A/N: A nice, long chapter, and the next one is more than half done!

Chapter 30

The sun sank over Henneth Annun, and the fire faded away from the flowing water of the falls. The small, bedraggled company of travelers turned and followed Captain Faramir under the low arch and out in to a rock chamber. It was wide and rough, the roof uneven and sloping, torches casting a dim light on the glistening walls. There were many men already there, now unmasked, and others were still coming in twos and threes through a dark, narrow door to one side. Rhian's eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom, and she saw that the cave was even greater than she had guessed, and held a great store of arms and provisions.

"Here is our refuge," said Faramir. "Not a place of great ease, but here you may pass the night in peace. It is dry at least, and there is food, though no fire. At one time the water flowed down through this cave and out of the arch, but its course was changed further up the gorge by workmen of old, and the stream sent down in a fall of doubled height over the rocks far above. All the ways in to this grot were then sealed against the entry of water or aught else, save one. There are now but two ways out: that passage yonder by which you entered blindfolded, and through the Window-curtain into a deep bowl filled with knives of stone." There was a tinge of pride in the captain's voice as he spoke, laying a hand to the stone wall, but he turned back to his guests swiftly. "Forgive me!" he cried. "Come and rest a while, until the evening meal is set."

Rhian was led to a small alcove hallowed out of the wall, a blanket courteously held across its opening. Jon set himself before it, and Aria tore herself from Frodo's side to aid the young woman. Rhian struggled out of her blood stiffened clothing, hissing sharply with pain as cuts reopened. A basin of water had been left, and was soon tinted red. Her wounds cleansed, Rhian sat stoically as the hobbit maid rubbed a salve of the Rangers over them. The pale cream looked ghastly mixed with the new blood, and Rhian felt sick for the first time. But Aria covered them neatly with tidy bandages, and the blood did not seep through the layers of folded cloth. "There," Aria said with satisfaction. "None of them seem badly infected. But I do not know what to do for your ankle."

"It's fine," Rhian said, even as the area in question betrayed her with a painful twinge. "Thank you, dear sister. Now, go on- Frodo is waiting for you!" She smiled as the young hobbit at last ducked out from the curtain, catching an anxious expression on Frodo's face before his bright smile beamed once more.

Her own clothing was in a sorry state, rent in many places and stained with grime and blood. Only the leather over-tunic of Lorien and her elven cloak remained intact. Jon, aware of her plight, made it known quietly among the Rangers, and a spare shirt and trousers were provided with silent gallantry, wrinkled and mended, but quite clean. Rhian dressed carefully to avoid disturbing her bandages, and sat on the low bed that filled most of the alcove, scrubbing the dirt and blood from her leather tunic. It came clean easily, as did her boots, and she found a small phial of oil to rub them with. She set them at the foot of the bed to dry. There was little hope for her other clothes, but she washed them as best she could, laying them on the floor. Jon's voice came from the other side of the curtain. "Rhian? Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course," she said, going to push back the blanket from the opening. The young ranger turned, having carefully kept his back to the curtain, and a relieved smile lit his face. Rhian was mussed and a little damp, but she was clean and there was color in her cheeks now. She looked much different from the desperate young woman of just a short while earlier, but neither did she look like the young woman of that future time, volatile and quick-tongued and teasing. There was an air about her that could not be placed, a new silence and gentleness, and a new quiet strength. And now she looked at once strong and vulnerable, but familiar.

Rhian blushed beneath his look, made aware that she was in her shirtsleeves, and barefoot. She looked away, and saw Aria sitting against one of the walls, Frodo asleep in her lap. A smile tugged at Rhian's lips, and she looked to the rest of the chamber, where men were setting up tables with quiet efficiency.

"You will wish to rest a little," Jon said. "I will stay here, if you wish to sleep undisturbed for a while."

Rhian shook her head. "Thank you, but I am awake now." She shifted, wincing at the pain in her ankle. Jon frowned.

"What is it? Your leg?"

"My ankle. It's only sprained." Rhian stepped back and sat down.

Jon came and knelt before her. "May I see?" She nodded, and he took her foot in his warm hands. He was careful and gentle, but Rhian still flinched at the pain. Jon took one of the bandages that was left, and wrapped her ankle tightly. Rhian watched curiously as he bound it in place. He stood and offered her a hand. She let him help her up, gingerly putting weight on her foot. Jon watched her face carefully.

"Better?"

"Much," Rhian smiled. "Thank you. Did you learn that from the rangers?"

Jon grinned and shook his head. "No. The boy scouts."

Rhian's merry laughter echoed through the chamber. Many of the dark, silent men turned with wonder at the sound, and hard faces relaxed in to slight smiles. Rhian sat again, taking up her wooden comb. Jon sat in the doorway, watching as she worked the knots from her long black hair. They spoke in soft voices as Rhian told him more of what had passed since she came to Middle-Earth, and he told her in full how he came to be among the Rangers.

"I woke here, below the falls of Henneth Annun. I thought I was dreaming. The Captain was in Ithilien on an errand, and it is well that he was. The orders of the Steward of Gondor are that any man who comes to the land of Ithilien without leave are to be slain, but Faramir has no love of killing. He had me spared, and took me captive instead. But I could tell him nothing- his questions made no sense to me. I had no idea what country I was in, or who Sauron was. I could not claim allegiance to anyone.

"I thought he might decide I was mad, and have me killed in the end after all, but no one had seen me come to the bowl of Henneth Annun, and that should have been impossible. And there were no tracks that could have been made by me anywhere. So the Captain, against his logic, perhaps, believed me. But still he tested me for a full six days before he was satisfied in his conscience. I gave the best account of myself that I could, but I was still bewildered." Jon smiled faintly. "Faramir made me a Ranger of Ithilien, and took my oath of loyalty. He seemed guided by some foresight- I have learned since that he has clear sight and is often given knowledge denied other men. But he concealed my presence from his father, Denethor, who from what I have been told would not have hesitated to put me to death. He left me here with the small company of Rangers that patrol these forests, and they taught me woodcraft, and have done their best to teach me the sword. The bow I knew a little of already, but even that is far lacking by their standards."

"The life of a Ranger suits you," Rhian said. She looked over her cousin as he sat in the light of the doorway, and she spoke truly. His handsome face was tanned and ruddy, and there was new muscle on his tall body. His dark curls had grown out in to an unruly mass that brushed his collar and fell over his forehead, streaked with golden highlights from the sun. But there were deeper alterations in him. He moved softly and with more grace, and some of the nobility of the Men of Gondor was crept in to his speech. His dark eyes, always warm with humor and kindness, had a new spark of quiet strength. Rhian remembered feeling that Jonathan was innately honorable and chivalrous, like his father, but those qualities shone out of him now, unhampered by the modern world. Rhian smiled with pleasure, glad to be with her cousin again. She began braiding her hair, her arms twisted up behind her head.

"Here," Jon said, coming to her. "Let me." Rhian let him take the long strands from her and set her hands in her lap as he began the braid over again.

"You braid hair?" she asked.

Jon chuckled behind her. "Another of my hidden talents."

"They teach hair braiding in boy scouts?"

"Heh. No- my mother had long hair." His hands paused, tangled in the heavy black locks, and Rhian reached blindly behind her to touch his arm. Of course. Jon's mother had died when he was young, years before Bryan had married Aunt Lianne.

"I'm sorry," she said. Jon began braiding again.

"It's all right. It's just--I hadn't thought about her since I came here. The past just seemed to fade and grow far away. I called myself Baran in my own thoughts, as well."

"It is a good name for you," Rhian said. She was quiet as he finished the braid, tying it neatly with a bit of cord. The smooth plait rested along her spine, and Rhian twisted around to look at Jon. He looked quiet and pensive, but smiled as she turned. She reached out and touched his face. "I am glad we were found by you, Baran," she said.

He smiled at her, and then frowned suddenly and caught her chin in his palm, studying her face closely.

"What is it?" Rhian asked.

"Your eyes," he said slowly. "They used to be green." His thumb traced the curve of her cheekbone as he bent over her.

Rhian, staring up in to his eyes, saw them change from dark chocolate to a warm, tawny golden-brown as he tilted his head. "What- what are they now?"

"Grey," Jon said softly. "Like the sky before a storm."

Rhian stared at him wonderingly, and he blushed, bowing his head and turning away as one of the Rangers came to summon them. Jon went to wash in one of the basins set out along the walls, and Rhian looked to her appearance. She was unwilling to go barefoot, even to such a rough table as this, or to have her shirt billowing around her. It was comfortable, and she reveled in the sheer cleanliness of it, but it made her feel half dressed. In the end, since her boots were still damp, she found a pair of socks buried in the depths of her pack, and wore her belt over the shirt, cinching it in around her waist. She paused over her dagger, but decided to wear it while leaving her sword in the alcove.

Jon returned and offered her his arm, his face grave but his eyes sparkling. Rhian grinned at him as he led her to a seat at Faramir's table. The hobbits were given seats on barrels padded with furs to raise them to a suitable height. Rhian smiled at this consideration, and at the glowing look of happiness on Aria's face. Before they sat, all the men of Ithilien turned westward gravely for a moment of silence. Rhian and the hobbits did likewise.

"So we always do," Faramir said, as they sat down. "We look towards Numenor that was, and beyond to the Elvenhome that is, and to that which is beyond Elvenhome and will ever be. Have you no such custom at meat?"

"In my own time," Rhian said, "it is custom to ask a blessing before meals."

"A blessing? From whom?"

Rhian paused. "From Eru," she said, remembering her lore. "And from the Valar, though that is not what we called them."

Faramir nodded. "That we do also," he said, "but it is left to each man for himself."

After so long journeying and camping, and days spent in the lonely wild, the evening meal seemed like a feast; to drink pale yellow wine, cool and fragrant, and eat bread and butter, and salted meats, and dried fruits, and good red cheese, with clean hands and clean knives and plates--Rhian felt glad and easy of heart as she had not felt since leaving Lorien. The talk was merry, as the men vied for Aria's attention, and for her own, though with more restraint--Aria reminded many of them of sisters or sweethearts left behind when they came to serve their Captain, and though Frodo made clear his claim many of them seemed quite taken with her. Rhian was treated with a little more deference, but she was content for it to be so. Jon was a comfortable presence by her side, and the wine coursed through her veins, and she was glad to see Aria full of sunshine again.

When all was done Faramir led Frodo and Sam to a recess at the back of the cave, partly screened by curtains; but Rhian and Aria were waylaid by a group of Rangers, who requested a song. They were seated on low benches and furs spread on the floor of the cave, and Aria gladly obliged, singing in her sweet, high voice. Rhian drowsed, leaning back unconsciously against Jonathan's shoulder. His arm came up around her waist to steady her.

When Aria's song was ended, the Rangers had many questions, and Rhian roused a little to hear the answers. Seeing her sit up, one of the Rangers shyly asked if she did indeed carry a harp, and if she could play. The harp of Lorien was fetched, and Rhian drew it from its case and nestled it against her shoulder. She tightened the strings and paused, thinking. Her fingers wandered over the strings, producing soft chords that slowly resolved themselves into a melody. She sang all the verses of Greensleeves to them, thinking of the green garb of the Rangers, and finished with a rippling chord.

Murmurs of pleasure went through the knot of Rangers, and Rhian rose up on her knees to give them a small bow. They coaxed a few more songs from her, but the playing made her wounded arm ache, and after a little while she returned the harp to its case. She had just set it aside when there was a clatter from the alcove.

Rhian twisted around to see that Sam had overturned his stool and the two hobbits were on their feet with their backs to the wall. Faramir stood over them, a strange expression on his face. Rhian leaped to her feet, her hand going to her dagger as she pivoted. She had forgotten her ankle. It gave under her weight and she would have fallen if Jon had not leaped up behind her, catching her waist even as she turned. The movement caught Faramir's eye and he glanced at her. She was very pale and still.

Before any word could be spoken, Aria ducked out of the circle of Rangers and ran to Frodo's side. The hobbit boy put a protective arm around her, and she looked up at Faramir questioningly. Faramir sat down again in his chair and began to laugh quietly, and then suddenly became grave. Rhian, on Jon's arm, came near to hear him speak.

"Alas for Boromir!" the Captain said. "It was too sore a trial. How you have increased my sorrow, you two strange wanderers from a far country, bearing the peril of Men! But you are less judges of Men than I of Halflings. We are truth-speakers, we men of Gondor. We boast seldom, and then perform, or die in the attempt. Not if I found it on the highway would I take it, I said. Even if I were such a man as to desire this thing, and even though I knew not clearly what this thing was when I spoke, still I should take those words as a vow, and be held by them. But I am not such a man. Or else I am wise enough to know that there are some perils from which a man must flee. Sit at peace! And be comforted, Samwise. If you seem to have stumbled, think that it was fated to be so. Your heart is shrewd as well as faithful, and saw clearer than your eyes. For strange though ti may seem, it was safe to declare this to me. It may even help the master you love. It shall turn to his good, if it is in my power. So be comforted. But do not even name this thing aloud again. Once is enough."

The hobbits went back to their seats very quietly, Sam righting his stool with a shamed look on his face. Aria stood behind Frodo with her hand on his shoulder, and he reached up to clasp it. Men turned back to their drink and their talk, perceiving that their captain had had some jest or other with the little guests, and that it was over.

"Well, Frodo, now at last we understand each other," Faramir said. "If you took this thing on yourself, unwilling, at others' asking, then you have pity and honor from me. And I marvel at you: to keep it hid and not to use it. You are a new people and a new world to me. Are all your kin of like sort? Your land must be a realm of peace and content, and there must gardeners be in high honor."

"Not all is well there," said Frodo, "but certainly gardeners are honored."

Faramir smiled. "But folk must tire there still, and you are far from home and way worn. No more tonight. Sleep--in peace, if you can. Fear not! I do not wish to see it, or touch it, or know more of it than I know now, which is enough. Go now to rest, but first tell me only, if you will, where you wish to go, and what to do. I must watch, and wait, and think. Time passes. In the morning we must each go swiftly on the ways appointed to us."

Faramir's words brought Rhian up short. She no longer felt the tug of destiny below her breastbone. What way was she to go? There was no chance for her to think on it, though, for even as Frodo told Faramir of his quest in Mordor the hobbit swayed, and Faramir caught him gently and lifted him.

"Frodo!" Aria exclaimed, but Faramir shook his head.

"He is only weary, I think," the captain said, and carried Frodo to the bed, laying him down there. Aria covered him warmly, smoothing the hair back from his forehead and humming softly before slipping away. Another bed was set nearby for Sam, as Aria came back to open area of the cave. The Rangers respectfully asked after the health of the little guest, and begged if she would speak with them a little more.

Jon had guided Rhian back to sit on the furs near the cluster of Rangers that still sat, talking quietly. She let him ease her down, preoccupied with her thoughts, her face pensive. She did not listen to the talk around her now, but let it wash over her.

"Are you all right?" Jon asked softly. Rhian started.

"Yes," she said. She suddenly felt her weariness overcoming her, and sagged back against Jon's supporting hold. "I'm fine," she murmured. Her eyes closed slowly, and Jon shifted to settle her more comfortable against his chest.

When Faramir passed by some time later, it was to see Baran sitting in the light of the guttering torches, Rhian nestled asleep against him. Aria was curled up asleep on the furs nearby, the young Ranger having driven the others away so that she might sleep. Baran looked up at his captain silently. Rhian was warm in his arms, her dark head tucked neatly beneath his chin. Faramir touched his shoulder in understanding, and turned away to cover the sleeping hobbit girl.

Rhian mumbled in protest as Baran shifted her, slipping his arm beneath her knees. He lifted her carefully and carried her to bed, laying her softly among the blankets. She moaned and pressed her face in to the pillow. Baran tucked the blankets around her gently. He sat back on his heels to look at her. The faint light played across her face, troubled even in sleep. Baran touched her cheek lightly, then bent and brushed his lips over her forehead.

"It's all right, cariad," he murmured.

Faramir met Baran outside of the alcove.

"You will sleep here tonight?"

Baran nodded. "That was my intent. I am not one to expose other men to temptation."

Faramir clasped his shoulder briefly, and then went to answer the summons of Anborn at the passage out of the cave.