Intermission 2/2/20
This is essentially an extensive author's note that will eventually be deleted. Feel free to skip this if you have begun to read this story after 2/1/20.
You may wonder why there was only one chapter posted this week. Here is why. Your author is dangling from the high wire, dear readers. Writing the second draft of this story without a beta has been an exercise in tightrope walking. This is my attempt to climb back up to the wire.
So, it has come to my attention I've not been specific enough about what Nienelen and Bachor look like, what their racial/ethnic background is, and the racial/ethnic background of their family connections in the wandering clans of the north. The fallout is that things that I had been hoping to illustrate weren't reading the way I had hoped.
I've gone through everything uploaded so far and made revisions and additions to give more specific indicators of what I had in mind. A lot of these things were there, but not specific or elaborated enough to ping, particularly if I hadn't given you enough to realize that both Nienelen and Bachor have a mixed-race heritage of both Harad/Umbar and Númenor and that the clans from which they are descended are initially from Umbar and represent the population of a multi-ethnic/multiracial port of trade.
So I have:
upped the specificity and frequency of character descriptions,
elaborated more and earlier on the history of the wandering clans of the north hills
and increased the specificity with which I'm attempting to portray the role of xenophobia and racism in the Angle.
I realize that not having built this information up more explicitly may have left you feeling let down when reading these latest chapters, as things seem to be coming out of the blue. I hadn't prepared you for them. All I can say is that, I'm sorry. I really appreciate the feedback I've gotten and the willingness of readers to say it. And so, I've taken corrective action.
I will probably also go back and rename the wandering clans with something less ambiguous (too many meanings to north and south), but fighting with minimally cooperative document editors on three different sites has left me a trifle… worn.
I figure that showing is still a lot more compelling and informative than telling, so here are a good sampling of what I've been up to.
Character descriptions
Nienelen
Prologue:
They are silent, the folk gathered here, and they look upon me with pity.
"Daughter," says she standing beside me, placing a hand upon my wrist to urge the ritual on, her skin pale against the dark brown of mine. Yet, she is not my mother. She that gave me birth died in the labor of it.
Chapter 2: First day of the market
Even in the heaviness that is my drowse I smile. Much care had we put to the meal and lingered over our pots, my sister and me. She, dark-eyed and laughing, whispered of the ensnaring potency of oil of clove as she stirred drops of it into the sweetened pottage and then, giggling, dotted some upon my breast above the line of my shift. 'To give your brown skin its proper sweetness,' she had said. She spoke, too, of matches made upon the shared brother-blood of Rangers as she shook out braids laved with oil, lavender, and aloe water, smoothing black curls into ringlets about my shoulders with its heady scent. Mayhap that had been my father's intent, but it had come to naught.
Chapter 5: Wedding feast
Here, my lord and I sit among his guests. Our lord's men, their women, holders of the pledge, and their wives are in attendance, heating the room quickly. All of the Angle's Council, too, attend upon their lord and his new wife, all but Master Bachor. And though, without him there, it leaves me the sole Dúnedain of dark skin in a whirl of white faces, I suppose I should become accustomed to it, after all, and it is best he has absented himself. His presence would do little to bring me comfort.
Various members of the wandering clans of the north hills
Piles of furs and tumbled forms of baskets at first hide the young girl, sitting as she is hunched in a corner behind them. She sits on ragged mats of woven fibers and watches her aunt twine reeds about the naked ribs of a basket she crafts. I know them not, but the brown eyes and skin, head full of curls, and the haggard look of days and nights spent in fear mark them for our folk of the wandering clans from the northern hills newly fled to the Angle.
Elesinda
Elesinda is in the buttery and dimly I can hear her beating upon pots as she puts them away from the morning meal. The younger sister of one of my lord's men, he brought her to our household just the week prior. A girl with a sweet face of delicate creams and pinks, rounded figure and blue eyes wide with awe, I knew I would find her agreeable, but mayhap too much daunted by my newfound title to be a good companion.
Master Herdir
I was met on my journey by my lord's dower gift, a small herd of round bodies trotting briskly afore Master Herdir and his spotted dog. A man in his mid-years, my lord's reeve is thick-fingered, barreled-breasted, and bowed of legs. His folk came to the Angle from nigh our southern borders many years past and he bears their look in light skin that chaps easily in the wind and leaves nose and cheeks reddened.
Master Bachor
Chapter 17: A walk in the snow
"Elder Bachor has the respect of our folk, and with good reason. All those under his care here in the Angle prosper and he holds much influence. He has the touch for it and oft knows what is needed well ere others think to turn their thoughts thither. With his ties of trade, he has learned much of the world about us and the folk and custom of different lands. I doubt not you know his grandsire was of the wandering clan of the Randírim. But when their forefathers fled north from Umbar they brought with them many skills of metal-working that gave them influence among the wandering clans that they have maintained even now. Bachor may not have much in way of ties with the Randírim as of yet, but the wandering clans shall recognize his dark bronze skin and high cheeks as one of them. Give it time, and Bachor will hold influence among them, too. And as for Maurus, it would be a grave injustice, lady, to mistake him for a fool."
Chapter 19: Bachor confronts Nienelen for the first time
"Good morrow, Mistress," Master Bachor says to the granddam and smiles upon her.
She may have the high cheeks and bronzed skin of the folk of the Randírim clan herself, but it does him no favors. Her hands never leave off her work and she does not even nod in return.
Master Baran
In his turn, he brought a man of the wandering folk of the south to my lord's hall. He claimed a good measure of understanding of husbandry, and well I believed it. For with his blue eyes as small points of light within weathered skin and a light brown cloud of uncombed and unwashed hair and beard, he looked nigh as wild as the beasts and seemed to prefer their company. He mumbled a few words to me, touching upon his brow oft though never raising his eyes.
Master Fimon
At that, Master Fimon walks from the edge of the open toft. When he had made his way through the crowd I know not, but all turn to him as he comes forward and strides between Master Tanaes and the jury. He has removed his cap to appear afore the jury bare-headed to there give respect, leaving a line of light and tan upon his high brow stark against his dark hair.
Master Orthoron
Indeed, the largest group of wandering folk of the clans of the northern hills cluster about a tall man with a dark ruddy-brown skin and silvering hair he wears in loose twists pulled back from his face. He is new to the Angle, and I know him not, but he looks on with his arms crossed upon his breast, neither scowling nor smiling.
Swift footsteps came upon us from outside the tent and the flap covering the entrance was flung aside to reveal a man of the wandering clans. He still wore his hair in the long, locked twists held back from his face that I recalled from the hallmoot long ago. But now he wore a short beard of black and silver against his dark jaw. Tall and broad of shoulder as he was, he filled the entrance to the tent as he rose.
Ranger Boradan
Aye, he has been a blessing, this youth, for the Angle demands much of my attention, now I can give it, and Halbarad is long away searching upon the Wild. He has taken to the young Ranger, my lord's son has, as were he an elder brother. By the dark eyes and skin and curls they share, 'twould not be far from truth. For Boradan has not so much the ruddy-brown skin of his father, but takes more after his mother with her fawn coloring and freckles and chestnut hair.
Mistress Istriel
The flap of the tent flew open and afore me stood a woman of the wanderers, her hair a chestnut crown of tight curls lit with threads of silver between brow and scarf and freckles upon her nose and cheeks the color of a young fawn.
History of the wandering clans/émigré's from Umbar
Chapter 45: Nienelen and Bachor's confrontation over Sereg's grave
~ TA 3017, 20th of Nénimë: 'Then did the women of the clans call upon their men to honor oaths taken by their forefathers or be foresworn. For The Butcher of Umbar had followed those who had rebelled against him in their flight north to the hills of Arthedain. He took a seat in Angmar and there declared himself king. Once he had overrun Rhudaur and Cardolan, he set the hillmen upon the folk of the clans to reclaim them and exact his vengeance upon them.
'For not long after the Deceiver betrayed Númenor, the forefathers of the clans beheld the horror that they wrought in his name in Umbar. Gathering together, they called themselves the Defiant of Harad and, rising up, slew the Butcher of Umbar and his House. Few spoke of it who survived the horror of his return amongst living men, so heavy was the weight of the terror of their memories of it. And yet still they could not regret it and took upon themselves the name Gornwaith, the People of Defiance.
'And so, in an hour of great need, once again did the People of Defiance arise and take arms against the Witch-King of Angmar. Answering the call of their young king, Araphor son of Arveleg, there the many clans of the Gornwaith joined with the Elves of Lindon and flew down upon the Lord of Angmar where he lay siege to the royal city of Fornost.
'Though the cost was dear, and the clans were much diminished in folk and their herds and pastures e'er after, ne'er did the Witch-king return to the North and their children were free to live in peace.'
Xenophobia/racism in the Angle
There are various slights; isolation of Nienelen, Bachor and their kin as both children and as adults; the lack of options for Nienelen once her immediate family is gone; Pelara's insult at their parting; Tanaes and Halbarad not taking Nienelen's concerns seriously because her experience is outside the range of theirs, Ranger Saer's disregard for Nienelen's authority and disinclination to identify who threw the stone, and the Angle's resistance to Nienelen's authority that likely read very differently once it becomes apparent that race as well as gender plays a role here. As well, there are incidents of harassment of the folk of the wandering clans that also play differently when it becomes apparent that race and history between Númenor and Harad/Umbar plays a role here, too.
I've also added more specific references to the source of conflict between Angle-born and wandering folk/Nielenen:
Chapter 27: First Hallmoot
At the sight of the men, a cry arises from the folk gathered upon my lord's toft.
Ai! It seems the more I do upon Sereg's behalf, the worse his lot. Indeed, through no fault of his own we could discover, the Mistress had been hard pressed to find a man of the Angle willing to give him the shelter of his accepted pledge.
"A plague on you Southrons and Dunlanders!" I hear shouted from the crowd, though know not from where.
"I'd have beat ye, too, would it not taint my hands!'
"Silence!" my lord shouts from where he sits and then returns to worrying at the hairs beneath his lip.
Chapter 37: Lessons with Edainion
"They say Elder Bachor waits for the right time to take over the Council, so then a man of the people will keep them safe."
Of course. Who else?
I suppose I should count myself lucky it is he who takes up their cause. Had not Bachor been a son of the wandering clan of the Randírim and not borne their dark eyes and bronze skin himself, I might be battling more than just accusations of being a woman.
Chapter 40: Fight over oxen
A scuffling of feet in the dust and the oxen bawl in distress.
"Let him go!"
"No!"
"Hold there, you cursed Southron," cries a man just afore me, cupping his hands about his mouth the better to have his voice heard. "Let the man of the Angle have his turn first as is his due!"
With that, I strike at his arm and he turns upon me swiftly as would he make me feel the full brunt of his anger. He falls back, his face aghast at the shock of seeing me there. 'Tis rare I am to hear such words spoken within my hearing these days and, had I the time, he would feel more of my displeasure. But I know not what he did next, for at his turning he opened the way into the center, and 'tis there I spring.
Chapter 43: Sereg's attack
"Sereg," he says and then halts.
Sereg's grip upon me tightens and I dare not breathe for the sting of his knife and the tickle of blood raised by it.
"Ah!" he exclaims, "Bachor! Art thou naught but a thrall and Southron or art thou as thou hast claimed –"
Chapter 45: Nienelen and Bachor's confrontation over Sereg's grave
"I have been thinking," he [Bachor] goes on, "of what I know of our kin and forefathers who fled Umbar so long ago. I thought it enough, ere now. Truly it had been enough for those folk whose sires were born here to call me a son of the wandering clans, or Southron, when their thoughts were less than kind.
He shakes his head, his lips pursed. "Those born of the Angle who cannot see you as one of them will never think you aught but of the wandering clans of the hills, lady. They have but to look at you and see your brown skin and their mind is already fixed, and when it comes to it, they shall turn their backs to you.
Chapter 46: Linnadis' offer
"My lady, they say ye are not fit to lead the men of the Angle! And that we'd not be in these straits were our lord home or it were a man of the Angle who said what would be done for it. They will not like it, you interfering, as they see it, ye being both woman and Southron born."
At this, my breath stopped for the shock of it. Ai! I have grown unused to guarding my heart when speaking to the folk of the Angle, and the word stings. For a moment, I could do naught but stared upon the small bit of glowing coal I had scooped from the bottom of their hearth.
Chapter 50: Riot at the Granary
Last I see him, Master Fimon has pushed his way to the front and there, with a look of betrayal upon his face, shouts back at Bachor and, with a great shove, nigh thrusts Bachor to the ground.
Distant upon the edge of the noise of the crowd I hear a voice call, "Southron bitch!"
But ere I have heard the words for what they are a dark shape hurtles into view and pain blooms upon my face. I am on the ground with my hand clapped to my brow. Blood streams into my eye.
(btw: This one was particularly tough to write, but it sure does put a clear spin on Ranger Saer's reluctance to snitch and temporizing by proposing an "investigation." It also, hopefully, clarifies Halbarad's regret at not listening to Nienelen's concerns about Saer and his fury at him.)
Once we are onto a cleaner path, Master Bachor asks, "How fares your head?" peering at my brow.
I do not touch it, though the impulse to do so is strong. "It stings."
"I heard what was said," he says. "You think it aimed apurpose?"
"Do you truly need to ask to know the answer?" I ask, my voice sharpening. "You swore you had them under your sway and placated."
For indeed he had. Oddly enough, those of the Angle most opposed to the wandering clans' flight hither had found solace among his oathmen. Mayhap their distrust of the House o'ercame their dislike for the color of Master Bachor's skin.
"Strange bedfellows you keep," say I but he does naught but sigh, shrugging and shaking his head.
"Elder Bachor," I say but he throws up his hands as were he warding away any further ire.
"I shall see to it."
"See that you do!"
Chapter 53: Aragorn's return
For there beneath the lightening sky of the approaching dawn, the black, charred surface of the house was as a gaping hole reaching high to the windows of the solar, and the leaves that over-hang the roof had curled upon themselves in the heat. I could only marvel the stench of the smoke had not awakened me.
At the sight, the youth sank to the dew-covered grass of his lord's toft, covered his face and wept in his pain and relief. For he bore a great knot upon his head where he had been attacked from behind. And though dazed, he had chased after them and had the wit to return when they scattered and the light behind his back quickened in the dark.
Aye, the folk of the Angle are frightened. Master Bachor no longer has their ear and what time I had bought upon the events of the hallmoot has come to an end. For painted in dark mud stark against the whitewash of the house were ugly words I will not repeat here. 'Tis not the first either he or I have seen them of late. But, this time, they come with fire.