Chapter 17 - My Kingdom For A Beer!

Supper was to be provided in the Meduseld at the King's insistence. Penny noticed a slight strain to Erestor's look as he imparted this information on to her, Mireth and Celebdor.

"Anything amiss, Erestor?"

"No, no."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Indeed. Why would there be anything amiss? I am sure supper will be…" He searched for a word. "Delightful."

He did not look terribly convinced. Before they could question him further, he had disappeared off into the dark, leaving Mireth, Penny and Celebdor to share a worried glance. Were all their fears about to be realised?

'And then some.'

The first clearer indication of this was when Elrond and the others who had already been up to the Meduseld suggested that as many as possible 'might like to go on horseback.' Elladan and Elrohir (now the experts on all things Rohirric, of course) seemed particularly insistent about this.

"But I want to walk, Lindir. I want to savour every moment of this."

"Some things are best savoured from a distance, Pen-ii. Trust me on this."

Penny blinked. Ah. Like that, was it?

Of course, there were not enough horses for everyone, and eventually it was decided it was easier to not have to saddle Penny's mare yet again so she did end up walking along with many others.

Hoo, boy! And she had thought Bree was bad.

The stink of the place hit you nearly as soon as you entered the main gates of Edoras. The fact that the pig sties were just to the right of the entrance, with the brewery only a short distance to the left, only made matters worse. It was like walking into a Wall of Smell. Admittedly it did get progressively less stench-ridden the higher up the hill you went. However, this was only because Edoras was built in a wind tunnel; thus the stink was simply exchanged for a very brisk northerly breeze.

The place was ridden with horse-shit. Unsurprisingly, perhaps, but even so, there were limits, surely? Just how many bloody horses were there in this place! How much horse poo could actually come out of a horse! Given she had been travelling with a fair number of the brutes for over a month already, Penny already thought she had seen more horse shit than it was ever possible to imagine. Obviously she was very wrong, it would now seem.

It was clear some vague attempt had been made to clear up some of it, presumably in advance of their arrival. Indeed, Elladan and Elrohir had let Eomer know it might be an idea to avoid offending elvish sensibilities too much by cleaning up a bit in the lower portions of Edoras. However, if this was the Rohirrim's idea of 'cleaning up,' Penny (and the others) were not at all sure they wanted to know what it had been like before.

There were piles of it in the road (admittedly fresh), piles of it next to houses, piles of it in barrows next to the gates waiting to be taken outside to be stored... Penny could not quite believe it.

"Fantastic manure," Celebdor explained. "They must have superb vegetables here."

"Indeed," agreed Penny, but feeling Celebdor was missing the point somewhat. As she pointed out to him, Imladris had a lot of horses, but still managed to function perfectly well without feeling the need to display their 'end product' quite so publicly.

The only vaguely gratifying thing about the slow walk up the hill was the amount of muffled protestation, waving of scented handkerchiefs (many having been forewarned and therefore forearmed) and general 'elvishness at its most horrified' going on around her. It would have been highly amusing… if Penny had not been so busy being revolted herself, of course.

If Halbarad had been able to see them all, he would have wet himself.

The grotty looking hovels at the base of the hill gradually gave way to larger huts higher up the hill. They were progressively less closely packed together, too, and thus conveniently allowed more of the northerly breeze to whip into your face every now and then. The elves were having trouble keeping their hair as neat as they liked.

The top of the hill was flattened and various buildings ranged around it, forming a sort of large courtyard. No sooner did they arrive but groups of young men and boys stepped forward to admire the horses and lead them off to be stabled temporarily.

At one end of the 'courtyard', raised higher still, was the Meduseld, with golden pillars and ornate carvings painted and gilded all over the doors, the steps, and the walls. It was a thing of beauty.

Or it was to Penny, at any rate.

Many of the elves barely gave it a second glance.

"Not bad," Rhimlath mused after Penny had enthused and bounced at him for a full two minutes over it. "Of course, you have to understand that the Rohirric culture is a very young one, Pen-ii. Their artistry is still a little crude, a little rough around the edges."

"I beg your pardon?" Penny felt a tad put out on their behalf. The whole thing was stunning as far as she was concerned.

"Well, it hardly has the delicacy and finesse of an elvish structure, as I am sure anyone would agree. The carvings are a little heavy, the colours garish, the artistic themes overblown…"

"In your opinion," Penny snapped.

"No need to get defensive," Rhimlath smiled. "I mean no offence. I realise they are fellow mortals, Pen-ii, but you have to admit that compared to elvish skill this… this…"

He waved his hand vaguely at the Meduseld as if trying to find the right description for it. Given his entire tone suggested he was toying between whether to call it 'a travesty', a 'pitiable example of human folly' or even a 'laughable attempt at high art,' Penny did not wait around to hear him finish the sentence.

There were guards on either side of the doors to the Meduseld as well as in pairs all the way up the stairs. The doors were open and a smell of roasting meat and smoke wafted down towards the crowd. A few Rohirrim were joining the visitors, mingling and introducing themselves or having themselves introduced by Elladan and Elrohir.

Penny's attention, however, was focused on the group at the top of the steps that had come out to greet them. She recognised Elfhelm and Erkenbrand immediately. They were standing on either side of a heavy-set, but very tall, blond man who could not have been more than five or six years older than she. He wore a crown and rich robes, which said much: for all the stench of the place, Rohan was rich indeed. Times may have been hard of late with the War, but its glory was far from faded.

She blinked as she took in the fact that she was looking at Eomer, King of the Riddermark. She had to stop herself from staring.

On the other side of Elfhelm was a woman, nearly as tall as Eomer, but slim where he was stocky. She was a beauty, it was true, but Penny had to admit she was not a patch on Arwen (but then there was probably no female alive who was a patch on Arwen except possibly Galadriel). She still made Penny feel desperately ordinary in comparison, though.

Eowyn bore a striking resemblance to her brother, or so it seemed from this little distance, anyway. Penny was somewhat taken aback at how young they both looked. Eowyn looked about her age and if anything it made her feat on the battlefield all the more remarkable to Penny's mind.

Horns sounded and Eomer spread his arms wide, shouting loudly into the wind that they were all most welcome and Rohan was blessed indeed to have such a people and such beauty walking within it.

That was very well said, and the elves murmured appreciatively. It very nearly flattered them enough to make up for the dreadful walk up the hill.

Eomer waited as Elrond and Celeborn led the way up the steps to join him, with Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen and Galadriel behind them. As they turned and entered the Meduseld together, horns sounded once more from inside, and a cheer indicated others were already waiting for them at the feast.

Immediately following Elrond and the rest came those that, in human terms, would be considered 'lords, lieutenants and advisors' (though in elvish society there was little distinction between one elf and another), then followed by everyone else. Elves may not indulge in formality and etiquette, but humans did, and it was a matter of respect for them to 'play along' and conform for a day or two.

Once inside and out of the wind, Penny was left breathless as she stood in the doorway for a moment and took it all in.

There was a huge fire in the middle of the hall over which various animals were being spit-roasted: several boar and something big enough to be a sheep, small cow or perhaps a deer (Penny wasn't entirely sure, and it actually turned out to be a goat). There was also a large cauldron to one end of it.

The entire place (and it was huge) was filled with tables and benches. Tapestries decorated the walls, ancient swords, spears and battle axes were nailed up next to the lit torches in their brackets, the great pillars holding up the ceiling were intricately carved and decorated with gold and paint, and all was as Penny knew it would be.

Well, perhaps not quite 'all.'

She was left just as breathless by the smoke, which stung her eyes a little till she got used to it. Not only that, but there was a stench of the great unwashed about the place from the amount of large, sweating men in unwashed jerkins already in the room. There was also the strong, sickly-sweet smell of beer with a heavy note of wet dog as an undertone to the whole thing.

Penny glanced around at those beside her and saw sensitive elvish noses were having a harder time with it all than she was.

The intricate inlay on the floor could not be seen since it had been covered by rushes. At first she was a little bemused by this, but later in the evening, after being witness to Rohirric table manners, she understood why. There were dogs and hounds of various descriptions running about (Saruman had been right in that respect, it would seem), and with rushes down at least the fleas, dog excrement and bits of half-chewed bone could be swept out easily enough the following morning.

"Nothing like a bit of seeing other people's cultures up close and personal," Penny muttered to herself, grimacing. "Oh, well, nothing ventured, nothing gained."

So saying, she stepped into the room with everyone else. Little did she realise it, but she was about to experience Rohirric partying at its very best.

The high nobles – both human and their elvish equivalent – were seated at a long table that ran across the room on a raised dais at the far end. Eomer sat in the middle on a highly ornate and gilded chair, Elrond and Arwen to his right and Celeborn and Galadriel to his left. Penny noted Arwen and Eowyn were sitting next to each other. She idly wondered how that would play out, whether Arwen knew or could guess Eowyn's brief attachment to Aragorn. All a moot point now, of course, since Faramir was in the picture, but even so.

Everyone else was left to seat themselves wherever they so chose at the tables that ran lengthwise down the hall, although the higher nobles took the ends nearest the high table. Lindir was already taking a seat with Rhimlath just opposite Elrohir and Elladan. Meanwhile serving wenches scurried about with roast pigs, trays piled high with bowls filled with whatever concoction was in the cauldron or huge jugs of beer. Penny stuck close to Mireth, Celebdor and Eleniel.

Once seated, Penny took time to take it all in. Eomer was not at all what she had expected. He continued the 'built like a rugby prop' genes that, looking round the room, it was clear most of the Rohirrim possessed. The men were, generally, tall and very manly, but HUGE. They probably would make damn good rugby players or American football players or Aussie rules football, or basically anything that involved being as big and heavy as possible and throwing your weight around a lot. They certainly drank enough beer to qualify; that was for damn sure, as Penny was to find out.

Things started loud and raucous, and only got worse.

The food was passable. Penny now found out she had been spoilt with elvish cooking. She could just make out Naurdir and his delightful wife sitting across the room from her, and his face as he tried the dumplings and stew was a picture.

Pig was clearly a favourite with the Rohirrim. There was a lot of it in various forms. Several roasted boars littered the tables, as did a couple of hams, and piles of sausages of varying sizes and types (cold, dried, sliced, covered in some sort of insipid grey sauce, and there were even quite a few in the stew).

The horse manure had been put to good use to provide vegetables, as Celebdor had suggested it would be. The trouble was that most of the vegetables seemed to involve brassicas of some description. There was more pickled cabbage on the tables than was surely reasonable, Penny decided. Pickled beetroot, pickled cucumber, pickled pigs trotters, pickled just-about-anything-the-women-of-Rohan-could-get-their-hands-on, so it would seem. It was only afterwards it occurred to Penny that the War would have destroyed a lot of crops and they were living on winter stores. Later Elrohir assured her, though, that pickling seemed to be a favourite pastime of the Rohirrim women.

"They showed us great honour, Pen-ii. Those were some of their provisions for the coming winter. Not wastefully, mind, but even so, they used up some of it."

Elladan corrected him by pointing out that the Rohirrim could (and did) happily eat pickled cabbage all year round, and they would have enough time to replenish stocks before winter set in. "I like pickled cabbage," he added. "But not every day."

There was, however, plenty of fresh fruit. Penny tucked into that with gusto. The Rohirrim also made a very good dark bread that, spread with butter, was also excellent and filling.

It was only after she was onto her third handful of cherries and second orange that Penny realised several of the elves near her, having seen the state of the fingernails of the serving women, were discreetly wiping and washing the fruit, the cups, the cutlery and anything else they may need to use. Some were not quite so discreet, of course (Elladan made no pretence whatsoever, nor did Rhimlath), but even so it seemed like a good idea, so Penny, a little belatedly perhaps, followed their example.

However, the tour de force of the evening was the beer. If nothing else, the Rohirrim knew how to make an excellent ale. The Dunedain, indeed, had been very impressed with the little they had managed to partake of it during their brief sojourn in Rohan and had declared it nearly as good as that which they got back home (high praise indeed). Aragorn had already requested for several kegs to be sent to Minas Tirith and had received them within two weeks of Eomer's return to Rohan. Several more were due to be sent with the wedding party as a gift. It was strong stuff, but good. Penny had not had beer since Bree (the elves not being terribly keen on the stuff) and took the opportunity to indulge. It almost made the food taste better.

Once everyone was settled and the feasting was well and truly underway, there were speeches. Eomer stood and spoke at length welcoming his guests, his talk punctuated by much cheering and raucous hallooing from the locals. Elrond spoke next, praising the Rohirrim for their famous bravery and deeds in war, the beauty of their countryside and their people (as he spoke a particularly haggard looking crone pottered across his line of view, but he was only being polite). When Celeborn rose to speak, a silence fell across the room. The Rohirrim knew who he was and where he was lord, and their awe was palpable. He spoke movingly and well of their past, showing great knowledge of their history.

"I remember well when your people first travelled past my borders on their way south," he pointed out. Comments like that endeared him to the Rohirrim, but also disconcerted them a little.

As he and Elrond spoke, Mireth had a hard time translating for Penny, and Eleniel had to fill in some of the gaps. Both ellyn were using an older version of Westron, one from which Rohirric was descended, and thus most in the Meduseld could follow a lot of what they were saying.

There were minstrels playing and singing while they ate, though they could barely be heard at times above the din of chatter, laughter and the occasional impromptu drinking song (the frequency, length and volume of which only increased the longer the evening wore on). On occasion the hall would fall silent for a particularly well known or moving ballad or piece of poetry. At one point Lindir was pushed forward and asked to sing something, which he did – a song of heroes in war and a soldier returning to his love. The Rohirrim were transfixed. You could have heard a pin drop (if it had not been for the rushes deadening the sound, of course). He was followed by one or two others from the elves, who were all met by a similarly enraptured reception.

After a while it was clear drinking was overtaking the eating, and some moved to clear a few tables both from the central portion of the hall and towards the end near the doors so as to allow space for dancing. Preparations were no sooner started than quickly stopped, however, as Eomer stood and called for silence. The royal minstrel and poet was called forth.

There were murmurs among the crowd wondering what was happening, but clearly one or two of the Rohirric nobles knew and were smiling and nodding in approval. The man stood just to the side of the high table where everyone could see him and then, clearing his voice, recited a long poem he had composed honouring the feats of Elladan and Elrohir on the battlefield.

"… Tall and terrible, twice twinned-Lords
Sword blades shine-striking, foes fearless-slain
Death-dancing doom-dealing, treading down the dead
Arms-brothers, blood-earned, bold soldiers both…"

It was sonorous and moving, or so Penny assumed from the expressions on the faces of even the hardest Rohirric warriors there as they listened. Many were clearly lost in memories, and at least one woman was sobbing quietly by halfway through. Several men cast their gazes down or rubbed at still healing wounds or newly wrapped bandages.

Elladan and Elrohir were moved beyond words. They had not known about this at all. It had been something Eomer and the minstrel royal had cooked up between them for this very moment. Elrond could not help but beam in pride. The poem was in Rohirric, so much was incomprehensible, but it was clear the older elves understood quite a bit or could guess at the meaning since they could remember the ancient forms of Westron from which Rohirric was descended. Celeborn and Elrond were both listening intently, and on occasion Erestor would lean over and mutter something to Elladan by way of explanation.

Once the recitation was finished, the minstrel bowed low towards the brothers, and for a moment there was complete silence in the hall. Then, slowly, Eomer stood and then one by one the Rohirrim followed him, every one holding out their cups towards the twins.

At last everyone, including the elves, were on their feet and only then did Eomer speak.

"We drink to you, Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond, Lord of Imladris. Know you are arms-brothers of Lôgrad and shall always be welcome here."

"Elladan and Elrohir!" went up the shout from the hall, and everyone's cups and tankards were drained.

Only then could the rearranging of furniture resume, as everyone fell back to drinking hard and thoroughly enjoying themselves. The minstrels struck up more jaunty tunes, and dancing began in the middle of the hall (in a not particularly orderly fashion, it had to be said).

As the evening wore on, so the beer flowed. Tongues were loosened and the warm, smoky air leant itself to a convivial atmosphere. The Rohirrim began to feel more relaxed as they realised that the elves (or most of them at any rate) were much like Elladan and Elrohir and thus 'good eggs.' The men were wary of approaching the ellith, who contented themselves with dancing with husbands, betrotheds or friends, or else chatting away in small groups. The much fewer number of female Rohirrim at the feast kept themselves to themselves and seemed uncertain of approaching anyone – male or female – from the elves.

Such wariness did not stop the occasional young man from gazing in astonishment at an elleth every now and then (another thing that happened with more regularity and increasing boldness the more beer that was drunk). The older, married men would lean over and casually tap the underside of their chins to shut their mouths, muttering laughed comments of how unmanly it was to drool. Similarly every time a serving woman had to speak to an ellon she would invariably flush and go very quiet, suddenly too shy to speak, or else giggle uncontrollably.

'Nice to see I'm not the only one,' Penny thought, remembering the effect the ellyn had first had on her (and could still have on her if there were enough of them and she was not concentrating).

The elves were neatly divided in terms of how they, in their turn, reacted to the Rohirrim. The elves of Imladris were more used to humans and how they could be, but the Galadhrim were clearly a little bewildered by the boisterousness of it all. Depending on their character they either watched from a safe distance, bemusement and a faint hint of horror and superciliousness plastered all over their faces, or else, as they drank, warmed a little and tentatively engaged in conversation with some of the older and more sedate Rohirrim. Several made their excuses and left as soon as it was reasonably polite to do so, though.

For her part, Penny was content to stay where she was on a side table, armed with a tankard, a jug of beer and a bowl of apples and just watch it all with increasing fascination.

She did not remain that way for long.

There had been Rohirrim sitting near to them during the meal who had, obviously, immediately realised Penny was human. Of course, the inevitable attempt at conversation, confusion at her inability to speak much Westron and then explanations of who she was and why she was with the elves, meant she became an immediate object of fascination in her own right. Many avoided her, especially the women, but a few others were intrigued or (emboldened by drink) in the mood to be friendly, and sat with her talking to her (or, more accurately, at her) amiably enough.

Mireth and Celebdor were attempting to join in with the dancing. Eleniel was deep in conversation with Arwen and Eowyn – both of whom seemed to be getting on like a house on fire. Lindir had come to sit next to Penny, bringing Elrohir with him. They inevitably attracted a group of Rohirrim, either because they were friends of Elrohir's or because they had learned Lindir was in charge of the stables of Imladris (and thus he was instantly considered a friend for life by any Rohirrim).

Penny sat as Lindir and Elrohir translated for her (when they remembered) stories of orc skirmishes, 'great horses we have known and loved,' battles, 'dreadful wounds I have suffered' (which included exposing various parts of the anatomy to show off scars) and things of a similar nature. As the evening progressed, and more alcohol was drunk, she guessed that one or two more risqué stories were being told since several times Lindir and Elrohir raised eyebrows and refused point blank to translate for Penny despite her insistence.

Humans are humans, after all. Not only that, but men will be men. Especially if there is beer involved.

Penny did her best to respond to questions, though she was sorely limited by her lack of progress with Westron. Most of the time, though, she was ignored, and happy to be so. She was surrounded by giant hunks of blond beefcake and loving every minute of it and 'oh her tankard was empty again, damn this was good beer, where's the jug ah yes to the brim LOVELY…'

Bad, bad move on Penny's part.

Elrohir was dragged off at one point by his brother. Lindir took the opportunity of some of the minstrels having a brief break for more beer to engage them in conversation and try and learn a little about Rohirric dance tunes. Thus Penny was left with her beer and beefcakes.

She was on her fourth beer of the night…

Or at least she thought she was on her fourth beer of the night.

Now she tried counting, she realised it could have been more.

However many it was, though, her bladder was beginning to complain loudly but she had no idea how to ask where a latrine might be found. She was seriously tempted to wander off down the hill and back to camp to the latrine that had been dug before they left. She strongly suspected any latrine here on the hill may be of the Bree variety, and there was no WAY she was going through that again.

A young man next to her had been attempting to make small talk on and off for a while. He had felt it was only polite given she was clearly alone in some respects, and while her situation was odd, she seemed pleasant enough. He, being young, was less indoctrinated with a suspicion of strangers, let alone ones as unusual as Penny; and anyway he could not in all conscience ignore her given he was sitting right next to the woman. He was also quite drunk and would have happily chatted away to Saruman himself were he sat next to him at that point in the proceedings. They were sharing a jug of ale, and he was impressed by her clear delight in the drink – definitely a woman who knew a good brew when she met one, which was a plus point in her favour.

Now that Lindir had briefly wandered off, though, Penny was forced to rely on her fractured, near non-existent Westron, and pretty soon all conversation ground to a halt. The man (having already heard Eothain's 'hilarious' story of the time they filled his brother's bridal bed with a brace of badgers and twelve dead rats more times than he cared to think about) stood and offered his hand to Penny.

Penny stared at it for a moment. She blinked, a fog of beer clouding her brain.

Oh! A dance! Yeah, why not!

She grinned at him.

That she grasped his hand with such enthusiasm and launched herself into the fray so willingly should have been proof enough to anyone watching that she was well on the way to drunk.

After two dances of very exuberant bouncing about, though, Penny had to sit down before she wet herself. Meanwhile, the man was attempting conversation again, wondering how long he would have to do this before one of her friends came back.

"So, it must be strange for you to be in mortal company after so long," he said with a friendly smile. She did not understand and grabbed Rhimlath as he passed by to translate. He did so but did not stop, passing on to speak briefly to Lindir who was nearby, on his way back to rejoin Penny and the others but temporarily detained in conversation with another group of Rohirrim further up the tables.

"Oh, yes. Very strange." She tried her fractured Westron and hand-gestures to convey she had missed being in human company. 'Elf good but not same. I human and not with human big month. I happy be with human. Human nice. Elf nice but human big nice.'

Or at least that's what she thought she had said.

What she did not realise was that she had actually used the word 'men' and not 'human,' thus the Rohirrim got entirely the wrong impression. His friends were busy choking into their beers.

He blinked at her for a moment or two, suddenly seeing her in a completely different light. If he had not been so drunk he might have stopped to consider that the company she kept meant he could only have misunderstood. If his friends had not been so drunk they might have been able to point it out to him. Alas for Penny, they were all nearly as drunk as she was. A rather wide leer slowly spread across his face.

"Is that so? I might be able to help you there, Pen-ii," he grinned.

Nearby, Rhimlath was staring open-mouthed in horror at her even as Lindir turned to talk to him.

"Yes, Rhimlath, you wanted to speak to me? … Rhimlath? … Er, Rhimlath? Are you even listening to me?"

Penny, meanwhile, was aware the room was still spinning and, since she had been sat down for a while now, it could no longer be blamed on the dancing. More to the point if she did not get a move on, she would not make down the hill in time to get to the latrine. She was also finding the smoke in the place stifling. And not just the smoke, either. The brassicas seemed to be having their effect on the Rohirric digestive system and they were not shy about it… or not after several beers, anyway. Either that or it was the dogs.

"I need some air," she said in English – now too drunk to even remember to speak in Sindarin let alone try Westron.

She stood, swayed and stumbled; the young man, still grinning from ear to ear, stood also, catching her round the waist to stop her falling. Penny giggled. She was oblivious to the fact that he held her a little too close and a little too tight to be merely innocently friendly or helpful.

Rhimlath was talking animatedly into Lindir's ear. Lindir looked up in Penny's direction, alarmed.

"Air," Penny said again, gesturing in the direction of the doors.

The man nodded. He understood.

Or so he thought.

Penny staggered off while the young man turned to the table, picked up his tankard and downed the rest of his beer in one. He slammed it back down and leaned forward to speak to his comrades.

"I will see you on the morrow."

He grinned and winked. His friends gave leery snickers and wished him a 'pleasant evening.'

However, as the young man turned to leave and follow Penny outside he found his way blocked. He tried to focus and slowly realised he was staring at a tunic with very faint brocade in the shape of leaves… Not Rohirric. Definitely not Rohirric. He followed the tunic upwards and saw an elf glaring down at him. He blinked.

"And where do you think you are going?" Lindir's voice was calm and quiet, but with an unmistakable edge to it.

The young man, too drunk to recognise a very annoyed elf when he saw one, smirked.

"I am off for the night with… whatever her name is. Nice woman." The smirk grew wider. He was talking male to male, wasn't he? "Nice… curves," he added.

His friends saw the flash in Lindir's eye even if the young man did not. Within two seconds the table behind him was devoid of seated revellers for a good three feet on either side. They did not want to get hurt when the young Rohirrim was thrown over it.

"What did you just say?"

"I said I am off for the night-"

"No, you are not." Lindir leaned in close till their noses were practically touching. "You are going to sit down and drink more beer like a good little boy."

"Hey! I am no boy… as she is about to find out!"

Rhimlath held back Lindir's arm as Lindir made a swing for him.

"There has been a misunderstanding," Rhimlath interrupted, pushing his way between the youth and Lindir. "Her Westron is not good. You misunderstood her."

"No misunderstanding, my friend."

"I can assure you-"

It was then that the man did something incredibly stupid (as if none of this were not stupid enough already). He later said he had meant it as a joke, but at the time he sounded like he was trying to pick a fight. He wondered out loud, with a slight sneer on his face, whether he was being stopped because Penny, as the lone human among a load of elves, was used like a travelling whore hence she was their property and no one else was allowed a look in.

Lindir did not get to thump him. Rhimlath did it for him.

Of course, briefly, all hell broke loose with Rohirrim weighing in to say they had over reacted and while Celeborn and Erkenbrand (and many others) came over to find out what on earth was going on. Lindir was staring in Rhimlath in astonishment since he had never seen Rhimlath quite that angry before.

The young man, once he had been peeled off the table, slapped gently a few times and had half a jug of water thrown over him, was just about conscious enough to apologise. His friends accepted it was a misunderstanding and agreed he had been out of order in what he said. Hands were shaken and it was all smoothed over to the point that Rhimlath was invited by his friends to join them in a beer or twelve. After all, it would not be the first case of fisticuffs that night – it was part of what partying hard was all about, no?

"Er… Lindir?"

"Yes, Erestor?"

"I think you should come quickly. Where is Eleniel or Arwen?"

"Why? What is it?"

Erestor just beckoned Lindir to follow him to the doors. Lindir could see (and hear) what it was even before he had finished making his way past the dancing couples.

Penny was on top of the steps to the Meduseld, clinging on to a pillar with one arm flung out towards the valley below, singing "I Did It My Way" at the top of her lungs while a small, appreciative (if amused) crowd formed below her in the courtyard.

The walk back to the camp was an interesting one.

Eleniel came along, as did Lindir (who practically frog-marched her down the hill at points). Several others came out onto the steps to see them off where they were treated to a medley of some of the most extraordinary songs they had ever heard.

"Oh, this is too funny, Celebdor. Let us join them."

Mireth grabbed her betrothed's hand and practically pulled him down the stairs. Glorfindel, realising how much fresher the air was now he was outside and not relishing the prospect of braving once more the smelly smog filling the Meduseld, ambled along after them.

As the group wandered down the hill, Penny even tried to get them to dance. Eleniel and Mireth joined in, laughing, but the ellyn refused if only because it was more amusing watching Penny shimmy and boogie her way round the horse-shit. Thus Lindir was introduced to the delights of Abba, Tom Jones, Elvis Presley and so much more.

They had to stop her (Glorfindel literally put a hand over her mouth) in mid-flow of relating how she would 'survive, so long as she knew how to love, she knew she'd stay alive' as they passed the sentries on the gates. They felt, wisely, that her singing and dancing her way past the barrows of the kings would not go down too well. It was perhaps only fortunate Erestor was not with them so they could not get a running translation of it all. "Like A Virgin" would have gone down like a lead balloon and then some, had they known what she was singing about.

Needless to say she passed out before Eleniel and Mireth had even managed to finish unbuttoning her dress, so getting her dress off and her under a blanket took some manoeuvring, but they managed it. Just.

Outside the tent, Lindir was debating whether or not to go back up to the Meduseld and rescue Rhimlath (last seen surrounded by burly Rohirrim trying to explain to him why downing a tankard of beer as quickly as possible was a really good idea).

At last Eleniel and Mireth appeared looking triumphant.

"All done. She is out cold."

"Surprise, surprise," sniggered Celebdor.

"You might want to put a bucket by her bedroll," Lindir pointed out. "Just in case."

"Ah, yes, good thinking," Mireth headed off to fetch one. "You are the expert in such matters, after all, Lindir." She flashed him a cheeky grin over her shoulder.

"I beg your pardon! How dare you!"

"Oh, come now, Lindir. You know it's true."

Lindir raised a scornful eyebrow at Glorfindel. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Summer festival? Lothlorien? Not quite a millennium ago?" Glorfindel caught Celebdor's eye as he spoke and the pair broke into wide grins. Eleniel giggled.

"That was a bad fresh-water mussel, as you know perfectly well!" Lindir retorted hotly.

"Ah, yes. So you said."

"What do you mean 'so I said'? It was, Celebdor!"

"I believe you!"

"You clearly do not!"

"Well…" Celebdor looked doubtful "It was not the only occasion, you have to admit."

Lindir spluttered for a moment in the face of merciless sniggering.

"Fine. I am not staying here to be insulted. I am off to get Rhimlath before we find him serenading all of Rohan as well." So saying he strode off into the night back up the hill, trying to ignore the peals of laughter behind him.

Meanwhile Penny, safely in her tent and snoring loudly, was oblivious to it all.

1. Please note some amendments to the previous chapter: all references to an 'eored' have been removed, since the amount of riders is a lot more than merely twenty to count as an eored. Also Eomer only reorganised the Marshall system after Thoeden's burial, so Elfhelm and Erkenbrand now introduce themselves as Second and Third Marshall.

2. In Appendix A of LOTR it says this: "Eomer was as his fathers before him; but Eowyn was tall and slender…" Eomer is described as 'tall, taller than the rest' in the chapter The Riders of Rohan in 'The Two Towers', thus I have assumed the 'but' in the first quote refers to Eowyn's slenderness. Hence I have made Eomer tall but stocky.

3. Eomer was very young when he became king – only 27. Eowyn was 23.

4. NL, please do not kill me for making your precious lust-object of a shield maiden not as pretty as Arwen. I know, I know, but as my canon-beta you have to admit that that's the reality.

5. Forgive my piece of doggerel. I've always liked the Anglo-Saxon style, and while I know JRRT said the Rohirrim were not Anglo-Saxon (or Norse) much of their culture is similar, and thus my poem snippet borrows from the style of that sort of poetry – lots of alliteration and 'coupling' of words.

6. I would also like to make it clear that I am not saying that sex before marriage was the 'norm' in Middle-earth; quite the opposite, in fact. However, humans are humans and drunk humans are even worse. Added to which, prostitution is not called 'the oldest profession' without good reason and I think it's fair to say that in most (if not all?) societies through the ages, even if it has been considered desirable if not obligatory to desist from such things before marriage, the emphasis has been far more on women than men in this regard: 'boys will be boys' was the attitude while girls were ostracised if they so much as thought about it. (Witness the practice in many societies of waving the bed sheets out the window after the wedding night so everyone could see the blood and thus rest assured she had indeed been a virgin, etc). I have tried to present human weakness and realism that is all, but I am not for a moment suggesting the Rohirrim are all at it like rabbits. Far from it. I hope this rambling explanation makes sense.

Lôgrad - Rohirric for 'Rohan'

Thank you to all here at SoA who have been busy reading and reviewing with such clear enthusiasm - I am very touched and gratified to know you have enjoyed Penny's story so far. Posting this chapter brings me completely up-to-date here on SoA, so from now on chapters will be posted 'in real time' as I write them. This is a WIP - chapter 18 has yet to be written and will be posted here as soon as it is ready. :)