No Home Here

Chapter Eight: A Woman’s Touch

The old man was starting to get annoyed. The strange boy that he had found outside the gate had apparently woken before he had and had done nothing but stare at the man since he woke up. The child was soaked, as were what seemed to be every blanket that the man owned. The raven hair was plastered flat to the boy’s skull, braids lying limply on the pillow.

Sam pushed himself forwards in his chair, trying to ease the crick out of his back that came from sleeping in an armchair. With his best façade of indifference in place, the old man stood up, stretched, and moved around the hut, getting ready for the day as he always did. Engle, who down the street, brought his breakfast to his post at the gate.

Sam sat beside the door in the palisade for most of the day, monitoring the comings and goings of the townsfolk and local farmers. But right now, as he examined the ashes of last night’s fire, he found himself in a real predicament. He had a youngster on his hands and no clue what to do with him.

Surely the lad would want to be on his way, but first there was the question of paying for the stabling for his horse. Not to mention however much Gerte would charge for his “doctoring.” Panicked and with a very sickly looking child on his hands, Sam had run for one of his closest neighbors.

Though the big redhead was kind enough at heart, no doubt he would be expecting something for his services. Perhaps the boy could run errands for the innkeeper or some such work, but who knew how long that might take. One thing Sam knew for sure was that he was sleeping in his own bed tonight, boy or no boy.

Poking the dead fire with a poker, the old man heard an unfamiliar noise coming from the bed. Turning his head, he saw the child sitting up with his face in his hands, hacking coughs wracking his body.

In a few shuffling strides the old man was at the bedside, hovering and unsure of what to do for the boy. Cautiously he put a hand on the youngster’s hunched back, flinching as he touched the cold, wet material. ‘Surely the boy should have warmed up by now.’ He thought, worriedly.

Slowly he rubbed in circles, trying to ease something of the pain he could see in the startling silver eyes. Eventually the boy’s cough slackened, and he wiped his face wretchedly.

Straining his memory, Sam remembered what the boy had referred to himself as, ‘Estel.’ A funny name, as the old man thought, but then again, the boy did live with elves. “Hush little one, hush Estel.” He said, trying to make his gravelly voice sound soothing for the boy’s sake. After all, he was obviously far away from home and sick to top that off. Sam fleetingly wondered whether the boy’s parents were looking for him, but brushed that thought aside as he looked outside.

It was almost full light and he was going to be late for his work if he didn’t hurry now. Standing quickly, the old man reached for his cloak and bent over to put on his boots. Hoping fervently that the boy could understand at least part of what he said, Sam made a rushed attempt to communicate his situation to the boy. “I have to go to work now, but I will send a woman by to see to you, alright?”

The child’s wide-eyed stare told the man that he didn’t understand a word said, but he put on what was obviously a brave face and nodded twice, wincing. The old man sighed, but had to hurry out the door before those waiting at the gate set up a clamor.

Opening the wooden door, Sam took a deep breath of the cold, crisp air. Several feet of snow had fallen overnight, and he sighed as he began to trudge through the white slush. Reaching his post at the gate, which consisted of a small, three-walled box and a wooden bench, he found Engle already there, tapping her foot in mock impatience and with a friendly smile on her face.

The petite brunette held a wooden tray with a napkin-covered plate and pitcher of some kind of drink on it, just as she did every morning. In truth, Engle was his niece’s daughter, and her mother always made sure that several meals found their way to Sam over the course of the day. In return Sam would sometimes bring the children small trinkets that he carved during the long hours of watching, and once or twice he looked the other way when the teenaged twin nuisances that Engle called her sons climbed the palisade for a midnight dare.

With a smile Sam relieved her of the tray, but stopped her as she turned to hurry home. “Engle, would you mind terribly doing me a favor?” The small woman turned around, curious.

“Just name it, Uncle!” A warm smile was spared for the old man and Sam beckoned her closer to him.

“Now Engle,” He started, “there was a young boy at the gate late last night who is in my house now. Would you be a real sweetheart and see that he’s comfortable for me? I had to leave almost as soon as I woke this morning.”

The mother was wide-eyed, but nonetheless nodded her assent. “Of course, Uncle, I’ll see what I can do for the lad.” Sam was summoned to the gate by a loud banging, but as he turned to open it he called to Engle one last time.

“And before I forget, the boy doesn’t speak common!” The woman, who was already hurrying towards his hut, simply shook her head in exasperation. The old man chuckled as he watched his grandniece, marveling at her resourcefulness, before he was distracted and turned once again back to his work.

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Engle slowed as she reached the door of her uncle’s home. She had been quite eager a few minutes ago to see the mysterious boy that had been placed in her charge, but now she was starting to have second thoughts.

The mother realized that she didn’t even know how old the child was or what he looked like. All that she knew was that somehow he didn’t speak the tongue of men. How this could be she was unsure, but then again, there was a lot more to Middle Earth than in this little village, and things might be different in other lands.

Cautiously she listened at the door for anything out of the ordinary, but instead heard a horrible, hacking cough. Frowning in consternation, she pushed open the door and entered the dark hut. Inside was disturbingly cold, and Engle noticed that there wasn’t a fire in the hearth.

On Sam’s bed was a person with both hands clapped over their mouth, trying in vain to muffle the horrible, jarring coughs which sounded as if they were coming from deep in the lungs. The woman took tentative steps over to the bed, where she waited until the fit passed.

The boy on the bed looked to be about fourteen, with long, dark hair and a pale face. His eyes were closed against the strain that coughing put on him, and he seemed not to notice Engle’s presence until the coughs finally died away and he opened bright silver eyes.

Surprisingly he didn’t seem at all startled by seeing her sitting on the edge of the bed, and he greeted her politely. “Hello, my lady.” He said weakly, with a slight half-bow. She frowned a bit at this: hadn’t Sam told her that he didn’t speak Westron? She wondered if he had been mistaken, but quickly dismissed the notion.

“Hello young man.” She said calmly. “My uncle sent me to see if you needed anything.” The boy shook his head, and then spouted what sounded like a well-practiced phrase, even if it was said a bit weakly.

“I do not speak much of your language.” Engle immediately switched tactics. She smiled and spoke very slowly.

“What language do you speak?” The young man nodded. “Elvish.” He said simply. The woman’s eyes went wide.

“Elven?” She repeated dumbly. “You live with the elves?” The boy simply nodded, so she continued to stare at him for a little while. She noticed that he shifted uncomfortably, and once even brought his hand up to pinch his nose, eyes watering.

She clucked to herself, verifying in her mind her original suspicion that this strange young man was indeed sick. ‘Little wonder,’ she thought ‘if he was out in that horrible storm last night.’ Making up her mind, she straightened up.

“Will you come with me?” She asked. The boy’s frown showed that he didn’t understand what she had asked, so instead she gently grabbed his arm and tugged him off the bed. At first she was afraid that his legs wouldn’t hold his weight, but with a valiant effort he straightened shaking knees and stood by himself next to Engle.

She put a hand on his shoulder and steered him across the little hut and out the door, noticing with a frown that his clothing was soaking wet. Wondering to herself whether he had re-dressed himself or if he’d slept in wet clothing, she began to guide him to her house down the street a few snowy blocks.

With her mind elsewhere as she walked, she didn’t notice when the boy halted abruptly and she ran right into the unsteady teenager, sending them sprawling hard in the street.