A tale the young people who often slipped through the cracks in the long-ago times. As finished as it's going to get. Hopefully, my geography is accurate, if not, please tell me and I'll fix it! And, as always, all of the characters, places, and many of the events belong to or were inspired by J.R.R. Tolkien, who was (and still is) the greatest wordsmith, loremaster, and linguist of all time. Enjoy.
Aira stooped to gather another handful of sweet wild blueberries, not neglecting to pop a few into her mouth before gently putting the rest into her pail. The afternoon sun steeped warmly through her thin dress and heated her curly brown hair. She could hear the laughter of the other children as she worked. She had come to the village as an orphaned babe, and while the last of the village children had stopped inviting her to their games when she was four, she still felt a distinct longing to join them, even two years later.
Aira sighed and when on with her berry gathering while the other children continued their games. She made her way down the side of a low hill and found a large, untouched patch of blueberries at its foot. She gave a delighted laugh, plopped down in a small clearing among the low bushes, seemingly made just for her. She began to play her own games, talking to the wind, playing "squash the mean child" with overripe berries, and seeing animals in the clouds in the sky. After a while, she grew sleepy, filled to the brim with blueberries and the warm rays of the sun. She curled up in the little hollow and soon fell fast asleep.
A Ranger looked back to the Weathertop hills, then forward to Chetwood. He shifted his lean pack and continued onward, a calloused right hand on his sword hilt, preventing the longsword from striking tussocks of grass, stones, and other such pieces of the terrain. He was headed to Bree for a rest and a good draught of ale at the Prancing Pony. The day had proved to be unseasonably warm, and he had removed the sleeves of his green longcoat, stowing them in his pack. His scouting had been long and hard. He had dispatched no few stray orcs during the fortnight's time and he was due for a good rest. The sun was setting magnificently, and as he rounded a small hill, he paused to admire it, the cool breeze ruffling his ragged hair. But then, something caught at the corner of his senses. If he could have, he probably would have pricked his ears, as it was, he strained to listen to something he thought he heard in the distance. A stray wind brought it to him: a child's cry.
Aira had woken to the lazy hum of fat bumblebees and a distinct lack of childish laughter. She sat up and listened quietly; nothing but the hum of the bees in the heather and an occasional birdcall could be heard. She felt fear rising in her, but she did not utter a word as she climbed to the top of the hill. Looking about, she saw no one. Not even the heads of the older girls sent to keep watch over the children. Still trying to keep her growing fear down, she started walking in what she thought was the direction of Bree, her hometown. She had somehow managed to remember to bring her pail with her, but after what seemed like an eternity of walking, she knew herself to be lost.
Aira had enough sense to stay where she was, but that did not mean she wasn't going to cry. At first, she just talked to the wind, asking it if it knew where her home was. When the breeze grew colder in response, she was frightened and did not speak to it again. She did not know that it only grew colder because twilight was almost upon her, but she soon found out. The sun was low in the sky, staining it blood red, when she truly began to be afraid. She sat huddled by the pail of berries, munching on one or two occasionally, for she was slightly hungry. Soon, she grew thirsty as well, but dared not move from her place. As the shadows lengthened, the small girl began to imagine all sorts of fell beasts in the wild, and so, to comfort herself, she imagined the villagers of Bree lighting the dark with bright torches, spread across the countryside in search of her. They would call her name, and she would call back. "She's over here!" they would joyously shout, and come rushing with warm blankets and hot drinks and plenty of cosseting. "We were so worried!" they would exclaim and carry her home, laughingly chastising her for being so determined to stray so far in search of the best berries.
A sharp snap broke her reverie. "Hello?" she called out into the near-dark, frightened even more. A rustle on her left gave her wide eyes, and she shrieked when the brush parted to reveal... a rabbit. Aira sighed in relief, and reached to pet it, but it bounded away.
"Wait!" she cried, running after it. "Come back!" She had left the pail of berries. The rabbit outran her in no time and disappeared into the thick brush. Aira trotted to a gasping halt, and, realizing what she had done, let out a wail. Then, she remembered that orcs roamed these lands and quickly silenced herself. But the silence was too much, so she sang softly and rocked against the coming night.
The Ranger immediately headed in the direction of the child's cry, heedless of the rough and uneven ground in the fading twilight. Oddly enough, he found himself headed toward Fornost and the North Downs. After about a half hour's time, he found that the terrain gave way to blueberry brush, mostly picked over. That had to be the explanation, he thought. Some child had gotten separated from the rest of the group and had gotten lost. But why hadn't anyone thought to look for her? She should have been found hours ago. The Ranger shook his head and continued onward. He soon came upon a small hollow in a thicket of blueberry brush. It looked as if something small had curled up and stayed there for a long time. It had to be the child. He tracked tiny footsteps north, then came upon a pail of blueberries. A small smile curved its way across his lips and he picked it up, fastening the tiny thing to his belt. Rabbit tracks and slight, running footprints explained the abandoned berries. He followed the trail and soon heard weak, frightened singing: the voice of a small girlchild. He made as little noise as possible, so as not to frighten her, but he knew his appearance was less than scrupulous. Then, a thought occurred to him, and he began to hum snatches of a tune from his childhood and stopped trying to hide his footsteps.
Aira began to cry a bit, tears streaking her dusty face, but she kept singing, certain it would help keep the nasties of the night at bay. Then, out of nowhere, she heard the humming of a tune. She quit her own song to listen, frightened, but hopeful. The humming grew louder and she could just barely hear footsteps softly thudding in time to the song. Aira sniffed, hastily wiped her eyes, and stood. She opened her mouth and croaked, "Hello?" She cleared her throat and tried again, "Hello?" The humming stopped, as did the footsteps.
"Yes?" a low, rough voice replied. Aira grew instantly more frightened, sure it was an orc. She made no sound and crouched back down again, half-expecting a snuffling black head with a horrific face and dagger teeth to pop out from the brush. Instead, the footsteps grew closer and the voice said again, "I won't hurt you," it promised. "Where are you?" it was kinder this time, clearer, less menacing. Aira somehow felt that the owner of this voice would help her, so she stood once again and said timidly, "Over here."
The Ranger had heard her when she had first spoken, but waited until she felt bolder before replying. He assumed his voice had frightened her, so he had tried again until she had replied. He moved toward the sound of her voice until he was quite close, then, for her benefit, he drew a tiny lantern from his pack and lit it with a steel-and-flint. He held it up and saw the small thing that stood, half-defiant, right where he had expected her to be. She was a tiny scrap of a thing, with wild brown hair, dark brown eyes, and rosy cheeks that were hidden with dirt and tearstains. She sniffled, then shivered in the cool night breeze, for she was wearing only a thin dress. He crouched, smiled, and said gently, "My name is Strider, what is yours?"
She ducked her head, shy, and replied softly, "Aira."
"Ah," Strider said, understanding. " 'Copper colored,' is it?" She looked confused, so he clarified, "That is what your name means in Elvish." Her eyes grew wide and sparkled at the mention of elves.
"Do you know them?" she asked in awe.
He smiled, "Elves? Oh yes. I lived with them for a time."
Aira gasped, "Truly?"
Strider smiled again, "Truly and surely." Then his smile faded and memories swamped him, "But it was long ago." Suddenly, he noticed that she was still shivering. "Come," he said warmly and held out a rough, calloused hand. "You need to get warm." Aira hesitated, looking at him warily, then carefully took his hand. Strider was careful not to live up to his name and gently guided the young snip of a girl to someplace decent to camp, as they were still much too far away from Bree and she much too tired to attempt the journey back. He would've carried her, but he doubted she would submit to that. Besides, she needed to get warm and get some food into her. He chose a small hollow at the base of a hill, something that was once small gravel pit, by the looks of it. It was now overgrown with lush grass and its back side bore the brunt of the northern wind. He built a small fire, set her next to it, and wrapped her in his longcoat. He took out a packet of waybread and set it to warm by the fire. When it was hot, he handed it to Aira and began to make tea. She ate it silently, all wide eyes. Strider smiled at her and turned back to the fire.
Aira had been wary of the big man who looked so rough, but he had been kind and she had no other rescuer, so she had followed his lead. She thought they were going back to the village, but when he stopped and made a fire, she was a bit frightened. However, the man named Strider gave her his warm coat and some hot bread, so she relaxed a bit. She was ravenous, but ate slowly to be polite. After that she was quite thirsty, and was relieved when the man made her some tea. She sipped it hastily, burning her tongue, but she said nothing.
Then, Strider asked, "Do you live in Bree?"
"Yes," she replied timidly.
"With whom?"
"Mistress Falla, the innkeeper's wife," she replied.
"Where are your parents?" he asked after a moment of comfortable silence.
Aira paused, then said, "My mama died when I was a babe. I don't know who my papa is."
Strider's heart nearly broke in two at that statement. "I see," he said quietly. "Did Mistress Falla adopt you?"
The child looked sadly at him, "I am her scullery maid. I help her in the kitchen."
He closed his eyes at the thought and asked, "How old are you?"
"I don't know," she answered, uncomfortably. Then, "I think I am six." His cracked heart truly broke then, but he put on a smile and said, "Don't worry, Aira. First thing tomorrow morning, I will take you home." She looked as if she would have liked to say something to the contrary, but she smiled and yawned.
"Tell me about the Elves," she demanded as she snuggled down into the folds of his coat. "Tell me about when you lived with them."
Strider was a bit startled, but thought for a bit, then started, "Long ago, when I was younger than you, my father was slain by orcs, and my mother took me to live with the Elves of Imladris - Rivendell in the Common Tongue. I grew to know two elves named Elladan and Elrohir as if they were my own brothers, and I came to love the Elvish race. When I came of age, I went out into the world, and my mother returned to her home. She died just months after my last visit. I have since roamed these wild lands as a Ranger, protecting the people, though they know naught." He paused, thinking. "I suppose that is not exactly the story you wanted, was it?" He glanced over to her and discovered that the small bit of heartflame was fast asleep. He wrapped his longcoat about her more tightly and covered her with his blanket before donning his own cloak against the chill damp of the night.
Aira woke suddenly, her nose chill, but the rest of her warm, to the soft and gentle song of a wooden flute. The big man named Strider was sitting on the other side of the fire, back slightly toward her, and playing, surrounded in tiny wood shavings. She didn't know what it was he played, but for the first time in too long, she felt truly safe. She drifted back into the dreamrealms of small children to wait the coming of the dawn.
Strider watched the glory of the rising sun and poked at the embers of the fire. He built it up again, intending to heat water for more tea, when he heard voices.
"Where is she?" a gruff male voice asked. "We've been searchin' since a'fore the dawn an' haven't seen hide nor hair of the little chit!"
"Keep lookin'!" a rather high-pitched female voice answered. "We can't very well let the waif go and get herself kilt by orcs, can we?"
"Bah!" was the man's reply. "I've got custom waitin' at the inn! I'm headin' back!"
"Harlin!" shouted the woman, loud enough to alert any orcs in the area. "Harlin, wait!" the voice was fainter, and Strider knew the two, who could only be Mistress Falla and her husband, heading back to Bree. It disgusted him that it took them so long to search for Aira, even more so that they gave up after an hour or two. He sighed, shook his head, and tended to the tea.
Aira, still warm, woke to the rosy sun making its way up over the Weathertop Mountains. Of course, she didn't know that they were the Weathertop Mountains; in fact, she hadn't any idea as to where she was. Then she remembered; she'd fallen asleep picking blueberries, then gotten lost, and rescued by the tall man named Strider who had lived with that magical race of Elves. She was about to snuggle back into the folds of his coat, and a blanket as well, as she was never permitted to do at the inn, but the man said with a smile in his voice, "Up already?"
"Yes," Aira replied timidly. "I get up this early every morning." The man frowned at this, and Aira thought she had said something wrong, but then he smiled again and offered her another cup of tea, which she took gratefully.
"We'll have breakfast when we get back to town," he promised.
Suddenly, she thought of last night, and asked, "What was that song?"
He looked slightly confused, "What song?"
"The song you played last night."
"You heard me play?" He was surprised. She just nodded and waited for him to continue. "That was the tune to 'Earendil the Mariner.' It's an Elvish song." Aira smiled at that; she had known it was different.
When she had finished her tea, he asked, "Are you ready to return?" She just nodded and by the time he was finished breaking down camp, she had worked up enough courage to take his outstretched hand and return to Bree.
Strider decided once again not to live up to his name so that Aira could keep up and not tire out before they reached Bree. The morning was cool, and Aira was still wearing her thin dress, so he had slipped a spare shirt of his over her head to keep it warm. He had rolled up the sleeves, but the hem still nearly reached the ground. He hummed the same tune as last night, to pass the time and keep Aira from feeling frightened as to where he was taking her.
"That is the same song from yesterday," she piped up, eyes to the ground to keep from tripping over the stony ground.
"Indeed it is," Strider replied, a bit surprised at her memory and ear for music. "My mother used to sing it to me when I was very young."
"What was her name?" came the curious query.
Strider smiled absently, sadly, and replied simply, "Gilraen."
There were a few moments of silence while Aira thought about this, then she stated, "That is a very pretty name. I wish I had a name like that."
He was intrigued, "You don't like 'Aira?'"
"No," she replied with conviction. "It sounds too much like 'air,' so they say I have air for brains."
"Do you believe that?"
She thought for a while on that, then replied, "No. The wind knows I am smart, even if the other children don't." Strider chuckled at this and said nothing. For a while, they walked in silence. Then, Aira asked again, "Are you a Ranger?"
Strider was once again surprised at her perceptiveness and replied simply, "Yes."
"I thought so," she said confidently. "But I like you, you're nice."
He was touched, "Thank you."
"You're not at all like they say," she boldly stated.
"Like who say?" Strider asked, intrigued and a bit on his guard.
"The villagers," she answered. "Master Harlin says Rangers are dirty and sly and mean, but you're not any of those things. Besides, Mistress Falla says she doesn't like them, but at least they keep the riffraff out."
"And what does Master Harlin say to that?" he asked wryly.
"He says they are the riffraff," Aira innocently replied. "But my Mistress doesn't agree." She smiled up at him, shy for the first time, "And neither do I." Then she ducked her head, as if she'd said somewhat wrong.
"Thank you," he said again, amused. However, he was at the same time a bit angry that the villagers could not see that the Rangers were their only protection against orcs and the growing darkness. He mentally shook off the futile anger and began to whistle. After a while, Aira joined in with a piping harmony of her own, nearly shocking the air out of him. He knew he had much to learn when it came to this girlchild.
Aira whistled merrily and was surprised when they finally came through Chetwood and set eyes on the town of Bree. She was surprised to find that it looked small and dirty after the clean air of the wilderlands. Other children were playing in the street, but their mothers hastily ran outside and dragged them in when they saw her rescuer's rough appearance. The Ranger merely squeezed her hand reassuringly and smiled down at her.
The nearly walked past the inn, so Aira tugged on the Ranger's hand and pointed toward the building. It was two storied and a bit worn at the edges, sloping slightly to one side, as very old buildings were prone to do. A weathered sign with a red bear painted on it designated the Red Bear Inn of Master Harlin and Mistress Falla.
"Is this where you live?" Strider asked her.
"Yes," Aira replied simply. They turned toward the building and walked in together.
Aira had never seen the inn from the perspective of the front door. She could barely see over the top of the bar, but she could hear Master Harlin ask gruffly, "Wha' d'ya want?"
"Are you Master Harlin?" Strider asked.
"Aye," Aira could hear the fear in Master Harlin's voice. "What of it?"
"Aira!" Aira turned and saw Mistress Falla drop the towel she was wiping her hands on and run toward her, scooping her up in a big hug. "We thought ye'd been lost, girl!"
"I was!" Aira protested, struggling in her arms. Mistress Falla then saw the Ranger and immediately grew wary. "I guess we've you t'thank, mister Ranger, sir," she said begrudgingly.
"Sir!" exclaimed Harlin. "Ye can't mean t'call 'im 'sir!'"
"Shut yore mouth, Harlin," Falla chastised. "He's rescued our Aira."
"She's now't but a scullery maid," insisted Harlin. "A worthless chit!"
"Harlin!" Falla was shocked and held Aira closer, covering her ears. "Just never you mind, child," she said to Aira. "Master Harlin was just worried."
"Bah! We can allus get new scullery maids!" Harlin dismissed.
Strider was silently seething. He could not believe this so-called Master Harlin. His respect for Mistress Falla had deepened slightly; she obviously cared for the girl and was worried. Perhaps Aira was the scullery maid because that was the only way Falla could get Harlin to let the young girl stay with them. Then, an idea occurred to him.
"Master Harlin," Strider began, "If Aira is so worthless to you, I suspect you will not object to me taking her off of your hands."
"Well," Harlin considered.
"Certainly not!" Falla interjected, eyes flashing. "Ye'll do somewhat awful to 'er! Ye'll sell into whoredom, ye will!"
"Mistress Falla," Strider soothed. "I will do nothing of the sort. I have reason to believe that Aira has significant musical talent. I want to bring her to be trained by the Elves."
Aira's heart leapt in her tiny chest at the thought of even seeing the Elves, much less living with them! If they were as kind as this Ranger, Strider, then she would give anything to be with them. Not that Mistress Falla wasn't nice, most of the time, but she longed for a place where she would fit in.
Mistress Falla sighed, was silent for a bit, and then asked, "Will we ever hear from 'er again?"
The big man merely smiled kindly and replied, "If you like, I can arrange for a messenger to be sent as soon as Aira is safe in Rivendell. You can communicate through him for as long as you wish. Who knows? Perhaps Aira will someday want to return. Or you may wish to visit her?"
"Visit the Elves!" Mistress Falla was awed. "Now wouldn't that be a sight!"
"Falla," Harlin warned. "Don't go doin' now't foolish!"
"Harlin! Aira is goin' with this Ranger, here, and yer not goin' t'do now't about it!" Falla exclaimed. "I'm puttin' my foot down! Ye niver wanted 'er 'ere, and now she's got a chance fer somethin' great, an' yer tryin' t'hold 'er back! Ye'll let 'er go, or I'll take the both of us an' leave!"
Aira was amazed. She'd never seen Mistress Falla so angry! But she understood what she was saying: she and Strider were going to see the Elves!
Strider was surprised at Mistress Falla; he hadn't expected such energy from the woman! But he was very glad that she was letting Aira accompany him to Imladris, his childhood home.
"Thank you, Mistress Falla," he said, bowing to her slightly, while she fussed and blushed.
"Oh, t'was nothin,'" she dismissed with a wave of her hand.
"If you please, I'll leave Aira here for today," Strider said. "And we'll leave first thing tomorrow morning."
"But what o' ye?" Harlin asked suspiciously.
"I've lived in the wilderlands for many years, Master Harlin," Strider said somewhat mockingly, "one more night won't hurt. Besides, if we're leaving tomorrow, I've things to attend to." With that, he nodded to Mistress Falla, smiled reassuringly at Aira, and left.
"Can I have a bath?" Aira asked Mistress Falla as soon as the Ranger had left.
"Oh, so it's a bath yore wantin' now, is't?" Mistress Falla questioned smilingly. "Aye, child. If yore t'go off tomorrow t'see the Elves, ye'll need a good washin'! Run 'n' get yore sleepin' clothes t'wear whilst I wash that ol' dress ye've got on!" Aira did as she was bid while Mistress Falla put some water on to heat for Aira's bath.
"Ye'll spoil that chit rott'n," Harlin chastized.
"You shut yore trap," Mistress Falla scolded. "Ye've niver giv'n that child nothin' an' now she's got the chance fer a better life and yore tryin' t'ruin it! Shame on ye, Harlin!" Harlin grumbled mutinously, but went back to his bar and attacked it with his polishing rag.
Mistress Falla found Aira waiting by the bathing tub, which she had drug out of the pantry and half-filled with cold water. Mistress Falla smiled to herself, then poured the now steaming water from the stove into the tub, set up a blanket as a screen, handed Aira the soap, and left her to her bath.
Strider strode away from the inn and headed toward his usual haunt, the Prancing Pony. He silently nodded to Barliman Butterbur and headed toward the back to a small nook by the fire. He ordered mutton stew and a cool stout ale, then enjoyed his meal and the rather companionable noise of a good inn with good custom.
He was so engrossed with his excellent meal that it took until he was finished to notice the small group of rather disgruntled looking men surrounding his table.
"Yes?" he queried, eyebrow raised.
The men looked uncomfortable, but one finally spoke, "We've 'eard yer lookin' t' kidnap our girls and sell 'em int' slavery." A ripple of menacing sounds passed through the group.
"Who told you that?" Strider asked calmly.
"It doesn't matter!" one man negated rather loudly. "Are ye, or are ye not?"
"I am not," Strider replied shortly, slightly annoyed at the disturbance these men were creating.
"I don't believe 'im!" a man from the back shouted.
"Neither do I!" yelled another. Soon the whole crowd was yelling and it was growing as well, as other men from the inn heard the ruckus and joined in.
I don't believe this, Strider thought to himself before he stood up and raised his arms for silence. When he finally got it, he said quietly, "Any man who questions my motives can go to the Red Bear Inn and ask Mistress Falla and little Aira." With that, he gathered himself, shouldered his way through the crowd, tossed Butterbur his money, and headed for the wood.
When she had finished her bath, Aira pulled on her nightgown and was tucked into bed by Mistress Falla. "Ye've got a big day t'morra, darlin'," Mistress Falla whispered, smoothing her hair. "So ye'd best get a good night's sleep." Aira just smiled sleepily, eager for the morning dawn to break over the window of the attic.
Out in the forest, Strider made a tiny, smokeless fire, then settled down for the night. He was rather disgruntled at being deprived of a good bed, but the heather was soft, and his coat warm. The brilliant red of the sunset faded to black as the night encroached. Once more, he wondered what on earth had possessed him to rescue this small chit of a girl from her horrid life. He decided that a sense of decency was enough, in these parts. Sometimes country folk could be trusted with your life, other times they fell into petty arguments and cruel manipulation. He could only hope that the latter would not last for long. Strider sighed and rolled to his side, sword beside him, and fell to sleep.
The next morning, Aira woke at dawn with a sigh at the work ahead of her, before she remembered that today she was to go to the Elves! She jumped up out of bed, splashed water on her face and hands, and pulled on her dress.
In the kitchen, Mistress Falla was stoking the fire and preparing the day's porridge. "I don't know what I'll do wi'out ye, darlin'," she smiled sadly. "Bah! Don't ye worry none. Mayhap we'll get oursel's a strappin' farm girl who'd like t' earn a bit o' coin. She'd be more suited t' the work, anyways."
"When will Strider be here?" Aira asked softly.
Mistress Falla smiled, "As soon as he gets here, darlin'." With that, Aira merely sighed and set about helping Mistress Falla with the day's tasks.
Strider had broken camp before the dawn, and was headed back into town. He intended to have a good bath at the Prancing Pony, now that the drunkards were all gone home. Though he got some menacing looks from the townsfolk already up and about, no one questioned or accosted him on his way to Butterbur's. Once there, he procured a room and some hot water, then set himself in for a good soak. He had to look presentable if he was to convince the locals to let him take Aira with him.
After breakfast, Aira packed her things, with some help from Mistress Falla. She included her nightgown, an apron, and a worn blanket, along with her winter shoes. Then, to her surprise, Mistress Falla took out a brand new grey wool cloak. "This, m'dear, is for you," Mistress Falla presented it proudly. "I had a spare dress that didn't fit no more, so I cut it down for ye."
"Oh!" Aira exclaimed, happy for such a soft, dove grey cloak. "It's beautiful!"
"Oh," Mistress Falla demurred, "Well, 'tis now't. Ye'll be travelin' far an' I can't have ye freezin' t' death, what with all the trouble Mr. Strider's taken for ye, now can I?"
Aira simply hugged the person that had been as close to a mother as she'd ever known. Mistress Falla began to tear up.
"Oh! Now, none o' that!" she sniffled. "I'll miss ye enough as 'tis already!" but hugged back with all her love.
At that moment, there was a loud knock on the back door. Mistress Falla hastily dried her eyes on her apron, and rushed to open it, but Harlin got there first.
He threw open the door and bellowed, "So! Yer not man enough t' come t'the front door, are ye!" But the man who stood at the kitchen door was not Strider. At least, it did not look like him. The man who stood there was neatly shaved, had clean pulled back, and wore a fancy blue tunic with silver edging and tall black boots. The pommel of his sword glittered at his side.
"Who're you?" Harlin stammered, surprised.
The man looked puzzled. "I am Strider. I've come for Aira."
The young girl looked at her rescuer in awe. This man was magic.
"Are you ready?" he asked. She merely nodded. "Come along, then."
Aira turned and hugged Mistress Falla one last time, slipped past Master Harlin, and took the big man's hand as they walked out to the wilderlands.
"Tell me of the Elves?" she asked simply.
"They are an ancient and beautiful people," he began. "With a love of art and music, and Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, is wisest of them all…"