Dreams of Power [ Lord of the Rings x Silmarillion ]

At the Grey Wood

The sun still slept below the horizon when Fëalas woke from her own slumber. As always, she found the quiet peace of pre-dawn comforting. She swung her legs out of bed and pulled on her captain's gear. The brown and tan and olive cloth with the tree of Gondor revealed her allegiance as a southern Ranger, and the intricately decorated bracers she pulled onto her arms held her rank.

She grabbed her yew bow and strapped on the quiver to her back. At her side hung one of her father’s twin elven blades, a final parting gift from Elrohir. Fëalas closed the door behind her from her chambers and quickly made her way to the great stairs.

After Elboron’s visit the night before, they had agreed to meet at first light at the stables on this Sixth Level. And so she hustled down the stairs, nodding a farewell to the two sleepy recruits still tending the raging fire.

As tendrils of light began to spread across the sky from the East, Fëalas reached the Royal Stables. The horses of the rangers had been brought up earlier by the rangers themselves and these men now tended to Elboron’s and her own. Sarnor and Caenir took her packs as she nodded in appreciation of their work.

“Lord Elboron should be here shortly,” Fëalas said as they stood in the courtyard with the horses. The animals kicked their feet against the stoney ground and blew air from their nostrils. All were rearing to go.

A few minutes later, the councilman came walking up. He handed his packs to a waiting Sarnor and turned to Fëalas. “Are we ready to go?”

Fëalas turned to Angrendir in question. He nodded in return and spoke up. “Provisions and weapons are packed, my lord. Once your pack is situated, we will be ready.”

“Good!” Fëalas laughed excitedly. “I will be glad to be on the road again. I have not visited Aglarond in fifteen years. I am eager to see it and Helm’s Deep again.” She turned back to where Sarnor finished with Elboron’s horse. “Finished?”

“Yes, sir.”

With a smile she hoisted herself onto Galroch, her white stallion. “Let us be off!”

The others followed suit. Sarnor and Caenir took up the rear while Angrendir went in front. Between them rode Fëalas and Elboron side by side. They trotted through the streets at a leisurely pace, careful not to trample any of the Runners, children who delivered letters through the city each morning. They worked for the courier, Arthur. He was one of the few peasants who retained their non-Sindarin names despite rising in affluence from his job.

At last they reached the lowest level. Hungover lower class men and women stumbled home in the dawn light from taverns and inns. Field workers streamed out the newly opened gates to work the farms that had cropped up in the fifty years since the Battle of the Pelennor. Few took much notice of the small delegation heading north and west.

“I’d like to get forty miles today at least,” Fëalas told Elboron as they trotted to the Great Road. “We should reach the start of the Drúadan Forest.”

Behind them, Sarnor and Caenir chatted quietly. Sarnor was little over twenty years, having been promoted to the rank of full Ranger just before the trip to the South.  Caenir, at twenty-five, related closer to the young man than many of the older rangers.

“Thank the gods that this road has been fixed up,” Caenir muttered to his companion. “My parents have told me stories of when it fell into shambles.”

“Yes,” Sarnor agreed immediately. “King Elessar’s public works initiative to fix the old roads really has helped trade.”

“Your family are merchants then?” Caenir looked at Sarnor closely. “Nobles?”

The young man laughed ruefully. “Nay, not merchants. They work in the shops. Labor. I joined the rangers to help make money for them.”

“Same,” Caenir agreed. “I knew I had an affinity for archery because I grew up the son of the First Level fletcher.”

“The Notched Arrow?” Sarnor nodded emphatically. “That's your father's shop, then?”

With a smile, Caenir nodded. “That's him.”

The two continued to chat for the next few hours before Angrendir dropped back to trade spots with Caenir. Angrendir was the youngest child of a moderately noble household. He did not flaunt his family’s wealth, instead eager to prove himself on his own.

When the company stopped for lunch, all three rangers prepared food. They stopped along the West Road section of the Great Road that swung by the beginning of the Grey Wood.

“Caenir, Angrendir, head inside the forest and see if you can't find any meat. We won't be able to hunt in the Drúadan Forest tonight or tomorrow.” Fëalas tossed an arrow that had fallen to the ground over to Angrendir. “Don't take too long, though. No more than half an hour.”

Caenir nodded. “Yes sir.” He picked up his bow and headed off into the small forest, followed by his companion.

What they managed to bring back was a total of four rabbits and a pheasant. They attached the dead bird to Caenir’s horse but cooked the four rabbits, splitting the meat between the company alongside breads and cheeses.

They got moving again within the hour and pushed on until they had passed the Grey Wood and come upon the eaves of the Drúadan. To their left rose Amon Dîn, the Warning Beacon of Anórien upon the mountain peak. They camped between the two forests that night. After dinner, when the world fell into slumber and the sky was alight with stars, Fëalas took up watch alone.

“Does this remind you of anything?” Elboron murmured to her, his voice low as he tried to keep from waking their three ranger companions.

She smirked and looked at him sidelong. “You look a lot older this time around.”

He made an exasperated face. “That's what’s different?”

“We're fifteen years older,” Fëalas reminded him. “And missing many companions, some of whom we can never see.” She paused. “Do you think we will see Finduilas?”

Elboron shrugged. “That is a better question for you to answer. You know of our route better than I. She is most likely in Edoras.”

“We should see her then.” Fëalas smiled. “I haven't seen her in nearly a decade.”

Elboron nodded. “She came once while you were away on the border. That was three years ago. Most of the time my sister is busy helping my uncle in Rohan.”

Fëalas fell quiet. That should not have been the woman’s job. She should not have felt responsible for Elfwine. Edeva, his sister, should've still been alive. But alas, that was not the case. Much that was fair in the world had become mingled with grief after the Battle for Arnor.

“Rest, Elboron.” Fëalas turned to her friend. “You need it.”

“I will not argue with you.” He nodded to her but added, “You need sleep as well, so do not forget to wake your rangers.”

She chuckled and assured him she would. As he returned to his spot by the fire, which she stoked quietly, her mind drifted to happier days, when their companions had all lived. Tinneth was gone. Edeva was gone. Estelwen was gone. Barahir was gone. And yet hope remained for the living as long as Aragorn remained king.