"No."

"But-"

"The man you came here to find is dead, kid." From the shade of his hood, the man glared at her as he growled out, "Now get lost before I lose whatever scrap of patience I have remaining for a little nuisance like you."

"Please!" The young girl pleaded stubbornly - or, perhaps, desperately. "I-I came all this way to find you, I- I don't have enough rations to get home!"

"I'll give you some gold for the damn trip, how much do you need?"

"No!" The girl cried persistently. "If you send me away, I'll not take your gold. I'll die in a day or thirst or starvation or I'll be taken captive and my blood will be on your hands!"

The man glared, but she could tell this had had an effect. "I won't take on an apprentice. Never again. And especially not a girl-"

"I can fight just as well as any boy can! I'll prove it!"

"A child then!" The man snapped. "I am no longer a master to anyone! I'll die before I teach another thing! Now SCRAM!"

The door slammed shut in her face, almost bashing her nose straight in if she hadn't jerked back. For a moment, the girl seemed disheartened. She stared at the door sadly, her heart feeling heavy. Then her eyes narrowed and she stubbornly sat on the doorstep, crossing her arms tight. She wouldn't leave until he accepted her as his apprentice and that was final!

From inside, the old man peered out of his curtains to make sure the girl had gone on her way and when he saw no one heading down the path back into the winding forest, he glanced at the doorstep and growled.

"Go ahead and rot there. See if I care!" He growled to no one in particular, storming away from the window. "Won't be the first body I've buried without a stone. Certainly won't be the last."

He went about his day, reading, reflecting, sharpening blades he hadn't used in years. After some time, as he was passing by the sitting room again, he saw Bill sitting in the windowsill, pawing at the glass as that wretched girl smiled at him, using a sprig of rosemary from his garden as a toy for the cat.

The man growled and stomped over. "You stay out of my garden!" He roared, snatching his brown siberian into his arms, making both her and the cat jump. She only just had time to stick out her tongue at him before he snarled and shut the curtains.

"You better not get attached to that girl." The man growled, setting Bill down on the carpet by the fireplace before he sat himself in his chair. He picked up his book and turned the yellowing pages until he found his place, muttering, "She will not be staying."

Bill meowed softly as if in protest, but when his owner made no response as usual, he took to licking his paw and rubbing it around his ears.

Days passed, and the girl was still there, sitting on the doorstep, rubbing her hands to keep warm. Sometimes when the old man glowered out the window he'd see her doing jumping jacks outside. Once she was even using a stick as a mock sword, swinging at nothing like that could be called practice. He snorted to himself at that, and almost went outside to correct her - but then he stopped himself.

He turned away from the window and by chance, his gaze fell on the book he normally kept by his bedside, but was not on the table next to his chair next to an empty bottle of good whiskey. Slowly he crossed to it and opened it to the page he had memorised - between two pages was a folded up piece of parchment that once had been rolled but now had been neatly pressed flat from years inside the book.

He stared at the words for a long time, barely reading, though it had been committed to memory for a long time. As always, his eyes fell on one certain phrase and couldn't leave:

...no longer fit to serve the king...

He snapped the book shut, gritting his teeth, and glared at the window again. No. Never again. The little wench wouldn't win this one. He wouldn't give in, not if he kept her waiting for a thousand years!

The  tall ash tree at the edge of the old man's overgrown garden made for a good opponent, when she had no other partner - and she hadn't one. Ever. She wasn't sure how long she'd been waiting the days away for the stubborn man to come around but she was certain it had been a week at least. Perhaps almost two, but no more than a fortnight. No matter; she wouldn't be swayed. She repeated this phrase again and again as she struck at the bark of the tree with her long stick, pretending it to be a bandit or an orc ravager left over from the great war for the ring.

I will not be swayed.

For months she had searched for this man, over hill and under tree, across long meadows and barren straits. To wait for him to come around was a blessing, even if she was getting a little tired of eating berries and hoping they she wouldn't have to throw them up later to avoid dying of poison. She never had learned the ways of the forest, as most healers did. She had never been given the chance. But she fought to learn nevertheless, and everytime she found a berry or herb that didn't sit right, she wrote it down in her book and drew a picture of it to save herself from future mistakes. In this way, she taught herself when no one else would. She was only a girl, after all. Bite me, she wanted to say to all those who had stood in her way.

I will not be swayed.

Like hell she would let this old bastard get the better of her just because he thought he could wait her out. She had worked too hard, walked too long to get here, she refused to leave without learning all she could from him!

I will not be-!

SNAP.

The girl jumped roughly as she was pulled from her thoughts. In her hand she held half of her stick; the other half was on the ground, having been broken by one untrained, brawny blow too many. For a moment, she stared at the remaining half of her weapon, catching her breath. Perhaps she had gotten a little carried away.

No matter. She would find another stick.

"If you are content to learn by beating an innocent tree to death," The girl nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the scratchy voice and turned to see the old man himself glowering at her from beneath his hood as he muttered, "please do so to another tree, anywhere else."

The girl stared, stunned for a moment by his presence. She wanted to burst out begging for him to take her on, to ask for guidance or maybe even a hot meal, but she had so much on her tongue it all froze and she could say nothing at all. It didn't matter, though, because he wasn't finished.

"How old are you."

The girl blinked, taken aback. "How...?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "What, forgotten how to speak the common tongue, have we? Answer me, daft child."

"F - Fourteen!" The girl sputtered. "F-Fifteen in a month, sir...!"

The man grunted in what she assumed could only be disapproval. He pushed aside his cloak to reveal his right arm, which was holding a sword - old and grey with age, but sharp and clean, clearly well cared for. This was his own sword, the girl realised, and her eyes widened with stupor at the sight of it. She had heard so many stories about this very sword, stories that had kept her up at night dreaming and wondering. And there it was, right before her eyes...!

Then the man lifted his sword and began to take long, meaningful strides towards her. The girl felt uneasy and took a small step back, but he didn't harm her. He stopped an arm's length away and held his sword out to her by the hilt.

The girl's eyes grew somehow wider. She stared at the sword, then to him, then back to the sword in disbelief.

The man growled impatiently. "Take it." He snapped.

The girl jumped and hurriedly grabbed hold of the hilt. He held the blade by its flat as she looked at it with awe. So many foes were felled by this blade; and so many lives were saved because of it. So many battles, so many wars it had seen...!

Suddenly, the old man let go of the blade and the girl realised he had been holding it up completely. Under the sudden weight, she dropped it, falling to her knees with it.

The man snorted. "You can't even wield a sword, let alone use one. I can teach you nothing. You're but a child."

"I - I can!" The girl cried and stood, heaving the heavy sword up with her. The point touched the dirt, and her arms strained, but she didn't let go of the worn leather hilt as she looked at him pleadingly. "Please, I'll - I'll get stronger! I'll learn to hold it! I-I'll do anything!"

The man looked at her sharply, his grey-green eyes glowering. He searched her face, taking in her appearance as if for the first time. He looked her slowly up and down, sizing her up, and all the while she stayed perfectly still and silent, praying to the Valars to change his mind.

"...Find my horse." The old man grunted finally.

The girl blinked, taken aback. "S... Sorry?"

"Are you deaf?" The man snarled. "Find my horse and bring it to me. Then - and only then - I will consider teaching you how to hold a bloody sword."

The girl's heart lifted and sank at the same time. She had a way to gain apprenticeship at long last, but after searching for him for so long, now she had another journey to set out on before she could finally earn her place. "Wh... Where is it, sir...?"

"If I knew that, I would have found her by now. Last I saw her was at Edoras. She's called Atreyu. Pretty thing, dark brown, black mane." The man growled out. "Now get going already." He pulled a pouch off his belt and tossed it to her. She barely managed to catch it, and as she did, he took his sword from her again. "And there's some gold to keep you from starving in a day."

"Th - Thank you, sir!"

"Scram, girl." The man muttered, and she, eager to obey, hurried out into the woods down the narrow path she'd arrived on.

The man watched her disappear into the trees with narrowed eyes, and when she was gone, he turned and went back inside with a sigh of relief. Shutting the door, he was content with the wild goose chase he'd sent her on.

"That's the last we'll see of her." He said to Bill.

The cat only swished his tail in answer before padding over to lay by the fireplace.

The young girl set out beyond the garden to begin her search for his horse, knowing only where to start and the horse's name, and no more than that. With every step she took, another weight landed on her shoulders and disheartened her. There had to be a thousand steeds in Edoras, home of the King of the Horse Lords, that fit Atreyu's description. But she didn't care. If this was what it took to gain the old master's favour, she would do it.

She would not be swayed.

Four years later

To be honest, the old master had forgotten all about the obnoxious child who'd camped on his doorstep for two long weeks. He was content to believe she had gotten lost somewhere along the way or finally gave up on him, and either way, he was fine with that. For four more years he lived without speaking to anyone but Bill, cooking and cleaning only for himself, reading books, looking over old maps and journals over a drink or ten, and sharpening swords he was certain he'd never use again. The grey days wore on.

It was raining the day she returned. Bill pawed at the window and meowed loudly; usually, this meant a doe was out there eating his tomatoes. Muttering under his breath about how he ought to go hunting again soon, the old man went to the door and opened it roughly.

"If you don't leave my damn tomatoes be-!"

And then he stopped.

There, standing outside the gate, was that same ruddy-haired girl - but he barely saw her. She was sitting atop a horse, bareback; a dark brown mare with a long, unkempt mane, dark eyes staring at him intelligently. Both she and her rider were muddy and soaked through.

He was stunned stiff. Never did he think he'd see his horse again. He swore she'd died, and by now, she was an old girl. But he would recognize his loyal steed anywhere.

He was walking out into the rain before he realised, but he didn't stop himself. He went to the gate, opened it, and stepped out. His horse stepped forward to meet him, and he could see how thin and exhausted she was. It made his heart pang with an all-too-familiar pain: regret.

"Oh, Atreyu..." He whispered so only she could hear, running his hand along her nose in the way that had always comforted her. "What on earth happened to you...?"

She shook off the raindrops from her mane, but more quickly fell to replace them.

He heard a splashing of boots hitting the muddy earth and he looked to the side to see the girl there once again; although he almost didn't recognize her as the same woman.

She was taller now, and her eyes were exhausted from travel. She looked as weary as the horse, and her hair was soaked and pressed against her face, half coated with mud. Had she and Atreyu fallen into a puddle on their way here? She had grown too, at least a couple inches. But that was no surprise - she was four years older than when he had sent her off on the mission he'd thought to be impossible.

He stared at her for a long time in silence, before he grunted and turned up his hood to shield himself from the rain, taking hold of Atreyu's reins, though he knew very well that she wouldn't run off.

"What's your name, girl?" He said it like a sentence.

"Elinor." She said, looking him in the eyes with defiance, like she knew she deserved to be here.

"Elinor, huh?" He looked her up and down as he had years ago, squinting his eyes. "..." Without a word, he took his sword from his sheath and held it out to her. She blinked, taken aback, but quickly caught on and held out her hands. He rested it flatside in her hands.

She didn't drop it this time. The steel blade didn't even dip as she held it steady. She looked at him, and though her expression was still, he could see the pride in her eyes. Whatever she'd done to get his horse back, it had made her stronger.

"...Took you long enough." He grumbled. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd died." Then he stepped to the side. "What did you do, roll in the mud on your way here? I've never seen my horse so filthy!"

"I'm sorry, sir." Elinor said, though she sounded too tired to truly care. "We had to hide in a ditch to avoid being caught by Dane's bandits."

The old man felt his heart shudder at the name, and for once, he had no snarky answer to give in reply. He stared at her for some several seconds and she stared back, her eyelids drooping almost imperceptibly; she looked almost ready to drop there in the mud.

He straightened his back, standing at his full height for the first time in a good many years. "You will refer to me as Master Gannon or sir, nothing else." He said, and wrinkled his nose as she brightened, her brown eyes large with hope. Waving a hand, he dismissed her, "Down the hall, first door on the left - take a bath. You smell like you've been sleeping in manure for the past four years."

Then, without another word, he clicked his tongue to Atreyu and she followed him down the overgrown path to the side of the house, where sat a small shed that would be her shelter.

Elinor stared after him as he went, still stunned by his words. She had made it. After all these years, she had finally done it - her, just a girl, a healer from Dunharrow.

She was Xerxes Gannon's apprentice.

Clapping her hands over her mouth, Elinor barely managed to muffle her scream of joy as she dropped into a crouch in the rain, beaming ear to ear, hardly resisting the urge to jump for joy.

At the makeshift stable, Xerxes glanced back at her and grunting in disapproval, rolled his eyes before he went inside to wash the mud from his beloved horse's flanks.

The hot water felt so good on her skin, it almost hurt to sink into the tub. She let out a small gasp as she sat, knowing that the owner of the house - or, rather, Master Gannon - was outside and couldn't hear. Elinor leaned her head against the back of the tub and took several shaky breaths as she adjusted to the water, feeling her muscles relax in the steaming water.

The rain had washed off most of the mud, but the cold remained in her hair and down to her bones; but the warmth of the bath drew in out. After some time she pulled herself forwards so as to lean back, submersing herself completely. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a hot bath. It would be so easy simply to fall asleep there, if her mind hadn't been so abuzz with excitement. After all her searching and working and fighting, she had finally earned her spot as Xerxes Gannon's apprentice. She had dreamed of meeting the legendary hero all her life, idolising him just as much as the Ring Bearer or the King himself if not even more, and now she was taking a bath in his house! It was all she could do not to start squealing under the water.

She felt something jump onto the side of the tub and a second later heard an adorable, muffled trilling. Her heart lifted as she remembered Xerxes's cat.

Pulling herself from her thoughts, she lifted herself up out of the water and smiled as she saw the fluffy cat balancing on the side of the tub, watching her with fond eyes, his tail rested contentedly across his paws.

"Hi there, pretty thing." Elinor greeted, smiling. "I'd pet you if my hands weren't all wet."

The cat meowed as if to tell her she was forgiven. He swished his tail, welcoming her back she could only asume, before he turned, hopped off the tub, and left the bathroom again. She smiled after him before she sank against the back of the tub again, only her mouth under the water, her eyes shut contentedly. If only her father could see her now.

It took a good hour to scrub all the mud and dirt from his beloved horse's back. Wherever she'd been, she hadn't been very well taken care of. No matter; he was thankful to see her alive at all. Nevertheless, he'd have to remember to ask the girl - Eleanor was it? - where she'd found her.

The mud was gone, but his thoughts were far away as he brushed long strokes down Atreyu's flank. He couldn't turn this girl away now, as much as he wanted to. She'd brought his horse back to him against all odds. Xerxes was many things, that was sure, but above all he was a man of his word. For better or worse, he'd take on an apprentice again.

He looked at his horse as she looked at him, and it felt almost as if she'd given him a knowing look.

"Yeah, yeah." Xerxes muttered, patting the side of her neck. "I'm just as worried as you are... But I don't have any bloody choice." He glanced back out the half-open door of the shed, where he could see the side of his house. He chewed his lower lip, remembering all that had gone wrong before, all the mistakes, all the cruelty of betrayal. He couldn't do that again. He couldn't. "Let's just hope I do it right this time."

He was distracted from his worries as he felt a large head butt his arm and he looked at her, surprised, as she shook out her mane impatiently.

"Atreyu, I'm surprised at you." He scolded gruffly. "You've completely forgotten your manners."

Atreyu pawed at the barn defiantly.

"Yeah, alright." Xerxes rolled his eyes and patted her side of her neck. "I'll get up early tomorrow and fetch you some hay and apples at the market. Does that sound alright?"

Atreyu whinnied enthusiastically.

"Tch." Xerxes snorted. "Still a hog."

Atreyu snorted and shook her mane in protest - or, perhaps, in agreement.

Xerxes watched her, and pet her nose for awhile before he drew a soft sigh, leaning his head against hers.

"...It's good to see you again, girl..."