Chapter 57 – “Absence”

Penny was not overly surprised when a week after the hobbits had left, there was no immediate sign of Halladan and Arvain. Plans had to be flexible given the nature of what the Dunedain did – it had been the same with Halbarad - and in a society where the most you could rely on was the equivalent of carrier pigeon or word of mouth, changes of plan were all but impossible to know about. However, the longer it went without their appearance, the more Penny found she could not help but become concerned, if not convinced, that just as she had always feared, things were not as easy outside of Elrond’s realm as might have been hoped. It did say something, though, that when after another week had passed by and they had still not appeared, even Mireth commented on it if only to say, apropos of nothing as they sat by a fire sewing together, that they should be arriving any day now.

It was actually three days more before Penny, having just returned from a ride with Lindir one afternoon, overhead one of the ellon say to Lindir that Arvain had arrived some time before. Penny, who had just hefted the saddle off the horse she had ridden and was about to head off to put it away, stopped and looked over at the ellon in confusion.

“Arvain? Is Halladan not with him?”

He shrugged his shoulders. He had only seen Arvain, he said, but it was always possible Halladan had arrived with him. He had no idea.

Not allowing Penny any time to wonder or work herself up into a state of alarm, Lindir asked others to take care of the horses and dragged Penny inside to find him.

It had been long enough since his arrival that Arvain was already washed, dressed in clean clothes, shaved and firmly ensconced in front of a fire with a cup of wine when Penny and Lindir finally tracked him down to one of the small antechambers near the dining hall. As they walked through the door, he turned his head, a broad grin spreading over his face the moment he saw Penny and he was on his feet and pulling her into a bear hug almost before she could draw breath. When he finally let her go she could take stock of the fact that only Celebdor, Mireth and Elrohir were in the room with him and that Halladan was indeed conspicuous by his absence.

“Where is Halladan?”

Arvain instantly looked vaguely sheepish and awkward if not, frankly, embarrassed.

Oh, crap – that did not bode well.

“He, er… He is not with me, Pen-ii.”

“Oh.”

Penny really, really hoped she did not look as disappointed as she felt. She gave a sort of smile and a tentative series of nods as if to say ‘fair enough.’ It was not that she was not thrilled to see Arvain – she was – but…

“He is riding with Faelon.”

Penny again nodded, still feeling a little shell-shocked, her mind whirring as to the reasons why this might be. She gratefully accepted the drink Elrohir was handing her and went to sit next to Celebdor.

“I thought you were riding together.”

God, her voice sounded horribly matter-of-fact and normal.

“We were.”

Arvain did not seem to want to be overly forthcoming as to the reasons for his brother’s absence. He had gone back to his seat and was busily rolling his cup in one hand between thumb and fingers, staring into its contents.

“Pen-ii, in the wilds many things can happen,” Elrohir interjected. “Both myself and my brother have often ridden with the Dunedain over the years, and depending on what you encounter or if a message is needed elsewhere, you cannot always be certain where you will ride or with whom, nor indeed how long your journeys will take you.”

“Yes, of course. I realise that, Elrohir.” Penny turned to Arvain. “Forgive me. It is only that… well…” She trailed off.

“I understand, Pen-ii.” Arvain replied. “You had expected us both and we, well, I had sent word that we both would come as soon as we might.”

Penny was not the only one to note the correction and the choice of wording. So that was how it was, was it? She looked him straight in the eye.

“What has happened?”

“Nothing has happened,” Arvain replied, suddenly breaking eye contact as he got out of his seat to get a refill.

The carafe of wine was on a side table running the length of the wall opposite Penny, meaning he was turned away from her and she could not see the expression on his face. He cleared his throat and carried on talking with his back to her.

“Why would something have happened? We met Faelon and Halladan decided to ride with him for a time. You know how Halladan can be, with his sense of duty running strong in his veins. He felt it was not the appropriate time to leave his work, that there was more that had to be done that would take him away from Imladris rather than near to it, and when we met up with Faelon, it seemed to him to be…” He was searching for the right wording.

“A higher priority?”

Penny was again amazed by how level her voice sounded compared to the tinge of bitterness she felt. And she hated herself for it, because she knew it was wholly unreasonable and grossly unfair, indeed ran entirely contrary to the promise she had made to herself.

Arvain had glanced over his shoulder at her as she had finished his sentence for him, though so quickly he could barely have seen her properly; and now, when he spoke, his tone was breezy, cheery, and just over the top enough that Penny could tell he was finding excuses for Halladan.

“Well, in truth, Pen-ii, I think he was relishing Rangering once more, to be back in the home country… You know how it is.”

“Of course.”

She smiled, she hoped sincerely, because as much as anything she wanted Arvain to know that he should not feel like he was at fault in being ‘the bearer of bad news’ to some extent. However disappointed she might feel, it would do no good at all to show it, though she little realised that precisely by being all smiles and understanding politeness, those round her could see she was a little hurt by Halladan’s not coming.

“So,” Arvain barrelled on with his false cheeriness, “rather than the three of us riding together in a great gaggle, I said I would take the opportunity to come and to see how you were faring on behalf of us both.” He turned to her now at last with his ready smile. “And I am pleased to find you looking so well, Pen-ii.”

“She has been busy these past few weeks,” Celebdor chipped in. “You should see her, Arvain. A veritable little apprentice in nearly every field.” He winked at Penny as he spoke.

“Do not tease her, Celebdor,” Mireth said, laughing. “She is doing very well, Arvain. Everyone says so.”

Lindir and Elrohir were nodding their agreement.

‘Good grief,’ Penny thought, ‘It’s like school reports or parent-teacher evenings all over again.’

“What am I? Thirteen?”

They blinked at her, surprised and amused, laughing.

“Well, honestly! I think I am quite old enough that I can give Arvain an account of myself by myself, do you not think? And without the rest of you sounding like concerned relatives discussing their offspring.”

The laughter was louder then, but it did not deter them. Arvain was given chapter and verse on every one of Penny’s exploits, challenges and minor triumphs (very minor in most cases, but one step at a time was better than none at all, as Mireth kept telling her). Arvain beamed at her throughout and drank her health several times while Penny, as pleased as she was, still felt hugely embarrassed. Through it all, though, she mulled over what it was that Arvain was very obviously not telling her.

Why had Halladan not come? Were things still awkward between them, in spite of the slight thawing that had happened before he had left? Was this part of his distancing himself from her quite deliberately? Or was she over-thinking this? Had Halladan in fact had an episode or fallen ill and Arvain was trying not to worry her?

The bell for the evening meal sounded, and as they wandered down the corridors to the dining hall, Penny hung back and tugged on Arvain’s tunic. He looked round at her.

“Tell me honestly, Arvain, how is he? It is not that he has taken ill suddenly? You would tell me, would you not?”

He looked down at her, assessing the hint of concern in her eyes.

“He is quite well, Pen-ii, I promise you.”

She could see he was telling her the truth, but there was little opportunity to talk further as other elves on their way to eat spotted him and came over to give their greetings. Even that night he resolutely stayed in the Hall of Fire, and although Penny sat with him and they had moments when they could talk quietly together, there were still many who joined them, who asked after Halladan or other Dunedain, and of course wanted to pay their condolences. It put paid to any opportunity for Penny to talk privately. Every time Penny suggested they go for a walk outside Arvain agreed but then never seemed to find the opportunity – there was always another conversation to be had.

Just about the only thing she managed to glean from some of his comments was that he was not best pleased with Halladan, though whether that was because he had refused to come to Imladris or for some other reason she could not fathom. Had they argued? Was that why Halladan had decided to ride with Faelon and thus why he had not come to Imladris with his brother? Or, if there had been an argument, had it been caused by Halladan’s refusal to come? Or was it all as Arvain had explained and she was reading too much into things? Arvain was more interested in drinking deep and laughing at Lindir’s jokes than being open, and Penny knew better than to push it.

There were certainly glimpses of something more serious underneath Arvain’s demeanour, however, aside from his discomfort over Halladan’s absence.

At one point, when others had moved away and for a few minutes it was just Arvain, Penny and Lindir sitting alone, Lindir asked Arvain if he and Halladan had been to visit Hirvell’s betrothed (or the woman he would have been betrothed to by now had he survived the War). Arvain’s face clouded and he looked down into his tankard as he nodded.

“Faelon had already… some days before. I am glad we were not the ones to… for Halladan’s sake. That said, I think she still needed to hear it from us. Indeed her father said as much to us privately as we were leaving. He was glad that we had come to see her.” There was a long pause. “She is a strong woman. She could see how painful it was for Halladan to be there. I think Faelon might have explained something of what… She seemed more concerned for our loss than her own.” There was another long pause before he nodded and lifted his head slightly, taking a deep breath and trying to pull himself out of his reminiscences. “But we were not the only ones to return with such news. More than one family amongst the Dunedain grieves anew, even if the dead are long buried.”

Penny could not even begin to imagine what that must have been like for them both, to have to swallow down their own grief and pain and screw themselves up to the job of telling Hirvell’s love that she would never see him again. Nor what it must have been like for Faelon to break the news to her. God, it did not bear thinking about.

For once Penny was glad of the distraction as another group of elves joined them and lifted Arvain back to high spirits once more.

Nor was that the only note of seriousness during the evening. When Penny, feeling like she would drop where she sat if she did not head off to bed, declared it a night, Arvain said he would see her at breakfast ‘before heading off.’ Penny blinked at him.

“You are leaving tomorrow? So soon?”

“Yes, Pen-ii. I only came to see how you were. While I am here I can restock my supplies, rest my horse a little and let Lord Elrond know my news, but in truth I am only here to see you well and settled.” He smiled at her, but caught her look. “There is work to be done, Pen-ii.”

She nodded, wanting to ask more but realising it was too crowded, that too many elvish ears were flapping nearby. Arvain, for once acquiescing to her clear need to speak privately, walked with her to the doorway and into the hallway a little.

“It is as you said, Pen-ii,” he said quietly as they stood together in the shadows for a moment. “During our time away strangers have arrived in the north. Strangers who are… unwelcome, or at best do not know how to behave.”

“How bad is it?”

There was a slight pause before Arvain spoke. “Not as bad as it might be.”

Something cold gripped Penny deep within her. He was using the same terms as Elrond had done, and that did nothing to ease her heart.

“What has happened, Arvain? Is it as terrible as I feared it might be?”

“I do not know what your fears were, Pen-ii, but never forget we left behind us good men who have done sterling work, and now the rest of us have returned what remains to be done will be done swiftly. Already it has begun, indeed much has been done. It does mean, however, that I cannot afford to stay longer than I have done. You understand?”

She nodded. She remembered having similar conversations – well, perhaps not quite as fluent or as fluid – with his father before him. She knew the score.

“It is why Halladan said he felt there was work to be done, why he could ill afford to ride here when he could and should be out there still.”

In the darkness it was impossible for her to read his face, to see what his assessment was of his brother’s excuse or its veracity, but she got the distinct feeling that he did not approve nor agree with Halladan. She opened her mouth to ask him about it directly, but before she could speak he was being called for from the Hall of Fire, had bade her goodnight and was gone.

Penny did not sleep too well that night.

In the morning there was barely time enough after breakfast for him to saddle his horse before he was riding away, having reassured her that all was well between him and Halladan (though he did not sound overly convincing, it had to be said), and that he would pass on her message to him that she wished him well and hoped to see him soon. The hug he gave her was long and when at last she could pull away a little she found he was looking at her intently, an apologetic, sincere look on his face.

“I am sorry he was not with me this time, Pen-ii. But he will come soon. I promise you. Even if I have to drag him here myself tied to a rope behind my horse.”

She laughed then, though it quickly faded.

“Tell him… Tell him I understand.”

Because she did. Even if Arvain did not, or if he did, did not approve, Penny understood it completely. It saddened her, but she had wondered if it would happen.

She watched as Arvain headed off down the path to the main gate.

“Oh, and when next I visit,” he said, turning in his saddle to her, “I will have to bring you something for your birthday.”

“My birth—?! Who told you?!”

“Ah, a little bird, Pen-ii. A little bird.”

And with that wide, cheeky grin of his and a wave of his hand he urged his horse into a canter and was gone.

His visit had pleased Penny enormously but it had also unsettled her quite considerably, and not just because of Halladan’s not being with him. As the days and weeks progressed every now and then a Dunadan would appear, albeit infrequently, but never would they stay more than a day at most. It reminded Penny very much of that period prior to the Dunedain riding south when Dunedain were coming and going but never staying for long because there had been too much to do on their home turf. So it seemed it was the case once more. She did try asking once or twice what news there was but the answer was always the same: ruffians and half-orcs had come north and had caused a bit of trouble, but it was being dealt with and was nothing for Penny to worry about. She stopped asking after a while though she still felt sick to her stomach with guilt.

Mireth did her best to reassure her. She could not be held responsible for foresight, especially not when it had been so vague and general. Indeed, what could she have reasonably done to prevent it? The Dunedain would still have ridden south – Aragorn needed them and it could easily be argued that had they not the War would have been lost or certainly teetered on the brink, since it was they and they alone that had managed to secure the boats so Aragorn could arrive just when needed on the Pelennor. Even if Penny had told Aragorn the moment she had arrived in Minas Tirith and the Dunedain sent north straight away, they would have not arrived more than two months earlier at most, possibly less; while some things might have been prevented, not all of them would have been.

Penny knew all this. She knew she knew it. But it was the not knowing the worst of whatever was happening or had happened out there that was hard to deal with for some reason. Halladan would be honest with her, she knew that. Ever blunt and to the point, he would not have wavered and avoided the issue if she asked him directly.

And yet there was still no sign of him as the weeks went by.

A few days before her birthday, Bregion arrived. He was heading south to bring news to Aragorn of how the Dunedain had fared and was calling on Elrond to see what other messages or letters he might wish to send to his daughter or son-in-law. As regards Penny, however, he brought word from both Arvain and Halladan that they wished her well.

“Arvain might not be able to come for another month or more, but if he can be here sooner he will be.”

“And Halladan?”

“He did not say. Has he not already been to see you? I thought he had.”

Once more Penny hoped the disappointment she felt did not show, but perhaps Bregion still read something of it in her eye.

“He and Faelon are riding hard, Pen-ii, going here, there and everywhere. That and I know they spent a little time with Morfinniel and the family.” He paused and Penny tried not to feel too resentful that Faelon’s family should get some of the pleasure of Halladan’s company whereas she, his ward, had not. “It is as well to check on the families and homesteads when we can,” he continued. “The War is won, but… Ah, well, I am sure you have had some word of it here. He will be here soon enough, Pen-ii, you need not worry.”

“I do not suppose… Did he or Arvain mention why they were not riding together any more? Arvain seemed a little out of sorts with Halladan when he came. I was concerned they might have argued.”

Bregion paused mid-drink, his tankard frozen at his lips momentarily. He eyed her with his one good eye as he swallowed slowly. If he seemed a little surprised by Penny’s perceptiveness he did not show it. He lowered his tankard.

“Well, there might have been something of that nature. Brothers will argue at times. It is well known.”

“Do you know—?”

“Ah, now, Pen-ii, that is their private business.”

And that was all she could get out of him. Apparently Bregion did not hold with gossip.

He was gone within two days, though, riding south and with him he took Penny’s first letter to Meresel, as she had promised her, recounting all the things she was busily learning, her impressions of the journey north and Theoden’s funeral. She also sent her a little jug she had decorated, placing it in a small box filled with sawdust, once Bregion had okayed the box as small enough to fit into his pack without causing him undue hindrance.

Around the time of Bregion’s visit, by Erestor’s calculations, was also the time that the hobbits should have reached the Shire and was, indeed, the date of the Battle of the Bywater, and from that time on the news brought by visiting Dunedain slowly improved – it was as if a shadow had lifted from the northlands at last. Prior to it many of the ruffians and strangers had gravitated towards The Shire with the promise of an easy life and a leader who would look after their needs, and so even that had lessened the Dunedain’s workload a little.

Eventually the day came that was, by the elvish calendar, the equivalent of the seventh of November. Penny awoke that morning with little else in her head except that it was her turn to milk the goats and she had better step to it or else being late; indeed she had forgotten entirely what day it was until she was delivering the milk to Naurdir ready for breakfast and he stayed her.

“I have something for you.”

“Eh?”

She watched in confusion as he then meandered past the various elves already working on the morning’s bread and preparing platters of fruit till he reached the shelves where he kept spices and herbs. On the third shelf up, squashed between a pot of dried marjoram and a jar of a powdered root Penny could never remember the name of but was particularly good grated into venison stew, was a small book. Naurdir fetched it down and came back to Penny with it.

“Here you are.”

She blinked at him and then looked at the small leather-bound tome: ‘Traditional Recipes of the North, both Dunedain and Elvish, collected by Naurdir of Imladris.’ Her mouth formed a small ‘o’ but no sounds came out. When she looked up at him, her eyes were like saucers. He laughed.

“For your birthday, Pen-ii. May Elbereth shine on you this coming year and make it full of happiness.”

“Thank you. No, truly, I mean it. Thank you!”

The rest of the day simply got better from there on in.

No one had breathed a word to Penny after Erestor had spoken one by one to those closest to her, but instead over the weeks they had all privately found, or had made, a little something for her. Each of them gave her their presents throughout the day, as they saw her or managed to catch her. No fuss was made, no great fanfare, but instead the day was filled with little quiet moments of friendship and gift-giving that left Penny beaming and overwhelmed at their generosity and thoughtfulness.

Soon after breakfast Erestor gave her a history of the Dunedain and a Westron-Sindarin grammar (“which you will need once you leave here, Pen-ii, trust me”), while Mireth presented her with a shawl made from a multidyed thread of bright blues, greens and deep reds. The yarn and knit was so fine that it seemed to shimmer in starlight, and yet it was also incredibly warm.

A little later Penny found that Celebdor had got together a small basket of tubs and leather bags of seeds – a large variety of herbs and vegetables – for her since, as he said, he wanted to give her something that would be of practical use to her in her new life but also, if she was careful about collecting seeds each year, would actually last for years and years to come.

Then, when she was on her way in from the gardens for lunch, Elladan and Elrohir waylaid her briefly. Elladan gave her an undecorated wooden box (though the grain had been oiled and polished so that the wood itself - walnut – nearly glowed with a deep, rich colour and pattern). Inside it were a new quill with a silver nib and two kinds of ink (black and brown). He also handed her two small, leather-bound books with blank pages, and all this because “Erestor tells me you are busily writing notes and need such things – I hope you will find them useful.” Elrohir’s gift was a small, filigree golden cloak clasp or brooch fashioned into the shape of tiny leaves and tendrils with a cluster of pearls at its centre to form a flower.

Before she headed off to the stables after lunch, Glorfindel caught hold of her to return the knife she had carried in her pack all the way to Gondor and back. She had, of course, given it back to him when they had arrived, but now, he said, it was hers to keep (“because it is always good to carry such a thing and elvish blades are the best to be had”). It was an item of beauty in its own right – the scabbard alone was finely worked leather with intricately criss-crossing patterns, coloured and gilded - but it gave Penny the willies still to be in possession of such a thing. She knew that elvish blades dulled only very, very slowly, however, and it would be of inestimable use to her, even if only for practical purposes such as butchering a carcass.

Once at the stables, Lindir produced a beautiful ebony jewellery box inlaid with mother-of-pearl and ivory, the design one of lilies and honeysuckle intertwined and with tiny opals at the centre of each flower.

“No, really, it is nothing, Pen-ii. They are ten-a-penny in the likes of Lothlorien and Eryn Lasgalen, I assure you, but I am glad you like it.”

That was the thing with Lindir – he could always make her laugh.

There was a ‘party’ of sorts as well - a high tea held in one the antechambers, just as they had done for Bilbo some weeks before. Naurdir had baked cakes and there was so much food that the company missed the hobbits that had left, though Bilbo valiantly did what he could in their stead. It was there, too, that Bilbo gave her his present. He had asked one of the carpenters to make a set of draughts for her, as well as a little wooden board that folded in half on which the checker-board pattern had been painted with a dark wood stain to mark out the black squares (because, he said, she needed to practice).

Then an hour or two later, a little before the evening meal, Elrond asked her to accompany him to his study so she could receive his present to her: a small hair ornament that had a sort of clasp at the back, made of silver and in the shape of a long oval made up of filigree ‘tendrils’ and tiny green semi-precious stones set into it in clusters to form ‘leaves’ every now and then. It was of course rather simple compared to many things that elves wore even on a daily basis but a beautiful (and, to Penny, a rich) gift nonetheless.

And then finally the day was topped off after dinner by Penny being led by Mireth to the Hall of Fire where, amongst the usual recitations, music and song, there was a moment for her and her alone.

Lindir gave her his second gift of the day when he stood and played on an elvish version of a lute a composition of his own making in which Penny, awestruck and on the verge of tears, heard snatches of tune after tune that she recognised. She had never managed to give him anything more than a few bars or at most a minute of any kind of classical tune, and yet here, had she known their names, was a tune by Mozart, there a moment of Vivaldi, then Grieg, followed by Handel, Bach, and many more. And in amongst such greats were snippets of Simon and Garfunkel, Sting or Abba, so she was laughing at the incongruous nature of the mix (something clearly Lindir had intended as he grinned every time she laughed), even as she was brought to tears by the sheer beauty of it, the pure elvishness of the whole, the way that music wrought and played only by an elf could move you, hold you, enter your very being and leave you breathless. As his fingers moved, so it was as if he wove a spell that lifted her and left her filled with memories so tinged with the gold of an elf’s touch that she could barely express her gratitude to him once he was done. She hugged him and hugged him, and when at last she pulled away and he could look down at her he saw her cheeks wet with tears though she was smiling. He nodded, smiled and winked, and she hugged him all over again.

From that time or a little before it, there was a gradual change in the air. When Bregion had come he had stayed for two days. The next Dunadan stayed for three near enough (arriving late in the evening and leaving after breakfast three days later). These were signs that things were slowly improving ‘out there.’ Even so, there was still no word from or sign of Halladan.

Not only that but winter was approaching. The trees that filled much of the vale of Imladris were slowly losing their orange, red and yellow clothes: the leaves were falling and the weather changing. As the days passed, Mireth’s gift of a shawl was much appreciated by Pen-ii, as were the two new winter dresses. The valley was sheltered, but even so, being this close to the mountains they got a lot of rain at this time of year, and even if they missed much of the worst of the winds beginning to come from the north, you could still feel a chill in the air on some nights that made even the elves glad to see a fire’s hearth.

The nights were drawing in earlier and earlier, meaning more and more time was spent indoors from late afternoon onwards. Once or twice when she knew she had a few hours till supper and Penny had decided to while away some time practicing her artistry (Erestor had set out a still life in a small room near his study for her – a bowl of fruit, a collection of books, one open with a bookmark draped over the page, a golden cup set with jewels and a mithril water jug covered in pastoral scenes), she found herself trying to draw memories from her past. It had started as a doodle of a house, childlike in its design – a mere square with a triangle as a roof – and then she had moved sideways and tried to draw her mother’s house in cartoon form. Then before she knew it she had filled the wooden board with bicycles and buses, ice-cream cones and televisions, an old-fashioned telephone with a turn-dial, a pair of high-heels, a cigarette, the shape of her favourite pair of earrings… On and on it went until she had run out of space and then she sat back and stared at the whole, at this black and brown cartoon miasma of all she had lost and would very possibly never see again. She felt numb. It seemed so weirdly unreal.

A few days later she tried drawing her mother’s face and was very upset to find she could not. The more she tried, the more it looked nothing like her and the more she tried to then think about specific aspects of her features, the better to represent them in charcoal, the more the image shifted and faded in her mind until she was not wholly sure she could even remember what her mother looked like properly. It was distressing enough that she never tried it again, nor anyone else she had known who had been close to her.

It was almost three weeks after her birthday when Penny, making drills and doing some late planting of seeds for early spring vegetables, heard Celebdor’s voice being called and the laughter in Celebdor’s reply along with the sound of hands slapping on backs. She looked up and across to the far side of the garden nearest the halls to see a Dunadan clasping Celebdor by the arm, a broad grin across his face. It took a moment for her to realise it was Faelon given how mud-splattered and dishevelled he looked, let alone the several weeks’ growth of beard on his chin and cheeks.

Even as she registered this fact, Celebdor turned in response to something Faelon had asked him and gestured directly to her – clearly Faelon had asked where she was – and Faelon, in glancing up towards her had moved to his right a little. Only now could she see that behind him on the narrow garden path stood Halladan.

He saw her the same moment she saw him and for a moment all thoughts of ‘about bloody time’ fled in an instant. There was that soft, steady smile and, though he had clearly been shaving more frequently than Faelon, he looked easily as filthy and mud-covered. She was smiling in return, but hesitantly, barely able to believe he was actually here at last, out of the blue, with no warning.

She got to her feet, wiping her hands on her gardening apron, and then very deliberately began tidying away her tools into the little trug she had with her. Only then, carrying her trug and a basket of some of the last of the root vegetables that she had dug up earlier, did she calmly make her way over to them all.

“Pen-ii! Ah, it is good to see you!”

“And you, Faleon.” She was grinning at him.

“Let me take those from you,” Celebdor said, reaching for the trug.

“No, no… oh, well, if you are sure. I have finished in that small section, Celebdor, but have not had time to prune the—”

Celebdor waved a hand at her. “Oh, do not worry, Pen-ii. That can wait.”

Faelon was chuckling. “I see Morfinniel will have ample help with her garden next year, yes?” He grinned. “Come here!” he exclaimed suddenly, pulling her into a hug and kissing her on the cheek.

“Argh!”

“What, am I too muddy for you?” He laughed. “Or is it the bristles on my chin? My daughters always chide me for coming home in this state.”

“And well they might, Faelon! I see Halladan has managed to avoid growing such a great bush on his face.”

“I like my beard!” Faelon sounded jokingly offended.

Penny and Halladan looked at each other, smiles on their faces but at the same time both seeming a little unsure and uncertain.

“Well met, Halladan. It is good to see you,” Penny said at last.

Halladan nodded. “Well met, Pen-ii. I am glad to see you so well.”

“Are you not about to berate him for taking so long to get here? I would if I were you, Pen-ii.”

Penny noted the flash of irritation in Halladan’s eye as Faelon spoke.

“No, no, not in the least. I know he has been busy. Arvain explained matters.”

Halladan did have the decency to seem vaguely uncomfortable.

“Ah, you are a good woman, Pen-ii,” said Faelon gently, hugging her round her shoulders.

“I have to get these to Naurdir,” Penny said, gesturing with the basket of vegetables.

“Then we shall accompany you,” Faelon replied. “We came straight from the stables and have yet to see Elrond, and then we need to wash and change.”

They entered the building via the kitchens, Naurdir taking the vegetables from Penny and greeting the two men. He immediately insisted that Penny was off cooking duty that night. Penny protested, not wholly convincingly, that she had wanted to show off some of the recipes that she had learnt, but Naurdir retorted it was only fair to let Faelon and Halladan get at least one good night’s rest before upsetting their stomachs to that extent.

“I beg your pardon?!”

Naurdir laughed loudly.

“I am joking, Pen-ii! In truth, Halladan, you should be proud of your ward. She is learning fast in the kitchens.”

Halladan, who had remained fairly quiet so far, nodded and smiled.

“Yes, Arvain told me.”

As they made their way out of the kitchens and into the main corridor, Penny turned to Halladan.

“So you have met Arvain then? Have you two sorted out whatever it was you had argued about?”

Halladan looked at her in surprise and Faelon chuckled low.

“Ah, women. You can never get much past them, Halladan. Let that be a lesson to you. Yes, Pen-ii, the brothers are reunited and on talking terms once more. Though…” He sighed heavily. “Well, that is not to say that Arvain is not riding the northways in a fury.”

Penny’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Hisaeleth’s hand is being sought once again,” Halladan explained. “And not by Arvain.”

“Yes, indeed. Though neither I nor Morfinniel have been spoken to as yet, so it is not as far along as perhaps Halladan’s words imply. A certain young Dunadan who shall remain nameless – not that I think you know him, Pen-ii – has been to see her more than might be usual, bringing her flowers on the last occasion apparently.”

From his tone, Penny was not sure Faelon wholly approved. She glanced at him, but already the group had been spotted and several elves were coming over to greet the two Dunedain. Penny murmured something about getting the hot water for baths seen to and turned to leave but felt a pull on her arm and looked back to find it was Halladan.

“Really, Pen-ii,” he said, smiling, “there is no need.”

“And why not? I did the same for your father in his time, why not for you? By the time you are finished with Elrond, everything will be prepared. Where are you housed?”

“The eastern wing most likely. Elrond usually keeps a set of rooms on the first floor ready for any Dunadan who is passing by to use.”

She nodded, smiling and matter-of-fact. “I will get things ready.”

Then she hurried off before he could stop her, faintly aware that he was possibly watching her go.

It turned out the two men were indeed in rooms on the first floor of the eastern wing, one opposite the other halfway down the corridor. The last of the hot water had just been brought up as Penny and another ellith arrived with towels, soap, shampoo and a razor each. Penny was not wholly sure whose room was whose, but since she was on the left hand side of the corridor she made for the room on that side, the ellith taking the one on the right. As she came to the door, however, she could see Halladan bending over his pack which was propped up against the wall next to the fireplace. She knocked on the open door. He looked round and smiled.

“Just bringing you some towels and… things.”

“Thank you, Pen-ii. That is very kind of you.”

He came to take them from her.

“You are welcome.”

She watched as he turned and placed the items on top of the chest of drawers beside the door. Suddenly she felt awkward. She had known it would be perhaps be a little difficult due to how things stood when last they had seen each other, but his prolonged absence had, if anything, made things seem even more strained between them.

Best to leave him to it.

She turned to go, muttering a goodbye but then he said her name. She turned back to find he looked strangely uncomfortable.

“I… I should apologise for not having come to Imladris sooner.”

“There is no need to apologise. As I said to you, Arvain explained—”

“Oh, I can imagine what Arvain had to say about the matter!”

“Actually, Halladan, he defended you gallantly. It was clear he did not agree with you, perhaps, but he covered it very well and simply repeated, I suspect, the same reasons you had given to him.”

Something within her softened. She really wanted to let him know it was okay, that if, as she suspected, he had deliberately stayed away, he had no need to avoid her, that she understood it could never be and that she had made her own separate decision on that score. To make a fuss about his long absence would not only give entirely the wrong impression in that regard (however accurate a representation it might be of the genuine feelings she had for him and the fact that she had missed him terribly), but would also serve only to push him further away and make sure it was another two months if not more till she saw him next.

“I understand, Halladan. Truly I do.”

But perhaps it was also better to accept and reaffirm the reasons that had been given, to acquiesce to the ‘story’ that Halladan had constructed if that was indeed what it was.

“You have been busy. There has been much to do. Arvain… Arvain spoke a little of it, when I asked him, but he was here for so short a time and there was little opportunity…” She looked down. “In truth, I am glad that now you have come there is someone at last I can trust will be absolutely honest with me and not try to shield me from the truth of it.”

He had looked uncomfortable before but he looked even more so now.

“Pen-ii,” he said gently, “I am not sure that…”

“No, Halladan. I want to know. I think I need to.”

Suddenly there was a voice behind them.

“Ah, Pen-ii. Just checking all is as it should be? Thank you.”

“Oh, I did nothing,” she said, turning to Faelon with a smile. “You know how things are here – everyone helps with such things.”

He nodded. “Yes, indeed.”

“Anyway,” she said, stepping out into the corridor, “I will leave you to it. And see you at the evening meal, no doubt.”

“Oh. Not before?”

Something on Halladan’s face seemed to suggest that the words had fallen out of his mouth before he had even known he was thinking them. Faelon grinned at him, but neither Penny nor Halladan noticed.

“I have a hunting tunic of Elrohir’s that needs repairing,” Penny explained. “He was asking me this morning if I had finished it and I have not even started it yet! I cannot leave it any longer.” She turned and headed off down the corridor. “And do not forget to wash behind your ears,” she called back at them, and grinned as she heard their quiet laughter.

That evening it seemed clear that all was not quite as it might be with Halladan. The impression that Penny had had earlier – that things were awkward between them – was all but confirmed. He was almost as formal and standoffish with her as he had been for those horrendous couple of days prior to his leaving the company on the journey north – barely saying a word to her all evening and hardly contributing anything to the conversation around him, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Nevertheless, there were moments when he ‘came to’, as it were, such as when Glorfindel noted that Faelon had not made good use of the razor put out for him and Faelon, grinning and stroking his beard, declared he had left it quite deliberately to upset Penny given she had taken such objection to it earlier.

“I am not in the least upset,” Penny retorted, even as Halladan had raised his head and chuckled loudly. “Nor do I object to it. If Morfinniel is quite happy to have you tramping around like that, who am I to say anything?”

“Morfinniel quite likes it actually,” Faelon mused. “Not all the time, admittedly, but now and then…” He drifted off into silence, a happy smile just about visible through the dark curls now that he had at least trimmed his moustache a little.

“Perhaps I should grow a beard,” Halladan murmured, rubbing his chin. He caught sight of Penny’s raised eyebrow and raised his own in return in an attempt to look entirely innocent. “Might even suggest it to Arvain and Tadion. What do you think, Faelon?”

“Superb idea, Halladan.”

Penny just rolled her eyes at the pair of them and they laughed out loud.

These moments of genuine warmth, when he seemed relaxed and at ease, glad to be in her company once more, were rare indeed that first evening and the next day, but they occurred all the same. He was eager to hear of all that she was learning and had managed during his time away, claimed her stewed rabbit with mushrooms was nearly as good as Morfinniel’s (which Faelon was gracious enough to readily agree to even though Penny sincerely doubted the truth of it), and there were odd occasions, even when he was quiet by the fire later that afternoon, when Penny looked up to find he was watching her with an intensity that even she could sense though his eyes were hidden in shadow. At such moments he would always look away, or cough and shift, or find his pipe had gone out and needed relighting or refilling.

After what Mireth had told her and insisted upon several times – that it had seemed clear to her and others that he had had feelings for her just as she had had for him – Penny read into all this something close to the truth of it: that he was struggling between those feelings and his sense of duty, not wanting to fan the flames either in himself nor have them reciprocated. For as much as she was glad that, at times, it was just as it had always been between them, part of her worried that there seemed no way, delicately, to be able to let him know he had no need to worry on her account. Instead she indirectly did all that she could to seem at ease, unperturbed, as if he had not stayed away for months, as if he was not being unsociable at times, and certainly not as if she was finding it quite difficult to be in his company once more without wishing it could not be otherwise between them (when she had spent so many weeks resolutely getting it clear in her head why she would never marry Halladan or anyone else).

Certainly by the afternoon of the second day it did seem to be working a little in that he already seemed more at ease than not whenever they were together, though still quiet and reserved. He joined her and Bilbo for tea that afternoon, and groaned loudly when Penny had told him of Bilbo’s earliest memory of him.

“Now, now, Pen-ii. He was but a lad and hugely embarrassed at the time, I remember,” Bilbo gently scolded, before taking her last draught and shaking his head at her. “Let him be.”

Lindir laughed. “Ah, but Bilba, where would be the fun in that?”

“Hmph. For an ellon your age, Lindir, you can be remarkably juvenile at times. I have always said so.”

Lindir tried to look outraged but failed utterly as he laughed nearly as loudly as Penny and Halladan. Erestor merely nodded.

“So you have, Bilba, and quite right too.”

Lindir raised an amused eyebrow at his old friend.

“Et tu, Brute,” Penny muttered, grinning, as she helped Bilbo put the draughts away. Halladan and Lindir looked at her quizzically.

“Jii-oo-las Say-ee-sa, yes?”

“Julius Caesar, Erestor. And yes.” Penny looked at Halladan and Lindir and flapped a hand at them. “Oh, an old story from long ago. He was a big leader and was murdered by lots of people at once including an old friend, Brutus, who stabbed him along with everyone else. ‘Et tu, Brute’ in his language meant ‘And you too, Brutus?’”

“Ah. I understand. Yes, most apt,” Lindir replied, giving Erestor his best mock arch look.

Erestor snorted in amusement, and then stood up with a sigh and said he must be off.

“Are you going to see Elrond by any chance?” Bilbo was at his side in an instant. “I want to have one or two words with him about a new piece of poetry I am working on…”

Their voices disappeared down the corridor together, even as Lindir said that he too needed to head off and he would see them at supper, leaving Halladan and Penny alone in the room, silent and still in front of the crackling fire, the tray of plates, cups, teapot and milk jug standing on a table to one side.

After a few minutes, Halladan roused himself from his reverie, saying that they should take the tea things back to the kitchens, but he seemed in no hurry to move just yet. There was again a silence of a minute or two before Penny spoke at last.

“Halladan? What is it like out there? I realise you might not want to tell me, but I think I need to know. I want to know. I… I keep imagining all sorts of things and to not know seems worse than whatever you might tell me.”

“Pen-ii…” Halladan’s tone was serious. “Please do not ask such a thing of me.”

“Halladan, even a response such as that does nothing to reassure me. Both Elrond and Arvain said matters were ‘not as bad as it might be,’ whatever that is meant to mean, and on both occasions it upset me greatly. My fears are terrible and my hopes were that nothing serious had happened, and yet clearly my hopes have not been realised and all I have left are my fears.” She looked him straight in the eye, pleading. “Please, Halladan. I trust you and I know you will not avoid the truth. Tell me.”

Halladan held her eye for a moment or two before looking away with a sigh. Then he nodded.

“Very well. Though I would not for all of Arda have you know the full extent of it.”

“Is it not enough that it has kept the Dunedain so busy all this time, busy enough that even Arvain stayed but one night? I told you myself something of what I knew Batti would tell the kuduk and Gandalf when they met him once more. The people were said to be frightened, missing the Dunedain. Dark things lurked in the shadows and the people barred their village gates at night. That in itself says much.”

“Yes, it does. It is as you describe it, Pen-ii, or it has been. It has been improving slowly, though it will take more time yet. There is a large area to patrol and we are limited in our numbers. Thankfully word of our return to the north spread quickly and over time they are moving north and east into the mountains, though one or two groups have formed small settlements in the far north of the land beyond the marshes.”

“Oh?”

“Lawless places, Pen-ii. Not places anyone in their right mind would wish to live.”

“How have the Dunedain fared while you have been gone?”

“Well enough. We had good strong men left behind us. It is why they left the likes of Batti undefended for so long, since they had to defend their own. At first there were only random, occasional encounters with these strangers and half-orcs in the wilds. Travelling individuals at first, and for the most part they stayed away from habitations, lived rough and in the wild, though indulging in occasional thievery to feed themselves. It was as their numbers grew that they became bolder, more daring.” He paused, perhaps hoping he would not have to continue. “What would you have me tell you, Pen-ii?”

He had looked up to see she was waiting patiently for him to continue, bracing herself for whatever he might have to say and could see he had little choice but carry on, and so he told her everything. How, as more and more strangers arrived, they began to gravitate towards the villages such as Bree and Staddle. They were surly, unpleasant and when they ran out of the little coin they had, took things by theft, threat or violence. At the inns they would pick fights, get drunk and start brawls. If anyone dared challenge them then they would set upon him. There were several cases of men beaten to death or left stabbed and bleeding in a gutter. The bargirls were harassed beyond endurance till they became too frightened to work any more.

The highways became unsafe and all but impassable with robbers and muggers lurking for any opportunity. Not even the clothes on a traveller’s back were safe. More than once would-be market traders arrived at Bree or elsewhere naked as the day they were born, bruises and cuts all over their body, their carts destroyed and burning, their mules or ponies stolen, chased into the wilds or else killed for meat, their wares thieved if of use or broken or burned out of rage or sheer maliciousness if not.

Girls and women did not go out after dark and even in daylight stayed within the confines of their village or, if there were strangers staying at the Inns, confined themselves to their houses, the doors barred and the shutters tight. If they had to go out, they never did so alone.

“I have heard of two incidents of—”

Halladan brought himself short suddenly, as if he had forgotten to whom he was speaking.

“Two incidents of?”

Halladan looked horribly awkward.

“When a woman is…” The words were being ground out of him. “…forcibly…”

The expression on her face told him she had understood. She was greatly upset, getting up suddenly from her chair to cross to the window and stare outside.

“Forgive me, Pen-ii.” He did not turn to look at her. “I did not mean for you to—”

“Carry on,” she said curtly, cutting him off. She had insisted he tell her, so he had better finish.

There had been one case amongst the Dunedain, or an attempted rape at any rate. A few half-orcs had raided a cottage for food, supplies or perhaps for the sheer enjoyment of vandalism. It was the household of one who had ridden south, never to return but instead to lie under the cold earth beside Halbarad on the Pelennor. His son, the same age as Arvain, had been far to the west when the message that Aragorn needed the Dunedain had been sent out, and there had not been time for the summons to reach him.

On this particular day he was out hunting, it being still unheard of for these strangers to attack habitations, so he had not appreciated the danger. His mother was in the stable barn, caring for a pregnant mare who was labouring when the raid took place and one of them, scouting the outbuildings for anything of use, had discovered her and decided to take his chance. She had grabbed a knife from a nearby shelf even as she had been wrangled to the ground, and cut her attacker’s face, all but taking out his eye, and he had staggered from the place, screaming and roaring, while his friends pulled him away and run off into the surrounding woods.

When her eldest son had returned home an hour or two later to find her furious and distressed in equal measure, he had sent her immediately to stay with family nearby along with his two younger sisters and brother (who had barricaded themselves in an upstairs bedroom during the attack, the boy, all of eleven, wielding a sword nearly as big as himself ‘just in case’). Then he had spent two months hunting down the half-orc with the livid scar down his face, riding hard and fast, asking everywhere he went.

“Did he find him?”

“Eventually. In one of their settlements in the north. Boasting lies about how he came to be blinded in one eye though in truth he had been thwarted in his goal.”

“And?”

“He killed him. And then set fire to the settlement but not before he cut down eleven others while the rest ran in terror from his fury. ”

“Good.” Penny surprised herself by the level of hatred she felt for them.

“He swore as they ran that he and all like him would hunt every one of them down like the dogs they were, that the Dunedain were not a people to be crossed and they would live to regret the day they had seen fit to enter our lands.”

Halladan spoke with a passion and vehemence that matched the level of feeling Penny could sense coursing through her. She was furious, but at the same time appalled at what he was telling her, appalled at all that which she felt she had allowed to happen.

“And there are orcs and wolves, and something like wolves only worse, in great numbers in the more uninhabited places, places which only the Dunedain know of and to which only we go. Or rather there have been. Their numbers are far less now and rapidly decreasing. They know well enough to flee the swords of the Dunedain. As stupid as an orc might be, he understands that much.”

She turned to look at him then, at his hunched figure as he leaned forward, his arms on his thighs, looking into the fire.

“You have had to fight?”

“Of course.” He nodded. “More than once.”

“And how… I mean to say… I worried about you.”

She could see he straightened a little in his seat, his head turned towards her a little, listening.

“Perhaps I should not say that, perhaps it is not what you want to hear, but after what happened that time in the camp… I know you said it was nothing serious, but I still worried about how you would fare the first time you had to lift your sword in battle once more.”

Silence fell.

“Forgive me. Perhaps I should not have mentioned it,” she said quietly after some time.

“No, Pen-ii. I thank you for your concern. It was… hard, the first time. Not at the time, but… later, afterwards. I thank Elbereth it was Arvain with me and no one else.”

She wanted nothing more than to go over to him and hold his hand, touch his shoulder – anything to show some sign of comfort – but did not know if she dared. At the same time she felt such a wave of guilt, over all he had told her, but most particularly that her decisions had put him through such a thing. A long silence passed, so much so that he turned to look at her at last and when he did so he could see, by the fire’s glow, the glint of tears on her cheek, though she turned away quickly to try to hide them. He was on his feet at once.

“Hey now, hey now. None of this is your fault.”

He had hold of her by the shoulders, was looking down at her. She shook her head.

“I am so sorry, Halladan. I am so, so s-s-sorry…”

He pulled her gently to him and she collapsed against his chest while he folded his arms around her. At last the tears subsided and, as he felt her calming, he spoke quietly over the top of her head.

“I have told you the truth of it, Pen-ii, but know that it has not been any worse than that. Those incidents are bad enough, and one or two houses are burned to the ground, but they are a bunch of ruffians and cowards, easily dealt with and easily harried. Things are returning to normal at last, you have my word.”

She pulled away from him and looked up into his eyes. Those beautiful, grey eyes.

“I thank you for your honesty. I will never forgive myself for what has come to pass, though I know there was no other way that I could see.”

“Galadriel herself said to you…”

“She was talking of Suza.”

“How do you know that?”

Penny hesitated. Good point.

“Because… Because…”

“What is done is done. They would have headed north no matter when we returned. They would have caused trouble and behaved as they did even if we had been here – we are only so many and cannot be in all places at once. As much as it makes the bile rise to my throat to learn of their deeds and the impunity with which they have beaten old men, assaulted maidens, frightened children or stolen or killed livestock, I know we could not have prevented it all even if we had never ridden south.”

He was trying to catch her eye, trying to make sure his point had hit home. Penny nodded, accepting what he was trying to say.

“Now, let us take those tea things back to the kitchens, and then perhaps you can show me some of those pots you have been painting.”

Author's Notes:

My apologies for the length of time this chapter has taken. Rest assured I hope to get the next couple of chapters to you a little quicker (Famous Last Words).

As ever, my sincere thanks to all who are reading and reccing the fic, and to those who take time out to review, comment and get in touch. It is always much appreciated.