Chapter 14 - Trail Rides and War Games
Dulsan's Path led them through several small canyon trails and gradually up a mountainside to a vista overlooking the plains north of Edoras. It was a comfortable ride, and easy on their horses, allowing them to chat freely along the way.
"...My father used to take Eomer and I along this path when we were kids," Eowyn remembered fondly, "Some of my best memories were climbing this hillside. Eomer always insisted we'd race to the top, much to the worry of my mother when she found out our routine. She assumed either one or both of us would return haven fallen and broken something, or worse. Though we never did fall, and I often beat him to the top," she declared proudly with a smile.
Vezely was cheered by her memories, for they seemed to represent an idyllic version of youth, "It is good we came," she replied pleasantly, "For these memories are unduly welcomed."
"They are. Like I said, I have not been on this trail in some time, even here we feared orc attacks," she told her still in a light mood.
They dismounted their horses and walked them over to feed on some grass nearby, while they went to the hill's crest to observe the view.
"It is nice to be reminded of my father," she added thinking back, "Of happier times."
Vezely had assumed her parents were deceased, though she knew not the cause.
After a few moments, Eowyn spoke concerned, "He is protective of me. Eomer. I do not blame him, but at times I think he still sees me as that young girl who never failed to follow his request to race him to the top. I do not think he would understand my desire to also protect those I love."
"You mean your desire to fight in this war," Vezely confirmed her intent.
"Is it wrong to hold such ambitions?" she asked for affirmation.
"No, you have every reason to desire so and as much ability to fight as any man," Vezely stated steadily. "It is the expectations of others that hold you from your cause."
"Expectations," she scoffed exasperatingly, "I feel they have led me to sitting idly by while those around me fall into ruin," she thought grimly of Theodon's takeover by Sarumon, her endurance of Grima, and prior, her mother's grief-stricken destruction after the death of her father. "I regret not being a woman of action, succumbing to the cage those expectations would put me in. You are as such, choosing your own path, not caring what others may think."
Vez was surprised to hear admiration, but felt it was misplaced, "Do not envy me, Eowyn. For my own cage extends far beyond the dungeons of Dol Guldur. I have long lived without care, which undoubtedly has its benefits, but it is a lonely road and sparse on comfort. You may have expectations, but they also extend from those who love you."
She smiled slightly while internalizing this truism, "Yet I desire the love of one who would not hold me from my this path."
"Ah, but now you are speaking of a different type of love," Vez replied wondering.
Eowyn smiled slightly embarrassed of her thoughts shifting.
Vez continued, "It is my hope that you find such a relationship where expectations of gender do not follow. Women are often too eager to please men, and men too easily receive. Marriage can be the biggest cage of all if expectations are unequal."
"You speak knowingly," Eowyn wondered.
"I do not," Vez added dryly, "For neither marriage nor love have been of interest. I speak from observation of the fickle hearts of men who treat women as disposable pleasures rather than honorable pursuits. Dishonorable men, dishonorable situations," she then added with a smirk, "Both of which I assume you are likely to avoid in your position."
Eowyn knew not how to respond for such dealings were outside her experience, "I would hope so," she then asked, wondering of her current trajectory, "Though knowing the truth behind another's emotions and whether they hold the same feelings for you remains complicated."
The truth in this observation turned Vezely's thoughts to Legolas, for she wondered how he viewed her, even if her own feelings for him were unclear.
"Apologies," Eowyn spoke politely, noting her friends sudden retreat into her thoughts, "I am going on about such a trite subject at such a time as this. For an Elf, this must seem foolish"
"I do not believe my kindred finds love foolish," Vezely replied sincerely, hoping she did not feel silly for her speech. "From what I understand, love and the marriage bond are sacred and not entered into lightly without equal consideration between partners. Perhaps with even more concern, considering life span." Though information she held on this was sparse, it is what she gathered by the histories Legolas told her.
Eowyn was relieved for her to acknowledge this, but knew not of Vez's position. She asked, "Is it true, that Elves can die of a broken heart?"
Vez looked at her surprised at this suggestion, saying steadily, "This I do not know." The possible truth of it unsettled her.
"It is what I have heard," she answered, "You can only die in battle or of a broken heart. It verifies what you say, that Elves hold such emotions sacred. Yet your own interest remains void?"
"I am not what one would call marriageable," Vezely stated sarcastically, realizing her own take on herself.
"But you are not undeserving of love," Eowyn told her with concern.
Vezely replied kindly, "I will take this assessment with levity from a friend who is kind enough to say so."
"I have seen some affection in the eyes of your companion," Eowyn added speaking of Legolas.
Vez looked at her puzzled, then asking, "You speak of Legolas?"
"You acknowledge it too then?" she asked undeterred, taking the quick response as proof.
Vez shook her head, saying assuredly, "He has been kind to offer me advice and teach me of the history of my kindred, but our differences are far too great and my past far too disruptive for such emotions to take root. His affection is no more than that of a friend, I assure you."
Eowyn thought otherwise, but did not pressure her further about it. Their conversation would turn to other topics before heading back to Edoras that afternoon.
About halfway back, however, they were apprehended by two of Rohan's guards. "Lady Eowyn, we were told to find you and escort you back immediately," the guard spoke with a sense of duty, after given Vez a brief, but stern gaze.
"By whose orders?" Eowyn asked annoyed at having their conversation interrupted.
"Lord Eomer," he replied, straightening his posture.
Eowyn practically rolled her eyes, then looked at Vez, saying to her sarcastically, "I will need to remind myself of the reason for such protection," for she was not happy that her brother had created an issue over her leaving the city with a friend; not to mention a friend whose company provided plenty of protection to begin with.
Vez laughed slightly at her words, though wondered of the fuss such a short trip may have caused. They followed the guards back to Edoras in silence at first, before Vez decided to amuse herself.
She rode Gizik close to one of the guard's horses, her head held high as her eyes roamed over the man's body, as if observing a rare specimen; it made him shift uncomfortably in his saddle. She then brought Gizik around quickly in front of them and slowed her gallop to trot next to the other guard; handling the horse with expert control. Both her and her horse exuded overt authority as she questioned them, "What are your names?"
"Gárbald," the man replied undeterred, with his eyes remaining forward, "And this is Fasthelm." They continued their pace alongside her.
"You look to be able soldiers," she praised them while staying one trot ahead, "How many others were sent?"
"Eight rode out this morning," Gárbald replied solidly.
"Eight?" Vez called back to Eowyn amused, looking back to her. "Brother was worried." Eowyn knew Vezely was having a go with the men. She then asked, "And you two were sent north?"
"That is correct," the man replied, uncertain of the trajectory of her conversation.
"We have been gone since dawn and the sun is high. We did not travel far nor did we take an unknown path. If you were sent north as you say, and have only just now set upon us, there appears a discrepancy in time. Is it that you were skirting orders for a morning's rest?" Her tone and phrasing mimicked a general's, as if an undesirable answer would imbue consequences.
The two soldiers looked worriedly at each other, "That is not the case," Gárbald finally answered.
After giving him a look of overt suspicion, she called behind her, "Eowyn, I feel that it is us who came upon these men, and not the other way around."
Eowyn brought her horse forward, gaining a sense of Vez's mission, "It would appear so, for they have not gone far north if they were indeed sent that way."
"We have been searching, my lady," he replied to Eowyn politely. "I assure you."
"I am not sure if I can return such assurance to my brother," Eowyn told them steadily, then saying with feigned pity, "He is most unforgiving of soldiers who do not follow his orders." This caused the guards to visibly worry.
"We can provide them an option, however," Vez consulted with Eowyn, appearing to consider the guards' plight, "If we return without their aid, we can absolve any discussion of their latency. They can safely say they searched a different path from our own thus avoiding certain admonishment."
"I find that most reasonable," Eowyn replied graciously to her, then telling the guards, "I am happy to offer you both such as option."
The guards searched each other's faces and not seeing any other way, they conceded. Gárbald stated politely, "Gratitude, my lady. That would be most kind of you."
"It's settled then," Vez exclaimed taking her horse out front, with Eowyn following, and then saying dryly to the guards behind her, "I would not return too late if I were you."
While they were some distance away from them, Eowyn spoke in praise, "That was brilliant."
Vez smirked, grateful her scheme worked, "And you played along perfectly. Now we can continue our conversation."
They both enjoyed the moment, musing about the guards' bewilderment, and continued their talk from prior, before Eowyn stated upon view of Edoras, "I have a few words I would like to exchange with Eomer."
"Perhaps we should gauge the extent of the commotion us taking a morning trail ride has garnered before doing so," Vezely replied considering.
"Keep hidden our knowledge of their concern?" Eowyn thought through this suggestion, "Though whatever that concern could be eludes me."
"We may find out sooner than later," Vezely remarked wryly, seeing Eomer leaving the back gate and galloping towards them. She noted he had a most displeased look on his face.
As he approached the two, Eowyn kept her pace and head forward as he slowed his stead to walk beside hers, purposefully ignoring Vez's presence. "You have been gone since dawn," Eomer spoke as if the information was unknown.
"I know," Eowyn stated assuredly, "And it is high noon."
"You presented no one with knowledge of your departure," he added, heightening his tone.
"Yet our departure did not go without notice, even if such information did not come from my own mouth," she quipped back.
"Do you not think through the consequences of your actions? These paths are not safe, you could have been hurt," he stated worried but also slightly angered.
"Hurt?" Eowyn played off the suggestion, "Your concern amuses me brother. Perhaps you should rephrase that with reference to my traveling companion."
Eomer's eyes narrowed on Vez, but did not answer her questions.
"Or is that why there is concern to begin with?" Eowyn was perceptive; she knew Eomer had no trust for Vez.
"I ask," he tried to sound reasonable and lightened his tone, "That you think before you take actions which could concern others."
Eowyn did not reply but trotted her horse slightly faster ahead, leaving Eomer beside Vez, who felt odd as the third party of sibling strife.
"You are a bad influence on her," he remarked to her boldly when Eowyn was out of ear range.
"So are you," Vez replied back just as bold.
"I care about my sister," he replied to this assertion with conviction, "An emotion perhaps you know not."
She laughed slightly at the remark, but not being deterred by it as an insult she retorted fairly, "Before you assume a mal plot to turn your sister against you, assess that your caring may not already be doing so."
Eomer internalized this statement as they continued toward the gate, foregoing a reply as Vez continued ahead of him to the stables. Leaving Gizik she returned to their communal quarters finding it empty of her companions, though they had left their weapons. She assumed they had gone for lunch. Instead of joining them, she grabbed her rucksack from the corner, finding her memory book, a badly damaged brush with several bristles missing and a glass inkwell with partially dried ink inside. She placed them on one end of a long wooden table, where spanning much of its length sat Legolas's long bow, accompanied by his quiver set; marked perfection of weaponry and artistry. She momentarily admired its design, looking over the quiver's intricate gold overlay of two intertwined peacocks. She removed her sword from her side and placed it in an open space next to his bow before she sat down; adjusting it so their curves lined up perfectly. She noted she liked the thought of them sitting there together.
Sitting down she opened her tattered book to find several loose folded sheets she inserted in an attempt to keep them flat. They were marked with information concerning the West, from the estimated numbers and projected campaigns of Sauron's forces, time tables and routes to take crossing Rhovanion, to layouts of tentative battlegrounds. Many pages included notes she had written on war tactics and strategy. Finding the yet blank layout of Pelennor Fields she attempted to draw in where she would place the Haradrim and the Variags in relation to the orcs, querying their numbers against Theodon's projections. Her mind filtered through this information and she hastily marked up the map before she was stalled by the river Anduin, snaking across the southeastern corner. It concerned her and she knew not why. With this break in her thought process she looked up again from her paperwork to the weapons on the tabletop right beside her workspace. The detailed carving of silver leaves across the length of Legolas's bow drew Vezely's gaze and her hand stretched from her papers towards it; she felt a sudden desire to feel its grooves. Before her fingertips could touch it, however, her hand was caught by another's.
She looked up to find Legolas smiling down at her, for he had done it again, quietly sneaking into the room without her noticing his presence, making her feel incredibly incompetent in her supposedly superb Elvish senses. Her sharp look showed that she was slightly displeased by this ambush, for which he knew, marked by his sudden superior expression, he succeeded.
Vez smirked while turning her head away from him, and her eyes fell upon her hand still in his, for he had not yet released it. Before words were exchanged, his eyes had moved to the mass of papers she had haphazardly spread across the table. "What is all this?" he asked, still pleased by his victory.
She then realized she had created a bit of a mess with her papers, and she quickly removed her hand from his in order to straighten them into piles. "War games, amongst other notes," she explained, hastily folding a map of Mirkwood, which was marked with similar battle trajectories, in order to place it back into her memory book and out of his sight.
He took a seat next to her, gently sliding his bow to the side. "And this?" he asked, of the book she now held, for it appeared well worn and well traveled.
She looked at him, realizing there was something she desired to question him on, and this current meeting provided the perfect timing. "It is filled with the recollections of my past, all forgotten after my captivity. As my mind refilled and needed a place to pause and reconnect the pieces, I wrote them down in here," she flipped its worn pages, revealing all Rhunic shorthand script, which Legolas could not read despite his vast knowledge of languages. She turned to where she had scrawled Elven script next to the Rhunic phonetics she had deduced from hearing the Forest River's song. "There is something I have been meaning to ask you. I know it is probably not correct…"
He gently took the book from her hands, impressed by the immensity of its writings which filled the entirety of its pages and wondering of the stories it contained. After a moment of reading through her Elvish text, he confirmed the transcription, "You have three-fourths of the song here, but the end is missing."
"Missing? But that is all I can remember hearing. I am sure of it," she told him concerned, looking again over the script she wrote.
"Listen to the Forest River's song. Use not your head, but your heart. Your heart will call you home and there you will stay and weep no more for Autumn's end," he recalled the verse, speaking it softly in Elvish to her. "It is beautiful, is it not?" he asked as she was thinking it through.
She was caught more to the meaning of the words than their beauty; she felt it spoke to her personally. "That it is," her voice spoke meekly.
"Share with me this dream in which you first heard this song," he requested her curious.
She remained unsure of its truth, but explained what she thought occurred, "It was during my healing sleep in Mirkwood. I remember that I awoke ankle deep in warm ocean water with soft white sands beneath me, and waves crashing softly on the shore, but I could not move for fear held me there. Light shone all around me and I could only see the edge of a beach and a blurred darkness beyond. I heard a voice singing this song over and over, but only these verses. I felt connected to it as if I had heard it when I was young. I thought it could be my mother's but I do not have proof. Yet you say it is a song of your people?" she looked at him.
"It is a Woodelf lullaby. Your mother must have been of the Silvan clan. It is more than likely you were born in Mirkwood and taken from there," he considered steadily, "But this was no dream. You were the verge of death, yet not allowed admittance to the Hall of Mandros where your kin are said to meet you. So it may well have been your mother's voice keeping you company there."
She solidified her thoughts, "For so long I wondered…"
"Your transcription is good," he added positively, his eyes going through the script in her book again, "Your writing, however…" he glanced at her mischievously, again hoping to lighten her mood.
She laughed, "I know, it is lacking some grace. I began studying Elvish at request of Romestamo mostly, who said an Elf without knowledge of Elvish would not do. Now I know he was priming to send me West all this time. I remember thinking I could never learn it. The books I was gifted were translations of Elvish into Westron, not into Easterling, complicating my understanding at times. But I suppose, if I find reason to write again, my script could improve." She cracked a smile.
"Do you not enjoy writing poetry?" he asked curiously, for Elves were lyrical beings and enjoyed verse writing.
She laughed slightly at the thought, "I am not one to pause for words or sing songs such as this. Perhaps this is an Elvish trait I do not possess?" She asked wondering.
"It is rare," Legolas remarked seeming slightly surprised by this difference, for he never met an Elf who did not have an interest in the beauty of forming words or singing songs, "Yet you are unlike any Elf I have ever met," he added.
"Do such differences concern?" she added curiously.
"Not at all," he replied politely with a slight smile.
She returned his demeanor, adding reasoning to her differences, "It is not that the Balchoth have no songs or write no verses. My childhood was spent fighting, playing war games, riding. And I admit, I wanted to disassociate with what I knew were Elvish traits."
He looked at her curiously, "What do you mean?"
"Most speculated I was one of the Dark Elves of Dorwinion. Easterlings appreciate their wine, but not their ways. There is widespread distrust of Elves in Rhun," she said thinking of what often allotted her an outsider status.
"Distrust you inevitably also carried," he thought back to their first meeting.
She took her book and closed it, "I had no reason to trust my kin or any desire to be amongst them. Mirkwood was my first encounter with Elves, and it unsettled me in more ways than I'd like to admit. I remember uncomfortably thinking that your realm was perfect in terms of living with nature."
"There should be no other way to live," he replied proudly. "Another reason why I would not settle into palace life and preferred patrolling with the Woodland guard."
"Your father's court is built in those caverns I awoke in, is it not?" she asked.
"That is correct," his eyes showing some suspicious of how she knew this.
"Apologies, information gathered for tactical purposes long ago," she said quickly, somewhat ashamed of her former mal intent.
"And is it on that map you folded earlier?" he asked with an eyebrow raised.
"I cannot get anything passed you," she stated wryly.
"No you cannot," he agreed confidently.
"I thought I would spare you such details," she pulled the map from the back of her book, and handed it to him. He unfolded it and placed it on the table in front of him. His home territory was meticulously sketched out, but partitioned into segments with symbols of the armies who would descend upon them. His eyes parsed through the troop numbers, which were legible, being similar to common script. The forces were substantial and his heart immediately sank for his people.
She added carefully, "They intend to raze it and the forests of Lothlorien to the ground. To smoke out the Elvish armies and level the playing field." After saying this, she noted his solemn demeanor and placed her hand on top of his for comfort, gripping it slightly, "I am sorry," she consoled.
Her touch uplifted him, and he turned his gaze to hers, "The forest can be re-grown, and lives not lost, re-sown. We will return there one day, and we will both be comforted by the Forest River's song."
All emotion drained from her face, for she had not expected this reply. The possibility of returning to Mirkwood was something she could not fathom coming true and if it did, she felt unworthy of admittance. She slowly removed her hand from his but he caught it in his own. Concern for her reaction marked his face, "Did I misspeak?"
"No," she spoke quietly, her eyes strained, "But talk of such a future stills my heart."
He would not let go of her hand, despite her light attempt at release. He pulled her hand gently towards his chest, cradling it there; he sensed her feelings of unworthiness and it pained him. "I would have it beat again with life anew. Do not fear a future where you are allowed such comforts."
Confused at his intent she replied bluntly, "Do not waste breath saying things out of pity," she could not accept his words or touch as anything else.
"It is not out of pity that such words are formed," he replied, saddened that she thought so. He could sense her mind questioning his words and his touch, making him do the same. He desired her to trust him, to know his care for her ran deep. How deep? He queried this again, and realized the feeling pulsing between his hand and hers was more than a touch felt between friends. The rationalist in him could not deny it any longer, for he knew he looked upon her as more than a friend and all the complications and discrepancies which inevitably marked any actualization of this emotion faded when he looked into her eyes.
"Then why do you touch me like this?" she asked quietly and with concern, inquiring not only about his words but his hand still intimately holding hers. For she remained just as uncertain of his intentions as when he allowed her sleeping body to rest against him that evening during their return from Isengard; after they had shared details of their youth.
Before a response could be gathered, a slight, intentional cough broke them from their intimate gaze. Gimli had returned from lunch, followed closely by Merry, who was rubbing his pleased stomach before seeing the couple. Their appearance caused Vez to remove her hand from his and grab the map in front of them in order to refold it. "Good afternoon," she greeted them, as if nothing was out of order.
Legolas smiled slightly at the duo; disappointed that such a moment was broken though he knew not where it could have led. After just having settled his own feelings, a new worry entered his mind that perhaps she did not feel the same.
"Afternoon," Merry replied still cheered by the food, "Glad to see you weren't reprimanded by Eomer's guards." While they had heard the slight commotion given over Eowyn and Vezely's departure this morning, they all felt the worry was misplaced and were not concerned about whether they would return.
Vez smirked, then saying dryly, "I am surprised he sent eight guards to find us and we only came upon two and on the way home, no less. Doesn't fair well for soldier competence."
"You were not escorted back by two guards," Legolas queried, having noted their return from afar.
"No we were not," Vez told him slyly, avoiding eye contact, "For despite their orders, we desired to continue our journey and conversation back here in private."
"You didn't?" Merry asked intrigued.
Vez raised one eyebrow up, "We didn't what?" She waited a moment before saying proudly, "No, not by force, simply the wit of two women."
"Trouble as always," Gimli replied gruffly under his breath before going to take a seat at the table which was cluttered by weapons. Looking over them he said sardonically, "Hmm, Elves must believe their weapons are too good to be placed on the floor."
Vez laughed slightly, while Legolas replied to his friend pompously, "If you were given an axe by the Lady of Lorien, you would not want to place it on the floor either."
"Is that where it's from?" Vez asked curiously, as she reached over to remove her sword. "Lothlorien, I mean," for she did not want to seem nosy in inquiring as to why it was gifted.
He nodded in confirmation, before Gimli mused in awe, "Aye, and there we looked upon the fairest in the land, and whose golden tresses I shall never forget."
Vez cocked one eyebrow up, looking at the Dwarf as if he was a creature from another realm. Before she said something admonishing, however, Legolas asked her, "Do you know of Lady Galadriel?"
"I have heard her name in reference to the White Council," Vezely replied, "She is a bearer of one of the rings, but that is all I know. But she must be powerful if a Dwarf speaks of an Elf in such a way."
Realizing this, Gimli shifted his posture before Legolas added, "We spent some time there during our journey; a momentary respite from the troubles that continually overtook us."
"And then the troubles of eating only lembas started," Merry added unimpressed as a hobbit would be of meals lacking variety. Patting his full stomach from lunch he added cheerfully, "So glad to be back to real food."
"Can't disagree with that," Gimli conferred, pulling a toothpick from his pocket.
Vez smiled at their comments before she went to place her sword in the corner of the room near her rucksack. She realized again she knew little about the journey of this fellowship, and who they met or lost along the way. She felt strange asking details, however. Despite her time amongst them, she still felt as she did when they first met; that if she over inquired, it would imply she was a spy for Sauron. So much rested on the One Ring, and the task her companions set out on and the two that continued that journey. Keeping disinterested in specifics seemed preferable, as her own tasks were enough to occupy her mind.
"Those leaves on your bow mimic the leaf that clasps your cloaks," she noted while coming back to the table.
"Those were also gifts," Legolas stated, now admiring his bow in his hands.
She sat back down next to him, and he handed the bow over to her, which she took gently, surprised he allowed her its touch. "It is a bow of the Galadhrim, strung with a single strand of Lady Galadriel's hair, said to give strength and speed to the arrows it assists." He watched enchanted as she admired its details, watching as her fingers trail over the length of its carvings. He knew she had desired to do so before he stopped her.
"It is finely crafted indeed. A beautiful tool of death," she praised; a description which he had not heard before. Gently handing it back to him, she still did not look at him directly, for thoughts of their prior interrupted conversation forbid her.
Gimli who was busy picking his teeth, found himself charmed and amused by the relationship he saw forming between them; for he had noticed his Elf friend's interests before. Merry meanwhile took an interest in the map of Pelennor Fields which was laid out in front of him.
"Reminds me of a board game," he considered, his eyes parsing through the blocks drawn throughout.
"War is a numbers game," Vez responded with interest, turning towards him.
"A numbers game?" Merry asked. "Like with maths?"
She nodded, "Statistics. You can calculate with almost certainty which side will win."
"You mean, by which side has the most number of soldiers," he rejoined, trying to follow.
"Not exactly," she replied, thinking through how to best explain it. "It is not just how many each side has, but the value of each of those soldiers. For example," she pointed her fingers to a diagram she drew on the map, "Horsemen are worth more than foot soldiers, archers worth more than swordsmen at the beginning of the battle, less at the end, the number of catapults and cave trolls also factor in...You also need to consider everything from the field's terrain to the weather that day. With enough information calculated, you can speculate precisely which side will win."
"That's impossible," Gimli remarked skeptically, having listened to her explanation, "Not to mention, battles are often won despite the odds."
"And those battles become legendary," Vez agreed, "But only because they are few and far between." She looked at the map in front of her again, speculating as if to herself, "And I have a feeling even they can be explained with numbers."
"How?" Gimli baulked undeterred, for all three of them remained skeptical of her methodology.
"An example from history then," she unfolded and turned over another parchment she had, leaving face up the blank side. She grabbed her brush and inkwell and went to work, "The battle of Ester Ridge. Three hundred of my best soldiers against a two-thousand strong horde of Dusterns..." She began drawing schematics of the battlefield which was easy enough to recall, while explaining the weaponry, the skill of her own soldiers compared to theirs, the slope of the terrain being in their favor, and the mid-day's sun causing her soldiers' armor to glint in their opponent's eyes. Providing a numerical value to each and calculating probability, the numbers came out in her side's favor. "...Most generals would avoid what on the surface appears as impossible odds. But the numbers don't lie and I took that risk. We ended up destroying them with minimal loss," she said gazing over what she drew, appearing overly absorbed in her musing and proud of her past accomplishment.
"I never heard war deduced this way," Legolas added steadily, considering her methods; it was slightly unsettling for him.
"It has become part of the advancement Easterling warfare. No longer the barbarian hordes of old, but the methodical and technological ascendance of technique over might," she explained. "It is a more sophisticated warfare."
"That reduces men to numbers," Legolas retorted sarcastically.
She noted his discomfort, and hoped it did not bid him further ill perceptions of her, agreeing, "Of course it does. An unfortunate necessity of an immense standing militia. The goal of a general is always to keep those numbers high."
"I can see now why you had no time for songs or verses," he replied politely to her, referring to their past conversation.
A smile graced her face, as she noted he was true to his word of not having the acknowledgement of her past disrupt his current friendship with her; she was grateful for this and showed it in her eyes.
Breaking the moment, Gimli queried, "Do you think you can do that numbers trick with what lays before us?"
"There are too many uncertain variables," Vezely replied considering, "I would need more information and time to run through everything."
He laughed, "See, it comes back to uncertainty. The Dwarf way is the best way, just show up and fight."
Vez smirked at his suggestion, though thought it best to leave him skeptical rather than persuade him of her means.
Merry then added, still interested in the methods, "Does something like a good omen effect odds?"
"Definitely, morale is important for a soldier's strength and endurance," Vez replied, impressed by his thoughts. "This can be before or even during the battle. It is always open to chance or," she then stated amused, "It can be fabricated."
"An omen fabricated?" Merry replied equally amused at the thought, he then said rubbing his hands, "The possibilities are endless."
"Indeed," she smiled amused, "If only I had my game board from youth, I have a feeling you'd enjoy playing a match. I sense hobbits are clever folk."
"Depends on the hobbit," Merry remarked assuredly.
Aragorn soon called upon Legolas, and the Elf would leave the three to what he deemed an odd conversation as Merry and Vez conversed on strange strategies and stranger practices amongst their cultures, with Gimli becoming a third voice speaking only proudly of Dwarvish customs. It was as if they were determined to pit race against each other in oddness.
"It is taking time," Aragorn spoke concerned, filling his pipe as they stood outside on the veranda.
"Gandalf should be nearly there, the beacons will be lit," Legolas confirmed comfortingly, for he could sense his friend's worries.
He nodded grateful for his comforting words, he then asked, realizing he had not been attentive to his companions, "How fairs the wait for you?"
"It is fairing," he told him steadily, though with a hint of uncertainty.
"You have mended your relationship with Vezely?" he asked carefully, knowing they had spent time together but not checking in on his companion's feelings since the night they returned to Edoras.
"Yes, we are again affable," he answered, hiding that he was considering it.
"That is good, for I know she caused you some distress," he replied filling air, uncertain he'd want to add anything else.
"It was not distress," he conceded after a second more of silence, "It was my own misinterpretation of my feelings for her."
Aragorn looked at his friend curiously, wondering what he meant. He then inquired, invoking the same line that Legolas had asked him when he decided he had fallen in love with Arwen, "You have settled then?"
Legolas smiled in acknowledgment of the phrase he recognized from their history, for it was during a time of relative peace and the beginnings of their own friendship. "I am settled that such feelings exist," he spoke as if it was a revelation, but then added uncertain, "Yet such a relationship may not."
Aragorn breathed in the air while considering this, "I can see there is much to hold it back."
"Her own feelings for me are one amongst many," Legolas added solemnly, "She is not easily read, nor do I believe she will simply accept the feelings I offer. And even if she does and we survive this war, I cannot foresee a future without difficulties."
"Love is distress of its own making," Aragorn commiserated, for while he experienced love with Arwen, the future of that relationship also hinged on the edge of a knife.
"That it is," Legolas agreed, "And this all remains unexpected."
"As for me to hear of it, for you had long forsaken love for a life of solitude," thinking back to his declarations.
"And I remained certain of that path until recently. Our meeting again may have been foreshadowed long ago. Her memory never did leave me, regardless of the ill events that her appearance invoked," he stated calmly, before adding sarcastically, "My father suspected a connection, as usual."
Aragorn smiled amused by this, "If this is true, perhaps fate is on your side."
Legolas internalized these thoughts, gaining some semblance of possibility from them, yet actually confronting Vezely with any desire to settle their feelings eluded his horizon. He knew not what steps to take.
The afternoon would turn into evening and the group would find themselves at a modest feast in the Golden Hall, accompanied by Eowyn. There they would take turns telling tales from their respective cultures, passing the night over good food, good conversation, and good ale.