Before starting out on a long, voluntary journey, one must try to accomplish three minimum goals:
1. Having a route and safety precautions in mind.
2. Packing all the necessary supplies (in addition to knowing where one can restock if needed).
3. Saying goodbye to those that deserve it.
While sometimes not all (or any!) of those are obtainable, Arlis was fortunate enough to have the means to see each of those goals taken care of in a timely manner. Number one came easily, due to all of the folk within her caravan that had made the journey before. Number three was next, and it required a short trip to the Blue Mountains. Beloved Amliri joined her, so that the pair could spend a few more days together and also so that the redhead could have a short respite from Bree.
It should be admitted that Arlis also had ulterior motives for seeing her family before her departure. There was much more to discuss with them than just the Lonely Mountain, after all, and discuss they did — at length! The conclusion was bittersweet, and it was quickly dropped from their minds once all was settled. Thus, the conversation turned to lighter things. Finally, Arlis was truly going to the mountain! Her uncles and grandmother, both worried and proud, must have spent at least an hour hugging her before even getting to the tearful goodbyes.
But, just like that, Arlis and Amliri reached Bree again.
The preparations that followed went smoothly… Or as smooth as any preparations for a long trip can go. For a pair of days, it was no uncommon thing to hear shouting across the house for one item or another, see tripping on strewn clothes, or witness Arlis helping Endla pack (while the Elf cooked many foods for the road ahead).
But, just like that, it grew time for Arlis to kiss Amliri goodbye and meet the rest of the company in the Stone Quarter, Endla at her side.
And, just like that, everyone rode through the South Gate, past Chetwood, into the Lonelands where they camped. Soon, just like that, the path was forged further. To Ost Guruth, then to Thorenhad.
For the first time, Arlis questioned whether or not she was ready for Erebor.
Sure, she had the supplies, the company. But she still felt unsettled, even after speaking to her family and wrapping up business in Bree; something was still holding her back. She felt uneasy even while laughing with her friends. Something was not correct.
Travel anxiety, she would tell herself dismissively, then set it aside so it could come gnawing at a later time.
Among the more doughty folk in the group, it was soon established that night watches would be taken. Five were fit for the job: four Dwarves and one Hobbit. Namely: Arlis, Maurr, Thrufi, Huldaur, and Finnric. Experienced travelers are nothing if not cautious, so they will see to it that the company stays safe and secure, even (or especially!) at night.
Arlis enjoys when it is her turn to watch, for that means she has a portion of precious time all to herself. The little bit of sleep lost is of no detriment, nor is she inconvenienced by it; in truth it is relished and cherished, that special hour or more where she has to listen to no chatter besides that of water babbling, crickets chirping, and leaves rustling.
It isn’t that the dame dislikes her company in any sort of way. She simply becomes exhausted by them; being around others consistently throughout the entire day drains her, as she isn’t used to doing such. Thus, the lonesome time at night is taken advantage of.
On the occasion, Arlis even finds herself drawn to the idea of going for a stroll once her watch is over. Of course, she doesn’t wander every night, nor even very far (...usually). But it is another aspect of her desire to get away from other peoples, and one so alluring that it’s almost impossible to decline herself. Additionally, feeling that she has no work to do makes her ansty, so checking the roads again allows her to keep from becoming too relaxed on this trip.
Which is… good... right? Constant diligence? Or was it vigilance... Arlis isn't one for definitions and such.
No trouble has she met on any of her strolls, at least. Well — once she encountered an Elf, near a pond by Weathertop of all places. But that was just unusual, not dangerous, and perhaps it can be said that the meeting was premeditated by said Elf. Arlis would think that she might have even dreamt the entire meeting, if not for the gift of lembas that still rests in her pack.
A bite of said lembas is taken now, while she dismisses herself from her company. Tonight is no different than those before it, except she’s taking her stroll before her watch, as, in truth, there's really no reason to keep any sort of eye out; they’re camping in the guarded Thorenhad, among Elves and trustworthy folk who already make it their duty to protect those ruins and the path before them.
So Arlis lazily slings her pack over her shoulder and begins her hike through the oak trees and down the uneven road.
I need a bath, she thinks.
Perhaps it is selfish, or foolish more so; what if some trouble were to occur while she was away? Yet her feet do not stop the path they have begun. Alert she stays, though there is no feeling of danger around her; even the beasts think it a good night to sleep rather than stalk. The distance is comfortably traversed from twilight to darkness; the full moon is her only guide, beautiful and proud to provide a splash of light against the purple sky. The way is familiar, having been scouted many times before; the only trouble for Arlis is keeping her footing steady.
Upon reaching the river Bruinen, Arlis lets herself simply sit by the water’s edge; the flow hasn’t become too quick, as the weather’s not yet warm enough to melt the Misty Mountain’s snow into it during the day. The dame finds herself listening to it as she peers into the black. Her faint, distorted reflection stares up in return, moon and stars as a backdrop, the ends of her hair dipping into the water. With a sigh, she straightens, gazing at the trees around her as she allows her busy mind to again recall the past during this night’s stillness. Her thoughts reach far, all the way to when she first set out from the Blue Mountains.
Endla was really the first person she met while traveling, even if it was brief; the Dwarf had camped the night near Duillond. And though the beginning of their friendship was sweet, Arlis had little time to tarry (she believed), so they soon parted ways; the Lonely Mountain was waiting! (And there it would continue to wait a while longer, though the Dwarrowdam didn't know that.)
The memories come quicker, then — the Man of Laketown that she had met and the ventures they partook in, the beginnings of her employment with the Blue Mountains Regiment. A frown reaches her a moment, as she recalls that she was just a few weeks out of the mountain, and only one employed in the Regiment, when her optimism and innocence were ripped away in an instant by that officer above her. She still can’t speak to him nor see his face without feeling a black hatred in her chest.
And she’ll never forget the heartbreaking news she received soon after, that her Man-friend had died of illness. That was an unhappy slap to her then-pudgy face, realizing the real world is not so sheltered nor safe as the mountain’s interior.
But there were good folk and good times, too, Arlis reminds herself as she has before.
She forces herself to smile and remember the ridiculous adventures and business she would go on before she finally requested to work and patrol alone. Then it was past Bree for her; scouting the Lone Lands, the Trollshaws. A chuckle comes next at remembering how she first got into Imladris due to her stupidity and pride alone. Her mind's timeline continues on, to the frigid Misty Mountains, which she patrolled to the best of her abilities but never took any passes further than that.
Why didn’t she?
She liked using the excuse that she was waiting for Endla to be ready, and they just waiting for the right caravan to come along, which wasn't exactly untrue — how silly she was once to think that she, all on her lonesome, should make it to Erebor! So she stayed in the West, doing her patrols in addition to simple jobs in Bree. Thinking on it, she misses those a bit, just… helping folk, whether it be escorting people to Nen Harn for their sightseeing, talking to a Hobbit with downtrodden spirits, or helping a girl retrieve her bow back from brigands.
Arlis glances to her crossbow then, smile turning rueful. Joy, it was named by he who crafted it for her. Though he treated her differently (as many Dwarrow do, for the simple fact that she is a ‘lady’, so she surely must be protected and coddled and complimented), she had fun on the patrol or two they shared.
And the crossbow still works finely.
It took Arlis a long time to realize the exact reason why that annoyed her so — that is, the flirting, staring, treatment, and all else that comes from lads. It required a long conversation with Endla for her to realize just why she never reciprocated any interest.
As if by fate, it wasn’t long after that when Arlis reunited with Amliri. They always had been the best of friends, ever since working in the tavern of Thorin’s Hall for years together. Yet… there was always something else, more, that Arlis couldn’t exactly place. Not until she met Amliri again with that fresh perspective.
Yes, her smile broadens when she thinks of that winter.
But it fades once she remembers the spring that followed.
She’s loath to even recall it, any of it. Her life being threatened, Gustine being put in harm’s way. All because that horrid coward couldn’t devise a normal confrontation like a normal Dwarf! Ugh, she scowls now. Little good came from that awful month, which started that long period of her eating too little and drinking too much.
What good even happened, then?
A moment of thought, then Arlis sighs, relaxing her features. She met Bíld. She met Bíld, and he was a saving grace, providing a little spark of hope and happiness among it all (besides Amliri and Endla, naturally).
Yet… Arlis also met Ramsay. Then Kithri and Motgrouk. Ramsay died, with Motgrouk following soon after; though the deaths weren’t interrelated, they did occur within a fortnight of each other which made everything all the worse. It had been many years since Arlis felt such grief; thankfully she’s not had to mourn so since that time, though she does still try to blame herself for it as always. Maybe if she was smarter, braver, quicker…
No, she can't allow herself to think such. They were both tragedies, but neither any fault of her own.
A long period began where she had little time to stop at her home in Bree-land. To the Mountains they went for the funeral, then Imladris again once the mourning period had ended. That was enjoyable, in part; Arlis was able to better know Rofda (at least a little), meet Hravanis, and also go to some Elven celebration (in which the Elves did not dance nude under the stars as she thought they might). Lady Cyanite and her guard joined her and Bíld’s group, then together the lot of them (and more!) went back again to the Blue Mountains for Durin’s day.
There she proposed to Amliri and somewhat made up with Kithri (after having slighted Motgrouk’s abhorrent kin before, which she regrets none, because he truly is awful). She spent cherished time with her family, met the millwright she and Bíld were going to hire, and was finally promoted within the Regiment. Life was beginning to improve.
Arlis was very ready to reach Bree-town again once the holiday was done, but then there was that business with Master Kveldun and his nephews; an entire month was spent in the Shire just to help, and ultimately the efforts were fruitless. At least, during that time, her eating and sleeping habits continued to improve.
A hasty summons from bitty Bíld brought her back to Bree. She was happy to be at her second home and to be with Amliri again, but there was no relaxation to be had. For what was she called there to learn?
Arlodrir of all people had been lurking there for all the time that she was absent.
It angers Arlis even now, fists clenching and blood heating. She should have hit him, but, regrettably, all she could do those few weeks ago was shout and cry at him, that damnable Dourhand.
She knows he faced retributions for his actions. That missing eye was enough proof, but his softened demeanor and the way he flinched just at her standing were more. He was apologetic, and apparently truly believed himself to be in the wrong, the victim.
She knows this. That he's sorry, that he's been trying to help people, that he wants nothing to do with that past life of his.
But none of that makes him eligible for her forgiveness; given the choice, she would spit on him again rather than help. Though he did help Amliri with that trouble, and —
Ugh!
Arlis stops herself there; she shouldn’t even allow him to occupy any space in her mind, let alone her life. He doesn’t deserve the consideration.
Standing, the Dwarf picks up her items and begins to travel downstream with the hopes that a cold bath will clear her thoughts; the walk was supposed to, and so was the sitting — but, apparently, her sense has only been muddled more. It takes a moment of searching, but once she finds a suitably secluded spot, where her back can be protected and she can watch the road without being seen, she strips, leaving only her crescent necklace around her neck.
The pack and bow are placed on a dry rock within convenient reach, and a deep breath is taken before she plunges in. She quickly resurfaces with a gasp; the chill seeps into her skin and freezes her veins. The skies may be beginning to warm, but the water is still icy in early springtime — yet Arlis, being a Dwarf of Blue Mountains, can find no displeasure in the frigidity.
After excavating her soap from her bag and beginning to scrub, her mind finds its way back to her family. She wonders how different her life would be if Arlodrir had been present within it. If they hadn’t pushed him out? If he hadn’t fled so easily from them?
If he had actually tried to raise her as a father should, what sort of Dwarf would Arlis be today?
She’s both repulsed and saddened at once, thinking of it. Seven months? Seven months he had been in Bree, alive, and she didn’t know? Is she so oblivious, so idiotic a Dwarf, that she couldn’t even learn…!?
Arlis grits her teeth and dunks her head under again, as if that can expel the thoughts from her head.
An attempt is made towards washing her hair next, but the tangles within it are so unruly and cumbersome that they prevent her from any easy progress. The soap is set down for the moment so her wet hands can go searching around her pack for her hairbrush instead. The process of brushing is at first unwieldy and complicated, but it smooths over time. Like life, she considers. Get the knots over with quickly.
She brushes and brushes — perhaps a bit too harshly — with the hope that it will help her calm. Alas, the opposite effect is achieved.
You’re angry about things that are no longer relevant, she internally tells herself.
She never liked dealing with her hair, even as a child; she couldn’t sit still enough and grew agitated when it wouldn’t cooperate. She used to always wear it braided, even, just so it would be out of the way... but eventually she grew too careless to do even that to it in the mornings.
The same attitude is applied to Arlis tonight; the more she brushes, the more she dislikes that long, unruly hair. That hair, which she’s grown for so many years. That hair, which is the same as always, which takes too long to dry, too long to brush, too long to wash, too long to deal with. That beautiful hair, which has grown to be more of a burden than something to be enjoyed.
Her decision comes back to her, poking and prodding her mind. Those that Arlis spoke with about it — namely Maurr and Endla — met it with effusive support and approval, and recalling such only bolsters her now. Heart racing and mind rushing, all of her musings from this night return in a flood, overwhelming her. The stories of Erebor, family passing, friends leaving, fun adventures, absent father, new family, tender love: all the bitter and the sweet.
Still at her bag, Arlis' hands move on their own accord, exchanging the brush for those hair shears instead. She has carried them for a long, long time, only trimming her hair and beard if needed but always considering more in the back of her mind.
In this moment, Arlis is tired of keeping the weight of it all.
A lock is placed between the blades.
Arlis is tired of letting trivial things hold her back, restraining her from enjoying this journey, preventing her from laughing and experiencing life as she once did with that sunny, sparkling eagerness.
Snip.
Arlis intakes a sharp breath, holding the cut lock and staring with wide eyes. There it is, her hair in her hand instead of on her head where it belongs…! It is quickly placed upon the rock as if it has burned her fingers, and for a long moment she hesitates. It isn’t too late to stop; she can easily obscure the missing lock with the rest of her hair. She can easily leave and cut no more, letting it persistently bother her still. She could continue to keep that pretty long hair which other Dwarrow approve of, and she can continue to hide behind it as a curtain of safety.
But… she doesn’t wish to. Not anymore.
Snip.
A worry is cut away.
Snip.
Mourning her mother.
Snip.
The friends long passed.
Snip.
Those who have done wrong by her.
Snip, snip, snip.
All that she has been so long clinging to.
Feeling significantly lighter, Arlis takes a long moment to breathe again. No heavy thoughts accompany this time; all she can hear in her mind is the music of sleepy bugs and the star-dappled water singing along. Her hair curls this way and that, in between dry and wet. A few shakes of her head are given, so that she can feel it bounce around her face, sprightly without the weight down her back.
Arlis laughs.
Loud and bright, she laughs, joy splitting her face. Her fingers drag again and again through her hair, pleasantly surprised each time it ends sooner than expected.
Where is… she thinks, and it is no sooner than that half of a thought is created that she quickly searches through her pack again, finding the little bronze compact that Bíld allowed her to borrow. She admires herself in its tiny mirror, her hair only reaching the middle of her neck. She smiles, and smiles, until she’s soon contemplating again.
Not short enough.
The compact is set on the rock before the shears return to cutting, cutting, their silver teeth gnashing hungrily through her chestnut locks. Halfway through, she realizes it’s forming into a style similar to that of Lanin’s (though hers is not so short on the sides, nor so long on the top). It’s the only hair style that she knows how to cut, as she was so eager to learn how to fix her uncle's hair for him when she was younger. She's become a master at that and no other hairstyles.
It’s more difficult when it’s your own head…
But she falters not, continuing to lovingly shape the haphazard, messy hair, with only that little mirror and the moon’s low, dreamy light. The back is cut through feel and memory alone, and Arlis finds that she’s without a care if it looks choppy or sloppy.
It’s her hair, after all. Nobody else’s opinion of it will really matter, will it?
Once the blades are satiated, they lie at rest on the rock, so that both of the Dwarf’s hands can dig through what hair is left. Her heart picks up with elation, and though the cut it will surely need adjustments when the sun rises, Arlis is satisfied with it for now.
No, she’s more than satisfied — she loves it. It feels natural, and good, and correct.
No more mourning for those long passed, and no more lingering on situations gone by, she decides. No more clinging to heartbreak, and no more letting herself be scared of trivial things!
From now on, she’ll try to be unashamedly herself. She’ll do her best not to let worry cloud her mind, and though the road to recovery is rocky, by all her strength she’ll do her damndest to enjoy it. No more punishing herself, no more wishing things were different. She doesn’t have the time nor energy to worry over insignificant scenarios.
Arlis finally knows, now, that she is ready for Erebor.
