[Fordim Hedgethistle]

It took him and Megilaes most of the night to clear the hilltop of the dead. They carried the remains of the goblins to the bottom of the hill where they piled them about with all the dry wood that they could find. Before setting light to the pyre, Ambarturion took three severed heads from the pile and stuck them on spikes to serve as a warning to their enemies. The fire was reluctant to catch at first, as through it did not want to sully the ground with the ashes of such foul creatures. But the skill of the younger Elf at woodcraft overcame the flames’ reticence and soon there was a fire blazing that could be seen from many a mile. The reek of the fire spread about them both like a sickly haze so they retreated up the hill where the winds kept the air free.

Throughout the work, Coromswyth had remained with Caranbaith carefully tending his wound. Ambarturion had given her the small flask of miruvor that had been given him by the Lady herself. Coromswyth had given her charge a small mouthful of the drink, and they had all seen the effect of it upon him as he fell into an untroubled slumber. As Ambarturion and Megilaes reached the top of the hill they could see the wounded warrior still asleep beside the small fire that the lady had lit to keep him warm. They paused for a moment to watch and listen as she sang a low song over his sleeping form, rhythmically stroking his long hair with her fair hand as she did so.

As much unpleasant work as they had done this night there remained yet one more task. Coromswyth’s mount had been slain and his corpse lay still by the outer ring of trees. Even if the two of them unaided could have carried the body to the bottom of the hill there was no time to dig a grave for him, and no stones to build a cairn. They thought for a long time about what they should do, but in the end all they could managed was to weave about the body a tight mat of branches and leaves. As they worked, Ambarturion sang what songs he knew of protection and warding to keep away any who would wish to desecrate the final resting place of the lady’s companion. It occurred to Ambarturion that he did not even know the horse’s name, and this added tot he unwelcome sting of conscience that had been troubling him since Coromswyth had reprimanded him for his callousness toward his student.

Battle suits you very ill. Her words came back to him for the hundredth time, and as each of the times before he paused in his work, shocked by how profoundly they cut him. War had been his life; for seven thousand years, as such things are measured in the world beyond Lorien, he had fought as bravely as he could in a losing war. In that time he had slain uncounted hundreds of the Enemy’s slaves, but it had not done any good. Still they kept coming, and no matter how many he slaughtered there would always be more. He regarded his work as a sad necessity, but one that he did not relish. He was proud of his abilities, but always he lamented the sore requirement to use them. But why then, he found himself asking over and over again, do the lady’s words stick so deeply in me? Could it be that I am giving way to the fey mood of one who has lost reason? His mind went back to the slaughter he had worked upon the goblins, and even as it did a slow smile moved over his face and his hands began to tremble. He shook his head and tried to drive away the blood that ran into his eyes. When his vision cleared he saw Coromswyth regarding him with a knowing look and he scowled at her.

Megilaes was standing beside his brother, wanting to be of aid but not knowing what to do. “Megilaes,” Ambarturion snapped, “you must rest now. You have had no sleep this night, and we will be sore pressed tomorrow, for we must make haste to the River and we will have to bear your brother.” The young Elf made to protest his master’s command, but one sharp word from Ambarturion silenced him. Coromswyth assured Megilaes that she would care for his brother until daylight. Comforted by this, the young Elf threw himself upon the ground by his brother and was soon asleep.

Ambarturion brought Coromswyth her blade saying, “You should not put your blade into the ground, lady; chance stones or roots will blunt its edge.”

She took the blade back from him and laid it upon the grass beside her. “It is a habit I have, Ambarturion.” He noted the shortness of her reply and that she was avoiding his gaze. For the first time since they had set out together, he had a desire to speak with her, for he sensed that here was one who sought to understand him – and he was disturbed by the notion that he perhaps did not fully understand himself. Although there was a great difference of years and experiences between them, there was at the same time an odd form of commonality. Despite their bickering and the misunderstandings that had afflicted them in their brief acquaintance, there was something or someone in her past that made her more like him than he had realised. Settling himself upon the ground, he inquired after his student. She answered him politely and efficiently, but without venturing anything more than that. Ambarturion sighed lightly and tried again.

“Lady,” he began, in the gentlest tone that he had yet used with her. “I am sorry for my manner toward you on this journey; and I apologise for my…thoughtless words when you were tending to my student. I am, as you have rightly said, a warrior. The rage of battle was upon me still and I spoke when I would have been better to hold my tongue.”

She smiled at him with what appeared to be genuine relief. “I understand. And I am sorry for my words of doubt and accusation. I am sure that you have done all for the best.”

He nodded to her. “I thank you for that, lady, but I am afraid that you were right to question my decision to come here – as we have learned greatly to our dismay, it was a poorly considered course. I had thought that the greater danger lay to the East, and that the Moria goblins would not venture so far from their mines. I was wrong.”

“Danger lies close about us in all directions in these days, Ambarturion. You cannot blame yourself if it finds us.”

A silence fell between them once more. Ambarturion desired greatly to ask her again about her words that had troubled him the most deeply, battle suits you very ill, but for reasons so subtle that he could not understand them, he avoided the subject. He sought to reach her on another subject. “You must not think that I am always so curst and brief, lady,” he tried to sound jocular and light-hearted. “I am merely dismayed by our journey and the hopelessness of what we attempt. To have come to such a pass: begging of the Woodmen for their aid!”

She looked at him quizzically and replied, “You do not think they will help us? We have not had many dealings with them, but surely they are aware of the work that we have done in guarding these lands from the armies of Moria and Dol Guldur? Surely they will send what aid they can?”

It was Ambarturion’s turn to look surprised. “I have no doubt that they will send what they can, lady, but what use will that be to us? A band of ragged Men who scrape their livelihood from the fringes of mighty realms they have not the wit to understand? I have seen Men in their glory, and even then they were of little enough aid to us. No, I fear that with the loss of our strength, there goes all the strength that Middle-Earth has against the Enemy. The Woodmen are but the lees and dregs of a cup that has been drained of an altogether indifferent wine.” He laughed in a manner that was not altogether comely, but then stopped when he saw the look in Coromswyth’s eyes. “But what have I said that deserves such a look as this, lady?” He smiled at her once more, asking “Do you account the Woodmen among your friends and take offence that I should weigh them so slightly?”