Author's Note--This chapter just sort of happened. It was random. It was unexpected. It was unpredictable. It's all Elrohir's fault! (There you go, Deborah!)
The night before the King was to be crowned and enter the City, Minas Tirith was ablaze with light, and the sound of people in the streets already beginning their celebration. Music and singing echoed about the stone streets. We humble civil servants in the Steward's Tower had worked frantically all day, finalizing the tiniest details of the ceremonies to be held on the morrow. Faramir had had supper sent into us, and true night had fallen before we finished up. He stamped his ring onto one last document, then shook his hand out in an exagerrated fashion, blowing on it with a grin. Needless to say, his disposition had much improved since Eowyn had agreed to become his wife.
"I need to ride down the Pelennor, and talk to the King about the ceremony tomorrow," he said, slipping a large sheaf of documents into a pair of saddlebags. "What are the two of you going to do?"
Lorend and I looked back at him, and grinned. We were both clad in Ranger brown and green, and had our packs and bedrolls close to hand.
"Party!" we chorused as one. He smiled reminiscently, rang the bell, and when the servant came, gave some orders we couldn't hear.
"Well don't go empty handed! Look, Lorend's not going to want to walk all that way down, so why don't the two of you double on a horse down there, and I'll bring it back with mine?"
"Aren't you going to come and visit the men, my lord?," Lorend asked.
"I'll try, if the King doesn't keep me too late. I very much wish to see everyone again. Are you two going to spend the night down there?"
"Aye, my lord," I said, "And march with the Rangers in the morning."
"You know, my lord," said Lorend boldly, "if you find yourself out of a job tomorrow, you could come back to us again."
He chuckled. "It could very well come to that! I wonder how Eomer would feel about his sister being wedded to a common Ranger."
"Never a common Ranger, sir!" I protested, and he gave me a smile. The three of us left the office, and headed for the courier stables.
There, as we were saddling the horses, a servant came bearing four bottles of wine, and a very old bottle of brandy. Faramir indicated that we should take them.
"The wine is for your contribution to the party. The brandy's for Damrod, if I don't get down there tonight. I owe him a bottle."
I remembered the bottle he referred to--it had been fairly ghastly stuff, and he'd downed it to escape the pain of a spear wound. I looked at the old and cobwebby bottle he'd given me.
"I think this is a little more than an even trade, sir."
He grinned. "Consider it with interest added," he said, and swung up onto his horse. Lorend placed the wine bottles carefully into a pair of saddlebags, mounted, and slung them across his lap. Then he offered me the near side stirrup, and a hand, and I swung up behind him, holding our packs and the brandy bottle. Our horse was not enthralled with this arrangement, but we made him move out anyway. The moon was rising as we rode forth, and Faramir was whistling as he went.
We rode with Faramir as far as the Royal Encampment, which was on the edge of the greater encampment closest to the City. There, Lorend and I slid off of the horse, and transferred the wine bottles to our packs, then slung the packs on our backs. Faramir threw the two sets of reins to an esquire in the livery of the City, and bade us farwell.
"Unless, of course, you'd like to plead your cause to the King, Heth?" he inquired teasingly.
"I think if I troubled the King with such a small matter the night before his crowning, I'd only guarantee he'd never appoint me Captain," I snorted. After weeks as a bureaucratic assistant, I had a far better idea now of what was truly important, and what could await a great man's less busy moments.
"There is that!" he conceeded. "Please give my thanks and regards to the men. I'll come later, if it is at all possible. If not, then perhaps we can all meet a couple of days hence, when things have settled down somewhat." We gave him a good night, then set off on foot, under the moon.
The night was clear, and cool, and the air about us heavy with the scent of campfires and cooking, as we moved through the rows of tents. Off to one side of the Royal encampment, I could see a campfire around which clustered a number of men in grey cloaks, with star brooches on their shoulders. I paused for a moment, and one of them looked up quickly from the fire, probably marking the movement of my pale hair under the moon.
"What's the matter?" asked Lorend.
"Those men over there, they're Rangers from the North--you know, the Grey Company. I just wondered if any of them knew my father."
"Why don't we go over and ask?" I shook my head.
"Because I'm not sure I want to know why he left the North. At least not tonight. Let's just keep it happy for now. I can always try to find one later, before they return home."
"Whatever you say, Captain." We stopped a couple of times in our progress to ask directions, and ended up going downhill quite a ways towards the river. Eventually we came to a campsite where brown and green clad men moved to and fro. I hung back, rather inexplicably shy for a moment, but Lorend slid my wine bottles out of my pack before I could stop him and strode forward into the middle of the camp with one in each hand, bellowing, "I am here! The party can begin now! Did any one think to bring any girls down here?" He was immediately surrounded by an exclaiming, jesting, back-slapping throng.
I watched for a moment with a rather silly grin on my face, then jumped as someone bellowed behind me.
"HETH!" I turned to see Mablung returning with a couple of Rangers pulling a small wheeled cart upon which rested a rather large keg. I was immediately engulfed in a firm but careful hug.
"How're the ribs, lass? And the shoulder?"
"Much better now, Mablung. How is your arm?"
"Doesn't bother me a--wait a moment, how did you know about my arm?" He held me out at arms' length.
"The Eagle that Mithrandir sent to the City talked to me, and I asked how some people were--Prince Imrahil, and King Eomer, and you, and the halfling Pippin. And he said that you'd been shot in the arm near the end of the battle, and that you were annoyed that you couldn't shoot any more." I dashed some rather unexpected and annoying tears from my eyes. "He also said your language got much more interesting after that."
"Right talkative for a bird, wasn't he?" He gave me a sidelong look. "You been talking to any other animals since your hair turned that funny color, Heth? Horses, perhaps?"
I laughed, and shook my head. "No, Mablung. And I'm not crazy, either. Fifty people must have seen me do it. Apparently, that's what my family does--they're friends with the great Eagles."
"Well, we live in strange times, there's no mistaking that! So I guess a girl who talks to Eagles isn't any stranger than some of the things that have happened!" He draped an arm about my shoulders, and led me into the ring of firelight. My fellow Rangers surrounded me with exclamations of delight, as they had Lorend, though Mablung was quick to warn them of my ribs. The two of us were given seats of honor at the campfire, mugs of ale were pressed into our hands, and we were encouraged to help ourselves to the choicest gobbets from the pig roasting upon the fire. I speared a piece of meat onto my dagger point, drank a great draught of ale and huddled down into my cloak, staring up at the moon with a happy grin. I was home.
As the evening wore on, and the keg emptied, many tales of valor floated about the campfire. Lorend, who'd been taken out of the action even earlier than I, contributed a tale of his valor in evading the family of tailors whose two daughters he'd been seeing simultaneously but at different times. Several other tales of romantic exploits followed, but they were interspersed with accounts of the ambush the Rangers had thwarted on the way to the Black Gate, and the battle there itself. I found out that evening that little Pippin had actually slain the great troll that had fallen upon him, thereby saving Beregond of the Tower Guard. Once again, I marveled at the tenacity and courage of the Halflings.
Several of the Rangers wanted me to tell the tale of how I'd stood over Faramir on the Pelennor Field, but I refused to recount it. I had spoken of it to Eowyn, but that was because she shared a unique perspective with me that no man could. And I really had no talent for the telling. Still, they were persistant, reminding me that I'd promised to tell them when I'd returned from the Pelennor, and events had fallen out that had prevented it.
"Actually, Mablung promised you," I said, beginning to feel a bit nettled. "If you want to hear it so badly, let him tell you." Mablung was sputtering protests, when a dulcet voice interjected itself into the argument.
"I know the tale in full, and will tell it, in return for some of that very good wine I see being passed about here." Heads swiveled as two figures stepped into the firelight. One was Faramir, who was immediately engulfed with a roar by his ecstatic men. The other was Elhrohir son of Elrond, who stood limned in the moonlight and firelight in sable and silver perfection, a bow at his back and a cup in his hand, which he was proferring forth to the Rangers with a pleading look.
"A drink, please?" he asked plaintively. I hunkered down deeper into my cloak, refusing to acknowledge him, but Mablung, the traitor, seeing a chance to wiggle off the hook, jumped up and appropriated one of the bottles from another Ranger, and filled his goblet, despite a warning glare from me.
"There you are, my lord!" he said heartily, careful not to look at me. Elrohir accepted with a gracious nod of thanks, and a grinning glance in my direction that said he knew exactly how embarassed I already was and was anticipating being in the near future. After a moment, Mablung sidled hesitantly over to me.
"You do have to sleep sometime tonight, you know that, don't you?" I hissed at him. He tried to appease me.
"Come on Heth, I want to hear how he tells it. They say Elves are the very best at these things. You should be pleased, having your story told by an Elf."
"I don't want my story told at all! I didn't exactly cover myself with glory. I cried the whole time, for Valar's sake," I whispered at him indignantly. "And where does he get off saying he knows all about it--he was nowhere near at the time!"
"Maybe his Lordship told him?"
"His Lordship was unconscious for most of it! What does he know?"
Elrohir moved towards the campfire, sipping his wine thoughtfully, and waiting for the hubbub over Faramir's return to die down. Eventually, the human wave of Rangers subsided, leaving Faramir washed up on the other side of the campfire, slightly tousled, but smiling, and with a tankard in his hand. People refreshed their drinks and resumed their seats, waiting expectantly, yet Elrohir did nothing for many long moments even after full silence fell. He simply stood there, as if oblivious to the fact that every eye was upon him, stroking the rim of his goblet pensively with a slender finger.
Finally, one of the bolder souls called out "The story, Lord Elrohir! Or must we fuel you with more wine?" He started as if just coming to himself, and smiled.
"Perhaps, in a bit, but this will suffice for now. I apologize, I was merely collecting my thoughts. Well, here now begins the tale of Hethlin Blackbow and the Champion of Harad!"
And there was a roar of approval, and he began the story. I will say he had all his facts straight, but the tale he told had little in common with the reality I had experienced. The crying was not mentioned, and I came off as far cleverer and braver in his tale than I felt I'd been in real life--it was almost as if he were speaking of someone else, which was about the only thing that made the experience bearable. As it was, I was absolutely crimson by the time he was finished, and if I could have dug a hole beneath me and buried myself on the spot, I would have.
After an eternity, his tale ended with much applause, and a toast to me. I covered my face with my hands, and just sat there, shaking my head. More wine was proferred, and another tale requested, his first offering being so well recieved. He appeared to consider for several long moments before he acquiesced.
"I know another tale of Hethlin, that none of you here know, save perhaps the Steward. Are you not curious how she came by those snowy locks? I know the truth of it, if anyone would hear the tale." There was some interested murmuring, but the blood in my veins immediately turned to ice, and my stomach gave a sickening lurch. Faramir's head snapped up. He looked over at me in concern, and his grey eyes frosted.
"I think, my lord Elrohir, that that is not a tale for a happy time."
Elrohir bowed, a slightly ironic acknowledgement. "As you wish, my lord Steward--I have others." And he launched into a retelling of a somewhat comic encounter that had befallen the Grey Company on their ride south, which had the men laughing uproariously in no time, and gave me a chance to collect myself. Mablung pressed a tankard of beer upon me, and I drank it down gratefully, and rather too quickly.
Eventually, Elrohir finished his tale, to much applause. He shoved his cup into his belt, forestalled demands for more stories with an upraised hand, and strolled over to where I sat, his eyes gleaming mischief.
"I fear I must return to the royal encampment," he announced to the crowd at large. "Lady Snowsteel, will you walk with me a while?" A chorus of whistles and calls broke out, only a little subdued when Faramir shot a warning look around the campfire. Elrohir extended a hand to me, and when I took it, pulled me to my feet, and it to his lips, in one smooth motion. He was far, far stronger than he looked, but his lips were soft and warm. More whistles ensued, he slid an arm about my waist with easy familiarity, and we strolled out of the camp. I caught a glimpse of Faramir, his eyebrows almost to his hairline in surprise.
"What do you think you are doing?" I hissed at Elrohir after we'd passed into the next row of tents.
"Making mischief, what else?" he responded easily. "It is a tendency I fear near three thousand years of existence have yet to cure me of. Besides, I find such stubborn obtuseness as the Steward of Gondor demonstrates....annoying. Foolish man--to forego mithril for mere gold." I blushed yet again, though it was a wonder my cheeks still could, with the exercise they'd had that evening. Yet somehow I knew, despite his words and actions, that he was not in love with me, or anywhere near, though I did not know exactly how I was so sure of this.
*T'was not bodies we touched with, there in the Grey Lands, Snowsteel,* came his voice inside my head. I jumped. *Such closeness of souls can have a lasting effect. It is no wonder that you can sense somewhat of me, while we are touching thusly.*
"Do you often speak so to people?" I asked aloud. "And can I speak like that to you?"
*Among our folk, we do so on occaision, when all present have the skill. It saves time and misunderstanding. To mortals, as a rule, no. It is only because of our..... connection that I am able to bespeak you. As to whether you could bespeak me--I do not know. I think you would need to be physically touching me. And at such a range, your sweet lips would serve just as well.*
"I wish you wouldn't do that. Refer to me like I'm some beautiful damsel."
He chuckled, and tightened his arm about my waist. "But you forget, Snowsteel, that we of the Elder Kindred see into two worlds at once, both body and soul. And you have a very beautiful soul."
We had passed through the tents, and were going downhill towards the Rammas and the River. I pulled him to a halt.
"I thought you said you were going to the royal encampment."
"I am. Eventually. Time has little meaning to an elf, remember." He grinned at me. "I thought to spend some time with you first, to see how you fared. And I have a couple of gifts for you."
"Gifts? You gave me my life back. Why need you give me anything else?" He released my waist, and turned to face me, taking my hands in his. I realized we were some distance away from the last line of tents, alone in the moonlight with the wind on the grass.
"Call it an impulse, a whim if you like. You intrigue and interest me, and at my age that doesn't often happen. But I will help you if I can." He removed his bow, and drew me down beside him to sit upon the grass.
"Help me? Help me with what?"
"My father is a healer of both minds and bodies. I know more of the latter than the former, by virtue of my profession as a warrior. But I do have some knowledge of the healing of minds, and I know that you are fearful of...intimacy, because of your experiences with the orcs. There is no shame in this, Snowsteel. My own mother had much the same happen to her, and she took ship at the Havens, and left Middle-Earth. Elves feel such violations very profoundly, and often never recover. I'm not saying Men do not, I'm merely saying that they are more resilient."
"I should hate to see you live your life alone because of this. I am not my father, and we do not have the time it would take to effect a complete cure. But I can do this much--lessen your fear to the point that you may be able to overcome this yourself, with patience and time, and the right partner."
"What would you have to do to do this, my lord?" I didn't exactly slide away from him, but I was leaning away somewhat, and he chuckled.
"If you mean, would I have to take you right here and now in the grass, Snowsteel, the answer is no."
"Oh." I looked at him, and blushed, more than a little embarrassed, but his eyes were kind for once, with no mockery in them.
"You would sleep for a little, no more than that. And I won't do anything without your consent."
"Do you think I should do this?"
"Yes. If I felt that you would be able to overcome this trauma without my help, I would not have offered." He smiled dryly. "We elves seldom offer advice or aid, unless hard pressed, or in direst necessity."
"I know the sayings." I looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "All right. What must I do?"
"Absolutely nothing." And he lifted his hand, and touched two fingers to my forehead, and all went dark.
Something was tickling my nose. I twitched it, trying to get rid of the irritation, but it persisted. Finally, I reached up and batted at it, and heard a melodious chuckle. I opened my eyes, and found myself staring up into the night sky. The moon was high overhead. I turned my head to the right and saw Elrohir lying beside me, propped on one elbow, and twirling a grass stem in his hand.
"I was beginning to think you misliked my company, Snowsteel, so eager were you to sleep!"
"I've been working hard these last few days. There's been a lot to do to get ready for the King's crowning." I rubbed my face, and looked down at myself surreptitiously, but Elrohir noticed, and grinned.
"No, Snowsteel, I haven't ravished you while you were at your well-earned rest."
"I'm sorry, my lord Elrohir. I have no reason to think you are not a ...person of your word."
"It's quite all right. A not unexpected development, when one is an acknowledged creature of impulse." He tapped my nose with the grass-stem once more. I pushed myself up on my elbows.
"Did it work?"
"It was more...tiring than I had expected. The trauma was more extensive than I'd originally thought. Did it work? Let's find out." Before I realized what he was up to, he'd rolled towards me, slid an arm behind my shoulders, laid me back, and pressed his lips to mine.
My first reaction was panic, and I shoved against his shoulders. But he was stronger than I, and after a couple of bad moments, I realized that I wasn't hearing orcish voices, or remembering orcish hands upon me, that all I was feeling was Elrohir, and he actually felt rather nice. His lips were soft, and gently insistent, his hair fell around me like shimmering black water, and it was hard to tell where his eyes ended and the starry night sky began. Even the warm weight of his chest against mine did not frighten me, when to be constrained in such a way before would have sent me into a screaming fit.
The kiss went on and on, and after a time I began to relax, and then to enjoy it. My hand slid up into Elrohir's hair, which was softer than Faramir's. It was softer than anything I'd ever felt. People usually use silk as a comparison, but I'd never felt silk, so I didn't know if that was soft enough. The only things I could think of to compare it to were a warm breeze on your face, or cool water on bow-burned fingers.
Just as I was beginning to enjoy myself, he broke off, and rolled over onto his back.
"I think I'd count that as a success, yes," he declared.
I was filled with so many emotions at once that I did not know how to react. Chagrin, embarassment, relief, dissappointment, annoyance--I finally decided civility was my best defence.
"I thank you, Lord Elrohir, for all your care on my behalf." He turned his head, and lifted a delicately arched brow.
"It is care indeed, Snowsteel, whether you see it so or not. T'would not be a kindness to either of us to take it further."
"I don't understand you. First the story, and now this. You are truly the most contrary person!" He smiled.
"Why, thank you!" Then he assumed a hurt expression. "What was wrong with the story? Did you not like it? I assure you, it was told in accordance with the greatest traditions of Elven storytelling."
I sat up. "But it wasn't like that at all! You made it seem like I was this great hero!"
He laughed, and sat up as well. "Snowsteel, why is it that you think, just because a story is about you, that it is any more inaccurate than any other story about anybody else? Why should you assume that they were perfect heroes, when you know you were not?"
I thought about that for a long moment. "You mean, they were like me? Scared to death most of the time?"
"What is the definition of courage, if not the ability to persevere in the face of mind-numbing fear?"
"Oh. OH." He nodded, pleased with my comprehension. "Now you see it." Indeed I did. What he was telling me was that all heroes were courageous, so that by definition, all heroes were scared; so the fact that I'd been scared did not mean I wasn't a hero too. I decided to think upon this some more at a later date.
"While we're on the subject of stories," I asked him, "What did you do to the Eagle?"
"What Eagle?"
"The Windlord that brought the news to Minas Tirith. He didn't seem to like you much."
"Gwaihir? Oh, that wasn't me. That was Elladan." I looked at him skeptically, and he suddenly got defensive. "Valar, why is it everyone always assumes I am the one to blame?"
"So what did Elladan do to the Eagle? Gwaihir, did you say his name was?" Elrohir sighed.
"I should like nothing better than to tell you that tale as well, Snowsteel, so that you might better appreciate the perfidiousness of the world's quiet people, but I may not."
"Why ever not?"
"Because it is a tale my brother wishes very much not to be told, and if I tell it to you, then he will tell you four or five tales I very much wish not to be told."
"Hmmmmmm." I looked at him severely. "Four or five tales to one? Does this not suggest to you, my lord, why people look to you first when evidence of mischief rears its head? And did you not admit to me earlier that you indulged in such things?"
He smiled, grasped the bow, and got to his feet, offering me a hand. "I can see that it is past time for me to return to the bosom of my blackmailing family." I let him pull me to my feet once more, but this time, that was all he did.
"I do thank you, truly, for all your help, Lord Elrohir," I said sincerely. He nodded.
"And now I'm going to thank you for the help you gave me, Snowsteel."
I was puzzled. "I've never done anything for you, my lord."
"In the Grey Lands. When I came after you, and you helped me back to my brother. He was right--I'd gone too far, and overextended myself. Needless to say, this is yet another tale I do not wish told."
"But you would not have been in any danger had you not been trying to save my life! I know you gave me strength, I felt it! There is no debt between us, my lord."
"I am the older of us by far, Dunedan, and I am a son of Elrond. If I say you saved an old fool from his folly that day, then it is your duty to accept that it is so, and accept this as well." He handed the bow to me. "It's even black." It was, some smooth, satiny dark wood, and inlaid with graceful silver scrolling. I ran my hand along the limbs reverently, and examined the string. "I think you will be strong enough to draw it when you are well again, though it may take you time to accustom yourself."
"But this is yours, is it not, my lord? What will you use to shoot with?"
"Oh, there is the odd spare bow among the Grey Company. After Estel is crowned, Elladan and I will be returning to Lorien, and then to Rivendell. I shall get me another in Lorien, I think. Grandmother will provide. So you see, it is but a small matter for me--but I thought you would like it."
"Oh! Like is not the word, my lord! I love it!"
"Well, if you must love something, Snowsteel, a bow is safer than a Man! And far, far safer than an Elf!" He gave me one of his reckless smiles, and I bowed respectfully.
"If you come North, Snowsteel, perhaps we shall ride together one day. I would enjoy showing you the North. And if we don't take Elladan, we can even visit the Eagles!"
He departed, almost magically it seemed. Things seemed a little drearier after he had gone. I started the hike back up hill to the Ranger camp.
Elrohir's cure had apparently taken considerable time, for when I got back, most of the Rangers had sought their bedrolls. Only Mablung was still seated by the fire.
"You all right, Heth? What's that you have there?"
"Lord Elrohir gave me his bow." I sat down beside him, and gave it to him. He turned it over and over, smoothing his hands over it, and finally gave a low whistle.
"This is a sweet bow, and no mistake." He gave me a worried look. "He didn't make you sleep with him for it, did he? I don't care if he's the king's foster brother, or a son of Elrond, or a son of the Valar himself--if he made you do something you didn't want to do, Heth, I'll deal with him."
"I can take care of myself, Mablung, thank you very much! No, he didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do." I didn't know whether to be touched or annoyed at his overprotectiveness.
"You've got grass stuck all over the back of your head, Heth."
"We were just lying out in the grass, looking at the moon, and talking. That's all."
"Hmmmmm, whatever you say." He looked at the bow again. "Come to think of it, I wouldn't blame you if you did sleep with him for it. I might've slept with him for it."
I was not entirely sure what was involved when two men slept with each other, but thinking of Mablung and Elrohir in any sort of juxtaposition made me laugh.
"Go to bed, Mablung! That's where I'm going, if you show me where you stowed my stuff." He got to his feet, and showed me over to a small tent.
"We were using this for supplies, but I cleaned it out for you."
"Thanks, Mablung."
"The Captain told us about his betrothal this evening, Heth. Apparently the brother gave his permission tonight. You all right about that?"
"I'm all right! Get some sleep! We're up early this morning!"
"Good night, Heth."
"Good morning, Mablung."
And I went into my tent, and rolled into my bedroll, and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep with no further trouble. I was strangely refreshed for the little rest I'd had when we assembled the next morning, and the black Elvish bow was slung on my shoulder when we surrounded the Gate and watched as Aragorn took his crown. The Rangers did not have a good vantage point, and all I saw of the King was the back of his head, but at least I could say that this was one pivotal event of the Age I'd actually been awake for! We learned that Faramir was indeed, going to keep his job, and I bade my friends good-bye so that I might report for mine, for I'd promised Lord Hurin I'd do a watch in the City once the crowning was over. I told them I'd return in the evening and then I set off to work under the shadow of a Citadel where flew the banner of the Tree and Stars for the first time in a thousand years. Everyone in the City was joyful and singing, for it seemed that the future held all sorts of glorious prospects, and I could not help but wonder what it held for me.
The night before the King was to be crowned and enter the City, Minas Tirith was ablaze with light, and the sound of people in the streets already beginning their celebration. Music and singing echoed about the stone streets. We humble civil servants in the Steward's Tower had worked frantically all day, finalizing the tiniest details of the ceremonies to be held on the morrow. Faramir had had supper sent into us, and true night had fallen before we finished up. He stamped his ring onto one last document, then shook his hand out in an exagerrated fashion, blowing on it with a grin. Needless to say, his disposition had much improved since Eowyn had agreed to become his wife.
"I need to ride down the Pelennor, and talk to the King about the ceremony tomorrow," he said, slipping a large sheaf of documents into a pair of saddlebags. "What are the two of you going to do?"
Lorend and I looked back at him, and grinned. We were both clad in Ranger brown and green, and had our packs and bedrolls close to hand.
"Party!" we chorused as one. He smiled reminiscently, rang the bell, and when the servant came, gave some orders we couldn't hear.
"Well don't go empty handed! Look, Lorend's not going to want to walk all that way down, so why don't the two of you double on a horse down there, and I'll bring it back with mine?"
"Aren't you going to come and visit the men, my lord?," Lorend asked.
"I'll try, if the King doesn't keep me too late. I very much wish to see everyone again. Are you two going to spend the night down there?"
"Aye, my lord," I said, "And march with the Rangers in the morning."
"You know, my lord," said Lorend boldly, "if you find yourself out of a job tomorrow, you could come back to us again."
He chuckled. "It could very well come to that! I wonder how Eomer would feel about his sister being wedded to a common Ranger."
"Never a common Ranger, sir!" I protested, and he gave me a smile. The three of us left the office, and headed for the courier stables.
There, as we were saddling the horses, a servant came bearing four bottles of wine, and a very old bottle of brandy. Faramir indicated that we should take them.
"The wine is for your contribution to the party. The brandy's for Damrod, if I don't get down there tonight. I owe him a bottle."
I remembered the bottle he referred to--it had been fairly ghastly stuff, and he'd downed it to escape the pain of a spear wound. I looked at the old and cobwebby bottle he'd given me.
"I think this is a little more than an even trade, sir."
He grinned. "Consider it with interest added," he said, and swung up onto his horse. Lorend placed the wine bottles carefully into a pair of saddlebags, mounted, and slung them across his lap. Then he offered me the near side stirrup, and a hand, and I swung up behind him, holding our packs and the brandy bottle. Our horse was not enthralled with this arrangement, but we made him move out anyway. The moon was rising as we rode forth, and Faramir was whistling as he went.
We rode with Faramir as far as the Royal Encampment, which was on the edge of the greater encampment closest to the City. There, Lorend and I slid off of the horse, and transferred the wine bottles to our packs, then slung the packs on our backs. Faramir threw the two sets of reins to an esquire in the livery of the City, and bade us farwell.
"Unless, of course, you'd like to plead your cause to the King, Heth?" he inquired teasingly.
"I think if I troubled the King with such a small matter the night before his crowning, I'd only guarantee he'd never appoint me Captain," I snorted. After weeks as a bureaucratic assistant, I had a far better idea now of what was truly important, and what could await a great man's less busy moments.
"There is that!" he conceeded. "Please give my thanks and regards to the men. I'll come later, if it is at all possible. If not, then perhaps we can all meet a couple of days hence, when things have settled down somewhat." We gave him a good night, then set off on foot, under the moon.
The night was clear, and cool, and the air about us heavy with the scent of campfires and cooking, as we moved through the rows of tents. Off to one side of the Royal encampment, I could see a campfire around which clustered a number of men in grey cloaks, with star brooches on their shoulders. I paused for a moment, and one of them looked up quickly from the fire, probably marking the movement of my pale hair under the moon.
"What's the matter?" asked Lorend.
"Those men over there, they're Rangers from the North--you know, the Grey Company. I just wondered if any of them knew my father."
"Why don't we go over and ask?" I shook my head.
"Because I'm not sure I want to know why he left the North. At least not tonight. Let's just keep it happy for now. I can always try to find one later, before they return home."
"Whatever you say, Captain." We stopped a couple of times in our progress to ask directions, and ended up going downhill quite a ways towards the river. Eventually we came to a campsite where brown and green clad men moved to and fro. I hung back, rather inexplicably shy for a moment, but Lorend slid my wine bottles out of my pack before I could stop him and strode forward into the middle of the camp with one in each hand, bellowing, "I am here! The party can begin now! Did any one think to bring any girls down here?" He was immediately surrounded by an exclaiming, jesting, back-slapping throng.
I watched for a moment with a rather silly grin on my face, then jumped as someone bellowed behind me.
"HETH!" I turned to see Mablung returning with a couple of Rangers pulling a small wheeled cart upon which rested a rather large keg. I was immediately engulfed in a firm but careful hug.
"How're the ribs, lass? And the shoulder?"
"Much better now, Mablung. How is your arm?"
"Doesn't bother me a--wait a moment, how did you know about my arm?" He held me out at arms' length.
"The Eagle that Mithrandir sent to the City talked to me, and I asked how some people were--Prince Imrahil, and King Eomer, and you, and the halfling Pippin. And he said that you'd been shot in the arm near the end of the battle, and that you were annoyed that you couldn't shoot any more." I dashed some rather unexpected and annoying tears from my eyes. "He also said your language got much more interesting after that."
"Right talkative for a bird, wasn't he?" He gave me a sidelong look. "You been talking to any other animals since your hair turned that funny color, Heth? Horses, perhaps?"
I laughed, and shook my head. "No, Mablung. And I'm not crazy, either. Fifty people must have seen me do it. Apparently, that's what my family does--they're friends with the great Eagles."
"Well, we live in strange times, there's no mistaking that! So I guess a girl who talks to Eagles isn't any stranger than some of the things that have happened!" He draped an arm about my shoulders, and led me into the ring of firelight. My fellow Rangers surrounded me with exclamations of delight, as they had Lorend, though Mablung was quick to warn them of my ribs. The two of us were given seats of honor at the campfire, mugs of ale were pressed into our hands, and we were encouraged to help ourselves to the choicest gobbets from the pig roasting upon the fire. I speared a piece of meat onto my dagger point, drank a great draught of ale and huddled down into my cloak, staring up at the moon with a happy grin. I was home.
As the evening wore on, and the keg emptied, many tales of valor floated about the campfire. Lorend, who'd been taken out of the action even earlier than I, contributed a tale of his valor in evading the family of tailors whose two daughters he'd been seeing simultaneously but at different times. Several other tales of romantic exploits followed, but they were interspersed with accounts of the ambush the Rangers had thwarted on the way to the Black Gate, and the battle there itself. I found out that evening that little Pippin had actually slain the great troll that had fallen upon him, thereby saving Beregond of the Tower Guard. Once again, I marveled at the tenacity and courage of the Halflings.
Several of the Rangers wanted me to tell the tale of how I'd stood over Faramir on the Pelennor Field, but I refused to recount it. I had spoken of it to Eowyn, but that was because she shared a unique perspective with me that no man could. And I really had no talent for the telling. Still, they were persistant, reminding me that I'd promised to tell them when I'd returned from the Pelennor, and events had fallen out that had prevented it.
"Actually, Mablung promised you," I said, beginning to feel a bit nettled. "If you want to hear it so badly, let him tell you." Mablung was sputtering protests, when a dulcet voice interjected itself into the argument.
"I know the tale in full, and will tell it, in return for some of that very good wine I see being passed about here." Heads swiveled as two figures stepped into the firelight. One was Faramir, who was immediately engulfed with a roar by his ecstatic men. The other was Elhrohir son of Elrond, who stood limned in the moonlight and firelight in sable and silver perfection, a bow at his back and a cup in his hand, which he was proferring forth to the Rangers with a pleading look.
"A drink, please?" he asked plaintively. I hunkered down deeper into my cloak, refusing to acknowledge him, but Mablung, the traitor, seeing a chance to wiggle off the hook, jumped up and appropriated one of the bottles from another Ranger, and filled his goblet, despite a warning glare from me.
"There you are, my lord!" he said heartily, careful not to look at me. Elrohir accepted with a gracious nod of thanks, and a grinning glance in my direction that said he knew exactly how embarassed I already was and was anticipating being in the near future. After a moment, Mablung sidled hesitantly over to me.
"You do have to sleep sometime tonight, you know that, don't you?" I hissed at him. He tried to appease me.
"Come on Heth, I want to hear how he tells it. They say Elves are the very best at these things. You should be pleased, having your story told by an Elf."
"I don't want my story told at all! I didn't exactly cover myself with glory. I cried the whole time, for Valar's sake," I whispered at him indignantly. "And where does he get off saying he knows all about it--he was nowhere near at the time!"
"Maybe his Lordship told him?"
"His Lordship was unconscious for most of it! What does he know?"
Elrohir moved towards the campfire, sipping his wine thoughtfully, and waiting for the hubbub over Faramir's return to die down. Eventually, the human wave of Rangers subsided, leaving Faramir washed up on the other side of the campfire, slightly tousled, but smiling, and with a tankard in his hand. People refreshed their drinks and resumed their seats, waiting expectantly, yet Elrohir did nothing for many long moments even after full silence fell. He simply stood there, as if oblivious to the fact that every eye was upon him, stroking the rim of his goblet pensively with a slender finger.
Finally, one of the bolder souls called out "The story, Lord Elrohir! Or must we fuel you with more wine?" He started as if just coming to himself, and smiled.
"Perhaps, in a bit, but this will suffice for now. I apologize, I was merely collecting my thoughts. Well, here now begins the tale of Hethlin Blackbow and the Champion of Harad!"
And there was a roar of approval, and he began the story. I will say he had all his facts straight, but the tale he told had little in common with the reality I had experienced. The crying was not mentioned, and I came off as far cleverer and braver in his tale than I felt I'd been in real life--it was almost as if he were speaking of someone else, which was about the only thing that made the experience bearable. As it was, I was absolutely crimson by the time he was finished, and if I could have dug a hole beneath me and buried myself on the spot, I would have.
After an eternity, his tale ended with much applause, and a toast to me. I covered my face with my hands, and just sat there, shaking my head. More wine was proferred, and another tale requested, his first offering being so well recieved. He appeared to consider for several long moments before he acquiesced.
"I know another tale of Hethlin, that none of you here know, save perhaps the Steward. Are you not curious how she came by those snowy locks? I know the truth of it, if anyone would hear the tale." There was some interested murmuring, but the blood in my veins immediately turned to ice, and my stomach gave a sickening lurch. Faramir's head snapped up. He looked over at me in concern, and his grey eyes frosted.
"I think, my lord Elrohir, that that is not a tale for a happy time."
Elrohir bowed, a slightly ironic acknowledgement. "As you wish, my lord Steward--I have others." And he launched into a retelling of a somewhat comic encounter that had befallen the Grey Company on their ride south, which had the men laughing uproariously in no time, and gave me a chance to collect myself. Mablung pressed a tankard of beer upon me, and I drank it down gratefully, and rather too quickly.
Eventually, Elrohir finished his tale, to much applause. He shoved his cup into his belt, forestalled demands for more stories with an upraised hand, and strolled over to where I sat, his eyes gleaming mischief.
"I fear I must return to the royal encampment," he announced to the crowd at large. "Lady Snowsteel, will you walk with me a while?" A chorus of whistles and calls broke out, only a little subdued when Faramir shot a warning look around the campfire. Elrohir extended a hand to me, and when I took it, pulled me to my feet, and it to his lips, in one smooth motion. He was far, far stronger than he looked, but his lips were soft and warm. More whistles ensued, he slid an arm about my waist with easy familiarity, and we strolled out of the camp. I caught a glimpse of Faramir, his eyebrows almost to his hairline in surprise.
"What do you think you are doing?" I hissed at Elrohir after we'd passed into the next row of tents.
"Making mischief, what else?" he responded easily. "It is a tendency I fear near three thousand years of existence have yet to cure me of. Besides, I find such stubborn obtuseness as the Steward of Gondor demonstrates....annoying. Foolish man--to forego mithril for mere gold." I blushed yet again, though it was a wonder my cheeks still could, with the exercise they'd had that evening. Yet somehow I knew, despite his words and actions, that he was not in love with me, or anywhere near, though I did not know exactly how I was so sure of this.
*T'was not bodies we touched with, there in the Grey Lands, Snowsteel,* came his voice inside my head. I jumped. *Such closeness of souls can have a lasting effect. It is no wonder that you can sense somewhat of me, while we are touching thusly.*
"Do you often speak so to people?" I asked aloud. "And can I speak like that to you?"
*Among our folk, we do so on occaision, when all present have the skill. It saves time and misunderstanding. To mortals, as a rule, no. It is only because of our..... connection that I am able to bespeak you. As to whether you could bespeak me--I do not know. I think you would need to be physically touching me. And at such a range, your sweet lips would serve just as well.*
"I wish you wouldn't do that. Refer to me like I'm some beautiful damsel."
He chuckled, and tightened his arm about my waist. "But you forget, Snowsteel, that we of the Elder Kindred see into two worlds at once, both body and soul. And you have a very beautiful soul."
We had passed through the tents, and were going downhill towards the Rammas and the River. I pulled him to a halt.
"I thought you said you were going to the royal encampment."
"I am. Eventually. Time has little meaning to an elf, remember." He grinned at me. "I thought to spend some time with you first, to see how you fared. And I have a couple of gifts for you."
"Gifts? You gave me my life back. Why need you give me anything else?" He released my waist, and turned to face me, taking my hands in his. I realized we were some distance away from the last line of tents, alone in the moonlight with the wind on the grass.
"Call it an impulse, a whim if you like. You intrigue and interest me, and at my age that doesn't often happen. But I will help you if I can." He removed his bow, and drew me down beside him to sit upon the grass.
"Help me? Help me with what?"
"My father is a healer of both minds and bodies. I know more of the latter than the former, by virtue of my profession as a warrior. But I do have some knowledge of the healing of minds, and I know that you are fearful of...intimacy, because of your experiences with the orcs. There is no shame in this, Snowsteel. My own mother had much the same happen to her, and she took ship at the Havens, and left Middle-Earth. Elves feel such violations very profoundly, and often never recover. I'm not saying Men do not, I'm merely saying that they are more resilient."
"I should hate to see you live your life alone because of this. I am not my father, and we do not have the time it would take to effect a complete cure. But I can do this much--lessen your fear to the point that you may be able to overcome this yourself, with patience and time, and the right partner."
"What would you have to do to do this, my lord?" I didn't exactly slide away from him, but I was leaning away somewhat, and he chuckled.
"If you mean, would I have to take you right here and now in the grass, Snowsteel, the answer is no."
"Oh." I looked at him, and blushed, more than a little embarrassed, but his eyes were kind for once, with no mockery in them.
"You would sleep for a little, no more than that. And I won't do anything without your consent."
"Do you think I should do this?"
"Yes. If I felt that you would be able to overcome this trauma without my help, I would not have offered." He smiled dryly. "We elves seldom offer advice or aid, unless hard pressed, or in direst necessity."
"I know the sayings." I looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "All right. What must I do?"
"Absolutely nothing." And he lifted his hand, and touched two fingers to my forehead, and all went dark.
Something was tickling my nose. I twitched it, trying to get rid of the irritation, but it persisted. Finally, I reached up and batted at it, and heard a melodious chuckle. I opened my eyes, and found myself staring up into the night sky. The moon was high overhead. I turned my head to the right and saw Elrohir lying beside me, propped on one elbow, and twirling a grass stem in his hand.
"I was beginning to think you misliked my company, Snowsteel, so eager were you to sleep!"
"I've been working hard these last few days. There's been a lot to do to get ready for the King's crowning." I rubbed my face, and looked down at myself surreptitiously, but Elrohir noticed, and grinned.
"No, Snowsteel, I haven't ravished you while you were at your well-earned rest."
"I'm sorry, my lord Elrohir. I have no reason to think you are not a ...person of your word."
"It's quite all right. A not unexpected development, when one is an acknowledged creature of impulse." He tapped my nose with the grass-stem once more. I pushed myself up on my elbows.
"Did it work?"
"It was more...tiring than I had expected. The trauma was more extensive than I'd originally thought. Did it work? Let's find out." Before I realized what he was up to, he'd rolled towards me, slid an arm behind my shoulders, laid me back, and pressed his lips to mine.
My first reaction was panic, and I shoved against his shoulders. But he was stronger than I, and after a couple of bad moments, I realized that I wasn't hearing orcish voices, or remembering orcish hands upon me, that all I was feeling was Elrohir, and he actually felt rather nice. His lips were soft, and gently insistent, his hair fell around me like shimmering black water, and it was hard to tell where his eyes ended and the starry night sky began. Even the warm weight of his chest against mine did not frighten me, when to be constrained in such a way before would have sent me into a screaming fit.
The kiss went on and on, and after a time I began to relax, and then to enjoy it. My hand slid up into Elrohir's hair, which was softer than Faramir's. It was softer than anything I'd ever felt. People usually use silk as a comparison, but I'd never felt silk, so I didn't know if that was soft enough. The only things I could think of to compare it to were a warm breeze on your face, or cool water on bow-burned fingers.
Just as I was beginning to enjoy myself, he broke off, and rolled over onto his back.
"I think I'd count that as a success, yes," he declared.
I was filled with so many emotions at once that I did not know how to react. Chagrin, embarassment, relief, dissappointment, annoyance--I finally decided civility was my best defence.
"I thank you, Lord Elrohir, for all your care on my behalf." He turned his head, and lifted a delicately arched brow.
"It is care indeed, Snowsteel, whether you see it so or not. T'would not be a kindness to either of us to take it further."
"I don't understand you. First the story, and now this. You are truly the most contrary person!" He smiled.
"Why, thank you!" Then he assumed a hurt expression. "What was wrong with the story? Did you not like it? I assure you, it was told in accordance with the greatest traditions of Elven storytelling."
I sat up. "But it wasn't like that at all! You made it seem like I was this great hero!"
He laughed, and sat up as well. "Snowsteel, why is it that you think, just because a story is about you, that it is any more inaccurate than any other story about anybody else? Why should you assume that they were perfect heroes, when you know you were not?"
I thought about that for a long moment. "You mean, they were like me? Scared to death most of the time?"
"What is the definition of courage, if not the ability to persevere in the face of mind-numbing fear?"
"Oh. OH." He nodded, pleased with my comprehension. "Now you see it." Indeed I did. What he was telling me was that all heroes were courageous, so that by definition, all heroes were scared; so the fact that I'd been scared did not mean I wasn't a hero too. I decided to think upon this some more at a later date.
"While we're on the subject of stories," I asked him, "What did you do to the Eagle?"
"What Eagle?"
"The Windlord that brought the news to Minas Tirith. He didn't seem to like you much."
"Gwaihir? Oh, that wasn't me. That was Elladan." I looked at him skeptically, and he suddenly got defensive. "Valar, why is it everyone always assumes I am the one to blame?"
"So what did Elladan do to the Eagle? Gwaihir, did you say his name was?" Elrohir sighed.
"I should like nothing better than to tell you that tale as well, Snowsteel, so that you might better appreciate the perfidiousness of the world's quiet people, but I may not."
"Why ever not?"
"Because it is a tale my brother wishes very much not to be told, and if I tell it to you, then he will tell you four or five tales I very much wish not to be told."
"Hmmmmmm." I looked at him severely. "Four or five tales to one? Does this not suggest to you, my lord, why people look to you first when evidence of mischief rears its head? And did you not admit to me earlier that you indulged in such things?"
He smiled, grasped the bow, and got to his feet, offering me a hand. "I can see that it is past time for me to return to the bosom of my blackmailing family." I let him pull me to my feet once more, but this time, that was all he did.
"I do thank you, truly, for all your help, Lord Elrohir," I said sincerely. He nodded.
"And now I'm going to thank you for the help you gave me, Snowsteel."
I was puzzled. "I've never done anything for you, my lord."
"In the Grey Lands. When I came after you, and you helped me back to my brother. He was right--I'd gone too far, and overextended myself. Needless to say, this is yet another tale I do not wish told."
"But you would not have been in any danger had you not been trying to save my life! I know you gave me strength, I felt it! There is no debt between us, my lord."
"I am the older of us by far, Dunedan, and I am a son of Elrond. If I say you saved an old fool from his folly that day, then it is your duty to accept that it is so, and accept this as well." He handed the bow to me. "It's even black." It was, some smooth, satiny dark wood, and inlaid with graceful silver scrolling. I ran my hand along the limbs reverently, and examined the string. "I think you will be strong enough to draw it when you are well again, though it may take you time to accustom yourself."
"But this is yours, is it not, my lord? What will you use to shoot with?"
"Oh, there is the odd spare bow among the Grey Company. After Estel is crowned, Elladan and I will be returning to Lorien, and then to Rivendell. I shall get me another in Lorien, I think. Grandmother will provide. So you see, it is but a small matter for me--but I thought you would like it."
"Oh! Like is not the word, my lord! I love it!"
"Well, if you must love something, Snowsteel, a bow is safer than a Man! And far, far safer than an Elf!" He gave me one of his reckless smiles, and I bowed respectfully.
"If you come North, Snowsteel, perhaps we shall ride together one day. I would enjoy showing you the North. And if we don't take Elladan, we can even visit the Eagles!"
He departed, almost magically it seemed. Things seemed a little drearier after he had gone. I started the hike back up hill to the Ranger camp.
Elrohir's cure had apparently taken considerable time, for when I got back, most of the Rangers had sought their bedrolls. Only Mablung was still seated by the fire.
"You all right, Heth? What's that you have there?"
"Lord Elrohir gave me his bow." I sat down beside him, and gave it to him. He turned it over and over, smoothing his hands over it, and finally gave a low whistle.
"This is a sweet bow, and no mistake." He gave me a worried look. "He didn't make you sleep with him for it, did he? I don't care if he's the king's foster brother, or a son of Elrond, or a son of the Valar himself--if he made you do something you didn't want to do, Heth, I'll deal with him."
"I can take care of myself, Mablung, thank you very much! No, he didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do." I didn't know whether to be touched or annoyed at his overprotectiveness.
"You've got grass stuck all over the back of your head, Heth."
"We were just lying out in the grass, looking at the moon, and talking. That's all."
"Hmmmmm, whatever you say." He looked at the bow again. "Come to think of it, I wouldn't blame you if you did sleep with him for it. I might've slept with him for it."
I was not entirely sure what was involved when two men slept with each other, but thinking of Mablung and Elrohir in any sort of juxtaposition made me laugh.
"Go to bed, Mablung! That's where I'm going, if you show me where you stowed my stuff." He got to his feet, and showed me over to a small tent.
"We were using this for supplies, but I cleaned it out for you."
"Thanks, Mablung."
"The Captain told us about his betrothal this evening, Heth. Apparently the brother gave his permission tonight. You all right about that?"
"I'm all right! Get some sleep! We're up early this morning!"
"Good night, Heth."
"Good morning, Mablung."
And I went into my tent, and rolled into my bedroll, and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep with no further trouble. I was strangely refreshed for the little rest I'd had when we assembled the next morning, and the black Elvish bow was slung on my shoulder when we surrounded the Gate and watched as Aragorn took his crown. The Rangers did not have a good vantage point, and all I saw of the King was the back of his head, but at least I could say that this was one pivotal event of the Age I'd actually been awake for! We learned that Faramir was indeed, going to keep his job, and I bade my friends good-bye so that I might report for mine, for I'd promised Lord Hurin I'd do a watch in the City once the crowning was over. I told them I'd return in the evening and then I set off to work under the shadow of a Citadel where flew the banner of the Tree and Stars for the first time in a thousand years. Everyone in the City was joyful and singing, for it seemed that the future held all sorts of glorious prospects, and I could not help but wonder what it held for me.