Chapter 12: The Games
Jeren got no rest during a fitful night, and had risen well before sunrise. She dressed and made her way out to the wall. She climbed the stone steps, dipping her head in greeting to the sentry standing there. She then walked to the far corner and faced east, watching as the first purple-gray hint of the dawn made itself known.
The melancholy she believed she'd left in Rivendell next to her parents' graves had stolen into her spirit as she'd tossed in her bed last night. She usually wasn't given to self-pity, and the fact that she could not banish that emotion roiled in her mind, making her angry.
She was angry with her mother for leaving her alone when she was still quite a young girl. Jeren's heart hurt when she thought of the many times she and Jennah had sat together at night, snuggled in her parents' big bed, and had talked of so many things—ambitions and hopes and dreams. That was lost to her now. She had sore need for a mother's guidance this morning, especially when it came to matters of the heart. What would you have said to my love of Elladan, Mother?
And her father; the mere thought of him this morning made her irate. He'd trained her and disciplined her harshly at times; but most of all he'd taken her into his world, spoiling her for the real world into which she'd been born. And his errant words had cost her dearly. This rumor—which was no rumor at all, but the Valar's own truth—would have never become know, if not for him. Thank you so very much, Papa!
But as these traitorous thoughts crossed her mind, the anger left her, leaving only sadness in its wake. That she could not abide. She looked to the east once again, as the first rays of the sun burst out upon the horizon.
This day would not be for wallowing. Nor for punishing her parents in their graves. Just as the sun was rising, so would rise her spirit. Where there was light, joy could be found.
And she would find joy today if it killed her.
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Jeren decided to go see Elen, not really knowing why. Jeren suspected it was something about Elen herself. Perhaps it was her aunt's connection to her mother. Even though Jennah had been dead these past ten years, Jeren still missed her fiercely at times, no more so than today.
It was not that the two appeared alike. Elen looked very different from Jennah. Jennah had been tall, but wiry—as was Jeren—and Elen was short and more full-bodied. They did have the same eyes and something about their smiles rang true to each other. And while there was a likeness between them that was unmistakable, those things were not what nagged at Jeren now. Perhaps it was in their manner.
But that didn't make sense either. Elen was exuberant and lively, where Jennah had been more sedate and serene. Jennah had been cheerful and optimistic as a whole, but she did not seem to vibrate with life the way Elen did. So on the surface their two personalities did not resemble each other all that much.
Mayhap it was the simple fact that Elen was a woman—someone with whom Jeren might commiserate this day. She could not put a finger on it, but this morning she unexpectedly sought her aunt's company.
She knocked at the door of the last cabin on the left, expecting a cheerful greeting. Yet Elen came to the door, a kerchief to her mouth.
"Oh Jeren," she said, "Come in." Elen tried to seem as she had yesterday, but failed. Jeren could see that Elen had been weeping, and it made her feel even more awkward than she already did.
"Perhaps I could come back some other time?" Jeren asked, almost in a panic. She involved herself with weapons and fighting, not weeping, which was definitely not something she dealt with on any sort of a frequent basis. Jeren's own tears embarrassed her, so those of someone else left her cold.
Elen smiled. "No!" she said, seeming more like herself. "You get yourself in here! We've much to catch up on!"
Jeren entered the cabin and very soon found herself seated at the kitchen table, a cup of tea before her.
"Have you broken your fast this morning?" Elen wanted to know.
"Yes," Jeren answered. "I stuffed myself with biscuits, sausage and eggs."
Elen swallowed hard at Jeren's mention of food, her rosy complexion suddenly wan and pale. Jeren wondered if perhaps her aunt were ill.
Elen sat down and the two of them caught up on things in Jeren's life. Elen wanted to know all the details of exactly when Jennah had taken ill and had died. And then what Jeren had done after that, being still a very young girl.
Jeren told of her mother's slow death, and how, without Anardil's presence, Jeren had buried Jennah alone. Jeren explained how she'd ridden with Anardil for a while, until he deemed it too unsafe for her. Elen "tsked" at the thought of a child riding with a ranger, but otherwise did not interrupt.
Jeren thought carefully about leaving out the Orc attack. She truly hated speaking about it. Whenever she did, that terror was just beneath the surface of her mind, and she detested the feeling. She cringed to think how her mind would be had Lord Elrond not used his powers to heal it. She was certain she'd not be a warrior. Valar—she probably wouldn't even be whole!
But in the end, Jeren knew it was inevitable that Elen would learn if not the truth, then at least the rumor. The story was out, thanks to Joem, who Jeren had learned wore the nickname 'Mouth'. How apt.
Jeren would rather that Elen know the true story, and not the product of the tale being carried from ear to ear, spilling from mouths in a distorted way, veering greatly from the truth. If this settlement were like any other, stories told—whether precise in detail or not—were told and told again. And usually with quicksilver speed and not much accuracy.
"There was a horrible Orc attack brought upon a ranger camp containing women and children," Jeren said. "It was after that raid that my father insisted that I stay home from then on."
"Alone?" Elen asked, her eyes widening.
"I was already well-versed in using weapons, Elen," Jeren explained. "I should have been very safe, considering."
"Considering you were a child and alone!" Elen said, her face showing her disgust with Anardil for even contemplating such a life for Jeren.
"I was safe," Jeren continued, "for awhile."
"Oh my, I fear what is coming," Elen said, as her kerchief was again raised to her mouth.
"If you've already heard the rumor, Elen, I wish you to know the true story. If you don't mind, I will tell it to you."
"I am afraid that I have heard something about it, and I discouraged those spreading it from repeating it. But I'd not believed a word of it—not until I heard from you. I never place credence in gossip."
Jeren told her aunt of the brutal attack when she was sixteen, leaving out the most awful details. Just the basic truth. That she'd been injured by her horse, used repeatedly by Orcs, and left for dead in the yard. That Elrohir and Elladan had found her and taken her to Rivendell, where she was completely healed by Lord Elrond. And that she'd lived there up until now.
Jeren was alarmed again to see Elen crying. "Oh my poor Jeren!" Elen said. "What you must've endured. No wonder you've taken to fighting. 'Tis very understandable." Elen got up from her chair and went to Jeren, embracing her from behind. "Worry not, child. I will make sure—if I hear untrue things—to set them all straight!"
Jeren patted her aunt's hand, thanking her as she did so. Her panicked reaction to her aunt's tears soon changed to one of uncertainty. Hearing Elen's words touched her in a way she did not expect. She could only wonder at her own attitude—how much she was growing to like Elen in so short a time.
Coming back to herself, Elen exclaimed, "Oh that Anardil!" But then she added, with a hand over her heart, "rest his soul." She seated herself at the table again, saying, "He was always too proud for his own good, and apparently for yours, too! We would have loved having you here with us, Jeren."
Jeren looked about the cabin skeptically, wondering where her aunt would have found the room to add another person to her already large family. Elen was sharp, and she immediately picked up on her niece's thought.
"We'd have managed, and quite well," Elen assured her. "As it is, we'll be adding another to this household soon."
Thinking her aunt was inviting her to stay at the cabin, Jeren immediately declined. "Oh no, Elen. I could not impose."
Elen smiled widely. "As much as I'd love having you here, Jeren, I meant another. You see, I'm not usually this weepy—" and then she added, "nor quite this round. I'm with child, though only a few months along."
"That's wonderful news," Jeren said, but her voice trailed off when she saw the look on Elen's face. "Isn't it?"
Elen smiled again. "'Tis blessed news," she said warmly. "Yet I seem to be the only one happy about it." Elen dabbed at her eyes again.
Jeren couldn't help herself; she grasped Elen's hand. In spite of her initial misgivings about Elen, she found herself genuinely liking her aunt. Elen's spirit was contagious—one could not help but be drawn to her and somehow uplifted, just being near her.
"You aren't my first visitor this morning, Jeren," Elen said. "Elladan came to see me, and he knew right off about the babe! Elves are very curious beings, are they not?" Jeren nodded her agreement, but didn't stop Elen. She could not imagine what Elladan could have said to make Elen cry and she wanted to hear the story.
"He admonished me soundly about the baby—"
At Jeren's belligerent expression, obviously on Elen's behalf, Elen added, "Do not take me wrong, Jeren. He was very kind—as he always is to me—but he had every right to scold me, you see!"
Jeren knit her brows, as confused as she'd ever been. What did Elladan have to say about someone having a child or not? As far as Jeren could see, he would have no cause to even voice an opinion about such a thing. Even after they parted as friends last night, she would have no qualms about bringing Elladan to task for hurting Elenmere. She did not understand it, but some protective instinct had come over her when she thought that Elen might need defending. And from all people—Elladan.
"Perhaps I should explain a bit," Elen said. "When Jamesica was born, I had such a time! I truly almost died. The only thing standing between me and death's door were those twin sons of Elrond! Had they not been here when I gave birth, I'd have bled to death! Valar sent, they were! There'd have been four motherless children left, with only a bereft father to look after them."
Jeren had great difficulty imagining the twins delivering a baby—and caring for the woman afterward. It made her shudder in remembrance of some of the delicate care they'd given her after the Orc attack. She shook the thoughts off and came back to the present.
"Elladan told me then I'd ought never to have another babe—and truly, I was listening!" Elen said, "But when you love a man as I love my James, sometimes—" She let the sentence trail off. She didn't finish the thought, nor did she need to.
"And James—he's beside himself with guilt! I've tried to ease his mind, but so far I've not been successful. But you know, Jeren, it will all work out this time! All will be well! I just know it!"
Now this was the Elen Jeren had seen yesterday.
"Well Auntie, if you know it, then it must be so," Jeren said, and was rewarded with the most beautiful smile from her mother's sister.
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Jeren spent the rest of the morning with her aunt. She even helped her bake her daily bread. She met James and the boys—Kilar, the oldest at thirteen, Ralf, in the middle at almost twelve, and Jack, a solid boy of nine. And seven-year-old Jamesica reminded Jeren so much of herself. James doted on Elen, that much was completely apparent. Jeren hoped for their sake that Elen was right and all with the babe would be well.
She left right after lunch, which Elen insisted on serving to her. It was nothing grand, but Jeren felt the pull of family by being included. She could hardly believe that before yesterday, she barely knew of their existence. Yes, she'd already known that she had kin, but now, being familiar with the faces and names made all the difference. She felt not quite so alone in the world.
She was heading for the stable to saddle Two and go riding, when she was hailed from down the street. Rhyse waved and she stopped, waiting for him to catch up. As he approached, Jeren could not help but notice that in the cruel light of day he looked worse than he had last night. His lip, while stitched, was swollen and half of his chin was purple.
Jeren wasn't sure if she truly wanted his explanation of the rumor any more; Elladan had told her how it got started, and she did not especially want to discuss the Orc attack with Rhyse. Explaining it to Elen had been quite hard enough.
They went to the stable together, got their mounts and rode out the gates. They rode hard and fast for a while—south, down the river a ways—until the horses needed to rest. They allowed their mounts to walk back toward the settlement, but Rhyse soon called a halt. Jeren decided to take his lead in this, even though she'd not planned to stop; she was wary of conversation with him today.
They sat on the riverbank and finally, Rhyse looked at her long. She knew what was on his mind.
"If you'd rather not talk about it," he said quietly. "I understand. I just wanted to make sure I'd not taken a fist to the mouth for no good reason, if it isn't even true."
"It is true," she said quietly, while staring at the rippling water.
"Must have been terrifying," he said.
"It was," she replied. She did not say anything else.
Surprising to her, neither did he.
Then her mind took a totally new direction. Perhaps knowing of the Orcs' use of her made a difference to him. She could hardly blame him if it did. Most young men did not court a woman without at least thinking ahead to marriage, and they likewise did not want a 'used' woman to take to their beds. She had barely decided to allow Rhyse to court her, so the idea of marriage had not entered her mind. But the thought that he might now find her objectionable made her angry, and not a little hurt.
She got up from the riverbank, saying, her voice harsh, "If you think I'm no longer worthy of your courting, well let me tell you this: I did nothing wrong! It was done to me! If that makes me not good enough for you, well, I'd not let you court me in any case!"
Rhyse was up on his feet the minute that she was. As she turned to walk back to where the horses grazed, he took her arm, preventing her flight. She glared at him and he chuckled at her! She wanted to stomp on his foot to make him let her go, but before she had the chance, he said, "I'd kiss you now, but for one thing, I'm wary of your fists. Fiery does not begin describing you. But mostly I'm afraid I might do something unmanly at the pain it would bring—scream or cry like a baby."
Jeren felt the anger ebb quickly as her mind conjured the picture of Rhyse dissolving into tears because he'd hurt his lip while kissing her. She closed her eyes for a second and then she, too, laughed.
"Here," Rhyse said, "let's sit again. I want not to go back yet. Someone will order me to do something, and I'd much rather sit here with you."
So they sat for a few moments, both of them quiet. She began thinking about what he had said—about kissing her. She wondered at her attitude, but the idea held a certain appeal.
"I have never met another like you before," he finally said. "I like what I know so far—you are tough and opinionated. No simpering over a little dirt or hard work. And you can probably use a bow better than I can." He looked her in the eyes as he made that last remark. "Mind you, I said 'probably'. I do not concede the fact until we have a trial."
"I am ready whenever you are," she said, returning his gaze. "My skills rust with disuse."
She saw his eyes light at the idea of a contest. She smiled and they got up from the grass and mounted their horses. They were away, racing to the gates. He edged her out at the very last minute.
"You will not win at archery," she said looking smug, as she led Two back into the stables.
"You had better not make any wagers on that!" he returned.
They got the horses settled and on their way out of the stable, Rhyse announced loudly to any present, "Archery contest in fifteen minutes!" He did the same in the main hall and the dining hall. Jeren followed him as he made his way to the barracks, where he put his head inside the door and shouted the announcement again.
"I thought this contest was between the two of us," Jeren said, as she hurried beside him. His stride was long and she almost had to run to keep up.
He turned his face toward her and quieted his voice, saying, "I thought you might like an audience—you know, so they could see how well you shoot the bow."
She beamed at him and congratulated herself on how well her plan to win him to her side was going. It did not occur to her that his plan to win her over was also going well, and right on schedule, too.
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There were six contestants in all for the archery trial. They drew straws to see which order they'd go in. Jeren drew the short straw first—she was last.
She was pleased to see they'd lured a respectable crowd. She wanted to snicker as the first three contestants' shots went just wide of the center. Had she been in Rivendell, she would have laughed out loud. The Elven trainees and instructors there were cutthroat and vile when it came to contests. The dirtier the dig the better they liked it. The first time she'd shot with the others in Imladris, she'd left the field in tears and disgrace. One of the Elves had only said that she shot like a female, and that was enough to send her running. She'd gone to Lord Elrond, who explained it to her—it was part of the training. If one could ignore base threats and insults, one could ignore anything and keep one's concentration. After that, though it was hard at first, not only did she never run again, she added her insults to theirs.
The fourth to shoot hit just within the center, but only just inside the mark. Rhyse shot next, right before she did. His arrow hit slightly to the left of dead center. Then Jeren was up. She looked to Rhyse. He looked back at her.
"You must order me to draw my weapon," she said evenly. He looked at her with questioning eyes, so she explained it to him. "I thought Lord Aragorn would have told you when he gave you his orders as far as I'm concerned. I am not allowed to use any weapon without your leave to do so. If I do, I will be disciplined and sent packing to Rivendell."
Rhyse felt awkward, not knowing exactly what to say, so he simply said, "Jeren, draw your bow."
The crowd began muttering. She wanted to smile—she was completely within her element, only the men did not know that. She took her bow from around her shoulder, then notched the arrow and took aim—all in one graceful movement—then released it. Dead center. She lowered her bow.
Aragorn, Elrohir and Elladan watched from a distance, well away from the crowd. Aragorn could rely on his Elven brothers to call the match for him. While he had very good eyesight, theirs was flawless from great distances, as was their hearing.
"She's just told them all, that she cannot draw her weapon without Rhyse's direct order to do so," Elladan said, then added, "or she will be punished and sent back to Rivendell." He looked to his brothers. "You did not tell me you'd given her those conditions."
Aragorn looked uneasy for a moment. "I suppose I neglected to tell everyone but Jeren. I should have told Rhyse—he's responsible for her."
The contest was now between the last three shooters. The target was dragged five feet further away. The other fellow, Frank was his name, took aim, lowered his bow for a moment, and then took aim again. He hit the center, but off slightly to the right. Rhyse was next. There were a few good-natured comments from the others standing around. He took aim and hit dead center.
It was Jeren's turn. She looked to Rhyse again, and he once more ordered her to use her bow. The crowd grew restive. She heard the word 'Orc' but did not rise to the bait. As before, she notched, aimed and fired. Again dead center. She lowered her bow.
Elrohir shook his head. "Poor Rhyse is putty in her hands. He falls into her trap without her even putting forth any effort."
Aragorn glanced at his Elven brothers. "Do not discount Rhyse, son of Halbarad, Elrohir. He is young and obviously smitten, but do not think his eyes are closed. He has his father's wily determination, although what he wants, besides Jeren herself, is anyone's guess." Elladan shot a look at Aragorn, but said nothing.
The target was dragged five feet further away. Again, Frank aimed and shot. Just outside of the center. Rhyse then Jeren both shot again. Each dead center.
The contest was now between Jeren and Rhyse. The target was moved, but only three feet further. Rhyse was up and again friendly banter filled the air, until he began aiming. Then all was quiet. Jeren stood behind him, watching his aim. His arrow once more hit just left of dead center.
Jeren's turn again. Rhyse ordered her to arms without prompting this time. She heard the words 'wench' and 'Orcs', but she did not let it bother her. As soon as she had the order from Rhyse, she grabbed an arrow from her quiver, notched it and let it fly. It again hit dead center of the target.
Rhyse beamed at her as the crowd, grumbling, dispersed. "Great shooting!" he said. He could have hit the target's center for hours if need be. As could she, he knew. In the interest of time and show, he'd let her win. But he would never tell her he'd thrown the contest. He feared for his life if he did.
Jeren gave a slight bow of her head. "Thank you, Rhyse. Thank you for everything." She did not tell him the 'thank you' was for being so malleable. Even if he did throw the contest. She'd watched his aim, seen him move his bow so he'd hit to the left. It did not matter this time. It was all a show, after all.
Aragorn, Elrohir and Elladan looked at each other. "Now to decide who just won," Elrohir said to his brothers.
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It was after evening meal, and Jeren was bored again. The twins were ever with Aragorn, plotting another scouting mission, she supposed. They kept their heads together over a map on Aragorn's desk. What else could it be?
Whatever it was, she had no one for company and she grew restless. She decided to go see Rhyse. She had something to discuss with him anyway.
As she climbed the narrow steps on the wall up to the walkway, she looked around to see who else was there. It was hard to make out in the darkness, even though the moon was barely waning from full, but she saw a man on each side of the wall. She could not tell who they were, but she knew at least two of them—Rhyse and Joem. Now to find the one she sought.
She stepped up onto the ledge and the man guarding this side—with the gate—was at one corner. He was big, so she knew it had to be Joem. She scanned the other walls quickly and found Rhyse on the wall beyond Joem. She would have to pass The Mouth to get where she wanted to be. No matter—the ledge is narrow, but two can pass without incident.
She greeted Joem civilly enough, considering what he'd done to try and ruin her reputation. She was terse, but not arrogant; she merely wanted by.
But he stood directly in the middle of the walkway. "What will you give me to grant your safe passage?" he asked her. She wasn't sure if he meant to be nasty or leering, or if he was just plain stupid, but she really did not care.
"I think the question is more, what will I give you if you try and not grant me safe passage." Jeren didn't know if it was her words, or his fear of reprisal from the Chieftain, not to mention Elrohir and Elladan, but he stepped to the side, making her squeeze between him and the wall. He turned as she passed; her chest was now pressed to his. The temptation to push him was almost more than she could bear. But she kept her arms locked to her sides, and her jaws closed. Her eyes were riveted to his as she squeezed her way to the other side of him.
She made it over to Rhyse, her heart beating fast. T'was not fear that made her react so—she'd truly wanted to do The Mouth bodily harm.
"What did he say to you?" Rhyse asked her quietly. "Was he spoiling for a fight?"
"I wish not to speak of it. 'Twas my fight. That makes it my business." She smiled slowly, then chuckled at her direct imitation of his remarks to her just last night.
His face did not change—he appeared neither vexed nor amused. "What are you doing out here?" he wanted to know, "Besides trying to engage in fights with The Mouth?"
"I thought more to start a fight with you," she said mildly. "Which I would do—since you threw the archery trial—but I believe I know the reason you did it. So instead of starting a quarrel, I thought to thank you again."
Rhyse turned and began walking down his side of the wall, leaving her to follow or not. She watched him retreat, admiring his build. She gave herself a mental shake. What's the matter with me?
She thought not to follow him like a puppy wanting a pat on the head. 'Twould not be good form. She kept her eyes fixed on him as he made his way to the far corner, then he turned and walked slowly back, until he was right in front of her once more.
"You said thank you—I accept. Again. Would you like anything else?" Rhyse's voice was husky and deep, as it always was, but Jeren found something in his tone that excited her as well. The question was innocent enough, but the look in his eyes told her it was anything but.
She watched his lips as he spoke, and found herself wondering for the second time this day just how it would feel if he kissed her. The swelling in his lower lip had gone down, she noted, but the stitches were yet in place. Probably still very painful. She unconsciously licked her lips. She did not know she'd done it, but Rhyse made a note of it to himself.
"There's plenty I might like," Jeren finally said, "yet the night grows old and I must be abed. See you tomorrow." She turned and headed back the way she'd come. She had to face Joem again, but she did not care. Let him talk and leer. He was nothing in the scheme of things.
This time she did not even slow down as she approached The Mouth. If he fell off the wall, what did she care? He noted her careless stride and stuck his back to the rock as she passed. She brushed him again, but did not look at or speak to him. She descended the steps, in much the same way.
Rhyse watched as she went down the narrow stepway. He liked everything about her—well, almost everything. She could be caustic over the smallest of things. Yet he supposed that was true of most women. But most women did not wield a long knife. And even though he'd never seen Jeren with her knife in her hand, after witnessing her shooting on the range today, he had no doubt but that she was deadly with hers.
What her visit tonight had been about, he did not know, but she intrigued him more every day. She was beautiful and dangerous—and that made her very desirable. She was so different from any other woman he'd ever known. She seemed fearless, but he thought that might be just so much show, when it came to things between women and men.
Little did he know…
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