A/N:  Sorry for the teaser!  This has been such a bad year that my writing has fallen off considerably; I figured a weekly deadline would galvanize my sluggish muse, and besides being held accountable (even in cyberspace) is good for everyone.  I hope you enjoy this next foray into the Green Knight universe ... I'm having fun writing it! -- Le Rouret

Fastred had achieved but twelve summers – indeed he was looking forward with great eagerness to his thirteenth, a propitious number, he thought, and promising much fun and distraction upon the banks of the River with his friend Halgond – when he discovered that to be the eldest son of the Prince of Ithilien was even more a burden than he had previously suspected.  He had as a small boy never been completely resigned to his fate, one of pomp and ceremony in which he was forced to wear elaborate and uncomfortable clothes, and eat oddly-prepared foreign foods on gold-rimmed platters, and listen to portly grown-ups make tiresome and protracted speeches, and sit in the far corner of the great ballroom while old ladies in stiff brocade dresses pinched his cheeks and called him "cunning."  It all seemed like such nonsense to him, to prattle on about money and crops and letters and taxes, when there were right outside the city walls horses to ride, rocks to throw, streams to explore, ducks to chase and fish to catch.  He would much rather have spent the time with Halgond, who was a year his senior in age, and lived in a small house by the outer city wall overlooking the north hook of the river.  Halgond was, he was sure, a superior companion to any of his noble parents' acquaintances (barring of course Lord Lassah of Dol Galenehtar, who was good as a boy most of the time, when he was not required to act like a grown-up), and in Fastred's point of view it was preferable to avoid those social functions to the best of his ability.

However, as he grew older he discovered to his further displeasure that his presence was expected in more feasts, more receptions, more functions than before; his sister Hísimë did not seem to mind, possessing a more docile nature and more interest to the fashions of the court, but poor Fastred, being a boy (and a bold and adventuresome one at that), found them terribly dull, though he was always careful never to say so in company.  Those complaints he saved for Halgond when they played together, and for his youngest sibling Théodred, though to be sure Théodred was quite small, and not much good at anything yet, save stealing sweets from the kitchen, and holding his tongue, which so endeared him to his family he was more a pet than even their pretty blond sister.

Fastred had great plans for that summer.  He and Halgond had inherited Halgond's uncle's old skiff, and after patching a few holes in the bottom, and repairing the makeshift sail, and bartering Fastred's father's old fur cloak for two mismatched oars from one of the west bank boatmen (Fastred assured Halgond that his father would never miss it), he and his friend had drawn up a little chart of the river near Osgiliath, and marked with ink on this map where they might go in their new vessel.  The more they planned the more elaborate the arrangements became – they would take the skiff round about the entire city – they would take it down to the west bank – they would take it to Dol Galenehtar's docks up the eastern estuary and visit the Elves – they would take it downriver to the docks at Minas Tirith – they would borrow tents and bedrolls and sail down to the Pelennor to fish and camp – by the time two weeks had passed they were contemplating rowing upriver to Cair Andros, though Halgond thought perhaps that might be beyond even their abilities.  But Fastred and Halgond were yet young, and had – or so they thought – the whole world at their feet; there was nothing (barring parental disapproval) to keep them from carrying out their happy scheme, and so Fastred watched the waning of the spring and the planting of the fields with mounting excitement.

The disastrous news that so disrupted his plans for a jolly summer upon Halgond's little skiff descended on Fastred's head one warm night whilst dining with his family.  They were alone save for the valets, and Fastred was quite happy with that; it was one of his favorite things to do, to sit upon the low balcony over the walls of Osgiliath overlooking the river, with no visiting lords and ladies or other such dignitaries around whom he must needs guard his tongue, watching the reflection of the torches on the undulating water being split and shattered by the paddling of the ducks and grebes and geese, listening to the low mournful cries of the owls and herons among the dark trees and reeds at the River's edge, and the ting and clang of the bells above them in their campaniles, and the occasional shout of laughter, or sudden happy speech of his Lord Father's servants in the rooms below them.  They did not have to wear their good clothes then, which Fastred thought quite fine, for his dress doublet pinched so about the shoulders, and the collar scratched him.  He was far more comfortable in his old brown tunic, though he was not averse to admiring his mother in her simple blue gown, her golden hair wound about her head like a living coronet; Fastred was convinced his mother was the loveliest lady in all Osgiliath, an opinion shared by his father, who seemed to take every bit as much pleasure watching his lady as did his eldest son.  The valet had just served the fish, pointing out with a sly wink to Fastred's Lady Mother that it was the selfsame trout her son had caught that morning – Fastred had stared at the fish, cheeks flaming; it did no longer resemble the bright, flashing, flopping thing in his bucket that he had so proudly presented to the cook downstairs; it was filleted and herb-speckled and swimming in hot butter; he was both pleased and embarrassed to have his parents know he had been mucking about in a skiff like a common fisherman.  But his Lord Father had smiled, and his Lady Mother had laid a hand on Fastred's arm, gently remonstrating:  "There, Fastred; it is no shameful thing for the lord of the land to bring the fruits of his labors to the table; why, does not your Lord Father go with the huntsmen betimes and provide us with our venison?" At that reminder Fastred's mortification had melted away, and with a lighter heart he fell to the trout, which was, he congratulated himself privately, very good.  After the valet had refilled his parents' goblets with sweet wine, and reassured himself the three children were well provided with milk, he had retired back to the kitchens, and then Fastred's Lord Father had given his wife a careful look, and turned upon his eldest son and said:

"Fastred, my son, after much discussion and thought, your Lady Mother and I have determined you shall go to Rohan to live with your uncle the King."

A silence fell about the small table then; Fastred, frozen in the midst of bringing a forkful of flaky fish to his mouth, sat gawping, staring at his father; Hísimë gave a startled squeak, quickly muffled, then covered her lips with her serviette, blue eyes wide; Théodred looked from one sibling to another, his little brows pinched over his eyes, wondering why going to see Uncle Éomer would be so horrible, and why his brother's face had gone so pale.  Éowyn their mother glanced thoughtfully at her husband, her gray eyes troubled; she placed one white hand upon Fastred's shoulder.

"Did you not attend unto your Lord Father, my son?" she asked, her voice careful.  "And do not sit so gaping like the fish upon which we feed; it is unbecoming."

Fastred's fork, still full of fish, clattered upon the porcelain plate, spraying herbed butter over the white tablecloth.  "But I do not want to live in Rohan!" exclaimed Fastred, his heart starting to beat very fast, though it felt heavy and cold to him, sitting in his chest.  "I want to live here in Osgiliath, which is my home!"

"We have conversed upon this topic before, my son," said Faramir firmly, putting his own fork down upon his plate and fixing Fastred with a resolved yet sympathetic eye.  "You are the heir to the throne of Rohan, the country of your mother's people.  As there is no heir at Meduseld to carry on your uncle's line this duty and privilege falls to you."

"To me and to Théodred, you said!" cried Fastred, feeling his throat tighten.  He remembered the conversation of course – remembered listening to his Lord Father's long and rather involved explanation about birthrights and distaff lines and dynastic changes – but it had been so long ago, several months in fact, and he had thought his father in silence had dismissed the subject.  The thought that what had been simply discussed would in fact be carried out was appalling to Fastred.  It had been bad enough to contemplate the issue, and he had cherished secret hope that his father would relent.  The thought of leaving Gondor, and studying to become king over a foreign country -- !  It made Fastred's eyes burn.  But he would not cry – he would not!  He was twelve, and the son of the Prince of Ithilien; twelve-year-old sons of princes did not cry at the dinner table.  He swallowed heavily and said, "Father, you said we were both princes and of the line of Éomund and either of us would do – "

"And after discussing you both we have chosen you," said Faramir.  "We have also heard from your royal uncle, and he said the situation calls for more speed and less temperance; he has need of you now."  He gave his stricken son a kind look.  "You are older than Théodred, and have had much more schooling – "

"But he is only five!" protested Fastred, his voice rising in agitation.  "He has not had time yet – "

"Fastred!"  Éowyn's voice was sharp as a knife, and her eyes flashed with anger.  "Do you not quarrel with your Lord Father; such speech is unfitting his rank, and yours also."

Abashed by his mother's censure before his siblings, Fastred dropped his face in his hands, his ears flaming.  Through the fingers pressed into his ears he could hear his father speaking, though his voice was muffled somewhat through Fastred's attempts to block out his voice.  "You are, as I have said, my son, Théodred's elder; you have achieved almost to thirteen summers, and have grown tall; also have you excelled at the many subjects your tutors have given to you; you keep books, and read and write, and as to the art of warcraft you are young yet for a warrior but your skills bespeak great promise.  Your studies in the realm of affairs of state are advanced for one of your years and you are both decisive and tractable.  King Éomer had need of an heir such as you; he did say to us he would be proud to have you as his successor."

Fastred said nothing for a moment, breathing hard as though he had been running; he was very frightened, because he did not want to leave his family; he had hoped Théodred being named for the old king's son would be chosen.  After all Théodred was as golden-haired as his mother; Fastred was dark, as befit a child of Gondor.  His father's accolades comforted him not, for thirteen summers or no, he felt very young, and very ill-equipped to be king over a country in which he had never lived, only visited on occasion, and he did not want to leave his family in this manner, to never return save for periodic visits; also he regretted his friend Halgond, and puttering about on his small boat; what would he tell Halgond when he heard the news?  He could not bear it – to leave his beloved house, his mother and father, his siblings and friends!  And to go to that great howling land, with its folded and furrowed fields of grass, the cold blasting wind and shallow winding rivers, the strange mountains and treeless hills!  Even the people there did not speak his tongue; how could he govern a people he did not understand?  He was silent so long that Théodred began to fidget on his high chair, kicking his small shoes against the footrest, and after a moment his mother spoke; her voice was gentle, but still adamant.  "Well, my son?" she said, and Fastred could hear the steel therein.  "Your Lord Father has given to you high praise unsolicited; have you naught to say to him then?"

Fastred, for he had been raised properly, mumbled through his fingers:  "Thank you, Lord Father."

"My son," said Faramir, and Fastred felt his father's hands on him then, strong but tender, pulling Fastred's fingers wet with tears from his face.  "Ah," said his father, sounding sad; "do not weep, O my son; I did not mean for you to believe you should leave us alone and forthwith!  It was not my intent to throw you out of doors with naught on your back but your tunic.  I am not so harsh as that, you know."

"I know, Father," said Fastred; he gulped back his tears and fought to keep his lips from wobbling.  "But – " he paused, glancing at his mother, who though clement still had steel in her eyes.

"Speak, my son," said Faramir gently, and Fastred turned to him instead, looking up into his father's kind dark face.  His Lord Father had always been gentle with him, at times indulging him so that his Lady Mother would reprimand them both for their caprices, yet he was steadfast in his decisions; Fastred knew that once his father had made up his mind, it was Death or Catastrophe changed it … and betimes the latter would not work, either.  Yet remembering his father's kindness he took his courage in his hands, mustered his manners, and spoke.

"This is my home," he said, and cursed his voice for shaking; how could he expect his father to listen to him if he sniveled and sobbed like a little boy?  He had to sound reasonable, grown-up, logical.  He swallowed and said, his voice a little steadier:  "I do not know the language in Rohan, I do not know the people, I do not know the land.  I am not even of Rohan, Lord Father; I am of Gondor.  I do not want to leave you and Mother and Hísimë and Théodred and … and … "  He faltered then, because Hísimë had given a low sob; Fastred hoped her grief would sway his parents, and despite the wry look his father was giving him ploughed on:  "… and I am not old enough, and I do not want to go so far away, and – "  In sudden inspiration he said, "And I do not want to leave Lord Lassah – I mean, Lord Legolas – "  He glanced over at his mother, whose lips were pressed in a thin line.  "For Lord Lass – Legolas – said I am coming along quite well in the bow, and the lute, and he hopes to teach me the halberd when I am stronger, and I will not remember my Elvish if I leave – "

"Enough," said Faramir, and he and Éowyn exchanged odd looks; Fastred thought perhaps they looked as though they were going to laugh, but as the situation was so serious he was certain he was mistaken; perchance they were so cross with him they could not arrange their facial features in repose.  Had he said too much?  He bowed his head and stared at his plate, at the white trout congealing in the butter, and wondered if they had trout in Rohan, and if it was any bit as good as Anduin trout.  He doubted it very much.  "We know the difficulties attendant upon you with our decision," his Lord Father was saying, gentle but firm.  "Do you not suppose your Lady Mother had the selfsame quandary, coming from her home in Meduseld to dwell with me in Ithilien?  There were obstacles and conundrums aplenty – "  Now his father did smile, and turned to his wife; her lips twitched as she met his gaze.  "Remember, beloved, when the Lord of Erui rebuked you for wearing a riding-skirt upon the lawns of Minas Tirith?  It was during that luncheon-party, to welcome the delegation from Belfalas, as I recall. He had expected a meek answer from a young woman of Gondor, but that is not what he received from you, is it?"

Now Éowyn did smile, though her cheeks turned pink at the recollection.  "Ah!" she said.  "Yes, I do recall dredging my memory for the proper expletives.  Undómiel was mortified, though of course she is far too polite to show it; even the ladies of the court were disapproving.  I did not know at the time that such language was not commonly used in Gondor, particularly amongst high-born women, for I had been but six or seven months here."

"O Mother, you did not!" exclaimed Hísimë, shocked and indignant; she had definite ideas about such things as comportment and propriety and conducted her small self with enough decorum to suit a queen mother.  Fastred, though he did not share his sister's fascination for protocol, nevertheless stared at his Lady Mother in consternation, trying to imagine poor Queen Undómiel's dilemma, and the general embarrassment engendered by such a social gaffe.  Éowyn turned her eyes upon her son; he was relieved to see she had recovered her humor; in fact she seemed both abashed and amused by the reminiscence.

"I did," she said solemnly, looking about the table at her little ones.  "And, my children, did I spend much of the following days composing letters of apology, and creeping in my mortification about the halls of the palace.  I had never offended so many people in public at once; there were, if I remember properly, well over forty folk in attendance, and it is a credit to my brother's tutelage I managed to save much time and effort, and to affront all in one blow."

"They were not all affronted, my bride," said Faramir smiling.  "Remember you well that Legolas laughed."

"Aye, he did, did he not?" said Éowyn thoughtfully, picking up her goblet of wine and taking a sip.  "Laughed long and loudly, and clapped his hands; Lady Mithdael was most offended at him.  I do not, however, recall him writing letters of apology."

They both chuckled then, and exchanged fond looks; on most occasions watching his parents act in this way gave Fastred great pleasure, for he basked in the love and affection his mother and father had for one another; yet now he was too trammeled up inside to give it much notice, and thought upon what his mother had said, that she had embarrassed herself in her new land, and had been forced to write letters of apology.  Fastred hated apologizing and the thought of having to beg the pardon of the entire nation of Rohan for some inadvertent insult was overwhelming.  He did not want to move to Rohan and risk that – it had been bad enough last winter, having to stammer an apology to Lady Lalanath of Amon Din for spilling red wine on her pretty silver gown; how horrible it would be, to have to apologize to an entire assembly!  He could not do it – he would not.  Somehow his mother and father must be convinced to send Théodred.  He looked at his younger brother then, at the curve of his little mouth, still dimpled and babyish, and at his fat little hands clutching his wooden spoon and trying to put a piece of fish in his mouth.  As Fastred watched, the fish fell off the spoon and landed on the linen beside Théodred's plate; undeterred by this social blunder the little boy simply picked up the fish in his fingers, placed it back upon the spoon, and put it in his mouth.  His feet in their small shoes were swinging back and forth beneath the table, for unlike Fastred he was not tall enough to reach the floor, and as he ate he watched the proceedings with innocent disinterest.  Fastred swallowed.  No, Théodred was far too little to go to Rohan; he would not understand what was expected of him; besides which if Théodred left, Hísimë would pine, and Fastred had a secret horror of ever hurting his pale thin sister like that.  Poor Hísimë had not been quite right since two winters before, when the horrible ague had stricken the city, and so many had died amongst the children and elderly; Lord Lassah had taken the children of the Prince of Ithilien himself, nursing them in his private quarters, feeding them broths and applying poultices and giving them tonics until the danger had passed.  Fastred remembered clearly how tiny Théodred had looked, round cheeks flushed by his fever, lying listlessly upon Lord Lassah's lap while the Elf sang to him and brushed back the flossy curls with his long white hands. And how ill Hísimë had been, for weeks past the day she ought to have recovered; at times the fever drove her to delusions, and only Théodred's presence and voice would soothe her, as he curled beside her burning body in Lord Lassah's big canopied bed, putting his little hands round his sister's fingers.  Fastred shuddered at the memory – no, he could not send Théodred to Rohan!  What would Hísimë do; what would his mother and father do, without Théodred?  Fastred swallowed hard and decided that, if his parents would not bend in sending him to Uncle Éomer, he would never try to convince them to send Théodred in his stead.  Then he realized his mother was speaking, and he had been so absorbed in his thoughts he had not attended to her; startled he looked up, to find her eyes upon him, and upon her face was a look of both sympathy and resolve.

"Any change is difficult, and we find other lands and peoples passing strange, despite our love for them, and our determination to dwell with them," she was saying; Fastred noted with a pang that his Lord Father held her hand tight, and wondered if he would some day be constrained to wed a foreign bride, and if it would be awful, or if his marriage would fall into pleasant lines, as had his mother and father's.  "But by our birthrights and our lines we have both privilege and duty accorded us, in equal portions; to date you have been enjoying but the privilege of your birth, the wealth and honor attendant to your rank and position; now however do the duties of your royal family press upon you, and your uncle has desperate need of you.  You are not solely of Gondor, O my firstborn," she said, leaning forward and taking his chin in her fingers; Fastred felt her tip his face up to his, and he was struck anew by his mother's beauty; could there be ladies in Rohan to rival this?  "The blood of Eorl the Young flows in your veins, commingled with the line of the Stewards of the White Tower.  Your ancestry is noble and honorable, whether on your Lord Father's side, or upon mine.  Until now you have been but a son of Gondor; that is only half of your legacy."  She smiled then, her eyes shining.  "Take you up this honor, my firstborn; succor mine own people, and give to them a hope and a future, for this is the debt of your blood, and the will of the royal house of Rohan."  She released him then and sat back, and Fastred, feeling as though his head had been turned in on itself, could say nothing.  In fact he remained silent throughout the rest of the meal, ignoring his sister's pleading looks, and his parents' quiet talk, eating little; when at last he was excused from table he went not to the dock below the kitchens, where waited Halgond his friend with the boat, but to his rooms, where he lay on his cot for some time, his face buried in his arms.

He could not send Théodred to Rohan; his mother and father would not relent; he himself would be sent.  He would leave his beloved chambers, with his toys and scrolls and books, and the wolf-skin rug by the fire that Lord Lassah had given him; he would leave Halgond and Hísimë and Théodred and his mother and father; he would leave Osgiliath and its high walls from which he would look to the west, and see the tower of Ecthelion shining against Mindolluin, or to the east and see the gold-tipped tower of Dol Galenehtar piercing a living canopy of green; he would leave his tutor, and the servants, and the man who sold bread from his cart in the early morning who made such splendid sticky-rolls; he would leave the high pines where he and Halgond would climb, and the low hills east of the river where he and his friends would play, and the armory, and the olive groves and vineyards and wheat fields.  He held back his tears, reminding himself that sons of princes did not cry, and consoled himself by saying:  "Well at least I shall not have to leave my Karakse."  Karakse was his gelding, given him by Lord Lassah four years before; he was next to Halgond Fastred's best and closest companion, for like Halgond he was loyal and possessed of good temperament and bravery (and slightly oversized); however unlike Halgond he had no especial lineage save he was a half-blood horse of Dale; Halgond was the second son of Hallas of Lossarnach and failed not in reminding all and sundry of this; at least Karakse comported himself in all humility.

Upon considering Karakse Fastred paused; the poor beast was unlike the horses of Rohan, which were small and swift; Karakse though a brave and powerful beast was large as his sire, and though quicker than most of the Dale beasts as befit his dam did not resemble his uncle's stock in the slightest.  He had long powerful legs, streaked with muscle, and hooves obscured by rich silky feathering, and his face was hooked not dished; he was placid in temperament and tireless, but fully twice the size of his mother's horse, which was of the royal stables of Meduseld.  He thought of a group of pale-haired Rohan boys circling his Karakse and laughing in their strange tongue at him, and his heart hardened.  He might be resigned to going to Rohan but he would not let the Rohirrim laugh at his horse!  He would rather leave Karakse in Ithilien than to subject him to such treatment.

But what would he do with his steed?  He could not leave him in Osgiliath; who would ride him?  Halgond had his own horse, a sturdy cow-hocked roan, and his aunt would have no room in her stables for another.  Also Karakse due to his great size ate at least twice as much as Halgond's Speckle; Fastred was coming of an age to understand that though his friend's line was noble that in no way meant he had as much money as Fastred did, and he rather suspected Halgond's aunt could no more feed Karakse than an additional herd of sheep.  Fastred sighed.  He would have to send poor Karakse back to Lord Lassah; at least he knew Tyarmayél the stable-mistress would care well for him.  Lord Lassah would be disappointed, but –

Fastred sat up so abruptly his head spun.  His heart clenched within him and he began to feel both excited and afraid.  Dol Galenehtar!  He had solved his problem.  He would not have to go to Rohan.  He would not have to leave Ithilien.  He would not have to leave his friends and family.  He would not have to abandon Karakse.  And he would not have to leave Lord Lassah!  It was so simple!  Why had he not arrived at this solution before?  Lord Lassah loved him; that he well knew.  Lord Lassah opened his doors to all travelers and wanderers; Fastred knew that, too.  Lord Lassah was only a half-day's ride away … by that time, Fastred knew that fact very well.  Since infancy had Fastred gone to visit Lord Legolas of Dol Galenehtar, called by Fastred, Hísimë and Théodred "Lord Lassah" (though their Lady Mother tried with increasing frustration to make them call him by his proper name); in Lord Lassah's towers were many rooms, filled with marvelous things – large curved fireplaces with white marble mantles; huge gilt-framed mirrors bezelled about the edges that threw rainbows about the walls; shelves filled with books and scrolls and maps; and outside the towers were gardens with hidden fountains and herbs and peacocks; stables smelling of sweet hay and horses; kennels with dogs that snuffed at one's trousers and thrust wet noses in one's hands; hills green in summer to roll down, till one was covered in grass-stains, and white in winter to sled down, till one was covered in snow; and trees – trees by the thousands, hoary oaks, slim lindens, bristling firs, stalwart pines, standing about streams and waterfalls and rock outcroppings that hid badgers and rabbits and, on the rare and exciting occasion, skunks.  And Elves!  Dol Galenehtar was full of them – merry-voiced, bright-eyed, quick-tongued, beautiful Elves, and Lord Lassah their Master, who called him either "Lord Fastred" or "Little One," and took him as seriously as he took the mortal adults of his acquaintance – thus, not at all  -- yet sparred with him in the armory, or helped him win snowball-fights, or rode with him into the woods and taught him the names of the trees and shrubs, or how to imitate bird calls, or took him down to the kitchens to find something good to eat at hours when most little boys ought to have been asleep in bed.  Some of Fastred's happiest moments were at Dol Galenehtar, particularly when he was not constrained to share Lord Lassah with Hísimë (who wanted to brush his hair) or Théodred (who wanted to play hide-and-seek) – when it was simply Lassah and Fastred, sipping honeysuckle, skipping stones, sharpening hunting-knives, practicing marksmanship upon the wide green lawn to the east of the Great Tower, lying in his cot listening to Lassah read to him old tales of war and bravery and errantry, or – best still – being allowed to sleep in Lassah's own bed, wrapped in the soft fragrant sheets and watching beneath heavy lids the Elf's slim tall form upon the balcony, shining hair twining in the shifting breeze, lifting his hands to the stars as he would sing Fastred to sleep.

Fastred lay back down on his bed and began to think about what he should bring with him.  He only hoped he could slip away with no one noticing.