Over Hill and Under Tree (Shiva x Traveler)

[Shiva the Cat]

Despite its name, The Gilded Lantern was neither the most luxurious tavern in Dale nor the loveliest, but it was one of the most popular. The owner, Arnmar Ernardsson, was a retired mercenary who'd made his fortune escorting gold-laden wagons from the Lonely Mountain to Laketown and beyond, but now that he was in his golden years the big bald warrior was more accustomed to carrying trays than a sword, though he still opened the door of his establishment to men and dwarves alike.

The inn was a narrow but tall building rising up four stories as it leaned precariously against the northern wall of the town, and while the wealthier merchants of Dale might have preferred the statelier, more richly-decorated houses near the Great Keep, the Lantern was never short on the more itinerant flavor of guests, many of whom refused to stay anywhere else in the city. The regulars liked the trophies on the wall and Arnmar's pretty daughters who could be found skittering back and forth between the two-story common room and the smoldering cave of a kitchen, and the innkeeper's wife knew the secret of preparing a first-class meal for a working man's wages. Indeed, many of the guests were so partial to the inn they even had regular rooms kept ready for them in the upper stories of the building, though these were cramped and rather dreary, furnished with single beds and illuminated only by small windows.

One such regular was currently seated at the bar, working her way through a second tankard of ale as she laughed at an old blacksmith regaling her of the antics of his hopeless apprentice. Her name was Maerwyn, and she had first appeared at the Gilded Lantern more than ten years ago, a dirty little slip of a girl who Arnmar had first mistaken for a beggar, then for a neighbor seeking work as a barmaid. But the young lady had merely shaken her head and passed him a small bag of coin, asking for a supper, a bed for the night, and an ale, of all things. This last item Arnmar had refused; he had girls of his own and he didn't approve of young women drinking like slovenly wenches. But out of pity for the waif, he'd seen to it she gotten extra helpings of supper and the most comfortable room in the house, and the girl had been so satisfied that the innkeep felt emboldened enough to ask what her business was in Dale.

“I'm a mercenary,” she'd replied with an accent that matched nether the city nor nearby Laketown, and to further demonstrate her point she'd pulled out a sword. Well, it seemed like a sword on her short, skinny frame, but Arnmar had guess it was really just an oversized knife, and not a very well made one at that. The edges were dull and rusty, and when he'd asked to see the weapon it felt awkward and unbalanced in his hand. But Maerwyn had looked upon it as though it were made of gold, and was quick to take it back from the landlord.

Arnmar never learned much more about the little guest than her trade, and after two nights in his house she had paid her tab in full and disappeared for nearly a year. But sure enough, just as he was beginning to forget about her she had appeared again with another purse of coins and a second knife-sword on her hip, this one much better made. She was alone again and didn't care to speak much about herself, but she did take some interest in the innkeeper and his family and seemed pleased to learn how they had been doing in her absence.

And so began a semi-regular cycle that had lasted for more than a decade. Maerwyn would appear at the Gilded Lantern a few times a year with a fair amount of money on her and usually a new or nicer weapon. The knives gave way to short swords, and when she was nearly a full-grown woman she had begun carrying a beautifully carved bow as well. Only Arnmar ever seemed to pay much attention to the woman's equipment though: everyone else usually found their attention captured by the woman herself.

She'd grown quite pretty over the years, with full lips, a long, straight nose, and deep brown eyes like those of a doe. Her thick brown hair was usually plaited into a braid that hung over her shoulder to the top of her full, high breast, but many of the strands always seemed to escape their bonds and fly loosely around her oval face. Over the years she had acquired several pieces of good-quality leather armor, along with some metal bracers and one steel pauldron (worn on her left shoulder to allow free movement for her bow), and while her clothing tended to be simple garments of brown or black cloth, or heavy home-sewn furs in the winter, she did wear a deep crimson scarf around her neck, though she never told anyone why.

There was on one aspect in which the young mercenary had not grown or developed much over the years, and that was in her height. Around the third or fourth year of her acquaintance with Arnmar Maerwyn had finally achieved five feet, and over the following years she achieved a couple more inches, but nothing beyond that. To the old mercenary, he was curious about how such a small woman could make a living as a hired sword, but when he saw her in her first tavern fight it was clear.

The girl was fast, and didn't exactly fight with honor. After a drunk guest had refused to acknowledge Maerwyn's rejection of his amorous advances, she'd had no trouble first delivering a sharp punch to his groin, then a series of deep scratches to his eyes. Indeed, the damage was so bad that the girl most likely would have been arrested by the city guard if Arnmar and a few other guests hadn't explained the situation, and even then she was banned from the city for a year. She dutifully abided by this ruling, but on the three hundred and sixty-sixth day of her exile there she was again at the door of the Gilded Lantern, coins in hand and ready for some of Mrs. Ernardsson's fresh white bread.

By now the regulars at the tavern were used to the woman, and except for those who considered themselves her friends most of the people of Dale avoided her. Maerwyn herself returned the favor, preferring to keep company with Arnmar and his family first of all, and few other citizens of her acquaintance as she saw them. The only strangers she ever seemed to take an interest with were the dwarves visiting from Erebor, but the feeling was rarely mutual. The woman asked far too many questions about gold and jewels, and could be downright aggressive in her offers to provide bodyguard services to their wagons, to the point that most dwarves that recognized her would refuse to speak the language of Men around her, instead whispering to one another in their own cryptic tongue.

But this evening a dwarf of a different sort had entered the doors of the Lantern, and Maerwyn's glittering eyes did not miss his appearance. He was a stranger to her, and after conferring with one of Arnmar's daughters it appeared he was a stranger to everyone else as well. She had to admit that as far as dwarves went he was a rather handsome one, without any gray in his dark hair or beard and intense, deep-set eyes. His hat was rather-bizarre looking but his clothing seemed to be good quality, if a bit on the dirty side, and she could tell by the axe and pack on his back that he must have been a traveler of some kind.

Maerwyn watched the dwarf for several minutes as he took a table by himself near the fire, ordered something from one of the barmaids, then pulled out a bit of parchment and began to examine it by the red glow along the wall. A small smile crossed her face as she drained her mug, set it on the bar, then silently drifted over to join him at the table.

“On a journey are you?” She remarked, sitting down across from him. “Don't often see your kind travel alone. Waiting for someone?” Before he could answer, Arnmar's daughter returned with a tray of food, and Maerwyn quickly pantomimed drinking to her, then gestured towards the dwarf before turning her gaze back towards him. The girl seemed to understand the request, and quickly dashed off to the bar to fetch a pair of drinks.

“Might I ask where you're headed?” the woman asked, tilting her head and pushing her braid back over her shoulder while her eyes drifted down to the parchment before him, trying to see what it was.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"My, aren't you the hardy fellow?" Maerwyn had to laugh at the obvious pleasure on the dwarf's face as the boat sailed away. Despite the rain and chill in the air, he seemed just as eager to continue on as he had when they left the inn that morning. "That'll help with our pace at least. But we should stop at Esgaroth regardless, though I don't expect we'll reach it for a few hours. I think we could both do with one last night at a proper tavern, and we can go over our supplies in the morning if there's anything we're missing." As she began to walk along the shore, her face kept turning to the north, an uncertain look in her eyes. For the most part it was too late in the spring for wolves; they preferred the chill of the mountains most times. Nights like this though it wasn't unusual to hear howls in the far off hills between the Lonely Mountain and the forest, ready to snatch a stray sheep or cow from under a careless farmer's nose.

And of course, there was always the possibility of bandits, human and otherwise.

Not wanting to alarm her employer, the woman did not mention either of these possibilities aloud, but she kept her voice low all the same as she spoke. It was probably hard for Orin to hear her over the sound of waves snapping on the lakeshore and the cold, heavy rain, but she did her best to chat as cheerfully as she had in the boat. "My guess is Old Ivor is sneaking dwarf gold into the city again. Maybe gems. Merchants are supposed to pay a percentage of their goods' value to the Trademasters of both Dale and Esgaroth, so it's not unheard of for them to try to sneak things in with other loads." Pausing, she looked back at him and grinned over her shoulder. "It wouldn't surprise me in the least if we were riding with a king's fortune back there."

Maerwyn was tempted to ask about the reason Orin had finally chosen to leave his gilded halls behind and venture out into the bitter wilds, but considering she hadn't answered his question about the scars on her hand, it didn't seem appropriate. Not that there was anything to hide, really. Most mercenaries had scars of some sort, and the ones on the woman's hands were some of the smallest and least ugly. It was primarily her pride that held her tongue; it wouldn't do for the dwarf to know that she'd lost almost as many fights as she had won. And for another thing...she didn't like the way he'd looked at her when he spoke of them. Thilion had looked at her like that, and the memory of him always stoked an angry fire in her that would distract her from the task at hand.

So she said little beyond instructing Orin to stay close to the shore and be careful of the loose stones beneath their feet. There were some sandier beaches on the far southern shore of the lake, but from the north gate of the Running all the way to the gates of Esgaroth the ground was rocky, and more than a little slippery in the rain. They might have had better footing if they ventured farther away from the water's edge, but Maerwyn cautioned the dwarf against leaving tracks in the mud, though she had to backpedal a bit on the subject of any potential pursuers. "Just in case there's any unchivalrous types about. Esgaroth's a bit rougher than Dale," she explained weakly.

Indeed, when they finally did reach the gates of the lakeside settlement, the woman and dwarf found the guards were a far cry from Dale's tall soldiers in their shining armor and pale blue tabards. The guards of Esgaroth were shorter and uglier, with leather helmets and holey chainmail that didn't seem to fit them properly, and where the northern sentinels carried bright silver swords, the two men before them now were armed with rusty polearms. The only good thing about them was that both of their faces were utterly unfamiliar to Maerwyn, which meant they probably wouldn't recognize her either.

"State yer business then," the nearest one asked, holding a dim, foul-smelling lantern first in Maerwyn's face, then in Orin's. A first surprised, then lascivious look crossed his face. "A woman...and a dwarf? Wot, you two elopin' then?"

"We are travelers from Dale," the mercenary cut in quickly before he could make any other comments. "I've come to visit friends, and this gentleman is my bodyguard. We were delayed due to the weather, and would very much like to enter and find our way to an inn as soon as possible. Will you allow us to enter?"

The two looked at one another for a moment, then back at the travelers. Finally they parted ways, and the one who had spoken knocked three times on the closed wooden gate behind him in signal to open. "Go on in, I suppose. But most places are shut up for the night. I 'spect you'll need to pay dearly for lodging if you need to wake anyone up at this hour."

"Noted," Maerwyn remarked, glancing sharply at Orin. She hoped he would recall one of the terms of their agreement was that he would cover the cost of taverns, which may or may not have had something to do with why she was so insistent on finding lodging for the night. "There's a decent place not far from here," she explained to him as they passed through the gates to the dark, puddle-strewn streets of Esgaroth. It was a larger town than Dale, but much less grand, with most buildings made of wood and leaning upon one another like drunkards. The nicest ones were actually built just over the surface of the lake on long, wide piers, but the woman wasn't greedy enough to lead the dwarf in such an expensive direction. Instead, they walked through the silent streets into the heart of the town, where there were still a handful of windows with lights in them.

Unfortunately, the first inn the mercenary had in mind was indeed locked up tight, and even her incessant pounding could not rouse the inhabitants. A few others she attempted were either equally closed, or when the landlord did bother to come to the door, they snapped at her that there were no rooms to spare. So it was with a sinking feeling in her heart that Maerwyn realized there would be only one establishment left to try. "The Dead Cod it is then," she muttered, turning down a narrow alley that smelled strongly of fish and walking up to the only building they'd seen that was still ablaze with light and even a little music (though it was off key and rather unpleasant on the ears).

No sooner had they walked through the door when a bright feminine voice rang out, "Why, Maerwyn Splintfinger, what in the world brings you here?" The speaker was a tall blonde girl with enormous breasts and a face that would have been beautiful if it weren't for a large wart near her left eye. Her expression wasn't unfriendly as she jiggled her way to the door with a mug in each hand, but the faces in the common room behind her all looked upon the new arrivals with varying degrees of hostility.

Biting back the desire to snap at Hilda for her loud voice and the use of her least favorite nickname, Maerwyn lowered her hood and began to wring the water out of her braid. "Same thing that brings everyone here, love. A roof overhead and some food in our bellies. Don't suppose you can help with that?"

"Oh no! Dinner was over hours ago. If I'd known you were coming I would have saved you some. Daddy made the most delightful chicken stew, with some herbed potatoes and some of Mummy's fish pies on the side. Oh, and buttermilk pie too! It was delicious," Hilda sighed dreamily at the memory, but when Maerwyn cleared her throat she seemed to come back to herself. "There um, may be some bread left though. And plenty of ale. And some cheese, maybe?"

Delightful. Maerwyn had a better supper ready in her pack. Rubbing between her temples, she felt the urge to slap the mugs out of the barmaid's plump pink hands. "What about rooms, Hilda?" she sighed.

"Well now, let's see..." Setting the mugs down on a counter opposite the door, she began to count the keys still hanging on the wall behind her. It took a rather ridiculous amount of time, considering only one remained. "Looks like we've still got Number Four if that'll suit. It's not the biggest bed, but should do fine for you and your sweetheart there." Her thick, nearly white eyebrows wiggled suggestively as she looked from the woman to the dwarf, but a moment later she let out a yelp as Maerwyn snatched the key from her hand.

"It's a job," Maerwyn snapped, closing her fingers around the key. "The one room will suit us fine for one night, all we need is the roof." And judging by the looks she was getting from the men in the common room, it occurred to her that the door lock would probably prove quite useful as well. "I'll forego supper for the night, I'm not hungry anyway. Are you coming?" She looked back towards Orin as she began to climb the stairs of the tavern, not meaning to turn the edge of her voice on him as well, but all the same her words came out much sharper than she had intended.

 

[Traveler]

As they strolled, for now it could be reasonably be called an easy stroll and not the frenzied walk of those wishing not to be arrested, Maerwyn finally decided to answer his question. Her reasons made sense; everyone needed to eat and having a place to stay and a way to pay for expenses were understandable goals. Even he wanted to eat and buy things when they were needed, but he also enjoyed the rhythm of the mountain and seeing people he knew every day. Being constantly surrounded by strangers was bound to be lonely.

One thing that stuck out for him in her answer was that she recognized the risk in living the life of a thief and seemed inclined towards honest work whenever possible. That was a good thing; he did not know if he could travel very long with someone whose ethics were too far removed from his, no matter how good a guide they were. Torwald, for instance, would have not been a good traveling companion. He smirked at Maerwyn’s assumption about the sky and the rivers and the roads but did not comment. Her description of the world and her love for them was something that he understood well. Only…not about the world, but about a certain person in the world. He had often been reprimanded by his father for having an unhealthy lack of care for gold and gems, but then again, he had been on that side of his father for a long time. Since before Dia, honestly.

He pondered his complicated family as they walked, and occasionally gazed up at the lines of water pouring down at them, intrigued at how the water seeped from the darkened sky like water through the sandstone; pure, cool, and mysterious. There were many reaches in the caverns where one could barely see the ceiling, or not at all, because of the great depths of the tunnels and natural caves. The dwarves had built an impressive city; great columns of stone hewn in place to support the expanded voids were one of the things that had impressed him as a child. He could not imagine the ingenuity that their engineers had to create such wondrous structures. Of course, masonry was not his gift. It was Dis’s.

"Why Dís?" she asked suddenly.

It was as if she was in his mind. He looked at her curiously, intrigued at the perfect timing of her question.

"I mean, if there are four other women in your Kingdom, why choose her, and not one of the others? Was it her looks alone? Or does she have a dowry that you just couldn't resist?"

Orin shut his surprised mouth and looked back at the trail they were following. Why had he chosen Dis? It was not a question he had ever asked. He just…had. How much could he share with this person about the secretive life of his people under the mountain? Their women were almost as well hidden and cherished as their gold; rarer even then the Arcenstone, in his opinion.

“Uhhh…” where could he start?

"What does your family think of the match?"

Orin’s feet stumbled over a high root and he caught himself quickly, glaring back at the offending plant as he continued walking as if it had been a personal affront. He twisted up his jaw as he continued to consider how to answer her. For if anything, honesty to a fault was one of the many things he had been accused of being.

“Well, uhm,” he shifted his bag on his back and repositioned his hands on the straps. “They think nothing of it, actually.” Which was true. They thought it would come to nothing despite her special treatment of him and the hours they shared daily. “But,” he said, shifting the conversation to the more pleasant question, “as for why I chose Dis, well…because she’s perfect. How could I not?”

He smiled then, thinking again of the columns and the first time he realized she was a girl in their presence, for Dwarven children are more alike then even Dwarven adults. “You know, we don’t have many women. Our Mountains are vast, as is our numbers, and out of a thousand births only one might be a girl. So they’re rare.” His voice softened. “The most precious thing in the world is a Dwarven lass.”

His eyes flickered to Maerwyn. “Of the four women in our mountain, one is my sister, the other has been engaged for fifty years to someone I could never compete with,” he shook his head as if to fortify his words. “The other one I’ve only heard rumors of, but she’s said to not fancy marriage and is well into her second century. And then there’s Dis.” He smiled then. “And I know that she fancies me differently than the others who have pursued her.”

“Oh yes,” he continued, raising a finger as if Maerwyn might have disagreed with him silently. “It’s true. I’m the only one she feels comfortable enough with to use pet names,” he explained, thinking of the names she used. ‘Dolt, idiot, and Rocks-for-Brains; were among her favorites. Orin resumed discussing Dis. “And she accepts gifts from others, then sets them aside and doesn’t touch them again. But she has never accepted a gift from me, which tells me that they’re special to her. She’s never going to put my gifts on the shelves with all the others she receives. I’m the only one she does this for. Unique. And we all know that the more distinctively someone acts towards another, the stronger their feelings.”

He walked for a while, thinking of all the special treatment he received from Dis. The elaborate pet names, the occasional excuse of a slap which was her way to actually touch his face without making the others jealous, and tone she carried in her voice with only him when they talked. “That ring I paid the collateral with; that was the first gift I made her that she rejected. There’s been so many…but when I return, she’ll accept my gifts. She said so. And then we can be engaged.” He sighed. “But you’ll understand when we return, and you meet her. You’ll understand why it’s impossible not to love her.”

They had been walking and sometimes talking for many hours, and Orin’s stomach began to protest. He pulled out a slim stick of meat and tore a piece off as they walked, not wanting to waste time to rest while there were still so many miles to cross. As he munched on his moving dinner, he considered their plans for the night. He’d slept outside at the beginning of his journey, but it had been dry. If they couldn’t find some kind of cave in the hills or thick strand of trees, they would be chilled by the time morning came around. He would leave those details for Maerwyn to figure out, though. She was, after all, his guide, and trained in such matters. He would trust that she knew what they were doing for the night.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

As soon as Orin assured her he would be all right while he waited for her, Maerwyn all but turned on her heels and bolted away from him. And with good reason too. The dwarf had managed to do what no man had in years: he was making her blush.

You're acting like a foolish child the woman chided herself as she slipped beyond the treeline, taking care to scan the horizon for any sign of more attackers. Far upriver she could see a punt lazily floating downstream, probably headed for Dorwinion to refill a load of empty wine barrels. By the stars she could use a drink. In her heart, Maerwyn knew that the dwarf was only speaking to her out of gratitude. So why had her heart fluttered like a startled bird when he'd said "We are both responsible for keeping each other safe"?

Maybe it was because no one had cared about keeping her safe in years. Granted, part of that was her own fault. Even now it was laughable to expect Orin to act as any kind of protector for her, although she could understand his interest in keeping her alive, especially the deeper they crossed into the woods. Still, he had seemed more concerned with her hand that Maerwyn herself had been, and the way his eyes had followed her as she crept back to the riverside...

Bah. What was the point in thinking about any of it? He had his sweetheart after all, and he really must have loved her if he was willing to go all the way to the Black Pit for her sake. Maerwyn could only hope Dís was worthy of such devotion, but when she thought back to some of the things Orin had said about the way he treated her, and the way she had rejected his gifts, fanned a little spark of indignant rage in the woman's chest. Sure, he might have been a bit impulsive and unworldly at times, but even someone who had only known him a week could see how brave and loyal he was, and the mercenary had even been a little proud at how quickly he'd rejected the idea of turning back. How could any woman, dwarf or otherwise, fail to see or appreciate those qualities?

It's not your business Maerwyn reminded herself as she knelt by the water's edge and began to fill the waterbags. She'd managed to salvage four from the Easterlings, along with a few strange-looking metal coins and a few unused arrows, in addition to recovering her own. All in all it was a tidy little trove, but she couldn't have cared less while her thoughts were fully occupied with her companion. Don't get involved she was trying to press into her mind. What makes you think he would want you any more than Thilion did? Have you not suffered enough for that mistake? She shut her eyes a moment, then took a long drink of icy water from one of the skins to try to drive the ethereally beautiful face of the golden-haired elf from her memory.

Was he still in the woods? She hadn't seen him the last time she'd been locked in Thranduil's cells, but she'd been able to pick his name out of the high elvish whispered by the guards. Maerwyn couldn't imagine anyone else interceding with the Woodland King on her behalf, and she'd always suspected it had been through Thilion's influence that she'd always managed to get her freedom back after her many, many captures. Perhaps she would have been more grateful to him if she weren't so bitter and scornful of his pity, but she was certain that she would never, ever seek out his company again.

Still...it would be amusing to see the look on his face if he saw her with Orin. What in the world would the elf's pretty face make of that, she wondered. It almost made her smile.

Of course, she would have to keep Orin alive first. Once all the skins were filled, she hurried back to the dwarf's side and began to repack her own small bag, saving the rest of her nightgown for additional bandage material and slinging two more waterskins off the sides. "That should hold us for a week, if we're careful. Though we might get lucky and be able to collect some rainwater along the way if we need it," she remarked, replacing the arrows in her quiver and helping the dwarf to his feet once he was ready. "We should be a bit more cautious as we move, and I'll admit the northern paths aren't as easy to manage as the Old Road, but we're less likely to run into trouble going this way. There used to be a small pass through the mountains too where we might cut south in three or four days. We shall see what it looks like once we get a bit closer."

They didn't make much progress that day. Concerned for Orin's wounds, Maerwyn limited their pace to a cautious walk, but the further they got from the river the steadier the ground grew beneath their feet. It was cooler beneath the shade of the trees than it had been under the open sky along the lake, but the air still felt humid and heavy around them. By evening, the landscape was beginning to slope gently upward and southward as they reached the easternmost foothills of the Emyn Duil. After catching a pair of very large, very black rabbits for supper, the mercenary led her charge to a small clearing where they could more clearly see the emerald green slopes ahead of them.

"Those are the Emyn Duir, the Mountains of Mirkwood," Maerwyn explained as she set aside her pack and began to gather wood for a fire. "The Old Forest Road is on the other side of them. The elves used to claim all territory from the northern border down to the road itself, but ever since the Wicked Lord took over the old fortress on the south end of the forest, they almost never go that way anymore. To be honest, I feel a bit better about having some mountains between us and him, even if they are only little ones like that."

It took a long while to find wood that would be dry enough to burn, and even then it took all the woman's cursing and grumbling to get a fire going. Once she did, she set about skinning and cleaning the rabbits, which would surely provide more than enough meat for the both of them. "Have you ever seen the Misty Mountains?" Maerwyn continued, spitting the carcasses and setting them to roast over the fire. "Those must be three or four times higher than those hills over yon." She waved one hand southward towards the Mountains of Mirkwood.

"They're beautiful though." Her voice was beginning to take on a dreamy quality as she stared off into the distance. "When I was a little girl, I used to sit along the riverbanks every night in summer and watch the sun go down behind them, and I always wondered what was on the other side. I thought it was the magical land of the elves at first, and then when I was a little older I thought for sure it must be the sea, and the mountains were the only thing holding it back, like some great dam. I was always so terrified that someday a giant would tear down the mountain right across the valley from our house, and all the oceans of the world would burst forth and drown us, and the forests, and everything except the fishes in the Great River. I suppose that was rather morbid of me, wasn't it?"

Maerwyn let out a little laugh. "Anyway, it wasn't until I was a woman grown that I saw what was on the other side." She paused, then with a little sparkle in her eye she turned her face back towards Orin, trying and failing to stifle a mischievous smile. "Do you know what it is?

 

[Traveler]

The axe connected, and Orin was relieved that Maerwyn had not sprung up and intercepted his swing. He had been completely committed to the blow.

"Thank you!"

“My pleasure!” He saw another descending above them, its legs like wings moving it closer to them as the webbing extended. He was grateful for the long handle on his axe; it kept him from getting too close to the beasties as they attacked. A sickly morbid part of him was reminded of a game he saw some children playing, where they beat a paper machete donkey hanging from a rope until it spilled out wrapped candies and treats. This was no donkey, and inside it had no treats.

"There's too many of them. You need to run," she shouted to the dwarf, positioning herself in front of him and retaking her former defensive stance. "I can keep them busy, just go!"

“I’m not leaving you!” Orin shouted back, just as another spider took advantage of his distraction and knocked him down, smashing him onto the rocky ground and knocking the breath out of him. He felt his mostly healed side protest, and the warm feeling of the wound reopening. He panicked when he heard Maerwyn’s war cry, and though the spider about him was gathering up the dwarf for a little treat for later, Orin shouted and brought his fist around and buried in one of the creature’s glistening eyes. Unfortunately, it had many more.

He twisted in its grasp and reached up to grab the vey end of his axe. He flexed his wrist and brought the pick end down upon the spider’s head. The spider collapsed, burying the dwarf beneath it. By the time he managed to grunt and shove the weighty creature off his body it had grown strangely silent. “Maerwyn!”

He was answered by her quiet voice, but her message was not what he had hoped it would be. "Great...I had a feeling we were going to get caught sooner or later," she muttered, still moving defensively in front of the dwarf. Orin glanced about and saw their remaining attackers twitching in the final throes of death. It was only then that he noticed the thin shafts protruding from their bodies. These were not Maerwyns arrows…

She addressed someone in an elven tongue. Orin turned to see to whom she spoke, and saw a tall, slim elf step out of the forest, his bow and arrow still at the ready. Maerwyn spoke again, a similar phrase, but different in the way that languages were. She looked trapped, and perhaps more scared of this two legged creature than the others. As the clouds shifted, and the moonlight spilled forth, Orin could finally make out the features of their unlikely rescuer.

"Who are you, and why did you save us?" Maerwyn almost sounded desperate for an answer.

Orin stepped around her, looking up at the tall man through his spider gut smeared eyes. “Lorryn.”

The elf ceased his slow advance and canted his head to the side. Even now he had that same, aloof look he wore when Havus had said her good-byes; as if he was slightly detached from their world. Set apart from the tedious days and hours that ticked by until their weaker forms gave out. “I do not know you,” he replied in clipped common. His eyes swept over the dwarf and the human, assessing their value and finding them wanting.

“But I know you.” He set the head of his axe on the ground and grasped the end like a walking stick. Or a scepter. “I would never forget the elf who took my mother.”

A moment passed while dwarf observed elf, and elf considered dwarf. Finally, their pale rescuer seemed to come to a decision. “Gather your things and come with me. We will grant you sanction.” With that, he turned and began to lead them into the woods.

Orin looked at his guide. She seemed unhurt and whole, thank the stars. “I feel safer in there with him than out here,” he reasoned, picking up his axe to follow. They had found what they were looking for completely by accident, but he was giving Maerwyn the credit.

The forest seemed even more tangled then before, and as the elf before them wove his way around the webbing, occasionally holding a sheet aside for the travelers to duck under, Orin wondered if he was simply leading them into the heart of their lair. But if he had meant them harm he could have simply left them to the spiders. Just when it seemed it couldn’t get any worse, the webs began to lessen, and then they were back in a forest that looked like any other in the dark. Ominous.

Lorryn’s long strides made keeping up with him difficult. When he sensed they were not as close as they should be, he slowed his pace, glancing down at them as if disgusted with the slower pace they forced. Their path began to climb, and finally crested a rocky hill above the trees. There, the moon shone fully upon them, displaying the forest and mist below. On the next hilltop a warm light glowed from a sturdy stone home, a beacon in the wilds for miles. It seemed that was their destination. He stopped to ensure they had made it that far, before leading them down the other side.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Yeah. I'm sure. I don't want to stay."

As much as Maerwyn might have wanted to hide it, there was no concealing the relief that washed over her like a cleansing wave. There was more time. More time to listen to him sing and scratch along in that silly little book of his. More time to tease him about his naiveté, while letting him in on her favorite secrets of the wider world. More time to explore his body and take him underneath the stars (albeit it would probably be wisest to get out of the forest before she attempted that one). A soft sigh passed over her lips, and she roughly jerked down her scarf to let it escape, then turned back towards the dwarf with a much warmer smile.

Thankfully, the joy was quickly masked in her unfeigned surprise as her gaze fell on the bundle of arrows in Orin's hand. At a glance she could tell they were of elven make, and when she took them from him she could tell they were much lighter than what she was used to. Probably deadlier as well. But if she was surprised at the gift she was even more shocked at who the real give was. "Lorryn wanted me to have these? After I told him to go fuck himself?" the mercenary couldn't help but chuckled as she tucked the missiles into her own quiver. "I'll never understand elves."

She was about to turn away again when she saw Orin reaching into his bag and holding out another gift to her. Weeks ago, if he had offered her such a purse she would have accepted it without question, shrugged and gone on about her business. But now something made her hesitant in taking it.

"A year, hm?" the mercenary muttered, looking from the gold to his face for a moment. "You know it's only a few more weeks to the Gladden River, give or take any more incidents. Another week or two to Moria, if that's where you still intend to go. And assuming you do get your dagger or whatever it is you're looking for, it's not that long of a road back to the Lonely Mountain. I do have to advise you on going around the forest on the return trip though, considering all that's happened."

Maerwyn smiled at him again, then turned her back on him without taking the money. "But if you insist on a year, Master Dwarf, a year you shall have. I'm not so foolish as to walk away from certain wages in search of uncertain ones. For now though, I think I'll let you carry the coin, strong as you are. I sincerely doubt you'd get very far if you tried to run off with it anyway. And if you do have the madness to make such an attempt, I assure you I will find you." There was an edge of humor on the words, but plenty of gentle warmth in her voice.

As they strolled away from the house though, she soon found herself glancing hesitantly again over in Orin's direction. "Do you still intend to go to Moria? " she asked gently, wondering why he would keep Dís waiting for an entire year if he still meant to present her with his gift. The mercenary sincerely doubted he still intended to marry her at this point, but perhaps there were still bonds of honor between the dwarves that Maerwyn couldn't fully understand.

It was all quite stupid really, in her opinion, and if she had her way she would have suggested they set their path for...well, anywhere really. Probably somewhere still relatively north, considering it was still early summer and it would be getting hotter in the south before the temperatures finally started cooling into her preferred ranges. The Misty Mountains would be busy this time of year, but the weather would be with them at least if they wanted to dare the crossing. First thing was first though, they needed to clear the woods.

When they passed by the foot of a likely-looking tree, Maerwyn halted their progress and looked upward a moment, then nodded. "Could you watch these for me?" she asked, slipping off her cloak and weapons before alighting on the lowest branch. "Just want to get our bearings...unless you'd care to take a look yourself?" The woman gave him a playful wink, assuming that like most dwarves Orin was averse to heights, then scampered up the tree until she had disappeared almost entirely from sight.

 

[Traveler]

“Her…father?” he nudged his horse forward after a moment of inability to breath. Despite the fact that a girl’s father was as rare as a girl in the Mountain, the feeling of meeting Maerwyn’s father made his face grow cold. What if the man hated him? Or worse, what if the man loved Orin and Maerwyn held that against the dwarf? From her short explanation of her family history there had been a reason she didn’t stay with her brothers or father, and that one spoke to pain.

Orin could only imagine, and true to form, he imagined the worst.

It startled him to learn that the little fortress he had seen was in fact a home, and one made for a single family. He listened to the familiar accent in the man’s voice and realized it was familiar because Maerwyn had it, when she was tired or very, very drunk. The thought of her drunk made him flush guiltily, remembering their foray not too long ago.

And he was going to meet her father.

The large guard stepped forward. Orin thought the man could snap an elf like a stick, if he wanted to. Then, thankfully, a flash of recognition and friendship crossed his face. The dwarf was content to stay back as the man took Maerwyn in his arms. As they were being greeted, Orin slowly dismounted, careful to not catch his boot tip in the stirrup. His feet squished as they landed on the mud, along with every other part of him. This was like being in the river without the drowning, though if he was to tilt his head backwards Orin did not doubt that he could drown in the rain just as easily.

He happily let one of the younger humans take his horse so he could follow more closely, and soon came through the gardens which he thought must look a lot like the famed gardens of the Shire, past a thatched barn whose inhabitants looked marvelously warm and who he envied tremendously, past white painted bee boxes, and into the place they called ‘home’.

The hearth reminded him of a great forge, and immediately he felt kinship to the large humans. Both their height and their numbers were large, and as he glanced around he saw evidence that Maerwyn’s father had either married a younger woman once his wife had been murdered, or one of the older brothers had married. Either way, the plethora of children milling about and listening to a story told by their patriarch warmed a part of his heart he did not know existed. Dwarven children were few and fiercely guarded. To see so many, all within the same bloodline, seemed magical.

The clatter of the bowl drew everyone’s attention to the lad. Orin almost felt sorry for the child. Then, when the old storyteller stood, the dwarf found himself gazing up, up, up, at an imposing figure who still seemed strong and spry despite his years. ‘That has got to be her da,’ he thought. ‘Nice beard.’

He felt the warm breath of the elf send a shiver down his leg. She explained what he had guessed, then went to introduce herself. The man’s reaction was gruff but not unkind. He remembered the elf well.

“And you..." His golden brown eyes fell on Orin with a curious expression.

Orin expected to hear him declare - Get out of my house! You daughter-defiling bastard-dwarf! - but instead, the man welcomed him.

“Thank you,” was all the dwarf could manage. There were so many people, so many names, that he felt spun around and upside down. All he knew for sure was that Maerwyn was in the midst of people who cared for her, and thus, would help her. When Valgrim explained their father’s training he felt his tension ease. Surely, a wizard-trained man would know how to help her. Wouldn’t he?

The offer of food quickly distracted him. “Anything but fish,” he said. “I like fish, don’t mistake…it’s just I’ve had a lot of it lately.” He sat down to the table, his mind suddenly on things other than wounds and disapproving fathers, when a small voice piped up behind him.

"Are you really a dwarf?" the boy asked suspiciously. "Or are you just short?"

He turned to regard the young lad. Putting a finger to his lips, he slowly stood and turned around, and looked the boy in the eyes. “You’re awfully tall,” Orin said. “I think you’ll grow taller than your Da.” But then he smiled and nodded. “I really am a dwarf, and for a dwarf, I’m considered tall,” he said, extending his hand. “Go on, you can see if I’m real or not.” He remembered the first time he had met a human. They seemed unusually tall and slim to him, like something from another world. And their women were numerous and had smooth faces, even after they had reached their child-bearing years! He first elf he’d seen had seemed even more unreal, and that was from afar.

It was odd, how things that seemed once so foreign were now all around him. “So,” he asked the lad, “am I really the first dwarf to visit your home?” he felt a bit like an ambassador then, and soon he found the curious children asking questions of his home while he happily put away their leftovers and shared stories of the mountain. He stole a few glimpses at Carlin, wondering what she was thinking.

“You’re dirty,” one of the young daughters said. She wrinkled her nose at the dwarf, and asked quite innocently, “do all dwarves smell so horrid?”

He glanced down at his clothing, suddenly aware of the mud and grime and…blood that was still upon his body and clothing. ‘Great Rock a’Cracking!’ he thought, ‘what must Hulgrim think of welcoming such filthy road weary travelers?’ He opened his mouth and shut it again, unsure how to answer. Finally a thought came to him. “Well…no. No, not at all,” he quipped. “As a matter of fact, they kicked me out of the mountain for being so dirty, so beware – when your mother tells you to wash behind your ears, do it.” He nodded solemnly. “Lest you get banned from your home for failing to stay clean, like I did.”

What else could he tell her? That they just fought a dozen orcs, not a day’s ride from her home? He didn’t want to frighten the child, though he knew that they would have to tell Hulgrim the Woodsman and his sons soon.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Maerwyn's eyes widened in bewilderment at the mention of the arrows. "No, I'd completely forgotten about those. Maybe when we get to Rivendell all those wise folk can translate whatever those notches are supposed to signify," she added with a wry smile. "Until then, I'd rather keep to those made by people I understand. Last thing we need at this point is to blow off the side of a mountain and go falling to our deaths." Hunting was likely to be scarce once they reached the higher altitudes anyway. Luckily, the mercenary knew of some alpine plants that would supplement the rations her family had provided, and if worse came to worst they could always set snares overnight to try and catch some of the smaller creatures.

She was a little surprised that Emlin had presented such a valuable gift to a dwarf, but knowing the elf's nature Maerwyn could understand the sentiments behind it. "That's reassuring," she remarked as the bridge came into view, pausing to examine its condition. "I think when we go back though, we ought to avoid the forest altogether. Depending on when we return, and If the weather is with us, we may be able to bypass it to the north. And who knows? We might even be able to find a company headed for the Lonely Mountain that would pay us for the journey."

After judging the bridge to be sturdy enough, Maerwyn led her companion across the river, noting that even now the water level was drawing dangerously close to the wood. How the structure would survive the spring runoff that always swelled the banks of the Anduin she had no idea, but that too would be a problem for the return trip. In the meantime, they had reached the shady wooded foothills of the Misty Mountains, where the dirt track of the road continued westward between the ridges. The mercenary's posture tightened somewhat as her eyes scanned for any sign of enemies, but unless they intended to make war on deer and squirrels they were apparently safe for now. Still, they'd need to keep a watch in the night, and if it could be managed she might even suggest they try sleeping in the trees themselves.

Assuming, of course, she could talk Orin into the idea.

She had to admit, there was something amusing about Orin Indrafangin, of the House of Durin, son of Thimli, son of Thramli, son of whoever else trying to scale a tree. "I suppose I should have been calling you Lord Master Dwarf this whole time then?" Maerwyn teased, glancing over her shoulder at him. "I suspected you must come from money when we first met. You never seemed like most of the other dwarves I've worked for." It was meant as a compliment, but there was something in her tone that might have come off as a little better. "Durin...he was one of your kings, wasn't he? I've heard others mention him, but I'm a little unclear on dwarven lines of succession. Does that mean you're kin to King Thrór?"

Pausing, Maerwyn turned around completely now and squinted at the dwarf. To her eyes he was still the handsome, strong, slightly naive wanderer who reminded her more of a Northman than a prince. But the names he'd spoken, though unfamiliar, seemed to carry a certain weight within them, and it made her uneasy. It reminded her too much of how things had been with Thilion, who had been so high above her that she felt like a fool for even daring to think about him returning her affections. Orin had seemed closer to her, if not her equal than at least someone who needed her. If he truly was of noble blood though, was it really all right to have a relationship like theirs?

The mercenary tried to force the thoughts out of her mind. They were friends, sometimes lovers, potentially partners if they could find a company that would take them both. Anything beyond that was out of the question anyway, so why worry about his position? Still, she didn't like how small it made her feel, and she was quick to turn her back on him again.

"What does Indrafangin mean, anyway?" Maerwyn continued, trying to keep her voice light. "Is it dwarvish for 'kills a lot of enemies with an axe' or just 'perfect cock?" she teased, diverting their track away from the road towards a small deer path through the brush. Her pace was as certain and steady as though she'd walked the scarcely-noticeable path a thousand times. Perhaps that was why she showed so little interest in the subject of the Rivendell library; she'd always been too busy traveling the world to trouble herself with records of it.

She did know a thing or two about precious metals and gems though, particularly those that could fetch high prices to the right buyer. "Even if you knew what to do with mithril, where would you find any?" Maerwyn asked, leading him up a slope that seemed to run parallel to the mountains. "For that matter, how are you even going to read the books? Or scrolls, or whatever they have there. I'm sure everything's written in elvish...wait." The mercenary stopped again, fresh surprise blooming in her eyes. "Don't tell me you can read elvish?"

Well, if he'd spent fifty years shut up in the Lonely Mountain, she supposed it would make sense that he had to fill his time somehow. Still, it was strange to try and view him as a nobleman and a scholar, and Maerwyn was quickly beginning to sense she didn't know a quarter of the dwarf at her side.

"...It's just a little farther," she said quietly, turning around and leading him towards their campsite for the evening. Suddenly she no longer felt like speaking.

 

[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]

He found himself on another balcony, this one seeming to be higher than the last. As his stout, strong hands grasped at the banister he leaned over and saw a returning group on horseback. At its head was a fiery woman on horseback, urging her elven mount to go faster.

It was Maerwyn. They found her!

“Maerwyn!” He shouted. He waved his arms at her, his bearded face in a wide, pale-skinned grin. He felt giddy at her presence.

"You son of a...Orin Indrafangin! Get your ass down here this instant!" shrieked the woman through the hallowed and respected court of Elrond's city.

He looked over the rail. Surely she didn’t mean for him to jump? No…she didn’t mean that, just as she—

"I'm going to wring your neck for frightening me like that. You are the WORST mercenary I have ever worked with! You were just supposed to cut the bastard's hamstring and knock him in, not jump in yourself! When I get my hands on you--!"

Thankfully an elven youth caught Orin’s eye, and waved at him to follow the willow-legged boy. He sprinted after him, not caring how they were getting to the ground, and when he finally made it to her Orin felt out of breath. He had just died, after all. He stood there, goofy grin on his face, and tried to pant her name. Instead he found himself wrapped up in her arms and pulled against the guide.

And then she kissed him.

And then he kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her if only to keep himself upright.

“Maerwyn, they found you!” He finally gasped. His eyes glittered with delight. “And…Arathorn?” He glanced around her and saw the ranger being tended to by his companions. He was alive. Orin’s eyes were again drawn to his guide. He had so much to tell her!

“I died and they brought me back! They said that the cold water helped me,” he wanted to tell her everything. “They said that the troll died too! And they found my axe!” His smile wouldn’t go away. His eyes roamed over her, checking for injuries. “And you? Are you okay? I’m so sorry about the river thing, I really didn’t mean to go into the river too. I just got stuck,” he tried to explain. “And then it was so cold and then the water was everywhere. I really need to learn to swim,” he concluded. “Except my armor is kind of heavy for that kind of stuff.”

Approaching the two was the tall, golden elf who seemed to command so much respect from the others even without asking for it. “Friends, let us get you to a place of rest. A bath, food, some sleep. Then we will talk. You’ve brought our brother home, we owe you our thanks.”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Ah, it was good to have a road before her again, and the dangers of the east safely walled behind the Misty Mountains. Despite the gloom of the day and the obvious warmth and comfort of Rivendell growing ever smaller at their backs, Maerwyn felt almost cheerful as their mounts lightly clopped their way westward, even humming an annoying elf song that just would not free itself from her mind, no matter how hard she tried to forget it.

Of course, there was still the danger of the Trollshaws to the north, but during her conversations with Rangers they made it very clear the ways would be well guarded by men and elves alike. And once they cleared the Last Bridge (though she had always considered it the First Bridge) the way would be familiar to her again, and the prospects of finding work would be even brighter.

"There won't be a 'next town' for several days, Master Dwarf," Maerwyn replied, utterly unperturbed. "The Rangers have some settlements a ways north, but they seldom have use for mercenaries. Quite capable of looking after themselves, that lot. Well, except for one individual, apparently." She shot him a knowing look. Considering how Arathorn had been improving when they left, she thought he could withstand the barb.

"But once we get past the Weather Hills, we'll stop for a night at the Forsaken Inn," she continued. "I've had good luck there in the past. Dwarves seem to like the ale there, and it's bigger than any of the places in Bree. This time of year we should see quite a bit of traffic, unless snows in the mountains have cut the pass off." Pausing, she suddenly twisted Rhawnaur's reins uncomfortably in her hands. "Stars, now that I think on it, I hope that trouble with the orcs wasn't as bad as everyone was saying back in Rivendell. That could put a damper on things."

She tried to shake away the concern. "Ah, but if we do have trouble, I'm sure Bree will have something. Merchants wanting to send goods down the Greenway and the like. Breefolk don't pay as well as dwarves do, but if we end up heading south the weather shouldn't be so troublesome. Could possibly even spend the winter just going back and forth if we have to. I've done it before, though after about the fourth trip I thought I'd've gone mad with boredom."

A flock of birds passing overhead brought another new idea into Maerwyn's mind. A foolish one, granted, though not without its appeals. "Then again, I suppose if you aren't of a mind to eat too often--" Judging by the growl in Orin stomach at that moment, he certainly was of such a mind. She smiled and fished in her saddlebag for a leaf-wrapped bit of elvish bread, tossing it lightly to the dwarf. "As I was saying, if you don't need to eat every day, we might continue down the Old South Road past Tharbad and have a look at the sea. I've never been farther than the ruins myself, but I imagine it must be warm enough. Probably some fish as well, if we can figure out how to catch them. Bit different from fishing in a stream, I'd imagine."

A vision passed before her mind for a moment: the sea, not as people had described it to her, with beaches and marshes blending the water and land together, but how she had imagined it as a child: coming down from some great wall of mountains to see it stretched out before her, endless and eternal. Suddenly her own desire to go to the sea flickered to life, though she did her best to keep her expression as careless and neutral as ever.

"No need to decide right this minute, of course," Maerwyn stated. "When we get to Bree, perhaps..."

Within days they had pass the dangers of the Trollshaws, and by the time they crossed the Last/First Bridge over the Hoarwell, the weather made a marked improvement. It even grew downright hot some days, as though summer was making one rebellious last stand before the oncoming autumn and belching forth the last of its scalding afternoon winds.

On one such day when the Weather Hills were just beginning to rise up before them in the west, the mercenary noticed a familiar streamlet and suddenly smiled. "Oy, Orin," she called to her partner, turning the red horse off of the road and into the brush along the water. "Let's go up this way a bit. I'm in the mood for a detour, and the laddies--" This was her affectionate nickname for the horse and pony. "--could use a bit of a rest."

Without telling him anything more about where they were headed, Maerwyn led the dwarf perhaps a mile or two south of the road, where the streamlet widened into a placid pool surrounded with rushes and willows. The afternoon breezes were cooler here, and there was plenty of shade under the gnarled arms of the trees. Dismounting from Rhawnaur's back, the woman led him to the water and stretched her arms languidly. "I know it's a bit early in the day to make camp, but this was always one of my favorite places. I think we ought to enjoy the weather while we have it, don't you?"

For the next hour or so they tended to the horses and themselves, and just when the day seemed at its hottest the mercenary did a very peculiar thing indeed. Stepping to the water's side, she stripped naked (well, nearly so; she kept on a thin white chemise cut in the elvish style, leaving very little to the imagination indeed) and turned back to face her partner.

"Well my bear, what would you say to a swimming lesson?" Maerwyn asked with a smile on her face, stepping into the water and holding out one hand in supplication to him. "I'd rather teach you in a place like this than try it in the Loudwater again. And we may not get many more chances until springtime, though I'm sure we'll come across some more rivers before then. If not the sea," she added, letting herself fall backward into the water until she disappeared under the mirror-like surface.