Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.
"It's time to leave," Elrohir said as he got up a few minutes later. He looked down at himself with disgust, swiping at some grime on his arm. "There's a stream nearby and I need to bathe." He leapt onto the stallion's back and took the reins. The horse flattened his ears and he rolled his eyes with displeasure. Elrohir soothed him with a pat and some quiet Elvish words.
"I don't hear a stream, Elrohir, and I did not cross any water on my way to find you," Jeren said, skeptical.
"For one thing, youngling," he told her, "I've ridden this land for more centuries than you can count—I know it well. And whether you hear it or not, I can. So get your sassy backside up here, or I will leave you behind."
Jeren scowled at him, but took his proffered hand and jumped onto the horse's back.
Such gratitude! She risked life and limb to save his miserable hide and this was the thanks she got?
Elrohir guided the horse toward the east. They rode for a quarter of an hour and did indeed come upon a small creek. Not much as a water source, but it would do well enough for Elrohir to clean himself up. He hopped off Elladan's horse as soon as they'd stopped, dropped the blanket he'd mostly been using to pad his seat, and waded into the ankle deep water. Not satisfied with that, he laid down in it and looked to be greatly relieved by the icy cold of it.
Jeren fished in her saddlebag until she found the chunk of soap that she carried. She'd never gotten used to Elves and their penchant for shucking their clothes whenever—or for whatever reason—they wanted to. Even though, in this case, Elrohir couldn't help being naked, it made her uncomfortable, so she wandered toward the shade of a couple of trees, tossing the soap to him as she passed. Sitting down, she checked the dagger she always wore in her boot. Yes, still there. She felt safe enough, especially from Orcs. They would not show themselves under the midday sun unless extremely provoked. She glanced around the tree to check on Elrohir again, and found him sitting up in the creek soaping one of his feet.
Jeren sighed. She'd slept but little the night before and had taken off on Elladan's horse well before sunrise. She closed her eyes for just a moment.
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"Keep silent—do not make a sound," came a quiet, steely voice. A hand covered Jeren's mouth. Startled out of sleep, she was terrified, but that eased quickly as she realized just who had captured her.
Angered at Elladan for having scared her so badly, she elbowed him in the ribs, only belatedly thinking better of it. After the battle of yesterday evening he had to be sore, and he was certain to be very angry with her for leaving him behind this morning. She decided not to put up a fuss; perhaps it would calm him down.
But before she could say or do another thing, he seized her by the upper arm and yanked her to her feet, turning her around to face him. She was startled by his appearance. Not surprisingly, his face was a mass of bruises; his nose swelled slightly, both eyes blackened. But his cheeks, which were usually pale, were flushed. He looked ill. And very, very angry.
Still holding her arm—painfully so—he dragged her farther into the thicker trees. When they'd gone several feet from where they started, he let her go and turned to glare at her.
"You steal my horse, you go to face Orcs alone—you risk my brother's life being the only one in the rescue party! And I find you asleep and not on watch. What have you to say for yourself?"
"I did what I thought necessary," Jeren replied between clenched teeth. "And Elves with their silent footsteps—had you been an Orc or a Warg, you had better know you'd be dead by now." Jeren added somewhat more calmly, "You were—and still look to be—too unwell to even be on your feet, much less in a rescue party."
"Forget about me!" he snarled. "Rhyse was there. Why did you not take him, you witless fool?"
Stung, Jeren was speechless for a moment. He'd never spoken to her in this way before. Of course, he'd never been this angry with her before, either. But it didn't take long for her to regain her voice and she was just as angry as he.
She was angry, yes, but also hurt, so her words were quiet, yet tinged with venom. "Well, as you can see in yonder creek, I was successful in my endeavor—by myself—which is evidently how you would keep me, given what you witnessed at the stronghold last time we met—when you said nothing in my defense." She took another step toward him, closing what little space there was between them. "You and everyone else were right. I need no one!"
Elladan found the braid she wore down her back, wound it around his hand and pulled her to his chest. Her face was tipped up to his; his face was fierce, his jaws clenched, his brows drawn together. She shook her head, trying to lose his offensive hold, and she pushed at his chest. And then he did the completely unexpected—he kissed her. Hard.
Jeren had many times wished for this to happen, for Elladan to take her into his arms and love her, as she loved him. He'd never given her a moment of hope—well, almost never. Just once, on one beautiful night…
But this was not love. This was anger and a show of power—his strength over hers.
Just as she started to struggle, he relinquished his hold on her hair, his hand sliding down her back to rest at her waist. Jeren was confused, but did not want to end this moment with him. She relaxed and kissed him in return. All too quickly Elladan ended it for them. He gently pushed her back a step from him.
He looked at her, seeming to search in her eyes for an answer to some question only he knew. After a few moments, Jeren breathlessly asked, "What does this mean, Elladan?" She explored his eyes again, hoping against hope to see love for her in them, but to her dismay they were now completely unreadable.
"This means nothing, Jeren," he told her flatly. "Nothing at all. Nothing has changed." He turned away and took a step, but stopped and turned back toward her. "It means that you had better never again risk your life so foolishly, and if you ever think to do so, I will kill you myself before Orcs get the chance. Put you out of my misery once and for all."
She watched him leave, as bewildered as she'd ever been in her life. What was he saying? Why would he say such a thing? He cared! If he didn't, he wouldn't bother being angry with her. Was that it?
Maybe he was beyond rational thought. The flush on his face, as well as his heat when he'd been so near, was not just anger or lust or passion. He was fevered.
She followed him back to where Elrohir was now going through a saddlebag attempting to find something to wear. "Have you no spare boots, Brother? Any stockings?" He'd already found some extra leggings and was decent again. But his poor, tortured feet were still bare.
"I suppose they are back at the camp with Anardil and Rhyse. I guess Jeren thought extra footwear unnecessary—something she didn't bother to bring," Elladan told him.
Jeren found her saddlebag and went through it quietly. She tossed Elrohir a knotted bundle—a pair of her stockings would just have to do.
Elrohir took a good look at his twin as he covered his foot. "You look worse than I feel, Brother. What is it?"
"Orc blade," was Elladan's reply.
"I will see to you soon," Elrohir told him.
"Let me—" Jeren said as she started toward Elladan.
Elladan interrupted her with an outstretched hand. "—Elrohir will take care of it." He sat beneath the tree that Jeren had sat under earlier. He closed his eyes as he waited for his brother to tend to him.
Still confused by Elladan, Jeren sat a short distance from him. She pondered the events that so muddled her mind.
She knew why he was angry. He'd told her their friendship depended on her taking him with her when she left to rescue his brother. Jeren wondered if the kiss had possibly meant that he'd changed his mind. She felt that all that bluster about killing her himself was just that—bluster. But if he cared for her not at all—not even as a friend—he wouldn't bother warning her of his intent about anything, would he? She could go round in circles like this forever.
Elrohir finally knelt on one knee next to Elladan, touching him on the arm. Elladan opened his fevered eyes and began untying his tunic, drawing it from his shoulders—with a grimace of pain—to rest around his hips on the ground. Elrohir had a dagger he'd found from somewhere and cut the binding on the bandage that Jeren had placed there last night. He drew the padding away from the wound and scowled—it was an ugly red and putrid besides, the stitches strained with swelling.
"Looks painful," he said, stating the obvious, while he probed at the injury.
"It is," Elladan replied.
"Elladan," Elrohir said, "were you unconscious? I find it hard to believe that you would let someone stitch this. We both know that's not what it needed."
Elladan looked meaningfully in Jeren's direction, seeming to say without words, "See? I told you, you simple, Human girl." But he said out loud, "You try talking sense to her when she's got her mind made up." Elrohir didn't say anything else while he examined the wound.
Jeren thought that her cheeks must be flaming. She'd all but strong-armed a wounded, sick Elf into being sewed on, over his considerable protesting. She'd not even listened to him. She'd done it out of a need for revenge, if she were honest with herself. Some type of repayment she felt owed, from another time. Mayhap I am as hardheaded as they claim.
"It must be drained," was Elrohir's quiet comment after a moment. "Jeren, build a fire, why don't you?"
Jeren knew that Elrohir was exhausted and injured himself, but one would not know it by looking at him. She set about helping him and built the fire in short order. He took the bowl, as well as the herbs that she used the night before, from the saddlebags and set them out. He also found a small pouch, perhaps a little larger than his hand. He untied the string closing the pouch and drew out a few metal instruments that Jeren had seen Lord Elrond use on her before—a small pair of scissors, for one thing. He placed the instruments in the bowl, filled it with water and set it in the fire. He took a large pinch of one of the herbs from a vial and sprinkled it in the water, stirring it slightly with his finger. He found a clean cloth that Jeren had laid out for him, dipped it in the herbal water and began cleaning around the wound.
"Are you hurt elsewhere?" Elrohir asked with a smile. "I mean besides your nose." The grin on Elrohir's face showed that he felt that justice had finally been served, since his twin's perfect nose was no longer so perfect.
Elladan did not seem to rise to Elrohir's bait. "No," was the one word reply.
"Well, when we are finished here, there are a few places on my back that need tending. Curse Orcs and their nasty habit of biting!"
Elladan smiled. "There's quite a bit of you left. Must've been your bad taste that kept them from making a proper meal of you." Elrohir laughed at that.
Unease wove itself into Elrohir's mind. Elladan somehow did not seem like himself. Elrohir still could not sense his brother fully in his mind—and he sat right here in front of him. He needed to think about this…
Jeren busied herself worrying now. She'd also stitched her father's wound. She went cold thinking that he might be suffering ill effects from her tending, as Elladan had.
She wanted to get on one of the horses and get back to the camp to see to him. He was Human, not Elfkind, and Valar only knew how bad off he might be by today. By her estimation, they were only a few hours from the camp she'd set up last night.
"I need to head back," Jeren announced.
"Have you not caused enough trouble for one day?" Elladan asked her wearily, his eyes closed again. Then he opened them to stare at her. "I did not appreciate whatever you put in the tea last night—it surely wasn't what I told you to put in it to ward away infection! I'm barely awake now as it is. You just stay where you are while we do what we must and then we will go. Not before."
Again alarm sounded quietly in Elrohir's head. He suspected valerian was what Jeren had drugged them with. But even the effects of valerian didn't usually impair Elladan this much. And he thought about Elladan's last remark. Yes, valerian usually made him cranky, but it also caused him to be quieter—not nearly this talkative. You were unlikely to get any response from him at all—but if you did, it wasn't pleasant. And Elladan was a mixture of all these things today—jesting, petulant, and downright mean.
Jeren wanted to scream. Had she caused enough trouble for one day? Indeed! Did anyone—anyone—think to thank her for her successful rescue of Elrohir? Yes, she came without leave of her father and without Elladan accompanying her, but she accomplished the deed! No one was dead, maimed or even injured as a result of her successful rescue of Elrohir.
She bit back the retort that was on her lips, and said instead, "But my father—I stitched him, too. Perhaps he needs attention, like you do."
Elladan opened his eyes again, cocked his head to one side, and stared at her for a few seconds, looking at her as if she was some small, errant child. "Then it would be better he got it from someone who actually knows what he is doing. Stay where you are. We will be leaving in short order."
Jeren knew without doubt that Elladan was decidedly still angry about being left behind—kiss or no kiss. And his commanding her to stay—when he had no authority to do so—rankled her. She considered going anyway. She was sure to face Anardil's wrath when she saw him again, for disobeying his order to not come after Elrohir. Elladan was certainly still angry with her for the same reason. So what difference did it make if she went without the twins' approval now? They, along with her father, were already irate with her. They might as well stay that way. After all, what more could they do to make her any more miserable?
Would that she had thought that through just a little longer…
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Jeren watched as Elrohir used the scissors to cut the stitches she'd placed so neatly into Elladan's shoulder just last night. The infection was terrible.
Elrohir cleaned out the wound, and Elladan kept up an almost constant complaining about how rough his brother was being. Elrohir's concern was growing with each grumble from his twin. This was so unlike Elladan. All these little things were adding up in Elrohir's mind. But adding up to what?
Elladan was poulticed, bandaged, and dosed with a healing herb in short order. They then switched places, Elrohir lying on the grass beneath the tree while Elladan saw to the Orc bites on his brother's shoulders, backside and legs. Jeren rose and inched her way toward where the horses quietly grazed. She knew the twins would think she was just uneasy with Elrohir's nakedness again, and was only keeping him out of her line of vision. Without taking any of her gear—they weren't that far from the camp, she reasoned, she'd be there before nightfall—she jumped onto Elladan's horse again.
The prancing brute gave a snort and nodded his head as Jeren urged him to move. The twins glanced up at the noise. Elladan stood and started toward her, so she urged the stallion harder, grinding her heels into his flanks. The horse gave a start and a token buck, and then galloped away, Jeren firmly in place.
"Curse that girl! Elladan muttered between clenched teeth. "When I catch up to her, she will wish she had never been born!"
"Easy, Brother," Elrohir said with a sly smile, as he propped himself up on one elbow. "I have a plan to teach young Jeren a thing or two about doing what she is told. Have no fear. She may not exactly rue the day she was born, but before all is said and done, she will think twice about crossing us again anytime soon."
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It was late afternoon, the sun nearing the western horizon, when Jeren approached the camp where she'd left her father and Rhyse. She whistled the birdcall that she and Anardil had used all her life as a signal that either one was near the other. She listened for the answer. Yes, there it is.
About half a league past, she'd come upon a smoldering pile that could only be the dead Orcs from yesterday's battle. That's all that was left of the skirmish—that and the cairns that Rhyse and perhaps Anardil had erected over the graves of the fallen rangers. Two large graves had been dug to accommodate the eight dead men. The cairns were only the depth of one layer of rocks. The rangers would probably add more height to them at a later time.
She steeled herself for the tongue-thrashing she knew she was in for; that is, if Anardil wasn't terribly sick from the taint of the Orc blade that had pierced his side. She slid off Elladan's horse, wishing she had a brush to give him a good rubbing down. She removed the bridle and brushed his forelock with her fingers. She checked his hooves for stones. She knew Elladan would not forgive her if she took less than excellent care of his horse. More to the point, she was stalling—she didn't want to face the inevitable choler her father would most likely spout as soon as he laid eyes on her.
She finally pushed through the brush that concealed the campsite, which the two men had obviously enlarged while she'd been gone. My but they'd been busy today. She was quite surprised to find two men she did not know sitting there with them. By their garb and the star broaches they wore on their breasts, she knew they, too, were rangers of the Dunedain. Rhyse and Anardil were honing shafts for arrows. They all looked up at her approach.
"Well if it isn't the rescuer, come back to tell her tales," Anardil said dryly. He appeared dirty and tired, as well as ill. Somewhat like Elladan had earlier today, yet worse. Even from where she was she could see the sweat beading on her father's brow. Jeren thought not to ask him if she could look at his stitched wound. At least, not quite yet.
She didn't answer his taunt; she simply sat down between her father and Rhyse.
"Well met, Jeren," Rhyse said quietly. "Elrohir—?" he asked, tilting his head in question.
"I found Elrohir and freed him. He was battered and bitten, but otherwise hale. He and Elladan should be along soon."
Anardil let out a breath, obviously glad of the news she brought. But he continued his task with the arrows and said nothing more. Rhyse introduced the two men—Joem and Brid—but fell quiet then. The silence was thick and Jeren detested it.
"Have you eaten?" Jeren asked. "Need I go hunt?" She didn't realize she'd left herself open to Anardil's punishment with the one simple question.
"There's no need," Anardil said, not looking at her. "All's been done, no thanks to you." He looked at her then, obviously finding her greatly wanting. "We spent our morning—when we finally woke up—seeing to our dead. It's a shame you could not have been here to lend a hand. Luckily our friends here found us and they helped. As it was, the hand I leant to Rhyse was a poor one. This Orc cut molders, and I wasn't much use. We certainly could have used you here."
"Anardil—" Rhyse said, embarrassed to be witness to this father and daughter dispute.
"She has no excuse, Rhyse," Anardil said, not taking his eyes off Jeren. "I told her to stay and she did not." He'd not raised his voice but to Jeren, he may as well have been shouting at her.
Jeren knew her face was three times red, having her father dress her down in front of others, especially others she did not know. It was completely unlike him. But embarrassment did not dampen her anger for long.
"But I rescued Elrohir!" she all but shouted. "Does that not count with anyone?"
"'Twould count, were it your task to accomplish, but it was not," he said in a matter of fact tone. "As Elladan tried to tell you last night, he was hale enough this morning to go after his brother. You needn't have bothered yourself about it. I believe I also tried to tell you that last night. Like talking to a rock, you are!" He plied his dagger to the shaft of the arrow he was honing, using too much force, and he broke it. He swore and tossed it away. "As it was, your task went undone."
"What do you mean, Papa?" she asked, angry now.
"I told you that you would go to the stronghold today, but you did not—you were not here to carry out that plan. They know not what has become of us or of all those men who are laid beneath yonder rocks of the cairns. 'Twas by sheer fortune that Brid here and Joem happened upon us with a message from Aragorn. Mayhap you might see to your task now, daughter, and perhaps deliver our answer to the Chieftain?"
"You want me to leave right now?" she asked, incredulous. "It will be dark soon. I've had a hard day and a trying one—I could use some rest."
"Pity, huh Rhyse?" Anardil said, switching his gaze to look at their companion. "No rest for the wicked. Excuse me, I meant weary."
Jeren stood, unable to abide her father any longer. She bent to retrieve her saddle, so that she could be away from here. Tired or not, riding would be a glad reprieve from this tripe her father was dishing up to her at the present. Right now, she'd rather face Orcs.
As an afterthought, Jeren threw over her shoulder, "In case you wondered, were it not for me and my arrows, the whole lot of you would probably be dead right now. One of your own men let loose with an arrow before ordered, that started that whole disastrous battle of yesterday. I emptied my quiver—that's over a dozen Orcs that died because I shot them." She did not see the surprise on her father's face, which turned to humbled pride—if only she had been aware of it.
A piercing whistle rent the air at just that moment. It was the twins, finally, announcing their arrival.
Oh joy, more people who are angry with me, Jeren thought.
Jeren went and stood before her father, her hand outstretched. He looked at it, then up at her. "Your answer, for the Chieftain," was her comment. Joem reached into his tunic pocket and drew out a paper. He glanced at Anardil, and finding no answer from the man, he handed it to Jeren. She turned on her heel and walked away.
Elladan strode into the campsite ahead of Elrohir. Elladan had ridden out this morning on Elrohir's horse, without a saddle, anticipating having to ride double. Now Elrohir came into the clearing carrying the bridle and saddlebags, which he put in a pile. He then sat with the others. Elladan sat beside his brother, resting his elbows on his knees. Jeren thought he might look just the slightest bit better than he had when she'd first laid eyes on him earlier. Elrohir, on the other hand, looked worse. His night up 'partying' with the Orcs had taken its toll on him. No matter, she was up and would be away momentarily.
"Where are you going now?" Elrohir asked, obviously annoyed. "We just get here and we don't even get to give you a proper talking to for stealing our horse again, and you're off, just like that?"
"Just like that," Jeren replied. "But I do promise to take my own mount this time."
"A horse theivin' know-it-all, who cannot even stand up to take the criticism she invites on herself." Anardil spat in the dirt to punctuate his distaste of the whole affair.
Jeren refused to let them all see how hurt she was by her father's words. And this was after he knew of her help with their battle. She was not any of those things, but these brutes were so busy trying to make her conform to their ways that they could not see that her way was, if not better, then at least as good.
She could not see that one of her obstacles in her quest for being a ranger—her one true wish in her life—was her nonconformance.
She continued to gather her things. She put the saddle and bridle on Two, who'd come up to greet Jeren a few minutes after Jeren had arrived. In very short order, she was ready. She climbed into the saddle, sitting straight and tall. Her face may have told them that they might have daunted her spirit just a little, but she would never show them just how devastated she was.
She would never show them. They would never think her weak. No one would think that ever again. Just as she had continued to fight the Orcs who had beaten and raped her in the dirt of the yard, she would continue to fight this battle, too—the battle she fought to be accepted by the rangers. She had decided this long ago, during her lengthy convalescence in Rivendell. And she had not changed her mind.
She would go to the stronghold, deliver her father's answer to Lord Aragorn, and tell them of the fate of the rangers who'd lost their lives in the embarrassment of a battle yesterday evening. Mayhap she'd rest there a day, mayhap not. She'd then go back to Rivendell—to Elrond, who would comfort her, even though he'd thought her wrong in her quest. There she would rest for a time, and then try and decide how she could accomplish her goals.
She put her heels gently into Two's flanks and the mare started at a slow walk. Jeren did not look back, nor did anyone bid her farewell.
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