Under Cloud and Under Star by StarSpray

---

Three

---

Maglor saw the soldier stirring as the girl finished unlocking the final manacle. These were no lazy soldiers; they had let their guard down, it was true, but once he was awake he was alert, and the man immediately saw the open cage door and called to his companions. Maglor lunged for the door as soon as his ankle was free, and tumbled onto the ground, creating new bruises on top of the ones he already had, as he rolled over hard stones and scrambled for a weapon. He had no idea what the girl was doing, and could not spare a glance. He found a knife someone had carelessly tossed aside, or that had fallen, and unsheathed it just in time to parry a blow from a sword.

Under other circumstances it would have been almost too easy to dispatch the five guards that had been sent along with him, but Maglor had not recovered from his encounter with their master, nor the beatings that had come afterward, and the pain made him slow. Still, he gave a better fight than he thought they had expected, and killed two before one of their blades found its mark. He managed to dodge enough to avoid a killing blow but it still sliced across his shoulder, opening a line of fiery pain; blood dripped down onto the stones so his bare feet slid over them as he struggled to back away. He slipped and fell hard on his back. Someone shouted not to kill him, that he was wanted alive, but the soldier standing over him was beyond such orders. The moon passed from behind a ragged bit of cloud, and glinted on the sword in his hand.

Then he dropped to the ground, crumbling without a sound. Maglor scrambled back out of the way as the last two cried out, only to be silenced one after the other in the same abrupt fashion. When Maglor looked up, he saw the girl standing beside the cart, hefting a stone in her hand, her eyes glinting in the moonlight for only a brief moment before it passed behind another cloud and the shadows descended again. "Come on!" she said, and turned to disappear like a rabbit into the tall grass beside the road.

Maglor stared after her, stumbling into motion only when someone groaned behind him. He staggered across the road and into the grass, but found no traces of the girl.

"Where—"

"This way!" She reappeared again, grabbing his hand and pulling him along, as though he were an over-large and unruly child she had been given charge of. Maglor stumbled again and nearly fell, but let himself be pulled along, since it saved him the trouble of deciding where to go himself, at least for the moment. Everything hurt, especially his shoulder. They came to a pony hidden away in the brush, who fell into step beside the girl at her half-whispered call. And they did not stop until Maglor stumbled and finally fell, and could not make his legs pick him up again.

"Oh dear," said the girl with a sigh, as she stood peering at him through the darkness. They had reached a little wood, and the tree-shadows were deep. "You're worse off than I thought. I'm terribly sorry. But at least now we should be out of sight, at least for a while." She went to the edge of the trees and looked out. "No one's followed us." She turned back and fished out a water skin from a saddle bag, which she handed to Maglor.

He took a deep draught and, when he could catch his breath, asked, "Who are you?"

"Peony Took, at your service." This was accompanied by a quick dip of a curtsy. She did not wait for him to introduce himself, however, and went on, "I have some bandages, but it's very dark and I'm afraid I'll do a very clumsy job, but your shoulder needs binding before we go any further." She went digging again in another saddle bag, and pulled out a roll of clean bandages. True to her word, it was clumsy work as she fumbled in the dark, but it was better than no bindings at all. Maglor drained the water skin while she worked. "Can you walk a bit more?" she asked. "I think there is a stream not far from here, if I haven't completely turned myself around."

"There is a stream," Maglor said. "That way." He pointed with the water skin. He could hear it flowing over stones close by. The land was changing, too. They were passing into a cluster of low hills; he had seen them from the road, but had not realized what kind of shelter they might offer. Peony led the way, picking her way carefully over tree roots, her hand on her pony's reins. Maglor trailed behind. He could see better, but still felt unsteady and pained.

The water was indeed a stream, and they happened to come upon it at its source, where it bubbled up from a frigid spring at the base of one of the hills. There was a hollow in the side of the hill hidden by a screen of young trees growing thickly together, offering shelter from wind and from searching eyes. Maglor collapsed by the spring and closed his eyes. After a few minutes he felt a blanket settle over his lower back. It was much too small—suitable for someone of Peony's size, rather than for his—but it was soft and clean and that in itself was a comfort.

The next thing he knew, it was morning. The light was still dim and pale, and when he looked up the sky that he could see through the trees was shadowed by clouds. Peony was nowhere to be seen. Her pony dozed on the other side of the spring. One of its ears twitched idly as Maglor watched. He pushed himself up, muttering a few choice words as his whole body protested. It felt as though every inch of his skin was bruised or scraped or sliced open. In defiance of this he plunged his hands into the spring, shuddering at the cold, and washed his face and drank deeply. The water, though icy, was sweet and clear, and he felt refreshed and less stiff once he had drunk his fill.

Once he felt able to move, he explored the hollow. Someone had gathered up a large pile of mushrooms on a cloth set near the spring; he supposed that had been Peony's work. The pony was picketed securely and there was a great deal of grass and other low-growing plants for him to eat. Maglor looked for signs of where Peony had gone, but found none. Whoever she was, she moved through the world as lightly as an elf. He went back the way they had come, but not far. The trees thinned out quickly, and he slipped back into the shelter of their shadows when he saw horsemen moving up and down the road. The haze of smoke and flicker of red flame caught his eye, and he frowned. Someone had set the cart on fire.

As he watched the horsemen fan out on the other side of the road, evidently believing that Maglor had escaped in that direction, he noticed movement closer at hand, and after a moment Peony reappeared. He knew that it was her by her size, for only her tight dark curls were visible above the pile of things she bore in her arms. As she stepped into the trees she halted and adjusted her burdens so that she could look up at Maglor, beaming. "Good morning!" she said brightly. "I've done some proper burgling this morning—I daresay my cousin Bilbo would be proud—and I think I've found a few of your things, plus some extra clothes and a blanket or two that's more your size."

Maglor looked back at the road. "Did you also set a fire or two?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. It was a horrid thing; I thought it better to just get rid of it. And the horses were much happier being able to run off on their own as well."

"You have been busy," said Maglor as he followed her back to their little camp. "You even went mushroom gathering."

"Oh, those were growing just over there! A lovely bit of luck, that." Peony set her burdens down and began sorting through them. Maglor accepted proper clothes gladly, and was very happy to see again his knife, which he had thought lost forever, though the pair of boots that Peony had brought back, though the biggest she could find, were still too small. "Ah well," she said, sitting back on her heels. "Can you do anything with them at all? I don't know the first thing about shoes."

"What do you mean?" Maglor asked as he set the boots aside. In response Peony stood up and showed him her feet. She was barefoot, and the tops of her feet were covered in dark curly hair, like what grew on her head.

"We hobbits don't use shoes," she said. "Well, the Brandybucks do sometimes, when they go wading in the river muck. But the Brandybucks are a stranger lot even than us Tooks."

"I beg your pardon," said Maglor, as he dipped his hand into the spring for another drink. He could not remember ever being so thirsty before. "But what are hobbits?"

"I am a hobbit!" said Peony with a grin. "It's all right—hardly anyone has heard of us outside of the Shire and the Breelands. Well, they know my cousin Bilbo Baggins off in Laketown and Dale and the Lonely Mountain, because he was part of Thorin Oakenshield's Company. Have you heard of that business? With the dragon, and the battle afterward?"

"I heard rumors," said Maglor, "long after it happened. Do many of your people go wandering in strange lands?"

Peony laughed. "Good gracious, no! Gandalf has taken some of my relations—the Tooks—off on adventures, but very few of us, and I don't think anyone ever went so far away as Bilbo did. Though there was one cousin who it is said went off to sea, but I'm not sure I believe it. Anyway, Bilbo is rather singular. Not least because his father was a Baggins, and Bagginses are far too respectable for adventures."

"You seem rather singular yourself," said Maglor. "Your cousin only went so far as Erebor, and he was not alone."

"That's true! Though I didn't come here by myself, exactly. I made friends among some horse traders, and I wanted to see the Sea of Rhûn. It wasn't until I arrived that I learned that—well, that soldiers from the Black Land were crawling about like ants. I don't think any ever noticed me, which is good for my friends. I would hate to get them in trouble. Oh, I found more bandages and things. Let me have another look at your shoulder, now that we're not fumbling about in the dark." She did not wait for Maglor to reply before she was up and bustling, taking water from the spring, though they still did not dare light a fire. This had the unexpected benefit of numbing his entire shoulder as she poured more and more over it, because the wound needed stitching. Peony was cheerful in her admittance that she had never had to stitch skin before, but she had plenty of experience in mending clothes, and how different could it be, really?

As she worked she chattered about her journeys and the things she had seen and people she had met. She spoke of Mirkwood and of the Lonely Mountain, and Dale rebuilt, and of Beorn the skin-changer and his people who dwelt in the Vales of Anduin between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains, taking him step by step backwards through her journey from her little land in the west of Eriador. When she spoke of Elrond in Rivendell, Maglor stiffened in spite of himself, and she jabbed the needle into his skin a bit too hard. "Oops! I am sorry," she said, as she readjusted. "I'm nearly done. Do you know Master Elrond?"

"I did not think he yet remained in Middle-earth," said Maglor. "I thought he had sailed away long ago."

"Really? I can't imagine him leaving Rivendell. It's sort of—well, I mean, he seems to belong there as much as the waterfalls do, if you know what I mean. He belongs to the valley as much as it belongs to him."

"His lady wife sailed West, after she was sorely wounded by orcs," he said. "Or so I heard. It was very long ago, now, and I have never been to Rivendell—and I left that part of the world around that time."

"Oh. I had no idea he was married. Poor Master Elrond. But why did you leave? All right, I'm done with the stitching. I'm not really sure how we'll tell when it's time to take them out."

"I'll know," said Maglor, as Peony wound clean bandaging around his shoulder. "And I came East I imagine for the same reason you did."

"Adventure?"

"To see new places and peoples. Perhaps to find what became of Cuiviénen, if I made it so far." He never had. It was often said among the Eldar that to Cuiviénen there was no returning, and so it had proved. But the mere mention of an unfamiliar name had Peony bursting with questions, which Maglor answered as briefly as he could as she went around packing up their little camp. She took the most care with the mushrooms, bundling them up and tucking them safely into one of her pony's saddle bags. "Well, Mistress Peony, where are we going from here?"

Her grin made her dark eyes scrunch up. "I don't know! I hadn't really thought farther than getting you out of that cart. Don't you want to go back to wherever you where before they caught you?"

"Yes, I do," said Maglor, "but I would not want to take you with me into danger."

Peony planted her hands on her hips. "I've already taken myself into danger, thank you very much!" she said primly. "I don't know what sort of adventure I've stumbled into, but I would like to see it through. Or rather—I sort of feel that I must see it through, if you understand me. And anyway, you're in no state to be wandering about by yourself."

Maglor looked at her, in her sensible dress stained with grass and dirt, with her pack on her shoulders and her pony beside her, looking for all the world as though she should be going to market rather than into lands controlled by the Enemy. But there was a glint in her eyes and her jaw was set in a way that reminded him oddly of his aunt. Peony laughed often, as Lalwen did, but she certainly did not flinch away from danger—or adventure, as she called it. That made it all sound exciting, something to relish in the telling later. "I go from peril into peril," he told her. "It would be wiser for you to go back to your own lands, if you can find your way."

Peony scoffed. "Of course I can find my way. I only have to follow the river—it leads all the way back to the Long Lake. But I'm not sure the safest thing is the wisest thing. Anyway, what if you get caught again? You'll need someone to pick the locks."

In spite of himself, Maglor smiled. "I do not plan to be caught again. But I may indeed need your skill with locks! Very well. It seems we are to travel together for a time."

"In which case you should tell me your name," said Peony, as she took up her pony's reins. "I've told you mine already."

"I beg your pardon." Maglor got to his feet and bowed; it was clumsy and stiff, for he was both sore and out of practice in such courtly gestures, but Peony either did not notice or did not care. "My name is Maglor, and I am both at your service and in your debt, Peony Took."