Chapter Text
Wintertime was harsh for much of Middle Earth, and particularly hit the remote villages of the Dúnedain. Since help would be days away, and the paths between settlements already frought with danger from orc attacks, and the fear of leading evil to their hidden places, travel was only used in emergencies.
Fall and the turning of winter was no easy time for the Dúnedain. They had much to prepare with harvesting and storing crops for the time when the ground would freeze. Both fruits and vegetables would be either pickled or preserved with the exception of potatoes, which could last long periods in the cellar, below the den floor, which would need to be cleaned out and inspected for any invasive bugs or pests that could spoil the crops. Preventive measures would be laid around the ground inside, to further ensure nothing would ruin the food supply. The cellar was hidden beneath the woven carpet, where any draft would be unable to penetrate the tight fabric.
Meat was cured and much either turned into dry jerky that could be boiled and regain some softness to add to a stew or dried, and stored in the deepest depths of the cellar, where the ground was the coldest, and the meat would stay frozen and unspoiled. Harvested grain, rice, and potatoes were put in cloth sacks, and stored in woven baskets. The herbs to keep away insects were laid in both the basket and around, the pungent smell sure to repel the most invasive of critters.
The cellar was thoroughly looked through for any cracks, crumbling sides, or holes from mice, or rabbits who would enjoy the store of food. Once that was done, a designated firewood area was made, where excess wood unable to be stored in the barn or beside the fireplace would go. It was always better to have too much, rather than too many, when the lands turned harsh and unforgiving, where in a quest to cut firewood for a non existent supply would turn into a fight for your life. Blizzards were common, and brightly colored reinforced twine was needed to guide you home when visibility was zero. To get lost would be a death sentence.
All hands were needed, including smaller ones for light tasks. The families in the Dúnedain were bigger, with three children or more commonplace, since so much manual labor was needed to prepare. Children as young as 4 would entertain one another to avoid being underfoot, being given small jobs, like collecting small stones to use in warming the bed on cold nights and making a game out of it so they would be motivated, and avoid temper tantrums. The older children would be assigned things appropriate such as assisting in sealing cracks in their notched wood cabins, or drying herbs, and corralling siblings. They had a hand in helping their younger siblings, teaching, as the parents had a lot to contend with, running a household, and the surrounding land.
Weapons were both sharpened and oiled, hid around various spaces in case of an orc attack, or wildlife trying to catch chickens for their own meals. Several were stored in the cellar, and space prepared in case of an attack where fleeing with the children was not an option, instead hiding them, where the orcs would not notice, too greedy and intent on causing destruction. There would be need of that for Halbarad’s family and surrounding homes, for the enemy was intent on finding Isilduir’s heir, one village at a time.
It started with the sun disappearing behind clouds, and the sky turning a sickly grey color over the span of a few days. The wind, already chilly, picked up turning temperatures colder. The Dúnedain, already anticipating a fast onset of winter, and prepared for what was to come, did everything they could. It is not easy when a father is away, one with duties to assist Aragorn, and being his kin. The evil will find, and destroy whatever they can..