Onward with the chase! [January 2010] {Calon}

“Is that not how I met you? Though, there was a chicken with you then.”

“And you did not relent until you had captured her for me! My fine hen herder!”

Narbeleth was certainly not running at the greatest swiftness she may have taken, for indeed, her husband would never catch her in the thick of forest. At least not until she had fully tired herself, which was not her intention, for there were other things to do today than to simply run herself to exhaustion! The first of which came to mind, and her blood warmed in anticipation, even as he called through the trees to her.

“Ah, what kind of hunter am I to try and chase down the perfect game!”

Her footsteps slowed as she no longer heard his chase, and she grinned, ducking behind a tree herself and peering round to see that she might catch a glimpse of him. There was no trace. Only the sound of the bubbling water running beside her and drowning out any hints that she might be given. The whistle of the sparrow summoned her. “The greatest hunter will bring the game to him!”

A game of seeking it now was! He had turned the tides upon her as he was oft to do, though it hardly troubled her, for her husband was one amusement after another.

Well, she could play the same game as him, it was certain. He had called for her, and she would willingly go, yet perhaps not the route he had intended. She answered with no word, but sent a whistle back to him; the pips of the flycatcher; one short note followed by two longer. It hinted at no direction or location in their game of hunts; yet meant simply, 'I love you.' Narbeleth had insisted upon adding it. No one else was privy to their secret language. Such frilly words as her husband thought them, she would only utter into his ear when they were fully alone. Yet the whistle was used as often during their forest stalkings as it was within the smithy, for she could not resist the boyish grin that it made to shine across his face as he worked over the forge, nobody but he know what an endearment he was being given in broad daylight in front of family or customers.

Narbeleth glanced down the stream in the direction she had been heading, and sure enough, the large boulders that she had neglected to seek out earlier were before the next bend, and taking one more glance about the trees she began to move toward them; stepping slowly and carefully this time that she not disturb the earth or make a noise.

The stones were not spaced too far apart and with light steps she easily crossed them, though the last left a gap that was too short for her legs and she needed to leap. She took the jump, carefully landing on all fours like a cat, and sprinting again to hide behind a grove of firs, their solid needles blocking the river-- and her huntsman, wherever he might be upstream-- from view. Narbeleth laughed to herself as she quietly made her way back up the canyon on the other side of the stream.

A few minutes moved past, and she had made her way carefully back to the end of her route, the waterfall before her and the deer and discarded belongings upon the opposite side of the stream. Well, she had been here before, and she knew very well the narrow rocky path that she could take beyond the waterfall. She pushed forward into the mists and made her way to the back of it, gripping the edge and taking careful steps over the slick rock. The water poured down in a sheet before her eyes, and she wondered at the thought of hiding here in wait. Yet, much time would be lost; and she would likely grow cold meanwhile. No, she would respect the summoning sparrow call.

As she ended again on the far side of the river near their game, her clothes were now dampened from the mist, and though the day was cool it was yet refreshing, and she stooped near the edge of the pool to draw water into her hands and drink deeply of it. Then, back she was to her mission, moving again downstream to where she had lost Calon. Stepping carefully that her footsteps only be spent upon the mosses and not the dry leaves or twigs that could give her away. When he came into her sights behind his tree, looking the opposite direction, she grinned, and slipped behind another, catching her breath and laughter and holding them within.

Narbeleth glanced upward; taking in the position of the sun and the wind, then whistled the flutelike upslur of the thrush. Due west.. She pressed her shoulder against the ragged bark of the tree in wait, herself fully in view for she wished to spot his reaction when he turned to her.

The look of startlement upon his face was quite priceless to Narbeleth. In truth, he was a difficult one to to sneak upon, but the rippling and racing of the river beside them had assisted her a great deal in her exploits to drown out her sounds.

“Well, Bel, I believe this means I failed your test.”

“The test is not yet over, you may yet succeed in other ways...” she grinned as he approached. He continued to idly talk to her in his rambling and weaving way, bringing her smile to widen and her heart to quicken for his nearness. Ah, she had been married to him these three months now, and life could be none the better in this very moment.

“...Tell me, my Nightingale, what is it you need of me?”

“Chicken herding… velveteen… hah…” the woman laughed. “Anyone might have spied and overheard those conversations. Mayhaps there was a guard on the beacon tower that night, and he is attempting to slip into my huntsman's true place, or one of those hired spies of my brother who had lurked in the grasses on the Pelennor… learning our own language… My husband himself might be back at the smithy, wondering where his wife has gotten off to; never knowing that she has been frolicking in the forest with a stranger, who has attempted to fell a mighty maple to buy himself some time… or perhaps to buy himself something else…”

Narbeleth prattled on as the man drew himself to the front of her. His hand brushed against her braid and she pressed a step nearer. One hand lingered against the trunk of the tree, and another held to a branch above her head. If only to keep herself steady and firm in her mind for some moments longer, for once her hands were upon the Calon, she knew this game would be over. She would not be able to resist him a second time.

“What is it I need of you...” her voice dropped to a whisper. “Perhaps… many things, depending on your true identity. But if you are not he… you are truly a fool, for what my huntsman will do to you when he finds an imposter has lured me so far from his home… you have selected the wrong Nightingale to trifle with. My husband's arms are iron, and his hands are fire. Nobody in all of Arda can best him.”

Narbeleth grasped Calon's wrist lightly in her hand, stilling the ministrations he was performing upon her braid, and looking up to him, for now he had come so close to her and she needed to tilt her head back to see the ocean in his eyes. “If he is you… and you are he… I should know by a mere look. The mark I left upon my huntsman the first time I was able to best him in the sport of archery… It should tell the tale of who this is standing before me.”

She traced a line upon the man's forearm, where she knew the light scar to be hidden beneath his shirtsleeve. She might pull that shirtsleeve up and make the inspection herself, though… no. She was quite through with this game, and he should know it was time to begin the next. Whether her huntsman knew that he had indeed drawn her back into his trap or not, she had been quite lured and now there was no escape for her. Narbeleth's released his arm and let her fingers sink down to the waist of the man's trousers, grasping to nimbly untuck his shirt for him.

The maple had stood the test of time. Narbeleth mused to herself that Calon would plant away the memory of that maple with it's patch of missing bark as a landmark in his mind. He seemed to hold a map there of the whole of Belfalas, and he dotted it with many such memorable locations. Stories of his childhood antics, youthful encounters, and fine hunts.

Day by day they added their own stories to mingle among those, and Narbeleth suspected that the time would not be long in coming when there were more landmarks and tales shared together than those the man had held alone. The narratives of their hunts, their climbs, and meanderings, to share around the family supper table; and the ones they would keep for themselves; the cove on the seashore, the cliffs they had climbed on the day they had become each others, and the arrow-stricken tree were just a few of those positions.

The young woman was agleam with energy as they set forth from the glade beneath the watchful maple. In fact, she felt in her veins more energy now than she had earlier retained. Half of it was from the thrill and victory of their chase, yet the other half was merely the fire that her husband had kindled within her.

“Mother will likely roast it. Whatever isn’t eaten will be added to that signature stew! She said you’ve almost got it down yourself.”

“I do my best for my huntsman, and your mother is as skilled in wild game as mine is in baking,” Narbeleth grinned in response. It was true of all the domestic chores, cooking was the one that came quite easily to the young woman. Her Mother was a fine cook in a large household; in fact she was fine enough to find her baking in the Steward's halls. At least for a short while longer until they moved themselves back to the seaside. Narbeleth had never lacked for opportunities to learn the skill. Cooking the bounty of their hunts had been a new skill, for it roasted differently than that of the domestic meats which she had been accustomed to, and even further from her comfortable talents was the knowledge of how to cook the various seafoods that were plentiful in the markets of Dol Amroth. She could not say she was yet talented in that venue, and there were truly some nights she felt sorry for Calon needing consume those tries. Being a baker's daughter did have it's payoffs though, for the man always had something fine with which to finish.

In any matter, cooking was hardly a chore, for one could sing the whole while. One might even spin about the kitchen and dance if they were careful not to set their hair ablaze on the stove; which Narbeleth had not done for many years now. Not since she had been perhaps fifteen had her mother needed smother the flames upon her. She had been well and lucky to not lose all of it, though her hair had been shamefully short then, and a pity for her age, as she had not yet filled out. She had been called a boy far too many times for her own liking that year!

“Don’t forget to tell Mother you felled this one yourself.”

Narbeleth laughed, of course she was not going to brag of her own kill to the family, though she knew Calon would not let it be himself. It was likely they would all know soon who had felled the creature, the whole household, and most likely all the customers who came to the smithy tomorrow as well. Calon was never shy in boasting of her accomplishments to others. As if reading her thoughts, Arobes was already coming outside. It was apparent she had been expecting them, and Narbeleth hoped they had not kept her waiting all the afternoon. They had dallied in the forest for some time, after all.

“There you are! Please, please, come in! Oh, look at that handsome stag! Well caught.”

The rush of warmth from the oven came over her as she entered the well tended home, and Narbeleth shivered as her body felt the change and drew back to temperature. Riding horseback hardly required the energy expenditure that climbing the trees, running through the forest, and playing fine and active games with her Calon required, and her body had finally rested upon Thissel's back and had felt the chill of the air.

“Arobes,” Narbeleth crooned as she greeted Calon's mother with a hand upon her arm and a peck to the cheek. Her hair fell forward for the tie of her braid had been lost somewhere on the floor of their leafy bower. The black tresses were now untamed and bore what leftover ornaments the forest floor had gifted her; bits of moss, grasses, twigs, and leaves were tangled within her hair. A small clump of moss had loosed itself upon her mother-in-law's shoulder, and the young woman plucked it off, and tossed it behind her out the doorway. “I'm sorry,” she shrugged, looking at the woman. The side of her face was mud streaked where she had ceaselessly pushed her hair back from here face in the wind during the ride home.

Narbeleth slipped her boots off in the doorway, placing them carefully aside and out of the way. She knew Arobes prided the state of her home, and often scolded Calon when he tracked mud through the clean swept floors. She looked down to her feet as she stood on the rug and frowned a moment, wiggling the toes of her right foot upon the wool mat. The left was stockinged, yet the right was bare. Somewhere in their decorating of the lovely birch by the river with garments, one of her stockings had gone missing. She suspected it may have fallen from the branch and been taken down river.

What caused her to suspect such a thing was the state of her britches, which had near done the same! They however, landed just barely upon the river bank where they had fallen, one leg in the wet mud, yet at least not washed downstream. She would have been in quite a predicament if that had happened, though she suspected Calon would have been amused. The pants had dried in the wind on their return trek back to the seashore with their quarry, and then the ride they had taken thereafter when they came back to the horses, though they were certainly stained up and down one leg with mud.

“I'm afraid I've come back worse off than Calon for once,” she noted as if it were a feat, moving for the wash basin to clean her hands well. She splashed a bit of water upon her face, though did not realize the extent of the damage and most of the mud was left in place as it was on her cheek. The young woman kept up her motion and paced toward the back of the house, looking out the window for Calon and Istor.

For all the manner of new tasks in Narbeleth's life that she did not mind taking on and completing, gutting the dear was not one of her preferred activities, and while it was easier with two people; one to do the dirty work, and the other to hold the legs, she knew Istor would be more than happy to help his son. The men hunted enough, they had a whole station for it set behind the house. They would make quick work of skinning the creature and putting the antler and hide aside, and then quartering off the animal to bring indoors for processing. Between the four of them the work would be done fast, and Narbeleth was in such high spirits from the afternoon, she thought she might sing as they worked.

Narbeleth could see that the heavy wooden table was already laid out with the slabs of cutting boards, and sharpened knives. Whatever didn't go into the roast and the stew tonight would be sliced up into slender pieces for the waiting salts and brines; which made good noon meals for the men to take to the blacksmith shop, or to simply take along on the outings and excursions that they were wont to be upon when they had the time free.

She moved to the back door and opened it. “Cal, take off your shirt!” she larked out a reminder to him. “I don't want to take that blood home with us later!” His clothes were already difficult enough to keep clean as is, along with her own. Aside, she would not mind getting another look at him. The test earlier had been satisfactory, though one never knew, she reasoned. She bit her lip and held back her laughter, moving back toward Arobes. “What preparations then should I put myself to while we wait?” she offered, for it would not be like her to be still while the others were busy.

“Is Remy home yet?” It was he afterall, who had wished them come together for supper tonight. Narbeleth hardly minded. She was used to much larger family gatherings, and happy for them, though she enjoyed the evenings she spent alone with Calon just as much. Certainly life now was full and happy, and it would be even better come spring, she reasoned, when all of their family; his and hers, would be together. Mother would get along fine with Arobes, and she suspected even that Faeldor could find a friend in Remlas, for they were closer in age, and more serious in nature.

“Bashed him with a rolling pin!” Narbeleth laughed, though she could not bring herself to even joke about harming Calon. Leastways, not without him standing over her, brandishing that little scar she had left upon his skin so long ago. She had felt so terrible for it! On top of that, Narbeleth would hardly be able to mistake his form. As much jesting as she did with the man over spies and imposters, her huntsman would never be mistaken for another. She would know him in the dark with only her fingertips. She would know him dry, or wet, or covered in mud. In fact… she mused, she had seen him in about every one of those states imaginable, as well as many others… and if he was in a state… she often was as well.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s to do with the blood. Can’t make a mess.”

The woman smiled as she watched her husband remove his shirt obediently. Certainly no difficulty keeping his clothes clean if he did not have them on. She giggled lightly to herself as her eyes grazed over his skin. “If you get cold, Cal, I'll be inside!” she larked back.

Arobes approached her with the clean dress and she sighed in relief accepting it. “If the laundry ended I suppose we wouldn't be having any fun,” Narbeleth commented.

“I see the hunt went well, I’m glad you’ve enjoyed Belfalas. Dol Amroth is one of the finest cities—no offense to the Steward, of course. Your family should be beginning their preparations to move! You must be quite excited to see them.”

“The hunt was fine as always. We traced the deer all the morning, though the conclusion was a bit surprising! You know, I rounded those deer into the perfect shot for him… and he let his arrow fly into a tree instead!” Narbeleth glanced out the window at the men working, smiling at the thought.

“There are no end to the adventures here, Belfalas is as fine a place to be as I can imagine. Finer yet when my Mother comes, and the rest of them. I would not want to live in Minas Tirith again. Mind you, I'm glad Calon ventured out to the White City those few months. Even so, he is happier here. He was fine with the horses, but he doesn't belong in the stone walls. It will be just as good to have both our families all together here. I could not wish for anything better. I've all but forgiven my brother. Things turned out quite nicely but… I'll say I'm a bit nervous to come forth with our news to them. To Fael mostly.”

She laughed nervously. “I am glad Cal no longer works under him.” Oh was she glad! She wondered if Faeldor would have fired him impulsively, or set him back to being a mucker… or what else? Calon certainly did not deserve that. He did fine work at the smithy here, and surely his skill would not be long in rivaling his Father's some day. Narbeleth watched the man work some moments longer, losing herself to her thoughts. The chopping of Arobes' knife eventually drew her back, and she felt a flush come to her, that everyone else had busied themselves and here she was daydreaming again!

“I'll be back straight away to help you.” The young woman tightened the bundle of clothes in her arms and sprinted up the stairway.

Narbeleth retreated to the upper floor of the house, meandering down the hall to Calon's own old bedroom. The window was shut to keep the heat in the downstairs, but she pulled it open and stood in the breeze as she worked the straps of her belt and jerkin once more, then slipped out of her soiled shirt and breeches, and her one stocking.

Of course Calon had not a looking glass in his quarters. It would be much too frilly a thing, to hang upon a wall in a room such as this. Of course, her cousins had given her one and he had not complained when she had mounted it in their own home. Though she was never the fusser that Miriel was, she at least liked to see that she had a clean face!

Narbeleth ran her fingers through her hair, and suddenly felt the way she had brought home half the forest with her in it. The window was shut to keep the heat in the downstairs, but she pulled it open and stood in the breeze to shake her hair out, running her fingers through like a comb. “Oh my stars, it's worse than I thought,” she laughed to herself. Bits of moss and twigs and leaves rained down to the ground.

When her hair seemed as clear as it could be of the woodland glade, she glanced down to where Calon and his Father were hard at work upon the stag below and sent off the whistle of the meadowlark and the pipping of the flycatcher toward him before ducking back inside the window and donning the earthy dress Arobes had leant her, cinching it at her waist once more with her thin belt. Narbeleth began to sing even before she once more shut the window.

“Waken, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day;
All the jolly chase is here
With hawk and horse and hunting-spear,
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily mingle they
Waken, lords and ladies gay.”

Narbeleth padded back down the stairs quickly, barefoot now and almost dancing as she stepped. “Thank you, Arobes, this is much better,” she chorused as she swept right into the kitchen and took up the potatoes, placing herself right in a view of the window that she might watch the back of Calon as they both worked. It was quite a large batch they were working, but it was certain all the five of them would be famished by the time the meal was ready.

“Waken, lords and ladies gay,
The mist has left the mountain gray;
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;
And foresters have busy been
To track the buck in thicket green;
Now we come to chant our lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay.

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot and tall of size;
We can show the marks he made
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd;
You shall see him brought to bay
Waken, lords and ladies gay.

Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth and mirth and glee
Run a course as well as we;
Time, stern huntsman! who can balk,
Staunch as hound and fleet as hawk:
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay!”

She finished the song, and stood wondering, chopping the last of the potatoes, and moving on to the onions which immediately set her eyes to watering, and she sniffled, opening the window beside her a crack to let the breeze clear them.

“Cal, did you ever think of getting a hawk one day?” Narbeleth wondered aloud through the opened window. “I'd like to try hawking. Wouldn't it be fun?”