Author note: This chapter ties a lot of threads together and has been a fun, quick one to write. I'm pleased people like/like to be annoyed by Hrafn! I admit I've got a soft spot for him.

For all of you wondering about THE NAME... this chapter... you're welcome ;)

Thank you everyone who left a review, especially those of you who have followed this for so long, I think some of your questions are answered in this chapter. Junia Grey (hi) - I find it so cool that some people race through it when they first find it, it's very humbling that you enjoyed it that much. I'm also touched you stuck with the story even after the Keren/Faramir ship had sailed. But I will say to all Faramir fans his part is most definitely not yet over.

Thank you to my patrons :) In this time of financial uncertainty for my 'real-life' career, I'm blown away by your generosity to donate towards my hobby!

Every two weeks for anyone interested I pop up little inspo and behind-the-scenes things about this story on my 'site that must not be named but involves patrons'. Artwork, music, real-life stuff that have inspired characters and story, that kind of thing :) I'm a massive nerd about my own story lol. I'm also super excited to share some original ideas in a couple of weeks - if you guys like them a new non-fanfic story will be born!

Also (on this site, not P*treon, as I legally can't ask paying patrons to essentially 'commission' fanfic) I'll be starting to ask if there are any LOTR characters, or characters from other fandoms (that I've also read lol), that people might want to read about in my next fanfic. Would anyone be interested in a short prequel to this story about Orwen/Haldir, or a spin-off from Palen's POV? Any other ideas - go! (Please someone say Pippin...).

I hope you're all ok as the world slowly starts to get back to 'normal' x

Chapter Nine - Words in the air

"So." Hrafn looked across at Keren once he had tethered Stian, his horse, to a low crooked tree. They had ridden all day, and they were already well beyond the southern end of the undeeps. Keren had hugged him with gratitude for the shortened journey, before she hastily pulled away, which prompted a raised eyebrow and that short syllable.

"Thank you," Keren said quietly in return.

Hrafn laughed.

"That wasn't a prompt for thanks, but you're welcome nonetheless. No, I want you to tell me all about Have-a-lass."

Keren rolled her eyes as she flopped heavily down onto the compacted earth. "I've told you all about it."

"All about it, not all about him," Hrafn said as he sat beside her, digging into his pack for some food. "I know how you met, and what his father said, and why you're doing this journey, but I don't know anything about what it all means, why you love him, what a bond is…" He trailed off, expectantly.

Keren thought for a while before answering. There were so few she could speak to about it that would understand.

"I can't really explain it," she began. "I think I'd started to fall in love with him anyway, maybe even from the very start, I was just scared to admit it. And then, one day, I just felt it."

"But what did you feel?" Hrafn frowned.

"I saw him and… the world stopped. I saw everything and nothing. I felt… him. Inside me."

Hrafn chuckled. Keren tutted.

"You're a child," she said shortly. "I meant his spirit. Everything that makes him who he is I felt as clearly as what makes me myself. Suddenly he was there, all the things he likes and hates about himself, all his worries and fears, all his love for me, laid bare. I… knew him entirely. And he'd felt like that about me for months, long before I realised."

"So you both, what, share thoughts? Feelings?" Hrafn said through a mouthful of waybread.

"Not really. Sometimes I can't tell what he's thinking. It's more of a physical thing, I think." She ignored the second raised eyebrow. "But I can always tell when something's wrong, I can tell if he's worried or fearful even though he doesn't show it. And I think - I think if one of us was in danger, or… or dead" - she made herself say it - "then the other would know, would feel it. And I suppose we always found each other, unexpectedly, even when we barely knew each other. It's still a mystery to me as much as anyone." She shrugged again.

"Is it magic, would you say?"

Keren sighed. "That seems too small a word for it. Everything seemed to have been put in place specifically for us to be together. We had no control over any of it. And only the fourth time in the known history of the world. But to what end, I don't know."

"So will I be telling stories to my grandchildren about the time I journeyed with Elfwyn - not only a gift from the elves, but lover of an elf-prince? Mother of elves?"

His eyes were gleaming with something she could not place. Perhaps he had finally understood she really was off-limits, she thought wryly, and was now stuck with her. Perhaps he would ride away that very moment. But rather than deal with that, and with his last sentence, she decided to tackle the other issue.

"Elfwyn doesn't exist. At first I cut my hair and bound my chest and attempted to be a boy, but you and the skinchangers saw right through that. Elfwyn was a name given to me by Yrsa, the daughter of Grimbeorn. My real name is…"

She paused. She knew what her real name was, and still it felt like it didn't belong to her. She was not, never would be, Ciraen.

"Keren," she said quietly, and smiled, far more shyly than she meant to. "My name is Keren. I'm sorry I hid that from you for so long. It was just easier."

Hrafn looked at her steadily, and it was a while before he spoke.

"Well. Nice to meet you, Keren. I hope you've got more of a sense of humour than Elfwyn."

And she laughed.

"Pass me your pack," he said. "I'll go to the river and fill up the skins."

She threw the pack towards him with a thank you, still giggling. Hrafn rooted around for her second water-skin, which had sunk to the bottom. She lay back on the hard ground, feeling - she admitted it - very grateful for the company.

"What's this?" Hrafn's voice floated over to her. She opened her eyes and lifted her chin. He was holding up something she had entirely forgotten.

"Oh. Er, a gift. From a friend."

He studied it, holding it between two fingers, the gold gleaming red in the setting sun. Shaped like a tiny horse, its mane flowing in the wind, she hadn't even looked at it since the day she had taken it, lying in her pack for months. The gilding was so intricate - beautiful. But the memories it brought back…

"It's very finely crafted," Hrafn said. "My people could do such a thing with wood, but not with gold." She knew he was digging for more information.

"It's from the King of Rohan, if you must know." And she dared to look a little smug as she saw the surprise register on his face, quickly replaced by his mask of unfazed indifference.

"You do move in humble circles. Pointy-eared royalty, now a horse-King. Don't tell me, he fell in love with you too." He made a great show of rolling his eyes.

She tried to laugh, and joke about how not every man she had met had fallen in love with her. But she found she couldn't, for his own sake, and for the memory of the reason behind Eomer's gift.

"It was a thank-you. I saved his sister's life, on his wedding day. She nearly died in childbirth. Her name means 'joy in horses', so I supposed he gave me a horse pin to remind me of her, to… bring me joy."

"And does it?" Hrafn looked at her strangely.

"It's very beautiful."

"That's not what I asked. Does it bring you joy?"

Keren sighed. "No, not really. It - it's complicated."

"Did she fall in love with you?" He nudged her in the ribs. She had grown to learn he did not like seeing her sad, or even pensive, which was often, and all his teasing, flirting ways were to distract her. But memories were swirling now, heavy, full memories, too bright, too much. The last time she had seen Faramir…

She had not thought of him once, not for her entire journey, not for a very long time. Not since the dream where he had stood on a distant clifftop, watching her drown.

Now here was a swift reminder of all those years she had loved him, so foolishly, so hard. It was painful to think of, a waste, a shame, a secret she wished had never been real. And the cold, cruel voice that still taunted her with what might have been - a life with a man who would have grown old, and loved her in a human way, a safe way. If only he had had the courage to stand in front of the world and choose her, a nobody, rather than the daughter of kings, the expected prize.

She caught herself, shocked, ashamed.

These thoughts of safety, of peace, had dogged her steps since she had left the skinchangers. But she knew it was just fear of her long, hard road. And she was not, had never been, a nobody. Legolas had never made her feel like a nobody.

"Where did you go in your head?" Hrafn asked her gently. She just smiled in reply.

"Everything is complicated with you, isn't it?" he went on.

"There was another man, just one, before Legolas," she heard herself saying. "A man. Not an elf. But he married her." She nodded towards the pin in his hand.

She could see Hrafn weighing up the words he was planning to say. His curiosity won out.

"You know, to a stranger, it might sound as if you were still in love with this man."

She shook her head, with a gentle smile. "No. It's more… the memory of an old me, a very different me, is in love with the memory of him. Of what might have been. It would have been a very different life."

"So do you regret that you have bonded with the elf?" Hrafn was studying her face, but she was careful to keep any expressions closed. "Did you even have a choice?"

"You're not the first to ask me that. He has asked me that. His father. Myself," she whispered. "I've had lots of time to think about it. And the answer is no, I will never regret it. Even though we had no choice in it. I am never happier than when I am with him. And if I get to the end of this journey, I'll be with him for the rest of my life."

She found tears growing in her eyes. She wanted it so much, and she had not allowed herself to cry over him, over Thranduil's cruelty, for many months.

She felt a strong hand on her knee - not suggestive, not seeking anything out.

"Then let's get you there," Hrafn said.

Legolas was in his father's library, looking to see if there were any hints about Keren's future - written prophecies mainly, but also studying the histories of all the pairings that had gone before them, records of the births of their offspring, of deaths, anything that could give him some small comfort that Keren was safe in the Valar's plans for her. For Negeneth's words had rung true, and he knew the hand of fate was upon them. Hard as it was for him to do so, he would stay away, let her navigate her own way. He wondered if there was any particular Valar watching over her.

There had better be, he thought angrily, every time he looked up at the stars.

Soon the other elves began to worry about their prince, for he had taken to eating and resting between the great stacks of books, deep underground - histories and knowledge Thranduil valuing almost as dear as his treasure hoard. He had not spoken to anyone in days, desperate in his search.

He had actually slept - not the usual lucid dreams of his people, but full sleep, as he had not had since just after his long final days with the fellowship. He would wake, his head held up by a huge tome written in ancient Quenya, send for food, and begin again, the words and lines racing into his brain and out again, as yet nothing of any use. Almost in a trance he read, until sometimes he was unsure whether he was dreaming or awake, and it was in such a state that something strange happened.

In those days Tuor felt old age creep upon him, he read, and ever a longing for the deeps of the Sea grew stronger in his heart. Therefore he built a great ship, and he named… I can't just run blindly for ever, I'll tire before it does… it Eärrámë; and with Idril Celebrindal he set sail into the sunset and the… where am I, where am I, which way am I running… West, and came no more into… don't look back, don't look back, can't slow down…

Rapid, shallow breaths came to his ear, someone running for their life, panicked. He could no longer see the words on the pages before him, but instead he was filled with confusion and terror that weren't his own, as he saw trees blurring past him as if he was the one running. No, not him, but someone that held a part of him. Keren. It was Keren, and she was in danger.

I have to do something, what can I do, what can I do…

He couldn't touch her, see her, or help her in anyway, and he sat frozen in terror. But perhaps… If he could hear her, could she could hear him? Without questioning the strangeness of it all he cried out in his mind.

Trees. The trees. Use the trees.

A slight sense of shock came to him, from her, before her voice answered quickly.

I've already tried that!

No! Climb them. Climb!

He felt her mind clear as she understood, and dived for a low, sturdy branch, hauling herself up. He could see more clearly now, as if through her eyes. A boar, huge and angry, was set on toppling the tree she had climbed. He could hear her thoughts as she, still breathing heavily, nocked her arrow and took aim - but she was unsure, feeling guilty, not seeming willing to take the killing shot. And then he could hear voices shouting - men's voices, wild and deep. Keren turned towards the sound too quickly as arrows fired, and he saw the ground rise up to meet him as she must have fallen from the tree. And then, darkness. He tried calling her name, but all was black, and then suddenly the library was in clear focus again, as if nothing had happened.

Shaking, he stood, and ran to his father.

"I have to go to her," he said, his face stricken. "She has passed your test, and I care not for the Valar's plans. She is in danger."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed.

"How can you know this?"

"I saw her, I was her. Either she or the Valar sent me a vision - they wanted me to know that she isn't safe."

"What was the last thing you saw?" Thranduil gestured with a hand for his son to sit as he spoke, but Legolas was too anxious to stay still, and instead paced up and down.

"She fell from a tree."

"Was she alone?"

"I - no, but what does that matter? They could be anyone. I couldn't reach her again, she is hurt."

"Who was she with?" Thranduil's questions were relentless.

"I don't know, men of the wood, maybe. Father, what if they harm her?"

Thranduil did sit, eyes following his son back and forth.

"They won't. They are in league with the skinchangers, so they will be aware of her, who she is, though she won't know this."

Legolas stopped his pacing to glare at his father.

"I'm tired of all this. I'm going to find her." He turned swiftly to leave the room.

Thranduil raised his voice slightly.

"Make a bargain with me first," he said to his son's back. "Hear me out, Greenleaf."

His name, spoken softly, worriedly, gave Legolas cause to pause. He turned, still scowling.

"We wait six weeks, plentiful time to allow her to reach Celeborn's lands. Then we send word to him," Thranduil offered. "Give her every chance of doing this on her own. If he says he has had no word or sight of her, then you can go."

Legolas considered.

"It's too long. What if she is hurt badly?"

"Then the woodfolk will do their best to heal her. They are good people, though wild. She is probably safer with them than alone on the road waiting for you. You know this. My son, you must not give in to fear."

Legolas looked steadily at his father. Who was he to instruct him not to pay heed to his fears, hidden away in his caves for years? But… he would not be his father.

"Very well," he said. "Six weeks to give her a chance to get to Celeborn, then I send word to him, not you. And if he has no tidings, then nothing will stop me going to her."

Thranduil nodded, but held up a finger.

"If she is well, if she is not injured, if she is not in danger - you leave her."

Legolas clenched his fists. But the word was out of his mouth before he could think, and that was when he knew for certain they were both being steered on a course they could not get out of.

"Agreed."

The first month of winter passed, and Legolas distracted himself with more long days in the library. A new year dawned, bringing the snow with it, and finally he wrote his message to Celeborn. Then it was nearly another two months until he heard back, the journey through and around the forest for the mounted emissaries taking longer in the snowstorms.

Greenleaf, greetings,

There have been no sightings, nor have we received any word of her from others. Either she is still with the woodfolk, or she has managed to journey past or through our lands unseen. There is a third chance which I am sure you fear, and I pray it is not so. I grieve that I do not have more fortuitous news. I will continue to send scouts out to search the southern reaches of the forest, and I will of course send word if I have any tidings. May all the blessings of the Valar shine upon you both.

Legolas did not say a word to his father, but thrust the letter into his hands, and immediately prepared himself and Arod for travel.

They went too slowly through the forest for his liking, the paths even more hidden in the darkness of winter, the snows not piercing the thick canopy, but instead blanketing the tops of the trees so that no light shone through. The weak sun hit him as he finally cleared the trees and was able to gallop across the fields, not stopping for rest.

He did stop at Grimbeorn's house however, but all the old bear would tell him was that a girl by the name of Elfwyn had stopped with them a month in the autumn, gathering her strength after a hard time in the forest, before going on her way again.

"What did she look like?" he asked keenly, and a deep, female, voice spoke up.

"Dark hair, pale face, short and slim. Brown eyes."

Legolas looked over at the woman who now spoke, hair and eyes wild.

"Her hair was shorn above her shoulders," she went on, "and she tried to make me believe she was a young boy, from Laketown. Elfwyn is just the name I gave her when I found her in the forest."

She looked sheepishly at Grimbeorn as she said that, but then her face grew stern, and she looked back to Legolas.

"Who wants to know? What do you want with her?"

Legolas placed a hand on his breast and bowed deeply, for he knew the woman was protecting Keren, and honoured her for it.

"Legolas Thranduilion is my name. The woman you speak of is my beloved. She is travelling south to Ithilien, answering my fa - a fool's challenge, but I cannot wait any longer to know if she still lives. I have left my home to find her."

The woman took the measure of him, then spoke.

"Yrsa is my name. She never told me the reason for her journey." It was a question.

"I am not sure I can fully answer you. There is more at work than I can see. But I believe our futures should lie together in Ithilien, far to the south."

She nodded.

"S'alright. I knew who you must be the moment I saw you approach. I just wanted to make sure you were worth it." She smiled, as if remembering something. "I hope you find her. She was my friend."

Legolas smiled back. "Her name is Keren," he said. "Do you know what path she planned to take?"

"She wouldn't tell us, always just said she was going south. I imagined she would ford the river and take the friendlier lands through the pointy - I mean, the elf-witch - I mean, the wood-elves' forest, then into horse-lord country. She couldn't go any other way, unless she had a death wish. But then - we were tracking her sometimes, as bears, keeping an eye on her - and she must have turned away from the ford, for we saw her much further south, in lands we share with the woodfolk. I wondered what she was about."

Legolas nodded. "Her task was to take the evil roads to the east of the river, through barren land, rocks and marsh. She will not have crossed the Anduin."

Yrsa frowned with surprise and worry. "Who would set such a task?"

"You will need to use the river to catch her before she passes into truly dangerous lands," Grimbeorn interrupted, having listened silently from the other end of the house and judging Legolas to be trustworthy. "Last time I saw her she was heading south-west and would hit its banks within a week if all went well."

Legolas took a step closer to him. "When was this?"

"Two weeks ago at most. I was not searching for her, thinking her long gone, but something must have delayed her. She had gained a stick and a sword since her time here. I imagine she came to some harm not too far from us, and the woodmen sheltered her. I saw her walking through the fields, where the grasses start to grow longer. With your elf eyes you will see her, if she keeps to that course. And you will journey quicker by water too."

He offered Legolas a perfectly round boat, small and light, and an oar.

"My coracle. It is light enough to carry with ease until you reach the river. Cut due west, to the Carrock. We will tend to your friend while you are away." He nodded outside to where Arod stood grazing.

Legolas was dumb with gratitude and surprise.

"No need to thank us," Grimbeorn said, "or question our motives. The world is fresh and light again, we will aid its strange workings. Just bring my boat back - there's room for two."

And Legolas watched as Yrsa grinned at the thought of seeing her friend again.

After he parted with Arod, he had thanked the bears profusely, wishing he had more time to hear of Keren's time with them, of what she had said, how she had fared. But he sped on with a quick promise.

"If we are reunited, you will see us wed, I insist, and you shall be guests of honour at our home, whenever you like."

"My father will not leave these lands," Yrsa said. "But I might take you up on it".

And so he had sped south on the river, not stopping for rest, the new meltwater carrying him along swiftly under sun and moon. Just four days brought him to the meeting with the Silverlode, flowing sparkling and jolly from the Golden Wood. He reckoned that Keren would have reached the Brown Lands by now, though perhaps not ventured too far yet within them. He imagined she would stay near to the river, for access to fresh water. She should not prove difficult to see in that barren landscape. He began to keep his eyes fixed on the eastern shore, his heart racing with anticipation.

For two days he saw nothing, but then, when the sun was starting to set, a small, lonely figure appeared. He would know her form, her way of walking, anywhere, though she now bore a large stick and a sword, as Grimbeorn had said. A lump grew in his throat as he watched her, far in the distance, striding purposefully across the barren land she had once been so wary of. For a time he just sat watching, letting the river carry him, pride and awe in his heart, but then she grew further away, so he took up his oar and followed.

The river would soon bend south-west, and should she choose to cut across land rather than follow the meander she would be lost to his sight. But he was torn. He had seen her, and she was well, and seemed strong. According to the agreement with his father - that he suspected was from a far higher power than Thranduil himself - he must turn back without her. But now he had spied her he did not want to leave her, never wanted to leave her again. She was so small, still seemed so fragile to him, in this harsh landscape. How could the Valar abandon her to such a road? It could not be right.

He cut across the current, aiming for the bank, just as the sun set behind the mountains, leaving her in almost immediate darkness due to the heavy clouds. She stopped, looked all about her, though he knew her eyes could not see so far, over to him. She pulled her pack from her shoulders, laid out her weapons close beside her, and seemed to settle down to some food and water. Every now and then she looked over her shoulder, as if she knew she was being watched. He tried, tentatively, to speak into her mind, as he had done in the library, but there was no reaction from her to show that she had heard this time. Perhaps it only worked when she was in danger.

The coracle gently brushed the eastern bank, and he could still just see her in the gloom, for she was now no more than two hundred feet away, close enough for his elven ears to hear her sigh as she arranged her cloak and lay down for the night. His heart twisted to see her settle down so unprotected, so vulnerable to the elements and anything that may wander the empty land. The desire to run to her and cover her body with his own had never been stronger. But she was safe all the while he was close by, at least.

Gently he took one step onto dry land, tying the little boat to a small outcrop of rock. He wanted to be nearer, to see if she was truly alright. But he stopped just far enough away that, were she to open her eyes, she would not see him in the darkness. His eyes could see much though, and he took the time to study her, looking for any signs of illness or injury.

She was thinner than before. Her face had lost some of its softness, her cheekbones were more pronounced and her mouth slightly pinched. He winced - the road she was taking had nowhere for her to find food, and he did not want her getting any thinner, any weaker. He looked at her pack - still quite full, still bulky. Good. The woodfolk must have replenished her supplies.

He took another step towards her, to do he knew not what. Would he wake her, let her know he was there? He could let her choose what to do upon seeing him - explain the truth behind his father's ridiculous 'challenge', let her decide whether to put her trust in the Valar.

He could hear her breathing now, slow and deep - sleep had found her quickly. Another step closer took him fully onto the dry stony land, but then he heard something that froze his blood.

No closer, child of the forest.

A voice, within his heart, within the marrow of his bones, in the river, in the earth, in the air.

A sight of her I have granted you, but this is her task alone. We carry her in our arms, always. Rarely do we speak to you Children now, so heed me. It is of great import. Go back.

Whoever, whatever, it was left him immediately, left him to the deep silence of the night, cut through only by his beloved's breathing.

He sat himself on the ground, as clumsily as was possible for his kind, and tried to take in what had just happened. His hands were shaking. There was no going back from this. To follow all his instincts to protect her would incur the wrath of the Valar. But why? What was their purpose? Was Negeneth right - was Keren really to right the imbalance in the peoples of Middle-Earth? Was she to be allowed to sail with him, a mortal in the immortal lands? Her name…

Ciraen.

Sail away.

Had he misunderstood the whole time, allowing bitterness, and his possessive feelings, to cloud his reason? Perhaps the word was not cruelly predicting his fate - sailing alone, away from the shores that held her body in the ground - perhaps it was telling her to sail away, with him. It was her name after all, it belonged to her, not him. He felt ashamed.

Was that what had called to him, that first time he had heard those gulls at Pelargir, and felt the stirring of the sea in his heart? Not a lonely journey across the waves, but a future over there in the far West, with someone he had yet to meet. Was that what he had recognised when he had met her, days later - curiosity not just about an elf-friend with a strange crystal, but their future together, hidden from him?

And yet he felt downcast, both at having to turn away from Keren now, and from discovering that all his life really was at the whim of the Valar, of some power far greater than him. Had he ever had any control over his own life? Did anyone?

He sat there until the sky turned a deep blue, then grey. She would be stirring soon, no doubt rising and sleeping with the sun to make the most of the light. He had to leave her. Anger rose in his heart - it felt cruel being so close to her and yet unable to make her unaware of his presence. But… what would the cost be, if he disobeyed the mighty ones of the heavens? He could no more ignore them than he could ignore the calling of the Sea. Their rule was inevitable. He stood slowly, looking down at her. If - if - the Valar truly meant to allow her to sail with him, then… she was safe.

He sighed. To turn his back on her now would be hard indeed. He held a hand out towards her, whispered a blessing. She smiled in her sleep, and seemed to stir. He must get out of sight.

He hopped back down to the river, into the coracle, where he could still see her as she stretched and sat up, though he was hidden by the curves of the bank. She looked all around, as she had the night before, as if she could feel eyes, his eyes, on her but couldn't understand it. Unable to take his eyes off her now daylight shone on her familiar features, he saw that her hair had grown to just below her shoulders now, and her hands and nails were encrusted with dirt. He smiled. They had been encrusted with other men's blood when they first met, and that had not phased her. How could he have ever doubted that she could do this alone? She could have done it that very first day under the willow tree, if she had had to. But only now was she believing that she could.

He sat and watched her until she stood, shouldered her pack, picked up her stick, and walked on, and he stayed watching until she was less than a dot on the horizon. Only when the sun was at its highest and she was truly gone did he untie his boat, pick up his oar, and turn against the current for the north.

"Stian has never galloped so much in his life!" Hrafn said as they dismounted, after a day of flying across the barren landscape. "He's had it easy up until now. I rode him to the Great River a few times but he's more a status symbol than anything. Now he's earning his keep!"

This gave Keren the opportunity to ask something she'd wanted to know but hadn't known how to bring up.

"Did you make him earn his keep to get to me?"

Hrafn was silent, and she saw him go tense as he sat. But he did speak eventually.

"Yes. I rode fast. You'd been gone a month. And I was bored, and restless, and… Well, I discussed leaving with the elders. Not to find you - but to learn more of the world. Peace is upon us. It was agreed I should go - see some of the lands beyond our sight, learn what lies beyond our borders and report back. Never before has a Hrafn left our burgh, never before have we shown an interest in life outside the Forest. But new days are here, and I do not wish for my people to remain as hidden as before. We want our share of the prosperity the victory over the Evil One has achieved. At least, that is how I convinced them to let me go. I took Stian and found you in a week."

Keren was pleased to hear her reckoning of days since she had left the burgh was fairly accurate, but more shocked at just how far Hrafn had gone to follow her - to lie to the village elders, to give up his place by his people. He had… abandoned them, abandoned his authority - for her.

But after their conversation about Legolas she felt he truly had realised any relationship with her was not to be. And he had been willing to journey with her, to help her, nonetheless.

She thought back to the moment she had felt watchful eyes upon her, just as she had reached the North Undeep. A night and a morning of that feeling.

"Did you - were you watching me for a while, before you let me see you, somehow?" she asked quietly.

She heard the curiosity in his voice as he replied.

"No. How could I hide myself and Stian in a land such as this?"

Keren had to agree. Perhaps it had just been wariness at finding herself fully entrenched in the Brown Lands at last, after months of worry.

"Ugh, look at them." Hrafn nodded to the south. "What do the elves call them?"

Keren followed his gaze to where sharp rocky hills now reared up before them, drawing ever closer that day, now only an hour's ride away. They would begin crossing them tomorrow. She swallowed, her throat dry.

"The Emyn Muil. The Drear Hills. Nothing good, or light, or hopeful is there. Only desperate travellers take that road."

Hrafn chuckled. "Well. I'm desperately handsome. Will that do?"