~ Chapter 32 ~

It was the pride and wonder of the Northern Line that, though their power departed and their people dwindled, through all the many generations the succession was unbroken from father to son.

LOTR: Appendix A: Annals of the Kings and Rulers

~oOo~

~ TA 3012, 22^nd of Narquelië:  10 acres of pine well managed, first set to the purpose the year of Arathorn II’s marriage to the Lady Gilraen, but then all but abandoned after his death.  Sufficient for initial construction of the Angle’s stakewall, but not for its maintenance.  Master Herdir begs service of woodsmen skilled in the climbing of trees to salvage what more we can.

~oOo~

"How many does that make, Master Herdir?" I follow my lord's reeve as we enter the pasture, and he drags the gate closed behind us.

"Aye, well, my lady," the man says, dropping the rope about the head of the post and squinting up at the sun. His fingers move in a swift dance upon his leg as figures no doubt play out in his head.

"Ten with sign of droppings, one lost to mold for the damage to the roof in that last storm, and three with bad sign of the worm," says he and leans down to pick up the bucket of dye. I have prepared a weak mix of weld for him and the soft fur brush therein knocks against the wood as he walks.

Here we walk upon the field where my flock grazes upon the stubble after the last reaping of our harvest. The soil is uneven from the ploughing and hillocks of rye and droppings confound my feet, and so I must gather up my skirts as I walk, carrying a heavy sack of oats as I am. At our voices the heads of the sheep rise, and they look at us with bland eyes, much too used to our presence to make much note of it. But then I shake the bag and the sound sends slow thoughts whirling about in their heads. They chew ponderously for a little, but then start to mincing across the field toward us. At this we halt and wait for them.

"'Tis not too bad," say I and the man nods, standing beside me. The harvest was not our best, for the spring had been dry and the grain and beans slow to set down roots. But barring too much loss to the chances of the world, it shall be enough.

I shake the heavy bag and the grain within rattles, setting the sheep to bleating and hurrying across the field to us. A wether, bold in his excitement, stretches out his neck and nips at the corner of the cloth. He is joined by others, their warm bodies jostling close to one another and their ears turned upon me, baaing their impatience when I do not allow them their treat.

"Ah, now! Not yet, greedy one!" I say and hold the bag aloft.

I think we have caught the interest of even the stragglers and so we turn about and lead them from the pasture. Then the sheep fall silent, for they know what is to come, should they be patient and follow close.

"Aye, we’ll clear the ten granaries of rats and should suffer little for it, I think," says Master Herdir as we go. "The grain lost to the rot? Aye, well, that is gone, true, but we may yet save some of the last three from the infestation of worm."

"Best to check all the roofs, then, think you? 'Twas a strong wind that blew through in the last storm."

"Aye, my lady, we have more thatch drying in Master Baran's barn and I had planned to begin on checking the granaries upon the morrow."

"Will you have enough?"

He shrugs and his hand comes to latch upon the crook of my arm, for I have all but tripped over a stone hidden amidst a tangle of stubble and grass. We have left the pasture behind and lead the eager flock into a small paddock where we might have them in better reach.

"Should be, my lady, but there is always more where it came from," he goes on and releases me as had naught passed.

"Let me know should you need aid gathering more, will you?"

"Aye, my lady."

"And for the beans and lentils, any change?"

"Nay, my lady, none. They are snug and well covered. I accounted for them all just yestermorn, so they are all as they were when last you asked."

"Good!" I smile upon the man where he stands at the paddock gate waiting for the last and eldest of the ewes to make her way inside.

My lord did indeed choose his reeve well. The man has a peerless touch for the weather, and the pride he takes in his work sets him to hovering over the Angle's winter stores as a mother over her sniffling firstborn babe.

"Have you all the aid you need?"

"Aye, my lady, the men you last sent me have proved reliable, for the most part, though first I set one to cleaning out the cesspits."

"I daresay you will get little trouble out of him after that."

Master Herdir grins back at me, a ewe bumping her nose behind the man's knee. Indeed, we do have treats for them today, and they know it. They gather around us, their noses raised and twitching. A full sixty head and more have we now crowded and locked in the paddock, descended from those my lord gifted me upon our marriage.

"All the wethers?" asks Herdir and he circles around the edge of the enclosure where he can leave me among the crowd of wooly backsides.

"Aye, Master Herdir," I say, fumbling with the neck of the sack. The sheep nudge at me and bleat and I must raise my voice over theirs to be heard.

With that, I draw out scoopfuls of grain to keep the sheep near and occupied and Herdir takes up the bucket of weld. There he slaps a thin golden color upon their rumps with the brush. They scramble away from him, but the temptation of the oats is too strong and the fence too near, and thus we keep them in reach. By the small clips in their ears I know the ewes that produced weak lambs or were prone to illness and I point them out for Herdir's brush. Three full-grown rams we shall leave to winter with the ewes, chosen for their heartiness, for as the flock increases I must have breeding males to trade with other flocks for their services, but the rest are fated to supply the Angle’s tables this winter.

It comes upon the fall shearing, and we must cull those beasts that shall be slaughtered, and their meat hung to smoke. We have not chaff or hay enough to feed all the good beasts of the Angle, and soon the grass upon the meadows will dry and they shall have naught to eat but what we provide. Come the morrow, Herdir will return with his men and they shall begin the shearing. I shall join them, pulling tags and bits of rye and weeds from the fleece ere I roll them in a coarse cloth. The day after, they shall come again, but for the slaughter. And though I know the pinch of hunger in the depth of winter and am full aware we hold to our beasts' hearts lightly for it, I shall send my lord’s son away. One day he will know enough of blood and death, but it need not be so soon.

When the sheep had been marked and I returned to the hall, I found it empty.  For I had set Elesinda to gathering the last of the seeds in the gardens of the well-garth. There she shook dry and blown heads of flowers o’er her apron and poured them into small bags of a fine cloth, each tagged with the names of the plants upon strips of parchment.

The day had dawned bright and clear, the mist of the night afore burning swiftly away at the sun's touch. My lord’s son woke ere his sires and, wriggling out from beneath his covers in the trundle bed, climbed over the edge of his parents' mattress. 'Twas the sharpness of his knee upon my belly that brought a sudden wakefulness upon me, and there he was, clambering over me to lay himself upon my breast.

He had been slow to wean, my lord’s son. I think even now, though he had at last given it up, he longed for the comfort of the beating of my heart beneath his ear and my fingers in his loose curls. For every morn he seeks me out, so he might take to his waking at his leisure. This dawn was like all others. There he lay heavy upon me, sucking lazily upon his fingers and staring at his father as the man slept. I dared not move for wondering what my lord’s son would do upon finding his father there. So, instead, I let him puzzle it out for himself and ran a soothing hand upon his back.

My lord lurched in his sleep and, drawing a swift breath, stretched his arms above his head and fell still again.

"Atto?" I heard in Edainion’s small voice and the boy reached damp fingers for his father.

My lord's eyes flew open, scowling at first, but his face soon broke into a soft welcoming smile. He caught the hand in his and leaned to press a kiss upon it. "Bid you good morrow, onya."

To my surprise and my lord's delight, my son slid off my breast, so he might crawl o’er my arm to his father. There he rested his head upon my lord's shoulder and tucked his back against him.

"Did you sleep well?" My lord wrapped an arm about his son to draw him close.

My son nodded to his father's question, but, I thought, would be slow to answer with words until he was fully awake.

"That is good, for you and I have much to do today." My lord smiled down at the small face tilted up of a sudden to him. "Aye, is not today the day of the market? Would you wish to go with me there?"

The child sat up, drawing away from his father's embrace, his eyes bright and his face alert.

"Can I have apple pasties?" he asked.

"Aye, and should you like to walk there, or shall we ride my gelding?"

My son's eyes grew wide, and it is all I could do to keep from laughing aloud and destroying all hopes my lord had at treating the child with his current solemnity.

"Can I ride your horse?" he asked, his voice soft, so heavy is the wonder on him.

"Should you so wish it."

My son's face shown with joy but then, swiftly, he bit at his lip, seemingly doubtful when his glance found me. I knew his thoughts, for ever Halbarad and I bid him to take care and the gelding is tall of shoulder, sharp of hoof, and trained for war. The child has no thought of fear for himself but is well acquainted with the scolding he might get should he throw away all caution.

"Aye, it is as your father says," I said. "But first you must dress and wash for the day and break your fast."

With no further ado, my son scrambled over my legs, down onto the trundle bed and thence to the floor, pulling off his shirt as he went. There the cloth fell to the floor unheeded and he, naked without it, padded about the solar.

"You will ride with me, at'inya?" he called back to the bed and now I allowed myself to laugh, for joy had set my lord to grinning.

"Mamil!" Edainion cried. "I cannot get my soap!"

The poor thing was straining upon his toes attempting to reach the top of the chest where the pitcher and bowl lay.

"I come, onya."

And so I did, followed soon after by my lord. When I came upon him, so delightful was the sight of my lord’s son eager to begin his day I could not forbear from wrapping my arms about the warm skin of his middle and pressing kisses and silly words into his neck. Oh, but he squealed with laughter and bounced upon his legs, pushing my face away. But he could not be deterred from his purpose for long, for just as soon as his laughter faded he reached again for the soap and begged for my help.

'Twas not long after they were both washed of their sleep, hair combed, and, to Edainion’s dismay at the bitter taste, teeth well rubbed. There my lord stood for inspection, mimicking his son as, with a pass of the comb and tug upon the hem of his tunic, the child had passed and now thumped his feet upon the stairs leading to the hall. Oh, but how fine my lord looked, with his eyes sparkling with his delight and his dark hair arrayed about his shoulders upon the green leather.

"Shall I bring shame upon you by my appearance?" he asked and smiled at my sour look. "I would not have the Angle's sharp tongue's wagging against you."

"As it please thee, my lord," said I, for I had no thought to set myself high in his folk's esteem as a purpose in sending him and his son forth and it pricked me he should think it.

My words and downcast eyes earned me the flash of a sharp look, for my lord is not one to miss the subtlety of a contrary intent hidden in soft words.

And now I can only wish I had not sent him off with such shrewishness.

Half a dozen times have I started to the door, determined I shall call upon the youth in Ranger's clothes who paces about the grounds to go search my husband and son out and bring them home. For Elesinda and I prepared the midday meal only to eat it by ourselves. The day stretches behind me and there is no word of them. Surely the market comes to its close and they find little to amuse themselves there.

~oOo~

There they are, my lord leading his horse up the dusty path with his son perched atop. Edainion's fingers twist deeply in the horse's mane as he squeals.

"Mamil! Mamil!" he cries when he catches sight of me. "Look! I ride a'inya horse!"

I think every surface of the house well-scrubbed. Linens were taken out and shaken only to be refolded and placed in their chests with sprays of lavender or rosemary. The floor swept. The hearth raked. The buttery and pantry checked over yet again for holes, insect, and mice. The bed aired, and the window rugs beaten. Oh, but it is hard upon the evening meal and the sun dips below the forest upon the west. Long are the shadows through which they ride and long have been the hours of my waiting.

"Aye," I call back to him from the toft to my lord's home. "So I see."

My heart pounds so at the sight I see little of my lord. Rather, my eyes are fixed upon the small child kicking his heels in his excitement so very far from the ground. Had I thought to look elsewhere I might see my lord's gaze intent upon me and their clothes creased and hair wild as had their locks dried without the benefit of a comb.

My lord brings the horse to a halt and hands his reins to Master Baran who waits beside me. When my lord reaches up for his son, the boy's face darkens, and he kicks at the saddle.

"No, I want to stay," he cries, and the great beast turns back his head to eye his distressed rider. I think there is little in the training for battle that could have prepared the horse for quite this, and he seemed a little disconcerted for it, his ears twitching and air bursting from his nostrils in a great snuffling.

"Nay, onya, 'tis time to get down," my lord says. "He needs his rest and would like the saddle off his back." With that the child relents, clinging to his father as he is lifted from the back of the mount.

"Do you hunger, onya?" I ask and my lord’s son nods.

"Then come," say I, holding out my hand.

"Aye, Mamil," he says, and once released he comes close to tug on my fingers.

His face is bright and his voice chatters on as we go indoors and climb the stairs. The meal is ready, and we have but to sit down to it. But first my lord’s son must be cleaned of the stains upon his face and fists and his clothes put to rights. He suffers it willingly, for his father, without greeting welcoming him home or queries as to his comfort, proceeds his son into the solar, where he will do the same.

"Mamil!" Edainion says, his voice loud and the words pouring forth from him. "We saw Master Merlan and he told the story of the bad Witch-King. And a'inya put me on the horse and I rode it all the way from the river! A'inya got me," here he pauses to laboriously unfold his fingers, "Four!" he cries, holding upon his fingers. "Atto got me three apple pasties and I eat them all, but Ruful eat one. He was a bad dog. He pulled it out my hand and it falled in the dirt. Atto said I should not eat it, because it would make me sick. But, then Lothel wanted some, too, and Atto got more so I could share. And it was sticky but Ruful cleaned our hands!"

All this my lord’s son says as I kneel afore him and strip him of shoes and tunic, muffling his voice as I tug the cloth over his face. My lord's face is bright with amusement and, I think, more than a little pride, as he pours water into the bowl upon the tall chest there at the end of the bed.

"And why are you so damp, onya?" I ask, for indeed he is. Deep in the seams of his clothes he smells of the river.

"Oh," the boy says, the current of his thoughts faltering. "I falled in the water."

"You did?" Of a sudden, my lord falls very still, and I hear little noise of water or cloth in his corner of the solar.

"I walked on the tree, Mamil, and then I slipped."

"You were? You did?"

"I was very careful!" he protests, for, no doubt my alarm shows plain upon my face. "Atto falled in the water, too," he goes on, looking up at me hesitantly from beneath his dark lashes, as had he hope this last shall forgive him of the sin of frightening his mother, or, should naught else serve, avert a portion of the blame.

"I am sure he did," say I.

"Atto said 'twas the moss," Edainion says. "It was slippery, was it not, a'inya?"

"Aye, onya, it was, I think," comes his father's voice above us.

I know not what to say, but stare dumfounded up at my lord where he stands over us, washed and ready for his meal.

"But you were very brave, onya." The boy seems nigh to busting for the pride beaming from him at his father's ruffling of his hair.

"Aye, and Mamil?" my lord’s son says and his face bursts with sudden merriment now he seems to have our approval. "And Atto," he gasps, breathless between fits of giggling, and points a wavering hand at his father. "He falled, too, and he say –"

"Aye, onya!" my lord says, mayhap a little too loudly and a little too swiftly. "Now it is time to bathe and let your mother get you ready." His father's voice softens some. "Do not linger over your washing too long. I shall see you in the hall."

And with that, my lord strides from the solar, leaving me sitting upon my heels and his son staring bereft after him.

"Come now, onya. Let us get you bathed," I say, though slowly do the words come to me.

I have hardly the breath to speak and I think my lord’s son knows it, for he stamps his feet, his brow puckering and lips pouting as he pulls at my grip.

"No!" he says, "Mamil! I do not want to bathe!"

"Hist," I say gently, stopping my attempts at removing his shirt and, instead, rub his back, for I know my child is merely over-tired and anxious to see his father. Now my lord has washed his hands and face and combed out his hair, his feet made short work of the flight of stairs into the hall. "Come now, do you not wish to join Atto in his meal? He washed, should not you?"

"Aye, Mamil," he complains, scowling, though he now no longer stomps upon the floor.

"Then let us wash and you shall be ready to go downstairs.

"I will let you do most of it and help to make it go quickly," I go on, when his look remains reluctant.

'Tis truly the sorest trial to have his shirt pulled over his head and his breeches removed, but my lord’s son suffers it.

"No, I want the green soap," he protests when I pick up his usual bar of soft, sheep's-milk soap.

"Then how must thou ask for it?" and he screws his face up in a great act of patience.

"Should it please you, Mamil."

"Aye, it pleases me," I say, and he bows his head to peer closely at the cloth as I kneel and rub his father's soap upon it. "But, have a care, for it will sting should you get it in your eyes." The scent of bay leaves rises from the cloth and I must smile at my lord’s son's intent look. For it does please me my lord’s son would wish to be as his father, in most things.

"Mamil! Not so much!"

"There you are," I say, forbearing from lathering the cloth too thickly.

A rime of dried dirt lines his neck and jaw. I think he must have feared to put his head below the water for a more thorough dunking after his first.

"Do my face, Mamil," he asks, lifting his chin. "Should it please thee, Mamil." I wring out the cloth in the bowl of water beside us and, with care, wipe the soap and dirt from his cheeks and about his eyes.

"There," I say, with a last touch to his nose. "You wipe off the rest and dress, and then you will be ready.  I have laid out your clothes."

~oOo~

I must have been very quiet throughout the meal. I can think of no words to say and am glad Edainion’s chattering fills the silence. We dine on a soup of sausage, onion, dried herbs and apple from the noon meal we did not have, together with toasts of smoked cheese upon thin slices of a stale bread, for my lord had forgotten the flour for which I had sent him to the market. My lord’s son tells of his day and I let the dry bread lay upon the soup, waiting for it to soak up the broth as I listen.

"Elder Tanaes, Mamil? He had a big fish." Here the child gestures wildly with his spoon and I must lay my hand upon his arm to guide it back to his bowl, so he does not fling his sausage across the table. He minds it not, but chatters on. "He said it was the biggest fish ever, Mamil. Was it the biggest fish ever, a'inya?"

His father swallows so he might answer, breaking off a piece of the crust to dip it into his soup. "Mayhap the biggest caught upon the river here. Bigger than ever I have caught upon it."

"'Twas very, very big, Mamil." The boy nods eagerly. "Atto held its mouth and it was as tall as me!"

Here my lord smiles and I wonder were it truly of a size. His son slurps loudly at the soup, kicking his feet.

"Aye, a marvel Master Tanaes should have pulled it from the river, alone as he was and with a fish so heavy as a big lad such as you," my lord goes on, looking upon his son fondly.

Edainion giggles around his mouthful, delighted as he is at the attention. But my lord falls silent, his laughter falling from him quickly when he catches sight of my face. Aye, mayhap this moment is not one in which he would be wise to compare my son to a fish.

Ai! But this meal is a trial to my patience.

As the tale unfolds, it seems my lord and his son wandered the square and purchased their noon meal from the strolling vendors. A roasted leg of chicken and a pie of chopped meats and beans they found, and the sweet pasties were purchased as the meal's end. There they called on the folk of the Angle and my son's father took him to speak to cotter and baker and goodwife.

But still their day was not done, for after my son had napped in the shade of the carpenter's stall while his father listened to the tales of the Angle from the man, they took to riding upon the shaded groves and deep paths that wind about the river. There my son learned of the small beasts of the forest and the tracks they make.

All in all, the venture had been more a matter of success than I could have hoped. For my lord’s son lost his reserve around his father and my lord claimed new confidence in the care of his son.

‘Tis not until we are done with the meal and I take our bowls to the buttery that my lord speaks to me. He, too, had sat through much of the meal in silence, though, atimes, had looked upon me as had he wished to catch my eye. But I would have none of it. And so he waited until we were out of hearing of our son. He left him there in the hall, following me into the buttery.

"Edainion," I heard his voice call through the door. "Come put away thy men. I should not want to step upon one, for surely my boot would break it."

I hear not the child’s protest, though oft he resists the task, preferring instead to leave his carved toys lying about so he may play with them at will. In its place I hear the scrape of wood upon stone and know my lord’s son leaps to do his father's bidding.

I scrape the bowls clean and through my lord's opening of the door I see Elesinda helps, they both kneeling about the hearth.

"Truly, lady, I had not intended to be so long gone," my lord says, his voice low.

I stack the bowls so Elesinda may wash them and, finding the lid, clap it over the bucket of waste scraps. I turn and lean back against the shelf to better see my lord. The light of the setting sun falls upon him and, though his look is solemn, it holds naught of penitence.

"But then my son fell in the river," I say, and, from his sudden grimace, it seems his father was not long after. I wonder then had he plunged in after the child of his own intent or of an accident.

"Aye, well, in truth, lady," he says, "it was not the river, more a stream leading off from it. 'Twould all have been put easily aright had not the clothes taken long in drying." And it is only now my lord has the grace to look abashed.

True it is, for all the dirt and creases they bear, I shall be much put to it to make them fit to be worn again. But I care naught for them and I choke on his concern.

"My lord, I trust the danger in which his father placed my son –" and here I bite off my words. My jaw hurts and I reach up to rub against the bone.

"Aye," he finishes for me when I cannot, "— served to teach him to be more cautious.  Be assured, lady, it did."

"My lord," I say, my voice slow and nigh as heavy as my heart. "I rejoice you find joy in your son. I could wish for naught better. He is yours and must be yours, body and mind and heart. One day I must endure his leave-taking and know he faces perils from which I cannot protect him, and my heart shall break for it. Did not your own lady mother suffer so? But, I pray you, do not give me cause to suffer needlessly ere it is my time."

At that, my lord falls silent. I cannot read the thoughts upon his face, but then he lifts my hand from where my arms are folded across my breast. And, with his thumb rubbing gently upon the bones of my knuckles, bows low over it ere pressing his lips there.

~oOo~