Once Upon a Snowy Night
Part 2 – Snow and Meddling
Arathorn met Gandalf at the table in the cabin that he called his own. The Ranger Village fit about twenty something families, all made out of wood with thick wood and mud walls. His cabin was in the middle, seeing as how he was chieftain. He had several rooms available for special guests, Gandalf for one and maybe Elrohir and Elledan if they ever found themselves so far out from Imaldris.
Food from the common kitchens had been provided, two places set at the table and coffee distributed. Arathorn took up his cup gladly. It had snowed in the early hours of the morning and the cold had somehow seeped into his upstairs bedroom. He had dressed in his thickest of clothing; hair was pulled back in a tail at the back of his neck.
"Good morrow," Gandalf greeted, apparently he wasn't cold.
"It's cold, how can a cold morning be a good one?" Arathorn muttered.
"All mornings are good if you are still alive," Gandalf replied. Arathorn had to agree with that.
"How are your patrols of these woods and beyond going?" Gandalf asked.
"I've toured our other outposts this past month and have found absolutely no Orc activity, not to say that it shant begin again. Lord Elrond and his sons also have had no activity to report," Arathorn replied.
"And what of finding a wife?"
"Not you too!?! What is with everyone these days?" Arathorn grumped. Gandalf's keening laugh filled his ears.
"I am curious as to who you have chosen to carry on the line of the Sea Kings. After all, what would happen to the Race of Men if you died and had no heir?"
"Who cares? I mean, No one actually knows that we exist, and if they do and if they tell anyone else, it is most likely that those they tell would think it only wives tails. After all, Ecthelion wasn't too impressed when the tail was told around the dinner table one night," Arathorn criticized.
"I know a lot of things, my friend, and here is what I know; I know for a fact that it shant be you who take Gondor's throne," Gandalf said.
"Good, so then I can remain a bachelor," Arathorn grunted.
"No, you must marry. I cannot tell you why, well, you know why. What I can tell you is that your heir or the one after shall take up the gauntlet of Gondor," Gandalf explained.
"All right then, but besides the fact that I must have an heir, who am I to marry? My heart is not in it," Arathorn said.
"Ah, that I cannot help you with, you must follow your heart, not duty," Gandalf finished his plate of eggs, toast and bacon before disappearing to wherever it was a Wizard would go in a Ranger outpost.
For that matter, the everyday life of the Ranger outpost was such that no one needed to be told what to do, they all knew what needed to be done and did it. It was the small patch of a rose and petunia garden that drew his eye though, and the woman who tended it.
Gilraen, the woman of whom he had given a penny for a kiss the night before, was weeding out the plants that did not belong in the small garden under her window. Ivy grew up the edges of the cabin and the wall, Arathorn knew that in the summer these vines would bear fruit for a short month before it grew barren once again. He wondered if that was how Gilraen felt, for she was old enough to marry, young still to his age, and yet she was kind and supportive. Her hair was golden yellow, like that of wheat, and she had starlit eyes like none he had ever seen. He wondered what life with her would be like, for, if he was going to pick a woman to marry, he wanted to pick someone that he all ready felt something for, but what he felt for Gilraen he did not know.
Halbarad tripped him out of his revere; Arathorn had not noticed the foot his friend had stuck out, he tripped over it, fell face first down the stairs in a summersault, and landed on his bum in the hip deep snow.
"Dol lost nin, Halbarad," Arathorn muttered as he picked himself up.
"Yes, yes, I got all my looks from me Mum and father had nothing to hand down since it was all taken by Halnynn," Halbarad snickered the usual insult.
"I am glad that you have retained that much information, what the hell were you trying to do anyway, kill me?" Arathorn leveled his gaze sadly at the spilt coffee. He loved his coffee.
"I have a bit of a problem, Wingë is rather distraught and I can't make her stop crying, your good with women and things of this nature so…maybe you could…make her feel better?" Halbarad asked.
"What….wait…have you lost what sense you ever had?"
"No, now, she's in the barn, go to her!" Halbarad said and pushed Arathorn in the direction of the barn. He caught the starlit eyes of Gilraen as he walked on, she looked…hurt? He hurried his step, why was he running from a woman he did not want to see cry, and yet going to see a woman who was?
Women never would make sense, the worms!
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Gilraen sighed as she watched her Lord go to the barn where she knew Wingë would be waiting; she would be dressed in a beautiful red number of which showed off her cleavage quite daringly. She would be crying, her hair out of its usual buns. She smelled of peonies, Gilraen was sure that Arathorn did not like Peonies, she didn't know what he liked as perfume went, but, it had to smell better than the horse manure she used on her garden. The frost had killed most of the plants and now she was just cleaning it up a bit for readiness for when she went back to replant. She wished she had plants that could live in such harsh weather, she hated the snow, and she rather liked summer when things were afresh with green.
Halbarad joined her, he sprinkled the manure as she did; "Le suilon," he whispered.
"Suilaid," Gilraen replied.
"Whatever are you doing this for? The plants can surely take care of themselves now?" Halbarad asked.
"Well, true but, I don't want this corner that Lord Arathorn has granted my mother to go to ruins, he would think me a cow," Gilraen replied, her face was flush as one manure soaked hand found her own.
"Arathorn would never think that and neither would I," Halbarad assured her.
"Still, it is more for my peace of mind than anything else," Gilraen replied.
"True, I find that doing menial tasks helpful for stress relief," he smiled.
"Indeed," Gilraen went on putting out the rest of the manure, Halbarad working besides her.
"When will you go out to patrol next?" Gilraen asked suddenly.
"I do not know, maybe in a few days, Arathorn has been wanting to see his foster father once more so we may head towards Imaldris," Halbarad replied.
"I am glad that Lord Arathorn feels such a need, I miss my own and it would be good for him," Gilraen said.
"It would indeed," Halbarad looked at the woman before him, she thought her awfully immature at times, but, sometimes, she surprised him vastly.
"I have to go and see to the security," he stood.
"Wash your hands before you touch anything else, we have no need of contagion," Gilraen giggled. Halbarad gave a nervous smile, his face went red and he ran off. He spent the next half hour washing his hands, not sure at all why he couldn't get away from such a task.
---
Arathorn was not a very happy man when finally he returned to his home. Wingë practically threw herself at him and it had taken three hours (or more by the way it felt) to get away from her. He knew one thing; he didn't like a woman who felt so needy. He needed a woman who could take care of the home and the children without him. After all, the orc's number grew daily; they fought harder than he could ever remember. Wingë was pretty, she smelled nice and for a moment it felt good to hold her, but, if he had to follow his heart, he would have to say that she was not the woman for him.
But, and as he found fresh coffee to fill his cold stomach, who was the right woman for him…?
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a/n – Okay, I am not proficient in Elvish, I do hope that by the way the conversation was written that you could follow what I have.
Dol lost nin – your head is empty
Le Suilon – I greet thee
Suilaid - Greetings