Author's Note: Insert schpiel from chapter fourteen of Wild Roses
Chapter Eight
It was morning in the garden of Elrond, where Rhian sat, leaning on a pillar with one leg tucked under her, watching Rosie play tag with her two favorite friends, Merry and Pippin. They had been joined earlier by three of the graceful, fey-like elf children, and, by Rhian's judgement, soon the game would cease to be tag and dissolve into a general mess of tickling and laughter. Rosie's games usually did.
A footstep on the boards behind her woke her from her reverie, and even as she turned Lord Aragorn sank down on the steps beside her, setting his shoulders against the opposite pillar. He did not look at her for a time, studying instead the chaos on the grass- true to Rhian's mental calculations, Merry now assisted the little red-head in tickling Pippin until he begged for mercy. Rhian's original, breathless awe of the lordly man she had first met had given way a comfortable friendship in which he represented a combination of her father and Bryant, Rosie's father, and now she could call him 'Strider' without discomfiture. The only time she was not at ease with his strong, fatherly presence was when she chanced to glimpse him with Arwen; both Aria and Erin had said that catching such moments made them feel like intruders, and that was exactly it. She thought that Aragorn himself looked on her and Erin as something between a daughter and a niece- after all, she was still a child in age compared to him. It was strange, that while he was so grim and forbiding at times, he could be gentle too. But Arwen treated her as a friend, despite the vast
difference in their life spans. Only occaisonally did Rhian glimpse the lady's age and wisdom through some observation made as they spoke together, when Arwen's understanding of people- their natures, both elf and human- could be devastatingly insightful.
Now Aragorn turned to look at her, and she met his gaze levelly.
"Tell me, little bird," he said -- 'songbird' he had begun calling her, the second time he had woken to hear her singing echoing through the halls -- "when one hears, by chance, something not meant for his ears, should he keep the secret to himself, or let it be known that he is aware to those involved?"
"I think that, should he truely have heard by chance, he needs to tell those he overheard."
"Ah, and what if he fears upsetting one of those? Perhaps one he looks on as a friend is hurt by dwelling on what was spoken of and would rather not think of it."
"Then he should not approach them, but perhaps instead someone close to them, who will be able to judge how to respond."
"Ah," he said. "No one may accuse our songbird of having nothing in her head but tunes-"
Rhian's head jerked up. "Who-" she objected, but Aragorn inturrupted.
"Peace, little one, you have not been thus accused!"
"Oh..." She blushed.
"But," he went on, "you were right in your answer to my question. So I will say that some days ago, in this very spot I heard two conversations which I had no right to hear. At least," he amended, "I heard one, and I believe I am right as to what was the subject of the other."
Rhian's thoughts flew back- "Oh," she said softly. She looked away, to where he could not see her face. "You know then, about-" She couldn't get any more words out- her throat had closed and she felt her eyes sting.
"Yes," he said quietly. He reached out, laying a hand on her shoulder before getting up and returning inside.
Jonathan stirred- his head ached. There was a roaring in his ears. He rolled on to his side, pushed up on his arm. His back and shoulders hurt too. And he felt...weak. He ran a hand roughly through his hair. Rocks. He was lying on rocks. In what looked like a forest. Managing to get his feet under him, he staggered upright. The rocks were part of a slope downward into a pool, churned into foam by a waterfall- so the roaring wasn't his ears. Good sign.
When he tried to take a step, his ankle turned under him, and he would have been back where he started if a strong hand hadn't caught his shoulder. His balance returned, and he looked back at his savior.
Behind him stood a man clad and cloaked in green, but with his hood resting on his shoulders so that Jon could see his strong, stern features, and dark grey eyes. His hair was thick and black, long enough to touch his shoulders, and bound back from his face with a leather band.
"Do you know where it is that you stand?"
Chapter Eight
It was morning in the garden of Elrond, where Rhian sat, leaning on a pillar with one leg tucked under her, watching Rosie play tag with her two favorite friends, Merry and Pippin. They had been joined earlier by three of the graceful, fey-like elf children, and, by Rhian's judgement, soon the game would cease to be tag and dissolve into a general mess of tickling and laughter. Rosie's games usually did.
A footstep on the boards behind her woke her from her reverie, and even as she turned Lord Aragorn sank down on the steps beside her, setting his shoulders against the opposite pillar. He did not look at her for a time, studying instead the chaos on the grass- true to Rhian's mental calculations, Merry now assisted the little red-head in tickling Pippin until he begged for mercy. Rhian's original, breathless awe of the lordly man she had first met had given way a comfortable friendship in which he represented a combination of her father and Bryant, Rosie's father, and now she could call him 'Strider' without discomfiture. The only time she was not at ease with his strong, fatherly presence was when she chanced to glimpse him with Arwen; both Aria and Erin had said that catching such moments made them feel like intruders, and that was exactly it. She thought that Aragorn himself looked on her and Erin as something between a daughter and a niece- after all, she was still a child in age compared to him. It was strange, that while he was so grim and forbiding at times, he could be gentle too. But Arwen treated her as a friend, despite the vast
difference in their life spans. Only occaisonally did Rhian glimpse the lady's age and wisdom through some observation made as they spoke together, when Arwen's understanding of people- their natures, both elf and human- could be devastatingly insightful.
Now Aragorn turned to look at her, and she met his gaze levelly.
"Tell me, little bird," he said -- 'songbird' he had begun calling her, the second time he had woken to hear her singing echoing through the halls -- "when one hears, by chance, something not meant for his ears, should he keep the secret to himself, or let it be known that he is aware to those involved?"
"I think that, should he truely have heard by chance, he needs to tell those he overheard."
"Ah, and what if he fears upsetting one of those? Perhaps one he looks on as a friend is hurt by dwelling on what was spoken of and would rather not think of it."
"Then he should not approach them, but perhaps instead someone close to them, who will be able to judge how to respond."
"Ah," he said. "No one may accuse our songbird of having nothing in her head but tunes-"
Rhian's head jerked up. "Who-" she objected, but Aragorn inturrupted.
"Peace, little one, you have not been thus accused!"
"Oh..." She blushed.
"But," he went on, "you were right in your answer to my question. So I will say that some days ago, in this very spot I heard two conversations which I had no right to hear. At least," he amended, "I heard one, and I believe I am right as to what was the subject of the other."
Rhian's thoughts flew back- "Oh," she said softly. She looked away, to where he could not see her face. "You know then, about-" She couldn't get any more words out- her throat had closed and she felt her eyes sting.
"Yes," he said quietly. He reached out, laying a hand on her shoulder before getting up and returning inside.
Jonathan stirred- his head ached. There was a roaring in his ears. He rolled on to his side, pushed up on his arm. His back and shoulders hurt too. And he felt...weak. He ran a hand roughly through his hair. Rocks. He was lying on rocks. In what looked like a forest. Managing to get his feet under him, he staggered upright. The rocks were part of a slope downward into a pool, churned into foam by a waterfall- so the roaring wasn't his ears. Good sign.
When he tried to take a step, his ankle turned under him, and he would have been back where he started if a strong hand hadn't caught his shoulder. His balance returned, and he looked back at his savior.
Behind him stood a man clad and cloaked in green, but with his hood resting on his shoulders so that Jon could see his strong, stern features, and dark grey eyes. His hair was thick and black, long enough to touch his shoulders, and bound back from his face with a leather band.
"Do you know where it is that you stand?"