~ Chapter 68 ~

“He grew to love the Northern lands and people, and he married Vidumavi, daughter of Vidugavia. It was some years before he returned. From this marriage came later the war of the Kin-strife…

But Eldacar eluded his enemies, and came to the North, to his kinsfolk in Rhovanion. Many gathered to him there, both of the Northmen in the service of Gondor, and of the Dúnedain of the northern parts of the realm. For many of the latter had learned to esteem him, and many more came to hate his usurper. This was Castamir, grandson of Calimehtar, younger brother of Rómendacil II…

Castamir had not long sat upon the throne before he proved himself haughty and ungenerous. He was a cruel man, as he had first shown in the taking of Osgiliath. He caused Ornendil son of Eldacar, who was captured, to be put to death; and the slaughter and destruction done in the city at his bidding far exceeded the needs of war.

Appendix A: Annals of the Kings and Rulers

‘Aye, curse the Southrons!’ said Damrod. ‘’Tis said that there were dealings of old between Gondor and the kingdoms of the Harad in the Far South; though there was never friendship. In those days our bounds were away south beyond the mouths of Anduin, and Umbar, the nearest of their realms, acknowledged our sway. But that is long since. ’Tis many lives of Men since any passed to or fro between us. Now of late we have learned that the Enemy has been among them, and they are gone over to Him, or back to Him – they were ever ready to His will – as have so many also in the East.”

TTT: Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit

~oOo~

~ TA 3019 12^th day of Nénimë:  Here, amidst the holdings of the library of the Master of Imladris have I found an accounting of the folk of the Defiant of Harad ere they settled in the hills of what became Arthedain.  For, in their flight not long ere the downfall of Númenor, they came upon the Hidden Vale and there rested for some years ere they proceeded on. In it are told tales of oppression, rebellion, and retribution of which I make good and faithful copy here. 

They speak of the ban of old set upon their stories, language, and customs, and the taking of their children from their homes to be fostered elsewhere. They tell of the death of the Butcher of Umbar and the scattering of his House in the face of the folk’s wrath, and then the horror that followed upon his return among living men. ‘Tis said the river Echuinen that flowed through the city on its way to the sea then ran red, not with the silt of the high hills from which the river sprang, but with the blood of my mother’s forebears.  

And so, even ere they had fled its bounds, long had they been sundered from the lands of their birth, and bitter was their parting.  For the great of Númenor in Umbar had stolen all but that which was useful to them, and they had not even the tongue of their folk and their tales to comfort them.  

~oOo~

It seemed not long after, I sit in the sun with its pale promise of spring and spin the fine silk and wool as best I can.  I have not mastered it, by any means, but the Lady and her companions do not seem to mind the slubs and uneven thread I produce, and I have come to enjoy the challenge of learning this new fiber as it slips and frustrates my best attempts.  

I wait, for Master Elrond has sent word that my lord's Rangers attend upon him.  There they sit in his chambers and take counsel this morning.  It was all I could do to forebear from pacing about afore the Master's halls, for I longed to see those who are my kin.  I have had no word from the Angle and its people, and would know how they fare.  

I am not alone in my waiting. For Elenir, much enamored of the singing in the Hall of Fire the even afore, spent her morning lolling about on the couch in our small rooms, with her nursing blanket hanging from her head and shrieking.  And so, in hopes of a little quiet, I wound brightly colored string between my fingers, teasing her into trapping her small hand in its knots at the flick of my thumbs. To Tithiniel and Ranger Boradan’s laughter I bound my daughter in the winding of the thread.  We gaped and marveled at the child's surprise and now Elenir clamors to be taught the trick of it.  

Aye, indeed did the young Ranger find us.  For, while his elders sat in council, he had been sent to bear both news and letters from the Angle.  He came upon us smiling, his eyes alight at his chagrin.  For, it being his first time in the Hidden Vale, he had gotten hopelessly lost amidst its winding paths and tall towers.  A glimpse of his dark curls clipped short and the grey gear he wore, and I launched myself to my feet from where Tithiniel and I and my daughter sat upon the terrace ere our noon meal.  He sprang up the short rise of steps, grinning, but then halted of a sudden.  He had seemed caught on the verge of catching me up in an embrace and now uncertain.  But so glad was I at his sudden appearance I cared not for the reserve that was expected of me and held my arms open to him.

“Well met, my lady!” he said into my ear, holding his helm to the side so it would not hinder us. 

“Aye! Mae govannen, my lord’s man,” had said I, and taking his head between my palms, pulled him down for a greeting kiss upon his brow.  

He emerged with a dusky glow upon his cheeks and a broad smile.  The embrace was hard, not only for its warmth, but for the long hauberk of mail he wore beneath his grey woolen tabard and the sharp edge of the star at his shoulder.  In the short time since I had seen him, he had grown even more and, were it not for his mother’s coloring and how tightly shorn his head, he would have the full look of his father.  

For my daughter’s ears, we spoke naught of threats visited upon our folk or the war to which he rode, but of the gossip of the Angle.  The mistresses Pelara and Nesta were well.  Though Boradan knew little of the matter in much depth, it seems her children had conspired with Pelara’s father and had gathered up both her and her belongings and unloaded them afore the healers’ door.  Master Maurus, Elder no longer, has thus far refused to allow her back until the next hallmoot.  So vexed was he with her, he claimed he may not take her back even after, should she not put some effort into resolving things with her lover.  Elesinda has taken charge of Nesta’s sickhouse, relieving the healer of much of the burden of it so her efforts might be best spent elsewhere.  I must then wonder should she, too, have been in on the conspiracy.  And to my surprise, ‘twas not Boradan’s father who now sat upon the Angle’s Council, but his brother.  This was not to Boradan’s surprise, though, mayhap, prompted some dismay. For it seems Elder Muindir was much impressed with himself and eager to share his feelings on the matter with his Ranger brother, as well as one or two of the Angle’s beauties.  

“Aye, you have it,” says Boradan. He has crouched down and sits back upon his heels to be of a height with his lord’s daughter.  “Now, pull it up.”

The tip of her tongue poking from her lips and her nose wrinkling with her fingers’ efforts, Elenir labors to wind the string about his hands.  I have seen the girl set herself to puzzling out the path of small insects as they trundle through the grass as she squatted down amongst the flowers, or dropping bits of leaves upon a rill of water just to see where they go.  Then, she cares for naught else and will occupy herself throughout much of the hour, but here, she grows impatient.  It is a difficult task for little fingers, and I think she wishes more for the effect than the work required to achieve it.  

“Nay, the other side,” he says, wiggling his finger, repeating himself when she is slow to follow his instruction.  

The string slips and she scowls at this and stamps her foot.  “I cannot!”  

“Now, now, little one,” he croons.  

“I am not a little one,” she says and frowns at him.  I must stifle my laughter, for she has just recently taken to feeling her years, few though they may be.

“Aye, Lady Elenir,” he says, bowing from where he crouches afore her, “I beg thy pardon.  Just a little more.”  For the lack of free fingers to point, he nods at the string and motions with his chin.  “Take it up.  Aye.  Now pull it around.”  

He grins at the sudden brightening of her face, for she has wound the string in place.  But then, instead of awaiting his next instructions, she takes up all the strings in fistfuls and yanks them tight against his hands.  

“I have you!” she crows, and he pulls a great look of shock while Tithiniel laughs from where she sits, her head resting upon her hand as she watches.  

I shake my head, smiling, for I know, by nightfall, no elf in Imladris will escape unscathed.  She will test her trick upon them to see them startle and cry out in grand dismay at their capture.  I can only hope we shall not be called upon to attend at the Great Hall, for she, without fear, shall attempt to bring even the greatest of elf-lords and ladies thus into submission.  

Amid the gentle light of the morning I hear the tread of feet and turn.  No elf's foot steps so heavily.  My daughter falls silent and Boradan lets loose the bright web of string from where Elenir had wound it.  

"Halbarad!" I cry and leap from my seat, for joy wells in my heart at the sight.  

It is he and none other who leads them.  His helm he carries tucked in the crook of his arm and a cloak of dark gray falls from his shoulders.  I see not Haldren following behind, but Mathil and others I know not so well.  Two dozen and more dressed in the gear of open war.  The last of the Northland’s Rangers that could be gathered so quickly, they go to seek my lord and meet him in whatever faraway battle he may find himself. 

But Halbarad does not greet me in return.  His face is grim as he signals his men to halt beyond hearing and hands Mathil his helm to hold.  With not a word, he jerks his head at Ranger Boradan toward the company behind him.  Such is the stifled rage upon his face, Boradan rises quickly to his feet, grabbing up his helm.  He dares make no more of a farewell than a touch of his knuckles upon his brow and a soft, “My lady,” ere he passes his lord’s kin at the bottom of the stairs.    

Halbarad then strides swiftly toward me despite the weight of mail and other somber gear.  His face does not warm in welcome and now I know why.  In his hand he clutches a tall staff on which the Lady's banner is tightly bound.  It seems he is just come from her.  

His feet are swift upon the stairs and he stands afore me, his face as the rumble of thunder. 

"You know of this?" Halbarad demands, thrusting the staff between us. 

No 'my lady,' no 'Lady Nienelen,' no embrace, or words of the Angle, but, instead, he towers o’er me and his voice rings of both wrath and disbelief.

With no word or look from me, Tithiniel, too, has risen and now speaks to my daughter.

"Come now, little one," says she and, taking her hand, breaks the child's stare.  "It is time for somewhat to eat, do you not think?"  

"Mamil!" Elenir protests and tugs against her hand.  "No!  I am not hungry."  

She breaks free and runs to my side.  Her arms wrap tightly about my leg, her hands deep in my skirts, and stares wide-eyed up at this man who stands so threateningly o’er her mother. To the startled thump of my heart, it seems she does not recognize him who had sheltered and cared for her when I could not. ‘Tis surely a cruelty that will do little to improve his temper.

"Nay, lapsinya, go with her," I say and gently unwind her hands despite her cries and stomping of her feet.  "I shall be in directly after.  Go!"

Reluctantly and with much coaxing, Elenir allows herself to be picked up by Tithiniel.  I hear their voices behind me.  Tithiniel promises savories and sweets she knows my daughter enjoys, while I face Halbarad and the storm of his anger, which has in no way abated. He grinds the foot of the staff into the stone of the stair and, though he had watched my daughter’s departure with somewhat of pain, his eyes now burn into mine.

"Ranger Halbarad," I say, my voice grown cold for all I speak softly. "Though my lord may walk far upon distant lands, I am still the Lady of the Dúnedain.  Do not forget yourself."

At the reproof, he drops his gaze, though his features are set as hard as the stone upon which we stand.  "Forgive me, my lady," he says through clenched teeth.  

"You ask do I know of this," I say, brushing the tips of my fingers upon the tightly bound fabric.  "I do."

His mouth works as were it against a bitter taste, for there could be but one reason I had allowed this. "’Tis true, then.  You have broken with your vows.” He lets loose a bitter huff of breath.  “I could not have thought it of you."  

“Aye, I did.  I did what I deemed best,” I say, “for our lord and for the Dúnedain.  Because my husband could not.”

“You have the right in that!” he says and his eyes flash harsh upon me.  “He would never ask you to withdraw your hand nor abandon you when he had given you his vow afore our folk.”

"Ai, Halbarad!" I say. How can I explain this to him so he shall understand?  "No, he would not, not even should risk the ruin of all.  To begin his reign with such a dishonorable deed would surely doom his House and he knows it well, as do I.  But, still, were I to give it of my free will unasked, he may yet accept it.  He cannot ask it of me, but it does not also follow that it cannot be offered as a gift freely given."  

“Nay, my lady.”  He says, his look soured. “Aragorn would never have so little faith in you as you show him in this.”

"What history of Kin-strife would you wish to write?" I demand, grown hot with his accusation.  "Take we no lessons from the stories of our people's own past?  Whose libraries do you wish to hold the chronicles of the rise of many distant kin of the old kings after the brief, bright reign of the son of Arathorn?  For what should we hope?  That we survive the assault of the Enemy only to fall upon each other as they struggle to set Elendil’s winged crown upon their head?”   

He shakes his head.  “My lady, I know not what bitterness would drive you to such thoughts.  Such is the way with all kings.  Should you have no taste for it, mayhap you should have never given your consent at the first.”

“Halbarad, you go to a war that is but one battle across the Ages between Gondor and Harad!  There you will get but a brief taste of it.”  It does little to soften the hardness of his glare, but, though I have little heart for this, I must speak of it.  “Whose faces do you think they are like to see when they look upon me, or my daughter? Oh, aye, with the force of his will and the good faith of those who will listen, I doubt not my lord shall open many hearts to his daughter and heir.  But, he cannot reach all. 

“The complaints of my preference for the wandering clans will be naught like what Elenir will face, for the children of the Defiant of Harad are of our own folk of the Dúnedain.  We have sat at each other’s hearths, cared for each other’s children, and stood in each other’s defense. What think you of the lords of Gondor’s coast after so many years of raids from the Corsairs?  Think you they have broken bread together with them and know aught else of them but the face of suffering and pain?  How quick then would they be to come to Elenir’s aid and those loyal to her should she need it?  Or would they be more inclined to listen to those who think ill of her?  It would take just a spark, Halbarad.  Aye, it comes for all kings at least the once. But it shall take but one man to rally the ancient enmity of the coasts as had the usurper Castamir, one crisis, one misstep, and the lands of Gondor will be ablaze.”

“You are a fool should you think Aragorn has not thought of this.  He would see it would not come to that!”  Halbarad leans o’er me and shakes his head sharply.  “He would be sure to have her married to a man worthy to be consort and king and well-established in her power - ”

I take a breath and search his face, though I find naught of welcome there. “As I was?”

This, it seems brings him up short, for sure it is he recalls what was crudely written in mud upon my lord’s hall.  

“Was I not married to a man of the purest of Númenórean descents and clearest claim to kingship in both kingdoms north and south?  And yet, it seems, to some, my presence in his bed sullied my lord and they wished only to rid the House of it.”

He has fallen silent.  He works his hand on the staff he carries as could he not find a grip upon it.  Somewhat had flashed harsh upon his face and he looks aside to hide it.

“What think you of a man who would turn kin upon kin and grind the Dúnedain under his heels in his attempts to reach so high?  Should she survive it, what will he then demand of her for the price of peace and the chance to protect her folk from our enemies who would spring upon us once we are weakened?  Would you have such a man legitimize his claim to the throne and take my daughter to her marriage bed as his prize?”

I cannot tell should he be angry or disheartened, for his face is grim and he blinks swiftly as he stares fixedly at the door at my back.

“And how long after her marriage to such a man as would do this, then, until Elenir’s death?

“Oh, the usurper will make a great show of grief and the city shall mourn for the untimely loss of the daughter of The Son of Elendil, taken from them by some unknown malady.  Such a pity that he must then choose from amongst the purest daughters of Númenor to replace her.”  

For the tight hand about my throat, I can say no more for some time.  He twists the foot of the pole he holds into the floor, where it grinds against the stone.  

“Aye, Nienelen,” he says and sighs, “Aragorn does not know the worst of it; how easily our folk were turned against the other.  But I stood beside you and saw it, and witnessed what it took to bear it.  You placed yourself in my hands despite my fears, once.  Would you not then trust me?”

“I would,” I say, “but only could you tell me you did not feel the need to warn Ranger Boradan of what he might face nor plan to take extra measures to protect him in the confusion of battle where you must go.”  

He says naught, and, by this, I know he has.

“Halbarad,” I say, “should my husband wish me to stand by his side and shape the world of Men in his likeness, I would do it.  It is a worthy effort and I wish him well in it.”

So grim and discontented is his look, I cannot forebear from touching him.  There high upon his breast sits pinned the many-rayed star I had attempted to capture in silk behind my lord’s great chair.  I must wonder at the care with which he rubbed its silver to a high sheen, for the metal catches upon the noon sun as were it a clear gem. It is this I touch, the tip of my fingers lingering upon its sharp edge. 

“You have been my Great Hound, Halbarad,” I say, “as faithful and valiant in my defense as I could have ever wished. I would put my own safety in your hands without reservation to achieve it.”

And here I must halt and draw a breath to steady my voice ere I speak again.

“But I have lost one child to the attempt. I will not risk the sacrifice of another.”

There. It is done. I have said aloud what has plagued my thoughts since my lord placed a crown of beech leaves upon my head.  

After some time in which we are silent and do naught but stand in the other’s shadow, he nods a little, swallowing and pressing his lips tight. 

He then leans close and speaks low. “Will you not say his name?

“Just this once, my lady,” he pleads, though he cannot look upon me. “There is naught but you and I here, but could you not say his name, just so I could hear it?”

It seems I must swallow against the tears that throttle my voice.  For I had commanded Elesinda put away all the toys, all the clothing, and any tool or journal he had touched ere we had even returned from the barrows.  And I have not said his name since the last I had called him by it.  

“Edainion,” I say and Halbarad’s face is a painful sight at the sound. “I loved him.  He was my son. And could I do aught to repair his loss, I would.”

“Aye,” he says and nods, clearing his throat ere he speaks.  “So would I.”  Then it seems he can say naught more.

"Shall you take my lord this gift from the Lady of Rivendell?" 

I know not whether he will say yeah or nay.  

He sniffs and, in an abrupt gesture, swipes at his cheeks, remaining silent.  

"Only should it be you that asks it of me," he says at last.  

"I ask it."  

After a breath, he nods sharply and turns away to where his men await. 

I follow. 

Ten years ago, that was, when first I met my lord’s men and filled their cups, though it seems a lifetime and more.  

Halbarad has not gone but a few steps when he halts and turns to me.  His face is now more filled with grief than anger.  He waits for me to come upon him with much the same stillness as when he watched me turn my back upon my father and the barrow in which we had laid him.  

I know not what he sees, but I do not see the same man I saw then.  In his eyes I see the man who courted hunger to feed me and mine, who carved small toys when away upon the Wild, who searched under moonlight for poppets dropped upon wide open fields, who placed his body between my daughter and sharp teeth and deadly whispers, and who stood behind me at the hallmoot, affirming my right to speak no matter his loathing of what I had to say.  He it was who asked me to sacrifice all for the love of The Dúnadan, and, in saying 'yes' I followed only his own example.  

"My lady," Halbarad says, having waited, it seems, in vain for words I have not said, for I find myself suddenly reluctant to say words of farewell, as should they be the last I shall ever say to him.  

"Nienelen, I have no mother or sister to see me off into this war.  My heart fears I will not return.  Will you not give me farewell?"

At that, a sudden yearning to ride with him floods through me.  Never afore have I longed for the skill of bearing arms, and yet I do so now, for then I might once again see my lord and stand yet again with he and his kinsman against the Nameless One.  

"Aye, Ranger Halbarad, it is yours.  You should have no need to ask for it."  

A sudden impulse drives me to pull the cord from about my neck, fetching the small, worn purse that yet dangles there from beneath my shift. The blue has paled to a wan, thin color and I have replaced the cord many times o’er. I have so little to give him, but I can offer him this.  It seems he recalls it, for his eyes widen at the sight.

"My thanks to you, Halbarad," say I, "for all the gifts you have given me."  

"My lady –"

"Please thee to take this," I say, ignoring what I know would be his refusal should I allow him to speak. "I had not thought to find a welcome place among home and kin, and this gave me comfort. I have naught to give you in return to compare with the gifts you gave me, but I would that you have this token to carry with you."  

I must take his hand from his side and there place the bit of cloth within his fingers, but he does not refuse it.  The jaw that clenches hard upon itself will not allow him to speak, but he strikes his fist upon his breast and bows his thanks.  

Taking his tightly shorn head between my hands, I pull him down, so I might press my lips to his brow.  "I know not where thee may travel or to what end, but I go with thee in my heart and shall watch over thee in my thoughts for the love thou hast given me and my children. As I loved my sister, so do I love thee, my lord’s kinsman, my brother. No matter the paths thee follow, loyal Halbarad, may the Valar guide thee and watch thy steps as ever thou hast guarded mine. May they bring thee safely home."

When I release him, Halbarad is slow to raise his head, and instead, grasps my hand and bows low over it.  

And then he is gone, for he has turned and trod heavily down the stairs, placing the cord about his neck and tucking the purse beneath his hauberk as he goes.  He touches briefly upon his breast when done, and then takes up his helm and gloves, and, with the banner he carries, signals the company’s departure.  They give me their salute and then there is naught for me to do but to watch them go.  

So, it has begun.  The Lady has chosen.  Now it is in my lord's hands. 

~oOo~