[Ransom]

Elenna Ethynian idly stirred her half filled bowl of stew, stopping to drink a spoonful of the warm broth every few minutes. Her five foot three inch frame made her seem more like a lost girl than an eighteen-year-old woman as she sat at one of the small tables scattered about the interior of the White Horse Inn. Pausing to tuck a stray strand of blond hair behind her left ear, she picked up a large chunk of bread and took a small nibble. A pair of soft gray eyes fluttered as she desperately tried to stay awake. It had been quite a long day, and she wondered if a glass of wine would help keep her awake. She quickly dismissed the idea; after her sixteenth birthday, she had tried a small glass of red wine. One thing lead to another, and she had woken up the next morning with a blinding headache. It was not an experience she would care to repeat.

A dry couch escaped through her tin lips, shaking her thin body like a leaf. The piece of bread she had been eating tumbled into her lap, leaving a trail of crumbs down her simple gray dress. Embarrassed, she quickly wiped the crumbs off her clothing and placed the piece of bread back where it belonged. She had taken ill when she was a girl of twelve, and the dry hacking cough had never gone away since. Quickly taking a drink of water out of the simple clay cup, Elenna glanced across the table at the tall Gondorian noisily stowing away his dinner.

Lieutenant Azariah Alamax was certainly not handsome like some of the other soldiers in the Golden Hall. Indeed, if she had met him in one of the narrow streets after dark, she would have thought him a robber or a murderer. His face was a dark brown, suntanned from years under the sun. A long scar ran from his left ear down around his eyes and into the middle of his left cheek. Ragged black hair jutted out of his head in every direction, but failed to hide the missing top of his right ear. Hard gray eyes were set squarely on his bowl of stew in front of him. Elenna found herself staring at his beard. From what she knew, soldiers were rarely allowed to allow their beards to grow.

Azariah glanced down at the black tunic and matching wool breeches that formed the formal uniform of the Hosts of Gondor. To his joy, none of his dinner had managed to splash onto the front of his shirt. It was quite hard to find time to properly clean and launder his clothing. He returned his attention back to his dinner, but not before noticing his Elenna’s minuscule appetite. “Lady, you’d best eat up while you can. Mandos knows that you’ll need the strength.”

“I believe that you’ve been asked to accompany me to Ithilien, not mother me,” she retorted more sharply than she wished. Anybody could see that Azariah was a trifle annoyed, and it was generally considered a very foolish thing to provoke annoyed soldiers.

The Gondorian pounded his fist on the table. “Asked to accompany you? King Eomer made a “royal request” to take you to Ithilien. Royal request! The only thing he didn’t do was order me to take you.”

The pair stared silently across the table at each other for a few moments before Elenna spoke in a small voice. “But you will take me, won’t you?”

Azariah sighed and buried his face in his hands. It wasn’t that he hated Elenna. He was a messenger, not a mercenary. “Aye, lady, I’ll do my best to see that you reach the house of Faramir unharmed. But you’ve got to eat or you’ll cough your lungs up before we get to Gondor. You’re a nice girl, and King Elessar would flay my skin from my bones if you died on the road.”

Elenna couldn’t help but crinkle her nose at the ever-present smell of oil that seemed to linger around the man. Maybe it was that clumsy and mismatched suit of chain mail and metal plates he had worn to the Golden Hall earlier that day. She smiled thinly. “Thank you for your concern, sir, but I shall be fine.”

“Very well then, lady. If you will not eat, than consider retiring to bed earlier. Thank the Valar that Eomer’s letting us take our time. Your clothing isn’t suitable for travel and you’ll need another weapon besides your bow.”

She began to protest. She had traveled before, and she was quite certain she knew what she was doing. “What’s wrong with my dress? I can ride just as well as you can. And I’ve no skill with a blade. I’d cut my own hands off before I wounded a foe.”

The soldier let loose a loud, barking laugh. “Of course you can ride. You’re a maid of Rohan. I don’t doubt that you could outride me any day. But you’re clothing’s all wrong. It’s summer, and you’ll be sweating to death after a hard day’s riding. As for your skill with a blade, what do you think a bandit will do once he’s too close to shoot? He won’t kiss you on your hand and send you on your way, that’s for certain. I’ll even show you how to use the thing.”

While Elenna had no experience traveling, she was certainly smart enough to know that she was loosing the argument-badly. She sighed and turned her attention back to her rapidly cooling bowl of stew. The woman did not wish to go to bed, and she seriously doubted that the Gondorian would let her do anything else besides eat. Azariah had just begun his second mug of beer, and Elenna was fairly certain that he would have a hangover the next morning. Giggling quietly, she began to think of all the unpleasant herbal teas that she could feed him in the morning to help “cure” his condition. She doubted he was so foolish to take tea from a herbalist, but it was certainly worth a try.