Daughter of Arnor - Servant of Fate

Chapter One: A Precious Gift

"I am no child Grandmother."- Anberenien

30th July/ Cerveth T.A 3004 The Village of Duincar

Duincar was the last Dúnedain settlement on the Trollshaws and a day's ride from Rivendell. Hidden from the Great East road by woodland, elders who had grown too old for a life in the wilds defended its gates. A high wooden fence with a deep ditch, used as a midden to deter any intruders, surrounded it. And by the river were strips of land for the villagers to grow food for themselves and for trade. Within its defences, Dunicar was no different to other small settlements. With modest, single-storey thatched dwellings. There were Outbuildings and paddocks to house the livestock. A blacksmith's forge and a large coop for the Cock and his harem of laying hens.

A Great Hall stood proudly in the centre of the Village. It was a two-storey timber-framed building of wattle and daub with a high-pitched thatched roof. On each end of the building were crossbeams carved with flora and fauna. On the roof itself were thatched images of eagles taking flight and a small hole in the centre where wisps of smoke came through. Within the roof, small windows peeked out through the thatch, allowing light to enter the upper rooms.

Lower windows were woven into the walls of the hall with wooden shutters to block out the light or the worst of the weather when required. These were wide open so that the inhabitants of the hall could enjoy the warm light breezes of the season. The hall had one entranceway that was with the word 'Welcome', carved in both Westron and Elvish. The inhabitants of Duincar felt safe and untroubled by the outside world. Now they prepared to celebrate the seventh birthday of their lord's only child, his daughter, Anberenien. As the sun lowered gently lowered in the sky, she and the other children played, their daily chores completed.

Anberenien was a slight child, with pale skin and long dark hair braided in loose pigtails. Not only did her kyrtle of fine brown wool, and the fact she was wearing boots, set her apart from her playmates. Her eyes shone brightly against the sea of grey and brown eyes of the other children. Anberenien was playing catch with a tall thin boy with messy brown hair. When she threw the ball a little too far and her friend missed the catch. The ball hit the shoulder of another boy. He was stocky, with thick black curly hair.

He turned angrily in the direction the ball had come from, fixing his gaze on Anberenien's companion. "Did you throw that, serf boy?"

The other boy opened his mouth to reply, but Anberenien interrupted him. "No, I did."

"My Lady didn't mean to, Borion, it was an accident," replied the boy.

Borion picked up the ball and examined it. It was tightly sewn together with offcuts of leather and fitted neatly in the palm of the hand. He tossed the ball, catching it with the other hand as he smirked back at her. "Well Elf eyes. You should have been more careful. It's mine now!" There was a gasp from some of the girls, but the boys surrounding Borion sniggered.

"It is not mine. It is Rodon's and you should address me as my Lady," replied Anberenien.

The other boys sniggered even louder as Borion stepped towards her. "You should address me as my lady."

Anberenien marched up to Borion. Her eyes lit up like flames and made a grab for the ball. "I order you to return it to Rodon.... now!" But Borion held it further out of her reach.

He looked down at the furious little girl and burst out laughing. "And who is going to make me, Elf eyes, your lord, father? Oh no, he's far away in Breeland watching Halflings."

Anberenien's nostrils flared, and she seemed to grow taller. "You dare call me that again, Borion!"

"My lady, it is not worth it. Let him keep the ball. I can make another," called Rodon. He came forth and stood in front of Anberenien, shaking, with his fists clenched. "Leave her alone. You'll only come off worse!"