Éomer sat upon his great war-horse Féaror and looked out to the plains of Rohan. The wind blew erratically, now warm, now cold, and tossed about the hair upon his shoulders, and that of his companion’s. He glanced sidelong at Meivel, cautious of his caprices. That good Elf, dour and uncommunicative, glared out at the fields and grasslands, his brows knitted and his jaw clenched. The bruising had dissipated the past week, and now he sported pale yellow-green blotches round his eye. Éomer was of two minds concerning the incident that had led Meivel to be struck and with such violence. He could not speak Elvish, and had sat mute and uncomprehending in the Hall whilst Meivel publicly berated his lieutenant for letting the runaways go; Himbaláth had simply stood, head drooping and eyes downcast during the diatribe, and did not even seek to defend himself against his captain’s verbal lashing. But then Meivel, far gone in rage and provoked by his lieutenant’s silence, had taken Himbaláth by the front of his tunic and vehemently shaken him, and said something that sounded very venomous; all the Elves standing round silently had suddenly hissed, and Éomer gauging their expressions decided the captain had gone too far. Indeed Himbaláth had blanched, lifting tear-clouded and aggrieved eyes to his friend, and simply turned and walked away to the end of the Hall, head hanging. As soon as he had quit the assembly had the true affront, in Éomer’s eyes, taken place: Hirilcúllas, pretty, dark-haired and proper, strode forward, her lilac gown swishing upon the rushes, her cheeks suffused with blood and her hands clenched; she went right up into Meivel’s startled face, delivered stinging vituperation in a low hiss, and struck him – not with the palm of her hand, as Éomer had been accustomed from a woman, but with her fist, and so hard that Meivel had rocked backward with the blow.

All the Elves had gasped, and the men in the Hall exclaimed at this, for in the Mark it was an act punishable by twelve lashes for a woman to strike a man in public; however when Hirilcúllas quit the dais and stomped out the Hall no Elf stopped her; in fact her brothers Malinadulin and Fionim both stepped aside with looks of alarm on their faces to let her pass seething and spitting like a boiling kettle through the doors. And when Éomer had cautiously approached Meivel, who stood looking stunned staring after the woman, and asked if he would do aught to discipline her for this slight the Elf had shaken his head, as though ridding himself of a teasing fly; and with subdued voice had simply replied: “I deserved it.” But what Meivel had said to Himbaláth concerning Andunië’s departure, and what Hirilcúllas had said to Meivel about the exchange, none would say despite his questioning; the Elves only looked sideways at him, and said as politely as they dared that it was none of the King of the Mark’s business.

Éomer sighed. He missed Legolas. Elves were all very well; but they were strange, and though certainly Legolas had been strange at least it was a strangeness with which he had become in time well-accustomed. And under Legolas’ firm but gentle hand had the strangeness of his Elvish subjects been contained and softened; he had never seen the folk of Dol Galenehtar quarrel, or shout, or lash out at each other in this fashion and he found it unnerving. Ever to him they had been merry and light-hearted and even a little silly; this heaviness and simmering wrath was very foreign. He was certain much of it hinged upon their lord’s death. They were grieving, even moreso than himself for they had known him for many years longer, and loved him more; yet the constant discord that seemed to center upon Himbaláth, suddenly quiescent and unhappy, and Meivel, abashed and angry, buzzed round Meduseld like hornets round a nest, and though the Elves with perfect equanimity worked alongside their mortal counterparts to muster and gather arms the tension lay across every phrase and interaction. It made Éomer uneasy, and he wished again for Legolas’ merry voice, or firm order, or quick summery smile; he thought of Gimli and his heart sank, knowing the love that had died there.

“’Twould not be so bad were Galás here,” he thought, thinking of the Green Knight’s exasperating seneschal with wry fondness. “Mad, but competent; I suppose he shall now run my friend’s demesne.” The thought of Dol Galenehtar bereft of its lord pained him, and when he remembered his Lady Wife his heart turned to stone. Who could take her through her time of pain now? Even Aragorn, good leech he was, had not been able to save her last child; Éomer’s hopes had hinged on Legolas, on his odd talent for midwifery, and on the queer magic of the Elves.

Meivel lifted his face, sampling the wind; the air stirred his dark hair round beneath his helm, and his black eyes narrowed. “What is it?” asked Éomer. They stood before their troops upon the plain awaiting the scouts’ news; they were a day out of Edoras and Éomer felt very vulnerable in the open, far from his city walls. The sky was obscured by low gray clouds, roiling and tumbling in the erratic wind; crows wheeled and called above them, for seeing the mass of soldiers they expected their full feast of carrion.

“I do not know,” Meivel admitted, frowning. “There is aught in the air that drives me to discomfort; but I cannot tell what it might be – the presence of enemies, or simply the passing of spirits.” He spoke flatly, betraying no feeling, but Éomer shuddered inside, remembering his own grief when he thought Éowyn slain upon the Pelennor; how troubled Meivel must be on his sister’s account! “When Fionim and Romastáldë return perhaps we might know better. But I suggest to you we press forward, your majesty, for it has taken us much longer than it ought to come even this far.”

“No,” said Éomer; “until I know what lies ahead we hold our position here.”

“As your majesty wishes,” said Meivel coolly.

Éomer stifled a sigh, and turned Féaror; it was maddening waiting beside Meivel at best of times, but in his grief Éomer did not feel as though he could tease the Elf as he used for his glowering and brusque ways; and anyway the air about the captain had grown so thick it was like cutting through vines simply to speak. Meivel glared, and snapped, and frowned at his people; and they in respect for his rank and sharp tongue gave him wide berth; that he was at least moderately polite with Éomer and Frera delivered unto the King of the Mark only a small taste of comfort.

He passed sundry Elves and men as he rode through the van. Himbaláth was there, shoulders slumped, seated upon Utuë with his eyes vacant; he looked thin and pale and deeply unhappy; Romastáldë sat beside him, casting anxious looks at his friend; but even to Éomer’s unpracticed eye he saw the Elf had made himself ill through grief. Was it guilt through letting Andunië and Gimli and the others go? Had Meivel’s castigation broken his spirit? And it seemed very strange to Éomer to have Hirilcúllas there with all the men, who watched her with fear and admiration mingled; bare-armed and lovely she sat upon her golden palfrey, raven-black hair pulled back severely from her smooth pale face, fingering an arrow and looking daggers at her captain. Éowyn’s right in battle had by that time been fairly firmly entrenched in Éomer’s opinion; but Hirilcúllas ere she had struck Meivel had seemed to Éomer so mild and womanly. Andunië striking her brother, yes; Hirilcúllas though? Meivel’s words must have been harsh indeed to have so enflamed the woman’s anger, for in Éomer’s memory he had never heard her so much as raise her voice.

Sitting upon their great feather-hocked steeds with Éothain, Éodor and Gálef were Belegtilion, his scar nearly healed, and Malinadulin, like his sister sleek-haired and dark-eyed; they were all conversing easily as though war and death did not approach them. They saluted him when he pulled Féaror up to them, and Gálef, his face near obscured by his great heavy helm, said: “Well my lord! Wait we here ere the scouts have returned?”

“We do,” said Éomer removing his own helm; it was growing heavy. He ran his big hands through the yellow hair and looked out over his army. He was two thousands strong, and all mounted; the Dwarves and five hundreds he had sent to Helm’s Deep to secure the West Emnet. “But will it be enough to beat back Bréawine I wonder!” he thought; Brytta had reported at his ill-fated return two weeks ago that Bréawine secured beneath himself over three thousands in the northern reaches alone, and as yet there was no telling how many were to prove loyal to one cause or another. “It sits hard upon Meivel’s head to arrest our pace however; I do think me he should rather charge full-tilt and meet whatever awaits us head-on.”

“He is merely angry,” said Malinadulin waving his hand dismissively. “Were your interdiction not upon him still he should wait for it is prudent, and Meivel is an excellent captain.”

“It rankles in his proud breast that he must needs wait upon the whims of a mortal commander,” grinned Belegtilion. “He suffers – suffered, rather – our lord but was in constant contention with him; what he shall do when Galás is constrained to lead him I know not.” And he looked very sad, reminding himself of his lord’s death.

“Return to Eryn Lasgalen perhaps,” sighed Malinadulin, gazing out upon the plain. “I do confess me to have the selfsame fancy, Belegtilion, for what shall we do without our lord? Galás or no Galás Dol Galenehtar shall be a cold and empty place without our prince to illuminate our halls.”

There was silence; the men held their tongues for the two Elves appeared both pensive and sad. After an awkward moment Éomer sighed and said: “O my dear Elves, do I not grieve too! When I think that I sent my friend your lord to his death does my heart grow heavy within me and I am bowed with woe. Could I but change the past!”

“Well, that would surely be an unusual happenstance,” said Malinadulin with a grimace. “In truth I am not certain what one would do to effect such an event, considering the nature of time itself!”

“Ah,” said Belegtilion perking up; “that depends upon whether one holds to the hypotheses posed by Sintawéthril and the formulae he theorized; remember you well my friend it involved several algorithmic premises – “

That led Malinadulin and Belegtilion into a light-hearted but nearly incomprehensible discussion about the fluidity of the passing of time, as speculated by some long-departed Elvish philosopher of Gondolin; Éomer’s attention wandered, and looking back over his shoulder he saw Meivel turn and gesture impatiently through the van to him. “I will leave you gentlemen to your conjectures and get me to the head of the file,” he said, glad he was leaving for his countrymen were looking glazed and puzzled by the Elves’ conversation. “I do perceive – “

“Wait!” Malinadulin raised his hand to arrest both the king and his compatriot, his eyes lighting up; he lifted his face to the sky, sampling the air; his brows knitted. Belegtilion too cocked his head, frowning with concentration; then exchanging excited glances they urged their horses to break through the van. Likewise were many Elves doing so; with faces shining and smiles upon their lips they wound through the columns of men to gain the head of the van, where Meivel had turned, his eyes like beacons blazing; then Éomer heard him cry aloud in Elvish, and wave his arm forward. At once all the Elves with exclamations of delight galloped away, leaving their mortal friends staring after them in confusion.

“What was that about?” asked Éothain, bewildered.

“I do not know,” said Éomer, very aggravated; “but Meivel ought at least to have warned me ahead of time, ere he departed so precipitately. Fenwine! Féor! Do you ride after them and see what they are about! There is too much at stake here for them to run off merry-making.”

“At once my lord!” said Féor with a grin, and he and Fenwine followed the Elves. Éomer could see the great cloud of dust kicked up by the Elvish destriers’ hooves and though they were but forty in number the thunder rumbled underfoot. He shook his head and turned to Éothain, Éodor, and Gálef.

“How I miss Lord Legolas!” he said heavily. “With him at least these strange Elves did comport themselves with propriety; now he is gone they are like a flock of magpies.”

“They chatter as much too,” said Éothain with a laugh. “Did you mark that last conversation? I could not follow a word of it. But even in grief how merry they are! Though the times are dark they bring with them a ray of light, for with them lies the hope of the future.”

Éomer returned to the head of the van. He waited with his marshals, watching the yellow dust on the plain; after a moment he frowned – the dust-cloud was growing not receding; how could forty horses, of Dale though they might be, kick up such a great veil? Then he saw a lone rider galloping toward them, and from its lance streamed a green standard; it met up with Féor who yet pursued the Elves, paused, then continued on as Éomer’s two scouts pressed ahead. As it approached Éomer saw it was Fionim; he was holding his lance aloft and laughing, his eyes shining like stars.

“Come, come!” he cried to the assembly. “Wait not upon them but come! O see what your heir has brought unto you O King of the Mark! Joys unnumbered await you – come!” And without waiting for them to reply or question him he turned his great gray beast and galloped off again; they could hear his laughter over the thunder of his destrier’s hooves.

Éomer gasped. His heir! Fastred had returned! Flooded with relief, not simply for the future of his land but for his sister’s heart, he turned to his captains and said: “Well you heard the fellow! Let us go forth and see what he is about.” And touching Féaror’s sides with his boot-heels he led the van.

He was of two minds concerning his heir, he decided as he rode with the assembled Rohirrim at his back. Fastred had indeed committed gross grievance against his lord by leaving in so sly and secretive a manner, and Éomer had been angered by his insolence, though in his own grief recognized it was most likely the same high spirits that oftimes had spurred his sister to reckless deed; and anyway Fastred had been so fond of Legolas, fonder even than of his own uncle; and no wonder that, when they had foregathered so often together! Still though did it cut Éomer that Fastred had so thoughtlessly run from the lord to whom he had sworn allegiance and to a dead friend’s bones; the dead were dead, and it was to the living one owed duty, especially in these troubled times. But so pleased was Éomer to know his heir lived and returned to him that the disappointment was covered in relief; he should have been confounded had anything happened to the boy. “I shall scold him not ere we return to Edoras,” he told himself; “unlike Hirilcúllas and Meivel I think it unseemly to rebuke in public.” He well remembered his own father Éomund, a stern and exacting man who thought nothing of open censure, believing the shame engendered by such a perceptible act was better than the whip. For himself Éomer thought he would have preferred the lash of the thong to the tongue, especially with the entire Hall observing.

Now the dust-cloud rose near fifty feet, obscuring the hills and folds behind it; it was apparent a great throng approached, and Éomer began to wonder who had come and if they were allies or no. Then he saw emerging from the swirling clouds a boy on a piebald horse, flanked by three men; two riders, and one on foot. “Fastred!” he thought, and urged Féaror into a canter. He saw as he approached that the boy was dirty but held himself proud and upright upon the gelding; there was in the lift of that chin more than an echo of Éowyn and Éomer felt his heart swell. He recognized the walker too; he had seen him on several occasions – tall, thin and gaunt with burning eyes and a firm mouth; Errakh-Hem of the Dunlendings; he did not slope like a suppliant though but walked with sure steps, which told Éomer that Fastred had performed magic and turned the Wildmen to his side. Then to his astonishment he realized that though one rider, an Elf, was unknown to him he well recognized the other – Éowyn’s husband, his dear brother Faramir; and following upon their heels he saw others he knew: knights of Gondor, Galás singing and laughing and a host of Elvish knights with him, Rangers and minor nobles clad in armor and bearing lance and pennant. Astonished past speech he simply stared as Fastred rode up; at last the boy’s proud face cracked into an abashed grin and laying one dirty hand upon his breast Fastred bowed to his sovereign.

“Well met, my lord!” he said, his eyes downcast.

“Well met indeed!” cried Éomer gazing round him with delight. “How many have you brought me, O mine heir?”

“One thousands, O mother-brother!” said Fastred solemnly. “Six hundreds on horseback, three hundred archers, and a hundred Dunlending warriors; also we have war-dogs with us for Tyarmayél thought we might have need of them. Will that be sufficient do you think to absolve me of mine errors? If not you may whip me for I well deserve it, but I beg you to wait upon that ‘til we get home, for we are rather busy at the moment.”

“The debt is close-paid for I see you bring your lord father with you,” said Éomer with a laugh. “Well met Faramir of Osgiliath my brother! Glad am I to cross swords with you once more!”

“Yes; it has been some years has it not?” said Faramir smiling. “And you know Errakh-Hem Chief of the Dunlendings I am sure.”

“I do,” said Éomer nodding politely to the man; it did not do after all to slight an ally, and in truth Éomer suspected the recent troubles betwixt them had been brought about by Théalof and not the Wildmen. “Welcome to you and your men!”

“Your majesty,” said Errakh-Hem coolly inclining his head, though Éomer saw to his amusement he glanced with approval up at Fastred then. He turned to the Elf and said: “Hail O you of the Firstborn! Pleased am I to have you to fight by my side.”

The Elf stared blankly at him, but then Fastred spoke to him in the soft sibilant Elven tongue and he smiled and bowed his head to Éomer, replying in broken Westron: “Happy are we to help, King of Mark!”

“And what is that disarray behind you?” asked Éomer looking past the lords Aldamir and Cirien to the jumble of Elves, shouting and laughing. “What has bewitched the Elves of Dol Galenehtar?”

“See for yourself!” said Fastred with a smile, and led his uncle back to the crowd.

The Elves were in tumult, clustered and pressing in upon one point, a man on horseback; they were crying aloud, and some were singing, and others wept. Over and over they called out: “Legolas, Legolas! Thranduilion returns to us! Our Prince Legolas!” Then the dust cleared and Éomer could see clearly whom they surged and danced round, the horses skittering and shying with the noise. Sitting on a great black horse, his pale head shining like a gleaming coronel and his arms flung wide laughed Legolas; he was dirty and wounded, and clad in strange dark raiment, but his eyes flashed and he reached out to touch and embrace his folk, who clutched at him with desperate hands striving to prove to the rest of their senses that their eyes deceived them not. Even Meivel wept, clinging to his lord’s bound leg, and Himbaláth standing in the fray merely stared up at him with tears rolling down his cheeks. Éomer urged his horse forward with a glad shout and pushing the Elves out of his way drew next to the big black destrier to embrace his friend.

“Legolas!” he exclaimed, head spinning with delight. “Legolas my friend, of all joys this is the most beguiling! Why I thought you dead – Lothíriel even wears black out of grief – and to have you here is better even than these thousands Fastred brings to me – and what,” he asked, releasing the laughing Elf, “have you done to yourself? Your legs – “

“Broken!” grinned Legolas, turning quickly to kiss Hirilcúllas, who had flung herself weeping upon him. Ruffling her raven locks with one hand he gripped Romastáldë with another and said to Éomer: “I beg your pardon my friend; I am a trifle distracted – “

“Take your time!” laughed Éomer. “I will confer then with Faramir and Galás and we will see about absorbing your rather haphazard army into ours, to the benefit of all save Bréawine.”

“Do so!” said Legolas. “And be sure to ask Fastred – “ Then with a yelp he was dragged off the destrier, which snorted indignantly and tossed its glossy head, and the last Éomer saw of his friend he was being embraced and kissed and passed about from Elf to Elf like a newborn babe first presented.

Éomer returned to where Fastred awaited him with Faramir, Galás, Errakh-Hem, and sundry other knights. To his surprise also stood there Brytta, holding the big cast-eyed Taruku by the reins; he seemed resigned, and kept glancing over his shoulders at the swarm of Elves round Legolas. Then Éomer remembered whose horse he had stolen and laughed aloud.

“Brytta!” he said, his voice merry. “Do you fear Meivel’s wrath then? In truth I doubt not he shall be most angry with you for you have taken a fine steed though you own it not!”

“O I own it, your majesty!” said Brytta gloomily. Taruku lipped at his grey-streaked braids and he gave the horse a tender caress. “Much as it pains me to so admit I have found in myself a fancy for this big beast; I should rather keep it but know I am constrained to give him back, for ‘twas not me who took it but Andunië.”

“You astonish me, Brytta,” said Éomer dismounting. “Why you have for many years disdained anything, beast especially, that was not of the Mark; what love can you have for such a foreign steed?”

“I know not!” said Brytta with a shrug. “But possessed I any thing I should gladly give it in exchange for Taruku.”

“Well we shall see what can be done then,” said Éomer. “I have given unto Meivel a fine steed; perchance he shall be agreeable to a trade.”

“That should be unseemly,” said Brytta stiffly, flushing. “For ‘twas not my steed to so trade.”

“You have earned in my esteem far more than horses, Brytta,” said Éomer gently. “After all you have proved yourself true when many other men have failed me; also you bring back to me not Legolas’ bones alone but his flesh and voice and breath too. How can I not be grateful?” Brytta bowed to him, and Éomer smiling turned to the others. “Well!” he said. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“We did not wish to miss anything,” said Galás glibly. “You seemed to be having so much fun over here.”

There was a shout from the tumult of celebrating Elves behind them, and over it they could hear Gimli laughing, and Bandobras crying in exasperation: “Stop, stop! O you silly Elves, what a scene you are making!” They all chuckled, and Éomer turned to Errakh-Hem.

“Happy am I to have you to fight beside me!” he said. “In truth this is a happenstance both gratifying and astonishing; however did this come about?”

“Ah!” said Aldamir then, smiling over at the Dunlending’s chief. “You may lay blame upon your heir for this one O King of the Mark!” He turned to Fastred, who had slid from Karakse’s back and stood self-effacing by Brytta. The boy blushed and scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt as Aldamir said: “Stubborn as his Lady Mother he is, insistent upon treating peace, yet in sweetness of temper and word did I hear his Lord Father as well, so that Errakh-Hem and I at the end of it were shamed to think we had ever felt ill of each other, and gladly put enmity aside simply to make him happy.”

“He will make a good king, O Éomer of the Mark,” agreed Errakh-Hem. “And he did assure me the documents read me by Théalof and Bréawine concerning the distribution of our lands at Onodló were false, so I have decided to throw my lot in with you.”

“That is hardly a glowing declaration of loyalty,” said Galás.

Errakh-Hem shrugged. “I am a gambler not a diplomat,” he said, and Galás laughed.

Éomer looked back at Fastred and saw that standing by his side were several other boys; he recognized Halgond son of Hallas and postulated the larger boy were his brother Baldor; however hanging by Fastred’s side with two gangly Dunland youths was a slim sprite of a child, slender and golden and strong, starry-eyed and sweet-faced. To Éomer’s surprise he realized he was looking for the first time upon an Elven child, and the fair innocent face gazed up at him in wonder and approval mixed. The boy tugged on Fastred’s tunic and said in a clear voice: “Uncle, Fastred?”

“Yes,” said Fastred, and gestured to Éomer with his chin. “My uncle. Éomer.”

“Your uncle.” The boy blinked his big gray eyes up at Éomer and then said solemnly: “Uncle is like your horse, very big.”

Galás gave a delighted whoop, and all the men laughed. “Fastred my son, go you with your small companions to fetch Lassah ere he is crushed by his people,” said Faramir; “else Bandobras shall shout himself hoarse, and we waste time in merry-making.”

“Yes, Lord Father,” said Fastred, and together with the other boys they ran to the Elves clustered thick about Legolas. Faramir turned to Éomer with a smile and said: “You must forgive Tamin, Éomer; the Elves of Lothlórien do not of habit speak Westron and though eager to learn it has been but two days ere we met up with them upon the plains by Onodló.”

“Elves of Dwimwordene, Elves of Dol Galenehtar, Knights of Gondor and Dunlendings of Onodló!” said Éomer shaking his head. “To think I must needs rely on friends to fight countrymen. Still I am pleased to meet you here, for I have need of such stout allies as you. But how did all this come about? And whence came that big black horse? For Legolas’ own destrier Piukka lies beneath a mound outside the city; also I perceive this one has no blaze nor stockings.”

“Tyarmayél brought him; she felt her lord needed a younger war-horse,” said Galas. “He is not so good-natured as Piukka but he is quite a bit larger.”

“And as for how we all met up together,” said Faramir, “well I admit the Lórien Elves and the Dunlendings were an additional blessing, but once our differences were resolved the Elves of Dol Galenehtar and the Knights of Gondor came together willingly.”

“Let us sit then,” said Éomer. “It is apparent there are great tales to be told, and though time might run short for us and Bréawine approach, I wish to know in brief how all this came about. Besides which,” he added glancing back at the noisy group of Elves celebrating their lord’s return, “It may be some time ere Legolas is free to join us; we will commence without him.”

“Let the Yellow Knight relate it you,” suggested Aldamir; “he is better at imparting much while saying little.”

“I will do so then, at your good pleasure, O King of the Mark,” said Cirien lowering himself carefully to the earth. The others sat in circle round him, and after waiting for the knights and lords to settle he began: “Many lords of southern Gondor did receive not three weeks hence letters from Théalof begging aid in quelling an uprising in Rohan, and reminding them of treaties signed; so with good Araval here – “ he gestured to the Dun Knight, who sat rosy and beaming beside him “ – harrying them along and berating them for their short-sightedness they came unto Minas Tirith, where they sought the council of Targond Elessar’s seneschal, and Galás the seneschal of the Green Knight, and Faramir of Osgiliath. These three did maintain Araval’s insistence upon loyalty not only to Elessar but to his friends, and Galás in particular disclosed unto them many truths heretofore obscured – “

“I told them Théalof was a scoundrel,” said Galás cheerfully leaning back on his hands, his legs crossed. “And that he was a popinjay beside.”

“Many truths heretofore obscured,” repeated Cirien smiling at the Elf. “So persuasive were the arguments that they all resolved to march forthwith to Rohan to see to the rogue themselves – “

“We do not care to be used and deceived,” said Hallas angrily shaking his crutch. “To tell us the Elves cared not for us! To claim the Green Knight had naught but his own treasuries at heart! Such lies! And to have our poverty used as a wedge, to drive betwixt Gondor and Rohan! No, we shall not have it.”

“To see to the rogue themselves,” said Cirien looking irritated. “So they came unto Amon Din not seven days ago, and Mardil, Aldamir and I after conferring with them upon the dearth of post and speering decided to go immediately unto the plains of Rohan to determine for ourselves whether we were truly needed, for if uprising there were certes it was Théalof behind it – “

“Though it appears rather to be Bréawine,” interrupted Brytta, “though they are certainly working in concert I should doubt me Théalof would dirty his hands in combat.”

“It was Théalof behind it,” said Cirien through clenched teeth, and Faramir hid a smile behind his hand. “At the time of course we had no knowledge of the ties betwixt Théalof and Bréawine or we should have come sooner. So we came up through Anórien to the Eastfold and encamped upon a high steppe in the forest, for Galás and sundry other Elves, Kaimelas too, did say to us they felt their lord nearby; so we set Mardil upon a small tor – “

“Dull duty to be sure!” sighed Mardil. “But it bore fruit for little Lord Fastred and his daffodil-friend came unto me within two hours of sunrise.”

Cirien gave Mardil an exasperated look. “We set Mardil on a small tor to flush him out,” he said, turning to Éomer with forced politesse, “and when we had foregathered with Legolas and his party did Fastred force upon Aldamir and Errakh-Hem armistice – “

He paused then, and glanced at the Red Knight and the Chief of the Dunlendings, but they seeing the warning in his eye held their tongues, and Cirien continued: “After securing truce we took council with each other, and learning from good Rúmil here – “ he gestured to the gray-clad Elf, who through speaking no Westron sat mute with a look of polite inquiry upon his face; gratified Cirien said: “Rúmil and his scouts did inform us that Bréawine’s army marched down the west side of the canyon to the plains below to engage Edoras, and knowing you, O King Éomer, were beset by strife also in the West Emnet did resolve to go to your aid, and so pinch Bréawine in the vise, and perhaps learn tidings of Théalof, though he no doubt upon discerning his plans laid waste shall slip away like the eel he is.” Cirien paused then, looking round the circle of men seated there, and Araval said:

“Why that is astonishing Cirien! You did manage I think to say two or three phrases without interruption.”

“Indeed,” said Cirien dryly; “I am amazed.”

“So it is this,” said Éomer; “we go to meet Bréawine, and Nórin and Híldaf and Arúlf to Helm’s Deep to secure my people there; Frera and Fríma remained in Edoras to aid the remaining people in holding firm lest enemies approach; Fram son of Feldwine and his poor villagers remain with them, and we have been given Legolas son of Thranduil back from the dead.” He beamed round them. “A happy day for me, which started so unpropitiously! Know we how soon we shall engage the enemy? For our scouts were delayed by your arrival, and I know not Bréawine’s position.”

“Fear not O King!” said Galás. “I have sent scouts out myself, as likewise has your brother Lord Faramir; we shall know soon enough when death begins.” He gestured up at the sky, at the crows and condors wheeling above them. “They shall feast soon enough,” he said with grim satisfaction.

“Well then,” said Éomer looking back at where Legolas sat surrounded by his happy people; Meivel had evidently satisfied himself his lord had indeed returned and was stalking up to them, his usual scowl marred by a half-smile. “Let us determine the placement of our troops and make us ready; I would not disappoint Bréawine for anything!” He as the others rose, and clasping Faramir by the forearm he said: “What good gifts you have given to me O my brother! With your son mine heir beside me and Legolas brought to life we cannot but win.”

Faramir smiled. “Did you not grant your greatest gift to me and freely? All I have is yours and though our son shall be missed Éowyn and I both know well he shall make a superlative king – as is his uncle.”

“Enough flattery!” said Galás as he walked past them. “We may heap accolades upon each other’s heads all we like when the smoke clears. For now to work!” And whistling cheerily to himself he went to fetch his lord from the fray.