Fraethwyn leaned heavily against the oaken doorway, peering into the deepening dusk. “Where could he be?” she murmured under her breath. A strong calloused hand rested itself on her shoulder.
“He will be back soon. He always is.”
“I know, but… why does he insist on staying out so late?” She laid her own hand on that of her husband’s, who stood behind her. “It’s not safe…” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
She did not for a moment take her eyes off of the dusty path that lead away from their door. It ran down into the courtyard, where oftentimes the children would play, that much she could still see. She knew from there it became a road, and led out the gates of the village into the wilds, but it was too dark to distinguish it out that far. The wilds, where her little boy likely was now. She knew all too well what they held. It was not from the stories that Anymer, her husband, told; though he had plenty as he rode with the guard of the village. It was first-hand knowledge. Indeed, their two hands, resting on one another mirrored each other in callouses from bearing a sword. She had stood with others against the goblin raids that had threatened their village. And she was good too. It was a skill she had developed in her youth, and it had stood her well.
But this? This was different. She felt helpless, standing and watching, and worrying.
“You know we will get no help searching for him this time,” Anymer said behind her, guessing her thoughts.
“But we must.”
“We will. He should’ve been home by now, I will-“
“Wait!” she cut him off, “I think I see something!”
Not waiting for an answer she ran down the path. Sure enough, the figure of a young, scrawny boy appeared through the darkness, jogging lightly into the courtyard. His mother, half scolding, half loving, gripped him tightly. The boy did not seem impressed.
“Ma… I told you I would be back before dark.”
“It is plenty dark now! This is too late, you worried us sick.”
The boy bowed his head, and followed his mother back to the door, where his father still stood.
“Bregoàn.”
His father’s voice froze him at the door.
“We will be in in a moment, Frae.”
Bregoàn stole a glance up at his father. He was tall, especially to him. But he was also strong, and had a noble, clean shaven chin. Bregoàn always imagined that the heroes in his stories looked like him. His eyes, though… they were a peculiar mix of blue and green that seemed to change with his intentions. And now they were glistening blue with green streaks standing out like daggers.
“You were late”
Bregoàn looked down again. Anymer crouched down beside him, and looked him directly in the face.
“Son, why were you late?”
“I … I found a nest,” he said hesitantly, “Full of little bluebirds. I … got caught up in their story.”
“Bregoàn….”
“You know, like, why the nest was built there, and what they were going to eat, and stuff.”
His father shook his head, “We need to find you something productive to do. It’s about time you learned a trade.”
Bregoàn became a little sullen, “Well you know what I want to do…”
“Reading is not a trade.”
“But I heard that down in Gondor-“
“No,” his father stood up abruptly. “You can read books on you own time, but you will also learn a trade.”
He sighed. That was that.
“Now, go on. Dinner was cold a long time ago, but there is some left. And it looks like you could use it.”
Anymer watched him go. His eyes softened, and swirled now, blue and green mixed in a confused tangle. He stood there for some time. Darkness enveloped the little village, but the candle in the window glistened still off his eyes. Finally, he sighed, and pushed the door open to join his family.
