"I'm older than I look," - Anberenien

30th July/Cerveth T.A 3010, The High Pass, Misty Mountains

Anberenien woke up feeling refreshed after a few hours of sleep, despite the unsteadiness of the cart ride. But the gnawing feeling in her stomach reminded her just how long it had been since she had last eaten. The caravan made steady progress along the pass. Through a small tear in the fabric, Anberenien could see a guard ever vigilantly scanning the mountainous terrain.

From the front of the cart, she could hear the trader singing a travelling song as the incline grew steeper. When the sun began lowering in the sky, the Caravan turned onto a side road leading to a small plateau that could not be seen by the road. Here they came to a halt. Anberenien stretched her cramped legs, picked up her pack and jumped out of the cart. The trader and his wife were busily setting up camp and preparing a stew. They smiled as Anberenien approached and indicated for her to sit on one of the logs by the fire.

"We often stop here. It's an excellent camping spot. Sometimes other traders and travellers stop by too. There are spots like this all across the Misty Mountains," said the trader.

The two guards dismounted but didn't speak as they continued to observe their surroundings. And on closer inspection, Anberenien noticed they were quite roughly dressed, had thick dark hair and beards and had the same bronze complexion as the trader's wife. The trader's voice soon brought Anberenien back to her senses. "Still got that hood up then, eh, Ranger? There's no need. We are all friends here. My folk come from Breeland, you know."

Anberenien was unsure if this was a trick question. As she knew from hearing her Pappa and Aragorn's conversations as a child, that Breelanders were suspicious of Rangers. But neither did she wish to appear suspicious or rude. Slowly she removed her hood, her messy shoulder-length haircut revealed. The trader laughed slightly. "So fresh-faced you are, I've never seen a Ranger so green. Why would they send a young un on such a journey? "

"I'm older than I look," replied Anberenien.

The Trader's wife gave her husband a sceptical glance before turning her attention back to Anberenien. "Yes, I've heard ranger folk are well preserved. But even so, I've never seen one as young as you alone, my lad." As the last of the sun's light cast its orange glow upon the mountains, they continued to question her about the rangers and Anberenien answered as best she could. The trader seemly satisfied, then urged his wife to finish the stew as the entire company was starving.

Anberenien had a call of nature, so made her excuses and went behind a large boulder to relieve herself. When she returned, the trader was lighting his pipe. "Fancy a smoke, young man? I know you Rangers are fond of Pipeweed and it just so happens I have a shipment of Old Toby. Straight from the Shire if you'd like a pinch?"

Anberenien shook her head. "I lost my pipe a while back, but thanks anyway."

The trader frowned with concern. "Is that so, young man? Well, it just so happens I've got a few in stock. Why not take a look? I'd hate for you to miss out on a pinch of Old Toby."

He went to the cart and brought out a small box containing many long clay pipes.

"Take your pick," he said, giving her a broad smile. "My treat."

Anberenien selected a smallish pipe, and the trader gave her a little pipeweed. "You got a flint to light it, right?"

"Aye!" Anberenien drew out two flints from her pouch and used them to create a spark. The familiar scent flowed into her nostrils as she lit the pipe, reminding her of happier times.

The trader looked at her encouragingly. "Go on, take a good long draw. It's fine stuff."

Anberenien put the pipe to her lips and sucked. The hot, strange tasting air quickly filled her mouth and throat. The shock of the sensation caused her to cough and splutter.

The trader burst out laughing. "A bit strong for you lad, is it?"

Anberenien continued to cough as the bitter taste of the Pipeweed remained in her throat. "Aye!"

The trader slapped his hands on both knees as he roared with laughter. "Take a few more drafts. You'll get used to it."

"Grubs up!" called the trader's wife. She then took a bowl of stew to each of the guards before returning to the fireside. She then put the remaining stew into three wooden bowls before serving two of them with a wedge of bread to Anberenien and the trader. Before settling down for her meal. The stew tasted just like the ones Labes used to make and awakened happy memories of life in Duincar, and she felt a little dreamy.

She reached down for her pack and took out her flask. "I've got something better than that lad," said the trader's wife. She was pouring her husband some beer from a leather pitcher. She thrust a Horn beaker towards Anberenien. It was full of an amber liquid Anberenien recognised as Small Beer. In Duincar, Small Beer was an everyday drink even for children. As the river water was not considered wholly safe before the brewing process. But in Rivendell, the water was so pure there was no need to brew the water save only to produce the finest Elven Beers that only the Elves and their guest partook. They had always served Anberenien water with fruit juices added to it.

Again, the amber nectar brought back memories of the past, flashing before her eyes. But after a few sips, Anberenien felt a little light-headed and her eyes struggled to focus. "Thank you for the meal.....but I think I should turn in now. I think today...... has quite worn me out." Her words seemed slower than usual.

"Well, lass, I am not surprised. Out in the mountains alone at your age, you don't know who is about," replied the trader's wife.

Anberenien's eyes felt heavy. Did she say, Lass? She shook her head and tried to fight the creeping sleepiness.

The trader's wife gently took the beaker from her with a strange smile on her face. "Sleep well. My lady." The last thing Anberenien heard before sleep overcame her was the soft laughter of the trader and his wife.

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1st August/Urui T.A 3010, High Pass, Misty Mountains

When Anberenien came around. It was dark, her body felt heavy, and she could not move. She then realised she was gagged. Her hands and legs were bound tightly with rope. As her eyes grew accustomed to the light. She lifted her head to see where she was and found she was lying in a crouched position in a wooden box with holes drilled into it, her only source of light and air. She could feel the movement of the cart as it continued its journey, shunting her back and forth with its motions. Soon Anberenien began to make out the voices of the trader and his wife, deep in conversation. She lay as still as she could so she could hear them and try to make sense of what had happened to her.

"Old Sharky had better be as generous as he promised. Bill said this was a risky business. This pass is riddled with Elves looking for the girl and it will not be easy getting past the Beornings," said the trader.

"As long as we pay the tolls, the Beornings will be no trouble and we have plenty of coin. I've been through the girl's belongings. There is much gold, silver, and valuable jewellery. Those blades will fetch a pretty price alone. We just need to get off the mountain and the White Wizard will meet us in the foothills with some of my people. Then she is no longer our problem," replied his wife.

"Not very convincing, was she? Too fresh-faced to be a ranger and barely a callous on those hands. No wonder she hid under that hood. Those eyes betrayed her immediately."

Anberenien felt so foolish. She had thought that dressing as a boy would help to disguise her identity. But whilst she could cut her hair and wear men's clothes, she could never disguise her eyes.

The White Wizard. She had heard that name before. Nuta, the woman who led the attack on Duincar, had spoken of him. Did this mean the traders were in his employ? The only wizard she had ever met was Gandalf, though she had grown used to calling him Mithrandir as the Elves did. But then she thought of her gifts and the story of the three wizards visiting her when she was a baby. One was most definitely Gandalf with his painted stag and a brown wizard who had made her a wooden Hare. Then Anberenien remembered the strange orb that had sat on her bedroom shelf in Duincar. How it had made her feel strange like she was being watched.

One day she had even yelled at it to leave her alone and the Orb had instantly smashed. Her father burst into the room at the sound and berated her for breaking the special gift. But that had been a long time ago. If the Orb had been from this White Wizard, why had he given her that gift? And what did he want with her? Anberenien assumed he must be another person like her. She knew from her encounters with the Dark Lord that before her birth; she had been of his people. But she could only remember that life in small flashes. Like dreams that faded quickly after waking. Gandalf she knew to be another, so perhaps the other wizards were her people as well. From the waking world, most of her education had been of the history of the Dúnedain and their ancestors the Númenóreans.

But she would often hear some Elves speak of the Undying Lands. Which was the home of all Immortals. Some had once lived there, like Glorfindel, and they had a strange glow about them. Some, like Gildor, travelled West every year to three towers on the coast, where they said they could glimpse the world they left behind. Fewer each year returned to Rivendell with him. As some went on to the Grey Havens, never to return. The sound of approaching hooves returned Anberenien from her thoughts as the cart came to a sudden halt.

Her ears suddenly pricked up as she recognised a familiar voice. "Any news, good sir?" called Glorfindel.

"We've still not seen anything. Perhaps the worst has happened, and she's gone over the edge in the dark, or maybe those eagles up there have had her for supper," replied the trader.

"Very well, sir. I will continue my search. May our next meeting bring better news!"

Anberenien's stomach dropped as she heard him ride away. Then the cart was off again on its bumpy journey. For what seemed like hours, the journey continued till the cart slowed again. Anberenien's stomach groaned with hunger and she presumed that the caravan had stopped to camp again. Then she heard the trader ordering the guards to move something that was blocking the road, presumably a rockfall.

Then she heard his wife scream. "Orcs! Help! somebody please!"

All at once, she heard the familiar crackle of Orcs' laughter. Anberenien could only imagine what was happening as the cart jostled and shook. Shivering with fear as she heard the blood-curdling sounds of the members of the caravan being dispatched without mercy. The trader's wife was now begging for her life. "Please take everything and let me go!"

"Our mistress will decide what's to be done with you!" replied an Orcish voice.

A shudder went through Anberenien. On the night of the Duincar attack, the Orcs had been under the command of Nuta. Now these Orcs were also under a command of a mistress. Anberenien tried to wriggle free of her bonds, but the ropes held fast. Then she heard another voice and her worst fears were confirmed.

"We kept this one alive for you, Mistress Nuta," said the Orc.

"Very good. You and your company are dismissed. Go back to your caves till we have need of you again!"

Anberenien felt the back of the cart move as if someone had climbed on board and she could hear someone moving things. "Is this everyone in your company?" asked Nuta.

The trader's wife grizzled something inaudible in reply.

"A box with holes in, at the back of the cart!" She then ordered the trader's wife to remove her garments.

Anberenien knew there would be no escape for her this time. The woman's sobbing grew louder again, still begging for her life. Set against the sound of the man in the cart moving items in the cart. She felt a vibration go through the box as two heavy hands laid themselves upon it. "I've found it a box with holes, as the woman said."

"You have served your usefulness, so I shall release you now," said Nuta. "Take her away!" she commanded. The trader's wife grew more hysterical, then her screams faded into the distance. But Anberenien had little time to wonder what had happened to her. At that moment, the box was opened a bright lamp was shone in her face.

"Hail Melkor!" said a male voice. The cart moved again as another person climbed aboard. "She's here, High Priestess."

Nuta's hand stroked Anberenien's face and hair, and she cringed at her touch. "We meet again, Sweeting. You have grown fair indeed. The Great Master will be pleased with his prize." Anberenien whimpered and shook her head furiously. "Hush now, Sweeting. You must be hungry." Nuta then removed the gag from Anberenien's mouth and looped her arm under her neck. Anberenien was too weak to resist as Nuta applied a bottle to her lips. "Be sure to drink it all, Sweeting. It will nourish you." Anberenien's parched throat welcomed the sweet liquid as it slipped down her throat. But no sooner was the bottle empty. Drowsiness came over her again.