Chapter Text
The hunter had followed the trail of black blood and footprints, expecting to catch her quarry unaware, and found that strange, lonely tower instead.
Cenedhaer stopped in front of the frozen river, her boots rustling softly against the frost covering leaf and root like a spiderweb. Breath clouds coiled, white and soft, around her leather-covered neck.
She'd better consider her options. She had expected a fight, and her hands ached for the ringing toll of steel against an Orc's neck, especially after last night's attack. Running off from the camp in chase might not have had been the wisest of choices, but then again, a wise person would have stayed in Fornost together with the other handmaidens, not freezing her limbs and risking her life alone in the woods as a true Ranger.
Her Father often said Cenedhaer's name was more tied to her keen eyes than her sound judgement. On days like these, he could be right.
Cenedhaer looked down at the frozen river, its surface polished enough to reflect her face: pale skin, olive eyes and black hair, tense with indecision.
The Tower. She licked her lips as she considered it. It surely was not of Númenorean masonry, with its wide brim of a roof, ending in a point. Most likely Mannish. She was close to the vast forests of Rhûdaur, and this might have once been a lookout tower, standing naked as it was amidst the frozen stream, alone at the center of an empty circle of trees.
The only sign of life was a thin trail of white smoke running off into the air. Someone probably was having breakfast, someone wiser than her, someone who had spent hours running after Orcs on rough terrain.
Who lived up there? Even in these dark times, not all the forest-dwellers were in league with the Witch-King. It might have just been a simple family of hunter, or woodcutters, living off the forest.
But the trail of Orc footprints and blood vanished right before the river, so unless the frozen talons of the Witch-King came to scoop them away, they must have been close.
Maybe the inhabitants of the Tower had shot at them from afar. Nobody liked Orcs, not even the cursed traitors of Rhûdaur.
Maybe she should just look around for more signs of her quarry, but the Tower called upon her gaze once more. There was something... strange about it.
She changed her position, trying to look at it from a different angle.
On the one hand, it seemed to emit a cursed feeling, a befouled sensation that spoke of dark words and darker deeds. But on the other hand... there was something inside the Tower, something that called on to her.
Father peeked again at the edge of her mind: she had little time to waste humoring her feelings, when there was a war going on, and she would make an easy target if she stepped out of the tall bushes. Her leather armor would protect her little against the black arrows of Orcs and their poison.
But there was a secret in that Tower. She had always been great with secrets, at keeping them. At discovering them.
Cenedhaer stepped out of the bushes, crossing the frozen river. At worst, she might share breakfast with a woodcutter.
Of course, reality was going to be much different. She had not the vaguest idea about what she would find inside that tower.
-
First things first, the door was blocked. Which was no surprise, save for the complicated system of locks and keys that held it shut, almost Dwarvish in its own fashion. Cenedhaer bit her lip. She really should not be here. The moment she had lost her quarry she should have gone back to camp.
But there was *something* calling her. And letting go at the first difficulty had never been her style.
Maybe this was the same feeling Beren had felt, back when the world was young, when he had seen Lúthien dancing in the woods of Doriath.
Hm. Not that she expected to discover a fine maiden dancing for her in the woods... or anything like that. She probably would only find a gruff old man and some pelts inside that Tower. It really was not worth it, especially when Cenedhaer was forced to set her hands and feet against the stone and climb.
Not worth it.
Surely not when she reached forty paces from ground, wind picked up and threatened to send her falling, or ice made even the strongest grip tenuous. Maybe Father was right, and her own tenacity would be her undoing.
From up above came a startled sound. So there was someone inside. Maybe she could just ask for a mug of milk and be on her merry way, she could repay the people inside the tower with a favour or two. Maybe they needed their knives sharpened?
The last few paces were the hardest, as the tower had the good idea of arching back as it widened. Powers, she was in such an interesting situation, and all because she wanted to follow her heart. She should have stayed at the camp.
At last, her fingers found purchase over the one window, and she pulled herself up on the open threshold.
It was not a hunting hut.
The inside of the tower was a simple circular room, covered in paintings and... were those toys? What was this place?
Cenedhaer jumped inside. Air was much warmer, also thanks to the hearth happily crackling in a corner and the many candles blinking like soft stars.
Her stiff muscles relaxed. Maybe that was one of the reasons why they got her so easily.
"Anybody home?" Cenedhaer cried out. Something shifted behind her.
She turned, quick as thunder, but the dark form was quicker. Something hit her head with a *pannng*, and she only had the time to feel it echo through her skull, an odd sound, like a bell, before she slipped into the dark.
When she came to, the first thing she did was to try and stand up, but something held her. Some sort of... rope?
No, it was not a rope... she was tied up to a chair. By... long golden tresses?
Powers, had she stepped into an Elf-tale?
"Make no move," said a young voice. Cenedhaer blinked, focused her gaze, and stared. The rope of hair connected to a young maiden, somewhat shorter than her, emerald eyes looking at her in deep suspicion. She wore a purple dress, and for reasons Cenedhaer could not fathom, she was barefoot. And holding a pan with a conspicuous dent in it.
And her hair...
Cenedhaer had heard tales, stories of Elf-maidens, more beautiful than stories could tell and eye could see, and she had especially heard about the Lady of the Golden Wood, she who was said to have the elder light of the Two Trees entwined into her tresses.
But Cenedhaer had never seen Lady Galadriel, and if one has to be honest, she probably did not care to compare and contrast: the maiden in front of her shone in her olive Ranger eyes brighther than dawn and more soothing than dusk. Her golden hair seemed to be threaded sunset, and they were coiled all around her body, tying her to the chair.
Powers, this was unexpected.
"Who are you?" The golden-haired maiden asked.
"I-" Cenedhaer fought with her own addled mind for a moment. "My name is Cenedhaer, daughter of Hest, first Captain of the companies of his highness Arvedui son of Araphant, High King of Arnor."
The blonde maiden blinked those gorgeous emerald eyes of hers, and Cenedhaer had to gulp down her own heart.
Power, she was better than this. She had to stay *focused*. Now she understood the old stories a little better, at least. She had never... never in her life, seen anything like this. Anyone.
Maybe Lúthien the Fair might have been compared, but she had no idea. And she had always been partial to blondes anyway. And to freckles.
She had a lot of freckles.
"I did not understand half of what you said," the maiden replied, tightening her grip on her hair, "and I do not care. If you came up here it means you are after my hair."
Her hair, her voice, her eyes. Cenedhaer was after everything of this golden maiden, guilty as charged.
She chuckled, drunkenly.
"Indeed, now that I put my eyes on them, I will never be able to live without," Cenedhaer replied. That sounded horribly affected even to her own ears, but it was true, and if she was walking in an Elf-tale she might as well talk like the protagonist of one. Eat you other hand, Beren. "Please tell me, maiden. What is your name? I am entranced, and I forgot my good manners."
Was that red coming to rest on her maiden's cheeks? Wait, she was not *her* maiden.
Powers, *not yet*!
She had always considered the old stories ridiculous, but find yourself inside one...
She was no stranger to sudden decisions, but this one was quicker than most, maybe quicker than it should be. And if her mind tried to shout this and similar things to her, her heart was far too busy taking care of the important matters.
She wanted this girl.
"Mother says to be courteous," the maiden muttered. "So be it. But try anything funny, and I pan you."
Cenedhaer nodded, still feeling a little drunk. This maiden could pan her all day if she so wanted.
"My name is Aglarwen. I... uhm, I am not sure if it is a pleasure. Mother says..." Her emerald eyes slitted inti two thin green lines. "Says not to trust people who wanto to steal my hair. What do you want? Are you after my hair?"
"Lady, now that I see you I am after all of you," Cenedhaer said with her best smile. "I am a Ranger. I was hunting the band of Orcs that assaulted our outpost yesternight. I spotted your tower from afar, and it has been hours since I have had a bite of cheese and a glass of water. I thought I'd invite myself at your table."
Aglarwen blinked.
"You... climbed sixty paces of tower to get your breakfast?"
"I just wanted to ask for some cheese. I found you instead. I was positively smitten."
"I thought you were dangerous," the golden maiden said, looking at her dented pan. "Maybe you are just a little crazy."
"Maybe," she agreed. Why shouldn't she agree? Everything this maiden of gold and fire said sounded so melodious. Her lips, her eyes, everything was so lovable about her. Why was she hidden in this tower? She should have spent all her life in her arms.
Whatever her delay, she could start from this very moment.
"You are a little odd. Are all the... *dranjers* like you, lady?"
"Uh?" She had asked her a question. Why could she not stay focused? She had faced the worst odds and did not bat an eye. "We are called *Rangers*."
"Uhm, I see..." Aglarwen tapped with her fingers on her pan. "You do seem harmless, especially tied up like that, but Mother has always said I should not trust strangers..."
"But we are not strangers," Cenedhaer said at once, "we exchanged names! We are not strangers anymore."
The golden girl looked at her with the same unconvinced look as before, but this time it was a little less sharp, less distrustful. Was she getting through to her? Her fluttering heart wanted to. Wanted to get through to her and get to her and hold her close an-
"We will see. Mother never told me about... Rangers." Cenedhaer's stomach growled, interrupting her. How charming. Nothing like this ever happened to the heroes of those old tales, she could have bet her knives on it. "But I suppose you can stay for breakfast."
The girl turned, without untying her, but it was not important. Not when she was in such a privileged position to gaze at her, admire the elegant curve of her neck as she turned this way and that, and her gestures as she gathered milk and eggs and bread...her gaze descending towards her shoulders, and her elegant waist and... oh my.
Oh my my.
"Will you stop? I already said I won't give you my hair!"
Cenedhaer's gaze hastily shot up, retreating from the most indecent depths it had descended to. She plastered her best innocent grin on her face, the same she used with Father .
"I was not looking... at your hair, Lady."
"Is that so?" Aglarwen put both hands on her hips, tilting her body in challenge. "And if you were not looking at them, where were you looking, miss Ranger? Hm?"
She... really had no way how to answer that.
"See? You should behave! I am most graceful to offer you a breakfast. Keep your hands where I can see them. And stop looking at my hair."
"As you wish."
"Hm."
Aglarwen turned, and Cenedhaer did as she was told. She did not look at her hair.
Not one bit.
"I don't know what 'Rangers' eat, so I brought you a bit of everything," she said after a few minutes.
"I am most grateful, Lady," Cenedhaer said, wriggling her hands. "Can you untie me now?"
"Not a chance! I might be young, but I am not stupid! I will give you your breakfast, may way." Aglarwen said, cutting cheese and bread in small pieces, which she then proceeded to press against herr mouth.
She had never been so humiliated since that time she had tried to swoon the High King's nephew, and she would have swore vengeance upon anyone who dared to stain her honour to this level, but for some reason... for some reason as long as it was Aglarwen...
She did not seem to pay too much mind.
"Thank you, Lady," she sad at last, finishing the last gulp of warm milk from the cup the other girl had put against her lips. For a girl who seemingly lived alone in the tower, she enjoyed good food. And she definitely had not grown up malnourished.
Far from it.
And yet, dark thoughts began to peek through the soft clouds of her infatuation. Who was this Mother she was speaking of? Was she a simple Rhûdaurian woman, or was she in leaugue with the Witch-King? Nothing in the tower bore the distinctive feeling of dark and loathsome will of that evil warlock, but there was a thin layer of malice, sprinkled in corners like a sickly morning dew.
Not on the girl, of course. But it was distinct.
"How did you manage to survive?" Aglarwen asked as she put back her breakfast.
"Survive?"
"Yes. *Out there.*" The girl gestured past the window.
"Lady, the world is surely a dangerous place, but it is not all fear and iron. There are beautiful things as well." Her mind went to the white walls of Fornost, the lost towers of Annúminas peeking out of the surface of Twilight Lake, and the far-away memory of the Grey Havens that one time she had been there with Father and the High King. "Indeed we fight to protect beautiful things in the world."
Aglarwen brushed a tuft of blond hair behind an ear, and Cenedhaer surely had stopped thinking about tall towers and walls.
Her breath died in her mouth.
Those huge emerald eyes...
"Mother said the world is dangerous, and people always fight against each other."
"That happens too. But most of the time we get along. Even with the Eldar."
"What? What's that?" The girl grabbed her pan, looking around. "Is there one of them here?"
Cenedhaer laughed.
"No, Lady. They are not there." Luckily. Or one of them might have found her before Cenedhaer, and she would have never forgived him. "But they are fine folks, for the most part. Very, uh, peculiar. You might know them as Elves."
"Elves." She seemed taste the word. Her mouth scrunched up in such a way that Cenedhaer forgot all the long years of training and lost a little squee from lips. Powers be thanked, she did not seem to notice. "Is that the symbol of the Elves?" She asked pointing at the silver buckle holding her coat.
"This? No, these are the Seven Stars and the crown of the High King."
"So you are with him." She seemed to be deciding in which box put her and the news she had brought in her world. "I suppose. I have never heard of any King, High or Low."
"It's a long story."
"Will you tell me?" Those huge eyes opened wide to look at her, and Cenedhaer was transfixed, impotent like the first rabbit she had shot through with an arrow.
"I... uh. I sure can, Lady." In fact, she wanted nothing else, nothing more.
"Thank you, I'll take my notes!"
Aglarwen turned and began rustling through her things, producing sheets, pencils, ink. Cenedhaer recognized a few of the ink bottles. They had been made in Fornost and Archet, same manifacture as her own. Whoever gave them to this girl must have been around there.
Most interesting.
But there were other pressing matters. Father would be worried, and she had a duty to come back and tell him about... well, maybe not everything, but make sure he did not lose his head.
He would dispatch rescuing parties if she did not come soon, and those would be capable men withdrawn from their guarding places. Who knew what befouled things could slither through as vigilance diminished.
Sighing, she took one last look - last, for now! - at Aglarwen.
Her blonde hair, the shining light in her eyes, like sunlight passing through leaves in spring, her trusting smile...
"Lady. I will tell you, but you have to untie me now."
"What? Why?"
"I do answer to the High King, and it is my duty to report about my Orc quarry. I don't want them to worry about me. I must go."
"Oh. I suppose... I suppose that's true."
Biting her lip, Aglarwen put down her notes and penciles and untied her.
How trusting. She still had all her weapons on her and yet she seemed completely ready to accept her. Which did odd things to her heart, but was also quite strange.
How long had this girl been here?
No matter what, the days she would spend alone in this tower would be a very low number! By the Valar, no matter who this ‘Mother’ was, she would free Aglarwen!
"Miss, are you alright?"
"I... uh, yes, Lady."
"You turned red all over."
"I... I must go. But I will come back."
"You will?" She coughed. "I mean... of course you will. You are after my hair. I suppose."
"Not your hair, Lady," she replied as she stood up. "Or, well, not just that. But I will steal your smile, be it the last thing I do! I give my word as a Ranger of the High King Arvedui!"
"Yes, well..." the girl twisted a lock of hair around her finger. "I suppose you will have to come back, then!"
"At once! I will come tomorrow."
"Tomorrow… no, Mother will come! The day... the day after tomorrow!"
Curiouser and curiouser, this Mother.
But she would humor her, at least for now.
"In two days, then. Thank you for breakfast." Cenedhaer jumped on the window, turned and got ready for the descent, when Aglarwen walked up to her, throwing swaths of her blonde hair down the window.
"This way might prove easier," she said with a big smile.
-
On her way back home, Cenedhaer thought about the young girl time and time again. It was *exactly* like in those old stories.
She had swept her off her feet. And this one called Mother... she'd really need to find a way to fend her off.
She was so lost in her own thoughts that she almost did not hear the ambush.
From behind trees, the screaming, misshapen Orcs she had been chasing this morning jumped out, sword at the ready, glistening with old blood.
Cenedhaer unsheathed her sword. She thrust it in the first one’s stomach, pirouetted, threw her knife through the eye of the Orc sneaking up on her, kicked against the one charging her with its shield, knocking it out with the blunt of her sword, and then slashing at its throat, painting the bushes black.
The other two screamed and fled, but she was not a Ranger because the High King liked the sound of the word.
Two swift arrows later, she had dispatched the band.
"Never a moment of quiet," she commented, cleaning her sword and withdrawing her arrows, as she walked back towards the camp, emerald gaze and a wide smile to fill her thoughts.