Chapter 58 – “Beating Round The Bush”

When Halladan left the next day, Penny could not help but get the feeling that Faelon’s opinion was they could have stayed a day longer, but that Halladan seemed to be in a hurry to get away.

After their moment in the darkened antechamber the previous afternoon even Penny had felt odd with him, unable to keep her mind off how it had felt to be in his arms, to be comforted by him once more, and it appeared as if possibly Halladan felt the same way. Certainly he had sunk back to the same quiet reticence that he had had when he had first arrived, looking over her pots as she showed them to him with quiet interest, but hurrying away quickly, muttering something about needed to speak to Naurdir about supplies.

And yet he still pulled her aside just before they went into the dining hall for the evening meal to ask her how she fared, concerned she was not too upset by what he had told her.

Blowing hot and cold, he was; swinging from one thing to another and back again.

That night when she headed off to bed, Faelon offered to walk with her to her chambers, saying he would also turn in ‘since Halladan is so insistent on an early start in the morning.’ Something about the way he said it apparently guilted Halladan into accompanying them, and it at least gave Penny the opportunity to show off her birthday presents. She said as much as they wandered down the corridors, at which Halladan, silent and brooding beside Faelon, suddenly started, mumbled something about ‘seeing them there’ and hared off. If Penny seemed surprised, Faelon did not bat an eyelid and carried on talking serenely as if nothing untoward had happened.

Faelon was admiring Glorfindel’s dagger, saying how he remembered when he had been gifted his first elvish dagger at the tender age of fourteen, when Halladan appeared behind him in the doorway, Faelon having not stepped more than a foot into Penny’s room (something which she had put down to etiquette and social niceties and thus had not pressed him upon). Halladan now examined the dagger in his turn, taking it out of the scabbard and assessing the blade with obvious approval. Neither of them had seen it in all the time Penny had been travelling with them, of course, since she had never once got it out of her bag.

Halladan was then duly shown all her other gifts, making suitably appreciative noises at them all. Then Faelon said he had better say goodnight and stepped out into the shadows of the corridor though he did not go more than a few feet before he stopped and waited for Halladan. As Faelon stepped past him and through the doorway, Halladan reached into a pouch on his belt, saying that he had something for Penny.

“Consider it a late birthday gift,” he said, holding out what Penny could see was a wooden carving and, as she drew closer and took it into her hands, realised was a stag, exactly in scale to the doe he had made her before, standing tall and proud, almost defiant in its stance.

See, it was moments like this that made it damn difficult to remember that she really had to squash down whatever feelings she had for him.

She swallowed hard, trying not to think about whatever sensations were welling up inside her right now. She could not look at him.

“Thank you. It… is beautiful.”

She ran her thumb over its flank, aware that it felt far smoother than the doe, that he had clearly managed to get hold of a finer grade of file somewhere, perhaps even oiled the wood to finish it properly.

He was shrugging.

“Really it is nothing. An idle pastime that helps to occupy my thoughts at the campfire. I thought it would match the doe that I made…”

He trailed off, following the direction of Penny’s glance into her room to see that the doe had pride of place on top of the little chest of drawers to one side of the room where she could not fail to catch sight of it every morning when she awoke.

“Anyway, I had best be off. We have an early start tomorrow as Faelon said.”

Penny nodded, still too overcome to speak.

Damn him. Damn him and damn the stag and damn it all!

He turned and left, even as she whispered goodnight, hearing her voice crack as she did so.

It all meant that their farewells when he left the next day were nearly as awkward and strained as they had been the last time. Faelon hugged her warmly, though, and told her Morfinniel and the rest of the family were looking forward to meeting her and that he, Arvain and Halladan would be back to see her once more as soon as they might.

“Is that not so, Halladan?” he added deliberately.

Halladan nodded, though it was as if he had been forced to agree. He also qualified his agreement.

“There is still much to be done, Pen-ii, so…”

Faelon shook his head and rolled his eyes, turning his horse to head off in the direction of the gate.

“There is such a thing as being overly conscientious, you know, Halladan!” He glanced behind him to Penny and the others seeing them off. “Fare you well!”

Penny raised her hand along with everyone else and tried not to feel too hard done by when Halladan said a general farewell to all and not one to her in particular. He was eager to be off, she could see it in him, and he could not quite look her in the eye.

Shit, damn and blast it all to hell!

Penny was somewhat despondent after Halladan had left. He had been so up and down and all over the place in his interaction with her that it had been hard to deal with on some levels. One good thing, however, had been Faelon’s quiet assurance to her that he was doing much better and that even Elrond had said so.

“He is well enough to ride alone, so Elrond thinks, and I agree. You would be proud of the strength of character he has shown. It has not been easy for him.”

She could well believe it.

It was no surprise, then, that the next time Halladan arrived at Imladris, he was by himself.

What was something of a surprise, however, was that it was barely three weeks after he had left the last time, especially given how long he had stayed away prior to it, let alone his whole attitude with her when he had left.

Penny was waiting outside the dining hall for the midday meal to start, chatting with Mireth and a few other ellith, when she spotted him coming down the corridor towards them, deep in conversation with Lindir and Glorfindel. She stared, unable to believe it was truly him for a moment, when he looked up and caught sight of her, nodded and greeted her and those with her.

“It is good to see you again,” Mireth enthused. “And so soon!”

Was it Penny’s imagination or did he glance in her direction before he replied?

“Well, I am meeting Arvain here and perhaps Tadion also. We thought it might be nice for Pen-ii if we celebrated Mettarë here this year…”

“Ah, but of course!”

Penny was confused. “Mettarë is in spring, is it not?”

“Not for the Dunedain. They celebrate it in mid-winter.”

“Oh, yes, of course! I forgot!”

“It will not be quite the same as at home, Pen-ii,” Halladan said, “but we will make a pleasant day of it nonetheless.”

“Oh, I am sure we will,” agreed Lindir with a grin. “We were just discussing where best to hold the celebrations.”

“Two Mettarë festivals?” One of the ellith seemed amused.

“And why not?” Glorfindel countered. “It would not be the first time.”

“True enough,” Mireth replied, “though it has been a little while since we last—”

“That is only because it has been some years since we last had enough Dunedain with us at mid-winter to warrant celebrating it,” Lindir pointed out.

“Halladan here says that there will be several joining us this year,” Glorfindel explained to Mireth, “which is why it would be worth considering. After all, what is there to be done, in truth? Some roast venison, dancing, music and song? These things are easily arranged and no one would begrudge them, indeed all would be glad of it.”

“Any excuse for a party,” Penny retorted, grinning, pleasantly surprised when Halladan caught her eye and laughed.

“Well, yes, that also,” Lindir agreed, entirely straight-faced.

As they went into the dining hall, Halladan explained that word had spread and it had been generally decided that anyone who would be too far from home for the festival, perhaps out on patrol, but felt they could reach Imladris in enough time, would make their way there instead.

Indeed just as Halladan had predicted, two more Dunedain arrived later that afternoon, one more late that night and then the next day came several more, Arvain and Tadion amongst them. It was not many, but it was enough, apparently, for the elves to start busying themselves with preparations for a shindig the following evening.

Arvain was clearly looking forward to an opportunity to relax. Even Penny could tell that there was a certain something about him – a hint of tension or sadness, as if he was desperate to try and forget something for a while. He started drinking quite a bit from the moment he arrived and his whole demeanour reminded her a little of how he had been in Gondor. She remembered how she had then wondered if that had been his way of dealing with his grief and pain, just as Halladan had brooded and turned to solitude. She wanted to ask what the situation was with Hisaeleth, but did not dare broach the subject with him. She would wait for him to mention it first (though she knew that was highly unlikely to happen) and try and quiz the others about it if an opportunity presented itself.

He did, however, bring her a belated birthday present.

“It is not much, I know, but I could not think of what to give you that the elves could not already offer you that would be of far finer quality, so instead…”

And with a flourish from behind his back he produced an earthenware jar with a muslin cover tied over the lid covering a wax-sealed cork. Penny blinked.

“My very own Special Chutney.”

Halladan, standing beside him, looked at him in surprise.

“Did you make that specially?”

“No, I had one jar left.”

“You…! You said we had none left!”

“I lied. I knew if you, Hirvell or Father knew about it I would never see it again and that it would be quite a while before I had time to make some more so I hid one.”

“Where?!”

“In the bottom of my wardrobe inside an old boot under a spare blanket if you must know.”

“Um… pardon me for interrupting, but… chutney?”

“It is very good, Pen-ii,” Halladan conceded. “About the only thing that Arvain can cook, but nevertheless…”

“Hey! I can cook plenty of things!”

“Name three.”

“Roast rabbit, roast partridge and roast fish.”

“Apart from anything stuck on a stick and held over a fire.”

“Thank you for the chutney!”

Penny grinned and waggled the pot at Arvain who grinned back, before turning his attention back to his brother so he could defend this slur upon his culinary skill. Penny left them to it and went to put it in her room. Later Tadion revealed it was actually an old recipe of Morfinniel’s maternal grandmother’s, though Arvain insisted that, through trial, error and experiment he had ‘perfected’ it and even Tadion had to admit that it was not half bad as chutneys went.

Indeed in comparison to Arvain’s hint of being almost overly jovial to compensate for whatever else he might be feeling, Tadion was simply on as good a form as ever. Certainly he was as enthusiastic about seeing Penny as Arvain was, declaring loudly that he would have several dances with her the following evening whether she liked it or not.

“Oh indeed?”

“But of course! It is Mettarë! You have to dance on Mettarë!”

“You wait till next year, Pen-ii,” Arvain said. “At home we have a party that lasts three days. Bonfires, fireworks if Gandalf is around… Which reminds me - any sign of him here of late?”

“No, none. Not since he left with Maura and the others.”

“Really?” Tadion seemed surprised. “I have bumped into him at least once on patrol and heard rumour of him from all over.”

“Perhaps that is the point, Tadion,” Halladan said quietly. “He has much to see to, many people to calm and put at ease. He is skilled in it and the people need him after what they have been through.”

“True enough,” Tadion replied, grimly.

Penny looked uncomfortable and Halladan changed the subject by wondering if the hunt was back yet and how many hart they might return with.

Over the two days since his arrival before the Mettarë feast, Halladan appeared to be warming slowly to Penny once again compared to his attitude when he had last seen her. There was still a certain reticence, but less so than before, and on occasions such as this – when discussion veered dangerously towards references of what had gone on in the north – he instantly became his usual, protective self towards her. Over meals or when she was sitting in company if they caught each other’s eye he would smile, but he would also turn away after a moment, as if to distract himself. While he seemed to be relaxing, there was still something else, some self-constructed barrier that, for all Penny’s calm, reassuring patience, forever appeared to be in the way. Perhaps that was how it would always be, Penny began to wonder; perhaps this was the best she could hope for. Only time would tell.

The morning of the Dunedain calender’s Mettarë passed much like any other day for Penny. She did briefly call in to the kitchens, but it was a scene of organised chaos with the preparations for that night’s feast and Naurdir was far too busy for her to stop him and see if he needed help, so she thought it was best to leave them to get on with it unhindered.

For the Dunedain the drinking started at midday meal, though Naurdir turfed them out of the dining hall after an hour or so if only so he could get things ready for the evening. They all de-camped to a large antechamber, several of the elves joining them. Penny was persuaded to accompany them for a while, but it all seemed very ‘male’ and raucous, and she slipped away with the last of the ellith to do so within a half hour and instead went to see if any help was needed with the preparations.

Great swathes of evergreens – ivy, holly, mistletoe and others – had been cut down and brought inside so that now huge clumps were piled all over the place in the dining hall, and Penny found several elves busily twisting the branches and leaves together to make great garlands of them, laughing, chattering, gossiping and singing as they did so. She set to work to lend a hand. Rosehips and bryony vine, butcher’s broom berries and winter roses as well as many other berries and the few winter flowers to be found at this time of year were intertwined with the swathes of greenery. Then they were lifted up to others already up on ladders who fixed them to the walls high above so that eventually the whole hall was filled with zig-zagging festoons of foliage. Lanterns were hung from strategic points within the whole and candles set about the place, many surrounded by their own little wreaths of greenery and berries. When they were finished preparing the dining hall, Penny was asked to come and help do the same with the Hall of Fire also, though here the garlands were hung in a great circular web round the central fire, which itself would be where the two whole deer was already being slowly roasted.

There was little time to get ready, though Penny and a few other ellith all came to Mireth’s room once dressed – Penny in the same red dress she had worn at the wedding – to do each others’ hair. Mireth tied Penny’s back at the sides using the hair ornament Elrond had given her to help keep it in place, but otherwise left it loose, though she added a sprinkling of winter flowers here, there and everywhere. The other ellith were doing the same. Penny could never understand how they got them to stay, but they did, and the effect was really very pretty.

Then, as soon as dusk began, so did the celebrations.

It was immediately apparent to Penny as she walked along the corridors to the dining hall that the ‘dress code’ (such as it was) was for all the females to have flowers and twists of berries in their hair and all the males to wear ‘crowns’ or rings of greenery round their heads. The ellyn were in their best tunics and had brushed their boots (but then when did an elf never make an effort to look his best?) and whether the Dunedain had brought spare tunics with them or borrowed ones from friends amongst the ellyn, they all looked smart and spruced, despite the afternoon’s drinking.

At the far end of the dining hall on a low dais were the musicians who at first seemed to be working by some sort of rota system but, as the evening wore on and more was drunk, it seemed that whoever wanted to play could do so while whoever was playing and fancied a break would simply grab the nearest elf to them to take over. The room had been cleared of the long tables that usually filled it to make room for dancing, though the benches had been left and lined the walls. The Hall of Fire was where the vats of wine and ale had been positioned and, later, tables would groan with the weight of great bowls of warmed mulled wine and jugs of mead.

Tadion had the first dance with Penny, her shyness over such things long disappeared thanks to the many dances in Gondor and Rohan, and then it was Arvain’s turn, followed by Lindir. Halladan seemed to be supremely uninterested in dancing, and had even produced his stick for the evening even though Penny could not remember the last time she had seen him walk with it. For a while she was worried that perhaps he had strained his old war wound during his last ride out on patrol till she overheard Tadion teasing him about it and saying if he was not in the mood to dance all he had to do was say so, not lean on the stick like some old man and pretend he was incapable.

As disappointed as Penny was, she also decided that perhaps it was no bad thing that she would have no opportunity to dance with him, with all the holding hands, keeping eye contact for minutes at a time and all the rest that it would involve. For all that the dances were not of the sort where close contact was made at any time, they could still be remarkably intimate in some ways if the dancers so chose – certainly lovers, be they the betrothed (or soon to be so) or newly married, could feel alone within the crowd and relish each touch, each look as they moved and circled round about each other, stepping forward only to step back and round once more. Yeah, it was perhaps no bad thing she avoided that sort of stuff with him because it would only remind her of all the things she was trying not to think about (and failing miserably a lot of the time when he was around it had to be said). That said she had to try and not grin like an idiot when he complimented her on how ‘fine she looked this evening,’ adding that ‘the flowers in her hair suited her admirably as did the hairpiece Elrond had gifted her.’ Anyone else who paid her the same compliment that evening she did not believe in the slightest, but when Halladan said it, a tiny little Penny deep inside her skipped a jig and pumped its fist in the air yelling ‘YES!’ (however much she did her best to ignore her and tell her to shut the hell up).

Thus she whiled away a happy couple of hours dancing with many an ellon and Dunadan (apart from Halladan) and decided that, as winter parties went, it was a hell of a lot better than most Christmas bashes she had been to. No would-be managers snogging secretaries in the supplies cupboard for a start, let alone the ubiquitous pillock from Finance photocopying his backside and sticking the results on the MD’s office door. That or middle-aged aunts hitting the vermouth like there was no tomorrow because their long-suffering husband was chatting up some young university friend of a cousin’s (as usual), or still more cousins sneaking illicit vodka into the punch with hideous consequences as well as the brats over-indulging in chocolate and throwing trantrums (before throwing up over someone’s new shoes) and not forgetting aged great-aunts scolding bright, young things for wearing the wrong clothes, for not studying hard enough and for not having found the right man yet because if they did not do so soon they would be left on the shelf and die a hideous, lonely death without children or friends to care for then, didn’t they know?

She said as much to Arvain and Tadion who looked FAR too disbelieving and innocent while claiming they could not possibly understand what she might mean about cousins causing havoc at family parties for Penny not to make a mental note to ask Halladan about it at some point.

Late in the evening the tables were brought back in and there followed a fairly loud and rambunctious meal which included more alcohol, loud (if beautiful) singing in parts, and, near the end, a speech by Elladan on what a glorious year it had been with all its achievements, in which the Dunedain had magnificently played their part, and what an even more glorious year lay ahead of them. It was indeed a fine and noble speech of which his father could be proud… or at least it would have been were it not for the fact that he was standing on a table at the time which dented the decorum of the moment somewhat. Not only that, but every time he gesticulated a little too animatedly (spraying those sitting below him, chiefly his father, brother and Glorfindel, with sloshes of wine from his cup) and set himself off balance, he would perform a delicate elvish skip to compensate – a manoeuvre that no human or hobbit could have achieved even without that much drink inside them without knocking plates, jugs, cups or bowls of fruit flying – which gave Penny such an attack of the giggles that she had to stop looking at him and got the hiccups, which in turn only served to set off those near her into rampant sniggering as well. He also went on for exactly too long and thus was forced to bring his pontificating to an abrupt end to a chorus of hoots, whistles and cheering while still in mid-sentence. He was jovial enough, however, grinning and leaping off the table with a flourish (and thus ensuring the final dregs of his cup hit Erestor squarely in the eye as he did so).

Then at last the tables were cleared away once more and the dancing continued until dawn. The conversation flowed, as did the mulled wine, ale and mead. Penny was somewhat tiddly by this point, but then so was everyone else and frankly a good many of the Dunedain were decidedly drunk, as were one or two of the elves (though they would never have admitted it).

It said much that it was only now, after a skin full, that Halladan asked Penny to dance. Had Penny not had quite so much to drink herself, she might have taken notice of how he had stood in front of her for a full five seconds, his gaze raking all over her face quite openly if not brazenly, before he reached out for her hand and then, in a voice that was astonishingly warm and tender (if slurred at points) given how distant he had been at times of late, asked if she would do him the honour of allowing him a dance.

But she did not notice and perhaps it was no bad thing, for both their sakes, that she simply cheerfully (and a tad too loudly) said ‘Of course!’ and ‘It took you long enough!’ and dragged him out to the centre of the floor before he could change his mind.

Of course once she was there she realised her mistake. The moment she felt her hand in his, looked up to see him smiling at her, even as she stepped towards him, both hands touching for a moment, the feel of his fingertips lingering, burning against her palm as they parted, she felt horribly sober for a moment and knew it was hopeless. For all her promises and resolutions and determination, she knew she was still ridiculously in love with him and that it hurt like hell that he had not come to see her for so long as well as the fact that even now, even today, he still could not relax with her, that he could ask her to dance only when he was well on the way to drunk and that he had very possibly only brought his stick with him precisely to prevent her asking him for a dance at any point during the proceedings.

Caught as she was between enjoying every moment of the dance with him and wanting to sink into an alcohol-fuelled fit of depression, she was not concentrating on her footing and, as the music came to a stop, Penny did not quite manage to do the same and stumbled slightly. Halladan caught her and for a moment held her in his arms while they looked at each other, enough alcohol coursing through their veins for neither to be thinking particularly clearly and only to be all too aware of their arms about each other.

“Let us sit you down,” Halladan said hurriedly, and promptly led her to where Mireth and Elladan were seated close by, barely pausing to see her seated before immediately disappearing off to the Hall of Fire.

Penny did not see him again for the rest of the evening, though when she was on her way to bed in the early hours she caught sight of Arvain and an ellon coming out of the Hall of Fire and starting to zig-zag gently and good-naturedly down the corridor, dragging the slumped and all but unconscious figure of Halladan between them.

It should be said in fairness, however, that he was far from the only one to drink himself into a stupor that night. Come the dawn all that could be seen of Tadion was a pair of feet sticking out from under a table.

Before going to bed, Mireth insisted Penny accompany her to the kitchens where, as well as having plenty of water to drink, Penny was made to down some vile herbal concoction made from a foul-smelling powder, a spoonful of honey and some milk. Frankly, with the walls of the kitchen beginning to reel slightly around her, Penny was not sure she was up to such a thing, but she drank it nonetheless and then teetered her way gently to her room. Whatever it was worked, though, for she awoke late morning feeling not too bad all things considering.

The Dunedain on the other hand were in a very sorry state indeed, and Penny took great amusement in talking ever so slightly too loudly at them over a late breakfast.

“You know what you need?” she said to Arvain as he sat with his head in hands, his elbows on the table. “A good, strong cup of tea.”

“Quite right, Pen-ii,” agreed Bilbo who, though he had already had breakfast at the usual early hour and Second Breakfast an hour later, was not going to pass up this opportunity of having another and thus had joined all the late risers in the dining hall. “Pass me the jam, would you?”

“Please, Pen-ii,” Arvain groaned, “I am not in the mood.”

“I mean it. Tea does wonders for a hangover. Tadion? Want to try some?”

“Flbthrrgsh.”

“And the same to you.” Penny sniggered.

“Oh shurrup.”

“Sleep well?”

“I did… until Naurdir kicked me awake at some Eru-forsaken hour.”

“You mean five minutes ago?”

“Was it?”

“He needed to clear away the tables, Tadion!”

“Hmph.”

“Have some tea. It will make you feel better.”

There was a pause. “Oh, very well. If it will keep you quiet, I will.”

She poured him some. “I made no promises about keeping quiet.”

“In that case,” Tadion retorted, albeit good-naturedly as he grabbed his cup of tea and a hunk of bread and honey from his plate, “I am off to my room to sleep some more. Good morning to you.”

“I think I might do the same, Pen-ii,” Arvain mumbled.

“And how about you, Halladan? How are you feeling this morning?” Penny turned to him brightly.

Halladan grimaced.

“Pen-ii, you are far too cheery for men with hangovers to deal with.”

“Blame Mireth. She made me take some foul drink before bed and it really helped.”

Arvain sat up in horror.

“Gah, not the blackroot tuber?” He said in horror, only to clutch at his head, regretting his sudden movement.

“Is that what it is called? I do not know. She made it, told me to drink it and I did.”

Arvain and Halladan exchanged a glance. Penny felt nervous.

“What is it?”

Arvain and Halladan were clearly trying not to laugh.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Nothing at all.”

“What!”

“You will see.”

“Indeed.”

Later that morning when she had to visit the latrine for the fourth time that day, Penny quietly cursed Mireth, whose only response when Penny complained to her about it was ‘Oh, yes! I forgot it has that effect on mortals.’

Tadion and Arvain had planned to head off two days after Mettarë, but Halladan was undecided as to when he might leave. Ever since the feast day he seemed to have had something on his mind. He became so preoccupied with whatever it was that his temper became noticeably shorter than usual. At first it was put down to a hangover the size of a troll, but it soon became apparent that this mood was lasting far longer than any hangover might be reasonably expected to last and thus clearly had nothing to do with any such thing. He was reserved once again, withdrawn, unsociable and irritable, becoming unnecessarily short with people, especially if they interrupted his solitude. A comment directed to him in particular when he was sitting brooding, staring at the fire while in company, was likely to get a sharp response. It happened once to Penny, who had merely asked him if he would like a refill of wine, only to be met by a very sharp ‘What is it?’ As soon as he had realised it was her who had spoken, his face fell and he was hugely apologetic, but the expression of surprise, and perhaps a little hurt, on her face had seen by others because Arvain actually took her to one side later that evening to apologise on Halladan’s behalf.

“He has not been himself of late,” was all he would say.

“But I thought he was getting better. Faelon said so, and that Elrond himself had said…”

“No, no, it is nothing to do with that. Or at least I do not think so. Sometimes he can get like this, when he broods over something… though…” and he glanced over his shoulder over to the far side of the Hall of Fire where Halladan sat in a corner still, “…I have not seen him quite this bad before. Do not worry over him, Pen-ii. He will soon snap out of it.”

He gave her a reassuring smile, but Penny was still at something of a loss as to what to make of it.

Of course Arvain could hardly talk. Even though the celebrations were over, he was still taking advantage of Elrond’s stores of wine and ale and hitting them hard. Penny and Tadion would sit with the pair of them - as Halladan stared at the fire, silent and strangely morose, while Arvain helped himself to refill after refill - and they would exchange anxious glances. It was some relief to know that Tadion could see it too – after all he knew them far better than she did. Penny actually pulled Tadion to one side the night before he and Arvain left and made him promise that he would keep an eye on the pair of them and get Faelon to do the same, though just like Arvain had done with Halladan, he assured her that they were both fine, just preoccupied.

The next day Arvain and Tadion left early, the last of the Dunedain to leave apart from Halladan. Once left on his own, whatever it was that seemed to be bothering Halladan consumed him to the point that Penny actually saw very little of him for the rest of the day. Once or twice in the morning as she went to and from the chickens and then to and from the stables she spotted him walking in the gardens and at one point sitting on a distant bench under the trees, his back to the halls, wisps of pipe smoke trailing up towards the bare branches. In the afternoon, straight after lunch, he went for a long ride and did not return until dusk whereupon he went straight to seek out Elrond in his study and the two of them were then shut up there together for a couple of hours, only emerging at last when the dinner bell rang. However, whatever it was that they had talked about, one thing that was immediately apparent was that Halladan seemed certainly calmer – thoughtful still, yes, but far less troubled.

After dinner he took Penny to one side in the corridor outside the Hall of Fire and said he had decided to leave the following day.

“I… I have much to think about, Pen-ii. I cannot explain, and I am sorry if I have seemed somewhat ill at ease of late. Forgive me. And I must especially apologise for speaking to you sharply yesterday. I should not have done that.”

“There is no need, Halladan.”

He looked at her, and Penny had the very strong impression that he wanted to say more, or that there was more he could say but chose not to.

“I do not know when I will return. It may be a few weeks… it may be longer. I cannot tell you.”

Why all this sudden openness about when he might or might not reappear? She was not going to complain, indeed was glad of it, but she wondered what had brought it about.

“Come,” he said, offering her his arm, “Let us spend one last night amongst friends before I have to ride out into the winter cold, yes?”

And it was one of the most pleasant evenings Penny had had with him for a long time. No awkwardness, no brooding silences, only relaxed enjoyment in each other’s company – it was almost like old times again and Penny, for the first time since her return to Imladris, allowed herself to believe that they truly could be friends just as they had grown to become during their journey north together.

She was sorry to see him go the next morning, but he was so much more at ease with her that she did not mind so much. He assured her once more that he would be back as soon as he could even though he could not say how long that might be, and then rode off with a wave of his hand. Feeling on something of a small high thanks to his change in demeanour, Penny paid the carpenters a visit that day in his honour and asked if she could do some work with them. Happy to have their somewhat irregular apprentice make an appearance, they got her to sand and polish the two finished chairs of a set of four that they were making, currently busily carving intricate designs into the backs. They were to be a wedding present for Mireth and Celebdor, apparently.

Indeed, now that mid-winter was come and spring would be no more than a month or two away, the countdown had begun at last till the happy union. Mireth was beginning to get excited, and Celebdor was even more jovial than usual.

A week after Halladan had left Mireth alarmed Penny considerably by suggesting that she should add a little something to her wedding dress.

Penny boggled at her.

“Er…”

“It is our way. The embroidery on any dress is quite some work and is always a communal effort. Every ellith in Imladris had a hand in Arwen’s dress, as did many of the ellyn too. We are skilled and in sharing the load it is done that much more quickly, but also when it is a dress for an occasion such as a wedding… well, it is a personal gesture also, from friends and those dear to those that are to bind, those that love them and have watched their love grow and come together. The same is true for the tunic of the groom, his boots, indeed anything and everything that they will wear that is newly made for that day – it is made with them in mind and with love from those who know them.”

Penny was still boggling.

“But… I-I cannot sew to the standard of an elf, Mireth! You know that better than anyone! You have seen how appalling my embroidery work is!”

“You are learning and even if you were to do only one stitch it would be enough. To sew on one gemst—”

“You would honestly let me loose on a gemstone?!”

Penny all but laughed in Mireth’s face. It was only the fact that Mireth was clearly being perfectly serious that stopped her.

“Yes. I would. One gemstone, Pen-ii. The dress is finished – it has been for a few years - so one stitch over the top of another would be easy enough would it not? Please? It would mean much to me if —”

“I am touched you would ask me, Mireth. I will do it. But do not say I did not warn you.”

Now it was Mireth’s turn to laugh.

So it was that for a week or two in the evenings after supper, Penny could be found frowning over a small circular embroidery frame, sewing and re-sewing the tiny knotted leaf motif Mireth had taught her so that she could get it at least to the level of ‘almost passable enough to go somewhere where it would not be noticed.’ Penny suggested under the armpit or on the inside of the hem, but Mireth protested laughingly.

Then, when Penny felt she had practised enough and it was as good as it was ever going to get, she was taken to the sewing room to see The Dress. It had been swathed in muslin and linens to protect it and kept in a small chamber off the main sewing room where various finished ‘projects’ were kept in storage. It was laid out on the big central table in the main room and carefully unwrapped. Penny gasped when she saw it. It seemed as soft as gossamer, but glimmered and gleamed with jewels and gold and silver threads. It was a pale sky blue with the train and trailing sleeves fading to a cream colour. It was stunning just lying flat on the table top, but Penny had no doubt it would look extraordinary once worn, let alone once worn by Mireth. A wave of fear took hold of her at the idea of actually sticking a needle anywhere near it, but with plenty of gentle encouragement from the ellith round her and Mireth in particular, she tentatively chose the most unobtrusive spot she could think of – right at the bottom of the skirt of the dress, tucked away in the middle of a whole load of very busy embroidery, and tidily did her few little stitches.

“There,” she said, straightening. Then she quickly covered it with her hand. “And you must promise you will not look too closely at it, Mireth.”

Mireth just smiled and hugged her.

The days passed much as they had before Mettarë for Penny. Snow fell, though not thickly, and she was even more glad of the fireplace in her room at such a time, let alone the heavy quilt that was now on top of the blankets on her bed. She often thought of the Dunedain riding in these conditions with their fur-lined boots and heavy cloaks drawn round their faces. They had told her of the camps they would build on such nights – rudimentary shelters, easily and quickly constructed once you knew how, to keep off the snow and keep the warmth of the fire in. If they said such things worked well enough and kept you warm at night, who was she to disbelieve them, but rather them than her.

Then, much to her surprise, only three weeks after he had last left, Halladan returned to Imladris. It was snowing hard and she was running from the goat sheds to the main halls, her shawl wrapped round her head, wearing the new winter boots that Celebdor and Lindir between them had made for her. She was aiming for the same entrance that was used to go to the stables and, her head down, only thinking to get to the nearest fire and fast, she did not see anyone ahead of her aiming for the same doorway, and thus crashed straight into the back of Halladan. She began to apologise and then, realising who it was, stared at him for a moment before a smile slowly seeped its way onto her features.

He too was smiling slowly at her, taking his time to look at her before he said her name. She just beamed back at him and his smile widened in return. Then, as if suddenly aware of their surroundings he looked round at the snow.

“Come. Let us get out of this and into the warm.”

But even as he ushered her in, there was something gentle, almost tender about the action, and he was still smiling; and it made Penny smile too, though she was not sure why. There was something about him, something… different, something that had changed since the last time she had seen him.

And as they walked, he was asking her questions about how she was faring, what she had been up to since he had seen her last, wanting to know chapter and verse, every detail. It was not that he had not asked such things of her in previous visits, just that this time there was a definite enthusiasm about him: a relish, a delight in her exploits.

She was not quite sure how to deal with this new and improved Halladan that had appeared out of the winter wilds but she was not going to complain. Perhaps at last he had come to terms with everything and they could get back to how things had been once more. She hoped so. She really did.

Over the four days that Halladan stayed, there was what could only be described as a definite thaw in their relationship. Imladris was white with snow but Penny and Halladan were cosy enough chatting, laughing or else discussing the murals and paintings as they walked about the corridors of Imladris together, and generally enjoying each others’ company just as they had done months before. One afternoon they went riding, and then on another Penny took particular delight in showing Halladan some of the work she had done with the carpenters. Admiring some of the sanding and oiling she had done, he said she should do the same with the doe he had made her but she felt shy to say that she actually liked its roughness, that the ‘unfinished’ nature of it was a reminder of both how and when he had made it – of a time before they had felt awkward with each other and everything had turned sour and strained.

While Penny was thrilled that at last he had relaxed and calmed down about everything, when she was alone - perhaps late at night as she pottered about her room, washing, undressing, or sitting and reading a little beside the fire - she would sometimes feel sad at the prospect that one day she would yet again lose this friendship and companionship, so newly and unexpectedly rediscovered. She would quickly drive such thoughts out of her head as best she could, however, and chastise herself for not being happy with what she had, given it was a vast improvement from what she had had even only a few weeks before.

“I am happy for you,” Mireth told her two days after he had left once more, this time promising he would return within a few weeks at most.

“I am glad we can be friends once more. For a long time I was worried that we would never get back to how things had been between us before.”

Mireth simply smiled to herself as she got back to darning the elbow of one of Celebdor’s old gardening undershirts.

Halladan was as good as his word. Within three weeks he had returned, and this time he came with Arvain. The snow had melted and the first early flowers of spring were just starting to show themselves, though only the snowdrops were beginning to flower. Mireth came to find Penny in her room to say they had arrived. Penny, grabbing her shawl since she assumed they were still either outside the main entrance or at the stables from the way Mireth had spoken, came down to find them actually waiting in the small cloister nearest to the staircase to her room. When she grinned at Halladan his smile was warm, but there was a strangely serious and intense look on his face. Even Arvain seemed to be smirking about something the moment he saw her. Halladan also kissed her hand, something he had not done in a long time, and as he did so he held her gaze for a moment, still smiling a little, and in spite of herself her stomach did a flip to feel his lips on her fingers as she looked into those grey eyes of his.

Damn, she hoped in hell she was not blushing. That would REALLY not be clever.

“Come with us,” Halladan said. “We have something to show you.”

The smile on his face seemed to want to burst into a grin and when Penny glanced at Arvain she could see he was biting his cheeks in an attempt to keep straight-faced. What were they up to? Arvain caught her look and chuckled.

“Wait and see.”

It was soon clear they were leading her to the stables, but Penny still could not fathom what they were about even when Halladan led her straight to one of the stalls and then stood beside it, waiting for her to say something. The mare that looked up from munching on some hay was not one Penny recognised. It was clearly from the Dunedain’s horse stock, though, given it had a heavier, stockier build than most elvish horses and the shaggier coat which was ideal for any animal which had to spend long weeks or months outside in all weathers.

“Well?” Arvain said at last.

Penny blinked at them both.

“She is yours,” Halladan explained

Penny stared at him open-mouthed.

“What? You are not serious?”

“But of course, Pen-ii!” He laughed then. “You must have a horse, and while I am sure Elrond and Lindir would gladly have sent you to us with one of the large number here, I felt…” There was a cough on the other side of Penny. “Arvain and I both felt that it would be fitting that you have one of ours. She is a fine horse, Pen-ii, ideally suited to you as a novice rider. She is good natured enough.”

Penny was still trying to process this. In her mind, for all the time she had spent in this society where horses and ponies were the main means of transport, she was still inclined to think in modern English terms where a horse was an expensive thing, something that only those within a certain social class or above could own and afford to keep. And to simply give one as a present…!

“For me? To keep?”

Halladan was chuckling all over again. “Yes, Pen-ii!” The chuckling faded a little. “You do not like her?”

“What? No, no! No, I… I do not know what to say! It is a wonderful gift! Thank you!”

“So, what do you think of her, Pen-ii?” It was Lindir. He had spotted them all arrive from across the yard as they had entered this particular stable block. “She is a fine horse. From good stock, too, I can tell you that. Halbarad’s great-great grandfather bred one of his mares with one of my stallions, Gilroch, and she comes from that line. See how much slenderer she is in parts from most Dunedain horses?” (Penny could not see any difference) “She will have speed, I can tell you, and also will be affectionate and loyal. Is that not right?”

Arvain and Halladan were nodding in agreement.

“What is her name?” Penny asked Arvain.

“Tálagor.”

“Here.” Lindir pulled out half an apple from his tunic pocket and handed it to Penny.

Penny called the horse’s name and held out the apple. The mare hesitated for a moment and, so it seemed to Penny, looked to Halladan and Arvain first before ambling over to happily accept the offering. As she munched on it Penny stroked her nose, beaming.

“We can go for a ride this afternoon if you would like to,” Halladan suggested.

“I would like that very much,” Penny replied.

Looking at the two of them, Lindir turned away but not before he had caught Arvain’s eye and the pair had exchanged a grin.

Halladan and Penny went riding every day, in fact, and spent many hours as on Halladan’s previous visit, walking or talking together, always in each other’s company even when surrounded by others, the only exceptions being when Penny had chores to do, and even then Halladan would sometimes appear to help out or just as she finished to suggest doing something together. It was perhaps noticeable that Arvain was conspicuous by his absence at such moments, but rather had always found something else to do.

During long walks in the gardens and woods, it was much as it had been months before when they had gone for their evening walks in the camp – Halladan now chatting idly about how life would be for Penny once she had left Imladris, how plans were already in motion for her to leave once Mireth was married, how Morfinniel was looking forward to meeting her and then he would invariably wander off into reminiscences and funny stories from his childhood while Penny would respond in kind, wondering still at this newfound warmth but loving every minute of it.

At the same time, however, as the days went by, a little nagging doubt began to worry at her. He was now so warm and open that it was Penny who had started to become a little quiet and withdrawn, terrified that she would respond to his warmth in some way in spite of herself. The emotions she had for him that she had tried so hard to not think about were being rekindled and fast. It was terribly hard to ignore them with him smiling every time he caught her eye at a meal or when they were in company. Even when he was across on the other side of the room from her in the Hall of Fire he was looking out for her every now and then, watching her quietly with a soft intensity that made her stomach melt if she became aware of it.

Nor was it only that.

There were also the little smiles and looks that she would occasionally catch from Mireth, Lindir, Celebdor or any number of elves who knew her and Halladan well, particularly those who had travelled with them from Gondor. Arvain seemed particularly jovial and full of barely concealed smirks and it could not solely be because Hisaeleth had sent her suitor packing (though that would certainly have helped). She could guess at what they were thinking or saw in it all and it began to set alarm bells ringing though she was not wholly sure why at first.

When even Bilbo saw fit to note that ‘she and Halladan had become very close’ one afternoon when she was having tea with him (Halladan having, for once, opted to go off on a short hunting trip with Glorfindel and a few others), Penny made a point of trying to set the record straight.

“He is my guardian, Bilba, and yes, he has become a good friend, I will admit.”

Bilbo nodded and said nothing, but he drank his tea in thoughtful silence for some minutes before changing the subject entirely and asking her to read some poetry out to him while he dozed.

She was not sure if she was worried that if they could read it that way then Halladan might do the same and become cold and withdrawn once more or… Actually, she tried not to consider the other possibility – that he knew perfectly well how it was being seen because that was precisely his intention behind it all.

Halladan suggesting they go riding every day for an hour or two or for a walk in the gardens together after lunch was wonderful and she tried desperately to see it as ‘just friends’, willing herself to think that way (if only for her own sake so she would not embarrass herself), but there was something else that mulled over this change in heart and character from him. He would offer his hand to help her from the saddle every time they came back to the stables, a soft smile on his face, his expression tender, and Penny tried her damnedest to not notice, to read it as anything other than what it most obviously had to be, but she kept coming back to the same answer.

It was so hard not to react to it, not to feel that thrill and warmth inside her every time he looked at her in that way, but her head was yelling, screaming, shouting, and it got to the point where she was actually for the first time secretly hoping that he would leave soon, but even after five days there was no sign that he was going anywhere. She was torn – torn between the feelings she had for him and as a consequence (for perhaps entirely selfish reasons) wanting to be in his company, to have him focus his attention on her in a way that hinted at something more, while on the other hand knowing that it could never be, both for the reasons that Mireth had outlined would be Halladan’s point of view of it all, as well as her own decision as to why she should never marry even if she loved someone.

And God, how she loved him - so much it hurt to think about sometimes - and him behaving like this was really not helping.

It was the sixth day of his visit. They had been out for a ride before lunch and it had started to rain just as they came back to the halls. They stabled their horses and then ran for the nearest door, laughing loudly, Halladan holding her hand and pulling her behind him. As they gained the safety of being inside out of the wet they paused, breathing hard and still giggling and chuckling. Penny swept the hood of her cloak back and shook out her hair a little. Then, realising her hair tie – the one Halladan had made and which she still wore every day – was coming loose, she pulled at it, putting the wooden stick in her teeth as she pulled back some of her hair before covering it with the leather piece.

Halladan, slowly pushing back his own hood, watched her, his expression unreadable. Penny, as she shoved the stick through the leather, glanced up to find him watching her. She smiled.

“Shall we go for a walk after the midday meal?” he asked.

“In this weather?” She laughed.

“Oh, it is only a brief shower,” he replied, glancing out through the still open door. “It will pass quickly enough.” He paused. “There… is something I wish to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

But he would say nothing further other than that he had better head up to his room to hang up his cloak and change his boots before lunch.

Author's Notes:

Before the lynching starts, I would just like to add that the next chapter is with the betas and I hope to have it posted soon. Honest!

Meanwhile: thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter and to everyone reading and reccing the fic - it's always much appreciated! - hugs