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Okay, NOW Panic!  by Boz4PM

Chapter 48“Follow The Yellow Brick Road”


Even as Penny had watched the dawn rise, elvish voices had begun to sing, sporadically at first and dotted far and wide both in the deep and on the greensward, but fairly soon becoming one communal, choral effort.

The song seemed strangely indistinct, or at least it did to Penny. If she tried to make out the words they swirled away from her as if she were trying to catch hold of wisps of smoke. As more and more voices joined in, each time adding another meandering ribbon of a tune to the whole, Penny gave up trying to make any of it out and just let it wash over her. It rose to something like a crescendo even as the sky at last turned from a glowing pink and orange to a bright, clear blue above the eastern peaks.

It was going to be another gloriously sunny day by the look of it.

The song had not been for her, or anyone else listening particularly. Penny did not know why she knew that, only that she was certain of it. It had been for Helm’s Deep, to cleanse it and clear it of whatever shadow still lay upon it, just as when the elves had wandered, murmuring and singing amongst the burnt-out shells of cottages and farmsteads in the Westfold Vale.

It did have some effect on her nonetheless. Her dream was still vivid in her mind, but she did not feel such a cold, heavy weight within her because of it. Its grip on her imagination was that much less and thus that much easier to bear. The coming of the dawn had helped a little also. She turned at last, thinking breakfast must have started and if she did not want to journey half a day with an empty stomach she had best get moving.

It was no surprise, perhaps, that as Penny took one look down onto the greensward before she made her way up the stairs into the Burg, she could make out the bright golden hair of Galadriel, her voice chief amongst the singers.

It was immediately clear as she entered the dining hall that it was later than she had realised. Of course she had forgotten that, it being a day of travel and thus with much preparation needed before the ‘off’, most would have risen early. Thus many had already eaten and left. Plates were already being cleared and whole sections of many of the tables were entirely empty. As she took this in she heard her name being called, and Penny could see Arvain beckoning her over to join them. Faelon was next to him, already standing and about to leave, and Halladan was seated opposite him. She took a seat next to Halladan and murmured a good morning to them all.

“Your bed too comfortable this morning, Pen-ii?” Faelon joked, grinning at her.

“Hardly.” She helped herself to an apple as Arvain cut her a hunk of bread. “Though I will admit, even those wretched cots are better than sleeping on nothing but a bedroll.”

The men chuckled at that. After all sleeping on ‘nothing but a bedroll’ (or less) was standard fare for a Dunadan in the wild.

“I shall be so glad to get to Imladris and have a proper bed once more.”

She smiled, trying her best to seem relatively normal and perfectly at ease to match Faelon’s attitude. Faelon then excused himself saying there was much to be done before they could set off and also pointing out that Penny had little time to eat before she would have to do the same. She nodded, even as she spread some honey on her bread.

“I will take the apple back up to my rooms with me while I get my things packed.”

Faelon seemed surprised.

“Your bags are not yet prepared?”

“Well, I…”

“She has time, Faelon.” Halladan said quietly, not looking up as he spoke.

“We will hardly leave without her,” Arvain pointed out with a laugh. “And besides, it will take an age for all the horses to make their way down from the burg…”

“They have already started,” Faelon said. “Many of the elves have already taken their horses from the caves.” He looked at Penny, smiling. “Just so long as you do not take too long here. Mireth was asking if we had seen you earlier; I think she was worried you might be running late.”

He asked no questions, presumed she had her reasons for having disappeared, and for that Penny was grateful. She nodded, making it clear she understood, and he left them to it.

“So, where were you?”

She looked at Arvain. No one was near them, the hall emptying fast, so she could speak fairly freely.

“On the Wall. I have been there since before dawn. I lost track of the time, that was all.”

She avoided their gaze and munched on her bread.

Halladan spoke before Arvain could draw in breath to do so.

“Bad dreams again?”

She paused mid-chew, then, still not looking at them, slowly swallowed and nodded. Halladan nodded in return as he ate his last mouthful. Penny glanced up to see Arvain looking at her with some concern. As he opened his mouth to say something, Penny cut him off.

“I am fine. Really. We are leaving today and that will be an end to it.”

Arvain raised his eyebrows and exchanged a look with his brother who had glanced sideways at Penny.

“Are you not looking forward to leaving also?” Penny asked Arvain, not looking up as she continued eating. “I know it has not been easy for you here either.”

Arvain’s only answer was to shrug in a non-committal sort of way, then he got to his feet.

“Right, well, I am finished. Halladan, do you want me to take your pack and saddle to the courtyard?”

“No need, I am finished here also.” Halladan paused as he looked at Penny. “Wait one moment, brother. Let Pen-ii finish and we can walk together towards our chambers.”

Arvain sat down again, though without tucking his legs under the table so he was sideways on to it.

“Yes, of course.” He paused. “Hurry up, Pen-ii!” He grinned.

“Hey!”

Arvain laughed.

As they wandered down the first few corridors together before separating to go their respective chambers, Penny gently asked Halladan if he was feeling any better. He glanced across her to his brother before answering.

“It… will take time,” he said quietly.

“But Elrond…”

“Stayed with me most of the night. King Elessar also.” He seemed to be finding it a little difficult to look her fully in the eye.

“Faelon’s been told,” Arvain interrupted, saving his brother from having to say anything further.

Penny nodded. “Good. I am glad. He is so close to you and was close to your father. It is only right that he know, that he be amongst those to help you.”

Halladan said nothing and Penny could see he found it uncomfortable being so open about all this. She decided to leave it at that, thought about laying a hand on his arm in a gesture of comfort and understanding but decided against it.

“And you?” Halladan was trying to change the subject. “You have not slept well both nights you were here.”

The memory of it welled up within her.

“I dreamt about my family last night. I was here, at the battle… They were here also. They… died.”

She did not know why she was telling them. Perhaps it was simply that she felt she had to tell someone, to get it out, that by saying it out loud she could exorcise it on some level.

They had stopped walking. Arvain and Halladan had looked at each other as she had spoken.

“Ai, Pen-ii,” Arvain said quietly. “It shall be no bad thing for us to leave here, I feel. I did not realise you had been so deeply affected by it.”

Penny shrugged and might have said something further, but they were interrupted by the arrival of a few elves who were smiling and laughing, telling them that horses were filling the courtyard, Arvain and Halladan’s amongst them, and they had better get a move on.

They went their separate ways to fetch their things.

The whole process of bringing the horses from the caves to the Burg to be saddled and loaded did indeed take quite some time, just as Arvain had said it would. Slowly people made their way down the causeway as they and their horses were ready and, little by little, a great crowd formed on the greensward. The sun was already high in the sky when the very last of them finally left the Burg, and only then did the vanguard move forward towards the Dike.

As it did so, Pen-ii, riding in amongst many of the Dunedain as she was, was right next to Halladan when Faelon unfastened the horn he always wore on his belt and held it out to Halladan. Halladan hesitated for a moment before slowly accepting it from him, and took several moments more, simply looking at it in his hand, before taking a deep breath through his nose, as if making a decision and steeling himself to it, then pressing the horn to his lips and blowing, just once but long and loud.

He was immediately answered by several horns up on the Wall and on the rampart, and someone somewhere was blowing the Horn of Helm since a sudden great booming trumpeting, deep and resonant, could be heard loud and harsh, rumbling off the cliffs in the Deep to come again and again like thunder. The sound was so loud, indeed, that Penny was not the only one to turn in her seat to stare behind her in wonder at the Wall.

A tribute, no doubt, to those amongst them, Aragorn and Gandalf in particular, for all that they had done in the defence of Rohan.

As Halladan then attached the horn to his own belt rather than giving it back to Faelon, Arvain saw Penny watching him closely.

“It was Father’s,” he began to explain.

“Yes, I know. I had forgotten till just now, but it was said he blew a horn as you left here on your way to the Paths of the Dead, no?”

Arvain nodded.

“Yes. Yes, he did. By rights Halladan should have had it all this time. We considered…” he hesitated, “…burying it with him, but Faelon said that would not do, that it had been passed down through many generations of our family, that Father would have wanted us to have it, that as close kin to Aragorn it was only right that…”

Halladan now looked up, overhearing the tail end of what Arvain was saying.

He caught Penny’s eye as he did so.

“As the eldest son, it is my duty to wear it,” he said quietly. “I could not bring myself to wear it before. It might seem strange to you, perhaps, but to have such a constant reminder of him with me was…”

“Oh, it is understandable enough, Halladan,” Faelon interrupted, his voice kindly. “But it is only right, only fitting that once again its note be heard in this place where it was last heard outside of the roar of battle, and it is to the eldest son that such a duty should fall. He was our standard bearer, the one to whom we rallied for our King. It is only right it should be his eldest son who honours him and honours this place where so many fell.”

He smiled, if a little grimly, at Halladan and nodded gently, showing his pride and pleasure that Halladan had accepted the horn from him and blown it. The unspoken look in his eye said ‘Halbarad would have been proud to see it.’

The four fell into silence as they followed the train down the path into the narrow valley below the rampart and so on down the foothills towards the Westfold Vale.

It was a strange day’s journey as far as Penny was concerned, though she did wonder if she was the only one who felt that way. Helm’s Deep had been such an intense experience for her, coming on top of the deep sense of grief she had felt the few days prior, that finally to be free of it was, indeed, a relief. To be on the road once more, surrounded by elvish song, was exactly the thing she had been yearning for since the moment they had stopped.

And yet…

She still felt the shadow of all she had been through lying on her. For all she was pleased to leave Helm’s Deep at last, she was quiet and introspective as they travelled. She could not shake her dream from her mind and could summon up little more than quiet murmured responses to any attempt at conversation that came her way.

Halladan too seemed quiet, but that was nothing unusual. The Dunedain were not the chatty sort, and after the previous day’s events Halladan had every excuse to keep himself to himself. Arvain and Faelon rode beside him all the day, though, providing a familiar, companionable support if needed.

Throughout the day various friends joined them to ride alongside them. The elves seemed to be slowly returning to their usual selves so, even if they were still much muted in their general character, were far more inclined to be sociable than any time previously since they had left Edoras.

Thus Lindir spent a good part of the morning journeying with them, though whether he was making the effort for Penny or Halladan (or both) it was hard to say. Either way he had them all laughing within a quarter of an hour of his turning up alongside them.

About an hour after leaving Helm’s Deep behind them Erestor rode back along the line to join them.

“Ah, Pen-ii. A little Westron, perhaps?”

Lindir nearly fell off his horse when Penny responded enthusiastically to this suggestion.

“I never thought I would live to see the day!” He turned to look at her. “Are you sickening for something?”

Penny stuck her tongue out at him. The Dunedain nearby were smiling and chuckling.

“And how did you find the poems?” Erestor asked as Penny fell back a little from the others and he came alongside her.

“Perfect. Exactly what I needed. Thank you, Erestor.”

She then went on to discuss the few she had particularly liked, Erestor nodding and smiling in approval as she did so.

So up until lunchtime, Penny had a Westron lesson with Erestor. She was grateful that it was, in large part, merely a revision of what they had done the day before given that the lesson was being listened to by half a dozen Dunedain. If she had been forced to make a complete arse of herself and show her utter incompetence as a linguist in a language they had all known from birth, she would have felt horribly humiliated, even though she knew full well that they would not have seen it in those terms in the least – after all they knew well enough she could speak little Westron.

It all helped the morning pass comfortably enough.

Every time, however, the distractions passed and she had an opportunity to be left to her own thoughts, the gloom returned, like a fog momentarily pushed aside by a breeze only to roll back in on itself. She ate her meagre lunch in near total silence, lost in her own world once more.

For the afternoon she offered her horse to one of the ellith who usually shared her tent, and walked alongside Mireth, letting her try and teach her a song about a small pink flower native to the north whose appearance heralded the start of summer. In the end Mireth could see Penny was really not in the right frame of mind and they wandered along in companionable silence, listening to others singing around them.

As ever, progress was slow with this large a group travelling all together, many of them on foot and they had started out later than, perhaps, might have been hoped. It was already well into the afternoon when they came out of the mountain valley at last and reached the fork in the road, taking the westward route towards the fords. They did not go much further into the Westfold Vale when the decision was made to set up camp for the evening.

The end of the diversion of singing and the slowly changing scenery meant for a moment Penny felt that same cold weariness within her once more. There was little she could do to help with setting up the camp, given it necessitated heavy manual work for the most part, but the moment the central area amongst the elvish tents was established and Naurdir had all his bags of provisions and foodstuffs to one side, she offered to help prepare the main meal with him as something to keep her busy.

Peeling root vegetables did not stop her mind from wandering, however.

And it was not as if she was thinking about anything in particular. In fact, often enough she was not thinking about anything at all, but it was still enough that Naurdir had to say her name three times before she looked up and agreed that, yes, she probably had done enough carrots.

“Ah, there you are.”

It was Arvain who had called out to her, strolling towards her with Halladan and their cousin, Tadion, beside him. Tadion plonked himself down on the grass beside her with a wide grin, his long legs stretched out, his ankles crossed.

“Elbereth, but that tent was difficult to get up this evening.”

“Well, if you will insist on pulling when you should be pushing and hauling when you should be staying,” Halladan muttered.

“That’s our Tadion,” Arvain laughed. “Ever contrary.”

“Not my fault if Faelon had us doing it opposite to the way we usually go about it,” Tadion grumbled as he grabbed a peeled carrot and bit into it.

The other two men made disparaging noises that let him know they thought that arrant (and laughable) nonsense.

“Not that we need a tent on a night like this,” he continued, ignoring the pair of them as he looked up to the east where the cloudless sky on the far horizon was beginning to darken slightly. “It will stay dry tonight.”

He reached for a second carrot, only for Penny to slap his hand away as she got up to take them over to Naurdir.

“Stop that!”

Tadion affected shocked disbelief for a brief moment and then broke into a grin as a pseudo-wistful expression came onto his face.

“Ah, how I have missed Mother Dearest.” He sighed heavily. “We have been so long away from home it seems.”

Arvain burst out laughing at that, and even Halladan chuckled and grinned widely. Penny tried to work out if she should be offended or not and decided ‘not’ in the end. She lobbed a carrot at Tadion’s head instead.

“Ha! Pen-ii has the measure of you already, Tadion!” Arvain hooted.

Tadion had caught the carrot neatly and was munching on it happily, grinning away like a cheeky schoolboy.

As Penny, at Naurdir’s direction, sliced the carrots straight into the large pot, another ellon standing on its opposite side slicing in various other vegetables as well as ripping up several bunches of wild herbs that had been gathered from nearby, she glanced back to the trio sitting in the fire’s glow.

Halladan was listening, head bowed and picking idly at blades of grass in front of him with a soft smile on his face, as Arvain and Tadion threw banter and jibes back and forth at each other. Lindir and Celebdor had joined them and, even as she watched, Faelon seated himself quietly next to Halladan, murmuring a greeting to him.

Celebdor and Lindir were clearly trying to outbid Arvain and Tadion in the jibes since she could just hear Lindir interrupting Arvain to loudly declare that ‘that was as nothing compared to the time Celebdor had faced down a badger with his bare hands,’ only for Celebdor to quickly interrupt that ‘he was sure this tale had been told a thousand times before and really did it need to be told once more?’

Penny smiled to herself. Distractions like this were really quite pleasant. It helped to pass the time, to divert the thoughts, even if it could not absolutely clear the weight inside. She could see from the expression on Halladan’s face, the quiet stillness about him, the way he was listening and smiling but still somewhat removed from it all – an observer rather than a participator – that he felt much the same.

She left for her tent as the meal cooked, to freshen up but also because as much as the laughter was an amusing diversion it seemed strangely at odds with how she felt now that dusk was slowly settling in. It was just as pleasant to be able to wander, alone, amongst the tents once more, the gentle whinnying of horses in the distance, the muffled murmur of conversation around her, and everyone about their business before the light finally faded completely. It was wonderful to be back in this now strangely familiar atmosphere – it had been months, after all, since she first set out from Imladris – and to know she was far from those dark, gloomy battlements up in the mountains somewhere.

It occurred to her she was avoiding the jollity and chatter much as Halladan had always done.

The irony of it was not lost on her either.

She returned for supper, sitting with her friends but not saying much, happy to listen as Lindir embarrassed Celebdor by relating in glorious detail the number, shape and size of bites he had received on his buttocks from said badger and how he had then had to suffer the indignity of having to drop his leggings for Mireth who was his senior by a little over a century (and thus had always been the grown elleth that even his young heart had yearned for), but had also been the first healer he had had the misfortune to run into, howling his way back to Imladris, clutching his backside like his life depended on it.

“I swear by Elbereth herself that was the start of it all between them.”

“If you do not stay quiet, Lindir, I swear by all I hold dear that I will choke you where you sit.”

Lindir was laughing hard.

“Ah, young love. Brought to flower by the bite of a badger!”

He ducked the blow levelled at his head by Celebdor but was caught instead by one in the other direction that came from Mireth.

“Hey! Not fair!”

“He was only young, Lindir! Do not mock him so! You would have fared no better had you been in that situation!”

“True, true,” Lindir admittedly graciously. He grinned wickedly suddenly. “Not that young, Mireth, only a few years shy of his majority…”

“Took them long enough, then, to profess their love for each other if that was the start of it all as you suggest,” Arvain pointed out.

“Would you rush into matters if you all you had to go on was the sight of a pair of buttocks bitten to shreds?! OW! Mireth, stop that!”

“I suggest you hold your tongue, dear friend, lest I let slip various stories I know about you.”

“Psh, Celebdor, I make no apologies. All here know I play the fool and thus the stories are never ending.”

“Ah, no, but I mean of a certain lovesick young ellon who climbed a tree once upon a time…”

Lindir gasped, suddenly close to outrage. “Don’t you dare!”

“And why should I not? After all you have said this night?!”

“I was jesting about it being the start of your love, but that night I was in earnest as you well know!”

“And who is to say I did not love fair Mireth even then?” Celebdor said with some feeling.

Mireth dropped her gaze, flushing gently in shyness suddenly. She glanced sideways and caught Penny’s eye. The pair grinned.

“Who is to say my mortification was not compounded a hundredfold precisely because of that fact?!”

“In which case I apologise unreservedly, my old friend,” Lindir quickly returned with a warm and genuine smile. “You know I meant nothing by it.”

The conversation moved on and then, as the meal finished, a song started up nearby followed by the start of a lengthy tale. It was the usual post-dinner entertainment. As the laughter around her died, Penny felt she needed more time alone. She murmured her excuses and headed off, but even as she left the circle of the firelight’s glow, she heard her name and sensed someone come alongside her.

It was Halladan.

“Had enough of the company?” She had no chance to reply before he continued. “It is pleasant enough, but…”

“…sometimes the quiet and the solitude are all you wish for,” she finished.

He nodded.

“Exactly so.” He looked at her. “You have been quiet today.”

“I could say the same of you.”

He nodded once more.

“True.” He glanced up ahead of them. “Where are we headed?”

She shrugged.

“I had no particular idea in mind. I thought only to seek the edge of the camp, to sit for a while and look at the stars, let my thoughts wander a little without worrying what others might think of me.” She paused, suddenly worried that she had phrased herself badly.

“I understand.”

And she knew he did.

They walked on in silence till they reached the last of the tents, then stepped only a few feet beyond them before stopping. Penny hugged her arms about her, staring up into the clear sky above her. She could still not get used to being able to see so many stars so clearly with the naked eye without London’s light pollution to obscure them. Halladan stood beside her silently, leaning on his stick, though as much from force of habit as from his leg being a little stiff from a long day in the saddle.

“I am surprised you came to join me,” Penny said quietly at last.

“And why should I not?”

“Well… after yesterday I thought perhaps that…”

“I said to you some days ago I would keep you company at such times.” He paused and added kindly, “If, however, I have intruded and you would prefer to be alone…”

“No, no, I am grateful to you. I… I was concerned only that you might not feel comfortable… that yesterday might have meant that…”

“Pen-ii,” and he touched her arm gently as he said her name, turning her to face him, “I am deeply ashamed of what you have had to witness, but Elrond and the others spoke to me long into the night last night. I… I cannot say I have accepted what happened yesterday, but I recognise that it will, in the end, perhaps be something I will look back on one day and realise was a major step in my healing. Or that is what they tell me, anyway, and Arvain and Faelon agree with them. Who am I to argue with the likes of my King or Mithrandir himself, after all? Whatever my feelings now, do not ever think that they will stand in the way of my duty towards you or, indeed, our friendship.” He smiled. “I made a promise and I will stand by that.” The smile broadened a little. “Besides, do you not think that perhaps it helps me a little to be able to worry about you instead of myself?”

She almost laughed at that and nodded. Fair enough. She glanced up at him, smiling, but the moment she caught his eye and found he was still smiling back at her she looked away quickly, feeling oddly shy, her smile broadening in spite of itself as she did so.

“Shall we sit?” he said, doing exactly that and holding out his hand for her to follow him.

She took it and sat beside him, feeling strangely foolish and rather conscious of his presence beside her, which unnerved her. Then she wondered what her mother would have made of him and his brother and she was off, lost in her own thoughts once more.

How long they sat there she was not sure, but it was not overly long before Halladan broke the silence.

“Tell me about your family.”

She looked at him.

“Lord Elrond was rather particular about this, that when I felt able to I should… that remembering the dead, or those lost to us, is a means of coming to accept their having gone.”

He sounded strained, as if the idea of doing exactly that was one he would rather not think about at this moment or else he had just now been lost in thoughts that were best no longer dwelt upon.

She caught his eye, and guessed it might be a mixture of both.

“I would fain hear of them, and it might help you a little. That, and…” he paused, his gaze flicking away from her and out into the dark, “if I am to be honest it would help me a little to divert my attention onto something else for a while.”

That was all the incentive she needed.

So she began to talk. Hesitantly at first, unsure of what to say and also worried at the grief it might stir up within her, but once she had started it just flowed out of her.

She told him about her mother, how close they had been and yet how much she had been driven to distraction by her, how her mother pestered her constantly and always insisted she be the example that her brother look up to (not that he had taken the blindest bit of notice, needless to say), how she had escaped at the earliest opportunity to make her own way, grateful for the opportunity university and then employment had given her to get her own little place at last. She had done the best she could at her studies, been a fairly dutiful and obedient child, independent but not pushing her mother’s patience, especially not when she saw her mother had her hands full with her brother who was both wilful and spoilt (and took advantage of both those facts to do what he liked when he liked and how he liked - hang the consequences - and yet still managed to remain the apple of his mother’s eye).

She spoke of family gatherings, of how much she had got on with her mother’s two brothers, though she only saw them a few times a year. She spoke of her grandfather, her mother’s father, and how she had spent quite a bit of time with him (and her grandmother before she died) when she was growing up, spending most afternoons after school at their house while waiting for her mother to get home from work. She spoke of cousins who were brats, and aunts who wore too much perfume, of friends she had had since childhood and newer friends she had made at university who had been stalwart supports as she had fended off her mother’s suffocating fussing and shaken their heads with her over her dissolute brother.

Her brother.

She spoke most about him, and suddenly the flood took on something close to rage in her grief as she talked about how much of an irritant he had been all her life, how she had gone out of her way on many occasions to bridge the gap between them only for him to laugh in her face, indeed to go out of his way to drive her insane with fury.

There had been his infamous nineteenth birthday party when he had gone out with friends and then not been seen for two days, worrying their mother sick (something that, in itself, she had found it almost impossible to forgive him for), only for it to turn out he had been arrested by the police for public disorder and affray (having picked a fight with a couple of bouncers after he was thrown out of a club when two blokes understandably objected to his trying to cop off with their girlfriends) as well as public indecency (peeing in the street).

There was the time his mother had found out he had been bunking off school to go drinking and who knew what with mates or the time she had admitted to Penny, a year or so after the event, that he had, for a while, been taking money from her purse (and when Penny had exploded at him about it he had just grinned and shrugged and refused to believe she had never done the same). There was the way he never lifted a finger to help, never offered to put any of the money he earned from his Saturday job (and the part-time work he had in a bar once he got older) towards the bills but still expected to eat his mother out of house and home, to have her do his laundry and be at his beck and call...

She could have gone on and on.

She only did not mention the time he had take their mother’s car (without asking and without a valid licence) only to wrap it round a tree, because that would have necessitated explaining what a car was and she was on too much of a roll to stop and try and explain such bizarreness (as it would no doubt seem to Halladan) as metal boxes on wheels and the internal combustion engine.

Brief flickers of what could have been between herself and her brother were rare events, but they did exist, she admitted, though not since he had hit puberty when he became all the more uncommunicative, dismissive and full of himself. Like the time their mother’s mother, the woman they spent so many afternoons with while their mother earned her daily crust, had died from cancer, and for a brief moment she had seen her kid brother utterly distraught instead of his usual arrogant, annoying self. He had only been about twelve, and she had tried to speak words of comfort to him, and he had held her hand all the way through the funeral service.

Then two days later he had filled her bed with slugs (for no good reason she could discern other than the fact that he seemed to find her hysterically funny when she was furious and screaming at him), and life was back to normal.

“And you know what I hate most?”

Slow, silent tears rolled down her cheeks in spite of herself, which felt strangely incongruous given the invective she was heaping on her brother’s head much of the time, but then she was speaking also of their mother, of their family, and of her memories and her regrets.

“I hate most the fact that I really miss him. I hate that he can drive me mad even now, even when I have lost him forever. I hate him so much for making me feel like this. I hate that I will never be able to be close to him now, that he completely denied us that opportunity, that now we will never have that proper sibling relationship that once I really thought we ought to have and which I know Mother was always desperate for, indeed I honestly believe she thought it existed, or pretended it did at any rate, tried to convince herself it did. How can I miss him so much when he used to drive me crazy?! How is it possible?! I hated the little,” (she had no word for what she wanted to say in Sindarin and so used the English), “bastard! Argh, he was insufferable, and yet here I am a complete mess because he is as good as dead to me!”

The tears overwhelmed her at that point as she said those words out loud and, as she hung her head, one hand coming up to cover her face, aware she was a minor emotional disaster right now, Halladan reached out to wrap an arm about her shoulder and pull her into his chest. He said nothing, just held her, one-armed, for quite some time till the storm had passed.

“I am sorry,” she mumbled at last into his tunic, pulling away from him a little to wipe her cheeks. “I am sorry, Halladan. I did not mean to…”

“Do not apologise. You loved them and they are gone. That would be hard for anyone, Pen-ii. I of all people can understand your sense of loss. And to have lost so many and so much… Even your brother, for all you were never close, was someone you loved and cared for. If not, then why would his behaviour, and in particular his behaviour towards you, his rejection of your attempts to be close to him, anger and hurt you so? I am not sure he was worthy of your affection, if what you say of him is true, and I do not doubt your word, but it speaks much of your character that you were so affected by him nonetheless. You only wanted to be a family, to have a family, to be a sister to him for your mother’s sake.”

He was still holding her to him and she looked up into his face.

He smiled.

She falteringly smiled back and noticed how his grey eyes seemed to reflect the starlight.

Then he was removing his arm from round her shoulders and turning to look out towards the night once more.

“Tell me, what does ‘bahr-sted’ mean?”

She hesitated, a faltering ‘erm’ falling out of her mouth as she wondered whether to lie or not.

“Would I be correct in assuming it is a word that Erestor would have my hide for if ever I taught you the Westron equivalent?”

Penny caught him giving her a sideways grin and could not help but laugh in spite of her tears.

Halladan nodded, still grinning.

“Ah. I thought as much.”

“It means someone who is born out of wedlock. I do not know if that is an insult or a ‘bad word’ in…”

“Oh, it is, Pen-ii. Yes, indeed.” He paused. “He was not, was he?”

“No. No, no. My parents were married… for all the good that did,” she added ruefully.

They fell into silence once more, each lost in their own thoughts for a while.

“I know we can never replace them, Pen-ii, but I do hope that one day you will think of Arvain and myself as something akin to family. It is what my father wanted. As guardians, we…”

“I have already begun to, Halladan.”

And it was true. Not brothers, exactly, not yet anyway, but perhaps something like the brothers she would have always wanted. Cousins, certainly, though; long distant, only-just-met cousins, if not much closer than that already.

“I… I felt drawn to you both for his sake from the first and you have both shown me such kindness, such warmth and tender concern, that I could not but think warmly of you both in return.”

He was smiling softly.

“Good. I am glad.” He hauled himself to his feet, only bending to pick up his stick once he was upright (which spoke volumes in itself). “Come. We had best get back.”

He held out his hand, helping her up, and they walked back towards the tents.

“Do you think you would ever talk about…? I mean, I would love to hear more about your lives before the War. I feel shy to ask, or even mention them in your presence, though.”

“Do not feel that way. I understand why, and I thank you for your discretion, but there is no need.” He glanced at her as they made their way between two tents to the main path through the camp. “You are family, Pen-ii. You have also… well, how shall I put it? You have been privy, shall we say, to moments I would fain not have had you witness nor be a part of. The clear concern Father had for your welfare would be enough, I suspect, for you to have earned to right to learn more about his family. Only… do not expect me to be able to discuss them freely and easily for some time. Mentions, perhaps, and to listen to the remembrances of others. With time, of course, it will be easier. So I am told.”

They were drawing near to the elvish fire, and the light from the occasional lantern within tents on either side of them spilled out through open tent flaps here and there so giving a fair bit of illumination at points once your eye was accustomed to the gloom.

Before they got too close to the company, indeed were still some way back amongst the tents, Halladan gently laid his hand on Penny’s arm, staying her. She stopped, looking up at him questioningly.

“There is one thing I must know, Pen-ii. May I?”

As he spoke he reached across her to her right arm, the one he had held so tightly on the Wall. She hesitated for a moment, not quite sure he meant what she thought he meant, but realising in the same instant he could only mean precisely that. She made to move her arm away from his reach, but an instant too late: he had already taken hold of her wrist and then was sliding her sleeve up her arm a little with his other hand.

Even she could just make out the dull, dark patches on her forearm and when she glanced up to look at his face she watched his expression change as he, with his far keener Dunedain eyesight, also saw them livid on her skin.

He let go of her arm and she dropped it to her side, smoothing her sleeve back down as she did so.

For a moment neither said anything, the tension now emanating from Halladan almost palpable, then both spoke at once, each one saying the other’s name. They looked at each other.

“Do not try and defend my actions,” he said quietly, his jaw tight. “You said I did not hurt you.”

“You did not. Not any true hurt. Your grip was tight, yes, but,” she half-shrugged and tried to smile, tried to make light of it, “I bruise easily.”

She could see he was not buying it.

Something in his face changed, though it was hard to say to what exactly given he had his back to the main elvish fire and his face was shrouded in shadow for the most part. His hand moved, as if he were about to lift it to her, perhaps to take her hand or her arm or even cup her cheek, but instead it only hovered in mid-air for an instant before falling back to his side once more.

“I would not ask for your forgiveness,” he said quietly, though with a strength of feeling clear enough in his tone, “because it is unforgivable that I should have done this to you.”

Penny tried to interrupt to say that that was nonsense and that it was forgiven, even though there was nothing to forgive, but he would not let her.

“It grieves me deeply to see this, though I suspected it might be the case given the way Arvain described what happened. Know I am truly sorry. I would never wish to cause you any hurt, Pen-ii, you have to believe me, and I cannot tell you the pain it gives me to know I have done exactly that.”

“Halladan, please!”

She stepped forward to him, and as she did so his hand, the one that had wavered before, gently and immediately took hold of her upper arm.

“I did not tell you or anyone because this is, truly, nothing. No, listen. Given what could have happened, compared to that, this is little indeed. You were not to blame. This is not even the result of your trying to harm me in your dreaming, merely because you were unaware of the strength of your grip, that is all. You have enough to deal with in getting well without carrying guilt as well, Halladan. Do not talk of not forgiving yourself or adding burdens to yourself that you do not need to bear.”

She had only meant to try and comfort him, but something in her words clearly touched some nerve because he suddenly let go of her arm and half turned away. She stepped towards him, cautiously and not touching his arm (she had learnt her lesson on the Wall), coming round to look at him.

“Halladan? I know you blame yourself, but would you not say the same to another in your situation? Have you not tried to tell me not to blame myself for all I feel I had a hand in with the War?” She gave a rueful snort. “Compared to that, what are a couple of small bruises that will quickly fade?”

“Forgive me,” and his voice was thick and hoarse with emotion, “I must seem very intemperate to you, perhaps. I thank you for your words, and for the sentiment behind them. Now, if you will excuse me.”

He abruptly made to leave, not for the fire, but back off into the darkness towards the edge of the camp.

“Halladan?” She followed after him. “Halladan? What is it? What did I say?”

He turned towards her and she could see his face more clearly now since he was facing the elvish fire some way behind her. It was immediately apparent he was struggling to rein in strong emotions, not least of which seemed to be some considerable distress.

“This is not about…” He glanced at her arm then slowly looked her levelly in the eye. “I know you only sought to comfort me, Pen-ii, to ease my pain a little but I do carry guilt and rightly so. For the rest of my life I will carry the responsibility I bear for the actions I have taken, the decisions I have made, be they conscious or unconscious. You say I am not to blame for what I did to you, and yet the consequences of my actions were grave and could have been far more serious yet.” His gaze fell away and voice dropped to something close to a whisper, his tone bitter. “Decisions, actions… they all have their consequences.”

Penny stepped slowly towards him, trying to work out what he was talking about, because it seemed there was more to this than simply the bruises on her arm.

“Halladan…?”

He looked up at her once more, the distress in his face beginning to win out over whatever else was struggling for dominance.

“It was my fault,” he blurted out, his voice hoarse. “He saw me fall and ran to my aid. If I had not…” His face was twisted into something heart-breaking to see. “I was reckless. Battle rage, the real possibility that I would never see another dawn given the odds we faced, made me rash. I should never have got myself into the position I did, and when the blow from the mace took my legs out from under me he ran forwards to…” Tears were blinding him now. “And I could do nothing. I could not save him.”

Penny was frozen to the spot, dumbstruck. The depth of hurt she felt for him in that moment were like nothing she had ever known. She knew there was nothing she could say that could even begin to salve his pain; that anything she said or did in that moment would seem woefully inadequate if not insulting in the face of what he was telling her.

She could not find the words.

His gaze had fallen away from her. He turned slowly and made to leave once more. She rushed forwards then, taking hold of his arm. He stopped and only half-glanced towards her, keeping his head bowed and thus not looking her in the eye, concentrated as he was holding himself together, his grief overwhelming him.

“Oh, Halladan, I… I am so sorry. I wish there was something I could... I am so, so sorry.”

Her voice sounded surprisingly calm given the distress she felt with tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks and her throat so tight it hurt.

He laid his hand gently on the one she had on his forearm and kept it there, his gaze focused on it for some moments and the only sound his own occasionally shuddering breath. Then at last he spoke, and his voice was so quiet it was a mere whisper, barely heard above the gentle chatter some way behind them. It may be he wept as he spoke. She could not tell in the darkness.

“Please, Pen-ii… do not pity me. This is my burden. I will carry it with me to my grave.”

Then she felt the pressure of his hand on hers slightly, perhaps thanking her for the sincerity of her sentiment, for the sympathy she was showing him, before he let go and walked away.

She just watched him go.

“Halladan…”

He held up a hand, silencing her, not turning round. She knew it was best to leave him be, to not chase after him or throw more futile words his way.

For some minutes, then, she stood there, watching as he disappeared into the gloom, a dark shape against the larger ones of the tents, and then she could make him out no more. She came to herself slowly, turning a little to look towards the crowd round the fire and knew at once she was in no mood for it. She briefly wondered if she should say something, perhaps fetch Arvain or Faelon to find Halladan and be with him or if Halladan would be angered at her doing so. She even started to look for them amongst the crowd, thinking if she spotted them that would decide it for her, that if not she would simply return to her tent, though how much rest she would get now she knew of the extent of self-blame Halladan was carrying was debatable.

Just as she was about to turn and leave she happened to catch Faelon’s eye. He smiled when he saw her, instantly starting to gesture with his head in a beckoning motion for her to join him, but his smile wavered the moment he registered the look on her face. He glanced about him briefly, perhaps to check if anyone was speaking to him or wanted him, even as he got to his feet to come over to her. Penny, realising her decision was now made (or, in part, taken out of her hands), withdrew a little into the shadows, waiting for him to reach her.

“Pen-ii, what is it? You seem upset. Has something happened?”

Penny could not think of the right way of putting it at first, and there was a moment’s pause before she spoke.

“It is Halladan.”

Faelon looked up and around them in some alarm, perhaps thinking to be able to spot him nearby.

“No, no, he is not here and,” she added, staying Faelon as he started to move in the direction she had just looked, “best to leave him, perhaps. I… I was not sure whether to say anything, but…”

“Pen-ii, I have been told what happened yesterday. You have shown great loyalty to him, great tenderness of heart in keeping his distress secret whilst also pushing him to seek the help he so obviously needed. I thank you, for my sake who has known him since he was a mere babe in arms, and for the sake of his father who was my dearest friend. I know Aragorn feels the same. But if there is something more, then do not keep it from us. No more secrets, not now everything has come into the open. He needs that more from you now, as I know you well realise, so that I, or those who are far better skilled than I, can help him.”

“It may be this is known already, I do not know, but…” She looked at him. “How much has he spoken of Hirvell’s death? Of exactly what occurred?”

Faelon’s face darkened, his expression becoming even more serious and concerned.

“He has never spoken of it, or not to me or anyone that I know of. It may be that in the last few days he has said something to Lord Elrond or Mithrandir, but if he had spoken to King Elessar or Arvain I would know of it.”

Penny nodded.

“I am fearful he might be angry with me for repeating this, and I would ask that, if at all possible, he is not told of what I am about to tell you directly, that perhaps King Elessar or Lord Elrond encourage him to speak of it willingly himself, or perhaps suggest it to him as if they have guessed near the truth of it.”

Faelon nodded. He understood.

“Go on.”

“He… blames himself for Hirvell’s death.”

Faelon sighed heavily, almost in relief.

“Ah. Yes, that much has been clear to me since the time it happened. Nor do I blame him. Can you? He was prone, injured and unable to move, unable to even try to save himself, so how could he attempt to defend or aid his brother? It is to be expected he would berate himself for being in such a position…”

“No, no, you misunderstand, Faelon. He said to me… the way he worded it was such that he feels he left himself open to attack, did something rash and foolish, and it was only because of that that he was injured.” She paused, looking at Faelon in all earnestness. “He says Hirvell ran to help him, to defend him when he saw him fall, and it was then that… I think he believes that if he had not done what he did, not acted as he did and so become injured, then Hirvell would still be alive today.”

Faelon stared at her, realisation, dawning horror and grief intermingled on his face.

“I do not know the truth of it, how much of what he feels happened was preventable or truly his fault, very little I would imagine, but the important thing is that he is carrying terrible guilt and that, for all it is understandable, is something those trying to help him through this need to know if they do not already.” She grabbed his arm. “Promise me you will tell them? He is in so much pain… I cannot bear to see him this way…”

Faelon smiled sadly, laying his free hand on her upper arm.

“Ai, Pen-ii. The tender concern you show for him moves me much. Again I thank you for it. You did the right thing. I understand better now the dark grief I have felt from him time and again. To witness what he did was a terrible thing in itself, one that would shatter a weaker man than he, perhaps, but to think himself the cause of it...”

They both heard a footfall behind Faelon, both turned to see Arvain nearby, his face stricken. He had seen Faelon hurry away and who waited for him so he had followed him, just as concerned by the possible implications as Faelon after the previous day’s events.

It was immediately apparent he had overheard a good part of what had been said.

“Is this true? He told you this?” He looked to Faelon. “Elbereth... Elbereth…” He was at a loss for words.

“It is best we know, Arvain. He gave you no inclination of it that night he finally spoke to you of it?”

Arvain was shaking his head.

“He said he blamed himself, but like you I thought… Elbereth…”

“Where is he now, Pen-ii? Do you know?”

“He walked off in that direction. I did think to follow him, but he made it clear he wanted to be alone. I thought it best to leave him be. He was grieving.”

“I must go to him!”

“No, Arvain.” Faelon blocked his movement, holding both his arms as he stood in front of him. “No, leave him to his grief. Pen-ii is right. This is best tackled by Aragorn, Elrond and Mithrandir. It will serve nothing if we tell him that we know. Better he speaks of it himself to those who can best help to close the wounds within him. Besides… were you in his position would you want to be reminded of it? To then know others knew, perhaps then worry they blamed you as you blamed yourself? No. No, we must wait for him to tell us or not speak of it at all.”

Penny offered to find Elrond, Mithrandir or Aragorn. Faelon said there was no need, that he would do it since he knew for a fact they were all together in Elrond’s tent, and indeed hurried off straight away, though not before thanking Penny once more and reassuring himself that Arvain was quite all right.

Arvain had nodded and insisted he was but even in the little light there was, Penny could see he was pale and shaken.

“I was going to walk back to my tent. Would you care to accompany me?”

Arvain nodded, looking faintly grateful to have an excuse to stay away from the general company for a while.

After a long silence he asked how Halladan’s confession had come about and Penny told him, frankly and in full, all of what had occurred. Arvain stayed silent throughout, looking at her only as she mentioned some of what she had been saying about her family to Halladan as they had sat on the meadow grass together, studying her with a sad, sympathetic smile on his face though she little realised.

At last they reached her tent and turned to each other. Arvain thanked her for her openness and reassured her he was fine, that it had been a shock and somewhat distressing to hear, but that he did not doubt for a moment it was no fault of Halladan’s.

“And how like Hirvell, to leap to his defence.” He paused, as if overcome for a moment. “Halladan would have done the same for him, for me, for any of us.”

He nodded, almost to himself and Penny could see he was upset and caught his hand in her own. He gave her a sad smile, trying to make it as reassuring as he could manage, squeezed her hand and bade her goodnight.

Penny stood in the entranceway to her tent and did not turn to enter it until Arvain had disappeared from view.

Her sleep that night was fretful, and only came at last after she had lain awake for some hours on her bedroll. These past few weeks she seemed to have swung from one depth to another, be it her own grief or feeling for someone else’s. She had a vague sense that she was nearing exhaustion on some level, that it was not spiralling out of control exactly, but that certainly there was a permanent sense of weariness, of ‘feeling down’ that was becoming all-pervasive.

Not good.

That said, she had felt some relief, some release of the pent-up weight of feeling within her when she had talked to Halladan earlier.

Of course, it had been completely superseded by his subsequent confession, but even so.

Arvain was smiling but quiet at breakfast. Faelon seemed to be making an extra effort to make conversation in his stead, but not even Penny was much in the mood for talking and he soon fell into silence. There was no sign of Halladan.

Indeed Penny did not see him till she was saddling the mare. He was already horsed as he came over to her. She looked up as he approached. Neither said anything but she smiled at him, albeit hesitantly and sympathetically, and he returned it, nodding. He waited as she finished and climbed into the saddle and then came alongside her as they rode off to join the rest.

It was as if the previous night had not happened, or if anything had simply made them even more understanding of each other, with no words needing to be spoken.

A little while before lunch they reached the Fords of Isen. Long, low slopes of grass terraces led down to the river as it meandered through the fields, the path cutting down through them. The Gap of Rohan was far to the east, a clear space between the two arms of mountains, and once again, as had so often happened on this journey, Penny felt somewhat in awe of where she was and what she could see before her.

The fords were made up of three lines of stepping stones, spaces wide enough for horses in between, leading through sand banks to a small island in the middle of the widest part of the flow and then on from it once more to the other side.

On the island was a mound, surrounded by stones at its base and a circle of spears on one of which flew the banner of Rohan.

It was no surprise, perhaps, that all crossed the ford and past that mound in silence. Once on the other side the first elves to cross started up a song of the honour of those who die in battle, and as others reached them, so too they joined in the song. That included the Dunedain since it seemed this was a song they also knew well, and the chorus was simple enough that Penny could make out one or two of Aragorn’s Gondorian guard singing along after a few verses.

Penny understood the sentiment, respected the tribute they were paying to those who had fallen here fighting Saruman’s forces, but she was in no mood to be able to deal with it. If nothing else, the closer they got to Isengard, the more she was very conscious that they would be surprised to find Saruman there no more and that she might once again be pressed for what information she might have. If they made the connection between her having already indicated the north might be in danger and Saruman having been allowed to leave…

With every passing hour, a knot of nervousness and anxiety was tightening in her stomach. Ai, was she to have no relief?

All the day, then, she was as quiet as the day before, perhaps more so. Halladan rode beside her, dark and silent also, and there was a strange comfort in that, just as on the day they had ridden to Helm’s Deep: he asked no questions and she let him be. However she genuinely began to be slightly fearful, wondering if a storm was brewing for her above the valley of Isengard, and whether she might have to speak of what she knew at last.


Author’s Notes:

On the power of elvish song, and Galadriel in particular in this regard, it is worth noting that in that great tale of Tolkien’s of Beren and Luthien, Beren was locked into a dungeon in a great tower of which Sauron was master, and Luthien eventually destroyed the tower thus freeing her love by the power of her song alone. So too after the War, Dol Guldur (Sauron’s abode in the south of Mirkwood, prior to his being chased from there by The White Council after which he fled to Mordor, and where, during the War of the Ring, some of the Nazgul resided so spearheading the attacks on Lothlorien) was destroyed and Galadriel sang to overthrow its very foundations.

(Edit: in addition to which we also have the examples of Finrod disguising himself and his companions through the power of song - and then battling in song with Sauron until Sauron overcame him and he was thrown in the same dungeon and Beren - and also Luthien beguiling Morgoth himself with her song long enough for a Silmaril to be stolen. Elvish song can be heap powerful stuff)

As ever, my sincere thanks to all who comment, review or get in touch, let alone keep reading. Oh, and in response to one question regarding the ages of Arvain and Halladan. I have not been too specific, but I have made general references to the number of years older they are in relation to Penny before now, but just for the record: Arvain is around 26, nearing 27, perhaps, and Halladan is around 32 (ish).





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