“Which of you fools do I have to thank for missing breakfast with Queen Arwen?” asked Elerína as the blade of her sword disappeared back into the hilt.

Timothy and Aldamir immediately raised their hands.  Eddil and Caranel did so slowly. Scowling at all four them stood Gram with his arms crossed, hoping Elerína would spend plenty of time admonishing his foolish friends.

Elerína looked away from them in frustration and saw the massive red eye carved into the cliff face behind the buildings.  “And they say I am vain,” she muttered.

“Thank you for rescuing us ma’am,” said Caranel, the first of the company to regain enough composure to speak.  “We are in your debt again.”

With a hint of a smile on her face Elerína turned back to the five adventurers.  “You're welcome, and you most certainly are.”

“We should leave this place quickly,” she continued.  “Grab your things.”

The five adventurers had wisely left some of their packs back in the stone hut to make it easier to maneuver.

“Can we take the gold, ma’am?” asked Aldamir.

“Do you want it?” he immediately added.  She had certainly earned it.

“Look at this place!” Elerína replied.  “Thorongil is the family expert on curses, but I would guess taking anything from here is a terrible idea.”

“Who would have thought,” laughed Timothy.

Elerína led the long march back through the ruined city.  With her in their midst things seemed far less frightening - the swirling frozen mists fled at her approach.  The cries of the eagles echoed loudly in the valley as they circled over a particularly dense cluster of houses amidst which the wolf cowered.  It was midday when they reached the tunnel out of the valley.

They passed through the black cavern with Baldor’s door and took the northern tunnel out.  After another hour they passed out of the Black Door and stood in the Dimholt forest with the sun still in the sky.  They took the forest road and with the sun low in the sky they stepped out into the Rohirrim camp of Dunharrow.

As they walked out of the forest which the men of Rohan fear, four guards drew their weapons.  In their defense Elerína, clad mostly in black, did look the part of a sorceress of potentially unfriendly persuasion.  Gram leapt to the front of the company and shouted a greeting in the traditional tongue of his homeland.

“Gram, is that you?” shouted one of the guards, running up to him.

“Galbrod?” replied Gram excitedly.  Galbrod was a childhood friend. They had grown up together in Edoras.

“What in the world were you doing in that horrible forrest!” he cried.  “Surely … you did not take the haunted pass?”

“I did, though it was against my council,” he replied.  “My friends thought it would be safe. We were met by a monster that I will not speak of.  We have not slept for two days and have seen things the eyes of living men should not. Can we take shelter here?”

“Of course,” answered Galbrod.  “Let me lead you to our camp. Does the beast pursue you?”

Gram shook his head.  “No, it gave up the chase.”

That night they slept in tents with the soldiers of Rohan.  The men of The Mark were glad to host them, though they wished the travellers would tell more of their adventure.  Gram said the fear was still too near. Elerína slipped out of the camp at night and returned to the Dimholt woods.  One of her eagles met her there and bore her back towards Minas Tirith.

The next day Gram and his friends made the long march from Dunharrow to Edoras, the capital of Rohan and Gram’s home.  As the sun was setting they arrived at Gram’s family house. His father was a successful blacksmith in Edoras who lived in a simple but spacious building that served as both home and workshop, just inside main gate of the city.

The five adventurers went to a tavern within the walls of the city to enjoy their evening.  They sat with their drinks on a wooden table and by the light of a fireplace discussed their plans.

“I shall remain here in Edoras for a while,” said Gram.  “My thirst for adventure has been thoroughly quenched for the time being.”  

Aldamir provided the first suggestion.  “Why don't we go to Isengard and see if we can spot an Ent.”

“I think that's actually illegal,” noted Timothy.

“Seriously?” laughed Aldamir.  “It's a Numenorean tower!”

“Isengard belongs to the Ents now,” explained Caranel.  “By the King's command no one may go within view of the tower.”

Aldamir shook his head.  “How strictly do they enforce that?”

“You do remember that I’m a Ranger, right?” glared Caranel, furious at the question.  “The will of our King may mean little to you but I am sworn to enforce it to my dying breath.”

“Fine, fine,” sighed Aldamir relenting.  “But it's a silly law.”

Timothy was about to suggest a trip to the Glittering Caves when Aldamir nearly choked on his mead at the sight of a fair maiden in the strangest of dress.  She wore a loose fitting tunic made of patches of animal skins and furs stitched together with twine, a skirt of white fur, and high travelling boots stained with mud.  Around her neck hung a golden chain holding a six inch long black arrow charm. Slung over her back was a great bow of yew and a quiver with many arrows. At her side where a sword might have hung there was instead a long and narrow wooden box.

“Who is she!” stammered Aldamir.  None of his friends had an answer.

The woman was arguing with the innkeep, apparently trying to barter an animal's fur for some coin or lodging.  The innkeep was having none of that - in his establishment it was money or nothing. Aldamir stood up to go speak to her while his friends predicted how much coin he would lose in the conversation.

“Is everything alright m’lady?” he asked.  A rhetorical question of course, but his concern for her was genuine.

“Would you trade a bit of coin for this fur?” she replied.  “Apparently here in the land of the horse lords trading is a foreign concept to some.”

Aldamir examined the fur in question.  It was white as snow, a rarity in the south.  “What did this belong to?”

“A white warg,” she said.  “I killed it two months ago, just before my journey south.”

“I’ll give you thirty Rohirrim coins for it,” offered Aldamir.

“It's worth three times that at least,” she objected.

“At a shop in Minas Tirith perhaps,” explained Aldamir, “but I am not a merchant of furs!”

The woman looked quite disappointed.

“Tell you what,” Aldamir added.  “I’ll make it forty-five if you’ll join my friends and tell us your tale.”

The woman agreed and returned with Aldamir to their table.  She sat down and introduced herself.

“I am Astra Faronel, ‘The Huntress,’ descended from Bard the Dragonslayer.  I have hunted every manner of beasts throughout the North. There has been no finer archer born in this age of world.“

Caranel rolled her eyes.  “Is that a so?”

“It is, and if you can find a range I’ll prove it to you.”

As it turned out Gram knew of an open archery range used by the guardsmen of the city.  Under the last light of the setting sun Caranel and Astra readied their bows while the men watched.

“The stakes?” asked The Huntress.

“Ten coins?” Caranel suggested.

Astra laughed.  “I’ve never shot for so little, but so be it.”

“One shot, closest to the center wins,” decreed Timothy.

“After you,” waved Astra.

Caranel quickly took her shot.  The target was fifty yards yonder and her arrow landed hardly eight inches from the bullseye.

With a grin the Ranger stepped back.  Astra took her time aiming. Ten seconds later The Huntress released her arrow.  It landed within two inches of the center.

Astra threw back her hair.  “I told you I’m the best.”

Caranel had to know if it was luck.  “Double or nothing?”

Astra nodded and waited for Caranel to take another shot.  Her second effort was better, four inches from the dot. The smile vanished from the Ranger's face when she saw that Astra didn't look at all concerned.

The Huntress set an arrow to the string and took her time once more.  She sent it within an inch of perfect. “Again?” she laughed.

Caranel knew better than to go for a third contest.  She counted out her losses and gave them to Astra.

“Where did ‘The Huntress’ learn to shoot?” asked Aldamir.

“It's a gift from Béma,” she replied.  “For as long as I can remember I have wanted to do nothing but hunt, and he has brought me great success.”

“Béma?” inquired Eddil.

“Northmen’s name for Oromë,” interjected Timothy.

“Hey, this is Rohan, so you should say Oromë is your name for Béma!” objected Gram.

“What brings you to Rohan?” asked Eddil.

“I am travelling south for a hunt in Ithilien,” she replied.

“We’ll be travelling south soon, you should come with us!” Aldamir enthusiastically suggested.

“We are?” giggled Timothy.  That had not been the plan.

“Well I will,” glared Aldamir.

“You can come with me,” said Astra.  “These lands are strange to me. I would appreciate your company.”

Aldamir rented a horse the next morning and travelled with Astra to Ithilien.  He asked Timothy to take care of his regular steed when it arrived in Edoras. Caranel and Eddil took a short vacation to Fangorn.  Wanting no part of unnecessary camping in an uninhabited forest, Timothy lived with Gram’s family for the next few weeks. After their brief forest excursion their horses - which they had sent north after the festival in Dol Amroth - arrived in Edoras.  Desiring to return home, Timothy, Caranel, and Eddil journeyed south.

It was almost a month after their adventure in The Paths of The Dead when they arrived at the gates of Minas Tirith.  They went to Aldamir’s family’s house and found not only Aldamir but Astra too. They had clearly grown fond of one another.

“Welcome friends!” said Aldamir.  “Come in, come in!”

“How was the hunt?” asked Caranel.

“I lost,” moped Astra.

Aldamir put his arm around her.  “She came in second.”

The Huntress did not look particularly comforted.  “Béma’s Champion shouldn't come in second.”