Tall Tales

Finally, you return to Endataurëo. It seems like you have spent the better part of the week running about as though you were a chicken without a head. Admittedly, it was always for a purpose, and you are quite pleased with how well everything lined up, but you have still been very busy.

Thus, you are rather looking forward to the last task of the week. You stop by the kitchens to acquire dinner for two, a rather interesting pie made of fruit and meat in a surprisingly tasty combination, then head for Ranger's room.

This time you manage to remember that you have two hands before any embarrassing shuffling takes place, and rap on the door sharply.

"Come in." Ranger calls.

You open the door and smile. "Good evening, Ranger. How are you feeling?"

"Not bad, not bad." The human replies, sounding amused. "Ya goin' to bring food every time we talk?"

"Do you not find eating alone day in and day out disheartening?" You ask lightly. "I can certainly think of worse fates, but it is not exactly pleasant despite that."

"Ya might have a point there." The human agrees, shuffling into a sitting position.

"Are you healed then?" You ask, noting the lack of pain.

"Reckon so, just waitin' on the healer's say so." Ranger confirms, cutting into his pie slice. "Might be a touch delicate goin' forward, but I can move without wantin' to die."

"Heartening news." You state, making a start on your own meal. "Have you been taking walks?"

"Gone about the room a bit, down the hall occasionally." Ranger admits. "I'm tryin' to stay pretty close to the bed, just in case somethin' goes again."

You swallow your mouthful. "A sensible precaution."

"So, I guess the question is what ya want to talk about?" Ranger asks, lifting more food to his mouth.

"I believe we discussed trading tales with one another." You remind him.

The old human nods and swallows. "What're ya waitin' for then?"

"I believe I told the last tale, thus it follows that it is your turn to tell one." You prod lightly.

Ranger laughs. "Ah, was hopin' to get that one past ya. Alright, alright. I guess I owe ya a story. Just got to think of one."

"Perhaps something light and cheerful." You suggest. "I feel as though our tales have always been sorrowful heavy things, and while I would not shy from those matters, a friendship is hardly built from such things alone."

Ranger laughs again. "Fair enough. Ok, here's one. So ya remember that I was a noble's forester for a while."

"I do." Your memory is significantly better than his after all.

"So obviously the lord I served was big into huntin'. Really fancied himself quite good at it." Ranger begins.

"Was he?" You ask.

The human waves his hand back and forth. "Kind of. I'd call him a decent beginner. Had a talent but didn't put in the effort."

You nod sagely, you well remember your own days as a talented beginner.

The human grins. "So, he's always talkin' about the things he's caught, or more usually the things I caught for him. He had this bear he'd had stuffed. Every time he talked about it the tale got a little more exaggerated."

"I take it he did not actually kill it himself?" You ask.

"Actually he did." Ranger says. "Course it had been fighting a hound pack fifteen strong, killed about half of them, and was filled with more arrows than I thought anything could survive. Still brave of him to charge it with his spear held like a lance."

"Strange that he thought he had to though." You note.

"He was pretty fond of those dogs." Ranger says.

You nod. "I know the type."

Not that Huan had ever really needed anyone to help him.

"Anyway, so he's always talkin' about how great of a hunter he is, and how real nobles should be hunters like him." Ranger continues. "And his son listens to all of this. Lad wasn't really a hunter, or a warrior, or much of anything really."

"I find that hard to believe, surely he must have had some kind of talent." You object.

Ranger pauses in thought for a few moments, then says. "He was a people person I guess. Most of the staff liked him well enough, and from memory he had a lot of friends among the other noble kids."

"Ah, a natural diplomat." You nod. "Such people can be a challenge to raise, especially if they lack a solid grounding in other subjects."

Ranger snorts. "You're the expert. Anyhow, when he turns thirteen he decides to 'prove himself' to his da. He heads out with some of his friends. Boss gets worried, and sends me after them."

Ranger pauses to eat some food before continuing. "Before I can even set off, they come running pell mell away from somethin'. The crash through the undergrowth and end up in the moat!"

You shake your head. "I hope they were not harmed."

"Nah, besides that's not the funny bit." Ranger says leaning towards you. "Turns out the thing that had them spooked? Kid's younger sister, who'd toddled along after them."

The image makes you laugh slightly. "Ah, children. A gift like no other."

"In both sense of the word." Ranger agrees. "Now, I think it's ya turn for a tale."

You pause and decide to tell the tale of that incident with the duck after you began learning under your grandfather.

"Very well, prior to this tale, some context is needed." You begin. "My grandfather, Finwë, was extremely well respected among my people."

"Wait, Finwë? Like Nelyafinwë?" Ranger interrupts.

"Yes. It was something of a tradition for my family's father names to take after Finwë's. My father was originally called Finwë also, though eventually he came to be known as Curufinwë." You explain.

"Huh." The human says with a frown. "Sounds like there's a story there."

You pause. "Perhaps. But if there is one, I do not know all of it, merely some unpleasant details."

"Your name mean somethin' unflatterin'?" Ranger asks.

You shrug. "It was, in part, meant as a slight against my uncle. It means 'Third Finwë', though I was the fifth of the house born."

"Ah." Ranger says, wincing. "Ya still go by it though."

"It is the name my father gave me, should I be ashamed of it?" You ask quietly.

Ranger looks away from you. "Right, so, happy story yeah?"

You shake yourself. "Yes. Let us put such ugliness away for now. So, my grandfather was a noble."

You decided against mentioning that he was the King of the Noldor. Ranger has previously accused you of exaggerating your tales, and you have no desire to argue over that fact. It is not relevant to the tale, so it matters little.

"Ya don't say." Ranger says.

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit." You reply. "Anyhow, I expressed an interest in following his path, so he offered to take me as his apprentice."

Ranger frowns. "Like a page or squire?"

You give the human a strange look. "As an apprentice. Does that word not mean one who learns a craft from one who already knows it."

"It does." Ranger says slowly. "Just not somethin' ya hear much. Don't think I know of any nobles who've been 'apprenticed'."

"Ah, is this one of those human things where they prefer a more 'refined' term. Is that what a page is?" You ask.

Ranger chews his lip. "Kinda? It's like that, but not really? I dunno, nobles are weird."

"Leaving aside the strangeness of human nobles." You move on. "I was apprenticed under my grandfather, and as such he saw fit to allow me to judge some minor cases that had little bearing."

"Sounds risky." Ranger observes. "People don't like to feel that their problems aren't gettin' taken seriously."

"That was why I was only given things that those involved agreed were minor." You agree.

In those days, matters for the king were often petty and minor. Two people arguing over who owned a piece of land, except the land in question was entirely theoretical is one of your favourite examples of the nonsense that came before Finwë. It was not all so minor, but far more of it than in later days.

"In this particular case, there was a dispute over a duck." You continue. "She liked to move between two ponds and two Noldorin children had come to consider it their pet. One day, one noticed the other feeding the duck when she had been planning to."

"How on earth did that end up in a noble's court?" Ranger asks incredulously.

You lean back, smiling fondly. "In those days we were young. Those two were too young to remember the journey to Valinor, and as such had never known true hardship, much like myself at the time. Naturally, given the lack of true struggle, it seemed a perfectly acceptable matter for grandfather."

Finwë had laughed when the two young girls had, very seriously, demanded he decide whose duck it was. He had then passed it on to you as 'it was a matter best suited to one closer to their own age'.

Ranger snorts. "Ya know, when ya talk like that I almost believe ya're a thousand years old."

You are definitely older than that, but that is neither here nor there. "Regardless, the two accompanied me to a side room to be judged. They brought the duck with them, and each made their case. After hearing them, I decided to examine the duck."

"Why'd ya do that?" Ranger asks.

"At the time, I believe I was hoping for some kind of owner's mark or collar. In hindsight, I was simply young and foolish with no better ideas on how to decide between them." You sigh. "Were it before me once more, I would point out that the duck clearly belongs to neither, and they simply must learn to share."

"Right, back on topic. What happened with the duck?" Ranger asks intensely.

"Well, I asked to hold her, and there was a minor struggle." You pause.

Ranger quickly catches on and asks, "What kind of struggle?"

"Well, first I dropped the duck. Then it flew away. I had to chase it through the halls, even as it defaced all the, very expensive, tapestries on the walls with its faecal matter." You state, entirely emotionlessly.

Ranger begins to snicker at you, but you have not reached the punchline.

"Eventually I managed to catch it, at which point I learned that the beast had an endless lust for Eldarin blood. It attacked me, and by the time I returned to grandfather, I was covered in scratches." You continue flatly.

Ranger's laughter is growing stronger, but you are still not finished.

"Some weeks later, I was by a pond, when I heard a splash and a shriek." You state, staring into the distance, events of that day playing out before your eyes once more. "Then from the very skies themselves, the duck attacked once more."

Ranger collapses back down onto his bed, howling with laughter.

"It seems the duck took umbrage with my handling of it and swore a vendetta against me." You finish. "From that day forth, whenever it saw me, it would attack, seeking the eldarin blood it craved."

Ranger's laughter takes some time to die down.

He wipes tears from his eyes and says, "That's hilarious. Ya became the sworn nemesis of a duck. What'd ya even do to it?"

You shrug. "Whenever she was asked, she replied 'he knows what he did'. Which I assure you, I do not."

Ranger is silent for a time, and you are contemplating asking him for another tale, when he says, "Can I ask ya a serious question?"

"You just did." You respond.

Ranger stares at you. "Ya are fifty winters too soon to be makin' that joke."

"I would argue that you are several hundred winters too young to decide what I am old enough for." You reply primly.

"I'm tryin' to be serious here." Ranger complains.

"If you wish to speak of serious matters, I will of course listen." You assure him.

"Right. So, if I was thinkin' of retirin', what would you say?" He asks.

"I would ask why you felt the need to do so." You reply evenly.

"Well, theoretically, I'd be gettin' on in years. Not as sharp as I used to be. I'd've been makin' mistakes that could've gotten folks killed." Ranger says.

You nod seriously. "I can certainly see that it would be a challenge. It certainly sounds like a situation that would shake your confidence greatly. I fear that I do not see why it means you must retire."

"Because I could get people killed!" Ranger snaps.

You nod once more. "Yes, it is a possibility. Such is the risk of a leadership position, the stakes for failure are high."

"So, since I've been failin' so much I should retire." Ranger says.

"Some would say so." You reply evenly. "I however, favour a less drastic action. It certainly seems that you have been struggling of late, some time to rest and retrain seems in order."

"I've been restin', it's left me itchin' for somthin' to do!" Ranger snarls.

"That is because you have been convalescing, not resting." You argue. "A rest would be a time without responsibility where you can do what you wish to without pressure. Retraining to face the new challenges with the time off will prepare you to continue in your role, if that is what you want."

"Don't ya get it?" Ranger yells. "I'm too old, I'm makin' mistakes! It's time for me to step back."

"If you wish to stop working for me, you are of course free to do so." You state calmly. "However, that is not what I am hearing you say. I do not believe you truly wish to stop hunting or teaching."

"Maybe not, but if it's the best decision then it's the one that needs to be made." Ranger argues.

You raise an eyebrow. "Is it? From where I sit, I have not heard anything that is insurmountable. Despite your difficulties, you are still an immensely skilled hunter. Perhaps your eyes no longer see as far, you cannot hear as you once did, but this is simply another challenge to be overcome."

"Old age isn't like that!" Ranger protests furiously. "Ya can't just 'work around' old age."

"As one cannot be a swordsman without his sword hand?" You ask neutrally.

The anger and hurt drains from Rangers face as he looks at the knife in your left hand.

"I am not saying that is will be simple." You state calmingly. "Such challenges often require returning to the very basics. It is humiliating, to struggle with things that should be easy. It is also possible."

A flick of your fingers turns the eating knife into a throwing weapon that lodges itself in the wooden windowsill.

"The secret is to begin slowly." You continue as Ranger stares at the quivering knife. "No one expects a child to run before they walk, but the moment we are grown we suffer under the delusion that we can do so."

"It's not the same thing." Ranger say quietly. "Ya can't make up for fading senses."

"Have you considered acquiring a hunting hound?" You ask calmly.

"I've had huntin' hounds before." Ranger says carefully. "I don't see how they'd help."

"Not as I have hounds." You state. "Rather you would have a single hound who accompanies you everywhere, trained to the highest standard. It would serve as your eyes and ears."

"I've never heard of somethin' like that." Ranger says.

You shrug, standing to retrieve your knife. "My brother had one, they were quite the team."

Ranger says nothing as you collect the remnant of your meals.

When you are ready to leave, you place the detritus and cutlery on the chair, and turn to your friend.

"I do not care if you no longer wish to work." You state flatly. "I have not given this task to you because I require you to do it. I gave you the task because I thought you would enjoy having it. I care about you, Ranger, the human. Not about a master forester. I am your friend, not your lord. If you need my help, you have it."

Ranger is silent. You wait for a very long time. When Ranger continues to say nothing, you collect the remnants of dinner once more and depart.

After you have left, too softly for human ears, you hear Ranger say, "A dog huh?"

Buying and Selling

This far north, it feels as though winter had already arrived. Frost clings to the ground, lethal to most of the crops that were still being harvested further south. Martin sighs, rubbing his gloved hands together in the cold morning air as he stared at his brother's fallow field.

"Got something to say?" Aaron asks.

"No, just feeling melancholy." Martin responds.

Aaron sniffs. "Merchanting is making you lazy."

"Rude." Martin says flatly.

A silence develops between the two brothers. There are tasks to be done even in this weather, but neither is exactly leaping to do them. Intellectually, they are both aware that if they weight too long frost will give way to mud, which will be worse. Emotionally, both of them are currently enjoying being dry and relatively warm.

"Sarah seems nice." Martin says after a while.

"Sarah's the best." Aaron says definitively.

Before Martin can finish deciding if it would be offensive to make a case for his own wife, Aaron's expression turns serious.

"Noble's are dangerous." He says grimly.

"The girls are safe, he's not interested." Martin replies reflexively.

"Not what I meant." Aaron stares at his brother. "They're dangerous. Best to be out of sight."

"You didn't say anything last night." Martin points out.

"Didn't want ma to worry." Aaron rebuts.

Matin looks away, fiddling with a glove. "It's, I dunno, it's hard to explain. He's, we've… There's a lot of us now, must be getting close to two hundred. It's safe, good work and there's this, atmosphere I guess. It's hard to describe."

Aaron stares at his brother for a seemingly interminable amount of time. "Be careful."

"I will, I will." Martin reassures his brother. "Now how about you tell me how you met Sarah."

Aaron pushes off the wall suddenly. "Work now."

"You're not getting away that easily!" Martin exclaims, hurrying after his brother.

"Thanks for your help, Martin." Sarah says as said man carries a stack of firewood into the house.

"Don't fret about it." Martin replies. "Just trying to look out for family."

The young woman smiles at him. "It's still a little strange to think that. I guess I thought I'd be used to Aaron's family being mine by now."

"Hard to reconcile this sort of thing when you don't meet up often." Martin says. "I'm still half convinced Eve's da is going to decide I'm not good enough for his little girl."

Sarah hides a smile behind her hand. "I'm sure he's proud to have a son in law like you. Oh, just put it there."

"Or at least he's not too disappointed." Martin jokes, dropping the wood onto the ground. "What're you planning for dinner?"

"Oh, I see how it is." The woman says, planting her fists on her hips. "Only helping in order to get at my mixing bowls."

"Yep." Martin replies with a wide smile. "Got to make the most of being away from Eve and the girls."

Sarah hesitates, clearly unsure of whether to take it as a joke or chase him off. His mother has no such compunctions.

A spoon raps against his knuckles and his mother says, "Off with you, you rapscallion. Bothering a poor young thing in her own kitchen, have you no shame?"

Martin waves his hands around exaggeratedly. "Ah, my fingers, they're broken."

"Serves you right." His mother says offhandedly, turning to Sarah. "Don't be afraid to smack the vultures. It's the only way they'll learn."

Sarah flushes. "I'd feel bad. I wouldn't want to hurt Aaron, and it doesn't feel fair to only hit Martin."

"Bah!" The older woman sniffs. "An occasional rap on the hand is good for the soul. Best get practice in on the men 'fore the kiddies start poking around too."

"Ow!" Martin cries dramatically as a spoon tentatively tapped on his other hand. "I've already been punished once."

Despite his best efforts, he never does manage to achieve the coveted position of taste tester.

"So what's eating you?" His mother asks suddenly.

Martin blinks in confusion. The two have stepped away from the rest of the family after dinner to give them some alone time. They are sitting on the porch, looking out at the setting sun.

"Nothing, ma." He says when his wits are collected. "Just thinking that we might want to put the little ones to bed."

"Oh you absolutely should." His mother says seriously. "But something's been bothering you since you showed up."

"Ma, I'm fine, you're just overreacting." Martin says nervously.

"You've been here near a week, and you haven't had a single fight with Aaron." His mother states. "You've been holding me like it's the last time you'll see me."

Martin gives serious thought to lying. He doesn't want to worry his mother with something she can't do anything about.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, his mother looks at him. Her eyes seem to pierce right though him.

With a sigh, Martin says, "There's a Blight coming."

His mother's breath catches, and Martin can see the panic flashing through her eyes. Then she takes several deep breaths and shakes herself.

"When? Where?" She asks.

"Dunno, soon probably." Martin admits. "It's in the south, in the Korcari wilds."

Some of the tension bleeds out of his mother. "Alright. I'll keep an eye on the news and the like."

"You mean you'll ask your friends next time you're gossiping." Martin jokes feebly.

A pair of fingers snake out and twist his ear viciously. "To think my own son would speak so rudely of his elders. Get inside and put the youngsters to bed."

Reluctantly Martin hauls himself to his feet and goes to the door. He pauses there and glances back at his mother.

The old woman has her hands interlaced, knuckles white as she tries to stop their shaking.