Chapter Twenty-nine: Secrets Abound


There was already sound of people conversing off in the distance when Elrohir and Áine slipped out into the corridor. They had had a few distractions as they attempted to dress for morningmeal (namely testing the structural integrity of the desk) but to the general observer, they looked quite put together. He was wearing a new set of dark teal robes, choosing to leave his mithril headdress behind, while she was clad in the gown Faelwyn had sent her. The couple walked down the hallway to join the rest of their party, his arm draped casually about her waist.

Upon entering the main room, they found it to be rather sparse. Several riders lingered in the corners, sipping what she assumed to be beer, and talked to their brethren while their Elven guests were scattered about the place, quietly nibbling on bread and cheese. Elrond was in deep conversation with King Éomer as they dined at the great table upon the dais, and Arwen sat with Glorfindel off to the side. She caught sight of them, jumped to her feet, and rushed over, embracing her brother briefly. "You found the courage, it seems," she laughed, pulling Áine into a tight hug.

Elrohir snorted. "The men of the Mark brew their beer strong," he joked, glancing about the room with trained eyes. "Where is Elladan? Did he drink too much again?"

Arwen shrugged. "I have yet to see him this morning."

The Elf-lord's smirk became devious. "Pardon me, wife. I must fetch my twin." He pressed a kiss to her brow and dashed down the hall in search of his brother.

Áine cast another look about the room, frowning faintly. "Has Faelwyn yet arrived or is she dining in the encampment?"

"All except me and my immediate family are staying outside the city walls, so I would hazard she is down there."

She thought about waiting to thank the She-Elf, but a stab of guilt changed her mind. "Tell Elrohir I have gone to find her and I shall be back soon." With that, she hurried out of the hall and into the bright morning.

Quite a few passers-by stared as the red-haired woman jogged down the path, skirts gathered in her hands. When she reached mid-town, she saw her grey mare Aurthiniel grazing by the gates, reins haphazardly wrapped on the hitching post. A quick glance about revealed no sign of the Elven handmaiden. I hope she's all right, Áine worried silently.

She was about to turn back when a familiar voice caught her ear. It came from near an abandoned smithy's shop down a side-path. As she drew closer, another voice was heard; this one was more masculine and its cadence was startlingly familiar. Pressing herself against the wood to maintain stealth, Áine was more than a little shocked to recognize Faelwyn and…Elladan?

A light, feathery laugh. "You should not have had so much last night. I can see in your eyes that you did not get much sleep."

An answering chuckle. "Perhaps not, but it was only because my brother kept me up with his…amorous endeavours." A snort. "I am happy for them both, but Valar above, is she noisy!"

A stifled snigger and the sound of a hand lightly smacking a clothed arm. "You are jealous, melanin, do not pretend otherwise."

Silence, and then a quiet sigh. "Indeed I am. I am envious of his resolve. He knew what he wanted, so much so that he broke character and wed in secret." He sighed again. "I realized it that very next day, did you know? He joined me in the stables right before we rode out, and in that moment, it was like a thunderclap: I knew something was different. It took me the better part of that day, but once we made camp after sunset, I asked him: 'You wed her.' Well, not asked, rather observed. He was honest, to his credit, and did not try to lie. The initial shock was enough that at first, I did not believe him. My little brother…married. To a mortal. And soon, Arwen will follow in his footsteps – though it would be better said that he imitated her than the other way around."

"Elladan…" A pause and the rustle of fabric. "How long must we wrestle against this pain you carry? I know your heart is troubled, but keeping yourself shackled to the past only prevents growth in the present."

Only the sound of birds and quiet conversation far off. With a sigh, the Elf-lord answered. "Father was heartbroken, truly heartbroken, the day we returned to Imladris with Mother. He had already grieved the loss, and seeing her again, in a worse state than even he imagined, ripped out the sutures and instilled a deeper agony. I still see it in his eyes every so often, that haunted look that ripples at the fringes of his psyche. When she left for the Grey Havens, I swore in my pain that I would never yield to the sort of desires that lead to such anguish."

"And yet here you are, still bleeding with no end in sight," Faelwyn gently countered. "Is this a better life than the alternative? You meet me in secret when time allows, and we take our fill of each other – only for you to slip away when the echoes of the past become too real. Your fear of intimacy hurts me as well, Elladan. My heart weeps when you pull away from my touch because I know that nothing I do can bring peace to your soul."

More rustling of fabric and the muffled sound of a kiss. "You do bring peace to my soul, dear heart. The only problem is that these ghosts cannot be dispelled by a gentle kiss. They are demons that I must face and fight alone. Forgive me for causing you pain."

"I have waited for you, caunin* – six hundred years thus far. I know your wounds run deep, but if I cannot aid you in this process of healing, it would not do for me to remain."

"Do not depart from me with tears in your eyes, beloved Faelwyn," Elladan murmured. "My pain is not yours to share in, and I will not have you chained alongside me. Please…do not cry…"

It was a little while before Áine heard Faelwyn's voice, unusually tremulous. "It is just difficult to be reminded over half a millennium later that there is no end to this. It cripples me to see Áine's joy, knowing that she can reside in her love's arms without fear of recoil."

"Be not deceived, for Elrohir has his own hoard of restless spirits," Elladan rebuked, suddenly harsh. "The wounds his soul bears run deeper and more hidden than mine. You know him – always so stoic and unyielding, never letting anyone in. His trust is hard-won, and his love…well, there is only one I know of who won his heart so easily. Narmeleth spent years plying at him, and even she only managed to get so far before he stepped away. Elrohir holds himself personally responsible for Mother's departure; he has told me that if we had gotten there sooner, she would not have had to leave."

"You both did the best you could! What more could anyone have asked of Celebrían's sons?"

"That does not sway him; rather, it fuels his own self-loathing. I fear that in his relationship with Áine, he will try to make amends for what he feels is his failure to protect Mother. I just hope she is strong enough to do what I cannot." Silence reigned, broken only by the sounds of nature and city life. After a time, Áine heard the pair move away, leaving her shaken and troubled by what she witnessed. It was a long walk back to Meduseld.

When she slipped back into the mead-hall, she saw that Elladan had already arrived and was conversing amicably with Elrohir and his sister. Her heart became heavy at the sight of his false happiness, his words still ringing in her ears. Biting her lip, she inhaled deeply and walked over to join them, lips pressed into a faint smirk that did not reach her eyes.

Elrohir looked over at his approaching wife and the smile on his face widened. He held out his arm as way of welcome. "I thought you would be gone far longer than that."

Áine chuckled as she kissed his cheek. "One of the other Elves told me on the way there that she was still sleeping. Must have drank too much last night." She ignored Elladan's strange look.


Their stay in Edoras was both enjoyable and frustrating, at least for Áine. She fell right back into step with the Eorlingas way of life but felt like an outsider among her own people; after breakfast, she wandered outside as the brothers talked, making her way to the king's stables. Her heart soared as she looked into the faces of all those who resided therein. Some of the horses shied away from her approach, staring at her with distrusting eyes, while a few leaned in hopes of discovering hidden treats. In one stall, a speckled horse watched her closely, almost as though it was appraising this newcomer. When Áine reached it, the beast huffed with a bob of its head and nudged her chest. She rewarded it with an apple and ear scritches, crooning softly in Rohirric.

"His name is Pæga," a voice resounded from the barn's entrance. She looked back and saw the Éowyn waft in, dressed in work clothes and pale hands clasped before her. "He belonged to my cousin Théodred before his untimely death."

Áine fought the urge to duck her head like a simpleton and returned to massaging the horse's withers. "Hé tóhyht éaðe*," she observed indifferently, resting her forehead against his.

Éowyn nodded solemnly as she walked, shoulders squaring and chin lifted ever so slightly. "Mid dæd, he seon gefeoht na*. He prefers food and comfort to hardship or war." She stopped right at Áine's elbow. "He is usually not so relaxed around strangers. What makes you the exception, my lady? Simpler minds would assume Elf magic, but you are not an Elf, despite the company you keep."

Áine smirked and turned to meet her calm, curious gaze. "I am Eorlingas."

"That much is obvious, given your attire. No Elf wears Rohirric day-dresses. What is your connection to the king's guests?"

"I am the wife of Lord Elrohir, son of Elrond."

Éowyn scoffed in surprise, eyes wary but not unkind. "Forgive my disbelief, I mean no offense. It is difficult for us to comprehend this. Why would an Elf marry a mortal? Even the most agreeable of us find it strange that the Lady Arwen is betrothed to King Elessar."

"It is not something that I sought out. It was quite by accident."

Éowyn's pale eyes narrowed briefly before she spoke. "No…you could not deceive a fool. Your heart is too tender."

Áine had forgotten the way her people spoke, all rough edges and honesty even when it hurt. His words of praise, brusque but well-meant, brought a blush to her cheeks. "Ic þancian þu, min hlæfdige*," she said with a shallow curtsy.

"From whence do you hail?"

"The East Emnet, my lady, a few miles outside of Denfleet. My father is a farmer there."

"You are fortunate. Denfleet was one of the few villages that escaped complete destruction, though many still lost their homes and crops from the monsters." She exhaled deeply, gently rubbing her left arm. "Did your father ride with us?"

"I…do not know, my lady, as I have not seen him in nearly a year."

The White Lady looked keen now. "He wasn't the one who made the match then, I take it?"

"No, my lady. The sons of Elrond helped me when I was attacked by a starving wolf on the Wold. They took me up to Rivendell, where Lord Elrond healed my wounds fully and made me his ward."

"An unusual tale, to be sure," Éowyn murmured. "But in days such as these, stranger tales have been told and believed." She looked as though she was about to say more, but a low horn in the distance cut her off. Her head turned towards the barn doors suddenly, pale gold hair floating about her face like silk. "Forgive me, but I must go." She had not taken a step when her solemn face took on a curious expression. "I wonder…might I ask something of you, Lady Áine?"

"Of course, anything."

"The farmers from the outlying villages have been coming to Edoras to sell and buy seed. With the arrival of our guests, those who would keep the shops are severely short-handed. Would you be willing to help your fellow kinsfolk?" Her entire approach would have seemed indifferent were it not for the intelligent shine in her grey gaze.

The job sounded tedious, but Áine was overjoyed at the prospect of giving back. "Where should I go, my lady?"

"Follow me." With that, Éowyn turned on her heel and strode out of the stables, Áine a few steps behind.

After several minutes, they reached the north side of Edoras. The city sloped down into a few soft hills before leveling out at the gate; stretching out to the horizon were rolling plains swaying in the summer breeze leading up to snow-capped mountains to the west. Such a sight nearly crippled the long-away Eorlingas. Her throat began to tighten as a rush of emotion made her deaf to all else save that beautiful landscape. Mutely, she trailed after the White Lady, eyes riveted on the horizon.

Set into the shadow of Meduseld was a swath of open-air shops varying from blacksmiths to general goods to tailors. A cacophony of conversation mingled with the clang of metal and the tang of wood-smoke assaulted Áine's senses. She was ignored for the most part, for all eyes were on Éowyn; women and men alike called out praises and welcomed her, all of which she answered with a faint smile and a nod of acknowledgment. Children raced around half-naked and barefoot, screeching happily as they chased each other and sometimes the confused dog. The feeling of community was very prominent in this part of Edoras; in many ways, it reminded her of a larger-scale version of her own village. In Denfleet, however, most of the children were altogether unclothed, and there were more women.

Éowyn finally stopped outside a granary and greeted the dirt-streaked woman sweeping the ground. "Willa! How fare ye?" she called out with a familiarity not previously seen by her guest.

The woman looked up with tired, dark eyes and managed a cracked smile. "I be well, m'lady. What brings ye here?"

Éowyn gestured behind her at Áine. "This is Áine of Denfleet. She is here with the wedding party and has asked to help in whatever way she can. Since I heard Rafan is still in bed with a chill, I thought you might need the extra hand."

Willa looked sharply at the uncomfortable redhead, silently appraising her. "D'you know how to count, child?"

Áine frowned with a glance at Éowyn. "Yes, ma'am, I do."

"Then you can fill their sacks while I haggle and take their coin." She pointed to a peg on a beam with a thick apron hanging from it. "Put that on and roll up your sleeves if you don't want to sweat yer arse off. I'd also tie that hair back too – got a kerchief somewhere back there." As Áine moved toward the stall, Willa turned back to Éowyn. "Don't fret, m'lady, I'll have her back to ye by noonmeal."

"Her husband will be pleased, thank you." Éowyn bowed and threw a smile at Áine before blending back into the throng of people in the street.


For the next four hours, Áine worked hard. At first, she struggled with keeping the burlap sacks open enough for her to fill them, leading to some spillage. By the third time, her solution was to have the farmers themselves hold the bags while she filled, which yielded better results. It made things a little easier for Willa as well, surprisingly; forcing the farmer to keep track of which sacks were for which grain made him less inclined to bother haggling more than necessary. By the second hour, Áine had become much more efficient, taking only half as much time as before. Willa's face was not quite as tense, and her overall disposition changed once she realized Áine was accustomed to strenuous work.

Closer to noon, the crowd had dispersed and only a few stragglers were coming up with orders. With less demand, Willa was at more of a liberty to speak. "Lady Éowyn said ye were with the wedding party, but yer from Denfleet. How d'ya figure that?"

Áine wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand as she caught her breath. "I haven't been to Denfleet in almost a year. Left home and fell into league with the Elves. It's a long story," she chuckled as Willa's curious stare turned downright puzzled. "Not even I can really comprehend what's happened."

"Are they keepin' ye there forcefully?" Willa's voice hushed suddenly.

"No!" Áine exclaimed, shocked. "I chose to remain with them. They've taught me languages, history, combat maneuvers – less that, though, and more reading and writing. It's been…well, it's been a dream, really. At times, I think I must wake soon, but I never do."

Willa looked less than convinced by this eloquent response. She sniffed and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "S'long as you know yer numbers, I don't see much use for languages and history 'less it's yer own."

"Ú-savhenind anech*?" Áine asked, brow arched.

The woman blinked and a careful, suspicious glare darkened her features. "Ye may trust them, but many around here don't, even though they're guests o' the king. I'd not be speakin' like that if you want others to trust ye." Jaw set unusually tight, she turned back to the front as a group of about five farmers approached, empty sacks slung over their backs.

Feeling properly chastised, Áine looked away with flushed cheeks. She had forgotten how superstitious her people were. Her own fear of the Elves had been conquered merely by interaction. They are different from us, to be sure, but not so much that they are worthy of this. Sighing, she grabbed the scoop and gestured the first customer over, eyes on the barrels of wheat and oats.

She had just sent away the third and was pulling at a wrinkle in her leggings when she heard a low voice break through the low roar of village conversation, "Ic forgefan, min hlæfdige. Ic cunnan acweþan æt Áine*?" She glanced over her shoulder and saw Elrohir standing just under the awning, smiling at the speechless shopkeeper. His pristine appearance clashed wildly with the rustic granary and surrounding townsfolk, most of whom were also gawking openly at the Elf-lord.

With some effort, Willa found her voice, though it was now strained and overly formal. "Of course, my lord. Forgive me for keeping her from Your Grace." She ducked into an awkward half-curtsey and stepped to the side, face red.

Accepting this odd behavior with the grace of one so ancient, Elrohir nodded and thanked her in Rohirric. His scarred lips twisted into a faint smirk as he turned his attention to his surprised wife and held out a hand, arching a brow as if to say, Coming?

Áine cleared her throat and hurriedly wiped her hands on her apron, keenly aware of every single gaze upon them. Heart fluttering in her chest, she slipped her hand into his and followed his lead out into the intense heat of midday. "Mae govannen, meldanin," she murmured quietly, choosing Sindarin to avoid being overheard.

"Mae govannen, hervess*," he responded in kind, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, his silver gaze now a muted heather.

"It seems we have an audience," Áine snorted with a cursory glance about her.

"Tis not every day that one sees an Elf-lord ask after a young mortal." Elrohir draped her arm under his and tucked her close as they started up the path to the Great Hall; normally stoic and formal, he surprised her by breaking form and kissing behind her ear.

She bit back a breathless shudder before playfully retorting, "Was that the reason then for seeking me out in such a scandalous manner?"

"Ú-ídhranin*," he answered simply, shifting into a comfortable gait though his eyes remained on her.

Áine was abruptly struck at the poetic beauty of it all: almost a year to the day, she had been told that faerie tales were not real, and that the "the gloomy stablemaid" did not escape her dreary life on the plains – and yet here she was, being openly wooed by the "young prince" himself. We're even dressed for the part! Embarrassed by the naked emotion in his eyes, she broke away from his stare and laughed self-consciously. "Forgive me, I am still…unaccustomed to this side of you."

"What do you mean?"

"The man I once knew would be utterly horrified by the breach in decorum that was just witnessed here: an Elf-princebeing openly affectionate with his mortal bride in front of everyone!" Her voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper, eyebrows arched high to emphasize the sheer magnitude of the matter.

Elrohir snorted and pulled her closer. "Perhaps I lacked the courage then to ignore propriety, and that is no longer an illusion I let hold sway in me. Or perhaps – and this is the more likely of the two – I have been away for the past six months and wish to resume committing my wife's body to memory." The sly smile was back, mirrored by the wicked gleam in his keen gaze.

"After noonmeal, perhaps, you fiend," Áine allowed, pecking his nose. Tossing her head with a pronounced smugness, she turned her gaze away and towards the steadily approaching front gates.


Noonmeal, a simple affair of bread, dressed rabbit, and sweet wine, was held in the Elves' camp nestled outside the city's confines. Most were present, save for Lord Elrond and the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien; they all mingled with each other and talked, forsaking formality in favor of community. Áine absently picked at her food as she watched the goings-on around her. Every so often, her eyes flickered over to where Elrohir stood trading playful barbs with his brother and Glorfindel. The reception the couple had received upon entering the camp was surprisingly positive; the entire walk there, Áine had worried that they would be displeased with the deception. Apparently, many more had figured it out than she realized.

A jab at her side brought Áine's attention back to her handmaiden. "Have you heeded a word I have said or doth the lady find herself too enthralled with her husband?" Faelwyn snickered, throwing back a very unladylike swig of her wine.

"Nay, faithful friend," Áine responded in kind, liking the sound of Quenya and its almost rigid formality, "I am but taking in the scene about me, though thou wouldst insist otherwise, I daresay."

"Perhaps," the She-Elf shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. "You are finally able to freely express yourself and the extent of your relationship with Elrohir without fear of repercussion, thus it is not beyond the realm of possibility that you are simply adjusting." She idly shredded a crust of bread as she mused aloud.

Áine paused as Lagorwen floated into view, casting a smile at the Elf-lord's banter. Upon seeing Faelwyn and her charge sitting in the shade of a suspended tarp, she sobered and marched away, back stiff and chin jutting forward.

Faelwyn sighed and answered Áine's unspoken question. "Not everyone here was pleased to learn that Elrohir's heart belonged to another. Most accepted it with a certain level of grace, but not all, it seems."

"He and Lagorwen…?"

The Elven handmaiden shook her head. "Not him, just her. She grew fond of him in the early years when the twins were children and played in Lórien's forests."

"Does he know?"

"I know not. I would wager he is ignorant of it entirely, but he often surprises those around him by how perceptive he is. Lagorwen has not been overly shy with how she feels about other matters, thus I would not doubt that she has at least broached the matter with him."

Áine worried her lower lip as she watched the silver-haired Elf sit at a tent across the way and tuck into her meal. "How many women has Elrohir courted?"

Faelwyn laughed suddenly. "Not many, I assure you. Truly," she insisted when the young mortal threw her a critical look, "Elrohir has shown very little interest in women in the many years I have known him. Every so often, someone would come along, but after a few centuries, the relationship would simply…dissolve. He was often away in the Wilds as it was, making it nearly impossible to maintain any form of connection."

"He managed with me perfectly well."

"I think the difference there was that he wanted it. He may not have had such strong convictions previously, or perhaps the lady – whoever she was – was less inclined to have a long-distance relationship. Love is strange in that way. No one really understands what prompts it. All we do know is that when it manifests, it is often strong, chaotic, and unyielding."

A sly look blossomed in Áine's icy gaze. She was sorely tempted to ask Faelwyn about her conversation with Elladan, but she refrained. Instead she leaned forward and murmured, "Do you speak from experience?"

Faelwyn's eyes widened a bit before she dissolved into giggles. "I am old, my dear, far older than you realize. I have had my fair share of romantic experiences. I have also learned that it is terribly improper to kiss and tell." Arching a dark brow in playful reprimand, the She-Elf returned to her cooling food, but not before Áine saw the faint flush that colored her ivory cheeks.


A/N: A thousand apologies for my absence. I've been waiting to be movitated only to realize I shan't get anything done if I don't find ways to motivate myself! (It's fickle that way, I'm learning.) I'm hoping this is worth the wait, as I too have been chomping at the bit to get more of this story out. Thoughts, comments, and complaints are welcome here, as it helps me be a better writer to hear from my audience. Thanks and see you soon!


Rohirric/Elvish translations

~Caunin: My prince

~Hé tóhyht éaðe: He trusts easily

~Mid dæd, he seon gefeoht na: Indeed, he saw no battle.

~Ic þancian þu, min hlæfdige: I thank you, my lady

~Ú-savhenind anech?: This is not important to you?

~Ic forgefan, min hlæfdige. Ic cunnan acweþan æt Áine*?: Pardon me, my lady. May I speak to Áine?

~Hervess: Wife

~Ú-ídhranin: No, I just missed you