~ Chapter 49 ~

“Soon after a deadly plague came with dark winds out of the East. The King and all his children died, and great numbers of the people of Gondor, especially those that lived in Osgiliath. Then for weariness and fewness of men the watch on the borders of Mordor ceased and the fortresses that guarded the passes were unmanned.

Later it was noted that these things happened even as the Shadow grew deep in Greenwood, and many evil things reappeared, signs of the arising of Sauron.”

Appendix A: Annals of the Kings and Rulers

~oOo~

~ TA 3017, 14th day of Yavannië:  No entry

~oOo~

So small, the grave.  So meager the handful of earth I hold. 

I recall little of the gathering of folk in my lord’s hall.  There came the Elders of the Council, the pledgeholders of the Angle, and my lord’s men and their kin. The hall warmed with the company and filled with their voices as had not since I wedded my lord.  Aye, there was food I did not make, stories I did not tell, and singing in which I did not raise my voice. No words had I for Master Bachor when he would offer his sympathies.  Nor could I bring myself to look upon him, until he, unnerved, bowed o’er my hand and let me be.  I did not stand beside the bier of pine boughs and fine, wrapped linens set beneath the banner of silk, nor watched when Ranger Halbarad laid the last of the small toys he had carved upon it.  For it had been my hands alone that had washed my son and, at the last, pressed the bit of wet earth to his brow.  I had forbidden any other hand to help. It is this I recall best, and the smell of spoiled wine that yet lingered in the solar, the sound of the keening as it echoed in the high rafters of my lord’s hall, and the sight of his chair, barren and set aside, as should not be.

In this he is unlike my father, for I see him framed in the dark earth upon which he lies, and he is my son.  It is the face I know, from newborn infant with his wide, unblinking stare to the boy who tagged behind his father's footsteps and turned his eager face up to catch a glimpse of the warm light reflected in his father's eyes.  

My hand wavers above the open earth and my fingers are as roots of trees as have wormed their way through the rubble that is our fallen towers.  I cannot open them.  Indeed, they clasp the dirt in my palm the harder.  When silt trickles from between my fingers and alights upon the cloth that covers my son, my fist snatches itself back to my breast.  There it feels as a rock pressing upon me and I can neither breathe nor remove my hand. 

"My lady," I hear whispered behind me and hands reach for my arm, but I wrench myself away from their touch.

Bitter is the taste in my mouth, a dust of days spent in labor upon fruitless fields. 

"Let her go," comes the deep, gentle murmur. 

An arm catches me about the shoulders. I turn to see a face framed in silvered hair and cheeks streaked with the pearl of shed tears, and I know her, a woman of the Dúnedain, as am I.   "Daughter," she once called me long ago in this very place.  It is she that walks with me now upon one side, Pelara, and with her, Nesta, upon the other, ever my companions in this my path through the entering of the circles of this world and the leaving of it. 

Together, we stumble through the forest of tall evergreens, I pulling against their firm step with my unsteady feet.  Soft footfalls follow us, and I think Halbarad has sent one of his youths behind to guard me. 

I stand in the sunlight, blinking as had I emerged from the darkness of the buttery on the brightest summer's day.  Dust stains the front of my dress and my hand remains clutched there.  Deep and painful within my fist are the folds of the small purse I yet wear about my neck, for I have clutched it tightly through dress and shift until I think my hand frozen there. 

A tall shadow falls o’er my eyes and I stare at the grave face that considers me.

"Halbarad," say I, and then words fail me.  For he sent himself, no other, and I think only he has missed the building of the mound and the setting of the stones to mark its place, he who had every right to see it to the end and put his mark upon it had he wished.  

I think they fed me a tea of balm and valerian laced with stronger drink, there in Elder Maurus' hall, one cup after another until the very smell sickened me and I pushed their hands away.  Mayhap they hoped I would break and shed the tears they sought, but I do not recall weeping. 

Soft come low voices from within the Elder’s inner rooms through my drunken haze.  I know not what they say, but I know they speak of me.  They would have me stay within these walls, but I want none of it.  E’er had I risen unsteadily to my feet and e’er had they begged it of me.  ‘Twas not until I shouted for them to leave me be and flung the Mistress’ pitcher against the wall did they cease. 

The old man sits across his table from me and I do naught but stare at his eyes.  Deep they seem with years and the things he has seen.  A viscous smell of spilled tea, honey, and distilled rye beer clings to the very air.  He makes no attempt at reasoning, nor asks me what I wish, but returns my gaze and, taking my hand in his, clasps it in his rough grip. 

Thus we stayed until Halbarad returned, and I listened to the sounds of my infant daughter’s crying from within. 

I know not from whence, but Halbarad found me a mount.  There I cling to the saddle as he leads us through the Angle’s square and upon the path to my lord’s hall.  He is silent and the mare biddable, walking at his shoulder as the reins hang in his loose grip. 

The sun has passed to the west, the day wearing on ere we started upon our journey, and his rays wink from behind the swaying canopy.  For the wind blows fitfully upon us and sings through the pines.  Shadows slip lightly upon the path, the boughs above our heads bending to the wind and sending their last season’s needles to drift upon the air. There they float about us and catch the sun. Slender and golden and glinting they follow us and dance to the soughing of the wind coming to us from far away across the seas. 

There upon the barrows it seemed even the dim sun was over-bright and hurt my eyes.  Dark was the hair of he who bent in the dazzling light of the day to capture somewhat had spilled from some granddam's basket and broad were his shoulders.  Clothed as he was in the garb of the Rangers, I started and stared.  Had my lord returned to the Angle and not told me?  Would my son have the comfort of his father at the last?  But then he rose and turned about, and it was not he, nor not much like, either. 

Ah, my treacherous heart would lie to me.  Lie it had and lie it would e’en now should I let it.  No truth was there to be found in its tell-tale beating.  And I, betrayed by its deceit, dispelled the speech of my heart and knew my waiting was in vain.   

Little did I know, but the fitfulness of mind that came upon me that day among the barrows heralded the beginning of a fever that left me burning and muddled of thought.  I coughed until I thought sure I had no lungs left and oft awoke with a start in the middle of the night, my heart racing and gasping for breath as had I emerged from beneath deep waters. 

Long swathes of the swell of light and dark fill my memories of this time, broken by the glimpse of a face, hands urging me to movement, the taste of wine made bitter in its fermenting, or the weak thrusting of bedclothes from atop me when over-hot and long moments of shivering when I was chilled. I would not swear to it, but I see Halbarad, that quiet face as cold and hard as stone and within which were set eyes so bleak they seem untouched by the rushlight in the darkened solar where he sits upon the head of the stairs. 

In the long reaches of the darkened hours between memory, I dreamed of the sharp goad of fear and the search for a child I could not see.  Cries echoed amidst the weight of stone upon stone shifting with the bitter winds of chance, walls creaking and groaning beneath the assault. These dreams in turn gave way to the sound of waves upon a rocky shore and the cries of gulls and small birds piping.  High walls of stone reached above the surf and rose in waves to a height that stood as the head of a great ship breaking upon the water.  Light poured down upon the city below from the battlements as had a star descended to rest upon its high prow. There I wandered through stone halls as had I the oversight as to their apportioning, the installment of furnishings upon the walls and in rooms that opened from them, the laying of the table for the feast welcoming the king and his court, and the assignment of where they would lay their heads. 

Mistress Nesta was, as might be thought, relentless with her foul poultices and badgering, but when I became too weak to hold even the lightest of spoons, she fed me herself.  That first morn upon my waking when I felt strong enough to attempt the stairs, it was to find the hall empty but for Halbarad.  There he sits at my lord's table.  I would have thought him at work, but no parchments, maps, or journals litter the table.  Instead, he clasps his hands upon its bare surface, his thumbs working against each other and his eyes trained upon the many-rayed star rising above a becalmed sea, set as it is in silk behind my lord's empty chair. 

He turns about when my footsteps announce my entrance and then swiftly he rises, his face open and startled.

"I want my daughter," was all I said and Halbarad drew himself up tall and bowed, his face stern. 

~oOo~