1. Well, we did get that rain. It started sometime during the night (I did wake up once around four or so and it was already raining by then) and continued on through midday. It was steady and heavy enough that there were some areas that got flood warnings, though nowhere near us, thankfully. The last time we got rain it ended up being just a teensy bit, so it was nice to get some proper rain.
2. Unrelated to the rain, I had already planned to work from the store close to home today rather than going in to the office, so it was nice to just have to drive a couple miles rather than 30 minutes on the freeway in the rain.
I'm singlecrow on the AO3. Thank you very much for writing for me, I will be happy and excited about whatever you write! I am also open to and excited about treats, should anyone wish to write me any.
My general do not wants are violence against women and omegaverse, with a caveat about "The Day After The Revolution", see below. But that aside, I read very broadly. I enjoy sad and dark stories, happy stories, love stories, stories with sex in, stories without. I don't do Christmas, so would prefer a story not be entirely about the characters celebrating it. Other festivals are marvellous.
One thing I really love, in sad and happy stories alike, is people being quietly kind to one another. I also really like people being competent, and found families of all sorts.
It was raining outside, a slanting shower, and when I stood out on the balcony to watch, I saw a frog hopping around. It was an ambitious one. It wanted to hop over the bricked ledge that hems in the bushes. It couldn't jump high enough, but after hopping along for a bit, it would try again. Until it came to some plants in individual pots and disappeared behind them, finally getting the cover of green I suppose it wanted.
I finished drafting Chapter One of Fangs Out for Blood, the sequel to Bloodhunt Academy (and book two of the duology). I'm enjoying the... slow drip of dopamine? That comes of hitting a writing milestone, and I'm remembering that I enjoy writing!
Moontime is due on the 17th and I'm not PMSing this time around. It's amazing. I've been seed cycling regularly since my last period (I have the time now that I'm technically jobless) and this is the result. No constant rage. No nightmares. No remembering every single time anyone has ever done me wrong. No hot flushes. No cramps. None of the symptoms I suffered a week, sometimes two weeks in advance of my period. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that my flow is lighter this time.
A DW friend has been sending me memes on Discord and it's the second thing that made me grin today (the first thing being every attempt the frog made, undaunted, to leap over the Great Wall).
Longer time readers of this Substack will be familiar with one of the most pernicious activities of Ukrainian supporters in power in others nations—and this applies to both the USA and European states.
A Russian Refinery Burning—The USG Is Trying To Claim Credit For This
There is an almost primal need to try and claim credit for Ukrainian successes when Ukraine is getting praised and at the same time throw Ukraine under the bus when the narrative turns against them. I’ve tried to document this phenomenon a few times—such as in the “blame Ukraine” narrative that was all the rage in late 2023 and again in late 2024, In both cases it was a narrative fed voraciously by anonymous governmental sources.
At the same time, there has been regular attempts to claim credit for Ukrainian successes—to associate say the USG with Ukraine when the narrative of the war is that Ukraine is doing well. Certainly, that was not an uncommon action by the Biden Administration.
Phillips’s Newsletter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
US Help And the Ukrainian Campaign Against Russian Refineries
However, others involved in or familiar with the operations said the US also determined priority targets for the Ukrainians. One source described Ukrainian drones as an “instrument” for Washington to disrupt Russia’s economy and push Putin toward a settlement.
1. Looks like we're supposed to get some rain overnight and tomorrow morning. It was saying yesterday that it would start this evening, but seems to have been pushed back now, so I hope we do actually get some.
2. Carla's grilling burgers again for dinner, as there was second pack she had bought the other day that we'd put in the freezer for another time. I'm glad the rain didn't start as early as it had originally forecast, or we'd have had to put off the grilling till tomorrow.
3. This is one of my favorite pictures ever. Just caught the perfect moment.
1. We are now the owners of a PS5! We haven't had a Playstation since the PS2, but have been interested in getting a PS5 for some time, just not enough so as to actually go out and get one, since we are both pretty happy with the Switch and have more than enough games to play on that. But Carla has also wanted to get Ghost of Yotei, both because she's interested in the game and because we both really like Erika Ishii and they have gotten a ton of hate for being cast in this game and she wanted to show support. Well, it turns out there is a special Ghost of Yotei edition of the PS5 that is really nice looking, so she decided to kill two birds with one stone and get that. We haven't set it up yet, because I told her she needs to pack up the X-Box One so we can take it to Book Off or somewhere first, since that has been sitting there unused for years.
Anyway, if anyone has recs for PS5 games, feel free to drop them in the comments. RPGs, adventure RPGs, and platformers are my faves.
2. We went to Target to get the PS5 and they had a sale on puzzles, buy one get one 50% off, so we got four new puzzles. :D
3. I finally saw Chloe use one of the new litter boxes! She has been the holdout, always using the lone remaining old style box any time I saw her, so I didn't want to switch that one out yet because I didn't want her to stress if she was hesitant about trying the new one. It's possible she was using the new one when I wasn't watching, but now I have confirmation, so I can make the switch and not have to worry about the boys peeing outside of the box anymore.
4. Gemma loves this scratcher. (You can see the love lol.)
A few announcements before I get to the update. First—its just over two weeks until War and Power: Who Wins Wars and Why, is published in North America. I’m delighted to say that the publishers (Basic Books/Hatchette) have just released a discount code for orders that I can share with you. It is: WAR&POWER (not case-sensitive).
This will give readers a 20% discount on the US version of the book, only available through the Hachette website. The code is valid now through Dec. 15, 2025. And if you are going to order the book, consider doing it now so it can have significant first week sales which helps it get coverage.
At the same time, I have been given 15 free audiobook codes that I can share. And to thank my subscribers, I thought I would give you first crack at them. I did something similar with The Strategists. I will set up a system this week for subscribers who want to enter a draw and talk about the book more in general.
Also, I am taking part in two Substack Lives this week (can there be too much of a good thing?). Tomorrow (Monday) Shaun Pinner and I will catch up about the state of the war. I did a podcast with Shaun last year. He is a Ukrainian soldier who was captured by the Russians and survived brutal captivity. He now lives in Dnipro where he writes and reports on the state of the war—and he has a very clear eyed view of where things stand.
So, lot’s going on. Now for the update. As I wrote it, it turned into a long-meditation on different questions of the air war—so its rather focussed this week. I hope its not too detailed!
Phillips’s Newsletter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
The Strategic Air War And The Approaching Winter
Part 1: The Russian Campaign To Make Ukrainian Life Unbearable
The war this winter will to a large degree be determined by how the ranged campaigns by both sides progress—and this last week there were some signs of just how intense and destructive that war will be.
The Russians used much of their strategic air power to go after Ukrainian energy supplies and power generation. For those who are relatively new to following the strategic air war, attacking Ukrainian power generation—especially with winter approaching—has been a favorite target of the Russians for a few years. Oddly, they had some real successes attacking power generation during the winter of 2023-2024, though last winter the attacks did not seem so effective. It might have been that the Biden Administration helped Ukraine prepare its air defense better for last winter and for most of the time Ukrainians had access to power and heat.
The Trump administration, as such, has helped Russia a great deal until now.
And this attempt to weaken Ukraine meant that Ukrainian anti-air capabilities were less strong this summer than it should have been—and it has stresses the system. Ukrainian anti-air now is weaker than it should have been if the USA had stood by it—and they are coming under great strain now.
Then on Thursday night, the Russians launched a massive attack on power generation with a focus on Kyiv. According to President Zelensky, about 450 Russian UAVs and 30 missiles were fired at “everything that sustains normal life, everything the Russians want to deprive us of.” He then went on to elaborate:
“It is precisely the civilian and energy infrastructure that is the main target of Russia’s strikes ahead of the heating season,”
A Power Generation System Near Kyiv Burning This Week
And these big attacks are just part of what seems to have been a regular series of attacks for weeks. This is one area where Ukraine’s partners need to do far more. Maybe they were lulled into a fall sense of security by the Ukrainian defense last year when the Biden Administration was providing billions of dollars in air defense equipment. However this winter is not last winter. Russian production of UAVs is much higher now and the assumption must be that these attacks will go on in mass for the foreseeable future.
And this is the key point—Ukrainian air defense needs to be built up in layered masstoo. Ukrainian interceptions of different air defense systems continues, percentage wise, at a relatively high pace. According to General Syrskyi, Ukrainian forces are intercepting about 75% of all systems fired by the Russians. However, if the Russians are firing hundreds, maybe even thousands, of systems per week, that means that hundreds are reaching their targets.
Ukraine must be aided to increase this interception percentage markedly—and sadly the Trump administration once again seems to be delaying. Just last night Zelensky and Trump talked about the war. Apart from asking for Tomahawks (which Trump did not agree to do—despite all the hopeful headlines) it seems that Zelensky spent much of his time asking for air defense support. The Ukrainians, always, tried to put a positive spin on this and said Trump took their concerns seriously—but the White House offered no comment. For air defense (as for Tomahawks) Trump seemed to listen and offer little concrete.
And tbh, it is getting relatively late in the day for the USA anyway. We are now in the middle of October—this aid needs to be on its way very soon or it will get there too late.
Note—there are three different links above to different initiatives—things are being tried.
And the Ukrainians have been developing more and more systems of their own. With the Trump administration slow-walking support—this will be Europe’s fight with Ukraine.
One of the reasons I’ve been so impressed with how Ukraine has waged its war, is that it has tried not to commit the kinds of war crimes that Russia commits against it multiple times a day. The Russians regularly attack Ukrainian civilians in hospitals, nurseries and, of course, their homes. The Russian attacks on Ukrainian power plants, which underpin the necessities of civilian life, are most probably war crimes. The Russians are supposed to take steps to mitigate the damage of such attacks on civilians. As it is—the attacks seemed designed specifically to make civilian life unbearable. That is the definition of a war crime.
Of course in a larger sense we are now in a world where the whole idea of there being “war crimes” is becoming increasingly meaningless. Not only are the Russians committing these crimes with impunity on a daily basis, the USA is destroying boats on the high seas that represent no threat to US forces and which could be seized without their destruction and the death of their crews. By most estimates these American attacks are war crimes. And yet they continue unabated. With two of the UN’s Security Council members now openly committing such crimes, does the whole concept of their even being war crimes have any future?
Btw I have been thinking about writing a piece about the implications of this—we do seem to be entering an era where the idea of a war crime is being widely disregarded—and chances are this disregard will grow. This could have a massive impact on how wars are fought and what elements are targeted in the near future. It could change our whole discourse about war. Of course it would be a depressing as hell to write and read. Yet, maybe it must be written.
Notably, Ukraine, has until now gone to great lengths to wage war without committing such war crimes. Their campaign against Russian fuel refineries, for instance, does not directly impact civilian life in the way that shutting off the power to a large city would.
What the Ukrainians have not done is try to turn the lights out in Moscow or St Petersburg—in response to what the Russians have been doing for years to cities such as Kyiv.
Remember, when the existence Flamingo was first announced in August, it was said that the Ukrainians aimed to produce 7 per day by October. Here was my piece at the time with all the technical details and claims.
And, btw, just two weeks ago a picture was released of a Ukrainian ranged attack against a target in Belgorod in Russia which, due to the large cavity it caused, would most likely have to be a Neptune or Flamingo.
Looks Like A Heavy Payload Attack
This is not the result of a lighter drone attack.
Moreover, it is unlikely that Russian air defense would be capable of protecting its own power plants. Russian refineries, for instance, are being hit with what looks like astonishing regularity. Indeed, often Russia seems to leave targets unprotected until they are attacked, and then tries to rush air defenses in place in a reactive way. If the Ukrainians decided to focus on power generation as well an on refineries, it would be an epic challenge for Russian air defense (which still has to try and protect its military forces in Ukraine itself).
So here we are—its October and Ukrainian production of ranged systems is also ramping up. The debate the Ukrainians are almost certainly having is one of deterrence through punishment when it comes to power generation attack. As the Russians are producing in mass and will almost certainly go after Ukrainian power generation all winter—do the Ukrainians answer in kind? Remember, all the power plants that support Moscow and St Petersburg are easily in the range of Flamingos, let alone other systems that the Ukrainians have already been using for months against targets in and around those cities.
The Ukrainians have clearly not wanted to match Russia’s actions in this area until now. However, with the Russians repeatedly going after Ukrainian cities, and the US slow walking any support, they might decide they have no option.
We live in a time where all standards are collapsing before our eyes. This might be a terrible winter for both Ukrainian and Russian civilians—welcome to the new world.
The importance of the F-16 in this air defense role points out the hollowness of the arguments that were given for years about why Ukraine supposedly did not need this system or that. It was widely said by the analytical community at the time (as it was said about Patriots, ATACMS, etc) that F-16s would not be “game changers”, that Ukraine would never be able to use them properly, that training Ukrainian pilots would take too long, etc. Just one example, the Russian-sympathetic Responsible Statecraft think tank in 2023 combined many of these arguments in one steaming pile of crap piece—downplaying the importance of Ukraine getting F-16s. Btw, there were many others making similar arguments. I have them all.
Having F-16s would broaden Ukraine’s ability to shoot down incoming Russian missiles and drones. During last year’s campaigns, the Russians relied on a wide range of attack platforms: relatively simple and inexpensive Iranian Shahed drones, repurposed S-300 anti-aircraft missiles, more advanced Kalibr cruise missiles, and even Russia’s latest Kinzhal hypersonic missiles. To shoot down just some of this weapony, the Ukrainians had to rely overwhelmingly on ground-based anti-air systems—to such a degree that rumors spread that Ukraine was or would soon be running short. Without an airborne defense—something F-16s would help provide—Ukraine is, to use a sports metaphor, defending on its own goal line. Instead of a systematic defense of its skies, the Ukrainians are fending off attacks on targeted infrastructure point by point. Any defense that relies on last-ditch saves is a notably poor one.
And here we are—more than 2 years later and Ukraine might not be able to defend its skies without F-16s. The next time an analyst assures you a certain weapon wont be a game changer, or that Ukraine will not need them, cant use them, cant operate them, etc—tell them to jump off a cliff.
Have a good rest of the weekend everyone.
Thanks for reading Phillips’s Newsletter! This post is public so feel free to share it.
1. I got a lot of stuff done around the house today.
2. We had a nice dinner at Disneyland tonight. Everything we ate was delicious and we got some cute Christmas ornaments. Now that we have a cat free space out in the garage, we can put up a tree this year. We do have some old ornaments from our pre-cat days, but while there are some that are particular favorites and we'd want to use again, there are also a bunch that are nothing special (plain balls and such) so there's room for new ones.
3. It's getting cold enough at night that I got another blanket out for my bed. I feel much cozier now!
scruloose and I have our covid/flu shots booked for next weekend! There were earlier slots available, but not in walking distance. It'll take us right to the little corner market, and next weekend is its final day for the season. Convenient! We finished season 1 of Silo a couple nights ago. (I've been intermittently earwormed with its OP theme music, which is fortunately a good piece, but I still would rather not have it [or anything else] stuck in my head.) That was a very solid season finale. Now to decide if we want to immediately go to season 2 or watch something else first/alongside. (Can anyone tell me, without spoilers, a] how much of the book[s] season 1 covers, and/or b] if the show is finished or if a third season is expected/hoped for?) I went along for the drive when scruloose ran a few errands this morning: a purchase return, two stops for local produce (blueberries, cranberries, broccoli, and a giant sweet potato; no luck getting baking apples), and picking up an order of Thanksgiving baked goods from Sully & Porter (née the Old Apothecary). We are now in possession of six adorably tiny tarts (half pumpkin, half lemon meringue) and six hefty cookies that I hope will freeze reasonably well so that they can be eked out. Tomorrow evening will probably be when we throw together a Thanksgiving dinner of ham*, cranberry sauce, and some mix of roasted veggies. I consulted How to Cook Everything on the matter of the ham, and it gives an oven temperature and an estimated cook time and basically says "heat until hot, then eat", and it doesn't get much simpler than that.
*The most token little ham! I'm not actually sure how much I'll like it, as ham was never my thing growing up, so we didn't want a huge one to swamp us with leftovers. We'll see! I know it's possible for me to enjoy ham, as we've been to a couple of group meals where I did. (I can think of one here and one in Toronto, so the hams in question were cooked by two very different friends.)
If you can, turn your mind back to almost two weeks ago, not long after Trump started talking, once again, about helping Ukraine and hammering Russia. His rhetorical flourishes such as calling Russia a “paper tiger”, depressingly caused people to again lose their mind and start fantasizing about the USA sending masses of weapons to Ukraine. Yes, we were told Tomahawk missiles would soon be sent and Trump would definitely authorize Ukraine to fire them into Russia. As always the narrative was spread far and wide by that extraordinary self-deceiving group that claims to support both Trump and Ukraine. Sadly, the Ukrainians even seemed to fall for this line.
As I always do in these moments, I went to my most reliable senior Republican source, and they, as always, spoke sense. Trump was not pivoting to Ukraine, as many were saying, he was actually feeling heartbroken at the one person from whom he covets love and respect—Vladimir Putin. The exact reality as described to me was:
1. I had some meetings this morning, but the afternoon was sort of sparse and I'm waiting on someone else to finish one thing up so I can work on the next part, so I ended up taking off early and got home around 3:30, which was nice!
2. Carla made burgers on the grill tonight and they were delicious.
Currently Reading The Sinister Mystery of the Mesmerizing Girl 58%. Third and final book in The Extraordinary Adventures of the Athena Club. Thankfully this is not nearly as long as the last book, which was definitely bloated. I am enjoying it greatly.
The Amnesia Project 22%. A teenage girl mysteriously disappears while out with her sister and sister's friends. Ten years later, one of the friends is still obsessively trying to find her, but the truth behind what turns out to be a whole string of disappearances is far beyond what she could have imagined. Interesting story but the writing is pretty clunky. It's a quick read, and I'm curious to see where it ends, but I don't think I'd pick up another book by the author.
Legacy of Ashes: The History of the CIA 3%. This sounded interesting. I know literally nothing about the CIA. Seems like it will take a long time to get through, though.
Recently Finished European Travel for the Monstrous Gentelwoman This should have been much shorter. I did enjoy the story a lot, but there was so much time spent with characters experiencing events and then thinking about said events, and discussing said events.
The Caretakers This was interesing, but the two plotlines didn't really feel that well integrated.
Snotgirl vol. 1-2 I really loved Scott Pilgrim, so I had high hopes for this series from the same author, but it's just not nearly as good. The MC is a fashion/lifestyle blogger who has bad allergies, which she tries to hide from everyone because it makes her less perfect, but weird things start to happen after she starts taking some mysterious miracle cure allergy pills. It's got a lot of quirkiness, but it's just not hitting the mark for me. There's two more volumes and I'll definitely read them, but it's not my new favorite.
I know it's weird to delurk with a random pen review but, whatever, hi. I have a bunch of half-finished posts from like six months to a year ago that were going to be about the book I read or the game I played but then I got like twenty migraines in a row and the plot details became less memorable. I am still getting like twenty migraines in a month but a pen review has no plot. I have no idea if I will keep posting anything at all (possible topics: more pens, fandom, more dead languages) but I'm here now and I have enough caffeine that I can't feel my current migraine.
Also, this isn't a fountain pen -- it's a ballpoint pen -- so the people reading this who aren't fountain pen nerds might actually want one. It's the Fisher Space Pen! I really like it!
The Young Wizards fans among you might be interested, although I actually didn't buy the one I probably should have bought. More details below.
Letting Him Find His Way (15577 words) or read at SquidgeWorld Archive by Merfilly Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Forgotten Realms (Roleplaying Game), The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Drizzt Do'Urden/Alustriel Silverhand Characters: Alustriel Silverhand, Drizzt Do'Urden, Ensemble, Original Characters Additional Tags: Original Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Soul Bond, Developing Relationship, Age Difference, Eventual Relationships Summary:
Alustriel first saw through his eyes when she was not yet ready for that. When she is, she knows she needs to let him find his way first.
Chapter One
Alustriel had only given herself over to sleep for Korvallen's sake. He was just returned to her, to the family, after decades of grief madness. Helping him had torn open her wounds, left her struggling to accept, all over again, that her life partner had left them both.
She did not want, or need, to be seeing another life, a connection that could exist! How could she open to that level of existence again, when her heart ached for the last? She turned her will against the sight of the stars over the needle pines of the Moonwood, holding tighter to the elf that trusted in her enough to truly sleep out his exhaustion. Korvallen was reminder enough of what was lost, and she clung to that as a shield from the intrusion in her dreams.
Korvallen shifted, reacting to her distress, and even though she was pulling up from sleep, she made herself be still, to hold him, and try not to think about the man that should be between them — or the intruder out there who could try and ensnare her heart once more.
Alustriel had been driven nearly to distraction by recent unrest in her region, spurred by yet another orc wave that had not been content to stay within their boundaries. She'd sent word to Sundabar -- only to have her messenger take up a ranger quest -- to warn them, but she had finally gotten the situation under control.
It had been Andy that handled negotiations to finally convince the remnants of the army to go home, up into the Spine of the World.
Now, certain she had advised, succored, and commanded the last thing needing her input, she was indulging in a long, hot soak. The weight lifting off of her led to a rare doze, secure where she was, for even if sleep was not a requirement, it was certainly a luxury to indulge when she could.
She almost -- almost! -- snapped fully awake on seeing the mottled, scarlet-skinned planar being in a dimly lit ... cavern? The creature was across from her perception, and her mind raced to place what it was, vaguely goblinoid and somewhat beastly in the maw.
A barghest of Gehenna? Then she was rushing it in her dream, and sliding under it, through its very legs! The point of view shifted to a close sight of the planar being --
-- and she snapped awake, silverfire already in her eyes and hair at the sheer level of determination that had been in the one she was seeing from. A moment, over a decade before, spilled back into her mind, and the first idle thought was surely she had indulged in sleep at least once in all those years. The second, more serious one, was that this potential connection might not survive this very night.
She had boxed her grief once more, had healed alongside Korvallen to keep it at a tolerable ache that only rarely intruded. Now, her innate curiosity and her need to do right by all the Realms demanded she find a way to embrace this new possibility, if he survived.
She hurried out of the bath, flicking the water off with a quick cantrip, and clothed herself in battle robes. Quick check of components, wands, and potions, then she cast a spell she had not needed in almost forty years, homing in on the one that was tied to her, to be something of note in her life... if the person was amenable.
The lingering darkness to one side was almost as much a surprise as seeing there were only two beings inside the cavern, the barghest and his foe, a drow. What strange occurrences her life led her to!
"Drop!" she called out, one word she had learned in Undercommon, as it was useful to be able to work with her sister and not tip their enemies off.
She didn't want to think on how quickly the drow moved to comply, or the fact she could hear further combat outside. If needed, she could always teleport back to her staff, if this proved to be a battle between evil beings. Her wand flicked out, and the planar was nothing more than a vague reek in the air a moment later.
The drow only spared her a brief glance, then threw himself -- painfully it seemed to her -- after his sword and raced out to the other combat sounds. She followed, a bit more cautiously, to see a second one of the barghests and a gigantic panther battling on the edge of the cliff.
"Guenhwyvar, go home!"
She did not understand what came after the name, an old elven word for 'shadow', but the panther disappearing in black mist and the barghest toppling over showed it was the correct tack to take. He did not stop, hurrying to see if the battle was done... and then he turned, watching her with naked blade and ... fear? weariness? ... in his gleaming purple eyes.
With no other threats visible she took him more fully in. A little tall for some drow males, built like the fighter he evidently was, ragged clothes and boots all but destroyed, bleeding but entirely too wary of her -- everything but the sword and boots looked as if it had been salvaged from surface dwellers -- made the picture of a drow not yet found by their goodly kin.
"Truce," she said, one more word her sister had drilled into her head. The word for 'peace' was all but unknown outside of her sister's people, but this would work to buy his attention.
"Your accent is terrible, and I am willing to believe you for the moment." His words were softly spoken, like one accustomed to how sound carried in the black stillness of the Underdark. She also couldn't understand him, and doubted that casting a spell his way would go well. He was not in an aggressive posture now, more one of curiosity, though he made no move to approach, or see to his injuries.
Right. She had to get him to trust enough to see to that, so she found the component she needed for the spell and cast on herself.
"Now I believe you should understand me better?" she asked.
"Magic. Useful." His tone managed to imply that magic wasn't always so.
"You are injured, the bodies stink, and I have a way to take us both to safety. You would be a free man, able to leave… but I really want you to let me aid you."
He tipped his head, unblinking as he regarded her, then he slowly nodded.
What was this, that she had not had to persuade him? What had he seen of her in his dreams? Was that why? Did he already know and understand the connection? Drow of evil cities usually did not speak of it from all she knew.
Well, he was bleeding. And alone. So she moved toward him before he could change his mind and flee, holding her hands out to him. He hesitated then, but secured the sword to his belt — wisely not sheathing it when it was filthy — and took both of them.
"Close your eyes, as the magic is disorienting. I will wait, when we get there, for you to steady."
He held tight at those words, and she thought he was beginning to turn gray with his injuries, so she swiftly reached for her staff, allowing it to bring her back to the palace, in her very own chambers even. She had not warned the staff, after all — how could she have?! — and he was a very filthy, hurt, drow.
She was glad he had such a tight grip and that she had more strength in her arms than she appeared to have. He nearly swooned, and she held him up, waiting, until he did finally seem stable and opened his eyes to look at her.
Not at her, she noted, not for more than a moment, but around him, something like knowledge in those fascinating eyes of his.
"You have seen this place in your dreams."
"Yes."
"Well. I am Alustriel."
"Drizzt."
She gave him a gentle smile before letting go of one hand and reaching into a pocket to fish out a potion. "This is a healing potion. You are terribly injured, even if you don't wish to admit it."
He let go with his other hand, taking the vial and, after inspecting the lid that spiraled down in grooves on the vial, twisted it open. His face indicated an appreciation of the method of closure, and she was mildly amused at how swiftly he'd figured it out. She'd had other friends that had passed it back for help.
He drank it all, watching her now, and shuddered all over as it set things to rights inside his body.
"That… didn't hurt."
Oh. OH! He had to mean being healed by evil clerics compared to her potion, and she nodded patiently.
"It should not. But. I think you were at odds in your nature with what you have known." She accepted the vial and lid back, putting them in the pocket until she could put it with her other empty ones for her next batch-making. "Next, I think, is to let you go soak and scrub in the bath. I will find clothing, and boots for you."
"Sword first," Drizzt said, and she knew for a fact he was a warrior first.
"I know a thing or two about cleaning weapons, so that can occupy my time. You need to get the blood off of you, out of your hair, so that you can be comfortable enough to eat and rest."
His jaw set for a moment, before his shoulders relaxed down and he moved back to get the sword off, looking for a safe place to lay it down. She swiftly found a spatter cloth she used on those rare occasions she had time to paint, and put that on a table for him. He inclined his head to her, setting the blade on it, adding a cloth and small vial with it.
"This way," she said, after, showing him to the extra-dimensional bath room. This made him gasp a bit, at the humidity and warmth of the room, as well as its spaciousness. "The water will clean itself." She gathered cloths, towels, a comb, soap, and a hair-washing solution for him. "This is for your skin, that is for your hair," she explained. "Take as much time as you wish; I need to arrange things to be free of duty for the day, as well as get you clothing."
He studied the items, then her, and he looked so torn by his wariness and his relief that she reached out, resting her hand on his upper arm.
"Drizzt. The dreams are only a suggestion of connection. Once you are rested, fed, and outfitted, you can leave, or you can stay. I make no claim on you, and the realms owe you for killing those planar invaders."
His eyes were shadowed at that last, and she wondered… but he gave her a nod and moved to begin undressing, which was her cue to leave.
The sword was her first concern, to show him a measure of her understanding his wishes. As she did that, she reached out to Taern by sending.
~My dear friend, I have had an interesting situation arise, and would appreciate you coordinating my schedule with my secretary. Handle, or reschedule today.~
~You rarely ask, and never lightly. I will handle everything I can, or delegate to the correct counselor.~
Really, she was so fortunate to have him as her right hand in all things! A cleaning cantrip got the filth removed, and then she applied the oil and cloth assiduously, fascinated by the construction of it. She measured, estimated the weight, and determined its balance point, before writing all of that down in a message. She would barter with a messenger later to take it to her son in the southern realms, where the style was more common.
That done, she slipped out of her room with a certain key in her pocket, smiling at the page.
"Be a dear while I run a quick errand, and go fetch up food for two, please? Simple foods, though, nothing rich."
"Yes, Lady," the girl said, knowing better than to question a second presence when she knew only her lady had gone inside.
"After, if you would, let my ladies in waiting know I am taking the day off, so they should enjoy themselves."
That got a nod, before the girl dashed off. Alustriel followed more sedately to the family hall, letting herself into the room that had been kept as it had been so long ago. Sharrevaliir had been much of a size with Drizzt, it seemed, so a set of his sturdier clothing, belts, and even boots would suit. Sharr, she knew, would approve of the items being used, not left to gather dust.
She arrived before the page returned, and set the clothing just inside the bathing room's door, before setting to getting the messenger for Ghael, mindful to request two, as the pair of sheathes were etched in her mind as a curious detail about Drizzt.
Now, all she had to do was convince her new friend to remain long enough for the delivery.
Alustriel watched Drizzt emerge and immediately look to his sword, making her busy herself with setting the food out for them to share. When he moved toward her, he was not wearing his weapon belt, marking another notch in the strangeness of this drow. He had even foregone the boots, though that might be a matter of the way they closed. Or, given he'd left the socks off, he truly enjoyed a chance to not be encumbered.
"The spell will not last much longer," she said by way of apology. "What languages do you speak?" If he only had Drow and Undercommon, she was going to have to be ready to cast that spell multiple times a day.
"Drow, Undercommon, some Svirfneblin, some Duergar, a few words of Abyssal," he said, wrinkling his nose at the last. "And, Goblin." That got a full look of distaste. The Abyssal was at least useful for banishing lesser creatures from there.
"Goblin will work for us both, then, once the spell ends." She gave him a rueful smile for that choice. "I only know a few words and phrases of Undercommon because of connections with the goodly drow community."
His eyes shot to her face, wide and making his hunger-pinched face look entirely too youthful for her comfort.
"Others… like me? Good like svirfneblin, not like other drow?"
She reached across the table, and he accepted her laying her hand on his. "Yes. Like you."
He closed his eyes, and breathed in a cadence not dissimilar to Korvallen, when that elder elf was processing heavy emotions.
"You already helped me more than any but Belwar, my best friend below. If I ask for directions to them, is that too much?"
Alustriel made quick calculations on what she knew of drow, of those who escaped, and how difficult it could be for them to accept that there would be no strings.
"I can make you a deal. Stay with me long enough to learn some Common, trading your Undercommon and tales of the svirfneblin you mentioned, and I will make certain you reach their community. That way, I gain, you gain, and they gain, but no one loses anything."
He weighed it a long moment, then nodded, turning his hand under hers to squeeze it in agreement. "Yes."
That should handily give Ghael time to deliver the swords, allow her to satisfy her curiosity on this drow that held a connection for her, as well as making certain that hunger was eradicated.
"For tonight, you will stay in my rooms, so I do not disturb my seneschal. After, you will have your own, and we'll work out further details as we go, hmm?"
"A fair bargain, yes."
Drizzt was asleep on the chaise, burrowed into the softest blanket she could find for him. He'd admitted, before the spell wore off, that he had seen this place, seen so many smiles aimed at her, and the magic all round was a comfort.
She had to file away that being out of magical environments could be almost as disconcerting to some drow as being weaponless.
Now, she was studying over her own notes from things Qilué had shared in passing, all memories as such was not to be written down where others could learn of that connection, when the enchanted anklet warmed and Dove started a conversation with them.
~Oh my sisters, and I suspect you most of all, Qi, which one of you was in the hills near Maldobar within the last day or two?~
~I am uncertain I could find such a place on a map, dear sister, let alone have been there,~ Qilué told them all.
~Your Ranger Quest involved a drow then?~ Alustriel responded once Qi was done.
~Aha! It seems our settled down sister will stir from her den for adventure still!~ the Simbul teased. ~Do tell us more,~ she added, to start another round.
~I was summoned to investigate a drow, yes, but before I arrived, a ghastly murder was wrongly laid at his hand,~ Dove explained.
~I had not yet gotten that part, but it explains why he was shadowed by emotion when I thanked him for dealing with the barghests.~ She considered, then continued in a more cautious tone. ~I believe him to be young, no more than a season on the surface, and there is a connection.~
~I am glad you found him, and apparently are aiding him,~ Qilué said to that, ~though I worry about that last. Drow males and powerful women, after all.~
~Alustriel well knows that, and has experience in these matters,~ Syluné said. ~Would you like for myself and Aumry to come, little sister, to help in his teaching?~
~As my best choices for a man would all be a problem almost as grave as my having power, yes please,~ Alustriel answered once the anklets had recharged for her to do so.
~Do please share all the details, while I figure out how to handle the locals,~ were Dove's final words on the matter.
Alustriel had walked with Natali, filling in for the seneschal as he was under the weather, and Drizzt to the rooms that would be his, the floor down from the family wing. Alustriel was more than certain now, given how adeptly Natali had handled the drow and lack of language that she would be the right choice when Trevor stepped down to retirement.
Now, watching Drizzt inspect the suite, his smiles at how the plumbing worked, and just his full curiosity on display, Alustriel wanted their language lessons to move swiftly. She had so many questions, but, knowing drow trust issues, she also knew most of them were not yet appropriate to ask. It was when he stopped at the table that had a few books set on it, the kind meant to help pass time for guests, that she saw a completely different kind of hunger in him.
He looked her way, probably for permission to touch the books, and when she nodded, he picked up the top one, opening it slowly and staring at it with a deep longing to understand.
"You read in your native language?" she asked, as they currently did have the spell to help him understand better.
"Both scripts," he answered her, turning pages slowly. "Will I… no, may I learn the written language to go with Common?"
"Yes, though the one you have is in Sylvan, I believe," she said, feeling another link in their connection forge solid.
"Common first," he said, almost under his breath, "then others."
"An admirable pursuit, Drizzt. Do you think the rooms will suit you? As I said earlier, my sister and her husband are coming, to help with language and custom, as we thought you might like having a masculine perspective too."
He flashed her that beautiful smile, and nodded. "I think it is more comfort than I have known in a very long time. I look forward to meeting them, and will do all I can to learn swiftly."
"You are more than welcome to take as long as you wish," Alustriel promised him. "As… I would like, in time, to know you better, so we can understand what connection this is between us."
"I wish that, Lady." He closed the book and set it down, then came to stand in front of her, looking up. "I… you aided me. Without reward. And while I long thought the dreams were another facet of the madness, I felt comforted by them, for how kindly the people always seemed to be with the person I could not see."
Madness. What… no, that was for later. He was certainly quite sane, very good-natured, and gentle, as she had witnessed when he encountered one of the palace terriers on the way here.
"Well, as we've already had quite a morning of lessons, and you would probably prefer sleeping at the height of the day, I will leave you to settle. I'll ensure an evening meal is brought, and see you tonight."
"Thank you."
He managed that in Common, and she smiled.
"You're welcome."
Alustriel watched the courtyard below, still amazed by the skill Drizzt put on display now that Aumry had won his trust for sparring. Even with blades that were nothing like he had known — Ghael had not yet procured a twin set — he consistently made Aumry stretch to merely defend himself.
And yet. Drizzt always seemed to know just when to break it off, to make the man rest and drink.
"Still fascinated?" Syluné asked, her voice merry even as she kept twining the cord she needed for a spell.
"How could I not be?" Alustriel focused on her needlework, for a few stitches. "What do you and Aumry think? It's been only a week and yet, he has more words than I would have expected."
"His ability to learn is that of a man in the desert who has found the oasis he needed," Syluné agreed. "Aumry says that he knows of few who could match Drizzt in a true contest of blade work."
"But what do you think of him, beyond that?" Alustriel wheedled, and knew it for doing so. "I am trying so very hard to keep a veneer of distance, so as not to put pressure on him, and he keeps responding with almost courtly manners to that."
Her sister laughed a little, and then answered, still smiling. "He's earnest. He truly wants to do well, and he knows his people's reputation is very horrid, understands that when he travels he will not find people reacting to him kindly. So he is pressing for as many lessons in language, plants, animals, and geography as he can. His desire to learn the world, to try and do something good with his freedom is very strong."
Alustriel barely kept the frown off her features, but she did not like the idea of him traveling. However, she was becoming certain her new connection was young and needed to experience the wider world, not be cosseted here in safety.
"I mean to take him to a band of Qi's people, once his language skills are good, and his new swords arrive," she said. "Hopefully that will aid him in discovering the ways to live on the surface without being haunted by those who will not let his deeds speak for him."
"A good plan, now that we've removed the interference on him."
"How did he handle his first sleep after that?" Alustriel questioned. "I did not want to pry, but one of you would have been with him right after."
Syluné sighed softly. "He was fragile. Very, very fragile and trying not to show it. Aumry noticed, and managed to get him to open up once we had the spell in place for full communication.
"The first dream you had of him, my sister, was likely when he first came above as part of a raiding party."
Alustriel's eyes shot to her elder sister in horror. "Oh…"
"That young man saved an elven child, and it cost him everything. I did not get details, but the Song was much like the elven song he'd heard that night, and it broke some of his shields around the trauma. Aumry told me that the goddess Herself appeared in Drizzt's dreams, and promised to find the child.
"I don't think Drizzt fully believes it will happen, but time will tell."
"I knew he was good, but for him to be able to resist the unholy blood thirst the drow fall under during those raids says something about him, I believe."
"Hmm. Between the interfering spell, that, and the fact he is pushed from within to be a protector? There are difficult roads ahead for this strange drow of yours."
"You may well be right."
Korvallen had been aware of the drow, Alustriel knew. Once some of the younger Knights had caught him and Aumry sparring, there had been a procession of partners for Drizzt. She had not known if Syluné had intercepted the elf and re-directed his temper, or if the man had just decided to ignore the drow, and avoid Alustriel herself.
So it was with great surprise that she found Kor in the courtyard that Drizzt used, the elder elf walking through a maneuver side-by-side with Drizzt, obviously teaching him. She slipped back from being seen, made sure of what she had seen, and then went to find Aumry or her sister.
They both were in the room that had been converted into a classroom for Drizzt, Aumry with a tunic to mend, and Syluné copying out a spell it looked like.
"I was going to invite Drizzt to see the city," she began, once they had both taken note of her.
Aumry chuckled. "Not today. Korvallen took the whole afternoon to give Drizzt pointers."
"How did this come about?" Alustriel asked.
"Kor showed up yesterday," Syluné began, smiling, "intent on seeing the threat for himself, because that nibling of his had waxed poetic about Drizzt. And apparently, watching Drizzt spar with Aumry while practicing new words with me was enough to put a dent in his righteous wrath."
"When Drizzt stepped back from me before I tired," Aumry picked up, "Korvallen stepped right in, and they hit a pace I could not even see completely, matching skill and speed. The boy is faster, but can't bring it fully to bear because your friend has so much more experience to use his skills with."
"I see." Alustriel wasn't certain how to feel about that. Pleased, yes, but there was a small point in her mind that stuck on Kor taking a century to warm up to her!
"He, my dear sister, is convinced Drizzt can't even be fifty, and I am beginning to concur with him," Syluné added. "You know how Kor is about children."
"Ahh, yes. Well, I'll just have to see that I clear a different afternoon to show him the city… as I don't want to get between Korvallen and such a welcome new relationship for him."
The way Drizzt and his astral panther were playing almost made Alustriel loathe to intrude. Her sister and Aumry had left the day before, and Korvallen was on patrol, but Ghael had come with the swords. She looked at her son, watching his face as he took in the game of tag in the courtyard, amused at the visible 'big damn cat' on his features.
Something must have given them away, because as one, in eerie syncopation, the pair turned their way, with Guenhwyvar interposing herself between the unknown and her drow. That got her pushed, lovingly, as Drizzt sized up Ghael after a brief nod to Alustriel.
"Drizzt, my fourth son, Ghaelryss, though he goes by Ghael." She then indicated the panther. "The larger one is Guen, my son," she said playfully.
"Still strange, so many sons," Drizzt said with a quick smile, before he stepped around Guen, who then did the cat-weaving around him all the way to the courtyard entrance, continuing their game on her terms. She managed to push her head into Alustriel's hand, and Alustriel obliged with petting.
"Nice to meet you," Ghael said to Drizzt, before looking at the huge black cat twisting to get the best pets. "And you, Guen."
Guen huffed a little but she had what she wanted, Alustriel realized, adding in yet another remarkable thing about meeting Drizzt and his companion. The panther had taken to her completely, adding another layer of ease with Drizzt.
"Ghael roams in the region where your Underdark sword type is common, so I took it upon myself to ask him to find a pair like the one you came here with," Alustriel explained.
"But… that… Not allowed to protest?" Drizzt stammered then asked at her look.
"You are intent on traveling, and a fighter should have their preferred weapons," she said firmly. "We discussed that you have nothing to repay, because we know you mean to aid and protect others, much as we do."
"Yes, Alustriel," Drizzt said, accepting her decree, again, before he looked shyly at Ghael.
"Let's leave mother to tending Guen, and step over to the bench there?" Ghael suggested, and suited actions to words. Drizzt followed, intrigued when Ghael took his haversack off, set it down on the bench, and then hauled out two scimitars, sheathed on separate belts. Drizzt accepted them, and Alustriel memorized the wonder on his face, watching as he pulled one, tested the weight, replaced it, and repeated with the second.
After that, he removed the sword belt with the two swords from the armory, laying them on the bench, then fastened the new belts on, adjusting them to get the hilts where he wanted them. From there, he moved into the fullness of the courtyard, away from benches and potted plants. Ghael wound up hissing in a breath audibly at how swiftly the swords appeared in Drizzt's hands then, and Alustriel smiled.
Let her gifted fighter of a son report to his brothers just how skilled her new friend was. She guided Guen to the bench as well so she could sit, continuing the petting there, but watching as Drizzt flowed through a seamless dance of skill, testing reach and balance alike within his personal style of sword-work.
~He's … beautiful, in his skill, his joy,~ Ghael sent rather than disturb the quiet reverie of that dance.
~So he is, and your uncle says he will be without peer once he has the experience to match the skill.~
When Drizzt was satisfied and had put the blades away as smoothly as he had drawn them, he hastened back to them and held both hands out to Ghael. The half-human did not hesitate, accepting and returning the clasp with both of his.
"They are perfect. Thank you! I can use any blade; father insisted, but these are so like my own that even without the magic they feel just right!"
"You're very welcome, Drizzt." Ghael grinned at him. "I wouldn't say no to a spar?"
Drizzt laughed, bright and merry, while Alustriel was still processing that off-handed mention of a father, before he beckoned Ghael to follow.
"He is very happy, yes?" Alustriel asked Guen softly, and got the wise cat blink before they both settled to watch.
All of summer had flown by with Drizzt learning, with him exploring her city, and she wanted to encourage him to stay through the autumn and winter. Unfortunately, she knew that doing so would make it all the harder to ignore the wish to get to know him, personally, to learn things he was not yet at a point to share. He put on that bright smile for her, and had off-handed remarks about his past that pulled at her curiosity. Never anything of substance, not even enough to say why he had come above, but she took each morsel gladly.
No, better to take him to the traveling drow that Qilué had readied for a new member, let him be among them to hopefully address his past with others that could understand better. He was certainly ready, growing restless in the confines of her city's security.
Drizzt was ready to explore, to learn his new world more fully, and Alustriel knew it was for the best, before the connection subsumed them both, and he felt trapped by it.
She would be patient, and know, in time, he would return to her with more experience, and then —
— then they could see what the shape of their connection was meant to be.
Chapter Two
That Alustriel stayed busy was the only excuse she had for letting several years go by without attempting to check on how Drizzt was doing. Being a Chosen meant she had no need for sleep, and it was a luxury she did not indulge in very often. Too many things that she could do during the time when most slept was a constant pull on her time and energy.
It was an off-handed comment from Korvallen, delivered in his gruff manner, that she needed to take a break from living for the city and the region that made Drizzt come fully to mind. When Andy and Dol both arrived — who had Kor wheedled into sending for them? — she decided that it was likely a good idea to check in on him, maybe even see how well he had adapted to life among the goodly drow with their wandering ways.
~Qilué, I am being told to take a resting break from life. With it being winter, I presume your people are back to their home?~
There was a brief moment, and then her youngest sister answered her. ~You would be welcome to come visit, and we would love to have you, but Drizzt is not among us,~ was the gentle answer to the unspoken question.
What? Why? Both questions flitted through her head, but Alustriel wiped away the immediate consternation. When the anklet had recharged, she sent to her sister again. ~I would love to see you and Ysolde and Elkantar. I will come tomorrow night.~
After getting an affirmation of that, Alustriel pondered deeply on her worries. She very nearly scried for the swords she had helped enchant, but chose to be patient. She would learn more on the morrow.
Alustriel did not bring up Drizzt's absence on her first, or even second day, too caught up in appreciating all that her sister's people were making in Undermountain for themselves. Ysolde was pushing herself to learn to be a cleric already, and that got more of Alustriel's attention.
It was in discussing how they had managed to find a secure trade to acquire more Underdark foods on the third day that it finally came up.
"We managed to make a secure passage to Skullport," Elkantar said, "that allowed us to negotiate trade with some of the drow there."
"Couldn't have made that push without the ranger," Sriva said from where he was sitting at the communal table. "And then he handled 'negotiation', by which I mean he utterly wrecked the temple guards that tried to pick a fight!"
"Oh?" Alustriel asked.
Elkantar chuckled. "There was a misunderstanding at first, but we had gone in sincere wish to open lines of communication with the drow temple. It's one of His, but they are having as much trouble with the more violent drow over there as we ever have. Drizzt disarmed the guards that rushed us, and then asked if they were really Lolthite drow to be so nervous about outside ways.
"The high priest himself came out then, and we were able to discuss it peacefully."
"It sounds as he made himself quite useful. But, ranger?"
Ysolde spoke up. "While Drizzt likes our Lady, and swore his swords to aid Her followers and goals, he's got more of an affinity for nature. And since he kept wandering off from the groups he'd go out with, apparently he met a ranger of Mielikki who agreed to teach him.
"Only, the ranger is still somewhat in the 'deal with stupid people in the wilds' phase, so Drizzt went to that one's teacher two years ago?"
Alustriel looked at her sister for a moment, but kept it behind her teeth that she should have been told. After all, both she and Drizzt had agreed he needed to find his footing in the Surface world without such powerful people lurking over his shoulder to pull him out of hot water.
"I am glad he seems to have found a calling. And find it intriguing that you say Mielikki, not the half-elf facet." Something had drawn the drow she hoped would be a true companion — in whatever form of that he espoused — to the patron goddess of her own city? That was fascinating in other ways.
"He's actually wild-called," Qilué said, having chosen to ignore the accusatory glance. "Bo knows the ranger in question, Horim? Apparently he usually wanders the Neverwinter Wood, but had trailed a dangerous planar all the way down here. Drizzt, and Guen, helped finish it off."
"Oh, well, I do know of Horim. He sometimes shelters in Silverymoon for the winters, and I know who his teacher is." Alustriel smiled for having that information, and filed away a thought to make certain one of her sons checked in on the elderly ranger soon. Evgin Morningmist was a legend, and had trained many rangers in her long years of service to Mielikki.
"I have not checked in on Drizzt since late summer," Ravenna offered. "But at that time, he said he was 'exploring'."
"Thank you all for filling me in," Alustriel said. "I have wondered how he adapted."
"He has a touch of rock madness," Elkantar admitted. "Needs the outside and sun or moon light to feel free, I think," he added. "Ten long years alone in the Underdark left that mark on him."
Alustriel knew her eyes were wide. There had been mentions of a time in the wilds, but not how long… oh she wished she had coaxed more tales out of him!
"I can see how that would," she said, before asking about Ysolde's day of studies.
Much refreshed from her visit to the goodly drow, Alustriel tackled her duties with renewed vigor, though she did wonder what Drizzt was doing, and if he was wintering with the aged ranger outside of the Evermoors.
She decided to take herself to the Sacred Glade for a meal with the Ladyservant. Tathshandra was always good company, and perhaps there would be something to learn there.
"You have the look of someone being on a fishing expedition," Tathshandra said, once they'd eaten and were relaxing in the Ladyservant's apartment, cups of cider warming their bellies further.
"Hmm, I'd be miffed you see it, except yes I am, and just wished to find the best way to ask after people. Evgin Morningmist came to mind on a recent trip I made, as well as Horim Half-Orc."
Tathshandra sighed softly. "She has gone to her rest, Alustriel; Tarhan, her tiefling, passed the word to us in early autumn. He'd gone to check on her, found the cottage set to rights, and a small cairn."
"Oh. The Realms are poorer for her loss, but at least we have her students," Alustriel said, wondering at it being the tiefling who had brought the word. Where was Drizzt? Surely he would have come, knowing he was welcome in Silverymoon.
"Rumor had it she had taken another student, an odd one, but I failed to ask Tarhan, as he was only stopping in as a courtesy, having been summoned to that mess near the Keep."
Alustriel winced; she'd known that there had been a small breach there, but that it had been met by a solid force of druids and rangers. "The student, my friend, is the drow that was here some years ago, I learned. It was why she had come up."
Tathshandra's eyes widened, then she chuckled. "Ahh, Evgin, you were always the best of us for looking to actions." She raised her cup toward the sky, and Alustriel joined in that toast.
"If he should pass this way, do ask him to remember to visit us at the Palace? I am certain those that he befriended in his stay would like to hear his adventures," Alustriel said with the most careful neutrality she could muster.
"Of course. Oh! Did you hear about the incident at Nag's Head?" and then Tathshandra was telling her, letting Alustriel put thoughts of Drizzt aside for the moment.
The intense cold permeated this dream, but that was secondary to the view before her. Vast expanses of white-covered landscape below her was the back drop of trails of colorful light streaked through the sky so full of stars and empty of clouds. The streaks of green light painting the sky were rarely visibly below the Spine of the World, and the cold but dry air seemed to confirm just where Drizzt was, based on Alustriel's knowledge of the Realms.
She made herself be more aware of him, his impressions, even though that risked pulling her away from the dream itself. A cap of some kind around the ears, hood over that, hands in fur-lined gloves — she did get thrown fully to consciousness but with the impression that her young friend was truly garbed for the lands he was wintering in.
"Why in all the names of the gods are you in the tundra?" she mused aloud, checking the time. She still had a few hours before anyone would expect her, and it was a peaceful time on her city. She would make a painting of that view, a gift for him when he wandered back into her life.
~Sister, I hate to intrude but you're able to actually go directly to Drizzt, and not cause the people around him to run in fear,~ Qilué began, late the next summer.
~I can and I will,~ Alustriel answered that, her heart in her throat, because why would her sister even be making that request?
~Do you know what he needs?~ she picked up on her own sending.
~Almost certainly a potion; he's been unconscious for at least two days,~ Qilué reported back immediately, ~as Ysolde was trying to send the last two.~
Oh that could not have gone well for her niece, Alustriel thought, sad that she should be celebrating the mastery of a divine spell but being so worried. She acquired multiple potions from her personal stock, an elixir for good measure, then checked which wands she had on tap. Her page was sent to have Taern give her regrets to the morning court as 'affairs of the realms' and then she pulled a full length fur-trimmed robe over her day's attire.
However, she did not use the soul-connection spell right away. Instead, she teleported to her marker on Kelvin's Cairn, cast a phantom steed, and then used the lesser version of the spell to home in on Drizzt.
She saw far too many signs of battle along the way, including damage to the towns themselves, and boats upon the lakes. When the spell solidified as one of the towns, she brought her steed to ground, and approached the rough-shod repaired gate.
Two guards were eyeing her and the not-quite-a-horse with wary eyes.
"Drizzt Do'Urden is within your walls, and I seek him." She did not play coy or use feminine charm, deciding that the kind of people who resided in these harsh lands needed to be dealt with firmly.
She was right as the elder of the pair dipped his head. "At the manor; best house in town, can't miss it."
She remained on her steed, following further directions from the younger one until she found the house in question. An injured, elder man at arms looked startled but braced to be more of a deterrent.
"What's a stranger — wizard belikes — doing in our town so soon after trouble?" he demanded.
"Seeking Drizzt Do'Urden, who seems to have shared in your troubles of late." She did dismount now, the spell firmly locked on the house, but held the reins.
"My spokesman said no harm to the ranger, and he's not awake last I knew to answer if you mean such," the man said, and she actually smiled, because he was doing as told on behalf of Drizzt.
"His welfare means much to me, and I am told he has been unconscious for at least two days."
That she knew that much spooked the man, and she pressed her advantage.
"I serve the city of his goddess, good sir, and She would wish him recovered sooner rather than later."
That… made the man step aside, and she did release the reins, causing the steed to vanish and startle him further. She walked on up to the house's door, then inside once a maid had opened the door for her.
"Drizzt Do'Urden?" she asked the girl.
Overawed by sheer presence, the girl pointed to a room that would have no windows, and Alustriel walked over, finding it unlocked… and the smell of injury too strong within the room itself.
"Oh my young friend," she said once she'd pulled out and opened a mage light to set on the table. She inspected the drow, hating his color, finding his injuries cleaned and sutured and covered… but he'd lost a lot of blood it looked like.
Very carefully, she got his head up, not liking that he muttered and mumbled but didn't actually wake. Holding him up with the one hand, she opened a potion with the other, and started the slow process of dripping it into his mouth so that it slid down his throat.
His eyes opened, unseeing at first, but he actively drank the potion then, and awareness replaced the fog.
Which meant he was staring at her in complete wonderment.
"Ysolde tried to reach you. Two days in a row. I was asked to help," Alustriel answered that silent question.
"Forever in your debt, my Lady."
Oh when had he picked up formality again?! She wanted to stamp her foot, but he was so weak still.
"We, my friend, are going back to Silverymoon, so that you can heal and regain your strength in peace." She stood from his bed side, seeing that his weapons and gear were neatly contained in a cloak. All of it had been cleaned to a point, and attempts made at repair, so the people were doing well by her friend.
"I need to leave word with Millie then," he said, already showing more color, though he sat up very slowly.
"The girl?" At Drizzt's nod, she ducked back out of the door. "Millie, I am told you are called? Drizzt needs to speak to you."
"Yes, Lady." Millie hurried in, and gasped at the change in the ranger, who smiled wanly.
"Magic, young one. And more will take me away from here, so I am no longer a burden. Tell Agorwal that a wizard came, and that I am grateful, please? And for that to be pushed on to any dwarf that comes to trade?"
"Yes, Ranger! Of course!" Millie slipped back out, and Alustriel had to smile a bit.
"I look forward to your tales of the region, but first, we go home."
She noted Drizzt's quizzical look at the choice of word, but he said nothing, only took his bundle so that she could take firm hold of him, so they both went back to her rooms in the Palace.
Korvallen dropped on the divan, looking about like he did whenever her sons had ridden his last nerve into a graveyard and made it out alive on the other side.
"I take it you took on the ranger-minding today?" Alustriel asked, having tucked Drizzt into his room with an admonishment to sleep himself out, bathe, eat, and nothing else once they had returned the day prior.
"Elué, that boy is as light as he was when you brought him here the first time, hasn't found the sense the Named Ones give to squirrels, and is possibly the most terrifying drow to ever live on the side of good," Kor said. "And I count your sister in that number!"
Alustriel set her quill in its well, and came to join him. "I had noticed the weight. And Qi doesn't have to be terrifying; her people will do it for her.
"Squirrels, really?"
"He did recon the night before battle. All the way to the enemy and back again, pursued for part of it. And then stood battle from the first sign of enemies on the horizon until the last man he fought, their king apparently, was dragged from him and the ground rose up to meet him instead of him pursuing."
"How many injuries?" Alustriel asked, knowing good and well Korvallen would have asked more details.
"He wasn't certain," Kor said in a very strained, upset tone. "But he's fairly certain he left blood over at least half a mile of battlefield."
"Where was Guen?"
"She used up all her time during the recon." Kor met her eyes. "There was no sleep between recon and battle as best I can tell. And he was pretty certain it was past the nooning when the battle finally ended. Terrifying, I tell you."
"It does explain how he was unconscious for so long," she said with a sigh. "Do you think you'll be able to convince him to stay here now?"
Korvallen snorted. "Not a chance in any hell. He's got a child up there he's been looking after, and he's befriended dwarves as well as a halfling."
Alustriel pursed her lips. "I am still at a loss about dwarves in that region," she admitted. "He left message for word to be given to them that he was going to be gone."
"Didn't go into much detail, except about the girl who has apparently become his truest friend save for Guen," Korvallen said. "So you'll have to get more out of him. I walked him over to the Sacred Glade, since he's apparently become one of Her rangers, and one of the Leafs said they would keep him overnight, before walking him back tomorrow."
"How much fuss did he give over the handling?" Alustriel asked.
"None; I gave him a look."
"Oh ho ho, pulling out your time-honored uncle looks on him, are you?"
"Someone needs to bring him in check," Kor grumbled. "We might manage to hold onto him a week before he decides to try and cross country to get back up there."
"I will do my best to convince him to remain until I can take him on my rest day then," she promised her friend.
"Good."
Alustriel did not have time to actually seek Drizzt to talk with him at length until the third night after bringing him home. Only, he was not in the Palace, nor was he with the Ladyservant's people. Intrigued now, she focused for the sense of Guenhwyvar's anchor… and it was in the city, even close to the Palace, but in one place.
She decided, instead of browsing the night events of the city or wasting the time she'd carved for herself to have with Drizzt, she'd go find him, and took herself back out.
She didn't even fuss when her night escorts fell in step, though they both looked concerned at her being in far more casual dress than her usual night activities prompted. She followed that light trace of astral magic to —
— one of the taverns on this side of the city, currently filled with travelers passing through on their way to more southern cities before the summer gave way to autumn's fickle ways. She slipped in quietly, and found Drizzt swiftly by sight. He was occupying the far end of the actual counter, in the dimmer light there, a bowl and tankard in front of him. He was smiling, listening to the current tall-tales being passed around.
He looked far more at ease in that setting than she would have expected, even as she noted the fact no one present was giving him extra attention, despite how many out-of-towners were present. She didn't exactly want to crash in on his partaking of society, but he was pushing the dishes toward the interior edge of the counter, setting coins with it.
The barkeep shook his head, and some discussion took place before the barkeep took one coin, and Drizzt put the rest back away. When he stood to head for the door, Alustriel swiftly stepped back out, but heard as others saw him leaving.
"Mielikki keep you, ranger!" was called out by several, and she wondered just what he had done to win such ease with strangers.
She had not, actually, done more than step away from the threshold and when he came out, he smiled at her.
"How do you not draw all eyes your way when you step into a place like this?" he asked her, showing he had taken note of her entry despite her having been unsure he'd looked over at all.
"Hmm, small charms I wear, and my own city folk knowing not to stand on ceremony," she said. "How did you befriend them all?" she countered.
"One of carters' ponies had panicked earlier because of an accident with things crashing too near him," Drizzt said. "I managed to calm the poor thing before he could cause a worse accident with his trace-partner. There was a bit of a crowd by the time I finished, and the next thing I knew, I was invited to come share a meal and stories."
"You… you have gained much as a ranger, it seems." She let him set their path, once he'd nodded to her escort. It was a winding path ever closer to the Palace, but one that let her take in those gardens with night-blooming plants still lush with their last growth.
"Hmm. I just listen and focus and act within the ability of the animals to understand," he demurred.
She found herself doubting that, and marking in thoughts of a breakfast with the Ladyservant soon, to see what was known about Drizzt's standing in their church. She didn't care if that was nosy of her; she needed to be certain he was being treated fairly.
"Would you like to tell me of your adventures since we parted ways? I was very surprised that you chose not to stay in the bands of your own people, and shocked at where you wound up." She rested a hand on his arm lightly. "Only, of course, if you wish to speak of it."
"Hmm, what tales should I share with you?" he asked, an impish light in his eyes. "I mean, what could possibly compare with having a duel in your court break out?"
Alustriel sighed loudly, then laughed. "Of course that would have been one of the incidents you saw of my life. It wasn't as serious as it looked, a small matter of honor, and both parties paid their fines."
He laughed quietly. "I am glad. As to why I went north? I was pulled, after my teacher died. And I could not stay with the others; even with good drow, I am strange and felt a need to wander farther, to involve myself more."
She wondered at the 'pulled', but listened as he began sketching in those years apart from her, feeding her hunger to know more of him.
Alustriel watched as Drizzt was petting one of the cats of the Palace, his new pack filled out with items Korvallen had procured for him — over his protests apparently — to make his coming winter a little easier. The cloak was much mended, but the mithral shirt was still in need of repairs, something he'd blithely said his dwarven friends would handle. New scabbards graced the swords, as his blades had been shoved into the old ones unclean.
She also knew he had several new knives, replacing those he'd lost in battle over the years, a gift from the people of the Sacred Glade for his dedication to their Forest Queen.
"Are you ready, my friend? We will teleport to my marker, and then use a phantom steed to go where you wish from there."
He had declined to add anything of his history from before the surface, but shared with her many adventures he'd seen since she took him to the drow more like himself. She'd hoped for more sharing, but time had been limited, and he'd prised out bits of her history instead. Her long centuries of experience had not caused him any pause, but she'd learned one small thing of him; she was apparently older than his mother by a bit.
That had certainly been a reminder of how young he truly was, but the more they had talked, the more certain she was that he was matured by his life worse than her younger sons.
"I promised Korvallen not to keep you up there more than three days, so I suppose we'll go to the dwarves first, as you seem so curious about them."
"Dwarves that work mithral are rare, Drizzt, and Icewind Dale is not a place I expected such to live."
"And I said it was their tale to share, if they chose," he said with a smile, before walking to take her hands. "I am ready."
She pondered, again, just how often he did smile, how light he kept his mood when dealing with others. He'd nearly died so recently, and yet he barely made note of the incident, it seemed. What horrors lurked in his past that he took such things as everyday matters?
"Then let us begin sating my curiosity," she said, before wrapping the magic around them both.
Chapter Three
The day, as Alustriel had aimed for early in the northern daylight hours, was clear, though the wind was ever-present. Drizzt's eyes swept over the towns, and she could feel his tension at the damage visible, before actually getting his bearing on the mountain. She summoned her phantom steed, a horse-like creature with a gray color that almost looked pale blue, its silver mane and tail shining like metal, and pulled him up behind her once she was mounted.
He gave her directions, and actually had them stop outside a cave, slipping down to go put his pack inside it. When he remounted, she turned to speak over her shoulder.
"Your place?"
"Yes. Looks like Catti-brie has been escaping to it in my absence; the couple of books I own have moved."
His amusement at that made Alustriel even more curious about this child of a dwarf that he was so taken with.
It did not take them long before the path came to a sheer facing of rock, and he slid off again, going to tap it with his knife hilt in a certain pattern.
Alustriel dismounted as well, but held the reins, just in case the phantom steed was still needed.
A small viewport opened, and then there was some muffled yelling before the door itself moved out of the way, proving these dwarves were as adept as most of their kind in hiding rock cuts.
"ELF! Ye came back! An ye look a damn sight better than when me king chased them vultures off!"
The boisterous greeting came to a stop without Drizzt being hugged or back-pounded, as the dwarf — a woman, Alustriel thought, something about the braids twigging a past memory — looked up at Alustriel, eyes big.
"Ye speak fer the stranger, elf?"
Alustriel would have to remember to tell Korvallen they called Drizzt that.
"I do. Lespur, this is Alustriel, the wizard that came for me, twice now."
"Ahh! Heard a small bit about ye, Saer," Lespur said, which must not include titles or status, Alustriel decided, or else these dwarves truly did not give over to being overawed. That suited her entirely.
"I promised to introduce her to the chieftain, but we need go no further than the trade caverns," Drizzt said affably.
"I am pleased to meet friends of Drizzt; he's much more prone to speak of others, but never quite enough to get a full picture," Alustriel said.
"Och, Ranger, ye take yer friend on down tae the hearth and get ye both some stew and cider, ye hear me? I'll send Dulan here down tae fetch the chief tae ye, and nae doubt Catti-brie will find ye both a'fore he makes it up."
Drizzt must have looked surprised, Alustriel realized, because Lespur leaned on her pike. "He took in one of them," Lespur said in a low tone. "Boy'd been knocked out, and ye know his soft heart. So he's been minding the boy, trying tae make something of sense stick in his head."
"This is a tale I look forward to hearing," Drizzt said.
"Figure if'n he can bring one o' the brutes in, ye would be more than welcome tae bring in a friend as helped ye so much."
"Thank you, Lespur." Drizzt gestured for Alustriel to come with him, and she let the reins go, causing the phantom steed to vanish.
"oooers, magic," Lespur said before setting Dulan to his task and getting the door closed behind them all.
Drizzt led Alustriel down, murmuring on when the passages would drop in clearance, but though she could touch the top of them, they remained high enough she never had to stoop, all the way to the spacious dining cavern. A few dwarves were present, and called greetings to Drizzt while sizing up the stranger that Alustriel was to them.
It felt strange to be among a people that had no idea about her at least being one of the Seven Sisters.
No sooner had Drizzt acquired the stew and cider for them from the hearth than a girl — human! — came scampering in through the door that led lower.
"Drizzt!"
Alustriel watched her friend stand and turn, saw the true relief in both of them as the girl collided with him at speed to hug him tight.
"I was scared stiff fer ye, me ranger, when Da said ye had been as gray as the rock!"
"It will take a bit more to do me in, my friend," Drizzt said into her hair, holding her as tight. When they did part, he drew the girl down on his bench, opposite Alustriel. "Catti-brie, this is Alustriel."
"Yer the mage as saved him from the barghests and taught him tae talk proper!" Catti-brie said, intently sizing her up.
"There were a number of people involved in helping him learn the surface language and ways, but I was present at the end of the barghest fight," Alustriel said, smiling a little.
"Did the lands a fair bit o' good tae give him what he needed then," Catti-brie said with a firm nod, making Drizzt duck his head to hide a smile.
"I believe so, from what little I have managed to learn of his adventures since that day," Alustriel said with an indulgent smile, before looking up at the door again.
"ME ELF! Donnae be givin' me bairn such a scare! What — Oh, pardon lady," the dwarf entering the room said, catching his tone and bringing it down. Alustriel saw a man that favored an old ally, hair starting to gray on top and in beard alike. Everything clicked in place as she could all but hear Garumn Battlehammer in that bullroar voice as well.
"Clan Battlehammer has an heir," she breathed. "Oh this is a very good day.
"Alustriel Silverhand, Chieftain. I knew your grandfather, and you have his look."
"Silverhand?" the older dwarf to one side said. "Name means somewhat, but cannae remember it," the man said. "Begging pardon, Lady, but ye knew me grandda?"
Alustriel nodded, and looked at Drizzt. "I could have been far more prepared if you'd mentioned the clan name."
"Their tale, not mine," he told her, his eyes lit with mischief. "Come sit, Bruenor, and let my friend hear your story, so that she can — as she is so wont to do — give aid."
She playfully smacked at his hand, and he caught it, showing solidarity and support of her in that simple gesture.
Bruenor did come and sit beside the human girl, studying Alustriel as frankly as she had studied him.
"Ye look human," he began with a skeptical noise.
"Magic likes me," she countered, "quite a bit, so long as I heed my mission to help the Realms grow peacefully."
"She looks the same now as she did fifteen years ago," Drizzt offered. "She is something of a fixture, I suppose, for the Realms." His lightly teasing tone was actually helping Alustriel stay light-hearted, even as she wondered why that was needed in his eyes.
"Bah. Fifteen years might seem a bit to ye, young whelp, but 'tis nothing but a blink of an eye," Bruenor said, arm stealing around the girl at his side… who appeared to be just about that old to Alustriel. Catti-brie leaned into the hug, while Alustriel was relieved to know the dwarf was aware of Drizzt's youth.
"Not all of us can aspire to centuries, my friend," Drizzt said in turn, and cold water poured through Alustriel's veins to hear any elf-blooded person say such. And yet… mortality among drow males was very high, from things she had learned. Did he live so hard and fast because he thought his days still numbered by the Spider's whims?
"Pfah, stop pickin' fights with things bigger than yerself, an' ye'll outlive us all, me elf," Bruenor fussed at him. "Now be quiet a bit and let me talk with this Lady friend of yours. Ye be talking and leavin' things out always."
Drizzt shrugged but said nothing.
"Ye knew me grandda, and now ye came tae hear me tale," Bruenor mused. "Och, it's been nigh on two centuries since Clan Battlehammer lost their Hall," and he began to spin out a history she had heard from her sons, gathered from other survivors, though none of them had a claim strong enough to make finding the Hall a quest.
This man did, Alustriel knew, and they would, at long last, have answers to what happened up in the Frost Hills once she gave him the aid he needed to take it back.
They made it back up to Drizzt's cavern before full dark, though only just, and the wind had a cold bite to it. Bruenor had offered lodging, but Drizzt had keenly picked up Alustriel's signals she needed privacy above that of the dwarven lodgings. He moved to light the brazier, and she pulled out a light pebble for them, considering the tale and all that it had added to her incomplete picture of the fall of Mithral Hall.
"There is nothing that can be done from this side of things until spring, I feel," Alustriel finally said, having settled on the fur-covered couch. "But now, my friend, I need to know why of why you were pulled to this region. I spoke with Qilué at length, and know that you have some sense of wrongness that guides your path.
"And no ranger can turn away from a quest, even if personal matters arise."
Drizzt joined her, after being certain the door was secure, and letting the brazier warm the air for them. From his face, she could tell he was considering how to answer.
"Something unnatural is in the passes, but I have never determined which one. It comes and it goes, and due to the weather and those personal matters you mentioned, I have yet to chase it fully down. It has not been pressing, and I feel no guilt for taking my time.
"But you are correct that I am not going to be pleased to tackle Bruenor's quest before I find the cause of unnatural taint."
"With a powerful enough wizard, shelter is a spell away," Alustriel reasoned. "It is not yet to winter here, as short as I know the autumn will be. I will clear my schedule — do not protest! — and we will spend time searching the passes by air, so that you can see this to an end.
"After, I will go home and set in motion the pieces I can to ease the clan's exodus south, while you will return to helping them do as they need through the winter."
"It is too much," he rebutted, despite her demand for no protest. That pleased her on one level, that he would, and yet.
"Drizzt." She turned and took his hand. "For all that I am not pressing into our connection, I do want to know more of you, to have you back in lands where you might, from time to time, come visit me. I have put in motion the loss of your allies here no later than the spring. The idea of you aiding them to only come back and search in hostile conditions?
"It hurts me, my friend."
His face had been an absolute study of emotions, ones that included hope and yearning, which fanned the embers of Alustriel's banked desires to know him better. Then she said that last, and it was clear that he was changing his mind to resolve.
"As long as the city can spare you," he said, accepting her wishes.
He did not want her to hurt? Oh, that was certain to have ramifications in time, she decided, but accepted his acquiescence.
It had begun simply enough. They had been on a phantom steed, with Drizzt holding the reins, seeking the wisps of unnatural taint that his unique ability gave him. A landing near a depression in the ground, with only a light coating of snow had been safe enough she thought, holding the reins while he went to investigate.
Now she was in an entirely too small space, still a bit dazed and uncertain just what had assaulted her with enough magical intensity to daze her… while simultaneously leeching the magic from every item she carried, and the steed itself.
Worse, the ground tremor and rock slide had caught Drizzt. She knew he was injured, perhaps grievously, but was refusing to admit it. The pocket of air was at least freshening itself, but the rocks all around them were nothing to get comfortable in.
She'd seen a trickle of blood at his temple, before his faerie fire had failed.
How had he moved fast enough to get her behind the outcropping that had shielded them from the worst of it? She could not even replay it in memory yet, so badly was her mind shaken by that attack on who and what she was. It had been like… something had tried to drain everything she could ever be away from her.
"Drizzt?"
"Alustriel."
Well at least he wasn't using 'Lady', despite their dire circumstances.
"Do you have any idea what that was?"
"A sentient artifact of some kind, that disregarded me and saw you as the threat."
Oh he sounded a bit piqued at that idea! Was he rating her low in threat, or himself impossibly high? No, it was the fact that this had been his quest she decided, and he was distressed she had been caught up in it.
"You took a head blow. I saw it. And I know you are hurt in other ways."
"I am… focusing on the pain, to remain awake. And moving my head as little as possible."
Then he knew he was at risk. At least between them, the air was staying warm enough for now. How long before the sending anklet would recharge enough to call for help? That had been her first idea but it was as drained as her wands, and there were no spells in her mind at all.
She could not focus clearly enough — or muster enough manna, maybe — to reach to her staff of the magi to pull them both to Silverymoon's safety.
"Perhaps conversation would keep us both alert, as there is enough air movement to make that a non-issue."
He shifted, and she heard his sharp intake of breath, before his hand found hers. She wrapped her fingers around his, glad for the contact.
"What tales have I not told you?" he mused.
"Anything of your time below," she pointed out, and felt a tension in the hand she held. "Drizzt, I know Elkantar. I have heard his entire story. I know that the world below is cruel and painful, but I also know it shaped you.
"Please share, unless it is harsh for you to relive. And I will tell you the tale of how seven daughters came to maturity in different places, orphaned by their own father."
"A tale of tragedy for one of cruelty, I suppose," he murmured. "It is not harsh for me; it is merely memory. But I wished to spare you the horror, when our connection seems to have only been active above the faerzress."
"I am no stranger to horror, my friend. Help me know who you are."
~Alustriel? Where are you? What has happened?~ came the insistent voice of her elder sister, after the harrowing tale of Drizzt's life and the tragedy of Elué Shundar that had led to the Seven Sisters being raised apart were done.
~Ahh, the anklet is back now. I am in the Spine, near Icewind Dale, and something sapped all of my magic.~ She paused and yes, she could feel her staff again. ~Meet us in my chambers if you can? I am taking us there.~ There was a vague sense of assent to that on the other end, the kind that said Syluné was changing for a more active role ahead.
"Drizzt," she said aloud, squeezing his hand. "Give me your other hand if you can? I should be able to take us home now, and we can regroup."
He managed, just, to reach across himself to take her other hand, and she willed the staff to bring them back, finding the effort more than the usual amount. That left her frowning, but they were safe, and she could find a potion for him, as well as an elixir for herself.
He truly was banged up far worse than she had suspected, indicating that he had bodily protected her in getting her behind that outcropping.
"My sister — the eldest — is likely to be here any moment now," she warned.
"Oh, I can tell her about the newer herb-lore I picked up," Drizzt said, but he closed his eyes and she hastened to find the vials. When she had them, she came and knelt beside him, putting a hand behind his head, guiding the potion to his lips. She was so relieved when his color improved and his eyes fluttered open.
"Much better," she murmured, and pressed a kiss to his forehead before dropping back to drink her own elixir. She did see him reach up and touch that spot, a soft look on his face, but then her sister was sparkling into existence, distracting her from savoring the moment.
"What happened?!" Syluné demanded, taking in both of their disheveled looks and the blood dried in place on Drizzt.
"Drizzt, can you better tell what happened now?" Alustriel asked moving to the divan, and coaxing him to follow her up to it. He did, then closed his eyes to fully recall the events.
"The unnatural thing was in the depression. I could just barely see something with a green glint, catching the sunlight. I went to remove it, and felt the energy flare as it decided Alustriel was a threat — I am certain that was the impression of its thoughts. The thing was vibrating or humming at a pitch just inside my range, and then the rocks began sliding.
"You looked very dazed, and I gave up on figuring it out in favor of getting you to shelter before the rocks could harm you."
Alustriel drew in a deep breath, knowing he'd been between her and where the motion began. Something in his words were niggling at a tale, something she'd learned of magical threats.
"Green? Thinking? You said glint. Crystalline, jeweled, what?" Syluné coaxed, having taken the chair opposite them.
"Crystal." Drizzt met Alustriel's eyes. "What did it do to you?" he asked, even as both sisters pressed their memory to match this to their lessons.
"It… well, it ate the steed, and it pulled the magic from all I carried, made me lose my spells — oh Mother's tears!" Alustriel exclaimed as that made the last bit click for her.
"Crenshinibon is on this plane once more," Syluné said for them both.
"It drinks light and magic to fuel itself," Alustriel told Drizzt at his curious look. "It's supposed to have a wielder to do anything, but I suppose it would have some protections of its own."
"And being approached by a Chosen of Mystra triggered them." Syluné swore a bit under her breath.
"Then I go back, and we see if it can manage to avoid darkness, as that is a spell-like ability," Drizzt said firmly. "You will drop me near but not on top of it, and I will get it locked far from the sun, I swear."
Alustriel reached over, stroking his hair gently, wanting to say 'no', but knowing it had to be attempted, and soon.
"After we all rest," Syluné declared. "And you two bathe. And eat."
"Night will be soon enough, so long as you both can stay warm enough," Drizzt agreed.
"I do not like this plan."
Syluné looked at her sister, then out to where Drizzt was but a speck on his summoned mount.
"A man that has only been on the surface fifteen years, who has managed to progress that far in a trade his kind don't usually take on, who moved faster than you can recall to physically manhandle you into safety… and you don't like the plan he put forth?"
Alustriel sighed. "Yes, it is night. Yes, the idea that darkness, either because it is antithetical to the thing, or as a spell-like ability, may help. Yes, he is exceptionally capable, despite almost dying within this past month, and then overextending himself again just yesterday! But that thing is manipulative and uncanny, by all accounts we have of it."
Syluné reached and patted her hand with her free one, both of them holding on to phantom steeds for their return trip elsewhere. "We will be able to tell if his mind is affected, but from all I have seen of him, all that is said of him?
"He can't not make this attempt."
Alustriel nodded, but kept trying to see in the overcast night, to will him to be strong enough, or willing to retreat if that thing had managed to find someone in the hours since it stole her magical energy.
Drizzt was making certain to come back, on foot apparently, with enough noise and visibility to not startle the two women. It was still mostly dark, and Drizzt was talking to the box he was carrying. By use of her clairaudience, Alustriel made out the colorful insults, in multiple languages, being delivered to the box.
"He just called it the fever dream illegitimate spawn of an elder brain," she shared with her sister, laughter bubbling up behind the words. "As he's actually dealt with one, I have to commend him for choosing that."
"He what — no, never mind. You think he is well?"
Alustriel focused, risking the magical detection spells, and her shoulders eased fully back. "He is very much in control of his own mind."
At that, Syluné mounted, and Alustriel followed suit, walking the steeds that direction with an eye to how they were affected. Apparently the thing could not lash out at them from its prison, and they were soon near enough for Drizzt to accept a hand up.
"We have a small bit of time with these spells still, so let us go… on the ground," Syluné said once he was steady behind Alustriel. "Just in case it's playing dead to try and hurl us to our demises."
"Oh it's not dead. But despite having managed to attract a pair of orcs by dint of its evil aura, it couldn't do anything with them," Drizzt said cheerfully. "It's complaining at me about being confined, and oh can I not imagine the things I could do with it. It would even teach me how to have my father back!" He made a very rude noise. "It is, thankfully, getting quieter the longer it is in the box."
"Is that why you slipped the peace-bonds on your hilts, because it is still active?" Alustriel asked, having noticed the rarely used bands had been put in place. She noted the mention of a father, and now actually had reference for why that man lingered in Drizzt's mind beyond his sword skill.
"Careful, my Lady, or you might be observant enough to be a ranger," Drizzt teased her. "Yes. Not taking chances, even though I know I am me now."
"I'd never cause little sister to think she wasn't the special one by learning her trade," Alustriel promised him.
"All of you are special in your own ways," Syluné decreed, as they set out for the more civilized lands… and a more permanent prison for the thing until it could be destroyed.
After reluctantly returning to her duties, with Drizzt ensconced in the far north once more, Alustriel set about readying for the changes that would be coming. A discreet invitation to send to every Battlehammer-blooded dwarf could be handled by the Rockcrusher clan. Alustriel purchased the lease on a warehouse and hired a crew to convert it to billets for the following year. A suggestion was made to the entire troupe of her sons to wrap up business and come home by high summer the following year. Laeral was entrusted with a supply of knucklebone that Bruenor had given for raising funds to purchase food for the journey.
~And you, my dear littlest sister,~ Alustriel sent very late one night, ~need to have your wizards and clerics prepare glamour rings.~
~We have quite an assortment of those, but why?~ Qilué then picked up the sending on her end. ~What has the ranger foreseen ahead that he wishes drow presence to aid?~
~He does not foresee, but the list of potential threats fall firmly in your people's knowledge range. It was… impressive.~
There was a delay for the recharge, which suited Alustriel as she was crafting the first of her new wands.
~He is very well-educated,~ Qilué sent then, ~and I will ask for volunteers to go under glamour to be his back up, when time comes.~
~Thank you. I am very much looking forward to the changes coming next year.~ Alustriel smiled lightly. ~Not least because I think he is moving toward exploring our connection more.~
~I am glad of that, and will be pleased to see how that turns out, Alustriel,~ Qilué promised her.
"Not half as much as I will," Alustriel murmured to herself, still pleased that Drizzt had kissed her cheek before they parted ways this time. She thought that the friendship might truly be simmering in the direction it had with her elf lord.
And that was a treasure to savor.
Chapter Four
Her sons had returned safely to Silverymoon, each one dutifully passing through so that Alustriel could see for herself that they had come to no harm. Each had a tale to share about the battle for the Hall, and Drizzt seemed to have been everywhere in the fighting.
Qilué also mentioned her people that had gone had seen much of the ranger, and his legend was growing among the good drow.
Of him, however, there was no sight, even once the official delegation came to sign trade agreements with Silverymoon, and other places of the Silver Marches. For some reason, the dwarves trusted Alustriel to give them a neutral arbiter, if one should be needed. Catti-brie was there as an observer, expected to learn the ways, but not quite old enough to be entrusted as the representative. That fell to a halfling by name of Regis, acting as Steward and entrusted with Bruenor's authority. The king himself had been unable to attend due to a massive influx of non-Battlehammer dwarves, who he was personally vetting.
Alustriel took it upon herself to find Catti-brie between meetings, smiling at the youth as Catti-brie opened her door.
"I was pleased to see your father chose to have you join the negotiations, even if only to observe."
"Oh, aye, best I know, in case I have tae stand for him a'fore he finds a proper heir," Catti-brie said easily, stepping back. "Most generous of ye to give us such rooms as these while we manage our talking."
Alustriel waved her hand at that. "No less than I give any ally that comes for business, or even just to visit." She took the chair so that she wasn't towering over Catti-brie. "But I didn't come to speak of business."
"Nae, Lady," Catti-brie said with a grin. "Ye came tae ask after me ranger."
"He is a dear friend," Alustriel said, before smiling. "Everyone agreed he came through the fighting just fine, and even had some healing to offer after."
"Oh, aye. And then he crawled in and out of every tunnel we found, gathered up the goblins as did not get killed or ran with the stinkin' gray ones, stayed with them until some gob named Grimward could get to them, and was headin' in tae the Underdark as we set out for your city."
Alustriel suddenly understood why those few settled goblins of her city had paid out their contracts and left suddenly. She wondered where Drizzt had settled them, even as she felt her heart beating strongly for his compassion.
But the idea that he had gone below terrified her more than she liked. He'd explained about being meant for sacrifice several times over, and she worried about him encountering other drow in his journey.
"I will have to trust in his ability to see him safely back up," she answered that recital in slow, measured tones.
Catti-brie reached across the short space between them and took her hand to squeeze. "He'll be careful as he can, Lady, knowing as people care about him living now."
Alustriel nodded. "I am pleased he found such a welcome with your people."
"Took a bit, but he won them all over," Catti-brie agreed. "I was on his side from the first!"
"Given how much he spoke of you with me, I am not surprised," Alustriel said. "Now, aside from business, what else would you like to see or do here?" she invited, to turn away from her worries over the man she was falling further in love with just by him being so giving to others.
Alustriel had felt the ancient frost-brand sword cross her wards; it was still new enough to her that it registered more swiftly than the figure of wondrous power. She betrayed nothing to her current audience, having long since told her pages to let Drizzt into her room as he wished. She only had two more appointments until her meal break; she could wait, even as she wondered what had made him risk coming during the winter storms.
Mithral Hall had a rookery now, and he could have charmed one of their heartier birds to bring a message! Never mind that she'd gotten steadily more anxious for him as the year dragged on and he had not appeared before the weather turned. Her one attempt to sleep in hopes of glimpsing his life had taken place when he was still below the faerzress apparently, as no dream had come to her.
She continued with her business as usual, and had never been so glad to see the appointments leave as when the second one did so. She came out and headed for her tower, smiling when she actually wound up meeting the page bringing her meal up.
"The ranger made it in, and Natali told him he'd better come warm in your bath," Ellorie said with a grin. "So I brought up a double portion."
"You take good care of us, my dear," Alustriel said, walking with her and getting the door so Ellorie could put the basket of food on the table inside. Drizzt was evidently still in the bath, so Alustriel went to stick her head in once her page had slipped back out.
Her words died away, unspoken, to see him with his head tipped back over the edge, mouth slightly open, eyes closed and sleep obviously holding him close. She filed away the image, noted he had not stirred to her entry, and slipped back out. If he was that exhausted, to trust in her protections that much, she was not about to wake him. His food would stay warm in the basket; it was enchanted to that purpose. She could wait to see him for when he was truly rested, whenever that might be.
Drizzt was not in her tower by the next time she had to change for her evening. She did see the basket of food had vanished so that reassured her. The evening seemed to pass too slowly as she saw to her routine, made certain to keep her social appearances, and then finally was able to go back to the palace, heading for his suite. Natali had moved him to the family wing itself after his last stay in Silverymoon, something that added to Alustriel's hopes for all that they might become for one another.
She tapped lightly, in case he had found more rest, but the door opened almost immediately to show him wearing a quilted dressing gown, thick socks on his feet, and his hair actually pulled back from his face in a loose ponytail. He smiled, almost sheepishly, but stepped back to let her in.
"I seem to have slept through your lunch," he said with quiet chagrin.
"I decided if you could sleep through me checking on you, and with you in the bath at that, I should let you rest." She followed him to the divan, each settling on an end. "So exhausted, too cold, or otherwise?"
"A little bit of all of it. I'd pushed to beat the storm building, but got caught in the first bit of it, all wind and pellets of ice," he said. "I had been pushing for some time before that, trying to make certain everything that needed to be done for Bruenor or Grimward was complete before I made it here.
"I have no wish to go anywhere until spring, unless my skills are needed by your knights," he finished.
Alustriel tipped her head, inviting him to expand on his reasoning if he chose.
He met her eyes, but his face was as neutral as he could make it. "I have seen many things, experienced what life is like on the surface. You did not flinch from what I said of my past. And… I would like to learn more of who you are outside of Silverymoon's Arch-Mage, more than just the mother of some amazing wizards, most of who are capable swordsmen. I want to know you and build a friendship that is more than you saving me from disaster, or me teasing you over the glimpses I've had of your life.
"I would love to know the person that befriended a doppelganger, the one that is considered an expert with knives, and stubbornly came up with a food she could create as a wizard."
Alustriel had begun smiling partway through the list, while wondering who had been sharing tales with him. "I could ask for nothing better to see us through the winter. But now I have to ask; did you meet my daughter or her father?"
Drizzt laughed brightly. "Mena. She had a bit of a misadventure before I went north, and recognized my tunic as it was the one you first gave me. It was a good meeting."
"That's been years now!"
"Yes, but just like the stories I won from Laeral and Qilué, it helped me settle more into the idea of trying to be worthy of your friendship."
She took his hand, squeezing. "That has never been in doubt, Drizzt."
"For you, maybe. I had to know it for myself."
She pulled, gently, and he followed, shifting to tuck in against her side.
"And now you do. So we will spend as much time together this winter, and see where it takes us," she said softly.
January 18th 2007 saw me take one of the many, many offers to escape the hell, to give my kids a chance to grow up safe from the monster I was, and for me to learn all over again how to be human and feel safe again.
I am betting everything but 2 movies I pick will have been watched on disk, not in theater. Let's see if that is true.
"The right of all sentient beings..."
Transformers - Apparently, of all the 2007 offerings, I only saw ONE movie in theater and didn't much pay attention to the others of the year. I mean, I know I've seen a few of the others but they didn't leave an impact.
So yeah. I fell prey to nostalgia, had a shoot'em up affair with giant robots, and fell back in love with Space Robot Jesus.
This is the fifth dish of the fourth course of our series (I, II, IIIa, IIIb, IVa, IVb, IVc, IVd) looking at the lives of pre-modern peasant farmers, who made up a majority of all of the humans who have ever lived. We are trying to grapple here with what has thus been the most typical, most common human experience historically. Over the last several weeks we’ve been looking at this lifestyle through the perspective of subsistence and labor and last week we began to turn to the labor of women in peasant households, beginning by laying out the basics for productivity estimates in textile production, one of the key tasks that women performed in most peasant farming households.
But women were also, in most of these societies, expected to manage a wider range of tasks essential to keeping the household, as both a family and economic unit, functioning. These tasks were no less necessary to the survival of the household than the work of agriculture and textile production already detailed. So to get a full sense of what the workload of a peasant woman might look like, we need to try to consider all of these tasks together and then return to our households to think through what the overall labor situation for these households is.
But first, if you like what you are reading, please share it and if you really like it, you can support this project on Patreon! While I do teach as the academic equivalent of a tenant farmer, tilling the Big Man’s classes, this project is my little plot of freeheld land which enables me to keep working as a writers and scholar. And if you want updates whenever a new post appears, you can click below for email updates or follow me on Twitter and Bluesky and (less frequently) Mastodon (@bretdevereaux@historians.social) for updates when posts go live and my general musings; I have largely shifted over to Bluesky (I maintain some de minimis presence on Twitter), given that it has become a much better place for historical discussion than Twitter.
Women in the Fields
We first need to start by removing one of our simplifying assumptions: so far, we’ve been assuming that all agricultural labor is done by men. That is a useful simplifying assumption but fundamentally incomplete, because women did engage in significant amounts of farming labor. My sense is that the amount of agricultural labor regularly done by women varies by region and culture, but in the wheat-farming cultures of the Mediterranean we can see a fairly basic pattern whereby women are in the fields mostly in two circumstances, one usual and one unusual.
The unusual is, of course, in periods of sharp labor shortage, to the point that having women engaged in socially a-typical labor can be used in the sources to signal economic hardship or labor shortages. And there’s something to that – it is fairly well documented, for instance, that the labor shortage created by the Black Death, for a time, pulled more women out into the fields to make up for the labor of the men lost in the plague. And that labor shifting pattern makes sense in this context. As you will recall from the last part, the wages women could command spinning and weaving, because those tasks were almost all labor with very little capital and because these societies are long on labor (and thus it is cheap) and short on capital (which is thus expensive), as a result those wages were low. So a household with under utilized capital – that is, farm land – would want to get that capital (land) into production first before aiming to sell any of its labor unaugmented by capital. In short, a woman in economic distress whose household still has land could get more for her labor farming that land than spinning, so that’s what she does.
Peasants, you must recall, are not idiots: they are canny survivors. They will not sit and passively starve if there are other options. While farming is a labor intensive task, it’s perfectly clear that adult women are physically strong and capable enough to do every part of the farming task, so if no one else is available, they will do it.1
That said, under normal conditions, peasant women have a lot of responsibilities and so labor specialization is going to keep them out of the fields for much of the year. The exception are periods of peak labor demand. Whereas hard labor shortages are unusual – they imply some sort of failure in the system – the labor demand peaks for farming households are going to occur every year at predictable times and those predictable times are the harvest.
Via the British Museum (1926,0331.694) a plate made by George Robert Lewis in 1822 showing women bringing in the grain harvest. As noted, the harvest would bring women into the fields even in societies where they were not expected to do as much agricultural labor, though I should note that some peasant societies expected women in the fields even more than this.
The harvest demanded a lot of labor in a relatively short period of time: ripe crops in the fields need to be harvested and processed fairly quickly. In the fields, they’re exposed to pests (not just insects, but birds and other animals for whom a field of wheat is a massive banquet), weather and so on and also the thing you are harvesting are seeds, which you want to harvest before the plant does the thing seeds are designed to do and scatters them. Generally for wheat, ideally a farm wants to get the entire harvest reaped, threshed and stored in just a few weeks, around a month. Following Columella’s estimates (de re rustica 2.12.1), that compresses about 15% of his estimated labor (in reaping; he doesn’t consider threshing or winnowing) into just c. 8% of the year. In practice, Columella is probably underestimating harvest labor demands by at least half,2 and comparative evidence from the medieval and early modern world suggest that the labor demands of the harvest could be anywhere from two to four times as much as during the rest of the year.3
That interaction is in turn borne out in the sources and artwork from these societies: we tend to see women in the fields during periods of distress or, far more frequently, during the primary crop’s harvest, where their labor is most important.
Via the British Museum (1862,0712.18) a print by Robert Daudet (1776) showing peasants bringing in the vintage. For wine producing regions, which would also be a period of peak labor demand much like the grain harvest and note the presence of women helping to bring in the baskets of grapes.
That would probably mean something on the order of two extra working days borne by the women of the household per iugerum, to provide the doubling of labor required in that short period of time. Going back to our estimates of the amount of land these households need to work and the number of adult women in these households, we can get a sense of what this labor looks like. Farming (excluding fallowed land) somewhere between 14 and 32 iugera (the former subsistence, the latter respectability), the Smalls need anywhere from 28 to 64 days out of Mrs. Smalls and whatever little Jane Smalls (age 6) can help with. The Middles have two adult women and need anywhere from 40 to 88 days out of them (so 20-44 days per adult woman) while the Biggs have four female laborers: two prime age women (Mrs. Maddie Biggs at 33 and her sister-in-law Martha Biggs at 22), one older woman (Widow Biggs at 50, who may not be doing full labor anymore) and an adolescent girl, Matilda Biggs (age 12), and ideally needs anywhere from 72 to 152 days out of them, so probably ~25-50 days from the prime age women each (making up about 2/3rds of the total) with the rest provided by Matilda and Widow Biggs.
In practice, of course, some of those come out to more days than are in the harvest window, suggesting the family is going to be pushing hard against its labor constraints, but that really just leads to my point here, which is that these numbers suggest all of the women of these households will probably be in the fields for basically every working day for around a month. Assuming a twelve-hour agricultural working day during the harvest (sun up to sun down) we might then just roughly suppose that every woman in our model is going to be in the fields for 30 days or so, for roughly 360 hours of agricultural labor annually, on top of their other tasks. In practice this is effectively a minimum; it’s very clear that some societies expected women to do more agricultural labor than this, based on local social assumptions and also the labor demands of the crops in question, but I have not yet found the agrarian pre-industrial society which leaves many hands out of the fields during harvest time. Naturally, that’s going to be a month where not a lot gets spun or woven, which will have to be made up over the rest of the year.
But we’re not by any means done, because households do not maintain themselves.
Maintaining Households
That leaves us with ‘domestic’ labor, narrowly defined: the basic work of keeping a household running. There’s often a categorical divide here that I think is unhelpful, between ‘productive’ labor (producing food or cloth) vs. ‘household’ or ‘domestic’ labor, as if the latter is somehow unproductive when it is in fact quite necessary. Worse yet, the suggestion that individuals doing a lot of domestic labor ‘aren’t working’ or that it isn’t labor at all. I want to try to avoid all of these pitfalls, so I am going to shift around our metaphor a bit: this is maintenance labor.
If you have a factory, a lot of the labor in the factory is directly related to producing things – churning out widgets, say. But there’s also a lot of labor in the factory that is necessary but does not directly produce widgets: the widget machine has to be greased, the tools maintained. The factory lunch room needs to be kept clean. Some very large factories might even have a canteen or mess to provide on-site meals for workers, which of course requires not just cleaning, but cooks and a whole food-handling logistical apparatus. None of those tasks produces widgets, but without those tasks being done, you still aren’t getting very many widgets.
The peasant household is a family unit, of course, but it is also an economic unit: it is effectively a ‘factory’ for food – both in a figurative sense, but also in a very literal sense in that the living spaces of the farmhouse are also work and storage spaces. And like our imaginary factory about the peasant household requires significant maintenance if it is going to keep producing food and cloth. This work is not optional and it is work, so I propose understanding it not as ‘domestic’ labor or ‘unproductive’ labor or what have you, but as maintenance labor for the household as both a family and economic unit.
Via Wikipedia, a farmhouse, painted by Johann Ludwing Ernst Morgenstern (1794). Note how this is a clearly multi-purpose dwelling, with workspaces (repair, storage) and living spaces. Note also the women and girls here, clearly engaged in a mix of domestic and agricultural labor. The woman in the center, for instance, looks to be bringing both harvest plants (perhaps vegetables) in, but also a pale of what is presumably water, a task we discuss below.
Unfortunately, quantifying this sort of labor is really hard because our sources for the ancient and medieval past are profoundly uninterested in it. Those sources, after all, are generally free wealthy male writers, interested in the doings of people who are free, rich and male, but this sort of maintenance labor was done by people who were poor and female and in many cases in the households of the very wealthy, non-free. So while this kind of labor is happening continuously, it is rarely commented on and to my knowledge we never get the kind of detailed days-of-labor-per-fields-of-crop estimates that we get for agriculture. Meanwhile, unlike textiles, there isn’t as much of a traditional craft-practitioner community for things like cooking or cleaning tasks. Even in living history projects, where some of that work may be done in traditional ways, the folks doing them tend to, you know, go home at the end of the day to modern homes, so you don’t get the full picture of this sort of household maintenance labor.
Still, we can begin to get a sense of the demands that might be involved by looking at some of the quantification that did happen and was studied in the late-1800s and early-1900s, before a lot of our labor-saving devices came in, but late enough that we can get some kind of time-labor statistics. That is, I must stress, necessarily very imperfect because of course a lot is going to change in terms of household expectations, tools and time. But a few data points of this sort can help us get a sense, at least, of the basic order of magnitude we’re dealing with.
We can start with cooking: food preparation in these societies is a major non-optional time-sink. As many raw milk aficionados seem to be learning the hard way (you didn’t drink raw milk as a child, boiling milk was simply a standard part of its preparation for a farming household with cows), this sort of preparation was mandatory to avoid illness.4 Grain needs to be milled – as time goes on, more and more of this work would have been done in large wind/water/animal powered mills, but household ‘hand mills,’ worked by the women of the household never go away. Just about everything needs to be cooked, vegetables need to be washed and so on and when you are done all of the cookwares and such need to be cleaned.5
Getting a firm handle on how much all of those food related tasks would take is robustly difficult, because cooking methods and technologies varied from one society to another and – as noted above – none of our sources are interested in documenting the time these processes took. However, we can turn to more modern data for something like an ‘order of magnitude’ estimate. A study of household labor performed in 1900 concluded that the average American woman spent 44 hours per week on food preparation and clean-up from that food preparation.6
Meanwhile, there’s also a lot of non-food related cleaning work that needs to be done: cleaning household spaces – including work spaces – and clothing. Once again, the time investment here is going to vary significant from one society to another. If you have ever investigated pre-industrial clothing, one thing you swiftly notice is that clothing was often worn in layers not just for temperature, but to limit cleaning: a linen under-garment could soak up a lot of the sweat of the day, sparing heavier woolen over-garments, while things like aprons to avoid soiling primary clothes were also ubiquitous. For tasks that involve mucking about in fields, you’ll often see tunics and skirts girded or gathered up to keep them clean. So there is a substantial effort here to avoid generating cleaning tasks.
But of course, some amount of cleaning needed to be done! The idea that peasants – especially medieval peasants – never bathed or washed their clothes is, of course, a myth, so we know these tasks were happening and in some significant quantity. But of course modern machines for the purpose did not yet exist; returning to that same 1900 study, it noted some the average American woman in 1900 spent 14 hours on laundry and household cleaning. Again, not a perfect data-point, but a decent ‘order of magnitude’ estimate to begin with.
Now the problem with these two figures, of course, is that by 1900, most American women were not making textiles at home and we need to be on guard that changes in the labor intensity of one task may cause other tasks to ‘fill the space.’ That is, women in 1900 may have had more time for cooking and cleaning than women in, say, 1400 or 400 because they were no longer spinning their wool by hand from scratch (though of course in many parts of the world women were still doing that many decades later). Still, as a relative sense of labor intensity and a rough ‘ceiling’ the figures are more helpful than blind guessing.
Via the British museum (1867,0508.1339) a 4th century BC Campanian hydria – a jug for carrying water – which has depicted on it the Danaids, women who, having murdered their husbands, were punished by being forced to endlessly fill a leaking pot. Symbolically, the impossible task of filling the large pot (a pithos) from their jars is sometimes linked with the women’s own ’emptiness’ (read: childlessness), having done away with their husbands, but it is also the reformulation of what would have been, as married women (and before, as unmarried girls) a regular household task, set as an eternal punishment. Carrying water would have been a regular and perpetual task for all but the wealthiest Greek women.
One task often left out of this, which we do have to consider is fetching water. These peasants do not have hot and cold running water either. Instead, their water likely comes from local watercourses (rivers, springs) or wells.7 Those watercourses, of course, are not necessarily conveniently located for our peasants, while wells demand time spent drawing the water. So you have both labor in drawing the water but also in carrying it by hand to the household where it is to be used.
Once again, we know this was a significant labor demand – lower-class women moving water in jugs (that’s what the women balancing pitchers on their heads are doing in pictures you may have seen – moving water from the well to the house) is a quite common motif for these societies, but I haven’t been able to find a secure historical source estimating it for antiquity or the Middle Ages. However, Fintan O’Toole, writing about rural 1960s Ireland – largely pre-electrification – notes that that getting water might consume something on the order of 550 hours per year done by hand, which is to say around 1.5 hours a day, every day.8 It seems difficult to imagine that fetching water before the advent of such pumps – which were popular devices in their day for a reason – could have taken any less time.
From the British Museum (1888,0612.1573), a print of an etching by Fran Van Kyuck (1867-1915), showing a pair of peasants meeting on the side of a fence for a chat – the young woman carried a jug for moving water. I wanted to refuse this image not just to stress the task being done but also note comparing the hydria above, how little the tool has changed. The jug this woman here holds and the jug on which the Danaids above are painted are separated by 2,300 years and yet are nearly identical in form.
Finally, there is childcare. While it is certainly the case that childhoods in these societies were quite short and pre-industrial parenting strategies tended to be fairly ‘hands off’ or ‘free range’ by modern standards, there is also just an unavoidable bedrock of time and care demands for very young children. For children under the age of two – because remember, these societies control fertility in part by extending breastfeasting relatively late – nursing can take a fair bit of time. Here, modern guidelines for parents can actually be useful, as the biology of infants hasn’t changed a great deal in the last few centuries. Newborns need to feed very frequently (albeit the sessions are often very short), while older infants space our feedings more: for a newborn in the first few weeks, breastfeeding can take on the order of 4-5 hours per day, though by six months or so that figure tends to coast down to 1-2 hours a day. Still, for a nursing mother – and two of our three households have one, which should not surprise given the fertility patterns here – that’s a significant time demand that has to be met in between everything else.
And of course, children do not become entirely labor-free just because they’re entirely weaned onto regular foods (ask the parent of literally any toddler). So while our peasant mothers are likely not – by modern standards – ‘intensively’ parenting (because they simply cannot afford to, there are too many crucial demands on their time), there is a ‘floor’ of time demands that must be met.
Putting it all in a model
Modeling all of that is tricky, especially because our data-points are so late and so difficult to just plug directly in to a formula the way we could use actual ancient estimates for agriculture. Still, we can try, in order to get a sense of exactly how much work we’re dealing with here.
First, we need to figure out how many hours our peasant women and girls have. As is rapidly going to become apparent, they work more days and hours than their menfolk once all of these tasks are accounted for. That said, they do not work every daylight hour: we need to account for things like market days, festival days and religious observances. We gave our farmers between 270 and 290 working days a year accounting for weather, festivals, religious observances, markets, rest periods after the harvest and so on. For our peasant women will still, of course, have their festivals and so on, but in many cases that isn’t a whole day off for them: food still needs cooking, children watching and so on (for some festivals, there might need to be a fair bit more of these things). We might instead, assess a lot of those as something like half days and figure a calendar that instead has something like 310 full work days.9 That suggests, assuming 12 hour days (sunup to sundown on average), about 3,720 hours a year per adult peasant woman, though we should be aware that there’s some wiggle room on this figure depending on household needs.
What we’re going to do is basically calculate a ‘floor’ for time spent in agriculture, food preparation, cleaning and laundry, water collection and childcare and then assume that textile production fills basically all of the remaining space. Of course in practice these activities can overlap: the peasant woman who is keeping one eye on the children while the soup cooks and with her hands working a distaff (if she has a drop spool, she can even move around during all of this) as the pot bubbles. But in a lot of cases the time demands of these tasks cannot be infinitely ‘stacked’ – a woman laundering clothes in a stream is not also cooking or spinning at the same time and so on. Likewise, some childcare tasks, as any parent can attest, demand one’s full attention.
We’re going to formula labor demands on a household basis for the sake of simplicity, but here we have to be careful: doubling the size of a household may increase its labor tasks, but does not necessarily double them. It takes more time to cook for 8 than for 4, but not anywhere near twice as much time. So very quickly, here are our labor assumptions in each category:
Agriculture. As noted above, we’re assuming every working-age female is going to be spending roughly a month focused on agricultural labor, a time demand of 360 hours annually.
Food Preparation: A ‘floor’ of 40 hours per week to prepare food for the first four people, with each additional person (excluding nursing infants) adding an extra 5 hours per week. That’s a very rough approximation (and rather a fair bit less than our 1900 figure above), but it suggests the Smalls need 40 hours a week, the Middles 45 (remember Freida Middles is a nursing newborn) and the Biggs 65 hours a week (remember that Melanie Biggs is a nursing infant).
Cleaning and Laundry: Again, a ‘floor’ of around 14 hours a week for a four person household is a decent enough place to start. But while household cleaning time might not shoot up with additional household members, laundry is probably most of this time demand and it does more or less increase linearly adding people (with the technology they have, these folks need to be individually washing clothes). We might then figure 3 additional hours for each person beyond the first 4 (this time newborns and infants not excluded; anyone who has had either knows they generate plenty of ‘cleaning tasks.’), so the Smalls need 14 hours, the Middles 20 and the Biggs 32 hours of cleaning and laundry labor, roughly.
Water Fetching: Here I rather suspect that water-time, at least on the scale of our households, is going to demand more labor in a more-or-less linear relationship, as we’re already at the scale of water demands where trips to the well or spring are being fully utilized. In a lot of cases here ‘more labor for more water’ may just mean two people heading down to the well together to double the amount of water moved on a single trip. Trying to hew closely to the data from O’Toole (2021) above, we might guesstimate something like 2.5 hours per person per week, so the Smalls might need to spend 10 hours a week on water, the Middles 15 and the Biggs 25 hours.
Childcare: Here, age matters quite a lot. As noted, childhood ends early in these societies, so we may assume that dedicated, focused childcare time is minimal after age 7 or so (at which point most children will be fully engaged in assisting adults in their tasks). Below that, we might assume 4 hours per day for a nursing newborn, 2 hours for a nursing infant, and perhaps 1 hour a day roughly for children 6 and younger. That would mean that the Smalls require 7 hours of childcare per week (for Jane, age 6), while the Middles need a lot more, 35 hours per week (for newborn Freida and four-year-old Fanny Middles) and the Biggs in between with 21 hours per week (for nursing infant Melanie and young four-year-old Michael).
That’s a lot of hours! But how much labor do our families have to address those needs (plus the needs of textile production)? Obviously a prime age woman in this model counts as one unit of her labor, with 3,720 hours available per year, of which 360 go to agriculture (so 3,360 hours available after that is accounted for). But the older women and the young girls aren’t idle in these households either. What I’ve assumed is that elderly women – defined here as 50 and over10 work at 75% of the rate of a prime-age woman. I assume children start taking on significant tasks at age 6; from 6 to 11, they are assigned 50% of an adult woman’s labor and from 12 to 16, 75%, as they’re increasingly fully physically capable, but may still be learning how to efficiently do tasks like spinning or cooking.11 Again, these assumptions are absurdly rough, but they’ll do.
Under those assumptions, here’s how our families pan out on women’s labor:
Maximum Implied Textile Production (128.5 hours per m2)
13.25m2 96% of Subsistence
19.8m2 105.6% of Subsistence 52.8% of Respectability
55.1m2 169.5% of Subsistence 84.8% of Respectability
Via the British Museum (1997,0928.17), a print (c. 1700) showing women preparing a meal in the fields for workers who are bringing in the harvest. It is important not to think of women’s ‘maintenance’ labor as something separate from the ‘production’ of the farm, but rather as an essential component of it.
Women’s Work
We can notice a few things immediately. None of these households meet their ‘respectability’ estimated needs for fabric; the Smalls don’t even quite get to their subsistence needs. This is another space where horizontal ties probably matter a great deal, for as you will recall, the Smalls, while falling short of their respectability fabric needs were the only household with enough (male) labor to meet their respectability needs in terms of agriculture. It’s not hard to imagine, then, Mrs. Smalls looking for ways to trade that agricultural surplus with Mrs. Middles Jr. or Mrs. Maddie or Martha Biggs for a bit more fabric, or help watching the children or similar tasks, in order for her to meet those subsistence requirements. In a sense, after all, the Smalls’ fabric shortage is a product of the same factor giving them an agricultural surplus: their household is somewhat ‘male shifted’ (with two adult males, but just one adult woman and one young girl), while the other households are a bit more balanced (the Middles have two adult men and two adult women laborers, along with two children who could be of any gender for the model here, given their age) or female-shifted (the Biggs have three women and two working-age girls, against three working-age men). That sort of informal ‘banquet your neighbors‘ exchange could thus be very helpful in balancing out those differences.
Here’s how the various tasks stack up in terms of time consumption (in hours, unadjusted for age-productivity) in our model. Again, this is very rough and there are some activities (gathering firewood is the most obvious omission) not in the model, but the chart gives a sense of the various significant tasks. Textile production is still the largest time-sink, but it is competing with quite a few other demands.
We should also note that these women work an enormous amount. We estimated, you will recall, working hours for our male peasants on the order of 2,500 to 3,500 working hours per year, massively more than modern full-time employment (40 hours per week is ~2000, typically around 1,750 hours after sick time, vacation, holidays and such). By contrast our peasant women are working in this model 3,760 hours per year, significantly more than their fathers, husbands and brothers and wildly more than modern workers. Now of course that figure is in theory something of a maximum, but that’s what our model is for: it demonstrates that they can’t really be working much less, since their margin over minimum subsistence is so narrow even working those many hours. Indeed, we might instead imagine many peasant women might be working more, eating a little into the dark hours cooking or spinning (as Lucretia famously does in Livy, 1.57.9-10, leading the women of her (aristocratic) household in wool-working by lamp-light) or into the time we’ve given her ‘off’ on those festival days, just to keep up with all of the tasks that need doing.
Of course that ‘free time gender gap’ remains in modern societies today, but the quantity of leisure available for either gender is at a different order of magnitude: the women in that study linked earlier in the sentence report 26 hours a week of leisure time – less than the 28 their husbands have, but a lot more than the implied ~15 our male peasants and ~10 our female peasants seem to have, following our work hour assumptions here.12
It is thus perhaps not surprising that those silly ‘you work harder than a peasant’ memes always focus on male peasants. To be clear, you don’t work as hard as a male peasant farmer, but you really don’t work as hard as the wife of that male peasant farmer. The labor demands on both halves of the peasant household are very high, but it is a striking if unsurprising comment on the way we understand labor that we often spend most of our time talking about the half of the gender ledger which is probably working less.
More broadly, I do want to caution in reading our two models – one for male-gendered labor and one for female-gendered labor – that these models assume better-than-average conditions. Our male-focused agricultural labor model, after all, assumes a decent crop, but some years, the harvest fails, while our female labor model assumes these women are entirely focused on labor, non-stop, from sunrise to sunset, every day, which is simply not how humans work. There’s no real way to account systematically for idle chat, daydreaming, moments of rest or distraction (or moments where work needs to be redone because of an error) and such in our model because that varies so much person to person and task to task, but the value obviously isn’t zero. I considered adding something like a flat ‘productivity’ reduction in the model of hours by 20% or so to account for this, but decided to leave the model more or less as is instead.
If we did add that 20% ‘distraction reduction,’ it’s worth noting that the Smalls end up at a bit less than half of their textile subsistence needs, the Middles right around half; only the Biggs stay ahead of their subsistence requirements. What I think that suggests is that for most of these households, the demands of simply maintaining the household as both an economic and family unit were full time and demanding jobs: Mrs. Smalls, Widow Middles and Mrs. Middles Jr. (and their daughters) cannot really ‘slack off’ very much if they expect to keep their households at a minimum expected standard of food, cleanliness and clothing. The women of the Biggs household have a bit more leeway, but not much and it comes at the cost of their household being unusual tight on male labor, which may well mean that extra time is consumed by having the Biggs women in the fields more often outside of the harvest to help make up the difference.
On the other hand, The Smalls provide a good example of how these households pass through cycles as a result of their aging.13 Mrs. Smalls is at most likely to have perhaps one more child who survives to adulthood, but her son John is already working age and her daughter Jane is going to be more and more help around the house shortly. The next few years will likely represent the peak of the Smalls’ labor potential: right now Mrs. Smalls is struggling to maintain the household’s basic needs, but this is the one household running a comfortable agricultural surplus and in a few years as Jane gets older, it’ll slide into the same surplus on the textile-side of the ledger too. But that shift is temporary! At some point, after all, Jane will marry and exit the household, shrinking it again, while at some point Mr. Smalls is likely to pass away, leaving John Smalls (likely by that point or soon after married) as the householder expecting a new crop of small children.
In short, these models show how these households – at these moments in their continuing process of formation – can cope in a normal-to-good-year with the demands of farming, textile production and household maintenance. But not every year is a good year and with such relatively thin margins over subsistence on both sides of the gendered-labor-ledger, a bad year could easily push these households into modest but meaningful deficits.
Next time, we’ll start wrapping this series up by returning back to some of our original questions and thinking about how our model can help us to understand the rhythms and cycles of peasant life, the stresses these households are under and the tactics they use to cope with them.
I wrote my accounting/financial reporting exam yesterday, I'm so glad that's done. I'm cautiously optimistic but I'll find out in 6-8 weeks.
That means now I have time for all the things I wanted to do, especially fannish things! ...I thought and immediately felt overwhelmed because there's so much. In addition to playing more Silksong (and after that, Hades 2) there's books I want to read and things I want to watch, and fic I want to read and posts and fanworks I want to comment on and things I want to post and people I want to chat with and fic I want to write, and that's not even mentioning all the chores I've been putting off and RL social things. At least it's a better kind of stress ^^
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