A Stranger Named Strider

    Three more days passed, and life in the little village returned to its normal pace. The stranger in Dinúvren’s hut was still the subject of constant rumours, but was no longer the sole topic of interest, and Doran kept his assumptions to himself.

    Slowly the combined efforts of the healer and Nilana showed results. The stranger's cough subsided, and when Nilana brought soup he was able to hold the bowl alone. Her spirits lifted even more at the sight of the healing wounds. Now that she knew the procedure, she changed the bandages, kept the wounds clean and applied salve. Bradolla came once a day, and - making up for her harsh comments - praised Nilana for her nursing.

Despite rejoicing at the patient's recovery, Nilana became frightened every time the stranger slept. For some time he would lie still - he never snored as Nelin pointed out - but later on he would become restless. That was always the moment Nilana rose to crouch at his bedside and tug the blankets tightly around his shivering body, effectively preventing his arms from hitting her again. She heard croaked whispers among his moans, and became even more afraid. The little she could understand sounded like threats to unseen foes of old, and she spoke soothing words to no avail. He growled in a foreign, harsh sounding tongue, and she sat back on her heels aghast at his fierce expression. Only when she cooled his sweat soaked forehead with a wet cloth and repeatedly caressed his bearded cheeks, did he seem to slowly calm down, and finally - to Nilana's relief - sleep peacefully.

    Then Nilana would sit there for a moment longer, staring at his features. There was strength and decisiveness to be found, but fear and frailty also. She longed to know more about him, and at the same time she was afraid of his history: he could prove to be a bad man, someone, who had stolen the jewel and other belongings from a trader and was now in flight from his pursuers, which would explain why he had been found in the Marshes. Nilana shut her mind to these insinuations. She hoped he would turn out to be a good and honourable man, and prove his value to those, who had ventured to save his life.

    “Why you wrap him like this?” Nelin whispered at her side, and Nilana was startled. The girl grinned and repeated her question.

    “He has bad dreams,” she explained in a low voice. “And you should be sleeping.”

    “You were gone.”

    “I come back soon.”

    “You watch him sleep?” Nelin followed her mother's gaze. “And the blankets help protect him against his dreams?”

    “No… not really.” Nilana frowned. “I just do not want him to tumble out of the bed. He tosses quite wildly.” Involuntarily Nelin stepped back. “You don't need to be afraid.”

    “Listen!” the girl said, putting a finger across her lips.

    They both heard his murmurs, fractions of words in a foreign tongue, but the tone was lighter this time. - “Man gonoded eraid dirtnach, meleth nín?”* - He seemed to plead for something, but neither mother nor daughter could catch the meaning. Then his expression changed, and the words became fierce. His movements beneath the blankets increased. Nelin's eyes widened.

    “He's fighting,” she said in a hushed whisper, afraid and excited at the same moment, and torn between retreat and curiosity. “What's he saying?”

    “I don't… I don't know for sure what he's talking about.” Nilana touched the man's brow, flinching compassionately at his inner torment. Nelin handed her a wet cloth, and she took it without averting her eyes from the stranger. “He's so upset…” She laid the cloth on his forehead. “I wish I could understand more. - Help him in any way.”

    “Would you not better wake him? You do with me.”

    “I tried before.” Nilana almost winced when the stranger jerked up his head and grimaced as if he were in pain. The thought of slapping his face came to her, but she had not the heart to do it. She talked to him instead and caressed his face like she had done before with her daughter, whenever the little girl had experienced a nightmare. Nelin's hand rested on her shoulder, and Nilana was reassured by her touch.

   The wanderer fought to wake up, to escape the nightmare that bonds were holding him and pulling him down into an unknown depth. He reached the surface of his dream only to find out he could not move! He struggled, then opened his eyes with a gasp for air. He looked into the warm eyes of Nilana, who smiled and loosened the covers.

   “I had to,” she explained, while his breathing returned to normal, and the coughing fit ceased. He shivered violently. “You were tossing so wildly you might have hurt yourself. And you were talking… after a fashion… the whole time,” she added with a strange look that indicated the unease she shared with her daughter who stood a step behind her. “Did you not know that Steward Ecthelion is dead? I mean, he died a long time ago… Steward Denethor, his son, now rules Gondor. Well, that's what I heard.” She gave him another doubting glance. “Did you know Ecthelion? I mean, no, …how could you? Doran said he died more than thirty years ago!” She shook her head, and forced a smile on her face. “You must have been a little boy at that time.” She saw he wanted to answer, and quickly lifted her hand to stop him. “No, hush, lad, you should not talk now. That dream was bad, I know, but so you should rest now. I will bring you some water if you wish.” The wanderer closed his eyes for a long moment, nodding just as much as Nelin needed to signal her to run and come back with a cup. She handed it to him carefully, and he rewarded her with a quickly fading smile.

   “Thank you,” he croaked after the first sip. Nelin's face lit up. Nilana seemed about to order him again to remain silent, when he already nodded and lifted his hand in a gesture of understanding.

   “Much better, lad… no?” She frowned when he shook his head.

   “Strider,” he managed to whisper. “My name is Strider.”

-o-o-o-o-

   The news that the man had revealed his name, was known to all eighty-three inhabitants by the next morning. Bradolla was praised for her skill as a healer, and Nilana was called a ‘good and caring’ woman. Only Gaellyn, who had accompanied Dinúvren and Daevan into the Marshes, was discontented.

   “Doesn't sound like an honest name, that. Nay, he could be anyone! Some kind of thief too. I never heard of someone called ‘Strider’.” He fumbled with the knots of his net. “What does it mean? That he's striding along somewhere? Escaping from somewhere maybe?”

   Dinúvren expelled his breath into the morning mist. He carefully coiled up the rope of the net and prepared to leave for the day's work.

   “You say then we should not have saved that poor soul out there?”

   Gaellyn cursed when the net became entangled, and needed a moment to answer. Daevan stood a few feet away, already waiting for them. On his broad shoulders he carried the pack for the day and fresh water in skins. The older man's quarrel was a welcome distraction from the dull work ahead.

   “You never know what you catch with your net,” Gaellyn said with a grunt. He finally had the net ready. “So… how can you say he was worth the effort? We could have drowned too, or got bitten by that monster… whatever that was.” He drew up his nose. They began to march north, and Gaellyn eyed Nilana's older brother. “Did he say anything about that?”

   “No. He just gave us his name.”

   “And I wager he won't tell you anything else! He could be connected with those hordes Folar told about some weeks ago.”

   “We don't know anything about them,” Daevan interfered, not liking the older man's insinuation. “And they didn't come through the Dead Marshes. No one has actually seen anyone, it seems to me.”

   “Well, who knows?” Gaellyn grumbled, and with a mocking glance he asked Dinúvren, “Has he stopped puking? You smelt like…”

   “Enough!” Dinúvren requested, his right hand raised. “I cannot smell anything else since then!”

   Gaellyn and Daevan laughed about his annoyed reaction.

   “Thank Nilana that she took care of that!” Daevan said with honest conviction. He walked at a quick pace. The others followed, and their heavy breathing mingled with the thick fog around them. “I suppose you would not.”

   “He would have placed him outside!” Gaellyn evaded the slap against his arm. “Well, you might have got rid of him that way.”

   Daevan and Dinúvren shook their heads, and the laughter subsided.

   “Nay, I would not,” the older man finally said. “Remember two winters ago. I would have given my life if I'd been able to help Berunin.”

   “Aye, I know,” Gaellyn gave in, and silently they trudged on.

-o-o-o-o-

   Two days later Strider woke to find Nelin sitting next to his bed. She held a cup in her hands, and her brown eyes bulged as she almost stopped breathing when he turned his head to look at her.

   “I am… I was… My mother told me to give you this,” she muttered barely audible, and lifted the cup to let him see it. Strider nodded, still drowsy but aware at the same time that his looks must repel the small child. Nelin hesitated, but when the man made no sign that he wanted the water she remained at her place motionlessly. “She told me to wait here.”

   “Aye.” Strider turned his head further to look through the open door. Laughter could be heard, and the crackling of a fire. Smoke wafted across the darkening sky. A young woman shrieked, but laughter followed, and the clanking of tankards as the conversation turned to joyous shouting.

   “You are sleeping in my uncle's bed,” the girl said after a while. “And I must sleep at grand-pa's hut. But I don't like it there.”

   “Where is your father?” Strider asked hoarsely, facing her again.

   Nelin lifted her shoulders as if to hide.

   “He died.” Her voice was no more than a shuddered whisper, and she shied from his interrogative stare.

   “Was he killed… by an enemy?” Strider lifted his head, but the same moment Nelin withdrew even more, putting the cup on the floor with a clanking sound.

   “He was sick.” Nelin's chin trembled when she added, “Like you.”

   For a long moment they both remained silent in their thoughts. Nelin's sobs were the only sound in the room. Strider looked at the brown curls and the fair complexion of the little girl. Her shoulders shook from weeping, and he found no words to console her, but stretched out his hand to gently touch her arm. She looked up, her eyes still filled with tears.

   “You won't die, or?” There was a plea in her eyes Strider had only seen with soldiers severely wounded hoping for his help.

   “I will not,” he said, and in her relief her shoulders sagged, and she exhaled, touching his hand. “But tell me…”

   “My mother prayed for you, but the Gods didn’t listen before.” She drew up her nose. “Father died though she kept on praying.”

   “I see.”

   Nelin's hand dropped when she realised her action.

   “Did you have that beast on a leash?” she suddenly asked and looked straight at him.

   “I did, but only to keep him from running away.”

   “Is it a bad beast then?” He nodded for the coughing stopped his answer. She handed him the cup of water. “Ugly? Uncle Din said it was ugly. And Gaellyn said it was a big beast, with an ugly snout and big teeth.”

   Strider drank and thanked her.

   “It is very old and had long been in hiding.” He saw Nelin frown.

   “Was it ugly, or was Gaellyn fooling me like grand-pa does?”

   “Aye, you might consider him ugly, but he is not big.”

   Nelin drew up her nose again and took the empty cup.

   “You did not try bathing in the marshes,… or did you?”

   Strider arched his brows, but had no time to answer. Nilana entered the hut with a strict “Nelin!” on her lips. The girl stood wide-eyed and fled the hut in a flash. The woman's gaze followed her daughter, and when she turned, she shook her head.

   “I'm sorry,” she said coming closer, “I told her not to be too insolent.”

   Strider suppressed the coughing fit and managed to say:

   “It is no insolence, just curiosity.”

   Nilana snorted.

   “Either way she should not ask you anything.” She lifted the cup from the floor and brought it back to the hearth. Strider struggled to sit up in bed, and Nilana was there to help him, though her glance told him how foolish she considered his action. “You should not exert yourself,” she said meekly. “Your body needs rest. You have to gain strength again… and weight.”

   Strider replied a small smile and flinched when he tried to steady himself with his left hand.

   “I thank you for your care,” he said, and she could only hear his thin voice because she knelt beside him. “But I need to. I had rest enough.”

   She averted her eyes quickly, took a deep breath, and nodded:

   “I see.” She was about to rise when he held her back.

   “Do not consider me ungrateful, Nilana. Not many give their help so willingly.”

   She could only nod and brought him his clothes. He made it into his trousers and shirt, but fumbled with the laces of the jerkin. He was still hampered in using his hands by the bandages around his wrists. Avoiding looking at him, she closed the laces without a word. She felt her throat constrict too tightly to speak, though she would have liked to invite him to stay for a while longer in her home.

   “I thank you,” Strider said when she turned to the side. He followed her movement with his eyes, then she handed him the brooch. Her hand trembled as he took it, and finally she looked up to him. Her eyes asked more questions than she could have put into words, but he felt unable to answer one of them. “This means much to me,” he said, and looked at the glistening jewel. “I was given it a long time ago.”

   Nilana nodded, her face red and hot.

   “You're still too weak to get up,” she managed to say. “You could stay if you want to.”

   “I know, but I should not.”

   Nilana turned to leave, mumbling that she had to look for her daughter.

   Strider gazed after her. Being sick and haunted by nightmares, it had not been an easy task for her to take care of him, but she had never uttered a word of complaint. While it had been a disaster to lose his prey, he was fortunate that he was still alive.