Glad you all enjoyed the last chapter with the trolls! This round we return to the Dunedain village and Strider, who goes by his true name now that Legolas is away from the village. The Dunedain are cautious folk, and its by unspoken agreement that they don't openly discuss the lineage of their chieftains with strangers. Anyways, lots of Nerwen in this chapter (she's one of my favorite characters lol).
It wasn't often that the Dunedain of Fornost saw their chieftain visibly anxious. Young though he was, Arathorn's son already had a reputation for keeping a cool head even in the most dire of circumstances. Still, since the party of rangers had departed for the North Downs and Angmar beyond it was plain to see how Aragorn suffered. They all sympathized with him too. It was far easier to bear the undertaking of a dangerous mission when you yourself took on a share of the risk. Aragorn was a young man, and that made it all the harder that he should be village-bound while the others journeyed north into peril. None heard it from his lips, but everyone couldn't help but wonder if Aragorn regretted voicing his bold idea. Only time would tell whether the gamble would pay off, but for now all there was to be done was wait and go about life as normally as possible.
The end of another long day of work saw the village congregate yet again in and around the main hall. Although the Dunedain did not dine together for breakfast or the midday meal, dinner was something they had always done as a community. It gave everyone a chance to relax among friends and enjoy a good tale or two. Although the absence of five and twenty rangers did not seriously dent the presence of several hundred people in the village, it did cast a pall on their evenings. The jesting was slightly less merry and the stories less carefree in tone within the hall. The party had been gone for near on a fortnight now, and the tension could only grow with time.
Pipe in hand but as yet un-smoked, Aragorn sat on the end of a long bench alone, listing to Daernon tell the story of the Children of Hurin. The tale's melancholy air was just about right for how he was feeling at the moment. The embers of the central hearth would soon burn down, and folk were already beginning to steal away back to their own homes. Aragorn didn't feel like sleeping yet though. Indeed, he hadn't slept more than strictly necessary since the day he had sent the rangers north. Besides Elladan and Elrohir, whom he thoroughly regarded as brothers, he counted each and every single person on that patrol as a friend. That even included Legolas, the reserved yet amiable elf from Mirkwood whom he had only known for a season. Yes, Aragorn was doubtful that he would get a full night's sleep until the day Beringil's hunting horn could be heard blowing through the trees.
A shadow passed across the floor in front of him, and a moment later Nerwen slid across the bench to sit beside him. She was distantly of the same lineage as Aragorn, but her inheritance had passed through a daughter rather than a son. With the Dunedain being so few in number, everyone in the village was more than possibly related by four or less degrees. It was a sad thought, but likely the blood of Numenor was facing its last age. Meeting Nerwen's dark eyed gaze, Aragorn didn't feel the need to attempt what they both knew would be a weak smile.
"You will worry yourself back into another bout with Winter Sickness, Cousin." Nerwen remarked. The two of them were really more like second cousins twice removed, but they addressed each other as such anyways. "Do you not trust that the rangers are in good hands?"
Shifting, Aragorn sighed and put his pipe away. "It's not that. You know as well as I that Beringil could lead a battalion of Hobbits through the deserts of Harad and back, to say nothing of having three elven warriors with them."
"But...?"
Aragorn looked faraway into the embers of the fire, Daernon's voice fading into a drone in the background.
"But I cannot help but fear that I have made a brash decision. Beringil tried to counsel me against sending rangers into the north. His thoughts were that it was too dangerous, even with enemy numbers depleted after the battle of the Lonely Mountain. What if he was right?"
Nerwen frowned, but the glow of the firelight betrayed no accusation in her face.
"Your own father made such decisions, and his father before him, Cousin. It is the fate of a chieftain to shoulder the burden of responsibility."
With a rueful smile Aragorn leaned his elbows forward on his knees. "I do not shirk my duty Nerwen, you know I do not. But sometimes I think I envy our friend Legolas. Time away from such responsibility as leadership seems to have done him well."
Nerwen chuckled low and rich. "I had worried that his stiff neck would never relax when first he arrived." Sobering, she looked sideways at her cousin and chieftain. "You know, if I were anyone else I would not dare to nag you about such a thing, but one of these days you should think on finding a wife. I cannot be the voice of womanly wisdom to you forever." Eyes flickering to where Radanir was speaking to the farrier and his wife, she smirked. "Every man needs a listening ear to help him sort through his thoughts, and the best thinking is often done in bed."
The surprisingly bawdy joke from his usually serious cousin brought a quirk to the corner of Aragorn's mouth. "You know just as well as I that there are none here in Fornost whom I have an interest in."
"No, but beyond Fornost?" Aragorn nearly jerked in surprise, prompting Nerwen to roll her eyes. "Come now Aragorn, you think I have forgotten the state in which you returned to us after your fostering in Rivendell? A man grown, ripe for leadership, proud, capable and thoroughly besotted. You have never told me, and I have never asked...but who is she?"
Looking away, Aragorn felt his heart plummet into his stomach. The meeting with Elrond's daughter in Rivendell was by far one of his most cherished memories, and one of his most private. He had called out to the maiden as she danced in the moonlight, calling her 'Tinuviel' like one enchanted. When he had asked for her name and she had given it though, Aragorn knew beyond shade of doubt that he was doomed, for he had given his heart now and forever to the daughter of his foster-father; Arwen Undomniel.
As it was, the only answer he could give Nerwen was a short one.
"She is a daughter of the Eldar, and beyond my reach."
If Nerwen was surprised, she made no sign of it. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, she squeezed lightly.
"I am sorry Cousin. I should not have asked that which was not my business to know. But..." Turning Aragorn's chin to face her, she searched his face. "...you are of the line of kings of Numenor, the scion of a bloodline both proud and ancient. Fornost has not sheltered our people and our lineage for hundreds of years for naught, I am sure of it. Perhaps this elf lady of yours is not so out of reach as you suppose."
Somehow Aragorn doubted Lord Elrond would be of the same opinion when or if he ever heard of the love he held for his only daughter. Still, he appreciated the sentiment.
"Thank you Nerwen, you words are comforting to me."
"Would that she would spare some of those soft and comforting words for me!" Radanir awkwardly lifted his wooden leg over the bench to sit beside Nerwen. "Although perhaps it is just the beginning of a temporary reprieve; I have heard that women are prone to changes of mood in such condition."
"Condition?" Aragorn raised an eyebrow, not quite sure what Radanir was talking about. A quick glance up and down confirmed that Nerwen looked as straight-backed and healthy as she ever did.
Narrowing her eyes at her husband, Nerwen pulled back her lips from her teeth in what resembled a smile. "Such a reprieve will be better than you deserve for hinting at what is mine to reveal."
Radanir merely shrugged, but the pride that shone in his dark blue eyes as he wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders gave away what Aragorn was beginning to suspect a moment before Nerwen herself said it.
"It seems I am none so barren as might have been thought." Moving the hem of her cloak aside, she laid her long fingers across her abdomen. A flicker of disquiet passed over her face briefly, long enough for Aragorn to notice it.
"I congratulate you Cousin, you and Radanir both." Aragorn smiled and leaned forward to embrace them both. "Are you...well?" he asked Nerwen directly.
Nodding, Nerwen looked away for a moment. In a low voice she spoke so as not to be overheard by any who still remained in the hall.
"I worry Aragorn. How will I hunt as I progress through the moons? And what of the fact that my child will be born as the cold of winter reaches its harshest zenith?"
Placing his own hand atop Nerwen's on her stomach, Radanir spoke reassuringly. "We can both keep the garden come summer, and that will give us enough to barter for meat when it is needed." The former ranger smiled. "You are a fine huntress my wife, and we have enough salted vension to last us for some time. And you need not stop hunting just yet, if you think we could use more."
"Radanir is right, Cousin." Aragorn chimed in. "Recall that you brought home more game to your table last year that most husbands managed to do for their wives in the village. And as for the timing of your child's arrival, was not my own father born in the depths of December? It hardly seemed to harm him any. If any bairn could survive a winter birth, I would wager it would be one born from your strength."
"Enough, enough!" Holding up her hand in supplication, Nerwen shook her head. "Between the two of you I shall have enough sweet words of reassurance to flavor a cake with!"
Even as Nerwen and Radanir rose and bid Aragorn goodnight, he could not help but feel a slight sense of relief. Though Nerwen was not close kin to himself, she was the closest still living in Fornost. If as he feared his love for the daughter of Elrond came to naught, the line of Numenor need not fail altogether. He would rather see a child of Nerwen and Radanir one day take up chieftainship of the Dunedain than wed a wife he could not give his heart in its entirety to. At least thoughts of Arwen dancing like Luthien herself in the moonlight distracted him from worrying about the rangers in the north.