Revision uploaded November 2022

Part Two

"I saw you in the hall just now."

Eryndes looked up from her task to see Lobordir standing over her, "Joust?"

She was sitting at one of the tables out in the elbow of the manor, under the shade of the great cherry tree. After she'd excused herself from Sindar, she'd taken to the task of de-skinning potatoes. It was a little early for supper preparations, but she didn't mind. Some of the other women were also at the tables, mending clothing, crushing nuts, working leather, all working outside in the fresh air.

"There was a time when I would've paid a king's ransom to have you sing for me."

Weary from lack of sleep and grief, she had not the countenance to fight anymore.

"Joust," she lamented, looking up into the handsome face of her childhood friend. "You will never forgive me?"

Joust let out a long breath but then smiled, "I was teasing. Well, not entirely. I think I still have a right to be jealous though; it was a nice song."

"There is no need for jealousy. He asked what I was humming." She returned her eyes to the potatoes. "You used to do the same."

Lobordir didn't reply.

"I will not quarrel anymore, Joust," she looked back up at him. "Dissolve our friendship if you will, but if you are looking for a fight, you will be disappointed," dropping her eyes back to the table, she muttered, "again."

The noise across from the table told her he'd sat down heavily. "I didn't come to quarrel. But to make peace."

Surprised, she dropped her labours and sat back in her seat, "Oh?"

"Not off to a great start, am I?" he chuckled, but then shook his head, "We lost Langwen. How can we continue to be at odds with each other when the number of our friends grow shorter? So, I've come to apologise."

"Why?" An old sting burned its way onto her tongue, "It was not you who broke your heart."

Lobordir sat unmoving, a knowing look on his handsome face, "Nay, you did. But I'm done blaming you."

The sting of his words spoken over the past year faded a little. "I am sorry," she admitted quietly, "I wanted to fall in love with you, if there was anyone here who I should have fallen in love with-"

"Don't," he ordered sternly, but reached over to take her hand, "You don't need to say it. It didn't work but was worth the try. I would've regretted not trying. And while I can never say I wasn't heartbroken; it doesn't hurt as much as it once did." He smiled, "As they say, time heals and all."

Sadly, she returned his smile.

"Come, let's talk no more of this. I, for one, am sick of being sore at you." He sobered, "And with Langwen gone, who else can I rely on to stop me from drowning myself in the horse troughs when I'm drunk?"

Eryndes forced a smile, "Do you remember what she told Thalion when he proposed to her?"

His recited without hesitation, "'How can I marry a man who drops a blood-soaked stag carcass at my door and calls it romantic?'"

Eryndes nodded. Thalion, Eryndes' only blood sibling. "Word for word."

"Thalion had no idea of how to be charming. Took after your mother. Your father was the romantic."

The corner of her mouth upturned, momentarily lost in memory, "I remember."

"Thalion held no grudge though, when Langwen chose Amdirbarad instead-" Lobordir stopped in sudden comprehension, "I held no true grudge, Eryndes, only hurt and sorrow which little by little fades every day. You've known me most of my life, have I ever been one to hold a grudge?"

"Except this past year."

"Can't we be friends again?"

"We can," she lightly tossed a potato at him, which he caught easily, "if you help."

He snorted, tossing the potato back to her with a laugh, "That's women's work."

It was an old joke between them, but it did serve to break the uncomfortable moment.

"Here's something that may cheer you up. Well, cheers me up anyhow," he crossed his long arms over his chest.

She looked at him curiously, "Oh?"

He gestured to the left with his eyes.

She gradually turned, casually moving her eyes over the groups of people gathering around them as the end of day drew closer. Her eyes bounced between all of them, trying to figure out what he was talking about.

She started to shake her head, but then saw Sindar standing with young Baineth.

"By my reckoning, I'm admired again."

"Did you not always admire yourself, Joust?" she countered, still watching Sindar talking quietly with the girl.

He laughed, "Yes and for good reason."

"And Baineth shares this reason?"

"She may."

Returning to her work, she kept her eyes low, "Seems she may be admiring another at present."

"Sindar? Nay, she's trying to make me jealous."

"Is it working?"

"Not in the least," He said smugly, "she'd do better to go make smiles with Faron then with Sindar. He's not swayed by the charms of young maids."

"I wonder what does sway him?"

"Oh?" His question made her realise she'd spoken her wondering out loud.

Eryndes saw the wagging of Joust's eyebrow in the corner of her eye, "Put away that face, I was only curious."

"You and half the women in Carthal."

"Whatever for? What would an elf see in one of us?" she dubiously asked. "I simply meant he is so reserved, but then will surprise you." She shifted in her seat, "It is hard to know how to speak to him."

"I haven't found that at all," He told her flatly, "Maybe he's just shy or selective of his friends. Doesn't strike me as the type to go in for all the gossips and smarmy women."

Dropping the knife and potatoes, she decided to speak her mind, "You are his friend?"

"I count myself lucky to be, yes. Why?"

She pursed her lips and spoke quietly, "Just something Aragorn said to me, about him being challenging. I vowed to understand him better."

"You did ha?"

"Yes."

"What's there to understand?" He rolled his eyes. "The man's an elf, not an enigma."

Taken aback by his rebuke, she folded her arms across her chest and challenged, "I am trying to become his friend."

"And how's that working?"

She blew out her cheeks. "Not great. I truly do not understand him. I try to be courteous-"

"Instead of being courteous, why don't you simply try talking? I get the feeling you'd get further."

"How am I to talk to him when he pins me with a glare whenever I come close?"

The nagging in her gut told her she was being ungenerous. He'd returned her gloves. He'd given her comfort last night.

"Hold on, you think he dislikes you?" Joust sat back and narrowed his eyes, "Where'd you get an idea like that?"

"How about his refusal to allow me to call him Sindar?"

"Truly?" He shrugged his shoulders, "Odd, I'll grant but then elves are known to be superstitious about names and stuff. Magics and so forth. Perhaps it's a good thing, I mean, Sindar, it's not his real name."

"But only I! He is not bothered about the others."

Lobordir simply shrugged dramatically again.

"You are no help."

He laughed his deep throated laughs.

"Do you know-"

"What his real name is? Nay, sorry."

For a moment Eryndes sat still, considering. "He is a contradiction; one minute inauspicious and condescending, then the next he is amiable and," her lips tightened to hold back a smile, "kind."

"Don't fall too hard on that crush."

She gave him a patient look. "You are being childish."

"If you're heartbroken and need comfort, I'm available."

Her look turned into a glare.

Joust clutched his heart, "You wound me." He grinned cheekily, "Well, if he isn't swayed by my future wife over there, then perhaps he prefers old maids."

"Old maids?!" she exclaimed, "Lobordir, you are ten years older than I!"

"Yes, but I'm not a woman," he beamed, "I don't have the same 'shelf-life'."

"So you are an old man instead," Eryndes growled but only half-hearted; it was so good to have her friend back and argue like they'd always done.

Joust put on a good show of sulking, older or not, he was still a child. "Don't lose your temper at me, old maid."

"I see the two of you are speaking once more."

Eryndes and Lobordir both looked up to find Aragorn, Camaenor, and Sindar who'd escaped Baineth, walking over to them.

"We never stopped speaking," she told Aragorn tartly. It was the truth; mostly.

"That's true," Lobordir agreed.

Aragorn made a show of nodding, "No, then I must be wrong. Had to be if you're suddenly brave enough to call my sister an 'old maid'."

Eryndes' heart stopped. Had Sindar also heard their conversation? Or did Aragorn only hear the last part?

"I wouldn't dare," Lobordir winked at her.

"You decide to dare, and you'll face me."

Aragorn's face was jesting, but there was threat, in his tone, in his body.

Eryndes blushed.

Joust, however, didn't lose a beat. "I'd never give you a reason, Strider. Your sister's safe from me."

Camaenor watched the happening with an impatient air. Sindar watched the exchange too, with marked interest.

Eryndes wanted to hide under the table.

"Thank you, brother, but I am capable of defending myself." She pretended to misunderstand the true meaning behind their words.

Aragorn took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "You are. Forgive a brother for being protective."

Joust was not concerned in the slightest.

"If you don't mind?" Camaenor moved away from the table with a growl. "We've better things to do then threaten Joust's gooser-berries."

"Yes," Aragorn nodded, "Vice has something he wishes to show us."

"Oh?" Lobordir jumped to his feet, "You finally finished it?"

Eryndes watched them all start to walk away, leaving her sitting alone. But then, that was okay.

She was sure she had flushed all the way down to her toes. Besides, she bore no interest in whatever Camaenor had to show them.

Sindar, though, stopped and glanced back at her.

Aragorn saw the elf stop then he too looked back at her, "Coming?"

The invite to join them was earnest, but she glanced at Camaenor, "Never mind me, you go on."

Joust may not like holding grudges, but there were other men who did.

"Can't say it'd interest you, but come along anyway," Camaenor beckoned with a roll of his eyes.

Aragorn walked back to her and held out his hand.

Begrudgingly, she took it.

Camaenor led them to his workshop, his craftsmen and apprentices still hard at work even during the later afternoon.

Outside there were a collection of wooden seats in a circle, made for the craftsmen when their toils demanded a brief respite away from the heat of their furnaces.

Aragorn led her to one such seat, then took the seat beside her. The others also sat and waited for Camaenor to re-emerge from his workshop.

Her company continued in their discussion, turning to weapons and metal craft. A topic she had no opinions or thoughts to offer. Camaenor was correct when he said she'd have no interest.

Sitting and watching them talking about metals and firing methods, she paid particular attention when Sindar spoke. He was different, amongst his friends.

He was . . . at ease and came close to smiling a few times. He was quite the authority too, pulling knowledge and experiences from a life so extraordinarily vast.

Eryndes tried to feign interest in their talk of metals, weaponry, fortifications. The designs of war-machines and battle tactics. Her whole life she'd done the same, pretending interest just so she could join her father's company, and her brother's, and Aragorn's.

Her eyes were glazing, tiredness creeping in, as the topic shifted to the different ways to fold steel.

"I never understand this fascination," she murmured quietly, "What is so marvellous about crafting a sharpened rod of steel."

Her cheeks went hot, and her tiredness forgotten when they all turned at her. "I am sorry, I did not mean to speak aloud."

Camaenor grew as flustered as she was. "This sharpened rod of steel took me three weeks to craft!"

"I am sorry," she offered, wishing she'd never agreed to accompany them.

"It has been folded four dozen times!"

"Sorry, I-"

"I spent every night for a week just on the hilt."

"I said I was sorry!" she snapped. Camaenor truly brought out the worst in her.

"Damn you women with nothing better to talk about then your sewing and needlework!"

"When have I ever spoken about sewing and needlework?" she demanded. "Do not rail on me because your only interest in life is crafting heavy things to hit people with!"

Around them the others were laughing. Even Sindar looked amused.

Camaenor, however, was not amused, "The simple mindedness of women. It's no wonder we keep them to the kitchen or the whole world would be in chaos!" He looked closer at her, and then gestured to her face, "Would you look at your husband like that?"

"Have no doubt," Aragorn pointed out approvingly.

Eryndes turned away from them, hiding her still seething anger, wishing she was anywhere but there.

"Then best he'd be fearless, is all I can say," Camaenor hurled in her direction. "Eyes like that could shoot an eagle from his high perch."

"And I couldn't be prouder," Aragorn affirmed loudly, his voice calm but with a hint of warning. She felt Aragorn take her hand, "No sister of mine would allow herself to be locked away in a kitchen."

She looked back at her brother with an appreciative smile. He squeezed her hand with a smile of his own.

Camaenor just huffed in his chair.

Beside him, Sindar reached over and took the sword from Aragorn. He looked it over, then again from the side, down the blade, and around the hilt.

Eryndes saw Camaenor stiffen. "Go on, tell me about how much better your elven craftsmen would've done it."

Sindar raised an eyebrow at him. "I was going to say I would have no hesitation taking this into battle, but if you prefer, I can oblige you."

"You would ha?" Camaenor stumbled. "Nowhere near as pretty as those two on your back though."

"Sharpened rods of steel need not be pretty. This one would hit people rather well."

An angry retort built in her chest.

The corner of Sindar's mouth twitch, ever so marginally and an odd warmth erupted out from her heart.

That twitch. She'd seen it before.

Like a veil of thick fog lifting to reveal a clear blue sky, she understood.

"You are teasing me, Master Elf?"

And for a blink his features softened, like they had done last night and again in the great hall earlier.

It was only momentarily though, and he held the sword back out to Camaenor, "This one is well made."

Camaenor stammered, "Ah, well, high praise." He waved away the sword, "Feel free to give it a try."

"Why do you not carry a sword?" she asked abruptly and without thinking.

They all frowned at her and surely without reason. It was a perfectly reasonable question.

Sindar must've agreed for he did not frown. "Generally, I do not need one. Between my bow and knives, I am rarely troubled in battle."

"Even against long swords?" She felt silly for asking, but it wasn't as if she knew anything about weapons and combat.

"Of course."

"But I do not see how-"

"Will you not test the sword?" Camaenor cut in suddenly, budding on impatience, "Sindar?"

"I do not need to test a sword in combat to know the make is quality, Master Blacksmith."

"Will you? Please?"

Lobordir grinned, "I will test it against Strider."

Camaenor didn't even look at his friend, keeping his request directed to the elf, "Thanks, Joust, but you can show off for Eryndes some other time. I'm asking Sindar."

Sindar sat back, his eyes regarding the man coolly.

Camaenor sighed, and reluctantly lowered his head, "It would be an honour to have my work tested by so worthy a skill."

Eryndes could've swallowed a rabbit her jaw dropped so low. If she'd not heard it herself, she would've refused to believe Camaenor would ever say such a thing.

Sindar didn't share her surprise however, his cool grey eyes shifting to Aragorn.

Aragorn smiled easily, "I believe Vice desires to see me pounded. Shall we?"

"Pounded?" Eryndes asked quietly. Surely, they would not hurt one another.

Pulling out his sword, Aragorn knocked his head to the side, "Over here will do."

"Pardon me, pounded?"

Sindar rose to his feet, still brandishing Camaenor's sword, he regarded her but didn't answer her question. There was a humour to his eyes, and she saw one corner of his mouth lift before he went to join Aragorn.

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and a big arm across her back. "Relax," Úrion chuckled above her ear, having come up from behind to join them. He took Aragorn's vacated chair. "Strider and Sindar have known each other for a long time. They've been sparring for years. Probably was Sindar who finetuned a lot of Strider's technique."

"What if they injure each other?"

"Well, then it's lucky that you're here. Got medicines on you?" he laughed, "field dressings and such?"

"Bear," she groaned.

"Fear not," Joust was grinning, "this will be a good fight to watch."

"If folk'd remain quiet enough to witness it," Camaenor bit out.

Aragorn took a two-hand grip, whilst Sindar was playing, twirling the sword about him with his wrists. She looked to Úrion.

He nodded to Aragorn and Sindar, "Every sword is balanced differently. To be truly one with a sword, first you must get a feel for it. Sindar is getting a feel, for the balance, the grip, the length."

Sindar dropped the blade down low to his side, the point almost reaching the dirt at a forty-five-degree angle to the ground. He gave a single nod, "Attack."

The three men continued to commentate, but Eryndes didn't hear a word of it. She sat frozen, half in terror. Many times she'd seen rangers spar, but this was different. Both their swords moved as if they were their own masters, flying to attack and defend with frightening speed. Aragorn and Sindar whirled and spun around one another, ducking and dancing, stepping and striding.

It was almost beautiful, if it was not so dangerous and terrifying.

What if one of them missed or failed to deflect?

Her hand twisted in her lap, begging for them to stop.

A long, awful clang vibrated through the air and Aragorn's sword flew to land behind him. Sindar held up his blade with ease at his friend's chest.

"Thought I had you for a moment," Aragorn inclined his head, "I yield."

Sindar lowered his blade, "I hope I have proven the quality of your craft?"

"I'm in your debt," Camaenor actually smiled, "I am honoured."

Frowning, astounded by Camaenor's change of character towards Sindar, she shook her head and wondered, "And you can do the same with your knives? Against a long sword?"

An arrogant smirk grew on Sindar's lips. "Shall I demonstrate for you? Aragorn, will you stand in for her challenge?"

"Challenge?" she gasped. "I did not mean, nay please, do not fight again."

"It's sparring," Camaenor told her, getting up from his seat, he and Sindar moved back to his starting spot.

"This is how we warriors train," Joust told her from her side. "It's perfectly fine. Sindar's just playing."

"Playing or not, this will not end well for me, sister. You've questioned his skill and poked his pride." Aragorn snorted in mirth and nudged her shoulder, "I am betrayed."

"Nay, Aragorn, I did not."

He stopped her with a touch to her cheek and wink, then went to face Sindar.

Eryndes swallowed, half in anticipation, half in terror.

Sindar drew his twin blades from his back with deliberate languish and then twirled them around his wrists.

"Why?" she looked at the others. "What does Aragorn mean?"

"Sindar told me," Lobordir waved at the sword in Camaenor's lap, "he doesn't care much for long swords. He prefers smaller blades in close combat."

"Because of the weight?"

Lobordir gave a small laugh, "Nay, elves are stronger than men."

"Attack," they heard Aragorn call.

Without a moment's delay, Sindar launched, leaping like a cat through the air, his blades like talons extended towards Aragorn. Aragorn was forced back, retreating from the onslaught.

"Because long swords don't move the way he can."

With terrifying speed, Sindar and Aragorn crossed blades, the clanging somewhat muter than she'd expected. Aragorn defended but the elf was quicker.

"Most elves prefer curved blades, like extensions of their own bodies, to accommodate their fluidic movement."

"I care not anymore, Joust. Can you make them stop?" she whispered. "Please? Make them stop?"

No one did.

Eryndes tensed, ready to sprint over there to stop them. She felt a hand upon hers.

Úrion shook his head with a calm smile. "He won't hurt him."

Sindar struck and struck and struck with terrifying speed, Aragorn barely meeting his blows. Blow after blow, until there was an awful clang and Aragorn's sword once more fell hard to the ground, only this time so did Aragorn.

It had been over so quickly.

Sindar stood over him, his blades merely two inches from his friend's throat.

Aragorn was smiling. Sindar's deadly serious face looked upon his downed prey, but then abruptly his face lost all seriousness. And smiled.

Smiled!

"I yield," Aragorn chuckled, his whole body shaking with mirth against the ground. "As always, melloneg."

The smile still shining on his face, Sindar held out his hand. Aragorn took it, allowing the elf to pull him back to his feet. Aragorn, also still grinning, took Sindar's shoulder, Sindar taking Aragorn's.

Eryndes breathed a sigh of relief, her hand over her mouth and tried to calm her heart.

"You see?" Camaenor scoffed unkindly, "nothing for you to fret over."

When they parted, Aragorn turned back to the group, "I have a thought, Sindar, of how to exact my revenge."

The elf's dark brow rose. "Indeed? What is this thought?"

Aragorn looked directly at her. "Should not the challenger stand up for the challenge?"

The back of her throat thickened. "What do you mean?"

Aragorn walked over and pulled her to her feet.

"What are doing?"

He thrust the hilt of his sword into her hand, the sword was so heavy the tip fell into the dirt.

"Aragorn?"

He took her other hand, pulling her towards the clearing, the top of the sword digging a line in the dirt.

"Come, sister, you must defend our family honour."

"Aragorn?" she tried to pull away, but his hold was unbreakable. Her cheeks got hotter the closer they got to Sindar.

Aragorn set her two metres from Sindar and put both her hands on the hilt. "Hold it here."

The sword tip fell back to the ground. "Please, Aragorn, you cannot be serious."

"I am serious. I command you to stay and stand to the challenge." Aragorn faced his friend with a chuckle, "What do you think, Sindar? Will she offer you a fair match? Will she be your undoing?"

He walked back to the others, leaving Eryndes standing in front of the elven warrior, armed with two very wicked looking knives.

Terrified he might attack her, she hesitated to glance at Sindar.

Sindar, though, was not looking at her, but at Aragorn, his face bland. Was he insulted, or simply unamused?

"Strider, you think Sindar will offer her a free strike?" Joust laughed.

Sindar swept his blink-less eyes to her and at once she felt naked, like a poor defenceless animal tethered to the ground before a hungry wolf.

After what she'd seen him do to Aragorn, who was by her somewhat bias count, the very best warrior of all the rangers, Eryndes felt her hands shake.

The wolf watched her. His demeanour rigid, his face hard.

Abruptly, he sighed, his body relaxed. So did his face. With a shake of his head, he threw his hands up, sliding his knives back into their scabbard.

"I yield," he walked up to her, "like the eagle felled from his high perch, I too am defeated."

Defeated? She wanted to ask but was speechless. Defeated? Was that a tease? The whole thing was ridiculous. Why had he not simply ripped the blade from her shaking hands and declared himself victor?

Sindar stopped in front of her. "The honour is yours."

"But why?" she whispered; all the breath stolen from her lungs.

His hand touched hers, warm fingers careful in their touch, sliding her grasp from the swords hilt, and taking the heavy sword from her like it weighed no more than a paring knife.

"Your brother is clever."

That was no answer. Yet he waved her forth and together they walked back to the circle of men sitting in their wooden chairs.

"Well played, Strider," Úrion chuckled. "Well done."

"Those eyes of yours must truly be unconquerable," Camaenor sniggered.

"(Humility not conquest)," Sindar murmured so quietly she almost missed it.

The elf wasn't looking at her and the moment to enquire after his meaning quickly passed.

She was engulfed by Aragorn's embrace. "My hero." He looked to the others, "Are there any other challengers? No? Then I must declare Eryndes the undefeated champion of Carthal."

Pulling herself out of Aragorn's embrace, she sat back down with a huff, "Yes, very amusing. You had your fun."

Grinning, Aragorn sat down next to her and took his sword back from Sindar. "You cannot tell me it wasn't fun to defeat an elven-elite in combat?"

Eryndes found Sindar was waiting for her answer too. "I did no such thing."

His eyes locked to hers, she felt tingles break out down both her arms. Drawing breath, she shifted to watch Aragorn re-sheath his sword.

Studying the hilt sticking out from her brother's belt, she worked moisture back into her mouth. "It is astounding to think how anyone could fight the way you do with something so heavy."

"We grow stronger," Aragorn told her. "As could you, if you wished it."

Camaenor chortled, "By lifting heavier things than herbs and babies."

Eryndes opened her mouth to retaliate.

"Strength is not necessary."

Eryndes looked back to Sindar, as did Aragorn and the others.

"So says the strongest amongst us," Úrion, the burliest amongst the men, taunted pleasantly, pulling out a pipe and tobacco pouch.

"A mithril blade does not require strength to wield."

All the men either sniggered or coughed a laugh.

Eryndes searched their faces in confusion.

"Trust me, I'd dearly love to gift my sister with a mithril blade," Aragorn's wide grin lifted his own face as he took out his own pipe and tobacco, "however I do lack the hordes of gold to pay for it. Unless you might oblige me the coin?"

Sindar looked unperturbed, his shoulders rising in a small shrug.

Uncomfortable with her ignorance, she asked, "What is so special about this mithril?"

"You're not serious?" Camaenor rolled his eyes, "Women!"

Eryndes' narrowed her eyes at him, at the end of her patience. "Tell me, while I am tying off arteries after amputating your leg to save your life, will you still be mewling at my lack of smithing knowhow?"

Camaenor levelled a glare at her. "I'll be dead before I let you saw my leg off."

"Vice," Aragorn murmured, his warning clear.

Lobordir ribbed the man with a laugh, "Have you even seen mithril yourself?"

Camaenor didn't answer.

"Who amongst us has?" Úrion added.

The sound of a blade being drawn from its scabbard drew Eryndes' attention. Sindar held one of his knives. He flipped it to hold it by the blade, then held out the handle to her.

After the slightest moment of hesitation, she took it from him. It was impossibly light. The handle was smooth, and blade was long, flowing just like a tall grass blade, bent to a gentle breeze. It was beautifully gilded along both the blade and the lovely white handles.

"It is stunning," She whispered, her hands unworthy to hold such a wonder. And if this was mithril, then as Aragorn said, worth a fortune. She'd never held a fortune in her hands before.

"Thank you."

"Does the lightness make fighting easier?" She asked, feeling the others leaning in around her for a look.

"If anything, the lack of weight makes them more troublesome to first master."

She tore her gaze from the beauty in her hands, "But then-?"

"Mithril is extremely rare. It is fair to look upon, but it is the hardness of the steel which makes it so valuable. These knives will not break, bend or bow," Sindar explained with patience and in sharp contrast to Camaenor's acid tongue, "The edge is capable of staying sharp longer against metal armour and although the blades are not wide, they will easily slice through bone."

Studying the gold etching again, she mused aloud, "Hard to believe something so beautiful could be so deadly."

Aragorn chuckled from beside her, and said wistfully, "The very contradictory nature of elves."

"Were these made in Eryn Galen?" she asked.

"They were."

"By you?"

"I can fashion my own bow, but sword smithing is beyond my skill."

Taking in the delicate beauty of the blades, and Sindar's affinity for them, she wondered, "They were a gift?"

His head tilted ever so marginally. "They were."

"Don't let her hold too long, or she'll soon be chopping men's legs off with it."

Sindar's face dropped, and suddenly cold eyes shot to Camaenor, a crease forming between his brows.

Eryndes released the lip she bit and chose to ignore Camaenor's barb. Better then the embarrassment of having Aragorn getting protective again.

Her fingertips traced the gold pattern along the blade. Remembering herself, she gave Sindar a grateful smile and handed back the knife, "Thank you."

With an impassive nod he accepted back the knife and slid it back into its scabbard with astonishing ease.

"Have you ever-?" she stopped, blood rushing to her cheeks.

"Have I ever?" Sindar coaxed invitingly, his face returning amiable as it had been before Camaenor's interruption.

She'd spoken without thought. Unfortunately, with half of the question already spoken, and Sindar waiting- "The way you do that, how is it you do not," her chest tightened, "cut off your hair?"

Her companions chortled loudly.

Sindar also was amused, but he didn't laugh. "I did once," his face softened in memory, "when I was but a child and under the tutelage of my mentor. My father did not know who to punish more, me or my teacher."

"You did?" Aragorn laughed in surprise. "You never told me."

Sindar's gaze flicked to his friend, "You never asked."

"And," her muscles slackened, relieved her silly question turned out not so silly after all, "whom did your father decide to punish more?"

"Me."

Grinning, a sharp thrill resonated through her. "And how did he punish you?"

"With great brutality."

Her eyes widened at the dead seriousness in his face, but then she broke into a laugh, "He did not!"

That smile of his returned. "He did not."

"Sindar?" A young male voice called.

They all looked to the young ranger, Baradon, walking over to them from the direction of the manor.

"Everything's set as you requested."

Sindar nodded and rose to his feet.

The four men also stood.

"Good hunting, Sindar," Úrion took his shoulder in an elvish fashion, Sindar reciprocating before Joust grasped his wrist.

"Be safe, my friend."

Camaenor nodded to him, "Good luck."

Eryndes watched them uneasily. Was he leaving them? Surely not.

With a fluttering stomach, Eryndes also rose to her feet.

Aragorn took Sindar's shoulder as Úrion had done, the elf doing the same, "(May Eru protect you, my friend)."

"(And you)."

Eryndes swallowed. "Are you leaving us?"

Sindar turned to her, his face serious once more. "I shall return in two weeks." Too stunned to speak, she watched him incline is head, "(Farewell)."

"Eru keep you," she breathed.

With a nod, he left, walking back towards the manor with Baradon.

"Where," she stammered, "where is he going?"

"Angmar."

Whirling around, she stared in shock at her brother, "Angmar?"

"Your friend Bregol was not wrong when he said we couldn't stand by when our families are being attacked," Joust explained, pointing to the departing figure that was Sindar, "last night Sindar offered to go out there and scout out the enemy."

"Last night?" she frowned, but that was even before the meeting in the war-room. Bregol's verbal attack against Sindar slammed back into her mind.

Sindar said not one word: not one word in his defence.

"Deep reconnaissance into enemy territory," Úrion retook his seat a sigh worthy of a much older man, "He's going to find out what they're up to."

"He is going to Angmar, alone?"

"Alone," Aragorn also retook his seat and taking a long draw on his pipe. "I offered to go with him, but he declined. I need to remain here to train our new scouts. By the time he returns, we shall have more rangers out there keeping an eye on the enemy."

By the time he returns? Eryndes watched Sindar's tall figure turn the corner to the west side of the manor and leave her sight. Angmar? A suffocating dread filled her chest. What if he did not return?

She was just beginning to like the elf.