"My lord — the Lady is at the south gate."
The chamber steward said it at the seventh bell of the morning.
Aldric had been at the inner chamber since the fifth bell, at the small folded summary of the third anchor's intelligence return Maira had set out the previous evening; he had been at it without sleeping the second half of the night, in the small careful steady inner pattern he had been at things in the past week. He had told the chamber steward at the third bell to bring up word the moment the south gate registered her.
The chamber steward inclined his head.
He went out.
Aldric set the small folded summary back in the inner case.
He set the case at its proper place at the corner of his desk.
He stood up.
He did not, in the standing, hurry.
He had agreed — at the long bench under the window on the morning eight days ago when Tauriel had set out the small careful steady inner request — that he would not, on her coming back, ride down to the south gate to meet her. She had asked for the not-riding. She had said, in the small low voice at the long bench, that she would, on coming back, ride into the inner courtyard at her own pace; that she would set her horse with the gate-watch; that she would walk up to the upper rooms at the proper pace of a person coming back from a long ride; and that he should be where he was at the hour she came in, doing whatever he was doing, and that she would come to him there.
He had agreed.
He had not, in the eight days, set the agreement aside.
He went down to the inner courtyard at the small careful steady pace of a man crossing his own courtyard at the seventh bell of the morning. He went past the inner court to the long inner corridor. He did not, in the corridor, walk to the small inner door at the south side. He turned at the long inner corridor and walked to the petition wing, where he had agreed with himself the previous evening that he would, on her coming back, be working through the small folded backlog of three weeks of waiting matters at Celwyn's elbow.
He went into the petition wing.
Celwyn was at her desk.
She inclined her head at his coming in.
"My lord."
"Celwyn."
"The Lady?"
"At the south gate. She will be up in the proper pace of her own coming-up. I will be at the long table working through the backlog. When she comes in, I will let her set the pace."
Celwyn inclined her head a second time.
She did not, in the inclining, set out anything further. She had been at the petition wing through the eight days of Tauriel's absence, at the small careful steady inner pattern of a senior steward who had been told — in the small low private voice the Lady had used at her desk on the morning before her riding out — that the Lady was to be at the wing on her coming-back, and that the wing was to have, by Celwyn's hand, the small careful steady accumulated backlog of three weeks of matters waiting on the Lady's signature, in the small careful steady inner courtesy of giving the Lady, on her coming-back, the small careful steady inner work that the wing had been holding for her.
Aldric crossed the wing.
He sat at the long table at Tauriel's usual chair.
He did not, on sitting, open the first folder.
He set his hands at the table at the small careful steady patient inner pattern of a husband who had been at long tables waiting for his wife to come in for fifteen years.
He waited.
She came into the wing at the third quarter of the eighth bell.
She had ridden in through the south gate at the seventh; she had set her horse with the gate-watch; she had walked the long inner corridor at the small careful steady pace of a person who had been at a long ride; she had stopped at the door of the upper rooms at the half-hour, and had — by Aldric's later reading of the chamber steward's small inner note — set down her travelling cloak and washed at the small basin of the upper rooms and changed into the small careful steady wing-day clothes the keep women had laid out for her at the side of the long bench at the seventh bell; she had come down at the third quarter of the eighth.
She walked into the wing.
She walked in at the small careful steady pace she walked into the wing every morning.
She inclined her head at the door, the small flat keep-form acknowledgment she had been giving Celwyn at the door for six years.
She stopped at three paces from the long table.
She looked at Aldric at the chair.
She did not, at first, speak.
She had a small careful steady inner set he had not seen on her at any of the previous returns from her own rides over fifteen years; she had a small careful steady inner set of the long inward Elven kind he had read on her perhaps three times in fifteen years — once at the second hour of the morning at the parapet the year she had come up to the country; once on the second evening of the autumn of Cael's birth; once at the long bench under the window of the third evening after Elrond's account.
The set was — by his small careful steady reading at the chair — the set of a woman who had been at a long inward work and had, at the end of the work, come back to the country.
She said: "Aldric."
"Tauriel."
"I am at the wing."
"You are at the wing."
She crossed the wing.
She stopped at her own usual chair at his left at the long table. She did not, on stopping, sit. She set her hand against the back of the chair, in the small careful steady inner gesture she had been making at chair-backs at the wing for six years.
She said, in the small low voice she reserved for the petition wing: "Celwyn."
"My Lady."
"The backlog."
"On the long table at your usual chair, my Lady. Three weeks. I have, by my own hand, set the small careful steady inner sorting — the standing matters at the top of the stack, the matters that would in any other three weeks have come to your hand at the eighth bell at the bottom, the matters that are between at the middle. I have, by my own further hand, set out at the side of the long table the small folded summaries of the three weeks of the regional sessions of the council that you would, in any other three weeks, have read at the long bench under the window of the upper rooms in the evenings. I have set them in the order of the dates of the sessions. There are also, my Lady, two small folded notes I am setting in front of you at the time you sit, that are from the past three days and that need, by my own reading, your hand at them today."
Tauriel inclined her head.
She sat.
She did not, in the sitting, look at Aldric.
She drew the long inner pen out of the small leather case at the edge of the long table — the same long inner pen she had been signing the petition wing's matters with for six years — and she set it at her right hand. She set the small inkwell in front of her. She set out the first folder of the long backlog at the centre of the long table.
She opened it.
She read the first petition through once. She read it through a second time at the slower pace. She set out the small careful steady inner ruling at the small inner page of the folder, in the small careful steady inner hand she had been writing rulings in for six years. She signed. She set the seal. She set the folder aside.
She opened the second folder.
She read.
She ruled.
She signed.
She did this — by Aldric's small careful steady reading at the chair across from her — for the better part of the long morning, in the small careful steady inner pattern of a Lady who had been at the wing for six years and who had been, on coming back from a long ride, at the wing in the small careful steady inner pattern of any other morning of the past six years.
She did not, in the long morning, complain.
She did not, in the long morning, ask Aldric anything at all.
She did not, in the long morning, set anything of the small inward work she had been at for the eight days out at the long table.
She worked.
She worked through the small careful steady inner backlog at the small careful steady inner pace of a woman who had been told, on her coming back, that the wing would have the small careful steady inner backlog of three weeks of matters waiting for her, and who had — by the small careful steady inner registering of her own hand at the long table — accepted the backlog as the small careful steady inner gift Celwyn had been holding for her.
Aldric, at the chair across from her at the long table, did not, in the long morning, speak.
He worked at his own small folded matters.
He worked at the small careful steady inner pattern of a husband who had been at long tables beside his wife for fifteen years.
He worked.
The wing held the long morning.
The keep, beyond the wing, held its own.
She came up to the upper rooms at the third bell of the night.
She had been at the wing through the long afternoon, at the small careful steady inner backlog. She had eaten with the children at the small family table at the third bell of the evening, in the small careful steady inner pattern she had eaten at the small family table at every other evening for six years. She had read Cael the small slow careful inner story she had been reading him at the long fur for some seasons. She had set Lúthien down at the small inner crib of the family quarters at the second bell of the evening. She had come back to the wing at the third bell to finish, by her own count of the long inner backlog, the small last folder of the three weeks. She had finished the small last folder at the half of the third bell of the night.
She came up.
Aldric was at the long bench under the window of the upper room.
He had been at the long bench since the second bell of the night, at the small folded summary of the third anchor's intelligence return Maira had set out for him at the morning. He had set the small summary down at the second bell, in the small careful steady inner work of preparing the long bench for her coming up. He had been at the long bench in the small careful steady inner waiting of a husband who had been waiting through the long day in the small careful steady inner pattern of a husband who had been at long benches under long windows for fifteen years.
She came in.
She did not, on coming in, light any of the small inner lamps. The chamber was at the small low fire of the corner grate and at the small steady careful low lamp at the long bench under the window where Aldric had been at the small folded summary.
She crossed the chamber at the small careful steady pace.
She sat on the long bench beside him at the proper distance.
She did not, at first, speak.
She set her hand on the long bench beside his, in the small careful steady inner gesture of the long bench they had been at for fifteen years.
He let his hand rest at the side of hers.
He did not, on the resting, close it.
He did not, on the resting, ask.
She drew a slow breath.
She said, in the small low voice she had been holding for the better part of the day: "Aldric."
"Tauriel."
"I think I know what I am going to choose."
A pause.
He did not — by her small careful steady inner reading at his shoulder — immediately react.
He did not ask which.
He did not, by any of the small careful steady inner gestures of his hand, set the small careful steady inner asking-for-the-which.
He set the small steady careful inner inventory of the long bench at its slow steady careful inner pattern, the way she had been reading him do at long benches for fifteen years.
He said, in the small low voice: "All right."
"I will not — Aldric — at this long bench at this hour, set the choice. The choice is — by the small careful steady inner work of the eight days and of the three months and of the two years that came before the three months — at its end at some point in the next short while. I am not, by my own small careful steady inner pattern, going to set it at the hour I have come back. I will set it — by the small careful steady inner pattern of a woman who has come back from a long inward ride — when I have, by some seasons of the small careful steady inner sitting-with, set the inner sense of the choice into the body that will, at the end, carry it. The choice will be — Aldric — set within the year. By the small careful steady inner reading I am doing at this long bench at this hour, within the year."
"Within the year."
"Within the year."
"All right."
A pause.
She set her head against his shoulder at the long bench, in the small careful steady inner gesture she had been setting her head against his shoulder at long benches for fifteen years.
He closed his hand, very slowly, over hers on the long bench.
She did not, on the closing, comment.
She set her eyes closed — the deliberate close.
She said, very quietly, with her eyes closed: "Aldric."
"Tauriel."
"I do not need to tell you tonight. You do not need to ask me tonight. I do not — Aldric — need you to know which way before I set the choice. I need you to know I am at the small careful steady inner end of the work. I need you to know the work — at this long bench, at this hour — is at its end. The choosing will come in its own pace. I am — at this long bench — at the end of the carrying. The carrying has been the work. The work is — Aldric — done."
He drew a slow breath.
He set his other hand against the side of her face, in the small careful steady inner gesture he had been setting at long benches for fifteen years.
He said: "All right."
She held her eyes closed for some minutes more.
She opened them.
She looked at the small low fire in the corner grate.
She did not, in the looking, say more.
The fire held.
Outside the long inner window, at the far corner of the inner courtyard, the night-watch went past at its slow careful steady inner round, and the keep settled into the long winter night with its own small steady careful patterns, and the long bench under the long window — for the count of the long beats they sat at it — was the small careful steady inner place she had been at the small inner window of the winter morning looking for, and had not, on the looking, found, and had now, on the coming back, arrived at without having to look.
She held.
⚜ ━━━━ ROYAL PROCLAMATION ━━━━ ⚜
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