Chapter 11
The winter that followed that Autumn was fierce indeed, great drifts of snow filled the streets of the town, and my father came home for Yule and remained with us for several weeks. None could go abroad easily and all thoughts of war were forgotten. It was never discussed in my presence but I did notice that our meals became smaller and far less interesting for quite a while, but I had enough good sense not to complain about it. Eventually the snows eased, the supply wains were able to make it up from the south again, and my father went back to his duties. We all prayed that the uneasy peace would continue with the arrival of spring.
Then, in early Spring before the trees had burst into leaf, came a day that I will never be able to forget. We had eaten our evening meal, and were all gathered by the fire, my grandparents, my mother and me. At my grandfather's prompting I was doing my best to read to them from the Lay Of Earendil out of a heavy leatherbound book with beautiful illustrations, to some amusement and leg pulling from him whenever I stumbled over the long words. There was a knock at the door, which made us all start. Lathra the plain little serving girl went to open it, and showed two men in. One was more richly clad than the other and had a face that looked like it had been chiselled out of a boulder and a closely cropped head of greying blonde curls, the other was older, tall and stooping. It was Lord Angon, accompanied by his manservant, and his face was grim as death. I instantly knew something was wrong, and my grandfather, rising sharply and with difficultly from his chair instantly commanded me to go to my room. I dropped the book, turned and ran, fearing I knew not what. As I flung myself down on my bed I heard a horrible wail go up, and my blood froze - I knew it was my mother. Her keening and wailing, soon accompanied to my added horror by that of my grandmother tore at my heart. I knew what it must signify and I wanted it to go away and not be true and I pounded my head on the covers to try and stop it all. There was a soft knock at the door and my grandfather limped in, his eyes streaming with tears. I had never seen him cry, could not even imagine it, and this was a further shattering blow. 'Esteldir' he said in a voice shaking with emotion 'your father is gone'. And then I cried and cried like I had never cried before, in agony knowing that I would never see him again, never wrestle with him or wander in the woods or go stalking or sit together by the river with him ever again. A month before he and four of his men had mounted a patrol up onto the moors and towards the Trollfangs to spy out what the enemy might be doing. They had not returned, and other patrols had been sent out to look for them had found nothing.
It had happened before, and none who had disappeared had ever returned unlooked for, so the outlook was bleak. The tiny glimmer of hope that remained and refused to be extinguished only added to the anguish of those left behind, though I was too young to understand and my grief was painful and uncomplicated.
My father's disappearance and presumed death added further difficulty to our situation. My father's income as an army captain had gone a long way towards keeping a roof over our heads, and the stipend that would be paid out on official confirmation of his loss, usually twelve weeks after he was overdue, would not last long. Business had been bad on the wains, lost cargoes, danger money and guards for the carters and a crown that did not pay its debts promptly meant that my grandfather's once profitable enterprise was close to ruin. I fear my ailing grandfather was also being taken for a ride by his foreman, a man I disliked and feared. All the servants bar the little maid Lathra had been dismissed and anything of value that could be sold easily had been. My mother had not stood on ceremony and had willingly resumed many of her former duties, and despite her dismay Branniel had been well aware that they had no choice, and grateful too. So the once bright and crowded house became quiet, sombre and sorrowful. The blow of the loss of his last son seemed to break Carandir's spirit altogether, never sound since his injuries inflicted in that fateful raid by the orcs so long ago, he now became weak and bedridden. I feared to see him in such a state, and could no longer raise a jest in him, and when I wandered the streets with my clan I fought viciously with any of the downhill clan who were unfortunate enough to cross my path. The summer passed with little joy and much anguish for me, freed from my studies I instead wandered the streets every day with my companions, getting into scrapes, fighting, and sometimes just watching the world go by. I saw and learned much, of what passed in the town, not all of it good by any means.
My grandfather grew weaker by the day, but his spirits were lifted a little by the news my mother gave him one warm sunny morning. My father had left her with child before he was lost. I felt both happy and dismayed about this, since I realised I would no longer be the special one, and the new arrival would be the one that everyone doted on. I resolved that I would leave home and join the army if this came to pass. Some of our clan were orphans who had been taken in by the army and lived in the keep, usually the destitute children of veterans. They were a ragged pitiful bunch, who earned their keep running errands or performing menial tasks for the soldiers, but they were mostly good fighters for all that, and proper fighters is what they would be once they were old enough. They were known as castle rats, and despite their lowly state most of the rest of us secretly envied them their special status.
My grandfather hoped that he would now live long enough to see the new babe born, but sadly that was not the case, and he slipped away soon afterwards. It frightened me to see him weak, scared and rambling, but I was dutiful and would sit with him for spells, and occasionally read to him, which seemed to bring him comfort when he was more lucid. One day he seemed to rally considerably, and spoke to me clearly at length about what I must do and what sort of man I must become, and how I must look after Branniel and Faelneth as I would be the man of the house and heir of the line. I listened solemnly and swore that I would do my best and told him that I loved him and that he had been the best grandfather a boy could have wanted. He smiled and I gave him a hug and he raised a quivering hand and tweaked me on the nose and I left the room giggling and feeling encouraged for the first time in a long time. He was dead the next morning.
I was forbidden to look on him once he had died, but of course I disobeyed and went into the room to see when my mother's back was turned. I had never seen a dead person before, and was quite scared at what I might find, but it was just grandfather, as if asleep, with all the cares lifted from him, as if he had been turned into a statue like one of the old kings. I whispered my farewells to him and quickly crept back to my room.