~ Chapter 58 ~

The hobbits looked at him, and saw with surprise that his face was drawn as if with pain, and his hands clenched the arms of his chair. The room was very quiet and still, and the light seemed to have grown dim.  For a while he sat with unseeing eyes as if walking in distant memory or listening to sounds in the Night far away.

FOTR: Strider

~oOo~

~ TA 3018 2^nd day of Nárië:  My tale of the days I must now leave in other hands.  To Mistress Pelara and Elesinda I now beg they maintain record of the doings of the Angle and their attempts to provide aid and care to its folk. 

~oOo~

I need not knock to gain entry, having abandoned the formality years ago.  So, it is to much surprise I find ‘tis not the mistress nor master of the house within. 

In the brief moment ere he is aware of the intrusion, he huddles over a bowl of tea.  I think he warms himself o’er the smell of rosehips, for he has closed his eyes and breathes deep of the soft mist rising from the bowl. 

“Oh!” say I, in place of the greeting call that had formed upon my lips, and he blinks himself alert.

The fine, dark eyes that alight upon me are sunk the more deeply and his coat hangs upon a frame shrunken from its former size.  But his eyes are clear and keenly they take me in.  For a long moment, we stay thus, I with my journals clutched to my breast, Elesinda wide-eyed and waiting at my back, and he mutely cataloguing each hurt upon me.

“Elder Maurus is within and his daughter gone to Mistress Tanril,” Bachor says at last, shifting back in his seat and motioning across the table. “But she left me with the tea, should you wish to join me while you wait.”

I think her not gone long, for a thin twist of steam yet rises from pot. 

“Elesinda, would you be so good as to find her?” I ask and she nods and turns to retrace our steps. 

The journal is heavy and much weighted with our lists and my diary of the days.  It draws his eyes when I set it upon the table across from him.  Mayhap I brought more than was truly needed, but I would not have the Mistress’ efforts go wanting for my lapse.

“So, then, you are leaving us,” he says.

I need not speak. The answer is carved upon my face and told in the search for the men who set fire to my lord’s hall.  I have no wish to see the bitterness that must surely be writ upon his and so do not look upon him, but take to the task of searching the mistress’ tall chest. 

“And now our lord has returned to the Angle, is his business concluded?  Shall he order his Rangers hither or shall they continue to protect the lands about the Shire?”

With a flash of anger, I falter in reaching for a bowl and wonder which Ranger need be urgently referred to Halbarad for rebuke, but then halt in my thoughts. The wine.  It must have been the wine used for his cure.  Though we decant it ere distributing it among the folk of the Angle, naturally, still would he know it for what it was; traded for at The Prancing Pony in Bree.  ‘Twas a strong, red wine from the Southfarthing, and I had not thought to hide it. 

“Do not think you have me at a disadvantage, Bachor,” I say, but his only response is to shrug.

“Do not think me ungenerous, my lady, I come bearing information of my own to offer.  The exchange need not be in kind.”  

I close the door to the chest and level what I hope is a skeptical look upon him for all of the strong beating of my heart. 

“It would depend on the quality of your merchandise, Master Trader.  There is much of rumor that I would not trust in these times.”

“Ah, true that is,” he says, watching as I return to the table, “but this comes from my source upon whom I have relied heavily and not proven wrong yet.” 

“Your man from Lindon has returned?”

“Aye, though briefly.”  He nods.  “He brings what goods he could bear with him on his ponies and tales of events to the south ere he proceeds east.  He has much to tell, but I thought this you and the rest of the Council would wish to know.”

“What did he bring?”

“Salt, winter wheat, and iron ingots.”

I make a small noise.  I have taken up a small square of cloth poured myself some of the tea and seated myself afore my bowl.  I rub fingertips along its rim ere I drink from it and consider the risks.  “How much?”

“Enough for a little.”

“Then mayhap you should talk, and what I offer in exchange shall be a little,” I say and take up my bowl.  ‘Tis very tart, the rosehips, without honey to sweeten it and I can drink but a little a sip at a time.    

Bachor wets and purses his lips ere he speaks, his lips quirking a little ere he stills them.  “There is rumor of foul folk far away to the south searching out the land of the Halflings, the Shire. Riders in black, they are, and where e’re they go madness follows them.  ‘Tis said a man cannot look upon them and not fall into dark thoughts.  For some reason, my man had cause to think we would wish to know of this and so dared the journey with his escort.” 

He searches my face, his certainty fraying under my silence.  For, my heart sinks and I truly have naught to offer him in exchange that he does not have the wit to discern for himself.

“These riders, he says, peering at me.  “Should what they say be true of them, they can be but from one place, can they not?”  

I will tell them, but I doubt this will be news to my lord, or his kinsman.  No wonder it is then, the Lord of Imladris’ sons sought them out with letters from their father.  Sure it is my lord must face them.  Their arrival was looked for and all his plans ride upon thwarting their goal.  

“What these riders seek,” Bachor goes on, his face sobering when it seems I cannot deny what he has heard, “it must be of great power, or they would not go to the effort so far from where they have dwelt all this time, aye?”

In all this, I have not spoken, but take in the tart scent of the tea rising in a mist afore me.  It seems he has lost all of his former delight in the negotiation of his price, for he has launched himself to his feet.  His seat clatters to the floor behind him, unheeded.  He rubs mightily at his face as he paces the short distance between table and window.  He has grasped upon his hair at the back of his neck, his face a study in apprehension ere he turns to me and speaks.   

“Who are they, Nienelen?  Do you know?”

I take up a sip of the tea, but the delay does me no good.  There is naught to consider.  He sacrificed much to put his faith in me, and either I return his trust or I do not. 

“They are The Nine,” I say. 

“The Nine!”

Horror flashes upon his face and twists his features into somewhat harsh and unseemly.  It takes little effort to know his thoughts, for it could mean but one thing; the Butcher of Umbar has returned to the North yet again. 

And then it seems all feeling has drained from him, his shoulders slumping.  He rights his seat and falls heavily to it, leaning his elbows upon the table and clasping his face in his hands.

“I had thought it could not be true.” His voice rises from behind his hands.  “I had but hoped to use this news to press your denials for other answers. 

“The land of the Halflings, of all places.  I would pity them, should we not also share their fate. Ai!  It cannot stay there.”  At this he laughs behind the cage of his hands.  The sound has naught of mirth in it but is heartsick and weary.  “Your husband is not to stay, then, is he?  Nor his men.”

I think he might yet weep, but I hear naught coming from behind his hands.  I have little to say to give him comfort. The time for secrecy is o’er.  We have made the sacrifice to keep it, and it is done.  Yet I cannot bring myself to speak of aught else I know of the matter. 

“Nienelen,” he says of a sudden, dropping his hands. “Greatly do I rue the words I said to you upon the barrows-” 

“Do not speak of it!”

His eyes fly to mine at the force with which I have spoken.  But I cannot meet his gaze and hear little but the sudden beat of my heart in my ears. 

His hands twitch where they lay upon the table beside his cup, as he were stilling the impulse to reach for my hand and press my fingers in his. 

"I will beg Halbarad for a guard for your man for his journey home,” I say when I can trust my voice and Bachor shifts a little in his seat, still watching me closely.  “He deserves this at the least for his attempt at aid.  And we shall not need the House’s portioning of the rations,” I say, forestalling aught else he might say of my leaving.  “What is left of them in the granaries should be spread among the folk of the Angle.”  I make to rise but his hand darts across the table to grasp mine where it lays upon the table between us.  “I have somewhat for you, but I shall leave it with Mistress Pelara and you can ask her for it.” 

I do not know where I intend to go, mayhap to follow Elesinda and hurry the mistress’ return. But Bachor takes in a quick breath.  I think, then, he will disregard my wishes and press his regrets upon me, for he looks upon me with somewhat of shame, but he does not.  Instead, he shakes his head a little in both apology and reassurance.

“Let us speak of other matters, then, Nienelen,” he pleads, his voice low.  “I would have a better farewell than this, aye?”

I nod and after a moment he releases my hand.

“Your tea is growing cold.”  He nods to my bowl when it seems I cannot think of aught to say or elsewhere to look other than his face. 

Aye, so it is, and I should not waste it. 

“What is it you have for me?” he asks once I have taken a sip.  “Will you not give it to me now where we can speak of it?”

In place of an answer, I set my bowl to the table and withdraw the letter I had prepared from beneath the leather flap of the journal. 

His brow rises at the thick seal upon it, for, indeed, heavy with the last of our wax, it bears my lord’s mark.  At first his glance darts to me as he breaks the seal and unfolds it, but once open, he cannot look upon aught else but what is written within. 

“You may now send out men to purchase grain from the lands east of us, should you find those who are willing to go,” I say.  “Though you may wish to wait until the fall harvest.  The way should be clear of The Nine by then.”

He stares at me, dumfounded, ere he returns to reading the letter as were he drawn there.  ‘Tis not a lengthy missive, but I doubt not it may take some time to fully understand its contents. 

“Tanaes does not look well,” I say.

“Nienelen,” says he and, pinching it between fingers and thumb, thrusts the letter at me.  “What is this?”

“Can you not read it?”

“Oh, aye, our lord’s hand is fair enough.  What are you playing at?”

“I play at naught.”

“You cannot do this!”

“I am not the one doing it,” I say. 

Despite my protests, mayhap this brings me more pleasure than it should.  Indeed, my lord had snorted in wry amusement at my request when I presented it to him, but was willing to leave it to my judgment.

“Do not treat me as a fool!” Bachor exclaims.  He shakes the parchment at me ere tossing it to the table between us and stabbing his finger at it.  “The Lord Aragorn may have written this, but there is not a single word upon this page that is not of your dictation.”

“You are my nearest of kin and so nearest of kin to the House of Isildur in the absence of Ranger Halbarad.”

“Have you not wished this?” I go on when he does naught but stare at me, agog.  “Did you not plan and maneuver and scheme for this very thing?”

“Aye!  No!  Ai!  I wished to replace the House, not represent it,” he cries.  “Should I do it well, you can assume the credit of it upon your return, and should I not, I have all the blame!

“This is your revenge upon me, I know it.  I knew it was coming,” he says, thrusting a finger at me.  “I swore I would not underestimate you and, once I had, I knew I would come to rue it.  And so I do.”

“Bachor-“ 

“Have I not committed myself wholeheartedly to your aims, subordinated myself to your will, and proven my loyalty?  What else would you ask of me?”

“This is what I would ask,” I say, pointing to the letter.  “’Tis on you now to decide whether you take up the seat for the House as its representative or abandon our folk.” 

He glares at me o’er the tea.

And indeed he is caught, and in a trap of his own making.  Should he take up the offer of the duties of the House of Isildur and its seat upon the Council, it may lessen the shock of our leaving some, my lord and I, for we have set another to see to the Angle’s needs, as is proper.  But, should he not, so oft was it said the seat was Bachor’s by right, he will be hard put to it to convince our folk their abandonment was not partly his fault. 

His look turn mutinous and he taps at his bowl of tea with the edge of his thumb.

“A copy has been sent to Elder Tanaes,” I say.  “He has, no doubt, read it in full by now.”

“Nienelen,” he exclaims at this, “deeply am I coming to regret not taking up Halbarad’s sword of myself.” 

I cannot help but smile, for all his unhappiness and dread for the fate of the Dúnedain of the North, ‘twas the one thing he would never do.  I had counted on it then, and still, though he knows I have used it against him, he could not.   

“And you will gladly hand it back over when the House returns to the Angle,” I say.

His look sour, he straightens in his chair and pats at the pot’s handle, testing its heat, ere grasping it.  “You think so?”

“Tanaes does not look well,” I say again. 

“No, he does not.”  He frowns and looks at me intently, ere pouring himself more of the tea.

“He will not listen to me, to Nesta, or any who care for him.”

“He will not listen to me, either,” says Bachor and eases back in his chair.  He plays with his bowl, tapping at it with fingertips. “Though, he would rather die than have regrets, I think.”

“Who do you think wishes to fill the vacancy of Head when he passes?”

He lets loose a short grunt ere raising the bowl to his lips.  “You would have been a fool to have missed that,” he says, to which I shrug.

“You will be well positioned to advance to his seat, but for one thing.”

“Should the House not be here, it cannot weigh in on the matter,” he says, his voice growing sharp.

“Verily, but you would not hold the position for long.”

He makes a small sound, considering me intently and his hands still on his bowl. “What do you want, Nienelen?

“Many things, but I will settle for three.”

“Your terms?”

“Expand the Council’s numbers by two,” I say.  “That should please you.”

It does.  This is no surprise, for it would give a much greater chance of balancing out the House’s greater vote. 

He sets down his bowl.  “What does it cost me?” he asks with a lift of his chin.

“One to be a member of the wandering clans elected by the pledgeholders.”

“That would require increasing the number of pledgeholders with those from among the wanderers, making this the second of your terms.”

“Aye, by no less than ten in number.”

He stills for a moment and it is as I can see him calculating the increase in the House’s vote and weighs it against the balance of men upon the Council.  “I accept,” he says, “and the third term?

“Mistress Pelara is to be the second member set to the Council by a year hence.”

His eyes widen in alarm.  “That will be the more difficult to achieve given the barriers,” he says, ere he cries out and slaps the table and points at me, “Ah!  Clever, Nienelen, but that brings your terms to four.”

“No, that does not follow,” say I, shaking my head and lifting my bowl.  I smile ere I take a sip.  “You must revise the charter to allow my second term.  It makes no difference that you must also revise the charter to allow women to hold and make oaths for the third.”

He looses a rude sound of scorn.  “What kind of revisions have you in mind?”

“I leave that to you.”

Though he may fight it, a slow smile steals upon his features as he considers the possibilities.

I sigh and set down my bowl ere I had the chance to drink from it.  “The House retains all rights of refusal of amendments.”

He shrugs, grinning broadly. “Very well.” He nods. “I shall put the matter of Mistress Pelara to the Council.”

“No,” I say, lingering on the word, “you will have it done.”

He squints and then points at me. “I will put it to both the pledgeholders and the Council.”

“Then you have not a year, but half of one. You will have it done and she will sit upon the Council ere the turn of the year.”

“Nienelen,” he protests. “I could have her attend in consultation, but not vote –“

“She will be seated upon the Council with full rights and responsibilities ere the turn of the year, else I shall move for your removal from the Council itself immediately upon my return.”

“You have no grounds!”

“No?” 

Oh, aye, for as much as I have relearned my fondness for him, he has surely done somewhat that would earn him his dismissal from the Council, should he be so lucky at it not cost him his life and the banishment of his kin.  I have but to put to the hallmoot the question of how he refilled his oathmen’s granaries after Sereg set them ablaze.  I have no doubt he had been hoarding supplies and hidden them from our accounting, else he would have accepted aid, no matter the cost. 

“Ah,” he says, his look grim.  “You have been tempting me with sweet berries when you hid the lash behind your back the whole time,” he says.  

“I would think the berries a pleasanter taste.”

He raises his palms.  “Mistress Pelara shall be seated on the Council, to be achieved afore the year is done, and when you return you shall review all amendments made to the charter and affirm my seat as Head.”

I have little hope of hiding my satisfaction behind my bowl, but I give it an attempt. 

“But that threat shall only work the once,” he goes on and, to his annoyance, his vexation only serves to fuel my delight. 

“Matilde will be much pleased, should she not laugh herself silly at my expense,” he says and, sighing, drains the last of the tea from his bowl.  “Very well, I shall be thy tool and see it done, and in exchange I shall do my utmost to see the House restored to its position when it returns to the Angle.

“Though,” he adds wryly, “truly I wish our lord well, it would be easiest to put the blame for your removal at his feet and our efforts will be the easier should it be just you who returns at the first.”

I know not what to say to that and so a silence falls upon us in which we do naught but look upon the other. 

He has drunk his tea and I mine.  Our bowls cool quickly, and we have settled what needs settling.  There is naught more we must address, he and I.  And yet, though he shifts in his chair and I sit stiffly in mine, I cannot bring myself to rise nor say words I know must be said.

“I hear you are to hold the gathering of clans for the High Days of Eruhantalë after the fall harvest,” I say when I can stand the silence between us no longer. 

“Aye,” he says. “I am afraid they have outgrown Master Orthoron and Mistress Istriel’s hall.”

He goes on, “Will you have returned by then?”

I shake my head, for I know not when that shall be.  After a moment in which I cannot speak for the sudden ache in my throat, he licks at his lip, considering me. 

He leans close and speaks low.  “Send Elesinda for your daughter when she returns,” he urges, his eyes searching mine.  “Muindir has remained firm in his offer and his father is of the same mind.  I have had all prepared since last we talked of this.  We need not wait.  You could leave now.”

“No,” I say, for Halbarad would be upon us within the day, so slow would we travel in comparison to his speed when pressed, and I would lose all chance of flight to the north.  “My daughter’s father would not send her into danger.  I must trust this.”

“I am not blind, Nienelen, somewhat has cooled the friendship of the House of Imladris.  Your husband will be much away and you have no friends there!”

“No,” I say and this time must make my voice firm. 

“As you wish.”  He takes up my hand and presses it.  “But I do not like it.”

Nor do I, but there is little choice in the matter.

“I,” I say and then falter, “I shall greatly miss Mistress Istriel’s telling of tales.”

I would say that he clutches my hand at this, were he to close his fingers about mine any tighter.  He bites at his lip and turns his face away.  It is some moments ere he speaks again, blinking and clearing his throat.

“You shall hear them one day, her tales,” he says, his voice harsh.  He sniffs and clears his throat again, smiling weakly.  “She promised to tell of the Elderborn of both Near and Far Harad.  It seems there are more Houses of Men that bear elven blood than are spoken of in the north. Should you not be here, I shall make note of them and tell them to you myself.” 

Then, after a moment in which it seems he considers should he continue or not, he smiles.  “Though it seems our forefathers had the good sense to avoid setting them so high as to declare them kings and attempt to build a dynasty upon them.”

I snort at this, caught between sudden laughter and tears, and he laughs full out, delighted to have forced it from me.

“Dost thou swear it, it shall be thee who tells these tales?” I ask, for, as ever he and my sister had, I doubt not he shall make many such irreverent observations and keep me in merriment at the shock of them.  He smiles, and so warm is his look it sets my heart to aching.

“I do,” he says.  “And,” he goes on, tapping my hand against the table, “at no cost to you for it.”

He grins at my laughter.  With a last squeeze, he releases my hand and stands.

“I wish you safe journey, Lady Nienelen.”

“May the Valar watch over thee and the work thou dost here,” I say and rise to make my farewell of him. 

“Oh, ne’er fear,” he says, with an air of weary forbearance.  “You need not give me a Ranger’s farewell.  We will meet again and resume our struggles.  I know it.  Should it only be so you may heap abuse upon my head for having already set in motions plans to put men of our wandering kin upon the Council ere you asked it of me and given both news and the iron, wheat, and the salt to the Council ere you arrived.”

At this I laugh. He is man who knows very little of shame. “I shall look forward to it, Bachor,” I say as I follow him to the door.  “Until then, may the Valar keep thee in thy care”

And with but a pale shade of the flirt I knew when he was a youth, afore Elder Maurus’ door he takes the hand I offer. 

“Be well,” he says, winking up at me from where he bows o’er my hand to press a warm kiss to my knuckles, “Sister.” 

~oOo~

“What is this?” Pelara cries, her face red with the exertion of the dash to return to her father’s house.  

Bursting through the door with Elesinda close behind, the mistress stands with her hands dangling at her side, staring at me.  Her eyes dart from the linen binding my arm to my breast and swollen eye.

“Elenir was not harmed,” I rush to say, but it seems this, at least, is news, for her eyes widen with further alarm.

“Your daughter was with you?”

Her father had already joined me at their table, shuffling in from their private rooms and squinting at me as I poured him some of the tea, cooled though it was.  I think him just woken from his sleep, for he was slow to speak and his white hair stood in a cloud about his head.  He sighs when Pelara grabs up the leather journal with its pile of parchments and, crossing the room, slams it to the tall chest’s board. 

“First I am to hear that some hedge-born fool has made the attempt to burn my lady and her infant daughter in their beds.”  Pelara takes up the poker from where it dangles upon the brazier and pokes at the coals within.  “Then there are Weres seen upon our lands for the first in the Valar knows when and, but for the chance our lord has returned from months away doing the Valar knows what, we’d have to bury his lady and yet another of his children?”

I wince and can think of naught to say. 

I need not, for Elesinda’s face darkens swiftly.  “I would have told you naught of this had I thought you would –”

Pelara straightens to thrust the poker at the young woman.  “I have heard enough out of you this day, young miss.  Best ye be minding what is business of yours and leave me be.”  

“Your ill temper is not of my making,” says Elesinda, advancing on her.

“Quit with your questions about Nesta, then!” cries Pelara.  “I’ve not seen the woman and it is none of your concern should I not wish to see her again!”  She gives the coals a vigorous poke, rattling the brazier.

Ai!  I should say somewhat, but what?

“Daughter,” sighs Elder Maurus.  “Could you not settle for a little?” 

Elesinda shakes her head.  She has taken up the journal from where Pelara had set it and brings it back to the table.  There she sets to opening it and sorting through the parchments we had collected and thrust there in no particular order ere we traveled hither.

Had I thought I might miss her ire, I am now disabused of the notion.

“And now you, my lady,” she cries, turning to me, “are to leave us and have me take a seat upon the Council all of myself when you have abandoned it?” 

“You are not speaking to Nesta?” I ask and the poker clangs against the side of the brazier where Pelara has let it drop on its hook.  Of all the things she has protested, it seems this strikes at my heart the most.  I had expected the rest. 

“My lady, I doubt not she and I the only two women of your acquaintance who would have an interest in such a thing,” she says harshly, “but kindly extend me the courtesy of allowing me to make my own choice of lover.”  She has opened the cupboard and is rummaging within, bowls and cups clanking against the other.

“Pelara,” I say, twisting about in my chair so I may look upon her more fully, “’twas not my thought. Truly it seemed you and she a good match for the other and you were happy together.”

Pelara slams the chest’s door closed without having taken somewhat out.  I have not seen her so angry. 

“My lady,” she shouts. “I would think you did not care overmuch for it when most folks thought you fit for none but another wanderer-born to marry.  I would not have forced Ploughman Gworon on you or left you, alone as you were, to the mercies of men who thought you comely enough for their attention but not worthy of making you wife.  Kindly do the same for me!”

And then I can hear naught else of what she might say, for the sudden silence rings in my ears and I know naught but the bright heat that floods my face and a blur of light and dark in my eyes. 

Pelara presses the back of her hand to her mouth.  She stands frozen beside the brazier in the stillness following her outcry.  “Ai!” she says, moaning low.

She wipes roughly at her cheeks, stammering, “Forgive me.  Let me… I should… I will heat more water for your tea and we can talk of what needs doing ere you go.”  And with this, she grabs up the pot and disappears into the family’s hall, closing the door gently behind her. 

"Well, well, well," Maurus says.  He grunts and knocks the head of his cane lightly against the table and shakes his head.  “She is a puzzle, that she is, my daughter.”

“Would she truly not be happier with Nesta?” whispers Elesinda.  She has long since given up on her work and rests her arms upon the open pages, considering us.

“Oh, aye, she would, could she get over her terror of losing Nesta as she lost the father of her children,” he says low.  “But, we shall see.  Her children have been made most unhappy by these developments and are very used to her sharp tongue.” 

I stare at him, only now aware the old man has not raised his voice above a whisper and neither has Elesinda.  His eyes sharpen on me with somewhat of amusement. 

“Lothel!  Lothel!” he shouts, startling me.   We hear the scrambling of soft feet ere the lass’ dark head appears around the doorway to the family’s toft. 

“Aye, grandsire?”

“Come, my pet, go fetch my cap, an it please you.”  He motions stiffly to the tall chest. 

She is across the room and back in a trice, and the old man takes up his walking stick from where it leans upon the table. 

“Aye, there now, give me your shoulder, that’s a lass,” he says as he leans upon both girl and table to rise.  He shuffles to get his feet under him and takes up his cap.

“Well, my pet, our lady and her kin have given us a great deal of work to do today.  I suppose we should be about it, eh?” 

“My lady,” he says, bringing his knuckles to his brow briefly ere settling the cap to his head.  He pats his fingers briefly upon mine as he passes.  And with that, he makes his way to the door.

“Where shall we go first, do you think?” he asks and Lothel turns her face up to her grandsire.

“We could go to Ada and ask what he has heard,” she says.  “’Tis the market upon the morrow.”

“Aye, a good plan, pet,” he says from beyond the door.  “Lead the way then!”

~oOo~

When I open the door to their private rooms, it is to find the mistress sitting upon her bench afore her hearth.  She has not drawn water.  I know not where she has set down the pot.  Naught simmers in the iron pot swung over its ashes and the hearth itself looks to be cold. 

She does not look up, and indeed seems to have expected my presence.  Instead, she rubs at the skirts covering her knees and rocks a little where she sits.  Her face is painful to look upon and she wipes at her cheeks with her palms.

“I must beg thy pardon, my lady,” says she, scrubbing her hands upon her apron.  “’Twas an ugly thing I said to you and I am the lesser for it.”  She refuses to look at me when I come to sit by her side, but stares at her empty hearth.  “We traded insults when first we started this.  You forgave me them then.  I had hoped to never need your forgiveness again, but it seems I must beg it.”

I nod and she blows out an unsteady breath. 

“You said, then, too,” she goes on, “that you came to elevate my efforts, though I thought it naught more than your attempt to soothe my temper.”

“Surely it comes as no surprise,” I say.  “I have spoken of it oft enough.”

“Aye, when I needed a good knock back to my place,” she cries, loosing a short, wry laugh.  “I thought it was your way to jest to soften the blow.  I did not think it would come to this.”

I do not deny it.  Mayhap I had, but it did not follow that I thought less of her skills nor would I not wish her the chance to use them. 

“Aye, well,” I say.  “Should you not wish it, then, mayhap you would be willing to aid your father in naming some old man of his acquaintance who would take your place when it is time.”

“Och no, my lady!” she cries, her back jerking straight and turning to me.  “Nay, there will be none of that.  You promised me a place on the Council, there will be no taking that back, now.” 

That sets me to laughing, no matter the indignant look upon her face. 

“Ah!” she exclaims, flapping at my leg.  “Stop it now!  Enough with your teasing, my lady.”

And yet I cannot stop with my merriment, but, easing closer, link my arm in hers and lay my cheek upon her shoulder.  She does not forbid it, and indeed, her face twisting of a sudden with tears, pats on my arm and takes the weight of my head. 

“Threaten me with one of my father’s old fools—. I suppose I am that easy to play,” she says and sniffs, rubbing my arm.  “Aye, I will do it.”  She sighs and sinks a little closer.  “As you knew I would should you ask it of me.”

We then fall silent and I wonder how much longer I can stay.  I think the mistress as reluctant as I to speak, for aught we might say would bring us the sooner to parting.  So, it is some time ere she speaks again, and in it, though the silence is fond, it is more somber than afore.  For, when I go, I know not what I shall find should I return.  ‘Tis not until I sigh and would lift my head she speaks.

“My lady,” she says ere clearing her throat.  “I have somewhat I should have told you long ago.” 

I cannot think what it could be, but in what I can see of her, Pelara has sobered, though her hand has come again upon my arm and she grips it warmly.

“I always meant to,” she goes on, smoothing the cloth of my sleeve.  “You would come, and I would think, ‘Aye, today, you great coward, today you should tell her,’ but then we would get to our work.  And I could think of naught but your face when we buried your father and how changed you were after your sister’s death, and the words wouldn’t come.” 

I can think of naught to say that might give comfort but take her hand from where it restlessly plucks upon my sleeve.  This does naught but make more tears prick at her eyes, it seems.  But, still, she looses a sharp breath and looks to the rafters of her hall ere she turns so she can see me more closely.

“I knew your mother,” she says, and so unexpected are the words she says, I am struck dumb and have sat up straight and released her hand. How had I not known this?

“Now, my lady, just a little, and not enough to call her friend, but she was a Ranger’s wife after all,” she says.  “She was a quiet person, and not given to revealing much was on her mind. We had so little time with her, but, she was a beauty, and sharp as a whip and generous with aught she had.  And I’d seen what it cost my dear Lady Gilraen.  She did her best, but toward the end there, we could do naught to get her to rise from her bed.  Broke my heart, it did, seeing her like that.

“And so,” she says and pats at my arm with her free hand as were I her child and then grips it fast as I stare at her, “when our lord chose you, I thought ‘Aye, well, should she be much like her mother, then mayhap it will not go so ill. 

“And I’ll be damned to wandering the wastes of this world should I let the House grind you to dust beneath its weight like it did his mother and do naught to prevent it,” she says, her voice growing indignant.  “Had a thing or two to tell your husband I did, in those first days.  ‘Twas on me to do it, after all, you being a daughter of my father’s oathman. 

“Och, my lady, the look upon our lord’s face!” She shakes her head at the mystery of the ignorance of men.  “As were he thought the fire burns hot and the beans and greens plunge to the pots by themselves to fix his meals and the linens on his bed came clean with but a thought, and you out there in the cold cleaning out the chicken coop while he sat at his table with his kin.”

Well I recall that day, for the mistress had arrived with my father’s hens from where they had been tending them with their own.  Red-faced and huffing she had stormed from the buttery door and all but commanded I stop with my scrubbing so she could set some lad of her acquaintance to the task in my stead.  Had not been long after my lord had offered the services of both reeve and maid to his beleaguered lady.    

But then, Pelara falters.  She cannot she cannot look upon me and her grip upon me tightens.

“I’m frightened, my lady,” she says and takes a trembling breath. “Terrified, more like,” she says, her voice wet and shaking, “should you want the truth of it.”

Oh, ai!  No!  I cannot. How is it I can I leave?

But it seems she has more to say, for when I draw breath to speak, she goes on, though her voice wavers.

“But I’d look at you, dear lady, and see you get up every morn, with your lord or without, and I’d think, ‘Aye, well, then, should the Lady be able, then mayhap I can do this for one more day, and one more day, and then the next.’

“And I think, mayhap, it would have broke your mother’s heart to see the troubles you’ve had to bear,” she says.  “But, I think, too, she would have been very proud to call you her daughter.”

At this, I can take no more and, pulling my arm sharply from her grip, I nigh throw myself into her embrace.  Strong her arms wrap about me and pull my head to press hard to her cheek. 

“Oh, Pelara,” I say and struggle to do more than shed tears upon her neck. 

“Nay, don’t you ‘Oh Pelara’ me, my lady,” she says, laughing a little and sniffing.  “There now, I’ve finally said my piece.” 

She pats at my head ere she puts me from her.  Her hand comes up to press against my cheek and is as swiftly gone.  “That’s my gift to you to set you on your road.  I knew it would end in tears, but now we’ve had our cry.”

I can do naught but laugh with her, though she is naught but a blur for the tears I have yet to find the strength to still. 

“Now then,” she says.  “Let us have our farewell, eh?”

“Aye,” I say, nodding. 

I wish I could stop my weeping and speak of my own gratitude for all the mistress has done for me.  Indeed, I should speak. I should thank her.  I cannot.  But Pelara seems not to mind, for, being careful to not press her palms upon my hurts, she pulls my head to her so she might kiss my brow.

“May the Valar watch over thee and guide thy steps.  Mayest thou find comfort in the simplest of pleasures and purpose to thy efforts.  And no matter how far thou wanders from those that love thee, may the Valar see thee safe and bring thee home.”  

~oOo~

AN:  Oof, the words came easily, but that was emotionally difficult chapter to write.  And that’s it for any chapters that will need a first draft.  Everything else is written.  I’m going to need to beg your forgiveness for any SPAG, or awkward and over-used phrasing in this chapter, dear readers.  I don’t think I’m going to be able to return to it for a while.