Chapter Two
On The Clearing

The Healer of Ithilien stood in her kitchen, surrounded by a cloud of delicious smells. Bread was baking in her little oven, the dough opulent with raisins and almonds, and a stew with lamb meat, potatoes and thyme was bubbling over the fire. She looked up, caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window pane and stood still, hands resting on the table, studying the woman she saw.

Twenty-five years had taken their toll: the deep copper of her hair was now slightly faded and interspersed by streaks of silver. Crow's feet surrounded the keen, bright eyes, and lines deepened between her nose and the corners of her mouth whenever she smiled. Still, time had been merciful - the contours of her face and neck were firm, not blurred and slackened by the power of age, and her body was lithe and strong, shaped by long years of roaming the Garden of Gondor and caring for those who dwelt in it.

The vanity that made the ladies of the court in Minas Tirith purchase precious oils and ointments to keep the youth of their cheeks and the silkiness of their hands didn't matter to her. The hands of the Healer were constantly covered by tiny bruises and her palms with callus. Her fingers, though, always remained gentle when they touched an aching body, they were careful and adept when they mixed elixirs and handled mortar and pestle.

She thought of her husband, watching the woman in the glass smile back at her. Thinking of Damrod always made her smile.

He was in his sixties now and still a part of the rangers, though more as an instructor and tutor these days. Younger men than he went on patrol to the borders of Mordor, and it was years ago that he last had followed the King's call to battle in Harad or Khand. Aragorn had brought Gondor a long time of undisturbed peace, and if there were local uprisings or skirmishes in the South, the means to deal with them were negotiations and clever alliances.

They lived a quiet life, surrounded by friends, favored by Elessar's grace and blessed with a daughter who still made them happy beyond belief. Lírulin was a delightful child, quick-tempered and loving, stubborn and gentle, her looks a felicitous mixture of her parents' best visual attributes. Interesting enough, her roguish qualities had recently softened at the edges, and the moody girl who'd spent the last few years snapping at every male being within reach that was not the King, the Prince of Ithilien or her father gradually developed to a very promising young woman... not that Damrod was anywhere close to accepting that inevitable fact.

There was a sudden movement at the edge of the clearing, and the Healer's gaze sharpened, ignoring her own reflection and watching two people coming out of the woods. Still lost in her thoughts, they looked for her eyes like fairytale figures, arisen from an ancient tale... a young man with clear features and hair like pale gold, tall and handsome, leading a huge steed by the reins, and a beautiful maiden, clad in white and green and with bare feet, gazing up at her escort with an open, eager face. A lovely couple.

"Mama! Are you there?"

The healer startled, suddenly bouncing back to reality and recognizing the arrivals. A smile spread on her face, and she pushed both casements wide open.

"Lírulin! And blessed Eru – there's my runaway again!"

She turned and left the kitchen, bolting through the corridor and out of the house. The young man let go of his steed and unceremoniously clasped her into his arms.

"Noerwen! Beautiful as ever – I swear you haven't changed a bit!"

"Liar!" she said fondly, drawing back and studying the grey eyes, the long, straight nose and the strong chin."I'm rapidly turning into a matron, and I'm bearing my fate with dignity. You, however... my goodness, you must have been quite a show for the young ladies of Rohan and Gondor!"

"Yes, especially for the lovely damsels Aeffe and Ceolwen, who couldn't get enough of my presence," the young prince retorted, a certain glint in his eyes. "They constantly climbed all over me while I was in Edoras."

"They did... what?" Lírulin all but gaped at him.

"Climb all over me," Elboron repeated earnestly, "and they also wanted to ride on my shoulders. They were irresistible, I assure you."

"And they constantly asked for sweets, I deem," Noerwen said, laying one arm around her daughter's shoulder. "Those lovely damsels are three years old, and the twins of Éomer's Eldest, Elfwine. The only reason why you don't know them yet is the opinion of their mother that they're far too young to travel."

Lírulin shook her head. "How could I miss that?"

"Because I wasn't present to feed your curiosity," Elboron argued smoothly. "My service in the King's army kept me away from that rewarding task."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, stop talking like one of those popinjays from the court!" Lírulin shot back, more than a little snappish. "I liked you much more half an hour ago when you lunged out of the water to retrieve your clothes."

She caught the flabbergasted expression on her mother's face and blushed bright scarlet. And then she and Elboron hastily spoke at the same time.

"Mother, he didn't..."

"Noerwen, I assure you..."

The Healer stood silent, her keen eyes resting alternately on the flaming faces of her daughter and her guest. Finally she took pity on both of them.

"I've known you since you've been a tiny squaller in your cradle," she said, turning to the young prince. "And if I'd ever had any reason to doubt your decency, you wouldn't have spent half of your childhood here."

"Crawling after you through the underbrush, you mean," Elboron retorted, visibly regaining his good spirits.

"And eating most of my cinnamon bread," Noerwen added dryly. "Speaking of which... there is bread in the oven, waiting to be taken out, and the stew in the pot should be edible now. Lírulin, would you please lay the table in the kitchen? And you, Elboron... get your horse into the stable and wash your hands under the pump. We'll have lunch in ten minutes."

vvvvv

One hour later, Elboron's steed huffed into his oat bag when the stable door opened; a tall, grey-haired man stepped inside, leading his own horse by the reins.

"Ah... who do we have here?" the man asked, his warm, deep voice tinged with a smile. "A fine visitor indeed... let us hope that one of the noble Mearas is not too proud to keep you company, Summerbird." He reached out, stroking the flanks of both horses; the animals watched him with attentive eyes, soft nostrils seeking the man's pockets for some treat. He produced two shriveled apples and they took them with perfect manners. Damrod laughed.

"I'll leave you to yourselves, my lords," he said, bowing with a flourish, "and go to find our guest... but first and foremost my wife, of course." He went out of the stable, carefully closing the door, and then walked across the clearing, steps getting faster as he approached the doorstep of his home.

"Noerwen?"

"Yes, love... we're in the kitchen. And you're too late for lunch!"

"Which you should be well accustomed to by now," he retorted with a grin, entering the kitchen. He was greeted by the Healer who stepped away from the hearth and kissed his cheek. His daughter sat at the table, a steaming bowl with lamb stew in front of her, side by side with a young blonde man he hadn't seen for more than five years. It took Damrod's mind a few moments to blend memory with presence, then he shook off the sudden confusion and bowed for the second time this day.

"Your Highness, what a pleasure." He winked, his gaze resting on the thoroughly grazed plate in front of the prince. "And still as hungry as ever, I see. Is there anything left of the cinnamon bread?"

"I have baked two loaves, my heart," Noerwen said. "But stew first. And after Elboron was mannerly enough to wash his hands, I'd like to ask the same favor of you."

Damrod moved towards the door again. "Do you know how to find out if you chose the right wife, your Highness?" he said, reaching for the latch.

"I have no idea – yet," Elboron retorted, his grey eyes glittering with amusement. "But I'm certain it won't do any harm to be prepared, just in case."

"She doesn't have to be a good cook – though that is not a bad thing at all," Damrod hastily added, dodging a playful blow with the linen towel. "But she will always feed you even if you are late, she will have a smile and a kiss for you as soon as you return home... and she will inevitably throw you out of the kitchen if you dare to ask for food with dirty hands and feet." He looked at his wife, and for a long moment the room was very silent, filled with shared memories and unspoken words. Then he went outside, closing the door behind him.

"Well, I doubt your wife will ever have to stand in the kitchen and cook your meal," Noerwen said off-handedly, cutting off the next thick slice of cinnamon bread and slipping it on Elboron's plate.

"I don't know," the young man replied, pulling the butter and the small marmalade pot close. "Still... would you perhaps consider giving away the recipe?"

"I might be persuaded, my dear boy" Noerwen said, filling a new bowl with stew. "As long as your bride meets my approval, that is."

"I'll do whatever I can to satisfy your high requirement," Elboron answered solemnly. He took the spoon, and for a fleeting second his elbow touched that of the young woman beside him. The hearty kitchen smells of stew and bakery vanished, replaced by a fresh scent of herbs and green meadows in the spring rain. Again he touched Lírulin's arm, grazing the thin sleeve of her blouse and warm, smooth skin.

"I'll do whatever I can," he affirmed, digging the spoon into the marmalade.

The young prince left nearly two hours later, waving goodbye to the three people standing in front of the house with the cedar-shingled roof. Noerwen noticed that her daughter followed him with her eyes until he vanished between the trees. But as soon as she noticed that her mother was looking at her, she straightened and gave her a light-hearted smile.

"I'll go and heat the ribwort syrup one last time," she said, "Papa can bring Erion the dozen bottles he ordered last week, as soon as he's up in the residence again."

"Good idea," Noerwen retorted. "Would you care to go with me on the hunt for wild woodruff later?"

Her daughter hesitated, then she shook her head.

"You know, I think I'll sit in the garden with a book... if you don't mind."

"Not the least," her mother said, leaning in and kissing Lírulin's temple. "You were a great help these past days, and you certainly deserve a few hours off."

Together she and Damrod watched the young woman head towards the shed where the Healer stored her herbs, powders and essences.

"She's a good child," Damrod said, pulling his wife close. "The best daughter any father could wish for."

"Very true," Noerwen said, taking the hand that lay on her shoulder. There were two things she seriously doubted in this very moment: that Lírulin really was a child any longer, and that she would read a single line in her book the rest of the afternoon.