* Thanks to all who reviewed, favoured, liked and kudos.
** Thank you to Frannel. But also thanks to your kids!
*** I don't usually like posting part one without the part two, but I'm itching to get on with things. So here's part one.
**** Don't think there's anything to warn about.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
Aglarebon – Woodland Stallion, Sindar's horse
Aragorn/Strider – Male, Chieftain of the Dúnedain
Baradon/Sculls – Male, Elite Ranger Scout
Bregol/Web - Male, Ranger
Camaenor/Vice - Male, Master of Arms
Cordoves/Swan – Female, Elite Ranger Scout
Eryndes – Female, Mistress of Carthal & Apothecary
Faron/Dusk – Male, Hunting Master & Elite Ranger Scout
Foruyndes – Female, Mistress of Stores
Gueniel – Female, Midwife
Laeron/Wren – Male, Elite Ranger Scout
Lobordir/Joust – Male, Master of Stables & Elite Ranger Scout
Mydedis – Female, Mistress of Housekeeping
Mereniel/Ivy – Female, Elite Ranger Scout (Pregnant)
Sali – Female, Mistress of Kitchen
Sindar/Master Elf /Legolas – Sinda Male, undisclosed Prince of the Woodland Realm on unofficial secondment
Trîw/Jester – Male, Elite Ranger Scout
Úrion/Bear – Male, Second in Command
They were outnumbered. There was no escape.
With a fierce smirk, Legolas advanced. Raising one blood stained blade towards the sky, he called forth the second wave.
Rangers emerged, slinking from ground, rock and tree like shadows, their clean blades glistering in the moonlight. As one they strode forth to join their kin on the field of battle.
The orcs with presence of mind roared out into the darkness in futility as the second wave of rangers continued to advance.
The orcs bore no backup to call upon. Still ninety odd still standing, they were surrounded at all sides and caught completely unaware.
"An elf eagerly slaughtering life?" a good-natured jab rose above the roars and war cries of the combined two hundred plus warriors set to kill each other.
"Life? They are not life," Legolas spat, chancing a glance at his friend before scanning the orcs futile charge to pick out his next target. "But what they are I was created to destroy."
Wiping his brow, Úrion tossed his axe from hand to hand, black drops flying off the half-moon shaped blade, "Just leave a few for me. This old man's got another five hundred orcs to his name before he's done."
Legolas didn't answer. Coming to within acceptable distance from his chosen target, an orc wielding a rusty scimitar, he threw wide the gates within and willingly gave himself over to hatred.
Block, block, block, strike-strike. His opponent dropped to the twig and gravel covered ground; dead. Selecting another, taller and broader, he advanced. Block, strike. Dead. Most times bigger meant cocky and this orc paid for it with his life.
Sharp and efficient; Legolas was an ages old weapon of destruction and he and the company of Dúnedain Rangers tore down their enemy without mercy.
"All bodies are gathered, father."
Úrion and Legolas stood together as triumphant commanders often did; conversing quietly over their victory while their troops finished the clean-up. The dawn was almost upon the border lands, not three miles the other side of the river into the south of Angmar. The first few birds sung sleepily into the air their delight in the death of the orcs. Dozens of Dúnedain torches lit up the morning.
Úrion studied his youngest son with a critical eye, "Best set fire to them then. No need to be loitering about."
"Yes, father," Laeron gave a sharp nod and went to comply-
"Is that your blood?"
Laeron stopped mid stride. "It is just a scratch."
"Show me."
Laeron's face pained and his eyes looked around, "I swear, it is naught but a cut."
Úrion grabbed the boy, who almost stood as tall though not as broad by half, and held him still to peer at the top of the trail of blood going down his neck.
"Faattherr," Laeron's face now was turning red, his eyes turning pleadingly to Legolas for help. When Legolas offered no help, he returned to his father. "Please. Everyone is watching."
Legolas bit back a laugh. Úrion didn't care for his son's embarrassment and continued to examine the wound in Laeron's dark hair. Once more he could see much of his younger self in the youth. A father, elf or human, sought never to relinquish 'fathering' their sons.
"It will need to be sown-"
"Father, please. I will see the healers upon our return to camp-"
"How did it happen? Did you get distracted? Being cocky again . . .?"
Legolas covered his chuckle and walked away to leave poor Laeron to his father's scrutiny. He checked the wounded rangers were set upon horses, no less than five and none in danger, then took a spare torch from Trîw and they set fire to the orcs.
The battle came to a swift end. The orcs languished in this particular valley across the river for weeks. Carthal's scouts discovered them six days ago. At once, Úrion and Legolas gathered a company of rangers and rode out to destroy them.
They found them bellies full and resting, such was the arrogance of the orc in the north. The hundred rangers he and Úrion lead into battle was overkill. Without exaggeration, the orcs could've been taken down by a ranger force one third their number.
But what were they doing here? None of the captives they'd taken knew their purpose, no matter what torture they were threatened.
Perhaps the enemy was learning?
Walking to Aglarebon, he gave him a long stroke along his flank before climbing into the saddle. There was no strategic significance to the spot; the only fresh water available was a small stream coming down from the complex of mountains and streams to the south. No rivers for craft. No higher ground. The orcs had not even set up a proper encampment.
To his side, Laeron came up on his mare, an unsavoury tint upon his youthful good looks.
Legolas cleared the acidic smoke from the back of his throat.
"I know," Laeron said quietly. "He loves me."
He didn't answer and kept his eyes straight ahead, amusement bound tightly within his chest.
An exasperated sigh hit his ears. "But might he not contain it a little more in public?"
"And lessen the enjoyment of your discomfort?"
He heard the cluck of an annoyed tongue, "Your father and mine would surely have a ripping time were they ever to meet."
Finally looking at the young man, he allowed his smile to grow, "Of that I have little doubt."
Laeron shared his smile in kindred spirit.
"Sindar," Úrion rode briskly over, "The rangers are ready and our scouts signaled the path clear."
Keeping the smile, Legolas gave a quick nod, "Shall we depart?"
Úrion was already raising his arm to wave the Dúnedain home, "Rangers, move out!"
"Focus."
The flurry strikes continued.
"Faster."
Their strikes increased in speed.
Legolas ambled around the six paired scouts. The other half of his unit were watching from the grass. The day was coming to a swift end, the sun lowering over the foothills and the trees and shrubs filled with birdsong. "Your accuracy is suffering," he told them testily, "Half an inch will be the difference between killing and wounding."
Having slaughtered the orcs two days to the east, the legion of rangers was still another day from the Great North Road and Carthal. Úrion pulled them up to make camp in the shadow and shelter of the southern range, a haven of clear, clean streams, thick grassy meadows and surrounded by open canopied forests. Within the safer lands to the west, their guards well placed, the camp was idyllic.
However, Legolas was not going to allow his scouts to rest. The battle may have been easily won, but only a fool didn't remain prepared.
Besides, he was in the worst kind of restless mood for which he could only account for by his own growing weariness.
As he neared Dagnir, the ranger's focus increased, his teeth clenching, beads of sweat growing on his forehead.
"Faster," Legolas ordered. "Dig deep." He moved to the next pair, walking around Sirdhem to watch. "You have speed, Orthellon, but do you have stamina?"
The quiet, reserved ranger glanced at him-
"Eyes to your task!" Legolas barked.
Orthellon snapped back, continuing even faster than before.
"By my count not four minutes have passed," He watched Cordoves and Lobordir exchange blows, "Gifting your younger brother with an easy victory, Swan?"
Joust's playful smirk lifted his lips and Cordoves growled, her strikes gaining speed and ferocity.
It was short lived however and each of the pairs depleted their remaining strength in seconds.
"Halt," Legolas called. Half of the elite scout troop gratefully stood down and he addressed them collectively. "You have proved your resilience. Two days without sleep since a successful battle engagement and you have kept up with the rest of the rangers. But to what end? What is succeeding to the next camp if you cannot defend yourself upon arrival? Within four minutes each of you lost accuracy and strength."
The elite troop stood silent.
His brow rose, "Second half, into position. See if you can improve on four minutes. Faron? You will pair with me."
Surprise lit their faces. Except for Faron, though, who bared his teeth in a hideous grin. "You haven't slept either, Sindar; six days now by my count." Faron clucked his tongue, "Careful. Don't want to mess up that pretty face. 'Again'."
"Be silent," he moved into position, resolved not to allow Faron to antagonise him anymore. It wasn't surprising Faron knew how long he'd gone without sleep; the man was as observant as he was cunning. "Begin," he ordered. As expected Faron started off strong, each of their hits on target and blocked, blow for blow. This type of exercise was not about fighting or hitting the opponent but about speed, stamina and accuracy.
As the time clicked over, it became apparent all of the pairs had stopped and all his troop were now watching him and Faron.
With his lip curling, Legolas stepped back from Faron and held up his hand. Both he and Faron looked at the rangers, Faron chuckling.
Faron might think it amusing, but Legolas did not. "(Do I have rangers under my command or a bunch of filthy Dwarves)?!"
His snarl was met with bashful guilt, smiles and even laughter.
"What did he say?" Trîw whispered none to quietly to those around him.
"Feet and elbows to the ground," he turned back to Faron, "If you all are so fond of watching, you may watch holding brace until Faron and I stop."
Groans came from them but his order was followed. He was pushing them hard. His mood was off and they weren't elves. But to his way of thinking, the harder he trained them, pushed them, the more likely they would survive the worst evil could throw at them.
Besides, they were rangers of the Dúnedain. Legend and feared. Complain with groans they might but none so far had shown the slightest discontent or frailty.
None had taken his offer to surrender their spot in the unit and return to normal duty.
Four minutes later and twelve rangers shook with effort in their brace positions while Legolas and Faron continued to test each other's stamina. Faron was only just beginning to struggle.
"Sindar," Lobordir strained from his position on the grass, "As your friend, I must warn you I plan on poisoning your canteen-"
"Silence," Legolas snapped. The constant intensity of his strikes and blocks was starting to burn in his arms and shoulders. "Waste not your energy on speaking."
Five minutes . . .
Faron's punches were starting to lose accuracy and his blocks getting sluggish. Some of the rangers began to show their imminent collapse.
"Focus," he muttered to Faron.
Faron's smug confidence was gone and now replaced by one of extreme concentration. Days without proper sleep, each day being subjected to long days of hard riding and exercises to start and close each day; Legolas was begrudgingly impressed by Faron's endurance.
"Mist! The mist has returned!"
"What evil is this?"
Faron looked towards the shouting-
And Legolas' fist connected with his face.
"Oww, Sindar!"
Legolas stepped around Faron nursing his chin, "You are too easily distracted."
"To arms!"
Faron pointed back at the ranger camp, "Is that not ample distraction?"
Around them the troop of elite rangers were on their feet and looking alarmed towards the camp.
"Come," Legolas directed them sweeping down to retrieve his weapons, and together they ran the six hundred metres through the thick, spongy grass back to their fellows.
Getting there they found the ranger camp shrouded in mist . . . but only the ranger camp. The mist kept to the boundaries, neither moving with the gentle breeze of lifting to the hot afternoon sun.
"What madness!" Lobordir cried, his eyes wide just like all the other of their troop.
Legolas squinted through the mist, his sight shifting, penetrating, searching. "The mist is not dangerous."
"Are you certain?"
At Legolas' nod, Lobordir squared his shoulders. "The rangers won't know that."
Legolas at once addressed his troop, "Get in there and bring calm! Laeron? Find your father and have him start bringing the rangers out into the clear air."
Some of them looked stunned, fear etching quickly upon their faces. With their sordid history with dark Numenoreans, if there was one thing all Dúnedain feared it was unexplained magics.
Was this the renegade's mission; to prey upon their great fear?
"Come," Lobordir ordered firmly, "Sindar says it's safe. Follow his order!"
Faron and Cordoves were the first to move, followed by Baradon dragging a still stunned Laeron with him. Then as if a landslide, the rest followed, quickly, the ingrained fear at once switching to resolve and obedience.
Stopping Lobordir with a glance, Legolas pointed towards the makeshift corral made mad by a hundred frightened horses, "Joust. See to the horses before they break their bonds."
Lobordir didn't move, his clever eyes knowing. "Where are you going?"
"To see to this spellcaster," he marched off in the direction of the overlooking hills. "I will deal with this nuisance!"
"Alone?" Lobordir tried to follow him. "Sindar, he might be dangerous!"
"I can see through illusions," he assured him briskly.
But his friend stood firm, "Trîw will see to the horses. I won't let you go alone."
It would've been easy to order him to remain. He could've detailed the dozens of times he'd waltz into danger alone for three thousand years. "Very well," he conceded reluctantly, and perhaps a little touched. He adjusted the buckling straps of his quiver tighter around his chest. "We go stealthily. Remember not to trust your eyes."
Lobordir nodded and sheathed his long sword. "Then I shall track while you survey."
It took them ten minutes of careful climbing through the thick underbrush to reach the hill's sloping apex and the hidden complex of caves.
Both he and Lobordir kept their footfalls silent and their awareness sharp. There was no alert to the air; all manner of life twittered and chirped contently in the dwindling late afternoon light.
A soft click of a tongue called Legolas' attention. Lobordir pinched his thumb and fore finger together then sharply pointed behind them.
Holding his crouch steady, Legolas glanced behind him.
From their vantage point halfway up the hill they could clearly see the mist over the rangers' encampment was no more. Not a trace lingered. The enchantment was lifted. The company of rangers and their horses were by rallied and held in a soundly defensive position.
Legolas would've expected no less from a worthy commander like Úrion. But the questions remained; what was the spellcaster's intent? Had their approach been spotted and the quarry fled?
Returning to Lobordir, he gave a single nod then gestured to move forward. Keeping low they made their way further up the hill and soon could see the mouth to one of the caves. Legolas signaled they were clear to cross the deer path just before the mouth of the cave.
Lobordir held a close study of the ground, Legolas to their surrounds, moving along the path from one cave to the other.
Finally at the smaller of the caves, Lobordir got his attention once more and pointed at the ground.
The disturbance in the leaves and twigs was very faint. Lobordir took a moment, his eyes reading the ground like a novel. With a nod, the ranger gestured into the cave and continued to speak through his hands;
One. Slight and short. Came from cave. Retreated along the path, in haste yet maintaining cover.
Legolas acknowledged. Slow.
They traced the spellcaster's footfalls around the side of the hill, over the rocky pass and descending through a mossy, fern packed gully. Moving through without sound, the creatures who called the gully home watched with curiosity without alarm.
Then the tracks lead down into the babbling stream.
"Even the Dúnedain can't track through water," Lobordir muttered quietly.
Unwilling to give up, Legolas continued to search the other bank of the stream, even though it was fairly clear the spellcaster escaped via the steam. Perhaps whomever this person was preordained this as the only way to lose his tail . . .
This spellcaster chose his layer well.
"We can follow the stream down."
With a frustrated sigh, Legolas glared at the water as if it were to blame, "We should check the cave. We are half a day from where the caravan was attacked by the marauders. Perhaps the Dúnedain have stumbled upon the grounds protected by this . . . individual." He looked back at Lobordir, "How slight?"
Lobordir shrugged, "He was no Dúnedain. Short like a southerner and scrawnier than Faron."
"A youth?"
He considered briefly, "Possibly. Or a lost man living off moss and the occasional rabbit. A criminal in hiding even?"
"A southern criminal this far north?"
Lobordir crouched to inspect the muddy bank once more, "Stranger things have happened. More and more sightings of strange folk and eastern creatures have been spoken of-"
"Gossip and rumour proliferated by drink?"
"The north is vast," Lobordir chuckled and rose. "Who can tell what the troubles in the east will send our way?"
Legolas remembered some of the creatures he'd spotted pulling carts in Angmar. He shook his head more than a little irked. "So far all he has done is conjured mist." He waved his friend back the way they'd come, "We will check the caves then return to the others. If this spellcaster is truly worth our time, he will have to prove himself worthy of our notice."
In one of the caves they did indeed find evidence of someone living there, if only for a few days. A crude bed of dried grasses, leaves, twigs and moss. Fire left to die. Bones of fish and other small creatures. Wood kept dry out of the weather. There was no personal affects of any sort; nothing to suggest the identity of the spellcaster.
"He might not cover his tracks well enough for a Dúnedain to fail discover his measure, but he can't be faulted for leaving us any other clues."
Frustrated and annoyed, Legolas shot out of the cave leaving Lobordir to follow in his wake.
"Sindar?"
He whirled on his friend, "(Do we not have more important matters to mind than a wildman with one or two magic tricks)?!"
Lobordir laughed suddenly, "Do you realise you switch languages when you're angry?"
Legolas's mouth opened to retaliate, but outrage slowly dissolved into disbelief . . . "I do?"
His friend laughed again, "All the time. Listen, Strider wants the spellcaster dealt with, take away the unknown variable so to speak. But that doesn't mean now. Once we're home and slept off the torture you've been putting us through, we'll come back and hunt him down." Moving passed him in the direction of the ranger camp, he gave him a slap on his shoulder. "He'll be begging at your feet and wishing the orcs found him instead."
With a long drawn breath and following sigh, Legolas took one last look at the caves then went to follow Lobordir back to camp-
"What is wrong?" Legolas frowned, coming up to his friend's side. Lobordir was staring intently . . . out at nothing. "Joust?"
Lobordir squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.
"Joust?" Legolas scoured the area, but again there was nothing. "What did you see?"
"I thought I saw . . ."
"What did you see?" Legolas repeated.
"Probably just lack of sleep-"
"After tracking a spellcaster?" Legolas growled. "I warned you against trusting your eyes, not ignore the obvious."
Lobordir reset his posture and reported clearly, "I saw my father, like steam vapour passing over by those trees. He looked as I'd known him, un-aged in the fifty years since he fell. Then, just as the mist upon our camp, was gone like he was never there."
"Did he try to speak?" Legolas asked, taking a gambit upon the sinking of his stomach, "but his words bore no voice?"
"Aye, exactly right." Lobordir faced him, "How did you know?"
"The war-room," he bit out. "Come, we must speak with Úrion."
"You didn't follow?" Úrion asked, his aging forehead lengthening. "The Dúnedain have a sordid history with magic wielders-"
"This is no Dark Numenorean," Legolas debated, "Or if he is, he is so poorly unskilled to be judged unworthy of the title."
Úrion stroked his beard as he often did when deep in thought. "Perhaps not but you do not appreciate the fear one spellcaster can arouse."
Lobordir nodded, "We are but half a day's ride from where the caravan was attacked-"
"Attacked by 'mist'. I believe this . . . person is doing naught but attempting to inspire fear." Legolas gestured to Lobordir. "Tell him what you saw."
Úrion kept quietly pensive as was his nature as Lobordir described what he'd saw. Then he directed his question to Legolas. "Do you think it wise to move camp?"
"I do not believe moving camp would do any good." Legolas took a moment, knowing he was about to suggest something which was surely not to be found popular. "I have heard such illusions present in the manor." He explained what Foruyndes and Eryndes had both seen.
"Forgive me, Sindar," Lobordir said tentatively, "but Foruyndes can hardly be relied upon and Eryndes? Her fears torment her eyes into seeing things that aren't there."
Úrion was not so quick to disregard, "You think this conjurer is responsible?" His face was one of contemplation. "You think the spellcaster is a Dúnedain?"
Lobordir looked between them. "The magics of Numenor are long passed."
Legolas took a long breath, "I do not yet know."
"Can't you tell?" Lobordir asked.
"Can you?" he growled at him, "There are many magics in this world, my friend. One cannot account for them all."
"The two things may in fact not be linked-"
"If they are?" Legolas cut in, his mood tampering his manners.
Úrion regarded both he and Lobordir for a pause. "Joust? Did you feel this illusion was a warning or threat?"
Lobordir was shaking his head before Úrion finished. "Nay, not that I could tell. The old man was just as I remember and speaking like he was telling mother what he'd like for supper."
Úrion studied Lobordir then looked to Legolas. "We'll keep up the added guard for the night. Once we return, we'll start some quiet questions. But for now, let's try to keep this between us. I don't want to start panic."
"A little hard when all the men saw the mist."
"Bear's right," Legolas told Lobordir, "To inform them of what may only be my suspicion would do little but cause distrust."
A high bellow cut through the air. All chatter was drowned and two dozen sets of eyes whipping from their lesson about clay pot making in the direction of the main gate.
The answering horn gave away the approaching party's identity.
"It's them!" one of children cried, jumping to his feet.
Many children followed, leaping to stand, their mounds of clay lay forgotten.
"Children! Children! Don't run!" Erchel, the mistress of teaching called after them, rubbing her hands on her apron and moving hastily to follow her charges.
Untying her apron and joining the children, Eryndes flowed hurriedly along the path. With Aragorn still south, Úrion and Sindar had taken a hundred of the rangers to the east. Scouts brought back sightings of the enemy in the foothills and they'd left six days earlier. Everyone in Carthal was anxious to learn the outcome of the battle. More importantly, children and families remaining behind were desperate to have their loved one's safely returned.
"Eryndes?" Her hand was taken and yanked. "Eryndes! Barehon put a pebble up his nose!"
Istuihel pointed to her little brother, crying, trying desperately gouging at his nose.
Across the grass and road, the hundred rangers on horseback came to a stop in the embarkation loop, Sindar, Úrion and Lobordir at the head.
With a suppressed groan, Eryndes took Barehon's hand and lead him to sit. "There, there," she said tenderly, her eyes itching to look back at the arriving party. "Can you try to blow? Blow steady and firmly into the handkerchief…"
When finally the stubborn pebble was freed from the boy's nose, Eryndes sent him on his way to his father who amongst the returning rangers. She too followed, anxiously. But alas, the horses were being sorted away to rest at the care of the stable hands, and the majority of the rangers going about their respective business.
If she was honest, her disappointment came mostly for not being there to greet Sindar. His absence over the last six days was . . . notable.
Being completely honest; she'd missed him.
"Are you looking for someone?"
Eryndes felt her cheeks warm but faced him with a big smile that was not 'overly' forced, "Joust! I see there were no fair maids on your journey or we'd expect your return two days from now."
He barked a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest, "Only two days? You give my talents little credit. But please, don't think I failed to see your disappointment. Don't worry, Baineth saw to the task of welcoming Sindar. She was quite attentive."
With an impolite roll of her eyes, Eryndes quelled the sneak of coldness growling into her heart. "Jealous, Joust? I thought you swore no woman would make you sink so low?"
He grinned his most charming smile. "There was one but she fancies another and I can't compete with an elf."
Eryndes hoped her face wasn't as hot from his teasing as it felt. "I see battle hasn't dampened your flare for ridiculousness."
He sniggered but held out his hand to her, "Won't you escort me inside? Pretend you were concerned for my safety and lavish me with your praise for the warrior returned from glorious battle?"
Eryndes took his hand, but lightly, shifting to his arm as she fell into step beside him. Even during the time of their failing courtship, Eryndes always hesitated to make such intimate gestures as hand holding. As her mother used to lecture, 'A maiden always takes extra care in safeguarding her virtue; appearance being just as important as physical. Never give folk reason for gossip. Or men a slither of permittance.'
Folk in small communities talk and quite often talk turned into fact with each new telling.
Lobordir didn't make comment, however; his attempts at physical intimacies notwithstanding, Eryndes knew it was just the way he was. There weren't many women he couldn't charm. And those he couldn't, he kept on trying - the perpetual challenge.
They walked up the stairs to inside.
"How went the battle?"
He glanced at her, "You want to know about battle?"
She pursed her lips. "Not the details, please. Did we lose anyone?"
"A couple rangers were injured, nothing life threatening. They'd be already in the healing rooms. We slaughtered the orcs so easily we spent the following days looking over our shoulders or expecting an ambush."
There was something to the way he spoke, as if he'd stopped himself from saying more. "What is it?"
"Nothing," he tried to soothe, "Just after the training your fellow put us through after the battle, I'm done in. I have about enough left in me to bathe before collapsing, hopefully somewhere in my quarters. My bed preferably, but I'm not fussy."
"Joust," she said adamantly and glad there were no ears close enough to catch his words. "Don't say such things. Someone may think you're serious."
"But I'm not fussy about where I sleep. You know that."
"Joust," she warned.
His smile only grew broader. "If that's the case, I wouldn't be against having your assistance with my bath-"
"Joust!"
"-or helping me find my bed," he finished without pause and then winking, "It's going to be a cold night."
Eryndes tore her hand away and glared up at him, fully aware her face now burned, "Find your own bed."
He leant down, his smile widely showing his set of perfect teeth, "Sure? I'll even marry you."
Whacking him squarely but gently across his handsome face, she then pointed up the second flight of stairs, "On your way! Shoo!"
Lobordir laughed, "Worth a try. Wake me next week? By then Sindar will come up with new ways to torture us." He righted himself, "He's lucky he's my friend. A lesser man might take an exception to his ways and influences."
She watched him go and couldn't help but quietly grin at his back.
Joust. He'd never change.
Returning to the ground level, she quickly went into the great hall. Though the afternoon was not yet late enough for the pre-supper mulling about, the return of the hundred rangers filled the hall with excitement and animated noise.
Her eyes scanned the faces of crowds of folk-
And then suddenly spun around, marching back out the hall to find something 'else' to occupy her time.
It was two hours hence and Eryndes watched them from afar. The sun lingered a while on the horizon then plunged, sending the north into darkness. Supper came and went. Now scores of Dúnedain sought their own places throughout the manor grounds and fires, seeing out the night with ale, pipes and conversation over the victorious battle.
Some still lingered in the great hall, at the tables playing games, gossiping, and others surrounded the fires, lounging on the arm chairs, smoking pipes and speaking quietly together.
Eryndes caught most of the tale of the battle, even heard about the mysterious 'mist' which caused plenty of speculation amongst young and old. Eryndes didn't truly know what to make of the spellcaster, except that the thought of a magic weaver within her family lands made her nervous.
Instead of joining in the gossips and speculations, she watched 'them' from afar.
She stood next to him, her pretty embroidered bronze dress catching the flickering light of the fire. Her long dark tresses flowing freely down her back, no kink or errant hair out of place. The bright handsome smile she gave him brightened up the room like no other.
Baineth was an exceptional beauty. She was of age; not yet twenty. She was slender and graceful, an almost regal look about her. The prize all unwed men desired, and some married men fancied behind their mugs of ale. Charm and innocence, a girl brought up in a harsh land by an adoring family.
And she was a 'good' girl.
Yet, that evening, Eryndes felt the tightness in her chest and sourness in her mouth to think the girl anything but good.
He returned her smile, a rare enough sight to spurn Eryndes further. He'd spoken with Baineth all through supper too. And before supper.
Of what could they possibly be speaking?
This wasn't the first time either. Baineth's boldness sought him out many times. Watching them now, as his fair face lifted to laugh gently, Eryndes could have sworn her heart was poisoned, the very blood within her veins burned hotter than a glowing branding iron.
Squeezing her fists hard against her stomach, Eryndes couldn't bare to watch any longer. Pivoting briskly she shot out of the hall, down the corridor to the staircase. There was little point allowing her jealousy to reign. There was little point because she had no call to object to his friendship with other women.
There was no reason why Baineth should not wish to befriend him. Nor him seeking hers. She grumbled non to silently all the way up the stairs.
No right to her jealousy. Sindar was a lord and surely entitled to enjoy the company of whom he so chose.
The door to her room slammed shut behind her and she tore herself out of her clothing. Yanking her nightdress over her head, she threw herself down on the bed, the wooden frame creaking loudly.
The memory of her mother's disapproving expression surfaced in her mind and was enough to make her swallow the bitterness and resentment. Her immature fit of temper was not flattering to her character and with a sigh, Eryndes climbed off her bed, straightened the blankets and fetched the pillow from the floor.
People thought her heart barren because she was still unmarried. Still yet to fall in love. But Eryndes knew she was still a woman; she possessed the dreams and desires of any woman. Passion too and the susceptibility to occasional bouts of petty jealousy.
Even jealous over one who'd never be hers.
Setting her jaw firmly, she stripped out of her nightdress and slipped back on her dress. Patting at her hair, she walked back out of her room. Gueniel was on duty in the healer's rooms this evening, and would be glad for company.
Seeking out her friend was preferable to sulking.
It turned out Gueniel departed an hour earlier; gone with her family to their home along the river. Eryndes conceded her mood to remain ill and trudged her way out of the healing rooms on the second floor towards the stairs.
Coming around the corner, her steps came to a brief pause. Sindar was waiting for her by the stairs. Her heart didn't know whether to be elated or scornful.
"You are finally at liberty?" he walked over, a light reprimand to his features. "I have been waiting for you. You left the hall rather abruptly."
He had waiting for her? For hours? How preposterous! And the sting of his reprimand, even if only in jest, threw salt to her already raw nerves. "Did you need something?" but the moment her clipped words slipped out, she urgently wished them back.
The warmth in his eyes died and though he did not move, he suddenly felt very far away, "I require nothing."
He went to move away. In full panic, she snatched his arm, her fingers enclosing on fine silk and ruthlessly hard muscle, "Wait, please. Forgive me, I-it has been a long day, my mood is restless."
He regarded her coolly for a moment, but then softened, "Perhaps it would be best to allow you to rest."
Hand still on his arm, and with the return of the warmth to his face which never failed to capture her, Eryndes knew resting was not what she wanted. "Do you like ginger tea?"
Those endearing creases appeared between his brows, "I do."
She tugged on his arm in the direction of the stairs, "I think it just the thing for a cold night like this. Come."
For someone so light of foot, he was impossible to move and for a moment she thought he was going to brush her off; as she ever so regrettably had done him.
"I prefer to add honey," he eventually admitted.
A big smile fueled by the relief filled her heart. "I do as well. Come," she tugged again, "we can sneak into the kitchen."
The creases grew but he relented and allowed her pull him along, "Why must we sneak?"
"We must if we are to have any of Foruyndes' lavender sugar-snaps without anyone noticing."
"You want us to thieve?"
She grinned at the outrage on his face. "Is it thievery to take from one's own stores? Think of it more an unwillingness to share our company or biscuits with anyone else and so must be silent."
Sindar laughed, a truly wonderful sound, and further alleviated her guilt and soothed her jealousy. He wrapped her hand soundly around his arm. "You have convinced me."
"If you are unwilling to share, perhaps you should tame your laughter." Legolas stood by the fire, watching and waiting for the kettle to boil. For once they found the kitchen empty; even Foruyndes wasn't to be seen. At Eryndes' request, Legolas was remaining by the fire to remove the kettle before it whistled and possibly alerting anyone close by to their presence. "I believe it counterproductive to our deviance."
"I cannot reach. Foruyndes adores hiding her biscuits in the tallest of places," he could hear a strain to her voice. "Do you think you might help?"
Legolas snickered, "You would never make a very fine burglar."
"Master Elf-?"
"I would love to assist," he deadpanned, "but I am justly occupied."
She made even more noise. "Master Elf-?"
He closed his eyes and shook his head with a chuckle; for all her grace, she couldn't successfully tiptoe through a drunken dwarf party.
A crash sounded from the storeroom. His muscles tensed but there was no shriek or sound of her hitting the ground.
"Eryndes?"
"I think I broke something. A pot?"
He took the kettle off the fire, a little prematurely but at least it would not whistle and give them away. With silent steps, he went with haste towards the storeroom. "May I remind you it was your suggestion we sneak."
"I can almost reach now but I seem to be caught on something-"
He came through the storeroom door and couldn't hold back a laugh any longer. She was atop the ladder, full stretch across the shelves, her feet perched on two shelves of differing height, one hand on the ladder, and the other reaching up to the top shelf. Her skirt had become caught on the edge of a wooden box and held her skirt half up her calf. "Eryndes," he chuckled, "Come down."
"I can reach it-"
"Come down before you fall."
"-I must since you are justly occupied."
"I have no wish to pick you off the floor. Now, come down."
She sighed, her outstretched fingers giving in and she went to get back onto the ladder. Her efforts to right herself only served to draw her dress further up her leg, however, slipping up passed her knee.
Legolas rubbed his face at the absurdity while trying hard not to laugh.
Or gawk. Honestly not gawking took the greater effort . . . Especially when she so obviously wasn't wearing a petticoat. Or hosiery. And her slippers did little to hide her ankles. Dúnedain women were fastidious about hiding their legs and perhaps now he knew why. Pale smooth skin, long and neatly shaped; he wouldn't want any other male leering at them either.
"Umm, do you think you could turn around a moment?"
Breaking his eyes away from her prone figure and fine legs, he took hold of the ladder and nimbly made up the rungs with speed and ease, "Hold still."
"What are you doing?"
"Hold still." With one hand taking his weight, he stretched around her and freed the caught fabric from the box. "You have torn your dress." He secured her by boldly wrapping an arm around her waist, taking most her weight and coaxed her back to the ladder.
And then he stilled. The press of her side, the warmth of her in his arm, her scent flooding his senses, the long trail of onyx flowing down her back to brush against his arm . . .
"Can you not try to reach the bag, the brown paper one?" she twisted back to the shelving and pointed, the movement nestling her generous backside against his thigh.
His breath froze in his chest, the sharp rush of lust piercing through his control. "You will have to go down first." He cringed at the catch in his voice.
Edging around in his arm to face him, her face soured in doubt. "I cannot with you here as well."
She could if she tried. Breathing out in feigned annoyance, Legolas took a lower hold of her waist, "Hold on."
"To what?"
"To me."
She had only a moment to do so before he released his hand holding the ladder and leaped down. Eryndes yelped in surprise. He landed solidly on his feet, his lower hold preventing hers from touching the ground. A wry smirk lifted his features and enjoyed her firm grip upon him, "You may let go of me now."
"You might have warned me," she protested, giving him a light whack on his shoulder and moving out from his hold.
Not letting her get away, he leaned in closer, "I thought I did." Then returning to the ladder, he went up, grabbed the bag and leapt back down.
Still smirking broadly, he held out the bag. "I find it astounding you can make it through each day without supervision. Is this my new occupation, rescuing damsels from the evils of ladders?"
She took the bag from him and turned about, walking stubbornly back towards the kitchen. "Thank you. Next time, I will watch the kettle."
With a light hearted chuckle, Legolas followed.
"You're taking too long," Foruyndes announced flatly, her eyes squinting down at her work. "Remember you cannot take a century."
It was a bright morning a few days later. The wounded rangers from the battle a week earlier were healing well and the scouts reported no new sightings of orc encroachment. Each day the patrols and scouts went further and further out away from Carthal, and each day they reported the same; the enemy had gone to ground once more.
Even so, Legolas and Úrion maintained a strict watch over the borders, the rivers, forests and mountains. They drilled the rangers for battle daily. They discussed strategy, logistics and deployment. They had Camaenor and his craftsmen continually labouring to fortify Carthal's aging defenses.
If Angmar did decide to attack the Dúnedain before winter, they would be ready for them.
From his armchair, Legolas glared at his friend, "I do not plan to take a century."
Having returned from an early morning ride out to check the scouting posts, Legolas found Foruyndes waiting for him with hot breakfast and a stern eye.
"How should I know what you plan? You elves do a lot of planning, and contemplating, and procrastinating. It's a wonder your kind ever get anything done."
He sat back into chair and snatched his tea from the occasional table with a less than polite huff. Foruyndes always stored a few choice slights to level at his race's languid tendencies. Even if they were highly exaggerated. "You should know I was advised not to rush."
"By Aragorn no doubt, no doubt at all," she licked her thumb and re-threaded her needle. "There is a difference between not rushing and not doing anything at all. Foruyndes thinks you are doing the latter."
"Do you call in each other's company most nights nothing? Sharing two out of every five meals? Story time with the children-?"
"Aye and I suppose she thinks you a very good friend or perhaps a replacement for her absent brother?" She chuckled, glancing up through her weathered eyeglass, "Neither of those will strike a love spark. Once those ideas set to stone . . .?"
"Once set to stone?" he pressed.
"Nigh impossible to break."
"What do you suggest I do? Shout poetry from the rooftop?" he growled, resenting every word she spoke for in his stomach he knew she was right.
"Have you not figured it out already?" Putting down her work, she rose and walked passed him with a pat to his shoulder, "My dear boy, you have to decide for yourself. No use asking an old woman."
He ground his teeth. It was near three weeks now since Aragorn left for the south. Another day or so and he would return, accompanied by a company of rangers and one, so he was told, charming warrior. For many minutes Legolas sat in front of the fire, hating the idea of this man, Gell, being charming and charismatic the likes of which Legolas could never hope.
"She does like long rides, far out away from the manor." Foruyndes returned with a small plate of jam. Frowning, she searched about her.
With a fond smile, Legolas climbed out of his seat and went back to the kitchen. "Long rides away from Carthal?" he reminded her, carrying the toasted bread and butter she'd forgotten.
Foruyndes didn't answer, instead set the toast and butter next to the jam and retook her seat.
Legolas remained standing. "A little dangerous for a simple diversion, do you not agree?"
Tugging the thread tightly with her needle, she then skewered the fabric and drew through for another stitch. "Life in the north does not stop because of danger. Do not all the families still reside out on their farms, some as much as fifty miles to Carthal's wake?"
"Still," he protested, "to venture out without purpose-?"
"There was a time when you needed no excuse. Sindar escaped the confines of mortal folk as he so pleased. Nowadays, your focus is solely on training your soldiers and staying close in the off chance Eryndes might toss you her hoses and garter."
He blushed, "Do not be ridiculous-"
"Yours has been a turbulent mood since the morning Strider left. Foruyndes thinks it time. Time you sort peace and drag poor Eryndes with you. She can weather your moods and besides, romance can hardly blossom with so little privacy as to be found around here." She sighed deeply, "You men know so little of romance-"
"I am no man-"
"Does my mind recall in error or did you not have a debt to be paid to the family of a man you found in Angmar? Or have you already seen to the matter? Foruyndes thinks not. You are so apt at taking unnecessary time. Dawdling. Well, their farm is in the north western foothills. Would it take almost the entire day to ride there and another to ride back? Aye, it would. With a few hours to spare, one might think. Only a few hours spent in recreation, mind, as the night cannot fall without a chaperone if a maiden's reputation is to survive; her companion an elf or not. Folk would talk. You must reach the farm before nightfall."
Legolas waited a pause, but she did seem finished. "Aye," he agreed, "I have heard much of the talkings of folk. Surely an evil."
Foruyndes chuckled, her hands moving with fluid ease in their sewing, "Gossip is the lifeline and damnation of communities. Now, harken. Far along the north road on the west side lies the largest and oldest forest in the region. Follow the stock track, you cannot miss it, then find the well-used deer track at a junction marked by an ancient chestnut," she nodded, still looking to her work, "Five leagues and you'll find beauty even to the liking of an elf."
Legolas watched her, musing whether the old woman was as mad as she seemed. Sometimes he did wonder. She could not have simply planned all this on the spur of the moment.
"Best to leave before morrow's dawn to reach it by midday. No finer spot for luncheon in the north!"
"How long have you planned this?" he asked flatly.
"Planned? Oh my dear laddy, Foruyndes makes no plans," she laughed from her belly, then pulled out a bag hidden down beside her chair, "I've already packed the essentials, plus some extras for a touch of romance."
Legolas stared at the bag. It was big enough for far more than two days, "Are you seeking to manipulate or aid me?"
Foruyndes held out the bag for him to take, "My mind may not work as it once did but there's naught wrong with my heart. You, I'm afraid to say, could not romance a cat on heat."
Heat rising in his cheeks, he opened his mouth-
"You could easily befriend it though!" She cackled, whacking the armrest with her hand.
Legolas waited for her; his gaze steady and calm.
"Oh, lad, here. Take it," she handed over the bag, "I promise, Foruyndes has only the desire to aid. How else will I live long enough to see you wed and make a brood of wee elf-babies?"
His brow rose-
"Go on, lad."
Taking the bag from her, he inclined his head with a mix of gratitude and spurned pride, "(Thank you)." Then he paused, dropping his gaze to the bag straps in his fingers, a little quiver taking hold in his stomach.
"Why do you hesitate?" she soothed, "Oh, you're shy?"
His head shot up, "I am not."
"Then go," she waved to the door. "On second thought, leave the bag here. I might have something else to add by morning."
He placed the bag on the table but his feet didn't move and he stood rooted to the floor as if a large weight pressed upon his back.
From all he'd ventured with his efforts so far, this plan was a far higher branch to climb. And so too the greater the fall. "Foruyndes," he began quietly-
"Oh Sindar," Foruyndes beamed at him. "You'll do fine. What lady could resist one as fine as you? Now be off with you; I have a bundle of mending to do."
At that his eyes narrowed and he marched towards the door.
"Sindar?"
He stopped, answering her with a raised eyebrow.
"Forget trying to be charming. Be true to yourself."