A/N: Wow, guys, over fifty reviews! That just boggles my mind. Thank you so much!
Thank you especially to Eliason who left such a sweet and generous guest review. I really appreciate it!
Cairisitiona, Linda Hoyland and Levade all helped (and continue to help) with this story, and I am very, very grateful to all three of them.
All recognizable elements belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.
XII
Your Friends Will Find No Steadfastness In You
I woke to raised voices from beyond the round door. Sive and I were alone in the room and we bolted simultaneously towards the back of it, disoriented and tangled in the blankets and tripping over one another in our hasty retreat. My wound tugged and flamed in protest and I yelped and lurched and landed hard on one hip, rolled sitting, and scrambled backwards on my palms and my rear.
Halvard burst through the door, cradling a heap of branches as high as his chin. He crossed the room and dropped them clattering beside the earthen fireplace and turned to Sive and I where we were plastered wide-eyed against the further wall.
"Don't just sit there," he snapped. "Lord Elladan has returned. Come and help!"
We followed him slowly, both of us moving stiffly and still blinking off the fog of deep sleep. We emerged into a dull dawn. Through the leaves above us I could see the low sky bellying with black clouds. The air was shrill with a biting wind the trees did little to buffer.
Riders had come. Lord Elladan bore on his horse before him a slim, slouching figure that he held against his chest with one arm. He drew up and the Chieftain and my father took his burden and carried it a distance away and eased it to the ground. There was bright blood on the face beneath the hood, which fell back from grey hair and a small head. Wrinkles, baggy eyes shut loosely, wizened cheekbones too pale, and more blood on the front of a faded brown kirtle…
The old woman looked dead. Even so, I blinked with relief. I did not know her.
"When?" the Chieftain said tightly. He pulled aside the heavy blue cloak that wrapped her and lowered his ear to the thin chest.
"Eight hours ago, or more," said Elladan. Behind him were two others and I recognized Caradoc in the shadow of his hood. The other man was clad in rough homespun and bore neither sword nor bow. He slid awkwardly to the ground and hurried to where the old wounded woman lay on the ground. He fell to his knees beside her.
"She took an arrow," he said. "Shot as we skirted the village. She should not have been there, my lord, it should have been one of us men, but you know how she is. She insisted she could lead us on a swift path through the trees..."
"Peace, Bôr," said the Chieftain. "She has only fainted. Where are Meldes and the children?"
"They are coming behind," said the man. "Coming with Handir's family, and some of the Rangers. Others joined with us as well, my lord, woodsmen from the Southsward. I would not have left them, but young Caradoc has taken a wound, and Lord Elladan would not let me bear Grandmother. I'm not the best rider, my lord, and he carried her with more care than I would have been able. We know little of such wounds, lord, Mel has no stomach for them, and Lord Elladan bid us bring her to you. They ambushed us near the ruins south of the old west trail. It was horrible, my lord, that boy screaming and the arrows were flying and we knew when the sun went down they would be bold enough to fall on us in earnest, and with Grandmother wounded—"
"Peace," said Aragorn again, with a touch of impatience this time. "We will tend her within and you can tell me more. Can you bear her?"
"Yes, my lord," said Bôr, touching his forelock. He hefted his grandmother, and staggering slightly, disappeared into the station.
"Slain?" asked the Chieftain in Elvish as he passed Elladan.
"Two when we departed," Elladan answered. "I will join Elrohir in the watch." He did not wait for reply but jumped his horse into a canter. As he passed the blue cloak where it lay puddled on the ground he fell to the side and snatched it up one-handed without slowing. He twisted straight in the saddle and vanished into the trees.
Aragorn came alongside Caradoc where he sat his chestnut mare.
"Iarladh and Feridir are coming behind us," Caradoc began before Aragorn could speak, "with refugees from the south corner. Coru comes from the east. He is near to a day behind us—some would not leave without their stock. We came into the orcs just before dusk. They retreated when Iarladh sounded the warning call, but fell upon us again in the dark. We could not…" He paused, seeming to collect himself, and when he spoke again his voice shook slightly. "They killed a boy, and an old man, and that scarce hours after we came upon the supply wagon…"
Aragorn peeled back a bloody rip in Caradoc's breeches to examine a wound in the side of his thigh.
"We would have been overrun had Elladan not come to reinforce us," Caradoc said. He winced as the Chieftain probed and extracted a splinter of something with a sharp little tug. "One of the woodsman's boys wandered after a goat. We did not realize he was missing until the screams started…" He fell silent for a moment. "The father nearly tried to kill us when we held him back from following."
If Aragorn had thoughts on this, he stored them away unspoken. "There is more I cannot reach," he said, giving Caradoc's wound one final look. "I must tend the old wife but you will bide until I am finished."
He turned to leave but Caradoc bent and caught his shoulder. "How many, sir?"
"We have not a number," the Chieftain said. "Not a sure one, but we found none in the ruin. I am sorry," he went on more quietly. "He was a brave lad. I was proud of him already."
Caradoc nodded tightly but did not speak.
"Elrohir was with him at the last," said Aragorn.
I saw some of the rigidness leave Caradoc's shoulders. "For that I am glad," he said. "And our mother will be as well, to hear he was not alone when he departed."
Aragorn cuffed Caradoc's knee gently and then turned and strode to the dugout door. I felt a hand fall on my shoulder and turned to see my father. "Wood and water," he said to the three of us. "The skins are near the saddles. Don't go too far looking, and hurry back. The Chieftain will need both in abundance."
-o0o-
Dry branches were scarce and we had to spread out and wander through the trees to find them. My knee was hot and tender and my bare heel in my boot began quickly to chafe and I ached all over from a restless night spent on a hard dirt floor. It was not long before I found a log and sat down on it with a plunk. I had gathered only a few dry sticks and I cast them into the ferns with a bit more force than was strictly necessary.
Sive hunted a distance away, and her arms were nearly full. She flitted through the trees and under low branches as quick as a wren, her limp all but gone. She scarcely made a sound as she moved.
"Are you going to help or not?" said Halvard from behind me. I turned to see him standing there, a few hefty branches balanced in the crook of one elbow.
"I cannot carry much," I said primly. "I am not supposed to strain my stitches."
Halvard's practiced expression of disdain began to disfigure the corner of his mouth. "Collecting wood will not strain you," he said. "I think you are just shirking the work."
"I am not," I said lowly. "I have a wound."
"A skin wound," he said. "Elrohir killed three wargs and rescued us and led us home with broken ribs and his side ripped wide-open. I think you can gather wood with a little scratch on your leg."
"It is not a scratch!" I said. I would have leapt to my feet but was wary of the sting it would cause me. I stood slowly instead. "It took twenty-seven stitches, and the Chieftain said he has seen grown men cry over wounds like mine!"
This was, perhaps, a bit of a liberty on what the Chieftain had actually said, but I felt I needed the elaboration at that moment.
"He did not," said Halvard.
"Ask Sive! She was there when he said it."
I did not think he would hound the truth so relentlessly, and felt a flare of anxiety when he called out to Sive, "Did the Chieftain tell Eluned that he has seen grown men cry over wounds like hers?"
Sive came over and dropped her double-armload of sticks. She looked uneasy, her eyes flitting between Halvard and I.
"I do not remember," she said in a small voice. "I was mostly asleep."
"There," I said, my own voice a little thready. "She was mostly asleep. But he said it. And he said I was brave."
Halvard turned the full force of his attention on Sive. She squirmed just a little, her hands fisting at the hem of her tunic.
"Did you hear what he said?" asked Halvard.
Sive winced. I could see the battle going on behind her wide grey eyes. "He did say she was brave," she said at last.
Halvard raised an eyebrow. I could almost hear the word unspoken in the air. And…?
"He did not say they cried," she nearly whispered. "You made that up, Eluned."
Anger leapt like acid into my throat. "I did not!" I shouted. "He said that even grown men need respite!"
"But not that they cry," said Halvard. He looked disgustingly smug. "You are probably the one who cried. Did your ada have to sit on you, Eluned? Did they tie you down like a sheep that needs its feet trimmed?"
"Shut your mouth!" I yelled. I was very near to tears. "I would not have even had a wound if you had not been crying about your father dead in the storeroom! And you…" I rounded on Sive. "You are supposed to be my friend! You always listen to Halvard and do what he says as if he's the Chieftain himself! And you shirked more work with your sprained ankle… riding Cabor and limping around. You acted like you'd broken your blasted leg!"
Sive's mouth became very thin and her eyes very bright. She stooped slowly and gathered her wood.
"You are right, Eluned," she said in a calm voice when she straightened again. "I do listen to Halvard. Halvard does not do stupid things and try to blame everyone else when they go horribly wrong. Halvard does not throw fits like a baby when he does not get his way. And Halvard looks after his friends like friends are supposed to. He even looks after you, and he likes you about as much as I do right now. Which isn't enough to blow a smoke-ring at." She raised her chin and turned smartly as a soldier and marched towards the station with her shoulders thrown back.
"Well you can just marry him, then, if you like him so much!" I yelled as she drew away. "And I wish you would have broken your leg! Then I wouldn't have to see you following me like a whipped puppy every time I turn around!"
She kept walking and did not look back.
Halvard raked me with a last disgusted look, and followed.
I scraped up one of my branches and flung it at his back with a little screech of fury. It flew wide and whirred off into the bushes and Halvard looked over his shoulder long enough to say, "You missed."
I stomped one foot hard and my wound burst into flame and I whimpered and sank back onto my log. I sat for a long time, hugging my knee and feeling gingerly at the edges of my self-pity where it sat emptily in my chest, like the hole left after a tooth falls out, before the new one grows in. I very nearly convinced myself that I would not weep a single tear if Sive and Halvard both pranced merrily off a riverbank and drowned in the rushing Hoarwell.
My father found me there. I saw him coming and felt consoled, readied myself to let him salve my wounded pride. I made room for him on the log beside me but he did not sit. He stopped and stood in front of me looking down, and the dangerous light in his eye cured me abruptly of the desire to rise and bury my face in his chest.
"We are long overdue a discussion, youngster."
"We are not," I said, quiet and carefully. I did not intend for him to hear me but once again I underestimated the keenness of his ears.
"You are very near the edge, Eluned. Would you like to push me a bit further, and see where it gets you?"
"No," I muttered.
"What was that?"
"I don't want to." This time I was certain to iron the petulance out of my tone before I spoke.
"I am cheered to see you retain the merest shred of sense."
I studied my lap. After what seemed like a long moment he sighed deeply and took a seat beside me on my log.
"What's got into you?" he said. "It seems you're doing your best lately to stir up as much mischief as you can. If I can even call it mischief—real trouble is more like."
"Nothing has got into me," I said, and the sullenness had crept back in.
"You are always so insolent and unruly? I know I am very often away, Lune, but I would think your mother might at least have mentioned I had sired a little dragon spawn."
I could not tell if he was teasing, and elected the safe road of silence.
"I told you the morning I left that you were not to follow me," he said after a short pause, and the lilt of good-humor was gone from his voice.
"I did not promise."
"Since when you I need your oath to have your obedience?"
I diligently avoided his eyes. "You don't."
"It seems perhaps I do," he said. "If your spoken word alone is so untrustworthy."
His statement clouted me. No doubt he intended it to. My people live by the integrity of their word. A Dúnedain man who speaks a vow of fealty will fight and die by it. The Rangers swear no oath of blood, nor by their children nor their fathers. They swear by their own life or death, and their spoken words are enough. Enough for the Chieftain to depend upon. We are taught from the cradle of the gravity of words. Taught to do as we say we will. Your yes need be yes, else your family and your friends will find no steadfastness in you.
Our words are our sacred trust, our pledge of honor. Violated once and forever desecrated.
And I had manipulated and deceived my way through the last few days as if I had been brought up by savages, instead of the last great line of the Lords of Númenor. Shame crept like a cold spreading stain.
And he was not finished with me yet.
"Sive is younger than you," he said. "She follows you, looks up to you, and that is no trifling charge. It is no light thing to be the eldest. You should have been looking after her and instead you very nearly got both of you killed."
I sniffed loudly. I could feel my face scrunching against the threat of tears. Another heavy pause.
Then, "Elrohir tells me you are defiant and hotheaded."
Beneath the shame I felt a spark of betrayal, and dared to mutter, "Elrohir is a tattletale."
"He also tells me you are brave, and quick to cool again, and suggested perhaps I merely skin you instead of killing you outright."
"That is generous of him to suggest," I said darkly.
"It is indeed. And you shall thank him for it, and beg his forgiveness for the trouble you caused him."
My eyes flew to his. "I will not beg his forgiveness after he has called me those things, and tried to get me in trouble!"
"You mind your tongue," my father said sharply, his eyes darkening a shade. "He tried no such thing, but stood up on your behalf. Lord Elrohir is unpretentious, and it is easy to forget his station and his lineage, but you will ask his forgiveness, and you will speak of him with respect. He is your elder, not your playmate."
His words made me feel very childish, and caused no small measure of resentment, though I was careful to hide it. I stuffed it away beneath my ribcage where I could coax it out to nurse as soon as I was alone again.
He did not speak for a moment or two. I did not look at him, but I could tell he was thinking. Thinking perhaps of what to rebuke me with next.
"You quarreled with your friends," he said at last.
It was not a question, and not what I had been expecting.
"They are not my friends," I muttered.
"You must be right, if your fellowship is so easily broken over one little spat."
"It was not a spat."
"A skirmish, then?"
"It was not a skirmish, either."
"You are contrary, Eluned. And I am growing weary of it."
I ground my teeth to try to keep my chin from trembling.
"Were you letting them do all the work?" he asked quietly. His eyes bored into the side of my face, and I became suddenly very interested in the lacework of the fern-leaves waving gently near my knee. My heavily-bandaged, throbbing knee.
"My leg hurt," I said softly, and before the words were clear of my mouth I heard how petty they sounded, how thin and selfish. I wished immediately that I could snatch them back and swallow them forever.
He did not answer. When the silence stretched between us like a brassy wire I at last looked up at him, and saw disappointment etched deeply in his forehead and around his mouth.
"I know it does," he said at last, and sighed a long sigh, and rose. "I am sorry, love. Perhaps I should not have sent you fetching. The Chieftain can give you something for the pain, now that it is morning and we can make a fire." He laid his hand on my hair. "I will carry you, if you are too sore to walk."
He said the last kindly, but I could hear a thread of sadness in the lowest layer of his voice.
"I can walk," I mumbled, and he petted me once and bent to gather up my sticks. All through the trees I wanted to say something, to find the words that would wash away the look of resignation that dimmed his eyes.
"I can help carry it," I said when we had walked a hundred yards or so.
He squeezed my shoulder. "You had best not," he said gently. "We have your wound to think about."
It was, perhaps, the most disgracing answer he could have given me.
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