The Exile's Daughter

The Ceaseless Watch

I woke early the next morning to the sound of rain pattering on the roof of the hut. The hessian cloth covering the empty window frame was soaked through and dripping dolefully onto the blankets of the still-sleeping Legolas. I stood quietly, tugging my cloak around my shoulders and carefully draping my blanket over him.

The twins' bedrolls were empty. I stepped over them and tugged my hood over my face, making a mental note to thank the Rivendell dressmakers for its substantial size if I ever saw them again, and closed the door quietly. The sky was still dark; the rain made it difficult to tell the time, but I thought it must be before dawn.

"Ness!" My hissed name startled me in the apparently deserted scene, but in turning to my left I saw Beriadan's wife, Almarien, leaning out of her hut and beckoning me over. She was counted as young among the Dúnedain, with long brown hair which was slightly lighter than that of most of her kin, and slim shoulders, over which a moss green shawl was draped. She had been among the first to introduce herself at dinner the previous night. I couldn't help but like her, quiet though she was. I jogged across the sodden ground and took refuge in her hut with relief.

"Thank you."

It was slightly larger than the one I shared with the other elves. In the furthest corner from the door, Beriadan sat, stoking the flames in what seemed to be a miniscule stove, handmade from stones and skilfully put together. Behind it, a conveniently placed window took care of the smoke. Close by was a straw mattress covered with thick blankets. As I took down my hood, Barahir looked up with big blue eyes just like his mother's and handed me a handmade wooden eagle he had been playing with. I smiled and made the eagle fly all around the cabin. Barahir giggled, catching it in his chubby hands when I sat and made it swoop towards him.

"What are you doing out there at this time of the morning?" Beriadan picked up a kettle, using a shirt to protect his hands from the heat, and poured three mugs of tea. I passed the first to Almarien, who sunk to the floor and cradled it in her lap, then took my own with thanks.

"I was abed early last night. You are awake, too", I pointed out.

"We have a two-year old." Almarien smiled wearily. I chuckled as I watched the child copying my play and making his toy fly above his head.

I smiled a little sadly, when I took a sip of my drink. "My mother used to make nettle tea just like this".

"I am glad to give you a taste of home. This must be a strange place indeed to you, even though you once lived a life just as secluded as ours." Beriadan smiled kindly in return. I bowed my head, but changed the subject quickly.

"Have you seen the sons of Elrond? They were not in their beds."

A crease appeared in the centre of Almarien's forehead. "They left with Aragorn late last night."

"How do you know this?" Beriadan drew his tea closer to his chest.

"Barahir was restless, so I was walking around the centre to settle him. They looked grim, and they warned me to keep a weapon close in the night, just in case."

"It was only those three that went?" I thought it unwise to leave camp with so few men if there was danger close by.

"Gandalf was with them, all on horseback. I have never seen him this worried". Almarien looked over at Beriadan, who looked far older than he was in that moment.

"Nor I", he sighed.

"You must not lose hope-" I paused to take a sip from my mug "- I have been here not even a day, but I know this much of your people - every one of them - of us elves too - will fight if need be."