Post by Admin on Jan 3, 2021 0:38:09 GMT
Author: Linda Hoyland
Summary: A small child has the power to lighten a weary heart.
Rated PG.
Gilraen stood up from her loom and paced the room restlessly. “Arathorn should be home by now.”
“He will come,” Ivorwen looked up from the supply of herbs she was making an inventory of. “My farsight would tell me if any evil had befallen him, as would yours. You have hardly any sage left, my love”
Gilraen sighed. “Your words are wise, how I wish we could be together more often. I will harvest some sage from my herb garden. I think we need more athelas too.”
Ivorwen sighed too. “I wish too that we still lived in the same village, but your father’s sword is needed further afield. There are so few men left. You still have a few athelas leaves left.”
“I understand he must protect our people, but I still miss your company.”
“It is the price we must pay, my love. We must all serve against the forces of darkness as best we may.”
“What hope remains for our people? We dwindle year by year, though Arathorn strives ceaselessly.” Gilraen’s tone was bitter.
“A great deal of hope since your son was born.”
Gilraen glanced across the room to where little Aragorn was crawling across the hearthrug playing with their sweet- natured tabby cat. Her features relaxed into a smile. “He grows so fast,” she said fondly. “Already he talks, but he has not tried to walk yet.” Her anxious frown returned. “My friends in the village tell me that boys usually walk before they speak.”
“Worry not,” said Ivorwen. “All babies are different. You spoke early, but you never crawled, unlike the little one here.”
Gilraen scuttled over to her son as he threatened to crawl too near to the fire. The cat wandered towards the door. Ivorwen let it out.
Gilraen fetched Aragorn’s favourite toy horse then sat down on the rug and played with her child.
“You need chamomile too,” said Ivorwen, scrutinising an almost empty jar.
“I make Arathorn a tea with it to help him sleep,” said Gilraen. “His cares lie heavy upon him.”
Ivorwen cocked her head. “I think I can hear a horse approaching.”
The two women listened but the Chieftain did not appear.
“It cannot be Arathorn,” said Gilraen. “Maybe it was the patrol setting out for the night.”
Just then the door opened and Arathorn entered. He carried his cloak over his arm and his face was grim. Little Aragorn crawled towards him crying “Ada!” joyfully. The Chieftain smiled at his son as he bent to kiss him, but his eyes remained sad.
Gilraen embraced her husband. “It gladdens my heart to see you safely home, my beloved.”
“We thought we heard your horse a few minutes ago,” said Ivorwen.
“You did.” Arathorn’s voice was grim.
The women looked at him questioningly.
“I lost a good man today. Orcs ambushed us unawares. Beren died in my arms. I had to wash off his blood before coming in as not to alarm the child.” He sighed deeply and sank into his favourite chair beside the fire.
Gilraen bowed her head. “Alas! I have known Beren since I was a little girl. You look weary, my love. I will prepare supper.”
“I will make the meal tonight,” said Ivorwen. “I shall leave you two together.”
Arathorn shook his head. “I would be alone with my thoughts for a little while. I will watch him while you ladies are busy.”
Ivorwen and Gilraen disappeared into the kitchen. Aragorn crawled around the rug still playing with the horse. Arathorn took out his sword and began to polish it. Although lost in thought, he kept a watchful eye upon his child.
“My heart grieves for Arathorn to see him so careworn,” said Gilraen. She began to peel the carrots as she spoke.
“Your father takes the loss of any of his men hard too,” said Ivorwen. “Curse those spawn of Mordor !” She chopped at the meat fiercely.
“How do you soothe father’s spirits at times like these?” Gilraen asked. “I know not how to comfort my husband when his heart is so heavy.”
“Simply be there for him when he needs you,” Ivorwen advised. “Do not chide him if he needs to be alone, but comfort him when he has nightmares. Encourage him to spend time with Aragorn. Few could be sad in that child’s company.”
“He is so sweet natured,” said Gilraen. “I expect all mothers think their little ones exceptional, but I am certain that –
“Gilraen!”
At Arathorn’s cry, the two women rushed out of the kitchen, Gilraen was still clutching a carrot she was peeling.
“Look!” said Arathorn. He sheathed the sword he had been cleaning as he spoke. The Chieftain was beaming from ear to ear at the sight of Aragorn who was standing up, holding on to the leg of a chair. At the sight of his mother, the little boy took several tottering steps towards her, before falling and landing on the rug. When Gilraen reached him, he hauled himself up again, clutching at the folds of her skirt. She reached down and hugged him.
“His first steps!” Arathorn said proudly.” My son’s first steps.”
“The first steps of many, I foresee,” said Ivorwen. “This child will travel far.”
Summary: A small child has the power to lighten a weary heart.
Rated PG.
Gilraen stood up from her loom and paced the room restlessly. “Arathorn should be home by now.”
“He will come,” Ivorwen looked up from the supply of herbs she was making an inventory of. “My farsight would tell me if any evil had befallen him, as would yours. You have hardly any sage left, my love”
Gilraen sighed. “Your words are wise, how I wish we could be together more often. I will harvest some sage from my herb garden. I think we need more athelas too.”
Ivorwen sighed too. “I wish too that we still lived in the same village, but your father’s sword is needed further afield. There are so few men left. You still have a few athelas leaves left.”
“I understand he must protect our people, but I still miss your company.”
“It is the price we must pay, my love. We must all serve against the forces of darkness as best we may.”
“What hope remains for our people? We dwindle year by year, though Arathorn strives ceaselessly.” Gilraen’s tone was bitter.
“A great deal of hope since your son was born.”
Gilraen glanced across the room to where little Aragorn was crawling across the hearthrug playing with their sweet- natured tabby cat. Her features relaxed into a smile. “He grows so fast,” she said fondly. “Already he talks, but he has not tried to walk yet.” Her anxious frown returned. “My friends in the village tell me that boys usually walk before they speak.”
“Worry not,” said Ivorwen. “All babies are different. You spoke early, but you never crawled, unlike the little one here.”
Gilraen scuttled over to her son as he threatened to crawl too near to the fire. The cat wandered towards the door. Ivorwen let it out.
Gilraen fetched Aragorn’s favourite toy horse then sat down on the rug and played with her child.
“You need chamomile too,” said Ivorwen, scrutinising an almost empty jar.
“I make Arathorn a tea with it to help him sleep,” said Gilraen. “His cares lie heavy upon him.”
Ivorwen cocked her head. “I think I can hear a horse approaching.”
The two women listened but the Chieftain did not appear.
“It cannot be Arathorn,” said Gilraen. “Maybe it was the patrol setting out for the night.”
Just then the door opened and Arathorn entered. He carried his cloak over his arm and his face was grim. Little Aragorn crawled towards him crying “Ada!” joyfully. The Chieftain smiled at his son as he bent to kiss him, but his eyes remained sad.
Gilraen embraced her husband. “It gladdens my heart to see you safely home, my beloved.”
“We thought we heard your horse a few minutes ago,” said Ivorwen.
“You did.” Arathorn’s voice was grim.
The women looked at him questioningly.
“I lost a good man today. Orcs ambushed us unawares. Beren died in my arms. I had to wash off his blood before coming in as not to alarm the child.” He sighed deeply and sank into his favourite chair beside the fire.
Gilraen bowed her head. “Alas! I have known Beren since I was a little girl. You look weary, my love. I will prepare supper.”
“I will make the meal tonight,” said Ivorwen. “I shall leave you two together.”
Arathorn shook his head. “I would be alone with my thoughts for a little while. I will watch him while you ladies are busy.”
Ivorwen and Gilraen disappeared into the kitchen. Aragorn crawled around the rug still playing with the horse. Arathorn took out his sword and began to polish it. Although lost in thought, he kept a watchful eye upon his child.
“My heart grieves for Arathorn to see him so careworn,” said Gilraen. She began to peel the carrots as she spoke.
“Your father takes the loss of any of his men hard too,” said Ivorwen. “Curse those spawn of Mordor !” She chopped at the meat fiercely.
“How do you soothe father’s spirits at times like these?” Gilraen asked. “I know not how to comfort my husband when his heart is so heavy.”
“Simply be there for him when he needs you,” Ivorwen advised. “Do not chide him if he needs to be alone, but comfort him when he has nightmares. Encourage him to spend time with Aragorn. Few could be sad in that child’s company.”
“He is so sweet natured,” said Gilraen. “I expect all mothers think their little ones exceptional, but I am certain that –
“Gilraen!”
At Arathorn’s cry, the two women rushed out of the kitchen, Gilraen was still clutching a carrot she was peeling.
“Look!” said Arathorn. He sheathed the sword he had been cleaning as he spoke. The Chieftain was beaming from ear to ear at the sight of Aragorn who was standing up, holding on to the leg of a chair. At the sight of his mother, the little boy took several tottering steps towards her, before falling and landing on the rug. When Gilraen reached him, he hauled himself up again, clutching at the folds of her skirt. She reached down and hugged him.
“His first steps!” Arathorn said proudly.” My son’s first steps.”
“The first steps of many, I foresee,” said Ivorwen. “This child will travel far.”