Morwen Halloth's emerald green eyes fluttered open in the pitch black of the lodgings she'd procured in Othrikar. The first thing she was aware of was how her bare feet and lower legs were freezing cold from sticking out the bottom of the too-short dwarven bed. A flash of aggravation was quickly replaced by thoughts of gratitude. The locals had granted her a place to stay and a good hearty meal prepared from the bull elk she'd shot in exchange. One hand washes the other, she'd always been taught. They had also promised to awake her when the Dunedan had arisen. And the rapid rapping at the door was the arranged signal.
The elf sat up and yawned, stretching her sinewy frame as she quickly rose to her feet and drew the rough wool blanket tightly around her bare form. Taking up a knife in her left hand and holding it behind her back, she opened the door a crack. Seeing no one at first, she blinked and remembered to look down. The round, cheerful face of Hannar the dwarf looked up reproachfully. "I've knocked thrice now, miss!" he scolded. "You elves sure can't handle your ale!"
Morwen smiled and relaxed her grip on the knife, subtly setting it on the table. "Come in, Hannar," she bade. The blonde bearded dwarf wandered in, blushing at the realization she wasn't properly dressed.
"Pardon me, dear lady!" he stammered. Perhaps I should come back in a ..."
"There's no time for that. The edain is up and around?" Morwen prompted. She ignored his discomfiture.
"Oh, aye. And his woman. Peculiar pair they make!" Hannar laughed, recovering his poise quickly enough.
"Turn around, would you?" Morwen asked. Hannar blinked and inwardly cursed himself as a slow-wit before quickly facing the heavy door. The elf lass could be heard drawing on her clothing. Hannar continued good naturedly, "That woman must have been raised by wolves," he laughed. "By my beard! She eats like one. And sitting with that Man...the two of them! You should have seen it!"
"Have they left the castle yet?" Morwen asked, lacing up her tall boots.
"No, no. Though slow as you are, they may get away before you get your britches on, girl. A dwarf sleeps ready for battle!"
"Well that explains the smell," Morwen laughed merrily as Hannar spun round with a frown. "Aiya! I jest! I jest! Your warriors smell of honeysuckle and cardomon, I swear it!"
It was Hannar's turn to laugh. "Maybe not so good. Let's settle for stale ale and hardtack." Morwen nodded, pulling her rucksack onto her back and taking up her crossbow. "You never did tell me where you got that, girlie..."
Morwen paused and considered the dwarf. There was no time for tales, tall or otherwise. "My father gave it to me. A dwarf of the house of Lord Ironfoot gave it to him. They fought back to back at the foot of Erebor. Father says the two of them were held to have drowned in dead goblins until their heads popped up from the pile."
Hannar grinned, fingers twirling his braided mustaches. "You tell it like a dwarf! Well done, lass! Well done! But you'd better hustle yer bustle or your weird friends'll have got away. I wouldn't want to try tracking that man. He's one who knows his business and no mistake!"
Morwen knelt and embraced her host warmly "A thousand pardons for not staying for some of your aunties morning pastries. I know she'll be disappointed."
At that, Hannar's face took on the glow of one well pleased with himself. He opened the door and took up a small plate that he'd set on a little table in the hall. The promised apple tart. She stuffed it into her mouth all at once and made a moan of delirious pleasure, rolling her eyes dramatically around. "So good!! Pass on my thanks, friend."
He chuckled warmly and nodded as she followed him out of the house. "If you had time, we could maybe put some meat on you, girl! You skinny leg tall-folk lasses...It's a cryin' shame..."
The elf crept into the night and waved a last farewell to her host. She'd been chosen, seemingly at random for this task. Being dutiful and steadfast as she was, she'd not given it a moment's thought until she had met the Dunedan. Then it was, later as she lay in her rented bed that her mind drifted round to actually consider the matter. She was young and her lineage had friends amongst both Men and Dwarves. Which was unusual for her people, even those who had served in the War. She also made friends quickly. Far more quickly than her elders, who were afflicted by the famous aloof cynicism of the elves. As she slipped over the wall into the predawn chill outside the Dwarf-castle, she remembered the words of Elrond's steward, "Often it is that the courageous fool prevails where the wise and mighty falter, beset by doubt." At the time, she'd regarded it as a vague insult. Suddenly she wasn't so sure. As her feet hit the ground, light as a cat's, she looked up. The seven stars lay low on the horizon. That this was known to the Naugrimar as the crown of Durin was not lost on her. An auspicious sign to be sure. She kissed her fingers under the Sickle as her ancestors had done since the Awakening.
