Night oft brings news to near kindred and ever has that news been foul for me.
It was just after dusk and Boromir was attempting to teach me to play chess when our father entered and told us dispassionately that our mother had died. We had known she had been ill, but even Boromir, who was nearly twelve, had not entertained the possibility of her dying. He stared open mouthed at our father, then ran to follow him when he left the room with out further explanation. I was left alone in our playroom, and I did not think to follow. I did not even realize I was crying until Boromir returned some time later and pulled me into his lap. I cannot remember the dawn that finally brought that night to an end, only that I did not sleep and Boromir cried.
It was just as evening fell that I heard the horn of Gondor sound, and I knew at that moment that my brother was dead, though I could not bring myself to believe it. I did not let myself believe until I stood thigh deep in the Anduin with the night heavy all around me and watched my brother's body drift passed. As I stood and stared I could no longer doubt myself, though to this day I am still not sure if what I saw was dream or real. I had not the presence of mind to reach out and stop the boat to see, but I knew my brother had gone beyond my reach.
It was in the dark hours just before dawn that I learned of my father's death. My uncle who had sat long by my side in the House of Healing told me softly of my father's passing, though how he would not say, and at the time I had not the strength to persist in questioning him. It would be weeks before I learned why my dreams were plagued with fire. My uncle came to see me in the early evening while I sat in the garden contemplating the enigma that was, and still is, Eowyn. I stared out over the garden wall to the city that sprawled beneath us and had nothing to say to Imrahil when he had finished his tale. Indeed, my mind seemed to go numb, and I could scarcely summon a thought into it. The city lay quiet under the stars, but I heard the echo of darkness in my ears.
Now, I sit in my study in my home in Ithilien and wait again for news of near kindred. My oldest son has taken his first venture out with the rangers and I wait for his return. There is no great danger in the task, only a patrol to give him the first taste of being on his own and away from home. It is something that must be done, I must let go and he must leave, but it disquiets me all the same. Perhaps the first time is the worst and the second will be better. I don't know. Eowyn seems to think so and is indulgent with my worrying.
Boromir does not take much after his namesake. He does not take much after me either, though Eowyn seems to think he has picked up many of my mannerisms. In appearance he most resembles his Uncle Eomer, though his eyes are closer in color to his mother's. He is himself though, and not a replica of anyone. I have confidence in his skill and sense, though it is hard to have complete confidence in the sense of a nineteen year old, and often skill and sense are not enough. I trust the companions who have gone with him as well, and my sense tells me he will come home safely. Despite that my heart continues to fret.
"Father, when is Boromir coming home?"
I look away from the parchments I was only pretending to read to find my youngest daughter standing beside my chair. Kaya is three, she has dark hair and blue eyes, and she is afraid of horses, much to the despair of her mother and uncle. She will grow out of it I am sure.
"Tomorrow or perhaps the day after." I tell her.
"I thought he would be home tonight." Kaya tugs on my sleeve, a sign that she wants to be picked up.
"It's growing dark. I doubt they'll be back tonight." I lift her into my lap.
"He promised he would teach me to play chess when he got home." She yawns and cuddles against my chest.
"I'm sure he will." And perhaps he will teach her to get over her fear of horses eventually as well. He has the patience for it.
"Then I can play chess with you and Uncle Aragorn." Kaya continues sleepily.
That my children call the king of Gondor 'uncle' is entirely his own fault, though is certainly does not displease me. "I'm sure Aragorn would be glad to play chess with you when he comes in the spring."
Just as Kaya is settling down to sleep in my lap and I am returning to my work I hear the herald of trumpets. They mark the return of the rangers. Kaya is awake at once and squirms from my grasp.
"Boromir is back! Boromir is back!" She shouts and bolts out of the room and down the hall.
I raise my head to look out the window at the night beyond. Night oft brings news to near kindred and ever has that news been foul for me. The rangers have returned, but I feel doubt coil in my chest, and I hesitate to greet them. I do not know if all the rangers have returned, and a part of me is afraid to find out.
"Your son has returned My Lord." Eowyn's calm voice at my shoulder startles me. She leans down and gives me a knowing kiss. "Will you not come greet him before he is mauled by his siblings?"
"I fear we are too late to save him from that fate." I rise and take Eowyn's arm and together we walk down to the courtyard.
There we find Boromir with Kaya on his hip and surrounded by his siblings who beg him for tales of his adventures. He laughs and says there are none to tell. When he sees us approaching he hands Kaya off to their brother, Adin, and does not question how tightly I hold him. When I release him he gives me a smile that holds some hint of understanding.
"All is well Father." He says.
"Aye," I agree. "all is well."
One of the horses in the courtyard passes too close to Kaya and she squeals and runs to hide behind her mother's skirt. Adin laughs at her and Eowyn pries her hands from her skirt with exasperated patience and lifts her into her arms. With my arm still around Boromir's shoulders we follow them into our home.
This new age has turned my world upside down, and I would not change that for anything. Though the touch of past darkness still lingers in my heart I need no longer fear the fall of night and the news of kindred it might bring.
Author's note: "Night oft brings new to near kindred..." is a direct quote from The Two Towers by J.R.R Tolkien.