A/N: So very sorry that not much has been posted lately. I wish I could write more often, but I'm really swamped right now, and there appears to be no lull in the storm! I will try to get parts out as soon as possible for ALL my stories, so please be patient! I am NOT going to abandon any of my WIP, so hand in there! And thanks for everyone who takes the time to send me feedback!

Part 8:

Elrohir awoke feeling stiff and sore all over. The warm stones under him did little to ease his aches, and his head hurt from the bright sunlight flooding the kitchens. He sat up slowly, noticing that the kitchen was empty and silent for once. He glanced around the room and saw the Man from the night before seated at the rough table, eating from a bowl of porridge. Elrohir bolted to his feet, nearly tripping over a sack of flour and landing heavily back down on his makeshift bed.

"Easy, easy now," Faramir said, rising from the table to aid the poor boy. "I do not need your help!" Elrohir snapped as Faramir offered hand to help him up.

Faramir smiled. "I do not doubt that, but it would ease my mind if you accepted it."

Elrohir ignored him still, levering himself off the ground and steadying himself on the wall when the room spun around him.

"Here," Faramir said, indicated the table. "I have instructions to make sure you sit and eat before you leave the kitchen, and I do not wish to cross our good Cook."

Elrohir sat down gingerly, and Faramir had to suppress a wince of sympathy. Faramir ladled the porridge into another bowl and set it in front of Elrohir, along with the pot of honey to sweeten it with. He saw how Elrohir sat with his head down, his black hair shielding his face from view like a screen. He reached out to tuck his hair behind his hidden ear, but Elrohir caught his hand before he could.

Elrohir dropped Faramir's hand as though it was a hot brand. He quickly turned his attention to the porridge, knowing that this Man would not let him leave until he finished it. "Who are you?" Elrohir asked when the Man took his seat across from him.

"I am Faramir," he answered with a smile. "I said as much last night, but I do not blame you for forgetting."

Elrohir nodded. "You look like Lord Boromir," he commented.

Faramir laughed. "That is of little wonder, as I am his younger brother."

Elrohir nearly dropped his spoon. "Why do you serve me at the kitchen table, then, if you are the brother to the Lord of the House? I am nothing but a stable boy here, and hardly one at that!"

Faramir reached his hand across the table, laying it on top of Elrohir's. He smiled when he did not pull away, though Elrohir's hand trembled a bit at his touch. "You are hurt, and I know my brother is the cause, though no one dare say so. I am no lord or master here, though it is my home and I love my brother dearly."

Elrohir's stomach churned and he pushed away the remainder of his breakfast. "I must see to the horses," he said, excusing himself as he hurriedly left the kitchens.

Elrohir found the stable empty and his own duties done. He was glad as the quick leave of Faramir's company left him shaken. He went out to the yard, drawing a pail of water from the well to wash with, but he could hardly haul it back to the stable without stumbling. At last, he went to a hidden corner of the stable and stripped to wash, drawing the rough cloth over and over his body though it seemed to do little to help. He wished dearly for the steaming baths he would draw in his own chambers, or even for a nearby stream he could bathe in. He tried to remember what he had seen of the countryside during his short time in the valley. He remembered a stream, but he would not be able to reach it on foot. Perhaps if he took one of the horses he would be able to get there and back before anyone noticed his absence. His keen grey eyes lighted upon Devil's head hanging over the edge of his stall, watching him peacefully.

"Devil, my friend," Elrohir said as he approached the horse. "You have watched over me while I was hurt. Can you carry me softly and swiftly now?"

Devil's ears flicked back and forth in understanding. Yes, his eyes said.

Elrohir quickly pulled his tunic back on and rolled some cleaner clothes in a blanket. He opened Devil's stall and the great white stallion walked out calmly, waiting for Elrohir to tack him up. Elrohir, however, stowed the bundle under his arm and swung up on the horse's bare back in Elvish fashion. The horse seemed to chuckle at this new way of riding, though he was obviously relieved to go without bit and bridle.

"To water," Elrohir said in Elvish, and Devil quickly cantered off over the landscape.

*******************

The white horse carried Elrohir far and true, over the foothills to a large stream that flowed through the valley. Elrohir sighed as he caught sight of the sparkling water and heard nothing but the pound of the horse's hooves and the songbirds in the trees. Devil stopped at the bank and Elrohir slid down carefully with more than a little wince. He was still sore from the night before.

"Do not go far," he said to Devil as he stroked the soft nose. Devil whickered and set off to graze the lush grass that grew on the banks.

Elrohir carried his blanket and extra clothes to the water and laid them out on a large rock. He looked around and saw no one around, so he stripped off his soiled clothes and waded into the water. The cold water was a shock, but it felt good to his weary body. The iciness drove away the pain and replaced it with numb acceptance. Elrohir let the water hold his weight as he waded out further; the currents were not strong enough to pull him off his feet. He felt lightheaded and sickened as he saw the fair trail of red wash down the stream on the waves. Elrohir tipped his head back to wet his hair, but he forgot that it was no longer long enough to do such a thing. Instead, he ducked under completely, scrubbing at the tangles that had formed overnight.

"You could be in quite a lot of trouble for stealing a Lord's horse," Elrohir heard as he surfaced.

He spluttered as he lost his footing for a second, ducking lower in the water to hide his body as he looked towards the bank. There, seated on a rock was Faramir, watching him contentedly. A bay mare grazed nearby, her tack gleaming in the sun.

"How...How did you find me?" Elrohir gasped, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"It is not hard to track in this country, especially when I was raised here and the rider I follow has no reason to cover his trail," Faramir explained calmly.

Elrohir blushed. He knew better than to go anywhere without covering his tracks. Glorfindel would have his hide if he ever heard of this!

"I did not steal the horse," Elrohir said quickly. "I did not intend to leave, and I would have sent him back if I did."

Faramir smiled. "I know you didn't steal the stallion. That is not why I came out here."

"Why then?" Elrohir said sharply. "To finish the job your brother started?"

Faramir's smile faded, but his green eyes did not leave the cold grey ones in front of him. "No. To ensure that no one else bothered you, perhaps. And to tend your wounds, if you would let me."

Elrohir balked at the notion. "Maybe I will run," he hissed. "And you would not be able to track me this time."

Faramir nodded. "If that is what you wish then take the horse and go now. I will tell no one that I saw you here."

Elrohir's eyes narrowed but he did not move and neither did Faramir. "Please," Elrohir said at last. "At least let me dress in peace."

Faramir nodded again and stood with his back to the stream, apparently interested in his horse's bridle. He heard the rustle of clothing and a sharp hiss of pain and sneaked a glance backwards. Elrohir was having a hard time with his tunic and Faramir noticed a good deal of livid bruising on the pale flesh.

"Please, allow me," he started, but Elrohir pulled back, clutching the fabric to his chest. Faramir sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "What can I do?" he pleaded. "What can I swear by or what token can I give you that will ensure you that I will not harm you?"

Elrohir's lips pursed. "Where I come from the word of a Lord is good enough by merit of his honor. We do not swear by weapons or trinkets."

Faramir reached out slowly and took Elrohir's hand. Elrohir allowed it, though he trembled in his grasp. "I, Lord Faramir, swear on my good honor that no harm will come to you if it is in my power to prevent it."

Elrohir nodded and allowed himself to be led to the soft grass in the sun. Faramir spread out the rough blanket that Elrohir had brought and gestured that he should lie down. He did, letting Faramir take his tunic from him and lay it to warm in the sun. Faramir fetched a small jar from his saddlebags and knelt beside Elrohir who turned his face away from the Man.

"Relax," Faramir said softly and Elrohir felt himself unconsciously obeying him. He felt strong, calloused hands smoothing a thick cream over his abraded skin, working the healing salve into his muscles. It felt good, though the salve stung where his skin had been rubbed raw. Faramir soothed the small hurts away with sure hands and gentle words. This was a crude healing when compared to the power of the Elves and Elrohir's father, but he had to admit that it was still effective---in a primitive way, of course.

Faramir worked his way down Elrohir's shoulders and back but thankfully didn't ask him to remove his leggings. Instead, Faramir lifted one of Elrohir's fine, elegant hands, massaging the wrist and palm. He paused when he saw the blisters from so many hours and days of pitching hay and doing menial labor around the barn. He brushed his fingers over them lightly, reminding himself to bandage them properly and find the poor boy some leather gloves.

"These calluses," Faramir asked carefully. "They are like that of warriors who are used to handling swords and spears."

"Yes," Elrohir admitted. "I have handled such weapons before."

"You are a warrior, then?" Faramir asked.

"I fought for my family, protecting their lands, but I have not seen war."

"Why did you not fight off Boromir then?"

Elrohir paused. "He is a Lord in this land and I am of no consequence. Are there not laws here that would find me guilty of some grave infraction?"

"Yes, yes there are," Faramir said. "You are right. It is better for you that you did not fight, though injustice was done. Now, shall I send you on your way, or are you willing to return home with me?"

Elrohir levered himself off the blanket, feeling much less sore and stiff than he had moments before. "I will return with you," he said slowly. "I can always run away tomorrow, I suppose."

Faramir laughed, though he did not know if it was meant as a jest or not. "That is true," he said. "Now, fetch the tack for that devil of a stallion and we'll be off."

Elrohir whistled and Devil trotted up to him obediently. He threw the blanket onto the snowy back and pulled himself up easily. "He is fetched."

Faramir stood with his mouth agape at the sight. "What magic is this?" he said softly. "You have a power over beasts that I have never seen before."

"I have power over no living thing," Elrohir said. "Merely an understanding."

Faramir shook his head at the answer. "Perhaps you can 'understand' Sarah into giving us a late supper when we return, then," he muttered.

Elrohir spurred Devil on, not waiting for the Lord to catch his own mare, though Faramir was right on his heels. They raced into the setting sun, laughing into the wind.