((For Curugirion, my most favorite silver-haired Elf. Feel hugged!))
Rhovanion, Kingdom of Dale,
fifty miles before the city of Lake-Town,
Winter T.A. 3015
The company closed in, mile for mile, towards their destination.
At the peak rode a broad figure on a powerful dapple-gray, head and body were draped in sumptuous furs. Behind followed five other men, who warded themselves in similar manner against the biting cold. Also their bodies seemed, judging by their outlines, to be almost twice as vigorous as an average man.
In a short distance after them soughed two sledges, in one sat two more travelers, the other appeared to transport viands and equipment. The end was made by fifteen riders. Pennants, banners or similar was sought in vain, any coincidental observer received no hints, with whom he was dealing with. One thing was sure however: The travelers belonged not to the poor of the land.
On a short order, the tempo was increased and the sledges took up on speed. High flew the thick snow from below the hooves, the skids swished over the white. The sky began to dye itself into a dark blue, the night came slowly over this land.
Matuk drew the scarf further into his face, then he adjusted his fur hat, until only the brown eyes were to be seen. But the effort was of no aid. The dalish cold seemed to always seek and find a way through the clothes. Even the four layers of blankets and furs, in which he had draped himself brought only limited improvement of the situation. The already a bit older, former provost of a house of Ilúvatar pressed the teeth unto each other and wondered how long the horses would go with this tempo.
They lay far behind their schedule, but everything had gone wrong on this travel what could have gone possibly wrong.
As Matuk had bravely attempted to ride the distance from Running towards Lake-Town on the back of a horse, did he fall on the third day and broke his arm. One week he had been without consciousness.
As he was so far well again that they could continue their way, came the company into the short dalish autumn, with the heavy rain, that had caused all streets to become routes of mud. Bad food let four horses die. Ælbdís, the elvish priestess of the god Manwë from the northern reaches of Middle-Earth, got sick because of the constant wet weather and suffered several weeks under an awful cold. During that time, the monk had not gone from her side.
The only one who defied every misfortune like a rock was Torfrid of Running, member of the Order of Oromë's Swords. The muscle-bound warrior in the heaviest armor that Matuk had ever seen in his life, appeared of unassailable nature. Without his endurance and the unshakable discipline of this men, the travel would have ended long ago.
Thanks to the many interruptions, they would reach Lake-Town late. Far too late, as Matuk found.
The company performed a sudden turn, aiming for a solitary homestead. Through the change of direction, Ælbdís awoke from her light sleep.
»What is it?«, she asked quietly. »Why have we left the main-road?«
Matuk tried to shrug with his shoulders, at which he did not succeed however because of the many furs. »I honestly do not quite know, but I wager, it is getting too dark for the knight.«
The riders and sledges came closer and slowed down on their tempo. Alerted dogs began to bark and warned the residents of the house of the new arrivals.
A worried farmer stepped out of the door, behind him several young men gathered, who held wooden clubs and looked with hostility at the visitors.
Torfrid halted and drew his hood back.
»I greet you, farmer. I am Torfrid of Running, Knight in the Order of Oromë's Swords. We require accommodation for this night. So offer us your house and you shall earn a reward for your kindness.«
Matuk sighed silently. As always did the knight sound imperious and self-evident, when he said something, as if he would not accept a refusal.
»One day he will learn that he is not the king of Dale«, whispered Ælbdís to Matuk, who had guessed his thoughts.
The farmer narrowed his eyes. »And if I now would not have any space, milord?«
Torfrid stood up in his stirrups. The sword on his side was now clearly to be seen. »Then we would make us some, farmer. I have been riding far, my men and beasts are exhausted. I am not in the mood to enter a long argument with you.«
That hint, could be understood in several ways, found the monk.
The young men grabbed their clubs tighter, but the farmer nodded. »We would be anyway inferior, would you intend us ill. Enter therein. Bring the horses into the barn.«
»Thank you. Your effort and your wisdom shall be rewarded at the day of our departure«, promised the knight and swung himself down from his saddle.
Just now did the five followers dismount as well, light, metallic clatter could be heard by their movements. Ælbdís and Matuk stood up with stiff limbs and teetered out of the sledge.
The inner of the homestead began to fill itself with people. A few logs of wood were put unto the fire, the big living and sleeping quarters began to warm up and let the tiredness of the travelers become even greater.
In a mixture of curiosity and mistrust did the farmers' sons observe the strangers, who spread over their home, brought the cold and snow from outside and had granted themselves hospitality.
The furs of the new arrivals fell to the ground and forth came six careful worked armors of metal with expensive engravings. For only one of these armors, one could have bought ten of this homestead, with animals and servants.
»What do you have to eat, farmer? We are hungry. A warm soup shall be enough to return the warmth into the body«, said Torfrid who had gone to Ælbdís and Matuk in front of the hearth and held the hands against the fire, to bring the fingers back unto a normal temperature.
»I will see what I can do, milord«, answered the man. »A soup should be able to be made, despite our own small stocks.«
The door opened and a few squires entered, who, on a wave of the knight, began to help the warriors out of their metal-skin. Buckles and straps were opened, ties were pulled through eyelets and rivets were removed. The procedure took a certain time. The farmer's sons observed every movement and motion with growing fascination.
Finally stood Torfrid, only clothed in a padded hauberk, in front of the flames. Slightly he moved the powerful shoulders, let the shorn head circle and stretched the muscular arms.
Ælbdís had in the meanwhile found a chair and sat now very close by the fire. Her white-blond hair and the leaf-shaped ears caused obvious interest among the farmer's sons, who remained whispering in one of the corners. Matuk leaned with his head on the wall and seemed to sleep while standing.
»Tomorrow we will be in Lake-Town«, he said to the elvish woman and stroked over his long blond beard, that hung like a thin rope of gold from his chin unto his chest. »Then brother Redwine will finally be able to perform his mission.«
»Only to sit for one year in the dungeons of thy castle afterwards«, added the Elf. »Not a very nice outlook for him.«
»He can blame himself for that, I would mean. And I do not even think about to grant the monk but a single day off his penalty.« He looked at her, the flames of the hearth were mirrored in his eyes. »Think of it, you would have died of his drunkenness. Unthinkable. What a waste of beauty.«
»Thank thee.« She tilted slightly her head.
»And so did Oromë order me to protect brother Redwine and if my god demands this test, then I shall not falter on the quest.« He gave Matuk a light kick, that the Ilúvatar-monk looked up startled. »And? When will you speak about your so very important task, which is so meaningful, that Oromë puts one of his best warriors to your side?«
The former provost rubbed his eyes, took a seat by the table and sighed deeply. »I told you already several times and I will do so again: When we are in Lake-Town, you will know.« He looked at the wooden plate that the farmer's wife had brought him. »And act towards me a bit more decent, as it fits a knight.«
Torfrid laughed loudly. »I act like it fits to a member of the Order of Oromë's Swords, when he stands before a sentenced prisoner.« His voice was full of mockery and aversion. »Oromë did not ordered me to like you, but to bring you there, where you want to go, brother Redwine. I will execute that task, nothing more.«
The elvish priestess put another log on the fire. Since they were traveling, these arguments between the two men happened constantly. Secretly she admired the calm and serenity with which Matuk stood against the permanent hostility from the warrior. He seemed to accept it as part of his penalty.
Torfrid made no secret about his aversion, that came from time to time even to the edges of enmity. To the contrary stood his obliging behavior whenever he dealed with her. No loud word, no reprimand and no ambiguous innuendos to her god Manwë.
She just hoped that the patience of Matuk was not spend at some time and that he would rebuke the knight. Would that happen, the monk would have to be brought most likely in pieces to Lake-Town.
Before it could come to the next poisonous exchange of words, brought the daughters of the farmer a steaming hot cauldron into the room and handed out the content in the readied plates. After the men had wordless taken in the soup, the cauldron was taken into the barn, where the squires should get their part of the dinner.
»Ilúvatar, the wise and the just, shall thank you for your generosity and reward you for your kindness«, thanked Matuk. »May the blessings of Ilúvatar be with you.«
The elderly woman smiled shyly.
»Manwë, god of the winds and knowledge is with you and thy home. May he grant thee a rich harvest«, said Ælbdís friendly, laid her right hand on her heart and offered the left.
A bit confused looked the farmer's wife now to the Elf, took the hand however and shook it carefully, without leaving the stranger out of her eyes. Obviously she was a bit afraid of the priestess.
»Oromë, god of war and of battle, of the hunt, of honor and of decency has chosen your house to bless you with the mere presence of his servants. Feel honored.« Torfrid nodded graciously, while he stroked over his beard and stretched his legs out below the table.
The farmer's wife bowed and disappeared into the kitchen.
»Exactly that is the difference between our gods«, said the monk suddenly into the direction of the knight. »You think, to stand above everything and to be able to order about anyone, just because you know Oromë on your side. That makes you arrogant and not gladly seen among the simple folk.«
»Did you drink again, brother Redwine?«, said the warrior scoffing. »My tenant farmers are very pleased with the manner how I act with them.«
»Them maybe. But what about the people here?« Matuk looked around in the living quarters. »We have invited ourselves, because we forced us upon them, not because we were asked to enter. You even threatened the family. What would you have done if they would have denied us their hospitality?«
Ælbdís rested the head on her hands and awaited the answer of the knight.
Torfrid grasped around the hilt of his sword. »But they would not have denied it to us.«
»That was not the question, Torfrid of Running«, cut the priestess into the conversation. »What would have happened, had the farmer possessed the bravery and had denied us?«
»I am a knight of the Order and bound to higher purposes.« The face of the man became darker. »Would I have left you die out in the cold, my god would have been disappointed in me, who gave me the task in person. And that would never come into question.« The end of the sword sheath hit the ground once. »We would have come into the house this night, in the one or the other manner. More I will not say to that. In the way as it had come, it worked out well for everyone.«
»You are presumptuous«, spew Matuk out. »You really would have done ill to them.«
Torfrid smiled evil. »And you are the reason, for why we are here. Would I have to kill someone, you would have to be blamed as well, do not forget that, monk. Your god and the mine, seem, out of whatever reason, to have spoken with one another. I hope, I will learn one day of it.« He stood up, turned his back to both of them and stepped in front of the fire.
»I am sorry«, said Ælbdís quietly.
Matuk turned surprised his face to her. »For what are you sorry?«
»How he treads thee. He is so demeaning.« She broke a piece off the bread and munched slowly on it. Softly rested her blind eyes on the monk.
»I am his prisoner and have made myself guilty of a terrible felony«, he said after a while. »I understand him somehow and myself I do not understand how that could have happened to me. I think I deserve his treatment.«
»Thou deservest not to be treated that well. But a bit friendlier tone would raise the mood on this travel immensely. It has gone anyway so much wrong already that I began to think about it. Either, Ilúvatar, Manwë or Oromë do not see any reason to help us out or something incredibly powerful tries constantly to place stones in our path.«
The eyes of the monk became narrowed. »What could be more powerful than Ilúvatar? Or three gods together?« He stroked with his hands over his face. »Something like that does not exist.«
»I do not know«, the priestess answered carefully. »After what I heard from thee, is the threat that closes in on Dale and Rhovanion already on its way, is it not? If these were now harbingers? If, whatever it is, that tries to hinder us, is merely gathering its powers?« She grasped the hands of the surprised Matuk. »We must hurry. And we must not let us be hindered any further.«
»You really think, that all our problems, the sickness, the fall off the horse, the overly mudded ways, that all was conjured up by some evil power?« He still did not sound quite convinced. Her touch confused him to that. Like cool velvet was her skin, the silver of her eyes found its way deep into his consciousness, as to that day in the dungeons. His heart took up on pace.
»I do not know.« She let go. »If it is so, then we must prevent that it becomes stronger.«
»I must lie down. I am tired«, stammered the monk and walked over to the door. »Good night.«
Ælbdís raised her hand in farewell, Torfrid stared further into the flames.
The two were now alone in the big room. A strange silence began to spread. Quietly cracked the wood in the fire, from the barn sounded the voices of the murmuring men and the animals.
The Elf observed the knight with the senses that were left to her. »I wished thou wouldst be a bit nicer to Matuk.«
»And I wished, my god would not have given me this mission«, replied Torfrid, without turning around to her. »I go with quivering banners into battle, fall with fury into combat, but to play the guardian for the one who is supposed to sit in jail, is unpleasant to me. The monk even insisted that we travel without any standards through the land. Like poor beggars. Would I meet one of my Order-brothers, they would laugh at me.«
»Maybe that is the reason, for why Oromë thought of this test for thee?«, she said friendly. »A task that not every member of the Order is able to perform.«
Now the knight did turn around to her. »Very clever of you, Ælbdís. And now tell me what you know of this secret of brother Redwine. I am sure he told you.« He crossed his arms before the broad chest. As he tried to focus her, she evaded his seeking look.
»He did not tell me anything concrete«, she answered slightly hesitatingly. »I think he looks for someone in Lake-Town.«
Triumph was to be read off the face of the warrior. »I knew it!« His hands traveled to his belt and grasped the silver buckle. Like a mountain he stood in front of the delicate Elf and looked down on her. Then he smiled. »So he is looking for someone. To do what?«
She shrugged slowly with her shoulders. »That he did not want to say. He is restraining himself on that matter.«
Torfrid made a step forward and crouched to come unto the same eye-height with Ælbdís. »Are you telling the truth, priestess from a fabled land? I cannot quite shrug off the feeling that you have a secret from me.«
She succeeded in conjuring a wondering expression on her face. »I would never dare to do that. I am far too afraid of thy ... great kindness, should my fraud be discovered.«
»Me punishing you? How could you think of that?« He stroked gently over her cheek. »I could never do that. You have grown far too dear to me for that. I wished I could protect you in his stead.« He stood up and sat down at the table and drew his elvish sword.
The blade shimmered in the light of the fire, the jewels glimmered otherworldly. Carefully Torfrid brought the flat side to the mouth, kissed the steel and spoke a quiet prayer. Reflective he sheathed the weapon again.
Ælbdís had not ceased to focus all her senses on the man. She studied the religious behavior exactly in order to gain an impression of the habits of followers of other believes.
Since their departure, repeated the knight this ritual before he went to bed. The words were always the same, also the tone with which he spoke them was never altered. Theoretically, she could have prayed with him, so well did she knew the rotation already.
Matuk however, as follower of Ilúvatar, spoke over the day from time to time to his god, thanked him for this and that, gave the people his blessing or promised the aid of his divine patron.
The Elf remained to give the well wishes of Manwë what was often enough already to cause confusion among the simple folk of Dale.
Most of the people held the Elves and especially the land north of the Erebor still for a fairy-tale from the stories of merchants and braggarts. That now however a mystical being stood in front of them and spread to that the blessings of an unknown entity, was to the most more than just creepy. She did not quite know if assaults did not occur because she was a woman or because she was in the companionship of an armed group of men.
»I guess you are at home in thoughts?«, said Torfrid behind her. »I could understand that. They say, the lands of the Elves are mild and warm lands. Yours is said to be cold, but very beautiful.«
»Who says that?« The priestess turned around, smiled and showed her tipped teeth. »I cannot remember to have met many visitors there.«
»Your land was also in the past not the friendliest, if you remember.« The knight had taken a seat behind her and poured steaming tea into two mugs. »The warriors had closed the borders entirely, strangers were either driven off or even killed, if it is true what they say in Dale.«
She took the mug and sipped from it. »Yes. That was a very bad time for my people's land. The warriors still lead us, but they have become calmer now. The land may be entered again by visitors. We even took up trade with a few villages in the north.«
»And still your people remains shrouded by secrets to the men of Middle-Earth. You know what stories they tell about the Cloud-Children in the southern lands of Dale?« He leaned forward. »Which is why I wonder about your solitude.«
Her eyebrows rose up. »Matuk had suggested something like that once, but really know I do not.«
»Oh, then hold unto something. The people of the southern reaches of this kingdom stand usually mistrusting, if not even hostile towards your kind. Did you not realize that on your way?«
»I did. But I thought, it would be because of my different religion.« She stroked through her white-golden hair and blew over the hot tea.
»No, you are wrong there. Their legend about your kind says, that they are ancient offspring between the vampires of Angband and Elves. Their great knowledge they would have seized from the people they destroyed. That is which is why your brethren stick to themselves.«
»How horrendous!« Ælbdís shivered. »That explains the reaction of the farmer's wife. Manwë has protected me more often than I thought.«
»It seems so, yes. But I am not interested in fairy-tales. You understand, that I hold great curiosity for the war-fare. I have heard already about your warriors and their strange weapons.« He took a sip, the other hand he laid on the table. »How does your kin fight? I would like to measure myself one day with one of your warriors.«
She laughed friendly. »I can imagine that very well, Torfrid of Running. You would experience a great duel. But usually I avoided the near of the warriors. They are a strange group, full of lordliness and arrogance towards others.«
»Like me, you want to say, don't you?« Torfrid grinned. »You will have little luck, if you hoped for a discussion. I am not Matuk.«
»I know«, she sighed. »I know it all too well.«
»He also could not protect you as well as I could do.« He laid his hand on hers. »I think you are the only reason why I would go into death, except for Oromë.«
Ælbdís drew her hand carefully back. »I hope for all of us, that Oromë did not hear that.«
»Maybe he was just talking with Manwë and did not hear anything of our conversation. If the gods understand one another that well already, should not their followers come closer to one another as well?«, said the knight and grasped again after her hand. »We should use the opportunity.«
»Thou meanest, thou wouldst use the opportunity«, she corrected him. »Matuk was right: Thou art presumptuous.« Her silver eyes were glowing scandalized. She got up and left the room.
»Take a mantle. It is cold outside«, called Torfrid after her. He placed a hand on his sword-hilt and rose up. »I will tame her«, he promised to himself quietly. »Sooner or later, she will be mine.«
In the next early morning, the company was leaving after a short breakfast. The knight gave the farmer a small pouch with fifty coins as payment for the forced hospitality.
Of course did Matuk and Ælbdís gave the blessings of their entities, while Torfrid emphasized the great kindness of Oromë for those who let one of the god's warriors stay over night at his house. Then they went with great speed in direction for the capital city of Dale.
The sky was ice-blue, the cold let the breath almost freeze. Without the clouds on the sky did the temperatures sink even deeper than the days before. Involuntarily were the priestess and the monk moving closer to one another in the sledge to get as much of each other's warmth as possible.
For Matuk was the unfamiliar near obviously uncomfortable.
»I do that only, so we do not freeze to death«, he said after a while. »Not that you understand me wrong.«
»Have I complained about it?«, she asked softly. »I am thankful for every bit of warmth.« The elvish woman moved again a bit closer. »Do not understand me wrong, I do that only, so that we do not freeze to death.«
Her white-golden hair, that was wafting out from beneath her hood through the wind of the fast travel they were making, tickled Matuk's nose. With a great amount of willpower he managed to lay his right arm about her.
In thought he asked himself if the priestess was part of his test, that Ilúvatar had given to him. Judging from the mere appearance, she could have been his daughter, but from the stories that Ælbdís had told him, he knew that she was older than mankind. Still he felt himself drawn to her in a strange way. He blamed his thankfulness for it, that she had gotten him out of the dungeons of the knight, by asking her god for aid. Should it however be more than just gratitude, he did not know how to handle it.
Matuk felt how his head became red. He was thankful for Ælbdís' blindness, but still drew quickly the scarf into his face and the fur-hat deeper. His quandary was nobody's business and he feared the biting mockery of the knight.
The vehicle lost on speed. Before them appeared a broad river, that was frozen only to the half. Glittering was the water rushing on a width of ten horse-lengths in the middle, right and left of it grew the ice. In a few weeks the river would be passable for even the heaviest sledge, but now it posed a obstacle.
On both shores were landing stages, a rope as thick as a man's arm was leading over the water from one side to the other. On this rope swam usually a raft that however lay now, imprisoned in the ice on the other side of the river. The knight dismounted and walked over to the sledge.
»It makes no sense to seek for another transition, we do not know the area well enough«, he explained. »I will have a few squires cross the water over the rope and free the raft. After that we break a gap and set over to the other shore. A time-wasting manner, but there is no other way.«
Matuk tried, as inconspicuous as possible to remove his arm from the shoulder of the priestess, but he did not succeed. Ælbdís had caught his limb between her back and back wall of the sledge.
»Am I interrupting something?«, asked Torfrid, who very well realized the efforts. »Brother Redwine seems to have on his old days, life in his crotch again, doesn't he?« He gave the monk a slight knock on the head. »Look out that by so much woman in your arms, your heart does not stop of excitement. I could not do anything against that and Oromë would be very unhappy with me.« He turned around and gave orders. Several squires began to make their way over the water.
Evil did Matuk look at the priestess. She however granted him an innocent look of her fascinating eyes.
»You did that on purpose«, he said and freed his arm finally.
»What did I do on purpose?« she wanted to know, her voice sounded sugar-sweet.
»To box in my arm like that, was not very nice of you. Did you realize how Torfrid reacted on that?« The monk moved demonstrative a bit to the side.
»Yes, I did. And I must say, I found it quite instructive.« She moved after him. »I am getting cold, Matuk«
He evaded her again a little. »Why did you do that? Do you want that he beats me to death?«
»He would never do that. Thou standst under the protection of three gods. I only wanted to show him that he does not get everything he wants.« She followed him.
Once more he tried to bring distance between himself and her, but the short journey ended on the wall of the sledge. »You make him jealous on my costs?«
»Where dost thou want to go, Matuk? Dost thou want to fall out of the sledge?« Ælbdís adjusted the furs and blankets and turned her face to the front, where Torfrid was observing with a laconic expression the work of his squires. She was certain that he spied on them from the corner of his eye.
»I do not want to make him jealous, but I want to teach him a lesson«, she added quietly. »He thinks he can allow himself more than he is entitled for.«
Matuk understood. »He bothered you? When?«
»No, no. Calm thyself. Well, let us say, he tried to effect me«, she understated, to prevent that the monk would heroically try to confront the warrior. »And now, I make clear to him, that I do not want anything from him.« She noticed the questioning gaze of the monk on her. »Oh, do not worry. From thee I do not want anything either, good brother Matuk.« She left the sledge to move around a bit.
The man sighed. »I thought that you do not want to know anything from an old man«, he mumbled. Then he climbed out of the vehicle and followed her.
The squires had reached in the meanwhile the other side of the shore and had begun to hit unto the ice with axes. Inch for inch, the frozen water gave the raft free.
»They work quickly«, said Torfrid satisfied. »Within the next hour we will be on the other side of the river.« He turned to face Matuk. »Has the time not come by now to tell us what awaits us in Lake-Town? What are you going to do?«
The Ilúvatar monk pressed his lips together. »I cannot. It is better, if only I know of the task my god has given to me. Please, do not ask any further.«
»Is my and your task done with our arrival at Lake-Town? What do you expect of me to do? And what will you do, brother Redwine? Pray? Sing? Commit a murder?«
Matuk winced instinctively , but caught himself again after a look towards Ælbdís, who followed the conversation quietly. He hoped that the knight did not notice his startle.
»Bring me safely to Lake-Town, that is everything. If you like, you can return then to your castle. I will follow you as soon as I have done my errand.«
»You certainly would like that!« The knight spit into the snow. »I will not leave you out of my sight. On what do I see that your task is done?«
The monk thought for a moment. »When I say to you, Oromë be praised for your aid, you will know that you are released from your task. No matter what happens afterwards.«
»I do not like the sound of that«, said Torfrid with mistrust. »What is that supposed to mean, No matter what happens afterwards? Talk, monk!«
»Milord! Riders are coming«, called one of the squires from the other side.
