[maikafanawen]

Tharbad was a few hours journey that the company would make in the morning. Wren slid down off of Rave’s horse and stood very still and very painfully. Rave gave her a funny look.

“Are you all right Wren?” she asked, trying not to laugh at the noblewoman’s crooked stance. Wren grimaced as she straightened her back and stretched out her arms.

“Oh!” she said as if she had just realized something she had long forgotten, “that’s why I don’t like riding horses. They turn your bum into raw meat.” Rave chuckled, removing her horse’s tack and beginning to brush her down. Wren gave her a small salute and thanked her for her company and allowing her to ride behind her. Then she made her way over to where Carmalita had started a small fire and was boiling a kettle of water for some tea. Dinner had been dried meat and fruits for the past week and it looked as though things weren’t going to change any time soon. “Something smells good!” said Wren hopefully.

“Then you must have just recently developed a favorable attraction to the scent of boiling water because that’s all that’s in the pot dear.” The Gondorian scowled and sat tenderly on the ground, wincing as her sore bottom hit the ground. “How was the ride?” the healer asked innocently. Wren smiled.

“Brilliant. I think I’ll invest in a few horses myself when I get home. Although, I prefer saddles made of soft leather as opposed to the stone version I was seated in today.” Carmalita laughed and stoked the fire, adding the herbs to the water. Wren heaved a dramatic sigh and absently picked at the grass blades. “How’s Rangar and Bregand doing?” she asked as if asking about Carmalita’s own family.

“Fine, fine,” was the reply. “Rangar’s feeling a bit of pain around his stomach—it’s his ribs ye know, and Bregand’s head is still functioning properly.” As if on cue, Bregand came up behind them, holding a map open before him. He plopped on the ground beside Carmalita, studying the parchment.

“So Bregand,” asked Wren, leaning back on her hands, “what and where is Tharbad precisely?” The young scholar looked up with a look that clearly said ‘you-don’t-know-what-Tharbad-is?’ “I’ve learned bits and pieces in my history lessons,” she countered. “But why don’t you refresh my memory.” Bregand sat back leniently.

“Fine. I’ll sum it up for ye. Well, Tharbad was an important waystation for overland travel between the North and Gondor during the time when Cardolan was known as part of the southern third of the divided Arnorian kingdom. It and Lond Daer were the chief cities that sat along the Greyflood. However, during the battle of Angmar, both cities were reduced to ancient ruins, the Great Bridge having collapsed to form a ford of stony rubble in the Gwathló River. When King Elessar restored the North-Kingdom—very recently—Tharbad once again became an important stop on the road between Arnor and Gondor. With the help of the dwarves, the Great Bridge was also rebuilt. It should take us a little less than two hours to get there in the morning.” He then resumed studying his map and Wren sat for a second, taking in the information. Tharbad, and Lond Daer? Cardolan? Gwathló? The names were very vague in her mind, and bits and pieces of memory didn’t do them any justice. A bit frustrated that she new more about the different kinds of wines and their seasons or masquerades than geography, she excused herself from her two companions, leaving them in conversation.

She sat at the top of a small hill from above which she could see a ribbon of the Greyflood rushing in the distance. Had she been an elf she might have heard the water, but only the sound of night birds and crickets met her ears as she strained to listen. The noblewoman sighed. Nothing had gone the way she had expected. Rangar & Co. was supposed to journey easily across Eriador, through Dunland and into Rohan. From there it was a clear shot to Gondor—home. So far they had been ambushed twice and Wren had gotten captured and rescued all in only a few weeks. The poor noblewoman was exhausted, though she would be last to admit it. The past few nights she had spent yearning for home and dreaming of the comforts she was so used to.

On the other hand, she was enjoying herself. Wren had made a motley collection of new friends and was obviously getting stronger. Her taste buds had been stretched to accept the rough menu she was given, and she was learning things. The noblewoman swore that every time she had a small conversation with of her companions she learned ten new things. Rave told of life as a shield maiden, as did Aerin. They both had informed Wren a great deal of their adventures, and things that made their wanderings easier. Carmalita—whether she knew it or not—had taught Wren to make herbal teas, bandage a rough wound, and start a fire (all of these the Gondorian had learned through observation). Bregand was probably most informal. If Wren had a silver penny for every new thing he had told her, she’d have enough to supply wine at her mother’s parties for ten years.

A star shot across the night sky, soon followed by another. Wren gazed up at the dark blue ceiling in awe. It was then she realized that she hadn’t sat under the naked sky for ten years. So absorbed in her parties and social life, she had abandoned her youthful love of the earth about her. Dismissing the thoughts from her head, she untied her blue jerkin and folded it up into a square, putting it under her head as she lied down. A soft breeze ruffled her white blouse and blew wisps of stray blond curls into her face. It is a beautiful night, she marveled.