WinterDragon: thank you for reviewing! Even if it's once, and only because you find cliffhangers unforgivable ;) I'd say I was sorry, but I'm afraid I'm quite unrepentant, and only getting started XD

Mehreen's (former) maid is Ahlam, and she's doing very well, thank you very much. Living her best life, as it were, and having way more friends than Mehreen. Not to gloat, or anything. XD

Chapter 43

August 18th, TA 3020

"If there ever was a shameless, uncouth, grotty pack of crooks, I swear to Ivon it must be you."

Heaving the greatest sigh of relief Elladan had ever witnessed, the woman threw the latch closed, ignoring the children's protests of "But mama! What about Hunter?" and sank with her back against the now locked door. Then, having regained her composure, she knitted her greying brows and declared: "I want y'all gone at sunrise."

In the silence that followed, the other members of the group shuffled on their feet, uncertain about how to behave. Amdirfel's bow hung slung over his shoulder as he kept his back in the shadows, away from the children's sight; Faineth and Bruiven offered both Sofie and the boy their smiles, yet those failed to find their mark as the children clung to one another, not knowing whether to weep or to hide. Taniel and Annahad waited for Elladan's reaction, their eyes darting between himself and the mistress of the house. The group's presence crowded the small room, emphasizing both their incongruity in such a place, and the oppression the family must be feeling by seeing their home so invaded.

Only Gaerlin appeared unbothered by the heaviness of the atmosphere. "Something's burning," he mentioned after sniffing the air, prompting the woman to push herself off the floor.

"With healers like these, who needs enemies?" she muttered loud enough for all to hear before snatching a pot from the stove and setting it, with many a clank and sigh, onto the table. "Dinner's ready." And, as the children did not budge: "Come now, or go to sleep hungry."

They sprang into motion, scuttling over to perch upon two of the four chairs that surrounded the table, the boy still dragging the axe with a baleful look at Elladan's intention. Elladan stifled a sigh. Scaring widows and children was not how he had envisioned their arrival. Not that he had hoped for greetings, nor even gratitude, but still….

A creak of wood over the scraping of spoons caught his attention. Gaerlin had sunk his weight upon a bench by the wall, below the shelves stocked full with provisions, his elbows resting on his knees, and rubbed his neck with one hand.

"Halim, what did I tell you?" the woman snapped, her voice woven of ire and contempt. "Don't stare."

"Eh, it's alright, Mistress," Gaerlin shrugged, impervious to her tone. "The little one can stare all he wants. He's in his own home, after all, and we're the ones intruding."

Taniel bristled at his words. "But," she began, "we came to…."

"Gaerlin is right."

When it came to hard stares, it was a hill of which the woman was not the only queen. Taniel opened her mouth, nostrils flaring in rebellion, then closed it under Elladan's pointed gaze, which he then directed at the other members of the Hopeful Three, should they feel inspired to follow Taniel's example.

"Gaerlin is right," he repeated, "we are intruding, and most shamelessly so. For which, Madam, I apologize." Elladan bowed with a hand upon his heart, remaining bent for longer than protocol demanded, until his apology was acknowledged – if not yet accepted – in the form of another dubitative huff from beyond the table. "If such is your wish, we shall depart at once…and close the door in our wake." Another prompting glance; Amdirfel, Faineth and Bruiven were the first to catch on, closely followed by Annahad, whose art of bowing before womenfolk remained yet unmatched. Taniel mimicked him with ill grace, her back as stiff as her jaw.

The woman narrowed her eyes, folding her arms over the table in a demeanor no doubt meant to appear foreboding. Yet her mouth had lost its hardness, the lines around it smoothing despite herself.

"But mama," Sofie garbled, her mouth full with burnt stew, "you said that…."

"I know what I said. I needn't a child to remind me."

The girl lowered her eyes to her plate, and proceeded to push the remaining morsels around with her spoon. "But he took care of Hunter," she mumbled.

"It's none of your business, what he did. Now eat up. We can't go wasting food. Not now…." Her mother eyed the group with ill grace, and sighed. "Well, don't just stand there," she snapped, "sit down, or something. Your lot's making me nervous enough as it is."

Elladan would have gladly obeyed, had there been somewhere to sit on. In addition to being small, the room was cramped with the everyday furniture and things of a household, as though someone had moved everything inside under fear of rain. The northernmost corner had been stacked with barrels, and criss-crossed with lines from which hung children's clothes, still damp from having been washed and filling the room with vapor. Beside Gaerlin, by the wall, stood a box filled with tools – no doubt gathered in a hurry, as proved by those that had remained in the backyard – and a pile of staves, upon which had been heaped, in no particular order, worn children's shoes, a wooden bowl and coil of rope.

Since Gaerlin's wide shoulders rendered impossible the sharing of the bench but with the frailest of beings, Elladan opted to sit cross-legged on the ground, his back propped against the wall.

And so the matter was settled. Within minutes, as though having forgotten the visitors' existence, the children had been fed and sent to bed through a door beside the stove, the stove itself shut for the night so that the house was plunged into near-darkness. The woman disappeared into another door next to the first, and Elladan thought she had gone to sleep as well…until she returned, bare-footed, a woolen shawl around her shoulders.

She did not speak a word; only picked up her knife from where she had left it. Before Elladan could react, however, she sat at the table, the blade still clutched in her calloused hand, and rested her forehead on her crossed arms. Soon her breathing slowed down, indicating she had fallen into a semblance of slumber.

"Faineth."

Upon hearing Elladan's murmur, the scout raised her head from where she had settled, so close to Amdirfel that her thigh brushed against his, against the wall that gave onto the front yard. A jerk of his chin towards the other room and she rose, as silent as a spider, and crept through the opening before returning a moment later.

"She really must distrust us," she reported in Sindarin. "There is a bed, in there, with plenty of room for her to rest without having to endure our presence."

Now this was new.

Throughout his long lifetime, Elladan had more than once found himself at the wrong end of a blade. More often than not, such a situation had ended up in death for the one holding it; at other times, it had turned out to be a misunderstanding or, once, a drunken brawl in Bree in which he and Elrohir had been unwittingly involved. As for his patients, some could prove uncollaborative, aggressive even, but never to the point of holding a grudge.

Not once had he met someone who distrusted him to such a point.

Shrugging, Elladan allowed Faineth to return to Amdirfel's side – the word 'lover' had crossed his mind, painful in its foreignness – and, having ensured that one of them would take the first watch, closed his eyes. Neither the woman nor her children appeared to be in need of his help, and he had every intention of respecting her wish and clearing the floor come morning as soon as he received the answers he had come looking for.

oOoOoOo

In retrospect, Elladan could not tell whether it was Hunter's growling that had woken him, or Taniel's startled shifting at the sound, reverberating through the floorboards in a manner only an elf could perceive. He jolted upright, looking at once to where the woman had fallen asleep; yet she still snored softly, as though echoing the dog's warning outside.

The short, grey locks had fallen out of her attempt at a bun, fluttering before her lips with every breath. Her hand had relaxed around the knife so that it had rolled almost out of reach, while remaining dangerously close to one naked forearm should she stir.

Another growl, this time closer, and the pitter-patter of paws as Hunter padded towards the front door in an attempt to either get in or protect it. Exchanging a look with Amdirfel, Elladan rose, intending to investigate.

Hunter barked, twice.

The woman's eyes snapped open, fingers grappling for her knife before even she was fully awake. She wiped the sleep from her face in one jerking, careless sweep and jumped to her feet. "Stay back!" she hissed through clenched teeth, waving at Bruiven, who had already stepped up to the door, an outstretched hand inches away from the latch. "And keep your mouth shut!"

The fear upon her face achieved to wake the others. Gaerlin stirred from his place under the bench, his expression shifting from sleepy into wary within seconds, his large hand closing over a weapon he had forgotten he no longer wielded.

It was then that Elladan saw it – the light that seeped in through the shutters, red and quivering. Torches. Muffled voices quarreled outside, all but drowned by Hunter's alarm as the dog barked himself hoarse.

"She's long gone, Baeron," a man's voice said, clear as day to Elladan's ears, "and the children with her. There's nobody inside." The noise of someone rummaging through what belongings lay in the yard rose from beyond the wall, sounding closer and closer to the entrance.

"So it may be," a deep voice concurred, "but I'll believe that when I see it with my own eyes. Siggun's not to be trusted. Go check the back."

The woman's face turned ashen. Her hands shook over the knife she pressed to her chest as she inched closer to the window and, crouching, dared a peek through the crack between the blinds. The grass rustled under creeping footsteps as someone circled the house. Unslinging their bows, Elladan and Amdirfel both notched an arrow, keeping their weapons lowered for the time being. Bruiven and Annahad unsheathed their daggers, the latter stepping between Taniel and the door, oblivious of her exasperation.

The handle rattled. "It's locked," the man called out before making his way back to the front yard. "She must've slunk back to whatever northern hole she's come from, and taken the boys with her."

"We should burn it," the second voice continued, "burn it to the ground. It's the only way to be sure." The hatred within was undeniable; Elladan could taste it on his own tongue. Heavy steps plodded closer to the doorstep as Hunter's growling dropped; Elladan could imagine the dog's hackles raised, teeth bared as it defended its home. "Shut that mutt down!"

A scuffle; the first man cursed right before Hunter yapped in pain. A wet whisper, and the gurgling of what could only be blood….

Clamping a hand over her mouth, Siggun stifled a whimper, her brow beaded with sweat, as another, third voice protested: "Not again, Baeron! Last time was an accident, we all know that. But this…."

The one called Baeron paused. "There's a plague going on, Rídor. I'll burn the entire village if that's what it takes to stop it."

"My house's right next to hers," Rídor objected, "and no-one else is here sick." He hesitated, shuffling from one foot to the other if the oscillation of his torch and the squeaking of his boots was to be believed. "Look. We're all sorry for what happened to your…."

The cottage shook as the man was thrust against the wall, his boots scraping against wood as Baeron growled, inches from the window: "One more word, Rídor. One word, and I swear I'll tie you to the front door before I throw that torch in."

Siggun shook; her legs gave out under her weight and she sank to the floor. As quick as she was strong, Faineth scooped her up and pulled her away from the door. The floor sagged as Gaerlin shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, ready to tackle whoever came through.

Elladan lay a hand upon his shoulder, and shook his head.

His own blood raced, heart pumping wildly inside his chest as always before a battle. His senses, sharpened by danger, painted the scene outside in all its vividness. The iron of Baeron's fury. The acrid stench of the men's fear. The salty sweat that imbued their clothes and stained the grips of their makeshift weapons, mixed with the abrasiveness of cheap liquor they had downed to summon some courage.

The kind of courage required to follow a man like Baeron.

A man grown deaf to reason. If Elladan stepped out now, more than one would fall, including Gaerlin if Elladan was not careful. So he stood, ready to do what was necessary while hoping it would not come to it.

Rídor coughed as he slumped to the ground. Baeron stepped back to spit at his feet, yet it seemed that his outburst had quenched his thirst for violence…if only for tonight.

"Come," he commanded to the men, "let's hope they're all rotting away, somewhere. For their sake."

The torches' light faded in the distance long before anyone dared to move. When the last footsteps that thudded down the path had faded, Elladan slipped his arrow back into the quiver in his back and strode to the window to glance outside. The night reigned once more, merciless, over Mitharlan.

He turned around to where Siggun sat rocking back and forth, shivering under her shawl, Faineth's presence a faithful shadow in her back. How many nights had she spent, standing watch alone against Baeron's vengeance? And what crime had she committed to deserve such a fate?

"Tell us what happened," Elladan said as he came to sit opposite her.

"I'd warned you. You should've left while you could." She stared into the distance, the dark circles under her eyes standing out against the paleness of her skin. "No-one's coming to save us."

"We came."

It was Gaerlin who had spoken, his gravelly voice carrying across the room. Elladan need not look to know he had not settled, the rush of upcoming combat still too fresh in his veins, tingling in the hands that he clenched and unclenched in a cracking of joints that carried to Elladan's ears.

"We came to help."

"As if a pack of elves could help me," Siggun bitterly scoffed. "What are you going to do? There's no cure for Baeron's madness." She stared at her shaking hands and added, so quietly that even Elladan struggled to hear her: "We'll all die here; it's just a matter of how and when."

A.N.: Ivon is one of Yavanna's names (Sindarin).