[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas wandered in a bit of a daze, making his way into the kitchen and begging a soft roll from Kara. He pulled it apart and placed meat and cheese inside so that he could take it with him and make no messes. He was not actually hungry, but he had things to do this night that would sap him of energy, if he gauged his companions accurately. He filled a heavy mug with cider, with Kara's permission, and slipped away from the kitchen again, making his way quietly to his room. He needed a moment to himself before he attended to other matters.

His door closed, he sat on the edge of his bed, looking at the floor. Wouldst thou wait for me? His hands were shaking. He could still feel hers within them, could smell the light scent of flowers that always seemed to accompany her. She was leaving. He had known... he had ridden many miles with Farahil; many quiet, brooding miles. He had known that Farahil would take her home, and he had known something else at the very same time. He smiled to himself. She had asked for him to wait for her. That he had not expected.

Screams he could have dealt with, angry tears. He had expected cold silence... to never hear her voice addressing him again. It would freeze his heart to ice, the coldness he had expected, and he knew that broken shards of it would cut him. He had hoped for so much, only allowing himself to dream that she would forgive him, never letting himself think she might say what she had... He had not allowed himself to think that it might happen. He had spent a long week with her family; he knew that they wanted her to return. They had met him with curiosity and he had left with his own. He had come to speak with them over matters of grave importance. He had ridden to bring tidings of Linduial to her family. And they had surprised him equally as much as he had them.

Her father had been angry; it was apparent. Farahil had sat quietly, and Degas could hardly look away from him. Adragil had come some time later and Degas had explained it all again. And then he had said something more, expecting anything. He could already feel bruises, could envision himself bound, sailed far from home, and deposited into the brine to fend for himself against the cold tides, the creatures of the sea, and his own exhaustion. And Adragil had clapped him on the back fraternally, excusing his very large self and his family from the room. They had not returned and Degas had heard nothing from them about it until the day before he left.

He had quietly learned his way about Farlen's home, made friends with Adragil's children. He knew that they watched his every move, even when they were not in residence. It was planting season and they were busy. Adragil had returned from Dol Amroth; he had been mere hours from sailing. He was imposing and Degas was reminded at once of stories his father had told him when he was young, of men that were bears as well, that had the strength of a wild animal, and that were brave and terrible, kind and noble, and fought along side the forces of good in many terrible wars. Degas was awestruck, somewhat, by Linduial's brothers, and he could tell that they knew it. He pretended otherwise, ever respectful, but as confident as he could be, knowing now against whom Linduial measured men.

They were polite, if distant, and Degas attended to his own business while they attended to theirs. Adragil's son had made fast friends with Feowertyne and Adragil had agreed to give young lad work and a home, and Degas spent all the time he could on the matter, seeing to it that Feo was well enough that he would not fall ill again. He could not ride north to Edoras until Farahil was ready; he had given his word to wait, but every day that he tarried, he worried more of Linduial. Had they found her? Was she well? Why was he not there, saving her himself? What would she think of him... he had lost her and could not be bothered to search and find her; to deposit her safely before her family and act as a man. She would think that he had run. She would think of her brothers and know their courage. They never would have lost her, and if by some chance she had disappeared, they would find her in moments.

He heard Saeryn's voice and looked up toward his closed door. He wondered what she was doing... he had not yet spoken to her for more than a moment and she had made it clear that she did not want him near her until her rage cooled. He thought of the conversation he must have with Eodwine. It was not fair... Eodwine was his senior by many years... they were in his home. Eodwine could best him in battle with any weapon but staff and Degas knew it. He thought of Linduial's brothers again. He denied himself use of the word, but he knew deeply that he was vaguely afraid of them. He knew that they could kill him in a second and he would have no say in the matter. That they hadn't... he smiled. Adragil had been... different than Degas had expected. Farahil... he was different as well. Degas knew no more of him now than the day that they had met.

He thought of Linduial. Would he wait? She did not hate him. She had asked him to wait. He thought of Farlen, and of Farahil's reaction to what Degas knew Garstan would say to him. He smiled tiredly. Would he wait? He knew the answer deeply.