The Hunt for Randir - "Gift"



On sprinted the Noldo-maiden toward the Camp of Ruidhriel. Her true intent known to none but herself, she smiled in the rising light. Dawn broke freshly over the threshold of the red-coloured stones of Sirannon, the rocky hills and tall gargantuan boulders towering over the small, slender, yet rather broad-shouldered figure who was sprinting at her own balanced pace towards the discoloured and worn tent of Ruinedhriel. She could see the smoke from the campfire wafting over the red sky of Hollin, and finally her feet came to a stop before Ruidhriel. Ruidhriel was silently contemplating the sky, as with a startled jolt, she came abruptly to her senses and made out the tall figure standing over her with a questioning look in her eye. Realizing that it was Daerundros, Ruidhriel quickly rummaged in one of her bags and drew out an Elven-cloth bag stitched and embroidered with tengwar runes reciting a lullaby. Gratefully Daerundros took the bag, giving Ruidhriel a hearty thanks, before she instructed her to leave the camp for a moment, for she wished to speak to the Weathered Ranger, whom she knew was fully awake and resting. Her gaze wandered over to Randir and the discoloured tent, and she smiled at how skillful Nimlith had been with his thigh. She was reminded of Minyelaírë and her poisonous gaze, however, as she looked at the weathered man resting, wrapped in his cloak. Her distrust for Minyelaírë had arisen once more.
'Randir. Awaken.' She called out to the ranger, kneeling down beside him. She unstrapped her quiver from her back and took it into her hands, gazing at the Man's face as he opened his eyes and lifted his head with a quirked brow, wondering momentarily if he had been dreaming or had been resummoned.
'Hmm?' Came a lazy hum from the ranger.
'You maybe a wanderer, you may be a hunter, but your compassion and your willingness have earned my admiration. I commend you with this gift, Randir.'
The ranger suddenly propped up on his elbows at the word 'admiration'. He shot up straight like an arrow from the ground, suddenly feeling inadequately garbed and positioned for being honoured by an Elda. A ceremony would have been more to his liking, but yet here he was, grimacing with an injured thigh, his weatherbeaten robe, and half-lying down in a dusty, old tent.
Daerundros however, ignored the discomfort surrounding the man, and took five silver arrows from her own quiver and carefully set them, side by side, next to Randir. She took his large, weathered hand and placed it carefully over the finely crated shaft of the arrow.
The ranger regarded her steadily and keenly, and Daerundros wondered if he was silently thanking her with this look. She smiled however, and pointed at the silver arrows, 'These are Silver Arrows, crafted in the likeness of those of Gondolin, Noldor-realm of old. May they serve you well.'
'You honour me too much, my lady...' Randir said quietly, looking rather aghast as his rough fingers slid over the shafts of the finely-wrought arrows thoughtfully. He heaved himself upright and turned his gaze to Daerundros, who had stood up to her full height. In a steely voice, she said; 'However, I must ask you not to use them for hunting game and sport.' Randir paused momentarily and bowed his head in acknowledgement before she continued, 'The loss of one of these arrows is great, and it takes time to forge one of such once again.'
'As you so wish, my lady.' The grim-handed ranger looked up to the Elda-maiden, 'Perhaps I should never use them, and keep them safe, as a token of your kindness.'
Daerundros shook her head bewilderedly. His humility was astounding to her, she who was proud of her accomplishments, and she who had burdened herself many a time, 'What purpose is my gift, if you can never use them?'
'I would not assume to think even I had the pride to wield one of these arrows, of make so beyond me.' Came the answer from the Ranger, 'But, perhaps, if the time comes, and a foe strikes upon me worthy of Gondolin's mimicked wrath...then I shall let fly, and think of you, my lady.'
'Please do use them, Randir. It would be a shame if I gave you a gift that never serves it's purpose.' Heaving a sigh Daerundros let her sight pry away from the Weatherbeaten ranger and rested itself onto the red hills. The sunlight gave them the impression that they were on fire; Daerundros could almost imagine the scorching heat of the stones and boulders, mixed with fiery reflections and flames, 'It is your duty as a ranger to protect these lands. Slay any evil you come across with these arrows.'
'And know that the spirit and the blessings of the Eldar go with you.' She added, almost announced to Randir, as she turned back to him. Randir chewed his lip for a moment thoughtfully, surveying Daerundros. His eyes for a moment rested on her bow, Cútasar, slung securely onto her back. Finally, his voice spoke once more;, 'Then I say this: only if that which I deem evil is worthy, will I let silver fly. For to be slain by something of so mighty make is a privilage, and I would not offer it freely to the merest of Man or beast in the service of the enemy.'
Daerundros nodded somberly, smiling serenely at Randir for a moment, 'Nor would I.' Her nostrils flared as she looked at her quiver, already seemingly overflowing with silver arrows that she had made over the course of the third age, but she knew, her oldest arrows were already gone. All the arrows in her quiver were either middle-aged, or young and new. Yet pride welled within her as she proudly stood to her fullest height, and cast a shadow over Randir as she said, 'But I have many more, for that which you see, is made by my hand.'
'Then it is dear to me doubly so. My thanks, my lady!' The Ranger exlaimed. Daerundros smiled and gestured for Randir to put the silver arrows into his own quiver; 'May the blessings of the Valar go with you.'
The grim ranger reached forward wearily and pulled his quiver closer to him. He pushed aside his own humble-made arrows, and slotted the finer ones reverently before bowing his head to Daerundros. In comparison to Daerundros' arrows Randir's were far more inferior to her skill, and it looked to be rather unusual having five silver arrows among the sea of wooden shafts. Daerundros gazed at the quiver for a moment, and suddenly wished to teach Randir what she knew of arrow-making, but she knew, Minyelaírë was waiting, out there. And she knew, Randir would not be able to cope with the lessons she would give him.
'Farad Vaer, hiril nin.' Randir said, adressing Daerundros with reverence.
'Use them well! Farewell, Randir of the Wilds. I am certain we shall met again soon.' Daerundros beamed at him and turned away and began to walk away from the camp. However, a rather sly smile formed on her face, as she muttered to herself; 'Oh yes... we shall meet each other soon...'
And then she was gone; Leaving Randir by the camp alone, she sprinted out of his line of sight as the sun-kissed earth beneath her feet corroded into dust from the scorching heat.