Dabbles In Ink: Lord Of The Rings One-Shots

A Mother's Burden

Third Age: 2960

Embers popped in anguish as a woman tossed a log onto the fire. It was the only sound in the tiny cabin in the woods. She straightened herself with a sigh and moved towards the window overlooking the snow-covered valley. She was used to the quiet, true, but she still couldn't help feeling the pang of loneliness in her chest. She wondered if her son would make it home any this winter.

With a shake of her head, she turned back to the fire, barely placing a wooden spoon over the rim before the small pot boiled over. He would be fine, she told herself. He was a born warrior, a king, in all but gold, just like his father. She smiled at the thought as she dropped potatoes into the pot. They were so much alike.

A half-hour later she lifted the pot away from the fire, content with the tenderness of the vegetables. Something tapped the door and she froze. The wind blew against the house and the shutters upstairs rattled hard. It was only a matter of time before one came off. She had fixed the ones on the lower level, but couldn't get up the ladder to check the ones upstairs.

As if on cue, the wind gushed against the house, followed by a pop and the wooden shutter crashed to the ground. Gilraen cursed under her breath. How was she going to get that back on? The wind only continued to blow in response. She turned back to the steaming pot of stew. No sense in worrying about it now.

Something hit against the door but this time she paid it no mind. It was probably the wind.

Then, a muffled voice, "Naneth?"

She knew that voice. Her face lit up and she dropped the spoon, uncaring of the boiling water that briefly splattered her skin as she bolted for the door.

She pulled back the latch and swung the door open. Her son stood the doorway, a grin lighting his face when he saw her.

"Estel!" she exclaimed and standing on her toes, threw her arms around his neck. His beard was cold against her cheek, the ice had frozen to it.

"Come in, come in," she said as she pulled him inside and over to the fire. She reached up to brush the snow from his hair but he beat her to it. He gave her a look and she smiled. She couldn't help wanting to mother him anytime he came home. It happened so scarcely these days...

"How have you been, my son?" she finally asked. "I haven't heard from you in months." Sadness tinged her voice, but there was no anger. She was the wife of a late chieftain, she knew what life was like out there. You're lucky if you come home most times, much less get to send word back partway through.

"I'm alright," he said with a small smile. She looked at him closely. Darkness had settled under his eyes, dragging the corners down with it and bandages wrapped around his forearm. Her heart ached at the sight.

"How have you been?" he asked. "I saw the shutter fly off on my way in. Is there much else wrong?"

She shook her head. She knew he hated himself for not being able to help her as she aged, but she understood middle earth needed him more than she did. "No, I've been able to keep up with most of it myself. Don't worry about me. Lord Elrond has sent his sons out here on more than one occasion to make certain the house stays in good shape."

He nodded gratefully which turned into a shiver. She motioned for him to take a seat while she poured a bowl of stew for him. He took it gratefully, warming his hands with the dish.

His shoulders slowly slumped as the warmth melted his defense. "It's getting worse, is it not?" she finally asked. He nodded slowly.

"Their dying, naneth. Everywhere I go I lose at least a few of them and there's nothing I can do about it." He hung his head, placing his elbows on his knees.