2986-2990
The next few years took upon a rhythm of their own.
Spring 2986, Breeland. Staddle, "The Den" at Goat Run 2
In the spring of 2986 Aravir took stock of his company. Among his boys the almost twenty year olds Breelander Caradoc and Dunlander Rys - with two campaigns and two winters of training - classified as veterans. Another Breelander, Lanon, not eighteen yet, boasted of a full summer of training with Aithon and two winters with the others. Shorty decided to risk his participation in this year's campaign.
His 2nd Ranger this year was Strawberry, whom he vaguely remembered from the youngling's rookie year at Sarn Ford. He knew he later campaigned with Tarkil and L'ill Liver. That was a good thing as it suggested that the lad was open minded – hopefully that would include "Middle Men" as well. On this assignment having somebody with the mindset of Thanor would be courting disaster or – at the very least – be counter productive. He'd have to send such a man back to the Angle.
"I volunteered, your Lordship. With all the new, older men from the Holds being available for duty in the Lone Lands, youngsters like me are being assigned to border patrol. And more training. I've been on four campaigns already, I've done border patrol as part of my training, I'd be bored to death.
Like youth always he cannot see the gift he is being given; but he made his decision; then again, he has survived four campaigns – compared to my boys he is twice the veteran
"And with what I've heard from Honey and Ears and L'ill Liver I trust a season with you will be interesting. I also hoped to see her again."
"No lordship, please, just Shorty." Aravir decided to clear up things up front. There as no way of keeping certain things under wraps. The young man's words gave a good opportunity to do it now.
"Come with me and mind your head" – he took the young Ranger with him to another part of the smial and knocked.
"Are you decent, dear? We have a visitor"
"Yup, come in."
He ushered his new Second inside. Over the next minute his face was a study in emotions.
First joy – at seeing L'ill Liver again, beaming at him with equal joy and surprise, then curiosity at seeing a child in her arms, then round eyed astonishment and a whirl of the head to face Aravir.
The deciding moment – Aravir knew. Either he accepts us or stomps out in disgust. He looked up at the young Ranger.
"We are married."
Strawberry snapped back his eyes to Ashtuzual. He took two steps towards her and dropped down to one knee besides the low chair orc size she was sitting in with the baby and kissed her hand in greeting.
"So it was him you were sighing about when you thought we could not hear, eh?"
Ashtuzual grinned – a bit bashful about apparently everybody hearing her sighs - and nodded.
He glanced at sleeping Thiriston and asked in half whisper:
"Boy or girl?"
After communicating with his wife with their eyes Aravir left them to catch up on their acquaintance and went back to his study. He felt enormous relief that things on this front had gone well.
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The Home Front was well tended. The unquestioned mistress of the house - Ashtuzual - was assisted by the elders – Aithon and Guntram/Gundrun - then the three girls of like age – Almarian, Elwing and Tesni. The trio often ventured out together, usually with Guntram. To the surprise of (almost) everybody the dwarf was surprisingly knowledgeable about household matters. And his cakes – once he acquired all the condiments he claimed he needed – were a wonder. Walking around with a gaggle of girls made it easier for him to swap recipes and talk about baking with Breelanders – Big or Small Folk alike. The foursome soon became a common sight in smials all over Staddle. Guntram's mastery of cakes and pastries proved to be an ice breaker of the highest order. Guntram – though male, was tolerated. As being evidently assigned by the queer Big Folk from Goat Run 2 as an escort to their teen girls, he must be trustworthy. Secondly, the Hobbits were the Race first to appreciate a male's interest in finer points of the Art of Cooking. Thirdly, as a Dwarf he was odd by definition. Fourth, although broader than a hobbit should be, he did not have that disquieting height that Big Folk had. Conversely, Ashtuzual soon got used to having up to a dozen females of various races and ages in her kitchen baking "something". She was not that interested in sweets, exempting anything dripping with honey and raw egg yolks thickened with sugar into a hard mass. Being supplied with these, or (half) raw meat discretely passed on by Guntram – she left them to their fun. The Hobittess' cooing over Thiriston and adoring his lightly pointed ears was also nice.
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Aithon was the (grand) fatherly figure the two Haladin boys - Wyn and Trahere – needed. With Guntram chipping in they took care of the heavy work around the house and tended to the horse and ponies. Aithon also trained the household members in weapon use – two enthusiastic boys, two interested and three uninterested females.
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In High Summer Aravir – sent on his way by ribald jokes – nipped into Staddle to check the going's on and pick up mail. With no fixed area of patrol he was impossible to find in the field, hence all missives went to Staddle.
He found himself being immediately dragged to the bedchamber by his wife.
"Yavaana be praised! I've missed you so much! And Thiriston has a tooth! And I'm in Heat ... "
"But you said that nursing ... "
"My body is just going crazy to have your babies ... "
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In 2986 Aravir recruited five Haladin boys, aged 16 to 19, which Aithon and Guntram immediately began to put through their paces once the company went into Winter Quarters. With roads hardened by first frosts Groin brought a small smithy for his brother, but declined to stay. He gave off a haunted appearance and once finding Guntram in good health and cheerful he looked eager to get away from Breeland.
Gronguron was born before Yule, to some tut-tutting by Edelweiss about Lothiriel succumbing to the baby-rush experienced by newly wed hobbit lasses and having children less than 12 months apart.
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2987-2989
The next few years were much of a muchness, with Aravir patrolling north Eriador and bringing home recruits. His summertime visits brought Hastogur (boy) to the world in 2987 and Pengyril (girl) in 2988. No deaths in the Family were recorded in these years, with children of various ages growing.
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Imladris, Spring of 2989.
Having gone though official missives the day before Aragorn was now enjoying letters from friends and family. He read out snippets to his beloved with which he enjoyed the air and view from one of the gazebos in Imladris' gardens. He chuckled over the latest letter from his uncle. He replied to the inquisitive "Hm?"
"My cousin" – he cunningly used a broad term – "managed to save his daughter from being named Nastahandin (Eye Gouger). His wife is from a warrior culture and wanted a fierce name for a daughter too. Their boys are Thiriston, Gronguron and Hastogur, by the way. SNORT They finally settled on Pengyril (Killer Bow). Now the girl is fated to spend her teenage years at the range" – he chuckled, imagining his aunt by marriage and uncle arguing over the name. He chuckled again and went on reading quietly over the developments among the Aravir's, Tarkil's, and their associates.
"Darling?"
"Hm?"
"I'm not silent just for silence's sake. I am silent expectantly".
He looked up and his slate pools met the leaden orbs beneath perfectly formed sable arches.
"Your cousins are Dunedain. Dunedain of High Birth marry other Dunedain of High Birth. And the Dunedain are not a warrior culture where mothers give their daughters "fierce names". So who is this cousin by marriage of yours I have never heard about yet? Who is she?"
Aragorn groaned inwardly – of all the people he did not wish to reveal Ashtuzual to his betrothed was somewhere near the top of the list. With her father and brothers topping it. Women and their interest in relationships of obscure kinsmen!
He tried to elf it.
"Her identity, although unusual, is not of importance meriting closer examination at this moment."
The Elvenstar looked at him as if he had just farted.
"Speak like a Man! I get such hogwash from Father, Mithrandir or ... or ... Figwit!"
Aragorn decided to put it delicately:
"She is of the Avari which fell into the hands of Morgoth."
Arwen's eyes and lips assumed perfectly circular shape.
"Yrch?" she whispered.
Aragorn nodded almost imperceptibly in Ranger fashion.
"Which cousin is the husband?" she asked after a moment, her face inscrutinable.
"Aravir" he mumbled.
Arwen shrieked with laughter
"Your uncle? Your HEIR?!"
She laughed uncontrollably, hiding her face in hands then glancing at him, and bursting into laugher again. Until she fell off the bench.
That allowed her to compose herself a bit. She wiped the tears off her face, giving Aragorn the opportunity to interject.
"Not heir anymore, he renounced".
"Never mind ... what's my future kinswoman like? How did they meet? Did she waylay him in the Lone Lands, had her wicked way with him – dishonoured - he was forced to wed her?" GIGGLE
"Actually he freed her from slavers ... "
GASP Arden wrapped Aragorn's arm around her and snuggled into his side.
"Go on! That's romantic! What happened? Were you there?" she asked eagerly.
Aragorn began the tale but in a moment was interrupted by another howl of laughter
"PRINCESS NASTAHANDIN!"
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The summer of 2989 brought about a visit of Tarkil and Inzilbeth. The ex-Rohirr left Miriel, Indis and Valandil with their grandfather in Staddle. Together with the two older girls (plus Tesni foisted on them by Ashtuzual) and a small escort they made a little tour of Numernorean sights in the neighbourhood – Fornost and Annuminas topping the list. As Mithlond was not Numenorean it held no interest for Inzilbeth. Besides, she was expecting and beginning to show and wanted to go back. The whole family rode back for the Angle in the autumn. Once back the standing of Almarian and Elwing on the matrimonial market shot through the roof. They had dropped out of sight for almost four years and returned for the winter time balls fully grown and worldly. Very worldly. So worldly in fact that there were things they could not speak off. Not only had they seen the old Capitals of Arnor and Arthedain with their own eyes, the sweets they could bake escaped description in Sindarin, let alone Westron. Common wisdom (read – snobbery) held that only Quenya could supply words worthy of such wonders!
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The lack of the two daughters of Tarkil at Yule was compensated by the wedding of Caradoc and Tesni. The highlight of the party was a sloshed Ashtuzual – just recovered from birthing Hadril (girl) - promising the groom a "whip to the face" should he abuse his wife. And waving a whip in an attempt at demonstration.
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Besides various family matters Aravir pursued a pet project of his.
During his years in Breeland he first began to suspect, and then found proof for the existence of a secret language spoken by big folk Breelanders. This was a language which did not seem to pass outside the door of their homes or – outside –was not spoken by more than two people at once. More than once he had observed – himself unseen – two Breelanders speak their singular tongue and switch to Westron when a third joined them. The most astonishing thing to this whole business was the fact if one of the original pair left, leaving behind the other and the newcomer, those two switched to Breelander once the leaver was out of earshot. As some words were similar and as far he could confirm their meaning from context – e.g. someone pointing to a cow and using the word he knew meant cow in Dunlander – he was fairly sure that the secret tongue must be what the Breelanders spoke before the Numenoreans arrived.
He did not even know how close to the truth he was. The conquerors from Westernesse tried to protect first Anduanic and then Sindarin from the fate of Noldorin. Public use of the languages of the "Twilight People" – as they were called in documents, or "Men of Darkness" or "Lesser Men" – as they were sneered at in every day speech was banned. The penalty was flogging, preferably in front of the perpetuator's family. If there were three speakers not only was the squealer's identity unsure – unlike in a one on one situation, but three or more people speaking Breelander in public was on the books as Sedition. And that was a crime typically punished with a sentence to the forest felling camps along the Greyflood or Brandywine. These camps – known during their day as the ghoul-lags for the tales of hunger-crazed inmates eating fresh corpses, passed from fact to legend, then through legend into myth, and then were forgotten.
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Aravir also began to give thought to what was he to do with his two eldest recruits. They were coming close to the end of their contracts and he had to decide what course to pursue after they were free of obligations after the 2990 campaign..
Rys was no Ranger material. He was a good warrior, that nobody could deny, but his conscience was that of his commanding officer. Ordered to protect he would protect, ordered to kill he would kill. Aravir decided not to offer the young man a new contract. Instead he he would suggest other career opportunities to him. He could recommend him to the caravan guards running the Great Eastern Road, the friendship with Groin giving him contacts there. As he was a Dunlending there was no career for him in the Mark, but beyond it lay the Southern Kingdom. A letter from "Thorongil" – which Aravir would gladly procure for him – should ensure his hiring by one of the various Gondorian armies. By now Rys was both fluent and literate in Westron, immediately positioning him as somebody of a calibre way above an average recruit. He also new some basics of Sindarin, so–called "army Sindarin", about 150-200 words of command. Aragorn's insider knowledge was priceless in this regard.
Caradoc, the other survivor of the four originals, was a different story. He was a good Ranger candidate, a protector. He'd never blindly follow an order harming innocents. Yet he would not be that interested in eventually settling in the Angle. Not to mention that he had already forfeited that possibility by marrying Tesni - even if the Angle-Dunedain were capable of grudgingly admitting foreign born spouses, Aravir doubted they'd accept families from a different tribe. Secondly, the young couple had to become established here and now, which meant Breeland. So why uproot them later? And Breeland was a place where Caradoc was a local and – even if tainted by contact with Rangers – accepted. Tesni being an excellent sweets baker - Guntram by praised! - did not harm their prospects either. Her Dunlending origin made her no more – and probably less – suspect to the locals than had she been a Dunadaneth. To him Aravir was more than happy to offer another seven year contract. However, instead of passing him "up", to "genuine" Ranger work, he wanted to retain him for helping with training. He would serve as wonderful buffer between the Haladin, Breelander or Dunlending recruits and him - the Dunedan officer. Not that such a subaltern was absolutely necessary in a unit of such size – but being introduced to certain things by "somebody like me" speeded up the assimilation process. By now Caradoc spoke very passable Dunlander and a smattering of Haladin – and understood both very well.
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And there was another issue constantly gnawing at his soul. The safety of his wife and children. Although protected by their out of the way habitation in Staddle surrounded by innocent and well intentioned hobbits, with couriers from the Angle being selected on grounds of not being known as supporters of the Thoroughbred party, the presence and escort of Aithon and Guntram, almost every year there had been some sort of "incident" involving either uninformed Rangers:
"Let go of that hobbit child, orc!" the Ranger hissed with venom. "Let go of the child and I'll give you a quick death!"
Ashtuzual froze, having one arm grasped by the Ranger and feeling a knife against her back, and having Goodwife Sandhole's daughter in her other. But this is something she was prepared to deal with.
"Orc your mother and your granpa's a goat!" she hissed back in Sindarin. "Let go of me or I'll scream 'rape!' and you'll be lynched before you can count to ten. And Strider will piss on your grave for getting yourself killed like an idiot!"
Hearing the six year old hobbit ask:
"Why is the man angry, aunt Lothi? And please speak language too."
"If you upset the child I'll scream anyway."
Or non-Breelanders, like dwarrow traders:
Do you see that man with the flail, no longer on his way to the barn, but looking our way? I helped deliver both his sons and daughter. Saved his cow, too. What do you think he'll do if I scream, Master Dwarf?
This was a canker on his soul which cropped up now and then to gnaw at him when he stood watch – will he return home to find his wife murdered? His children dead? What more could he do about it? – Breeland was the safest place he could think off that could accept them, yet without severing ties with his folk.