondered grimly as she wrung the silvery drops of lake water out of her plait. It seemed they'd only just parted ways with Carlin, and she'd been bad enough to deal with. If Elrond was anything like Thranduil though, Maerwyn suspected the visit was going to be quite miserable. Why was it all elves needed to look at her as though she were either a child, or a savage? And no matter how she might try to stand up for herself, it always seemed her words came out either as rude or ignorant. The only comfort she could take in the thought of Rivendell was that perhaps all those high and mighty folk there might not be as kind to Orin as he expected.

A scolding wind rushed over the woman's back, making her feel sorry for the thought. It was a stupid one anyway. Orin might not have been an elf, but he was still a dwarf of noble lineage and notable skill. He would handle himself all right, Maerwyn was sure. And while he was busy sharpening his craft, she could spend her days...doing what? Reading? Sitting by a fire, looking like a weed among all the fair flowers of elf maidenhood while they all told stories that had nothing to do with the way she lived her own life? The mercenary groaned. It was going to be miserable. Maybe the best thing to do after all would be to leave Orin there, head for the Forsaken Inn and find a short-term job to keep her busy until the autumn. The dwarf probably wouldn't even miss her.

But...she would miss him. There was no denying that. She had grown accustomed to the sound of his heavy footsteps following hers, of sharing a fire with him and listening to his stories and songs about the Lonely Mountain. Even now, staring at his silhouette against the dying fire, her heart skipped a beat as she realized he was the only thing in the world that would make her put up with the arrogance of elves for more than an hour.

Not that she'd ever speak such thoughts aloud, of course.

At least we could share a proper bed in Rivendell the woman mused as she stepped out of the water, dripping and shivering in the breeze. Very well then, she would give the matter a fair try. If on the second day she found the house unbearable, she could always tell Orin then, and they could decide together what would come next. Hugging her clothes to her chest, she scampered naked to the fireside, wholly unashamed but her skin still breaking out in goosebumps until she felt the warmth of the flames on her skin. Maerwyn snatched her bearskin from her pack and used it to dry off the rest of the excess water, then began to dress.

"Well that was quite refreshing," she remarked cheerfully as she pulled up her trousers. "Do you want to give it a try, Orin? I can watch the...oh." Considering how low the fire had gotten, Maerwyn shouldn't have been surprised that he got up to collect more wood. For a moment though, she could have sworn there was a strange expression in those dark eyes of his. Had she done something to upset him?

"Be careful not to go too far," the mercenary warned gently, tugging her tunic over her head before wrapping up in her cloak and bearskin, reveling in the fresh warmth suffusing her skin. Leaning back against the trunk of the nearest tree, she idly poked at the embers of the fire. "There's still wolves on this side of the mountains, though they're worse in winter." Unsure if he'd heard her, but not wanting to upset him by following, Maerwyn turned her gaze thoughtfully to the fire, wondering what could possibly be on the dwarf's mind.

 

[Traveler]

Sticks and stones, he thought, as he edged his way through the debris of the forest, feeding the deadfall into his arms. As his meager armful enlarged, he pondered the strange, shameful feeling he had experienced when he felt that unwarranted pang. Why shouldn’t Maerwyn want to bathe? And it made sense to have him stay and watch the fire and their backs as she did… yet he childishly felt hurt over not being with her.

I’m an idiot, his thoughts continued. If Da were here, he’d box me upside the head, and I would deserve it! Pshargh! He kicked a stone out of his way, fuming to himself as he piled more and more wood into his arms. The only comfort he felt was in knowing that he might get to solve one of his childhood mysteries regarding the fabled one who oversaw the forging of the rings. Perhaps… there would be clues lingering in the realm of Elrond. Perhaps.

If Maerwyn didn’t steal from them first. He chanced a look in her direction, seeing her lit by the moon as she bathed. For a moment he just stood and stared, a strange ache in his heart threatening to make him forget to breathe. For a long, long moment he stood as still as the mountains, watching the woman bathe. He stood motionless for so long that a rabbit hopped across his path.

She looked in his direction, and Orin busied himself picking up more sticks. He felt his face flush crimson at the thought that he might have been caught staring at her like some love-sick puppy.

He wasn’t a love-sick puppy. He was a stoic dwarf; he needed nothing but the mountains and his craft. He didn’t need to settle down with a human woman, have a family, open a shop in a small town somewhere and… no. He didn’t have to make those decisions now. He had a year of happy, uncommitted travel and limitless access to a beautiful woman.

Except… when it came to bathing in the river.

He sighed heavily, wishing there was a way he could physically kick himself back to being sensible. He glanced up as Maerwyn jetting from the water, shivering in the cool night air and rushing to the fire where she could warm herself. He wanted to offer her a blanket, to cover her and give her shelter from the breeze, and then a stubborn, spiteful part of him decided to let her handle her own business. She obviously doesn’t need anyone but herself, he told himself, moving to drop the sticks in a pile with the others. The clacking of the sticks sounded like dried bones rattling in the bottom of a cavern, sending shivers through the dwarf’s body.

He knew that he was being unreasonable. He felt it. But even knowing it, as he grunted at her suggestion that he give the river a try, he felt himself pouting in the darkness. He stomped to the riverbank, muttering to himself in the dwarven tongue as he went. Maybe he could rouse a wolf or two, and take his anger out on them. At the edge of the water he looked to the left and the right, hoping to see just that. Unfortunately, all he saw was the swaying of the trees as the evening breezes picked up. He looked at the river and saw the water reflecting deep and dark; a virtual death sentence for a fully armored dwarf.

For a brief moment he wished he was in full plate mail. Then he frowned at himself again, confused about this angry, petulant, illogical side of himself. What the boulder’s going on with me? He wondered. He looked over his shoulder at the fire light and the woman huddled beside it.

You’re mad because she loves being on the road more than she wants to be with you.

Orin frowned at the thought. He rolled it over in his mind, examining it from different angles. But… couldn’t it be said that I love the idea of having a ‘home’ more than I love her? It was the other side of the coin, wasn’t it? As he pulled off his belts and buckles, side axe, tunic, vest, and all the other layers that made up his clothing, he mulled this over in his dwarven mind.

I’m going to outlive her if I don’t get myself killed, he reasoned. Even if she lives another hundred years, I’d still be a youngish dwarf, with a few hundred years to go before I could be called ‘old’. I could wander with her, make her happy while she’s here… stop being selfish and give this time to her. The thought of her being ‘not hear’ brought a hot, salty tear to his eyes. He wiped them away with the palms of his hands and stepped into the water. And when she’s gone, he continued, I can settle down and make a home somewhere. He felt his throat tighten again. He didn’t want to think about when she was gone. He could barely stand to be forty yards from her.

The water shocked him back to the present, and he dipped himself in, scrubbing angrily at his skin with his hands as he scolded himself. Maybe their relationship wasn’t ever going to be what he might wish for, but surely it was better to have the bits of Maerwyn that she was willing to give than to never have had a life with her at all.

When he was done, he stepped from the water’s edge and wiped the water off himself with the edge of his palm, then gathered his things to do as Maerwyn had and dry by the fire’s heat. His hairy body was stocky, made harder-edged by their traveling and the sometimes meager rations that they managed to have. The soft lines of Orin’s face, once making him look like the young dwarf he was, were lessened. The sun had darkened his skin and lightened his tawny hair, giving him the look of a lion. A very wet lion.

The widow’s peak above his brow parted his hair so it feel on both sides of his face. The beard beneath was long enough to be tugged at now, and Orin was looking forward to having it long enough to braid. His high cheekbones reflected the firelight underneath his deeply shadowed eyes, and this thin lips were firmly pressed together as he looked at his huddled companion by the fire.

He wanted to share his thoughts and fears with her and tell her what he had decided. Orin yearned to let her know that he wanted to stay with her, even if it meant a different place to lay his head each night. Even if they never made a home together, except in each other’s arms. And even then, even if it meant that they would forever be sharing the watch and only hold each other on the rare days that they rented a room in town, and those occasions were spaced apart by vast weeks of travel. He wanted to say all these things and more, to wrap her in his arms and tell her how dear she was to him. How he had found a part of him he didn’t know he had lost, when she first kissed him.

But he didn’t share these thoughts with her. Instead, he dropped his belongings on a flat rock nearby and walked, still damp from the river, towards his pack for a change of fresh clothing. As he did, he glanced over at her and bit down the surge of emotion inside. “I’ll take first watch,” he said. “We have an early day ahead of us.”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Once Maerwyn had managed to thoroughly dry herself she noted the small pile of deadwood stacked haphazardly next to the fire, and stared in confusion in the direction Orin had gone. They clearly had enough fuel to get them through the night, so where could he be off to? A moment later, the soft sound of something heavy splashing into the shallows of the river answered, and she let out a sigh that somehow managed to be both relieved and annoyed. If he'd wanted a bath, why not come with her when she'd gone? True the river wasn't nearly as deep as the lake, but still...

"Don't drown you silly fool," the mercenary muttered, snuggling into her bearskin and pulling her knees up against her chest. She really ought to teach him to swim one of these days, she thought wearily as she threw another branch on the fire. While there was no river as great as the Anduin on the far side of the mountains, water was still far from scarce and boats were often more convenient than horses in some places. And besides, whenever they did reach the edge of the sea, Maerwyn fully intended to swim naked in it no matter the weather, and she wanted the dwarf there beside her. It would be helpful though if she didn't need to worry about him sinking to the bottom every few seconds though.

A drowsy smile had spread across her face at the thought, and it hardly faded when Orin finally returned as dripping wet as she had been, the lingering drops of water in his hair sparkling like stars across his chest and head. Something about him reminded her of a beast just back from a hunt, ready to take any lingering aggression out by exchanging carnalities with its mate. The heat between Maerwyn's legs immediately crashed against her better judgment as she found one hand slipping out from under the bearskin towards him, but any amorous intentions she might have voiced immediately evaporated when she saw the expression on his face was no less grim than before. "Everything all right?" she asked, withdrawing her hand and tightening her legs beneath the pelt. "Nothing troublesome nearby, I hope?"

He didn't seem too inclined for conversation though, and he barely looked at her as he began to dress (His loss Maerwyn mused as her eyes lingered on his muscular behind before he pulled his trousers on). It was very Woodman-like of him, actually. The mercenary could remember her father and brothers retreating into silence when bad moods had taken them, and thinking back she could remember how her mother always gave them the time and space they needed to brood. Usually it only took a night or two, and when in doubt a proper meal could always fix things.

Her eyes lit up. A proper meal, that'll cheer him up she thought as she though ahead to morning. She eagerly accepted his offer to take first watch, knowing she'd need to be up before dawn if she wanted to surprise him. With as sprightly of a "Good night, Master Dwarf," as she could manage, the woman snuggled down into the soft earth between the tree roots and willed herself to fall asleep as quickly as possible, the exhaustion in her limbs all too happy to accede to her wishes.

Even in sleep though, Maerwyn couldn't stay still. She dreamed she was still making her way through the hidden passes of the Misty Mountains, avoiding the sneaking eyes of goblins and thundering footsteps of giants as she ventured ever westward. Although in her waking like she knew better, at the moment the mercenary was still sure that the Great Sea was waiting for her just beyond the next peak. Only a few more hours and she would see it; maybe even the blessed lands beyond if she was lucky.

A wind began to pick up, threatening to send her toppling off the mountainside into the bottomless abyss below. But still she kept going onward, even as her strength began to feel and she could see her hands aging before her eyes. Then, just when she thought she couldn't take another step, a strange bird called out overhead. Following the sight of it, Maerwyn realized she had come to the end of the mountains, and all below her was nothing but roiling blue water.

She had made it! Fresh courage and fulfillment made her stand up straight, and a triumphant smile crossed her face just as a pair of strong arms wound around her.

"I always knew you could do it, maelis," a familiar voice whispered in her ear. At first, Maerwyn wondered how Orin had gotten tall enough to rest his chin on top of her head, but when she turned around she saw the man embracing her was no dwarf at all, but a stunningly beautiful silver-haired elf with eyes as blue as the water beneath her feet.

"Thilion?" she gasped, suddenly feeling the ground rising up beneath her and thrusting her more firmly into the elf's arms. But no...it wasn't the ground. Somehow she'd ended up on the deck of a beautiful white ship, and good thing too. The waters were getting rougher and seemed to be rising, threatening to swallow up the wall of the Misty Mountains just as she'd always feared would happen in childhood.

"It's all right, melethen. I have you," Thilion whispered, kissing her forehead. "You have nothing to fear."

"But..." Maerwyn cast an uncertain look back towards the mountains. Perhaps it was good that the sea should devour them all. It would certainly solve the goblin problem. But standing on a high cliff behind her, she could see a dark speck watching her with wounded eyes, gripping a beautiful axe in its hands that would be utterly powerless against the rising tide. "Orin!" she screamed, breaking free of the elf's embrace and running for the stern of the ship.

"Don't! It's too late! You cannot save him now," Thilion warned, although his voice seemed surprisingly far away. Turning back to look at him, the mercenary could see the elf was no longer on the ship itself, but standing on a strange beach on the far side of the sea. His words were hardly louder than a whisper now. "If you jump, we shall be parted forever."

The mercenary set her jaw. "I made a promise," was all she could say, and turning her back on the one she had once loved more than her own life, she jumped off the edge of the ship, ready to swim the entire ocean to be at Orin's side if that was what it took.

But instead of hitting water, her cheek was resting on something rough and hard, and Maerwyn realized she was still nestled at the foot of the tree. The Great Sea was still hundreds of miles away, if not thousands, but thankfully Orin was still seated near her with the firelight casting a gentle glow across his very-much-alive face. Sitting up, the mercenary glanced at the sky overhead, judging by the moon that it was shortly after midnight.

"Orin?" she murmured, not wanting her voice to break the peace of the sight before her eyes. "Come take your rest. I'll watch from here out." Getting up and stretching, Maerwyn paused a moment before picking up her bearskin. "Do you want this for warmth? I need a bit of chill to refresh myself," she smiled, draping the pelt around the dwarf's shoulders. That settled, the mercenary added another log to the fire and cut a small bough from an overhead branch, ready to start yet another whittling project to keep herself company through the night.

Shortly before dawn, she could hear the sound of splashing at the far end of the lake, and determined gleam flashed in her eyes as her suspicions were confirmed. Collecting her bow and quiver, she paused just long enough to press a light kiss to the dwarf's forehead, then ventured along the reedy lakeside into the shadowy gloom beneath the peaks. A small commotion and several arrows later, she had a duck rotating slowly over the fire and a quartet of eggs cooking underneath it, and fresh hope in Maerwyn's heart that whatever had troubled Orin the evening before would be easily chased off by both.

"You'd best wake up, Master Dwarf," she remarked cheerfully when the breakfast was nearly ready. "Or I'm afraid I'll have to eat this entire breakfast myself and leave you with nothing but green raspberries to get you through the morning."

 

[Traveler]

‘Everything was alright. Everything was fine. There was no trouble, none at all. Why should there be?’ Orin Took his watch with Maerwyn’s ‘Good night, Master Dwarf,’ ringing in his ears. It was ‘Master Dwarf,’ not ‘Orin’ or any other term of endearment, and in his easily bruised and conflicted heart, that could only mean one thing.

They were back to being employer and guide.

With a heart as heavy as the mountains around them, Orin tromped to the outskirts of their camp. His hair, still damp, plastered itself to his cheek and shoulders. Though the wind made his skin tingle with tiny hairs erect to hold in any warmth it could gather, he felt the cold justifiably punishing him for being a fool. Had he really entertained the notion that this fiery-hearted, wild, and free woman would want to trade in her life of adventure for one that involved setting down roots?

He wasn’t just a fool; he was in idiot.

But he had made his decision, and that was as sacred as a vow even though he had yet to share it with Maerwyn. He was resolved to spend his life with her as long as she would have him. And if she grew bored and needed more… well…

The dwarf slipped his hand into his pocket and deposited the little wooden bear in the warmth within. There was just no use in worrying about things that had not occurred.

The night passed peaceably. Owls hunted, rabbits foraged, and a medley of forest animals tended to their needs as they walked by the little campsite. Though Orin’s axe itched to encounter an adversary, none were to be had, and the greatest enemy he battled that night was boredom. He walked back to the fire to warm his hands before waking her, then settled on a log as he waited for the moon to finish its jaunt and tell him it was time to switch the watch. His eyes found comfort in the dance of the flames. No matter the year, location, or who had started the spark that brought its dance to life, fires were a consistent comfort to the smith. They offered a partner in tasks, such as melting metals or cooking, they warmed you on cold nights, and when you felt alone, the soft murmurings as fuel ignited and took life provided a one-sided conversation to make you feel less isolated.

“Orin?”

The dwarf startled at her voice. He looked up, wondering if he had woken her, but saw that she had roused on her own. Again, his heart ached, but the stubborn man clenched his jaw, determined not to show too much dependency on his guide.

She offered to let him take his rest, and then offered her bearskin as well. Determined and prideful, Orin almost said ‘no’. A chill breeze slid against his bare neck and made him reconsider. “If you don’t need it,” he said, then accepted her gift with quiet mutter of thanks, believing her mention of needing the chill to refresh herself. He could feel her heat still radiating from the pelt, and as it settled around his shoulders, he felt her affections for him warming him as well.

As he settled into the heated hollow she had occupied, he found himself startled again, but this time it was her return to him to press a soft kiss to his forehead. He wanted to reach a hand to stop her, to tell her he loved her, but again that obstinate pride stilled his tongue.

Instead, he closed his dried and tired eyes, and slept.

Emptiness and darkness. For miles it had been only that, and then his palm found the solid wall of an earthen tunnel, cold and slightly damp against his hand. He pressed a cheek to the wall to sniff for signs of its depth. An earthy, compost like scent would tell him if he was within the realms of roots. Sandy dust would have been a different stratum, and the sharp tang of iron even yet another. This soil had no mountainous scent he could discern. Instead its scent was musky, like the pant of a hound or the stale scent of old leather. As he closed his fingers against the wall, he realized it was not dirt at all that he had found, but something much more like the flesh of a large fish’s belly, and just as cold.

Confused, Orin continued trudging onwards, one hand fixed upon the wall, the other held out in the impenetrable dark. He walked for hours. Days. The path never narrowed enough for him to sense an opposing wall on the other side, and though he occasionally stopped to move his forward facing hand to the side, he felt nothing there.

Sometime during his traveling, he had forgotten his name. He had forgotten where he was going, or why. All he knew was that he had to keep moving. If he stopped, if he gave up, he would cease to be. How he knew this was a mystery to the bearded man; but he knew it with all his heart. He could not stop moving. Doing that would let ‘it’ catch up with him, and if it caught up with him…

‘What?’ He couldn’t remember what was going to happen. Just that it was bad. Very bad.

"You'd best wake up, Master Dwarf," a cheerful voice called out.

‘I’m trying,’ Orin thought in his dream. ‘I don’t know how.’

"Or I'm afraid I'll have to eat this entire breakfast myself and leave you with nothing but green raspberries to get you through the morning."

The scent of meat and fire began to permeate his dream, and at first Orin thought it was his own flesh he was smelling. He had finally wandered into the Abyss and the fires of damnation had found him. Then he felt the hard earth beneath his side, and the press of the bearskin around his shoulders, and slowly the dwarf’s groggy eyes parted in the dim morning light. Cool air filled his lungs, and the memories of his dream dissipated. “Maerwyn?” He lifted his head and turned it towards the sound of the campfire. There, sitting near the fire and turning a spit over its glow, was his guide.

But she was more than that to the stout-hearted man. She had brought him back from his dream and, as usual, had provided for them both. He rubbed a fist against his eyes as he fully sat up and surveyed their campsite. “Ugh,” he sputtered, “I had the oddest dream.” He pushed the bearskin from his body and slid out from under its comforting weight so he could gather himself above his feet and stand. Stretching in the morning air, he once again looked over to his companion, before stepping past the bearskin and going to sit next to her by the fire.

“You know… I was thinking. I know, that’s somewhat dangerous for a man like me,” he said, shooting her a sheepish grin, “but we don’t need to spend a lot of time in Rivendell. I know that elves are not your favorite kind of company. Maybe we can catch a job that takes us to our next destination there. I’d like to see what it’s like to do what you do,” he said, sliding a hand behind Maerwyn’s back in a warm embrace, “it might be good to put off any thoughts of Moria until after the Spring Thaw. Until then, we could find something to do that keeps us warm and employed, and let the future worry about itself for a change.”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

There was something alarming in Orin's voice as he spoke her name, and for a moment Maerwyn wondered if her companion was ill. But no; glancing over at his groggy face, she could see he was still emerging from some dream or another, and from the looks of it not a pleasant one. Smiling sympathetically, she reached for the nearest waterskin, refilled in the night and hopefully refreshing enough to drag the dwarf all the way into wakefulness. "Aye, it's me," the mercenary replied, turning her attention back to the roasting duck. "Did you think I'd let a goblin sneak up on you in the night?" she added with a chuckle. "You'd hardly be waking now if I did."

Scraping a pair of the eggs onto one of the metal plates her siblings had gifted her for their journey, Maerwyn passed the food over to Orin. "A dream, eh? What about?" the woman asked, adding a chunk of the roasted duck to the dwarf's plate before serving herself. At first the dwarf had her full attention, but as she nibbled at her breakfast the mercenary's thoughts began to turn back to her own strange vision in the night. Ever since parting ways with Emlin, she'd hardly thought of the blond elf's brother, having been too distracted with the constant reassuring presence of the dwarf. Why should she be thinking of him now?

Perhaps it all went back to Rivendell, and more concerns about the elves. Despite Maerwyn's desires for a proper bed for a night or two, she was still hesitant to make for the valley. And yet, it wasn't as though there was any real sense of foreboding about the place. She didn't dread it the way she did Dol Goldur, or even Moria (though she would never admit any hesitation about the latter to Orin). But she just couldn't shake the feeling that something might be waiting for her there, something that, once faced, she would not be able to turn away from.

“You know… I was thinking. I know, that’s somewhat dangerous for a man like me,” Orin had continued, and the dry humor in his voice cracked the thoughtful expression on Maerwyn's face with a smile.

"If it puts you in a brighter mood than you were yesterday, Master Dwarf, I encourage you to think all you like," the woman retorted with a laugh as she finished off the rest of her breakfast and took a long drink from her waterskin. "I was worried perhaps you were regretting taking this path." Maerwyn paused a moment, wondering if perhaps Orin did regret following a half-wild vagabond on an aimless adventure, but her pride made her stiffen and raise her chin. "Through the mountains, I mean. It's a hard road, but you did beautifully, and it should be all downhill from here. I expect we should come across the Hoarwell sometime today, and I imagine it can't be more than a few more days until Rivendell. You'll be up to your ears in books before you know it."

Although the mirth in her voice was a bit forced, the light in her eyes as Orin mentioned not lingering too long in the Elven kingdom was surprised and bright as a polished coin. "Really? But I thought you wanted--" Idiot, don't try to convince him otherwise now! she scolded herself, immediately swallowing her words and turning back to the fire. "Well, you are the master of this expedition, after all," Maerwyn acceded, tossing her bones into the ashes without daring to look back in his direction. "I'd be shocked if we can find any job worth the pay among the elves, but we might be able to get some horses, and that should make things easier. And at the very least we can resupply and get some news of the goings-on in this part of the world. That'll certainly be worth something too."

The mercenary was fully aware that Orin could see right through her falsely casual ramblings, and as she felt his strong arm circling around her back she allowed herself to fall silent for a moment. He's doing this for you she realized, and suddenly there was a bittersweet heaviness in her chest. Maerwyn shut her eyes a moment and leaned sideways, resting her head against the dwarf's. Inside a thousand words were trying to fight their way to her lips, but always at the last second it seemed the winner would be pulled back and swallowed into the depths of her heart, and so she let the silence linger between them until the first rays of sun brushed the treetops overhead.

"Well then," was all Maerwyn could finally manage as she straightened up again, tossing the last of her refuse into the dying embers of the fire. "That all seems like a very sensible plan. But we'd best get moving if we want to carry it out before autumn." She was about to rise to her feet, when a sudden impulse made her turn back towards the dwarf. Leaning forward, the woman pressed a brief but powerful kiss to Orin's lips, then pulling away with a wink she set about packing up the rest of their camp.

As she had expected, their path forward really was downhill, following the little river that ran from the western end of the lake into the piney forest below. In the shade of the mountains behind them and with only a few weeks of summer still ahead, the morning was chillier than they were used to, with a thin mist swirling through the trees. Maerwyn's sharp eyes were constantly on the lookout for signs of danger and she said little as they walked, until shortly before noon when she held up a hand and stopped at the lip of a miniature fall in the stream beside them.

It was hard to hear anything over the sound of tumbling water, and the mist still obscured a fair amount of their vision, but the mercenary's brown eyes were fixed sharply on some point ahead of them. "Do you hear that?" she whispered to the dwarf, reaching behind her to take her bow and and arrow in hand. "Someone is yelling..."

The voice was too far off to be distinguished by language, but Maerwyn didn't need to hear words to understand the sentiment of it: pure, unadultered fear. Nocking the arrow and jumping lightly off the ledge beside the stream, she gestured for Orin to follow her as they continued carefully towards the scream.

 

[Traveler]

As Orin watched Maerwyn splitting their meal between two plates, the sense of normalcy felt out of place. Lingering tendrils of his dream still tugged at him, making him feel alone and in a very dark, very lost place. Gradually the darkness lifted as Maerwyn lightly teased him about thinking all he would like, and then asked him if he regretting his path.

His stout face scrunched further as he tried to unpack her question. Did she mean his path, as in going to to Moria? Or his path as in the mountain path? Or… staying with her? Just as he was about to ask her the question, she clarified that she meant the mountain path. She did seem happy at the idea that they didn’t have to stay in Rivendell long, confirming his belief that she wasn’t very pleased with their destination. He felt a little sick, when she reminded him that he was the master of the expedition. The dwarf lowered his gaze to his hands.

Was he worthy of charting their path?

Maerwyn seemed to think that she could find them horses among the elves, but no work. He started to protest, to tell her that he was ready to bypass the quest for Moria, when she straightened, tossed the last of her meal into the fire, and said, “That all seems like a very sensible plan. But we'd best get moving if we want to carry it out before autumn."

So, it was decided then. He frowned at the fire, wondering why ‘getting his way’ felt so miserable. Then suddenly Maerwyn’s lips were upon his own, and the entire world stopped spinning for just that moment. As soon as the unexpected kiss began, it was over. He swallowed the confusion down as he watched her wink at him and then set about packing their camp.

He would never, ever, understand women. Not if he lived to be a thousand.

Later as they walked, Orin had a chance to try to unpack his dream and everything that had happened that morning. Should he tell Maerwyn his thoughts about postponing his plans? Or was it better to leave things as they were, at least for their first year?

He smiled to himself. ‘First’ year meant that there might be more. He was betting on it with every breath he took. When Maerwyn paused by the stream he walked to catch up, wanting to tell her what he had decided. But her expression and the way she looked ahead made him hesitate.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered to the dwarf, reaching behind her to take her bow and and arrow in hand. "Someone is yelling..."

He didn’t hear anything about the bubbling stream, but he trusted her. Taking his axe from it’s sling, he grasped it with both hands and nodded for her to lead the way. As they picked their way along the water’s edge, he did begin to hear it, and the sound of horror and fear made his feet move faster. Whoever it was, whatever was happening, they needed to intervene. They came around the bend and he inhaled sharply at the sight before them, before moving to the side so Maerwyn could use her bow.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Maerwyn's muscles were as taut as her bowstring, and but other than the sound of Orin's heavy footsteps behind her the woods had gone eerily quiet. At the same time, the mist seemed somehow thicker, obscuring their vision with every step. New signs of activity were beginning to appear before the tracker's eyes though: a bit of black cloth caught on a bramble; a large, armored footprint in the mud, the scent of blood in the air. Then she saw the thing on the ground up ahead.

At first her heart clenched in fear and pity, mistaking the small, lopsided lump as some child that had an unfortunate encounter with a hunting party, it was so riddled with arrows. But as she approached both the scent and the greenish tone of its skin revealed the victim as a goblin, and the woman's pity immediately curdled into disgust. Kicking at its side with her boot to ensure it really was dead (it was still vaguely warm, but made no other reaction to the blow), she glanced back towards Orin and wrinkled her nose. "Looks like he did something to piss off his mates. The filth rarely travel alone," Maerwyn drew her foot back and ground her toe into the dirt, as if to bury the dead goblin's blood in the soggy ground. "We're just lucky they didn't see our fire last night. Must have come through the next pass ov--"

Something burst through the trees on her right like a roar of thunder, trampling over the goblin and temporarily cutting off her view of Orin. The huntress' reflexes were still sharp enough that she was able to dive out of the way in time, but when she instinctively fired her bow the shot went wild and disappeared into the trees. Still, it was enough to cause the great bulk of reddish-brown muscle before to rear up and shriek, and it was only as it came back down on all fours that Maerwyn let out a sigh of relief as she struggled to her feet.

"Stars above, it's a horse!" she gasped, slinging her bow over her shoulder and carefully approaching the beast with both hands raised. The horse, finding its way blocked by trees but no longer followed by whatever terrible thing that had sent it off running in the first place, stamped its hooves uncertainly as it looked from the woman to the dwarf and back again, gauging the danger they posed. Maerwyn was careful to relax her posture as she stepped towards it slowly, and when she spoke again her voice was much gentler, possibly more so than it had ever been in Orin's company.

"There now laddie, where'd you come from?" she murmured, noting the mount was still well tacked out with a saddle and reins. The former looked as though it had once been richly made, but had seen service for at least a decade, and possibly longer. The bridle was in slightly better condition, but the reins were at risk of catching and tangling if the poor creature didn't keep still. Something in her tone must have been enough to convince the horse she meant no harm and it did quiet somewhat, but there was a strange light in the creature's eyes as it stared at the woman.

Stroking his neck thoughtfully, Maerwyn looked back towards Orin, curious what he thought of this new development. "There must be men nearby," she mused, running her fingers through the horse's silky mane. "Horses won't have anything to do with goblins or orcs. He doesn't look like an elvish mount either." Of course, in the mercenary's mind, an elf horse ought to be wearing bells and draped in cloth-of-gold, so it was quite possible she was mistaken on that assessment.

After a few minutes, the horse seemed calm enough to take a few steps forward, and the woman let him go. Still, when he was perhaps ten or fifteen feet away, the beast stopped and looked back at them expectantly. It's almost as if he expects us to follow him Maerwyn thought, though the idea sounded too ridiculous to speak out loud. The horse must have had a rider though, and while a low part of her did consider simply climbing on the horse's back and riding the rest of the way to Rivendell, hadn't she told Orin she was done with thieving? Besides, the more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed the commotion they'd heard earlier was some squabble between men of the region and the rest of the dead goblin's party.

"Let's go a bit further this way, just to make sure the area's clear," she suggested finally, taking the horse's reins gently in her hands but giving him the freedom to lead her, rather than the other way around. "I don't fancy getting ambushed by the rest of that green beastie's friends."

As luck would have it, Maerwyn's fears were unfounded, at least when it came to herself an Orin. After perhaps an hour of walking, they did stumble into an ambush, albeit not an active one.

The first thing she saw was another dead goblin, this one even more riddled with arrows than his predecessor. A few feet farther and there was another, albeit this one was missing a head. And beyond that, to the battle-hardened mercenary's utter shock and amazement, the upper half of an orc's torso leaned almost comically against a boulder. "Stars...it's a bloodbath," she muttered, trying to calm the nervous horse beside her as she counted the bodies. All in all there were six goblins, and another dead orc, plus a lower half that might have belonged to the first but could just as easily been part of a third.

And yet despite all this, there was not a man or elf in sight.

Maerwyn wondered if infighting had done them all in, but the farther they walked the less likely it seemed. Orcs were more than capable of cutting down the diminutive goblins, but the opposite was much less likely to occur. And the only set of prints leading away from the site of the carnage were too small and light to belong to either creature, though by their staggered rhythm and crooked path it was clear that whoever had made them had not walked away from the fight unscathed.

They found him near a bend where the little stream met with the great white torrent of the Hoarwell. He was slumped against a tree and sitting in a pool of his own blood, and at the sight of his dark head bowed on his chest Maerwyn was sure he must have succumbed to his injuries already, though his black clothing made it hard to tell how bad the wounds really were. Still, she could tell by the fine sword at his side that the man had been no common thief of the wilds. "A Ranger," she realized with a nod, finally understanding how one man had managed to take out a pack of ten opponents on his own. Glancing at Orin, she raised an eyebrow. "Ever met one before? They're some of the finest fighters in the world. A pity this one had to meet his end so soon."

Releasing the horse's reins, she knelt down by the dead man's side and gently laid a hand on his shoulder, then tilted his chin up to get a better look at his face. As she did, he suddenly inhaled sharply, and one black eye opened to stare at her. Immediately the woman dropped her hand and scrambled backward, staring from the Ranger to the dwarf in disbelief.

"Stars, he's still alive!"

 

[Traveler]

Tension hung in the air like putrid smoke, tainting every trembling leaf and buzzing insect in the forest like a curse, and though Orin knew that he and Maerwyn were capable in a firefight, he also knew that they were as vulnerable as any untrained fighter, for death did not care how well you had fought in the past if a stray arrow or lucky blade slipped through. He saw his guide’s arm tense as the source of the foul scent came within view. As she inspected the small lifeless form, he turned to look around them, certain that whatever had killed the creature was still nearby.

Maerwyn’s voice sounded much too loud in the hushed silence of the day. He glanced over his shoulder at her, then heard the trees burst forth, and was certain that they were about to be trampled by giants. The giant beast barreled between Maerwyn and Orin, and for a moment he thought that it had eaten her. But then a familiar musky scent permeated the air, and then the creature reared, whinnied, and the fear was replaced by hot relief.

Orin rested the axe head upon the ground as he watched Maerwyn and her new treasure. “Yes, I think that Beastie qualifies as a horse,” he said, as he eyed the monstrosity. It was larger than the ponies he was used to, and the way it looked at the woman made Orin wonder if it might be more than it seemed. Perhaps it would open its mouth once again, and instead of teeth meant for snipping off bits of grass, it would produce the mouth of a lion… the dwarf rubbed at his eyes with one clenched hand and sighed. Too little good sleep and too many fantastical tales as a dwarfling had left his mind addled, it seemed.

He walked over to the small bundle that Maerwyn had treated with such disgust earlier and fingered the fletchings on the arrows. He knew less about arrows than she did; probably because of her relationship with the tall, good-looking man in Esgaroth. But he though that these arrows had an interesting look to them. The craftsmanship reminded him of Lorryn’s work.

“Well, it looks like it’s your horse now.” He watched her as the horse walked, then looked back at her. “Does he know you don’t carrots in your pocket?” He glanced back at the goblin, then at the guide, and when she suggested they go in the direction the creature was walking, he nodded. Might as well. Not like they had places to go…

Bodies after bodies led their way. “How many arrows does it take to kill a goblin?” he muttered to himself. Then, as they found bodies hewn in two, he quickened his step to get closer to her. “Do you think it’s really a good idea to go this way? Whatever killed them could just as easily do the same to us,” he said, speaking his reservations out loud. Why were they following this trail of blood? Did she hate the idea of going to Rivendell so much that encountering a harbinger of death was preferable?

And then she found what she sought, and for a moment Orin had a tinge of respect for the man who had dealt such carnage. No matter the reasons for the fight, the man’s horse must have wanted him to receive a proper burial. With a glance around to ensure no other orcs or goblins were about, Orin slid his axe back upon his back as he walked closer. “I’ve never met a Ranger,” he said, “and it looks like we’re too late to meet this one. I’ll look for a good place to bury –“

Her exclamation stopped his thought. If the man was alive, he wouldn’t be for long. “Oh, sweet boulderfall,” he said in a disbelieving whisper. He tromped forward and dropped his pack. “Let’s see if we can keep him that way.” Quickly he began to rummage through his bag for bandages and water, and a flask of strong spirits to help with any infection the man might have. “Looks like that horse isn’t yours after all, my love. The man might have use for it yet.”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

For a few moments all Maerwyn could do was stare blankly back at the man, though some part of her mind was trying to gauge the extent of his injuries. From the corner of her eye she noted Orin scrambling for supplies, and that at least was enough to spark some motion back into her limbs. Crawling back to the man's side, she knelt beside him and noted a pair of broken-off arrow shafts, one protruding from his right shoulder and the other in his thigh. "Just...hang on," was all she managed to limply gasp as she brushed her fingers over the upper shaft. The ranger winced as it wiggled slightly, then raised one shaking hand and pointed towards the horse, watching with silent concern from a safe distance.

"Athelas..." the man grunted, his hand falling after a moment with the effort.

"Athelas?" Maerwyn repeated, her dark brows knitting together. Something about the word was familiar, but she couldn't think exactly why. A name, perhaps?

The Ranger's gaze darkened in apparent annoyance at her failure to understand. "Saddlebag," he added in a low huff, his breath sounding hollow.

"Saddlebag, all right then," the woman answered, glancing helplessly towards the dwarf. "Here, Orin, see if you can't patch him up a bit. I'm rubbish as a healer." Scrambling to her feet, she passed by him on her way to the stallion. Her companion had said something in response to her, something about the horse...

Looks like that horse isn’t yours after all, my love.

She stopped dead in her tracks, whirling around and staring at Orin in disbelief. Had he really just said what she thought he said? Maerwyn could feel her face growing hot as she stared at the dwarf's broad back, his attention seemingly focused on the injured man now. He didn't mean anything by it she told herself, recalling the urgency of the moment if they did indeed mean to save the Ranger's life. If nothing else, he just wants to make sure the poor bastard on the ground knows how things are between us. A grim smile crossed the woman's face. The Ranger was hardly in a state to be standing up, let alone making eyes at a woman. But why should Orin care if he did?

This wasn't the time to be thinking such questions. The stallion stamped his hoof with as much impatience as his master, and with a shake of the head Maerwyn quickly turned her attention to the saddlebags, rummaging through them in search for the mysterious "athelas."

After opening the second one, an oddly familiar scent hit her nose. It was cool and green and fresh, and reminded her of spring mornings in the northernmost glades of Mirkwood, where both elves and orcs were fewest. Even just the smell of the leafy herb carefully wrapped in its leather case seemed to bring new vigor to her body and mind, but as it did a second memory rose to the forefront of her mind, this one much more recent.

She saw an immense black castle, full of broken ramparts and towers that crumbled against the moonless sky like rotting teeth...

"What business does a whimpering bitch like you have in My Kingdom?"

Pain. So much pain. Cold fingers with broken nails piercing her flesh and ready to tear her apart on a word from The Master.

"You and the dwarf were seeking something in Moria. You will bring it to Dol Goldur when you find it. You will bring it to me, or I will have you brought to me."​

And then that same scent, shattering the dreams (were they dreams?) into a thousand pieces and guiding her back to the safety of her father's house. Maerwyn hadn't seen how the herb was used, but she'd asked Iorhild about it after the fact. Hulgrim had ordered her to steep the leaves in hot water, then clean the wound thoroughly with it. The leftover leaves were then applied to the wound within a bandage.

"Don't bind him up just yet, Orin," the mercenary said, carefully taking the case from the bag and fetching her own small cooking vessel from her bag. Dipping it into the stream, she set it aside and began to gather as many dry sticks as she could find beyond the misty reach of the water. Whatever ministrations the dwarf had offered seemed to be enough to rouse the Ranger's voice again, and he glared over Orin's shoulder to where the woman was piling the fuel.

"No fire. You'll draw more of them," he growled.

Maerwyn rolled her eyes. "Well if they're stupid enough to overlook the piles of bodies between us and them, we'll deal with it when they get here. We need hot water." Striking together her flints, she soon had a crackling little fire going, the iron cooking vessel hanging over it from a crudely-constructed spit. Out of an abundance of caution though, the mercenary did keep her bow at hand and her quiver on her back, and was grateful that with the shelter of the debris on the riverside, there was really only one direction any enemies could approach from. If the smoke was even distinguishable over the mist of the rapids in the river behind them.

Once the water was boiling in the pot, she carefully added perhaps a quarter of the Ranger's supply of herbs, the scent growing even stronger as she did so. Cutting another length of fabric from her old sleeping shift (which was barely more than a collar and sleeves now, after their long months on the road), she steeped it in the fragrant water for a few minutes before gently applying it to the most obvious of the man's wounds.

"Am I doing this right?" she asked dryly, sponging away the caked blood.

"Well enough," the man answered, looking from one of his saviors to the other. "I suppose I should count myself lucky that you happened by, though I can't help but wonder what business a woman--an Anduin woman, judging by your speech--and a dwarf might have on this side of the mountains."

"We're travelers," Maerwyn answered quickly, locking eyes with Orin in silent warning not to give too much of their history to a man who, though injured, was still a stranger. "I'm Maerwyn, he's Orin. Perhaps if you live we'll tell you our business then. In the meantime, what name should we put on your grave if the next wave of goblins comes through?"

That remarked earned something almost like a smile from the Ranger's crooked mouth, and while she wasn't sure the mercenary thought that odd gurgling noise in his throat might have been a grim rumble of laughter. "I suppose the two of you will have no trouble walking away from such a fight will you?" he remarked, then let out a little sigh of relief as the athelas did its work. "I am Arathorn, son of Arassuil. And if I do survive, the Dúnedain shall owe the two of you a debt."

"Then we'd better make sure you live, shouldn't we?" the woman replied with a small smile, before looking back towards the dwarf. "Can you hand me one of those bandages? I think he might keep his arm after all."

It did not seem like the appropriate time to acknowledge her partner's endearment from earlier.