The chapter title isn't imaginative, but I'm going for utilitarian here.

The warning remains pretty much the same. No sex this chapter, but lots of adult issues come about here. This is also a slightly angsty chapter, so if you have angst issues, (and who doesn't after 5 seasons of Buffy) please note that you are forewarned.

I don't own them, but negotiations are looking good. (I own a sword and I know how to use it)

Chapter 3: The Calm before the Storm

The first sensation to return to Ilrhenir as he crawled his way toward consciousness was radiating pain, from so many different places upon his much abused form that his befuddled mind could not tell exactly what hurt.

The second sensation to take hold of him was an all-consuming thirst. But as he woke completely, Ilrhenir found his throat too parched to speak, so when a large hand slid behind his neck and lifted and a cup was offered to his lips, disoriented as Ilrhenir was, he gratefully and instantly summoned the strength to drain it dry. Ilrhenir did not stop until the cup was completely empty, oblivious to the cloying sweetness of the tea or the voice that sounded a gentle admonition to drink slowly. It could have been brown well water they offered him, for all he cared.

Ilrhenir laid there a moment taking stock of himself, and he tried to ask for more to drink to ease his thirst, but his voice would not be summoned. In fact, the first words to come from him in three full days and nights were little more than faint gasping sounds that scratched their way out of his dry throat. Thankfully though, whomever it was that was aiding him seemed to understand his need.

Through the slowly lifting fog of his mind, Ilrhenir realized it was Baelorn who was sitting with him. The great man chuckled, commenting that Ilrhenir seemed to have thirst enough to accept a drink if it was from the hand of Saruman himself. And indeed it was true, for as soon as the bowl of broth was then tipped to his lips, Ilrhenir drained that as well, ever grateful for the hand that supported his head. And again, Ilrhenir disregarded Baelorn's entreat to drink slowly. When Baelorn offered it, Ilrhenir slightly turned his head, refusing the soft, white bread. Instead, Baelorn found it necessary to fetch more drink to sate the youth, though in the end, Haimen only allowed him one more drink. The young healer insisted that if Ilrhenir's stomach held onto that, then there would be more yet to come.

So Ilrhenir lay there feeling cold and very pained, his skin oddly sensitive and his limbs overcome with a jittery debility in the aftermath of the extreme fever. He slowly took in his surroundings, trying to reconcile where he was with his last, fractured memories. And try as he might, Ilrhenir was as yet unable to speak, even when asked if he were in pain, though he managed a bewildered nod.

Baelorn kept things light, recognizing a somewhat confused look on the boy's features that made Ilrhenir look even younger to him than the youth had before. And Baelorn had pause to wonder exactly how old Ilrhenir really was. He spent some length of time talking to Ilrhenir of casual things, disturbed but not surprised by the youths lack of response, until it came time for Haimen to tend to Ilrhenir's care.

Baelorn would have left then, for the sake of Ilrhenir's privacy, though he had been present before during such. But he sensed suddenly that Ilrhenir was disturbed by having a stranger's hands upon him. So the cavalryman continued to sit nearby giving gentle, distracting conversation. And indeed, what little strength Ilrhenir possessed, he spent resisting the more intimate of Haimen's ministrations, regardless of Baelorn's presence.

Haimen eventually seemed to surrender and he left, only to return shortly with a small, brown glass bottle and a spoon. Ilrhenir did not have time to gather his muddled thoughts before a spoonful of some bitter syrup was eased past his lips. Instantly it made his head swim, and Haimen explained that it was an easement for Ilrhenir's discomforts before seeing to the actual cleansing of his wounds. Haimen hoped it would also have the added benefit of making Ilrhenir drowsy and less resistant to his touch.

But the disorienting quality to the analgesic only made Ilrhenir more distressed and determined to resist. So the tolerant acolyte continued to quietly reassure Ilrhenir, aware that the aftermath of extreme illness coupled with innate modesty was likely making his young patient distraught. All the while, he ignored Ilrhenir's anxious protests, cleansing and tending the youth's entire body.

Of all Ilrhenir's wounds, the young healer lastly treated his bandaged hands, the pain of which indicated to Ilrhenir that full sensation had now returned. And as Haimen unwrapped them, Ilrhenir looked away suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut against the sight. Ilrhenir's broken fingers did not look overly bad for they were still tightly bandaged. His hands however were another matter. Ilrhenir's now revealed wrists were still raw and bleeding, his hands, while no longer so swollen as he remembered them, were black with bruising. But what truly disturbed him were the identical stitched wounds that ran the length of the heel of both his palms, wounds he could not remember receiving in battle.

Though blind to the green color that had spread over Ilrhenir's features, Haimen could hear the frantic gulping as Ilrhenir tried to control the rolling nausea the sight of his hands had inspired. And the healer could sense Baelorn quickly searching for something, in case Ilrhenir was unsuccessful at mastering his stomach. Haimen instructed the large Rohannian to fetch a nearby basin and keep it near the boys chin while he quickly cleansed, applied a balm and rewrapped the youths hands. As he deftly carried out his attentions, Haimen explained in a calming voice that the orc bonds had cut off circulation too long and in order to prevent irreparable damage, it had been necessary to release fluid tension from Ilrhenir's hands. Hence the suture lines on each palm. Haimen assured Ilrhenir that they would mend very well, though they might look gruesome for a while yet. And then Haimen pulled Baelorn aside in order to let Ilrhenir compose himself .

It was now one hour past his first waking and Ilrhenir was hard pressed to remain coherent as his weakness and the syrupy, slightly narcotic palliative combined to force him to surrender. Haimen had just allowed him more broth and as his thirst was finally eased, Ilrhenir found himself having to labor even harder at maintaining consciousness.

Haimen watched bemused. "Ilrhenir," said Haimen in a soft tone. "You have lain in fevered senselessness for three days now, exhausting yourself battling a death which hovered ever close to claim you, so do not resist sleep when it comes. You will mend the quicker for resting while you may and when your body indicates you should." Haimen carefully patted the youth's shoulder and then he took up his yew staff and gathered his supplies ambling slowly away.

It took a moment for what Haimen said to reach Ilrhenir fully, but when it did, in his astonishment, Ilrhenir found his voice for the first time since waking. "Three days!" He croaked hoarsely. The sudden exclamation irritated his throat, tickling a cough forth from him.

Baelorn laid a hand to his shoulder pleased that the boy had finally spoken. "Calmly Ilrhenir. I know all must seem strange after so long and deep a slumber, but it will not serve to excite yourself."

To Ilrhenir, it seemed only earlier that very evening that he had been swept away in the dreadful slaughter. He grimaced and shivered at the memories evoked. "Baelorn, It…it doesn't seem that long ago." he whispered plaintively. To which Baelorn merely shrugged sympathetically.

"How could you have let me sleep for three whole days?" Irhenir rasped.

Baelorn shook his head, smiling . "Ilrhenir, have peace lad. As was said, we could not have roused you even had we been forced to, indeed we thought you for the grave until this very afternoon. When I brought you here the night of Theodred's fall, there were none, myself included, that thought the dawn would see you still drawing breath. But gladly, there are many here who now have cause to be impressed with your willful refusal to resign life. As I said upon the Ford, you are not easily slain and I am glad of it. Though you came as nigh the beyond as any man can, and not step across."

"Has there been another battle?"

"Ilrhenir…"

"Are we still at the Fords?"

"Ilrhenir…"

"How…. is it …." A sudden, deep yawn interceded Ilrhenir's wondering. "…that you still live?" Still denying his exhaustion, he fought to keep his eyes open and several more yawns stretched forth from him in succession.

"Ilrhenir, You may have those tales another time." Baelorn watched Ilrhenir continue to struggle against fluttering eyelids and he sighed. It was obvious the headstrong adolescent would not succumb willingly to the rest he needed to recuperate, despite his body's obvious insistence and so Baelorn laid his broad, callused hand upon Ilrhenir's damp brow, relieved to feel it cool, and stroked back over his head, smoothing the disheveled ebony hair. He did this with a mind to the way one settled an agitated horse, with low words and long, gentle strokes. And he smiled when after several such caresses, Ilrhenir's protests melted away and his heavy lids folded over the tired gray eyes. In mere minutes his breathing had deepened and Ilrhenir lay enveloped within a healing repose. "Rest well Ilrhenir." said Baelorn, and he rose to join his duty for the night.

From there onward, Ilrhenir was roused often to imbibe infusions and take small meals, and in between he slept heavily. Sometimes Baelorn was there when he woke and but predominately Ilrhenir was seen to by Haimen and the others whose duty it was to tend the ailing and wounded.

And to his great discomfiture, they were very thorough in their care.

Two evenings later, the fifth since the battle, Baelorn came and looked in upon the youth, and deemed that Ilrhenir was just strong enough to have the tale from him of what had happened since his fevered descent the night of the battle.

Ilrhenir had just had his dressings changed and as the older man settled onto his customary stool, Ilrhenir told Baelorn the news that Haimen spoke of removing some of his stitches on the marrow.

"Indeed! A progress to be sure." Baelorn could still see the flush upon Ilrhenir's pallid features from the bath he'd received as he lay there, and he decided to chide him a little. "I see that you've had a proper bath."

Ilrhenir rewarded him with a very hot blush, visible all over despite the still prevalent bruising. "I didn't think you'd notice, seeing as how all you Riders smell like your horses."

Baelorn nearly roared with laughter. "Merciful Maker! It has teeth even when it is otherwise unarmed!"

"Amusing." Ilrhenir growled in deadpan, obviously irritated.

"Truthfully lad, there is no reason for shame. I myself have been tended thusly before." Baelorn offered affably, scooting his stool closer.

"Yes, well, most recently it seems to be my arse bared to the light, not yours!" He wished direly to change subject. "And I am unaccustomed to being unable to see to my own…uhm…needs." Again, his features darkened considerably in red.

Comprehension dawned for Baelorn. "Ah. Well. I suspect that they are merely concerned that you would fall over in a faint whilst attempting your ablutions and then they would just have to bathe you again." Baelorn couldn't help but laugh and eventually a very embarrassed Ilrhenir joined in with a mild chuckle of his own, much to the Eorling's surprise.

"You help not, Baelorn. Oh, OW! " Ilrhenir gasped, his slight laughter having aggravated his various wounds. "Begone with you if you would harry me so."

"Lad, I will tell you this." Baelorn said, regaining some of his serious tone. "There is no place for modesty in war."

Baelorn watched as Ilrhenir considered this and nodded his acceptance shyly. "Now, would you have that tale you asked for two days gone?"

"Aye! The whole thing!" Anything to redirect the subject.

Baelorn smiled and swiftly embarked on the tale, telling Ilrhenir of his coming upon Elfhelm when the cavalry were scattered, and of the long watch that first night after the retreat of Saruman's forces; which brought the eventual return of many of those Eorlingas who had been driven away. He then told of the dispatch to Helm's Deep the next morn as well as of the return messenger who bore back the elevation of Grimbold to Field Marshal until a time when Erkenbrand of Westfold could muster aid to stand against what they knew would come, a second invasion into Rohan. Baelorn also told of how Erkenbrand's missive had placed the Westfold infantry and what was left of Theodred's cavalry under the control of Grimbold but that the forces from Edoras' muster would remain under Elfhelm the one who'd led them into battle on behalf of Theoden. Baelorn explained to Ilrhenir that Grimbold's forces were still holding the Fords, defending, as tradition would have it, the main access into Westfold. Elfhelm in turn had argued, albeit without anger, for he and Grimbold were both honorable men and boon fellows, that the Fords were now no better than a place to pin the Rohirrim between Isengarders from either side of the Isen, as the surprise east bank attack had proven. Elfhelm believed that the wiser course was to forfeit the Fords and retreat as a mass further along the Isen, there to split into two groups, one to engage the enemy when they assaulted and one to come around and outflank them, so that as a whole they could drive them into the Isen. Then they could retreat to Helm's Deep where the next invasion would surely lead, and they could face it in combined force with Erkenbrand. Saruman would not take Edoras without first razing the mighty Hornburg And they could buy Edoras much time by engaging the enemy in force near Helm's Deep.

"But," Baelorn said with in an oddly expressionless tone. "Grimbold has remained adamant that his forces serve best holding the Ford, and some say, though not loudly, that it is Grimbold's desire not to let the enemy take the place of Theodred's falling that keeps him here. For he has placed the infantry along the west bank in two earthen forts and leaving the islet unmanned save for the vigilance of our fallen prince, Grimbold himself stands with the remainder of the cavalry holding the east bank. That is where I go this night for my vigil. Elfhelm has gone north on the east side of the Ford, above what is left of our garrison and holds there in an attempt to stem another attack along this side of the Isen."

"Both Marshals hold that Saruman has yet to show his full force, and without reinforcements it will be a brief battle regardless of which Marshall has correctly anticipated the manner of the Isengarders' advance."

Ilrhenir had listened with much empathy for Baelorn, and as the tale drew to a close, he patted Baelorn on the arm with one bandaged hand. "Then Lord Erkenbrand will simply have to come in time. I for one have just gotten used to the fact that I survived and I have no intention of dying for lack of bodies to stand with me." Ilrhenir's pale features lit in a warm smile, the first true smile that Baelorn had seen take his face. Not unlikely considering the extent of the troubles the lad had recently seen. But it was transforming to be sure.

But if he had heard aright of Ilrhenir, the lad meant to see more battle ere he made the White City, and that would not do. "Ilrhenir, verily you showed your worthiness to the Eorlingas. But this fight is not yours and you had a course to follow ere you met up with those Uruks. Besides that, looking upon you I think that you lack the strength to stand with us again. I would not see you waste yourself on the battlefield. You would be wiser to take up again your pilgrimage to Minas Tirith before the next battle comes."

Ilrhenir's smile faded instantly. "How long before the next battle, Baelorn? One day?…Two?…A week at most? Right now, just as surely as I am unfit for battle, I lack the strength to fly south. And I would not, even if I could, though the idea of another battle like the one I just witnessed chills my heart." Ilrhenir's eyes met Baelorn's and in that moment the youth mirrored the exact same stubborn determination that had convinced Baelorn to leave Ilrhenir sitting that evening upon the shores of Isen. Ilrhenir channeled that same determination into his next quiet words. "When the time comes, Baelorn, I will either be fit enough to stand and fight or if I can not, then you will put your blade to me and end my life. Swear it Baelorn, for I would rather die than be taken by them again."

Baelorn studied the drawn, pale form and accepted the truth in Ilrhenir's words. The youth would be unfit to travel at all for several more days, longer yet before he could manage an extended journey, and that was only if he had a mount or preferably was bourn on a wagon. On foot, he knew Ilrhenir had no hope of reaching Minas Tirith. "Ilrhenir, you have my word, my oath, that it will not come to that. We have our orders from Grimbold, which include many contingencies if all were to go ill. I will not leave you behind to be taken by the orcs again. If all our efforts go awry and we must retreat, then you shall go before me on Naisi, as you did before. Or more likely you shall be taken away with our wounded."

"Baelorn…" Ilrhenir was about to argue what would happen if Baelorn should fall in battle, or Naisi for that matter, or the retreat of the wounded were set upon by the enemy. But the stern expression on Baelorn's face brooked no such protest. The Rohirrim had given his word and so Ilrhenir would have to find faith in that. He nodded grimly at Baelorn.

Baelorn watched Ilrhenir for a few moments with grim satisfaction and not a little curiosity. "Ilrhenir, I know we have talked at length tonight and I see that you now grow weary, but I would know, why did you fight and not flee when the first battle broke out? And do not frown at me so. It is a fair question for it is obvious to me that you had never wielded a blade before the other night, despite your tale that you meant to meet your father in Minas Tirith to aid in their warring. To leave this place…there would have been no shame in escape, you were very ill, poorly armed, and this was not your fight." Baelorn said the words but at the same time Ilrhenir could read behind them pride in the fact that he hadn't fled. Ilrhenir had never had a man be proud of him before and he liked the way it felt.

But Ilrhenir had been wondering the same of himself, and it came down to one thing. He turned his face away, shamefully. "It is not what you think. I would like to say that I am what you would think of me, that I am brave as the Rohirrim. But in truth, I am not. Something was taken from me by the orcs, and faint as the hope is of finding what was stolen, I cling to it, unable to relinquish its hold over me. When the battle is over, if I still stand, then I will search every last corpse on the field. Even the one's that were slain all the way west where you first…met me."

Baelorn was stunned. What could a northern commoner have that was so precious? What madness would lead Ilrhenir to crave it more than life? "Lad, what could you possibly own…."

"That would be worth all this!" Ilrhenir interrupted, gesturing emphatically at his many healing wounds. Ilrhenir wondered, with no small amount of shame if it were time to share with Baelorn, his past. His palms sweated underneath their wrappings and his heart pounded. A knotting, ill sensation started deep in his stomach. It seemed that it was time to share at least a part of his tale so that he would be allowed to stay and fight when the time came, if he were able. "My mother's name was Jenna." Ilrhenir said quietly, turning his gaze away from Baelorn.

Baelorn didn't mistake the heavily worded past tense. Now he understood. Ilrhenir must have been going to Minas Tirith to find his father because his mother was dead. "Slowly lad, we yet have time yet for this." Baelorn said softly.

"No, Baelorn. I think that time is the one thing that none of us has in surplus." Ilrhenir shifted uncomfortably. "I…she…My mother was killed this last fall." Ilrhenir closed his eyes and tried to even his suddenly shaking breath. "I never knew my father and we had no family to care for us, and well… you see, she was a…uh…well, she slept with men to….for…." He seemed unable to explain, so he was grateful when a look of understanding crossed Baelorn's features. Not having to find the right words made it easier for Ilrhenir to go on. "I suppose some would use the term 'whore', though she was never so base a thing to me. She was my mother. She was kind."

"Last autumn, a man came to her, and like always, she sent me from our little house while men visited there. When I came back…she was…she was unwell. I did not realize until after her death that she had been bleeding all along." Ilrhenir struggled weakly to sit up on the cot, and Baelorn let him do it on his own power, sensing it wrong to lay hands to the youth at this point, even in aid. When Ilrhenir finally managed to sit up, he was winded and sweating though he shivered heavily as he pulled the blankets tight about him. He slowly drew up his knees to his chest and focused his gaze on a distant point. And his voice took on a detached air. "Whomever he was, he had broken something within her, deep inside. And though she hid it from me I knew she hurt badly. I was afraid, Baelorn. I knew she was dying. But all I could think to do to ease her was collect the coins scattered on the floor, to keep her from having to look at them. The way they were scattered about, he must have pitched them at her on his way out." Baelorn cursed the ruthless animal that would treat anyone, even a prostitute, in such a fashion, though Ilrhenir seemed oblivious to his muttering and continued on in a low voice, still staring far off.

"She lay there all evening, getting more and more pale, until she was very nearly white. And then she just…died. But before that, she quietly told me many stories of a man who had visited her periodically throughout the years. A man called Strider, whom she knew put her with child some seventeen years earlier. My sire…." At this point, Ilrhenir scratched absently at his healing hands and drew several deep breaths before continuing. "My mother told me she had never let him know of my existence and it made me angry with her. I thought that perhaps she was too shamed of me too ever tell him. But then she wept and I was sorry I'd accused her so. Mother said that Strider was a good man, but fierce and she had been afraid that he would take me from her, drag me off to be a ranger like himself, had he ever known that he had a son. She told me that perhaps it would have been better for me had she let me go with him, but that she had been selfish in her love of me. She whispered that he was now my only kin and that I should leave Bree to seek him in Minas Tirith where she last knew him to be headed, in order to stand with the rangers in defense of the city."

Ilrhenir looked desolately up into Baelorn's face for the first time since unfolding his tale, and the Rohirrim was again struck with how young the lad looked to be. But had Ilrhenir not just verified that he was some sixteen years old? Baelorn found it amazing that he should be no fuller upon his manhood than he was. He had guessed the lad a full two years younger, maybe three. But then again, if Ilrhenir was truly sired of the northern Rangers….He put aside such thoughts, listening as Ilrhenir continued.

"I tried to clean her up, make her ready and when I went to dress her for burial, I realized she had nothing pretty to wear, not like the better women in town, and she deserved a beautiful dress. So I went to market the next morn to buy her a gown and hire a cart to take her to bury, all with the money that had been thrown at her along with a small bit I had earned at odd jobs around town. But every time I tried to spend the money, it seemed to cause a great twisting in my gut, and my heart ached anew. I wasn't able to spend the coin that she'd earned at the cost of her life. So I put it away in a small purse tucked inside my left boot. And then I went home."

"A strange sense of coldness was come over my heart when I returned, and I neither wept nor really thought on her as anything but asleep. I seemed as someone else, not myself, as I gathered what little I had and then arranged her out on our bed." Ilrhenir's face was now buried in his folded arms, his knees still drawn up and he seemed to be talking more to himself than to Baelorn.

"When I left that day I lit fire to the house. In my mind, I knew it to be wrong, bit I also knew that if I did not, then they would come for her and cast her away as was oft done with the bodies of women in her station. And I wanted no one else to have her or our little house."

"I left with my few belongings and her coins and headed, as she bid me, toward Minas Tirith. I traveled south to find a man who doesn't know I exist and likely won't care when he finds out. So you see…" Ilrhenir unfolded his arms and gestured pleadingly at Baelorn. "It is more important for me to remain here. I was being a coward when I fled those orcs!" A sudden, wild despair shown in Ilrhenir's eyes, his voice rising. "I should have stayed to find her coins instead of running away! Those orcs who captured me stole her coins away and I have to get them back! They shouldn't be hard to determine amongst the other spoils. How common is northern coin down here?" Ilrhenir nestled his head back down, refolding his arms, shaking with the force of sudden, heavy sobs. Baelorn sat by as the youth long wept. All the while he waited, holding off until Ilrhenir was spent, from his grieving. And then he eased the boy back down to lie flat.

He knew Ilrhenir would soon sleep. No stranger to loss himself, he knew that such pourings out of ones soul were exhausting.

They also oft happened at the least opportune moments. If a man was lucky, then he was in private when the need to voice his sorrow was upon him. But otherwise it was best to have a trusted comrade at such moments of weakness. But Ilrhenir had no such companion and it was up to Baelorn to guard Ilrhenir's pride while letting him vent.

Momentarily, the quiet that had descended in the wake of Ilrhenir's grief was interrupted by the tapping approach of Haimen, who halted, seeming to feel something in the air about them. Baelorn rose swiftly, but gently and approached the blind healer, whispering low to him, though Ilrhenir took no notice. Their conversation was brief, but Haimen surrendered his armload and retreated off to some other duty, sadness wearing heavily upon him.

Baelorn took the bundle of clothes and looked on them with surprise. The clothing was Rohirric cavalry and actually of a size to fit Ilrhenir. The only members of the cavalry that were this size were standard bearers or couriers, sometimes as young as fourteen or so. Apparently, one of them had fallen in the last battle and Haimen had found another use for his uniform. Baelorn looked at the slightly stained, carefully mended tear on one of the tunics and then set the clothing next to Ilrhenir, before sitting himself down again beside the cot. He wanted to reach out a comforting hand to Ilrhenir, but refrained, unsure that it was appropriate to interrupt the youth's quiet grief. So Baelorn simply continued to wait as Ilrhenir composed himself while lying there.

"Ilrhenir," Baelorn said at length. "you are no coward. None here fault you for fleeing from the orcs, nor should you find fault with yourself. The worst of your injuries are not from the battlefield. They are from the cruelties you suffered at the hands of the Uruks." He waited a moment, but as expected, there was no reply. "Your mother would never have wanted her only son to stay and fight and assuredly die, over those coins. You are a good man Ilrhenir, and a man you are. Not only because you are older than your form bespeaks but because your deeds during the battle were those of a man, your regards are those of a man. So, I tell you now as a man, your mother's honor lies not within those coins, nor her life neither. I know the ways of good women and both her life and honor are invested in you alone."

There was a moment where they shared the small space on that isle of cots and weighed each other in silence, neither looking at the other. And then Baelorn finally pointed to the stack of clothing beside Ilrhenir and his face erupted in a mischievous grin. "Would you have me summon Haimen back to help you dress?" The sudden scorching look he received at the suggestion made Baelorn laugh. It let him know too that Ilrhenir was done with his grieving for now.

"I can manage Baelorn." Ilrhenir said, his voice acidic despite its weary weight. As Ilrhenir sat up and carefully swung his bare legs sluggishly off the cot, kneeling over to pull on the leggings, the room swam and he uttered a small groan at the wave of dizziness.

And Ilrhenir would have toppled over if not for Baelorn catching his shoulders.

"Indeed you can not. Here Ilrhenir, let me aid you." Baelorn took the breeches away and trampled any rebuttal with a stern glance. He guided the legs of the garment over Ilrhenir's bony feet and then paused for a moment, worried the young man would fall in a faint if he stood on his own power to draw them up. Knowing he would be met with resistance if he offered further help, Baelorn took matters in hand and yanked away the blankets covering Ilrhenir's naked lap, pulling him to his feet. He held on when, as anticipated, Ilrhenir's face drained and he swooned, and then Baelorn pulled up the breeches and cinched their waiststring. All this was done in a mere matter of seconds.

It was not until he had lowered Ilrhenir gently to the cot that the younger man was able to respond. "By the Valar, do you Southron folk know nothing of modesty?!" he gasped.

"By Eorl's blood, are you Northron folk all such fractious prudes?" Baelorn chuckled and pulled the light under-tunic over Ilrhenir's head, feeding his arms through before the lad could protest. "I told you before that there is no place for bashfulness in an army, Ilrhenir. Shying Modesty is for women and virginal youths, not warriors." Baelorn smiled to himself, relieved at knowing now that Ilrhenir had at least escaped the orcs without rapine for Ilrhenir was very reddened at the remark and in a fashion appropriate to one who was indeed still an innocent. Baelorn stepped back, setting the rest of the uniform aside, having given his first military lesson to Ilrhenir on the uselessness of such pretensions as bodily self-consciousness.

The color of embarrassment dissolved finally and Ilrhenir looked away. And for a moment, despair warred with resolve in his features again. However, resolve won out, and he picked up the rest of the pile of clothes Baelorn had just set aside and looked at the tabard device. A hint of a wry smile tugged at his weary face. "So, I am a Rider of the Mark now? Do you not have to beg leave of the King to make me thus, or at least his Marshals? Not to mention the fact that you would need put glue in my saddle to keep me there and then hope the steed was more wise in such things than I?"

Baelorn laughed and scratched his blond beard. "They are clothes Ilrhenir, not a commission."

"I see. So when the attack comes, I will be on the ground whilst you ride about slashing at orcs?" He smiled and yawned.

"If you are not still resting from your wounds and lying in this very cot, a proposition most likely, then yes. Why? Would you rather be mounted? You said yourself that you lack the skill, and our mounts are few."

"I am aware." Ilrhenir grimaced at the memory of the slain horses. "It's simply that I owe you my life twice over now, and I suspect the debt will only get deeper ere this all ends. Especially with me on foot and you upon Naisi." Ilrhenir sighed, his lids drooping. It had been days since that first awakening when he had struggled so hard to stay awake, and by now Ilrhenir knew better than to fight the sudden and incontestable onset of sleep. So he laid back on the cot and relaxed.

Baelorn frowned as he helped Ilrhenir settle the blankets back over him. "I had not yet had time to think on it as a debt, but it is one none the less, I suppose. Would it please you to have that debt settled? "

"I meant no offense Baelorn." Ilrenir yawned again. "But I am unused to dealing with men of much honor and I have found in the past that owing a favor to someone is best avoided."

"Indeed Ilrhenir, but still I count only once that I saved you. When you fell upon the field and I pulled you up on my horse."

"Baelorn," Ilrhenir found himself looking up into the Rohannian's intense green-eyed gaze with a humbling amount of gratitude showing in his face. "The healers told me you brought me to them and made many earnest implorings on my behalf, when there were others that were more likely to survive the night and more valuable upon the field of battle. If not for your insistence, they likely would have written me off as too nigh death and moved onto more sensible employment of their skills."

Baelorn smiled. It was come upon the time for Baelorn to face his own truths. In battle, life could be cut short in an instant and it would be best to say things now, before the coming of the next clash with Isengard. Baelorn would not lie to himself, he had grown accustomed with an alarming swiftness to the strange lad that he had scooped up from the field of battle by mere chance. Truth be told, Baelorn had no child of his own, and widowed he was unlikely to have one soon. And Baelorn had always craved a family. Whether he liked it or no, this lad was already filling that hole. "If you would settle your debts to me Ilrhenir, then you have only to mark what next I say, and accept it as truth. I think that this Sire you are sent to seek is a man fortunate for having such a son. I deem that he will see the man in you that I have seen since meeting you. And if he chooses not to mark his fortune, then folly take him to his grave childless, for you will have a place in my household should you wish it." There, that was not so hard, Baelorn thought.

Ilrhenir jerked with surprise. "Your House?" He gaped.

"Yes, Join my House. " Baelorn said quietly and he fidgeted for a moment under the weight of Ilrhenir's incredulistic stare. And then the large Rohannian stopped and a rakish grin took his face over. "I have, after all, gone to considerable trouble to keep you in one piece. I suppose if your father is too much the fool to take up where I will have left of when you reach Minas Tirith, then I can do no less than to resume my duties."

Ilrhenir just continued to stare, wordless. His eyes were wide as though he had been stricken and Baelorn was a bit confused. "That is Ilrhenir, if you are interested. I am not the richest man in Rohan, but I am cousin to Lord Dûnhere, Master of Harrowdale. And my place is honorable enough." Baelorn chided himself for a moment, needlessly nervous.

He waited for Ilrhenir to respond but it was long ere the slender youth was able to speak. "I…Why…I don't understand. Why would you…."

Baelorn met Ilrhenir eye to eye. "Because," He began gravely. "I have come to know you enough that I would wish you to have some sure place in this world. And as yet, you do not. When the darkness has passed, our enemies are defeated and it is time to rebuild, then I would know that you have a place to be, if this man you seek, your Father, wants you not. Though, I will add that I am sure he will want you. A man would be a fool to not desire a son, one known to him or not."

Ilrhenir watched Baelorn keenly at this point, sensing some hidden sorrow. "Baelorn. Have you a son of your own?"

Baelorn smiled sadly. "Alas, no. I am widowed and she passed from me a few years agone and we had no children."

"I am sorry, Baelorn" Ilrhenir whispered, unable to think of anything more substantial to say.

"It is an old and well healed hurt lad. But it is true, I almost grieved worse that I had no part of her to raise as my own, than I did at her passing from me herself. I have been too busy since to court another woman overmuch."

"But I am not Rohannian Baelorn."

"I only offer you a home Ilrhenir. Every man needs a home."

At this point Ilrhenir could no longer put aside his weariness, and sensing that, Baelorn begged off to join his duties. It had been a long week for all, Ilrhenir included and Baelorn knew the boy had much to think on.

Ilrhenir lay there only a few moments before sleep took him again, but he had just time enough to ponder why the man who had sired him couldn't have been more like Baelorn, a man of honor and compassion. Jenna would have done well with Baelorn. He had known Baelorn less than a week and already he admired and liked him well, already he worried for the tall, blond man and what the coming battle might bring. Ilrhenir came to the sudden decision that he would not just fight to survive when the orcs returned, he would fight to aid his friend, Baelorn son of Baeorl. Even if it meant dying here. You will have a place in my household should you wish it…Ilrhenir did wish it, but he could not accept Baelorn's remarkable offer while he had yet to fulfill his mother's wish. He must first find Strider and tell him the words that had been screaming in his brain since Jenna's death or else he would never find peace. Strider needed to know how she died, that the Ranger could have prevented it had he but taken her as his wife, that he could have raised a son. And Strider needed a good fist up his nose! If Ilrhenir managed to find Strider, vent his venom at the man and survive the defense of the White City at his side, then he would think on returning to Westfold and Baelorn's household, if Strider did not want him at his side.

lrhenir closed his eyes and dreamt that night of riding through the tall grasslands of the Westfold, at home on the back of a horse.