[littlemanpoet]

"Remember our little game?" Liornung asked. "Perhaps you would care to take your turn!"

"Would you hear one of the lays of Rohan, or shall I try a rhyme after the manner of Liornung?"

"Sing what you like, friend!"

"Let me think on this, and I will, I hope, have a song for you when we make camp tonight."

"I can wait," Liornung replied. "What of you, Bellyn? Argeleafa?"

Bellyn smiled and said that she could wait, but Argeleafa looked startled to have been included, and blushed. It made her seem fairer. Ædegard had been aware of her from the start, and thought her a welcome addition to the party if only because she was Rohirric as was he, but her plight prodded his interest.

"So be it!" Ædegard smiled to each of them, last of all to Argeleafa, meeting her eyes. The smile she returned was brief; she bit her lip her face became sad again. Ædegard bent himself to the task of song.

Night came and the party camped at the edge of Lorien, south of where the Silverlode joins the Anduin. Liornung asked for Ædegard's song.

"I am sorry. I need more time."

The watch was divided between them, and the night passed uneventful.

On the next day, Ædegard rode next to Argeleafa and asked her about her life. She was shy and easily overcome with homesickness. Ædegard told her that he felt the same at times, having left his family back in Edoras. Most of that day was spent in quiet, and sometimes Ædegard rode in front, sometimes near the Elves, sometimes beside Argeleafa.

Liornung reminded Ædegard that he owed them a song.

"I shall have one ready tonight, I am thinking."

The party made camp where the Limlight flowed into the Anduin. The river curved back north and east, around a great rise of land between the north and south undeeps. The Wolds were to their south. Ædegard wondered which way Amroth would lead them now. He was content to let him lead, him and his Elven companion Erebemlin. They sat around the campfire. Ædegard had his song ready.

Fair are the fields of green Rohan,
Warm is the sun that shines on the land,
From mountain to wood, from marsh to river,
Mild is its rain, good grain giver.

Deep in my heart are you, Rohan my home,
Far from your quiet fields now I roam.
In a distant land bends my way,
But I shall return to you some day.

Many tales I shall speak to each friend,
Of stout hearts whose words always mend,
Of loyal friends on the road I did greet,
And a maiden fair it was my joy to meet.

Ædegard had allowed his eyes to wander from face to face as he sang his song. On the last line he looked to the face of Argeleafa, and caught and held her gaze, and did not look away. She had been wiping her eyes while he sang the first lines, but her eyes widened at the end, and they told him that she knew his meaning. She looked away then, and back to him, and away.

"A fine song, Ædegard," said Liornung. "I see you have indeed been giving thought, though the song seems unfinished."

"Aye." Ædegard smiled. "I am not ready to end it yet. It needs time."