A/N: So what did you guys make of the mic drop revelation in the last chapter??
Keren needs to move on already, so she's literally moving on, to another country...
Éowyn was happy. It had been a long final stretch of their journey, and she looked up at the white walls towering above the plains with great relief. She was to see Faramir in a matter of minutes, the man who had finally brought her to life.
She had loved before, deeply, unrequitedly, but she had had no joy in it. Aragorn was to her what an elf was to Merry, she realised with some humour. Too different, too distant. Faramir was her equal, her mirror, somewhat constrained by his position and fears, like her. And yet he had a simple wonder and respect for life that she had not formerly possessed. Friend or enemy, he would always choose life over death, the pen over the sword, unless there was no choice.
There was much he could teach her, but it was slow progress, for she had yet to shake her stiff, somewhat formal manner around him sometimes. But there had been days when they had laughed together until she had cried, and it was with a hidden, secret smile that she rode towards him now.
For Keren, gone were the days of not feeling – now she felt greatly, sometimes a little too much, and could swing from happiness to grief quickly, leaving all who knew her confused and a little worried. But she had confided to Palen that she would rather live thus than return to the horrible state of nothing-ness.
Palen could not say for certain what had brought about this change, but she had a suspicion it was to do with her sister's instructions from the strange Lady Galadriel.
She had questioned Keren at length about her plans, but Keren said she had none. She knew not what was coming, but at least it was something.
"But this is so unlike you," Palen had said.
"That's the point," Keren had replied.
"And once you reach Rohan, what then?"
"The Lady didn't say."
"Well, will you come back?" Palen's voice had wobbled a little.
"Of course," Keren had said, taking her hand. "It's just a... a holiday. An adventure."
"But for how long? You can't just leave your job and expect to come back whenever you wish. You'll be gone months, not weeks, Rohan is not Cormallen."
"Cormallen seemed a world away, then. Rohan does now. Don't you see that's why I must go? I needed mother, I needed father, I needed Faramir. They've all gone, and so now I need you. But I shouldn't Pal, I shouldn't. I want to find some independence."
"Keren, you lost your mother when you were eleven, and started work the same year. Father is useless for the most part, and I've been... well, I have Dannor. You save people's lives almost every day. You've faced more heartache than most already. Don't be so hard on yourself. You're far stronger than you think."
Keren shook her head.
"I won't feel it unless I go. You said yourself, we have fallen into the strangest pattern of chances. I don't want to miss this chance. You would do the same."
And Palen had conceded that she would, if she had had no husband she loved in the city, and if she had had a mysterious elf seek her out and tell her to leave.
"But you must tell the Warden."
"I'll tell him something."
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"But, Keren, you are one of my best healers, and at such a young age you could become highly renowned for your skill given time," the Warden had said, bewildered at her sudden desire to leave.
"Thank you, sir, but – "
"And we will miss you," he went on, interrupting. "Ten years you have called these Houses home. I cannot understand what has brought this on. Are you unhappy here?"
"The Houses are my home, sir," she said. "I've not always been entirely happy here, but that's nothing to do with my position, or the work, or any of the people."
"Then what is it?"
"I just feel it's the right time to leave, to... to try other paths," she said blandly. "Even though I don't know what I shall find, I'd forever regret it if I don't try something new. I have a strange yearning to see new places and learn new things, even though I know it means leaving home."
"But where will you go?" he asked.
"Dol Amroth." She had plucked a place of Gondor from thin air, for if she mentioned that she was travelling to Rohan she thought he would question her sanity even more than he already was.
"Well there is work to be found there for healers, to be sure," he said reluctantly, "but I would worry for your safety. How would you travel?"
"A friend of my father's wishes to visit family there," she lied, easily. "I'll travel with him and his wife."
"And how long will you be gone for?" He was becoming exasperated.
"That I cannot answer easily, but... I'm hoping to return. My family are here, I couldn't be parted from Palen for too long."
"What does she say to all this?" he wondered.
"She doesn't wish to hold me back."
He sat silently, his hands clasped before his lips, elbows on the table, with his dark eyes looking at her shrewdly. He sighed, and seemed to think a while before speaking.
"I do not know what to say to you, Keren," he finally said. "You wish to go, and indeed I can't force you to stay, I'm not a slave driver. You chose to come to us as a child, and now you are grown you are choosing to leave. I am... sad that this is what you wish, but I have to accept your choice, as imprudent and unwise as I believe it to be."
Keren felt a lump rise in her throat at the disappointment from the strict, stern man she liked and respected.
"I'm sorry, sir," she said quietly. "I will be very sad to leave, and I know that it's maybe too much to ask but – "
"Our doors will always be open to you Keren, should you return," he said. "Just stay safe."
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"You'll not be going north?" was the first thing her father had said when she told him.
"I will go north-west as far as Edoras in Rohan," she had replied. "It's a great honour that I've been asked."
"And from there? You'll be coming back here?"
"I don't know. Eventually, yes. But perhaps I'll travel further north first."
She did not realise until the moment she said it, but once it was out of her mouth she knew that that was what she desired to do. It would never come to pass, for she knew no-one to travel with, nor had any knowledge of the lands beyond Gondor other than what the hobbits had described to her. To venture past Rohan on her own would be certain death. And yet something within called her to dare, or at least acknowledge her desire to see the wider world.
"No child of mine is going beyond the Entwash, nor do I even want you in sight of it," Malerond said quickly.
"But my grandmother was from the north!"
"Your mother's mother, not mine, and she was from far beyond any rivers I know."
"From Bree." She wondered whether her father would finally tell her more of her mother's family now they were parting.
"Aye, but that means naught to me," he said. "It's on no map that I've ever seen."
"But she must have said something about it."
"She was never there, her family left before she was born."
"I know," Keren said, frustrated. "And then mother was born here, and her mother died in childbirth."
Her father was still, opened his lips a fraction, then shut them tightly again.
"That's right isn't it?"
"Not quite," he said reluctantly. "Your mother was born on the road, I don't know where. Your grandmother perished, and I think some others of her family. Certainly none made it to Minas Tirith. But they knew what they risked – travelling is dangerous, and hard on the body. Why they left when your grandmother was with child I don't know, perhaps they were desperate. Look, I know naught else of it all. Don't you go looking for answers. The lands to the North are vast and beyond our reckoning, and there will be nothing to find. Once your business is done with the high folk of Rohan you're to return home."
Keren blinked, taking in this, the longest speech she had heard him make for years.
"Thank you, father," she said, for not only had he given her information of her family, he had also silently given his permission for her to leave the city. She wondered why she thought she had needed it. She felt a strange tug of her heart and pushed it down.
"Goodbye, daughter," he said with a nod of his head.
He watched her leave.
Maleron had never been so afraid for his daughter in his life, and now perhaps she was lost to him forever. Danger lay beyond their borders, strange lands and strange people, and he knew far better than Keren what grief they could bring.
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"Behold, the King Elessar is come! The Forest of Drúadan he gives to Ghân-buri-Ghân and to his folk, to be their own for ever; and hereafter let no man enter it without their leave!"
On the second day out from Minas Tirith a herald shouted as they passed beside an ancient forest. It was, in fact, the Grey Wood in the region of Anórien, but Keren could not have even pointed out on a map where that was. The large hill that loomed above them was the second of the great beacons that formed a long chain all the way to Edoras, but she had never learned its name. It all made her feel foolish and ignorant now, for she was still so close to home.
She looked all around her as the sound of drums rolled around the large group of travellers, answering the heralds, but she could see nothing. She was surrounded by the best warriors of Rohan, Gondor and the elven folk, but a shiver of fear went up her spine at the sound of those unseen drums.
Unlike on her journey to Cormallen, this time she had not looked back at the city – not out of lack of care, but more because she knew if she had she would have run all the way back to the Houses. Tears had been shed by both Keren and Palen at their parting, for they were very close, and knew not when they would be reunited. Palen worried if they ever would.
It was a solemn journey and a strange group, in which Keren spent all of her time at the back of with very little company. All of her friends had positions of honour close to the wain carrying the embalmed body of Théoden, which she felt rather fortunate avoiding the sight and smell of, the king having been dead over four months and it now being summer. Poor Merry was sat atop the wain itself, and she hoped for his sake the wind kept up for the rest of the journey.
Beregond was with Faramir, as his Captain. She would see neither of them again, she realised, once they left for Ithilien. So far neither of them were aware of Keren's presence, but she could not hide for long when they reached Edoras. What would Faramir think? That she had followed him all the way like a madwoman?
The crystal that had caused all her problems was now in a small pouch tied to a belt around her waist, no longer a weight in her pocket that was all too easy to reach for. She had not really wanted to bring it, but had feared to leave it behind for anyone to find.
She stuck firmly with the few servants that had been granted the honour of travelling with their illustrious masters. They seemed unsure as to why she was there, and she spun a quick story about a healer being necessary on the journey, but as soon as it was out of her mouth she regretted it, for among the elves in the company were some of the finest healers ever born. All were too polite to question her, but she was not about to make any friends.
They were on the road for fifteen days. Keren tried to keep track of them, but she was entirely unused to travelling long distances, and was so tired by the time Edoras came into view that she had lost count. She could barely lift her head to look around her, and she only dimly registered a craggy hill rising all alone in the middle of the plain, with what looked like wooden huts with roofs of gleaming gold atop it.
It had been a lonely and uncomfortable journey, and she would be sorely glad of a bed and a bath, and the chance to see her companions again. But she was not sure if she would get any of those in this strange place.
As they reached the foot of the hill, odd, irregular mounds rose up from the plains by the gates, and a rough road rose steadily, winding up through the town.
Through these gates the large party went, and while a short distance to the top compared to Minas Tirith it felt a long trek to Keren, who was ready to fall out of the saddle.
It was so very different to home. The gleaming gold rooftops turned out to be nothing but thatched straw. The whole place smelt slightly of a farmyard. The locals watched the procession sadly from the low doors and windows of their rickety houses.
Keren was led to the stables. Saddle-sore and with legs wobbling, she and the woman she had been sharing a horse with for most of the journey dismounted and stretched their tired muscles.
"Rohan horses are the finest," the woman, Éadgith, said, "and Léofric has carried us well."
She tutted at Keren for not showing enough gratitude, but Keren was not a natural horsewoman, and after more than a fortnight in the saddle she would be happy if she never rode a horse again.
"Come then, we must to Meduseld," Éadgith said, "though where they will put you and what they will do with you I know not."
Keren's hopes for a bed and bath fell dramatically, and her fears proved true, for that night saw her sleeping on the floor of the great hall on straw and rushes with the servants. It was less comfortable even than the cramped tent at Cormallen, but she fell asleep almost immediately, tired eyes drooping, exhausted body not even feeling the hard stone floor. She had made it inside the famed golden hall – Meduseld, home to the Lords of the Mark. But what was she supposed to do now she was there?
Her dreams gave her no answers. She dreamt of the Houses of Healing, but they were not how she knew them. She could not find her room, and the corridors were long and black, and whenever she ran from door to door they were slammed in her face, or locked. The last one, however, seemed to want to open, but she could not quite see...
"Keren! Psst! Keren!" Pippin's voice sounded in her ear, and she opened her eyes with a start. "At last I've found you," he said, and stopped poking her arm. "What have you been doing?"
"Ssh, Pip," she whispered, for all slept around her. "What are you doing here?"
"I could say the same for you," he replied quietly. "You have told them you're not a servant?"
"Well..." She had not, for she knew no one would believe her. "Where would they put me if not here?"
"But this simply will not do!" Pippin cried. "What will happen when the cock crows, you go and start sweeping floors? Surely that can't be why you've come?"
She sighed, fully awake now, and aware they were causing people around to stir. She got up, stretching out her back.
"Come on," she whispered, and together they went outside into the fresh air of the early dawn. The guard at the door gave them a curious look but let them pass.
"I don't know what I expected exactly, but I admit, it wasn't this," she said as they strolled along the terrace. Pippin took a seat on the edge, legs dangling over.
"Why are you up so early, anyway?" she asked him.
He was silent for a time, but then turned to her and spoke quietly.
"Can't sleep," he said. "Bad dreams."
"Oh? Is everything alright?"
He nodded with a smile, then looked out to the mountains.
"But sometimes it's like my mind doesn't have enough room for everything that's happened since I left home, especially as some of it's been – well, not very nice. So sometimes I lie awake, or I dream of... bad memories, the frightening times."
"Is there anything I can do?" Keren asked.
"Not really." Pippin sighed. "Although you can promise that you'll find a way to see us, and to not work too hard."
"I'm not sure I can promise that, Pip. I must go where I'm sent, I suppose."
"Well then, let's just hope you're not sent anywhere."
Two more nights passed, both of which Keren spent on the floor of the hall. Her days were spent awkwardly, for as she expected no-one quite knew where to put her. She occasionally helped with menial tasks in preparation for the funeral, but only for something to do, and never anything that took her within the presence of her friends for fear that Faramir would be there.
The servants left her be, for she had been seen speaking to one of the halfling princes in the King's company, and they assumed she must have airs and graces. So she found herself wandering alone for a lot of the time, and she felt great freedom exploring the streets or viewing the plains and mountains from the top of the hill.
Sunset on the third day, the tenth of August, was the time that she had been dreading. She was certain Faramir would spot her at the funeral, but her fears were unfounded, for it seemed the whole of the city was in attendance, and she was lost in the crowd. She did not look towards the flash of gold which she knew was Éowyn's hair, nor the dark figure next to her, the familiar raven hair blowing in the warm breeze coming off the plain.
She watched instead solemnly as Théoden, laid out on a bier in full armour, with his sword clasped to his chest and many smaller arms and flowers laid at his feet and all around, began his final journey. All the nobles of the Mark followed close, with men at arms before and behind, then came the honoured guests from Gondor with the elves.
As the bier approached the site of its resting place, high on the shoulders of Éomer and three of the finest men chosen from the King's Riders, all were silent. Keren watched as Théoden slowly disappeared from sight, and a stone was placed firmly in the entrance to whatever lay beneath the earth, leaving him in the dark, to find his way alone to the halls of his ancestors.
A group of riders all atop white horses began to emerge from the west. Slowly they formed a circle around the tomb, facing outwards as if to guard the old King. Keren wondered what was happening, for there was no such custom in Gondor, when suddenly one lone rider's voice burst into song. Keren did not understand the words, for he was singing in Rohan's own curious language, but she felt the grief, and the pride. The voice was soon joined by many others, and the men on their horses began to ride around the tomb with heads bowed. Many began weeping. She glanced over to her friends and saw Merry was not with them. Then she spotted a small figure, previously hidden by the horses, stood all alone, at the very foot of the mound, his head held high but his face wet with tears.
When the sun had fully set, and the torches had been lit, the company turned from the royal graves and wended their way back up the hill. Many headed homewards, but the servants of Meduseld, along with Keren, went with the party of nobles and elves up to the Hall, where there was to be a great feast.
The servants all went about their duties, most running to the kitchens. Keren stood awkwardly in the doorway. Her best option would be to seek out her friends, but she did not want to be seen presuming that her place was with them at the feast. Deciding she could not block the door until one of them happened to find her, she turned instead to go to the kitchens, where at least she could be useful. At least if she served them drinks she would see them.
She turned against the flow of the crowd, but a small arm flew up and grabbed her elbow.
"Oh no you don't," Pippin said. "Tonight you're one of us."
"Pip!" Keren cried, and knelt down to hug him tightly.
More strange looks were thrown their way as they drew themselves into an out of the way corner of the hall to speak.
"I'm only sorry I couldn't get to you sooner," he said. "But have you been avoiding us?"
"I'm not avoiding you," she replied. "It's... Oh, it's nothing."
The hobbit's face grew thoughtful.
"The Lady Galadriel, she spoke to me about you."
"Oh? When?"
"It was very odd actually, because I'd never actually told her I'd seen you. I said I'd just wanted to talk to you, to see that you were alright, and to find a way for you to spend your time here with us. And she smiled at me and put her hand on my cheek, and said I had a kind heart but I must leave you to yourself until the right moment. And I said, 'how will I know what the right moment is?' And she said something about an open door, and two choices, and I don't know what else. And I saw you standing dithering in the doorway just now so I took that as close enough."
Keren tried to take in his rambling speech, but decided that she would never understand the words of elves so might as well give up on gleaning any meaning from them. Pippin seemed to have had the same thought.
"I think she does it on purpose," he said. "And it's not for us to concern ourselves with tonight anyway. Now the King's been laid to rest it's time for feasting and drinking, and I am determined to have a good time."
"I too, if I can." With Pippin and the others now by her side she could face Faramir tonight, she thought. The shadow of home and all she had left behind seemed brighter and more real, reminding her that she could always return if she wished.
"Come on, then," Pippin said, and took her past the table where she had previously sat with the servants, all the way to the far end of the hall.
Meduseld had been made magnificent for the occasion. Bright hangings and the light of hundreds of torches and candles all along the walls and tables banished the shadows, as did the fire burning in the centre of the hall.
They sat on a long table near the dais, opposite several elves. Keren found herself staring at them, like so many, for she was not used to so much beauty in one place.
Queen Arwen and Lady Galadriel sat beside each other, both snow pale and grey-eyed, and yet as unlike each other as day was to night. A male elf with silver hair was next to Galadriel, a quiet hand on hers. Her husband, perhaps?
She remembered Legolas had spoken about love on that sad and strange night on the balcony, and he had seemed completely baffled by it. She knew that elves married, but did they, could they, love as humans did? Although the new Queen of Gondor looked blissfully happy, Keren could not imagine the Lady Arwen crying and wailing over anybody, as she had, and wondered if, for elves, love was somehow easier. Less messy.
Beside Arwen was an empty seat for Aragorn, who had chosen not to share the dais with the new King of Rohan, for it was not his country, nor his feast.
Beyond Arwen was a stern looking elf with hair as dark as hers – Keren stared as she took in another figure from her childhood book of legends, for it had to be Arwen's father, Lord Elrond. Opposite him were his two sons that Keren had seen before. The sight of them made something painful twinge inside her, for that day watching them ride out from the walls of the Houses of Healing shone golden in her memory, as Faramir had stood close to her, their fingertips touching, each feeling a little less alone.
There were just four seats at the high table on the dais. One for Mithrandir, sat already smoking his pipe. One for King Éomer, who would enter last to a fanfare of horns. One for Éowyn to the right of the King. And one for...
Keren felt her breathing grow shallow, and struggled to master it.
He had not seen her yet. He sat a little awkwardly, one hand clenching the arm of the chair, the other fiddling with the stem of the silver goblet in front of him. He looked often at Éowyn, as if reassured by her familiarity. He wore clothes of rich blue, which Keren thought had always suited him so well. His dark hair shone in the light of the flames all around.
She knew just by looking at him that he felt as out of place as she did, for he did not seem to fit in with the scene. He was Gondor, he was home – silver and stone, not gold and wood as Rohan felt to her. She longed to run to his side and beg him to return to what he knew was right. But she could not let herself do that, even if the hall were empty of all except the two of them, for she could not forget how callously he had treated her, even if he claimed it was to protect her.
She realised she was staring, and thankfully Merry's voice snapped her out of her daze before it became obvious.
"Keren! At last," he said as he took his seat beside Pippin. He seemed a little less energetic than usual, for the day had been hard for him.
"How are you?" Keren asked gently. "I could see how much the King meant to you."
"Aye, as a father I loved him, and my heart aches to see him laid to rest. But I'm proud also. Oh, it's all mixed up."
She knew not what to say, so reached over and placed a gentle hand on his, and he smiled, eyes slightly misty.
Frodo and Sam came in with Aragorn. As he took his place with the elves, they came and sat opposite Keren and Pippin, followed by Legolas and Gimli. Gimli raised his eyebrows in surprise at her presence, but quickly gave her a gruff nod, and a 'how do ye do, lassie?' as they sat.
The hall filled and grew loud with chatter as the food was brought in, and Keren felt guilty at such a solemn occasion for already starting to thoroughly enjoy herself. The food and drink were delicious, and the company was even better. Before long even poor Merry was smiling and laughing with the rest.
Keren did not look over to Faramir and Éowyn again. She assumed they must have seen her by now, and wondered what their differing thoughts might be on the sight of her. Did Éowyn have any idea...?
"So," Legolas brought her out of her heavy thoughts, "now you have seen both the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, what are your thoughts?"
"I can't make her out," Keren admitted. "She's wise, more than anything, I think. One minute I think she may be kind, then the next she's cold and frightening."
"She is indeed all those things, and many more. She has had many years to find all the different parts of herself. And what of her husband?"
"They're very well matched," she thought aloud. "He's taller even than her, and he's all silver to her gold."
"Well so he is named. Celeborn. Celeb – silver, Orn – tall."
"Is that how Elvish names work?" she asked. "They describe you?"
"Exactly so, for most of us."
"So what does your name mean?" she wondered.
"My father and mother were perhaps sentimental... It was spring when I was born, the forest was..." Keren found seeing the perfect elf a little embarrassed most amusing. "I suppose in your speech you would say Greenleaf, which doesn't sound so bad," he said.
"Ha!" Gimli gave a shout. "They might as well have called you 'little sapling' and have done with it."
Keren smiled at this new image of a tiny elf-baby, a new little leaf on a great family tree of woodland elves.
"I think it's a beautiful name," she said. She turned to Gimli. "Does your name have a meaning?" Keren said, to distract from Legolas going coldly pale. Great friends now, were the elf and the dwarf, but she had heard from the hobbits that it had not always been so.
"Well, ahem, none that you would know in your tongue, I'm sure," he mumbled.
"Gimli means 'star'," Legolas said quickly.
The dwarf scowled in a decidedly non-twinkly manner.
"Oh, very pretty," Keren said.
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A/N: Meduseld drawing is by dragontongue on DeviantArt
'The Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood' by Kinko-White on DeviantArt (love!)
Section from 'River Lullaby' by QuelleElenath on DeviantArt. Side note - searching for 'Thranduil and Legolas' led me to a veeerrrry weird corner of DeviantArt where these two VERY closely related characters like to do the do. He's his DAD guys 😭🤢