Bedside Tales: A Midsummer Night's Surprise.



 

That first week we had Waelden in the bed at home, Ethel and I would sit near him in the evening and talk about all sorts of things. In part it was to soothe our own anxiety over how well his foot would heal. It was to give him some sound in the background he could choose to listen to, or not. And it was to strengthen the bond between us all.

Some of our talks went on into the night. On those occasions Ethel and I would move closer to the unlit fire (it was warming up considerably as the summer drew nigh), snuggle down on the large bearskin rug, and talk openly. Herne, and one or both the cats inevitably joined us, though Rags preferred sleeping on Waelden if he was permitted. It began to feel it was almost woman to woman talks, not adult and child. She really was beginning to grow up, most of the time. 

We were careful. We were considerate to let the patient actually rest, though a few times we heard sounds from the bed that almost could have been chuckles. At one point Waelden said ‘Go away!’ in a firm voice, so that both we women were silent for quite a few moments. 

“Papa is probably dreaming of Uncle Denholm,” Ethel whispered with a grin. We both chuckled. 
 

And so on to dreams. At the end of that week Ethel’s bedside tale was about her dream of the previous night. It was an account which will stay in my mind for quite some time. And this is what she told me:


 

Ethel was looking forward to Midsummer this year, she said. She had her papa at home, not out on some wagon escort or worse. She had me to talk with about more womanly things, like where did orcs come from, and how to use a staff. She had a mentor and friend in the smith, Heartha, and a good friend and co-conspirator in Bronaa. She was feeling almost content, though her mind frequently moved to new adventures and discoveries. She chuckled at that point. ‘It’s never enough, mama. There is so much to learn.”

This Midsummer it was in her thoughts to investigate some old tales she had heard. Now she knew the old rumours interested me also, so was happy confiding that. She mentioned the one about gathering the morning dew and washing your face in it. “It makes you beautiful apparently, because dawn’s light is always with you,” she reminded me. Not that she was bothered about that part. Ethel was happy with who she was. But the old tales also said that the morning dew applied to your eyes could help you see the elves. That part did interest her.

I was a little wary at that point, believing it is best not to seek Elves. It is exceedingly rare we come across any, though I knew of one I almost trusted.

Ethel knew that most of the folk of the Mark did not trust Elves at all. But our small family had spent a short time in the company of a particular elven woman, while staying at the Tavern in Edoras. Ethel in particular had become quite close to her, and had even partaken in a special ceremony to bind their friendship. Now she knew that elf women would not necessarily be around often, if at all in physical form, she told me, but she wondered if one of the Midsummer ‘rites’ may just open a connection so she could say ‘Well met’? That was all really. It was just curiosity over a ‘friend’, and an attempt to get Bronaa to see elves as well. 

So she was hoping to plan with Bronaa that the pair of them would sneak out before first light, and ride out of Bancross to one of the more wooded areas nearby, and look for a Hawthorn tree (as that is where the tales said such a sighting was more likely) or a place where an oak, ash and hawthorn grew close. They would wait for dawn’s light to hit the grass, and then… well, who knew what would happen. At least they would have a small adventure, and a good breakfast because Bronaa would likely bring food from the Roaring Dragon, and maybe some mead. 

That was the plan. 

Waelden tossed in his sleep at that point, as if to show his concern. “You best run the riding out of Bancross part past your papa, dear.” I interrupted. “”These are dangerous days for any riding out of the village.”

Ethel nodded. But there was also something else much on her mind.

Wynn, my mare was very soon to give birth!

Of course she was very interested in any of our horses, but in this case Waelden and I had said the foal would be hers to raise and train. She would always love Roan, but bringing up a foal that was likely the progeny of Wynn, and Waelden’s stallion Ealfin, would be very special.

She knew I had spoken with Brynleigh about the pregnancy a few times. Wynn was a healthy mare, and seemed to have no problems, but any horse could have unforeseen issues. Brynleigh had said she would be on standby this week, should such an issue arise. 

Now Ethel wanted to thank the kindly young woman in advance, so she planned to pick a bunch of flowers at first light on Midsummer morn, as a gift. Not that the stable owner needed the dew either, for she was very pretty already.

The day before her dream, Ethel did her work for others as usual, though she had not been to the Forge since her papa’s accident. She did her morning help at Northgyth’s who then plied her with food for us, and her early evening help with Gamferth’s animals, seeing they were fed and watered. She went and spoke with the kindly retired Rider himself for a short time. Although such conversations were not that frequent, Ethel always enjoyed Gamferth’s company. She told him how her papa was doing, and gave him our best wishes and hopes to see him soon. Maybe he would join us for Midsummer, if he was free? 

Walking slowly back to the house, Ethel had passed the Roaring Dragon, noting it was silent, and planning to go and catch up with Bronaa very soon. She told me it was unusual not to see Bronaa in recent days, but she would catch up soon. But she had seen Duncadda standing on the hill, looking east. She waved to him, and he waved in return. Duncadda was often a solitary figure moving through our lives. He was always good to us though, a close friend. And now he was hurting and there was nothing any of us could do. Duncadda had recently lost his own horse, Fastread. That was a huge matter to anyone. Ethel had asked Waelden and I about giving Wynn’s foal to Duncadda, but he would need a horse sooner than the foal would grow to maturity. No, there had to be another horse that would suit him. Ethel had already been keeping her eyes open. She said she had asked Bema often for his aid. 

“Now sit comfortably mama,” Ethel then said. “And I will tell you the dream.”