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Okay, NOW Panic!  by Boz4PM

Chapter 54“Drawing Lines”


As it turned out Halladan had just given himself a rather nasty bruise on his right side. No ribs were broken and the liniment Mireth had provided was powerful stuff apparently, or so Tadion explained outside their tent after Penny had arrived with bandages.

“Numbs the pain and helps you to heal fast. We make something similar, but the elves… well, they just have their own particular way with these things.”

Yeah, elvish ‘magical magics’ probably did help quite considerably when it came to healing, Penny had to agree.

Elrond had already been and gone. Having given Halladan the once over, he had insisted everyone leave the tent bar Arvain and Faelon, Tadion told Penny a little sulkily. Penny was glad of it, though, suspecting Elrond would have then insisted Halladan explain exactly what had happened and why since, in many respects, that was of far more concern than a knock to the ribs.

It was some time till Halladan finally emerged, fully bandaged up and now dressed. He was just fastening his belt as he stepped out into the last of the daylight. He grinned as he saw Penny.

“Good as new,” he said. “Told you so.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Tadion tells me it is a bruise the size of a hog.”

“Does he now? You and your big mouth, cousin!”

Tadion laughed then excused himself, saying he had promised to help Naurdir skin a rabbit or two.

“Said I could have a couple of the skins if I asked nicely too. Mother needs a new pair of winter boots and they would line them nicely.”

Arvain and Faelon were still in the tent washing up after their exertions, not having had time since they had been occupied with Halladan till now, and Halladan seemed at something of a loose end. He and Penny fell into step beside each other, wandering nowhere in particular though it seemed to be in the general direction of ‘towards the edge of the camp.’

“So,” Penny said at last, “what happened?”

Halladan glanced at her and then sighed heavily.

“Ai, not you as well.”

“Ah, so I was right. Elrond has already asked you this?”

Halladan nodded. “And I will tell you the same thing: it was not a waking dream and you do not need to be worried.”

“Halladan, you were nearly knocked from your horse!”

“I know, Pen-ii. Do you think I do not?!” He sighed heavily once more, not wanting to get annoyed. “I… I do not know what happened. For a moment I could see something of Hirvell in Tadion, just the way he was holding his sword, his expression, that same air of riding as if the hordes of Morgoth were at his back and being furious about it… I do not know. I was so struck by it and then as I rode… I just had strong memories of having done similar charges myself in battle.” His glanced flicked sideways at her, aware she found this kind of talk unsettling. “It was not a waking dream, I just lost my concentration. That is all.”

Penny said nothing. After a moment or two, having expected her to say something, Halladan looked at her.

“Pen-ii?”

“What do you want me to say, Halladan? I believe you. If that is what you say happened, then that is what happened.”

Halladan blinked.

“What is that meant to mean?”

“It means that it looked very different for someone watching, Halladan.”

Only then did she look at him, and as she saw his face change she realised instantly she had said the wrong thing.

“I do not mean… I meant me, Halladan. I meant that is not how it seemed to me. I did not mean that everyone will have noticed something…”

“Only they did, did they not?” His face was strained, set, taut. Penny cursed herself.

“They noticed you were about to be hit, that you were riding too close without raising your sword, perhaps. It may be they thought you were trying to be clever, trying to leave your reaction till the last minute and just mis-timed it.” She shrugged and smiled desperate to make up for having worried him. He was looking at her a little intently, or so it seemed.

“So what did you see?”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You… changed.”

“How?”

“Just… changed. It was as if you were not there for a moment. You were still on the horse but you were not aware of where you were. You were upright in the saddle, just… sitting. I cannot explain it.” She paused as she stopped walking and turned to him. “Did you have a waking dream, Halladan?” She caught hold of his arm. “Tell me. Honestly. Did you? Because if you did I insist you tell Elrond. He has to know.”

“No.” He looked at her straight in the eye now. “I promise you, Pen-ii, I did not. You have my word. It was as I told you. I… was not aware and yet I was not wholly unaware. It was not a waking dream. It was only a moment, a brief memory that distracted me.”

He could see she was worried, could guess at what she was thinking.

“You do not need to worry about me.”

But she knew him too well and knew that for all he was saying that to placate her, deep within himself he would be worrying about exactly the same thing.

“Never mind me. I do not want you to worry about yourself.”

He looked at her, surprise mingling with something that was not quite anger but also guilt at her hitting the nail quite so precisely on the head. He turned his head away brusquely, perhaps aware his expression had given him away.

“I am just thankful you have the likes of Elrond and Gandalf here,” she said quietly. “That is all.”

She tentatively slipped her hand into his and held it for a moment. He glanced down at their hands as she did so, then looked at her as he squeezed it back and smiled. She withdrew her hand, turning away as she did so – her turn to not want to let her true emotions show on her face – and beginning to walk once more.

“I think have decided what I want to do with my letter. I will need your help if you think you are able.”

There was a pause.

“So long as there is no heavy lifting involved.”

She looked at him, took in the raised eyebrows and the grin, and could not help but laugh.

As they wandered back to where Naurdir was getting supper ready, Penny explained she would need a small fire and that was all. She was honest and said she was not sure if she wanted to be alone or not, and that she was fairly confident she might be able to set the fire herself if he could get her a flint and just help her set everything up properly since she had seen it done so many times now. Halladan raised an amused eyebrow at this, but did not comment on it, merely agreeing to help her get the right sort of kindling and twigs for a small fire.

“The light is already fading now, Pen-ii. It is perhaps too late to consider this for this evening.”

“Oh, I realise that. Besides which I am sure Tadion will want a full compliment in his audience this evening, will he not?”

Halladan laughed. “Oh, most certainly he will!”

Nor did Tadion disappoint. Almost as soon as they started eating, he began by asking if Penny had enjoyed the story of Faelon’s bull. It was Faelon’s turn to laugh loud at Arvain’s expense then, declaring his bull had never recovered and forever more had exhibited over-excited behaviour whenever it caught sight of bunches of wild flowers.

Arvain retaliated by recounting the time that Tadion, on one of his visits to see them with his father, had been sent to feed their pigs, only to be charged by a particularly difficult sow and been found face down in the mud with trotter marks all over him and the pigs making merry in the nearby woods.

“I swear he smelt of pig muck for the rest of the week he was with us,” Arvain hooted.

“I remember that,” Halladan said, laughingly. “We would make a great show of standing upwind of him at every opportunity.”

Tadion glowered. This meant war.

By the end of it, Penny had barely touched her rabbit stew, she was laughing so hard. As the tales flew back and forth, more and more of the Dunedain were dragged in to it, and though at first the focus invariably came back to Arvain and Tadion, soon enough it included Halladan and finally, inevitably, Hirvell. Indeed the moment Penny mentioned how Halladan had explained what terrors his brothers had been, how they had forever needled each other, playing prank and counter-prank on each other for years, it was like the floodgates opened. In some ways it was perhaps a little unfair given Hirvell was not there to shoulder the blame alongside his younger brother, and as Arvain’s protests grew louder and louder, so did the laughter at his expense.

They had been the bane of Halladan’s life as a teenager and young man, it seemed, even to the point of teasing him mercilessly at every crack and squeak when his voice was breaking (“Yes, thank you, Faelon, I am not sure I wanted to be reminded!”) though, according to Faelon, Halladan made sure they felt the full force of his jibes when it was their turn (“Hey, my voice never once…! Oh, shut up, Halladan.”). Indeed it seemed that as bad as Arvain and Hirvell were with each other, it was as nothing to when they conspired against their big brother. They made it their life’s work to infuriate him as much as possible or at least until they had both at last passed into full manhood, and even then it still did not abate entirely. From frogs in his bed to elvers in his boots – it was endless. Once when the three had joined their father for an extended visit to Imladris and Halladan was due to ride out with Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir the next day for a hunt, the two boys had spent all day sewing together the legs of every pair of leggings Halladan had with him, even staying awake that night till he had fallen asleep so they could then sew together the legs of the pair he had been wearing that day. They were nothing if not enterprising.

(“Ai, Elbereth, the sight of Halladan in a pair of Elrohir’s spare leggings! All wrinkles coming out of the top of his boots!”

“Arvain, I swear you will make yourself sick if you keep laughing that hard.”

“Aw, still bitter all these years later, Halladan?”

“Shut up, Tadion. I was just seventeen and about to go on my first full hunt with ellyn and the pair of them made me look a complete fool!”

“Ah, come now, Halladan, you did not look so bad. And far worse has happened between young ellyn…”

“Yes, it has, has it not, Lindir?”

“Now, now, Mireth let us not stray from the point…”)

And Halladan, ever striving to walk in the footsteps of his father and trying his best to be a mature young man, to be in some sort of position of authority over his brothers if only to help his father to share the load, rarely responded in kind.

Oh, but when he did…

“There was the incident with the bag a ferrets and a deep pit with a pile of horse manure at the bottom if I remember correctly, was there not?” Faelon was grinning widely.

“Oh, indeed there was,” Halladan responded. “And Father had my hide for it, but it was worth every minute of the months of chores I had to do afterwards, if only for the expressions on their faces when he pulled them out.”

The climax came, however, when Tadion at last cut through the hubbub of jibe, counterjibe and loud laughter by declaring that, surely, the time had come for The Story of The Badger. In an instant there was uproar as both Halladan and Arvain started talking at once, each trying to shout down the other and half the Dunedain there collapsed into a heap of hysterics as much from their reaction as anything else. Even the few elves with them were grinning. It seemed this story was well known. Both Halladan and Arvain were trying to tell the story at once, each contradicting the other as they went and neither making much sense to Penny for all the talking over each other and interruptions. At last Faelon managed to make himself heard over the pair of them.

“No, no, I will tell it, I will tell it! After all I was there, was I not?”

And before Halladan and Arvain could interrupt him in protest (though it seemed both were on the point of doing exactly that), he carried on blithely, directing himself in the main to Penny since, of course, she was the only there who had never heard the tale before.

Apparently, when still fairly young, Arvain had gone through a phase of bringing injured animals home with him. It started reasonably enough – an injured bird kept on some straw for a few days, or a baby hedgehog left abandoned by its mother. Hirvell would tease his younger brother by suggested any and every animal be put in the pot rather than nursed to good health, and it was up to Halladan to dry his baby brother’s tears and pull Hirvell’s ears most of the time. Over time, though, Arvain’s little ‘hobby’ quickly got out of hand, if only because he showed a remarkable inability to be able to tell the difference between an injured and uninjured animal. That and he wanted to keep every animal he dragged home with him as a pet. When at last, aged only eight, he brought home a badger, it was a step too far. He and Hirvell (then eleven) discovered just how vicious a cornered badger can be (especially when it has had to endure a bumpy ride ‘home’ cross-country in a hessian sack).

Arvain was very quickly cured of his desire to keep every animal he found in the wild that day, what with the bites to his hands and ankles. Hirvell, for once trying to help his brother rather than just point and laugh at him, fared no better, and even with Halladan's help all three were completely outflanked (and outbit). Halbarad and Faelon came home to find the three standing on the kitchen table, armed with a broom, a frying pan and toasting fork between them, and the badger prowling round them.

“Needless to say the pair of them never let us forget it,” Halladan muttered ruefully.

Faelon chuckled and then explained to Penny that in all the years since then every time it was mentioned each brother would insist it had been the other two who had been on the verge of wetting themselves in fear and bursting into tears.

“Indeed any mention of The Badger Incident in later years could lead to very heated arguments between the three with all sorts of other grudges and incidents being raked through the mud all over again.”

Arvain and Halladan hotly denied the accusation but the roars and hoots of laughter round them told a different story.

It said much for the strength and efficacy of Mireth’s liniment that Halladan was able to laugh and shout as hard as he did that night and not feel it till the morning.

Penny was truly sorry to see Tadion leave the next day. His leaving, more than any prior, made the imminent departure of Halladan in a couple of weeks’ time all the more keenly felt. She would miss him in his own right too, though. He was a character, they were the same age and she genuinely liked him, and looked forward to seeing more of him once she was settled amongst his people.

It was another early start, dawn barely yet broken, as Tadion and the few riding with him got themselves ready for the off. Tadion embraced his cousins warmly and clasped their forearms almost savagely, murmuring that the pair of them had better damn well take care and he would see them soon enough. Faelon got similar treatment. Penny had her hand kissed most graciously, and she surprised him completely by then giving him a peck on the cheek. For a moment she wondered if he was about to blush, indeed the shock on his face was enough to set Arvain off into a coughing fit. Penny, turning to Arvain and laughingly telling him to stop it, missed the rather awkward glance Tadion threw in Halladan’s direction as if worried that he might be angry at such a gesture.

“I will miss him, will miss all of you, Arvain. It will be very strange for me once you have all left me behind.”

“I know, I know, Pen-ii. It is just… Ai, his face!” And Arvain was back into hysterical chuckling once more.

Straight after lunch Penny sought out Erestor once more. She had a question for him.

“It is very possibly a stupid question, and I think I know the answer, but I need to ask it anyway. If I do not then… well, I would wonder forever more, that is all.”

Erestor raised an eyebrow at her and waited patiently for her to get to the point.

“Parchment. How long can it last?”

Erestor blinked. “Um… well, it can last quite some considerable time. In mortal terms, I mean.”

“An Age maybe? I mean, perhaps not usually, but with elvish…,” she struggled for an appropriate word, “…‘skill’, perhaps even two or three Ages?”

“When you say ‘skill’ do you mean ‘magic’?” Erestor seemed almost amused as he offered the word.

“I do not know. Do I?” The word was unfamiliar to her.

Erestor nodded. “I think so. As a mortal, at least. We elves recognise that something of what we or others are capable of is indeed ‘magic’ – it is why the word exists at all in our languages – but there are also all those things that mortals find difficult to understand or appreciate that an elf might take for granted and it amuses us to have it so termed; and of course the more powerful the elf, the greater their ability to do that which might astonish a mortal.”

Penny nodded. She understood what he meant now.

“Then, yes. Elvish ‘magic’. How long, even with that, could a parchment last?”

Erestor looked at her intently, tilting his head onto one side. His eyes filled with sadness and he reached out for her hand.

“Not long enough, Pen-ii,” he said softly. “Not if it is as far in the future as you suspect, and you have said to us it could even be longer. I am sorry.”

Penny nodded, looking down as she felt the emotion well within her for a moment.

“I thought as much. I just had to…”

“I know. I understand. I would have been surprised had you not done so in truth.”

There was a long silence.

“So, what do you intend to do? Or would you rather keep it private?”

“What? Oh, no, no. I mean, I am not sure if I would not prefer to be alone but… No, there is no reason to keep it secret. You were right. I need something, some sort of ceremony to say goodbye or to ‘draw a line underneath it’ as we would say in my tongue. An act that means I say to myself ‘from this point on I look forward as best I can’, where I try to accept the lost as lost.”

Erestor was nodding. “I agree. I commend you, Pen-ii. You have come far. Your talk with Galadriel must have been uplifting indeed.”

Penny stared at him.

“Oh, I do not know what she may or may not have said to you,” he added hurriedly. “Do not misunderstand me. But it is well-known the two of you talked that night. You were seen by many,” he pointed out.

Yeah, a heap of Galadhrim just for a start. Bloody gossiping elves! They would be the death of her!

“I am not sure quite what I will do or say. Perhaps nothing. But I think I will perhaps burn the letter at the end of it. I think. I am not sure. Read it out and keep it, perhaps? Anyway… something.”

“Well, so long as you have it all clearly thought out in your head, Pen-ii,” Erestor replied, chuckling.

Penny could not help but laugh softly at herself.

“Let the moment direct you,” he continued, more serious now. “Should you wish any of us to be there, and I truly mean any of us – Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, whomsoever you might wish – you have only to ask.”

“That is… thank you. And thank them also. I am most touched. I do feel this is something I need to do myself, though.”

“Of course, Pen-ii. I understand entirely and, in truth, agree. I just wanted to let you know how things stood.”

After her talk with Erestor Penny decided she needed some time alone. If she was truly considering burning her letter in some sort of symbolic gesture of ‘gaining closure’, she wanted to take some time by herself to really indulge herself in her memories of her family, to truly grieve and then, once it was done, not to forget them or ignore the pain of their loss, but see it as a moment from which she would look forward and not back.

Or that was the plan, anyway.

She decided the woods by the spring might be the best place for having a little privacy at least and headed in that direction, though in the end she walked off down the slope of the hill, through the long grass to one side of the edge of the trees, idly letting her hands brush against the few late summer flowers that she could just reach as she walked. Halfway down the hill she veered right and headed for the treeline, stopping at the wood’s edge and sitting down, leaning up against a tree trunk as she stared out at the rolling green ahead of her and the line of the mountains beyond.

She let her mind wander, lost herself in all that she had known and all that she had been before she came to this place and for the first time in a long time, perhaps ever, she could see it in some perspective, as if a step removed from it. She could consider events from her childhood and label them ‘happy memories’ rather than moments to cause her heart-rending pain. She could think of her friends and miss them but found she was more accepting of their loss than she had been even a week ago. Was this Galadriel’s work, she wondered, or would this have happened anyway?

After an hour or so, as the sun began to dip low enough in the sky that the mountains ahead of her were tinged with orange, Penny stood and headed back up the hill. She was not looking ahead, only aware of the feel of the grass against her skirts, and it was something of a surprise, therefore, when she realised someone was standing at the top of the hill, a dark silhouette against the glowing sky behind him.

It was Halladan.

She stopped, her astonishment clear on her face.

“I had come to find you, but then when I saw you I thought it best I wait and leave you to your thoughts.”

“Oh, I would not have minded if—”

He shook his head. “No, Pen-ii. You needed some time to yourself, to your own thoughts.” He paused. “We all need that sometimes.”

She nodded, not quite sure what to say. “Were you waiting long?”

“Not overly so. Besides, I got some more of this done.” He held up the carving. “It is nearly finished, I think.”

“Oh! Can I see?”

“No.” He snatched it out of her reach and slipped it into its pouch, laughing. “No, no. Not yet.”

She laughed in her turn. “Fair enough.”

There was a pause. Not awkward, exactly, but pregnant, perhaps.

“I, er, came to seek you out to ask… well, you had said something about a fire? Were you thinking of having it this evening? Only, with the light beginning to fade we shall have to look for tinder now or else leave it till tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Thank you.”

He smiled, stepping past her and down the hill towards the trees.

“Oh, and if there is anything you needed us to do – Arvain or I, or anyone - anything you need any of us to help you with or if you want us to be with you if… you have any ceremony planned or…” He shrugged and looked sideways at her. “Forgive me, Pen-ii. You have mentioned that they will have found it hard not having a body to bury and the same is true for you, perhaps, but I do not know if you have some form of ritual or…”

“Thank you, Halladan. Erestor said the same thing to me and I am most touched. I am not sure what I want to do. Remember them and then say goodbye to them is all, in truth. I… I think I want to be alone. It is not that I do not appreciate everyone’s support, it is simply that, as I said to him, this is something that I need to do by myself.”

Halladan nodded.

“I understand, Pen-ii. And moments of privacy can be hard to come by when you travel in large companies such as this. In some senses I envy those already left.”

“Oh?” Penny cursed herself for feeling it personally and tried to force her face into something jovial, as if she would tease him about the unconscious insult.

“Oh, not that I do not appreciate the company,” he added quickly, “It is simply that… well, a Dunadan’s life is very different from this.” He gestured up the hill back to the camp. “Oh, we live in small communities, or some do, but I miss… I miss riding in the wilds on my own or with just one or two others.” He glanced at her, smiling.

“I understand. I am sorry you are staying on my account. Lindir was right the other evening, I will be safe enough in their company—”

“No, Pen-ii. I will not hear of it. As your guardian… I am following the duty Father laid upon me. Ah, here we are!” He bent down, fishing out his large knife, to start chopping at some dry branches that had fallen under the eaves of the trees. “Get some of the dry twigs on the ground there while I fetch this and some moss.”

Within some ten or fifteen minutes they had collected all that Halladan said they would need. Now came the question of where to make the fire.

“Not too close to the camp.”

“Any particular direction?”

Penny thought for a moment. “Facing north… No, north-east.”

Halladan looked at her, pleasantly surprised. “Facing home?”

“It is my home too, Halladan… or it will be long Ages from now.”

Dusk was beginning to draw in as they made their way round the camp and set up the fire. Then it was time to eat, but afterwards Penny delayed, not wanting to take the decision of beginning whatever her private ceremony would turn out to be. She suspected it was no coincidence that they had been joined by Erestor, Glorfindel and Elladan for the meal, nor that Elrohir and Celeborn had stayed to chat as they had walked past at one point.

At long last, Halladan gently nudged her and suggested she should fetch whatever she felt she would need and he would meet her at the designated spot. When she arrived at last, parchment in hand and a shawl round her shoulders (for a breeze had picked up and it felt as if it might rain later), she found Arvain was with him. She also noted they had not lit the fire.

“We waited for you,” Halladan explained simply. “You said you wished to light this yourself, so…”

He did not let her use the flint, though, as she had suggested. Arvain stood back and watched as Penny held the ball of moss and grass into which Halladan struck the spark and then, closing her hands around it a little, she blew into it like mad, Halladan quietly directing her to hold it up out of her face each time, to be careful of the wind direction (again so she did not inhale the smoke), or to blow harder or for longer until at last… a flame! A small, orange flame in her hands! Penny was lost in wonder for a moment. Arvain grinned to see her face but stayed silent still, letting his brother get on with it.

“Add a little more grass, wrap it… That is the way of it. Now into the centre… there, see it catch light now? More twigs… use the last of the grass and moss…”

Halladan was a gentle and patient teacher, no doubt as a consequence of helping to bring up younger brothers as well as having an even younger cousin running about underfoot. Penny tried not to focus on this new aspect of his character too much, because it only reminded her of how hopeless her feelings for him were. She stared hard at the fire, feeding it more till it was well and truly ablaze.

Halladan and Arvain exchanged a look.

“We will… um… that is unless you want us to…”

Penny did not reply, had perhaps not even heard Halladan, so the pair discreetly withdrew, staying in sight but moving almost to the edge of the camp. After a while a few others came to join them, Lindir and Glorfindel amongst them, but Halladan stayed at one remove, just watching Penny from a distance.

Meanwhile, Penny stood in silence for quite some time, attempting (and failing) to gather her thoughts. At last she took a deep breath and felt she had better start. She looked up at the stars, as if she might find inspiration there.

“This is so insane,” she murmured, in English. “This is… Why am I even doing this? There you are, God knows how many years in the future… What the hell is this going to achieve?”

“If you will forgive me saying so, Pen-ii,” a gentle voice murmured on her left, “if you do not start soon, the fire will have burnt low and then not last overly long.”

She gasped, turning to look up at Gandalf. She had not even been aware of his arriving, yet there he was standing next to her, staring into the fire as calmly as if he had been there all along.

“I do not know what to say,” she said simply, reverting back to Sindarin.

“Say what is in your heart, Pen-ii. Say whatever you would want her to hear from you, whatever you feel needs to be said.”

She glanced down at the parchment in her hand.

“You intend to burn it, I take it?”

“A gesture… It seemed appropriate. The only way I could think to...”

“Of course.”

“I did ask Erestor if—”

“I know. He told me.”

There was a pause.

“I do not suppose… I mean, if anyone might…” She looked up at him. “I just want her to know I am safe. It is that that hurts me more than anything.”

Gandalf nodded. “It is only natural you should feel that way.” He looked at her and took in the almost pleading expression on her face. He sighed. “What would you have me tell you, Pen-ii? To be able to reach across the mists of such an expanse of time and speak to her directly… well, it would take a power far greater than my own, I suspect. Even were I to wait until your time came to pass, I suspect that all contact with the West would be long removed by then, will it not? Your time will come and go, and most of those in the West will be as unaware of its passing as if it were a butterfly on the breeze in a far-off land.”

Penny nodded, staring at the fire willing herself not to lose control.

“I know,” she said quietly, her voice a little husky. “I just-“”

“-had to ask. Yes, I know. I am limited by my form, Pen-ii. Oh, do not look so surprised to me talk in such terms, I can be frank enough with you who whispered my true nature to me the first time you met me. Even were I not, I do not know that I could… even if I were to try. You are from so very far away, Pen-ii. I told you that long ago, did I not?”

Penny nodded.

“It is best to remove all false hopes, to accept your life and the reality of what you have before you, good or ill. Your road has been set for you by One Who Knows All. Accept it. Your mother… will heal with time, as will you. She will have no choice after all, much as you have no choice either.” He paused and glanced at her once more. “I do not say these things to be harsh, Pen-ii. This is what you need to hear. You decided to have this small ceremony to help you move on with your life, did you not?” He smiled encouragingly at her.

“Yes. Yes, I did.” She paused, taking stock of all that he had said. “Thank you, Gandalf.”

So saying she took a step forward and began to speak, in English, as if she were speaking directly to her mother. She said out loud all the things she had written down the day before: how she was sorry she had disappeared without warning, how she missed everyone, how she wanted them to know she was safe and well, indeed perhaps in a better state than she had ever been in her entire life. Then, much like a eulogy, she spoke a little of her mother, her brother and her family and what they had meant to her, how proud she was of her mother, how much she had sacrificed for her and her brother, remembered birthdays and family feastdays, an amusing anecdote here or a good lesson taught there. She fell silent for a while and then, at last, she unrolled the parchment and took in the words one last time before holding it out over the fire that was, as Gandalf had predicted, already beginning to burn low. The flames licked the bottom edge, making the parchment glow and curl as it quickly began to burn. She held it for as long as she could as the dark, glowing line ate its way up the scrawling writing and then, at the last, she dropped it, watching as it curled up in the heat, like a dying spider, blackened and then fell into ash, gone at last.

All the while Gandalf had watched her with an intensity that would have startled her had she turned to see him. As she had burnt the letter, his eyes had fallen shut and it could have been he was saying something under his breath, but it would have been impossible to tell if his mouth was moving under his copious beard and moustache. If he was indeed saying anything, they were no doubt words of healing, words to ease Penny’s heart with whatever last vestiges of power Naria might still hold, or so anyone watching might assume. Certainly Penny, had she realised, would have made such an assumption. The moonlight seemed to fall round him in pools much as it always did, much as it did with any elf, only in Gandalf’s case, especially now he was ‘The White’, it seemed all the more so especially if it was a clear starlit night and the moon was bright. It was one of those nights now it seemed, as the light glinted off his snow-white hair and garments, mud-spattered though the bottom of his robes might be. It could be the fire also burnt a little brighter for a minute or two. Whatever the case, when Penny turned at long last as the flames died and sputtered to mere glowing embers, traces of drying tears on her cheeks, his eyes were open once more and he was smiling softly, if sadly, in sympathy.

“So it is done,” he said simply.

And so it was.

Gandalf kicked over the last traces of the fire, Penny crouching to help him cover the last few glowing embers. Then, brushing their hands, they turned together to head back to the camp, and Penny was surprised to see ahead of her a small group round a fire of their own on the very edge of the camp nearest to them.

“They are waiting for you,” Gandalf said simply. “They wanted to show you their support in some small way, while recognising this was a private affair and not wishing to intrude directly, of course.”

She could see Halladan at one remove, looking in her direction, and even as she watched it seemed clear that others were aware she had finished at last, as Arvain and Glorfindel turned their heads towards her. Lindir and Celebdor were in quiet conversation together, Glorfindel was standing to one side with Elladan and Arvain, Faelon was handing Elrohir a wine sac even as Mireth and Rhimlath stood to greet Celeborn as he arrived to join the group from between two tents nearby. It was all those who knew her story and those who had become friends. Her tears threatened to flow once more.

No one said anything directly as she and Gandalf joined them all. Halladan had walked forward a little to meet them both and then fell into step on the other side of Penny, coming close enough for his hand to graze hers, grasp it gently and then let go. She had looked sideways at him to find him looking at her with gentle concern, waiting to see how she fared, so she smiled and nodded, letting him know that she really did feel fine. He seemed to understand and smiled in return, seeming to breathe a little easier. The three sat down quietly, with little acknowledgement of their arrival from the others, and Penny listened quietly as the conversation round her continued, slowly drawing her in as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred at all; rather it was enough to know they had come, that they cared, that they were there for her. It was an unspoken but meaningful gesture, and Penny was much moved by the sentiment behind it. Even Elrond and Galadriel came to join them briefly before they, Celeborn and Gandalf then disappeared off into the dark to have their regular nightly discussions.

Yes, it was enough, and Penny was grateful for it beyond measure.

The next day Penny awoke with, if not exactly a sense of purpose, certainly a sense of acceptance that, while it had been building since her talk with Galadriel, now seemed more resolute and far clearer since her symbolic moment the night before. Mentally she dedicated the days ahead to enjoying what time she had left with Halladan and, after that, then taking life as it came, learning whatever the elves could teach her before she then had to face the somewhat daunting prospect of trying to fit in to Dunedain culture. She sensed she would have a good teacher once she got there, though: the infamous Morfinniel. It had been decided upon during various late night discussions once they had turned north that she would go to stay with Faelon’s family. Not only did they live very nearby to the small house Arvain and Halladan had grown up in, but more importantly, Penny could hardly go to live alone, herself an unmarried young woman, with two unmarried young men even if they were her guardians. However upright and moral the unimpeachable characters of Arvain and Halladan might be, there were limits. Not only that, but there would be long periods when both would be away doing their Dunedain duty, and during such times she would have been directed to stay with Morfinniel anyway. Besides, as Faelon pointed out and Halladan and Arvain agreed, Morfinniel and her daughters would relish the idea of teaching ‘all their female ways’ to Pen-ii.

“You are as good as family to these two, Pen-ii, and any family of Halbarad’s is family of mine,” he had declared with a broad smile on his face. “And it will be another big sister for young Canion, too,” Faelon had added.

“Are you sure he will thank you for it?” Halladan had laughed. “Yet another sister?”

“Perhaps not.” Faelon had laughed in his turn. “He will still be furious at not having been old enough to ride south with us, I warrant.” (Faelon’s youngest child and only son was still a boy of only twelve or so.)

“Oh, won’t he just!” Arvain had replied, grinning. “You will never hear the end of it from him when you return, of that I am certain!”

Canion, it seemed, was as spirited as any Dunadan male could be and, from the little Penny had gleaned, another handful much as Tadion or Arvain had been in their youth. Faelon himself was due to leave with another small group of Dunedain the following day, two days after Tadion and two days before the company would leave their encampment and bid farewell to the Galadhrim at long last. When it came at last, Penny found his departure even more upsetting that Tadion’s had been. This was a man whose strong connection to Halbarad had endeared him to her from the first, who had shown her nothing but gentle kindness and who had happily suggested she come to stay with him and be a part of his family on Halbarad’s behalf.

It was no surprise, then, that he did not get a mere peck on the cheek but rather a very long hug and insistent demand that he look after himself. He laughed.

“Oh, never you fear, Pen-ii. I have looked after myself all these years, and I do not intend to let my guard slip now. I am an old man, after all.” He winked. “Besides if I ever did, Morfinniel would have my hide.” He laughed and then embraced Halladan and Arvain, clapping them firmly on the back. “Fare you both well and mind how you ride. We shall meet soon enough in our homeland once more, and there we shall drink long and deep to the memories of those we have lost whom we loved and love still. I shall give your regards to Morfinniel when I see her and the family.”

“And Arvain’s particular regards to Hisaeleth, do not forget.”

Faelon instantly returned Halladan’s grin and chuckled heartily.

“Oh, but of course! How could I forget?”

Arvain seemed embarrassed and, to Penny’s surprise, really quite angry in equal measure at this exchange regarding Faelon’s eldest daughter, who while younger than himself was a little older than Penny. Faelon caught the furious glare Arvain threw in Halladan’s direction.

“Oh, now, now,” Faelon was saying as he climbed into the saddle. “I know you hold her as dear in your heart as you do her mother and siblings, Arvain. Deep down.”

Halladan grinned, enjoying watching his brother squirm. Penny was intrigued.

“Indeed, I hold you and all your family dear in my heart,” Arvain replied diplomatically albeit stiffly, his jaw tight with annoyance.

Faelon laughed. “Of course you do! Of course! Well said, Arvain. Still, I shall send her your particular regards nonetheless, shall I not? This feud between you two has to end some time.” And, failing to entirely smother a slightly mischievous smile, he turned his horse without waiting for the response forming even now on Arvain’s lips and raised his hand. “Farewell!”

Penny, Arvain and Halladan stayed on the side of the hill to watch the men ride into the distance. They could be seen for quite some time till at last they disappeared round the edge of a copse. As they turned back to the camp, Penny could not help but ask.

“What is this about Hisaeleth?”

She could have sworn Arvain ground his teeth.

“Ah, well, my brother has been sweet on Hisaeleth ever since he was a lad…,” Halladan began with a smirk.

“I HAVE NOT! Damn you, Halladan, you know perfectly well I cannot abide the woman!”

“Now then, Arvain, language – there is a lady present.” Halladan grinned at Penny and gestured in Arvain’s direction. “See? And she is just as bad. When they were small he would pick on her, pull her hair, tease her and make her cry. She in turn would call him names, ignore him completely for days at a time or else, when she became a little older, sneer at him. She became very good at it too. Nothing can enrage Arvain more than one word from Hisaeleth.”

Penny could see the positive glee in Halladan as he said all this, even as Arvain positively fumed.

“Enough, Halladan! Pen-ii does not need to—!”

“Oh, but she does, Arvain. After all she is going to live under the same roof as Hisaeleth. She needs to know how things stand between you.”

“They do not stand anywhere! I cannot bear to be in her presence for more than minutes at a time and she would say the same of me I am sure.” He turned to Penny. “You may ask her when you meet her, Pen-ii. I know I infuriate her as much as she infuriates me. I always have apparently.”

So saying he stalked off, clearly very annoyed indeed. Penny noted the slightly hurt and petulant tone in his last phrase, though, and decided that was possibly some truth to Halladan’s teasing. Especially given how gentle hearted Arvain was, let alone how he had shown in both Gondor and Rohan how much he enjoyed female company, even to the point of being patient and an absolute gentleman even with the most trying of them – Sidhwen having been a case in point. All this behaviour seemed so unlike him, particularly given it concerned the daughter of his father’s best friend and a man who was much like an uncle to him.

“It is a raw thing for him still,” Halladan murmured, still very obviously enjoying his brother’s discomfort as they slowly followed Arvain’s stalking figure back to the camp. “He has always liked her, and that her disdain for him continues even now they are adult and well beyond childish jibes cuts him deep, though he would never admit it. She found his picking on her when they were small hurtful and returned it in kind, and so it has stayed between them, though had Arvain ever stopped to think and once apologised, she might have warmed to him since it is clear deep down she actually holds him in far higher esteem than she would dare say out loud. Faelon jokes that she will not stop talking about him, and I have it on good authority from Morfinniel that is the case. She constantly compares him to others – this or that is a better sword, a better horseman, has a finer jaw - and yet all her thoughts are on him. Of course, once he got older he began to deliberately court other girls, I think in a desperate attempt to make her jealous. Hirvell and I would joke about it, Hirvell especially of course, but even Hirvell once sat Arvain down and told him enough was enough and that if he truly felt as it seemed about her, he should tell her so and treat her with some better grace, that he might well be surprised by the response he got from her.”

“And that did not work, I take it?”

“Hirvell was told in no uncertain terms that he could go and boil his head. As I said, Arvain will deny he has feelings for her till Arda is unmade. He would rather face a whole horde of orcs than admit as much, and he has said exactly that more than once. As for dancing with every girl except Hisaeleth at every Mettarë or Loëndë festival then all that would achieve is she would pretend she did not care even if she would glare daggers at him for it all evening. She would take it as an insult, rather than get jealous, even though she would have refused him had he ever asked. He rages if she dances with another, and she cannot keep her eyes off him if he does the same. Both take every opportunity to pity the other’s dance partner and loudly declare they would never want to be in their boots. As I say: they are as bad as each other. One day we will knock some sense into the pair of them, though quite how we shall manage it I am not sure.” He smiled. “This is why the ladies of Gondor stood no chance with him. He could dance and smile and not be at all serious since, even if he will not admit it, there is only one lady who could win his heart, and yet if things stay as they are, he will lose his chance.”

“You mean there is another?”

“Oh, Hisaeleth is a very attractive young woman and very eligible both in her own right, but also in terms of her family. Strong, capable, beautiful, much like her mother – a force to be reckoned with, a fine dancer, excellent seamstress and a fair cook…”

Something about the way Halladan spoke made Penny’s heart sink. It was not that Hisaeleth was a rival, far from it given Halladan clearly spoke as one who spoke about a sister or a friend; no, it was that it made Penny feel that no one would ever speak about her in such glowing terms, and perhaps more particularly, she knew that certainly Halladan never would. She was totally unskilled for this society, and however much she might learn she had so much catching up to do compared with any other woman her age. She was a lost cause in terms of marital eligibility.

“…There was already at least one seeking her hand last year from what I heard, though she refused him in the end, but now that the War is over… well, Faelon will be beating them off left and right I do not doubt. I did not tell Arvain when I found out about Hisaeleth being courted. It was Father who let it slip one night. We were all together at home for once – a rare enough occurrence in recent years – and sat around the table sharing our evening meal.”

“What happened?”

“He went white with fury and then stormed out of the house. We did not see him till the next evening.”

Penny waited but there was nothing more forthcoming.

“That was all?”

“We did not mention it again if that is what you mean.”

“None of you spoke to him about it? About why he was so angry?”

“I think Father tried to and got little out of him. Hirvell and I knew better than to try.”

Penny shook her head.

“What?”

“You are as bad as each other, you know that?”

“Pen-ii we are menfolk, a family of menfolk.” Halladan looked slightly uncomfortable. “It is not our way. We… get on with whatever life might present us. We are not like women who wear their hearts on their sleeves. He is a fool and he has been told as much by all three of us at one time or another, but he will not admit his feelings to himself let alone to any of us.” He shrugged.

Penny raised an eyebrow but it seemed the subject was ended.

They went fishing that day. There was a small crowd of them that went to a nearby tributary of the Swanfleet. Mostly it involved a rather jovial picnic of sorts on the stream’s banks, but several did hold lines into the water. Others took off their boots and waded in a little further downstream, concentrating on the water and making sudden grabs into it when a fish wriggled past. This latter group was entirely made of ellyn, needless to say. The few Dunedain with them muttered things about ‘showing off’ and how a spear worked just as well. Rhimlath was thus inspired to tell tales of how, as a young ellon, it had been considered a test of your archery skills to catch a fish with an arrow from a high tree. Lindir, overhearing, asked ‘if that was the tale of how Rhimlath fell in to the Celebrant and very nearly drowned’. Rhimlath, near puce with indignation, spluttered that that was a pernicious lie, only to be contradicted by two other Galadhrim in the party. Loud laughter erupted round him.

“You would not think an ellon could fall out of a tree,” Penny mused idly, swirling her cup of wine round and round. “What with their innate sense of balance and skill…”

“Depends on how much wine they have drunk before they climb up the tree, Pen-ii,” Celebdor replied in a mock whisper.

“I WAS NOT DRUNK!” Rhimlath retorted hotly, only to be met by even louder laughter.

It was a lovely way to pass the day, and when at last the air began to get a little chill and the sun began to get low in the sky, they headed back towards the hill and the camp on top of it, content and singing. They had made a good haul of fish, including several very large ones which made it all worthwhile.

For her part Penny had been in Halladan’s company almost non-stop since she had burnt the letter. Their friendship seemed to be blossoming even as she began to come to terms with some of her grief, or so it seemed to her. He always had a ready smile for her, always insisted she sit next to him when they ate. Once or twice during the afternoon she had noticed him watching her, and when she caught him at it he did not look away, only smiled slowly. She would smile back, pleased, but trying not to listen to the voice in her head that would ask what he was looking at and imply that maybe, just maybe, he liked what he saw. She knew it was only because she was aware of her feelings for him that she noticed little things like when their hands touched accidentally, such as when his fingers grazed against hers as he took her cup from her to refill it for her, or when he leant back on one hand (as they sat listening to Rhimlath attempting - and failing - to convince everyone he had had only one small cup of wine prior to going up the tree, and it was not his fault if he stood on a rotten branch; they should instead be amazed he did not break his neck rather than laughing at his misfortune) only for him to lean a little too far and their arms pressed against each other. She would have to fight the instinct to just let her head drop onto his shoulder, to nuzzle into him at such moments.

Damn and blast it, woman, would you just stop it?!

Still, it was nice to fantasize… or it was until reality hit home, at which point she would come down to earth with a bump, shake herself slightly and shift away so their arms no longer touched. It would not do to get so involved in her own pleasure of such moments as to cross some unspoken line and then live to regret it.

Naurdir was soon busily preparing the evening’s meal, and Penny was in attendance on him as she often was to help out – both so as to give herself something to do as well as try and learn from him. Halladan was sitting nearby, his carving in hand, rubbing it with a well oiled rag, having already used a small metal file he had borrowed from someone in the camp to smooth the wood down as best he could. Naurdir realised he was running low on water, and Penny offered to refill as many sacs as he needed. It was easy enough – a short walk to the spring nearby and back. Overhearing, Halladan said he would come with her, glad to have an excuse to stretch his legs a little after sitting in one position for so long.

Four sacs apiece, tied in pairs and carried slung over their shoulders, they strolled through the grass, idly chattering about nothing terribly much, Halladan making her laugh loudly with some joke at Lindir’s expense that she made a mental note of to use herself at some point. After a little while they started down the hill into the trees and came to the spring’s source. The water surfaced just above a smooth slice of vertical rock, the base of which had been carved into a small bowl as the spring trickled down over millennia. It was easy enough to reach, though one had to step down a bank of about a foot or two on either side of the stream that flowed from the source, and the rocks could be a little slippery underfoot. Halladan got down first, turning to give Penny his hand and help her down, and then they filled the sacs.

Once done, Halladan threw his four up onto the grass and, using both hands to lift himself, quickly got his knee onto the bank and so up into the small clearing round the spring source. Penny handed him up one of her pair of sacs, since they were a little heavy now full to carry over the shoulders while scrambling up a bank. She insisted she could bring the other pair with her but the tied straps kept slipping off her shoulder, so she had to use one hand to keep them there, and even with Halladan holding her free hand to help her up she slipped back twice, inducing loud laughter on Halladan’s part and a near hysterical attack of the giggles on Penny’s. After the second time, when she had very nearly landed in the water, Halladan near enough snatched the sacs off her shoulder, laughingly ordering she not be so daft and hold both his hands.

It almost worked.

At the last moment, just as she was about to step onto the bank, her other foot slipped on a large stone that came loose suddenly and, as she abruptly slid back and down, pulling Halladan off balance momentarily and nearly over the bank with her, he grabbed her by the waist with one hand and up into his arms safely on the bank in one quick moment. Both were laughing, so much so that for once, Penny was not even aware of the close physical contact they had with each other.

Maybe it was the laughter, lost in the moment of it, but Halladan did not instantly let her go, and Penny suddenly became all too conscious of how firmly his grasp was around her waist, how he was holding her so close that she was pressed up against his chest. She was aware of her own heartbeat and how very much she liked being like this, but before she could berate herself she was faintly aware that it was not just her own laughter that was fading. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her own and could not help but look up straight into grey eyes looking deeply back into hers, pupils wide in the glade’s leafy gloom. She was mesmerised, so lost in his gaze that she did not think to hide her expression, perhaps revealing for the first time all too clearly what she truly felt for him.

It felt like whole seconds ticked past and yet it was no time at all, and, even as Penny barely took all this in, it seemed as if his head was already bending towards hers, yet all she was truly aware of were those grey eyes and a line of red on the edge of her vision: his mouth, lips parted. She lifted her chin to meet him, her eyes falling closed even as her heart filled with a flush of surprise and joy, her stomach flipping like mad and a rush of heat and - oh God, yes, YES! – hope unseen was making her heartbeat so loud it was ringing in her ears as she felt his breath ghost against her lips…

And then nothing.

Halladan let go of her so abruptly Penny stumbled a little and had to step sideways to keep her balance. Her eyes flickered open, shock hitting her as she struggled to take in what was happening, even as Halladan bent and grabbed the sacs, none too gently, growling something about ‘needing to get back to camp.’ His tone was brusque and harsh.

What the…?!

Penny blinked. She could hardly process what had just happened, her head was reeling. Hadn’t they just been about to…? She could feel something like panic rise within her as Halladan stalked off into the trees, not bothering to wait or look back, and his every movement spoke of anger. What had just happened? He had grabbed her to stop her falling, and then she had looked into his eyes and thought he was going to kiss her and so…

She went cold.

Oh, shit, please, please, do not tell her she had misread this. It had all happened so quickly, and now she looked back she could not be wholly sure his head really had been coming towards hers – had she just imagined it? But she had felt his breath, had sensed his face near hers… or had she? Oh, crap. Perhaps she had enjoyed being in his arms so much, let her guard down and…

Halladan was fast disappearing, not slowing down and marching away furiously.

Oh, shit. Please, no. Please…!

If she really HAD misread his intentions, if he had looked down in complete innocence to find her eyes closed, lips upturned, waiting and wanting to be taken advantage of… what the hell must he now think of her?

Feeling sick with anxiety and utter confusion, Penny hurried after him, her mind whirring.




Author’s Notes:


First of all (before the lynching starts :P) the next chapter is already done and just needs a few editing tweaks, etc and will be posted soon, I promise. I decided I would not post this chapter till the next one was written.

As best I can discover before the invention of sandpaper, wood would be ‘sanded’ or smoothed with progressively finer and finer grades of metal files.

As for fire-lighting techniques: all credit and thanks to Ray Mears whose books and programmes I have used many a time for ‘outdoorsman’ techniques. If you haven’t seen any of his programmes, keep an eye for them – they are fascinating things!

Regarding feast-days: the calendars of Middle-earth usually had three feast days or ‘days of significance’ – year beginning (which would vary according to the calendar since different calendars started at different times of the year), mid-year which was the biggie, and year end. To crib wholesale from the ever useful website Encylopedia of Arda, in the King’s Reckoning and the Elvish calendars they were as follows:

Yestarë’ – First-day', the name used in the Elves' calendars, and those derived from them, for the first day of the year. The actual date of yestarë varied from calendar to calendar; according to the Reckoning of Rivendell, it fell on modern 28 March, while in the calendars of the Númenóreans and their descendants, its modern equivalent would be 22 December.

Loëndë’ – Also known, especially by the Hobbits, as Midyear's Day, Loëndë was the day that fell in the middle of the year and was an important feature in many of the calendars of Middle-earth. On a modern calendar, Midyear's Day would be 22 June.

Mettarë’ – The last day of the year; to the Elves, whose calendar started in spring, this was modern 6 April, but to the Dúnedain in Middle-earth, Mettarë fell in winter, on modern 21 December.

While I’m talking about this – a couple of people have asked about Penny’s birthday. That will be dealt with when she returns to Imladris when Bilbo’s birthday will be celebrated.

As ever, my sincere thanks to everyone who comments, reviews, gets in touch, plugs the fic, or begins reading (and yet is not daunted by the sheer length of this monstrous thing, lol – all credit to you!). It is all and always very much appreciated.





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