~ Chapter 51 ~

“Denethor started as one waking from a trance, and the flame died in his eyes, and he wept; and he said: ‘Do not take my son from me! He calls for me.’

‘He calls,’ said Gandalf, ‘but you cannot come to him yet. For he must seek healing on the threshold of death, and maybe find it not. Whereas your part is to go out to the battle of your City, where maybe death awaits you. This you know in your heart.’

‘He will not wake again,’ said Denethor. ‘Battle is vain. Why should we wish to live longer? Why should we not go to death side by side?’

‘Authority is not given to you, Steward of Gondor, to order the hour of your death,’ answered Gandalf.”

ROTK: The Siege of Gondor

~oOo~

~ TA 3017, 1^st day of Narquelië:  In all, one third total of grain stored upon the Angle lost to the rot.  May the Valar have pity on us.

~oOo~

It has turned cold o’er the night. 

Frost painted the dawn’s touch upon the pasture in ghostly colors upon our rising.  Though the sun rises to lay the shadow of my lord’s house upon us, still but softly does the meadow rise behind our backs.  Light and shadow play upon the folk gathering upon my lord’s toft for the scudding of clouds overhead.  Steadily they join us there; the men of the jury, Elder Tanaes the Head of the Council, Halbarad as my lord’s kin and captain of his Rangers, and I, sitting in my lord’s chair, awaiting them.  

Here we wrap ourselves warmly, for the wind, the pitiless herald of winter, rides swiftly o'er the meadows and rattles the dark leaves in the branches overhead.  Winter awaits at the rim of the Wild and breathes upon us, and we are eager to finish all business ere it comes to keep us company.

My hand aches where I cradle it in my lap.  The pain had not made itself known until I was home and rested a little after the noon meal, so weary had I been.  Mistress Nesta declared the bones not broke, but wrapped my hand in cloths cooled with water from the garden well and a poultice she brought with her, and prescribed rest for it. 

Elder Tanaes leans against the drystone wall of my lord’s pasture, propping himself upright with his borrowed staff.  There he husbands his strength, his breathing loud enough to be heard faintly from where I sit.  I doubt not his night a restless one and he already weary himself from the day.

Most oft, there is much merriment and gossip ere the Angle takes up the business of the hallmoot, and children run and make mischief about the knees of their elders.  But there is little of that today.  Instead, if there is speech, it is quietly spoken and quickly stilled.

Soon, such Elders as do not sit with the jury stand scattered about the toft, with their pledgeholders, oathmen, and families gathered about them.  Others, too, with no pledge to claim them stand there, but many have found their way to clusters made of ties of family and clans about their chosen híril and hîr, a thing new to the Angle. 

Elder Maurus’ oathmen cluster about Mistress Pelara and all of her kin and friends, as many as she could muster to stand with her. There with them, too, stands Mistress Nesta and her folk, and I must wonder who tends to the sick, so many of them have traveled hither.  I suppose I should not be surprised.  They would have the most intimate knowledge of the aftermath of the issues at hand, and would wish their voices heard.

Elder Maurus has dragged himself from beneath his bed's covers, though it seems he brought most of them with him so he may still be well-wrapped in their wool.  He clutches the head of his staff and peers out at the folk from where he sits upon a bench with the jury beneath the great oak.

Elder Bachor stands in his favored place upon the far edge of the toft, with more of the wandering folk about him then I can recall from afore.  Whatever their quarrels, Master Fimon stands nearby amidst his fellow chiefs of the pledge.  So, mayhap, ‘twas not he who crippled the granaries.  Should any of the other men beholden to Master Bachor have fled o’er the night, I cannot tell and am hard put to marshal my thoughts to worry at it.

Master Bachor was much occupied after we spoke in Master Herdir’s cart, or so I have heard said.  Well into the night, he traveled from house to house of those whose oaths he held.  I know not what he found, other than the rumors of my wrath whispered amidst speculations as to Halbarad’s orders. 

Some say our lord’s kin called for the Rangers to return to the Angle.  There he would set them upon its folk until they offered up the men who had assaulted the granaries.  Some say Halbarad has already discovered who they are and recalled Ranger Haldren to see to what the Lady willed of their fate.  These tales I know, for I had the telling of them and set them to Mistress Linnadis to repeat.  Should Bachor have found somewhat else, I care not, and have not asked. 

Elder Tanaes' voice is but a distant sound.  He calls for the review of the pledge and the men move upon the toft. 

Ai.  Should I ne'er eat another pea in my life, I shall count myself blessed.  I can no longer abide the taste of them.  Should I have my choice, I think I shall ne'er plant a field of the foul things again. 

I had naught but pease to offer Mistress Pelara for yesterday’s midday meal, and I shall have little else but them to prepare for today.  I had left them for the last, though it seemed now to no great purpose.

Halbarad had joined us.  Our planning done, the mistress and I, and he done with his shouting, we had eaten in silence.  For Halbarad had taken one look at the sword I bore and the wound upon my face when I returned from the granary, and stormed from the hall. 

He said little over our meal, but seemed to be deep in thought.  ‘Twas not until the meal was done, did he speak. 

“Forgive me, my lady,” he had said, toying with the spoon in his empty bowl.  “I should have listened more closely to your concerns.”

I startle alert at the sudden hush and faces turned to me.  The men upon the toft have come to a stillness, Master Tanaes done with the call to the pledge and the men done raising their voices in answer.

I push myself to standing.

"Aye, in my lord's place, I do," I say.  "I, Nienelen, wife to Aragorn, Lady of the Dúnedain, speak as my lord commands.  I accept your pledge and shall uphold your rights and hold you to your responsibilities as ever have my lord's fathers, the Lords of the Dúnedain, the Kings of Arnor, and the Faithful of Númenor."

I reach behind me and ease my body to my lord's chair, for Halbarad has carried it from the hall and set it under the great oak that spreads o’er the pasture walls.  There he stands behind me, as silent and steadfast as the tree under which we are set. 

So, that is done. 

I clear my throat and swallow to suppress the resulting itch in my throat.  Ah, but I hope I shall not be much called upon to rise from my seat ere the real work of the hallmoot begins.

Elder Tanaes looks to me, but I do not speak nor in any way urge him on.  He knows what I want, without any need for me to say it.  Or, rather, he knows what I would have him do, and that is enough.  And so, he calls to the folk of the Angle. 

"We come now to the concerns of the Angle," he begins and, wiping at his brow, draws a great breath to be heard the better by those upon the far fringes of the crowd.  "Ere we hear claim of the breaking of our lord's law and the Angle's custom, we have need for the people to consider a grave matter.  'Tis a bitter thing, but you have heard rumor of the waste that is now a portion our harvest.  It is true, this thing.”

There is little surprise to be seen among the folk of the Angle, though, still, a muttering arises upon the toft. 

Master Tanaes coughs, twisting aside ere he continues. 

“Attend ye, now!” he calls and they quiet a little.  “The Council wishes to put afore you the question of rationing what we have left of this year's harvest amongst all our folk."

At this, voices rise among the crowd, though no one is louder than the other and I cannot make out their words.  The folk stir, shifting upon their feet and straining to look upon us and each other.  A shuffling upon the far end of the toft draws the eye.  I do not look at it.

"I did not agree to this!"

Ah. I had but to dangle the string.   

Good.  I am ready.

I release a slow breath and ease my back to my lord’s chair, my hands resting in my lap.  The leather of Halbarad’s long vest creaks behind me, but he says naught, nor does he move more than the crossing his arms and shifting upon his feet. 

Master Bachor strides to the middle of the open lawn between jury and the folk of the Angle, fury writ large upon his face.  Even ere Elder Tanaes was done, had he begun to push his way through the crowd where he had stood in claim of his oathmen's pledge. 

"Is it not the custom of the charter such things should be put afore the Council first, Tanaes?" he demands once he comes to a halt. 

Ah, he may address the head of the Council, but he bears his gaze full upon me.  He knows I am the author of this thing.  There could be no other.  Were he not in full view of the Angle, I think we would hear harsher words from him.  They crowd behind his stiffened jaw.  

"So we did," says Elder Tanaes.  "But you were not there to know of it."

At this, Master Bachor lets loose a sharp huff of laughter and looks upon Tanaes and I with much bitterness.

“As per the Angle’s charter,” I say, “a majority of the Council attended and thus it was decided, Elder Bachor.” 

“You did not have the votes for it, my lady, when last this matter was raised,” Bachor says, jerking his chin my direction, “even should I not have attended.”

“As is allowed in times of great strife, the Lady has declared the Angle’s charter void and the lord’s law in precedence,” says Tanaes from where he leans heavily upon his staff.

“Indeed.” 

Bachor’s arms have come to wrap about themselves at his breast and he nods, turning away and sparing me but a fleeting glance.  Should I credit it, for the sudden light that shines upon them, it would seem that tears start up in his eyes. 

“No wonder it is, then, you did not wish me there,” he says.

“I do not order your comings and goings, Elder Bachor.”

He spits his next words at me.  “It seems your invitation went astray, my lady.” 

“I would hear your complaints, but I am afraid they are ill-timed.  The Council has voted.  The matter is decided.  I cannot help should you have been too otherwise occupied to attend to it.”

At this, he says naught, but a pained look flashes upon his face ere his eyes narrow upon me. It is as though the gears of his mind slowly click into place as I watch. 

“Is that your price to withdraw the vote, my lady?”

“Have you discovered the men who damaged the granaries?”

He hesitates, his eyes darting to the gathering of folk. 

I examine his face, wondering should he truly think I wish the men hauled from the crowd so I might dispense swift justice upon them.  And swift it would need to be, for, given the events of yestermorn, I cannot vouch for the temper of the folk of the Angle and know not if the men would survive their journey through their ranks. 

“Yes,” he says. 

And when I rise from my lord’s chair, he goes on, “I am prepared to name them, should we come to terms.  But not here!”

“Calm yourself, Elder,” I say, raising my voice.  “You have naught I wish.  I have no need to barter for what is already mine.

“Your lord’s law is in precedence,” I go on, making my way to him where he stands.  “Should I wish it, I could bid my lord’s men seize any and all fruits of our harvest.  I have but to order it, and under the threat of their swords they could empty every granary, every storehouse, every root cellar, and every pantry and you would have no recourse.” 

I stab at the grounds with my finger. “I could command it be piled here upon my lord’s field afore you,” I say, coming to a halt.  “And should I deem it necessary for the good of the Dúnedain, I would be within my rights to burn it all.” 

I do not know what he expected from me, but it is not this.  For he has remained still and silent, tense with waiting.  Now I have drawn near, his hand comes upon my wrist.  There he pulls me in close and speaks low. 

“I beseech thee, do not do this, Nienelen,” he says, watching me intently, pity in his look.  “It need not come to this.  Do not force my hand.”

“Oh, Bachor,” I say and sigh ere I am caught up with laughter.  “What do you think we are about today?”

He stares at me as had I gone mad, but it only makes me laugh the louder. 

“What is it you wished?” I ask between bouts of strained mirth.  “Had you thought you could keep the threat to unseat me as a tool for negotiation?  To keep it to hushed conversations behind doors that are closed, and you could use it force me to step down so I might preserve the dignity of the House and retreat to a safe position? You thought you could thrust the House from its seat and keep it bloodless?”

I take a step back but hold his eye and speak so that any who might wish could hear.  “What is it you wished?  To call a vote of your own?”

“Aye,” I say.  “Let us do that, then.  Let us call a vote.”  I wrench my arm from his grip and turn my back to him.

Confusion arises from the men of the jury, their voices loud and ringing against the meadow behind us.  I heed them not as I pass.  Loudest comes Elder Lorn.  I cannot discern his words for the shouting of the men about him, but his face is dark with shock.  ‘Tis then comes the sharp crack of the head of Maurus’ cane upon the wood of the bench upon which he sits.  High he raises it and brings it down again and again upon the wooden bench with a force belied by the trembling of his arm.  He does not cease until all is silence about him. 

“Our lord’s law is in precedence,” he says and, gasping for breath for the effort it took him to gain their attention, paws at his woolen wraps in attempt to draw them about himself again. “Should the Lady wish to call a vote against the House, she has the right to do so without our consent or consultation.”

"Give me your sword," I say.  For I look neither upon Elder Maurus, the jury, nor Bachor.

No man comes armed to the hallmoot but he who stands in the place of captain of the Rangers, he who would guard his lord's wife and do her will in his place.

"Are you not your lord's man?" ask I. "Your sword, Ranger of the North." 

Halbarad must trade looks with Bachor, for so flicks his gaze o’er my shoulder there.  I doubt not Bachor pleads with Halbarad to deny me and, indeed, I see it in the Ranger’s face.  For on it I see not the fear and wrath I had thought I would find, but sorrow.  It darkens his eyes as they look upon me. 

I am sure Halbarad unsure of my wisdom in disarming him at such a moment.  It stiffens the skin beneath his eyes and the sinews of his jaw.  But, without word and without change of expression, my lord’s kin loosens his sword from its housing, and meeting my eyes steadily as he slides it free, offers its hilt. 

I have not unlearned the strength I no longer have and, when he releases it, I must clutch at it to keep the weapon from falling onto the turf.    

I approach, albeit slowly.  Master Bachor watches, his face grim and a muscle upon his cheek ticking.  It seems he does all he can to not look upon the blade I hold.

“Nienelen,” he starts, his voice low so not to be heard beyond where he and I stand.  “I had no hand in what we lost of our harvest nor would I seek the blood of the House.  Surely, you do not think so ill of me as that -”

“I have remained silent and given you your chance to speak unrestrained,” I say, and my voice comes back to me from where it echoes against stone and the folk of the Angle, “and you have taken full advantage of it.  And I have listened, as is your right to demand of me.  You have had your chance to make your case afore the Angle and afore your lord’s House, as is your right.  Now it is mine.”

Bachor’s eyes flick to the sharp edge of the weapon I hold, and, for a moment, I halt.  It had not occurred to me he might think I would use it upon him.

"Should you allot the portions as you see fit," I say, raising my voice again, "you must tell me first who we should let starve so I might know how to go about it." 

So shocked I think he is, Bachor has naught to say.  And so I look upon the Dúnedain of the North and steadily they return my regard.  I hear the soft sounds of weeping quickly stilled. 

"Or, better yet, it does seem more merciful to do the deed all at once."  I thrust the sword at Bachor, hilt first.  “Here, take you this and use it upon whomsoever you will.”

He shakes his head, and, taking a step to come close where he had fallen back, approaches me with his hands raised.  “My lady, were your husband here, I would have no cause-”

“My husband is not here!” I shout and he falls still, so startled he seems at my anger.

“I am!”  I beat my breast with my fist. 

“And it is I who have made the choice that leads us here. And now. Now?  So shall you.  You cannot have it both ways; the power to lead and think you can shuffle the weight of its cost onto another.  You must choose.  Should you have your way, either you must remove me as your impediment so we may vote to ration what we have left among us all, or you must choose those of the Angle who shall be marked for death. 

“So, tell me, Elder Bachor, who do you wish to bring death to first?”

He does not answer.  My hand shakes where I yet hold out the sword to him and I must let the tip rest upon the ground or lose my grip.

“Do you fear to share Master Sereg’s fate?” I ask, but he remains silent and unsettled, staring at me as were he waiting for me to make sense so he might then know how to proceed.  “Hear now the judgment of the House of Isildur: Bachor son of Haradon is to be held innocent of the death of Nienelen, daughter of Melendir and wife to Aragorn, Arathorn’s son.  His sentence upon this act, as her nearest of kin, is to assume her seat upon the Council and speak for the House.  The care of the child Elenir is to be given to his house, until she reaches the age of majority or her father, the lord Aragorn, returns. 

“How say you, Bachor?” I ask.  “You would then have the daughter you were cheated of so long ago.”

It is at this he winces and drops his gaze, unable to look upon me. 

“Be easy,” I say, and even I am shocked at the bitterness in my voice.  “Should you not have the belly for this thing, we shall put it to a vote and the Angle shall decide.”

With that, I make my way to the edge of the open toft, stumbling over my skirts, where stand the feet of the folk of the Angle. 

My lord’s kinsman is tall, standing head and shoulder above all others of the Dúnedain.  His sword was crafted for the length his arm, not mine, and so, with its sharpened point hovering o’er my lord’s toft, I must lift its hilt to the extremity of my reach above my head ere I plunge it to the soil at my feet.  There it stands fast, quivering with the force of the thrust. 

I step back. 

I must gasp for breath ere speaking. 

“Hear me, oh Elders of the Council, jury of the Angle, and Rangers of the North!  Your lord’s law is in precedence and as the voice of his House this I declare: any man whosoever takes up this sword and does violence to me shall not held liable for the offense.  No charges shall be brought; no sentence issued.  There shall be no gathering of my lord’s men to seek their vengeance upon the folk of the Angle.  So, I, Nienelen, daughter of Melendir, Ranger of the North, daughter of Elenir of the clan of the Mawrim, wife to our lord and chieftain Aragorn son of Arathorn, and Lady of the Dúnedain do declare.”

A rising din and a woman’s voice shouts, “No!”  I know not who it is and I dare not look.

I shake and my voice is clouded and trembles.

“Who so swears?” I cry, wiping at my brow and raising my voice over the noise.  Ai!  I am so weary. 

A deep voice rings out over the toft. “I swear it!”

‘Tis Halbarad who speaks and, for the harsh tones of his voice, he sounds as were he grinding his teeth in attempt to forbear from shouting in warning.

Silence has fallen, and in it, I hear the scattered voices of the Elders.  At the first it is Elder Lorn, and then Fuller.  Last comes Elder Tanaes, and it seems the words are all but dragged from his throat.  All but Bachor speaks.

“This I vow to thee,” I shout at the folk of the Angle.  “I will give you the very food from my table so that it is bare.  I will tend to your beasts and forage to replace what is lost.  I will wipe your brow when you are sick and bind the hurts of your wounds. I will dig the furrows for our harvest with naught but my bare hands should need be.  I know naught of the arts of war, but, should it come to it, I will take up knife or bow or axe and strike at any man or servant of the Enemy who would dare raise a hand to thee. 

“But I will not lie to thee!” I shout and blink to clear the blur of light and dark from my eyes.

“There is more suffering to come.  And, aye, there are those here in the Angle who could protect you from it, at least for a little.  But it is a cheat.  As false a promise as any the Deceiver would lay afore you.  And what shall come after will exact such a price that you and I, and those who come after us, would beg for death rather than pay it. 

I halt, for every eye of the Angle is upon me and I have naught of comfort for any of them.

“I know you suffer,” I say.  “But so we must.  And I cannot tell you why. 

“I can but tell you this.  I refuse to stand upon the bones of other men to save myself.  And ware to any man of the Dúnedain who would think to attempt it for himself.”

Ai!  I am done.  There is naught more to say.  I have said it all. 

“There are enough of you,” I say at the last.  “Should you come in a rush, there is naught my lord’s kin can do to prevent it.  You shall either put your trust in me, or you shall not. 

“It is time for you to choose.”

And with this, I step away from the edge of the crowd.  They will need room and I give it to them.  

And so, I turn my back. 

Master Bachor stares at naught but me, though he is the only one.  Master Maurus presses his lips tight and has bowed his head close to his breast, as had he no desire to see what comes next.  Halbarad stands tall with his eyes narrowed and his arms crossed upon his breast.  There he, and Master Tanaes and the men of the jury scan the folk of the Angle, their look grim and watchful.  Naught catches their eyes. 

At first, there is no rush of men; no jostling or shoving.  Distantly a child cries and is stilled.  Naught but the wind rattling the dying leaves o’er our heads answers my challenge.  It is not until I turn my gaze to Master Bachor that it comes.  For the sudden rising and fall of his breast and the alarm upon his face, I know he hears it too, the building murmur in the crowd and the shuffling of feet. 

And then comes the shouting and the sound of booted feet that halts at the edge of the line of folk.

A look of horror comes upon Bachor’s face and he leaps to the edge of the toft. 

I know not what he does, but loud a voice is raised behind me.

“Ever have you thought yourselves our better and lorded it over us!”

Of all men who I thought might take up my challenge, ‘tis Ploughman Gworon who speaks. 

“But I swear the two of you shall see us to our barrows and still argue who should dig our graves,” he says.  And with that comes the low sound of a grunt from Master Bachor. 

“Do it!” I hear Gworon say, “or do not!  You may think so little of our suffering that you use it to your own betterment.  But at least spare us the insult of your bickering!”

For a long moment, I hear naught else but the rising of the wind in the arms of the great oak. 

Master Bachor, himself, comes to a halt once he stands between me and the jury.  He stares at the sword in his hands where he holds it with both fists.  I doubt he much able to give voice, for he then stares at me much as he had when I stepped from the shadows of the stairs into his hall, with my sister’s blood upon my dress. 

I do not know his thoughts, though surely they whirl through his head.  For it has been many years since I have seen him look so stricken.  Though he makes little noise, tears gather at his eyes and he blinks to clear his vision of them.  It seems then, he has come to some decision, for he raises his head and surveys the folk gathered about with a grim look ere he lets the blade fall and comes to stand afore me.

“Ai, Nienelen!” he says low.  “I do not know for what reason you court your death.  I hope what you seek to protect is worth the price you ask of us,” he says and pauses, considering me.  “But, it seems you are willing to pay the cost yourself.  I hope, then, for our sake, and for yours, it is because you believe what you have said, and not because we have lost you to despair.”

With that, then, he presses the sword into my hands, but ere he leaves, I have more to say.

“Master Bachor,” I say and he stills.  “I leave it to you to see to the fate of the men who destroyed the granaries.  Do as you see fit.  But, should you want my counsel, it is this: bend your considerable gifts to the good of the folk of the Angle, all of them, not just those whose oath you hold, and rid your house of those who have any inclination to use violence to achieve their aims.  For, know this, should we e’er again suffer such a loss as was discovered yestermorn, I will hold you to account for it and it is you who shall suffer the sentence.  I will take your family’s lands and all upon it as property of the House and banish you and yours from any land o’er which my lord holds sway.  Should you be found upon them, your life will be forfeit and I shall not regret its loss.”      

He says naught, nor bows his head nor brings his fingers to his brow in salute, but, with no other word, turns his back and makes his way to where he stood when first the hallmoot began. 

When I offer it back, Halbarad does not return his sword to the scabbard that swings from his hip, but holds it in his fist afore him, its point resting lightly upon the ground and its keen edge catching the light as the clouds pass overhead. 

‘Tis only then I return to my lord’s chair.  And ‘tis only when I have seated myself and can survey the folk of the Angle arrayed afore me that I speak.

“Elder Tanaes?”

“Aye, my lady,” I hear and Tanaes limps to the center of the open greensward. 

“Does the Council recognize the Angle’s vote as against my removal?”

“Aye, it does.”

“Then we shall proceed with the vote to ration the remainder of our harvest’s yield.  Call the count!”

"Aye, my lady!"

The butcher's deep voice carries across the lawn.  "Call ye 'yea' should you wish for the House to ration what of the harvest we have amongst us all.  Call ye ‘nay’ should you wish each man to fare on what he has reaped of his own."

I sit upon my lord's chair, with the shadow of his kin behind me. I dare not look to Master Bachor where he stands.  I know that look upon his face, though he hides it as best he can, for I ask much of him.  He is not alone.  I ask much of all of them.  But I will hold them to it, each and all of them, an I must.

He does not vote, neither 'yea' nor 'nay,' but after today, I think we shall have little to say to one another Bachor and I.  For I have used the very parts of him that are his best against him. The cost is high, but, mayhap, I have bought myself some time. 

When the work of the hallmoot is done, the people trail away with little comment and even less joy.  I do not move from my lord's chair until the croft is clear of the folk of the Angle.  Mayhap 'tis not as my lord would have had it.  But the deed is done. 

Halbarad's hand comes to rest upon the post of the chair in which I sit. 

"Have you done?"

The wind rattles among the leaves above our heads and sends the dark folds of my scarf shivering against my cheek. 

"I have." 

He comes to stand afore me, and I have but a moment to see his face ere he leans to me, clasping the arms of my lord’s chair so the wood creaks.  I do not think I have seen him in such a state of wrath as this afore.  His eyes bore into me for a moment ere he can speak.  He does not raise his voice but speaks in deliberately measured tones. 

“Should you e’er think to attempt such a reckless act as this again, I fully expect to be made aware of your intent ere I am forced to witness it.”

“And you would not wish to dissuade me from it?”

“I expect I shall make the attempt, but it is on you to convince those you lead of the rightness of it.”

“And then what?  You hide blades upon your person –“

“Oh, that I have already done. And you may not have marked it, but among the folk of the Angle men stood who are not well known to them, and each bore a weapon should the need arise.  Nay, my lady, I would put our best marksmen in the trees, here, there, and there,” he says, pointing at the heights of the great oak to our backs, the trees overhanging the sheds, and the window of the solar overlooking the toft.  “And ‘ware to the first man who attempted to lay a hand upon thee!”

"Halbarad," I say and hold out my hand.

“Do not force upon me tales of bloodshed upon your behalf or of my kinsman’s wife taken by his folk in sight of his very house.  Do not make me the bearer of these tales to Aragorn upon his return.  Have not you and I sorrows enough?"

He then refuses to either move or take my hand until I nod.

With that, he clasps me about my wrist, surprised at first at the weight I put on him, but not unwilling.  He pulls me from my seat.

"I would carry you, should you wish it."

"No," say I and then laugh.  It is a sad sound.  "Though I think I shall not make it to the top of the solar steps at this rate."

“Then you may walk to the door, should you wish your pride, and I will carry you up the stairs once we are away from the Angle’s eyes.”

A reluctance comes upon me I cannot name. I do not wish to go to the solar. 

“Should you allow me the use of your settle, Halbarad, I would consider your duty done.” 

"Come along, then."

He wraps my arm about his waist and, with his own arm beneath my shoulder, together we make our way up the slow rise to the house.  I lean heavily upon him.  I must make no more progress than were I wading through the deep and swift waters of the river.  But Halbarad says naught and simply matches me step for step. 

"Do you know what our lord set himself to finding?"

He shrugs, his eyes on the ground.  "Aye, and no, equally well.  I know but as much as you and no more."

"Aye," I say and then fall silent as we make our slow way.  "And did my lord give you instruction to further his plans for it, should he not return?"

"That he did." 

"What were they, Halbarad?"

"It matters not, my lady.  Should you wish to know, you could ask him yourself, soon enough."

I laugh a little.  Should he think otherwise about my lord's return, still Halbarad would never tell me.  Aye, well, mayhap he clings to hope after all.  

We have reached the wicket that leads into the garden.  There the wind moves upon the dry leaves of the plum tree and tosses the heads of blown flowers. 

There, Halbarad releases me.  "But, should you wish to know, he gave me instructions to follow while he was gone."

"Who did he not?" 

A small sound of wry mirth bursts from Halbarad at that.  "Aye, well, my lady, for my own part, he told me as it had been I who had chosen you for his wife, 'twas I who was to watch o'er you and yours as were you my own."

Though by the eyes that look upon me with their fond and grave light I know Halbarad wishes me to unburden my heart in return, I do not.  I do not wish to speak of the care which my lord lay upon me in his absence. 

"Wilt thou rest thee, my lady?" I hear asked behind me, for I have turned away for the buttery door and make my way through the garden.

"Aye, Halbarad, only to stop thy pestering."  For there is little left to do.  I can do naught but pray the spring harvest shall be a good one. 

He closes the wicket gate and, with him following along behind me, we put the hallmoot behind us.

~oOo~