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No Man's Child  by anoriath

~ Chapter 28 ~

'Few other griefs amid the ill chances of this world have more bitterness and shame for a man's heart than to behold the love of a lady so fair and brave that cannot be returned.'

ROTK: The Houses of Healing

~oOo~

~ TA 3009, 19th of Yavannië:  Grind one small finger’s length of ginger root.  Add to it dried chamomile.  Let steep in one mark of hot water until the draught tastes strongly of the ginger.  Strain. Drink in small sips when warm but not hot. 

~oOo~

 

I think my lord and his kinsman in deep disagreement over me.

The even afore I had heard their raised voices out of doors and had thought them at their practice.  I thought little of it other than remarking the harshness of their tones, but later came to realize I had heard naught of the clang of metal or crack of wood among their muffled words.  I then came upon them in the hall from the buttery door after clearing away the remnants of our morning meal, only to find the room cold and the men in it suddenly silent. My lord had a look of weariness about him and Halbarad was much agitated. They are not oft at odds and it seemed to wear heavily on my lord's kinsman. For he paced and rapped his fingers upon the table, and then, clearing his throat, pulled roughly on the drawers beneath the settle, folded the blankets and otherwise tidied the place where he slept.

I poured the water I had pulled from the well into the barrel by the hearth, where we would draw from it for the day. Ah, but the sound of rushing water filled the hall and every movement I made, whether setting down the bucket or putting aside the grate and scraping the coals upon the hearth, rang overloud in my ears. When, at long last I was done, and a pottage of mutton, mushroom, and wheat sat upon the grate to simmer through the day, my lord rose, looking upon his kinsman.

When we broke our morning fast, I had spoken to my lord of my intent to visit Mistress Pelara after our meal, for I desired her counsel. After the hallmoot, I worried for the Angle and the fortress I was to build to shelter its people. I would not have the clay beneath the foundation shift and crack even in its making.

My ledgers lay upon the table waiting for me. Most oft, Halbarad accompanied me when I was about in the Angle, watching o'er his lord's lady's step as we went and spending the hours speaking with Master Maurus or looking in upon the other Elders. I was unsure what was to pass this morn, for Halbarad would not return his lord's gaze and his look was grim. Had I dared believe it, the tightness of his jaw and smoldering of his eyes betrayed mutinous thoughts beneath them.

But, when my lord let loose a soft breath and, releasing his kin from his gaze, reached for my journal to carry it for me, Halbarad spoke, his voice stiff.

"Nay," he said and strode swiftly to the table. "I shall go with her."

"Do you so wish it?" my lord asked, but he was to receive little by way of answer.

Instead his kinsman took up the ledger and, tucking it beneath the crook of his arm, turned to me and said, "I await your pleasure, my lady."

His manner was all but the coldest of invitations. Indeed, I felt no warmth in the hand that ushered me forward. But it seemed Halbarad would not wish to be deemed unworthy of any duty once he had assumed it, no matter how onerous, and my lord reluctant to relieve him of it. Who then was I to meddle in matters between them?

He strides silently and allows me to walk ahead, maintaining a discrete but watchful distance as ever. Halbarad carries my ledgers in a basket heavy with blankets, bread, and a lidded pot of beans, for the Mistress had sent word ahead of a family in need, and I wished to visit them. But for the metal spindle that bangs upon my hip from where it dangles and the roving bouncing in my carry sack, Halbarad has assumed my burdens for me.  I have not the patience for attempting my spinning and it seems I know not what to do with my hands. After many fruitless trials, I settle upon clasping my arms afore my breast, so I might not betray my thoughts in the clenching of my fists.

It promises to be a fair day. High and white are the clouds that cast their shadows upon the hills. And they are welcome, for they promise relief from the heavy hand of the sun without threatening rain to delay the harvest. A flock of crossbills chatters from the stand of pines as we pass. Brightly they flutter among the branches and rustle through the straw pursuing fallen cones. Oh, soft do my lord's kin's feet fall upon the path and fine is the day, but ever am I aware of the steps behind me, and my thoughts fly beneath them as the dust we stir upon the path.

"Think you Mistress Pelara may have somewhat of use to say?"

Halbarad's voice startles me so badly I misplace my foot and come full down upon a stone. His hand beneath my arm rights me, but I draw swiftly away. I marvel he would ask me. And so it must show upon my face, for Halbarad's look is astonished.

"Is it not the discord among our folk that troubles you, my lady?"

"Aye," I say. "And why should she not have much of use to say upon the matter?"

We have halted upon the path and Halbarad rubs at the nape of his neck, looking off. "I thought it more a matter between men, my lady."

I must hide my annoyance poorly, for he goes on. "Ah, lady!" he says, grimacing. "You know not what horrors we face!”  

Oh, had my lord's kin thought me meek of thought, he is much mistaken. Though I bare come to the man's shoulder, I would still match him eye for eye.

“Do I not?  I know not the source of your discontent with me, Ranger Halbarad.  Is it this?

“Come,” I command and, coming upon my toes, lean in to him.  “Tell me your tales!  You will find I have heard them.  Think you I shall quail and retreat?  Attend upon me when we welcome those who have fled here.  Just once come with me, and you will hear of all such manner of pain and degradation, as dark a tale as you could tell, and they had no sword with which to defend themselves.”

“I speak not of stories told of some distant place, my lady.  I speak of what shall happen here, to you.”

I know not what to say to the man.  I need not the acclaimed foresight of the Men of Westernesse to see what the future holds for the Angle.  A small noise of disgust slips from me and I turn from him to continue our journey. 

“Listen to me, Nienelen!”  With but a stride he has closed upon me and set his broad hand about my arm.

I whirl about, but he has me in a grip of iron and I cannot rip myself from it.  “Do not forget yourself, Ranger Halbarad!”

Had I a weapon I think I might have drawn it upon the man, but even that would have had little effect, for he towers o’er me and draws me close so he may speak low and I yet hear.  He pins my gaze and will not release it.

“Aragorn has ordered me, against my wishes and against my counsel, to give over my responsibilities to the House to you.  Should you ask it of me, I will do it.  But I know not why you would want them!”

My jaw aches with the tightness with which I clench it. I have had enough of his resentments.  ‘Twas he who chose me to be our lord’s wife and Lady of the Dúnedain, whether he regrets it now or not.  I think him done and again attempt to pull away, but he gives me a small shake and speaks all the more harshly. 

“Mark my words, Nienelen. The Nameless One need not send his spies to stir trouble among us.  He will but tighten the net about us and we will accomplish it of our own.  Think you it will not happen here, that we are too noble to be brought so low?  For we are the Men of Westernesse?  I tell you, my lady, our folk already turn on each other.”

“I am not a child as has no thought for the morrow nor understanding of our past, Halbarad.  Do not treat me as such!”

He laughs shortly, though bitter is the sound.  “Aye, my lady, you are not a child and have proven your understanding, but you have not seen your own death in the eyes of another man.  Think you, when was the last you saw Ranger Lathril, eh?  I will tell you.  ‘Twas nigh upon six months ago, was it not?  But you will not see him again.  We found him upon the North Downs.  ‘Twas not the hillmen of the north nor orc that strung him from a tree for us to find, but our own folk.  No longer are those who are left upon the northern Wild our friends. They turn their backs upon us and would thrust us from their meanest shelters should we beg their aid.  We abandoned them to our enemies and they seek what is justice in their eyes.  And I think it not far off from the truth.”

“I know what comes! Think you a woman of the Dúnedain would not take up this fight as readily as any man?  Why do you seek to frighten me?”

“Are you not frightened?  You should be.  I am.  Do you not see where this path shall end?  Our folk are frightened.  And I tell you, Nienelen, fear makes orcs of us all.  There are those here of the Angle who shall be eager to draw blood and there will be those who turn their backs and let it happen.  Come the end, our folk will turn on the House of Isildur for our neglect of them.  And you will be alone.  For should it be as our lord commands, I, Aragorn, and his men, we will be far from here.”

Ai!  I think mayhap I had known this, this thing of which he speaks, but had not brought it out to the harsh light of the sun where I must name it for what it is.  For a chill came upon me as he speaks, and, at its bite, I have no words with which to rebut him.  Surely my lord does not have it in him to use me as bait, there to distract his folk’s grief and anger while he would then be free to work his plans, and then discard me when they latch their teeth upon me.  I cannot believe it.

“You can refuse him,” Halbarad says.  No doubt my troubled thoughts show upon my face, for his voice and his grip soften, though he is no less earnest.  “Say the word and I, too, shall defy him.  Together we can force his hand. You need not choose it.” 

With this I wrench away from his hold and take a step from his easy reach. 

"Who had the choosing of me when my lord had need of a wife?" I ask, though I have no doubt of the answer.

"I did," he asserts quickly, as had he no need to hide the fact, though he looks upon me with some confusion.

"Should you have thought me so unfit to fulfill the duties of the Lady of the Dúnedain, why then choose me? 'Twas thy choice, none other's!"

He does not answer, but stands afore me, his feet squarely planted.   His eyes have narrowed upon me.

"Is it as they say? That our lord owed my father his life when it was so closely threatened? That he but married me to pay the debt of my orphaning?"

"In truth, my lady, you may rest easy on that account," Halbarad says coldly. "Any man of the Angle could have done the same and I would ne'er saddled Aragorn with such a ridiculous means of discharging the debt."

“When you had the choice of all the women of the Angle with the blood of the great of Númenor in their veins, why me?”

“’Twas not for this.” 

“Then for what?” I ask and throw my hands wide.  “Did you not know his mind so well and knew not what he would want of his wife?  I clearly fail of what you would have me be.  Should it be as you say, and I am doomed to fail of what our lord would have of me, why choose me?” 

“Consider your choice well, Nienelen.”

“You would have me refuse, and there remove the threat upon you, so you might secure your own position!”

Halbarad’s brow rises but briefly upon my words.  He speaks not but lowers a thunderous look upon me.

I am nigh to tears, so perplexed and thwarted do I feel. "Ai! Will you not answer me, Halbarad? For I know not the answer to this riddle. How was it you chose me?"

He seems to come to some decision, for Halbarad stirs and speaks. "Should I give you answer will this satisfy you?”

Ai! For the love of the Valar!  “Aye!  Yes, Halbarad.  How can I consider your words should I not understand their source?”

At this, it seems he will relent, for though his jaw is tightly held, he looks about him for a moment, and then speaks.

“Aye, you are right in one thing. 'Twas your father's doing."

"What has my father to do with aught—"

"You come to know a man when upon the Wild as at no other time, my lady," he says, cutting me short. "I knew your father in ways you know not." He takes a great breath and goes on. "I knew him as a man. I knew when his courage wavered and what he drew from to steady himself."

I can do naught but return his stare, my mind whirring with my thoughts, for he looks sharply at me as would he wish I draw my own conclusions and trouble him no more. Tears prick behind my eyes. My father had known himself cherished and it carried him through his darkest hours. How can this cause me sorrow? And yet it does. My head aches and the day seems over-bright.

And then understanding falls upon me as sudden as the sun bursting through scudding clouds. There is no path that shimmers in the distant air, no bright sky nor blinding sun, just the beating of my heart in the tight cage that is my chest and the eyes of this Ranger of the North that meet mine.

"You know who she is, this woman my lord loves!" I exclaim and in the next moment gasp at the flash of alarm it draws across Halbarad's features. This was not what he had wished me to know.

Then it is gone. His gaze rests upon me with all the warmth of a winter sky and I am sharply reminded where his loyalties truly lie. The sun may blaze down upon the drooping heads of the flowering grasses, but I am cold with an unseasonable chill.

"I did what I deemed best, my lady," he says, "for our lord and for the Dúnedain."

At that I wonder had he given any thought to what it would cost me. And, there, I see my answer in his eyes, mixed with his anger. Pity.

I whirl about, for I would not have him look on me thus, and so I put my feet to the path and walk.

He could not have her, my lord, this woman he loved, and for his sacrifice his kinsman would then recompense him with the adoration and unswerving loyalty from his wife that she had turned to her own father. Aye, in this I truly fulfilled all of Halbarad's hopes for his kin.

I have left Halbarad staring as I walk from him. Yet he seems to have followed the trail of my thoughts as they played across my face, for soon I hear his voice and footsteps behind me.

"My lady." In one great stride to my two he will have caught me, and I wait for his hands upon me, but they do not come.

"Do not blame Aragorn!" Though he implores, his voice is stern. "He knew naught of this. He is not free to speak the lady's name and the matter was of my own discerning. Have you cause for offense, let it rest with me."

I turn. I tremble so I know Halbarad only by the shadow that falls across my face. I know not what he sees, but it widens his eyes and causes him to halt and take an abrupt step back. I rush upon him and strike him full in the chest with all of what strength I have. To my hands he is as a wall of stone, yet he staggers and drops the basket he carries for me.  It falls to the ground in a clatter of crockery.

"Even now you give offense!" I shout, and he stares at me, blinking.

“You thought,” I say and halt, stumbling o’er my words.  “You thought I would love him from his shadow.  That I would be content to stay there, as I was –“

Tears come upon me, unbidden.  I do not wish to shed them, but it is as they have a will of their own. 

“As I was with my father,” I say at last, “and as I was with my sister.”

“And you knew,” I go on, “you knew I would not take up Bachor’s offer of aid when my father died.  You knew of what passed between us and that I would ever champion my lord against him because of it.”

“I knew not -“ he begins.

“The whole of the Angle knows of it!” I cry.   

“Oh, you have been exceedingly clever, Ranger Halbarad.  You took advantage and built a pretty little hutch to trammel me in when I was trapped by my circumstances. Do not deny it. But I am no creature of the wild to gnaw off my own foot in attempt to escape or slink to its corner and make myself small and there accede to my fate.

“You thought I would stay small and hide in my lord’s shadow, that I would be content with what crumbs of fondness he could offer and cause little trouble by asking for more.”

I may not have the strength nor edged weapon to draw blood from the man, but it does not follow that I have no power to wound him.

“You thought this,” I say, my voice low, “for it is what you do.”

At this, he starts and draws in a swift breath, his mouth twisting bitterly. 

“My lady-” Halbarad begins through clenched teeth. He has more to say, but I will not hear it.

“Do not think you know me for aught my father may have said of me. You think he knew me?  You do not know me, Ranger Halbarad.  You cannot.”  His gaze flicks quickly to my hand where I clutch through the fabric of my dress at the small purse that hangs ever about my neck.  “Only she knew me.  And she is long dead.”

I let my hand fall to my side. 

“Pick it up.”  I need not say what. The will of the House supersedes the will of a captain of my lord’s Rangers.  It is I to command and he to discern my wishes.

I wait, for in the quiet of the wind soughing through the pines and the call of birds he mutely shakes his head.  His lips pressed tightly together, he will not look at me.  Had I the chance, I would pity the man.  But I do not, and I cannot.

“You are the Lord of the Dúnedain’s second, his kinsman, and have earned his trust by tests I can in no way match.  I have no desire to contest that.  But neither shall you relegate me to a state less than what I am.”

Halbarad shakes his head, as would he hear no more of what I have said.  “Do not do this.  You can deny him, my lady.  But say the word, I will stand beside you and we can present our minds of one accord.   He will not like it, but he will accept it, and give you another, more fitting task. ‘Twas not for this I chose you; to set you on this path to your death and then abandon you to it.”

“’Tis done already, Halbarad,” I say and sigh. “I am our lord’s wife.  It was done when you first asked, and I first answered.  There is no undoing it.  Should it come to it, there shall be little you could do to stay their hand, and we shall have need of at least the one of us to keep to the course our lord set.  You say you would not abandon me to its fate?  Name me a fool or innocent, but I would be better comforted knowing my death did not cost us all for which we have sacrificed and fought.  In truth, this end you fear is as like to come to you as it is to come to me, no matter our choice.

“Pick it up,” I say softly.

His eyes shine with unshed tears and he blinks swiftly to rid himself of them.  Through dint of what must be long practice, he has mastered himself.  Though his face is carefully blank as he stares at the dirt beneath our feet, for a long moment I think he might still refuse the command.  I know not what I might do should he still choose to defy me. 

“As my lady wishes,” Halbarad says at last, and, bending down, wearily scoops the basket up from where it lies in the dirt. 

I turn away and do not urge him to follow.  But, soon, I hear his steps behind me upon the soft dirt and know he has joined me.

~oOo~

I have learned to sleep quietly, to school my restless limbs into a stillness that will not disturb my lord's slumber. In the first few nights of his return, he awakens at each rustle of the mattress or pull upon the coverlet, and springs upright. Long ago, when first we came to share this bed, the sight of his face contorted by alarm and the swift hand that closed about my throat and pinned me to the mattress when I chanced to brush upon him had frightened me. Slowly he came to know what he had done and a horror came o’er him. His brow dropped to rest upon me, leaving me to stare at the wooden canopy in grim reflection, the crown of his head dark upon my breast. Long seemed the moments ere he spoke, and then when he lifted his face, words failed him. For, though I swallowed and blinked them away, I could not prevent the fall of my tears.

"Ai, lady!" he sighed and wearily seemed as were he about to beg my forgiveness.

But I did not let him speak, and instead clutched him to my breast where I wrapped my arms about him as had they some power to shield him better than his sharp-edged blades. There he lay, though somewhat stiffly, until I had quieted. When he rose, by his look I think he marveled that I had wept for him. It was then he pulled my back into his breast with soft words seeking to make amends. His arm lying heavy upon me and his breath slipping along my shoulder had gentled me to sleep, but I ne'er forgot that look upon his face. For, in that night, I had come to pity the lightness of sleep he must assume when weariness overcomes him in the Wild.

Soon, as the nights spread behind him in the comforts of our bed, my lord learns again the safety found within these walls and eases into a deep sleep from which few nightly noises rouse him. When the mattress has been taught the hills and hollows of his form, his body falls to a quiet repose lasting until the dawn. This night is such a one.

High in the dark sky rides the moon, bathing the Angle with an unearthly light. At this hour, even the small creatures that scuttle beneath the undergrowth or tuck themselves in the grass about the foundations of the house have fallen silent. All is still. In the quiet of the solar, my lord's face is lit by the moon, the skin upon the lids of his eyes and the curve of his brow and lips touched by a cold fire. A cool breeze floats into the room, bringing with it the smell of deep shadows under green leaves. It lifts fine hairs about his face, but he does not wake. This night he sleeps where I cannot.

In this bed which bears the weight of my husband and moves when his dreams loosen his limbs, I watch the rise and fall of his breast. What bitter words I said beneath the heat of the sun have cooled here in the shadows. My mind is free to roam paths that once were obscured by the fog of too-strong feeling.

'Tinúviel' he once called me, and then no more. Nay, I can hardly be mistaken for the daughter of Thingol, High King of the Sindar, of legends of old, but there is one my lord knows from his youth who could. He reaches high in his yearning, my lord does, yet who am I to say him nay. I know not her thoughts on the matter, nor those of her father, who might not countenance her stooping so low as to forsake the immortality he had gifted her. For all the grief it brings me, I pity my lord, this man who sleeps beside me so gently. I know the thirst with which he burns and the despair he must feel of having it quenched.

He sighs, and breathing deeply, his slumber lightens, and he shifts, rolling to his side so he faces me, his body a broad canvas to bear the light of the moon. I think I could stay like this through the hours until he wakes, reveling in the warmth coming off his skin that shields me from the night air. Here, I can forget, for so long as my lord sleeps, that he is not mine, that his love belongs to another. Here, I can watch the lashes that shadow his cheek and the strong fingers that rest upon his thigh and keep him all to my selfish heart. The dawn will come soon enough.

While I watch, his eyes open and glimmer with the reflected moon. Heavy with dreams, they see naught. After a long moment, his gaze sharpens upon me and he shrugs his face into the pillow to bring wakefulness.

"You do not sleep, lady?"

"I have a thing to tell you, my lord."

Secure in the comfort that rest merely awaits the closing of his eyes, he does not protest. He is but newly awake. The coolness of the night and the softness of the bed bring a languor that invites him to stretch his limbs ere attending to aught I might need to say. He resettles upon his side with his arms crossed against his breast and smiles upon me.

"What is so pressing it cannot await the morn, lady?" he asks, his voice soft and slow with sleep. "Have you secrets that can only be told in the deepest watches of the night?"

"I do indeed, my lord," I say and trail fingers down his arm until they rest upon his wrist.

His brow lowers, and he peers at me without comprehension, but I am already pulling his hand from where he has it wedged between his side and the crook of his arm. I draw his hand toward me where I can lay my cheek aside his knuckles. I long to kiss his hand and pull him into my arms, and, had they the chance, have my voice and touch pour fire into his veins, but, instead, I move his hand until his palm rests upon my belly.

"My lord, you shall leave somewhat of yours behind when next you must go," say I, and he is instantly alert, all lassitude fled with the knowledge of what I intend.

He has come up on his elbow and his hand presses me to my back. His fingers move against my flesh as were he searching for signs of the child therein. His hair shadows his face and I cannot see what tale his features would tell. I know not were he silent out of joy or despair. I wait, as frozen as the hunted hare underneath my lord's touch. And then he moves.

"My thanks to thee, lady," he says softly, and, poising his body o’er mine, kisses my brow.

Moving away, he takes my hand lightly and eases himself to comfort, and closes his eyes. We sleep thus, his hand holding mine, bridging the distance between us.

~oOo~

 

 





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