Author's Note--Many thanks to Dwimordene for letting me use her Dunedain burial customs, and for much pushing and shoving!
So it was I returned to the lands of my birth riding an immortal's horse and in the company of a fellow straight out of fable. Nimfaun and Alagos, Elrohir's horse, were swift and tireless indeed. We sped up the road for a way, then turned due south, for my homestead had lain roughly halfway between the beacon hills Erelas and Nardol, at the very foot of the White Mountains, and by the time the sun had fallen but two hours from noon, we were riding up a trail I remembered well. It had become somewhat overgrown in the last four years, and I did not see any sign that anyone had visited or settled nearby. We rode with our bows strung and our eyes watchful, for though this land lay within the bounds of Gondor, long had it been since any from the Tower of Guard could be spared to patrol it, and it lay too far from the border of Rohan to derive any benefit from the patrols of the Horse Lords.
Though the day was a warm one, I felt cold, and there was an ache in the pit of my stomach that grew as we drew closer to my home. Elrohir and I had said little to nothing during the journey, though he would look at me from time to time as if assessing my state of mind. Now, though he was still silent, I felt a bit of sympathy and calm through the link.
"We're close now," I told him, and he nodded his understanding. We cantered up a somewhat steep hill and rounded a sharp curve in which some tall fir trees grew, and there it was.
Here at the foot of the mountains, stone there was in plenty to build with, and my father had used it to construct both the house and the barn. So they still stood, though their stones were soot-stained and their roofs had been utterly consumed by the fires. The house was smaller than I remembered. Nimfaun halted, and I slid off of him, and walked forward, knowing that he would not stray. I stopped at the doorstep, and laid my hand upon the jamb, but did not go in. There was nothing of interest within--all was burned timber and stone.
"Snowsteel, is there water for the horses somewhere near?" Elrohir asked quietly.
"Aye, there's a brook over there to your right, Lord Elrohir. If you listen, you can hear it." He listened for a moment, then nodded, and set off in the right direction, the horses following him. I began to search the area immediately surrounding the house for the grave, but found nothing, and began to be concerned. Then I heard Elrohir calling from the meadow by the brook.
"Snowsteel! Over here!" I followed his voice and saw him standing by a copse of fir trees in the middle of the sun-drenched meadow. It had been one of my favorite play-places as a child, palace and fortress and forest in one. Now it was a graveyard. In the clearing in the center of the dark trunks was a large, but neatly piled cairn. Afternoon light and shadow dappled it, and the breeze murmured through the branches. Slowly, I moved into the clearing, and knelt by the cairn.
"The Rangers did well. This is where I would have put them, I think." Elrohir nodded.
"It is a beautiful place," he agreed in his lilting voice. "Keep your bow to hand--I'll be close by." I nodded, and he departed, to care for the horses, I assumed.
I sat by the cairn for what was left of the rest of the afternoon, talking to my family of what had passed over the last four years as if they were actually there and breaking into tears intermittently. I missed them all terribly, but probably the greatest grief was that my little brother and sister had died so horribly at such an early age. Father had been a Ranger, and understood about the possibility of violent death, as had Mother, who had been raised among Rangers. But Hiranthel and Derulin had known nothing of darkness or torment or death, till they came to experience it firsthand. So I wept for them, and every other child slain untimely in the war, and every person of peaceful intent who had perished because they could not defend themselves, and over the course of that afternoon I came to understand something.
Despite what I had told Faramir in the Houses of Healing, I was never going to be a horse-breeder, or a farmer. I had started learning the sword to please my father, and because I proved apt to it, then kept it in hand for vengeance's sake, always intending to lay it aside when the war was over. But even had the King not wished me to guard his Queen, the blood of near forty generations of Rangers flowed in my veins, and the instinct to protect and defend the helpless was well-nigh irresistible. And now that the King had come again, there was much work to be done within his kingdom and beyond it, to establish his rule and his law and enable people to go about the business of peaceful living once more. Faramir had laid down his sword to serve the King, but I, I would serve him best if I kept hold of mine and my bow.
Sunset came early this side of the mountains, and the shadows were long when Elrohir returned to me, bearing a bundle wrapped in cloth.
"What is that?" I asked, and he unrolled the cloth, which turned out to be one of his tunics, and contained various young plants all tangled together.
"I have been busy this afternoon, and with your permission, will make a contribution to this place. But before I do, here." And he threw me a cloth that had been moistened in brook water.
"Wash your face--you look a fright."
"Thank you ever so much! I always look a fright compared to you. Everybody does."
He looked at me and smiled as sweet a smile as I'd ever seen on his face. Rather bemused, I watched as he drew his dagger, and with that inappropriate tool, began to plant his gleanings, moving around all sides of the cairn, and whispering in Elvish as he did so, until they were all set into the earth.
"Won't they just die, with no one here to care for them?" I asked him when he'd finished, and come back to kneel beside me.
"While true it is that I am very good at little but the killing of orcs, I do possess a few small gifts," he declared, dusting his hands of dirt ostentatiously. "Grandmother could have this place blooming riotously in five minutes, but I can at least give these a strong start. They will flourish in time, and they are of divers sorts, so there should be something blooming here most any time but winter." I stared at him, astonished at his thoughtfulness, and he gave me an ironic look.
"Don't get too used to this. I'm sure before the evening's out, I'll have done something to infuriate you again."
"Do all your prophecies have to come true?" I asked curiously, dabbing at my face with the cloth gratefully, for it was rather red and hot from all the weeping. "I like you much better when you're being nice."
"Snowsteel, if you would ride with me, you must take me as the sum of all my parts, not just"-- and here he held up his little finger-- "the nice one. But, as it turns out, in exercising my nice part this afternoon, I tickled a couple of trout out of that brook of yours. And night draws near. Do you wish to set up camp here, or somewhere else?"
I considered for a moment. "I don't much wish to camp right here. I had a favorite spot about a mile up that spur of the mountain, if you don't mind traveling a bit more. You'd probably like it. We just follow the course of the brook a way." He nodded, and got to his feet, then pulled me up. We went and resaddled the horses, and he retrieved the trout from where he'd strung them in a pool with a spare bowstring. Then we set off up the mountain path in the gathering dark.
My favorite spot was a small waterfall that cascaded into a pool, which then poured out as the brook. There was a grassy sward beside it, and it was overhung with trees of various sorts. Elrohir was very pleased indeed.
"We will eat first, then bathe later! Wonderful, Snowsteel!" And he set off to find firewood while I dressed the trout. Before long, we had a small but cheerful blaze going, and the fish were roasting on sticks. The horses had been unsaddled, and made their way unsupervised back down to the meadow to graze. He saw my concerned look and grinned.
"They will allow none to touch them, but will come back to us at need. Here--let's put a little of this on the fish." I looked over, and he was peeling some sort of strange, pebbly orange fruit with his fingers.
"What is that?"
"This is the food of the Valar!" It must have been, for he was staring at it worshipfully. "Actually, it's an orange. The Haradrim grow them on the coast in the few places where they have water. The Haradrim ambassador brought some to Estel."
The strange fruit separated rather cleverly into sections, and he took two and squeezed one over each trout. The smell was very interesting as drops of the juice sizzled into the fire. Then he took another section, and popped it into my mouth. I bit down, and found the fruit to be very juicy and thirst-quenching, slightly tart and sweet at once. Elrohir was eating a section of his own with an expression of enraptured bliss, and when he finished, he sighed and said, "If they don't have these in Valinor, I'm not going." The sections had seeds, and I noticed he kept his carefully, and picked mine up from where I'd spat them on the ground.
"I'm going to take these to Grandmother, and see if she or Grandfather can grow me some." I looked at him quizzically.
"You mean, as long as your people have been here, they've never had these things?"
He shook his head. "They don't grow up North. Too cold. And what Elf in his right mind would go to Harad? But Grandmother exercises a great deal of control over Lothlorien--she might be able to make a small spot where some would grow." I raised my eyebrows at that. Elrohir sighed. "Then again, she might just tell me she had better things to waste her time on. And she won't be here much longer, in any event." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I wonder......South Ithilien, perhaps? The Prince of Ithilien can be as obtuse as he likes, if he'll grow me some oranges! I'll do anything for him or to him that he wants."
"ELROHIR!" His grin blazed wickedly.
"Ha! Worried, are you? Fear not, Snowsteel, your precious Steward's virtue is safe from me."
"He is NOT my precious Steward." Elrohir set the other half of the orange carefully aside on a flat rock.
"We'll have that for dessert. And of course he's your precious Steward. Just because you don't have him doesn't mean you don't covet him." I started setting out the bread and other supper items we'd carried with us, putting them down a bit roughly. That hadn't taken long at all. Infuriating Elf.
"Fine. I covet him. I'll get over it in time. I don't see what business it is of yours, anyway. You know now that he wasn't leading me along, that he really didn't know I loved him--and you certainly took care of that little problem, didn't you?"
"Indeed I did--and I see that it will be a long time before I'm forgiven for that particular transgression! I am curious, though--intend you to take the King of Rohan up on his not- so-subtle offer? Or do you intend to sit back and let the little cygnet from Dol Amroth have him?"
"What possible concern is that of yours?" He pulled out the wineskin, and the cups, and poured us some.
"Just that you seem to be missing out on a golden opportunity. You have been cursing your childlessness all along, and rightly so, because it did cost you the man you love. And I will do all that I can to convince Father or Grandmother, or both of them, to mend that for you. But in this one small space of time, it is a boon, Snowsteel. You can claim a man's freedom to do what he will without worrying about the consequences. You can let the King of Rohan ride you like a wild filly, or brighten Imrahil's declining years." That last part was decidedly acid. I pulled one of the fish sticks off the fire, and slapped it into his hand. As he closed his fingers around it, I grasped the little one, and rubbed it fiercely.
"The Nice Elrohir can come back any time now!" He laughed, and I picked up my own fish, and started to eat. It was very, very good. After I'd had a couple of bites, I leaned back on one arm and looked at him.
"Actually, there is no golden opportunity, my lord Prince. You seem to have the idea that I am seeking a bedmate desperately, and that is not the case. I was raped by orcs, and the only man I've ever felt physical passion for does not return my feelings. Also,my father and mother did not bring me up to be a slattern. I like King Eomer well enough, but not so well I desire to sleep with him. And Prince Imrahil is my sworn lord, so there may be naught between us, not that he's ever given me any indication he was so inclined. And even if I wished to be with either man, or, in fact, any man, there's the matter of you." Elrohir blinked.
"Me?"
"Aye, you. Prince Imrahil is quite right--you are determined that none shall 'taste' of me until you've decided if you want to do anything." The elf-lord frowned.
"It would be refreshing if just for once you would be asleep when you were supposed to be, Snowsteel."
"Nay, what would be refreshing, Prince Elrohir, is if you would stop speaking of me within earshot, then acting as if it were my fault when I overhear and embarrass you!" I snapped back. He blinked a couple of more times, and I continued.
"I dare not be with any man while you are here in Gondor, for you seem to be unable to resist meddling in my affairs. You got along well enough with Prince Imrahil before I swore fealty to him, and now you seek to bait him at every opportunity. Valar knows what you'd do to a man I actually fancied! So until you return to the North, I dare not seek the company of another. And when you do go, I hopefully will no longer be barren, and thus will need to be as careful of such things as any other woman. So--no golden opportunity." Elrohir chewed his fish in silence for some moments, his face grave and uncharacteristically troubled. I took the opportunity to eat more of mine, then plowed on once more.
"It is almost as if you were jealous, though I don't feel that from you. I don't feel that you're in love with me either--although I suppose that old and clever as you are, you could hide something from me that you didn't want me to know. All I do know is that Faramir might have been the mule between the mangers, but you're the dog sitting square in the middle of one, having no use yourself for what's in it, but not wanting anyone else to have it either. And I'm tired of it." That won me a warning look, but I ignored it.
"You claim to have put the piece back in the game, and you've complained about how everyone else is playing, but you've not had the nerve to enter the game yourself. If you want to be my friend, fine. If you want to be my lover--we'll talk about it. But either way, I need to be in the relationship too. It can't all be you giving me things, and running my life because you feel you have the right to do so because you've given me things. You have to let me give you things too." Hesitantly, I reached across the space between us, and touched his cheek with my hand. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes wide and dark in the firelight, then sighed, and closed them, and leaned into my hand a little. I could feel the feather of his lashes against my thumb.
"You know," I said softly, my hand cupping his cheek, "we have a saying in the Ithilien Rangers--'Are you going to shoot that bow, or just scratch your arse with it?'"
Elrohir's head shot up, and he stared at me for a moment. Manic hilarity flared in his eyes, and he started laughing, pausing finally to take a long draught of wine.
"Very well, Snowsteel, since it's well past time I asked--what do you wish of me?"
"I don't want you to be in love with me," I replied swiftly. His eyebrow arched up.
"Might I ask why?"
"Because you're the son of Elrond, and I've talked to the King about your sister, and I don't want that to happen to you." The pain that suddenly flared unexpectedly through the link near drove the breath from me. "Oh, Elrohir, I'm sorry!" He shook his head in short, sharp jerks.
"No, there should be honesty between us, at least. And I appreciate your care for me, and for my father. For this will grieve him greatly in the end." He laid the fish aside and picked up a piece of bread. His long, slender fingers began rolling tiny pieces of it into pills, and dropping them on the grass.
"I love Estel dearly. I helped to raise him, taught him to shoot and swing a sword. I've ridden with him into battle all the years of his life--and yet there are times when I could cheerfully kill him for what he's done to Father and our family." He looked at me, and his eyes were bright with something other than stars for once. "Arwen is happy, I keep telling myself. This is what she wants. But truly, I feel as if I'm taking her to her execution rather than her wedding." I stared at him, shocked.
"I had no idea. You hide it very well." He laughed, softly and bitterly.
"Well, I must, mustn't I? I have no wish to make her miserable. Elladan and I are being very careful not to let her know how we feel. Though she may discern it anyway--Arwen is no fool." He sighed deeply. "But we will pretend to be happy about this, and she will pretend to not notice we're pretending, and Father will pretend to be above it all. And maybe between us, we'll fool Estel, at the least." I looked at him with eyebrows raised at that idea, and he nodded agreement. "Aye, you're right--Estel will know what is going on as well. A silly dance, all in all, but we'll tread the measures nonetheless." He looked down at the remains of the bread in his hand. "I am sorry, Snowsteel--were you wanting some of this?"
"Not now," I replied dryly, and he gave me a small smile.
"There's more in the saddlebag, should you wish it. As to other matters-- I promise you now that I will not fall in love with you, and give up my immortality. Does that make you feel better?"
"It's very reassuring."
"So where does that leave us?" He was coming back to himself a bit, a challenging light in his eyes.
"Friends, at the very least," I replied without hesitation.
"Truly? You would befriend the mangy cur, after all he's done to you?" Smiling at the absurdity of his description of himself, I took his hand, noting in passing that it was a shade more slender than my own.
"Aye. For you've finally given me something that matters. You've shared a little bit of yourself with me." He looked down upon my hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"And would you have me for a lover, Snowsteel?"
I sucked in an unsteady breath. "I don't know. Do you even want to?" His thumb moved gently over my palm.
"I thought about it a time or two, but dismissed the idea as both unkind and unwise."
I snorted. "Because I'd fall madly in love with you, and pine away when I couldn't have you forever?" He grinned wryly.
"Something like that."
"You're not that pretty, Elrohir!" In answer, his large eyes suddenly seemed to become larger, and melting in the darkness. Rather like what I imagined an Elven puppy would look like, should the Elves have special dogs as well as horses.
"You have no idea how alluring I can be, when I put my mind to it," he murmured wickedly. I pulled my hand from his, and planted it on my hip.
"I know how ridiculous you can be! Stop that!" He smiled, and the melting-eyes business stopped. Thankfully.
"You still haven't answered my question, Snowsteel. Would you have me for your lover, or no?" I looked at the exquisite creature sitting next to me, and swallowed hard.
"I told you before, mother and father did not raise me to be a slattern."
"To lie with a friend for heart's-ease does not make you a slattern, Snowsteel," Elrohir chided me gently. "Any other objections?" I thought hard for a moment, then spoke.
"I think it would be too much like the orcs." Elrohir's eyebrows shot skyward.
"EXCUSE ME?" I gulped, and hastened to explain.
"Not in a bad way! I mean, it would undoubtedly be very wonderful, because you know exactly how I feel about things because of the soul-bond, and would know just.....what to do. It would probably be the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me in that way, and it wouldn't be any more....normal than what the orcs did. So I still wouldn't know how regular people did it, or what to expect." Elrohir's head tilted to one side, and he gave me a thoughtful look.
"I see. It would be as beautiful as what the orcs did was horrible, and you would seek something closer to the middle?" I nodded vehemently in return, and he smiled sweetly.
"Then I think we will take that as a 'no' for now, Snowsteel--and if I may say so, your objection is well-founded." I sighed, whether in relief or disappointment a bit difficult to say.
"Let us finish our dinner, now that that matter is settled," Elrohir suggested, and we did so, consuming the rest of the fish, and some unruined bread from the saddlebags, and the other half of the orange. I took only one section of that, since he was obviously so enamored of the fruit, and was commended for my selflessness. When we had finished, he put more wood on the fire, and I helped him clean up the area. He stretched, and moved to his saddlebags, and began removing items.
"I'm going to bathe. Would you care to join me?"
"No thank you," I replied politely.
"Are you sure? You said you wanted to give me things. I love having my back scrubbed."
"One of us should keep our clothes on and weapons to hand, don't you think?" He smiled, and gave me a mocking little bow.
"As you wish." And with no further ado, he walked over to the margin of the pool and began removing armor and clothing. I began laying out our blankets, politely trying to keep my eyes averted. An amused voice insinuated itself into my head.
*You need not tie yourself into knots, Snowsteel. Look if you like--Elves care not about such things.* After that, I did not look, nor did I try to avoid looking, and as a consequence did notice a thing or two out of the corner of my eye. Despite the fact that he obviously spent a great deal of time out in the weather, Elven skin apparently did not tan--there was no line of demarcation between Elrohir's head and hands and the rest of his body. And besides the lush growth on their heads, Elves did not seem to grow hair anywhere else upon their persons. Also, it looked as if Elrohir was broader in the shoulder and heavier boned than, say, Legolas. I wondered if this was true when comparing him to Elves in general, and if so, if it was because of his mortal blood.
Elrohir spent quite some time both lolling about in the pool and standing under the waterfall, singing songs to Elbereth and the stars in a voice I found quite melodious. But when I complimented him after he'd come back out and put his breeches on, he snorted.
"I sound like a frog compared to some of my kin, and others of my kind--though I can harp a little." He took his long black hair in his hands and wrung the water from it, then wrapped it with a large and strangely silky cloth. He pulled another from the saddlebag, and gave it to me. Folded up, it was quite a small square; unfolded, it was large enough to wrap around me. I looked at it in puzzlement.
"It's a towel," he explained. "Dry yourself with it, and then wring it dry. It will absorb more water than you expect, and folds very small. I left the soap down by the pool. The small jar is a special kind of soap for your hair." I thanked him, and started towards the pool, then hesitated.
"Elrohir?"
"Yes, Snowsteel?"
"I'd rather you didn't watch."
"I will make no intentional effort to do so--fair enough?"
"Fair enough." I made my way to the water's edge, swiftly divested myself of armor and clothes, and jumped into the pool, which caused me to shriek, and Elrohir to chuckle, for I'd forgotten that the water came down from the mountain top and was icy cold. Bracing was not the word, but I took the time despite my shivers to thoroughly soap myself with the Elven soap, which had no grit in it, and lathered wonderfully, as did the hair soap. Both smelled delightfully of fir trees and flowers. I then stood under the waterfall to rinse off, and got back to the bank as quickly as possible to dry off. The Elven towel was marvelous, and dried me very swiftly. Wrapping it around my hair, I put on clean breeches and a shirt and returned to the campfire to find Elrohir, still shirtless, rubbing his hair with his towel. I noticed that in the interim, he had rearranged the blankets into one large bedroll.
"Thank you for letting me use these," I told him. "Are Elven things always so much nicer than mortal ones?"
"Almost always," the elf-lord said with a smile, though he refrained from any commentary that compared Elven lovers to mortal ones. "Those can just go back in the saddlebags, if you don't mind. And while you're there, will you please fetch me my comb?" I did as he asked. The comb was wooden, and carved with little stars.
"So what does this do--take the tangles out by magic?" He cocked an eyebrow at me.
"That is merely a comb. One of the rare things which Men make as well as Elves. And a thing that Men can wield as well as Elves do." He dropped the towel from his hair, and pushed it back over his shoulders. "Would you mind very much?" At my surprised look, he said "Men have a saying that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Another similar saying might be that the way to an Elf's heart is through his scalp. We love having our hair played with."
Having refused him the back scrubbing, it seemed churlish to refuse this as well. So I spent the next half hour cautiously working the comb through his hair, being very careful of the one or two small tangles I found, for I feared he'd be tender-headed, his hair was so soft. As he had said he would, he enjoyed this process greatly, almost purring as I pulled the comb through the silky black strands, which as it dried, drifted and clung to my hands like cobwebs. Eventually, he pronounced himself satisfied, and returned the favor for me, which took nowhere near as long.
"To bed, Snowsteel," he said when he had finished. "For we've a long, fast ride ahead of us in the morning."
"I noticed the sleeping arrangements have been rearranged," I said, but I crawled under the blankets without protest, after first making sure my sword and bow were within arm's reach.
"I thought you might be cold. And you cuddle with the Steward readily enough, so...."
"Please, Elrohir, don't get started again. I find myself rather liking you right now, and I'd like to keep it that way." He said nothing, merely chuckled again, and slid his slender body under the blankets, coming to rest on his back, looking up at the stars through the tree branches. I was silent for a few minutes, then said softly "Thank you for bringing me here today, and for what you did with the flowers. That was lovely." There was no answer for some moments, as he continued to stare up at the stars, then his soft voice responded.
"You are welcome."
"What do Elves do with their dead?" I asked, genuinely curious. There was another long pause, then--
"It depends upon what sort of Elf it is. We're not all the same, you know, any more than Men are all of one kind or custom. Different Elves do different things. But we don't discuss them with Mortals. Have you ever seen, or heard of anyone who has seen an Elven graveyard?"
"No."
"Well, there you have it then."
"I'm sorry if the question offended, Elrohir."
"No offense taken. Wisdom cannot be achieved without questions."
There was another long silence while he stared upward at the sky before I asked "Elrohir, what do the Dunedain of the North do?"
And another long pause came before he sighed and softly said, "Snowsteel, I am trying to sleep here. If you don't mind."
"You weren't asleep--your eyes were open." Another sigh.
"That's how we do it."
"You sleep with your eyes open?"
"When we are not ill or injured, yes."
"That's strange. Don't they dry out?" Elrohir snorted, offended, and rolled up onto one elbow.
"No, they don't dry out! And it's no stranger than some of the things you mortals do--snoring, for instance!"
"Elves don't snore?"
"Of course not. We are the First-born, after all!" His lip curled in a superior sneer.
"Well, excuse me! But you still haven't answered my question--what do the Dunedain do? Is there something else I should do here before we leave?" Suddenly understanding my reason for the question, Elrohir's face softened.
"Compared to most of the Dunedain, Snowsteel, your family are barrowed like kings. By now, I would be very much surprised if there's a square mile in all of Eriador that doesn't have a Ranger buried on it somewhere. They lie scattered across the North, buried where they fell, with only the wind in the grass and the stars in the sky for company, most of them far from kin and loved ones. It is a sorrow that all your family died, Snowsteel, but at least they all rest together, and in that, they are far more fortunate than many of your kindred."
"The Northern Dunedain do not use mausoleums or tombs, as appears to be the custom here in the South. They have a burial ground in the Angle, and each of the houses has a House stone, with its name and the most notable of its members graven upon it. Each Ranger has a smaller stone with his name over his grave, and they also place smaller stones in memorial about the House stone for the Rangers that did not come home." He paused for a moment, his eyes looking distant, as if reviewing a memory. "Your House has a very great number of those small stones."
"I should have one made for this place then," I said, "and another for the plot in the North." He nodded.
"You will have then done all that you can do. I shall see to the stone in the North when I return there, if you wish it."
"Thank you, Elrohir. I would very much appreciate that." He nodded, and lay back again, eyes staring upward once more.
"At this point, I'd promise anything to cease the endless flow of questions, and allow me to rest!" I elbowed him in the ribs, and he grunted softly, but then a slender arm slid under me, and pulled me close so that my head rested on his shoulder. "Sleep, Snowsteel." And though he did not do that trick of his that would render me unconscious, sleep washed over me quite quickly, barely giving me time to pray to the Valar that I would not snore.
So it was I returned to the lands of my birth riding an immortal's horse and in the company of a fellow straight out of fable. Nimfaun and Alagos, Elrohir's horse, were swift and tireless indeed. We sped up the road for a way, then turned due south, for my homestead had lain roughly halfway between the beacon hills Erelas and Nardol, at the very foot of the White Mountains, and by the time the sun had fallen but two hours from noon, we were riding up a trail I remembered well. It had become somewhat overgrown in the last four years, and I did not see any sign that anyone had visited or settled nearby. We rode with our bows strung and our eyes watchful, for though this land lay within the bounds of Gondor, long had it been since any from the Tower of Guard could be spared to patrol it, and it lay too far from the border of Rohan to derive any benefit from the patrols of the Horse Lords.
Though the day was a warm one, I felt cold, and there was an ache in the pit of my stomach that grew as we drew closer to my home. Elrohir and I had said little to nothing during the journey, though he would look at me from time to time as if assessing my state of mind. Now, though he was still silent, I felt a bit of sympathy and calm through the link.
"We're close now," I told him, and he nodded his understanding. We cantered up a somewhat steep hill and rounded a sharp curve in which some tall fir trees grew, and there it was.
Here at the foot of the mountains, stone there was in plenty to build with, and my father had used it to construct both the house and the barn. So they still stood, though their stones were soot-stained and their roofs had been utterly consumed by the fires. The house was smaller than I remembered. Nimfaun halted, and I slid off of him, and walked forward, knowing that he would not stray. I stopped at the doorstep, and laid my hand upon the jamb, but did not go in. There was nothing of interest within--all was burned timber and stone.
"Snowsteel, is there water for the horses somewhere near?" Elrohir asked quietly.
"Aye, there's a brook over there to your right, Lord Elrohir. If you listen, you can hear it." He listened for a moment, then nodded, and set off in the right direction, the horses following him. I began to search the area immediately surrounding the house for the grave, but found nothing, and began to be concerned. Then I heard Elrohir calling from the meadow by the brook.
"Snowsteel! Over here!" I followed his voice and saw him standing by a copse of fir trees in the middle of the sun-drenched meadow. It had been one of my favorite play-places as a child, palace and fortress and forest in one. Now it was a graveyard. In the clearing in the center of the dark trunks was a large, but neatly piled cairn. Afternoon light and shadow dappled it, and the breeze murmured through the branches. Slowly, I moved into the clearing, and knelt by the cairn.
"The Rangers did well. This is where I would have put them, I think." Elrohir nodded.
"It is a beautiful place," he agreed in his lilting voice. "Keep your bow to hand--I'll be close by." I nodded, and he departed, to care for the horses, I assumed.
I sat by the cairn for what was left of the rest of the afternoon, talking to my family of what had passed over the last four years as if they were actually there and breaking into tears intermittently. I missed them all terribly, but probably the greatest grief was that my little brother and sister had died so horribly at such an early age. Father had been a Ranger, and understood about the possibility of violent death, as had Mother, who had been raised among Rangers. But Hiranthel and Derulin had known nothing of darkness or torment or death, till they came to experience it firsthand. So I wept for them, and every other child slain untimely in the war, and every person of peaceful intent who had perished because they could not defend themselves, and over the course of that afternoon I came to understand something.
Despite what I had told Faramir in the Houses of Healing, I was never going to be a horse-breeder, or a farmer. I had started learning the sword to please my father, and because I proved apt to it, then kept it in hand for vengeance's sake, always intending to lay it aside when the war was over. But even had the King not wished me to guard his Queen, the blood of near forty generations of Rangers flowed in my veins, and the instinct to protect and defend the helpless was well-nigh irresistible. And now that the King had come again, there was much work to be done within his kingdom and beyond it, to establish his rule and his law and enable people to go about the business of peaceful living once more. Faramir had laid down his sword to serve the King, but I, I would serve him best if I kept hold of mine and my bow.
Sunset came early this side of the mountains, and the shadows were long when Elrohir returned to me, bearing a bundle wrapped in cloth.
"What is that?" I asked, and he unrolled the cloth, which turned out to be one of his tunics, and contained various young plants all tangled together.
"I have been busy this afternoon, and with your permission, will make a contribution to this place. But before I do, here." And he threw me a cloth that had been moistened in brook water.
"Wash your face--you look a fright."
"Thank you ever so much! I always look a fright compared to you. Everybody does."
He looked at me and smiled as sweet a smile as I'd ever seen on his face. Rather bemused, I watched as he drew his dagger, and with that inappropriate tool, began to plant his gleanings, moving around all sides of the cairn, and whispering in Elvish as he did so, until they were all set into the earth.
"Won't they just die, with no one here to care for them?" I asked him when he'd finished, and come back to kneel beside me.
"While true it is that I am very good at little but the killing of orcs, I do possess a few small gifts," he declared, dusting his hands of dirt ostentatiously. "Grandmother could have this place blooming riotously in five minutes, but I can at least give these a strong start. They will flourish in time, and they are of divers sorts, so there should be something blooming here most any time but winter." I stared at him, astonished at his thoughtfulness, and he gave me an ironic look.
"Don't get too used to this. I'm sure before the evening's out, I'll have done something to infuriate you again."
"Do all your prophecies have to come true?" I asked curiously, dabbing at my face with the cloth gratefully, for it was rather red and hot from all the weeping. "I like you much better when you're being nice."
"Snowsteel, if you would ride with me, you must take me as the sum of all my parts, not just"-- and here he held up his little finger-- "the nice one. But, as it turns out, in exercising my nice part this afternoon, I tickled a couple of trout out of that brook of yours. And night draws near. Do you wish to set up camp here, or somewhere else?"
I considered for a moment. "I don't much wish to camp right here. I had a favorite spot about a mile up that spur of the mountain, if you don't mind traveling a bit more. You'd probably like it. We just follow the course of the brook a way." He nodded, and got to his feet, then pulled me up. We went and resaddled the horses, and he retrieved the trout from where he'd strung them in a pool with a spare bowstring. Then we set off up the mountain path in the gathering dark.
My favorite spot was a small waterfall that cascaded into a pool, which then poured out as the brook. There was a grassy sward beside it, and it was overhung with trees of various sorts. Elrohir was very pleased indeed.
"We will eat first, then bathe later! Wonderful, Snowsteel!" And he set off to find firewood while I dressed the trout. Before long, we had a small but cheerful blaze going, and the fish were roasting on sticks. The horses had been unsaddled, and made their way unsupervised back down to the meadow to graze. He saw my concerned look and grinned.
"They will allow none to touch them, but will come back to us at need. Here--let's put a little of this on the fish." I looked over, and he was peeling some sort of strange, pebbly orange fruit with his fingers.
"What is that?"
"This is the food of the Valar!" It must have been, for he was staring at it worshipfully. "Actually, it's an orange. The Haradrim grow them on the coast in the few places where they have water. The Haradrim ambassador brought some to Estel."
The strange fruit separated rather cleverly into sections, and he took two and squeezed one over each trout. The smell was very interesting as drops of the juice sizzled into the fire. Then he took another section, and popped it into my mouth. I bit down, and found the fruit to be very juicy and thirst-quenching, slightly tart and sweet at once. Elrohir was eating a section of his own with an expression of enraptured bliss, and when he finished, he sighed and said, "If they don't have these in Valinor, I'm not going." The sections had seeds, and I noticed he kept his carefully, and picked mine up from where I'd spat them on the ground.
"I'm going to take these to Grandmother, and see if she or Grandfather can grow me some." I looked at him quizzically.
"You mean, as long as your people have been here, they've never had these things?"
He shook his head. "They don't grow up North. Too cold. And what Elf in his right mind would go to Harad? But Grandmother exercises a great deal of control over Lothlorien--she might be able to make a small spot where some would grow." I raised my eyebrows at that. Elrohir sighed. "Then again, she might just tell me she had better things to waste her time on. And she won't be here much longer, in any event." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I wonder......South Ithilien, perhaps? The Prince of Ithilien can be as obtuse as he likes, if he'll grow me some oranges! I'll do anything for him or to him that he wants."
"ELROHIR!" His grin blazed wickedly.
"Ha! Worried, are you? Fear not, Snowsteel, your precious Steward's virtue is safe from me."
"He is NOT my precious Steward." Elrohir set the other half of the orange carefully aside on a flat rock.
"We'll have that for dessert. And of course he's your precious Steward. Just because you don't have him doesn't mean you don't covet him." I started setting out the bread and other supper items we'd carried with us, putting them down a bit roughly. That hadn't taken long at all. Infuriating Elf.
"Fine. I covet him. I'll get over it in time. I don't see what business it is of yours, anyway. You know now that he wasn't leading me along, that he really didn't know I loved him--and you certainly took care of that little problem, didn't you?"
"Indeed I did--and I see that it will be a long time before I'm forgiven for that particular transgression! I am curious, though--intend you to take the King of Rohan up on his not- so-subtle offer? Or do you intend to sit back and let the little cygnet from Dol Amroth have him?"
"What possible concern is that of yours?" He pulled out the wineskin, and the cups, and poured us some.
"Just that you seem to be missing out on a golden opportunity. You have been cursing your childlessness all along, and rightly so, because it did cost you the man you love. And I will do all that I can to convince Father or Grandmother, or both of them, to mend that for you. But in this one small space of time, it is a boon, Snowsteel. You can claim a man's freedom to do what he will without worrying about the consequences. You can let the King of Rohan ride you like a wild filly, or brighten Imrahil's declining years." That last part was decidedly acid. I pulled one of the fish sticks off the fire, and slapped it into his hand. As he closed his fingers around it, I grasped the little one, and rubbed it fiercely.
"The Nice Elrohir can come back any time now!" He laughed, and I picked up my own fish, and started to eat. It was very, very good. After I'd had a couple of bites, I leaned back on one arm and looked at him.
"Actually, there is no golden opportunity, my lord Prince. You seem to have the idea that I am seeking a bedmate desperately, and that is not the case. I was raped by orcs, and the only man I've ever felt physical passion for does not return my feelings. Also,my father and mother did not bring me up to be a slattern. I like King Eomer well enough, but not so well I desire to sleep with him. And Prince Imrahil is my sworn lord, so there may be naught between us, not that he's ever given me any indication he was so inclined. And even if I wished to be with either man, or, in fact, any man, there's the matter of you." Elrohir blinked.
"Me?"
"Aye, you. Prince Imrahil is quite right--you are determined that none shall 'taste' of me until you've decided if you want to do anything." The elf-lord frowned.
"It would be refreshing if just for once you would be asleep when you were supposed to be, Snowsteel."
"Nay, what would be refreshing, Prince Elrohir, is if you would stop speaking of me within earshot, then acting as if it were my fault when I overhear and embarrass you!" I snapped back. He blinked a couple of more times, and I continued.
"I dare not be with any man while you are here in Gondor, for you seem to be unable to resist meddling in my affairs. You got along well enough with Prince Imrahil before I swore fealty to him, and now you seek to bait him at every opportunity. Valar knows what you'd do to a man I actually fancied! So until you return to the North, I dare not seek the company of another. And when you do go, I hopefully will no longer be barren, and thus will need to be as careful of such things as any other woman. So--no golden opportunity." Elrohir chewed his fish in silence for some moments, his face grave and uncharacteristically troubled. I took the opportunity to eat more of mine, then plowed on once more.
"It is almost as if you were jealous, though I don't feel that from you. I don't feel that you're in love with me either--although I suppose that old and clever as you are, you could hide something from me that you didn't want me to know. All I do know is that Faramir might have been the mule between the mangers, but you're the dog sitting square in the middle of one, having no use yourself for what's in it, but not wanting anyone else to have it either. And I'm tired of it." That won me a warning look, but I ignored it.
"You claim to have put the piece back in the game, and you've complained about how everyone else is playing, but you've not had the nerve to enter the game yourself. If you want to be my friend, fine. If you want to be my lover--we'll talk about it. But either way, I need to be in the relationship too. It can't all be you giving me things, and running my life because you feel you have the right to do so because you've given me things. You have to let me give you things too." Hesitantly, I reached across the space between us, and touched his cheek with my hand. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes wide and dark in the firelight, then sighed, and closed them, and leaned into my hand a little. I could feel the feather of his lashes against my thumb.
"You know," I said softly, my hand cupping his cheek, "we have a saying in the Ithilien Rangers--'Are you going to shoot that bow, or just scratch your arse with it?'"
Elrohir's head shot up, and he stared at me for a moment. Manic hilarity flared in his eyes, and he started laughing, pausing finally to take a long draught of wine.
"Very well, Snowsteel, since it's well past time I asked--what do you wish of me?"
"I don't want you to be in love with me," I replied swiftly. His eyebrow arched up.
"Might I ask why?"
"Because you're the son of Elrond, and I've talked to the King about your sister, and I don't want that to happen to you." The pain that suddenly flared unexpectedly through the link near drove the breath from me. "Oh, Elrohir, I'm sorry!" He shook his head in short, sharp jerks.
"No, there should be honesty between us, at least. And I appreciate your care for me, and for my father. For this will grieve him greatly in the end." He laid the fish aside and picked up a piece of bread. His long, slender fingers began rolling tiny pieces of it into pills, and dropping them on the grass.
"I love Estel dearly. I helped to raise him, taught him to shoot and swing a sword. I've ridden with him into battle all the years of his life--and yet there are times when I could cheerfully kill him for what he's done to Father and our family." He looked at me, and his eyes were bright with something other than stars for once. "Arwen is happy, I keep telling myself. This is what she wants. But truly, I feel as if I'm taking her to her execution rather than her wedding." I stared at him, shocked.
"I had no idea. You hide it very well." He laughed, softly and bitterly.
"Well, I must, mustn't I? I have no wish to make her miserable. Elladan and I are being very careful not to let her know how we feel. Though she may discern it anyway--Arwen is no fool." He sighed deeply. "But we will pretend to be happy about this, and she will pretend to not notice we're pretending, and Father will pretend to be above it all. And maybe between us, we'll fool Estel, at the least." I looked at him with eyebrows raised at that idea, and he nodded agreement. "Aye, you're right--Estel will know what is going on as well. A silly dance, all in all, but we'll tread the measures nonetheless." He looked down at the remains of the bread in his hand. "I am sorry, Snowsteel--were you wanting some of this?"
"Not now," I replied dryly, and he gave me a small smile.
"There's more in the saddlebag, should you wish it. As to other matters-- I promise you now that I will not fall in love with you, and give up my immortality. Does that make you feel better?"
"It's very reassuring."
"So where does that leave us?" He was coming back to himself a bit, a challenging light in his eyes.
"Friends, at the very least," I replied without hesitation.
"Truly? You would befriend the mangy cur, after all he's done to you?" Smiling at the absurdity of his description of himself, I took his hand, noting in passing that it was a shade more slender than my own.
"Aye. For you've finally given me something that matters. You've shared a little bit of yourself with me." He looked down upon my hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"And would you have me for a lover, Snowsteel?"
I sucked in an unsteady breath. "I don't know. Do you even want to?" His thumb moved gently over my palm.
"I thought about it a time or two, but dismissed the idea as both unkind and unwise."
I snorted. "Because I'd fall madly in love with you, and pine away when I couldn't have you forever?" He grinned wryly.
"Something like that."
"You're not that pretty, Elrohir!" In answer, his large eyes suddenly seemed to become larger, and melting in the darkness. Rather like what I imagined an Elven puppy would look like, should the Elves have special dogs as well as horses.
"You have no idea how alluring I can be, when I put my mind to it," he murmured wickedly. I pulled my hand from his, and planted it on my hip.
"I know how ridiculous you can be! Stop that!" He smiled, and the melting-eyes business stopped. Thankfully.
"You still haven't answered my question, Snowsteel. Would you have me for your lover, or no?" I looked at the exquisite creature sitting next to me, and swallowed hard.
"I told you before, mother and father did not raise me to be a slattern."
"To lie with a friend for heart's-ease does not make you a slattern, Snowsteel," Elrohir chided me gently. "Any other objections?" I thought hard for a moment, then spoke.
"I think it would be too much like the orcs." Elrohir's eyebrows shot skyward.
"EXCUSE ME?" I gulped, and hastened to explain.
"Not in a bad way! I mean, it would undoubtedly be very wonderful, because you know exactly how I feel about things because of the soul-bond, and would know just.....what to do. It would probably be the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me in that way, and it wouldn't be any more....normal than what the orcs did. So I still wouldn't know how regular people did it, or what to expect." Elrohir's head tilted to one side, and he gave me a thoughtful look.
"I see. It would be as beautiful as what the orcs did was horrible, and you would seek something closer to the middle?" I nodded vehemently in return, and he smiled sweetly.
"Then I think we will take that as a 'no' for now, Snowsteel--and if I may say so, your objection is well-founded." I sighed, whether in relief or disappointment a bit difficult to say.
"Let us finish our dinner, now that that matter is settled," Elrohir suggested, and we did so, consuming the rest of the fish, and some unruined bread from the saddlebags, and the other half of the orange. I took only one section of that, since he was obviously so enamored of the fruit, and was commended for my selflessness. When we had finished, he put more wood on the fire, and I helped him clean up the area. He stretched, and moved to his saddlebags, and began removing items.
"I'm going to bathe. Would you care to join me?"
"No thank you," I replied politely.
"Are you sure? You said you wanted to give me things. I love having my back scrubbed."
"One of us should keep our clothes on and weapons to hand, don't you think?" He smiled, and gave me a mocking little bow.
"As you wish." And with no further ado, he walked over to the margin of the pool and began removing armor and clothing. I began laying out our blankets, politely trying to keep my eyes averted. An amused voice insinuated itself into my head.
*You need not tie yourself into knots, Snowsteel. Look if you like--Elves care not about such things.* After that, I did not look, nor did I try to avoid looking, and as a consequence did notice a thing or two out of the corner of my eye. Despite the fact that he obviously spent a great deal of time out in the weather, Elven skin apparently did not tan--there was no line of demarcation between Elrohir's head and hands and the rest of his body. And besides the lush growth on their heads, Elves did not seem to grow hair anywhere else upon their persons. Also, it looked as if Elrohir was broader in the shoulder and heavier boned than, say, Legolas. I wondered if this was true when comparing him to Elves in general, and if so, if it was because of his mortal blood.
Elrohir spent quite some time both lolling about in the pool and standing under the waterfall, singing songs to Elbereth and the stars in a voice I found quite melodious. But when I complimented him after he'd come back out and put his breeches on, he snorted.
"I sound like a frog compared to some of my kin, and others of my kind--though I can harp a little." He took his long black hair in his hands and wrung the water from it, then wrapped it with a large and strangely silky cloth. He pulled another from the saddlebag, and gave it to me. Folded up, it was quite a small square; unfolded, it was large enough to wrap around me. I looked at it in puzzlement.
"It's a towel," he explained. "Dry yourself with it, and then wring it dry. It will absorb more water than you expect, and folds very small. I left the soap down by the pool. The small jar is a special kind of soap for your hair." I thanked him, and started towards the pool, then hesitated.
"Elrohir?"
"Yes, Snowsteel?"
"I'd rather you didn't watch."
"I will make no intentional effort to do so--fair enough?"
"Fair enough." I made my way to the water's edge, swiftly divested myself of armor and clothes, and jumped into the pool, which caused me to shriek, and Elrohir to chuckle, for I'd forgotten that the water came down from the mountain top and was icy cold. Bracing was not the word, but I took the time despite my shivers to thoroughly soap myself with the Elven soap, which had no grit in it, and lathered wonderfully, as did the hair soap. Both smelled delightfully of fir trees and flowers. I then stood under the waterfall to rinse off, and got back to the bank as quickly as possible to dry off. The Elven towel was marvelous, and dried me very swiftly. Wrapping it around my hair, I put on clean breeches and a shirt and returned to the campfire to find Elrohir, still shirtless, rubbing his hair with his towel. I noticed that in the interim, he had rearranged the blankets into one large bedroll.
"Thank you for letting me use these," I told him. "Are Elven things always so much nicer than mortal ones?"
"Almost always," the elf-lord said with a smile, though he refrained from any commentary that compared Elven lovers to mortal ones. "Those can just go back in the saddlebags, if you don't mind. And while you're there, will you please fetch me my comb?" I did as he asked. The comb was wooden, and carved with little stars.
"So what does this do--take the tangles out by magic?" He cocked an eyebrow at me.
"That is merely a comb. One of the rare things which Men make as well as Elves. And a thing that Men can wield as well as Elves do." He dropped the towel from his hair, and pushed it back over his shoulders. "Would you mind very much?" At my surprised look, he said "Men have a saying that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Another similar saying might be that the way to an Elf's heart is through his scalp. We love having our hair played with."
Having refused him the back scrubbing, it seemed churlish to refuse this as well. So I spent the next half hour cautiously working the comb through his hair, being very careful of the one or two small tangles I found, for I feared he'd be tender-headed, his hair was so soft. As he had said he would, he enjoyed this process greatly, almost purring as I pulled the comb through the silky black strands, which as it dried, drifted and clung to my hands like cobwebs. Eventually, he pronounced himself satisfied, and returned the favor for me, which took nowhere near as long.
"To bed, Snowsteel," he said when he had finished. "For we've a long, fast ride ahead of us in the morning."
"I noticed the sleeping arrangements have been rearranged," I said, but I crawled under the blankets without protest, after first making sure my sword and bow were within arm's reach.
"I thought you might be cold. And you cuddle with the Steward readily enough, so...."
"Please, Elrohir, don't get started again. I find myself rather liking you right now, and I'd like to keep it that way." He said nothing, merely chuckled again, and slid his slender body under the blankets, coming to rest on his back, looking up at the stars through the tree branches. I was silent for a few minutes, then said softly "Thank you for bringing me here today, and for what you did with the flowers. That was lovely." There was no answer for some moments, as he continued to stare up at the stars, then his soft voice responded.
"You are welcome."
"What do Elves do with their dead?" I asked, genuinely curious. There was another long pause, then--
"It depends upon what sort of Elf it is. We're not all the same, you know, any more than Men are all of one kind or custom. Different Elves do different things. But we don't discuss them with Mortals. Have you ever seen, or heard of anyone who has seen an Elven graveyard?"
"No."
"Well, there you have it then."
"I'm sorry if the question offended, Elrohir."
"No offense taken. Wisdom cannot be achieved without questions."
There was another long silence while he stared upward at the sky before I asked "Elrohir, what do the Dunedain of the North do?"
And another long pause came before he sighed and softly said, "Snowsteel, I am trying to sleep here. If you don't mind."
"You weren't asleep--your eyes were open." Another sigh.
"That's how we do it."
"You sleep with your eyes open?"
"When we are not ill or injured, yes."
"That's strange. Don't they dry out?" Elrohir snorted, offended, and rolled up onto one elbow.
"No, they don't dry out! And it's no stranger than some of the things you mortals do--snoring, for instance!"
"Elves don't snore?"
"Of course not. We are the First-born, after all!" His lip curled in a superior sneer.
"Well, excuse me! But you still haven't answered my question--what do the Dunedain do? Is there something else I should do here before we leave?" Suddenly understanding my reason for the question, Elrohir's face softened.
"Compared to most of the Dunedain, Snowsteel, your family are barrowed like kings. By now, I would be very much surprised if there's a square mile in all of Eriador that doesn't have a Ranger buried on it somewhere. They lie scattered across the North, buried where they fell, with only the wind in the grass and the stars in the sky for company, most of them far from kin and loved ones. It is a sorrow that all your family died, Snowsteel, but at least they all rest together, and in that, they are far more fortunate than many of your kindred."
"The Northern Dunedain do not use mausoleums or tombs, as appears to be the custom here in the South. They have a burial ground in the Angle, and each of the houses has a House stone, with its name and the most notable of its members graven upon it. Each Ranger has a smaller stone with his name over his grave, and they also place smaller stones in memorial about the House stone for the Rangers that did not come home." He paused for a moment, his eyes looking distant, as if reviewing a memory. "Your House has a very great number of those small stones."
"I should have one made for this place then," I said, "and another for the plot in the North." He nodded.
"You will have then done all that you can do. I shall see to the stone in the North when I return there, if you wish it."
"Thank you, Elrohir. I would very much appreciate that." He nodded, and lay back again, eyes staring upward once more.
"At this point, I'd promise anything to cease the endless flow of questions, and allow me to rest!" I elbowed him in the ribs, and he grunted softly, but then a slender arm slid under me, and pulled me close so that my head rested on his shoulder. "Sleep, Snowsteel." And though he did not do that trick of his that would render me unconscious, sleep washed over me quite quickly, barely giving me time to pray to the Valar that I would not snore.