Chapter 37 – “Dead Man Walking”

That evening there was a great feast, but it was utterly different from that which had been laid on for the wedding. For a start the food, while sumptuous, was not quite as rich and laden with cream and spices as before. Penny was not the only one to wonder at it, given the two high-ranking guests that were among them as well as it being the final farewell for the elves and Dúnedain. Milves had muttered something as she had been helping them get water ready for bathing that afternoon, but Penny had only partially understood it. Something about elves getting underfoot in the kitchens and certain people would be glad to see the back of them.

“Not that I include myself among them, you understand. Dear me, no! It has been a truly wonderful thing to have had you all here, my dears, but I think you will understand me when I say that one or two have been over-free with their advice and, while they mean well, I have no doubt, the Head Cook… well, she is a very good friend of mine, and to say she does not take criticism well would be an understatement.”

Later, the full story slowly emerged amid the gossiping and whispering around the Hall.

Just as elves had been busy investigating every nook and cranny of the city, the kitchens had also been part of the tour. Just as Istdor had been ‘advised’ on ‘errors’ in his tomes, and various carpenters or silversmiths had been generously shown how to ‘improve’ their technique, so the cooks had also had to deal with elvish cooks keen to learn new recipes and see how they dealt with these strange ingredients brought up from the southlands. At the same time they lifted every lid on every saucepan, rummaged through ingredients, watched over shoulders, tasted, and, of course, made ‘helpful suggestions’ on how to make recipes that had been handed down from generation to generation of Gondorians ‘infinitely better’ when no one had complained about them before.

No one begrudged them, exactly; they were too gracious and kind for anyone to feel ill-will towards them. Not only that but they spoke with the wisdom of millennia behind them, so much of what they had to say and teach was of huge benefit.

However, that said, there were some that could be rather supercilious in their attitude and seem dismissive of mortal abilities and knowledge (as Penny had herself experienced), and that certainly could irritate those with less patience. The Galadhrim in particular were a little rusty in terms of human/elf interaction, though they little realised it (nor would have cared terribly much had they known). It had to be said that Rhimlath was not unique, though he was perhaps at one end of the extreme.

Thus, in a fit of pique, the Head Cook, with gritted teeth and a dangerous smile had indeed ‘toned down’ some of the dishes as had been helpfully suggested. She did, however, make a point of deliberately cooking a fish soup with exactly too much pepper and cumin in it, since fish soup had been declared a favourite dish by a particularly vocal Galadhrim as he had wandered around her kitchen, poking his long nose into all of her pots. She would have no doubt been hugely gratified to learn that said elf had tucked in with gusto, only to then grimace, cough hugely and gasp for water.

There were speeches at the end of the meal. Long speeches about heroes and nobility, about all that had been suffered and lost in the face of terrible evil, and yet how a new era filled with hope and peace had dawned. Years of happiness stretched before them all. They would mourn and toast the dead, and be eternally grateful to them for their sacrifice.

Baritone murmurs rumbled through the hall as cups were raised, and Penny became aware just how outnumbered the women were for once.

Indeed the sense of ‘maleness’ continued even afterwards. There was some dancing, but not enough female partners for all, so the bulk of people were drinking or telling tales and singing songs. Penny noted that Halladan did not get to spend any time outside, since he was forever having his arm clasped by one of the Rohirrim or his back slapped by a man from Dol Amroth, dragged into conversations, called upon to fill in details of stories or listen to songs. Towards the end of the evening he had a decidedly strained look about him, and when Arvain tried to refuse to refill his tankard he got a fearsome glare by way of response.

In the meantime, however, Penny had little chance to consider the situation, since she barely stopped all night. The female Galadhrim tended to be slightly more reserved in their choice of dance partners, which limited the choices still further for the male guests, and Penny found herself dancing with complete strangers several times. The Rohirrim were always slightly surprised at her mangled and limited Westron, but polite enough. Elfhelm made a point of coming over to her and expressing his delight to see she was much improved from the state she had been in when she had left Rohan. She felt slightly shy that he had remembered her and it was only afterwards that Arvain explained that Elfhelm had actually asked about her.

“That strange woman travelling with the elves – the one who spoke no Mannish tongue and left us in a state near to death.”

Penny was not sure if she was pleased he had worried about her and asked after her, or faintly put out at still being considered some sort of travelling weirdo.

Every time she met Elrond, or caught his eye, he smiled and nodded his head in his usual way, but Penny noted she never got to speak to him. No doubt he was busy with all the guests, but she could not help but wonder if he was avoiding having too much to do with her for the time being. She would not blame him in the least if that was the case. She tried to put it out of her mind as Corunir, Meresel’s relative (her husband’s cousin whom Penny had seen at the wrestling), held out his hand and insisted it was his turn for a dance.

She had met Corunir several times of late at Meresel’s house. He was often there collecting something or dropping off a present for the kids, his visits to the house just so happening to coincide with Penny’s own. He would invariably slouch down into a chair, fix that ‘ever-so-slightly-too-wide’ grin on Penny and engage her in conversation. Meresel would quickly shoo him out of the house, reminding him he had things he should be doing. This was the first time he had danced with her, though. Penny was not sure why she felt uncomfortable with him, and put it down to the fact that, although she now knew he was only a month or two off twenty, he looked about eighteen to her. That and he still reminded her of her brother rather too much. It was the arrogant cockiness, the self-assured smile, the assumption, for example, that when they had finished their dance she would of course follow him to get a cup of wine and to meet his friends.

He seemed most put out when Faelon grabbed her hand instead and pulled her off in the opposite direction for a dance.

She did, however, make a point of prising Istdor away from Rhimlath and asking if he would have a slow, sedate dance with her. Istdor seemed rather pleased at the request, even if he protested it had been some years since he had done this sort of thing. She insisted, though. Given the current situation, it was highly likely she would be back in a month or so, but she never knew if it might not be the last time she saw him, and he certainly enjoyed his gentle spin round the hall with Penny on his arm.

Eomer was making his presence known, talking to many there and laughing heartily with most. It was only much later, as she was climbing into bed, that Penny realised that when she had seen him and Gimli in earnest conversation, she probably knew what the topic of conversation had been. She could not help but smile.

The next morning was an early one. Packing was done and servants were busily scurrying back and forth across the square with bags and provisions from early light. There was a rather tearful farewell from Milves. Penny did point out she might be back, and one or two of the ellith would be returning with Arwen (Eleniel amongst them), but Milves still insisted she would miss them all dreadfully and she knew she was being a daft old coot, but there they were, she was a softie at heart and no mistake.

She insisted on giving hugs and kisses to them all, as well pressing a huge basket of freshly baked white cakes on them and then cried all over again when several of the ellith gave her little gifts – trinkets or pieces of cloth.

Penny had assumed they would go straight down to the First Circle and get saddled up, but no. After breakfast there was a great milling about in the courtyard and the atmosphere was rather muted. Then there was a great blowing of trumpets and Aragorn, Eomer, Faramir, Merry and various Gondorian and Rohirric nobles and lords made their way to the door that lead down to the Rath Dínen and the Houses of the Dead.

They bore an empty bier with them.

The tone was sombre, the chatter quiet and subdued in the crowd as everyone waited; and when they at last returned, now with a man-like shape underneath a cloth of gold lying on the bier, an absolute silence fell.

The crowd parted before them as Aragorn and Eomer walked side by side and in front of the body of Theoden. Men bowed their heads, some put their hands to their breasts, and even the elves were visibly moved. As the bier made its way through the gate and down to the Sixth Circle, slowly everyone followed behind.

The people of Minas Tirith came out of their houses to watch them leave, but chiefly to pay their respects to the fallen king. There was no shouting, no waving, no singing, no cheering. It was utterly unlike their arrival, Penny noted, when all of Minas Tirith had been agog and in rapture at the presence of so many elves and at the elleth who would be their queen. Now the only sounds were the occasional murmur from the crowd. Even children were stilled – if one ran out of a house, or tried to play with another, adult arms and hands intervened, holding them in place with a whispered rebuke.

Once out of the main gate, the great wain that had arrived with the Rohirrim stood waiting to receive its cargo. The Rohirrim lined up on either side, forming an entrance way to it as Theoden was carried down the aisle of warriors and gently placed inside it. Then the ties holding the flaps back were loosed and the shrouded form was hidden from view. The men who had formed the entrance way slowly made their way to stand in formation around the wain, guarding their King even in death.

The tone lightened then, if only by a little. Talk was still quiet as the horses were readied, though the baggage had already been packed, so little needed to be done.

Meresel and Penny had a strange farewell. Penny reminded Meresel she may well be coming back to the city in a few weeks but Meresel insisted she would not be surprised if Penny returned north.

“After all, who would wish to leave such company?” she said, gesturing round them to the elves nearby, many already mounted on their steeds or making their last farewells to various Gondorians milling around. “And besides,” she added quietly, gently taking hold of Penny’s hand with a soft smile, “I think you feel more at home in their company than ours. Gondor… is not best suited to you, I do not think. You would be most welcome and you have made good friends here, you know that, but I think you would agree with me, would you not?”

Penny nodded but could not quite look Meresel in the eye. Meresel considered her for a moment.

“It is strange, but there are times when you feel younger than me.”

Penny looked at her and saw she was smiling kindly, that she had meant no insult by it: it had been a mere observation. Penny had to admit she was probably right. Her emotional instability, her lack of control or self-assurance probably did seem immature to some. Of course, a large part of that had been brought on precisely by being here in this place and seeing the damage the War had wrought.

“It is a shame you cannot travel with us,” she said.

“Ah, but my boys need me. They will miss their father, of course, but Fimorndír has been on tours of duty before now, so they are used to him being away for weeks at a time. Thankfully it will be a less frequent occurrence in future than it has been in recent years. That is something for which I am truly thankful.”

“Of course.”

“He has promised to bring them something back from Rohan with him. Daggers or some such I suspect,” she added with a weary sigh. “Something completely impractical for them at their still tender years and which he will no doubt insist on letting them use when I am not aware of it.”

Penny laughed and Meresel smiled. She then went on to make it clear that Penny would always be welcome in her home, that her sons would miss their new friend. In spite of Penny’s protests she was behaving as if Penny would not be returning to Gondor any time soon.

“And I wanted to give you this,” she continued, pulling something from her hand. “No, no, do not refuse it, I insist. It is only a little thing, perhaps, but it shall be a token of our friendship.”

It was a silver ring, the band intricately crafted to look like intertwined leaves with a single, small green stone set into it. Penny thought it was exquisite, and told Meresel so, thanking her profusely. She apologised that she had nothing to give her in return… until she thought of the little vase she had bought.

“No, you keep that. I know you bought it as a keepsake.”

“Then I shall get you something when I return, or else send you something from the North.”

Meresel smiled. “I would like that very much.”

“And I shall write. If I can… Does one do that?”

Meresel’s smile broadened. “Please do. I would love to hear your news and how you fare. I so rarely get letters, so it would be something indeed.”

So that was settled, even though Penny considered it a rather hollow promise given she did not doubt that she would see Meresel in a month or so, but no matter. She was most touched by her gift and what it represented. Meresel had shown her nothing but kindness and warmth during her stay in the city, and she would never forget it. The ring fitted on the ring finger of her right hand very well, and in the following days Penny found that every time she glanced at it, knowing what it meant, it actually helped a little: to know that, in spite of her misgivings about Gondor and staying there, it was not a wholly dark picture and she had at least one good friend amongst the nobles there, outside of the royal couple.

Pretty soon everything was set. The funeral train was a huge one, everyone riding in their respective groups.

The Rohirrim were to lead, King Eomer in front, with the wain immediately behind him, the eored guarding it and trailing behind it. Merry was up next to the driver on the wain itself, looking more grim and serious than Penny had ever seen him, clearly determined to do Theoden proud while battling with the memories of his fall.

Next came King Elessar and Queen Arwen, their lords, ladies, nobles and guards, and the Dúnedain were included amongst these, representing as they did half of Aragorn’s realm. Pippin rode with the Gondorian guards, and the rest of the Fellowship rode with Aragorn. Gimli and Legolas shared one horse which Penny assumed was Arod, Mithrandir was riding Shadowfax, while Frodo and Sam had been found ponies suitable for their stature. Faramir was leading a group of men Penny now knew to be his personal guard, many of them now stationed in Osgiliath or else often out ‘rangering’ in Ithilien. She smiled as she spotted Beregond among them. The men from Dol Amroth were also part of this large group, and Prince Imrahil rode alongside Aragorn and Gandalf as their equal in station.

The elves followed behind the mortals, which was no indication of their being less important, far from it. It was only right that those who had fought alongside Rohan, or who represented those who had and those who owed so much to Theoden’s riding to Gondor’s aid, should follow his bier most closely. Even so, behind the elves came the supply train, made up of Rohirric and Gondorian riders and carts carrying victuals, tents and other necessities. The elves, as when they had first crossed the Pelennor and arrived at the city, were divided into those of Lothlorien and Imladris, with Penny riding with the latter for the time being though she hung back from Elrond, Erestor and Glorfindel a little, finding Mireth, Celebdor and Lindir in the middle of the group somewhere. It seemed strange to be riding without Eleniel. She and two ellith from Lothlorien were riding with Arwen, since they would act as ladies-in-waiting and stay in Gondor with her for at least a year or two.

Banners were held high amongst each group, mail and helm gleamed, the horses champed. There was only a low murmur even amongst the crowds on the Pelennor and up on the ramparts on the city. This was, first and foremost, a funeral procession after all.

Then horns sounded, blown by the Rohirric riders at the front. Somewhere in the group of riders ahead of Penny, Pippin bowed his head for a moment as if overcome, but soon, nearby him, Gondorian trumpeters took up the call, only to be echoed by others within the city.

The procession began to move.

There were so many of them that it was some time before Penny actually gave her horse the command and started off. It was strangely exciting to be off on the road again, and she made a decision then and there that, no matter what she would decide at the end of it, she would enjoy this break away from the city even if it was only for a few weeks.

For a while there were no songs, only the quiet tramp of feet or horses’ hooves, the jangle of bridles or low chatter amongst the huge party that stretched out for at least a mile or more. Gondorians lined the way, silent as the wain carrying Theoden King’s body rolled past them, but slightly more vocal as those behind it rode or marched past. A few children fell in step beside their fathers in the Gondorian ranks or else, bolder now after having had nearly three weeks of elvish company, threw a last few questions at an elf they recognised in the crowd who would answer with a smile and a wave.

The pace was sedate to say the least, but it was inevitable that it would be slow going with this many people. Pretty soon, though, they were winding their way through the fields and pastures of the Pelennor, past the scars of the ditches the orcs had dug, the tumble-down ruins of houses, though there seemed a few fewer than before, or more in a state of rebuild than even three weeks ago (or so it seemed to Penny). If the ground seemed greener, the earth more fertile than it had, Penny assumed she was imagining it, though when she mentioned it to Lindir he smiled softly and shook his head at her as if she had said something faintly amusing.

She should have known: the elves had been hard at work, of course.

After an hour or so, the elves could not restrain themselves any longer and a song began. It was a slow melody that was obviously well known since it was passed back and forth from singer to singer in amongst both groups. At one point Lindir took it up and sang several verses, with others near him joining occasionally with a single alternate line, one tune weaving in and out of the other.

Even if she had not understood most of the words, Penny would have known this was a song of loss, of grief, of mortality. Like most elvish songs, you could almost feel the meaning within you, particularly if it was a moving song. It was still strange to Penny to be able to guess at a song’s meaning and know she was very likely right, but that was elves for you. It was a beautiful and fitting song to begin such a journey and the Rohirrim seemed to appreciate it, many coming to murmur their thanks when they all paused briefly for a midday meal.

By afternoon songs were being sung on a regular basis, though nothing too jolly or frivolous, for obvious reasons. For the most part it seemed as if the elves were ‘playing safe’ in their topics, and singing ballads of tales of derring-do and ancient deeds done by equally ancient elves.

They reached the Rammas Echor by early evening and did not go far before they stopped and set up camp. Tents and awnings quickly sprung up all over the place, as did several campfires. They were far too great a number to consider trying to cook and eat all as one group, so instead each fed their own. There was no great formality to it, however, and many a group had those from different realms altogether. One thing Penny noted, however, was that there was a distinct difference between the average soldier or those travelling with the supplies and the mortal nobles from Gondor and even Rohan. That several of these ‘lesser’ persons were invited to join the elves and Dúnedain was commented upon with raised eyebrows by some of the mortals, both noble and commoner alike.

Given that the Dúnedain were few in number, they joined the elves for the evening meal, even though some protested they were perfectly happy with the cured meat and cram they had in their packs. There was laughter amongst some of the Imladris elves who knew them well and threw them comments of ‘well, you can have a decent meal as you travel in the wild for once. It will not kill you, we assure you.’ Penny grinned and laughed with the rest. She had long ago learned that her experience with Habarad’s vile boiled bunny was by no means unique. Indeed she was surprised, therefore, to see Naurdir and Faelon seemed to be working in tandem.

“Ah, you see, Pen-ii, Faelon is an unusual breed,” Naurdir said with an impish smile and a wink towards his wife, “a Ranger who knows how to cook.”

“Ah, now, hold hard, Naurdir. That is a little unfair,” Faelon protested. “It is one thing to refuse to carry every vegetable known to man in a pack when out on duty and another to be unable to cook at all. Keep things light and to the minimum when travelling. Nothing wrong with that.”

Penny set to work along with Mireth helping to peel some vegetables. However, after a little while Naurdir was complaining he did not have enough water, so she offered to fill some of the watersacs, since most had run dry given the amount of use they had seen in the summer heat of a long day’s ride.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Lindir was on his feet. “Remember when we camped some way further north of here last time? There are likely to be all sorts of weapons still hidden in the long grass. I will come with you.”

Penny knew better than to argue, but Lindir need not have worried. Many were doing the same thing, and the path to the little brook nearby was already well worn. He shrugged and muttered something about coming to help carry the sacs anyway.

“So did you get all the songs transcribed that you wished to?”

Lindir gave her a look.

“Oh, come, Lindir, you found it a little flattering, you have to admit. Istdor thought your work was superb. He told you so often enough.”

Lindir’s expression softened. “Oh, I do not begrudge Master Istdor. He is a good and kind man, and he knows his lore better than Rhimlath was prepared to admit to his face.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that Rhimlath told me privately that he was impressed a ‘mere mortal’ (his words, not mine, Pen-ii) could have such detailed knowledge and have such depth and breadth of learning.”

Penny nearly said something but restrained herself. Lindir took one look at the expression on her face and laughed out loud.

As they returned to the camp, sprawled as it was over a huge area, they were met by Erestor. He was insisting Penny have a Westron lesson.

“Are you not needed by King Elessar?”

Aragorn and Arwen were to eat separately from everyone else, and several of the elite were to join them: Faramir, Eomer, Imrahil, Celeborn, Galadriel, Gandalf, Elrond, Legolas and Gimli as well as a few others, Erestor amongst them.

“Not for a little while.”

“Oh, I can test her Westron for you,” Lindir said with a smile. “I’ll insist she speak nothing but Westron until we eat. How is that?”

“Lindir!”

Erestor considered for a moment and then agreed that would be no bad thing, much to Penny’s annoyance, and left them to it.

“And what makes you think I will say a word from now till supper time?” Penny muttered furiously at Lindir.

“I am sorry, did you say something? I could have sworn you were talking just now, but I did not understand you. If you try in Westron then perhaps I might…”

“Lindir…!”

“Hmm?”

“That’s it. I refuse to talk.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” he wagged a finger at her. “Westron only, Pen-ii.”

She glared at him. He beamed back and she could not help but smile begrudgingly in the end, won over by his persistent cheerfulness.

“What is this? Lindir teasing you as usual?”

“Something like that, Arvain.”

“Westron, Pen-ii!”

Penny groaned. She then threw her hands up as Arvain asked why she had to speak in Westron and, when it was explained, enthusiastically agreed. She stalked back to the elves’ campfire with the two of them throwing questions at her in Westron all the while.

Of course she got no peace. Not from either of them, or anyone else in the near vicinity who quickly understood the situation and resolutely stuck to Westron for the next hour or so. A chuckling Halladan would occasionally whisper the meaning of a word to her if she seemed completely flummoxed by something, but otherwise she coped reasonably well. But then, considering most of it involved people pointing at vegetables or implements with a questioning tone of voice as if asking her to pass them whatever it was, it was hardly complicated.

The meal done, everyone relaxed into gentle chatter. There was some story-telling and singing, but still subdued compared to how the journey south at been. Not too far away, beside the Rohirric campfires, was the wain, a huge shadow in the gathering dusk. Burning brands had been placed at its four corners and half a dozen Rohirrim soldiers were standing guard, and it would remain guarded all night and every night as they travelled.

It was turning a little colder, and Penny went to her tent to fetch a shawl. As she came out, wrapping it round her shoulders, she took stock of the camp for a moment, and decided that, yes, she was glad to be on the move again. She already felt like a great weight had been removed from her. Then her gaze fell on the royal tent, trimmed with brocade and gold, and the party still talking quietly, seated on cushions at its entrance and with golden cups filled with wine in their hands. Frodo and Sam had been invited to join them, and Penny smiled to see Sam blushing furiously as Galadriel spoke to him. Then, for the briefest of moments Elrond looked up and happened to catch sight of her, even if she was some distance from him. He inclined his head ever so slightly, a soft smile on his face, but in the flicker of the torches the smile seemed perfunctory, forced – a courtesy rather than sincere. Penny nodded her head by way of acknowledgement and quickly turned away.

The light was fading, and while the eastern sky was growing dark Penny could still make out the black line of the mountains against it. The first stars were pricking the sky, which only served to make the dark, jagged horizon stand out all the more. As Penny gazed at it, she realised she could actually make out a point where the line stopped, where the mountains ended their movement north and swung at a right angle away to the east: the point of the Black Gate.

It still seemed so strange to see it, so unreal. Even now she had met those who had fought there, who had lost loved ones there; even though she had spoken to the hobbits and heard their story, if not firsthand then through Legolas, she still could not truly imagine the bleak awfulness of what lay beyond that mountain range, nor the true horror of what many had seen or been a party to.

“It draws the eye, does it not?”

Halladan’s voice was quiet.

“It seems so insignificant, and yet…”

“Indeed.”

They fell into silence. Penny wondered if she dare ask him how he felt to leave Hirvell behind, but knew it was the last thing he would want to talk about.

“Does it feel any easier for you, to be outside of the Pelennor?”

If he was surprised by her question, he did not show it, merely looked down at the grass for a moment as if assessing how he felt, giving her question consideration.

“A little.” There was a pause. “Perhaps.”

Somewhere behind them a low song had started up. It was a mortal voice and in Sindarin, so was clearly from the Gondorian contingent. It was far enough away that Penny could not hear it clearly, but in the snatches she could catch in the breeze she recognised the words for ‘battle’ and ‘warrior’, ‘heroes’ and ‘the fallen.’ She glanced sideways at Halladan but his face was impassive. He was staring out at the line of the mountains, at the same point that she had been looking at just now. She wondered if it might be best if she left him to it.

She turned to leave, then paused beside him and gently laid a hand on his upper arm, trying to find the right words. She could think of none so gave his arm a gentle squeeze, immediately kicking herself because it seemed like such a patronising thing to do, though she not intended it to be so, and she let her hand drop away, suddenly flustered and embarrassed. She turned and started off towards the campfire.

“And you?”

She turned back towards him, to find he was looking at her.

“Me?”

“To be free of the city, to be away from the…” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “I nearly said ‘memories’, but of course they are not memories to you, though they reminded you of what had been even if you had not been a witness to it.”

There was a moment of silence between them. Then she nodded slowly.

“Yes, I am glad to be gone from it. I do feel… less burdened already, if you can understand that.”

“I understand it completely.”

“I do not doubt that you do.”

She was thinking of what it would be like to have to face it all once more, to return to it, and whether it would be easier knowing what she would face or more difficult to plunge herself into it all again. She stared down at the ring on her finger, twisting and worrying at it almost unconsciously.

“If it distresses you that much, no one will force you to return,” Halladan said quietly. “You are free to make your choice. You know that.”

She nodded, saying nothing and still staring at her hands.

“You are still concerned about Lord Elrond?”

She felt ashamed to admit it. She knew what he would say: that she was being ridiculous, that she should take Lord Elrond’s words at face value when he had said that all was right between them once more.

And yet…

And yet a line once crossed was hard to return to. Even if Lord Elrond had forgiven her entirely, she could not forgive herself, or not any time soon at any rate.

She was not even aware that Halladan had closed the space between them until she felt his gentle hold upon her arm.

“You must stop taking things upon yourself so deeply. It shows sensitivity on your part, and it also shows the depth of respect you have towards those you hold dear amongst us all. There is nothing wrong in that. At the same time… you are old enough, able enough to live your life. Did not Gandalf tell you to do exactly that? To live as if you are here to stay? That you are here to stay as best as he can see? I know it is hard. I cannot imagine what it must be to walk in your shoes, but I know what it is to have your entire life turned upside down, to not be able to see a way ahead of you, to be lost in what has happened instead of facing what might be. I cannot change myself, but I would not have you do the same. I say this as a friend, Pen-ii. You have this time away from Gondor to clear you thoughts, to find your feet and make some firm decisions. You are more than capable.” He smiled softly. “You have proved that often enough in the past.”

“You say that like it is a good thing.” She chuckled slightly, shaking her head a little.

“Well, in the right place and time, and channelled in the right way, then, yes, it can be a very good thing. Or I think so.”

“What are you two doing, sulking and moping over there in the dark?” Arvain was grinning widely as he wandered up to them. “Come and join us. Naurdir has opened a keg of ale and Rhimlath is about to tell us some lengthy ballad about the battles in Arnor against the Witchking.”

“Oh yes?” Halladan seemed amused.

“Well, if Lindir will let him, that is. Lindir is most put out that Rhimlath is attempting to tell a ballad that Lindir himself wrote.”

Penny laughed. “Oh, this could be amusing.”

“Amusing or alarming, I think,” Arvain replied. “Either way it will be worth watching. Are you coming?”

“Yes, yes, of course, brother.” Halladan looked down at Penny and they shared a smile before walking slowly towards the fire, following in Arvain’s wake.

“Thank you,” Penny murmured quietly.

“Not at all. I just hope you will be able to act on what I said.”

“And I hope you will try and act on the advice I have given you in the past.”

He glanced at her and gave a weary sigh but said nothing.

The next morning, they had only journeyed a short time when they came to Amon Dîn and the Drúadan Forest. The royal trumpeters sounded, the drumming of the Drúadan in the forest reached a crescendo, and then Aragorn urged his horse forward till he stood alone a little way forward of the entire travelling party. Then he spoke loudly, so all could hear that the forest was hereby declared the domain of the Drúadan, that they would be left in peace to live their lives, by order of the King of Gondor and Arnor.

The drums fell silent, just as Penny knew they would, and the funeral train moved on, sweeping round the forest, on its way to Rohan.

The days took on the easy routine of travel that Penny had got so used to when they had travelled south. Admittedly, it was slightly different with so many others travelling with them now. There was less of a ‘communal whole’ about it all, with all the various campfires and the different meals. There was also the ever present wain with its sad burden. Merry barely left the dead King’s side, riding with the wain every day and insisting on taking a shift amongst those who stood guard every night. Similarly Pippin insisted on serving Aragorn at any opportunity, or if he had no need of him, then Faramir. Frodo and Sam joked that they hardly saw either of them, but neither did they begrudge them their newfound loyalties and duties.

It did mean, given Pippin and Merry were often on official duties of an evening, that Frodo and Sam either took their meals with Aragorn or the elves, and more often the latter. For all Sam was still slightly shy and in awe of the elves, sitting in a large group of them with Dunedain was not nearly so awkward for him as quietly sitting next to Galadriel and trying to make small talk with Celeborn while at the same time negotiating a meal.

The two hobbits were quite open about their joy at being on their way home at last, and indeed to be free of the sight of Mordor.

“I am not saying that Gondor is not a wonderful place, with its finery and goodly people, but I shall be most glad if I never see those dark peaks ever again,” Sam had said, and with some feeling.

No one blamed him in the least.

Arwen, Penny noted, spent as much time as she could with her elvish brethren. She had to ride with Aragorn, obviously, and meals were with him also, but of an evening she would wander amongst her own, Aragorn often with her also, seeking company and talking.

Elrond and her brothers hardly ever left her side at such times. It hurt Penny to see it, and she knew she was not the only one, from the sad smiles or shared knowing glances she would sometimes see around her. Everyone knew what was coming, and no one relished being in either Arwen’s or Elrond’s place when it came at last.

In fact, that very reason alone – that he was ever in Arwen’s company when they stopped or set up camp - made it difficult for Penny to find any moment when she could talk to Elrond more privately, to discern how awry their relationship may or may not be. As the days progressed, she found herself turning over the question of where she would stay in her head. It even began to invade her dreams. Standing naked and horrified in the middle of the throne room in Minas Tirith was one that had her awake in a cold sweat, but then so did the one where she had eaten all the cabbages in Imladris and Elrond was so angry he was waving an axe at her. Admittedly the axe had morphed into a stick of broccoli at some point, but it had still been an alarming dream nonetheless.

Eleniel was no longer sharing a tent with them all, since the ladies-in-waiting were in a tent beside Arwen’s; however one evening she and Mireth sat Penny down in the tent she shared with Mireth and asked what was troubling her. Mireth was aware of the bad dreams, given her bedroll was next to Penny’s, and she had told Eleniel of her concerns.

Penny, of course, could not explain the situation, given that would necessitate explaining her wariness of taking advantage of Elrond’s hospitality and the reasons for it. The ellith, therefore, only knowing the half of it, were immediately insistent she should return to Imladris.

“Gondor is not best suited to you. You struggled to fit in with their ways,” Eleniel said. “I do not blame you in the least, though I know things will change, albeit slowly, with Arwen and Estel now having a say in the matter.”

“You were happy with us in Imladris, were you not?” Mireth said, with not a little tone of hurt in her voice. “Why would you not consider Imladris an option to you? Lord Elrond has always said you were most welcome, and you are. You are a part of the place now. I shall miss you if you choose to leave us.”

Penny had smiled sadly and thanked them and merely said it was slightly more complicated than a simple choice, that she had to think of her future and where her life might lead, which was true, of course, if not the main sticking point.

She knew they were right, though: Gondor was not the place for her. Not only that, but she was aware Halladan and Arvain had committed themselves to being her guardians, and wherever she might stay would affect them. She did not doubt for one moment Halladan would not choose to stay in Minas Tirith or near the Pelennor if he could possibly help it. He had spoken of Aragorn giving them land and an income, so perhaps that would be elsewhere, towards Lebennin or Dol Amroth, maybe?

Gah, there was just so much to consider and take in that it made her head spin. And, if she were honest, just the very idea of any one of the possible options put the wind up her, because every one of them brought it home that she was here to stay, that she would have to set up a house, run a home, forever gut her own rabbits, pluck her own ducks, hand wash her own dresses, never eat chocolate again and never wear a bra.

Speaking of which…

She had decided it was a situation she could deal with no more. Okay, she was not suffering by any means, but there was only so much a pair of breasts could take and sooner or later she was going to have to do something about it. She had mentioned it to Mireth and Eleniel in Minas Tirith, who had laughed but said they were sure they could design something that would suit. Penny was acutely aware that if she chose to stay in Minas Tirith, while Eleniel was a superb seamstress, it was unlikely that, as a close confidante of the Queen, it would be ‘seemly’ for someone of her station to make unusual undergarments, let alone to do so for some jumped-up stranger who had proved herself ‘the Court Oddball’ more than once. If Penny was in Imladris, therefore, the construction of, if not a bra, then some sort of ‘supportive chemise’ would be a fair easier affair.

A small thing, perhaps, but such things matter to a girl.

With all of this rampaging backwards and forwards in her head like a troop of charging heffalumps, it was quite a nice distraction for Penny to have others than just the elves around. If she had had to travel solely with elvish company so soon after what had happened with Elrond she was not sure she could have coped, so what with that, as well as the seemingly momentous decision she had to make in the near future, to have Halladan and Arvain to distract her helped hugely. Not only that, but there were tales to be heard and stories from both Rohirrim and Gondorians that she did not know and were fascinating. Depending on the nature of the tale, Halladan was not always around to translate for her (though he could not always easily escape it), so Arvain, Lindir or Mireth would do the honours if necessary.

The only slightly sour note was that Corunir seemed to have taken it into his head to befriend them all, or to have decided he had befriended Penny at least, and was regularly in their company every night. He seemed charming enough, but Penny noticed that even the others found his presence a little wearisome, his manner overbearing and slightly too self-assured given the company he was in. When a young man still in his teens felt he could talk over the top of a Dúnadan, or make quips at the expense of an ellon he barely knew, Penny suspected she was not the only one to think him in need of being taken down a peg or two.

On the third day of travelling there were growing grumblings in the elvish camp. Going that long without bathing was considered a grave hardship, if not an outrage, and some of the Galadhrim were bordering on taking it as some sort of personal insult that arrangements could not have been made sooner. Part of the difficulty was that, while the ellyn did not need worry so much about their human travellers catching sight of them, the ellith needed an even more protected place than usual in which to try and bathe given the size of the camp and the large numbers of men travelling with them (and in particular, as was pointed out by several, given the average mortal’s inability to control themselves). This would be a golden opportunity for temptation, and the elves had not forgotten the reaction of the ladies of Gondor in trying to simply get a glimpse of them bare-chested and in their britches.

Thus what was needed was a stretch of water that was very heavily screened and could be well guarded from all angles, as well as having a suitable amount of space nearby for the female tents. It took three days before such a place could be found, and indeed they set up camp a little earlier than usual precisely because such a place had been spotted and the elves refused to move on and risk not finding another suitable place further along the water course. Riders from both groups of elves were sent forward to King Elessar and King Eomer to explain they would not go any further forward that day and why; the former understanding at once and the latter finding the whole situation rather bizarre but acquiescing nonetheless.

The tents for the women and ellith were set up all to one side, forming a barrier between the rest of the camp and the line of trees screening the water. In addition, a veritable horde of warrior ellyn made sure they guarded every possible access way to the water.

Then, and only then, could the bathing commence.

Arwen’s ladies-in-waiting were invited to join them all. They were rather hesitant, but realised it was expected of them, that Arwen was joining in and that if Penny could do it, so could they. One of them even pulled Penny aside asking would it not be a little cold, and Penny assured them that it would be as nothing compared to the mountain streams she had had to endure West of the Misty Mountains, which got some wide-eyed blinking and a mere ‘oh’ by way of response.

The few women travelling with the baggage train, as cooks and washerwomen, seemed somewhat surprised to find various ellith seeking them out and asking if they would like to join them as well. At first several shook their heads vigorously, seeing it as some strange elvish thing (“who knows what sort of strange magic they may get up to in the water”), or else something for the nobility (“we are not queens or fine ladies, what do we want with washing?”), but eventually a brave soul said ‘why not’ and the rest warily followed suit.

The men in the camp seemed somewhat torn. Curiosity was a terrible thing, but negotiating warrior ellyn seemed infinitely worse, so the few younger and unmarried ne’er-do-wells who might have been otherwise tempted managed to restrain themselves. Even so, the thought of several hundred beautiful ellith completely in the nude only a few hundred feet away meant every attempt was made to distract the men, and as well as several loud songs being sung, the ale was cracked open before supper instead of after, and the last of the ellith and ladies to return from the river found several of the men exceedingly ‘merry’ already and night not yet fallen.

The Dúnedain were the only mortal group who seemed utterly unfazed by it all, knowing elvish custom as they did. There was some shaking of heads, and muttering of ‘such a fuss about nothing’, but all said in light-hearted manner and with a grin and a chuckle.

“Even you, Pen-ii? Ai, Elbereth, if proof were needed you have been overlong in elvish company…”

Penny stuck her tongue out at Arvain and went back to combing out her hair.

“Nothing wrong with being clean, Arvain. In fact, the idea of being filthy for days at a time fills me with horror.”

Arvain and Faelon exchanged an amused glance.

“Remind me never to take you out in the wild with the Dúnedain in that case,” muttered Arvain.

“You have rivers in the North,” Penny retorted.

“When there is snow on the ground? Rather you than I, Pen-ii.” Halladan laughed.

Penny could not think of an adequate response to that, and muttered something about a stand-up wash with warmed water still being a reasonable alternative. When Halladan pointed out you would still have to put stinking travel-worn clothes on your back afterwards and Faelon wondered loudly how advisable it would be to disrobe in the snow, Penny replied that it was the principle of the thing and good to make some sort of effort, at which point Arvain hooted that she had definitely spent too long with elves if that was what she thought. Penny stomped back to her tent to finish combing her hair away from the laughter after that.

Two nights later Penny awoke from another bad dream. She could not remember what it was once she was fully awake, only that it had involved Gondor and a lot of screaming on her part with other people standing around and laughing at her.

She decided, while she was up, to visit the latrine. On her way back she became aware of a number of people still awake.

There were guards on duty round the camp, of course, both elf and man alike, and a few elves were still up, which was not unusual, but that so few were around did indicate that it was very late (at least the third watch). What seemed odd, therefore, especially given the lateness of the hour, was the amount of men who were not on guard duty and yet not taking the chance to sleep. There were not a huge amount of them, admittedly – only a few small groups or random individuals dotted here and there at nearly every campfire in the place – but even so: there were at least twenty or more people who clearly were not sleeping and yet had no reason to still be up that Penny knew of.

Then she saw Halladan, at some distance, quietly smoking his pipe, sitting in silence with a few other similarly dour looking individuals, and she suddenly twigged. Poor bastards. It occurred to her it must be incredibly difficult for them to be travelling with so many people, with little chance to cover any trauma or distress if they had to share a tent with several people, if they could never have their own space.

She quietly went back to her tent, but it took a long time to fall asleep, and not because she was worried about more nightmares.

Then the following night she was awoken by hurried whispering in her tent.

“What is it? What is happening?” she asked groggily.

“There was shouting just now… from one of the Rohirric tents, we think,” an elleth explained.

“It was over quickly,” Mireth went on, “but it is so sad to think…” She trailed off.

“There was an argument?” Penny was still half-asleep and slow on the uptake.

“No, no,” the first elleth said. “The man was clearly having a bad dream. Something to do with the war. It can happen, soldiers can be affected that way. Frankly, I am surprised this is only the first such incident we have had, given the number of warriors here with memories still so fresh in their heads.”

Penny was wide awake now, sitting bolt upright on her bedroll.

“Who was it? Do you know?”

“We do not know. I would imagine they would try and keep his identity hidden from most if they can,” Mireth replied. “There is no shame in such things, perhaps, but I do not doubt the man in question would feel some nonetheless if he knew all the camp had heard him.”

“Poor man,” Penny whispered. She looked up and caught Mireth’s eye for a moment. Mireth clearly felt as upset about this as Penny did.

Mireth went on to explain that such things could happen to elves, though not to the degree that it could affect a human.

“We have more control over how such things affect us. Grief, sorrow, shock… they are all things that can make an ellon seem very changed after he first comes back from war. I would think any ellon here who has seen battle, which is every one I believe, would have some appreciation of what that man has suffered, what he is going through, whoever he might be.”

“Can Lord Elrond not heal him?”

“He could help certainly. As could Estel or Mithrandir or Lady Galadriel or even many of us here. I do not doubt several will have offered to help as best they might. It may be the Rohirrim have their own way of dealing with such things, I do not know. It is also dependent on the man wishing to be helped. It can be a matter of pride or even shame. Some men feel it is weakness on their part to be so affected.”

Penny could well believe it.

Breakfast the following morning seemed more subdued than usual. Mireth’s words the previous night explained why even the ellyn seemed out of sorts. Everyone was quiet, and there was an atmosphere as if everyone were treading on eggshells and no one wanted to bring up the one subject on everyone’s minds. Only later did Penny run into Halladan, just after breakfast as they were each heading towards their tents to get their packs together and go and saddle up. He looked haggard and tired, and a little pale. She caught his eye for the briefest of moments as they almost came face to face and she opened her mouth to say something.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

It was all he said, and he walked on past her and away.

By evening the mood had lightened somewhat. Penny had studiously avoided Halladan at lunch (or had he been avoiding her – she was not entirely sure), but at supper all seemed forgotten and he was his usual affable self, gently ribbing Arvain over various boastful claims the latter was making.

“If you are such a great man, Arvain, how is it you did not allow any Gondorian maiden to snare you in the end? Too good for them, no doubt?”

“No,” Arvain said slowly, aware that various Gondorian nobles were possibly within earshot and Corunir was sitting next to him.

“But he was to be betrothed to the fair Sidhwen, no?”

“That joke is getting rather old,” Arvain snapped at Corunir. His clear annoyance only made the others laugh all the harder.

“And what of you, Lady Pen-ii?” Corunir directed his toothy smile in her direction. “Perhaps there is some young man in the North who awaits you? I feel sure there must be…”

Penny felt distinctly uncomfortable under his gaze. She shook her head and tried to change the subject.

“How long till we cross the border into Rohan?”

“Of course, I have been to Rohan several times before,” Corunir drawled before anyone could answer Penny’s question. He seemed to be speaking directly to Penny rather than to them all in general, and she felt she had little choice but respond.

“Really? Well, then perhaps you would know…”

“I have travelled quite widely, actually, given the circumstances of the times, of course. I was always out and about in Ithilien, pitting my wits against stray orcs…”

Penny noted that Arvain and Halladan looked sceptical to say the least.

“I thought Fimorndír said you had spent much of your youth in Lebennin,” Arvain retorted.

Corunir’s self-confidence seemed a little ruffled. “Well, only my early childhood. And we still had our moments then, harried by pirates, you know,” he explained to Penny. “Many was the time I had to defend my family even as a youngster.”

Penny was not sure why she would be particularly interested since he was still directing most of his talk to her. Lindir spotted her slightly dazed, nonplussed expression and suppressed a snigger.

“The same is true for just about every warrior here,” Celebdor pointed out.

Corunir seemed most put out.

“Well, yes, perhaps so, but not every one saw active fighting even as a boy.”

“Do not be so certain,” Halladan said quietly to no one in particular.

“Ah, yes… well, I…”

Penny thought it quite something to see Corunir at a loss for words. He was usually so supremely full of himself. He seemed particularly annoyed that this was being said in front of Penny, since he kept glancing at her as if to gauge her reaction to it all which confused her somewhat. She only hoped it did not imply what her gut instinct seemed to be trying to tell her it implied. He really did seem rather desperate to impress her.

“If you will excuse me,” he said, still throwing polite slightly-too-wide smiles in Penny’s direction. “I see my cousin and I needs must speak to him.” He left hurriedly, clearly still rather put out at being reminded his boasts were nothing to speak of compared to those around him.

There were a few exchanged glances and wide grins.

“I do believe a certain young man is entertaining hopes,” Arvain began with a sly smirk in Penny’s direction. He got no further before Penny rounded on him and slapped him on the arm.

“Do not even jest about something like that, Arvain! It is not funny!”

“I was not joking!” Arvain sounded slightly affronted.

The expression on Penny’s face as she realised with horror that they indeed thought what she had suspected she was imagining was priceless. Celebdor and Lindir were nearly on the floor with hysterics and Halladan was doing his best to keep his sniggering as surreptitious as possible by shoving his nose into his cup of ale.

“Oh, stop it!” Mireth scolded them. “Pay them no heed, Pen-ii. I think Corunir is a delightful young man…”

“WHAT?!” Penny looked even more appalled, which only brought more howls of laughter from Lindir and Celebdor.

“Well, a little over-sure of himself, perhaps, but I think that is only because he wishes you to think well of him.”

Words failed Penny at that point.

“I think, Mireth,” Lindir said between gulps of air, “that Pen-ii is somewhat taken aback at the thought.”

“That is something of an understatement,” Penny said with feeling, finally finding her voice. She looked back to where Corunir was now at some distance to them, talking to a group that included Fimorndír, Meresel’s husband. “I mean… he is just a boy!”

“He is nearly twenty,” Arvain pointed out. “And seen battle.”

“Very well, he looks like a boy then,” Penny corrected, even if it was still something of an exaggeration.

“Well, yes, I will admit he does look very young,” Mireth conceded.

“He also reminds me far too much of my brother.”

“Ahhh.”

Everyone looked at Halladan.

“What? Oh, forgive me, it is just that explains why Pen-ii looks at him over-long at times. I had begun to wonder if…”

Penny positively glared at him. Halladan held his hands up apologetically, clearly trying to suppress a smile. Arvain, Lindir and Celebdor looked in danger of getting the giggles all over again.

“What I meant was that he seems… oh, I do not know, he just strikes me as having the same sort of attitude and character.”

“I thought you did not get on with your brother?” Lindir said.

“Exactly.”

“Ah.”

“If I were honest? I am not sure I would trust Corunir as far as I could throw him.”

There was a brief moment of silence before there was more laughter and confused looks.

“I take it you do not have that expression in Sindarin?”

No, clearly they did not, and the idea of Penny staggering about trying to throw anyone anywhere was one that they all found highly entertaining. They did take her point, though.

“You mean he is untrustworthy?” Mireth’s voice cut through the laughter, and had a tone of seriousness to it.

“No, not that so much as that it strikes me he does not fully understand what it is to be responsible. He has that same attitude, that same look about him as my brother: thinks far too much of himself, over confident, but unwilling to do what others may want or need, unwilling to think of anyone except himself. Selfish. Selfish and arrogant and irresponsible.”

She had not realised quite how much feeling she had put into her words, but she noticed the awkward coughs and hooded exchanging of glances.

“I mean my brother, not Corunir,” she added hurriedly. “I hardly know Corunir.”

“Oh, I think you have given a fairly good assessment of his character, from what little I know of him,” Arvain replied.

“Have no fear, Pen-ii,” Halladan said with a grin as he helped himself to more ale, “as your guardians Arvain and I both have a say in who would make a suitable match for you, and Corunir would not be it.”

Penny thought about saying something about being perfectly able to make her own decisions about such things, thank you very much, but decided now was not the time and let that one slide for the time being.

As it was, that was the last time Corunir tried to intrude on their evening chats (and it really had seemed like an intrusion on occasion). Whether someone had said something to him or he had decided it was a lost cause, Penny did not know and decided she did not want to know. The whole thing had been too weird to think about. She had enough on her plate right now without worrying about lovesick teens… Okay, that was probably a little harsh – he had hardly been mooning over her - but even so she could have done without it all.

What she did not know was that later that same night Fimorndír pulled Halladan to one side, asking him to keep an eye on Corunir and divert the young man’s attention away from Penny.

“I overheard the little runt chatting with friends,” Fimorndír said through gritted teeth. “I like Lady Pen-ii, and I know she and Meresel have become good friends even in the short time they have known each other. Corunir, on the other hand, would be well served by a cuff or two about the head had I my way, but no matter. Suffice it to say, he was boasting that he thought it might be a great game to try and woo her, as much as anything due to her reputation at the court and how annoyed his mother would be if she got to hear about his intentions.” He held out an arm and stayed Halladan who had suddenly looked about him with a furious glare as if seeking Corunir out. “Hold, hold, Halladan. I have spoken to him, and most severely, might I add. Were it not for the scandal it would have caused, I would have sent him packing back to Gondor then and there, and if I can yet devise a way to send him elsewhere on an errand I shall do so. He will not be attempting any such thing, I can assure you, or at least not where I might learn of it. I thought it as well to tell you, as her guardian, so that you could also keep your eyes sharp.”

Halladan thanked him, his face as black as thunder. When he returned to the campfire he barely said a word to anyone and seemed very out of sorts. If any Gondorian passed nearby, he looked up sharply, as if he was on the lookout for someone in particular. Arvain looked at him questioningly and simply got a slight shake of the head by way of response which he understood to mean ‘not now, I’ll tell you later.’

Eventually Penny quietly asked Halladan if he was upset about something. Only then did his expression soften a little.

“Yes, but it will pass. It is nothing you have done, Pen-ii, do not concern yourself.”

He smiled then and she relaxed a little, though she watched him for the rest of the evening in the short amount of time she stayed before going to bed. She knew he was still bottling things up, still trying to cope, and for all he had left the memories of Gondor behind him, he was now travelling in the company of warriors, several of whom were obviously suffering just as he was, and hearing tales of battles she knew he would fain forget nearly every night.

She was worried the cracks were beginning to show.

The oblique reference to the conversation between Eomer and Gimli is explained in Many Partings (ROTK) where Eomer apologises to Gimli for his rash words regarding Galadriel when they first met back in Rohan since, of course, he has now seen her. He still insists she is not the fairest female he has seen, since that is Arwen in his opinion. Gimli accepts that even if he does not agree, saying one is like the dawn and the other like the dusk.

The chapter contains the second reference to ‘white cakes’ (the first being when Mireth and Penny go down the First Circle and back a day or two after the wedding). To explain for those as are unfamiliar with the books: Pippin is offered a drink and white cakes when he first meets Denethor and later complains to Beregond it’s all he’s had for breakfast. Also, the reference to Pippin bowing his head when he hears the Rohirric horns is another detail from the books, where it said, after hearing the horns as the Rohirrim charged onto the Pelennor after all hope had been lost in Minas Tirith that they would arrive in time, Pippin could never again hear horns blown without getting tears in his eyes.

The observant among you will notice Beregond is among the company when last chapter I had Pippin saying goodbye to him. That is because that paragraph was cut from the last chapter after it was pointed out to me that, of course, Beregond would travel with his captain, Faramir. Thanks to Lindelea. :)

My apologies for the long wait readers have had for this chapter. Various things conspired together to make writing difficult, impossible or plain slow. This is why updates are haphazard – sometimes quick and at other times taking a while. If in doubt as to what is up, you can always check my LJ where I do try and keep people posted as to where I’m at and what is happening. My sincere thanks, as ever, to all those reading and in particular those who take time out to let me know their thoughts and responses to it all – it means a lot. :)