[mark12_30]

"The faithless one? Why do you name her? Her memory brings me no joy."

"My lady, we do not know why she left. You know she loved you."

"Nay, I know it not. Had she loved me she would not have left. No, " said Nimrodel in a rare moment of clarity, "your friendship, Mithrellas, stands alone in my life; your faithfulness is unmatched. No other remains. Least of all, the Faithless one-- The Unwilling one."

Mithrellas watched as the moment of gratefulness passed. She grieved its passing as she had rejoiced to see it; silently. Now bitterness glittered in her lady's eyes. Mithrellas said only, "My lady, name her not so."

"Nay; name her not otherwise. Unwlling she was, and so she shall be known. Let the West have her faithlessness; Let them suffer her fickle heart-- The Unwilling One."

Avarien. The sound of the word settled over her soul like a grey woolen cloak, muffling her, hiding her from her self, taking away what she knew of herself and replacing it with the name Nimrodel had given her. Avarien.

She shuddered, and woke with a resolve as thankless and grim as her new name.

She dressed quickly in the dark: boots and breeches, tunic, dress, shawl, cloak. Passing through the kitchen, she gathered a small bag of supplies, and tying it up with the blanket, slung it onto her back. Leaving the Inn, she passed silently through the empty streets; indeed, the mist made her hearly invisible.

She noiselessly opened the large stable door, silently entered, and stood in the darkened aisle. "Hear me, " she said softly. "My mistress Nimrodel languishes in the hills, sorely in need of aid. Who will help me?"

A dark head, shaggy and plain but for the wise eyes, reached up over a stall door, giving a soft whicker.

The girl bowed her head, stepped towards the door, lifted the latch, and opened it. The dark horse stepped carefully out, and then turned sideways and dropped his head. The girl took a deep breath, gathered her skirts in her right hand, grasped the horse's mane with her left, and swung lightly onto his back. Roheryn gave her a moment to settle onto his back, and then trotted out the stable door and into the road.

At the hoofbeats, two groggy voices called, and two stableboys tumbled blearily from their beds and stumbled into the aisle, to see only the open door and the now empty stall. They ran to the door, commanding the horse to halt, but neither the horse nor the girl gave them heed. Roheryn cantered down the winding road, the two stable boys giving chase and falling far behind. Sleepy passers-by blinked at the odd sight in the predawn light.

The gate was opening to greet the mist-veiled dawn when Roheryn aproached it. Hearing the shouts from the stable, half the guards surged forward while the other half stretched into a line across the open gate. The horse checked himself, shying and swerving past guards as they snatched for his reins and found none. Roheryn turned away from the ragged line of men blocking the open gate, while the guards ran at him again. He churned away from each in turn, shying this way and that, his shoes sparking against the cobblestones. The girl cried out angrily, "Let me pass! In the name of Amroth, let me pass!" The horse reared again, still dodging soldiers, and then circled back into the courtyard, turned towards the still-open gate and hurled himself towards the line of men that stretched across it. The gate captain's voice rang out.

"Let him pass! Let him pass!"

The men divided and fled the oncoming horse. Roheryn ran through the gate and raced northward. For a moment his hooves beat a sharp tattoo on the road, and then he swerved onto the turf, and melted into the grey countryside.