Thanks to all who are reading and those dropping comments and reviews - I do appreciate it, and am so glad this story is still entertaining for people.

Chapter 31 - “Of Course, You Realise This Means War”

The night after the fete Penny slept like a log. She was still on the slow road to recovery in some respects. It had been a long and exhausting day in the heat, and for one with low energy reserves that was a lot to deal with. She still felt slightly out of it the next day.

Milves was particularly cheery with her that morning and unsurprisingly so, given how well Penny had gone down with her family. Of course her ‘boys’, as Milves insisted on calling her sons, were far from being ‘boys’ since they were all easily as old as Halladan (or nearly) and all were married and had children of varying ages. Milves was mother hen to quite a tribe. Admittedly one had lost a hand, another had a very pronounced limp and yet another had terrible scarring to one side of his face, but they were a cheerful, happy band nonetheless. Her husband was a red-faced man with a ready laugh who clearly enjoyed his ale and his food. They had all made Penny feel very welcome, even with the communication difficulties. Indeed it had only been when Eleniel tapped her on the shoulder, saying it was time they headed off for a late supper up in the Seventh Circle and gesturing at Arvain, Halladan and Lindir standing nearby, that she finally left Milves’s company. As she did so, she did not realise she had just agreed she would come round for lunch or supper one day to Milves’s home.

“And you must come too, Lady Eleniel, though I do not doubt you would find it a simple meal in basic lodgings compared to what you must be used to…”

“Not at all, Milves, I would be most honoured.”

And Eleniel had meant it, though she could guess perhaps better than Penny what the reaction of certain ladies of Gondor would be when they found out about it.

Indeed, as the days progressed, Penny little knew what was going on with some of the ladies of Gondor, though she probably could have made an educated guess.

Several of the ladies of the court, mainly friends of Meresel, had made Penny feel welcome, and they were those who made a point of getting their brothers or sons (depending on their age) to ask her for dances of an evening. They were also happy to see her when she shyly arrived in the Queen’s chambers on occasion, as Arwen had requested of her, and fussed over her and praised her dreadful sewing and encouraged her.

A few of these reactions were genuine, like Meresel’s, but there were a larger number amongst this group who saw in Penny a means by which they could get the Queen’s favour, and after a few days Penny found them a little overbearing, particularly after the evening meal. She would try and find some respite with her friends, and at times even went outside to hunt down Halladan and sit quietly with him.

“Escaping the ladies of Gondor?” he would ask with a grin and then, without waiting for an answer, he would chuckle, shake his head, and shift over on the step or bench to make space for her beside him.

However, there were others who, like Sidhwen, saw Penny as something of a threat and a rival. Penny did not know it but her actions at the fete had been something of a gift to them, since Sidhwen had seen her ‘ogling’ the wrestlers (as she put it), as well as the company she had chosen to keep afterwards. The fact that Meresel had been there with her was conveniently overlooked, of course. It was enough that she had been present at such a low-brow event, obviously enjoying the entertainment and then spent a very long time socialising with Milves and her family as if they were her equals.

“I mean, she was staring, positively staring at half-naked labourers and tinkers! It was disgusting! She was so wanton about it too. Frankly, if you ask me, I think that speaks volumes about the sort of woman she really is…”

“Well, yes, because I heard that no one really knows terribly much about her…”

“Just found wandering, dazed and confused in the woods…”

“Probably some peasant lunatic or worse…”

Quite what the ‘worse’ could be was not stated openly, but it was heavily implied.

Penny had clearly shown herself to not be a ‘lady’ by their standards, and therefore was probably actually some provincial yokel who had landed on her feet by losing her memory and being taken in by the great and the good. Frankly, she did not deserve such luxury or kindness and should go back to where she came from or, if where that might be could not be established, then at the very least demoted to the class to which she truly belonged.

The more the whispering and bitching continued, the more outlandish the suggestions and assumptions became. Thus Penny slowly morphed into a woman of no moral character whatsoever, and thus was viewed as deeply suspect. That everyone had been taken in by her only proved her to be a devious trollop who was not to be trusted, but Sidhwen and others could see her for what she truly was.

“Ugh, how she fawns over Arvain,” Sidhwen would sneer when Penny was doing nothing of the kind and merely laughing loudly over some jibe Arvain had thrown.

Indeed, Sidhwen did herself little favour by trying to drive a wedge between Penny and Arvain. She told her friends it was to protect Arvain from Penny’s deception before “she could get her claws into him,” though in reality she was desperately worried the growing friendship between Arvain and Penny would turn into something more and she would be shoved out of the picture (not that she was ever in the picture to start with except in her own head, it has to be said).

Needless to say, Arvain was unamused, especially since Sidhwen was becoming more and more blatant about trying to pull him in the opposite direction if they neared Penny, or squeezing herself between the two of them as she simpered and pleaded for a dance. When she went so far as to whisper comments about Penny herself to him, though, such as being ‘surprised people were not a little more wary of someone about whose history nothing was known since, well, she could be absolutely anyone from anywhere,’ he had had enough.

That he became rather cold towards Sidhwen from that point on only served as fuel to the fire. Penny instantly became Primary Target Number One as far as Sidhwen was concerned, and she now went out of her way to foment the growing cattiness about Penny in some quarters.

For his part, Arvain had a quiet word with his brother, and they both decided the best plan was to lie low but keep an eye on Sidhwen in case she caused trouble. They also worked as best they could to keep the two women apart. That said, neither of them doubted for a moment that, given what they had heard their father say of Penny’s performance in Bree, let alone the insights into her character they had since had from others and seen for themselves, if push came to shove Penny was perfectly capable of giving Sidhwen something she would never forget.

However, the court would be likely to never forget it, either, or forgive it any time soon if it got particularly spectacular, so it was best avoided if at all possible.

In the meantime, while all of this was being played out behind her back, Penny was finding the days were passing by swiftly. She had not a spare hour, it seemed, with so much to do and so many people glad of her company.

The library was wonderful, and Istdor became a like a kindly old uncle to her in some ways. His tour of the city when it finally came was breathtaking in its depth and breadth. Even Lindir had to admit it had been quite something, though he had been seen suppressing a yawn at one point as Rhimlath and Istdor got into a prolonged discussion on various kinds of mortar. Penny showed herself to be particularly gifted in diverting the pair away from tedious discussions by asking pertinent questions that would get Istdor completely overexcited and bustling on to the next building or spot, even if Rhimlath was in full flow. Lindir congratulated her on it later.

“I shall have to rely on your services more often, young lady, when I am stuck with the pair of them.” He smiled slightly too sweetly.

“Indeed? I shall have to give you a very wide berth if ever I see you in their company, in that case,” she retorted.

The day after the market she took Legolas up on his offer. She was at a loose end after lunch and they had been sitting near to each other at the meal. Afterwards, as they walked together with the others out to the courtyard, she touched his elbow and stayed him.

“L-Legolas, would you… I mean, if it is not… You are probably busy…”

He smiled gently, and understood immediately.

“I am not in the least bit busy, Lady Pen-ii. Let us go somewhere quiet and private where we can talk freely.”

They walked slowly towards the royal chambers, Legolas chatting almost nonchalantly all the while. If anyone stopped them to talk, Legolas responded politely, all smiles, but made it clear that he was terribly sorry he really had to be somewhere else and would they mind terribly…

Eventually Penny found he had taken her to a small inner courtyard somewhere behind the Throne Room. There were tubs with a few fragrant plants in them and a circular bench in the centre. They stayed in the shade of the cloister, finding a small stone seat carved into one wall.

And there, quietly and gently, Legolas talked.

For how long Penny was not sure, but she sat entranced as he spoke, never seeming to tire, of what he had been a witness to. He made her smile, even laugh at times at some of the little things he remembered of quips or jokes between the Nine Walkers as they had travelled. He also made her desperately upset, even weep quietly once or twice, and at such moments he would stop and wait, smiling sadly down at her, or even staring out at the courtyard as if briefly lost in the memories himself.

His description of Fangorn made her regret having been such a fool while she had been there. She told him of her near phobic fear of the Ent, and Legolas smiled indulgently - clearly she was proving herself to be very mortal and very young with such an admission.

His description of the battle of Helm’s Deep was something else, though, let alone those when they won the ships at Pelargir or on the Pelennor itself. He gave no details, as such, but spoke men’s names with reverence and named them ‘warrior’ or ‘hero’ or ‘honourable man’, and she knew from the way he spoke he had seen them fall and go down fighting. She wanted desperately to ask him about Halbarad, but she did not know if he had seen him die and she was not wholly sure she would want to know the truth of how it had happened.

“They are buried there,” he was saying, gesturing vaguely to the south. “South of the city so they might greet the sun and be warmed by it through much of the day. Many lie there.”

“And those who fell at the Black Gate?”

He looked at her, his face so young and the eyes so old, so sad.

“There were too many for us to bring them back here, Pen-ii. They were buried there, where they fell.”

Of course. She felt so stupid. Yet she also wondered how those who had lost men there felt to know they were buried in the sight of Mordor itself. She thought of Hirvell and then many others she now had heard tell of who had fallen there. But then, she reasoned, they were not the first to have been left behind on that battlefield; Legolas’s own grandfather was one, for a start.

“I would have liked to have met Hirvell,” was all she said.

Legolas nodded. “He was a noble man. Like his brothers and his father before him.”

“Legolas? I do not know how things are done amongst the edain, what their customs are, but would it be considered inappropriate for me to ask to visit the place where the Dunedain are buried?”

Legolas looked at her, and his gaze was full of understanding and tenderness.

“I do not think so, no. I think those who knew Halbarad and loved him well would be most moved to know you wished to pay your final respects to him and honour him in your own fashion.”

Penny nodded and thanked him. How to broach the subject, and with whom, would be something she would have to think about at another time.

Unsurprisingly all that Legolas had to say could not all be told in one sitting; and more than once therefore, Legolas took her back to that spot, sometimes sitting, sometimes strolling round the cloisters at a slow, measured pace. It was quite cathartic in many ways, and Penny was very grateful to him. She still found life difficult, though. Every wound she saw, every death she heard of, every ruin she passed by in the lower circles reminded her of her decision and the part she had had to play, albeit from a great distance, in the outcome of it all. She kept reminding herself over and over that greater decisions with more weight and heavier outcomes had been made by minds far wiser than hers, but while she knew that to be true it was still taking time to overcome her instinctive distress.

Not only that, but ever since Legolas had told her the burial sites were to the South, Mireth and Eleniel sometimes found her staring out of the window of their room as if trying to see if she could make out mounds in the distance.

On occasion she spent an hour or two with Gandalf also, who was happy to talk of things from his point of view. At times Aragorn was with him, though it was rare when he could spare more than a half hour since the business of state was ever pressing on his time. Gandalf did not push Penny in regard to those questions she was desperate to know the answers to. There would be time enough yet, and she was still adjusting to being in Gondor and seeing the Fellowship once more. His presence helped considerably, and she always felt that much calmer after she had spoken with him even if only for a short while.

Lunch with Milves was quite something. Eleniel came, as she had promised, as did Mireth at Milves’s insistence. They in their turn had said they would bring some of the fruit they had bought at the market, even though Milves protested it was not necessary, but for once she was overruled.

Her lodgings were in the third circle, in a large rambling house set back off a side street. They kept chickens and a goat for milking in a yard out the back, and the grandchildren were running riot, but it was a fine spread Milves had laid on for them, no doubt with the help of her daughters-in-law. There was fresh baked bread and home made cheese, and someone had slaughtered a sheep in their honour which had been spitted and roasted. It was served with soup and potatoes. Somehow Penny suspected the family did not always eat quite this sumptuously.

Milves’s eldest arrived with a barrel of ale, for which he was scolded by his mother. That was quite something – seeing a man a year or two older than Halladan being spoken to as if he were no more than six years of age. Apparently he should have brought wine for such refined guests and had in fact been expressly told to do exactly that, but the brewer was a friend of his and had struck him a special deal, and besides “there is nothing wrong with Minas Tirith ale, Mother, so let me have some peace!”

Mireth hastily accept ed a cup of ale and declared it to be easily as good as any elvish wine she had tasted. They knew she was lying but Milves beamed nonetheless and her eldest smiled gratefully, breathed a sigh of relief and left them to it.

Lunch was a female affair, though Milves’ husband did turn up briefly to get a hunk of bread and some cheese before heading back out down to the First Circle where he was helping rebuild a friend’s house. He also sneaked a tankard of the ale when Milves’s back was turned, putting a finger to his lips as he tried to creep away with it on tiptoe.

“Grandpa’s taken some of the guests’ drink!” a tiny voice piped up.

Milves turned with a gasp and a face like thunder just in time to see her husband’s heels as he sped out of the door. She grabbed a broom and raced after him, but he was gone.

“I will get you for that, you old goat!” she shouted after him, waving her broomstick out the door and down the street. She was chuckling and grinning as she came back in, though.

Of course the whole episode was added to the list of things that showed Penny’s ‘true nature’ as far as certain persons in the court were concerned: namely, hobnobbing with the staff. The elves did it, yes, but then the elves were a law unto themselves and, like royalty, allowed to do pretty much what they liked. Penny, for all she was in elvish company, was human and subject to the social mores the ladies felt were necessary for one who was likely as not about to become another of their number.

Exactly when Sidhwen got hold of her golden piece of information, however, was not entirely clear. Whether someone told her directly or she overheard a gossipy conversation one night she did not say, indeed it is likely she heard it from more than one source. Elves have loose tongues at the best of times and there was surely no harm in admitting what had been an amusing episode albeit a rather sad one in retrospect.

The trouble was that, inevitably, this piece of information then underwent ‘The Sidhwen Effect’ in that it became grossly distorted and twisted out of all proportion, and quite deliberately so given it concerned Penny. Hence by the time Chinese Whispers had also been to work on it, it was something quite different from whatever it was that Sidhwen may have overheard or been told.

“Oh, I heard she was really quite brazen about it.”

“I can believe that, after all Sidhwen has been completely shut out of Lord Arvain’s affections, thanks to that woman…”

“Well, exactly. Poor Lord Boromir did not know where to put himself, so I am told.”

“… practically throwing herself at him…”

“… no better than a ‘lady of the night’…”

“… Lord Boromir tried to be as polite as he could…”

“… Lord Elrond was hugely embarrassed…”

“Well, someone told me there was an ‘incident’ in the gardens which left her in hysterics and Boromir looking appalled and shocked. I do not think I need to elaborate further…”

“No, of course you do not! Ugh, how shameful!”

Within a day at the most, it was round the entire court that Penny had, in effect, jumped on Boromir in a wanton display of lust and Boromir had practically had to beat her off with a stick. Elrond had done his best to smooth things over, had read Penny the riot act, and Boromir had been most gracious and forgiving, though he had done his best to completely avoid Penny after that. Quite what Elrond had been thinking in bringing Penny with him to Gondor, let alone putting forward the idea that she might like to stay, some people really had no idea. Perhaps Boromir was not the only one Penny had thrown herself at and Elrond was trying to get rid of her, but then if that was the case it was hardly any surprise, given that she had obviously been in her element amongst the Great Unwashed at the fete and no doubt had no more manners than the crudest of the crude.

Which is not to say the majority believed it for a moment. Indeed as soon as it came to the ears of any elf, Dunadan or hobbit they quickly slapped it down saying it was utter rubbish, though several did confirm that they had heard she had been a little sweet on Boromir, but it had been no more than that.

Arwen was furious. She and Eleniel went out of their way to make it clear in no uncertain terms to the ladies of the court that it was untrue, but for all their efforts it was clear there was bile building in some quarters and at some point it would have to be tackled head-on.

“I hear you had a soft spot for my brother,” a quiet voice said into Penny’s ear that night.

Penny wheeled in shock. “I... er… what?”

“Oh, please do not be embarrassed. Lord Elrond told me and I am glad that he impressed you so. He was a good and noble man, fair of face and loved by his people.”

“Y-yes.” Penny had no idea what to say, how to explain… even if she should try and explain given Elrond clearly had not. Why on earth at Elrond told him this?

Faramir smiled sadly and took her hand. He gave it a gentle, sympathetic squeeze. He was about to let go and move away when Penny spoke.

“Lord Faramir? May I ask you? Did… Did Lord Boromir have a sweetheart here in the city? Only he told me that…”

Faramir smiled once more. “If he did, I knew nothing of it.” He looked at her, no doubt considering why his brother may have said such a thing. “It may be it was some secret love, or it may be…”

“Yes, I know.” She cursed herself for the crack she could hear in her own voice. “He was being kind.”

“If so it was very like him.”

She nodded, dumbly, as Faramir gave her hand a second squeeze before walking away slowly.

Penny did not join the company again that night. She stayed in the courtyard, sitting in silence next to Halladan for a little while, grateful that he did not press her on why she seemed so upset or untalkative. He too had heard the rumours and he, with Arvain, could guess the source of them. Their father had told them what Penny had managed to convey to him about Boromir – news that had been confirmed the moment they had met up with Aragorn in Rohan. It was obvious to them why she had acted as she had, and yet how it had been mistakenly perceived by others. Even so, for it to have been twisted into something as base as this… He could happily throttle that squawking harpy Sidhwen.

At last Penny murmured something about heading off to bed and rose from the bench they shared.

“Pen-ii?”

She turned back to him.

“Pay them no heed.”

Pay who no heed, she wondered. Penny had been mulling over why Elrond would have said anything to Faramir at all, and she was completely baffled by it, especially given the fact that Elrond knew the real reason behind her behaviour. Did Halladan know something?

He could see she seemed confused. He waved his hand.

“No matter. It is of no consequence. Sleep well. I would offer to walk you to your door, but I know you would just say I need not trouble myself.”

“On the contrary, I would be glad of your company.”

He nodded, smiled and, grabbing his stick, pulled himself upright. “Very good. In that case… Shall we?” He gestured ahead of them, and they walked side by side across the courtyard.

“Faramir said something very strange to me earlier.”

“Did he?”

“He knows that some say I was enamoured of Boromir. Lord Elrond told him. I do not understand why he would do so.”

Halladan stopped, leant on his stick and sighed. He was a firm believer in being up front and honest.

“Then it is best you know that there is some talk about it among certain sections of the court. I suspect Faramir heard it, and asked Elrond about the truth of it. Elrond explained as best he could given he was no doubt surrounded by people who may not know your full story.”

“Oh.” She blinked, torn between being upset and downright livid.

“As I said, Pen-ii, pay them no heed. There are more than enough here who know you well and know, if not the facts, then the truth of what was seen to have happened rather than the version being whispered. Those with too much time on their hands and not enough brains in their heads to listen to such nonsense are not worth your time or energy.”

“Yes, but if I am to stay here…”

It was the first time she had mentioned it to him. He showed no reaction.

“Ah, I had heard that was being considered. So, you have made your decision?”

“No.”

He merely nodded for a moment.

“Even so, such people will find they get short shrift with their King and Queen, let alone nobles such as Lord Faramir and others like him. Pay them no mind, Pen-ii.”

So saying he led her to her door and bade her goodnight.

It was easier said than done, and when Eleniel and Mireth came to bed a little later there was some discussion into the night about it all. They too advised Penny to ignore it as best she could, that the matter was being dealt with and the rumour scotched.

That was not the end of it, though. Not by a long chalk. For some time Sidhwen had become more brazen in her put-downs of Penny within her hearing, and Penny for her turn, emboldened by what she now knew some of the other ladies thought of Sidhwen, responded in kind. It was clear things were coming to head.

Then, late one afternoon Penny rounded a corner into an alley as she left the Queen’s chambers just in time to see Sidhwen, nose in the air and striding about as if she owned the place, walk straight into a maidservant from the kitchens carrying a heavily laden tray. No doubt the tray was meant for the Hall of Feasts since it had baskets of bread and several large flagons of wine. The flagons smashed to pieces on the stone flags and the wine spilled down the entire front of Sidhwen’s dress, staining the pale green a livid, dark burgundy.

“YOU STUPID, IDIOTIC IMBECILE!” Sidhwen screamed.

The poor maidservant, not much younger than Sidhwen herself, was nearly in tears. No doubt as frightened as she was of the sharp end of Sidhwen’s tongue, she was even more scared of what she thought Durion would say to hear she had smashed four flagons, spilled all that wine and got however many bread rolls utterly ruined in the process (given they were doing a very good job of soaking up what wine had not spilled down Sidhwen),.

Sidhwen was giving the maid what-for, even though it had been Sidhwen who had not been looking where she was going, and indeed seemed so enraged that Penny was genuinely concerned that she was about to hit the girl.

She stepped forward.

“It was an accident, Lady Sidhwen.”

Sidhwen pretended she either had not heard or could not understand her (Penny had spoken in Sindarin) and completely blanked her.

“You will pay for this,” she said in Westron to the maidservant. “You understand me? I shall speak to Master Durion and make sure a new dress is paid for from your wages, girl. This one is ruined thanks to your stupidity and clumsiness!”

Erestor’s lessons, as well as hearing quite a bit of Westron day in day out, were clearly paying off because even if she did not get every word, Penny understood enough.

“What is your name?” she asked the maid, ignoring Sidhwen the way Sidhwen had just ignored her.

The maid stared back at her blankly, tray still in hand, clearly bewildered and very upset.

“Your name?” she tried again in Westron this time.

“Her name is none of your concern, Lady Pen-ii,” Sidhwen snapped. “Do not tell her your name,” she said to the maid. “She will only report you to the King and get you in serious trouble.”

The maid’s hand flew to her mouth as she gasped in horror.

“What did you just say to her?” Penny was getting angry now. “What did you tell her I would say to the King?”

“This is not your business,” Sidhwen replied, deliberately sticking to Westron even though Penny had spoken to her in Sindarin. “This oaf has ruined my dress and…”

“What in Arda is going on here!” Durion sounded furious. The maid blanched.

Sidhwen quickly explained she had been minding her own business when the clearly incompetent maidservant had practically thrown the tray at her and it was a good job she did not get a flagon in her eye. Her dress, as Master Durion could see, was utterly ruined and she demanded the cost of a new one be taken out of the girl’s pay.

Penny noticed Master Durion hesitate at that, which suggested that the cost of a dress for a lady of the court would take a rather large chunk out of a maidservant’s pay.

“And you,” Durion turned to the girl. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I-I-I am sorry, Master Durion. I really do not know how it happened…”

The maidservant was wary of accusing one of her ‘betters’ at being at fault, particularly one as spiteful and vindictive as Lady Sidhwen was known to be.

Durion snorted. “Well, I am afraid if you cannot find a better response than that, then we will have to find a way of buying a new dress for Lady Sidhwen, will we not?”

The maid hung her head and looked ready to burst into tears once more.

Penny was just about managing to follow the gist from the odd word and guessing the rest.

“If I might be so bold, Master Durion?”

Sidhwen glared at her.

“If I understand correctly, this girl must pay for a new dress for Lady Sidhwen? In which case, I wonder,” she gestured at the large splotches and splashes all over the maidservant’s skirt, “will Lady Sidhwen pay for a new dress for the maidservant?” There was a gasp of outrage from Sidhwen and Durion looked vaguely panicky. “After all, her skirts have been stained also, and ruined, and given the accident was actually Lady Sidhwen’s fault…”

“JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE…!”

Durion quickly stepped in before Sidhwen could explode into a full tirade, suggesting that the matter was already settled, and perhaps the ladies should continue on to the courtyard while he got some servants to clear up the mess. He took the maidservant by the shoulder (gently, it has to be said) and hurried her away.

There was a brief moment where Penny and Sidhwen were left alone. Sidhwen, breathing hard and clearly fighting to keep her opinions to herself, and Penny looking back at her with a ‘just try it’ look all over her face.

At last Sidhwen opened her mouth to say something. Penny cut her off even as she drew breath.

“Do you not want to change your dress before supper?”

Servants had appeared, hurrying up the lane towards them armed with brooms, cloths and baskets. Sidhwen glanced at her dress, at the servants, gave one last furious glare at Penny and the flounced off in the direction she had come.

“Bitch,” Penny muttered under her breath.

She was not sure who to talk to about the incident, but she was determined the maidservant should not be punished for something that was not her fault. It was probably a gross breach of etiquette or courtly code or something to ‘snitch’ on a fellow member of the court, but given this was Sidhwen, she really did not care. Actually, she realised, no matter who it had been she would feel the same: fair was fair.

She opted for Lord Faramir in the end.

“…I do not know her name. I did ask her but she seemed too frightened to tell me, but Master Durion will know who it is. I just wanted it known that she was not in the least bit at fault, and it seemed so very unfair that she lose money she probably sorely needs…”

Faramir promised he would look into it, though in fact Durion had already told him all about it and about Penny’s rather extraordinary defence of the maid and even more extraordinary suggestion that Sidhwen buy the maid a dress.

Faramir in his turn spoke to the man whose judgement he trusted implicitly: Aragorn. Faramir was not disappointed. The royal purse paid for a new dress to be made for both Lady Sidhwen and the maidservant and neither was any the wiser. Thus peace was restored and honour was satisfied.

Or at least between all except Sidhwen and Penny, that is. Even Eleniel told Penny later she had probably been unwise to step in like that.

“Far better you had let the matter lie and then quietly spoken to Lord Faramir afterwards without confronting Sidhwen head on.”

“I genuinely feared she might strike the poor girl. She was in a fearsome temper!”

“Oh, Sidhwen is all bluster and hot air,” Meresel laughed. “You need not have feared, I am sure.”

But, Penny thought, Meresel had not seen the look on Sidhwen’s face, and Penny would not have been at all surprised if Sidhwen treated her own family’s servants very badly indeed.

Thus the stage was set. A bitch and a hot-head were readying to face each other if the slightest thing should set them off, though perhaps the eventual trigger was not so ‘slight’ a one by some standards.

It was nearly a week since the market, and Penny was looking forward to choosing something to buy at the next one. It was coming up to lunchtime, and she and Erestor had just walked from the library together. The courtyard was slowly filling with people as they waited to enter the Hall of Feasts for the midday meal. Penny was with her usual crowd, though Arvain was not with them. Faelon was embarrassing Halladan by telling stories of when Halladan was a small boy and learning to ride a horse.

“You should have seen his face!” He was chuckling as he spoke. “Ai, Halbarad was no use at all because he was laughing so hard, and poor Halladan was being carried off into the distance shouting ‘Stop, you stupid horse, stooooop!’”

“That horse was a menace,” Halladan said with some feeling.

“Your father liked him.”

“Father was the only one he listened to!”

Just then someone came running up to the courtyard from the gate. They made no pause but kept running, dodging in and out of the small groups of people, scanning all the while as if looking for someone urgently.

Then, just as quickly, two or three others appeared behind him, also running, also looking urgent and serious.

What had happened?

“Arvain?”

Faelon had recognised one of the last to arrive and had called out to the young Dunadan. Arvain made his way over to them.

Meanwhile the first man, a Gondorian, was pelting up the stairs to the Hall of Feasts having been pointed in that direction by someone as he passed them. Within minutes he had reappeared, Lord Faramir now with him and the two headed, at speed towards the gate down to the Sixth Circle.

“Lindir?” Faramir called over as he passed by them. “Where is Lord Elrond? We may have need of his skill…”

“I will fetch him,” Lindir said immediately, not even waiting to find out what the matter was.

“Send him to the Houses of Healing,” Faramir shouted, already moving away fast.

Lindir nodded and quickly went off towards Elrond’s chambers.

“What has happened, Arvain?” Halladan’s tone was dark.

“You remember Hiluin? Tall man, thin… lost both sons and his brother…”

Halladan and Faelon immediately knew who Arvain was referring to.

“He… he tried to kill his family less than an hour ago.”

There were gasps of shock and horror.

“His wife is seriously injured,” Arvain said quietly. “He would have killed his grandson outright had she not stood in his path to protect him… Then he turned on her.”

“Surely not?” Faelon could scarcely believe it. “He has a lovely wife. I have met her more than once. As kind as you could wish for. And two small grandchildren…”

The news was spreading. A terrible, awful silence had replaced the chatter and laughter of only minutes before and only low murmured whispers were heard now and then.

Hiluin had been hit hard by his losses during the War. His eldest son had been married but he had lost his wife in childbirth as she delivered their second child. The son and grandchildren had then come to live with Hiluin and his wife, who loved the little ones as if they were their own. Then came the War, and Hiluin had lost his brother and youngest son on the Pelennor, only to cradle his eldest son as he died in his arms in front of the Black Gate. He was never the same man again. Friends and neighbours spoke of his black moods and wild rages, of heavy drinking and how his wife seemed pale and far quieter than she used to be.

Then this morning, seemingly for no reason, he had snapped. Some said he had been drunk, others that he had been driven mad by grief, but whatever the reason, his wife lay perhaps mortally wounded in the Houses of Healing, and he was under lock and key, now unnaturally still and silent by all accounts. The two small children were being cared for by neighbours.

Everyone felt like they were in shock, as if stunned, even those who had never known this man. Penny felt very upset, not just because of the brutal nature of what had happened, but because she did not doubt for one second that this man had been mentally unbalanced by the War, perhaps had even been in some sort of post-traumatic delirium. It happened, did it not? Admittedly it was not that common, but it was a documented thing: war veterans who had seen horrible, terrible things lashing out in a daze or a flashback without even realising what they were doing. That poor, poor man! His poor family! Penny glanced up to see that everyone was as upset and shaken by this as she was - those who knew him and his family especially. Halladan in particular seemed to find it difficult. He had paled as Arvain had spoken and now had stepped away from the rest, turning his back on them, his grip tight on the handle of his stick.

It was then that it happened.

A voice Penny recognised all too well as a small group wandered walked slowly by.

“Well, he was always a very peculiar man. I suspect he was already mad to begin with…”

“Sidhwen!” It was Meresel who spoke. “Do not say such things!” Her voice was shaking a little, and it was clear she was fighting back tears.

Penny glanced at Eleniel who whispered a translation of what Sidhwen had said. She felt her hackles rise.

“Oh, Meresel, please! Your husband fought, my father fought, countless other men here fought, Lords Faelon, Halladan and Arvain here, and none of them have tried to murder women and children. As much as it pains me to say it, the man must have been weak in the head in some way. He was affected by battle and that can only mean …”

“SHUT UP!”

The ferocity with which Penny roared it was more than enough to make sure there was a dead silence within a good twenty yard radius.

“You know what you are, Sidhwen?” She was too angry to bother with ridiculous niceties such as ‘Lady’ right now. “You are a stupid, malicious, good-for-nothing…” She struggled for a millisecond to find a suitable word in Sindarin and so plumped for English. “..bitch!”

Erestor’s eyebrows shot upwards. “A female dog?” he murmured.

“How DARE you speak of such things, you stupid woman! You have no idea, NO IDEA what it was like to be out there,” Penny gestured vaguely in the direction of the Pelennor, “fighting for your life, surrounded by death and horror and blood…”

Had she but noticed it, she would have seen Halladan’s grip on his stick get so tight his knuckles showed white.

“…Do you honestly think that any man comes out of battle unchanged, you idiot!”

“Who are you calling stupid?” Sidhwen raged in response. “Of course I realise what was involved, but the fact that this man failed, was so cowardly as to let himself…”

There had been a gasp at the use of the word ‘cowardly’ and enough angrily muttered repetition of it in Sindarin for Penny to immediately know what Sidhwen had just said.

“You make me sick! How dare you use such a word when you have never fought in your life? Thanks to that man, to every man who fought, you have a city to live in! More than that, you have a life, freedom, you are not condemned to utter darkness and despair! How dare you speak of such bravery with such disrespect…!”

It was a very surreal shouting match – one ranting in Sindarin, the other in Westron, but both just about catching enough of what the other one was saying to form some kind of response.

“Oh, I see it is normal for a man to come home from War and try and kill his family, is it? You have no idea what you are talking about, Pen-ii! You have no clue about our lives or this society or what it is to be a soldier!”

“I know enough to understand war can deeply affect anyone who lives through it, leave them utterly changed, riven with guilt and torment and nightmares and worse! You speak so lightly of such things, and yet I do not doubt for a moment had you been out there in the middle of it all, you would not have lasted five minutes!”

“Oh, and you would have done better!”

“NO, OF COURSE NOT! THAT IS MY POINT! I am not so stupid as to think I could cope with such things, or to think so ill of anyone who has lived through it, no matter how marred he may be physically or mentally! Are you so cavalier about those who are injured? Do you mock those who have lost a limb or an eye…?”

“MY FATHER LOST HIS FOOT, I WILL HAVE YOU KNOW!”

“THEN ALL THE MORE REASON FOR YOU TO KNOW BETTER! HE WOULD BE ASHAMED IF HE COULD HEAR YOU NOW!”

There was a mixture between a gasp and a roar from Sidhwen at that. People were staring, several friends of Sidhwen or Penny respectively were trying to say their names, get them both to calm down, but to no avail.

“How DARE you presume to tell me how my father thinks of me! You, some jumped-up peasant from the North, or possibly not even that! Who knows where you come from, but you are not fit for court, that much is clear. You are a slattern and a woman who I am ashamed to even have met. The court is disgraced by the presence of one such as you in it. We all know what you did with Boromir, or tried to do. It’s disgusting!”

The look on Penny’s face was a picture of fury.

“I feel sorry for any male that comes near you, and no doubt that is why you are being dumped here on us – these poor elves are sick of you fawning over them! No doubt Lord Halbarad bitterly regretted having to be alone with you all that time when he first rescued you. I dread to think what you tried to do..!”

Several things happened at once at that point.

There was an explosion of outrage all round them, which was itself enough to bring Sidhwen to a grinding halt. It was also enough to tell Penny in a heartbeat that, yes, Sidhwen had just implied what she thought she had implied.

She did not realise she had raised her hand, however, until she felt the firm grasp of someone else’s hand on her wrist staying her movement.

Halladan, his back to Sidhwen, looked Penny straight in the face.

“No, Pen-ii,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with absolute authority.

There was a moment when Penny struggled to rein in her fury, her raging anger at this stupid condescending cow in front of her, but most of all her distress that such good and noble men were being if not maligned then dragged into Sidhwen’s tirade of abuse.

Halladan kept his gaze fixed on Penny all the while, never letting go of her wrist, as if silently willing her to calm down. Penny was herself too wound up to notice, but he was breathing hard through his nose and his eyes were ablaze.

That constant pressure of his hold on her arm helped her, though: it was a focus, a means by which she got the strength to will herself to stay quiet. It was firm enough to stop her, but not so hard as to hurt her. It told her he was preventing her from going too far, but he was also on her side. She took deep breaths and gradually was able to look back at Sidhwen with a confident, defiant air.

Sidhwen, however, did not know when to shut up.

“Ah, I see. You would hit me, would you? And there we see her true colours showing themselves at last…”

Halladan, still not letting go of Penny’s wrist, turned his head.

“Go away.” His voice was cold and harsh with undisguised rage and his glare furious. “Now.”

Sidhwen swallowed, blinked, swallowed some more, and tried to look unconcerned as if for a moment she would defy him.

“I said…” Halladan growled slowly.

And she was gone, walking as fast as was decent, with her gaggle of friends round her clucking and bleating and worrying if she was alright and exhorting her not to burst into tears, but to ‘stay strong, Sidhwen dear, stay strong’.

For a moment there was complete silence, and when Penny finally spoke her voice sounded rather small.

“You… can let go of my wrist now, Halladan.”