• Song of Heroes


    The Story of Trestica Wintersong, Horse-Singer


    Prelude


    I can clearly remember someone telling me before that when you are close to death, images of your life flash before your eyes. I also know this is not true. My last thoughts were not of my life, not of the one that I loved, not even of the place I once called home. I was not brave, did not hold one last stand as I knew I was going to die. I shivered in fear, my eyes closed as the sword of my foe drew near, my own skittering across the grass. I was no warrior- I was a frightened child, cowering before my fate. My last thoughts were of one thing... The thunderous roar of hoofbeats across the plains. Yes... My last thought was of horses.

    *******


    I watched as the woman collapsed. I knew it was to happen, she was mortal, and such a fate befell all Men, but to have her taken from me so soon... My heart could not bear it. I knew then that I loved her, would give anything for her. The mere thought that I would not hear her songs, look upon her face, or even have the pleasure of her company again nearly rent my heart in two. A fierce determination to save her swept over me, and I raised my bow.

    *******


    Not since the time of Arwen and Aragorn has a tale of such love and loss been spun upon the wheel of fate... This, the story of Trestica of Rohan and Ranzaran of Lindon, has been heard by few. Though its importance is lost on the tides of time, it is a tale worth telling- and a tale worthy of song.






    Part One: Ballad of a Rider


    Her flute- silver plated with white moonstone accents of feathers and hoofprints- rested in her palms. Slipping the mouthpiece into its proper place at the neck, she tested the sound with one long note. It was a lonely sound, the note of a wolf separated from her pack- from her family. The note made the minstrel shudder, a tingle like ice pricking at her spine. Shaking the all-too-familiar feeling away from her skin, she gathered up her thoughts in a huff. No, the elven-made flute was too high-class an instrument for this dirty tavern in the heart of Bree-land. However... The harp would be better suited. Its strings were taut, the body sleek as silk beneath the new shining glaze applied only that morning. Sleek, but still somewhat tacky, and would easily attract dirt and dust- something the minstrel who held it dared not chance, so back into the velvet-lined case it went until it finished curing. Tonight would be different, something she had not performed for this tavern. An old case lay on the floor, a small spider scurrying across the top. Yes, it was an antique, but nothing quite like it existed anymore... She practically shuddered in anticipation at the opportunity to play it once more.
    Untying the ribbon in her hair, she let it fall about her shoulders. The chestnut locks shimmered in the dim light of her single candle as she pulled a brush through them, smoothing her hair to rid it of the rat's nest of tangles that she usually acquired on her daily rides. It was then that she took a long look into the mirror. In it stood a young woman, twenty years of age. Her youth threw a rosy blush to her cheeks, and subtle softness to her lips. Her eyes were bright, filled with a knowledge and naiveté matching her age, the color of new spring grass. About her frame was a long dress, pale blue with white and silver embroidery along the edges, and the silver silhouette of a rearing Pegasus on the white bodice. Her clothing was not of fine material, and made by the minstrel herself- the product of many weeks of saving and scrimping to gather the materials. She was proud of her work, though she thought her own figure a bit comely for the beauty of the dress. She let out a long sigh before sitting atop the cushioned bench-seat in front of the mirror votive, placing the ribbons on the small table next to her. Her hands began to braid the white and blue ribbons into her hair as her mind thought back to the figure she had seen in the mirror... When her task was finished, she again gathered her things, tucking them into a small pack at her side and hefting her load onto her shoulder. A final stretch to loosen her limbs, and she was away.
    "Ah, Trestica!" A familiar shout came from behind the bar, and her eyes turned to a stout man, taller than she by a good head and with much less visible hair. She knew the man as Butterbur, though she had never talked to him directly- at least not sober. "Happy Birthday!" She gave him a friendly smile, and ordered from him a tall mug of Pumpkin Ale for a silver piece. "Not till tomorrow, Mr. Butterbur." She then took her usual seat in the corner of the tavern known as "The Prancing Pony," smirking as the barkeep chuckled at his mistake. From her place, she could see the entirety of the bar, from entryway to the far windows. She waited for no one, simply observed the patrons- from townsfolk regulars, to new faces worn with travel and hardships, to young boys trying to court the few dames the frequented the place. She settled into her seat, lifting the old case into her lap, and clicked it open; from within she produced an ancient-looking lute. The wood was black, dark as if it had no color, though the polished finish glinted with the lantern light around her. Barely visible designs of pegasi donned the face, rearing as on her bodice, wings flared. She tested its strings with a brush of her hand, twisted the tuning knobs at the head, and began to play.

    *******


    He had been traveling most of the day, stopping only when the occasional animal blocked his path, or to take rest under the shade of trees. So far his journey had been quite uneventful, much to his dismay. He had left Lindon seeking adventure, the thrill of the hunt! So far all he had come across were Hobbits and others like himself... However, he had entered Bree-Land, home of many Men. Perhaps here he could find what he was looking for.
    Shaking out his dark hair, he stopped under the shade of a small grove of trees, letting his grey dappled stallion graze while he broke a piece of bread for himself, and looked to his map. He was still a half-day's journey from the heart of Bree-land, aptly named Bree-town. Apparently the men here had no source of imagination... Finishing his small meal, he took a long drink of water before mounting his horse once again.
    It was late evening when he finally arrived at the inn and tavern- The Prancing Pony. It was larger than the place he had stayed the night before- Hobbit-things always were too small for his taste. An elf his height needed more space than the Little-folk could provide. Paying the barkeep for a night's stay, he went up to the room given him and placed his things in a hidden place, taking nothing but his bow, quiver, and coin pouch. He would return once he had explored the whole of Bree-town.

    *******


    She'd been watching him that night. He had shown up just a bit after midnight, not usually a time when travelers still prowled the streets. Most of the patrons at the Prancing Pony by that time were either riff raff or scoundrels; either way she didn't take much interest in them- burglars and the like were bad news in Bree- unless they got a little too drunk and a little too friendly. This one, though... This one was of a different ken altogether. His hair fell in a shaggy, dark mess, concealing most of his sharply pointed ears. He was elven, a rarity in these parts anymore. A bow was strapped to his back, arcing behind broad shoulders that still managed to fall gracefully underneath a forest-green tunic. His quiver was placed at his side, tightly bound to his leather belt that helped to hold a pair of dirt-caked brown trousers. Oddly enough, he worse a sturdy pair of leather greaves- was he actually armored? It didn't seem so upon first glance, but now that she had thought to look, most of his body was clad in sturdy leather and padding. So he was a Hunter indeed... He stopped by the bar to ask the barkeep a question and order his drink. Butterbur raised a hand in Trestica's direction, motioning towards her with a broad smile. She strained to hear the conversation, but to no avail- it was purely one-sided, as the Elf's voice was softer than the barkeep's. Trestica noticed that both glanced her way before the elf dropped two silver pieces onto the counter, which were quickly swept up by Butterbur, who replaced them with two mugs of amber liquid. The Elf picked them both up and head towards her.
    As he drew closer, her eyes fell to his. They were stunningly clear, a rich brown the color of newly turned earth. She could get lost in those eyes, wondering what all of the world he had seen, what he had done in his undoubtedly long life, though he looked to be only slightly older than she... "I'd like to make a request." The statement was simple enough, one she heard many a time every night, but it took her a moment to respond.
    "Your name first. Then I will play any song you wish, provided I know of it and you have a form of payment."
    He gently set one mug in front of her- the smell of pumpkin and spice assailed her nose. Perhaps that's what he had asked Butterbur... About her favorite drink? "Ranzaran of Lindon. And yours, Minstrel?"
    This took her aback. No one had asked her name until they- and she- were seeing the world from a more tilted point of view. "Trestica... Of Rohan." She raised her lute to her lap before looking up at him again. "Your request?"
    At this, Ranzaran gave a small smile. "You may not know it. The elves call it..." He leaned in close to her ear, as if sharing a secret only meant for her. Her eyes widened in the slightest at the song's name. He drew back from her before standing once more. "If I'm not mistaken, the Bree-men call it-"
    "Winter's Song." She whispered. Ranzaran lifted an eyebrow as a bright blush came across her face. "I know it well..." She dropped her lute away from her, placing it in the decrepit case, and swapped to her harp. She tested the glaze with a finger before removing it from its velvet case and setting it upon her lap gently, toying with the strings. "It's not a song I play much for taverns..."
    Ranzaran had an answer for this. Seating himself across the table from her, he gave her a small smile before taking a long draught from his drink, pulling a wooden block and carving knife from the pack at his side. "Then play it for me. The tavern didn't request it." He nearly choked on his next swallow as she began to sing, her fingers drawing across the strings slowly, deliberately.

    Under the fullness of the moon
    The land shines white with snow
    I do think of my true love
    And dream of going home

    Winter's grasp has left this land
    In a grip of solid white
    The war-steeds ride into the plain
    And aim to rule the night

    Through the fog of war I see my love
    His eyes away from me turned
    For I ride into my last battle
    And his love I have spurned

    Under the fullness of the moon
    The land shines red with blood
    I do dream of going home
    And think of my true love

    Going home is just a dream
    And my true love is gone
    For all is lost in this cruel world
    And Winter's Song is done

    Yes, all is lost in this wretched world
    And Winter's Song is done


    As the song drew to a close, the last haunting note echoed through the tavern. All had grown quiet to listen to Trestica's song- and stayed such for much too long after it was done. The song in itself was eerily, hauntingly beautiful, even given its theme. As the general ruckus of the Prancing Pony resumed, Trestica looked up at Ranzaran, waiting for his critique. His eyes were closed, his hands moving wood and knife in practiced motions. The last echoes of the final chord had dissipated when he finally opened his eyes. They were glazed, as if he were lost in thought. "That..." He drew in a deep breath before finishing. "Was amazingly beautiful."
    A small, shy smile passed over Trestica's face before she placed the harp back into its case. "Grandmother taught it to me. She said that her mother used to be part of the Riders of Rohan... And that's how she lost my Great-Grandfather. He couldn't handle her riding into battle and never knowing if she would return, and he made her choose between him and the Riders. She chose the right path, if you ask me... If someone loves you, they shouldn't make you choose between the only life you know and the only person you love. Great-Grandfather was selfish to want her to leave the Riders." She paused for a moment, taking a large swig of her Ale. "I apologize if I bore you... My tongue is a bit loose from Ale, I think."
    Ranzaran had a pensive look upon his face. "No need to apologize. But I do have a question for you..." Trestica motioned for him to continue; He rose to his feet before doing so. "If you truly love someone, shouldn't you want to leave the life you know to be with the one you love?" Before the minstrel could answer, he placed a small wooden object on the table, and leaned down to face her directly. "Happy birthday." With that, Ranzaran straightened his back, gave a parting smile, and disappeared into the tavern's hallway leading to the rented rooms. The minstrel looked to the wooden object upon the table, and ran her finger over its curves- a Pegasus, matching the one on her bodice down to the detail. He was certainly talented... And she was thoroughly confused.

    *******


    As Ranzaran closed the door to his room, he listened to be sure that none had followed him before locking the door. That had certainly been interesting. He did not know why he had given her the small Pegasus statuette, and certainly didn't know why he had carved it in the first place. That wood would have made an excellent... No, it didn't matter. It was such a small piece that it would have been of no use to him... But... The minstrel was beautiful... And beautiful women were not usually talented in the ways of words and wisdom. He let out a sigh, relieving himself of his outer clothing and armor and lie down on the single bed. What sort of woman was it that could completely steal his attention like that? Sure, there had been other, more comely women at the bar, but this one called Trestica... She had not given him a second glace until he had approached her. The barkeep had said that she did not care for male company- or female for that matter. She was there every day, earning tips enough to pay for a room at night and pumpkin ale in the evening, without ever having the pleasure of company. What she did during the day was anyone's guess, as she was gone by sunrise each morning.
    What mysteries did that woman hold? Determined to find out, Ranzaran smiled and settled in for a few hours' sleep. He would rise with the sun and see if he could give her some company.

    Part Two: Harmonious Dissonance


    Was what that Elf had said true? Trestica had been up all night thinking about it... It was strange, the way he had gotten into her head like that. And the small wooden Pegasus that he had carved still confused her to no end. Why had he done it? Had the barkeep let slip that it was her birthday? It all made her head spin thinking about it- or perhaps that was the aftereffects of the copious amounts of liquor she had consumed... She was definitely feeling that mistake as she finally lifted her head off of her pillow. "Ugh..." A soft moan escaped her as she held her palms over her eyes, cursing the bright sun outside the dingy window. This was going to be a long morning... But first things first, she needed to find something- and she knew just the Hobbit to track down for information. Saphiir's secluded home on the far side of Chetwood Forest wasn't too far away on horseback, but it would take a while to get there if she didn't get moving now. So, ignoring the pounding in her head, she gathered up the few things she had into her tattered rucksack and left the Prancing Pony.
    Down the road a short ways were the Bree-town Stables, where her own mount was waiting for her, stabled with a grey dapple stallion. Her horse stood about 14 hands high, lean and not very heavily muscled- the horse was more for speed than anything else. Her coat was a pale gold, and her mane a dark blonde. Upon her form were a set of light leather tack, and in her mane and tail were braided blue and white ribbons matching her owner's garments. Behind the saddle were tied an assortment of bags. "My Melody... I hope the stablemasters treated you well." Trestica cooed softly to the mare, stroking her nose. The horse nickered and nudged her master's shoulder in welcome. "You know I hate leaving you like that, but I had to make money somehow so we could eat. Oh! That reminds me. Here you go-" Trestica offered her a slice of apple, which she took enthusiastically. "Fresh from the farm. You'll get more when we get to Saphiir’s." She then noticed the stallion had approached her, nosing her hand where the rest of the apple was. Trestica had planned on a light breakfast... She could deal with it being a little lighter. Halving what was left of the fruit, she held it out to him. "There you go, you handsome thing. Your owner is a lucky one, you look strong." In the course of her 'conversation' with the horses, she had acquired a few strange looks... Most didn't talk to their horses as if they could understand them- save for those hailing from Rohan. Giving the onlookers a quite rude gesture to mind their own business, she gave the stallion a pat, mounted Melody, and set off towards Chetwood.

    *******


    The barkeep hadn't been joking when he said Trestica had gone by sunrise. Ranzaran had woken with the light, and still hadn't caught her in time. Ah... Oh well. He gave a stretch, and checked his map. He needed supplies, and the nearby Chetwood Forest would most likely provide what he was looking for. That, and the wolves and spiders were thick there... Perhaps he could get some target practice in until evening. So, taking a day pack and his weaponry, he set for the stables.
    His stallion let out a loud whinny when he saw his master. "Hello, Fleetfoot. Have a good rest?" He asked his horse, giving a pat to his neck before saddling him, and swinging into his seat. "Come now- we have a forest to investigate." He gave him a light kick, and they were off.
    Ranzaran examined everything on the way to the forest. It was all so new to him, and every bit of it was interesting, at least in a sense. He smirked at the way people looked at him- surely they had seen Elves before, hadn't they? Most watched him ride; others still mounted up and rode with him, chittering like excited birds. He decided Men asked too many questions... And most underestimated his age. How very strange that Men matured, grew old, and died in the span of what he considered his childhood... And even stranger when they boasted of ages such as 80 as if it were some great feat to have survived that long!
    The stories the Men had to tell of recent events, however, got Ranzaran worried. Talk of bandits, known to take young women into the Chetwood and do unspeakable things to them before either sic’ing their dogs on them or drawing swords, cutting them enough to bleed and waiting for the wolves and spiders... Leaving them to die. He ground his teeth together, anger writhing inside of him. Women were respected creatures in the Elven-lands... These men were heartless, black-souled criminals. He prayed he met them in the Chetwood.

    *******


    Just east of Bree, between Combe and the Chetwood, Trestica felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Something was amiss... Reining in the horse, she slowed to a trot and looked around her. Nothing really seemed out of place, but she couldn't shake the feeling of dread. Melody had been feeling it too, apparently- her ears flicked back and forth and her nostrils flared wide, taking in the scents of the area. "Melody, maybe we should turn back... I don't feel safe out here..." As she tugged on the reins to steer her mare, Melody let out a loud whinny, rearing up onto her hind legs. "Whoa! Easy!" Trestica shouted, leaning with the horse to stay on her back. "What's gotten into-" Her eyes widened as she looked towards where the horse had seen whatever scared her. A group maybe six strong on horseback was headed towards them at a dead gallop, whooping and hollering at the top of their lungs. Lining their front were a pack of large dogs, baying and barking in a beeline towards the minstrel. "Go, go!" She cried to Melody, jabbing her hard in the ribs with her heels, steering her towards Chetwood. "We'll lose them in the forest!"

    *******


    Ranzaran glanced towards the forest as shouts and barking caught his attention. He surveyed the area around them, following where they were headed. There, at a dead run, was a woman on horseback. He jerked hard on the reins, urging Fleetfoot faster. "I will not let them
    hurt another woman..." He growled, focused on the bandits' horses, and let Fleetfoot fly.

    *******


    Her heart was pounding nearly as fast as Melody's hoofbeats as the forest neared. It wasn't the biggest forest, but it was still fairly large, and one could easily get lost within the trees... And that was exactly how Trestica planned on losing the ones following her. "What do they want?!" She asked herself... Then it hit her.
    "Hey, little girl. Aren't you a bit... Young to be in a place like this all by yourself?" A man, flanked by a crony on either side- asked her, the smell of stale alcohol and old smoke wafting from his breath. It was nearly enough to choke her. "Look like you need some protectin'."
    Trestica rolled her eyes, continuing the strumming on her harp. "I don't need anyone to protect me. I can handle myself, thank you very much." She replied, shooing them with a hand. "Go on now, you can hear just as well from the table where you came. I'm here to entertain, not chat." The burly man who had spoken first chuckled.
    "Well then, maybe you'd rather keep us some company, eh? A little trick like you could be... entertaining... in other ways than music." Trestica's melody faltered a moment as she held her anger.
    "I'll pass, thank you." She replied, gritting her teeth. The man then slid into the booth next to her. Her melody stopped altogether.
    "You misunderstand me, minstrel. That wasn't a request." With a grin, the man put his arm around her, leaning back against the seat. "Put that harp away and follow me, and there won't be any trouble."
    Trestica was really trying to hold back her anger now. Through clenched teeth, she growled- "Put your arm back where it belongs. You smell like wet dog."
    It seemed the man had more issues with his anger than Trestica did. At her comment, a large hand smacked her across the face, leaving a bright red handprint in its wake. "You'll get much more than that if you don't-" He was cut off by a harp to his face. Sadly, her favorite harp broke in twain at the bridge of his nose... The two men with him leapt into action, drawing daggers and lunging towards her. Wielding the two pieces of the harp, she deftly dodged the daggers, jumping backwards over the chair she was seated in. Aiming for the pair's hands, she knocked their weapons away, and then proceeded to get out of the area. A few of the regular patrons there noticed the ruckus, and moved to protect their entertainer. Butterbur himself stepped in, wielding a club. Outnumbered and their weapons gone, the three men quickly surrendered. "You will pay for this, minstrel... You just wait. We have friends in this town..."

    She could hear the dogs now, even though they were deep into the forest. She slowed to a stop, jumping from Melody's back and leading the horse into dense brush... Maybe they could hide there...
    She screamed as a hand grabbed her from behind, pulling her to the ground. She let go of Melody's reins, kicking her in the legs. "Go!" The horse obeyed, taking off into the forest. Tears stung Trestica's eyes as she watched her gallop out of sight. At least she would be safe...
    Gathering her wits, she rolled to her knees, sword drawn. Her eyes darted back and forth, looking from one man to the other. They had all dismounted, tying their horses to trees around her, and drawing their weapons of choice. There was no escape route she could find... Her heart grew heavy. If she were going down, she was going to go down swinging. With a challenging cry, she lunged towards the closest man.

    *******


    "Damn it!" Ranzaran cursed aloud. He had lost them, the trees of the forest hiding their escape. Maybe the woman had gotten away from them in time. He didn't hear anything out of the ordinary, and if he had lost them, surely she had too. With a sigh and an unsure mind, he dismounted, and began chopping at a clump of fallen branches- they might come in handy, and he was running short on arrows.
    He was nearly knocked over by a blonde sorrel mare. The horse was clad in blue and white, and its bags had an insignia embroidered onto the attachments- a silver Pegasus, rearing, wings flared. His breath caught in his throat. "Trestica..." Anger welled inside of him once more. He let out a short, loud whistle to call his steed, and chased down the mare, marking in his mind the direction she had come from.

    *******


    It was hardly a fight. Six to one were not favorable odds, made even worse by the fact that Trestica was scared out of her wits, and not highly proficient with a sword. Pile the dogs on top of that, and she didn't stand a chance. She was a minstrel, not a fighter! Her skills were in protecting herself, not attacking... She spat out a mouthful of blood from a cut on the inside of her cheek, rolling on to her side. She groaned, trying to get to her feet- but to no avail. She lay there, her mind racing. It would be dark soon... And the wolves would come out. Exhausted, she closed her eyes, praying she was not awake when they found her.

    *******


    Laughing met Ranzaran's ears as he neared the middle of the forest, Melody in tow, her reins tied to the back of Fleetfoot's saddle. He saw them, five surrounding two... The slimmer, shorter form must have been Trestica, though he could see no features from the distance. The men's tales had been true... The movements of the male figure were enough to solidify that. Bile rose in his throat as he glared at them. The man rose from her, kicking her hard in the head before turning to his comrades. Again, laughter met his ears. He dismounted, telling Fleetfoot to stay in the area, and strung his bow, nocking an arrow. He aimed for the man he had just seen with Trestica, and loosed it.
    It missed its mark, but still the man fell. His companions looked frightened, and hastily mounted up- the man who he had struck pulled the arrow from his shoulder and followed swiftly. Apparently, they were cowards in the face of an unseen enemy...
    Ranzaran sprinted to Trestica's side when they were clear of the area, his mind racing. "Trestica... It's ok... I'm going to help you..." He said softly, not knowing if she could hear him. His heart dropped as he touched her, for her body recoiled away from him defensively. Fighting the urge to mount up again and hunt the bandits down like common animals, he drew her into his arms, wrapping a thick blanket around her form. He had to find a place to camp- she would not make it to Bree without immediate attention.
    A very small clearing about a mile away from the site made for the perfect campground, and apparently had been used before- a patch of dirt surrounded with stones was the perfect size for a campfire. He would get to that later, however. He lay Trestica down in the shade, digging through her pack to obtain a set of her clothing before uncovering her body to assess the damage. Most of the cuts were shallow, needing no more than a healing salve of alcohol and herbs, but there was one that made him sick at his stomach. Across her left side, arcing up to her chest, was a deep, jagged sword-wound. It was as if they wanted to bleed her out without outright killing the poor woman... He calmed himself, once more feeling the anger rise inside him, and dug inside of his day-pack for strips of cloth. He carried them and a wineskin full of straight alcohol for emergencies such as this... Though he had never had to use them on another person. With a heavy heart, he set to his task- and it began to snow.

    *******


    When Trestica opened her eyes, she was covered in a heavy wool blanket, her rucksack underneath her head. Through blurred vision she saw a blonde sorrel horse- Melody! - tied to a tree, a bucket of water and small pile of oats in front of her. Someone had taken care of her, she was newly brushed, her mane unbraided and smooth, and her tack lie in a pile a few yards away. It too was taken care of, the smell of oil in the air... Who had done this? It was dark, and a small fire warmed her body. She moved closer to it, removing the blanket- before noticing her lack of outer clothing. She wore nothing but her underclothes, a pair of leggings and a sleeveless top. Thoroughly indecent for the dead of winter... Especially since they were ragged, threadbare and stained with blood. Ah... She remembered the fight then. Looking over her body, she saw no wounds, for they were covered with strips of soft cloth, dipped in what smelled of alcohol and packed with healing herbs. How had she not noticed all of this? She must have been more injured than she had thought...
    "Oh good, you're awake."
    A familiar voice met her from behind. She turned to face the elf she had met at the Prancing Pony- "Ranzaran." She said his name softly, almost as if in shock. "How did you...?" He pointed to Melody.
    "Your horse. I saw her running and caught up to her on Fleetfoot." He pointed to a grey dapple stallion, tied not far from Melody. "I knew she was yours. Who else has blue and white pegasi on everything?" He chuckled to himself, handing over the wooden Pegasus that he had carved. "It fell out of your pack when you were attacked by those bandits. It has a few stains on it now..." He looked somewhat uncomfortable. "Here. Let me check your wounds."
    Trestica removed the wool blanket, turning the worst of her wounds to him, a bright blush at her cheeks. He untied the strips of linen, letting them fall to the ground. She winced as he prodded at them, and bit her lip as he wiped them clean with a wet cloth. "Almost done... You'll... um... need to lift your shirt." Her blush deepened to scarlet as she obeyed, exposing her abdomen and final layer of clothing underneath. She hadn't expected the severity of the wound there. It was at least an inch deep, and more than six inches long. It would definitely scar, and it wouldn't be pretty when it did. The bandages were soaked with crimson, and soon as Ranzaran removed them, it bled anew. "This is going to hurt a bit more than the others..." Trestica closed her eyes and let him work. He pulled another cloth packing the wound away, flinching when she gasped. "I'm sorry... I can stop if you-"
    "No... No, it needs to heal... Keep on..." She said softly, obviously holding back tears.
    Ranzaran nodded, placing the cloth aside and soaking another with alcohol and a foul-smelling liquid in a vial. "There. All done." He finished tying the bandages, and let out a sigh, washing the blood from his hands with his wineskin- now filled with water. His eyes grew hard as he looked her dead in the eye. "Why did they target you?" He looked as if he expected an answer.
    With a stuttered sigh, Trestica related the story of the night before, and of her flight and eventual capture. Ranzaran closed his eyes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in disgust. He couldn't help but notice that she left out part of her attack in the retelling. He would not bring it up if she did not wish to speak of it. "The nerve of some people... Vile beasts..." He growled. "What has happened to the world...?”
    Trestica pulled the blanket back around herself, wincing at the new soreness of the wounds. Her eyes had acquired a haunted look, the once emerald green cloudy and glazed over. "Thank you. For taking care of me and my horse... Most would have just let her go without a second thought as to why she didn't have a rider."
    With that, Ranzaran gave her a slow smile and a knowing look. "Well. I'm not most." He offered her a flask, not disclosing the contents. "Drink this."
    Trestica smiled back, her eyes heavy, and took the small flask. "Don't have to tell me twice..." She took a long draught, sighing as she handed it back to him. "What was...?” She let out a wide yawn, feeling very, very tired. "...that?" She could hardly keep her eyes open anymore...
    "That would be a sleeping solution. My family were all healers, save me. I did learn a thing or two from them, though. Sleep, Trestica. It will help." Trestica barely had the strength to nod. She laid herself down, wrapping up in the blanket, and rested her head once more on her rucksack.
    "Thank you..." She whispered, and closed her eyes.

    Part Three: Softly, Slowly


    Ranzaran did not sleep that night. He listened to the forest, kept the fire going, and watched over the minstrel- the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the way her lips moved slightly when she dreamed, the small movements she made... It was fascinating to him. He was still watching her when her eyes fluttered open. "Good morning." He said to her softly. She looked confused for a moment, surveying her surroundings before locking on to his eyes.
    "Good morning..." Trestica replied, sitting up, keeping the wool covering around her. The snow had fallen in a thick blanket through the forest, though the campfire had kept the small area relatively warm and snowless. She noticed the Elf's things were packed onto Melody along with her own, covering her saddle. A set of warm clothing were set over them, apparently laid out for her to wear. "How am I supposed to ride back to Bree if your things are on Melody?" She asked Ranzaran. He looked at her as if she were asking why the grass was green.
    "Trestica... You cannot ride to Bree. If your wounds were to open again, and you were riding..." He trailed off, letting her guess the rest. "Fleetfoot will carry us both. He is strong enough. Come, now. We need to have a proper healer attend your wounds, lest they get worse."
    "Ah. I can understand that... Just... Turn away while I dress, alright?" He smiled and complied, busying himself with making double sure the straps on Melody were tight enough to carry all of their things. When she had finished, he helped her onto Fleetfoot's back, and mounted behind her, his arms forming a barrier on either side. He took the reins, clicked to Fleetfoot, and began the trip back to Bree.
    Trestica settled against his chest, her eyes still heavy. She was so tired... She knew she did not have the strength to ride back to Bree alone, so playing passenger was for the best- even if the one she rode with she had only met two days prior. Why did she trust him so? It didn't matter. He had saved her life- that was reason enough.
    Ranzaran felt her lean against him, and made no move to stop her. More than likely, the sleeping draught was still in her system, another reason he wanted her to ride with him. He could not help but notice the change in aroma as she moved against him. It was citrus, with an undertone of ginger... Absolutely intoxicating. The smells of the forest were dulled as he dropped his head slightly, making sure it was not his imagination saying that she was the carrier of the scent. She was- there was no doubt about it. The smell was crisp, clean... It reminded him of bright days, of sunshine and white flowers. He closed his eyes, breathing in her scent once more. The ride to Bree- at least to him- wouldn't be long enough.

    *******


    The minstrel woke when she felt arms around her waist- it startled her for a moment, and she jerked away from the pressure. That was immediately apparent as a mistake. She cried out, squeezing her eyes shut and cringing, clutching her side. "Trestica!" Ranzaran quickly dismounted, pulling her with him. "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?" His eyes were wide and worrisome.
    "I'm alright, don't worry... I'm not used to riding with others... I fell asleep, you just startled me..." She stood straight, giving him a smile, and reached for her bags. Ranzaran's arms were longer- he grabbed both her pack and his own, shouldering both. "We still have to walk to the Prancing Pony. I won't have you overdoing it until you're better."
    Trestica stopped then. "You... plan on staying until I'm better?" She asked him sheepishly, avoiding his gaze. Not since the first time she had been thrown from her horse had she been hurt nearly this badly, and even then no one had offered her help. She had come to expect help from no one. This was a strange change of pace... It made her slightly uncomfortable, though she welcomed the help.
    "Well of course. You are badly injured, Trestica, whether you want to admit it or not. I'm not going to allow you to put yourself at risk when I can help you get better." Ranzaran answered, a coy smile at his lips. "Plus I heard you don't care for company much. While you're healing I can keep... Unwanted... Fellows at bay."
    Trestica chuckled at that, a light pink donning her cheeks. "That's true. Alright then..." She paused then, looking down to the ground. "And I... I don't mind your company much, Ranzaran." With a shy smile, she continued walking. "It's actually kind of nice having someone to talk to..."
    Ranzaran smirked, silent for a moment, as if contemplating something. "I don't mind your company much either, Trestica. And you're right, it is nice to have someone to talk to, especially when you haven't been able to for a while." He took a slow breath while he walked, keeping a comfortable gait. The Prancing Pony was in sight now, and he was glad for it. The morning had just begun, but he was exhausted...
    "Ranzaran?" He looked to her as she spoke his name. "Why did you come all the way to Bree? You said you hailed from Lindon... Isn't it a bit far from your home? Don't you miss your family?"
    "Well, of course I do. But we Elves... We live for a very long time. I can travel back to Lindon when I like and see them without worry that one may be gone when I return." He laughed, and continued. "Most like their guarded seclusion, but I felt pent up there. I wanted to explore the world other than just the Elven-lands. I guess you could say I'm an adventurous type. What about you? You're from Rohan. It isn't exactly within walking distance." He then wondered if he had crossed a line with his inquiry. She looked as if she were very uncomfortable.
    "You answered my question, so I guess I should answer the same... I don't have a family anymore. When I was little... A group of men calling themselves the Raiders of Rohan attacked my settlement. We were travelling vendors, selling our wares all over the region to whoever would buy. My family in particular sold some of the best work-horses. They were bred for stamina and strength, not speed or battle. Farmers were really the only ones who bought them, and we only had five or six foals at a time... But apparently it was enough for them to want the horses. All of them. My father and mother died protecting the horses... And my brother... He was blinded by anger. He tried to follow them on one of the horses, but..." A tear fell from her eyes, and she paused to slow her breathing. "He was gone before he reached the edge of the camp. I ran. I could not help so I took a filly and ran."
    Silent, Ranzaran stopped at the steps to the Prancing Pony. "I'm sorry." He spoke softly, as if regretting bringing up the question. "Here. Let me help you." He offered his arm to Trestica, who took it willingly, making it gingerly up the stairs. "Where's your room?" He asked, motioning to the packs on his shoulder. "I can take your things there and wait. I... I want to treat you to dinner tonight. You shouldn't always have to work for your meals."

    *******


    Ranzaran waited for her for nearly an hour. She had told him to wait for him outside of the inn- he had complied, however unwillingly, but she said she had a surprise for him. He didn't know what it was, but... He was interested.
    It was well worth the wait. As Trestica came down the stair of the inn, a sight he had not seen struck him with full force. She wore an elven-make cloth set, rich blue in color with accents of sienna and forest green. A bejeweled sword was strapped to her hip, and a circlet donned her brow, set with a small sapphire. She was absolutely breathtaking, and looked the warrior. "Wow." He breathed. "Was this your surprise?"
    "No, actually. My surprise is this." She motioned behind him, where a small cart was waiting. "I can't ride by myself, and I don't want to strain Fleetfoot, so I called in a favor. There's a place not too far from here where a Hobbit named Saphiir lives- she agreed to let us use her outdoor seating while she cooks. I figured... I'd show you a bit of my world. You haven't been around Men or Hobbits much, I can tell. I want to show you that we aren't as unassuming as we seem."
    "Didn't I offer dinner?" He asked, smiling. "Though I do like this idea. I have a question though. Why are you in elven-make clothes?"
    Trestica didn't know quite what to say at that. "Well, um... Most of my clothes are elven-make. The lines are cleaner, more fitting to form, and Elven clothing is so much more durable. Not to mention comfortable." This drew a bout of laughter from the elf.
    "That is true, I've notice man-make clothes are rather bulky and simple." He smiled, still laughing softly. "You look nice in them, at any rate." Ranzaran gave a soft look to her. He cleared his throat and snapped his attention forward, avoiding her gaze. What am I doing?! I can't lead her on like this... It isn't right for her to think I am getting attached to her in any way... I can't... I can't get attached to her. She is Woman, and I am Elf. Our paths can never merge; only cross from time to time... His face grew hard, and he looked to the horizon. He hoped the meal would not last long. He could not concentrate around this Woman, and that was dangerous. He needed to get out of Bree before someone got hurt.

    *******


    Ranzaran thought that was possibly the best meal he had ever had in his many years, and that was saying something. He lay back against the trunk of a tree, a sleepy smile on his face. He had consumed a bit much at dinner, and was feeling rather warm and content. Trestica, he had realized, had propped herself against the outdoor fireplace, where nothing but embers now popped in the cool breeze. Her eyes were closed, and a soft melody played from her lute in her lap. She mouthed a song with it, as if trying to perfect her art. "Sing." He commanded to her, looking her way through slitted eyes. As if on cue, her voice cut the silence with soft notes becoming chords with the lute.

    I ngîl cennin erthiel
    Ne menel aduial,
    Ha glingant be vîr
    Síliel moe.

    I ngîl cennin firiel
    Ne menel aduial,
    And-dúr naun i fuin a galad firn
    Naegriel moe.

    An i natha
    An i naun ului
    A chuil, ann-cuiannen
    Am meleth, perónen.


    She sang in the elven verse of his homeland... And how beautifully she sang the words! Images of his home ran through his befuddled mind... But... Something was amiss. An elven woman stood before him, her copper hair shining golden- her face upturned to the sun. Her arms spread wide to her sides, and she fell onto her back amidst a meadow of white flowers. But as she looked up to him, her features were that of a Woman... Of one he knew. The scent of citrus and ginger washed over him, and he opened his eyes slightly to see Trestica's form moving by him, towards a pitcher of pumpkin ale, goblet in hand. She moved loudly and clumsily, giggling uncontrollably.
    Ranzaran stood, shaking his head to clear the fog. "You do not need any more..." He grumbled, reaching for her hand. He leaned over her, grasping her wrist. The utter closeness he maintained to her as she turned to him surprised him. He hadn't meant to get that close to her, only keep her from consuming a dangerous amount of alcohol. Her lips parted as if to say something, but she closed them before any words came from them. Her eyes locked onto his, and she simply stared for a moment. "Tres-"
    Trestica moved towards him, cutting off his words with pressure upon his lips. He froze, barely believing the turn of events. In his hazed state... Ranzaran accepted her, moving the goblet away from her hands to take them in his own. His mind screamed against it, telling him it was not logical or prudent to let this happen. He did not love her...
    He did not love her... With a swift motion, he pulled away from her, keeping her at arm's length. "We'd better get back to the Pony." He said softly, and head towards Fleetfoot, hooking both him and Melody to the cart. "Come, Trestica. Let's be on our way."

    *******


    Trestica woke the next morning in her own bed, still in the clothing she wore the night before. She smelled strongly of dirt and alcohol, and her head was pounding. She pulled the pillow over her head and groaned before trying to remember the night before... There wasn't much she could recall, but she did remember one detail... She smiled, her lips tingling. Pulling herself up out of bed, she headed for his room.
    She tried the knob first, but it was locked... How strange... "Ranzaran?" She called softly, gently tapping on the door. "Hello?" Hmm. Maybe he was already in the tavern...
    "If you're looking for that Elf-friend of yours, he's long gone. He left last night."

    *******


    Ranzaran was riding all night. Fleetfoot was beginning to tire, or he would have ridden more. He had to get away from Bree, had to get away from that Woman. There was no way he could lead her on. She was too kind, and so young. He did care for her safety, and hoped she would forget him... All it would take was time.