Chapter 2: A Legend Falls

We left at dawn the next morning. I was less than pleased to be awoken only a few hours after I normally went to sleep, but as I have learned time and time again since my sentence began my wishes count for little.

I was wearing all new clothing and boots, something unprecedented in my life. My hair was clean, combed and trimmed. In fact all of me was much cleaner than I was accustomed to. On the streets, I bathed perhaps once a month and cleaned my clothing once a tenday at most, but both Quinlan and Anarion bathed daily when they could and insisted that I do so as well. It was a practice I performed most grudgingly at first but I have since found that I quite like it.

Despite being clean in clothing, hair, and body, I still felt like an idiot country rube. Anarion and I's relationship had not grown warmer. Perhaps I made things more difficult than they had to be, but Anarion also did nothing make things easier.

I had been sullen and uncooperative during our expedition to get me clothed and equipped, despite the truly awesome amount of coin Anarion spent on my behalf. I received no less than three changes of sturdy wool clothing, a nightgown (I hadn't worn one since before I came to Arabel!), a travel pack, and a thick cloak, all of which he paid extra to have ready before day's end.

He sent me back to the bath three times before he considered me clean enough (while the first time I did not scrub behind my ears on principle, the other times I did!) then lectured me on how to care for his clothing and mine, chided me on my choice of sleeping attire, and this after making me sleep on the floor next to his bed.

I need to say that despite the fact that I was sworn to obey him, frequently change my clothing near him and sleep next to his bed, not once in all the time I have known him has Anarion ever made untoward or inappropriate advances. I do not think him capable of it.

Despite my foul temper that next morning, I was nothing but polite to Quinlan. It was not that he commanded me, or that Anarion lectured me on my manners, but even the slightest disapproving look from his master shamed me into civility.

Both men were mounted warriors and neither had time for a servant to trot along behind like some are known to, but neither did they get me a horse. Instead I was forced to sit behind Anarion on his horse, a huge black stallion named Goliath who—I should add—was no fonder of me than his master was.

There was little said between any of us. Quinlan and Anarion had long transcended the need for idle chatter, and my 'master' and I said as little to each other as possible. The enormity of Quinlan's words and the changes that my life had undergone, more than ill temper or discomfort from my virgin experience upon horseback, robbed me of any desire for conversation.

That evening, somewhere between Tilverton and Arabel —as far in the wild as I had ever been—the rift between Anarion and myself grew even wider, if that was possible. He completely ignored me and actually had to be reminded to allow me to serve him.

Have I mentioned that I hate doing chores? I cannot stand being told to have to do something, and I have detested everything to do with domestic duties since my mother first forced me as a child.

I almost refused. I was in a foul temper but not only could I feel Quinlan's gaze upon me but the words of his pronouncement and its grip upon my soul weighed heavily upon me. Gritting my teeth, I snatched the cook pot and proceeded to make him dinner. However, I did not make it well.

So the next several days passed. The food I made was alternately burned, lumpy or tasteless, but ultimately edible. Some of that was done on purpose, but the rest of it was not. The art of cooking dislikes me as much as I do it. My satisfaction in this was made more difficult by the fact that I had to eat it as well, but felt my own discomfort well worth the price.

We had passed beyond the country of my birth and lands known as the Dales. What our business there was I was (of course) not privy to. We were beyond Tilverton and had entered into a rough, mountainous area known as the Shadow Gap when Hell descended into our lives.

It was late morning and we had been in the saddle since dawn. I remember that the sun had just then broken free of the clouds and I was basking in the momentary warmth that the rays provided.

I have a lucky coin that has been with me since I first left home, and on impulse I pulled it out to flip in the air. A sudden gust of wind caught it and as I reached out to catch it, I lost my balance and fell off of Goliath's back. That simple act of luck is how I survived was followed.

Between one moment and the next, it appeared: a black writhing shadow that was some Bane-touched union of snake and bat. I felt more than heard its passing as talons larger than my arms ripped into Goliath and sent the poor beast tumbling across the rough ground like a child's play thing. Through either divine grace or dumb luck I was untouched, but Anarion was possessed of a lesser fortune and was swept along with his mount. The two of them came to rest in a bloody heap.