The Exile's Daughter

Hope and Fear Come Hand in Hand

The sense of anonymity was strangely satisfying out here in the rugged landscape. Even though I was here because of my blood, looking out on the vastness of the north made it easy to forget everything Elrond had told me of my father all those months ago. The few people who passed us had no clue even of my race, let alone my ill-fated house. It was oddly comforting.

I had left the others to pack up on that morning, several weeks after we left the safety of Imladris behind. My swords were in my hands and my bow on my back as I scanned the landscape ahead of us, with my dark hood over my face.

I leapt up onto a useful pile of rocks and rotated to see all around me, a frown crossing my brow. All night we had thought we heard someone or something close by. A slight change in the rustling of the grass, a muffled cough, the hooves of a horse; these all alerted us to the fact that we were not alone out here. Aragorn had taken the last watch, after listening carefully to my description of what Legolas had heard, then me after him. We had woken early and resolved to go on immediately, so he and Legolas were packing while I volunteered to scout the way ahead.

To my surprise, the others seemed to trust me more by the day. Since the night of the warg battle, even Legolas had stopped stealing worried glances at me as we rode along with ever-increasing urgency. I supposed my survival of such a dangerous situation with only a scratch to show for it seemed to have won me respect not only as their friend, but as a comrade, also. My heart swelled at the thought of earning the respect of such  warriors. When I had volunteered to scout, the others had barely stirred, only speaking to warn me to keep a watch behind me.

I could see nothing from my convenient vantage point on the rock, and I was thinking that I must return to the others, for we needed ever more desperately to reach the Dúnedain. Time was running out.

However, as I jumped lightly onto the grass again, I caught a glimpse of something moving to my left. I bit my lip, tightening my hands around the handles of my swords, then moved around the rock, staying low as I had seen Aragorn doing before, and watching cautiously. A figure clad in grey was walking steadily towards me, leading a chestnut coloured horse by the reigns.

I could see that there was no way to return to the others without the person seeing me, so I straightened slowly and waited. As he drew closer, I watched his pointed hat turning one way and another. He had a long, grey beard, which twitched every time he moved his head. His eyebrows were wild, and his face lined, but somehow, I thought him other than human. He looked old and tired, indeed, but something within him suggested more to this unassuming elderly peddler.

He had spotted me; there was no avoiding him now. The old man paused and watched as I walked towards him, swords in my hands. However, I tried not to be too wary. It would not be decent of me to frighten an elderly man who had no one to turn to for aid.

"Greetings on this fine morning, sir."

I still had my swords out and my hood up, but I bowed my head slightly to him.

"The day is fine indeed", the old man replied. He had a thoughtful kind of voice, slow but strong even as he himself appeared. He lent on a staff which looked like it had been carved with great care from oaken branches. It was rather a beautiful object. "Who are you, lady, who wanders these parts alone? Are you in need of aid?"

I sighed inwardly, having almost forgotten how light my voice was. I almost wished I could have passed as a man, but that was folly. "I might ask you the same. I have plenty of food and warmth, and the skills to find more if need be. What are you doing here?"

"I am looking for a friend of mine who is in need of aid. I go by many names. To my friends the elves I am Mithrandir, but men in these parts know me as Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey".