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Chapter 25: “Like Father Like Son?”
It was another beautiful morning in Gondor. Penny awoke to find the sun streaming in through the open shutters and Mireth half hanging out the window as she looked down at the city. “Argh! Do you have to blind me with daylight to wake me?” Mireth laughed. “My apologies, I did not intend to rouse you, but it is already well past your usual hour of waking. We let you sleep a little after yesterday’s excitement and exertions. The others have already fetched breakfast.” Penny quickly dressed and joined the others in the central room. Just as they finished their meal, one of the same women who had arrived the previous morning to clean the rooms and help prepare the water for bathing knocked and wandered in. Eleniel asked her for directions to the washing stoop. “Oh, you are not the only ones today. Most of your party, I warrant, are on their way there or will be soon,” she laughed. “You would probably find them easily enough and could just follow them. If you do not mind waiting a little while, though, I can take you myself, so there will be no mistaking it. You will need baskets?” “We have this left over from breakfast…,” one of the ellith in their group began. “Oh, no, no, no. I will fetch you some bigger ones than that. Will you all be going? Do you have much to wash?” They decided two or three baskets between them should be more than enough, depending on their size, and soon the woman had returned with three (“just to be on the safe side, and if you ever want some while you are here, they are kept in the little store cupboard beside the washroom downstairs. My niece makes beautiful wickerwork. Not like these, of course, though they are sturdy enough for what you need. She lives down in Dol Amroth, you know…”). While she swept out the room (still chattering all the while, and leaving barely a breath for anyone else to get a word in) and then returned the remains of the breakfast to the buttery, Penny and the others gathered together the dresses and undershifts they had worn in the journey from Lothlorien and were travel-stained and dirty. Then they headed out into the courtyard with the baskets to await the woman’s return from the Citadel. “No, I am sorry, Lord Faramir, it is out of the question.” “Dúrion, you must understand that-” “We have washerwomen who are more than capable, and I feel sure would be very willing to-” “This is a delicate matter, Dúrion, the Galadhrim in particular-” Dúrion looked puzzled. “The elves from Lothlorien,” Faramir explained. The two men were standing near the patch of grass which had the White Tree and fountain at its centre and were having, if not exactly a heated debate, then certainly a ‘moment’ between them. Glorfindel and Lindir were standing nearby, the latter with a basket of clothes on the floor beside him, both clearly trying to give Faramir and Dúrion some space. Mireth, Penny, Eleniel and the rest murmured greetings and then took up station on two of the benches beside the fountain where they made a great show of chattering to each other while actually eavesdropping at the same time. “But surely their womenfolk can wash their tunics and underclothes for them, no?” Faramir pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed wearily. “The wives of those that are married and who are here with them, perhaps, but as for the rest… As I have explained to you several times already, Dúrion, there is little distinction in elvish society, whether by gender or rank.” The expression on Dúrion’s face left no one in any doubt of what he thought of such a state of affairs. “I cannot possibly cordon off a whole washing stoop for an entire day, or even for the entire duration of our guests’ stay, so that elvish lords can strip themselves to their hose and give the good ladies of Minas Tirith something to gawp at and gossip over!” Dúrion’s voice was threatening to rise a good octave in indignation at the very thought, though he was doing his best to hiss this through his teeth so that the elves in the vicinity (all within earshot even for a human) would not hear him. Penny noticed Lindir glance in her direction at this point and snigger. She glared at him. “Really, Lord Faramir, it is of no consequence,” Glorfindel murmured, trying to placate the situation. “As you say, it is really only some of the Galadhrim that seem a little… wary of mortals washing their things for them.” “They will take great care with them, I can assure you,” Dúrion pointed out, bowing his head slightly in deference and to show he meant no offence, was merely trying to be practical. “I am sure they will,” Glorfindel inclined his head a little in return, “But you have to understand that some elves are… ‘Fussy? Vain? Obsessive about their appearance?’ Penny thought to herself. ‘Take your pick of those or half a dozen others.’ “Glorfindel, are you going to explain to Erestor that some young mortal woman he has never met is to wash his breeches for him?” Lindir looked as if he, for one, certainly did not want to be the one to tell him. “Or Rhimlath for that matter? Or a dozen others I could name?” “What is this? Do you have washing too, my lords? Oh, well, do not worry yourselves about it, just hand it to me and I will get it dealt with.” The servant woman was back from the Citadel and busily taking charge of the situation without so much as a ‘by your leave.’ She made a quick, deferential nod in the direction of Faramir even as she carried on talking. “Now, now, do not be shy!” (Lindir had instinctively grabbed the basket at the same time as she had bent to pick it up, but she pulled it out of his grasp). “Do you think I have never washed a pair of hose before? Stuff and nonsense! I am a married woman who has brought five sons into this world. Who is it who keeps the armies of Gondor in clean breeches but the womenfolk back at home, and no mistake!” She laughed heartily, even while the four males raised eyebrows at such frank and open discussion of undergarments. Dúrion was looking very dark indeed. “Now look here, my good woman...!” he spluttered, but there was no interrupting her. She did not even register that he had spoken to her. “We shall take good care of your fine brocades and linens, have no fear. Who shall I send these back to?” “Er… Lords Glorfindel and Lindir,” Lindir faltered, looking utterly bewildered. “Very good, my lords. I will send servants to the various male quarters to collect the rest then, shall I, my lord Faramir?” At the same time as Faramir opened his mouth to speak, the woman nodded curtly at him with a broad smile as if acknowledging his agreement before he had even had time to answer. Then she immediately turned and strode off briskly with the basket under her arm. “Come along, mi-ducks!” she called out to the waiting females who smirked and sniggered in Glorifindel’s and Lindir’s direction before tripping along behind her. “Ah… well… I suppose that settles that.” Faramir could not look have looked more embarrassed if he had tried. Only now did Dúrion venture to suggest that the stoop beside the barracks in the first level might have been suitable. “Given it is sometimes used by the troops, though of course even they have washerwomen who do most of their…” He trailed off as he saw the hard look Faramir was giving him. “But, my lord, noblemen such as these… to have to walk all that way with their... and to be in such a lowly…” He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly in resignation. “Shall I go and fetch back that basket from Mílves?” “If you please, Dúrion,” said Faramir through clenched teeth. The stoop Mílves led them to (after Dúrion had caught up with her to take back the washing, breathless and wheezing after jogging down the slope to the sixth circle and nearly careering into the guards at the bottom, and even then Mílves would not relinquish it without some argument) was in the fifth circle. It was set inside a courtyard that you got to through either one of two little side lanes off the main thoroughfare, and positioned at the far south side of the circle. It was almost up against the sheer cliff that formed the bridge between the city and the mountain and which was as high as the sixth level at this point, with Fen Hollen almost directly above. The stoop itself was much like the one in Bree, with open sides and a flat, broad roof on pillars. Water trickled through a hole at one end and pooled into a broad, stone-cut channel, on either side of which were angled slabs and steps that reached into the water. They got down to work. Several other ellith were already there as well as quite a few locals. Penny ignored the raised eyebrows from the Gondorian women at her using soap. She had long ago got used to everyone thinking it was unnecessary, wasteful and bizarre but was not about to stop any time soon, no matter what anyone else said. The locals were sociable and chatty, even if they spoke only Westron. Of course, the fact that Penny was human but could speak only Sindarin where most of her elvish counterparts could converse quite happily with the Gondorians was not commented on, but certainly noted as a ‘novelty’ (for which read ‘downright peculiar’). Of course, this sociable morning was positively boring compared to the events surrounding the stoop in the first circle that the ellyn were using. Some bright spark got wind of who was doing their washing there and let slip that one or two windows in the barracks overlooked it. Lo and behold, within less than an hour, several sisters, daughters, sweethearts, and even wives immediately developed a burning desire to visit their brothers, fathers, beaus, or husbands (even if they were on duty and absent from the barracks at the time), on the pretext of having some urgent news that could not wait, or a seedcake they simply had to bring while fresh, or to ask if they could borrow the mule tomorrow week to visit their aunt in Lebennin. They brought their friends with them, too. Fortunately the officer in charge of the barracks (admittedly more by accident than design) happened to waylay the first group that tried this while on their way up the stairs, much to their bitter disappointment. However, by the time the third such gaggle of women had arrived (including a few who had been denied access once already and had returned with what they thought might be a more believable excuse this time), he smelt a rat and decided guards were to be kept at all entry points to the stoop or anywhere near it. Dúrion happened to be there at the time of this third attempt and exploded, sending the troop of young women away tearful and with fleas in their ears (though this was as nothing compared to the response of the fathers, brothers, beaus and husbands when they heard about it). The ellyn, hearing the shouting and seeing the sentries, guessed what was up and decided it might be more politic to rely on the washerwomen after all in future, for as both Elrohir and Legolas pointed out, they did an excellent job, and if the King’s garments could be trusted with them then why not elvish ones? Not only that but, as Dúrion had tried to make clear, it was indeed a long way to walk through the streets with wet leggings under your arm. There were still a determinedly belligerent few who insisted they would do their own laundry in the nearest washroom to their lodgings, though. Tunics were one thing, even undertunics perhaps, but having a strange female rifling through your breeches was really too much to ask of an ellon. For one or two (invariably Galadhrim), even letting someone else wash their tunics was too much. “This embroidery is four months’ worth of work on the sleeves alone! The idea of letting some fat fingered mortal fishwife paw at it…! It’s unconscionable!” Fortunately for those few, enough ellith volunteered to wash their tunics for them and peace was restored (and Dúrion could finally have a lie down in a darkened room to recover from the migraine). It was lunchtime by the time Penny, Mireth, Eleniel and the others had got back from the stoop. Mílves met them and let them know they could hang out their washing on lines in the little yard at the back of the lodging house. “No one can overlook this place, never you fear, so you can hang out your undershifts without worrying. Not like the time my sister found some lovesick youth had been stealing her undershifts from off Mother’s washing line! Oh, my dears! Have you ever heard of such a thing! Of course, she married him in the end, but I always said her husband was never quite right in the head …” (Penny decided, once the prattling had been translated by a fairly appalled Eleniel, that Mílves was definitely good entertainment value.) There was no formality to lunch, though the Great Hall was made available for all the guests to use. At around midday most people wandered over to it to find a fine spread laid out and servants bustling in and out with trays of food and drink. It was mainly elves and Dunedain, though a number of Gondorians nobles were there to play ‘host’. Faramir was there, as well as the highest ranking advisors in the court. There was no sign of Aragorn or Arwen. Penny, Mireth and Eleniel had met Pippin and Merry on the steps outside. Pippin had been on duty all morning and was taking the opportunity of a change in shifts to have a quick bite to eat with his cousin. Lindir was seated on the opposite side of the Hall with Halladan, Arvain and Celebdor. He waved at them to come and join them. A few minutes later Frodo and Sam appeared, along with Legolas and Gimli. Servants brought cushions for the hobbits to sit on, and the conversation was bright and cheery, though there were slight hiatuses every now and then as Sindarin was translated for some of the hobbits or Westron translated for Penny. Halladan was looking a little pale and worse for wear. “One too many last night?” Celebdor laughed. Halladan shook his head wearily, a rueful grin on his face. “Mixing wine and mead was not a good idea. I am paying the price for it today. My head is still pounding.” “Do you not have anything for it?” Penny asked. “Oh, it will pass,” Halladan replied with a dismissive gesture and a smile. The hobbits were desperate to know how Bilbo was faring, what he had been up to, how their journey had been, what they had made of Lothlorien and Rohan, and Sam was busy quizzing Celebdor about the gardens at Imladris. “Oh, your cabbages came out very well, Ban. Naurdir was delighted.” “I should hope so too, amount of time I spent on them before we left you all. I am so glad old Bilba is well. I cannot wait to see him.” “He will want the tale told in full and in detail, I should not wonder.” Frodo sighed, smiled and shook his head. “He was often thinking of you,” Penny said. “He might not have mentioned any of you by name, but sometimes I would catch him staring south-east, lost in his thoughts. I know he wondered how you fared, and he was so relieved and pleased when word came from Aragorn that you were all safe and well.” “And you looked after him, like we asked you to, I am sure.” Merry smiled. “As if Bilba ever needed looking after!” Lindir laughed. “Trust me, Kali, the day we left Imladris he was standing on those steps seeing us all off with a very determined look about him. I have no doubt whatsoever he will have considered himself lord of the place while we were all gone.” “He will have run them ragged by the time we return.” Eleniel was laughing also. “Yes, well, I suspect your request was a more a deceit to get Bilba to look after me in your stead rather than the other way about, was it not, Kali?” Penny smiled at the hobbit who looked a little shifty as Frodo translated. “Not at all,” he muttered, looking sheepish, and then occupied himself with piling his plate with cold meats and cheese. “Well, I must say your Sindarin has improved immensely.” Frodo beamed at Penny. “It seems a long remove from when I was testing you over the breakfast table each morning. I dare say there is the odd word or two you could teach me now.” “Oh, I doubt that. Of course, the next step is Westron, which I am utterly awful at.” “Practice, practice.” Frodo wagged a finger at her. “That and vocabulary. Perhaps we should meet each morning and start testing you on Westron, since it served you so well with the Sindarin.” The appalled expression on Penny’s face met with loud laughter, and only seemed to make Frodo that much more determined. “Oh, there is no stopping him once he is set on something,” Pippin piped up with a grin. “He has proved that well enough. There is no stopping a kuduk.” It was Frodo’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “And we will help,” Arvain offered. “From now on, no Sindarin with the Dunedain.” “What!” Penny looked at Frodo. “You see what you have started!” He laughed. After only a short while, Pippin had to rush back to duty and so made his apologies and disappeared. “I thought he said there had been a change of shifts?” Mireth looked confused. “He is doing double today because of having the day off yesterday,” Sam explained through a mouthful of cold roast duck. “Would have done duty yesterday only Aragorn insisted against it. So he insisted just as much that he be allowed to make up for it today.” “He is so taken with King Elessar and being a Citadel Guard, I sometimes wonder if he will want to come home with us at all!” Merry laughed. “Oh, do not say that, Kali,” Frodo remonstrated gently. “He loves Sûza just as much as you do. We all miss it too much not to want to go home.” As the meal progressed, inevitably the subject of the clothes washing came up. “Such a fuss about nothing!” Penny retorted. “I quite agree.” Arvain was hacking off a huge hunk of bread at Merry’s request. “I am glad to have someone else wash my clothes for a change.” “And the women here do an excellent job,” Halladan pointed out. “Tell that to Rhimlath,” Lindir muttered. “Oh, Rhimlath is just being ridiculous. I washed Halbarad’s leggings and undershirt for him and I had only known him a day.” “You had been wearing them yourself, though, Pen-ii,” Lindir pointed out. “And so had he, judging from the stink of them,” she replied, pulling a face. There was laughter round the table. “You should consider yourself fortunate he even had a spare set of clothes to give you, Pen-ii.” Lindir chuckled. “Halbarad was one of the old generation who believed in living very simply while rangering.” “Ah, now, Lindir, that is a little harsh,” Arvain interjected. “Any ranger’s life is a frugal one. Carry no more than you absolutely need, and fetch the rest from the land as you require it. Father was no different to any other Dunadan.” “There are a few of you that travel with salt, soap and comb, though.” “A ranger with soap!” Halladan looked outraged. Penny grimaced at him. “Ewww!” The others laughed. He raised an eyebrow at her. “A fresh stream is all you need, trust me.” Penny opened her mouth to say something but decided against it. “I think Pen-ii would disagree with you on that point.” Merry smirked. “Even an ellon needs to wash after a while,” Mireth pointed out. “Ah, well, now, hold hard,” Lindir protested. “It is not exactly equivalent.” “Are you saying that elves never break into a sweat, Lindir?” Penny looked sceptical. “I did not say that…” “Or pick up the smell of horses or damp leather, or what if you fell in a bog or-or-or…” She searched for another example. “Or orcs! You have all told me how much they stink, and you were washing your hands pretty thoroughly after that time in the mountains…” “Blood stains tunics if you do not deal with it well and quickly,” Celebdor interrupted. “Oh, please! You reeked of scented oil for the rest of the day – it was the stink as much as anything else you were trying to get rid of!” “Are you saying men stink?” Arvain looked highly amused. “No. Well… not all the time. But after a few weeks of not seeing a bar of soap they will, yes.” There was muttered agreement from every elf and hobbit there. Arvain and Halladan raised their eyebrows at them all. “It’s all the hair,” Lindir said decisively. “I’ve been saying that for centuries.” Eleniel gasped and slapped his shoulder before collapsing into giggles. “Anyone would stink after a few weeks without washing. Even elves, contrary to what they might say.” Penny looked hard at Lindir. “Why else were you all obsessively diving in and out of rivers all the way here?” “I am not listening!” Lindir was staring at a gilded carving of lilies in the roof beam. “Even Legolas here was glad to get to Lothlorien and have a proper wash,” Merry chipped in as Frodo translated for him. Legolas choked into his wine and tried to look outraged. “She sounds just like an elf,” Halladan mumbled through a mouthful to his brother, waving a spoon in Penny’s direction. “She does.” Arvain nodded. “You have been spending too much time in Imladris, Pen-ii, that much is very clear.” “Not at all,” Mireth interrupted. “Pen-ii arrived already complaining your father stank, I seem to remember.” “Indeed?” Halladan looked at Penny, his face stern. “Oh, well, now, I would not go that far, Mireth,” Penny stammered, looking rather flustered. “We were both pretty ripe after the journey.” She threw Halladan an apologetic look. “I was jesting with you, Pen-ii.” He laughed. “As you say, several weeks in the wild, even with only river washing, will leave you wanting a hot bath and a change of clothes. Happens to the best of us.” “Does it, indeed?” Legolas raised an eyebrow. “However, I still say you do not need a comb while travelling.” There were protests from the elves. Penny joined in. Arvain agreed that a comb hardly took up any space, but Halladan was adamant that a comb in a pack was the start of a very slippery slope. “A little salt is one thing, and even soap I could possibly allow, but when you First Born start talking about combs and bottles of scented oil and three pairs of spare hose, it becomes ridiculous.” “Ah, there my brother has a point,” Arvain nodded. “I mean, a troll is not going to care what you smell like or if your hair is neat.” “That is beside the point!” Celebdor retorted. “It is the principle of the thing,” Legolas added hotly, before turning to glare at the hobbits who were sniggering into their fruit. The banter continued in much the same vein till at last everyone made moves to leave. The hobbits were trying to see if they could wheedle one last cheese out of the servants. Legolas was filling Celebdor in with the news he had received from home as he finished his cup of wine. “A good part of it burnt, they say,” his face was deadly serious as he spoke, “and many fell. But then we had our fair share of damage here, did we not? It was to be expected. It is fortunate not more was lost. How fared Lothlorien? I have not had a chance to speak to the Galadhrim in any detail about it all.” “Oh, not so badly, perhaps. Damage to the borders, and they lost many, but at least Eryn Lasgalen is cleared, or will be soon. Your father’s realm is greater than ever.” “There is still much to do. Too long has darkness held sway over the forest.” “In time the light will reclaim it. It has already begun, I am sure.” “Indeed. We must not lose sight of that. I hope to return as soon as I may.” “And I with him,” Gimli interrupted. “Our paths lie in the same direction, after all, but first I have promised him a visit to the caves in Rohan. Never seen anything more beautiful in my life…” He hesitated. “Well, except one, perhaps.” He glanced up to across the Hall where Galadriel was listening politely to something Faramir was saying to her. “It gladdens my heart to see a dwarf and elf so close,” Celebdor said with a smile, his gaze flicking between Legolas and Gimli. “Too long there has been wariness between our peoples. Of course, we often have dwarves pass by Imladris, as well you know, but there has always been… well… how shall I put it…?” “A certain mistrust?” Gimli’s eyes glittered with amusement. “Yes, I would agree with you there, Master Elf. But in Legolas here, I find all that is noble and true in your race, and I was proud to bear my axe beside his bow. You make noble warriors, you elves, far hardier than I had ever realised.” Celebdor inclined his head a little in acknowledgement of the compliment. “Lothlorien was a wonder to me. Once I could see the kindness, the beauty, the inherent goodness in that place, then I knew that no Elf such as her or who held her dear could bear malice towards me and my kin. Let bygones be bygones, I said. Which is not to say Lord Elrond and the elves of Imladris were not most courteous to us also,” he added hurriedly. “The Lady was most gracious to him,” Legolas said. “A gift was given to him that no Elf could dream of receiving. He was shown a great favour.” “Indeed?” Celebdor was intrigued. “Now, you keep my private business private, Elf,” Gimli muttered at Legolas. “What was shared between her and me remains my affair, and I like to keep it that way.” Legolas chuckled. “It is no laughing matter!” “I know, I know.” Legolas tried to straighten his face. “I understand, my friend.” “Good.” Gimli glanced at him slightly suspiciously and then stomped off to see if he could track down Gandalf. “It is no secret given the Lady herself has already made reference of it since she arrived here and where others might overhear,” Legolas murmured. “It is his keepsake and he is a little sensitive about it, that is all. Estel knows, of course. Suffice it to say that if word ever travels West and reaches the ears of some who reside in Mandos’ Halls, Feanor will not be pleased.” Celebdor raised his eyebrows in astonishment. “Oh?” He blinked at him. Penny, who understood this last part, sniggered quietly to herself. She looked up to see Legolas had an eyebrow raised in her direction and a soft smile on his face. She grinned back at him and he laughed. Lunch was long finished by the time that, one by one, those that remained finally got up to leave. Halladan winced slightly each time a wooden bench squeaked against the marble. “Still have that headache? I have some herbs for use against pain in my pack. Mireth gave me to them before we left in case I needed them.” Penny mentioned their name and Halladan nodded, recognising the powdered tree bark she was talking about. “I can fetch you some if you would like.” “No, no, do not trouble yourself…” “Oh, it is no trouble. I have plenty to spare.” He hesitated for a second and then, as Lindir and Arvain, who both standing right beside him, roared with laughter over some quip Eleniel had just made at Celebdor’s expense, he winced and nodded. “Yes, perhaps I will. Thank you. That is most generous.” As they made their way out into the sunshine and started across the courtyard, Penny glanced across towards the battlement that stood at the top of the pinnacle of rock. “Halladan, would you mind? Could I just go and see the view?” “But of course.” He smiled, and they made their way slowly towards it. It was the first time Penny had really had time to stop and take stock of her surroundings, and she could not resist this opportunity. Before they reached the far end and the embrasure with the stone seat set below it, she stopped, turning to look back towards the Tower of Ecthelion and the tall, snow-capped peak behind it, the snow bright in the summer sun. “Beautiful,” she breathed. “Is it not? It was quite something to see it at last. I had heard of it, even seen pictures in Imladris, but pictures never truly do such a thing justice.” Of course, this place held some kind of historical significance for him as a Dunadan, Penny reminded herself. The view from the opening in the wall was every bit as astonishing as Penny might have hoped. There before her was all the Pelennor, with even the Ramas Ecchor visible at points as a distant, grey line (utterly belying the height or width of it up close). Osgiliath was a faint blur only really visible thanks to the glint of the river that was blocked out at that point. The mountains of Mordor loomed large and clear, cutting straight across her view and filling the horizon. Between them and the river were woods and thicket-covered hills. She tried to see if she could spot Minas Morgul from this distance, but could make nothing out in the gloom of the mountain peaks, though it would not have surprised her if an elf standing next to her might have been able to make it out. She glanced northeast to where the mountains came to an abrupt end and realised, with a sudden jolt, that she was looking at the place where Hirvell died, where many had died, indeed, judging from some of the snatches of overheard conversation last night. That thought immediately brought her eye nearer to home and to the Pelennor once more. From her vantage point the lines of the trenches the enemy had dug were clearly visible in several places, and once you had got your eye in you could make out the concentric lines of them pretty clearly by connecting up the patches of bare earth, the raised lines of grass-covered earthworks, or even where a swath of trees had been felled to make way for them on occasion. The ruins of farmsteads were visible, too. It was clear the number of farms on the Pelennor had not been numerous, but that few within Penny’s range of sight had escaped some sort of damage. When she had ridden through it, she had been able to see only what was visible from the road. Now she was left in no doubt as to how extensive the damage had been over the whole Pelennor, getting progressively worse towards the city. There was a whole patch of blackened tree trunks less than half a mile south just for a start. She could not help but wonder where, in all of this lot, Halbarad had met his end. And yet, in amongst the ruin, carts and wains made their inexorable course down tracks or along the main roads leading to any one of the three gates in the wall. Lone riders could be spotted, no doubt carrying messages to sentries; even walking travellers, one switching a mule loaded with baggage, were coming and going. There were cattle in a few fields, builders at work restoring the roof timbers of a nearby barn, and smoke from the odd chimney still intact. Life continued, in spite of the loss. It was faintly surreal. “Pen-ii?” Halladan interrupted her thoughts. She glanced at him. “While I have this opportunity to talk to you alone, I think I should tell you… That is, well, my father… he told me a lot about you.” “Yes, I realised.” “No, I mean… I mean that he told us all about you, about who you were, where you came from: your entire story. He perhaps spoke to me more than he did to Hirvell and Arvain, but we all knew the basic facts of what went on in the questioning of you in Imladris.” “Oh.” Penny blinked at him. “Oh. I see.” She smiled weakly and looked away. “I just thought I should tell you that Arvain and I know, and I want you to feel you can talk openly to us, just as you would have been able to with Father.” Penny glanced at him once more and saw him smiling kindly at her. She returned his smile. “Thank you, Halladan. I am glad he told you. It does… make things easier, though I do not doubt you find it strange.” “I do. I did. However, my father believed it to be the truth, and that was enough for me to believe it and for Hirvell and Arvain to believe it also. That Elladan and Elrohir knew and did not doubt your story helped, of course, when he first told us, let alone to then learn that Aragorn and Mithrandir knew as well.” “Lindir knows also. I told him in Lothlorien. He had become too close a friend and had guessed something was not all the others were saying it was.” Halladan nodded. “Yes, Legolas told me.” Good grief! Clearly her ears had been burning! Penny wondered if there had been get-togethers amongst them all here in the south speculating what she might or might not have known about in advance. Given what Halbarad had heard her say about Moria, they would have probably realised how detailed her knowledge was. What must they have thought? She felt a knot of anxiety form in her stomach. Apparently, her concern showed in her face because Halladan tried to reassure her. “It must have been hard for you, to have such knowledge.” She nodded, saying nothing and staring out at the Pelennor, at the damage that seemed all too visible suddenly, with memories of the few men she had seen even at yesterday’s festivities with eye patches, or on crutches, or with one sleeve of a tunic pinned to their sides running through her head. She thought of the man standing beside her, one hand holding the top of his stick, and considered the obvious difficulty he was having dealing with the loss of his brother and father. She felt her throat tighten. Halladan was gauging her reaction to all this. He had wanted to talk to her that first night they had arrived, but she had left so early from the meal, and yesterday had been out of the question. She had that same air about her she had had at that first supper all of a sudden. It was clear, just as Mithrandir had agreed when Halladan had spoken to him, that she had a lot of unresolved anxiety if not distress. Nor did Halladan blame her in the least. He just hoped his instincts were correct and she was already warming to him as a friend so that he could be a help to her if she needed it, and could provide the support and protection he had promised his father he would give her in his stead. “Shall we sit?” he said gently, indicating the stone bench below the embrasure’s sill. Penny nodded. They sat side by side for a little while, saying nothing. Penny did not feel she needed to say anything, rather she sensed that he did not require her to explain or talk in the least if she did not wish to. She was grateful to him for not making her feel awkward or pressured. “Raz looked at this view the first day he arrived here. He sat on this same seat with Beregond.” Halladan looked at her, astonished. “You know of Beregond?” Beregond was no longer resident in the city, so there was no way she could know who he was or anything of him. “Of course. His love for Faramir, his spilling of blood to gain access to the Domes of the Dead, as well as the justice and kindness with which Aragorn dealt with him for his transgression...” She looked at him. “You said you knew, Halladan. There is no need to look quite so surprised.” She made a half-hearted attempt at a smile. “Yes, I know, but to hear it…” “I realise.” She fell back into silence once more for a moment. “Raz became very good friends with his son, Bergil, did he not?” Halladan chuckled, shaking his head, as if utterly unable to find an appropriate response. She was staring at the Pelennor once more. “I just wonder if… I mean, I know there was no other way, but…” Why was she telling him this? She barely knew the man. “When I see the damage done…” Her throat was tight again, her hand gripping the stone sill so tightly Halladan could see her knuckles whiten. She slowly blew outwards, looking to the sky in a bid to keep herself under control. “Mithrandir’s advice is never to be gainsaid, Pen-ii. I know my father trusted his decision, and understood the reasoning for it completely. He agreed with it.” He paused, waiting for her to look at him. “I know you know that. He understood and would never have asked you to tell him anything.” “It got pretty hard with the Balrog. I regretted saying anything. I should not have told them, because it worried them terribly and there was nothing they could do.” “Perhaps. But it is past, no? What is done is done. Life moves on. See?” He gestured at the Pelennor. “They are rebuilding and living their lives. That is as it should be.” “And you, Halladan?” “Me?” He looked at her, feining ignorance of what she might be referring to, but saw in her look a depth of understanding of his predicament that made him feel uncomfortable. He said nothing and looked away. “May I ask..? About your leg…? Is it very badly damaged?” He glanced down at his thigh. “Yes. But it will heal with time, or should do. You can never be wholly sure, of course. The last of the bandages came off a few weeks ago, but I still get pain and stiffness. Likely will for the rest of my life. I was fortunate, perhaps, that it was not a cutting weapon that caught me or else I could now be completely lame, though there were spikes on that club that did a fair bit of damage. Had it been a sword or axe I might well have lost my leg completely, if not with the initial blow then at the hands of the healers soon afterwards.” Penny looked at him with horror. “Yes, I am fortunate, Pen-ii. I have much to be thankful for.” He sounded rather like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was her. “Many suffered far worse.” She nodded. “I am sorry.” “What for?” “Your leg.” “Oh, there’s no ne-” “For everything.” They looked at each other for a moment till Penny dropped her gaze to stare at her hands in her lap while Halladan found himself focusing on the high snows on Mindolluin. “Come.” Halladan pushed himself up with his stick and held out his hand. “What about those herbs you promised me? We cannot sit here all day and this bright sunlight is not helping my head in the least.” “True.” She took his hand, returning his smile, and stood up. “Forgive me.” “Nothing to forgive.” They made their way over to her lodgings, Halladan waiting at the door while Penny went up to fetch the powdered bark and return. As they wandered over towards the buttery so Halladan could get some honey and freshly boiled water to use to make it up into a drink, Pippin came trotting up to them. “Ah, there you are, Pen-ii. Halladan, would you mind translating? I have been sent to find you, Pen-ii. The King is asking for you.” She knew what this was about. The tight ball of anxiety hit the pit of her stomach once more. “Oh, thank you, Raz.” She could manage that much in Westron. She made to follow him as he turned to head off, then stopped and looked back at Halladan. “Would you come with me? I know they will wish to talk about… I would like you to be there.” “No, no. Not without being expressly invited. It would not be appropriate.” He smiled. “There is no ill-feeling towards you, Pen-ii. I know you need to hear that from them, but do not be apprehensive.” She did not look convinced. “I need to go and take this.” He shook the tub of powder at her. “I will come and wait for you so that I may return it to you.” There was no need for him to wait for her to give it back straight away. He could return it at any time. She knew it and he knew it. She had said as much when she had given it to him. Still she appreciated him saying he would be there waiting for her once she was done, and knowing that he would be outside afterwards helped to calm her nerves a little. She suspected (rightly) that he had offered to do it for precisely that reason. She thanked him. As she turned to follow Pippin to the Hall and royal chambers on the other side of the Tower of Ecthelion, Halladan watched her for a few moments. He wondered if he should have mentioned his father’s dying words just now. He had had plenty of opportunity. And yet… something had held him back. ‘Not yet,’ he had told himself. Perhaps he did not want to relive that moment, worried what it might bring back or how he might react. He barely knew her, and could ill afford to… Or was it that he felt it was too much for her to take right now, given how she was clearly reeling from being here at last, and still in need of reassurance from those who had guided her before the War? Perhaps it was a little of both? No matter. It could wait, would have to wait. They had time enough, time for him to get to know her better and assess how best to tackle the moment when it came.
Author’s Notes: Please be advised that on consultation with The Sindarin Language Bods of The Interweb, I have discovered that ‘ellyth’ as the plural of ‘elleth’ is incorrect. Mea culpa, and my apologies. In the plural ‘e’ lenates to ‘i’, so it’s ‘ellith’ not ‘ellyth’. ‘Ellyn’ as the plural of ‘ellon’ is correct, though. As and when I can find the time, I will go back and change all the uses of ‘ellyth’ to ‘ellith’, but since this fic is now posted at four different places, it will be a lot of work, so I am sure you will forgive me if this doesn’t happen right away. Just to let you know, though. My sincere thanks to everyone who helped me get to the bottom of this, and in particular dreamingfifi of the Real Elvish website. I would also like to thank surgicalsteel for all her detailed advice and help on battle injuries, wounds, and their various treatments, prognoses, complications and time scales, and in particular on helping decide on the nature of Halladan’s injury and how it would affect him in terms of movement and healing time, etc. For those as might not know: it is said that Feanor, arguably the greatest elf and craftsman in history (and he who made the Silmarils and started the first kin-slaying and the whole reason for the Noldor coming back from Valinor in the first place) once asked Galadriel for some strands of her hair. Her hair was said to be astonishingly beautiful and may even have inspired Feanor to make the Silmarils in the first place. Galadriel refused him, even though he was close kin to her. Thus, Gimli was granted a gift that was truly astonishing for all sorts of reasons. |
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