Chapter 4

There was little left to be done about the Gray Wolf bandits. Whoever had dispatched them for him had wanted them dead. There was no art to their disposal - it was likely hurried work, by someone who didn't care about being found out or thought themselves undisturbed.

With his purse much heavier than when he'd entered the house, the ranger swung himself back in the saddle. Tinnuroc whickered; he patted her side gently and eased her into a trot. The trail leading from the house was not always easy to follow. But there were always two sets of footprints, with one set smaller and favoring the right leg. The trail led out from the city and then sharply deviated from the road. "Clever man," he mumbled.

By late morning, Alagion had found another temporary camp. The fireplace still had glowing embers underneath the dirt strewn on top - they were not far ahead.

The young ranger strung his bow and put on his archer's gloves. He also drew up his kerchief to cover his face. Tinnuroc became more alert; her ears followed his every movement as he eased himself back into the saddle. By the time he reached the end of the trail, he had reached a large grove. Its trees loomed over him, swaying gently in the breeze.

Being on horseback was no longer an advantage but he pressed on anyway. There would be no reinforcements to help him. And his orders were clear. Alagion did not want to chance the ranger captain's disciplinary actions if the scum he was following weren't dealt with.

...

For the first time, Renée actually awoke before Boromir. Rubbing at her eyes, she could still see the moon set low in the sky, but the stars were slowly giving way to light in the east. The moor was alive with sounds. Across the river, she saw a heron burst into flight. It was still cold, especially now that the fire had died down almost completely, and Renée drew her jacket up closer to her. If nothing else, the sight reminded her of Scotland, somehow. She and her mom had once gone on the cheapest highland tour there was, and despite the bad touristy food and the smell of under-ventilated bus, it remained her favorite road trip. How strange that she had never noticed her surroundings here until now.

Boromir set a less punishing pace this time around. She hoped the fireside chat last night had helped somewhat, although it would be a long while until she could ask him properly. They made for the copse of trees from last night. It was much further away in daylight than it had seemed at dusk, and it took them the better part of the morning to reach its eaves. Renée was drenched in sweat. She bent to hold her shaking knees still, trying to catch her breath, somehow. Boromir said something and pointed to the ground as if she were a dog, and worst of all, she was too exhausted to do anything but obey.

When he left for the trees, she decided to do some exploring herself. No need to completely give in to his outdated chauvinism. There were holly bushes and bracken patches, patches of moss on rough tree bark and boulders covered with three different colors of lichen. There were mushroom patches - she made a mental note to revisit them later with him - and clusters of them growing out of the side of a tree stump. The further in the copse she went, the further away she got from the place he'd motioned for her to stay, but she knew she could get back to it soon enough. There was just something so refreshing about being on her own. She didn't feel like giving it up that easily. Out of the corner of her eye, she even spotted some berries, fire engine-red and ripe.

...

About a hundred yards ahead of him, the ranger Alagion identified his first target. She was bent over, looking intently at something on the ground, and did not notice him slowly fitting an arrow to his bow. He flexed his fingers inside the tight leather of his archer's gloves and aimed. "By order of the Eriador Rangers, state your name and business in these parts!" he shouted.

Her head turned, eyes widened in fear. She was frozen to the spot, like a rabbit cornered by a dog, and then she screamed. It was so shrill that his mare shifted uneasily underneath him, threatening to unbalance his aim. Alagion watched as she stood up, heavy rock in hand, trembling like a birch in autumn. Hardly the cold-blooded murderer he was seeking. That left the other one… and just about a handful of seconds after, her companion came crashing through the undergrowth. He was a giant with a naked hand-and-a-half blade in his hands. It was only the sight of Alagion's bow that made him lower the sword. "Name and purpose!" Alagion repeated.

The man's eyes never left Alagion's. "Boromir. Travelling." He adjusted his grip on his sword - an unusually fine blade, ripples of darker steel running through it discernible even at a distance - and advanced. Excitement, and fear, shot through Alagion. Boromir broke eye contact long enough to glance at the silver star Alagion wore. "You must be one of the rangers then." The accent was foreign but spoken with precision - Alagion couldn't place it. "For honor and duty?"

It was the traditional ranger greeting, in Sindarin, from the days of King Elendil himself. Alagion put down his bow, his hands trembling ever so slightly. "Until death releases me."

"Your name?"

"Alagion. After my grandfather."

A beat passed as the other man appraised him. For the first time all morning, Alagion found himself unsure of what to do. He was also unwelcomely reminded of his own father's strict assessments. His fingers tightened reflexively around the bowstring. Finally, the man broke the silence.

"I had expected more professionalism, but late is better than nothing, I imagine." Boromir slowly sheathed his sword. His eyes remained wary, but he smiled. "I hail from Gondor, to the east. I have some experience with Rangers there. You can tell me what purpose you follow at our camp."

It took a while to get the fire prepared, and while they worked together, all the woman did was stare. The only words she had spoken were "Renei", by way of introduction. She was strikingly different from other women Alagion had encountered. She had tight black curls and deep blue eyes, with clothing even more outlandish than Boromir's. Her hands reminded him of a lady; her sour and suspicious demeanor did not. Alagion for the life of him could not tell whether she was afraid of him, or disgusted, or both.

Boromir and the woman did not have much in the way of supplies, so Alagion shared some of his salt pork and hardtack rations. His usual habit of packing too much finally bore fruit - he dreaded to think about the possibility of Boromir fighting him over it. As they ate, or rather, gnawed, on the almost inedibly hard food, Boromir related the circumstances of his presence in Eriador, as well as the little he knew about the woman. He was desperate to get to Rivendell, although he doubted there would be much more than ruins there.

It was pleasant, hearing the refinement of his Westron, although to Alagion's ears, it also seemed painfully antiquated at times. Alagion unsuccessfully tried to hide his smile with a sip from his canteen.

"My accent amuses you?" Boromir asked, but there was no bite to the question.

"I haven't heard such Westron spoken for a long time - last I heard it, my great-grandma was still alive." Alagion passed the canteen to Boromir, but he waved it off.

"Have you anything harder than that?"

Alagion chuckled and reached into his saddlebags. When he pulled out a flask of Dwarvish whiskey, both men smiled. Boromir had offered some to Renei, but her lips curled in disgust after the first sip, and the men decided it was better not to waste it. She did ask for its name, however, and repeated it to herself several times. She spent the rest of the evening staring at the fire, or at her mangled leg, but never once did Alagion think she wasn't listening.

It was difficult to tell whether she truly was with Boromir of her own free will. One only needed look at the state of her leg. The wound was fresh, scarce days old – not even the raggedy bandage could hide that.

"Do you know if the place I seek yet exists? Or is it but a feverish fancy that I follow?" Boromir's voice broke the silence like a stone thrown into a pond. Alagion shifted uncomfortably, ignoring the pebbles digging into his arse with the movement.

"I can assure you that Rivendell exists. Although I've only been the once, as a boy." He swirled the whiskey inside the flask. "It is a place of surpassing beauty, and if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed that any... beings... were capable of building such. What do you intend to do, once you reach it?"

Boromir sighed, long and deep. "I do not know. Perhaps just seeing it would rid my mind of these… visions." The fire crackled and sputtered as he threw another piece of deadwood onto the embers.

"And the woman? Surely after your previous adventure you would not abandon her to her fate?" Would you set her free, I wonder?

"I have done all I can," Boromir said curtly. "Unless you know of a healer in these Valar-forsaken parts that could do more?"

He could have kept quiet, offered to take them to a Dunedàin village healer, or told them to return to where they'd come from. But there was also the matter of the ranger greeting, and the unshakeable sense of purpose surrounding Boromir. Alagion chose his next words carefully.

"Lord Elrond of Rivendell is such a healer." He ignored Boromir's questioning glance. "I could take you to him. Though I advise you to check your tongue regarding your blasphemy. He is not overfond of it." Alagion raised an eyebrow at Boromir, but that revelation only spurred a new set of questions from the other man. It was well past dusk when almost all of Boromir's questions were exhausted.

Boromir had fallen asleep relatively quickly once conversation ran out, but Alagion had never been able to sleep well after drink. He turned this way and that, trying not to wake the others, but guilt only added to his restlessness.

Arahir will have my hide for my delay.

In the morning, Alagion helped Renei onto his mare, Tinnuroc. Both were astoundingly unhappy about the situation: Tinnuroc kept tossing her head and stamping her hooves, and the woman's face was scrundled up in apprehension. It took Boromir the better part of a quarter hour, through hand-signals and simpleton-talk, to convey that Alagion was going to guide them to Imladris himself. Renei's eyes widened, as if in recognition.

Their pace was maddeningly slow by his reckoning. The Ranger's Code was strict: "to offer succor to those who cannot seek it for themselves, to secure the safety of travellers in the wild, to set an example of morality and fortitude for Men in Eriador and beyond". Noble, if inefficient. It was a paltry shield against the fury of his ranger-captain if Alagion did not return in time for his report.

The mood among his fellow travellers was muted. Boromir was more introspective after their conversation the night before, and Alagion didn't press. For her part, Renei seemed to concentrate all of her attention on staying in the saddle. Her horsemanship worried him less than her health. There was an intermittent sheen of sweat on her brow, but she always waved him off whenever he drew attention to it.

Towards dusk, Alagion brought down a pair of ducks, and together with foraged cattail stems, provided a filling dinner for all three. "My endless gratitude, brother," Boromir had said, duck grease dripping down his chin, a wide smile on his face for once. Alagion bowed theatrically, drawing a snort from Renei. He winked at her, and she quickly stifled it, but not before a tiny smile graced her lips.

...

She still wasn't sure about Alagion, but after the second day passed without incident, with him at their side, and a third, and a fourth, she was finding it harder and harder to justify her suspicions. Unlike the motley crew at the ruined city, this one wore a silver star as a cloak pin, which rested at the base of his neck. Both he and Boromir spoke Sindarin to each other, fluently, as in the Peter Jackson movies. More importantly, after the confrontation in the woods, there were no further hostilities between them, spoken or otherwise.

If he was a Ranger – and that was a very big if – then reality was fairly disappointing. He was more patient than Boromir though, especially when it came to teaching her new words. Where Boromir might have grumbled and given up on her pronunciation after a handful of tries, Alagion would only move on to the next word once she had mastered the previous one. In a matter of days, she went from individual words to small, formulaic sentences. If her leg didn't kill her first, she might even move on to full conversations.

...

In the evenings, Alagion and Boromir sparred. It had started out with the men comparing their weapons, noting their relative strengths and qualities, and inevitably led to jesting comments about the uselessness of the other's sword in combat. There was no contest – Alagion could not hope to match Boromir's extensive experience and skill when it came to swordplay – but it soon didn't matter. Where Boromir sometimes lost his patience in teaching Renei Westron, his pedanticism and high standards were exceptionally suited for teaching Alagion the ways of the sword. Every wrong step or opening had an immediate consequence; and every counter a small victory.

On the fifth evening, Alagion had finally come close to beating him. He'd parried every blow if he was too slow to dodge them, but most of the time, he managed to dance just out of Boromir's reach. Just when Boromir was about to lunge forward, again, he'd ducked under the sword and smacked Boromir's boot with the flat of his own blade, just hard enough to break his concentration. Then he'd immediately dropped his sword and in the same motion drew his dirk. When Boromir's sword came crashing down like a falling tree, Alagion leapt to the side – not quick enough, the blade clipped his ribs – and aimed his dirk at Boromir's kidneys, putting enough pressure to let the other man know he'd gotten him.

"Sly bastard, you," Boromir eventually said, grinning. "Although that counts as cheating. We haven't advanced to knifework yet."

Alagion sheathed his dagger with a smile. "What's life without a little unpredictability?"

Each day, they advanced closer to the source of the Greyflood River. The terrain rose with them, and towards the northwest, far in the distance, the beginnings of the South Downs became visible. Denser vegetation became more common: hawthorn, hazel, and holly appearing first, and then single clusters of aspen, birch, and oak trees.

Renei's exhaustion, however, steadily worsened. It had been days since she had let either of them attend to her leg, and sometimes she shivered without cause. To her credit, she masked her pain well. Whenever either of the men noticed her in discomfort, she was quick to deflect questions or forced more light-hearted expressions onto her face.

On their tenth day of travelling, however, her iron self-control had almost rusted through. Renei no longer pretended she was well. They had to tie her to the saddle so she wouldn't fall off the day before, but she no longer tried to right herself anymore. By the afternoon, she had slumped forward and weakly held onto Tinnuroc's neck. It was Alagion's turn tolding the reins, and when he came closer to check on her, he only heard the words, "Tired. So tired," repeated again and again.

They made camp early. Boromir helped Renei off Tinnuroc. Instead of waving him off or protesting, she sagged against him as soon as he'd found a grip on her and he staggered with the unaccustomed weight. When he set her down, she pulled her jacket tighter around herself and did her best to disappear from the world.

"What do you think ails her?" Alagion asked in Sindarin. While both men were comfortable in either language, they had taken to using Sindarin when the conversation centered on Renei.

"I… I don't know." Boromir reached out to her, but she retreated further into her jacket. Renei shuddered and drew in shaky breaths. Within seconds, she was sobbing, trying in vain to muffle the sound with her hands.

Alagion was still holding Tinnuroc's reins, trying not to gawp like a fish out of water. He had never been good with comforting crying females. His step-mother was much less given to weeping than his own mother, and his step-sister Malwen only seven – too cheerful to require much coddling.

Boromir glanced at him sharply. "Go find some firewood for the night. You can leave the horse with me."

He opened his mouth as if to argue but no words came out. Yes, I suppose I could do that, Alagion thought guiltily. He handed the reins to Boromir and tramped off into the woodland, shoulders stiffened with purpose. When he turned around, he saw that Boromir had picketed Tinnuroc and sat down next to Renei, drawing her into his embrace. They were too far away to for Alagion to hear whether Renei was still crying, or what words were being exchanged; he could only hope that she found comfort.

...

At first, she had been stiff as a board when he'd put his arms around her; then, her resistance broke and she buried her face into his chest, and he held her there until all her tears were spent. It took a long time before her crying ended, and by then, Boromir's jerkin was covered in tears. Given all the other things he had put it through, and the intensity of her distress, he was not in a state to care.

Boromir tried to lift her chin to see her face, but Renei kept resisting. "Shhh. All is well. I only want to make sure you are alright." Eventually, she raised her head. Her eyes were puffy and red, her lower lip trembled, and then she immediately retreated to his chest.

She was mumbling something incoherent. "I cannot hear you," Boromir said, softly.

Renei swallowed hard. "I want home. I want be here… not."

"I understand." Boromir wanted to say more but her next words caught him off guard.

"No understand! Want home, want good food, want go Ameirika, want Mama!" She choked down a sob. So many feelings flashed across her face, but her sorrow was palpable. He could see her try to stem the tears, in vain. As lost as you were in the river when I found you, poor thing.

Renee slowly disentangled herself from him. There were fresh tears streaming down her face as she untied the bandages that covered her thigh.

The smell hit him first - it was a sweat-soaked mess of putrefaction and blood. Some of the burned skin had stuck to the bandage, peeling away more of the wound. It was wet and angry, and a mottled array of brown and crusty yellow and red. Boromir glanced back at her face, but she shouted, "Look at it!" He did, and had no words.

All this time, she had secreted herself away from the men to a more distant section of river to wash. He had never thought much of it, especially since it saved both him and Alagion the effort of rebinding the bandages. That she had hid this, for so long, was both baffling and frightening.

"Why did you not say sooner? This," he rubbed his forehead, "this is not good!" Renei shrank back from him, and Boromir softened his tone slightly. "You should have said something. Alagion and I want to help you. Help you. You understand?"

She nodded almost imperceptibly, but she refused to look at him. Boromir embraced her again, holding her tightly to his chest, and this time, she let him.

When Alagion returned, arms full of brushwood, Renei had rebound her wound and Boromir was pacing restlessly. He had half a mind to snap at Alagion for taking so long, or for not realizing Renei's situation sooner, but even Boromir had to admit both were unfair accusations. Alagion dumped his load onto the ground and rushed over to Renei.

Boromir stopped his pacing enough to hear him ask, "Are you alright now, lady? Was it something we did?"

When it was clear that Alagion would not get any further answers from Renei than monosyllables, he marched over to Boromir.

"A fine man you are, to comfort her so! She's still distressed, and she refuses to even tell me why!"

"We lack the time for this, Alagion. She told me well enough."

Alagion stepped closer, hands balled together tightly. "What then, pray tell?"

Boromir stopped his pacing. There were so many ways he could say it, but none of them were right. Or maybe it was simply the burden of the subject. He forced himself to look at Alagion's earnest face, taking in the patchy beard, the sharp eyes, the unruly mass of dark hair that was barely held together in a pigtail. "She is not well," he began, but Alagion interrupted, "You need only look at her to know!"

Boromir glared him into silence. "She is not well. Her wound is almost past the point of healing, if not salvaging!" He rubbed his forehead as if the action would erase the furrows forming within it – in vain. He wasn't even aware that he had raised his voice until he saw both Alagion and Renei staring at him in disbelief. Renei looked as if she was about to cry again.

Alagion was the first to break the silence. "I did not know. I… spoke foolishly." He fidgeted under Boromir's gaze. "Is it truly that dire with her?"

"She needs a physician. Is there anything you know of the healing arts?"

The ranger grimaced. "I was never any good at herbistry. Lacked the patience for it. Although… if one of us rides hard with Renei, we could reach my uncle Esgalron's outpost within hours. From there, it would be another three days' hard riding to Imladris."

Neither of the men had discussed what would happen after reaching the source of the Greyflood. Boromir had assumed that he would part ways with both at that point and continue to Rivendell alone, but that had always been a naïve hope. Once again, the circumstances were against him.

"I shall leave her in your charge then. It is already near-dusk; you should not tarry any longer." Alagion protested but Boromir cut him off. "Tinnuroc is your horse, and I am heavier than you. I will meet you at Imladris."

Alagion was visibly unhappy, but relented. "Very well. I am sorry our parting is not happier." The ranger and Boromir clasped arms tightly. "You may count on me to keep her safe."

Renei squawked in protest and swatted at Alagion's arms as he heaved her back into the saddle. A moment later, Alagion joined her, pushing her just a little bit further forward. Boromir walked up to Renei and smiled encouragingly.

"Alagion is taking you to a healer in Imladris. He is called Lord Elrond. I am told he is very wise." There was a brief flash of recognition in her eyes when he mentioned the elf-lord, but there was no time to dwell on it. "Be good now, Renei. I will see you soon."

Alagion turned to nod at Boromir, and he returned it. Then the ranger dug his heels into Tinnuroc with a shout and the mare galloped off to the north. For a moment, Boromir thought he saw Renei turn around to look at him one last time, but by then they were almost too far away to make out.