~ Chapter 46 ~

“Peace and freedom, do you say? The North would have known them little but for us. Fear would have destroyed them. But when dark things come from the houseless hills, or creep from sunless woods, they fly from us. What roads would any dare to tread, what safety would there be in quiet lands, or in the homes of simple men at night, if the Dúnedain were asleep, or were all gone into the grave?”

FOTR: The Council of Elrond

~oOo~

~ TA 3017, 7th day of Yavannië: Increase portioning of tithe to the following households of the kin of our lord’s men fallen in defense of the folk of the Dúnedain: Aurben, Lagordir, Bronwechon, Trenardir, and Melethron.  Mistress Pelara to speak to Masters Curudir and Mahtan and Mistress Tanril to beg they apprentice Ranger Muindir at their smithy, should he survive his maiming sustained in the service of our lord.

~oOo~

“Payment of two sheep in recompense to those harmed by his actions and two weeks foraging upon the Wild to be served at Master Herdir’s request.” 

Master Tanaes shakes his head yet makes note of the sentence in the Council’s great book.  “Any protest?” he asks, not looking up.

“Have you protest to make?” I ask Elder Tanaes, for, though it is the House that shall pronounce judgment, any of the Council may raise objection or beg its alteration.  ‘Tis his own oathman we discuss, and Tanaes may have somewhat particular to say on the man’s account. 

“Nay, my lady,” he says, pausing in his work.  “The sentence is just. Eston will not like it much, though, and your young Ranger should be prepared for it when he brings him afore us to tell him of it.” 

“I shall tell him.”  For the man in question, with others on whom we have pronounced guilt, cool their heels outside my lord’s great door, waiting for us to conclude all other business.

Elder Fuller returns to picking at his nails and Elder Bachor seems greatly taken with somewhat he notes on his hinged wax tablets.  Elders Maurus and Lorn are not in attendance, one taken to his bed, the other seeing to a disagreement among his pledgeholders that erupted yestereve.  Elder Landir is in attendance, but I think him nigh asleep, for he breathes heavily and his head nods atimes. 

Master Tanaes finishes and wipes upon his brow with his wrist.  Aye, we are hard upon the days of the fall harvest, but you would not know it for the mildness of the sun behind its ever-present veil.  A breeze flows steadily through the windows of my lord’s hall, cooling us within.  Oft florid of face, Master Tanaes sweats more with his exertion than I recall and labors for his breath atimes.  He had arrived upon the Council’s gathering winded, white of face, and blue about the lips.  Until this point, he had said little.

“I am ready, my lady.  What of Master Maelon?”

I glance upon my notes ere speaking.  “Repair of the fencing and return of all of Master Thurindir’s beasts or recompense for those lost.  One week of hard time labor within the Angle of Master Herdir’s determination spread across this next year,” say I, and would think the matter settled but for the restive glances between the Elders seated about my lord’s table. 

“Do you not think that somewhat,” and here Master Tanaes pauses, “light for the offense?”

“What do you mean?”

“Master Thurindir’s family has little enough, they can ill afford the loss of any of their pigs or goats.”

“And I have pronounced judgment of reparation or repair owed, and yet this seems not to satisfy you.  Speak plainly, Elder Tanaes.”

He sighs and schools his face to stillness ere speaking.  “You cannot keep with this preference for the wandering folk, it will serve us no good in the end.”

Bachor shifts in his seat, toying with the edge of his tablet, but says naught.  Instead, his gaze turns upon Elder Fuller and there he stares at him as had the man sprouted ears of the Elder-born.

“I pronounced the same sentence for Master Iston,” I snap.  “You complained of no preference then.”

“Aye, and found no fault with it.  It befit the effect of his offense upon the folk of the Angle.  The loss of just one beast of our livestock could mean great privation for a family of the Angle.   I would think it would earn the wanderer somewhat harsher.”

“Master Maelon has three small children, none of whom can assist their mother in the provision of their care.  He has taken no oath.  He has no pledgeholder nor fellow oathmen nor kin nor oathbound clan upon the Angle to care for those dependent upon him in his absence.  They suffer enough for his imprudence and neglect.

“No,” I continue and, the ink upon my journal now dry, slap the cover closed.  “I will visit no more hardship upon them than I can avoid.” 

“Other arrangements could be made,” Elder Tanaes says, his voice grown soothing as were he speaking to a recalcitrant child.  

Ah, I cannot achieve what I must without the man’s backing, but I tire of him atimes.  I cannot raise my voice without his attempts to pour oil upon water I deem needs troubling.  He did not do so when it was my lord who sat upon this chair, nor does he temper his own voice so. 

He goes on, “We need not – “

“Aye, I deem we all agree Maelon has well-earned his lack of friends among our folk,” interjects Elder Fuller.  He seems to have come to some decision and now raises his voice where afore he had been silent.  With one last flick of his eyes at Bachor, he continues.  “I, myself, find should there be one good that comes of how little ale we can brew these days ‘tis he cannot drink more of it and impose upon his neighbors as is his wont.  But ‘tis the House’s right to distribute mercy as well as justice.  Should the Lady determine mercy is best, I am willing to leave it to her.” 

“Aye, I agree.  Have we done now with Master Maelon’s business?” says Bachor and lets slip the butt of his stylus from his fingers ere he picks it up again in thoughtless repetition.  “Can we not now return to discussion of the attack upon our lord’s men north of the Angle?”

“To what end, Master Bachor?” I ask, for we had spent much of the first hour of the Council worrying the issue between the five of us there ere we had turned to other matters. 

“Are you certain we need make no other preparations?” he asks.

“I have already told you all I know of it.  We can but be watchful as always and ensure the palisades are fortified and our folk ready should we need to retreat there.  And this I have already done.  It has not been even a full day since my lord’s men made their way back to the Angle.  Mayhap I could beg your forbearance allow them a little more time.”

“Do we not know their aim nor how the approach of such a great force upon the Angle was unmarked?”

“I had not those answers for you an hour ago, Master Bachor, and have not stumbled upon them since.  We shall have to wait for Ranger Halbarad’s return to know more,” I say and hope the issue closed. 

Ai!  I should soften my voice.  For Bachor kneads at his brow as had my words caused him pain. He speaks out of fear and well am I acquainted with it.  Had I any reassurances to give, I would give them.  I have none.

“What then am I to tell my chiefs of the pledge, my lady?”  Bachor leaves off worrying at his brow and tosses his stylus to the table where it clanks dully against his cup.  “I beg thee. Have you naught more you can say?”

“Should you wish more, Master, you may follow our lord’s men north where you may ask them of yourself,” I say and then must press my lips together. ‘Twas a petty thing to say and not like to help matters.  I already I regret it.

And, indeed, it does not help, for Master Bachor’s face grows pinched and his voice rises. 

“My lady, believe it or no, I am your most loyal subject,” he says.  He takes up his stylus again and gestures about the table with its tip.  “Every one of us here must field our folks’ complaints.  Already, I am strained to my limit in your defense.  Should you have no satisfaction to give, I cannot account for our folk’s actions.  For, come the next hallmoot, should I have naught that satisfies them, I shall no longer be able to hold them back and they shall call for a vote for your removal from the Council.”

When I have no immediate reply, he rubs at his face and draws his hands from brow to the ends of the dark curls where he grasps tightly upon them at the back of his neck.  With a jerk, he pulls his hands free to slap his wax tablet closed upon itself, his face pained.

“I do not envy your position, Master Bachor,” I say and, when he turns a sour look upon me, raise my hand to forestall him.  “I speak not in bitterness, nor in jest, Elder.”

At this, I breathe deep and set aside my journal, grateful Bachor seems ill-disposed to speak further as he fumbles with the tablet’s embossed leather pouch.  Ai!  Should I not have somewhat of hope to offer, at the least I should give somewhat of reassurance he and the other Elders need not face our folk alone. I should say somewhat of my own fear, buttress their resolve with a call to faith in our lord, his kinsman, his men, and his House.  Surely, should I open my mouth, the words shall come to me.  They are no stranger to me. I have said them afore.

But the silence lengthens until it rings in my ears.  They wait and I can do naught but stare at the hearth in the midst of my lord’s hall, where his son’s toys lay scattered about it. 

Soon, I hear naught o’er the roaring in my ears and it seems the very air thins about us.  I know not what has its grip about my throat.  But it will not let me speak.  The words that crowd upon my tongue have naught to do with faith and forbearance.  Should I give them voice, I think I might just provoke Master Bachor into doing exactly as he has threatened. I struggle to draw breath to speak. 

“Mistress Nesta has begged the ear of the Council,” I say at last. 

They stir in their seats.  Elder Bachor stops with jabbing his stylus into the leather pouch and stares at me.

“What is her complaint?” asks Elder Fuller, when it seems Bachor shall not protest.

“She wishes to beg for expansion of the sickhouses and the setting and issuing of policies and practices to contain the spread of the coughing plague.”

This has their attention.  They shuffle upon the benches, making room so Mistress Nesta might sit amongst them.  Once Master Fuller ushers her from the great door, they attend closely.  But she will say naught we have not already beaten to a fine pulp, Pelara, Nesta, and I.  I have no quarrel with the Mistress and, indeed the need is great, but I cannot look upon her.  Nor can I listen. 

Bachor sits attentive, though his eyes are fixed upon the table.  He has wrapped a hand about his mouth and his eyes are grim.  He does not look upon me, though it is as all else of his being is trained upon me.  For I can do naught but stare at him.  

He bears about him signs of neglect as I had not seen afore. Threads at the edge of his sleeves have come loose and a thin line of grime besmirches the finely woven collar about his neck were afore he would not have permitted it.  He most oft goes cleanshaven, but a dark shadow lies upon his cheeks and jaw as I had not seen since the days after my sister’s death.  My thoughts are not upon him and I know he grows unnerved by my regard for the restlessness of his fingers upon the wood of my lord’s table, and yet I cannot drag my eyes away.

~oOo~

“If my Bronon and our Stevan do not return, I do not know what we shall do, my lady.”

The bench beneath Mistress Linnadis creaked, burdened as it was with her rocking and the young lad she had bundled in a blanket upon her lap.  ‘Twas little to be seen of him but the shock of his dark hair upon the wool and the pale sheen of sweat upon his brow and freckled nose.  Sunk deep in the sleep of a young child, his eyes fluttered atimes, but he roused neither with our soft speech, nor with the promise of food made to his brothers and sisters upon the start of our visit.  I doubt not they had bartered away much of what had been left for his care.  In the rotation of our visits, Mistress Pelara, Elesinda, and I, Elesinda had given report of his illness and his mother’s desperation for it.  They had lost an infant to ill health not long ago and she knew the terror of it when her son took to coughing. 

The mistress and I sat upon their bench, for it was the sole piece of furniture left to them.  What little light there was came through the lowset door that even her eldest child, a girl of ten years, must duck to get through.  They had ne’er had beds nor had they much to line the shelves behind their hearth.  The dirt floor had long ago cracked and crumbled beneath their feet, and they had not the curdled milk and lime-ash to restore it to its former hard polish.  But I had not seen their hall so bare as it was now.  A single room about the hearth, and they had blankets but naught of sleeping mats, nor tools, nor toys that I could see.  No wonder it was then the children’s father and his younger brother had volunteered to go aforaging, no matter the danger.  They would be allowed to keep up to one fourth of what they had culled. 

“Linnadis?” comes a soft, querulous voice from the far corner of the room where lies their sole mattress.  I had thought, at first, ‘twas a pile of blankets, but then it moved.  ‘Twas none other than Master Bronon’s own aged mother.  Her hair and face as white as the bedding on which she lay and her eyes clouded with the years, she seemed leeched of all color.  She lifted her head and tugging at the blankets about her with little effect, so weak was she. 

“Aye, Mother Herethil.  What need have you?”

She did not answer at first, pushing fretfully upon the blanket as were she attempting to rise and see to their guest.  “Who is it Linnadis?” she croaked.

“Get ye some rest, now, Mother,” said Mistress Linnadis.  “I have it.  You need not get up.”

Mistress Herethil peered uncertainly across bedding and hearth and I wondered at what she could make out.  “That’s naught but Mistress Elenir, is it?  Mistress is that ye?” she calls, raising her voice.  “Have you brought your little Laenor?  Such a darling thing, she is.”

“Not today, I am afraid, mistress,” I said. 

Mistress Herethil tutted and laid back down upon the mattress.  “She’ll turn all the Angle’s heads with those big, dark eyes of hers and head of curls, that one, you mark my words.  You bring her next time, aye? Such a pretty little thing.  Not seen her like in an age.” 

“Aye, Mother, rest now.  We shall have somewhat to eat later.”

Mistress Herethil frowned.  “I am not hungry,” she stated flatly.

“We shall see,” said Mistress Linnadis.

“We shall see.  We shall see.”  Mistress Herethil shuffled beneath her blankets and pulled them closer.  “I am not a child, whether you think or no,” she grunted irritably.

Mistress Linnadis said naught in response, but shook her head and rocked her son.

“Has she been like this for long?” I asked, my voice low. 

The mistress fussed with the blanket tucked about her son’s face.  “Nigh a fortnight, now.  ‘Tis useless to argue with her and bless ye for humoring her, my lady.  She’d had her bad days afore, but not like this.  In truth, I would not have thought she would have recalled your mother, my lady, she has been so bad.  Half the time she knows not e’en where she is, but cries for her own mother and father as were she a child.”

“Will she eat, do you think?” I ask and wondered should I have brought more of broth and less of bread. 

Mistress Linnadis sighed and, it seemed, could not speak for fear of what she might have to say. For ‘tis when hunger no longer bites that the danger is nearest.

“I know the hours of night are the hardest,” I went on when the silence between us lengthened, “when your belly is empty and your children crying, and there is naught in the night to comfort you.  Like mine, your men have set themselves a task for your betterment, and will not return until it is done.  But, do not despair.  We must keep the faith, aye?  We shall see them again.  And you are not alone.  We will see to things ere he returns.” 

She sniffed and nodded.  I supposed that must do. 

“I think it best we find a different pledgeholder for you and yours,” I said.  “What think you?”

“That blaggard!” she cried, roused from her despondency at the mention of him.  Had I thought she had not much to say, I now found myself sorely mistaken, for her voice rose as had I unstoppered a shaken bottle of ale.  “He has not done us as he should, has Master Gworon.  He sets naught to my complaints.  He will listen to none but my husband, as he has no oath to any other, he says.  Not that it did much of good when Bronon could get him to listen.  He claims there is naught he can do.  But, he knows you and your women come visiting and thinks he can ignore us and we be humored enough not to cause him trouble.  But there is little work with the harvests so poor and we’ve bartered or sold away all we could; even the children’s toys, my lady, though it broke my heart to do it.”  She paused to tuck the blanket more tightly about her son’s face, as it had loosened in her rocking him against her.  “Och, my lady.  Soon ye will have to sit upon the dirt with us should you come avisiting again.” 

“Should he wish, your husband can bring complaint against Master Gworon at the hallmoot once he is secure under another’s pledge. Indeed, I wish he would. ‘Tis not the first I have heard against him and other chiefs of the pledge.  It is sure to worsen should we give no heed to it.”

With this, I rose from the bench.  We shall come soon upon the even’s meal, and I could see naught of bread upon their shelves nor pottage upon their hearth for the mistresses or their children. 

“Shall I set the pease to cooking, Mistress?  Ye have your hands full, there, and I doubt that bit of bread shall hold your children long, aye?” 

“Oh, that’s a blessing,” she said, it seemed in great relief.  “An it not too much to beg of you, my lady, should ye remember the way of it, ye being the lady and all.  This is the first good sleep my Tinnon has gotten since he fell ill, and I would not wish to disturb him.” 

Her iron pot dangles o’er the hearth upon chains from the beam above our heads.  This, at least, she had not had to barter away quite yet. 

“I think I shall be able to muddle my way through it, Mistress,” I said, smiling.  What must she think I do with my days?

“Master Gworon will not like it much, my lady,” she said, pointing out the kindling in a wooden bin below the shelves behind us. “I have been to Elder Lorn twice, as it is.  Gworon will not take it kindly if there be a third.”

“He will have little he can do about it, now will he.” I suppose I must give thought to Master Gworon’s feelings upon the matter at some point, no matter the long history between us.  Elder Lorn has begged consideration for two others to be made pledgholders among his kin.  Mayhap there is somewhat could done about it in exchange. 

“You are not afraid he would do you harm, are you Mistress?” I asked and, at the thought, rose swiftly from where I picked out twigs and other such to restart her fire.

“Oh, he’ll be as uncivil as he pleases,” she said and waved a hand, “No, my lady, ‘tis against you he will speak and get them riled up again.”

I shrugged, dropping a log beside the hearth and kneeling there so I might stir the ashes in search of coals.  To my relief, the hearth gives off a faint warmth.  It seems, mayhap, they had somewhat to eat earlier in the day, should it not have been no more than hot water for a tea to keep their bellies feeling full. 

“So have I heard.  You need not concern yourself with it.  If they’ll talk, they’ll talk.”

“My lady, they say ye are not fit to lead the men of the Angle!  And that we’d not be in these straits were our lord home or it were a man of the Angle who said what would be done for it.  They will not like it, you interfering, as they see it, ye being both woman and Southron born."

At this, my breath stopped for the shock of it.  Ai!  I have grown unused to guarding my heart when speaking to the folk of the Angle, and the word stings.  For a moment, I could do naught but stared upon the small bit of glowing coal I had scooped from the bottom of their hearth. 

A thin trail of smoke arose from the bundle in my hand and then a burst of flame as the kindling caught alight.  I set it upon the nest of twigs I had laid upon the hearth and allowed myself the preoccupation of feeding the flames as they grew. 

“My lady, you’ve been naught but kind to me and mine.  There’s not a cotter on the Angle who would not say the same.  I will not lie to you.  We have not been more desperate, all of us.  It has happened afore for us with no land or our own, and will happen again and again.  ‘Twas naught but a bad chill, but I thought for sure my little Tinnon here was lost.  I’ll not regret a single thing we’ve traded away and, for my little ones, I will take what aid you would offer and bedamned my pride.  But it breaks my heart should it give them cause to act against you or the House.”

I peered up at the beams, puzzling out the mechanism by which to lower the pot closer to the hearth.  “Then we’ll go to Master Fimon first, eh?  He has fewer oathmen than most and not known to ally himself with the House,” said I.  “Master Gworon might still complain, but the move shall give them no cause for great alarm.  Will that do, Mistress?”

“Aye, my lady,” she said, pinching at her lip between her teeth.  “It may put them off for a little.”

I lifted the pot from the hook upon which it dangled and set it lower.  I had cooked the pottage down so I could fit more in the jar I brought.  It could use some water to thin it out and keep it from burning. 

“That will put my Bronon in the midst of them that talks against ye and the House, will it not?”

At this I halted in the act of reaching for the dipper floating in their water barrel by the door.  I stared at her, aghast.

“What are you suggesting?”

“We could give thee word of their doings,” she said, looking intently upon me. 

Ai!  “Nay!  You shall do no such thing!”  I turned my back to her and poured water to the now empty jar and swirl it about to loosen the last of the pottage, but still I could hear the small sound she made in response and the creak of the bench as she rocked her son.  ‘Twas clear I had not convinced her.

“‘Tis not for this I have given you aid or suggested a change in your pledgeholder,” I said, and, considering the matter done, poured the water from the jar into the pot. I held my skirts out of the way and kicked at the wood to encourage its burning. 

“Mayhap it should be.”

“You are a daughter of the Dúnedain of the North and I am sworn to your aid and protection, Mistress. Naught else.”

Ai!  She had set her mouth and though she would not dare give contradiction to the Lady of the Dúnedain, ‘twas clear she had her own thoughts on the matter.  I shook my head, but could think of naught else to do but searching about in my basket.

I set loaves of bread upon their shelf and stirred the pottage of pease, garlic scapes, and sorrel in the pot.  The wood had caught and the contents of the pot begun to warm.  The smell set my own mouth to watering, so thin had been our commons of late. 

“Who should I be speaking to should we hear somewhat?”

I sighed and, dropping my wooden spoon into the pot, returned to the bench where I could sit next to the Mistress.  “Should any of the Angle hear aught that is cause for alarm, they could speak to the baker.  He will get word to his father or Master Tanaes.”

She nodded, her look grim but determined.

“But you and your husband will not go looking for it,” I said.  “And only should there be plans to take action.  Talk has as much worth as the soles of a pauper’s shoes.  Swear to me, Mistress.  I’ll not have your blood on my hands either.” 

“Aye! Aye, my lady!” She lifted a hand as were it to ward away my ire. “Should it fall in our lap and give us alarm, then.” 

Oh, ai!  What have I done?  I rubbed at my brow. 

Ah, there is naught for it, now she has set her mind to it.  I can only hope she shall not be made to suffer for her aid. 

I have replaced the lid to the jar and wrapped it tight in the linen in which it had been bundled.  It sits snug in my basket and I had given the pot one last stir, but I still could not bring myself to leave.  And so, I sat beside the mistress, pulling the basket up to where it nudged against my ankle. 

“Why would you risk this?” I asked and Mistress Linnadis left off watching the pease as they began to bubble about the edges of the pot. 

“My lady, ye have given me naught but sign you care deeply for those of the Angle, be you of here or no, and are doing all within your power to give us aid,” she said and shrugged a little.  “Should ye not have done more, then ‘tis because you cannot.” 

Ai!  Were it as simple as that.

“I have but one thing to beg of you, my lady.”

“What is it?”  I turned to her the better to see her, wedging my hands in my skirts between my knees for want of knowing what else to do with them.

“I want peace, my lady,” she said, though her voice sounded small and tired. “When this is done, and our lord returned, or, Valar forbid, he has given it his last and we are not to see him again, then I want peace.  I want my children grown in a world where the shadow means naught but cool air and the blessedness of sleep about the hearth at night.”  She glanced at the small face tucked at her breast and grimaced, her eyes filling quickly.  The boy had stirred a little, but now drew a long, sighing breath and stilled.  It seemed she was done, but she then cleared her throat and blinked back tears.  “That is what I want, my lady.” 

She huffed out a breath and returned to slowly rocking her son.  “And should I have to risk a mob of men turning upon me and dragging me from out my hut in order to achieve it for my children, and I shall see naught of it, I would do it still.  Good luck to them, I say.  We are not beasts as should let the Unnamed turn us into such.”  “My Bronon would say the same,” she insisted. 

“The door’s too small for all them to get in at once, anyway,” she added wryly. 

At this I startled into laughter and the tears that had come with her plea blinded me for a moment.  She joined me, ducking her head against the blanket wrapped about her son.

“We’d just strike them on the head as soon as they stick their noses beyond the door,” she said, giggling and making a chopping motion with her hand and then wiping at her eyes with the blanket. “The children can’t come in more than one at a time as it is, and they not full grown.” 

“Mayhap I should get you a good ax, then.”

“Mayhap,” she allowed. “We are in need of one. I have bartered that away as well.”  This sets us to giggling and tears yet again. 

“Aye, I shall add it to the list, then.” 

“Oh, aye,” she sighed and snugged the bundled boy more closely to her. 

“Well, until the hallmoot, when all is settled,” I said, and wiped my eyes clear, “I will continue to visit, bench or no, information or no, and we shall see you through until your menfolk’s return, and pray their foraging successful.”  I rose to my feet.  “I think we can get you sleeping mats for the floor to replace those you have bartered away.  Come to me ere you are tempted to trade those away, too, will you?”

She nodded, drying her eyes and sniffing.

“Mistress Tenera has need of help with her wash, could you take that in?”

“Aye, my lady, should she give me the soap and barrel to do it with.  I’ve not that, either, anymore,” she said, with a wry, wet laugh.  “My eldest, Iessel and I could do it, with the help of the little ones.”

“Good, then I will speak to her and recommend you.”  With a nod, then, I left the Mistress at her hearth.  There she rose, clutching her son close to her breast, gave the pot a good stir, and spoke softly to her son. 

“My thanks to thee for thy aid this day,” I said to Edainion once we were set upon the path home.  I smiled upon him and smoothed my hand through his curls as we walked.  “You did well, onya.” 

Edainion’s smile was a small thing that he hid in the turning of his face away, but his mother saw it and it made her smile all the more upon him. 

For he had done well.  After the midday meal, we had visited four houses upon the Angle where the need was greatest.  He had either stayed and answered questions put to him with the solemnity that brought a light to the adults’ eyes where they crowded about to greet him, or played with the infants out of doors and kept them engrossed in eating somewhat of what we had brought while his elders talked.

“Did you get aught to eat while I was inside?” I asked.

He shook his head and left off throwing and picking up a rock that had caught his interest.  “They were very hungry.”

Ai!  I think I had somewhat left of the dried venison, bland and unflavored though it was. 

It seems my lord’s son had too much of his father’s quick mind.  For he had too soon discerned that I filled his bowl with that which had been sacrificed from both mine and Halbarad’s meals.  I had paid for it with several days of sullen looks and the boy’s insistence upon measuring the contents of our meals with an exacting nicety.  In its stead, then, I took to secreting crackers, dried meats and nuts about my person and pressing them upon Edainion at such times as he gave the slightest appearance of hunger. 

Halbarad, too, begged of my lord’s men that they spend their journeys back to the Angle gathering what they could or hunting.  This they had done willingly and reserved the best of what they found for their lord’s son, bringing him berries and roots and other such gleanings under the guise of instructing him in their finding and preparation.  They took great joy in it, looking upon their lord’s son with a warm light in their eyes and fondness in their voices.

I stopped and, setting the basket upon the ground, bent to it.  Ranger Saer, under the implied threat I would report my displeasure with him yet again to his captain, had carried it when full.  He now hung back and paced the width of the path, making much of keeping watch.  I had not asked it of him to carry it now that it weighed considerably less. 

“You did not let them eat it all at once, did you?”

“No, Ammë, I did what you said.”

“Good,” I said.  There!  I had found it, wrapped in a bit of cloth, I hold out the last of the venison, small though the pieces were. 

The venison is well-dried, for we had not salt for its curing and could not trust to the wet weather to keep the mold from it.  It takes some chewing and occupied my lord’s son for the next little as we walked.  We come nigh to the fall fields.  There, high upon the rise to our left, Master Herdir bent to check the grain growing there.  He rubbed it briskly between his hands and squinted about.  I thought him poorly satisfied, for he shook his head and wiped his hands against his breeches, scanning the furrows below where he stood.  Water yet pooled between their narrow lines and the soil about was dark and damp.  I doubt very much the barley and oats have had much chance to mature in all this wet.  I can only hope they shall not rot in the fields ere we have the chance to harvest them.

“What will you do if Master Bronon is dead and they do not come back?” Edainion asked, squinting up at me against the sun.

“What I can,” I said and shook my head.  For it would sure to be little comfort against what privation and grief they would suffer should such a thing come to pass.  “Ensure she has work and place.  She has some distant kin here, though they are as bad off as she.  She could be placed under the shelter of their oath, should they take her.  Her kin are dependent upon Elder Fuller, and he sees to those under his oath as best he is able.   And then hope no further misfortune befalls them.”

I was unsure what sense he made of it, but my lord’s son returned to gnawing upon the largest of the pieces of venison without any further questions on the matter. 

“But we shall pray for Master Bronon and Master Stevan’s health, aye?” I asked and nudged at his shoulder for a response.  “And for the safe return of those of our folk who have been brave enough go beyond the two rivers aforaging.” 

“Aye, Ammë,” he responded dutifully, sparing a glance for me. 

Master Herdir has returned to his cart with his piebald mare.  There he took up the reins and, as is his wont, clicked to her rather than giving her a slap with the reins.  Well-practiced as they are in it, it took not much to set her to a steady walk and him to leaning with the swinging of his cart o’er the uneven turf.  I shall have to ask him for his report on the wheat and hope it is better than what I could see of the oat and barley.  

“May I have my men back and play in the woods with my friends, now?”

“Ah-ho!” said I and turned my full attention upon him to find my lord’s son gazing at me earnestly.  “And is this why you have been so biddable today?”

He may have presented a face devoid of all but the most innocent of looks, but he did not fool me, my lord’s son.  For he no doubt tired of his punishment, deserved though it was.

“You said should I be good and did as you bid, I could have them back.”

“Aye and earned back my trust twofold for every lie you told.  You would have at the least another full day of it ere that happens.”

It takes not much to discern Edainion’s thoughts on the matter, for he stopped with his chewing and gave me a look though the sides of his eyes that was easily read.

Glancing quickly behind me, I lowered my voice.  “You cannot give Ranger Saer the slip, onya.  We could not find you and knew not where you were until well after the even’s meal.  ‘Tis too much of a danger.” 

It did little, for my lord’s son did naught but cut his eyes at me.  I doubt not he tires of Ranger Saer’s company as much as his mother does, but, until another can replace the man, ‘tis our burden to bear.

“Ah!  I will speak of it no more.  You know what I would say as well as I, I have said it so oft.”

“Aye, Ammë,” he said and sighed as had I little wit to discern the unfairness of what I had visited upon him. 

“’Do not go beyond the pasture wall,’” he said, mocking a lecturing tone as best as his young voice was able.  “’Do not go into the Angle without Ranger Saer.  Do not hide in Mistress Pelara’s barn.  Do not shoot tipped arrows unless you are with Ranger Saer or Halbarad.  Go not into the paddock with your father’s warhorse else you be trampled.  It takes but one fall from the drystone wall and you will regret the pain for the rest of your living days.’”

Ai!  The child has far too much of his father in him.  I shook my head and must bite at my lip to forebear from laughing. 

“Aye,” I said, “and do not forget ‘Go not into the pigsty, for thou art made of honey and plums and all things sweet, and art very tasty to them.’”

“Ammë!” he cried, laughing.  “Never didst thou say that.”

“Verily, but, truly,” said I, “go not into the pigsty.”  Ah, Valar know what ideas I have just given the child, but he snorted and cast about for another rock now he has done with eating. 

“I have no wish to muck about with the pigs, Ammë.”

“And lest thou forgetest, ‘Do not strike thy sister with a blade be it blunt or no.’”

“I did not do it apurpose!” he cried, though he was quick to drop his gaze from mine. 

“I am aware.  And yet still she bears thy mark,” I said and pointed out a stone at the side of the path.  Smooth and rounded it was, and of a good size for his hand.  It had the added benefit of lying in the grass upon the verge where he would not need to dig it out from the mud of the path.  I would have enough work cleaning his breeches and boots from the look of it.

“You should be more thoughtful of what is around you whether training or in play.  You will need that skill as much as the others.  I can think of at least two conflicts betwixt our folk that could have been avoided had the men involved a better mind to what they did.” 

He sighed and bent to the stone, no doubt tired of my lecturing. 

“I know thou art weary of them, onya.  But ‘tis our charge to keep thee safe. And until I trust thee will abide by the rules we set thee –“

I know not what else I had in mind to say or what my son may have replied, for upon rising, he halted and stared at the path behind us.  Ranger Saer drew his blade and stood upon the path between us. 

‘Twas only now I heard it, the rush of a horse’s hooves coming upon us.   Dull they rumbled upon the damp earth toward us.  Clinging tightly to his mount’s neck, ‘twas a youth under Ranger Haldren’s care.  Even now, I could see the grey sheen of fatigue on the youth’s face and the laboring of his horse’s breath.  He has been careful not to overtax the beast, but, still ‘tis clear they are both at their limit. 

“No!” cried my lord’s son once we sent the youth on with his message for Mistress Nesta.  Edainion pulled on my arm.  “I am not an infant to be sent home!”

“Ai!  Onya!” I cried and attempted to wrest my arm from his grip.  “I have not the time to wrestle with you over this.”

“But I can help!” he cried and clung the tighter. 

‘Young master,” said Ranger Saer, “thou shouldst listen to thy lady mother.”

He had come near and reached a hand to take my son by his wrist. 

“Thou touchest my son and I shall have thee whipped and cast from our lord’s service!”

Mayhap I was too harsh, but I have little time and Ranger Saer little inclination to give much weight to my commands.  His hand snapped away and his face fell into sullen lines I have seen too oft afore.

“I shall tell thee when I have need of thee,” I said, and he nodded tersely and stepped back. 

Taking a deep breath, I knelt afore my lord’s son.  If naught else, I have shocked the child into releasing his hold upon me and now have the chance to speak more calmly to him. 

“I am going, too,” Edainion said.  “I know all the herbs, now, and their uses.  I can make poultices and bandages on my own.  Mistress Nesta e’en said so.”

“Onya, listen to me.”  I laid my hands upon his arms and he fell silent at my touch.  “It does you credit, you wanting to help, onya.  Had you a few more years, there would be no question to it, and I would be proud to allow it.  But, my child, there will be much of blood and broken men, and death, and screaming for the pain of it.”

At this, his eyes started with tears and he plucked at the cloth of my sleeves.  “But is that not why I should help?  Are they not attarinya’s men?  You say we owe them a debt that must be paid, no matter the cost. They will be my men one day.  They are hurt.  I want to help.”

Ai!  My lord’s son knows my weaknesses and uses them well.  For, aye, in truth, I would wish him to hold the fate of his father’s men close in his thoughts, though it had begun to weigh heavily upon the child with so little he could give to their aid.  And so little had the folk of the Dúnedain to buttress their hearts, ‘twas all the harder to say nay to such a plea.  

Mayhap ‘twas not too late, though my heart clenched at the thought.  Should I beg it of Halbarad, he could send to the Hidden Vale and determine the state of its lords’ temper, and my son need not learn just what costs his father’s men pay for their loyalty. 

“Aye, very well,” I said. 

“Truly?” His face brightened of a sudden, though he searched my face.

“Aye, but,” said I, and here I took my child by his arms and gave him a strong shake.  “Hearken to me!” I demanded and he sobered.  “Thou shalt stay in the Mistress’ workshop.  Thou mayest prepare what is needful there and naught else.  No errands.  No slipping into the surgery where wounds shall be treated.  I care not what you hear.  I care not what any elder may tell thee to do, even should it be Mistress Nesta herself.  Thou shalt obey only my wishes in this.  And should I say to thee ‘go!,’ go thou must, without protest or lagging behind.”

He nodded swiftly, I think just grateful to be allowed the chance.  “Aye, Ammë.”

“And above all else, onya, do not step even one foot into the sickhouse!  Do you understand?”

“Aye,” he said, smiling. 

“Do not make light of this, Edainion.  You must swear it!  An you are foresworn I shall not trust your word until you have earned it back thricefold.  Should you have thought your penance burdensome afore, I shall hold you to it until you are sick with weariness from it.”

“Aye, Amminya.  I swear it.”

“Very well,” I said, rising to my feet.  “Mistress Nesta shall need honey, for we had the last of it with our tea, do you remember?”

He nodded. 

“Know you where you can beg some?”

He nodded again, his face lighting with purpose.  “Aye, Ammë.  Lothel’s father has some.  He let me have a little when I was with Elesinda.”

“Then take Ranger Saer with you and bring it to the Mistress’ workshop, aye?  Should he not have enough, then go first to those houses of your father’s men to beg more.”

“Ranger Saer?” I called and stepped away from my lord’s son with a firm look that kept him in place.

“My lady, the captain says I am to stay with you.  He says –“

“You will do as I bid,” I said, my voice low.  “It seems it has not occurred to you, but my word supersedes that of Ranger Halbarad, be he kinsman of our lord or no.  You will obey it.”

The Ranger nodded, dropping his eyes and raising his fingers to his brow in formal salute.

“And listen closely to me in this,” I said, moving nearer still until I could stare directly into his downcast eyes and nigh feel his breath upon me.  “You will not put a hand on my son unless it is to save him from grievous harm.  Should you have complaint of him, you are to come to me.  Else I shall take the whip to you, myself.”

“Aye, my lady,” he said, and I did not wait to see had he more to say. 

~oOo~