Theoden felt his chest tighten a bit. Gods, he just hoped he'd live up to that trust.
No, screw that. He would. He'd stick by the kid's side until he had him set up in his own damned house somewhere if he had to.
...Wow. That kinda came out of nowhere.
They approached the smithy and Theoden sort of ushered them around to a side gate, whistling twice to be heard over the dull ringing of hammer on metal.
"Garen! It's me, you in?"
The ringing stopped, replaced with shuffling and grumbling, then a few muffled curses, then: "Theo? You're not due back in town for another week yet, what do you want?"
Theoden winced and gave Mikhail a sheepish kind of smile. "He's, ah...a little gruff. But not so bad, really."
The "not so bad" in question stomped into view. He was a burly sort of man, by profession if nothing else, but actually not quite so tall as Theoden. He was still holding his hammer in one meaty fist, eyes narrowed as he looked the elves up and down.
"Well? What's all this then?"