Chapter 14: The Failings
Jeren woke slowly the following morning, reveling in the softness of her familiar bed in Rivendell. The pale light of dawn slowly eased the darkness from the room, coloring her walls the deepest mauve. She was weary still, but knew she must greet the day soon. She had much to accomplish in a very short time.
She stretched and yawned, not yet ready to rise. She allowed her mind to wander while she gained the energy needed to throw back the covers and get to her feet.
Elrohir. She wondered how he fared. That would be her first stop this morning—the healing halls to inquire after him. Then she must visit Glorfindel. She had a most important question for him, before anything else could be done.
She yawned again, scrubbing at her eyes with her fists. Unbidden, an image of Rhyse came to her mind. She remembered last night, the feel of his mouth against hers. Her reaction to him had been quite unexpected. She had accepted his kiss readily, and before she had even given it much thought, had begun savoring it.
It made her angry with herself. How could she be so fickle? She had professed her love to Elladan mere nights ago. Was she a liar? How could her heart change allegiance so quickly as to betray the love she had harbored for Elladan these past several years?
Yet when Elladan had made himself known in the woods last night—and it was obvious that he had seen them—she had not glimpsed any evidence of betrayal or anger in his face. He had almost seemed relieved.
He had told her before that he loved her, but she knew it was not the same love that she held for him. That he cared for her, she had no doubt, but since talking with him, she now knew that he truly did not love her enough. He'd told her just that. And she knew it would never be enough, no matter how many years he put into trying to make it more. That had shown plainly on his face last night, just before he'd turned and left her with Rhyse.
Did she love Rhyse? A resounding 'no' echoed in her mind. She did not yet know Rhyse enough to make any such claim. She liked him—very much. He could tempt her, that was for certain. She'd known when she'd seen him on the wall night before last that she found him attractive. She fought it, but it was true. Had they been alone last night—and under much different circumstances—she was not sure she would not have had her way with him!
She searched her heart—yes, Elladan was still there. Would he ever leave her be? Would her heart ever be free of this snare in which Elladan had entrapped it?
She shook her head and rose. These questions were for some other day. She had others to answer for now.
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Jeren went to see Elrohir in the healing halls. He was asleep. Lord Elrond was nowhere to be seen; she supposed he had stepped out on an errand. She had no doubt but that he would return soon, but his absence encouraged her. She knew that Lord Elrond would be here attentively, had Elrohir been in any danger.
Elrohir slept with his eyes closed. That might have concerned Jeren, for she knew Elves did not usually go into deep sleeps—they sank into a reverie—walking the dream paths, they sometimes called it. But in a discussion she'd had about it with Lord Elrond, he'd told her that it was possible for Elves to close their eyes in true sleep, especially if exhaustion or severe injury was the cause.
She smoothed the hair from Elrohir's brow and dropped a kiss on his cheek. Elrohir did not stir, but that did not worry her. She had experienced Lord Elrond's healing sleep enough times to recognize it for what it was. Elrohir slept peacefully; the twitchy agitation he suffered last night was gone. She thanked the Valar for sparing his life.
Jeren then made her way to the armory, sure she would find Glorfindel there or in the near vicinity. He seemed to eat and breathe war, so if he wasn't holding a weapon he was not far from one. Even though the sun was not yet above the rim of the valley, Jeren knew Glorfindel would be preparing for that which she must now inquire of him.
He glanced up at her approach and then returned to honing the blade in his hand. Jeren was sure the dagger did not need its edge improved, but she supposed to Glorfindel, everything could be improved.
"To what do I owe the honor of your presence, Girl?" he asked her. He always addressed her as such. Girl. Why could he not have affixed 'Woman' as his name for her?
His voice ever fascinated her. His frame was large—even for an Elf. While most Elves were of slighter build, Glorfindel was muscled like no other Elf that Jeren had seen, and his height was greater than most. He was blond, where the majority of the Imladris Elves were dark. Yet his voice was soft. Quiet steel. She didn't think she'd ever heard him raise it, not even in frustration when a novice did not do a drill correctly. That was not to say he was not intimidating. The soft voice only lulled one into thinking nothing was amiss, but watch! And listen closely. His words, while quiet, could cut like a blade.
"I heard the others last night, making plans for this morning to continue the hunt for the Orcs we sought. I would ask you—might I ride with the Imladris Elves?"
"What? Not with the rangers?" Glorfindel asked with the slightest of grins. "Has the glow from their stalwart hearts already dimmed for you?"
"Their glow to me is ever in place," Jeren answered. "However, my glow to them is nonexistent. And I wish to be a part of this hunt. Might I go with you and the Elves?"
"Do I hear the faintest lilt of trouble in the air?" he asked her. Glorfindel's demeanor was such that most of the time you could not tell if he were jesting, but Jeren had no doubt that he was now, and at her expense.
"You might. And I might ask have you heard of trouble concerning me? Especially, perhaps, from Lord Aragorn?"
"Ah, methinks you speak of a broken directive, hmmm? Would that be to which you are referring?"
Jeren's heart fell. So much for no one being the wiser that she had shot the Orcs who attacked Elrohir.
"Yes, Lord Glorfindel," Jeren answered, as smoothly as she might. "That would be to what I am referring."
"There is much talk of it," he replied, "though I've not heard a word of it from Estel."
Jeren knew then that The Mouth was ever doing his most cherished activity—tending to others' business and spreading rumors and gossip—and in this case, things true.
Glorfindel looked at her intently for a moment, then said, "Tell me this: why would I allow a rule-breaker to ride with me?" Jeren could tell by his expression that the question was not meant in scorn. She could see opportunity here—if only she answered correctly.
"You would allow a rule-breaker to ride with you," she said with as much confidence as she could, "if she had good reason to break the rule, by witnessing peril and, knowing the consequences, breaking the rule anyway."
One of Glorfindel's eyebrows rose just a notch, as if he were thinking about her answer, yet he did not say anything.
He resumed the honing of the dagger.
She waited for a few moments, hoping he would say something—anything to break this annoying silence. Yet the only sound that came from him was the noise of the blade abrading against the whetstone.
He finally looked at her again and said, "I will consider your request. Now leave me. I have things that need thinking about."
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Even though Jeren did not know if she would be riding out this morning, she went to the stables to get Two ready. It never hurt to be prepared.
Joem and Brid were already there. Jeren cursed her bad luck, but it really did not matter. She had nothing to say to The Mouth. She only hoped he had nothing to say to her. Things could get mean.
Jeren went to her mare's stall, first finding a blanket to place beneath the saddle. She fed Two an apple she'd brought, and took some time to fuss over the horse and murmur kind words as she ran her hands over the sleek, brown coat. She then lifted a bridle from the nail on the wall and proceeded to put it on Two.
An eerie feeling washed down her neck; she knew she was being watched. And she knew who watched her. She only wished to know why Joem had such resentment toward her. Rhyse had assured her he begrudged most people, but Jeren could not fathom that the other rangers would endure him, were he not at least somewhat accepted by them.
She was startled—as was Two—when a large hand clapped down on the horse's rump. Jeren grabbed the mare's bridle, all the while settling Two with soothing, Elvish words that Elrohir had taught her.
Joem laughed. He was alone. Brid had taken his horse out of the stable. That meant Jeren and Joem were the only ones there. Jeren tamped down a momentary jolt of concern—she knew she could take care of herself.
"Where would you be heading to on this fine morning?" Joem asked her.
She didn't answer, she continued putting the saddle on her horse.
"I asked you a question, wench," he said, as he stepped closer.
How Jeren wished at the moment that Two was not such a well-mannered horse. She would laugh in Joem's face if the mare kicked him now. Yet she still did not look at or answer him.
"I know not how you could possibly think that you are better than me," he said in a louder tone. "You've lain with Orcs—that makes you no better than one of them."
She looked at him then, and she was sure her face showed every ounce of contempt she felt for him. "If that makes me no better than an Orc, what is your excuse, then, for being worse than one?"
She thought she might have provoked him with her answer, but he only laughed. He circled around to the opposite side of Two, looking at Jeren across the mare's back.
"I might be rough in some ways, darling," he said, "but at least I'm no coward. I have a wager going with my friend Brid that you won't be returning to the stronghold with us when we go. You've broken that directive the Chieftain set down for you. You do not have the guts to go face your punishment. And since Rhyse was acting as your superior officer, you'll leave the exalted son of Halbarad to take both his discipline and yours besides."
"Think what you will," Jeren said, "but be prepared to pay your lost wager."
Son of Halbarad? Rhyse was Halbarad's son?
Jeren had given much thought to not returning to the stronghold. What point was there to continue fighting to become a ranger? She had been thwarted at every turn. The men detested her and would never be persuaded to rally to her side and vote to allow her to be recruited. And last night's exhaustive rambling of Elrohir, in which he confessed his worry over her, had made Jeren think twice about becoming a ranger of the Dunedain. He had been hunting Orcs with the rangers for years. What right did she have to endanger his life by joining in their battles any more? Today was different. Elrohir would not be riding with them.
And she also thought if she were not at the stronghold, the broken directive, as well as the punishment, would be forgotten. It had not occurred to her that Rhyse might still be held accountable for her actions, even though she was no longer present.
"I doubt I'll be paying, darling," Joem said, "but either way, I'll laugh long and hearty when good old Rhyse gets the beating he deserves."
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Mindless of whether Joem was in her way or not, Jeren backed Two out of the stall. She led the mare out into the stable yard, where Brid already waited. Before long, rangers and Elves alike were going into the stable to retrieve their mounts and then returning to the stable yard in preparation for the hunt today.
They were leaving to find the large horde of Orcs that plagued the countryside of late. The Elves were joining the rangers to see their original task finished. But now, when the task was completed, not only would they know the whereabouts of the hundred strong Orc host, the Orcs would be finished—dead—gone and burned.
Glorfindel had arrived with Asfaloth, his white Elven horse. Thirty of Imladris' Elven force were gathered with him. Celduin and Tarmenel greeted Jeren—they had been with the twins when she had been rescued those many years ago, and had helped with her training here in Rivendell.
As Aragorn approached her, he said, "You are not going. I forbid it."
Jeren resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "As I see it, you cannot forbid it. You are not my father, and even if you were, I am of age. I am not a ranger that you may give your orders to. I've been allowing others to determine my path for far too long as it is, and I mean to stop it."
"You obviously need someone besides yourself to determine your path," Aragorn said. "You seem to not use the sense the Valar gave you—someone more wise must lead you by the hand, lest you do yourself harm."
Jeren fought down the instinct to strike back at him. His words hurt her, but she supposed she should not be surprised by his attitude. She had joined in an ill-fated battle that had seen nine rangers lose their lives. Even though that was not Jeren's fault, and her actions may have helped those rangers more than any might know, she had not been authorized to be there. Her father, and those like him, had felt a certain betrayal by her for even being near that battle—after the Chieftain himself had denied her entry into the rangers' ranks. And, as Jeren had seen for herself during the past week, Aragorn cared a great deal for all the men under his command, and she supposed he felt somewhat of a responsibility for her, too.
"Sensible or not," Jeren said, "I am trained and ready—another bow to add when killing the menace. Why would someone wise, as you say, turn down a willing bowman?"
"I'll not enter into a word war with you," Aragorn said mildly. "You will stay. That's my final decision."
"Again—I am not a Dunedain ranger," Jeren said, "Nor do I have a hope of becoming one. You've made that very clear. I therefore do not answer to you."
Aragorn's jaw clenched as he fought his frustration.
"She rides with the Imladris force," Glorfindel said. He'd been standing there for some time, although not obviously listening. Jeren gave a silent cheer for this one tiny victory.
Aragorn did not show his surprise, if indeed he was.
"Are you willing to burn your bridges, Jeren?" Aragorn asked her.
"If you are referring to the expansive gulf between me and my desire to fight among the rangers of the Dunedain, I believed that bridge to never exist. You have told me, and Elrohir has reinforced it—I will never be a ranger with you. There is no bridge to burn."
"Very well. Glorfindel, she rides with you. You will have the burden of explaining it to Elrond, should things go ill." Aragorn, seeming unmoved by the discussion, and certainly not angry, strode to his horse and mounted.
"I accept that burden," Glorfindel said to Aragorn's back, "although no ill will befall us this day." Glorfindel laughed to reinforce his opinion that things were being taken too seriously for his liking.
Jeren was surprised by Aragorn's smile as he sat upon his horse. He obviously was not as opposed to her going as he let on.
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The group rode out of the valley, crossing the Bruinen an hour later. They rode until they reached the campsite where the rangers had rested the night before. They dismounted and Aragorn explained the plan.
Glorfindel, as well as Celduin, Tarmenel and six other Elves would ride out, scouting north, in the direction from which the rangers had come last night, going in search of known caves and caverns large enough to house the Orcs they sought. Ten more of the Elven force, led by Elladan, would scout in the opposite direction, using their senses to guide them. They would all return to this rendezvous point in three hours' time, unless they found what they sought before then. All the others would wait for the scouts' return.
Jeren spent the time visiting with some of the Elven warriors. While she was not close to many of them, there were a few that she had grown to have a genuine friendship with. Most of the Elves in the force, Jeren knew, had a certain grudging respect for her, if for no other reason than her gritty determination to see a task done and done well.
Her friendship with Tarmenel and Celduin had assured her admittance into the Elven circle, something that was at times difficult for Humans to accomplish when it came to Elves. It was not that Elves were unfriendly, but all Elves tended to guard themselves against heartbreak, and having Human friends always ended in grief. Those Human friends, even if they weren't killed in battle, ultimately deserted an Elven friend in death.
Joem turned to Rhyse and said quietly, but loud enough for Jeren to hear, "Are you ready for your discipline, Rhyse, for not ordering the wench to arms?"
Rhyse looked at Joem with contempt. "How do you know I did not order her to arms?"
"She all but told me this morning in the stable," Joem said, and he laughed.
Jeren cursed her stupidity! How could she have fallen into Joem's trap? If she had just kept quiet. But no, she'd had to rise to his baiting.
Jeren's attention was caught once again, when she heard Joem say, "Chieftain, what will you do with the errant wench now? If she no longer rides amongst us, I suppose her breaking your edict will no longer result in her punishment?"
Instinctively Jeren sought Rhyse's eyes and found them boring right into hers. Trying to keep her attention unnoticed, Jeren looked quickly to Aragorn. He was staring at Joem, and his eyes flinched ever so slightly.
"What I decide to do with rule-breakers is of no concern to you, unless you consider yourself one of them." Aragorn looked at Joem as if he wished him gone. "But since we speak openly about those whose character is brought to attention because of ill-deeds, perhaps we should speak of yours."
Joem looked abashed, as if he were afraid of hearing what Aragorn might be thinking, but he wisely kept silent.
"You obviously need lessons in holding your tongue, Master Mouth," Aragorn said quietly. "What should your punishment be, for minding everyone's business along with your own?"
Those gathered around looked everywhere but at the two men conversing. The uneasiness of them all was palpable.
Joem swallowed audibly, but still did not comment.
Jeren could tell Aragorn was now somewhat enjoying himself. His brows rose as if he reflected on what such a punishment might be.
"If I hear—or it gets brought to my attention—that you speak out of turn again, you will be disciplined. Is that clear, Joem?"
Joem dipped his head, obviously ashamed, then he nodded. But Aragorn was not satisfied, Jeren was happy to notice.
"Is—that—clear?" Aragorn repeated, just a little more loudly.
"Yessir," was Joem's quiet reply.
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Two hours later, the group of Elves led by Elladan returned to the campsite. They had been successful in locating the Orcs—all eighty-some-odd of them—in a cave about an hour's ride south from where the others had been waiting. The Orcs were sleeping the day away, crammed into a too small cavern, one atop another like so many wolf cubs asleep in a den. The scouts had not gone near them, fearing the Orcs might wake and get wise to the fact that trouble was brewing. Elladan now conferred with Aragorn, telling him of the Orcs' location and the lay of the land surrounding the cave, drawing diagrams in the dirt at their feet.
The place itself was in somewhat of a clearing, but rocks and boulders—plenty of cover in both stone and trees—surrounded its mouth. There would be ample room to set up an ambush, when the Orcs left the cavern at the end of the day.
Half an hour later, Glorfindel's group returned, and they were very happy to hear of the others' success in finding their prey. They had, of course, seen signs of them, but the trail was cold and their senses had not told of any Orcs near them.
Aragorn, Elladan and Glorfindel firmed up the plan, doling out orders to all the warriors. Jeren was, as she expected to be, with the archers, which suited her just fine. Rhyse and Ander would also be using their bows, as were four of the Elves. The archers would send three volleys of arrows into the horde, which would in all likelihood break their ranks. Then the others would put them to the sword, with the archers picking off those of which they had clear shots. With all the rangers and Elves, their side had ample power to make short work of these Orcs.
They rested where they were until mid afternoon, when they mounted and rode to within half a league of the cave. They left their horses, traveling the rest of the distance on foot. Elladan and Glorfindel placed the archers where they thought they would be the most effective.
Before leaving them there, Elladan handed his and Elrohir's quivers to Jeren. "You will need more arrows. And Elrohir wanted me to shoot a few Orcs for him, but I have elected to use my sword, so I wondered would you do the honors for him?"
Jeren reached for the quivers, feeling somehow awed to even touch them. As she took them and placed them beside her, she said, "I would be privileged to pierce a few of these brutes for him." Elladan smiled at her and made his way down the rocks to his position with the swordsmen. Rhyse nudged Jeren good-naturedly and smiled, but didn't say anything. He knew, as well as she did, that she had just been given a great honor.
They waited for more than an hour, until the sun drew below the rocks and trees to shadow the clearing. Finally it was apparent that the Orcs were astir. All outside the cave were tense and completely still; it would not do for their prey to get wind of them before the beasts even left their shelter.
But finally the time was at hand. The Orcs came pouring out of the cave's mouth without care or caution, and arrows rained down on them. As expected, they scattered in all directions, right into the waiting swords. Jeren took aim over and over, piercing through ears and eyes and hearts with clean, precise shots. She took her time, making every arrow count.
There were so many Orcs, there was even an occasion when Joem needed help. Even though he had been nothing but trouble for her, she aimed and fired in rapid succession, felling the trio of Orcs assailing him. Since he was facing her at the time, he saw exactly what she'd done. She, however, had moved on to other targets that needed killing.
Jeren had not always been a good bowman. It took her long to build up the muscles in her arms to the point where she could extend a bowstring fully. Her father had despaired that she would ever gain the strength, so that was when he introduced her to the long knife, which she loved wielding. When she began training in Rivendell, Glorfindel had made her tediously extend the bowstring fully, over and over and over, until she thought she would go mad from doing it. The blisters on her fingertips had bled for days, until Lord Elrond insisted she wear some gloves, but in the end, once she had the required strength and stamina, she proved a natural at the bow.
This afternoon, her calm detachment allowed her to aim and fire almost by rote. She would choose a target, aim and fire, again and again, noting the results and whether the next shot could be improved or not. She noticed Rhyse's shots, as well. He was also an excellent archer. Mayhap even as good as she. Mayhap...
The entire battle took almost an hour, and when it was over, all the Orcs, save one, were dead or dying. Rangers and Elves walked through the carnage, running through those Orcs who still had life. Elladan was holding the lone survivor at sword point. He had questions for this beast. But first, with help from Glorfindel, he bound the Orc's hands and feet. They shoved him aside, into the dirt.
Jeren and the other archers retrieved their arrows and then helped the others pile the dead Orcs into a heap to set afire. They sat and waited for the fire to abate and while they did, Elladan, along with Aragorn and Glorfindel, interrogated the Orc they had taken prisoner.
And they interrogated him torturously. At least Elladan did. Aragorn and Glorfindel sat by dispassionately as Elladan inflicted slow torment on the creature. Jeren found herself sickened by it. She, more than most, hated Orcs passionately, but she was not prepared to witness this mistreatment. She knew why it must be done, she was only thankful that she would not be the one having to inflict it. She had been tortured by Orcs herself—beaten, kicked and used repeatedly. Even though Orcs deserved no mercy, in Jeren's eyes, she could not help but feel a little sorry for this one.
And in the end, Elladan ran his sword through the Orc's heart, none the wiser as to what new poison the Orcs were using. That had been his main reason in capturing the beast at all. The Orc had given up the fact that they were out of Dol Guldur, which was something the rangers and Elves had already heavily suspected. The Orc had boasted of the Dark Lord's awesome power, which might or might not have been fact. All in all, it was wasted effort—and something Jeren would never forget.
She had seen a side of Elladan—as well as Aragorn and Glorfindel—that she would rather have never seen. Aragorn and Glorfindel had slapped the brute a few times, and had seemed detached from their actions. But Elladan looked as if he gained some sort of satisfaction from the Orc's suffering, and that left Jeren cold. Yet she supposed Elrohir's distress was still fresh in Elladan's mind. And long ago, Elladan had found his mother in the possession of Orcs who had been torturing her for days. If anyone was justified in his actions, Jeren thought, it would be him. She would never fault him for dispelling his demons in this way.
When the fire was only a slow smolder, the warriors left. There had been no casualties on their side at all. No rangers or Elves were injured in the battle. Jeren thanked the Valar as they headed back to Rivendell.
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"Lord Aragorn, might I have a word with you?"
Jeren had sought out the Chieftain later that evening, and had found him alone with a book in the library. His demeanor was in stark contrast to the hard interrogator he was this afternoon. He was completely at his leisure, wearing clothing of Elvish construct, and not his usual ranger garb—and his feet were bare.
She had sought him in order to inquire about the discipline she may or may not be bound to—and whether Rhyse would be held accountable for her actions, even if she did not return to the stronghold. This would be the deciding factor as to whether she went back to the settlement or not.
"Of course," he said quietly while closing the book. And he actually smiled at her. That made her wary.
He was sitting on a low stone wall, leaning against a pillar, one foot propped up beside him, the other on the floor. The wall opened into a beautiful garden, alight this evening with many lanterns. It might seem strange to have books where there was obviously much moisture, but there were shutters that could be pulled closed in the event of foul weather; and the Elves had many devices that might conquer many problems, and in Imladris, books and moisture didn't seem to mind each other all that much.
He sat up straight, placing both feet on the floor, and motioned for her to sit there beside him. She would really have rather stood, but she had been very insubordinate to him this morning, and thought not to make him angry right off.
He looked at her expectantly, so she said, "I was wondering about the discipline—since I did break your directive. First of all, what would it be?"
"The whip," he said, a slight frown on his face.
She thought about that. The whip was not so bad—to her. Her father had disciplined her many times, and while it wasn't pleasant, it was not the end of all things, either. But she had Rhyse to consider, if he would still be held responsible for her—she would not have him endure it alone.
She decided to tell Aragorn exactly her thoughts. She needed guidance after all. Who better to give it to her than her Chieftain, regardless of what she told him this morning?
"I had thought not to return to the stronghold," she told him. "I am not wanted there—by almost everyone—and as I told you earlier today, I am finally convinced there is no hope for my becoming a ranger at all."
"Yet the very actions that broke the directive might have brought your esteem up in the eyes of the men," Aragorn said. "You can be assured they will hear of it—Rhyse likes you much, and I think he would be very happy were you allowed in. You might rethink you stance."
"I would like to," Jeren said, "but there is more to consider."
"Such as?"
"Elrohir," Jeren stated solemnly. "Did you hear him talking last night?"
"It was hard to keep from hearing him talk, since he was doing so much of it," he declared.
"True," Jeren agreed. "But did you hear him specifically when he spoke about his fear for me, when he thought I might be in danger? And how it was affecting his concentration in battle?"
Aragorn leaned against the pillar again and placed his foot back onto the wall, resting an elbow on his knee. "Yes, I did hear that. What about it particularly bothers you?"
"Elrohir has fought with the Dunedain for years. I have no right to infringe upon that, especially when it endangers his life."
"For centuries," he said mildly. At her questioning glance, he added, "Elrohir has fought with the Dunedain for centuries. And I see your point, but I believe this difficulty he has is not something he cannot overcome. He is an Elf, you know." He smiled at her again.
"It sounds as if you would not be against my becoming a ranger after all," Jeren said, the confusion in her tone undisguised. "I always thought you were against me. All this time I might have had an ally in you, but for whatever reason, you chose not to share your mind with me. Why was that, Lord Aragorn?"
He looked at her for a few moments before answering her.
"I was never against you, Jeren," he said. "But I had allegiances to others that kept me from showing you my true feelings on the matter."
"My father and Lord Elrond must be of whom you speak," she said. "And perhaps Elladan and Elrohir."
He nodded. Then he told her something she did not expect.
"I've watched you—when I could—during the last two battles at which you were present. In the first one—you were forbidden to use a weapon, but you did so anyway. I saw you as you shot the Orcs that got to Elrohir. You were caught in the act—and by me. I have still to ask Rhyse if he ordered you to arms, yet from what you have just admitted to me, I know what his answer will be.
"And today, when I had the chance, I watched you. What I mean to be getting at is I saw you in battle. You are focused, precise and move with an economy of motion. You have learned your lessons from Glorfindel well. You are an outstanding bowman. My one recommendation would be to gain swordsmanship. You are too vulnerable with only a long knife—your reach is too limited. As long as you are fighting Orcs, that is not a large difficulty. Their scimitars are also short, with limited reach, much to their repeated downfall, thank the Valar. But were you to be fighting a man, he would do you in quickly, because you have inadequate range with a long knife."
"Thank you, Lord Aragorn," Jeren said. "A warrior ever wishes to know what her superiors think of her worth in battle."
"You have worth in battle, Jeren," he assured her. "You do lack experience and you are too much of an independent thinker, yet I am glad that such was the case in the battle in which Elrohir was injured. But it is an error that needs mending."
"I have another question, but it concerns Rhyse," she said. "If I were not to return with you to the stronghold, would he still be held to the discipline, since he was considered my superior officer?"
"Unfortunately, yes," he told her. "Were it not so out in the open—thanks to our friend Joem—it could have been ignored. But he has seen fit to share such comment about it that when we return, it will be spread like wildfire. I could order no one to speak of it, but we both know that, intended or not, the story will emerge at some point. A man too much into his cups can do a great deal of damage. And discipline, consistency and order are of utmost importance when one must lead men."
Jeren nodded her head in understanding.
Then it was settled; she would be returning to the stronghold, where she and Rhyse would meet this discipline together. It was the only fair thing to do.
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Jeren sought out Elrond next, before she would retire, looking in his study and finding it dark. It was very late, after all. It had been a long day, and a tiring one. She went up the stairs and just before she got to her bedchamber, she noticed light beneath Elrond's chamber door. She hesitated at first. This was the first time she would have seen him since she left Rivendell to go to the stronghold. Things had been somewhat strained when last she spoke to him, after he'd told her of Elladan's choice. She knocked quietly. She heard his muffled, "Enter."
She stepped through the door and then closed it. Elrond looked up from a book he'd been reading as he sat on the couch in his sitting room. He looked at her with concern. Perhaps her face reflected the disquiet she felt.
His hair was loose about his shoulders and he wore a long sleeping tunic and trousers—in a claret color—made of a filmy material the Elves favored. When she first came to Rivendell they'd made her nightdresses out of the same cloth—in various colors—but she always preferred those of plain cotton. The filmy stuff felt slick, made her feel as if she might slide out of bed.
Elrond patted the seat cushion beside him and Jeren sat.
"What is troubling you, Dear One?" he asked her.
"Nothing of much import, my lord," she answered, but words to the contrary suddenly spilled from her mouth. "I have failed—at some things—" she said with difficulty, "and I need guidance in how to overcome these failings—or accept them, I'm not exactly sure which."
"Why do you not explain yourself," he answered, "and I will see what I think about these supposed 'failings' of yours."
"For one thing, my hesitation to shoot the Orcs attacking Elrohir yesterday afternoon almost cost him his life!" she said, her tone more than a little self-loathing. "I do not know if I was not paying enough attention, or if I was worried about the rule I'd be breaking if I did shoot them."
"Rule?" Elrond asked, clearly puzzled.
"When I first went to the settlement, Aragorn had a talk with me about what was expected of me and what was forbidden. I was to follow orders and not use my weapons unless expressly ordered by a superior officer."
Elrond nodded his understanding, a frown already furrowing his brow. "So you were not ordered to use your bow when you shot the Orcs advancing on Elrohir?"
Jeren nodded. "And now I wonder was I just being witless to let him get injured, or if I was somehow protecting myself from being chastised and sent back here if I broke Lord Aragorn's directive."
"Do you perhaps think you may have been waiting to see if Elrohir might look after himself?" Elrond asked her quietly. "He's a very good swordsman—I would have hesitated before defending him, when I know how very good he is at protecting himself."
Jeren pondered Elrond's words for a moment. "I had not thought about that. Perhaps that is why I delayed my shots. I know that Elves sense Orcs before Humans do—you hear them and smell them. He must've known the Orcs were there."
"I have spoken with Elrohir about how he came to be injured," Elrond said. "He admitted he knew the Orcs were there, but he paused, needing to see that you were where you were supposed to be, doing what you were supposed to be doing—or not doing, in this case—and he overestimated the time that he had to do that in."
"Well, that certainly doesn't make me feel better," she exclaimed. "Why does he feel the need to coddle me, Lord Elrond? Do I look as if I cannot take care of myself?"
"I think Elrohir perhaps remembers that young girl he and his brother brought to Imladris those years ago, broken and ill. He is most likely having trouble seeing you as a grown and responsible person." He glanced at his hand, which was holding one of hers. "As I am, Dear One."
Jeren smiled at him and squeezed his hand. It truly felt wonderful to be cared for so absolutely. Her fear of awkwardness had vanished. He was still the same fatherly figure he'd been to her for years, even though he'd felt the need to tell her of his children's choice. Her heart breathed a sigh of relief—all was well between them.
"Now, what other 'failing' has you overwrought this evening?" he asked her, clearly thinking it would be no failing in his eyes at all. Only in her own eyes.
"This afternoon, after the battle was over, Elladan had captured an Orc—" Jeren began.
"Oh, do not tell me my son is again torturing Orcs!" Elrond said, almost in exasperation.
Jeren gave a short laugh, thinking that Elrond sounded as if the person he spoke of was a wee child, being caught with a hand in a cookie jar, and not an adult Elf, showing cruelty to an enemy.
"I know nothing about Elladan's past behavior," Jeren said. "I only know that today he did torment the Orc he captured. But that is not what I'm concerned about," she said hurriedly. "I am concerned that I could not stand it—me! I grew weak and threatened to lose whatever was in my stomach while I tried not to watch. Somewhat how I reacted the first few times I killed something—whether prey or enemy. I want to know what I can do to improve. I cannot be weak when things of this sort need doing."
Elrond brought her hand up and kissed the back of it. "Jeren, you are not weak just because you have a heart and cannot endure seeing something—enemy or not—tortured. My son—whether you believe it or not—is not perfect, as you might believe." Elrond stopped for a moment, looking into her eyes. "After the twins found their mother, it was Elladan who was most affected by it. He took every opportunity he could to make Orcs suffer, whether it be intentionally lopping off one of their arms and watching them bleed to death, or nicking them in many places with the same result. He was heartless for a while after his mother sailed. I despaired that I had lost my son as well as my wife. I counseled him long about it, seeming to make no headway. But time, as always, has a way of healing. And the influence of his brother finally had him seeing the error of his ways. Yet every now and then he gets reminded of what he has lost to Orcs, and that venal streak surfaces in him again. I am sure this last scare with Elrohir is what caused him to break down today.
"I hope your heart is never hardened to the suffering of anything—enemy or otherwise. When you allow yourself to sink to those levels, you lose a bit of yourself. I wish that on no one, especially someone I hold as dear as I hold you."
"All Elladan was wanting today," Jeren said in Elladan's defense, "was to learn of this poison that they have been using. Aragorn and Glorfindel were there. They could have stopped him, yet they did not."
"Strange things happen to males of all species when they battle," Elrond said, "whether it be Man, Elf or rutting buck. It is like a fire in the veins, not easily extinguished. Not that I am making excuses for those of my gender, you see. I am only offering explanation for unexplainable behavior."
Jeren nodded her understanding. She laid her head on the Elf lord's shoulder, comforted as always by his mere presence, and very happy that all was well between them.
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