Sparrow had brought candles into the library of the Study. There were only a few hours left before dawn when she would join Arthasdir once more in the saddle. As expected their news brought on yet another travel – a return to the lands of the Eglan wardens, this time they would gather enough manforces to be prepared to stand their ground should it come to real fighting. The air was dry the smell of old parchment steeped into the walls. She went along the bookcases her eyes searching for the right title. The woman sat down and opened the first tome hesitating with a blank mind over a random page. Once more alone thoughts had caught up with her:
Before her inner eye she was standing agitated at the gorge of the dark valley at the foot of Amon Sul, the cackling of distant voices from the rear stragglers rang in her ears as did the words of the brute they had slain after a brief questioning. The camp they had found the night before here was uncommonly large. It was a true shock, as was the movement it proceeded to make towards the path leading to the North Downs. Will the wandering folk be enough to withstand? Absentmindedly she touched her cheek and found herself surprised to find it untainted with blood. She could feel an echo of pain as she remembered sprinting into the darkness over the rough terrain, Arthasdir sending a curse into the night before following after her. That moment rampant anger was rushing through her veins undiluted the need to know more blinding out every other thought. What count had orders to stay low? The force was still close enough to be pursued; she had enough of riddles and games; she wanted to face whatever was waiting in the night – that something from which He too may draw all his energy and intent. Was it the same intent standing behind both - the demise of her home and the danger growing ever closer in those abandoned plains? Sparrow simply did not know the answer. She needed to find and look it in the face, like Rogue did with his demon. The stink of the Ruffian at the Forsaken Inn with his grabbing hands, the shapes of every Orc and Half-Orc they encountered, battled and killed on their first scouting of the area, the ever lingering speck of doubt that leads her to look over her shoulder with glances of terror wherever she goes merged to build up unknown resolves of strength from her battered body - a power of the waiting desperate. The feeling of disgust and fervor was still there, a bitter fiery taste on her tongue. If only Arth had not stopped her advance… What had Rothrian said earlier? The forces they saw (others of the group had found out before she returned) came from the south and east as did Roth’ newly arrived Kinsman. Sparrow had not followed his account of tidings from afar fully. This was all very confusing and humbling. What did she know at all about what they were facing, what did she even know about what she herself may be bringing into the affairs they were trying to unmask from the north? No one knew what was really happening in the downs. No one but two living souls, chasing each other in a vow for domination of whom deemed themselves to be fighting for the “right” side. They must never know until she ended him; that was if he didn’t decide to find her first after all. “Careful Sparrow, you seek to stand against something whose full form you cannot yet perceive. You fool will rush into grave danger all over again.” Conscience is not always a welcome advisor. Her heart skipped a few beats while guilt and defiance faced each other inside her rendering reason useless. She knew her skills in battle and survival were improving fast but that would not suffice, she was missing something important still, and this something would need time and patience to be found. But the wait was the more unbearable the longer it went on. This was unexpected and the reverse of what she had hoped for. The slender woman hit the table once but hard causing the wax of the candle atop it to spill on the polished wood. Think think! The books await with the taunt of better understanding.
****
It was too late to seek rest when the dark haired woman had returned to her quarters and gathered her things. She stood at the window staring at her own reflection in the dim flicker of the stumps when she came upon a fallen scroll on the floor. It was an account scribed by Arthasdir of their recent travel that had been used for reference when relaying their experience to the Sellsword who didn’t like to be called so any longer. Sparrow smiled, she would make sure to continue to do so. Arthasdir had drawn crude maps of the terrain, noted every encounter with enemies by exact numbers and kills, trailed their route from Bree over the road beside the marshes, past the Forsaken Inn , into the Weather hills, their stop at Weathertop, noted the account of the valley forces, the number of banners and what they depicted. He had marked the placement of every camp, their injuries and the route back over the Chetwood hills. He would be a reliable partner to travel with once more, which the pale woman felt grateful for. She would make sure to pack some spare meat for the little Mongrel, too.
Sparrow put the scroll on top of her saddle bags and sat on the cot, leaning with her back against the cool stone. When she closed her eyes the outline of the woods appeared, images uncalled for from long bygone. She was part of the hunt that day, they were returning with their prey towards the slopes that would lead to the city gates. She stayed back a little as usual, liked to walk among the trees in the soft evening light. Her best friend called back at her merrily minding her to not linger until dark. Even then they were not foolish enough to believe the world a safe place, yet. Yet! Who could have expected? It was that day that on the verge of returning home she found the tracks of an injured bear and followed them back into the woods. It was that day she came upon a clearing and found a man gravely mauled, the beast that attacked him equally tormented beside him ready to die, with his last conscious breath the man’s eyes pleaded for her help. The law of her Kin was to mind their own only, to not interfere with nature or distant affairs of power. Not for the first time a traveller would find their end in the wilderness of the Annundiran woods. It was how they had survived for hundreds of years. And here she was kneeling over the passed out figure, not minding her own but wondering about the greater lands where the stranger must have come from. She would pay for this with everything she ever loved, and more. It was not that she wished to help him that would doom her. It was that she knew that something about this was not what it seemed to be yet she made a decision against caution, because she wanted that taint of far away to enter her life and make her part of farther things. And so it did, with cruelty and sorrow it parted her from the safety and innocence of her native earth forever. Like another layer of dark the slain Brute Orc’s face hovered over that scene in her mind, his grin and dark words in that evil rough sounding language repeating themselves over and over, amongst the hisses and noises the few words he spat at them in the common Westron tongue.
“He will come for you all worms. The white forces is more powerful than you will ever know!”
“The white Forces.” Who or what were they? Sparrow opened her eyes and exhaled. She doubted the beast spoke about one man only the fleeting thought was ridiculous. Evil never works alone. Soon she would find out what this really was supposed to mean; the books had solidified her lingering ideas – she would find a way to encounter the truth at no spared cost of her own effort. Or even harm. “The stables…”she thought. It must be time now.
