~ Chapter 33 ~

 

As he ran the cries came louder, but fainter now and desperately the horn was blowing. Fierce and shrill rose the yells of the Orcs, and suddenly the horn-calls ceased. Aragorn raced down the last slope, but afore he could reach the hill's foot, the sounds died away; and as he turned to the left and ran towards them they retreated, until at last he could hear them no more. Drawing his bright sword and crying Elendil! Elendil! he crashed through the trees.

TTT: The Departure of Boromir

~oOo~

~ TA 3012, 13^th of Hísimë:  Ranger Gelir now of rank and joins the rotation of paired Rangers in their duties.  Ranger Halbarad to accede the training of the men of the Angle to Ranger Haldren. All folk of the Angle who have answered the muster to meet him upon Master Fimon’s northern pasture for training, upon their day of rest. Should Haldren have noted the women who have joined their ranks, he says naught.  Last I saw, he took one about the neck and, kicking her feet from beneath her, threw her to the fallow dirt and screamed at her to arise.  And when she had, her face grim and determined, he but did it again and urged her to greater speed.  And when the men about them laughed for it, he did it each in quick succession to them, as well, until there were none standing about him. There was little laughter after.

As does the Angle prepare, so do our lord’s men.  Ranger Halbarad and my lord’s men have taken to wearing their padded shirts and great hauberks at all times.  He now moves as easily beneath their weight as were he wearing naught but a simple shirt and vest.  Upon their return, Halbarad sets them atimes to galloping in great lines so that the earth thunders beneath their horses' hooves. They prepare for open war as had not had the need afore. Halbarad is poorly satisfied, for they are fewer in number than he would wish and return to the Angle but seldom.

~oOo~

 

Footsteps and voices drift from the hall below me. I sigh and bury my face in the pillow, pulling it closer.

"My lady!" a voice calls, but still I am adrift in sleep, sunk beneath its warm blanket. Beyond the windows, rain falls in a steady patter and the cold night air seeks to slip through the shutters and winter rugs. My lord’s son stirs in his sleep upon his small mattress and then falls still.

"My lady!" comes the voice again. This time I hear it for what it is.

I thrust aside the covers. Suddenly, I am sitting upon the edge of the mattress, with my feet planted in the trundle bed, my heart pounding as I blink myself awake. No moon for the clouds that cover its face and it seems I can see as much with eyes closed as open.

"My lady!" the voice calls and I recognize it as Halbarad's.

In my mind, I can see him lingering on the steps, unwilling to enter the solar where his lord's wife sleeps, but in great need to wake her.

"Mamil?" comes a querulous cry from the bed.

"Hush, onya, 'tis naught," I whisper but Halbarad still calls and my lord’s son whimpers.

"I come!" I call and lord’s kinsman’s voice stills.

"Mamil!" Edainion calls, his voice rising. Small hands brush my legs, and he grabs at my shift and pulls himself to me and into my lap.

"Hist, onya," I say and scoop him up. I hold him close for but a moment and then lay him back abed. "You must sleep," I say firmly when he clings to me and protests. "I will be gone but a little while, but you must sleep."

"Lady Nienelen! Make haste!" Halbarad calls urgently, his voice a carrying whisper now that my lord’s son's voice has been heard.

At the rustling of the linens I know my lord’s son has lain down, but sure it is he will watch at the dark with wide eyes ere sleep claims him and it grieves me to leave him so. But I am on my feet, my mouth dry as I pat at the chest in the dark. I send a quick prayer into the night as I throw aside all but what I need.

May the Valar watch over my lord with the same care he does his people.

"Ai!" I exclaim as cloth slips onto the floor. It seems my hands can do naught that I wish. I shake my head to clear it of sleep. What does it matter? Should my lord have need of me, what matter what I wear?

May he be sustained even as he has kept us.

"Is it my lord?" I call, keeping my voice low, and grab at bundle of cloth. My fingers fumble to find the hem.

"He requires your aid, my lady. Hurry!"

"Go to him! I come." I throw the dress over my head.

I race down the stairs in my bare feet, pulling at laces as I go. When I enter the hall, men in the rusty greens and greys of the Rangers mill about the room with a silent purpose. They build up the fire and draw water to heat over the hearth. They are sodden with rain, yet even it does not wash away all signs of blood and battle. I search amidst them for one dark head among many, one grey cloak amidst a forest. When I find him, my heart gives a thump as had it just learned anew how to beat.

The injured have been seated closest to the fire, where their comrades tend to them. One most gravely wounded has been stretched upon the bench. There, my lord bends o’er him. He peels back clothing and rags with which they have staunched the bleeding and I see the arrow protruding from his man's shoulder, an obscene thing of black and broken edges against his skin.

“Aye, ‘tis against the bone” he says.  “We cannot push it through.”

"My lord," I say, my voice barely stronger than a whisper for the twin shock of both relief and fear. My feet stand in a puddle of water and are cold, but it is a distant thing. "You called, and I am come."

His face hovers anxiously over the man, but he spares me a brief glance.

"We have need of clean sheets or rags, whatever comes to hand," he says.

I nod, though he has returned to his charge and pays me no more heed. Into the parlor I hurry, the men parting about me. When I return, the room is still. Left behind are those who tend and those who are tended. They spread their cloaks to dry afore the building flames and rest, seated in groups and speaking a little among themselves.

A knife lies in the coals and my lord speaks to his charge in a low voice and, coming upon them, I see his face. My heart sinks. ‘Tis Gelir, his round, merry face marred by battle and pain. I could not bear his mother's eyes upon me should he fail. These few years have made him a man full grown, but still he is her son and she waits upon him with her mother's heart.

I have ripped sheets asunder and give them to hands that reach for them. The last I save for my lord, who takes them from me with a distant nod of thanks; for they have a hold of his man's arms and Halbarad prepares to lie across his legs. I can think only of the birthing of my son and the pain it had taken to bring him into this world. This pain may not be so kind in what it brings.

Running across the room, I grab up a shuttle from its basket beside the loom, a bit of yarn still wound about it and rush back to the bench. When I kneel at Gelir's head, I see he is quiet, but his eyes find me and the fear in them pours through me like a shock of cold water.

"'Tis but a short while you will feel pain," say I in his ear, "but then you will mend. I will be here. Can you bear it?"

"Aye, my lady," he says. When he sees what I hold, he nods his head, clamping down on the wood when I offer it.

They hold him fast when they force blades into the wound about the barbs to draw it out, though he arches against them, coughing and screaming and clenching his jaw against the shuttle. It will bear the marks of his teeth even through the wool. I hold his face between my hands and whisper what few words of encouragement I can find. But, soon, he falls limp and his eyes close, his body more merciful than those who care for him can be. And then it is done.

With one hand, my lord presses the cloth onto the wound and, with the other, turns the arrow in the light. I do not know what he looks for, but soon his brow softens, and he tosses it into the fire.

"I think it not poisoned." My lord draws in a long breath, the set of his shoulders softening.

"Hold this." He nods at the bundle of cloth beneath his hand. Halbarad is quick to comply, kneeling beside the bench.

I have stood, the shuttle dangling from my fingers. My lord's charge lies still beneath Halbarad's hand. His skin is pale and reflects a thin sheen of light from the fire, but he lives and draws shallow breath.

"Lady," my lord says, and I come to myself. "Would you prepare the parlor? He should have quiet and a soft place to rest."

"Aye, my lord," I say, and leave him to their care, dropping the shuttle among its mates as I go.

~oOo~

A narrow pallet upon the floor is all I can offer, but it will do. I open baskets and from their depths pull sheets and blankets to cover it. Here I have been saving them for those who flee to the Angle, to warm them in their first nights among us, but now the need of the injured is the more urgent.

After the hall, the parlor with its low ceiling, closed shutters and ranks of baskets and chests feels an almost lonely and dim place. I had thought the worst over, until my stomach rebels and my hands shake as I toss the blanket onto the pallet. The stink of seared flesh burns vividly in my mind, for they had brought the knife to his wound while I prepared Gelir's bed. My legs seem to be made of water and I think, soon, they will not hold me upright.

A stool sits only a couple strides away against the wall, but even so may be too far. For a mist floats upon all I see. I cling to the wall and attempt to bring my unwilling legs under my control. But ere I either fall or achieve a more stable seat on my own, an arm clutches me about my middle and pulls my back into a damp breast. ‘Tis my lord who guides me to the seat I had intended and lowers me gently upon it.

There he leaves me to hold my face in my hands, my elbows propped upon my knees, but he does not go far. My skin, once cold, is now flushed and warm.

"Halbarad!" he calls. When the heavy tread of his kin approaches, he commands softly, "Water for my lady."

He pulls another stool close to where I sit and settles there. Though he sits so near his arm brushes mine, he says naught. I know he watches me. He smells faintly of the herb garden behind my father's house, as had plants of thyme, hoarwell, and lavender turned their nodding heads to the hot sun and the bees worked busily among their flowers. It clears my head and calms my mind, and by this I know he has laved the injured man's wounds in a tea of athelas and carries the scent about him.

"Forgive me, my lord," I say and wipe at my eyes. The tears had come unbidden, but he does not shame me for them. "You must forgive my weakness."

"Nay, I know you too well to accept such a thing.  You are not weak." He brushes my hair aside from my face, the better to see it.

When I am silent he speaks, his voice low. "What has made you unhappy, lady?"

Slowly, I collect my scattered thoughts, from small clutching hands to terror in a man's eyes.

"Each of your men is a mother's son, my lord," I say when my thoughts become clear, "I cannot help but see our own in them.  They must bear the brunt of the force sent against us. And he must pay the cost of it, too, no matter it may be for naught."

He has drawn a quick breath as had he a ready reassurance to give, but then he grows silent and I know he now sees the same as I.

"What would you have me say, lady?  So it is with us all,” he says at length.  “In truth, though greatly have I rued his loss o’er the years, mayhap it was better my own father was spared this.  For I cannot give you the tally of my heart should I live to see my son pay it.”

I shake my head. There is naught to say. He has no answer to give me. Neither have I one for him.

When Halbarad enters, he finds us sitting next to one another, silent. His face is anxious, searching mine for signs of ill-health and then his lord's for what has passed. For my lord’s hand had found mine as he spoke and he yet clasps it in his.  He gives his kin a brief reassuring smile and takes the cup from Halbarad, saying naught. It seems a needless thing, but the water is cool and sweet. I drink it in one swallow and feel better. When my lord takes the cup from me and sets it upon the floor, we are alone. Though in no hurry to return to his men, his thoughts seem to have turned inward, and his look is troubled.

"What happened, my lord?"

His look comes upon me sharply. I seldom ask but leave his doings to his own thoughts until he would have me know them. He stretches his legs out afore him and leans back against the wall. He appears to be considering what to say.

"Orcs out of the Troll Shaws," he says. "We think them scouts."

"So close!" I am now sitting straight and staring at him, alarmed. This has not happened even in my father's lifetime. I marvel at the change.

"I have sent those who are willing to discover their movements. Haldren has left to muster more men," he says. "Then, in the morning, we ride north to meet them."

"Will you have a great enough force at so short a notice?" In my mind, I am already calculating the bandages needed, the poultices to be prepared, and the graves to dig.

"I believe so. It will need to suffice," he says. "I leave you here, lady, with the charge to order the people in the morning."

His words jar me from my planning. He is looking at me intently, as had he another test in mind.

Solemnly, he says, "They must be made ready, should we fail."

I nod. May the Valar forbid!  But it will be done. I seem to have passed the test, for my lord's face softens and he reaches a thumb to smooth away the frown that knots my brow.

"Worry not overmuch, lady. I leave Halbarad with you.  He is to lead the rearguard upon the north edge of the Angle."

It is meant to reassure, and I do fret for the people of the Angle, but his words do little to allay my fears for those who defend us.

"I would rather he go with you, my lord," I say, and he frowns.

"Why?" he asks. "I thought you and he had resolved your quarrels long ago.  Are not you and he of the same mind?"

"Aye, my lord, ever your thoughts drive us to the same end."

At the wry tone of my voice he lets out a softly amused sound, but a twist of his mouth speaks of his satisfaction. His eyes glitter.

"Then you think little of my skills in battle and wish to send your Great Hound to guard me?"

"Skill is little defense against the arrows of the orc, my lord," I say testily, slipping into the Sindar tongue.

He answers me in kind, though his lips quirk at my pique. "Little could my kinsman do to stay its flight that I cannot."

I sigh and turn away. Why waste my breath? ‘Tis little wonder it took the Elders fifty years, the loss of his mother, and a mortal wound to convince this man to marry. He is impossible once his mind is set. Now I have only to marvel he submitted to their will at all.

"Am I to suppose you had a reason for finding me, my lord, or did you seek me out only so as to vex me?"

He laughs and crosses his legs at his boots, looking for all as were he sitting under the sun during the summer beneath some great tree and had not a care. "Solely to vex you, it seems, though I had intended to ask you for blankets for the men who will rest here tonight."

I nod, smoothing my hair from my face, my plait a wild rope from sleep. With my palms, I wipe at my eyes to banish all signs of my tears. I will bring none of my own travails to those who sleep about my hearth.

"Have you some?" he asks as he watches my preparations. "They have their own, though they are in need of drying."

I frown and shake my head as I rise. My lord lives in a house with a worker of wool and yet asks should there be blankets. "Never fear, my lord," I say, "I will find dry blankets enough for your men."

I look about the room, satisfied with what I see. "And should they bring Gelir in here, I will watch him tonight."

"Are you quite recovered, lady?" He has lifted his back from the wall and grasped my fingers to prevent me from stepping away from him, and now peers at me.

"Aye, my lord." I squeeze his finger in return, grateful for his concern. "It was a passing weakness. I am well."

I pull my fingers from his to touch his arm below the slash of some sharp edge where it has torn both leather and skin. "Do you wish my aid in attending to this?"

"Nay, lady, it is easy enough to tend and you have done enough. Worry not."

"Leave your coat and shirt ere you go up the stairs, then, and I will mend them for you.  Your other shirt and winter cloak are with the mending in the solar.  I will lay your coat near the hearth, where it can dry when done," I say, trailing a finger along the jagged edge.

He makes a small noise of acknowledgement, neither accepting or rejecting my offer, but does not yet rise from the stool.

There was a time, when I might have thought I could gentle away the weariness that settles now upon his features. But though my heart aches for the grim shadow that falls upon my lord's gaze, I must suffer it. I withdraw my hand, for I would not prod at the beast that lies slumbering within my breast.

"An I must be wakeful, my lord, it would do to have occupation," I say and move away to collect the bedding his men require.

He nods and then speaks. "Gelir should not be moved, until it cannot be helped."

"Aye." I open a lid of a long chest to stare into its depths. Small sacks of pine shavings lie amidst the carefully folded lengths of woolen cloth. Setting them aside, I select blankets for their thickest nap and softest hand.

When I turn to toss them upon the pallet, I am surprised to see my lord still seated upon his stool. His look is withdrawn and apprehensive.

"My lord," I say, and, blinking, he surfaces from his thoughts. "I have slept some this night where you have not. I will see to what needs to be done until the morning. To bed!"

He lifts himself from the stool with a long indrawn breath.

"Wake me, should he worsen," my lord says ere he closes the door behind him.

~oOo~

Long ere the men of the Council were roused from their beds and called to his table, long ere e'en the sun had thought to rise above the wooded lands about the rivers, I found my lord lying upon his bed in the solar. His winter cloak drawn about him and his boots at its foot, he lay atop the blankets, looking as had he lain himself down in the field so he would be ready to rise at a simple word, all but for one thing. In the crook of his arm was curled his son. The fine dark curls drifted across my lord's shoulder where he had pulled the small boy into his side and wrapped his cloak about him. I knew not which took more comfort in the other as they slept and was loath to wake either.

But, wake my lord I must, for Halbarad had returned and his men awaited him in the hall. His eyes flew open at my touch and needed no time to know what I intended. There, in the rushlight, he gentled his arm and cloak from beneath his murmuring son and drew a fur over the boy, sifting through the dark curls with his fingers ere leaving him there.

The water is chill where I pour it to the bowl atop the tall chest and a blessing to my weary eyes when I press the cloth to them. My lord’s son lies curled deeply in the covers with naught but his hair and brow showing as he were some small creatures burrowed there. The sight made me wish for my bed, but would my lord not spare himself, then neither shall I.

A weary sigh escapes from him as he lifts the lid to the chest at the foot of the bed. I halt, the cloth pressed to my face and the water falling in slow drops to the basin below, for I wonder what my lord shall make of what he is sure to find there. By his silence, I know he stares into the depths of the chest, his brow furrowed. I know, too, what waits for him, folded carefully atop his things.

There it is, a wool tunic overdyed in the dark blue of the woad I brewed when first I learned of my lord's need for a wife and heir. In his absence, I labored to lay in the stars of the Dúnedain in thread about the sleeves, upon the hem, and all about the collar and breast. Mayhap my lord then laughs silently at his wife's designs upon his House, for he pauses for a moment. This, for the rustling of soft cloth, he then sets aside, but still I wait, for I know the fine cloth is unfit for the work at hand and there is yet more for my lord to discover.

Next, he shall find a pile of wool no less thick and sturdy than the formal tunic, but more plain of color and devoid of all but the simplest of trimming of matching leather and line of crosswork in thread. But when his fingers brush upon the fur that lines the inside, surely then my lord's eyes light with pleasure. Shaking out its folds, he makes short work of pulling on the long, sleeveless garment, tying it closed and pulling on the laces to fit it warm about his waist. He then stretches his arms to check the fit, settling it upon his shoulders, ere wrapping his belt about him. The wool is a deep rust and the fur inside a patchwork of the tans and greys of the hares that have fed his household over the past years. A simple enough garment, less fine than aught else I have made him, but more warm.

Only then did it come to me that I have made precious little progress in my morning toilet and so swiftly rinse out the rag and blot at my face with the linen. I suppose I should have given up all but the barest pretense, for my lord's hands find my waist, putting it all to a halt. He presses what would have been a kiss onto my cheek were he not smiling so broadly.

"Shall I take it as my gift in farewell, lady?"

I turn to find his eyes bright upon me. I think my lord has grown accustomed to his comforts and now took easy delight in them. Many weeks of work went into the making of the vest he wears. Many nights I sat in the solar and squinted by the light of a single candle to lay in the leather trim, but, in sooth, I would have worn red grooves upon all my fingertips to force the needle through hide and wool should only my lord smile upon me as he did.

"Should you so choose, my lord."

He releases me to draw on his long-coat and pick up his winter cloak where I had laid them upon the bed. I think, then, he shall stride from the solar, taking his leave. But, instead, he stands for a long moment, marveling o’er the sight that is his son sleeping peacefully, without worry or care, so deeply does the child slumber and such comfort does he make of the pillow and covers my lord left behind. Then he does leave, but not ere brushing his fingers through those dark curls one last time and pressing his lips to that soft brow.

In the hall, we find his men. When they heard his feet upon the stairs, they leaned to packs upon the floor and rose to their feet, slinging their burdens to their back and placing a reassuring hand upon their weapons when we enter. My lord takes them in in a swift glance and nods to Halbarad, who stands with the elders of their numbers about him at my lord's table. All is ready. My lord halts and, turning about, it seems he is surprised to find me still behind him.

"Ah, lady, mayhap we shall say our farewells, then."

The hall is quiet, well-schooled as his men are in a grim obedience to their lord's will. But they watch, I doubt it not. I bow my head to acknowledge his command, but do not yet speak my blessing. Instead, I raise my hand for his.

"I have little to give you that would serve you well in your task ahead, my lord, but this I have."

His frown is mild and his gaze searching, but I mind them not.

"Come, my lord."

Though his men await him, standing as a thicket of strong trunks of oak, my lord grants me his hand and I lead him through their ranks to the parlor. There, we slip through the door and watch Gelir as he sleeps. I had left him, Mistress Pelara's son, but a few moments afore and knew it was a gentle slumber that closed the young man's eyes. My lord pulls from my hand and kneels at his man's side, brushing fingers upon the Ranger's brow. Though his skin is pale, he is warm and dry to the touch and the grim lines of my lord's face ease at the sight.

With a sigh, my lord rises from the floor. The look he turns upon me is fond, and, at the foot of the pallet, he lifts my hand to his lips.

"My thanks to thee, lady, I can think of no gift I would rather have in farewell," says he softly ere pressing his lips to my fingers.

"Go with the grace of the Valar, my lord," I say. "May they watch over thee and thy men. May they lend their strength to thy arm and their wisdom to thy sight. May thee and thy men return safely to us."

To seal my blessing, I press my lips to his cheek, and he leans into the kiss, clasping my fingers tightly to his breast.

~oOo~