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This story continues from Part I: From Belfalas to Evendim.
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Till wasn’t quite sure what to make of Fingeleth, nor why the Rangers had wanted her to meet her. They were not particularly close in age (Till guessed she was at least four years older - but additionally, she rapidly developed an impression that each passing year in the hard hills of Eriador took a heavier toll than on the sea-strands of Gondor); and apart from the most superficial of physical resemblances (dark-haired and slim, they might be mistaken for one another - from twenty paces on a foggy day), Till assessed quickly that they had next to nothing in common. Where Fingeleth was erratic, Till was cautious; where Fingeleth was excitable or passionate, Till was merely interested; where Fingeleth was imagining forgotten empires, Till mostly saw just the old stones she had known all her life - that she walked among every day and thought nothing of. The ancient kingdoms that seemed so alive to Fingeleth were little more than children’s stories to Till.
Nevertheless, after her initial bafflement at Fingeleth’s choice to needlessly travel so far from home, at great expense and significant risk to herself, she soon developed a slightly grudging respect for the young stranger. Till found herself very interested in news of the outside world, and for reliable facts about the lands through which Fingeleth had recently come - unembellished accounts were not easy to come by in those parts. Till did not know anyone who had ever been anywhere near Gondor; and she had never seen a city, or the Sea. Fingeleth was more than happy to fill her in, delighted by Till’s quiet, attentive listening.
At length they began to speak of books and of lore, and at last they had something in common. Till could not help but envy the Gondorian: as far as she could tell, Fingeleth had more or less grown up in a library - another thing Till had only ever heard of: Fingeleth told her of the Library of Saphadzir in Dol Amroth, larger than the keep of Tinnudir, with room after room filled with hundreds of scrolls and codices on every topic. Till said nothing: she thought of her and her mother’s treasured collection of maybe two-dozen tomes - itself possibly the largest in Ost Forod - which in the recent past had had to be hidden away from the brigands who, in Till’s own lifetime, at times had lorded it over Tyrn Fornech. The young Gondorian did not seem to realise how lucky she was.
Indeed Fingeleth had brought with her what seemed to Till a small library in itself: Till was astonished that she had managed to travel so far with a pack filled mostly with books and parchment (so few actual supplies! How did she survive?); either way, Till was fascinated by the information Fingeleth had gathered so far, poring over her maps of unfamiliar lands with great interest.
Of most of them she had heard tell only from the Rangers, or the occasional long-distance trader. Till’s mental geography did extend some way beyond the Northspine (or Tyrn Fornech, as it was known to the Rangers): most of her kin rarely if ever thought beyond the general Evendim region - which, in fairness to them, was itself already an expansive and varied land: there were numerous hidden valleys and prey trails to be learned.
But of the North Downs Till also knew, and of the Shire and the Blue Mountains; and of Bree, many leagues to the southeast. It was the vast expanses of Middle-earth beyond that of which she had barely conceived until now - prompted by Fingeleth’s chatter, and particularly her maps: of the vast and sparse Lone-lands stretching away for leagues upon leagues, populated mainly with the empty ruins of the successor kingdoms of Westernesse; or of Wilderland, behind the far-distant Misty Mountains in the East, and the Men of Rohan who hailed from thence; or of Gondor and of Mordor, lands which were little more than fable to the folk of the Evendim Hills. Thanks to Fingeleth, now for the first time they began to take shape for Till - and she found herself wondering.
Fingeleth was a keen, although not particularly good, swordswoman; at some point she must have had a decent span of lessons from someone who knew what they were doing. She was no match for the Rangers of her own age, but Till’s own strength was much more in her javelin throw than in her bladework. She was glad she did not underestimate her opponent, for Fingeleth gave her a decent fight. Till was relieved that in this at least she could overmatch the younger woman - allowing her to return the favour of Fingeleth’s news of distant lands with a few combat tips of her own.
In this way, the two very different characters - both outsiders among the Dunedain at Tinnudir - began to warm to one another. Till found herself staying longer than she had expected - she had only come to trade in medicines; but after two nights she began to pick up the hints that both of them might be outstaying their welcome. Fingeleth had been with them for over a week, and the Rangers were trying to focus on an ongoing skirmish in Annuminas, and the safe transportation of what fighters and supplies could be found across the lake. In these matters Till and others from Ost Forod had at times been known to assist; but on the whole this was Dunadan business. The folk of Ost Forod staked no claim to those ruins and - unless they were tomb robbers - saw little value in risking their lives for them, particularly while other dangers constantly threatened them from much closer at hand. In any case, Till could tell when it was time to leave and, as much as a favour to Rangers as for any other reason, offered to take Fingeleth with her to Ost Forod. It was no Annuminas, but it was still - Till was reasonably confident - a ruin of the Old Kingdoms, in which her new friend seemed so interested; and unlike Annuminas, it was not an active warzone, with only a low chance of Fingeleth getting herself killed through sheer naivety.
Eventually, Fingeleth accepted - although she turned her back on Annuminas only with visible reluctance. The Rangers seemed relieved on her behalf.
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It was about twenty miles as the crow flies from Tinnudir to Ost Forod, or a little longer by road. Till often preferred to cut across country: although the Rangers and the Men of Ost Forod had both gone to considerable trouble in recent years to clear that part of the Greensward of armed outlaws, the road was still a more obvious target for brigands to lie in wait for unwary travellers. On this occasion however, she had come by horse - a borrowed one from Ost Forod: almost no one there had their own - and although she knew little of horses, she was fairly confident that she should stick to the surer path. Fingeleth was perfectly happy to hire a horse off the Rangers to join her. It was a little unfair of her, in fact, but Till found it hard to imagine Fingeleth walking long distances anywhere.
Fingeleth liked to sing as she rode. It was, in fairness, a beautiful morning when they set out, and although Till knew few of her songs - a good half seemed to be in a soft, unfamiliar tongue which Till took to be Gondorian, or maybe Elvish (were they the same? She felt too foolish to ask) - Till did not find herself too annoyed: Fingeleth had a very fair voice, and even managed to wheedle one or two local folk songs out of Till in turn. The crossroads of Canadiach marked the approximate halfway point of their journey - and Fingeleth was predictably delighted by the ancient statues of the kings which stood there, begging for a halt to make a sketch for her fancy library back in Gondor.
It was as good a place as any for a short rest. Till sat with the horses as they grazed by the roadside, watching the sun climb to its peak. A merchant passed them by, coming back the other way: he had come down from Ost Forod, in the hills to the north, and was bound due south for the jetty at High King’s Crossing. Till knew him by sight, though not by name, and they exchanged a greeting. She would not have minded a nap on the grass, had they had the time; but with the hill yet to climb, they could not linger too long if they wished to make it by nightfall. When Fingeleth was done, they set off again.
They still had many miles to go, and the second half of the route was harder: it was uphill almost all the way, in several places quite steep for some distance. Fingeleth’s singing fell silent after a while. Till’s hardy steed, born and raised in these hills, did not fare too badly; Fingeleth’s borrowed mare, more used to the flat island of Tinnudir and the gentle plain of the Greensward, had a harder time of it, and began to flag - but the sun was westering fast, and they had little choice but to push on.
At last, as twilight was beginning to deepen, they came to the old south gate of Ost Forod, guarded by men Till knew, and passed inside; and unexpectedly, and as if in a dream, Fingeleth to her delight found herself suddenly surrounded by the faded splendour of forgotten Arnor.
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The story continues in Part III: The Old Outpost in the North.
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