Chapter Text
“For every star that falls to earth a new one glows.
For every dream that fades away a new one grows.
When things are not what they would seem
you must keep following your dream.”
― Rod McKuen, Listen to the Warm
City of Dale, 10th of June 2950 T.A.
The last three years were busy ones for Bard and his family.
Legolas still spent most of his time working as his father’s proxy at the Palace, but since Tauriel was married three years ago, bringing their daughter Melui into the family, “Uncle Legs,” came to see his family—and his niece and nephew as often as he could.
As for the golden-haired Elfling, she had had a growth spurt and was now fifteen years old. It boggled Bard’s mind that their granddaughter was as old as her Aunt Tilda in years, yet as an Elf, her maturity was still at the same level as her friend Darryn. More importantly, Melui was now a much-doted-upon grandchild of all three Royal families of the North. She had the distinction of being the oldest of a new generation (or “crop,” as Great-Uncle Percy likes to call it), of Bardlings to race through the halls of Garon’s Castle.
Melui was not the only blessing Vildan brought to the family when he wed their eldest daughter almost three years ago. Tauriel was radiant as a bride that day, but when she and her new husband returned from their honeymoon ten days later, there was…something about her that made Thranduil’s eyes light up. Bard had smiled to himself and waited for Daeron to come, knowing what the outcome would be. He didn’t want to spoil the surprise.
Less than an hour later, Melui’s whispered prediction into Bard’s ear at the feast proved to be true: Tauriel was indeed pregnant with a little ellon, and everyone was overjoyed. [1] Plans were made for a nursery in the house that Tauriel and Vildan shared, while the ladies of Dale picked up their knitting needles and got to work. Feren’s wife, Glelindë, offered some infant clothes that their son had outgrown, and with donations from Ermon and Elénaril’s triplets, there was more than enough to fill the dressers and line the cradles and the cribs.
What didn’t fit in Tauriel’s house was snatched up by the Elvenking, who decided that the castle needed its own nursery. “It is a matter of convenience,” he told Bard.
“Go nuts, love.” The bowman kissed him.
Thranduil took Bard at his word, and turned Galion’s old room into the Royal nursery, complete with two small beds and a crib, and two rocking chairs. Then the Elvenking visited Bifur the Dwarf’s toy store in Dale and just about bought out his entire stock, to fill the baskets in both the upstairs nursery and the one on the first floor.
At first Bard thought Thranduil took his words a little too literally, but when he thought about it, it made sense, not only for his family, but for the children of the staff and some of the guards. So, a larger receiving room was commandeered, furniture was purchased and after some careful screening by Hilda and Bronwyn, who recommended a few former students, childcare was now provided for small children of the Castle staff as well as their guards.
This worked beautifully for Rhian, and baby Iris. She came back to work when baby Iris was three months old, and there was little stress for the nursing mother and baby. Every once in a while Rhian would peek into the nursery to find the Elvenking rocking Iris to sleep.
“I am practicing,” he grinned.
Tauriel had a fairly easy pregnancy, which was a mercy. If she hadn’t, Tauriel would have dealt with it, but it might have done her father in. When she began to show, Thranduil wanted her to stop working and rest, and that didn’t go well with the mother-to-be.
“I am not going to sit around for five months, Ada!” she said, her hands on hips. She looked to her husband for support, but Vildan was almost as bad as Thranduil was. It took the combined efforts of Daeron, Bard, and finally Hilda to convince him that she could easily carry out her duties. Which she did, right up until the eleventh month, when she really became enormous.
A baby was coming!
In bed at night, Bard and Thranduil whispered about the births of their children and the wonder of being grandparents. A child to love and enjoy, without the hard slog of raising them. Melui was great fun, and being called “Haru and Grandda” was their new favorite thing.
Anticipating the birth did a great deal to ease the pain in Bard’s heart from Bain’s absence.
When the sons of Elrond offered to help escort the Crown Prince of Dale to Lothlórien, Bard could have kissed them. Not that they doubted the Lord and Lady’s word that their guards were sufficient, but Elladan and Elrohir’s presence did a great deal to dispel Bard’s fantasies of Bain lying in a ditch somewhere, broken and bleeding and calling for his Da.
Elrond generously granted permission for the twins to continue as Bain’s companions while he served just over a year in Lothlórien splitting his time between the Golden Wood and serving with the Marshall of the Wold under an assumed name.
Bain, bless him, wrote to his family almost constantly with news of his daily life and thoughts of the people and cultures he discovered. Lothlórien was a wondrous place, he said. No wonder Da and Ada looked so relaxed when they came home! The Wold might not be glamourous, but the honest, hardworking people of Rohan reminded Bain of the Dale folk and he held a great deal of respect for them. He even visited the village of Langhold, where Daeron’s friends, Rob and Isbeil, lived. Their daughter, Willa, now eight, was now a healthy little tomboy, with plans to become a Shieldmaiden when she gets old enough. [2]
Bain held Leod, Third Marshall of the Mark and ruler of The Wold, in high esteem. He reminds me of you, Da, especially when we were in Laketown. He’s hardworking, honest, and does whatever he can to help his people. Like you, he’ll smuggle in goods and medicines if he has to, and he warned me against going to Edoras—don’t tell anyone he said that, though. He won’t say anything outright against his King, but he has a way of getting his point across, you know what I mean? Some might think he’s weak for not standing up to King Fengel, but I think it makes me like him even more.
Thranduil lingered over Bain’s letters, and encouraged their son to write more, in hopes that one day Bain might be able to write a book about his travels for the Castle library.
It was a rainy August night when the Kings were awoken and told that Tauriel was in labor. The entire family ignored the suggestion to stay at the Castle and wait for news; everyone in the corridor dressed and made their way to the Healing Halls, soon joined by Rôgon and Galion. Melui had been dropped off with Rhian, but Thranduil insisted she come, too.
“It is her little brother, after all,” Thranduil said.
“But she needs her sleep,” Galion said.
“Then she can sleep in my arms,” the Elvenking replied.
“Let it go, Galion.” Bard smirked. “It’ll give Thranduil something to do while we wait.”
“First babies take a while,” Hilda warned, but nevertheless, she came and paced with everyone else. A sleeping Melui was cradled in Haru’s arms while Sigrid went in to assist. Everyone else waited and paced, and whispered, and worried for the next five hours until at last, the shouts and cries were replaced with a strong, lusty wail.
Neldor Vildanion had finally arrived, with a head full of thick dark hair like his father. In fact, he was the spit of Vildan, except he had his mother’s light green eyes. He was named—with Thranduil’s blessing—after Tauriel’s birth father, who perished when she was a baby. [3]
And as one can imagine, the tiny ellon and his sister were the light of their grandfathers’ lives. Not only did Neldor have his own crib near the Royal bedchamber, but a small cradle was also placed in King Thranduil’s study, and the Elvenking was often seen reading papers as he rocked his grandson to sleep. Many of the Elvenking’s subjects smiled fondly, thinking of the days when Thranduil rejoiced in everything little Legolas did. [4]
Galion also fondly recalled the nights when his Ionnauth walked the halls with Tauriel in his arms, murmuring comforting words to help her get back to sleep. While he was happy for the Royal family’s good fortune, Galion and Rôgon had their own blessing: In May of 2947 T.A., Freya and her husband Wilfred became parents to a daughter named Enid, after her namesake right up until she passed away last Yule, after living a long life.
But when Freya asked Galion and Rôgon to serve as godfathers to the child, they were delighted. Galion particularly enjoyed watching Rôgon play with the baby when Freya brought her to work. Unlike Galion, the Elven blacksmith had no experience with little ones, and adored the child. Rog’s first gift to Enid was a sterling silver rattle with her name engraved on it and became the baby’s favorite teething toy. Then a small spoon and a little plate when Enid was able to sit in the highchair Rog had built for her. Actually, he built three: one for their house, one for Freya and Wilfred’s house, and one for Granny Efa and Grandda Byron’s house. [5]
Neldor was almost two now, and according to Daeron, was due to start walking within the next several months. He was pulling himself up on things and had learned several new words. His favorite toy was Bard’s dog, Taraneth—Tara, for short—who was remarkably patient as she was poked and prodded and climbed on.
Tara was now grown and a fully-fledged member of the family, despite all of Bard’s initial misgivings. The King of Dale grew to love her every bit as much as Thangon and could see much of his late friend’s attributes in his granddaughter. Not all, mercifully. Tara did snore, but not nearly as loudly as her predecessor, for which Thranduil was immensely grateful. Bard disagreed; he didn’t realize how much he missed the noise until Tara’s soft, sonorous snuffles sent him to sleep.
Percy wondered if Tara had inherited Thangon’s tendency to fart up a storm when eating Lembas. Unfortunately, he said this at the dinner table, and Hilda jabbed him with her elbow. Bard tested out the theory later that day by feeding Tara a few biscuits, taking her to Percy’s study and told her to Serë. Fortunately—because Hilda would have back-handed Bard if dog stank up the room—Tara was immune to such maladies.
Bard had been nervous when Elladan and Elrohir asked to train Tara. The twins wanted to explore the idea of having such dogs in Rivendell, so they had done a good job. The big dog was old enough now to behave, yet young enough to be active and playful, which also helped to ease the pain of Bain’s absence. As for Violet, the huge pig that Tilda made her, she’d “grown into it” just as their daughter had planned. It was barely recognizable now, a dull dirty grey with hints of its former color, but Tara loved it. When she was on her big pillow in the King’s bedchamber, the dog rested her head on it while she slept. Bard grew used to Tara bringing it to his study, oftentimes forgetting to apologize for its appearance when guests came for meetings.
Thranduil was horrified at the sight of it, not only for diplomatic reasons, but for sanitary reasons as well. If baby Neldor came anywhere near it, the Elvenking would gasp and snatch it out of reach. Praise Ulmo, Tara had a good sense of humor about it.
Melui was a devoted older sister, but she was also a busy little elleth who had her own group of friends: Darryn, Daeron and Rhian’s oldest, Liliwen, who is the daughter of Llewelyn, the new City Planner (Ben had decided to retire early in the spring). [6] There was also Ermon and Elénaril’s triplets, daughters Calapîa, Almarë and son Nórimo, who about the celebrate their seventh birthdays. [7]
Enid wasn’t the only senior citizen to pass away in the last few years. Maude’s husband Luther, who had come to Dale a few years ago at Yule, and decided to stay, also passed away peacefully in his sleep.[8] It was said he was never the same after his wife passed, so everyone was glad that he could be with her now. When Gruffudd, Alis and Dafina’s grandfather passed away three years ago, Glelindë was inconsolable, and Feren requested a few time off to look after all three of his girls. [9]
Their trip to Lothlórien three years ago was Bard’s first extended holiday, but that didn’t mean he was chained to his duties. Several times a year, Bard sneaked away with his Elvenking and enjoyed a private retreat at his hunting lodge, and occasionally enjoyed a few days in Thranduil’s apartment at the Palace while his husband met with his Council and held naming ceremonies for the newborn of the Woodland Realm.
For it was the custom among the Woodland Elves that these tiny subjects be brought before Thranduil for him to declare their names, as well as be listed in the census records. [10] When he could, he enjoyed watching the ritual from his seat at the foot of the Elvenking’s high throne, for there was little that Thranduil enjoyed more than babies (the highest on that list would be making love to his bowman).
When they first married in 2941 T.A. and settled in Dale, the births in the Woodland Realm were rare, but in the years since Lady Galadriel banished Sauron from Dol Guldur, the Greenwood was experiencing a renewed energy and peace, and one of the fringe benefits was a veritable population explosion among the Elves. As a result, Legolas handled much of the blessings himself, with Thranduil scheduling trips to the palace at least every three weeks.
Today, the June sun shone on the golden dust of the barracks’ practice yard. Bard watched with interest as Feren inspected the soldiers who arrived from Gondor this year as part of the exchange program between the two countries.
It had begun four years ago, in 2946, when Ecthelion and his family came to visit the Northern Kingdoms. [11]
When Thranduil introduced them to Bard he found Ecthelion to be an engaging and intelligent fellow, as well as his wife. He was the son and heir of Turgon, the current Steward of Gondor.
He and Ecthelion got along very well. They were both in the same position, really. Each were near the beginning of their lives in public service and shared the same hopes and fears for their people. They spent many evenings in Bard’s sitting room talking and playing cards or Stratagem. Thranduil offered stories of his experiences with Ecthelion’s ancestors and his memories of the White City, long ago. The son of the Steward had many questions about Dale, the Kings were only two happy to offer their ideas and insights.
The first group of soldiers wearing the black and silver of Gondor arrived the next year and was deemed to have been a successful endeavor. Only men, for in their society, it was “unseemly” for a woman to become a solider, a fact which raised many an eyebrow among the Elven military guarding Dale.
This year, Bard was surprised to see a personal message from Ecthelion, along with the official greeting from Lord Turgon. The letter was brief; but informed him that his son is among the troops, and is not to receive special treatment, and the heir to the Stewardship:
“It’s important that the boy enrich his education and widen his views through this experience. When he takes my place, it is our fervent hope that what he learns from you all will encourage respect and love for his people. I am sure Denethor wants to fully experience this, so I would urge you to show him the life of a soldier in your Realm.”
“Oh, shit…” Bard muttered as he folded up the letter. When he sent for Feren, he handed it to him. “Ecthelion would never say, particularly in writing, what he really wants, but if that boy is anything like the pimply brat he was four years ago, I feel sorry for you.”
The Commander scanned the letter and shook his head. “No special treatment?”
“Nope. Although I would be careful. I’ve heard from Gandalf that there are Council members in Gondor who could make the Lieutenant’s life a living hell, should Denethor go whining to them.”
To that end, there was no formal reception for Gondor’s heir, although he was invited to a family supper. Denethor had grown quite a bit, and Bard was glad to see his skin had cleared up. The young man was polite, but tense, and he clearly did not want to be in the North.
“Or perhaps he does not want to be here under someone else’s command,” Thranduil said later that night. “For my part, I am glad Gondor’s army promotes on merit alone.”,
“If that weren’t the case, Denethor would already be Captain,” Bard shuddered.
Today, the young man in question was grouped with the other privates and marched in with the rest of the unit.
Although Denethor was standing at full attention, he clearly was not happy to be here. Bard studied their leader, Lieutenant Hunthor, who looked to be about five or six years older than the rest of them. He was a good- looking man, appeared to be capable, if a bit young. All of them, with the exception of the Steward’s son, seemed eager to begin their year.
Perhaps Denethor was sent, as an act of good faith; one ruler’s son for another. Bain had left Rivendell six weeks ago and was on his way to Gondor to serve a year with their army, hopefully under Ecthelion’s watchful eye. Clearly in this instance, Gondor was getting the better part of the bargain. Or perhaps Ecthelion had sent Denethor in hopes that this year would change his attitude. Either way, the situation just stank.
The King of Dale stood behind the Commander, with Tara seated at attention by his left side. He listened to Feren’s speech about what his expectations were for these men, how they will be training with the Elves, and Dwarves and will be traveling all over the region to learn the geography, and they will be educated in Sindarin and some Khuzdul. To each of these talking points, the men answered with “Yes, sir!”
Then Bard marched up and down the line with Tara, pleased at most of the faces he saw; strong and honest with eyes full of courage. Gondor’s customs might be foreign to most folks living in the North, but so far, their army was everything Bard hoped Dale’s would be.
He and Tara joined Feren and gave a short speech (his favorite kind) seconding everything Feren had told the group.
After they were dismissed, Corporal Rhys took them to the barracks to get settled. They boy was now a tall, strapping lad of twenty and his father Alun's pride and joy. Bard had heard some rumors from the guards that the young man had been casting some longing glances at Princess Tilda, but so far, had done nothing beyond that. Tilda seemed unaware of this surreptitious attention, and while was certainly something to watch, so at this point, the King of Dale thought it best not to share this tidbit with her Ada.
For everyone's sake.
Once the Gondor Knights were gone, Bard sighed and asked Feren back to the Castle to discussed the new arrivals. And share a strong drink. Once seated in his study, Bard tapped the sides of his goblet with his fingernails and asked, “What do you think?”
"The reports of 1st Lt. Hunthor are impressive. He knows how to handle himself, and keep his troops motivated. Those under his command say they trust him, and are sure he'll be promoted soon."
"And the rest?" Bard asked.
"Lt. Cain is Hunthor's second, and though he was only recently made Knight, they said he earned it. Good with a two-handed sword, but excels with a sword and shield. Lt. Anarth is the opposite. Lts. Telum and Earnil are archers, and good ones at that, although," Feren cast Bard a sly grin, "none can best mine. But I am partial."
"I notice you saved Denethor for last."
"I wrote to a friend in Gondor who gave me some insight into our predicament. While Denethor's promotion was political, it is not entirely his grandfather's fault. It is a longstanding tradition in Gondor." He winced. "While it is true that many princes such as Bain and Legolas hold a higher rank, that is because their education includes such things."
"Still, lives depend upon the skill and leadership qualities of any commanding officer. Gondor isn't that concerned about that?"
"Oh, they are, or rather Ecthelion is, and he knows that what Denethor needs to achieve cannot be accomplished there."
"So..." Bard asked warily. "He needs to be where his position doesn't count for much."
"Exactly." The Commander sighed. “I think we have our work cut out for us. I will keep my eye on him.”
“Oh, shit," Bard cursed and rubbed his temples. "We’re in a bad position, aren’t we?”
“I am afraid so, My Lord. We will see. I hope the senior officer among them will have some sort of strategy in mind.”
ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Ionnauth – son of my heart
Serë - (Q.) Stay
Taraneth - Tough girl
NOTES:
[1] SCOM, Ch. 54: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/117181879
[2] AIS, Ch. 26: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/35641206
[3] WMAK, Ch. 10: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/24938166
[4] Ibid., Ch. 5: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/24431118
[5] SCOM, Ch. 2: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/63760186
[6] AWC…, Ch. 25: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026709/chapters/30297879
[7] AIS, Ch. 54: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/39628905
[8] TT ComC (OWHWGGBTW): https://archiveofourown.org/works/21946684/chapters/52377106
[9] SCOM, Ch. 41: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/111345157
[10] WMAK, Ch. 31: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010/chapters/27120603
[11] SCOM, Ch. 29: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090521/chapters/97320162