Author's Note--Sorry to be so long about this--spring is in the air, and someone dropped a sheep bomb on my place. Lambs everywhere! I've got to shear, and vaccinate, and cuddle.....This is another of those character development chapters, but cheer up--our Fearless Four will soon leave the Rohirrim and venture forth into the Wild.
"Greet the dawn, Snowsteel," a soft voice lilted in my ear. My head was pillowed on something smooth, soft and hard at once, and I awoke to find myself with my head tucked under Elrohir's chin, and my arm flung across his bare chest. I blinked a couple of times, yawned, and sat up slowly. The sky was turning pink in the East.
"I'm sorry, Elrohir."
"Think nothing of it. I'm sure the sensation will return to my limbs eventually." He stretched bonelessly, rose to his feet with an ease that belied his supposed infirmity, put his fingers to his lips and whistled. There was whinnying in response from the meadow below.
"I'll get breakfast if you groom and saddle the horses," he said as he trotted off into the bushes. When he returned, I also made the trip, and came back to find Alagos and Nimfaun waiting for me, tails swishing idly, their pretty, inward tipped ears at attention. I used the brush I kept for Fortune in my saddlebag hesitantly at first, fearing it too rough for their delicate hides, but they seemed to enjoy the grooming greatly, and leaned into it with half-closed eyes. Their reaction reminded me very much of Elrohir getting his hair combed--Elven horses, too, it seemed, enjoyed having their hair messed with. When I'd done saddling them, and had washed my hands, Elrohir presented me with breakfast--a thick slice of a bread that was filled with fruits and nuts, some cheese, and water from the waterfall in a delicately carved wooden cup.
We sat down companionably on the blankets to eat our meal and watch the sun come up.
"I suppose we need to be heading north and a little west to come upon the Road again," I commented after a few bites. "I wonder where upon it the Rohirrim are." Elrohir smiled his infuriating, superior smile, and pointed.
"Elladan's there."
I was intrigued. "You can feel him?"
"Oh yes. We shared a womb together, Snowsteel, and our bond is far deeper and more profound than that which I share with you. As a result, the distance over which I can sense him, and he me, is far greater. I know where he is, and to some extent, how he is."
"That sounds....useful."
"It has saved our lives upon more than one occasion," he agreed, "and it made the commitment of certain acts of mischief in our misspent youth easier as well."
"I'm not sure I want to know any more about that."
"You would be easier in my company if you did not," he conceded. There was silence for quite a while as we finished our food, then he remarked, in an off-hand tone of voice, "I don't know why it is you feel that you are not comely." I gave him a suspicious look.
"You peeked!"
"It was not on purpose, I assure you," he said, looking out at the sunrise. "My better half and my baser half were engaged in a terrible battle while you were bathing, and when they finished, I just happened to be facing in that direction. Totally by accident, of course."
"Of course," I sighed, closing my eyes in embarrassment. Slim elven fingers reached out, grasped my chin, and turned my face towards his.
"Snowsteel, there are many sorts of beauty," he told me gravely. "A sleek, pretty housecat and a wild mountain cat are both beautiful in their different ways. You are much like your Eagle friends. What have you got when an Eagle is sitting on a crag? A big pile of dirty brown feathers." I gave him an offended look on behalf of my feathered friends, but he ignored it and continued. "But an Eagle in flight--that is one of the most beautiful sights in all of Middle-earth. So it is with you. Just sitting about, you're a tall, gawky girl. But when you ride or shoot or fight, you are very beautiful in motion." In a heartbeat's time, I went absolutely crimson. Elrohir released my chin, and took both of my hands in his, turning the wrists this way and that.
"And in truth, a good part of the gawkiness is that you're not yet grown." I snorted disbelievingly.
"I'm near twenty-two years old, Elrohir!"
"--And you are Dunedan," he interjected. "Dunedan of the purest blood. Aragorn's mother Gilraen married his father at the age of twenty, and everyone was shocked and called her a child bride, for they deemed her much too young to do so safely. The Dunedan have a longer lifespan than that of other Men, and they grow slower. I can tell from your bones that you are not finished yet, though the next year or two should see it done. Then, I fancy, even you will see an improvement. Though the King of the Mark likes what he sees perfectly well now."
"Well, there you go. I must resemble a horse if Eomer likes me." Elrohir tsked at that, dropped my hands, and stood up.
"I even detect some sort of....interest.... from the Prince of Dol Amroth, but what sort of interest it is, I cannot tell. He is very difficult to read, for a human. Very tightly shielded." Having mastered myself somewhat, I rose as well, and began helping him shake out and roll up the blankets.
"He probably just wants to make sure he does a good job of training me so the King will be happy. But does it happen often, that you cannot....read someone?"
"Very seldom. But it does give weight to the rumor of his Elven blood." We spoke little more after that, as we rolled and tied bedrolls, fastened saddlebags, refilled waterskins, made sure the fire was dead and buried, and that we'd left nothing behind. It was easy doing routine tasks with him, whether because of the soul bond or because he was actively reading me--there was no time wasted in discussion of who would do what job next, we simply moved from one task to another till all were finished, never interfering or getting in each other's way. This surprised me a bit--I could see he and his brother being thus, after near three thousand years together, but did not understand why it should be so with me. I decided he must be helping things along. When all was finished, we mounted and rode from the shade of the small glen into the sunshine. The day promised to be warm and clear. Small clouds dotted the brightening expanse of blue above our heads. Elrohir tipped his face up into the light, and smiled.
"A fine day, is it not, Snowsteel?" I agreed that it was, and we started down the mountain. By unspoken accord, we passed by the fir copse and then the house for a last look, and as we were going past the front door, Alagos' hoof chinked upon something metal. Elrohir was off his back and stooping to see what it was before he'd stopped moving. Nimfaun halted as well.
"Oh Valar, he didn't pick up a nail, did he?" I asked, concerned. Such a puncture wound would seriously lame a normal horse, and I did not see how Elven horses would be any different in that respect. If they had been, Elrohir would not have been so swift to act.
"No, it's not a nail. He's all right," the elf-lord assured me. He'd dismounted on Alagos'offhand side, putting the bulk of the horse between me and him. After a moment, I realized that he was pouring some water from his waterskin on whatever it was he had found, and then drying it on his cloak. A moment's scrutiny, another quick rub upon his cloak, and he was ducking back under Alagos' neck to come to my side, holding whatever it was between his closed hands.
"The King must give you leave to wear this openly," he said, his voice and expression unwontedly somber, "But it does belong to you." He opened his hands, and there glittering on his palm was a Dunedan star-brooch, scratched a bit, with one of the points slightly twisted. In the center of it was graven a simple line tracing of an eagle, its wings outspread. The breath left me as if I'd been punched in the stomach, and my eyes stung suddenly.
"That was Father's," I breathed, as he handed it up to me. I closed my hand about the cold metal, feeling the points dig into my fingers. A tear trickled down unbidden my cheek.
"How did it come to be here now?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice even. "The Rangers searched about for anything they could bring to me, but all of value was gone--save Father's sword. That they left behind for some reason." Elrohir looked at the hilt of my blade.
"That blade you bear is near as old as I, Snowsteel, and swords forged by the Dunedain of that time are a bane to the forces of Darkness. The orcs would not want to have touched it, or indeed have been able to do so. Had the Witch-King dared to summon you to him in the flesh, with that blade you could have smitten him, and even he would have felt it bite."
"As to that--" and he gestured at the brooch. "My guess is that it had been forced deep into the mire in the aftermath of the battle, and so lost. And it was buried still when the Rangers came. But three years' rain and weather served to bring it to the surface once more--just in time for you to claim it." He smiled gently. "A sign, if you wish to believe it so, Hethlin daughter of Hallaran, that your father and family watch and approve, and wait for you in Mandos' halls." He swung back up onto Alagos, while I stared down at the brooch.
"Do you believe that, Elrohir?" I asked softly. Another tear dropped glittering onto the silver.
"None of the Firstborn can truly claim to understand what happens to Men when their spirits leave this world," he replied, moving Alagos forward. Nimfaun followed without my urging. "But I am not a typical Firstborn. And I have ridden with the Dunedain for centuries now, and seen countless of them die, and I have seen enough to believe that yes, they go to some other sort of existence, and their loved ones wait for them indeed. I do not believe it was coincidence that brought that brooch into your hands this day, Snowsteel. Make of that what you will." We rode in silence for some minutes after that, and eventually, I dried my eyes, and blew my nose, and pulled open the throat of my hauberk, pinning the brooch to the underside of my gambeson, between it and my shirt. It lay cold above my breasts for a time, until the heat of my flesh warmed it, then it became a hard, warm, comforting presence like my father's hand above my heart.
We rode in silence for the first couple of hours, Elrohir knowing that I did not wish for speech, and we rode hard while the morning air was still cool. We cut back north, so as to intersect the Road as soon as possible, and within those two hours, we had reached it. The track of the army's passage was plain to see. As the day warmed we began altering our pace from canter to trot to walk, then back to canter. I marveled at the tirelessness of the elf-horses, though about three hours after noon, even they began to flag a bit. We'd seen the occasional homestead in the distance, but had not detoured or tarried, so were unable to determine if the folk still lived in them, or if they'd been burnt out and abandoned like my home. The first sign of habitation we encountered was where the Road ran by Min-Rimmon. There was a small inn there that served as a gathering place for the local inhabitants, though some of them would have had to journey for a day or more to reach it, and as a resting place for the occasional traveler between Rohan and Gondor. In truth, it was more tavern than inn, for they only had two rooms to let, and it was also in part a sort of general store, for the owner traded for goods from both Edoras and Minas Tirith. I'd been there shopping once or twice with my father when I'd gotten old enough to ride hard and shoot properly. A neighbor had always sent one of his older sons to stay with Mother when we went on these trips, and Father had returned the favor when our neighbor wished to do the same.
"Do you know of this place, Snowsteel?" Elrohir asked me, and I nodded.
"We can give the horses a bit of a rest here, and water them if you like."
"That seems wise. We'll be riding till well into the night if we are to catch up with the Rohirrim tonight. If the food is tolerable, let us eat as well now, then press on." I agreed to this plan, and we rode up to the porch of the tavern, where several weathered individuals rested on chairs on the porch with tankards and plates. I noted bows close to hand, and swords at sides of most of them. As we approached, the one sitting closest to the door stuck his head inside, and called the tavern keeper, who came out wiping his hands upon his apron. He looked upon us with a bit of amazement, and he was not the only one--several of the porch sitters were frankly gawking.
I looked at my companion and realized we must make quite the sight, with the two lovely Elven horses and their beautiful equipage, and Elrohir looking quite the prince out of legend with his fine armor and weapons, not to mention my livery of Gondor with the jet black hauberk and tabard. He gave me a squint-eyed look, then said hesitantly, "Hethlin?"
"Aye, Merelan," I replied, taking off my helm and coif. "But how did you know?"
"I wouldn't have," he admitted, staring at my white hair. "Not in that outfit. And not all grown up as you are. But we were told to expect you."
"You were?" I swung off of Nimfaun, and Elrohir dismounted as well.
"Aye. The army of Rohan passed through here middle of the morning, and a fine lord stopped to leave a message for you. Had armor as fancy as this one's, and a helm with real jewels on it. Wearing a blue sort of armor cover with a ship on it." I smiled.
"That would be my liege lord, the Prince of Dol Amroth." Merelan looked impressed.
"Well now! Quite the day we're having, with the King of Rohan passing by, and a Prince coming to call! Not that he said anything about being a Prince, but I told Talith that he must be some sort of great gentleman, for he had the nicest manners I'd ever seen. Betha, my eldest--you remember her, don't you?" I nodded. She'd been a quiet girl four years my junior. "Betha's done nothing but moon about since he left." He looked at Elrohir, who was standing there with an air of don't-mind-me-I'm-just-a-wondrously-fair-creature-out-of-legend, and frowned slightly. "And I'll surely get no use from her for the rest of the day now." Elrohir grinned. Gesturing me a little further away from him, Merelan leaned close to my ear and whispered, "Where's your friend from, Hethlin? Looks a bit foreign to me." I glanced at Elrohir, who, with his hearing, had of course heard everything, and whose eyes were twinkling alarmingly as he started unsaddling the horses.
"He's an Elf, Merelan, from far to the North. Your second Prince of the day, to be exact." Merelan's weathered brow creased in amazement, and he whistled sharply, which actually made Elrohir jump slightly. Elven ears could sometimes be a liability, it seemed.
"Well, you've come to be in high company, and no mistake! But come inside--the gentleman left you a note. He looked at Elrohir, hesitated for a moment, then said, "Your...Highness, let my boy see to the beasts." The elf-lord inclined his head graciously.
"I would, good sir, but they will suffer no hand but my own to tend them. Have you a well?" Merelan nodded.
"That I do indeed, sir, a well and a trough around the back and Torthall can show it to you, as well as get you anything else you need." Elrohir nodded.
"That would be most satisfactory." Rather to the bemusement of our audience he stripped Nimfaun and Alagos of all their gear, including bridles, and dumped them on the porch. When Merelan had summoned Torthall from within, he followed the astonished boy around the corner of the building, the two horses following him in their turn. The tavern-keeper shook his head at the sight, then ushered me inside.
"Talith! Look who's here! You got the letter from the gentleman?" The tavern-keeper's wife was much as I remembered her--a little more gray at the temples, a little sparer, but unchanged for the most part. "Hethlin says he's a Prince, can you imagine? There's another Prince in the stableyard right now too. Must be raining 'em today."
Talith, whose voice had always been rather low for a woman, just shook her head, and looked me up and down. "Strange times we live in, that's for sure! Hethlin, child, you've certainly filled out since last I saw you, and glad I am to see you again, for none of us thought to do so. But why ever are you dressed as a soldier, and what happened to your hair?"
"Mayhaps it's the fashion in the White City, momma," Betha put in, sticking her head out the kitchen door, a soapy mug in her hands. "I mean, it's white, isn't it?"
"Dishes, Betha," Talith chided, and Betha returned to her tasks. She had changed rather a lot since I'd seen her last, grown up and out a bit.
"I'm dressed as a soldier, Mistress Talith, because I am a soldier, strange though it sounds. As for the hair-it's short because it's easier to keep that way, and white because I was nearly scared to death once." Talith nodded knowingly.
"Those orcs, no doubt. That'd have scared anyone near to death. Whyever didn't they kill you too?"
"I think they wanted a slave," I said. No sense going into detail about that, or my hair--let them think what they liked. "How did you know what happened to me?" Talith reached under the bar for something, and pulled out a sealed piece of parchment.
"When Berill hadn't heard from you folk for over a month, he went to your place, and just happened upon some of those Ithilien Rangers there, burying your family. They told him what had happened to you. They said they didn't think you were going to live."
"At that point, they didn't. But I got better." Talith snorted a little, but it was a kind snort, and handed me the letter.
"From the looks of the company you're keeping, you not only got better, you bettered yourself a bit while you were doing it." I owned that that was certainly the truth, and opened the letter, which was sealed in green wax, though the seal was that of Dol Amroth. The Prince must have borrowed some wax from Eomer's scribes. His hand was a firmly-written one, yet spare and elegant as well.
Hethlin,
I have no clear idea of the capabilities of the Elven horses, but looking at the map, I wonder if you will be able to catch us up by this evening, particularly if your business takes longer than you anticipated. In the event you are delayed, I've paid for rooms and meals here should you and Prince Elrohir desire to spend the night. Please do not feel that you must rush to rejoin us to the extent that you harm your horses-- though Prince Elrohir said that you would return by this evening, please tell him that I do not hold him to that promise. Take what time you need, and join us when you may--except that the Lady Eowyn asks me to remind you that you owe her a sparring match!
Valar guard and guide,
Imrahil of Dol Amroth
His signature trailed off into an ornate curlicue that resolved itself into a swan ship.
"Well, that was thoughtful of him. About the rooms, I mean," I said to Talith, and she nodded.
"A very fine gentleman he seemed to us. Will you be staying, then?"
"I must speak with my companion, but I think not. We would love a good supper, though."
"That you shall have, as good as I can set on the table, though your princely friend may find it a bit plain." I smiled reassuringly.
"He is not so particular as all that."
"Not having to hunt and cook will render whatever it is most tasty, mistress," Elrohir agreed as he came in the door. Talith took one look at him, and her jaw dropped. He pretended not to notice as he dropped languidly into a chair at one of the room's four tables, and pulled off his gloves. I joined him, and gave him Prince Imrahil's letter, which he scanned in a mere moment, then handed it back.
"Polite of him," he acknowledged, "But we might as well press on. The horses can take it, and if we stop here, it could take us two days to catch up. Though I warn you, we may have a bit of a brush job to do on them before we start again. I told them I didn't want them to roll, but they seemed quite set upon it, and had a nice patch of dirt all picked out." I chuckled.
"With all the ground we're going to cover today, I suppose they feel they've earned it. I don't mind."
"I'll remember you said that when you're cursing the dust flying up your nose an hour from now."
"How late do you think we'll be tonight?" I asked him. Elrohir shrugged.
"We'll be there a couple of hours before midnight for certain, and probably earlier than that. Much depends upon how ambitious Eomer was feeling today." Further speculation ceased as Talith brought us large bowls of stew. It was a typical tavern stew, comprised of whatever was available and simmered over a low fire continuously, new ingredients being added as necessary. This time of year, there were a lot of the last of the winter's stored roots, and I tasted both chicken and pork. It was well-seasoned, and savory, and Elrohir, taking a bite, did not deign to turn his chiseled nose up at it, and set to with a will.
Betha brought us a couple of tankards of ale, which she nearly dropped when she spied Elrohir, who quite enjoyed her reaction though he acted as if oblivious to it. She then hastened back into the kitchen so that she could bring us the bread and butter before her mother could do so. The bread was warm from the oven, if rather coarser than what an elf-lord was used to, and the butter freshly churned. She took the opportunity to stare raptly once more as she set them down, and this time Elrohir looked back, in full melting-eyes mode, much to my disgust.
"Thank you, fair one," he said sweetly, and she blushed furiously, bobbed a curtsey, and fled the room.
"Would you stop that!" I exclaimed, pinching the bridge of my nose to forestall the headache I felt coming on. The corner of Elrohir's mouth curled upward evilly, and he chuckled.
"I but strive to uphold the standards of courtesy set here this day by the Prince Imrahil. How could you fault me for that?" I sighed, knowing better than to argue with him when he was in this sort of mood, and started eating once more. A very good apple pie, made with dried apples and honey, completed our meal and we were both quite content when we finished and pushed ourselves away from the table.
"Are you sure you will not stay, Hethlin?" Talith asked as we prepared to leave. "I am sure that you have many tales to tell of the things you've seen in the White City."
"I have a few tales," I admitted, "though Prince Elrohir is by far the better storyteller. Unfortunately, time presses on this journey. If I come again, I will try to make sure I can stay long enough to tell you all that I know about the War and such." Talith smiled.
"We would like that--news comes seldom and late to us here. I believe Merelan said he wished to speak with you before you go." I nodded.
"We need to bring the horses back around front to saddle them. He's welcome to talk while we do that." Out of the corner of my eye I saw Betha peeking from the kitchen again. Elrohir spied her as well, and swept her a magnificent bow.
"Thank you for the excellent service, fair one," he proclaimed, and she blushed once more, made a peculiar choking sound, and jerked her head back into the kitchen. I took him by the elbow and dragged him out of there before he could get into any more trouble.
Nimfaun and Alagos had indeed rolled, and were extremely unrepentant about it, as we found when Elrohir whistled them around to the porch. Their backs were covered with dust, and caked in a couple of places where sweat had combined with the dirt. We pulled out brushes and set to work, while the porch sitters looked on. They had apparently been having much serious converse with Merelan while we ate our dinner, for he approached me after a minute or two, and asked if he could speak to me about something.
"First off, since you're not staying the night, would you like me to give back the room rent?"
I shook my head. These were proud folk, though not well to do, and I chose my words carefully. "My lord would not expect it. You held the rooms for us, and probably lost custom as a result. Rent them again if you can with our thanks." He nodded.
"A bit of that mannering has rubbed off on you it seems." I smiled. "A few of us have been talking out here while you were at your supper, and we wanted to know something."
"And what is that?" I asked, brushing Nimfaun with long strokes. At least elf horses seemed to shed dirt more easily than normal ones--the clean-up was taking about half as long as it would have with Fortune.
"We wanted to know if you'd take a word to the King, since we have one now according to your lord. We thought that since you seem to know so many princes, you might be able to do that."
"Aye, I can, through the Steward if nothing else. What would you have me say?" He looked down at his feet for a moment, shifting uneasily from one to the other.
"I don't know if you recollect or not, Hethlin, you were very young, but about twelve years ago, we were having trouble with brigands and such, and actually sent your father to the White City to ask for help. They told him that they were stretched too thin everywhere else to send soldiers to guard a few farmsteads. So he came back and helped us work out a plan and we took care of 'em ourselves, though it cost us Rothin and Herevar. Your father was a good man, Hethlin, and a canny fighter and there's many in these parts as miss him still." I acknowledged this with a tight smile and a nod.
"Well, anyway, what I mean to say is it's always been that way, since my grandfather's time and further back if what the old folk say is true. Too few of us to be worth the while. Anything we have we've held ourselves, and paid the price in blood. The Stewards never were of any real help, but they never asked aught of us in return either, so in a way that was a fair enough arrangement."
"Now, some of us's been talking, and we're worried. Kings are fancy folk, and they like fancy houses and fancy clothes and it takes a fair amount of taxes to keep 'em the way they're accustomed to being kept. And seeing as how we've never gotten any help from the White City, we're not much inclined to pay the King any taxes just now." I choked, and not just from the dust either. Elrohir stopped brushing Alagos for a moment, then started again, a peculiar smile upon his face.
"Is that what you wish me to tell the King?" I asked when I'd mastered myself once more. Having gotten Nimfaun clean, I lifted the saddle onto his back and began girthing it up. Merelan frowned thoughtfully.
"Well, not that exactly. We're willing to be fair here. If he sends some patrols to keep the orcs and brigands and Dunlanders off of us, so we can get more people in here and settle this land as it ought to be settled, then we'll pay our fair share and no mistake. But if he just sends taxmen, and gives us naught in return, we'll tie 'em on logs and float 'em right back down the River to him. Tell him that." Many nods and grunts of assent from the porch sitters said that this was in fact the commonly held opinion. I took a deep breath, and wondered again exactly what it was about me that inspired sedition against Aragorn in all who met me, no matter how briefly.
"I will relay your message to the King. But I think you may be worried without cause. The King is a plain man--he was a Ranger in the North for many years, and he's dealt with his share of orcs and brigands. He will understand your problems better than you might think. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up here one day himself to talk to you about them."
"Give him six months in Minas Tirith, and he'll be jumping at the chance," murmured Elrohir, completing his own saddling.
"You've met him, then?" Merelan asked. I put bridled Nimfaun gently.
"I had dinner with him just the other night." My audience looked impressed. "Mother was his kinswoman from afar."
"You don't say! She was an uncommonly pretty lady, but she never put on airs. Who would have thought?" Merelan shook his head wonderingly.
"Well, I certainly didn't! I had to find out from him, for she never told me! Talk about being surprised!" Several of the men chuckled at that. Just then, Talith came out onto the porch, and offered me a bundle tied up in a napkin.
"Here's some food for the road for the two of you--hopefully it'll help make up for you not staying the night. Nothing fancy--just meat pies from the stew, and little apple pies, and some cheese. But you may be thankful for them if you're riding late." I thanked her, and carefully stowed them in my saddlebag. Elrohir sketched her one of his elegant bows, and I smiled to see her cheeks get a little red.
"Thank you for all your many kindnesses, Mistress." She made an awkward little dip in return, then rather to my surprise came down the steps and gave me a hug.
"It was good to see you again, child. I don't quite understand this whole soldier business, though given how you used to tear about here in those raggedy britches and never a dress to your name, I'm not surprised." There was a snigger from Elrohir at this point, which I ignored.
"Think you you'll ever come back here, Hethlin?" Merelan asked. "To settle I mean?"
"I don't know, Merelan. Not for a long while, if ever. I'm to Dol Amroth for the next two years, at the King's command, and after that I think he has somewhat he wants me to do. Do you know I've a land grant in Ithilien I've not even set eyes upon yet?" Merelan snorted.
"Ithilien's well enough, but it's here where you belong, lass. We could use your father's blade here again, since I see you carry it now. Not that I usually hold with lasses fighting, but did you uphold our honor in the battles?" Seeing Elrohir swing up onto Alagos, and knowing that he was eager to be off, I kept my answer short and mounted Nimfaun.
"I fought skirmishes for three years as a Ranger in Ithilien, and I was in a couple of the big battles. Killed a fair number of orcs and Southrons. Like to think I did well enough." There were nods and murmurs of approval, when suddenly Elrohir spoke up.
"She saved the Steward of Gondor's life. Stood over him when he'd fallen wounded on the field, and killed a champion of Harad with a knife. They sing songs about Hethlin of Anorien in the White City." Stunned silence greeted this, and he took advantage of the silence to make our farewells, for I was entirely too embarrassed to do so.
"Good master, mistress, our thanks for the food and welcome, but we must be on our way. Come, Hethlin!" Alagos reared rather unnecessarily but quite beautifully, I thought, then I noticed Betha's face peeking out the door. Elrohir spun him and set off at the gallop, to the accompaniment of farewells and good wishes. I had no choice but to follow after.
It wasn't until we'd gone about a mile up the Road that he slowed our pace to a trot, threw his head back, and laughed loud and long. I glared at him in annoyance.
"What did you want to go and tell them that for? What I said was more than enough."
"Come now, Hethlin!" he replied in between gasps, "You know that you wanted them to know about that, and I know you did, so I took care of it."
"What happens when one of them shows up at Minas Tirith, and asks someone about the song abut me, and there isn't one? They'll think you lied."
"I promise you that by the time one of them makes their way there, there will be a song about you." He gave me his rakehell grin. "I harp a little, remember?" I paled with horror as I realized his intention.
"You wouldn't!" He smiled fondly at me.
"I've finally figured out the attraction you hold for me. It's the sense of purpose you give to my life. Why, I've two new goals just this day--to write a song about you that will live through the ages, and to be there when you explain to Aragorn about this latest rebellion of yours." I groaned in despair, and his laughter pealed out again as the Sun sank behind the mountains.
"Greet the dawn, Snowsteel," a soft voice lilted in my ear. My head was pillowed on something smooth, soft and hard at once, and I awoke to find myself with my head tucked under Elrohir's chin, and my arm flung across his bare chest. I blinked a couple of times, yawned, and sat up slowly. The sky was turning pink in the East.
"I'm sorry, Elrohir."
"Think nothing of it. I'm sure the sensation will return to my limbs eventually." He stretched bonelessly, rose to his feet with an ease that belied his supposed infirmity, put his fingers to his lips and whistled. There was whinnying in response from the meadow below.
"I'll get breakfast if you groom and saddle the horses," he said as he trotted off into the bushes. When he returned, I also made the trip, and came back to find Alagos and Nimfaun waiting for me, tails swishing idly, their pretty, inward tipped ears at attention. I used the brush I kept for Fortune in my saddlebag hesitantly at first, fearing it too rough for their delicate hides, but they seemed to enjoy the grooming greatly, and leaned into it with half-closed eyes. Their reaction reminded me very much of Elrohir getting his hair combed--Elven horses, too, it seemed, enjoyed having their hair messed with. When I'd done saddling them, and had washed my hands, Elrohir presented me with breakfast--a thick slice of a bread that was filled with fruits and nuts, some cheese, and water from the waterfall in a delicately carved wooden cup.
We sat down companionably on the blankets to eat our meal and watch the sun come up.
"I suppose we need to be heading north and a little west to come upon the Road again," I commented after a few bites. "I wonder where upon it the Rohirrim are." Elrohir smiled his infuriating, superior smile, and pointed.
"Elladan's there."
I was intrigued. "You can feel him?"
"Oh yes. We shared a womb together, Snowsteel, and our bond is far deeper and more profound than that which I share with you. As a result, the distance over which I can sense him, and he me, is far greater. I know where he is, and to some extent, how he is."
"That sounds....useful."
"It has saved our lives upon more than one occasion," he agreed, "and it made the commitment of certain acts of mischief in our misspent youth easier as well."
"I'm not sure I want to know any more about that."
"You would be easier in my company if you did not," he conceded. There was silence for quite a while as we finished our food, then he remarked, in an off-hand tone of voice, "I don't know why it is you feel that you are not comely." I gave him a suspicious look.
"You peeked!"
"It was not on purpose, I assure you," he said, looking out at the sunrise. "My better half and my baser half were engaged in a terrible battle while you were bathing, and when they finished, I just happened to be facing in that direction. Totally by accident, of course."
"Of course," I sighed, closing my eyes in embarrassment. Slim elven fingers reached out, grasped my chin, and turned my face towards his.
"Snowsteel, there are many sorts of beauty," he told me gravely. "A sleek, pretty housecat and a wild mountain cat are both beautiful in their different ways. You are much like your Eagle friends. What have you got when an Eagle is sitting on a crag? A big pile of dirty brown feathers." I gave him an offended look on behalf of my feathered friends, but he ignored it and continued. "But an Eagle in flight--that is one of the most beautiful sights in all of Middle-earth. So it is with you. Just sitting about, you're a tall, gawky girl. But when you ride or shoot or fight, you are very beautiful in motion." In a heartbeat's time, I went absolutely crimson. Elrohir released my chin, and took both of my hands in his, turning the wrists this way and that.
"And in truth, a good part of the gawkiness is that you're not yet grown." I snorted disbelievingly.
"I'm near twenty-two years old, Elrohir!"
"--And you are Dunedan," he interjected. "Dunedan of the purest blood. Aragorn's mother Gilraen married his father at the age of twenty, and everyone was shocked and called her a child bride, for they deemed her much too young to do so safely. The Dunedan have a longer lifespan than that of other Men, and they grow slower. I can tell from your bones that you are not finished yet, though the next year or two should see it done. Then, I fancy, even you will see an improvement. Though the King of the Mark likes what he sees perfectly well now."
"Well, there you go. I must resemble a horse if Eomer likes me." Elrohir tsked at that, dropped my hands, and stood up.
"I even detect some sort of....interest.... from the Prince of Dol Amroth, but what sort of interest it is, I cannot tell. He is very difficult to read, for a human. Very tightly shielded." Having mastered myself somewhat, I rose as well, and began helping him shake out and roll up the blankets.
"He probably just wants to make sure he does a good job of training me so the King will be happy. But does it happen often, that you cannot....read someone?"
"Very seldom. But it does give weight to the rumor of his Elven blood." We spoke little more after that, as we rolled and tied bedrolls, fastened saddlebags, refilled waterskins, made sure the fire was dead and buried, and that we'd left nothing behind. It was easy doing routine tasks with him, whether because of the soul bond or because he was actively reading me--there was no time wasted in discussion of who would do what job next, we simply moved from one task to another till all were finished, never interfering or getting in each other's way. This surprised me a bit--I could see he and his brother being thus, after near three thousand years together, but did not understand why it should be so with me. I decided he must be helping things along. When all was finished, we mounted and rode from the shade of the small glen into the sunshine. The day promised to be warm and clear. Small clouds dotted the brightening expanse of blue above our heads. Elrohir tipped his face up into the light, and smiled.
"A fine day, is it not, Snowsteel?" I agreed that it was, and we started down the mountain. By unspoken accord, we passed by the fir copse and then the house for a last look, and as we were going past the front door, Alagos' hoof chinked upon something metal. Elrohir was off his back and stooping to see what it was before he'd stopped moving. Nimfaun halted as well.
"Oh Valar, he didn't pick up a nail, did he?" I asked, concerned. Such a puncture wound would seriously lame a normal horse, and I did not see how Elven horses would be any different in that respect. If they had been, Elrohir would not have been so swift to act.
"No, it's not a nail. He's all right," the elf-lord assured me. He'd dismounted on Alagos'offhand side, putting the bulk of the horse between me and him. After a moment, I realized that he was pouring some water from his waterskin on whatever it was he had found, and then drying it on his cloak. A moment's scrutiny, another quick rub upon his cloak, and he was ducking back under Alagos' neck to come to my side, holding whatever it was between his closed hands.
"The King must give you leave to wear this openly," he said, his voice and expression unwontedly somber, "But it does belong to you." He opened his hands, and there glittering on his palm was a Dunedan star-brooch, scratched a bit, with one of the points slightly twisted. In the center of it was graven a simple line tracing of an eagle, its wings outspread. The breath left me as if I'd been punched in the stomach, and my eyes stung suddenly.
"That was Father's," I breathed, as he handed it up to me. I closed my hand about the cold metal, feeling the points dig into my fingers. A tear trickled down unbidden my cheek.
"How did it come to be here now?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice even. "The Rangers searched about for anything they could bring to me, but all of value was gone--save Father's sword. That they left behind for some reason." Elrohir looked at the hilt of my blade.
"That blade you bear is near as old as I, Snowsteel, and swords forged by the Dunedain of that time are a bane to the forces of Darkness. The orcs would not want to have touched it, or indeed have been able to do so. Had the Witch-King dared to summon you to him in the flesh, with that blade you could have smitten him, and even he would have felt it bite."
"As to that--" and he gestured at the brooch. "My guess is that it had been forced deep into the mire in the aftermath of the battle, and so lost. And it was buried still when the Rangers came. But three years' rain and weather served to bring it to the surface once more--just in time for you to claim it." He smiled gently. "A sign, if you wish to believe it so, Hethlin daughter of Hallaran, that your father and family watch and approve, and wait for you in Mandos' halls." He swung back up onto Alagos, while I stared down at the brooch.
"Do you believe that, Elrohir?" I asked softly. Another tear dropped glittering onto the silver.
"None of the Firstborn can truly claim to understand what happens to Men when their spirits leave this world," he replied, moving Alagos forward. Nimfaun followed without my urging. "But I am not a typical Firstborn. And I have ridden with the Dunedain for centuries now, and seen countless of them die, and I have seen enough to believe that yes, they go to some other sort of existence, and their loved ones wait for them indeed. I do not believe it was coincidence that brought that brooch into your hands this day, Snowsteel. Make of that what you will." We rode in silence for some minutes after that, and eventually, I dried my eyes, and blew my nose, and pulled open the throat of my hauberk, pinning the brooch to the underside of my gambeson, between it and my shirt. It lay cold above my breasts for a time, until the heat of my flesh warmed it, then it became a hard, warm, comforting presence like my father's hand above my heart.
We rode in silence for the first couple of hours, Elrohir knowing that I did not wish for speech, and we rode hard while the morning air was still cool. We cut back north, so as to intersect the Road as soon as possible, and within those two hours, we had reached it. The track of the army's passage was plain to see. As the day warmed we began altering our pace from canter to trot to walk, then back to canter. I marveled at the tirelessness of the elf-horses, though about three hours after noon, even they began to flag a bit. We'd seen the occasional homestead in the distance, but had not detoured or tarried, so were unable to determine if the folk still lived in them, or if they'd been burnt out and abandoned like my home. The first sign of habitation we encountered was where the Road ran by Min-Rimmon. There was a small inn there that served as a gathering place for the local inhabitants, though some of them would have had to journey for a day or more to reach it, and as a resting place for the occasional traveler between Rohan and Gondor. In truth, it was more tavern than inn, for they only had two rooms to let, and it was also in part a sort of general store, for the owner traded for goods from both Edoras and Minas Tirith. I'd been there shopping once or twice with my father when I'd gotten old enough to ride hard and shoot properly. A neighbor had always sent one of his older sons to stay with Mother when we went on these trips, and Father had returned the favor when our neighbor wished to do the same.
"Do you know of this place, Snowsteel?" Elrohir asked me, and I nodded.
"We can give the horses a bit of a rest here, and water them if you like."
"That seems wise. We'll be riding till well into the night if we are to catch up with the Rohirrim tonight. If the food is tolerable, let us eat as well now, then press on." I agreed to this plan, and we rode up to the porch of the tavern, where several weathered individuals rested on chairs on the porch with tankards and plates. I noted bows close to hand, and swords at sides of most of them. As we approached, the one sitting closest to the door stuck his head inside, and called the tavern keeper, who came out wiping his hands upon his apron. He looked upon us with a bit of amazement, and he was not the only one--several of the porch sitters were frankly gawking.
I looked at my companion and realized we must make quite the sight, with the two lovely Elven horses and their beautiful equipage, and Elrohir looking quite the prince out of legend with his fine armor and weapons, not to mention my livery of Gondor with the jet black hauberk and tabard. He gave me a squint-eyed look, then said hesitantly, "Hethlin?"
"Aye, Merelan," I replied, taking off my helm and coif. "But how did you know?"
"I wouldn't have," he admitted, staring at my white hair. "Not in that outfit. And not all grown up as you are. But we were told to expect you."
"You were?" I swung off of Nimfaun, and Elrohir dismounted as well.
"Aye. The army of Rohan passed through here middle of the morning, and a fine lord stopped to leave a message for you. Had armor as fancy as this one's, and a helm with real jewels on it. Wearing a blue sort of armor cover with a ship on it." I smiled.
"That would be my liege lord, the Prince of Dol Amroth." Merelan looked impressed.
"Well now! Quite the day we're having, with the King of Rohan passing by, and a Prince coming to call! Not that he said anything about being a Prince, but I told Talith that he must be some sort of great gentleman, for he had the nicest manners I'd ever seen. Betha, my eldest--you remember her, don't you?" I nodded. She'd been a quiet girl four years my junior. "Betha's done nothing but moon about since he left." He looked at Elrohir, who was standing there with an air of don't-mind-me-I'm-just-a-wondrously-fair-creature-out-of-legend, and frowned slightly. "And I'll surely get no use from her for the rest of the day now." Elrohir grinned. Gesturing me a little further away from him, Merelan leaned close to my ear and whispered, "Where's your friend from, Hethlin? Looks a bit foreign to me." I glanced at Elrohir, who, with his hearing, had of course heard everything, and whose eyes were twinkling alarmingly as he started unsaddling the horses.
"He's an Elf, Merelan, from far to the North. Your second Prince of the day, to be exact." Merelan's weathered brow creased in amazement, and he whistled sharply, which actually made Elrohir jump slightly. Elven ears could sometimes be a liability, it seemed.
"Well, you've come to be in high company, and no mistake! But come inside--the gentleman left you a note. He looked at Elrohir, hesitated for a moment, then said, "Your...Highness, let my boy see to the beasts." The elf-lord inclined his head graciously.
"I would, good sir, but they will suffer no hand but my own to tend them. Have you a well?" Merelan nodded.
"That I do indeed, sir, a well and a trough around the back and Torthall can show it to you, as well as get you anything else you need." Elrohir nodded.
"That would be most satisfactory." Rather to the bemusement of our audience he stripped Nimfaun and Alagos of all their gear, including bridles, and dumped them on the porch. When Merelan had summoned Torthall from within, he followed the astonished boy around the corner of the building, the two horses following him in their turn. The tavern-keeper shook his head at the sight, then ushered me inside.
"Talith! Look who's here! You got the letter from the gentleman?" The tavern-keeper's wife was much as I remembered her--a little more gray at the temples, a little sparer, but unchanged for the most part. "Hethlin says he's a Prince, can you imagine? There's another Prince in the stableyard right now too. Must be raining 'em today."
Talith, whose voice had always been rather low for a woman, just shook her head, and looked me up and down. "Strange times we live in, that's for sure! Hethlin, child, you've certainly filled out since last I saw you, and glad I am to see you again, for none of us thought to do so. But why ever are you dressed as a soldier, and what happened to your hair?"
"Mayhaps it's the fashion in the White City, momma," Betha put in, sticking her head out the kitchen door, a soapy mug in her hands. "I mean, it's white, isn't it?"
"Dishes, Betha," Talith chided, and Betha returned to her tasks. She had changed rather a lot since I'd seen her last, grown up and out a bit.
"I'm dressed as a soldier, Mistress Talith, because I am a soldier, strange though it sounds. As for the hair-it's short because it's easier to keep that way, and white because I was nearly scared to death once." Talith nodded knowingly.
"Those orcs, no doubt. That'd have scared anyone near to death. Whyever didn't they kill you too?"
"I think they wanted a slave," I said. No sense going into detail about that, or my hair--let them think what they liked. "How did you know what happened to me?" Talith reached under the bar for something, and pulled out a sealed piece of parchment.
"When Berill hadn't heard from you folk for over a month, he went to your place, and just happened upon some of those Ithilien Rangers there, burying your family. They told him what had happened to you. They said they didn't think you were going to live."
"At that point, they didn't. But I got better." Talith snorted a little, but it was a kind snort, and handed me the letter.
"From the looks of the company you're keeping, you not only got better, you bettered yourself a bit while you were doing it." I owned that that was certainly the truth, and opened the letter, which was sealed in green wax, though the seal was that of Dol Amroth. The Prince must have borrowed some wax from Eomer's scribes. His hand was a firmly-written one, yet spare and elegant as well.
Hethlin,
I have no clear idea of the capabilities of the Elven horses, but looking at the map, I wonder if you will be able to catch us up by this evening, particularly if your business takes longer than you anticipated. In the event you are delayed, I've paid for rooms and meals here should you and Prince Elrohir desire to spend the night. Please do not feel that you must rush to rejoin us to the extent that you harm your horses-- though Prince Elrohir said that you would return by this evening, please tell him that I do not hold him to that promise. Take what time you need, and join us when you may--except that the Lady Eowyn asks me to remind you that you owe her a sparring match!
Valar guard and guide,
Imrahil of Dol Amroth
His signature trailed off into an ornate curlicue that resolved itself into a swan ship.
"Well, that was thoughtful of him. About the rooms, I mean," I said to Talith, and she nodded.
"A very fine gentleman he seemed to us. Will you be staying, then?"
"I must speak with my companion, but I think not. We would love a good supper, though."
"That you shall have, as good as I can set on the table, though your princely friend may find it a bit plain." I smiled reassuringly.
"He is not so particular as all that."
"Not having to hunt and cook will render whatever it is most tasty, mistress," Elrohir agreed as he came in the door. Talith took one look at him, and her jaw dropped. He pretended not to notice as he dropped languidly into a chair at one of the room's four tables, and pulled off his gloves. I joined him, and gave him Prince Imrahil's letter, which he scanned in a mere moment, then handed it back.
"Polite of him," he acknowledged, "But we might as well press on. The horses can take it, and if we stop here, it could take us two days to catch up. Though I warn you, we may have a bit of a brush job to do on them before we start again. I told them I didn't want them to roll, but they seemed quite set upon it, and had a nice patch of dirt all picked out." I chuckled.
"With all the ground we're going to cover today, I suppose they feel they've earned it. I don't mind."
"I'll remember you said that when you're cursing the dust flying up your nose an hour from now."
"How late do you think we'll be tonight?" I asked him. Elrohir shrugged.
"We'll be there a couple of hours before midnight for certain, and probably earlier than that. Much depends upon how ambitious Eomer was feeling today." Further speculation ceased as Talith brought us large bowls of stew. It was a typical tavern stew, comprised of whatever was available and simmered over a low fire continuously, new ingredients being added as necessary. This time of year, there were a lot of the last of the winter's stored roots, and I tasted both chicken and pork. It was well-seasoned, and savory, and Elrohir, taking a bite, did not deign to turn his chiseled nose up at it, and set to with a will.
Betha brought us a couple of tankards of ale, which she nearly dropped when she spied Elrohir, who quite enjoyed her reaction though he acted as if oblivious to it. She then hastened back into the kitchen so that she could bring us the bread and butter before her mother could do so. The bread was warm from the oven, if rather coarser than what an elf-lord was used to, and the butter freshly churned. She took the opportunity to stare raptly once more as she set them down, and this time Elrohir looked back, in full melting-eyes mode, much to my disgust.
"Thank you, fair one," he said sweetly, and she blushed furiously, bobbed a curtsey, and fled the room.
"Would you stop that!" I exclaimed, pinching the bridge of my nose to forestall the headache I felt coming on. The corner of Elrohir's mouth curled upward evilly, and he chuckled.
"I but strive to uphold the standards of courtesy set here this day by the Prince Imrahil. How could you fault me for that?" I sighed, knowing better than to argue with him when he was in this sort of mood, and started eating once more. A very good apple pie, made with dried apples and honey, completed our meal and we were both quite content when we finished and pushed ourselves away from the table.
"Are you sure you will not stay, Hethlin?" Talith asked as we prepared to leave. "I am sure that you have many tales to tell of the things you've seen in the White City."
"I have a few tales," I admitted, "though Prince Elrohir is by far the better storyteller. Unfortunately, time presses on this journey. If I come again, I will try to make sure I can stay long enough to tell you all that I know about the War and such." Talith smiled.
"We would like that--news comes seldom and late to us here. I believe Merelan said he wished to speak with you before you go." I nodded.
"We need to bring the horses back around front to saddle them. He's welcome to talk while we do that." Out of the corner of my eye I saw Betha peeking from the kitchen again. Elrohir spied her as well, and swept her a magnificent bow.
"Thank you for the excellent service, fair one," he proclaimed, and she blushed once more, made a peculiar choking sound, and jerked her head back into the kitchen. I took him by the elbow and dragged him out of there before he could get into any more trouble.
Nimfaun and Alagos had indeed rolled, and were extremely unrepentant about it, as we found when Elrohir whistled them around to the porch. Their backs were covered with dust, and caked in a couple of places where sweat had combined with the dirt. We pulled out brushes and set to work, while the porch sitters looked on. They had apparently been having much serious converse with Merelan while we ate our dinner, for he approached me after a minute or two, and asked if he could speak to me about something.
"First off, since you're not staying the night, would you like me to give back the room rent?"
I shook my head. These were proud folk, though not well to do, and I chose my words carefully. "My lord would not expect it. You held the rooms for us, and probably lost custom as a result. Rent them again if you can with our thanks." He nodded.
"A bit of that mannering has rubbed off on you it seems." I smiled. "A few of us have been talking out here while you were at your supper, and we wanted to know something."
"And what is that?" I asked, brushing Nimfaun with long strokes. At least elf horses seemed to shed dirt more easily than normal ones--the clean-up was taking about half as long as it would have with Fortune.
"We wanted to know if you'd take a word to the King, since we have one now according to your lord. We thought that since you seem to know so many princes, you might be able to do that."
"Aye, I can, through the Steward if nothing else. What would you have me say?" He looked down at his feet for a moment, shifting uneasily from one to the other.
"I don't know if you recollect or not, Hethlin, you were very young, but about twelve years ago, we were having trouble with brigands and such, and actually sent your father to the White City to ask for help. They told him that they were stretched too thin everywhere else to send soldiers to guard a few farmsteads. So he came back and helped us work out a plan and we took care of 'em ourselves, though it cost us Rothin and Herevar. Your father was a good man, Hethlin, and a canny fighter and there's many in these parts as miss him still." I acknowledged this with a tight smile and a nod.
"Well, anyway, what I mean to say is it's always been that way, since my grandfather's time and further back if what the old folk say is true. Too few of us to be worth the while. Anything we have we've held ourselves, and paid the price in blood. The Stewards never were of any real help, but they never asked aught of us in return either, so in a way that was a fair enough arrangement."
"Now, some of us's been talking, and we're worried. Kings are fancy folk, and they like fancy houses and fancy clothes and it takes a fair amount of taxes to keep 'em the way they're accustomed to being kept. And seeing as how we've never gotten any help from the White City, we're not much inclined to pay the King any taxes just now." I choked, and not just from the dust either. Elrohir stopped brushing Alagos for a moment, then started again, a peculiar smile upon his face.
"Is that what you wish me to tell the King?" I asked when I'd mastered myself once more. Having gotten Nimfaun clean, I lifted the saddle onto his back and began girthing it up. Merelan frowned thoughtfully.
"Well, not that exactly. We're willing to be fair here. If he sends some patrols to keep the orcs and brigands and Dunlanders off of us, so we can get more people in here and settle this land as it ought to be settled, then we'll pay our fair share and no mistake. But if he just sends taxmen, and gives us naught in return, we'll tie 'em on logs and float 'em right back down the River to him. Tell him that." Many nods and grunts of assent from the porch sitters said that this was in fact the commonly held opinion. I took a deep breath, and wondered again exactly what it was about me that inspired sedition against Aragorn in all who met me, no matter how briefly.
"I will relay your message to the King. But I think you may be worried without cause. The King is a plain man--he was a Ranger in the North for many years, and he's dealt with his share of orcs and brigands. He will understand your problems better than you might think. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up here one day himself to talk to you about them."
"Give him six months in Minas Tirith, and he'll be jumping at the chance," murmured Elrohir, completing his own saddling.
"You've met him, then?" Merelan asked. I put bridled Nimfaun gently.
"I had dinner with him just the other night." My audience looked impressed. "Mother was his kinswoman from afar."
"You don't say! She was an uncommonly pretty lady, but she never put on airs. Who would have thought?" Merelan shook his head wonderingly.
"Well, I certainly didn't! I had to find out from him, for she never told me! Talk about being surprised!" Several of the men chuckled at that. Just then, Talith came out onto the porch, and offered me a bundle tied up in a napkin.
"Here's some food for the road for the two of you--hopefully it'll help make up for you not staying the night. Nothing fancy--just meat pies from the stew, and little apple pies, and some cheese. But you may be thankful for them if you're riding late." I thanked her, and carefully stowed them in my saddlebag. Elrohir sketched her one of his elegant bows, and I smiled to see her cheeks get a little red.
"Thank you for all your many kindnesses, Mistress." She made an awkward little dip in return, then rather to my surprise came down the steps and gave me a hug.
"It was good to see you again, child. I don't quite understand this whole soldier business, though given how you used to tear about here in those raggedy britches and never a dress to your name, I'm not surprised." There was a snigger from Elrohir at this point, which I ignored.
"Think you you'll ever come back here, Hethlin?" Merelan asked. "To settle I mean?"
"I don't know, Merelan. Not for a long while, if ever. I'm to Dol Amroth for the next two years, at the King's command, and after that I think he has somewhat he wants me to do. Do you know I've a land grant in Ithilien I've not even set eyes upon yet?" Merelan snorted.
"Ithilien's well enough, but it's here where you belong, lass. We could use your father's blade here again, since I see you carry it now. Not that I usually hold with lasses fighting, but did you uphold our honor in the battles?" Seeing Elrohir swing up onto Alagos, and knowing that he was eager to be off, I kept my answer short and mounted Nimfaun.
"I fought skirmishes for three years as a Ranger in Ithilien, and I was in a couple of the big battles. Killed a fair number of orcs and Southrons. Like to think I did well enough." There were nods and murmurs of approval, when suddenly Elrohir spoke up.
"She saved the Steward of Gondor's life. Stood over him when he'd fallen wounded on the field, and killed a champion of Harad with a knife. They sing songs about Hethlin of Anorien in the White City." Stunned silence greeted this, and he took advantage of the silence to make our farewells, for I was entirely too embarrassed to do so.
"Good master, mistress, our thanks for the food and welcome, but we must be on our way. Come, Hethlin!" Alagos reared rather unnecessarily but quite beautifully, I thought, then I noticed Betha's face peeking out the door. Elrohir spun him and set off at the gallop, to the accompaniment of farewells and good wishes. I had no choice but to follow after.
It wasn't until we'd gone about a mile up the Road that he slowed our pace to a trot, threw his head back, and laughed loud and long. I glared at him in annoyance.
"What did you want to go and tell them that for? What I said was more than enough."
"Come now, Hethlin!" he replied in between gasps, "You know that you wanted them to know about that, and I know you did, so I took care of it."
"What happens when one of them shows up at Minas Tirith, and asks someone about the song abut me, and there isn't one? They'll think you lied."
"I promise you that by the time one of them makes their way there, there will be a song about you." He gave me his rakehell grin. "I harp a little, remember?" I paled with horror as I realized his intention.
"You wouldn't!" He smiled fondly at me.
"I've finally figured out the attraction you hold for me. It's the sense of purpose you give to my life. Why, I've two new goals just this day--to write a song about you that will live through the ages, and to be there when you explain to Aragorn about this latest rebellion of yours." I groaned in despair, and his laughter pealed out again as the Sun sank behind the mountains.