While Loth i Lonnath pushed ahead to recover any kinsmen that might be scattered to the south and west, the Orders of the Hammer and Fountain followed at a slower pace, with the Hound -- Sergeant Daegond -- tracking the yrch that may have been responsible for the shocking murder at the Ford of Bruinen.
It was a slow march through Eregion by its western edge, and Manadhlaer, the Lady of the Houses of Healing, marched too, having promised Daegond that she would ride with the Hammer if asked to care for its soldiers - and much longer ago, having promised Themodir that she would specially look after his comrades in arms. Bearing the weight of a chain hauberk that had been Themodir's, and wearing the dark burgundy tabard of the Order of the Pillar, she dismounted when Lord Tindir gave the order. Manadhlaer led her horse forward while trying to keep in sight of Daegond - and of Elvealin, whose mother had extracted yet another promise, that Manadhlaer would look after her friend and fellow healer also. This was certainly a new experience, to have to make sure so many did not take a yrch sniper's arrow - and if someone did, to be at their side immediately - and if the arrow were poisoned, to give the right antidote straight away... it seemed all very complicated.
The company had been unassailed, but now they were camped deep in enemy territory, on an island in the river that divided Eregion from Enedwaith. Fordirith, indeed. Manadhlaer remembered this place, when she had fairly flown south on receiving a message that Themodir had sustained a large open wound. While glad to see her, he had been grumpy about having the thing stitched! Now the captains of the two fighting orders, Tindir and Himwen, argued about this choice of campsite; the Fountain Lady felt it was too open and unshielded. Tindir, though younger, had had command over troops in the field for much longer, so in the end Himwen yielded, and set various of the Fountain to keep the watch. After eating - along with the rations, Elvealin, with her usual foresight, had brought a cake specially baked by Telpenaro with nuts and dried fruit, to be wholesome and strengthening for the combatants - Himwen suggested everyone not on watch take some rest. Sergeant Daegond, after messily eating his cake all over his black Hammer tabard, lay down and immediately began snoring. Elvealin and Manadhlaer, a bit more wakeful, watched the stars for a while before giving in to sleep.
The morning brought a swirl of activity: checking the horses, loading their packs back onto them, and seeing off Elvealin and Ealendil - the former had decided to return to Imladris (much to Manadhlaer's regret and relief), the latter, an excellent bow-shot, volunteering to guard her so that she need not return alone. Tindir and Himwen stood at opposite ends of the tiny island, seeing to their respective troops.
Daegond stood apart, already sniffing around for any new clues. The Hound was an oddity in the refined and ancient society of Imladris, disdaining usual manners, eating like the animal he was nicknamed for (indeed managing to disgust even the Dwarrow-scholar who had come to settle in the Vale), and leaving as much of a trail of destruction as he would on the battlefield. At least one chair and one of the great doors of the Hall of Fire had suffered his rough touch. Themodir, who had also survived the sack of Gondolin, knew what the Hound had seen that terrible day that changed him so. Others, especially outside of Bar-en-Vanimar, simply took him for a brute and a stain on Eldar society.
And yet Manadhlaer approached him, smiling. Daegond turned, scenting her, his train of thought abruptly scattered. He looked ready to lecture her, but stopped in puzzlement: she reached into her pouch and unwrapped a spotless handkerchief, not yet converted to a small bandage. Inside it was a perfectly kept piece of Elvealin's cake - the second serving everyone had been offered, but that Daegond had refused, preferring sleep, and that Manadhlaer had taken, but no one had seen her eat.
Manadhlaer beamed. It was a particularly innocent smile, and in nearly childlike fashion she extended the cake to Daegond. "Here, brother. I saved this for you."
Predictably, the Sergeant of the Hammer snatched the cake, but less predictably, he muttered, "Look to your own strength. I told you this would not be an easy ride. Now you know what it's like to sleep with a rock for a pillow." Having delivered this advice - and had Tindir or Himwen, who had known him long, heard it, they would have been greatly amused by the genuine concern in his growl - he stuffed the cake into his mouth, again scattering crumbs everywhere, and turned back to his task.
Manadhlaer continued to radiate happiness as she refastened her pouch, then wandered over to check on her horse, who was carrying healing remedies and bandages - probably more than the size of the company warranted, but one could never be too careful.
Perhaps indeed an eye or two observed the interaction; the Lady of the Fountain demanded keen vigilance from her troops, and more so herself. Had one of the white-armored Fountain watched the interaction, especially a recent recruit, they would have found the whole thing exceedingly odd: the gentle Lady of the Houses of Healing feeding the apparently ungrateful Hound? Had Himwen herself watched, however, she would have understood completely - not without a shake of the head, and a moment's reflection on how terrible losses could forge unbreakable bonds.
