[Mithalwen]

Elfride was content to stay towards the rear of the party. Leif, usually restive and eager to lead had seemingly picked up on his rider's mood and was content to go along quietly allowing his mistress time for reflection. She had discarded her riding habit in favour of the more masculine garb as worn by the younger women - shirt and breeches, topped with a fine, high necked jersey against the cool of dawn, and a loose tunic held in at the waist by a sword belt. All were in muted shades of grey and blue but this was currently concealed by her grey cloak as was her face shaded by her hood.

The outfit actually made her look younger but she was betrayed by the weariness of her eyes and she was not ready to meet anyone's gaze now they might have time to speak of anything other than preparations for the journey- especially not Hama's. Their departure had been mercifully busy, she had made sure everyone was well supplied and breakfasted and that her steward Bredon had all necessary instructions for her absence.

She had not slept well. Not because she had given up her own chamber; preferring that she rather than another slept in the little room that had been her daughter's - she was jealous of whatever might remain of Tilly in that little chamber and felt closer to her there even than by the mound, pathetically small, where the simbelmyne already grew. Sleep easier to find there than in the emptiness of her own bed but this night had been too eventful, too full of loss, tension and fear and she had not the comfort of knowing Elfthain slept in the next room. The plans for the journey might occupy her mind but most of her heart was with the small boy travelling to Gondor with his uncle.

What remained was with Sandrina, abducted, separated from her own much younger son and no doubt terrified for his safety as well as that of the unborn child. Elfride's mind had raced, wondering if she had packed all preparations necessary then unable to reassure herself with the knowledge that all was ready. Knowing she needed sleep to be in a good state to help Sandrina, she had got up, slipped her dressing gown over her nightdress and gone downstairs. She had placed the kettle on the range and was holding up a lantern to the herb cupboard to find for the right jar when Hama's voice disturbed her ..

"So you can't sleep either ?"

Elfride without seeming to change her hand's course selected chamomile rather than the more potent sophorific herbs she had intended.

"No ... my mind is too occupied .. so I came to make tea"

"What is it? "Hama asked with simple curiousity but Elfride's guilty conscience made her answer "Just Chamomile.. I'm not drugging myself!"

Hama's eyes narrowed but he kept his voice and gaze steady.

"I never said that you were - why would I? Will you make some for me too? "....

"Of course" She answered taking down a second cup and adding the now hot water to the pot. "Well everyone one seems to think I will not be able to cope. Being on my own, raising my son alone". Elfride rolled her eyes and pushed a steaming mug across the table to her old friend. As she did so, Hama caught her slender wrist in his hand and turned it so a silvery scar was visible in the lantern light.

"Do you remember the day you got this" he asked. She nodded. "So do I" he continued " and I know you are brave .. but I also know that things happen that are hard to cope with.."

Guilt had struck Elfride again. She had let him see her cry once tonight. It would be so easy to cry again, bewail her losses and her failure - but how could she to Hama who had lost everything? He would understand but could he forgive her self pity when her son at least remained to her? So she had taken the cowards route... excused her self on the grounds that she was sure she would now sleep and returned to her bed. She would avoid Hama's too perceptive gaze until the day was a little older.

The sight of the early morning light glistening on the lone tall peak of the Starkhorn started to lift her spirits a little. Even though she had been born at Edoras and lived most of her life in the Harrowdale, this was a sight she never tired of. The gurgling of the Snowbourne whose course they followed as they rode toward the mountains soothed her nerves and she threw back her hood and let the still weak sun reach her face. It was not strong enough to lighten the shadows under her eyes but it eased those over her heart a little.