Chapter Twenty-One

"Auntie Gúthy," Elfwine said later that afternoon, gazing up at Éomund's daughter. His hand was clasped in hers, and he swung it as he continued, "I have question."

"Yes, little one?" Gúthwyn inquired, smiling down at the top of his head. The two of them were walking through the main road; Éomer had called a meeting after lunch, asking if Gúthwyn would mind keeping his son occupied. Gúthwyn had gladly agreed, and was pleased to note that her nephew seemed to have forgotten his disturbing dream from the night before. He was certainly back to his usual barrage of never-ending inquiries.

"Why won't Ran-in be friends with me?" Elfwine demanded then, pouting. "He don't like me."

Gúthwyn's lips pursed. She knew why Elfwine was concerned about the aloof Elf who was never far from Legolas. Raniean had come into the hall while they were eating their afternoon meal, a bow over his shoulder and his usual contemptuous expression—the one that suggested he was lowering himself simply by being in Edoras—firmly in place.

Always outgoing, Elfwine had waved at the Elf and asked him what he was doing. Raniean had cast Gúthwyn a chilly glance and swept away, not even looking at Elfwine. Éomund's daughter doubted that he had understood what her nephew was saying, for she had not heard him speak an iota of the Common Tongue and she assumed he had not bothered to learn it, but that was no excuse for his rudeness.

"Raniean does not like humans, little one," Gúthwyn gently informed her nephew. "It is not just you."

"Why?" Elfwine asked, confused. "Because we don't have funny ears?"

Gúthwyn had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "No, little one," she replied, suppressing a grin.

"Then why?" Elfwine wanted to know. "I no different than Eff. I friends with lots of Effs, like Leggy and Tree-on and Fye-on. Why don't Ran-in like me, Auntie Gúthy?"

Because he is arrogant and condescending, just like the rest of his kind, Gúthwyn longed to say, but she held her tongue. Her nephew worshipped the Elves, and she did not want to badmouth them in front of him. Luckily, she was spared from answering by the appearance of Legolas, who had just emerged from the crowd in front of them. "Little one, look," she murmured instead, pointing.

"But—" Elfwine protested the distraction until he glanced over and realized what it was. "Leggy!" he cried happily, waving. "Leggy, here!"

Legolas's head snapped up; where before he had appeared to be deep in thought, now he scanned the crowd for his hailer. He smiled when at last he caught sight of Elfwine, and closed the distance between them. "Hello, my friend," he greeted the child, nodding at Gúthwyn. Éomund's daughter blushed, recalling his compliment from earlier that morning, but she was glad to note that she no longer had the urge to clutch her nephew to her chest and keep him away from the Elf before her.

"Leggy!" Elfwine eagerly exclaimed, bouncing up and down. Gúthwyn's hand, which was holding the young prince's, was jolted along with his movements. "Where you been?"

"At the training grounds," Legolas replied, chuckling at the boy's enthusiasm.

Elfwine's eyes widened. "Auntie Gúthy goes there!" he announced proudly. "Auntie Gúthy fights, just like Papa. I want to go, too, but Papa says I can't." He frowned. "But I's a big boy! I can fight, too!"

Legolas nodded gravely, though his eyes were full of hidden laughter.

"I know you are a big boy," Gúthwyn said indulgently, bending over and kissing the top of her nephew's head, "but you need to be an even bigger boy to use the training grounds. First you will have to take lessons with Cobryn, once his students finish their tutelage."

Elfwine's forehead wrinkled. "I have to wait?" he asked, frowning.

"Unfortunately, you do," Gúthwyn told him.

Elfwine's expression became pained. "But, Auntie Gúthy! I don't want to wait!"

"I had to wait twelve years before I could learn how to use a sword," Gúthwyn said, exchanging an amused glance with Legolas. "You are lucky that you are a prince and will receive instruction much earlier."

"Twelve?" Elfwine repeated indignantly. "That's forever!"

"Tell me about it," Gúthwyn replied with a grin. She remembered having the same feelings whenever she saw Éowyn practicing with Théoden, or whenever Éomer and his friends would spar with each other in front of her wide eyes.

"I don't like it." Elfwine pouted, a scowl on his features.

"I am sorry, little one," Gúthwyn murmured, ruffling his hair, "but you have some time to go before you are ready."

"How is Cobryn's class?" Legolas inquired then, looking curiously at her. "Is Hammel faring better these days?"

Gúthwyn nodded. "He has won the respect of his peers, and they no longer taunt him as they were once wont to. Cobryn says that he is even trying harder than usual, although I do not think he will pursue a career in my brother's army."

"I am glad to hear that he is doing well," Legolas said sincerely. "And what of Haiweth? I have not seen much of her this visit."

"Haiweth is doing fine," Gúthwyn assured him, choosing not to recount the argument she had had with Éowyn. She also neglected to mention that lately Haiweth had been hinting that life in Edoras was boring. It did not matter, for the child was never going to be Queen Arwen's servant.

"Is she—"

"Ran-in!" Elfwine shrieked excitedly, cutting Legolas off. Éomund's daughter and Thranduil's son turned to see Raniean approaching, the tiniest wrinkle in his nose suggesting that he was repulsed by the very smell of humans. Gúthwyn had to remind herself not to glare.

Elfwine, meanwhile, tugged anxiously at her hand. "Maybe Ran-in like me if I be more nice!" he said, beaming as if he had just found the solution to all of Middle-earth's problems.

"Little one…" Gúthwyn began with a sigh.

"My apologies for Raniean's behavior," Legolas muttered, looking embarrassed. "He does not appreciate my frequent stops here."

"Why does he come, then?" Gúthwyn could not resist the temptation to ask.

Legolas hesitated. "He enjoys visiting my father," he finally said. "The two of them get along well; my father considers him like another son."

Given all that she had heard about Thranduil, for whom "strict" was a description that seemed to barely suffice, Gúthwyn was not surprised in the least.

"Ran-in!" she heard then, the familiar voice of her nephew now far away.

Gúthwyn's head snapped downwards, whereupon she realized that Elfwine was no longer at her side. Legolas came to the conclusion at the same instant as she. The two of them swiveled around, each searching for the heir. Gúthwyn's heart pounded rapidly in her chest, and for a moment she thought she would faint in terror.

"Ran-in, why don't you talk to me?"

"Oh, no," Gúthwyn whispered in dread, her gaze shifting over to where Raniean was standing, stock-still, and glaring down at something on the ground before him.

"I want to be your friend!" Elfwine said, undaunted by the foul expression on Raniean's face. He had planted himself right in front of the Elf and was staring up at him in utter awe.

"Elfwine!" Gúthwyn yelled in horror, running over to rescue her nephew from any harm that might befall him.

Before she could get there, however, things went from bad to worse. Muttering something incomprehensible, Raniean turned his back on the child and started walking away. Elfwine cried out in alarm and tottered after him, lunging forward and clutching at the Elf's leg. "Please, Ran-in?" he begged.

Raniean whirled around with a growl and yanked his foot away, the motion so sudden that Elfwine lost his hold and fell to the ground. The unexpected jolt made the young prince's bottom lip tremble; when Raniean snarled angrily at him in Elvish, he began wailing.

"How dare you?" Gúthwyn shrieked at Raniean when she arrived a second later, her rage making her forget that she was speaking to an Elf. Frantically she scooped her nephew into her arms, checking his head for any lumps or bruises. "You could have hurt him!" she added furiously to Raniean.

Elfwine continued to bawl, burying his face in Gúthwyn's shoulder. Raniean shot the two of them a disgusted look, one that would have frozen her in place had he not been the cause of Elfwine's misery. When the Elf turned away to leave, her body swelled with indignant anger and she darted in front of him, effectively blocking his path.

"Next time a child clings to you," she spat, ignoring the murderous expression that greeted her, "do not shake them away as if they are nothing but a filthy dog! Elfwine could have injured his head, broken a bone, or been trampled on by passerby…" She trailed off, fuming, as Raniean continued to raise an irritated eyebrow at her. "You cannot understand a word I am saying, can you," she finally snapped.

"Raniean," Legolas spoke then, coming up behind his friend.

Raniean turned around and let loose a string of rapid, obviously enraged Elvish. A fresh stream of tears began running down Elfwine's face—the child was clearly distressed by Raniean's foul mood. Legolas glanced at the toddler before he replied, quietly yet firmly, to his friend's tirade. Gúthwyn watched the exchange apprehensively, not liking the fact that she did not know what was being said.

"Hush, little one," she whispered while she waited for them to finish. "You are safe, I promise."

Elfwine lifted his red face. In a small, miserable voice, he whimpered, "I just try to be Ran-in's friend… he hates me, Auntie Gúthy!" He began to sob again.

Gúthwyn glared at the back of Raniean's head as she murmured soothingly to her nephew, loathing the proud Elf and the way he had treated her brother's son. She knew that there were some who did not enjoy the company of toddlers—and she did not understand why, but to each their own—yet to take one's frustration out on an innocent child was another thing entirely.

Legolas and Raniean's terse conversation continued only for another moment before Raniean stalked away, his back rigid and his features utterly unapologetic.

"I am so sorry," Legolas said, a pained look on his face. "Is Elfwine hurt?"

"Just upset," Gúthwyn assured him, gently kissing the top of her nephew's head.

Elfwine looked dolefully at Legolas, tears still leaking from his eyes. "Leggy, what I do wrong?" he asked, hiccupping as he did so.

Legolas visibly struggled to form an answer. "Nothing," he said at length. "Raniean is…" He trailed off with a sigh.

Gúthwyn decided to help him out. "It is as I told you, little one," she spoke quietly. "Raniean does not like humans."

Legolas winced, momentarily averting his gaze; Gúthwyn realized just how mortifying it was for him to deal with the repercussions of his friend's behavior. "I must beg your pardon on his behalf," the Elf said remorsefully. "Past experiences with humans have not left him with a good impression of your race, but that is no excuse for what he did to Elfwine."

No, it is not, Gúthwyn was tempted to reply coldly, but something in Legolas's expression stopped her. Instead, she looked down at her nephew. Elfwine's tears had regressed into sniffles, and he now pleaded, "Leggy, you make Ran-in be friends with me?"

Legolas clearly did not have the heart to refuse. "I will see what I can do," he promised.

"Dank you!" Elfwine said happily, appearing pleased that he had remembered his manners without Gúthwyn's help.

"You are most welcome," Legolas replied, smiling at the child. The gesture did not quite reach his eyes.

"Someday I be friends with Ran-in," Elfwine predicted, his initial disappointment swiftly ebbing away. "He not ready now, but someday he is."

Legolas and Gúthwyn exchanged glances with each other. Neither wanted to tell the confident toddler just how unlikely it was that that day would ever occur.

Gúthwyn's sleeping schedule, for the most part, now resembled that of a normal person's. Yet ever and anon, if something was bothering her, she found that she was awoken by a nightmare—either that, or could simply not drift off in the first place. It was the latter that was now keeping her up, regardless of how many times she tried to adjust her position so that she was more comfortable.

She was not entirely sure what was the source of her disquiet, for she could think of nothing that she had experienced recently that was out of the ordinary, nor did she believe that she was being troubled by recollections of Mordor again. For some reason, however, she was unable to sleep, and at length she gave up the attempt.

Sighing, she pulled the covers back and swung her feet over the edge of the mattress. Grimacing a little when her toes hit the cool floor, she nevertheless persevered until she was standing. Then she donned a pair of slippers, drew a thick robe around her thin nightgown, and went outside.

She was not surprised to see Legolas there, watching the stars as usual. Unlike Éomund's daughter, who always sat frigidly upon the cold stone steps with her shoulders hunched over as far as they could go, Legolas stood with perfect posture. He had clasped his hands behind his back, but the instant Gúthwyn pushed the door open he let them fall to his sides and turned around. "Good evening," he said, not at all taken aback by her sudden appearance.

Gúthwyn returned the greeting, advancing a few feet as she did so. "Have you been out here long?" she asked.

Legolas shook his head. "An hour or two, perhaps."

Éomund's daughter nodded and looked up at the bright stars—jewels, she thought, appreciating them all the more for the years she had spent without them.

Her attention was drawn back to Middle-earth by the sight of Legolas shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "Thank you for not telling Éomer about this afternoon, though you had every reason to." When Éomer had retrieved Elfwine from Gúthwyn and asked about their stroll, neither the nephew nor the aunt had given the slightest indication that it was anything other than perfect.

Gúthwyn shrugged. "I know he would have been embarrassed that Elfwine was pestering Raniean, and I also know that Raniean did not truly intend to hurt my nephew—regardless of how furious I am with him for doing so."

"I assure you, it will not be an issue again," Legolas vowed, his features momentarily darkening. "I have spoken to Raniean and ensured his cooperation on the matter."

Gúthwyn was relieved to hear this. "Thank you," she said. "I, in turn, shall try to discourage my nephew from approaching your friend, although I doubt he will desist in his attempts to befriend him."

Legolas waved her concerns away. "What happened today was not Elfwine's fault," he replied, yet stopped short of placing the blame on Raniean. Gúthwyn remembered his words about the Elf's supposed experiences with humans, but inwardly she wondered: what dealings could Raniean possibly have had with mortals, beyond those he was forced to engage with on Legolas's account?

The conversation momentarily floundered in awkward silence until Legolas looked at her and asked, "What has kept you up tonight?"

Gúthwyn shrugged. "I cannot sleep, though I am unsure as to why."

"I am sorry to hear that," Legolas replied sincerely, his brow knitting in concern.

"If only humans did not need as much rest as we do," Gúthwyn responded. As an afterthought, she added, "The land of dreams is not always a pleasant one."

Legolas's frown deepened. "Did you have a nightmare?" he questioned worriedly.

Shaking her head, Gúthwyn answered, "Thankfully, no. Although, as I told you, Elfwine had one last night." She did not envy her nephew. Knowing fully well what it was like to awaken in a cold sweat, trembling in the aftermath of horrifying visions and sensations, she prayed that such an experience would be a rare occurrence for the poor child.

"What about?" Legolas inquired when she did not elaborate.

"He thought I had gone away," Gúthwyn explained, smiling sadly. "He came to my room in the middle of the night and asked if he could stay with me. I felt awful for him."

"He seemed to have recovered when I saw you with him today," Legolas pointed out kindly.

"I doubt he remembers the dream," Gúthwyn agreed, "and I am glad for it."

At that moment, she thought she heard an angry wail arise from within Meduseld. Starting, she asked Legolas, "Did you hear that?"

Legolas nodded, cocking his head towards the door as he listened. "Yet now there is silence."

"I should go in," Gúthwyn decided, fear rising within her. "One of the children might be—" Her face paled as she thought of all the different ways one could finish that sentence, and she went immediately towards the door.

Before she could take a single step, however, Legolas tensed and put a staying hand on her arm. Gúthwyn came to an abrupt halt, startled—for even though she was wearing a winter robe, she could still feel every one of his fingers upon her as if she were clad in nothing at all.

"There are footsteps," the Elf announced quietly, drawing closer to her… as if he might protect her? "They are coming outside."

An instant later, the entrance to Meduseld opened. Gúthwyn barely had time to wonder who could be up at this hour—aside from herself, of course—before Éomer and Lothíriel's figures emerged from the shadows within the hall. A clearly terrified Elfwine was clutching at the king's neck.

"Éomer?" Gúthwyn asked, bewildered.

"Sister?" Éomer questioned at almost the exact same instant. His eyes darted to her arm, which Gúthwyn belatedly realized Legolas was still holding. Lothíriel's piercing gaze sought to burn holes through her, and she flushed as she moved away from the Elf. There was fortunately not enough light for anyone to see her cheeks turn red, but Éomer's voice was nevertheless suspicious as he inquired, "What are you doing out here?"

Elfwine lifted his head. "Auntie Gúthy!" he yelled through a sudden wave of tears. He squirmed away from Éomer, stretching his arms out to Éomund's daughter.

"He had a nightmare," Éomer informed Gúthwyn, at last removing his dark eyes from Legolas. "He wants to see you."

"Gúthy!" Elfwine sobbed, his face nearly purple.

"Here, I can take him," Gúthwyn offered quickly, hating the sight of her nephew in such distress.

Looking rather relieved, Éomer handed his son over. Elfwine immediately grabbed at Gúthwyn, crying hysterically. "You went away again!" he whimpered, closing a tiny fist around several strands of her hair. "You said you wouldn't! Why you do that, Auntie Gúthy? Why you leave me?"

"Little one, it was just a dream," Gúthwyn assured him, gently rocking his small frame. "It was not real, I promise. See? I am right here with you."

"B-But you weren't in your room, where Papa said you were! You g-gone!" Elfwine protested.

"I have been outside with Legolas," Gúthwyn told him, knowing that the mention of "Leggy" would cheer him up.

Sure enough, Elfwine's tears turned into sniffles. "Leggy?" he repeated, lifting his head so that he could gaze over Gúthwyn's shoulder. "Leggy here?"

Éomer took advantage of Elfwine's sudden quiet to fix Gúthwyn with a sharp look. "What are you doing here, sister?" he asked as Legolas smiled at Elfwine.

Gúthwyn shrugged, stroking her nephew's soft hair. "I could not sleep," she offered.

Lothíriel's eyebrow arched in skepticism. Not noticing his wife's demeanor, Éomer leaned closer. "Did you, also, have a nightmare?" he inquired, lowering his voice and apparently forgetting the fact that Legolas could hear him anyway.

Gúthwyn shook her head.

"I have nightmare," Elfwine reminded his father, his eyes welling up with tears again.

"Hush, little one, you are safe now," Gúthwyn murmured, holding him close to her chest.

The four adults stood there quietly for a moment, Gúthwyn whispering soothing words into Elfwine's ear in an attempt to calm the child down. When her efforts at last displayed signs of success, and Elfwine looked to be drifting off to sleep, Éomer cleared his throat. "Let us retire," he suggested, indicating himself and Lothíriel. "You should as well, sister."

Gúthwyn inclined her head, looking down at her nephew. Elfwine was nodding off, his body limp in her arms; he was still awake, but not for long. "Gúthy," he mumbled, talking into the folds of her robe.

"I can bring him back to our room," Lothíriel volunteered, stepping forward and shooting Gúthwyn an unmistakable warning with her eyes: hand over Elfwine. Inwardly appalled that the toddler's nightmare had become a power struggle, Éomund's daughter nevertheless obliged and carefully placed her nephew in his mother's arms.

The change of caretaker did not go unnoticed. Elfwine stirred blearily as he was moved; when he opened his eyes and saw that he was with someone else, he began fussing. "You're not Auntie Gúthy," he said accusingly, looking indignantly up at the queen. "Where Auntie Gúthy go?"

"Your aunt is right here," Lothíriel replied, turning Elfwine around so that he could see Gúthwyn.

Éomund's daughter waved cheerfully.

Elfwine craned his neck up at Lothíriel. "I want Auntie Gúthy, please," he announced. "Auntie Gúthy hold me."

Gúthwyn flushed, imagining the murderous thoughts that were certainly crossing through Lothíriel's mind. She could not help but empathize with the queen, knowing all too well what it was like to be spurned by a child. Hammel still had yet to maintain with her a conversation more in-depth than the how-was-your-day niceties.

"Perhaps it would be best for Gúthwyn to put him to bed," Éomer decided quickly: Elfwine was wriggling in Lothíriel's arms and showing harbingers of an oncoming temper tantrum.

"Elfwine should not have to rely upon your sister to get him to sleep at night," Lothíriel responded calmly, although it was clear—to Gúthwyn, at least—that she was inwardly furious. Legolas meandered a few feet away and gazed up at the stars, pretending not to hear the family's debate. "He needs to learn to do so on his own."

"Need Auntie Gúthy," Elfwine begged his father. "Auntie Gúthy go away in my nightmare. Need her back."

"No harm will come of it," Éomer assured Lothíriel.

The queen smiled graciously. Thinly. "As you wish, my lord," she said politely, holding her son out to her rival.

The matter being settled, Gúthwyn, Elfwine, Éomer, and Lothíriel bid farewell to Legolas, who informed them that he would be remaining outside to look at the stars. Elfwine waved forlornly at the prince as the doors closed behind them, later wondering aloud if 'Leggy' ever had nightmares.

After Éomund's daughter coaxed her nephew to sleep—which took a surprisingly short amount of time, given the situation—Éomer drew her aside and asked to speak with her alone.

Somewhat confused, Gúthwyn granted his request. "Yes, brother?" she inquired when they had relocated to the empty corridor.

Never one for subtlety, Éomer spoke bluntly. "I saw Legolas's hand on your arm, sister," he told her, watching her to see her reaction.

Gúthwyn tried not to blush, but failed horribly. "It was nothing," she said, hoping she did not sound guilty—which she was not, she reminded herself. "We both heard Elfwine yelling from inside, and at first we did not know who it was…"

Éomer waited patiently for her to continue; his expression turned skeptical when she did not.

"What?" Gúthwyn asked, confused.

"Sister, you do realize what that looked like—"

Smack.

The king stopped short as Éomund's daughter slapped him across the face, her every muscle rigid in fury. "Never say that again," she hissed, recoiling as if she had just witnessed a particularly brutal slaying on a battlefield. "Just stop it! If I were to have such feelings for someone, I would express them openly and not sneak around with them in the dead of night! And as if I would ever—with an Elf—how dare you? Does the name 'Haldor' mean nothing to you?"

"Gúthwyn, you are overreacting," Éomer told her sternly, his voice warning her to calm down. Unconsciously, he rubbed his pink cheek. "I am merely saying that had someone else found you in that position, their suspicions would be aroused."

"Then be glad that it was you who stumbled upon us," Gúthwyn snapped, enraged at him for even mentioning Legolas in the first place. She had the sudden urge to scream, but barely managed to restrain herself. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to bed. Unless you would like to interrogate me further, that is."

She shot such a glare at him that he said merely, "Goodnight, sister."

"Goodnight, brother," Gúthwyn replied icily. Without another word she turned on her heel and strode away, a thousand emotions churning wildly within her. Fury, humiliation, terror—what gave Éomer the right to stir up such memories? How dare he imply such things? She should never have let Legolas come near her.

As she walked quicker to outpace the ghosts of her pasts, she ignored the voice in her mind that pointed out how soft Legolas's touch had been.