Chapter 6: Creek Hopping

As the sun rose and glinted off the mountain tops, an autumn wind whipped through the valley. The day was cold and eerily quiet. It was October the twenty-fourth. She drifted down to the creek edge to seek quiet. Goldor was at her heels, following dutifully and not making a sound. The wolfhound was pleased to see his master's wife well and was happy that she was not dwelling on unpleasant thoughts.

Beneath the branches of the willow trees, they walked. She could still hear the haunting melodies of the ageless from the stream. The tunes spoke deep into her blood, awakening grief from her Númenórean blood. She tried not to listen but she was constantly reminded of the farewell songs they gave their warriors, like the ones they gave her father. Finally able to ignore them, she reached down and called Goldor over to her side.

"Little Brother, a leaf from that tree is almost as old as this world. It is a marvel, wouldn't you agree?"

Goldor eyed her wearily. He could clearly see that she was trying to rid her mind of evil thoughts by making small talk. She was not usually one for meaningless conversation and he could sense the tension in her bones. "Aye, Coran. It is. What say you to the proposal to do more exploring?"

She raised an eyebrow with a small smile. "And what would that entail, Lord Goldor Orcsbane?"

"Creek hopping, m'lady." His bark was deep and quick as he splashed into the cold brook, sliding around on the mossy rocks beneath his paws. He shook the water off and began to leap around in excitement as he played with the underwater creatures.

Much too confined in her leather tunic, wool cloak and belt that held her dagger and Hathelas, she pulled them off, leaving her standing in her leather boots and pants and a billowy white shirt. She rolled up her pants and took off her boots, pushing any anxieties aside as she waded into the cool water, shivering with a yelp as it reached her calves. "Wait for me, Goldor!"

The dog was already far upstream and she struggled to reach him. Her balance was not good nor was her footing. By the time she had reached him, she had fallen nine times and was soaked head to toe. The filtered sun offered no heat to her goose pimpled skin. The water now reached her knees if she was not on a rock. She laughed as Goldor chased a frightened fish about the small pool they had arrived at.

"Leave him alone, Orcsbane. He is not mighty enough for you to defeat him." She dashed towards him, meaning to persuade him away from the silver-scaled fish.

His laugh was a deep barking. "But you are Coran!" He came after her and tackled her, submerging her in the water. She came up breathless as her lungs had seized up from the cold. She splashed at him in retaliation, chuckling as he flitted away from her.

As she stood, she thought aloud. "This reminds me of an old song."

"What song?" Goldor returned to her side, intrigued at her thoughts.

"The Song of Nimrodel." She took a breath and began to sing, her voice a rich alto in timbre.

Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver fell
Into the shining pool.

Where now she wanders none can tell,
In sunlight or in shade;
For lost of yore was Nimrodel
And in the mountains strayed.

Goldor spoke up. "I have a verse!" She sat down in the water, pulling her knees to her chest, listening to Goldor as he recited an old poem of her people.

"Out of the West we came
A warrior king we name
For all of Men
Must bow to him
Of Isildur's blood the same.
We guard the land day and night
Our sons and daughters gladly fight
To free the realm of harm
With broad shield and mighty arm
Until the hour of last light."

She joined in saying,

"O, stand Men of the West
In darkest hour will it your valor test
For mighty deeds have great cost
And all hope shall be lost
In this your final test, O, Men of the West."

Goldor came and placed his head on her arm. "I enjoy greatly the reciting that in the murky night, around a fire, as we commune for a meeting."

"Aye, there is something, a deep magic, about that. Or when the Hymn to Elbereth Gilthoniel is sung. There is something otherworldly about such verses." She smiled at some memory of her people singing the Hymn to Elbereth Gilthoniel. Shaking her head as she shook the memories from it, she stood. "Come, we must go back. I fear we have spent too long here."

She was right. As soon as they arrived back to their start there was an elf guard waiting for them. He was younger than the others she had met and had a serious face. His armor gleamed, showing he took pride in his post and she knew that he took his duties seriously. "Halt, milady."

She did so, shivering in the stream. "Hail, Lord Guard. May I retrieve my clothing and come forth from this brook?" He nodded, his light brown hair swaying gently in the breeze. His angular face reminded her someone, though she could not think who.

As she finished dressing, he addressed her again. "Why were you venturing so far from safety?"

"Safety," she scoffed, immediately regretting it as his eyes went wide with rage. "I did not think we had gone that far, Lord Guard."

"Aye but you did. You put yourself in danger, blatantly ignoring the orders of Lord Elrond and your Chieftain."

She raised an eyebrow and did not question for Goldor spoke up. "What orders? We were not told of any restrictions."

The guard did not say anything, but led them up the sloping hill towards the beautiful house of Elrond Half-Elven. Goldor was not pleased that they were reprimanded in such a manor. As if the elves held dominion over him and his mistress! He was agitated to find that Coran held some humor for the incident. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and he was left wondering what she held back for she usually did not keep secrets from him.

They were, of course, silent the entire way back. She gave no clues to any knowledge he yearned for nor did the guard give any explanation of what orders they had violated. Goldor accepted their fate, but he was not prepared for the scolding he received from Merry, Sam and Pippin.

"You let her freeze in the water just after being ill for two or three days!"

"She could catch a cold!"

"You ventured too far from the secure borders!"

"Enough!" he barked. "Who are you to tell me this? Who are you to rebuke Goldor Orcsbane?!" He was tired of their shrill voices ringing in his ears.

And as he thought, he seemed to come to the conclusion that he only had tolerance for two mortals: Feredir and Coran. He was wary or down right disgusted by every other human, hobbit or dwarf. Elves, he could manage them as they never really said anything they hadn't thought about first. Feredir was his first and only master so it was loyalty that had allowed him to tolerate the man. But, Coran, his lady. He truly loved her. He basked in her happiness and wellbeing and was quick to defend her. There was nothing too particularly special about her that made him love her.

Did it have to do with her being Feredir's wife? No. If he had to pick between them, he would pick her, no matter the cost. Maybe it was something primal. She was his alpha-female, just as Feredir had been the alpha-male. With his death, had Goldor moved up in the ranks? Did Coran see him as the only thing of Feredir's possessions she had left? Did she see him as the only companion she would be able to have for the rest of her life as she had no children nor was she looking for another spouse? Whatever reason there was for any of the circumstances that surrounded their relationship, he would not dwell on it as he did not want to ruin it, or her. He would stay obedient and loyal. He would not question the fates nor would he question her.

"You are being too harsh on him, Masters," she whispered from her seat on the stone bench that was positioned across from them. She was now dressed in a wool dress and a thick, fur-lined cloak which she had drawn about herself.

Sam nodded, clearly not wanting anymore conflict. The hobbit bowed to Goldor and her, saying, "Beggin' your pardons. We were only concerned for your wellbeing, m'lady. We weren't tryin' to antagonize you in any way." Pippin agreed with him, moving towards him and away from Merry.

"I understand, Sam, Pippin, Merry." She smiled a slight smile.

"Then, I think we shall take our leave, m'lady," Sam insisted. She inclined her head to them in their departure, watching the retreating backs of Sam and Pippin. She was not surprised to find Merry still lingering in his place.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of private council with Merry of the Shire?"

"Curiosity," he answered. He was always the clever one. Quick and witty he was and he was a careful thinker. She had deduced that all words he spoke were carefully picked for whoever he was talking to. He would have been an excellent politician had he not been a hobbit for his species had no love of the cruel and tactful game of power plays.

"What of?"

He came a little closer, but not too close as he received a warning look from Goldor. He was earnest in his question and truly wanted to know the answer. He was not accusing her at all, though his question did seem that way. She could see his heart meaning and if she hadn't, she may have thought him offensive. "When we were at Weathertop, both you and Frodo suffered wounds from one of the Black Riders. I understand that he was pierced by one of their poisoned blade and that you were only scratched by a gauntlet spike. But what I do not understand is how you were awake when he has only awoken this morning?"

"He's awake? That is good news indeed," she smiled with more mirth than he had expected. "I do not know the answer to your question other than my wound was not as critical as his. I was lucky that I was not a victim of the Black Breath, which I feared more that infection."

"I see." He seemed to take that for an answer and bowed, hurrying off to find Sam and Pippin.

"That was odd," Goldor growled as he stretched.

"Though not unwelcomed. Come, let us pay visit to Frodo. I would like to see how he is doing and possibly learn how Lord Elrond treated him." Goldor looked at her with confusion. "I plan to learn as much as possible about healing from the great master himself. It is an opportunity too good to let pass."

"Aye, it would be foolish."

As they found themselves in front of Frodo's room, they were met by an old man with a long beard. He looked as if he had traveled over rough terrain as his clothes were dirty and torn. He leaned heavily on his wooden staff as he moved towards them from the doorway.

She stood still as he examined her with narrow and wary eyes. This is the cousin of Aragorn? The same who tried to heal Frodo, who helped him escape the Black Riders? This is the one who outlived the Shire attack? His eyes seemed to scream those thoughts. She felt over studied, as if he was peering too far into her soul, her mind. She felt naked and uncomfortable in his presence.

He relented and she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. He offered her a small smile and said, "Frodo is recovering at the moment and does not desire visitors." That smile seemed to radiate deception.

"I am not a visitor, I am a healer," she returned his smile with slight agitation which she was sure he could sense. He allowed her to pass and did not follow her into the room. Goldor stood watch outside the room. As she came into the room, she saw the Lord Elrond standing by his side, whispering to him slightly.

The lord straightened at her entrance and put out a welcoming hand. "I knew you would come." His slight Elvish drawl was very similar to hers as they exchanged greetings in Westron. She found that most of the elves of Imladris that she had met had the same accent she possessed, unlike Aragorn whose Westron was flawlessly unaccented.

She bowed to the Lord and to Frodo who watched intently from his sitting position on the bed. He was as pale as the white sheets and robe that encased him. He looked like a corpse to her, like his blood had stopped flowing. And for a second she thought that maybe Elrond may not have been successful, that Frodo was still in danger of turning into a wraith as Aragorn had said. But as soon as Frodo offered the smallest of reassuring smiles, she felt at ease.

Coran came to his side, standing next to Elrond, who towered over her like most elves. With her standing next to Elrond, Frodo could see their resemblance, noticing the blood of elves and men in both of them. Coran reached out with a cold hand to lay it on his forehead, feeling for warmth of a fever.

She removed her hand, taking a quick glance at his eyes and the inside of his mouth. He seemed fine. Her searching hands came to the top of his robe. Frodo did not stop her from drawing the fabric off his torso. Coran looked to Elrond, who urged her to continue. She slowly unwrapped the bandage on Frodo's shoulder. As she revealed the wound, she started to examine it, leaning in close to look.

She dared not touch it, knowing that her hands were probably not clean. She was not as worried about cleanliness when she had treated it at first as she only wanted to stop the blood and ease his pain. Now where she could sanitize well, she would take advantage of that. Frodo was lucky to have such accommodations as well as such a skilled healer.

The wound was not infected and was only slight disfiguring. Magic healing of the Elves. She shook her head in disbelief. "Lord Elrond, I would like to learn to heal, serving as an understudy to you. I want to be able to serve my people the best I can and you can teach me to do that."

Elrond smiled down on her. "I will help you achieve this, my lady. Though, I will ask you to vacate this room as Frodo does need to rest. We will talk later," he bowed and showed her to the door.

Goldor was not outside the room. She saw the guard elf who had brought them up from the creek leaning casually against one of the many pillars in the Last Homely House. "Lord Guard, where did you send him?" she asked suspiciously.

"He went with the wizard. Do not fear." His smirk irritated her.

"Why do you keep following us?"

"I'm your handler, as commanded by the Lords Elrond and Aragorn." He shrugged, that stupid smirk still on his lips.