Take My Pain Away

Chapter 3

The group rode along the East-West road as far as Weathertop before stopping for the night. At the base of the tall outcropping the dwarves were busy setting up camp, gathering firewood and getting a meal prepared.

Abrâ stood looking up at the great watchtower, now crumbling and forgotten. "Amon Sul," she murmured.

Beside her, Bilbo stated, "Not much to look at now."

Abrâ glanced at the hobbit, "Arveleg was slain defending this tower by the witch-king of Angmar. It is a place of great sorrow and much death."

At that moment a scream rent the sky.

Bilbo jumped, "Wh-what was that?"

Abrâ grinned at him, "It was an owl, Master Baggins. Just an owl."

Bilbo giggled nervously and took a jerky step back, "Hehe, it's a little spooky here." He ran his hands up and down his thigh and nodded to the fire, "Perhaps we should get back to the others." He walked backward for a few steps, "Are you coming?"

"I will be along momentarily Bilbo." His eyes widened with fear. She assured him, "I will be fine, Master Baggins. Thank you."

Once Bilbo had gone she searched the ground for a few moments before she found what she was looking for. Working quickly (she didn't want to give Thorin any more reasons to dislike her...) she created a small altar out of flat stones. She reached into the medicine pouch she carried around her neck and took a pinch of the herbs within. These she mixed with grass and laid them in the space under her small temple. She lit the offering with her flint and said a small prayer, "Oh spirit of Arveleg, please see us safely on our journey. May you find rest in the halls of your fathers."

Abrâ took a deep breath before making her way to the camp. As she entered the firelight Bombur was trying to haul himself to his feet, she interrupted him, "Please Master Bombur, stay seated. I will serve myself." She gathered a bowl, ladled out some stew and took a seat under a tree well away from the others.

She sat eating her meal and observing the dwarves. In all they seemed to be quite merry, despite the nature of their quest. In time a tall dwarf in a floppy hat rose from his seat and started to play a jaunty tune on a flute. He danced around the firelight as the others clapped in time, eventually one of the young dwarves started singing.

It was an unusual sight for her. In her homeland there wasn't much singing and dancing. They tended to be quieter, it behooved them to not attract much attention; they never knew what kind of attention, good or bad, they might attract. The only time they really celebrated was when members of the Dùnedain would venture into their territory. The extra protection they provided gave the dwarves of Ered Lithui a reason to celebrate.

Bilbo made his way to where Abrâ lounged, taking deep inhalations of her pipe. She grinned at the hobbit as he patted at his coat before he pulled his own pipe from an inside pocket. She offered him some of her tobacco, which he accepted and, using a splinter of wood, lit his pipe.

They sat in amiable silence for many minutes. Abrâ could feel herself getting sleepy and tapped out her pipe. She struggled against falling asleep...

The morning sun intruded on Abrâ's sleep. She was still propped up against the tree trunk, however someone had laid a blanket across her. She opened her eyes and winced in pain. She felt achy all over, her back hurt and her thighs were throbbing, the muscles spasming.

She rolled into a position on all fours and tried to stretch out her back. She groaned in misery just as Thorin passed by.

"Was it too much on you? Sleeping in the rough?"