I must give credit where credit is due and say that the idea of Elven
soul-bonding comes from my good friend Soledad, whose stories about Rivendell and Boromir are very good. Check them out. Soledad, it's been a long time coming, but--this one's for you!
The next morning I awoke to the same maid who'd served me before setting another huge breakfast at the small table. To my surprise, because of her previous silence, she addressed me in Sindarin.
"The Lord of the Galadrim asks that you meet him at the fountain after you've dressed and broken your fast, lady." I blinked at her, amazed for a moment, then found my voice.
"Please tell Lord Celeborn that I will attend him as quickly as I may." She nodded respectfully, then departed. I set to my breakfast with a will, while contemplating mychange in station. It seemed I had the Lord of the Galadrim's favor, and having such, suddenly existed for his subjects.
As I ate, I looked about the room, and my attention was caught by two new items. The first was a new set of elven clothing that had been laid out, leggings, tunic and boots as before. But this time the tunic was a pale leaf green, and woven in a pattern of leaves, the leggings were darker green, and the boots black. I liked them even better than the ones I had worn the day before, and hoped that I would be allowed to take them home with me--along with a towel, of course!
The other thing was a carved wooden box that had been set by my saddlebags. I got up toinvestigate, a piece of toast in hand, and found that it was a square wooden box, intricately carved with leaves and flowers. It measured a little more than a foot on each side, and was only about four inches deep. When I opened the tiny hook catch and lifted the lid, I found it contained the garland Lord Celeborn had made me the evening before, still as fresh as it had been then. I smiled with pleasure, for the box was small enough that I could carry it in my saddlebags. The flowers would dry in time, but the box would protect them and preserve my memento for many years.
I finished my breakfast, and dressed swiftly, fighting the usual morning battle with my hair, and making sure I'd washed up thoroughly. When I'd done, I practically flew down the ladders and walkways. Lord Celeborn was at the fountain before me, accompanied by a male servant elf who was carrying what looked to be a large, rolled up carpet.
"Good morrow to you, Lady Hethlin," he said to me pleasantly. I bowed deeply.
"And to you, Lord Celeborn. Thank you for the box." I was beginning to recognize by now his rather subtle expressions, and knew from the gleam in his eye that he was pleased.
"You are very welcome. It occurred to me last night that you might like it. Many young ladies enjoy saving flowers."
"Few, I think, have had such flowers to save as a garland woven by the hand of the Lord of the Galadrim himself."
"More than you might think. My lady wife, of course. And I have made them for many ladies over the centuries, for we often bedeck ourselves with them during the seasonal festivals." He gave me a sideways, slanting look that did not contain his grandson's manic mischief, but had a gentle twinkle to it all the same. "As garland makers go, I am considered very proficient."
"I am sure that you are, my lord," I assured him sincerely. The twinkle intensified, and I gave him a hesitant smile. "How may I serve you this morning?" He started walking, and gestured for me and the rug carrier to follow him.
"As for that, Lady Hethlin, I have heard all manner of disturbing tales about your lack of training in your gifts, and as we will have some time before we leave, and further opportunities upon the road, I have decided to teach you myself."
Greatly surprised, I started walking more quickly to draw abreast of him, almost running, for he was striding long again, as was his wont. We headed towards the southern part of the city, following the course of the stream that poured from the fountain on the lawn, moving downhill, and eventually we came to an enclosed garden that was open to the sky and filled with flowers. A long stairway led down into a deep green hollow.
"My lady's garden," Lord Celeborn said, as we went down the stairs. In the green hollow was a stone pedestal carved like a branching tree. A silver basin and ewer stood upon it, near the stream, which traversed the hollow. Upon reaching the bottom, I walked over and examined them more closely. It seemed a peculiar place for a washbasin....there were similar shallow basins in some of the gardens of Minas Tirith for birds to bathe in. It would be a very Elvish sort of thing to provide the winged denizens of Lorien with such a comfort, and in such an elegant fashion. But when I told Lord Celeborn my supposition, he made a funny, muffled noise behind an elegant hand.
"'Tis my lady's Mirror. In it, she can see the past, the present and the future," explained the Lord of Lorien when he'd recovered. "Perhaps you might prevail upon her to let you look into it." I pulled back the hand that had been about to touch it. Unexplained Elven customs had already tripped me up once since my arrival here--Elven enchantments were best avoided altogther.
"I would not dream of putting her to the trouble, my lord. Besides, it has been my experience that such things are of little use." Up went the eyebrow.
"And how is it that a youngling such as yourself has knowledge of such things?" The elven servant busied himself in spreading the carpet upon the grass, which was still wet with dew.
"A friend of mine back in Minas Tirith is a dreamer. He has visions all the time. Why, right before I left, he had one right in front of me--all about birds, and swords and rain. We neither of us could make anything of it. But it's always like that for him--they're like riddles. We can never figure out what the visions mean till after something happens. Then we say, 'Oh, so THAT'S what that meant!' But it's no help for actually knowing what to do BEFORE something happens. That's why I say visions are of no practical use."
Lord Celeborn lifted his handsome head to the morning light, and started laughing. The servant elf gave him a very startled look, sketched a hurried bow, and departed hastily.
"I suggest you keep such sentiments to yourself around my lady, Lady Hethlin," he said after a moment, still laughing softly. "She is quite proud of her prowess with this sort of magic, and finds it very useful. But then, she has been doing this for a very long time, and her visions are most likely much more controlled than those of your friend. Now, however, it is time to concern ourselves with your gifts." He sank tailor fashion onto the rug, and indicated that I should do likewise. "Sit close enough that I may touch you." I did as he bade me, and his slender fingertips reached out and touched my temple. Once again, I felt a presence in my mind that was not my own, and once again, my mind struggled against it. But like Lord Elrond, Lord Celeborn was very gifted, and subdued my reflexive mental struggles gently and deftly.
*I will teach you to anchor first, lest you have another such mishap as Elrohir described to me,* came his quiet voice in my head. *Everything else is built upon that, and will follow in time.* And so we began.
An hour later, Lord Celeborn declared us finished for the day. He instructed me to meet him in the garden after breakfast the next day and I bowed and thanked him, and left, feeling a bit odd in the head. There had not been any vocal speech involved--all his instruction was done within my mind, where the knowledge of what I needed to do was somehow gently unfolded within it. Then he would patiently wait while I demonstrated my new skill. Somehow, without being told, I knew that he was watching carefully, ready to protect me from myself, should I do something the wrong way.
As I came back up onto the lawn, I spied Elrohir coming up the hill. He seemed all in one piece, which was a relief to me, though his expression was a bit sour.
"Snowsteel! Go get your bow! I'll see about packing some food for us, and we'll make a day of it in the forest."
"I should like that very much, Elrohir, but I must attend upon my lord first, and make sure he doesn't need me for anything." Elrohir snorted.
"What ever would he need you for? He has all manner of elven attendants to wait upon him, and he's certainly not strong enough yet for anything else." I gave him an irritated look.
"Nonetheless, it is my duty to wait upon him, and hear that from him. I am his esquire, after all."
"And a very good one you are, as I've said before. Very much into the role of a sudden." The wicked glint, never far away, was back in his eyes again. "Or perhaps you find the poor, helpless, pitiful prince appealing on some level?" I sighed,then suddenly remembered the conversation I'd overheard him have with Imrahil in the recent past. It suggested a strategy.
"Do you wish me to accompany you this day, or do you not?" I asked mildly. "Because if you continue as you have begun, I will not. I can find other things to do--your sister is very pleasant company." He gave me a disgruntled glare.
"Do not think you can manage me using the Swan Lord's tricks, Snowsteel--you have not his acumen." I grinned.
"I don't need his acumen, Elrohir, because you desire my company far more than you do his." Elrohir sighed in capitulation.
"I'll go get the food."
"You do that. I won't be long."
I turned, and fairly flew up the stairs to the West Flet, heroically stifling a desire to gloat over my rare victory.
Much to my relief, Lord Elrond had already dressed my lord's leg and departed. He was sitting up in bed and reading a book when I peeked through the curtain.
"My lord prince, do you require anything this morning?" He started, looked up and saw me, and smiled.
"Hethlin! Do come in! You needn't concern yourself--I have already been given my breakfast, and am quite content." I entered, bowed, and seated myself in the chair occupied by Lady Arwen the night before, taking the opportunity to look him over as I did so. His color was much better this morning, and he did not have the weary, exhausted look of the night before. However Lord Elrond may have felt about me, there was no doubt he was an excellent healer. The Prince was proof of that. "You look as if you are feeling better, my lord."
"A good bedtime story always puts me to rights. Though I fear I may have missed some of it." The Prince noticed me looking at the chess board. "Do you play, Hethlin?"
"No sir. Is the Lady Arwen really beating you as badly as you said?" He gave the board a quick and practiced glance.
"In truth, the situation looks not as grim as it did last night. Perhaps it was because I was so tired. I may be able to extricate myself yet. When the Lady Arwen and I have finished this game, I'll teach you if you like."
"I would not wish to bore you, my lord."
"You would not bore me. And chess is a warrior's game--you'll like it. Being able to play a good game is also said to be a courtly grace. Consider it my contribution towards your education."
"You're not wasting any time about that, are you, my lord?"
"Since beyond all expectation I actually have some more time-- no, I'm not, Hethlin. How were you planning to spend your day?"
"Elrohir's packing a lunch. We were going to spend the day in the forest."
"That sounds......pleasant." His face became that of a diplomat suddenly, his expression unreadable, his true thoughts indecipherable. Yet I thought I could guess well enough what he was thinking.
"You do not approve."
"As I said once before, your relationship with Lord Elrohir is none of my business."
"Has his father been talking about me?" The Prince folded his hands upon his open book, and gave me a direct look.
"He has not troubled my peace by intentionally discussing the matter with me. However, I share a trait with one of my esquires, it seems--from time to time, I hear things I was not intended to hear, usually because it is erroneously believed that I am asleep." Embarrassed, I bowed my head, my cheeks pink. "Hethlin," he continued with a certain degree of sympathy, "would you care to discuss the situation with me?"
"I would, my lord," I admitted, "for you are a wise man, and I value your council. But there is too much that I myself do not know yet. I hope to get some answers from Elrohir this afternoon."
"Good intelligence is essential to proper planning," he agreed after a moment. "I hope you enjoy your picnic."
"I will. I like picnics."
"As do I," noted the Prince. I gave him an inquiring look.
"Shall I look in upon you this evening, my lord?" Fingers knitting together upon the book, he gave me a pleasant smile.
"If you have the time and are not too tired. I always enjoy your visits. Good luck with your information-gathering."
"Thank you, sir." I stood and bowed. He gave me the little shooing motion once more, and I left with a smile on my face.
Elrohir was waiting for me at the bottom of the mallorn, once I'd retrieved my cloak and bow and quiver. He had acquired his own bow and arrows, and a large shoulder bag from somewhere, like unto the one his grandsire had carried the day before.
"How fares the Prince?" he inquired upon my arrival.
"Much better today, I think. He actually has some color to him. Your father is certainly a good healer--I did not think there would be any way the Prince would be looking so well this quickly."
"Father knows his medicine," Elrohir agreed, rather flatly. He started down the path, and I walked beside him.
"Your brother seems to know a little about it as well. Why doesn't he study it further?"
"Elladan is not ready to hang up his sword yet." At my inquiring look, Elrohir explained. "There is a belief among us that those with the healing gift should not be warriors or hunters--those tasks are believed to impede the gift."
"Oh." I walked for a while in silence, listening to the noises of the city above our heads, then asked, "So, how bad was it?"
Elrohir did not pretend to misunderstand me. "Bad enough," he admitted with one of his sideways glances.
"That's what you get for bringing me home to meet the family." He snorted once more.
"It was not anything you had done, Snowsteel--it was simply the timing. As unhappy as Elladan and I are about this, Father is far, far more perturbed. Are not mortal men protective of their daughters, and resentful of the men who win their hearts away?"
"I suppose so. My father died before that could become an issue. Did you ever ride with him?"
"Not really. He came to Imladris on several occasions, I think, but by chance, I was always away with Elladan when that happened. Arwen knew him, and liked him. They would play chess together."
"Really? She didn't say anything about it to me."
"She has not had much of an opportunity."
"You know, if my father had lived, he would undoubtedly have warned me about you."
Amusement momentarily lightened Elrohir's uncharacteristically somber expression.
"Oh indeed! And he might have warned me off you as well! Which warning I would have probably paid heed to--he was a great swordsman for a mortal, or so it was said--and he had all those powerful feathered friends. I should hate to have been tipped off a crag by 'accident'!" I laughed.
"I've been tempted to have you tipped off a crag, or dropped from a height myself a time or two."
"I have not been unaware of the sentiment." We dropped into silence for a few minutes, then I asked, "What is a marriage bond?" Elrohir's response was very quiet.
"When two Elves desire to wed, a ceremony is held in which their souls are bonded together. This bonding can only be done once. If one of the bonded ones dies, or goes West, the other may fall in love again, but never again will he or she experience that depth of communion."
"But that's not what happened to us?" He shook his head.
"What you and I share is closer to what Elladan and I share. You are more my sister than my lover, Snowsteel." I gave an exasperated snort.
"Then what is your father so upset about?" We were passing through the passageway to the gate. Elrohir spoke, and once again, the gate opened with no sign of an elf operating any mechanism. I looked closely, for I had been sure that the device must be upon this side, and eventually had to conclude it must be more Elven magic. Crossing the bridge, we turned and started up the path to Cerin Amroth. When Elrohir finally answered me, the somber gravity was back in his voice once more.
"My father fears that the bond will strengthen over time, and that eventually we will wish to be wed, and he will lose me as he is losing Arwen. And possibly Elladan as well, for he believes that my twin would prefer to remain with me. He may be right about that. I know that if Elladan chose to stay, I would have to think very hard about the choice that lay before me."
"Did you know that this would happen when you came to the Grey Lands after me?"
"No. I knew it was a possibility, but then, there were other, more likely possibilities--like my not being able to get back, and possibly dragging Brother down with me."
"What would strengthen the bond?" He shrugged his shoulders an elegant, elven way.
"Being together for a long time. Bespeaking each other on a regular basis. Becoming lovers--that last one, definitely. Even then, it would not suddenly become a marriage bond. That takes an agreement, and a conscious decision, on both of the lovers' parts. And a ceremony." That being said, he fell silent once more, and we walked northward for a while. I watched his face closely for a while, and a dreadful idea occurred to me.
"Elrohir, your father didn't punish you, did he?" He actually flinched, and my alarm grew. "What did he do to you?"
"He did not beat me or manacle me to a dungeon wall and feed me bread and water, if that is what you fear," he said wearily. "And I am, after all, well beyond the age of majority."
"Your sister said that it was a bad argument." He shook his head.
"It was not simply bad, it was horrible. I have never seen my father like that. I tried to explain to him exactly what had passed between us, that you had already made me swear not to do what it was he was so afraid of, but it was not enough. He made me swear again, to him, that I would come West. He bound me by my sworn word to do so."
"But to make you swear again to do something you intended to do anyway--is that so horrible?" I wished I could take the question back when he turned a suddenly anguished glance upon me.
"In all my life, Snowsteel, never have I given my word and been forsworn! My oath to you should have sufficient for him. And indeed, if he felt I would break a promise to you, then what good was forcing yet another out of me? He threatened me--he said he would break the bond between us himself if I did not swear." I laid a hand on his shoulder and halted him, turning him so he faced me.
"If it will reconcile the two of you, Elrohir, then let him break it! I would miss being able to talk to you that way, and the feeling of closeness, but if it will reassure him, then le him do it!" He shook his head, and laid his hands upon my shoulders in turn.
"No, Snowsteel, for there is a small, but definite danger to you, should he do it. A very small danger, but I will not risk damaging your mind just to make him feel better! I find that I am not that desperate for a reconciliation. Promise me that you will not let him cozen you into letting him do it."
"I swear that I will not," I promised after a moment's consideration, and he gave me a small, fey smile.
"Good! We are, after all, two people of honor! But enough of my father for now--I weary of speaking of him. The woods await!" He began to jog off in a northeasterly direction, and I fell in beside him.
Elrohir may have been named Peredhil, but he was more elf than not, and he was hurting, for I could feel it, and being a hurting elf, he took to the deep woods. We passed Cerin Amroth to our west, and headed more or less north, away from the rivers, into the heart of Lothlorien. The mallorns here were huge, and not interspersed so much with other sorts of trees as was the way of things closer to the river's edge. The air was quiet and timeless--almost the forest seemed a many-pillared hall rather than a wood. We jogged for a time, until I began to be winded, then slowed to a walk, and continued that way for a couple of hours in silent thought. I could feel his grief, dismay and anger through our link, and for the first time tried to actively send comfort back. Having no way of knowing if I was even getting through to him, I thought I must be wasting my time, until I suddenly felt a small surge of gratitude return to me. But it was not until my stomach made a loud growl that he halted, and gave me another small smile.
"We had best see to that, I think." And with no further ado, we sat down where we were, at the base of a huge mallorn and took lunch out of the large bag. He had packed, or begged, or stolen a couple of large loaves of bread fresh-baked that morning, some grapes and peaches, two different cheeses, a bottle that contained a light, fizzy cider and a bottle of wine. We sipped and ate, and again did not say much. There was plenty left to repack, and we did so. Then Elrohir looked at the bow that had been his, and rested now upon my shoulder.
"Let us go find a place where we may shoot. You have had little chance to become acquainted with my gift to you." I agreed that that sounded like a good thing to do, and so we found a large glade within the forest, and set up some wands of deadwood, for no elf would shoot into the trunk of a mallorn, or indeed any tree by choice. I got my first real archery practice in a long time, and while relieved to find that my eye hadn't gone completely off, knew that I was still not back up to Captain Mablung's standards. Part of it of course, was the new bow, and Elrohir spent some time teaching me a two-fingered Elven draw which worked with it much better than the one I'd been using. At least I was strong enough now to draw it fully, though after an hour, my arms ached too much to continue--it had been a long time since I'd fully used those particular muscles.
"Not too badly done, for being out of practice as you are," Elrohir said when we'd finished. "It will take you some time to become accustomed to it. And we'll have to see about getting you some new arrows." I bridled a bit at that, for mine had all been newly fletched by me, and I knew I was a good fletcher--I'd fletched the better part of the arrows the Ithilien Rangers shot--it was how I'd first made myself useful to them.
"Do not be angry, Snowsteel," he said, discerning my thought, "I guarantee that when you see these arrows, you will wish to have some. There are no fletchers like Elven fletchers. Though perhaps I can persuade them to teach you a trick or two before we leave."
"I should like that," I said, focusing on the opportunity, and letting the Elven contempt for human craftsmanship other than portraiture slide by. Our shooting lesson concluded, we began to retrace our steps to Caras Galadon. Elrohir altered our course so that we would come upon Cerin Amroth, thereby insuring that we would have a path to walk upon after the sun had set, and indeed, it was setting when we reached the mound. He looked up the hill, and at me, and hefted the bag a bit.
"They will be sitting for the evening meal by the time we get back, and I still do not relish company. If you did not mind having lunch all over again, we could climb up and watch the sun set from the flet."
"That sounds like a lovely plan," I agreed, and his face lightened a bit. So we climbed the mound as I'd done the day before, and let the peace of the place wash over us both, then mounted the ladder to the flet. Elrohir promptly went to the western edge, and sat down, letting his legs dangle into space. He gave me a challenging look, but it was unnecessary. I came over without hesitation, and joined him. We sat with our feet swinging over the void, and watched the sunset and ate our simple supper, though he would not allow me any of the wine.
"Not when we are this high up, Snowsteel--I have seen how much you can tolerate, which is next to nothing. Just because you talk to Eagles doesn't mean you have wings." I growled at him, but in truth was glad to see him finding the energy to be provoking.
"So--what is Valinor supposed to be like, anyway?" I asked as we watched the colors in the sky brighten, change and finally fade, and the first stars begin to appear.
"Grandmother is the only one of our family with first-hand knowledge," he replied quietly. "But it is said to be supremely beautiful and peaceful. Those who go because their hearts are pained find rest and comfort and healing. No evil comes there." I gave him a wry look as I sipped my cider.
"I foresee a problem with this. You would be crawling the walls within a week." He nodded, and drank a long draught from the wine bottle.
"So I believe as well. I am not ready to be healed and peaceful. I am not sure I would ever wish to be serene. The North has its own harsh beauty, and I relish still the feel of a horse beneath me, the cold wind in my face, and my blood singing with the knowledge that I am on the trail of the servants of the Dark."
"Not much work for an orc-hunter in Valinor, I would think." His expression became decidedly morose.
"None at all. And as I told you once before, I have few other gifts. Father intends to leave very soon, within a couple of years. He wants Elladan and me to come with him, and I am simply not ready to. If Sauron had been victorious, I would have fought a rear-guard as our people escaped, then happily left you mortals to your doom--"
"--Thank you ever so much!--"
"--but as matters stand, I am of more use here. Sauron may have been destroyed, and Estel crowned, but there are still many pockets of Darkness in both the North and South Kingdoms. I would much prefer to remain till Arwen.....passes on, and then leave. And Elladan agrees with me. Grandfather does as well, though his reasons are not the same as ours. In short, Snowsteel, you are not the cause of the troublebetween Father and me--you are simply the last straw. We have been arguing about this for some years now."
The sun was well down by now, and the star-studded sky above us cobalt. A tiny breeze moved through the leaves of the mallorn. I sighed, slid back from the edge of the flet and stood, brushing the crumbs from my lap.
"That makes me feel a little better, I suppose. Though I sorrow still that the two of you are estranged. I lost my father to death--I should hate to see you lose yours to ill feeling. Don't you think we ought to start back?" Elrohir swung his feet back up onto the flet, and turned to face me.
"Do you suppose you might find your way back to Caras Galadon alone? I dislike asking it of you, but I am still not much inclined toward company."
"The company in Caras Galadon, or my company?" He rose to his feet as well.
"The company in Caras Galadon, of course. You are certainly welcome to stay if you wish. I simply thought you would not care to. I am not the best of companions right now." I smiled at him.
"As I recollect, not too long ago, I was overset with grief when visiting the graves of my family, and very bad company indeed, and you stayed with me. Friends give each other things, remember?" His eyebrow arched mockingly all of a sudden.
"Just how generous are you feeling this evening, Snowsteel?" I shook a finger at him.
"Not that generous. But I'll keep you company."
"Accepted." Catlike, he drifted across the flet to the other side. I busied myself in unslinging my cloak, and after a little thought, spread it at the base of the trunk of the mallorn. Elrohir called to me softly.
"Leave off with that. Come and look--Ithil is rising over the Anduin." I joined him on the east side of the flet, and we sat down once more with our feet hanging over that side, and watched the moonlight on the water and the trees.
"I suppose I can understand what your father is afraid of," I said after a little while. "You would have no way of getting word to him after he left that you'd changed your mind and were going to stay. He'd just be waiting for a ship that never came. I think that would be horrible." Elrohir gave me an annoyed glance.
"I could always send a message on another ship. But I am not saying I do not understand what it is he fears. I am just saying that if he truly trusted me, he would not fear at all. He thinks continuously of how Middle-earth might beguile me into staying, and forgets how much I love Mother and want to see her again."
"What was your mother like?" I asked, genuinely curious, as he'd only mentioned her in passing once before. The annoyance faded from his face and a reminiscent tenderness took its place.
"She was tall, and very slender. Her hair was the color of Grandfather's and her voice as silver as her hair. Her eyes were blue as the sky reflected in clear water. She had the softest hands. She was a very kind and gentle person, and in truth, I think she was glad to marry and come to Imladris--Grandmother can be a bit overwhelming at times. Everybody there loved her, and we were a very happy family--until the orcs took her in the Redhorn Pass."
"You weren't a child then, were you?"
"Oh no--I was a warrior full grown. It was only about five hundred years ago. T'was Elladan and I rode out to fetch her back. We had others with us, of course, but we were the two who tracked and trailed, and we were the two who did most of the slaying when we found her. I think I knew even then, when I first saw her, that nothing we could do would persuade her to stay. But we tried--oh, how we tried! Father was able to heal her wounds, but nothing he could do would heal her spirit. Scarce a year later she departed. Arwen did what she could to take her place, and after a time, Imladris seemed almost as it had been before. But Arwen is leaving now, and I suspect Imladris will become rather dreary once more. I certainly find myself in no great hurry to return."
"Surely your sister and the King would welcome you in Minas Tirith at any time."
"Oh, indeed--and I suspect Elladan and I will spend more time there than Aragorn will like. Particularly when he and Arwen have children--someone must see that they are properly corrupted.....I mean educated--after all. I think I shall enjoy being an uncle." I laughed, and it was followed almost immediately by a yawn. Elrohir rose to his feet, and gave me an arm up.
"Time to sleep, from the sound of things." I stifled yet another yawn. All the walking and shooting had apparently worn me out.
"Indeed. I have to meet with your grandfather right after breakfast. He is training my gifts." Elrohir looked pleased.
"He is? You are very fortunate then. I wish he had trained mine. He is said to be very gentle and thorough. That he should wish to do so does not surprise me--he always enjoyed teaching the young, and has had no opportunity for many years. We'll set off right at dawn then--to give you a chance to have breakfast before your lesson." He was, to my puzzlement, removing the remainder of the food from the large bag and setting it neatly to the side, but when he took the empty sack, rolled it up and placed it at the top of my cloak for a pillow, my questions were answered.
"Go on, Snowsteel, lie down," he urged, and when I'd unbuckled my sword belt and done so, he unclasped his own cloak, which seemed almost black in the shadows, settled himself beside me, and drew the cloak over the two of us. "Take the pillow, such as it is," he urged, "I do not need one." I did so, and after a moment, even as he had done in the Beacon Hills, slid an arm beneath him, and drew him toward me till his head rested upon my shoulder. He stiffened for a moment when I did it, then sighed and relaxed. I could smell a woodsy scent from whatever he'd used to wash his hair.
"There," I told him. "you have a pillow as well." He chuckled.
"And a very fine one it is indeed." He nuzzled deeper into my neck and draped an arm across me. The fingers of my free hand combed through his shadowy, silky hair and he sighed again, softly, in my ear.
"Do you know, Snowsteel, that Men have for hundreds of years sought to build monuments and dynasties and works of art that would cause people to remember them after their deaths, and with very few exceptions little remains save abandoned kingdoms and tumble-down piles of rock?"
"And why exactly are you telling me this?" He levered himself back up onto one elbow suddenly, and his hand brushed my cheek.
"Elves are bound to Arda, as Men are not, and will endure so long as Arda endures. And we possess, the gift or curse, depending upon how you look at it, of perfect memory. You may live to see me go into the West, or you may have passed beyond the world before then, but either way, know this--I will remember you. As you are now, and as you will be, with perfect clarity, till the end of Arda. An immortality of sorts, if you chose to see it so." I considered this for a moment.
"Why thank you very much, sir!" Elrohir inclined his head, mock gracious, and I laughed. "What happens to the First-Born when Arda ends?" His hand traveled from my cheek up into my hair, and traced the curve of my ear. I shivered a little, and he smiled a little sadly.
"No one knows. It may be that at that time we will go beyond the world as well, and I will see Arwen and Estel and you again at last. Then there are those who hold that we will end when Arda ends, in a death far more final than Men endure." A strand of his hair fell into my face and tickled my nose. I tucked it back behind his ear, and he caught my hand and kissed it. "It is not a matter of immediate and pressing concern."
"Well, if I'm still out there beyond the stars when that happens, I promise I'll remember you. That way you'll get your immortality. And since you never age or change, I'll have the easier job of it." Elrohir's wicked grin made its first appearance of the day, and he laughed.
"Ah, but you are good for me, Snowsteel! You ease my heart!"
"I am glad to hear it." I studied his face in the dappled moonlight and shadow for a moment. "I have always wondered why it was you took such an interest in me. Do you suppose it's because the same thing happened to me as to your mother?" I thought that he might be offended or upset, but he merely pondered calmly for a moment.
"Actually, I had never considered that before, but you might very well be right. I know that when I learned of your history, I was most impressed with your fortitude, and was determined to see that you not be hurt again. Perhaps it made me feel better, knowing that someone could go through that, and not only survive, but flourish." I ruffled a lock of my own hair.
"See? Not silver, but close enough. You never knew me when my hair was dark." Elrohir gave me an arch look.
"Snowsteel, are you implying that I have confused you with my mother? If so, then I shall disabuse you of that notion right now." And as he had done once before on the Pelennor, he slid an arm beneath me, bent over me, and kissed me, his lips warm and insistent upon mine. This time, there was no momentary panic, just the recognition of how good it felt, and this time when the kiss ended, he did not roll away, but took a long, deep breath, and kissed me again.
"What happened to it being unkind and unwise to sleep with me?" I asked somewhat breathlessly, when he had finished the second kiss. Elrohir did not answer immediately, but slid his hand into my hair behind my neck, and lifted my head, kissing me once more, harder but more briefly this time.
"I weary of being wise," he murmured as he then began to give me soft, swift, tiny kisses on my face and eyes and lips and throat, interspersing them with his words. "And I have never been kind. Why should we not do this, Snowsteel? Your precious Steward has made his choice to ride the Rohirrim mare, the more fool he, and he was never your match anyway. You would have been the tall tree and he the vine that strangled you. He is not strong enough for you." Another long kiss stopped my indignant protest at his assessment of Faramir's character, and his hand began unfastening the clasps at the neck of my tunic. "Eomer of Rohan is strong, but hasn't the mother wit to deal with you. Imrahil of Dol Amroth has the wit, and the will and the strength, but not the years left to him. Aragorn would have been your match, and oh, how I wish you had been older, and that he had met and loved you instead of Arwen! There are Dunedain in the North who might suit you--the North breeds stronger Men than does the South, I think."
"And you? Where do you fall in all this discussion of wit and will?" I asked unsteadily. "I will not be used as an instrument to strike back at your father." He lifted his head to regard me, though his hands still continued to caress my face and throat.
"I am your perfect lover. I am your friend. I have sworn not to fall in love with you and give up my immortality, and you know I will not be forsworn. I will not trammel or bind you in any way. I would not get a child on you even were you not barren, for such requires a conscious act of will with us. When I am done with you, you will be able to take a man to your bed in joy instead of fear. And I am not using you to hurt my father, for you know well I wished this before he and I quarreled this last time." I reached my hand up to stroke his face, so slender and so unlike Faramir's, no hint of a beard, the skin as soft as that of a young child.
"What do you get out of this? Besides what I hope would be pleasure, of course." The night breeze rose once more and stirred his hair, like unto the finest silk floss. His eyes were dark and shadowed, his expression as unguarded as I'd ever seen it. For a moment, he actually looked.....young, and a bit uncertain.
"Heartsease, as I said once before. Heartsease, and the chance for just one night to be a healer instead of a killer. But I am not some rutting Man, Hethlin," at which I started, for he never used my real name, "and even though we are alone here, and forced close by circumstances and the lack of blankets, I am quite capable of simply sleeping this night, if that is what you wish. I will do naught without your consent."
I looked at him for a long moment, studying his face and trying to actively sense what it was he was feeling through the link. I was not entirely successful, but I could feel a rising desire held firmly in check, and a warm surge of affection when he felt my touch on his mind. And a surprisingly vulnerable loneliness for someone who was soul-bonded to two people. It was the last that finally undid me, that made me lift my arms to his slender shoulders and draw him down to me, knowing all the while that this was a very bad idea.
"Heartsease it is, then," I whispered in his ear, and the stars returned to his eyes, they kindled into pure silver fire, and he was smiling when he whispered back to me, his hands touching me light as butterflies.
"There will be joy, Snowsteel, I promise you that."
What followed then is best described by the King of Gondor's words upon our parting in Minas Tirith--"Elrohir is a truthful person. Perverse, provoking, irritating, contrary, fey, mischievous....but truthful."