The Aunt
Jeren and the others had been riding for a couple of hours, when Aragorn called a halt on the far side of the Bruinen. They'd crossed at the usual shallow place, then dismounted to allow their horses to rest. There were nine rangers in all, including Aragorn and Rhyse. Elrohir had come with them, too. Elladan was nowhere to be seen. Jeren wondered if it were a chance happening or something he'd planned all along. Perhaps he'd been told of her going to the stronghold with them and then he decided not to come. It mattered not, however it occurred. She was only glad that it had turned out this way.
As the horses drank their fill, the riders spread out, stretching their legs and drinking from water skins and then refilling them. Jeren found herself annoyed that Rhyse seemed to be attached to her for some reason. He'd ridden beside her all morning and now he stood beside her. She would have to point out to him the error of his ways if this kept up.
She supposed she should take into account that he'd ridden with her father and had obviously admired Anardil. Yet she could not stand to be crowded by anyone. She'd spent most of her childhood with only her mother for companionship—she'd learned early on to like her own company. She did not need or want someone constantly underfoot. If this is what Rhyse considered courting, she definitely did not want any part of it.
Joem and Brid had been at the rites for Anardil in Rivendell, and she noticed now that they spoke to each other and then Joem looked at her as if she were the subject being discussed. The sly smile on Joem's face made her skin crawl. Never mind, she thought to herself, I can take care of the likes of him should he cause me any trouble. No matter that he was well over six feet tall and likely outweighed her by more than her own weight. On the training fields in Imladris, she'd dealt with Elves that were far stronger than she was, who gave no quarter. Over and over she'd find herself in the dirt, or in some hold she could not escape, until Glorfindel stepped in, showing her how to turn the tables on whoever had overpowered her. Glorfindel was full of tricks for those who were smaller in stature, which was not usually a problem encountered by Elves. She'd thanked him many a time for his advice—especially in hand-to-hand combat. She knew all the vulnerable places on opponents, and if she were pushed, she would not hesitate to abuse them.
They were soon on their way again, and to Jeren's relief, Rhyse chose to ride in a place other than beside her. This was much more to her liking. Perhaps later, if he showed himself to truly be a friend, she would welcome his company, but for now, she wished he would not stick so close.
A few hours past noon, they approached the gates of the settlement. Stone walls surrounded the stronghold. They were erected long ago, in an age when war with Orcs was constantly battled. Jeren hoped those days had not returned, but common thought was that the Orcs' numbers were increasing at alarming rates and that dark power was rising in the south once again. Jeren was prepared, if only the rangers would allow her in.
They rode inside to the greetings of others, welcoming the Chieftain back again.
They all dismounted and led their horses single file into the barn. Each man had a place to stable his horse, so Jeren momentarily wondered what she should do. But Rhyse—ever on watch for her, she supposed—pointed to an empty space.
"T'was where Anardil kept Jasper," Rhyse commented. Jeren thanked him and led Two inside.
As she took the saddle and bridle off Two, Jeren wondered what had become of her father's horse. Jasper had been Anardil's mount for years; Jeren hoped nothing ill had befallen him, since she'd not seen him after the battle she'd helped with—was it just six days ago? Seemed more like months.
"He's out in one of the pastures," Elrohir said right beside her ear. "They always come back here, if they are able," he added. Jeren had jumped with startlement at the sudden sound of his voice, since his silent footsteps did not warn her of his approach. She nodded her head in understanding.
Again, she wondered at how he knew what she'd been thinking—Elves supposedly did not read minds. But besides that—how did he know about the horse? Did he think to ask when they came through here the other day? Had he gone out to the pasture to check? She supposed it didn't really matter, but Elves tended to confuse her on the best of days, and this omniscience they seemed to have confounded her.
Aragorn had the luxury of being waited on, and the stable man had taken over his horse immediately. As the Chieftain breezed past her on his way out he said, "Meet me in the alcove when you are finished." She again nodded her understanding.
When she had Two rubbed down and tucked into the stall with a measure of oats to munch on, Jeren made her way into the hall to meet Aragorn. Elrohir was already there and the two of them were bent over the desk, looking at a map spread out on its surface. Aragorn took the parchment and rolled it as soon as he saw her, making her wonder just what place the map had shown.
Aragorn got right to the point. "I will introduce you to your family. You have an aunt and uncle and their four children—your cousins—that live within the walls. Then I will have Rhyse show you around. He will be your superior officer—so to speak—while you are here. He will answer all your questions and above all, he will be responsible for you." He had emphasized the 'above all' and Jeren wondered why.
"Why can I not be responsible for myself?" she asked, the pique not disguised in her voice.
"Because I will it," was Aragorn's simple reply. "I want you to understand that you cannot go about doing as you please while you are here. While you are not a ranger, nor a recruit—nor do you have a chance of becoming one—I know you understand discipline and order. Glorfindel demands it, so I know you are used to it. And perhaps your knowing that I hold Rhyse responsible for your actions will tame them some." He came around from behind his desk to stand right before her. "Also, there will be no weapons for you while you are here."
She must have looked incredulous, and was about to say good luck to whoever would try and wrestle her arms from her, but he wasn't finished. "You may keep yours, but if while you are here you attempt to use a weapon—bow, dagger or long knife—in any sort of conflict, unordered by a superior officer, for whatever the reason—you will be disciplined and sent right back to Rivendell. Do I make myself clear?"
Jeren was ready to go right back to Rivendell this instant, she was so angry. But that would not get her what she wanted. She nodded, worried her voice may burst in a shouted tirade if she spoke. But Aragorn was not satisfied.
"Are—we—clear?" he repeated, precisely.
"Yes, my lord," she answered, although with much more control than she felt. If he were indeed going to act as if she was a ranger recruit, although she was supposedly not going to gain any benefit from it at all, then she must play this game with him by the rules as she knew them. And she did know them, thanks to her father's tutelage for quite a bit of her childhood. At least one of her questions had been answered, though: why Rhyse was staying so close. The Chieftain had obviously already given him this assignment.
Jeren glanced at Elrohir while Aragorn went back to his place behind his desk. The Elf's face was impassive, yet something about his mouth made Jeren suspicious. Was that a suggestion of a smile? If she had not known better she might have thought Elrohir knew of these conditions before she did; that perhaps he might have been the one suggesting them! She let that thought slide away, as unworthy of her. Elrohir could be mischievous when he so cared to, but she had no real proof of his involvement in this. Yet she firmly believed that any ill one dealt to another would come back to the dealer ten fold. Elrohir would get what he had coming, if he was the mastermind behind all this.
They all three proceeded outside into the afternoon sunlight, where Jeren took a good look around. She didn't know much about this stronghold, other than where the basics were: the main hall, which housed the dining hall—also used as a meeting room—Aragorn's alcove; the stables, where she'd left Two; and one of the storehouses, where she'd been led to find things she needed on the last trip, before she left for Rivendell. But there were very many other buildings that she did not know. She supposed she would ask Rhyse about them all when she finally was released to him.
They made their way past several structures, some being very small, thatch-roofed cabins. Aragorn turned toward the last one on the left, and knocked at the wooden door. A woman's voice answered. A brisk, "Come in, whoever you are!" wafted through the open window.
Aragorn held the door for Jeren to enter before him. Elrohir came in last, closing the it behind them.
"Oh, 'tis the Chieftain!" a rosy cheeked woman exclaimed. "Welcome, Aragorn! Oh and one of the twins! Come in, come in!" She said this as she wiped her floured hands on her apron. She'd been kneading dough for bread.
"And who is the lass?" she wanted to know, her face beaming, even before Aragorn had a chance to introduce them.
Jeren watched Aragorn and Elrohir—smiling ear to ear at the woman. They were genuinely happy to see her, whatever her name might be.
"This is Jeren, Elenmere," Elrohir told her. "Your sister's daughter."
Elenmere's face lit up more, if that were even possible. She embraced Jeren as if she'd known her all her life, in a breath-stealing hug. After a few seconds, she stood back, holding Jeren at arm's length. "You look exactly like Jennah!" she exclaimed. "I've seen you but twice in your life, Jeren, and both times you were very small—still at the breast."
Jeren was, of course, speechless. Being Anardil's daughter, she wasn't much on words, as he used to say about himself. But for the sake of being polite, she said, "'Tis glad I am to meet you, Elenmere."
"Oh call me Elen! Or better yet Auntie!" Elenmere exclaimed with a big smile. "I've not got another niece—nor nephew, either, for that fact—and I'd just love to hear the title!"
Elen seemed younger than Jeren would have thought she'd be, if she were her mother's sister. So she asked her, "You were the youngest of your siblings?"
"I was!" Elen exclaimed, because it didn't seem she could speak without exclaiming.
Elen had mouse brown hair piled atop her head—though it shone with health and cleanliness. And her cheeks were rosy and round—as was the rest of her—round that is. "Your mother was into her teens before I came along. A surprise I was, in more ways than one!"
The three of them laughed at that. Jeren did not know what to think of this woman. The word 'daft' drifted through her mind.
"Oh! Let me call Jamesica!" Elen said. "That's my daughter." She poked her head out the open window and 'yoo-hooed' for Jamesica louder than Jeren would think the woman even could.
A few minutes later, after Elen had seated them at the kitchen table—with tea and cakes—in tore a little girl with long black hair. She couldn't have been more than seven, in Jeren's estimation.
"Mama, I'm here!" Jamesica held her arms out for a hug.
"And glad I am that you are," Elen said as she embraced her. She turned her daughter toward their company. "Greet the Chieftain, honey."
The little girl smiled and did as she was told. When she spied Elrohir, she bounced into his lap. "Which one are you?" she asked him.
"The handsome one," he told her, tickling her ribs. Jeren smiled. She remembered him saying the same thing to her, right after she'd first met the twin sons of Elrond.
Jamesica laughed and squirmed, trying to stop his hands. "Then I suppose that makes you Elrohir!" she exclaimed between giggles.
Then Elen introduced Jeren to her daughter. "And this is your cousin! Her name is Jeren. You've your very own cousin, don't you know?"
Jamesica's eyes lit up and Jeren could see Elen in her face. Jeren smiled at the child.
"I've never seen a lady in leggings before," Jamesica said quietly, with awed honesty. Elen 'tsked' at her daughter's breach of what Elen deemed polite. Jamesica climbed down from her perch on Elrohir's lap and circled around the table to Jeren.
Jeren smiled back. Truthfulness was a good trait in anyone. "Well, now you have, Jamesica."
"Oh you can call me Jamesie," she said. "Everybody does—except Mama." Jamesie eyed Jeren's clothes and weapons. "And what's this?" the child asked excitedly, as she pointed to Jeren's long knife, sheathed at her waist. "'Tis too short to be a sword." The girl's puzzled frown reminded Jeren of her own.
Jeren explained about her long knife, and was quite surprised that she held the little girl's attention. Her cousin seemed as if she might be a girl after her own heart.
"Now, scat with you, Jamesica," Elen said with a smile. "But don't wander too far—I'll want you to help with supper before long."
Jamesie pursed her lips in a momentary pout. "Oh, must I Mama?" she asked. Yet she did as her mother told her and went outside.
"That girl will be the death of me," Elen said. "She's too interested in outside and swords and bows, for my liking. But then, what can a mother expect when a daughter has three older brothers for teaching her that sort of thing? And that's not mentioning James. That's my husband, Jeren—James."
After a few minutes more of chatting, Aragorn stood and gave their regrets for not being able to stay longer. They left the cabin, walking back to the main hall. Elrohir split off from them, going where, Jeren did not know.
"What do you think of Elen?" Aragorn asked her.
"She seems pleasant enough," Jeren said, "Although I'm not sure there's much future for us having any tight bonds. I think she must disapprove of me."
Aragorn looked at her then, a slight scowl on his face. "And what makes you say that?"
By now they were back in the hall, almost to the alcove.
"Well, you heard her," Jeren declared. "She said her own daughter learning about weapons is not to her liking. How can she think much of me, when it is quite obvious to any who see me that I am a warrior?"
"You could change," Aragorn said, a somewhat uncomfortable expression on his face—almost as if he were waiting for her inevitable explosion.
But the explosion did not come. Instead, standing before Aragorn's desk now, she said, "I believe that may be what this visit is intended for, Lord Aragorn—to change me. To change my mind. And I can tell you now that that will not happen." She sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. And since Aragorn could tell that she apparently wanted to say something to him, he sat in the one behind it.
"I grew up handling weapons, garbed as I am now. Yes, my mother put dresses on me, but she finally despaired of it and stopped by the time I was ten years old. She was unwilling to put up with my constant whining about how a skirt got in my way. And before you get the wrong impression—she did not disapprove of my father teaching me weapons. Far from it. My mother could shoot a bow, and quite well. She deemed it reckless to live where we did and not know these things. That is why she never discouraged me from learning, or my father from teaching me.
"So if that's what I'm here for—to be hoisted off on poor Elen so that she can show me the error of my ways—you can save yourself some time, Lord Aragorn. Nothing you do toward that end will change me. I've been schooled, indeed I believe I was even bred, for being a warrior. A few days—maybe even weeks—of exposure to 'real women' will not hew that part of me away. It is who I am."
He nodded his head in understanding. He seemed surprised to have heard such a speech from her. Surprised, but Jeren could not tell if he had been moved by her words, until he spoke.
"Then also in the interest of saving time, I hope you understand what I've been telling you since you asked it of me—you will never be a ranger with the Dunedain. No matter if you aim to show us all how well you wield that knife of yours, or your bow—nothing will change that fact. Do you understand me, Jeren?"
"I understand what you are telling me, my lord," she answered. What she did not say is that it did not make any difference to her, one way or another, what he said. She still had to try. Her whole future was at stake, in her estimation.
"Am I dismissed, Lord Aragorn?" she asked him.
He nodded again. "I will send Rhyse to find you soon."
She rose from the chair and made her way outside.
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She'd not been on her own for long when Rhyse ran up beside her. She glanced at his face and was rewarded with his beaming smile. It froze her blood. He already liked her too well, she thought. She would have to figure out how to dampen his spirit, or before she knew it, he'd be asking for her hand. And she was not even sure about the courting yet.
He led her down the main street, pointing out the different structures. He showed her the armory, the smithy and the barracks, which housed the unmarried men. The smithy was attached to the stable, so he took her inside. Jeren gave Two a pat as they passed her stall. Rhyse led them up the stairs to the loft.
Jeren wondered about stairs in a barn; she'd ever only seen ladders up to lofts before. But when Rhyse opened a door into a small space, she understood. There was a tiny cell up here.
"This will be your room while you are at the settlement," he told her. He looked anxiously at her face and added, "I could help you clean it in a little while—the dust is somewhat thick." He looked at her sheepishly, and Jeren wondered if he had he ever even used a dust rag before.
"I know it's not much, as far as quarters for ladies go, but it is serviceable. The stable man is married, and lives in one of the cabins with his family, or he'd be up here," Rhyse added.
Jeren wanted to set Rhyse straight—that she did not consider herself a lady—but she was always so prickly to him, she decided to remain silent. She would not gain his confidence, or his vote of approval, if she rebuffed him at every turn.
She glanced around the room and was pleasantly surprised. From what Elrohir had threatened her with at one time, she had expected to bunk with the men. But this was a very nice turn of events, indeed. Her room was small—cozy. The bed was narrow compared to what she'd grown used to in Rivendell, but it was plenty big for one. There was a chest with a little extra linen in the drawers, as well as a cupboard in which to store her things. Yes, this would do nicely.
They went back outside and walked through the streets, Rhyse greeting people as they went, and introducing her to them if they weren't in a rush to some other place. There was a large warehouse, where extras of everything were kept and where staples were stored. They went by the barracks, where the men lived when not on duty or out in the wild. After passing the small, thatch-roofed houses, they found themselves out in the fields, where the men who were not rangers spent their time and toil growing wheat and corn. Most of the little homes were graced with vegetable gardens, where the families tended to greens, carrots, potatoes, beans and the like, sharing amongst themselves. Groups of women took turns cooking for the dining hall, and they would use what was in their gardens at the time, as well as meat hunted by the men, to feed those eating there.
Rhyse showed her the pastures, where the extra horses, or those resting or recuperating from some ill, were kept. She immediately spied Jasper and whistled the command Anardil always used to call him. She leaned on the fence, reaching through the rails to pat his shoulder when he had come near enough to touch. He looked very good, despite his age of almost eighteen. She gave him one last pat, tracing the white blaze between his eyes, as she sent a thought to her father—you kept your horse well, Papa.
Next he took her to the training fields, and Jeren gazed longingly at the straw targets. She would love to demonstrate her prowess with her bow, but she'd not been ordered yet to draw any arms, and she would not suggest it. At least, not right now. But given the right opportunity, she would, without hesitation.
Rhyse told her that the stronghold was built on 30 acres. This settlement sat about ten leagues* down the Bruinen from Rivendell, and very close to that river, in the northeastern most corner of the Angle. Jeren already knew that the Angle was bordered by the River Mitheithel to the west, the Bruinen to the east, with the Great East Road to the north. She'd ridden with her father enough, after her mother had died, to know the basic countryside, and she longed to explore it on Two's back. Perhaps later, she would, with Rhyse's permission, of course. That he was considered her superior officer galled her.
Rhyse explained to her that Aragorn had been at the settlement for an extended period, but his time with them was fast coming to a close. The Chieftain usually chose to walk amongst the people out in the countryside, as the other rangers did, and it was not unusual for him to be gone for a year or more without returning. In those times, his second in command, Halbarad, took charge, unless he, too, was out in the wild. When he was, a man of the settlement—Ged—took over. He was not a ranger, merely a man of the Dunadain, whose interests lay more in managing the stronghold; he was no wilderness traveler. But Halbarad supervised the day-to-day runnings of the stronghold while he was in residence. When Halbarad barked, the rangers always listened.
Rhyse did not know who his superior officer would be, since Anardil no longer lived. He told Jeren that he hoped it was not Halbarad. He did not give a reason for his dislike of that idea and Jeren did not ask.
By now it was late afternoon, so they walked out the gates and down to the river that ran alongside the settlement. It was shady and much cooler, so they sat for a little while. They didn't speak much. Every now and then Jeren would ask him something, such as what fish would she catch were she to drop her line in the water. He told her trout and mayhap a carp. Catfish at times, too.
"Have you thought any more about what I proposed to you the other night?" Rhyse finally asked her.
Jeren had no doubt to what Rhyse was referring—his question of courting. Jeren did not quite like the word 'propose' being in that phrase. Was too close to 'marriage' or 'wedded'. A momentary longing for Elladan seized her heart, but she pushed it away.
"A bit," Jeren answered. "Rhyse, I truly am not looking for any romantic pursuits right now. I'm too busy to give it the attention it deserves."
"Funny," he said, with a little smile, "you don't look too busy at present."
She laughed. "So, what we are doing right now is what you consider courting?"
"I told you before, I simply wished to get to know you better. I think we are doing that now."
"I suppose you're right," she admitted. "Yet, how will Aragorn feel about my superior officer courting me?"
Rhyse gave her a look she could not decipher, but when he answered her, she understood it. "He told you that I was your superior officer?" He was confused by the title.
So, it was some scheme Aragorn—and mayhap Elrohir—had cooked up.
And then she knew—they were trying to keep her in line! Mold her. And for what?
Her spirits rose as she thought that mayhap Aragorn's protesting about her never being a ranger was just bluff! Yet they settled back down as her more sensible side admitted: mayhap it wasn't bluff at all, and he just didn't want any trouble from her.
"That's what I was told, Rhyse."
"That is decidedly not what I was told," Rhyse said, almost as if embarrassed. Then his expression changed to one of speculation. "On the other hand, the Chieftain did say I would be responsible for you—and any mistakes you might make. I suppose in a way, that would define a superior officer. Yet, I've not been told of any rise in my rank, that's for certain."
Jeren laughed again. "Methinks I'm participating in some strategic game here, Rhyse. Perhaps like a chess match. I'm afraid you are the pawn, at least for their side." Her conscience stirred as she remembered that she'd likened Rhyse to that same thing in her own mind.
"Their side?" Rhyse asked. "Who exactly are we playing against, besides the Chieftain, I mean?"
Jeren glanced at Rhyse from the corners of her eyes, just before she spoke. If she knew how beguiling she appeared when she did that, she would have chosen another expression.
"The sons of Elrond," she replied. "Or it could just be one of them. Elrohir, for certain. I've suspected it for a while, but as time goes by, I'm growing more and more sure of it."
Rhyse stood and extended a hand to help Jeren up. She accepted it, although it went against all she held dear.
"Well, whatever the contest and whoever the players, they will find I enjoy a good game—and winning. You have an ally in me, Jeren." He gave her an artful smile. "Now, 'tis growing late. I have a few things I must do before the evening meal, so we had better get back."
"What are the things?" Jeren asked. "I could help."
"It's not necessary," Rhyse replied. "You should use the time to move into your room."
She agreed; smiling as she noted that he'd not renewed his offer to help her clean her new abode.
They walked back inside the gates.
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Rhyse entered the dining hall, piled food on a plate and sat at one of the long tables that were already filled with men for evening meal. He'd seated himself by Joem, who was not one of Rhyse's favorite people. Joem was a big man, both in brawn and in stature, and he also had a big mouth on him. He often spoke in an ill-favored way, and Rhyse tried not to engage the man in conversation could he help it.
Rhyse was hungry, so he dug right into his meal, listening to those around him, but not speaking himself. It took a few moments before he began to understand what the talk was about—or perhaps more rightly who—and he could feel his anger rising with every word Joem uttered.
"She's comely enough," Joem said, "yet I'd not want to bed her. I suppose the reason she sticks with the men is because the women won't have her—she must still stink of Orc." There were a few quiet snickers from those around them, but mostly there was silence.
Rhyse was off the bench, holding Joem by the tunic before any realized what was happening. And he'd punched Joem in the jaw soon after. Joem, no slouch when it came to fisticuffs, gave back what he'd been given. While Rhyse was tall—he stood at six feet—he was not of large build. Rhyse felt as if he'd been hit with the broad end of a shovel, but he did not fall.
As Joem was about to hit Rhyse again, there was a shout that no one could ignore.
"Hold!" Aragorn bellowed. The crowd parted as he strode toward the two rangers who'd been going at it. Others had taken control of the two men, restraining them to prevent more mayhem.
"What's it to you, what I say about the wench?" Joem snarled at Rhyse.
"She is Anardil's daughter," Rhyse threw back at him. "He is no longer here to defend her honor."
"Honor?" Joem laughed. "She has no honor!"
Rhyse broke away from those holding him and would have knocked a tooth or two from Joem's foul mouth had Aragorn not grasped Rhyse by the tunic.
The Chieftain said in a quiet tone, which brooked no nonsense, "This is not permitted. Each of you will have sentry duty on the wall for the next five nights—starting now—together. See that you get along." He let go of Rhyse as if disgusted and went to the serving tables.
Rhyse swiped at his bleeding lip as he staggered toward the door. Joem gave him a wide berth. T'was not that he was afraid of Rhyse by any means—he merely hated sentry duty and would not want the Chieftain to give him worse for carrying on the fight.
Jeren came into the dining hall as Rhyse was leaving. She saw his ruined lip and wondered what had happened, but Rhyse did not stop, nor slow down, when he saw her. She shrugged her shoulders and went to the serving table, where she gave herself healthy helpings of all that was offered there.
She sat at a table with two other men already sitting there. They were not finished, but they got up and left. She shook her head. She truly did not fit in here. The men all shunned her. But that mattered little to her; she was used to that sort of treatment. When she'd begun training with the Elves of Imladris, they had dealt with her in much the same way, either ignoring her completely or insulting her if they felt the need. She would insult them right back or ignore them as well. It did not kill her then, and it would not kill her now. She knew if she'd just get the chance to demonstrate for these men her skill—at the very least with her bow—they'd give her grudging respect, as the Elves had finally done. At this point, that was all she could hope for.
Elrohir joined her soon after and they ate in silence for a few moments.
"You certainly know how to clear a table, Young Lady," he said with a smirk.
She frowned at him. "Thank you for pointing that out, Elrohir."
"I heard there was a ruckus in here a few minutes ago," he said.
"I assumed that on my own. I wonder what it was about. Rhyse was one of the combatants. That's all I know."
"I was told it was about you, Jeren," Elrohir said, looking directly into her eyes.
"What about me?" she wanted to know.
"That I did not hear," he confessed, as he took another bite of his bread. "I only heard that the combatants—we already know Rhyse was one—the other was Joem—have been punished with sentry duty on the gates for the five nights coming."
Jeren frowned again. So now Rhyse was fighting battles for her, was he? She was going to have a talk with him soon. Mayhap tonight, while he was walking the wall.
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*I am using the estimate of approximately three miles equaling one league.