Departure – Part Two –

   Nilana had felt like crying the whole morning, but she remained outwardly calm although she felt tense enough to snap. Her wish would not come true. She would remain alone and dependent on her brother. The stranger had been grateful, and she truly believed him when he said he must move on. Still that did not soothe her aching heart.

   “See, he runs away,” Baeni stated beside her, and not the words, but the way she said them made Nilana angry.

   “He leaves because he must,” she rebuked her and scrubbed the shirt in the washing tub even more vigorously.

   “He puts some creature above everyone! Even his own kin.”

   Nilana ground her teeth.

   “The reason must be serious. I see it in his eyes. He would not leave if there was no need.”

   Baeni put in her husband’s stained clothes. The distinct stench of sweat rose. She wrinkled her nose, and stared at the widow out of narrowed eyes.

   “Maybe he is just escaping any further obligations.”

   “It was never his intention to even come here!” Nilana almost shouted, throwing down the shirt. Water splashed over them both. “He has his mission! And I thank the gods that such men exist, who know where their duty lies, and who do not stay behind when their skill is needed!”

   Baeni's face turned ashen.

   “You have no right to accuse Gaellyn of not helping your husband that night! He ventured there alone! He wanted to!”

   “Only because Gaellyn had quarrelled with him before!”

   “Donyc died because you could not cure him!”

   “Donyc fell sick because Gaellyn is a coward!” Nilana took the wet shirt and abruptly turned away from Baeni. She would not let the other woman see her cry. She ran back the way she had come, her cheeks flushing scarlet. Her clothes were wet with the water dripping from the shirt when she arrived back at her hut. Nelin ran after her, but Daevan, who was about to meet with Strider ready to depart, held her back.

   “Slow down, Nelin, my child, give her a moment of peace alone.”

   “But she's crying!” Nelin looked as if she would weep the same instant too.

   “I know, Nelin,” Daevan soothed her in a deep and friendly tone, “but sometimes women have to, and you cannot help her right now. She'll come out again soon.” He saw the wanderer frown, and with a small smile turned his attention to Nelin again. “You were playing with Horyc. Go back to him. He will be waiting for you.”

   Nelin sent a longing glance to her mother's hut, but nodded and obediently trod away. Daevan rose, flinching.

   “Seems it's not the best time to say farewell.”

   “That cannot be helped.” Strider looked at the sky, brooding with unshed rain. “We have to set off now.” Daevan complied, and Strider entered the dim hut one last time. “Nilana?”

   The woman braced herself to face the wanderer again, rising from where she was crouched near the fireplace. The shirt lay in a heap beside her, now as dirty as before. She quickly wiped away the traces of tears, but that did not help much. Her eyes were reddened, and her voice thin.

   “You are leaving, I know,” she said, unable to look at him. She knew suddenly the gods meant her suffer, but she would endure any punishment for the loss of her beloved Donyc.

   “I came to bid you farewell.” Strider placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. “And I will treasure in my heart all the care you bestowed upon me. You did not know me, and you were not obliged to help me, but still you did. Your care for me is truly one of the greatest blessings given to me in my life.”

   Nilana pressed her eyes shut, but the tears came freely, unbidden as they were. She swallowed and could not utter more than a mumbled “Thank you” between her sobs. Strider waited silently until she looked up to him, before he bowed to her and left the hut.

   Daevan waited for him as did many of the villagers. Even Gaellyn and Baeni had come to say farewell.

   “Were you able to comfort her?” he asked when the wanderer reached him, adjusting his pack and weapons.

   “There is no comfort for a soul that mourns.”

-o-o-o-o-

   They set off at a good pace, and for the first time Daevan was able to enjoy being out of the village, for there was no need as to find the right spot for the nets and fishing rods, or to seek the tracks of rabbits and deer. Nilana had provided enough provisions to last for three to four days, and Daevan remembered vividly the conversation with the young woman early that morning. She had been proud of him to finally have found a purpose to fulfil. Yet she could not hide her tears over his departure. From the moment of his own mother's death Nilana had acted like a mother to him, though she was only twelve years older than Daevan. It had been a strange feeling to see Nilana in a state like that, and Daevan still wondered if the tears had not been out of fear he might get lost in the wilderness. Yet she had convinced him of her sincerity. And – he had added to himself – he was old enough to make his own decisions, and he knew the marshlands well. Better even than the stranger, who seemed to have walked many miles in his life – if the look of his clothes could be regarded as a proof of that assumption.

   Daevan would neither forget Nilana's words of farewell nor the pride she had shown. Daevan would have wished for his mother to share that moment, but it had been Nilana, who had taken care of him whenever he had needed consolation, help, or even encouragement. To see her pride made him feel grown up. He had embraced her tightly, but not promised to return.

   Daevan watched the older man as he had done the previous evenings. ‘Strider’ might not be his real name, but it suited him well. Though not fully recovered, he walked swiftly without apparent haste, and held the speed in spite of the uneven, muddy ground they covered. Daevan led the way at the rim of the Wetwang, but to reach the eastern shore of the River Anduin they would have to cross the fen for many miles. Daevan thought he should be sad or at least somewhat homesick, for he would not see his village for weeks, but instead of being depressed, he looked forward to the journey with the stranger. He felt more and more light-hearted with every step he took, considering every hour a new and adventurous part of his life.

   With every step the scabbard with the silver mounting thudded against Daevan's thigh. It did not hurt, but felt unwonted and awkward because he knew he would not know what to do with it in a fight. He glanced at Strider, who carried two sword sheaths, a strung bow, quiver, and pack, and somehow still looked as if he was not hampered by any of it. Once again Daevan adjusted the belt, and finally held one hand on the hilt to keep it from moving.

   Strider did not talk during the march. Daevan thought his breathing sounded like a faint whistling, laboured and exhausted, but every time he suggested a break, Strider urged his companion to move on. And ever and anon the wanderer looked to the horizon and back the way they had come. To Daevan he appeared more vigilant than a deer on an open range, and he was amused at the stranger seeming to expect a bunch of ruffians to appear at any moment. Daevan followed his gaze, but saw no more than the thick dark clouds, which drew nearer and sent down their load around midday. Strider pulled up the hood of his cloak and moved on without slackening his pace. The young man hurried on, staying at his side and moving in front of him every time the mud became thicker and more dangerous. The whole time he felt the wanderer’s urgency as if it were a third person walking with them. When finally the rain ceased, Daevan saw the man's weariness and put a hand on his forearm, bringing him to a halt.

   “There is no place to rest further westward for ten miles,” he said. Strider turned, and did not try to hide how tired he was. “And I am hungry, I have to admit.”

   Strider glanced a last time northward, then took off his pack and sat down on a small grassy island. Daevan did the same and drank from his water-skin. For a while they rested and caught their breath, until Daevan asked quietly:

   “What does that creature mean to you? I mean, is it valuable, as Gaellyn said?”

   Strider smirked.

   “Nay, you should not ask what it means for me, but for all of us.”

   “All of us?”

   “The future of Middle-earth depends not only on the valour of soldiers defending Ithilien and Minas Tirith, or on the Riders of Rohan, who fight their foes wherever they are found, but on much smaller things.”

   Daevan waited patiently, but when Strider remained silent he could not withhold his curiosity.

   “What kind of things? You speak of that as if it was important, but I don't understand it.”

   “The courage of a few might decide about the fate of many, Daevan.” He lifted his head to the still grey sky. “Let us move on as long as we have light.”

-o-o-o-o-

   They had covered another three miles of rough territory when the water became shallow again, and the dark sand could be seen. Small fish hurried away from them, and the river's tributary was in constant motion. Waves were created where fish were surfacing. The wanderers were about to quicken their steps, when suddenly Daevan grabbed Strider's arm, stopping him. The Ranger froze and looked down along his leg, frowning.

   “What is it, Daevan? Some kind of trap?”

   Daevan grinned with childish glee, and stooped to the water.

   “No, a kind of crab,” he explained and skilfully held the big crab by its claws beside Strider's boot to show it to him. Strider's eyes narrowed in anger.

   “This is no pleasure trip, Daevan, this is…” He inhaled and was about to further comment the young man's behaviour, when a single clinking of metal, carried over by the wind, caught his attention. Two dark shadows appeared beyond the rim of the marshes, and the wanderer stood rigid, his face a mask of dread.

   “You might not know it, but they are delicious with…” Daevan looked up and stopped, following Strider's stare. “Who is…”

   “Orcs,” Strider said, and within a heartbeat held his bow and arrow ready.

   “Orcs? Here? How? I thought they never…,” Daevan muttered, but fell silent when Strider loosed the first arrow.

   Though released across a great distance, the sharp point found its mark. The Orc fell dead and his cry of alarm was cut off, for Strider quickly aimed at the second creature, killing it before it had even turned to flee. There was no more movement. The two bodies remained on the ground, almost out of sight. Shrieking, a few birds fled the carnage. Silence descended again. Still Strider stared northward as if waiting for the horde to follow. He was tense to his core. He had known for some time that it was no longer true that Orcs only walked by night and would shun the light of day. But he had not known them to cross the plain and even fens in search of prey.

   For a while Strider stood motionless, then flung his bow across his shoulder, and turned to Daevan, who had watched him in awe.

   “No dinner, hum?” The young man cleared his throat, still holding the dangling crab in his hand.

   Strider did not heed his remark.

   “Can you find the way back at night?” he asked urgently, already turning to march back the way they had come.

   Daevan let go of the crab, wiped his hands on his wet trousers, and looked up with a concerned frown.

   “Aye, but you need to stay close to me. There won't be much light, and I don't want you to get lost.”

-o-o-o-o-

   Daevan set a firm pace, kept his eyes on the ground, and looked neither back nor to the horizon. The deep concern in Strider's face had made him turn immediately; the wanderer had looked as if doom was actually waiting them only a few leagues away. And though his explanation had been meagre, Daevan believed him. The prospect of Orcs roaming eastward was disturbing to say the least, and the young fisherman was driven by the fear that the enemy might arrive before he could warn his friends and family. He had only a mental image of the enemy for Doran had told stories about the many encounters he had had with the mighty minions of Sauron, but it was enough to create dark visions in his mind, and the mere thought of the danger the innocent fishermen and their families were in spurred him onwards.

   He jumped over a small muddy pool to land on a solid flat isle covered with grass and grey, lifeless flowers, and turned his head to see whether the older man followed. Strider leapt, but slipped from the edge and fell sideways into the water. Sand swirled up. Daevan spun around, cursing under his breath.

   “Take my hand!” he yelled and already reached out to grab Strider's left arm. He came to his feet with an effort. Daevan held him tightly until he was certain the older man would not collapse and grimaced. He should have been more considerate! He should have known that Strider was not fully healed and could not almost run back to the village. “I'm sorry, Strider,” he said regretfully. “I really am.”

   “No need to.” Strider carefully straightened again and wiped his face. His hoarse breathing came in shallow gasps, and when he straightened Daevan tried to hide his concern behind an imperturbable expression. “We have to move on.”

   “Strider, we might rest for…”

   “The Orcs… will not stop… because their scouts are dead,” the wanderer replied amid his panting. “We have…”

   “Aye, we go on.” Daevan readjusted his pack and abruptly turned to move on. He could no longer solely concentrate on the ground, but waited for Strider to gain on him every time the weary son of the great captain fell behind. Daevan did not dare to speak up again though he could not hide his worry. Strider followed every movement, adjusted his steps to Daevan's, and though he bent forward and seemed to be at the end of his strength, he neither complained nor asked for a rest. Daevan felt miserable listening to the whistling sound of Strider's breathing right behind him. The sun set like a ball of fire, and with the light failing, Daevan feared they would lose their footing. He slowed down, tested the way he walked with one foot and made sure they could cross without sinking in the mud. So they covered another mile with more care, and the young man felt the exhaustion taking hold of him, too, but the fear for his companions and long-time friends made him go on. He took another step, evaded another dark pool that appeared deep and trod around it on firm ground. Behind him Strider stumbled, and Daevan lent a hand to steady him. Without a word he went on, knowing that there was no debate on the likelihood of impending doom.

   It was dark now, too dark to see further than a foot, and the danger of drowning increased. Daevan paused to take off his pack. Strider watched him standing in silence in the shallow mere. Now that the splashing of water had ceased the night was silent. If he had not known where they were it could have been the void Ilúvathar had created. The darkness seemed to shrink the surroundings, and he impatiently waited to move on.

   Daevan pulled out a small torch smelling of fish. Strider involuntarily turned up his nose.

   “You don't like fish?” Daevan gave the torch to Strider to take out two flints.

   “Let me say that I would prefer to smell something different.”

   “You are polite.” Grinning the young fisherman ignited the torch with a few flying sparks, put away the flints, and took the torch again.

   “And you are well prepared.” They moved on while Daevan held the torch low to see where they were going.

   “There were times,” the young man explained, “when we could see almost nothing during daylight. There was fog all around us, black as soot. I don't know where that comes from, and honestly I don't want to know. That's why we all carry a torch with us. It's a light… and it's a signal to others to come to help.” He looked up briefly to see Strider frown. “Living here is dangerous… by the nature of our environment. But this environment feeds us too. That's why they all stay. Some left, aye, but many stayed. Some don't know where to go, some like to live here.” He shrugged. “Up to now life was good.”

   Strider remained silent, but his expression told Daevan more than he would have wanted to hear.

-o-o-o-o-