But Still I Hope:
The Healing
Volume One of Three

By SilliMarilli & Deby 

with editorial tweakage from:
 Celebsul, Russ, Erin, Sevilodorf, Aerio & Rilith!

Latest editing July 28, 2003

Cast of Characters: Elanna, Anoriath, Halbarad, Bob, Elros, Milo, Meri, Erin, Carcharien, Belegalda, Celebsul, Russ, Nik, and Rilith.

An Accounting of Events From October to November of 1421 SR

2	Chapter One
7	Chapter Two
13	 	Chapter Three
19	 	Chapter Four
22	 	Chapter Five
27	 	Chapter Six
35	 	Chapter Seven
53	 	Chapter Eight
60	 	Chapter Nine
66	 	Chapter Ten
75	 	Chapter Eleven
84	 	Chapter Twelve
92	 	Chapter Thirteen
98	 	Chapter Fourteen
106	    Chapter Fifteen
123  	Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

Mid-October
Early afternoon

Vexation was a little nagging creature that irritated like a mouse gnawing in the attic.  Elanna felt its bite keenly as she leaned against a rail that enclosed the porch of the inn.  Jaw tight, she dug the toe of her boot in the dirt, rubbing it back and forth, silently making a fine powder of her frustration.  Her brother Bob stood beside her, next to the steps, his honest features clearly etched with his own discomfort.  

“I’m sorry Elanna,” Bob said apologetically, “but Hal was adamant.  And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right.  You are not yet ready for duty.”

Elanna dug her toe in deeper, watching the layer of dirt on her boot get thicker.  She couldn’t really be angry with Bob, or Halbarad for that matter.  Besides being the man sworn to marry her - one day - Halbarad was also their captain.  If she could accept the reasoning that had kept her fellow Ranger Anoriath away from her command at Lake Nurnen, then she had to accept that same reasoning when it was applied to her.  Since the Rangers' return from the settlement of the freed slaves in the southern plains of Mordor, Elanna had been put on reserve until such time as she was deemed fit for active duty.  

"Not ready for duty."  Elanna sighed.  It had mattered little in those first days back when she had been confined to her bed and then to the Troll.  At the time, her weakened condition had squelched any protest she might have formed.  Instead, she spent much of that time getting reacquainted with her things, her home and her extended family.  Her place among friends had felt oddly strange, as if it had been someone else who had worn her clothes, laid in her bed, and shared duties and table with family and friends.  Deby had lived here.  "Deby."  The word tasted foul in her mouth.  And though she may be the same newly sworn Ranger that had left these grounds two months ago, the same younger sister of Bob, the same friend to Elros and Anoriath, and the same betrothed to their captain, "Deby" was no longer the name to which she answered and Deby's place and things felt as poor a fit as a second hand shoes.  They were stretched to fit another's feet and Elanna felt unsure and clumsy in them.

Of all the things that were labeled as hers, there were only two that she clung to.  One was Dusul.  Bob had walked with her to the stable to see her old friend, letting her lean on his arm to steady her in her debility.  Tears had rolled silently down her cheeks when the big black gelding nudged and snuffled his nose against her in welcome, as if he, too, had to convince himself it was really her. Before she left the stables, Elanna had promised him a ride as soon as Belegalda allowed her.

The second thing that Elanna claimed fully as hers was the Northern Star she had received the night she had taken her oath as a Ranger.  It had waited at The Burping Troll for her during her sojourn in Nurn.  To bring it with her would have marked her for what she truly was, a Ranger.  But it had made no difference, for she had been found out and betrayed regardless.  But she still had her star.  No matter what else had been stripped from her, she was still a Ranger and she burned impatiently for the time when she would be allowed some kind of duty, no matter how small. 

As rational as she might try to be, understanding gave way to the relentless frustration that rose within her.  Elanna hadn’t realized how much she counted on being allowed back to duty until she found the way barred against her.  She had lost so much already.  Being a Ranger was all she had left.  Was that to be taken from her too?  Elanna tried to ignore the sympathetic hand Bob rested on her shoulder.  She had to, or the angry tears that she struggled to hold back would begin to fall, and prove Halbarad right.  Sweet Eru but she was tired of everything turning her into a soppy cow.  

The uneven rumbling of iron wheels and muffled clopping of heavy hooves stemmed the tears that threatened beneath Elanna's lids.  Indeed, Eru must have heard her heedless prayer.  Elanna looked up to see a wagon pulled by a strong workhorse rolling up to the inn, a welcome distraction.  As they drew near, it became apparent that the roughly clothed occupants were a family.  Mother and father sat perched uncomfortably on the bench while three boys and two girls, ranging from having barely crossed the threshold of reason to peering into the world of adulthood, rode nestled in the bed of the wagon.

All of the children shared the same round eyes and mouths; all the more similar for the gape they traded between them at what they saw.  Elanna glanced back over Bob’s shoulder to the porch.  Sure enough, the short, smiling figures of Meri and Erin had emerged to greet the newcomers.  Elanna couldn’t help but grin at the amazement of the children upon their first glimpse of hobbits, not realizing that her fine half-elven features and Bob’s imposing appearance as a Ranger commanded just as much awe.  

As the wagon creaked to a halt, a rapid beat of galloping hooves set a harness to jingling drew Elanna's eyes from the family.  Now it was her turn to stare slack-jawed, gaping at the newest arrival.  But she only had scant moments to take in the magnificent golden horse hurtling into the yard.  If one of the Rohirrim had been magically transformed into a horse, this was surely what he would have looked like.  Golden as the sun he was, with flaxen mane and tail gleaming no less brightly than the gold winking from bridle and saddle.  A quick impression of a nobleman upon his back almost as well-appointed as his mount was all she was allowed before all Udun broke loose.

To the horror of those who watched, the family's youngest daughter jumped from the wagon, staring only at Elanna’s lovely elvish features with the keen focus of the ten-year-old child and oblivious to aught else.  In the time it took to inhale the morning air that would have given breath to warning, her slight flying form came to land right in front of the oncoming horse, sending the high-strung animal exploding sideways with a whistling snort.  Startled out of her inattention, the girl's piercing shriek only served to aggravate the beast further.  In a whirlwind of mane, gleaming muscle and sharp hooves, it reared and plunged despite its owner’s grim-mouthed wrenching on the bit.  In vain he pulled against the mount's tender mouth until one last twisting leap flung the nobleman unceremoniously to the ground.  For a stunned moment while it seemed no heart could beat nor lungs breathe, he lay unmoving in the dust.

The terrified girl clung to their wagon, staring at him with wide frightened eyes.  Breaking as one from their confusion, her brothers leapt from the wagon and ran to gain control of the golden horse.  Seeing the nobleman's stunned expression as he pushed himself to sitting, the young girl's childish heart leaped to remorse and she rushed to help the fallen man up.

“Oh forgive me sir," she cried breathlessly.  "I did not see you coming.  I didn’t mean to scare your beautiful horse.  Please, let me help you up,” she beseeched him, embarrassment coloring her young face.

Glowering, the nobleman coldly accepted her hand up but when he staggered to his feet, his repayment for her contrition was a backhand across her cheek.  The girl stumbled but did not fall, gingerly touching trembling fingers to her face and blinking in surprise.  Her cheek throbbed and she stared at him in wide-eyed shock.  The man raised his hand to strike her again, red-hot anger suffusing his face, unmoved by neither the hurt before him nor the shocked anger of her parents who had leapt to their feet in answer.  

But, the sharp, slicing hum of a sword leaving its scabbard halted everyone in their tracks.  The man’s stroke never fell.  A furious Elanna sprang between the girl and the hand that hung in the air above her.  To the nobleman's surprise, the small half-elf held the point of a sword, only inches from his chest.  The cold steel was nearly as long as she.  Bob's hand dropped to his empty scabbard even as his breath caught in his chest at the sight of his sword held in his sister's hand.  Elanna stood keen and poised as the blade she held, but just what she might do with it, her brother could not say for certain.

The man Elanna faced may have been noble of birth, but he proved himself base of mind.  He eyed his diminutive opponent with contempt.  If this was an elf, she was the poorest example of the Fair Folk he had ever seen.  Sneering, he dropped his hand only to draw his sword in answer to hers.  But he was as careless as he was arrogant.  Elanna swiftly parried his sword with a ringing twist.  To his surprise, he found himself steadily driven back and back, his every stroke batted aside as if he swung a paper blade.  One last ring of steel on steel wrenched the sword from his hand and sent it skittering across the dirt.  In the sudden silence, the man rose unwillingly onto the balls of his feet, for the sharp edge of the sword that had disarmed him was lifting him firmly under his jaw.

"You will get on your horse," Elanna commanded tightly, her narrow eyes ablaze with a cold fury that could not be gainsaid.  "Now."

The family's two eldest boys stood with eyes wide as dinner plates nearby, the man's golden stallion now quietly in their control.  The man backed away from Elanna and her blade warily, glancing around the crowd.  Surely someone would intervene to control this obviously deranged woman.  But he found no sympathy in any watching eye and so simply mounted, a muscle twitching spasmodically in his clenched jaw as he surveyed his audience from his sullen height.  

“I believe that you will find there are no rooms available at the inn, the food is gone and the ale cask is dry," Elanna said through her teeth, leveling the sword at her target, its sharp tip ready at her bidding if he disagreed.  "There is nothing for you to do but ride on, sir.”

“Well,” the man huffed haughtily, his courage revived now that he sat a safe five feet off the ground, sword or no sword.  “I know this is a Ranger post, and I will demand that that one over there put you in your place, you runty excuse for an elf!”

“I would have a care if I were you,” drawled Bob from his vantage point of the porch beside the hobbits.  He smiled casually as he tossed a long knife end over end.  “True, there are Rangers here.  But the closest is that ‘runty’ one with the sword in her hand."  With a wicked grin he asked, "Did I fail to mention she gets irritated when her height is referred to in such a manner?  My pardon.” 

"Yes," agreed Erin, her arms crossing her chest as she rocked back on her heels, barely able to contain her glee.  As far as she was concerned, the fool was getting just what he deserved.  "And you could also mention his money would be better spent on lessons in swordplay instead of fancy trappings for his horse."

Thunderclouds of fury lowered themselves on the nobleman’s face but he said no more in what seemed a sudden purchase of wisdom.  Viciously jerking his horse around, he galloped out of the courtyard and down the road.  

Elanna remained as she was, standing with sword in hand watching his departure through still narrowed eyes, and her cold rage unabated though the man was long gone from view.  With the excitement passed, the hobbit Milo volunteered to tend to the horse and wagon while Meri and Erin quickly took charge of the family and shepherded them into the Troll.

"Yes, of course," Meri said to the youngest girl as they went.  "You can thank the nice lady over lunch.  Her name is Elanna and yes, she really is a Ranger."

As their voices and footsteps faded, Bob stood unobtrusively between his sister and the others, quietly waiting for the courtyard to empty.  As soon as all were inside, he gently removed the sword from Elanna’s grip and slid it back into his scabbard.  Elanna did not move, her eyes still fixed on the empty road.

A spark of Elanna’s old spirit had flared into a bright flame, but to Bob's mind; it seemed to have died all too soon.  Bob placed himself in front of her and crouched down until the siblings were eye to eye.  Elanna did not even blink.  Her gaze was now empty and unfocused.  Bob's heart wrenched painfully.  He would have greatly preferred the righteous anger that had filled her eyes just minutes before.  The sister whose compassion was well known had retreated into a wounded girl he could not comprehend.  

“Elanna?” he called softly, but received no response.  

He tried again, unwilling to let her go that easily, using the nickname that their friend Anardil coined in Elanna's girlhood and the others had adopted.  

“Starling?  Look at me.  It's over.  He’s gone.  The lass is safe now, thanks to you.” 

Bob paused to wipe newly discovered sweat from his brow.  She had not answered but at least her eyes now focused on him though still eerily empty of any emotion.

“You kept your oath and your honor." 

Bob gently recited the traditional Ranger response for conflicts such as these that occurred outside of the battlefield, but was startled by the way his sister received the accolade.  Despair and disbelief were the emotions displayed on her face, and yet these emotions did not reach her eyes.  Their uncanny barrenness raised the fine hairs on Bob's neck.

“What is it, Star Girl?” Bob asked, bewildered by the contradictions before him.

“Where is the honor in wanting to wipe the smug, arrogant smile off his face?” she asked coldly.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Bob answered, unenlightened by her response.

To his dismay, the emptiness seemed to grow, smothering all light from her eyes.  It sent a cold fear coiling around his spine.

“There was a moment when I wanted to kill him," she intoned in a blank, expressionless voice that wrung Bob’s heart.  "When I almost did kill him.  Where is the honor in that?”

Comprehension of what she had just said broke over Elanna.  The answering flood of horror and self-recrimination swept her away.  Stepping past Bob, Elanna broke into long, fast strides around the side of the Troll, heading for the woods beyond.

“But you didn’t Elanna!  ELANNA!”  Bob called out to her back, barely able to squeeze out his voice for the anguished tightness of his throat.

“But you didn’t,” he whispered hoarsely to the girl who was no longer there.

Chapter Two 

Meanwhile

The water was cold, colder than she remembered.  Cool green eddies swirled above Anoriath as she drifted down.  Bubbles of air that she had brought with her in her plunge trailed after her, tickling her arms as she waved herself lower.  Cold.  Her descent slowed and the deeper currents of the small stream tugged gently at her.  The shock fading as she drifted, Anoriath opened her eyes to watch sunlight distantly skipping across the small lapping waves that danced atop the water.  Pale ribbons of light from the autumn sun reached weightless fingers down into the burbling quiet.  

Peaceful.  It was peaceful here.  No noise, no eyes, no restless activity that filled her days.  Alone, away from Halbarad's earnest tension, her body whose unwieldy bulk was beginning to slow her down, and Elanna's eyes.  Elanna's eyes!  Anoriath reached up and back to pull her body against the drifting current, resisting the urge to resurface and fill her lungs.  Just a little longer.  Just a little longer before she had to return to The Burping Troll and face Elanna's eyes again.  Eyes that were flat and empty that flickered with sudden rage or filled with tears. Eyes that bore into the older Ranger with a bewildered anger that dismayed Anoriath.  She shook her head sadly.  She knew too well what haunted Elanna's eyes, having had a taste of the Nurn raider's malice herself.  Parcus!  Anoriath's teeth grated dully in her head.  That misbegotten, bastard son of…!  

Her thoughts stopped dead and Anoriath blinked slowly against the press of water.  "Bastard son of …"  If she were not surrounded by liquid, she would have sighed.  So many things had changed.  Anoriath kicked against the water.  The current was pulling her out of the deep pool at the bend of the stream.  She had promised her Prince to stay and redress her wrongs, but the blame at betrayal in Elanna's eyes burned straight through to her soul.  Ah!  She should have told Elanna about Parcus. So many regrets had been given birth in that small village that clung to the southwestern edge of the Lake of Nurn.

Anoriath fell still in the water, frozen at a surprising thought.  She had committed the same wrong as Aglaran!  She'd remained silent about Parcus and watched as Elanna moved into his reach, helpless in the self-imposed bindings of her fear.  Struck with a sudden stab of sympathy for her elven companion from Nurn, Anoriath mused, "So, this is what you felt, meleth nin."  

The limits of her courage had caused pain in someone she cared for and she didn't know how to repair the wrong.  Aglaran had only found relief from guilt in death.  Her lungs bursting, Anoriath turned her face to the scattered, dancing coins of light above her.  But, his pain went back more years than she had known.  Surely for her, there was another way?  A massive kick and pull through the water and she shot upward.  No, naught to do but wait, and hope.  And when it was time, beg forgiveness.  She burst through the shimmering surface into light and sound, gasping great gulps of air.  

Shaking her head free of water, Anoriath swam in place and took in her surroundings.  Though it was one of those rare fall days that recalled the heat of summer, the wind was cool and brought prickles to her wet skin as she pushed through the water to the river's edge.  Time to get back.  

Anoriath climbed the steep bank, wishing, yet again, that she had carved out a path in the earth.  Her feet slipped in the soft soil and she dug in her toes to compensate.  So much for clean feet.  With a final effort, she grabbed a sapling and briskly pulled herself up to the forest floor just beyond the river and stopped, stunned.  Just four feet away stood Elros, equally taken aback.  They stood thus for a moment, mutually frozen, until, to Anoriath’s amusement, Elros blushed furiously and clapped his hands to his eyes.

“I am SO sorry, Anoriath!” he blurted.

She laughed silently.  “It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.”

“I know.  I know.  But STILL.  I’m really sorry,” Elros insisted earnestly, thoroughly embarrassed.

Silence fell between them.  Anoriath scratched behind her ear.

“Uh.  Anoriath?” he finally asked tentatively.

“Aye, Elros.”

“Could you get dressed, please?”

She lifted her eyebrows and shrugged.  “Well, I would, Elros, but you’re standing between me and my clothes.”  

“Oh.  I’m sorry.”  He turned, eyes still covered, and backed up.  “I’ll just...” He stumbled over an unseen rock and then caught himself, miraculously without dropping his hands.  

“Ah!" he exclaimed in dismay.  "I’ll just stand over here.”  He bumped into a young tree, shaking its leaves above him, and stopped.

Anoriath shook her head and walked to the clothing hanging on a low bush.

“I have to compliment you on your tracking skills, Elros,” she said dryly, pulling off tunic, shirt and leggings warmed by the sun.

He was stunned.  Surely she didn’t think that he had followed her here.  The flush crept down to his neck.  

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She picked up the towel she brought and started drying off her arms.  She chuckled.  “You walked right past my clothes and didn’t even notice.”

“Really?  I guess I must have been preoccupied.” 

Anoriath fell silent as she continued to dry off.  

“Anoriath?”

“Elros.”

“I, uh, your scars are healing nicely.”

Anoriath froze, surprised, and then shook her head again.  So that’s all that had caught his eye.  She exhaled wryly.  Even when she was completely devoid of clothing, men failed to see her as a woman.  She pulled on her shirt.  Well, if humility were good for the soul...  She stepped into her leggings and pulled them up.  Then, after these last few minutes…She tugged sharply at the laces at her neck.  She deserved to travel to Valinor.  

When she didn’t respond, Elros repeated earnestly, “I’m really sorry, Anoriath.”

She picked up her tunic and sighed quietly.  “Don't worry so, Elros.”

She stood, looking at him for a moment, her tunic in her hands.  She was tall for a woman, but he wasn’t that much taller than she was.  Dark shoulder-length hair that he habitually wore tied back at the nape of his neck.  High cheekbones of his Numenorean ancestry.  A neat thin moustache led down the sides of his lips to a short beard, a new addition to his face since they returned from Nurn.  He had a solid but graceful build.  Anoriath snorted softly, recalling Meri's awed reflection that the Ranger's bare chest rivaled that of the Elves as it glistened in the heat of the summer sun when they had picked apples.  His eyes were mercifully hidden behind his hands.  

Anoriath was suddenly very glad that Elros didn’t know that he was just the form of a man that most appealed to her.  She mused dryly; she could be spared that humiliation at least.  He stirred nervously and Anoriath looked down at the fabric in her hands.

“You can open your eyes, Elros.  I’m dressed now.”

She pulled the tunic over her head to give herself a moment before she had to meet his gaze.  When she could see him again, he had dropped his hands and was eyeing her awkwardly.  

“Can I just say how truly sorry I am, Anoriath?”  Elros nervously ran his fingertips across his scalp and scratched the back of his head, his appeal for forgiveness in his eyes.  

She dropped her eyes and grabbed up her belt.  Buckling it, she reassured him distantly, “Again, Elros, it’s fine.”

But her quietness perplexed him and he searched around for some way to apologize further.  “I was headed down here for some time alone, I had no idea…”

She interrupted him, “As had I, Elros.”

He ran his hand over the back of his head again.  “Ah, of course.  I am so sorry, Anoriath.”

Picking up the towel, she rolled it tightly.  “I think I got that point.”

“Ah.  You’re right, I’m sor…”

“Please!  Don’t repeat it.”

He fell silent, simply at a loss, and watched as she tossed the towel into her pack, pulled on her boots, and threw the pack over her shoulder.  

She turned back to him briefly before walking off.  “See you at the Troll,” she called back to him.

Elros raised a hand in response but could think of nothing to say.  

When her form was hidden behind the trees between them, he groaned and moved to the edge of the riverbank.  He abruptly dropped to sitting and bowed his head to his hands.  He had no idea what to think.  Completely and utterly embarrassed.  How ever was he going to meet her eye again?  Idiot!  He should have seen her clothes.  He knew she came down her to be alone.  It’s not like he didn’t know what she was doing when here.  Anoriath's image returned to mind, distracting his thoughts.  It really had been far too long between loves in his life.  And, after all the training they had done in the past month, she was an intriguing combination of muscle and softness that he was unused to in a woman.  

Elros exclaimed in self-disgust, deliberately ending that line of thought.  She was a comrade at arms, the younger sister of his friend, for pity’s sake!  Meet her eye?  How was he ever going to spar with Anoriath again?  Things often got, well, a little intimate during drills.  In all the years that he had known her, it really hadn’t been a problem before.  But now!  He‘d be plagued with images of her suddenly appearing in front of him, springing from the ground as if she were a wood nymph newly born from the soil, the sun dappling her skin and water trailing down… “AaaaahhhHHHHH!”  Elros hit his forehead against his knees.  Now, those thoughts during sparring would all too likely lead to a humiliating experience that he would really rather avoid.  

He stopped and looked up.  Suddenly, the crisp water of the river seemed particularly inviting.  It would clear his head if nothing else.  Elros sprang to his feet and stripped quickly.  Sliding on his feet down the steep riverbank, he plunged head first into the cold water.  

As Anoriath walked, she ruffled her hair with her fingers, shaking out the water and drawing the curls away from her scalp.  She was deeply sorry that the sight of her had so distraught Elros and truly wished that she had been spared seeing his response.  She sighed.  Why was it her fate to spend her life surrounded by beautiful men to whom she would never be more than a friend and when they discovered there was more to her than that, found the view disturbing?  Aye, there had been Aglaran, as fair as any of the elder born, but, for pity's sake, he had been blind.  Anoriath batted at leaves hanging low over the path, grabbed one and, trailing the thin branch behind her, yanked it off.  The branch whipped back through the air and slapped against its neighbor with a snap.

She ripped at the leaf, dropping shreds of it that fell to the ground behind her as she paced swiftly.  She was well aware, through painful experience that their sire’s features played better on Halbarad’s face than on her own.  But was she really so repugnant that the very idea of her being a woman, having the desires of a woman and the flesh of a woman, made the men around her shrink from her? 

The leaves crunched beneath her feet and Anoriath didn’t bother quieting her steps.  She much preferred to listen to the sound of the leaves and smell the musk that rose from them as they were crushed than to hear the thoughts that occupied her mind.  She threw the shredded leaf to the ground, her face grim and determined.  Well, she was what and who she was and she was damned if she was going to try to explain or regret what she could not change.  And if that wasn’t good enough for them, well, they could just…

She pursed her lips and resolutely swallowed her bitterness.  Well, better to know now.  And, besides, what was she doing thinking of another man when her heart still ached for the love she had left behind the walls of Ephel Duath?  Aglaran had died in his attempt to bring her friends and kin to her and Elanna's aid!  What was she thinking?  Well, she had been a bit too free with her feelings about Elros and would need to bring them back into line.  It’s just that he had sought her out and had seemed to truly care about her.  Oh, it didn’t necessarily mean anything, but it hadn’t stopped her from wondering either.  Ah!  She’d been fooled by a man’s friendship and affection before, taking them to mean more than what they were.  

It had certainly been confusing and painful enough that first time and she’d repeated the lesson often enough that she thought she would have learned it by now.  Anoriath snorted at her denseness and kicked at a stone, sending it zinging ahead of her feet.  Well, she had no desire to repeat it yet again and certainly not with a friend of her brother’s.  Whether she willed it or no, Elros would be part of her life for the rest of her life, and she had no desire to feel pain and mortification every time she saw his face.  She kicked the stone again and it ricocheted off the side of a fallen tree with a satisfying crack.  Really, to be honest, what had she been thinking?  It really was for the best after all.

Chapter Three

Later that day

Elanna rode mechanically with just enough tension on the reins to keep Dusul moving forward on the road.  It was only by chance that she was heading north.  It could just as easily have been south, for she had ridden blindly from the inn with no particular direction or destination in mind.  Her only goal was to outrun that hideous moment when she realized how easily she could have taken the nobleman’s life and that, for one terrifyingly joyous moment, she had wanted to.

Elanna had run from her brother’s bewildered anguish into the surrounding woods.  But it was not enough.  Her deed still rode in hunt of her like a hound chasing down the smell of its prey's fear.  Like a fox run to ground, she had found herself in the stable, feverishly saddling Dusul, panicked that she would be discovered before she could escape.  She made it off the grounds without being stopped, but it meant little, for her flight was inevitably futile.  Soon the dread hound snapped at her heels and she was powerless to either run fast enough or halt its pursuit.  She could not help but remember.

Time drew itself out slowly, and for that imperceptible second as Elanna leapt between child and towering man it was Parcus who had ridden onto The Burping Troll grounds on that beautiful golden horse.  It was her own face about to be struck, had been struck.  It was Parcus' arrogance that loomed over her, not some stranger in noble dress.  The desire for retribution, nay, for revenge, flew shrieking from the darkened corners in her mind.  Her mind screamed for her to strike the blows that she had been denied in Nurn while her heart cried out for forbearance.  Not like this!  But beneath it all, a voice whispered in her mind’s ear, softly insidious, murmuring words that hovered just below understanding, words she was unaccountably afraid to understand. 

Under their combined blows, she had teetered helplessly on the precipice of action.  Poised to strike but unable to act, Elanna was unsure of what finally tipped the balance and stayed her hand.  It could have been the wide awe-filled eyes of the girl as she scrambled back to the safety of her family.  Or it might have even been the distinct flicker of fear in the man’s eyes as his chin hung on the tip of her blade.  But in the end, at least in her mind, the reason mattered not. It had clearly not been a conscious act to choose.

The hunger for his death loomed large in her mind.  It had so nearly overwhelmed her will and only the uncertain intervention of chance had stilled the slash of its sharp teeth.  Though she might flee, she could not escape that knowledge and it battered into her in the rhythm of Dusul’s hooves striking the dirt road.  You almost killed him.  You wanted to kill him.  You almost killed him.  You wanted to kill him.  

These words she understood with a painful clarity that pounded into her skull.  But the unintelligible, sibilant whisper still trailed cold fingers down her spine.  Elanna trembled, frightened to admit that she had heard them, that she had understood them.  Dusul, missing the steady guidance of her hand on his reins, slowed his pace as the battle within her raged.  Surrendering, Elanna added the final member of the trinity she had been avoiding.  

You should have killed him.  You should have killed him.  A violent shudder shook her from head to toe.  The reins fell slack from her nerveless hands.  How had she been so helpless, so controlled by his voice?  Why didn't I kill him?  

Dusul, sensitive companion to his mistress, shook his mane restlessly at the odd motion from his rider.  He could not know the reasons behind the strange slackness in the reins that connected them but recognized that she had let her control of him slip away.  At this point, his years of training dictated that he was to stop and wait.

Elanna sat loosely in her saddle, her mouth agape in disbelief, and the sudden cessation of movement beneath her unnoticed.  She was no stranger to the spilling of blood in the name of justice.  Had she not helped defend the home station from orcs to the best of her ability more than once?  Had she not been a member of the party that rode from The Burping Troll with Tempus to rescue Meri and the boy, Rolfe, from Deuce and his band of mercenaries.  Had she not learned the price of freedom?  She was no innocent.  Despite their best efforts, a life had been lost in the successful rescue.  Tempus Thales would never walk the lands of his own world again.  And for one of their own, the budding flower of friendship withered ere it came to bloom. For Elanna, it was lesson in the price of duty.  She had slain her first man. 

Even though lost as she was in the chaos of things remembered and things not, Elanna was certain that she had derived not one jot of pleasure in the taking of a life, be it orc or man.  Not even in Nurn, when she had spitted one of the raiders who sought to take her captive.  Even though she had just watched them kill the woman who had freely shared her hearth and heart with her, Melin.  Her friend.  The act of bringing death among them had brought her no pleasure.  

But today . . . today, when she had held Bob’s sword to the neck of that arrogant man, a black joy, completely foreign to her nature, had filled her heart.  In her mind… Oh sweet Eru… in her mind she heard a fell voice tenderly goading her, ‘Kill him.  Kill him.  Make him pay.’'

It was this voice that she could not reveal to Bob.  It was her own voice, no one else's.  That voice drew its bitter power from shadowed memories of Nurn.  She could try to pretend it did not exist, that insidious voice that whispered, velvety soft, in her mind’s ear that it was too late.  Parcus' touch had warped her soul and she had become just like him.  She had become distorted beyond redemption.  Even at this moment, it wove its silken misgivings in amongst the warp of rational thought until the two were so tightly interwoven they could scarce be unwound anew.

Though bright sun slipped through the golden canopy and played in bright coins on the road, the trees, heavens above and dirt below her faded in her eyes into a winter twilight haze.  Elanna’s hands curled themselves into empty fists and each breath after breath forced itself painfully from her lungs.  A murky black void opened before her, welcoming her with its cold silence.  The safe place, the dark place where Celebsul had found her when he braved the shattered ruin of her mind before bringing her home.  The place she had promised him she would never visit again.  But still it beckoned, promising sweet relief.  Celebsul was far away and her torment was more than she could bear.

An irresistible tide pulled at her, coaxing her into the ebony pool of forgetfulness.  Elanna drew a sharp breath, struggling and shifting in her saddle.  No, she had promised.  Frantically she searched her mind for the solid ground she would find in the gifted memories of Valinor.  To her dismay, she couldn't find them, touch them, feel them.  Her only anchor was nowhere to be found and her grasp weakened.  No longer possessing the strength to fight the current, the ebbing cold, black tide sucked at her, sweeping her away from light, touch, and sound.  She drifted, blessed numbness creeping in, promising to seal away the pain.

With an abrupt sickening wrench, the next thing she knew, she was flat on her back.  Elanna sucked in a breath through compressed lungs and groaned softly.  Ah!  Her back hurt and her calf burned and she hadn‘t the faintest idea how she had come to be stretched out on the hard packed road.  Collecting herself, Elanna slowly opened her eyes until blue met keen, lupine yellow, the latter set in a large, shaggy, and softly panting face.  A moist nose pressed insistently against her cheek.  For the life of her, Elanna could not remember what she had been doing or thinking before her completely unexpected and rather abrupt dismount.

Warg pulled back, cocking her head and examining the girl.  Her great, fanged jaws gaped, allowing the dark pink tongue to loll wetly to one side while the lips pulled back in a silly grin.  An expression that seemed out of place for the circumstances, but then, repentant, contrite expressions were just not in the animal’s repertoire. 

“Sorry,” Warg apologized as she settled back on her haunches.  “I didn’t mean to hurt you or make you fall.”

Ah, the picture of events was becoming a bit clearer now.  Elanna raised her head to find Dusul a short distance down the road, staring back at them reproachfully.  

“So I didn’t jump off or get thrown,“ Elanna guessed.  “Or did I?  Get thrown that is, or just fall?”

“Let me help you up first,“ the Warg answered inexplicably as she lowered her bulk to her belly at Elanna’s side. 

Elanna buried one hand in the thick ruff of fur at Warg’s neck while she used the other to push on the ground as Warg carefully sat up.  The effort made her a little dizzy and Elanna leaned on the animal’s shoulder.  But the faintness quickly passed.  When it did, Elanna took quick stock of her physical condition.  No broken bones or profuse bleeding anywhere.  It would seem that she only suffered minor bumps and bruises in addition to having the wind knocked out of her and not too many of these at that.  The bruising of her dignity could not be counted as a true wound, but it was there nonetheless and Elanna eyed Warg skeptically.  But wait, there was the unexplained scratch in her calf. 

Elanna pulled her leg up closer to inspect the laceration.  A nice long single scrape, but was not too deep and what little bleeding there was had stopped already.  It did look as though it would need a good cleaning at some point though.  Elanna raised her eyes to her saddle.  Ah, there it was, her water skin, exactly where it should be and completely out of her reach at the moment.  Time enough for that later.  Right now what she really wanted to know is why she fell and how she cut her leg. 

She returned her gaze to Warg, waiting expectantly.  Moment after moment passed as she held the Warg’s golden eyes without a word.  The girl cocked one brow in an unspoken question.  Still nothing.

“Well?” Elanna finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Umm, well what?” Warg returned with a deceptively innocent air.

Elanna shook her head and pointed to her wounded leg.  “You don't happen to know how I came by this, do you?” she asked.

“Ohhhh, that!” Warg exclaimed and that irrepressible, silly grin spread across her jaws.  The animal's keen ears had caught the slight lilt of dry amusement in the girl’s voice.

“Yes, that.  I mean this,” Elanna corrected herself, smiling.  The fearsome beast was no more than a child sometimes, suspending punishment by her disavowal of knowledge of transgression before she was assured of her forgiveness.  At any moment, Elanna expected the warg to start scuffing her paw in the dirt.  She did not, though she did bat her eyes most winningly at the girl.  This comical sight almost made Elanna laugh.  Almost.

Sensing the melancholy returning, Warg dropped her playful stance.

“You left without me and in a hurry," Warg warned, suddenly serious.  "By the time I caught up to you, it looked like you were sleeping in the saddle with your eyes open.  Your horse was about as awake as you were” Warg explained matter-of-factly.  "I only meant to shake your leg to wake you up, but it must have spooked your horse.  You fell when he jerked away from me, the silly animal."  Warg stole a sly look at Dusul who snorted in reply.  "And I think," Warg continued returning her cool gaze to the mount's mistress, "perhaps, you caught your leg in my tooth.”

Elanna shook her head tolerantly at Warg’s explanation.  It made sense, except for sleeping with her eyes open.  Again, Elanna tried to recall what she had been thinking or doing before she fell.  But she came up with nothing but a dark hole that made her shiver when she peered into it.  Whatever she was thinking, it must not have been good.  Probably better to let that memory remain blank. ‘And why not,’ she thought ironically, ‘there are so many things I don’t remember, what’s one more.’ 

Elanna stood gingerly and slowly stretched to see if she could discern any injury she might have missed at first glance.  A few steps allayed her worries.  She walked to Warg and reached out to scratch the beast in that favored spot behind her ears.  Warg dropped her lids in bliss from the attention; content in the knowledge that all was forgiven.

“I know you meant no harm Wargy,” Elanna said kindly.  “I wish I could tell you why I was . . . sleeping… but I’m not sure myself.”

A musical whisper drifted gently through her consciousness.  ‘Use only those for your retreats, my friend; never, never go again to that dark place where I found you.  Promise me, Elanna.’  A shiver ran through her.  ‘Is that what almost happened?’ she thought.  Though she could not recall doing so, somewhere in her heart, she knew she had come very close to breaking that vow.

“Umm, would you mind getting this off of me please,” Warg asked.

Elanna gazed at her in puzzlement until Warg reluctantly relinquished her soothing scratch and turned.  A bundle had been securely strapped at the base of the beast's humped neck.  The leather strips that bound it all but disappeared into the animal’s coarse coat.  A package wrapped in a curiously familiar cloth.  It was of a color and weave similar to the Ranger cloaks, rather like the one Elanna had left behind in her haste. As she worked the tight knots, Elanna discovered why the one resembled the other.  It was none other than her own cloak that enclosed the package's contents.

“The hobbits saw you riding away.  Belegalda said not to follow you, which Bob and Halbarad were none too happy about.”  With her wry tone, Warg deliberately played down the men’s reaction.  She didn’t think Elanna needed to know that it had taken the combined efforts of Belegalda and Celebsul to keep the men from riding out after her.  

“You know hobbits, Meri and Erin were sure that you would starve within minutes if you missed your tea this afternoon.  So when Belegalda told me to catch up with you, as per our bargain,” Warg drawled, eyeing Elanna reproachfully, “the hobbits had me wait.”

A slight blush rose in Elanna's cheeks as she knelt and opened the cloak.  Of her own free will she had agreed to the condition of Warg as chaperone in order to ride outside the grounds of the Troll.  But, she had been so upset when she left the inn, she hadn’t thought about the fact that she was breaking her part of the bargain.  Tears stung her eyes when she pulled aside the folds of her cloak to reveal its contents.

Her saddlebags had been wrapped in the sturdy material and inside them she found food, a packet with tea, her fire kit and a small pot for water.  Her friends had thought of everything.  She even found a small tart, carefully wrapped and securely placed in the pot to keep it from being smashed.

“Well, are we going back, eating or riding?” Warg wanted to know.

Wiping her nose abruptly on her sleeve, Elanna strode to Dusul and threaded the straps of her bags to the saddle.  She glanced down the road to the south, the direction of home.  The feelings that had sent her hurtling away from the Troll stirred vaguely.  She was not ready to go back just yet.  With the last buckle fastened, she answered the warg.

“I’m riding,” Elanna announced as she swung herself back up in the saddle.  A slight twinge in her leg reminded her that she would have to deal with that scratch soon, but not right now.  “What about you?”

Warg grinned; her capacity to roam was very rarely matched by mortal or immortal and she, too, was not ready to return.

“I’ll race you!” Warg called out over her shoulder as she leapt to her feet and bounded off ahead of Elanna.

“You’re on!” Elanna shouted and tapped her heels into Dusul’s side.

Chapter Four

Early the next morning

Elros awoke to the sound of a soft snort.  Blinking his eyes, he rubbed his face and yawned.  In his sleep-befuddled mind, the rough prickle and soft slide of hair along his chin surprised him.  Oh, aye, he should probably trim his beard this morning.  Maybe he could sneak in a hot bath and shave before tea.  Such thoughts wandered aimless through the field of his consciousness as his eyelids slowly closed.  He could easily fall back asleep if undisturbed.  

"Awake finally?"  

Elros' eyes blinked fully open.  He turned at the question to find Halbarad sitting half-dressed on the edge of his bed, facing him as he pulled on his socks.  Faint morning sun trickled through the window, casting soft streams of light between them.  

Elros frowned, perplexed, as he stretched his arms above his pillow and yawned.  Cocooned beneath the covers, he was warm and content.  Usually, he threw off his blankets and greeted the day briskly.  But this morning, his bed was especially inviting and he felt reluctant to meet the slight chill of the air that would greet him, so he lingered undisturbed for a little.  Glancing at Halbarad, he found his friend and captain grinning at him fit to crack his face open.  What was going on?

Halbarad gave a dry chuckle as he leaned over and nabbed his tunic by the sleeve and pulled it off the back of the chair.

"So?"  Halbarad asked slowly, drawing out his amusement.  He turned the hem about to orient the article of clothing appropriately before pulling it on.  "Who was it this time?"  He stopped with the material gathered in his hands and winked at Elros.  

Elros threw him a puzzled look and turned on his shoulder to face him more fully.  "What do you mean?"

Halbarad chuckled and replied, struggling to make his lips form the words through his grin, "You were dreaming, Elros."

Elros blinked.  "I was?" he finally asked.  He thought back but met only the soft wall of slumber.

Halbarad snorted and drew the cloth over his head, muffling the chuckles that followed as he eased his arms through the sleeves.  Once he pulled the neck over his head, his brows twitched mischievously and he answered, "Oh, most definitely, my friend," and chuckled.

"What?" demanded Elros, half-annoyed at his friend's deliberate inscrutability.

Halbarad laughed at Elros' discomfiture and pulled the tunic in place before leaning over to drag a boot to him.

"What?"  Elros demanded again, pulling himself up on his elbow to glare at the softly laughing man across from him.

"You were moaning."  Halbarad was absolutely delighted not to be the only adult male at The Burping Troll whose nightly wanderings through half formed desires frustrated him.  

Elros stared at him blankly a second.  He blinked, thinking, and then plopped back down to the soft surface of his bed.  He stared at the ceiling, his brows puckering mightily in effort to pull memories from beneath the heavy blanket of sleep.  What had he been dreaming?

A dull thud came from across the room as Halbarad pushed his foot to the bottom of his boot and thumped the heel against the wooden floor.

"So," Halbarad repeated, "who was it this time?  Sira, perhaps?"

Elros snorted.  "Nay, I don't think so!" he retorted sharply.  Though the woman at the Whistling Dog may have been generous with her blandishments during their time in Henneth Annun, the brightly colored hair and glittering eyes hinted at sharp edges that put him off.  Let Bob enjoy her attentions.  He'd have none of it.  Elros returned to examining the contents of his mind.  Aye, there was something.  What was it?  A wispy fragment dangled tantalizing in a corner of his conscious thought.  Something to do with water.  

'Oh!' 

To Halbarad's delight, a faint blush crept across Elros' cheek as he stared at the beams in the ceiling.  Elros pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and groaned.  'Oh no!'

"Nay, my friend, it didn't sound quite like that."  Halbarad laughed.  "It was more like…" and he forced himself to stop laughing to emit a low moan before dissolving into laughter again.

Elros grimaced and suddenly whipped his pillow across the room to catch Halbarad in the face.  Halbarad just chuckled and caught the pillow before it hit the floor and dropped it to his own bed.

Elros let out a disgusted and annoyed breath and lay back on his bed while Halbarad thumped into his second boot and stood to wrap his belt about him and drag a comb through his hair.  Elros was fully awake now but only dimly aware of his friend's movements in their shared room.  His humiliation compelled him to try to recall as much of the dream as he could.  Elros raked his fingers through his hair and scratched the back of his head.  It had started with a sparring session.  He froze, eyes wide.  But, it certainly hadn't ended there.  Somehow, for some reason, they had ended up in the river, water splashing in bright droplets about them as they grappled and swung at each other.  And then, suddenly, there were no weapons involved and they struggled in each other's grip in a much different manner.

The horrified look on Elros' face drew another chuckle from across the room.

Elros glanced up at Halbarad and grimaced, frankly annoyed now.  In his irritation, he blurted without thinking, "If you must know, Halbarad, it was your sister."

Halbarad choked, laughing and coughing at the same time as he crossed the room.  

"You and Anoriath?" he finally spluttered, his face red with the effort of clearing his throat.  "That's a good one, El!"  He suddenly threw his pants at his friend and Elros caught them before they hit his chest.

"Get up, El!"  Halbarad commanded, grinning as he headed for the door.  "I can tell you from personal experience that loosing yourself in a day full of hard work is the only thing that can provide a modicum of relief."  

Elros sat up, returning Halbarad's final grin as he disappeared out the door with a sour look that would have curdled milk.  

Elros turned slowly and eased himself out from under the covers.  He sighed.  Aye, well, hard work might help after all.  But he wasn't sure there was anything that would help his embarrassment this morning when he would have to greet Anoriath downstairs.  

Chapter Five

Fall at The Burping Troll

The days had grown decidedly shorter and the sun had softened its rays to that golden mellow light that seemed to make time stand still.  Autumn's last blaze of color surrounded The Burping Troll before the winds of winter storms stripped the trees bare.  Burnished gold, copper and crimson leaves hung fluttering precariously from their branches while their windblown comrades rested in a bright mosaic carpet about the tall russet and silver columns of the forest.  

The garden was nearly bare, stripped of its summer bounty and the soil turned over and allowed to rest until spring.  Ropy tendrils wound their olive fingers into fat globes of winter squash.  Squat, heavy gourds of gray-green, pumpkin, and soft melon yellows contributed their flesh to soups, stews and pies and their rinds for baskets and small containers.  A few brave fall flowers spread their petals in a last hurrah as if they knew they had little time left.  For though the days were still warm, night swooped in swiftly over the far peaks of the Ephel Duath.  Under the moon, the night air hung heavy with silver mist and a loamy musk of decaying leaves.  Soon those last hardy flowers would succumb to the sharp-toothed rain that often crept in on silent paws before dawn.   

Cool evenings and even cooler nights had not gone unnoticed by the inn’s residents.  Though the sun may banish the chill vapors of night from The Burping Troll grounds, once it surrendered the heavens to tiny points of cold light, a moist chill crawled out from the eaves of the forest.  No longer was the evening libation sipped out on the open porch to the hum of twilight insects.  Friends and guests escaped the chill indoors, gathering in the common room that welcomed them with a crackling blaze in the large, stone fireplace.  The comfort of familiar faces, warm feet and a cool drink were cherished as never before behind doors that shut out the night.

With the coming of fall the weeks passed and slowly but surely, as memory of weary travels and dire adventures began to fade, The Burping Troll residents fell back into old, familiar routines.  The hobbits Meri and Erin tended to the Inn, its patrons and residents, mothering all whom came within their reach and bribing willing elves into the more onerous cleaning duties with toffeed nuts.  Milo and Camellia divided their time between their duties and their courtship, and their spring wedding plans of course.  Celebsul returned to his workshop to divide his time between patient crafting of wood and his young elven apprentices.  Sevilodorf, much to Halbarad's deep dismay, not only resumed traveling with only Dream as a companion between The Burping Troll and the surrounding settlements, but also extended her travels far to the South.  After several days of tense words and even tighter silences, she left for Pelargir under the watchful eyes of Aerio.  "On business" she said, but fooled no one.  The polite fiction merely kept their delight at her attachment to their friend Anardil in the southern port town unspoken.  

As for the Rangers, the men resumed their normal duties.  Patrols ventured wide, for though Parcus and the majority of his followers were dead or in custody, others of their ilk still roamed with evil in their hearts, and The Burping Troll had attracted their share in the past.  Anoriath was restricted from the wide perimeter runs while she healed from her wounds sustained in Nurn.  She acquiesced more easily than her brother would have predicted.  

But when Halbarad kept the restriction up because of her 'condition,' Anoriath was fit to be tied.  When she found her voice after stammering a moment in astonishment, the ensuing argument was heard all the way to the elves' haven.  Feet stomped across the floors, doors were not slammed with trenchant care, fingers were pointed, hands were firmly planted atop hips, and voices were raised.  And while no one knew what the fuss was about, it prompted a number of relieved smiles and pointed shakings of heads.  The siblings were clearly at it again; a relief after Anoriath's long grim silence.  Tempers flared and points were argued vigorously, but peace was made without any lingering upset or damage to the love shared by brother and sister.  A compromise was reached; Anoriath could ride the short patrols but only until Yule, or until her body protested, whichever came first.  Halbarad was betting on her body, Elros and Bob on Yule.  

The next argument over riding was not so easily settled, however for Elanna had not found the healing of mind and spirit that Anoriath had.  As Belegalda had discerned back in Nurn, Elanna’s elvish blood helped her body to heal more quickly than a mortal would.  But the healing of her mind had not come with it.  So Halbarad, Bob and the other Rangers were reluctant to let her ride for pleasure, much less ride for duty.  And to Elanna's chagrin, she did not find an ally in her sister-Ranger, who agreed to these restrictions, even as she chafed under her own.  

After a particularly heated debate, it was finally decided that she would be allowed to ride, but not for duty and only as long as she had Warg to accompany her.  Elanna acquiesced under vocal protest until after the first ride with Warg.  The great animal existed solely in the here and now, any attempts at conversation she directed towards the girl concerned sights and scents of the moment.  The smell of the earth as the autumn sun warmed it; the satisfying crunch of rusty leaves underfoot.  Warg asked no uncomfortable questions, neither coddled nor cautioned her, or paid heed if darker moods took hold.  Elanna protested no more, to her surprise taking some measure of comfort in the Warg’s presence.

Of the immortal folk, Pippin and the elven brethren, secure in the return of their youngest kin, Belegalda, had removed to the woods southwest of the inn.  With the return of Azaelia with her family and Gilraen and Rilith from Mirkwood, the Troll fairly burst with elves.  One could not turn about without hearing their liquid tongue, tripping over still, lithe forms, or falling into long, complex discussions of the properties of metals used by Celebrimbor's folk in the Second Age.  Nor could the elves find the solitude that they required for restful contemplation.  And solitude they needed, in larger portions it seemed than before lately, their faces turned inward in a wistful contemplation that baffled their mortal friends.  It took little thought to conclude that the elves needed their own residence, a place of their own in which they could craft that fine balance of community and time alone, sunlit beauty and gleaming stars, and shelter and living forest that was so uniquely theirs.  Here, at least, they could love and be at peace in Middle-earth, for a short time. 

The new haven of their elven friends was built at an astonishing pace.  The speed was in large part due to the assistance of their newest neighbor, Russ the Beorning, his friend the diminutive Uruk-hai Nik, and the small local band of rehabilitated orcs.  The involvement of the last excited some skepticism among the elves.  Elven architecture with its gentle marriage of Nature and function and the orcish idea of beauty did not seem a likely mix to many.  However, Gubbitch asserted that he and his lads had learned how to make things “reet pretty-like” when they helped build Russ’s lodge on the edge of the Wetwang.  The throat clearing hack and sideways discharge of its contents that followed that pronouncement did little to reassure and more than one eyebrow was raised in response, but Celebsul and Esgallyg just smiled patiently and insisted that the orcs be allowed to help.  

Despite their misgivings, soon several small homes lay scattered through the secluded wood behind the Troll, blending into the surrounding forest as if they had been laid down as acorns and only now sprung up from the ground in full maturity.  A casual eye might indeed miss some structures among the trees.  All centered on a sweet green glade and a small hall, similar in design to the Hall of Fire in Rivendell.  Mighty towers of oak held aloft the roof and the long swaying branches of the grandfather willow curtained the windows.  A lively little stream ran on brisk feet through the hall and danced about the roots of the grand old tree, playing its ever-changing song for those who wished to listen.  The name of their new home-place, the elves declared, would be Woodhaven, or Erynlond in the Sindarin tongue.

Visits between the Beorning Lodge that lay mid-way between the Troll and the Wetwang were more frequent during the building, but quickly tapered off when the elven homes were finished.  For Russ was ready to re-claim his privacy again.  Not that the big man minded the company so much.  If truth be told, he rather enjoyed it.  It was just that he might have enjoyed it more in smaller doses and with more space between visits.  As he met all the folk of The Burping Troll and learned just how many there were, he came to appreciate the solitude of his lodge even more.  He found the hobbit lasses to be, well, hobbit lasses, and as anyone who has ever met a hobbit lass could tell, that was always a bit overwhelming.  But he appreciated their interest in his cooking and was even persuaded to share a few of his closely guarded recipes, which were quickly adopted by the excited Troll cooks.  In return, smoked trout mysteriously appeared on the menu more than once, and Russ found himself well recompensed for his stolen solitude.  

Russ found his love of time alone reflected in unexpected places, as well.  It took time before Russ came to meet Sevilodorf, and even longer to get to know her.  But, over time, he found he that liked the Rohirrim's no-nonsense attitude and the dry sense of humor it hid.  Upon hearing that she too was a healer, he extended an invitation to her and their elven healer, Belegalda.  Both were welcome to gather any herbs or medicinal plants that grew near the lodge.  The two thanked him for his offer but protested that they did not want to intrude on his privacy, a precious commodity which was well known that he treasured as he took great care to mention it as often as he could work it into the conversation. 

Nik, the under-sized Uruk-hai that followed on Russ' heels wherever he went, grinned slyly and added that they could always send Warg ahead to let Russ know they were coming.  A quick look at Nik and Russ promptly informed them that such would not be necessary, as he always knew when anyone was about upon his lands.  Grimm the squirrel scampered up Russ' back, chattering shrilly at Nik in agreement.  

"Always?"  Nik had asked, peering cautiously up at the great man.  Russ had nodded slowly.  "Even when…” Nik started to ask, but his voice died away under the influence of Russ' stern gaze.

"You are supposed to be planting hedges?" Russ finished.  "Yes."

Grimm may have given Nik a sound scolding and the orc's face may have turned a deep shade of red, but the irrepressible Warg gave a toothy grin.  She was a warg after all, and Nik was a warg rider.  It was merely a matter of getting his priorities straight.  From where she was sitting, Nik was doing just fine in that department.  Nik took every spare opportunity for a quick ride.  Not that she had any complaints, she enjoyed them every bit as much as the little Uruk did.  At Warg's smug grin, Russ let out a great bellow of laughter, startling the poor little orc with its force.  Russ knew what thoughts were running through Nik's mind and a small matter of explanation mended Sevilodorf and Belegalda's confusion.  Ultimately, the invitation was accepted.  

Russ hadn't had as many dealings with the Rangers as he had with the other peoples represented by the Troll residents and friends.  Prior to removing to the South, he had met one now and again when he and the others of his kind had fought to keep the High Pass through the Misty Mountains open.  They were a good folk, though a little stern and duty-bound.  Elros was a good enough fellow, it seemed, when he had come to welcome the Beorning in the name of the King and stayed to lend a hand with building his lodge.  The Rangers at The Burping Troll seemed a little grimmer than their northern fellows.  True, they were polite though not as affable as those he had been accustomed to.  Then again, it was more than likely that their dourness was a result of their recent ordeal in Nurn.

Once it had been completed, Russ had sat in the new hall with the elves as Celebsul recounted the grim dealings in Nurn.  To think that so much evil could come from one of the Fair Folk was almost impossible to believe, but so Parcus had proved to be.  The big man would never have put credence to such a tale but for the integrity of the elves who told it.

He had also seen the young peredhil Ranger they had brought back with them, she who had suffered so at Parcus' hands.  Though her torment remained unspoken, the hurt was clear.  For shutting out dark memory included utterly casting off the name of her youth and young womanhood.  She reminded him of a wounded fawn he had once nursed.  Wolves had orphaned the fawn and only reluctantly relinquished it to the might of the giant bear.  The small, fragile animal's eyes had been wide with terror of the wolves, its missing mother, and the pain of its own wounds.  Only when Russ returned to human form had he been able to coax the young animal into his arms and take it home to nurse it to health and raise it to maturity.  It had taken days before the animal trusted the world enough to venture away from the safety of his lodge.  But Peredhil were not fawn, and Russ wondered how long it would take for this young, wounded creature to regain her trust.

So it was that, after they returned to the farm and he could do so in private, Nik informed him that the girl had stayed overnight with Warg as company and guard.  It was the same day Elanna had protected the young girl from the fist of a nobleman, when she had fled on her horse and not returned to the Troll until the next day.  The next morning, to her surprise, Elanna had found the meadow filled with beehives.  The thrumming of the great bees had been stilled with the setting of the sun and thus unknown to her until they awoke with the warmth of the dawn.  She must have liked it because she returned time and time again, staying the night more than once.  Though those left behind at the Troll trusted the great beast, it was a nerve-racking night before Warg was able to set everyone's mind at rest.  She had led the girl to Russ' land knowing it to be the safest place and Elanna seemed to find some peace there.  

Later, Russ decided to check for himself that no harm was being done.  Watching, all he found was that the girl would sit or sometimes lie in the midst of the hives.  Her mind seemed to roam elsewhere while she rested.  Though none could tell, she sometimes let herself drift amid borrowed memories of ancient Valinor's shining Trees, visions of timeless peace and beauty that Celebsul had gifted to her when he and Belegalda first worked to heal her battered body in Nurn.  The bees accepted her and their humming seemed to bring her something she needed, so Russ didn’t ask her to stay away.  At his word, the animals would keep watch through the night along with the warg who never left her.  After the first time, Nik took to joining Warg in her vigil.  After clarifying that the Beorning had no objection, Belegalda felt that, if it helped her, Elanna should be allowed to continue, and so she did.

Chapter Six

Late October
Midday

Anoriath sat on the floor of the back patio of the Troll, her hands deep in a bucket of clay and her legs dangling off the edge.  The weather was turning cool and she had decided to find a spot where the early afternoon sun streamed across the back of the inn.  The mud made a sloppy, sucking noise as she ripped handfuls from the wet mass.  She sat back up and kicked her heels, raising her face to the warm sun.  The clay cooled her fingers as she squished lumps of softened gloppy soil in her hands, easing lumps apart and different textures into one before the clay would be left to dry, pounded and then sifted.  A rock pricked against the palm of her hand.  Her feet stilled momentarily as Anoriath concentrated on digging it out of the elastic clay before she flicked it into the yard.  The small stone arced briefly through the air and settled in the grass, the blades quickly stilling after its fall.

Distant sounds of hammer and saw drifted around the corner to her left and confirmed that progress was being made on the pottery shed.  Bob had begged for Celebsul's help as soon as they had returned to the inn, desperate to find things to occupy Elanna's mind and hands as she beat back shadows of memory.  So the plans had been quickly drawn before Aerio left to accompany Sevilodorf on her journey to Pelargir.  Now that Celebsul and his remaining apprentice had deciphered their friend's intent, the Rangers were making short work of the small structure with their help.  Last Anoriath had seen this morning, the main work of framing the building was complete and the walls were fast taking shape.  

With Belegalda's patient help yesterday, Anoriath had found a vein of whitish clay in the side of a hill above the stream that wound about the Troll's grounds.  They had hauled the heavy buckets back to the Troll where they sat covered deep in the cool shadows of the cellar.  As a result, the soil was cold to the touch, making Anoriath grateful for the spill of sunlight that warmed her.  Dropping the ball of clay to the bottom of a second bucket with a moist-sounding splat, Anoriath dug her hands deep into the clay and pulled out another large handful.  Soon, the repetitive, squelching massage of fingers in damp earth and the warmth of the sun lulled her mind into stillness.  

She lifted her face and closed her eyes to the sunlight, feeling its heady shafts of light kiss her eyelashes warmly.  The corner of Anoriath's lips twitched, amused.  It was moments like this, when she felt at peace, that she could feel Aglaran just a hand's breadth away, smiling in mischievous delight.  Fire, wind and water, she found him in all these things, as capriciously playful as the elements in which he now resided.  Anoriath blinked her eyes open and resolutely focused them upon the clay in her hands.

Ever at odds with her contentment, she sighed and pensively rolled the sticky clay between her hands into a smooth ball.  Much to her chagrin, her brother had placed Anoriath’s activities on heavy restrictions once he discovered her pregnancy.  She grimaced sharply.  She hated feeling useless and sedentary.  

All she'd been able to do was search, hunt, and fight.  This was what she did.  Even as a young child, she had pestered her brother with pleas to be allowed a role in his mock battles during their free hours.  For lack of a better playmate, he had relented.  They had roamed the woods about their family's home, jumping out from behind trees and rocks in ambush, whacking at each other with makeshift swords and aiming at their backs with bows and arrows made from stripped branches and stolen twine.  Grateful to be included, Anoriath had first consented to play every evil foe from orc, to barrow-wight, to black-winged bat.  But she finally grew tired of lying on the forest floor, the vanquished foe beneath her brother's soft-soled boot and tackled him, pounding on him until he consented to a reversal in roles occasionally.  

When not thrashing each other, they could be found winding their way through forests of tall legs clad in the dark green and brown wool of their father's company.  Hips turned to open a path and amused gray eyes followed them as their captain's young son searched keenly for a good vantage point with his sister tripping on his heels behind him.  They watched the sparring with wide eyes, absorbing the blows that fell as if their own bodies had been the one struck.  Though her brother's presence had opened doors to the world of men, even when alone, she had climbed trees, wormed through back alleys and splashed through streams until her mother threw up her hands in exasperated shock at the sight of her young daughter's scratched skin, ripped dresses and tangled hair.  And now here she was, a full-grown woman sitting in the sun and playing with mud.  

Though, Anoriath sighed, perhaps she should accommodate herself to more sedate activities.  'Wouldn't her mother be happy now?'  Anoriath smirked ruefully.  She had resisted all those years of very vocal maternal disapproval only to be abruptly put in her place by a swelling belly that steadily slowed her down and put her to sleep at regular intervals.  Anoriath snorted.  That is, in whatever time she had left between visits to the privy.  Not that she wasn't slowly coming to enjoy being pregnant.  In fact, she often lay awake at night in the deeply solitary comfort of her bed, staring out at the moon, alert to any inner fluttering that tickled deep inside, her hands resting spread across her belly and her mind wondering.  

What would he look like, this son of hers?  He'd have dark hair of both mother and father, tall and long of limb, no doubt, with the ears of his elven parentage.  But, what would his eyes look like, light blue or dark and open into the vast cold spaces beyond the world?  Would she recognize him?  Would she see her mother, father, or her brother Halbarad in him?  What lost mysteries of Parcus' past would he reveal in his child's face and form?  Or would his son be a completely new soul and not carry any of the history from which he came?  She knew not.  

She dropped the muddy ball into the bucket and grabbed up another handful of wet clay.  It smelled ripely of rain and fresh-turned earth as she squeezed it in her hands.  However had Elanna not come to question her change in dress and activity?  Anoriath shook her head slightly, her wits deep in perplexing thought and her fingers deep in sticky earth.  The young Ranger could tolerate no reminders of Nurn and that dark Elf that had held her captive.  Surely, her fragile mind would break if Elanna had to see the signs of Parcus' handiwork for what they were staring at her from across the breakfast table every morning.  Anoriath sighed and wiped an errant wrist against her forehead, leaving behind a thin trail of grime.  Soon the truth would be evident to even Elanna; easily seen no matter how lose the clothes Anoriath might choose to wear and no longer so easily denied.  

She owed Elanna whatever the young Ranger needed to heal.  But, they had grown more distant over the weeks of fall.  Anoriath scowled lightly in confusion, at a loss to explain the response she had received from the young Ranger when she had attempted to bridge that gap.  Elanna's anger, she understood.  But, at times it seemed that the girl's look was tinged with a confused disgust.  Anoriath shook her head again, pressing her lips into a spare line.  She was doing the girl no good and was likely to do her only more harm.  She obviously couldn't stay at The Burping Troll much longer, not and spare Elanna further hurt.  But the alternatives were decidedly thin.  

Anoriath snorted, suddenly amused.  She hadn't told her mother of her pregnancy as yet, either.  Most likely she'd get back a wearily shocked reply.  Anoriath grinned wryly.  After giving her mother such grief for so many years, it would be only just if the child she carried were of a contrary temperament.  It would serve her right if he were so gentle and pacific-natured that horse, weapon and battle held no interest for him.  Well, perhaps that would even be for the best.  Hopefully, too, she'd let him be whatever he wanted and not try to shape him after her own image as her own mother had attempted so many years ago.

The soft clay oozed squeaking between her fingers.  The mud squelched wetly as she tugged her hands apart.  She scraped the heavy clay back into her palms and rubbed a hard lump apart.  Working it into the softer soil in her hand, Anoriath caught a glimpse of a figure swiftly rounding the corner to her left only to hesitate suddenly and draw back.  Without looking up, Anoriath shook her head, wryly irritated.  It was Elros.  He must not have expected her to be there.

Ever since he had happened upon her in the woods after bathing in the river, the poor man had been avoiding her.  Usually quiet but calmly confident and self-contained, he now stammered when forced to address her.  The morning of the next day had been especially awkward.  He had blushed faintly and barely stuttered out a greeting when she had walked in on him pouring his first cup of tea in the common room.  He fled to the porch steps immediately after and she had let him. 

Eru knew she didn't wish to exacerbate the situation, but his irresolute embarrassment was beginning to grate on her nerves.  If she were honest with herself, she would have realized that she missed him.  She had come to rely on him as an ally in her struggles and missed his steady support.  But now, his awkward behavior was an unwelcome reminder of just how disturbing he must have found the sudden insight into her femininity.  Though just why Elros' reaction should bother her when she surely gave no thought to needing his regard, Anoriath was at a loss to say.

Hidden around the corner, Elros dropped his head and exhaled sharply.  Now this was just silly.  His heart was pounding and he could feel the flush warming his neck and creeping up his jaw.  What was the matter with him?  He was acting as if he were about to confront a battlefield full of Uruk-Hai rather than the short-haired woman whose feet dangled and kicked idly against the wood of the patio and whose hands were full of wet clay.  What was he afraid of?  He'd been sent to find her and now he had.  What was holding him back?

The pottery shed was fast coming together and the workers, becoming hungry, had paused to consider their options.  When Halbarad had suggested that perhaps Anoriath could collect lunch and bring it to them, his proposal had been greeted by a silence so heavy that Celebsul had stopped in the act of hammering a joint together and risen to stare at the men in quiet befuddlement.  Bob and Elros stared blankly at their captain until he realized what he had proposed.  Defensively, Halbarad stuck to his idea, insisting that she had better become accustomed to a change in role before too long.  

Bob had snorted and drawled, "Just so long as you're the one to put it to her.  And make sure you tell it to her just like that, why don't you."  

Usually, under such circumstances, their captain eventually shouldered the responsibility of both leadership and filial tie.  But Halbarad was not to be convinced this time.  He and Anoriath had just recently traded loud words over the issue of her restrictions and she was still glaring at him over breakfast this morning.  The three men finally settled on drawing straws.  The elf watched them, amused at the warriors' unexpected trepidation.  He had fought at their side on numerous occasions and knew them to be resolute in the face of danger.  Though he knew well enough to give pregnant she-elves a wide berth, he'd not thought mortal females such a problem.  Celebsul kindly volunteered to hold the straws for their drawing, glad to find a role that firmly established that he did not share in their risk.  Elros lost.  

Elros had grimaced wryly as his friends chuckled in relief and amusement.  But he wasn't about to tell Halbarad about why he would much rather not be the one to confront Anoriath.  The morning Halbarad had teased him about his moans was not the last time Elros had dreamed of Anoriath, each dream surpassing the one before it in intimacy.  Indeed, the last one had been just this past night.  Its tenderness had surprised him as he lay in the dark and listened to Halbarad's faint snores.  In the soft story of sleep, he'd drawn Anoriath into his lap and she had kissed his face and hands with a sweetness that even now pulled at the pit of his stomach.  Elros scowled and shook his head sharply.  He could make neither heads nor tails of his sudden attraction to this woman whom he had known since his youth.  "Enough!" he exclaimed internally, impatiently exhorting himself to simply get the task over with.

He strode about the corner to find Anoriath studiously examining the clay that seeped from her fingers.  

"Why hello, Elros," she greeted him dryly without looking up. 

Elros frowned briefly beyond the reach of her eyes.  She must have caught his hesitation.  She hated being treated as if her temper was so fragile that she'd blow without provocation.  This was to be their first real interaction since he'd caught a glimpse of her on that bank above the stream and it was already not going well.  

"Hello Anoriath," he replied, dropping to the stairs beside her, squinting up at the sun and hoping that a relentless amiability would provide a sufficient shield.  "I see you have found a nice spot back here."

"Indeed I have," Anoriath exclaimed with false brightness.  "Though I may need to go inside shortly and lie down, for I am sure the heat will become too much for me and Eru knows my constitution has become so fragile that the effort of sitting here shall surely exhaust me."

Elros sighed internally and gazed off for a moment.  No, this was not going well, and the request he had to relay was not going to improve it.  Anoriath slammed the piece of clay into its bucket, sending wet mud splattering against the side of the pail.  

"So," she asked curtly, "have you finished the shed?"

"No," Elros replied as he stared into the bucket.  She'd left a hefty dent in the mass of wet clay with that missile.

"So then what are you doing here?" Anoriath continued as she pulled clinging wet clay off her hands with thumb and fingers.

"Halbarad said for you…" Elros stopped abruptly and cleared his throat, thinking better of the words he had almost spoken.

"Aye, Elros?" Anoriath asked, "Just what does my brother command?"

Her voice was sharp and she poked it at him.  Though he may not be the source of all that frustrated and infuriated her, he may as well have been at this moment.  Elros decided perhaps he should choose his words with diplomacy in mind.

He began again.  "Your brother asks that you collect something for lunch and bring it to the shed.  We're almost finished and would prefer not to have to break too long to eat."

His words were at first met with a frozen silence as Anoriath violently pulled clay off her fingers to slap it into the bucket between them.  So, this is what she was reduced to.  

"Does he now?" Anoriath asked coldly.  

Elros scowled and stared helplessly at the stair beneath his feet.  Any other time and he would have just wrapped his arms around her to disarm her with his unexpected sympathy or attempted to find something ruefully humorous to say to jar her out of this mood.  But, he didn't want to touch her, not trusting his own feelings, and he could think of nothing to say.  

"It doesn't mean anything about who or what you are, Anoriath," he attempted.

"Doesn't it?" she retorted shortly while she wiped her hands in a rag with abrupt movements.

Elros sighed.  He felt tired all of a sudden.  "I'll help you," he offered and started to rise to his feet.

"Help me?" Anoriath echoed sharply.  "How kind of you.  No.  Thank you.  I think I can at least manage to carry and serve a meal."

She threw down the rag and stood up abruptly, grabbing at the bucket handles.  The clay would need to be covered and replaced in the cellar until she could return to it.  But, the buckets were large and the clay within them was obviously heavy.  Belegalda with his implausible elven strength had carried this bucket up the cellar stairs this morning and now Anoriath attempted vainly to raise it.  

"Here, let me at least help you with the pails," Elros offered as she struggled with the handle, leaning over to intercept her hand.

She batted his arm away and wrenched the bucket off of the ground.  

"No!" she retorted without looking at him.  "I've got it." 

She bumped into him as she passed him, the pails pulling on her shoulders.  He sighed and shook his head, following her up the short flight of stairs.  

"You really shouldn't be picking up such heavy things, Anoriath," he called after her, which did little to improve her temper.

Reaching the door before he did, she kicked at it, attempting to pull it toward her with her toes.  Her hands were burdened with the buckets and if she put them down she wasn't really sure she could lift them off the floor again.  The door didn't budge.

Elros, coming to her side and impatiently attempting to reach around her to grab the door handle, "Here!  Let me at least open the door for you."

"I've got it," she spat out and kicked at the recalcitrant door.

"Stop it!" Elros finally exclaimed and then took a deep breath.  

She froze in place, surprised and a little dismayed at his outburst.  Gazing at her for a moment, Elros was struck by how dejected and lost she looked.  This had nothing to do with their recent awkwardness nor really with the request to fetch and carry for the other Rangers.  Elros took the heavier bucket from her hand and set it on the patio floor.  It wasn't difficult.  Her fingers were already numb and white from the pressure the thin handle had exerted on them.  Though she did not resist, Anoriath was still turned half away from him, staring down at her feet. 

"Anoriath," he said quietly, "this isn’t forever."

"Isn't it?" she replied and pursed her lips, frowning so that the muscles of her jaw tightened painfully.

He paused, unsure how to answer, and vainly wished their old friend Anardil were there.  They'd none of them faced anything similar to this but him.  Their friend had returned to life and purpose after a great loss.  Still, it had taken time.  She'd not as far to go as he, but the insights and skills Anardil had had to learn to make that journey may be applied here and ease her way.  

"What else am I, if not a Ranger, Elros?" she asked, finally putting the words on the confusion and distress that had driven her to lash out at both her friends and brother.  "I know nothing else."

He shook his head in reply and shifted on his feet.  "I don't know what you're going to do."  He paused, knowing that neither he nor anyone else had an answer to give.  Elros froze minutely as an idea hit him.  It had taken time for Anardil.  And she was so impatient.  His face lightened with wry affection.  "But, I do know that you'll not rest until you've found something worthy of your efforts," he finally continued.

Her grimace eased, turning more rueful than distressed.  She exhaled pensively before asking, "And in the meantime?"

Elros grinned slowly, the white of his teeth spreading the thin dark brackets of his beard, "Why, my lady, you'll just continue to give us all kinds of grief."  He fondly wiped the line of dried clay from her forehead with his thumb, earning him an astonished silence in return.  He dropped his hand.  

Anoriath, recovering herself, snorted and then shot him a rueful smile.  He grinned back at her.  

"I think I can manage that," Anoriath stated as she pulled open the back door with her free hand, shooting a grin back at him as she held it open behind her.

Elros picked up the bucket and, chuckling and shaking his head, followed Anoriath into the kitchen.  

Chapter Seven

Early afternoon

More or less resigned to the inevitable, Anoriath crossed the inn's back yard.  She carried the basket Meri had filled out the back door with only a passing glance to the pale, broken ends of corn shocks and knotted mesh of vines, all that was left of the fall harvest.  Anoriath snorted humorlessly.  Elros had only consented to allow her to bear the burden unaided because she didn’t have far to travel.  Soon enough, the shape of the potting shed and working forms of friends and kin loomed before her, situated as it was between Celebsul’s workshop and the Troll's kitchen gardens.

Bob was the first to see her approach.  If not content, at least she appeared to be in a relatively tractable mood.  He was sorely tempted to throw a jibe her way about what method Elros had used to tame her, but bit down hard on the impulse.  Bob doubted that Anoriath had received their request in the spirit it was intended.  He, too, had watched Anoriath’s list of restrictions grow longer as her pregnancy advanced.  Her reaction to the state of affairs gave him a small insight into how Anardil must have felt.  Their lives as Rangers defined each of them.  Bob could not imagine any other kind of life and, please Eru, would never have to.  Under those circumstances, he thought Anoriath was handling it rather well, if somewhat vocally.  Still, Bob was at a loss to explain how his quiet Ranger friend had returned apparently unscathed.  Just what hold did Elros have over the woman? 

First in line for drink, though he had no intentions of slacking when it came to sampling the source of the delectable aromas wafting from the large basket, Bob took a long draught from his cup.  With closed eyes and a mighty sigh, he wiped the traces of foam from his bare upper lip.  Unlike Halbarad, who kept a small, neat beard to adorn his face, Bob was clean-shaven.  Though, he had to admit, he lately had been casting an envious eye to that dapper goatee that had sprouted on Elros' jaw recently.  Bob chuckled silently to himself after glancing in his friend's direction and took another sip of the fine cool ale.  He was convinced that Elros had followed their captain's example in an attempt to attract the fairer gender, not that he seemed to be having much success.  Perhaps it was for the best, Bob reflected.  It had lately been a relief to not have to stand by and watch their friend's heart being abandoned yet again.

Anoriath's passing to distribute a cup to Gambesul broke Bob's reflections.  

“Thanks for the ale, Anoriath," Bob offered, smiling genially and raising his cup in a brief salute.  “It really hits the spot.  Who knows, it might even just muddle our heads enough to make some sense out of these plans of Aerio’s.”  Bob grinned and took another draught.

Like the elf whose mind produced them, the plans for the potting shed were more intricate than the simple structure could naturally bear.  Aerio had added what he termed "pragmatic augmentations of earthenware manufacturing apparatus," some of which had left the Rangers simply scratching their heads.  Only with the concentrated assistance of Celebsul and Gambesul were they able to shed light on the matter.  They would have been finished by now but felt that they should include as many of Aerio’s improvements as were feasible, if only because, if they were omitted, the Rangers would be pressed to explain why by the keen, young elf when he returned from Pelargir.

At Bob's gesture, Anoriath stepped over to the plans where they were affixed to a makeshift table with mugs from this morning's tea.  Relieving a puzzled scowl, a grin abruptly lightened her face, widening as she glanced over the parchment.  For every line of the building lay neatly scribed complex computations.  Deliberate explanations argued the form and function of each ‘augmentation.'  Lightly drawn arcs swooped across the parchment triangulating distances between unanchored objects.  Impossibly reduced ratios captured the probability of pathways between mud table, dipping racks, water buckets and wheel.  Relative weights of chemical compositions wrestled for order among a rack of glaze pots.  

Anoriath pushed a mug off the parchment in rapt concentration.  If only she could have shown this to Melin!  The Nurnen potter would have laughed until she wrung delighted tears from her eyes.  If this was the workshop, just what would the plans for the kiln look like?  So caught in her thoughts was she that Anoriath never heard a sound.  She jerked out from under the hand lightly laid upon her shoulder, only then realizing that someone had joined her.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you."  

The sharp retort her lips had framed withered unspoken at the voice.  Anoriath cleared her throat weakly and scratched at the curls behind her ear, unable to meet Celebsul's unruffled gaze.  Damn but the elf unsettled her.  Every now and again she would catch a glimpse of the elven lord that lurked beneath the carpenter's surface, a brief flash of summer lightening splitting open the night.  Between the sense of a patient, subtle power veiled behind affable clouds and his fairness of form, Anoriath's tongue fell painfully shy in the elf's presence, clinging to the roof of her mouth as if to its mother's skirts.   

Celebsul puzzled over Anoriath's emotions as they played out on her face.  Judging by these, he was glad it wasn’t Bob who had tried to regain Anoriath’s attention.  Something told the elf that the Ranger would have been skewered to the spot by the sharp pointed spear of the woman’s initial gaze.  

The elf smiled gently at her to ease her discomfiture.  "I should have realized the concentration it takes to interpret Aerio’s plans when he is not present to explain himself," he said lightly.

“I have never known another who could take the simplest object and complicate it so," added Gambesul, coming up behind his master.

The younger of Celebsul’s apprentices, he was closer to Celebsul in the process by which he worked.  His placid manner achieved the perfect foil to the never-ending nimble workings of Aerio’s mind.  And yet, a deep, abiding friendship had developed between the two in the short time that Gambesul has been at the Troll, sometimes to their detriment.  For, despite the difference in the paths of their minds, a mischievous streak ran wide through both elvish hearts.  

“There are few things left to finish," Gambesul continued, turning his head to examine the shed.  “On the outside, only the roof is left and on the inside, we just need to attach those where they belong.”

Fascinated, Anoriath turned in the direction that Gambesul’s finger pointed.  What she had taken for excess lumber were actually shelves and pieces of benches and whatnot just waiting to be assembled.  Examining the pile with her eyes until her feet brought her there, Anoriath saw that, true to the elven way, even the simplest of objects was filled with a grace that enhanced their utility. 

Crouching before a stack of lumber, Anoriath ran a light finger along the low, uneven lip designed to keep pottery from sliding or being jarred off.  A slight smile lifted her lips as her finger traced a flight of butterflies, hand carved and tinted, ever so slightly, purple.  A motif favored by Gambesul.  Lifting her hand she turned to find a box in which tools could be stored that glowed with an inner light, calling to mind the smooth wood of The Rowan.  So long ago it seemed, Anoriath mused.  The clear grain of the wood flowing across the top of the lid reminded her of mornings in Nurn when the sea's fingers gently caressed the Lake's black beaches only to slide away back into its lap.  Subtle and understated, the item could only have come from the hands of the Master.  

“It was Aerio's plan to scale every shelf, stool, bench, even the potting wheel to Elanna’s height," Celebsul stated, having followed her to watch from the open door.  “To use his words, the rescaling will facilitate her ability to produce quality work in the most expeditious manner possible,” he continued with a smile.

Anoriath snorted from where she sat on her heels.

“Anoriath," Halbarad called to her from the impromptu picnic, drawing their attention.  “Do you think it might be possible to persuade Elanna to come and see?  Ask her if everything is to her liking?”

Anoriath was slow in turning to her brother.  The question he asked had two possible answers, but she did not trust the odds of him receiving the response he preferred.  Yet she did not want to be the one to extinguish the light of hope in his eyes.  She stood and reluctantly joined Halbarad and the others.

“I suppose all we can do is ask and see," Anoriath replied.  When her suggestion met silence, she decided that perhaps she should volunteer before she was asked.  “If you’d like, I can try to find her,” she said.

Relief swept over Halbarad’s face.  “Thank you Ani.  I don’t think she would come if I asked her right now.”

The words ‘Now what?’ passed swiftly through her mind before she spoke again, “Does anyone know where she is?  I haven’t seen her all morning.”

Anoriath watched the glances and murmurs that were being exchanged fruitlessly, but it was Celebsul who had the answer.

He nodded slightly at back of the barn.  “She’s up in the loft, Anoriath."  

They knew enough to not all turn to the open window at the back of the barn, but, returning to their lunch, used the excuse of throwing back the last dregs to look up and catch the leg dangling from the second story of the structure.  One of the large double doors that allowed hay to enter the loft was flung completely open.  In the dark square that was revealed, a disembodied, trousered and booted leg could be barely glimpsed.  The body it should have been attached to was lost in the shadows.

Elros let out a quiet huff in surprise.  “She’s been there the whole time, watching, I bet," he observed and turned his back to the stable.  

“If you’d like, I’ll run the lunch things back to the kitchen while you go," Bob caught Anoriath's eye and volunteered.

“Thank you Bob," Anoriath said and then let her wry gaze sweep over the other faces.  “Wish me luck.”

***

The tread of Anoriath’s boots on the wooden floor of the loft was louder than it used to be.  Walking silently was fast becoming a thing of the past, yet her steps brought no reaction from Elanna.  The young Ranger sat silently in the open doorway of the loft.  The autumn sunlight, shot with golden motes lazily drifted in the still air.  To Anoriath, it was as if she were seeing a surreal vision, the dark form of the girl captured in the glare of a golden aura as if an insect trapped in soft glowing amber.  Elanna sat with her back against the wall, her left leg bent akimbo to the other that hung from the loft floor.  Her only movement was in that right leg that dangled from the doorway as she swung it back and forth with a dull rhythm.  

Crossing behind her, Anoriath leaned against the frame across from the girl, folding her arms and considering her for a moment.  She looked over Elanna’s head and out the open door.  The girl had a clear view of the construction area and the workers that peopled it.  Yes, Elros was right.  Elanna had no doubt been up here all morning.  ’Then why didn’t she come to see?  She surely knows what is being built.’  

Elanna had indeed been watching all morning.  There was a time when she would have been underfoot, eagerly insisting on helping in any way she could with little thought as to whether the end result was for her benefit or someone else.  The role of spectator was unfamiliar to the young Ranger but, recently, she could barely eke out the motivation to do little else.  Sitting half lit in the loft, Elanna felt oddly removed from her surroundings, as if she were watching a mummers' play where she knew all the actors only by their names and faces.  Distant and cold, she barely cared for their fates, or her own.  Attempting to tread the boards with those who played their part would surely not have made her feel any differently.  

Lulled to slow thought by the pendulum of her foot, Elanna wondered vaguely what would happen if she closed her eyes, effectively separating herself from the performance by the only sense that anchored her there.  When she opened her eyes, would she be standing next to her body as it sat in the loft?  Would her disengagement be complete?  Could she walk away from the stage of The Burping Troll to another life where Nurn had never existed?  Where Parcus had never existed, or Elanna?

The footsteps came to a halt behind her and a board on the wall creaked as the older Ranger rested her weight against it.  Having glanced out the corner of her eye, she knew the intruder was Anoriath.  Elanna waited.  She was fully determined to not speak unless Anoriath spoke first.  If she were lucky, the older Ranger would give up without saying a word and leave her be.  Futile though that ploy may be, knowing Anoriath, Elanna stubbornly refused to attempt another.

Bursts of laughter broke through the good-natured banter of male voices floating on the afternoon breeze, easily audible to the women.  For Anoriath, the pleasant sounds of easy companionship recalled the hours of verbal play she had found with Melin in the settlement at Lake Nurnen.  Anoriath smiled.  Perhaps that would be a good place to start.

“Did you know that Melin taught me to throw?"  Anoriath asked fondly, gazing out onto soft gold and green of the pasture.

Elanna's foot abruptly fell still.  That was one bit of information that she had not possessed.  The young Ranger twisted until her incredulous eyes met Anoriath’s.  The older woman’s amusement at Elanna’s disbelief twitched at the corners of the Ranger’s mouth.

Anoriath stepped around until she faced the younger woman and held out her hand.  Elanna grasped the proffered wrist, strangely surprised to find the return grip warm and strong, and let Anoriath pull her to her feet.  The young girl stumbled as she was led to a fat bound bundle of hay sitting flush against the wall.  Anoriath sat with a solid thump on the bale; grateful for the wall that gave her back some much needed support.  The Ranger watched with one brow arched curiously as Elanna shook her left leg after sitting down next to her.

“It fell asleep," Elanna said by way of explanation.

Anoriath suppressed the grin that threatened, preferring, instead, to hold to her original intentions.  

“I never had the knack for shaping pots that you did," Anoriath reflected.  "But, nonetheless, Melin wouldn’t let me quit until I'd felt myself slip into the clay.  She said that it wasn’t a true test until, at least once, I couldn't tell where my hands ended and the pot began."  The woman pulled out a strand of hay and ran it through her fingers, pursing her lips in thought.  "She was right, of course, and once I realized how much it soothed me, it no longer much mattered to me what the pot looked like."  Anoriath grinned suddenly at the pale fibers she was wrapping about her knuckles.  "Which is probably a good thing, else I'd simply end up more frustrated than when I began."    

Again, Elanna found herself challenged to suspend disbelief.  Anoriath do something simply because it was soothing?  In her whole young life, she had never known the older woman to do anything she couldn't master, no matter how many nerves it calmed.  Though, Elanna did wholeheartedly agree with Melin.  The rhythm of the wheel, the cool slickness of the clay beneath her fingers and the earthy smell that filled her nostrils could together spin an enchantment that sheltered the potter from the world and its woes for as long as the wheel revolved.  

Anoriath watched, relieved, as some of the tension in the girl’s face slip away when Elanna’s eyes focused on past joys.  

“I think you’ll enjoy this workshop," she continued.  "Aerio left nothing out in his design.  Everything is scaled down just for you and the details the elves have added are beautiful," Anoriath suddenly grinned again and cut her eyes at the girl, amused.  “I hope you like butterflies.”

“Why did Melin think you needed something to relax you?"  Elanna asked, completely ignoring what had just been said. 

After a beat in which she sobered, Anoriath shrugged.  “She frequently complained that I carried the weight of the whole settlement on my back."  The Ranger twisted her face in sour reflection.  "She was right.  You saw them.  I so wanted to help them, but everything I touched seemed to go terribly wrong," Anoriath reflected grimly and dragged the strands of hay between her fingernails.  “At least, after working with the clay, I could go back to whatever problem I was facing with a clear head."  She sighed and dropped the dried weed to the loft floor.  “I only regret that, after what Parcus did to me, I could not bring myself to touch the wheel.  And then, when Halbarad called me away, it was too late."  Anoriath lifted her eyes from her hands to capture Elanna's gaze, resolved to return the conversation to the woman no matter how many times she might try to twist away from it.  "Maybe it could help soothe your hurts, if only a little.”

Elanna snorted and stated sarcastically, “My hurts are beyond soothing, something you wouldn’t understand.  After all, your time with Parcus had a far different ending than mine."

Anoriath scowled in surprise, brought up short by the girl’s words and the implied criticism in them.  What was the girl trying to get at?  What thoughts ran through her half-elven mind?  But before she could question Elanna on this, the quicksilver girl changed the subject yet again.

“I talked to Hal again this morning," Elanna said, dismissing the previous subject as if it had never been.  “I asked him to let me do something, anything that remotely resembled duty.  I even volunteered to complete the weekly reports.”

Like most commanding officers, duty required a certain amount of paperwork.  Halbarad shared a firm dislike for this one responsibility with most Rangers, lending Elanna’s offer the air of desperation it deserved.  

Anoriath asked, though she was rather certain of the answer received, “What did Halbarad say?”

Elanna pressed her lips together in a thin, straight line.  Frustration replaced the earlier sarcasm in her tone.  “What do you think he said?  He said what he always says," Elanna replied disgustedly.  “That I’m not ready and my behavior proves this.”

Anoriath sympathized with the unhappy girl.  It had not been that long ago that she had stood on the same side of that frustrating barrier.  Still, she could not fault her brother for his decisions.  The welfare of those under him was ever appropriately his over-riding concern, not their wishes.  His concern had been as chafing to his sister then as it was to Elanna, and Anoriath now had to bear the additional annoyance of admitting aloud that he was right, a heavy burden indeed.

“I remember how infuriated I was with him," Anoriath recalled.  “He seemed so smug and overbearing, as if I wasn’t capable of knowing my own mind."  She paused briefly to catch Elanna's nod of agreement.  “And do you know what the worst part of the whole thing is?"  Anoriath asked, waiting for the shaking of Elanna’s head to indicate that she didn’t know but was eager to hear.  ‘She’s not going to like this answer,’ Anoriath thought fleetingly.  “The most galling part of it all was that Halbarad was absolutely right.  Now, don‘t you ever tell him I admitted it," she said, shaking her finger at Elanna.  “He was right about me not being ready just as he is right about you.”

Elanna’s jaw dropped in shock.  She had counted heavily on Anoriath’s support and never in her wildest dreams had she imagined the older Ranger would withhold it.  This couldn’t be happening.

“But, but how can you say that?"  Elanna sputtered angrily and gestured into the air.  “You’re not being fair.  I can do it, I know I can."  A pleading tone crept into the girl’s voice.  “Please Ani, you have to help me.  No one else will.  Please, I promise I will behave and I won’t lose my temper or anything.  I swear by all the Valar I’ll be good.”

Elanna’s desperate, heartfelt pleas did not fall on deaf ears.  Indeed, the entreaty for help and understanding wrung Anoriath’s heart.  She wondered if Elanna realized the history that was repeating itself.  It was in this very place that the girl had pleaded for her support in approaching Halbarad with her request to take the Ranger's oath.  But, this time, she could not, in good conscious, agree to aid Elanna in her endeavor as the girl wished.

“I’m sorry Elanna," Anoriath said regretfully.  “I cannot help you with this.  Not this time.  Not this way." 

Elanna's hands curled into tight fists between her knees as she looked away.  “I thought you, of all people would understand, that you would believe me since no one else around here seems to," Elanna spat out bitterly between clenched jaws.  “I should have known you would fail me again.  You’re probably lying to me now just as you did then.  You know I’m ready and you just won’t say so.”

“Whatever would I do that for?  Why do you say that?"  Anoriath blurted, dismayed not only by Elanna's words but by the unspoken condemnation beneath them. 

“Because you never told me about Parcus!" Elanna exploded.  She leapt to her feet and, pacing, all that she had held inside came forth in a furious torrent.  “You never told me what he would want from me.  You never told me about you and him, together.  How do you think it felt having to hear from him what you did with him?  He told me!  Not you!”

Anoriath’s eyes widened in shock.  “What we did together!" she exclaimed breathlessly.  She snapped, "I’m not sure if that is the way I would care to phrase it."

Elanna whirled on her, pinning her with cold blue eyes.  “Aye, what you did together.  And I only know because HE told me," Elanna snapped back angrily.  “How you resisted at first and he used your hair to…" the young woman reached out and played with the single slim braid; all that remained to testify to the original length of Anoriath’s hair.  “But in the end you gave yourself to him, willingly."  She looked up from the twist of dark hair for a moment to meet Anoriath’s stunned eyes.  “He said that you were…” Elanna blushed and dropped her gaze back to the silver and peridot bead that decorated the end of the braid.  “That you were wild with a fire that he never thought a mortal could be capable of.”

"What?!" Anoriath shouted, causing Elanna to blink.  The older Ranger then gritted her teeth tightly.  “Is that all?  Or did that wretched elf spin more lies?"

Though burning with embarrassment, Elanna forged ahead, holding onto her anger to carry her through the mortifying retelling.

“He said that you were as a finely tuned instrument that responded vibrantly to his slightest touch.”

As she spoke, Elanna yanked her hand away, letting the thin braid slide rapidly through her fingers.  Her fingers caught on the small bead and caused her to accidentally jerk the hair harder than she meant to.  Anoriath’s response was automatic.  She grabbed the younger girl’s wrist and held it tightly.  Her mind reeled with the extent to which Parcus had twisted his violence into a lover’s tryst.  And Elanna had come to believe his lies.  No wonder the young woman's glance had been full of revulsion for her lately.  Anoriath groped for the words to disprove Parcus’ version of the event but, even as they lined themselves up on her tongue, the younger Ranger toppled them before she could get them out.

“I’m sorry Ani."  Elanna's rage disappeared as abruptly as a summer squall.  She dropped to her seat beside the woman.  “I have no right to condemn you for what you did.  As far as I know, I did the exact same thing.  Oh Ani, how could I?”

Elanna's shoulders slumped in defeat.  On the brink of exploding into a dispute, the wretched exhaustion in the girl's face drained Anoriath of the anger that had welled at her words.  No, no, no.  This was not to be.  Too familiar with the vortex of despair that Parcus had spun about her in her own days in Nurn, Anoriath sharply resented the pull it was having on the young woman now.  

“You cannot tell me that you went willing, that I know," Anoriath stated flatly.

“Of course I didn’t go willingly, I remember Melin’s house," Elanna said.  “But after that I just don’t remember!”

“And yet," Anoriath blurted, puzzled.  "You remember Parcus’ telling you about me."

“Yes, I remember that and other little bits and pieces, but that’s all," Elanna insisted.  “So when I remember hearing him saying that I betrayed Halbarad, I have no choice but to believe him."  Elanna’s voice lowered.  “I can’t help but believe him when my heart tells me I have done so.”

Anoriath stared at the floor blankly.  Of all the things that happened in that dark room, she was certain that betraying Halbarad was not one of them.  She shook her head with a sharp snap.

“Elanna, I cannot answer to what I did not see but I can tell you this with certainty," Anoriath's brows arched warningly.  “Parcus would not want ANYTHING that was given willingly.  Only that which is stolen pleases him.”

“But-" Elanna attempted to interrupt.

“But nothing!"  Anoriath insisted.  "Trust me in this, Elanna.  He would not have wanted your willing kiss," Anoriath said.  “He thrives on the power of taking, and taking it was something I am sure he did.”

“But I don‘t KNOW that, I don‘t remember," Elanna asserted miserably in her confusion.  “I can remember him saying I betrayed Hal and-and something about being willing, a gift of-”

“A gift!"  Anoriath spat out, disgusted.  “Ach!  He would say that!  Aye!  A gift that belonged to Halbarad before Parcus snatched it out of both of your hands!"  She shook her head, the wings of her nose and jaw working in anger.  "Elanna!  Beware his words, they are naught but honeyed poison."  

“I DON’T REMEMBER!"  Elanna shouted, now frantic.  “And you weren’t there, so how in Eru’s name would you know?  You can't tell me that Parcus only snatches what he wants when he took you as his willing lover!"  

At her words, Anoriath jumped heavily to her feet and paced the wooden floor of the loft.  She tugged at random handfuls of hair at the back of her skull as she crossed back and forth.  

“Because… because..." Anoriath stuttered.  “It is what he does!" she roared, blinking at sudden tears of rage.  "What he did …  What he always does!”

Elanna leapt to her feet, marched to Anoriath and clutched the front of the woman’s tunic.  She stared into the older woman's eyes.  If she noticed the alarm that flickered there, Elanna gave no sign.  Would the young Ranger notice why the garment was tighter?  Anoriath prayed she would not.  This was certainly not the time to reveal that she carried Parcus' child.  The truth would surely send the girl's thoughts spinning out of control.

“What does he do?" Elanna shouted, shaking the woman in her grip.  Anoriath grabbed at her wrists.  "I only know what HE told me and you haven’t told me anything that would make me believe differently," Elanna’s voice caught in her throat on a sob she quickly smothered.  “What are you that you would enjoy his attentions?" she demanded and shuddered.  “Does this mean we’re the same, that we are what people would call us if they knew?”

 A wild fury rose within Anoriath at the desperate shame in Elanna’s eyes, a storm of rage against Parcus, herself, and the ‘people’ whose opinions the young woman feared.  She yanked the girl's hands free of her clothing and held them tight.

“Fine!"  Anoriath bit off each word.  The older Ranger was trembling, though she would deny it.  She'd never had to speak aloud of her violation to any and the words were harder to bring into the open than she had thought they would be.  “I will tell you!  Did I place myself in that monster’s hands of my own free will?  Yes!”

Elanna froze, her gaze locked with Anoriath’s.  The ‘yes’ repeated itself and battered futilely against the inside of her skull like a bird caught in a room with doors and windows closed.  'Yes.'  Cracks threaded through what little hope Elanna had held onto for herself.

With a gentleness that belied the wrath burning in her heart, Anoriath loosed her grip on Elanna’s wrists to take her hands in her own.  She led the stiff and blind girl back to the hay bale, sat her down and joined her.  Anoriath smoothed Elanna’s hair back over her shoulder before speaking again.  

“That was the last thing I did that night of my own volition.  The rest, Elanna…" Anoriath grimaced and fell silent for a moment.  “The rest he took with violence while I was unable to defend myself."  She pursed her lips with a sad regret when she caught Elanna absentmindedly rubbing at her wrist.  “He had no love for me, he did not even truly desire me.  His only intent was to revenge himself on me, to destroy me, body and soul.”

Elanna began to shiver.  Her confusion swam in a sea of unshed tears.  

“But he said…” Elanna’s faint voice trailed off into silence.

“I'm sure he said many things, none of which are worth the breath to repeat them."  Anoriath’s voice dripped with contempt.  She glanced over at the girl, who still huddled beside her.  

Perhaps she was risking too much, but leaving Elanna to the insidious pull of Parcus' lies galled Anoriath.  She stood and silently pulled off her tunic and set it beside the Elanna on the hay bale.  Turning to present her side to the seated girl, she sent a swift, silent prayer to Eru and then pulled her shirt from her leggings and lifted it to expose the skin beneath.

Elanna’s gasping cry brought back with it the memory of white-hot pain.  Elanna reached out her fingers and lightly traced the path of the scar.  It started on the woman's back, just below the line of her ribs, and arced on a slant to cross above her hipbone.  Elanna's fingers skimmed over the tiny lumps where the wound had been stitched to help it heal.  So deep as to require stitches.

Elanna swallowed hard to try and rid herself of the lump in her throat.  “He did this to you?”

“Aye, this is what his touch leaves behind," Anoriath said, trying to control the wild beating of her heart as Elanna touched her side.  What would the girl make of the swell of belly just inches from her fingers?  “My pain heightened his pleasure, a mockery of passion.”

Elanna’s eyes widened as the meaning of the older Ranger’s words finally sank in.  “You mean he did this to you…"  Elanna could not bring herself to finish her thought nor could Anoriath bring herself to answer.

She let her shirt fall.  “Now," Anoriath said.  "Tell me.  How can a mind that can conceive of such pleasure want you willing in his arms?"  

Elanna could not breathe.  Was it possible?  If Parcus had lied about Anoriath, and she now believed he had, could it be possible he lied about what she herself had done?  Yet, voices clamored and jeered from behind the door, reminding her that knowing about Anoriath did not relieve her of culpability regarding her own actions.  

No longer able to hold them back, tears rolled down Elanna’s cheeks as she whispered, “I’m so sorry I doubted you Ani.  I should have known."  She continued miserably, "I did know and still I believed him over you.  Can you ever forgive me?”

Anoriath shrugged ruefully as she tucked her shirt back in.  “You did nothing I did not do to myself and I would not have you travel that same path of self-doubt."  She grabbed up her tunic from the bale and returned to her seat beside the girl.  "He is simply not worth it, to destroy yourself over his lies."  Anoriath brushed Elanna’s wet cheek with her knuckles.  “There is nothing to forgive.”

"Do you," Elanna began, halting over the words.  "Do you remember anything, everything?"

"Aye!" Anoriath responded grimly, playing absently with the cloth in her hands.  "Every moment."

Elanna considered Anoriath’s response before she replied, “Then you have a comfort I do not.  You can weigh the memories and decide what to believe and what not to believe.”  Elanna’s lower lip trembled and she cast her eyes to the floor.  “I know now that he lied about you but I still remember-" she paused and raised her eyes to meet Anoriath’s again.  “I remember Brithlan and he is proof of Parcus’ words.”

Anoriath was about to pull the tunic over her head when Elanna’s eyes and words stopped her cold.  

“How so?"  Anoriath blurted.  

Elanna’s face burned with her humiliation.  That all knew about Parcus was bad enough, only a scant few knew about Brithlan and she had hoped to keep it that way.  

"I…  I kissed him," Elanna said guiltily, hating herself anew.  “B-because I wanted to, not because Parcus made me.  Not even Anardil, nor Faramir himself, could say that I acted otherwise."  

“And just what is THAT proof of?"  Anoriath demanded, scowling.

Elanna answered, question for question, "If I kissed Brithlan willingly, how can I say with any surety that I did not do that and more with Parcus?"  Elanna’s voice hitched.  “Brithlan died because of me, it was all my fault.”

Anoriath let out a brusque huff of breath and pulled her tunic briskly over her head.  “I’d bet my sword and star that Parcus was behind that so-called willing kiss, as assuredly as he was behind Brithlan's death," she said and yanked the cloth back about her waist.  

Anoriath ran her fingers through her short curls, frustrated with the girl's inability to recall anything but memories that condemned her.  She leaned back against the wall as she thought.  It seemed that the girl could only clearly recall Parcus' words, and their meaning lead her steadily deeper into despair.  After a bit she asked, “Do you remember anything that Parcus did, a touch, a kiss, anything?”

Elanna shook her head.

“Is it that you can’t remember or you won’t,” Anoriath asked, her head coming off the wall to look at the girl.

Elanna returned her gaze, perplexed.  “I … I don’t know.”

“What happens if you try?"

Elanna’s tone changed from puzzled to anxious.  “I don’t try.  I’m afraid.”

“Is that all that’s in the way, then, fear?” Anoriath asked solemnly.

Elanna’s eyes widened, shaking her head in terror at the older woman's implied request.  “Ani …  I’m scared.”

Anoriath took the girl’s quaking hand and turned to her.  “I’ll be here with you.  You'll never reach any peace if you only remember those things that confirm Parcus' lies.”

Elanna swallowed hard to force down the burgeoning dread that clogged her throat, threatening to cut off her breath.  She clung to Anoriath’s hand and searched the woman's eyes until she found the reassurance she desperately needed.

“I’ll try," Elanna said hoarsely, her voice quivering with her body.  “What should I try to remember?”

“Do you remember the time just after I found you?"  Anoriath asked with a calm that hid her dread of what she was attempting.

Elanna frowned.  “After you found me?”

“Aye."  The woman nodded.  “You and Parcus.  I was just before the door.  Together in that dimly lit room.”

Elanna closed her eyes as she tentatively searched her mind for the memory.  Her, Anoriath and Parcus, the room with the single candle and the crossbow that came to be in her hands.  She had picked it up off the floor where she had lain.  She was on the floor because ...  

“I was on the floor, the table tipped over and I fell," Elanna said, prefacing her words with a loud exhalation.

Anoriath squeezed Elanna’s hands as she said, “Yes!  The table fell because I pushed it over.  I didn’t want him to use you against me again while we fought.  What happened before the table fell, before Parcus forced me to give up my crossbow?  Do you remember?”

Again Elanna peered into the dark corners of her mind, the trembling in her limbs becoming more pronounced.

“I remember hearing you, but I don’t remember what you said," Elanna recalled.  “And I remember before that …  No, wait … Something, he, I don’t know, " Elanna's voice stumbled in her rising distress.

Anoriath spoke slowly and carefully, recalling her loathing when Elanna had submitted to Parcus’ stroking without cringing or shrinking away.  “I remember that.  He had dragged you to your knees.  He told you to keep your eyes closed as he held you at knifepoint with one hand.  His other hand he used to touch you.  He knew of your love for Halbarad and taunted me with it.  He was trying to provoke me into acting rashly. ”

Elanna’s eyes flew open and she stared at Anoriath open-mouthed.  The girl’s breathing quickened and grew shallow.  

"I…  I don't remember that," Elanna‘s voice rose in volume and pitch.

“You don’t?"  Anoriath blurted, surprised.  “Try!”

A cold breeze left a trail of gooseflesh in its passing upon Elanna's skin, but she could feel naught but the panic welling up within her.  She clenched Anoriath’s hands and tried to do what she asked.

"I… I remember my hair.  He had my hair and a knife at my neck.  It hurt," Elanna's voice rose and the words spilled out ever faster from her lips.  “He pierced me with it at some point, I think he made me bleed.  It got on the front of my shirt, I think.  But was that earlier or later?  I‘m not sure."  
 
The hands that were clamped to Anoriath's were as cold as ice and the girl’s hurried, shallow breathing alarmed her.  But, this was where Elanna would remember all or nothing.  If she could bring herself to recall what Anoriath had interrupted, surely the remaining memories would be more tolerable.  

"And what happened just before that?" Anoriath demanded.

Elanna’s felt light-headed, her thoughts losing themselves in a haze of gray.  

“I … I’m not sure,” she stammered.

"Were you sitting or lying down?" Anoriath persisted.

Elanna could feel smooth wood under her back.  "I … I"

The faintest whisper of a song reached her ears and hands and… fell into darkness.

"NO!  NO!  I DON‘T REMEMBER!"  Anoriath startled at Elanna's hysterical scream.  The girl pulled her hands from the woman's surprised grasp and swung wildly at an unseen foe.  "I DON'T!"

Anoriath, caught off guard, grunted as she took several frenzied blows to the face and chest before she grappled with Elanna’s arms.  The girl was sweating coldly and fought with the unnatural strength of pure terror.  She wrested her arms from Anoriath’s grasp and turned blindly from her.  Anoriath lunged for the girl’s middle, plunging them both to the hay-strewn floor where they landed with a startled cry.  Taking advantage of Elanna’s momentary disorientation, Anoriath wrapped her arms around hers, pinning them to the girl’s side and threw a leg over her lower limbs to further immobilize her.  

Resisting the girl's frantic writhing, Anoriath spoke low and soothingly in Elanna’s ear.  “It’s all over now, you’re safe at home, here at the Troll.  Nurn is very far away, gone, done, over.  Parcus is dead.  He can’t hurt you anymore.  I’m here, I’m right here and I’m not going to leave you."  Over and over Anoriath repeated the litany until Elanna went limp in her arms.  Once she did, Anoriath fell silent and dropped her forehead to lean against Elanna's head.  ‘You damn fool!' she thought.  " What were you thinking?  You know that the simple remembering brings no relief in itself.  How are you going to explain to the others if you caused her to retreat again?’

Anoriath sighed grimly.  She would never forgive herself if Elanna returned to that blank cold place in her mind where they had found her.  Voices and footsteps drifted up from the barn below them.  She slid an arm out from under Elanna and sat up stiffly.  Elanna’s shouting must have been heard by just about everyone, if Anoriath's ears did not deceive her.  Grateful they had fallen near the hay bale, she set her back against it.  After stretching quickly she lifted the unresisting, silent girl and pulled her onto her lap.  Relief was a welcome visitor as Elanna lifted and placed her arms around Anoriath’s neck.

Anoriath kissed the top of Elanna’s head and whispered, “Now it is I who must seek your forgiveness.  I shouldn’t have pushed you to remember.”

Anoriath's eyes filled when Elanna lifted her tear-streaked face.  The purple smudges under her eyes had seemed to spread, making her eyes look as if they were sunk into her skull.

“It’s not over Ani," Elanna said tonelessly.

Anoriath sighed.  “No, you’re right, it’s not.”

“It will never be over, he'll never let me be.  It is just as he said," Elanna continued in that eerie, empty voice.  “I’ll be his soon.”

Though every fiber of her being cried out against that prediction, Anoriath, in all honesty, could not promise otherwise.  The thought of defeat was a bitter one indeed but at this exact moment, she was at a loss for how to win Elanna back to them.  She could only pull the girl in closer and rest her cheek against the warm crown of her head.

Staring at the floor and lost in her reflections, Anoriath only realized that they were no longer alone when she heard the creak of the floor near her.  She had not heard anyone climb the stairs.  It was Celebsul, Halbarad and Elros.  If the bleak expressions on the Rangers' faces were any indication, they had heard.  Celebsul’s expression was easier to bear, as his face was a grave mask that hid any turmoil he might have felt.

Elanna must have heard their steps also for she too was looking at the trio that had entered the loft.  Her eyes fixed on Celebsul.

“Celly, I’m so tired," Elanna finally said wearily.

“I’m sure you are, tinutithen nin," Celebsul replied as he crossed the floor and knelt by her side.

The faintest ghost of a smile played at the corners of her mouth.  “That’s almost the same thing my father used to call me.”

“I will not use that name if it disturbs you," Celebsul offered.

“I don’t mind Celly," Elanna replied.

It was a spur of the moment idea born of the emptiness he had heard in her words and the tone of her voice.  Celebsul knew that she wouldn’t mind before he had even uttered a word.  He had deliberately based the endearment on what he had heard and had counted on her tendency to shorten everyone’s name to a nickname to carry it off.

“I think it would be a good idea for you to go rest now.  Let me take her Anoriath," Celebsul said, sliding his arms under and around the limp girl.  “If one of you would stand halfway down the stairs, I will pass her to you and then you can give her to Bob.”

Anoriath said nothing.  She simply cocked an eyebrow in query in Celebsul’s direction.

“Bob thought it best that he wait downstairs, that it might aggravate her further if we all came charging into the loft," Celebsul explained softly.

Anoriath's eyes dropped, grieved.  She understood all too well the fears that kept Bob’s boots firmly planted on the barn floor, having seen them in her own brother.  She passed briefly over Halbarad’s bleak eyes and fastened on Elros' enigmatic gaze.  It was obvious that he was calculating that whoever didn’t help Celebsul with Elanna would be left with Anoriath.  Alone.  So it came to her as no surprise when Elros silently took up the post of middleman on the stairway. 

Celebsul rose gracefully from the floor with his burden as if she were lighter than down.  His booted feet did not cause a single board to creak.  When he handed Elanna to Elros the girl clasped her arms around the Ranger’s neck, laying her head on his shoulder as he eased his way down the ladder.

Anoriath knew when Elros had handed over his burden when Elanna’s faint voice saying her brother’s name drifted up.  Her assessment of his state of mind was confirmed when she heard a piping hobbit voice comforting Bob.  From the sound of it, all four hobbits were down there.  She could hear the iron rumblings of the Balrog and the soft sylvan voices of several of their elves.

“Don’t worry Bob, she’s just tired.  A nice nap and a good supper and she’ll be right as rain," Erin said comfortingly, followed by a chorus of “that’s all’s" and ‘don’t worry’s" with the occasional “only tired" thrown in for good measure.

Anoriath wearily wondered how many of them still believed that.  Halbarad crossed the floor and she took his proffered hand to let him pull her smoothly to her feet.  The same thought must have crossed Halbarad’s mind, for it was voiced in his question to Anoriath.

“What happened?"  Halbarad asked.  If he had been alarmed by the cries that had rung out over the Troll's open spaces, his sister's inability to meet his eye surely did little to reassure him.

Anoriath glanced from Halbarad to Celebsul and back again before releasing a long breath.

“She tried to remember, but it didn’t work," Anoriath said.  “She came so close."  Anoriath caught Celebsul’s eye.  “I think that in the beginning, in Nurn, she didn’t want to remember, she couldn’t bear it, but now … now she literally cannot.”

Halbarad's face settled into coldly angry lines.  "Why was she trying to remember, Anoriath?" he demanded.

But, to Anoriath's relief, though Celebsul's face was a mask of calm, the grim tone in his voice reflected his thoughts as he interjected, "I take it that that was what caused the hysteria we all heard?"

Shamefaced, Anoriath ran fingers through the curls above her ear as she answered, "Aye.  She's convinced herself that she's undeserving of forgiveness.  She'll not pardon herself of the simple, human weaknesses that Parcus' exploited and only recalls those things that damn her.  I am afraid I pushed her too far.  For a moment, I thought I had lost her and that she had retreated again."

"Do not punish yourself Anoriath," Celebsul said, the shake of his head forestalling Halbarad's exclamation of dismay.  "She is heading for that place, or worse, regardless of our actions."  Celebsul paused.  "It is my fear that we have very little time-."

"NO!" Halbarad shouted, startling both elf and woman into silence and drawing their gaze.

Halbarad stepped close to Anoriath, grinding his teeth in desperate anger.  "I refuse to believe that!" he shouted and stabbed a finger at the ground.  "We are not going to lose her, we can't!"  The last words strangled in the grips of a suppressed sob for breath.  Dismayed, Anoriath pulled at his shoulder.  He turned his eyes to her.  "I can't lose her Ani," he gritted out, shaking his head in negation.  "I won't."

"I know, Hal, I know," Anoriath murmured as she stroked his arm, his hair.

Celebsul gave Anoriath a sympathetic glance, full of his own sorrow.  He could say no more.  The elf laid a slender hand of comfort on Anoriath's back before climbing down the ladder.

Anoriath continued to comfort the stiff, unyielding body in her arms.  Though he did not pull away, Halbarad could not relax in her caress for fear of losing himself to the despair that clutched at him.  Nor did Anoriath press him to, for she had naught to reassure him with, but could only offer her company.

"I know."

Chapter Eight

Later that week
Morning

The elf Rilith sat in a quiet corner of the common room, having just eaten a good hobbit-cooked meal.  She smiled silently down upon the mug of ale before her, recalling the chase and triumph of the hunt from which she had but recently returned, in the company of her elvish companions Pippin and Gilraen.

Aye, the trip had been triumphant upon more than one level, for it had been a time of coming to grips with some of the shadows and ghosts of her own past.  Solitary by her very nature, Rilith was reminded that, nonetheless, seclusion was not always the best course.  Her gaze rose from her plate to fall upon Elanna who sat in a chair with her knees pulled up, hugging her legs to her chest.  The girl stared blankly out the window, her blue eyes seeing all and taking in nothing.

Sighing, Rilith stood; she didn’t know the half-elf well and had had very few occasions to speak with her.  Rilith knew as much as most folk of what had happened to the girl when held captive by the leader of the raiders.  She knew that Elanna had been beaten, starved and tortured by Parcus, and at that thought, she shivered involuntarily.  Like the others of her kind, she too could not believe that Parcus had been one of the First Born.  An Elf of all things!

The elf found herself musing how Elanna’s periods of quiet melancholy had grown in length since the return from Lake Nurnen.  The long rides with only the warg for company, the craving for solitude, all were a sad change from the vivacious girl Elanna had been, before she accepted the mission to Nurn.  As her silence grew, so did the intensity of her anger, so easily triggered and by the slightest of things.  But, by the same token, her anger was bewilderingly absent when it would have been appropriate.

Rilith could recall just such an instance from a few days ago, when Elanna had reluctantly brought a bowl out for the hobbit lasses' inspection, an item she had made back in Nurn.  It was clear that the girl did so reluctantly and only under the kind persuasion of her small friends who hoped to draw her gently from her isolation.

The bowl was the only one Elanna had of its like, as the girl had not made more pending the opinion and approval of the owners of the Troll.  Like the hobbits, Rilith too had laughed in amazed enjoyment at the comical figure painted on the side of the bowl.  The laughter and merry discussion had come to an abrupt end when fingers slipped and the bowl dropped to smash into pieces on the floor.  All eyes fixed themselves upon the young peredhil, sure that this mishap would trigger another of her bouts of ill-tempered anger.  But her response left each of them with jaws agape, astonishment written on every face.

Elanna gazed dispassionately down at the clay fragments littering the floor.  The piece was irretrievably shattered.  

“It doesn’t matter,” she said indifferently and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

Now, Rilith shook her head as she rose from her seat.  The elf took pity on the pale ghost of the girl Elanna had been and, quietly crossing the room, joined her at her table.  She hoped to find some way to comfort this worthy acquaintance.  Elanna did not acknowledge the elf’s presence by so much as a twitch.  Rilith leaned toward the girl, balancing against the table with the tips of her fingers.  The silence lengthened and Rilith grew ever more uncomfortable.  After a time, she loudly cleared her throat in hope of gaining the girl’s attention.

Elanna slowly looked up, a puzzled light in her eyes as the elf smiled at her.  She blinked.  Where had Rilith come from and when?

"Can I help you Rilith?" Elanna asked.  She had never spoken to the elf about anything significant and could see no reason for the elf to join her now.

"Do you believe you can?" Rilith asked in a conspiratorial whisper and eased herself into a seat across from the girl.  Elanna stared blankly at her.  "Elanna, are you well?" Rilith continued.  "You seem somewhat quieter than usual, if that indeed is possible."  She paused but still received no answer.  "What troubles the mind of one so young?"

Rilith waited but Elanna only stared mutely at her.  A blankness settled over her eyes until Rilith had the unsettling feeling the girl was looking right through her as if the elf had disappeared in a puff of smoke.  Perhaps trying to engage the oddly-behaving girl in conversation had not been a wise decision.  But, good or poor judgment aside, something compelled the elf to finish what she had started.

"You don’t have to tell me but, please, let me offer you this," Rilith continued earnestly as she placed her hand on Elanna‘s arm.  "Let not the past and its shadows color your future.  Aye, it will affect the person you are, I too know this.  The world must seem an unwelcome place for all that you have suffered, yet it is not so unfriendly that it does not give us glimmers of its true beauty.  Your love for the Ranger captain, that is but one gift Eru has blessed you with."

Something like a flame flickered deep in the eyes of the young half-elf.  Perhaps she had finally reached the girl.  Encouraged, she pressed on.

“You also have the love of your friends here at the Troll,” Rilith pointed out.  “You escaped your imprisonment with your life and were not made a thrall, which, certainly is something for which you can be grateful.  As far as all else is concerned, you are not alone.  The twin burdens of betrayal and death are shared by any who have had the misfortune of being thus enslaved.  Indeed, those burdens are never fully laid down and tend to leave the bearers under a cloud of suspicion.  Only by creating a visible bond of trust with your friends you can dispel that cloud.”

Rilith spared a quick glance at the elves Pippin and Carcharien, who had just entered, and exchanged brief nods with them.

The flame fanned into fire in the young Ranger's eyes.  Her attention focused elsewhere, Rilith did not notice, nor did she feel Elanna‘s arm slip from underneath her hand.  Suddenly, wood scraped and then clattered harshly against the floor.  Rilith whipped her gaze around only to find that she must now look up to meet Elanna's blazing stare.  The girl's chair had been violently thrown to the floor when the she had leapt to her feet.  A pale face, the cheeks adorned with the red roses of anger, and a wild light in her eyes greeted Rilith.

“HOW DARE YOU!” Elanna spat venomously, her raised hands curled into tight fists.  

Rilith straightened in her chair in alarm.  

“What do you know of betrayal and death, you who have never been captive or enslaved?" Elanna shouted.  "Who are you to offer mealy-mouthed platitudes on the beauty of the world?”

To say Rilith was only slightly taken aback by the hostility in Elanna’s words was to say the Dark Lord was slightly irritated with Isildur for slicing his hand and wandering off with the One Ring.  Surely there was nothing she had said that would warrant this verbal attack.  Shocked to the core, Rilith rose from her seat and moved to put the table between them as she tried her best to placate the angry girl.

“Please, forgive me, I did not mean to upset,” Rilith soothed while keeping an eye on the upraised fists, glad that she put some distance between the two of them.  “I understand how you feel.  What could any of us know about what you went through?”

“You understand!  You understand nothing,” Elanna hissed, and slammed both hands flat on the table between them. 

Rilith’s eyes widened but she stood her ground.  She thought it best to not to show Elanna how badly the girl’s inexplicable rage disturbed her.

“You are not acquainted with the bloodstains on your soul left behind by the death of another.  Dead because of you, whether in deed or word does not matter, the dead cannot distinguish between the two.”  Elanna paused, breathing heavily as she leaned towards Rilith, her hands on the table supporting her.  Her voice dropped to a deadly cold whisper.  “Have you felt the silken chains that bind you into thralldom, Rilith?  Or that you can use to bind another into that state?"  Her voice rose, shaking.  NO ONE, and I mean no one is strong enough to resist.  Parcus was proof of that!  Aglaran was proof of that!  You -.”

“HOLD!” the command came simultaneously from Carcharien who strode toward the pair and Anoriath who had entered the room just in time to take in the tense tableau.

“Take her," Anoriath directed Carcharien, nodding curtly at Elanna, "and I’ll take Rilith.  Hold her here until I get back,” Anoriath commanded tersely, taking Rilith by the arm and escorting her briskly out the front door. 

“Why did you stop me?”  Elanna squirmed in Carcharien’s grasp, so astonished by their intervention that she had failed to elude his grasp.  “She understands nothing!  If you wish to speak to me of these things I will listen, but I will not listen to one such as that!  She carries the same idiotic fears and prejudices as the other suspicious fools who look askance at any who have been captive."  Elanna pulled against the elf's firm grip.  Let go of me!”

As soon as they cleared the front doorway and gained the front porch, Anoriath released Rilith’s arm.

“I’m sorry.  I hope I wasn’t too rough,” the Ranger apologized, lines of weariness appearing on her face.  “I needed to get one of you out of there quickly and I thought you were likely to be the most cooperative at the moment.”

Rilith still seemed stunned by the violent outburst and she paused a moment to collect herself before speaking.

“Forgive me, I only sought to help.  I had no intention of triggering her ma… outburst,” Rilith said faintly, catching herself just in time.   “She seemed so fragile and lost.  I have nothing but pity for her.”

Anoriath sighed and leaned her hip against the rail of the porch, rubbing her temples with her hands.  This was the very thing she herself had sought to avoid with her silence when she had first arrived at the Troll.  Elanna did not have that option.  All knew at least a small portion of what had befallen her in Nurn and most did not understand that pity was the last thing the girl needed.  The Ranger also heard the word Rilith had bitten off, "madness"  ‘Sweet Eru, let it not come to that.’

Anoriath lifted her weight off the rail.  “Don’t pity her Rilith," she warned softly.  "Pity will only weaken her further."  When Rilith responded with a puzzled look, Anoriath continued, her voice gaining speed and confidence, “What that girl needs right now is to be treated as she was always treated, normally."  Anoriath drew in a sharp breath through her nose and looked toward the door.  "The other thing she needs right now is a good tongue lashing for her behavior to you.”

Rilith immediately raised her hands in protest.  “Please, no harm has been done.  She has endured so much.  I do not wish to be the cause of any more trouble for her.  Surely she has had enough.”

Anoriath shook her head and pointed twinned fingers at the elf, leveling a stern gaze at her.  “That is exactly what I’m talking about.  Aye, she has endured more than any one person should ever be asked to endure, but that still does not give her the right to treat you or anyone else the way she just did.  Your own pain does not justify inflicting your misery on others.”

Rilith reluctantly acknowledged the logic in Anoriath’s words and was forced to admit to herself that the Ranger knew the girl far better than she did; still it was a difficult lesson to learn.

“You are right,” Rilith agreed with a nod.  “Indeed you have given me much to think about.  I bid you good day, Lady Ranger.”  Silently she slipped away to remember the things Elanna’s outburst had brought to the surface.

Relieved that one battle had been peaceably settled, Anoriath walked back through the front door to face the rest of the war.  Elanna twisted in Carcharien’s grip, resisting mightily as he steered her towards a chair.  His face stern, he resolutely ignored Elanna‘s biting comments about Rilith.  Nor did he and Anoriath escape the girl’s scathing remarks directed at their interference.  With some difficulty he finally, gently but firmly, succeeded in plunking the girl in her seat.  

Anoriath snorted softly.  At least Elanna hasn’t forgotten all of her training, she thought wryly.  When he let her go, the elf was breathing heavily.  Anoriath raised an inquiring brow as Elanna shot a glare her direction.  'Well, we shall see how much prodding she needs,' Anoriath mused, suddenly glad that Halbarad was nowhere near to see the reversal in roles that was about to take place.

Anoriath swung a chair over to the table, returning Carcharien's nod before the elf softly backed up and left Elanna to her care.  She faced the sullen girl across the table, sitting on the chair sideways, her heels hanging off the rung below her seat and an arm propped on the back of the chair beside her.  There was much that needed setting aright, and Elanna's mention of their lost friend Aglaran a moment ago was proof of it.  The blind elf had once himself suffered under Parcus' torments, and after long years of grief and guilt his peace had come only when he gave his life in battle.  Anoriath kept her face carefully neutral as she steadily returned Elanna's irritated glare.  Slowly, little by little, Elanna's gaze began to waver and she glanced at the tabletop.  Anoriath raised a brow and caught the girl's eye again.

Elanna sighed heavily.  "Do I have to?"

"What do you think?" prompted Anoriath.   

Elanna sighed heavily and blurted out, annoyed, "She has no idea what she's talking about.  How can she sit there and talk about all that I've been through and what I need to do heal?  I know all this!  How could I not know this?  How stupid does she think I am?"

Anoriath's brows rose and she reached across the table to capture one of Elanna's wrists.  The girl subsided as the older woman held her firmly and rubbed her thumb soothingly across skin and bone.   

Elanna took a deep breath and removed her hand.  "This is why you didn't tell anyone about what Parcus did, isn't it?"  Her question held both accusation and plea for understanding.

Anoriath withdrew her hand and nodded.  "Aye, one of them.  Sometimes the greatest burden is the pain and pity you bring to others."

"It just makes it worse," Elanna blurted.  "I feel like I'm just hurting everyone I touch, Anoriath," Elanna stated flatly, her eyes welling with tears and her voice catching in her throat.  

"Aye, and you feel like you can't control it and then you can't tolerate being around anyone and seeing the confusion and pain in their eyes?" Anoriath asked softly.  Tears brimmed in her own eyes as shared memories resonated between them.  

Elanna nodded silently and sniffed.  “I’m so tired Ani and I can’t help but wonder, what’s the point.  Their hurt, my hurt.”

Anoriath knew what the girl had in mind that she left to dangle unsaid between them.  Anoriath shook her head slowly, alarmed but unsurprised, and then stopped.  No, it would not come to that.  There would not be room for despair.  She leaned across the table and tapped the wood between them sharply.  “The point is that there is a place beyond all that.  Where the pain will fade for you and all that love you.  It will fade!  You just have to hang on until then.”

Elanna attempted to turn the corners of her mouth up into a small smile in return, but failed miserably.  “I don’t know if I can.”

Anoriath's face turned grimly resolute.  “You don't have to do it alone.  We are all here and none of us would turn our back on you.  No matter what you think you've done.”

Elanna searched Anoriath’s eyes and saw the fear and concern behind the stern encouragement.  ’Even you, Ani?’

Elanna forced a smile into her voice.  “I’ll try but it’s hard being around everybody sometimes.” 

“Which is why you need to be alone sometimes,“ Anoriath said, nodding her head in empathy.

Elanna nodded.

Anoriath gave Elanna a wry smile.  "I'd offer to set up the loft for you but I don't think Meri would take well to you giving up your clean and comfortable room for the bales of hay and mice after she's just convinced me to abandon them."  

Elanna snorted indelicately in the midst of clearing her throat and hiccupped, drawing a chuckle from Anoriath and a brief giggle from her, in spite of herself.  Elanna drew a breath in a long sigh and let herself be drawn away from the darkness.  It might only be for a little while, but it abruptly felt good to be in the company of another, to laugh.

"I thought you were going to lecture me," Elanna mused pointedly, glancing across the table.

Anoriath grinned.  "Ah, well," she said.  "I wouldn't have much of a leg to stand on in attempting that, now would I?"

Elanna gave her a slight smile in answer, recalling loud voices and slamming feet that could only have been Anoriath and her brother.  Anoriath's emotions were generally swift and strong, but the Ranger had been so touchy and unpredictable when she first arrived from Nurn.  Now she knew why.

She squinted at Anoriath.  "I know she only meant well, but do I really have to apologize to Rilith?" she asked, half hoping that she'd be spared the humiliation.

Anoriath snorted lightly and scratched her chin, reflecting.  "And what do you think Halbarad will do if he hears of this incident and you haven't yet?"

Elanna grimaced ruefully.  

"Very well," she said with a resigned sigh and stood up from the chair.  "I’m going.  I'm going."  

Anoriath grinned at her, completely in sympathy with the sentiments plain on Elanna's face.  She gazed after the young woman, lost in sad thought, as Elanna crossed the room and softly opened the door and exited.  Anoriath sighed.  Such a brief window into the laughter and joy Elanna had once felt so freely.  And such exhausted despair.  She scratched the back of her scalp, suddenly feeling tired and a little lost.   Perhaps a little time to herself would be good about now.  It was far too cold to visit the small river where she could immerse herself in the cool green water.  Her brother always found time atop his mount soothing.  Perhaps, she should give that a try, for once.

Chapter Nine

Midday

Elanna sat on a large boulder in a rocky outcropping near the Troll.  Located in the fenced in pasture, it was a place of privacy.  Her knees drawn up with her arms wrapped around her shins, she tilted her face to the warm fall sun.  Its rays warmed her skin but it did little to take the chill from her heart.  She had come to be alone in this place, her place, after apologizing to Rilith, an apology mercifully accepted with grace.  When she was unable to flee to her sanctuary of the bee fields, she came here to seek solace in a special gift, something she seemed to do often these days.  

The peredhil cast her eyes down to the stony ground below her perch when, today, her favorite trinket brought no consolation.  Her chin slowly fell to rest on her knees as she stared at the ground.  As was her wont at such times, she paid little heed to her surroundings.  This place had been safe from prying eyes for so long that it was with great surprise that she noticed the pair of supple leather boots standing before her and realized she had heard no one approach.  Her eyes traveled up from the booted feet to the blue eyes and fair face crowned by a raven fall of hair.  Her visitor was one of their elves, his grave, handsome face showing nothing but mild curiosity.  Perhaps she should not have been so surprised.  She supposed that the elves knew all the hidden places. 

“What is that?” Carcharien asked, pausing a few steps below the base of the boulder where she sat.

Elanna hastily covered her left palm with her right, hiding the object from view.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to pry,” the elf apologized, holding up a quick hand.  “I should have realized it was private.”  He paused and dropped his hand, watching her with eyes that seemed darker for the depth of understanding in them.  He nodded at her stone seat.  "May I join you?" he asked softly. 

She nodded her head shortly in assent without look at him and Carcharien lightly leapt to her side.  

Elanna’s brow creased as she thought.  While friends, settlers and Rangers alike had treated her with nothing but kindness, Carcharien’s quiet brand of thoughtfulness was somehow different.  Even with her senses dulled by the after effects of her captivity, she felt that the elf's compassion sprang from a source more akin to that of the settlers than to his own kin.  Yet, in a way she could not put words to, that source was still profoundly different from the settlers too.  It was uniquely his own.

Elanna opened her hands to reveal her personal treasure.  She had not yet shared it with anyone though it had been the subject of much speculation by those who had seen it given.  Carcharien glanced at her for permission and then solemnly leaned over to examine it, his face so close that she could feel the heat rising from his cheek.  Nestled in her palms was a small sphere of milky white stone, no more than two inches in diameter and carved in the image of tiny blossoms.  Instead of sinking the petals into the surface of the stone, the flowers were raised above the surface by carving down, under and away from each tiny petal.  Carcharien recognized the delicate blooms as the small white flowers that could be found scattered on the ash plains of Nurn.  The carving intrigued him in more ways than one.  

He pulled away before asking, “May I?” gesturing to the object in her hands.

She nodded and held out her cupped hand.  Carcharien carefully picked up the carving.  Turning it over in his hand, he admired the skill of the carver.  Each individual flower was rendered in perfect detail, right down to the minor imperfections of the petals that could be found on the living version.  Painstaking care had been taken to use the slight variations of color in the stone to the carver’s advantage.  As a result the miniature bouquet glowed with life.  Smiling gently, Carcharien returned it carefully to Elanna’s waiting hand.

“A handsome gift.  The carver is a master at his trade,” was Carcharien’s heartfelt compliment. 

“Her trade,” Elanna corrected absently, looking down at the carving and running a finger over the surface.

Remembering a brief moment at the parting barn dance in Nurn where a small gift exchanged hands, Carcharien took a carefully aimed shot in the dark.

“Why did Halbarad choose this?” the elf asked softly.

The corners of Elanna’s mouth turned down slightly and her hand closed protectively around her treasure.  “Because I ruined the first ones he brought me,” she answered forlornly.  "The real flowers."

The despondency in her voice touched his heart.  “I am certain you didn’t do it deliberately.  There is some pain that harms whatever it touches, no matter your intent,” Carcharien said comfortingly.  “And I’m just as certain Halbarad knew this.”

Not unduly surprised by his shrewdness, Elanna raised her eyes to Carcharien.  “He knew, that’s why he gave me this,” gesturing with the hand that held the carving.  A soft smile graced her lips and the threatening tears never fell.  “I think he wanted me to know his love is not such a fragile thing that my hurt will do damage to it.  Its strength is as that of the stones of the earth, enduring all things.” 

The wonder in her voice at the unwavering steadfastness of her beloved struck a responsive chord in the elf.  He dropped her gaze to examine the stone in her hand.

“Aye, love such as that is a gift of Eru,” Carcharien reflected softly, as though he were alone with that thought.  His eyes abruptly rose to capture hers.  “Rilith spoke truly,” he said pointedly.

Elanna’s face flamed with embarrassment and her eyes dropped from his for a moment.  Carcharien was right.  She squirmed and shifted her position on the boulder poking it with her heels, with an aggravated sigh she returned her gaze to Carcharien’s.

“Yes she did but ...” Elanna admitted reluctantly as her heart still struggled with the pity that had spoiled the truth for her. 

“But?” Carcharien asked curiously, cocking one brow.

Elanna pulled her lower lip in between her teeth as she searched Carcharien’s eyes.  Had she been mistaken?  No, she thought with a sigh of relief, the shadow she had glimpsed was truly there.

“She doesn’t know of bondage the way the settlers know,” Elanna said slowly as she imprisoned Carcharien’s eyes with her gaze, praying she did not anger the elf in her quest for validation.  “The way you know.”

The sound of Elanna’s pounding heart filled her ears with its galloping beat.  Carcharien spoke not a word but neither did he break free of her gaze.  He was as immobile as the granite upon which he sat.  For a moment she feared she had managed to anger him in some way, or offended some ancient elvish sensibility that she could not imagine.  A sigh of relief escaped her when Carcharien held his knuckles to the side of her face.  When she saw the gentleness in his eyes her racing heart slowed and again she could hear.

“I know.”

Emboldened by his admission, Elanna asked tentatively, as if she could withdraw the question and leave it unsaid if necessary, “Where?” 

Carcharien hesitated for a split second and dropped his hand, long enough to recall his vow to Celebsul on a sandy beach.  'I seek light,' Carcharien thought the words again.  'I do not wish the dark.'  Now here another desperately sought escape from Shadow.  She hungered for understanding, for any hope he might provide.  And he had them to give.  It was because of these things that he chose to answer her. 

“The fortress on Amon Lanc in the south of the Greenwood.  Dol Guldur.”

Elanna could not stop the sharp intake of her breath or the stab of agony in her heart. There was not a mortal or immortal whose heart did not quail at the name of that cursed place or its fiendish master.  Given a choice she would gladly relive her ordeal rather than live through what Carcharien had, for his answer could only mean one thing: he had known evil that might have shattered a mortal heart.

“Him?’ she asked faintly, for her lips would not shape the name.

“Aye.”

She could not stop the violent shudder that caught her by surprise; her stone flowers fell from her hands.  Only Carcharien’s quick spring and catch saved the carving from being lost amongst the rocks.  He rejoined her on their perch, placed it in her open palm and pressed her fingers over it.  He added her other hand on top and then held her trembling fingers in his.  The blue eyes of both were dark.  Hers gleamed with imminent tears.

“Even Parcus had a master,” Carcharien said quietly.  “At first, when I heard of Parcus I could not understand how an elf could be turned so completely from the light of Eru."  The elf's voice changed.  Tinged with bitterness, he continued sharply, “But then, was I not made a thrall in the dawn of the Third Age?  Did I not do His bidding?”

Elanna’s eyes widened at his words.  She had thought she knew.  But this!  Not just a captive slave.  Not just tortured and tormented but the final blow of being made a thrall.  A living vessel for Sauron’s will.  Two thousand years!  How long before he was able to shake off the Dark Lord’s evil spell.  How much suspicion and prejudice had Carcharien endured over that time? 

“Forgive me, I should not have brought it up,” Elanna said, her voice catching as a tear spilled out onto her cheek.

He shook his head.  The shadow in Carcharien's eyes deepened as his hands tightened about hers.  “No, Elanna, you’re wrong.  If you had not brought it up, I would have eventually.  You see, I spent an age in shame. 'Twas my hand that brought death to the young elf in my charge, one of my brothers as dear as those that I accompany now."  Carcharien paused.  He'd not said his name in nearly an age of the world.  "His name was Guruthurin," he said before pressing on.  "It was my hand that sundered my lord from this world, Maethor, he who was my father's friend and fostered me after his passing.  I bore false knowledge to my people; a feint that we followed and left our home too poorly defended.  Our people.  Our home.  All long gone, now.  I was the tool of Shadow in their massacre, Elanna.  They were slaughtered down to the last child, Anbarad’s child.”

Anbarad’s child!  But he and Carcharien were as near in friendship as any two who shared the same womb.  And Anbarad lived!  She gasped in horror as comprehension brought to her the existence of still another of the Silvan brethren, the one who died at Carcharien’s hand.  Elanna’s eyes welled over; her guilt was but a drop in the bucket that held her friend’s remorse.  For the first time in weeks, the whispering voices in her mind were still as the knowledge of his past captured her complete attention.

“Do not think their forgiveness so easily won, Elanna," Carcharien warned.  "But their love survived their hurt.  Yet, even after my brothers gifted me with their forgiveness, and I was free, I could not forgive myself.  To this day I still hide my scars that are the symbol of my betrayal.”

When Carcharien pulled at the laces that tied a wrist guard, it suddenly came to Elanna that she had never seen him without them.  Loosening the binding, he slid it over his hand and pulled his shirtsleeve back over his elbow.  He watched quietly as Elanna's fingertip lightly traced one of the many fine ridges that covered his forearm, front and back.  She closed her mind to the unbidden image of Ragnor and his lash but could not stop the whistle of the leather strip as it traveled through the air or the snap as it made contact with flesh.  Only when Carcharien spoke again was she able shut out the echoes of memory.

He lifted her face to his as he said softly, “On the way to Nurn, I told Celebsul my deepest fear.  That the shadow I carried had tainted my soul.  That I was like Parcus.”

Elanna began to nod.  That fear she knew intimately.

“His words set me free that night.  You see, Parcus knew nothing of regret or grief or pity.  All he did was by his own choice.”  Carcharien watched Elanna’s expression to make sure she heard what he had to say.  “If the choice had not been taken from me, I would never have done the terrible things I did.  I regret what happened, I grieve for those who lost their lives and I pity those who have been turned from Eru’s light for all eternity.” 

Carcharien paused to brush away one of the tears Elanna shed for him.  She so wanted to believe.  He could see it in her eyes.  But the hurt and doubt were still too near for her to see that she had done nothing of her own free will any more than he had done so long ago.  All he could do was plant another seed of hope and pray that it found fertile ground in which to grow.

“Young peredhil," he urged.  "You grieve for those you never knew and you grieve for those whose death you believe yourself responsible.  You bear the scars that tell of your lack of choice in what was done to you and what you did.”  Carcharien tenderly cupped her tear-dampened face with both of his hands.  “You are no more like Parcus than I am.  Someday you will face the demons that still plague you and you will defeat them.  Someday you must forgive yourself.”

Elanna shook her head softly, unable to speak.

"Then you must condemn me, for my hands are filthy with the blood of my kin," Carcharien stated firmly to her startled eyes.  His voice softened, "And yet, have you not felt compassion for my weakness in the Dark Lord's hands?  Have I lost your forgiveness?"  

"No!" she protested.

"Ah, then do you believe yourself my better?" he asked, pressing on.  "That you should have resisted where I failed?"

"No!" Elanna exclaimed.  That wasn't it at all.  "But, Carcharien!" she blurted, interrupting him.  "You were in thrall when you did those things."  Her eyes brimmed heavy with tears.  "Don't you understand?  I was not."  She choked.  "What I did, I did of my free will." 

Carcharien's fair and solemn face stopped her words.  

"Elanna, not all that I did was committed in thrall to the Dark Lord," he said, his voice so soft that it was barely audible.  "Guruthurin, my young friend, my kin, was with me in Dol Guldur and begged for release in the end.  I gave it to him."

"Then you gave him mercy," she replied.  

"Did I?" he interrupted sharply.  "And in the fastness of the Enemy's stronghold, how do you think I obtained a weapon to do it?  

Elanna's gaze locked to his as a terrible comprehension dawned.  "He wanted you to…" she whispered but her voice trailed off into nothingness, lost in dark memories.  Brithlan, a young Ranger weary of his treachery and the dark shadow that held sway over him, lying in a glistening crimson pool.  She closed her eyes as a flood of profound pity for the Elf swept over her.  

Carcharien waited, watching silently.  "So, I ask again, Elanna.  Have I lost your forgiveness?" he asked softly.

She shook her head as tears rolled hotly down her cheeks and slid over the hand that pressed against her mute lips.  Elanna stood frozen on the threshold.  The peace of forgiveness was within her grasp, so close and yet so far away.  Brithlan had not begged for release and she had participated in his shame and death of her free will.  If she had been so willing, what else had she done?  Had she betrayed Halbarad of her free will?  Parcus had said so. 

"Then why do you withhold forgiveness from yourself?" Carcharien's soft insistent voice interrupted her reflections.  "How can you not deserve your own forgiveness in turn? 

When she did not answer, Carcharien stood and gently kissed the top of her head.  He leapt lightly to the ground and soundlessly left the way he came.  Elanna stared in that direction long after he had disappeared from sight.

Chapter Ten

Late morning

Milo nudged the back door to the barn against the outside wall with his toe and sucked in a deep breath, straining his lungs to their limit.  The chill mists of the autumn dawn had dissipated with the sun and it promised to be a pleasant day.  Regretfully, Milo turned his back on fresh air and sunshine and marched back over the threshold into the stable.  

Today the mucking out of the stables on The Burping Troll grounds fell solidly upon Milo's small shoulders alone.  Sevilodorf was long miles away and the hobbit had left his elf friend Gambesul in the middle of a pile of acorns.  The young apprentice was peeling and carving faces into the flesh of the small nuts.  Fair faces.  Joyful faces.  Scowling faces.  Wizen faces.  Gloomy faces.  Elf, man, halfling, and dwarf, all realized in perfect detail.  Why in Middle-earth the elf was shaping expressions on nuts, he was unable to say.  

Though he might find the elf's choice of medium bewildering, Milo knew better than to attempt to break his unfathomable friend's attention from his task once that particularly rapt expression was impressed upon the elf's face.  He'd get no work out of the young elf until the obsession ran its course.  As he walked down the stable's aisle, Milo shook his head at the incomprehensibility of elves.  Coming to a stop, the usually cheerful hobbit stood in the center of the barn and let out a decidedly resigned exhale.  

A group of dwarves had just departed the inn that morning and Milo had left a rather perturbed fiancé cleaning the common room of the inn under Meri and Erin's grim tutelage.  The group had taken their ponies with them, of course, but, apparently, their small mounts had had fewer manners than even they.  The stable was a rank mess of tumbled bins, tangled tack and other more odorous proof of their passage.  It was good for them that Sevilodorf was indeed far from the Troll.

"Sweet Eru!"

A soft voice startled Milo from his reflections.  He twisted about on his handsomely furry feet only to trip over a wayward bucket and land with a solid thump on his backside.  He stared at the female Ranger, a dark hole in the bright morning sun streaming in the door.  She hesitated only a moment before quickly striding down the aisle to him and extending a hand.  

"Ah!" Milo ruefully greeted the grin shining down on him.  "Good morning, Ranger Anoriath."

"And a good afternoon to you, Perian Burfoot!" she returned, grabbing his wrist and smoothly yanking the hapless halfling to his feet.  

Anoriath had always heard that hobbits were sure-footed, but this particular hobbit seemed to put the lie to that generalization.  She wasn't sure if the poor hobbit's preoccupation with his love for Camellia tangled his feet or he just had a natural propensity for clumsiness, but Milo seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time stretched out upon the floor rather than standing steadily atop it.  

Milo dusted at his trousers, seemingly unfazed by his tumble.  "A good thing Meri got you to move indoors," he observed, sniffing the air cautiously as he swatted at his backside, sending small glittering clouds of straw dust into the air. 

Anoriath wrinkled her nose in distaste.  It had been the overpowering smell of ammonia that had struck her upon her entry into the stable and loosened her tongue.  The sharp tang reasserted itself with her attention.  

"Indeed!  It was mornings just like this when I was most tempted to forgo my privacy."  She took in the stable now that her eyes had adjusted to the dark.  "I was going to take that black gelding out for a short run, but I don’t suppose you would object to some assistance instead?"

"No!" Milo blurted and followed her gaze out the open back door.  “It would be most welcome!” 

Anoriath tilted her head, considering him.  "I see you’ve already emptied the stalls of their occupants."

Milo nodded and moved past her to give the front doors a hefty push, swinging them wide.  “Yes, they’re in the corral.”

Anoriath’s eyes danced with mischief, glancing over her shoulder at the hobbit.  “With Mithraug?”

“No!” Milo exclaimed and then absently rubbed the belly of his muscle in his upper arm before exiting into the light to secure the doors.  “That one I put out in the pasture," his voice drifted into the barn.

Anoriath chuckled softly, wondering if the stallion found hobbits to his taste.  He certainly had an appetite for Rangers.  She kicked the bucket sharply to right it as Milo re-entered.  When Milo paused, Anoriath returned her gaze to him, puzzled by the abrupt appearance of anxiety on his face.

"You don't think Dream could possibly be in heat, do you?" he asked.

Anoriath barked out a startled laugh.  The vibrant image of an enraged Sevilodorf bearing down on her brother to berate him for the unexpected pregnancy of her favorite draught animal rose unbidden in her mind.  She hesitated to think of what it would cost Halbarad to replace the mare's service while the gentle bay was withdrawn to brood.  It would certainly serve him right for his assumptions about the woman's ability to manage her own affairs as she planned her trip to Pelargir.  Anoriath had merely kept silent and waited to see if her brother would regain his senses.  He had not.

"We shall certainly hope not," she replied and suddenly bent to swipe at the bucket's handle.

Following the hobbit-lad, who shook his head with a resigned air as he walked to the rear of the barn, Anoriath let out a sigh and scratched at an eyebrow, letting the tin bucket swing from her other hand.  Aye, withdrawn to brood.  The phrase certainly carried a double meaning that fit her mood at the moment.  She had just far too much time to think lately.

Collecting the barrow, shovels and a rake, the two set to mucking out the straw and droppings.  A cool autumn breeze strolled aimlessly through the open double doors at the front of the barn before lazily finding its way out the back, putting little effort, in its weary wanderings, into clearing the structure of the pungent odor that rose from the soiled bedding.  Before long, the muffled scraping and rustling of their work was punctuated by sneezing and periodic sniffles as they paused to wipe at burning eyes.  For such a small being, Milo's sneezes released his lungs in an explosive burst that caused Anoriath to lift her head and stare at the halfling behind her in the stall in stunned surprise. 

"You all right, there?" she asked.  

Milo pulled a pocket-handkerchief from some small, hidden place in his clothing and let out a vigorous honk as he blew, nodding in answer.  Every proper hobbit seemed to have at least one square of fine linen secreted about their person.  Just where, was a mystery to the Ranger.  This hobbit-lad, outnumbered as he was by hobbit-lasses and well loved by one in particular, seemed to have an endless supply of finely stitched and monogrammed kerchiefs.  Anoriath chuckled and turned back to raking a particularly damp and pungent pile of straw into the middle of the stall.  She wiped her nose along her sleeve and cleared the back of her throat with a series of clicking grunts.  What did those dwarves' give their ponies to eat anyway?  

Milo leaned on his shovel and gave a massive sniff, wiping at his nose.  The hobbit had insisted on taking on the shoveling out of the droppings, stating unequivocally that he would not put up with a pregnant woman bending and lifting when the chore was his responsibility.  Anoriath's jaw had clicked shut on her protest and she'd shrugged and acquiesced in the face of Milo's determination.  Sweet Elbereth!  At least the elves didn't mother her.  It seems they had known of her pregnancy even before she had acknowledged her state to herself, much less anyone else, and merely responded with a blessedly benign tolerance. 

Milo sniffed again and tucked his handkerchief away, considering Anoriath's back as she lifted the straw into a pile.  Milo, like many hobbits of the Shire, had not come into contact with Rangers, indeed, he had not even known of them until taking up his travels beyond the boundaries of his boyhood.  Now, discovering that these Big Folk had defended the borders of his comfortable home, he found himself wanting to know more about them.  Bob was a likable sort, rather hobbitish in his temperament, and he was quickly becoming a friend to the hobbit-lad and his love.  But, Milo had not spent much time alone with the other Rangers.  Despite her reputation for a prickly temper, Anoriath had not released it on him and Milo wondered if she ever would.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you," Milo blurted and then blinked in surprise that he'd given his thoughts voice.  Well, he would certainly have the opportunity to find out, now.

"Mmmmm?  What is that?" Anoriath asked absently, grabbing the shovel she had leaned against the stall and sandwiching soiled straw between it and the rake.

"Well, you were stationed in Lake Nurnen before your brother transferred you to the Troll, right?"  Milo backed up to allow the Ranger to exit the stall with her burden.

"Aye, for a couple years," Anoriath answered, wondering silently to what end his questions tended, and dumped the straw into the barrow waiting in the aisle just outside.  The result of Elanna's tenure in the enclave of former slaves was, by now, well known among the regular inhabitants of The Burping Troll.  As well, their concern for her as she slowly deteriorated under the weight of painful memories was universally felt.  Anoriath fervently hoped that the hobbit would not ask her of what the young woman had suffered, nor what she herself had either.   

"But, I thought all the Rangers were from up North, in the Wilds east of the Shire someplace."  Milo removed his hand from the wooden handle to wave it vaguely northward.  

"We were."  Anoriath returned to the stall and raked at the straw she'd scattered.  "The Rangers you know were all stationed at Bob's family's outpost up in the Misty Mountains."

"Oh."  Milo grew silent, digesting this information.  His gaze fell to the droppings at his feet and he bent to scrape a load onto his shovel.  Anoriath followed him to the barrow and, having finished this stall, took his shovel from his hand as he bent to the barrow's handles.  The hobbit-lad huffed a bit under the weight and Anoriath eyed him skeptically.  She shrugged.  She had offered.  

They had but three more stalls to clean before letting the stable air out a bit.  Milo decided he'd return later to spread fresh straw and fill the hay ricks.  Perhaps, by then, Gambesul would have emerged from his preoccupation to attend to matters of the outside world.  The elf really was much better at climbing about the high catwalk that reached along the walls in narrow arms from the shoulders of the loft to drop armloads of hay into the stalls.  Milo, like most hobbits, found heights a bit of a challenge.

"But, did all the Rangers leave the North, then?" he persisted once they had fallen into a rhythm of rustling and scraping in the next stall.  The idea bothered him.  It seemed unfair, somehow, that as soon as the Rangers of the North had been found by those they sheltered they would just as quickly be lost to them.

"Oh no," Anoriath protested, pausing to answer.  "Most Northern Rangers still remain where they were stationed before the War."  She pulled straw from the corner.  "Never fear, Master Burfoot, the Shire and Bree are as safe as always."

Milo fell silent, chewing on that fact as he shoveled half-dry dung into a pile.  Finding the mouthful dissatisfying, he continued, "But, then how did you and the others get to Gondor?"

Anoriath shook her head and snorted softly.  What was it she had heard that Mithrandir said of halflings and their insatiable curiosity?  Her eyes on the small hill of straw she was collecting, she stated, "We received word from Elrond the Half-Elven that our chief needed us.  All those who were at hand traveled under Halbarad to Rohan before the battle of Helm's Deep."  

Milo gulped and stared at her face.  "Halbarad lead the company?" he asked in a whisper.

"Oh!  Well, yes and no."  Startled, Anoriath stood up straight and attempted to explain.  "Halbarad the Elder led the Grey Company under our chief."

"Halbarad the Elder?" asked a thoroughly befuddled hobbit.

"Aye," Anoriath responded and piled straw loosely.  "A good friend of my father's.  My brother is named after him."

Comprehension dawned on the hobbit's face and he reluctantly returned his attention to the floor of the stall.  Milo's shovel scraped shrilly on wood as he loaded it.  His brow was lowered in concentration both on his way out and on his return to the stall.  The Rangers at The Burping Troll were so real, so… human.  

"But, isn't it confusing having two Halbarads?" he asked, ferreting out at least one aspect of this conversation he could fully grasp.

"Not anymore," Anoriath murmured, the regret in her voice puzzling Milo.  

Anoriath glanced back at Milo, alerted by his silence.  She cleared her throat softly.  "Halbarad the Elder died when we broke the siege of Minas Tirith."  

Anoriath turned back to collecting the straw.  The rustle of dried fibers sounded loud in that small space while Milo paused in his questions, the shovel hanging loosely from his hands.

"So, that means that you were at the Battle at Pelennor Fields, too?" Milo asked as Anoriath passed him with a load of straw, the hobbit-lad trying to come to grips with the connection between his friends and distant stories of desperate stands against an overwhelming foe and flights across the plains and hills of Rohan and Gondor.

"Aye," Anoriath called back from the aisle and bent to scrape together a tuft of straw she'd dropped.  When Milo followed her with a shovel-full, she took it from his hand as before and walked ahead of him with the tools to the next stall and leaned them against the wall.  

"And before the Black Gates, too," she called back to Milo and smiled to herself.

Milo stared after her.  He blinked and then, recalling himself, hefted the handles to the burrow and followed her.  "With Gandalf?"

"Aye, he was there."  Anoriath eased the next door open with a loud squeak.  She jiggled the door a few times, reflectively and then pushed it to smack lightly against the wall.  "We should probably oil that hinge, Milo."  

"He must have looked splendid!" the hobbit exclaimed, dropping the barrow to a stop.

Anoriath froze and thought a moment before nodding and stepping to the back of the next stall.  "Indeed he did," she said softly, her eyes unfocused, remembering.  

"And Prince Legolas and the dwarf, Gimli, they were there?" Milo asked in a rush, standing in the door, too enthralled with this new understanding of grand events to concentrate on such mundane tasks as the mucking of stalls.  

"Aye," Anoriath nodded.  She kicked at a thick mess of trampled straw only to sneeze loudly at the aroma she released with their disturbance.  "Well, that was an intelligent thing to do," she reflected wryly and blinked at the proffered square of white linen that suddenly appeared beneath her nose.  It was clean and crisply folded.  Anoriath blinked down at the hobbit's earnest face.  Where had he gotten another one?  

Anoriath blew her nose under Milo's solemn eye, wondering what the unexpectedly quiet halfling was making of the answers to his questions.  

Folding the linen against itself, she wiped at her eyes.  She paused a moment and regarded Milo.  She stated softly, "I have to admit, it was glorious to see the Rangers assembled in such a company.  After all those years of hiding in the wild, finally to stand before our Enemy and demand him to confront us in open battle, to ride up to the very gates of the Morannon and watch the Mouth of Sauron blanch and turn tail and run for shelter, I don't think I've ever been more proud to be what I am and follow Lord Aragorn, no matter what might have happened after."  Anoriath, having had little experience with the etiquette of sharing handkerchiefs, folded it against itself and held it out, offering its return to the hobbit.

Milo, ignoring the rumpled white square of cloth, stared blankly at the Ranger.  "How close were you?" he asked breathlessly.

Deciding better on handing a used handkerchief back to it owner, Anoriath tucked it in her belt and scowled, thinking.  She shrugged.  "Within about ten yards, I'd say."  

"What did it look like?" Milo asked, his eyes riveted on her.

She pulled her rake off the wall and turned her back to attack the offending pile of soiled bedding.  It was so compacted that, after all, it took little effort to scoop it into a pile and pick it up.  

"I'm not sure.  I'm sorry, Milo," Anoriath apologized as she passed him with the straw.  "I confess I was more occupied with watching our enemies.  I was assigned the task of guarding Prince Imrahil when the company set forward to parley with the infamous Mouth."  She dropped the straw to the top of the barrow.  It was get a might bit full, she reflected.  

Milo turned abruptly and trotted to the door of the stall.  "You were in the van with the King!" Milo exploded in disbelief.

"Aye."  Anoriath swung the stall door shut and proceeded down the aisle with the rake and shovel.  "Though, he wasn't a king then."  Luckily, that last stall hadn't contained any droppings, as Master Burfoot was having difficulty concentrating on his self-appointed task she chuckled to herself.

"But still!  You were in the company with the Captains of the West, the one that rode up to the Black Gate to parley with the Mouth...?"  Milo nearly squeaked in his surprise as he trailed behind her.  

Anoriath chuckled dryly.  "Aye, and it annoyed Bob to no end.  He and the others remained in the field while I got to ride forward as one of the many horsemen that guarded the captains."

"Bob?"  Milo stopped dead in his tracks.  "Bob?  Bob was there, too?"

"Of course," Anoriath responded, shooting a grin at Milo for his astonished disbelief and then swung the last stall door open and disappeared from his sight. 

He followed her and stopped in the doorway.  "Really?" he asked.  To Milo, the image of a grim member of the Grey Company did not seem to jibe well with his merry-faced Ranger friend who as often ended the night on the floor below the table as seated above it.  

"Really.  And did well, too, I might add."  Anoriath pulled straw out of the corner  "For once," she muttered under her breath.

"What?" Milo asked.

"Hmm?" Anoriath abruptly looked up from the pungent straw she was gathering into a pile.

"What did you say about Bob?"  Milo echoed.

"Oh, he did well," Anoriath repeated blandly.

"Oh," Milo said, puzzled.  He was sure he had heard her say something else.  He shook his head sharply.  "So, why did you get to go with the Captains when the other Rangers had to stay behind?"

Anoriath screwed up her face to express her ignorance.  "To this day I have no idea, Master Burfoot.  Though," she paused before continuing, "I've always wondered if it was because I was the only woman on the field."  She shrugged and turned back to raking straw.  "You know, the company had at least one of all the Free Races, elf, peredhil, man, dwarf, and wizard.  Even Master Peregrin Took was there."

"Pe- Pe- Pe-" Milo sputtered helplessly before he stopped attempting speech and a slow grin spread across his face.  

Peregrin Took!  The prince of the halflings in the black and silver livery of a Man of Gondor!  Milo's eyes glowed.  If only he had been there!  Images of Master Milo Burfoot in silver hauberk and black tunic with the white tree blazoned bright upon his front rose in his mind.  The light in his eyes shone with grim determination and orcs and trolls fell with every sweep of his small but resolute blade!  

Anoriath glanced over at the halfling in his sturdily made work clothes, alerted by his singular silence.  She looked back at the straw and chuckled softly at the bemused expression on the hobbit's face.  Better that he had not been there.  Sobering, she reflected that, for all the glory the story may have in the telling, she'd pick a day of warm sunshine and gentle rain over the tense hush of despair that had burst into cries of rage and horrific pain.  You lost track of time and place, forgetting that a world existed beyond the stones under your feet that were slick with blood.  

How many men died that day? she wondered.  The thought shocked her into stillness.  Your friend Anardil lost his arm that day, Anoriath!  She blushed fiercely, the heat creeping over her jaw and touching her cheeks.  Anoriath turned her back to Milo, who had recalled himself and was slowly scraping droppings into a small mound.  Pretending to dig at straw embedded between the wooden planks, Anoriath hid her face, struck by acute shame at the realization that she had been taking glory in telling such stories to a dumbstruck audience.  She'd enjoyed Milo's reaction.

She'd spent all her years defending those who lived a simple life, though they knew not that it was a gift dearly bought by the blood of the Dunedain.  What kind of gift was it if she purchased it with their awe?  And what did it mean for what she thought of them?  Did she think the halflings and people of Bree any less because they had not drawn blade in battle?  Was this the true reason for her reluctance to give up her life as a Ranger?  That she would somehow be made less by being anything else?  Her anger at being asked to fetch and carry for her brother and friends when they were building Elanna's pottery shed suddenly struck her as the fall of an overweening pride and Anoriath's face flushed anew.  

Anoriath chanced a glance at Milo lugging a shovel-full of dung over to the barrow.  No, she did not think less of them and should have no shame or grief at joining those whom she had defended all these years.  Anoriath abruptly cleared her throat and gathered the straw she'd so carefully raked at least three times more than it needed.  Hoping that her face had cooled, she dropped the load into the barrow and waited for Milo to carry out the last shovel of droppings.  

After he unloaded the shovel, Anoriath nodded to the hobbit-lad before he could speak.  

"Thank you, Milo," she said, much to the halfling's surprise. 

He blinked at her, befuddled by the incongruity of who had offered both help and thanks.  Yes, those were the words that were to be said, but Milo found himself confused about who was supposed to be saying them.  Had he said them?  No.  Was he supposed to say them?  He was no longer sure.  

"For what?" Milo blurted, more baffled now than when he had begun attempting to puzzle his way through the maze of social convention.

Anoriath grinned at his confusion, her burden dissipating with her laughter.  She gently pried the shovel from Milo's hands.  "Nothing, Milo," she said.  "Just, thank you."

Milo stared after the Ranger as she walked to the back of the barn and exited through the back door, turning toward the compost heap at the far corner.  

"Come, Milo!" her voice carried through the open door.  "Let's get this done with so we can check the kitchen.  I don't know about you, my dear Master Burfoot, but I’m feeling a might peckish." 

Milo grinned and bent to heft the barrow from the floor and trundle its weight down the aisle.  He was not about to be outdone by one of their Big Folk in matters of appetite.  

Chapter Eleven

First of November
Morning

Bob walked stiffly through the front door of the Troll.  His steps reverberated on the wooden planking of the raised porch, loaded down as he was with his arms full of armor and weapons and a fresh muffin in his mouth.  Steam filled his mouth and he inhaled the rich perfume of sweet dough and hot blueberries.  He quickened his step.  Saliva pooled beneath his tongue and threatened to spill, an indignity not even Bob would allow.  He let everything drop onto one of the tables so he could pull the muffin away and chew on the chunk that remained behind.  Bob drew a grateful breath and tossed the muffin lightly in his fingers.  It was still a little too hot to hold.  Ah, but hobbits knew how to bake.  

Breakfast in hand, he spoke around the unfinished mouthful as his eyes swept the porch, “Here’s all my gear.  Good, you already have the others' mail, too.  Where are they anyway?”  He swallowed.  

Three more mail shirts lay curiously empty of their owners on one table while another held Halbarad’s sword and knife.  A third had been reserved for bows and arrows.  Bob sorted through his belongings while Halbarad watched with an affectionately lifted brow.  Bob seemed to be attempting to finish his muffin before Halbarad had even finished his greeting.  It was a wonder the man didn't either choke or burn his throat.

“They’ve gone up to get swords, bows and arrows.  Elros seems to think those will also be too heavy for Anoriath,” Halbarad reported with a sly grin.

Bob’s abrupt laughter was cut short by a crushing cough as he inhaled a rather large crumb.  Tears sprang to his eyes while Halbarad attempted to assist by pounding on his back vigorously.  Bob waved his arms at his friend and twisted around to escape the thumping that only served to introduce pain.  But his attempts to elude his friend were in vain, for Halbarad merely turned with him.

“Here,” Halbarad thumped.  “That’s what you get for laughing.”  He thumped again.  “Hold still, will you.”  He thumped yet again.  “How can I help if you won’t stay still?”

By this time Halbarad was laughing as hard as Bob was coughing and both men were more than a little wet around the eyes.  Ah, but the deep belly laughter that stole his breath felt good, Halbarad thought.  It was something he had done very little of lately.  A few more flat-handed whacks to Bob’s back and Halbarad finally took pity on the poor man.  He steered Bob to the nearest chair to sit until the man had cleared his throat.  While he waited, Halbarad turned back to filling empty flour sacks with sand.

“One of these days you will be the death of me doing that,” Bob finally croaked.

Halbarad grinned unrepentantly.  "It would not be such a problem if you did not insist on overstuffing your mouth.  Now make yourself useful and hand me that hauberk.”  He pointed loosely to the table across from his friend.  

Bob stood with a hand pressed flat against his chest.  A final cough demonstrated just how close he had come to perishing.  Halbarad snorted a short laugh at his friend's mock histrionics.  Grinning, Bob crossed the floor and hefted the first hauberk from the table.  Halbarad, smiling irrepressibly at him, took his time adding the vinegar to the sand.  When Bob began to tap his foot impatiently, Halbarad relented, chuckling, and held the mouth of the sack open so that Bob could lower the mail shirt into it.

“If this is the treatment I can expect from my captain,” Bob snorted as he dropped the shirt to clank heavily into the sack.  “Then I might as well take today’s perimeter run.”

“Ha!"  Halbarad exclaimed.  "You know the only reason you want to take the long perimeter is to get out of your share of the work,” Halbarad jibed at Bob as he added vinegar to the next sack of sand that sat on the sturdy porch.

“Now why would you think a thing like that?” Bob asked, feigning innocence as he held another hauberk for Halbarad who held the mouth of the sack loosely open.

As with the first, Bob helped to scoop and arrange the pungent sand until the hauberk was buried.  Together they moved onto the next sack and hauberk.

“Because, it would take an earth-shattering event to tear you away from your beloved cherry-b and perform your duty as a Ranger beyond the confines of the inn.”  Halbarad grinned wickedly at Bob.

One look at the stricken expression on his friend’s face and Halbarad cursed himself for his careless insensitivity.  The last ’event’ that took them both far from the cheery habitat of the Troll was the frantic ride to Nurn.  There they hoped to find Anoriath and rescue Elanna, or, if need be, avenge their deaths.

“Forgive me my friend,” Halbarad apologized, clutching the edges of the burlap.  “That I, of all people, should say such a-”

Bob interrupted Halbarad with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “Nay, you only spoke the truth, I just find it difficult to move past that time when Elanna, for some strange reason, has not.  I cannot leave her in the clutches of the past alone.”

Halbarad nodded as Bob spoke.  He agreed for the most part with dark-haired Ranger’s assessment.  Halbarad opened his mouth to speak when the front door opened and the object of their distress walked onto the porch.  Halbarad turned his attention from the brother to the sister.  Though she had regained much of the weight she had lost in her ordeal, Halbarad still thought her too thin.  To his dismay, the circles under her eyes that seemed to have become a permanent feature were darker than usual. 

Her nightmares must have kept her from sleep again.  With her roommate, Sevilodorf, gone to Pelargir, there was no one to comfort her when they invaded her rest.  She would not allow anyone else to sleep in the room with her, insisting irritably that she was not an invalid who needed a nurse.  Well, she, no doubt, was likely to be in a touchy mood this morning . . . again.

“Elanna, I’ll need you to fetch your sword along with your arrows,” Halbarad asked calmly. 

As of yet, Elanna owned no mail.  It would have to be made special to fit her petite stature.  But she did possess the other two weapons Halbarad mentioned, along with a knife.  All were custom made for her.  She had both the skill and determination needed to wield either weapon, but she had not been allowed to use or carry them these past weeks.

Halbarad grimly watched the mutinous light that grew in her eyes as he continued.  “As soon as Elros and Anoriath come downstairs with theirs, we will divide up the tasks.”

Elanna glanced at Bob, but he did his best to keep his features neutral.  This was their captain expecting obedience, a normal part of every day Ranger life.  Elanna gritted her teeth when she realized she would receive no support from Bob.  Couldn’t he see that, under the circumstances, how outrageous this request was?  Obviously not. 

Elanna stepped stiffly up to Halbarad, crossed her arms and, with a thrust of her chin, she snapped, “And why would I want to do that?”

Bob dropped his chin in consternation.  This is why Halbarad was a captain and Bob was not.  He could hardly believe her words.  To question your captain over such an insignificant matter was close to sacrilege in his mind.  Though he understood the depth of distress from whence it came, it still bothered the soldier in him.  Fine to grumble to yourself where no one heard, but to give it defiant voice...  She deserved a severe reprimand and Bob waited for it to fall, dreading that cold tone in his friend's voice and the icy response he was likely to get in turn.  Yet Halbarad stood steadfast in the onslaught of Elanna's bitter anger, whereas Bob would have blurted out his reproach without thinking.

Grateful that the three of them were alone, Halbarad pointedly ignored her tone and answered with deceptive calm, “Because you know the importance of maintaining the tools of our trade as well as anyone.”

Elanna’s words burst like violent poison from her throat.  “The tools of our trade!  I have no trade, I only have useless pieces of steel and wood which you refuse to allow me to wield.”  Elanna’s fingers bit into her arms, the knuckles white with tension.  “So what is the point?  Why should I bother?  It’s not fair!”

Halbarad stood silently, immovable as granite, waiting for Elanna to meet his eyes.  The effort to lift her eyes to his took all her willpower.  Inside, she was appalled at her outburst.  No one ever questioned Halbarad, or any other captain for that matter when it came to maintaining weaponry.  Yet she had sealed her fate with her own words.  Whatever censure Halbarad had waiting for her was well deserved, which, perversely, only made her more resentful.

Once he knew he held her gaze and attention, Halbarad stated with quiet steel in his voice, “You are a Ranger who bears the Northern Star.  Until you are deemed fit to return to duty, you have been assigned here, under my command.”  Halbarad paused to let his words sink in.  “You have not been released from your oath and I still expect you to carry your share of responsibility as you are able.” 

Elanna’s chest heaved with her angry breaths as she struggled with herself.  His words, his tone of voice was that of her superior officer, but the light in his eyes was the man who loved her.  The loving sadness that gleamed there as he took the action she had forced him into was more than she could bear.  A strangled cry that sounded like the word ‘fine’ issued from her throat as she whirled around and fled through the door, letting it slam behind her.
 
Both pairs of eyes followed the embarrassed and angry girl as she stormed back into the inn.  Bob was the first to turn away.  He brought his gaze back to his Captain at the sound of Halbarad’s melancholy exhalation.  Gone was the stern captain reprimanding his insubordinate soldier, in his place stood the sad figure of a man who had been forced to witness the broken state of mind of his beloved.  Bob lifted his hand to Halbarad’s slumped shoulder and squeezed it gently. 

Bob offered quietly, his shared pain evident in the troubled shadows in his eyes, “I will check on her."

“Thank you.  I don’t think it would be wise of me to do so,” replied Halbarad, defeated for the moment.

Bob opened his mouth but quickly snapped it shut.  There was little he could say and if he tried to speak, he feared he would only add his own weight to Halbarad’s burden of concern and worry.  

Bob walked through the door and into the common room.  A quick sweep told him Elanna had not stopped here, nor could he hear her voice as he passed by the kitchen to the stairs.  The piping hobbit voices that floated from behind the door would not have been chatting quite so merrily if Elanna had stormed in there in her flight from Halbarad and herself. 

Bob mounted the stairs and passed Anoriath and Elros coming down bearing their weapons and Sevilodorf's leather brigandine.  Bob looked at them questioningly, without saying a word, but it seemed that words were not needed.  Anoriath looked back the way she came with a twist of her head and a soft exhale that told Bob that Elanna had given her no welcome.  Bob let the gentle sadness in Elros' gray eyes slide past him without notice.  Bob sighed and nodded his thanks to his friends as he turned against the wall to allow them to move past him.  He glanced up the stairway and shook his head as he stepped onto the second floor.  

He had willingly volunteered to check on her but at the same time, he was finding it more difficult to deal with Elanna‘s mood shifts.  He couldn't comprehend them.  Instead, they washed over him, leaving him confused and aching in their wake.  Yet, he firmly believed she would get a little worse before she got better.  Hopefully, that shift to wellness would happen soon, for everyone’s peace of mind.

With reluctant steps he walked down the hall to the room she shared with Sevilodorf.  A shame that the Rohirrim woman wasn’t here.  She was one of the few who could calm Elanna down when she was in one of her rages or console the girl when despair overtook her.  But Sevilodorf wasn’t here and judging by the look on Anoriath’s face, Elanna must have been particularly irritable.  That, also, was unfortunate, Bob thought.  His sister sometimes could bring herself to listen to Anoriath.  But, obviously not this time.  Bob briefly wished he could run to the workshop and fetch Celebsul to help with Elanna.  But he couldn’t run to his friend every time Elanna had an episode, no matter how well Celebsul was able to handle her.  She was his sister and his responsibility.  ‘Just remember,' he told himself, ‘it’s not like she’s going to be this way forever.’ 

Having thus fortified himself, Bob pushed the door open and quietly entered the room.  Elanna stood by the window with an arrow tightly clenched in her hands, her knuckles white from the pressure she exerted on the slim wooden shaft.  The rest had been dumped out of the quiver and lay strewn in a jumble over the bed.  A faint smile played about his lips as he glanced at the colorful fletching.  Anardil had given her the feathers from an exotic bird from south of Harad and gladly supplied her with more when she needed them.  Bob would never mistake her arrows for anyone else’s, not with the brilliant red and vibrant blue fletching.

He picked one up from the bed and twisted it in his hands.  “You know, when you’re allowed back to duty, you will need to change the fletching on these?” he asked as he peered down the shaft.  “Otherwise you might as well announce your presence to the enemy by shouting at them.”

Elanna startled at the sound of his voice.  A loud snap made Bob flinch as the arrow in her hands was broke in two.  Elanna stared from Bob to the broken arrow and back to her brother, her face visibly paled. 

“I-I didn’t hear you,” she stammered as her hands began to shake.

Her response caught him by surprise.  Her half-elven hearing had always been more acute than his.  In fact, he could not remember ever being able to sneak up to her unnoticed, not even when she was a small child.  Silent and puzzled, he went to her and took the arrow pieces in his hands.  He pulled on them gently to encourage her to let go.  As he waited, her tremors were transmitted through the slim shafts of wood to him, leaving him even more confused.  When she turned loose the arrows he tossed them on her bed with the others.

“Elanna, talk to me, please,” Bob asked softly. 

He set his hands on her shoulders, which, to his dismay, she only quickly shrugged off.  She turned from him and stared out the window.  Her hands grasped the sill.

“I can’t,” she said hoarsely.

Bob leaned down and wrapped her in his arms from behind.  He held her tightly as she squirmed in his embrace.

“Then please, at least don’t turn from me,” he said, pressing his head next to hers. 

Baffled by her behavior, he wished he understood the pain that drove her.  He wished that he could do or say something that would help her turn herself around.  These episodes must be as hard on her as they were on everyone else.  He held her tighter and prayed that maybe today would be the day when they would stop.

Elanna abruptly ceased to struggle.  His words had pierced the armor around her heart.  It was all she could do to keep from turning around and sobbing in his arms, curling up in his lap as she used to as a child when her hurts were too much for her to handle.  But this was one hurt she could not share with him.  She could not even bring herself to share it with Anoriath, who of all people might best understand.  Yet by not sharing her pain, she brought sorrow to all who loved her and this she could not bear.

Stiffly she turned into his embrace and clutched at his shirt.  “You can’t help me, no one can,” she whispered brokenly.

“I can’t?" he asked, the volume of his voice rising in frustration.  "Or you won’t let me.”  

“You don’t understand,” she cried, releasing her hold on his shirt and pounding her point home on his chest with her fists.

Bob lifted his head and withstood her fury for a moment before he grabbed her firmly by the wrists.  He held her arms up with her hands close to his head so that she was forced to look at him.

“You’re right,” he said angrily biting off each word.  “I don’t understand.  I can’t understand and I won’t understand unless you talk to me.”

The pure terror that washed over her features shattered his heart into thousands of pieces.  She took deep, gulping breaths and her head swung from side to side.  He could only look at her with bewildered pity.  Her eyes were wide and fixed on something only she could see. 

Her voice was thin and tearing as her words fell reluctantly from her lips, “NO . . . no . . . no . . . please . . . no.” 

Her words ended on a sob and her knees buckled beneath her with only Bob’s hold on her wrists keeping her from falling to the floor.  Bob choked out a roar in remorse and pulled her to him, wrapping her tightly in his arms.  Easing himself down on her bed, he sat with her in his arms while he rocked her to and fro.  He stroked her hair and her back while his tears joined hers.

“Forgive me, Starling,” he murmured over and over, bewildered by her reaction, stricken that he had caused it.  “Forgive me.”

After a time, she pulled away from him, lifting her tear stained face to his.

“What is to become of me?” she asked helplessly while she pulled absently on the loose cords that tied the throat of her brother's tunic.  “He took my love for Halbarad.  He took my life as a Ranger and now he would take my mind.  I have nothing left.  Nothing but the dark place.”

He staggered under the blow of her words.  The dark place!  That place in her mind where she had retreated to in Nurn and none could bring her back, except Celebsul.  The elf used his gift to enter her mind and find the fading spark of her being.  Celebsul would not tell him what he had seen there, just that she had promised never to return there again.

Why did she speak of this now?  It didn’t make sense.  Parcus was dead.  She wasn’t.  She might not realize it but she still had much that that motherless spawn of all that was evil could not take from her.  Surely she realized that?  Something tickled at the back of Bob’s mind, a dark shadow that he instantly shied from.  He would remind her of what she still had, how everything would get better . . . it had to.

Seizing upon an answer that seemed to fit her lament, Bob replied thickly, “You still have me.  You’ll always have me.”  He paused to clear his throat.  “I know you can’t always see it, but you still have Halbarad and Anoriath, Elros, everyone here who loves you.”

Elanna grew still.  Her lips barely moved as she whispered, “But what if that is not enough.”

Not enough?  Bob‘s breath ripped from his lungs.  He suffocated under the weight of possible defeat.  Her eyes had darkened to indigo, overshadowed as they were by despair.  He could find no hope in their depths.  The dark thoughts in his mind grew in strength and whispered their doubts, but he refused to listen.  He just stared at Elanna, into the stark wasteland of her heart.  Unable to move and unwilling to think, he could not bring himself to break the spell that held them immobile.  It was Elanna who broke it.

Her heart suddenly cold and heavy, Elanna watched the nameless anxiety grow in Bob by the expression on his face.  She had placed it there.  Once again she had brought pain and sorrow to the ones she loved.  How much more could she stand?  How much longer before her sanity tipped over the edge into madness?  She never should have given him that glimpse into the nightmare that had become her life.  Quickly, she rebuilt the breach she had made in her defensive wall and turned away from her brother.  

She picked up arrows and recklessly crammed them into the quiver with little thought to the damage she might be doing to them.  She ignored the broken arrow bits and slung the full quiver over her shoulder.  She took her sword and knife in hand and left the room.  Not once did she look at Bob nor did she speak a word, nor did he of her.

It was only after he heard her light footsteps on the stairs nearest her room that the crushing weight lifted from his chest.  He gulped in large breaths of air as if drowning.  He stood up to walk, but his legs almost failed him on his first step and were set to trembling violently.  He staggered to the doorway and gripped the frame on either side and swayed there slightly as he struggled to regain control over his body.  His mind was mercifully blank, adamant in its refusal to comprehend.

He knew not how long he stood there, lost in his daze, but was brought back by the sound of a concerned voice, his own name breaking through the haze that shrouded his thoughts.

“Bob, Bob?” Halbarad called as he gently shook his friend by the shoulder.

To Halbarad's relief, Bob focused on him, saw him. That vacant stare was far too close to the one Elanna had worn in Nurn.  Elanna’s demeanor when she came back outside with her weapons told him clearly something was amiss.  He did not like the fact that she returned alone and when Bob did not follow behind her, he became alarmed.  Knowing that he would get little, if any, answer from Elanna in the state she appeared to be in, he decided that searching out Bob himself was his best option.  He was only glad, now, that he took it.

“Hal?” Bob asked weakly.

“Milo volunteered to saddle Carrannar for you and load the saddle bags,” Halbarad informed him.  “I think three days ought to be enough time to cover the perimeter.”  Halbarad paused, suddenly unsure.  “Unless you would rather stay?”

The explosive force behind Bob’s simple answer startled Halbarad into taking a step back from his friend. 

“NO!” Bob growled vehemently.  “I’m going.”  Only then did he realize how he sounded.  He softened his tone.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll go.  I need to go. I need to be alone.”

Halbarad was well acquainted with Bob’s occasional need for solitude. Not often a reflective man, it could only mean that he was wrestling with a difficult concept.  Halbarad could guess what it was this time. 

“I know.  Go.  I’ll watch over her, you know that,” Halbarad said, gazing at his friend with soft sympathy.  “She’ll be al-”

“You know it and I know it, but what good is that?” Bob interrupted bitterly.  “She no longer believes this.”

Halbarad could think of nothing to say that would not end up sounding trite, a superficial balm for a deep wound.  Instead, he pulled Bob into a bone-crunching bear hug that his friend abruptly returned, clinging to the other man for more than one kind of support.  No words were exchanged when the embrace was dropped. 

Halbarad remained where he stood, allowing Bob the privacy he so desperately needed.  His heart fell lower with every reluctant step he heard on the stairs.  Halbarad used both hands to rub his forehead with little expectation of relieving the tension that bound his brow.  He would have to talk to Belegalda or Celebsul later that day.  This just could not go on.  There had to be something they could do to help Elanna.  They had to at least try before the rest of them slid down into the pit of misery where she dwelt most days.  He sighed deeply and turned back into the hallway.  Until then there was work to be done.

Chapter Twelve

Meanwhile

Elros found Anoriath standing in the middle of the kitchen, an arrow held tightly flexed across the arch of her hands as it cooled.  A full iron teakettle bubbled merrily on the stovetop, pouring a thick stream of steam into the air and a small stack of arrows littered the kitchen table.  She'd gone through the Rangers' collection of arrows and selected out the weak, the warped, and the weary.  Those with weakened wood she'd pulled off the metal tips and stripped the feathers with a sharp knife, discarding the shafts.  The warped she'd brought here to the kitchen and stood patiently rotating the light colored birch over the warm steam before bending them back to true.  

The Rangers were well schooled in weapon care and Halbarad was quick to censure any under his command who treated the tools of their trade casually.  Carelessness was easily fatal.  The world was an unpredictable place and good intentions did not turn away a missile speeding through the dark nor parry aside the blow of a knife.  In battle, every movement of muscle, sinew and bone counted, and every life relied on the wood that could shatter, linen that could snap, and steel that could rust. 

"Do you think you can save these?"  Elros picked up a random arrow from the pile and, dangling it from its notch, sighted down its line as he spun it slowly.  The shaft bowed slightly off to the left.  Not too severe of a warp, but enough to reduce any chance of hitting whatever target its archer might intend.  The arrows had been lying flat, but still, the alternating warm and cool humidity of the fall had stressed them despite the best of care.

Anoriath shrugged, frowning lightly and keeping her eye on the bend of the shaft between her fingers.  "I think so.  Most of them anyway."

Elros nodded and returned the arrow back to its fellows.  "Halbarad and I are finished with scouring the hauberks and Elanna is doing a spot check on the mail."

"Is she well?" Anoriath asked.  She had already left the porch for the kitchen when Elanna had returned from her room.

"Much as before.  I don't think it's going to be an easy day," Elros responded.  Though these days when Elanna struggled with herself and them saddened them, there was little they could do but exert firm patience.  He paused before continuing, "So, now I'm ready for the edged weapons."

Anoriath nodded absently, still lost in her reflections on the young woman outside.  Elros cleared his throat, catching her eye.

"Oh!"  Anoriath shook her head a little and grinned back at him.  "Sorry, uhm… hmmm..." she pondered.  Though her thumbs pressed only lightly against the wood, the dowel ran narrow channels of whitened flesh into the pads of her fingers.  She nodded at the arrow in her hand, "This hasn't cooled yet.  Looks like you'll have to wait."

As Elros raked his nails through the beard at the side of his jaw, Anoriath shrugged again.  "Or, you can undo my belt yourself, but I've got a whole stack of these arrows and I'm not about to start over with this one."  

Elros smiled at her, moving in closer.  "With your permission, then?"

Anoriath nodded, lifting her arms to move the arrow out of the way.  He leaned under her elbows and pulled the tongue out from its knot about her belt.  Though her waist had been thickening steadily, she'd just begun to show in the past week or so.  Suddenly, one morning over tea, Anoriath had walked in from the stable and it struck him just how obviously she was pregnant, where it seemed the morning before she'd simply looked like she had been putting on weight. 

Elros grinned, his lips twisting at the edges of his beard.  "By rights," he said, nodding to the scabbard that still hung from her side as he pulled on the belt, a quick flash of white teeth drawing a snort from Anoriath, "this should be mine anyway."

Anoriath attempted to suppress a smirking grin and kept her eyes glued to the arrow in her hands.  Her brother carried their father's sword, but Anoriath had been awarded hers in a tournament.  Though she rarely used the skill now, archery had been the only sport allowed her by her mother and she'd practiced it at every opportunity when she was young.  Elros, with his patient, steady focus had been her strongest competition, or, rather, she had been his strongest competition.  Indeed, she'd never beaten him before and had taken him completely by surprise that last morning of the fair.  

Anoriath clucked her tongue.  "How many targets did you hit that day?"

Elros grimaced ruefully, pulling on the buckle, "Only three out of the ten."

"Well then…" Anoriath grinned and let her response dangle unfinished.

Elros let out a dry snort.  He'd never had so much trouble with his aim before.  He still couldn't account for it.  No matter what he did, almost every arrow had veered unpredictably off course.  Glancing up at her face, Elros was suddenly puzzled.  She had the oddest expression on her face while she peered intently at the arrow shaft she was carefully molding.

Anoriath cleared her throat, valiantly attempting to suppress a wide grin.  "Perhaps you should have checked your arrows a bit more thoroughly."  

Elros startled and nearly dropped the belt as the buckle came away from the strip of leather and the weight of Anoriath's scabbard and sword fell into his hands.   

"You didn't!" he exclaimed and bolted upright, forgetting that her arms were extended above his head.    

Anoriath blinked into Elros' startled eyes.  In his impulsive haste, he had straightened into the circle of her arms, dragging her weight against his shoulders until she rested against his chest.  Shocked, they stood there a moment, caught in the echo of heartbeats that pounded blood into their faces and the warm exchange of breath that played against each other's cheeks.  Her lips were right there.  All he would have to do is lean forward just a little.  Drawn to them, he could all but taste their sweetness already.

Elros caught his free hand before it settled gently on Anoriath's waist and jerked back.  Panicked, he broke her hold on the arrow in his haste and its notch scratched the back of his neck as he broke through her arms.  

"Ah," Elros cried shortly and clapped his free hand onto the scratch.  The pain had been slight, but, as preoccupied as he was with his confusion, the scratch had surprised him badly.   

"Ah!" Anoriath echoed, quickly recovering from her own shock.  "I'm so sorry, Elros."  She took a step toward him but he backed away. 

"No, no," he protested and flicked his hand to his eyes to check for blood before returning it to his neck as he stepped back.  "I'm unharmed.  It's nothing."  

"Are you sure?"  Anoriath asked and stopped in place, her face a mask of bewildered concern. 

Elros bumped into the swinging door and leaned back into it.  "It's no matter.  It's nothing.  I should probably get working on conditioning the swords and such," he protested rapidly.  Elros swung her belt in his hands in abrupt explanation and, clearing his throat awkwardly, he exited the kitchen. 

Elros patted the scrape on the back of his neck, cooling the raw skin and attempting to still the slight bleeding as he wove through the common room.  Whatever was the matter with him?  He'd been within seconds of kissing Anoriath back there in the kitchen.  What was going on?  What had he been thinking?  

When he made his way out onto the porch, Elros didn't look up until he had plopped into his chair and set Anoriath's sword alongside his own, Halbarad's and Elanna's.  Bob's sword would have to wait.  The Ranger was out on a perimeter ride and wouldn't be back until later.  He'd left his dagger, however, and that rested on the table along with all the others.  Sevilodorf's suede brigandine covered the back of a chair, its silvered rivets gleaming in the sun after polishing and the dark nap of the leather firmly brushed free of clinging dust.  Lazily, Elros wondered what favor Halbarad was hoping to earn from the Rohirrim.

Elros let out a long silent breath before picking up a rag and slipping his sword from its sheath.  Anoriath had rested so warmly against him and set his surprised heart to pounding.  The whetstone felt heavy in his hand where he turned it over and over, his fingers as restless as his heart.  Her face had been so close that he had fallen into her eyes until he could see naught else but their sea pale blue.

'Her eyes!' Elros berated himself, shaking his head impatiently and resolutely sighting down the sword as he lay it atop his knee.  He knew the color and shape and expression of Anoriath's eyes.  Elros turned the blade to catch the sun along its edge.  For pity's sake, he'd seen them day in and out for nearly twenty years!  How could he not know them?  He lightly skimmed the stone along the steel, pressing his lips tightly together until the pressure wrung all color from them.  Surely he'd simply been so long between loves that his thoughts were becoming mush, full of romantic drivel at the slightest of provocations.  The stone pulled a ringing hum from the steel again.  He flipped the blade and sighted.  There was nothing about Anoriath's eyes that were any different from decades past.  Sunlight slid along the sharp steel.  Or was there?  Vinegar wafted across the porch, its pungent odor breaking through his thoughts.  Elros lifted his eyes from the tempered edge.  

He and Halbarad had shaken the Rangers' hauberks in their heavy sacks full of vinegar-soaked sand and now the mail shirts draped heavily over the rails of the porch.  They clanked and rustled sharply as Elanna scrubbed at a rust spot vigorously.  Her face was tight and her eyes focused intently on her own thoughts.  Her nose wrinkling at the piercing odor, she softly brushed away the sand from between the links with the brush, letting her hands and arms rest between scrubbing.  She attacked a spot again, with a face so taut and sour that Elros stopped mid-swipe in surprise.  

Glancing about the yard, Elros found Halbarad not far away waxing the string of a bow, his face a hard mirror image of Elanna's.  Elros returned his eyes to his sword and stared at the blur of reflected light and silver metal.  He'd missed something in his absence.  He slapped the whetstone to the table in an abrupt, impatient whack that startled his two silent companions into stopping and staring at him.  Surprised as well, Elros fumbled for the oiled rag and cleared his throat.

"Sorry," he mumbled and set about carefully wiping away any fingerprints he may have left behind on the steel.  Elanna and Halbarad, after a moment and a shared glance, returned to their tasks, their faces now more pensive than brooding.

'Whatever was wrong with him?' Elros wondered, dismayed at his outburst, the rich odor of linseed rising from the cloth as he rubbed it carefully along the narrow fuller with his thumb.  Hal and Elanna would find their way and the better for the lack of interference from well-meaning friends.  He wanted no more to get in the middle of their disagreement, whatever it was at the moment, than he wanted to kiss Anoriath.  In fact, what Elros wanted most of all was to lay his head on his mother's knee just one more time as she sat in the garden hemmed in by the forest behind their home, surrounded by her beloved spring flowers.  

He wanted to quiet his thoughts as his mother's hands ran affectionately through his hair while he forgot about Halbarad's choked tears behind their closed door, Bob's growing panic during their wild and desperate ride through a gray, barren land, angry words and even colder silences between brother and sister, Anoriath's heart-rending tears as she knelt by their elven guide's still form, and panicked screams from a bruised and battered Elanna.  He wanted to forget it all.  Wild blue iris with weapon-ready leaves, delicate and succulent deer's tongue that clustered beneath the wooded edge, brightly colored crocus that burst from the ground overnight, and sun-yellow jonquils that shriveled in the hot sun.  He wanted to forget everything but their hypnotic, nodding verdant heads and his mother's silence.  

In the early evenings warmed by the summering sun, he'd bundle her in her blankets and carry her outside to sit beside her in the newly green grass lush in the day's waning light.  She had adored him and he doted on her in return.  They'd been given one last spring together and he had spent it with her gentle hands brushing back his hair and his eyes full of the heavy blooms that nodded in the breeze.  During those long evening hours as they watched the glittering stars emerge from the dark velvet sky above the line of trees, he knew he'd lose her soon and treasured each moment.  And when she was gone, he'd had nowhere else to turn but the gathering of men that was his company and the friends he had made there.  Not given to superficial speech, deep and quiet ran his thoughts.  Not given to superficial acquaintance, deep and unbreakable ran the ties of his affection.  So when the years in his family's home of quiet laughter, gentle disagreement and resolution, and the warm clasp of hand ran themselves out, he remained within the bonds of the friendships he had formed in his youth.  Then, as now, in his soul-weary fatigue he had nowhere else to turn.  

Elros' soft, wry "hmphf" rushed over the hair on his top lip.  No wonder he'd become fixated on the one available mortal woman within a half-day's ride.  He was just simply bone-tired, drained by the battle he'd been waging with weapons as varied as the sword he carried and the shoulder that he leant to those he loved.  He'd been vigilant ever since Elanna left for her assignment at Lake Nurnen.  Now that she was returned and her healing was in better hands than his, it simply was time to refurbish his soul just as surely it was time to condition their weapons.  Elros sighed quietly.  He missed that soft place wherein he could rest his head and refill his soul.

A voice pierced sharply into Elros' reflections, making the Ranger startle.  Halbarad raised a brow briefly at the slight, but uncharacteristic jump.  Elros had been deep into his thoughts and not noticed the captain's approach.

"Elros?" Halbarad repeated, standing at his friend's side with a bow in hand.  

Elros looked up at his friend, covering his dismay at being so distracted.  Reluctant to have to explain their nature even to one so close to him, he hoped none of his thoughts had been betrayed upon his features.  

Elros set his sword aside on the table as Halbarad pulled over a chair and dropped into it.

"This will be a lot easier with two sets of hands," Halbarad stated, holding up a length of thin, twined rope to his friend.

Halbarad had already untwisted about half a hand's length on the opposite end of the linen rope and the plies hung stiffly from his fingers.  Nodding in comprehension, Elros took up the long end and waited while his friend looped the rope about the notch in the bottom of the stave he had brought with him.  Once secured between Halbarad's fingers of one hand and the stave, Elros grabbed the twine just below his friend's fingers and rolled it against its twist, opening up the fibers.  

Halbarad snorted, exasperated, and then laughed a little.  Grinning at Elros, he said, "I left the awl over by the stairs."  

Elros nodded and handed over the rope to the grinning man without replying.  Striding lightly, Elros swiftly tripped down the stairs, well aware of the eyes that bore into his back.  That had been a mistake.  Usually, under such circumstances, he'd not miss the opportunity to mock his friend for his forgetfulness.  Grabbing up the awl from the wooden tread on which it lay, Elros steeled himself for the inevitable query that was to follow.  Yet, when he turned, Halbarad's eyes were firmly planted on the threads in his hand, adjusting them a little.

Placing the slim awl within Hal's reach, Elros returned to his chair and took the rope from his captain's fingers.  Halbarad's face was smooth with concentration and his eyes were directed to the task at hand.  Elros released a soundless breath.  Perhaps he had gained a second reprieve of the morning.  

Elros waited patiently, holding the rope tightly between his fingers as Halbarad, using the awl, poked the plies under the open fibers, weaving them in individually.  Once done, Elros let the twine go and held onto the stave so that Halbarad could gently yank on the loose fibers, drawing the rope into a tight loop about the notch.  Holding onto the stave and rolling the rope against its twist again, Elros held it tight as Halbarad interlaced the ends through the new openings, splicing the two ropes seamless into one.  

It was slow, tedious work for Halbarad's fingers, leaving his thoughts to roam.  Now that the fibers were more secure and their weaving required less concentration, Halbarad snuck surreptitious looks at his friend's face.  Elros' features were uncharacteristically heavy, grim even.  Halbarad shook his head slowly, thinking back.  He'd underestimated the toll that events of the past months had taken on his friend.  'We are his family,' Halbarad mused, chancing a glance at Elanna as she worked her way down the line of mail shirts swaying and glinting in the sun.  What threatens one of us threatens him.  First Bob and now Elros, too.  Hal had been relying heavily on them both.  It was about time he repaid them in kind.

Poking a loop of thread into a space with the awl, Halbarad glanced back up at Elros.  No change.  Halbarad picked at the thread with his fingernails and gently yanked it through.  

"Are you well, Elros?" Hal asked quietly, without looking at his friend.  Elros was not one to confide his thoughts easily, preferring to mull over his concerns in his own time and his own way.  Nonetheless, Halbarad wanted the man to know he need not do so alone.  

Elros slipped his fingers down an inch, opening the fibers for Halbarad as he wove the fibers into the rope, spiraling them down a short length of the string.   

"Aye," Elros replied, careful to interject a precisely measured amount of surprise into his tone.  

"You are not yourself, lately," Halbarad replied, ignoring what was obviously his friend's deliberate ploy.  Days of silence played themselves out in his mind.  Though not naturally of an exuberant humor, Halbarad had missed the man's affable teasing and the slanting smirk that flashed white teeth against his dark beard.  

Elros shrugged and let go of the rope and sank back in his chair.  "Just tired, I guess," he stated and shrugged again, his voice deliberately mild.  

Halbarad eyed Elros sharply while he measured out the length of linen twine and yanked a large loop of it against the edge of his dagger to cut it.  He'd come back later to trim the dangling plies and whip the splice with thread to secure it, but that he could do with his own two hands.  Done with creating one eye, he still needed an extra pair of hands to help him with the second loop at the other end of the string.  

Halbarad looked down on the end of the twine as he unraveled its plies.  "You know, Elros," he said softly.  "I have some business that needs to be conducted in Emyn Arnen.  I haven't wanted to leave the Troll to take care of it, though."  

Halbarad looped the end against itself and the two men set to splicing the rope together as before.  

"It would be a blessing if you could go in my stead," Halbarad continued while Elros turned the twine against its twist.  

Elros, holding the rope tight, shrugged noncommittally and replied, "If you wish me to go…"  

"You could always take a few extra days and stay in the Prince's city," Halbarad urged, vainly picking at a ply that obviously hadn't been inserted far enough to give him a good hold.  "Or travel to Minas Tirith and stay a few days there."  His nails slipped off the nub of linen yet again.

Elros' eyes flashed up and he caught his friend's gaze.  "There's no one in Minas Tirith, Halbarad," Elros returned pointedly.  

Halbarad shrugged and dropped his eyes.  No, he supposed not, not anymore anyway.  "Still," he said, pushing at the recalcitrant twine with the point of the awl.  "It would probably be good for you to get away for a little while."  

"Perhaps," Elros replied.

Halbarad pulled the thread through and started on the next.  "We'll be fine here.  Bob will be back in a couple days.  We'll manage 'til then," he said.

"Perhaps," was all that Elros said again in reply and the two men eventually fell silent while they continued with their splicing, leaving Halbarad to wonder just what business in Emyn Arnen he could invent that would warrant his attention.  

Chapter Thirteen

Later that night

Bob sat before the crackling flames of his small fire, his hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea that had been sweetened with Beorning honey.  Its sweetness mingled with the sharp tang of the fire, tickling his nose pleasantly.  If he held his cup just so the stars that wheeled overhead were reflected in the tilting liquid mirror.  Still, his thoughts growing somber, he would have preferred to see the frothing foam that rested on the surface of an amber sea or the rich, garnet tones of Celebsul’s favorite drink that glowed, jewel-like, when held to the light.  He sorely wished for the forgetfulness that could be found in either’s embrace, where the voice of his troubles would fade in a warm, lazy haze of contentment.  Where he wouldn’t have to hear Elanna’s words.

“What if it’s not enough?”

Bob snorted and shook his head free of the thought, his face grim.  Ale and Cherry B, he had often sought refuge in their comfort those hot August nights while his sister was in Nurn.  Yet the liquor had lost its power to comfort the moment the letter arrived bearing a lock of Elanna’s hair.  All hope turned to ash and he had dared not resurrect it until he knew her fate.  With every league that took him and the others closer to that land-locked sea in Mordor, he squelched the voice of hope every time it attempted to whisper to him, that is, until they arrived at Parcus’ camp. 

Only then would he attend to its beguiling voice, for though the bleeding, broken form wrenched his heart, she lived.  Elanna lived, and where there was life, there was sure to be hope.  Wasn't there?  But, Elanna had not recognized him.  The mad fear in her eyes wounded him heart and soul.  'So much for hope,' he had thought bitterly under the shock.

Then, through the grace of Eru, he found a slender thread that he could cling to.  It was written on a piece of parchment tucked inside a mug, waiting for him in Melin’s work-shed.  Simple words written at a simpler time, and yet they still had the power to move him.  He had carried Elanna there to find her things that had been removed for fear she would do herself harm, as Anoriath had done before her.

'To my brother. You teased and scolded me as a brother.  You loved and protected me as a father.  You cared for and coddled me as a mother.  You did all these things when there was no other who could.  You are my sun and my moon.  May this gift remind you of this and your importance in my life.’ 

Since then, Bob had not touched a drop of ale that was not served in the blue tankard she had made for him.  He brought it with him to the kitchen each morning for tea and took his last sip of water at night from its glittering depths.  What had happened to that spirit that turned a simple piece of crockery into a thing of beauty for him?  For the life of him he couldn’t imagine.  Nor could he force himself to.  His mind shied colt-like from the paths that opened before his thoughts when he recalled the pitiful creature in Nurn that wore his sister's beloved face.  Her form had returned to its usual state, give or take a scar here and there, but the spirit had not.  The hope he had glimpsed the night he had wept at his sister’s feet in the pottery shed slipped slowly from his fingers with every passing week.  

Ask him, and he'd still tell you a tale of a future of loving sister, proud brother, skillful young Ranger, and wedded wife, clinging to the hope as surely as he clung to the stoneware mug she made for him.  But peer into the depths of his heart and you'd see the cruel misgivings that slowly cupped its poison there.  But Bob was not a man to often sift through the contents of his soul.  He denied the tug of worry that was heightened with each swing of the pendulum of her moods, from irrational anger to deep despair with only a passive emptiness in between.  There seemed to be no place for happiness in her temperament as if she were completely devoid of joy.  Leaving the doubts lie, Bob stubbornly clung to his avowal that all she needed was a little more time.  He would not let himself see what had become obvious to everyone else; that Elanna was getting worse as time went on.  Celebsul’s attempts to enlighten him fell on deaf ears.

What was it Cel saw?  Now and again, Bob asked himself this question and as always, he decided he would rather not know what the elf saw when he had entered the shattered landscape of Elanna’s mind.  It was enough that Celebsul had bought her a measure of peace so that they could bring her home.  Bob shivered involuntarily, a journey that none were sure she would even survive.

His memories tugged at the back of his neck.  Suddenly uncomfortable, Bob shifted in his seat and cast his mind about for something to distract him.  Anoriath was usually good for that with her sarcastic wit and impatient temper.  Remembering a lick to his ear that woke him most pleasurably, until he found out to whom the tongue belonged, he threw his head back and laughed aloud.  The alien sound ricocheted off the trees, disturbing the creatures of the night.  The forest grew still as if pondering the source of this strange caterwauling.  The hoot of an owl judged it safe, releasing the song of the night to continue.  The owl swooped overhead in silent flight.  Bob, caught by the firelight reflected on its feathers admired the powerful wings that propelled the wise bird without a singe sound.

The night bird's flight reminded him of the day Anoriath and Halbarad had argued about her pregnancy affecting her duties.  Their voices had given the few who were close enough to hear the same thought.  Fly and quickly.  Still, he admired her grit and determination to work as long as she was able.  He also admired her courage in the face of a society that had words for women who bore children out of wedlock and for the children themselves.  The words were not kind ones.

Bob face grew grim yet again.  Neither had sought the fate that had been delivered to them, but Elanna could be subject to the same condemnation as Anoriath.  He had more understanding than most people realized of how this affected the women who bore that name.  In his travels all over the South, he had met many women who lived on the fringe.  Not willing to lower themselves to the role of harlot or courtesan, yet unable to wear the label of respectability, they eked out a living in whatever trade would take them.  Marriage was an option that was not often afforded to them, and when offered, often lowered their respectability because of the nature of who extended their hand.  

Bob could never bring himself to treat these women with anything less than the dignity and respect that should have been theirs; he knew his kind of attention was a rarity in their lives.  What would Anoriath and Elanna do if they did not have the sanctuary of The Burping Troll and the solidarity that came with the Northern Stars the two women wore proudly on their shoulders?  He grinned sourly, it would be the just dessert of any man who tried to treat Anoriath poorly.  They were likely to lose that which they thought made them men in the first place.

“What if it’s not enough?”

Bob let out a deep, gusty sigh.  In the frame of mind she was in right now, Elanna would either be crushed by the condescending attitudes or she might lose control again and, this time, seriously wound or slay the offender.  Neither option was a pleasant one and Bob forced his thoughts in another direction.  A smile broadened on his face at one thought that was sure to amuse.

Despite her protestations Elros had taken Anoriath under his wing, a trait that had always left him with a broken heart before.  A pretty woman with a sad story would catch his sympathy and his heart.  Redheads were a particular vulnerability for him and Bob often caught him twining their ruddy locks about his fingers.  Elros would lavish his care on her and she would cling to him until her dilemma had been resolved.  And then the attraction to the quiet Ranger would mysteriously fade.  Each leave taking devastated Elros, who never could quite understand why.  At least, with Anoriath, he could express that ever-present need of his to feel useful but reserve his heart.  

Bob’s broad smile widened.  It had been, and promised to be, a constant source of amusement for all who watched the two Rangers together.  Anoriath had argued hard and long in the first weeks after their return.  He could just hear her voice now.  "No, I do not want any more to eat.  No, I do not need a nap. What do you think I am, Elros, a child!  For pity's sake, Elros, quit hovering!  I am quite capable of negotiating the stairs, thank you very much!"  

Elros rarely argued back.  He just continued what he was doing with a resolutely serene air as if Anoriath had said nothing at all, which of course irritated her even more as well as, occasionally, shaming her into holding her tongue.  But, over time, her protests had grown fewer and farther between.  Bob was willing to bet his horse that her objections had become more for show than because she disliked the attention she was receiving.  Elros had a trick of assisting her without making her feel belittled.  Yet there was still something, a current that ran underneath the arguing and the teasing, that Bob could not define.  Something found in the times Elros could not seem to meet her eye or he stiffened when she happened to brush against him.  Then, she would fall silent and impatient, and a little sad, it seemed.  Ah well, he was sure that the two Rangers would sort it out, if Anoriath didn’t strangle Elros first.

Bob laughed again as he imagined Halbarad, as captain, trying to explain to Faramir how it was that one Ranger had been allowed to murder another while under his command.  Then again, she did have that charge of assault that had been smoothed over long ago and Faramir had met Anoriath, so Halbarad would probably not be held overly responsible.  And Halbarad.  The man who stood stoic and uncompromising in his love for Elanna despite her inability to return it. Though Bob had known him since childhood, he was still impressed by his friend’s unwavering devotion to his sister.  Halbarad was as kind and loving as Elanna would allow him to be and a cross word never passed through his lips, no matter how badly she lost her temper with him.  Still, he was her captain and when she vented her spleen on others, he wasted no time in taking her to task.  He would calmly insist that she master herself and that her plight was no excuse for her treatment of others.  Her reaction to Halbarad’s stricture yesterday was one of her worst.  In trying to reach her, Bob had glimpsed the depth of her torment.

“What if it’s not enough?”

Bob shook his head.  Few at the Troll had not caught the sharp edge of Elanna’s tongue one time or another.  Knowing the circumstances, the hobbits unquenchable sunny dispositions would let Elanna’s foul temper fly by without touching them.  That is, except for Erin, the one closest to Elanna.  He had seen the troubled shadows in the blue eyes more than once after his sister’s irrational rampages or descents into despair.  He knew the shadows did not come from hurt feelings but from Erin’s worry about her friend’s condition. 

Before coming to the Troll, Bob had not given much thought to small people he had helped protect.  The halflings were a simple people but with an infectious joy of life that raised the spirits of all those around them.  A joy, he discovered, that may be temporarily dampened by the trials and tribulations of the Big Folk but could never be totally extinguished.  They were also possessed of a fierce loyalty, as was exemplified by Erin’s refusal to be left behind on the race to Elanna’s rescue.  Bob grinned.  He had grown completely enamored of a hobbit’s favorite means of demonstrating their affection.  Convinced that their Big Folk were constantly on the verge of starving themselves, the hobbits made it their personal mission to have it snow food and rain drink, not counting the literal avalanche of edibles on occasions they chose to celebrate.

This thought sent Bob back to his saddlebags.  But, to his chagrin, he found that he had eaten the last sweet biscuit Erin had tucked in there.  She was positive he would waste away on the dried foods the Rangers generally took on the long rides.  It was also her way of easing her concern about Elanna.  Giving up his search, Bob dusted off his hands and returned to the fire.  Only a hobbit would think of adding cinnamon and raisins to a biscuit that would turn the humble bit of bread into a sweet treat.  It was probably better that they were gone.  He and the other Rangers had to work hard enough as it was to keep the lavish hobbit care from shrinking their clothes.  They were not alone in this.

Sevilodorf often protested that her generous figure needed no help in maintaining itself.  It still did little to convince the hobbits that the woman from Rohan could subsist on the scanty meals she claimed were more than enough.  Bob’s indifferent tolerance had grown to reluctant admiration for the healer whose practical façade hid a strong temper and an equally strong sense of love and loyalty. He was sure it was these qualities that had attracted his old friend Anardil.

“What if it’s not enough?”

Bob’s smiled faded again as Elanna’s words slithered through his consciousness like a deadly serpent poisoning his thoughts, his hopes.  'Think of Anardil,' he demanded of himself. 

Anardil, their comrade in arms since they swore their oath together. He, Bob, Halbarad and Elros had become family to each other.  They had lost touch with him when he ordered them all away after he was wounded in the battle at the Black Gate.  Halbarad spoke with a grim countenance and tears in his eyes as he repeated Anardil’s words to them.  “I need you to do something for me, Hal.  I have thought long, indeed thought has been my only pastime, and my mind is clear on this.  I am resigning and I wish time to myself.  My heart tells me we will meet again someday, and I promise that we will, but right now...  I need you to leave.  Leave and don't come back.  Tell Bob and Elros not to come." 
 
So they let him fade from their lives as he wished only to rediscover him in Emyn Arnen, of all places.  Anardil had sought audience with the Prince to reveal the nature of Parcus only to find The Burping Troll Rangers and elves there ahead of him.  It had pained Bob that they had to be reunited under such circumstances, that Anardil’s first glimpse of Elanna had to be as a beaten prisoner of the raider leader.  Still, if there was any man who could intimately understand her loss it was the one-armed Ranger, Anardil. Yet even the joy of being reunited with her old friend offered little comfort and no relief from the darkness that continued to claim her. 

“What if it’s not enough?”

Bob set his empty mug beside him.  Funny, he didn’t remember drinking it all but it must have been some time ago for the fire was naught but dull embers.  Much as he felt, Bob thought.  The flame of his denial was spent.  He'd run through every thought and memory and only the words he had tried to outrun remained.  “What if it’s not enough?”  How could she say that?  Bob stared at the dying fire.  Elanna was not getting better, was she?  Not only that, but she was growing a little worse every day.  Bob swallowed hard, forcing himself to face what this could mean, what Celebsul had tried to explain but he had refused to hear.

Elanna kept the demons locked away in some part of her mind where they fed on her doubts.  If she did not face them, they would grow grotesque and eventually break free and overwhelm her.  She would go mad.  Yet, if she faced the demon, it could be more than the elven part of her mind could bear and she would go mad.  “What if it’s not enough?”  On the bright side, her madness might cause her to take her own life and end her torment. “What if it’s not enough!”

Bob suddenly sprang to his feet and violently kicked dirt onto the remains of his campfire.  The coals hissed and released the acrid smell of hot earth.  

"No!  No!  No!  No!  No!" he cried.  

Furious at himself, at Elanna, at Parcus, at a fate he had no control over, he kicked furiously until he missed his step and fell heavily to his knees.  Blindly, his fists took over from his feet and pounded the earth-covered heat.  He cried out and pulled his hand back sharply when it made contact with a live coal that had missed its burial. 

Sitting back on his heels, Bob sucked on the wounded flesh, tears streaming down his face.  He could not lose her, not his baby sister.  She was all he had left.  There had to be a way to help her.  There just had to be.  He could accept no less.  He would accept no less, not until she no longer recognized him or he held her lifeless body in his arms.  His heart missed a beat at that image.  He could almost feel the limp weight of her against his chest.  ‘Please sweet Eru, not that.’ 

Spent from the tempest that had just raged within him, Bob crawled on his hands and knees to his bedroll.  There, though exhausted, he found that he could not still his weeping.  The fears that he had imprisoned for so long insisted upon their release.  As he faded towards sleep, his mind went blank except for two thoughts.  His own, that he had to talk to Celebsul when he returned to see if there was something they hadn’t tried yet that could be done, and Elanna’s…

“What if it’s not enough?”

Chapter Fourteen

End of the first week of November
Mid-morning

Belegalda closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against his templed fingers, deep in meditative thought.  Celebsul had just left him to reflect on the conversation the elder elf had had with Bob.  It had been obvious to both elves that matters were starting to deteriorate rapidly.  Bob’s impassioned entreaty only served to highlight the gravity of the situation Elanna faced.  Celebsul agreed there was only one thing left to try, but it carried its own risk.  So, before recommending it to Elanna and her kin, the two elves agreed to spend a few hours reflecting on the wisdom of such a course of action.

An unexpected knock at the doorway pulled Belegalda out of his contemplation.  The elf opened his eyes to the cool wash of sunlight across a blank wood floor. 

“Yes, come in,” he called, rising to his bare feet and easing out of the depth of his contemplation.

A decidedly woebegone hobbit entered and stood just inside the room bringing the light of the winter sun with her.  Seldom did the mortal folk come to the healer's secluded haven, but the sight of fingers that twisted a forgotten dust-cloth into rags alerted the elf to her plight.  Belegalda had a reasonably good idea of the cause behind the hobbit’s visit.  His heart sank.  They were fast running out of time. 

"Erin, what is wrong?" he asked the small figure that hesitated at his door.

Without warning, she hurled herself across the sunlit room and into his arms, where she clung for a moment.  Belegalda smoothed the golden curls and waited in silence.

“Oh Bele, I just can’t stand it anymore,” Erin said, lifting her head from his midsection, her eyes dark with grief.  “Will she ever be all right?  Will it ever end for her?”

He need not ask.  He knew of whom she spoke and it was as he thought.  Elanna must be in one of her downward spirals again.  The shadow times, she called them.  They had been occurring more and more frequently lately.  And there had been another incident just recently, judging by Erin’s state of mind.  Belegalda sighed and, withdrawing a little from the hobbit's embrace, gestured her toward his table.  Accepting his silent invitation, she sat in the carved chair and watched as the elf moved about the room to find a pitcher and tumbler to offer her water.  Sitting beside her with his arm draped loosely on the back of her chair, Belegalda let her take a sip before questioning her.

“What happened this time little one?” he asked gently, affectionately brushing back a curl stuck to her cheek.

“Oh Bele, she hurts so much inside,” Erin said, her eyes welling up in sympathy.

“I know," he soothed.  "But what set her off this time?”

Erin gulped and then swallowed hard before she spoke.  “Milo and Camellia were talking about the moment they each knew when they loved the other.  It was so sweet to hear, but Elanna was in the kitchen with us and she heard.” 

Erin paused, her eyes searching Belegalda’s.  Elanna’s reaction scared her more than she had been able to admit.  Her fingers twisted and untwisted together as she related what happened next.  The dust-rag had fallen forgotten to the floor in their embrace.  

“Milo and Camellia left and Meri asked Elanna to fetch something from the cellar for her.  She was gone for so long I went to look for her,” Erin said haltingly, her twisting fingers picking up speed.  “When I went down there, I could hear her before I could see her.”

Erin paused.  She closed her eyes and shuddered as she recalled what she had heard.

“She … was crying and speaking out loud as if we weren't there.  She said something about it not being fair and that she couldn’t find it.  She had to find it.  She knew it was there and she wanted it back.  I wasn’t sure what she meant.  Then she started talking about what if its not enough and how she would have nothing left ..." Erin began to shake with the effort of suppressing frightened tears.  “Then … then she was arguing with herself, I think.  She said that she would never find it and never have it until she walked through the shadows, but then she cried that she was afraid and something about losing herself if she tried."  Erin paused and looked back up at the fair elf gazing back at her, his calm presence a blessed anchor in her confusion.  "Oh Bele," she exclaimed.  "What does she mean?  I don‘t understand.”

Belegalda stilled her writhing hands in his and held them warmly until the shaking subsided.  But before Belegalda could answer, Erin blurted out all the concerns she had been holding back for her half-elven friend.

“It’s not just that either, Bele.  There was one time when she shouted at Rilith for no reason.  Rilith only meant to help, and that’s just not like Elanna.  And yet, when she should be angry, she doesn't even blink an eye.” 

Belegalda opened his mouth to reply when Erin paused for a breath only to snap it shut as, in no particular order, Erin related more examples of Elanna‘s behavior.

“Just the other day she said something awful to Bob.  I don’t know what but I know it was something that hurt him.  Why else would he go out on the long Ranger ride when he hasn’t done so in ages?  I felt so bad for him I put some treats in his saddlebags.  She’s always getting upset.  And one day I heard her and Anoriath arguing in the barn.  Anoriath wouldn‘t say so but I know Elanna made her cry."  The idea of the stern Ranger in tears astonished and frightened the hobbit lass.  "And then there was the time she ran that horrible man off who nearly trampled that poor girl.  She did absolutely the right thing there, but even that was somehow wrong and she got upset again!  Bele, I just don't know what to do!”

Belegalda remembered that incident.  'Foolish man,' the elf had thought at the time.  The good steel that made Elanna a Ranger and daughter of Rangers was still there, but alas, nowadays her pain and confusion dulled that keen edge.  Belegalda came out of his remembrance to find Erin’s blue eyes fixed on him, waiting for some kind of answer to a question he had not heard.

“My apologies, I was thinking of the examples of which you spoke,” Belegalda apologized.  When Erin simply eyed him with suspicion, he poked out his lower lip in the deliberately petulant manner of a cross young child in an effort to cajole Erin into a smile.

Yet his ploy failed to work and Erin poked an annoyed finger at him.  "Belegalda, I don't care if you are the charming baby brother of our elves and still a bazillion years older than everyone else and now a healer on top of all that, you had best be paying attention to me!"

Her concern lay deeper than Belegalda could touch with humor, and rightly so.  He sighed a little sadly.
 
“You are not alone in your worries, little one," he reassured her.  "Indeed, you have just confirmed what I had long suspected.  Celebsul thought so too, but we had to be sure first.”

“I don’t understand!  What do you mean?"  Erin's voice became sad and slow in its hopelessness.  "Does this mean she will never be healed of that place?”   

“Calmly, Erin,” Belegalda said as he held her, his fingers softly stroking her curls from where his hand rested on her chair.  “I had just been examining the wisdom of a possible treatment.  Celebsul and I aren’t even sure it will work.  In fact, the cure could prove to be worse than the disease but we fear more what would happen if we don’t try.”

“But what does that mean?  Bele, you’re not making any sense!” she protested.

“Forgive me; let me see if I can explain this.”  He paused a beat to collect his thoughts before he continued.  “What Elanna survived and what Anoriath survived would have killed an elven woman or at best, would have driven her mad.  An elven woman could not survive such indignities inflicted on her body and soul; she would not want to survive.  Indeed, the mortal capacity to resist their pain and survive such tragedies is amazing to us.”

Erin sniffled and frowned in thought.  This was a notion that had never occurred to her.  Immortal did not mean unbreakable.

As Erin pulled away enough to watch his face, Belegalda continued his quiet explanation.  “Elanna is the result of both races combined.  The two mingle in ways we cannot always predict.  In Elanna's case, she carries a soul that is as sensitive as her mother's Eldar race and yet as persistent as her father's Edain.  She carries a deep hurt, deeper than a mortal soul should know.  She does not have the choice of fading from this world from grief that her mother's people did.  And yet, the pain she feels is beyond what her father's people could face."  

Erin interrupted, a sad understanding in her voice, “You mean like when my Da and my Tom died.  It hurt so badly and I missed them so much, that part of me wanted to die just to be with them again.  But, at the same time, I wanted to live and help the Shire become what it once was.”

Belegalda nodded to her.  “Yes, like that.  She is near torn in two, Erin.”

Erin nodded.  Even now she could remember those first days and weeks without them, the awful swings from emptiness and despair to guilt-filled joy that she had survived the scouring of the Shire.  Indeed, she had often fallen into unpredictable bouts of weeping not unlike what Elanna suffered.

“That’s how it is with Elanna, except for her it is harder.  She is caught between two bloodlines that flow intermingled in her veins, elven and mortal.  Her elven soul is terrified that, if she faces her memories, she could go mad in the trying, even die.  And yet, she is attempting to persist in the face of pain as mortals do, facing your fears and defeating them if you can.  She wants to walk through the shadows to the other side where life awaits her, where she can find some of what was taken from her.  But her fear of the cost holds her back.”

"Find what was taken from her?"  Erin’s eyes widened in understanding. “Like her love for Halbarad?” she asked.

Belegalda smiled gently as he replied and dropped his hand to pour water for himself now that Erin appeared calmer and more hopeful.  “Yes, like her love for Halbarad that she knows still exists.  It comes through in an occasional flash here and there.  Understand, Parcus took her love and twisted it."  The fair healer paused to take a sip.  The clear water flooded his tongue and he reflected that its sweet taste of the fair earth was an ironic contrast to the distortion of Nature perpetuated by that dark elf.  He set down his cup and stared at it solemnly as he reflected sadly, "He used her mortal weaknesses against her to taint that love.  It is intertwined with the dark shadow of memories of that place.  To find the one, she must face the other, a near impossible task for one of pure elven blood.”

“But,” Erin interrupted timidly, “she is only half-elven.”

“You are right, my Perian," Belegalda said gravely and nodded his head.  "Therein lies our dilemma.  She will never know if she can be healed until she passes through the shadow trusting her mortal strength of spirit to help her, in spite of her elven fear of what she will see when she does.”

Erin sucked in her breath and softly said, “You don’t know if she will survive this walk ... thing ... with her mind intact, or at all, do you?”

Belegalda gazed at the hobbit-lass soberly before replying.  “No, we have no way to know.  But if she does not try, you understand, she is already lost.”

Erin thrust out her chin in that stubborn set that the elf knew so well and he couldn't help but smile in response.

“Then you will have to help her, you and Cel and the others, just like you helped Meri,” Erin insisted determinedly.  “You healed Meri when she was sick, so you can heal Elanna.  You just have to!”

Erin leapt to her feet, almost knocking the elf over in her haste.  “You’re going to need Celly aren’t you?  I’ll go fetch him for you right now.  You said you talked to him so it will be easy to get him to come.  Is there anything else you need?  Do you need Bob or anyone else?  I can get them too.”

Belegalda laughed softly.  Hobbits were the most changeable, unquenchable of all the mortals. 

“Slowly, little one, I must inform Celebsul first, so that the proper arrangements can be made.”  Belegalda rose to his feet and regarded the bouncing hobbit in front of him; she needed some task to occupy her.  “Could you help me and keep an eye on Elanna, so that when all is ready we will know where to find her?”

Erin grabbed Belegalda’s hand.  “Of course I can.  I will go right now, and you will speak to Cel immediately won’t you?”  She fired the last words over her shoulder as she scurried out the door.

Belegalda smiled and shook his head in amusement.  He was still shaking his head as he set off to find Celebsul. 

Later that evening

“I’ve been looking all over for you.  Did you forget about tonight?” Halbarad asked as he stood in the doorway, holding his arms tightly across his chest as if trying to keep his irritation in check.

Finding her had been a difficult feat since, after the obvious places, he had tried the loft and the recently constructed workshop that had been built for Elanna, and even bravely poked his head into the woman’s bathing room.  The outraged yell and well-aimed wet washcloth that had greeted his intrusion was not Elanna's.  It was also not, thankfully, his sister's.  Giving up for the moment he had returned to the last place he expected to find her, in the Ranger’s office on the second floor of the inn.

Elanna sat with her back to him, in a chair facing the window.  The room was dark save for the pale stream of light that entered through the window and coldly illuminated the expressionless face.  For a brief, terrifying second Halbarad thought he knew how she would look in death.  Shaken by the sight, he briskly lit several candles about the room.  Only when the golden glow of their fire replaced the pallor of moonlight on her face did he find relief.  Firmly grounded once more, he asked her again.

“Now that I can see you, I repeat, did you forget about tonight?”

Elanna turned away from the window; it was obvious that Halbarad was not going to let this go.  The temptation to answer yes to his question was strong, but she couldn’t bear the thought of lying to him.  She was done with lies, whether hers or anyone else’s.

“No, I didn’t forget,” she replied curtly as she rose from her chair.

Halbarad stood in silence, fearing he would say too much and give away the true reason why, this time more than any other, she needed to go to the elven hall.  Yet the silence appeared to be having the desired effect on her, he noticed.  She pressed her lips into a thin line and abruptly marched across the room.  She positioned herself stiffly before him, arms spear-straight at her sides.

“I don’t want to go,” she finally blurted out, unable to stand the silence any longer.  “I don’t want to have to sit and smile and make nice when that’s not the way I feel.  You want to go and have a good time, be my guest, but do it without me.”

“Elanna …” Halbarad warned stiffly, but it was too late, she could not stop herself.

“Once again I’ve made a complete fool of myself in front of everyone who was handy, and that‘s not counting scaring Erin half to death,” she exclaimed crossly.  “You can’t expect me to subject myself to their judgment or their pity again."  Elanna gestured broadly, "I’ve had enough already, thank you very much.”

Halbarad ground his teeth in annoyance at the petite half-elf glaring at him; the severity of her episode in the cellar this morning in combination with Bob’s plea was what had precipitated the invitation to the elven hall in the first place.  Learning that she was distressed to the point of arguing with herself aloud had frightened Halbarad terribly.  It was just not like her.  She'd never willingly go if she learned the real reason before he got her there, if he ever managed to get her there.  His chances were looking slim at the moment.  

“That is hardly an excuse, much less a reason to ignore the invitation,” Halbarad retorted coldly.  “Rudeness is not an admirable trait, Elanna.  You would do well to relearn the art of courtesy.”

Elanna dropped her jaw in shock; Halbarad had always kept his temper with her.  This was not the first time he had scolded her about her behavior, but he had never done so in this tone of voice before.  She longed to run and throw her arms around him and seek his forgiveness and his comfort.  She ached to run someplace where she could be alone and try to seek refuge in Celebsul’s memories of Valinor, the memories that were becoming increasingly difficult to find.  Yet she was too far gone in her contrariness to do either of those things.

“That may be, but I still don’t see why I have to go!” Elanna said stubbornly, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Because they requested that we all come, all the Rangers, and unless you turned in your star without my knowing about it, that means you too," countered a firm Halbarad, leaning over her in unconscious attempt to affirm his authority.

Elanna whirled around and displayed her back to him.  She bit her lip in frustration.  She didn’t want to go to the elven compound tonight.  She was still shaken and preoccupied with her earlier episode in the cellar.  Preoccupied?  Nay, it terrified her.  The shadow times were growing worse and more frequent.  She felt increasingly split in two and Cel’s implanted memory of Valinor was losing its effectiveness in soothing that rift.

“Elanna."  Halbarad let his arms drop to his sides as he spoke with quiet resolution, switching tactics.  “As your captain I could command you, but I would rather ask you as your friend.  Please come with us.”

Elanna turned around slowly to face him.  His love for her lit his face, as always, even when he was angry with her.  She could feel it even during those times when he stood quietly in the face of her temper and unyieldingly insisted that she master herself.  At this moment, she wanted more than anything to return that love.  Halbarad had been nothing but kind and thoughtful since their return from Nurn, regardless of how ill tempered she could be.  He never faltered and his constancy never failed to calm her frazzled nerves as it was doing now.  Elanna sighed.  To open her heart to him would mean opening the door to the nightmares Parcus had twisted within her, but she could not refuse Halbarad's request when he looked at her like that.

She lowered her arms, her shoulders sagging as she answered him, “Aye, I will come.”

The slow gentle smile he gave her pierced her heart with her inability to return the depth of his regard.

“The others are waiting for us downstairs," Halbarad said, making a sweeping motion with his hand towards the door.  She was obviously in too prickly of a mood to risk offering her his arm.

She nodded and walked through the door with the look of someone who was headed to her execution.  Halbarad followed behind her.  If all went well, Parcus’ ghost would join his soulless body in the void.  'Eru be with us tonight,' he murmured before closing the gap between them 

Chapter Fifteen

That night

Small crystalline lamps swayed from the low branches that swept the roof, their silver and gold light lending the hall a dream-like quality.  Reflecting ribbons of each color, the chuckling stream wove the two metallic hues in an ever-changing pattern.  The song of rushing water recalled the clear ringing of tiny silver bells.  Warmth ebbed from the fire in the stone hearth between two oak trees.  If there was a solid roof overhead, it was hidden amidst the glow of tiny firefly lights and the elves' visitors could not discern where inside ended and outside began.  But it was not these delights that commanded Elanna’s attention.  The rest of the room might as well have not existed as her eyes were drawn to the hearth and the subtle pattern brought to life by the stone there.  Unless her sight deceived her, she saw two trees unlike any she had ever seen before in waking life.  Somehow, whether by elvish magic or ingenuity, each was lit from the inside, one with gold light and the other with silver.

Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, Elanna left Halbarad, Anoriath and Bob standing at the threshold and walked directly to the hearth, paying no heed to Belegalda or Celebsul.  She walked unseeing past the fine silk pillows that had been arranged in a semi-circle around a lone pillow.  The subtle, yet intricate, pattern in the stone tile floor was lost on her as were all the other exquisite details that captured the love of the elves for the earth they inhabited. The stone trees held all of her attention; she felt … something, something she could not explain as she stared at the hearth.  She touched a trembling hand to the silver-lit trunk, the only part she could reach.  A single tear fell as she meshed Celebsul’s gifted memories of tall faraway trees with the image before her.  

“That one is Telperion, the gold is Laurelin," came a soft musical voice beside her.  “Alas, these are but poor renderings of the originals, the likes of which will never be seen again, save but in memory.”

“True though that is, for those who never saw the work of Yavanna, this is a blessing," countered Belegalda who joined Celebsul at her side.

Elanna looked to Celebsul.  The joy that had graced her features in her time of darkness, when Celebsul had shared his memories of this and more, had returned.

“Cel, these trees, the others, they’re…" Elanna’s words failed her, but she knew that with Celebsul she needed no words to express the mark their beauty had left on her heart.

The Rangers stood quietly through this exchange; it was also their first time to see the trees in the hearth lit.  For each, it brought to mind the White Tree in the court of King Elessar, the descendant of the Tree of Tirion that had been created many generations ago in the image of the eldest of trees, Telperion.  But Halbarad’s eyes were drawn to the lovely face that was turned toward Celebsul and his heart ached at the joyous wonder radiating from her eyes.  He could not help but remember that there had been a time when she looked at him that way.  He sent a swift, silent prayer to Eru that this ritual of the elves would help her.  Were it to be at the cost of loving him again, it mattered not.  He'd gladly pay the price merely to play spectator to such joy if only it would last for her.

With a graceful gesture of welcome Belegalda invited the other Rangers to sit about the circle of silk pillows laid for them, Anoriath and Bob to one side of the center pillow and he and Halbarad to the other.  Celebsul stood with Elanna at the hearth.  He softly told her a tale of the beauty of the Light of the Trees while keeping an eye on the others.  When all had taken their places, he continued his story, taking her by the hand and turning her.  Elanna walked with him, engrossed in his tale until she saw the circle of people.  She froze in her tracks, pulling Celebsul to a stop with her.

“I don’t understand, Celly, what is this?"  Elanna interrupted him fearfully, staring at those gathered and awaiting her.

Her heart pounded so loudly that she was surprised it did not break through her ribs and leap from her chest.  She could not even begin to fathom why the others were here, why she was here.  Frightened and confused, her hand trembled in Celebsul’s grasp.  Celebsul released the shaking extremity and lifted his hands to cup her face.

“Those bits and pieces of yourself which Parcus stole are knotted and tangled within your memories of him and that place.  Some are so firmly enmeshed that you will be unable to extricate them.  Others merely await your call to reclaim them.  But in order to salvage what you can of yourself, you will have to face those memories you have sealed away, the cause of your shadow times, the force behind that foul whisper that lies and seeks to convince you that, like Parcus, you are lost,” he said gently as he stroked her face with one hand and caught the tear as it fell. 

“You are peredhil, Elanna, half-elven.  What we ask of you could either save you, or damn you.  I do not know.  But to continue as you are now is untenable, so torn that you cannot live free of torment.  Your elven blood fears to face your memories and rightly so, a woman of our race would have died before we could have gotten to her in Nurn.”  Celebsul stroked Elanna hair and spoke beyond the terror in her eyes.  She needed to know.  “Your mortal blood cries to seek out those memories, master them and vanquish Parcus once and for all.  Your two tendencies have been unable to act as one and instead fight the other, and you are caught between, unable to either fade from life and love or return wholly to it.  You are not fully alive, Elanna, and your soul will only continue to disintegrate under such torment.”

Elanna gasped in shock and she pulled back from Celebsul‘s hands.  Her mind reeled at the detailed knowledge he held.  How could he know!  She had told no one!  A cold chill swept through her, raising hairs on her arms and neck.  Be saved or damned, live or die.  Something was going to happen here but she feared which it might be.  

“Belegalda has tried all means at his disposal to heal you, but to no avail.  There is one method left, but we turn to it only in dire need.  We cannot even begin its attempt unless you allow it, unless you participate in it with your whole heart."  Celebsul paused and searched the girl’s frightened eyes.  “Will you trust us?’

Elanna took another step back from the elf, pulling out of his hands.  Her arms crossed in front of her and crept up her sides while her anxious eyes darted to the seated figures.  If Celebsul was here to help Belegalda then why did the others have to come?  Why were they here?  Would they find out what she had hidden from herself?  Could she bear for them to know?  Her gaze found its way back to Celebsul.

“I’m afraid," she whispered hoarsely.  The quaking in her voice was visible in her shaking body.

Celebsul took Elanna by the hands and drew her close to him, holding her eyes with his.  She resisted for just a beat, before allowing the comfort of his voice to flow over her.  After a few moments Elanna’s tremors stilled, her eyes never leaving Celebsul’s.  It seemed that his eyes collected the small silver lights and reflected them back to her.  They were all that she could see.  To those who watched, it seemed that her frown came from out of nowhere as well as the sigh that followed it.  Then she nodded as if in answer to a question though none had heard Celebsul speak.  The elf smiled in answer and led her to where the two empty pillows faced each other, holding her hands as she lowered herself.  Celebsul knelt patiently until Elanna reluctantly released him.

Belegalda waited for Celebsul to sit upon the empty pillow directly in front of Elanna before he spoke.

“Elanna, I have asked Bob, Halbarad, and Anoriath to join us.  They will lend their love and strength in this endeavor.”

Elanna met the eyes of each person as they were named.  The encouragement she found there helped ease her distress. 

At that, Belegalda nodded to Celebsul.  The elder elf had made a connection with Elanna in the stone hut of the hills of Nurn.  When Elanna retreated to a hidden place in her mind, Celebsul found her and brought her back.  Because of this, it had been decided that he should be the primary guide in her journey tonight.  

“Before we seek the shadows, we must bring the two parts into harmony.  Do you understand?"  Celebsul asked gently.

Elanna returned her gaze to Celebsul, her voice wobbled slightly as she answered, “Yes.”

“Remember, you are surrounded by those who love you.  Do not fear."  Celebsul’s tone changed.  Its pitch seemed to blend with the voice of the stream.  Light and soothing, his words rippled across her mind mingled with the sound of the running water.  “Close your eyes, Elanna.  Close your eyes and fear not.  Listen for the trees and little waters singing.”

Elanna did as she was bid, relaxing upon her cushion.  At first, all she could hear was the musical babble of the stream but gradually, the babble became words and the words softly blended into song.  The song spoke of the beginning days, of Eru and the Music of the World.  For the first and only time in her life, Elanna heard the threads of melody and harmony that the Ainur had woven together to bring substance into the void, to become the world as she knew it.

The rise and fall of Elanna’s chest slowed until it became difficult to see any movement.  Halbarad, from his seat between Celebsul and Belegalda, would have given his gold captain's star to know what it was that Elanna saw in Celebsul’s singing.  He could not think of a single word that would adequately describe her expression.  It was something more than joy, wonder, and peace combined; she glowed as if illuminated from inside, like the trees on the hearth.  Tears trickled down her cheeks in a cascade of small glittering jewels, each drop refracting and reflecting that inner light.  

In a place within yet beyond the physical plane where she and the others sat, Elanna stood in the center of a flowing iridescent rainbow, wrapped in the beauty of the Music.  The melody spoke her name as a shape separated itself from the Music to stand with her.

“Celly?" she asked in awe.

The ethereal being before her was her elven friend, but not as she had ever beheld him before.  He shimmered with an incandescent brilliance that was blinding in its beauty.  As if seen through the eyes of one who had fled the custody of the physical world, Elanna beheld Celebsul as he was in the presence of the Valar.  Born before the curve of the world, her friend had known for himself the source of the Silmarils that had set Middle-earth afire with their beauty.  And yet it was still Celly, her friend who taught her how to plait her hair into honor braids for a simple mortal ceremony. 

“How … why … are you a spirit?"  Elanna stammered, the wonder and reverence she felt made it difficult for her to think, let alone speak.

His musical laughter passed through her with a pleasant tingly feeling.  It made her want to make him laugh again. 

Celebsul gave a sad, wistful smile at her unguarded reaction.  None at the Troll had seen him in his full power.  In the long ages of his life he had been many things, but always simply the elf, Celebsul, a worker of wood and a lover of drink and the easy companionship gifted to him by the mortal and immortal folk who called the inn home.  In the short time she had lived at the Troll, Celebsul had enjoyed the exuberant friendship of the half-elven girl.  Her curiosity in all things elvish was a delight to him.  He hoped that this experience would not change that.

“No, Elanna, what you see is the Music reflected in me," he explained. 

Elanna pondered his answer for a moment before she answered, “I understand, I think, because you’ve seen Valinor and you’re one of the Eldar, right?”

Celebsul nodded and held out his hand to her as the Music washed over and through them.

“It is time to begin your journey," Celebsul said calmly, a voice meant to provide comfort in the face of fear.

“I can’t," she said faintly, though she took his hand.

“Yet the desire to end the shadows is there, is it not?"  He paused to give her time to reply but Elanna did not.  “What is it you fear to see?”

The fear Celebsul spoke of lodged in her throat.  Her hand tightened its grip on his and she had to force the words out.  “Him … what he did …what I did.”

Celebsul took her other hand.  “What did he take from you that you wish to regain?”

Elanna longed to look away, but could not.  Her voice trembled.  “He took everything that made me who I was.  Even you said I would not regain it all back.  I can’t be her ever again.  What does that leave me with?”

“Only you can answer that.  What do you have left that he failed to take?"  Celebsul questioned, gently relentless as he kept her gaze ensnared in his.

Elanna chewed on her lip as she hunted through her mind, searching for any sign of something that Parcus had missed but without success.

“There’s nothing.  I can’t find anything," she replied miserably and again she heard the fell whisper that insinuated it was too late, she was lost.  It echoed and bumped jarringly against the flow of the Music.

“Do not listen to the falsehoods that would keep you from the truth,” Celebsul commanded.

His words astounded Elanna and left her momentarily bereft of speech

“You cannot do this unless you find something, some spark of the girl you were before.  To do so would be to face your memories without defense.  If you do not have something to hold on to you will fall again.  You must try again," Celebsul insisted.  He disliked having to be severe with the girl, but she had to realize the importance of what he asked, what the consequences would be.

The elf let go of her hands and stood once more.  “Or, if you wish, we could stop now," Celebsul continued sternly.  "You will not have to find the answer and you will not have to remember.  But if we stop now, we will be unable to do this again.  Parcus will win the battle for your soul and the split within you will slowly grow to madness.”

Celebsul’s flat statement chilled Elanna all the more because she recognized the truth and, in spite of the lack of emotion in his declaration, she could feel his wretchedness at having to say this to her.  

“Think again Elanna," Celebsul urged.  "Was there anything you said or did that was outside of Parcus’ control, some act or deed that came of your own free will, one that he had been unable to predict?”

Elanna clasped her arms tight about her and tried again.  She closed her eyes in concentration, but this time she held before her the image of those nearest and dearest to her, the ones who would be hurt the most if Celebsul’s pronouncement were to come to pass.  

Bob’s face came first, the features that so resembled their father.  Too rugged for beauty, his look had acquired a warm attractiveness that had become even more dear to her after her parents' death. It would break his heart if she failed in this.  She had no doubt that, no matter how undeserved, he would take the blame upon himself.

She bit her lip and brought a different image to mind, this face had the same dark hair and high cheekbones that were the trademark of Numenorean blood but the eyes came from somewhere else.  Brilliant blue-green eyes that shone with love for her, eyes that belonged to the man who would trade his soul to save hers.  How would the sentence of madness devastate his heart? 

Elanna bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from weeping and forced herself to move on.  It was at Anoriath’s image that she felt an indefinable something that caused her to stop and ponder it closely.  Anoriath, whose eyes had blazed in the darkness of that hut when she had come to rescue her from Parcus.  Anoriath, whose agonized gasps had assaulted Elanna's ears when she was in Parcus' grip and he had tried to strangle her again.  Anoriath, who had endured desperate pain to wrench the knife from her own body to use against Parcus to save Elanna from his fury - after Elanna shot him with the crossbow.  

The crossbow!  Oh, the outrage in Parcus’ eyes!  He had not expected her to attack him in any way.  Why should he have?  She had learned not raise a hand in defense of herself.  The bitter taste of fear joined the wrenching pain of being dragged upright by her hair, and she had instinctively closed her eyes against the threat of Parcus’ hand as he reached for her, yet she could not move against his wish.  She would have kept still even without the sharp bite of the blade point in her neck or the reliable threat of punishment, so complete was the terror that his torments had instilled.  But if her will to defend herself had been crushed, it was when the threat turned to Anoriath that her limbs and mind had found their freedom.  A lifetime of honor and duty had not been tarnished by Parcus’ touch; in defense of another she could and would fight.  Elanna's eyes flew open.  

“I shot him!" Elanna said in soft amazement, her arms slowly fell to her sides.  "I shot him because I could not let him harm Anoriath again."

“Why was this?"  Celebsul asked gently.

Elanna gave him the answer she would have given her father, for it was at his hand that she learned this code.

“Because that is what we do for family out of love.  What we do for those we defend out of love and honor to our oath," she recited as a small spark of pride burst into flame in her heart.  “That is what he did not take from me, Celly.  He could have if he had tried, but he chose to attack me through my love for Halbarad, a mistake he paid for with his life.”

There was a conviction, a purpose in Elanna’s voice that had been lacking.  Celebsul smiled.  Already she reclaimed a part of herself, a part she had been unable to see with the shadows clouding her mind.  But no longer.  With something of herself to hold on to and give her courage, she was now ready, and she knew it.

“Before I start, I would ask you something," Elanna spoke, holding Celebsul’s eyes with those that were clear and steady for the first time in weeks.  “I know this will be difficult, I can see that.  Yet I will undertake this journey regardless.  But I did pay heed to your warning.  Celebsul, will I live to see the destination I seek?”

He did not answer at first, hesitating to risk the newly found strength within her, but she needed to know the truth.

Celebsul held Elanna by her shoulders.  “I cannot promise that, nor can I promise that you will arrive at the end with your mind intact.  I can only promise that you will not face this journey without me, Belegalda or your kin.”

Elanna lowered her eyes as she contemplated the implications of his words.  Saved or damned.  Alive or dead.  And there was no earthly way of knowing which way the pendulum would swing.  The uncertainty of it all frightened her, but she shrank from the thought of living as she had until the madness overtook her.  The alternative was simply unacceptable.  It was time.

Celebsul was relieved when she raised her head and he could see her face again.  He was instantly cheered when he recognized the stubborn light that appeared in her eyes.  On more than one occasion he had seen its mirror image in her brother‘s.  He hoped that same obstinacy would serve her well.

“I’m ready," she said simply, then fell into ready stillness, waiting.

At the edges of her awareness she knew Belegalda told the others it was time.  Beyond their closed eyes, the other mortal beings let themselves sink into deep silence, bound by the silvered chord of Belegalda gently singing.  Water over stones and the crystalline trueness of an Elvish voice lifted them to a drifting calm.  They knew not when the strands of things beyond the mortal realm gathered them softly and breathed the strength of their love for Elanna as perfume and incense. 

As Elanna waited the Music faded but the image in her mind of Celebsul still shone brightly beside her.  She became aware of the others as shimmers of faint light just beyond the corners of sight, and inhaled sharply in surprise, though she could not see them as she did Celebsul.  A nod from Celebsul told her all was as it was supposed to be.  She relaxed and let the warming presence of Halbarad, Bob and Anoriath settle around her like a protective shield.  But when she received no sign as to when or how she should begin, she nervously cleared her throat.

“What do I do now, where do I start?”

“At the beginning.”

The beginning.  Which beginning?  From the time Parcus’ first revealed himself?  From the moment she awoke in the dark or did he mean to start at whatever she remembered first?  Vexed, she grumbled to herself, ‘Why didn’t he just tell her where!’  She was ready to tell Celebsul that she needed to know where specifically to start when a door took shape out of the darkness before her.  Of course!  Her irritation slipped away as she considered the door.

She had always visualized her memories as something she kept behind a stout oak door that she refused to open.  When one tried to escape its confinement, she would open the door just far enough to throw it back in and slam the barrier shut again.  Now here was that same door, with bands of iron at the top and bottom but no handle or latch with which to open it.  In her mind, it was not made to be opened, ever. Unsure of how to open it now that the need was there, she placed her hand flat on the wooden surface and gave it a tentative push.  To her surprise, it swung easily and opened inwards into silent darkness.

It took only three steps to pass through that entry and, in spite of the dimness, she could just make out another door directly across from her.  To reach it, she would have to cross the dark space that may or may not have been a room.  Her heart skipped a beat, for it strongly recalled another sunless room.  

Her throat dry, Elanna blindly groped to one side until she found Celebsul’s slim hand to cling to.  The pounding of her heart reverberated in the hollow space and was echoed in the trembling of her hand.  A small voice inside cried out for her to flee while she still had the chance.  Sternly, she reminded herself that that room no longer existed, nor did the elf who had made it his home. It was now or never.

Elanna, with agonizing slowness, slid one foot forward, peering about with wide, frightened eyes.  Nothing.  A few more steps and still the room and the door remained the same.  Was it to be this easy?  Had her fear of opening the door to her memories been in vain?  'Of course not, fool!' she managed to think before the area was lit in a blaze of light.  Elanna had only a second to gasp as the room and its occupants were revealed to her and then her breath cut off.

Elanna’s eyes widened, she knew that frantic girl on the table and the raven-haired immortal who sat by her side.  Her awareness doubled impossibly.  She was at once the bound captive and the captivated witness to all that would befall the unfortunate girl.  Elanna watched, mesmerized as Parcus tightened his grip around the girl’s neck and both became dizzy from the lack of air.  Terror rose from the girl on the table and echoed in Elanna, she found her own hands creeping up to her throat.  Angrily she forced them down as fury swept away her fear.  How dare he!  Elanna’s words to Celebsul rang in her ears. ‘That is what we do for those we defend.'  Surely her memory self deserved the same right of defense as those she loved.  

In her own half-dreaming place, Anoriath suddenly found it increasingly difficult to take a breath.  With each passing second, her lungs squeezed in upon themselves.  Her hand raised itself involuntarily to her neck.  A whisper crossed her mind, a sibilant echo of silk and steel that could only come from one voice.  “Such a small, delicate neck.  A tender stem that feeds the petals of such a lovely flower."  

Gagging with disgust and the attempt to draw a breath, Anoriath ground her teeth.  Nay!  He would not reach out from the grave and take Elanna back with him, not if she had anything to say about it.  Anoriath closed her eyes and firmly blocked the sensation of strangulation.  In its place, she forced herself to concentrate on the flickering flame in her mental distance that she instinctively knew to be Elanna.  Using every ounce of will she possessed, Anoriath took a deep breath as she suppressed her anger at Parcus’ actions.  They had all been warned to use only positive emotions, anything negative would only serve to feed the darkness that threatened to overwhelm the young Ranger.  Anoriath clenched her fists into tight white-knuckled knots and poured all her love and determination into her effort, directing it to that image of a small bobbing flame.  Though she saw it not, Belegalda smiled as her passion swept through him.

The flood of Anoriath’s presence caught Elanna by surprise.  She seized upon it as a gasp of clean air, fortifying her resolution.  Yes!  She could do this.  She would do this.  Girding herself against the onslaught of fear, Elanna fought against the tide of memory to reach the other door.  After a moment that seemed to last an eternity, Anoriath was again able to breathe.  Relief flooded throughout her body and she unclenched her fists, surprised by the deep indentations of nails in her palms.  Elanna was safe for the moment.  Thank Eru for Belegalda.

Buoyed by the strength lent by Anoriath and the success of defeating her first memory, Elanna did not hesitate at the next door but threw it open forcibly.  An intense bolt of pain laid itself across her back and sent her internal self to her knees.  So completely was she caught off guard that any arrogance in her ability to survive this journey withered in the agony of that moment.  She no longer saw the other Elanna.  The two were again one.  Each stroke of the lash whistled through the air and burned across her skin.  In her torment, Elanna cried out the beloved name that had been torn from her lips when she had been in this place before.  

Halbarad was jolted in place as he was struck by the anguish of her cry.  His body jerked with intense pain that was suddenly in him but not his - nightmarish in the black flash of its intensity.  Without thinking he leaned over and, reaching for Elanna's hands, held them firmly.  Have pity!  Have pity!  his heart cried, lost as he was in his distress at his love's pain.

Hands, warm hands, grasped Elanna’s and she seized them in return in a grip that tightened with each lash.  Elanna clung to them with the clutch of a drowning man that had been thrown a rope, not knowing Halbarad’s fingers turned numb with the lack of circulation, the tips almost purple.  

Elanna moaned as the pain intensified with each new wave.  Only Halbarad kept Elanna from being swept away into nothingness, only the knowledge that he was more real than the torment of memory.  At last, finally, one last violent burning wave washed over her and then it was gone.  

Breathing heavily, Elanna's internal self staggered to her feet. Celebsul’s hand was again in hers.  Halbarad's touch was gone but his aura remained.  Yet she had no time to wonder on this, for another door opened and the next memory swooped in like a winged Nazgul.  It hovered above her before it dived down and wrapped its fell wings about her.   

“Vengeance, do you say, little one?  As your humble slave, I cannot allow your wish to go unsatisfied."  

An arc of flashing steel released the crimson waterfall of Brithlan’s lifeblood.  Dread and horror rose in her chest, crowding out air until it exploded in her mind with words she had not dared to utter aloud in Parcus presence.  ‘No!  NO!  This is not what I want.  Don’t do this!’

Doors opened of their own volition and now the memories flew at her, coming in bits and pieces of feelings and spoken words.  Elanna lost her hold on Celebsul‘s hand somewhere in this maelstrom of random fragments of memory, flung on a black wind of chaos.  Nameless fear, haunting grief, shameful humiliation, and indescribable terror, each of these emotions breathed their icy touch upon the Rangers seated around Elanna.  Yet while each sensation leaped gibbering to awareness only to flee from them as a nightmare flees light, Elanna did not so escape.  Here and there, flashing images came through, frozen moments in time.  At first they floated and she could recognize them and prepare before they flooded her with sound and touch.  But soon they came in a barrage running over and merging with each other until she could no longer place them in time and sequence. 

“In that pain, I made her mine that day, in body, heart and soul.  She is still mine.”

The anguishing truth of what Parcus had done to Anoriath, and what he planned for her, battered Elanna.  He had lied!  She knew it now from his own lips.  Anoriath's presence seemed to well around her like a mantle of protection - and in a blink of an eye Elanna realized that Anoriath’s presence was oddly doubled somehow.  Blink, and she realized it was an unborn child that Anoriath carried within her.  Blink and she knew it was Parcus’ son.  Blink and she felt Anoriath's determination.  But before Elanna could recognize her own shock at the revelation, the next memory slammed into her and distracted her from Anoriath's flash of fear.

Brithlan’s soft lips were pressed to hers and she cruelly returned his reluctant ardor with hatred that wore the guise of passion.

On the fringes of the waking world, Bob buried his anger at what happened to his sister, the images that her anguish and muted cries called forth was a weight he could not bear.  The alien emotions that swept him like the passage of foul wings were enough of a burden for his simple heart.  Banishing such thoughts, Bob filled his mind with images of Elanna when she was young: learning to ride, to handle a sword, to draw a bow, a smiling laughing sprite that could always be found at his heels.  He knew not how the gentle web of music and magic held them or how he sat awake in a world behind closed eyes where dreams spoke to waking minds.  But he did know he loved his sister with strength beyond measure, and it was this love he bent all his thought on sending to her.

A voice slithered through the rooms of Elanna's memory, reverberating against their walls.  “There is more joy and wonder to be found in love’s embrace.  Come, let me show you the depth of my love for you.”

Was it Halbarad’s arms that wrapped about her and pressed her passionately to his hard chest?  Her heart matched his rhythm, making them one.  Elanna cried out her joy as he awakened her hunger for his tender touch, for the sweet taste of his kiss.  A taste that turned to ashes in her mouth when the dream fell away and it was a sneering Parcus whose embrace she felt.

Halbarad's heart nearly broke at the lightning-flashes of humiliation and shame that washed over him - not his, Elanna's, and if his own mind teetered under the weight, he could not imagine how she had borne living with it.  It took every last bit of his self-control to bar his anger behind walls of iron.  'She needs your love, not your hate,' he reminded himself and forced his murderous thoughts of Parcus aside.

And then she was gone from his sight, swept again on the tempest of memory, seized by the throbbing, burning ache that was unavoidable though the sensitive hands did their best to be gentle in their ministrations.  Then fighting through the layers of darkness to awaken with the thumping of a heart in her ear and a hated hand stroking her hair.  A brutal kiss and her return attack, which was followed by stinging, slaps that left her ears ringing and the coppery taste of blood in her mouth. Her appalling revelation. Parcus!

“What will he think when all her petals are plucked and gone?  I suppose there is only one way to test his constancy, is there?  Soon, my little flower, soon you will be fully mine, or shall we wait until he joins us?  Hmmm?"  

Two more figures burst from the bedlam of remembering, two who were the fist and whip of Parcus' brutal games.  Bran and Ragnor’s voices overlapped and merged as their questions came fast and thick.  Who else knew, what did Melin know, who else knew she was a Ranger?  The sneering tone when they called her she-elf.  A stomach contracting and trying to force its non-existent contents out as a deceptively gentle hand held her head.

“Never forget you are mine.  You will give your sweet innocence to me alone.  It is my kiss you will return, my touch you will cry for, and when the time comes, you will beg me to take you.  And I will, or no one will.”

Cringing and shrinking from loathsome fingers that used the excuse of combing her hair to explore the contours of her body, a viper’s touch.

“Then tell me little flower, if you are so sure it was him, why did you not call out his name even once during our embrace?  Was his name even whispered in your mind?  Could it be that in the deepest place in your heart you knew it was not Halbarad?”

Her endless wail of denial and then the white-hot pain flaring in her neck, inflicted by his teeth that abruptly cut off her cry.  His words.

“There are moments of ephemeral beauty to be found in the innocent ardor of one’s first love.  The first taste of shared passion, the first joining as you become one heart, one flesh.  These moments come but once, never to be experienced again.  How generous of you, to give to me that moment, that beauty, that should have been his.”

Was it Elvish magic or the power of his own heart?  Whatever the source, Halbarad cringed at the sudden touch of a sinuous voice that whispered of first passion, first joining of heart and flesh.  Repressing his revulsion, he bowed his head and fiercely willed her his love and reassurance.  

Suffocating darkness full of demons of terror taunted Elanna at every turn.  She couldn’t breathe.  She couldn’t sleep.  She feared the morrow.

"Oh Eru, I want Halbarad to show, Halbarad to teach me, I want my wedding night.  He’s …going to …take …that from me and twist it …and make it …ugly.  Why don’t …they come?  Where …where are they? Don’t …let him …stop him …please …stop him.”

Only Celebsul noticed the memory of her midnight prayer had lost most of its potency.  In sharing during her healing in Nurn, Celebsul had taken on some of the agony of that night while he added the images of Valinor.  Elanna only knew that this one was not as painful as the others, she had only a scant moment to thank her friend.  And then only time to think, 'Not this one!'  Again Parcus’ caress burned her skin with the intimate touch of a demon lover as her mind cried out in despair.  The stark terror wrought by his deliberate misinterpretation of her whispered 'please.'  

The avalanche slowed and the next few minutes came through with frightening clarity.  Only the unwavering certainty of Halbarad’s strong presence kept her from falling into the abyss that was madness.

"As always, my little flower, I am your willing slave and servant.  I but obey your wish and thank you for the gift of your willingness."

Parcus' invasion of her innocence with his caress that promised her taking would be soon.  

“Honey and nectar.”

The sudden crushing pressure of his weight and his voice in her ear as he sang.  She could barely breathe.  Elanna pulled desperately on the air with her compressed lungs.  Paralyzed, the past became the present.  Only an endless moment or two before Parcus completed his violation.

Halbarad's own skin burned at the brush of an obscene caress.  His ears rang with the sibilance of whispered words that made the hairs on his neck stand on end.  His lungs ached with breathlessness from a weight that bore down on him - on Elanna.  Halbarad could stand her torment no longer and took the motionless, gasping form into his arms.  

"Black is the color of my true love's hair...her lips are like some rosey fair ..."

Halbarad clutched Elanna tightly to him as a hideous voice sang a macabre travesty of the song Halbarad had sung to her in the wretchedness of his longing for her love.   

“No, No, NO, NO, NO!"

Elanna's scream shattered the quiet that had gripped them and she strained against an unseen foe in the firm protective circle of Halbarad's arms.  

"Get off me!  You can't have me!" she shouted at the shadow that pressed her to the surface of a long-gone table.

Elanna clung to Halbarad's arms and flung her internal self towards the sudden blaze of luminescence that was Celebsul.  Whether it was his doing or hers, she seized on the slender, shimmering threads of love and goodwill that bound her to the family and friends encircling her.  Their devotion swept to fill her like a sudden wind, each unconsciously reaching out to her with hands that strained to touch her skin as if they could pass on the strength of their affection only through direct contact.  

Dizzy with the power suddenly flooding her, Elanna pushed violently against the dark weight that pinned her and robbed her of air and light and life.  Her ears echoed with the resounding thud as Parcus' body fell to the floor of the hut, and suddenly she could breathe again.  She felt herself rising within as she saw him, his eyes wide and empty in their darkness, his limbs heavy and still as if fastened to the floor boards on which he lay, metal protruded obscenely from between his ribs.  He could not rise.  He would not rise.  Not ever again.

Silence.

Stunned eyes opened slowly to a sobbing Elanna lying limply in Halbarad’s tight embrace.  He hoped that she was done with remembering, that Parcus’ voice had finally been stilled.  As he sickly considered how close Parcus had come to reaching his goal, his own grieving voice echoed in Halbarad's mind.  'Every little thing he took from Elanna, he took from me.  My love, my passion, my desire for her.  It's all become something tainted, ugly.'  How it had hurt to say those words aloud, on a night in Nurn when hope for him and Elanna seemed in ashes.  But if he had not, he would not have heard the words he needed from his sister as they sat on a sandy beach and watched Aglaran's funeral pyre sink into the waves.  'Only if you let it.  Eventually, Hal, she will need just that from you, to rediscover her joy in desiring and being desired.'  Without that hope, Halbarad would have been unable to make his promise, a vow he would wait a lifetime, if necessary, to keep.

Halbarad loosened his hold only enough to allow him to tuck wayward strands of damp hair behind Elanna’s ears as his eyes held hers.  He felt that hope again when he saw a new light shining from her eyes.  All with ears to listen heard his soft vow.  

“I promise you, my love, what he did was not how it is supposed to be.  We will share those moments together you and I, the first taste and the first joining.  He could not steal those from either of us,” Halbarad’s voice was hoarse with a multitude of emotions.  His touch was infinitely tender as he brushed at her tears with his fingertips.  “ When you are ready and the time is right, we will experience that sacred joy together.”

For the first time in weeks, Elanna’s mind was quiet and at peace.  Safe within the shelter of Halbarad’s arms, she still sensed a few lingering shadows.  But, though they could continue to bring her pain, their power to control her was gone and the division in her mind was now whole.  She was weary, spent with the effort of battling through shadows, yet unwavering and calm.  Elanna gazed at Halbarad a moment before drawing her breath to speak to him and the others present.  

“I am not his.  He did not finish what he started.  He never thought to take the honor of my oath and though he came so close,” her voice broke but cleared her throat and continued firmly.  “He did not take me."  

Halbarad's gently wiping the wetness on her cheeks reminded her that tears still streamed down her face.  To her dismay she could not make them stop.

“Celly, I can’t stop crying, what’s wrong?"  Elanna asked in alarm when she found she had no control over the flow. “Did it not work?  Was it all for nothing?”

“No, my friend, you weep the tears of mourning, something you have been unable to do," Celebsul explained, leaning in towards the couple.  “There are some things you lost that can never be regained, like your innocence, and it is right for you to mourn this.  Take heart; by mourning you have begun to reclaim yourself.  I think you will find that you will no longer feel torn and bereft.”

Elanna briefly considered his words, then peppered the elf with questions between wet sniffles. “Will I feel everything I did before?  Will my nightmares go away?" 

“Patience, Elanna.  You’ve faced your worst memories.  You’ve laid bare his deceit and have begun to untangle your goodness from his web of guilt."  Celebsul tried to clarify what he meant as Elanna’s face fell.  “You will no longer feel as two people warring within one skin.  Simpler feelings will come first.  The sweetness of a fresh strawberry, the warm fragrance of baking bread.  When was the last time you truly enjoyed riding?”

Elanna could not answer.  Though she rode whenever she could, she had yet to experience the old exhilaration she always felt on Dusul’s back, much less experience the simple pleasures Celebsul described.

“Complex emotions will return more slowly but will come back with time and patience.  This was not a healing in the sense that a sickness was banished.  This experience has freed you to heal, something you have been unable to do completely.”

Elanna timidly turned her gaze from the elf to Halbarad as the Ranger spoke.

“I know your love is still in your heart.  I have waited years for the chance to tell you that I loved you and I will wait until the end of time to hear the same words from you," he vowed.

Elanna looked up from the haven of Halbarad’s embrace and smiled hesitantly at him.  'I hope he ... we don’t have to wait until then,' she thought.  At Celebsul's voice, she turned her attention again.

“You have fought a mighty battle with yourself and broke the suffocating grip of your fears and memories," the elf said.  “The Deby we all knew is no longer, but there is enough of her spirit left in you, Elanna.  Enjoy learning the woman you have become, as we shall.”

Elanna wondered briefly what that learning would be like but she had little energy left and there was one last hurdle to face.  She focused her tired gaze on Anoriath, or more accurately, Anoriath’s middle.

Anoriath followed Elanna’s eyes.  She had remained quiet in the aftermath of Elanna's confrontation, unsure of just how the young woman would react to the revelation of whose child she carried, and that she had hidden this fact from her.  Anoriath had considered a thousand ways of breaking the news gently, but now the moment had come without warning.  Elanna, looking at her anew, wondered how she had not discerned the truth when Anoriath had shown her the scar she had received at Parcus’ hands.  Surely her lack of experience had not been so strong as to blind her.  But, obviously, she had not made the connection, until now.  'Now she will either accept or not,' thought Anoriath bleakly and steeled herself.  

“A child," Elanna stated weakly.

“Aye, and now you know of his father," Anoriath answered, choosing her words carefully.  Her pulse quickened anxiously.  “There is naught of Parcus’ evil in his son, or so Aglaran told me before he died.”  Anoriath fell silent, at a loss for how to explain the love she had begun to feel for the small life that grew within her or the conviction that he held something of Aglaran's spirit.

For a moment Elanna’s heart split itself between the child and its father.  Yet their blind elf friend had possessed a rare gift for seeing beyond the visible, and she trusted his judgment without question.  ‘If what Parcus did to me was no fault of mine, then surely this child is an innocent.'

Elanna smiled shyly at Anoriath, as a sudden realization found her.  “He’s like me, a peredhil.  I like that."  

Anoriath’s eyes grew damp with relief as she replied softly, "I’m sure he will find an ally in his favorite aunt as she did with his mother.”

Elanna was too weary to comment, but she managed to put all she felt in a brief, but radiant smile.  The smile faded with a soft sigh and wet lashes fell on wet cheeks.  Halbarad shifted her in his arms, cradling her gently, unwilling to set aside this burden.

“She should be in her own bed when she awakens.  Why don’t you go ahead and take her back?" Belegalda suggested.

The Rangers agreed.  Bob and Anoriath stood, limbs stiff from sitting.  To the mild amusement of the elves, they stretched the kinks out and came to stand on either side of Halbarad.  They decided not to move Elanna, so they each placed their hands under Halbarad’s arms and helped lift him upright without disturbing the sleeping girl.

“You should all take some rest too."  Celebsul smiled, a curious fatigue showing in his face and the set of his shoulders.  "This was not an effortless venture for any of us.  I hope you all found a measure of the peace you sought tonight.”

The three Rangers bid Celebsul and Belegalda good night, promising to rest after they saw Elanna to bed.  Belegalda also took his leave, for he found himself with the sudden urge to see Carcharien.  The healing of one soul surely owed something to the healing of another.

Alone, Celebsul sat with his back to the fire, gazing at the living trees that made up part of the hall.  The black, crooked fingers of bare twigs clawed at the stars.  He felt the weight of so many memories, his and those of others, and now these bitter recollections of Elanna's.  Shaking the detestable poison of Parcus from his soul, he reflected, 'This is why I am here.'  Rising slowly, the light in his eyes almost spent, he walked silently back to the inn.

Balrog greeted him, his own embers burning brighter than the elf's.  "What can I get you, Cel?"

"Something strong, my friend."

Chapter Sixteen

The Next Day

The sun had not quite risen and yet already the mouth-watering aroma of baking bread drifted throughout the Troll.  It rose up the stairway and filled the halls of the second floor with its warm scent.  In her room, Elanna lay in that most pleasant of states, not quite awake but no longer asleep, floating lightly in that place where dreams are born.  The warm yeasty smell only added to her contentment.  A soft sigh and she snuggled even further under the covers.

A slight creak of hinges announced the opening of her door, as did the sudden delectable surge of the scent of fresh bread and more.  Elanna peeked over the covers to see Erin and Meri doing their best to enter the room quietly, a feat made more challenging by the burdens they carried.  It was not difficult for Elanna to deduce that they came to see her.  Their elf friend Nellas now lived in Woodhaven and Sevilodorf had gone down to Pelargir, a business trip she had said.  Elanna had snickered as she wondered how Anardil - her family's friend and Sev's beau - would have reacted if he had heard himself referred to as ‘business’.

Erin came through the door first, leaning against it to hold it open for Meri who carried a fully laden tray, as did Erin.  Elanna uncovered her face and inhaled deeply.  Whatever steamed under the linen napkins that covered the trays smelled delicious.  Meri, alerted by the sound of sniffing, was the first to notice the curious girl.

“You are awake,” Meri said by way of delighted greeting.

“Celly told us that you might be especially hungry this morning,” Erin added as she eased the door closed.

“So we decided to bring breakfast to you,” Meri finished triumphantly.

Elanna sat up and scooted back to allow the hobbits access to the bottom half of her bed.  Trays were set down; the feast was unveiled and quickly laid before the wide-eyed Elanna.  She noticed that three cups flanked the teapot and that there was enough food for the three of them and then some.

Grinning slyly she said, “I see you brought tea for the three of us.  How nice, but I’m afraid there’s only enough food for one.”  Elanna punctuated her sentence by batting her eyes.

Elanna received a playful slap on the hand from each hobbit lass for her misguided attempt at humor.  Hobbits took their breakfast seriously.  

“Ouch!  I’m sorry!  I promise I’ll share,” Elanna swore through her laughter.

Erin and Meri exchanged quick glances.  It had been a long time since they had seen this side of their friend and a sight for sore eyes it was.  Smiling contentedly, Erin poured tea while Meri filled their plates.  Elanna fussed with her pillows, rearranging them a bit until she could hold her plate and still keep her cup within reach without spilling either of them on the bedclothes.

Was it her imagination or did everything smell better than it ever had before?  Elanna lifted the cup to her lips, inhaling the rich fragrance of sweet tea; a sip confirmed that Beorn honey had indeed been added.  A slice of Meri’s fresh bread convinced Elanna that if bread existed in Valinor it must taste just like this.  A sprinkling of cinnamon on the warmed preserved peaches transformed the simple fruit into an exotic treat.  Every dish that Elanna tried smelled and tasted even better than the previous one. 

Meri and Erin watched in amusement as Elanna’s attention darted from dish to dish.  They enjoyed the wide array of expression that showed her pleasure in every bite.  'You’d think she’d never had any of this before,' Meri thought while Erin now understood what Celebsul meant when he cautioned them that her manner might be a little different but quite natural.

Finally, fully satiated and content, Elanna leaned back on her pillows; she had surprised herself by eating almost as much as the hobbits.  It was a feat she had never been able to accomplish before and one she wasn’t sure if she would be capable of again.

“That was absolutely wonderful!  Erin, Meri, thank you so much for spoiling me this way,” Elanna said appreciatively.  Cel’s words from the night before prompted her next comment.  “I can’t remember the last time breakfast tasted so good.”

Erin and Meri beamed at each other, for it seemed that parts of the old Deby were not totally lost, even if the girl in the bed now called herself Elanna.  They chattered happily about the usual morning doings of residents and guests while they picked up dishes and what little food was left.  None of them heard the heavy tread that came up the stairs and stopped outside Elanna’s door.

“Good morning!” boomed a hearty voice.

“Eeeps!” cried the hobbits in unison as the trays they had just picked up fell back onto the bed.

“Aaackkk!” yelped Elanna as the last of her thankfully cold tea was spilled into her lap.

Though he knew it was not his wisest course of action, Bob couldn’t help himself.  He howled with laughter even as he attempted to help the now offended lasses pick up one more time.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” sniffed Meri indignantly.  "You about scared us to death!"

“Why someone could have been hurt with the knife!” added an equally miffed Erin.

“Please, I cry your pardon,” Bob apologized, doing his best to appear contrite.

After the initial shock of finding herself wet, Elanna proceeded to giggle helplessly as Bob valiantly tried to appease the two displeased halflings.  Each item he picked up they only snatched from his fingers and replaced.  They slapped his hands away from the teacups, protesting his clumsiness.  Bob finally desisted when Meri picked up the small paring knife Erin had brought with her.  He had too many clear memories of flouncing blonde curls and weaving tips of knives to get too close to the hobbit-lass.  At that point, only his offer of doing extra chores, their choice, of course, saved Bob from having to go all the way to Henneth Annun for his meals.  But it still didn’t stop Meri or Erin from cheerfully grumbling about him all the way back to the kitchen.

Bob gazed at his sister, taking delight in the sweet sound of her laughter.  He watched her wipe tears from her eyes, happy tears.  An air of serenity surrounded her even in the midst of her merriment.  Her eyes were clear and untroubled.  Bob’s heart did a quick flip.  Why hadn’t he let himself see how bad she had gotten?  Sweet Eru but how close he had come to losing her.

“Elanna,” Bob said thickly, his emotions rising to the surface.

The loving regret in her brother’s kind face touched Elanna’s heart as it had not done in weeks.  She smiled and held out her arms.  Bob rushed to the bed.  As soon as he felt her arms clasped around his neck, he picked her slight form up and held her tight.  Elanna returned the embrace by wrapping her legs around her brother's waist and tried her best to hug him twice as hard.

“I love you Bob,” she said softly in his ear.

“I love you more,” Bob hoarsely whispered back as he buried his face in her hair.

Elanna tenderly spoke the next line of their ritual, the one they used the day she left for Nurn, the same words that had been their father's so long as he lived a Ranger's life.

“I always come back to the ones I love.”

Bob pulled back to find a matching wetness in her eyes.  She was finally back where she belonged.  His Elanna was back to stay.

“Welcome home.”

Help me find the chains that bind me
As I walk into the light.
I can see with clearer vision
What confused me in the night.
I will leave the past behind.
I will fly on eagle’s wings.
I will run the race before me.
I am bound for greater things.

Verse by Ken Medema
"Bound For Greater Things"

~ FINIS ~