In fact he told her that night when she helped him to bed. She had blinked in surprise but had otherwise simply accepted it. Her expression took on a whimsical cast and she smiled, then looked at him.
“I suppose that while we are sharing secrets I should tell you why my husband's family disliked me so and objected to the marriage.”
He started to protest that she need not if she did not care to but she placed a finger on his lips to stop him.
“No, it's something that you should know. Here I am called Agustdottir, but Agust was actually my stepfather. I do not know my real father's name but as a child I was known as Deandra Half-Elfin. My father was of the Fey.”
Engvyr was not sure what he was expecting but it hadn't been that!
“How did, I mean…” he stammered.
“In her sixteenth year a Fey came to my mother at the Festival of Spring's Dawning in the guise of a boy that she fancied, and they went into the forest together,” she said, “Naturally there was quite a fuss when she returned to the feast to discover that the real boy had gone off with someone else! I was born the following winter.”
Engvyr knew that at Spring's Dawning couples often lay together in the woods or fields. Children born of those unions were considered blessed, with no stigma attached to them. They simply took their mother's name and that was that.
“As I was growing up people said that I was 'witchy' and fey and began to blame me for their misfortunes, which is ironic for if I have so much as a shred of magical talent about me I've seen no sign of it. Eventually my mother married a potter named Agust and they moved to Ternial, west of Dvargatil Baeg along the coast.”
“And when you became betrothed your in-laws somehow found out about your birth?” he asked.
“That and… Engvyr, how old do you think I am?”
He looked at her, surprised by the question, and thought of what he knew of Afmaeltinn.
“Well, I know that humans marry young. But for having met Brael I'd have thought you perhaps twenty, but I suppose that you must be at least twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age.”
“Sweet man!” she said with a smile, “In two years I will have seen fifty summers.”
He stared at her, mind awhirl again.
“How long do half-elfin live?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“I'm not sure that anyone knows… but in the end I might outlive you, love,” she said. Her face fell and she looked uncertain. “If you… I will understand…”
“Lord and Lady, love!” he exclaimed as he gathered her in his arms, “I wasn't put off when I thought that we might have only five or six decades. That we might live out out our days together makes me want to dance with joy!”
She beamed at him as he kissed her and they held each other for a long while. She was not offended when she realized that he had fallen asleep; he was not yet well after all. She lay him back on the bed and tip-toed out, easing the door shut behind her.
– **-
The week of Engvyr's recovery that followed was a busy one. Ynghilda called in the folk of the outlying farmhames and the great hall of the stead filled up. There were three rows of tables set up and they were full each at night, as were the sleeping benches that lined the room. The area around the hearth grew crowded in the evenings as people gathered to talk, tell stories and play or listen to music.
That being the case the 'Privy Council,' as Ynghilda had jokingly begun to refer to it, began to meet around the much smaller hearth in Ynghilda's sitting room. This consisted of the Master-Ranger, Major Eggil from the infantry, Taarven, Engvyr and Grael Makepeace, head of the militia and Ynghilda's cousin. Deandra was often in attendance as well as was Ageyra, who had taken service in the militia as their very own Battlemage.
They were not crowded as the sitting room had been designed with just such an eventuality in mind. Among other things they discussed the reports that now came in almost daily. The news was not comforting. There had been two lightning raids by Baasgarta cavalry in valleys to the east that had caught the farmers out in their fields and took dozens of captives.
Nearly every steading and clanhame on the northern border was hit with company sized attacks… except theirs. Most of these attacks were repulsed and the Baasgarta retreated with few casualties. They were part of a reconnaissance-in-force, probing for weaknesses and goading the dwarves into revealing their own forces.
One of the Baasgarta's attacks did not fare so well. They had attacked the Smilnedrad Clanhame, an old and well-fortified neighbor to the east. Once the Baasgarta were engaged the local commander had moved units of mounted infantry up behind them. The soldiers became a hammer to smash the goblins against anvil of the clanhame. By the time the enemy was able to break away they had taken fifty-percent casualties, and lost still more as they were harried from the clan's lands.
As soon as Engvyr could walk with a cane he and Deandra had better tidings for their friends than the news brought. They made their declaration of marriage, exchanging rings before the hearth in the dwarven tradition, and accepted the applause and congratulations of their friends.
Ynghilda quickly drew up a document of the marriage, which they all signed as witnesses. After they had done so, nothing would do but that she should drag them both into the great hall and announce it to all assembled. An impromptu wedding reception broke out immediately, with drink, music and dance. The folk of the valley had endured a terrible year that might well get worse yet and a marriage was all the excuse they needed. The release of their accumulated stress, at least for this moment, made for one of the most enthusiastic celebrations seen in those parts in some time. It was hours before the couple could slip away to celebrate their marriage privately.
They met with Ynghilda the next day to settle legal matters, a necessity because of Engvyr's as-yet unused title.
“I don't know if your title can pass to Deandra, she being Afmaeltinn,” Ynghilda said thoughtfully, “I guess that will be a matter for the Royal Court to decide. But I do know that she can inherit your property and land. That will make for some legal gymnastics if she doesn't retain your title but frankly that's someone else's problem. The law is very clear on inheritance between spouses.”
“I really don't…” Deandra began but Engvyr stopped her.
“War is coming love, and people will die. If I am one of them it will be a comfort to me to know that you are provided for.”
“Hmmm,” Ynghilda said, “If you don't file your claim there will be no lands for Deandra to inherit. I have a suggestion, if you are willing to do me the honor of becoming my neighbor?”
Engvyr looked to Deandra, who nodded.
“We'd be honored. What do you have in mind?”
She brought out a map of the valley and showed them.
“There's a section here, in the southwest of the valley. It's partly wooded and backs up to the mountains. We can cut out this section here- that looks to be about the size we need. There's good drainage and a stream…”
– **-
Engvyr returned to duty and he and Taarven probed the northern fringe of the Makepeace Valley, trying to penetrate into the goblin-held lands. They were never able to make it more than a day's ride in before being chased out and the Master-Ranger called off these efforts the second time that the rangers were nearly trapped.
It was the consensus of the 'privy council' that either the Baasgarta were planning a major attack on the Makepeace Valley or wanted them to think that they were. Unfortunately there was no practical way to find out.
They discussed going down to the coast and then moving north before cutting back into Baasgarta lands but at this point there was probably not enough time. Even if they did find anything how would they get word out quickly enough? All they could do was lay their plans, make their arrangements and then wait and see.