Aproximately 3 years ago...
Of all the arguments they'd had, that one was comfortably the worst. There was no coming back from it this time, not that she could see. Any attempts to find a middle ground had been vetoed by one or the other, both stubborn, both angry, both hurt, neither one truly understanding the views of the other. What once had been a game of give and take had become lines in the sand, words willfully misconstrued, actions abhorrent.
On the heels of tragedy, two in quick succession, and a personal triumph taken, shattered, betrayed, she had no give left. She had nothing left.
But time...
Time was what she needed. Time to come to terms, to rediscover, to see the world through new eyes and then maybe, just maybe, reassess and retry.
She had left, slipping away silently into the darkness. To Gondor, to complete a forfeit, and then back again one last time in order to ensure a promise kept.
An arrow that had never belonged to her; returned.
A book of research she had been asked to perform; completed and delivered.
Two scraps of cloth, one cobalt blue silk, one silver chiffon; proof of forfeit.
A letter slipped into a saddlebag; a declaration of eventual return.
She hadn't seen him that night. She couldn't face doing so lest she change her mind and stay and that... that would have been the worst thing she could have possibly done for herself, and for him.
She rode away, alone again except for her beloved Steel.
It was what she had needed.
Approximately 2 years, 8 months ago...
She had worked hard. She always worked hard, but this... this was different. It was strange how exhausting this particular type of work could be. It would be assumed otherwise considering it was largely sedentary, and she was used to being active from pre-dawn to midnight, but all the running, jumping, climbing, fighting and digging in the world could not prepare her body or mind for this.
She had lost track of time early on in the process. Being almost constantly indoors was uncomfortable and draining, but it was necessary... for now.
That was where they had found her - The White Knight and the Ranger - up to her neck in paperwork, calculating costs, manpower, logistics, working on the required permits, plans for safekeeping, safe harbours along the route...
They had tried to talk her into returning with them. She had refused. She wasn't ready. She wasn't done here. Post-bureaucracy, she had other plans. The wounds were still too raw.
Aproximately 2 years, 5 months ago...
The hunt for treasure in a now abandoned Mordor had been a fine thing! For the first time in a long time, she had felt alive again.
The place, even now, was not empty. Stragglers of the fell armies yet remained, as did pockets of Southern Rangers, keeping watch and puttting an end to those they deemed msicreants. It had been fraught, perilous and so much fun!
Those items of interest she had recovered were now working their way back to Evendim via her newly established network of trade routes, there to be appraised, sold or stored as per her correspondence to Toth.
Life, if not yet good, was certainly getting better.
Aproximately 2 years ago...
In pursuit of an intriguing legend, she had found her way to Khand. She had been there before in her teenage years, but had never gone further than a few miles into the Steppes. Now, she was out in the deep desert. Steel didn't like it and the heat was oppressive even for her, but after several weeks of wandering, relief had come in the form of the Ashta'ai.
Feared, loathed and dismissed as mere legends amongst the warring tribes, this small sect of female assassins were a close-knit and secretive group. Yet, they must have recognised in her something of their own, for they had adopted her for a time, helped her improve her routines, refined her fighting techniques and she, in turn, had taught them a few things about movement and what could be achieved if one pushed ones limits. Agile, swift and silent, they had felt so very akin to her and her ways, though their philosophies and goals greatly differed.
She had remained amongst them for six months, or thereabouts and when it came time for her to move on, she parted from their ranks amicably, having adopted their customary box braid hairstyle in honour of all that they had shared.
Aproximately 18 months ago...
Her search had led her now to the outskirts of Harad, here to meet with the Gravediggers - or, as she thought of them, the Brothers Dim - so called due to their penchant for burying people alive.
Back when she had first met them, oh so many years ago, they had only just begun to adopt that practise, but now, by all accounts, they had it down to a fine art. It was said that they knew exactly how long a person could survive, trapped in an air-tight box, 5 feet below the ground and they often made use of that knowledge. Some of the people they buried, they would dig up again shortly before expiration - a nasty little way to soften them up and make them more amenable to the Gravediggers' wants.
She had never much liked these two men; they were painfully codependent, not particularly bright, and resembled deformed pigs, but they owed her a favour and she was here to collect.
