AN: Warning - child death
~ Chapter 48 ~
A hush fell upon all as out from the host stepped the Dúnedain in silver and grey; and before them came walking slow the Lord Aragorn. He was clad in black mail girt with silver, and he wore a long mantle of pure white clasped at the throat with a great jewel of green that shone from afar; but his head was bare save for a star upon his forehead bound by a slender fillet of silver.
ROTK: The Steward and the King
~oOo~
~ TA 3017, 9th day of Yavannië
Lady Nienelen begs Mistress Pelara attend to the following:
Visit Master Bronon and Mistress Linnadis and assess their needs for food, clothing, and kindling.
Assist Mistress Nesta in her inventory and catalogue her anticipated needs ere the fall harvest.
Visit those cotters upon the Angle who have applied for aid. Elesinda has maintained the list of those who have applied directly to the House.
Take inventory of
~oOo~
My lord’s son pulls his tunic on over his head, screwing up his face at the effort of tugging the wool over his features.
"You may go, now, young master,” Nesta says, rising from where she sits and going to the barrel by the hearth. “I am done with you.”
Ammë?” he asks, his voice edged with vexation. “May I play outside, now?”
“Aye, but go no further than the pasture walls, onya.”
“Ammë!” he protests and halts in wrapping his belt about his tunic to stare at me. “But I want to go play with Dammon and Mîdor. We were to go to the river now that the water is lower. I have been waiting to go fishing for months and you would not let me go!”
“Not today, I am afraid.”
“But why not? I did as you asked and have done with my punishment. Why can I not go with them?”
“I will not argue the matter with you, onya,” say I wearily. Most oft, I can find aught else to ease his mind, but naught comes to me and I can do little but take in the anguish upon his face.
“But there is naught to do here!” he cries, tears starting up in his eyes at the injustice of it. “And you will not let any of my friends come to visit! ‘Tis so dull! And not even Elenir is here.”
I would wonder for the irritation of my lord’s son’s mind, had we not just checked for fever.
“Do as thou art bid or suffer the consequence. That is thy choice,” I say, and I think Edainion may soon take to throwing his belt to the floor and shouting and weeping should not his kinsman have stirred from where he sits at my lord’s table, watching.
“Come, young master,” he says, dropping his foot to the floor from where it had been propped upon the bench beside him. The wood creaks with his rising. “I am not so young as once I was. I doubt I can make so merry as your playmates, but what say you and I take my bow and see what we can find, eh?”
It does little, I think, to improve Edainion’s mood, for though he does not protest, he makes no move to either complete his dressing or go with his kin.
“Do not take him far, Halbarad,” I plead and Halbarad nods and gives me a brief smile. It is meant to reassure, though it does not reach his eyes.
Glad am I my lord’s son has asked no questions of why I have kept him so close, why his kinsman has delayed his return to ranging upon the wider lands under his father’s care, nor why his sister has spent the day afore and today in Mistress Pelara’s home. Ne’er fear, he knows somewhat is amiss, but, with the mind of a child of seven years, gives it little thought unless it hinders his nearest desires.
“Wish you to climb The Mountain?” asks Halbarad as Edainion shuffles his way to the great door.
“I am not an infant,” he protests, sulking and making much of fastening his belt as he walks.
“Aye, you have the right of it, you are much grown and long been in pants,” allows Halbarad as he lifts his own bow and quiver from where they hang by the door. “Mayhap then, you should carry me.”
Edainion’s face rises of a sudden, startled at the idea. “Och! No, no, no!” he cries and shrinks away, for his kinsman has come upon him. They are much given to rough play, and I doubt not Halbarad would make the attempt, should it not simply end in my lord’s son planted flat upon the floor under his booted foot.
“Well, best you climb to my shoulders, then.”
Halbarad has gone down to one knee. Sure it is my lord’s son knows he is being coddled and resents it, but the temptation proves too great, and he clambers upon the man’s knee and up to his shoulders.
“Oof! Little goat,” Halbarad complains, his face twisted into a great wince. “Your knees grow more pointed each day.”
“Nay, Halbarad,” Edainion says as the man eases to standing, holding the boy’s legs to his breast with one arm. “You are just getting old.”
“’Old’ am I?”
“Aye,” says Edainion and then squawks, for they have come upon the great door and his kin makes no move to stoop down to make room for his burden. Grunting with the effort, Halbarad makes much of his attempts to get through the door despite the impediment.
“Halbarad! Leave off! Go down! Give me room!”
“Forgive me, little goat.” Halbarad halts and peers up where his lord’s son is pressed to the lintel of the door, vainly attempting to fend it off with his hands. “Mine aged eyes did not see thee there.”
“You have not forgot! You do this every time!”
It is not until the man has wrestled his kin’s son into draping down upon his breast that he can then fit through the doorway, the child protesting the whole while.
“Och!” he cries. “Let me go, Halbarad! Stop it!”
“I have not known a goat to protest so much. Hush you, little goat, and quit poking The Mountain with your sharp little hooves and elbows.”
“Do you wish to try my bow?” Halbarad asks from beyond the door.
“It is too big for me,” Edainion insists, though there is a wistful touch to his voice.
“I shall help you.”
By the time they have walked down the toft and I can discern their words no longer, Mistress Nesta has cleaned her spouted metal bowl of the dregs of rûdh-glaew, tossing the water out one of the windows, and I have nigh shredded my apron for my clenching upon it.
Nesta had pressed her ear to the boy’s breast and back, commanding him to fill his lungs as best he was able, his shoulders rising as he took great gulps of air. And no matter my examination of her face, I could tell naught of her thoughts.
“He has been playing and had no complaints?” she asks as she returns to the bench where we had been seated.
"None, but he awoke with full lungs." His coughing had awoken me and, in a panic, I had seized upon him, frightening him in my carelessness.
“Aye, well,” she says and drops the bowl to the basket she had brought with her. Wrapping a bit of linen about the stopper, she presses and wiggles it securely into the narrow neck of the jar in which she had brought the remedy. “He has no fever and naught of the agitation and listlessness that comes with it. His breath sounds clear enough. It may be no more than a passing chill as he has been prone to of late, and he will be getting into his mischief as usual, my lady.”
I move little when she sits next to me.
“Keep him close.” She pats upon my knee, looking upon me earnestly. “And watch for signs of fever. Should you see it, send for me at once, my lady.”
I nod, though I still cannot return her gaze. “How fares Lenniel?”
She sighs and is, I think, very reluctant to answer. “As best as can be hoped for,” she says at last and rises from the bench, taking up her basket. “Send for me, should you have need, my lady. I will come.”
It was some time ere I found the strength to rise to my feet and close the great door behind them. And even then, I knew not what to do with myself, for ne’er had my lord’s hall felt so vast and cold. And, as the Council has declared for any house under watch for the sickness, I may take no company to distract me from my thoughts.
~oOo~
I set the bowl afore my lord’s son, not daring to even look upon him, for I know his face falls.
"Ammë," he says, his voice small and thick with tears he struggles not to shed. "Atarinya said I did not have to eat pease."
"Ai, onya," I sigh. "It is this or naught else."
I think mayhap he will protest, becoming angry at the betrayal, but, instead, he picks up his spoon and weakly pokes at the pottage. ‘Tis a thick green with the dried pease I had reserved to the very last, so reluctant was I to serve them to him. Even now it breaks my heart, for, though he struggles mightily to swallow, he must become accustomed to them. We have little else in the pantry, a few bushels of beans and oats, no spring wheat, and should the weather not clear, little rye upon the fall harvest, either.
Our bread is of poor make and crumbles as we attempt to eat it. I eke out the flour, adding ground acorns to the dough as much as I dare. Though boiling them removes much of the bitter taste and comforts our bellies' unease with the nuts, it adds no flavor and little of value. I seek only to give us the illusion of a full belly, for it will be our only comfort from it in the months to come.
I lay a bowl afore my seat by my lord’s son, and Halbarad passes the butter to me and I am grateful. It shall give at least some flavor to what I eat. I go to seat myself and then it is I see my lord’s son's face, lowered as it is over his bowl. Oh, but he valiantly attempts to hide his tears.
I set down the butter with such force the sound startles Halbarad into staring at me. I cannot return his gaze.
Ai! I can take no more.
When I hold my arms out to him, my lord’s son fairly flies into them.
"Ai, onya," I sigh and thus we remain, he cradled against my breast and my face pressed to his curls. I think Halbarad has given up his attempts at eating, and watches us silently, fiddling with his empty spoon.
"Mamil?" Edainion asks, his voice coming wearily from where his face presses to me. "When is atarinya to come home?"
Ah, but my heart aches. I dare not glance across the table at my lord's kinsman, for in all the years of death and fear he has suffered, I have ne'er seen him so nigh to weeping.
"He returns when he can, onya," I say, holding my lord’s son close. "I know he thinks of you when he is away."
The small face turns to me and his eyes glitter with what I think must be tears.
"You remember the bit of hair we gave your father?" I ask and he nods. "I am sure he keeps it close, and when he rests for the night, brings it out where he can see it and think of you."
A smile is all I have to offer my child of comfort, but this I give and press my lips to his hair. It is then I feel the burning of my lord’s son's brow.
I brush aside the dark curls to press my hand upon the skin of his brow and cheeks. My face must betray my dismay, for Halbarad has lowered his spoon and stares at the boy.
"Are you tired, onya?" I ask and he nods his head against my breast, his face solemn. "What say you go upstairs to rest a while and I shall make you a broth?"
“I will be up in a little,” I say when Edainion lingers at the stairs, no doubt puzzling out why his mother and kinsman look upon him so intently.
Halbarad shoves his bowl from him.
I remain rooted, staring at the empty door.
"Halbarad," I say, the hall silent behind me but for the settling of the burning wood in the hearth. "When you finish, will it please you to go for Mistress Nesta?"
The rustle of cloth betrays his rising and I turn to him.
"I will go now," he says and I see he has made his way swiftly to the great door.
~oOo~
My lord’s son's hair lies plastered to his face, its curls lost in the dampness upon them. He clutches his carved horse in his fingers, their oils staining the toy as had it worn the imprint of a saddle after a hard ride.
We have changed his bedclothes and the linens in which he rests. It broke my heart to do so, for he complained and cried as we moved him, weary and aching as he must be. But the water I sponged on his breast and limbs has cooled his skin and now he settles more comfortably than afore. The coughing has eased some, but his eyes are over-bright and I think he shall not sleep well tonight.
Mistress Nesta has gone downstairs to join Halbarad where he paces about the hall and we are alone again but for the sounds that rise from down the stairs. Ever and anon I hear Halbarad’s slow and heavy footsteps traveling from hearth to table to window to door and back again.
"May I see Elenir?" Edainion asks, fretfully plucking at the feet of his toy horse.
"Please, Mamil? I will be good!" His voice whines with the ill-feeling of the young.
Wringing out the pad of cloth, I press cool water upon his brow. "Ah, onya, it has naught to do with being good. You are always good, even when you are not,” I say and swipe at the tip of his nose. But it does not make him smile.
“Not now, little one,” I say. “You are not well and must rest to regain your strength. When you are feeling better, then you will spend all the time you wish with your sister."
I do not tell him his sister is not here. She stays in the house of Mistress Pelara. There the wife of her son nurses my child and keeps her warm. I have been warned and, with a heavy heart, sent word for her to stay away.
~oOo~
“The guard upon the granaries and sheds has been set as you commanded, and we shall have more wine for Mistress Nesta in a few days,” says Halbarad. “Aught else should be brought to the Council?”
I have made myself small so I might fit upon the last step into the solar and there roll between forefinger and knee an errant linen thread that had found its way upon my dress. Here we sit and speak atimes, forbidden from coming closer than the distance of the room.
“Should you find a way to have the Council agree to ration what comes of the fall harvest, with this rain it is like as not to—"
Halbarad’s wry snort puts a halt to aught else I would say on the subject. He has perched his bulk upon a low stool along the far wall of the parlor, where he bends o’er his wax tablet amidst my long-neglected baskets of wool, yarns, and threads and tools.
“Aye, well,” I say, rolling the thread so its ends are a blur of movement. “I have also given thought to the next spring’s harvest. It must not fail, for our greatest need shall be ere it ripens. Should the pattern hold, it seems we are more like to have more of rain than drought. I have asked Master Herdir to reinforce the dikes and ditches. The pastures and fields may yet flood, despite this, and so we must have means of responding quickly. The faster we get to the work, the more of the plantings we may rescue. We shall need set a watch upon the dam. That Master Herdir can do without consulting the Council, but we shall need means of assembling crews and setting them to the work to be done without the delay of debate and confusion should they be needed. The arrangement we used to alert folk of the need to retreat to the defensive woodworks may be our best option and be easiest recalled come the time.”
This, at least, Master Bachor is not like to protest.
Rapidly his stylus scrapes upon the wax to the dark wooden surface below. Halbarad nods in understanding without looking up. “I shall have it put to them. They can meet in Elder Maurus’ hall the better to give you quiet.”
“Sedwyn and Hammad are yet missing,” he says. “That takes our numbers lost to seven in these three months past.”
Ai! We lose men up on the Wild faster than afore.
“We shall need to replace them soon, else we shall lose all hope of warning of incursions from the east. We must protect the southern passes, as the greater threat to the Shire comes from there. I have sent Mathil and Boradan to the south, to Tharbad, but that leaves a gap between the High Pass and the Ettenmoors through which our Enemy could send a troupe of wargs and their riders and, despite all the destruction they leave in their wake, we would never see it.
“Do not say it,” he says, not deigning to look upon me. He need not, for I am sure my surprise has stilled my hands and set my gaze upon him.
“You sent Mathil away,” I say, whereupon Halbarad sighs.
“Would you rather I kept him close?”
I cannot say I am surprised, but had hoped he would not send Mathil so far. Should it come to it, I would not have my lord’s kinsman alone in his house. For I know not what dark thoughts would trouble him and what he would do to keep them silent.
“He would not have liked the command much.”
“I gave him little choice.”
“Nor had much fondness for that, either.”
“When I succumb to the sickness you may order my men about as you please, my lady,” he says, with some heat. “But not ere that.”
I raise my hands in surrender ere dropping them again to my lap. ‘Tis no use. As many times as I had offered invitation to bring Mathil more closely into my lord’s House, each time had Halbarad refused. I would not begrudge them the privacy they prefer, but had hoped, mayhap, time had healed the wound of what he could not have, and my lord’s kinsman did not feel so torn. Halbarad had not taken kindly to the interference.
He rubs his fingers upon his brow and returns to considering his notes.
“Haldren has found a good number of likely candidates among the women of the wandering folk,” he goes on. “They have no need for our tutoring to live and travel upon the wastes, being much used to the journey from pasture to pasture, and some are already much skilled in knife play or use of a bow or axe. All ride very well. Trackers and messengers seem to be the best place for them until they are more used to the sword. Though, we have more metal and skill for the making of axes and pikes, which they could wield from horseback.”
“And they are willing?”
He shrugs, still looking at his notes. “As willing as any who have volunteered.”
He does not say it, but by the shifting upon his seat and the fact he will not look upon me, I know his thoughts as uneasy as mine. Each Ranger’s family receives a portion of the House’s tithe in food and goods. The hungrier the Angle grows, the more its young folk are willing to take the risk in exchange for unburdening their kin of their bellies.
“Are there any impediments to my calling upon them to serve?”
“You must ask Elder Bachor this,” I say and at this he looks up.
“I am asking you.”
“I am not the one to ask.”
After some time in which he drums his stylus against the edge of his hinged tablet, he goes on.
“Muindir does well. He has infection, but it has not spread. He responds well to the treatment Mistress Nesta set him. I have talked to our smiths as you requested. Mistress Tanril agrees they have great need of skilled hands to help with the work.”
“Aye, that is a good. My thanks to thee for speaking to them.”
“Aye, he is a quick study and clever with his hands. Could he learn to curb that wit of his, he has the mind for that and more besides. Give him some more years and ‘twould be a good to have a smith upon the Council again.” Here he pauses. “He should know to whom he is beholden for this chance.”
“No,” I say.
“My lady, his parents hold much influence among the wandering folk who live here.”
“I know it, but I would not have you tell them. Should I come to know them, it is best it not be burdened by obligation.”
Halbarad considers me closely. It seems he would have some argument to present, but, after some time, accepts this and does not press.
“I have taken Haldren into my confidence,” he says.
Well then. I doubt not Ranger Haldren had worked out much of it on his own. The man misses little.
“He knows everything?” I ask.
“All I know, I told him.”
“How did he take it?”
Halbarad shrugs. “As he takes all else, with little comment but much play of thoughts behind his eyes. He is well able to take my place should I fall ill.”
Ah, could but women hold a position of some authority in the Angle, I could say the same.
“The command of your men, aye, but would he take Mistress Pelara into his confidence, think you?”
“I will recommend her to him,” Halbarad says ere a smile breaks upon his face. “Though I shall greatly regret not being here to see it should it come to it.”
Here I join his chuckling, rolling the back of my head against the wall against which I lean. Should they join forces, I fear for any of the Council who might oppose them, should they not bring the hall down about them in the process.
Above our heads comes the creak of the boards and the complaint of a young voice. We fall silent and listen for a time.
“Nesta says Elenir and Elesinda show no sign of fever and have taken the cure,” Halbarad offers, his voice quiet. “And Lenniel shows signs of improvement.”
No doubt he wishes but to give me what reassurance he can, in absence of aught else. For he cannot think ‘twas not the first question I asked when Nesta arrived.
“Not the most unpleasant of tastes, despite the strong smell, but I doubt I shall e’er drink wine again without thinking of it,” he says.
I nod. “Mistress Nesta has arranged for those not at risk among her aides to spell me atimes, but they are stretched so thin, it will be no more than a few hours at a time.”
“Aye, we have folk expanding her sickhouse to accommodate those who have nowhere else to be confined even now.”
‘No!” we hear sharply from above.
“Come now,” Mistress Nesta soothes over Edainion’s whining.
“We should arrange a portion of the tithe to be sent to Mistress Pelara’s kin,” I say though I look more to the head of the stairs where the mistress’ shadow flickers. “I would not have them overburdened for Elenir and Elesinda’s care.”
Halbarad nods and makes quick note upon his tablet. “I shall arrange it. We have had an abundance of women offer themselves as wet nurse. I can arrange recompense for them, as well. Should not be difficult to prevent hardship on any one house for a short while. Do not worry so should you not be able to keep your milk up. We will find a way to keep Elenir well fed and strong no matter what comes.”
“What?” he demands, for this has brought my look sharply upon him.
“I cannot fathom you speaking of such things so easily when first you approached me in my father’s garden.”
“No,” he says wryly, though his look is fond. “Mayhap not, but I have changed more swaddling and soothed more infant tears than e’er I thought would be my fate since then.”
“No, no, no, no!” comes the shout above, followed swiftly by the ringing of a metal bowl upon the floor.
“Sweet Arda unstained, child,” comes Nesta’s low voice.
I spring from my seat, peering into the solar from below.
“My lady? Your help, I beg you.”
Halbarad, too has risen from his seat. “Go to him. I am not leaving. We will speak again soon and finish this.”
~oOo~
"Mamil?"
I stir, for I had drifted away, submerged beneath the overcast sky and the hours of vigil I keep in the solar.
The room stinks of wine and ox gall and cropleek until I can smell naught else. For in the agitation of his fever, my lord’s son fought Mistress Nesta and knocked a bowl of the stuff from his lips, and it is sunk deep into the dry grain of the wooden floor.
My lord’s son awakes and coughs, his small body wracked with the effort to breathe. He gasps for breath as were he a fish plucked from the river and left to fend for itself upon dry land. I shift about, sitting without disturbing the linen that covers my lord’s son so I might pour water in the cup nearby. When he is done, I prop him to sitting and hold the cup so he may drink. His lips are rough, though oft I rub them with fat.
"Do you hunger, onya?" I ask as I lay him down and set aside the cup, but he shakes his head.
I shall not force him, for he drank of a good, strong broth not hours ago. Brought by Mistress Pelara, she left it at the bottom of the stairs and called up to us where we lay in the solar. She brought, too, offerings of aid from throughout the Angle; toys and amusements of various makes, food our folk can ill-afford to give, a silk scarf as is prized by the women of the wandering folk, the chance to sleep while others watched. I sent Pelara away, though she would brave all and come up the stairs and sit with us a while. She need bring little news. I already know the harvest shall be delayed and I wished not to hear of it. For I hear enough of the drops of rain that strike the leaves outside the window and smell the wet earth of the soft evens. I cannot recall what it is to sit in a pool of sun and feel warmed for it.
I tip the wrap of cloth upon my lord’s son's breast, but the poultice still smells strong and so I leave it be. I wring out the cloth in the bowl of cool water by our bed. When I lay it upon his brow, my lord’s son opens his eyes and looks upon me. I think them full of dreams and distant lands, but then he speaks, though it be but a soft, hoarse sound.
"Will you tell me a story, Mamil?"
With that, I burrow beneath the covers and take my lord’s son's head upon my breast.
"What do you wish to hear, onya? Shall I tell you the story of your father's return?"
Ai! So weak is he, the burst of coughing wearied him beyond all speech. The lids that close are so thin it seems I can see the dark of his eyes beneath them. He says naught.
Aye, 'tis true, that tale is too close. Ah, mayhap stories of my mother’s kin would bring more comfort. I doubt not they could tell tales of fear and loss, but hope and forbearance as well. For surely these tales are told at such times. But my mother was not here to tell them, and I know them not.
"Then shall I tell you the story of my father and the honeybees?"
A slight smile comes to my lord’s son's lips.
"Aye, then, so it shall be."
There, in the bittersweet of spilled wine rising from the floorboards, with my lord’s son's head resting upon my shoulder and the tips of my finger stirring the damp strings of his hair upon his brow, I begin.
"So it was, in the beginning of my fifteenth year, when a girl is to celebrate her entry into womanhood and a party is called among her kin, I begged of my father honey to make the sweetest and silliest of cakes. For shaped of hedgehogs they were, with pointed quills of hazelnuts and bodies sticky with honey. But, alas, there was no honey to be found, neither in our pantry nor in the market. And being the silly girl I was, this made me weep, for, like you, I had a great love of the sweet and sticky hedgehogs. Ah, and there is little a father can do to defend against the tears of his young daughter.
"Upon the next dawn, my father rose and went he to the baker, who now you know as our Elder and grandsire to your playmate, Lothel. For her father has taken upon himself the labor of the Angle's ovens in her grandsire's stead. My father bore Maurus' words well, for the baker spoke much of the ills of honey for a lass so young."
I pitch my voice as would make my lord’s son laugh when e’er I told the tale. "Ah, Melendir, you know naught of the rotting of teeth it shall give her should you not forbid it, and then none shall marry her and she shall die an unmarried maid and you shall have no grandchildren to support you in your dotage.' But my father listened not to him, though all his forbearance was in vain. For, alas, the baker had no honey to give him no matter how he beg for it."
And when next I draw breath to go on with my tale, for should the adventure continue, it meanders across great perils in the Misty Mountains and into the land of the Beornings where my father claimed to have been chased by honeybees the size of sheep ere he made his way home, I know my lord’s son asleep for the labored lift of his breast against my ribs. The tale can wait. Let him sleep. I lay back my head, though the middle of the day comes upon us.
Ah, should I brew more of comfrey and willow bark to gentle his body's soreness and cool his burning skin? Or should I ask Halbarad to send for Mistress Nesta and beg of her more guidance?
Nay, I will do neither, for both shall take me from my lord’s son's side and I wish to see no more of the pity in the healer's glance and the grim line of her mouth that can tell me no more than I already know. For of the last she came to see us, she said naught but to give him comfort and pray. In the quiet that fell after our visitors left, I heard the soft sounds of a low voice weeping below stairs, but I had naught left of comfort to offer my Great Hound. And though the folk come to stand vigil upon my lord’s toft and line the path afore the great door to his hall, neither do I go to them. For I have no wish to play Lady and be gracious and bear their grief and fear for them. I would have no other’s eyes upon me. Nay, I shall stay here until my son awakes again and he can look upon me and know I am here.
~oOo~
My eyes fly open upon the dark shadows of night. The rushlight I had burning has guttered out and my back is stiff for the sitting in my chair and leaning o’er the table. My eyes search, but I see naught. O’er the quickened beating of my heart, I listen, but I hear naught. Not cricket seeking drier shelter at the foot of the house, nor rain or wind upon the raised and fastened shutters, nor stirring below stairs where Halbarad sleeps.
Dark have been my dreams. Though foresight may come upon my lord and his kin, I know none of it. My dreams are of more mortal make. They are borne of naught more than a lady long without the company of her lord and husband, a man she knows walks terrible roads, and wishes he were home.
Of late, when I close my eyes and leave the Angle behind, I see my lord in a great company of men from many lands. Tall are their spears and fey is the light in their eyes. The shadows of dark towers fall upon them and I hear the screaming of men and the bawling of their horses, for they are but islands in a flood of monstrous forms let loose from behind tall black gates. My lord roars in a fearsome voice and swings at his enemy with a long sword whose make I know not. There he throws them down. Ever he hews the orcs and men that clutch at him, yet ever there is another and another to take his enemy's place. A fell shadow swoops from above and grim and hardened men fall groveling to the barren field in its passage. The summit of a great mount tumbles away and ash spews forth from it broken maw. The ground shakes. And above all swarms a great cloud of dark-winged birds as were they awaiting the grim harvest’s end so they might alight upon the field and pluck at what is left.
But now I dream not. A howl rises and falls o’er the distant hills, and I know why I have awakened. I hope the sheep safe in their sheds. There are wolves in the hills. They grow hungry and the Lord of the Dúnedain does not return to banish them.
In the dark, I listen for the wheeze that is the breath of my lord’s son rising against the linen that covers him or the rustling of bedclothes as he moves in his sleep. And I hear naught.
~oOo~