Part Two

Dangerous Stirrings

A white-hot poker burrowing between his ribs woke him. With a suppressed groan, Haldir rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut tight, one hand sliding up to rub the stitches burning under his skin like piano wire. He had slept on them and now they were avenging themselves. Shifting his cheek to a cool place on the pillow, he attempted to sink back into painless rest but his wound refused to let him. Giving in to the inescapable fact that he would have to get up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and slipped on his boots. As an afterthought, he picked up his saber on the way out. Even in as secure a place as Rivendell, ancient habits lingered longer than old scents and he had yet to shake the one that made him go armed into the dark.

The corridor was softly black: all the candles extinguished save the vigil-lamp guarding the head of the stairs on its ancient pedestal. The candle within flickered behind the glass as the elf passed it and threw his elongated shadow over the staircase wall. A streak of blue moonlight brightened a strip of floor on the landing. As Haldir came down the last few steps, he realized it was coming from the direction of the front door…

Which was ajar.

The thick bar used to secure it lay on the floor. Frowning, the elf captain replaced it, wondering why the servant had been so careless. And yet, that didn't make any sense. He had seen Sadron lock the door for the night when Lord Elrond chivvied them upstairs. Then it hit him.

Someone was in the house. All thought of his wound vanished. Blessing the saber in his hand, he unsheathed it, straining his hearing for any sound. Bare silence met his ears so he stretched his other senses open wide. His eyes lingered on the floor. Mud streaked the polished boards. In some places it was clumped and formed the shape of hobnails. The trespassers were wearing thick-soled boots and numbered at least half a score or more.

He should warn Lord Elrond, rouse the rest of the household. But that might alert their quarry as well and scatter them before they could be captured. Haldir knelt and squinted at the prints tracking across the hall. One seemed to have split off from the group—probably a scout sent to look for guards. The others, it seemed, had headed towards the Hall of Fire, a dead end. Smiling grimly to himself, Haldir noted it and slipped off after the lone set of muddy footprints.

They led him towards a corridor, left down a short flight of stairs and towards a door Haldir recognized. It was the infirmary. Why would one of the prowlers go there? He could hear movements within as he drew closer: rustling and clattering. Cupboards opening and closing. Haldir pressed his eye to the partially open door and saw the back of a tall figure within, silhouetted against the back window.

It was too tall to be a dwarf and too broad-shouldered and smooth-gaited for an orc. A cloud slipping away from the moon gave him a glimpse of ginger-colored facial hair. Not elven then. Human. Haldir felt his heartbeat thrum and he tightened his grip on the saber to reassure and steady him. What were men doing here? Why did they have to come to the one place he felt almost at ease? He tamped down hard on a surge of ugly memories and took a silent breath.

The infirmary was a long, low, rectangular room with a waist-high table commanding the center of it. The intruder crouched at the far end, rifling through some glass paned cupboards full of rolled bandages. Dried herbs hanging overhead on a rack lent a familiar, antiseptic smell and a wooden counter ran beneath. Stuffing a wad of gauze down the front of his shirt, the figure pushed to his feet. On the table, a long knife gleamed. He snatched it up while making for the door.

It burst open before he could reach it. The heavy walnut wood smashed him full in the face and he leapt back with a yowl of pain and surprise. The elf-soldier was on him in seconds, thrusting him against the long table. Blood gushed between the man's fingertips and spattered the floor with crimson drops.

The sight of it did not stop Haldir. The elf's night vision surpassed the human's and he had his saber up before the prowler even realized what hit him. The man scuttled away from the long blade and backed up against the counter near the window. The light threw his unfamiliar face into clear relief. He was ill-shaven and had a scar in the cleft of his chin but his watering eyes were hard and bright above his bruised or broken nose and flickered towards the open door. Haldir closed it without taking his eyes from the human.

The man took another wary pace back and his shoulder jolted against a cupboard as the elf drew nearer. He held his hands palm outward to show he was unarmed as the saber hovered within an inch of his chest. Scarlet stained his fingers and blood still dripped sluggishly over his lips and down his chin. He frowned at the elf's face.

"You're not a Noldor," he said thickly.

"And you must have very much lost your way."

"Clearly, there's been a-a mistake. I'm known here," the unkempt man said. His hand moved towards his shirt where he had sheathed his knife but the saber tip pricking the back of it warned him to think better. His eyes narrowed and his voice acquired a distinctly cool edge. "Put the sword down. There's no need for that."

"I will be the judge of that," Haldir said without lowering his blade an inch. "Who are you and what are you doing here, boy?"

'Boy' was a bit of a stretch for the man looked older than Aragorn but Haldir didn't really care to split hairs at the moment.

The man had opened his mouth as though about to answer but the epithet seemed to have stung a nerve and his jaw clenched. His face was white with panic and he started to breathe faster as the sword hovered closer and closer to his throat. "I will not answer any accusation at the end of a sword. Put it down!"

Without warning, he slapped the saber away and pulled the knife. He managed to scrape the elf's ribs before a flick of the longer lame sent it spinning into a corner. Feinting left and dodging right, the man ducked under the saber and with surprising nimbleness for one his age sprang over the table, scooping the knife up in one fist.

An unseen blow jarred his shoulder and sent him staggering into the counter. Vials and jars smashed on the floor, scattering their contents, as he fumbled for balance. The knife went skittering across the floor as Haldir disarmed him again.

"Look," the man tried desperately, flinging up his hands. "I'm not—"

But Haldir was past listening to lies. The man had drawn steel on him. His iron grip fastened on the intruder's leather coat and swung him around with considerable force. A long, glass cabinet shattered as the man's body smashed into it. Glass splinters rained down over their arms and shoulders. The man wheezed against the soldier's tight grasp struggling in vain.

"You've…got to…listen to me," he croaked, gripping the elf's wrist. "I—"

Brilliant blue light flooded the room and sparkled off the fragments of glass, the broken pottery all over the floor and the two grappling figures in the corner of the room. Haldir blinked and turned towards the doorway.

The man shrugged off his loosened hold and sighed with relief. "Lord Elrond."

Haldir looked at him sharply. How did he know the elf-lord's name?

"What is going on in here?" the master of the house asked calmly.

"By Ilùvatar! What on earth have you done?" Elrond was not the only one who had been attracted by the thumping and crashings.

Sadron, Elrond's chief house of staff, gazed over his lord's shoulder at the destruction, his face white with shock and outrage. His hand tightened convulsively around the pace stick steadying his lame leg as though he would very much like to hit whoever had wreaked such utter devastation in 'his' domain. "Do you have any idea how ancient that cabinet was? Early Second Age! Irreplaceable!"

Elrond touched his servant's shoulder gently to calm him and stepped carefully over the glass, setting his glimmering lantern down on the tabletop. "Are you all right, Halbarad?" he questioned the human who wiped blood off his chin with a sleeve keeping the long table between himself and Haldir as he circled round to the elf-lord's side.

"Still in one piece," the man named Halbarad admitted wryly as Elrond gently inspected his nose.

"I don't think it's broken," Elrond glanced over his shoulder at the now thoroughly bewildered elven soldier standing with drawn saber in the midst of the wreckage. "You can sheathe your sword, Captain—your vigilance is appreciated but there is no danger here." It was said lightly, as a request, but from the High King's former herald it was a command.

Haldir did not disobey though he did sheathe his weapon with a little more force than strictly necessary. He did not like being (he thought) subtly chastised as though he'd done something wrong. Pain pricked in the wake of adrenaline and his hand pressed against his aching side. Halbarad had managed to hit him right over the stitches. "Will someone kindly explain to me why that is so, my lord?"

"Adar, what's going on?" Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir appeared in the doorway and paused just behind their father. "We heard crashes from upstairs."

"Watch your step," the elf-lord cautioned, holding out an arm to halt his sons so they wouldn't cut their bare feet upon entering the room. "There's glass all over the floor."

But Aragorn had already identified one of the occupants of the room and instinctively edged into the room towards his elven friend who was leaning against the table. "What happened? Are you hurt?" The bandages between his fingers had taken on a disturbing red tinge.

Haldir straightened up and glanced at the seeping gauze. "Confused mostly."

Aragorn, shifting aside bits of glass, had already knelt beside him and pried his hand away from his side to inspect the damage. "You've broken the stitches."

Elladan frowned with concern while Elrohir started gingerly helping Sadron clear away the jagged edges of cabinet.

"No, I didn't," Haldir said with a murderous look at the human who was backing swiftly towards the exit.

For the first time, Aragorn looked up and caught sight of the man in the tatty leather coat. His eyes widened. "Halbarad?"

The older man gave a wary smile as he clasped Aragorn's outstretched forearm. "This isn't exactly the way I wanted to see you again, my friend."

"This will need to be restitched," Elrond said as he too examined the marchwarden's side. "It is only a surface tear but it will take longer now to heal—"

Haldir wasn't listening, all his attention focused on the humans' conversation.

"What are you doing here?" Aragorn asked in a very different tone than Haldir had used.

Halbarad chewed his lip. "We were being pursued. Angrad was wounded almost a ten day ago and he needed better aid then we could give him. I didn't want to wake the whole house so I just let myself in." His eyes flickered uneasily over to the silent elf behind Aragorn. "If I'd known it was so well-guarded I might have preferred to face the orcs instead."

"How badly was your companion hurt?" Elrond asked, already gathering bandages and herbs from the undamaged cabinets.

"We lost a lot of our supplies in the flight. I would be grateful if you would take a look, sir," Halbarad said. "Some of the wounds might be poisoned."

The elf-lord nodded, inspecting a needle in the scant light. "I can take a look at him in a minute's time. Elladan, Elrohir will you two see what you can do for the Dúnedain until I get there?"

"I can take care of this, Adar," Aragorn gathered up a few of the things his father had brought out. "Go see to Angrad."

The elf-lord looked over at Haldir who still had not taken his eyes from the floor and nodded slowly. "All right, Estel."

Haldir sensed more than saw the eyes on him, the accusing, questioning looks he didn't deserve. A man had broken into their house and he was being told off for defending it? And yet, a nagging feeling arose at the back of his mind. Shouldn't he have tried to assess the situation first instead of rushing to the attack? Should he have known the man wasn't a threat? Doubt and the creeping, stinging beginnings of humiliation crept up his spine.

The room was too stifling and crowded. He couldn't sit here anymore. He pushed himself off the table. Boot heels crunching over glass, he ignored Halbarad entirely as the man quickly stepped aside to let him through.

"Haldir?" Aragorn's worried voice barely slowed him down. "Halbarad, give me a moment will you? Go see how Angrad is doing."

"I'll do that."

"Haldir."

The ranger was following him. A hand touched his arm but if anything, he increased his pace, half-leaping up the stairs despite the agonizing pain in his side which was very displeased with the amount of movement he had forced it through the last half-hour. The grip on his arm slackened as Aragorn fell behind, hampered by his leg.

"Haldir, your wound needs to be tended."

"I'll do it myself." Blessedly, his bedroom was scarcely eight feet from the landing. He reached his door and fumbled with the knob. Aragorn's paces were right behind his. At last, he lunged through and shut the door in his friend's face. The lock snapped into place when he turned the key and tossed it onto the dresser.

The soft knock a second later drove the elf into the washroom which unfortunately had neither door nor lock. The knocking stopped and Haldir, leaning against the porcelain sink, closed his eyes, praying Aragorn had had enough sense to leave him alone. His prayers were not answered. Footsteps returned less than a minute later and something jiggled the lock which clicked. More footsteps, softened by the thick carpet, crossed the room.

Aragorn's reflection appeared in the bathroom mirror. He surveyed the elf for almost a minute before breaking the silence, "Will you please look at me?"

Haldir glanced at the mirror image then down at his hands splayed on the porcelain counter where a basin and a pitcher of water lay.

"You attacked my friend. I think I'm owed at least a glance."

Stung by this injustice, Haldir glared at the ranger only to find him smiling with his arms folded triumphantly across his chest.

"How was I to know he was your friend?" Haldir growled, a little indignantly as he curled a hand around his side. A thin trickle of crimson escaped his fingers and stained the edge of his sleeping pants. "He did not act like it. He did not explain who he was—and sneaking into the house in the dead of night isn't exactly innocent is it?"

"All right. That's fair," Aragorn quickly conceded, resting a firmer hand on the elf's arm. "Come on. You need to sit down."

While Haldir perched on the edge of the marble tub, Aragorn set the full basin on the floor and tossed a clean rag in it. Kneeling beside the tub, he unwound the sopping bandage in a trice to inspect the worst of the damage.

"Where did you learn to pick locks anyway?" the elf captain flinched when the ranger plucked out the broken stitches.

"Adar taught me."

Haldir barely had time to wonder about that before Aragorn began to bathe the reopened cut. He hissed slightly and pinched the bridge of his nose. Pushing aside his own discomfort, he gritted out, "Well, this gives you a cast-iron excuse to fuss over me for the next week and a half."

Aragorn dunked the red-tinged rag in the basin, glad at least the elf was talking without having to be coerced. There had been a time when he had had to drag every word out of the elf's mouth even when he wasn't hurting. "It's not that bad. And I don't fuss."

Haldir snorted disbelievingly. "I don't think you're in any position to say what you do or don't do. You're biased."

"Am not." Aragorn peeked at the wound and, satisfied that the bleeding had slowed enough, dropped the cloth in the reddish water. He hesitated, "This might hurt I don't have anything to numb it."

Haldir merely shook his head, adjusting his position to give the man better access to the wound. "He's just the kind of scoundrel you'd take up with too."

"Odd how that sort seems to gravitate toward me," Aragorn grinned mischievously at his friend as he threaded a needle brought from downstairs. "Lift your arm up a bit. He has been a friend of mine since I was young."

Haldir made no sound though the cords in his neck tautened. He glanced at the top of the ranger's bowed head and away towards the outer door. "How many of them are down there?" he asked in a slightly strained voice. He wanted to know if he would have to barricade himself in his room for however long these men were staying to keep another disastrous episode like tonight from repeating.

Aragorn felt the tension in the elf's body and thought it was due to pain. "I'm sorry. It'll be over soon. And I don't know. I haven't seen them yet. They are good men though and hate orcs almost as much as you do. You'd probably like them."

That didn't help the guilt surging just under the surface of the elf's calm exterior. The knowledge that he had come very close to killing one of Aragorn's friends haunted him so much he forgot about the needle sliding in and out of his skin. "Ow!"

"Done." Aragorn bit off the end of the thread with his teeth, making sure he didn't pull the new stitches too tight, and unraveled a fresh bandage roll.

Haldir plucked the gauze out of his hands and finished dressing his wound himself. "You shouldn't be kneeling on that leg."

"Now who's fussing?" Aragorn washed his hands off in the tainted water and cleaned up the remaining unused thread.

Haldir leaned back against the wall. The tile felt cool and comfortable under his cheek and side. It steadied his still-jangled nerves. The softest brush on his knee let him know Aragorn was still watching him, undoubtedly with concern.

Aragorn looked up into the marchwarden's closed face and forced himself to ask what he had been putting off for the last couple of minutes. "What happened, mellon nin?"

Haldir heaved a deep sigh and rubbed his face, "I saw what I thought was a threat. I reacted. I was in the middle of reprising my role as executioner before your father stepped in." The bitterness there was unmistakable.

Aragorn's brow crinkled. He wouldn't let his friend stew in self-reproach—he'd done too much of that on the journey home. "Stop it. Halbarad's not dead. If anything, he's relieved you'll be blamed for breaking the cabinet instead of him. I'd worry more about what Sadron is going to do to you than anything else."

Haldir snorted. "I can outrun him." He opened his eyes when he didn't hear Aragorn move and offered a weak, unconvincing smile to the darkened grey-green eyes. "Don't you have people to question? Other friends to reassure—and annoy?"

The diluted sarcasm meant he wanted to be alone. Aragorn took the hint and heaved himself to his feet, his leg cramping. He looked at the elf but Haldir had closed his eyes again. He squeezed his friend's shoulder with gentle, still damp fingers. "Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"In the morning."

Elladan accosted his youngest brother the second he entered the Hall of Fire. "How is he?"

"I replaced the stitches. He's fine," Aragorn assured him in a low tone, his gaze shifting past his brother towards the group of men sitting close to the hearth, draped in spare blankets and quilts the twins had fetched from the linen closet. Though his eyes itched with tiredness, he wanted to make sure his men were all right—it still felt odd to refer to them as such.

They had spread their bedrolls out in the Hall with Elrond's permission until suitable quarters could be found for them on the morrow. Their faces were weary and haggard, as though they'd gone for many, consecutive nights without sleep. Lingering shadows haunted their eyes. At the moment, however, they were mercilessly ribbing Halbarad after hearing about his little escapade in the infirmary.

"—you would find one of the most valuable things in the house and break it," one teased.

Halbarad rubbed his neck and grimaced at the speaker. "I still think there's a couple of glass splinters in my neck. Lord Elrond assured me he won't let Sadron set the hounds on me."

Another with a mane of long, silver hair shook his head with a mixture of aggravation and amusement, "So much for not stirring up the household. Are you quite sure you're a ranger, Halbarad?"

"It wasn't my fault! Why, Eldacar, do you always think the worst of— Aragorn!" Halbarad jumped gratefully to his feet when he saw the tall man standing in the doorway. "Look, it's Aragorn! It is good to see you again, my friend."

Aragorn grasped the older man's wrist with a knowing grin. "Considering I saw you a spare minute ago—it's been too long indeed! Once again, Halbarad, you make a stirring impression withersoever you go."

"If 'stirring' it could be called," One with a bandage wrapped around his arm and propped up on several pillows grinned. " 'C-catastrophic' maybe is n-nearer the mark," he had a peculiar stutter to his speech. "W-we can't take him anywhere. He nearly got himself h-hanged once for w-wooing this dimpled little—"

"All right, all right, Angrad, save your breath will you," the older man grumbled. "Why don't you rest up that arm? Perhaps Lord Elrond would be so kind as to give you something for instant sleep."

Angrad hastily snatched the not-so-subtle hint and snuggled down on the floor, pushing his pillow under his head with his unimpaired arm. "R-right, boss. Good night."

Elrond smiled from where he was gathering up a wad of bloodstained cloth and a pestle. "If you have need of anything, do not hesitate to ask. My servants will watch over you tonight and within a short fortnight, I expect you'll be back out on the hunt."

"Thank you, m-my lord," Angrad said as the elf-lord clasped his uninjured shoulder briefly.

Aragorn touched his father's hand in thanks and received a squeeze in return as Elrond bid the company a peaceful rest of the night.

Halbarad clapped his hands briskly to get their attention. "Right. I think it's about time for sleep, lads. Remember, no smoking in this good house at the request of its master. Breakfast will be waiting whenever you want it tomorrow morning thanks to the good people here. I expect we'll stay a few good days if they're willing to put up with us."

"Having rangers in the house again, good grief," Sadron muttered as he tossed down his dustpan and broom. "The house will be destroyed and our larders empty within the week."

Those who heard the servant's wry comment laughed good-naturedly. Finally able to sleep in a place of safety without need for guard or weapon, the rangers spread out beneath the vaulted roof. Some though still slept with their swords at their sides. A few stayed up to talk longer and found seats near the window. Elladan and Elrohir joined them, quietly greeting those they recognized as they extinguished all lights but the fire.

Halbarad waited until the rustlings and shifting had died down a little before he approached his chieftain. Aragorn had hung back near the fireplace. It had been almost a year since he'd last seen or spoken to these men, many of whom he'd known since his birth—or theirs—and he wasn't yet willing to impose his presence on them until they could get used to him and he to them.

The older ranger touched his shoulder. "May we speak?"

They walked softly away from the fire towards the shadowed pillars of the inside wall a few yards away from the sleeping company. Forgetting his own rule, Halbarad drew out his short, stubby pipe and tamped it full of tobacco taken from a leather wallet in the inside of his coat. A red spark illuminated a patch of the smooth pillar he leaned against and the sweet fragrance of Longbottom leaf reminded Aragorn of the camps where his people lived. For a moment he was no longer Estel but Strider the ranger.

"Your…friend's all right?" he asked around the pipe. He had cleaned the blood from his face though it still crusted his tunic.

Aragorn nodded.

Halbarad exhaled a long, thin stream of smoke and his eyes, pinpricked by the red glow of burning leaves, met Aragorn's briefly, his expression graver than it had been all night. "It's nice to see you alive."

Aragorn had the sudden impression of how long it had actually been since he'd last seen the rangers. While he had lived in Rivendell all his life, the Dúnedain had been infrequent visitors who Aragorn, not knowing who they were or their purpose, eschewed until he learned better. They watched from afar, more to assure themselves of their chieftain's continued safety and the preservation of his secrecy than from a desire for closeness with their king. The rangers were very much the body-guard not only of the north but of Isildur's heir as well. Aragorn, in his un-tempered youth, had often resented the escort.

On his twentieth birthday when he learned of his true heritage and the purpose of the Dúnedain, he left, scorning help and his guard. Halbarad's words held more than a ring of uneasy truth for if not for sheer luck and perhaps some greater power, he might very well have returned home on his figurative shield than on his legs.

Aragorn glanced at the red light flicking over the living stone. "I did not mean to leave as I did."

"You did what every young man has ever dreamed of doing once he discovers he can. You wanted to strike out on your own—I did it when I was your age. Of course it took a broken leg and two ribs for me to realize I was being an idiot. I cannot pretend we weren't worried when we found out you'd gone but I am glad you've come back more or less in one piece."

Aragorn couldn't resist and nodded at the impressive bruises forming around the older man's nose and eyes. "And yet one night in my house and you're already sporting a beautiful shade of purple."

"Next time I think I'll knock." Halbarad grinned and grimaced, touching his swollen nose tentatively. "Now, it might still be my head swimming from a couple of those blows, but I thought I heard your father call him 'captain.' "

"He is. Of Lothlórien."

The older man groaned. "Of course he is. I know how to pick them. What were you doing over the mountains?"

At Halbarad's incredulously raised eyebrows, Aragorn explained about his travels since leaving Rivendell, his journey to the Golden Wood and what they had encountered on their way back.

"A rogue elf in Dunland?" The older ranger puffed out his cheeks in a mixture of admiration and disbelief. "That tried to kill you?"

"Several times," Aragorn said but he was quick to move on. There were several sensitive issues buried beneath the good tale it made which he didn't feel like discussing with Halbarad in the middle of the hall. "So what news do you bring out of the north-west, my friend? How are the Shire-lands?"

Halbarad tapped out his pipe, letting the ash fall at the base of the pillar. "The Little People are untroubled—at least by us. But I'm afraid that is as all the good news I have to bring with me."

Aragorn frowned as Halbarad avoided his eyes, guessing this was the real reason Halbarad had wanted to speak with him and why he had snuck into the house in the later hours of the night. "Why? What has happened?"

The older man glanced around their pillar. The hall was quiet. Most of the men had either dropped off to sleep or were too far away to hear. Nevertheless, he lowered his voice to less than a whisper so Aragorn had to lean forward to hear him. "Things have been bad since last autumn. Orcs have been increasing on the roads, waylaying travelers, wreaking havoc in villages. We've done what we could but we're stretched too thin. Just a few weeks ago, we were looking into a number of disappearances in a tiny village outside of the Chetwood—the orcs were waiting for us. They'd razed the village and either killed its people or taken captives. We tried to fight them but they surprised us at night and took Angrad and a couple of ours. We found two of them dead up by Deadmen's Dike. I don't know why they left Angrad alive but he hasn't been able to talk right since."

'Deadmen's Dike' was the common name for the haunted downs abandoned by the Dúnedain after the Witch-king murdered most of the people there and infested the heart of their own capital with his evil servants.

"We left in a hurry. That place has an even more evil name of late. We barely stopped for anything: eat, sleep. I…felt…something on the road behind us. Something that didn't want us to make it to Rivendell. I can't remember ever feeling a dread like it though we never saw what it was." He shook his head and the horror faded out of his eyes as he drew reassurance from the long, beautiful windows and the men sleeping in the glow of the firelight around them. "We ended up bringing more than tidings and wounded though. We found a horse near the wrecked village."

"Oh?" Aragorn's head spun as he tried to keep up with this flood of information.

"Half-mad I shouldn't wonder, poor thing. It barely would let us near it. All covered in scratches and brambles, looked like it had run itself half to death but what from I don't know."

"A rider?"

"It had none though by its harness I would guess a man or elf. We couldn't lay hands on it but it followed us into Rivendell. Your stable master cares for it now I think. Anyway," Halbarad stowed his pipe back in his pocket and rubbed his wayworn face briskly. "It's not good. Something's going on up north and we—" Halbarad suddenly trailed off. He spun and his hand caught hold of a bony shoulder.

Aragorn blinked with surprise as he dragged Angrad out from behind the other side of the pillar.

Halbarad shook the younger man warningly. "Angrad, I thought I told you to go to bed. You've been eavesdropping."

"E-Eaves—?" the man fumbled, trying to struggle out of his leader's tight grip.

"Yes, eavesdropping. What did you hear?"

"N-n-nothing, sir!" he squeaked in a horrified whisper. "I-I only wanted to m-meet…E-Eldacar said," the young man's pale eyes fell on Aragorn. "Said he's our chief."

Aragorn pitied him and glanced at Halbarad who let him go reluctantly.

"You can meet him tomorrow; he's not disappearing overnight. Next time, respect your elders and keep your ears out of places they shouldn't be."

"Y-yes, sir."

Halbarad watched until the lad had settled himself again in the blankets before turning to Aragorn. "That boy is going to be the death of me."

"We can take counsel in the morning," Aragorn said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "We'll sort this out."

"You had better go. Your mad elf friend will probably think I'd ambushed you and he'll come after me again," Halbarad grinned teasingly as he tossed a spare pillow at the head of his bedroll.

Aragorn just shook his head unsmiling though he knew the man had been trying to make light of it. "Really, he's all right once you get to know him."

"Don't think I want to stay that long," the older man glanced up at the ceiling. "It's actually nice to see a bit of roof overhead for once."

As Aragorn shut the door of the hall behind him, the strained reassuring smile faded from his face and his look grew troubled. The tidings from the north had been ill to say the least and he was eager to take counsel with the others and his father. But first, he needed a little sleep. It had been a longer day than usual and he suspected somehow that the coming days would hold little different.