Author's Note--Whew! The big 40! Thanks to Elizabeth Wyeth for the medical information, and to Altariel for continued inspiration.
As Anor arose to the thunder of Caerith's hooves upon the road, I decided that the Prince had had a very good idea indeed. Though the day promised to be hot, the morning air washed cool against my face as I galloped towards Min-rimmon. The further I drew away from the camp, the weaker the unease emanating from Elrohir became, and the more I was able to relax. It had been a while since I'd truly been alone, and I had always enjoyed solitude, even as a child. And despite the fact that he was a scum-lover, Caerith was arguably one of the finest horses in Gondor.
I smiled as I remembered how the Prince had offered me any of his other horses the day he had given me Fortune, up to and including the stallion he rode himself. And I knew that though it would have pained him greatly to do so, he would have given Caerith up had I asked. For a moment, as I savored his speed and smoothness of gait, his easy mouth and willing spirit, I almost wished I had. Then I remembered days of currying river muck off of him, and decided I was better off with Fortune. Caerith, who was extremely sweet-tempered for a stallion, had not really been rank at all the last several days--it was just the Prince's way of giving me a treat.
After an enjoyable ride, I reached the Beacon about an hour after dawn. Drawing rein in the courtyard, I paused before dismounting. The senses I had honed in Ithilien as a Ranger were suddenly clamoring a warning. Stroking Caerith's sweaty neck, I surveyed my surroundings carefully, trying to determine what was amiss.
The door was ajar. That in itself was not particularly notable--like most innkeeps, Merelan went to bed late and rose early. Not untoward to open the door to let in light and air. But if that were the case, then why were the shutters, which had been installed to protect the Beacon's precious glass windows, closed? I strained my eyes and ears to determine the nature of the possible peril, but ultimately, it was my nose that told me the truth. Upon a drift of morning air came a stench I knew all too well. There were orcs within the inn. And having determined that, now other things confirmed it. Faintly from within, I could hear the sounds of breaking crockery and guttural voices quarreling.
A pang of sorrow smote me, as I imagined what had happened. Another band of renegade, leaderless orcs, crossing the Anduin, perhaps upon rafts. Making their way across scarcely populated eastern Anorien without hindrance, for no one patrolled those parts. Why were they headed westward? Perhaps they hoped to lair in the White Mountains. Or, as was more likely, they were headed into Dunland, to see if they could sell their services to one of the chieftains there. On the way, they could plunder the isolated homesteads of western Anorien.
They must have come in before dawn, while the family slept. Merelan had been a soldier once, from things my father had told me--certainly, he had ridden with Father when the homesteaders had campaigned against the brigands. But torn from sleep, against numbers--even with a weapon to hand, he wouldn't have stood a chance. I hoped that it had been quick for them all, but knowing how orcs liked to torment their prey, I didn't think it likely.
Muttering a prayer to the One for the family's souls under my breath, I turned Caerith and cantered out of the courtyard, half-expecting an arrow to fly out of one of the upper windows and strike me in the back. Let the orcs think I had realized my peril and sensibly fled the area--I had already decided that I would scout the situation out further. Not so far behind me were a host of elven heroes of the Second Age--more than enough puissance to deal with even a sizable band. Indeed, the only trouble I could foresee would be complaints that there weren't enough of the foe to go around! I decided to gather as much information as I could before they arrived.
In a copse of trees a little way back from the Road, I tethered Caerith, hating to leave him standing while he was hot, but seeing no way around it. I contemplated shucking the hauberk, so as to be able to move more silently and freely, but decided to leave it on in case I met massed foes. Moving as stealthily as I could, I advanced through the trees till I had reached a vantage point behind the inn, halfway between it and the stables. Then I waited.
About five minutes after I had settled myself, two things happened. From the darkened entrance of the stables, an orc emerged, a Mordor orc from his livery. In his hands he carried a dripping hunk of meat. I could only suppose that one or more of the beasts in the barn had just been slaughtered. The second thing was a scream of terror that emanated from the upstairs of the inn.
"NO! MOTHER!" It was Betha's voice, and at the sound of it, my world seemed to lurch sickeningly for a moment before it righted itself again. One or possibly more of them were still alive--the attack must have happened right before dawn, shortly before my arrival. Betha, the shy, sweet-seeming girl who had been so fascinated by Elrohir, was trapped in the house with an undetermined number of orcs. A seventeen-year-old girl.......I knew what they would do with her, had perhaps done already. And I knew that my plans had just changed. No matter how many of them there were, I would have to try to deal with them. I could not wait for the others to catch me up, I needs must act now, for I could not guarantee that Betha would still be alive when the caravan arrived, or if she was, that she would wish to remain so.
I loosened my sword and dagger in their sheaths automatically, and took my bow down from my shoulder and strung it. The orc was halfway across the yard when Elrohir's bow sang, and one of the lovely elf-wrought arrows he'd acquired for me against my protests thudded into its warty neck. Moving swiftly towards the stable, for I needed none of them coming in behind me, I saw another come hesitantly out into the growing light. He was blinded for a moment, and thus saw me at the same time my second arrow left the bow. He died soundlessly, a good thing, for surprise was certainly my friend in this endeavor. I stepped over his body and moved into the stable.
There were no more orcs within, only a matched pair of draught horses and a couple of milch cows who stirred uneasily in their stalls, frightened by the smell of blood. What was left of the stableboy lay near the doorway, and I promptly lost my tea and honey bread in a nearby stall. They hadn't butchered any of the animals after all.........
I passed a shaky hand over my suddenly clammy face. The cannibalism in connection with the plight of the girl bore more than enough similarity to my own past experiences that I was quite shaken up. Shamed though I am to admit it, it crossed my mind that I really should wait for the others, and that they probably wouldn't even blame me for doing so. Then Betha cried out again. Shuddering, I turned towards the inn, and tried to remember what I could about its layout. To the best of my recollection, the kitchen had a pantry room to the right, not far from the door, and there was a door to the common room upon the far wall. There were also steps down to the cellar. I would have to secure those areas and the common room itself before I went upstairs, for I could not risk being surrounded.
The birdsong in the trees, increasing in volume as the morning brightened, seemed very incongruous when I thought about the horror that must lie within the inn. I moved towards the house at a slow trot, coming in from the side, for the back door too was open. As I approached, an orc came out the kitchen entrance, and in a rare show of personal cleanliness, prepared to relieve himself off the edge of the porch. Looking out across the stableyard, he saw his fallen companions, and was about to shout a warning or curse when my arrow took him through the head. He collapsed off the porch with a dull thud. Another one, hearing the noise, stepped out the door, and I felled him with a perfect shot through the eye. They were the last of the easy kills.
Closing the rest of the distance in a rush, I burst through the door, arrow knocked. The kitchen, which I remembered from my childhood as a fragrant, welcoming place, was in a state of total disarray, with broken crocks and bins of food overturned, spread and smeared about. There were four orcs in the room, most of them the worse for drink, as witnessed by the keg they'd been partaking from, set upon the table for easy access. They staggered to their feet, cursing, when I entered, and the curses turned to screams as I fired.
There is the sort of carefully aimed shooting one does in a siege when it is essential to make every arrow count. That was the sort of shooting I had done at Osgiliath and the Causeway Forts. Then there is the sort of shooting one does when one is plunging through the forest in a running battle in Ithilien, not so pretty or precise. Swift shooting without careful aim, firing fast at the bodies of your enemies to make a barrage of arrows thick and deadly enough to keep them off of you. The two nearest the door died first--I noticed that the elven arrows seemed to penetrate armor more easily than my usual missiles. The others were on the other side of the large table that stood in the center of the room, and I was able to pick them off in a more leisurely manner. It had been a while since I'd done any serious archery practice; nonetheless, the heat of battle sharpened my eye to its old standard in a hurry.
Growling and thundering up the cellar stairs, two more burst into the kitchen, swords in hands, wiping their mouths--they'd been sampling the wine from the looks of things, and they fell right back down the stairs when I shot them. Then I had a difficult decision to make--should I go into the cellar far enough to make sure no other orcs were down there, and risk getting trapped by those that might come into the kitchen from the common room--or should I go into the common room, and hope there were no others in the cellar to flank me?
After a long moment, I decided to go into the common room, with the hope that if any of them were left in the cellar, they were thoroughly drunk, and relatively harmless. And besides, Betha's wails were spurring me onward. The cries of my orc captors from long ago had begun echoing in my head, combining with the screams of my new foes, and a red haze was beginning to form around the edges of my vision. I gripped Elrohir's bow with a sweaty hand, and stepped lightly into the common room, my blood singing in my veins.
To this day, I cannot remember clearly what happened next. I had already killed ten orcs, and I spent my last eight arrows in a furious volley in the common room, winnowing the drunken, belligerent contingent there down to a number of foes I could handle with my blades, always falling back towards the stairs near the front door so I would not be flanked, and could proceed to my ultimate destination. I have impressions only-- the flash and clamor of my silver steel against their dark, the jarring thud as my blades sank into flesh and bone, the feel of black orc blood soaking into my gloves and wrists. I think I took the slash down the outside of my left thigh there, as well as the broken toe from an armored boot smashing down on my foot, but I am not sure, and neither injury was of consequence enough for me to pay heed or even slow down.
The Rohirrim have their berserks, and there are tales among my folk of extraordinary deeds done in the battle-rage, and I think I must have been in that place, for I felt no pain, and knew that I was invincible, swift death. By all rights, I should have died in the inn at Min-rimmon, and have no explanation for why I did not, other than the caprices of battle-luck, the fact that most of my foes were very drunk, and my state of mind, which enabled me to fight at a higher level of competence than I would have ever thought I could. Every bit of blade-craft or strategy I had ever learned from my father, from Faramir, from Mablung or the sons of Elrond seemed suddenly to coalesce into an accessible, understandable whole, and I used it all. The voices of the orcs faded, to be replaced by the voices of my teachers, advising and encouraging, and then their voices seemed to combine in turn into my father's, matter-of-fact and amused.
"'Tis naught but Ranger odds, Heth-lass. Welcome to any ordinary morning in Eriador! Are you my daughter or no? Deal with them!"
Being the obedient daughter I was, I did as he bade me, and dealt with them. I dealt them death, as Rangers had always dealt the Dark for centuries. The last one died at the foot of the stairs, falling beside Merelan's body which lay there as well, arms outflung, a bloody hole in his chest. I started up the stairs, taking them two at a time, hoping to reach the top before the orcs up there came out to oppose me. I almost made it.
A voice was bellowing--"Ger off, you maggots! Time enough for fun later! Go down and see what bit o' spoil they're killing themselves over, and knock their heads in!"
According to memory, the upstairs was divided into four large rooms, all connected by the one hall running down the length of the house. At the far end, stairs led up to the attic. The two outer rooms, having more windows, and being generally more desirable, were the guest rooms, holding four beds each. The two central rooms were the home of the innkeep and his family, and it was from one of these that the orcs poured. The first one reached me as I was trying to gain the landing, and managed to get a blow in against my head, but my helm held. Ears ringing, I skewered him through the gut, and wrenching my blade free, stepped past him onto the second floor. He groaned, and toppled down the stairwell.
There were not so many upstairs, only four or five. It was close quarters in which to fight, ground not at all to the taste of a Ranger accustomed to outdoor combat, but it was ultimately in my favor that the hall beside the stair was narrow enough that they could only meet me one at a time. They came, and I slew them one by one, stepping over the body of my last foe to meet my next. At last I reached my destination--the door to the innkeeper's quarters. And had but a moment to peer within, to see that Talith lay unmoving upon the bed, her nightgown torn from her body, and that Betha was crouched sobbing in a corner, before the light was blocked out by a huge body that dodged my ready blade, lowered its head, and slammed into me amidships.
The force of the blow staggered me backwards, and my foe wrapped an arm around my waist as we broke through the rail that surrounded the stairwell, and fell down about six feet to land in the center part of the stair. My sword flew from my hand at the initial impact, and the breath was driven from my body as I slammed into the stairs on my back with great force, the weight of the orc making matters even worse. Down we tumbled, end over end, and as we did so, the hand that wasn't around my waist grabbed my dagger wrist, claws sinking into my flesh.
Though I tried to keep momentum going, keep rolling so that I would end up on top, it did not happen that way, and the moment we reached the bottom of the stairs, my foe released my waist and slammed his fist into my jaw. Stars exploded in my head, and I struggled to remain conscious. The same hand then closed upon my throat, and he sat down hard upon me, pinning my legs. We were lying atop both Merelan's body and that of the first upstairs orc. It was like the dream that Faramir had waked me from in the Citadel, only much, much worse, for it was real.
My foe was a huge Uruk, bigger than the ones I'd seen on the Wold, and apparently cannier than the average orc as well. He had sent his underlings out to deal with the situation, listened to them die, and bided his time until he could attack in a way that would put me at a disadvantage. Contests of strength were not something I excelled at, preferring to rely upon speed and finesse. He, on the other hand, undoubtedly ruled his mob of followers by means of the iron fist he'd just nearly broken my jaw with. My free hand came up to try to force the hand upon my throat away, but it was like shoving against a tree-trunk. The hand tightened even more, and I saw black around the edges of my vision. He looked around the room at the remains of his band, and growled deep in his throat.
"Quite the warrior, aren't you, Dunadan? Some of these lads were good'ns--we'd been together a long time. You're going to wish you'd broken your neck falling down those stairs before I'm through with you--I'm going to take you apart one piece at a time!" With brutal efficiency, he lifted my wrist and slammed it repeatedly against the floor till I was forced to release my knife. I heard it skitter off to the side, out of my reach. Then he released my throat, and as I gasped in a deep breath, backhanded me again. I slipped into blackness for a moment, hoping that Betha was at this very moment shinnying down sheets from the upstairs window so she at least could make her escape and my efforts not be in vain.
When I came back to myself, the Uruk was on his feet, and lifting me by the neck. He had released my arms, believing me both subdued and disarmed, and indeed my poor, abused head was spinning. Its condition did not improve when he stepped over the bodies, and slammed me up against the wall beside the door.
"You've got a scar on one cheek," he commented, drawing a long knife with a wicked, serrated edge. "I think I'll begin by making the other match." I made a protesting noise, hoping to keep his attention focused on upcoming amusements, and slid my right foot up the wall, as if I intended to brace against it and try to free myself. He laughed most unpleasantly, and pressed his body close against mine to pin me. The reek of him was nauseating, but he was actually supporting me at the moment, which was good, for I wasn't sure my legs would hold me. And he was using his left arm to hold me up, further good fortune, for that way he could not block my right hand, which brushed the top of my right boot.
"Killed many Dunedain at the Black Gate, I did," he bragged. "You're not so tough as legend paints you."
"You should.... believe legends when you hear them," I whispered painfully to him, my jaw aching, my throat tight beneath his hand. "They are usually....based on fact." He bared his teeth in a predatory grin, and pressed the point of his blade against my cheek. I felt it sink in the tiniest bit, and a drop of blood trail down my face. My fingers sought and found thin steel, a small, leaf-bladed knife sheathed in my boot top, balanced well enough for throwing if necessary, discretely hidden. A long knife was a very handy tool, but sometimes it was more than one needed, and this one was better suited for trimming fletches or cutting bowstrings. Or throats, in a pinch.
The Uruk pressed harder against me as he prepared to cut with the knife. My left hand rose and tried to fasten upon his right arm, but it hurt horribly to use it, and there was no strength in my grip. He grinned in anticipation, then a surprised look crossed his face. His hips ground against mine experimentally, and despite myself, I gasped.
"A woman, are you?" he exclaimed, rubbing my chest roughly with the side of his dagger hand for confirmation. I wriggled in protest, and the surprised look became a leer. "So much the better, then! No orc wench would be so forward--they stay at home with the whelps, as is proper. Let what happens now be a lesson to you about a woman's place, Dunedan slut."
His dagger still in his fist, he dropped it down to start pushing my hauberk up.
With the last of my waning strength, I made my right hand flash upward, sinking the small blade beneath his chin. It was a move learned not in battle, but from watching my father do the winter kill, a quick flick of the wrist. His hand fell away from my throat to clutch vainly at his own as his lifeblood poured out, and he tried to stab me through the eye with the dagger, but I was able to move just enough that it snapped against the stone of the wall beside my head instead.
"Let this be a lesson to YOU, Uruk," I whispered to him as he sank to his knees, dying. I myself was sliding slowly down the wall. "Never gloat over a Ranger until you're sure she's dead." He toppled slowly to his side, gurgled for a moment, then expired.
My bottom hit the floor, and I relaxed gratefully against the wall, turning my abused face to rest against the cool stone, and wincing at the pain in my neck, head and back as I did so. Now that the battle was over, I was shaking hard in reaction, and despite the fact that there were dead bodies were right next to me, I did not think I could move. The stench of blood and death in the room was incredible, and I could already hear the buzzing of opportunistic flies.
A faint sound of movement on the stairs drew my eye, and I saw Betha descending, carefully holding up the hem of her nightgown lest it be fouled, her feet smeared with orc blood. She saw her father's body, and her face crumpled. A sob escaped her. Then she gave me a fearful look that turned into a relieved one, and I realized she had thought that I might have been killed as well. I knew that I should get up, reassure her, help her with her mother if Talith were still alive and with her father's body. Certainly I needed to get up and make sure there were no other orcs in the cellar. But when I tried to rise, my aching head started to spin, and blackness swept across my vision. I barely had time to croak, "I was not alone, Betha. Help is on the way. Don't worry," before I fell into total darkness.
I was still not awake when, forty minutes later, Elladan and Elrohir, Glorfindel, Lord Celeborn and a contingent of warriors from both Lorien and Imladris poured into the courtyard in a flood of warlike elegance. Prince Imrahil was also with them, armed and armored for the first time since his accident, and mounted on Lady Arwen's elven horse. Poor Betha, who had divided the intervening time between caring for her mother still alive but unconscious, and me, in the same condition, who feared that neither of us would ever wake again and had generally had the worst possible sort of morning, took one look at her ethereally beautiful rescuers, and promptly fainted.
Sun shining full on my face woke me, sun and the fact that I was feeling rather warm and headachy. I opened my eyes and blinked in the bright light. A hand took mine gently.
"Hethlin, can you hear me? Shall I draw the curtain?" The Prince's voice.
Remembering the uruk's bruising hand on my throat, and the pain in my jaw, I did not speak, but merely nodded very carefully. The hand left mine, and there was the chink of mail moving. He drew the fabric over the window, and I sighed in relief.
"Would you like a drink?" asked another voice. Elrohir. I nodded once more, and he carefully lifted my head. I tensed, waiting for the pain from my neck and back, but it didn't come and though there was a twinge in my jaw, it was only a residual soreness. After a moment, I relaxed. Cool metal was pressed to my lips, and invigorating wetness flowed down my throat. My body craved that water, and I drank it thirstily. Then a second, smaller cup holding the same elven cordial Lord Celeborn had once given me was offered, and I drank that too. Unlike regular drink, it seemed to clear my head wonderfully. A few more blinks, and I was able to focus properly.
Making an assessment of my own condition first, I found that sometime while I had slept, I had been thoroughly cleansed of blood and clad in fresh clothing from my packs. Also, I could feel a bandage on my left leg beneath my breeches, and my much abused left wrist and hand were bound up for support. It seemed that I had been settled into one of the guest bedrooms, for there were other empty beds in the room.
"Caerith? Is he.... all right?" I said slowly and carefully. My voice was still rather raspy, pain lanced through my jaw when I spoke, and from time to time I could feel the hinge pop. All in all, an incentive for brevity. "He was.... hot when I left him, my lord. Sorry."
"Caerith is just fine, Hethlin," soothed the Prince. "We found him shortly after we arrived."
"What about....Talith? I wasn't sure.....she was alive."
"She was, and Elladan tended her till his father and the others got here. Lord Elrond says that she should recover fully, in time."
"Apple tarts indeed, Snowsteel!" came Elrohir's voice. I saw the Prince flinch in a way that suggested this had already been a source of contention between them. "Whatever possessed you to try such a thing? Why did you not wait for us?"
"Oh, I wanted to," I told him with a grimace, my speech still very deliberate. "When I thought.....that everyone was dead. I was going to..... scout things out and wait... until you arrived. But when I found out Betha was alive........couldn't wait. I couldn't let them....do that to her. And I didn't know....how many there were." A drift of warm breeze came in the window, and with it, a really horrible smell. I knew that smell, having experienced it many times before--they were burning the orc bodies. Through the open door came the melodic tones of many elven voices, and the sound of much movement.
"The elves are cleaning things up a bit," Imrahil explained. "We may not tarry here, but they cannot abide such foulness. The innkeep and that poor stable boy have been readied for burial, and I shall speak the words for them when their family is ready. I think we will have to take Talith and Betha with us when we leave, for we cannot assure their safety here."
"I don't know.... if they will go, sir," I warned him. "This place....is their livelihood."
"I was not planning upon giving them a choice, Hethlin," said the Prince rather grimly. "And I shall see that the King recompenses them for any damages to their business. But I cannot leave two women here unguarded." I sighed, and let the argument drop, for I hadn't the energy to pursue it. A soft knock came at the door, and an elf I'd not yet met looked into the room. He was a Lorien elf, clad in the greys of their border guards, and he held a sheaf of arrows in one hand. My arrows, I realized after a moment. Elrohir gestured him in. He entered, looked about, found my gear and quiver, and placed the arrows in it. Then he addressed me in slow and careful Westron.
"Eighteen arrows, eighteen orcs. You did my handiwork credit, Ranger. Well shot. Well shot, indeed." I blushed.
"You fletched my arrows?"
"I did, at the request of this fellow here," and he indicated Elrohir with a smile. "I will own, I thought his claims of your skill were exaggerated by affection. I find now that that was not so. I have cleaned and mended them of any hurts they have suffered, and replaced one that was past any use. May they serve you so well again one day."
"Hopefully, not any time soon!" The elf chuckled at my vehemence. "Thank you so much-"
"-Haldir," Elrohir supplied helpfully.
"Haldir," I repeated, and the elf sketched a quick and graceful bow, and departed.
"He's a March-warden, and an excellent archer and fletcher," Elrohir explained. "Whenever we wager about something, I usually insist that his wager be arrows he fletched."
"What does he....wager for?" I asked, curious.
"Miruvor. He has a taste for it, and only the royal house has a steady supply."
"And what do you....wager about?" Elrohir gave me one of his superior looks.
"You are far too weak to be concerning yourself with such trivialities, Snowsteel." I gave him a warning frown, and he grinned, unrepentant.
A whisper of robes came at the door, and I looked over to see Lord Elrond entering. He closed the door behind him, and glided over to look down at me. It was a position of vulnerability that I did not find reassuring in the least.
"Ah, now both of my patients are awake. That is well."
"How is Talith, Lord Elrond? And Betha?"
"Betha is sleeping for now--I thought it best. She has no injuries other than some bruises, but she was in a very excited state. Her mother is as well as can be expected for a woman who was used in such a way. Very bruised from being thrown about, and she'd taken a bad bump to the head, but she will recover eventually. They were, of course, very grateful you had shown up when you did." That last remark was almost.....friendly. I gave him a puzzled look, then threw the Prince a suspicious glance. Imrahil was wearing his bland face of a sudden.
Something that Lord Elrond had said nagged at my mind. A moment later, I realized what it was.
"My lord? Betha?" He raised an eyebrow at me. "Did not the orcs use her as well?"
"I saw no indication of it. Why?"
"I had thought that.....well, I was worried I'd come too late." Was that a fleeting look of sympathy that crossed his face?
"Too late for Talith. Not too late for Betha." My eyes prickled a bit at that, and the Prince gave my uninjured hand a sympathetic squeeze.
Indicating that his son should vacate the chair by my side, Lord Elrond seated himself, then, with a look at me for permission, laid his fingers gently on my face, and started stroking it and my skull. A gentle feeling of warmth permeated my head, and the dull ache I'd woken with lessened.
"This was the not worst of your injuries, though I will warn you that you'll be very sore and stiff for the next day at least. I am sure you have discovered that it hurts to talk. So try not to speak any more than is necessary." Elrohir, greatly amused by that instruction for some reason, snickered. His father shot him a quelling look. "We shall see that you have soft food to eat. If you would be so kind as to roll onto you side, please--I would like to have another look at your back." I did so, and ended up facing the Prince, who gave me a reassuring smile. Lord Elrond deftly pushed my shirt up in the back, while the Prince aided me in arranging the coverlet so that modesty was preserved in the front. His face became suddenly impassive, but I thought I felt a slight tremor in his hand.
Elrohir hissed, all amusement gone, when my back was revealed.
"It could have been far worse," his father commented. "The mail and gambeson spared her quite a bit. It was a wonder she did not break her neck or back. Or crack that rib she broke some time ago again." I wondered how he knew about that. As he had done upon my face, his fingers seemed to stroke the soreness away, though with my back and neck he pressed firmly on certain points as well. Lord Elrond and I were anything but friends, but I could not deny that his ministrations were soothing in the extreme, and I sighed in relief.
"Does that feel better, Lady Hethlin?"
"Aye, my lord." After all, one should give credit where credit is due. He continued his manipulations for a few moments longer, then pulled my shirt back down.
"You may turn back over now--I wish to look at your wrist and hand." I did as he bade me, and he checked my fingers, apparently to make sure that they were warm, and could wiggle a bit.
"I fear you will not be drawing a bow for some time to come. The bones of your hand are bruised, the knuckles torn and your wrist badly bruised and sprained. Try not to move it any more than is necessary--when you arise again, I will see that you have a sling. I will clean the claw marks again this evening--orc talons are filthy. The slash on your thigh is little more than a scratch, but I've cleaned and bandaged it, and we will keep an eye on it. Obviously, we would know by now if poison were involved, so you were lucky upon that count, at least." I had to admit, his bedside manner was excellent, very reassuring, and he seemed more comfortable relating to me as a healer.
"I am going to give you a draught for your headache. Elrohir, in a few minutes I would like you to help her sleep again. That, in combination with the medicine, should set her to rights quicker than anything."
"Yes, Father," Elrohir replied, suddenly the very picture of a dutiful son. I wondered what had transpired once I had left the camp. Lord Elrond rose, and started for the door.
"I will look in on you again in a while, Lady Hethlin. In the meantime, try to get some rest."
"Aye, my lord." He nodded in response, opened the door and departed. I looked at my two companions. Elrohir was expressionless, while the Prince seemed pensive.
"You could not have known this was going to happen," I told Imrahil quietly. "It's not your fault." His brow creased, and he frowned slightly.
"I should not have sent you out alone. You were nearly killed! Valar, I thought you had been, when we rode up and found you! Elrohir assured me otherwise, but it was still a bad moment." I patted his hand.
"I'm a tough one, my lord, and I take some killing. But I forgive you, if that is what you are worried about." Imrahil gave me a rueful look.
"You have a generous heart, Hethlin. And I accept your forgiveness with thanks. Forgiving myself, however, may take a bit longer. I am occasionally a bit too clever for my own good. Or, in this instance, for yours." He rose. "I'd best go see to Mistress Talith, if she's awake, since I'm one of the few mortals here. She might find it disconcerting to be surrounded by naught but elves." Elrohir gave him a look of mock offense, and for a brief moment, the twinkle was back in his eye. "Particularly these elves." I chuckled, and he went out the door, closing it behind him. Elrohir waited a moment, then carefully laid himself beside me upon the narrow bed, raising a slender hand to stroke my hair back from my cheek.
"Ah, Snowsteel, I had a bad moment or two myself there. I could feel that you were in trouble. When I told the others Father was doubtful, but was overruled by Grandfather, who immediately volunteered to come with me with some of his people. Then Father had to send Glorfindel and some of ours, so as not to lose face should I be correct. At that point, Imrahil decided that he must join us, against Father's protestations. Arwen lent him her horse so that he wouldn't slow us down." He pressed his lips very gently to mine, no more than a breath's pressure.
"It was very frustrating, for I knew that we were too far behind you to do any good. And I could feel you fight. You had the battle-rage upon you, didn't you?" I looked at him in surprise. "It has happened to me a time or two. Now that I know you are capable of it as well, remind me never to get you really angry!" I chuckled again, and carefully kissed his cheek. He sighed.
"The Prince was distraught when we arrived and found you, for you were quite the mess, head to toe with orc blood. I had to keep telling him you were alive and not so badly hurt. He did calm down eventually."
"He must have been feeling..... guilty," I said, stroking his hair gently in turn with my good hand.
"Guilty or something," Elrohir agreed. "But then, he has had a busy morning." I gave him a curious look.
"I was.....wondering about that. Did the Prince....talk to your father?" Elrohir grinned.
"He started to. You will understand, I was not privy to any of it. But I know he started a conversation, Grandfather lent him some support about halfway through, then Grandmother stepped in and finished things." He shivered a tiny bit. "You do not ever want to get Grandmother angry with you, Snowsteel--trust me on this."
"I hadn't planned on it--unless.....keeping company with you would do it."
"Oh no! I gather she thinks you are rather sweet, in a pet-like sort of way." I frowned at him, offended, but he merely laughed.
"Do not glower so, Snowsteel! She regards most mortals as such, when she regards them at all. Though she has always liked Estel, and seems to respect your Prince......You have to be one of the major powers--Sauron, Gandalf, the Valar, Morgoth, Illuvatar, to fully engage her attention. Or Grandfather. But now--Father has said you should sleep, and it is up to me, his obedient son, to carry out his wishes."
"Elrohir, would you wait a moment!" I exclaimed in exasperation. "I want to ask..." But he touched my head, and all questions fled.
I came up out of a deep and restful darkness reluctantly, aware that someone was patting my shoulder and speaking to me.
"Snowsteel? Can you wake up?" I groaned, and opened my eyes, to find that it was Elrohir trying to rouse me. "I know Father said you should sleep, but the Prince needs you in the other guest room." I rubbed my eyes blearily, and carefully, after the bruises on my face made me wince.
"What for?"
"Some of your countrymen have arrived, and there seems to be some sort of argument going on. They are uneasy with the presence of all the elves, I think." I nodded. and levered myself up carefully with my good arm, swinging my legs out of bed ever so carefully. I looked at him, wondered if speaking mind to mind would be less painful, tried to contact him, and winced at the white-hot spike of pain. Resuming the more primitive method of communication I asked, "Would you mind....leaving for a minute?"
"Whatever for?"
"I need some privacy." He looked puzzled for a moment, then realization dawned.
"Oh. Do you need help?"
"Not for that, I don't." At his dubious look, I added, "I'll call you when I'm done. I will need help getting dressed." He nodded and departed, and I accomplished my necessary business, washed my unbandaged hand, dabbed at my face carefully, then called him back in. Elrohir slid my blue tunic cautiously over my head, belted my sword on, and mindful of my broken toe, pulled the soft black pair of elven boots onto my feet. He then deftly ran a comb through my hair, set my injured arm into a sling of clean white linen that had been left for me at some point, and helped me to my feet. Upon rising, I decided that horizontal was definitely the preferred orientation for me, but there was no help for it, and I proceeded out the door and down the hall to the room at the far end, leaning heavily upon Elrohir for support. He kissed my cheek, and left me at the door.
"Grandfather wants me for something. I will be back later."
Talith and Betha had been settled in the other guest bedroom, which had either been ignored by the orcs, or cleansed by the elves. Talith was awake, propped up on pillows, while Betha still slept. The Prince slumped rather heavily in a chair. He looked quite wilted in his armor in the early afternoon heat, and I was reminded that he'd had a far more vigorous morning than he'd been accustomed to of late. The severe look was also upon his face.
There were three other men in the room, Sun-landers, with their bows on their backs and swords at their sides. I recognized the older man, Dorthan. He had been a friend of my father's. The other two resembled him somewhat and I assumed that they were two of the elder of his eight sons. Of course, he'd buried one wife, and married another, younger one-- so it was possible more had been born in my absence.......
The Prince looked up at my entrance, and his expression softened. He stood immediately and offered me his chair, which I sank into gratefully. He settled upon a nearby bed instead.
"Ah, Hethlin. I apologize for rousing you from your rest, but perhaps you can talk to these gentlemen. I do not seem to be communicating particularly well." I looked at the men, and smiled, and to my amazement, for Sun-landers are not known for bending the knee to anyone, they bowed.
"It's hard to talk, but I'll do what I can. Dorthan Dorlansson, I am very glad to see you again. Are these your sons?"
"Aye, Hethlin Hallaran's daughter. My second and third born--the first has a home of his own now. And we are glad to see you as well, lass. Perhaps you can explain to this gentleman that we do not need his help. At least the sort of help he offers. He wishes to take Talith and Betha away to the White City, and it is not needful."
"Merelan is dead, and the Prince fears to leave them undefended."
"They will not be undefended! I will leave my boys here, and ride out to tell the nearby families what has happened." 'Boys' was perhaps too diminutive a word for the hulking farm lads before me. "We will take turns guarding them, to see that the Beacon remains safe."
"What of the harvest? You will be short-handed, keeping vigil here." Dorthan shrugged.
"Those who do not guard will have to work for those who do. We do not fear hard work, we never have." I nodded, and turned to Talith. "Mistress Talith, what is your will in this matter?" She gave me a sad smile.
"What would the likes of Betha and I do in the White City, lass? We have no kin there, no means of supporting ourselves. Why go but to return, even supposing the King would arrange for us to come back?"
"I have already said that I would see to your care until it was safe for you to return, and to your return when it was." said the Prince with studied patience. Talith gave him a knowing look.
"And when, exactly, would you consider it 'safe', my lord prince? We are no longer at war. Why is it less 'safe' now than when the Dark Lord threatened us all, and the Steward of Gondor told us that we had to look to ourselves, for he could spare no men to defend us? Besides, we take no charity from any man. We make our own way in the world." An approving murmur rose from Dorthan and his sons. The Prince sighed quietly.
"It was not my intention to insult you, mistress, but merely to offer you aid where I perceived a need." Talith nodded.
"And I thank you for your courtesy, my lord. But the Beacon was Merelan's whole life, and will go to Betha in her time, and I will not abandon it now." She gave me another smile. "Hethlin here has probably killed every orc that was in the area, anyway." I grinned back, embarrassed, and Dorthan and company chuckled. "You have offered to say the words over my man and poor Torthall, and I thank you for that, and would welcome it. Merelan would be pleased to have a prince lay him to rest. But as for going to the White City--we will manage well enough here as we are." The Prince looked at me for support, but I shook my head.
"You'd best leave it, my lord. They understand the danger--it is a fact of life here. The Beacon is necessary for the homesteaders in this area--it is the one place they can get the goods they need. Betha and Talith will be protected as best their neighbors can. We look after our own, here in the Sun-lands." Dorthan nodded agreement with my words.
"If you are that concerned, my lord prince," he said, "then have a word with that King of yours! Tell him that even a few of the right sort would make a difference." He turned his attention to me and gave me a beaming smile. "Twenty-nine, Hethlin! Eighteen with the bow, eleven with the sword! I doubt your father could have done any better." I blinked, hearing the tally for the first time, then snorted.
"They were drunk. Had they been sober, you'd have needed my father." Dorthan laughed.
"I'm not so sure about that, lass! There'll be songs for you here as well as in the White City!" I smiled what I feared was a rather sickly smile at that idea, but comforted myself with the thought that at least Elrohir wouldn't be writing them.
"That 'King of mine' is your King as well, Dorthan, or do you not remember?" said a dangerously soft voice. All attention turned back to the Prince, who was on his feet of a sudden, his mouth tight-set and grey eyes flashing with all the affronted fury of a man of the ancient blood of Numenor confronted with an uppity son of the soil. Though I knew him well, I quailed inside a bit, and saw Talith shrink back against the pillows.
But Dorthan Dorlansson was made of stern stuff, like all of the men who lived to see his years in the Sun-land, and he did not quail, but met the Prince's eyes squarely.
"'Twas not Anorien that forgot, my lord," he said simply. "On this side of the mountains, it is as if we are out of sight, and out of mind. Sucking the hind teat, as it were. For the last two centuries, anytime we've asked for help from the Stewards, we've been told we're on our own. Is it any wonder that we would heed their words at last? I will tell you true--of late, there has been talk that perhaps we should ask Edoras if they have the Riders to spare to protect us, and that if the answer is yes, then it is to Edoras we should look."
That genuinely shocked Imrahil, I could tell. Deserted though it was, Anorien held some of the finest farmland in Gondor, and it was a sizable chunk of the kingdom. Of all the perils that faced Aragorn's new-fledged reign, from the Haradrim and the Easterlings, and others of Sauron's vassals and underlings, no one had stopped to consider that we might loose a significant portion of Gondor to simple neglect.
I saw that sink in, saw the Prince's offense on the part of his beloved king war with the simple logic of Dorthan's words. He took one deep breath, then another, and finally relaxed.
"I apologize, Dorlansson. You have the right of it--if a vassal applies to his liege for protection many times, only to be refused, then he has every right to seek it elsewhere."
Dorthan looked surprised, though whether it was because of the Prince's capitulation, or because he was still standing, I wasn't sure. It was probably just as well the Prince had no real Swan Knights escorting him, I thought, or there would have been blood on the walls by now.
"It's as we told Heth-lass here, when last she passed through," Dorthan said carefully after a moment's silence. "If the king will send men to keep the orcs and Dunlendings off our backs, we'll pay him tax and be as loyal as he could ever wish. But if he tries to tax us without giving us any help--well, then, he'll have trouble on his hands. Not much, 'tis true--there are few enough of us left. But as much as we can make, and he may find that more than he can stomach." He turned to me. "You will tell him, won't you, Hethlin? You did promise, and now that Merelan's dead, it's more important than ever."
I started to assert that I would, in fact, carry their treason to the king, but was interrupted by a soft voice from the door.
"She will not have to, for I will in her stead." Lady Arwen stood there, a mug in her hands.
"The Lady Arwen of Imladris and Lorien, bride to the King Elessar. Your future Queen, Dorlansson," Imrahil announced with a certain ironic satisfaction. He was not displeased, I noted, to see three jaws drop simultaneously. The father recovered first, and bent his knee most expeditiously. A whack to the knee of his bedazzled older son made him follow suit, and he in turn pulled the younger down. Arwen advanced into the room, and looked down upon them kindly.
"Please, gentlemen, rise. I am not your Queen yet, and even when I become so, I think I would prefer to greet my subjects upon their feet." She moved past them to present the mug to Talith, who took it wonderingly from her hands. "My father sends you this, mistress, and bids you drink it. It will aid in your recovery."
"Thank you, my lady," Talith murmured softly. Arwen turned her attention back to the men, who were now on their feet.
"A Queen serves as another pair of eyes and ears for her King," she told them with utmost sincerity. "I shall bear word of your concerns to Elessar myself." They murmured their awestruck assent and acknowledgment, and thus it was that the incipient Anorien Rebellion was quelled, with a few well-placed words and a dazzling smile.
Two hours later, as Anor was settling towards the West, a queen and a prince led the rites for an inkeeper and a stableboy while the elves made ready to depart, for we were going to ride deep into the night to make up for lost time. Two graves had been dug in the pleasant copse I'd spied upon the inn from, and as it turned out, they were not the only ones--Merelan's family had run the Beacon for several generations, and the family graveyard was there. Dorthan was present with his two sons, and Talith, leaning upon Betha. The Prince had done off his armor, and was clad in the finest of his tunics that was available, and a circlet he had borrowed from the elves. Lady Arwen was also finely clad, to do honor to the fallen.
The Elves had readied the bodies, and shrouded them, and they filled in the graves when the Prince had done speaking. I thought Imrahil did a very good job, and wondered how many times in the course of the war he had performed this function. Certainly, he knew the words well enough, and there was a darkness in his eyes I didn't often see. Talith seemed most comforted and appreciative. Betha said nothing at all during or after the ceremony, but merely stood by her mother with the occasional tear coursing down her face. Lady Arwen watched her with sympathy throughout, and afterwards said something to one of her ladies, who returned forthwith bearing a cloth-clad bundle.
She approached the girl, who looked up at her with wide eyes. Betha bobbed a quick curtsey, and Arwen laid a slender hand along her swollen cheek.
"I go to the happiest day of my life, and I sorrow that I have been a part of your saddest one, Betha. I do not know when I will pass this way again, but I should like to leave you a token so that I may be in your thoughts upon a happier day as well." She handed Betha the bundle. Her mother and leaned over curiously as she folded back the outer cloth.
Within was more cloth, a shimmering, cornflower blue. Small, embroidered flowers of many colors rioted across it. It looked like someone had taken a wildflower meadow, and tossed the blossoms up against a summer sky. It was the most extraordinary fabric I had ever seen, probably worth a king's ransom, and Betha and Talith both gasped.
"For your wedding dress, perhaps?" Lady Arwen suggested gently. "If it pleases you, of course." Betha bobbed another curtsey, wide-eyed and speechless.
"It is beautiful, my lady!" exclaimed Talith. "But you do not have to do this."
"I wish to do this," she responded with one of her heartbreaking smiles. "And I think Betha would look well in it."
Betha, whose blue eyes were her best feature, would look like an elven princess in it. Even I, fashion ignoramous that I was, could see that.
"Thank you very much, my lady," the girl whispered shyly. Arwen nodded, and leaned close to whisper something in her ear. I could not hear what was said, but Betha looked comforted by it.
"I am afraid I must depart now, but I shall carry you both in my thoughts," Arwen said. Mother and daughter both curtseyed once more, and Arwen left us. Imrahil looked after her with somber approval.
"She will be an excellent queen," he said. "I am quite looking forward to this. Mistress Talith," and he turned his attention to her, "I am sorry if I offended you earlier. I was truly only trying to see to your welfare, and Betha's as well." Talith nodded.
"I know that, my lord, and no offense was taken. Please, have a safe journey."
"A safe journey would be a refreshing change, mistress. May the Valar guard you."
"And you, my lord." The Prince looked at me.
"It's the horse litter for you, Hethlin. Lord Elrond's orders."
"But, my lord, what about you?"
"I am well enough. I shall ride. Make your good-byes, for I suspect our elven friends are impatient to be off." And indeed, the caravan had assembled. "Dorthan, if I could have a word with you?" And the Prince took the farmer off. Mistress Talith embraced me very carefully, mindful of my bad arm.
"We will always remember what you did, Hethlin, my lass. And if there's anything you ever need from us, don't hesitate to ask. You'll always find food and lodging here, and never a coin of yours will I take."
"They did that to me, you know," I said quietly in her ear. "What they did to you. Will you be well?" Talith sighed, and nodded.
"Well enough, lass. I am past my bearing years in any event, thank the Valar. And you spared Betha that fate, for which I will always be grateful."
"I did not know I had, at first, but I was very glad to find out that it was so." Talith held me at arms' length and gave me a penetrating look.
"Is that why you took up the sword, lass?"
"Partly," I admitted. "And partly because of how my family died. But mostly because it was what I knew, Father raising me pretty much like a boy." Talith snorted.
"Well, we are grateful he did, though I still think he did you no service. He would be proud of this day's work though, I think." She turned to her daughter. "Say your good-byes, Betha--her elven friends are waiting." Rather to my surprise, Betha enveloped me in a hug, fabric and all.
"Thank you, Hethlin."
"You are most welcome, Betha." She looked past me, over my shoulder, to where the elves waited. Her eyes grew wide. "There are two of them!" I turned, and followed her glance to where Elladan and Elrohir sat their horses, and grinned.
"You're just now noticing? Aye, there are two of them. And four times the trouble, they are!"
"Which one is yours?" she asked.
"That one," I replied, indicating Elrohir. I was reasonably sure explanations about the exact nature of our relationship would be lost on her, so I simply answered the question.
"Farewell, Mistress Talith. You too, Betha."
They chorused their farewells in return, and I went to rejoin my friends, settling into the litter so that the journey to Minas Tirith might resume.
As Anor arose to the thunder of Caerith's hooves upon the road, I decided that the Prince had had a very good idea indeed. Though the day promised to be hot, the morning air washed cool against my face as I galloped towards Min-rimmon. The further I drew away from the camp, the weaker the unease emanating from Elrohir became, and the more I was able to relax. It had been a while since I'd truly been alone, and I had always enjoyed solitude, even as a child. And despite the fact that he was a scum-lover, Caerith was arguably one of the finest horses in Gondor.
I smiled as I remembered how the Prince had offered me any of his other horses the day he had given me Fortune, up to and including the stallion he rode himself. And I knew that though it would have pained him greatly to do so, he would have given Caerith up had I asked. For a moment, as I savored his speed and smoothness of gait, his easy mouth and willing spirit, I almost wished I had. Then I remembered days of currying river muck off of him, and decided I was better off with Fortune. Caerith, who was extremely sweet-tempered for a stallion, had not really been rank at all the last several days--it was just the Prince's way of giving me a treat.
After an enjoyable ride, I reached the Beacon about an hour after dawn. Drawing rein in the courtyard, I paused before dismounting. The senses I had honed in Ithilien as a Ranger were suddenly clamoring a warning. Stroking Caerith's sweaty neck, I surveyed my surroundings carefully, trying to determine what was amiss.
The door was ajar. That in itself was not particularly notable--like most innkeeps, Merelan went to bed late and rose early. Not untoward to open the door to let in light and air. But if that were the case, then why were the shutters, which had been installed to protect the Beacon's precious glass windows, closed? I strained my eyes and ears to determine the nature of the possible peril, but ultimately, it was my nose that told me the truth. Upon a drift of morning air came a stench I knew all too well. There were orcs within the inn. And having determined that, now other things confirmed it. Faintly from within, I could hear the sounds of breaking crockery and guttural voices quarreling.
A pang of sorrow smote me, as I imagined what had happened. Another band of renegade, leaderless orcs, crossing the Anduin, perhaps upon rafts. Making their way across scarcely populated eastern Anorien without hindrance, for no one patrolled those parts. Why were they headed westward? Perhaps they hoped to lair in the White Mountains. Or, as was more likely, they were headed into Dunland, to see if they could sell their services to one of the chieftains there. On the way, they could plunder the isolated homesteads of western Anorien.
They must have come in before dawn, while the family slept. Merelan had been a soldier once, from things my father had told me--certainly, he had ridden with Father when the homesteaders had campaigned against the brigands. But torn from sleep, against numbers--even with a weapon to hand, he wouldn't have stood a chance. I hoped that it had been quick for them all, but knowing how orcs liked to torment their prey, I didn't think it likely.
Muttering a prayer to the One for the family's souls under my breath, I turned Caerith and cantered out of the courtyard, half-expecting an arrow to fly out of one of the upper windows and strike me in the back. Let the orcs think I had realized my peril and sensibly fled the area--I had already decided that I would scout the situation out further. Not so far behind me were a host of elven heroes of the Second Age--more than enough puissance to deal with even a sizable band. Indeed, the only trouble I could foresee would be complaints that there weren't enough of the foe to go around! I decided to gather as much information as I could before they arrived.
In a copse of trees a little way back from the Road, I tethered Caerith, hating to leave him standing while he was hot, but seeing no way around it. I contemplated shucking the hauberk, so as to be able to move more silently and freely, but decided to leave it on in case I met massed foes. Moving as stealthily as I could, I advanced through the trees till I had reached a vantage point behind the inn, halfway between it and the stables. Then I waited.
About five minutes after I had settled myself, two things happened. From the darkened entrance of the stables, an orc emerged, a Mordor orc from his livery. In his hands he carried a dripping hunk of meat. I could only suppose that one or more of the beasts in the barn had just been slaughtered. The second thing was a scream of terror that emanated from the upstairs of the inn.
"NO! MOTHER!" It was Betha's voice, and at the sound of it, my world seemed to lurch sickeningly for a moment before it righted itself again. One or possibly more of them were still alive--the attack must have happened right before dawn, shortly before my arrival. Betha, the shy, sweet-seeming girl who had been so fascinated by Elrohir, was trapped in the house with an undetermined number of orcs. A seventeen-year-old girl.......I knew what they would do with her, had perhaps done already. And I knew that my plans had just changed. No matter how many of them there were, I would have to try to deal with them. I could not wait for the others to catch me up, I needs must act now, for I could not guarantee that Betha would still be alive when the caravan arrived, or if she was, that she would wish to remain so.
I loosened my sword and dagger in their sheaths automatically, and took my bow down from my shoulder and strung it. The orc was halfway across the yard when Elrohir's bow sang, and one of the lovely elf-wrought arrows he'd acquired for me against my protests thudded into its warty neck. Moving swiftly towards the stable, for I needed none of them coming in behind me, I saw another come hesitantly out into the growing light. He was blinded for a moment, and thus saw me at the same time my second arrow left the bow. He died soundlessly, a good thing, for surprise was certainly my friend in this endeavor. I stepped over his body and moved into the stable.
There were no more orcs within, only a matched pair of draught horses and a couple of milch cows who stirred uneasily in their stalls, frightened by the smell of blood. What was left of the stableboy lay near the doorway, and I promptly lost my tea and honey bread in a nearby stall. They hadn't butchered any of the animals after all.........
I passed a shaky hand over my suddenly clammy face. The cannibalism in connection with the plight of the girl bore more than enough similarity to my own past experiences that I was quite shaken up. Shamed though I am to admit it, it crossed my mind that I really should wait for the others, and that they probably wouldn't even blame me for doing so. Then Betha cried out again. Shuddering, I turned towards the inn, and tried to remember what I could about its layout. To the best of my recollection, the kitchen had a pantry room to the right, not far from the door, and there was a door to the common room upon the far wall. There were also steps down to the cellar. I would have to secure those areas and the common room itself before I went upstairs, for I could not risk being surrounded.
The birdsong in the trees, increasing in volume as the morning brightened, seemed very incongruous when I thought about the horror that must lie within the inn. I moved towards the house at a slow trot, coming in from the side, for the back door too was open. As I approached, an orc came out the kitchen entrance, and in a rare show of personal cleanliness, prepared to relieve himself off the edge of the porch. Looking out across the stableyard, he saw his fallen companions, and was about to shout a warning or curse when my arrow took him through the head. He collapsed off the porch with a dull thud. Another one, hearing the noise, stepped out the door, and I felled him with a perfect shot through the eye. They were the last of the easy kills.
Closing the rest of the distance in a rush, I burst through the door, arrow knocked. The kitchen, which I remembered from my childhood as a fragrant, welcoming place, was in a state of total disarray, with broken crocks and bins of food overturned, spread and smeared about. There were four orcs in the room, most of them the worse for drink, as witnessed by the keg they'd been partaking from, set upon the table for easy access. They staggered to their feet, cursing, when I entered, and the curses turned to screams as I fired.
There is the sort of carefully aimed shooting one does in a siege when it is essential to make every arrow count. That was the sort of shooting I had done at Osgiliath and the Causeway Forts. Then there is the sort of shooting one does when one is plunging through the forest in a running battle in Ithilien, not so pretty or precise. Swift shooting without careful aim, firing fast at the bodies of your enemies to make a barrage of arrows thick and deadly enough to keep them off of you. The two nearest the door died first--I noticed that the elven arrows seemed to penetrate armor more easily than my usual missiles. The others were on the other side of the large table that stood in the center of the room, and I was able to pick them off in a more leisurely manner. It had been a while since I'd done any serious archery practice; nonetheless, the heat of battle sharpened my eye to its old standard in a hurry.
Growling and thundering up the cellar stairs, two more burst into the kitchen, swords in hands, wiping their mouths--they'd been sampling the wine from the looks of things, and they fell right back down the stairs when I shot them. Then I had a difficult decision to make--should I go into the cellar far enough to make sure no other orcs were down there, and risk getting trapped by those that might come into the kitchen from the common room--or should I go into the common room, and hope there were no others in the cellar to flank me?
After a long moment, I decided to go into the common room, with the hope that if any of them were left in the cellar, they were thoroughly drunk, and relatively harmless. And besides, Betha's wails were spurring me onward. The cries of my orc captors from long ago had begun echoing in my head, combining with the screams of my new foes, and a red haze was beginning to form around the edges of my vision. I gripped Elrohir's bow with a sweaty hand, and stepped lightly into the common room, my blood singing in my veins.
To this day, I cannot remember clearly what happened next. I had already killed ten orcs, and I spent my last eight arrows in a furious volley in the common room, winnowing the drunken, belligerent contingent there down to a number of foes I could handle with my blades, always falling back towards the stairs near the front door so I would not be flanked, and could proceed to my ultimate destination. I have impressions only-- the flash and clamor of my silver steel against their dark, the jarring thud as my blades sank into flesh and bone, the feel of black orc blood soaking into my gloves and wrists. I think I took the slash down the outside of my left thigh there, as well as the broken toe from an armored boot smashing down on my foot, but I am not sure, and neither injury was of consequence enough for me to pay heed or even slow down.
The Rohirrim have their berserks, and there are tales among my folk of extraordinary deeds done in the battle-rage, and I think I must have been in that place, for I felt no pain, and knew that I was invincible, swift death. By all rights, I should have died in the inn at Min-rimmon, and have no explanation for why I did not, other than the caprices of battle-luck, the fact that most of my foes were very drunk, and my state of mind, which enabled me to fight at a higher level of competence than I would have ever thought I could. Every bit of blade-craft or strategy I had ever learned from my father, from Faramir, from Mablung or the sons of Elrond seemed suddenly to coalesce into an accessible, understandable whole, and I used it all. The voices of the orcs faded, to be replaced by the voices of my teachers, advising and encouraging, and then their voices seemed to combine in turn into my father's, matter-of-fact and amused.
"'Tis naught but Ranger odds, Heth-lass. Welcome to any ordinary morning in Eriador! Are you my daughter or no? Deal with them!"
Being the obedient daughter I was, I did as he bade me, and dealt with them. I dealt them death, as Rangers had always dealt the Dark for centuries. The last one died at the foot of the stairs, falling beside Merelan's body which lay there as well, arms outflung, a bloody hole in his chest. I started up the stairs, taking them two at a time, hoping to reach the top before the orcs up there came out to oppose me. I almost made it.
A voice was bellowing--"Ger off, you maggots! Time enough for fun later! Go down and see what bit o' spoil they're killing themselves over, and knock their heads in!"
According to memory, the upstairs was divided into four large rooms, all connected by the one hall running down the length of the house. At the far end, stairs led up to the attic. The two outer rooms, having more windows, and being generally more desirable, were the guest rooms, holding four beds each. The two central rooms were the home of the innkeep and his family, and it was from one of these that the orcs poured. The first one reached me as I was trying to gain the landing, and managed to get a blow in against my head, but my helm held. Ears ringing, I skewered him through the gut, and wrenching my blade free, stepped past him onto the second floor. He groaned, and toppled down the stairwell.
There were not so many upstairs, only four or five. It was close quarters in which to fight, ground not at all to the taste of a Ranger accustomed to outdoor combat, but it was ultimately in my favor that the hall beside the stair was narrow enough that they could only meet me one at a time. They came, and I slew them one by one, stepping over the body of my last foe to meet my next. At last I reached my destination--the door to the innkeeper's quarters. And had but a moment to peer within, to see that Talith lay unmoving upon the bed, her nightgown torn from her body, and that Betha was crouched sobbing in a corner, before the light was blocked out by a huge body that dodged my ready blade, lowered its head, and slammed into me amidships.
The force of the blow staggered me backwards, and my foe wrapped an arm around my waist as we broke through the rail that surrounded the stairwell, and fell down about six feet to land in the center part of the stair. My sword flew from my hand at the initial impact, and the breath was driven from my body as I slammed into the stairs on my back with great force, the weight of the orc making matters even worse. Down we tumbled, end over end, and as we did so, the hand that wasn't around my waist grabbed my dagger wrist, claws sinking into my flesh.
Though I tried to keep momentum going, keep rolling so that I would end up on top, it did not happen that way, and the moment we reached the bottom of the stairs, my foe released my waist and slammed his fist into my jaw. Stars exploded in my head, and I struggled to remain conscious. The same hand then closed upon my throat, and he sat down hard upon me, pinning my legs. We were lying atop both Merelan's body and that of the first upstairs orc. It was like the dream that Faramir had waked me from in the Citadel, only much, much worse, for it was real.
My foe was a huge Uruk, bigger than the ones I'd seen on the Wold, and apparently cannier than the average orc as well. He had sent his underlings out to deal with the situation, listened to them die, and bided his time until he could attack in a way that would put me at a disadvantage. Contests of strength were not something I excelled at, preferring to rely upon speed and finesse. He, on the other hand, undoubtedly ruled his mob of followers by means of the iron fist he'd just nearly broken my jaw with. My free hand came up to try to force the hand upon my throat away, but it was like shoving against a tree-trunk. The hand tightened even more, and I saw black around the edges of my vision. He looked around the room at the remains of his band, and growled deep in his throat.
"Quite the warrior, aren't you, Dunadan? Some of these lads were good'ns--we'd been together a long time. You're going to wish you'd broken your neck falling down those stairs before I'm through with you--I'm going to take you apart one piece at a time!" With brutal efficiency, he lifted my wrist and slammed it repeatedly against the floor till I was forced to release my knife. I heard it skitter off to the side, out of my reach. Then he released my throat, and as I gasped in a deep breath, backhanded me again. I slipped into blackness for a moment, hoping that Betha was at this very moment shinnying down sheets from the upstairs window so she at least could make her escape and my efforts not be in vain.
When I came back to myself, the Uruk was on his feet, and lifting me by the neck. He had released my arms, believing me both subdued and disarmed, and indeed my poor, abused head was spinning. Its condition did not improve when he stepped over the bodies, and slammed me up against the wall beside the door.
"You've got a scar on one cheek," he commented, drawing a long knife with a wicked, serrated edge. "I think I'll begin by making the other match." I made a protesting noise, hoping to keep his attention focused on upcoming amusements, and slid my right foot up the wall, as if I intended to brace against it and try to free myself. He laughed most unpleasantly, and pressed his body close against mine to pin me. The reek of him was nauseating, but he was actually supporting me at the moment, which was good, for I wasn't sure my legs would hold me. And he was using his left arm to hold me up, further good fortune, for that way he could not block my right hand, which brushed the top of my right boot.
"Killed many Dunedain at the Black Gate, I did," he bragged. "You're not so tough as legend paints you."
"You should.... believe legends when you hear them," I whispered painfully to him, my jaw aching, my throat tight beneath his hand. "They are usually....based on fact." He bared his teeth in a predatory grin, and pressed the point of his blade against my cheek. I felt it sink in the tiniest bit, and a drop of blood trail down my face. My fingers sought and found thin steel, a small, leaf-bladed knife sheathed in my boot top, balanced well enough for throwing if necessary, discretely hidden. A long knife was a very handy tool, but sometimes it was more than one needed, and this one was better suited for trimming fletches or cutting bowstrings. Or throats, in a pinch.
The Uruk pressed harder against me as he prepared to cut with the knife. My left hand rose and tried to fasten upon his right arm, but it hurt horribly to use it, and there was no strength in my grip. He grinned in anticipation, then a surprised look crossed his face. His hips ground against mine experimentally, and despite myself, I gasped.
"A woman, are you?" he exclaimed, rubbing my chest roughly with the side of his dagger hand for confirmation. I wriggled in protest, and the surprised look became a leer. "So much the better, then! No orc wench would be so forward--they stay at home with the whelps, as is proper. Let what happens now be a lesson to you about a woman's place, Dunedan slut."
His dagger still in his fist, he dropped it down to start pushing my hauberk up.
With the last of my waning strength, I made my right hand flash upward, sinking the small blade beneath his chin. It was a move learned not in battle, but from watching my father do the winter kill, a quick flick of the wrist. His hand fell away from my throat to clutch vainly at his own as his lifeblood poured out, and he tried to stab me through the eye with the dagger, but I was able to move just enough that it snapped against the stone of the wall beside my head instead.
"Let this be a lesson to YOU, Uruk," I whispered to him as he sank to his knees, dying. I myself was sliding slowly down the wall. "Never gloat over a Ranger until you're sure she's dead." He toppled slowly to his side, gurgled for a moment, then expired.
My bottom hit the floor, and I relaxed gratefully against the wall, turning my abused face to rest against the cool stone, and wincing at the pain in my neck, head and back as I did so. Now that the battle was over, I was shaking hard in reaction, and despite the fact that there were dead bodies were right next to me, I did not think I could move. The stench of blood and death in the room was incredible, and I could already hear the buzzing of opportunistic flies.
A faint sound of movement on the stairs drew my eye, and I saw Betha descending, carefully holding up the hem of her nightgown lest it be fouled, her feet smeared with orc blood. She saw her father's body, and her face crumpled. A sob escaped her. Then she gave me a fearful look that turned into a relieved one, and I realized she had thought that I might have been killed as well. I knew that I should get up, reassure her, help her with her mother if Talith were still alive and with her father's body. Certainly I needed to get up and make sure there were no other orcs in the cellar. But when I tried to rise, my aching head started to spin, and blackness swept across my vision. I barely had time to croak, "I was not alone, Betha. Help is on the way. Don't worry," before I fell into total darkness.
I was still not awake when, forty minutes later, Elladan and Elrohir, Glorfindel, Lord Celeborn and a contingent of warriors from both Lorien and Imladris poured into the courtyard in a flood of warlike elegance. Prince Imrahil was also with them, armed and armored for the first time since his accident, and mounted on Lady Arwen's elven horse. Poor Betha, who had divided the intervening time between caring for her mother still alive but unconscious, and me, in the same condition, who feared that neither of us would ever wake again and had generally had the worst possible sort of morning, took one look at her ethereally beautiful rescuers, and promptly fainted.
Sun shining full on my face woke me, sun and the fact that I was feeling rather warm and headachy. I opened my eyes and blinked in the bright light. A hand took mine gently.
"Hethlin, can you hear me? Shall I draw the curtain?" The Prince's voice.
Remembering the uruk's bruising hand on my throat, and the pain in my jaw, I did not speak, but merely nodded very carefully. The hand left mine, and there was the chink of mail moving. He drew the fabric over the window, and I sighed in relief.
"Would you like a drink?" asked another voice. Elrohir. I nodded once more, and he carefully lifted my head. I tensed, waiting for the pain from my neck and back, but it didn't come and though there was a twinge in my jaw, it was only a residual soreness. After a moment, I relaxed. Cool metal was pressed to my lips, and invigorating wetness flowed down my throat. My body craved that water, and I drank it thirstily. Then a second, smaller cup holding the same elven cordial Lord Celeborn had once given me was offered, and I drank that too. Unlike regular drink, it seemed to clear my head wonderfully. A few more blinks, and I was able to focus properly.
Making an assessment of my own condition first, I found that sometime while I had slept, I had been thoroughly cleansed of blood and clad in fresh clothing from my packs. Also, I could feel a bandage on my left leg beneath my breeches, and my much abused left wrist and hand were bound up for support. It seemed that I had been settled into one of the guest bedrooms, for there were other empty beds in the room.
"Caerith? Is he.... all right?" I said slowly and carefully. My voice was still rather raspy, pain lanced through my jaw when I spoke, and from time to time I could feel the hinge pop. All in all, an incentive for brevity. "He was.... hot when I left him, my lord. Sorry."
"Caerith is just fine, Hethlin," soothed the Prince. "We found him shortly after we arrived."
"What about....Talith? I wasn't sure.....she was alive."
"She was, and Elladan tended her till his father and the others got here. Lord Elrond says that she should recover fully, in time."
"Apple tarts indeed, Snowsteel!" came Elrohir's voice. I saw the Prince flinch in a way that suggested this had already been a source of contention between them. "Whatever possessed you to try such a thing? Why did you not wait for us?"
"Oh, I wanted to," I told him with a grimace, my speech still very deliberate. "When I thought.....that everyone was dead. I was going to..... scout things out and wait... until you arrived. But when I found out Betha was alive........couldn't wait. I couldn't let them....do that to her. And I didn't know....how many there were." A drift of warm breeze came in the window, and with it, a really horrible smell. I knew that smell, having experienced it many times before--they were burning the orc bodies. Through the open door came the melodic tones of many elven voices, and the sound of much movement.
"The elves are cleaning things up a bit," Imrahil explained. "We may not tarry here, but they cannot abide such foulness. The innkeep and that poor stable boy have been readied for burial, and I shall speak the words for them when their family is ready. I think we will have to take Talith and Betha with us when we leave, for we cannot assure their safety here."
"I don't know.... if they will go, sir," I warned him. "This place....is their livelihood."
"I was not planning upon giving them a choice, Hethlin," said the Prince rather grimly. "And I shall see that the King recompenses them for any damages to their business. But I cannot leave two women here unguarded." I sighed, and let the argument drop, for I hadn't the energy to pursue it. A soft knock came at the door, and an elf I'd not yet met looked into the room. He was a Lorien elf, clad in the greys of their border guards, and he held a sheaf of arrows in one hand. My arrows, I realized after a moment. Elrohir gestured him in. He entered, looked about, found my gear and quiver, and placed the arrows in it. Then he addressed me in slow and careful Westron.
"Eighteen arrows, eighteen orcs. You did my handiwork credit, Ranger. Well shot. Well shot, indeed." I blushed.
"You fletched my arrows?"
"I did, at the request of this fellow here," and he indicated Elrohir with a smile. "I will own, I thought his claims of your skill were exaggerated by affection. I find now that that was not so. I have cleaned and mended them of any hurts they have suffered, and replaced one that was past any use. May they serve you so well again one day."
"Hopefully, not any time soon!" The elf chuckled at my vehemence. "Thank you so much-"
"-Haldir," Elrohir supplied helpfully.
"Haldir," I repeated, and the elf sketched a quick and graceful bow, and departed.
"He's a March-warden, and an excellent archer and fletcher," Elrohir explained. "Whenever we wager about something, I usually insist that his wager be arrows he fletched."
"What does he....wager for?" I asked, curious.
"Miruvor. He has a taste for it, and only the royal house has a steady supply."
"And what do you....wager about?" Elrohir gave me one of his superior looks.
"You are far too weak to be concerning yourself with such trivialities, Snowsteel." I gave him a warning frown, and he grinned, unrepentant.
A whisper of robes came at the door, and I looked over to see Lord Elrond entering. He closed the door behind him, and glided over to look down at me. It was a position of vulnerability that I did not find reassuring in the least.
"Ah, now both of my patients are awake. That is well."
"How is Talith, Lord Elrond? And Betha?"
"Betha is sleeping for now--I thought it best. She has no injuries other than some bruises, but she was in a very excited state. Her mother is as well as can be expected for a woman who was used in such a way. Very bruised from being thrown about, and she'd taken a bad bump to the head, but she will recover eventually. They were, of course, very grateful you had shown up when you did." That last remark was almost.....friendly. I gave him a puzzled look, then threw the Prince a suspicious glance. Imrahil was wearing his bland face of a sudden.
Something that Lord Elrond had said nagged at my mind. A moment later, I realized what it was.
"My lord? Betha?" He raised an eyebrow at me. "Did not the orcs use her as well?"
"I saw no indication of it. Why?"
"I had thought that.....well, I was worried I'd come too late." Was that a fleeting look of sympathy that crossed his face?
"Too late for Talith. Not too late for Betha." My eyes prickled a bit at that, and the Prince gave my uninjured hand a sympathetic squeeze.
Indicating that his son should vacate the chair by my side, Lord Elrond seated himself, then, with a look at me for permission, laid his fingers gently on my face, and started stroking it and my skull. A gentle feeling of warmth permeated my head, and the dull ache I'd woken with lessened.
"This was the not worst of your injuries, though I will warn you that you'll be very sore and stiff for the next day at least. I am sure you have discovered that it hurts to talk. So try not to speak any more than is necessary." Elrohir, greatly amused by that instruction for some reason, snickered. His father shot him a quelling look. "We shall see that you have soft food to eat. If you would be so kind as to roll onto you side, please--I would like to have another look at your back." I did so, and ended up facing the Prince, who gave me a reassuring smile. Lord Elrond deftly pushed my shirt up in the back, while the Prince aided me in arranging the coverlet so that modesty was preserved in the front. His face became suddenly impassive, but I thought I felt a slight tremor in his hand.
Elrohir hissed, all amusement gone, when my back was revealed.
"It could have been far worse," his father commented. "The mail and gambeson spared her quite a bit. It was a wonder she did not break her neck or back. Or crack that rib she broke some time ago again." I wondered how he knew about that. As he had done upon my face, his fingers seemed to stroke the soreness away, though with my back and neck he pressed firmly on certain points as well. Lord Elrond and I were anything but friends, but I could not deny that his ministrations were soothing in the extreme, and I sighed in relief.
"Does that feel better, Lady Hethlin?"
"Aye, my lord." After all, one should give credit where credit is due. He continued his manipulations for a few moments longer, then pulled my shirt back down.
"You may turn back over now--I wish to look at your wrist and hand." I did as he bade me, and he checked my fingers, apparently to make sure that they were warm, and could wiggle a bit.
"I fear you will not be drawing a bow for some time to come. The bones of your hand are bruised, the knuckles torn and your wrist badly bruised and sprained. Try not to move it any more than is necessary--when you arise again, I will see that you have a sling. I will clean the claw marks again this evening--orc talons are filthy. The slash on your thigh is little more than a scratch, but I've cleaned and bandaged it, and we will keep an eye on it. Obviously, we would know by now if poison were involved, so you were lucky upon that count, at least." I had to admit, his bedside manner was excellent, very reassuring, and he seemed more comfortable relating to me as a healer.
"I am going to give you a draught for your headache. Elrohir, in a few minutes I would like you to help her sleep again. That, in combination with the medicine, should set her to rights quicker than anything."
"Yes, Father," Elrohir replied, suddenly the very picture of a dutiful son. I wondered what had transpired once I had left the camp. Lord Elrond rose, and started for the door.
"I will look in on you again in a while, Lady Hethlin. In the meantime, try to get some rest."
"Aye, my lord." He nodded in response, opened the door and departed. I looked at my two companions. Elrohir was expressionless, while the Prince seemed pensive.
"You could not have known this was going to happen," I told Imrahil quietly. "It's not your fault." His brow creased, and he frowned slightly.
"I should not have sent you out alone. You were nearly killed! Valar, I thought you had been, when we rode up and found you! Elrohir assured me otherwise, but it was still a bad moment." I patted his hand.
"I'm a tough one, my lord, and I take some killing. But I forgive you, if that is what you are worried about." Imrahil gave me a rueful look.
"You have a generous heart, Hethlin. And I accept your forgiveness with thanks. Forgiving myself, however, may take a bit longer. I am occasionally a bit too clever for my own good. Or, in this instance, for yours." He rose. "I'd best go see to Mistress Talith, if she's awake, since I'm one of the few mortals here. She might find it disconcerting to be surrounded by naught but elves." Elrohir gave him a look of mock offense, and for a brief moment, the twinkle was back in his eye. "Particularly these elves." I chuckled, and he went out the door, closing it behind him. Elrohir waited a moment, then carefully laid himself beside me upon the narrow bed, raising a slender hand to stroke my hair back from my cheek.
"Ah, Snowsteel, I had a bad moment or two myself there. I could feel that you were in trouble. When I told the others Father was doubtful, but was overruled by Grandfather, who immediately volunteered to come with me with some of his people. Then Father had to send Glorfindel and some of ours, so as not to lose face should I be correct. At that point, Imrahil decided that he must join us, against Father's protestations. Arwen lent him her horse so that he wouldn't slow us down." He pressed his lips very gently to mine, no more than a breath's pressure.
"It was very frustrating, for I knew that we were too far behind you to do any good. And I could feel you fight. You had the battle-rage upon you, didn't you?" I looked at him in surprise. "It has happened to me a time or two. Now that I know you are capable of it as well, remind me never to get you really angry!" I chuckled again, and carefully kissed his cheek. He sighed.
"The Prince was distraught when we arrived and found you, for you were quite the mess, head to toe with orc blood. I had to keep telling him you were alive and not so badly hurt. He did calm down eventually."
"He must have been feeling..... guilty," I said, stroking his hair gently in turn with my good hand.
"Guilty or something," Elrohir agreed. "But then, he has had a busy morning." I gave him a curious look.
"I was.....wondering about that. Did the Prince....talk to your father?" Elrohir grinned.
"He started to. You will understand, I was not privy to any of it. But I know he started a conversation, Grandfather lent him some support about halfway through, then Grandmother stepped in and finished things." He shivered a tiny bit. "You do not ever want to get Grandmother angry with you, Snowsteel--trust me on this."
"I hadn't planned on it--unless.....keeping company with you would do it."
"Oh no! I gather she thinks you are rather sweet, in a pet-like sort of way." I frowned at him, offended, but he merely laughed.
"Do not glower so, Snowsteel! She regards most mortals as such, when she regards them at all. Though she has always liked Estel, and seems to respect your Prince......You have to be one of the major powers--Sauron, Gandalf, the Valar, Morgoth, Illuvatar, to fully engage her attention. Or Grandfather. But now--Father has said you should sleep, and it is up to me, his obedient son, to carry out his wishes."
"Elrohir, would you wait a moment!" I exclaimed in exasperation. "I want to ask..." But he touched my head, and all questions fled.
I came up out of a deep and restful darkness reluctantly, aware that someone was patting my shoulder and speaking to me.
"Snowsteel? Can you wake up?" I groaned, and opened my eyes, to find that it was Elrohir trying to rouse me. "I know Father said you should sleep, but the Prince needs you in the other guest room." I rubbed my eyes blearily, and carefully, after the bruises on my face made me wince.
"What for?"
"Some of your countrymen have arrived, and there seems to be some sort of argument going on. They are uneasy with the presence of all the elves, I think." I nodded. and levered myself up carefully with my good arm, swinging my legs out of bed ever so carefully. I looked at him, wondered if speaking mind to mind would be less painful, tried to contact him, and winced at the white-hot spike of pain. Resuming the more primitive method of communication I asked, "Would you mind....leaving for a minute?"
"Whatever for?"
"I need some privacy." He looked puzzled for a moment, then realization dawned.
"Oh. Do you need help?"
"Not for that, I don't." At his dubious look, I added, "I'll call you when I'm done. I will need help getting dressed." He nodded and departed, and I accomplished my necessary business, washed my unbandaged hand, dabbed at my face carefully, then called him back in. Elrohir slid my blue tunic cautiously over my head, belted my sword on, and mindful of my broken toe, pulled the soft black pair of elven boots onto my feet. He then deftly ran a comb through my hair, set my injured arm into a sling of clean white linen that had been left for me at some point, and helped me to my feet. Upon rising, I decided that horizontal was definitely the preferred orientation for me, but there was no help for it, and I proceeded out the door and down the hall to the room at the far end, leaning heavily upon Elrohir for support. He kissed my cheek, and left me at the door.
"Grandfather wants me for something. I will be back later."
Talith and Betha had been settled in the other guest bedroom, which had either been ignored by the orcs, or cleansed by the elves. Talith was awake, propped up on pillows, while Betha still slept. The Prince slumped rather heavily in a chair. He looked quite wilted in his armor in the early afternoon heat, and I was reminded that he'd had a far more vigorous morning than he'd been accustomed to of late. The severe look was also upon his face.
There were three other men in the room, Sun-landers, with their bows on their backs and swords at their sides. I recognized the older man, Dorthan. He had been a friend of my father's. The other two resembled him somewhat and I assumed that they were two of the elder of his eight sons. Of course, he'd buried one wife, and married another, younger one-- so it was possible more had been born in my absence.......
The Prince looked up at my entrance, and his expression softened. He stood immediately and offered me his chair, which I sank into gratefully. He settled upon a nearby bed instead.
"Ah, Hethlin. I apologize for rousing you from your rest, but perhaps you can talk to these gentlemen. I do not seem to be communicating particularly well." I looked at the men, and smiled, and to my amazement, for Sun-landers are not known for bending the knee to anyone, they bowed.
"It's hard to talk, but I'll do what I can. Dorthan Dorlansson, I am very glad to see you again. Are these your sons?"
"Aye, Hethlin Hallaran's daughter. My second and third born--the first has a home of his own now. And we are glad to see you as well, lass. Perhaps you can explain to this gentleman that we do not need his help. At least the sort of help he offers. He wishes to take Talith and Betha away to the White City, and it is not needful."
"Merelan is dead, and the Prince fears to leave them undefended."
"They will not be undefended! I will leave my boys here, and ride out to tell the nearby families what has happened." 'Boys' was perhaps too diminutive a word for the hulking farm lads before me. "We will take turns guarding them, to see that the Beacon remains safe."
"What of the harvest? You will be short-handed, keeping vigil here." Dorthan shrugged.
"Those who do not guard will have to work for those who do. We do not fear hard work, we never have." I nodded, and turned to Talith. "Mistress Talith, what is your will in this matter?" She gave me a sad smile.
"What would the likes of Betha and I do in the White City, lass? We have no kin there, no means of supporting ourselves. Why go but to return, even supposing the King would arrange for us to come back?"
"I have already said that I would see to your care until it was safe for you to return, and to your return when it was." said the Prince with studied patience. Talith gave him a knowing look.
"And when, exactly, would you consider it 'safe', my lord prince? We are no longer at war. Why is it less 'safe' now than when the Dark Lord threatened us all, and the Steward of Gondor told us that we had to look to ourselves, for he could spare no men to defend us? Besides, we take no charity from any man. We make our own way in the world." An approving murmur rose from Dorthan and his sons. The Prince sighed quietly.
"It was not my intention to insult you, mistress, but merely to offer you aid where I perceived a need." Talith nodded.
"And I thank you for your courtesy, my lord. But the Beacon was Merelan's whole life, and will go to Betha in her time, and I will not abandon it now." She gave me another smile. "Hethlin here has probably killed every orc that was in the area, anyway." I grinned back, embarrassed, and Dorthan and company chuckled. "You have offered to say the words over my man and poor Torthall, and I thank you for that, and would welcome it. Merelan would be pleased to have a prince lay him to rest. But as for going to the White City--we will manage well enough here as we are." The Prince looked at me for support, but I shook my head.
"You'd best leave it, my lord. They understand the danger--it is a fact of life here. The Beacon is necessary for the homesteaders in this area--it is the one place they can get the goods they need. Betha and Talith will be protected as best their neighbors can. We look after our own, here in the Sun-lands." Dorthan nodded agreement with my words.
"If you are that concerned, my lord prince," he said, "then have a word with that King of yours! Tell him that even a few of the right sort would make a difference." He turned his attention to me and gave me a beaming smile. "Twenty-nine, Hethlin! Eighteen with the bow, eleven with the sword! I doubt your father could have done any better." I blinked, hearing the tally for the first time, then snorted.
"They were drunk. Had they been sober, you'd have needed my father." Dorthan laughed.
"I'm not so sure about that, lass! There'll be songs for you here as well as in the White City!" I smiled what I feared was a rather sickly smile at that idea, but comforted myself with the thought that at least Elrohir wouldn't be writing them.
"That 'King of mine' is your King as well, Dorthan, or do you not remember?" said a dangerously soft voice. All attention turned back to the Prince, who was on his feet of a sudden, his mouth tight-set and grey eyes flashing with all the affronted fury of a man of the ancient blood of Numenor confronted with an uppity son of the soil. Though I knew him well, I quailed inside a bit, and saw Talith shrink back against the pillows.
But Dorthan Dorlansson was made of stern stuff, like all of the men who lived to see his years in the Sun-land, and he did not quail, but met the Prince's eyes squarely.
"'Twas not Anorien that forgot, my lord," he said simply. "On this side of the mountains, it is as if we are out of sight, and out of mind. Sucking the hind teat, as it were. For the last two centuries, anytime we've asked for help from the Stewards, we've been told we're on our own. Is it any wonder that we would heed their words at last? I will tell you true--of late, there has been talk that perhaps we should ask Edoras if they have the Riders to spare to protect us, and that if the answer is yes, then it is to Edoras we should look."
That genuinely shocked Imrahil, I could tell. Deserted though it was, Anorien held some of the finest farmland in Gondor, and it was a sizable chunk of the kingdom. Of all the perils that faced Aragorn's new-fledged reign, from the Haradrim and the Easterlings, and others of Sauron's vassals and underlings, no one had stopped to consider that we might loose a significant portion of Gondor to simple neglect.
I saw that sink in, saw the Prince's offense on the part of his beloved king war with the simple logic of Dorthan's words. He took one deep breath, then another, and finally relaxed.
"I apologize, Dorlansson. You have the right of it--if a vassal applies to his liege for protection many times, only to be refused, then he has every right to seek it elsewhere."
Dorthan looked surprised, though whether it was because of the Prince's capitulation, or because he was still standing, I wasn't sure. It was probably just as well the Prince had no real Swan Knights escorting him, I thought, or there would have been blood on the walls by now.
"It's as we told Heth-lass here, when last she passed through," Dorthan said carefully after a moment's silence. "If the king will send men to keep the orcs and Dunlendings off our backs, we'll pay him tax and be as loyal as he could ever wish. But if he tries to tax us without giving us any help--well, then, he'll have trouble on his hands. Not much, 'tis true--there are few enough of us left. But as much as we can make, and he may find that more than he can stomach." He turned to me. "You will tell him, won't you, Hethlin? You did promise, and now that Merelan's dead, it's more important than ever."
I started to assert that I would, in fact, carry their treason to the king, but was interrupted by a soft voice from the door.
"She will not have to, for I will in her stead." Lady Arwen stood there, a mug in her hands.
"The Lady Arwen of Imladris and Lorien, bride to the King Elessar. Your future Queen, Dorlansson," Imrahil announced with a certain ironic satisfaction. He was not displeased, I noted, to see three jaws drop simultaneously. The father recovered first, and bent his knee most expeditiously. A whack to the knee of his bedazzled older son made him follow suit, and he in turn pulled the younger down. Arwen advanced into the room, and looked down upon them kindly.
"Please, gentlemen, rise. I am not your Queen yet, and even when I become so, I think I would prefer to greet my subjects upon their feet." She moved past them to present the mug to Talith, who took it wonderingly from her hands. "My father sends you this, mistress, and bids you drink it. It will aid in your recovery."
"Thank you, my lady," Talith murmured softly. Arwen turned her attention back to the men, who were now on their feet.
"A Queen serves as another pair of eyes and ears for her King," she told them with utmost sincerity. "I shall bear word of your concerns to Elessar myself." They murmured their awestruck assent and acknowledgment, and thus it was that the incipient Anorien Rebellion was quelled, with a few well-placed words and a dazzling smile.
Two hours later, as Anor was settling towards the West, a queen and a prince led the rites for an inkeeper and a stableboy while the elves made ready to depart, for we were going to ride deep into the night to make up for lost time. Two graves had been dug in the pleasant copse I'd spied upon the inn from, and as it turned out, they were not the only ones--Merelan's family had run the Beacon for several generations, and the family graveyard was there. Dorthan was present with his two sons, and Talith, leaning upon Betha. The Prince had done off his armor, and was clad in the finest of his tunics that was available, and a circlet he had borrowed from the elves. Lady Arwen was also finely clad, to do honor to the fallen.
The Elves had readied the bodies, and shrouded them, and they filled in the graves when the Prince had done speaking. I thought Imrahil did a very good job, and wondered how many times in the course of the war he had performed this function. Certainly, he knew the words well enough, and there was a darkness in his eyes I didn't often see. Talith seemed most comforted and appreciative. Betha said nothing at all during or after the ceremony, but merely stood by her mother with the occasional tear coursing down her face. Lady Arwen watched her with sympathy throughout, and afterwards said something to one of her ladies, who returned forthwith bearing a cloth-clad bundle.
She approached the girl, who looked up at her with wide eyes. Betha bobbed a quick curtsey, and Arwen laid a slender hand along her swollen cheek.
"I go to the happiest day of my life, and I sorrow that I have been a part of your saddest one, Betha. I do not know when I will pass this way again, but I should like to leave you a token so that I may be in your thoughts upon a happier day as well." She handed Betha the bundle. Her mother and leaned over curiously as she folded back the outer cloth.
Within was more cloth, a shimmering, cornflower blue. Small, embroidered flowers of many colors rioted across it. It looked like someone had taken a wildflower meadow, and tossed the blossoms up against a summer sky. It was the most extraordinary fabric I had ever seen, probably worth a king's ransom, and Betha and Talith both gasped.
"For your wedding dress, perhaps?" Lady Arwen suggested gently. "If it pleases you, of course." Betha bobbed another curtsey, wide-eyed and speechless.
"It is beautiful, my lady!" exclaimed Talith. "But you do not have to do this."
"I wish to do this," she responded with one of her heartbreaking smiles. "And I think Betha would look well in it."
Betha, whose blue eyes were her best feature, would look like an elven princess in it. Even I, fashion ignoramous that I was, could see that.
"Thank you very much, my lady," the girl whispered shyly. Arwen nodded, and leaned close to whisper something in her ear. I could not hear what was said, but Betha looked comforted by it.
"I am afraid I must depart now, but I shall carry you both in my thoughts," Arwen said. Mother and daughter both curtseyed once more, and Arwen left us. Imrahil looked after her with somber approval.
"She will be an excellent queen," he said. "I am quite looking forward to this. Mistress Talith," and he turned his attention to her, "I am sorry if I offended you earlier. I was truly only trying to see to your welfare, and Betha's as well." Talith nodded.
"I know that, my lord, and no offense was taken. Please, have a safe journey."
"A safe journey would be a refreshing change, mistress. May the Valar guard you."
"And you, my lord." The Prince looked at me.
"It's the horse litter for you, Hethlin. Lord Elrond's orders."
"But, my lord, what about you?"
"I am well enough. I shall ride. Make your good-byes, for I suspect our elven friends are impatient to be off." And indeed, the caravan had assembled. "Dorthan, if I could have a word with you?" And the Prince took the farmer off. Mistress Talith embraced me very carefully, mindful of my bad arm.
"We will always remember what you did, Hethlin, my lass. And if there's anything you ever need from us, don't hesitate to ask. You'll always find food and lodging here, and never a coin of yours will I take."
"They did that to me, you know," I said quietly in her ear. "What they did to you. Will you be well?" Talith sighed, and nodded.
"Well enough, lass. I am past my bearing years in any event, thank the Valar. And you spared Betha that fate, for which I will always be grateful."
"I did not know I had, at first, but I was very glad to find out that it was so." Talith held me at arms' length and gave me a penetrating look.
"Is that why you took up the sword, lass?"
"Partly," I admitted. "And partly because of how my family died. But mostly because it was what I knew, Father raising me pretty much like a boy." Talith snorted.
"Well, we are grateful he did, though I still think he did you no service. He would be proud of this day's work though, I think." She turned to her daughter. "Say your good-byes, Betha--her elven friends are waiting." Rather to my surprise, Betha enveloped me in a hug, fabric and all.
"Thank you, Hethlin."
"You are most welcome, Betha." She looked past me, over my shoulder, to where the elves waited. Her eyes grew wide. "There are two of them!" I turned, and followed her glance to where Elladan and Elrohir sat their horses, and grinned.
"You're just now noticing? Aye, there are two of them. And four times the trouble, they are!"
"Which one is yours?" she asked.
"That one," I replied, indicating Elrohir. I was reasonably sure explanations about the exact nature of our relationship would be lost on her, so I simply answered the question.
"Farewell, Mistress Talith. You too, Betha."
They chorused their farewells in return, and I went to rejoin my friends, settling into the litter so that the journey to Minas Tirith might resume.