Andunië led them due north across the fields of Rohan, disdaining the road which would have made their passage easier. When Brytta complained she answered: "Éomer's messengers and the men responding to the muster will use the road. We must not risk discovery." He had grumbled a bit but consented, and rode the rest of the night and the following morning behind her, his eyes fixed angrily upon her slim back. She ignored him, occasionally lifting her face to the sky, sampling the wind, her eyes roving about 'til they caught sight of some high-flying raptor above them, pressing ever northward.

Fastred sat upon Karakse, exhausted by grief and broken sleep. His head felt like wool and his eyes burned; he was glad Karakse was used to following Ronyo, for he did not feel as though he were capable of ordering his horse to do anything else and was content to simply ride, feeling the creak and squeak of the saddle beneath him, the cut of the reins in his hands, and Bandobras' small arms round his waist. None of them spoke; Brytta was cowed and angered by Fastred's authority and Andunië's indifference; Gimli, Bandobras, and Fastred were too sad, and Andunië never spoke if she had no need to.

She let them rest in a shadowed glen by a small winding stream surrounded by willows. The sun was just setting, and Bandobras had rather derisively asked her if she planned to run them to death too; she had turned, looking back at the Hobbit over her shoulder, and swept her eyes across the group. "Gimli," she had said, "should we stop?"

"Well," he'd gruffly replied, "if you do not want me falling off Ronyo's back, and dragging you with me, it would likely be a good idea." So they had tethered the horses by the stream, eaten a little, and rolled up in their blankets to sleep. At first Brytta had sat apart from them, breaking off pieces of his cheese and watching them from beneath his heavy brows; then Bandobras had offered him a bowl of beans, and Brytta in surprise had taken it and said: "Do you mean – to feed me too?"

"Of course," snapped the Halfling. "Don't be daft. You look like you've been on short rations for about a year, and you're about ready to drop. And pass round that cheese, will you? If we don't eat it up it'll get all hard." Brytta had complied, looking bewildered, but ate with them, and lay down to rest, muttering to them he would take second watch. However when they woke at midnight with Andunië still standing grim and silent over them, Brytta was offended, and said:

"And do you think so little of me, O Pretty Maid, that you take the load of watching upon yourself? Do you not think me capable of standing guard?"

Andunië fixed him then with her cold green stare and answered, "Weariness renders capability unsound. Prove to me you are strong enough to take this journey, and I shall wake you with the rest. Until that time, I shall take the watch, for I do not have need of much sleep as you mortals do." She turned away from them glaring, and Brytta bit his lip and growled; Fastred, caught between pity and anger, said to him,

"Be not so affronted; she woke none of us; to her mind we are all equally weak."

Brytta glowered down at him, and walked off muttering under his breath. Fastred sighed, and turned to Bandobras and said: "I suppose it is a good thing he is so aggravating; it takes our minds off our business anyway."

"That's one way to look at it," agreed Bandobras sadly. "Here; put out the fire, will you? And I'll pack up the doings. Andunië's got the look of her that she'll leave us behind if we don't hoof it."

They saddled up and continued, riding through the night and on into the next day. Their steeds were as fresh as they had been from the stables, and cantered along good-naturedly, seemingly unaffected by the weight of their riders, and willing to please, and Fastred saw that on occasion Brytta, when he thought no one was looking, would stroke Taruku's neck and murmur approvingly to him. He had to smile at this, for he knew Brytta disdained all things foreign; however the big cast-eyed beast seemed also to have taken a liking to the man of Rohan and bore him happily, even nuzzling into the man's beard when they stopped to rest, and Brytta would caress his muzzle, and smile.

Fastred's thoughts were disordered, and ran round in circles, touching upon his sorrow at Legolas' demise, and anger to Bréawine, and fear over what they would find at Fangorn. Yet being an observant boy he kept his eye upon his companions, and after two days of hard riding discovered several things about them. Gimli, he saw, was grimmer than ever, scowling and snapping so that none wished to speak with him; Bandobras, of habit so talkative, became quiet, and coaxing of him speech was wearisome. Andunië had changed not one whit, maintaining her aloofness and cold insensibility; and Brytta, whom he had decided to dislike, showed himself to be cautious, bad-tempered, unmanned, and bewildered. The man listened to them speak but rarely answered; he ate with them and thanked them but did not join with them; he rode with them but held himself apart. Yet Fastred could see that they were being observed and closely, himself and Andunië most of all, and he wondered at that; he was so used to himself, and to Elves, that he did not see that they were any more strange than Hobbits or Dwarves, and had expected Gimli and Bandobras to be the bigger mystery to the man. And though Brytta continually called Fastred Prince, and Andunië Pretty Maid, those titles seemed to be spoken as insults, and managed to grate upon the boy more than any rude appellation might; Andunië, of course, did not seem to care what Brytta called her, so long as he did as she bid, though unwillingly.

Fastred watched Brytta closely the second afternoon as he sat upon a hillside looking north to the dark stretch of the horizon; his face as usual scowled, but his eyes were confused, and bore within a hurt that Fastred could not understand, as though some secret part of him had broken. But as he sat and observed the man, he heard a high shrill whistle above them, and looked up. A speckled falcon hovered there, looking down at them, and then Andunië rose from where she had been sitting upon a rock, and wrapping her arm in a blanket held up her hand to it. The tiercel stooped and landed upon her arm, and she gave unto it a small piece of bacon, and stroked its back. She seemed to be speaking to it, or singing to it, though the breeze carried her words away; then she cast the falcon, and it spiraled upward, giving again its piercing cry, and Andunië stood and watched it ascend. Brytta shook his head, and turned to Fastred, his eyes baffled.

"How does she do it?" he asked; he sounded almost angry. "I have falconed before, and am passing good at it, but no wild bird has ever come simply because I called!"

"She is an Elf," said Fastred. Inured as he was to Elvish habit he could not explain himself; to him it should have seemed stranger had Andunië not been able to do it. He too watched Andunië; she had unwrapped her arm, and stood quietly in the little dell with the blanket trailing from her fingers; two swallowtails danced airily about her skirts, and she gazed after them, her eyes calm and sober. "She can make any beast to do anything she desires. It is why she is – was – Lord Legolas' huntsmistress." The pang seized his heart again, as it ever did when he was reminded Lassah was dead, and he sighed, and dashed his tears away with his knuckles. With Lassah gone from Dol Galenehtar, he did not think Andunië would stay in Ithilien; she had seemed so indifferent to it, and Fastred thought perhaps that had Meivel not come to be Lassah's Chief of Militia, Andunië would have been perfectly content beneath the eaves of the forest that had borne her. "I suppose she shall go back to Eryn Lasgalen now, and run King Thranduil's kennels, as she used."

Brytta did not reply, and the two of them watched as the butterflies in their errant dance wound their way to her face; one of the swallowtails lighted upon her hair, pulsing its wings, and the other hovered over her lips. She opened her mouth, and breathed out slowly; the swallowtails flickered, then went aloft as had the falcon, circling crazily overhead until they too flew out of sight. After a few moments Bandobras came over from where he had been tending the fire, wiping his hands on his breeches.

"Beans're ready," he said shortly, and giving Andunië a cursory glance went back to the camp. Fastred got up, brushing himself off, and noting his tunic was rather dirty. As Andunië approached he remembered what the Hobbit had said in the stables of him, and how he had descried his presence. "Andunië," he said worriedly, "do I really smell that bad?"

Andunië graced him with a cold flicker from her eyes as she passed. "All you mortals smell the same to me," she said, and went to join Gimli at the fire.

They sat together, and ate up the rest of Brytta's cheese, and more beans; Fastred wondered wearily what they would eat when the beans had run out, and reflected that anything would be an improvement. After they had finished Andunië turned to Brytta, who as always sat a little apart from them, and said, "Come here."

Brytta looked at her through lowered brows, eyes flashing with indignation; but still he rose, and approaching them sat by her side, though he did not look at her.

"How close are we to Bréawine's outer patrols?" she asked him, turning her face to the north.

Brytta followed her gaze, his face softening; Fastred wondered if her asking his aid had eased the ignominy of her orders. The man considered her question a moment, then said: "Ere my rescue I should have said half a day. But he shall be wary now, and perchance send the scouts out the farther, so it would behoove us to go carefully from here."

"Will we lose time if we cut west, and hug the forest's shadows?" Andunië asked. "For I have heard it said he fears the ghosts that dwell therein."

"We will lose time," admitted Brytta, "but the safety the boughs of Fangorn provide will give ample compensation." He looked at Fastred, Gimli, and Bandobras then, and said harshly: "That is, if none of you fears the ghosts of Fangorn."

Bandobras flushed, and Gimli said, teeth gritted and eyes flashing: "For myself, Man of Rohan, I have been through Dunharrow where I knew ghosts walked, and through love of my friends will do so again."

"Besides which," Bandobras added angrily, "I'd go through the gates of Mordor to get to my Master, and don't you forget it!"

Fastred said nothing. He was still terribly afraid of ghosts, and the thought of willingly traveling beneath the eaves of Fangorn gave him an awful chill. But then he thought about Lassah's body lying broken upon the ground, picked at by crows, and steeled himself. The Lord of Dol Galenehtar deserved a funeral better than that.

"And what of the boy?" Brytta asked, his sneering voice intruding upon his thoughts. "What of Fastred Prince? Has he within himself the tenacity to face the Dead?" And he looked at Fastred, his eyes challenging; however it was Andunië who answered, cool and disinterested as ever.

"Fastred is brave. He has killed two men already, and has but achieved thirteen summers."

Fastred threw her a grateful look, but Brytta looked suspicious. "Killed two men, and on his own?" he asked disbelievingly. "What; did no Elf help him to slay his enemies?"

"No, he did it himself, and I saw it with my own two eyes," retorted Bandobras sullenly. "So give over, and quit pestering him."

Fastred realized Brytta was testing him, and disdained the Elves and their works; but because he was honest he said: "But I would not have done so well, had Himbaláth not taught me as he did."

"Yes; Himbaláth told me you were one of his best pupils," said Andunië, setting her plate aside. Fastred felt his heart swell; it was as close as he would ever get to having a compliment of Andunië, getting one by proxy.

"Did he really?" he asked, pleased. "When did he tell you that?"

"After we left the stables, as I was scouting ahead to see if the way through Edoras was clear," she answered, wiping her hands upon a rag. The others gazed at her in amazement, and she added as though they did not stare: "He did inquire of me which companions I chose, and when I told him Fastred came with me he approved, saying the boy would be brave and steady."

Bandobras was gaping at Andunië. "You mean, Himbaláth saw you leave, and he didn’t stop you?" he demanded, astonished. "Why on earth would he let you go, when Meivel had ordered everyone to stay in Edoras?"

Andunië gave him a cold look, and rose to her feet. "Himbaláth denies me nothing," she said shortly, and swept away from them, her riding-skirt swishing in the grass. Bandobras stared after her a moment, then looked at Gimli, his eyes wide.

"Himbaláth's sweet on Andunië?" he muttered. "Didn't see that one coming … the poor mutt."

"Wait," said Brytta, his eyes clouding over. "Which one is Himbaláth?" But Gimli only gave him an odd look and did not reply.

Fastred, for himself, did not know what to think; he was surprised at Himbaláth, and felt sorry for him, for he was certain Andunië would never return his affections; however it had explained quite a good bit, and he was wondering why he had not seen it before. "And why Andunië?" he thought, wrapping himself up in his blanket to sleep. "Why her? Why not someone who is easier to get along with, like Dúrfinwen?" And with his heart torn by death and affectionate disappointment, he fell asleep.

The next day they bore west, and Andunië left them so she could scout ahead. Brytta had of course argued with her, saying that as he knew the lay of the land better he ought to go in her stead; Andunië's temper had snapped, and she with white face and flashing eye had delivered unto him blistering vituperation, touching upon all points on which the man offended her, and covering all his provoking aspects, from his broken teeth to his filthy clothes. Brytta had gone scarlet, big hands fisted by his side, but did not reply; and when Andunië had exhausted her inventory of invective she whirled away from him, her red hair swirling round her shoulders, her green eyes flashing. Fastred, Gimli, and Bandobras had said nothing during her diatribe; the Hobbit and the Dwarf, no doubt, believed Brytta deserved every insult that could be thrown at him, and Fastred, having been the receptacle of Andunië's nature in the past, had no desire to focus her attention upon himself. And as she rode off, leaving them in a small stream-girt dingle surrounded by cypress and willow, Brytta stood and watched her, breathing hard, his eyes burning.

They stood together to await her but spoke not; it was awkward, after Andunië's outburst, and Bandobras and Gimli were wrapped in their own dark thoughts. Fastred felt a little sorry for Brytta, for he knew the heavy and sullen resentment engendered by such a harangue, and stood by his side, though he knew not what, if anything, he ought to say. Then he heard the call of a raptor, and looked up; he was not certain, but he thought it was a goshawk, hovering whitely on its trembling wings. Then it stooped, and vanished into the grasses ahead of him; he watched wondering if it would reappear bearing a hare or mouse, but when it returned to its flight its talons were empty. "Missed," he thought, disappointed, and thinking longingly of his goshawk in Dol Galenehtar. "Do you miss our goshawk, Karakse?" he asked his gelding absently, speaking to the horse aloud out of habit. "I do. And do you know, I never named him, which is a pity, for he was a good bird."

"You falcon?" asked Brytta, and Fastred blushed; he had forgotten the others were nearby. He turned to the man expecting censure but upon Brytta's face was a look of tentative approbation.

"I do," said Fastred. "Andunië taught me." At this Brytta's face changed; it became scornful, and he said:

"The Elves taught you this, and the Elves taught you that! And I am sure your Lord Father taught you to read and do sums, and your tutors the history of Gondor." His voice was heavy with loathing, and Fastred flinched beneath his angry stare. "I know not why Éomer chose you as heir; you are half-breed it is true, but it is of Elf and Gondor, not Rohan at all. How does this Elvish learning fit you to be king of the Mark? You, O Fastred Prince, have learned naught of your mother's folk!"

"I did," retorted Fastred, stung. "I learned to ride, and to live in a foreign land amongst foreign peoples, and most of all I learned to hold my tongue when I knew not what to say – something you have yet to learn, I deem," he added scathingly, remembering that Brytta had lost his demesne through reckless language.

Brytta flushed, and from behind them Bandobras gave a grim chuckle. "You've also picked up your mum's sharp tongue," the Hobbit said. "That's not something either your dad or my Master would've taught you."

Fastred turned to the Halfling, biting his lip. "You think I am a little like unto my Lady Mother?" he asked in surprise; most of the time folk compared him to his Lord Father. Bandobras laughed then, though Fastred noticed his brown eyes were still sad.

"You are indeed," said Bandobras. "Why, can you imagine Lord Faramir running away from home, or defying his sovereign's orders, or telling off a rude person? No; you're your mum's son, despite your tutors and my Master's influence, and I tell you, my Master loved you the more for that, for your mum is – was – one of his favoritest people – thought quite highly of her, he did – used to tell me she was like a sister to him, and your dad a brother. And though you favor your dad, you do seem a bit like your mum – especially round the mouth; sometimes I see her looking back at me, when you laugh or smile. Most folks say you look like your dad, but I dunno … I see a goodly bit of Éowyn of Rohan in you, Fastred; more than you think. So you, Brytta," said Bandobras to the man, rounding upon him with hands on his fists, "you lay off of him, hear me? This here's the Shieldmaiden's boy, and though you might've missed it, being dispossessed and all, and your own stupid fault too from what I hear, he was sworn as your future king in a big fancy ceremony, and if you don't lay off you'll find yourself in a mort o' hot water. So you take your big, ugly mug out of the business of your betters, and keep that nasty mouth of yours shut."

Brytta said nothing; upon his face was a look of anger and mortification. Then he let drop Taruku's reins, and stalked away from them, past Gimli where he sat bowed in grief beneath a willow, and down the bank to the stream below them. Fastred and Bandobras watched his pale untidy head descend until the fold of the earth obscured it; Bandobras stood with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes glittering with tears but his mouth set in a thin grim line. "Thank you, Bandobras," said Fastred. He had known Lassah had loved his parents, but had not known the extent to which the Elf's love had gone, nor the depth of the affection therein; he was at once warmed and pierced to the heart to know his Lassah would never again foregather with those he had counted kin. Bandobras took a deep shuddery breath, and looked up at the boy, blinking back his tears.

"Don't go letting him get your knickers in a twist," he said shakily. "He's not worth it." Then he too marched off, clearing his throat and dabbing quickly at his eyes, and Fastred was left standing with the horses, feeling as though his heart had gone through a laundry-wringer.

He stood for a while looking out at the shadowy line of Fangorn's edge, shuddering and wondering if the ghosts were there watching them; it made his back crinkle uncomfortably, and he shivered. He could not see Andunië, and he wondered where she had got to; he hoped she had not run across any of Bréawine's patrols, for Elf though she might be she was alone, and unarmed save for her bow and knife. He let his thoughts linger upon Lassah for a moment, as a poor man lovingly fondles his one gold piece; his memories were bittersweet, and though he mourned there were no regrets, for he and Lassah had loved each other to the end. He cried for a few minutes, feeling secure in the presence of the horses, and then when he was done wiped at his face. His fingers cringed back from the bits of dirt he could feel, and when he looked down at his hands saw they were very soiled. He brushed his hands over his tunic, dislodging clots of dirt and mud and sticking on twigs and brambles, and with a sigh dug out a scrap of blanket and cake of lye soap from Karakse's saddle bag, and headed down to the stream.

Brytta was there, kneeling at a small pool that had formed in the roots of a willow. The man's back was to Fastred, and his great shoulders slumped, and Fastred could see how loosely his clothes fit him, and how torn and dirty they were. He wondered how long Brytta had been wandering about in the north of Rohan, and how he had kept himself, who had once been a landowner with a comfortable tithe. He resented the man's presence, for he was going to wash in the pool, but decided that to allow someone's proximity to prevent him from doing what he wanted was foolish – it was not, after all, like Brytta could truly harm him. So Fastred walked down the slope to the pool. Brytta did not turn as he approached, but sat still, staring into the water; Fastred when he saw the man's face felt his heart turn over, for Brytta no longer looked to him like the brash and unkind man he had known, but the eyes were haunted and empty. Wondering what Brytta watched in the brown water Fastred came up and said with forced lightness:

"What are you looking at, Brytta? Trout? Graylings?" He leant over, and saw the clear surface of the water reflecting back the tops of the trees, and the sky. Brytta did not respond for a moment, and when he did, his voice was low and rough.

"I was counted a handsome man once," he said. "You would not believe it, Fastred Prince, but as a youth I had three high-born maids vying for my attentions." Fastred said nothing, wondering why Brytta had said such a thing, and to him especially; it was the first time Brytta had used the name Fastred Prince in such a way that it did not sound like an insult. "And now look at me," Brytta continued with a snarl, dashing his hand across the surface of the water. "I have naught – I am broken and withered, and landless, and have lost everything – my position and title, my honor and pride. I do not even own a horse."

Fastred hesitated, biting his lip. He reflected that for a man as proud as Brytta that admission was humbling, and to his surprise he did not feel smug, as he thought perhaps he ought, but pity instead, for the dejected and dispirited knight at his feet. "It would be awful, to have everything taken away from you," he thought, kneeling in the mud beside the man, and watching the water clear and still. "To know you once had beauty and possessions and honor, and have squandered them; to be left homeless and friendless." His heart turned over, and he put the cloth in the water to wet it.

"Éomer King did tell me he believed your words," said Fastred, wetting the soap and working the cloth into a lather. "By your deeds you have proved yourself faithful to the throne, and when Bréawine is defeated you shall be rewarded."

He began to wash his hands and head, very aware of the man's silent presence by his side. He splashed water on himself to wash off the soap, and looked blinking back up at Brytta, who was regarding him cautiously. "You are not completely without," added Fastred, shaking the water out of his dark hair. "When we return to Meduseld, I will see to it you are ceded something."

Brytta was silent a moment more, and Fastred could see the pain in his eyes. "What I want I shall never have," he said at last, and looked back down into the water. His hand went to his hair, the stained and knobby fingers touching the tangled mess, and then he cautiously touched his nose, which had in the past been broken, and was pushed against his face, like a bull-dog's. "I was handsome once," he whispered, almost to himself.

Fastred did not know what to say, so he did not say anything. He realized that between Andunië's cruel words and the Hobbit's flat avowals of Brytta's appearance the man's spirit had sagged; he thought also of what Bandobras had said, that Fastred resembled both his noble parents, and knowing their physical beauty was well-known apprehended with a little shock that perhaps he also was handsome. He sat, the soapy rag in his hands, and stared up at the man who knelt so dejectedly beside him. Brytta seemed to have forgotten his presence, staring down into the clouded water, as though he could see in his reflection an echo of that young, proud knight who had followed Théoden in battle. Fastred shook himself, trying desperately to find something to say, to break Brytta of this dark mood. He thought of his old nurse, and how at the end of a day upon the river she would take Fastred over the wash-basin and scrub at his ears, saying: "What, such a pretty boy, and we cannot see him through this filth!" He rinsed out the rag, and put the cloth and soap into Brytta's hands.

"Any face, handsome or plain, looks better when it is clean," he said. "At least that is what my nurse would ever say to me, and to my brother and sister. In truth I cannot tell what you look like, Brytta, for you are so dirty your features are obscured. Wash therefore, and I shall get me a comb to get the sticks and brambles from your hair. Perhaps if you straighten yourself up a bit you shall feel better, for truly you are quite soiled."

Brytta stared at him a moment, then the corner of his mouth quirked. "Very well," he said shortly. "I shall do this to please you then, O Fastred Prince; though bear in mind the Pretty Maid thinks we all smell equally foul to her."

"Well I can do naught about that," said Fastred rising and brushing off his knees, and grateful that when Brytta had said Pretty Maid he no longer sounded angry. "I would bathe myself whole, but I do not know when Andunië is coming back, and I would not be caught naked by her for the world."

Brytta laughed then, though it sounded creaky like an unused door being suddenly and unexpectedly opened. "Yes, that is so," he said, his face thoughtful, running the soap in his dirty, twisted hands. "Reticence is perhaps prudent, where the Pretty Maid is concerned – though as I have said before, O Fastred Prince, once I was counted a handsome man – think on that, and upon chances wasted, as you go to fetch a comb for me!" He smiled then, looking up at the boy through his bushy brows, and Fastred, wondering what he had meant, smiled back. "Bream," said Brytta then, and began to wash his hands.

Fastred paused, puzzled. "I beg your pardon?" he said, confused.

"Bream, not trout," said Brytta, rubbing the lather over his face. "I saw bream in the pool here." He splashed water up onto his face, and Fastred could see the man's skin was tanned and leathery beneath the dirt. "There were trout in the pond near my demesne when I was younger – speckled, and fat and sweet."

Fastred smiled to think of Brytta with a fishing-pole, and wished he had brought his own – bream would have been a welcome change from beans and bacon. "You will have to show me, someday," he said, deciding being friendly to Brytta was easier than hating him; and went back up the slope to his saddlebags to get a comb.

When Andunië returned she did not comment on Brytta's and Fastred's clean faces and hands, nor on Brytta's neat braids of silver and gold down his back, but only raised her eyebrows at them, and then ignored their efforts at toiletry. "The patrols have retreated," she said to them all, as they gathered round her and Ronyo. "I believe they have gone for the night, as they fear to linger beneath the eaves of Fangorn after the sun sets, in deference to the Dead. That is good for us, for we may cut through the stand of trees there – " she pointed north-west " – and so gain the last known resting-place of my lord." She looked at Brytta. "Do you think you can lead us to the place where you left him?"

Brytta stepped up to the edge of the dingle, and looked out over the fields. "Yes," he said thoughtfully, narrowing his gray eyes and frowning. "The forest edge runs crookedly down and north, and there behind it lies the clearing that opened to the canyon, upon the crest of which Bréawine's keep is perched. The Green Knight took me up out of the oubliette and down the canyon past the deep crevasse, and we rode through to one of the clearings to the east of the crevasse. So if we follow the line of forest up that steep slope, where the rocks are, and skirt the northern face of the crevasse, we will find him."

"Won't that get us awful close to Bréawine though?" asked Bandobras worriedly. Brytta shrugged.

"Bréawine, or the ghosts," he said carelessly. "What matters that? As for ghosts perchance your Master dwells amongst them now, and that being the case we might find the Dead in fine fettle, for a merrier man I never met." They stared at him in amazement, for ever he had expressed naught but disdain for Legolas; however Brytta did not mark their looks but continued: "If they left him where he fell he shall be in the clearing by the north-east face of the crevasse, by the field of dene-holes. But between beast and air I do not think me we shall find much of him or his servant to bring back. I only hope Bréawine did not despoil his body overmuch, for I should like to bring aught back as heirlooms for his house."

"It has been six days since he fell," said Andunië with a pensive frown. "Chances are what is left will be quite odious. If Gimli and Bandobras do not object, I think we ought to burn the remains, and bring them back that way; it shall be lighter, with the mortified flesh consumed, and there shall be less chance to spread pestilence, and shall not smell so bad."

Fastred gulped; he had not thought of that, and had entertained visions in his mind of finding Lassah's body, laid out serenely upon the forest floor, hands crossed upon his breast, and covered with flower-petals. But obviously Andunië was right; Fastred knew well enough that a dead fish or squirrel after a day or so began to bloat and then to rot, though it seemed monstrous to him that such ignominy should be visited upon his beloved Lassah. Bandobras and Gimli looked at her, Bandobras' brown eyes wide, Gimli's shadowed and dull. "Whatever you say," mumbled Gimli, and Bandobras gave a cut nod.

"Very well," said Andunië calmly. "Let us go then. It shall be nightfall in a few hours." She helped Gimli up onto Ronyo's back, and ere she mounted turned to Fastred and Brytta. "You still smell," she said calmly. "But you look better. You especially, Brytta." Then she leapt lightly upon her palfrey's back and led them from the dingle. Fastred, as he aided Bandobras upon the saddle sheets, looked at Brytta then; upon the man's face was a look of gratified astonishment.

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They followed Brytta across the last fields, rising in elevation and clustered with rocks and boulders, their steeds scrambling up slopes and struggling through dried stream beds, until they gained the edges of the forest. The trees were great and dark, looming over them like monstrous old trolls, hanging with dead branches and leaves and lichens, twisted and grotesque. Fastred was very frightened, but swallowed heavily and repeated over and over to himself: "It is only a forest. These are only trees. There is naught to fear. I am the Prince of Rohan, the Prince of Ithilien. I do not fear trees." But he could not help but to look this way and that, the corners of his eyes teasing him with movement in the darkness; he was sure he could descry here and there a face peering out at him, or the soft sounds of ghostly voices. And though he knew the trees could not harm him still they brooded down upon him, hating him and his kind; he could feel their resentment and wrath, even as he felt the tickling creeping feel of the Dead's fingers upon his spine. Gimli did not seem to mark how the forest menaced them, sitting upon Ronyo with his face grim and sad, and Brytta also did not seem to mind the wood, or the possible presence of ghosts. But Fastred could feel Bandobras' small arms tremble as they passed beneath the eaves of the forest, and that made him feel a little better, to know he did not fear alone.

Brytta led them down into a rocky dell, shadowed over with trees upon either side, and then up into a thicker part of the wood. The trees were close about them and pressing upon them, but to Fastred it seemed that there was ever a pathway open for them; though brakes and thorny hedges were all about them, and roots and knees and trunks tumbled all around them, Brytta pressed confidently forward, and the wood did not impede them. Fastred admired the man's courage, but resented him too, wishing he as Brytta could cast a disdainful eye upon the terrors about them.

At last they came to a deep depression, choked with undergrowth and fallen limbs, and Brytta paused. "It was near here," he said, looking round the shadowy wood with a frown. "To the north I believe. It is hard to say as it is so dark; I wish I could see more, for I do not want to lose my way."

"We will stop here then," said Andunië, dismounting. "The horses are tired, and we ought to rest."

Fastred's heart froze. "You – you want us to rest in the forest?" he said, cursing his voice for wobbling; both Brytta and Andunië turned to him then, and Brytta gave him a crooked smile.

"Fear not, Fastred Prince!" he said, his voice almost friendly. "I have spent nights beneath Fangorn's arms, and have seen naught to fear – nor Ent nor ghost nor other deadly thing. I do not believe the tales they tell of ghosts; I have never seen them here."

"And the woods hate us not," said Andunië. "They know me, and suffer our presence – not willingly perhaps, but I do not believe any harm shall come to us here, so long as we do not build a fire, or do any other thing to threaten them."

"Shouldn't we press on though?" asked Bandobras from behind Fastred; the boy was relieved to hear the Hobbit sounded as frightened as he. "I don't see why we have to stay here – can't we find a clearing or something? And I don't want to lose any more time; it's been almost a week already."

"We are almost there, holbytla," said Brytta evenly; their fear it seemed had encouraged him, and he regarded them now with equanimity and not umbrage. "In the morning I shall better see my way, and I believe we are quite close."

Gimli was silent, and without a word to anyone he wrapped himself up in his blanket and settled down against the bole of a tree. Brytta too spread out his pallet and lay down, arms behind his head, staring up at the branches above him, and Fastred and Bandobras reluctantly dismounted, and huddled together beneath a large hoary elm. "I am not liking this," the Hobbit muttered under his breath, looking round him. "I am not liking this at all."

"Peace," said Andunië carelessly, as she saw to the horses. "Rest all of you; we have nearly achieved our goal, and to sleep beneath the ancient limbs of this wood is but a small price to pay to gain our ends."

"Easy for you to say," grumbled Bandobras. "You're a Wood-Elf." And he rolled over, his back to Fastred, and lay still.

Fastred sat up and watched Andunië for a while; she had about her the milky white glow he had grown accustomed to, and her face, so severe in the harsh light of day, here in the dark was serene and lovely. Her hair fell in shimmering curtains round her cheeks and shoulders, and her eyes reflected back the dim starlight; she stood slender and graceful by the horses' sides, bearing her humble leather tunic and riding-skirt like royal robes, and her pale smooth skin was as alabaster, her throat slim and white, her mouth sweet-lipped. She was humming a little under her breath, working out bits of twig and leaf from the horses' manes, and they nuzzled at her, or lipped at her hair, loose and silky about her shoulders. Fastred thought then that perhaps Himbaláth was not so foolish as he had first thought, and with a sigh looked at his other companions. Gimli was sitting with his head sunk between his knees; Fastred could not tell if he slept, or mourned; either way his heart ached for the Dwarf, for he knew Lassah had been very dear to him, dearer even than his own kin, and that Lassah had loved him deeply. Bandobras despite his fear had dropped into slumber almost immediately, and Fastred could hear him snoring lightly under his breath, his side rising and falling evenly. And Brytta –

Fastred started. Brytta had risen to his feet and approached Andunië; upon his lined and weather-worn face was a look of cautious approbation, and in his eyes Fastred could see reluctant awe. The Elf watched him calmly as he drew near, her eyes unreadable, never ceasing her work upon Taruku's mane; despite his height and great girth she seemed to Fastred to be the stronger – born of the earth and sky, like a slim hard tree in autumn, crowned with bright leaves and twinkling stars; Brytta was the suppliant, wounded and faltering and unsure. As Fastred watched Brytta lay his great gnarled hands upon Taruku's back, and Andunië across from him spoke to him in a soft voice so that Fastred could not perceive her words, but what she said must not have been the cutting comment Fastred was accustomed to, for Brytta's face softened, and he replied, his voice naught but a faint whisper.

Suddenly Fastred felt very uneasy, and a little embarrassed, as though he had caught a manservant and maidservant in the midst of a hectic embrace in a dark corner somewhere; face burning he rolled quietly to his feet, and slipped into the wood away from them, unwilling to watch any longer. He felt angry, and sad too, and very uncomfortable, and the trees despite their promise of terror held for him less disquiet than the tableau he had just witnessed. He walked a little away, trying to be silent, and when he had found a little clearing he sat down upon the mossy ground, his head in his hands. He was very confused; he thought he ought to hate and resent Brytta, but could not; he thought he ought to be bowed with grief as was Gimli, but still stirring within his breast were fears and hopes quite present, pushing aside his sadness; he thought he should see Andunië as any mortal views an Elf, but pressed upon the backs of his eyelids was the vision of her in the Hall of Meduseld, clad in pale green, clasped about the waist by his Lord Lassah as he swung her in the Bariz-Sigin, their hair flying and twining together, red and gold like the leaves of the pear tree in autumn. He did not love Andunië, for to his mind she was quite unlovable; but still he felt a hot resentment in him as he thought of Brytta's calling her Pretty Maid, and he felt very sorry for Himbaláth. He sighed, and rubbed his eyes, wondering when it would be safe to return to their camp.

When he opened his eyes he saw a flicker of white out of the corner, and he started, his heart pounding, and all his worry receded in the surge of fear. Yes – there it was – the briefest flash of light, muted and glinting like moonlight on water – Fastred leapt to his feet, fumbling for his sword, and withdrew it with a steely hiss, turning round in a circle, his eyes wide. His breath started to come in short puffs, and his chest was tight; there was a high-pitched humming in his head. Then he very clearly saw, peering from round the bole of a tree some twenty feet ahead of him, two glinting pale eyes, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Then the eyes were gone, but he could see – something – white, gray, pearly, pale, glowing – shimmering to his right – but no sound – no sound at all.

"I am a prince," Fastred repeated to himself. "I am not afraid." But it was a lie and he well knew it; he was horribly afraid. His hands went clammy, and he began to tremble. He wanted to call out to Andunië, even to Brytta, to come to his aid, but it was as though a hand had wrapped round his throat, and no sound could come out. It was a waking nightmare – all darkness and shifting shadows, and fear – fear flowing through him and around him, a cold damp breeze of sluggish horror. His feet were frozen to the earth, and his sword quivered. He stared and stared at the place where he had seen the light, and after a moment his eyes descried another movement – a figure, filmy, insubstantial, moving through the trees toward him. Heart in his throat, hand gripping the hilt of his sword, Fastred watched and waited.

The figure ducked round a branch, and he saw the shimmery flicker of colorless hair, floating round the white disc of a face, and eyes – eyes that reflected light that was not there – skin that glowed like starlight. Then the ghost stepped into the clearing, and Fastred's mouth dropped open.

If it were a ghost, it was a young one – it stood no higher than Fastred himself, and upon its face was a look of terrified amazement. In its hands it held a bow, with arrow held to the string; the shaft was pointed directly at Fastred's chest. Fastred stared at the bow. A ghost, in need of a weapon? Then he looked down at the ghost's feet, and saw that though it stood lightly in its shoes upon the ground, its feet depressed the mosses there; and then Fastred heard the faintest whisper of breath from the ghost-boy's mouth. He looked at the face, so close to his own, and saw in the pale eyes a muted hope, a desire to cast down arms and speak.

Then Fastred looked at the boy's ears and hands, and realized this was no ghost – this was an Elf – younger than any Elf he had yet seen, and very strange to him. But the clothes bleached by darkness were stout and gray, and the skin pale but creamy; his hair also was pale, though in sunlight perchance it were golden and not white. He could also see the muscles and tendons in the hands, trained to the bow and arrow, and his heart gave a great thump.

"So these are the ghosts of Fangorn," he thought, his head swimming, and his heart beating quickly again, but he could feel the warmth of hope pushing the low dread aside. He looked into the Elf-boy's eyes then, his fear fleeing, and with a smile carefully turned his sword, hilt-first, to the stranger.

"Mae govannen," he whispered, and slowly, hesitantly, the boy smiled back.