Wandering Souls {Aragorn Love Story}

Chapter [Two]

Arlen did well to take her time. She patched holes in her roofing and constructed a new set of one table and two chairs. She even made a wardrobe, though she had no use seeing as she wore most of the clothes she owned. One of the most human traits that had survived her years was her love for procrastination, and so, she did not leave well packed. 

She only prepared for a day or so, packing minimal food and water. She paid for a horse from the village of man farther north and outfitted the black mare with furs instead of a traditional saddle. Another difference would be the lack of reins unless a rope with a homemade bit counted. She trusted the horse with Elven commands and really only used the saddle and rope to ensure she wouldn't fall at gallop. The same evening she bathed in a river, washing out her hair and re-braiding the golden tresses in a Viking-esque style that left waves rolling down her back, but braids keeping the strands from her face. She left a day later than planned, then spent the better part of twelve days riding nonstop towards Bree, but not at breakneck speed. Gandalf had not told her of any foes, aside from the East. 

Arlen was on the road many used when she heard horses screaming. Ponies streamed out of Bree's gates, which she now saw to be open, and five black figures followed. Immediately she rushed to the shadows, where she prayed to any Vala, to God, that they would not care to notice her. She brought dirt to the Mark and smeared more on to ensure it stayed dull and hidden. She cared not for her facial appearance; everyone was dirty these days. 

Arlen decided it may be too risky to enter the town, and instead made a small camp off to the side of the road. She decided to forgo a fire in case the Wraiths lingered. 

***

Morning seemed to have come all too quickly when she felt soft rays of sun on her eyelids. Arlen peeled open her eyes, squinting almost immediately. Soon after she rose and packed her things to quickly head into Bree. 

"Have you see anyone by the name Underhill?" she asked Butterbur. The man's attention was divided between her and the pub's, which was rather good considering his memory. 

"Underhill? Aye. Small folk came 'round yesterday with tha' name. Gandalf instructed me a letter for him too," Butterbur added. His mustache quivered in thought. "They've left now. Went out at dawn."

Arlen silently cursed. The sun was already an hour before noon. She'd have to ride fast to catch them by nightfall. 

Leaving the pub was easy enough, but it took another ten minutes to figure the hobbit Frodo's path. She assumed Gandalf was with him, along with three more hobbits from what Butterbur said, although he wasn't clear. 

She had her mare running swiftly through tall leafs and stalks of wild fields. Her keen eyes picked out the trail of bare feet left behind, and soon she was under the eaves of a forest. There it was harder to pick out the winding trail. They must be deterring followers, she thought, but it slowed her as she got turned around. Thus, by midnight she was still searching when the smallest of fires popped up in the distance. It was outside the forest, meaning she had crossed it. Once leaving the foliage she noticed the steep decline and the moist air, coming to the conclusion that she was now in a swamp. Arlen shuddered. She was not fond of bugs. 

Arlen pleaded her horse to run, though carefully. When she was still four hundred feet away she saw the figures of four small beings and that of a tall man with dark hair. 

***

Frodo heard thumps distantly as he sat near the fire. At first, he dismissed it but then he noticed how Strider had gone stiff--and his hand was now resting on his sword. He turned and saw the horseman approach. His friends quieted, now on edge. 

When the horse stepped into the red light, his eyes widened in surprise. It was not a horseman, but a woman! The mare was saddled with furs, and the woman perched upon them was no less rugged. 

But a strange one. Her hair was curiously braided back, showing off earrings on the right ear. Her clothing was colorful, unlike Strider's somber attire. A dress of green, a tunic of blue edged with red over top, gray sleeves, leather on her forearms, a sleeveless coat of mail over all and a fur cloak that did not even extend down her back but was fastened to the mail. If her stern face and outlandish garb did not intimidate him, it was the shield on the rear of the horse, nearly as tall as himself, and the sword that hung in a sheath. 

She dismounted in one fluid motion drawing the sword even as Strider raised his. Frodo noticed she was only shorter than he by one or two inches, giving her an impressive height. 

Frodo did not even notice that Sam had a frying pan in hand, ready to defend. 

"Who would you be?" Strider questioned. The woman narrowed her eyes but made no move to speak. "I shall have to ask you again, foe!"

This seemed to propel her into speaking. Frodo saw her eyes flash on him for a moment, something that did not escape Strider's gaze. 

"I see you are on edge, friend, but it was Gandalf who sent me. Not the Enemy, nor any lesser evils." Strider seemed less inclined to use his sword but did not lower it. 

"His name is Frodo Baggins, and he carries the One. I know of your path to Rivendell, and the Grey Messenger has sent me! See my ears, for Christ's sake!" Frodo had never heard of this "Christ" before, but as the woman turned her head forcefully and point at her ears, she knew what she had meant. Beside him, Sam, and Merry and Pippin gasped. 

"Y-you're an elf?" Sam said, awestruck. She smiled at him.

"I am. This could be a delightful meet-and-greet, but this one has to put his sword down," she said. Strider did so slowly, but Frodo noticed his mouth twitch. It became a small grin and with one arm hugged the woman as she returned it tightly. The Hobbits stood momentarily stunned. 

"I am regretful I did not recognize you at first. The dirt on your face, the chain mail, even the long hair is different from memory."

"You know of each other?" Frodo asked, not quite understanding why they would point swords at each other if they were friends.

Strider turned to Frodo, still grinning. Frodo had the feeling the woman had a talent for cheering this grim man up. 

"Yes, we do. I have known her since I was a young man." 

Her hand stuck out in his direction. "I am Arlen, at your service." Frodo shook it and found that her hands were long and slender, but rough and dirty. 

"Frodo Baggins. These are my friends, Sam, Merry, and Pippin."

"It is good to meet you all," Arlen replied kindly. 

"Milady, you said Gandalf sent you?" Sam asked. Arlen laughed lightly. "My name is Arlen, Sam, you need not bother with titles.

"As for Gandalf, he did." Arlen stood back and sat down as she had bent over to shake hands. "He came to my cabin about a month and a half ago and instructed me to leave in four weeks. As you can see it has taken me ten days since then to find you all." Frodo saw Arlen give Strider a look, which he shrugged off. 

"We should get some sleep, hobbits. The week ahead will be tiring." Strider spoke. Frodo nodded, rolling out his bed and almost immediately falling asleep, even as he saw Arlen and Strider turn to talk more.