The elf learns what he has missed
The elf was not surprised to find the Duke in his house, insofar as he had heard him cooing over baby “Penedict” from halfway across the court. However, he had not seen him in several days, and indeed he and Lena had been left very much alone of late. He had to admit himself pleased – but only to himself.
“You here,” he sneered. “I thought I smelled something rank, coming up to the house.”
“Ah, but the wind is blowing from behind you today, my young friend, which can only mean that you were being treated to the odor of your own rump.”
“I shall tell Lena I need my diaper changed.”
Lena saved him the effort, however, by giggling.
“I brought you a deer,” he said to the Duke, “in spite of your insults.”
“Another?” Alred gasped.
“A tall doe, but old and empty. So.” He shrugged and turned away to the kitchen. “Rather for the pelt.”
“I don’t suppose I shall be able to convince you to join me in my hall to partake of the meat.”
“Someday soon, my old friend.”
“To quote my worthy son, ‘How soon is soon?’”
“I wish I knew,” the elf muttered and turned away again.
Alred and Lena followed him into the kitchen, but the elf busied himself removing his cloak to hide his face from them. All he had obtained from Catan was a promise, sent by way of the Abbot, that she would meet with him again – “soon”.
“I shall begin to wonder why I bother to hunt,” the Duke laughed, “if you continue bringing game home from your walks.”
“I thought you hunted because you enjoyed it – not because you were hungry.”
“I do, but you make it more difficult to justify to my wife the risk to my life and limb.”
“You should be careful anyway,” the elf sighed. “It’s a dangerous pastime for puny creatures such as you.”
“Now, I shan’t deny that I am a puny creature, but you insult my horsemanship, sir.”
“Be careful anyway,” the elf grumbled. “There’s no point in you dying now.”
“I thank you for your concern over my safety and repeat that you insult my horsemanship.”
“Lena,” the elf snapped. “The kitchen fire is out again!”
A moment later the logs flared up.
“Kitchen fire is in again!” Lena laughed.
“You precious girl!” Alred sighed. “I don’t know why I mope around in my castle when I have only to visit you to have my spirits lifted.”
“What do you mean?” Lena asked, as she asked a hundred times an hour whenever they had a visitor.
The elf sighed and translated for her. She giggled, and he could imagine her blushing.
“But now that you are here,” Alred said to him, “I can ask you to tell her the unhappy tidings I bring.”
“If I may be of assistance.”
“You may tell her that, though he may be in need of having his spirits lifted, it is unlikely Aengus will come to visit for a little while. His littlest daughter died during the night.”
The elf repeated this to Lena and then asked awkwardly, “What do men do… or say… to a friend…”
“I shall give Aengus your sympathies,” Alred said.
“Then… I thank you. How did she die?”
“How did she die?” Alred gasped. “Don’t you know?”
“Know what?”
“There’s a terrible sickness among the babies and small children now, with a fever and rash.”
The elf’s hand went out and found one of Benedict’s little feet. He was no hotter than usual.
“You tell me if he gets any sort of rash, Lena,” he warned in their language. “I can’t see him.”
“Yes, Lord,” she murmured.
“Did you tell her?” Alred asked.
“Yes. Is that where everyone has been these last days?”
“Hasn’t anyone told you?”
“Aengus hasn’t come, and you haven’t come, and even the Abbot hasn’t come – not that I mind that.”
“The Abbot has been with the poor mothers. And of course Aengus has been with his poor wife.”
“And you?”
“I… have been with my poor wife.”
Alred’s weak laugh was like the sheepish grins and upturned bellies of the lower-ranking wolves, for whom the gesture could be either an invitation to play or a sign of cringing submission. He laughed because he was afraid.
“Is one of your children ill?”
“Bruni and David both.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” the elf howled.
It was true he always refused the invitations to dine in the great hall, so perhaps he had only himself to blame – but he had thought Alred was his friend. He had thought Aengus was his friend.
On the other hand, he had never been permitted to meet their children, and he had only spoken to the Duchess once, when she had come as mistress of the castle to greet him – and then he was almost certain he had heard Alred’s sword shifting in its scabbard when he walked.
They had welcomed him only distantly into their lives. He was no longer an outcast, but he was little better than a low-ranking wolf chased from his pack, permitted to lie in the outskirts of the men’s camp, gathering what scraps they threw him, and profiting from the heat of the their distant fires and their occasional caresses as best he could.
“I am sorry.” The calm of Alred’s voice seemed to reproach him for his outburst.
“But I might have helped! A fever!”
“In fact, we already asked Iylaine to help.”
“Iylaine!” he gasped.
“She tried, but there was nothing she could do, and she said – ”
“Iylaine! You can’t ask Iylaine now! In her condition! Do you have any idea how difficult it is for an elven mother – the careful balance required to keep a child with another nature alive inside of her – ”
The elf paused as he remembered that Iylaine’s child would have fire nature like its mother. It was unheard of. He did not know what it meant for her.
“I wasn’t aware that Iylaine was ‘in her condition’,” Alred murmured. “Else I would not have asked her. I hope it will not have injured her.”
“As do I…”
“But… do you suppose you could help them?” Alred asked hopefully. “Iylaine said she could not, and so you could not, nor Lena either.”
The elf shook his head. “Perhaps she could not because her child would not allow it.”
“I trust you are not subject to that impediment!” Alred sounded as if he spoke through a grin.
“God help me if I am. I only wish you had told me about Aengus’s daughter before.”
The grin, if it had been, did not long endure. “And Cenwulf’s,” Alred sighed. “And Ethelmund’s. And so many other fathers’.”
