Macarion was a faithful servant of the Chieftains, and a Man of practical thinking. His House was not the most prominent of the Dunedain of the North, but neither was it without the wherewithal to carry out any reasonable command. He was not a hero, diplomat, or scholar, but his dependable service as provisioner enabled all of them to maintain the remnants of the House of Isildur during the dark years following the fall of Arnor’s last fragment, Arthedain.
He married an Elf, named Gilmorwen, who’d sought out the Dunedain of the North, believing them to be as stalwart as any of the Faithful who had escaped ancient Numenor, and counseled them to revive Arnor under their rule by conquest. He loved his wife but was wary of such bold thinking, considering how scattered and few the Dunedain had become. After he passed during the Fell Winter of the Third Age, his wife became more demanding of the Dunedain to begin a conquest. Frustrated by their refusal and the resistance from Elenyion, her son with Macarion, she abandoned them all, warning them to never seek her out.
Elenyion continued to reside with and assist the Dunedain but would not seek or accept any position of authority out of shame for his mother’s behavior and departing threats. He did not take tutelage from Imladris and lived quietly in the North Downs near Esteldin. He eventually married a Dunedain maid, Arafae, and they had a son, Cevenion. They lived in quiet solitude, with only a few of the Rangers aware of the birth. The boy was barely a year old when Elenyion and his wife heard rumors of GIlmorwen’s return, leading bands of invaders to threaten the Dunedain. The couple left Cevenion with her family in the Wildwood and set out to find and dissuade Gilmorwen from her notions of conquest, but they were never heard from again.
The orphaned boy was raised as Cutch Crane to hide his identity and he would not know of his true lineage until well into his adulthood ….
Spring came early and anxious to the Falathlorn. The Elven villages were abundantly blessed with the brilliant colors and heady aromas of wildflowers crowding into any nook or cranny where their urgent roots could nestle. The trees budded quickly, their branches soon heavy with blooms and leaves. Amongst them, birds sang their insistent mating ballads and beneath them every ground-dwelling creature pranced with vigor as they wooed and courted.
Cutch prepared the early garden for another year’s crop of herbs and vegetables, pausing frequently to let his heart be filled with the wonder of this burgeoning season. He rightly anticipated that the larder would be kept so full that he could give much away. So, too, would fare the neighbors’ gardens; the year’s summer and harvest festivals would be fat and happy.
He looked up from his shovel as he heard Teahesto ride up. The captain leaned down to him with a scroll in his hand. “This just came into the village market for you.” A surprised Cutch stabbed the shovel upright into the turned earth and pulled off his gloves. He took the scroll and slid the ribbon free.
He read it aloud.
“We have been instructed to invite you to Esteldin to discuss your family heritage. We look forward to your visit at your earliest convenience. – Caredgam, Esteldin Guildmaster”
Teahesto shrugged at the suspicious look Cutch offered as he unceremoniously jammed the missive into his back pocket, thrust his hands back into his gloves, and turned silently back to his shovel. He yanked it up thrust it deep into the soil, turning over a large clump and hacking it loose. The Elf sat patiently on his horse, waiting for the Man to say …. something.
“You have reservations?” the captain finally asked.
Cutch straightened and again stood the shovel up in the loosened soil. “You need to ask that? Of course, I do. The Rangers haven’t been very forthcoming about my family history, nor were they warmly welcoming when they invited me to stay with them as a boy. I must wonder what it is they want this time.”
“Are you not curious who would be instructing them reach out to you?” the Elf asked.
“Caredgam works for many masters, as I recall. Most likely he needs something from me and is dangling bait to lure me in.”
“This is not like you, Cutch, to be so cynical.”
“Nor is it like me to again rush off at their beckoning. Never has that been without cost.” He punctuated his words with forefinger tapping the patch over his missing eye. “My life here with a wife and children keeps me quite fulfilled and I have no real need to learn more of my Dunedain roots.”
The captain considered that for a moment, then said, “I wonder what Seregrian would say about that. Your roots are also shared by your children.”
Cutch pursed his lips, knowing the Elf was right, and knowing his wife would encourage him to at least find out what the Dunedain Guildmaster wanted. “Yes, she would agree with you, captain. Would you ride with me?”
Teahesto nodded. “No doubt your son would want to ride with his father, too.”
“No doubt. My wife and daughter, however, have practically disappeared into the Duillond archives of late, immersed in their own affairs. Best to leave them undisturbed, I think. We can send them a message to let them know where we’re going, and the route. When can you be ready to leave?”
“On the second morrow, I should think. Will that give you enough time to finish the planting?”
Cutch surveyed the field. “Aye, it should, if I tear the boy away from his mythologies to help. He could use a little sun and sweat, eh?” They shared a chuckle as Teahesto turned his horse toward his cottage and Cutch returned to his soil turning, trepidation nagging his thoughts.
Next --> First, to Bree
