Feasting on Poison

AUTHOR’S NOTES:
This story was written for Marigold’s Challenge #29. Requirements selected: a leader, a journey, a place of healing, and a minstrel.

Thanks once again to my wonderful beta, Dreamflower.
DISCLAIMER: The characters all belong to the amazing world of Middle-earth created by the genius of J.R.R. Tolkien. I just borrowed them for a little while.

1 Thrimidge, S.R. 1419

In all of Faramir’s years many years in Minas Tirith, he had never seen the celebration hall in the citadel look as radiant as it did now for King Elessar’s coronation feast. The great marble interior was festooned with the sable and silver banners of Gondor. Behind Éomer King, the green and white banners of Rohan were unfurled and behind Prince Imrahil were the blue and silver banners of Dol Amroth. Torches burnt brightly, illuminating the scene as scores of guests sat at the tables listening to the minstrel sing while they waited for the feast.

The new king was resplendent in his black mail girt with silver. The green jewel clasped at his throat sparkled upon the long white mantle. His head was still adorned with the White Crown of King Eärnur that Faramir had brought forth from Rath Dínen.

It seemed odd to dine in this room without his father, but then Faramir could not recall an occasion since his mother’s death when his father had held any celebratory feasts. After his mother’s death, Faramir’s father had limited celebrations to raising cups of wine in honour of one of Boromir’s great feats of victory.

How Faramir wished Boromir were here to see this day. His dear brother should be up here, at the head table with King Elessar, honoured not only as one of the companions of the Ringbearer, but as the Steward of Gondor, a role which Faramir sorely regretted having to fill in his brother’s stead. As he blinked away the tears that he found forming all too often in his eyes since he had learnt of his brother’s death, Faramir chided himself for having such gloomy thoughts on such a joyous occasion.

But since Boromir had died an honourable death saving the lives of two of the pheriannath, Faramir found himself seated in his brother’s place between Mithrandir and Pippin at King Elessar’s great table at the head of the hall.

Faramir was enjoying a rather spirited conversation with Mithrandir in which the wizard was telling a rather amusing tale of how Pippin had bested Prince Legolas in a contest of arrows before the Company had set out from Imladris. While Prince Legolas seemed less than thrilled to have the tale recounted, all of the pheriannath were laughing, particularly Pippin, who was beaming proudly, as could be expected. Faramir was surprised to see that even King Elessar had joined in the laughter. But of all of those who had been in Imladris during the contest, the one who was laughing the hardiest was Prince Legolas’ best friend, Lord Gimli.

“Come, Legolas, perhaps with another age of practise, your archery skills will be the equal of Pippin’s!” laughed Lord Gimli as he emptied the golden wine from his goblet.

Prince Legolas smiled wanly at the group but made no reply.

“Do not exaggerate, Gimli!” cried Pippin through his mirth, “Legolas is a more accurate archer than I am at a greater distance.”

“That may be true, Pippin, but not when you take into consideration your relative size compared to that of Legolas,” said King Elessar. The king gave the Elf a sidelong glance almost as filled with unabashed glee as the expressions worn by all four pherinnath and Mithrandir.

“Aragorn is right,” Prince Legolas conceded, raising his goblet to Pippin. “Although my accuracy has the better of yours from a farther range, from a proportionate standpoint, our skills are equal and so you won that contest.”

Pippin opened his mouth as if to say something, but failed to find an appropriate reply. His eyes shone brilliantly even as he smiled uncomfortably at Prince Legolas and turned a bright shade of pink.

“Ah, dinner is served!” Pippin exclaimed. The young knight was rather obviously glad of the distraction the meal provided from the conversation.

All assembled tucked in to the steaming porcelain bowls of Gondorian vegetable soup before each one of them. Faramir smiled with great satisfaction. This had long been one of his favourite delights and one that he had made certain was on the menu for the King’s coronation feast. It was a lovely soup made from the finest vegetables Gondor had to offer.

Faramir inhaled the fragrant rich beef broth and began salivating. There were nice sized chunks of potato, parsnips, carrots, and celery as well as some green peas, onions, and golden love apples, and even some mushrooms floating in the soup. That last ingredient ought to make the pheriannath happy, he thought with a chuckle. A quick glance at the smiles on Pippin’s and Frodo’s faces as they picked up their spoons and began to eat the soup quickly confirmed that he was right. Faramir turned his attentions toward his own soup and sighed in delight as his mouth welcomed the first tasty spoonful.

“Begging your pardon, Prince Faramir, sir, but what is that?” asked Master Samwise, pointing toward something in his soup. He looked as if he were uncertain whether the soup was safe for consumption.

Faramir paused with his empty spoon in the air and bent forward to have a better look. “That is a Gondorian love apple,” he replied with a polite smile before returning his attentions to the bowl of soup in front of him.

“It has been a long time since I have had a Gondorian love apple! Where did you find them?” exclaimed Prince Imrahil.

“My father fancied them and ordered them grown especially for his table,” Faramir answered, his smile slipping just a little.

Master Samwise sighed as he turned toward Frodo and gave him a relieved smile. “An apple! Fancy that, Mr. Frodo! I’ve never seen an apple the likes of that before! And here I thought it looked something like that ‘tomato’ you and the Brandybucks are so fond of even though I’ve begged you not to eat it.” Master Samwise turned and addressed Faramir. “I’m sorry to be questioning you about the soup, Prince Faramir. It’s just that that yellow apple there looks akin to a fruit called a ‘tomato’ Mr. Merry’s folk and Mr. Frodo eat even though it’s unfit to eat.”

Faramir’s smile vanished as he tried to puzzle through Master Samwise’s comment. Not only was this vegetable fit to eat and delicious, but it was said to be of value in the Houses of Healing.

“Sam!” scoffed Frodo. “There is nothing wrong with eating tomatoes! I’ve been eating them ever since I was a faunt in Buckland and nothing fell has ever happened to me,” he laughed.

“I am afraid it is indeed a tomato, Master Samwise. But there is no cause for concern; I assure you they are quite safe to eat,” Faramir replied, hoping that would assuage Master Samwise’s concerns.

“A tomato? But you said it was a Gondorian love apple, Sir!” cried Master Samwise. “Mind you, it looks more akin to them tomatoes I hear tell as them outlandish Bucklanders eat, begging your pardon, Mr. Merry, than it do to any apple I’ve ever seen, even though it’s golden instead of pink in colour like they are in the Shire, but you said it was an apple! Tomatoes are poisonous, Sir!”

“Now see here, Sam!” Merry started, dropping his napkin on the table and leaning forward closer to Master Samwise on his arms. “Bucklanders are not outlandish and do not serve anything poisonous! There is naught wrong with eating tomatoes and if you don’t believe those of us who have eaten tomatoes, then I would think you would trust the Steward of Gondor!”

“But it’s nightshade, Mr. Merry! Don’t you eat no more of it, Mr. Pippin!”

“Steady on, Sam!” cried Pippin. “I’ve eaten tomatoes loads of times at Brandy Hall and at Bag End and so has the rest of my family. We’ve never got ill from it and neither has anyone else I’ve seen eat it.”

Master Samwise looked horrified at the young knight and shuddered.

Mithrandir and King Elessar had said that the pheriannath were simple folk who still believed in some superstitions and old wives’ tales, but Faramir had never heard of any tales of poison about tomatoes before. He turned to look at Mithrandir and the king and was surprised to see an amused expression upon their visages. Even Prince Legolas and the sons of Lord Elrond seemed amused.

“I do not understand what all the trouble is all about, Master Samwise,” Faramir said. “Tomatoes are apparently eaten in the Shire by some of the most respected families in the Shire, including Sir Peregrin’s.”

For some reason unknown to Faramir, Frodo and Merry then glanced purposely at Pippin with mirth in their eyes and began to snigger. Although Faramir had addressed Pippin by his formal title, Faramir did not think that was the cause of the pheriannath’s amusement. Even though he understood that the Shirefolk were not as formal, he thought they understood the need for such formality at an occasion such as King Elessar’s coronation feast.

“Have I said something amiss?”

“No, Faramir,” began Pippin, his eyes gleaming with laughter. “It’s just that my family is not as respected as some of the others. You see, we are known for being adventurous sorts who do things even more ‘outlandish’ than Merry’s family and the other Bucklanders.”

He noted that Éomer King tilted his head curiously at Merry, but remained silent.

“And certainly more adventurous than the staid but very respected Bagginses,” chuckled Frodo.

“Except for this Baggins,” added Merry, earning a playful elbow to his ribs from Frodo.

Faramir cleared his throat in an attempt to suppress a snigger. Even though he was perplexed by Pippin’s remarks, he found the familial play between the three cousins quite refreshing after so many months of darkness. It especially pleased him to see Frodo acting so light-hearted. However, he still did not understand Pippin’s comment about his family.

“Forgive me, Sir Peregrin, but is your family not the line of the leaders of the Shire?” Faramir asked in confusion.

“To be a leader of others does not necessarily mean to be well respected,” Pippin stated simply. “We are liked well enough, I suppose, but the Shirefolk still think us odd and respect us less than those that do nothing eventful or … unusual.”

“Words of wisdom that I shall remember,” said King Elessar, inclining his head toward Pippin. “I dare say that I must watch myself; for I have eaten this vegetable before, call it tomatoes or Gondorian love apples, and I am disposed to continue to eat them.”

Master Samwise shuddered visibly again.

“Come, Master Hobbit! There’s naught wrong with eating tomatoes!” scoffed Gimli before ladling a large spoonful of the soup with a large piece of the golden vegetable on it into his mouth as if to prove his point. Up until now, he and Prince Legolas had been content to listen and share a silent exchange between them.

“Have you ever tried a tomato?” Mithrandir asked Master Samwise.

“No, sir, I haven’t and make no mistake I never will,” Master Samwise said resolutely.

“Not even if your king commanded you to?” asked King Elessar, his eyes chuckling in a silent jest.

Master Samwise’s mouth gaped open in shock. “Strider! You wouldn’t!” He paused to assess King Elessar’s expression and paled slightly at the glint in his eyes. “Would you?”

“Would it be so terrible if I did?”

“I reckon my Gaffer would skin me alive if I ever did. When Mr. Frodo first brought them tomatoes back to Bag End a few years after Mr. Bilbo adopted him, back when I first started taking over the gardening for my old Gaffer, Mr. Frodo asked me if I would raise the tomatoes for him. When I couldn’t convince him that they were poisonous, I told him I would think about it. So I went and talked with my Gaffer about it, likes I do about any gardening problems I can’t reckon.”

Master Samwise knit his brows together and put his hands on his hips. “‘Sam, you ninnyhammer, that there’s nightshade and an evil plant that will kill folks, make no mistake,’ says my Gaffer. ‘One smell of them leaves is all you need to see that! Now I know as how Mr. Frodo or Mr. Bilbo would never ask you to raise nothing they knows to be poisonous, but when it comes to gardening, that’s one area where we know better than the gentlehobbits! If they want to go about poisoning themselves with some outlandish Buckland notion that nightshade isn’t dangerous, then I reckon there isn’t nothing we can do to stop them. But we don’t have to help them to do it.’ Since then, I’ve never helped with the raising or harvesting of the tomatoes. It just wouldn’t be proper for me to help my master to poison himself.”

“Be at peace, Sam.” King Elessar held his hand up to face Master Samwise and grinned. “For I dare not ask you to do something of which your Gaffer would not approve. I will not command you to try this dreaded vegetable,” the king added with dramatic emphasis.

Although Faramir chuckled slightly, he was trying to make sense of the Shirefolk’s view of the Gondorian love apples, and of why they insisted on calling it a fruit instead of a vegetable. Whatever misgivings Master Samwise had about eating Gondorian love apples was apparently the position of almost the entire Shire, save Sam’s three companions and their families. It made no sense to Faramir, for in Gondor, everyone categorised different plants the same way – either fit for consumption or not. It was time for Faramir to come to the bottom of this riddle.

“I fail to understand. How did it come to pass that Bucklanders eat tomatoes yet the rest of the Shire save apparently Pippin’s family and Frodo consider them poisonous and are afraid to eat them?”

“That is a question to which I would enjoy hearing the answer,” said King Elessar, looking pointedly at Pippin. “Is my knight able to supply the explanation?”

Pippin’s face lit up with a large grin as he bounced in his chair and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He carefully climbed down from his perch.

“Indeed, I can, your Highness!” Faramir followed Pippin with his eyes as the young knight went over to the minstrel, who stopped singing and playing a song about the legend of the White Tree of Gondor. The minstrel bent down and listened as Pippin whispered a few words to him. After nodding a few times, the minstrel handed Pippin his lyre with a puzzled expression on his face and sat down at a nearby table for some refreshments.

Faramir turned and caught the look in the eyes of the two Ringbearers and Merry. Their eyes were shining brightly with pride in the youngest of the Shirefolk, and with just cause. For Faramir had heard of the clear beauty of Pippin’s singing. But more than that, Faramir sensed a certain amount of merriment by the young knight’s two cousins, particularly Frodo, who kept whispering to Merry, whose relations this song was supposedly about.

Pippin looked quite small as all eyes were upon him, but he did not seem to care. To the contrary, the more attention he was given, the taller he seemed and more radiant he appeared.

Pippin announced that at the request of the High King, he was going to sing a song about “The Brandywine Tomato” of the Shire. At the mention of the name of the song, Faramir noticed that Merry grinned broadly. Before Faramir had time to ponder this, Pippin strummed the lyre a few times until he was satisfied and then began:

A lad was I, just twenty-one,
When a fell winter took hold the Shire.
No food was there for anyone,
Presenting all with quite a quagmire.

Then came back from a journey far,
A Took bearing gifts from head to foot.
At Brandy Hall, under a star,
The Took showed a strange new seeded fruit.

‘Tomato’ outlanders it call,
Before putting it on the platter.
Now eat it by the dozen all,
Ho! Ho! Shall we all get much fatter.

Soon claimed the Master of the Hall,
Call it the ‘Brandywine tomato.’
For here came the gift from afar,
By our young Took cousin, Isengar.

Now Bucklanders did they all feast,
At kind Broadbelt’s next birthday party.
The pink fruit did Bucklanders eat,
Some cautious, but some much more hardy.

But none ate so much of the fruit,
As the Took, Brandybucks, and Baggins.
Delicious was proclaimed the fruit,
’Til a Stoor stopped and deemed it poison.

It looks like a wolf peach claimed he,
A member of the family nightshade.
And just get a sniff of its leaves,
To taste, your funeral shall be made.

The gentlehobbits, believed him not,
Nor the Bucklanders, who claimed him rot.
But Shirefolk. Stoor and Harfoot class,
Believed the gardener and had it not.

So now the new ‘Outlandish’ fruit,
The working folk forbid in the Shire.
So now the new ‘Outlandish’ fruit,
Bucklanders, Tooks, and Baggins never tire.

Pippin happily strummed the last few notes on the lyre and grinned at his audience, who applauded roundly. While they might have thought it an odd subject, the young pheriannath’s song proved as delightful as his clear, sweet voice.

After he thanked the minstrel and returned his lyre, Pippin returned to the table and waited expectantly.

King Elessar rewarded him with a satisfied smile, as if he had learnt the secret of a small joke. “Well done, Sir Peregrin. You have pleased your king greatly.”

Pippin’s cheeks coloured at this remark and his eyes twinkled with pleasure.

“That sounds as if it were one of Bilbo’s old songs,” remarked Mithrandir.

Here Frodo chimed in, his face alight with obvious pride, “It most certainly is!”

“A most unusual song, but one that was delightful, as was your voice as always,” Prince Legolas said as he inclined his head and smiled at Pippin.

A compliment from an Elf about the high quality of one’s singing is a compliment to be treasured. This did not seem to escape Pippin, whose face coloured even more as he squirmed in uncomfortable delight.

“I fear the remains of your soup have grown cold while you were singing,” commented Faramir.

“Oh, that’s all right!” exclaimed Pippin, turning to his attention to Faramir. “I’ll just have Merry’s!” He happily reached over to the bowl in front of his cousin, set it before himself, and began to eat. Faramir must have been more involved in the strange conversation than he thought, for it was the first time he had realised that Merry had not touched his soup.

“Sir Meriadoc, is there a problem with the soup?” Faramir asked him. “Were the tomatoes not to your liking?” Now that Faramir knew that Merry’s family enjoyed love apples, he could not help but to think that the preparation of the vegetable must not have met with his satisfaction. And while this feast was to honour King Elessar, Faramir still wished to please all four of the pheriannath.

Merry looked startled by the question at first before the tips of his ears were stained pink with some inexplicable embarrassment.

“Is the soup not to your satisfaction?” Faramir asked his friend again, unsure as to why the other three pheriannath were all giggling mischievously as they looked at Merry.

Merry hung his head and looked sheepish.

“Go on, then. Tell them,” Frodo laughed with a twinkle in his eyes.

Even Mithrandir and King Elessar seemed not to know why Merry had not eaten his soup and was now embarrassed to the delight of his cousins.

“Merry, what troubles you?” asked King Elessar with a slight chuckle.

“Out with it, lad!” exclaimed Gimli, but Merry only shifted around in his chair uncomfortably and reddened some more.

But still Merry’s eyes were downcast upon the empty spot on the table before him.

“Master Holdwine, I must command that you answer Prince Faramir’s question,” said Éomer King to his knight. “The High King, and your king, desire to know.”

At that, Merry’s head snapped up in astonishment as he looked at his king, who met his gaze with an amused smile. Merry instantly straightened up and replied as clearly as he could manage, “I am unable to eat tomatoes, Éomer King. If I eat them, I break out in hives.”

The other three pheriannath could not contain themselves any longer. They all dissolved into uproarious laughter that made many heads turn to see what had amused the Ringbearers and their Ernil i Pheriannath so much.

But the pheriannath were not the only ones amused. All assembled at the table, including the two kings, both princes, all three Elves, the Dwarf, and all four pheriannath (for Merry had now joined in the mirth) were now laughing jovially.

A thought came to Faramir as they laughed. How ironic – the sole representative of the family whom the golden apple grown in the Shire is named after is sensitive to them and could not eat them!

Faramir looked at the warm, radiant faces of those around him and could not recall the last time he had shared such a glorious laugh with friends.

A/N – Although tomatoes would not have been around in Middle-earth around the time of Aragorn's coronation, I have included them for one very simple reason: there actually is a variety of tomatoes called the "Brandywine tomato." Brandywine tomatoes are an American tomato named after the Brandywine River in Pennsylvania rather than after the Baranduin. I was so excited when I stumbled across that variety that I could not resist including them in my Shire!

The tomatoes first introduced to early Europe were probably golden or orange in colour. However, the Brandywine tomato is usually pinkish, but can be a wide variety of colours. The early Europeans did believe that tomatoes were poisonous because of their unpleasant smelling leaves and because they were members of the nightshade family, many of which were poisonous, such as the wolf peach that the tomato resembled.

In ancient times in Italy, tomatoes were known as "love apples," hence the Gondorian love apples. Tomatoes have been thought at one time or another to be aphrodisiacs (thus the name "love apples") and to have medicinal characteristics.

A tomato is properly classified as a fruit, since it is an external female organ of the plant. Thus, the hobbits, being more closely associated with the land and gardening, correctly call it a fruit. However, it is usually considered a vegetable because of how it is served. Thus, Men call it a vegetable.