Part I:  Second Chances

1. The Two Travelers

They stood at a crossroads near a thick forest, looking ill at ease and by no means delighted to be in each other’s company. All they appeared to have in common was that both were male, both dressed as for a long journey on foot, and both had the appearance of having recently escaped the most horrific fate any could ever expect to endure.

One was a Man, wearing a grey-green jerkin over a coarse black shirt and leggings, a grey cloak, and leather boots, and he bore a pack on his back consisting of a bedroll and a bag of supplies. In one hand he gripped a stick of beechwood, seemingly not knowing what to do with it. He was slender and slightly above average in height, with shoulder-length, straight black hair brushed carelessly back from a sharp-featured face, in which a pair of silver-blue, piercing eyes shifted from one side to the other, then up toward the sky, then to his companion, who stood leaning upon his walking-stick glancing nervously about.

This other fellow stood not quite four feet tall, very stocky, with a curly mop of dirt-brown hair falling about a round face dominated by two pale-green bulging eyes, a short thick nose, and a wide mouth in which gappy teeth could be seen, for it never completely closed. He wore a brown tunic over a light grey shirt, short breeches, and boots that seemed very large for him. His chin was beardless, unlike that of his companion. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking at each tree and flower and stone and twig as a blind man experiencing sight for the first time. His hands and feet were large for the rest of him, and he bore a pack on his back also.

“Must you keep fidgeting?” the Man said with an impatient jab of his stick into the ground. “So tell me once more—whom are we supposed to be meeting here, and why is he taking such a time about showing? Or are they going to leave us to find this Mordor on our own?”

The small fellow looked up fearfully at his companion. “Mordor,” he murmured. “No…say not so. Dreadful place. Sméagol not goes to Mordor. No, no, no, no, no, no….”

“I’m surprised you could think any place dreadful after…” The Man hesitated. “And you know we’ve no choice. It’s either that, or back to that other place with the both of us. Is that what you want?”

“No no no no no no!” The other blanched in abject terror, falling to his knees. “We not goes back there! Not never! Cruel mens, they hurts us so!”

“Oh, do stop sniveling,” the Man snapped. “Here, get up. Don’t make me kick you. If you don’t wish to go with me, then be off with you. You’ve been to this Mordor before, I take it? Of course you have, they told me all about it. So how is it?”

“Dreadful place,” Sméagol whimpered, rising to his feet once more, trembling. “We has been there, we has. Long, long ago. Dreadful, dreadful. Full of nasty orcses with whips and kniveses, and long, long spears. And—“

“But these ‘orcses’ are all dead now,” the Man pointed out. “Or so I was told. After Sauron’s tower was toppled, they were destroyed in the cataclysm. Now we’re supposed to be going there to help clean up the mess they left behind, and make some sort of garden spot of it. Even though it’s been all of six years since the tower was destroyed. I should think they could have made something of it by now. But I don’t see what we’ve to fear now. What could possibly be worse than that place from which we were released?”

The wretch started moaning again, clutching his walking-stick so hard, it was small wonder it didn’t break. Greenjade felt once more that totally unaccustomed spasm of pity, which was perhaps the only thing that kept him from raising his own stick and delivering a hearty thwack to the poor creature.

“What will become of us?” Sméagol murmured after a moment. “Why can we not just die? Why wicked mans sends us to Mordor? Why they keeps us in the Bad Place?”

“Stop it,” Greenjade snapped, feeling some urge to succumb to the same self-pity. And he had to remind himself that he was free from the horrible Dungeon of the Shadow because of the two people he hated most. Compared to that place, Mordor must surely be a garden spot already. “We’re going, and that's that. And after our time here is done, we will go to the Gardens. Did they not tell you?”

“Yes, they told of pretty Gardenses,” Sméagol admitted, wiping his nose on the back of his wrist. “We see pretty Gardenses in the window, yesss.”

“I saw my children there,” Greenjade said softly. “But they did not see me. I did not see my mate. I was told she was killed by my enemies. But it was my own sister who slew me. Fairwind. She was my favorite sister. She always seemed the most understanding. And yet she killed me. And Northlight, he was my favorite of all my brothers. I had not much use for Moonrise and Ebbtide.  No curiosity, no ambition, no wish to explore and know and conquer and and rule. But Northlight, he was different. He wished to know the world beyond the sea, to lead, to discover. Like myself. Yet he betrayed me also. Did they tell you he played you in the drama they gave?” Greenjade laughed bitterly. “Fancy that! I can imagine no one less like you than Northlight. Did they tell you?”

Sméagol did not appear to be listening. “They took our Precioussss,” he hissed. “Master, master betrayed us. Master took our Precioussss. The Baggins, and that other. They stole it from us!”

“Baggins,” Greenjade laughed again. “Aye, that’s the one. Do you know that your master is my father now?”

Sméagol looked up through uncomprehending wet eyes at the taller figure. “Master? Master is man’s father? No no no no no no….”

“Yes yes yes yes yes,” Greenjade mocked him. “Your ‘master’ mated my mother in the so-called Blessed Realm. Married her, in fact. So ‘the Baggins’ is my stepfather.   He it was who got us out of the Dungeon, you know. He has connections with the Valar. So perhaps you would do well to speak respectfully of the fellow, what say?”

“Baggins got us out?” Sméagol was still incredulous. “No no no no. Not possible, that is. Not possible. Man tries to tricks us!”

“I do hope this fellow we are to meet will teach you to talk properly,” Greenjade said. “I do not know how long I can listen to this jabber of yours.  My stepfather was far more patient than I, to put up with such. A pity I never met him; he might have imparted some of that patience to me.”

“Not possible,” Sméagol repeated, half to himself, clutching his staff as to a lifeline, looking to it as if begging it for answers. “Not possible, it is…”

“Ah, but it is possible,” said another voice behind them, and both fellows turned to see what appeared to be an elderly man all in brown, with a golden-brown dog by his side. Kindly brown eyes twinkled from a tanned and weathered face framed by long-hanging grey-white hair and beard. A little brown finch perched on his left shoulder. “Good day, fellows. I am here to guide the two of you to Mordor. You may call me Radagast.”

2. Desires

“My first meal as a mortal,” Greenjade commented to no one in particular as he bit down on the dry bread and cheese and dried meat Radagast had supplied to both his charges, after tossing a goodly portion to his dog. Sméagol looked fearfully at her, and she eyed him with a touch of suspicion. The meat, they were told, was jerked venison. A hunter had supplied Radagast with it after the Wizard had healed his horse’s foot from a fall. Greenjade had a notion that the hunter had supplied him with more than that, judging from the silvery jingle he had heard from the pouch on his belt.

“She’ll do you no harm,” Radagast assured Sméagol. “Will you, lass? That’s my Nildë,” he said as he stroked her shaggy head. “She came to me a year or so ago. Her dam was having trouble delivering her pups, and I happened along and gave her a hand. And so her owner gave one of the little ones to me when she was old enough to part from her mother. ‘Twas just in time, for I’d recently lost my horse to the ravages of old age, and found myself alone, save for Rusco.” He winked up at the finch. “He had gotten himself lost, so I took him to myself and made a companion of him. He and Nildë get on splendidly, save when he takes a mischievous turn, and perches on the back of her neck and pecks at her ears. She doesn’t like that, do you, my lass?”

“How delightful,” Greenjade said unenthusiastically, with his mouth full. He was not truly in the mood for any touching stories of undying animal friendship. “So, Radagast. What did you do to deserve to be saddled with the two of us? ‘Tamer of Beasts’ they name you, I was told. So, are we the beasts you have been called upon to tame this time?”

It was well into the afternoon, and the three travelers had set up camp in a pleasant clearing grown with ferns and wildflowers, graceful grasses and birch saplings.  Rusco was now perched in one of them, sending out an occasional twitter, and Sméagol, who seemed strangely untalkative, looked up to him occasionally.

“I failed Middle-earth,” said the Wizard softly in reply. He had taken no meat, himself, but contented himself with bread and cheese and fruit. “I was sent here with the other Wizards to help bring about the downfall of Sauron. But I became too fond of my birds and beasts, and began neglecting the folk I was sent to help. And I was foolish enough to aid Saruman in his rise and fall into evil ways, helping him to teach birds to spy for him. I should have known what he was about, and yet I failed. All I did was send the great Eagles to Mt. Doom, where the final battle took place. But it was not enough, and I was prohibited from returning to my true home.”

“And so we are the means by which you will be allowed to go there?” Greenjade said. “If you can turn us toward the Light, and make something good and useful of such worthless scum as ourselves, you will have atoned for this supposed failure of yours?”

Radagast did not answer for looking to Sméagol, who was now shivering and cowering at the mention of Mt. Doom.

“There, my lad, what is is?” the Wizard said, laying a gentle hand on the wretch’s shoulder. “I assure you that all that was hideous and evil in Mordor is gone now, and all that is left to us is to make it into something fair and sacred and…” He had been about to say “precious” but thought better of it. “Your former master has interceded for your release from the dreadful place, and according to him, ‘twas you, indeed, that brought about the downfall of Sauron, for he found that he could not do so, himself. Like myself, he failed. That is why you have been granted this boon, and given the chance to begin anew. Do you still crave the object of your former devotion?”

Greenjade noted his avoidance of the word “Ring”. He saw Sméagol shudder, then to his surprise, shake his head.

“No no no no…we don’t wants the Preciousss now,” he murmured, ducking his head further into his breast. “Nasty ole thing. It betrayed us, it did. It tossed us into the Fire. It took us to the Bad Place. We don’t wants it now. Never, never, never!”

“Wonderful,” Radagast looked immensely cheered and relieved. “Then you have been purged of you desire for it, and can make something of your life once more. What is it you desire now, Sméagol?”

Sméagol raised his curly head and looked up at the Wizard with teary eyes, sniffling, in puzzlement at the kindness being showed him. He swiped at his nose with the back of his hand, childishly, puckering his brow at the question.

“We wants,” he said finally, “a soft bed, and nice foods to eat, and cool water to drink, and the touch of grasses under our feets, and...and...”

“And?” The Wizard’s face clouded a little. Greenjade frowned.  Such simple creature comforts as Sméagol described were not what he craved for himself; the desire for such was what had made others contemptible in his eyes. Even now, he barely held back a scornful sniff.

“We would...we would walk out in the daytime,” Sméagol spoke barely above a whisper, “and the peoples would not be afraid of us, they would not pull their little ones away, not whisper in ears about us, they would smile and speak to us in the streets. Dogs would not bark at us, young ones would not throw stones. We would fish, and the peoples would buy our fishes, and smile, and not call us names.”

“I see,” Radagast said thoughtfully, while Greenjade barely refrained from sneering once more. “You wish to be as others then, and live in the Light. But you feel as though you have no right, because of past misdeeds? Can you not feel that you have been sufficiently punished, and thus leave them behind you?”

“We would be good,” Sméagol said hiccuping into his hands. “We would do what Brown Master says.”

“I am not your master, but only your guide,” Radagast said. “I take my orders from a higher power, myself. I dare say we will learn from one another as we go our way. So, Greenjade--what is it that you desire? Or do you care to answer yet?”

Greenjade almost snapped, “I don’t,” but the retort died in his throat.

“I had a wish to know,” he said, “in my former life. But that wish was my undoing. It were better if I had been content with what it was given me to know. But it was not enough.  Is this how it goes with all who would know? Surely I am not alone in this desire. Yet does it always prove the undoing of all who wish to know?”

“Not all,” Radagast said. “Yes, it goes that way with some—Saruman being one of those. It can be a dangerous thing, to try and harness the lightning of the gods, so to speak. A craving for knowledge is a good thing in itself. But it is like a craving for gold; the more one has, the more one wants, and the desire can devour all that is simple and pure and good in one’s being. One can no longer be satisfied with what one has, and as often as not, each new acquisition adds weight to one’s purposes, until one loses sight of the purposes themselves. Picture a tower with many levels. You climb to the first level, and find delightful and simple things there: delicious food, excellent company, pleasant activities. You are drawn to them, but then your eye catches sight of the staircase leading to the next level, and you would discover what lay up there, although you are told that you cannot come back to this level if you go up there. On the next level lie even more tempting delights—lovely music, fair and compliant maidens, spicy food and strong drink. You are enthralled…until you see the next staircase. On the third level you see heaps of gold and gems, and excessively valuable objects, and you wish to throw yourself upon them, until you spy that next staircase, and up there, you discover things that impart extraordinary powers and knowledge to you…then you ascend to the next where you are confronted with all manner of wickedness, and rather than turning from it, as you would have done once, you wish to embrace it all…until the next staircase looms before you…and so on and on until you come to the very top, where you are confronted with the entire world at your disposal. You would have it all…but you cannot go down the way you came. The door behind you has locked itself. You are trapped atop of the tower…and there is but one way down, and that way, of course, are flames and destruction, and that’s when you realize that you were not ascending, but rather descending, and the illusion of height was just that, an illusion.”

Greenjade found himself shuddering all over, his throat gone dry. He glanced over at Sméagol, who to his utter astonishment seemed to have calmed down completely, and was stroking the dog’s head and humming softly.

“What is it you seek now, Greenjade?” Radagast asked him. Greenjade looked up at him, at the grey hair and beard flowing over his plain brown robe, belted with a bit of rope, the brown leather boots on his feet, his large and strong hands, his tanned and craggy face with the brown eyes that had seen the dawning and passing of ages, and were gemmed and fathomless windows to the vast and fertile and untowered region that was his soul.

I want to wear the rich garments and pliant boots of a Prince, to have a female’s soft flesh against my flesh, to feel her arms draped around me and to smell the perfume of her hair cascading over my pillow, and to see her still there when I wake in the morning. I want to hear my Sirens sing songs composed for me alone and raise their white arms for joy. I want to dive from a sky-high cliff into sparkling waters with no fear of dashing myself to bits upon the reefs, I want to fly into the icy hair of the clouds, to see my mate’s eyes looking adoringly into mine, I want to watch my children splash and play in the towering waves and ride on the backs of whales, to hear the music of the sea and the stars and the mountains and the trees and the fishes and the endless heavens. I want to feel my brothers and sisters embrace me as their own for the first time.  I want to forget the unutterable halls of the Black Dungeon and the shrieks and cries in the center of my being…I want to toss all the knowledge I acquired in that early life into the fire and watch it melt into a sulphurous mist and vanish into nothingness…

“What do you seek, Greenjade?” the Wizard’s voice asked him as from a bridge spanning a bottomless chasm.

“The Truth,” Greenjade heard himself say, as the sun dipped unnoticed into the smoke-blue hills in the distance.

3. Consciousness

Greenjade was awakened by a horrific noise on his left side. He nearly jumped out of his skin, until he saw where the sound came from: Sméagol, lying about an arm’s length away from him, on his back, mouth wide open…still making that sound.

Greenjade picked up his bedding and moved to the other side of the clearing. He nearly tripped over Radagast, who lay with Nildë’s head on his belly. He remembered the sound of the jingle he had heard earlier, coming from the little bag hanging from his belt….

Nildë opened her eyes and looked up at Greenjade, who dropped his bedding a few feet away and tried once more to sleep, after doing what the Wizard had quaintly called “seeing a man about a horse.” He locked his hands behind his head, which was pillowed on a pile of dead leaves, and looked up at the stars, which were very clear and big and bright in a black sky above, thinking of what he had said about seeking The Truth.

How do you define the Truth, my lad?

I don’t know why I said that. I only know that all the knowledge I acquired in that other life was a lie. I already know the Truth, in fact.

And what would that be?

That the one I followed is the father of lies.

Aha!

He led me to believe I was destined for great things. When in reality, I was destined for The Shadow. All lies.

You may yet be destined for great things, my lad. You were released, after all. The first of your kind to be so. There was a reason for it.

What is that reason? Oh, I know. My stepfather wished to please my mother. Of course, if he wished to keep her with him, he had to do this thing for her. She would have settled for naught less. But why did she wish me released? I should think she would be pleased that I was there.

I think you know the answer to that already, Greenjade.

I suppose she thinks she failed me, or some such thing. Just as I failed in fulfilling my destiny, and I failed my mate and my children. We parted on bad terms, Garland and I. She came to hate me. She took another mate while I was gone. I could not please her, just as I could not please my mother. I brought her treasures of untold worth. I conquered and discovered and ruled, and she cared not. I chose her from the many, and sang her praises often, to no avail. So there you have it. I suppose we are all failures then. You are in good company.

The stars grew dimmer, and moving pictures came into his head. Strange things played out behind his unconscious eyelids. He saw hideous shapes, and accusing eyes, and the red juices of pierced children spilling on landish streets amid the shouts of men carrying spears and swords. He heard cries and raspy breathing, and questions that made no sense, but they were all put to him, asking him Why? Why? And a fair young female threw her arms about him, and put her lips to his face, but when she drew back again, her face was all green and full of maggots, and then there was That Place…he was there once more, awaiting the Spear, but feeling it not, and he saw other shades, moving slowly about, raising arms in wailing motions, and he heard their shrieks, but they seemed unaware of him. He heard his own shriek, long drawn-out utter despair, he had not been released after all, a cruel joke had been played upon him and he was here, still here, still here, where he would ever, ever be….

And suddenly he was looking at the stars once more, trembling in every limb, unable to move, and Sméagol was still snoring and Radagast was sitting up asking if he were all right, and it seemed there was a soft coppery glow about the Wizard….

~*~*~

“There is a village up ahead,” Radagast said after breakfast. “They are holding their annual celebration of springtime. There will be good food and drink and much revelry.   It may be our one chance at such for a long, long time, so what say we go and avail ourselves of it?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Sméagol sprang up in delight, startling Nildë. “We goes to Springfest, and has nice foods.”

The bird, Rusco, flew up from the birch in which he had been roosting all night, and wheeled in circles over the dog, swooping down for a playful peck at the back of her neck. She barked and snapped at him, but he fluttered upward, twittering, and Radagast laughed aloud, saying that the finch was laughing. Sméagol seized a stick and threw it, saying, “Nice doggie go catches stick!” and she forgot about the bird and raced after it, and brought it back to him and dropped it at his feet. He jumped up and down flat-footed, laughing in delight, then picked it up and threw it again, and the dog once more bounded after it. Rusco got jealous and made a dive at Sméagol, who made a grab for him, then the bird flew up in a tree scolding while Nildë barked at him.

“Looks as though they’ve made friends,” Radagast said beaming at Greenjade, who did not smile back. The Wizard’s kindly face clouded then. “Are you all right, my friend? Do you wish to tell of your dream?”

“No,” Greenjade said curtly, reaching down to gather up his bedroll. “So that was a ‘dream’, was it? I have heard tell of them, but never had one of my own before. I hope I shall not have any more such, or the coming of nightfall will be a thing to dread worse than this Mordor of yours.”

Radagast said they should reach the village by midday if they set out now, and so they gathered up their things and started forth. It was a bright morning with a sky of exuberant blueness, piled with fluffy clouds of white and silver and tinges of blue and lavender, and a brisk little breeze whisked playfully about, flattening the grasses and rippling the leaves on the trees overhead. Birds called out all around, and Rusco answered, and perched on Radagast’s shoulder once more. The Wizard echoed many of the birdcalls himself, and some of the birds flew down all around his head, only to be driven off by the jealous Rusco. Sméagol laughed that high-pitched grating laugh of his, and Greenjade winced inwardly. The beauty of the morning held no charm for him, for he could not stop thinking of his nightmare. It seemed he was not quit of the Black Dungeon after all; some of it would stay with him even in the brightest of surroundings.

“So, tell me, my lad. You’ve been to Middle-earth before this?” Radagast’s voice startled him out of his gloomy musings. Sméagol bounded ahead of them, still frisking with the dog.

“Aye, but never so far inland,” Greenjade said. “I always kept near the coast, for the further inland I went, the more my powers diminished. And if I had gone where I could not go into the sea, I would have withered away, and become as a mortal, and died eventually. But that scarcely matters now, for I’ve no powers at all, and I am indeed a mortal. You’ll have to excuse me if that takes some getting used to, and have some patience with me. I’m supposed to be on good behavior now as well, and that will take even more getting used to. But it’s back to the Black Dungeon with me if I should lapse into my former ways. I still cannot take it in that my…stepfather…saw fit to get me released. You’ve met him, you say?”

“Aye, once,” Radagast said thoughtfully. “He and his friends stayed with me for one night on his homeward journey, after the Quest. Wonderful company they were. I am glad Frodo was allowed to go into the West, for he was in a very bad way. Indeed, I did not expect him to last much longer. I did what I could for him, but was only able to ease his pain for a while. But as I understand it now, he is healed, and blissfully happy. Samwise Gamgee told me much of it. He told me that Olórin, the one known here as Gandalf, is wed, as well. That I did not expect either. Yet, according to the Sea-Lord, it is true.  Samwise and I are excellent friends now, although I do not get to see him so often. Both of us have an abiding love of growing things. He told me a strange thing: that Frodo was able to tell him of his life in the West through the glass the Lady Galadriel gave him on the Quest.”

“What does he tell him?” Greenjade asked, wishing the Wizard would keep to the subject and not go wandering off on other tangents. 

“I know not the most of it,” Radagast said as a swallow dipped close to his ear. “As I said, I have not heard much from Samwise lately. Frodo tells him the everyday goings-on in his life, I’m sure, just as any close friend living in a faraway place would do in letters. I do know that he has wedded your mother, that he has adopted a young elf-lass as his daughter, and that your youngest brother, Northlight, is betrothed to this young lady, and will marry her when she comes of age. He—“

“What?? Northlight will marry…an elf?” Greenjade halted in his tracks, unconsciously jabbing his walking-stick into the ground.

“Aye, and I believe your sister Fairwind is to marry an elf also. She will be first of her kind to do so, or so I have been informed. Elves have been known to wed mortals, but sea-folk? Now, my friend Tom Bombadill did wed one of your kind, you know—although of the fresh-water sort, not a sea-maid. He and Goldberry have a little one now. He would be three years old, I believe. I’ve not seen him since he was newly-born.”

“This Samwise,” Greenjade said, deciding the way to pull the old man back from his wandering off was to simply remind him of the subject at hand, “does he live nearby? Will we be meeting him?”

“Alas, no,” Radagast sighed. “I doubt you will ever get to meet him, unless by some chance he is out traveling, and although he is a close friend of the King, that is extremely unlikely. Men are not allowed into the Shire, where he lives. I wish it were otherwise, for he could tell you far more of your stepfather than I could, and of your mother also. There is a book written by Frodo of the Quest, and copies are being made, but I have not managed to acquire one.”

“He wrote a book? I did not know he could draw words. It was my understanding that a maker of poetry drew his story for him, and that a drama was made of it.”

“Of course he could write, and according to Samwise he is a fine poet himself, although unfortunately we’ll never see his work, as he did not start to write poetry in earnest until after he sailed. He left his account with Samwise, who sent it to the King to have it copied. Perhaps we can visit the King and you can see the Book then. I would very much like to meet him and his lady wife, and their young ones, whom I’ve yet to see, myself.”

“’Twould do me no good, since I cannot read,” Greenjade said, taking note of the way Sméagol halted his steps at the mention of the name “Samwise”, then after a few moments resumed playing with the dog, but some of the enthusiasm seemed to have departed from him. “When I was at my travels in my former life, I was given the ability to understand other tongues, but not to read. I was given the ability to feel pleasure also, but not pain. I became acquainted with that only after my death. And now…now I’ve been granted the ability for both. But I may not know the joys of the flesh now. That has been forbidden me. I may never know the delight of clasping a fair wench in my arms and reveling in her sweet flesh, which I knew often in my former life.”

He sighed and shook his head, wondering why the Wizard’s face looked a trifle pink of a sudden.

“I…did not know these things…of you,” Radagast said after a moment.

“Aye,” Greenjade said looking off into the distance. “Many a lass I tumbled, in those days. A few males also, but I liked the females much better, even though they were more difficult to lure. With some, I had to but dangle a few pretties, or speak fair words, and I had them. However, I liked it better when they were more resisting. I wished that I had the gift of drawing words, for I would have liked to keep a record of how many of them I had in that life. Some were small and black-haired, with yellow skin and narrow eyes, and some were dark as loam, with very thick lips, and they wore naught more than copper jewels on their arms and ankles and ears. And still others were fair and tall, with yellow locks and blue eyes and white skin. None like my Garland, who was pale, with the silver locks and eyes of ice, and a personality to match. Of course I could scarcely feel her flesh at all. When I spoke to her of these females, asking her why she could not be more like them, she turned from me and came to hate me, I think. Even when I spoke fair words and showed her the pretty things I had gathered for her.”

He stopped, wondering why the Wizard was looking at him so strangely.

“You don’t fancy females then?” Greenjade said after a moment. “It’s all right if you don’t, of course. But you scarcely know what you miss. Males are far easier, but--”

“I do not fancy lads,” Radagast stammered, when he could gather his wits about him. “I would very much like to have a wife, but it will not be until I have earned my passage back to the West.”

“Have you never been with a female at all then?” Greenjade inquired. He saw Sméagol halt in his frolicking with Nildë, and slow his steps until the others were almost caught up with him, at which he looked back over his shoulder at them, rather fearfully, it seemed.

“I have,” Radagast said softly. “But it was a very long time ago, and she is long dead now. I would rather not discuss it.”

“Was she paid for?” Greenjade asked him…and there was no lechery in the question, only a childlike curiosity; he might just as well have inquired about a horse or cow.

“Of course not…a farm woman I met, when I came to heal her cow of a sickness. The weather was very bad, and I took shelter at her home for a few days, and…well, suffice it to say that things happened. She was very lonely, and we loved each other for a time, but then her husband, whom she supposed to have been slain in battle, appeared unexpectedly, and I had to leave her. I did not see her again after I left.”

“And there were none after her?” Greenjade said.

“What lady would wish an old man such as I appear?” Radagast tried to speak lightly. “The memory of her stayed with me for more than a hundred years. Now she is only that, a memory. A sweet memory, but naught more than that. I know from Samwise that Olórin has married, and I hope to do so someday as well, but it will be a very long time. I can wait.”

“What of you, Sméagol?” Greenjade asked as he noticed the small fellow pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Have you ever loved a female? Or…”

“No no no no no,” the other one said shaking his curly head vigorously. “We never loved maidenses, never. No no no no no.”

“Never? Males then?” Greenjade raised amused eyebrows toward Radagast, who looked to be trying to find a way to change the subject.

“No no no no…no maleses neither,” Sméagol shook his head again. “Never, never.”

“What, never? You never had a lover, of any sort?”

“No no no no no no. Sméagol had no loverses. Nobody ever loved Sméagol. We was cast out, we was. All alone, all alone. Never to have wife, or family…all alone. There was only…”

“The Ring,” Radagast said very softly, almost to himself. “Poor Sméagol. It was all he ever had to love.”

“You could have a mate now, perhaps,” Greenjade said. “You’re not much to look at, but I’ve seen far worse, who had mates and young also. Or is it as with myself—you’ve been forbidden to have such?”

“We never had maidenses,” Sméagol said and profound sorrow made him almost noble in appearance. “No maidenses, no friendses, no one to love us. Then we met Master…”

“My stepfather,” Greenjade said. “You were with him a long time, yes?”

“Master was good to us,” Sméagol said softly. “Master took the rope off us. Master called us by our name. Master fed us, looked after us…”

“And you betrayed him, didn’t you?” Greenjade said. They had stopped walking, and were standing there in the road, where Nildë had stopped to scratch herself. “You led him to the spider-monster to be eaten alive, is that true?”

“Yesss,” Sméagol murmured looking down at his feet for shame. “ But we loved Master. We did what Master said. We catched fishes and rabbitses for him, we did. We wanted to be good, because Master was good to us. But Fat Hobbit spoiled all. He hated Sméagol. He…”

“Fat Hobbit?” Greenjade said.

“He means Samwise,” Radagast said. “How did he ‘spoil’ it for you, Sméagol?”

“We was climbing the Stairs,” Sméagol said, almost to himself, looking away at a low-flying hawk in the distance. “And there was Master all asleep, and we touches him, and wants to be good. And Fat Hobbit was asleep also, and he wakes up and sees us, and accuses us of ‘sneaking’. And we didn’t want to be good no more. It was Fat Hobbit’s fault. But we loved Master. Even though he had our Precious. Master was going to throw it into the fire, but Sméagol stopped him. We got it from him and jumped in the fire ourselves….”

“Is that how it happened?” Radagast said, a bit sharply it seemed. Greenjade raised his eyebrows.

“Yesssss,” Sméagol hissed, a look of malevolence disfiguring his features so that both his listeners were taken aback. His eyes grew small and had the appearance of peeled grapes.

“We saved Master, we did. Master would have jumped in the fire with our Precious, but Sméagol takes it, and jumps in with it. And we was in the fire for long, long time. Burning, burning, to save Master.”

“Hmmm,” Radagast said. Sméagol looked at him in snarling defiance.

“Why do I not believe you?” Greenjade glared back at him. “If you don’t tell the truth, you may well end up back in that fire, you lying wretch. Is that what you’re looking for?”

“Here, here,” Radagast put out both hands, although the two of them made no overt moves to throttle each other. “There’s a stream ahead of us, about a mile or so. I think we could all do with a bathe, before we reach the village.”

“Sméagol not lies,” the small fellow insisted, cowering a little under Greenjade’s accusing stare, but not backing down. “Sméagol not go back to the place of fire. Sméagol goes to Mordor…”

“Did he push you in?” Greenjade asked. “Is that what really happened?”

For some reason, he found himself hoping it wasn’t so.

“Of course it isn’t,” Radagast said. “If he had, I would have known of it. He told me what happened—that he was unable to let it go, and Sméagol got it from him by biting off his finger, and either fell in, which seems most likely, or else he jumped in. Frodo was missing a finger, and Samwise was distracted by his pain, so that neither of them saw exactly what happened, but it seems most likely that Sméagol lost his footing and fell in. Frodo blamed himself, as far as that went, for in his own words he ‘cursed’ Sméagol when he tried to get the Ring from him on the mountain. He—“

“Yes, yes,” Sméagol put in, “Master cursed us. Master made us fall in! Down, down, into the fire…”

“And he brought you out again,” Radagast reminded him. “But for him, you would be there still.”

“There was no fire when I was there,” Greenjade said after a pause. “Only…the spear.”

“There is no fire there at all, nor spears either,” Radagast said. “There is naught but what one brings into it. It is a place of memory, from which there is no escape. In life, one can escape one’s memories in one way or another, by acts of will. But in that place…it is a confrontation with nothingness, in which lies naught but sheer inescapable consciousness for all time. I wonder how Saruman is faring there.”

Greenjade and Sméagol both fell silent. Nildë looked back at them as if to ask why the delay.

“Let’s be on our way, shall we,” Radagast said a bit sadly. “We don’t want to miss the Springfest, do we?”

And Greenjade and Sméagol started after him as though walking through sludge, neither of them having the slightest recollection of what spring was.

4. Changes and Celebrations

He had bathed in saltless water before, but not as a mortal. The coldness of the clear stream nearly shocked him out of his skin, which was doing strange things, as it was. Radagast warned him away from the quick and deep part of the water, saying that mortals did not swim as sea-folk, and he was likely to drown if he didn't take care. He had to chuckle when he saw Sméagol break off a leafy branch and hold it over his nether regions as he stepped down into the water. Probably the fool was remembering what Greenjade had said about his doings with males. As if he had the slightest attraction to that creature!

After he got used to the coolness of the water, he found it enjoyable, feeling it glide gently over his skin like a female's silk scarf. The warm sunlight felt pleasant on his face also, and it looked lovely on the water, twinkling goldenly, as though stars had been sprinkled upon it, or flashing diamonds embroidered onto it.  A silver-crystal coverlet in motion, with shades of green and brown swaying gently upon it, and patches of sky blue, and little pebbles of white and grey and light brown beneath. It would be a pleasant place to make one's home, he thought, watching the little fishes that flicked and whisked about the shallowness. Then he looked down at himself, at the black hairs that had somehow sprouted all over his arms and breast and other body parts, with some dismay. He had thought the hair ugly on mortals, and now it was upon himself. Bad enough it should be on his face, but one could cut that off. But this on the rest of him--it would take some doing to remove it. He plucked at a hair on his bosom, and succeeded in uprooting it, but it hurt, and the next one hurt just as much, and he plucked at one beneath his arm, and that was even worse.

Petulantly he looked over to Sméagol, who seemed to have forgotten his modesty and cast aside his branch, and, as it turned out, could swim like one of the fishes beneath him. Fancy that! How had he, who had not been born in the water, learned to do so? And the wretch had no hair anywhere but on his head, and...his feet! It was preposterous. His feet were huge for the rest of him. Larger than Greenjade's, for that matter. He looked down to his own feet; yes, there were hairs on them too, but not nearly so thick and curly as that on the other's, and they were far shapelier...and yet useless in the water now. He looked to Radagast, who stood waist deep and was rubbing something on himself, white and foamy. And the dog was splashing about nearby, paddling herself along with her front feet, seemingly enjoying herself as Sméagol was. Hmm!

Greenjade recalled the previous evening, watching the Wizard comb the dog's thick golden-brown hair until it was smooth and shining, working a few prickly things he called burrs out of it, talking softly to her, calling her his lass and stroking her head. It was a wondrous thing to see, this fellow taking so much trouble for a beast who would not live nearly so long as he. And this care would not even earn him his way to the West. He did it because he wished to; it was that simple....And now he was rubbing some of the soap into her fur as well. She did not seem to like that so much, but he spoke and sang soothing sounds as he worked it into her, which soon calmed her whimpering, and then bade her go dip herself into the water. She did so, then clambered up the bank and gave herself several vigorous shakes, which seemed to amuse Sméagol very much. The finch perched in a tree far above; obviously he wasn't going to get a bath.

"Here," Radagast called to Greenjade, holding up a small flask which he tossed to him. It was the soap. Greenjade rubbed it on himself as instructed, and to his surprise, he found himself liking the smell and feel of it, although he was certain he would have enjoyed it far more if the water had been warmer.

At last they stepped out and dried themselves with their cloaks, donned their clothes once more, and set out. Greenjade hoped the village was not far, for he felt strongly the need to eat. Obviously Sméagol felt it also, for he talked of little else as they proceeded. He said the fishes in the stream were too small.

"I dare say," Radagast said, "that there will be cooked fishes at the festival. I'm sure you'll learn to like them cooked, by and by."

"Will there be many females there?" Greenjade asked before he could stop himself. The Wizard looked at him sharply.

"Greenjade," he said, "I think you could use a bit of instruction in the ways of landfolk. First off, one does not refer to women and lasses as 'females'. That word is to be used only for animals, and it is considered highly offensive to folk of both sexes when used toward humans. If you refer to any woman or girl as a 'female', you may well find yourself in danger of losing some of your maleness."

"Why is that?" Greenjade frowned. "Why do they object to being called what they are?"

"You'll come to find that it is not always wise to call people what they are," the Wizard said with twinkling eyes. "So heed me well. You too, Sméagol. Older women you may refer to as, well, women, or wives, and address them as 'Mistress,' 'Dame' or 'Goodwife.' Younger ones who are not yet wedded are called 'maidens' and are addressed as 'Miss' and those not yet of age are 'lasses.' Those of high degree are generally referred to as 'ladies'--if you use that word toward these village and peasant women, they may laugh at you, but likely they will not take offense. You will likely hear serving women called 'wenches' but I would advise you not to use that word yourself.  'Maid' is the more polite word for such."

"Fe--women are much complicated," Greenjade said shaking his head as they hiked down the road at a vigorous clip. "I do not mind in the slightest being called 'male'. I like being so. Do you not?"

"Yes, but it is as you say, women are more complicated," Radagast said. "Folk in general are difficult to understand, for that matter. Perhaps that's why I have always preferred the company of beasts. Oh, and another thing: you have expressed a liking for lads, which I would strongly advise you to keep to yourself. Such is very much frowned upon in Middle-earth, and you may get yourself run out of the village...at best."

"I don't care so much for them as all that," Greenjade said, mischievously looking to Sméagol, who seemed to be keeping very close to the Wizard. "They were out of curiosity, in the main. Not but that it was not pleasant, but a male body cannot begin to compare with that of a young fe--woman, her sweet curves and velvety, firm flesh, her hair cascading like a falling stream of water, her soft ripe fruity lips, her voice, her eyes, her breasts, her--"

"Greenjade," the Wizard cleared his throat, holding up his free hand, "perhaps it would be better to talk of other things."

"But I enjoy talking of...women," Greenjade said. "Is it so wrong? Did you not say you prefer them yourself?"

"Aye, I did. But...well. It is as if you persisted in talking of food to one who is hungry. Do you see what I mean?"

"I see." Greenjade looked down at his feet. "Very well then. But it seems to me you have gone 'hungry' for a very long time, when you could have taken your fill. So is it true then, and I am not to have aught to do with fe--women, at all? I do not see how I can do that. Why did the Valar see fit to endow me with the desire, if I am not allowed to appease it? Why did they not just take it from me, and make me as a gelded horse?"

"I do not know that, Greenjade. I do know that you were sent here for a purpose, to atone for your misdeeds by helping to purify a poisoned wasteland and make it to bloom again. Women would only prove a distraction to us. And using them to get rid of an urge is not a good thing. It is to consider them less than human, and would defeat our purpose. As a..."

"But what if they wish it? Every female I've lain with was more than willing for me to take her. Some of them positively threw themselves upon me. And I know how to make them like it. I was very good at luring them, and if you like, I can teach you. There are tricks to it, just as with hunting beasts, or catching fishes. I can--"

"Greenjade! Stop this at once!" the Wizard fairly barked at him, then halted in astonishment at himself. "I am sorry I lost control and shouted at you. But that is not for us, this--this dallying after women. We are not beasts, and we have work to do. And we must set our minds to the task ahead of us. Do you understand this?"

"I think so," Greenjade said looking at the ground and gripping his stick hard. "I have forfeited any right I have to the joys of the flesh. I understand that much. I am just wondering why I should have the desire, if I must not fulfill it. It is part of my punishment, I suppose. It is preferable to being in that prison, certainly. But it is no kind of life for such as I."

"I am sorry, Greenjade, that it must be that way. But sometimes we must sublimate our own desires in the cause of others. Many have done so; I am sure we can also, if we set ourselves to it."

They walked along in silence for a few moments. Then Greenjade looked up at the Wizard once more.

"Radagast," he said, "is there something you can tell me?"

"And what would that be?" Radagast looked aside at him.

"Can you tell me...." Greenjade cleared his throat, much in imitation of the Wizard, "well, in the stream back there, did you happen to notice...."

"Yes?"

"Well...erm...have I hair on my back and arse then? I could not see far enough back there to tell."

The Wizard looked at him in some consternation, then roared with laughter. Rusco flew up from his shoulder with a startled cheep. Sméagol looked uncomprehendingly at them both, and Nildë barked in a questioning manner. Greenjade felt his own face getting hot, and he jabbed his stick into the road ahead of him in monumental frustration.

~*~*~

"We’re almost there," Radagast said a little over an hour later. "I can hear the music, can you?"

Greenjade retained the same sullen silence he had been holding since the bath. The Wizard reached out and patted his shoulder.

"I’m sorry I laughed at you," he said. "But your question was so very unexpected. I’ve not been around any who kept me jumping so in a very long time. I was much dreading this journey; not so much now. As for your question...I did not notice whether you had hair back there or no. But what if you have? You would be as other men."

But I don't wish to be as other men, Greenjade thought, and he hoped the Wizard did not hear him.

"We can smell the foods,” Sméagol said in excitement. "Hungry we is. Let’s go now…."

Nildë came up to him just then with a wooden blossom in her mouth, of the sort Sméagol had been throwing for her to chase since they had passed through a grove of tall and fragrant trees of the sort with the rough skin and long thin leaves. Such blossoms lay strewn all about, and Sméagol would kick them high into the air for the dog to chase. As she dropped it at his feet, he stooped down to stroke her head and ears, saying, “Niiiiiice doggie. Pretty doggie likes Sméagol, yessss? Yessss, she likes us, yes?” Nildë licked his hand and looked up to him with her lovely big soft brown eyes as he stroked her neck and shoulders.

Radagast smiled gently saying, "I think he has found someone to love already."

Greenjade shrugged, and went on his way.

"This Springfest," he said after a while, "why do they have it?"

"Why, to celebrate the coming of Spring," Radagast said. "The awakening of Arda from her long winter slumber. I suppose you know naught of the changing of the seasons?"

"In the sea, the seasons do not change," Greenjade said nodding. "I know that in this land, it is different in various parts of the year. But I did not know that these differences were celebrated. Why is it so?"

"The changes are causes for joy," Radagast said. "In the spring, there is new life abounding. In winter, all is dead and frozen, no flowers bloom, no fruits grow, no creatures getting born. Then the thaw comes, and life comes up afresh. It creates great delight, and people wish to burst forth and laugh and sing and dance and eat and drink and...well, celebrate. New life is regarded as a blessing in Arda, and it is a natural thing in people to wish to celebrate their blessings. For life is hard, and one must work and sweat and bleed and dig and sow and plow and ache in order to make these blessings happen. When the crops have grown and are ready for harvest, then an even bigger celebration is held. And then there are the Midsummer and Yule celebrations also. Each season is celebrated, in its own way. Folks thrive on the changes, for which they have put forth so much effort."

Greenjade was silent once more, mulling over what the Wizard had said. Then he spoke: "So when we go to this Mordor...we will put forth the effort to make blessings happen, so that others might celebrate the coming of the seasons once more?"

"Yes. I very much hope we shall be able to do so." Radagast looked surprised.

"Why must we at all? There is plenty of land here, plenty of room for folk to live. We have come across a great deal of land upon which no one is living at all." He waved an arm out toward a hillside, upon which many white beasts stood eating the grass. Sheep, they were called, he remembered. Many large ones, and several little ones, some running and playing about, others staying close to the larger ones, feeding from them. But very few houses.

"Because if we do not, there are others who would claim it, and would put it to ill use," Radagast said. "We must make sure that good comes from it, and not evil. And there must be land for the beasts to live as well. Humans cannot hope to take it all for themselves."

"What of the fire-mountain?" Greenjade asked. "What if the fire should come from it again, and burn up everything we do, and it all goes for naught?"

"Mt. Doom was dormant for centuries until Sauron came to Mordor," Radagast said. "It has not erupted since his defeat. And the lava that poured forth has provided fertility, so that the ground is rich for planting once more. It is extremely unlikely that it will erupt again. The Valar will keep it in its sleep; otherwise they would not have sent us forth into that land."

"And are we to be the only ones to work in the land--just the three of us?"

"No. The King will send others to help us. I dare say some are already there."

"And we will be working and living there...until that one and I are dead...is it?"

"We will make a whole new land of it, Greenjade. We will plant trees, fields of grain, flowers, fruits, grasses, herbs, clover. We will pasture sheep, cattle, horses, goats, and we will cause streams to flow, lakes to form, and we will fill them with fishes. Perhaps...who knows, it may even be renamed for you. The land of Greenjade. How will that be?"

Greenjade thought this over, trying to picture in his mind the new land that would be named for him. Perhaps he would rule this land. Perhaps he could be a prince once more, even a king, of sorts. Perhaps he could take a mate here and his descendants would people this region and he would be long remembered...and his mother would regret her disbelief in him, and as for Garland....

Then again, likely neither of them would ever know. But still, the Land of Greenjade...yes, it did have a good sound, a fine ring to it. Indeed. He could have one of those huge houses with the towers and walls and pointed windows and bridges, the flags flying in the breeze...and yes, he could be good, he was sure. He could rule wisely, and do well, in this new land of springtime and renewal....

"Fair enough," he said with a little shrug.

~*~*~

An air of excitement pervaded the village. Some houses had wreaths of flowers hung on their doors. Horses had wreaths about their necks. Festively dressed women walked with little ones, carrying some of them and holding others by the hand, and Greenjade felt a sudden sharp ache inside. He could hear the music now. Very festive it sounded indeed, and Sméagol gave a little prance and jump, laughing a bit.

“Look at the peoples!” he exclaimed, seemingly to the dog, who had brought one of the wooden flowers with her, and was worrying it to pieces. Fortunately Sméagol had picked up several others for her to chew on when she had reduced that one to nothing. “So many!”

Then a fair maiden suddenly smiled at Greenjade. He gave her his most charming grin in return, and she came swiftly toward him. Ah! Perhaps this would be a good day after all…. He started to hold up a hand to her, but then she sailed right past him, into the arms of a fellow who came up from behind him!

Well.

“I’m hungry,” he said a moment later, a trifle sulkily.

“Perhaps we’d better inquire about lodgings before we head toward the festival,” Radagast said. “There may be many folks coming, and the sooner we procure a room, the better.”

Radagast made an inquiry of a man passing by, who looked at the three travelers with interest, then told them to follow the street on which they now stood until they passed the town square, take a left after the inn, and keep going, and there they would soon find themselves at the sign of the Golden Ram. Radagast thanked him and they were once more on their way.

“I have never stayed at an inn before,” Greenjade said. “What about you?” he asked Sméagol, who shook his head. “What is it like?”

“Like a room in a house, but there are many such. One gets a bed for the night, and can go into the common room to eat and drink with others, and--”

“Hold. A bed? Will there be enough beds for us all? We will not have to share…” Greenjade glanced toward Sméagol, who looked just as apprehensive.

“I do not know,” Radagast considered the question. “I shall have to make inquiries. It has been a very long while since I stayed in an inn myself, and then I was alone. Come along with me…”

They found themselves standing before the Golden Ram, which Greenjade recognized easily enough by the ram's head on the sign. He was startled at the sight of the black-haired male standing in the window looking out at them, who was dressed exactly like himself, and then there appeared another who looked exactly like Sméagol--even to the clothes! He jerked his head around to look at the smaller fellow, and he could have sworn that the man inside did exactly the same...and that the man bore an uncanny resemblance to his father somehow, save that his father had no face hair. It was most unnerving, and he was going to say something to Radagast, but the words did not come.

"This is sheep country, after all," the Wizard said nodding toward the sign. Neither of the others took in what he said, for watching the fellows in the window.

"Pardon me, please," said a pleasant voice behind them, and Greenjade turned sharply around to see another young female, this one with curling hair the color of leaves in the cooling of the year, cheeks like ripe apples, eyes the green of water in the deep part of the stream, and a sweet plump young figure encased in a blouse embroidered with flowers and leaves, and a skirt and apron likewise embellished, and she carried a large basket of real flowers over one arm that was bare to the elbow.

And Greenjade forgot all about the fellows in the window. But he was too busy trying to remember the right word to use to speak to her until she had passed.

5. Reflections and Visions

He nearly forgot the flame-haired maiden as he followed the Wizard into the inn, and saw that the man who had resembled his father and the one who looked like Sméagol had vanished. Then suddenly he laughed loudly. The man was himself!

"I've a reflection!" he shouted. Fortunately there were but a few people in the room, which was filled with long tables and small round tables. Radagast turned and gave him a tight-lipped grin, but did not assay to explain his behavior to the innkeeper, who was giving him a rather hostile stare. 

There were two beds per room, as it turned out. Radagast said that Greenjade and Sméagol might have the beds, and he would sleep in the stable with Nildë.

"Nay," Greenjade said, "you must take the other bed. I'll sleep in the stable. I do not think I can tolerate that one's sawing all night. I am a light sleeper."

He had thought to say, "You deserve the better bed; a knave such as I is not worthy of comfort," but he knew that Radagast would not be fooled, and would suspect that Greenjade was up to something. Which, as a matter of fact, he was.

The room contained two washstands, one on each side, and there was what looked to be a small window above each, until once more Greenjade caught sight of his own face looking back from it! He went closer and peered into the glass, fascinated. He turned his face from side to side, touching various parts of it with his fingertips, caressing his short beard, running his fingers through his hair.

"The sea-folk do not reflect, do they?" Radagast said. Greenjade did not answer for gazing at himself. I am a comely fellow, he thought. 'Tis true what I've been told. The females were not merely flattering me so I would make love to them.

He wondered what his stepfather would think of him.

Sméagol got curious also, set down his pack and bedroll and bag of wooden flowers on one of the beds, and pulled a chair over to the other washstand. Greenjade saw what he was about in his mirror, and he turned to look, wishing to see the other's reaction. Sméagol stood on the chair transfixed, and Greenjade thought perhaps he was disappointed in how he looked, but he did not seem so. Radagast's face was full of gentle wonder.

"He's not seen himself like that in over five hundred years," he said softly.

"You knew him then?" Greenjade asked.

"Nay. I never saw him until several years ago, and that was but once. You would scarcely know him for the same fellow. Eru only knows what that cursed object wrought in him."

Greenjade considered this, and wondered how it would have been, had the Ring come to him instead.

"My stepfather," he said. "How did he look?"

"Frodo? Well--like a hobbit...but paler and thinner than most." Radagast looked taken aback. "With some flesh on him, he'd have been most fair to see. At times he had a soft shine to him, more like an elf. And eyes that were hard to forget."

"Naught like that one then?" Greenjade said indicating Sméagol, who was still rapt at the sight of himself, or at least was pretending to be. Greenjade was relieved at Radagast's description. He might have known his mother had better taste.

"Not in the slightest," Radagast shook his head sadly. Then he smiled a little, with lifted eyebrows: "And you might refer to him as 'Sméagol', you know, rather than 'that one'. He does have a name."

Greenjade shrugged. "And so my mother saved his life? My stepfather's, I mean."

"So I was told. I dare say I know little more of it than you. He fell from the ship, and your mother took the shape of a dolphin and pulled him up from the water. Then she became intrigued with him, and the Sea-Lord arranged their wedding. He had her in mind for Frodo the whole time, and planned the whole escapade. And I do know she has been very happy with Frodo, and that he adores your brothers and sisters as his own."

"Do you think he'd have liked me?" Greenjade asked, then immediately regretted the question.

"I've no way of knowing," Radagast said honestly. "But I think he'd have brought out the good in you, judging from the things Samwise has told me."

Greenjade thought this over. Then slowly he turned back to the mirror. "How might I cut off this hair on my face?  One uses a sort of knife, yes?"

"A razor, which is like to a knife, but much sharper. But we have no such, and the beard becomes you. Let's make ourselves presentable, and go down, shall we? My stomach is fairly roaring."

~*~*~

Sméagol looked apprehensive to be amid so many people. There were musicians, dressed in very colorful clothing, standing beneath colored canopies playing some strange-looking contraptions, and many were dancing, some of them young and lithe, others older, some very fat, and there were some odd-looking characters indeed, with colored faces, tossing several objects into the air and catching them as they fell, to the fascination and delight of some little ones. The smell of cooking meat and bread hung heavy in the air, and Sméagol seemed to forget his apprehension at the sight of several large hunks of meat turning on spits over fires. Nildë stood eagerly sniffing the air.

"Find us a place to sit," Radagast directed them, indicating a number of long tables and benches, at which many sat eating and drinking and watching the revelry, "whilst I go fetch us something to fill our bellies."

Greenjade spotted a table immediately and strode forth to claim it, before a nice-looking couple and their two young ones could get to it. It had the remains of someone's repast upon it, which Greenjade carelessly swept to the ground with one hand. Nildë grabbed a bone that fell off and began chewing on it. Sméagol chuckled.

"Pretty doggie likes nice boneses," he said patting her head. Greenjade found himself hoping once more that the Wizard might teach him to talk properly.

And then he saw the flame-haired maiden.

She was with another female, both carrying large grey metal pitchers, and they were laughing about something, and both had flowers in their hair. The other wench was brown-haired, and not hard to look at, but the flame-haired girl was something else again. Not that she was so beautiful as all that--Garland was far fairer--but there was something about her that compelled his whole attention. She was as unlike to Garland as summer to winter, as flame to ice, as sunlight to moonglow...she was full of life, of warmth and blood and secret southern doings. A vision for the heart's keeping.

He would have her, he decided. Just this once. They were to have a feast the like of which they were not likely to enjoy for a good long time, if ever, Radagast had said. Well, Greenjade would have a little feast of his own, of a far different sort. He would have this damsel, and after that, he would be good. He could not go through his entire mortal life without ever once knowing the flesh of a female. He had to have that knowledge just once, to remember for all time, as the Wizard remembered his farm woman. Radagast needn't know of it; he would bring her to the stable, and then...well, he needed something to give her, he knew. She would not merely come at the calling of her name--which he did not even know yet.

"Pardon me," he said to a grey-haired man sitting at the table next to his, who had something in his mouth with smoke coming from it, "that young...maiden over there, with the hair of fire...do you know of her?"

"Ha! Not from around here, are yer?" the man chuckled. He was old yet as unlike to Radagast as could be imagined; bald on top, his grey beard cut short and grizzled, mixed with darker spots, his small faded eyes nearly disappearing into his crinkly red skin, a couple of warts on his cheek, his large nose turned down so it nearly touched his chin when he spoke.  He smelled powerfully of some sort of liquor. He was a smallish man, but his belly bulged out far above his belt, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing a picture of a ship on one of his forearms. "Her name's Frinella...but most just calls her Nell. Nell Partridge. She's a servin' wench at the Quail and Pheasant. Right fitten, eh?"

"Very fitting," Greenjade said, making a note of her name. Nell Partridge. Already he liked the sound of it. He glanced at Sméagol, who was watching the Wizard going about with a large basket. Then turned his eyes back to Nell.

"Got an eye fer the ladies, do yer?" the old man chuckled, showing yellowish and broken teeth as he took the pipe from his mouth and winked one eye. "Well, me too, if'n the truth be's knowed, but I can't get by with it the same's a likely young feller like you, more's the pity! Aye, 'tis tough gittin' old. All I kin do now is look.  And that un, she's a right tasty treat ter the eyes, eh? Wouldn't mind a bit! But even if she was ter look me way, me wife wouldn't take it too kindly, and it's fer sure she'd hear of it, and she'd have me keelhauled and hung out ter dry. That's 'er, over there..." He jerked the stem of his pipe in the direction of a hugely fat woman who was stirring something in a pot. "Don't never git married, son. Ye'll regret it sure's a goose goes barefoot an' shits on the grass. You ever have ye a wife?"

"Aye," Greenjade murmured. "She's...long dead."

"Sorry ter hear it, me lad," said the old man. "Reckon she was a fair 'un, eh? Comely young fellers like you al'ays pick sech. Now my Gert, she weren't no beauty even in her young days, but no more was I, and had to settle fer what I could git.  I got me a son, but he ain't good fer much. Drinks all the time, lazy, al'ays askin' fer money fer some harebrained scheme or another. Can't hold down a job ter save his neck. Gettin' inter fights, and half the time not winnin' the half of 'em. And 'ere's 'e's all of thirty-three! Meself, I was sailin' the seas when I's 'is age, but ifn 'e was ever ter do so, he'd git seasick, most likely. 'E don't know a capstan from a yardarm, I'll warrant yer.  I see yer friend there is one a' the little folk, eh?"

He jerked his pipestem toward Sméagol, blowing a foul-smelling breath their way. Sméagol looked to him then.

"So it would seem," Greenjade said, wondering if all old men were naturally garrulous and inclined to go wandering off in all directions from the original subject.

"He ain't by ary chance that nine-fingered feller yer 'ear of, is 'e?" the old man said.

"You mean..." Greenjade was baffled, then it dawned on him to whom the old man was referring. He laughed a little. "I should say not!"

Sméagol looked uncomprehending, and Greenjade nudged him with his elbow.

"Sméagol, show him your hands," he said. "He thinks you are he of the Nine Fingers! Fancy that!"

He laughed uproariously. Sméagol looked confused and a bit frightened. The old man laughed also.

"Well, jis' thought I'd ask," he chuckled. "Yer 'ear tell of 'im? My niece's young 'uns talks of 'im sometimes. How he throwed the Ring inter the mountain an' stormed Sauron's tower, together with 'is esquire, an' all that. 'Tis their most fav'rite story. They fair pester her ter death fer it at bedtimes, and they play it in their yard betimes also. I don't reckon you've ever met 'im, eh?" He looked to Sméagol, who appeared a trifle pale.

"No no no no," he murmured, sliding about a foot away on the bench. "Never met him, never!"

"Well, 'tain't nuthin' ter be fearin', fer sure," said the old man crinkling his forehead in puzzlement so that his eyes all but disappeared under his beetling brows. "I jist thought, yer bein' of the little folk...well, of course I knowed 'tis a stretch, but I jist thought I'd ask anyways. 'Tis the only way yer likely to find out, eh? Now we're close ter hobbit country here, 'tis due north of us, though I ain't never laid eyes on one meself, save fer this un here. And when my nieces and son was young 'uns, their mums used ter tell 'em Gollum 'ud git 'em if they didn't behave theirselves. Ye ever hear tell of Gollum, eh? Some folks used ter tell of 'im, how 'e'd ketch young 'uns when they bin naughty and eat 'em up. Snap snap snap!"

Sméagol was fairly trembling. "We never heard of no nasssty Gollumses, never," he said. The old man chuckled, then belched.

"Hmmmm," he said, "I've a notion they used ter frighten yer with tales of 'im when ye was a little un too, from the looks of yer. All right then, I won't talk of 'im no more. 'E's likely naught more'n a figger of the imagination nohows. Yer ever been ter sea?" he asked Greenjade, whose turn it was to be startled now.

"My home is the sea," he said before he could think.

"Is it now! Who'd yer sail with, eh?"

Greenjade was saved from having to answer by the appearance of Radagast, who carried the big basket and three large mugs in the other hand, and set them on the table. Nildë sprang up eagerly.

There were three loaves of bread in the basket, obviously fresh baked, and a ham, two little roasted chickens, a small wheel of cheese, some ripe apples, a bundle of young green herbs, a small basket of red berries and a little pitcher of cream, a jar of honey and a ball of butter. Radagast cut a generous slice of the ham and gave it to Nildë, then sat down and handed out knives for cutting the bread. Greenjade found his mouth getting wet and had to swallow to keep from drooling. He even forgot the delectable Nell Partridge for a while as he spread a slice of bread with cheese and ham and butter, and took a leg of the roasted chicken and an apple. Radagast took no meat, but spread butter and cheese and honey on slices of bread and wolfed them down, along with the ale--for such was in the big mugs. He told the others to eat up, for this food would not keep long. Just save a bit for breakfast, he said with a wink. Sméagol fed scraps to Nildë from time to time, somewhat to Greenjade's surprise. He'd hold up a bit to her, making her stand on her hinder legs to get it, then laugh at the way she gulped it down. Then, perhaps as a reward, he'd hold the next tidbit down to her and let her eat it right out of his hand. Radagast fed bits of bread to Rusco also. The bird perched right on his wrist and eagerly pecked the bread right out of the Wizard's hand. A child at the next table watched in delight, pointing out to her parents, who told her not to stare, but looked on in wonder.

Radagast divided the strawberries up among them and poured the cream over all. Sméagol dived right in, but remembered to feed one to Nildë. Greenjade couldn't fancy them much, and he thought at first to give his portion to the Wizard and Sméagol, but had a second thought. Perhaps Nell liked them. He saw her dancing with a young male, obvious enjoyment on her face, and he felt a twinge of a feeling he recognized as jealousy. But he bided his time. He was much better looking than that young whelp, he assured himself, and he was surely a better dancer. He couldn't be much worse, at least. Perhaps he should ask her for a dance. But at the moment, he felt uncomfortably bloated from the feast, having devoured three slices of bread and ham and cheese and half the roasted chicken, along with an apple and a slice of bread and honey. He didn't feel very light on his feet, and he kept feeling the need to belch. He doubted that would go down well with her, and he'd end up being nearly as disgusting as the old sea-dog at the next table.

Perhaps he should arrange an accident of some sort....

"If you'll excuse me a moment," Radagast said after a while, "I would like to go and speak to those fellows over yonder." He jerked his grey head toward several men sitting together at a table. "They are former soldiers. Will the two of you come with me?"

"I think not," Greenjade said, looking where he indicated. There were about seven of them, and one appeared to lack a leg, another was short of an eye. He had seen them earlier, but not bestowed more than a glance upon them. "I'd not know what to say to them. You go ahead."

"You, Sméagol?" the Wizard said.

Sméagol looked toward the soldiers, then at Greenjade, then at Nilde. Then he stood up. "Sméagol goes."

Greenjade felt profoundly grateful to the soldiers.

Then a female voice asked, "More ale, good sirs?" and he jerked his head up to see the maiden who had spoken with Nell, holding up the big pewter pitcher.

"None for me, thank you, my lass," Radagast said smiling. "I've had my fill, I think." And he and Sméagol turned to go, after Radagast gave Greenjade a warning look, with eyebrows raised.

"I'll have more, if you please," Greenjade said. She poured the amber liquid into his cup, with a slight flutter of her eyelashes, and a smile that bordered on flirtatious. Greenjade tried to think of a way to ask after Nell that wouldn't seem awkward. Then he raised his eyebrows quizzically to her and cocked his head to one side, pursing his lips somewhat.

"Something wrong, good sir?" she asked. Her eyes were a light golden brown, her nose straight and slender, with a light speckling across it, her mouth small and pink. Her light brown hair was braided in front and drawn to the back where the braids were fastened in place with pink and blue and yellow flowers all about her head, and it hung down long and wavy in back.  She might do in a pinch, but still, she wasn't Nell.

"No no no no," Greenjade assured her suavely. "I thought you looked familiar for a moment, but perhaps I was thinking of someone else. You're not familiar with the Quail and Pheasant, I suppose?"

"Why, I work there!" she said laughing in delight. "Ye know the place then?"

"Well, I may have passed it by," Greenjade hedged. "But...maybe I'm thinking of some other place. I'm new in town, you see, just passing through really, and, well..."

"Lookin' fer a place to stay?" the maiden said. "The Quail and Pheasant is a very nice inn, far nicer than that horrid Golden Ram, I should say. They water their wine, or so I've heard tell, and the food is beastly. D'yer know where the Quail an' Pheasant is?"

"I can't remember at the moment," Greenjade said.

"Well, 'tisn't far. 'Tis but--"

"'Ey there, Betony!" called the old seaman at the next table, holding up his glass. "'Ow's about a refill, me love?"

"I'll have to go and fetch some more," Betony said. "Me pitcher is near empty."

"Gimme what yer got left, me blossom," the old man said. "I kin see the bottom a' this glass, an' that's ne'er a good thing."

She laughed, and dribbled the remaining contents of her pitcher into his mug saying, "There yer go then, ye daffy old rip," then looked over her shoulder at Greenjade.

And then he saw Nell go to the soldiers' table, and fill their glasses, and they all lit up considerably at the sight of her. As well they might.

"I think I'll go over there where my friends are," he said to Betony, "and talk to those...those soldiers. They've sacrificed so much of themselves for our freedom, it's the very least I can do, I'm sure."

"Of course, good sir," Betony said, looking disappointed.

6. Nell

I’m simply going to have to lay hands on some money, he thought as he walked out toward the soldiers’ table. But how?

“Ah, there you are, my friend,” Radagast said smiling as Greenjade approached. “So you decided to join us after all.”

He and Sméagol sat with the young soldiers, one of whom was dancing with Nell now. Obviously she was a great favorite with them, and at least two of them were quite infatuated with her. Nildë was napping at the Wizard’s feet, and there was no sign of Rusco, who was probably up in a tree, or hopping about pecking up bits of food.

“I was being selfish,” Greenjade said, and he saw from the Wizard’s grin that he was not in the least fooled by his little contrition pose, and had seen him look Nell’s way when she had been talking with the soldiers. Greenjade grinned back engagingly. There won’t be much putting anything over on this fellow, he thought. He’s not a fool all the time.

“This is Greenjade,” Radagast introduced him to each soldier by name. “And this is Cal, and Burman, and Ben, and Willy, and…”

Greenjade smiled broadly at each in turn, grasping each offered hand warmly and saying “I am honored to make your acquaintance” in a manner so charming and convincing that the Wizard looked surprised and pleased, and indeed, Greenjade was rather surprised at himself. He managed not even to glance sidelong at Nell dancing with the seventh of their group—who was the same one she had been dancing with earlier, he noted. He took a seat alongside of Smeagol, who seemed a little ill at ease.

“They are mercenaries who allied themselves with Gondor in the War,” Radagast explained to Greenjade. “There were originally about two hundred or so of them, but only about half of them returned. They were not heartily welcomed back, even though they played their part in the downfall of Sauron. Many people scoffed that they were only mercenaries, doing their part for pay, and did not realize just how much these young men gave of themselves to help bring about victory and allay an unthinkable threat.”

“How very strange,” Greenjade said awkwardly, looking over each of the young soldiers…who were all young, he could see, although they appeared older than they were. One wore a patch where his left eye had been. This one looked straight at Greenjade with his remaining eye, and the look was positively unnerving. He couldn’t have told why exactly. It was not as if he had never seen maimed or wounded men before. But there was something accusing about the look of that one eye, as if it knew, or suspected that he, Greenjade, was somehow complicit in his wounding.

He was shocked at himself, and wondered if this weren’t somehow the Wizard’s doing. He had even forgotten Nell, momentarily.

Until he heard several male voices shouting her name.

“Hi Nellie-lass!” one said nearby. “How’s about a song, me dove?”

She laughed and said, “Oh go on with ye! This ain’t The Quail and Pheasant, y’know! ‘Tis not the place for our songs.”

But they kept up their clamouring, and several fellows hustled her up to one of the tables, clearing it off for her and helping her to climb onto it. Greenjade could see her shapely ankles, and the many ruffles beneath her skirt.

“Very well then!” she said, “what’ll it be?”

“How’s about ‘The Lass that I Love’?” one shouted. She laughed at him.

“Hark at you, Toby Oddermilk!” she said. “There be little ‘uns about, ye know!”

More laughter from the crowd. Then her eyes met Radagast’s, and a soft change came over her merry face.  Greenjade looked to the Wizard. They knew each other then? 

Then she bent down to one of the musicians and whispered to him. A look of puzzlement shone from his thin little whiskered face as he glanced over at Radagast, then he grinned up at her and nodded.

“This un’s for Mister Radagast, a special guest of ours, our Bird-friend,” Nell said as she stood upon the table with her hands on her hips, looking the Wizard’s way. Rusco appeared then, almost miraculously, perching upon Radagast’s shoulder.

One of the other musicians said, “Which song is it then? I don’t be’s knowin’ of it.”

“Just listen to Ned there, and then follow along,” Nell said. Then the musician lifted his cittern and began to play, and she sang in a clear, strong, rather low-pitched voice:

Hi! says the blackbird, sitting on a chair,
Once I courted a lady fair;
She proved fickle and turned her back,
And ever since then I'm dressed in black.

Hi! says the blue-jay as she flew,
If I was a young man I'd have two;
If one proved fickle and chanced for to go,
I'd have a new string to my bow.

Hi! says the little leather-winged bat,
I will tell you the reason that,
The reason that I fly in the night
Is because I lost my heart's delight.

Hi! says the little mourning dove,
I'll tell you how to gain her love;
Court her night and court her day,
Never give her time to say "0 nay."

Hi! said the woodpecker sitting on a fence,
Once I courted a handsome wench;
She proved fickle and from me fled,
And ever since then my head's been red.

Hi! says the owl with eyes so big,
If I had a hen I'd feed like a pig;
But here I sit on a frozen stake,
Which causes my poor heart to ache.

Hi! says the swallow, sitting in a barn,
Courting, I think, is no harm.
I pick my wings and sit up straight
And hope every young man will choose him a mate.

Hi! says the robin, with a little squirm,
I wish I had a great, big worm;
I would fly away into my nest;
I have a wife I think is the best.

Several musicians took up the song at the second of third verse, and soon they were all playing, but not in such a way as to detract from the singer. Two instruments with strings, one of them played with a sawing bow, one held to the mouth and blown into, another tapped gently on a small round object with a bit of leather stretched over it. Greenjade took his eyes away from her just long enough to glance about to see what effect she was having on the audience. Most looked straight at her smiling, but a few women—mostly older ones—pursed up their lips in seeming disapproval, and a young lass or two looked to each other as if to see how they should react. The soldiers looked only at her, and their faces softened to the sort of youthfulness they must have possessed once.

And Radagast was smiling almost wistfully. Greenjade barely glanced at Sméagol, who was now sitting on the grass behind them with Nildë’s head in his lap, breaking off the sharp points of a wooden flower with his fingernail. But on the fourth or fifth verse, Greenjade heard someone humming along with Nell, and he recognized the voice even though it was only a hum.

The song itself made little sense to Greenjade, but something about the way she sang it held him in a way he could not explain. It had been a very long time since he had heard music, actual music made by men, with instruments and singing, and for the first time he felt it sinking into him, introducing itself, welcoming him, in a sense, to the world of men and women and children and birds and beasts, of trees and flowers and crops and dancing, of bright air and haunted dusk, of love and death and longing and loss. Of beauty and exile and heroism and completeness, thwarted plans, hope, second chances, faith and burdens, of groping one’s way out of dark places, and all warm things that were only for others.

Hi! says the owl with eyes so big,
If I had a hen I'd feed like a pig;
But here I sit on a frozen stake,
Which causes my poor heart to ache.

And he wished he might cease this rumbling that was now shaking his insides, for something was coming to pass, and he was not at all sure he wished it to. I do not wish to be as other men, he had thought that morning. But that was before he had found himself in the midst of a celebration in which he had no part, would never truly have a part. Before he found himself on a frozen stake, where the music swirled about as an eddying stream below him, flowing with a merry trickle over mossy stones and fallen trees, heedless and constant and free in the sunlight….

And he found himself thinking of his children.

Thundercloud...Hailstorm...Brightspear...and Rainbow.

And he barely noticed when Nell concluded her song, dropped a little smiling curtsey, and stepped from the table as a musician reached up to take her hand to help her down, as a courtier might have helped a queen from her carriage. And all broke into hearty cheers and she kissed the tips of her own fingers and then flung out her hands beaming to the crowd.

Radagast was standing, his eyes glistening, clapping his hands together, and Sméagol clapped also.  Greenjade glanced at him, and to his surprise saw a tinge of profound sadness which lent a peculiar poignant beauty to his plain features.  And for the first time Greenjade felt an unexpected sense of identification with the fellow, which was most unsettling.

After a moment, he remembered himself, and moved to the Wizard’s side saying in a low voice, “So you know her?”

“Somewhat,” Radagast said. “I met her once before, long ago, but she was only a little lass then. I am completely surprised that she remembers me. I did not recognize her when we saw her near the Golden Ram, until much later.”

Nell was now being embraced by three other maidens, one of whom was Betony. They spoke to her and she laughed and so did they. Greenjade could not hear their words, but he heard the sound of their laughter, and it was as the music of the waters, the water that would ever flow about him, yet never so much as cool his toes. Water he would step down into, and bathe himself, yet could not, for he would pollute the stream beyond all recognition. Water he would turn his back upon and leave far behind him, yet could not, somehow.

And now she had broken away from her friends and was running toward the soldiers, who were still standing, despite their handicaps, and Greenjade recognized the one with whom she had been dancing, a fair-haired fellow with serious grey eyes, who seemed to have all his parts still, and he was smiling in delight as she kissed his mouth with a loud smack. At which the others began clamoring for her to kiss them as well. And she laughed, and kissed each one’s cheek in turn, then turned to Radagast and threw impulsive arms about him.

“I never thought to see ye agin, Radagast!” she exclaimed. “What’s been goin’ on with ye?”

And before he could answer, her eyes met Greenjade’s.

“Why—hullo!” she said, her eyes glinting with recognition.

“Hullo,” Greenjade said with a grave inclination of his head, to try and disguise the fact that he was still rattled. “I believe I saw you earlier today?”

He carefully ignored the Wizard’s disapproving look, and Sméagol’s envious one.

Her eyes were as green as he remembered, the color of the stream in the deep and mossy part; her eyelashes were curly and her eyebrows were nearly straight and had a coppery glint in them. Her face was a bit square in the jaw, her mouth wide and firm and lovely, and there was a tiny dent in her chin and another in the tip of her nose, which verged on being too large, but was straight and shapely even so. He could see she was older than he had thought at first—middle to late twenties, probably. Older than that Betony, who was likely not much more than twenty, if that much. Pretty wasn’t the word he would have put to this one. Betony was pretty, if one cared for her sort. But Nell was handsome, comely, womanly, buxom, startling, a young queen in the making. There was character in her face, and intelligence, and humor, and an interest in life and people. It was a face one could grow old with, and could bear much, and yet laugh and enjoy…it was a wife’s face, and a mother’s, without a doubt. How did it happen she was yet single? For she was, he could see that. Or was the fair-haired soldier her husband? Surely not, or the old seaman would have said so....

“Seems you did,” she said with a gay dimpling of the corners of her mouth, and he noticed curly tendrils of auburn hair clinging damply to her forehead, where a tiny blue vein was visible over the left temple. “Near the Golden Ram 't was? You’re with Radagast, I see.”

“Why, yes. He says he’s met you before, a long time ago, when you were but a little lass.”

“Oh, aye, yet I remember him well. How can I not?” She smiled at the Wizard most beguilingly. “He brought down the birds from the trees for me one day when I was feelin’ lowly. Swallows and bluebirds and larks and wrens and doves and who knows what all else, they all flew about him, swoopin’ and divin’ and singin’ fit to bust. It was a sight beyond compare, and to this day I can’t remember what it was that made me feel so blue in the first place. And as if that weren’t enough, next day he bade me walk with him into a wooded place, and he called out a full flock of partridges, pretty as you please, fluttering up all around. For that’s me name, Nell Partridge, ye see. I never seen the like of ‘im before, did you?”

“Can’t say as I did,” Greenjade said, glancing sidelong at Radagast, who was once more getting a red face. “But…where are my manners? My name is Greenjade.”

And yet another strange thing happened. He realized he had never spoken his name aloud before.

Greenjade. Not Darkfin. The name his father had given him.

Greenjade was what his mother had called him…when he was born, and he had not known it until after he was dead. His father had changed it so that he would grow up to be fearsome. A leader, striking terror into the hearts of enemies…enemies they did not have. Enemies they would have, because of the fear.

As Darkfin, he had taken the form of a shark, with the intention of killing his stepfather, who had brought him from the Black Dungeon. Of killing his brothers and sisters. Of causing his mother to die of grief over their loss.

“Greenjade, that’s a splendid name,” Nell was saying with another charming little curtsey. “Be it your front name or your back name? I…pardon, is somethin’ wrong, sir?”

He had been destined for greatness, his father said. As Darkfin. No one could be destined for greatness as Greenjade…surely.

And he felt something cracking inside of him, something like a chasm widening, producing a small earthquake, or perhaps as a grey cloud spawning a thunderbolt, or maybe even the hatching of a giant egg…and all at the mere speaking, for the first time, of his true name.

Or was it his true name? Was Darkfin truly dead now…and reborn as Greenjade? Or would it be that simple, to activate his reincarnated self by the speaking of two syllables?

“You must excuse me a moment,” he managed to gasp. “I…think I may have had too much to eat...or drink. I must go off for a moment…”

And he turned and fled, and ran until he was behind one of the tents, on his knees, tossing up everything he had eaten.

7. The World of Mortals

Greenjade looked at the revolting mess he had made. And retched and held to his head and belly.

“Great Lord Ulmo,” he gasped. And then heard steps. Radagast, of course.

“Are you all right?” he said, running over to the man who was doubled over on his knees, groaning. “Oh dear me. You are sick, I see. Here, come with me, let me get you to…”

“No no no no,” Greenjade stammered, shaking off the Wizard’s hand from his shoulder. “I…it’s all right. Just leave me for a bit. I’ll…I’ll be fine…I just…”

“Some of the meat may have been tainted,” Radagast said. “Here….”

Nildë came up sniffing, Sméagol close behind her, Nell and a few others peering anxiously around the tent corner.

“Leave me be,” Greenjade said, and was shocked at how feeble it sounded. Radagast pulled him forcibly to his feet, taking one of his arms and putting it over his shoulders, and holding Greenjade by his side.

“Come along now,” he said gently. “I’m taking you to that shady spot over there. This hot sun won’t do you any favors in your present state. Nell dear, could you bring us some cool water, if you please?”

“Aye, indeed!” she said flurrying off. Radagast asked Smeagol to look after Nildë, then helped the sick man over to a small grove of trees a reasonable distance from the festivities.

“Now tell me you didn’t stage all that and stick your fingers down your throat to make yourself sick, just to get the attention of that girl,” the Wizard said in an undertone as he helped Greenjade sink to the ground. “No, I suppose not. How do you feel now?”

“I’m…better,” Greenjade said as the old man looked about for something to use as a pillow. He sat with his knees drawn up and his arms leaning on them, resting his head on his forearms. “It’s all right, you needn’t put yourself to so much trouble. So that’s being sick, is it? I shouldn’t care to try it again.”

“Perhaps you’ve had too much ale…although with so much in your stomach, it should not have had that effect. Do you feel as if you could go back to the inn?”

“I don’t wish to yet. I’ll be all right in a bit. I just need to…sit here for a few moments in the shade. I just…”

“Your natural color is coming back,” Radagast noted. “You even look a bit red now. I dare say you picked up a touch of sunburn on the way out here. We should see about getting you a wide-brimmed hat.”

Greenjade touched his face. It did feel a bit tight and sore.

“Well, I suppose I am officially human now,” he said trying to speak lightly. Radagast laughed a little.

“So you are,” he said. “Welcome to the world of mortals. But I must warn you: it gets harder.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Greenjade said dryly, wishing he could feel so amused. He felt as though he had swallowed a boulder, and there was a tightness in his throat. Even the sight of Nell coming their way with a pitcher and cup did little to help matters.

Now why did he have to go and speak his name? Everything would have been fine if he had just left well enough alone….

Then again, maybe not.  Seeing as how the neckline of Nell's blouse was on a level with his eyes now.

“How d’ye feel now?” Nell asked him as she dropped to her knees and poured some of the clear water from the pitcher into the cup and handed it to him. His hands shook a little as he took the cup. The water was cool and a bit spicy. “There’s a pinch o’ ginger in it,” she explained. “It might settle yer stomach.”

“Where did you come by ginger so quickly, my lass?” Radagast said. “That was good thinking.”

“Granny give it to me,” she explained. “She keeps a goodly supply on hand at affairs such as this ‘un.”

“Ah, Granny,” Radagast said in delight, “I remember her well. I must go and speak to her soon. I might wish to buy some herbs of her.”

“Granny ain’t me granny, for practical speakin’,” she explained to Greenjade. “Everyone just calls her that. She’s an old woman what has a most splendid herb garden, and is the best healer and midwife in the village.”

“Why didn’t she come out here?” Radagast asked.

“Cos she’s a sellin’ her remedies at her booth now,” Nell said, “and couldn’t be spared. She does so every spring. But I could bring ye over to ‘er.”

“Do you feel up to it?” the Wizard asked Greenjade.

“I feel better now,” Greenjade said. “I think I’d like to go back to the table, if it’s all the same to you.”

He felt numb inside at the moment, and he hoped it would last, but he had a strong feeling it wouldn’t.

And then he looked up at Nell once more.

“More water?” she said. He held the cup to her and she poured water into it. He thought of the way her waist-length hair had bounced while she danced. And gleamed so flamingly in the sunlight. “So how long are ye stayin’ for, love?” she asked Radagast.

“Only for a couple of days,” the Wizard answered. “We are headed for Mordor, actually. To clean up the filth of Sauron and turn it into a habitable land once more…as it hasn’t been for over a thousand years.”

“Go on with ye!” she exclaimed with wide eyes. “Truly?”

“Truly,” Radagast laughed a little. “We’ve a long, long ways to go, I know. But going we are. I decided to stop here in order to partake of the Springfest, seeing as how it will probably be our last chance to have any such enjoyment. We’re staying at the Golden Ram.”

“For sure now?” she said. “Now why stay there when ye can stay at the Quail and Pheasant? That’s where I’m workin’ now, and a much better place it is.”

“I’m told that at the Golden Ram they water their wine,” Greenjade put in, noting at the same time that Nell had rather large hands that were well shaped and strong, and the light speckling of her forearms was like to a sprinkling of sand on a conch’s rosy-white shell.

She laughed a little. “I’ve heard that ‘un, but won’t swear to it. So you are goin’ to heal Mordor then? That’s wonderful, that is! –although many here wouldn’t think so. I know not of many who’d take such a task upon theirselves. I wouldn’t wish to go to such a place meself. Well, maybe I’d go, if it wasn’t so far, and I understood the language an’ all. I wanted to go as a nurse durin’ the War, but I had me dad to care for, him bein’ sick an’ all. But--“

“You would go?” Greenjade raised his eyebrows. “Truly?”

“Well, I think not,” she said. “I still have me dad to look after. He’s got a serious heart complaint, and may not live long. I got four brothers, but they all got families o’ their own. Now that mum’s gone, I’ve all he’s got to look after him.”

“That fellow you were dancing with,” Greenjade said, “he’s not your sweetheart, I take it?”

“Ah, no,” she said with a little laugh, “he’s me cousin Jem. But I’ll wed him one a’ these days, like as not. I had a lover once, but he fell in battle, and I’ve not cared to have anyone else. But I might just as well marry Jemmy, for I’m fond of him, and he was me Harry’s best friend, and like as not, no one else ’ll have him. He saved many lives and was wounded in such a way that…he’ll not be able to have young ’uns. And likely he’ll not live long neither. And his mum is bad sick also, or we’d of been wed long afore this, had we not both had our elders to see to.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Greenjade, and to his amazement, he did feel truly sorry to know she had suffered. “But…you would want children, wouldn’t you?”

“Aye, I would,” she said a little sadly. “I’d take in a few, if’n it was possible. But what with things as they are, I reckon it won’t be. I’ve four older brothers, and they all have families. I come an’ help their wives out betimes when dad can spare me, and I get to see their young ’uns, and I fair dote on ’em.”

Greenjade glanced aside at Jem. The fellow was nice to look at and appeared reasonably intelligent. Still she could do much better. And obviously there was good stock in her, that should be passed along to future generations.

Yesterday he would have felt scorn. This morning he would have, for that matter. But now he found himself filled with what he recognized as admiration.

“What say we go on back,” Radagast said. “I dare say Nell’s employer will be missing her ere long, and we don’t want to get her into any trouble.”

“Ah, I kin get around ’im,” Nell laughed. “But aye, we should be gittin’ back. Kin you stand now?”

“Of course I can,” Greenjade said, rising to his feet. His legs felt wobbly, but he managed to stay upright. He wondered why he wasn’t happier, with the object of his desire right here by his side, looking to him…and not seeming at all unhappy with what she saw. Possibly she wouldn’t have looked twice at him if he hadn’t gone and gotten sick on her. Obviously the girl liked caring for folks.

But he wasn’t worthy of her. And even if he did go to Mordor and make himself so, he could scarcely expect her to wait for him, or go with him into a strange and ruined land and work with him by his side…even though she was obviously strong in body and soul.

And there would be no taking her for just the one night now. He knew that. It was out of the question. Even if she would go for it.

They were in sight of the festivities now, and a rather fat man wearing an apron was waving at her. Betony was not far behind, clutching her pitcher and looking a trifle sad.

“There ye are, Nellie-lass,” the fat man said as they approached. Greenjade saw Sméagol still near the soldiers, and three children were talking to him, one of them petting Nilde. “What gives? Am I payin’ ye to go runnin’ off and flirtin’ with strangers, hey?”

“Oh, go on with ye, Tam Goodfellow,” she laughed flipping a hand at him. “He took a bad turn, ask Radagast here if he didn’t, and I couldn’t go off and leave him to be sick all by hisself, could I now? A fine reflection on yer establishment that ’ud be, what?”

“Right ye are, missy,” Tam Goodfellow said with a little jerk of his jowly head, “this time. But don’t go makin’ a habit of it, ye hear me?”

“Right ye are,” she imitated him, with a little salute that she must have learned from her soldiers. Radagast laughed. “Well, here we are,” she said to him and Greenjade. “Now I must be getting’ back to work. And if you’d care to stay at the Quail and Pheasant, it’s up that road—“ She extended an arm with a pointed finger in the distance. “Stay on it, and ye’ll come to it directly.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he said. “Perhaps we shall avail ourselves of their services after tonight.”

“Tell ‘em Nell sent you,” she said with a little wink, “and then mayhap Tam Goodfellow will be so thankful for drummin’ him up some business, he’ll let me do as I like for the rest of the year. But now I must be getting’ back to work, much as ‘twould pleasure me to sit and chat and hear more about your plans.”

“Are you sure you are all right?” Radagast asked Greenjade as they took their places at their original table.

“Of course I’m sure,” Greenjade said, wondering how his voice sounded so hollow even to himself. It seemed to come from the other end of an endless tunnel.

~*~*~

“Can we pet yer dog?” a child’s voice asked as Sméagol carefully broke off the points of the wooden flower that was too spiny for Nildë to chew on. He looked up to see a freckle-faced girl of about ten, together with a boy a year or two younger, that looked a good bit like her. He hesitated, being a little afraid of children. Nildë thumped her tail, however, and he nodded yes.

The little girl leaned over and patted Nildë’s head. She had short brown pigtails that curved in at her neck so that the ends pointed outward, and her front teeth were rather large, her clothes a bit small and faded for her, and something bulged from the pocket of her apron. The boy stood with his hands in his pockets, staring at Sméagol’s boots.

“Why’s your feets so big?” he asked. 

“Shut yer ’ead, Cal,” the girl said. “Don’t mind ‘im,” she said to Sméagol. “’Im’s me brother, and ever’ time ’e opens his mouth, out comes a new kind o’ sass. That’s wot me mum says, and she’s right. Wot’s yer dog’s name then?”

“Nildë,” Sméagol said shyly. It didn’t occur to him to tell her that she was Radagast’s dog and not his own.

“Wot sort o’ name’s 'at?” the girl said.

“Ermm…Elf name,” Sméagol said feeling glad of his boots now as he thought of the old seafarer, and what he had said about folks threatening their young ‘uns with Gollum if they didn’t behave.

“Is it now!” the girl exclaimed. “It’s a Elf-dog then?”

“Aye,” Sméagol said. The boy stood with his mouth wide open. “You know of Elveses?”

“Nay,” the girl said stroking Nildë with more reverence. “Never seen none. Did you?”

“Aye,” Sméagol said, seeing his chance to impress them. “Lots of elveses, long time ago. They all go West, sailing in big, big boatses. Gone, gone, all to the west.”

“You talk funny,” Cal said. The girl hit him with the back of her hand. “Ow!” he said, and tried to hit her back, but she dodged him.

“Pay ‘im no mind,” she said to Sméagol. “Wot’s yer name?”

“Sméagol,” he said, then felt a twinge of fear. Should he have given his name? Would they know who he was? Brown Master said very few people knew that Gollum had once been named Sméagol, and even those few who did know would not think him the same person. Just someone who happened to have the same name.

“Mine’s Maisy,” the girl said. “And that’s me brother Cal. We got us another brother too, but ‘e’s big. ‘Im’s over there some’eres. You got any brothers?”

“No no no no no,” Sméagol felt a twinge of terror, thinking of Déagol. “No brotherses, no one…”

“Wot’s the matter?” Maisy frowned. “Ye seem affrighted.”

“No brotherses,” Sméagol repeated, digging a shaking hand into Nildë’s brown fur.

“Count yerself lucky,” Maisy said with a toss of her head. “You’re with that old chap wot’s got the bird, ain’t yer?”

“Aye,” Sméagol said, thinking of a time when he had first been banished. Young ones laughing at him, singing songs about him, throwing stones, in all the villages. Everywhere he went. Hundreds of years passing by, all the same.

“Dad bought me some sweets,” Maisy said pulling a little bag out of her apron pocket. “Want one?”

“I want one,” Cal said, reaching a grubby hand for the sack. “Gimme!”

“Nay,” she snatched it from his reach, “you ‘ad your own, and you et ‘em all at oncet, ye little pig! Do yer fancy red or green or yeller ‘uns best?” she asked Sméagol.

“Red,” he said, although he really didn’t know. He could not remember the last time he had tasted sweets. She dug in the sack and handed him a little red ball. Cal once more tried to grab at it. She pushed him away roughly.

“I told yer no!” she said.

“Please!” he whined. “Gimme just one, Maisy, pleeeeeeease?”

“Oh, all right,” she said rolling up her eyes and digging in her bag. “But jist one, y’hear? And don’t arsk me fer no more, ‘cos yer won’t get none.”

Sméagol hesitantly put the red ball to his tongue, then put it in his mouth when the taste proved agreeable, both sweet and sour.

“Good, eh?” Maisy said, putting a green one into her own mouth. Sméagol nodded.

“Look wot I can do,” Cal said and he pushed his sweet into his left cheek so it made a very round bulge, then quickly transferred it into the right cheek, then back to the left.

“Well, ain’t you somethin’,” his sister said rolling her eyes once more, and Cal snickered.

Sméagol grinned ever so slightly. Then he tried the same trick himself. Cal giggled, then reached for the wooden flower. Sméagol snatched it away from him.

“Wot’s that fer?” Cal said.

“For her,” Sméagol said indicating Nildë. “She likes to chews them.”

“Oh,” Cal said.

“We got us a dog too,” Maisy said. “‘Im’s named Tater, ‘cos he likes to eat ‘em. ‘Im ain’t so pretty as your dog.”

“Tater,” Sméagol said almost to himself.

“Be ye a hobbit?” Maisy asked. “Yer shorter’n big folks, but ye don’t look like a young ‘un. I never seen a hobbit afore.”

“No no no no no,” Sméagol felt that spasm of fear once more. “Not hobbitses. No no no.”

“Wot’s a hobbit?” Cal asked.

“You know wot it is,” Maisy said. “It’s a little folk wot’s got hairy feets. You know the tale of the Ring, and all them hobbits wot throwed it in the fire-mountain, and the bad chap's tower fell down an’ all that. Remember? An’ Gollum an’ all? Bilbo Baggins, ‘member him? He got the ring from Gollum and it made ‘im invisible an’ all. My mum says it’s all just a tall tale, but them soldiers there says it’s really so, and they should know, ‘cos they was there. You was just a babe then. I…wot’s the matter, Mister Sméagol? You look like yer takin’ sick or somethin’. Yer all in a sweat! Should I call me mum?”

“No no no no no no,” Sméagol murmured. “We’s all right. Not calls nobody.”

“Looky,” Cal said pointing, “there’s Floria.”

Maisy and Sméagol looked in the direction he indicated. A few feet off stood a pretty little lass about Maisy’s age, with long yellow curls, wearing a dainty light blue dress and holding a doll that also had yellow curls. She gave them all a look of supercilious amusement. Maisy stuck out her tongue at her, then Floria’s pink mouth dropped wide open, and she turned away with a little ladylike shudder.

“She lives down the road a piece from us,” Maisy explained to Sméagol. “’Er dad’s the mayor, and she never lets nobody forget it. Me mum makes me play with ’er sometimes, but I won’t do it, ’cos she always ’as to be the princess. She says I carn’t be, ’cos I’m too ugly. Do you think I’m ugly, then?”

“Aye,” Cal said, and she shoved him with her foot.

“I didn’t arsk you,” she told him. “I arsked ’im.”

“Maisy not ugly,” Sméagol said in some surprise, looking keenly at her. “Do…do you think Sméagol is ugly?”

“Nay,” Maisy said with a bit of a smile. “I likes ’ow you look.”

Sméagol smiled back.

“I hate Floria,” Cal said scowling. “She told mum on me when I sung that song as Nic learnt me. I didn’t know ’twas a rude song, an’ I got a lickin’.”

“You should of seen ’er,” Maisy said. “She goes all cryin’ to our mum, ‘Oh boo hoo hoooo, Cal’s singin’ a rude song in front o’ me, that’s so wrong, wot would me mum say’, an’ then when she thought as nobody was lookin’, she larfed.”

“Bad girl.” Sméagol giggled at her imitation of Floria’s offended sensibilities.

“Aye,” Maisy said, “an’ when I told mum as she larfed, she smacked me an’ told me not to be tellin’ wicked lies of a sweet li’l thing like ’er. Ha!”

“Sméagol has idea,” he said, glancing back in the direction of Floria, who was heading down a path toward a small ramshackle building in the bushes. The children pricked up their ears. And he told them, while Nildë chewed the wooden flower to pieces before them and Greenjade gazed wistfully at a flame-haired maiden bearing a silver pitcher, who would never be his....

9. Sméagol's Accident

Between sobs Maisy managed to explain to Radagast and Greenjade what happened. They'd had to cut through a meadow to get to the piney woods, and between the woods and the meadow was a deep ravine. At one edge of the meadow was a long copse, and as they were crossing, a rabbit ran out of it and Nildë began to chase it, and Sméagol took right after them, and since the ravine was partly hidden by some tall rushes and sunflowers, obviously Sméagol and Nildë didn't see it, and they fell right down the embankment. He hit his head on some big rocks and it was bleeding and it looked like his leg was broke too, he couldn't stand on it and it were hurtin' him somethin' awful. She'd bade Cal stay with him, and Nildë had stayed also.

Greenjade barely understood a word, but Radagast seemed to grasp all, as did the soldiers, and Nell had come up from the stage, leaving the comedy unfinished.

"That little ladder in that shed yonder," she said to the soldiers, "we can use it for a stretcher. You three go on ahead to 'im," she told Radagast and Greenjade and Maisy, "and we'll foller after. I know the way. Me an' me brothers used to pick blackberries out there every year. 'Ere, you better take this to put over 'im," she said to Radagast, picking up his robe, which he had taken off and laid over a chair, it being too warm to wear.

"That's my smart lass," Radagast said with a little smile, taking the robe and his staff. He nodded to Greenjade and Maisy, then they broke into a run with Maisy leading the way, trying to explain that she didn't mean for Sméagol to come to any harm, she'd forgot the ditch was there and she'd hollered at him to watch out, but too late....

Sméagol was unconscious when they reached him, with blood on his face and in his hair, Cal looking most frightened. He was squatting beside the twisted small figure, anxiously patting Nildë, and when the others arrived he sprang to his feet saying, "'E's out agin! 'E ain't dead, is 'e? Mum 'll wear us out if we've killt 'im!"

Radagast climbed carefully down the embankment, clutching the robe under one harm, picking his way with his staff, while Greenjade followed close behind. He glanced behind to see Nell, still in her costume save for the mask and the silly flower hat, leading the soldiers carrying the ladder. Jem was one of them, having removed his hat and the baggy shirt, but he still bore the face paint. Along with the motley fellow, minus his mask and hat and sword and cape. A strange procession indeed.

Radagast knelt down beside Sméagol and the sniveling Cal, and pressed his fingertips to the side of the injured fellow's throat, then laid a hand upon his breast.

"He's alive yet," he told Cal and Maisy, who looked vastly relieved. "Greenjade, come press your hand to this gash on his head to staunch the bleeding, while I check him for broken bones. If he has any, it's better he doesn't awaken until I've immobilized them. You two might find me some long straight sticks to use, but take care. Don't fall...."

The children scrambled up the embankment, while Nildë stayed where she was, and Nell came running ahead of the soldiers bearing the ladder. Radagast felt Sméagol's arms and legs; when he came to the right one, he frowned and carefully pressed the ankle, at which Sméagol abruptly came to, with a loud cry of pain.

"Sméagol?" the Wizard called to him. "Can you hear me?"

"Hurtssss," Sméagol whimpered, trying to sit up. "We fell...leg...it hurts us...."

"Don't move," Radagast said. "I think your ankle is broken. And you've a cut on your head that's bleeding. Can you feel it?"

"Bleeding...."

"Yes. Greenjade is keeping it from bleeding too much. Do you feel hurt anywhere else?"

Sméagol moaned. Radagast remembered the robe and covered him with it. When he tried to protest, the Wizard gently explained that the robe was to keep him from going into shock.

"Is your back or neck hurt?" he asked.

"Hurts us," moaned Sméagol. The soldiers had arrived with the ladder.

"Can we get him up the embankment on the ladder?" Nell asked.

"I think not," Jem said. "We'd spill 'im, like as not. Tell yer what, I'll take him on me back an' climb up, then we can immobilize 'im and put 'im on the stretcher. 'Ow will that be?"

"I suppose it will have to do," Radagast said, "if his back isn't broken. I'll splint his ankle and then you can carry him up, then we'll lay him on the ladder. Sméagol, is your back much hurt? Can you move your other foot?"

Sméagol, still whimpering with pain, moved his left foot. The children returned then with bundles of long sticks. Radagast felt inside of his robe and took out a small flask.

"Drink a bit of this, my lad," he said uncorking it. "It's laudanum, and it will ease your pain for a while. A couple of swallows, that's it. No, Nildë, it's not for you, my lass. There now, that's enough. This will hurt, I fear. Bite down on this stick. Nell, can you hold his hands while I immobilize his ankle?"

Radagast carefully splinted up the hurt ankle, using the belt from his robe, while Greenjade continued to staunch the gash and Nell clutched Sméagol's wrists. Greenjade saw her grimace as Sméagol held her wrists in what must have been a nearly crushing grip, and found himself wishing he had volunteered for that job in her stead, and let her staunch the wound. But she did not cry out or complain, even when Sméagol fairly bit through the stick the Wizard had placed between his teeth. After the ankle was well splinted, Radagast and Greenjade helped him up on Jem's back and the soldier carefully climbed up the embankment where the others were waiting with the ladder, and they laid the injured fellow on it and covered him with the robe once more, while Nell tore a strip from one of her petticoats to bandage his head. Then she gently wiped the tears and sweat and blood from his face with the remainder of the strip, speaking to him as a mother might, caressing his bloodied hair.

Greenjade wished then that he were the injured one.

Radagast knelt to check Nildë’s front left paw which she was favoring, carefully feeling of it.

"Nothing broken here," he said softly. "I think she'll be all right with it after few days."

"Me an' Cal could carry 'er," Maisy offered. "I could take 'er front end and 'e could take 'er hind end. Or I could put 'er on me back like Jem. I’m strong enough."

"I doubt she would go for it, my dear," the Wizard said smiling. "Luckily for her, unlike poor Sméagol, she has three good legs she can go on while the bad one heals up."

"Let's bring 'im to my 'ouse," Nell said to Radagast. "You can't stay at the Golden Ram now with 'im like this. There's plenty o' room and dad won't mind. We can keep 'im in me brothers' room for a bit, and Aunt Carrie can 'elp see to 'im when I'm at work. She's dad's sister, and she keeps 'ouse for us. How will that be?"

"It's most kind of you, my lass, to offer," Radagast said, while Greenjade scarcely knew whether to skewer himself or jump for joy as Jem had done on the stage, "but we don't wish to impose on your hospitality..."

"Not a bit of it," she said, and Greenjade noted the way her hair blazed in the late afternoon sunlight and streamed out on the breeze. How could he even think of taking her away from here to the wastes of Mordor? She was so in her element in this setting. "I'd be most pleased to 'ave you. There's two beds in me brothers' room, so the two of you can use it, and Radagast can take the room next to me dad, or 'e can stay with Sméagol and Greenjade can 'ave the little room. I'll ask Aunt Carrie to change the bed linens and sweep up, and make things cosy."

"I'll pay you something for your trouble," Radagast said. "I--"

"Hark at you!" Nell said with a little mock swipe at him. "Am I runnin' a inn now? You’re me guests now, and that’s all about it. 'Ow do you feel now, Sméagol?"

"Pretty doggie," he spoke barely above a whisper, "she didn't...get...her...woody flowerses...."

"I'll get 'er some," Maisy said as Radagast stared at Sméagol in astonishment. "There's other piney trees 'sides them that's out yander. There might be some nigh to where we lives. We'll get 'er lots of 'em, and try to get ones that ain’t too prickledy."

Greenjade cast a glance at Jem, and saw the young man watching him with a touch of suspicion, with that strange face-paint that now gave him an eerie glow in the late sunlight. I could have trouble with that one, he thought. Of all the places for us to be put up! And no telling for how long now. Why in the name of Ulmo couldn't the wretch have been more careful?

~*~*~

One of the soldiers, the one with the missing leg, had a wheelchair, which he seldom used now, and he offered the loan of it. He'd brought it with him more to please his mother than anything else, and had stowed it inside one of the tents. Radagast gently placed Sméagol into it.

Maisy's mother gave them some jars of jam and jelly, which she had been selling in one of the booths, apologizing for the injury that had befallen Sméagol. 

"Might of known the two of yer would be gettin' up to some mischief," she said to Maisy and Cal. "Carn't turn me back on yer for two shakes, wot?"

"Ah, please don't blame them, madam," Radagast said in his most persuasive soft tones. "I know they meant no harm, and they were most helpful out there. You can be very proud of them. And this jam looks delicious. As jewels in the sun it looks, rubies and garnets. I can scarcely wait to try it. I had almost forgotten the taste of strawberries."

She looked mildly placated then, as Greenjade turned away to hide a grin. The old fellow could be quite smooth when he needed to be.

"Well, I can promise yer won't be disappointed in mine," she said with a little toss of her head. "This receet's bin in the fam'ly fer years."

Not to be outdone, several other women contributed some of their wares as well. Loaves of bread, cakes and pies, preserves, dried herbs and spices, sweets and little bags of tea. And a goodly bouquet of flowers, which was given Smeagol to hold. It would need a small cart to get it all to Nell's house.

Nell introduced them to three of her friends, whom Greenjade had seen earlier, and they gathered around to exclaim over Sméagol.

"This is Betony, this is Lu, and this is Viola," she said as each one dipped a curtsey and smiled in turn. Greenjade had nearly forgotten Betony. She smiled with shy recognition at him, pinking a little. Lu was the tallest of the four, with long yellow hair in braids, and Viola was the smallest, with a mop of dark curls and red cheeks, and a figure that just verged on being too plump, along with a manner that more than verged on being flirtatious. They looked at Greenjade with admiration enough, then made much over Sméagol, chattering all at once, asking him what happened, if he was hurting any, and so on, and Viola teased him that he probably got hisself hurt a-purpose so's he wouldn't 'ave to leave the village so soon, now didn't 'e? Well! thought Greenjade. The fellow was in for plenty of petting. And no doubt it was the first he had ever gotten.

~*~*~

Nell asked Mister Goodfellow for a few days' holiday so she could entertain her guests, and he grudgingly granted it to her.  It  was plain to see she had him wrapped around her finger.

"I helped to bring his son into the world," she told Greenjade and Radagast as they made ready to move Smeagol to her house. "I weren't but about sixteen at the time, which was ten years ago. So I can get 'round him most of the time. I try not to take advantage, that wouldn't be right. I don't ask 'im for a holiday too many times. But this is a good time to do it, wouldn't yer say?"

Her dad was a carpenter by trade, she informed them as they lifted Smeagol onto Jem's wagon. He had been a very hard worker and had overdone it, and now it was telling on him. He had a heart complaint that would surely carry him off sooner or later, and he might live a good bit longer if he were to take it easier, but he was not the sort who could sit idle for long. So he did a good bit of wood-carving, along with small jobs like mending furniture and cabinets. But he really liked carving and had made many nice pieces, several which had sold for a fair price.

A man came up just then, with a face shaped much like hers, but his hair and beard were dark with a good bit of grey mixed in, his eyes blue-grey, his cheeks a bit sunken and pale. His once powerful figure was thin and stooped, and he used a stick to help himself along, but his face lit considerably at the sight of Nell. A rather handsome middle-aged woman came up behind him, with an embroidered white kerchief mostly covering her greying dark hair. She was clad in a light grey skirt and a vest of a darker shade, embroidered with red and blue and yellow flowers, with a long-sleeved blouse underneath.

"This is me dad," Nell introduced the man, "Bob Partridge, and this is me aunt Cariana--but we just calls 'er Aunt Carrie. Ye remember Radagast the Brown? He passed through here 'bout fifteen or sixteen year ago. This is 'is friends Greenjade and Smeagol. They're a goin' to Mordor to 'elp clean 'er up."

"Of course I remember Radagast," Mr. Partridge said as he and the Wizard grasped hands. "How could I forget?"

"I asked 'em to stop with us for a bit, and you wouldn't mind it," Nell said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"Well, of course yer did," Mr. Partridge said twinkling right back at her. "So, why in thunder are we just standin' around workin' our jaws, 'stead of gettin' these gents sitivated? Come along with yer."

"Yer won't mind it, Aunt Carrie?" Nell said linking her arm in her aunt's. "I'll be home a good bit this week, so yer won't have so much to do. Yer can take a little holiday if yer likes. Radagast 'ere said he'd be willin' to do some o' the cookin', so's yer won't 'ave to put up with mine."

"Yer don't mean to stand there, you minx, and tell me I'd let a guest of ourn do our cookin' for us?" Aunt Carrie said lowering her rather thick eyebrows, that made her look more severe than she obviously was. "Of course I can cook, me fine miss. And it wouldn't do you no harm, neither, to use the time to learn a bit yerself."

"As yer wish, old dear," Nell said with a goodnatured grin, giving her aunt's waist a little squeeze. "So. Are we all ready to move in now?"

10. Guests

As Nell's father went to fetch the wagon, Greenjade whispered to Radagast, "What are we going to tell them...about us?"

"We must go back to the Golden Ram and fetch our things," the Wizard replied, "and there we will discuss it."

The proprieter of the Golden Ram did not look happy when Radagast explained why they could not stay at the inn.

"I suppose you'll be wanting your money back then?" he said.

"Keep it," Radagast said cheerfully. "Buy something nice for your wife."

He didn't stay around to see the innkeeper's expression.

"People in small towns tend to be inquisitive," he said to Greenjade as they mounted the stairs out of the earshot of the man below, "and so, yes, we will have to come up with something to tell them. We should already have done so, but I did not figure to be staying for more than two or three days. We can tell them Sméagol is from the same region as 'Gollum'.  It is true enough. But you, my friend, are a different matter. Have you any ideas?"

"We might tell them I am your son," Greenjade suggested, "by...maybe not," he said as he saw the Wizard's look. "Your cousin then?"

Radagast chuckled. "Perhaps," he said. "But from where?"

"Why, from the Sea, of course. From an island far off the coast. There are such; I have seen them, in my former life. I visited one of them, in fact. I doubt any here know much of them.  Maybe we could tell them I am a criminal who spent some time in prison, and the conditions of my release were that I must go help clean up Mordor. It actually is the truth, and would perhaps make things more interesting."

Radagast laughed softly. "Do you remember the name of the isle you visited?"

"Lossëtold, I think," Greenjade said.

"Lossëtold...I must remember that. But perhaps we had better leave off the part about the prison.  I am sure it would make things a little safer for us if we were not too interesting," Radagast said with a wink.

The drive to Nell's house was very pleasant. No one asked of the origins of the travelers, and Greenjade was almost disappointed. Mr. Partridge, though a friendly and chatty fellow enough, evidently believed in minding his own business.

"A pity they didn't finish the play," he said as he slapped the reins down on the big draft horse's back. "I'd a' liked to see how it turned out."

"As if yer 'aven't seen it a hundred times afore," Nell laughed. A wonderful laugh she had too, no girlish giggle, but a beautiful big laugh that came from deep inside her.

"Aye, but it always ends differ'nt each year," her father said. "Just when yer think yer got it figgered out, they goes and changes it on yer."

"Makes yer wonder what the world is comin' to," Nell said archly, "don't it?"

"The birdie...it's comes back," Sméagol said as Rusco perched himself on the back of the wagon. Nildë lifted her head from Sméagol's lap and glanced toward the finch, then settled back down.

"He was feeling left out, I imagine," Radagast chuckled as the bird flew over and perched possessively on his shoulder once more.

The house was made of a sand-colored stone with a straw-thatched roof that had a rather perilous slope. There was a garden of colorful flowers out front, and a vegetable garden that could be seen in back, and many trees all around, birch, spruce, cedar, oak, and poplar mostly, along with a couple of apple and pear trees, with green fruits on them already. Other houses could be seen in the near distance.

"This is where me youngest brothers use to sleep," Nell said as she led them in. It was a fairly spacious room with two beds on heavy wooden frames, and a ladder on one wall between them. "That leads to the loft. When I was a lass, sometimes we'd sneak out of bed and all go up there and have us a time, feastin' on nuts and dried fruits and apples or some such, tellin' stories 'round a candle or a rushlight. 'Twas a wonder we didn't burn the house down. We'd try to see who could tell the scariest. Then Gil, that's me youngest brother, took to walkin' in his sleep betimes. Mum wouldn't let us tell scary tales after that, but of course, we did anyways."

"I think I could sleep up there, and Radagast could sleep in here," Greenjade said. "Surely that would work better."

"If yer like, but it's not such a comfortable place," Nell said. "There's baskets of nuts and dried fruits and strings of dried peppers and such, hangin' from the timbers. An' most likely, spiders and maybe mice. We've a pussy, but she don't like to get up in the loft."

"That means Nildë cannot stay indoors at night?" Radagast said.

"Oh, no. The pussy stays outdoors at night, mostly, and she’s got kits now, so she stays mostly in the stable with ’em. So Nildë may come in and keep our Sméagol company in his room, so long as she stays out of the pantry."

Sméagol looked vastly relieved.

Greenjade had been dreading the night. But he had not realized he was so exhausted. He felt stiff and sore and ready to drop any moment. When he told Radagast, the Wizard nodded knowingly.

"One's muscles tend to get so when they are not accustomed to being worked," he said. "And you've done a good bit of walking yesterday and today. The soreness will go away in time, when you've gotten a good bit of exercise in."

"I feel as if I could never walk another step," Greenjade complained, sitting down on the bed and pulling off his boots. "I can scarcely believe I've been mortal for less than two days. It feels more like a year. I think I could sleep on a slab of stone."

"Take the bed then, and I'll take the loft," said Radagast. "I don't mind a few night creatures, I'm well used to them. I suppose we'll sleep in our underthings, since we've no nightclothes with us. We shall be fairly spoilt to death here, I fear. But we needn't be idle. There's plenty of work we can do to earn our keep. We can chop wood, haul water, work in the garden, clean the stable, fix things, and what not. It will do us good, I dare say."

"I have to wonder," Greenjade said, "why it is the Valar saw fit to place us in this part, rather than just plunking us down in Mordor and letting us get right to work."

"Perhaps they wished us to get to know Middle-earth first," Radagast said.  

"But why should we?" Greenjade said.

"I’m not certain," said the Wizard. "But I dare say the reason will be revealed to us in time. There are always reasons, and if we open ourselves to it, we can learn to divine those reasons for ourselves."

After a simple supper of ham and bean soup and good bread and cheese, Radagast helped Sméagol get undressed. Nell had told them there were nightshirts in one of her brothers' drawers that might fit him, and the Wizard helped him into it. Then Miss Carrie brought them cups of steaming tea she said would help them to sleep, and Radagast sprinkled some dark powder into them after she had gone out.

"This will help sweeten your dreams as well," he told his charges as he put a pillow under Sméagol's hurt ankle. Greenjade, instead of feeling suspicious, found himself smiling gratefully at the old fellow. He was so kind; what motivated him? Not fear, surely. What then? A way to find out would be to ask, but the question seemed rather silly and petty to him once it formed in his mind.

He stripped down to his underwear and lay on the bed, which was surprisingly comfortable, and sipped his tea. It was sweet and spicy, and soon enough, he was feeling relaxed and. He glanced over at Sméagol, thinking of what he had said yesterday about what he wanted most. To sleep in a comfortable bed, with good food, and to go among folks who were not afraid of him and would not jeer or throw stones, dogs that would not bark, horses that would not shy at him. Well, here he was. He'd had to go and break a leg to get his wish. But he had it, nevertheless, and after less than two days. Was he happy now?

But before Greenjade could even think of asking him, he found himself thinking of Nell instead. And before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

~*~*~

He was still stiff and achy in the morning, yet he felt peculiarly refreshed. There was a bowl of water on the chest of drawers, which Radagast explained was for washing his face and hands. There were a good many other things he had to explain, which he did with twinkling eyes, such as about the covered bowls beneath the beds, but finally Greenjade managed to make himself presentable, and he could smell something delicious permeating the house.

Radagast wheeled Sméagol into the kitchen where breakfast awaited. There was bread and butter and jam and honey, along with baked ham and bacon and sweet milk and hot tea. Miss Carrie asked them how they had slept. Nildë was allowed to sit under the table, and even Nell gave her a bit now and then, petted her and called her a sweet lass.  Radagast explained their Mordor project in detail. Greenjade quickly learned the names of Nell's brothers: Ralf, Clark, Robin, and Gil, and their wives, Lila, Reena, Sally, and Jennie. Strange to say, Robin was the only one of the brothers with red hair. Young uns used to make jokes about calling out the fire brigade when he came into sight. Ralf was the smartest, she informed them; he could almost read, and do figuring in his head, and Clark was the handsomest, but they were all handsome, pretty much.  Ralf and Lila had four sons; Clark and Reena, one son and three daughters; Robin and Sallie had two daughters that were twins, and Gil and Jennie had one son and one daughter, and a little 'un on the way. Mr. Partridge beamed with delight as Nell described his grandchildren fondly, telling funny stories on some of them, and Miss Carrie looked rather wistful on the whole. She had been married once, it turned out, but her husband was a no-good, and had left her after a year or so of marriage. And Mrs. Partridge had died of diphtheria when Nell was but twelve....

Just as they were finishing up breakfast, a knock came at the door. Nell jumped to answer and there stood two pretty little girls, about twelve years of age, and she embraced them and led them indoors to meet the guests.

"Looks like word's got about," Miss Carrie said in an undertone to Radagast and her brother. "We can expect a good many more visitors right directly."

"These are Robin's lasses, Gilda and Gwynlen," Nell said as she ushered the girls indoors. "They's twins, but as yer can see, they don't look it. Will ye'ns 'ave a bit of brekkie?"

"We've 'ad it," one of the girls said. "Mum said we wasn't to 'ave no more."

"Well then," Nell said, "what say yer all go out on the front porch, while me an' Aunt Carrie clear up, and we'll be out directly?"

Greenjade felt his heart constrict as they repaired to the porch, where Mr. Partridge took a rocker and the little girls sat on a swing that hung on chains from the roof. The twins both had hair of a ruddy tinge, but Gilda's was close to gold, while Gwynlen's was darker than her aunt's, almost a chestnut. Gilda had eyes of a striking light blue, very like Garland's, Greenjade noted, while Gwynlen's were a clear golden brown. Gilda was taller by a couple of inches, with sharper features, a fairy-sprite of a lass, whereas Gwynlen was soft and rosy-cheeked. Gilda wore a dress of a shade similar to her eyes, while her sister wore a soft red, their hair tied back with ribbons.

"I have sisters that are twins also," Greenjade said almost before he could stop himself. "Yet they look alike."

"Do you now?" Gilda said with wide eyes. "It would be jolly to look alike. We could fool folks. And nobody ever believes we're twins. It's most provokin'," she pouted.

"There's boy twins that's alike, but they're old now," Gwynlen said. "They're twenty-two, and they don't dress the same no more, so that's no good. How old's your sisters, then?"

"Why...about twenty...I think," Greenjade said almost wishing he had not brought up the subject. "I've not seen them in a very long time."

And never will, he thought with a tightness in his throat. His enchanting little sisters, dancing on ice floes, diving from high cliffs, rejoicing in the fact that they knew how they looked, for they were exactly like each other....

"Wot's their names?" Gilda asked.

"Ummm...Nightingale...and Gloryfall," Greenjade said. Once more, speaking names....

"Them's funny names," Gwynlen said thoughtfully twirling a lock of auburn hair around a finger. "But pretty. Wot land's they from? Mum says ye're from a differ'nt place, and that's why yer talks so funny."

"Lossëtold," Greenjade said after thinking a moment. "It's an island off the coast."

"Lossëtold?" Gilda said. "I ain't 'eard of it."

"Me neither," Gwynlen said.

"Not many have, it seems," Greenjade said with a faint smile at Radagast. "You might have your father show you a map sometime. You'll be sure to see it."

"Wot's a map?" Gilda said.

"It's a drawing of a land," her granddad put in. "I may 'ave one somewheres meself. I'd like to see where this Lossëtold is. And Mordor, and all the rest of it."

"Wot's Mordor?" Gwynlen asked.

"It's 'at place where the fire-mountain was," Gilda said.

"Oh, 'at's right," Gwynlen said brightening. "Wot's...Lossëtold like, then?"

"Very lovely," Greenjade said. "High mountains, some with snowy peaks. Hence the name, which means 'snowy island.' There are waterfalls and bright blue lakes, and trees that grow so tall, they touch the clouds. And of course, the sea is all around."

"I never seen the sea," Gilda said. "Wot's it like?"

"Wet," Greenjade said, and was immediately shocked at himself; he'd never been the joker in any wise. He was even more astonished at the laughter his answer provoked.

"I mean, wot's it LIKE?" Gilda said. Gwynlen giggled.

"He done told yer, silly," she said. "It's WET. Yer know?"

"It's vast," Greenjade said. "It's...."

"Wot's vast?" Gilda asked.

"Huge," Greenjade said. "And full of waves that roll and sway, sometimes blue, sometimes green, sometimes grey, tinged with white and gold and silver when the sun shines, dark and brooding when it's cloudy. When they roll in to shore, they dash themselves against the rocks with a mighty crash, and when they roll into the beach, they leave things on the sand--shells and stones and odd creatures. It is full of very strange and wonderful creatures and plants and treasures untold."

"Fishes?" Gwynlen asked.

"Aye, fishes, and sharks, and whales, and a creature called the octopus, which has eight legs, with little round suckers on each one. They come in many colors--some are red, some green, some nearly white, some light brown, and there are tiny ones and huge ones. They have three hearts, and can shoot ink. Sometimes they carry clam shells as shields. I used to play with them when I was a lad--I'd take a rubber ball and dive down into the waves, and throw the ball to them, and they would slap it about by making water jets."

"Sure now!" Gwynlen said with very wide eyes.

"You're 'avin' us on,"  Gilda said with a little frown.

"Not a bit of it," Greenjade said smiling, and he saw Radagast smile also. Sméagol was as wide-eyed as the twins, and Mr. Partridge seemed transfixed.

"Tell us more," he said, "if yer please."

"I've seen them climb onto fishing boats also," Greenjade said, fairly giddy with the attention he was receiving, "and steal crabs from buckets, lifting off the lids with one leg and pinching the crabs with another. They're clever devils--they can change colors to blend in with their surroundings, if they see a shark coming. They can make themselves look like fishes or corals or rocks, and hide from their enemies thus. The female lays thousands of eggs at one spurt--hundreds of thousands..." He stopped short, remembering what the Wizard had said about the word "female"...but then, it was all right to use it when speaking of animals. Wasn't it? He apologetically glanced about to see if anyone had taken offense. "I used to wrestle with them sometimes," he said quickly.

"Aiiii," Gilda said shuddering, and her sister said, "I second that!" Radagast laughed.

"Now you ARE havin' us on," Mr. Partridge said grinning a bit.

"Not a bit of it," Greenjade said grinning. Actually he had wrestled an octopus but once, and that had not been for sport. But he saw no harm in stretching things a bit, since his audience seemed to hang on his words.

"Wot else is in the sea?" Gilda asked, fairly sitting on the edge of the swing.

"Mountains...some of fire and some of ice," Greenjade said. "The ones made of ice, they float, like ships. They are like splendid vast diamonds encrusted with pearl, and when the sun is on them, they sparkle like giant icicles rising high in the sky, with mysterious black-purple water all about. Some look like pure white castles made of snow tinged with blue, and in the setting sun, they glow coral red with fiery clouds all about. And others look as though the white clouds of the sky had come to settle on the water. Very beautiful, but treacherous to ships, for they extend far unseen under the water. And sometimes one sees strange little birds on them, with white shirts and black coats, walking about like humans, sometimes carrying their eggs on their feet."

"I should like to see that," Gwynlen said with a soft whistle, while Gilda laughed.

"Me too," Nell said, and Greenjade started at the sound of her voice, which came from right behind him, almost in a whisper. He had not heard her come up, and wondered how long she had been standing there listening.

And her face had such a soft wonder about it, she must have been there quite a while, and heard all....

11. Being Useful

Just then Aunt Carrie called out, "Nell, 'ave we any more soft soap? This bottle is near empty."

"There's one more bottle down cellar, Auntie," Nell said, and Greenjade could see her cheeks were visibly redder. To the others she said, "This is our laundry day.  So if yer will give us yer dirty things, we can wash 'em along with ourn."

The three travelers had brought but one change of clothes, which Radagast went to retrieve, and the twins asked if they could see the kittens. Their mum had said they could each have one, since she'd seen a rat in the barn t'other day. Just then Maisy came up the walk, dragging a burlap bag almost as big as herself. Sméagol looked most delighted to see her.

"Wot you got there, Maisy?" Mr. Partridge asked. "Ain't runnin' away from 'ome, are yer?"

Radagast laughed. Maisy broke into a run.

"Hullo, Sméagol!" she called. "Hullo, Mr. Partridge. I brung Nildë some more woody flowers! There was lots behind old Miz Hazelbrock's house. She said to take all I wanted, she was tired o' steppin' on 'em. She don't see too good, yer know. I broke the sharp points off of a lot of 'em, but I didn't 'ave time to do 'em all, an' Cal's mad at me so 'e wouldn't 'elp. Is Nildë's foot better?"

"That was most kind of you, Maisy," Radagast said as he came back out the front door with the bag of clothing. "And it's all right about the points, it will give Sméagol something to do for a while. Time is going to hang rather heavily on his hands, I fear. And I think Nildë is better this morning, and please tell your mother she was right about her jam. It was most delicious."

Maisy picked out a smooth cone and brought it to Nildë, then patted her head. She thumped her tail appreciatively and took the gift delicately from Maisy's hand.

"Why's Cal mad?" Gwynlen asked.

"'Cos we got in a fight an' he called me a rude name, and I told mum," Maisy said. "She wouldn't let 'im come over. 'Ow's yer ankle feelin', Sméagol?"

"Hurts," Sméagol said. "But Brown Master gives me medicines to makes it better."

"Maisy, did you 'ear what 'appened to that 'orrid Floria yesterday?" Gilda giggled.

"She said as she seen Gollum in the back'ouse," Gwynlen said giggling also. "She al'ays tries to make out like she never 'as to go, an' now she's seein' Gollum there. Ain't that daft?"

"Yes, I 'eard," Maisy said, and Greenjade noticed her cheeks getting pinker also, and he glanced sidelong at Sméagol, who kept his eyes to the front. "I gots to go now. Mum wants me 'ome. Please say hullo to Miss Nell and Mistress Carrie for me."

"Come back an' visit us, Maisy, when yer gots more time," Mr. Partridge said. "An' please give yer mum me regards."

Maisy nodded quickly, then turned and began to run.

"Nice little lass," Radagast said. "Well. I told Greenjade we would make ourselves useful, and we mean to do so. Where do we start?"

"Well," Mr. Partridge said, "the stable can use a bit o' muckin' out. One of me lads usually comes over and does it, but yer can save 'em the trouble. Sméagol can 'elp me in me workshop. 'E won't 'ave to move around, just brush up an' hand me me tools, things like that. Yer ever do any carpenter work?"

Sméagol shook his head no, looking shamefaced. "But we helps."

"Come on, young feller," Mr. Partridge said. "Let's see what yer can do, eh? We'd best take Nildë along with us; I've a feelin' her an' the pussy might not get on so good."

Radagast pushed Sméagol's wheelchair along as Mr. Partridge led the way, then he and Greenjade repaired to the stable, Greenjade casting a glance at Nell and her aunt, who were carrying a large basket of clothes and a tin tub past the garden.

"Where are they going?" Greenjade asked. "Don't they wash at home?"

"I suppose they're going to the stream," Radagast said. "Well, come along."

As they paused to tie back their hair to keep it out of their way, Radagast said, "That was most interesting, what you told of the Sea. Was it all true?"

Greenjade shrugged with a little smile, "For the most part."

Radagast chuckled. "It seems you truly cannot be content to blend in with the woodwork. That could prove a good thing. People in villages tend to get complacent and insular when not exposed to interesting outsiders from time to time. But please keep in mind, my friend, we are going to Mordor, and I hope you'll refrain from charming every lady you come across. A trail of broken hearts is not something we wish to leave behind us."

In the stable the twins were playing with the kittens, squealing and giggling and talking silly to them.  Greenjade stood transfixed, remembering when he had watched his own children playing with the sea-creatures, and wishing to give them the world for their own.

"I don't know which 'un to choose!" wailed Gwynlen. "I wish we could take 'em all! Don't you?"

"Aye," Gilda sighed, "but mum wouldn't allow it." Then she noticed the two men. "Which do y'uns think I should take?"

Radagast did not seem at all surprised at the question. He picked up first one kitten, then another, as their mother watched him curiously.

"This one," he said finally, holding up a black one with white paws. "This is your kitten, Gilda. And this--" he picked up a ginger tabby with a white bib-- "is Gwynlen's. Wouldn't you say?" He winked up at Greenjade. Both kittens were making a soft whirring or buzzing sound in the Wizard's hands.

"Most definitely," Greenjade said, remembering how Nell had looked at him from the doorway.

"Is mine a him or a her?" Gwynlen asked.

"Both lasses," Radagast said.

"Good," Gilda said. "I shall call mine White Shoes...nay, that's silly. I'll call 'er...Blossom Feets."

"And mine is...Lovely Golden Princess Butterfly With Blue Eyes," Gwynlen said. "But I'll call 'er Butterfly fer short. 'Ullo Miss Butterfly, I'm yer mummy now! Wot yer think about that, eh?"

"Didn't Maisy act funny when we told 'er of Floria?" Gilda said as she wiggled a long straw for Blossom Feets to pounce on.

"Aye," Gwynlen said. "Yer'd think she'd a' been glad, the way Florie's al'ays so mean to 'er an'--Ow! Li'l stinker bit me ear!"

"Think she really seen Gollum?" Gilda said.

"Just somebody playin' tricks," Gwynlen said pulling Butterfly out of her hair. Greenjade glanced at Radagast to see his reaction, but the Wizard was stroking the mother cat and calling her his pretty lady.

The girls apologized profusely to her for taking some of her babies, promising to take good care of them. Then they embraced Radagast as though he were their granddad.  After they left, the two men took shovels and began their task, working up quite a sweat. Greenjade, much to his surprise, found himself enjoying it, remembering how Nell had looked at him earlier. He smiled to himself. Wouldn't it be wonderful if...no, it could never be. But his insides felt so nice and fluttery...was this being in love? 

And he found himself singing a song that had no meaning, for this feeling did not find voice in sea-music. It was landish, and since he knew no landish songs, he found himself inventing one. The melody was spun of a mystery, swaying like waves in a balmy wind, warm and welcoming as crystal sands in morning light, high as a volcano born of filling fire, And even so, there was sadness in it, the sadness of the iceberg shifting colors in the midnight sun, beautiful but habitable by none.

Bryllea, bryl' harthefreu
Thesalea vronta pylabani krylea
maunele thesi revalytha
zaunale plytelea........

"That is your native tongue?" Radagast asked. Greenjade started.

"It was," he said softly.

Lost, lost for a time
the sea has closed its foaming doors
and hid its wet rafters
from your rule--
blue chambers, green suns
sunken galleons, drowned continents
keening whales, laughing dolphins
mountains of fire from which isles sprang
mountains of ice in starlit noon
mounds of coral where the Sirens basked.
Once you held it all hungrily
the salt that glazed your face
was not from your eyes.

Mother,
oh mother
you dance high and free
with waves for your stockings
and bells 'neath your heels.
Father,
oh father
with your knees in the tide
singing to crystaled caverns
your wounds bleeding joy.
Brothers and sisters
as beads in a brave chain
my children
in pools of blessedness
Lady mine
with lifted chin
and blameful eyes
think of me
when I am sowing treasure
in a scalded land that weeps rough pearls
and never more will hear
the beckoning deathless
song of the sea.

"My name, in my native tongue, is Zylaunthaleu," he said. "'Stone of green'. My mother's was Bryseluthea--'perilous flower.'"

"I hope I will meet her someday," Radagast said.

"So do I," Greenjade said very softly. "You know...how to draw words?"

"Aye, I do."

"Perhaps you can teach me then, and I will draw a message for my mother, which you will give to her when you go to the West?"

"I would be glad to."

"You are able to send birds. Perhaps you can send a bird to carry it for..."

"I'm afraid it is too far for a bird to fly," Radagast said. "I am sorry. But I would love to carry it for you."

"If she is...no longer living by then, you could give it to one of my sisters, or to Northlight. I very much want you to meet him also...and...tell him of me."

At long last, they finished their work, and lay down on the straw, their hands clasped behind their heads. Greenjade felt a peculiar cleanliness, for all he was covered with straw and sweat and likely smelled of dung. So this is work, he thought. Is this what other men feel at having accomplished something, however humble the task?

He looked at Radagast to see if he were feeling the same, and he suddenly felt something that took him entirely by surprise. It was a strong fondness, mingled with respect and admiration. He wanted to do things for the old fellow, follow his lead, and defend him against any detractors, if such there were. He had never felt such for his own father, and had to wonder if Nell had anything to do with this new emotion. It was tenderness, he realized.

About a quarter of an hour later, Radagast suggested they go weed the garden. They found the necessary tools in a little shed attached to the stable. Radagast showed Greenjade how to carefully dig up the undesirable plants, and Greenjade remembered what the Wizard had said about human nature being as a garden.

And again he thought of Nell.

"There's so much work for her here," he fretted before he could think. "She shouldn't have to be tied to this place. She's entitled to a life of her own. Like her brothers. Isn't she?"

"Sometimes it isn't a matter of what one is entitled to," Radagast said looking him in the eye in that manner that was sometimes disconcerting, yet commanding of respect. "Sometimes it's more of a matter of what needs doing. Just as with your stepfather. He was entitled to a life of his own, some would say. Yet there was something that needed doing, and he went out and did it."

Greenjade mulled this over, looking unheedingly at a dandelion he had just pulled up, and found himself thinking of Garland, wondering how she would fare in Nell's place. She wouldn't last a day, surely. Then again, most likely, some would have said the same of him.

And he began to wonder if, just possibly, he had wronged Garland....

And he wondered how she was faring now.

"I wonder how Sméagol is doing with the carpentry," Radagast said after a while.

~*~*~

Not so well, as it turned out.

"'E's blessed clumsy, 'e is," Mr. Partridge said as he came from the workshop, which was in an open structure attached to the stable.  "'E hit 'is thumb twice with the hammer, and near sliced off 'is finger with a saw, then cut hisself with a chisel, and I 'ad a time gettin' 'im bandaged up. And drove at least six splinters into 'isself, and made much fuss when I yanked 'em out of 'im. Yer'll want to see to 'im, I reckons. I set 'im to work whittlin' pegs. Seems to be all 'e's good for at the moment. What did 'e do fer 'is livin' afore yer come 'ere?"

"He was a fisher," Radagast said, glancing toward the shed where Sméagol sat hunched over, doggedly whittling at a little piece of hard wood.

"Well, per'aps we can take 'im fishin', although 'e'll 'ave to sit on the bank," Mr. Partridge said. "'At's strange, I didn't smell no fish on 'im. Most fishers, yer can smell 'em comin' a mile away."

"I believe where he comes from, one dives into the water for fish, like an otter," Radagast said. "But I dare say he knows about casting as well. If he doesn't take to carpentry, perhaps we can put him to work in the kitchen. I'm sure he can peel potatoes and cut up carrots."

"Then we better set 'im to work now, afore he comes up missin' a finger," Mr. Partridge said, then lowered his voice. "There's somethin'...mighty queer about 'im, I must say. 'E seems to 'ave some kind o' strange secret. I never met the like of 'im afore."

"He was into some trouble once," Radagast said, "and rather than keep him in prison, I suggested he be put into my care, to help with the cleaning up of Mordor. I imagine he would rather not speak of the trouble, which involved thievery and treachery. That's why I was reluctant to take your daughter up on her hospitality. But I supposed with his leg as it is, he was extremely unlikely to cause trouble. And he has absolutely no desire to return to the prison in which he was confined. They were extremely brutal to him there."

"Well, yer might of explained that from the beginnin'," Mr. Partridge said frowning. "But I reckon yer right, 'e ain't likely to get up to much mischief the shape 'e's in now. An' it's good to 'ave the two of yer to 'elp out for a bit. But if it's all the same to yer, I'd just as soon not 'ave 'im with a knife in 'is 'ands when me daughter an' sister is alone with 'im."

"We'll set him to work outside the house, on the porch perhaps," Radagast said. "We can keep an eye on him there. In the meantime, Greenjade and I need to wash up for luncheon. Our clothes are filthy, and the ladies have our only others in the wash."

"I've some that may fit yer," Mr. Partridge said. "Of course, yer friend there is taller and more narrer than meself, so they may not look so well on 'im."

"I'll be happy to take my luncheon outdoors," Greenjade spoke up.

And then out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nell and Miss Carrie coming up the road, the tub and the basket of laundry between them.

"Then again, perhaps it won't be necessary," he said smiling. Then he proposed to Radagast that they go assist the ladies in bringing in their load.

"Guess what!" Nell said as the two men came running. "We stopped at me brother Clark's, an' 'e had some old clothes that's your size. They got some patches to 'em, so's I hope yer don't mind it."

She handed him a pair of rough brown trousers and a sturdy-looking red shirt, neatly folded on top of the other clothes. Radagast grinned as he picked up the shirt and held it up to Greenjade.

"I'd say it's just your color," he said with a wink.

The clothes did fit pretty well, although the shirt was a bit big in the shoulders, and the red was becoming, judging from Nell's admiring look. She had stopped in at Ralf's as well, and gotten some clothes of one of his sons that she thought might fit Sméagol.

After luncheon Sméagol was set to work peeling potatoes for supper.  Miss Carrie put dried beans to soak, then she and Nell swept the floors and the porch, and in the afternoon the visitors got to meet Robin and Gil and their families. The twins said the kittens were making a lot of fuss, until the girls’ mum had made them take them outside. Radagast said they missed their mother, and living in a new place would take some getting used to. Then Gil's little daughter, Trilla, said she wanted a kitten too. She was just six, her brother Olly a year younger. Their mother Jennie looked to be about six months gone with child. She let the other children lay their ears on her belly. They giggled and said, "It kicked me!" It seemed to bring a joyful light to Jennie’s face.

And Greenjade got to talk more of the Sea, while Trilla and Olly played with Nildë.

And later in the evening after the others had left, Jem came over. He did not look at all happy to see Greenjade.

"'Ow's yer mum, Jemmy?" Mr. Partridge asked him.

"Not so good," the young man murmured without looking at anyone. "She's sleepin' now, so I can't stay long."

"Your aunt stays with 'er betimes, don't she?" Mr. Partridge asked.

"Aye, but she an' Mum don't get on so good," Jem said. "Ever' time Aunt Bertie leaves, Mum's in such a state, it's all I can do to get 'er calmed down again.  Mum was the pretty one in 'er family an' 'er dad favored 'er, and Aunt Bertie never fergot it. Sometimes Granny 'll come over, but I don't like to ask 'er. She gives me the willies, she's so old and queer.  Somethin' witchy about her."

He and Nell went for a walk in the twilight, and Greenjade felt an emotion that was an ugly contrast to what he had been feeling that morning. He recognized it as jealousy, and wondered what to do about it. He remembered Nell saying that Jem had been wounded in such a way that he could not give her children. What did that mean? That he merely could not father young, or that he could not...?

And he looked over to Sméagol, and thought of what Mr. Partridge had said of him. And yet another strange feeling washed over him. It was similar to the sense of kinship he had felt toward the other the previous day, but something more.

"Sméagol," he found himself saying, thinking this was the first time he had spoken the name aloud. The small fellow looked at him in the dim light of the smelly tallow candle that burned low on the table between the beds, with eyes full of sadness as profound as the sea, and Greenjade nearly hated him for the feeling they imparted to him, that feeling that was all too familiar to him now, of apartness from all of humanity, of isolation and aloneness. He struggled against it, telling himself they had friends now. They were working, they were being useful, doing a good thing.

"Sméagol," he pressed on, nevertheless, "did you by any chance have aught to do with that lass yesterday? That incident in the backhouse? That was you, wasn't it?"

Sméagol started, and tugged at the bedding, as if to protect himself from a sudden cold wind.

"It's no matter," Greenjade laughed a little at him. "I knew it all along. Not to worry, I won't tell. I'm sure she had it coming to her, and it may teach her a lesson."

"We was...not in backhouse," Sméagol said defensively. "We was...in back, behind it. She did not see us. She lied. She is...bad girl."

Greenjade nodded. "Most likely. And there was no harm done, after all."

"Sméagol tells Brown Master," Sméagol said, after a moment, "tomorrow maybe. We tells 'im."

"No need, I'm sure," Greenjade said. "But if you wish, go ahead.  I think he knows already."

Sméagol nodded: "Brown Master is good to us."

"Yes," Greenjade said thoughtfully. "I have to wonder why. It's not fear of the Bad Place. He'll not go there. I thought maybe it was because if he didn't take us with him, he might not get to go West. But I think there's more to it. He said he would take a message from me to my mother when he goes. That was good of him."

Sméagol sat up a little then. "He takes message...to West?"

"Aye. He said he'd even teach us to draw words. I didn't want him to see what I'd write...but now, I don't think I'd mind it so much."

"Would him...would him takes message to..." Sméagol was sitting straight up, wincing a little, but seemingly unmindful of the pain in his ankle.

"To my stepfather?" Sméagol nodded, looking away. "I'm sure he would, if you asked. What would you tell him?"

Sméagol was silent, and Greenjade was about to say he didn't have to tell if he didn't want to, when the other spoke again, looking down at his bandaged hands.

"We would tell him...that Sméagol is sorry...for biting finger off," he said.

"That's not so bad as what I did," Greenjade said in a small voice.  "I almost ate my own brother."

12. Beyond the Horizon

"He fancies yer," Jem said as they walked arm in arm down the road past lilac trees in bloom, and rose bushes, and low fences twined with honeysuckle and ivy, sending out their scents in the deepening twilight as fireflies rose and fell among the blooms and in the thick clover. "Yer know that?"

"Hark at yer," Nell said, feeling glad he could not see how warm her face was growing in the dusk. "He only just met me, what? Two days gone? Three?"

"Long enough. Yer fancies 'im back?" Before she could answer, he said, "It's all right if yer do, yer know. Yer know what I told yer, long time back. That if yer met anyone yer could fancy, and 'e fancied yer back...that I wouldn't hold yer to what yer said. I don't want fer no one to wed me out of pity, nohow. Yer free to go."

Nell stole a look at his face, which he was trying to hold away from her view, and right away she could see what it cost him to say that.

"I don't wed yer out of pity, Jemmy," she said softly. "I'm fond of yer, yer know that. Al'ays 'ave been. I like bein' with yer, talkin' with yer, or just walkin' along with yer, like I do now. Yer me best friend. I'm comfortable with yer, that's what. Like I can be meself and don't 'ave to worry what nobody thinks. I don't feel like that with nobody else, not even me brothers. It's...well, almost like we're a old couple already."

"Aye," he said, still averting his face from her, "I knows that. But...I ain't no good fer yer. Can't give yer a little un, and I know that's what yer want. Ain't it now? I seen yer with yer brother's young uns. I see the longin' in yer eyes when yer hold 'em on yer knee. And that's as it should be. Yer a strong and handsome lass with a good mind, yer ought to pass it on. And likely I won't live to get old. Yer ought to be with a man like yerself, that's got stuff in 'im. Like 'Arry was. But..."

"Even if I did fancy 'im," Nell said softly, "an' I don't say as I do, he's goin' away to Mordor, an' can yer see me goin' out there? Away from me family, an' you, an' all me other friends? An' 'e's that determined, an' that noble, 'e wouldn't stay 'ere with me, 'e's that set on goin' there and makin' a good an' beautiful place of it, and drivin' out all the evil an' filth that's there."

"I been wonderin' 'bout that," Jem said. "Why is it 'e's goin'? 'E ain't never been there, 'as he? Why would 'e care so much about cleanin' up a place 'e's never been? Did you ever 'ave a good look at 'im? Did you see how white an' smooth 'is 'ands is? Looks like 'e never done a stroke of work in 'is 'ole life, afore comin' 'ere. An' that other chap, the small un. 'E's queer, is what 'e is. Makes a goose walk over me grave to look on 'im sometimes. Don't yer never wonder 'bout what's goin' on with 'em?"

"What's to wonder?" Nell said. "They want to clean it up and make it beautiful, like it 'asn't been for a thousand years. What's queer with that?"

"That Greenjade feller," Jem said lowering his voice as if there might be someone in the brush listening. "Ben told me today 'e's seen 'im before, some years back. Said he disremembers where exactly, somewhere nigh the coast, but yer know Ben's about ten year older'n us, an' 'e's been around, even before the War."

"That's unlikely," Nell said. "Prob'ly just someone as looks like 'im."

"That's what I said, but Ben said no, he never forgets a face, it was 'im, all right. Only, 'e didn't 'ave no beard, an' there was somethin' mighty queer about 'im. Thought maybe 'e was an elf, but yer Greenjade ain't no elf, is 'e?"

"Course 'e ain't," Nell said. "Not that I ever seen an elf. But if'n he was one, 'e'd of said so. How long ago was this?"

"'E didn't say. Said the feller was uncommon strong, that 'e got in a fight with someone in a tavern, an' the proprietor tried to toss 'im out, an' this chap just picked up 'im like 'e's a little wee pup an' pitched 'im right out the door on his bum. An' that proprietor was a big feller, twice again as big as yer Greenjade. An' 'e said ever'body else just kinder backed off after that, and this chap laughed an' asked if anybody else cared to trifle with 'im. An' then before ever'one's eyes, 'e turns into a bat and flies all over the room, an' then turns back inter a man, an' laughs some more, then starts in ter flirtin' with one of the maids, who backs off cryin' a bit, an' then he starts singin' to her, real soft-like at first, an' then a little louder, an' she just stands there fixed, like a bird with a snake, an' 'e starts movin' in slow an' easy, and by an' by he takes 'er chin an kisses 'er on the lips, real soft an' gentle like, an' she don't move, just stands there lettin' 'im 'ave 'is way with 'er. An' then 'e kisses 'er 'arder, and she lets 'im, an then 'e starts dancin' slow an' easy with 'er, and then they dance out the door an' that's the last Ben seen of 'em."

Nell stopped in her tracks for a moment.

"That couldn't of been 'im," she said. "In a tavern, was it? Yer know Ben likes 'is liquor."

"That's what I told meself, at the first," Jem said. "But after seein' the effect 'e was 'avin on yer tonight, and the lasses....Well now, if it were Ben or one o' the other soldiers that had yer fancy, maybe I wouldn't say naught. But that 'un...Just what do yer know of 'im? Where's 'e from? What's 'e goin' to Mordor fer anyways?"

"Hark at yer, Jemmy," Nell laughed uneasily. "Yer'd think yer was me dad, talkin' like this! I've knowed 'im fer what, three days? An' even if 'e was ter fall on 'is knees an' beg me to go to Mordor with 'im, it's like I said--I'd be a pretty sight, follerin' 'im out there like a little lost lamb, now wouldn't I? I belong 'ere...with me folks. Not with 'im, not with no one. An' that's all about it."

"Well, I can just see 'im charmin' yer like that chap with that maid," Jem said. "I seen 'is kind before. 'E's a tomcat kind of feller. Don't let 'im get to yer. 'E'd leave yer with a broken 'eart and more than that, an' I'd 'ave to track 'im down and kill 'im, now wouldn't I? An' what would 'appen then? I could let yer go, if yer was to meet a feller worthy of yer, fer yer own sake, though it would likely kill me ter do it. But 'im? I think not."

"Yer've naught to worry 'bout, Jemmy," she said firmly. "An' yer got yer mum to see to, and I've me dad, and so it's no use to be botherin' 'bout things as can't be 'elped. Reckon we better turn back now. It's gettin' mighty dark, and I can just see nosy ole Mistress Sykes peekin' out her shutters in the dusk an' carryin' tales 'bout how that red-headed Partridge huzzy is a leadin' poor innercent soldiers down the garden path."

~*~*~

In the morning Radagast said they would go out and collect firewood. Nell would go along, for she knew her way around, and after luncheon, she, Radagast, and Greenjade set out in the wagon, with the Wizard in the middle of the seat, driving. The day was shaping up beautifully indeed.

Earlier, Sméagol had asked to speak to "Brown Master" alone, so Greenjade excused himself and went out back to wash up for breakfast, and as he was passing Nell's bedroom, through the partly opened door he saw her getting ready also. She was in her underclothes, brushing her hair, and although he knew he was not supposed to watch, he stood transfixed, hoping against hope that she would not turn and see him looking at her. The morning sun streaming into her window touched her rippling locks with coppery fire, and the line of her back and arms was so lovely, it fairly made his eyes grow wet and his chest rise and fall, his heart fluttering within like a captured bird. And he could just see her face reflected in the small round mirror hanging above the chest of drawers, and the expression on it both held and shamed him. Only then did it occur to him that he was not supposed to be watching...but how did one tear one's eyes away from a sight so lovely it defied all description?

Damn, this business of being good was not going to be easy, by any means....

It was her face that decided him. It was one thing to secretly watch someone in a state of undress. But it was another to be watching her soul...which was what hovered about her face, the sadness of the eyes, the faint roseate glow of the cheeks, the set of the lips, one set so close to the other as if to comfort each other and prevent their tremor. What was making her sad? That was not a face made for sorrow...or was it?

If only he could be alone with her, just to talk to her...if but for half an hour. The memory of it would sustain him for the rest of his life, he was certain. But how likely was that to happen, around here?

Finally he took himself out back, drew a bucket of water from the well, and hauled it out back of the stable, where he stripped himself down to the raw and scrubbed himself all over with a rough rag, then took the water and poured it all over himself. He could scarcely help but notice how fresh and soft the early morning air was, with the fragrances of wild flowers, grass, hay and trees ever so gently and shyly presenting themselves to him, as maidens approaching their master's chambers. Birds twittered from afar off, and he heard the stamping and whickering of horses in the stable, and squirrels scrambling up tree trunks...and as he stood naked, looking and listening and breathing it all in, he felt a sudden strange urge to walk about out back, into the woods, just as he was. He picked up his towel, just in case he did meet with anyone, laid it over one shoulder with a careless gesture...then tossed it aside, since having it spoiled the feeling of doing this thing.

And he walked out into the woods, behind the backhouse, wandering down a path that did not appear to be traversed in a long time. He heard a familiar twitter, and looking up, he saw Rusco the finch, looking at him with a knowing expression, or so it seemed. Grinning to himself, Greenjade ambled along further, and saw a ladder going up into a tree. Looking upward, he saw what appeared to be a wooden box in the branches, with a square like a window cut into one side. He was tempted to climb and peek in, but the ladder did not look very substantial, and he doubted it would hold him. But he stood trying to peer in, wondering who could be living up there, and if the Partridges were aware of their tree-dwelling neighbors....

Then he started at a noise off to his left, turned around abruptly, only to see a beast of some sort--two of them, in fact, light brown in color with ears that were pointed at the tips, rather like a horse's but larger, long thin legs, and a small tail white on the underside. It paused to look behind and he saw a pair of lovely soft dark eyes looking back at him, then the smaller one came following after, with white spots on its back; then mother and child both went bounding off with high graceful leaps through the brush. Greenjade was tempted for a moment to run after them, but considering some of the brambly bushes he would have to clear, it did not seem such a good idea.

And looking down he saw ferns sparkling with dewdrops where the sun peeped down through the leaves, and flowers that looked like clusters of tiny red birds, also wet with dew, and vines twining around slender white trees, bearing little white flowers, and what appeared to be a larger flower in motion fluttering around them, and as he reached for it, it eluded him and circled upwards, disappearing into the leaves.

He soon found himself singing once more.

Captive of the air, wandering long
naked between the stars and the darkness
caught in the cold fire
'neath the deep tower
voices of morning
scattering songs
of innocence and longing.

Maiden of the morning, dwelling aloft
clothed in beauty in the eyes of the day
dancing in the blue fire
above the warm terrace
the distance between us
is as boundless
as the sky......

~*~*~

"I am going to teach Greenjade and Sméagol to read and write," Radagast said as they rode out into the woods. They had left Sméagol behind with Mr. Partridge, making more wooden pegs. "But I'll need some materials--parchments and writing tools. I don't suppose you have aught at your house, Nell?"

"Oh, would yer teach me also?" cried Nell, clasping her hands tightly. "I al'ays wanted to learn. But there was so little time and no one about willin' to teach. I've a notion Jemmy and his friends 'ud like to learn also. Perhaps yer could get up a little school like I've heared tell of, in other places?"

"Well, I would love to teach you," the Wizard said, as Greenjade felt his heart pound inside him one moment, then shrink in dismay the next. "But we would need a place with no distractions, large enough to contain us all, and a good many materials, and some books. Do you know of such a place?"

Nell thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers.

"The Quail and Pheasant!" she exclaimed. "Scarcely anyone comes in in the daytime, and there's a room apart from the common room that would do just fine, I'd think. I'm sure I could get Tam Goodfellow to let us use it of mornin's. I'm the one that 'elped bring 'is son into the world, after all. Maybe even 'e'd like to learn."

"That would be wonderful, if he is willing," Radagast said. "I don't know how much of a schoolmaster I'd make. But I suppose Mr. Goodfellow could deal with any unruly pupils we might have."

By noontime they had collected nearly an entire wagonload of stovewood. Greenjade thought, to his chagrin, that Nell had picked up twice as much wood as he had, without once stopping to rest. He hoped she wouldn't notice. She did not seem her usual chipper self. He found himself wondering if she ever stopped to look back at him as he stopped from time to time to look at her. And what she would have thought if she had seen him that morning, wandering naked down the forest path and singing softly. How would he ever leave this village behind?

As they were heading for home, an elderly woman with a wheelbarrow approached their wagon asking if she might buy some kindling wood from them. Nell told her to take whatever she needed, there was no charge. The woman filled her barrow quite full. On the way home four more people asked to buy wood, and this time Nell allowed them to pay, and she divided up the money evenly amongst them.

When they reached the cottage, Mr. Partridge said that Ralf and his two eldest lads had caught some nice trout and brought it over, and that Sméagol had cleaned it for them pretty as yer please, then boned it and cut it up for Aunt Carrie. Also, Ralf had brought a pair of crutches that one of his sons, Chip as he was called, had used when he broke his leg the previous year. They were a bit too long, so Mr. Partridge cut them down to fit. Chip was cheerfully showing Sméagol how to use them, telling in a great deal of detail of the accident that had caused him to break his leg.  His brother Ned looked a bit miffed that he had no past fractures to tell of, but the twins happened in just then, and started eagerly talking of injuries that had befallen them--Gilda had cut her hand with a paring knife so deeply it had required stitches, and Gwynlen had scalded her elbow quite badly when she was small, and still had the scar to show. And then Ned remembered he had gotten bit by a dog when he was little, and his mum had burnt the place, and he yanked up his britches leg to show the scar on his ankle. Nell told of breaking a toe when she was about ten, and of getting thrown by a wild pony when she was thirteen and getting her skull cracked. Greenjade shuddered, but Sméagol looked proud and happy to be among their company.

During luncheon, Nell told everyone about the plans for the schooling, and Miss Carrie said she wished to learn also. Mr. Partridge declined, saying he had too much to do as it was. A young couple was getting married and he was making a table and a set of chairs for them. A bench wasn't good enough for 'em, he said; they would have chairs. What WAS the world coming to? 

"Do you know of anyone who might have writing materials?" Radagast asked.

"Naught but the mayor, 'at I kin think of," Mr. Partridge said. Greenjade stole a peek at Sméagol...who had confessed all to the Wizard this morning, Radagast had informed him while they were collecting the wood. Sméagol did not meet Greenjade's eyes.

"Leave all to me," Nell said.  It seemed she had been avoiding looking Greenjade in the eye today also.

But the very next morning, all had their first lesson at The Quail and Pheasant. Nell's brothers all showed up, along with their wives, whose mothers had offered to keep the children. Six of the soldiers showed up. Jem said he would like to if there were someone to stay with his mum while he was out, someone other than his Aunt Bertie, and Mrs. Goodfellow offered her services, to everyone's surprise.

And that night, they celebrated at the Quail and Pheasant. Nell seemed more her usual self, and she wore her embroidered blouse, and sang several songs, and the soldiers came to life once more, watching and listening, and some of them sang with her.

The lass that I love is a fine pirate wench
She's strong as a ox when yer 'ead she will clench
She drinks like a plowboy, in rum she's awash
She'll show ye 'er buckle if ye show 'er yer swash
She sails where she likes and puts in where she please
And brings all the landlubbers down on their knees!

Within a week, all had the alphabet memorized. Radagast said perhaps they could use the money they made from the stovewood to buy some books, and asked Nell to introduce him to the mayor.  And in the meantime, he taught much of the ways of woodland creatures and birds, and plant lore, along with the history of Middle-earth, and Greenjade found himself being asked of the Sea.

And then there was the tale of the Ring.

As it turned out, there were virtually none who knew the whole story. Greenjade did not even notice how fidgety Sméagol grew in the telling, for watching the crowd's reaction, and thinking of his stepfather. Soon the room was no longer large enough, and Radagast arranged to have the stage brought back from the Springfest, so that he might stand there and tell the tale.

"The village has awakened," he said one evening, as they sat on the porch watching the setting sun. "It's like the Springfest all over again, yet different."

Mr. Partridge looked troubled, even as he held his youngest grandchild, Clark's little two-year-old Linnet. It seemed he preferred to let sleeping dogs lie. Greenjade watched him from the corner of his eye. Yes, the man was happy as he was, sitting on the porch among family members, watching the sun go down and holding the babe on his lap and feeling her fall asleep on his breast with his finger clutched in her soft little hand, his breath ruffling her silky curls. What did he need with book learning, with knowledge of the outside world? This was the sort of man Greenjade had once held in the utmost scorn: the man who was content. Now he scarcely knew what to think. On the one hand, he had gained a certain respect, and even wished he could be that sort of man. On the other, he knew he never could be. Even with Nell by his side. He was wishing to move on now, to see what else lay beyond the horizon. Perhaps the learning would help to take him there....

13.Correspondence

Dear Samwise,

It has been long since our last meeting, and I dearly wish that I might meet with you again soon, for I would love to see you and your charming wife and delightful children once more before I embark on this mission, but I fear it is not to be. Much of what I am about to tell you will seem very strange, although I dare say you know aught of it already, since you are able to hear your former Master's voice from out of the West by way of his Star-glass. You may rest assured that what he tells you is the truth....

Sam paused to empty his pipe, looking up from the letter where he sat on the bench in his garden, to see little Elanor and Frodo-lad playing in the sand-box he had made for them.  He heard the cry of his youngest from within the smial and Rosie's voice speaking to the babe in soothing notes, and he smelled supper cooking. Pot roast with onions and mushroom gravy, or he was a Bracegirdle from Hardbottle....

Then he returned to reading the letter, which was quite long. His smile turned into a dismayed frown at one point, then to an outright scowl, which dropped into a gape of astonishment, then became a skeptical smirk, resolving itself to a sigh at the last.

You would scarcely believe what a favorite Sméagol has become, especially with Miss Carrie, who says she does not know what she would do without him sometimes. He does so much to help out about the kitchen and the rest of the house, although she knows his ankle is paining him much of the time, and she can swear Mr. Partridge is looking healthier and stouter. He is popular with the children also, who ask him for stories from his early life, and I am continually astonished at the things he tells. I can read a bit between the lines, and from the things he has told me in confidence I can see why he turned out as he did, and how tragically the Ring reduced him to a beast-like state. It is a joy to see how his humanity has come back to him. The youngsters have even gone so far as to form a club, of which they have made him president! This was young Chip's idea--he has a mind full of odd notions, and the club is a "secret society" so that Sméagol is not supposed to tell what goes on with it.  I'm not sure I approve of this, but I hesitate to say too much of it to him just yet. Children take some strange ideas into their heads, most of which are quite harmless I'm sure. I tell myself to allow him a bit of the childhood he was denied in his youth, it is sure to do him good. But aside from that, he has told me everything....

Not so sure as I'd approve of it neither, Sam thought. I wouldn't allow him around MY young uns, and no mistakin'. He's up to somethin', and Mister Radagast ought to catch on. Reckon I should tell 'im. I can just imagine the tall tales that varmit told him to catch his sympathies. Pullin' the wool clean over his eyes, I've no doubts....

Greenjade is learning carpentry skills from Mr. Partridge, and doing far better at it than poor Sméagol. He made a little wagon for Nell and Miss Carrie to use for the laundry, so the ladies are able to take more clothes to the stream with them at a time. He helped to build the new furniture for the bridal couple, and the work went twice as fast as it would have otherwise, and I truly do think Mr. Partridge's health has picked up considerably. One of the children asked him to dance the hornpipe for them, and I had all I could do to prevent him. As it turns out, however, Greenjade is familiar with the dance, and he took a try at it, while Gil played the melody on a three-stringed fiddle, and Nell watched him for a while and then tried dancing with him. She's an excellent dancer, and the brothers were much impressed, although I think Mr. Partridge was troubled in his mind. And now he's constructing a cot frame for me so that I do not have to sleep on the floor any more. Think of that! He's proving quite clever with his hands, and does some carving in his spare time. And I'm still astonished at how quickly he has learned to read and write!

He still has a burning thirst for knowledge that will not die. He says that the knowledge he acquired in his previous life was of the wrong sort. It had naught to do with life in reality, he said. This is the sort he should have been pursuing all along, but he had scorned it then. It was "night knowledge" he had sought before, he says, when he should have been seeking "day knowledge." Night knowledge, he explained, has to do with the things that lie at the bottom of the Tower I spoke of, and gives way only to greed, lust, hate, envy, idleness, spite, cruelty, and ultimate destruction and all ugliness. He said day knowledge is of the common folk, whom he once scorned, but this sort of knowledge is of love, joy, beauty, peace, delight, wonder, compassion, and contentment. I think he is oversimplifying things a bit; he seems to think he has it all figured out. However, it is wonderful to see him seeking this path leading to the Light. I only hope I can keep him on it. He is hard-headed and proud yet, and even now at times scorns the help of others, thinking he can do it all himself, rather like a child who is first learning to be independent, curtly shrugging off his mother's attempts at assistance. Then there's the sticky problem of his reproductive instincts. That's the thing that worries me about him now. If only I could help him there, but I know all too well how powerful these urges are in Men, and perhaps more so than most with him. I've a feeling it will be rough going.

He has written a letter and permitted me to send a copy to you so that you might read it to Frodo. I will be taking the original to the West with me when I go, but Eru only knows when that will be, and I've no way to know if Anemone will even still be alive by that time. I still have not looked at it, so I can only guess at the contents. I ask only that you show it to no one outside of your family.

I am worried that both Greenjade and Sméagol are becoming far too attached to the Partridges, and it will go very hard with them to have to leave. To be truthful, I've become much attached to them myself....

Sam looked at the sealed letter without opening it. Then he picked up another sheet of parchment, which was of the same sort Mister Radagast had used, but the writing was wholly different. It was like a child's hand, big and shaky, all in upper-case letters, and just one page of it, signed "YUR SMEAGOL". "My Sméagol" in a pig's eye, thought Sam, then after a moment, he began reading the actual message.

THIS IS ONELY TO SAY I AM SORY FOR THE WIKID DEEDS I HAS DUN. PLEES TEL MASTRE I REPENTS OF BITIN HIS FINGRE.  I AM SORY FOR CALING YU FAT HOBIT AND LEDING YU AND MASTRE TO THE SPIDRES LARE. I AM LERNIN MUCH FRUM BROWN MASTRE BUT AM NOT RITING GOOD YET BUT STIL I HAS TO TEL YU THES THINGS. THAT I AM THANK FULL TO MASTRE FOR GETING US FRUM THAT BAD PLASE. PLEES TO THANKS HIM FOR ME IF YU CAN. I NO IT WIL MAKE HIM HAPY. BROWN MASTRE SED SO AND HE IS ALL WASE RITE. ME AND HIM AND GREEN MAN GOS TO MORDOR WEN MI LEG HEELS TO CLEEN IT. I WIL BE SORY TO LEEV HERE COZ THEY IS GOOD TO ME BUT BROWN MASTRE SES WE MUST GOS AND SO WE GOS.

YUR SMEAGOL.

Sam shook his head once more, though less vehemently than before. I had better write to Mister Radagast, he told himself again. I hope he knows what he's letting himself in for. I just bet that Stinker has told him everything! Now what of this other fellow....

~*~*~

Frodo sat in the shade of his gazebo, smoking his pipe also, watching the grandchildren playing in the garden. His stepsons Northlight, Moonrise, and Ebbtide, along with their elf-sister Raven's brother Guilin and their friend Calanon, were all on the beach below. Anemone was talking with her eldest daughter Fairwind in the swing on the terrace, no doubt about her upcoming Wedding, along with Fairwind's sisters-in-law Sweetfern and Jasmine. They had recently had a Wedding also, and looked very wise and knowing on the subject. Embergold was in the kitchen preparing second breakfast, and Frodo's nose told him to expect cinnamon buns and bacon.

The twins walked in the garden with Raven, laughing and chattering...also about the Wedding, Fairwind having told them she had no idea how such things went and she would leave it up to them to decide what they wanted to wear. The twins were in light blue, but even as Frodo looked, one of them held out her skirt and suddenly, lo, she was clad in a lovely rose-pink gown of a different style than she had been wearing. Raven gasped as Nightingale turned about for her approval and admiration, and not to be outdone, Gloryfall stood forth in a gown of gold. Frodo chuckled, especially when both twins glanced back from time to time in the direction of Calanon in such a carefully casual manner, then suddenly put back their pale hair and resumed discussing the dresses with renewed enthusiasm, while Raven gracefully blew a kiss to Northlight.

Then his smallest grandchild, Summershine, climbed onto Frodo's lap, wiggling into place, and he kissed her round pink cheek and held her close, wondering if things could possibly be any better than this. And then he took a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and looked at it once more, unfolding it awkwardly with one hand and reading what was written on the two pages within.

"How about it, my little sweetling?" he said to the golden-haired toddler in his lap.  She looked so as Anemone must have looked at her age, that he often felt she was the baby daughter he would never have, and yet had, with the added privilege of spoiling and then sending home to her parents to let them straighten her out so he could spoil her all over again. "Should I read this to your grandmum now? Or wait until after the Wedding?  I just hope I wrote it all down right. I'm sure I missed a thing or two, but I know I got the most important parts.  I know it wasn't a dream, for I can tell the difference between dreams and when I truly do hear Sam's voice. According to him, your uncle Greenjade, the one you'll never meet, is now living in Middle-earth as a mortal man, with Sméagol as well, and they are traveling to Mordor with Radagast the Brown. What say you to that?"

"Stowy," Summershine said, reaching for the paper.

"Aye, 'tis a story," Frodo said holding it out of her reach, "but not for little ones. It's for your granddad and grandmum, and for your auntie Fairwind, and for all the others too. I met Radagast the Brown once, you know. It was a long time ago, after the Quest, when I was coming home with the others, but I remember him well. It seems he's been put in charge of Greenjade and Sméagol.  Looks like he's doing with Sméagol what I wished I could do. It's good that you're too little to know the story of the...the Ring now, my poppet. Someday you'll know it, although I wish I didn't have to be the one to tell it to you. But it's a tale I'll always carry with me one way or another."

Summershine lit up as if she knew exactly what he was talking about. She was aptly named, and bursts of radiance from her were no unusual occurrence.

There were no words for how much he loved her.

Just then Fairwind's groom-to-be, Barathon, came riding up, together with his little nephew Emerion, and Frodo stood up, holding Summershine on his hip.

"I suppose I'll not get a chance to tell my news until nightfall," he said in mock petulance, stuffing the folded paper back into his pocket and smiling as he watched his two eldest grandsons run to meet Emerion, and a beautiful white bird fluttered high over Barathon's head, circling in a downward spiral until it reached the ground before him, whereupon Fairwind suddenly stood there smiling in its place.

~*~*~

Dear Sam,

How can I thank you for the wonderful news you have tendered?

Yes, I considered waiting until after the Wedding to convey the news, but I knew I could not keep it to myself for more than a day! And I knew it would be a comfort to Fairwind, the business with Darkfin being the only damper on her joy. I believe she is perfectly happy now, and Northlight was thrilled to have good news of his wayward brother, and as for Anemone...I only wish you could have seen her face. It rather seems too good to be true. But I have chosen to believe it. I had never once considered Radagast as a guide; sad to say, I had nearly forgotten him. Well, I've only met him but once, after all, and have scarcely thought of him since I have been living on the Island. I very much hope I live to see him come to his true home, and if I do not, I hope Anemone will live long enough--she says she will go when I do, but I rather doubt she will, with so much to live for.

Fairwind says that she wishes her Wedding to be in the Place of the Bells--that is, the Temple, and I am glad of it. When Barathon suggested the Temple to her at first, she was hesitant, saying it was so huge and holy, it frightened her a little, she felt unworthy to be wed in it after what she had done. She said she would be wed by the Light-house, where my own wedding was held, as well as so many others. But now that the news of Greenjade has come, she has decided she wishes to be married in the Temple now, and so it is set. The first sea-maid ever to wed an Elf, and in the Temple! She and the twins have gone diving for pearls and beautiful stones to decorate her gown. I said forget the pearls, there is no ornament more beautiful than flowers for a bride and those will be much easier to come by, but do you think they are listening to me now?

And I can scarcely stop my feet from dancing sometimes, to see how happy it has made my Anemone. Joy hangs like a chandelier of a thousand candles about our home. She sings at her work at times--when she is not teaching, that is. She is still teaching her children, and I the grandchildren, and they are coming along beautifully. Even little Summershine wants to get in on it, although she is barely talking yet. She will sit beside her cousin Sandrose, looking in on her book, at times lighting up in that way she has, although I'm sure she can understand nothing of it. 

But I digress. Sam, I hope you can see a way to forgive Sméagol now. I'm certain he is not 'up to no good' as you think.  I can but pity him, for he will never be as happy as we are, although I am greatly pleased to hear that he is in a place where he is well treated and cared for, and even regarded with affection and respect. Perhaps it's all he really wants, at least for the time being. I think the children are the best things for him at the moment. Well I remember how much good the young ones did me and contributed to my own healing on the Island. And I know your own are a tremendous comfort and joy to you, Sam. I can scarcely tell you how thankful I am for that, and for the ones in my own keeping here. Hard to believe, at times, that no drop of my blood runs in their veins....

14. The Book

"Harry was wild and reckless," Nell said as she and Greenjade picked up firewood and put it in their baskets. Radagast followed rather close behind, like a chaperoning parent. Greenjade smiled to himself at the way she emphasized her H's. Of all Radagast's students, she was picking up proper diction the fastest.

"He was everyone's hero. Liked to ride a horse, and was good at it. He could 'unt, I mean hunt, use a sword, and do considerable many things--play games, dance, and things others didn't dare.  He was dark and comely and dashing, and the lasses, they admired him, but were a bit afeared of him. But I weren't, havin' so many brothers as it were. I adored him since I was small, and went about tellin' everyone I was goin' to wed him when I growed up and so they better keep hands off. But yer know what come of that. He had his faults, he did. Drank too much, got into fights betimes, teased the ladies, used bad language betimes, and oft got into scrapes. But things was never dull with him around. And he was ever good to me. Mayhap because I'd lost me mum when I was twelve. He'd lost his also. And his dad weren't good to him. Drank too much and had a bad temper, and would hit him when he lost it--though I dare say Harry deserved it betimes, for he had a good bit of cheek. But Harry--well, he had a temper too, but he never raised his hand to me no matter what."

She bent down to pick up a piece of wood and it seemed she was slow straightening up again. Greenjade felt a flush of shame. He wondered what she would say if she knew he had never ridden a horse or used a sword in his life. Five weeks he had been staying at her home now, and still she knew naught of him, save but what she saw before her.

And he had still not managed to talk to Nell alone.

He knew he could have done so if he had tried hard enough. But he kept reminding himself that he could not take her with him, and what was the point of making things more difficult than they must be? And what with the school and the work and all, he could manage to keep his mind off her more than he had supposed. Jem's mother was on the decline now, and would not live much longer, and when she passed...well. What then?

He felt at times that he had never had any other life than this. It was ordinary enough, on the face of it. Mornings, after a big breakfast, he and Radagast did what chores needed doing, while Nell and Miss Carrie worked about the house or went to market, or did the wash. Then after lunch, they had their class at the Quail and Pheasant. The students had dwindled down to a little over a dozen, having started out with almost three times that many, but that dozen was doing very well. Evenings, after supper, they usually either sat out on the porch and watched the sun go down, and one or more of the brothers would drop by with their families, and sometimes stories were told, the children played games or caught fireflies, and Jem occasionally came by.

Smeagol's leg was coming along nicely, and Radagast said that in a couple of weeks, he should be able to walk on it without the crutches. It didn't hurt him as much as it used to, and he could hobble along pretty well now. He was learning to be patient, for sure. And he was greatly fond of the children. He seemed to favor plain little freckled Maisy over the pretty un-twinlike twins and their girl cousins, although they were nice to him always and brought him sweets sometimes, and talked to him as equal. Maisy came over frequently, sometimes bringing more pinecones for Nilde, and sometimes Cal came with her. Radagast would watch them a trifle sadly, likely wondering how Smeagol would fare without his young friends when they had to leave....

Sometimes in the evening they went to the Quail and Pheasant and made merry, knocking back a pint of ale, talking, joking, singing lusty songs, dancing occasionally. The old seaman Greenjade had met on the first day frequently came in, and he had many a tale to tell. He was known as Cap'n Skinney, although he was scarcely that. And Nell's friends Betony, Lu, and Viola were often there, and they looked at Greenjade from time to time, sometimes quite boldly.

"He talks so pretty," he heard the small dark one, Viola, whisper about him one day. "And 'as such a wicked, gleaming way about 'im. I wonder 'ow 'e kisses. Nice I should think, with them lips."

"And such a lovely nose," Lu, the tall blonde one sighed. "So pointy and elegant. Lucky Nell. She's got him right under 'er roof. I wonder if they...?"

"I should say not," Betony reproached them. "She's still with Jemmy, after all. She's got no eyes for another, I should think. And that 'un 'll be goin' away soon, an' I should like to see 'im take our Nell with 'im. Never!"

"I wouldn't be so sure," Viola said with a little sidelong glance toward Nell, who was serving a nearby table. "I wonder if she's ever seen him...yer know." She winked at Lu. "Mayhap she could tell us if 'e's..." She held her forefingers several inches apart and looked knowingly at the others. Greenjade could not imagine what she meant.

"Vi, you bad thing!" Betony scolded, but it seemed she stifled a giggle. Greenjade caught on then, and found himself grinning, especially when Nell rejoined them and they all suddenly turned to chattering gaily about the reading lessons.

They were comely girls enough, and there had been a time when he wouldn't have hesitated to pursue them one by one. But they were Nell's friends, and althought it occurred to him that he might try making her jealous by flirting with them, he did not wish to incur her disfavor by doing any sort of damage upon their susceptible hearts. They were all younger than Nell, Lu the eldest at twenty-one, Betony and Viola a year or two younger. Nell had friends her own age, but they were all married with families of their own, and she scarcely got to see them anymore. She was as an older sister to these three, and they loved her and looked up to her. Despite their bold talk, he could sense that they were all three as virginal as they were born. Once there had been naught so intriguing and alluring to Greenjade as undiscovered territory. But things had changed.

He was coming to see them now not as potential conquests, but as human beings, and it rather puzzled and fascinated him to watch Nell and her friends all together. She seemed to enjoy being with them so greatly. They would go strolling arm in arm down the street, peering into shop windows, sometimes going in, and when one of them made a small purchase, a trinket or bit of lace or some other feminine bauble, all of them got so excited and giggly, and if a woman went by with a baby, they would make a big fuss over it and ask to hold it. Greenjade and Radagast, following behind them, would look at each other with little grins, and the Wizard almost forgot to give him that warning look. Greenjade wanted to please him as much as he wished to please Nell, and so he did his best not to let his eyes rove over those lovely curves too obviously, or respond to their flirtatious glances.

He had been excited about all the learning, to be sure. He knew much about the history of Middle-earth, about the War of the Ring, and all the rest of it. He knew much of animal and plant lore, and he learned some healing skills. And best of all, he could read what was written in books. The more he read, the more he wanted to find out. And he got to tell much of the Sea, and the life therein, and no one asked him how he came to know so much of it...but at times he felt Jem's eyes watching him, and wondering. Wanting to ask of his origins, very likely. It was almost as if he knew something...something of his past. But really, what could he know?

Yet the knowledge lay always on his heart, weighing him down, even when he caught himself feeling almost happy. It seemed happiness was like a bird almost within his grasp, but whenever he would reach out his hand to take it, it fluttered up into the sky, to be lost in the trees out of his sight for a while, then approaching again only to elude him once more.

~*~*~

"Somethin' came for yer today," Mister Partridge said as they returned to the house with the wood. "Hit's a layin' on the eatin' table."

Radagast picked up the package, then smiled and tore off the brown paper wrapping. There was a rather thick book bound in dark red leather, along with an envelope with a seal made in the shape of a rosebud. Greenjade and Smeagol watched him curiously as he broke the seal and began to read...but not aloud.

So Greenjade had plenty to read all week. Radagast told him to be especially careful of the book, for the sender wanted it back. Smeagol seemed not to wish to look at it, and avoided both Greenjade's eyes and the Wizard's for a good long time to come.  Greenjade could scarcely put it down, although he already knew a good deal that was in it. But it was a whole different matter to read of it in his stepfather's voice.

He was reading one afternoon out in the back yard, where he was sitting in a chair and Smeagol lay napping under a tree with his arms around Nilde. Radagast was talking with Mr. Partridge, and Nell was getting ready to go to work while Miss Carrie was in the house, likely preparing supper.

...He cried that the rope 'burned' him, squirming and writhing. Naturally Sam thought he was trying to trick us, playing on our sympathy. But I could see genuine pain in his face. And I pitied him, and when Sam proposed we tie him up and leave him, I knew I could not leave him to die in agony, even if it meant our lives...

It is disturbing to me, how this Thing is taking me little by little. I begin to wonder if I will be able to let it go. What if I cannot? What must I do? Cast myself into the fire along with It? And I begin to understand Smeagol more and more. How he came to be as he is, and I look at him at times and think: Will I come to that? Will I turn into this poor shriveled beast-like wretch, with my mind fixed upon one single object for all eternity? What could be worse? And what will I do to Sam? Will I end up killing him? Is it possible? But I can imagine only one thing worse: that I will NOT kill him, and he and I will end up as slaves to Sauron, along with everyone else I love, and the entire world. I cannot begin to describe how terrifying that is. This thing's to do, even if I must end up throwing myself into the fire along with It....

Greenjade felt himself sweating lightly, and he knew it was not from the summer heat. He glanced aside at Smeagol, who was still sleeping on his side, his face half hidden on Nilde's neck. Innocent and peaceful he looked in that childlike position, and Greenjade remembered something he had said when they had just begun their journey. How he saw "Master" with such a look, and wanted to be good. Wanted that feeling of peace, most likely. Craved the feeling of being at home in the Light, the blessedness of release, the blissful oblivion of innocence. And yet he had rejected it until the end.

As I myself would have done, thought Greenjade. He laid the book down on his lap and looked at his surroundings: the houses, the well-tended gardens, the stable, the trees out back, the people passing on the road, the white clouds above, the birds flying beneath them. A butterfly passed over his head, fluttering high as though expecting him to reach his hand up to take it.

Soon I must leave all this behind, he thought. All of it, the peace, the wholesome work, the children, the merriment, the growing things, the learning, the sheer blooming ordinariness and innocence of it all...it would soon be no more than a memory. And Nell. She would marry Jem, and he would not see her again. Would she think of him? When she lay beside her husband in their bed, and he was sleeping, would she stir restlessly, and go to the window and look out, leaning her elbows on the sill, and think of Greenjade, and the life they might have had together?

Why do I dream of the Sea? I have never seen it, and yet I seem to recall an Elf, Legolas, or was it Haldir, saying that eating the lembas cakes for too long will cause one to give way to this longing. I wonder if Sam feels it? I would ask him, but feel that I should keep these things from him; he worries too much about me as it is. Whatever would I do without him? 

Greenjade shut the book.  The Sea...Sea longing. He was of the Sea, had been of the Sea-longing once, had helped to make the music of the waves. He had perhaps instilled it into his stepfather unknowingly. And now he was exiled from it, would never know its music again, a landish creature now, yet set apart from all landish beings. And this new power of his, of being able to read and write the language of such beings, rather than drawing him closer to them, was proving only to set him further apart.

And yet, he thought, if he could go back into the Sea somehow, have it granted to him to return to what he had been, he would have refused. There was really no turning back now....

And then he heard a step nearby, and he started. It was Nell. He had thought she'd gone already. She was dressed for work, to be sure, in her green and white striped dress with the ruffled sleeves and very low neckline, and laced bodice of dark red embroidered with little birds--quails and pheasants to be sure--and the little white ruffled cap set back on her head.

"Have yer finished the Book?" she said softly. "I'd like to read it if yer wouldn't mind."

It was then that Greenjade glanced about and noticed that Smeagol had gone, probably to go help Miss Carrie with the dishes, that Nilde had gone to rejoin her master, and that he and Nell were alone together....

"But...you are not working tonight, then?" he heard himself stammer.

"Oh, I didn't mean right now," she laughed a little, and yes, her cheeks grew visibly redder. "Aye, I got to go in a bit. And yes, Radagast read parts of it to us in the school, but I'd like to see the words on the page for meself. It's got pictures in it, then?"

He moved over on the bench for her, motioning her to sit, then remembering that it was customary here for a man to rise from his seat when a lady appeared, he stood up. She pinked even more.

"Ah...I've to go," she said. And now that they were at eye level with each other, their eyes met and held for a long moment.

And just then Radagast appeared from out the back door of the house.

15. Moonlight

"I know what you'll say," Greenjade said after Nell had gone off to work. He and Radagast were alone in the yard and the sun was on its way down. "That this cannot be and you're sorry it must be so. Save your breath. I shall marry her, and if she'll not come to Mordor with me, then I shall stay here with her. I've skills of my own now, and can make my living here. And if it's to be the Black Prison for me when I'm dead, so be it. I'd rather spend an eternity there than a lifetime without her here. She cares for me also, I saw it in her eyes. And don't bother telling me of your farm woman and how you found the courage to turn away and do what was right, and so on. I'm not as noble as you. I shall go and speak my mind to her tomorrow. And yes, I'll ask her father for her hand, and all that rot. I think he'll say yes. I'll be his partner, and take over the business when he's gone...."

He folded his arms and looked defiantly at the Wizard. Radagast looked at him so sorrowfully and compassionately, the man was on the verge of turning away and stalking off who knew where.

"Greenjade, come with me," Radagast said after a long moment. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Greenjade was about to retort that he was not in the mood. But there was something about the way the Wizard was looking at him, pinning him down, in a way he could do at times. Soon the man found himself following.

They walked down the road and into the main street of the village.

"Is it all right to ask where we are going?" Greenjade said at last.

"You'll see soon enough," Radagast said. And on they walked.

"I suppose you'll say I'm only thinking of myself," Greenjade said, "but I'm not. I'm thinking of her also. She's entitled to some happiness, wouldn't you say?"

"And what of Jem?" Radagast asked. Greenjade started.

"Jem? What can he do for her? He can't give her children. Perhaps he cannot even... And he would have her happy also, I'm sure."

"He was a hero--you know that, Greenjade. He lost much defending Middle-earth. His mother is dying of a horrible disease. He has been taking care of her for a long time now. You know this already. Surely he's entitled to some happiness also?"

"Aye, I know. But..."

"And what of your past?" The Wizard stopped and faced Greenjade, who stopped also.

"I have no past," he said. "Who knows of my other life here? No one would believe it even if the truth were told. I... You would not tell, would you?"

"Only if it were absolutely necessary to save someone, and I do not think it would be," replied Radagast. "Well, come along. We are almost there."

"Is it that place you sometimes go in the evening, without telling the rest of us?" 

"It is." 

They turned a corner where some small, and very old-looking dwellings lined a narrow lane. A few ragged children played in the twilight, and Radagast greeted some of them by name and gave them some sweets from his pocket. They turned once more at a small, plain house at the end of the lane, with a faint light at the windows. Radagast tapped at the door.

"This is where Jem lives," Greenjade said. How he knew this, he could not have told. 

"Aye, it is," Radagast said. Footsteps could be heard within. Then Jem opened the door.

"Radagast," he said, as though he were expecting the Wizard. "Come along in...." He broke off as he saw Greenjade, and stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"How is your mother, my lad?" Radagast asked him.

"She's...sleepin'," Jem said, "thanks to the potion yer mixed for her. Your remedies 'ave done much to ease 'er pain. But..."

"But they will not save her life," Radagast said gently. "Alas, that is all I can do for her. But--"

"Aye," the young man said, "but that's somethin'. I don't think I could of stood much more, seein' 'er suffer like she was."

"May we look in on her?" Radagast said. They entered the cottage, which was neatly but poorly furnished, and smelled of herbal remedies. Jem led the two guests into an adjoining room, where a woman lay in a bed with a lamp burning low on the small bed-table. He looked at Greenjade once more with that suspicious expression the man had seen on him more than once before.

Radagast stood by the woman's bedside looking down upon her sleeping form, and after a moment, Greenjade summoned his courage and went to look also.

And what he saw, he devoutly wished never to see again.

~*~*~

Greenjade had scarcely a word to say for a while as they walked home in the night.  The moon was out, nearly full, and he could scarcely believe its audacity, appearing as if everything were perfectly normal.  Moths fluttered around lamps on the street.  A cat called from some unseen location, crickets chirped in the trees, a whippoorwill whistled eerily in the distance, all unaware of and completely indifferent to human suffering. 

"How long has she been so?" he asked when they were nearly home.

"For almost a year, according to Jem," said the Wizard, who seemed much subdued also. "She's but forty-five, he said. How old would you have thought her?"

"At least twice that," Greenjade said in nearly inaudible horror.

"You saw the drawing of her in the sitting-room," Radagast said. Greenjade nodded.

"She was very pretty," he said. "Why do such things happen? Did she do something dreadful, or..."

"I do not know," Radagast said. "I can scarcely believe that she ever did anything to deserve such. Now you see what Jem has been through.  And you know of his heroism in the War, and the lack of appreciation among his own people.  Nell is his only chance at happiness--his only chance.  Would you take that from him, Greenjade?" 

"And what of Nell's happiness?" Greenjade reasoned.  "She has been through much also.  And she deserves better, surely?"

"Can you give her what she deserves?" Radagast said with a sigh.

"I can," Greenjade said.  "I am sure of it.  I know how to please a woman.  And I know how to work now.  Well, I royally botched being a father, but I can learn from my mistakes.  I've watched Nell's brothers with their young ones, and made note to myself.  And seeing as how she feels as I do...well, I know I can do better this time around.  Haven't I behaved myself thus far?  I've resisted seducing her friends, although they've cast many a bold glance my way.  I've gotten into no mischief and no fights, and even resisted teasing Smeagol more than necessary.  I've taken naught that didn't belong to me, aside from perhaps a small cake or two.  I've worked for all that is mine now, and given some to people in need.  I don't suppose it strikes out all the bad that I did in my other life, but...well, I haven't made a complete mess of this one thus far, wouldn't you think?"

"You haven't, and I'm proud of you, truly, Greenjade," the Wizard said.  "I've been pleasantly surprised with the progress of both of you, and I think this time with the Partridges was meant to be.  I'm very sorry it's coming to an end soon.  But even so...well, I cannot and will not force you to leave Nell to Jem.  If Nell wishes to come with us as your wife, I will not refuse her, and will take her to my heart as a daughter.  I know she would be an asset there.  But it is not something I wish to do, and I think it would bring more harm and suffering here than good, if you were to persuade her.  So I must leave it up to you.  I can but now leave it to your conscience."

Greenjade squirmed inside as he lay in bed, tossing from one side to the other like a boat on a squalid lake.  He almost wished the Wizard had forbidden him to have aught to do with Nell, and had ordered him and Smeagol to pack their things, they were leaving in the morning--no, that very night.  Greenjade had observed Smeagol with the young ones from a distance, and noted that he walked much straighter when he was among them, and that his leg seemed to pain him far less than when he was amongst the elders.  Evidently he didn't wish to leave either.  Greenjade wondered now if he should point out the discrepancy to Radagast...but then the thought of leaving here was as the spear in the Black Prison, and he had held his tongue, wondering how much longer the other fellow could keep up the pretense.  But how much longer could Greenjade live under Nell's roof, if she could never be his?

One thing was for certain:  he could not stay under it tonight.  He took up his bedding and went out to the stable, climbed the ladder and lay down in the loft, clutching his pillow as tears streamed out of his eyes onto it.  He cursed, sitting up, then went to the loft window and peered out.  The air was so sweet with the odors of hay and roses and grass and honeysuckle and clover, it nearly sickened him.  He gloomily watched fireflies flitting upward from the grass like luminous bubbles, and heard an owl call mournfully from a tree in the distance, and sheep bleating from a longer way off, and tree frogs from the direction of the stream.  The stars looked very close and throbbing, like the pulse of the sky, while wispy clouds drifted over them and the moon like strange dreamlike sheep.  He heard himself singing very softly and monotonously, as the night breeze dried the tears on his face and a nightingale sang with maddening sweetness in the depths of the forest.

And then he saw her.

She was standing below, in her nightgown and robe, her hair unbraided, looking up--at him, her face white and beautiful in the moonlight. 

"Greenjade?" she spoke just above a whisper.

He thought his heart would nearly burst at the sound of her voice.  He truly had not expected her to appear.  Had she seen him go out?  Or had she been answering the call of nature and then happened to hear his gloomy singing? 

She was there, that was what mattered....

"Nell," he said a bit dully.  "I...did not expect to see you."  A far cry from lady-killer Darkfin, to be sure.

"I just got home a bit ago," she said.  "I stopped on the way to look in on Jem's mum, and he said you and Radagast had been by.  And I could not sleep, and then I thought I heared yer voice..."

She broke off, and they both fell silent for a moment.  He saw that her robe was blowing open, and she had taken no trouble to tie it closed, and the white nightgown molded itself against her body, and her hair fluttered in the breeze, a dark flame lit by the paleness of her face.

And then he said, almost against his will, "Will you come up?"

And she said, "I will."

16. The Bad Place

Their mating was the profoundest thing that ever happened.  So many women had he lain with in his previous life, and none of it had ever prepared him for this.  He felt as a virgin, which he supposed he was, come to think of it, being initiated into the joys of the flesh, with a difference; the heart was involved too.  Truly he had not known it could be like this.  The union of bodies and souls clashing in fevered frenzy, where naught else mattered, the tasting of each other's flesh, the squeezing and exquisite wrenching, the nearly unbearable deliciousness of it all, the exhausting thrust and swell and grasp and clench and shudder and spill and burst and incredible joy, the sinking down into a sweaty and heaving bliss, the lying softly together and perfect peace, the sigh, the kiss, the tangling of quiet fingers in hair, the tender whispers, renewal, success, settling, gratitude, tremors, glory.  What else was there but this? 

And yet...where there should have been perfection and ultimate importance, something was not right, something was lacking....

"Nell?"

She lay by his side, her arm over his belly, her head on his shoulder, her hair in his hands, as they lazily wandered over the firm white arm and let a fingertip move over her throat and cheek, then across her forehead and down her nose, tracing the shape of her mouth.  Yet she was too quiet somehow.  Could she possibly be regretting...?  He knew this was not her first time.  Most likely she had lain with Harry; was she comparing the two of them in her mind? 

"Nell."

Her leg lay over both his, her breasts pressed to his side, her fingers still against his shoulder.  Her skin was damp, her breathing deep, almost as if she were sleeping.  He had felt that he knew her, knew her more completely than any would ever know her, more than she knew herself.  Yet she was withholding something of herself, something he desperately needed to know.

"Nell..."

And at last she raised her head.

"Greenjade..."

"Nell.  My lovely one, my darling, my love..."

"Greenjade."

"Nell.  My sweet dove.  I want to marry you."

She lifted her head then.  "Greenjade...."

"If you won't come to Mordor with me..."

"I cannot," she whispered.  "I'm needed here.  I cannot leave my folk..."

"Then I will stay," he said raking his fingers through her hair.  "I'll work with your father.  Will he--"

"Greenjade," she said and her voice trembled.  "I...I must..."

"You love me, don't you?" he said, and he felt that stirring of fear inside.  "You...you did break it off with..."

"That's the thing," she said sniffling a little.  "I haven't...and...I cannot.  I do care for yer, aye.  But...I promised him, and I can't go back on him.  I shall marry him, after his mum has gone.  I shouldn't 'a come here with yer, but I wanted it so bad.  And I knew yer'd be leavin' soon, and him and me must wait a period for his mournin' afore we can wed, and...I'm sorry, Greenjade.  I must go back..."

"No..."  Greenjade sat up straight, and so did she, reaching over for her clothes.  "Nell.  You cannot go to him.  He can do naught for you.  Can't give you children, and you want them, don't you?  I can do so much for you, I can..."

"Of course I want 'em," she said with a little sob.  "But one can't always have what one wants.  Sometimes..."

"But you can.  You deserve to have what you want.  And you'd make a splendid mother, any fool can see that.  Nell, please.  I can't do without you.  I know I'm not deserving, but..."

He stopped cold as she pulled her nightgown down over her head.  Yes, what of his past?  Could he ever tell her the truth about himself?   In his mind he had been concocting a story of his supposed past, on the isle of Lossëtold, but could he go on living with a lie, as her husband?  He had convinced himself that he could, but now, with her at his side in reality, was he so certain?  

He found himself pulling on his underdrawers with shaking hands.  He could not let her get away from him.  He would have her.  He'd make himself worthy, somehow.  

"And would yer really stay here?" she said as her sweetly rumpled head emerged from the neck of the nightgown.  "I mean...would yer like it, and all, not get tired of it?  I somehow think me as it ain't yer kind o' place."

He was silent, motionless.  Would he be content here?  Among simple folk, doing the same work always, and could he be completely faithful to Nell, and find true happiness here?  He had not made any friends here, truly.  Not even with Mr. Partridge, for there was a wedge of mistrust between them, of which Greenjade was constantly aware.  The children were pleasant enough with him, but they did not take to him as they had done with Sméagol.  The soldiers, especially Jem and Ben, were openly wary of him.  Nell's brothers, though friendly outwardly, seemed to hold that same seed of mistrust that Mr. Partridge did.  Greenjade had thought he could earn their trust and esteem by being the best possible husband to Nell that he could be, and taking on the traits of honesty and industry that they so valued. 

But there was the insurmountable obstacle of Jem.  Thanks to Radagast, who had made the people aware of just how much they owed to the soldiers who had fought for the freedom of Middle-earth, he was held in great esteem now.  The Wizard had recently confided in Greenjade that was why he had undertaken the education of the village, so that they would come to appreciate their true heroes as they deserved, and he had succeeded.  People hung bunches of flowers on the doors of the soldiers' homes, or brought them gifts of food, and children smiled openly at them and asked for stories of their deeds, and made little things for them...especially the Partridge children.  That had been Radagast's doing. 

And somehow Greenjade knew that had royally cocked things up for him, although he knew that had not been the Wizard's intention.  If he could persuade Nell to become his wife, the villagers' sympathy would be with Jem.  Greenjade, and perhaps Nell also, would be out of their favor, maybe for all time....

He reached out and fingered a lock of her hair, as she blinked back tears. 

"I've a bad past," he heard himself saying, sternly warning himself not to betray too much.  "And somehow I think people here know that.  But I thought I could atone for it by working hard and doing good things, and... I'm not sure how to go about it, but I thought..."

"Aye, I've wondered," Nell said, childishly wiping her nose on the sleeve of her gown.  "Oft I've thought me that I know naught of yer.  Jem told me that Ben has seen yer before.  He told some daffy tale of yer turning into a bat..."  She laughed a little through her sniffles.  "Well, I didn't take much stock in that, but he said yer went to a barmaid and charmed her like a snake with a bird, or somethin' o' that sort, and drew her out with yer.... Well, I had me doubts of that also.  Seein' as yer could of charmed me friends if yer had liked, and yer didn't.  So I dare say Ben was in his cups, where he likes best to stay.  But even so, I've oft wondered me."

"I've wandered long, and done some bad things," he said, wincing inwardly at how lame it sounded even as he spoke.  He wondered if perhaps he should tell her the truth, after all.  But would she believe him?  He had gone over and over in his mind imagining her reaction if he were to tell her of his true origins.  Would she shrink away with horror?  Would she laugh and say he was daft and did he really expect her to believe such wild tales?  Would she tell him to go his way, she wanted naught to do with him any more? "I know I'm not good enough for you, not nearly.  But you've brought out so much in me that I did not even know was there.  If I thought you felt naught for me, I would pack up and go, here and now.  I--"

"I?" Nell laughed a little.  "I thought 'twas I that was not good enough for you.  Bein' as how yer goin' to Mordor to make of it a fine place, and--"

"That's not my choice," Greenjade said, groping for his discarded drawers and pulling them on.  "Well, it is, but...it's not my wish to go.  But it's there or back to the prison where--"

"Prison?" Nell's eyebrows lifted. 

"Aye.  I suppose we should have said aught of it before, but what with Sméagol being incapacitated and all, and we would not have had a place to stay if we had told the whole truth..."

"'Tis all right, Greenjade.  I thought it all along.  But it matters not, any more.  I've al'ays had a fancy for a roguish sort of fellow, I s'pose.  I've already told yer of Harry, and his doin's.  Now I must be gettin' back.  We can meet here betimes in the night till the time comes for yer to go.  But I cannot be goin' with yer.  This is me home, and I cannot leave." 

She stood up a bit shakily, and he stood with her, reaching to take her hands.  They kissed a long kiss, then he clasped her in his arms, caressing her loose hair and her back and arms.

The next day Radagast said they would be going in a few days.  Greenjade avoided being alone with him, as a guilty child, feeling all the while the Wizard likely knew of what had passed the previous night, and tried not to make eye contact.  Sméagol went about his usual tasks sadly, without saying much.  The lovers were at great pains to behave as they had previously.

And Greenjade realized that he could not stay here, even with Nell.  He simply did not belong.  He could never be content to live as folk in the village lived, day by day, night by night.  He was not cut out for it.  Yet how could he leave, without Nell by his side? 

Yet Nell met him that night, and the following.  And on the third night, he began to worry.

"What if you have a child?" he asked her.

"Then I will rejoice," she replied simply, as she lay in his arms with her hair spilling over him. 

"But...if you're going to wed Jem..."

"He knows I'm with yer," she said. 

"What?" Greenjade drew up his knees, awkwardly attempting to sit up.  She sat up also.

"Aye," she said softly.  "I told him.  He said if I were to get a child from yer, he would raise it as his own.  He--"

"Is that why you've been coming to me?" Greenjade involuntarily curled himself as if hiding from her somehow.  "To get a child from me?"

"Well, in part," she said.  "I--"

"But I thought...I thought you...cared for me," Greenjade said a bit childishly.  And felt a cracking sensation in his insides.  So this is what they mean by a broken heart, he thought.  And there is naught worse. 

"I do," she said, reaching a hand out to touch his face.  He drew back from her, and to his dismay he felt his eyes welling up and getting wet.  "I do care, or I wouldn't be here, even to get a child.  But I cannot go with yer, I've already told yer why.  I--"

"So…so you'll just have my child, and I've no say in the matter?"  he babbled.  "I'll never see it, nor have any part in the raising of it?"

She reached for her gown, and pulled it over her head.  There was something guilty in that action, as though she too were attempting to cover herself in more ways than one.

"Did it ever occur to yer," she said, "that yer might have more than one child goin' about already, wonderin' who its father is, and why folks are treatin' it as if 'tweren't good enough to be with their little 'uns?  Did yer ever happen to think on that, Greenjade?  Or did yer just seduce every maid at yer own whim, with nary thought as to what would come of it?"

"Then you know...?" he said, lowering his face from her, feeling as though he would never be able to look her in the eye again. 

"Nay, I was testin' yer," she said, "in order to see if what Ben said of yer was the truth.  Now I see that it is."

Greenjade fell silent, wishing he might die there and then, yet knowing that if he did, what he had endured in the Shadow would seem the merest discomfort compared to what he would know now.  

"I will leave tomorrow," he said numbly.  "Whether the others come with me or no.  I cannot bide here a moment longer.  I'm sorry now that I ever came."

"I'm sorry if yer hurtin'," she said.  "I didn't mean for that.  I do care for yer, I want yer to know.  But..."

"I suppose I deserve to feel as I do," he said.  "But...it's more than I can bear."  The water in his eyes spilled over and he turned from her.

She came to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. 

"I'm so sorry, Greenjade," she said again, tremulously.  "I'll make of your child one that yer can be proud of, I promise yer that.  And someday, I'd like fer yer to come back and see it.  Won't yer come and lay with me one last time afore yer go?"

He could scarcely believe her audacity. 

"Nay," was all he could find to say, shaking his head.  "Go now.  Just...just leave me here.  I'll be..."

"I don't feel right, leavin' yer to yerself," she said, and he heard tears in her voice.  "Yer won't go off and do somethin'...foolish now, will yer?  I couldn't bear that.  Greenjade, yer will get through this.  I remember right well how I felt when I found that Harry weren't comin' back to me.  I thought I couldn't go on with livin', and that I'd die there and then.  But I didn't.  Yer hear all manner of tales of folks dyin' of grief an' all that, and some of 'em might be true.  But there's folks that don't die of it also.  There's plenty as goes on livin', and finds that somehow they can even be happy once more."

"I do not think I will be one of them," he said.  "Even though I'm scarcely one of the good and innocent, who I dare say are the ones most likely to die of broken hearts.  The bad and guilty know the consequences of dying, and that it is likely to be worse, rather than a blessed relief."

"I know not what comes after death," Nell said.

"But I do," Greenjade said, turning to look at her.  "And I would not have you know it, for anything.  And if you were to go with me, you would know it.  So I suppose it is best that you stay here and marry Jem, and live a good and virtuous life with him and all that.  I would not have you go with me, and know what I have known."

"And how did yer know of this?" Nell spoke barely above a whisper.

"I saw it," he said.  "I knew death, and was brought back from it through the intercession of my stepfather and mother.  Have you heard aught of the Halls of Mandos?"

"I've heared mention of it.  But very little.  No one seems to know aught of it.  Me mum used to tell me and me brothers we’d go to the ‘bad place’ when we died, if we didn’t behave ourselves.  And you...yer have been there?"

"I have.  The ‘prison’ I spoke of is not an earthly prison.  I was there in the part where those who had not ‘behaved themselves’ must abide.  My penance was going to Mordor with Radagast to clean up the filth of Sauron.  And I must go.  I was only fooling myself, to think I could stay here, and make my home among your people, with you.  Or that I could take you with me, although I think you would be an asset there, in Mordor, a woman of your strength and goodness.  I thought you and I could spawn a fine race of new people to populate the new land, and all that.  And that you could be my queen and so forth, and we could rule there and make a beautiful and fruitful nation of it, such as it has not been for over a thousand years..."

He halted, looking her in the face once more.  She did not seem to have heard a word he had said.

"And I may as well tell you," he continued, "Sméagol is...well, you'll not believe me, perhaps, but he was the one known as Gollum.  Sméagol was his name before he became that creature.  My stepfather is the Ringbearer himself--the one Radagast calls Frodo Baggins.  He went into the West, as you know, after the Ring of Power was destroyed, and he wed my mother, whom the Lord of the Seas chose for his mate.  I am, or was, one of the seafolk, the Children of Ulmo.  I had powers of my own and was a prince of my realm, and my mate and my children were destroyed by my enemies.  I had become a follower of the Wicked One, who tricked me into believing that I could become a great ruler, and he told me I must destroy the Ringbearer in order to be so.  My sister Fairwind killed me when I made an attempt on the lives of my stepfather and my siblings and their friends, and I ended up in the dungeon of the Shadow, as I have told you.  I was condemned to wander Arda as a mortal man, and I may not see my family members nor visit them on the Isle where they now reside.  Please do not tell anyone of what I have told you, at least not until long after we have gone.  Nell..."

She continued to stand in silence, just staring at him.

"Say something," he pleaded foolishly.

"Goodnight, Greenjade," she said after a long moment, sounding slightly dazed, then she slowly turned to climb the ladder down from the loft.

And after she had gone into the house, he climbed down also, and went over down the path where he had once wandered naked and full of wonder, until he came to the open place, and then he gave voice to a shriek that must have wakened every sleeper for miles around.

And at breakfast the following morning, Radagast informed all that Jem's mother had died the previous night.

17. Duty

Since Jem wished Radagast to speak at his mother's funeral, the Travelers did not leave that day as planned.  Nell did not come to Greenjade that night, and seemed to avoid him altogether.  She spent most of the day at Jem's anyway. 

But at dinner, she told them what Jem had told her of his mother's last hours.  His mother had called him to her side, and a wondrous change had come over her.  She was smiling, as she had not smiled in a very long time, and said she had just had a vision.  She'd been standing in a meadow full of flowers, holding a bunch of roses.  Then she heard a sound from above, as something soaring high and fast, and she looked up to see something circling high in the clouds.  She took it to be a bird, but as it descended she saw it had no wings, and soon she could see that it looked to be a beautiful white horse, and it seemed to be falling slowly from the sky in a spiraling motion like a falling leaf, falling toward her.  Its mane and tail streamed long and free in the wind, and it circled around her several times as it fell lower and lower, until it landed as lightly as a cat falling from a tree.  It hit the ground running and ran in circles all around her as she watched entranced, and finally it began to slow, until it came shyly up to her.  She held out her roses and let it sniff them, then stroked its muzzle and forelock smiling in delight.  Then she took the roses and fashioned a wreath, which she hung around the horse's neck.  Then it nodded to her, and she knew it meant for her to climb on its back.  And she did so, although it wore no saddle, and hung onto its mane as it began to run once more, as no earthly horse ever ran, but she was not afraid.  Soon it was no longer running on the ground, but up a winding slope that she could not see.  She was afraid then, but the horse told her to look up, not down, and it ran ever higher and faster, until she could no longer hear its hoofbeats.  And soon they were flying, flying, until the clouds were beneath them, a snowy mystical landscape with fluffy white mountains and silver-blue lakes, until the sky began to darken and she could see stars winking out, and hear the most glorious music she had ever heard.  Only then did she dare to look down, and she could see waves below, and it was from there the music was issuing....

Jem sat beside her and held her hand, knowing this was the end.  She told him he should not wait a year to marry Nell, but to do so whenever they were ready.  Never mind the custom, she said, 'twas a foolish one; why not take what was given, instead of losing a whole year of one's life in mourning for one who had ceased to know pain and fear and doubt?  They talked well into the evening, she reaching up to wipe a tear from his face from time to time, until she finally fell asleep.  Years seemed to have lifted from her face, and she looked a good deal like the pretty girl in the drawing that hung in the front room.  Then he drifted off himself in the chair beside her bed, to be awakened not by a sound but by a scent, that of roses....

Greenjade helped Mr. Partridge construct the coffin.  He worked it carefully, trying to concentrate all his energies into the making of the box, marveling at this strange custom of putting bodies into the ground whole rather than burning them.  After Mr. Partridge had retired, Greenjade crept back into the workshop with a lantern and took up a chisel and sat up well into the night with it, looking over his shoulder from time to time to see if Nell would come from her room.  She did not.

And in the morning, when the casket was born out of the workshop, there was a lovely rose carved into the lid, with graceful curlicue designs surrounding it.  Mr. Partridge looked as surprised as any to see it.  Greenjade kept his eyes averted, at the same time trying to see if Nell was looking his way, but she was behind him. 

Radagast was looking at him in soft surprise.

The funeral was held at the Community Center. Many benches were set on either side of the place where the coffin was set, surrounded by bunches of flowers.  Greenjade, who had never attended a funeral before, sat next to Sméagol, between Miss Carrie and Mr. Partridge.  Nell sat with Jem and his Aunt Bertie, directly behind them.  Nell's brothers with their wives and children clustered closely about, along with their wives' parents and siblings and their families.  The children were all dressed in dark and sober attire with their hair neatly combed and subdued, their normally merry faces looking serious and a little anxious.  Gil came in with his wife Jennie, big with child now.  The littlest one held to her hand, the other walking beside her father, Jennie's mother and younger sister following close behind.

As Greenjade and Sméagol took their assigned place, the man heard snatches of muted conversation from those all about, largely about the dead woman. 

She was a good neighbor.  Always ready to help out. 

Whenever somethin' needed doin', most likely she'd be amongst them a doin' it. 

I never believed any of them spiteful remarks some nasty folk made of her.  She was a hard worker and a right sweet lady.  I don't remember her ever sayin' a wicked thing about anyone. 

I see her younger lad, poor soul.  Right devoted to her he were.  Wonder if him and Nell will finally be wedded now.  I wouldn't begrudge 'em a bit if they decided to do it now instead of waitin' a year.    

Radagast, after instructing Nildë to stay with Sméagol and Greenjade, walked up past the casket, looking down once more at the rose design carved into the lid, then took his place behind the podium. 

"My brothers and sisters," he began, "when I first came to this village, it was a joyous occasion.  Now, as I prepare to take my leave, I find a sorrowful one.  We gather to farewell a soul who suffered long and has at last been released from her earthly chains..."

Would that I could be released from mine, thought Greenjade, wondering if he might be able to slip away unnoticed.

He took note of the number of people who were weeping, and remembered Miss Carrie saying that very few folks would even go near the dead woman's house while she was alive.  She seemed quite angry about it.  But Greenjade felt that he could not blame them much.  

So this is earthly living, he thought.  Love and death.  Work and play, learning, growing things, bearing young, raising families, various pleasures, suffering, illness, sorrow, the passing of seasons.  And moving on.  And remembering.  Long have I sought knowledge, to see all, to know all, feel all, do all, discover, conquer, draw all to myself.  Yet I knew nothing, really.  Only now do I know what it is really all about. 

Nell.  She will carry and bear my child, I know.  Of course she cannot come to Mordor.  It is no place for children.  Better she should remain here...with him.  He who is willing to raise another's child.  Just as my stepfather has done....There is so much I do not understand.  This business of selflessness, of doing for others, sacrificing one's own wants and needs, suffering for those one loves, laying down one's life, and often not getting any reward for it.  I do not understand it, even after reading my stepfather's book.  It is an important thing, yet still it is strange.  In all my seeking after knowledge, this I never came across.  I heard much of love, the joys of the flesh...but of nobility, of self-sacrifice, self-abnegation, I heard very little.  It seemed either unimportant or unfathomable. 

Nell.  What was she thinking?  So this is why Radagast warned me off from her, he thought.  He remembered Clark's six-year-old son Chad, whose father was working on the roof one day, repairing thatch that had blown off in a windstorm, and his mother told him to stay off the ladder which was leaning against the house.   She and her eldest daughter Delia were hanging out the clothes in the back yard, just out of sight of the ladder, and the second-eldest daughter Meg was supposed to be looking after him and little Linnet.  But he quickly got bored with the babyish game of patty-cake his sisters were playing, and being as hard-headed and curious as Greenjade himself, he would climb that ladder...and yes, halfway up his little foot slipped and he fell. As he lay crying, Meg ran to him, saying his mum had told him to stay off that ladder but he just wouldn't listen, would he?

Greenjade shifted about on the hard bench.  Finally he whispered to Sméagol, who was absently stroking Nildë's head and back with his bare foot, that he would piss himself if he didn't get away this minute. He slipped off and out of the building, then fled to the woods.  It was a vast relief to be away from the others.  He could not have born it there another moment.  Well, what now?  Hopefully they would be on their way tonight, or at least tomorrow.  

And he would never see Nell again.  Would never see his child.  Would it be a male or female?  He found himself wincing at the word "female"....

Perhaps he could yet persuade her to come to Mordor.  He did not believe she had no feelings for him.  He had seen it in her eyes, and her eyes did not lie.  She wanted to be with him, to go with him, to live with him, have his children...but duty held her back.  What was that thing called duty, anyway?  It was what made people do the right thing even when they didn't want to, he knew that.  It sprang from the Conscience.  But how did one make oneself do one's duty?  Was it fear of the feeling that would come of not doing it?  Or was it something higher?  He had talked to Radagast of his stepfather, asking what it was that compelled the Ringbearer to take the Ring to be destroyed.

"You say he went through much pain and fear and privation," Greenjade had said, shortly after finishing the Book.  "And I know it was so, from what he wrote in these pages.  But why?  He lost so much, and he knew he would.  He did not expect to live.  And he did not end with the feeling of accomplishing a great thing, and did not win the esteem of his people.  I've seen the same with the soldiers here.  Yet they went, because of their duty.  Why did they?"

"It is simple, and yet complicated," Radagast said.  "It was love that compelled them--love of others.  They cared more for others than for themselves.  Therefore they were willing to risk losing all, including their lives, in order to do their part to rid the world of a great threat."

"Love of others," Greenjade mused, glancing toward Sméagol, who seemed to be pretending not to hear.  "Well.  But might there have been more to it?  Might it have been that the feeling of not doing one's duty might be even worse than death or torment?  The thought of being branded a coward, a failure, a nobody?  Perhaps there was a secret longing for glory of a sort?"

"I said it was complicated," Radagast said smiling.  "You have seen that the mercenaries had no personal glory or esteem until we made the people see them for the heroes they are.  What if they never had?  Do you think the soldiers would not do the same all over again, if it were necessary and they still had all the parts they came with?"

"I think they would not," Greenjade said.  "Why should they risk all for a pack of ingrates?  Why be a martyr for naught?"

"Why, indeed?" the Wizard said.  "I dare say Ben would not.  He is a cynic, and never had any strong attachments.  But the others?  I think they would go."

"Why so?" Greenjade said.  "They are not stupid, I can see that.  What of my stepfather?  Do you think he would go again, if it were necessary?"

"I could not say," Radagast said soberly.  "I think even the best of us have our limits as to how far we would go, and so he did also.  As for myself, I would give much not to have to go to Mordor.  It is only my great longing to return home that compels me, and not duty.  I know it is my duty to go, and so I go.  But not for unselfish reasons."

Greenjade remembered this conversation as he slid down to the ground in the shade of a pine tree, leaning against its rough bark and idly plucking a small white flower that grew nearby.  Then he sprang up, unable to sit still, and began to wander aimlessly with his hands clasped behind his back.  The stillness of the village was downright eerie, and he contemplated going back to the funeral when he glanced up to see a familiar sign.

The Golden Ram.

The inn where he and Radagast and Sméagol first came to the village.  Greenjade heard the sound of clinking glasses inside, and low chatter.

And he wondered what it would be like to get roaring drunk.... 

18. Drowning

"Where is Greenjade?" Radagast asked Sméagol as the men lifted the coffin onto the wagon to transport it to the burial ground. 

"He leaved us," Sméagol replied, glancing about nervously as if he were somehow responsible for Greenjade's disappearance.  "He says he have to piss hisself, but he don't come back."

"'Did not come back'," Radagast corrected him gently.  "Well.  He needed to be by himself for a while, I suppose.  Let's just give him his time to himself.  I doubt he had enough of it."

He thought to himself that Sméagol looked very morose, and he was certain he knew why.  Yes...he was going to miss the village also, particularly the Partridges.  This was what came of getting attached to people.  What came of being immortal, for that matter.  He almost envied Sméagol at the moment.  But what must be done, must be done. 

He had a very good idea of what Greenjade's trouble was also.

He found himself glancing up at the sky. 

"I believe it's going to rain soon," he said absently.  "We had best proceed with the burial quickly."

Nell and Jem came toward the wagon to climb in, and Radagast considered asking Nell if she had seen Greenjade, when a cry startled him, and he looked over to see Jennie clutching her huge belly with one hand and Gil's arm with the other.

~*~*~

Greenjade had been mildly tipsy before, at the Quail and Pheasant, and it had been a pleasant feeling, although later he had been embarrassed at how silly he had acted later on.  He had been disgusted at the behavior of other men who had gotten so drunk they had fallen over, wet their pants, vomited on the floor, sung obscene songs, or told of things that should have been kept to themselves, that Greenjade had resolved never to drink to that point.  He would never make such a revolting spectacle of himself in front of Radagast, or Nell, or any of her family members.

But now he was past caring what anyone thought of him, and could only think of relief.  And they would be leaving tomorrow.  Radagast would be understanding and forgiving, as always.  He was never judgmental.  Greenjade had seen him take those drunken men and gently lead them out of the tavern, or take them upstairs to sleep it off after Tam Goodfellow threatened to toss them out on the street and Greenjade, embarrassed for Nell and her friends, was more than ready to help eject them.

It was little past noon, but seeing as how there were people in the tavern already, Greenjade felt disinclined to wait.  He opened the door, almost smiling to himself as he remembered seeing his reflection for the first time and thinking it another...how long ago had that been?  Just two months?   It seemed nearly a year.  

"What is this stuff?" he croaked after the third glass of dark liquor.  "It looks like something a cow spat up.  Tastes like it too."

"You're that chap wot goes with the Wizard," noted a scruffy-looking man sitting at the table next to his.  "Yer livin' at the Partridge place, am I right?"

"What if I am?" Greenjade slurred at him.  "What's it to you?"

The scruffy man laughed.  "Partridge has a right fair daughter," he said, "don't yer think?  Must be nice.  Bet yer gets to see plenty of 'er, if yer gets me drift."  He made an attempt at a lewd wink of one eye, and ended up winking both eyes.

"Just keep your head shut about her, if you don't want my fist through it," Greenjade snarled.  "She wouldn't look twice at you anyway, you scummy sea-slug.  I've seen better-looking orcs."

"I bet she's looked twicet at YOU," laughed the scruffy man, then he hiccuped.  What few others there were in the common room were getting interested, and some came to sit nearer.  The innkeeper, whom the others called Dirk, laid down a rag with which he had been wiping the counter, and came closer.

"Shut it, Reggie," he said to the scruffy man, then he looked more closely at Greenjade, pointing a finger in his face.  "You.  Don't encourage him.  He's naught but an old drunken sot.  Just pay 'im no mind, and yer won't 'ave no trouble.  I'm about this far--"  he held his meaty thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart-- "--from chucking his bony arse into the street, meself.  Don't make me 'ave to chuck yourn too.  Wot brings yer 'ere anyways?"

"They're 'oldin' Rosa Whitflor's burial today," said another man close by.  "The Quail an' Pheasant is closed on account of it."

"Aye, Bill, don't I know it," Dirk said.  "That's were yer most usu'lly goes, ain't it?" he said to Greenjade.  "That's where Miss Nell works, ain't it now?"

"Shut it about her," Greenjade growled, clenching a fist.  

"Keep yer 'air on," Dirk said calmly.  "I've plenty of respect fer Miss Nell.  She's a nice wench.  She--"

"Don't call her a wench," Greenjade said attempting to stand, then plopping back into his chair.  "That's not a polite word to use of a...a maiden."

"Strike me purple," Bill said, "he's rare stuck on 'er, 'e is.  Hark at 'im!"

Reggie belched.

"Ah, I see it all now," Dirk said with a lift of one bushy eyebrow.  "Jem's mum has finally gone to 'er rest, and now he and Miss Nell can wed, that's it.  And yer gots a thing fer 'er now, and 'as come 'ere to drownd yer sorrows.  I see it all now.  Well.  Yer can sit 'ere as long as yer will and get sloshed, and then me an' me lad will haul yer upstairs and pour yer inter bed when yer've 'ad yer fill.  So long as yer be'ave yerself, that is.  Yer picks a fight, and yer does it outside, got that?"

A boy of about fifteen came in just then.  Dirk turned at the sound of his footsteps.

"'Ere you, Addy," he said, taking the boy by the sleeve and drawing him over to a corner of the room.  He proceeded to speak to him in a low tone of voice, glancing Greenjade's way a time or two.  Addy nodded, also looking Greenjade's way, removed the apron he wore, then went out the back door from whence he had entered.

"That's me lad, Addison," he said as he came back over to Greenjade.  "'E's me youngest.  'E's got two sisters, both of 'em's wed, and I'm right proud of 'em.  I wouldn't let no one speak of 'em with disrespect neither.  So yer may be sure I wouldn't speak disrespectful of Miss Nell.  So.  'Ow much longer yer goin' to be in town?"

Greenjade looked up at him in bleary distaste.  This fellow was being nosy, and was likely trying to pry some information out of him that was none of his business.  Well, Greenjade wasn't telling him anything. 

Dirk picked up a bottle from the counter and poured more of the contents into Greenjade's glass.

"Don't feel like talkin' 'bout it, eh?" he said.  "Well then.  'Ave it yer way, and 'ave yer a drink.  But that's all there is.  When that's gone, yer ain't gettin' no more."

Greenjade stared mutely at the brown liquid in the glass.  His stomach lurched a bit, and he vaguely remembered the first day he had come here, when he had tossed his luncheon all over the grass, and Nell coming with a pitcher of ginger-water.... He looked up, numbly, at Reggie, or was it Bill, who was looking at him with concern, or was it idle curiosity, and he turned his eyes back to his glass, and took a deep swallow.  He was about to call out to Dirk to stop rocking his chair, when he realized no one was close by any more, even Reggie had moved on.  The windows were dancing, and the room seemed full of water, sea water, the sun making a wavering light at the top.  Fish were swimming about, small ones and large ones, and squid, and octopi, and whales, far away; he could hear their strange cries, so far, far away...and then he saw his children, looking at him blankly through a window.  Two lads, two lasses.

Thundercloud...Hailstorm...Brightspear...Rainbow.

He called to them.  Their faces did not change.  Their faces were closed, dead, distant.

Father, you've dirtied the waters, he heard one of them say.   Now we must go.

Then Dirk's voice:  Go 'ome to yer mum now, yer pesky brats.  Am I runnin' a sweetshop 'ere?  Take yer snotty noses off me clean winder and point 'em in the direction yer came, go on now.

The faces disappeared behind a red curtain. 

"Young varmits," Dirk muttered.  "Don't know what their fascination with drunkards is.  Yer'd think they'd be at the burial."

Thundercloud...Hailstorm...Brightspear...and Rainbow.

"Aye, looks like we may get us some thunder, at that," Dirk's voice was saying.  "But hail?  I misdoubt me that."

"Those are my children's names," Greenjade said, and his voice seemed to go no further than his teeth.

"Yer don't say?" Dirk sat down at the table across from him. 

"They're dead, all dead," Greenjade whispered.  "I killed them.  I killed their mother.  I killed my mother, and my father, and my brothers and my sisters.  All dead.  All gone to the Dark Prison.  They had no boxes.  No roses carved upon them.  All dead.  Drowned."

Dirk spoke again, but his words were no more intelligible than the voices of the whales.

"Garland," Greenjade said, as her face loomed above him.  He lifted his eyes to her and saw her hair floating as a silver cloud on high water, on a high mountain, floating, her face as ice, her mouth a blue flower of pain.  It made the shape of his name, his other name, his drowned name, that his dead father had bestowed on him, the name he had left behind in the Black Prison, the name that had become his spear and his shroud.  Darkfin.

Thundercloud...Hailstorm...Brightspear...and Rainbow.

The glass fell from his hand and spilled its remaining contents into his lap, and his head flopped forward onto the tabletop, then sideways until it met with the floor and the empty glass.

~*~*~

Greenjade.  Greenjade.  Greenjade.

He groaned, bringing his fingers to his eyelids.  Agh, such pain...he shut his eyes tightly and pressed his hands to his face. 

"Greenjade, drink this.  It will help you."  Radagast's voice.  Something hot against his lips.  A gentle hand lifting his head, hot liquid entering his mouth, bitter to the taste.  He gagged, hearing another voice he did not recognize.  "Here, just drink it all down now.  The pain will be gone soon.  Then you can sleep it off."

Why did him get drunk? Nasty.  Sméagol's voice.

Because he was in pain, Radagast's voice spoke.  And he's in pain yet, but I dare say it was worse before.  There are a good many in pain today.  Jem has buried his mother.  And Jennie is bearing her child.  And Nell...

"Nell," Greenjade's lips formed the name.  Then opened his eyes.  He was in the room he shared with Sméagol, in his own bed, and Radagast stood beside him with the pewter cup in his hand.  Sméagol stood close by, with Nilde at his feet.  The room was dim, the curtains drawn.  Greenjade heard a sound outside as of rain.  He shut his eyes once more.

"Here, Greenjade," the Wizard's voice spoke soothing tones, "drink the rest of this.  It will ease your pain and help you sleep.  There--yes.  Drink it all down.  That's the way.  Nell is at Gil's, keeping the children for Jennie.  She won't be back until tomorrow."

Greenjade felt a cool damp cloth laid on his forehead, as Radagast's hand brushed the hair away from his face. 

"I'll go out and let you sleep now," the Wizard said.  "Just rest and sleep it off."

"How...did you find me," Greenjade whispered. 

Thundercloud...Hailstorm...Brightspear...and Rainbow....

"The son of the innkeeper came and told us," Radagast said.  "His father knew Mrs. Whitflor was being buried today, and sent his son to bring me to you.  Gil's wife Jennie has gone into labor and is with her mother and Granny, the midwife, but I must go to her now as well.  They want me there.  I will leave you with Mr. Partridge and Sméagol for a while and come back as soon as I can be spared."

"I...need...to...."

"Use the privy?  Your chamber pot is underneath your bed.  Here, I'll get it--there you are.  I must go now.  Sméagol will bring you more tea if you need it.  Just try to sleep as best as you can."

After using the pot, Greenjade lay back down and shut his eyes, but he seemed to see Sméagol's accusing face looking down at him as through a black mist of ashes. 

And then he heard Radagast's voice once more.

"By the way, that was a beautiful rose you carved," the Wizard said.  "I did not know you could do such."

~*~*~

It was morning before the Wizard returned.  Greenjade awoke without pain in his head, but his body felt at once heavy and hollow as an empty coffin.

"She had a little lad," Radagast said as he brought another draught into the room for the man.  "They called him 'Samwise'.  How about that?"

"Wonderful," Greenjade said unenthusiastically.  "So...when are we leaving?"

"The little one was born sooner than he was supposed to be, and is not quite out of the woods yet," the Wizard said.  "So we'll be staying a couple more days, until I'm sure the child is all right.  Nell is there too, but Miss Carrie will be about.  Speaking of Samwise, I must send him his book back.  You have it with you still, have you not?"

"Aye, I have," Greenjade said feeling a strange stirring within...he had supposed all feeling dead in him.  "Go attend to the babe.  I will take the book and send it back for you."

"That's good of you," Radagast said with a gentle smile, patting Greenjade's knee through the bedcovers. 

Later in the afternoon, Greenjade took the book, put on his cloak, and went out, telling Mr. Partridge he was going to the postmaster's. 

But he did not go.

And late that night, he took a light, went to the stable loft, and pulled the book out from beneath the pile of straw where he had hidden it, unwrapped it from the old piece of saddle blanket in which he had wrapped it, opened it and began to read.

19.  Persuasion

Nell came back home the next day, both to Greenjade's relief and his pain.  She talked of the new arrival mainly; he was tiny, but seemed to be doing all right, thanks to Radagast, who knew just what to do.

"So when will the weddin' be?" Miss Carrie said at the supper table, and Greenjade started. 

"Not for a while yet," Nell said without looking Greenjade's way.  "I'm thinkin'...at Harvest, or when it's over.  Maybe even Yule.  We don't want a lot o' fuss and bother. He wants to get his house in better order first.  It could do with a bit o' fixin' up."

"And then there's yer gown," Miss Carrie said.  "Of course yer'll be needin' a nice 'un, and that'll take some doin'."

"Oh, I'll wear mum's," Nell laughed a little.  "It fits me pretty well, although it needs lettin' out in...places."  Her cheeks reddened a bit.

Greenjade excused himself and went out to the stable, taking the book from its hiding place and unwrapping it.  A qualm of guilt swept over him once more.

Ah, but Samwise doesn't need it.  Surely he has it memorized by now.  And I will send it back in good time.  But I need it now.  It's all that stands between me and madness, I'm sure.  It will take some doing to hide it from the old fellow, but I'm certain I can.  I'll send it back the next place we come to.  

Maybe he could copy it...but no, that wouldn't do.  He must have the original, the one his stepfather had written himself, poured his whole heart and mind into.  A copy just wouldn't be the same.  Just holding the book to him, pressing it against his breast and feeling its warmth seep into him, it kept the demons at bay if only for a time.  No, Samwise didn't need it; he had his wife, his family, his friends, his relations...everything Greenjade didn't have.  Radagast was his only friend.  Yes, he could have befriended Sméagol, but something held him off.  That little invisible wall...of course they could not trust each other. 

And Radagast should not trust Greenjade either.... He sighed and closed the book.  

The next day Gil and Jennie came over in their wagon, bringing the tiny Samwise, and the other brothers came as well, with their families, and Jem also, and Betony, Lu and Viola, and Maisy and Cal with their dog Tater and their older brother Nic.  Some brought food from home, cakes and pies, some blackberry wine, jugs of cider.  Where there had been sorrow, there was now merriment, albeit with a bittersweet tinge, since the departure of the Travelers would soon be at hand.  They would be leaving the next day, Radagast said, and so they had best start getting all their things together.  Greenjade managed to hide the Book inside the feather ticking Miss Carrie had made for him.  He begged of her a darning needle and thread to take with them to make repairs to their clothing, and she had taught them how, so all he had to do was take out the basting on one side of the feather tick and hide the book, and baste it back when he had done reading.   Lu now sat with the one-legged soldier, Dan, apart from the others.  Radagast said Dan had long fancied Lu, but had not spoken because of his leg.  The Wizard had told him to speak his mind; he might get a surprise.  And he had done the previous day, and she had accepted him.

Jem came to Greenjade and stood a moment before speaking, as he sat with Radagast.

"I want to thank yer for the rose on Mum's box," he said simply.  "I weren't expectin' it, I'll admit.  But I do thanks yer."

Nell, holding loosely to his arm, smiled a little at Greenjade.  Then she and Jem abruptly turned to have a look at the baby once more.

Sméagol played with the children on the lawn as one of them for a while, tossing sticks to Nildë for her to chase and bring back, but by and by he came back and sat with Radagast and Greenjade, sniffling a bit.   

"He has yet another sorrow coming," Radagast said softly to Greenjade after Sméagol had to go out back.  "And so do I.  And it will be the hardest thing I have ever done."

"Do you?"  Greenjade started.  So preoccupied with his own grief he had been, it had never occurred to him that the others could possibly have any.  

Then on a hunch he looked at Nildë, who lay at the Wizard's feet.

"Aye," Radagast said as he saw the look.  "We cannot take her to Mordor.  'Tis no place for her, as it is now.  Sooner or later, we will have to find her a new home.  I cannot tell you how much I am dreading it."

His voice trembled, and Greenjade stared at him.  Leave Nildë?

"I do not think I have ever loved any creature as I have loved her, and I have had a great many," Radagast continued.  "Of course, they are all short-lived, being as I am, immortal, I have had to part with a great many creatures.  I have had Nildë less than a year, and so much comfort and companionship she has provided me, it seems I have had her with me always."

He shook his head, his eyes wet, and Greenjade ventured to speak then.

"Why not leave her here?" he suggested.  "Certainly she would have an excellent home here.  Mr. Partridge is very fond of her, and the young ones adore her.  And when...Nell...moves out, there will be an empty place..."

"You are right, of course, but the time has not yet come.  Sméagol needs her.  I think she has done much to make him what he has become, and to part from her now, and break his heart at this point, would likely undo all that has been wrought in him.  No, the time is not yet right.  I know of some folk who can give her the home she deserves.  It is not far from Mordor.  I suppose you read of Faramir in the Book?  He has a wife and a little son now, according to Samwise, and I would give much to meet them.  I dare say Nildë would be happy with them, or as happy as it is possible for her to be, parted from us.  Of course, we cannot go back for her, for it would not do to take her away from them after they have grown attached to her.  I only wish that it did not have to be."

"There is much I wish did not have to be," Greenjade said.  "I cannot yet take it in that this is to be our last day here.  It seems we have always lived here.  Come to think of it, in my present form, I have always lived here."

Radagast nodded his grey head.  "Aye, and I'm sorry to leave also.  We have all grown much attached to this place, and learned a great deal and experienced much growth.  A large piece of our hearts will remain behind.  And I know I've told you before, but I have been made so proud of you and Sméagol both.  The two of you have flourished far beyond what I would have expected in so short a time.  It is a very manly thing you have done in your decision to do right by Jem and Nell.  And I know all too well how hard it was for you, but you have done it, and you will not regret it, Greenjade."

"You give me far too much credit," Greenjade said almost to himself.  Perhaps he should tell the truth about the book, and leave it here for Miss Carrie or Nell to send back...or take it back himself tomorrow.  And he'd had a notion in his head to waylay Nell and try once more to persuade her to come to Mordor.  She did care for him, he knew.  Perhaps it would not even take that much doing....

Idly he picked out Jem in the crowd, who of course was sitting with Nell on a garden bench, and considering that his mother had died barely three days before, he looked radiantly happy.  And why shouldn't he be?  The four Mrs. Partridges were sitting about with their father-in-law nearby passing the baby around and admiring him extravagantly, and Nell glanced their way from time to time with a wistful smile.

"You are far stronger than you think, Greenjade," Radagast said.  

"Yet we all have limits," Greenjade said wrenching his eyes from Nell.  "That's what you said, isn't it."

"Aye, but how do we find those limits?  We cannot know what they are until we have reached them."

Greenjade glanced aside at Mr. Partridge once more.  Jennie had handed the baby to him, and he took it in one arm, his other being around little Linnet, who looked at her tiny new cousin in rapt fascination, her lips slightly parted, her eyes very wide, a dark curl falling over one of them as she leaned forward.  The very image of sweet innocence, with no idea of what lay ahead of her, what her limits were, no notion of where it would all end, no inkling of the world's cruelty and the absurdity of fate.  Her soft little fingers reached out to touch her tiny cousin's face, as they might have caressed the wing of a butterfly.

And Greenjade thought of Garland once more.  Where was she now?  

He remembered little of what he had seen in his drunken state, but well he remembered Garland. 

And he wondered if he could bring her back.  Out of the dark prison where she was now chained.

Was it possible?  Or would she remain there, for all the ages, as he would have, if someone had not made intercession?

Garland, his mate, his queen, mother of his children, who had been given to him, and who had deceived and despised him, taken another mate, who had perhaps proved to be an enemy and had betrayed her and the children and murdered them.  She was where she deserved to be now, being paid for her evil deeds as he had been.  Or did she deserve it?  Well, of course she did, or she would not be there...but was it possible that she could be saved, brought out, given another chance, as he had been?  Perhaps he had wronged her.  Perhaps she had turned on him because he had neglected her, regarded her as a mere ornament, significant only inasmuch as she was a reflection of himself.  Had he heaped too much scorn on her accomplishments, thought to placate her with his lavish gifts, as one might appease a child, so that she might stand out of his way, yield all to him? 

If he could persuade Nell to go with him, would it end the same way?  Would she end in hating him, resenting him, betraying him? 

He started at the sound of a child's voice, and looked up to see the twins standing before him and Sméagol and Radagast with sad faces.

"Dad says yer goin' away tomorrer," the fairer one, Gilda, said.

"Is yer really?" Gwynlen queried.  "We've things for yer, that us and Mum made.  But I'm not s'posed to say what they are yet."

"Aye, that we are," Radagast said.  "It breaks my heart to leave this place, but go we must.  We've lingered far longer than we meant to."

"Couldn't yer stay just a little longer?" Gwynlen pleaded to Sméagol. 

"I wants to," Sméagol said with his eyes growing wet, "but we can't.  Brown Master says we must go."

"Who's going to be president of our club now?" Gilda said.  "It won't be the same without yer.  I don't think it'll last long.  Likely it'll break up."

"Sometimes a fellowship must come to an end," Radagast said, "but our memories remain behind.  We will take your addresses with us, and write to you when we reach Mordor, and keep you all posted as to our progress.  We shall not forget you, by any means."

"We'll get letters?" Gwynlen said sniffling a little.  "I never got a letter before."

"It's well that you can read a bit now," Radagast smiled.  "I expect you to keep up with your learning after we're gone.  Jem will be teaching the school now, after he and your aunt Nell marry.  You'll like that, I'm sure--your own uncle as your schoolmaster.  And we've set the Community Center up for the schoolhouse, and appointed a board to see to matters."

"Does the school 'ave a name?" Gilda asked.

"Why, I don't know," Radagast said lifting his eyebrows.  "I hadn't thought of that.  I suppose it will be up to the board to decide on a name."

"I think it should be called the Brown Wizard School," Gilda said.  Radagast laughed a little.

"But I wanted to call it the Greenjade School," Gwynlen protested, "'cos, well, it just sounds so pretty."

Greenjade started.  "Oh no," he said.  "'Brown Wizard School' is far better.  He did much more to found it than I.  All I did was teach some things of the Sea.  But he taught the things that really matter."

"I liked the sea-things," Gilda said.  "They was more interestin' than just figurin' numbers and such.  I want to see the Sea sometime.  D'yer think I could someday?"

Greenjade stared at her for a moment.  He had been rather evasive of the children, who reminded him that he would never see his own children or siblings again in this world, but now it occurred to him that he had missed out by doing so.  And it was too late now.

"If you are so determined," Greenjade answered finally, "I'm sure you could see it if you wish.  It is not so far from here as all that.  A week's journey on horseback, is my guess.  However, all you would be able to see is the surface.  It is very splendid, but naught in comparison to what lies beneath."

"I couldn't see that," Gilda said with a little sigh.  "I carn't swim or nothin'.  How is it you can?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Greenjade saw the Wizard lift his eyebrows and then turn his face away. 

"Where I come from," Greenjade explained simply, "everyone swims, my lass."

"I can stick me face in the water," Gwynlen said modestly, "so long as I holds me nose.  Once't I done it for five counts on a dare."

"Sméagol," Gilda said, "will yer tell us of yer master some more afore yer goes?"

Greenjade jerked his head toward Sméagol, startled.  A blush stained the small fellow's cheeks.

"He's been tellin' us all about the Ringbearer," Gwynlen explained to Greenjade.  "To 'ear him tell it, yer'd think he really knowed 'im an' all.  I love 'earin' about him."

"I wish I'd of knowed 'im too," Gilda said.  "Arfter Sméagol goes, there'll be no one to tell us aught of him."

Radagast was looking their way now.  Greenjade lifted his eyebrows to him.

"You should write down the things he has told you," the Wizard said with a little smile at Sméagol.  "So that you'll always remember them, and can show them to your children."

"I ain't got none yet," Gwynlen said, "'cept for Princess Butterfly.  And her won't sit still long enough." 

It was nightfall when at last the party began to break up.  Nearly all the Partridge children gathered around Sméagol, some of them crying.  Jennie even let him hold the baby for a minute.  Greenjade felt a trifle jealous; then he was allowed to hold the little one also, to his surprise.  It was sleeping by that time, so unexpectedly soft and warm in his arms, that he was overwhelmed by a feeling he had never experienced before, even with his own young ones.  He did not want to let it go.  Jennie looked at him in some wonder, yet seemed relieved when he finally handed the infant back to her. 

And he made up his mind.  He would see Nell tonight, and he would use every persuasive power he had to make her come to Mordor with him.  She would not have her child with another as its father.  He knew all manner of techniques to make women happy.  He had used almost none of them with Nell as of yet, for it hadn’t seemed necessary, and he had been a bit too taken aback, at times, to draw upon his store of knowledge.  But tonight…he would use them.  He would not have his child brought up by another.  Radagast would just have to understand.

He wandered back to the house in a daze, then started as he heard his name spoken once more.

"Greenjade?"

He turned sharply, near the front door.  There was no one else about.

"Nell."  And he tried to conjure up a trick in his mind to persuade her then and there, and could come up with nothing.  It was as though his memory had been wiped clean of all such.

"That which you told me that night," she said almost timidly, standing tall and pale in the dusk, "was that true?"

20. Resolution

She had been talking with Jem earlier in the evening, she explained to Greenjade. 

"Yer do care fer 'im, don't yer, Nell?" Jem had asked her most unexpectedly, as he caught her looking Greenjade's way. 

"I...I s'pose I do, some'at," she had to answer.  There was no lying to him, she realized.  "But...I care for yer more."

"Do yer?" Jem looked at her through narrowed eyes.  "Nay.  Yer only sayin' that to be kind.   Yer in love with 'im, ain't yer?"

She looked directly at him then.  "I don't say it to be kind," she said.  "It's true.  I care for him also.  And I care for you also, Jem.  Yer a rock to me, yer true and steady and strong, yer a comfort and a rest, that I can lean on and ever feel safe and protected.  Him, he's different.  He's excitin' and dark, and a mystery and a trouble.  I couldn't feel safe with him.  I couldn't depend on him like I do with you.   I think I'm in love with both of yer.  But yer the one I trust."

"I told yer that yer didn't 'ave to wed me if yer don't want," he said.  She caught his hand.

"But I do want," she said choking up a little.  "He's leavin' tomorrow, and I won't see him again after that.  He'll be someone to remember, and no more. I'll have his child perhaps.  That'll be good enough for me."

"Will it?" Jem said pressing her fingers a bit tightly, but she did not wince.  "Yer won't be lookin' out yer winder from time to time, regrettin' that yer didn't foller him into Mordor?  If that's what yer wants to do, then do it.  I wouldn't 'old yer back."

"It's not what I want to do, Jem," she said sniffling.  "I couldn't go off and leave you and me family and friends behind, to abide in a strange land fer all me days, even to be with 'im.  There's ladies in the legends as went off with their lovers, forsakin' all that they knew and loved, but I ain't them.  Nobody'll be singin' songs and ballads of Nell Partridge.  I won't be dyin' of grief when my man is struck down before me.  I'll be here, and when I die, that'll be the end of it.  I'm content to be just Nell Whitflor, abidin' in this land for all me days by yer side."

"I want yer 'ere," Jem said, "heaven knows.  But I want yer to be 'appy also.  Seems I carn't 'ave it both ways.  Yer not ordinary, Nell.  Yer smart, and strong, and yer likes to find out new things, make discoveries, and such.  And yer'll be content to abide 'ere where folks don't do that sort of thing?"

"But I can find out new things and make discoveries here, Jem.  Haven't I been doin' just that?  And now that I can read books and such, I'll be doin' more of it.  Radagast has arranged it so our school will grow and we'll have more books, maybe even a library and such.  It's true I can't go back to bein' what I was afore they come here.  But it's also true I can keep on bein' what I've become arfter they've gone."

Nell and Greenjade went out back of the house to sit on the bench at the edge of the back garden to talk undisturbed.

"I didn't quite believe yer at the first," she explained as dusk slowly fell and the crickets began their evening song unheeded.  They sat without touching, a world of space in the nine or ten inches between their hips. "I thought yer was tryin' to pull my leg, or some such.  It frightened me, I ain't sure why.  But...is it true?"

"Aye, it is," Greenjade said.  He saw no point in lying to her; she would see through such now.  "I'm sorry we had to keep it from you.  But..."

"That's all right, Greenjade.  I can see why yer did."

"You may tell the others if you like.  But I would ask you to wait until after we're gone."

"I don't think I'll do that.  It might frighten the little uns, to know they've been talkin' to the real Gollum all along.  They might have nightmares over it.  Better I should keep it to meself.  I can do that, well enough.  And when yer come to think on it, he's NOT the real Gollum.  He's just Sméagol now.  But I misdoubt me that the young uns's mothers would see it that way."

"You know," Greenjade looked directly at Nell for the first time during this interchange, "I think perhaps the truth should be made known.  Maybe not right away, but it should be made known, just as the story of the Ring was made known.  Not that it's just as important--far from it.  But it IS important, I think, to have it known, because it shows that people are capable of changing and turning from evil.  And that there are consequences of not turning.  And that there are higher powers that can be turned to.  And that sometimes the fallen should be lifted, rather than cast out, and guided to a better way."

"So the Ringbearer really is yer...stepdad?" Nell sounded still the slightest bit disbelieving.

"Aye, and now I feel honored along of it," Greenjade said, at the same time with a twinge of guilt, thinking of the Book hidden in his feather tick.  Well, he would return it on the morrow...or leave it with Nell, who would return it for him if he asked her.  The thought gave him another stab of pain, to think of parting with it.   "I never met him, save through the Book, and never shall save in the next life.  Yet I feel as if I know him now.  He made intercession for me, out of love for my mother.  I spent time in a horrible place, where I knew ceaseless torment, and would to this day, but for him.  It no longer matters much to me why he did it; he did it and that is what matters.  My mate, Garland, abides there now.  I did not see her, but the Lord of the Afterworld told me she was there.  I would have her out if it were within my power."

"Perhaps it is," Nell said, reaching out to touch his hand.  A shudder went through him at the pressure of her fingers, but he did not pull away.  "Do yer think it's possible?  That you could make intercession for her just as he did for you?"

"I don't see how," Greenjade said morosely.  "I've done much that was...unthinkable.  Even now, I'm not good for much.  I've done good chiefly out of fear of the consequences.  Even tonight...I was going to do all in my power to persuade you to go to Mordor with me.  I see now that I cannot.  If I were to do so, there would be no chance for Garland...none whatsoever."

"You care for her that much?" Nell looked at him with wide eyes.  He saw wonder, and not dismay in them.

"Well," Greenjade said, surprised at himself, "it's not so much that I want to be with her.  We did not get on when we were together.  It was as much my fault as hers--more so, but she was not guiltless either.  I just wish to bring her out of that place, simply because it is so horrible.  If I could simply wish her out of there and back where she was, that would be enough.  But I suppose that is not possible; she would have to be with me, or not at all.  And I doubt she would want to be, either.  I did not treat her well.  I dare say she would have gone to that place simply to ensure that I would be there and would suffer worse than she.  But I would have her out, just the same.  And perhaps abide with her in an attempt to atone for past wrongs.  I discussed this with Radagast, and he says it is possible.  That he himself would make intercession on her behalf, but that most likely, she would have to live as a mortal, just as I do.  And that she would have little choice but to go with me, if it were to happen.  And that I would have to do my part.  And so I do.  But know that I would choose you, if it were within my power."

"I was goin' to say, when I approached yer," she said, wiping a tear away from her left eye, "that I was ready to go to Mordor with yer.  Even though I told Jem I wouldn't.  I said that to him, when I was alone with him, but then seein' yer, and talking with yer...I felt I couldn't abide here without yer.  But I know now I can do it.  If'n yer can give me up to have Garland out and safe once more, if yer can sacrifice so much on behalf of her...well, I can do likewise.  Why shouldn't I?  Don't Jem deserve the best?  I'm scarcely that, but I can do this much for him.  I'll never forget yer, Greenjade."

He brought her hand to his lips.

"Will you do one last thing for me, Nell?" he asked as he pressed her hand to his bosom.  "I was supposed to take the Book to the post today to have it mailed back.  But I did not feel I could part with it yet.  I felt I should go mad, if I were to send it back so soon.  Still, I cannot go on deceiving Radagast this way.  So if I leave it with you, will you mail it back for me?"

"Lay it on the table next to me bed, and consider it done."

He laid his hand over hers for a long moment and held it to his cheek.  He was about to ask her to tarry with him one last time.  She would do it, he knew.  And not regret it.  But if he were resolved to have Garland out of that place, he would have to begin doing his part now.   

He remembered the stage show on the first day he had come to the village, the chap in white, and the rakish one in red and black, their comic battle over the shepherdess in the green flower hat.   And he released her hand, lying so warm and yielding in his, as the babe had lain in his arms a short time ago.

"Thank you, my darling Nell," he whispered.

21.  Into the Green

My Dear Samwise,

By the time you get this letter, we will have left the Partridges.  I hope you have received your book back by now? And I very much hope all is well with you and your wonderful family.  

I have a strange favor to ask of you now.  Greenjade wishes to bring his former mate, Garland, from the nether realms to which she has been consigned.  I have promised to make intercession to the Powers, and so I have.  But perhaps it would be a good thing if your former master could do so as well.  I have not the connection with him that you have, and so would it be too much to ask of you to convey our wish to him?  I believe this new wish of Greenjade's will give him comfort for his recent heartache.  His new goal may lead him more and more into the Light, and prevent him from too much backward glancing. 

I am more worried about Sméagol at the moment.  He has had his heart's desire--to live among normal folk and not be cast out.  He had all that, and even a good deal of love and esteem, but whether or not he will ever have it again is doubtful.  I cannot help but feel that his heart's desire has changed into something he may never receive.   I know he cried himself to sleep on several nights, and was comforted only by Nildë when she came to his side and licked his hand.  And someday he must lose her also.  It seems he is destined to be alone.  I suppose I must not think too much about it, but just go on and do what must be done.  Things have a way of working themselves out for the good if we do that, I've come to find.

Robin's wife Sally is with child now.  It was thought that she could not have any more children after birthing the twins, but a treatment I used upon her has put that to rights.  You will find it attached to this letter.  It tickles me vastly to hear some of the names their lasses come up with for their little sibling, and I shall miss them sorely.  Nell is putting together a book of the remedies which I've administered here and there, to be copied and given out to others.  She has a fair hand at both writing and drawing, and has made sketches of the herbs and plants to be used, so that those who lack reading skills may recognize them.  She is already talking of becoming a healer, "like Greenjade's sister."  I've sent word to the King to please send someone to teach her, for Granny is very old, and will not live much longer, and typical of the aged, she is not receptive to new methods.  If Nell were to become a healer, I think folk would take to those methods little by little, when they see their efficacy.  And Nell can be very persuasive, and, well, I dare say we are all a little smitten with her.  I can but hope for her happiness as Jem's wife, but seeing as how he cannot give her children and I could not restore that faculty to him, I cannot hang everything upon that hope.  Perhaps, just as your former master has, she may find her true joy in mothering the orphaned or unwanted children of others.  I have suggested this to her, and she smiled and said she would consider that.  It seemed she had some sort of nice secret, and I've a feeling she has already a child in mind.

Mr. Partridge will not have to go without help now, after all.  His brother's son Anson is coming to apprentice himself to his uncle.  He lives far from the Partridges, so he will be taking the room Greenjade and Sméagol  have been using.  He is a bright and charming lad, and I think he will be excellent company when Nell has moved out.  Miss Carrie is distressed at the thought of losing Sméagol, and I suggested having one of the twins come help her out in the kitchen--I know their mother needs them at home, but she could spare one of them for an hour each day, I think.  Of course, Nell will quit her job at the Quail and Pheasant before she and Jem marry, and can help out a good deal, but she has her upcoming wedding to attend to, along with her studies. 

Doesn’t it seem that if she had a child in mind to adopt, she would tell me?  Ah well…

It is getting late and I must stop now.  I hope you will convey Greenjade’s wish to your former master and his little lady; I know Anemone wishes the best for her son.   

Wishing you and yours all the best,

Radagast

~*~*~

Radagast said they would have to get to bed early, so that they would have their strength in the morning.

"We have become soft and spoiled here," he said with a feeble attempt at levity, as he stood with Sméagol and Greenjade in the bedroom that evening.  "Yes, we have done much work, and hardened up, but we are still too accustomed to the comfort we have known here, which we will not know on the road.  I have made some tea that will help us all get to sleep quickly, and keep our dreams from pounding on us too hard. Unfortunately I have no brew that will lift our spirits.  I can only tell you that someday this will all be far behind us, and we will have fond memories that will sustain rather than torment us.  Sweet memories are a little like wine; they may take long to ferment, but when they are nicely aged, they can be a delight and a comfort.  Let us keep that thought in mind, and perhaps we can go on with what we must do.  Even as soldiers on leave once did, when they knew their sweet interlude was over and they must return to the front.  If they could do it, why should we not be able to do likewise?"

Greenjade bit back a nasty retort about how he was sick to death of being compared to a soldier, then was shocked at himself.  He told himself that if he wished to save Garland, he would have to begin by changing his thinking, for all his actions sprung from that, as Radagast had pointed out.

After the Wizard had climbed up into the loft, Greenjade lay in the bed, thinking of Nell, and then suddenly, seemingly for no reason at all, he thought of Sméagol.  Of the fact that he and the other fellow had never once had a meaningful conversation since they had been here.  He thought of Gollum in the book, and how he somehow never could quite disconnect the fellow who lay in the bed across the room from him from that creature.  Perhaps he should start trying now?

But even as he turned his head to speak to the other, a snore made him jump, and he sighed and pulled the covers over his shoulders. 

And in a dream he seemed to see Garland impaled upon a long spear, her pleading eyes looking up at him from a jagged and unfathomable distance.

~*~*~

The Travelers ate a huge breakfast, not that any of them had much appetite, but they would need much strength to resume their journey, and they were loath to leave the table very soon, although Greenjade wished to start as early as possible, so as to spare himself the agony of waiting about for their departure.  As they were eating, Robin, Sally, and the twins came over, bearing gifts:  warm woolen clothing for the upcoming winter, including scarves that the twins had made:  a green one for Sméagol, a red one for Greenjade, and one striped red and green for Radagast.  Greenjade had to turn away to hid a grin at the look on the Wizard’s face as he beheld his gift. 

“We thought yer might get tired o’ brown,” Gwynlen explained, “and might fancy somethin’ with a mite o’ color.  I knitted the red parts and Gilda done the green.  We took turns.”

“'Twere a world o’ bother with the pussies al’ays gettin' the yarn from us,” Gilda said, looking to be near tears.  “They got so tangled up one time, I scarce could make out which was which in all the mess.  But we got 'em done.”

“It’s most splendid,” Radagast said and he kissed both the girls.  “I shall think of the two of you every time I put it on.”

“I thought Sméagol should ‘ave the green un since ‘is eyes is green,” Gwynlen said sniffling a little.  “And Greenjade should ‘ave the red ‘cos ‘e looks well in red.  Gilda wanted Greenjade to ‘ave the green un since ‘is name is Greenjade, though.  Y’uns ken swap ‘em about if yer likes.”

“Nay, Sméagol likes green,” Sméagol said, and he took the scarf and draped it about his neck, although it was quite warm out.  Greenjade let the red scarf lay loosely over his shoulders.  Nell tried to smile as she looked at it, then blinked hard.  She was in green herself, of a shade very like that of her eyes.  Green as the moss in the bottom of a forest-pool, flecked with shy sunlight and floating woodbine petals.

I'd like to go out into the world, out into the wide world;
If only it weren't so green, so green, out there in the forest and field!

I would like to pluck all the green leaves from every branch,
I would like to weep on all the grass until it is deathly pale.*

“I can never thank yer enough fer all yer done,” Sally said and her eyes were brimming over also.  “If the child is a lad, I ‘ope yer don’t mind if we calls ‘im Radagast.”

“I would be most honored, although my true name is Aiwendil,” Radagast said.  “That may be a better-sounding name, in very truth.”

“We’ll call it that if it’s a lass,” Sally said without batting an eye.  Radagast chuckled ruefully.  Robin cleared his throat. 

“We’ve yet another gift for y’uns,” he said.  “I’m surprised the lasses didn’t let it out afore now, but they didn’t, and I’m proud of ‘em.  It’s in the yard.  Don’t think Aunt Carrie would have tuck it kindly us bringing ‘um in the ‘ouse.”

The twins were visibly weeping by now, yet they each took Radagast by the hands, saying “Aye, come an’ see!”

As they went out the front door, a little finch fluttered up and settled itself on the Wizard’s shoulder.

“Why, there’s Rusco!” he exclaimed.  “I thought you had found yourself a sweetheart, my little friend, although it was late in the year for it.  ‘Tis wonderful to have you back again.”

Robin led them around to the backyard, where a brown and white donkey stood tied to a post. 

“’E’s for y’uns,” Robin explained, as the twins ran to pet the small beast.  “I thought yer could do with a bit o’ help luggin’ yer stuff, and maybe take a ride from time to time.  If’n Smeagol’s leg goes to painin’ ‘im, this chap could bear ‘im along.  Yer can name ‘im as yer likes.”

“What a wonderful surprise!” Radagast said, looking genuinely delighted to see the animal.  Nilde looked apprehensively at it, while Smeagol just stood gawking.  Greenjade scarcely looked at it for trying not to look back at Nell.  “I was wondering how we were going to bear all the wonderful things people have given us, and which we would have to leave behind.  But now we can take them all.” 

“Hullo?” a small voice called out behind them.  There stood Maisy, along with Cal, and they each carried a burlap bag slung over their small shoulders.

“Hullo there, Maisy,” Mr. Partridge said.  “Yer come to bid farewell to our guests, I takes it?”

Maisy nodded.  “We brung more woody flowers for Nilde,” she said shyly.  “We broke off the sharp places, and Cal ‘elped this time.  And Mum sent more of her jam.”

“Thank you both so much,” Radagast said taking the sacks from her and her brother.  “And as you can see, we’ve this fellow to help carry them.” 

“Oi!” Maisy said, running over to pet the donkey.  “Wot yer calls ‘im?”

“We haven’t a name for him yet,” Radagast said.  “But we’ll think of one soon enough.”

“Does yer really ‘as to go?” Maisy said mournfully.  “Why carn’t yer just bide ‘ere?”

“I wish we might,” Radagast sighed, “but we must go.  We’ve already stayed far longer than we intended.  We will sorely miss this place, and all of the dear friends we’ve made during our sojourn here.”

Cal was petting Nilde, his face bent down to her so the others couldn’t see, but they could hear him sniffling. 

“Mum’s goin’ to let us go to Jem’s school,” Maisy said.  “I want to learn how to read books and draw words like other folks.  Cal don’t, but mum says ‘e’s goin’ anyways.”

“I’m sure both of you will do well,” Radagast said.  “Well, I think we had better start loading up this chap and let him get a feel for bearing a burden.  It will not be too heavy, I’m sure.”

“We’ll ‘elp,” Gwynlen said.  “Where’s yer stuff?”

“It’s in the front room, all ready,” Radagast said.  “Don’t take anything too heavy now.”

As they went back inside the house, Greenjade lagged behind, with Nell just in front of him.  What was she thinking?  And why did he not go to her last night?  One last time…it would have done him for the rest of his life.  Was Garland so important to him as all that? 

There was little conversation as they gathered up the things and made a reasonably light load for the little donkey to bear.  Smeagol went about touching things:  furniture, lamps, curtains, odds and ends about the house.  There were tears on his face but he did not even seem to notice.  Miss Carrie looked as though about to lose her favorite dog.  The twins kissed the donkey and then Nildë.  Gwynlen looked to the finch but evidently he wasn’t having any.  So she blew a kiss to him and her sister followed suit.  Rusco fluttered his wings and looked pleased.  Maisy giggled, then said she had to go.  She hugged Smeagol and so did Cal, then they both embraced Nildë and gave the donkey one last pat, and Radagast bent down and kissed both children on the brow.

And they left, looking back over their shoulders from time to time.

“So…are we ready now?” Radagast asked after a long moment.

Greenjade scarcely heard him, for looking into Nell’s eyes one last time.

I would like to pluck all the green leaves from every branch,
I would like to weep on all the grass until it is deathly pale....

~*~*~

Nell and Jem were wed in the late fall.  She bore a son five months after the wedding, naming him Hareld, for her former lover.  He was accepted by nearly all, strange to say.  He did bear a striking resemblance to his natural father, as many noted, but few of them, save for her sisters-in-law, said aught to his mother of it.  Her brothers' wives mostly remarked on what a handsome lad he was, yet completely different in personality from his natural father.  Harry learned to read and write a fair hand at the age of four, and could run like a rabbit and swim like a fish after very little instruction.  He was quite a little show-off, and kept his mum in a constant state with his tricks, and was a natural leader among his peers.  And he had nearly as much a way with beasts as Radagast, until a few men joked that the Wizard must be the real father of the child after all, then looked ashamed of themselves.

Sally's child was named Aiwendil, but more often they called her "Lark" instead, for her cheery nature and singing voice.  Harry and Lark became greatly attached from earliest childhood, and were together as much as possible growing up, until folks could scarcely think of one without the other.

Betony quickly caught the eye of Nell's healing instructor, and after his time in the village was done, he took her away with him to Gondor, where they abode the rest of their days, raising three sons.  Her friend Viola married a fellow who came frequently into the Quail and Pheasant, and ended up bearing him twelve children.  He made up a song with a verse about each of them, and sang it whenever he got the chance.  Many people learned to avoid him rather quickly.

Jem suffered a fatal heart seizure six years after Harry's birth, and Nell took over the schooling, along with her healing and mothering work.  A year later, she married a friend of her eldest brother Ralf, a widowed sheepherder with a half-grown son and daughter.  Nell bore him another daughter and son, both red-haired, and they lived quite happily.  If she ever rose to look out of her bedroom window at the stars and think sighingly on what might have been, her husband never knew of it.     

~*~*~

*words by Wilhelm Müller (1794-1827), from Die Schöne Müllerin, song cycle by Franz Schubert.  Translator unknown.

Part II:  Dark Encounters

1. Distance

Greenjade had finally reached the point where his head stopped turning to look back, convincing himself it was useless; that they had passed the point of no return.  The absence of the Book seemed heavier than the Book itself. 

The days on the road had gone by one much the same as another, for which Greenjade was glad.  They walked from morning until noonday, when they would eat a meal consisting of nuts and berries picked along the way, jerked venison, a slab of bread and cheese or jam, or perhaps a fried fish if Sméagol got lucky.  Miss Carrie had given him a little iron skillet which he had hung from his belt, and he would scarcely be parted from it.

Nilde seemed a little jealous of Baran the donkey, and when Radagast led him along, she would stop following her master, and trail far behind, until Sméagol went to her, whereupon she would slink along a little sadly until Sméagol petted her and called her his pretty lass.  Then she would walk happily with him, occasionally stopping to chase a squirrel or rabbit.  Rusco didn't seem to know what to make of their new acquisition either, and spent much of his time perched backwards on Radagast's shoulder, looking at Baran and chattering until the Wizard quieted him, then he would fly upward and circle around the donkey high in the air, fluttering his wings loudly, then swoop down at Nilde, and return to the Wizard once more.  Greenjade smiled grimly at these antics a time or two, then returned to his own brooding thoughts.

On the seventh day of each week, they would take the day off from their trek and rest.  They would take a dip in a nearby stream, and then try their luck at fishing.  Sméagol, of course, was always the luckiest in that pursuit, and Greenjade knew he could look forward to a good feast.  It was then that he would catch himself watching the small fellow, and wonder about him.  What he thought about, what his youth had been, and what those five hundred years of being Gollum had been like.  What did one do in all those centuries?  He wanted to ask, but knew that he was unlikely to get much of an answer.  Then he would decide that he did not care anyway, and remembered what some of the children had said on the last day at the Partridges'.  About how Sméagol had told them much of the Ringbearer.  It was of him Greenjade really wanted to hear, but he knew he would have to win over Sméagol's trust in order to get him to open up about him.  And Sméagol was ever wary of Greenjade.  It was frustrating, especially since Greenjade had a feeling Sméagol knew what he wanted and was deliberately withholding it, trying to break him down, make him swallow his pride and come right out and ask.  Perhaps he was secretly pleased with himself that he had something the other wanted, and was not going to be forthcoming without any sort of price.

So, Greenjade kept silent on the subject, and maintained his distance from Sméagol.  Sometimes, after making an excuse about answering the call of nature, he would lag far behind, glaring at Sméagol's back as he trudged along.  Other times he would try being helpful, bringing wood and kindling to cook the fish he caught, sometimes even making the fire for him, although he was still awkward at it.  

Last week they had passed through a village in which Greenjade had seen a red-haired woman carrying a baby, with two small children skipping along by her side.  The woman was the same height as Nell, a bit plumper, but she made him draw in his breath and stare for several minutes before Radagast gently took his arm and steered him away.  That was a week ago, but Greenjade stayed far behind the others, wishing he might fall down and die, and he considered doing just that, and wondered if the others would miss him or be relieved at not having to put up with him any more.  Radagast was talking to Sméagol far ahead, and Greenjade slipped out into the trees once more, deciding he simply must be alone for a while; he did not think he could endure another moment in their company.  He thought for an instant of the woman in the village, and then his thoughts inevitably strayed back to Nell, wondering if she missed him, if she were thinking of him this minute, or if she were happily making plans for her wedding.  Her wedding...he could see it now.  She was standing in a festively embroidered gown, a wreath of flowers on her flowing hair, and Jem at her side, taking her hand and slipping the ring upon her finger promising to have and to hold her until death did them part....

After their noon meal they settled down for a good nap.  Sméagol lay with his head on Nilde’s flank…well that she did not seem to mind his snoring.  Radagast sat with his back against an ancient oak, his bedroll serving as padding, Rusco fluttering up into a branch above and Baran munching at a little pile of straw the Wizard had put down for him.  Greenjade slipped off by himself, raking a hand through his hair from time to time, leaning his head on the bole of a tree and stamping his foot in agonized frustration that would not let up.

I am not going to Mordor, he told himself.  He did not deserve this.  Hadn't he done his best, back in Nell's village, trying to atone for the wrong he had done, making life better for the folk?  Yes, he had succumbed to temptation, but she had played a part in that.  And what of his child?  No, he would turn back.  Likely the others would not care.  Sméagol would be glad to be shut of him, in particular, and Radagast…well, he would feel a failure for a while, but he would understand….

After tramping a good distance, Greenjade stopped beside a wood-stream, picked up stones and hurled them into the water as hard as he could, then last he sat down, absently picking flowers and dropping them into the stream.  Then he lay his head on his bedroll, listening to the gentle babble of the water that seemed to be trying to lull him into sleep like a mother patiently soothing a fretful babe.  He tried thinking of Garland, but could not ever seem to remember how she looked.  What he did see was his sister Fairwind, in the whitest gown imaginable, pearls gracing her neck and lilies in her hair as she stood among towers full of bells playing joyous melodies high over the crowd, and a glowing male stood before her smiling down from a lofty height as well.  And as he slipped a ring onto her finger, she smiled up for his kiss, at which everyone burst into song and some flung flowers.  Her brothers and sisters took hands and danced in a ring around the pair.

And Greenjade saw his mother, along with a little curly-haired, hairy-footed fellow, and they whirled about so that Greenjade could never quite see his stepfather's face, but his mother's he saw plainly, radiant and twinkling as though a brood of stars had found a nesting place there, her honey-colored hair elaborately braided and curled and bedizened with pink roses that matched her dress. A pendant with a sparkling white gem hanging from a silver chain around her neck was her only jewel. 

He waved his arms frantically to get her attention, but she gave no indication that she saw him.  He had never truly noticed how lovely she was before.  He had once thought landishness would render her common and insipid, but not a bit of it.  Her eyes were full of love and pride and joy and fun, looking first to her husband, then to her daughter and her new son-in-law, then to her other children, and back to the one with whom she danced.  Greenjade tried once more to see his face, but somehow could not, only the brown curls that bounced jauntily to the rhythm of the music. 

Then just when he was about to succumb to despair, the small fellow turned, and Greenjade saw him fully.

~*~*~

“What is that?” Frodo raised his head from the pillow at the sound of giggles that seemed to be coming from outside, cradling his pipe in his hands. 

“Why, it’s the girls, silly,” Anemone said from the other side of the bed with a smile.  “I told them they might stay up late tonight, and they’re having a little frolic in the gazebo with the remainders of the wedding-feast. Wasn’t it a lovely wedding?”

“Almost as beautiful as ours.”  Frodo took another puff of his pipe and lay back with a blissful smile.  “If not more so,” he added daringly, then laughed.  “Poor Barathon.  I might have known I should not have told our lads of the wedding-customs of hobbits.  I’m sure he managed to find his way home after being forcibly blindfolded and tied up and left in the woods Eru knows where.  I hope Fairwind will not be too hard on her brothers, and will amply compensate Barathon for his trouble.”

“I meant to ask what was the meaning of that strange contraption waiting to take the bridal pair home?” Anemone said.  “The one resembling a giant conch-shell, yet with wheels.  Did Barathon have any idea what he was letting himself in for, becoming a member of our family?”

Frodo laughed uproariously.  “Things won’t get dull for him, at least.”

“And those two strange horses pulling it along—jet-black and tawny-gold,” Anemone said giggling.  “And that driver whom I could have sworn had the face of a dolphin, yet wore a silver crown.  And the two white doves fluttering behind.  Folk were asking me where certain members of our family had got off to.  I scarcely knew what to tell them.”

“I had naught to do with any of that,” Frodo said with a wink.

“Ah no, of course not,” Anemone said, then she sank back with a dreamy sigh.  “The first of our kind to wed an Elf.  Well, I dare say Fairwind is getting her first taste of the joys of the flesh now.  I can scarcely wait to hear what she will have to say of it.  I wonder which chapter they will start with.  Wouldn’t it be something if they did the exact one we just did?  Eight, was it?  Although I doubt that would be just the right one for the first time.  Chapter three or four would be far more suitable for a novice, I should think.”

Frodo laughed until he nearly spilled his pipe ashes.  Who but a sea-lady would express delight in her offspring getting acquainted with the joys of the flesh, even on the marriage-bed? 

“I’m sure the book prepared her well,” he said.  “Speaking of books, Sam got the Red Book back.  That’s a vast relief to me.  I was afraid it might be lost, or that…”

“Or that Greenjade might keep it?” Anemone voiced the thought he had hesitated to express.  “It’s all right, you may say it.  So he has left the village now?”

“Yes,” Frodo said thoughtfully.  “I dare say his head is turning back again and again.”

“You don’t suppose he will go back and abandon the others, do you?”

“I cannot say.  I was just thinking…”

“Yes?”

“I’m wondering if I can let him see us through the Glass.  I would like to show him Fairwind’s wedding.  Do you think that would be a good idea?”

“Is it possible?” Anemone asked.

“I’m not sure.  Perhaps it will only remind of what he cannot have now…but on the other hand, perhaps it will motivate him to keep Garland’s release in sight, so that he might remain on the right path…. Yes, my love.  I know there was enmity between you, that you never approved her as a mate for him, and that she would not let you see the children, let alone have contact with them.  But the thought of her in that Place…”

“Aye, I know.  I detested her, quite frankly.  As she did me.  However, that does not mean I wish her in that Place.  I would have her out of it, but not by his side.  However, that will not be my choice to make, should she be released.  And I am glad the children are where they are now, rather than being allowed to grow up as their parents.  Although I wish they could have been removed and placed in our keeping instead.  I blame her for what happened to them.  She went off with another mate and left them to shift for themselves, unprotected and alone, assuming, I suppose, that they could look after each other.  Even so, I would not have her punished for all time.”

“I am glad you did not take exception to my making intercession for her,” Frodo said, drawing her head to his shoulder and stroking her hair.  “That was most generous of you.  I knew there was a good reason why I loved you.”

“I am trying to pattern myself after you,” she replied with a gentle smile.

He leaned over and kissed her lingeringly on the lips.  Then he rose from the bed and padded over to the western window where the Glass stood, picked it up and spoke softly the words to make it light, then set it down again, and began murmuring an invocation to the Lord of Dreams.  That done, he turned and came back to the bed. 

“So…do you feel up to another chapter tonight?” he whispered running a finger through the silky strands above her right temple.

“Your turn to choose,” she said with a roguish flutter of her eyelids.

23. Lost

Radagast yawned hugely, and as usual Rusco made a dive for his mouth, and the Wizard laughed and made a grab for the little bird, catching him this time.  The finch made a great fuss and Radagast released him, whereupon he flew into a nearby tree and made a show of indignation, ruffling his feathers and fluttering his wings, then turning his tail and sitting perfectly still.  Radagast laughed again, then glanced at Sméagol, who was still sleeping, as usual with his head on Nildë’s flank.  The dog opened her eyes looking sleepily at Rusco, then closed them again.  The Wizard glanced up at the sky and saw he had slept longer than usual.  It was quite late, although not dark yet. 

We should be crossing the Baranduin before long, and reach the North-South Road.  Wonder where Greenjade is. There is a mill nearby, we should go purchase some flour for making flatcakes.  If there’s a dairy about the place where we can get some butter and honey….

Radagast and Sméagol always took long naps on the days of rest, and awoke quite refreshed from them.  Greenjade, however, did not nap for long.  He was apt to go wandering about by himself, relishing the chance to have some time alone.  If there were a stream or lake nearby he would go and bathe, staying in the water for hours as though vainly trying to reassume his original form. He would watch Sméagol swim, with a strong feeling of envy. The small fellow was an expert swimmer, and was not above showing off a bit.  Greenjade sometimes felt that Sméagol was deliberately trying to rub it in that he was still at one with the water while Greenjade was not. 

But on this day, Greenjade slept much longer than usual also.  It was the most healing sleep he had ever experienced.

He saw the Ringbearer’s face for he never knew how long, not more than an instant perhaps, but he would have sworn he saw his stepfather’s eyes looking right at him.  He danced with other females as well, Greenjade’s sisters, including the bride, then a lovely girl-child with hair very like Nell’s only of a lighter shade, and another slightly older one with dark hair, then a raven-haired lass who towered well over him but neither seemed to mind it, and she was the most beautiful of all and the most graceful dancer.  So that was the new sister.  His elf-sister.  Greenjade had never seen any Elves before, even in all his travels in Middle-earth.  And now he was brother to one. 

He saw his mother dance with others too; his brothers Northlight, Ebbtide and Moonrise, and another fellow, raven-haired like the elf-sister.  But Greenjade did not watch him for long; he was looking for his stepfather once more, but had lost sight of him.  Great merriment abounded, far beyond the usual gaiety of such celebrations. It was Joy, such as he had never seen anywhere else.  And it seemed to have its center in the Ringbearer, as though he were the sun and the others his satellites, his light illuminating their individual beauties into gemlike perfection. Greenjade awoke with tears on his face, and saw it was near dusk.  His left hand was still dangling in the streamlet. 

He sat up slowly, smiling despite the tears and his cold hand.  After answering the call of nature, he set out in the direction he had come, wondering how far he had wandered out, and if the others were still asleep.  As he recalled, he had gone quite far, having decided he was not going to Mordor, at the same time knowing he could not go back to Nell now…or could he?  But he would join the others now.  The memory of his stepfather’s face would sustain him…and he felt kindly disposed to Sméagol for the first time.  He would tell of his dream, and Sméagol would open up to him, and they would talk of the Ringbearer together.  Greenjade recognized the feeling inside of him as happiness, but he had to wonder about it, how he could be feeling it apart from Nell.  Likely it would not last; it would fade away like the clean feeling following a bath, or the ineffably sweet euphoria in the aftermath of lovemaking.  But he would hold to it as long as possible. 

Well, it will be dark soon, he thought.  Days seem to be getting shorter.  There’s a bit of chill in the air.  Better find the way back before it gets too dark…but which way did I come?  Seems I left the path, or there was another…Yes, here’s a fork in it, but which one did I take?  Can’t remember now. 

The euphoria began to fade already as he stood trying to think in which direction he had come.  So preoccupied with his troubles he had been, he had not even noticed that the path had forked.  He vaguely recalled crossing the stream, and Radagast saying it was a mill-stream and they should buy some flour.  Perhaps he should follow the stream to the mill; maybe they had been there buying the flour, and the miller could tell Greenjade where they had gone…. But would they go off without him? 

He strained his eyes to see if he could see his footprints, then remembered brushing them away with a branch so the others could not see where he had gone.  He swore to himself.  He was hungry, also, and had stupidly gone off without taking any food.

Then he began to shout their names, remembering how well sound carried in the forest, cupping a hand around his ear in hopes of hearing them call back.  He looked toward the sun, remembering it set in the west, and they were traveling eastward.  But both paths went eastward.  It was a simple matter of remembering which one he had taken. 

Finally he decided on the right, shrugging to himself.  If it weren’t the one, he would backtrack and take the left.  Hopefully he would find them before it grew dark, or he would be in a pickle, engulfed in total darkness, and would be unable to see the path at all.  The thought was terrifying; he had but one memory of total darkness, and that was in The Prison.

He sped up his steps, in frantic hope that he was on the right path, breathing hard, then calling once more.  After going he knew not how far, he began to feel he had not come this way before, and had chosen the wrong path.  There was a strangely shaped tree of which he would surely have taken notice if he had passed it already.  True, he had been too preoccupied to notice much before, but that tree would have been hard to miss.  It stood weirdly twisted as if in torment, its branches, nearly denuded of leaves, reaching grotesquely out as if to grasp desperate hands for help, and the late afternoon sun behind it made it appear to be in flames.  Sméagol might have looked so upon falling into the lava, as he had appeared when Greenjade had beheld him for the first time in that Place.

He would have noticed that tree.  This was the wrong path, and no mistaking. 

Well.  The thing to do was turn back now, but the tree was somehow transfixing him.  It seemed to be both taunting and beguiling him, almost speaking to him.

You think you can escape me?  Is that what you think?  There is no escaping the Void.  I will have you back, and there will be no rest for you then.  You only think you can redeem yourself.  You are deluded, Darkfin.  You fool, you pitiful wretch, so deluded.  I have Garland, and you shall never have her.  She hates you, she sent me to tell you that you have no hope, you will only encounter yourself everywhere you go.  Lost, so lost and alone, forever and ever, you shall never reach fulfillment, never rest, poor deluded fool.  For there is no escape from the prison of self.  Your will is not your own, it belongs to me, you sold it to me and now you are mine, my slave, my underling, my own being, and in the end I will consume you utterly and you will embrace your fate….

Greenjade trembled in every nerve, unable to move nor take his eyes away from the tree, which though faceless seemed to leer at him with a single eye of flame. 

Liar, he said softly, after a moment. 

It laughed.  Its laughter seemed to echo throughout the forest. 

All the trees laughed with it. 

Greenjade closed his eyes, trying to recall his dream, and the eyes of his stepfather, looking straight at him, and he clamped his eyes tightly shut, and held his hands over his ears to stifle the laughter of the forest.

He will not help you now, said the tree.  You are paralyzed, just as he was paralyzed at the Crack of Doom, you cannot move, cannot act, cannot free yourself.  You belong to me.  Come back to me.  I will save you from that Place.  You shall have whatever you desire, you shall have Garland, you shall have dominion over Mordor, and it will rise again.  You—

“LIAR!” Greenjade screamed at it, shocked at himself that he had found his voice once more.  “You fooled me once.  Do you really think you can do it again?  I am free of you.  You shall never have me again.  You are naught but a tree, anyhow.  Even if you do your worst to me, as much as you can do outside of the Shadow, you will never own me.  He freed me, as he was freed, from you.  I belong to the Light now.  And there I stay.  So, farewell, it has been lovely chatting with you, but now we must part company.  I truly have better things to do than conversing with vegetables.”

He laughed, a bit insanely, and as he looked again, he saw merely a tree like any other, and he was unnerved all over again.  Where was he?

And then even as he listened, he heard a voice calling his name.  Radagast’s voice, nearly inaudible, but unmistakable in tone.  But he could not tell from what direction it came.  First the cry seemed to come from one direction, then another.  Was it the Enemy deliberately diverting the voice, or some trick of the forest itself? 

He plunged blindly ahead, praying he was going in the right direction, and that he would arrive there or be found before nightfall.  The sun was sinking at an alarming rate already….

And at last he saw a flicker of firelight, and he bounded joyfully and thankfully toward it….

But it was not the place where they had stopped that day.  And Radagast and Sméagol and the beasts were nowhere in sight.  Instead, there were several beings about the fire, with eyes of strangeness and hunger and lostness, and they seemed very glad to see him, almost as if they had been expecting him….

24. Hunger

“He took all of his things, including the bedroll,” Radagast said as he went through the bundle on Baran’s back.  “Please tell me the fool didn’t go traipsing back to the Partridges’?”

Sméagol sat alternately gnawing on a piece of jerked venison and silently petting Nilde, watching the Wizard paw through the bundles. 

And then he spoke up.

“I sees Master,” he said said with his mouth full.

“Did you?” Radagast said.  The words did not quite register with him for a moment, then he abruptly stopped what he was doing and looked at Sméagol.

 “I sees Master,” Sméagol repeated swallowing.  “Him dances with pretty lady.”

Radagast set down the bag of dried fruits.  “Do you mean Frodo?”

“Yesss,” Sméagol nodded eagerly.  “Him dances with pretty lady.  Lots of people, dancing.  Master dressed up pretty too.  Looked very happy.”

“Oh…you dreamt of him, you mean?”

Sméagol looked thoughtfully at Nilde, his fingertips caressing her ears.

“Him danced with pretty lady,” he repeated.

“How did she look?” Radagast asked softly.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” Sméagol said in dreamy wonder.  “Gold hair all curled.  Pink dress with silver on it.  Pink flowers in hair.  When she dance her skirt fly and show white under.  So pretty, so pretty.”

“I saw the same lady,” Radagast said after a long moment.  “And it seemed not so much like a dream as…as a vision.  And he was dancing with her, yes, and he looked utterly happy.  So different from what he was that one time I met him…It was a wonderful sight.  There were others there—it was a wedding, to be sure, but I had eyes only for those two.  And you saw all that?”

Sméagol nodded, smiling a bit. 

“She is Greenjade’s mother,” Radagast mused.  “I wonder if he saw her also?  And where in blazes can he be now?  Did he say anything to you about where he was going, by any chance?”

Sméagol shook his head.  Radagast tossed the bag to the ground. 

“He took no food with him—or very little.  Here are some footprints…he went back down this road, it appears.  Here are the marks of his staff.  The fool!  Yes, he has been very down for the past week, ever since we saw that red-haired woman, but still I did not think he would actually turn back.…” 

He paused, cupping a hand at his ear.  Sméagol rolled over onto his knees.

“Sméagol, did you hear that?  I heard my name…it was his voice calling.  I think he’s gone and gotten himself lost.  Stay here with Baran—I’m taking Nilde with me.  Perhaps she can help me find him.  You know how to build a fire, yes?  Stay here until I come back with him.  You won’t be frightened here alone?” he added as he saw that Sméagol did indeed look frightened, and that the sky was darkening to an alarming degree.

“Sméagol goes with Brown Master,” he said scrambling to his feet.

~*~*~

Greenjade could see their faces well enough, although the campfire was small.  They all wore dark clothing and several wore black cloaks, a few with the hoods still over their heads. 

They were looking his way—no chance of slipping off without them seeing him now.  And even if there were, it was getting darker, and where would he go?  He would be floundering about in total darkness before long.  Although there was a full moon showing already.  Something about that full moon…

Then one of them stood, slowly, with his—or her—eyes on Greenjade, and the others rose also, all of them looking in his direction.  He stood transfixed.  None of the others took a step toward him, and he wondered if they wished him to approach.  And he was feeling atrociously hungry.

Then he thought of the purse of money hanging from his belt, and wondered absurdly if they wanted it.  He had no weapon apart from his staff….

And then he heard a voice speak to him…only, no one was actually speaking.  It was the way sea-folk spoke to one another, sending their thoughts through the water…only, they were not in the water, and these were not sea-folk. 

Come to us, stranger.  We have food.  Are you lost?

Greenjade gripped his staff tightly.  It seemed he heard laughter among them.

Behind him was naught but darkness.

Why did they not speak aloud?

Acting on sheer need, he took a step in their direction.  And found himself being gazed upon as though he were not so much the dinner guest, as the dinner itself.

It seemed there were hundreds of them, although there could have been no more than two to three dozen.

The tallest stepped forth, throwing back the hood of his black cloak.  A handsome and strangely boyish head appeared, with hair as black and flowing as his own had once been, the face beardless and glowing with that uncanny pallor. 

“Welcome, stranger,” he said in fluent Westron, yet with a strange accent, and a rusty edge to his voice, as though he did not use it often.  It was, in fact, a ruined voice, as though it had been strong and clear once, but something had happened to it to break its music into a hollow clank like a broken bell.  “Have you lost your way?  But of course you have.  Why else would you be wandering about this time of night, with the wings of darkness so close behind you?  You have been tramping long in the wild, from the looks of your clothing, and you are tired and hungry.  Why not come and share our bounty?”

Greenjade stood silent for a long moment.  The fellow seemed friendly enough, but…what was wrong?  That which he emanated was not wholesome, to say the least. 

“My name is Gaergath,” he said, as though he thought giving his name would put the stranger more at ease.  And so it did.  Somewhat.

“Greenjade,” he said, “and I am hungry, indeed.  But what…”

Gaergath turned to look back at another hooded figure, who stood behind him and seemed to be eying Greenjade rather suspiciously.  A smaller one, a child it appeared, although it too was wearing a long cloak with a hood covering its head, stood close to the fire with something in its hands.  The taller figure brushed back its hood to reveal a female face, which gazed a long moment at Greenjade, then turned to the small figure and jerked her head. 

The small one came timidly toward Greenjade and held out a dish to him.  It had what appeared in the darkening light to have something like bread and cheese on it, as well as a bone with a good bit of meat clinging to it.  Without thinking he snatched it from the child’s hands and stuffed the bread and cheese into his mouth, heedless of a few snickers that went about, sounding rather like insects in a burning barn.  The taste scarcely registered with him, as he wolfed it down, and then he grabbed the meat and fairly sucked it off the bones.  Rabbit, he figured, not seasoned, not very warm nor very thoroughly cooked, but at any rate, food.  No one spoke until he had eaten every particle. 

Then he looked down and saw that the child was holding out a piece of fruit to him.  A plum, he thought.  He took it less urgently, saying, “Thank you, little one.  Forgive my lack of manners, but I was half starved and scarcely had my wits about me.  But I did not mean to deprive you of your supper.  I hope there is more for you?”

He glanced aside at the pile of dead animals once more.  Strange, none of them had been prepared for cooking.  They still had their skins.  The fur seemed dark and matted.  He could see the faces of some of them, sad and stunned in the firelight.

“There is plenty,” Gaergath said with a soft raspy chuckle.  “Come and sit down with us for a while, and rest yourself.  From whence did you come?  Your speech is not of this land—not this part.  Ah, but where are my manners?  This—“  he turned to the female figure, “is Duathris, and this—“ he motioned toward the child, “is Serilinn, her daughter.  This ugly one is Amondachol, and that is Hargammeren, and Brennilvuin, and  Fanuilith…” 

As he named several others, Greenjade looked at Duathris, who was studying him with a little half smile.  Her dark hair was simply parted in the middle and hung straight down her back, and her face had a beauty that was as stunning as it was cruel, the features fine and blade-sharp, the eyes gleaming with a black consciousness that seemed composed all of lust and decay and madness, slightly red about the irises and with a pinpoint of scarlet light in the very centers.  They seemed to be painted around with dark stuff, which gave them the appearance of being ready to pop out of their sockets any moment.  Her mouth was darker than any mouth had a right to be, nearly black, even in the moony pallor of her face, the lips very slightly parted, and it seemed she would salivate in another moment.  Greenjade felt positively undressed at the moment, the way she was looking at him.

His legs felt very weak all of a sudden.  He turned his eyes and looked down at Serilinn.

She had put back her hood as well, and the face he saw was similar to the mother’s, only so completely lacking the evilness, it defied belief.  The light of her face was not as the light of the others; it was a faintly golden, candle-like glimmer, the huge eyes full of starry wonder, secret terror, and wounded innocence, the lips pressed softly together as if to give each other comfort.  She appeared about eleven or twelve in man-years, yet she held the edges of her cloak together as if there were nothing beneath.  He looked at Duathris once more.  She was still gazing at him, and as his eyes met hers, she slowly drew the tip of her tongue over her lips.

Some of the others were looking at him the same way.

For some reason, he thought of the pouch of silver coins that hung at his belt. 

He had an absurd notion of offering it to him in return for his escape. 

And then Duathris pinned her eyes to him in a way that paralyzed him completely.  He could not do so much as blink. 

She glanced fleetingly at Gaergath, who seemed to nod his consent even though his back was mostly turned to her, and then she looked at Greenjade once more, holding him with the vile beauty of those eyes, and her long white hands emerged from her cloak and she flung it back from her.  She stood in a gown of solid black, relieved only by a belt of some sort of fabric.  The sleeves left her forearms bare, and the neckline exposed much of her bosom, which appeared white as bone and as lifeless.

But the most unnerving thing about her was that as she smiled at Greenjade, the others did also, in an almost identical manner, as if they were all controlled by her alone.  Serilinn alone drew back…whatever she was, she was not of these. 

Then Duathris took a step toward Greenjade, and he thought to step back, but could not move from where he stood.  His trousers felt wet all of a sudden.  Yet he could not move.  She took another step, and another.  Then she was in front of him, the tips of her toes about six inches from his, and she stopped short, and drew back slightly.

And spoke.

“That at your belt,” she said, with the same sort of ruined voice as Gaergath, only of a more feminine timbre, “take it off and throw it away.”

Greenjade would gladly have done just that—were it not for the fact that he still could not move.  Not even to speak.

“Take it off and throw it away,” she repeated.  He became aware that he was surrounded—these creatures, whatever they were, stood behind him all around, although he had not heard them approach.  He remained motionless, expecting the others to spring on him, snatch the pouch from him, and rend him to bits.  But none made a move to do so.

“Serilinn,” Duathris spoke to the child, “come here and take that which hangs from his belt.”

The girl stood where she was, also without moving, looking pleadingly at the mother—if mother she truly was.

“Serilinn, take it now!” she said, and this time the child moved toward Greenjade, pushed aside his cloak with tremulous hands, and found the pouch of silver.  Obviously unable to untie the knot, she slipped out a tiny knife and cut the drawstrings, then looked up apologetically at Greenjade. 

“Throw it far away,” Duathris ordered her, and the girl flung it into the brush, then snatched the hood over her head once more and sank to her knees.  Duathris smiled the most terrifying smile imaginable, and she stepped close to her captive once more, and lifted her hands to his cheeks. 

And the others drew closer as well.

25. Silver

“How fortunate that he left a handkerchief behind,” Radagast said looking at the square of cloth that looked somehow familiar.  “Nildë, my lass, sniff this well, and remember the scent.  Do you think you can do that for me, my love?”

The dog sniffed at the handkerchief, looking at her master in some puzzlement.  He stooped down at eye level with her, then began singing or chanting something very softly to her.  Sméagol watched with anxious interest.  Then the Wizard sprang to his feet, snatched up a broken limb nearby, and dabbed a bit of grease from Sméagol’s skillet on one end.  This he dipped into the small fire. 

“Dowse it now,” he said to Sméagol, who jumped up and stamped on the flames with one foot until they were all extinguished.  Radagast nodded his approval.

“Let’s go!” he said, holding his torch high in one hand, the handkerchief in the other.  Nildë stood up also, and leaped off into the direction he indicated.  “Let us hope the scent is still fresh to her,” he said to Sméagol. 

“What about donkey?” Sméagol glanced back at Baran.

“He is patient,” Radagast said.  “He will wait for us, and guard our spot well.  I’ve a feeling it will want guarding.”

~*~*~

Greenjade tried to cry out as something pierced the skin of his throat, two somethings in fact, and a burning sensation permeated his bloodstream, but his paralysis would not permit so much as a groan.  He felt Duathris’s hands creeping over him as she sucked his blood, but they might have been two great spiders, for all the arousal they produced in him.  He heard her moaning, faintly, a sound much as he had heard from certain females as he made love to them, had heard from himself, save that her moaning alternated with a revolting slurping noise, much like a dog gnawing on itself to catch its own fleas.

And then he felt more burning sensations, one in his wrist, where one of the creatures was holding it to his mouth, and another on his other wrist, still another on the other side of his throat.  He felt icy wet hands touching him, on his back, slipping up under his tunic and inside his breeches, in his hair, on his face, voices laughing, murmuring, moaning, snorting, making sucking sounds, hissing and whimpering in anticipation, and he wondered if he had perhaps died in his sleep, and found himself back in that Dungeon, surrounded by unspeakable things even his worst nightmares could not have produced….

And he could see some of the others now before him, their hoods thrown back, their faces incredibly hideous with their scarlet eyes, lipless mouths, razor-sharp teeth with bloodied fangs, ruined flat noses and pustuled skin…. Orcs? he wondered wildly.  

Then suddenly Duathris sprang back with a screech, and so did a few others, and she whirled about flapping her arms wildly, and Greenjade could see burning places on her black gown, smoking, as she frantically slapped at them.  And his paralysis was suddenly gone, and he seized the opportunity and gave her a hearty kick in the stomach which sent her sprawling backwards…into the fire. 

He would never forget the shriek she gave as she went up in flames, then bounded somehow upward and went spinning erratically in the clearing, burning, wailing, howling, and he glanced sideways and saw Serilinn, standing motionless and holding…his money pouch. 

He felt an absurd impulse to spring and grab it from her, then paused, as if someone were physically holding him back…and so it felt.  Then he saw the figure that had once been Duathris collapse, moaning in utter agony, then lie still, and then it seemed she began to dissolve before his eyes until nothing remained of her but a heap of black ashes. 

Then some of the other creatures sprang screaming at Serilinn, and she dug her hand into the pouch and flung coins at them, hard, and they shrieked and flailed their arms as the silver hit them, igniting their clothing.  Greenjade looked down and saw his staff lying nearby, and he bent and snatched it up just in time to see another black-cloaked creature coming straight at him, and he took the staff and thrust it so that it struck the creature full in the middle, impaling it.  It howled and writhed on the staff, black stuff spurting from the wound, until it too began to collapse and crumble.  He jerked the staff away and managed to knock over another creature which was staggering in his direction, and with a certain relish he impaled it also.  And then he heard a sound as of wings, and before his eyes some of the creatures seemed to vanish or turn into huge black birds, and he felt the foul air rush at him as their wings beat upwards.  Others ran off into the forest to be swallowed in darkness. 

And he shouted at Serilinn, “RUN!” She turned and fled in the opposite direction of the others and he took out after her, still holding the defiled staff, wondering at her swiftness, and at the same time thinking ridiculously about his silver.  He caught up with her soon enough, and she held a hand out to him and he grabbed it, and on they ran, scratching themselves on bushes, but not stopping…

And then Greenjade heard his name called.

~*~*~

“Nildë, what is it, lass?” Radagast said as the dog stopped, growling, then she began to tremble in every bone.

“She is frightened,” Sméagol said rather unnecessarily, stopping short.  “Bad things in the woods.  Bad things, bad thingsss….”

“I can see that, but what things?” Radagast said. 

And then he heard a shriek the like of which he had never heard before in all the ages and hoped never to hear again.  Not even the Ringwraiths had ever made such cries.

“It’s THEM!” Sméagol yelped in terror, throwing himself on the ground.  And Nildë sprang up and ran in the opposite direction! 

“Nildë!” Radagast cried in anguish.  He made a move to go after the dog, but stopped short as he heard more screams and howls.  And he stooped down beside Sméagol, watching, but not certain what to do.  Sméagol threw his arms around Radagast like a frightened child clinging to its mother in sheer desperation. 

“I do hope and pray whoever that is does not have him,” the Wizard murmured.  Sméagol whimpered, clinging more tightly and hurtfully, hiding his face against the Wizard’s robe.  Radagast patted him with a trembling hand. 

And then he saw something burst from the trees—huge black birds or bats, or so they appeared.  They flew up with a foul rustling of their enormous wings, then flew ever further into the darkening sky until they were out of sight.

And then he saw two figures running.  

~*~*~

“Would that we could give these poor creatures a decent burial,” Radagast said looking at the pile of dead animals.  “However, that would take too long and we should get back to our camp as quickly as possible.  There may be some still lurking about.  And I dearly hope Nildë has gone back there by now.”

“Just please let me find some of my coins first,” Greenjade said.  “I worked hard for that silver.  Yes, it saved my life, and all that.  But still…”

“But if it remains here, then they will not come back, and the defilement of this spot will be washed away in time,” Radagast said.  “See how twisted and stunted and bare these poor trees are?  Perhaps the silver will help them to grow to fullness once more, and the barren fields out there will once more bear grain and fruit.”

“And those creatures will only go foul up some other place,” Greenjade said.  Sméagol glanced about nervously, as he crawled about on hands and knees, helping to look for the coins, more for something to do than anything else. 

“There is not enough light to search anyway,” Radagast said.  “Perhaps we can come back in the morning and look.  Although I had just as lief not come at all.  There’s an air of evil that lingers about it still.”

Sméagol nodded his agreement.

“Just a few more moments,” Greenjade pleaded, at the same time touching one of the wounds on his throat which hurt confoundedly.  “I’ve found some of it already.  There can’t be that much more.  This torch provides enough light.  And it’s as you said, for some reason they don’t like silver, and won’t be coming back here.  Likely we are safer here than there”

“What is your name, my child?” Radagast asked.  In all the excitement, Greenjade had failed to introduce his new charge.

“Serilinn,” said the girl, who was sitting close to the Wizard, huddled up clutching her cloak to her once more.

“What a lovely name,” he said.  “It means ‘lover’s song’ does it not?  It suits you well, I must say.”

A faint smile flicked over the girl’s face in the torchlight, and it seemed she sat up a little straighter. 

“How long have you been a captive of these creatures?” Radagast asked her, brushing a hand over the top of her dark head.

She looked down at the ground, at Greenjade and Sméagol, then at Radagast, then at the ground once more, and shrugged. 

“Duathris…she was my mother,” she said at last., “and…”

“And?  What of your father?” Radagast prodded gently.

She shook her head, and stared down at the ground at her feet.

“It may be Gaergath,” she said after a moment.  “Duathris was with him a great deal.  But…I do not know.  Duathris was not my true mother anyway.  She was a Dark-Elf princess and a witch, and she spent all her time studying the craft and working her magic.  Then Gaergath turned her.  Meleth my nurse is the one who cared for me, she was my true mother.  But she is gone now.”

“Dead?  How so?”

Serilinn was silent once more.  “They sleep in the ground,” she said without answering the question.  “And they drink…blood.”

Radagast shuddered.  “I know who they are,” he said.  “They are the Children of Thuringwethil, the Woman of Shadow.  Very likely she was the mistress of the Dark Lord Sauron.”

“Some are orcs,” Serilinn said.  “Gaergath turned them also.  He promised them they would have their beauty and power back, if they would do his bidding.  They can appear beautiful, when they have fed.”

Greenjade stopped short in his search and looked back at her, then at Radagast.  So did Sméagol. 

“It is said that they take the form of giant bats,” Radagast said softly, “although what I saw were more like great birds.  Yet I am sure they must be the Children of Thuringwethil.  It has been said that they are blood drinkers, and they sleep by day and prey by night.  I have never seen any before, and had come to doubt their existence.  We must get away from here now.  Greenjade, Sméagol, come, we must be getting back.  I am sure this poor child does not wish to abide any longer here.  You may search for your coins tomorrow if you wish.  Or better yet, I will give you some of my own.  You are wounded, and I've some stuff that will soothe and draw out the poison.  Come, all of you.  Douse the fire well, and let us be going.”

Serilinn stood up, shakily, and suddenly went over to investigate a pile of dark ashes that lay some distance from where the fire was.  She stood looking at it, then a soft sound came from her, as mournful as any sound could be imagined, and Greenjade remembered that was the spot where Duathris had fallen.  He spoke softly to Radagast.

Then the girl began to wail, a sound that carried the sorrow of ages and places and people and things, and Greenjade forgot his silver which seemed utterly unimportant in the amplitude of that cry, which pinned him to his spot as surely as Duathris's eyes had done.  Radagast went to the girl and lifted her up into his arms and held her, then began carrying her from that violated place, never to enter it again, and the others followed leaving the remaining coins to guard and heal it for all time.

26.     Serilinn

Greenjade had to stop and vomit along the way, and Radagast stopped and waited for him until he straightened up, feeling a trifle better, but still a little weak and giddy.  He heard Sméagol speak of Nildë, and wondered where she was.  Serilinn had stopped her wailing and had hidden her face against Radagast’s shoulder, whimpering a little.  The Wizard spoke soft and comforting words to her, assuring her than no one would harm her again as long as she was in his care.

As they approached their campsite, Sméagol, who was carrying the torch now, suddenly broke into a run as a muffled bark rang out.  Radagast, still carrying Serilinn, said joyfully, “It’s Nildë!” and picked up his pace as well, then remembered Greenjade and slowed again.

Greenjade jabbed his stick hard into the ground before him to steady himself.  With his free hand he clutched the bag of silver tightly, as much to protect himself as it.  Radagast had told him to hold to his arm if he needed to, but Greenjade, hard-headed being that he was, had declined.  Serilinn was quiet now, sniffling, and Radagast remembered the handkerchief and gave it to her.

Sméagol dropped to his knees as Nildë ran to greet them, throwing his arms around her, crying, “Pretty doggie has come back!” several times.  Radagast smiled, then looked to Greenjade saying, “Are you all right?”  Then he asked Sméagol to get the fire going again.  Nildë came to her master, sniffing, and he set Serilinn on her feet. 

“This is our Nildë,” he said by way of introduction.  “She’s a good lass, and will not bite you, unless you were to attack, and I misdoubt that you will do that.  Nildë, this lovely lass is Serilinn.  What think you, my love?”

“What a beautiful creature,” Serilinn said and reached out a hand to stroke Nildë’s head.  Greenjade remembered the way the Partridge girls used to make over the dog, “Who’s the sweetest doggie in the 'ole world, eh?  Who's our very own prettiest one…let us give ‘er a hundred thousand kisses, no, make that two” and so on.  Hard to imagine Serilinn carrying on in such a manner.

“I’ve not seen a dog since I was very small,” she said.  “And most of them were unbeautiful and smelled badly, and had tiny insects on them.  This one’s hairs are pleasurable to the touch, and thick.” 

Nildë licked her hand. 

“She likes you already,” Radagast smiled.  “Let’s get something to eat.  Sméagol, my good fellow, will you do the honors?  I must see to Greenjade’s wounds.  We will be stopping at a village soon, and perhaps staying there for two or three days so the two of you might have a bit of time to rest and recover.  Sméagol, would you please to toss me that brown bag—thank you, dear fellow.  Here, I’ve been clipping these leaves here and yonder, if you’ve noticed.  They’re what I’ve been using in your tea, among other things.  They have marvelous healing properties as well.  Must get some water boiling in order to use them, but here’s the balm jar, which will do for the time being…”

Greenjade winced as the Wizard applied the cool ointment to his wounds, but in very little time it began to work wonderfully well, soothing the burning pain and pervading his senses with a marvelously calming effect.  He saw Sméagol holding a piece of bread and cheese over the fire with a forked stick, as Serilinn poured water into a small pot and set it in the flames. As soon as it started to simmer, Radagast crumbled some of the dried leaves into it, and sang a little wordless song as Sméagol handed the bread and cheese to Serilinn.

“Thank you so very much,” she said to him as she took it.  Radagast smiled gently at her graciousness, and at the same time, looked as though something hurt him.  Although stilted for one so young, her speech was accented and charming, her voice soft and melodious.

A pleasant fragrance began to permeate the air before long, a familiar scent…which Greenjade soon recognized as the one of the kind of sweet grass Nell used her clothes to make them smell good.  Yet rather than being saddening, it was comforting somehow.  Sméagol was taking deep breaths of it also, as he stroked Nildë and ate berries.

“Where do you suppose they have gone?” Radagast said as he applied bits of the boiled leaves to Greenjade’s wounds. 

“I could not say,” Serilinn said, “but they will follow us nocturnally.  They cannot travel in the day, for the sunlight is fatalizing to them.  They sleep below the ground.  But by night…”

“Why would they follow us?” Greenjade spoke up.  “Revenge?”

“They desire my blood,” Serilinn said simply.  “Elf-blood gives them the powers that mortal blood does not give.”

“You are an Elf then,” Greenjade said.

She nodded and held out one hand, palm upward, to show a bite wound on the delicate wrist.  Radagast drew in his breath. 

“Why did you not speak of this sooner?” he said picking up the balm jar once more.

“It will heal quickly by itself,” she answered, her eyes large and dark and gemlike in the firelight, “and you need the remedies for the mortal man.  I can see he is mortal by the hairs upon his face.” 

“Just the same,” Radagast said, “let me put a touch of this balm on you.  You will be surprised at its properties.”

“Are you of the Maiar?” Serilinn asked as the Wizard gently smeared dabs of balm on her wounds…which were numerous, Greenjade noticed wincing.  Some were on her throat, as he noticed when she unfastened her cloak.  She wore a dark-colored dress that looked too big for her and had been patched.  Giddily, he thought when they reached the next town, he would buy her a pretty dress to wear, or have one made for her.  Likely that was the only one she had.

 “They may be following us,” Radagast said.  “Perhaps we should surround our encampment with the silver, so they cannot enter.  Sméagol, please take this pouch, and lay the coins all around, about two inches apart, can you do that for us, good fellow?  My child, you say they sleep in the ground?  Where do you sleep, then?”

“In the ground also,” she said very softly.  “Near Duathris.  Gaergath put chains on me to keep me from running away, for I did try it once.”

“Great Illuvatar,” Radagast said.  “And your own mother permitted this?”

“Aye.  She took my blood herself.  It gave her great powers, she said.  Since Sauron was defeated, their powers had begun to diminish.  Yet Gaergath said my blood would give them back again, and all the Elves had left Middle-earth, I was one of the few left.  There are some Dark-Elves left, however, and they go in search of these.”

“Monstrous,” Radagast said as he replaced the lid on the balm jar.  “Simply… How long has this been going on, my dear?”

“I am not certain,” Serilinn said.  “Since the Dark Lord’s fall, I think.”

“Seven years,” Radagast said as if to himself.  “And you have had to sleep in the ground, chained, for that long?  How did you bear it, little one?”

Serilinn was silent for a long moment, picking up a stick and poking in the fire with it.

“Sometimes I would hear a voice of singing,” she said at last, “when I lay in the ground, lovely music, almost as if my nurse Meleth were singing to me.  She always sang to me when she was putting me into my bed, and called me her lamb and held my hand and sang beautiful songs, and she would tell me of Valinor, the true Elvenhome, and how she would go there someday and take me with her.  And I would hear her singing betimes, and then I would smell a fragrance like the flowers she used to pick to set beside my bed.  And then I could sleep, for I felt that she had come back to me, and would take me with her someday.  I would see Valinor in my dreams, and she was there, ever beside me.”

“What happened to her?” Radagast asked.

“I do not know,” Serilinn said without looking at him, looking only into the fire.  “Duathris and Gaergath told me she met with an accident and had drowned, but I do not believe them.  I think they found out about her plan to escape to Valinor and take me with her, and so they drank all her blood and killed her.”

Her eyes puddled up once more and overflowed but she made no sound. The Wizard put an arm around her slender shoulders.

“Monstrous,” he said and Greenjade started, for he had been about to say exactly the same thing, wondering how she could mourn a mother who had done such things to her own child.  The Wizard put an arm around the girl’s shoulders.  “And yet, when you had every chance to run away and save yourself, you stayed and fought them off, and saved Greenjade’s life…and he a complete stranger to you.  I can scarcely take that in.”

Greenjade glanced at his walking-stick, stained as it was with dark blood, and he picked it up and made to lay it in the fire, then stopped short, thinking he might need it if that Gaergath and his foul cronies were to show themselves. 

“Are you certain the silver coins will keep them away?” he asked.  Sméagol shivered.

“Well, they drove them off,” Radagast said.  “They are mithril silver, and may be fatal to their touch.  I would not think they would wish to return.  But we must take no chances.  A pity we haven’t Frodo’s mithril coat; she might wear that.  However, I suppose he took it West with him, or left it with Sam, and I seriously doubt Sam would part with it.”

“Who is Frodo?” Serilinn spoke up.

“Why, have you not heard of the Ringbearer and his companion?” Radagast said.  Sméagol looked up and then hastily went back to sit by the fire.  Serilinn shook her head.  “He it was who carried Sauron’s Ring of Power to Mount Doom to destroy it, along with his faithful servant Samwise.  Both of them hobbits of the Shire…have you not heard of that either, my child?”

“I heard that the Ring had been destroyed,” she said, “but I thought a mighty warrior had taken it.  Like the King Isildur.”

“Nay, far from it.  They were no warriors, these two little fellows, but their hearts were as stout as any that could be imagined…as your own.  I will tell you the story in full, but it is long, and for another time.  Tomorrow I will tell it all, and then we must decide what to do with you.  For we are going to Mordor, and it is no place for a child, even one as brave as yourself.  There is no ship going to Valinor, as far as I know, for the last one sailed five years ago.  Still, there are some elves remaining in Middle-Earth, and they will surely be sailing someday.  I am going myself, but not for a good many years yet.  Perhaps as a special favor, the King can provide you with passage on one of his own ships.  I will write to him when we come to the next village. But do not set your heart too firmly on going soon, my dear.  If you are still here when I am ready to go, I will take you with me.  But in the meantime, we must decide what to do with you.  We will be passing through Ithilien on our way, and I know the Prince and his lady wife.  Perhaps we can leave you with them.  They are fine folk, and would take excellent care of you, I know.  But for now…let us get some sleep.  I’ll brew a potion that will help you to sleep and sweeten your dreams.”

“She may have my share,” Greenjade said.  “I can do without now.”

“Mine too,” Sméagol spoke up.

“That is kind of both of you,” Radagast said, looking a bit surprised, “but after what has happened tonight, I think you both will have sore need of it.  There is plenty for all three of you.  As for myself, I will keep one eye open tonight, in case of any…disruptions.”

Sméagol began to fumble at his cloak, then at his jerkin, and then, shamefaced, he took out a silver chain with a round locket on it.

“She can wears this nice silver,” he said standing up, and laying it around  Serilinn’s neck.  She picked up the locket and looked wondering at it.

“Why, wherever did you get that?” Radagast asked.

“Umm…Miss Carrie gives it to me,” Sméagol stammered.

“Did she?  You never showed it to us before.”

Greenjade looked sharply at Sméagol, who avoided his eyes.

“I…wished not to show it,” Sméagol said, then hung his head.

“Sméagol.  You took it, didn’t you?” the Wizard said sternly.  “How could you?  Miss Carrie trusted you.  She was good to you, and taught you many things.”

“I sorry,” Sméagol said barely audibly, sniffling a bit.  “I likes it so much, and it comforts us to wear it.  She keep it in pretty box, and shows it to me one day, says it was her mother's.  I was going to put it back when we goes, but could not part myself from it.  When we gets to village, we sends it back.”

“Aye, that we will, and you will write to her at once and apologize,” Radagast said. “It was likely a great treasure to her.  I can scarcely believe you would do this.”

Once a thief, always a thief, Greenjade thought shaking his head…and then he remembered a certain Book. 

Just the same, he thought Radagast would do well to keep an eye on his silver.

“I ought to scold both of you rascals soundly,” the Wizard said. “But I cannot find it in my heart to do so tonight.  Had Greenjade not run away, this poor girl may never have been rescued, and Sméagol’s naughty theft may prove her salvation also.  Perhaps the terror you two rogues have experienced may be sufficient punishment.  So…put a little more wood on the fire, if you please, Sméagol.  It’s growing colder.  And hand me some of that bread and cheese—I’m hungry myself.  And I dare say Greenjade could use a bite to eat also.”

Later in the night, Greenjade was awakened by a light tap on his shoulder.  He jumped half out of his skin, then looked up to see Serilinn.

“May I sleep beside you?” she whispered.  “Those two…they make noise.”

She had been sleeping between Radagast and Nildë, with Sméagol on the other side of the dog, he recalled, while he himself chose a spot on the other side of the fire, away from their snoring.

“Of course,” he said softly, pushing out his pillow so that she could share it with him, and she lay down by his side with her back to him.  He turned on his side so his front was to her back and spread his blanket over her, then put back a lock of her hair behind her ear.  “Good night, little one.  And thank you ever so much.  I have been horribly rude, and not even thanked you yet.”

“I thank you also,” she said, and to his surprise, she took his hand and kissed it.  After a startled moment, he returned the gesture, and lay with one arm over her, feeling a simple happiness.

27.   Feathers and Frogs

“And so the Ringbearer is in Valinor now?” Serilinn asked over the simple breakfast. Greenjade felt better now, although still a little weak. 

“That he is, and very happy,” Radagast said.  “I had a dream, or should I say a vision, of him, just yesterday.  He was dancing with a lovely little lady all in pink and silver, and great joy pervaded all.”

Greenjade started.  “I had the same dream,” he said. 

“Did you now?  So did Sméagol,” Radagast said.  Sméagol ducked his head in shame.

“It was why I turned back,” Greenjade said.  “I saw him and my mother…and my brothers and sisters.  Fairwind all in white with her eyes full of love and bliss as her bridegroom put the ring on her finger, and my brothers and sisters smiling, with twinkles in their eyes…they looked to be plotting some mischief, I think.  And a lovely dark little lass, very like this one.  She was my Elf-sister.”

“Greenjade is the Ringbearer’s stepson,” Radagast informed Serilinn, whose mouth dropped a little open in surprise.

“Truly?” she said. 

“Aye.  He was once of the Children of Ulmo.  But he and his mother are mortal now.”

“I have not heard of them,” Serilinn said, “although Meleth sometimes sang of watery-folk, of a lady who lost her way, and of the Song of the Sea.  I used to think she was of the watery-folk herself, she liked them so.  She said she heard the sea calling, and could see the Light of Eärendil, it teased her very bones betimes.  And the Ringbearer is there, when she is not?  Would I could meet him!”

“I wish we could also,” Radagast sighed, “but I fear that is not to be.  By the time I am ready to leave, he will surely be gone.” 

“This Ringbearer,” Serilinn asked, “what is he like?”

“In my vision,” Radagast said, “he was most radiant and fair to look upon.  Almost like an Elf, with eyes that seemed to see what most cannot.  When I met him in the flesh, he was as one who has received a great wound, and walked in lostness, unable to find his way back to the center of himself.  Once I heard him laugh, a sound that still makes my heart glad to remember it.  But it did not ring out often enough.  But now, I know it comes often, and spills into all those who hear it as a cool refreshing fountain.”

“And the others?” Serilinn said.  “The ones that walked with trees, and slew the troll and the Witch-King?  How were they?”

“They were most entertaining chaps, always ready with a smile or a song or a tale.  And Samwise--I cannot say enough about him.  The very soul of loyalty and courage.  I can see why Olórin—Gandalf—sought out hobbits’ company.  Elves can be rather grim, and men too warlike.  But hobbits are a whole different breed.  ”

Sméagol belched just then, and she jerked her head about to look at him.  He blushed and clapped a hand over his mouth.  Greenjade scowled a little, but Radagast chuckled. 

“That is a frog sound,” Serilinn said with a little smile.  “I knew a man who could make animal sounds.  He was most excellent at it.  What other sounds can you make?”

“You should hear him do Gollum,” Greenjade said mischievously.  Smeagol blushed some more and looked down.

After they had cleared up, Radagast bade Greenjade sit and rest so he could go to the mill and buy flour.  He would Baran and Nilde with him.  The others would be safe here in the daylight. But they must leave as soon as possible.

Sméagol said the stream flowed nearby, and he wanted to fish, so Greenjade and Serilinn followed him to it, and sat down in a grassy knoll near the bank while Sméagol took out his fishing gear.  Serilinn watched with interest as he threaded the pole and hooked a strange-looking object onto the line.  Gil Partridge had taught him to make a special kind of bait that resembled a sort of bug or fly, made of fur or feathers or both, and Sméagol had shown surprising skill in fashioning these.  It had occupied much of his time on their days of rest.  He had even fastened some of them into his cap, and Greenjade kept his opinion about it to himself. 

“I have not looked at the day sky in very, very long,” Serilinn said leaning far back and gazing upward.  “It looks very beautiful, yes?  The feathery white things move like ships upon the blue sea.  Where do they go?”

Greenjade had never really looked at the sky, save at night when the stars were particularly large and clear.  He looked up now, and saw that it was indeed beautiful, clouds drifting high and pure and snowy, tinged with silvery blue in places, and the sky was astonishingly blue in the upper part, the sun blazing burning silver.  Serilinn lay down on her back and looked up at it, and he did likewise. 

“You are the first Elf I ever knew,” he said after they had looked for a while. 

“Am I?” she said turning her head to look at him.  “Yet you’ve an Elf-sister?”

“Aye, but I never met her, and never will.  I saw her in my dream, but do not expect to do so again.  So I suppose you will have to be my sister…for a while.”  Greenjade smiled a little. 

“And you lived in the Sea once?” she said.  “And you heard the Music it made?”

“I made some of that music,” he said.  She sat up abruptly, and looked into his face.

“Truly?” she said.  Hers was a face one could not lie to.

“When I was very young,” he said.  “Before all the trouble.  Then I forgot what music was, and it forsook me.  But here on land…I am learning it all over again.  It is a far more complicated music on land.”

“Will you go back to the Sea sometime?”

“Nay, never.  I betrayed it, you see.  Now my destiny lies in Mordor.  I must work it into a garden…and perhaps I will see Garland once more.”

“Garland…your wife?”

“Aye…she was.  Perhaps she will be again.  Perhaps I will be king of Mordor, and she will be my queen, and you can visit us in our palace.  Perhaps even be our daughter.”

Serilinn rolled over until she was on her knees, gazing at him until he wondered what she could possibly be thinking, and it seemed she would say something of such profundity, he could never begin to fathom it, and yet it would stay with him for all time.

And then she sank back a bit, and smoothed down her skirt thoughtfully, then looked down at the rough brown fabric and at him again.  She was so mind-piercingly beautiful, it fairly broke his heart.

Duathris had looked like that once.

“I’m sorry about my gown,” Serilinn said softly.  “I know it’s hideous.  But it’s all I have.”

He gave a startled laugh.  “No matter.  I’ll get you a new one soon.”

“Truly?” she said clasping her hands.

“Truly,” he said.  Sméagol turned then, looking at her in wonder.  “When we get to the next village, I’ll see if I can find you a good dress or two.”

“I’m sorry about your silvers also,” she said.

“No matter about them,” Greenjade said.  “I’m sorry about your…your mother.  And your nurse, and the man who made the animal noises…and all the rest of it.”

She sat very still and silent for a long moment, and he feared he had said the wrong thing.  Then Sméagol came shyly up to her, holding something in one hand.

“This for you,” he said.  “I makes it for you.” 

And he opened his hand, and there was what appeared to be a butterfly, which on closer inspection was made of feathers, cunningly arranged so that they formed actual wings, tied to a hook.  Serilinn looked at it with wide eyes.

“How exquisite!” she said.  “I scarcely dare touch it.”

“I makes him for you,” Sméagol repeated.  “Here, I…” Then he spied a daisy growing nearby, and he reached over and plucked it and hooked the butterfly in the middle of the daisy, then handed it to Serilinn.  She took it then, gazing at it in delight.  

“That’s an awfully pretty bit of fish-bait,” Greenjade said, feeling a twinge of jealousy.

“Not fishes’ bait,” Sméagol said.  “Is only to look at.  For her.

“I have not had a gift before,” Serilinn said softly.  “I never thought to have one.  Thank you so much, dear.”

Greenjade jumped to his feet and went for his pack, which he had brought with him to rest his head on, and found his carving-knife inside.  He had made some carvings on during their trek, to pass the time, mostly of birds, which he stained with blackberry or pokeberry juice.  He had sold some of them in the marketplace in the towns where they had stopped, and given others away, so he had no more left.  They were rather unremarkable on the whole, he thought, but people had reacted to them with enthusiasm.

He scrambled about until he found a piece of wood, and returned to the bank. 

“How long has it been since you had a doll?” he asked Serilinn.

“I had one long ago,” she said very softly.  “I do not know what happened to it.  Everything vanished from my old life.”

And he began whittling away at the light-colored wood as she watched.   

“How do you know there is a doll in there?” she asked after something resembling a head began to appear.  “Is there a spirit which guides you?”

“Could be,” Greenjade said with a  grin. 

Then after a while she turned to Sméagol, saying, “Will you show me how you make your pretty insects?”

Sméagol beamed then, and dove for a bag he kept, which was filled with bits of feathers and fur and leaves and twigs he had picked up along the way.  Then he took a hook from a box where he kept his fishing-tackle and some string, chose some pretty feathers and began skillfully arranging them into a striking facsimile of fly wings.  He attached a silky bit of grey fur from a squirrel’s tale, wound it with colored string, then held up the result for her admiration.  She took it and turned it this way and that, touching it with a fingertip, squinting at it, then handing it back to him.

“May I try it?” she asked.  Sméagol was fairly beaming.  He dug in his box for another hook, then emptied the bag on the ground before her.  She picked up several feathers until she found some that took her fancy, then he showed her how to attach them to the hook and tie them on.  Greenjade whittled busily at his bit of wood as she made her first fly of pheasant and jay feathers and lynx fur.

“Look!” she cried as she held it out to Greenjade.  “This is for you.”

Touched, he reached out and took it from her.  “It is beautiful,” he said, awed at her artistry and the quickness with which she had learned.  “Thank you.”

Before long, she had made half a dozen, and might have made more if Sméagol had not run out of hooks.  Then he showed her how to cast the fly—she had to wade into the stream, which was cold, but she did not seem to mind.  Finally Greenjade, forgetting he was supposed to be resting, had to set aside his whittling and get in on the fishing, not to be outdone, and found he was actually enjoying himself, although neither he nor Serilinn caught anything worth keeping.  But Sméagol did land a very nice trout.  Greenjade cleaned it and cut it up, saying he was confoundedly hungry, while Sméagol built up the fire, and Serilinn got out what was left of the flour and salt and oil.  Sméagol cooked the fish, and dished it up for all. 

“I said I would take no meat,” Serilinn said, “but this tastes so good.  I fear I will not be able to keep the promise, save for the dry deer.  Does anyone mind if I lick my fingers?” 

It was after noon when Radagast returned with the bag of flour, a jar of honey and another of jam, a dozen eggs, and a pound of butter. 

“I’ve a nice piece of news,” he said.  “There’s a village just a mile away from the mill.  Also, the miller and his wife have invited us over to his home for dinner.  But what’s this?  You’ve been busy while I was gone, what?”

Serilinn shyly presented him the fly she had made for him, as Greenjade and Sméagol grinned rather fatuously at each other.  Radagast took it and looked at it in wonder.

“I know you do not eat fish,” she said, “but I thought you may like to have a pretty bug to look at.  You may pin it to your robe if you wish.  I think it would look most striking.”

With an almost silly grin, he pinned the fly to where he might have put a brooch, saying, “Thank you very much, my dear.  It does look striking indeed, and I shall be proud to wear it.  Look, the miller even loaned me a horse.  I did leave some silver with him as a pledge of trust, but he said I should have it back when I return the horse.  Greenjade shall ride him, and Serilinn, you can ride on Baran, while Sméagol and I carry our things.   They will also put us up for the night, although I don’t wish to impose on their hospitality for longer than that.  And they’ve a daughter who has some clothes laid away that she has outgrown, so perhaps Serilinn can wear them…although—ahem—they will have to be taken in considerably, but her mother said she could do that.  I told them you were an orphan we had rescued from some folk who were ill-treating you.  I regret that I could not tell them how you saved Greenjade and all that, but I think it better if they remain in ignorance of the whole truth, which will likely only frighten and upset them.” 

Greenjade had ridden a horse but once before, and the experience had not been a very pleasant one.  However, for Serilinn’s sake he put on a gallant grin, and mounted the gelding as if riding were as natural as walking to him.  Radagast helped her onto Baran’s back. 

“I have not ridden a beast before,” she said.  “I hope this one does not mind my lack of experience.”

“I’ll lead him along,” Radagast said.  “You needn’t do a thing but just ride.  He is quite docile.  And we haven’t so far to go; it is less than a mile.”

Greenjade’s smile faded as his horse proved a trifle uncooperative.  Yes, he knew Radagast could calm the beast if need be, but it would be most embarrassing.  Like a fool, he stroked the horse’s neck, saying, “There now…” in suave accents, trying to think of an excuse to get down and walk, saying he felt fine now….

Then Serilinn began to sing.  Her voice was incredibly clear and rich, resonating like a thrush’s call in the forest, and suddenly the horse stopped jerking and snorting and began walking along quite peaceably.

      Knowest thou the country far and green
      Where golden fruits bloom near the snow-white shore
      Where the grey rain curtain turns to silver glass
      There I would dwell with thee forever more.

     Hast thou seen the marble palace fair
     With glittering lights and statues by the door
     That seem to say, Poor child, what have they done to thee?
    ‘Tis there that I would dwell with thee forever more….*

~*~*~

*based on Goethe's song "Kennst du das Land" 

28. Eglenbein

“It’s my guess,” Radagast said as he led the donkey along with Serilinn on his back, Sméagol lagging behind with Nildë, and Greenjade sitting high on the horse’s back, “that your mother never meant for things to go as far as they did.  I dare say she wished for more powers than she had a right to, she took her chances, and before long, she was out of control.  There was no turning back for her.  It’s the way of evil; it’s how certain Elves became orcs.”

“And so Duathris is in…that place?” Serilinn said very softly.  “The dark prison Greenjade and Sméagol were in?”

Radagast was silent, not meeting her eyes.  Greenjade looked over at her, wondering once more how she could be so concerned over a mother who had not loved her, who had allowed her to be used in such a horrible manner.   He shuddered to think of it.

“The Ringbearer made intercession for them, and for Garland,” she said when no one else spoke.  “Is it possible…”

“Nay, child, I do not think we could expect him to intercede for everyone that comes along,” Radagast said gently.  “When we get to Valinor…perhaps.  We shall see.  In the meantime, we must be careful.  The further we get from here, the better.  We want to reach the Sarn Ford, which will take us to the North-South Road.  If we keep to that, it will lead us to our destination in a matter of weeks.  However, this Gaergath may complicate matters.  He can go nowhere by day, but he can move very swiftly by night, and may overtake us.  Sméagol, would you let Serilinn wear your cloak for a while, just until we get to the mill?  She should not be wearing that black thing.  And it is not so cool now.”

“May we leave the black one behind?” Serilinn asked as Sméagol doffed his cloak.  “I wish never to see it again.  It is horrid.”

“Give it to me,” Radagast said.  “’Tis better not to leave traces of ourselves in our trail.  I will burn it for you when we get to the Widdicombs’.”

She pulled the hood of Sméagol’s cloak over her head as she rode along with it bowed.  The glory of the morning seemed as a distant memory to her now.  Despondency sat on her like the cloak itself.  

“How about another song?” Radagast suggested softly, noting her mood.  “Do you know any more?”

She shook her head very slightly.  He sighed.  Greenjade felt a drop as well.  Sméagol lagged behind, shuffling his feet.  It was as if everyone’s mood depended on Serilinn.  The very sky seemed dimmer.

“Perhaps I can sing one,” Radagast said.  He began singing what he remembered of Nell’s bird-song, then stopped as he remembered Greenjade. 

And he seemed unable to think of another.

Then suddenly Serilinn’s head perked up.

“What is that?” she said, the hood falling back.  The others listened, and heard a sound like a soft whimper.  Radagast reached out and laid a hand on Baran’s shoulder to stop him.  Greenjade reined in the horse.  Sméagol paused in his shuffling.  

“It’s coming from that way,” Radagast said.  “Everyone stay here.  I will go have a look.”

He handed the reins to Sméagol and stepped out cautiously from the road into the brush.  For a long moment all that could be heard was the sound he made moving through the trees and dead leaves and pine needles.  Then the mysterious crying came again.

“I think it’s coming from over there,” Serilinn said, pointing to the opposite side of the road from where the Wizard had gone. 

“May be,” Greenjade said.  “Sometimes it’s hard to tell the direction from which sounds come.  But I think we had better stay here.  This could be a trick.  Something to lure us into their trap.”

“They cannot come out in the daytime,” Serilinn said.  “The sun kills them, and it is shining brightly now.  I will go and see.”

And before anyone could stop her, she had slidden down from the donkey’s back and made her way into the trees.  Greenjade, feeling both curious and worried for the girl’s safety, dismounted and hastily looped the reins around the nearest tree, and followed Serilinn into the forest.  Sméagol trailed hesitantly after them.

“Here now!  Did I not tell you all to stay where you were?” Radagast’s voice rang out behind them.  “What is the matter with you?”

“The noise,” Serilinn called to him.  “It came from this way.”

Grumbling, Radagast pushed through the green after the others.  Serilinn carelessly brushed aside vines and brambles that got in her way, listening for the sound, which rose once more, and she broke into a run, the others stumbling after her as best as they could. 

But there was nothing in sight, save for trees and saplings and bushes and more and more brambles, and Radagast said, “I think someone IS trying to lure us.  Come, let us go back.”

And then the sound came very close by—a piteous whimper, rather like an injured puppy, and Serilinn gave a little squeak.

“Look at THIS!” she exclaimed.  The others gathered where she was now kneeling before what appeared a tiny sapling. 

The whimpering was coming from it.

“Impossible,” Radagast whispered, squatting down beside here and looking down at the small growth.  “It’s impossible, I tell you.”

“What is it?” Greenjade asked, hesitant to go near, as was Sméagol.  Nildë came up sniffing.  Serilinn looked up with a radiant face.

“It’s one of them,” she said in a hushed voice.  “Those trees you told of.  The ones that walk and talk.  It’s an Ent-child.  Look, it has a face…and eyes.  Greenjade, Sméagol, come and see!”

“It IS an Entling, upon my word,” Radagast said.  “But how came it here?”

“It must have gotten lost,” Serilinn said touching its tiny branches with a fingertip.  “I wonder where its mummy is.  Do you think it can walk?  Or is it too small?”

Greenjade stepped closer and stooped down to examine the entling.  He soon saw it did, indeed, have something resembling a face, although he might not have noticed if it had been silent.  Now it appeared to be groping with its tiny branches, and whimpering once more.

Sméagol backed up several steps.

“The poor thing,” Serilinn said.  “It IS lost.  We must find its mother.  We cannot just go off and leave it here!”

“I had heard the Entwives had all gone,” Radagast said.  “They took an interest in gardening and lesser plants, and drifted away from the Ents, who preferred their woods and mountains.  But Sauron’s forces destroyed the Entwives’ gardens during the Second Age, and they have not been seen or heard of in Middle-earth since.  But it seems there must be at least one around.”

Greenjade dearly hoped he had not used a piece of the entling’s mother for carving Serilinn’s doll that morning.  Or picked up bits of her for firewood.

Radagast looked all about him.  “I see no evidence of her having been here,” he said.  “No prints, no broken branches save for those we disturbed ourselves.  Obviously this one got here by itself.  However, we cannot linger here.  We must be going before nightfall, and it is well after noon already.”

“Then we must take it with us,” cried Serilinn looking up at the Wizard with huge bright eyes.  “Can I pick it up?  It won’t bite me, will it?”

And before he could answer she reached over and very gently put her hands on the body of the entling, just below the face. 

“How do I lift it?” she asked.  And then it reached two branches and twined them delicately about her upper arms.  “Look!  It wants me to take it!” 

“Be careful, my dear,” Radagast said, rather unnecessarily, for she was laying both hands now in back of it and was ever so gently lifting it, as a mother might have lifted her baby from its crib, and it began softly crying, a frightened sound, rather rusty it seemed, yet not unlike the sound of the wind blowing mournfully through tree-tops..

“There, there,” she said softly, and Greenjade repressed a laugh, remembering Jennie Partridge saying the same to her newborn to soothe it.  “I won’t hurt you.  Poor little one, where is your mum?  Did she perhaps go off with some bad Ents, and leave you here all alone?  I will be your nurse then, and care for you until she comes for you again.  We must go now.  Radagast, we CAN take it, can’t we?”

She looked up at him with a face so glowing and happy, Radagast could only gaze at her for a moment.  Greenjade had a feeling the Wizard could not possibly say no to this girl, and he grinned to himself. He understood completely.

“I suppose we must,” Radagast said.  “I don’t know what the Widdicombs will make of it—we won’t be able to bring it into the house, for certain.  But come along.  The days are growing ever shorter.”

“I hope it won’t be needing a nappy,” Greenjade remarked by way of a joke.  Radagast chuckled.

“I doubt Entlings have need for such,” he said.  “Here, my dear, let me help you up, since you have your hands full—there.  Baran does not seem to mind at all.  Do you, my lad?  That’s a good donkey.”

“What does it eat?” Serilinn asked as they resumed their trek.  “Do Ent mothers give tree-milk?  Or…”

“Ents drink ent-draught, if my memory serves me correctly,” Radagast said.  “But for the life of me I don’t know where we’re likely find any of that around here.  I suppose just plain water will have to do.  And there will be no shortage of that where we’re going.  Fortunately the land is wholesome once more, and the water clean.”

The Entling continued to cry while Serilinn rocked it and spoke soothing words to it. 

“Is it a male or a female?” she inquired after a moment.  Greenjade winced, then grinned at himself.  “How can one tell?”

Radagast paused.  “Why, I don’t know,” he said.  “I have never heard of how to determine the sex of an Ent…seeing as how I had never been required to do so.  I have not seen one in a great many years.”

“There is a tiny bump down here where the trunk separates,” she said with shining eyes.  “I suppose it is a lad.  Are you?” she asked the thing.  “Are you a lad or a lass?  Can you speak yet, or are you too small?  What shall we call you?  Do you know of any Ent-names?”

Greenjade wondered if he were dreaming.  Radagast appeared to be puzzling over how the Entling could possibly have gotten here, and Sméagol seemed to be keeping his distance.  Serilinn began singing once more, very softly.

Sleep pretty one, come away with me
Fly over the sea, o’er the bounding waves
Bright stars I will pluck for to weave in your branches
Rainbows I’ll gather to weave your coverlid
Sleep pretty one, come away with me.

Sleep pretty one, come away with me
Thy mother is drifting out upon the storm
Thy father has fallen in the wars far away
Lie close in the arms of your own nurse who loves you
Sleep pretty one, come away with me.

Sleep pretty one, come away with me
We’ll sail on the ship that is lit by a star
We’ll have no fear of the wind and the darkness
The moon and the sun will send friendliest beams
Sleep pretty one, come away with me.

“Meleth used to sing that to me,” she said to the others, who looked not at all surprised.  “I changed some of the words, for I could not remember  all.  Look, it has stopped crying. Is it not just sweet!  I never thought to have a tree-baby before, did you?  I shall call it Eglenbein--'beautiful lost one.'”

She kissed it between the eyes.  Greenjade had been thinking, rather absurdly, that it was without a doubt the ugliest child he had ever seen, yet she did not seem to mind in the slightest. 

And how grateful he was to it that it had put joy in her where sorrow had been.

29. The Widdicombs

“When Sauron destroyed the Entwives’ gardens in the Brown Lands, most of the Entwives were killed also,” Radagast explained a little farther up the road.  “Some of the others called upon Yavanna to save them.  She took them up into another realm apart from this one, and they were safe.  But there were a few who rebelled and refused to go, because they wished to return to their mates.  And so they wandered about Middle-earth…and obviously, at least one of them found her mate.  After all this time!  It does not explain, however, why they came so far this way, or why they abandoned their child.  If we do not find its parents, we may never know.  The little one does not seem able to tell us.  I dare say it is many years before they learn to talk.”

“How do Ents reproduce?” Serilinn asked as she held one of Eglenbain’s tiny hands curled in hers.  The entling was apparently asleep now.  “As trees?  Or humans?”  She looked at Radagast sideways.  “I know how humans reproduce.  Meleth told me.”

Greenjade and Sméagol looked at each other with small tightlipped grins, trying to imagine a pregnant tree-woman.

“A bit of both,” Radagast said with a smile.  “It is hard to explain.  When fertilized, the female produces seeds, nuts or cones, which drop into the earth, and the entlings spring from those.  Although I think very few actually come up.”

“Then Eglenbain has brothers and sisters!” Serilinn said.  “But I did not see them.”

“Perhaps Eglenbain strayed from the ‘nursery’,” Radagast said.  “Or perhaps was weak and sickly, and so was left behind…as beasts have been known to do, although I would not like to think it of Ents.  But we cannot turn back now.  To think some of the Entwives have returned at last!  But I can only wonder why they have come in this direction, instead of into their own Forest.  I do remember Merry saying that Treebeard said that Entwives would like the Shire.  Perhaps they were headed that way.”

“Look, he has toes,” Serilinn said dreamily as she examined her nursling’s feet.  “Seven of them!  On each foot, I mean.”

“Looks like we’re almost here,” Greenjade said.  He could hear the mill-wheel turning.  And he was feeling hungry again. Then suddenly his nose was filled with a strange tickling sensation...and he sneezed.

Sméagol looked not at all happy at the prospect of being among people once more.

~*~*~

“Ellory Widdicomb is me name, and this is me own Verda,” the miller said after taking in the motley company that presented itself before his home, standing across from the millhouse where the wheel spilled over and over into the stream.  “And these be our chillern:  Sage, Basil, Pepper, Rosemary, and Chamomile.  As yer can plainly see, me wife is right partial to yerbs and spices, and ’as a very nice garden out back.  And these is Sage and Basil’s wives Winnie and May, and Rosemary’s man Ferman.  Her and him got hitched just a couple months ago.  Everyone calls ’er Rodey, that bein’ what she called herself when she ’as yet a babe.  Even her bridegroom calls ’er so.  And these be our grand-young ‘uns….”

He named off Sage’s two little sons and two daughters, and Basil’s two lads and infant lass, while fourteen-year-old Chamomile and nineteen-year-old Pepper stared at Serilinn in undisguised wonder.  They were all plain stout folk, fair, round-faced and red-cheeked.  Greenjade had to grin to himself imagining Serilinn wearing Chamomile’s clothes.  

“Hark!” Mr. Widdicomb exclaimed as a man hove into sight, along with a woman and six younger adults, and about a dozen more children and an elderly woman.  The man looked just like Mr. Widdicomb, even to his clothing, save that it was dark blue where Mr. Widdicomb’s was dark red.   “'Ere comes more!  Aye, it’s me birthday, and me brother’s, so we’s got us a big dinner goin'.  Got us a houseful, but there’ll still be plenty a’ room.  Yer right on time, me good fellers.  This ‘yere is me twin brother Mallory and his wife Min, and their sons and their daughter an’ their families, along with Min's mum…”

Radagast seemed a trifle dismayed; clearly he had not expected the entire clan to turn up.  Mrs. Widdicomb suggested they all come inside the house, bidding Pepper take their things up after he had taken Baran to the stable.

“What is it yer got there, me lass?” Mrs. Widdicomb said glancing at Eglenbain, which at Radagast’s suggestion Serilinn had wrapped in a small cloth.  

“Just a plaything,” she said with a sweet innocent smile in Greenjade’s direction.  “An Ent-doll someone made for me.”

Greenjade turned away abruptly.  Radagast looked the way a parent does when his child says a particularly clever thing.

“Is it now?” Mrs. Widdicomb said as others stared curiously.  “I’ve ‘eared tell o’ some queer things, but I never ‘eared nothin’ like that.”

“Me eyes must be playin’ tricks on me,” Mr. Widdicomb said peering down at the bundle, “’cos I know I ain’t ‘ad nuthin’ but tea to drink today, but I can swear on all that’s right and good that I seen that thing blink.  Didn’t you, Mallory?”

“Hark at that!” Mrs. Widdicomb scoffed.  “Cammie, come show this lovely lass to her room.  Yer can take that up with yer if yer likes, so long as it ain’t alive.  My but yer a pretty one, ain’t yer--in a outlandish sort ‘a way.  I weren’t expectin’ it.  And yer one of the elvish folk, then?  I’ve heared tell of ‘em but yer the first I’ve met with.  But that dress, well, it’s got to go, don’t it.  As yer can plainly see, our Cammie’s clo’es is goin’ to fair hang on yer, but still they’ll be a sight better ‘n what yer got on now.  An’ I can take ‘em in some.  Well, a good bit, bein’s there ain’t much flesh to yer.  Dinner ‘ll be ready in a bit, so yer can go up and get washed up now.  Cammie, show this pretty lass to the upstairs room nigh the back, and fetch her some water for washin’, then yer can show her the clo’es, that’s in the garret trunk.  We’ve laid ‘em away for the granddaughters, but seein’ as how the eldest one ain’t six year old yet, it’s goin’ to be a time afore they’ll be nigh big enough to wear aught.”

Then Min spoke up: “Pardon me, Verda, but Cammie’s clo’es ain’t goin’ to fit that lass, and yer’d be a week takin’ in that dress.  I’ve a better idea.  Our stableman lost ‘is little lad a year ago, and he’s kept the clo’es ‘e ‘ad.  And if y’uns is goin’ to be ridin’ out in the wild, then it makes sense yer’ll need ridin’ clo’es, is it?  Well then.  I believe the young ‘un’s clo’es ‘ll just fit this lass.  I’ll send me granddaughter Mattie after ‘em now.  It’s all right, it ain’t fur.  Just acrosst the stream, it is.  Mattie, shake a leg, and run on out to the stable and get them clo’es out o’ that box that’s in the upstairs, will yer, me lass?”

She spoke to a very plain little girl who appeared about twelve and much thinner than the other children, and Mattie turned and broke into a swift run in the opposite direction.

“Aye, that’s a good idea,” Radagast said, “to dress her as a lad.  You won’t mind, will you, Serilinn?”

“Nay, I think I should like it,” she said. 

“I seen that thing move,” Cammie said in some consternation as she looked at Eglenbein. 

“I made it move,” Serilinn said without batting an eye. 

“How’d yer do that?” Cammie asked with her little light eyes wide and round.

“Like so,” Serilinn said waving one hand over the Entling’s hands.  It groped the air for her hand and she lowered a forefinger to it, whereupon it twined its fingers about it just as a human baby.  Cammie’s mouth fell wide open.

“Now ain’t that somethin’,” Mrs. Widdicomb said.  “I’ve ‘eared of elf-magic, but this is the first I ever seen of it.  But dinner’s near ready, so y’uns needs to go and wash up.  Cammie, show our guest up to ‘er room…an’ nuthin’ agin your plaything there, li’l missy, but I think yer needs to leave it there.  It might prove a distraction to the young ‘uns.  They're enough of a handful as 'tis.”

“Aye, my lady, I will,” Serilinn said.  Greenjade felt proud of her graciousness, although the thought of addressing the miller’s wife as “my lady” made him want to snicker.

After Serilinn's things had been carried upstairs, Mattie burst in, with a burlap bag.  She had changed her dress.  She had been wearing one of a pretty light yellow; the one she wore now was of dark green.  It was not all the way buttoned in back.

“’Ere’s the stable boy’s clo’es,” she said, out of breath, handing it to Serilinn.  “There’s two suits in it in case one gets dirty, and a cloak, and a nice dress also.  Hope they fits right, miss.  Kin yer get me buttons in back, mum?”

“Why, Mattie Widdicomb,” her mother said as she buttoned the dress, “yer didn’t go an’ give ‘er yer nice dress, now did yer?  It’s the only one yer got, since yer done tore your other.”

“Aye, I did,” Mattie said.  “’Cos 'er don’t have no nice dress of ‘er own, and 'er’s so pretty, 'er’d ort to ‘ave un.”

“Why Mattie, that’s very sweet of you,” Radagast said, touched that this homely child should be so admiring of Serilinn without envy, “but there is no need, for she’ll never have occasion to wear it until we take her to where we’re going. I dare say she can have all the nice dresses she wants then.”

“That’s our Mattie,” her mother said, in some exasperation, it seemed.  “Her goes about givin’ ‘er things to poor childern, and pettin’ stray critters, an’ if 'er comes by some money or food, 'er’ll give it to any as looks pitiful at ‘er.  Don’t know where 'er gets that.  Sure didn’t git it from me or her dad.  An’ I put a world o’ work into that dress.”

“From her fool granddad, most likely,” Min said with a sidelong glance in her husband’s direction.  “Mallory’s the easiest touch in town.  We’ll end up in the poor’ouse one a’ these days, see if we don’t.”

“Thank you very much, Mattie,” Serilinn said as she took the yellow dress out of the bag.  “Maybe I could just borrow this lovely gown to wear to dinner, and then give it back to you?  For Radagast is right, I would only spoil it if I were to wear it in the wild.”

“That’d be all right I reckon,” Mattie said, looking a trifle relieved.  “Wot’s that tree thing?”

“Never yer mind,” her mother said.  “Come on and ‘elp us set the table, dinner’s nigh ready.” 

Radagast turned to his host saying, “Greenjade and Sméagol and I would be happy to sleep in the stable or even the millhouse tonight.  We’ve had far rougher quarters.”

“Nay, I wouldn’t ’ear of it,” Mr. Widdicomb said, as his wife repaired with Rodey and Min to the kitchen to check on dinner.  “We’ve plenty a’ room in the house.  And the three eldest won’t be bidin’ ‘ere, they’ve homes a’ their own to go to.  Come to think on it, yer might as well bide here as long as yer intend to stay in town, rather than go to a inn where yer’d ‘ave to pay out good money.  Must tell yer though, there’s been some talk abroad.  Some farmers as told how they found some a’ their sheeps bled to death, or their mule, or their dog.  I’m guessin’ there’s wolves about, although I should think a wolf ‘ud do more’n take the blood an’ leave the meat.  Wot yer make of all that, eh?”

They all had gathered in the sitting-room, the oldest children having been bidden by their mothers to go play outdoors until they were called in to wash, and May suckled her baby in plain sight, to Greenjade’s embarrassment. Then he sneezed again.  He fumbled for his handkerchief, but remembered it was tied around his throat to conceal the wounds.  So he sat there sniffling until Radagast slipped him his own handkerchief. 

“Seems you are coming down with a cold,” the Wizard said in an undertone, shaking his head.  “Playing in the water, after I told you to rest.  There is a reason why I tell you such things, you know.”

“I wasn't playing,” Greenjade said like a guilty child.  “I was fishing.  Didn't mean to get my clothes wet, but my foot slipped, and my other clothes were pissed on and still damp from washing, so I couldn't change.”

“I’ll tell yer somethin’ else,” Mr. Widdicomb continued as he lit a pipe, and Mallory lit one also...as did his mother-in-law.  “We got a younger brother, night twenty year younger than Mallory and me, Royal his name was.  Royal yer might say was the black sheep of the family, use ter get in fights, gamble, drink too much, flirt with the lasses somethin’ scandalious, got throwed in lock-up from time to time, all that sort o’ thing.  Not but what me and Mallory didn’t sow a wild oat or two in our young days, but we growed out of it. But Royal, he ne’er did grow out of it.  Reckon that was our mum’s fault, she fair doted on ‘im and spoilt ‘im rotten, him bein’ the youngest and the best lookin’ of us lads—the only good lookin’ ‘un, fur as that goes, and a mite sickly when he’s a little ‘un.  Royal was ‘is name and royal’s what she thought of ‘im. ‘E was ‘er prince.  Never took a wife, nor held down a steady job, an’ ‘e’d come and go, showin’ up ‘ere ever’ once’t in a while.  Well, ‘e took off about four year ago, and ain’t been ‘eared from since’t.  Verda says ‘e’ll turn up sooner or later, but let me tell yer somethin’…” 

He lowered his voice, looked down at his pipe, then at Mallory, then glanced toward the kitchen door, behind which the voices of some of the women and girls could be heard.  The others in the room were hushed and listening.

“Mallory ‘ere,” Mr. Widdicomb gestured toward his twin brother with his pipe stem, “swears on ever’thing that he seen Royal one night…now I don’t know how reliable that be, seein’ as how Mallory likes ‘is likker…not but what I don’t, but I don’t drink as much as ‘im, and—“

“Ha!” Mallory guffawed.  “Not much yer don’t.”

“I likes me ale and dark beer as much as the next man,” Ellory retorted, “but I don’t drink it so often, ‘cos it makes me to make a fool o’ meself and I hears about it for weeks on end, and I don’t like the sickness i’ the morning from it.  But…where was I?  Ah, Royal.  Aye, Mallory claims ‘e seen Royal one night, snoggin’ with a wench in a dark alley-way when ‘e went out there to…erm, get rid of some o’ the effects of a wee bit too much ale.  Or, ‘e thought they was snoggin, but…”  --he lowered his voice still more—“accordin’ to Mallory ‘ere, Royal appeared to be feedin’ off of her…much as that babe is a feedin’ off a’ May there.  Only in a different way, if yer takes me meanin’.  An' 'er body was found later in that same alley, drained of 'er blood.”

Before Radagast could say anything, the kitchen door burst open. 

“Dinner’s a ready!” Verda Widdicomb said.  “Anybody wot's hungry, come and git it afore we eats it all oursel's!”

~*~*~

The dining-room was surely the largest room in the house.  Another table was brought in to accommodate everyone, and the younger children were placed at it.  Serilinn came down smiling wearing the yellow dress, her hair combed and braided in the front, with the little feather butterfly holding the braids together in back, Cammie and Mattie shyly trailing in her wake.  Greenjade drew in his breath sharply at her beauty.  He had to wonder when was the last time she had ever worn a pretty dress.  That one did not really suit her, he thought; it was well enough for a peasant-child, but Serilinn should have been clad in silks and velvets befitting the little princess she was.  

“Look what 'er give me,” Cammie whispered to her mum, pointing to one of the feather butterflies Serilinn had made, which she too had placed in her braided fair hair.  “Ain’t it a pretty thing?”

“Her give me un too,” Mattie said, inclining her head to show hers. 

“Well, that’s nice, but don’t be a wavin’ ‘em ‘fore all the others, or they’ll be wantin’ ‘em also,” Mrs. Widdicomb said.  “Now let’s put on the lights and call the others in an’ take our places at the table, shall we?”

There was ham, goose, sausage, and quail to choose from.  The meat was a trifle greasy for Greenjade’s liking, but the vegetable dishes were delicious, and there were no less than six loaves of bread, each a different kind.  And fresh butter and cheese and honey and jelly.  And ale and dark beer.  There was more talk of the menace that had been abroad, mixed in with chatter of commonplace doings, and Radagast held back from telling of the events of the previous night, having confided to Greenjade and Sméagol that it would perhaps be better to wait until after dinner to speak of it.  Greenjade wondered if Royal had been among the beings he had encountered last night…and if he had been one of those he had impaled on his staff. 

He glanced from time to time at Serilinn to see how she was taking it all, wishing hard that the others would shut up about the Vampires when she was in the room, and wondering at Radagast for not setting them straight…although to his credit, he was trying to divert the conversation, but was not having much luck at it.  However, Serilinn seemed to be doing well.  She was not stuffing herself as the other children were, but she was eating, although she was renewing her resolve to take no meat.  Cammie had insisted on her sitting at the head of the table, while the stout little girl sat at her right side, Mattie on her left.  How strange it was to see her in such a normal and ordinary position, and Greenjade wished he could understand all the little girls were saying to her, but the way the big folk were gabbing away, he couldn’t catch a word.  Never before had he been around such talkative people, even at the Partridges’.  And the Partridges had been far different folk, more refined and intelligent, despite their humble origins.  They knew when enough was enough.  The Widdicombs were another matter.  They had several dogs, and some of them sat under the table, getting slipped tidbits from time to time.  Nildë kept close to Sméagol, who fed her also.  Two of the little boys got into a food-fight, and their mother screamed at them so loudly, it made Greenjade jump.  He felt acutely embarrassed for Serilinn, and evidently so did Cammie and Mattie, for they stared at the boys with reproving eyes, then glanced back at her apologetically and spoke, probably deploring their cousins' lack of manners.

There was plum pudding, cake and pie for afters.  The women cleared the dining room when everyone was done, shooing the children outdoors, where it was growing dusky, admonishing them not to go too far out, lest “Uncle Royal” get them.  Serilinn went upstairs to check on her nursling, for which Cammie had brought down her old doll cradle, and the men went to sit out on the front-porch, smoking their pipes and belching openly.  Sméagol sat near Radagast, petting Nildë.  Greenjade had resumed carving Serilinn's doll.  He supposed she would not care about it now that she had something living to tend, but it gave him something to do.  By and by he felt himself getting sleepy, nodding off until suddenly he was startled by a silvery voice asking How do I look?  He opened his eyes to see a lovely lad standing before him, dressed in rust-colored jacket and breeches, white shirt, scarlet vest, knitted red cap, and brown cloak…and a pair of high leather boots.  Mattie stood smiling nearby, in the yellow dress once more.

Neither of them noticed the large owl in the tall pine tree by the mill-house, in the bloody light of the setting sun.

30. Conjoinment

After a good hot bath, Greenjade went to the room that had been assigned to him and Sméagol, to find pots of steaming water with leaves floating in them, giving off a fragrance of sweet grass that took him poignantly back to a happier time.

Radagast said the scent would help clear his sinuses.

Greenjade was a little worried about Serilinn, and Radagast said he would go up to check on her.  Both men went up, in dressing-gowns borrowed from Ellory and Pepper, carrying candles, to find her sitting on her bed, in a gown Mattie had left for her, cradling Eglenbein and humming.  

“Will you be all right by yourself tonight, little one?” Radagast asked her.  “Perhaps Cammie could come stay with you…except I see there’s only the one bed and it’s too narrow for the both of you.”

“I’m not by myself,” she said, but did not sound so confident.  “I’ve Eglenbein.”

Greenjade had a notion she was going to sleep with the entling in her bed. 

Then he happened to glance out one of the windows, and started at the sight of something in a great oak in the moonlight.  Its eyes seemed to glow with orange fire.   

Greenjade went over and drew the curtain.

“You’ve a light to burn?” Radagast said.  Serilinn nodded at the candle that burned on the little bed-table.  “I’d best put it on the chest of drawers, lest you knock it over in your sleep.  Here is your night-draught to sweeten your dreams.  Now, my lass, do not open that window to anything, will you promise me that?”

“Aye, I will,” she said, “but you know they cannot come into a house unless invited.”

“I know, but I would take no chances.  I’ve a feeling they are very wily.  You’re wearing the locket?”

She pulled it out from under the nightgown to show him.

“It’s common silver,” Radagast said.  “I’ve a feeling it would be all the more efficacious if it were mithril.   Can you open the locket?”

She opened it.  “Look, there is hair in it,” she exclaimed holding up a grey curl.

“Probably Miss Carrie’s mother’s,” Radagast said.  “Put it in the drawer of the bed-table, and put this in the locket…” He drew out a coin from the pocket of the dressing-gown and placed it in the round locket and closed it.  “There, perhaps that will be more…”

“Efficacious?” she said, and he smiled. 

“That’s my lass,” he said, and bent down to kiss her brow.  Greenjade did the same.

Then was startled by a flurry of wings from outside the window where the owl had been.

~*~*~

In the morning Greenjade awoke with a full-fledged cold. 

Radagast had to gather up handkerchiefs from all family members.   Fortunately there were many. 

“Yer can tell the quality of folks by their hankies,” Mrs. Widdicomb said.  Greenjade didn’t know what to make of that.

After setting about more bowls of steaming water and leaves and rubbing Greenjade’s chest with the balm, Radagast said he had to go into town, and he was taking Sméagol and Pepper with him, and Baran too, and Nildë.   He would leave Serilinn here with Greenjade .

“And do not exert yourself,” the Wizard said with an uplifted forefinger.  “We want you well as soon as possible.  We are most definitely NOT staying here for three months.”

“I should hope not,” Greenjade said in an undertone.

After the Wizard had gone, Serilinn came up to Greenjade’s room with a large tray.

“I told Mrs. Widdicomb I would attend you,” she said smiling.  “Cammie must help her mother in the kitchen.”

“Thanks be to Eru for that,” he said smiling also.  “What have we here?”

There was broth, made from “one of the birds”, also half a loaf of light bread, sliced, with butter and honey.  She said the honey would soothe his throat. 

“Shall we take it to that little table over there,” he said.  “I doubt I can balance this tray on my knees in this bed.”

“But Radagast made me promise not to let you exert yourself,” she exclaimed. 

“I misdoubt it will exert me much to get up and sit at that table,” he said smiling. 

She was wearing the stable-boy’s clothes, minus the hat and cloak and boots.  She liked the boots very much.  However, she thought it best to save them for the journey.

“Better you should start wearing them now,” Greenjade said, “for to get used to them.  Then they won’t be as likely to blister your feet.”

“I’ll put them on now, then,” she said rising.  “I need to check on Eglenbein anyway.  Did you pass a good night?”

“I was about to ask you that,” he said.  “I was a bit worried about you being alone.  I was afraid it would be hard for you.”

“It was hard, until I fell asleep.  I had to close the door, for Cammie snores, and so does Pepper.  I think this entire house snores.  Do you think we will find Eglenbein’s mother?”

“I can just see Radagast going about asking, ‘Pardon me, but you wouldn’t happen to have seen any trees walking about, would you?’” Greenjade said with twinkling eyes.  She giggled.

“By the way,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, “Cammie and Mattie think you are very good looking.”

He devoutly wished she had waited until he had swallowed his broth before delivering that bit of news.  Fortunately he had a handkerchief handy.  She took that opportunity to go and get her boots, along with Eglenbein. 

After getting back into bed, he took out his carving tools and Serilinn’s doll, and soon she came back in, saying, “Look, he can walk!”

She was holding the Entling by the hand, and yes, the thing was walking…very slowly to be sure, taking its time about putting one foot forward, then the other.  Its eyes were wide open now, a startling golden brown in color, and it had eyelashes, little spiky ones, and its skin, or bark or whatever, was light grey and rather smooth, its arms well shaped and rounded.  Its leaves were a bright green-yellow.

“He was in the hall,” Serilinn explained.  “It’s fortunate the others are downstairs.  And that he does not walk swiftly.”

Greenjade had trouble to keep from laughing aloud, wondering what the Widdicombs’ reactions would have been if they had seen that thing wandering about the hallway.

“I brought my work also,” Serilinn said holding up a little sack.  “Mattie’s little sisters want feather-flies.  How much of the doll have you done?”

He held it up for her inspection. 

“Look, the face looks a bit like yours now,” he said, “only not nearly as lovely, of course.  I shall carve the arms and legs separately, and hinge them on with little metal rods put through the shoulders and hips, so that they can be moved.  And I will need a lock or two of your hair.  I don’t know what we’ll do for clothing.  Can you sew?”

“A little.”  She gazed at it in wonder, turning it over and over, then handing it back. “You’re so good, Greenjade.  I may never get to meet the Ringbearer…but at least, I know his son.  I am extremely glad we saved each other.”

The morning air was fresh and cool through the open window, where the sun shone through leaves of brilliant crimson and gold and bronze that glowed like jars of jelly in the light.

“I’m not good at all,” Greenjade said later, as he morosely carved away at the doll’s torso.  “I have done evil in my life.  I deserved to be in that Place, not but what I am glad to be out…”

He was not sure why he was telling Serilinn this.  There was something about her eyes that disturbed him profoundly.  There was something like adoration in them, and yet he had a feeling they saw more than the surface of things.  It seemed they could see right into his soul, see the darkness there…she could see Darkfin. 

Perhaps…Darkfin had returned, with Duathris’ poison.  He was inside, laughing at Greenjade’s pitiful attempts to be good.  He would get out someday and destroy all that was good and pure about him.

Somehow Serilinn’s eyes were magnifying the horror of it.  She was his conscience, quiet and gentle as she was.  He would never escape the guilt, the knowledge, the oppressiveness of self. 

“You are not evil, Greenjade,” she said as she held up a finished butterfly.  “And please be careful with the knife.  If you cut yourself deeply, you will have to be sewed, and that will hurt.”

He was silent.  Perhaps he was talking too much.  She did not need to know of Darkfin’s doings. 

“Let’s not talk of me anymore,” he said.  “Let’s talk about you instead.  What did you do of nights?  When they…well, you know.  Did they leave you all alone, or…”

She looked at the butterfly she was holding.  He regretted asking her then, and was about to say she need not answer, when she spoke.

“I do not remember much.  Gaergath drugged me, so I would forget.  They took my blood, but each one had to take only a little, for there was not enough for all.  Some would drink from animals, and others would go into towns or villages.  I believe they gave shows sometimes, or parties, or dancing.  I can remember hearing music.  Perhaps I sang also.  There were many who sang.  The orcs would only become beautiful when they took my blood.  If they drank only animal or mortal blood, they remained ugly.”

“Were they all orcs?” Greenjade shuddered.  Darkfin might have been one of them, once…he would have taken blood from this beautiful small being to make himself powerful. 

“Nay, some were mortals.  Gaergath, he was of the Maiar, I think.  He knew of magic, and lore, and spells, and could change his own shape, because of his cloak.  He—“

“Wait.  His cloak?”

“Aye.  If he had it not, he could not change his shape.  He could be a great bat, or bird, or some other thing.  Some of the others could do that, although not as well as he could.”

“Your cloak,” Greenjade said sitting up a little straighter and laying down the knife and doll, “do you have it still?”

“I do not know.  Radagast said he would burn it.  But it does not give me special power.  They made me wear it so I would look as one of them…What is it?  Did I say something wrong?”

“Of course not,” Greenjade nearly let the knife slip again. “If I looked angry, it was not with you, dear one.  It was with those who did such hideous things to you.  I would kill all of them, and make them suffer, and not regret it at all.”

But you would once have been one of them, Darkfin said.

“Perhaps I deserved them,” Serilinn suggested.  “Duathris said I did.”

“Duathris was a liar,” Greenjade said before he could stop himself.  He had never felt so angry before.  “What could you possibly have done to deserve all that?”

“I don’t know,” she said with trembling lips. “Perhaps…during those times, I did bad things.”

“I doubt that,” he said, more gently.  “Likely, they told you that you deserved it so that they could keep you down, have more control over you.  It is what evil folk do.”

“I wish I could remember some things,” she said, “and yet, I am afraid to.  I am afraid of what I might have done.”

“Did they ever…touch you improperly?”  He felt stupid for asking, even as he did so.  And wished he had not.  He was not sure why he had.

“I do not remember,” she said looking at him with eyes so dark and afraid, he wished he could unsay the words he had spoken.  “I…I remember so few things.  I…”

“I am sorry, love,” he said, tears springing into his own eyes.  “I should not have brought it up at all.  I am just glad I was able to get you away from them.  I tell you what:  I feel as if I could take a nap now.  Why don’t you go down and play with Cammie for a while?  Or go out into the garden…so long as you do not stray out of the yard.”

“Cammie does not play; she helps her mother,” Serilinn said.  “She is only allowed two hours in the afternoon to amuse herself.  But I could go and help her.”

“Aye, you can do that.  Just don’t stray out of the yard.  Will you promise me you won’t?”

“I promise.”  And she stood and bent down and kissed him on the forehead.  “Wait—what shall I do with Eglenbein?”

“Leave it with me,” Greenjade said, although he wished he might bid her take the Entling with her.  The thing gave him the creeps.  “We can nap together,” he said with a gallant little smile.

“Very well then.”  She smiled back.  “I will go down now, and bring you luncheon after a while.  Do you want me to build up the fire a bit for you?”

“Yes, please do.”

She went to the stove, then on a thought went over to the Entling and laid a napkin over its face. 

“It may upset him to see me putting wood on the fire,” she said by way of explanation.  Greenjade managed a crooked smile. 

She took the tray and went out, after laying Eglenbein on a small couch.

Greenjade tried to sleep, but felt restless, and he needed to use the privy anyway, so he rose, forgetting the chamber pot beneath the bed, and went out into the hallway.  He heard a voice downstairs—Rodey, crying about something or other her bridegroom had done, and then he heard her mother telling her she would just have to take the bitter with the sweet.  This sounded interesting, and he was tempted to slip down and eavesdrop, but supposed he’d sneeze and get caught out, so he went into the privy and did what he must, then went back into the bedroom and stood by the window.  He could see the mill from here, Ellory and Mallory Widdicomb hard at work shouldering bags of meal and piling them into a wagon, with help from Pepper.  He wondered what Nell was doing now.  He hoped she was happy; on the one hand, and on the other could scarcely help but resent the fact that he would never get to see the child he knew she was carrying.  

What of your other children? Darkfin’s voice taunted him.  Those other little bastards you sired, running about who knows where in Middle-earth.  Wondering who their father was, and why folks treat them like rubbish, and won’t allow them to associate with their own brats.  The girls, when they grow up, what will become of them?  Will they have to sell themselves in order to get by, since no respectable man will have them?  . 

Shut it, Greenjade told him, absurdly pressing his hands over his ears.

You’ll never escape me, you know.  No matter what a wonderful job you do cleaning up Mordor.  No matter if Garland does come to you, and you marry her and have a cozy little home and a dozen children.  You only think I am dead; well, I’m as real to you as those creatures the other night.  You are weak, Greenjade.  You cannot keep me down.  I will best you.  It was I in the tree, you see.  Their poison opened the gateway into your soul.  I live there, and as much as you wish you could evict me, you never will.  You might as well get used to me.  In time you’ll even come to love me, and then the two of us will be one.  All the silver in the world won’t keep me away.

Greenjade’s legs felt wobbly and he went over to sit on the bed, pressing his hands to his forehead, wishing Radagast would return. 

Radagast cannot help you, Darkfin said laughing.  You’ll end up destroying him.  Her too.  You cannot save them.  And you will end up back in The Place. You pitiful weakling. 

Greenjade found his knife and the doll, and for a moment he thought he saw its eyes looking at him reproachfully, and remembered the frightened expression in Serilinn’s eyes.  He had sent her out, fearing what Darkfin would do, make her fear him for all time.  He could not have that.  Somehow he would just have to manage not to be alone with her. 

He began carving at the doll again.  Perhaps as long as he kept his hands busy…and then it seemed Darkfin was laughing at him once more.  Yet he kept on.  And finally he began to feel sleepy, and he fought the feeling, fearing Darkfin would enter his dreams, seeing as how he had none of the draught-powder to keep the demons away.  If only he had his stepfather’s Book….

He cannot help you.  You are not worthy of him, and never will be.

Liar, Greenjade said silently.

Call me whatever you wish.  Look at that poor wench, alone with the rum-soaked ruffian in the filthy room, forcing himself upon her, she is your daughter, is she not?  Look at him ripping apart her bodice, devouring her with his lustful eyes, putting his grubby paws on her!  Look at her mother, that you tumbled in the haymow so joyfully, she is now old before her time, her beauty all gone, working in the ale-house among rough men to support her bastard children!  You had your fun, and she had the pain and the disgrace!  And she will die early, alone and in poverty, and her daughter…oh, you were a sight to see!  Now look at that girl…she was impregnated, and tried to get rid of it so none should know.  And she bled to death in her room and was found by her mother in the morning in her blood-soaked bed.  See her mother wailing for her child!  Are you not proud of yourself, Greenjade?  Ha!  You were so proud of your seductive arts, your lovemaking techniques, were you not?  And look at you now!

Go away and leave me be, you demon, Greenjade said.  His hands trembled violently, holding the knife.

Why don’t you cut me out?  It’s the only way you will ever be rid of me.  And even then I’ll be part of you when you are back in the Dungeon.  You will see every bastard child you ever sired, every innocent girl you ruined, every friend you betrayed, your mother’s eyes looking in anguish, your children playing in the garden forever apart from you. 

Greenjade looked at the knife, clenching it so tightly his knuckles went white and his fingertips turned crimson. 

Get. away. from me.  Go.  Now.

Make me. 

You’ll never have me.

I have you now.  Go ahead.  Do your good deeds.  There will be no pleasure in them for you, for I will be looking over your shoulder all the while.  Had nice times, did you?  I hope you enjoyed them, for there will be no sweetness in the memory of them for you.  Are you glad you saved that girl now?

Yes, I am.

But it won’t make you happy.  And someday she will come to find you too frightening or too depressing, and will leave you.  Or she will decide she cannot deal with your past misdeeds.  You will lose her.

I will lose you.  If I keep to my chosen path, one way or another, I will lose you.  And at the end of it all, you will be gone, and I will be happy.

No matter.  I will be with you all the way, and make the path bitter for you.  Perhaps I will even succeed in swaying you from it.  I may drive you mad.  Then we will be together for all time, like those twins we once saw, joined to each other at the hip.  There you have it.  Now get up, and pace about the room, and look out the window at what will never be yours, just as you did in That Place.  I am all the company you will ever have.  The others will withdraw.  Alas, poor Greenjade.  So sad to be so alone, with no companion but me.  Look at that pitiful weed of a thing, on that couch.  You’d like to pick it up and chuck it into the fire, wouldn’t you?  Do it.  The sooner you lose her, the better.  Then you will be spared pain of losing her later on. 

Greenjade heard running light footsteps on the stairs, and he went back to the bed and sat down heavily upon it, just as Serilinn opened the door.

“Greenjade, are you all right?” she asked breathlessly.  “I heard you talking to someone.”

“I was having a bad dream,” he said with an attempt at a smile.

“Oh,” she said, “you are worse now!  Poor you.  I will bring you some more soup if you like.”

“Nay, dearest, I do not feel like any just now,” he said, abandoning any attempt at a smile, knowing he would never smile again.  He could see she knew something was terribly wrong, could see the despair in his face, and he wished he could hide it so that she could be assured and be happy in his sham happiness. 

She went to him and put her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder, and he held her tightly and wept, feeling he could never stop until he fell dead and empty.

31.  On the Wagon

Greenjade did manage to fall into a troubled sleep, and Serilinn brought up more soup, this time with chunks of meat, beans, and vegetables left over from the previous night’s dinner, and a small glass with sprigs of goldenrod and gentian in it. She asked him if he felt better, and he said he did, although he did not think he was very convincing.  She had brought up soup for herself also, minus the meat chunks, and they ate their meal together at the table.  She set Eglenbein on a chair brought from another room, and put a bowl of water at the Entling’s place, and she tried to train it to pick up the bowl and drink it, then gave it up saying perhaps he was too young yet. 

“I think it's just being stubborn,” Greenjade said.

“Perhaps he just has an aversion to the wooden bowl,” she said.  “If only we had a clay one.  Perhaps Radagast could find one for us, or I could make one.”

Greenjade managed a smile. “You will make a wonderful mother someday,” he said.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them, feeling he had inadvertently reminded her that her own mother was as poor an excuse for one as could be imagined, but before he could say anything else, she popped up out of her chair and ran to the window. 

“Radagast is back!” she said looking back at him with a radiant face.

“Wonderful,” he said trying to feign a bit of enthusiasm.

“He has something,” she said leaning her dark head far out the window.  “Pepper is driving his father’s wagon, but…Greenjade, come and see!”

Greenjade hauled himself up and went to the window.  Yes, there they were, but…what was this?  Pepper was indeed driving the Widdicomb wagon, with Sméagol by his side, but Radagast was driving another…with a cover, no less.  Nilde was running alongside of it. 

“Well, I’ll be…shot,” Greenjade said.  “Where did he get that?”

“In town, I guess,” Serilinn bounced a little in her excitement.  “Let’s go down and see--oh, wait, you can’t.  Well, he’ll come and tell us...“

“Yes, I can,” he said.  “Let me put this on...”  He reached for the dressing-gown he had worn the previous night and slipped it on, then quickly finger-combed his hair.  He supposed he looked terrible, but he didn’t care.  “Now I’m ready.”

They went downstairs, hand in hand, and were met by Cammie, who came running up saying, “Come see Mr. Radagast’s new wagon!  It’s splendid!”

They went down and out the front door.  Radagast was climbing down from the wagon, which was hitched to a very fine big chestnut gelding with a white streak down his muzzle, and white stockings, black mane and tail. 

“Hullo!” the Wizard called out to Greenjade and Serilinn and Mrs. Widdicomb and Cammie, who stood off gaping.  He looked happy about his new acquisition and yet somehow sad also, as he climbed down from the wagon seat. “How do you like it?”

The wagon was painted a rather unattractive shade of brown, and Greenjade could see lettering through the paint.  The cover was in blue, red and yellow canvas. 

“I decided a wagon would get us to where we’re going much faster than on foot,” Radagast explained in an undertone to Greenjade, with a sidelong glance at Serilinn, who was talking to Cammie and Mrs. Widdicomb now.  Sméagol, as usual, was petting Nilde.  Ellory and Mallory Widdicomb were coming from the mill, to see what all the fuss was about.  “And since ‘they’ can’t come in without being invited, I thought a covered wagon would keep us safer.  Pepper told us he knew of someone who had one for sale.  The chap used to run a sort of ‘traveling show’, selling 'remedies'--probably of a rather dubious nature--all over the countryside, but he met a young maiden and fell in love, and her father would not let her marry him unless he gave up his ‘trade.’  As it happens, her father is a blacksmith, and so the fellow is going to learn smithing.  But before he can begin his apprenticeship, he had to sell his wagon so that the father could see he was serious about marrying the daughter.  Actually it was the horse we bought; the man said he would throw in the wagon for a very small sum, since it is not in prime condition.  The singletree is slightly damaged and must be fixed before we can resume our journey.  Also there’s a hole in the cover that wants patching.  Another coat of paint would not hurt its appearance, either.  These things will not take long to put to rights, I’m sure.”

“But where is Baran?” Serilinn spoke up.  Greenjade started, then remembered what had been missing.

Radagast looked sorrowful then.  “I had to trade him in partial payment for the horse,” he said.  “I am sorry.  But it is unreasonable to expect him to be able to keep up with us, and we cannot feed him and the horse both.  And I can see the fellow is a good man by the condition of his horse, which has obviously been well looked after.  I am absolutely certain Baran will have an excellent home with him and his future bride, or I would never have turned him over to them.  I’m sorry, little one, I know you were fond of him.  So was I.  But it had to be done.”

“Baran was a nice donkey,” Serilinn said.  “I hope they’ll be very good to him.”

“’E’s a mighty pretty ‘orse,” Cammie said timidly approaching the beast and looking up at him with her hands behind her back.  “Wot’s ‘is name?”

“Brego,” Radagast said, “after a king of Rohan.  Actually it was Dobby, but I thought he deserved something more dignified, so I renamed him.”

“‘Brego’ is a much better name,” Serilinn said stroking Brego’s muzzle.  “He’s very beautiful, and he has much dignity.  I can see him drawing a king’s carriage, or riding into battle in a gold horse helmet and gemmed bridle.”

Radagast chuckled.  “Aye, too bad he has to pull this very common-looking wagon instead.  But I think he will come to like us very quickly, and won’t mind how the wagon looks.”

“So we’ll be staying longer then?” Greenjade spoke up.

“Aye, but not for three months.  Two or three days, perhaps.  I doubt it will take longer than that to fix things up.  And I’m calling a town meeting tomorrow.”

“Yer’ll be ‘ere longer then?” Cammie said to Serilinn.  “Goody!” 

Serilinn smiled, but Greenjade had a feeling she wished to be on the way also.

Sméagol looked rather happy about it.

“Greenjade, how are you feeling?” Radagast asked him.  “I am sorry, in all the excitement I forgot you were ill.  Back indoors with you, now.  I’ll come up as soon as we take the wagon and unhitch it and put Brego in the stable.”

Greenjade sneezed.  If only my illness were all that were wrong with me now, he thought.  He went upstairs by himself and lay face down on the bed.

He could hear Darkfin chuckling somewhere close by.

Why was it not possible to erase the past?  Must it haunt one forever?

Nearly a quarter of an hour later he heard a tap on his door.  He did not answer, knowing the door would open in another moment, and so it did.  

“Why do I have the feeling there’s more wrong with you than a mere cold?” Radagast said, coming to Greenjade’s bedside.

“Most likely, because a cold is the least of what’s wrong with me,” Greenjade muttered into his pillow.

“Well,” the Wizard said, when no explanation was forthcoming, “do you wish to tell me about it, or what?  Contrary to what you might think, I haven’t the talent for reading minds.”

Greenjade raised himself on one elbow.  “I do not think it is anything you could fix,” he said.  “You see…I think…the other night, when they took my blood, they put a poison in me that opened the way for…” 

He hesitated, trying to think of an explanation that wouldn’t sound utterly stupid.

“A way for what?” Radagast asked.  “I told Serilinn and Sméagol I wished to talk to you alone, and asked them not to come in here until I indicated that they might.  She it was who told me something was troubling you, and asked me to help you.  So.  A way for what?”

“Darkfin.”  There.  It was out.  “I…well, I feel like a fool, but he’s been haunting me most of the day.  Not sure how it came about, but while I was here with Serilinn, he just appeared, somewhere out of nowhere, and started taunting me with my past. He said he’d never leave me, he’d be with me until the rest of my days, and I’d never be happy, likely I’d go mad, and…he showed me the girls I had ruined, the things that happened to them…. Actually Nell told me something of the same, but it did not register with me then.  She said did I ever stop to think of the consequences of my actions, how I made them feel, the…the bastard children they might have had.  And it’s true, I didn’t stop, nor did I care.  I was proud of my seductive arts.  And now I can only think…”

“Greenjade.  That was not Darkfin.  It was Morgoth.”

“Be that as it may.  No matter who it was, he was right.  I never thought about the consequences, nor did I care.  And now…it’s too late.  I think of them now.  And can do nothing about them.  And I’ll never be able to stop thinking of it…”

“Greenjade…”  Radagast sat down beside him on the bed and laid a hand on his shoulder.  “Morgoth is a liar.  Don’t you know that by now?”

“Yes, but he can tell the truth also, can he not?”

“Aye, that he can…yet in this instance, he was not.  Sea-folk cannot impregnate mortals unless they become mortal themselves, Greenjade.  Did you truly not know that?”

“What?”  Greenjade sat up straighter.  “I…you mean…” 

Radagast laughed a little.  “I know something of the Children of Ulmo,” he said.  “Whether or not any other male sea-folk ever went onto land for any period of time before you did, I know not.  But I do know that there is something in their seed that is incompatible with the eggs of land-folk, and impregnation is not possible.  If a male marries a ‘landish’ female, he will become of her kind, and then he can father children with her.  However, in his sea-form…”

“Why did I not know this myself?” Greenjade wondered how it was possible to be so happy.  Then he sobered.  What if it were Radagast who was lying, in order to make him feel better, so he would not have to deal with a remorse-ridden mortal all through the journey?  He had proven he was not above stretching the truth, or leaving out parts of it, in order to protect another.  

“Is this true, what you tell me?” Greenjade asked him, looking him straight in the eye.  “Why didn’t I know it?”

“Well, perhaps you are the first of your kind to travel on land,” Radagast said with a smile that was unmistakably ingenuous.  “And so you were not told.  Mind, this does not excuse your past actions.  If you did indeed act without a thought to the consequences, that was reprehensible.  However, you did pay the price, and now you have obviously grown a conscience, and may consider yourself fully human.”

Greenjade felt like bursting into tears once more, and might have done so if he had been alone.  His elation flared down a bit, thinking of what might have been.  What if he HAD been able to impregnate those women, and Radagast were lying or mistaken?  What then? 

“So,” the Wizard said, giving Greenjade a light slap on the shoulder, “I want you to lie on that bed and let the rest of us wait on you for the next couple of days.  I doubt your ‘visitor’ will bother you much again.  Just remember that Darkfin is dead, and Greenjade can do better.  And where you’ll go at the end of it all, Morgoth will most certainly never be able to follow.”

~*~*~

Sméagol must surely have wondered why Greenjade kept beaming so beatifically at him, and talking so chummily, all through the rest of the day.  And why he did not grumble at having to stay at the Widdicomb home for a few more days, and why he cracked silly jokes every time he sneezed, and sang snatches of songs he remembered from The Quail and Pheasant, and laughed so hard at something Serilinn told him that he nearly fell on the floor. 

And he gave all his silver to Radagast saying, “Here’s my part for the horse and wagon.  I’ll just keep a few for protection.”

“Nay, good fellow.  Sméagol and I will take a bit for protection, and you may keep the rest.  Oh, by the way, I almost forgot—here’s your staff.  I had the tip reinforced for you.  Look at it, if you please.”

Greenjade looked.  “Silver?”

“Aye.  The blacksmith must have thought I was a trifle cracked, but he did as I asked.  I explained everything to Mrs. Widdicomb before I left, and she gave me some silverware and told me to do with it what I must.  And I’m calling a town meeting tomorrow.”

“How did you get the word out so quickly?”

“Well, the people come to the town square once a week to hear the news.  There’s a chap whose job it is to collect it and tell it.  According to Pepper, the people greatly look forward to News Day.  They dress up nicely, bring food, and such things.  Sometimes they make quite a production of the news if it’s something out of the ordinary.  For instance, if someone has been killed, then they act out the killing in the square.  I scarcely consider that to be in good taste, but it’s not for me to say.  And no, I dare say it would not be a good idea to act out the sort of thing I shall be telling them.  It so happens that tomorrow is News Day, and I will tell them about the menace that lurks in the countryside and give them ways to be prepared for it, and to guard against it.  You and Serilinn need not go with me; I can handle it by myself.  Nay, I forbid you to go with me,” he said as Greenjade seemed about to protest.  “I want you here in bed resting, do you hear me?  I’ll not have you coming down with a chill because you have some foolish need to prove your manhood.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be a good idea for Serilinn to stay here,” Greenjade said.  “Even though I would hate to deprive her of the delights of ordinary doings.  Are you sure we cannot bring her to Mordor with us?  I dare say it is not the place it was seven years ago.”

“I would not take her there,” Radagast said.  “Aye, we all have lost our hearts to her, and I dare say it will be even harder to part with her than with Nilde.  But we must consider her safety and well-being, and put it above our own desires if we are to accomplish anything at our destination.”

Greenjade’s elation collapsed and the emptiness returned.  “I think it will be even harder than parting with Nell was,” he said, his throat tightening.  “For I love her no less, although in a different way, a way I know not how to explain.”

“I understand, my lad,” Radagast said with a sigh.  “Sméagol and I love her because she is endearing, but with you, it goes beyond that.  You and she saved each other from a fate almost too horrible to think about, and there will always be that bond between you.  I suppose your one comfort must be in knowing she will be happy…and we cannot even be sure of that.  Her future is veiled to us.”

“If it only were not so hard,” Greenjade said, and tears sprang into his eyes and he did not even try to hide them.

“Aye, life is that,” Radagast said.  “Oh, and there is a slight change of plans.  I think we should stop at the capital of Gondor first, and see the King.  Perhaps he can arrange for a ship to take her to Valinor.  I’ve already sent a letter off to him this morning.  I thought of asking him to send his reply to Faramir and we would receive it there, but I think it better if we go there in person.  I think Serilinn would love to see Minas Tirith.  I would love to see it also—I have not seen it in hundreds of years.  Perhaps the King may even take her under his protection, although I think Ithilien would suit her better.  More lush green countryside and natural beauty abounding there, not so many reminders of battle and bloodshed about.  In the meantime, let us try to enjoy the time we have left with her, and do what we can to give her the inner healing and protection she needs.” 

“She said Gaergath drugged her,” Greenjade said.  “I just wish I had him here.”  He glanced over at his staff.  Radagast nodded.

“I do not hold with violence of any sort,” he said, “but…I am sure I am capable of it.  And I do not like this in myself.”

“I think it can be justified in some circumstances,” Greenjade said.  His fingers fairly itched to seize the staff…and then it seemed he heard laughter. 

Darkfin’s laughter.

32. News Day

Greenjade did not see the owl that night.  It was raining hard.

They sat about in the front room, roasting apples at the fireplace. Mr. Widdicomb told a rather long-winded and sporadically amusing story from his boyhood, while Greenjade resumed his work on Serilinn’s doll and Mrs. Widdicomb worked on a braid rug.  Serilinn helped her make braids and sang a song, and Greenjade felt as proud as if he were her father. 

And Radagast told of the Quest.

Pepper was the one who seemed most impressed with it.  Cammie fell asleep about halfway through.  Mr. Widdicomb said it was “a good yarn” but he didn’t take much stock in it, he preferred “real stories about real folks.”  Mrs. Widdicomb said she had expected the Ringbearers to go storming Sauron’s fortress, and as for those Eagles…well.  The story had its moments, she said, but Radagast had better change the ending if he expected it to go down with anyone else.  And if she had that Gollum here she’d give him a good shaking! 

Serilinn laid her head on Sméagol’s shoulder.

The next morning it had stopped raining, and Greenjade felt somewhat better.  But Radagast would not allow him to go to News Day with him.  He and the others would go on foot; the road was too muddy to take the wagon.  Dead leaves and pine needles carpeted the ground, sopping wet.

“I’ll work on the wagon then,” Greenjade said.  “I do have some carpentry skills, if you recall.”

“I can work on the cover, if you take it off for me,” Serilinn offered.  “I can sew fairly well—enough to sew on a patch.”

“Nay, dear lassie, I misdoubt that yer could stitch such a big patch on such a big cloth,” Mrs. Widdicomb said.  “I’ll do it meself when we gets home.  I got some canvas left over from the old tarp I made for Widdicomb’s wagon.  Hit’s a poor match, but it’ll do.”

“Don’t worry about the wagon, Greenjade,” Radagast said.  “I know it’s tiresome for you, my lad, but we need you in good health when we start on our way.  Wish we might have a plain white covering, rather than that gaudy one, but there’s no time to make one.”

“I like the colored one,” Serilinn said.  Radagast smiled.

“Do come with us, Seri,” Cammie said.  “I can borry one o’ Mattie’s dresses agin if yer likes.”

“Oh no thank you, dear,” the elfling said in her gracious way.  “I must keep Greenjade company.  He would be lonely without me.”

Greenjade smiled, then sneezed.

“Well, wot say we gets goin’ ‘stead of standin’ around flappin’ our jaws,” Mr. Widdicomb said.  “They’ll be startin’ without us, like as not.”

“Aye, and we’ll miss all the blabber about the new front winder bein’ put up in The Rusty Bucket, I s’pose,” Mrs. Widdicomb said with a sidelong glance at her husband. 

“How does one put a window in a bucket?” Serilinn asked with lifted brows.  All the Widdicombs bellowed with laughter.

“Hit ain’t a bucket, luv, it’s a pub,” Mr. Widdicomb explained.  “Hit’s just called The Rusty Bucket ‘cos...well, ‘cos there’s a rusty bucket ’angin’ from the sign.”

“But why’s there a rusty bucket ’angin’ from the sign?” Pepper asked with a wink.  Evidently this was some sort of family game.

“’Cos that’s the name o’ the pub,” his father said. 

“But why’s it the name o’ the pub?” Cammie asked.

“’Cos it’s got a rusty bucket ’angin’ from the sign,” her brother said.

“But why’s it got a--”

“All right, enough o’ that, let’s get goin’,” their mother said, amid more laughter.  Finally all departed, leaving Greenjade and Serilinn behind.

“They’re nice,” Serilinn said as she and Greenjade went back indoors.  “But I think I would not want to live with them.  I don’t know why exactly.”

“They’re not your kind,” Greenjade said.  “Common, they are.  Good enough in their clunky way, but…common.  You are as a sweet thrush amongst cackling barnyard fowl.”

“Mrs. Widdicomb has been very nice to me,” Serilinn said, “and so has Cammie.  I never knew any young girls before.”

“I don’t doubt she’s been nice to you.  But she hasn’t your intelligence or strength of character, and if there were other lasses who went up against you because you weren’t of their kind, I dare say Cammie would take their side of it.  Common.  You can do better.”

He wondered whether there would be any lasses where they were going to befriend Serilinn.  Likely it was something she would have to do without. 

“Oh—I need to try to find something for Eglenbein to drink from, something not made of wood,” she said after a frowning moment.  “Can you help me?”

“Let’s check down cellar.  I’m sure there will be something down there that will do.  And I’d like to see what else is down here.”

They went down hand in hand, after Greenjade lit a candle.  The cellar smelled very nicely of apples and dried herbs.  It was cool and damp, with a great many shelves lined with canned goods.

“Looks like they are laying in a good supply,” Greenjade commented, picking up an apple from one of the many baskets and pocketing it.  “Ought to last them a full week,” he said with a wink at Serilinn.  Then his eye fell on a box of empty jars.  “How about one of those for your…Entling?”

“That will do,” Serilinn said peering at the jar Greenjade picked up and handed to her.  “I don’t like to take it without asking Mrs. Widdicomb…but I’ll put it back when we leave.”

“I’ll buy it for you,” Greenjade said. 

“Oh, you needn’t.  She gave me some money yesterday for helping her in the kitchen.  See?”  Serilinn pulled a few coppers from her breeches pocket to show Greenjade.

“Keep them, love,” he said, folding her fingers around them gently.  “I’m taking all these jars.  I will pay for them also.  Do you know where they keep the oil for their lamps?”

“In the kitchen, I think.”

“Good.  You can make braids now, so you can help me.”

“Help you?”

“I’ll explain in good time.  Come up with me.”

They went up to his room, where he retrieved the cloth he had been using to catch the chips and shavings from the doll.

“This will be just the thing,” he said.  “Just shake off those bits into the chip basket, and tear it into strips—here, I'll show you.”  He tore off a strip about four inches wide.  “Think you can do that?”

After Serilinn had made the first braid, he took the jug of oil he had found in a cabinet, and poured some into the jar, then stuffed the braid into it and nodded.

“Is that a lamp?” she asked drawing her eyebrows together.

“Of sorts,” he said.  “It’s not for looks, obviously.  But I think it will do.”

“Is it for our journey?” she asked.

“I see I shall have to tell you my plan now,” he sighed. 

As she made more braids and he elaborated, he whittled on some sticks he had found in the woodpile, making them smooth and round, with a point on one end.  Then he asked her if she had any feathers left from her butterflies.

“Not so many, and they’re very small,” she said.

“No matter.  I’ll go to the chicken coop later on and get some.  Yours are a bit too small, at that.”

“Are those arrows?”  

“Aye, they are.  I saw a bow in Pepper’s room when that tree-babe of yours wandered into it.  You need to tie a rope to that thing and tether it to the bedpost.  I asked him if he had any arrows, and he said the young’uns broke them all.”

“Do you really think this will work?” she said.

“We can only hope,” he said. 

She was quiet for a while as she made more braids.  Finally she looked up at him with sad eyes.

“Must I stay with the King?” she asked him.  “I wish to go to Mordor with you.”

“I wish you could also,” Greenjade said, “but Radagast says it’s no place for a child.  Perhaps you could come to us when we’ve made a garden of it.”

“But I want to help you make a garden of it,” she said, her eyes moistening a little.  “I don’t wish to stay with folk I do not know, even if they are nice.”

“Perhaps Radagast will change his mind,” Greenjade suggested after a moment. 

“You need my help,” she said almost with a pout.  “I am an Elf.  I am also part Maia.  I have some powers to help things grow.  You need me, Greenjade.”

“Well, if you can convince Radagast,” he said, “I would be overjoyed to have you.”

“You would?” she looked up at him.  “Truly?”

“Very truly,” he said with a little smile.

“I am rendered speechless,” she said softly after a moment.  “No one has ever loved me save for Meleth.”

“We all love you, Radagast and Sméagol and I.  And I dare say Nilde and…Eglenbein also.  I’ve known you less than three days, yet it seems I have always known you.”

“We could be so happy,” Serilinn said.  “I think Nilde will have children.  I saw one of the Widdicombs’ dogs having an interlude with her yesterday.”

“Umm…you mean…” Greenjade chuckled.  “You chased him off, I hope?”

“I stopped him, and I told him, ‘I am sorry but Nilde must not have any babies until we get to Mordor, although I can see why you love her.’  But perhaps it was too late, and she has been hopelessly im--impregnated.”

Greenjade roared with laughter.  After a moment she giggled uproariously also.  Her eyes nearly closed up and tears came into them.

How would they ever do without that sound?

~*~*~

“Look,” Cammie pointed to a plumpish young woman standing in the crowd arm in arm with a well-dressed young man, “there’s Blossom Benbow.  Pepper, look.”  She tugged at her brother’s sleeve.  “’Oo’s that with ‘er?”

“Hold yer tongue, Chamomile Widdicomb,” her mother shushed her.  Pepper’s face got very red, and he fixed his eyes on the platform in the town square, where Radagast was now mounting.  “There now.  Looks a trifle seedy, don’t ’e?  Wish we could a’ got hold o’ some decent clothes for ‘im.  Now why’d ‘e ‘ave to go and bring that silly-lookin’ staff with ‘im, I wonder?  Yer’d think ‘e’d want a bit o’ dignity, like.”

“’E’s got plenty o’ dignity, silly staff or none,” Pepper said in an undertone, with an effort not to glance in Blossom’s direction.

“Why’s The Rusty Bucket need a new winder?” Cammie asked. 

“’Cos Randy Budgeon throwed a tankard through the old ‘un,” Mr. Widdicomb said.  “Daffy drunken bugger.”

“Shush!” Mrs. Widdicomb said.  “He’s goin’ ter speak.”

Radagast was holding one hand up palm out for silence.  The chattering of the crowd began to die down. 

“Good folk of the village,” he said, “what I am about to relate to you is of grave importance.  I have heard reports of this danger from some of the good townsfolk—livestock and wild beasts, and even some human beings, found drained of blood, relatives who have mysteriously vanished, questionable characters seen in disreputable haunts about town.   I am here to tell you that this menace is real.  That my companions and I had a terrifying encounter not three nights gone, and lived to tell the tale…”

“When’s ‘e goin’ to get to the good part?” Mr. Widdicomb murmured, and his wife nudged him with her elbow. 

“I do not know if any of you have heard tell of the Children of Thuringwethil,” Radagast continued.  “But we met with some of them in a wood close by, and rescued one of their captives, whom we have taken under our wing.  They are monsters, creatures of Sauron the Dark Lord.  Now do not become frightened, for their powers are limited.  I am here to warn you of their activities and advise you as to how to protect yourselves and your children and beasts…”

“Wot’s ‘e sayin’?” Cammie whispered in the general direction of her parents, looking alarmed.  “Wot dark lord?”

“If yer’d been a payin’ attention last night, yer might of learnt somethin’,” Pepper said with a sidelong glance at his sister. 

“Shush,” their mother said. 

“So beware of strangers who knock at your doors," Radagast continued, "and tell you sad tales of how they have lost their way or are fleeing danger or have injured themselves, begging for shelter in the night.  Do not let them in!  Even if they claim to be long lost relations or friends of yours.  They are repelled and rendered powerless by silver, so if you have any, make use of it.  Do not take this threat lightly!  Its implications are more terrible than you could ever imagine.  Resist it, however, and it will go away.  I urge caution, rather than fear.  Hear a crying baby outside your door some moonlit night?  Take care.  Hear a wolf howling, and fear for your sheep or cattle?  Take care.  Meet a beautiful woman in a pub some night with seductive eyes and lips?  Avert your own eyes and do not listen to her blandishments.  Meet a handsome man with a melodious voice and flattering words at some starlit celebration?  Turn from him quickly.  If your dog or your horse seems terrified, take heed.  Resist this evil, and eventually, it will go elsewhere.  You may know them by their black cloaks, and a preternatural eerie light, not unlike foxfire, about them, if their hoods should fall away.  A sharp stick, thrust through their middles, will kill them; so will fire or a beheading.  I have never before advocated any sort of violence; however these creatures are not human, not redeemable, not even alive, and naught short of destruction can stop them.  Have chains of silver?  Wear them at all times.  Heed my words.  Your lives, and those of your children and animals, depend on it!”

The crowd began to murmur, and as the murmur turned into a buzz, Radagast abruptly stepped down from the small platform, spoke softly to the man who normally delivered the news, who was just staring open-mouthed at the Wizard, then moved with rapid strides to where Sméagol stood with the Widdicombs. 

“Well, reckon nobody ain’t likely to be much interested in the new winder now?” Mallory Widdicomb said to his brother, who appeared in a state of shock.

~*~*~

“We’d best put the dogs down cellar,” Pepper said as he repaired the loose bolt on the stable door.  “Or they’re like to end up like Butch.  We found ‘im blooded to death, out in a field,” he explained to Radagast.

“Reckon yer right, even though like they’ll drive us daffy with their racket,” his father said. 

“Well, it’s only noon now,” Radagast said, “and I’m hungry.  After we’ve had a bite, I can get to work fixing that singletree.”

“They really want Serilinn’s blood?” Pepper asked, taking a nail from his mouth.  His mother and sister had already gone indoors to fix lunch.

“Aye, that they do,” Radagast said.  “It gives them the sort of power they desire.”

“Jumpin’ kingsnakes,” the lad said with a whistle, shaking his round pale head.  “So.  What yer think we should do?  Go out in the woods with spikes, or bows an’ arrers, and hunt ‘em down?”

“I doubt that would be a good idea,” Radagast said.  “I think it’s best we simply take precautions against them until they give up and go elsewhere.”

Mr. Widdicomb seemed speechless for once.

~*~*~

“It’s starting to get dark,” Serilinn said glancing out the window.  Greenjade had resumed work on her doll.  He had both arms finished and was now working on the legs.  She came back to inspect his progress.  “I shall call her Cinnamon.  You don’t mind, do you?  Mrs. Widdicomb gave her children all spice names, and I think that is a charming idea.  She put cinnamon on the bread at breakfast, and it was thoroughly delightful.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Greenjade grinned fondly.  “She’s your doll, you may call her whatever you like.  And ‘Cinnamon’ is a lovely name.”

“You will have me quite spoiled to death, Greenjade,” Serilinn said smiling back.  Greenjade laughed aloud, then impulsively reached one arm and gave her a little squeeze with it. 

Then he happened to glance aside toward the window.  And saw the owl outside, perched in the big oak.

Serilinn brought his supper up a little later after a while, and ate it with him, after which he proposed they go back downstairs, saying he didn’t feel half bad now.  Perhaps they could be on the road by tomorrow. 

The Widdicombs were strangely quiet that evening.  Mr. Widdicomb spoke of his brother Royal, saying he reckoned he knew what had become of him now, looking rather blearily at Radagast, as though the Wizard were somehow responsible. 

“I can only wonder what our mum would a’ had to say about it,” he said.  “Pepper, all the dogs down cellar now?”

“Aye, dad,” his son said.  “Me an’ Sméagol put ‘em down, save for that ‘un there.”  He indicated Nilde with a nod of his head.  Nilde sat between Radagast and Sméagol, her head down on her paws.

Cammie sat close to her mother, pale and tightlipped.  Mrs. Widdicomb was working on her rug once more, but her fingers trembled.  Serilinn sat next to Greenjade, who had put Cinnamon aside.  All the curtains were drawn at the windows.

The dogs could be heard yapping and howling down cellar.

“I think they’re sensin’ somethin’,” Pepper said softly.  “That’s ‘ow they sounded the night 'fore we found Butch.”

“I ‘ear somethin’ out there,” Mrs. Widdicomb said after a moment.  Radagast went to a window.

After a seemingly endless moment he turned and looked at the others.

“Greenjade,” he said between clenched teeth, “take the lasses into the hallway and tell them to stay there.  Now.”

Greenjade stood and reached a hand down to Serilinn, who looked in terror first at him, then at Radagast.  Greenjade looked at Cammie, who just sat there with round eyes, and jerked his head in the direction of the door leading into the hallway.  She did not move, so her mother nudged her saying, “Go, lass.”

“Perhaps you should go with her, Mrs. Widdicomb,” Radagast said.  Cammie stood then, on wobbly legs, then Pepper came over and took her by the arm, not too gently, saying, “Come on then, don’t just set there like a sack o’ taters.”

Cammie followed Greenjade and Serilinn into the hallway.  Pepper had to give her a little push through the door. 

“Sit on the stairs,” Greenjade said to the girls.  “Don’t go out of the hall until it’s all clear.  Will you promise me?”

Serilinn nodded without speaking.  Cammie looked ready to burst into tears. 

“Eglenbein!” Serilinn said suddenly, jumping to her feet.  Greenjade reached out and caught her arm.

“Do not even think about it,” he said.  “Eglenbein will be fine.  I’m going up now.  Remember our plan?”

She nodded.  Greenjade ran up the stairs, then into Serilinn’s room and looked out the window, which was above the front door. 

And he saw fire.  Torches, illuminating figures in black hoods, carrying bundles of twigs and straw.

They were moving toward the house. 

After a frozen moment, he ran toward his own room, found Eglenbein huddled in a corner, obviously frightened, whimpering.  He stood staring at the forlorn little thing for a moment, then finally he reached down and forgetting his aversion to it, touched the Entling, which began crying in that rusty way he remembered.  He lifted it very gently, hoping it wouldn’t grab him around the neck—likely it was stronger than it looked—and began carrying it down the stairs to Serilinn, who sprang up and ran upward to meet him, and took her charge in her arms.

“Go on back down now,” he said, then noticed Cammie staring up at her, with her eyes and mouth very round. 

He swore to himself.  Then thought, What does it matter now, we’ll be leaving tomorrow.  He went back upstairs, as the dogs down cellar began barking and howling more and more loudly, and ran back to Serilinn’s room and looked out the window. 

The hooded figures were surrounding the house with their torches, and had dropped the bundles of twigs and straw on the ground.  And the tallest of them stood at the front door.

Knocking. 

“Gaergath,” Greenjade spoke softly, and began to shudder in every muscle and bone and nerve.

33. Gaergath

“That…that thing,” Cammie whispered, pointing to Eglenbein, who was clinging to Serilinn and crying once more.  “It…hit’s makin’ noise.  Hit’s movin’.  What is it?  Hit’s…alive…yer said 'twas a plaything….”

She had backed up against the wall in the hallway, her round face white and terrified.

“He won’t hurt you,” Serilinn said.  “He’s an Ent.  He’s only a baby.  He’s frightened.”

“Don’t come no closer,” Cammie whimpered, stretching her plump little hands outward.  “Stay back…please…”

“I’m staying here.  He won’t hurt you, dear, I promise.  Perhaps you should go down the cellar with the dogs.”

“Nay…nay…you go.”

“I’m afraid of them,” Serilinn said.  “There’s that big closet, you could go in it?  He cannot open doors.”

“Nay nay…I’m afeared of the dark.”

“So am I.  I will go up, then and sit on the middle of the stairs.  He cannot climb up or down stairs.”

Up in her room, Greenjade could hear her voice, and knew it was time to take action. 

The trouble was that once again he could not move. 

He could scarcely even lean his head out the window to look at the black-cloaked creatures with the torches below. 

They stood all around the house, motionless, as the tallest knocked at the door.  And then Greenjade heard his voice.  That ruined voice.

“Come to the door, my friends,” it called softly, as it raised its own torch high.  “We have you surrounded.  You know what we want.  Send her out, or the house will go up in flames.  The stable also.  Send her out.”

Greenjade heard the door open.  Then another voice spoke.  Radagast’s.

“Gaergath, I take it?” he said. 

“Aye, so you know my name,” Gaergath said, and it seemed he smiled, as he casually pushed back his hood.  “And you are…Radagast the Brown?  I have heard of you.  Well met.”

Greenjade felt icy sweat break out all over himself, hearing that voice once more.  He cursed his own cowardice then, his inability to carry out his plan.  Where were Pepper…and Sméagol?

“Why do you want this innocent lass?” Radagast was asking.  “What is she to you?”

Why was he asking what he already knew?

“She belongs to me,” Gaergath said.  “I have merely come to take what is mine.  Why should I not?  Were she your daughter, would you not take her?”

“She is not your daughter, you devil,” Radagast said.  Greenjade was thinking exactly the same thing.

“She told you this?” Gaergath said with a little chuckle.  “Does your host realize whom he is harboring here?  He looks frightened.  I dare say he knows some of us…at least one of us.”

“She is no daughter of yours,” Radagast repeated.  “You may indeed have sired her, but in no way or manner were you ever her father.  No true father would ever have used his own child for the unthinkable purposes you and your foul cohorts have used her.”

“Nay?” Gaergath’s obscene chuckle puffed out of him once more.  “I assure you, that had it not been for me, she would have fared far, far worse than she has.  Look at these chaps, if you please. Orcs, thieves, whores, pirates, gamblers, drifters, rapists, murderers, degenerates of the worst stripe.  Just how do you think the child would have fared with them, had I not kept her under my protection?”

Greenjade felt his stomach turn.  How could Radagast stand there and listen to him?

“Protection?” the Wizard spat.  “You let them take your own child’s blood, and chained her with them underground during the day, and did who knows what with her in the night, and you call that protection?”

“Not so fast, Wizard,” Gaergath held up one pale hand.  “I did never allow them to lay a hand on her save to take her blood.  Because of me, she is a maiden still.  Because of me, she is not one of us.  I it was who dosed her so that she would not remember her blood being taken, and so that she would not remember the night’s activities.  Those who tried to take more than that which they were allowed, suffered a most horrific fate.  The others did not wish to be subjected to such.  Who but a father would have exhibited such solicitude?  And so I have returned to claim her.  You’ve little choice, Radagast.  If you do not give her up, the entire house will go up in flames, and we will have all of you.  The beasts in the stall as well.  So.  What will it be, Wizard?”

“You are the son of Thuringwethil, are you not?” Radagast said, and Greenjade started. 

“Thuringwethil?”  Gaergath said, and it seemed he started also.  “So you know of her?”

“She was a favorite of Sauron, was she not?” Radagast said.  “Perhaps his consort?  And you are…”

“Her only son,” Gaergath said.  “As for my father…well, it may well have been Sauron.  She did not see fit to discuss the matter with me.  No cozy little family group in a charming rustic cottage were we, nor did we dwell in a fine palace with faithful servants and devoted beasts.  So if it is delightful tales of my boyhood you are seeking, Wizard, I regret I shall have to disappoint you.  May I ask why you take such an interest in my family history?”

Greenjade was wondering the same thing…and then it occurred to him that Radagast was trying to stall him, keep him talking, so that Greenjade might carry out his plan. 

He grabbed his staff and tapped it three times on the floor, his signal to Sméagol and Pepper in the other rooms, one on the east side of the house and the other on the west.  Then he took the candle and held it to the braided rag he had stuffed into the jar to light it. 

“Gaergath!” he called down to the figure below.  Gaergath looked up, with eyes of recognition in the torchlight.  

“Hullo, stranger!” he said.  “We meet again.  How like you our plan?”

“Here is a token to show you how much I like it,” Greenjade said, and hurled the jar down as hard as he could.  It broke on the stone walk at Gaergath’s feet, and the black cloak went up in flames.  “Is that plain enough?”

Greenjade could hear shrieks on either side of the house, and saw flaming figures running out into the night, and others dropped their torches and fled, and before Greenjade’s eyes they turned into black shapes that made a hideous swishing sound, and flew up like startled pheasants, off into the dark cloudy sky.  Gaergath tore off the flaming garment and stomped on it, then turned to run off leaving it  behind.  Greenjade could hear the dogs barking insanely below, and the screams of horses. 

“Come quickly!” he heard Radagast say down below.  “Bring blankets and sheets—now!”

Greenjade snatched the blanket from the bed, and met Pepper and Sméagol at the top of the stairs with blankets also. 

“I got one of ‘em,” Pepper said excitedly, and Greenjade saw he was holding his bow over one shoulder. 

“I gots two,” Sméagol said.  “Burning, burning.  With only one light.”

Downstairs they met Serilinn still holding Eglenbein, who pointed out Cammie lying in a crumpled heap in a corner.

“I think she’s dead,” Serilinn whispered with quivering lips.  Greenjade and Pepper went and peeked down at her, Sméagol following close behind. Radagast came rushing in, along with Mr. and Mrs. Widdicomb, frantically, saying, “They’re gone, come out immediately.  What’s wrong with her?”

“Oh my lass!” screamed Mrs. Widdicomb, and Mr. Widdicomb said, “What ‘ave yer done to ‘er?”

“She has fainted from the fright,” Radagast said.  “Put a blanket over her and elevate her feet.  We will attend to her when we have dealt with the fire, if such there be.” They went out the back door to see some of the piles of twigs and straw in flames.  With the blankets they beat out the flames in a matter of moments. 

“She was afraid of Eglenbein,” Serilinn explained as they returned.  Mrs. Widdicomb was holding her daughter, who was wrapped in the blanket her father had brought out and seemed in a state of shock.  “I did not go out of the hall because I was afraid she would do something foolish if I left her alone, like run outside.”

“That’s my lass,” Radagast said caressing her dark head.  “Let me look at her now,” he said to Mrs. Widdicomb. 

“I want all of yer out o’ here by tomorrer,” Mr. Widdicomb said, his normally jovial face dark and grim as he carried his daughter, who had regained consciousness and was whimpering softly, into an adjoining room.  “I won’t turn yer out in the night, with them critters still out there.  But I don’t want yer in my ‘ouse after this, y’here?  Takin’ in strangers is ever a chancy business, and I’d ort to of ‘ad better sense.”

“They saved us, Dad,” Pepper protested.  “Weren’t fer them, the ‘ouse and the stable would of burnt to the ground, with us and the ‘orses in ‘em, like as not.”

“That’s all well an’ good,” Mr. Widdicomb said, “but them critters is sure to come back tomorrer, an’ I ain’t ‘avin’ any.  Just look at yer sister.  She’ll never be the same, after this.  Jus’ wait and see if she ain’t.”

“We will be going tomorrow,” Radagast said as he cradled Cammie’s head and massaged her temples.  Her pale round eyes did not seem to see what was in front of them.  “Gaergath has gone, and his cloak has burnt.  He cannot change his shape without it, and can do no more than go on foot.  If we start early in the morning, we will lose him entirely.  Tonight, Greenjade and Sméagol and I will sleep in the stable, if that’s all right.”

“Hit’s fine with me,” Mr. Widdicomb said.  “As fer that thing—“ he jerked his head in the direction of Eglenbein—“that goes too.  I don’t want it in me ‘ouse.  Hit’s alive, or I’m a pickled cowcumber.”

“I’ll sleep in the stable too,” Serilinn said.  “I don’t mind.  I’m sorry about Eglenbein.  He had nowhere else to go.  He’s only a baby, and will not hurt the horses.”

“Just keep it out o’ me ‘ouse, that’s all,” Mr. Widdicomb said.  “Declare I ain’t goin’ ter catch a wink last night.  I s’pose Royal was out there?”

“I’ll stay up an’ watch fer ‘em, if they should come back,” Pepper said.  “I wonder if Uncle Royal was the one I got?  I thinks not.”

“I think I seen ‘im,” Mrs. Widdicomb shuddered.  “I glanced out o’ the eastern winder, and it look like ‘im, though I couldn’t swear to it.”

“I think she will be all right now,” Radagast said as Cammie slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes with her fists.  “Put her to bed, and bring her something hot to drink.  Best you should sit with her through the night, Mrs. Widdicomb, and keep a light burning.  And let no one in.”

As Radagast, Greenjade, Sméagol, and Serilinn gathered in the stable loft, they heard the creaking of the loft ladder.  It was Pepper, carrying an armload of blankets and a lantern. 

“I’m sorry fer wot Dad said,” he told them as he climbed into the loft hole.  “Yer can set this light on that box there so it won’t get knocked over and set the stable afire.”

“Thank you, my lad,” Radagast said smiling.  “It’s been quite the night, hasn’t it.”

“Aye, that it ’as,” Pepper said shuddering.  “Never ’ad such a night in me ’ole life, and ’opes I never ’as another such.”

“How is your sister now?” Radagast asked. 

“She’s ‘ad a fright and no mistakin’,” Pepper said soberly.  “She takes fright easy, ‘bout mices and snakes and such.  But them things?  That’s a new thing with ‘er, although we’ve ‘eard some tales ‘bout strange doin’s.”

“Well, I thank you once more for bringing these things to us,” Radagast said.  “It was most kind of you, my lad.  You did well tonight.”

“There’s some jam and meat and bread too, if yer takes ‘ungry,” Pepper said.  “Mum sent it.  And now I’ll be goin.  I know y’uns need yer sleep, if yer goin’ to be leavin’ in the mornin’.  I’ll bring yer some breakfast if Dad won’t allow yer to come back in the ‘ouse.  There’s a little somethin’ I’d like to discuss with yer.  But it can wait ‘ll mornin’.”

“Good night, Pepper,” Serilinn said.  “I hope you sleep well.”

After Pepper had gone in, Sméagol said he would go down into the stable and sleep with Nilde.  Serilinn lay between Radagast and Greenjade, still clutching Eglenbein in her arms.

“Are you all right, dearest?” Greenjade asked her, putting a lock of hair from her face.

She nodded. “Thank you so much for not sending me back to him,” she said tremulously.  “I am forever in your debt.”

“And I in yours,” Greenjade said half smiling.

“I heard him say he was the son of Sauron,” Serilinn said.  “Is it true?”

“Why, I don’t know, my child,” Radagast said.  “He may be, but who can say for sure?”

“If it is so,” Serilinn said just above a whisper, “then...I am Sauron’s granddaughter.”

“And what if you be?” Radagast ran a fingertip along her cheek.  “You are not one whit the less sweet and precious for it.  Beautiful flowers may grow out of compost.”

“They may indeed,” Greenjade said wrapping an arm around her.  “You saved me from an unthinkable fate, when you had the chance to run off and save yourself, and no one would have blamed you for it.  You would not let Cammie run out into their clutches, even though you must have been greatly frightened yourself.  You’ve been put to the test, and have chosen good over evil each time.  And I am the Ringbearer’s stepson, and not even fit to buckle your shoes.  What does it matter who your father, or your grandfather was?  You are ours.”

She sat up between them, looking straight into their faces in the lantern-light.

“I shall go to Mordor with you,” she said, and it seemed they saw another side of her, of which they had been only dimly aware, if at all.  “I shall go and help you clean it up and make a garden of it.  You need me there.  I shall help to undo the filth that my grandfather brought to it.  If you try to make me stay elsewhere, I shall follow you in secret.  I am going to Mordor, and that's that.”

34.     Hunting

“Mum would like fer yer to come in and look in on Cammie,” Pepper said next morning as he came up the loft hole, “if it’s all the same to yer.  Dad’s at work now.  And we saved some breakfast for yer.”

Radagast told the others to wait in the kitchen; he would go see about Cammie.  Serilinn said she wished to go too.  She set the Entling gently on a chair and followed the Wizard upstairs.  Pepper got out the food his mother had saved for them and set it on the table, mostly sausage and eggs and buttered rolls.  Greenjade’s hunger overcame his pride at the moment, and he and Sméagol dug in.  

“They’re still out there, ain’t they,” Pepper said as he watched the others eat. 

 “Aye,” Greenjade said.  “Most of them fled.   And Gaergath is at large.  He may not have his cloak still, but he’s still out there.”

“What are we goin’ to do about ‘em?” Pepper said. 

“I was wondering much the same,” Greenjade said. 

Radagast came in just then.  “Cammie is in a bad way,” he said.  “She had nightmares last night, and she’s talking incoherently on and off,  having fits of crying, and does not seem to know where she is at times.  I’m going to stay with her this morning.  You lads can start loading up the wagon.   Serilinn is singing to her.  I think it may help her.”

He sighed, shaking his head.  Pepper offered him a plate of food.  The Wizard thanked him, saying he would take it later, just put it in the larder for now.  Then went back upstairs.

“So we’re stuck here a while longer.  Sound familiar?” Greenjade said with a glance toward Sméagol.

“I likes it here,” Sméagol said.  “Nice.” 

Greenjade rolled his eyes. 

“Pepper,” he said after a moment, “do you know of a cave nearby?”

“Cave?” Pepper said as he stacked the used dishes in the tub.  “Aye, but it’s sealed up.  Some lads got lost in it, and was never seen again.  So they sealed it up.”

“I think I can guess what happened to them,” Greenjade said grimly.  “Close to here?”

“Southwest o’ ‘ere,” the lad said.  “Me an’ my friends Skip and Othar goes huntin’ down that way betimes.”

“How would you like to go on a hunting trip, my lad…this morning?” Greenjade said smiling.

~*~*~

“Would Brown Master likes us to go without to tell him?” Sméagol asked as Pepper hitched his horse to the Widdicombs’ wagon. 

“He’ll fuss a bit, but he’ll get over it,” Greenjade said.  “Pepper, have you a long length of rope?”

“Hangin’ on the wall right be’ind yer,” Pepper pointed to a rope coiled up on a large peg on the stable wall.  Greenjade took it and tossed it into the wagon.

“Are there any long poles to pry the rocks away?” he asked.

“This shovel might do,” Pepper said, retrieving it from the corner near the door.  “Hit’s iron.  What else?” 

“I’ll go in and fetch it,” Greenjade said.  “Sméagol, come and give me a hand.”

They went back indoors and found the boxes of jars with the braids sticking out of them, left over from the previous night.  These they carried back downstairs with a glance toward the door of Cammie’s room, which fortunately was closed.

Pepper helped them load the jars into the wagon.  Soon they were rolling down the road from whence they had come three days ago. 

“I was wonderin’,” Pepper said as he drove along, “if…well…”

“Wondering what?” Greenjade said.  He sat between Pepper and Sméagol.  Nilde sat in the wagon behind them. 

“If…well…if I might come along with yer,” Pepper said.  “To Mordor, I mean.  Do yer think the Wizard would mind?”

“What??” Greenjade exclaimed, as Sméagol’s mouth fell wide open, showing gappy teeth.

“I’m sick o’ this place,” Pepper said.  “I want ter go an’ ‘elp yer clean up Sauron’s mess, an’ all that.  I wants ter go to Mordor an’…have some adventures, like.   Dad wants me ter work in the mill when I comes of age, and I don’t want to.  ‘Tain’t what I wants ter do.  There’s naught fer me ‘ere.  I wants to go with y’uns to Mordor.  D’yer think ‘e’d mind?”

“At the mill?” Greenjade said.  “But you don’t work there, do you?”

“Not mostly,” Pepper said.  “I works about the house—muckin’ out the stall, weedin’ the garden, choppin’ wood, runnin’ errands, stuff like that.  But I’m tired of it.  They don’t need me ‘ere—Dad ‘as me brothers, and Mum ‘as Cammie…and I, well, I jus’ wants ter get away.  See some o’ the world.  I’ve lived ‘ere all me life, an’ I know there’s a big world out there, an’ I’d like to see some of it.  I was too young to go when the Wars was on. This Mordor, yer say Sauron was ruler there once’t?  Well, I’d like to go an’ see where the battles was, an’ Mount Doom, an’ all the rest of it.  I jus’ wants ter get out an’ see some o’ the world out there.  I won’t be a trouble.  I got me own ‘orse I can take an’ ride be’ind.  I can work, I can ‘unt and fish, catch food fer y’uns.  Do yer think ‘e’d mind?”

“You would have to ask him,” Greenjade said, a trifle dismayed.  Not that he disliked the lad, but he entertained serious doubts about taking him along.  Likely the boy would get homesick eventually, and want to turn back, and likely lose his way, or get his fool self into some trouble or something.  “He is the one in charge.  And somehow I don’t think he will go for it, to be frank.  What would your father say?”

“Oh, ‘e’d prob’ly be glad to be shut of me,” Pepper said a little sullenly.  “’E don’t listen when I tries to talk to ‘im, jus’ says to me, ‘Shut yer ‘ead and pick up that sack and load it up,’ things like that.  I’m sick of it all.”

“But won’t you miss your friends?  And your family, your cousins…haven’t you a sweetheart, or aught like that?”

Pepper’s ears reddened under his cap.  “I had 'un once’t…but we fell out, ‘er an’ me.  Now she likes another, some swell that’s new in the town.  Blossom Benbow, that’s ‘er name.  Mayhap when I’ve done gone me way, she’ll think twice’t on me then.”

“Won’t do much good when you’re so far away,” Greenjade said with a sinking feeling inside, thinking of Nell. 

“Well mayhap she’ll think on wot we once’t ‘ad,” Pepper said hunching over a bit and looking straight ahead of him at the road.  Greenjade tried hard not to smile.  “An’ mayhap she won’t think that swell was so much, struttin’ about like ‘e’s big stuff, and she’d wish fer the one that ‘ad the true ‘eart.”

They were coming now to a wooded area that Greenjade remembered.  He shivered a little as they rode in the green gloom, and he glanced aside at Sméagol, who was looking quite anxious. 

“Arfter last night,” Pepper spoke up, “these ‘ere woods gives me the willies.  Yer sure yer wants ter do this?”

“It’s not a matter of wanting,” Greenjade said.  “It needs to be done.”  He winced at how lofty it sounded even as he spoke, when he himself was wishing they might turn around and go back. 

They drove past the campsite where they had stayed that night, and down the road where Greenjade had turned when he had decided to go back he knew not where, he had just been certain he was not going to Mordor.

Pepper was talking about his family now, Greenjade only half listening.  About how Rodey came over at least once a week to cry and complain to their mum about something-or-other that Ferman had done, or had not done, and every time, Mum would tell her that she just had to take the bitter with the sweet.  She said what Rodey needed was to have a young ‘un, then she’d start getting a new outlook on things. Greenjade was tempted to tell him he shouldn’t be talking of his sister like this to folks he barely knew, but the next moment, he just didn’t feel like saying it.  The sheer ordinariness of it all depressed him.

The road looked different in the daytime, for which he was thankful.  He asked how far it was out, and Pepper said about a mile more and they’d be there. 

And Greenjade found himself shivering once more.

~*~*~

“Cave's that way,” Pepper said, “but there ain't no road leadin' to it.  It's all growed over.  We'll 'ave to get out an' walk through the woods, an' carry our stuff. And it's quite a piece.”

“Wonderful,” Greenjade said looking at the thick expanse of greenery.  “Well, let's go.”

Pepper tied the horse to a tree, out of plain sight of possible passers-by.  Greenjade took the box of jars, Sméagol the shovel, and Pepper the rope and the little metal box with the glowing coal inside, carrying it by its chain. 

There was a path of sorts, very narrow, and they had to dodge a good many brambles and vines and low-hanging branches to get through.  It was eerily quiet, no birds singing, no woodland creatures scrabbling about through the brush or up and down the trees.  

But finally they did reach the cave.  Greenjade shivered just looking at the sealed entrance.  He wondered how far they were from the place where he had encountered them.

“That rock’s much bigger’n I remember,” Pepper said, reaching to touch the huge boulder blocking the cave entrance.  “We carn’t budge that thing.  Looks like we might 'a come out ‘ere on a wild goose chase.”

There were saplings and large trees all about, and evergreens atop of the cave, and a great deal of moss and ferns and dead leaves and pine needles; small wonder the cave had been so hard to find. 

“Perhaps we can all move it,” Greenjade said.  “Look, there’s a chink right there.  Perhaps we can get the shovel in and try it?”

He thought to himself that they must have cut that chink with Serilinn in mind.  To let the air in so she could breath….

“We could try, but I think not,” Pepper said.  Greenjade took the shovel and tried to jam it into the chink. 

“No luck,” he said a moment later.  “Let’s all try and see if we can move it.  Maybe I can pry it then, if we can budge it even a little.”

They all three spent the next few minutes heaving and tugging at the stone.  But it seemed to have grown out of the cave wall.  There was no moving it.

“They’re obviously damned strong,” Greenjade said.  “If we could get the rope around it, perhaps the horse could pull it.  And if we all help…no, I doubt it. Seems we’d have to chip away at the rock, and it would likely take a week just to make a good-sized dent in it.  I don’t suppose you know of any stone-cutters?”

Pepper shook his head.  “We might’s well go back.  They’ll be wonderin’ where we’ve got off to, and Mum ‘ll be none too ‘appy ‘bout it.”

“Somehow I doubt there’s a password that will open it,” Greenjade mused half to himself.  “Damn, I hate going off without finishing what I start.  But I suppose it’s all we can do.”

He told himself it was not his problem, they’d be going soon and those creatures were unlikely to follow, after the previous night. 

And yet, at this moment, Gaergath was down there.  He might be without his cloak, but probably he was not above lifting one from another. 

Greenjade remembered how Serilinn’s face had looked in the lantern light, with the realization that Sauron was likely her grandfather. 

Gaergath would not give up so easily. 

“Perhaps,” Greenjade said, “you could get hold of some silver and melt it, and pour it all over the crack in the rock.  Although it would take a pretty fair amount.  But it may--”

“I hears...something,” Sméagol said suddenly, rising to his feet from where he had been squatting on the ground.  Greenjade turned abruptly and looked in the direction where the sound was coming.  His heart pounded, even as he reminded himself that they could not come out in the daytime.

“Hit’s just a deer, I thinks,” Pepper said. 

“Sounds a bit heavy-footed for that,” Greenjade said.  “You have bears about?”

“Not so many,” Pepper said.  “But likely they’d be sleepin’ this time o’ year.”

“Well, I suppose we’d better be getting back,” Greenjade said.  “Wait, it’s stopped.  What is that noise?”

They could hear a distinct murmur now…it sounded almost like speech.  Nothing a beast would make, surely.  Yet scarcely human either. Pepper’s eyes widened. 

“I’ve ‘eared that sound afore,” he whispered.  “Me an’ Skip and Othar ‘eared it a time or two when we was out ‘untin’ this way.”

After a long moment, they heard it again.  Something mournful about it, something lost, something pleading almost. 

“Spooks,” Sméagol gasped, pale and terrified, looking frantically at his companions. 

“Spooks don’t come out in the daytime, do they?” Greenjade said, hoping against hope that it was true. 

“When last I ‘eared it, ‘twere in the daytime,” Pepper said. 

Nilde growled low in her throat. 

“If it were a ghost, she’d be frightened,” Greenjade said.  “Wouldn’t she?”

They listened for the sound once more, then again they heard something moving in the brush.  Something both heavy-footed and swishing, and making that groan.

Greenjade’s heart bounded.

“I know what that is!” he exclaimed.  “Yet…I’m not sure we should go and find out.”

“Wot then?” Pepper said, looking all about.  “Do I need me bow?  Hit’s right there in the wagon.”

“I think not,” Greenjade said.  “Let’s wait and see if it comes this way.  If we go in its direction, we might frighten it off.”

“Ayyy!” groaned Pepper a moment later.  “Did yer see that?  Looks like…”

“Just as I thought,” Greenjade said.  Sméagol stooped down to reassure Nilde. 

The thing was coming closer…and yes, it was as he thought.  Leaves moving, thick trunk-legs, one in front of the other….

“It’s an Ent,” he whispered.  “A grown one.”

~*~*~

“And Dad said it was just a tale,” Pepper whispered as the three of them crouched in the bushes, watching.  “‘E’d ort to see this now.  ‘E’d think ‘tale,’ all right!”

“I wonder if it’s Eglenbein’s mother,” Greenjade whispered as the thing stopped, perhaps sensing human presence. “You know…I remember the tale now.  They pulled up huge rocks to throw during the Battle of Isengard, remember?  Perhaps that one can help us!  But does it know our language?”

“No idear,” Pepper said, his teeth chattering somewhat.  “Yer goin’ to speak ter it?”

“I think I’ll give it a shot,” Greenjade said.  “If naught else, perhaps we can get Radagast out here.  I dare say he knows.  I didn’t try to persuade him because he is balky about killing things.  But…”

“When ‘e spoke at News Day, ‘e said they ‘ad ter be destroyed,” Pepper said.  “Said it was the only way ter stop ‘em, an’ all.”

“I wish I’d known that before,” Greenjade grumbled.  “Well, I’ll see if I can coax that thing our way.  Maybe it can lift that stone for us.  Wait here.”

The others needed no persuading.  Greenjade ventured out from the brush, pushing away vines and brambles and saplings, stepping carefully so as not to frighten it off, humming softly…somehow he thought the humming might be soothing.

He could see the Ent now.  Yes, it appeared to be of the same sort of tree as Eglenbein—beech, according to Radagast.  It was not nearly so large as the Ents the Wizard had told of—it had a distinctly feminine shape to its bole and arms, or so it seemed. 

“Hullo,” he called softly, feeling more than a bit foolish, and it stopped moving, and stood absolutely still.  He waved his arms, then approached very slowly, putting one foot in front of the other and then stopping, waiting a full minute before putting the other foot forward.  This he repeated until he was about ten feet away from the creature.  He saw some broken branches lying nearby and fetched those up, and held them in front of himself, then stood still, saying, “Hullo?” once more, wondering if Pepper and Sméagol were snickering at him.  After what seemed an eternity, the tree-thing turned very slowly and he was able to see something resembling a face.

He waved and fluttered the fallen branches and swayed a bit, and he did hear a snicker behind him.  Nevertheless he continued his Ent-dance, feeling slightly ridiculous, and the creature was looking at him with golden-brown eyes full of depth and sorrow, until he finally stopped and dropped the branches. 

“Hullo,” he called for the third time.  “Erm...I’m sorry to disturb you, and I do not even know if you speak my language, but…we’ve a bit of a problem.  And…I think…well, have you lost a child, by any chance?  Because we have a little one that we found in these woods….”

It occurred to him how Serilinn would feel on losing her Entling.  Perhaps they should forget the whole thing, and turn back….

But then...Gaergath.

“Please,” he called to it, “we need your help.  Over here.  Stone.  Move.  Please.”

He gesticulated wildly toward the cave.  It continued to stand looking at him. 

Then he dropped to his knees, picked up the branches and held them together, and did what he desperately hoped was a convincing imitation of Eglenbein’s cry.  And then he heard that sound he had heard previous.

He stood up once more, saying, “Please help.  Stone.  Big.  Please help us.  We will return your little one.  But please help us now.”

And the Entwife began moving in his direction. 

35. Unchained

Pepper and Sméagol stood with their mouths and eyes nearly as wide open as the cave-door when the she-Ent moved the boulder from it and shoved it aside, causing the ground to vibrate.  Then she demurely stood aside waiting for the others.

“We thank you from the bottom of our hearts, Madam,” Greenjade said with a smile.  “And when we finish what we must do here, we will fetch and bring your offspring to you, as promised.”

He sighed to himself, thinking he would rather face Gaergath again than tell Serilinn she must give up Eglenbein.  But he had a feeling a mere vampire would be a far less formidable obstacle than an Entwife if he should break his promise to her.

“Phew!” Pepper said fanning himself with his cap as the breath of the cave reached them. 

“They’re in there,” Greenjade said.  “I remember that smell.  I'll not forget it, if I live to be a thousand.”

“Not so bad,” Sméagol said, “as orcs in tunnel.”

“Well, take the end of this rope,” Greenjade said, tossing it to Pepper, “and tie it to that tree there.  If we lose our way in the cave, this way we’ll be able to follow it back to the tree.  Got the fire ready?”

“Aye,” Pepper said lifting the metal box with the glowing coal out.  Greenjade and Sméagol lit their lanterns from it.  Then all three took the burlap bags containing the jars and hung them from their shoulders, having attached a small bit of rope to them for that purpose. 

Greenjade took the end of the rope and looked back at the others to say “Are we ready?”  They were looking grim and tight-lipped now, especially Pepper.  Greenjade felt that perhaps he ought to make a little speech on the nature of courage and duty, but found that his mind had gone blank on the subject.  So he merely jerked his head in the direction of the cave entrance, and stepped inside, putting a hand to his pouch of silver as if to assure himself it was there. 

And then he suddenly stopped, and looked back at them once more, and after a dramatic pause spoke two words.

“For Serilinn.”

And they smiled, and followed him in.

~*~*~

“Look,” Sméagol pointed, “boxes.”

There were boxes, indeed, long wooden ones, lying side by side in the lantern-light.  They stood on stone slabs on the damp cave floor.  Greenjade felt shudders shake him all over once more. 

“Grave boxes,” Pepper said, barely above a whisper.  “I didn’t know this was a graveyard.  I wish’t I hadn’t a’ come.  Let’s go back now?”

“Wait,” Greenjade said on a hunch.  Screwing up his courage, he stepped over to one of the boxes and touched the lid, then raised it about an inch.  What he saw nearly made him lose his breakfast.

“I reckon Uncle Royal is in one of ‘em,” Pepper said through chattering teeth, “if we didn’t get ‘im last night.  But I’m afeared to look.”

He made Serilinn sleep here, thought Greenjade.  Chained.

“’Ere’s the jug o’home-brew,” Pepper said, passing it to Sméagol who handed it to Greenjade.  Greenjade uncorked the jug and splashed the contents onto the grave-boxes and in between them.  Then he took the jars from his burlap bag, nodding to the others to tell them to do likewise.  They lit the braided wicks from their lanterns, then backed slowly away from the chamber still holding to the rope, and stood in the tunnel, awaiting Greenjade’s order.

“Now,” he said, and they all hurled their jars into the chamber.  When the boxes went up in flames, they lit more jars, and threw those in, then as shrieks began to fill the chamber and resonate from the cave walls, Greenjade said, “Go!” not even wanting, as he had visualized himself doing, to stay and watch the creatures burn.  The screams were absolutely horrible, and he hoped against hope that he would not hear them in his dreams for even one night. 

Yet as he stood at the mouth of the cave, he could not resist turning about and shouting behind him, “Enjoy your stay in the Black Dungeon, Gaergath!” 

And he turned to see the Ent-mother waiting, and nodded to her to ask her to move the stone back into place.

Nilde was nowhere to be seen, but Greenjade told Smeagol not to fret about it; likely she had gone back to the house.

“Well...now for the hard part,” he said as they started for home.

~*~*~

Cammie had finally gone to sleep.  Serilinn had sung all the songs she knew to her, including a funny one, and at last the girl had smiled at her, and fallen asleep holding to her mother’s hand, while the light fragrance of the boiled leaves lingered in the air. 

“I would recommend a change of scenery for Cammie,” Radagast said to Mrs. Widdicomb. “Have you any friends or relations who might take her in for, say, about a week?”

“There’s me sister Aletha,” Mrs. Widdicomb said thoughtfully stroking the plump hand that lay in hers.  “Her an’ her man got a farm about five, six mile from ‘ere.”

“That sounds just right,” the Wizard said.  “Have they any children at home?”

“Three lasses, and one lad.  Oldest ‘un about eighteen.  ‘Bout a year ahead of our Rodey.”

“Does Cammie get on with them?”

“Aye, she’s right fond of Sissy and Lina.  Their little lad can be a right stinker, though.”

“Have Pepper drive her out tomorrow morning.  If she could spend but one day, that would make a great difference.”

“I dare say one day is all I could spare ‘er.  I’ll call Pepper in now.”

“Stay.  I’ll call him.”

He came back in a few minutes later, huffing a bit. 

“He’s not out there,” he exclaimed.  “Greenjade and Sméagol are gone also.  They did not tell me they were going anywhere.”

Serilinn had gone into the kitchen to check on Eglenbein.  Mrs. Widdicomb did not look much flustered.

“Reckon they went into town,” she said.  “They must of wanted to buy somethin’, or they’d a walked, I’d think.  Hit’s early in the day fer it, but I’m bettin’ Pepper wanted to show ‘em The Rusty Bucket.”

“The hoofprints were pointed in the opposite direction,” Radagast said, his face darkening.  “I have an idea what they’re up to.  Trust them for it.”

“They’re back,” Serilinn said anxiously from the doorway. “I hear the wagon coming.  They are not going to catch it, are they?”

~*~*~

Greenjade hated himself.  He stood by with Serilinn, who was weeping bitterly, and kept his arm around her as Radagast talked to the Entwife, who was holding her child.  He could speak Entish, as it turned out. 

“They been at it a awful long time, seems like,” Pepper murmured, at one point.  “I’m gittin’ ‘ungry, meself.”

“Me too,” Sméagol said. 

Greenjade said nothing, and tears stood in his eyes also.

When finally Radagast returned to them, he said, “I invited her to come to Mordor.  We could do with some Ents over there, I’m sure.  She said she may consider it.”  He reached out and brushed a tear from Serilinn’s cheek with a fingertip.  “And she asked me to convey to you her deepest thanks...and she says he will always be called Eglenbein.”

Back at the house, Mr. Widdicomb apologized for his behavior the previous night, and said they could stay for as long as they liked.  The Travelers ended up staying at the Widdicombs’ for another week, for the exploit made Greenjade’s cold worse, and Sméagol caught it also.  Pepper took Cammie to her aunt’s, but she came back after three days, for she had been homesick.  The visit did her good, however, and she was quite like herself…and then some, Greenjade thought, but he kept his opinion to himself. 

He and Sméagol were put in the room together.  Pepper caught a bit of cold also, and he pretended it was much worse than it was, since the only time he ever got a break from work was when he was sick, and the poor lad was healthy as a horse.  So he spent a good bit of time in the room with Greenjade and Sméagol during the day, and he quite enjoyed himself, even if Greenjade didn't. 

Radagast was quite vexed with Greenjade, and said little of the feat, other than that he’d had no business taking Pepper out there with him, what if he’d gotten the lad killed?  Greenjade was hurt by the Wizard’s displeasure, though not really surprised at it.  His cold added amply to his misery, and he felt that Radagast could have done more to ease it than he did, and was holding out in order to punish him.  Punish him!  Even though he had saved the entire town and countryside, and now they would be free of Gaergath for all time…And then, there was Serilinn.  She seemed to have little to say to him at the moment.  If only he had not promised that she-Ent to bring her little one to her…would she have still moved the stone even if he hadn’t?  He would never know, and now he had lost his little princess.  Seemed every time he loved something, he lost it.  Was that how it was destined to be for him?   

Darkfin was laughing at him once more.

His head pounded, and his nose was so stuffy, he could barely breathe.  And before him he saw those grave-boxes, burning, burning…and the screams…He could not stay in this room any more.  And so he slipped down the stairs and out into the night…

…and there he was. 

No.  It could not be….

We meet again, Greenjade.  You looked surprised.  You thought you killed me?

How did you escape?

Silly chap.  I don’t sleep in the cave.  Disgusting place, disgusting crowd.  There’s an old abandoned farmhouse out there, that’s where I take my repose.  Sorry, I should have informed you, but you were a bit hasty in delivering your little present to me the other night.  Good thing I had a spare cloak, what?  I think it’s better than the other one, in fact.  I save it for special occasions.  Much more stylish.  What’s this?  I don’t smell silver on you.  Surely you didn’t forget?

How stupid of him to go out without the silver coins…but wait.  There was his staff, leaning against the wagon.  It was tipped with silver. 

You will never have her, Greenjade said.  She is forever lost to you.  You had better just go.

You’re not going to kill me then? You’ve tried twice already.  What is it they say—third time is the charm?  You might succeed this time.

Perhaps I will, then. He dove for the staff, then aimed it at Gaergath.

Oh, wait…there’s something I neglected to tell you.  Before you kill me, I think I should inform you a little something in regard to my daughter.  You love her enough to kill for her.  But do you love her enough NOT to kill for her?  If I were to tell you that if you kill me, then she will begin to remember?  The drugs I gave her to make her forget will leave her system, little by little.  She will remember.  She will recall the blood being taken from her, the things that happened in the night.  Is that what you want for her?  To make her remember?

You are lying.

Perhaps.  Then again, perhaps not.  You have no way to know, have you?  So.  Kill me if you must.  But you have been warned.  Is this what you truly want for her?

Lying bastard.

Ah, Greenjade, Greenjade.  Your attempts to be good amuse me.  You should have been one of us.  You would have been good at that.  But when you attempt to be the virtuous hero, you are little more than a buffoon.  It is not too late, you know.  Come with me.  We could have good times, you and I.  We could conquer the world.  That’s what you once wanted, was it not?  You wished to rule.  You wanted to succeed my father…if my father he be, which is entirely possible.  Well, you could have that wish. 

You are not Gaergath.  You are Morgoth, pretending, and not even doing it well.  And you will never have me.  When will you learn?

I am not Gaergath, am I?  So, if I am Morgoth, I can walk into that house, and take your prize from you, just like that?  Well then, what am I waiting for? 

And he turned and flew up to the window, without changing his shape, wrenched off the shutter, and landed in the room….

And Greenjade shrieked in horror….

~*~*~

Someone was shaking him, calling his name.

He looked up, shaking all over, and saw Radagast standing over him, his face anxious and kindly in the dim lamplight.  And Serilinn coming up behind him in her nightgown.

“I saw him,” Greenjade gasped, as the Wizard sat on the bed beside him and laid an arm about his shoulders.  “Gaergath.  He was…down there, in the garden…”

“You were dreaming, Greenjade,” Radagast said.  “I am sorry, my lad.  I did not mix the powder into your night-draft, for fear it would aggravate the symptoms of your cold.  I will go down and make you a cup now.  Sit here and rest, and…”  He glanced over at Sméagol, who was still asleep, and then at Serilinn.  “Stay with him, my lass…will you do that?”

She nodded, and he went out.  Greenjade looked pitifully at her saying, “Are you still angry with me?”

And she stood there looking at him for a moment, then she went and sat beside him on the bed, then cuddled up with him with her head on his shoulder.

And it seemed the entire room was filled with light, and she had sung every star into the room to hang from the rafters and rejoice in the unchained reality and victory of her song.

36. Lotus and Daisies

Pepper informed the others that the whole town was hailing Greenjade and Sméagol and himself as heroes now.  Folks were coming over with bundles of flowers and gifts of food and wine, and when told that the “heroes” were ill and could not come down, they left the things with Mrs. Widdicomb. 

Greenjade found it irritating in the extreme. 

“If not for that she-Ent,” he said to Radagast when the Wizard chided him for his attitude, “we wouldn’t have been able to do a bloody thing.  And they don’t even seem to believe in her existence, and would likely hurl stones at her if they were ever to come upon her, or let their dogs piddle on her.  I simply cannot get away from here soon enough.”

“Perhaps someday you will learn a little more tolerance for human weakness,” Radagast said with a little smile.

“I’m plenty tolerant of it, so long as it is my own,” Greenjade retorted, and the Wizard laughed. 

Sméagol enjoyed the adulation, to Greenjade’s annoyance.  He would go to the window, when he heard the folks singing beneath, and wave and smile hugely.  When one of the young women threw a rose to him, he nearly fell out of the window trying to catch it. 

Greenjade managed to finish Cinnamon, and Serilinn made a little dress for her. He had been afraid she would not care about the doll after losing Eglenbein, yet as he presented the completed product to her, she smiled at him with an unmistakable love and gratitude as she took it in her arms, and a feeling filled him that he recognized as joy.  And he felt fully human, for the first time in his life.  Had the people still been outside the window singing, he might have gone and smiled and waved to them also.

Mrs. Widdicomb made a dress for Serilinn, saying that if she were going to visit the King, she shouldn’t have to do it in lad’s clothes.  Serilinn was thrilled beyond measure, especially since Mrs. Widdicomb had made her some underthings to go with it. 

As for the locket, Radagast told her she had better keep it until they could get her one of her own.  She did not forget the grey curl, and she put it back into the locket, saying she wished she’d had a lock of Meleth’s hair to keep.

“She had wavy golden hair,” Serilinn sighed.  “Like honey pouring out of a hive made of amber and—and…”

“Wheat,” suggested Radagast.

“Topaz,” Greenjade said.  Sméagol looked ready to add something, then seemed to think better of it.

“Aye,” Serilinn nodded.  “I wish mine were like it.”

“I’m sure her hair was very lovely,” Radagast said caressing her raven locks, “but so is yours.  I would not have it other than it is.”

Greenjade nodded his agreement, and he could actually hear Sméagol doing the same.

“Mattie’s comin’ over today with that cousin o’ hers on her dad’s side,” Mr. Widdicomb said later that morning, as Serilinn was in her room trying on her new dress, with help from Cammie.  “Wait’ll yer see ‘er, she’s even prettier ’n Seri, an’ that’s a sayin’ plenty.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Greenjade said turning away so Mr. Widdicomb would not see his eyes roll up. 

When he got a look at the cousin, he restrained a guffaw with an effort.  She might have been nice to look at by common standards, but she was not even in the same neighborhood with Serilinn.  Cammie proposed a tea-party in the garden, and Greenjade watched the four girls from his window, smiling like a doting parent, and wishing he could understand all they were saying.  Serilinn was as an exquisite lotus blossom next to three slightly scraggly daisies.  Not that daisies didn’t have their charms, but next to a lotus…. He could only pity them, with their commonness and ordinariness cast up into such plain relief.  Then again, perhaps he should not.  They had never known what Serilinn had endured, and never would.  Her strength and beauty of character had been born much out of what she had been through, which would have destroyed those other lasses, more than likely.  Who would wish their daughters to go through such an ordeal? 

And obviously there were folks who actually did prefer daisies. 

Yet Greenjade had to admit he was greatly pleased to watch Serilinn enjoying the delights of ordinariness for a time.  If she did end up going to Mordor with them, those delights were apt to be far and few between for her.

Cammie and Mattie took her to visit with the cousin, and when they returned, Serilinn ran to the others saying, “Look at this!”

She waved a beaded purse, a gift from one of the townsfolk, and opened it to show some very colorful feathers, gleaming and iridescent in the sunlight. 

“Ella’s grandmother has birds,” she said, “of which I have never seen the like.  They came from the South, she said.  She keeps them in a cage almost as big as her house, all full of little trees and flowers in painted pots.  One has a tail he can spread out like a huge fan.  Think of the lovely things I can make with these!”

“Perhaps there is more to ‘common’ folk than meets the eye, what?” Radagast said with a sidelong glance at Greenjade, as she ran to her room to put away the feathers and change back into her boys’ clothes, saying she didn’t wish to muss her new dress. 

Greenjade shrugged.

The Widdicombs gave quite a big dinner on the night before the Travelers’ departure.  It seemed to Greenjade that they had been at the Widdicombs’ forever.

He guessed he would have to do without ever visiting The Rusty Bucket, although Pepper invited him and Sméagol that evening to slip away and go celebrate.  Greenjade was momentarily tempted, but the thought of being clapped on the back and fussed over as a “hero” by a pack of drunks lacked appeal for him.  And he did not want to incur any more displeasure from Radagast, so he rather brusquely declined.  Pepper looked greatly disappointed.  It seemed The Rusty Bucket was all the pleasure he had in life.

~*~*~

The wagon was loaded. Six boxes of canned goods, a new blanket and pillow for Serilinn, and four bags of money, of which the Mayor had taken up a collection, along with the bags of oats for Brego and another of jerked venison for Nilde.  Cammie and Mattie stood with Serilinn, weeping and embracing her from time to time.  Already she had made them butterflies from the gorgeous feathers she had collected, and they wore them in their hair now. 

Pepper sidled up to Greenjade saying, “Remember what I said last week?  Dad said I could go with yer if I must…though he said if I did, don’t bother comin’ back.  Will it be all right?”

“Pepper,” Radagast said, startling the lad by coming behind him, Rusco perched on his shoulder, “are you sure you truly want to come?”

“Aye, I’m sure,” Pepper said.  “This place can go hang, and ever’thing in it.”

But it seemed to Greenjade he didn’t sound as sure as he had the other day. 

“Very well then,” Radagast said at last, to Greenjade’s dismay, although Sméagol looked quite happy.  He and Pepper had become quite chummy in the course of the week.  “Have you your things ready?”

“All ready to go,” Pepper said.  “They’re on the back stoop.  I didn’t take much, just me blanket and piller and one change of clothes.  An’ all me money, such as ‘tis.  And me bow and arrers.”

Just then Mrs. Widdicomb called out, “Pepper lad, looks like yer got a visitor.  But since’t yer leavin’ us, reckon I better just send ‘er on ‘er way, wot?”

“Visitor?” Pepper blinked, and Greenjade grinned to himself.  “Yer don’t mean…”

A buxom lass stepped forward, arrayed in an embroidered blouse that did naught to disguise her obvious charms, a full skirt that displayed shapely ankles, and a wide-brimmed straw hat trimmed with huge yellow silk roses. Her plump face, while not beautiful in the usual sense, was certainly vivid, with its sparkling brown eyes and very red cheeks.

“Blossom?” Pepper gasped.  “Wot yer doin’ ‘ere?”

“Rodey told me yer was leavin’,” Blossom Benbow said matching the tips of her plump fingers, which she held just below her chin.  “An’ I come to tell yer I’m sorry fer them things I said to yer when…well…”  Her lips trembled a little and tears sprang into her eyes.

“So wot ‘appened to yer feller?” Pepper said.  “That ‘un yer been goin’ round the town makin’ a show of yerself with fer the past three weeks?”

“Oh, ‘im,” Blossom waved him away with one dimpled hand.  “’E’s me cousin Ferrell.  ‘E was right stuck on me fer a while ‘ere, but ‘e cut out when ‘e ‘eard about them…wot yer call ‘em.  Said ‘e ‘ad no business ‘ere no more, an ‘e asked me to come with ‘im, but I said I weren’t goin’ away to live amongst folks I don’t know, and leave me mum an’ dad behind.  I’m all they got.  An’ I don’t like ‘im so much anyways, I was jus’ tryin’ to make yer jealous.  Yer the one fer me, Pepper.  Yer strong an’ brave, like Ferrell ain’t, and I’m sorry fer wot I said, truly.  Are yer really goin’?”

Pepper looked at Greenjade, then at Radagast, then at Sméagol, as if to ask them all what he should do.  Radagast nodded.

“We’re ready to go, my lad,” he said.  “So, you had better say your farewells.  The road awaits us.”

“Erm…” Pepper hedged, looking at Blossom once more.  She was fumbling in her purse for her handkerchief, and fetched up a rather large one, drenched liberally with scent.  “I…well…”

“Let’s go,” Radagast insisted, as he climbed into the driver’s seat.  The wagon had been painted a more pleasing shade of brown, and the cover had been nicely fixed by Mrs. Widdicomb--who had patched it from the inside, so it would not look so glaring.  Some of the cousins had made a garland of flowers to drape over it, as well as a wreath to put around Brego's neck.  He wore it with remarkable dignity.  “Come, my lad.  Your horse is saddled up now, I see.  So, let’s be off, shall we?”

Greenjade grinned bigger.  Sméagol watched Pepper anxiously.  Serilinn kissed Cammie and Mattie on the cheek, embraced them one last time, then skipped over to the wagon, where Greenjade helped her climb up into the seat.

“Would it be…all right if I…change me mind?” Pepper said, without taking his eyes from Blossom.

“Are you sure of that?” Radagast said. 

“Aye, I’m sure,” Pepper said, and Blossom smiled hugely, showing a little gap between her two front teeth.  “I’m surer ’n sure.” 

“Well then, farewell, and blessings to you both,” the Wizard said as he slapped the reins on Brego, and set out down the road, which was lined with townsfolk that had come bright and early to see them off.  All waved hugely save for Pepper and Blossom, who did not take their eyes from each other in the dazzling autumn sunlight.   

Part III:  New Horizons

37. On the Road

“My friends, we are approaching the River Gwathló, or Greyflood if you like,” Radagast said about two weeks after crossing the Baranduin.  “We shall put up in Tharbad.”

“So how long will it take us to get to Minas Tirith?” Greenjade asked.  

“Likely less that a month, if we stay our course,” the Wizard said.  “We will stop at Edoras, which is straight on our way.  I have not met the current King of Rohan, and would like to.  Ah, we’ve much history before us.  I can remember when Tharbad was a flourishing city, and when it fell to ruin, and was hit by a devastating plague, and a great flood.  I believe it has been partially rebuilt, however, and the bridge reconstructed.”

Greenjade recalled the village where they had stopped to buy bread, just before crossing the Baranduin.  Radagast and Sméagol had gone into the bakery, while Nilde waited outside, and Greenjade and Serilinn had wandered about the marketplace.  Serilinn had never been to market before, and she stopped at each stall gazing in wonder at the wares, touching some of them with a fingertip.  Her delight in this very mundane activity was contagious, and Greenjade smiled at her back as he followed her about.  As she stood at the toy stall, three men had looked at her askance as she held Cinnamon close, the fattest one saying, “Nice dolly yer got there, me lad,” then looked sidelong at an older man beside him, evidently his father. 

“Oh, I am a lass,” she said reaching behind her and picking up her long braid from beneath her cloak to show him.  The three men smirked at each other and the fat one elbowed the thin one.  Greenjade, standing nearby looking at knives with carved handles, noticed this exchange and scowled. 

“And yer mum sends yer out in lad’s clothes?” the elder one said.  “Wot’s she thinkin’ with that, eh?”

Serilinn looked a little stricken then, and Greenjade stepped forward saying, “Pardon me, have you a problem with my daughter’s attire?”

“Eh, she’s yern then?” the elder man said drawing back a bit at Greenjade’s fierce expression. 

“Pretty lass she is,” the thin one said.  Serilinn smiled.

“My daddy made my doll,” she said sweetly.  “See, she looks just like me.  And she wears a dress, although not a very good one.  Perhaps we will meet a seamstress who can make her a gown more worthy of her.”

“Have you a problem with her clothing?” Greenjade insisted, raising his eyebrows at both men.

“I’m thinkin’ me dad was wonderin’ why such a pretty lass should be dressed as a lad, is all,” said the fat one with a defensive quirk of his head. 

“And that is his business?” Greenjade said. 

“A man’s got a right ter wonder,” the fat man said taking his father’s arm. 

“I had a live entling,” Serilinn put in quickly.  “But we found its mum, and I had to give it up.  We could not take it to Mordor anyway.  ‘Tis no place for an Ent-child.”

The three men stared at her.  Greenjade realized she was trying to be disarming in order to prevent an altercation. 

“Yer don’t say,” the fat man said, looking completely baffled.  Greenjade snorted.   “Well…come, dad.  Them fishes ain’t goin’ ter buy theirselves.”

And they moved on, the elder man tipping his cap to Serilinn.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked Greenjade.

“Nay, not a thing,” Greenjade said.  “Does anything here take your fancy?”

“I see naught so satisfactory as Cinnamon,” she said, very softly so the vendor wouldn’t hear. Her delight in the marketplace seemed to have diminished, even when Radagast came from the bakery with four loaves and a bag of sugar buns.

“Now you know why I can’t abide commoners,” Greenjade said after telling him of the incident.  “Thickheaded jackasses.  They got her upset for naught.”

“You picked a rather poor example,” Radagast said, shaking his head with a rueful smile.  “And she handled it very well.  I dare say you are making far too much of it.”

“They seemed typical enough to me,” Greenjade said.  “I’m thankful we’re about to leave the place.  They can have it.”

Yet as they drove through the region of Cardolan, with scarcely a habitation in sight for nearly a hundred miles, Greenjade would have been glad to see any people at all, commoners or otherwise.  It was largely grassland, with few trees as far as they could see. Radagast said there had been some farms planted in the past few years, but they were nowhere to be seen.  The stillness was strange, but for the crows, of which there were a great many.  Still, he said, if you were to climb a high tower, you might see wheatfields and pastures.  

Radagast told much of the history of each land they would pass.  Greenjade was astounded at his knowledge, yet wished, for Serilinn’s sake, that Sauron did not figure in so much of the history.  Sméagol seemed disconcerted by it also, by the fact that he had lived through so much that had transpired, and yet knew naught of it, living in his cave obsessed with a small golden object.  It was as though he had slept through a war, or had lived in a great house in one room oblivious to what was going on in all the other rooms about him, convinced of the reality of that one room which in fact had no true existence.

Serilinn, more interested in the future than in the past, talked a good deal about what they would do in Mordor.  First off, they would change its name.  Her choice was “Calador,” the Land of Light.  Then they would have to build a city.  Perhaps they could build it on top of where Sauron’s tower had stood.  Then there would have to be a palace, where guests could come and have wonderful times.  There would be splendid gardens and pools, and perhaps  Ents, and mumakil…

“Mumakil are rather huge and ferocious,” Radagast said with a smile.  “I doubt you would want one in your back yard.”

“But you could tame it,” Serilinn said.  “You are the ‘tamer of beasts’, are you not?”

“But none of the beasts were so big as that,” Radagast said. 

“They must have other animals in Harad also,” Serilinn said.

“I have not been in Harad,” Radagast said.  “But aye, there are splendid beasts there.  And birds.  And snakes and insects…some of which you would likely not want in your home.  And trees and flowers the like of which you have likely never seen.”

“Perhaps we could trade for some,” Serilinn said.  “Do you suppose I could be an ambassador someday?”

“I don’t see why not,” Radagast smiled.  Greenjade grinned over his shoulder at her. 

“Perhaps some hobbits would come,” Serilinn said.  “I shall send an invitation to Sam and Merry and Pippin, and they shall be our guests, and they will marvel over the changes we shall work in Mordor.  Sam will not recognize it, I am sure.  We will tear down the Black Gate and set up a beautiful golden one instead.  It will have eagles on it…do you suppose the Great Eagles will come and see us too?  They did not go West, did they?”

“Nay, not even a great Eagle could fly that far,” Radagast said.  “I do not know where they are now.  However, I am sure they could be persuaded to pay us a visit.”

“That would be magnificent!” she said beaming at Sméagol, not noticing how fidgety he was getting throughout this conversation.  “But are you sure Mount Doom will never erupt again?” 

“Absolutely,” Radagast said.  “Unless…unless perhaps, the land should fall to evil once more.  But I do not see that it will happen in this age.”

“How would it fall to evil?” Serilinn frowned.  

“If folk were to forgot their history, and take things for granted, and grow complacent and thoughtless and uncaring, and be swayed by those desiring to control them,” Radagast said soberly.  “One thinks it can never happen.  And that is one thing that one should never think.  Why do you think Gaergath had so many of his kind?  Because he told them what they wished to hear.  Promised them powers they had not, gave them what they thought they wanted.  I suppose, judging from the things he told me, that they were down and out, outcast from polite society whether by their own actions or perhaps because of circumstances beyond their control, and had nowhere else to turn, saw naught but dead ends everywhere they went.  He took base advantage of that.  I can only wonder just how he and the others are paying the price now.”

In the inn where they put up for the night, Radagast wrote a letter to King Eomer informing him that they would be coming to visit. 

“I’ve never been in a city before,” Serilinn said the next morning as they took their breakfast in the inn’s dining-room.  “This one is very pretty, although it looks a bit unfinished.  I wonder what sort of city we will build in Calador.  It should be on a river, so that we can have trade.  Are there rivers in Calador?”

“There are four which run into the Sea of Nurnen, I believe,” Radagast said.  “In truth, my dear, I have not been to Mordor.  I—“

“Shh!” Serilinn jumped halfway from her chair, looking all about at the other inhabitants of the room.  “It’s Calador now.  We must not speak that old name.”

“Calador, of course,” Radagast said with a sheepish grin, which spread to Greenjade and Sméagol also.

“You have not been…there before?” Greenjade said in some surprise.

“Nay.  It is the only land in Middle-earth I have not seen, nor ever wished to see,” Radagast said.  “I dare say poor Sméagol is the only one of us who has been there.”

“Bad place,” Sméagol spat, growing a bit red.  “Horrible, filthy…we hates it.  Filthy orcs hurts us.  No, precious, we not goes there again.  We—“

He stopped as Serilinn laid her hand over his wrist.

“You are talking like Gollum,” she said gently.  “There is no more Gollum, and no more Mordor, and no more Darkfin.  We will make it so beautiful, no one will remember what it once was.  There will be no orcs…or if there are, we will tame them.  I am sure Radagast can do so?”

She looked up at the Wizard with lifted eyebrows.

“I do not think there are any orcs,” he said gravely, “or at least, not be enough of them to be a menace.”

“I suppose the dead ones are in the same place with Gaergath,” she said, poking at the remains of her breakfast as though she had suddenly lost her appetite for it.  “I do not pity him.  But for him, my mother would not have turned evil and she might have loved me and Meleth would be alive.  I wonder if Duathris is sitting there getting bitten, and wishing she had never met him, and decided to be good.”

Greenjade was a little shocked.  Although he had wasted no sympathy on either Gaergath or Duathris, it was disconcerting to hear this from Serilinn.

“On the other hand, but for him, you might not have been born,” Radagast said…at which Greenjade was more shocked still.  “I know it is easy to wonder why certain things are permitted.  However, we must stop to consider how it would be if nothing bad were allowed.”

“I just hope he is sorry for being so wicked,” Serilinn said after a long moment.

“Remember who his parents were,” Radagast suggested. 

“Think who her parents were,” Greenjade pointed out. 

“Ah, but she had Meleth,” Radagast said.

Serilinn nodded, winking hard.  “I wish I could remember more things,” she said.  “There are so many things I cannot remember.  I wish I could, even if they were bad things.”

Radagast caressed her hair.  “I understand, little one.  Although perhaps if you could remember them, you would wish to forget them.  There is much I wish I might forget.  For example, the Plague…well over a thousand years ago, but I remember it as if it were merely ten.  People died in droves, men, women, children, infants, animals…I saw many die, gasping for breath, writhing, choking on their own vomit, moaning in pain, calling for their mothers, their children…. I was able to save some, but so few, so very few.  It spread over the entire continent, and weakened it so that Sauron’s forces could prevail all the more.  And then there were the wars, and the floods…So many things I wish I could forget.  I can only hope that when I finally sail to my true home, these memories will greatly diminish, if not disappear completely.”

“I wish I could forget my previous life entirely,” Greenjade said.  “I envy you, my love.  You were only a victim.  I was a perpetrator.  There is naught worse than guilt.  And there is no getting rid of it entirely, however much one may try to make amends.”

“I know all about that,” Radagast said.

“You do?” Serilinn’s eyes widened.

“Aye.  To allow a perpetrator to do evil is scarcely less than doing the deed oneself.  But enough of this for a while.  It is too depressing a subject to be discussing over breakfast.  We have the city and the road ahead of us, and a lovely autumn day to contemplate.  Shall we be going?”

There were many people about, some hustling by quickly, others sauntering leisurely here and there, and a youth sat on the bank below the bridge fishing.  A man sat playing a musical instrument on a street corner.  He had a cup beside him.  The playing was not very good, yet a woman passing by dropped a coin in the cup.  A man coming up behind her did the same.

“He is blind, I think,” Radagast said. 

Serilinn climbed over him and jumped off the wagon before he could stop it, rushed over and tossed several coins into the man’s cup.  Then came running back, grinning.  Sméagol, not to be outdone, jumped down from the wagon and dropped some coppers into the cup.  Then he and Serilinn looked expectantly at Greenjade, who groaned a little, then laughed, and went to plop in a coin.  Radagast threw him one, and he put that in too.

The blind man smiled, and spoke, but Greenjade did not understand.

~*~*~

“Look at those birds,” Radagast commented as they drove over the causeway that spanned the marshy land.  Rusco, who had been perched atop the wagon, flew down to sit on the Wizard’s shoulder.

Some of the birds were huge, standing on very long legs in the water, rising with great white wings in the cloudy late afternoon sunlight. Others were small, perching in trees sticking out of the grassy water.  Bitterns, loons, herons, ducks, grebes, blackbirds, rails, coots, gallinules…. Radagast named them all off, telling of their mating and nesting habits, identifying their calls and cries without looking.

“They frighten me a little,” Serilinn said.  She sat close to Greenjade now, behind Sméagol and the Wizard, shivering.  Greenjade kept his arm about her.  “I do not know why.”

“You associate wings with darkness,” Radagast said looking at her over the shoulder not occupied by the finch.  “But these are not cloaked creatures; they are simply what they appear to be.  Like Rusco here.”  He smiled and flicked a finger at the bird.  “The most they can do to us is make a mess of our canvas.  However splendid they may be in flight, they will do what all birds must.”

“You weren’t afraid of Ella’s grandmother’s birds, were you?” Greenjade said.  Then it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps she was starting to remember things…just as Gaergath had said in his dream.

“Those were in a very big cage in the yard,” she said.  “I did not go into it.”

“Sing a song,” Radagast said.  “Then perhaps they will seem less overwhelming.  What of Meleth’s cradle-song?”

When no sound was forthcoming from Serilinn, Greenjade sighed, and said, “Very well then, I’ll sing.  Let me see…”

From the highest of high cliffs I do dive
over the reefs and the gloryfalls
into the icy hair of the clouds
watching my children play in the towering waves
riding on the backs of whales
I hear the music of the sea and the stars
my brothers and sisters embrace me as their own
my mother shouts from the mountains of ice
my father laughs from the hills of fire
and I swoop down with the wings of the wind
breathing the mist of the promontory gardens
alone, alone, I do soar alone
who will fly with me
to that grey and blistered land
to sow the seeds and plant the trees
that will burn with the light of new days
and drop blossoms of white wisdom
for all to gather to themselves?

He glanced down at Serilinn, who was no longer crouched and trembling, but looking up at him with eyes of awestruck beauty.

“Look,” Radagast said.  Greenjade saw a large and very beautiful white bird with a long neck on the road just ahead of them.  The Wizard spoke to the horse to stop him. 

“A swan?” Greenjade said. 

Radagast nodded.  All were silent for a moment, then the swan took wing and flew in a wide circle about the wagon, then in a wider circle, and another swan rose from the water and flew alongside of it.  Soon they were joined by more and more swans, a regular flock of them. 

“They are from Swanfleet,” Radagast said.  “To the north of us.  I’ve never seen swans do that before.” 

And they sat and watched the swans circling with their outspread snowy wings, in their silent and ineffable care, the morning sunlight etching them in burning silver against the hurtful blueness above.

38. Swans and Crows

Cinnamon was acquiring quite a wardrobe.  Mrs. Widdicomb had gifted Serilinn with a little sewing-basket of her own, complete with scissors, a pincushion full of pins and needles, several spools of thread, a pretty china thimble, and a bag of scraps and remnants.  Serilinn had begun making doll clothes to pass the time on the long stretches of road, and Cinnamon now had three dresses, a set of underthings and a nightgown, some handkerchiefs, and a little cloak.  Greenjade found the sewing peaceful to watch.  He had resumed some of his whittling as well, and was now carving a swan.  He kept at it until it was his turn to drive.

Suddenly from behind a thicket, two men appeared.  Black-haired and shaggy-bearded, swarthy and roughly clad, they bore long knives, one of them snatching the reins from Greenjade’s hands.  Brego reared, narrowly missing the head of one of the assailants with his hooves.  Rusco swooped down at the man, and he waved a dirty hand to flap the little bird away, whereupon Rusco flew at him from behind and pecked the back of his neck.  He yelped and uttered something that sounded like profanity.  The other man held his knife at Radagast, pointing to the wagon and speaking in words Greenjade did not understand.

“If you fellows are hungry, we will share our bounty with you,” the Wizard said over the horse’s whinnying.  At that one of the men laughed. 

“Serilinn, can you see my money-bag back there?” Greenjade said, making the gesture of jabbing his staff into the ground and winking at her.  She nodded, found the staff and handed it to him.  Feeling profoundly grateful for her quick-wittedness, he brought the staff down as hard as he could on the wrist of the man who was holding the knife on Radagast.  Should have used it on his head, Greenjade thought…but he did not want to kill a living man in front of Serilinn.  The thief howled in pain, dropping his knife, and seized his broken wrist.

Then suddenly both robbers found themselves being severely pecked by a pair of swans that appeared seemingly out of nowhere.  The men fled into the nearby woods, although not before wounding one of the birds.  Sméagol picked up the fallen knife.  It was quite large, the handle made of black horn, nicely carved and polished.

“Now Sméagol has sword,” he said inserting it into his belt. 

“Are you all right, dear?” Greenjade and Serilinn asked each other simultaneously.  Then laughed a little until they noticed the injured swan.

Radagast sat on the ground and took it onto his lap to examine the cut, which was at the base of its neck, its mate hovering anxiously nearby.  He spoke gently to the wounded bird, stroking its great white wings, then asked Serilinn if he might borrow her sewing-kit.  She threaded a large needle for him. 

“Please sing Meleth’s cradle-song,” Radagast said.  “This will hurt her a good deal, I fear.  ‘Twould be better if I were to sing and you were to sew, since I know the bird-language better, but I could scarcely expect a little one to take on such a job, although I have observed that you sew well.”

“If you are sure it would hurt her less, then I will do it,” Serilinn said.  “But do you know Meleth’s song?  I can sing and sew at the same time, but I would sew better if I were not singing, I think.”

“Well that you’ve had plenty of practice,” Greenjade said.  Sméagol nodded.

So Serilinn stitched the cut, while Radagast sang in his soothing bass voice a wordless song of comfort and courage, so hypnotic that it made Greenjade feel a trifle sleepy and dreamy himself.  The swan made no sound, only occasionally fluttering her wings.  Her mate caressed her neck from time to time with his bill.

“Nice bird,” Sméagol commented softly from time to time.

“Thank you for looking out for us,” Serilinn said to the swans when she had finished the suturing, and Radagast applied a bit of balm to the stitched wound.  “You were very brave.  I’m sorry those wicked men hurt you, and that I had to hurt you also.”

“I had better keep my staff handy,” Greenjade said, feeling foolish that he had been so unprepared.  The staff and the knife he had bought at the market before crossing the Baranduin were all he had in the way of weapons.  

“Dunlendings,” Radagast grunted when they were on their way once more.  “They allied themselves with Saruman, you might recall.  They have ever been a rough bunch, overall.  They have settled down somewhat in the past few years, but there are a few ruffians out there yet, as we have just seen.  We must be on our guard, although it seems we are being well protected.”

He looked up to see the swans winging high above, and smiled, raising his staff to them.

“Do you know the Men of Dunharrow, who eventually became the Army of the Dead, cursed by Isildur, but then aiding Aragorn at Pelargir against the invasion of Umbar, were originally from this region?” he remarked.  

Serilinn had abandoned her sewing, sitting still with her hands folded in her lap.  The act of stitching a swan’s wound seemed to have rendered the making of doll clothes trivial and unimportant to her, Greenjade noted with some distress.  He had hoped she might recover some of her stolen childhood along the journey.  However, her fear of the winged creatures seemed gone. 

“The Stoors settled in Dunland as well,” Radagast said after they had ridden for a good while.  “Did you know that, Sméagol?  You are of the Stoors, are you not?  Although I think you must be of mixed blood, since the original Stoors had facial hair, and you have none.  Yes, they were originally in the valleys of the Anduin, but many migrated to Dunland, where the land near Swanfleet was similar.  They picked up some of the language of the Dunlendings, which accounts for some of the peculiarities in their speech.  There may even be some Stoors in Dunland still, although I doubt we shall meet any of them.  Did you not know this at all, Sméagol?”

Sméagol shook his head.  A profound sadness seemed to settle over him.

“I has no home,” he said.  “Never had home, never.”

“You must have lived somewhere,” Greenjade pointed out. 

“Can’t remember,” Sméagol said, tears welling up in his eyes.  “Can’t remember any home, house, family, mother, father, brother, sister, friend, country, homeland…nothing.  Everything gone.  Nasty ring took it all.”

“We are all homeless now, Sméagol,” Radagast said laying a hand on Sméagol’s shoulder.  “All we have now is a hope of building a new one of our own.  Do not feel all alone.  We are all as you now.”

The tears spilled over and Sméagol hunched over, sobbing.  Serilinn climbed over to the back seat and squeezed up beside him, put both arms around his neck and pressed her head against his shoulder.  

“I’ve no home and I cannot remember things either, Sméagol,” Serilinn said.  Greenjade expected her to start telling him all about the lovely home they would make in Mordor—or Calador, but she did not.  Instead she began to weep also. 

Greenjade, swallowing hard, glanced aside at the Wizard, who was looking rather woeful at having inadvertently made them sad, and slapped the reins on the horse to make him go a bit faster.  The sooner they left this place, the better.

~*~*~

“We are nearing the Gap of Rohan,” Radagast announced about a week and a half later.  “About ten more miles, I think.”

The land was becoming more rugged, and a mountain range could be seen in the distance to their left, misty and mysterious. 

“That is where Isengard is?” Serilinn asked.  She had resumed her sewing, although with less alacrity than before the attack.  She had succeeded, about a week before, in drawing Rusco to her.  He would come and perch on her finger once in a while, and she would twitter to him until he pecked her on the lips.  It made Sméagol laugh.  Greenjade felt a trifle jealous, but said nothing.

“Nay, that is about fifty miles away,” Radagast said.  “We shall not see it.”

“Not even from a distance?” Serilinn said, disappointed.  “I would like to see the tower.”

“We may be able to see it from the ford,” the Wizard said.  “But it is too far out of our way, and I wish us to get to Edoras as soon as possible, without exhausting Brego.”

“The countryside is very beautiful,” she said.  “But I am glad we are almost out of Dunland.  There is a sourness about it, although I am glad we did not see any more bad men.  And I do not like crows.”

“I am glad also,” Radagast agreed heartily.  “However, I fear it will be colder in the mountains.  It is warmer in the South, but the mountain air will send forth a chill.  And do not be too critical of the crows, my dear.  They may not be so fair and noble as swans, but they may surprise us yet.”

“Looks like our Swans have gone,” Greenjade noted, looking up at the sky.

“Aye, I sent them back,” Radagast said.  “They have a nest, and young ones, and should be returning to them.  We will be all right without them now.”

“I hope you’re right,” Greenjade said dubiously.

“You did well, my lad,” Radagast told him.  “I am glad you did not kill them.  You fended them off well without unnecessary bloodshed, and I am proud of you.”

“Then you are the one who summoned the Swans?” Serilinn said to Radagast.  “I knew it!”

“The air smells so fresh here,” she said a couple of hours later.  They were well in sight of the mountains.  The calls of birds was peculiarly resonant and rich in the distance, the breeze cool and fragrant with the smell of high pines and water.  Leaves drifted and fluttered all about onto the shady road, scarlet and gold and copper and russet brown.  “This is the prettiest place I ever saw.  I hope…Calador…is like it.”

“I dare say it will be years before it even comes close,” Radagast said. 

“But this was where Saruman was…or close, was it not?” Serilinn said.

“Close, yes.  And now there is an aura of wholesomeness where once was poison.  But…the land we now know as Calador was under the Dark Lord’s dominion for thousands of years.  It will not become pure overnight.  I dare say it is far better than it was, or we would not be allowed in at all.  But we must not expect too much too soon.”

It was near nightfall when they reached the Gap, the setting sun turning the mountain mist to scarlet, and Radagast said they would have to find shelter here.  The Isen River lay before them, behaving a bit boisterously as they crossed the wide ford, but they managed, and Radagast drew a deep breath.

“Welcome to Rohan,” he said.   

~*~*~

It had been a very long time since they had taken a day’s respite from traveling, since Radagast did not want to risk being waylaid.  But he thought they should take one now, here in this peaceful and transcendently beautiful place in the Misty Mountains. 

“We are about a hundred miles from Edoras,” he said.  “I think we can get there in about three or four days.  So we will take our time here, and enjoy this loveliness, and take some moments to contemplate the glory of creation and the splendour of our Creator, and sing his praise.”

They camped beneath an overhang near the river.  Sméagol got out his fishing gear once more, and since he had a knife now of which he was mightily proud (even though it was Greenjade who had made it possible for him to acquire it), Greenjade challenged him to a knife throwing contest.  Radagast let Brego loose to crop some tall grass nearby, then threw a stick for Nilde to chase, and Rusco chased it also, pecking at the dog’s neck when she caught the stick.  Serilinn wished to climb the cliffside, and Radagast stood below telling her not to go too high up.  Greenjade stopped his knife throwing, feeling a bit disgruntled at first that she did not want to watch the match, then worried about her being up so high, and wondering at Radagast for allowing her to climb.  Then he told himself that he ought to order her to come down, since she was his charge after all. 

“There are good footholds,” Radagast said as Greenjade came over to where he stood.  “I think she will be all right.  She is not a fool.”

“She’s awfully high up,” Greenjade said.  Sméagol put his knife back into his belt and came over.  “What if she becomes frightened and cannot come down?”

“We don’t likes high places,” Sméagol quavered. 

“I see Orthanc!” Serilinn called down where she stood on a ledge.  “Come up and see!  It’s partly hidden in the mist, but I can see the top.”

When no one was responding, she called once more, “Come up and see!”

“No, thank you,” Radagast said.  “I’ve seen all of Orthanc I ever care to see.  I think you had better come down now, my lass.”

“There are doves on top,” she called.  “Greenjade, will you come up?”

“Coming,” he heard himself say.  Ignoring Radagast’s look, he began climbing up the rockface.  He had never climbed a high place before in his mortal life.  Yet he wanted to see Orthanc.  He was tired of missing all the good places.

“Fool,” Radagast muttered to Sméagol.  “Watch him fall and break a leg, and we’ll be stuck in one place once more.  Yes, we have the wagon now, at least.”

Greenjade saw Serilinn looking anxiously down at him, as though she too thought he had no better sense than to slip and fall.  Well, he was coming up…higher…and….

Soon he was on the ledge with her. 

“There it is,” she said softly, pointing. 

All he could see was mist.

“I guess my eyes aren’t as good as yours,” he said after a moment, disappointed. 

“We’re almost as high as it,” she said.  “I don’t see how Gandalf jumped on the Eagle’s back.  I would have been afraid to.”

“You are not the only one,” he said. 

The view was nothing less than breathtaking.  He had seen mountains before, of course, but never from this height.  And this was the first time he had been alone with Serilinn in weeks. 

“Let’s sit down for a moment,” he said.  There were falcons soaring above and below, and they could look down on the tops of very tall trees.  Firs, dark and lofty, and larches all gold and glowing in the sunlit mist, gum trees in golden and scarlet and crimson, beeches in coppery red.  Promontories jutted out, coated in lichens and ferns and small blue and red and yellow flowers.  And far below, the River, blue and green and silver, glittering in hasty splendor.  A little lizard scuttled up a sapling nearby, and Greenjade caught it and examined it in wonder.  She put a finger out and stroked it hesitantly.  Then he carefully put it back on the sapling.

“I truly do not know what I would have done,” he said after a long moment, “if you were not with us.  I don’t think I could have borne this journey much longer.  I was to the breaking point, before finding you.  Madness was just around the corner for me.”

“Truly?” she said just above a whisper.

“Truly,” he nodded.  “I had a bad experience just before then, and…well, I do not care to tell of it.  I did not think I could bear one more moment with those two.  And…”

“But why?  I think they are lovely.”

“It was not their fault.  It was…well, I don’t know how to explain it.  I just could not be alone, and it was driving me mad.  But you saved me from all that.  You bring out the best in me.  So what I would like to ask you is…how would you like to be my daughter?  I wish to adopt you as my own.”

“You do?” she gasped.  He nodded. 

“I would be your father in reality.  I don’t know how it’s done…but perhaps when we get to the King, he can tell us.  That is, if you wish it.  If you do not…”

“Of course I wish it!” she exclaimed.  “I could call you Ada Greenjade?”

“If you like,” he said with a joyous little laugh.  “Or you could call me dad, or Greenjade, whatever you pleased.”

“And I would be…Serilinn Baggins?” She was fairly beaming.  

“Well, I had not thought to use the name Baggins,” he said with a chuckle.  “‘Greenjade Baggins’…it has rather a strange ring to it.  Perhaps I should be just Greenjade, and you just Serilinn.  I am scarcely worthy of the name.”

“Perhaps we can become worthy someday,” she said. 

“Perhaps,” he said absently, then glanced down below.  Radagast was still looking up at them, although Sméagol had resumed playing with Nilde.  Greenjade waved.

“I suppose we should go down now,” he said.  He stood, then reached a hand down to help her stand. 

“Look!” she said.  “The mist has cleared from Orthanc now.  Can you see it…Ada Greenjade?”

He squinted into the distance, and saw something dark and looming from the mist, although it was too tiny and far away to be impressive.  He shrugged.  

“Wonderful,” he said, and he was not referring to Orthanc.

~*~*~

They decided they would not tell the others until they came to Minas Tirith, where they would surprise everyone.  Radagast surely suspected something was afoot, but he said nothing, just looked at them quizzically from time to time, and sometimes they would look at each other and giggle like youthful sweethearts.

Just before reaching Edoras, they put up at an inn in a nearby village, so that they might bathe and have their clothing laundered.  Serilinn was overjoyed at the chance to dress as a lass once more. 

“Your daughter is very beautiful,” the laundress told Greenjade.  “And she has the most charming manners I have ever seen.”

He beamed at the woman and gave her an extra large tip.

“Everyone here has yellow hair,” Serilinn noted as they were preparing to depart next morning.  “Do you think the King will like us?  We are like crows amongst…yellow birds.”

Radagast laughed.  Then looked at Greenjade, who was, if not princely, at least clean and neat, for the first time in months, his hair and beard trimmed, and Sméagol, who was scrubbed within an inch of his life.  And Nilde, clean and combed.  Then down at himself. 

Even Cinnamon was in her best dress--white, like Serilinn's.

“I think we all look splendid, and he will love us,” the Wizard said.  “So.  Shall we be off?”

39. House of Joy

“Is that Edoras?” Serilinn whispered.  “On yonder hill?”

Greenjade squinted.  It looked just a hill to him.

“Aye, and it has spread out a great deal,” Radagast said.  “Last time I saw it, it had a tall wall of timber built about the base of the hill, and the fortress was all contained within.  Now I can see that wall has been torn down, and new dwellings have been constructed all about the foot of the hill.  And I do not remember those farms being there.  And…” He turned and grinned.  “I even saw some black horses.  Sauron’s orcs stole a great many of them during raids.”

“I scarcely can believe that I will be meeting the people in those tales,” Serilinn said with wide eyes.  “To think they are real, and we will see them before our very eyes.”

Radagast chuckled.  Greenjade was getting a trifle nervous about meeting the King.  He wished he had some more presentable clothing.  Sméagol seemed very ill at ease.  Obviously he was much more at home among common folk. 

“He does know we are coming?” Greenjade said.

“I wrote him that we would be there,” Radagast said.  “And I told him all.”

It truly was an actual city, like Tharbad, and more complete, with streets and houses and various buildings spread about, taverns and smithies and inns and mills.  And a marketplace. 

“Let us find the road that leads to Meduseld,” the Wizard said.  “Ah, here comes someone now; I’ll ask him.”

A grey-bearded man with a walking-stick was coming up the road on foot, limping somewhat.  Radagast called to him.

“Oho!  Kind sir!  Can you tell us the road to Meduseld?”

The man stopped, blinking, and then came up closer.  “How’s that?” he said.  “You will have to speak up, good master; I am a mite deaf, I fear.”

Radagast repeated the question.  The old man squinted in the direction of the hill. 

“Turn to your left when you reach the sign of The Swimming Princess,” he said pointing in back of him.  “Then turn to your right on the first road ye come to.  That’ll take ye to the Royal Road.  There should be a sign.  Ye may have to check your horse at the gate, for ‘tisn’t likely he’ll want to take that road uphill.  He’s a fine-looking beast, by the way.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” Radagast said.  “I certainly would not wish to put him to more trouble than we must.”

“So you’re going to the King, eh?” The old man leaned on his staff and looked sidelong at the wagon. 

“Aye, he’s expecting us,” Radagast said with a rather cheeky grin.  “That’s why we brought our very best wagon, instead of our everyday one.”

“Eh? Oh, by the way,” the old man said before the Wizard could repeat his statement, dropping his voice to a whisper, “there’s a House of Joy along the way, just so ye know.  But mind, I’m not the one that told ye.  My wife would swat me if she was to find out.”

“Of course not,” Radagast said a trifle coolly.  Greenjade raised his eyebrows, then grinned to himself. “Well, I thank you for your help, good sir.  Give my regards to your wife.”

“A house of joy?” Serilinn said as they started down the road once more.  “That sounds lovely.  Will we see it?”

“I should hope not,” Radagast said with a warning look at Greenjade. 

“’The Swimming Princess’,” Serilinn giggled.  “I wrote down the names of all the inns we passed, and the taverns in the towns.  There was ‘The Toothless Wolf’ and ‘The Murky Vixen’ and--”

“’The Leaping Balrog Inn’,” Sméagol said. 

“‘The Happy Dragon’ and ‘The Checkered Goblin’…”

“’The Orc’s Grandmother’,” Greenjade said.

“We must think of one for the inn we’ll build in Calador,” Serilinn said.  “I think ‘The House of Joy’ would be excellent, but unfortunately it is already taken.”

Greenjade thought he would burst with the effort to keep back his laughter.  Sméagol seemed in agreement with Serilinn.

“I think we are almost here,” Radagast said, in obvious relief as they turned on the road at the foot of the hill.

They stopped in the marketplace to buy flowers for the Queen.  As Radagast gave the flower-vendor the money, Greenjade glanced aside at Sméagol once more, at the knife thrust through his belt.  That should rightfully be mine, he thought, not for the first time.  Would have asked for it back, if not for the fact that I’d already bought one.  Wonder if he would consider a trade….

He had come close to asking more than once, but did not like to do so with Serilinn and Radagast listening.  He had a feeling they would be displeased and disappointed in him if he tried to deprive Sméagol of his prized possession.

Still, it should have been his.  It was a handsome thing, likely stolen from some aristocratic chap along the way.  And it was really too big for Sméagol.  Already he had a scratch or two on his wrist where he had brushed against its tip…and all had seen what happened when Sméagol became overly attached to an object….

But what was this?  Sméagol was now taking it from his belt…and handing it to Greenjade, holding it by the blade. 

“This…it should be yours,” he said softly.  “You takes it.  Yes?”

Greenjade stared at it in absolute astonishment.  Had the fellow heard his thoughts, or what? 

He was even more astounded and disbelieving at what he himself said next. 

“You keep it, Sméagol.  I have one already.”

Sméagol shook his head.  “You takes it from bad mans.  Sméagol did nothing.  It should be yours.”

Radagast and Serilinn were listening now.  Greenjade felt, rather than saw, Radagast nodding to him to take the knife.

Greenjade put out his hand and took it.  “Thank you, Sméagol,” he said, then unfastened the sheathed knife from his own belt.  “Here.  You should have something to protect yourself, if it comes to that.”

Sméagol took it, smiling.

~*~*~

The King was magnificent in robes of scarlet and dark green and gold.  He was well over six feet tall, making Greenjade feel a trifle insignificant by comparison.  His mane of fair hair flowed over his shoulders, his beard and eyebrows a few shades darker with a tinge of red, and his dark eyes sparkled with interest as he listened to their tales.  A large black dog lay at his feet.

His wife Lothiriel sat next to him, tall also, wearing a small golden circlet on her dark hair that cascaded in luxuriant waves down her back.  Her skin was pale and her grey eyes were rimmed faintly with red, as if she had been weeping recently.  Her gown was of brown velvet, with gold embroidery about the round neckline and sleeves.  The brown color suited her well. 

Radagast was telling of their journey, seated in a comfortable chair, a goblet of wine in one hand, and the others sat about also, as a fire blazed in a huge fireplace.  Sméagol sat nearby, eating from a bowl of grapes, with Nilde at his feet casting glances toward the black dog.  Greenjade, only half listening, looked all around at the high columns carved with horses’ heads, the gorgeous banners in red and green and gold hanging from the walls, the tapestries depicting battle scenes.  Serilinn, holding Cinnamon, looked alternately at the Queen and at the nurse who held their infant son.  Greenjade had already noted that the Queen was not looking at her child.

“We live simply here,” Éomer had explained earlier.  “I have no wish to exploit the people so that we might live in luxury while they go hungry and unshod.  We have but few servants, and our dishes are plain overall, though well seasoned.  I hope you all will not mind it much.”

“This kind of simplicity I can live with,” Greenjade remarked.  Radagast chuckled.

“I too,” he said.  “After weeks of sleeping in a wagon or on the ground, this all seems as the lap of luxury.  And I do not like fancy foods.  Simple dishes, without meat, suit me best.”

A luncheon was brought out, consisting of a delicious meat stew with potatoes and onions and leeks, some raw vegetables, and thick slices of toasted bread and butter and melted cheese sprinkled with dried herbs and pepper.  Greenjade tried not to wolf down the stew too ravenously.  Sméagol made no such effort, and when the serving-maid offered seconds, then thirds, he nodded eagerly and held out his wooden bowl, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.   

The King discussed with Radagast the projects he had worked on to develop the city, and Serilinn paid attention, Greenjade noted with a smile.  He spoke of the new healing-house, the orphanage, the school, the inn, the sporting arena, the farming community, the irrigation projects, the training facilities…and from time to time he would glance at the Queen, who spoke barely a word, but sat there with her hands folded in her lap, until finally the baby cried; then she rose and followed the nurse into another room.

“She has been in a funk ever since Elfwine’s birth, three months ago,” Éomer said dropping his voice to just above a whisper.  “I do not know what is wrong with her.  The child is healthy, and his birth was a great joy to me.  I thought she was homesick, and offered to send her on a visit to her father, but she refused.  She does not like to travel, particularly over such rugged terrain.  Then I invited her brothers to come up, and they came last month and stayed for two weeks, but it did not seem to cheer her much.  My sister Éowyn usually comes up for a visit at this time, but she is pregnant now, so she could not make it this year.  Perhaps her mother’s death three years ago may have something to do with it.  But I can only wonder why it should have taken so long to affect her this way.”

Radagast put a hand to his beard.  “Perhaps the cause is physical?” 

“I thought it could be, and I called out several healers.  She had a difficult birthing, and they said it was unlikely she would have more children.  She seems to be recovering her strength, but not her spirits.  Sometimes I think it is my fault; I have been so preoccupied with building up the city and so forth, I have neglected her.  Yet when I try to spend time with her and the little one, it is a frustrating experience, for she seems to be trying to push me away.  It is true our marriage was arranged, yet she was much amenable to it, and we considered it a love match.  I am at my wits’ end as to what to do.”

“What of the King of Gondor?” Radagast said.  “He it is who has the greatest reputation of a healer, has he not?”

“I shall contact him if all else fails,” Éomer said.  “I did not wish to bother him when he has so much going on himself, what with rebuilding his own city and his Mordor project.  There have been threats to the country from the South, since mines were discovered in it, and I may soon find it necessary to send troops myself to help.”

“I surely doubt he would hesitate to come to your aid, if you were to call on him.”

“I shall, if it comes to that.”

Greenjade had to wonder, himself, what the Queen had to be sad about.  With a handsome, virile husband who obviously cared deeply for her, a beautiful and healthy little son, a splendid home in a flourishing country that had abode peacefully for several years, brothers who were concerned enough to drop everything to come and see her…. He wondered if she were some spoiled princess who was used to far more reeking splendor, and the King’s desire to embrace simplicity did not appeal to her.  

“I think she does not like my dress,” Serilinn spoke up.  The King looked at her.  Then smiled a little.

“I do not think your dress is in any way responsible for her mood, little one,” he said.  “And I like it very much.  The white suits you perfectly.”

“She was looking at it rather…distastefully,” Serilinn said.  Radagast looked askance at her, but she did not notice.  “But I can see no spots on it.  Or perhaps she thinks I am too old for dolls.  Or perhaps she knows the truth about me, and does not wish me here.”

“I have told her all,” Éomer said, “and she expressed no objections to your coming.  And I think she very much liked the roses.”

“Does she?  I feared perhaps I had chosen too many colors.  I could scarcely make up my mind between them.”

The King chuckled.  “I do not think you need worry about displeasing her, my lass.  We should see now about accommodating the lot of you.  I believe my page put your things in the back room already.  And although we do live simply here, I do not think you will find the guest quarters lacking in comfort.  The Queen took great exception to our former practice of putting our visitors up in trees, so we have had to do away with that old custom.  Even though it has a notable precedent amongst the Elven folk.”

Serilinn stared at him open-mouthed, until Radagast laughed.

“I believe he is joking, my love,” he said.  She giggled then.  Greenjade grinned a little. 

“I think it would be a nice idea in the summertime,” she said.  “I hope we can grow mallorn trees in Calador.  Did Radagast tell you about our project for Mordor?”

“Much, and he said your enthusiasm about it was contagious,” the King said, “and he is far more excited about it than he once was.  He had considered it a disagreeable chore that he must take on in order to earn passage back to his true home.  But now he has a genuine interest in the project for its own sake, mainly because of you.”

“He never told me so!”  Serilinn turned and looked at the Wizard, who was looking a trifle sheepish.

“Well, it is so,” Radagast said.  “You were as a refreshing sweet breeze into a musty corner.  Éomer, what know you of Mordor now?”

“You should call him ‘Your Highness’!” Serilinn gasped.  The King laughed.

“Nay, little one, he has the privilege of using my given name,” he said.  “But, let us go and see to your sleeping quarters.”

Lothiriel came in later, followed by the nurse, glancing at Serilinn’s dress once more.  Then she touched the material in the sleeve.

“I think we must do something about this,” she said.  Serilinn looked askance at the sleeve, then up at the Queen. 

“You are going to visit the King of Gondor, are you not?” Lothiriel said.  “You will need something more appropriate.  Why not come with me, and we shall see if we can make you something suitable for presentation in court?”

“But…but I like this dress,” Serilinn said.  “A kind lady made it for me.”

The Queen nodded.  “It is very nice for ordinary doings, but don’t you wish to have something a bit finer?  And it is a bit light for winter, which is coming in soon.  You should have a velvet gown, trimmed with lace and satin.  How would you like that?”

“I would love it!” Serilinn said, fairly irradiated all through.  “But wouldn’t it take long to make?”

“Not so long,” Lothiriel said.  “I’m sure my best seamstress can turn out one in a day or two.  I have some velvet left over from this one, which is rather new.  Perhaps there would be enough for you to have one very like it.”

“Your gown is splendid, my lady,” Serilinn said, “and you look very beautiful in it.  But I had to wear brown for so long, I do not like it for myself.  I would have something in gay colors.  I have never had a dress in gay colors before.”

Lothiriel gave a startled little laugh.  “But gay colors are not proper for a young lady, my dear.”

“I don’t wish to be proper,” Serilinn said, and Greenjade turned to hide a smile as the Queen gasped.  “I wish to make merry.  I have never made merry before, and I want to see what it is like.  I dare say we will not be able to make merry often in Calador.”

“Then let it be done,” the King interjected.  “Propriety is for adults.  And you may have ample opportunity to make merry soon, for the Harvest Festival is coming up in two weeks.  It is a custom we have had not very long, yet everyone makes very merry indeed, and we could do with a bit of merriment in this house, for that matter.  It has been sad for far too long.”

“But we will not be here two weeks,” Serilinn said looking at Radagast with crestfallen eyes.

“That is correct, I fear,” the Wizard said.  “We wish to get to Minas Tirith soon, and had planned to abide here for only a day or two, much as I would like to see more of the City.”

“You must stay longer then,” Éomer said.  “I wish to show you our projects in much greater detail, so that you might get more ideas for your own.  You cannot do all that in just ‘a day or two’, now can you?”

“No, I suppose not,” Radagast admitted.  “Yet I would not impose on your hospitality.”

“Not a bit of it,” Éomer said with a wave of his hand.  “It has been dull since my brothers-in-law left.  I greatly enjoy having guests, and am much taken with your Elf-lass.  I’ve a feeling she could be excellent company, seeing as how she has already succeeded in making Lothiriel smile, if only a little.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Serilinn exclaimed.  “Perhaps we could see The House of Joy first?  I do not yet know what that is, but it sounds so very intriguing.  Perhaps we could have one in Calador first thing.”

Greenjade could not keep back the laughter this time.  He roared.  After a moment, Radagast laughed also, then Éomer.  Sméagol merely looked bewildered, the Queen perplexed.  Then Sméagol laughed also, not because he understood, but merely because the sound was so contagious, and then Lothiriel laughed also, most heartily, while Serilinn looked at everyone with puzzled eyes, likely thinking everyone had gone around the bend….

And the Travelers ended up staying for two months.

Greenjade learned to use sword, bow, and spear, and also to ride and wrestle and swim—there being a hot spring in the mountains which formed a pool that stayed warm even in cool weather.  It was rigorous training, but Greenjade took to it quickly, and found himself greatly enjoying it, along with the camaraderie he knew with the King and his friends and guardsmen, who could go from grim to jolly in an astonishingly small amount of time.  Sméagol and Serilinn learned to ride also, and Sméagol learned some of the gentler arts of gardening, and when the others heard that fishing was his specialty, he was taken fishing quite often, and he imparted to the others the art of making flies.  And was paid for the fishes he brought in. 

Serilinn had school lessons each day, acquiring more needle skills and some experience in caring for little Elfwine, with whom she became much enamored quickly, so that she slept in the nursery, and according to the nurse, his first smile was at her.  Lothiriel herself made her gown for her, of red velvet trimmed with white lace and gold braid which she took from an old gown of her own, along with a satin sash embroidered with gold, and so Serilinn had her first dress in gay colors.  Then came a gown of gold, richly embroidered in black, and a white one trimmed in silver.  And underthings, and a pretty nightgown, and new shoes of soft black leather.  

She was taught to dance, also, and Lothiriel and her tutor both taught her many new songs, so she was able to flesh out her skimpy repertoire.  Lothiriel even taught her to play a little on the harp.  She seemed quite in her element, and at the Harvest Festival, she made merry indeed.

Greenjade and Sméagol were treated to new clothes as well.  They were given swords, with hilts formed in the shape of horses’ heads.

“I do not think it will be necessary to call upon King Elessar, after all,” Éomer said to Radagast when the Travelers had been there a little over three weeks.  “Your remedies seem to be working splendidly.  I have not seen Lothiriel so happy in over a year.  I can only hope it lasts.  I may have to keep you all here for all time.”

Greenjade glanced over at Serilinn, who was holding the baby and singing softly to him.  He had a feeling it would be harder for her to part with him than with Eglenbein.

And somehow he did not like the way Lothiriel was looking at her just then.

A few weeks later, Éomer received a letter from Aragorn, who told the Travelers he had a surprise for them, and they must come immediately.  But what the surprise was, he did not say. 

41. Memories and Mortality

As the first day of their trip wore on, Greenjade had already decided that, with one exception, he hated Elves.

Serilinn had curled up for a nap in the wagon, and Sméagol seemed inclined to do likewise, although he continued to sit behind the driver’s seat with Radagast and Nilde, his head drooping.  The three Elves rode about twenty feet ahead.  Greenjade, who had the reins now, glared at their backs, thinking of when they had stopped to lunch a while ago.  Serilinn’s infatuation had been fairly obvious as she listened to their stories, of which they had a considerable wealth.  Even though she comported herself in her usual unconsciously ladylike manner without excess giggling or simpering,  there was most definitely a difference.  And no doubt the Elves were well aware of it.  Taking advantage, going out of their way to try to impress her, fanning the flames for the stoking of their own egos. 

One of the twins—Greenjade still couldn’t keep them straight--was clad in a deep crimson trimmed with gold; the other was in royal blue, and the rich colors became them to devastating effect.  Legolas wore a muted green with brown leggings and dark boots.  They never seemed to get a smudge of dirt on them, never mussed their hair, and although the weather was rather cool they wore no cloaks, exposing their throats and ears to the bracing autumn wind in delight.  All three had elaborately wrought quivers full of arrows slung across their backs, along with their bows and long knives, their swords thrust into their gorgeously gemmed belts.  They were vain, thought Greenjade; they were dandified, they liked to show off, and what was it with all the hair?  From the back, they could be taken for women.   He had seen Legolas touch the bole of a tree rather as one might stroke a horse’s muzzle, and Greenjade had fully expected him to embrace it.  

The journey would take about four days, Legolas said, if they stayed their course.  Take your time, Greenjade wanted to tell him at the beginning, but now he had changed his mind.  The sooner they got where they were going, the better. 

His one comfort was that Sméagol seemed to share his aversion.  Greenjade could have sworn he heard the fellow growl when the male Elves taught Serilinn a song in their native tongue—Sindarin?  Radagast translated for the others, but Greenjade didn’t pay much attention. 

“She most assuredly loves you best, Greenjade,” the Wizard said after a time, and Greenjade nearly jumped out of the wagon seat.  “It has been a time since she has been with her own folk, however.”

Greenjade half expected to get a lecture on how heroic the Elves had been in the War and so on, even though he knew it was unlike the old fellow to deliver lectures.  Actually, just now he would have preferred a lecture to a lot of sympathizing and comforting.  He shrugged impatiently. 

“Why didn’t they go into the West where they belong?” he grumbled. 

“They are needed here yet,” Radagast said.  “King Elessar said Legolas and his contingent of Elves had done much to restore Ithilien to its original beauty and splendor.  As for the twins, you may do well to remember they are the King’s brothers-in-law.”

“Fine,” Greenjade growled.  “I’ll cut off my beard and grow my hair down to my arse, dress to the nines for cross-country journeys, and go about petting trees and singing hymns to the Star-kindler in broad daylight.  Then I can be one of them, and they’ll cease looking down their noses upon me from their precipitous heights.”

Radagast sighed and shook his head.  And they rode on in silence.

Serilinn awoke from her nap and came out to sit by Greenjade.  She smiled up at him with such love, his dark mood fled like grey clouds before the sun.  She had Cinnamon on her lap once more.  She had left the doll in the wagon during the recent stop.  He did remember the Elves commenting admiringly on its workmanship that morning.

And he noticed she had taken her hair from its braid and let it flow freely. 

“I hope the Lady Lothiriel is not sad again, now we have gone,” she said.  “There was joy in her when we were in the Caves.  It was as if she had been set in the sunlight for the first time…even though there was no sunlight.  I felt it also.  I already miss her, and the King, and baby Elfwine most of all.  Yet I am not sorry to be leaving.  I love seeing new places, don’t you?” “Aye, that I do, when you are with us,” Greenjade said.  “You are as a lamp that illuminates all the beauties I might have missed seeing, myself.”

“What of Garland?” Serilinn asked.  “What if she shouldn’t want me?  Will you be my Ada still?”

“If she shouldn’t want you,” Greenjade said firmly, “then I shan’t want her.”

She smiled once more, then was silent for a time, and he was glad of it.  Much as he enjoyed her chatter, her silences in between had something very restful about them.  They rode past more mountains that rose with incredible height into the clouds and overwhelming blueness, past a waterfall flowing in glittering majesty into a wide stream below, past meadows growing with sweet-smelling grass and red and blue and white and yellow flowers and whistling with birds, past trees that stood bare of leaves and others that kept their dark green needles, past fields where horses grazed in the serenity of the day.

“We need a flag,” Serilinn said at last.  “What did the flag of Mordor look like?”

“Black, with a flaming eye, or so I heard,” Radagast said.  “I never saw it myself.”

“The flag of Rohan has a horse on it, and the flag of Gondor has a white tree, the King said,” Serilinn said.  “And the flag of Eriador…what does it have?”

“A dragon,” Radagast said. 

“Ah yes,” Serilinn said.  “We must think of a new flag for Calador.  What should it have?”

“A fish?” Sméagol suggested.

“Well…but it’s not by the sea, dear,” Serilinn hedged.

“A volcano,” Greenjade said.

“An eagle,” Radagast said. 

Serilinn let out a little shriek.  The three Elves looked behind them.

“That’s IT!” Serilinn said, nearly bouncing in her seat.  “On a sky-blue field with sun rays coming from behind.  Can anyone draw it?”

“I dare say you can,” Radagast smiled.

“But I’ve seen no eagles,” Serilinn said.  “Have you?” she asked Greenjade.  He shook his head.  So did Sméagol. 

“I have, of course,” the Wizard said, “but drawing is not among my skills.  However, I’m sure that there will be artists in Minas Tirith who can rise to the occasion.  I can scarcely wait to see the White City again.”

“Nor can I,” Serilinn said.  “It must be wondrous, like a mountain of pure snow.  Perhaps we should build one in which every building is a different color.  Or a different shade of every color, I mean.  Or, what about a city with the buildings all shaped like the formations in the caves, and all glittering?  Would that not be a sight to see?”

They stopped for the day in a well-wooded area.  Elrohir shot a pheasant and put it to roast on a spit.  It made Greenjade’s stomach growl, and he knew that once more his hunger would overcome his pride.  The sun was sinking little by little, doing some pretty painting in the low-lying clouds. 

“If Gaergath told you he was the son of Thuringwethil,” Elladan said, “very likely he was lying.  She was killed in the First Age.  If he had been born then, we would surely have heard of him far sooner than we did.”

“When did you first hear of him?” Radagast asked.

“When we were young,” Elladan said.  He was resting with his back to a tree, while his brother tended the spit nearby.  “Gaergath may well be a descendant of hers, but a son?  I much doubt it.”

“Then perhaps I am not Sauron's granddaughter after all?”  Serilinn said.  There was a mixture of delight and dismay in her tone.

Elladan chuckled, picking up a wood chip and tossing it into the fire.  “If you are Sauron’s granddaughter, lovely one, I am the son of a balrog.  Although, to be sure, I have been called worse.”

“We heard stories of Gaergath from Glorfindel,” Elrohir said, “which I believe were supposed to frighten us into staying in our beds at night instead of sneaking out, as we were sometimes wont to do.  Ada said he was real, but had never seen him.  When we asked Glorfindel, he would tease us, and tell us little of him.  But he said naught of him being the son of Thuringwethil.”

“Perhaps he used other names,” Radagast suggested. 

“I never heard of him at all,” Legolas said, “until a few hundred years ago.  I did not believe him real.  And yet, you killed him?” he asked Greenjade.

“As far as I know,” Greenjade said.  “We tracked him to his lair, and fired up the lot of them.  I presumed him to be among them.”

The three Elves looked at him with respect. 

“Estel did not tell us of this,” Elladan said.  “It is a wonderful thing you have done.”

“They had yet to do so,” Radagast said, “when I wrote to the King.”

Greenjade looked down at his feet.  Serilinn beamed in his direction, then smiled at Sméagol.

“And some were orcs, you say?” Elrohir said.  Serilinn nodded.

“Naught worse than an orc,” Elladan said darkly, “unless it be a blood-drinking orc.”

“Or perhaps an Uruk,” Elrohir said.  “We took out one of those in Mordor.  They are even more disgusting than orcs, if possible.  Yet somehow…it was harder to kill him than I would have supposed.”

“There was something human in him yet,” Radagast noted.  “’Tis said that orcs were crossed with Dunlendings to form them.  I did not mention this when we were crossing Dunland, for I did not wish to alarm anyone.  Was he the only Uruk you saw in Mordor?”

“Aye,” Elrohir said.  “I believe the Huorns ate most of them.  Ugh.  I am thankful not to be a Huorn.”

“What was your mother like?” Serilinn asked.  She had heard the story of their mother from Radagast. 

The brothers started, then looked at each other, then at her.  It was a moment before either answered.

“A sweet and gentle soul,” Elrohir spoke, finally.  “She loved caring for her family and making others happy.  She liked cooking, and telling stories, and making the house beautiful for the rest of us.  Great joy she had in living and all things.”

“Joy, yes,” Elladan agreed.  “She was of a joyous nature, and she imparted it to others.  ‘Twas impossible to abide in her light, and not take on that light oneself.  That’s what they stole from her—her joy and her light.  And in stealing hers, they stole ours also.”

“According to Samwise, she is very happy now,” Radagast said gently.  “She even has another child.”

“Aye, Estel told us we had another little sister,” Elrohir said.  “Would that I might see her.”

“Why did you not go West?” Serilinn asked.  “Did you not wish to see your mother again?”

“Of course,” Elrohir said, then seemed uncomfortable.  “But…”

“Did you choose mortality?” Radagast asked.  “As did Arwen?  Or…”

“I choose to be of Elfkind,” Elladan said.  “But Elrohir has not decided yet.  He was ever an indecisive chap.”

“It is a big decision,” Radagast pointed out.

“I have not entirely decided,” Elrohir admitted.  “Sometimes I think immortality is greatly overrated.  And I have a lifetime of memories I would give much to lose.  It would be a great thing to pass from the circles of the earth, and lose them.  There are few I would wish to keep.  Yet I would meet with our mother again, and the little sister we have yet to see.”

“You must see them,” Serilinn said with wide eyes.  “I shall sail when Radagast decides to go, and then you must go with us.”

“We will go when Legolas goes,” Elladan said.  “I stayed because of my sister here.  And Estel.  As a second brother he is to me.  I would be here for all the time they have left.  And we’ve a little nephew and niece now, and I much dote on them.”

“Grandfather Celeborn will go with us,” Elrohir said, “that is, if I go also.  I feel rather badly for him.  He left Lorien to be with us in Rivendell, then we hightailed it south and left him there all alone when Estel summoned us to Mordor.  Perhaps we could persuade him to come down also.”

“Why did he stay in Middle-earth?” Serilinn asked.  “Did he not wish to be with his wife?”

“For us,” Elladan said with a sigh.  “His heart is here.”

“You shall all go with us,” Serilinn said.  “How will we get a ship?” she asked Radagast.

“Legolas is going to build one,” Elladan said.  “He’s even spoken of taking Gimli with us, if he lasts that long.”

“That would be splendid,” Serilinn said.  “I would give anything to meet the Ringbearer.  But I suppose I shall not.”

“Elrohir,” Radagast said, “do you know that in the West, you can choose to have your memory entirely erased?”

“I can?” Elrohir said.  “How so?”

“Not sure.  But according to Samwise, your mother and Frodo were both given the choice…which they refused.  I suppose your father knows how it works.  I do not recommend it.  I have a great many memories I would be free of, myself.  But I shall choose to deal with them.”

“I have few I would wish to keep,” Elrohir said.  “Aye, there are many good ones.  But it seems the bad ones overwhelm them to an intolerable extent, as poison pollutes pure water.”

Greenjade found himself feeling glad the twins had darkness in them, even though his aversion had dissipated and he found himself warming up to them.  Even though he was certain their darkness was different from his own.  Actually it was the very thing that made him feel connected to them.  He tried to resist that connection, out of his own native pride and obstinacy, but it remained. 

Later in the night, Serilinn said she would sleep under the stars.  Greenjade did not know what to make of it.  Legolas said he would stand guard—evidently he did not need as much sleep as the others.  Radagast and Sméagol slept on one side of the fire with Nilde in between them, while the twins slept on the other, side by side.  Greenjade sat up for a bit, and Serilinn came up beside him, having changed into her nightgown behind the trees.

“Look,” she whispered, pointing out the brothers, “they even sleep alike.”

They lay on their sides, facing the fire, knees drawn up slightly, heads resting on their right arms, their left hands loosely holding to their blankets, their weapons laid before them.  Serilinn giggled, then cast a doting look at them.

“You’ve no idea how happy I am,” she said snuggling close to Greenjade, who laid an arm about her, “to think perhaps I am not Sauron’s granddaughter after all.  And I owe it to them.”

“Wonderful,” Greenjade said, very softly, wishing he felt happier for her.

They stopped at the Firien Wood the following day for their noon meal. 

The road through the forest seemed strangely still.  No birds sang, and the only sound was the breeze soughing through the high branches and the horses’ hooves clopping along, and even that was muffled by the dead leaves and pine needles that blanketed the road.  Even the Mering Stream seemed to make very little noise as it flowed below the bridge.  When anyone spoke, it was barely above a whisper. 

“Why is it so quiet?” Greenjade finally asked, albeit very softly.  “Is it…haunted?”

“This is known as the Whispering Wood,” Radagast said.  “We are approaching Halifirien, the Hill of Awe.  It was the sacred burial site of King Elendil, father of Isildur.  There’s a stone stairway that ascends to the summit, and there is one of the Beacons at the top.  It is where Cirion Steward of Gondor brought Eorl in 2510, and gave him the land that would become Rohan.   King Eomer and Aragorn came here after the War to renew the Oath of Eorl and the Gift of Cirion.  Nay, Sméagol, we won’t be climbing the stair.  Yet we might stop and take our luncheon.  But no one might slay any beasts here.”   

The Elves were in a far merrier mood than they had been the previous day.  After the meal, they showed off for Serilinn, shooting arrows into trees on which they drew clay targets, and at one time Elrohir threw a large pine cone incredibly high into the air, and Legolas coolly drew back his bow and sent an arrow upward, and soon bits of pine cone rained over all.

Radagast looked his disapproval at these capers in a holy place, and Greenjade did likewise, although the holiness was lost on him.  But Sméagol laughed as Nilde ran to retrieve the arrows, and Serilinn skipped with delight, and ran after her.  Legolas laid down his bow, saying he would shoot no more, lest an angry pinecone explode in his face and blind him, recalling the story of King Folca and the boar, which had killed him with its tusks in these woods. 

“So, Legolas,” Radagast asked as they were clearing up after themselves, “is there any truth to this wild tale of your taking down a mumak single-handed?”

“Nay,” Legolas said without batting an eye, as Serilinn turned to stare at him, and he nodded toward the twins.  “Those two took it down with me.”

Elladan and Elrohir grinned sheepishly as the others turned to gawk at them.

“Why do we never get credit for aught?” Elladan pretended to pout.  The others laughed. 

Then Legolas sobered abruptly, and turned away to find his horse.  The laughter died down. 

“In truth,” he said as he mounted his steed, his back to the others, “I can find naught of that battle that is a laughing matter.  It was horrible beyond words.  And the aftermath?  All those bodies, man, orc, elf, and beast…. We had the cleaning up.  I cannot even begin to describe it.”

“I am sorry I spoke of it,” Radagast said.  “Please forgive me.  I did not think.”

“Our memories are a veritable graveyard of horrors,” Elrohir said.  “If we do not laugh at it betimes, we are like to go mad.”

“I do understand,” Serilinn spoke up solemnly.

“Nay, I should hope you do not, sweet lassie,” Elrohir said with a sharp little laugh.  “How can you possibly?”

“I slept in a grave each day, before Greenjade found me,” she said looking up at him with haunted dark eyes. 

“Aye, I had forgotten,” Elrohir said sobering.  “Forgive me, little one.  ‘Tis too much for my overcrowded brain to take in, I fear.”

Elladan stood very still, just looking at her.  There was that silence once more.

And then suddenly he dropped to one knee before her, and took her hand and kissed it, pressing his other hand over it.

“Will you marry me?” he said.

42.  Surprise

Serilinn stood staring open-mouthed at her suitor, while Elrohir looked on in shocked dismay.  Legolas dropped from his horse and stood looking on.

Nilde came up with the arrow in her mouth, unsure of whom to give it to.

“Do not joke of such things to her,” Greenjade said, very darkly indeed.

“I am not joking,” Elladan said, seeming a bit astonished by his own audacity, keeping Serilinn’s hand in both his own.  “I most assure you, this little lady has won my heart entirely.  I do not care how long I must wait for her.  And if she should accept me, until she be of an age for it, I shall never approach her in any way I would not approach a sister of mine…and I have a sister, as you know.  Two of them.”

“Here now,” Elrohir protested, “do I get no chance?  I saw her first, I believe.”

“But you did not speak first,” his brother said.  “And you are considering mortality, are you not?”

“What if I do not choose mortality after all?” Elrohir said.  

“Very well then,” Elladan said with a sigh, without rising.  “So.  My lass, I will give my brother his opportunity as well, and even speak for him.  I love him enough for that.  In very truth, he would make the better husband.  He is far more wise and learned than I, more sensitive and thoughtful.  And more modest.  Yet no less valiant.  I tend to be impulsive, as you can plainly see, and headstrong, and obsessive, more inclined to decisive action.  And a bit of a braggart.  And, of course, he is far better looking.”

Radagast had to laugh, then stopped short when he saw Greenjade’s look.

“You both look identical to me,” Serilinn exclaimed.  

Elladan chuckled, as did Legolas.  Rusco flew down from a tree to Radagast’s shoulder.

“You must be around us a good long time to see it,” Elladan said.  “So, what of it, my lass?  Are we betrothed?  Or…”

 “Nay,” Greenjade heard himself saying.  “You are not. She is far too young to betroth herself…and you are well aware of it, and taking advantage.”

“I would not do that,” Elladan said.  “Aye, you are right to be wary.  My timing was a bit off, granted.  And of course I should have asked your leave to woo her first, and I was remiss in that.  I ask your pardon.  Yet I assure you my intentions are honorable.  I am totally taken by her.  I have never met anyone like her…”

“You’ve known her less than two days,” Greenjade said.  “And yet you wish to marry her?”

He reminded himself that he had been completely taken with her in less than one day.  Had she been older….

“If I may interrupt,” Legolas said, “may I be so bold as to speak on behalf of these two?  I have no daughter, but if I had one, I should feel honored and privileged to have either of these fellows as a son-in-law.  Despite all their swaggering and posturing, they are two of the truest and bravest hearts you would ever wish to see.  They cannot see a lady in distress without rushing to her aid and risking their own necks to save a total stranger.  There’s far more to them than meets the eye.  No useless pretty ornaments dangling about the court enjoying the spoils of war, are they.  They have come through battle, weather, torture, privation, loss, plague, heartbreak, and sore temptation, and emerged with their heads held high and a song on their lips.  And not only did they fight courageously in the War, they further did their part with the healing arts they learned from their father, and saved many a life.  They’ve saved my life more than once.  Oft have I seen them put the needs of others before their own…which is why they are here now instead of over the Sea.  And things are never dull with them about.  I cannot speak highly enough of them, and although I will admit Elladan’s timing is a bit…premature, I would ask that you consider his request for Serilinn’s hand in all seriousness.  He would not trifle with her affections in any careless form or fashion.”

“I thank you from the depths of my heart for that warm and sincere advocation, my dearest friend,” Elladan said with unmistakable humility.

“As do I,” Elrohir said, “and I also thank you, my brother, for the chance to speak my mind as well.  Of course the choice must be hers, in the end.  And in very truth, I must say, I think my brother would be the better one.  I do not think I should marry at any time, at least not until I have long sailed.  There is too much that has accumulated in my heart and mind, and there is no telling how long it will take to break up and wash away.  I have tried more than once to gain a maiden’s affections, and always did all that accumulation stand in her way, and she would go away in frustration.  I can promise naught.  So I think I should withdraw and allow Elladan to ply his suit without competition from myself.  Although ‘tis a difficult matter for me.”

“She is too young,” Greenjade said, “and that is all there is to it.  I will conclude that you are sincere, but the fact remains that she is still a child.  When she is of age, then she may make up her own mind.  Likely I will not even be around by that time.  When will that be?  Forty, fifty, sixty years from now?  And you can wait that long?”

“Twice as long,” Elladan said.  “So, my lass.  Would you consider me as your husband, when you are ready for one?”

“I would,” Serilinn said.  “I will have you, if you still want me then.  But it is hard to make up my mind between the two of you.  I know I cannot have both.  If only you could come together as one!”

“You have made me a most happy Elf,” Elladan said rising at last.  “I do not even remember the last time I was truly happy.  In faith, I believe this is the first time.  Were it not so undignified, I would do handsprings.”

Greenjade could scarcely help but notice how woebegone his brother looked, standing behind him. 

“I am happy also,” Serilinn said, and she was completely irradiated.  “Would it be wrong to sing and dance in this holy place?”

“Not that sort of singing and dancing,” Radagast chuckled.  “However, we should be going now.  I am growing ever more curious about that surprise.”

The twins embraced, then they hugged Legolas, and Serilinn hugged Sméagol impulsively, then Legolas, when he was free, then Radagast, then Greenjade, whispering, “I love you, Ada, and thank you sooo much.” 

Elladan came up to Greenjade after that, saying a bit chokily, “Be assured she will be in excellent hands after you have quit this earth.  No maid has ever touched my heart as she has.”

He seemed full of sunlight as a crystal, casting rainbows all about. As was Serilinn.

~*~*~

“Are we there yet?” she asked two days later, emerging from the back of the wagon where she had been trying to nap.  

“Not yet,” Radagast smiled, “but closer than we were.”

She scarcely heard his reply for looking at Elladan, who was riding not so far ahead now.

“Did you see any men in grass skirts?” she asked.  Radagast and Sméagol laughed.

“It's rather cold for grass skirts now,” Radagast said. 

“We are approaching the Beacon of Amon Din,” Legolas said.  “It is the last one…or the first, depending on which direction one is going.  I can see the Tower already.”

Serilinn fairly bounced in her seat.

This is it, thought Greenjade.  The end of life as I know it.

Drive more slowly, please, he thought…then realized that he was the one driving.  

Sméagol yawned.

“I suppose we should stop and freshen up soon,” Radagast said.  “We are not exactly dressed to be presented in court.”

“Where is the nearest inn?” Greenjade asked.

“I do not even know if there be one along this stretch,” Radagast said.  “And we cannot bathe in a stream this time of year.  Ho, Legolas!  Know you if there be a place we can stop?”

“We will have to wait until we get to the City,” Legolas said.  “There are bathhouses there where we can stop before meeting with the King.  And laundresses who can press your clothes and help you to spruce up.  The King will expect it, and has instructed the guards to let us through.”

“Ah, wonderful,” Radagast said.  And they rode on.

An hour later they saw the Beacon. 

“What are we going to do with Nilde?” Serilinn asked when they had passed it.  “I suppose she cannot go to Mordor with us?  Perhaps we should have left her at Edoras.”

“I thought of doing that,” Radagast said.  “But I think Ithilien would be the best place for her.  It is much closer, and we can come and see her from time to time.”

“Pretty Doggie does not go with us?” Sméagol spoke up.

“Nay, Sméagol,” Radagast said.  “Perhaps by and by we can send for her, but as it is now, I fear not.  I do not wish to leave her behind any more than you do, my lad.  But I have known all the while that she could not go with us, and that someday we would have to do the right thing by her.”

The sun seemed to have gone behind a cloud, and the breeze felt much chillier.

Serilinn was silent.  Sméagol looked ready to burst into tears.

“I have been dreading this moment,” Radagast said.  “A wonderful companion and comfort she has been to us, and I have loved her as I have loved no other creature in my care.  I love her enough to do what is best for her, and put her needs before my own.  Yet we have a little time left, at that, and let us enjoy it, rather than mourning.  Ah, upon my word, I can see the White City in the distance.  Can you?”

Greenjade looked up, and indeed, he saw something, around the bend in the road, rising against the mountain wall behind it, white and pointed and pearl-pure. 

“And there are dwellings all about, outside the wall,” the Wizard noted.  “See them?  It has expanded also.  Perhaps there is a place we can stop there, without going in the wall.”

“I’ll wear my white dress,” Serilinn said, “since the City is white.  The one Lady Lothiriel made for me, that is.”

And they did stop at a bathhouse that stood on the very outskirt of the City.  Greenjade was even able to get hold of a barber, who trimmed his hair and beard.  He put on the clothing that had been provided for him, consisting of a white shirt, a brown velvet doublet sparingly trimmed with gold, black leggings and boots, and a beautifully tooled leather belt with a buckle in the shape of a horse’s head.  And a dark brown cloak over all, lined in gold silk, and fastened at the throat with a gold clasp studded with bloodstones. 

He drew in his breath when he stood before a full-length mirror.  Garland will not recognize me, he thought, and he found a peculiar satisfaction at the thought.

Sméagol was got up fine also, but with a dark gold doublet instead, and brown leggings. Likely it was the best he had ever looked.

The Elves all fairly gawked at Serilinn when she emerged in her white dress, her hair brushed and clean, a silver ornament holding it in the back, shaped like a butterfly.  The dress had a round neckline embroidered with silver scrolls and a high waistline belted in silver.  The sleeves were sheer filmy white stuff from above the elbows, floating behind her like fairy wings, silver embroidery above them, and her feet were in small white slippers also worked in silver.  The sunlight made highlights of violet and indigo in her hair.

“There is a vision to remember for all time,” Elladan said softly, unable to take his eyes from her.  Elrohir was silent, just gazing.

“She is as the White Tree in human form,” Radagast said.  Greenjade looked at him in surprise.  His throat tightened a little. 

“Do you like it, Ada Greenjade?” she asked somewhat timidly.

“I have never seen anything lovelier,” he said without hesitation, brushing her cheek with his fingertips.  

“Leave the wagon in the stable,” Legolas said finally.  “The King is sending a carriage for us.  I’ve already sent word to him that we have arrived.”

The carriage came about a quarter of an hour later, drawn by two white horses.  The driver wore a black velvet surcoat embroidered with a white tree.  The brothers nearly bumped into each other rushing to assist Serilinn into the carriage, but Greenjade got there first, and helped her in.  She smiled graciously at all as she took her place.  The seats were of black velvet, the windows small and round. 

“This is so elegant!” she exclaimed.  “King Eomer’s carriage was not so fine as this.  It looked very old.”

The Elves rode behind as the carriage traveled along the road to the gate of the White City.

“How very magnificent,” Serilinn whispered, and Greenjade had to hold her back to keep her from sticking her head out the window.  “Did you ever see such splendor?  I’m afraid I will go blind from looking.”

“Look,” she said, “there are sheep grazing out there…and tall pointed trees….”

“Look,” she said, “there are flower gardens all over the place.  Was there really a battle fought out here?”

“Look,” she said, “there is the gate before us.  Who are those statues upon it?”

“They are of steel and mithrill, and represent the first great kings,” Radagast said. 

And there were streets gleaming white, with fountains and trees growing all about, and splendid gardens, and shops and houses all about hung with balconies, boxes of flowers set in the windows…and children playing here and there, and people standing in clusters gossiping, laughing, buying, and when they saw the carriage, many screamed in excitement, running to meet it.  Several shouted greetings to the Elves, and the Elves smiled hugely and waved, blowing kisses.  They rode along until they reached another level, Serilinn commenting on how the road spiraled up and up, and there were more buildings, and some tables and chairs set out on the street, people waving down from balconies, others shouting out, hawking their wares, and the Elves stopped to buy flowers.  These they gave to Serilinn to hold, a huge bunch of white roses and ferns.  And on they went, and up and up…and there was the delicious smell of bread baking, issuing from the bakeries…

Sméagol looked more and more anxious, and Nilde looked downright frightened, until Radagast suggested letting her out of the carriage so she could run on behind.  Rusco twittered until Greenjade felt like swatting at him, fearing he’d make a mess on Radagast’s robe…which he already had.  But the Wizard seemed to think nothing of it. 

And the Tower was in sight, gleaming blindingly in the sunlight. 

And the Hall of Kings stood before them.  And the White Tree, about twelve feet high, with flowers growing at the foot.

And across from it, the Monument, depicting the Ringbearers.

“They are exactly as I pictured them,” Serilinn whispered as she and Greenjade and Radagast and Sméagol stood before them, the three Elves standing reverently behind.

Greenjade was speechless.  The monument was made of a luminous white stone, set on a black marble block across from the Tree, and there were small benches all about. 

“I have not seen this before,” Radagast whispered after a long moment. 

“He is just as I saw him in my dream,” Greenjade said, feeling an urge to kneel.  

“It was made by the sculptor Annunlanthir,” Legolas said, “son of Alkakhleion, designer of the Argonath.”

Greenjade didn’t ask what the Argonath was.  He could scarcely take his eyes from the Monument.

“I know not what to say,” Serilinn said.  And all fell silent.

~*~*~

King Elessar, or Aragorn as Legolas called him, rose from the throne as the four Travelers were brought into the hall, as did the Queen Arwen.  He was in the black surcoat embroidered with the White Tree, a silver circlet on his head.  He was considerably older than Eomer, Greenjade noted, his dark hair nearly half silvered, his beard also.  He was nearly as tall, not so powerfully built, his face craggy and full of years, and wisdom and goodness, and purity of a sort Greenjade did not know how to name.  And his wife…Radagast had said she was the most beautiful living being on earth.  She was clad in pale silver trimmed in rich black, a circlet on her dark hair which cascaded in ripples far past her waist.  She seemed all illuminated also, like one of the bejeweled formations in the Caves.

Nilde sat at Sméagol 's feet, scratching herself.

A girl in an apron and cap stood apart from the rest, holding two children by the hand, a boy of about five and a little girl nearly two years old, both of them gazing open-mouthed at the new visitors.  The maid-child looked as the Queen must have at her age. Eldarion and Luthien, the children's names were, and the young nursemaid was Mikala.

But where was Garland?

“I hope your trip was not too exhausting,” the King was saying.  “I can see you were well taken care of by my brothers…or should I say my brothers-in-law?”

He looked at the twins with twinkling eyes.  Radagast chuckled.

“Oh, you’ve no idea,” he said. 

Greenjade glanced around.  They were keeping her hidden, he thought.  Waiting to trot her out so they could see the look on his face.  Serilinn had begged him to act surprised.  Well, he would do his best.

“Well,” the Wizard said, “according to Eomer, you have a surprise for us?”

“We will bring it out in a moment,” Queen Arwen spoke up, looking straight at Greenjade with her incredibly lovely, dusky eyes.  How did the King manage to live alongside of such beauty, day after day, night after night?  It must be positively terrifying.  “However, we must deliver a piece of news first.  Greenjade, that is your name?”

Greenjade nodded.  It was embarrassing to be at such a loss for words.

“Greenjade, we have news of your wife…Garland?” She raised her eyebrows, looking first to Radagast, then back to Greenjade.

“Aye…my sea-mate.  But wait…'news' of her?  She is not here?”

“Is that what you thought?” the Queen said.  “Oh dear…I am so sorry.  I should have known you would suppose that.  She is in Ithilien, living amongst a community of Elves who are laboring to restore it to its former beauty.  Legolas did not tell you?”

“I asked him not to,” the King spoke up.  “Aye, she is in Ithilien…and I regret to inform you she has lost her heart to an Elf there, and he to her.  I am sorry.  She is out of the Pit, as you wished, through the intervention of the Ringbearer, as Radagast told us.  However…”

“It is all right,” Greenjade heard himself saying, feeling a mixture of hurt and relief that was nearly overwhelming.  “I only wished her out of that place.  I did not necessarily wish to be back with her.”

I might have been with Nell now, he thought numbly.

“So what is the surprise?” Radagast asked. 

The Queen smiled, handed the white roses to the King, and went to a door across the right side of the great hall, and nodded to someone the others could not see.  A figure in a silvery-grey cloak appeared, the hood drawn over its head, a blue skirt showing beneath the cloak.  The Queen extended a hand to it, and a fair hand appeared, taking Arwen’s, and the Queen led her into the hall.  Then with a slight and modest gesture, she drew back the cloak and let Arwen take it from her, revealing a head of hair so golden and rippling, it made all the golden trimmings of the hall look cheap and brassy by comparison.  Her face, every bit as lovely as the Queen’s, emerged from beneath the hair, eyes as blue as the lapis stone that graced the small pendant she wore, lips as ruddy as the coral bits surrounding the stone….

And Serilinn ran to her with a scream that could likely have been heard from the front gate:  “MELETH!!!”

43. Choices and Castles

All had adjourned to a more comfortable sitting-room, where Meleth told her story over hot tea and pastries.  The children had been put down for their afternoon nap.  A cheery fire burned in the fireplace, over which hung two crossed swords.   

Greenjade sat with Radagast and Sméagol on a couch, across from where Meleth sat with Serilinn snuggled at her side.  Traces of tears still showed on both their faces.  The three male Elves sat about in chairs or on the rug, while the King and Queen sat together on a divan.  Nilde lay at her master’s feet.

“It was as you thought,” Meleth said.  “Duathris heard of my plan to take you away with me, and so she drained me of my blood as I slept, and she and Gaergath cast my body into a ditch.  I was shown the Gardens, where I saw my parents and the lover who had been slain in battle so many, many years before, yet I could only think of my lamb.  And they told me someone was coming to rescue you, but I could not help but worry, to think of you alone in the world with no motherly hand to guide you.  And so I begged them to let me go to you.”

Greenjade felt as though facing his darkest hour, looking at Meleth, who might as well have been a shriveled hag.  She would take his darling from him, sail away with her and he would never see her again….

Oh, Serilinn would feel badly about leaving him.  If you want me to stay here, Ada Greenjade, I will, she would say.  And he would see the longing in her eyes to go with Meleth…and could he say, Go then, my child, and find your joy?

His head spun.  He was trying to say, Yes, go, and yet no words would come.  And all at once he saw his stepfather standing on the Cracks of Doom, the Ring dangling above the fire, unable to drop it in….

“Perhaps we can sail now,” Meleth was saying over the roaring of the lava.  “I do not suppose…”

“There are no Elven ships going to Valinor now,” the King said, and Greenjade barely restrained himself from throwing himself at his feet in gratitude.  “The Nimloth has been at sea for three years, and sometimes I fear she is lost.  Frodo and Bilbo sailed on the Barahir, which was the last to leave Middle-earth, but according to Samwise, who claims to have communication with Frodo yet, her captain, Orobar, has not settled in Valinor but has set sail once more.  Whether or not he will return here, I could not say.  So it is not possible for the two of you to sail in the near future.”

“We can go when Legolas goes,” Serilinn said lifting her head from Meleth’s shoulder.  “I would not go now even if the ships returned, for I could not leave my Ada Greenjade, and I must go to Mordor also.”

Greenjade fairly wanted to weep with relief, and Meleth looked impossibly beautiful.  Still…she would take Serilinn from him, just the same…or would she?

“Nay, you cannot go to Mordor, my lass,” the King spoke up.  “I cannot allow it.”

“But…” Serilinn looked at him pleadingly. 

“I have a plan for you, my child,” the Queen said.  Serilinn looked at her.  “I shall place you in the Academy for young ladies that I have founded in Osgiliath.  Some time ago I saw how many bright girls there are in Gondor and Rohan, and how little opportunity for education they had.  And so I set up a school for them, and it is flourishing.  Meleth shall live close by.  Eowyn, Princess of Ithilien, has a small cottage in the country, which her husband gave her as a wedding gift.  She has trouble to keep it up since she first became a mother, and now she is expecting her second child.  But Meleth could care for it, and have a small salary for seeing to its upkeep.  It is in a very beautiful spot, and I think you would love it.  And…”  Arwen looked down at Nilde and smiled.  “…the dog could stay there with you, and the others could come see her occasionally.  What think you of this plan?”

“It sounds wonderful, my lady,” Meleth said, and Greenjade could see where Serilinn had come by her gracious manner.  “How far is it from the school?”

“About twenty miles.  Serilinn could come to you on the weekends and holidays.  You would have neighbors, for there are nice people living about the countryside.  So you would not be lonely.”

“It sounds the perfect plan,” Radagast said.  “What think you, Greenjade?”

Greenjade nodded halfheartedly.  Well.  At least she would not be going where he would never see her again.  “It sounds good to me,” he said.

“I wish to adopt you as my daughter,” Meleth said to Serilinn.  “What think you of that?”

“Oh, that would be so…”  Serilinn clasped her hands in delight, then stopped, looking to Greenjade.  “But he wishes to adopt me also.  And…”

“Well, if that is what you wish, I will abide by your choice, my lamb,” Meleth said smiling a little.  “He saved you when I failed to do so, and it is only right that he should have you.  I will content myself with being your nurse only, and your best friend, when you no longer need my care.”

She was surpassing even the Queen in her beauty, thought Greenjade.  How generous of her to leave the choice up to Serilinn…but still…. Well, he had known all along that the girl could not go to Mordor.  And this was the best thing that could possibly have happened. It seemed almost too good to be true.

“I know!” Serilinn sprang up, and had never looked more radiant.  “You could marry!  Then you could BOTH be my parents!”

The King and Queen both stifled a startled laugh, as did the Elves, and Greenjade did something he had not done since getting a glimpse of everything the Lady Lothiriel had to offer.  He blushed.  And could have sworn Meleth was doing likewise.

“But, my lamb…” she protested gently, laughing a little also. “We have known each other less than an hour yet!  And—”

“Oh, you would adore each other!” Serilinn exclaimed.  “And you would make such a beautiful couple.  Don’t you think so?”  She looked radiantly at all the others.  “Ada Greenjade, what think you?”

“Well…as she said, we scarcely know each other,” he said.  “And…we are not of the same kind, you know.”

“The King and Queen are not the same kind,” Serilinn pointed out, “and they get on splendidly…and they make a beautiful couple also, do you not think?”

The King chuckled a little and the Queen smiled in delight. 

“I agree they would make a lovely couple,” she said, “but I am afraid it is a bit premature to be matchmaking.  And although I made the choice myself, I do not recommend it.  Elves do not often survive the grief of losing a mortal mate.  It kills us.  I do not expect to survive it.  I went into this marriage with my eyes open, never overestimating my own strength.  I have no regrets, save that it means I will not see my parents again in this life.  Even so, I would not recommend it.  The choice will be up to them, of course.  But, my child, I would wish you not to ask more of them than they may be capable of giving.  Even if they do not both adopt you officially, and remain only friends for all their lives, could you not be content to know that they each regard you as the daughter of their hearts?”

For some reason, Greenjade glanced aside and saw one of the Elf-twins looking at Meleth with unmistakable longing.  Elrohir, he concluded, in mingled relief and dismay.  Evidently Elladan still had eyes for Serilinn, although he was not looking at her just then, but rather at the floor, on which he sat at his brother’s feet.

Serilinn seemed to have forgotten both of them.

“I could,” she said in answer to the Queen’s question.  “Still, it would be so lovely to have both a father and a mother, living together, and maybe have brothers and sisters, like other folks.”

“I know you do, my love,” Radagast said.  “However, as you know it’s a most imperfect world, and not everyone can have it that way, much as we wish it might be.  Still and all, you need someone to be a parent officially, in order to make certain decisions as to your welfare legally.  Therefore, you must have a legal guardian.  And if you wish someone else to choose for you, then you have only to ask.  I think either of them would make excellent parents, but I think the better option would be Meleth, since she will be the one with whom you will be living, and the one who will abide with you when Greenjade has quit this earth.  I’m sorry, Greenjade, but I think you will agree on this.”

“I believe you are right,” Arwen said, “although I am certain Greenjade has done a wonderful job of looking after her.  What say you, little one?”

“I cannot decide,” Serilinn said, tears springing into her eyes.  “So I shall let Radagast choose for me.  But in here—“ she pointed to her small bosom—“you both are my parents and always will be.”

“Then it is settled,” Radagast said.  “Meleth will legally adopt you as her daughter.  You shall attend the Queen’s school, and when you have completed your education, we will see about your coming to Mordor.  In the meantime I hope you will write to us from time to time to let us know how you are doing.  There is a post that goes into Mordor, is there not?”

“There is,” the King said, “but once a week.  Still, I think it will be enough.  I am glad it is all settled.  I wish you all to be my guests for the winter.  It is little use going to Mordor this time of year.  Lately we have started celebrating Yule here, and I wish you all to spend it with me.  We can find work for all of you until springtime, since I am sure you do not wish to sit idle the entire time.  Maybe you greatly enjoy your stay.”

An hour later everyone was settled into the Palace.  Greenjade, Sméagol, and Radagast each got rooms to themselves, while Meleth and Serilinn shared a room directly above them.  The King himself showed them the suites.

“I think you will like this one,” he said to Greenjade as he unlocked the door.  It looked out on a long and wide terrace overlooking a garden that was still blooming with roses and evergreen shrubs.  The terrace had a round large table with several chairs, and some small trees standing about in large pots or holes in the floor, some of them hung with chimes and bird feeders, and the rail still had vines twining about it.  The sun was beginning to sink in the western mountains, tinting the peaks with gold and coral.  “The sculptor Annûnlanthir used it when he was here fashioning the Monument you saw by the Tree, six years ago.  You can see it from here if you lean over the rail a bit.”

The room was small and simply but comfortably furnished, with a tapestry or two on the walls, and the open door to one side revealed a sunken tub, and the door in the other side opened to a substantial closet.  The door at the back opened into the hallway, and directly across was another door to a larger room with a table and many bookshelves. 

“That is the library,” the King said.  “Feel free to make use of it. I would like for all of you to take your evening meals with us.  We have a most excellent cook—she is the mother of the nursemaid Mikala, whom you met earlier.  You will not enjoy such cooking in Mordor, unfortunately, so I suggest you let her spoil you for the time you will be staying here.”

“She’s a bit young for a nursemaid, isn’t she,” Greenjade remarked idly, glancing toward the stairwell from which he could hear Serilinn’s and Meleth’s voices issuing above.

“Aye, she will turn twenty in the spring,” Aragorn said.  “We had an older woman when Eldarion was born, but she took ill and died, and young Mikala was Arwen’s handmaiden at the time.  She took over looking after our son and had such a way with him, we let her stay on.  She is far more capable than she appears, and she adores both children, but I agree they are getting to be a handful for her.  Meleth has been helping her with them, and I shall continue to have her do so until the spring, after which we will hire someone else.  She has been teaching Eldarion his letters—he’s young for it, I know, but he’s a very bright little lad if I do say so, and expressed a burning desire to learn, and Meleth is an excellent teacher.  She can tutor Serilinn in the afternoons, and in the mornings Serilinn can help Mikala in the nursery.”

Serilinn came running downstairs just then, luminous against the dim steps, in her white dress and fairy-wing sleeves.

“Ada Greenjade!  Sméagol!  Come up and see our room!” she called, grabbing Greenjade's hand.  Radagast appeared from his room and soon she was hauling all three of them upstairs, rather like a white dove trying to lug along three brown geese.  The King and his brothers-in-law, chuckling, brought up the rear. 

Meleth and Arwen were lighting candles in the room, which was much larger than the men’s rooms.  A bed with white silk and lace curtains stood in the middle, covered with a gold satin quilted spread and pillows in gorgeously embroidered shams.  Lace curtains hung at the windows, and a door opened onto a balcony where blooming plants stood in painted pots.  Candles sat about on the furniture and in wall sconces, illuminating the tapestries on the walls and beautiful vases and figurines on shelves.  A little table with two chairs stood off in one corner, with a bowl of roses on it, and a small fireplace burned on the other side of the room, a wreath of dried vines and flowers hanging over it. 

And three of the loveliest females Greenjade had ever seen stood in it, two of them holding candles whose flames were reflected in their eyes.  It seemed full of stars and crystals and music and joy.

“Did you ever see such a beautiful room?” Serilinn said softly.  “I do not think I can sleep in it.  Even the Caves were not so lovely.” 

And a gentle smile spread over Greenjade’s face, and it was as if a sheet of ice had broken up in him and melted in the sunlight, showing water of entrancing and eternal blueness beneath.  He felt as if one of the candles were inside of him now, and he was taking on a light of his own, for the first time.

“Perfect,” was all he could find to say.

~*~*~

Aragorn gave him a job helping in the stables, and paid him well.  He provided all with strongboxes in which to keep their money.  Radagast was allowed to go directly to the houses of the sick or injured, and administer his healing skills to them and their beasts.  Sméagol was put to work in the kitchen once more, helping the cook and cleaning up after meals.  Later in the day they might sit in on the King’s councils, discussing the plans for the Mordor project, and Serilinn and Meleth sat in on these also.  In the evenings they attended theatrical productions or sporting events, or simply ambled about the streets taking in the sights, visiting the shops, watching street musicians, or if it grew too cold, they might gather in the sitting room and discuss or play parlor games.  

Greenjade got the opportunity to hone his skill with sword and bow in the courtyard, along with the twins and Legolas, who were pleased to instruct him…until, to his dismay, he found himself warming up to them more and more.  There were sparring matches given frequently, and he got the chance to participate in one of them against the King himself.  And found that he could hold his own.

“I am a bit out of practice,” Aragorn confessed sheepishly as he rose after an unexpectedly prodigious hit, “and not so young as I was.  I dare say I should lay down the sword for all time…but it seems to have a mind of its own.”

Greenjade thought of a naughty joke he could make…until he saw Meleth smiling at him.

Yet his skills as a ladykiller seemed to have deserted him completely in her presence.  He felt all thumbs and two left feet, a gawky schoolboy.  It was most embarrassing.  He tried to keep his distance, since his heart was still sore from the intense battering it had received at Nell’s hands.  He felt inclined to shield it, and might have done so...but for the fact that he had competition.

In fact he heard the Elves talking one day in the room adjoining the gymnasium, as he was trying to repair the fletching on some of his arrows.  They seemed to have forgotten he was about.

“Nay, you’ll have no competition from me, brother,” Elladan was saying.  “My heart belongs to another.  I wish you both the best of luck…although unfortunately, she has still another vying for her favors as well.  I believe Greenjade is mortally smitten, and he has the most proximity to her at the moment.  To be sure, you are far better looking—not that he’s hideous, as Men go—and you are a war hero, and an Elf to boot…I assume you are still an Elf?”

“I am,” Elrohir said.  “I have made my choice, for the sake of Meleth, and hope I shall not live to regret it.”

“Ah, wonderful,” Elladan said with quiet but obvious joy.  “Well, it is up to chance to see who shall win her hand.  Greenjade did save Serilinn, which is all he has going for him, I suppose—which makes him all right in my book, although I doubt he feels the same about me.”

“Well, one can scarcely blame him,” Legolas said laughing, “after the way you swooped down on her like a hawk in the chicken-yard that day.  I wonder that you are still attached to a certain portion of your male anatomy.”

All three Elves laughed.

“Well, you know what they say about the early bird,” Elladan said.  “Or early hawk, if you like.  However, not being one of those degenerates who stalks children, I mean to keep my distance.  Meleth’s sudden appearance seems to have eclipsed things anyway.  Serilinn scarcely looks my way now.  I can but wait and bide my time, even if it be for half a century.”

He sighed.  Greenjade grinned a bit smugly.

“Pity that our situations are not reversed,” Elrohir said.  “I could use that half-century to flush out the noxious matter than has accumulated in my soul, so that I should be purged and clean by the time my beloved was old enough.  I wonder you do not have that matter also, brother.”

“Who says I haven’t?” Elladan said.  “I suppose you have more because you are of a finer nature.  I’m too oafish to have it to such an extent.  Still, that’s not to say I haven't it.  One cannot spend five hundred years trying to rid the continent of orcs without absorbing a bit of orcishness oneself.  But now you have motivation, at least.  Perhaps the flushing-out process will not take as long as you thought.”

“I do hope you are right,” Elrohir said. 

Greenjade’s grin faded.

And so when Serilinn begged him to come for a walk with her and Meleth, he simply could not tell them nay.

“I simply love this city,” Serlinn said as they strolled through the streets, which were softly alive with people…for since the War had ended and peace had prevailed, the streets were never quite deserted even late at night.  Torches burned all about the ramparts.  People hung about in clusters, warming their hands over small fires, or sitting in the restaurants, chatting, listening to poetry recitals, or performing music.  “It’s so different from Edoras.  Minas Tirith is much more full of light and sound and art and color.  And the people seem gayer and friendlier.  I suppose it’s because it’s so much bigger.”

Meleth laughed a little…a sound like cool water trickling over mossy stone on a cliffside. 

“It is a city far more concerned with intellectual matters,” she said in her beautifully modulated voice.  “The folk are curious as to learning and education and the arts, and do not fear change.  From what I hear of Edoras, the folk are of an agrarian sort, and are not so interested in doings of the mind.  So perhaps  they seem stuck in a bygone era.  Minas Tirith is more modern and progressive.  And so she seems vibrant and glowing, and full of music and mirth.  It is as if she, too, has been sent back from the realms of the dead, and has emerged newly-born and alive with light and color.”

“We must have such a city in Calador,” Serilinn said.  “Perhaps we could build it on Mt. Doom?  We must rename it also.”

Meleth laughed again, and so did Greenjade.

“I doubt we should build it on a volcano, my love,” he said.  “Yes, the King says it is dormant, but that may be taking too much of a chance.”

“I think so too,” Meleth said, “although it is a delightful idea.  Perhaps we can find a smaller and friendlier hill.  The castle can crown the crest, and far below, we might put on a play reenacting the story of the Quest, and give it each year.  Perhaps people could come from everywhere to see it.  I have read the story in the copy of the Book the King had made, and I think perhaps I could write the play myself, although unfortunately much would have to be left out.”

“Oh, do you think so?” Serilinn clasped her hands once more.  “I want to be in it!  May I?  Ada Greenjade must be in it also.  He could play Strider.  The twins could play Boromir and Faramir.  And you could play the Lady Galadriel.  Legolas says your hair is very like hers.  He says you are not nearly so tall, but you could tie something to your shoes to make you look taller.  Your skirt could hide it.”

Meleth and Greenjade both laughed uproariously at that.

And their eyes met suddenly in the torchlight, over Serilinn’s head, and all the City seemed to pause and take notice, the Tower gleaming as if it had caught a stray star on the fly.

44. The Point of No Return

Greenjade awoke to the sound of singing.

For a long moment he did not open his eyes, wondering if he had crossed over into the Gardens at last.  The voices seemed to be coming from above.  The language was not known to him, but the voices and the melody were beautiful beyond description. 

The fire had gone out in the small fireplace, yet it was still warm in the room, and he could smell the fragrance of burning pine wood.  The only sound he heard was the two soprano voices from above.  Yet when he glanced out the window, he could see no one out there.

Greenjade had not known it was possible to be so happy. 

Soon a tap came at his door, and he rose, fumbled for his dressing-gown from the chair, saying, “Come in!”  A young page appeared with a tray on which was a steaming pot of tea, a cup, and a saucer with a couple of hot pastries on it, smelling of cinnamon.   Greenjade set the tray on the small table in the corner of the room, then found he was too happy to eat.  He put some wood in the fireplace, in which there were a few flickering embers still, and he coaxed them into a small blaze, then sat down to his breakfast.  He poured out some tea into the cup, and sniffed the sweet and spicy aroma of it with a smile.  Then bit into one of the pastries.  The deliciousness of it fairly brought tears into his eyes.

Another tap later on, and the page appeared with a pitcher of warm water.  Greenjade took it with a smile and set it in the bowl on the chest of drawers, then visited the privy in back of the bathing-room.  The voices continued to sing as he came back, washed his face and hands at the bowl, combed his hair, got dressed.  Then he went out on the terrace. 

It was cold and the sky was still grey. Meleth and Serilinn sat on the balcony above, and they stopped singing and called to him, waving.  He smiled and blew two kisses up to them.  It was Serilinn who sprang from her seat at the small round table and leaned over the balcony, crying, “Ada Greenjade, come on up!” while Meleth smiled dotingly upon her.

The adoption ceremony had taken place in the small temple that had been built four years ago for the worship of the Creator.  It was a structure of austere beauty, but it had windows of colored glass forming images of the Valar on the sides, and a large round window depicting a brilliant star upon a dark blue and purple background.  Inside were many long benches and a table with tall candles on it, and a pitcher of white flowers between them.  The witnesses were few:  the King and Queen, the twins, a priest and a lawyer.  And of course, Radagast, Greenjade and Sméagol.  Even Nilde was allowed to come in. 

Meleth recited a poem she had written especially for the occasion. 

Child of mine, lost lamb found at last
Long did I bear thee to my breast
Through thorny fields, through ashy lands
Through marshy floods and blazing sands
I would have fled with thee to gardens rich with bloom
And watched thee flourish in meadow and coomb
By crystal cove or sylvan halls
Or singing o'er bright waterfalls
But the fell darkness snatched thee away
And thy shepherdess could but watch and wait. 

But now thou art mine, thy mother I am
My daughter to be, no longer lamb
Together we shall walk in the Light
From fear removed, set free from night
Walk with me through garden and glen
By fountain and field, through forest and fen
Through city street and country lane
Mother and child we move once again
Learning from each other, abiding in love
From now 'til the stars fall from above!

“Come up, Ada Greenjade!” Serilinn called again.  He smiled, went back into his room and out the back door, and climbed the stairs. 

Meleth fetched a small blanket for him to wrap about himself.  He tried to refuse, but Serilinn looked pleadingly at him, and he suffered himself to be covered, and found it much more comfortable, at that.  They plied him with hot sweet tea and nutty rolls that Serilinn had saved for him and warmed at the fireplace.

This must be what it was like to have a real family, he thought as he listened to Serilinn’s blithe chatter about what they would do that day, and stole glances at Meleth, who was wearing a morning-gown of a shade of blue he would forever associate with her—periwinkle, he would learn later. 

Perhaps a time would come when he would not have to steal those glances.

He had some idea what Radagast would say, but he chose not to think of it just now.  Just for today, he would bask in happiness and hope, and give no thought to the future and the eventual separation that awaited.  It had been two weeks since their arrival.

Later in the morning, he got his first chance to be alone with Meleth. 

He came upon her attending to the trees and plants on the terrace, and drew in his breath sharply, until he heard voices down in the garden and saw Serilinn with Mikala and the little ones.  Mikala was pushing Eldarion in a swing that hung from a tree limb, while Serilinn held little Lúthien balanced on her hip and was spinning her around and around, making her squeal with delight.  Presently a girl of about fifteen came along, leading a tiny boy of about three by the hand, and they joined the others.  She was Mikala’s sister Eruanna, better known as Ruan.  The child was their baby brother, Gandalf.  Radagast had chuckled at his name, and wondered what cousin Olórin would think if he knew he had a namesake.  And Aragorn laughed, saying there were several Gandalfs in the city now.  A rather homely little lad this one, with a large forehead and small chin, and a nose likely to be big when he grew older.  He seemed rather shy, unlike Eldarion, who was bold almost to the point of forwardness, indefatigably energetic, and already had the makings of a leader. 

“He takes after me,” Elladan had joked once, as his little nephew came running at him with flying fists, and he swung Eldarion up to his shoulder, smacked his behind and spun around with him, making the little lad howl with pretended indignation.  Greenjade had noticed that Elladan was the one more popular with children.  Elrohir said it was because he told the best stories.  Elladan could remember tales of the devilment he and his brother had gotten into as lads, whereas Elrohir remembered mainly stories of more recent events, and he tended to clean them up when telling them to the very young.  Likely they could tell when he was leaving out things, he said.

Little Lúthien looked much as her mother must have as a toddler.  And she was a bit of a flirt already, batting her long dark lashes and smiling at all who hovered close by.  Serilinn adored her, naturally.  Cinnamon spent a good deal of the time now in the chair in the bedroom. 

Yet Serilinn did still sleep with her in the bed, she assured Greenjade.  And changed her clothes each day.

Sméagol was having a time of it, Greenjade noted with mingled pity and amusement.  Meeting his former adversary had been a considerable trial for him.  He kept close to Radagast like a timid child to its mother in a crowd.  The King treated him with kindly courtesy, saying never a word about past events to him, and the Queen was very nice to him also, but Sméagol carefully avoided meeting their eyes and said little when they spoke to him.  He was edgy with Legolas also, for the Elf was less tactful than Aragorn, and sometimes stared hard at the small fellow, scrutinizingly.  Greenjade wondered that Radagast did not speak to him about it.  Yet Sméagol’s room was as comfortable as those of the others; when he complained that he needed a warmer blanket, one was brought to him, and his favorite foods were prepared for him, and he was allowed to sit in on the council meetings.  He avoided the children, particularly Eldarion, who, like Legolas, was inclined to stare hard at him.  Radagast assured him the little boy was only curious. 

The twins were mistrustful of Sméagol.  Sometimes they muttered to each other behind his back, glancing his way.  Greenjade wondered if the King had told them to keep an eye on Sméagol.  Recalling the theft of Miss Carrie’s locket, he thought that might not be such a bad idea, at that. 

Serilinn was getting on very well with Mikala and Ruan, not surprisingly.  Simple working girls they were, not beautiful, yet pleasing to look at still, with their rosy cheeks and big brown eyes and sweet bright smiles.  Serilinn said Mikala was betrothed, and her beloved was younger than she, just turned eighteen, and it would be three years before they could marry.  Bergil was his name....

“I am so thankful to you,” Meleth said, making him jump halfway out of his shoes as she came up behind him where he was leaning on the rail, watching the others.  “Oh, I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you.  I just feel so grateful that you are not upset about my adopting Serilinn.  I truly am thankful to you for saving her, more than you will ever know.  I fear you will tire of hearing me say it.”

She was wearing her hair pulled severely back from her face and fastened behind her head with a silver pin—a style that suited her perfectly, drawing attention to the exquisite planes of her cheekbones and forehead.  And her eyes.  Those eyes, those eyes…. 

And he realized he knew all about seduction, and next to nothing about courtship. 

Whom could he ask?  The King?  It had taken him over sixty years to win his bride. The twins?  Evidently they knew little more than he, seeing as how they were still unattached, despite their devastating looks.  What was the difference?  Perhaps he could figure it out for himself….

Seduction was selfish, devious and dishonest.  Whereas courtship was unselfish, honest and open-hearted, he concluded.  Opposite sides of the same coin.  Well, now.  That wasn’t so hard. 

“Your poem was lovely,” he found himself saying.  “I did not know you wrote poetry.  Well, Serilinn did sing some songs that she said you wrote, come to think of it.  But…”

“I used to write a great deal of poetry,” she said.  “But I do not know what happened to it.  I shall have to write more, and keep it in a safe place this time.”

“I’ve written a bit myself,” he said, secretly thrilled that they had this in common…along with Serilinn and the fact that they had both come back from the dead.  “Very little.  But a bit.”

“Aye, Serilinn said you did,” she said with a little smile.  “She said it was very beautiful and ‘mysterious’.  Will you speak me some?”

“Mysterious?” he laughed a little.  “Well…perhaps I’ll just have to make up something new.”

“You can do that?  Compose on the spur of the moment?”

“I can but try,” he said.  Looking away at the snow-capped, dark-firred mountains, since looking at her would more likely render him speechless, he spoke:

From blackest void, obsidian-hued, I ascended,
Borne up by hands I had sought to stain with my enmity,
Set upon greenness keen as hunger, frail as beauty, yet it hurt my feet as blades
And so I walked bleeding through hollow land and baleful glade
My head bowed so as not to be laid low by relentless daysky
Long I trod with naught before me but the promise of an ashy plain
And flaming peaks, and twisted trees with blasted blooms.
Love trifled with me, then left me beached and bloodied,
And so I went my way, one foot, then the other, strangers to my face
Then innocent beauty found me, and hope was mine once more.
We rode together with upturned faces, filling ourselves with wholesome colors
The darkness trailing behind until it forgot to follow.
I learned to fall in love with my body, to find what treasures lay
In limbs of wood, caves, feathers, plains, stables, stories, cradles, stones
Seas of grass and lofty ledges, mountain stairs, polished streets
Far removed from wave and tide and isle and ice.
Land-locked, I stumbled and danced, and once more climbed the perilous way
That hangs suspended between the garden and the void
The point of no return…

He broke off, slightly appalled at how much he had revealed, and looked away from her.  This is it, he thought.  This is the part where she will tell me she cannot marry one not of her kind…that she is willing to be friends…that her heart is in the grave with the lover she met on the Other Side…. She had not mentioned him.  The Queen had said few Elves survived the grief of losing a mate.  Yet Meleth had survived.

He saw her looking at him with wide eyes…. Those eyes.  It just isn’t possible, he thought.  No one can be so lovely and be real…why should she want him?  Better she should have someone like Elrohir, who was as beautiful for a male as she was for a female, and was of her kind....

But what was it Elladan had said about the early bird?  Greenjade was not familiar with the saying, but he could guess….

“That was wonderful, simply wonderful,” she was saying.  “Shall we go and sit at the table there?”

“Why not, indeed?” he said smiling.

And there she spoke of the lover she had lost…over a hundred years ago.  Well.  A far cry from Nell, whose lover had been slain only six years previous.  Her parents had died in that same war.  Yes, she was related to the Elves of Lorien, although she had not grown up there.  Her mother had been one of them.  She had married one of the Sindarin, and Meleth had lived near Mirkwood.  How had she come to know Duathris? 

“One day I came upon a child who was wandering in the woods and crying,” she said.  “She was lost, of course.  I asked her the usual questions:  who were her parents, where did they live, and so on.  She was very small, yet she managed to tell me her mother lived in a castle with a tower, and had disappeared somehow, so the child had gone out to find her.  I shall always regret that I did not simply take her home with me.  I told her I would help her find her way home and find her mother.  We wandered for a day or two, asking questions of strangers.  And just when I was thinking of giving up the search, we came upon a Dark-elf who was out gathering wild herbs and things of a dark nature.  The child did not run to her, but simply said, ‘That is my mother.  That is Duathris.’  It struck me as odd and sad that she would refer to her mother as such.  I did not like the look of this lady, who was clad all in black, and had let her hair blow freely and darkly about, and it hung almost to her knees so I took it at first for a black veil.  But she held me with her eyes, and said, ‘Serilinn, come hither,’ and the little one hesitated.  And then she said, ‘Duathris, I want her.’  Meaning me, of course.  And Duathris said, ‘Nay, silly one, we do not need her, why should we need her?’  And she laughed, and the sound of it frightened me.  And yet, I stood there, and I asked where the child’s father was.  And Duathris laughed once more.  I thought her mad, and asked her what she meant by disappearing and leaving her child to wander out alone, what sort of mother did so?  Serilinn was shivering and weeping, and I gathered her close—for I loved her already—and said, ‘Has she a nurse?’  And Duathris said, ‘She had aught, but the foolish woman fled, saying that someone was trying to drink her blood—fancy that!’  And she laughed, and I asked her if I might become the child’s nurse.  She looked at me as though I were daft, and I repeated my question.  I looked to her herb-basket, and wondered, not knowing that she was a practitioner of witchcraft, or I might have fled with the child then and there, but I knew not of such things.  And so I went back to her castle with her, and stayed for many years. 

“She did not bide there alone; there were others of the craft there, a coven it was called.  And she tried to entice me into learning also, and she was most persuasive at times, but I held apart from her, wishing only to protect the little one.  And she would have strange nocturnal visitors, which terrified me, yet I could think only of my lamb, and so I stayed, although I think they took my blood at times, and hers also.  And I could swear I saw them take strange shapes and fly away into the night, yet they would always return in the daytime, and some slept far down below in the daytime.  ‘Twas then I thought to flee, and take her with me.  We would go to Valinor, the two of us, I told her.   We discussed it, and at length, but I could not discover how to escape.  She locked the two of us into a tower prison, sending food up to us.  I could not see a way to free us.  At times I thought to throw the two of us out of the window, which was big enough, but so far down, we would have been killed.  Yet I thought perhaps it was better than to be prisoners there, someday to become as the others….”

“Serilinn never mentioned a tower,” Greenjade said shuddering.  He wondered how she had managed to stay as sane as she was.  “And so Duathris killed you?”

“She took all my blood,” Meleth said just above a whisper.  “And she and her lover, Gaergath, threw my body into a ditch and buried it deep, and then they took my lamb and fled.  I know not why they fled.  I think some folk had found out about them and meant to burn the castle.  So I suppose it was well that she killed me, for my lamb would have been burnt with the rest of them.  You say that Morgoth spoke to you from a tree?”

“I think so,” Greenjade said.

“Perhaps it was not Morgoth, but one of the good spirits,” she said.  “Then again, the evil ones, while clever and wily when they must be, can be stupid also.  Sometimes their wickedness turns upon them.  You saved my lamb, as she saved you.  Perhaps it was planned, at that.”

“I do not like to recall that night,” he said.  “And yet…”

“And you killed them all?  Gaergath, and the rest?”  Her eyes were fairly burning into his.

“I hope I did,” he said. 

“Greenjade…you little know what you accomplished," she said solemnly.  You give yourself far too little credit.  You may have saved Middle-earth, for their numbers would have grown great, and a darkness would have spread over the land, perhaps greater than the Second Darkness that Sauron would have caused.  You have averted the worst catastrophe that may have happened.  Your father is the Ringbearer, you say?  You are indeed his son—whether he begot you or no!”

Her eyes shimmered in the cloudy sunlight.  And he could not take his away from hers.

And he found himself rising from his chair, and going to her and raising her from hers, and turned her face to his own, pressing his lips hard against hers. 

45.  Holly and Primrose

They were interrupted by a squeak, and turned to see Serilinn at the top of the steps, holding little Lúthien balanced on her hip, a trifle gingerly.  Greenjade looked to her, then to Meleth, and back to Serilinn. 

And he smiled.  Little Lúthien smiled also, and waved to them, in the way she had, with her little fingers pointing toward herself.

“You were kissing her!” Serilinn exclaimed in awe and delight.  “Will you marry her now?”

Greenjade laughed, startled at hearing such a joyous sound issuing from himself.

“If she will have me,” he said. “But--”

“Wait,” Serilinn cried, “please do not propose just yet!  Lúthien is wet.  Please wait until I have changed her nappy, so I can see.  I must change myself also, for there’s a spot on my dress.”

And she turned and dashed into the building, Greenjade and Meleth laughing a little behind her.  Then they stood together, holding each other by the hands, not speaking, just looking into each other’s eyes. 

Then suddenly she released his hands, and sat down at the table once more, looking almost despondent.

“What is it, my love?” he cried, dropping to one knee beside her.  Even as distressed as he felt, he could scarcely help but think how sweet the words “my love” tasted in his mouth now.   

“I have not told you all,” she said in a tremulous voice.  “And I would not deceive you.  You see…in the castle…”

“Yes?  What is it?”  He felt slightly sick, having already some idea of what she was about to reveal. 

“I am not a maiden,” she said.  “Some of the males in her coven—for males there were—they used me for their own pleasure—always against my will, but I had to give in to them, for they would have harmed Serilinn also, had I not.  Even some of the females put their hands on me.  I did it to protect my lamb.  Duathris sometimes beat her with stinging-nettles, or locked her into a dark closet, and I threatened to kill her if she abused that child any further.  And so she said I would have to succumb to the others in order to…are you all right, Greenjade?”

He had to sit down; his head was spinning and he felt he would vomit in another moment.  He had not let himself think about what horrors she had had to endure in that place. 

Small wonder Serilinn had said so little of her life there.

“And then…Gaergath took me,” Meleth continued just above a whisper, lest Serilinn come upon them and hear, Greenjade supposed.  “And at one point, I told him I only allowed it in order to protect my lamb—which was very foolish of me, but I had had all I could take, and he had taunted me—and he laughed and laughed, saying it was never necessary; he would not have allowed any of them to touch her.  And I got away from him somehow and seized a candle holder and hit him as hard as I could with it.  It only made him reel a bit, then he looked at me in shock, and I thought he would kill me then, and I was terrified, for what would my lamb do without me?  And then he laughed, and said I was far more beautiful and exciting than Duathris, and he looked forward to more ‘time with me’ as he put it.  And Duathris must have heard it, for after that she took to locking us in the tower.  And began to regard me as a threat, I suppose, for not long after, that was when she killed me.

“When I was in the Halls, I was promised healing in mind and body.  And the Lord Namo said I should be rewarded and healed.  And I told him all I wanted was to have my lamb back with me, and I was almost sorry they did not kill her also.  And he gave me to be healed by the healer Estë.  I was purified, but now I have been sent back, I do not feel I should hide aught from you. And…”

“My poor dearest dear,” he said, overwhelmed with awe at such selflessness.  “I do not deserve you.”

“You deserve better,” she said, “but—“

“Better?”  He sat back stunned.  “I will never be good enough for you.  I cannot conceive of such love of which you have told me.  But why did they take so long to send you back?”

“I do not know.  It did not seem at all long to me.  I suppose there was a purpose.  Perhaps they meant for you to find Gaergath and to be his undoing.  And you did kill Duathris that night?”

“Aye, but with help from Serilinn.  She it was threw the silver at her, when she was about to take me, and stopped her.  Then I pushed her into the fire.  Strange that Serilinn should have mourned her.  I have ever wondered about that.”

“The tie between a parent and its child is one of great mystery,” Meleth said softly.  “Mine were kind to me always, so I can scarcely conceive of the ability to love a parent who is abusive or neglectful, or both.  I would see Duathris carelessly brush Serilinn’s hair and pull it, then scold her for letting it get tangled.  So I took to brushing it for her, and the child would weep, as she refused to do with Duathris, and say she wished I might teach her mother to brush her hair properly.  I suppose Duathris’ mother must have been cruel also—that is how it usually happens, although one sees it very rarely among Elfkind.  But I cannot excuse her behavior even on that account; I can only try to understand it, so that I do not become consumed with bitterness to think of her.  Ah, here she comes.”

Serilinn appeared wearing her gold dress, and she held two golden roses in her free hand. 

“Is this all right?” she asked.  “Or would the white one be better?  Or perhaps…”

“It is fine,” Greenjade smiled at her woodenly.  Little Lúthien beamed as if she knew what was going on. 

“May I tell the others?  They are likely wondering what is keeping me.”

“Nay, not yet,” he said.  “Take her back to them, then you may come here.  We don’t want a crowd.”

“Nana Meleth, you are weeping,” Serilinn said in alarm. 

“It is for joy, my lamb,” Meleth said brushing away the tears and trying to put on a smile for her, and then to Greenjade’s great relief, succeeding.  He had to blink back tears from his own eyes. 

“Take the little one to them, love,” he said, to give himself time to recover.  Serilinn smiled.

“Is she not darling?” she said, caressing Lúthien’s soft cheek with a fingertip.  “I hope I shall have a little sister like this someday.”

And then she took the child back to Mikala and Ruan.  Greenjade could see the two little boys running back and forth through the garden as Serilinn spoke to the girls, then turned and came running back up the steps to the terrace. 

“I forgot to give you these,” she said handing Greenjade the roses. 

“I’ve no betrothal ring,” he fretted, taking them without actually looking at them.  “This all came about rather suddenly.  Truly, I am not even sure how these things are done.”

He paused, remembering Elladan’s rather precipitous proposal to Serilinn, but thinking to himself that was not exactly the usual procedure.  

“Perhaps you are not yet ready?” Meleth said very softly.  “We can wait.”

Serilinn looked stricken.  “You are not going to propose now?”

“It is a bit sudden,” Meleth said.  “We have known each other but two weeks.  There is much we do not know about each other yet.”

“But you are in love?” Serilinn persisted, pleadingly.

“I am most certainly,” Greenjade said, gazing at Meleth as if he would never look away from her again.  “But if you do not feel the same, my lady, or need more time…I will give you all the time you need.”

She stood looking at him with soft eyes, for a seemingly endless moment.  Then said, “Thank you, my lord,” with a little curtsey and a gentle smile.  “But I need no more time.  My answer is Yes.”

~*~*~

Greenjade steeled himself for the Wizard’s reaction, telling himself that no matter what the old fellow felt about it, he was going to marry Meleth, and all the Powers put together could not stop him.  Yet he quivered inside, for he dreaded Radagast’s disfavor.  He had badly wanted to please him.  Well, nothing for it.  He agonized much of the evening, waiting for the right moment, anticipating the words the Wizard would say, and his own, trying to think of the right thing to mollify him.

“Out with it, my lad,” he heard Radagast say, and he started and jumped around guiltily like a little boy caught stealing sweets.  The Wizard stood in the doorway to the bathing-room.  Greenjade had not heard him go in.  He had forgotten that wizards must use the privy also. 

Radagast stepped coolly into Greenjade’s room and sat on a chair, unmindful of the dressing-gown laid over the back.  “So.  What’s on your mind, Greenjade?  Is it what I think?”

“What is it you think?” Greenjade said trying to match the Wizard’s composure, and positively trembling inside.

“I think you know what I think,” Radagast said, folding his arms in imitation of Greenjade, who had not realized he was folding his own until then.  “So.  Are you going to set me right, or are you going to keep pacing and muttering and tugging at your hair, waiting for the right moment, and rehearsing to yourself over and over as to what you’re going to say to persuade me that you’re going to do this, and all the Valar cannot stop you?”

Greenjade gawked at him, and then, to his immense surprise and relief, he laughed aloud, and relaxed his arms. 

“I think you have it exactly right,” he said sitting on the edge of his bed.  “I have betrothed myself to a lady who is so far above me, it would take a year to climb even halfway to her level, and yet she has accepted me.  That is something I will never be able to take in, how such a lovely being could bind herself to such as I.  We were saving it to announce at Yule, but….”

“That is wonderful,” Radagast said, and there was not the slightest hint of sarcasm in his tone.  Greenjade gawked once more, throwing dignity to the winds.  “I cannot think of any lady I would recommend more highly.  You need not fret about not being good enough; she will bring out all the best you can be, if you but allow it.  I simply could not be more proud of you if you were my own son, Greenjade.”

I am dreaming, thought Greenjade.  This is surely not happening. 

“You…you truly have no objection?” he said.  “I thought…”

“Not in the slightest.  And I am delighted to see you truly happy at last.  I think you have earned it.  I am only sorry that the two of you must live apart for some time; I wish it could be otherwise.  But…”

“So do I,” Greenjade said softly.  “But at least I have something to motivate me now…far more than the thought of Garland’s release.”  He laughed a little.  “I wonder just how long it will last between her and that Elf.”

“I wonder she has not come to thank you,” the Wizard said.  

“You don’t know Garland,” Greenjade chuckled.  “It’s no matter, though.  I’m thankful to her for not showing herself, and for choosing another.  I only thought I was in love before.  It frightens me at times…knowing it could all be swept away at a moment’s notice.  Happiness and I have never exactly been the best of friends.  But we are getting better and better acquainted.  I ask of you not to tell anyone just yet.  We plan to announce our betrothal at Yule.  Hopefully, by then we will have set a date for the wedding.  We wish to have it in the temple.  Only Serilinn knows of it, and we have sworn her to secrecy.”

Yet as the servants saw the lovers walking through the streets, with eyes only for each other, stealing away into various nooks to share a kiss and private exchanges of sweet nothings, as Greenjade sent up little gifts to the room above his, as Serilinn skipped and danced for joy everywhere she went, and fired questions that were surely overheard, as Meleth made delicate inquiries of the Queen as to dress-patterns, and where flowers could be gotten this time of year…and when the day of Yuletide arrived and the announcement was made in the Temple, and the wedding date set for six months from then, certain people feigned surprise, and some even managed to do it well.

And Serilinn and Mikala and Ruan hung garlands of holly on the Monument in the Place of the Fountain, and even presumed to break off branches of the Tree to lay before the two figures, then lit the tiny lamp that stood in the little niche in the marble block.

“It’s snowing,” Ruan noted as the three girls stood looking at their work.  And the two figures seemed to smile, unmindful of the thick fuzzy flakes floating down upon them.

There was a great celebration in the main hall of the Palace, with loads of food and drink, and a huge log burning in the fireplace which was trimmed with garlands of holly and ivy and evergreen boughs.  Candles stood everywhere, until the Queen expressed her fear that someone would knock one over.  Musicians played tunes of almost hysterical gaiety, and some that were gently lilting.  Some sang songs that just bordered on being naughty. Delicious smells of cake and rum punch and pastries and roast pig and spices and evergreen and bay leaves and burning wood pervaded the large room.

At one point in all the merriment, a voice suddenly boomed out above the music, so that it stopped, and there in the doorway stood a strange figure in a scarlet robe and a peaked red hat, a pelt of white fur laid across its shoulders along with a chain on which hung several small golden bells.  It wore a gold mask and had long white hair and beard, and carried a bag slung over its back.  By its side was a large he-goat with more bells hanging all over it, and flowers and holly-sprigs stuck to his horns, and a large wreath of fir-boughs and cones and red berries about its neck.  A small figure trailed in behind, dressed all in black, with a scary-looking mask over its face and a black rag tied about its head.  It also carried a bag which dragged on the floor behind it. 

“OHO!” the large bearded figured shouted over the murmurs of the crowd.  “What’s this I see?  A throng making merry, upon me dinglerry!  And what be cause of this joy, I ask—or would answer require too great a task?  Upon this holy eve of Yule, why dance and caper like a fool?  Sobriety, propriety, and most worthy piety—these be a virtue that cannot hurt you!  Heed me words, kindly folk—lest your revelry go up in smoke!”

Greenjade raised his eyebrows to Meleth, who was ravishing in a gown of ice blue embroidered with silver, a wreath of red berries and white roses on her hair.  But she seemed as mystified as he. 

Some of the people laughed, while others appeared puzzled and anxious.  Greenjade looked to the King, but he seemed as baffled as the rest, as was the Queen, who was all in white and gold with a gemmed net in her hair.  He tried to pick Serilinn out of the crowd, and saw her standing with the twins.  She wore her red velvet, her hair pulled back and interwoven with red and gold ribbons and beads, while the brothers were in white trimmed with silver, wreaths of holly on their heads.  They did not seem to care if they looked ridiculous, and Greenjade laughed a little…fondly.  

The bearded figure seemed to be looking for someone, his bells jingling as he stumped along. 

“So,” he boomed, “who’s been good, and who’s been bad?  I’ve presents for some that will make them glad—and some forsooth which may make them sad!  Must I keep me goodies for meself?  Or leave ‘em sittin’ upon a shelf?  Ye’ll see naught so pretty, in this fair city!  Come one, come all, come big, come small…ah there, me lad, be not afeard!  There’s nary goblins hid in me beard!  Here’s somethin’ to make yer little heart glad!  Take care not to drop it, me lad!” 

Eldarion had sidled up to the bearded figure, who stooped down and opened his bag and took a tiny paper sack from it, and gave it to the little Prince, who immediately yanked it open.  Candies and marbles came flying out, landing on the floor, and he scrambled with a cry to pick them up, amid laughter and cheers.  Another boy came, then a girl, then more and more children, and the little black figure, who had uncommonly large feet, danced throughout the room flinging sparkly stuff about, while the goat wandered over to a garland of evergreen boughs that had fallen to the floor and began to eat it, unnoticed save by a tiny finch that flew over and settled upon its left horn, scolding wildly.  The children squealed and shouted, waving their gifts, dancing and skipping.

“Some of those wooden playthings look strangely familiar,” Meleth said with dancing eyes.  Greenjade smiled with elaborate innocence.  “As well as those feather butterflies the little lasses are holding.”

“I wonder where Radagast and Sméagol are keeping themselves,” Greenjade said glancing toward the hulking bearded figure and the prancing black one.  “Perhaps they fell asleep and forgot all about the festivities?”

“Very likely,” Meleth said.  “Perhaps we should awake them, and bring them here?  ‘Tis sad they should miss out on such cheer.  Yet mayhap they hold such frivolous doings in deepest scorn.  Best to let them sleep unto the morn.”

“Indeed, my lady,” Greenjade said.  “Best we not incur their virtuous wrath.  Why tempt them onto such a primrose path?  To entice them thusly would be most wrong, to lure them to such a wayward throng.”

“Of course, my lord,” Meleth giggled.  “I could not love thee with such adoration, if thou leadest thy friends into such degradation.”

“Most definitely,” Greenjade said softly, barely resisting the urge to trace the shape of her lips with his fingertip.

Serilinn came running up, crying, “Look at this!”  She held a round ivory trinket-box with butterfly patterns carved intricately on the lid, the sides worked in gold and polished moonstones.  Inside was a delicate golden key, a little string of pearls, and a silver bracelet with a carved red coral rosebud set in it.  And a lovely little netted bead purse with several gold coins in it.  

“Drat those twins,” Greenjade said with a scowl.  “What business had Elladan to give you such a costly gift without my leave?”

Serilinn giggled uproariously.  “Now Ada Greenjade, I would know your work if I saw it in the bottom of the sea!” she said. 

And he laughed for pure joy, and so did Meleth, and they all embraced at once.

“It’s carved from a mumak tusk, I believe,” Meleth said.  Greenjade grinned. 

“Legolas gave it to me,” he said.  He could see the Elf across the room, watching and smiling hugely.  “That reminds me,” he said, taking another beaded purse from his pocket and handing it to Meleth.  “It was a very big tusk,” he said.

Inside the purse was a necklace of ivory beads interspersed with crystal, with a carved pendant shaped as a swan in flight, the wings intricately wrought and polished and worked in silver. 

“It is the most beautiful gift I have ever received,” she exclaimed as she held it up for all to see.  “Well, almost,” she amended, smiling at Serilinn. 

Greenjade fastened it about her neck, then turned her to look. 

“Perfect,” he said, yet he was not looking at the necklace. Or the ring she now wore on her finger.

“And I’ve something for you,” she said with a mischievous smile.  She flurried off to an adjoining room, and returned with something wrapped in white cloth.  He took it and removed the covering, and found a large piece of cloth rolled up within.  Puzzled, he shook it out, revealing a large banner with a spread eagle on it against a field of sky blue.  The eagle clutched a scepter in one claw and a branch in the other, and the word CALADOR was embroidered below it in beautiful gold letters.

 “OUR FLAG!” Serilinn screamed.  Everyone gasped.  “Ohhhhh!!!” 

Greenjade held it up, rendered positively speechless.  A lump formed in his throat and his hands trembled.

“For the future king of the new nation,” Meleth said very softly.  He still could not speak, but could only stare at the flag, fearing to burst into tears before the entire city.  The King and Queen had gathered closer, along with the three Elves, and others.  “The Queen helped me to make it.”

Then there was another commotion, coming from the entrance of the Palace.

The King nodded to his page, who flurried toward the doorway, and soon returned with a man and a boy who came in their winter wraps, flakes of snow clinging to them.  Servants took the wraps from them, and soon Greenjade could plainly see that the two were father and son.  He heard a cry from another part of the room, and saw Mikala making her way through the crowd toward the pair, as the King did likewise.  The lad, who appeared in his late teens, broke away from his father and went to the girl and they embraced.

“How wonderful to see you, Beregond!” Aragorn said as he hugged the man.  “Have you happy tidings from Ithilien?  For I can see by your face that you have.  Is it what I think?”

And Beregond grinned back with a radiance rivaling the candles all about.

“Little Elboron has a baby sister…and the mother is doing fine,” he said, choking up a little.

46. Acceptance

“Everything is changing,” Serilinn said as she sat with Greenjade and Meleth on the terrace one spring morning. “I wish we could just all stay here, just as we are, only…well, you know. I wish we could have our own house here, and the Academy would be just down the street, or something. I have been so happy here, I cannot imagine living anywhere else now. Not even Calador.”

“I’ve an idea how you feel,” Greenjade said. “But wait until my first respite—then we can all be together for a while.”

Greenjade had joined Gondor’s army.  There was an outpost in the south of Mordor, in the region of Nurn, where he would be stationed, come spring.  His duties would mostly involve border patrol, but some building and planting also.  For the past two months he had been engaged in rigorous training, a large portion of the former battlefield being relegated for that purpose.  He was thankful that he had trained in Rohan, so that he would not look a mere neophyte.  He liked it all, enjoying once more the camaraderie, the roughness, and the feeling of pride in learning to defend one’s own.  Legolas was captain of his regiment, and Greenjade gained a good deal of respect for him, for the Elf clearly knew his stuff and had no fear at all.  The King himself came out and drilled with them regularly, and even the Queen practiced her shooting with them.  It turned out she was nearly as adept with a bow as her brothers, and had helped defend Lothlorien when she had been living with her mother’s people.  

Serilinn adored their corner of the Palace, the view from the terrace, the garden, Mikala and Ruan and the little ones, Radagast and Sméagol and Nilde and Greenjade all together as a family, and of course, the King and Queen and the twins and Legolas.  And all the staff members and near neighbors and the folk who ran the shops and restaurants and the library and the guild members, and those who hung about the streets in the late evenings, warming themselves at small fires and telling stories and singing songs, the musicians and artists and craftsfolk and poets and bards who populated the winding street in the daytime.  Sméagol had become one of these; after his performance at the Yule party, he had lost some of his inhibitions and enjoyed dressing in odd costumes, painting his face and performing startling feats.  He could walk on his hands and climb poles and trees, dance and bend himself into unlikely contortions that made people gasp and snicker.  Sometimes he would paint faces on his hands and make puppets of them.  The local acting troupe had taken him into their company as a clownish sort, and treated him with respect and affection.  Serilinn performed with them sometimes also, and her singing went down particularly well with the populace. 

Radagast and Sméagol came out to join them, along with Nilde.  Greenjade pulled out chairs for them. 

“Look at Nilde, how her sides bulge,” Serilinn said brightening.  “She is going to have little ones, isn’t she?”

“Aye, that she is,” Radagast said as he caressed the back of her neck.  “I think it a good thing, because if she hadn’t a litter to occupy her, she might well pine away for me and Sméagol.  Are you sure you will not mind having her, Meleth?”

“I shall be delighted,” Meleth said smiling.  “She will provide some company for me while Serilinn is at school.  And I am sure there are many about who would like to take the pups.”

“I dare say little Elboron would love to have one,” Radagast said with twinkling eyes.  “I imagine his new baby sister is diverting a good deal of attention from him, and a puppy would be just the thing for him.”

The Queen herself accompanied the others when the time came to leave.  It was only about eighteen miles to Osgiliath. 

“She has been much rebuilt,” Arwen said as they rode along in her carriage, Meleth and Serilinn and Greenjade, while Radagast and Sméagol drove the wagon (outfitted with a new cover and a more attractive paint job).  The twins rode along behind or ahead.  “She was founded by the King Elendil and his sons at the end of the Second Age.  She was burned during the Kin-strife and her palantir was lost, probably in the River Anduin. Long after that, she was struck by the Great Plague so that she fell into complete ruin. So King Tarondor moved the capital to Minas Anor, which was the former name of Minas Tirith.  After Minas Ithil fell to the Ringwraiths and became Minas Morgul, the Uruks occupied Ithilien and destroyed the Great Bridge of Osgiliath.  Boromir and Faramir fought gallantly to retake her, but they were greatly outnumbered.  It was only two years ago that we began to rebuild her.”

“Did you see the City before all those things happened?” Meleth asked.

“Aye, once,” Arwen said.  “But it was a great long time ago.  I was little older than Serilinn.  She was the capital in those days, and I traveled with my parents to attend a gala affair at the Embassy.  I remember her well, particularly the Dome of Stars.  I am astonished that the people here have been as accepting of me as they have been.”

“I wonder if the girls at school will be accepting of me,” Serilinn said softly.  “I shall be the only Elf there, yes?”

“I think they will be accepting,” Meleth said.  “You have the sort of personality people are much drawn to.”

 “I suppose I am worried,” Serilinn said, “about what I shall tell them about my…parentage.  I do not wish to make up stories, yet I don’t wish to tell them all, either.”

“You might tell them only as much as they need to know,” Meleth said.  “That you were an orphan and have been adopted by your former nurse.  It is true enough, and if they wish to know more, you may tell them you do not wish to discuss it.”

“Do you suppose I shall be the only one there who does not eat meat?” Serilinn said. 

“I have explained to the headmistress that you are a vegetarian,” Arwen said.  “I’m sure they will be accommodating.  By the way, I’ve a little gift for you.  I was going wait until just before leaving, but I think I shall give it to you now.”

She opened her velvet bag and drew out a tiny box, and handed it to Serilinn, who took it with raised eyebrows.  She opened it to find a little silver ring with a single white gem in it.

“Oh, how lovely!” she exclaimed holding up the jewel to the light.   

“I had it when I was a lass,” Arwen said, “If you should be troubled by the Darkness, it will bring you aid, as the Evenstar brought to the Ringbearer.  The stone is of the same sort.”

“Thank you so much, your highness,” Serilinn said with teary eyes as she kissed the Queen’s hand, then tried the ring on her finger and then held her hand up to admire it.  “But did you not wish to give this to Lúthien when she grows bigger?”

“I thought to do so,” Arwen said, “but I think it were better for you to have it, since you are acquainted with the Darkness.”

“I shall wear it on the chain with my new locket,” Serilinn said.  “I know Frodo wore the One Ring so, and to wear it that way might make me feel connected with him.  You know he will be my grandfather?  I wonder what he would think of that.”

“He would feel honored, I am sure,” Meleth said.   

“And I hope the girls will not laugh at Cinnamon,” Serilinn said glancing at the doll by her side.  “I cannot leave her at the house, and I hope the others will understand.  Ah me, I have so many oddities!”

“I think you need not worry,” Greenjade spoke up.  “With the connections you have, I dare say you will be well set up.”

“But I wish to be liked for myself, not my…connections,” Serilinn said.

“Of course you do,” Meleth said smoothing back a lock of raven hair.  “And you shall be.”

She smiled, remembering the recent discussion.  Arwen had explained that the school did not take just anyone, and all had to take a test in order to be admitted.  When she said she had enrolled Serilinn, the girl said, “But I took no test.”

“You did not have to,” Arwen had told her.  “They took you upon my recommendation.”

But Serilinn frowned, saying, “I think I should take the test, just the same.  It seems only fair.”

And Arwen smiled, saying, “Very well then.  I’ve a copy put away, and will find it for you.  And I will help you to study for it…for you will have to study a bit, surely.”

Greenjade felt vastly proud of her, at the same time wishing her admirable qualities had been his own doing.

“Certainly you’ll be liked for yourself,” he said.  “Still and all, it can’t hurt to get a foot in the door any way one can…within limits of reason, that is,” he amended when Meleth frowned a little.

And he realized then how little he really knew of being a parent.

Meleth had quietly and privately told Serilinn she thought Elladan’s proposal had been made somewhat in jest, and he had protested its seriousness in order not to hurt her feelings, and she might do well not to hold him to it.  She had spoken to him of it, and he assured her he was very serious indeed, as he had to reassure his sister, who had taken him to task about it.

And so it was that he and Serilinn were unofficially betrothed. 

Meleth thought it would be better to keep the matter private, but Serilinn told Mikala of it one day, asking her to keep it to herself.  Ruan came in just that moment, and heard all. And Ruan, as “everyone” knew, could not keep a secret. 

“I only told mum,” she protested after the story got out, much to Serilinn’s mortification.  “And I asked her not to tell.  I think the washerwoman must have heard.  But I didn’t know she was there.  Or maybe it was our neighbor, she’s a nosy old busybody, Mum says, and always has her ear to a keyhole.  What will I do now?” she wailed.

Elladan took it very lightly, however, and was even pleased. 

“Now the place will have something to bloody talk about for a while,” he said with twinkling eyes to his brother and sister, “besides the price of mutton-chops and the glory of the olden days.  That’s the trouble with peace—she invariably chooses the Ordinary as her bridegroom.”

Now he and Elrohir were returning to Mordor, and Greenjade was glad of that.

He was in uniform now, and Serilinn and Meleth looked very proud of him.  His beard was trimmed very short, his hair to just above shoulder length.  Once he had thought to let it grow long for Meleth’s sake, but she assured him he need not try to make of himself something he wasn’t meant to be.  Would he want to trim his ears into points next? she joked.  Her sense of humor always threw him, it was so unexpected and refreshing.   

He was surprised when they entered Osgiliath, it loomed up so suddenly before him.  As with Tharbad, it was undergoing reconstruction, but it was far larger and had a cool, austere beauty about it, that depressed him somehow.  It was as if someone had plucked a once beautiful statue out of the mud, cleaned it off and tried to replace the missing parts. Why had the Queen chosen to establish the school here?

“It is even more beautiful than Minas Tirith,” Serilinn said after a moment, “yet does not have all the same life and warmth about it.  I wonder why that is.  I can think of Minas Tirith as a ‘she’ but to me, Osgiliath is still an ‘it’.”

Greenjade laughed a little.  “I was going to say that,” he said.

“Truly?”  Serilinn looked at him wide-eyed.

“Nay,” he said.  “But I know what you mean.  Minas Tirith has humanity and voice and thought and feeling.  There is beauty and life here, but it has not truly ‘thawed’ yet.  It needs a transforming element of some sort.  But I do not know what it will take to give it such.”

“Is that the Dome of Stars?” Serilinn asked a few moments later, as they drove along the street leading to the Great Bridge, which had been rebuilt first thing. 

“It is,” Arwen said smiling.  “You will soon get a chance to see the City in more detail and see all the sights when we return from Ithilien.  Perhaps we can even go inside the great hall.  I still recall the Stone of Osgiliath, larger than any of the other Palantiri, sitting upon a large marble table in the midst of the room.  It was dark, but even as I gazed upon it, it became full of light.  It seemed to sing to me, to tell me wonderful things…things I cannot remember now, but it promised me great moments of joy and sorrow beyond anything I could imagine.  It sang of a man I would meet, and a mother I would lose, and a kingdom I would rule, and a path I would walk and a bridge I would cross and not be allowed to look behind me.  It frightened me, and yet filled me with an excitement I can scarcely describe.  I thought it to be akin to the Great Jewels themselves, like the one on the prow of my grandfather’s ship, the Vingiloth, and I thought myself to be in the presence of The One, himself.  It was a feeling of embracing, of acceptance of my destiny.”

“How terrible that the Stone should have been lost,” Meleth said softly.

“Perhaps,” Arwen said, “but then again, perhaps not.  Had it not been lost, mayhap Sauron would have corrupted it for his own foul purposes, and done even more evil than he did—beyond all imagining.  Perhaps it was lost for a reason.”

Serilinn was scarcely listening now, as Greenjade could see.  She was looking out the window still…but not at the Dome.  She was looking at Elladan.

~*~*~

The Academy building was of white stone and had the same austere beauty, on the outside, as the city of Osgiliath.  There was a double door in front with brass overlay in gracefully curving shapes, and a statue on either side, and young trees out front putting out white buds.  Over the door the name of the school was carved in marble:  THE ACADEMY OF THE STARS.

The Queen wore a dark-grey cloak with the hood over her head, so as not to be conspicuous, Greenjade supposed.  It didn't work, of course; such regality as she possessed could not be disguised by a mere cloak.  She led the way, opening the door before Greenjade had a chance to do so, and walking coolly in.  And everyone followed.

The foyer was paved with polished marble in starry patterns, black and white, with golden chips inlaid, and bronze candle sconces ornamented the walls, softly lighted.  Chairs and small marble tables stood about with vases of flowers, and a chandelier hung in the middle, with many small candles glowing.  And a beautiful statue of a lady holding a book in her hands, and on closer inspection, one could see her face resembled that of the Queen.  

And then behind her was the real surprise:  a mosaic nearly covering the middle of the wall, depicting nine figures all standing together…and some of them looked distinctly familiar.

Serilinn gasped.  Meleth stood stock still, and the twins looked at each other and grinned knowingly, then at their sister, then looked at the mosaic again and fell silent.  Greenjade stood behind Serilinn and Meleth, a hand on each of their shoulders, looking up at the mosaic, which was lit by two large sconces on either side, and a lamp on a small pedestal before it, and another smaller chandelier hanging just above it. 

No one seemed to know what to say.

Then a woman entered from an adjoining room, tall and handsome with graying hair wound into a braid at the nape of her neck, in a dark-colored dress with a small white tree embroidered just below the throat.

“I can never look at it enough,” she said softly.  All turned to look at her.  She gasped as she realized the Queen was among their midst.

“This is Mistress Haldaraina,” Arwen introduced her.  “She is headmistress of the Academy.  This is Serilinn, who will be attending this year.  This is her adoptive mother Meleth, and Meleth’s betrothed, Greenjade.  And my brothers Elladan and Elrohir, and the Wizard Radagast and this is Sméagol…”

The headmistress looked at the motley company, particularly at the twins, who were resplendent in black trimmed with gold and scarlet cloaks.  At Greenjade, who was still in his uniform with the White Tree embroidered on the front, then at Meleth, in periwinkle blue and white.  At Radagast in his usual brown, and Sméagol, who could not seem to wrench his gaze from the mosaic, particularly from the central figure.  Then she turned her attention to Serilinn, who was looking gravely up at her.  

“I am glad to have you among us, my dear,” Mistress Haldaraina said extending one hand.  The girl shyly put forth her own hand.  “Will you come up and see your room, and put away your things?  Your roommates are already here, I believe.”

“Oh, I haven’t them with me,” Serilinn said.  “We are going to see our cottage in Ithilien, and have only stopped here to register me.”

“Well, you might like to see your room, just the same,” the headmistress said.  “And meet the girls with whom you will be sharing it, yes?”

She led the way up a flight of stairs just a few steps from the mosaic; there were two such flights, one on each side.  Upstairs was a hallway, with four doors on each side.

“Ah, I see someone is here already,” Mistress Haldaraina said as she opened the third door on her left.  “This is Gilglín.  She has been with us for two years now.  Gilglin, this is our new girl, Serilinn, from Minas Tirith.  Where are the others?”

Gilglin appeared about thirteen years old, thin and sharp-faced, and did not look very friendly.  Her greenish eyes swept over Serilinn.  Greenjade held his breath, waiting for her to say something rude so he could hustle Serilinn out of there. 

A voice from across the hall called out, “Mistress Haldaraina, would you please come in here?  There’s a window with a cracked pane.”

The headmistress turned saying, “Pardon me,” and went into the other room, leaving the others in the hallway.

Gilglin wore a dress of dark grey, brightened somewhat with a scarlet tie, and an embroidered red and gold badge on her left side showing a many-rayed star.  She looked at Serilinn’s dress and then at her, taking her in, particularly her hair.  Her own was an agreeable shade of brown, but rather thin. 

“That’s your bed,” she said pointing at the one nearest Serilinn.  “Where is your bag?”

Serilinn entered the room hesitantly.  The others remained outside.  The twins were downstairs, along with Radagast and Sméagol, inspecting the classrooms.  Arwen was explaining about the school’s policies and history, but Greenjade was only half listening, watching Serilinn out of the corner of his eye.

“Not what you’re used to, I suppose,” Gilglin said as Serilinn stood looking at it the bed and the little table.   

“Nay, it is not,” Serilinn said reaching down to touch the white linen coverlet.  Then she looked toward the door as if contemplating flight.

“Well, if you stick around long enough, you’ll get the feel of it, I’m sure,” Gilglin said with just a hint of a smirk.  Then two more girls entered, pushing past the adults without seeming to notice them, Arwen’s back being turned toward them.  One had long fair hair in braids; the other had brown hair of a darker shade than Gilglin’s and a bit curly.  They stopped short, staring at the newcomer with open mouths. 

“This is our new girl…what’s your name again?” Gilglin said. 

“Serilinn,” the new girl said.

“This is Kaerwyn and this is Illi,” Gilglin said.  “That’s what we call her, at least.  Her right name’s too long for anyone to remember.”

“You’re beautiful,” Illi said gazing wide-eyed at Serilinn, who smiled shyly and dropped a small curtsey.  The fair girl raised her eyebrows.

“Thank you, Illi,” Serilinn said, recovering her graciousness and smiling.  “So are you.”

“I’m not!” Illi said with her cheeks growing pink, then giggled and looked at the others as if for confirmation, dimples appearing in the corners of her mouth.  Greenjade stifled a laugh.  She was pretty, but not exactly in a class with Serilinn.   

“Kaerwyn is from Rohan,” Gilglin informed Serilinn.  “Illi is from Belfalas and I am from Lebennin.  You don’t talk like any of us.  Are you native to Gondor?  I suppose not.”

“I am from Eriador, but my home now is in Gondor,” Serilinn said.  “I have been in Rohan, but not Lebennin.  That is where King Elessar defeated the Corsairs of Umbar with the Grey Company and the Army of the Dead, is it not?  At Pelargir?”

Gilglin’s mouth twitched.  “Well.  You do know some things, don’t you?” she said, sounding none too pleased.  Kaerwyn and Illi looked at each other, unsure how to react.

Greenjade frowned.

“Some things,” Serilinn said softly.  “I read much of Gondor when we came to stay with the King and Queen, but there is so much to know, and I fear I will never know it all.”

Greenjade grinned.

“Staying with the King and Queen?” Kaerwyn said wide-eyed.  “Are you a princess?”

“I once was, but not any more,” Serilinn said.  “Unless my Ada should become king of Calador, which is what Mordor will be renamed, when she becomes a garden once more.  Then--”

“Your what?” Gilglin said, putting her thin hands on her thin hips.

“Ada--my father,” Serilinn explained.  “He has joined Gondor’s army, and is going to Cal--Mordor to clean up the filth of Sauron and make it a beautiful and holy place.  I wished to go and help him, but the King forbade it.  So I am here, instead, until it should become more habitable.”

Illi cleared her throat.  Kaerwyn just stared.  Gilglin eyed Serilinn with a touch of suspicion.

“Are you having us on?” she demanded. 

“I beg your pardon?” Serilinn said. 

“Pulling our leg,” Gilglin said.  “You know.  Making up stories.  That sort of thing.”

“Oh nay!” Serilinn exclaimed.  “It is the truth.  I would not make up stories with you.  There is the Queen, she will tell you, ‘tis true.”

“The Que--“ Kaerwyn and Illi spoke simultaneously, then clapped their hands over their mouths, looking toward the doorway where Arwen stood still talking to Meleth and Greenjade, who smiled innocently and waved to the girls.

“That is your father?” Illi whispered in obviously admiring tones.  Serilinn smiled.

“Aye,” she said.  “Is he not beautiful?”

“And the golden-haired lady is your mother?” Kaerwyn said.  Serilinn nodded.

“She is very beautiful,” Illi said.  “Like you--only you do not look like her.  She looks like a queen, also.”

Gilglin was silent, looking not at all happy about the situation. 

Then there was a sound of running footsteps issuing from the stairwell, and the headmistress’s voice speaking sharply. 

“Girls!  You know running is not allowed on the stairs.  If you were to fall and hurt yourselves, how would I explain that to your parents?”

“I am sorry, Mistress Haldaraina,” one of the girls spoke.  “We are excited.  I will not do it again.” 

The other girl promised likewise, then both burst into the room. 

“There are two Elves downstairs,” one of them exclaimed, “just exactly alike!  And they are gorgeous!”

Greenjade held back his laughter with an effort.

Serilinn giggled, her cheeks growing very pink. 

“They are the Queen’s brothers,” she said.  The girls squeaked, looking toward the doorway to see Arwen smiling at them.  “Would you like to meet them?”

Illi and Kaerwyn clasped their hands dramatically.  “Oh yes!” they and the other two cried simultaneously.  Gilglin was silent.

Greenjade’s laughter subsided.  He hoped Serilinn was not going to tell them of the “betrothal”.  Meleth had advised her against doing so.  The girls were unlikely to believe her, she said.  And might be jealous. 

“Come with me, then,” Serilinn said inclining her dark head toward the door.  All five girls flurried after her, Gilglin last of all.  Greenjade perceived that her pointy nose was a trifle out of joint now.  He grinned to himself, then the grin receded a bit as he realized that she might make things hard for Serilinn….

Still, she most definitely had a foot in the door.  Gilglin would just have to learn to accept the inevitable. As would he.

47.  Ithilien

“Here is the key,” Éowyn said as they stood before the cottage.  “Ah, two of them.  I had it copied.  Keep one of them in a safe place, if you are like me.”

She smiled. 

And the others stood back to look at Meleth’s and Serilinn’s new home.

It was a simple stone cottage like most in Ithilien with a thatched roof and green-shuttered windows, and ivy growing up one wall.  It had been well looked after, obviously, and had the beginnings of a flower garden all about, daffodils and narcissi and hyacinth blooming already, amongst new curling ferns gleaming with dewdrops, and tall pines and firs and cedars standing a good way out, lindens and oaks and chestnuts and larches closer by, and a rustic wooden bench out front backed by flowering bushes and birch saplings.  And all about were rugged mountains and more trees in variegated greens, some covered in white buds, and misty silvery clouds and hurrying streamlets that twinkled and glistened in the noonday sunlight.  The roar of a waterfall could be heard a ways off, and Éowyn said it could be seen if one walked about a quarter-mile down the road and rounded the bend.  Wild flowers sprang up everywhere, and birdcalls could be heard from closely neighboring forests.  Two or three other cottages could be spotted in the distance, along with flocks of sheep and cattle grazing in high meadows, with their young skipping and frisking close by. 

“I do not see how even the Blessed Realm could outshine this,” Meleth said softly.

Greenjade nodded his agreement.  He thought he had seen beautiful countryside before.  It all seemed pretty threadbare compared to this.

“I hope someday Calador will look like this,” Serilinn said where she stood holding the tiny new Finduilas.  Little Elboron broke away from his nurse and ran out to inspect the back yard, although he had seen it before.  Still, one never knew; something new might have sprung up back there while he was gone.  Nilde ran after him.  Faramir laughed gently as he watched his son and the dog.

Sméagol went after them, wishing to avoid Faramir, although the Prince had been quite kind and gracious to him, as Aragorn had been, even apologizing to him for the way his men had treated him.

“I had forgotten how it looked myself,” Radagast said.  Rusco flew up and fluttered after Nilde, not wishing to miss out on whatever it was the others discovered back there.  “It was far wilder and more rugged when last I saw it.  Now it appears much as it did in former times.”

Serilinn brought the baby back to the nurse.  “I feel like running myself,” she said giggling. 

“Don’t you wish to see the inside?” Meleth said laughing.  Serilinn laughed also, and followed her and Éowyn into the cottage, the others coming in after them.

The house was well and simply furnished, with white lace curtains at the windows and woven rugs, a small fireplace with a round mirror over it, flanked with candles, and colorful blankets on the chairs and couches.  The walls were whitewashed, and a tapestry showing a tree full of birds hung on one of them.  Down the hall there were two small bedrooms with tiled stoves in them, and latticed windows with milky glass, and beds with nicely worked coverlets and embroidered pillows on them.  And at the end of the hall was a room that opened out back and could be used as a workroom.  It had only a table and two chairs. 

“It’s all so cozy and delightful,” Meleth said.  “It looks as though someone lives here already…well, but perhaps it’s a little too neat for that.  What think you, Serilinn?”

“I think it suits us exactly,” Serilinn said.  “So quaint and charming.”

Faramir laughed.  Greenjade tried not to, but suddenly he couldn’t keep it back either.  He thought Serilinn must be well accustomed to having people laugh at the things she said by now.  But did she like it?

“I quite agree,” Faramir said smiling, “and I’m glad you like it.  But if the two of you ever hanker for finer quarters, our estate is always open to you.  And it is but fifteen miles away.”

“I’ve engaged a housekeeper for you,” Éowyn said.  “Her name is Mistress Amdir.”

“Oh, I need no housekeeper!” exclaimed Meleth.  “I can keep house myself.”

“But you’ve your wedding gown to make,” Éowyn reminded her with an arch glance toward Greenjade.  “And Serilinn’s bridesmaid dress as well.”

“It will not take me so long,” Meleth said.  “I’ve a great deal done on it already.  And Serilinn’s is finished.”

“Well, but please allow Mistress Amdir to come and work for you at least once a week,” Éowyn pleaded.  “She lost both husband and son in the War, and needs work badly.  She does much washing for others, but needs what she can get.”

“In that case, I shall let her come,” Meleth said.  “The poor soul.  Has she any other children?”

“A daughter, but she has married and lives in a different village,” Éowyn said. 

They went to look at the stable, finding a snowy mare within.  

“Her name is Nimrodel,” Éowyn said.  “You do ride, yes?”

“Aye, but with no great skill,” Meleth said.  “I suppose I shall get in some practice now.  Thank you so much, my lady.  This is a wonderful gift I did not expect.”

“She’s quite gentle, and has been ridden before,” Éowyn said.  “She is four years old.”

“I’ve never seen such a lovely horse,” Serilinn said going up to stroke Nimrodel’s muzzle.  “Is she of the Mearas?”

Éowyn laughed a little.  “I think not.  I had her from a man who has lived long in Ithilien.”

“I only wish I could live here all the time, instead of at the school,” Serilinn said clasping her hands.  “I suppose that is wicked and ungrateful of me.  But it’s so.”

“Well, if you are not happy at the school,” Meleth said, “perhaps I can teach you here.  But I would like for you to be with other girls for a while.  At least, could you give it a try, for the Queen’s sake?”

“I will,” Serilinn said, “but I do not expect to be happy, and shall greatly look forward to the weekends when I can be here in this sweet place with you, Nana Meleth.”

Arwen had turned back for home after registering Serilinn at the school.  The brothers had remained at Emyn Arnen, helping to hold down the place, but said they would come out next day.  The first night at the cottage would be for Meleth, Greenjade, and Serilinn alone.  The others would stay at the inn nearby.

“I hope Nilde likes it here,” Serilinn said later on, watching Elboron pet the dog.  He was a quiet little lad much of the time, but every once in a while he would say things that sounded like afterthoughts.  Before little Finduilas was born, folk would ask him if that were his brother or his sister in there.  And once he said, “No, it’s my best friend, and that is a very good thing!” 

Greenjade recalled what Eldarion had said to Beregond upon hearing that Elboron had a baby sister at the age of three.  The little Prince had shrugged saying, “I had a baby sister when I was three.  Tell Elboron it isn’t such a big deal once you get used to it.”

“She thinks I taste good,” Elboron said as Nilde licked his hand, “but I don’t know why.”

The others laughed. 

“It is because you are so sweet,” said his doting mother.

“Nay,” he protested, “I licked myself yesterday.  I’m not sweet at all.  I’m rather salty.  I suppose Nilde likes salt.”

The others laughed more.

“Why did you lick yourself?”  his father asked. 

“I just felt like it,” Elboron said shrugging.

“How would you like to have one of her pups?” Radagast asked.

Elboron nodded.  “I shall call it ‘Whippersnapper’,” he said.

The others laughed uproariously.

“Where did you hear such a name as that?” Radagast asked when he could get his breath.

“Bergil calls me that sometimes,” the little boy said.  “I don’t know why.  I hope they are not biting her in there.”

“Bergil is in the army now also,” Serilinn said, “and will go to Mordor also.  Mikala is not happy about it.  She should be proud of him.  I think he looks very handsome in his uniform, and I told her so.”

It was nearly sunset when the others finally left and Greenjade, Meleth, and Serilinn were left alone in their cottage.  Nilde had insisted on going with Radagast.  They all wondered how they were going to keep her from following him to Mordor. 

“We’ll have to lock her up,” Greenjade said in answer to Serilinn.  “I see no other way.”

“Poor Sméagol,” Serilinn said.  “I don’t see how he will bear it apart from her.”

“But he will see her again in three months,” Meleth said with her incorrigible optimism.  “And she will be a mother by then…and I shall be a bride, Greenjade will be a father, and you will have two parents.  It will be a joyful time for all.”

On the last day at Ithilien, they all spent it at the palace in Emyn Arnen.  They tried to make merry, but no one felt much like it.  So eventually they settled down to conversation.  The adults alternately talked of politics and the trouble in Harad, and listened to Éowyn’s stories of her patients.  Faramir was doing a good bit of writing--not that he had much time for it.  He had written of his time as a Ranger and some of the history of Ithilien, and he had also written a little storybook for Elboron, which the little boy proudly showed them.  Faramir had even drawn pictures for it.  He didn’t think they were very good, but Elboron loved them.  Serilinn said they were excellent.  He was having Minas Morgul rebuilt as well, and restored to it its former name of Minas Ithil.  He spoke much of this project.  

“So you are Frodo’s stepson,” Faramir had said to Greenjade earlier in their meeting.   And so Greenjade found yet another to tell him of his stepfather.  The days and nights passed in bittersweet peace and a feeling of togetherness that was all the more beautiful and poignant since it would soon be a thing of the past.  Sitting up on the veranda in the evenings looking out over the mountains and waterfalls, which abounded in precipitous splendour, hiking up steep trails and standing high on cliffsides gazing down at it all, riding horseback through the valleys starred with yellow and white and orange and purple flowers, fishing in the clear streams and pools, watching the children playing with Nilde and and chasing butterflies and holding the baby all warm and soft in her infinite sweetness.  Greenjade had held her also, although he didn’t want to at first, but Serilinn insisted, and he wept inside to think he had never held one of his own children like this…and he wondered what Nell was doing now, and if her child were a son or a daughter, and whether it resembled him or her, or both of them, and what she had named it and whether or not he would ever see it and if it would ever think of him….     

~*~*~

“Well, here we go,” he said as he helped Radagast and Sméagol load and hitch up the wagon once more.  It was early in the morning, cool and cloudy, likely to rain.  “It’s off to Mordor with us.  Tra la la la, we’re on our way.  The road goes ever on and on…”

Elladan jabbed at him with his elbow.  Greenjade narrowly avoided it, trying to laugh, but it did not come off well.

Sméagol was weeping a bit, wiping his nose on his sleeve.  He had already bid farewell to Nilde, who was locked into the courtyard.  She was not aware yet that the others were leaving.  Elboron was with her, having told the others that he must take “wonderful care” of her now that she was going to have children. Rusco would not be going either. 

“He has found himself a sweetheart,” Radagast had said with a deep sigh as he watched the finch building a nest with his new mate in a tree near the cottage, and Serilinn had rejoiced that he would be nearby.  “I shall miss him very much also, but I doubt he would have been happy in Mordor, either.  This is just the place for him, and I am glad he has decided to settle here.”

Legolas had joined them.  He had left Minas Tirith a week or so before the others, to fetch Gimli and see his father in Ithilien.  The dwarf came riding behind them on a small pony, looking most uncomfortable.  He would be going to Mordor also, and work alongside of Radagast and Sméagol.

Bergil came along on his horse, in uniform also.  His father and mother and his two younger sisters were there with him, seeing him off.  He would ride with them and the twins.  He did not look happy to be going either.

Beregond would escort Serilinn to her school the next day.  She would only have time to stop at the cottage to get her things.  She told Bergil’s sister Ivrenel, with whom she had pledged eternal sisterhood, that she wished she were coming to the school with her.  Ivrenel, who was eleven, said she might go next year if her mother would let her, but feared she was too stupid to pass the test.  Her tutor was always getting onto her for daydreaming, as it was.  And she was simply awful at mathematics; she wished it had never been invented, she said.

“I could help you,” Serilinn said.  “I’m not fond of it myself, but Nana Meleth says I’m better than she was at my age.  Ada Greenjade says I am amazing, but I doubt that very much.  I detest long division.  I see no point in it.”

“I hate it all,” Ivrenel said.  “I’m afraid if I went to that school, they’d laugh at me.”

“I fear that too,” Serilinn admitted.  “But if they do, I suppose I shall just have to endure it.”

“They won’t,” Ivrenel said looking at her with worshipful eyes. “You are so beautiful and smart, all will adore you.  I wish I could go along just to take care of you, like Sam.”

Greenjade kissed Meleth lingeringly and gazed deeply into her eyes one last time, reminding himself that when next he saw her she would be in her wedding gown.  It made him dizzy just thinking of it. 

“My very own true love,” he murmured as he at last separated himself from her, and then Serilinn came and embraced him also.

“My darling lass,” he said as he held her in his arms one last time.  “Write me often, yes?  I did give you the address of our outpost?”

“Aye, Ada Greenjade,” she said choking up.  “I will write every day.”

“Not every day,” he said.  “You won’t have time.  Once a week, or even once a month, will be sufficient.  And not to fear.  You will do splendidly, I know.”

“You write me too, Ada,” she said.  “I will look forward to your letters.  They will be as a breath of fresh air in a…a very stuffy room.”

He laughed just a little, until he saw tears seeping from her eyes.  He kissed them away silently.

And embraced her and Meleth both. 

The Black Gate loomed straight ahead, although it was no longer there.

48. Life on the Moon

“We are taking the short cut,” Legolas announced, “through what was once known as the Pass of Cirith Ungol.  It is over a hundred miles to the Black Gate from here.  But we won’t be taking the stairs.  A road has been made there.  For the nonce, it is known merely as the Morgul Road.  We will pass through what was once known as the Morgul Vale and see the city of Minas Ithil, as it is now known.  You will see what wonders my father and I, and the rest of us, have wrought therein.  It is not yet a populous city, but there is a home for soldiers there, as well as one for war orphans and widows and former slaves of Sauron.  And of course we tore down all those hideous gargoyles and statues on the bridge.  Orcs have such wretched taste in décor.” 

“I would be most happy to take the long way around,” Greenjade said.

“Trust me,” Elrohir told him, “you do not want to go by the Black Gate.  Even though it is gone now, its shadow remains still.”

“And there is troll-smell,” Elladan said.  “Likely it will be years before it all goes away.”

“I do not wish to go that way,” Gimli said.  “Sooner I should meet a giant spider than visit that place again.  And I will be ready for her, should she decide to show herself.”

“I believe Shelob died long ago,” Legolas said glancing back at Bergil, who was looking a trifle alarmed.  “After her battle with Sam Gamgee, she retreated into her cave, and no sightings have been reported since.  It seems likely she expired of her wounds.”

“Well! if any of her kin should be about, they will not get past this dwarf,” Gimli declared.  “I and some of my comrades took out one of her kind near Mirkwood once long ago.  It put up a fight you would scarcely believe, but we laid her low.  We needed no Elves to help us…only to bury the thing.  Ergggh, what a stink!”

They reached the Morgul Vale late in the afternoon.  Radagast had been describing how it had looked, the greenish corpse-light that had emanated from the tower, casting an eerie glow for miles about.  Not to mention the stench.  Sméagol shuddered and trembled behind them in the wagon.

“Well,” Radagast said, “I was not expecting this much improvement.  Look at that.”

They were coming upon a great valley all grown over with grass and wildflowers, in which cattle could be seen grazing, and far back there was a city very like Minas Tirith, only not so big.  All white and walled, with a tower rising as a silver needle from atop.  A fragrance of sweet grass arose on the cool, moist breeze.

“As it once was,” Radagast said very softly, turning to look at Greenjade and Sméagol, who was staring in wonder, and no longer trembling.  “I suppose Faramir will be going to live there eventually, although he seems content where he is.”

Greenjade felt as if he were missing a couple of limbs.  He could not work up much enthusiasm for the rehabilitated city.  It would be a very long three months.

“Are you all right now, Sméagol?” Radagast asked.  Sméagol nodded.

“Nasty orcses all gone now,” he said.   

“Aye, all gone,” Radagast said.  “There may be some lurking about in Mordor.  But not so many.”

They stopped in the city, to visit some of the inhabitants, and recruit some as were able and willing to go to Mordor.  Six men and two women volunteered to come.  Four of the men were former soldiers, who had been injured enough not to be able to fight any more, but they said they were capable of planting and building.  Radagast invited the young women to ride with them.  They said they would take turn and about, and let the men ride, being crippled as they were.  The women and younger men would go on foot. 

There was an elderly woman there named Ioreth, who was running the Soldiers’ Home; Radagast said she had once been head nurse in the House of Healing in Minas Tirith.  She did not seem happy to be losing the soldiers, but they told her they would come and visit her, and they sounded as though they meant it. 

“Lord Faramir offered to let her retire with a generous pension, but she was having none,” one of the soldiers said.  “As a mother she is to us.”

They ended up staying overnight in the City, for it began to rain as they took their supper.  After it grew dark, Radagast called the others outside to come and see a wondrous sight. 

Greenjade and Sméagol stepped outdoors from the inn where they were staying, came out onto the street where the Wizard stood, and looked.  The city had a pale, silvery glow like moonlight against the night sky, despite the rain, which had slackened to a gentle mist.  The mysterious beauty took Greenjade’s breath away as he felt the soft kiss of cool water on his upturned face.   

“It’s as if we were on the moon herself,” Radagast said.  “This is the Elves’ doing, I will warrant.”

“Pretty, pretty,” Sméagol said, then sighed.  “I miss Pretty Doggie.”

“So do I,” Radagast said.  “However, in three months we shall see her again…and she will motivate us to work all the harder to make Mordor habitable.”

“I have been mortal for nearly a whole year,” Greenjade said.  “And I would not go back to what I once was.  This city is myself, I think.”

“I would not go back either,” Sméagol said.  Greenjade looked at him for a moment, then smiled, and laid a hand on Sméagol’s shoulder in a brotherly gesture. 

And all three looked up at the softly glimmering city in the mist.

Sméagol’s tenseness disappeared as they departed Minas Ithil the next morning.  The road was rocky as it led into what was now called the Morgai Pass.  The mountains rose before, rocky and craggy with very little vegetation. 

“Here is the place where once stood the Tower of Cirith Ungol,” Legolas announced.  “We razed it almost immediately after the War.  Here the Ringbearer Frodo Baggins was taken prisoner until he was rescued by his servant Samwise Gamgee.  I suppose you all know the story already?”

Greenjade nodded, shuddering.  An air of dread still lingered about the place.  Before them, he could see a vast plain, with some grass attempting growth, along with a few pitiful-looking trees.  And in the distance, a great pointed black mountain pierced the misty coverings of lingering clouds. 

Mount Doom.

“Welcome to Mordor,” Legolas said grimly, to one and all.  

~*~*~

The outpost was called Fort Nurnen.  Some of the men called it Fort Nothing.  There were barracks erected of stone and mortar, and they did little to keep out the rain.  The soldiers slept on the ground, on little more than blankets.  There were a few trees about, not very big ones, oaks and beeches mostly, with many broken branches poking out.  The twins joked about sleeping in them, saying they’d have to hang themselves by the backs of their shirts to do so. 

They drilled all morning, practiced their shooting and sparring in the afternoons, and learned about military strategy.  Then they might amuse themselves until their evening meal, which they mostly did by knife-throwing matches, playing cards or chess, or telling stories around a blazing fire over which they sometimes roasted rather wormy apples or chunks of meat.  Once a week they went out to plant trees and vegetables and work on building, or making reparations to their barracks.  Then they dug wells and ditches and irrigation streams to divert water from one of the rivers that ran into the Sea of Nurnen.  The lake was huge and the water undrinkable, but the area about it was relatively fertile.  There were some settlements near it, consisting of former slaves of Sauron mostly, along with some ex-soldiers who had volunteered to work with them.  They were a wretched lot, these ex-slaves.  Some had deformities that made Greenjade shudder, some were obviously mental defectives, and nearly all seemed to be of mixed races.  The King had freed them all after the War and given them the Nurnen area for their own.  Some of them had small farms, and others were craftsmen of sorts.  Very few had families, and those who did, had them without benefit of wedlock.  Some of those who were able joined the army, and Greenjade assisted in the training of them, along with those they had brought from Minas Ithil. 

They repelled him at first.  In order to dispel his revulsion, he tried to imagine what Meleth or Serilinn or Radagast would say.  They would have pitied them, no doubt.  And wished him to help them any way he could.  Still, he was glad not to have his womenfolk about them.  No telling what some of them might do, the vile things that might go through their poor diseased minds.  It occurred to him that this part of the land, at least, was habitable for them.  However, remembering Ithilien, he simply did not wish Meleth and Serilinn here, he had far rather they be in that place of almost other-worldly beauty and peace and fertility.  Not here, anywhere but here, on the dark side of the moon.... 

~*~*~

Dearest Ada Greenjade,

I am sorry it took so long to write, but there has been so much to do here.  I am getting used to it, but I very miss you and Nana and the rest.  It was delightful to get to spend the first weekend with Nana in the cottage.  But it went by sooo fast!  We had a delicious apple pie that Mistress Amdir made for us.  Then the next day, several people came over bringing food.  We had quite a feast!  I am glad the villagers are so kind.  Now Nana will have friends and will not be too lonely for me. 

The day before he left, Radagast said I did not look happy.  I said I did not expect to be happy at school.  

He said, “Perhaps you should expect to be happy.” 

I said, “How can I do that?”  And he said, “People are generally what they expect to be. It just seems to work like that.” 

I said, “There is a girl there who does not like me.  She may turn the others against me.” 

And he said, “Then do not expect her to.  Perhaps she is jealous of you.  Perhaps she is afraid you will take what she has from her.”

I said, “I do not want what she has.  I do not even know what it is.”

He said, “Then learn her.  Learn what she is really like.  People are not always what we expect.  And you might be what she does not expect.  If you give her what she does not expect, then perhaps she will be other than what you expect.  Do you understand what I am saying?”

I said, “I am not sure.”

He said, “For example.  If she says something rude, what do you do?  Say something rude back to her?”

I said, “Perhaps.  Nana Meleth would say I should not, I think, but I would be much tempted to do so.”

He said, “Nana Meleth is right.  I know she has the adult point of view, and that can be hard for a young person to understand.  So, if you do not say something rude back to this lass, but answer back with kindness, you will be doing the unexpected.  It will throw her off balance, she will be vulnerable and her steps will be uncertain.  And when she is off her guard thus, that will be your chance to learn her.”

I said, “What does that mean, learn her?”

He said, “To find out why she behaves as she does.  What makes her so unhappy.  What could make her lovely or interesting.  There may be a good deal of darkness to cut through.  Do not expect results overnight.  You will need patience, I am certain.  From what source do you draw your strength?”

I said, “From those who love me, and my hope of being together with them someday in a beautiful place.  And from the stories of those who saved the land for us.  And from the Powers that sent Nana Meleth back to me.”

He said, “Those are the wells from which you may draw patience, and kindness, and understanding and forgiveness.  These attributes will save you as they have saved you, and will save others as you draw upon them and use them to your own advantage.”

I said, “I will try to remember.”

I learned something about all my roommates the first day.  Did you know they are all orphans?  Gilglin lost her father when she was very small, and her mother a few years later.  Kaerwyn’s father was killed in the War by orcs when she was about 5 yrs. old, and her mother sickened and died 3 yrs. ago.  She used to have a horse, she said.  I think she misses the horse more than her mum. It had to be sold after her mother died.  She cries every time she talks about it.  I would like to buy it back for her, but she does not know where it is.  I have written a letter to the King of Rohan asking if he could see if it could be found for her.  I have a little money saved from when I used to help Mikala care for the children.  It is not enough to buy a horse yet, but I told the King perhaps I could give him some more money later on.  The mare is dark grey with white stockings and a white blaze on her face, and her name is Lightning.  If anyone speaks of her, will you please tell me?

Illi was orphaned when she was a baby, but her grandmother raised her, so she is luckier than the others.  She is quite sweet, and sometimes funny.  I have still not told them of Gaergath and Duathris and the rest of it.  I think it would frighten the others to know of it. 

Gilglin is harder than the others.   She is bossy and sharp, and sometimes I would hate her if I did not know of her past.  Yet she is very smart and good to study with.  She gets things done, and tells you how to find answers, without telling you the answers herself.  Likely she will be a prefect next year.  That is a position of leadership amongst the students.  Perhaps I can be one too, someday, but I do not know if I should like to be.  Illi says I would make a good one, however.

The other girls call our room The Orphanage, and some look down their noses at us because we have no parents.  I consider that most unkind of them!  I thought this was supposed to be a school for intelligent girls?  I do not consider that sort of behavior to be very intelligent, however.  Did we kill our parents?  No!  So why should we be blamed for being orphans?  Well, perhaps I helped to kill Duathris somewhat, but I did not mean to.  I only wished to stop her from killing you, Ada. I do not know why I should have loved her, but I did.  Because she was my mother I guess.  But then I do not love Gaergath, so perhaps he was not my father after all.   

I am so glad you are my father now, Ada Greenjade.  I think I would be dead soon, but for you.  And if I were dead, where would I be?  With Nana Meleth in the Halls, I suppose.  That would have been a good thing.  But then I would not know you, and I cannot imagine that.   It is all right if you wish to show this letter to the others, Ada.  I have not time to write to everyone.   

Oh, and the others know I am an Elf by now.  Some of the girls would circle around me pretending to be looking for something else, but I could see them looking at my hair and I knew they were trying to see my ears.  So finally I lifted my hair and showed them.  They jumped back as though a mouse had come out of my ears!  Illi said it was rude of them.  I must agree.  Now they ask me questions about being an Elf.  Like:  can I do magic?  Nay!  Am I immortal?  Aye!  Can I see through walls?  Can I fly? Did I ever live in a tree?  Was I born in the First Age, or the Second?  Did I ever see an orc?  Do I have hairy feet?  When they asked me that, I thought I would die laughing!

But let me tell you what happened.  At night, they do not let us burn candles in our rooms.  We all do not like the dark, but the Headmistress is afraid we may set something on fire.  There are lights burning very low in the hallway, so that we can see if we need to get up in the night.  But they do not burn as brightly as I am used to, and bring little comfort.  So after I was in bed, I noticed something glowing at my breast, and saw it was the Queen’s ring!  I took it from the chain and put it on my finger.  It was a very soft light, but beautiful, like a tiny star on my finger.  I laid my hand on my heart and thought of you and Nana and the others, and Elladan also, and said my prayer, and then I could sleep.  Well, in the morning the girls were all looking at me so strangely.  I asked them what was the matter.  And Illi said, “Do you know that you glow at night?”

I said, “Aye, Ada Greenjade told me.”

And Illi said, “Are you from the Moon?”

I said, “Nay.”  The others just stared at me.  I said, “It is an elvish thing.”

Illi said, “I am glad of it.  It makes the night seem less fearful for me.”

Kaerwyn said, “For me also.  I hate the darkness.”

Gilglin just looked at me.  I could not tell what she was thinking.  But later in the day when I went into the room to get my books for study, she followed me in, and said, “May I talk to you?”  I said yes.  But I wished she had not followed me.  I did not really wish to talk to her.  Then I remembered what Radagast said about learning her.  She did not sound angry. 

I sat on my bed and she sat on hers, across from me, and folded her hands between her knees, and sat silent for a moment.  And then she told me after her parents were killed, she had to go live in an orphan’s home.  She was sometimes badly treated and not given enough to eat.  She had an older brother but he ran away long ago.  He was bad to her too, sometimes.  But he was all she had. She shivered while she talked. 

I was very uncomfortable.  I wanted to run away.  I wished she was not telling me these things. 

I said, “Do you still live at the orphanage?”

She said, “No, I live here.  In holiday times, Mistress Haldaraina lets me stay at her house.  Kaerwyn too.”  Then she said, “I did not mean to be bad to you.  But you cannot understand.  Even though you are an orphan too.  You do not have to live in an orphanage.  You lived in a palace, and all were good to you.  You were beautiful and all loved you.”

Oh, I wanted to tell her the truth!  But I could not.

I only said, “I lived in a bad place once.  But I do not wish to speak of it.  Not now.”

She said, “You did?”

And I said, “Aye.  But Ada Greenjade rescued me from it.”

She said, “Tell me about it.”

I said, “I do not want to.  Not now. Perhaps some other time.”

We went back to the study, but I could not concentrate.  I was thinking of the things she told me.  She kept looking at me, and I wished she would not.

Then that night she awoke screaming.  I was terrified at the first, and so were the others.  But I went to her, and sat on her bed, and took her hand, and placed it over my ring.  She calmed down after that, and even smiled a little.   

But I still cannot tell her yet.  I think I shall invite her and Kaerwyn to be our guests in the cottage this weekend, however.  I hope Nana Meleth will not object.

I keep Cinnamon sitting on the chair beside my bed in the day-time.  I would set her on the bed, but the Headmistress does not like for us to put things on our beds.  Gilglin sniffed at her at the first, but she does not say anything.  Illi thinks she is lovely.  I must agree!

***

It’s been three days since I last wrote.  So I hope you will forgive me if this letter is very long. 

I think I like Gilglin after all.  She is quite interesting.  Other girls don’t like her so much.  I wish Kaerwyn and Illi would stand up for her more.  I suppose they are afraid of the other girls.  There is a girl down the hall named Theliel,  who told me that Gilglin nearly killed her last year.  I asked Gilglin if it were true and she said Theliel kept taunting her and saying mean things about her parents, and finally Gilglin lost her temper and jumped right on her!  Theliel’s nose was bleeding and her left eye was black by the time the adults came and stopped the fight.  I cannot blame Gilglin for attacking her.  I do not know what I would have done.  Perhaps just as she did.  I do not like to think I could nearly kill someone, however.

Theliel goes about saying horrid things about Gilglin behind her back now.  She says Gilglin is ugly.  I don’t think so.  I think her very nice to look at when she is not scowling.  And Theliel is not so good looking herself!      

One day she told me Gilglin told her I was a fairy princess who was used to having everything my own way.  I ran to Gilglin and asked her if it was true.  She said nay, and Theliel is naught but a liar and a coward.  So one day I said to her, “I am writing a letter to the King about the Academy.  What should I say of you?”  She has been avoiding me ever since! 

Gilglin asked me what was wrong with me, one day after that.  I did not know anything was wrong.  I was just in a sad mood, thinking of what Theliel had said.  I was thinking of Duathris also, and could not stop.

And then suddenly I told her all.  I told her of my life in Duathris's castle, and of Nana Meleth, and of Gaergath, all of it.  She was looking at me so strangely and I thought she was going to accuse me of making up stories.  Then I burst into tears.  I wanted to stop, for I was afraid the others would come in, and I would have to make up a story.  Then Gilglin put her arms about me and held me tightly and after a while I stopped crying and leaned against her.  I hope Nana Meleth will not object to Gilglin coming to stay with us for the weekend.  I have not told her about the fight.  Do you think I should? 

I cannot wait to see you again, and to have the Wedding.  Are you not excited?  I am! 

With so much love,

Your very own Serilinn

~*~*~

Elladan received a letter from Serilinn also.  Greenjade watched him read it, wishing he might ask to see it.  The Elf smiled as he read, and he seemed to glow softly, himself.  Elrohir watched his brother with wistful envy.  Then Elladan noticed, and held the letter to him.  Elrohir took it and glanced over it, then handed it back without a word.  Then Elladan saw Greenjade watching him and trying not to be too obvious about it.

“You would like to see this, I am sure, Ada?” Elladan said a bit teasingly.

“Aye, that I would,” Greenjade said.  No point in pretending otherwise.  Elladan handed it to him.  Greenjade took it and began to read.  Serilinn mostly described her classes, and related some amusing anecdotes about her life at the school.  Greenjade found himself smiling also, then he returned the letter to Elladan, thanking him for letting him read. 

Elladan always offered thereafter to let Greenjade read her letters to him, but Greenjade declined, albeit with difficulty. 

“She wrote them for you,” he said, “as she wrote mine for me.  We will trust each other now.  Although in very truth, it still seems wondrous strange to me, to think of having a son-in-law almost three thousand years older than myself.”

49. Lifting the Veil

“Who wants to hear my dream?” Anemone asked.  “About Greenjade?”

Raven, Nightingale and Gloryfall immediately were all ears.  Frodo smiled.

They were at Fairwind’s and Barathon’s lovely beachside home, with white pillars surrounding and red tiles atop the roof, and flowering bushes growing between the pillars.  And huge trees behind, one of which they all sat beneath, there being benches and long chairs and a round table.  Northlight was playing on the beach with his new puppy, Spinner, named for his fondness for chasing his own tail.  Recently Northlight had found a light wooden disk about twelve inches in diameter, which had obviously once formed the end of a small barrel, and on a whim he had hurled it away, whereupon it had gone spinning through the air, and the puppy raced after it and caught it just before it could hit the ground, and brought it back to him.  So Northlight took it home and sanded it well so as not to get splinters, and lo, he and Spinner had themselves a new toy.  He and Guilin were tossing it back and forth to each other, while Spinner dashed wildly in between them trying to catch it, and occasionally succeeding. 

Ebbtide sat close by, looking perfectly happy, holding his week-old firstborn son in his arms, and his wife Jasmine sat beside him smiling at the infant and then at the others.  Fairwind sat on the ground facing the beach where her adopted sons Emerion and Faelon played in the water with Moonrise’s sons Crystal and Piper and Embergold’s daughter Sandrose, while the smallest ones, Onyx and Summershine, were more interested in the puppy.  Onyx tried to distract him by throwing sticks, which usually worked, and Summershine would try to ride him, calling him her horsy. 

“You’d a dream of Darkfin?” Gloryfall said to her mother.  “Oops…I mean Greenjade.”

“Tell it, tell it!” Nightingale said.  “What has he done this time?”

“Well…” Anemone said archly, “I don’t know if you would truly be interested, seeing as how Fairwind had a Wedding recently, but…”

“A WEDDING?” the twins chorused.  “Our Greenjade?”

“Aye, none other,” Anemone smiled.  “So you wish to hear of it?”

“Wait,” Raven said springing up, “let me call Northlight.  He will want to hear.”

And she went running down to the beach.  Frodo smiled and looked at Anemone.

“He certainly likes that dog,” she said fondly.  “Even better than the stone one.”  She glanced at Moonrise and Ebbtide.

“I should wonder if he didn’t,” Moonrise laughed as his youngest brother came running with Spinner at his feet and Raven at his side.  “In very truth, I suspect Stony is a trifle jealous.  I can swear I’ve seen him snarl at that pup a time or two.”

“I’m glad he has him,” Frodo said.  “That is one happy dog.  It’s good to have him about.”

“He is the cutest puppy I ever saw,” Gloryfall said.  “I'm glad there was that one left in the litter when Nightingale and I found it.”

Her twin grinned impishly.

"Greenjade is to be married now?” Northlight said as he sprinted up and flopped down on the ground beside Raven.  Guilin sat behind them all.

“Silly, he already has,” Nightingale said.  “So, Nana, will you tell it?  Or must we get the little ones here also?”

“Nay, I am watching them,” Fairwind said, rather coolly it seemed.  “I do not think they would care to hear of a Wedding.  Go on with the tale, Nana.  What see you?”

“A beautiful temple,” Anemone said, looking away toward the water with dreamy eyes, “smaller than ours, and much more simply constructed, but with beautiful windows of colored glass.  It is on top of a hill on which is built a white city, across from a magnificent palace, in front of which is a white tree, a fountain, and two lovely statues sitting side by side.” 

She glanced aside at her husband, who looked away and whistled softly.

“Now I am inside of the Temple,” she continued.  “I see many folk sitting on long benches, dressed finely and looking very solemn.  And I see a man all in brown, with long hair on his face, standing with several others.  And another man in white, at the podium.  Oh, and two fellows in royal blue, with long dark hair.  They look exactly like each other.”  She glanced with twinkling eyes at Nightingale and Gloryfall, who grinned at each other as if sharing some secret.  “A lady stands with him, in a beautiful gown of violet blue.  I believe she is the Queen.  She wears a silver circlet on her head.  There is a lass at her side wearing the same color.  A beautiful little lass, younger than Raven, I think, but of the same sort.  She holds a bunch of white roses, and her gown has beautiful white lace at the sleeves, and silver embroidery.”

The twins sighed and looked at each other, then at Raven, who was smiling softly. 

“Is there music playing?” she asked.

“Someone is playing on a harp,” Anemone said.  “I cannot see who it is.  I think it is from a balcony above.  Ah…whom do you think is coming in now, from the side door?”

“The bride?” the twins chorused. 

“I should not call him a bride,” Anemone laughed.  “He is in silver grey embroidered in scarlet and green—a velvet jerkin with a silver chain about his neck, and a splendid medallion showing a white tree on it.  And a snow-white shirt underneath, and fine leather boots.  His hair is short and neat, and he is fairly glowing from head to foot.  You would not know him for your brother.  I scarcely recognize him as my son, and would take him for the King at first, but the King is coming in just behind him.  I think he could pass for Greenjade’s father, in truth.  He is in similar array, but with the white tree embroidered on his tunic.  And the swan-winged silver crown upon his head.  He smiles as he takes his place beside Greenjade, for but a moment, then makes his way down the aisle.  The twins are smiling as if they are plotting some outrageous prank…” 

She paused and looked at all three of her sons, who didn’t even bother to try to look innocent.  Fairwind looked mildly disturbed, Frodo could not help but notice.

“There are more coming in, a fair-haired Elf, and what appears to be a very small man with brown braids on his chin…”

“Gimli the Dwarf,” Frodo said smiling, “with Legolas.”

“And another small fellow, smaller than the dwarf, but his face is naked.  He is in a soft blue, and his hair is curly and combed very neatly.  He is looking rather wistful, even a bit sad.  And he takes his place amongst the groomsmen.”

“Sméagol,” Frodo said softly.  Northlight looked at him thoughtfully.

“Where is the bride?” Raven asked.

“I am wondering myself,” Anemone said.  “Oh, wait…I see someone…two maidens all in violet blue, carrying small bunches of white and blue flowers.  They appear to be sisters, although not of the same age.  They seem a trifle nervous, though delighted to be wearing such lovely gowns.  I suppose they don’t get to dress so fine very often.  They move slowly up the aisle, then stand beside the little Elf-lass, smiling at her.  The smaller one wiggles her fingers a little at someone out there and smiles, and her sister looks reproachfully at her, but she does not seem to notice.  Ah, but now they are all looking expectantly, for a figure all in white appears….”

The twins barely repressed a squeal.  Raven just smiled radiantly.  Northlight looked at her, still absently petting the dog, who was worrying a stick.

“What is her gown like, Nana?” Gloryfall asked anxiously, as though afraid her mother would forget to describe it.

“It is of pure white silk embroidered at the bodice, with beautiful lace attached to the sleeves, falling far below her wrists, down to her knees in fact, buttoned as it were with little pearls to the elbow, then falling away to leave her forearms bare.  There are three points coming down from the bodice in front, with more panels of lace hanging from each one.  The skirt is plain white, the train trailing behind her, with an overlay of lace in back.  The veil covers her face, but is transparent, so that one can see her hair, which is very like that of our own Queen Galadriel, gathered up in front and falling down the back, and a wreath of white lilies holds it  in place on her head.  She holds a bunch of blue and white flowers…white roses, I think, and blue hepatica, and some tiny golden daisies.  She wears a small pearl necklace.  I can see her feet in white slippers, peeping out from beneath her skirt.  She seems to be glowing also….”

The twins and Raven all let out their breath in a whoosh.  Fairwind frowned ever so slightly.  Embergold smiled and so did the brothers, including Guilin.  Frodo grinned to himself. 

“How is Dar—Greenjade looking at her?” Nightingale asked.

“As though he were looking at a lifelong dream that is now standing before him,” Anemone said softly, “feeling his unworthiness, wondering if he will be able to live up to her estimation of him.  Unable to believe his good fortune in making her fall in love with him.  And of course, anticipating the joys to come, once they get away from the crowd and into each other’s arms in the bridal chamber….”

Frodo had to turn away for a moment, his shoulders shaking.  Anemone was still Anemone, without a doubt.   Not that he would have had her any other way.

The twins looked at each other in gleeful delight, their eyes nearly closing. 

“Have they such a book as you and Ada have, Nana?” Embergold asked Anemone solemnly.

“I’ve no idea,” Anemone said.  “The one who sent me the dream did not supply such information.  All right...where was I?”

“Are they taking their vows now?” Gloryfall prompted.

“Not yet,” Anemone said.  “Now she is standing before him, and the music has stopped playing.  He reaches over with trembling hands and…”

“Lifts her veil,” Embergold whispered.

“Aye, he lifts her veil, and…”

“How does she look?” Raven said, also in a whisper.

“Lovely, ever so lovely—she is an Elf, after all,” Anemone said reverently.  “Her eyes are as the blue flowers in her bouquet, her cheekbones high and glowing, her mouth soft and pink as…”  She looked to her daughters with lifted eyebrows.

“Carnations,” Embergold said. 

“Rose petals,” Gloryfall said.

“Baby feet,” Raven said.

“Cream over strawberries,” Nightingale said.

“Rose-colored velvet,” Fairwind said after a slight hesitation.

“Ripe peaches,” Sweetfern said.

“Crab meat in red wine,” Northlight said.  Raven giggled, and the twins snatched pillows from the chairs and beat him with them.  Spinner barked and yapped.  It got the children’s attention then, and they all came running.

“Please go on, Nana,” Embergold said as the little ones came clambering over to see what the uproar was all about.  They were disappointed in hearing that their grandmum was telling of a Wedding, but they were mollified when Barathon came from the house carrying a tray full of pastries.  Summershine just avoided her daddy Moonrise, who made a ferocious face at her and growled, and she gave a little screech and ran to her granddaddy, who took her right on his lap.  Barathon sat beside Fairwind.

“Where was I?” Anemone said. 

“He was lifting her veil,” Raven said.

“Ah yes.  Well, he lifts her veil, and put it back over her head.  They look into each other’s eyes, and the man in white is speaking, asking them if they take each other to be joined in holy wedlock, and they say they do...”

“And he places a ring upon her finger,” Sweetfern said dreamily, looking at her own ring.

“And she puts one on his,” Jasmine said looking at Ebbtide’s ring, then at her tiny sleeping son.

 “And then he says, ‘You may kiss the Bride’,” Raven said.

“And he takes her into his arms and kisses her full on the lips,” Gloryfall said.

“And all the bells begin to ring,” Nightingale said.  

“And the little dark lass goes and embraces them both,” Anemone said.  “She is their daughter now.”

“What is her name?” Raven asked.

“I did not hear it,” Anemone said.   

“What about after?” Ebbtide spoke up.  “What pranks do the groomsmen play on the bridal pair?”

“As if I’d put ideas into your naughty heads!” his mother laughed.  “I did not see that much, anyway.”

“But you did see the celebration?” Nightingale asked.

“There is dancing and singing in the Place of the Fountain,” Anemone said.  “Naught that you have not seen before.  The King and Queen dance with each other, and one of the twins—the Queen’s brother, I think—dances with the little dark lass.  Then the other dances with her.  There are three other little lasses there—her friends, I think.  They stand together and watch until she goes back to them, and they are joined by many other girls, and they dance in a ring, then go to a long table laden with goodies.  Then the bridal couple dance, only with each other, while all others look on.  The two stone figures seem to be smiling and glowing to see them.  Afterward, the Bride turns her back, and flings her bunch of flowers over her shoulder at the crowd.  One of the young ladies catches it.  Everyone cheers, although some of the other lasses look disappointed not to have caught it.”

“Why would she toss away her flowers?” Fairwind said.  “I did not toss mine.  I have them still, although they are long withered.  Lovelier they are to me, than all the flowers blooming freshly about us now.”

She smiled up at Barathon, who now held Sandrose on his knee.  

“It is a custom,” Frodo explained.  “The maiden who catches it is supposedly the one who will marry next.”

“Oh!” the twins cried simultaneously.  Gloryfall said, “We should have that custom here.  It sounds jolly.”

“It sounds rather foolish to me,” Embergold said.  “I cannot see how catching a flower-bunch ensures one of matrimony.”

“You should have thrown yours to Embergold, Fairwind,” Nightingale said in mild exasperation.  “Then perhaps she would have a husband now.”

“I wish for no husband,” Embergold said smiling with her arms about her son.  “I’ve my little fellow here.  He does very well for me.”

Onyx snickered.

“We would have made you another flower-bunch exactly like it,” Gloryfall assured Fairwind.

“That is sweet of you, sister, but it would not have been the same,” Fairwind said smiling.  “Well, I should be glad for D--Greenjade, and I shall try to be.  But I do not see why he should be entitled to so much bliss, after the life he has led in the Sea.  It seems he is being rewarded, rather than punished.”

“I feel much the same,” Ebbtide said.  “He tried to kill us, after all.  And very nearly killed Guilin.”

Guilin, sitting beside Northlight and Raven, cleared his throat a little.  Raven laid her hand over his.

“Likely he has done something to merit it,” Frodo said.  “I am certain he would not receive such a bounty without having made himself worthy.”

“I think so too,” Northlight said.  “He has passed out of the deceiver’s hand now, and refused to succumb further.  As did I.  And I know he deeply regrets the wicked things he did.”

“I do not think poor Sméagol will enjoy any such happiness,” Frodo said thoughtfully as he let Summershine squirm out of his lap to go play with the puppy some more.  “Then again, he has over five hundred years of wickedness behind him.  I dare say the most he will have to look forward to is occasional comforts and the hope of passing into the Gardens when it is all over.  As for Greenjade, I think a mate who brings out the best in him is what he needs for inspiration and motivation.”

“I think you are right,” Anemone said with a doting look at her husband.  “As for Garland…well.  Perhaps I should not speak of her at all.  I will sound as if I were blaming her for his past behavior.  Still and all, I can scarcely help but be glad it was not she who was wearing that bridal-gown.”

“Well,” Fairwind said, “I am glad for Mother’s sake that he was released.  And I hope for the sake of his bride, his child, and others around him, that he will stay on the right path.”

 “I will try to see it that way,” Ebbtide said.  “But it is hard for me to think of him as my brother, just the same.  Guilin fills his place in my estimate.”

“That he does,” Northlight said with a little affectionate smile at Guilin, “but, as far as I am concerned, Greenjade is my brother yet.  I do not expect anyone else to agree.”

“Well, for what it is worth,” Moonrise said, “I will agree.  Although I’m with Ebbtide where Guilin is concerned.”

“And I,” Embergold said.  “Greenjade is no longer Darkfin.  I have long ceased to think of him as such.”

“I shall try, at least,” Fairwind said. 

“And I,” Nightingale said.  “Although yes, Guilin is a wonderful brother to us.”

“And I,” Gloryfall echoed.  “After all, we saw Greenjade’s Wedding.”

“And perhaps someday we shall see his bride,” Raven said.  “I wish to meet the little dark lass.  My heart goes out to her already.”

“You shall see her,” Frodo said softly, “someday.  But I shall not.”

Part IV:  A Nation Transformed

50. Calador

My Dearest!

Please allow me to extend my thanks once more for being the best husband ever.  I cannot tell you how grateful I am for the patience and tenderness you showed me on our wedding night.  I am sorry it took me so long to overcome my feelings of fear, but you know what I told you about what I endured in that castle.  I was this close to calling off the wedding, that is how afraid I was.  Thanks be to Iluvatar that I did not! 

Oh, I’m so afraid I will not make you a good wife!  I love this little cottage so, all the more so since we are wed, and scarce can believe I am living here. But I cannot seem to stay inside!   Each morning I rise early, make up the fire and put tea on to brew, then I fetch the rolls from the spring-house to put in the oven.  Then go outside to drink my tea.  The weather is usually cool but I like it so.  I put my shawl over my shoulders and sit out on the bench and watch the sun come up, with Nilde at my feet.  And wonder if you are watching the same sunrise with me.  Then I go to the stable and feed Nimrodel, then turn her loose to roam at will.  After breakfast, I wash up, do a few chores about the house—sweeping, mending, dusting and such.  Then I go out to exercise Nimrodel, who never goes far from the house if I am not with her…and that is where I go wrong!  For once I am on her back, riding along on the road—I do not want to go back in!  There is so much to see!  So many roads to choose. 

There is the one that passes by the waterfall.  It goes upward a little, and there one can look into a deep vale full of poppies and asphodel and purple clover and white daisies.  Butterflies abound already, and skylarks and thrushes are twittering everywhere.  I can see falcons high above with the sun shining through their wings, wheeling slowly against the white and blue, and sometimes a rabbit will scoot wildly through the tall grass, perhaps to warn the others of the falcons.  Sometimes I just must take Nimrodel running through the meadow, with Nilde following us barking, I simply must be a part of this wide, open beauty before me! 

Then the path through the forest.  The trees are so, so very tall and old, and there are ferns and saplings and wild roses and bluets upon the velvet green moss, and woodbine and honeysuckle twining about the tree trunks,  and the calls of wood thrushes echoing all about, and water trickling freshly down the cliffside into little green pools.  And mushrooms and lichens and fungi of strange colors and shapes springing from rotting wood on the forest floor. 

And yet another road that goes by a lake, impossibly blue and alive with geese and ducks and swans and other waterfowl swimming about the edge among the white and lavender water lilies and reeds and willows that droop over the edge.  Sometimes I will see people in boats farther out, usually fishing.  And the great water-birds flying above, some in flocks, some alone!  If I could but fly with them!   

And then there is the path that leads beside a wide stream, with a small bluff on the other side.  It comes from the waterfalls one can see much farther down--there are three falls, descending from a very high cliff, and on top of the cliff I can see many trees and flowers and ferns tinged with water drops glittering in the sunlight.  

And sometimes I simply must go exploring up the mountainsides, so that I might look down upon it all, but the trouble is that I have no shoes that are suitable for such as yet.  I think I will go and see Eowyn and ask her if she can have some sturdy clothing and boots for climbing and hiking made for me.  Now can you understand why it is I cannot stay indoors?       

It is well I have Mistress Amdir now--I protested to Eowyn rather prematurely about not needing a housekeeper.  I do not know what I would do without her!  She is good company, and more interesting than one might suppose, and often makes me laugh.  She talks a good deal about the War--she used to live in Minas Tirith.  Well, of course I can never tell her of my life in Duathris’ castle.  I merely tell her that I am acquainted with tragedy and grief, myself...and that seems good enough for her.

I am happy that Serilinn is doing so well in school now, surrounded by girls as thoughtful and intelligent as herself.  I suppose she sent you copies of those maps she drew for the capital of Calador?  She showed me some of them.  What an amazing lass!  Now she says some of her classmates are designing them also.  She also says she is planning to build a little model city for them--she doesn’t know what she’ll use yet, but I’m sure she’ll think of something! 

Please write to me soon, my husband!  I do not like to think of you in that dreadful place…for I know it is so.  Two more months!  How can I wait so long? Perhaps I can learn to be a wife…if only this place were not so full of life and music and a thousand beauties, then maybe I would not be so distracted by it all, and could attend more to my duties.  And would not be drawing pictures and writing poems about it all.  And would not be wading in the shallow part of the stream and feeling the silky sand beneath my bare feet while tiny fishes nibbled at my toes…or singing songs in the forest to hear them echo off the cliffside…or digging up clumps of wild flowers and seedlings to transplant into my garden…or placing my ear to the boles of trees to hear the sap running within…or dancing in the tall grass because I simply cannot contain the joy that spurts through my veins like the water in the fountains…..

Ever your own

Meleth.

 “That letter looks a bit the worse for wear,” Radagast said, startling Greenjade as he entered the hut.

“It’s nearly nine months old,” Greenjade said.  “I keep it with me to read if I’m feeling down, although I've plenty more recent ones.”

“And you are feeling down now?” Radagast asked kindly, coming to sit on a chair beside him. 

“A bit,” Greenjade admitted as he folded the letter and tucked it back into his vest pocket.  “I’m missing her a good deal...yet thinking I don’t want her to come here.  She’s so in her element where she is.”

He had been in Mordor for one year now.  It had recently been deemed habitable enough for Nilde to live there, and so on his last visit to Ithilien, Radagast had taken her back with him.  Her tawny pup Pippin was now the property of Meleth and Serilinn, Elboron having fallen for a little black lass, to the surprise of all.  He did not name her Whippersnapper, but rather Blackqueen, his father and Beregond being fond of playing chess.  She was called Queenie now.  The other puppies had been taken by villagers.   

“Now Pippin will be able to visit his brothers and sisters,” Serilinn said.  “Isn’t that superb?”  This being her new word, which never failed to make Greenjade smile.

After Serilinn had sent the request to Edoras to find Kaerwyn’s horse, Eomer had sent some men to search for her, and they had found her after about three months.  Eowyn offered to keep Lightning, but Meleth said it would be better to have her close where Kaerwyn could come visit her often.  And she was good company for Nimrodel.  The mares would graze side by side in the wide pasture out back of the cottage, ambling along as two sisters happy to be in each other’s presence.  Needless to say, Serilinn now had a friend for life.  Kaerwyn was quite a different girl now she had her horse back, full of life and vigor and fun.  She loved to gallop all over the place, yelling and whooping and jumping fences and other obstacles, so that Meleth feared she would get herself hurt.  Pippin would dash after them, barking and yapping, while Serilinn chased after both, laughing and shouting and trying to keep up.  And Greenjade and Meleth watched with face-splitting grins, two parents standing in the sunlight with their arms about each other’s waists and sweet grass and cool red clover at their feet and a host of stars hovering all about their heads….

“I’m sorry to be so remiss about writing,” Radagast was saying.  “But I’ve scarcely had a moment to myself.  I’m constantly on the go.”

“You didn’t take your respite,” Greenjade scolded him. “I know the King decreed that it was no longer required.  But you still should have a holiday, even so.  Take a few days now, I say.  Dringon can see to things while you’re gone...and I too.”

Dringon was was a stonecutter, which was how he got his name, meaning “hammer”--his real name being long forgotten.   He stood over seven feet tall and very powerfully built.  Sméagol could have walked under his legs without ducking his head.  Dringon was largely in charge of keeping order in the settlement, since not many would have cared to go up against him.  He was far more quick-witted than he let on, and Radagast, who was much regarded as the leader of the settlement, respected his counsel. 

 “I don’t like to travel so much any more,” the Wizard said.  “And I’ve grown much attached to this place, strange to say.  I certainly did not expect that to happen.”

“I wish I felt the same,” Greenjade said. 

“Your stint in the army is not over yet?”  

“Not for another year.  And I’ll be here less than a week.  Wish I could come up more often, but it’s two hundred miles from the outpost, and over some rather unfriendly terrain.  I’ve just come back from Ithilien, and stopped by here on the way.”

“And I’m glad you did.  Sméagol and Gimli are on a hunting expedition, and may be bringing back some meat tonight.  There’s bread and cheese here, if you cannot wait so long.  I’m sorry I can’t offer tea.  We’ve fresh milk, however.”

“That will do,” Greenjade said.  “I brought jam, by the way.  Blueberry and strawberry.” 

“Wonderful!” the Wizard said in almost childlike delight.  Jam was nearly impossible to come by in the settlement.

It was in what had once been known as the Plateau of Gorgoroth.  Radagast and Sméagol and Gimli had a house all together, built of stone and mortar, with but two rooms and a thatched roof.  There was one window, of woven sticks, and a loft of sorts, where supplies were kept, and Radagast insisted on sleeping up there when Greenjade came to visit.  In the other room was the kitchen, consisting of a fireplace, a table and two benches, and a larder.  Further back from the kitchen was what served as a sitting-room, with three large chairs covered with old blankets.  And a wolf-skin rug, the property of Nilde now.  Gimli complained of the stink, but she clung to it as a child to its favorite toy. 

“You’ve a house made of chunks of Mount Doom,” Greenjade remarked as he inspected the rough and smoky-looking walls of the hut, and the black-bricked fireplace.  “And perhaps of the Dark Tower as well.”

“I fully intend to have it whitewashed,” Radagast said as he bit ravenously into his slice of bread and jam.  “Gimli has been out looking for lime deposits.”

“What are those green things up there on the roof?” Greenjade asked as he happened to glance upward.  “They appear to be plants of some sort.”

“Succulents,” Radagast said.  “They are supposed to prevent lightning, and promote prosperity, when grown under roof thatch, or between tiles.”

“Well, this house looks prosperous compared to some I've seen around here," Greenjade conceded.  “What of the lightning?”

“We've not been struck yet,” Radagast said with twinkling eyes.

After the meal, they went outdoors to have a look around.  Out back of the hut was a garden, where potatoes, carrots, peppers, beans and onions were grown, along with tobacco and herbs, hemp plants, and more succulents, namely aloe, along with sedum and sempervivum and hawortha, in shades of green and red and pink and yellow, and thirst-quenching purslane, all edible, according to Radagast.  He had planted many fruit and nut trees with the seeds he had picked up here and there on their journey, and they were grown considerably over the past year, although not bearing fruit yet.   He had acquired bees in Ithilien to pollinate the trees, and now had several hives. Grass and clover now grew over one part of the plain, grazed by cattle and sheep and horses and donkeys, and daily they went out with wheelbarrows to collect dung for fertilizer.  There was a dairy nearby, so that Radagast and Sméagol and Gimli were kept supplied with milk and butter and cheese and eggs.  There were fields of wheat and oats and barley and flax also, that the three of them had helped to sow and cultivate.  A mill had been built near a stream from the mountains, diverting it through the plain to irrigate it and supply water to the inhabitants and cattle.  The lava rock had helped to make the soil fertile, and the crops grew in thick and lush now.  There were even flowers.  A huge crater carved out by flying rock during the cataclysm had become filled with water, so they had a watering hole.  Wild deer could occasionally be seen, as well as rabbits and foxes, and badgers and wolves and bears and wild goats and pigs.  Gimli, though retired as a warrior due to a leg injury he had suffered in a riding accident four years previous, found himself able to hunt, Legolas having taught him to shoot, and he and Sméagol and a few others enjoyed occasional feasts over outdoor fires, swapping war stories and singing old ballads.  Sméagol was accepted as one of them, after they saw and tasted what he could do with a pot and a few herbs and beans and potatoes.

He managed to deal with the fearful memories of Mount Doom now that the land was so changed; it scarcely looked the same as he remembered, what with the grass and trees and houses, the streams and wells, and so much work to do, he could only fall fast asleep at night, with little time to lie awake brooding on the past.  He lived in the present only, and contented himself with the company of the Wizard and the Dwarf and his beloved Nilde.  It was all he wanted...for the time being.  He had his bed, even if it were not so soft as he could have desired, and the feel of grass beneath his feet.  He could fish in the stream, and feel the water about his ankles as he sat on the bank in the sunlight with Nilde at his side. If he ever sighed with envy of Greenjade and his Meleth and Serlinn, he did not sigh alone. 

The settlement was mainly of men from many different nations and regions: Eriador, Gondor, Rohan, Rhovannion, Rhun.  There were very few women, mostly wives of the settlers, and very few children.  There was a town of sorts.  On the “main street” was an alehouse, with a couple of rooms above, called The Belching Bridegroom.   It was run by a widow called Alphi.  She was in her middle sixties and as energetic as a maiden of twenty, nearly as strong as a man and as hard working, with sharp little dark eyes under thick brows that nearly met over her beaky nose, and a tooth missing in front, through which it was said she could spit like any man. 

In addition to The Belching Bridegroom, there was a smithy, a jailhouse, a feedstore, a butcher shop, a general store, a cartwright’s shop, a potter’s shop, and even a bathhouse of sorts.  Some men complained that there was no brothel, but not enough women could be persuaded to come out for that purpose.  There were two sisters from South Gondor, but they lived in a one-room hut together and when one was “servicing” a client, the other had little choice but to go outside and wait.  Radagast had heard tell of them, but still did not know where they lived.  The huts all looked much the same. 

“She has her eye on you,” Greenjade teased Radagast, as they ambled along the main street, watching Alphi dumping a bucket of dirty water from the upper story of the alehouse, almost drenching a couple of passers-by.  One of them yelled something at her that Greenjade could not quite catch, and she made a hand gesture at him the meaning of which he could only guess.  Then, catching sight of Radagast, she waved and smiled hugely.  “Have you seen her looking at you when your back is turned?”

“Bah!” the Wizard scoffed, and laughed.  “I doubt any woman could put up with the likes of me for any length of time.  I would make the most exasperating husband ever, I should think.”

“You probably would, at that,” Greenjade said with a wink.  “I’ll wager that one would make a fine wife, however.  You could come in drunk as you pleased, and she would merely rap your knuckles and then pour you into bed, and dump cold water in your face in the morning when you awoke with a hangover the size of Mount Doom.”

“Indeed,” Radagast said drily.  “Speaking of wives, how is yours?”

“She’s teaching a school now,” Greenjade said smiling.  "She has about eight little pupils in the morning, and they have their lessons in the front room of the cottage.  In the afternoon, she teaches their parents…in the mayor’s house, no less, since there’s not enough room for all in the cottage.  She’s written to Eowyn requesting a school building, and I think it will be done soon.  So she is keeping herself busy.  However, I’m afraid she won’t wish to come here.  She’s thoroughly in love with Ithilien, and I dare say we both would be more than happy to make our home there.”

Greenjade had not yet seen fit to fly his flag here, and he kept it wrapped in a cloth under his bed at the outpost.   The land had been officially renamed Calador, but in his mind it was still Mordor. 

There were still orcs about, but now that Sauron had been defeated and cast out, they kept to themselves mainly.  Unknown to the others, Radagast brought honey and bread and cheese their way once a month.  In return they kept away from the settlement, and only occasionally slipped in to pilfer vegetables or chickens. 

It was chiefly their presence that got in Greenjade’s way, and caused him to think of the land as Mordor still.  But what to do about them?  Radagast had asked him not to speak of them to Elladan and Elrohir...as much for the sake of the twins themselves as for the sake of the orcs. 

“I’m sure they know of the orcs,” Greenjade said as they went to look at the grove of walnut trees Radagast had planted the year before.  “Yet I do not think even they would invade the orc colony in cold blood, without sufficient provocation.  And I doubt the theft of a few potatoes or pullets would come under the heading of ‘sufficient provocation.’  Yet I do have a problem with the colony, if one can call it such, being there.  It’s the main reason I don’t wish Meleth and Serilinn here.  Would that I could simply serve out the rest of my stint here, then go back and settle in Ithilien with them!  But that cannot be.” 

“I’m truly sorry for it, Greenjade,” Radagast said.  “They make me uneasy also.  And I do not fool myself that showing them a bit of kindness and tossing them a few bones is going to ‘civilize’ them.  They have been too far ingrained in evil for for too long.  However, extermination is out of the question.”

“Perhaps they’ll end up killing each other off eventually,” Greenjade said, peering up at the sky.  “I’ve noticed buzzards circling in that direction a time or two.  But maybe that’s too much to hope for also.  How many are there, do you know?”

“I’ve no idea,” Radagast said.  “Likely not more than a hundred or so.  I think there are Uruks among them; I saw some footprints too large for mere orcs.”

“Sounds a rather large number to me,” Greenjade said.  “At least, in proportion to our population.  What do you think it would take to provoke them into a full-scale attack so that we might fight them off and be justified in killing them all?”  He laughed grimly.

Radagast frowned.  Greenjade’s laughter sputtered and died.

“Their colony is nearly forty miles east of here,” the Wizard said.  “I do not think they want much to do with us, and can be trusted to keep their distance.  It will never be a perfect land, but perhaps we should accept her as we find her, and do what we can to bring out the best in her.  And concentrate on bettering ourselves and our own folk, rather than a folk that does not wish bettering.”

“Be that as it may,” Greenjade said, “I still do not wish my wife and child anywhere near where those vile creatures are in any proximity.  The story of the twins’ mother is haunting me a bit, I think.  The thought of risking the loss of my heart’s treasures is more than I can bear.  I suppose it will have to be as it is now, with us living apart for all our days, and seeing each other when we can.”

“Then let us go on as we are now,” Radagast said, “and perhaps in time it will get better.  And I believe I see Gimli and Sméagol returning from the hunt...and I’ll wager that’s a wild boar they are carrying on that pole between them.”

“Superb,” Greenjade said without a smile.

51. Something for Radagast

Dearest Ada Greenjade,

It was so wonderful what you did!  If only I could see!  Yes, you drew it for me, and it looks wonderful, very like the design I made for you two years ago, but I would love to see it in reality.  Do you not think it queer that I named the land, but have yet to see it?  

Well, I am back from Edoras!  Isn’t it nice of Lady Eowyn to take me along when she visits her brother?  Elfwine is getting so big, hard to believe he is 5 years old now. He is a good little boy most of the time.  He has a friend he talks to a good deal, but one cannot see him.  It is a little green horse boy, he says.  I asked him “How do you know he is green if you cannot see him?”  and he replied, “I am the only one who can see him.  He will show himself to no other.  That’s how I know.”  I read him some of the tales in the book Prince Faramir made for Elboron.  He liked them very much.  Perhaps I can copy the book for him when I get time.   

I cannot believe this is my last term!  I do not know what I will do when I’ve finished.  If only you would let me and Nana come to Calador to live...I do not think the orcs would really do us harm, do you?  After all, you have been there for four years now and none have made any serious trouble yet?  On the other hand I can scarcely think of leaving my lovely friends behind, perhaps never to see them again, and our dear cottage, and Nana’s school, and our neighbors, and the rest of it. 

But it is so strange that all my friends are so much taller than I now.  It makes me feel left out when they talk about “their womanhood” (I think you know what I mean!).  Meleth says I will not get mine for a good many years yet.  Gilglin says I should be glad of it, she gets sick every time hers comes on and everyone knows she has it and it is horribly embarrassing.  But I cannot feel very glad somehow.  And I must wonder, they will marry, have children, and get old while I am yet a lass!  They will not likely live to see me a bride, either.   

Oh and speaking of brides, Ruan has a fellow now.  I do not think him half as handsome as Bergil, but I did not tell her so.  I still remember how pretty Mikala looked at her wedding a year and a half ago.  Little Gandalf is 8 now, and not allowed to play with Prince Eldarion so much any more.  His mum says it isn’t fitting.  I don’t see why not.  Little Gandalf might be his Sam someday, one never knows, does one? Prince Eldarion is 10 now.  He is getting so he won’t mind so much any more, and likes to go off and have adventures and get into mischief.  Little Luthien is more beautiful than ever.  She will be 7 soon.  Her nurse says she is spoiled to death, but I consider her adorable, and wish Nana might give me a little sister like her someday.  Do you think it may happen any time soon, and what if it does???????????

I am starting to like Osgiliath.  It seems to be coming to life, although the rebuilding is still going on.  Sometimes we will take a walk through it, along with Mistress Haldaraina, looking at the sights as she tells us of its history.  There are many more people than there were before, and it seems they smile and laugh more, and there are musicians playing gay music on the street corners and wearing funny colored clothes, and some give little plays or recite poetry, just like in Minas Tirith.  I wonder if any of this was the Queen’s doing?   I did suggest to her that they ought to have such things going on.  And now there are!  Well, the other day, we were out there on one of those walks, and an old man was singing a song I know.  It was that one that goes  

Knowest thou the country far and green
Where golden fruits bloom near the snow-white shore
Where the grey rain curtain turns to silver glass
There I would dwell with thee forever more.

Remember that one? I cannot imagine where he heard it.  Everyone grew very quiet and listened.  Some gave us money, and I tried to give it all to him, but he would only take half.  So I bought some sweets for the girls.  I will so miss them when I am finished!  What will I do?  I suppose I will go home to my pretty room, and help Nana about the house, and write to you, and play with Pippin, and all those other things.  Once I thought I would like naught better.  But that was before I knew what it was to have friends, and learn things, and be as other girls, and I can scarcely remember what my life was like before then…

Nor can I, thought Greenjade as he sat beneath the tree reading the letters.

His stint in the army long over, he now lived in the settlement on the plain formerly known as Gorgoroth, recently renamed Calenlad, so called for the abundance of trees, which were quite tall now.  The town, called Elvea, had grown considerably, and there were a great many more establishments on the main road...of which one of them was Greenjade’s carpentry shop. 

Two years previous, Radagast had made a shocking announcement.

“I have been giving it a good deal of thought,” the Wizard said one morning as he was sitting to breakfast with Greenjade, Sméagol, Gimli and the twins,  “and I know what I must do now.  I am certain you all will be horrified when I tell you.”

“You’re going to take a Dunlending wife?” Elladan said. 

Gimli nearly choked on his eggs.  

“You not leaves us?” Sméagol said laying down his fork abruptly.

“But for a while, and not to go far,” Radagast said.  “I shall go live amongst the orcs.”

General consternation all around, then Elladan laughed aloud.

“Quite the joker these days, Istari, are you not?” he said.  No one else laughed.

“I assure you I am not joking,” Radagast said somberly.  “I feel that the Powers wish it of me. I have been out there several times, as you know already.  They are a pitiable lot, and need someone to see to them and teach them some self-sufficiency.  I think if I do not do this, someday they will grow desperate, and things could get very nasty.  I ask none of you to come with me, although if you wish to, I would much appreciate it.  Dringon is coming along; I discussed it with him yesterday.”

“I hope you think none the less of me if I remain behind,” Greenjade said.  “I saw all the orcs in Gaergath’s coven I ever care to see.  And I seriously doubt I would wield any sort of positive influence over them.”

“Nay, Greenjade, I would have you stay here, and hold down the fort until I return,” Radagast said. 

“What of Nilde?” Greenjade glanced down at the dog at Radagast’s feet.  “Will you take her with you, or leave her here?”

Sméagol stared at the Wizard with very round eyes.

“I shall leave her with Sméagol,” Radagast said.  “I know he will take excellent care of her, right, Sméagol?”

The small fellow nodded, looking dolefully at Radagast.

“You are truly serious,” Elrohir said.  “And you think you can exercise a benevolent influence over those filthy...creatures?”

“I have been bringing them supplies for the past two years,” Radagast said, “as some of you well know.  Bread, butter, cheese, honey, seeds for growing vegetables and fruits.  And there have been no incidents.”

“Somehow I doubt that honey has sweetened their dispositions any,” Elladan remarked.  “I can see them roasting you over a nice coal-fire or boiling you in a pot.”

Sméagol gasped.  “Brown Master not goes,” he said.  Radagast cleared his throat.

“Orcs do not cook their food,” he said.  “And if they wanted to eat me, they have had every opportunity to do so before this.  I have found the bones of small creatures lying about their colony, and I dare say that is the sort of fare they live upon.  I think they can do better, and I mean to teach them if I can.  Anyone who wishes to come with me, you have until tomorrow to get your affairs in order.”

He would hear no more protests.  He asked Greenjade and the twins to see to things while he was gone.

“Look for me in about six months,” he said.  “I will return with a full report, and if I feel I am making headway, I shall go back for another six months.”

“We will ride out there from time to time and check up on you,” Elladan said.  “Won’t we, brother?”

Elrohir was silent for a long moment.  Then he spoke.

“I think I should go with him,” he said. 

There was ghastly silence.  Elladan rose from his chair, then sat down again heavily. 

“I think it is the only way I will ever rid myself of this accumulation inside of me,” Elrohir explained.  “Two years we have been here and it has still not gone.  Perhaps if I force myself to abide among them for a time, something will happen.  I do not ask you to come with me, brother.  If you cannot see it, I do understand, and shall not hold it against you.  I think you should stay here, in fact, and run things with Greenjade and the others.  You will be the only healer here save for Erik, and he is but a man, and can only do so much.  Is this all right with you, Radagast?”

The Wizard was still staring at him in stunned disbelief.  Greenjade found himself smiling in wonder.

“Of course it is all right, my dear lad,” Radagast said after a moment.  “But are you sure it is what you wish to do?”

“It is,” Elrohir said, “or say rather, it is what I think I should do.  I have this torment that will not go away.  Perhaps the thing that seems least likely, will be the thing that will prove most efficacious.”

“I cannot picture it,” Elladan said plunging a distracted hand into his hair.  “You are going off to live amongst orcs, just like that?  The fiercest orc-slayer in all of Middle-earth?  Surely you are not going to tell them who you are?”

“Not unless they ask,” Elrohir said simply.  “Perhaps if there is but one of me, they will not know me for the orc-slayer.”

Elladan sank back, staring at his brother with stricken eyes. 

“I think you are both asking for trouble,” Gimli spoke up.  “But you are determined to do this, I see.  Well.  I shall be going along with you then.  I may not get about as quick as I once did, but I can swing an axe with the best of ‘em yet.  Nay, not to worry—I mean for chopping wood, and such as that.  And I can dig, and hoe, and gut a hog and clean a fish, as ever any whole man ever did, can I not?  I’m goin’ with ye, laddie, whether ye will or no.” 

“Then come along,” Radagast said. “We’ll ride out first thing tomorrow after breakfast.”

The following morning as Radagast hitched Brego to the wagon, Dringon appeared with eight other men.  Sméagol managed to coax Nilde inside the hut, where Radagast stroked her for a few minutes with tears in his eyes. 

“Wait for my return, sweet lass,” he said softly into her fur.  “There will come a day when we will be together for all time, until age and death take you from me.  You are to be a mother again soon, what?  Perhaps the pups will keep your mind occupied until my mission is fulfilled.”

But after he closed the door behind him, she barked and howled and cried so hard, it was unbearable, and at last Radagast came back, and she dashed out to him and would not be torn away from him.

So Sméagol ended up going too.

“Now I have seen everything,” Greenjade said shaking his head as he watched the wagon go, followed by Dringon on his huge steed, Elrohir on his bay, and the lesser men on their horses and donkeys or on foot.

So Elladan and Greenjade had the hut to themselves.  For about five weeks, that is, when Elrohir returned, saying he simply was unable to live among orcs.

“I feel a failure,” he said as he stabled his horse, “but what is one to do?  The stink of them alone is enough to float a horseshoe.  Radagast must have a cast-iron stomach.  When I spoke of it, he said he could adjust his senses to such situations.  But he did not hold it against me when I said I would leave.  Rather, he told me, ‘If you cannot feel pity, and naught but revulsion, then you should go.  They will sense it, and it will anger them.’  In truth, I did pity them, strange to tell.  But not enough to stay.”

“I cannot tell you how good it is to have you back again,” Elladan said with a slight tremor in his voice as he embraced his twin, “although I must absolutely insist you wash your clothes as soon as possible.  The smell clings to them yet. This is the longest I have ever been separated from you, brother.”

“I am glad also,” Greenjade said with twinkling eyes.  “You’ve no idea how hard Elladan can be to live with, apart from you.”

Elladan chuckled ruefully.  “He is right, I fear.  I dare say I was impossible.”

“Well, not quite impossible,” Greenjade said with a wink.  “Just highly…improbable.”

“What are the chances of Sméagol coming back?” Elladan said.  “We are all miserable cooks.”

“I do not think there is a chance of him returning without Nilde,” Elrohir said,  “who, by the way, had a fine litter a few days ago.  The pups appear to be part wolf.  There were six of them.”

“I am trying to imagine orcs with puppies,” Elladan said as they went into the hut.  “’Tis not a thing I can wrap my mind around easily.  I should think pups would make tasty snacks for orcs.”

“How is Radagast’s project coming along?”  Greenjade said. 

“Better than I expected,” Elrohir said.  “The orcs were living in a cave.  There were some Uruks--nine of them.  They lived in a building of stone which must have been part of an outpost of Sauron’s once.  It was in sorry condition as you may imagine, but we fixed it up into some semblance of habitability.  And of course, we planted fruit and nut trees, of which there were already a few, and pines and sumacs to form a windbreak.  Then we set to work planting a regular garden and making an irrigation ditch.  There’s a stream there, which is reasonably drinkable, and some forestry a bit out from the colony.  We built some shelters for ourselves out there, where there’s a bit of bluff jutting out.  The orcs don’t like to come out there at night, for there’s a wind blowing about that sounds rather eerie in the trees.  Some of the Men weren’t so fond of it themselves.  Sometimes Radagast and I would sing to try to take their minds off it.”

“Sounds hopeful,” Elladan said.

“Aye,” Greenjade agreed.  “He is the Tamer of Beasts, after all.  If he could tame me and Sméagol, perhaps he could do something with orcs.”

Elrohir looked at them with haunted eyes for a moment, then stared down at the floor. 

“What is it?” Elladan asked him reaching out a hand to him.

“I think I saw someone I knew,” Elrohir said barely above a whisper.  “Amongst the orcs, I mean.  A friend…from long ago.”

“You don’t say?” exclaimed Elladan.  “Who was it?”

“You had orc friends?” Greenjade said before remembering what Radagast had told him, that orcs had once been Elves. 

“It was before he became an orc,” Elrohir said softly.  “Útiradion, his name was.  He does not use it now, but I am sure it was he, although he did not recognize me, or pretended he did not.  Do you recall him, brother?”

Elladan thought for a moment, then shook his head.  “How long ago was it?”

“When we were little more than lads.  He was much older than we, a rebellious sort of chap, a trifle reckless.  Very light hair, and a gaze that was hard to forget, which is how I recognized him, I think.  He would talk strangely at times, about wanting to know things, the dark arts, the World Beyond, the Shadow, things of that sort.  Never mentioned his parents, nor a sweetheart, any of it.  He was hard to like, but I admired him in a fearful sort of way.  Father said he was headed for trouble.  He said he felt he was ‘destined’ for something, he was not sure what, but he could feel something ‘calling’ to him at times.”

“I do remember him now,” Elladan said.  “You are sure it was he?”

“That was myself once,” Greenjade said almost inaudibly.  “You are describing what I would have been, had I been an Elf.  I would have ended up an orc.” 

“It nearly did me in, seeing him like that,” Elrohir said nodding.  “I can scarcely get him out of my mind.  Perhaps we all have a bit of Útiradion in us, and could easily go astray as he did, and you and Sméagol.  Indeed, it is easier to do so than to stay on the right path.  I know this all too well, and wonder if when I get to the top, I will have the will to let go of my burden.”

“Perhaps Radagast can help him, I do not know,” Elladan said.  “As Greenjade has well remarked, he is a Tamer of Beasts.  Orcs are far lower than beasts.  However, Radagast seems to be guided by the Powers.  We can but hope.  Perhaps they could undergo purification in Mandos, and be sent back in their original form.  Ada spoke of that once, long ago.  I was outraged at the very thought of it.  However, perhaps it would not be such a bad thing after all.”

“I have come away with a differing viewpoint, concerning orcs,” Elrohir said.  “But it does not mean I am going back.  I think they cannot abide having an Elf there.  It is a cruel reminder to them of what they once were, and can only lead to trouble.”

Radagast returned at the time he had promised.  Sméagol and Gimli came with him, along with Nilde and three of her puppies.  They were half grown, and did appear to have a wolvish strain.  Yet they were very friendly and playful, and seemingly intelligent.  Some of the men had taken the others.

Radagast talked much of the progress that had been made in the orc-colony.  There had been one incident, he said.  Tommy Pulver had been killed. 

“I did not see what happened,” Radagast said, “and so I do not know who picked the fight.  It may well have been Tommy.  He was ever hot-tempered and belligerent, and I was reluctant to have him come along for that reason, but he insisted, being a willful chap, as it were.  None of the other men saw how it started, either.  They only saw the fight itself.  According to the orcs, Tommy made a belittling joke as to their appearance.  But I did not see the fight itself—I was out in the forest collecting mushrooms and pine-knots.  I only saw Tommy’s horribly battered body when I returned..”

Radagast sat down heavily on the settle, sighing.

“It was not your fault,” Elladan said.  “Orcs will be orcs, and Tommy would be Tommy.  I wonder at him going out there in the first place.  I dare say he was bored and looking for adventure, or some such.” 

“ I should never have allowed him to come,” Radagast said.  “But he was both able-bodied and a reckless fool, and I thought the experience might do him good.  At least he had no parents, and I am spared the ordeal of explaining the manner of his death to them.  We buried him in a pretty spot near the forest.”

“What happened to the orc who killed him?” Greenjade asked.

“The Uruks were going to dispatch him,” Radagast said, “and none too mercifully, I’m guessing.  I asked them not to do it.  They looked at me as though I were mad, and I gave them a strange blank stare, remembering that some consider madness to be a sign of divinity.  They backed off then.  I put him to work digging irrigation ditches.”

“Did you by any chance teach them to bathe?” Elladan asked Radagast, then looked a little ashamed of himself.

“Almost the first thing,” the Wizard said soberly.  “I told them if they did not bathe, they would get naught to eat.  They hate the water.  Yet they did like Sméagol's cooking.  And some did enjoy the feeling of having the filth scrubbed off them, although others complained of the itch.  That reminds me, I must bring some oil for them to put on their skin after washing, to keep the itch down.” 

Radagast stayed for about a week before going back.  At the meeting-house in town, he discussed the project at length, and ended up taking more men with him when he went back to the orc-colony.   But Dringon and Gimli remained behind, saying they’d had enough of orcs to last them a lifetime.

“We found whips in the Uruks’ barracks,” Dringon said.  “And some objects I could only guess the nature of.  We burnt the whips when the Uruks’ backs were turned, and the other things we chucked off a cliffside.  The orcs considered us their heroes after that.  I saw whip scars on some of their backs through the holes in their shirts.”

“The Uruks were none too pleased when they noticed,” Gimli said.  “They sputtered and roared and used some words even I never heard the like of before.  The orcs found it right amusing.  Radagast just stood calm and watched them, and Dringon and I stood behind him with axe and hammer, and they quieted down at last.”

“I’m amazed Radagast is still alive,” Greenjade said.  “He is a true wonder, our Wizard-friend.  We must do something for him.”  He looked to the twins.  “I have an idea.  What think you of this?”

And when Radagast returned six months later, he found a two-story stone house standing in place of the two-room hut, and a host of people standing by grinning, awaiting his reaction.

52.  Fire on the Mountains

The house was plastered over and whitewashed and bolstered with timbers, with windows of real glass, a steep thatched roof, and an iron fence around the front.  There were four bedrooms and a kitchen, a sitting-room, an outdoor privy; the stable had been enlarged, and the garden had not been harmed one whit.  In fact, it had been expanded.   

Greenjade would not soon forget the day that Radagast returned, as Greenjade, Elladan, Elrohir, Gimli, Sméagol, and Dringon all concealed themselves in trees and behind thickets.  The Wizard drove slowly along in the wagon, along with a few men riding with him, and some alongside, up the road toward the house…then starting and staring at the others as if to say, Hold, we’ve come the wrong way!  Greenjade and his friends had all they could do to keep from snickering as Radagast and the others cast bewildered glances all around.  Then Nilde jumped down from the wagon and ran at the house, barking, and Sméagol popped out from behind a bush exclaiming in delight to see her again.

Radagast stopped the wagon, dropping the reins and hopping down, going out to meet him, jabbing his staff into the earth with an indignant motion, calling to him, and Greenjade could not hold back his laughter any more, nor could Gimli crouching next to him, and the twins plopped casually out of the trees into which they had climbed.

“Hullo Radagast, fancy seeing you here!” Elrohir exclaimed.  “How like you our new house?  Pretty, what?”

“Vast improvement on that smoke-colored hut, yes?” Elladan said casually reaching up to untangle his hair from a limb that had snagged it.  “Bloody eyesore, that.  Not fit for an orc to live in. I can well understand why you didn’t wish to stay in it, and skipped off on the pretext of doing a good deed just so we’d take pity and build you a new house.  Dratted clever, that was.  I must remember it to use later sometime.”

Others came out of their hiding places, as Radagast stood utterly speechless, staring, trying to take it in that there really was a house before him. 

“Well, drat it all, man, are you just going to stand there gawking, or are you going to come inside and have a look-see?” Elrohir said with feigned impatience. 

“We didn’t tear down the hut,” Greenjade put in.  “We converted it into a tool-shed.  You may not recognize it, since we whitewashed it also, but I assure you it’s there.  The succulents are even in the roof-thatch still, in case of lightning.”

And they took the Wizard by the arms and steered him into the doorway.

The interior was painted a soft cream color, and it had a real stone floor, laid over in the front room with a thick rug a couple donated, woven in shades of brown and gold and black.  A couple of women had made curtains for the windows, of woven gold and black threads, and Aragorn and Arwen sent over beautiful cushions embroidered in gold and white and brown and black, along with a tapestry showing a tree full of birds, which used to hang in the room Radagast had occupied during his stay at the palace. 

Faramir and Eowyn had sent over some household items as well, some lamps and bowls and candleholders, and a hawk someone had found and stuffed.  Greenjade had put it up over the fireplace anyway.  He thought it looked rather splendid, himself.  And there were some of the carved animals he had made over the years, to pass the time; these he set about the place. 

He had made a very fine chair of carved walnut, with an eagle worked into the back, and clawlike feet on the front legs, all highly polished and sanded to perfection.  There was a cabinet to match, with birds carved on the doors, and bronze handles, wrought by the local metal worker.  He was currently working on a headboard for the Wizard’s bed, to be carved with an eagle also.

And there was a beautiful bronze lamp, made by the same metal worker, hanging from the ceiling in the front room.

And in the next two years, the house grew even more beautiful and homelike.  Goosedown mattresses were added, the stove tiled, stenciled designs painted on the doors.  A shaded porch was built in back, with wicker chairs and potted rosebushes set about.  There was no other house in all of Elvea like it.   

Greenjade had grown to like the inhabitants here, particularly after the way they had all pitched in to help with the house.  They were rugged, self-sufficient, tough, with a pioneer spirit.  They had come with a view toward taming a savage land and having a part in purging the place of its poison.  Many were former soldiers who had been unable to adjust to civilian life.  And they had found solace here, comfort in the common purpose of restoring a sickened country to health and new life.  Greenjade felt humbled in their company, yet privileged to be among them.  In essence, this was what he had wanted all along, to live among people touched with greatness, who wished to live in the light and rise above the common, who were not content to take the well-traveled roads, who had stories worth telling, yet whose eyes were turned straight ahead. 

Not that they were perfect, by any means.  They sang bawdy songs and told off-color jokes and loved rough sport and revelry. Some drank too much, and there were often fights.  Yet they had vigor, they had color, richness, breadth, height, voice, and flavor, and Greenjade was seldom bored in their company.  There were farmers, woodsmen, metal workers, stonecutters, dairymen, bakers, butchers, craftsmen of many sorts, miners, millers, huntsmen, and a few assorted dubious types who had no particular profession, yet who somehow managed to get by on their wits.  

“I feel a failure once more,” Radagast said, one morning about a month after returning from the orc colony.  He and Greenjade and the others were in the sitting-room, in which a pleasant fire was burning in the stone fireplace.  The whole aspect of the room was warm, comfortable and manly all at the same time.  “I did not make much headway with the orcs.  My heart broke for them.  There seemed so little, really, that I could do.  They are so hideous, so loveless and hopeless.  I do not believe they will tend the garden we planted.  In order to do that, one must have hope, and what hope have they?  Soon they will revert back to what they were before I came.  But I cannot stay with them indefinitely.”

“You did what you could,” Elrohir said.  “And you certainly stuck with it longer than any of the rest of us.”

“Aye, some of us did not even care to try it,” Elladan said.  

“I tried, but did I succeed?” Radagast said.  “Sometimes I think it better if they were not immortal, and would just die out.  Do not get any ideas from that,” he said looking sharply at Elladan.

“You’re no failure in our eyes,” Greenjade said.  “You made of me what you see before you, and Sméagol too.  And the entire town, for that matter.  You made it grow out of ashes and dust and mud.  But for you, this would be Mordor still.”

“Orcs are orcs,” Elrohir said, “and thus it ever shall be.  You should stick with men, and sea-folk and hobbits sent back from the dead, and actual beasts.  ‘Tis sad about the orcs, truly.  But there is no use berating yourself for what cannot be helped.”

After a long moment, a slow smile appeared on Radagast’s face, and a soft glow began to emanate from him.  His very clothing seemed brownly radiant.

“Aye, I belong with you,” he said.  “This is my city, and these are my people.  I can scarcely believe what length you all went to show your esteem.  You are right.  I have succeeded more than I knew.  This house is ample proof of that.”

“Well, don’t let it go to your head,” Elladan said in feigned alarm.  Radagast laughed. 

Then Elrohir perked up his head.  “What is that sound?”

There was a noise coming from outside, which took Greenjade back to a time several years ago, when crossing a certain marsh…it was wings, without mistake.  Large wings, and many.  Nilde growled a little.

It suddenly occurred to Greenjade that he had seen very few birds in Calador, other than domestic fowl. 

All ran to the windows and looked out, but could see little through the thick glass.  The sound grew louder.  Radagast went to the door and stepped out on the front stoop, which was flanked by two stone eagles.  

The entire sky was dim with birds.  Large ones, flying high overhead. 

“Migrating geese,” Radagast said in soft wonder, “and yet, it is spring.  They should be flying north, not south.  Not just geese either—swans, ducks, loons.  And smaller birds too—doves, I think.  Thousands of them, it seems.” 

“Wonderful,” Gimli said behind him.  “It will be raining bird muck, shortly.”

Greenjade snorted.  The others just looked up in silent wonder.  The bird-calls and cries grew ever louder.  Nilde barked at the sky.  Gimli shivered. 

“It cannot be Saruman’s doing,” he said, “for the rascal is long dead.  Well I remember the crebain he sent out our way, to spy on us.  Can it be some mischief from abroad once more?”

“Nay,” Radagast said smiling.  “These birds mean no mischief.  They are coming to Calador.”

“But from where?” Greenjade asked. 

“Remember that swan that was injured by the robbers on the road?” Radagast said.  

“As if I could forget that,” Greenjade said.  “So…she brought those birds out here?”

 “Seems to me every bird in Middle-earth is up there,” Gimli said, drawing back into the house, where Sméagol crouched fearfully.  “Do we need so many?”

 “Perhaps you summoned them here?” Elrohir said to Radagast. 

 The Wizard merely smiled.

The coming of the birds caused much excitement in Elvea, and a good deal of consternation also.  However, they did not remain much in the town, but spread out over Calador, nesting in the mountains and forests.  A good many did visit Radagast’s garden—finches, swallows, sparrows, larks, and thrushes of different varieties--and some took up in his trees.  It made him very happy; he would go about looking up at them, sometimes summoning them to perch on his hand or shoulders.  Getting used to their chirping and warbling and twittering took some doing for Greenjade, but he did eventually.  Working out in the fields, he would hear bobolinks and meadowlarks and quail; hunting in the forest, he heard the silver-gold call of the woodthrush.  Sitting on the porch in the evening, he heard nightingales, whippoorwills and owls, mornings, the merry notes of finches and robins, and in the afternoon, the chatter of many birds in the big trees.  He would be glad of it because it all seemed to be taking Radagast’s mind off the orcs.  

About a month after the birds came, Radagast came in looking much agitated.

“The orcs have gone,” he said.  Everyone was on the porch, resting from the long day’s work.  “I went there to bring them their supplies and see how they were coming along.  The colony has been deserted.”

“You don’t say!” Gimli exclaimed.  “Where could they have gone?”

“All is overgrown with weeds, but not such big ones,” Radagast said.  “So they have not been gone so long.  Dringon and I went about looking, and found their tracks.  They had been partially obliterated by rain, but still we could see they appeared agitated and chaotic, and we followed them for some distance.  We found the remains of a couple of orcs that had apparently been trampled to death….”

“The birds frightened them off?” Elrohir suggested.

“That was my first thought,” the Wizard said, sitting himself between the Elves on the wide bench overlooking the garden.  “They have fled into the mountains, most likely.”

“Do you suppose they have left Calador?” Elladan asked hopefully.

“If they have gone into the east,” Radagast said, “they will likely not get far.”

“You don’t suppose they will be coming back?” Greenjade asked.

“If they were coming back, surely they would have done so by now,” Radagast said.  “My guess is that they have hidden themselves in the Ered Lithui.  I have not been there, so I do not know how it is, and neither does anyone else I know.”

“The Mountains of Ash,” Elladan said.  “They are downwind of Mount Doom, and likely collect much of the ash fallout.  Sounds most enjoyable.”

“Aye,” Elrohir said.  “Unless there are mountain streams there, which I much doubt, they are like to die of thirst.  Once I thought I would have liked naught better.  But now I feel no joy to think of them enduring such a painful demise.”

“Orcses are not coming back?” Sméagol said.

“Nay, Sméagol,” Radagast said, a little sadly it seemed, “they are not coming back.”

“Would that the birds had showed up that much sooner,” Elladan said.  “We might have been spared a whole war.  And Nana would not have sailed...at least, not until nine years ago.”

“So...when will the celebration be?” Gimli asked, only half serious.

“I am not much up to any celebration,” Radagast said.  “I scarcely rejoice to know my year’s project was all for naught.”

“It was no such thing,” Greenjade said.  “You’ve told me yourself that no deed that is for the good of others is ever wasted.  Do you not believe it any more?”

“And you got yourself a new house out of it,” Elladan said clapping the Wizard’s shoulder.  “You did well, Istari.  More than you’ll ever know.”

“Aye, you have,” Elrohir said.  “I am finally beginning to experience a lightening of my burden.  I have been feeling it recede for some time now.  And it has been much your doing.”

“Nay, Elrohir, it has been your own doing…and that of Eru,” Radagast said, and a trace of a smile flickered over his face.  “I am much pleased to hear it.  And if indeed I have had any part of it, I will not count myself a failure entirely, and will rejoice for you, at least.”

“Well then,” Elladan said, “shall we break out the wine?  Oh, that’s right, we haven’t any.  And the ale at The Belching Bridegroom is rather wretched stuff.  Tastes like skunk piss…not that I ever drank such.”

Smeagol cooked up a rare feast.  Radagast took his usual bread and cheese, until Greenjade trotted out a jar of blackberry jam he had been saving for a surprise.  And the following morning Smeagol made some delectable flatcakes, which cheered the Wizard immensely. No one spoke of the orcs. 

~*~*~

“She finishes school this year, what?” Radagast’s voice startled Greenjade, who looked up blankly from Serilinn's letter as the Wizard appeared on the porch.

“Aye, she does,” Greenjade said, turning to look thoughtfully at his friend and mentor.  “Seems hard to believe, what?  Are you coming with me to see her graduate?”

“Would not miss it for the world,” Radagast said with twinkling eyes.  “And I should hope we shall be bringing her back with us to stay.”

“Nay, only to visit,” Greenjade said.  “My rooms above my shop are well enough for myself, but I would wish something far finer for my wife and child.”

“My house is their house,” Radagast said.  “You know there is a room not being used, although you might bide in it if you wished.”

“Well, but they are Elves, remember,” Greenjade said uneasily.  “These are not their kind of folks.”

“Are they not?” Radagast said with a chuckle. 

“There are no Elves here, save for the twins,” Greenjade said, “even if Legolas does see fit to show himself from time to time.  But his heart most certainly is not here.”

“And where is your own?” Radagast asked kindly.

“Here,” Greenjade said.  “I would have Meleth and Serilinn with me, certainly.  But I at least have the privilege of being with them for four months out of the year.  One for each season.  It is a sweet comfort to me to know they are waiting for me, when my time is done here and I can go to them.  And to know I am protecting them, and they live in beautiful surroundings where they are doing what they love to do.  I feel I am making it up to them for what they went through, and that is a great satisfaction to me.  So yes, I am happy here, and my heart is in this place where I am accomplishing things.  What could I accomplish in Ithilien?  I would perhaps knock out a few nice pieces of furniture and build a few stables, or some such, there.  But I would not be making much difference.”

“So why not be with them the entire year?” Radagast asked.  “You built this house.  Why not build them one as well?  They can stay here until it is done.”

“I do not think the entire town would participate if it were only for me and my family,” Greenjade said.  “You are our leader, healer, gardener, priest, counselor, savior, teacher, comforter, storyteller, and friend.  I am only Greenjade the carpenter.  It would take years to build the house on my own, even if I could afford it.  If I were but a war hero of some sort, perhaps it would be different.  And what of Meleth and Serilinn?  The people of Meleth’s village adore her.  She is their queen.  She is teacher, midwife, nurse, counselor, singer, poet, friend, and a figure of beauty and light.  And Serilinn?  There are no children here fit for her to associate with.  And very few women.  We need to get more women here somehow.  I think the men are getting restless sometimes, and need female company, and the Gondorian sisters just aren’t enough any more.  But how to get them here?”

“Perhaps if Meleth came, others would follow,” Radagast said.  “What is there for women out here?”

“Men,” Greenjade said, “who know how to work, and also how to enjoy, and to care and look ahead and do what they can to better themselves and help others as well.  Men who want wives, not merely seeking to put out the fire in their trousers.  Wives and families.  It’s what we need here.  Isn't that what life is about, when one comes down to it?  Families.”

“This from a man who refuses to bring his own family here,” Radagast said pointing the stem of his pipe toward Greenjade.  “What makes you think others would wish to have families here, when you would not?  I am curious to know how you reconcile your reluctance to bring your own family here with your eagerness to see others have families.”

Greenjade chuckled a little.  “Well, I suppose that my family is my own concern, and the families of others are the concern of those others.  If they don’t wish to have them, then they may forego such.  But I would see this nation grow and flourish.  It is doing well, but it needs that transforming element.”

“I would most certainly like to see Serilinn and Meleth again,” Radagast said. 

“You will, when you come with me to see Serilinn’s commencement,” Greenjade said.

“That I will do,” said the Wizard.  “But you would do well to bring them here when we return.”

 “I do not think I could do it to Serilinn,” Greenjade fretted.  “And there are so many rough men, I doubt I’d have a moment free of anxiety with Meleth here amongst them.  Not to mention the wild beasts.  The orcs may be gone, but there are still wolves, bears, poisonous snakes…not to mention the lion that killed those sheep last year.  Aye, we hunted her down and killed her, but there may be more where she came from.”

“And yet you would bring women here.”

“That I would,” Greenjade laughed.  “This argument could go on all night.”

“I agree that this settlement needs women,” Radagast said.  “Perhaps we should call a town meeting, and discuss it among the men.  Perhaps some of them have sisters, cousins, friends or relations of their wives, who might come.”

“I was going to suggest that very thing,” Greenjade said.

“We will go see Serilinn graduate,” Radagast said.  “You, I, Smeagol, the twins, Gimli--if he should wish to come.  And we will bring her and Meleth back with us...to stay.”

“You are going to work on me,” Greenjade smiled, “wearing down my will.  But what of Serilinn's pretty room?  She loves it so.”

“She shall have one just as pretty here.”

“Meleth...she likes to sit outside each morning to take her tea and watch the sun come up, in her garden.”

“The same sun comes up here.  And we've a very nice garden.”

“And they love to go to Minas Tirith, and see all the friends they have made there, the doings, the theater, the music, the books, the temple.  We've naught of that sort here.”

“You can go from time to time.  You've still your respites.”

“And Serilinn's friends?”

“There have been seven babes born here in the past four years.  She loves little ones, does she not?”

“She speaks a trifle sadly of her friends now,” Greenjade said glancing at the letter.  “They will be women while she is yet a little lass, and will likely forget her when they've families of their own.”

“So you'll bring her here to stay?” Radagast said smiling more broadly.  “To the land she named herself?  And had such plans for building?”

“Keep going, old fellow,” Greenjade smiled also.

Suddenly they were interrupted by the sounds of shouts, issuing from up the road.

“More birds?” Greenjade said.  Radagast sprang to his feet, absently dumping the ashes from his pipe upon the ground.  They went around the house to see where the commotion was.  The twins came galloping up on their horses in a state of great agitation.

“We saw the beacon,” Elrohir said breathlessly, or perhaps it was Elladan; Greenjade could not tell from this distance, in the dusk.  The King had recently had beacons set atop the mountains between Calador and Ithilien, like the ones between Gondor and Rohan. 

And the twins had seen one lit?  That could only mean one thing.  They were at war. 

“So much for bringing women here,” Radagast said almost under his breath.

53. Chasing the Darkness

“Serilinn’s graduation is but a month away,” Greenjade fretted as they rode toward Minas Tirith.  “And now I shall have to miss it.”

“Perhaps the war will be over before then,” Elladan said, although he did not sound  hopeful.  “There was an uprising from the South some years back, and it was put down in two weeks.”

“I would not count on it,” Elrohir said gloomily, running his fingers through his horse’s mane.  “The numbers of the Easterlings are far greater than those of Harad.  And it's my guess they are allied once more.”

“We should never have torn down the Black Gate,” Gimli fumed, where he rode behind Legolas.  “But for it, they may never be able to enter.  The mountains are too dense, and likely they do not know of the Pass.  Now they can just come prancing merrily through and take whatever they like, and our guards don’t stand a chance!  And here I am with my bad leg, of no use to anyone but as a mere lowly woodcutter!  Well, I shall summon my kin.  Easterlings—hmpf!  Greedy bastards, with that fancy gold dragon armor of theirs, and their gemmy swords, and their bronze halberds and shields, and all the rest of it.  Why don’t they stay in their own land, and leave ours to us?”

“I have wondered much the same,” Legolas said.  “But they were ever warlike.  Something drives them on.  They’ve still much of Sauron in them.  They would press ever westward, and take over all of Middle-earth.  We all sprang from the East, you know.  And moved ever westward.  I would venture to say the desire to move into the West is in them also, in a strange and corrupted way.  Theirs is a desert land, a hot land, a thirsty land.  No life, save that which can grow in the burning sand.  They seek the sun, and the horizon…and somehow, the darkness.  They chase the darkness, moving ever westward.” 

Greenjade recalled the story Radagast had told about the tower with the many levels.  Perhaps, he thought, the Easterlings were seeking that which was at the top...but was truly at the bottom. 

“There was precious little life in Mordor when we undertook it,” Gimli pointed out.  “If we could make it blossom as a rose, why can they not do the same?”

“Something tells me that this war will be no mere uprising,” Radagast said softly.  “I wonder whatever happened to the Blue Wizards.  They went into the east many years ago, and I have not seen them in over a thousand years.  I wonder if they might have become corrupt, and could be behind this business with the Easterlings, just as Saruman was in Isengard.  Saruman hinted to me once that they had been much interested in magical doings…not of a good sort.”

“Nay, you must not go with us, Radagast,” Greenjade said.  “You are needed back home.  What would Elvea be without you?  What would Calador be?  You must stay, and hold down the fort there.  You are the very heart of it.”

“I second that, and third it on behalf of my brother,” Elladan said.  Elrohir nodded.

They stopped along the way to fetch Meleth, who said she would go as a nurse.  Serilinn would remain with Faramir and Eowyn, she said.  It would be the safest place for her.  Kaerwyn would go with her, so she would have a friend for company and not be limited to playing with little children all the time.

“But I must see her graduate before I go,” Meleth said, glancing down at Pippin, who trotted along between their horses.  Greenjade nodded his agreement, darkly looking back over his shoulder as if to see if the Easterlings had yet arrived.

~*~*~

“Go home, all of you, and return to your families,” King Elessar said in his counsel-chamber.  “We have an army, and a powerful one  We will not need you, save for my brothers here.  Elladan and Elrohir, I think you two have seen enough of battle to last you for all time, and so I wish you to join the Medical Corps.”

“What army is this, Sire?” Gimli exclaimed clenching his fists on his knees.  Aragorn calmly lit his pipe and smiled at the dwarf.  “Do not keep us in such suspense!  Tell me it is not...can it be...the Army of the Dead?”

“Nay, these are very much living,” the King said.

“Why do the Easterlings want Calador?” Greenjade said.  “We are the ones who worked our arses off to make it grow and flourish and produce, while they sat back in Rhûn doing whatever it is they do there, and now they see fit to march in and take it from us?  I should like to see them do it!”

He was only vaguely aware of how much like Gimli he sounded.

“Sauron promised them a portion of it,” Aragorn explained, “and it seems they wish to claim it.  It is the mines they really want.  Perhaps their mines are becoming depleted.”

“Pah!” Gimli snorted.  “Or perhaps they dug up a balrog!”

“So what is this army?” Elrohir asked.

“I was going to ask that,” Elladan said as Ruan came to fill his glass.  He smiled up at her, making her blush.

“It is an Elf army,” Aragorn said calmly.  “And Eomer and I shall lead it.  Radagast, I would ask you to join the Medical Corps also, but I dare say you are needed back in Calador at the moment.  They have no other healer so experienced and skillful as yourself.”

“What Elf army is this?” Legolas asked.  “There are not enough Elves left in Ithilien and Mirkwood put together to defeat the Easterlings.  Not quite two hundred, all told.”

“It is not those Elves,” Aragorn said thoughtfully watching the small cloud of fragrant smoke that drifted from his pipe of carved ivory.  “Trust me.  Do not ask too many questions, but believe me when I say this army will put down the uprising in no time at all.  I shall ride out tomorrow with Eomer, who is on his way over.  Elladan and Elrohir, you shall enlist in the morning.  The rest of you shall go back about your business.”

“So why did you light the Beacon, if we are not needed?” Greenjade asked.

“Because,” the King said with a little mysterious smile, “when I did so, the Elven Army had not presented itself to me yet.  It did so but two days ago.  Shall I show you?”

“Please do,” Radagast said.  “My curiosity is eating me alive.”

The King rose, and led everyone out of the chamber and down the hall, out into the courtyard to the Embrasure, where he looked down, then back over his shoulder at the others.

“Come and see,” he said smiling softly, his eyes warm and vivid with victory.

~*~*~

“I must go,” Greenjade insisted later in the evening, as he and Meleth made ready for bed.  “Elves or no elves.  It is my land, and I shall defend it.  Those Elves have naught to do with Calador.  I do not know where they came from.  The King is being all clever and mysterious about it, but I am going whether they like it or not.”

“What of Serilinn's graduation?” Meleth said, where she stood by the window, looking eastward in the candlelight. 

“You shall go, even as you said,” Greenjade said as he dropped his shirt to the floor, then came to stand behind her, laying his hands upon her waist.  “Sméagol shall go in my stead.  Please understand that I must do this.  Lord Faramir will come, or send Beregond to escort her and Kaerwyn to Emyn Arnen.”

On the evening before Greenjade was to go to war, they went to the Academy to see Serilinn one last time. 

“Just when I and Nana and Pippin were coming to live with you,” she mourned as her parents walked with her along the bridge to the Dome of the Stars, which was winking in the dusk.  “I hate that everything is changing, and not in a good way.  What of Bergil, is he going also?  Mikala is going to have a little one, did you know that?”

“He is not going,” Greenjade said.  “The King has forbidden it, for that reason.”

“What if Nana were going to have a little one?” Serilinn said, stopping suddenly and looking at him with wide eyes.  “Would you stay then, Ada Greenjade?”

He laughed, just a little, puffy laugh.  Then looked at Meleth with lifted eyebrows.

Serilinn looked pleadingly at her, in the light of the city that gleamed like an iceberg in the torchlight and the scarlet sun that was rapidly seeking the western horizon, making bloody streaks on the surface of the River beneath them.

~*~*~

Greenjade groaned, trying to remember where he was.  As he opened his eyes, he was aware of naught but pain.  Starting in his head, which throbbed as though it had been pounded with Dringon’s hammer, and it worsened when he opened his eyes,.  The slightest motion made the whip weals on his back, buttocks, and legs burst into flame, so he tried to remain absolutely still, wondering if his ribs were broken, from the difficulty he had breathing, and the ache in his stomach and groin area was beyond description. 

The worst thing, however, was the knowledge that he was a fool.

Now he could hear voices, so he held his breath, trying to keep silent against the pain that the effort caused him.  And he remembered, very vaguely, how he had come here.  Struck down on the battlefield he knew not how, and he wondered if he still had all his parts.  His hands, yes, he had those, and his feet, for he could feel pain in the soles where he had been beaten there.  He wondered if he had betrayed anyone during the interrogation.  Well, he could scarcely be blamed for it, if he had...How had he managed to sleep?  Likely he had merely passed out from the pain....

Then he heard the creak of a door being open and heavy footsteps, and he tried to feign unconsciousness once more, only to feel a kick to his lower back, and he gave an agonized yelp.  Then looked up, blinking, to see a tall figure in dark purple occupying the red haze before his eyes.  It had a man’s face, darkish, with rings drawn about the eyes, which were dark also, and the wide lips were drawn back to show slightly discolored teeth above a short beard.  A gold medallion hung from a heavy chain around his neck, showing an etching of a rising sun, the symbol of the Easterlings of Rhun.

The mouth spoke words he did not understand, and he heard a voice from without the cell talking the same tongue, sharp guttural sounds interspersed with a grating laugh.  Then the tall man reached down a scarlet-gloved hand and grabbed a handful of Greenjade’s hair.

“Stand up!” he said in an accent Greenjade remembered well.  “Or I make things far less comfortable for you than they be now.”

He made as if to kick Greenjade in the stomach, and he instinctively drew up his knees in a self-protective gesture.  The purple man laughed once more. 

“Do you need assistance?” he said.  “I shall be happy to give it to you, Westron.  Come, stand, now!”

Greenjade managed to get to his knees.  His tormenter watched with amusement in his ringed eyes. 

“Hungry, my good friend?” he said.  “I’ve a bit of breakfast for you.  I noticed you had a hard time keeping down the previous day’s repast.  I sympathize, truly.  In your previous War, when your Gondorian soldiers captured me and kept me locked up for their amusement for weeks on end.  They had their little fun with me, and had I been better able to understand their language, they might have obtained some useful information.  But I shall treat you better.  Here…”  He lifted a wooden tray on which lay a slab of bread and meat that did not appear to be very well cooked, if at all, as well as a slice of moldy cheese.  “Perhaps you are used to better fare.  But it is far better than what your people served me in my captivity.  So, here, eat, enjoy with fine appetite.  Perhaps it will stay down this time.”

“I much doubt it,” Greenjade said, barely managing to get the words through his swollen lips.  He wondered if he should point out that he was no Gondorian, and had naught to do with the men who had captured this fellow in the previous War.  But then he remembered he WAS a Gondorian now.  “And whatever the others did to you in that other War, I had naught to do with it.  I was not living in Middle-earth at that time.” 

He spoke the words with a different sort of accent than that to which he was accustomed, so that the explanation would sound more plausible, yet hating himself as soon as the words were out.  

“Is that so?” the Easterling said raising black straight eyebrows that seemed to be joined over his large hooked nose, so that they appeared one brow.  “I heard you babbling some outlandish tongue in your sleep.  I shall not ask what you were saying.  From which region come you?”

“I am from far over the Sea,” Greenjade said, still in the same accent.  “My name is Zylanthaleu, meaning Green Stone.” 

“Eat, Zylanthaleu,” the Easterling said.  “You want a bit of strength.  We do not expect to be here so much longer, and I think it not likely that any will wish to bear you as burden.  So you will have no choice but to go on your own legs, unless you would remain behind, and you shall do so only as a corpse.  So.  Enjoy your foods, Westron.  And try to keep it all in your belly if possible.”

As Greenjade’s vision cleared, he saw that he was in some sort of cave.  A torch burned nearby, wedged between two stones to keep it upright.  He could see iron bars behind him, and it was his guess that the mouth of the cave was closely guarded.  His chances of escaping were slim indeed.  Whereas if he allowed himself to be taken…

“Ah, and here,” the Easterling pulled a flask from his belt.  “Drink this.  It will ease your pain.  You are fortunate, Westron.  I was not treated so hospitably, myself.”

Greenjade wavered, his hand actually reaching out for the flask.  Anything was better than the way he felt now, even death. 

Yet he had a strong feeling the brew would have an effect upon his faculties that would worsen things for him.  He withdrew his hand.

“No, thank you,” he said, still in the accent.  “Keep it for yourself.”

The Easterling’s ringed eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in anger and hatred.

“How dare you refuse me, swine!” he rasped.  “Shall you force me to pour it within you?”

“I think you should reconsider,” Greenjade said reaching out for the flask.  “You cannot win this war, you know, Easterling.  For I’ve an influence you know naught of.  I have called forth legions from the Realm of the Dead, from which I have come myself.”

The tall man squinted down at him. 

“The Realm of the Dead, you say?” he said with his head cocked to one side.  “Do not tell me.  The Dead Army, which vanquished our forces in the War of the Ring?  I have seen none of such green folk.”

“Nay, not that Army, purple one,” Greenjade said.  “It is even better than that one, and their numbers are greater.  And I must say, it is far comelier to look upon, and smells better too.”

“You are playing games with me,” the Easterling said.  “I am in no mood for them, unfortunately.  Drink, Westron.  You look as though you need some relief, and if you do not, I can promise you that you will hurt far worse than now.”

Greenjade put the flask to his lips and tipped it, trying not to let more than a drop escape, then drew back and spat. 

“Ack!” he gasped, nearly dropping the vessel.  The tall man laughed.  “What is this?  Camel piss?”

“I know not the names you would give the...the ingredients,” the Easterling said.  “Some comes from pretty flowers you like to grow in your gardens.  But it will not harm you, if you drink not too much.  Come, come, drink.  It contains alcohol, you know.”

“I do not drink alcohol,” Greenjade said.  “It doesn’t agree with me.”

“Agree with you?” the Easterling snorted.  “You have discussion with it?  Who makes the chit-chat with a drink?  Or is this custom where you come from?”

Greenjade’s only reply was to take the flask and turn it upside down, spilling all the contents on the cave floor.  The tall man gave an outraged roar.

“You will be sorry for your mockeries!” he shouted.  “Whore’s son!  Agree with THIS!”

He pulled out a sword from his belt, that had a long curved blade attached to a gemmed bronze hilt, and held it over Greenjade’s head with both hands.  Greenjade looked blandly up at him, then spat at him.  Might just as well.

Meleth.  Serilinn.  Radagast, look after them, please.  Elladan, be good to my lass....

And suddenly the Easterling gave a small hideous cry and dropped the sword, then fell forward on his face, an arrow sticking out of his back. 

Behind him stood an Elf with pale hair rather like Northlight’s, a long bow in his hand.  Despite his chainmail and breastplate, his light seemed to fill the entire cave. 

Greenjade instinctively groped for something to hold to.  He was dimly aware of the Elf’s hands grasping him under the arms and he gave a moan of pain as his head flopped down and the Elf lifted him to his shoulders, and then he knew no more.

54. The Thing Worth Having

They had her.  It was Meleth who now hung from the roof of the cave, bloody and helpless, as the Easterling popped away at her body with his whip…and Serilinn, chained in a corner, was forced to look on, pleading with him to stop, her tears forming a puddle around her….

Quiet, whore, he said, they will hear you.  And Serilinn cast himself at his feet.

Beat me instead, she said. 

Nay, take me, Greenjade called to him, and let them go, but the Easterling did not even look his way.  Desperately Greenjade looked about for a weapon, but he could not move his arms nor his legs.

And now the Easterling was building a fire…underneath Meleth’s feet, and he seized Serilinn’s arm and dragged her toward it….

NOOOOOO, Greenjade shrieked.....

“Greenjade, wake up,” a soft voice said.  Greenjade flopped over on his side, and looked up, to see that he lay on a cot in a tent where several other wounded men and Elves lay.  And he saw that he himself was quite naked, covered with a sheet pulled up to his shoulders. 

“Elladan?” he said blinking and shaking.  “Or is it Elrohir?”

“Elladan,” the Elf said smiling, laying a cool hand to Greenjade’s hot cheek.  “How are you now, old man?”

“Oh…shit,” gasped Greenjade in relieved desolation.

~*~*~

“How long have I been here?” Greenjade asked as Elladan brought him a bedpan, then went to fetch some ointment to put on his wounds.  The Elf wore a white knee-length apron over grey leggings and shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  The apron had a few red smudges on it.

“About three days,” he said.  “You were in a very bad way when you were brought in.  I was horribly afraid we were going to lose you.  Here, let me have a peek.”

Greenjade hesitated.  Elladan smiled. 

“I’ll see naught that I’ve not seen before, you know,” he said.  “We have bathed at the crater lake all together more than once, remember?”

“Aye,” Greenjade said as Elladan lifted the sheet.  “I’ve naught that you don’t have; there’s just more hair on it.  Now I know why Elves wear their hair long…to make up for the lack of it elsewhere.”

“You are in a most vulnerable position now, my dear friend,” Elladan reminded him teasingly.  “You may wish to show some respect.”

“I do not fear you,” Greenjade retorted.  “You love me too much to hurt me.”

“That I do,” Elladan agreed as he opened an earthen jar with a familiar scent.  “Can you blame me?”

“Not in the slightest,” Greenjade said, thinking, If you only knew.  Then winced. 

“I am sorry,” Elladan said.  “It stings a bit going on, but it will feel wonderful in no time.  This remedy has been in our family for over two ages.  Mercy on us, what a fever you have, poor fellow.  I hope this will bring it down.”

“I know that stuff,” Greenjade said.  “The elven balm.  Radagast used it on me more than once.”

He lay still, on his belly, while Elladan dabbed the balm on his wounds and lacerations with a soft cloth, murmuring, “Poor fellow” almost to himself, then singing a little under his breath.  Already the stuff was taking effect, and Greenjade closed his eyes, and even his nightmare seemed something that had happened hundreds of years ago.  Tears welled up and he blinked them back as he remembered people in Elvea saying how gentle and tender Elladan was with his patients, like a mother, and now Greenjade had come to find his reputation was deserved.  Not that he had ever doubted it, but it still came as a sweet surprise.  Elrohir, it was said, was sterner, more authoritative, less indulgent, which could be a good thing sometimes.

“So will I be going back, or home?” Greenjade said after Elladan covered him up once more. 

“Home.  The war is over.”

“Already?”

“Aye.  We may see Serilinn graduate yet.  Perhaps you should listen to your future son-in-law more closely at times, instead of judging him by his hairless body and pointy ears and his very bad harp playing.  Sometimes he knows whereof he speaks.”

“So the Easterlings have surrendered?” Greenjade raised himself up on one elbow.

“You are starting to catch on,” Elladan said with a lifted finger.  “Now, my most brave and excellent friend, I am going to fetch someone to bring you something to eat.  You must surely be famished.”

“Where is Meleth?” Greenjade heard himself ask.  “She was going as a nurse…”

“I fear she will not get her chance now to come in and smooth your fevered brow for you, dear chap.  Which is just as well, considering some of the horror stories I’ve heard about what Easterlings have been known to do to womenfolk.  Our armies vanquished them in a matter of hours, or so I heard.  They are plainly not your average spear-rattlers, nor your run-of-the-mill tree-patting, hymn-warbling pretty-boy Elves.”

“So where did they come from?” Greenjade asked.  “I was told that most had gone into the West.  Are they from the Undying Lands, sent here to fight our war for us?”

Elladan was about to say something when a moan from a nearby cot attracted his attention.

“Pardon me for a moment,” he said, and went to check on the source of the sound.  He was a while attending to the patient, and Greenjade laid his head down on his pillow, feeling a trifle dizzy.  He tried breathing deeply of the balm-scent, and it helped somewhat, but his ribs hurt confoundedly.  He kept remembering his deliverer, and wondering if he would see him again...if he were still alive....

Now he could see Elrohir coming into the tent and speaking to his brother, and Greenjade closed his eyes once more.  Now he could go home.  Now Meleth and Serilinn could come live with him in Radagast’s house, and they might live happily ever after....

...if only he could shake this darkness that had hold of him.

If only he could forget what had passed in that cave. 

“I am sorry to have been gone such a time,” Elladan’s voice startled him.  “That poor chap’s left arm was nearly severed below the elbow and I had to sew it on so he wouldn’t lose it, and it’s paining him considerably.  Now I  want you to lie here quietly and not stir yourself about, what?  Are you comfortable now, old man?”

“I’ve no intention of stirring myself about just now,” Greenjade said.  “And I’m comfortable enough, I suppose…for the shape I’m in.  But may I ask a favor of you…and Elrohir?”

“Any time.”

“Please do not write Meleth and tell her all that happened to me.  I do not wish her to know.  You may tell her I was wounded--that is true enough.  But I don’t wish her and Serilinn to know what I went through.”

“She will not hear it from me,” Elladan promised him, kneeling down beside his cot and taking Greenjade’s hand in both his.  “But what of your scars?  She will see them, you know.  You do undress for her from time to time, do you not?  How will you explain them?”

“There are not so many.  I shall undress only in the dark when she is here, and keep my back from her,” Greenjade said.  Elladan shook his head sadly, and Greenjade knew even as he spoke that the Elf was right.

“I shall tell her when the time is right,” Greenjade said.  “But I would have naught spoil Serilinn’s graduation.”

Elladan nodded wisely.  “This is why I love you,” he said rising.  “You are so unselfish.  It is inspiring to me.  You and Radagast both.”

By sheer impulse Greenjade took Elladan’s wrist and pressed it lightly.  Elladan bent down and kissed the top of his head, then departed once more before Greenjade could remember to ask him who the Elves were.  He had a feeling Elladan knew more than he was telling.

~*~*~

About a week later he was able to sit up.  He was moved from the tent of the wounded into one for those recovering, and the twins slept there also.  The wounded Elves recovered far more quickly than the Men, such as they were, and some of them assisted the brothers in the care of the more seriously wounded.  A few of these died, and were burned on a pyre in the encampment, with much solemnity and respect, but little sadness.

And Greenjade wondered about the Elves once more. 

And then one day as he was getting some breakfast, he remembered a conversation with the twins about two years previous, and nearly fell off his chair.  Could it be...?

It was not possible, was it?  Then again....

Surely not.

But what else could it be?

After the meal he got up and went about, although he knew Elladan would not approve, and watched the Elves as they helped the brothers tend the wounded, wondering about his deliverer and trying to see if he were among them.  Well he remembered the silvery fair hair that was very like Northlight’s, yet he did not see such among these, some of whom were dark-haired, others fair, but none silvery.  He wondered if he would ever see the fellow again…and then he thought once more of something Elrohir had said, long ago.

Light hair, I think.  Aye, very light hair, and a gaze that was hard to forget, which is how I recognized him, I think…. 

Greenjade caught Elladan’s eye across the tent, and the Elf looked at him and shook his head, and gestured to him to go back to his own tent. 

Did he know?

Greenjade felt a sudden weariness, and went back to the tent, but did not go inside.  He sat down beneath a tree, looking all about him.  The camp was located somewhere in what was once known as the Valley of Udun, near where the Black Gate had been located. 

And he thought of the battle.  The Elves had come in armor, with swords, spears, bows and arrows, all of it.  Some on horseback, others on foot.  On the eve of the battle, Greenjade had stayed in the Men’s tent, feeling daunted by so many strange Elves all about, talking in a language he did not understand, and no one else seeming to know who they were, or from whence they had come.  Aragorn had not been forthcoming, and now Greenjade could see why.  Well, what else could explain all the secrecy?

He remembered the Easterlings, in their golden armor, their rectangular shields, their horned helmets, their wide chariots and jeweled swords.  The stories he had heard of them, from the twins in particular, who had fought under Romendacil II against them, and again much later under King Turambar. 

“Did he tell you a tale about how badly he was treated by his Gondorian captors?” Elrohir had asked Greenjade concerning his tormenter.  “They all do that, you know, in order to try and justify their treatment of their captives.  Which is not to say it never happens—mistreatment by Gondorians, who are not perfect after all--but they like to act the victim and make you feel guilty, all the same.  Sad to say, Elladan and I did laugh at some captives once, as they were being taken away in chains, and threw pinecones at them.  We were quite young then.  It was long before all the really bad things happened.”

“Why were you fighting for the Gondorians?” Greenjade asked.

“Because we had been rangering with them,” Elladan explained.  “And we wanted to see some Easterlings.  We’d heard so many wild stories of them, and we were brash young things, a mere trifling four hundred and eleven years old, still wet behind the ears.  You know how such cocky youths are about going after honor and glory and such as that, sporting the glittery armor and swinging swords and what have you.  Needless to say, we soon found that war was no joke, and when we saw the King slain before our eyes, impaled upon an Easterling spear, our innocence was shed like a snakeskin.  Strange to think the thing most worth having is the thing you most wish to lose, until you do lose it, and then you’d give anything to get it back.”

“I cannot remember ever having it,” Greenjade said. 

“Nor can I,” Elrohir said solemnly.

As Greenjade sat beside the tent, he remembered their conversation.  And thought once more, that there was little worse than being a fool.

He could have been home preparing for Meleth’s arrival, planning the house he would build for her...but no, he had to go to war, and prove himself...and what had he proven?

That he was a fool.

How could Meleth ever respect him again?  She was so much older than he, so much wiser, so far above him.  It was as if she were a giant, like one of the Argonath, the sun in her eyes, while he could only stand on the riverbank looking up, up at her, so high and distant, not even big enough to see over her toes.  And she would look down and not see him at all, or if she did, she would think him an insect at her feet....

~*~*~

Even from a distance, it would not have been any object to pick Serilinn out from the line of graduates in their simple white dresses, gathered in the assembly hall of the Academy.  They all appeared nearly grown-up young ladies, while Serilinn yet appeared a child of about twelve, amongst them.  Yet there was that simple grace about her that set her above them all, at least to Greenjade’s way of thinking. 

The dark cloud in his head rose a bit as the girls filed up onto the platform, lit by small torches, and he held his breath hoping Serilinn would not walk too close to one of the flames and catch her dress.  He noted how much shorter it was than the ones of the others, which were ankle length; hers was just a couple of inches past her knees.  She’d said more than once that her school dress from her first year had been replaced because it wore out, not because she had outgrown it.  Her lustrous hair was held back with a couple of small white flowers tucked into it—from the White Tree; Lady Arwen had brought them to her.  She said she’d turned back at the last minute to get flowers for the others, lest they think she was playing favorites.  She sat on the other side of Meleth, along with her brothers, while Radagast and Sméagol and Gimli sat on the other side of Greenjade.  Bergil and Mikala, now visibly pregnant, sat in front of them, along with Ruan and her fellow, and Bergil’s sister Ivrenel, who was now attending the school.  And Bergil’s parents and Mikala’s mother and stepfather and Little Gandalf, who was quite fidgety, but said little.

Kaerwyn and Gilglin stood on either side of Serilinn.  Kaerwyn now stood almost a head taller than Serilinn, and Gilglin was just a little shorter than Kaerwyn.  She was now rather a handsome girl, in a severe and square-faced fashion.  Serilinn said she would remain at the school as a teacher in training.  Kaerwyn would be coming to Calador, and Serilinn was most excited about it.  She would be staying with them until she found some work--she wished to become a healer of horses--and could have a home of her own.  Greenjade, although he liked Kaerwyn, would have preferred it to be just the three of them.  But he said nothing.

Watching the girls on the platform, and particularly Serilinn, breathtaking in her quiet radiance, he was taken back in time, to the night he had found her among the Blood Drinkers, the day they found the entling, the sound of her singing to it as she rode the donkey on the way to the Widdicombs'... holding his hand and talking to him while he was ill, comforting him when the spirit of Darkfin plagued him...her grief at having to surrender Eglenbein to his mother...perched high on the cliff with him in the Misty Mountains...holding little Elfwine, trying on her fine new gowns...the wonder in her eyes at the sight of the Glittering Caves...a wholly different kind of wonder when she got her first look at the sons of Elrond....and Greenjade's heart was full of her to overflowing, until there was no room for anything else.

Harp music played from an unseen source as the certificates of graduation were passed out to the girls.  Mistress Haldaraina put the rolled-up pieces of parchment, tied with gold ribbons, into each graduate’s hand, and kissed each one on the forehead, according to the custom of the land.  Then she stepped up to the podium, saying that now there would be a speech by one of the girls.

Greenjade did not know why he should have been surprised when the speaker turned out to be Serilinn.  Still, he would have supposed it would be Gilglin, who had a fine speaking voice and an authoritative manner. 

Serilinn took her place as the headmistress moved away from the podium, and stood smiling, waiting for the applause to die down.  

“Thank you all for coming to see us on this wonderful day,” she said.  “It has been a most thrilling five years for me, and a most unexpected privilege to be allowed to attend this school.  I have loved living amongst intelligent girls who have interest in the world about them, who love beautiful things, and wish to learn and become filled as a pitcher at the fountain of knowledge, and live up to their true potential.  It has been most inspiring to be able to teach things to others as well as learn things.  And I have had so much fun doing commonplace things with them, and I have learned all about the joy of friendship and that is the very best thing of all.  

“And now we have come to the end of our time here, and must go out into the wide world, away from our blessed haven.  I can only hope the valuable lessons we have acquired will help us on our journey, and that the memory of the friendships we have made here will bring us comfort in lonely times. And I hope that the stories we have read here of the bravery of the Company who vanquished the Enemy in the War of the Ring will inspire us to courageous deeds of our own, and will lead us to appreciate the sacrifices that so many have made that we might be free to live our lives without fear and privation. 

“One more thing:  I wish to thank my lovely parents for adopting me as their own, and rescuing me from the unspeakable fate I would have endured had they not come along.  I also thank my Ada Greenjade for having the courage to go out in defense of his country, which he did so the rest of us might be free and safe to continue to make it grow in the Light.  May he be forever blessed and healed.”

The applause was thunderous as the girls all filed down from the platform to the music that once more began to play, nearly unheard by all.  And Greenjade could scarcely see any of them for the light that filled the hall as if the sun itself had crashed in through the ceiling, filling his head as Serilinn now filled his arms.

~*~*~

“I have a new project for you,” Aragorn said the day after the graduation.  “Do you feel up to it yet?”

“Depends on what it is,” Greenjade said.

“It’s rather a big one,” the King said as he lit his pipe.  They sat out on the terrace in back of the Palace, overlooking the garden, which was lushly in bloom, and Serilinn, Meleth, Kaerwyn, Meleth and Ruan were all down there, along with Luthien and Eldarion and Little Gandalf and Pippin the dog.  It was a beautiful summer day, full of fragrance and the sounds of the City going about its daily routines, and the shouts and laughter issuing from the garden.  “Queen Lothiriel has been overseeing an orphans’ home in Rohan, and she says many of the girls in it are quite grown now, and will soon have to be leaving.  Radagast has spoken of something you and he discussed once about bringing women into Calador.  Well, Eomer consented to the girls’ going as long as a dwelling is provided for them, and worthy work and protection, so that those who wish to go might marry.  Your job would be to build this dwelling for them.  There will be a matron to go along with them to see to things, certainly.  They will all work together keeping up the house, and plant a garden for their sustenance, and perhaps hire themselves out as dairymaids or laundresses and such.  What think you?”

“Well…I dare say it would give me something to do to keep me from brooding overmuch,” Greenjade admitted.  “You will provide all the materials and such?”

“Aye.  And the Elves would help with the building…so that it would turn out a handsomer dwelling than if rough men should do it all,” the King said with twinkling eyes.  Greenjade narrowed his own. 

“I was going to ask,” he said coolly, “what all those Elves would do now that the war was over.  So they are staying in Middle-earth?”

“Aye, I have given them land in the east of Calador, and the south as well,” Aragorn said.  “They will not be staying in Elvea after the project is completed, so you need not worry on that score.”

“Oh, I was not worried,” Greenjade said, yet he could not help but feel a little relieved, at the same time ashamed of himself.  “Merely wondering.  Also wondering if Elladan and Elrohir knew all along who they were.”

“You did not ask them?” Aragorn said.

“I started to, many times.  Yet something held me back always, I do not know why.  Did they know from the beginning?”

“I imagine they did,” the King said soberly. 

“And that is why you placed them in the medical corps?  So they would not have to fight alongside of…”

“Nay.  I placed them in the medical corps because they were needed there.  They have excellent healing skills, as you have observed.”

“I have indeed,” Greenjade said, and smiled, looking down toward the garden to see the twins entering through the gate, and the royal children rushing to meet their uncles, Serilinn coming up a little shyly behind them.  “I can think of no one I would rather have marry Serilinn than Elladan...even though I could wish he might trim his hair to a decent length.  It is a bit disgruntling to think of having a son-in-law with more hair than his wife.”

Aragorn laughed aloud.

“They knew all along,” Greenjade said, “and yet...they cared for the wounded Elves as they would any others.  Saved many lives, and eased their pain as best as they could.  And they knew, the whole time.  Wondering, surely, if any of them were the ones who had harmed their mother.”

Aragorn nodded, more soberly, and the two men sat in silence for a moment.

“Do you wish to discuss this with Meleth before accepting the job?” the King said after a while.

“I do not think she will have any objection,” Greenjade said.  “In fact, I think she will be most enthusiastic, and will willingly help out any way she can.  And I’ve a new assistant now, Garulf Sturmholt from Rohan.  He’s only twenty years old, but most skillful and a big help about the shop, and I am fond of him already.  This would be a fine learning experience for him.”

“Then it’s a go,” the King said in obvious delight.  “I will show you a drawing Arwen made for the home. I’m sure she will not object if you were to suggest any alterations.  After all, you know far more about building houses than she, as she well knows.”

Meleth’s reaction to the plan was exactly as Greenjade predicted it would be.  Serilinn, of course, was overjoyed.  She made all manner of suggestions for the design of the house, and drew several herself, astonishing in their ingenuity.

“That’s a young architect in the making,” Aragorn said of her.  Arwen nodded.

“She should be taught,” she said.  “I shall find one who would be willing to take her on.  I’m certain she has all kinds of ideas and may well change the face of Middle-earth.”

Greenjade could only grin proudly.

A week later the moving process began.  Serilinn stood looking at the cottage as Greenjade, the twins, and Radagast and Sméagol began loading the wagons with furniture and other household items.  Radagast had already declared that the family would live in his house.  The twins were moving into a house of their own.  Radagast would give his room to Greenjade and Meleth and take the porch-room downstairs.  It would suit him much better than that big room anyway, being closer to the garden, he said, and Nilde would like it better too.  Serilinn would take the twins’ room, and Kaerwyn would share it with her until the dormitory was built.  Sméagol and Gimli had already moved into the stable rooms. 

“I cannot believe we are leaving this cottage forever,” Serilinn mourned as she and Kaerwyn helped Meleth carry out odds and ends to the wagons.  Pippin followed them to and from the house, wagging his tail and looking up expectantly for petting, which he got sporadically.  “I wish Rusco would come with us.  I will miss him very much.  But I suppose he will be happy here with his bird-family.”

“Who will teach the school now?” Kaerwyn asked. 

“There will be another teacher—one of Meleth’s former pupils,” Radagast said. 

“Yes, Brynnien will be very good at it,” Meleth said.  “She is very clever and has all manner of ideas, and was often a great help to me while I was teaching the little ones.  I feel confident in turning over the school to her.”

Mistress Amdir, the former housekeeper, came over bring a basket of food, and they sat out in the yard and ate it, reminiscing, sometimes weeping, discussing what they would do when they got to Calador.  Serilinn bubbled on and on about how at last she was actually going to see the land she had named herself.  Faramir and Eowyn came down, along with the children and Beregond, to see them off, and to provide them with yet another wagon and horse.

And at last they were on their way to their new home where they would live as a family…and where Greenjade would hoist his flag at last, in the town square that soon would be built in the city of Elvea.

LV.  Moments of Moments

“I dare not go to sleep,” Serilinn said as they set out the following morning, having spent the previous night in Minas Ithil.  “This is the moment of all moments.  I have been waiting for this my whole life long.”     

“It’s not so far,” Greenjade said as he lifted her up into the wagon seat, then assisted Meleth onto Nimrodel.  Kaerwyn had already mounted Lightning.  Radagast and Sméagol came chugging up behind, carrying a basket of food.  “We should be reaching the border about noontime.  You can catch a nap if you like; we’ll never let you sleep through the crossing.”     

“Oh, I couldn’t sleep today if I had to,” Serilinn said as she settled herself next to her father.  “Even though I barely slept last night for the excitement.  Oh, I cannot BELIEVE this day has come at last!  I know I am talking too much, but I can’t help it.”     

“I am excited too,” Meleth said.  “This is a new beginning for us all.  The end of our journey, and yet the start.”     

“I look forward to meeting the girls from the orphans’ home,” Kaerwyn said.  “I’m so glad they are going to be there too.  Do I have to get married also, if I live with them?”     

“Do you not wish to?” Meleth said.     

“I don’t know,” Kaerwyn fretted.  “I don’t wish to marry just anybody.”       

“You’ll not have to marry ‘just anybody’,” Meleth said.  “Only men who have lived in Calador for at least three years and have steady work and a good reputation may choose a bride from the new home.  And she must be willing.”     

“The idea of marriage frightens me a little,” Kaerwyn admitted.  “I’ve not lived among males much. I know not how they think…or anything.”     

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance there,” Meleth said.  “I could be a counselor for any who desire it, and discuss delicate matters that they may be embarrassed to ask about themselves.  What think you of that?” she asked Greenjade.     

“I was going to suggest that very thing,” he said turning to smile at her with his entire being.       

“You will put up your flag, Ada?” Serilinn pleaded.     

“As soon as we can come by a pole,” Greenjade said.  “It’s just as well I did not put it up before, for it would be faded by now, and want replacing.”     

“I want to be there when it goes up,” Serilinn said.  “It will be the proudest moment of my life.”     

Greenjade chuckled.  “I think I already had my proudest moment,” he said, more soberly.     

~*~*~     

“Here is your new home,” Radagast said as they drove in site of his house.  Serilinn had said not a word for the past quarter of an hour, which was most unsettling for everyone.  She was pale except for two red spots on her cheeks, her eyes glistening.     

And then she spoke.  “Oh, myyyy,” was all she could find to say.  “Oh myyyy.  Oh myyyy.  Oh myyyy!”     

Dringon was there to greet them, having been seeing to the care of the house in their absence, and with him was a tall, fair-haired youth in brown tunic and leggings.  His bright-blue eyes widened at the sight of Kaerwyn on her horse.       

“That’s a fine mare,” he said as he was taking Lightning and Nimrodel to the stables.  “I’m Garulf, by the way.  Greenjade’s assistant.”     

“I am Kaerwyn,” the Rohirric girl said a trifle shyly.  “Serilinn’s friend.”     

“Did you have a nice journey?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.     

“Very nice,” she said, hesitantly also.  “I did not expect so many trees.”     

“There are a good many trees,” he said.  And smiled.     

“Yes,” she said.  “Tall ones.  And lots of open spaces also.  A good place for horses.”     

“Yes, it is,” Garulf agreed.  And they both smiled.     

“Look at this GARDEN,” exclaimed Serilinn, rushing past them toward the back yard, Pippin charging frantically after her as if fearing to let her out of his sight, barking.  “My dreams are all coming true before my very eyes!  It is soooo overwhelming!”     

“Mine too,” Meleth said dreamily, coming up slowly after her.  “We truly are home…for the time being.”     

~*~*~     

“Look,” Elrohir exclaimed to Meleth as he watched the Elves working on the new dormitory under Greenjade’s supervision.  Meleth saw a lady among them, with golden hair like her own, bound into a braid, carrying a large pale of water.  “Is it possible?  No…I had no idea there were…females…among them.  She must be from Ithilien.”     

He stopped, looking embarrassed to have uttered the word “females” in front of a lady, but Meleth merely smiled.       

“I do not know,” she said.  “I have not seen her before.”     

“It is impossible,” Elrohir said.  “Even if there were any, why would they have sent her back?  Do you know her name?”     

“Nay,” Meleth said.  “I have not met her.”     

“She is of the Ithilien Elves,” Elrohir said.  “She’s very lovely.  Far too lovely for…”     

“She is indeed,” Meleth said.  “Why not go and speak to her?”     

“I know not what I would say,” Elrohir stammered.       

Meleth smiled.  “You might ask her her name, if you are so curious as all that.”     

“Perhaps I will…eventually,” Elrohir said.     

“Eventually,” Meleth said, pulling a mock frown.  “Well…if you do not ask her now, someone else may beat you to it, you know.”     

And she turned away and went to catch Nimrodel, who was straying into the garden patch.     

~*~*~     

“Will they pass into the West someday?” Serilinn asked Greenjade as she brought him his lunch, looking at the Elves working on the nearly completed building.     

“I do not know,” he said taking the basket from her and lifting the cloth with a smile.  “They seem content here.”     

“But they could go, if they wished?” Serilinn said.     

“I am not sure,” Greenjade said.  “We do not make casual conversation.”     

“It seems unfair to me,” she said, “that they could go into the West, when you could not.  Do you think the ban could be lifted?  Since you have done well here, and helped Calador to become purified?  I think they should let you go.”     

“It’s no matter,” he said trying to refrain from a sigh.  “I will content myself with my family and my work here, and look forward to meeting my loved ones in the world to come.  I am happy with that.  Even if the ban were lifted, I doubt I will live long enough to go when Legolas gets that ship built.”     

“I still wish you might go with us,” she pouted.     

“You will be with me someday, you and Meleth,” he said. “It will be a good while, but it will not seem so to me, or so I’ve been told.  You will enjoy the Undying Lands.  And I will see my other children again.”     

“I would love to meet them,” Serilinn said smiling.  “And you’ll meet the Ringbearer and his lady?  Your mother?”     

“I can scarcely wait to meet him,” Greenjade said.  “Well, no, that is not quite true.  I can wait…for however long it takes.”     

“What of Utiradion?” she asked after a moment.  “Have you seen him again?”     

“Nay, and neither has anyone else,” Greenjade said, startled at the question.  “I am afraid he perished in the fray, or was ambushed by the enemy.”     

“I suppose so,” she said sadly.  “I would have loved to meet him, and thank him for saving your life.  I would have done much for him, and made him something very beautiful, although I don’t know what.”     

“Perhaps we can make him a monument,” Greenjade said.     

“That would be a wonderful idea,” she said, “if we but knew where his body lay.”     

And she fell silent once more, waving to Kaerwyn as she brought a pitcher of water to Garulf.     

“Kaerwyn and Garulf are sweet on each other,” Serilinn said softly, turning to Greenjade again, brightening.       

“You’ve noticed that too?” he said with a chuckle.  He was glad they were hitting it off, at the same time rather sorry now that Kaerwyn was moving out.  She had been a big help about the place, working as stable-boy full time.  Her knowledge of horses was astonishing.  She was resourceful and inventive, and could do extraordinary things with ordinary objects.  And she had a daring and mischievous spirit and sense of fun that landed her in trouble sometimes, yet she always managed to extricate herself from it with a laugh, and she was smart enough to learn from her mistakes, and best of all, she made Serilinn laugh.  Garulf said she had clean spoiled him for other girls. Things were not dull with her around.       

She wasn’t hard to look at either, healthy and fresh-faced, attractively disheveled and rooted in goodness and life.     

She reminded Greenjade a good deal of Nell.     

Sméagol had became the official cook for the village.  He would make a big pot of stew each morning, sometimes beef, sometimes rabbit, sometimes ham or venison, and at noonday, the working men would bring bowls and spoons which Sméagol would fill with a big ladle.  They would eat it at the long tables provided for them, over which a pavilion was eventually erected to protect them from the weather.  By and by the pavilion would acquire walls and a fireplace over which Sméagol might cook the stew without interference from the elements.  Although the men teased him at times, they were always glad to see him.

And now he could be seen with his stewpot at the site of the dormitory, and the Elves partook of the meals, and all smiled each time he came into their site.  He became a mascot of sorts for them, and eventually they would build him his own little house.       

The flagpole arrived just after the dormitory was finished.  There was a huge celebration as the banner was hoisted up the pole…by Serilinn herself.  And as cheers arose from the crowd, the ever-ready tears spilled from her eyes as all looked up at the flag flapping wildly in the strong breeze, with the sun shining through the blue field and the golden-brown body of the Eagle, and the golden letters of the name she had chosen for her new home.     

~*~*~     

Shortly after the wedding of Kaerwyn and Garulf, the first couple from the new dormitory to marry, a daughter was born to Greenjade and Meleth.  And so Serilinn’s dream of getting a little sister was fulfilled.  She was named Bryseluthea, for Greenjade’s mother.  He could only hope his mother would somehow know of the child and her name.       

And as he held his newborn for the first time, perching on the edge of the bed beside Meleth, whose golden head rested on his shoulder, Serilinn hovering close by and weeping with delight, Radagast and Sméagol standing in the doorway looking on, he realized that all the joyous moments of his life were mere preludes to this, this tiny warm curled life still damp from its first bath, fitting exactly into the crook of his arm.  This was what it was all about.  He had thought he had known, but he’d had no clue, truly.  This, and this, and this.  This was the Truth he had been long seeking, and now it lay sleeping in his arms, the jeweled and infinite window to the Divine.     

A few days later as he was holding the little one, he suddenly looked up to see Serilinn gazing down at him and her baby sister, wistfully, even fearfully.  He extended a hand to her as he asked her with his eyes what was troubling her.     

“Do you love her more than me?” she asked him.  “She is of your flesh and blood, and I am not.  Do you love her more, Ada?”     

He felt an acute pang at the question.  Well…he might have known she would wonder such a thing.  

“Nay…not more,” he said pulling her over to sit at his side.  “As much.  I love you not one whit less, flesh or no flesh.  You need never trouble yourself on that account, my darling.  You are the world to me.  She is new, and as you say, of my flesh and blood.  So if I am filled with joy and wonder of her, it does not mean that you are any less to me.  You are the reason I am here now, immersed in bliss for all time.  Naught is sweeter to me than to hear you call me your Ada.  Never forget that, most beautiful one.”     

She smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder, and he laid his cheek on top of her head, blinking hard.     

“I think she will look like Nana,” Serilinn murmured after a moment.       

“I think so too,” he said smiling also.     

The dormitory, which had been affectionately dubbed the Bridehouse, never quite stood empty.  When the young occupants married and left it for homes of their own, others came to take their place.  The garden grew so extensively, it was now technically a farm, complete with cows, goats, chickens, and even pigs.  There were two young women there who did not wish to marry, and they went off together to live and set up their own dairy.  One of them had great skill at concocting delectable products of milk, cream, butter, or cheese, which they sold from a shop that Greenjade helped build for them.  The expected remarks and insinuations about their living arrangements were made, but never went beyond that.  As long as the delightful dishes kept coming, no one truly cared what went on behind their doors.       

And Radagast had a small temple built nearby.  Many a couple was married there.     

The Elves settled, as designated, in the west and south of Calador.  They did much planting and farming and building, and some worked in the mines, but few of them married.  Their orc-past sat too heavily on them, for the most part.  But there were very few violent incidents reported among them.  And they did much to help the former captives of Sauron in the southeast, who never knew of their origins.       

And it was they who built the capital city, where the tower  of Barad-dur once stood.  The twins, whom Aragorn placed in charge of ruling Calador, went to live there.  It was but about forty miles from Elvea.  Many of the buildings were from Serilinn’s designs, slightly modified by architects of more experience, yet very recognizable, and with a gently quirky uniqueness that would come to be known as “the Serilinn Style.”       

Elrohir did approach the former orc-maiden, whose Elvish name was Amarthedhel, but the relationship did not last, and she soon went on her way, saying she did not wish to “tie him down.”  Greenjade kept any lewd jokes on that subject to himself, and so did Elladan, if he thought of them at all.  Elrohir was actually relieved on the whole, after the initial hurt, for if he had darkness within himself, she had that much more…nearly four thousand years’ worth, and although she had been purified, her memories remained.  It would all have been too much for him to deal with in the end, he said.       

And yet, she was the most beautiful and tragic being he would ever know….     

~*~*~     

A son was born to Greenjade and Meleth when Bryseluthea was nine years old.  He was named…of course…Iorhael.  He was the first Iorhael born in Calador, but he would not be the last.       

Bryseluthea did, indeed, resemble Meleth.  She had an amazing imagination, and loved playing at fairies, and gremlins and suchlike.  She was quite the little leader among her playmates, who were pleased to do whatever she liked, whether what she liked meant building bug castles out of mud or her mum’s best dishes, or disguising themselves as beggars and going about to people’s houses asking for sweets, declaring that the healer had told them it was the only thing that would save their children from certain death. Upon hearing that she was half Elven, and might choose whether to be Elf-kind or mortal, she declared she would be mortal, so that she might have a Funeral.  She had no idea what that was, but she’d heard folk talking of them, and she got it into her head that she wanted one, even after it was explained to her what it was.  For weeks all anyone heard out of her was funeral, funeral, funeral.  She held them for her dolls, and had one for herself, after which she obligingly came back from the dead, “just like her daddy.”  Serilinn loved her dearly, and quite spoiled her, as  did everyone.       

When Iorhael was but a few months old, King Elessar summoned the family to Minas Tirith once more.  “There is someone here I would like you all to meet,” he wrote, and the messenger lad was as mystified as anyone.       

Greenjade and his family went in one wagon; Radagast, Sméagol, and Gimli in another.  Garulf and Kaerwyn and their two little sons took a third, wishing to see what was afoot, although the King requested that they not bring too many people with them.  Still, Kaerwyn was family, Serilinn insisted. 

When the party arrived in Minas Tirith several days later, and saw the three beings awaiting them, everyone was rendered totally and completely speechless.     

Save for Serilinn, and all she could manage was “Ohhhh!!!”  

56. Frontwards and Backwards

Greenjade gazed in transfixed wonder at the small family standing before him, along with Eldarion, now a handsome and princely young man, his sister Luthien, tall and breathtakingly beautiful at seventeen, and little Elwing, six months old, looking out with interest from her nurse’s arms, one thumb tucked securely in her mouth. 

Before them stood a small fellow, about the height of Sméagol but considerably stouter, with curly hair of a light tawny brown touched with grey, a solemn round face with round brown eyes that looked up at Greenjade just as wondering, above a fine brown waistcoat sparingly embroidered with white and gold, and breeches that rode above a pair of feet covered in hair the same color as that on his head, but with less grey.

Beside him, a plump little lady with flaxen hair in coiled braids, curling about her sweet face, and she wore a blouse embroidered with colorful flowers beneath a bodice of soft green and a skirt of a darker shade…and her feet were covered in yellow hair also.  Next to her stood a lass with honey-colored curls held back with scarlet ribbons, attired similarly to her mother, only in red with a shorter skirt, and her face was far prettier than those of her parents.   She appeared as a lass in her early maidenhood, like Serilinn, at whom she was now looking with wonder and admiration in her large hazel eyes.

“Samwise Gamgee!” Radagast exclaimed, stepping forward to embrace the little fellow, while Sméagol drew back in some consternation and went to stand with Gimli.  “You did say you were coming out, but I had not expected you to bring your wife and daughter also.  How lovely they are, and how well you are looking!  How was your trip?”

“It is a great honor to meet the Gamgee family at last,” Meleth was saying, and Greenjade started at the sound of her voice and glanced aside at her and Serilinn and Bryseluthea.  Mistress Amdir, who had come out to Calador shortly after Bryseluthea’s birth to help out, held baby Iorhael, who had fortunately fallen asleep. 

“As it is for me,” Samwise said nodding to her, “and my Rosie and our eldest daughter Elanor.  I was hopin’ we’d get to meet all o’ you, and now we have, and I’m most honored, my lady.  I just wonder what Mister Frodo would say if he could know I’ve met his stepson an’ all.”

“Pardon me for forgetting my manners, Master Samwise,” Greenjade said, not certain how to address the fellow.  He could have shaken Radagast for not informing him as to whom the guests were.  “I had not once expected to meet my stepfather’s faithful companion, and I am honored and humbled to stand in your presence.  And your wife and daughter are very lovely indeed.  And if you are staying here for any length of time, I would like to invite the three of you out to our home, if you would come.  It is a long journey, but there is much beautiful countryside to be seen along the way, and I’m sure you would like to see what has been wrought in the land you once knew as Mordor.  Of course, if the thought of going would bring back too many bad memories for you, I fully understand.”

“Oh, pleeeease come and see us,” Serilinn found her voice once more.  “I’d like to show you all our projects, and have you meet our friends, and see our capital city…and everything.”

“I would much like that, if Rose and Elanor wouldn’t mind it,” Sam said.  “And if it wouldn’t put the rest of you out too much.”

“Oh, I would love to go!” Elanor spoke up.  “Please mum, might we go!  I want to see Mor—I mean Calador…and Mt. Doom, and, and…”

“You can share our room,” Serilinn said, taking her little sister by the hand.  Bryseluthea was struck dumb, which was downright unnerving, she being even more of a chatterbox than her sister.  “We’ve a guestroom where your parents might stay.  You can take the couch.  It’s a princess couch.  The Lady Eowyn gave it to us.  It’s made of crimson velvet, and has a gorgeous embroidered cover that she gave us also.  We’re not allowed to use it much, for Nana doesn’t want it to get mussed, and it’s used only for guests, but she won’t mind if we move it into our room for you.  I can scarcely wait to show you the Bridehouse, and the temple, and the school, and--“

“And my castle,” Bryseluthea spoke up.  The others laughed a little nervously.  Bryseluthea’s “castle” was invisible, actually.  Only certain privileged individuals were ever allowed to “see” it.  Sometimes her castle would float away into the clouds, or sink into the ground, after which she would be morose for hours, until it should return to her.  Whenever anyone in the family was in a bad mood, one of the others would say, “What’s wrong?  Did your castle float away?”

“I’d admire to see your castle, little un,” Sam said smiling.  “It must be a wondrous sight.”

And so it was that the Gamgees came out to Calador.  Rosie remained behind, for as it turned out, she was pregnant…with their thirteenth child.

“Aye,” Sam said laughing a little as the others looked askance at the news.  “We didn’t know it till we were almost to Edoras, or we’d of never come out.  So it looks like we’ll be stayin’ considerable longer than we planned.  I figure Strider, I mean, the King, can see to things, if you take my meaning.  It’ll be somethin’ to have a babe borned in the royal palace.  I hope it don’t end up goin’ to ‘is head.”

“Where are the others staying?” Serilinn asked as she and Bryseluthea helped Elanor to pack.

“With their grandmum and their Aunt Marigold mostly,” Sam said.  “I’m feelin’ bad now to have to leave ‘em all behind for so long, but like I said, it weren’t accordin’ to plan.  We had figgered to be back in about six weeks.  Our youngest ain’t but about two year old, and a jolly handful he is and no mistakin’.”

“I wish we’d a’ never come out,” Rosie fretted.  “I ain’t a’ lookin’ forward to the trip back with a babe to look after, I can tell yer that.  This un ‘ll be our last, and that’s all I got to say about it.”

Greenjade wondered if she meant their last trip, or their last child.

“Well, I’m glad as I come along,” Elanor said softly to Serilinn, so as not to let her mother hear.  “I’ve done naught but help look after young’ uns since’t I was born, seems like.  And now there’ll be another comin’ soon.  Yer’d think some folks ‘ud know when to quit.” 

“I can scarcely wait to see it,” Serilinn said.  “I’d love to hold a hobbit-babe.  They must be sooo tiny, like Bryseluthea’s dolls.”

“I’ve seen a plenty of ‘em,” Elanor said.  “If I had a silver penny for ever’ nappy I’ve changed, I could buy this palace.”

“We’ve a babe too,” Bryseluthea spoke up.  “I helped Nana change his nappy once.  He squirted me right in the eye.  I wouldn’t do it again for ten million pennies.” 

The others laughed.  They set out the following morning, after a big breakfast.

“Ithilien is just like I remember it,” Sam said, as they traveled along the road from out of Osgiliath, “and it’s been, what, twenty-two, twenty-three years.  Well I recall what a beautiful wild place it was.  Well, it don’t look quite so wild now, come to think on it.  But ever’ bit as beautiful.”

“How was your trip out here?” Meleth asked. 

“Long…sometimes tiresome.  Just as well the rest of the family weren’t with us, or it would of took us twice the time.  We stayed at Edoras for a week.  I wish Merry and Pippin had o’ come out with us, but they’re too busy with their families at the moment, they said.  Well, what’d they think I was?  And me with twelve of me own, and another on the way!” 

“How many have they?” Serilinn asked.

“Well, Merry and his Estella has three lads and another on the way also, and Pippin and Diamond has but two, a lad and a lass.  He’s spoke of bringin’ ‘em out someday too, only I don’t think Diamond is so keen on the idea.  His eldest is named Faramir, and he’s but a lad but I can see he’s already keen on our Goldilocks, for all he pretends not to be.”  Sam chuckled.

“I want to be called Goldilocks,” Bryseluthea piped up, bouncing in her seat.  “That’s a beautiful name.  Maybe I be called Goldilocks, please Ada?” 

The others laughed, as they always did at nearly everything she said.

“Nonsense,” her father said passing a doting hand over her yellow tresses.  “You’ve a very fine name already, my pet, and one that nobody else about here has.  It’s my mother’s name.”

“Mister Frodo says she’s called Anemone now,” Sam said.  “I like that.  It’s right hobbitish, I think.”

Greenjade nodded.  “So Radagast told me.  I need to give him a good thrashing for not telling me who you were, though.  I apologize once more for my behavior.  But I had no idea whom I was going to meet.”

“Oh, no need for any apologies, sir,” Sam said.  “And I s’pose Mister Radagast just wanted it to be a surprise an’ all.  Please don’t thrash ‘im on my account, Mister Greenjade.”

“It’s just ‘Greenjade’.  And I wouldn’t dream of thrashing him, Master Samwise.  That’s just a figure of speech.”

“May I be called Anemone then?” Bryseluthea said.  “Anemone Goldilocks.  That’s what I’m going to call my new princess-doll.”

“Then do so,” Greenjade said smiling.  “But you’ll always be our Bryseluthea, our very own perilous flower.”

“I’ve a flower-name too,” Elanor said to Bryseluthea. 

“Aye,” Serilinn said.  “We’ve some elanor growing in our garden.  I can’t wait to show you.”

“What does ‘perilous’ mean?” Bryseluthea asked.

“Dangerous,” Greenjade said. 

“I’m dangerous?” the little girl squeaked.

“Most definitely,” her father said.  The others laughed.

“Oh, myyyy,” Bryseluthea said solemnly, in unconscious imitation of her sister, who was now overcome with giggles.

~*~*~

Nilde looked relieved to see Radagast and Sméagol return.  She was quite old now, yet she was always glad to see her master, even though she did not go with him on his trips any more.  Pippin still barked happily at the sight of Serilinn, although he was not a young dog any more either.  He spent much time with his mother now, lying beside her in the shade. 

Barely one day after the Gamgees’ arrival in Elvea, Serilinn and Elanor had pledged undying friendship, and Serilinn gave the hobbit-lass one of her prettiest necklaces, and Bryseluthea tried to give her the princess-doll, but Elanor protested she couldn’t take it.

“It’s yer best un,” she said.  She was but little taller than Bryseluthea, who appeared as a child of five or six, although she was actually nine in years.  “I’d feel bad if I was to take ‘er from you, and I don’t think my dad ‘ud let me, anyways.  What of one of yer older ‘uns?”

“Bri-bri,” Serilinn said, “instead of a doll, why don’t you give her your new bead purse?  I can make you another.”

Bryseluthea brightened a little then, and fetched the pretty purse from a drawer in her bed-table.  Elanor kissed her cheek as she took it.

“Ohhhh!  A hobbit kissed me!” the little girl exclaimed, clapping a hand to her cheek.

That evening, Serilinn informed Sam that Elanor was “the most adorable thing she ever saw.”  Bryseluthea said, “I think so too!” 

Everyone laughed, even Elanor.

And once more, Greenjade found someone who could tell him about his stepfather.  The one who could not only supply all the missing parts as to his past, but about his present, as well. 

“Oh, and Northlight is to be married soon,” Sam said after a lengthy description as to what Frodo had been about on the Island, with the whole family hovering about listening, with the exception of Iorhael, who had been put to bed long before, and Bryseluthea, who fell asleep halfway through in her mum’s lap.  “He’s most happy about it.  And Frodo and your mum also.”

“That is…just wonderful,” Greenjade said, his throat tightening.  “I’ve no more words.”

“I’ll give ‘em all your regards if you like, sir,” Sam said modestly.  “And those of your family.”

“Aye, please do,” Greenjade said through the lump in his throat.  

The next day they all set out to see the capital city, Vanimeldë.  It took almost two hours to reach by wagon.  Meleth stayed home with baby Iorhael, but Bryseluthea insisted on going along.  Sméagol remained behind with Nilde, uncomfortable in Sam’s presence.  Radagast, Sam, and Greenjade, and all three girls piled into the wagon and set out after breakfast.

“I’d not thought to meet Gollum ever again,” Sam remarked as they drove away.  “Well, but he ain’t Gollum, in a manner of speakin’.  I never once would of thought he’d turn out like he has.  Cookin’ an ever’thing.  I can recall when he wouldn’t eat nothin’ ‘less it was raw, like.  And now he’s as good of a cook as any hobbit, and better’n some.”

“That he is,” Radagast agreed.  “I don’t know what we’d do without him…before Meleth came out here.  You should see the house the Elves built for him.  They equipped him with quite a wonderful set of cookware.”

“He baked me a cake with my name on it,” Bryseluthea informed him eagerly.

“That must of been a mighty big cake,” Sam said with an attempt at solemnity.

“It was HUGE,” Bryseluthea said stretching her arms apart as wide as possible.  Everyone laughed.

“You’ve not met the Queen’s brothers yet, have you?” Serilinn said to Elanor.  The hobbit-lass shook her head. 

“But Sam-dad has,” she said proudly.  “They are twins, aren’t they.”

“Aye.  I’m going to marry Elladan someday,” Serilinn said dreamily.  “He asked me long ago.”

“That’s what the Queen said,” Elanor nodded.

“I can hardly wait for that glorious day,” Serilinn said.

“Mikala has twins now too,” Bryseluthea said.  “But they don’t look alike.”

“I know,” Elanor smiled.  “They’re named Frodo and Sam.”

“Only they’re called Iorhael and Perhael,” Serilinn said.  “Their elvish names.  Our little brother is Iorhael too.”

“Her baby-boy is named Pippin,” Bryseluthea said. “Like our dog.”

“It’s somethin’, to have namesakes in foreign places,” Sam said.  “I wish my old gaffer could a’ knowed of it.  You know he passed on two years ago.”

“Did he?” Greenjade said.  “I am sorry to hear of it.”

“He was old, and had a plenty of ailments,” Sam said with a sigh.  “Reckon he’s out of ‘em now.  It’s well Rosie’s parents are still livin’, or my bairns wouldn’t have no grandparents now.”

Elanor pressed her lips together, blinking back tears.  Obviously she and her grandfather had been close.  Serilinn passed her fingers lightly through her curls.

“We’re almost there,” she said with excitement as the city loomed closer.  “I can see the gate.”

“I can’t hardly take it in,” Sam said, “that we’re goin’ to where the Dark Tower was.  I seen it fall with my own eyes.  The Eye was at the top, just a burnin’, and we could see it all the way from the mountain, me and Mister Frodo, from that rock we jumped upon.  I don’t like to remember it.  And now it’s gone, gone forever?  And we’re goin’ back to where it was an’ ever’thing.  Nobody back home is goin’ to believe this.”

“My Ada was in the war,” Bryseluthea informed him.  “I wasn’t born yet.”

“Not that war, Bri-bri,” Serilinn said.  “He means the War of the Ring.  You know the story.”

Bryseluthea nodded wisely.  “I know it frontwards and backwards,” she said.  The others laughed.

“Your lasses are somethin’ special, Mi--Greenjade,” Sam said.  “I know you’re most proud of ‘em, as you should be.”

“Most proud indeed,” Greenjade said.  “As you are of yours.” 

The sky was a tent of gladness above them.

~*~*~

The City of Vanimeldë fairly gleamed in the sunlight, with marble stone in varying shades ranging from pure white to grey-white, soft beige and pale rose, and black, some mined from quarries in Calador, some brought in from Gondor.  Tall lamps lined the main street made of bronze with crystal globes, a fountain gracing the middle of the widest street, sparkling in the sunlight, and up ahead was the beautiful house where the twins now lived.  Serilinn had designed it, no less, Radagast hastened to inform them.  The entrance was based on the Door of Durin, with the words “Speak Friend and Enter” carved over it.  Rose-trees stood all about, and two lamps representing the sun and the moon, flanked the door.

“We will drop in in the afternoon, perhaps,” Radagast said.  “Likely the brothers are not in just now.”

“How do they like ruling and all?” Sam asked.

“It seems to suit Elrohir,” Radagast said.  “I don’t think Elladan fancies it much.  He’s complained that if we didn’t live so near by, he would go mad from the boredom.  He misses both his old rangering days and being a healer, although he still is a healer here.  He’s said he even misses battle.  Poor fellow.”  He chuckled a little.

“I can’t take it in that he’s livin’ in a city built by orcs,” Sam said, “or that we’re in one now.  It’s too much for my old head.”

“I can’t take it in that Elrohir fancied an orc-maiden once,” Greenjade said.  “When that happened, I thought I’d heard it all.”

“But he didn’t marry her?” Sam said, looking appalled.

“Nay,” Greenjade said, “and I’m glad of it, although I’m sorry for her.”

“I can’t picture it,” Sam shook his head.  “I didn’t even know they had she-orcs.  Did she have little orclings and ever’thing?”

“I’ve no idea,” Greenjade said.  “I never even tried to imagine it.  Some things are better left unconsidered.”

They drove down the market-place, which was busy and noisy now.  Sam looked on silently at the folks hawking their wares, likely wondering which ones used to be orcs.  And if regular folks bought from them, and ate the food, and all that.  He shook his head.

“It’s a beautiful place,” he said.  “Differ’nt from any other city I saw.  Wish’t there was some way I could show it to the others back home.  Well, likely they wouldn’t care anyways.  They don’t have much interest in furrin parts.”

“I’m goin’ to study an’ remember,” Elanor said, “so’s I can describe it to all the others, like.  I’ll show ‘em that way.”

“You can take some of my drawings with you,” Serilinn offered.  “I’ve a great many of them.”

“She’s very good at drawing,” Bryseluthea said.  “She can do many things.”

“Elanor’s good at a lot of things too,” Sam said proudly.  Elanor’s cheeks pinked.  “She’s the smartest of all my lasses, as well as the prettiest.  Some folks say she looks more like a Elf-maiden than a hobbit.  Don’t let that go to your head now, lass.”

Elanor blushed furiously.

They passed by many establishments:  the apothecary, the smithies, the barber, the bookseller, the perfumery—where they stopped and bought a little bottle of scent for Rosie and one for Elanor also—the shoemaker, the bakery, the locksmith, the pawnbroker, and two or three eateries.  And a bridge—for the cataclysm had opened an underground spring, which had gouged out a small river, and the Elves had diverted it into the city.  There were a few musicians about, and Elanor gave a coin to one of them, who looked admiring at her and smiled.  He looked and sounded distinctly Elvish, and Sam had to wonder.

“I wonder if any of ‘em knows the Lay of ‘Frodo of the Nine Fingers’,” Sam said as they went their way.  “Do you know of that ‘un, Mister Greenjade?”

“Just ‘Greenjade’.  Aye, I know it well.  One of the bards sings it for us every time we go to Minas Tirith.”

They stopped at an inn—yes, there was one, and Serilinn had named it:  The Laughing Eagle.  The food was excellent, the ale just fair—according to Sam.  The Green Dragon still served the best anywhere, he declared. 

Later in the afternoon they stopped at the twins’ home, and Elrohir invited them to stay for supper, looking once more at Elanor with incredulous eyes.  Elladan asked them to stay the night, but Radagast declined, saying they must be getting home.  He was worried about Nilde.

As they rode home, Sam said once more that he couldn’t take it in that Vanimeldë was the city on which Sauron’s tower had once stood. 

“I wish Mister Frodo could see it all now,” he said with a sigh.

~*~*~

It was close to dusk when they arrived at home.  Meleth ran out to meet them, looking troubled and sad.

“Is something wrong with Iorhael?” Greenjade asked her as he returned her embrace.

“Nay…it’s Nilde,” she said looking to Radagast and the others.  “I think…”

“Where is she?” Radagast asked, paling distinctly in the dimming light. 

She was out back of the house, under her favorite tree with Sméagol, who held her head in his lap, stroking her fur which had turned from golden brown to mostly grey.  Pippin hovered anxiously nearby.  Radagast stooped down to peer at her and she opened her filmy eyes and looked at him, then raised her head a little.

Radagast sat on the ground and took her to him, holding her head to his breast and stroking her, crooning softly.  Sméagol began to sniffle, caressing the hair of her back.  Serilinn knelt and took Pippin in her arms, while Bryseluthea sat down and petted him.  Sam and Elanor stood at a respectful distance, just behind Greenjade and Meleth.

“Is she sick?” the little girl asked softly and anxiously.

“She is leaving us,” Radagast said, his voice hoarse with suppressed anguish, his eyes leaking.  “There’s naught we can do for her.  Her time has come.”

Nilde looked up at him for a long moment, as the sun sank lower through the trees in the west, and Pippin whimpered a little.  Then her eyes closed, and her final sigh took a piece of the lives of all who loved her with it.

57.   Taking What is Given

Greenjade started a regular correspondence with Samwise, who wrote much of what Mister Frodo had revealed to him about his doings on the Island.  Eventually he would meet Merry and Pippin also, and spend much time in fellowship with them, discussing, of course, Frodo, and the Quest, and anything else that came up.  They did not see Sam again, for he abode in the Shire up until the death of Rosie…after which the Nimloth carried him off to the Undying Lands. 

A few years prior to this event, Radagast began fretting over Sméagol, whose health began to decline.  By and by he brought Sméagol back to his house to live.  Many friends and neighbors came by, bringing him things to eat, and other little gifts.  When he grew too weak to walk, Radagast would carry him out to the porch to sit and look out at the garden, at the birdhouses set up in it—there were many, mostly made by Greenjade, painted in gay designs by Serilinn and Bryseluthea, others made from gourds.  The sight of the birds going to and fro, building nests, singing, tending their young, occasionally squabbling, teaching the little ones to fly, was a great comfort to him, as were the butterflies and bees that flitted over the flowers.  It was all he wanted, just this.  And the sight of Nilde’s grave at the edge of the garden, where a beautiful stone bore her name and the names of the other pets that had come and gone buried there, and flowers and small trees planted on the graves and near them.  And the lasses coming to bring him treats and talk and sing to him, holding his hands, which were growing ever bonier, so that he feared he was beginning to look like Gollum once more.…

And Meleth made a song for him, and all, including Greenjade, sang it to him whenever he requested.

Lay down your heavy head to rest
Long have you traveled, now you are home
Lay off all burden of grief and shame
You are home, peace is your own.
Taste of it, drink of it,
Let it warm you through and through,
Revel in the care that we give you
Sleep in the softest bed you will find
Feel of the sweet grass beneath your feet 
Taste bread and honey, sweet berries and wine
Take what is given, leave sorrow behind
And know that never again
Will you ever be lost and alone….

One day in late spring, the sisters went inside to get him some refreshment, and when they returned they found him sitting as they had left him, in his long chair with the pillows at his head and back, one hand holding the little bunch of flowers Bryseluthea had gathered for him, and he seemed to be looking toward the little graves with just a touch of a smile on his lips.

He was buried very close to Nilde, but he got a stone of his own, which bore only the name Sméagol on it, and the little epitaph, Know that never again
Will you ever be lost and alone….

~*~*~

“I wish Sméagol had lived long enough to see me married,” Serilinn said as she delicately stitched the underside of the yoke at the neckline of her soon-to-be bridal gown.  Bryseluthea had put together the sleeves earlier.  She did not like to sew, but this was different, this was a wedding gown, and her sister’s at that, so she would do what she could! even if her mother and sister had to rip out her stitching in secret and put in new.

“I do not know how happy it would have made him,” Meleth said quietly, where she worked on the skirt.  “He was secretly in love with you, you know.”

“He wasn’t!” Serilinn pricked her finger with her needle, and barely managed to put her finger in her mouth before the drop of blood could stain the white silk.

“I am amazed you never suspected it,” Meleth said.  “Yes, he hid it well.  Still, I saw the way he looked at you when you did not see.”

“Oh my dear,” exclaimed Serilinn.  “But Nana, you tell me everything!”

“Not everything,” Meleth said with a little smile.  “But you need not worry over it.  You were always good to him, and made his last days very happy.  I think it was the first happiness he ever knew.”

Serilinn was silent for a long time, appearing to concentrate on her sewing.  Then after a while she said, “I’m so glad Kaerwyn is able to come to the wedding, at least.  Here she is a great-grandmother, and I’m just about to be a bride!  You know Gilglin died several years ago.  Pity she never married; I wonder why she didn’t?  If not for Bri-bri, I would not have had any friend close to my age who did not grow up and get old right before my eyes.  I truly thought Dringon would see me wed, but he did not quite make it.  He did wish me joy, however, just before the end.  I wish Mistress Amdir had lived long enough to see the wedding.  I wrote to Elanor inviting her and her husband to come, but I know she will not.  It’s much too far for her, at her age.  I’m a little worried about her.  It went hard with her when her father sailed for the West, and that was all of fifteen years ago.  She and he were so close, and I understand that completely.  I’m just glad my Ada has lived long enough to see me married.” 

“He has held up well,” Meleth said smiling, then she sobered.  “I wish he would take things easier; I’m afraid he will over-exert himself.  But he is the sort who likes to keep busy.  He does not do well idle.”

Serilinn nodded.  “I suppose Sam and Frodo are both in the Gardens now,” she said softly.  “And Anemone too, most likely.  All together in a beautiful place...where Ada will go without us.”

“But we will be there someday too,” Meleth reminded her.

“It will be a very long time,” Serilinn fretted.  “Were it not for the thought of Elladan ever beside me all through the ages, I would have but sorrow to think of it.”

A tear crept from her eyes as she laid down the silk in her lap, looking out the window and not seeing what was there.  Meleth reached over and laid a hand over hers.

“Oh, but I am a selfish thing,” Serilinn cried.  “I will have Elladan, at least.  Whom will YOU have, Nana?  When Ada has left us.”

“I will have you…and Bryseluthea and Iorhael, and all the children and grandchildren you will have,” she said softly, choking up a little.

~*~*~

As Greenjade watched Serilinn coming slowly down the stairs, ravishing in her wedding finery, he felt much as he had at her graduation, only about a thousandfold.  An avalanche of memories descended upon him.  Their travels over the years; and he had been to visit in Rivendell, Lothlorien, Mirkwood, Harad, and some of the islands in the Bay, always accompanied by Meleth, and sometimes the children too.  He had written much of his adventures there, and also a volume of his poetry, beautifully illustrated by Serilinn, who also illustrated Meleth’s, which filled two volumes.  (But hers was not nearly so fine as his, as she always insisted.  There was just more of it.)  Then there was a book of Serilinn’s designs, which really had changed the face of architecture in Middle-earth...or at least, had dramatically added to it.  Despite her still young age, she was now teaching classes at the university at Osgiliath, which she and the Queen had both founded. 

Bryseluthea was a lady-in-waiting for the Queen, and enjoying herself immensely.  She thrived on attention, and got plenty of it, for she loved to sing and dance, dress in gay clothes and make merry, and participate in theatricals and concerts and sporting events.  As fanciful as ever, she helped to write some of the plays and design costumes and sets.  She might have been spoiled to death had she not been so essentially lovable and generous.  And she was more intelligent than she seemed, and often surprised people with her wisdom and wit.  According to the Queen, she was a light and inspiration to all about her.

Iorhael much resembled his father, save for his bright blue eyes which were like those of his mother and sister Bryseluthea.  As a boy he rather reminded Greenjade of Ebbtide--excitable, mischievous, gullible, more often than not getting himself into hot water from which his sisters frequently had to extricate him.  He grew up much faster than his sisters had done, and was quite a man before they were even of age, and his mother despaired that she would lose him eventually.  She tried to take it in her stride, resigned as she had been to her husband’s mortality, but the eminence of her son’s demise was something she had not anticipated.  He was rather an ordinary sort of fellow, in an endearing way--hard working, cheery, content with the simple pleasures of life...exactly the sort of chap his father had once scorned, yet now Greenjade would not have had him otherwise.  He had fairly taken over his father's carpentry business, had married one of Kaerwyn’s daughters, and was the father of three children.  Meleth doted on them, but that was yet another pain for her, the thought of losing these grandchildren as well as her son.

But for her daughters, she would have likely opted for mortality herself, just as the Queen.

But now was Serilinn’s wedding day, and she put aside these concerns and griefs and wore a smile as she took her place in the temple as mother of the bride.  Her husband, with his head of silver hairs and beard and weathered skin, stood beside her yet tall and unbent although those who did not know might have taken him for her grandfather.

The ceremony had to be held outside of the temple, for there was not enough room in it to accommodate all the guests.  Radagast stood with Elladan and Elrohir and Iorhael in front of the doors, which had been draped with garlands of flowers, as music played from within the building.  Bryseluthea stood by in her bridesmaid’s gown of sky blue, her blonde hair woven with blue and pink and white flowers holding it back in the front, so that it fell down behind her in luxuriant waves.  She saw Elrohir looking sidelong at her and smiled to herself, then allowed herself a glance his way, which he affected not to see, and so she sighed and turned her eyes away…just in time to notice him looking her way once more.  She suppressed a giggle until her sister hove into sight, moving slowly along on her father’s arm….

And Greenjade saw an elderly woman looking his way, leaning on the arm of a dark-haired Elf as Radagast joined the bridal couple, and he had to look twice….

Garland?

No, it couldn’t be….He turned his attention back to the ceremony, smiling wistfully as the groom kissed the bride and the crowd broke into a deafening cheer.    

And he smiled once more as he saw the elderly woman being helped along by the Elf, who  tenderly led her away from the festivities as if she were his frail grandmother, rather than his wife of many years, and two other young Elves, one male and one female, following solicitously after, both with the silvery hair like Northlight’s gleaming like high clouds in the afternoon sunlight of Calador.

58. Journey’s End

“Are we ready to go to the harbor?” Northlight called to his wife and youngest son after breakfast. 

“One moment,” Raven said from the top of the stairs where she was attempting to dress a very excited small boy.  “Branion, hold still, please.  I cannot button your shirt when you insist on wriggling so.  Don’t you wish to see the ship come in?”

“YES!” he shouted.  He nearly always shouted his answers.  His mother laughed a little as they finished dressing, he firing questions at her the while:  “Is it a big ship or a little ship?  Will anyone be on it?  Will we sail on it?  Is it a pirate ship?  What color is it?”

At last they had settled into their cart and headed out down the road into the city, which was quite a ways with a little lad pestering them with questions and chatter the while. 

“How did they know the ship was coming?” Raven asked when she could get a word in edgewise.

“They have ways,” Northlight grinned.  “Being an Elf, you should know that better than I, my love.”

She grinned back at him over Branion’s head.  “Aye, it seems the Queen has a connection of some sort with Middle-earth still.  You know Sam said Greenjade’s wife and daughters would be coming someday.  I am longing to meet them.”

“A pity Greenjade won’t be with them,” Northlight sighed.  “But they can tell us all about him.”

“Who’s Greenjade?” Branion spoke up, bouncing a little in his seat.

“My eldest brother, whom you never met,” Northlight replied, laying a hand on the little boy’s dark head.  “Your uncle.  He is dead now, of course.  But I think you’ll be meeting his daughters, and perhaps his grandchildren.  Perhaps they’ll have some your age to play with.”

“That will be fine, if they are not girls,” Branion said. 

When they finally arrived at the harbor, they found that quite a crowd had begun to gather.  They found Hathol, their elder son, who had been staying with his cousin Meriadoc the previous night, waiting there along with Meriadoc, his younger sister Eowyn, his two older brothers Emerion and Faelon, and his parents Barathon and Fairwind, as well as his grandmother. 

“So when is this ship due to arrive?” Hathol asked his mother after she and Northlight had greeted and embraced the others. 

“I do not know, dear,” Raven said.  “Sometime today, that is all I know.  Have you seen your sister?”

“Not today,” he said. 

“I should think she would be here ahead of all of us,” Raven said.  “You know how Amaryllis is.”

Hathol grinned.  “Aye, I know.”

“Look,” Fairwind said.  “There are Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian out already.  You don’t suppose their sons are finally coming?”

“I do hope so,” Raven said.  “Sam said one of them was betrothed to Greenjade’s daughter.”

“I feel rather strange,” Fairwind admitted.  “I don’t know what I would say to them.  I wonder if they know I…I killed him.  You do not suppose he is…no, surely not.”

“With them?” Northlight said.  “Nay.  He was sent back as a mortal.  That was over a hundred years ago.  He could not still be living, and even if he were, he would not have been allowed to come to the Island.”

“I wish our Ada were here,” Raven said.  “I know he would love to be meeting yet another grandchild.  I wonder if she has children.”

“There are two daughters, according to Sam,” Northlight said.  

“I wonder if the daughter married Elrond’s son,” Raven said.  “If so…we will be related to the Queen by marriage, at least.  Imagine that.  Branion, come away from that dock!”

“I can imagine it,” Northlight smiled as he went to save his son from a horrible fate on the pier, on which a rather large gull perched giving Branion an evil look.

“Here come Amaryllis and Iorhael now, with their young ones,” Fairwind said smiling to Raven as another cart drove up in the near distance. 

Nearly an hour went by with no sign of a ship.  Fortunately, Amaryllis had brought food.  Amaryllis’s sister-in-law Silivren, with her husband Amonost, soon joined them, together with their daughters and her parents and younger sister Meril, who favored Hathol with a flirtatious little smile that the lad affected not to see, and then the twins Nightingale and Gloryfall with their families, and Embergold and Moonrise and Ebbtide, and Raven’s brother Guilin and his family, so that the crowd grew ever larger in the morning gladness.

And close to noontime, a shout from somewhere in the crowd finally indicated that the ship was indeed approaching….

~*~*~

The Albatross had docked, her anchor dropped, her sails trimmed and furled, and now the gangplank was lowering.  Northlight and Raven found they could not get through the crowd with Branion, so they asked Hathol to take charge of his ebullient small brother so that they might press on through.  Hathol took the little boy by the hand and went to join his sister and her children in the shade.

Several Elves were descending, and Northlight and Raven watched with interest.  There were about a dozen of them, but no two who looked exactly alike.  They gathered on the dock, yet no one went to greet them, and they did not seem to know where to go.  Then a fair-haired Elf descended and went to the others, who looked relieved to see him, and soon another came down carrying someone, apparently a tiny old man with a white braided beard.  Northlight and Raven looked at each other in puzzlement.

“You don’t suppose…” she said, and they watched as another Elf came up behind with a wheelchair, in which the fair Elf placed the little old man.  

“Nay, he’s too small,” Northlight said, yet wrinkled his brow.  The fair Elf began pushing the wheelchair along the dock.

“Oh, it’s the Dwarf,” Raven said after a moment.  “That must be Legolas!”

Fairwind came up beside her brother and sister-in-law and all three watched as Legolas wheeled the Dwarf along the pier, and the cheering crowd made way for them until they could not be seen among them.

“Look!” Raven said as a dark-haired Elf came with a lovely golden-haired lady on his arm, descending the gangplank, and shortly after them came another Elf, looking exactly like the previous one, save that he was clothed in crimson while his brother was in royal blue, escorting an equally lovely dark-haired lady holding a boy a little older than Branion by the hand.  A scream rang out in the crowd and an Elven couple began pushing forward. 

And the twin Elves broke away dashed forward, one of them embracing Lord Elrond and the other catching up Lady Celebrian, fairly lifting her off the ground and swinging her around.  Then each did the same with the other parent, until Queen Galadriel swooped down on them along with her husband and a tall lady who much resembled the queen came up behind, and with a whoop, the brothers pounced on her also, the sister they had never seen before….

Northlight and Raven smiled at each other, then looked to the two ladies who stood smiling on the dock, then looking back over their shoulders as if waiting for someone else….

And another golden-haired lady appeared, very like the first one, but older, holding to a wheelchair with no occupant, and a grey-bearded fellow in a brown robe, also carrying what appeared to be a very old man, but considerably larger than the dwarf….

And Northlight and Raven looked at each other, rendered absolutely speechless.

~*~*~

“I do not know how he managed to stay alive so long,” Serilinn said softly to Raven as Northlight carried Greenjade into the shade of one of the palace gardens, and sat down with him on one of the long chairs near a fountain.  Her son Edenost was getting acquainted with Branion and other children over in the courtyard, while the twins sat with their parents and sister, who were all yet weeping for joy.  Bryseluthea sat with her mother, glancing in Elrohir’s direction from time to time.  Legolas sat apart with Gimli and the dark-haired Elf, who turned out to be his father, Thranduil, while Radagast talked with Olórin and Lord Celeborn, who both addressed him as “Aewendil”.  “I was not sure he would make it through the voyage.  And yet he did.”

Greenjade rested his head on his brother’s shoulder, attempting to pronounce his name with his nearly toothless gums.  One tremulous bony hand groped the air, and Northlight took it and kissed it.  A tear fell on the white head of the ancient man in his arms.

Iorhael, Greenjade tried to say, where is he now?

It’s all right, Ada, you will meet him soon, Serilinn said coming to sit beside him and Northlight.

He is here?

Nay, Ada.  He’s waiting for you. He will be there when you are ready.

Greenjade caught sight of Bryseluthea pressing a small white cloth to her eyes.  This disturbed him somewhat, although he did not know why. 

You must speak loudly, Serilinn said to Northlight.  He does not hear well.  And his mind wanders too. He so wanted to see you…and the others before he left us altogether.  Then Radagast told us he’d had a dream in which Lord Ulmo said the ban had been lifted…

Let us go sit over there with Bryseluthea, Meleth said coming over with her eyes glittering brightly.  We have had our time with him.  Let them have theirs now.

And she pressed a kiss on her husband's brow, then went back with Serilinn to sit with Bryseluthea and Raven and Amaryllis.

Greenjade saw Fairwind’s face hovering above his, looking anxiously down at him… could it really be Fairwind?  He spoke her name, and it seemed her face bent down low over his….And then her lips touched his forehead, her hands caressing his face, her voice whispering his name, her hair brushing over him as a waterfall of light.  Then two others appeared, with pale hair and faces exactly alike.  And more and more, until…

Nana, he spoke,…for there she was, right before him.  Looking at him with blue eyes of recognition for the wayward son she had lost, and had found again, her tawny hair like honey in the sun, her rose-colored dress.  She was there, forgiving him, holding him her arms…

Mother,
oh mother
you dance high and free
with waves for your stockings
and bells 'neath your heels...

Nay, brother, it is Summershine, our niece, Northlight's voice spoke.  Moonrise’s daughter.  She does favor our mother a good deal.  We will take you to see the place where our parents are buried, and Sam too.  You can see the Beacon, a great and beautiful light, from our porch….

But Greenjade could only look at her, saying, Nana…Nana….

And she leaned her face down to his,  pressing his head to her bosom, caressing his straggly white locks, tears seeping over her cheeks, glittering like tiny stars in the silvery air of the West.

Welcome home, my son, she said.

Epilogue--Evenstar

"I was sad to leave Calador," Serilinn said as she strolled along in the Palace gardens with her mother-in-law, the day after the funeral. "So very sad to know I would never return.  And yet this Island has a hold on me already."

Celebrian smiled.  "In a few months," she said, "you will scarcely be able to imagine any home but this."

She glanced aside at the gardens, alive with butterflies and bees and hummingbirds that fluttered and buzzed over the wisteria and honeysuckle and roses climbing and drooping from the walls, where Bryseluthea and Meleth sat with Galadriel and Elwing and young Luthien near a large fountain, chatting over needlework and weaving, keeping an eye out for Luthien's two-year-old daughter ambling about in her baby beauty and curiosity, while the twins walked with their father and little Edenost, who hung onto Elladan's arm. From time to time he cast a glance toward the little one, whom he had been told was his cousin.  He had so many cousins here, it was a trifle overwhelming. 

"He looks just like his father," Celebrian commented with shining eyes.

Serilinn smiled.  "He has brought so much joy to us.  I longed for a child for so many years, and had almost despaired of ever getting one.  We raised my grand-nephew after his parents died in that terrible epidemic when he was a babe.  I wish he might have come with us, but he would not leave Calador.  He has a wife and a little daughter now, and another child on the way.  I so hated to leave them behind...but now we have Edenost.  And Elladan is such a wonderful father.  I am glad my grand-nephew and his family are now living in Radagast's house.  I still miss them.  But I would not turn back now.  It is such a relief to know that the friends I shall make here will not grow old and die right before me."

Serilinn blinked back tears.  Celebrian laid an arm about her waist.

"I can scarcely tell you how thankful I am to you and your mother and sister for bringing back my sons to me," she said just above a whisper.  "And you'll tell me more of Arwen?"

"I will be happy to...in good time," Serilinn said, wondering to herself just how she would speak of Arwen's passing.  It had gone very sadly indeed.  " And likely Bryseluthea could tell you even more, although I know it will be hard for her also."

"I shall ask her in good time," Celebrian said.  "Just now she is too fresh from the grief of losing her father.  Although she does have her joy in her coming child."

"It seems joy and sorrow are as inseparable twins," Serilinn said.  "Where one is, the other is not far away."

Edenost broke away from his father and came running up to his mother and grandmother, crying, "Nana, Radagast is here!  What is happening to him?  He is turning young!  What does this mean, Nana?"

Radagast was coming through the garden gate with Olorin, and Serilinn gasped.  She had not seen him since the previous morning, since he had been staying with Olorin and his family at their country home.  His beard was gone, the hair of his head now a dark, his face smooth and unlined.  Yet he was easily recognizable, still in his brown robes.

And a small falcon now perched on his shoulder. 

"He is youthening," Serilinn said with wide eyes.  "What a wondrous sight!"

"He is returning to his original form," Celebrian said, "as did Olorin, when he first arrived."

Edenost ran to him, then stopped short at the sight of the bird.

"How like you my new friend?" the Wizard beamed.  "Her name is Kulu."

"Hullo, Kulu," the boy said.  Olorin chuckled.  Radagast took the falcon onto his wrist. 

"Would you like to hold her?" he asked the boy.

"Aye, I would," Edenost said holding out his arm in the same manner the Wizard was holding his.  He set Kulu on the lad's wrist.  The falcon blinked her golden eyes--which had given her her name--at him.  

"She's very pretty," Edenost said.  "Where did you find her?"

"Out in the mountains," Radagast said.  "Soon you must come out there with me, my lad.  The countryside is scarcely to be believed.  I can hardly believe that I am truly home...at last."

He stood there full of a light that seemed to chase the clouds from the sky and whiten the pillars of the palace gardens. 

Before anyone could say more, a cry was heard from the ladies about the fountain, and they all turned to see Bryseluthea standing, laying a hand to her slightly bulging belly.  Serilinn looked to Radagast and then to Celebrian with concern, then to her sister again, then they all ran to her.

"It's moving!" Bryseluthea called.  "Come and feel it!  Ohhhhhh!"

Serilinn smiled then, recalling when she had first felt life stir inside her.  Her reaction had been far different; she could only stand still radiating a joy too great to give voice.  But Bryseluthea emitted a squeal that sent Kulu fluttering up into a tree, then jumped up and down like a small child, then spun around with a dancing step, laughing and crying all at once, and she hugged first her mother, then her sister, then her mother-in-law, and finally her husband, while Elladan smiled across at him over her shoulder. 

"Is it going to be born now?" Edenost spoke up.  His mother laughed a little.

"Not for a good while yet, dearest," she said.  She took his hand and pressed it to his aunt's belly, beaming at the expression on his face.  And remembering what Bryseluthea had said when she first realized she was pregnant.

"If it is a lad," she'd said, "I wish to call him Zylantheleu, after Ada.  May I, Ada?"

Yet Greenjade had seemed not to recognize the name....

And five months later, when the babe was born, it was called Arwen Undomiel.

Eventually she would come to resemble her namesake aunt so strongly, both in appearance and personality, that all about her would be be filled with wonder and secret unbidden excitement.  

Now she lay in her mother's arms, freshly bathed and sleeping.  Elrohir sat on the edge of the bed at his wife's side, while Meleth and Serilinn stood at the foot with Edenost between them, the boy gazing transfixed and speechless at his new little cousin.

"I saw Ada," Bryseluthea said raising her head a little.  "He seemed to look down at me from a tower atop a white and winding stair, and his face was like a star and he appeared clothed in...dazzling brightness.  It was as if he had been...waiting...just for this.  I looked up at him begging him to come down...but he just stood there and smiled, until he was...all swallowed up in light...and then...he was...gone...and..."

She yawned hugely, then closed her eyes in sleep, her face inclined toward the western window, her free hand in Elrohir's.

And Meleth and Serilinn looked to the window, but all they saw was the sun sinking in the lacy-looking clouds over the glassy waters of the sea that reflected the green and scarlet and gold and blue shifting streaks and puffs of the aurora in the twilight sky above, and the Evenstar peeping just above the brilliance of it all.

Index of Original Characters

Warning:  These lists may contain spoilers.

Part I

Greenjade--Eldest son of Anemone, wife of Frodo Baggins, sent back from the Halls of Mandos at Frodo's intercession
Nildë--Radagast's dog
Rusco--a finch
Nell Partridge--an attractive young woman Greenjade meets on his journey
Bob Partridge--Nell's father
Carrie Partridge--Nell's aunt
Ralf, Clark, Robin, and Gil Partridge--Nell's brothers
Lila, Reena, Sally, and Jennie Partridge--their wives
Gilda and Gwynlen--Robin's 12-year-old twin daughters
Chip, Linnet, Ned, Chad, Delia, Meg, Trilla, Ollie--other children of Nell's brothers
Jem Whitflor--Nell's cousin and fiancee, a war veteran
Rosa Whitflor--Jem's mother who is dying of cancer
Aunt Bertie--Rosa's sister
Maisy and Cal--village children who befriend Smeagol
Nic--their brother
Tater--their dog
Mrs. Hazelbrock--their neighbor
Floria--mayor's spoiled daughter and nemesis of Maisy
Ned--a musician
Betony, Lu, and Viola--friends of Nell
Harry--Nell's lover who was killed in battle
Captain Skinney--a garrulous former seafarer
Gert--his wife
Toby Oddermilk--a villager and admirer of Nell
Tam Goodfellow--an innkeeper, Nell's employer
Mistress Sykes--a nosy neighbor
Dirk--another innkeeper
Addison--Dirk's son
Reggie and Bill--two drunkards
Ben, Cal, Burman, Willy, Dan--disabled war veterans
Granny--an elderly healer, midwife and herbalist
Butterfly and Blossom Feets--two kittens
Anson--Bob Partridge's nephew
Garland--Greenjade's former mate, sent back at Frodo's request
Anemone--a sea-maid, Greenjade's mother and wife of Frodo
Northlight, Fairwind, Moonrise, Embergold, Ebbtide, Nightingale, Gloryfall--Greenjade's siblings
Raven--adopted daughter of Frodo and Anemone, later wife of Northlight
Guilin--her brother
Calanon--friend of Greenjade's brothers
Thundercloud, Hailstorm, Brightspear, Rainbow--Greenjade's children, killed in uprising
Samwise--Jennie's newborn son
Harry--Nell's son by Greenjade
Lark--Robin's and Sally's daughter

Part II

Baran--a donkey
Gaergath--a vampire, son of Thuringwethil and Sauron
Duathris--another vampire, a former Dark-Elf and mistress of Gaergath
Serilinn--young daughter of Duathris and Gaergath, rescued by Greenjade
Amondachol, Hargammeren,  Brennilvuin, Fanuilith--other vampires
Eglenbain--an entling found by Serilinn
Ellory Widdicomb--a miller
Verda Widdicomb--his wife
Pepper Widdicomb--their 19-year-old son
Chamomile (Cammie) Widdicomb--their 14-year-old daughter
Sage, Basil, Rosemary (Rodey)--grown children of the Widdicombs
Ferman--Rodey's husband
May--Basil's wife
Winnie--Sage's wife
Mallory Widdicomb--Ellory's brother
Min--Mallory's wife
Mattie--their granddaughter
Ella--Mattie's cousin
Royal--Ellory's wayward younger brother
Butch--the Widdicombs' dog
Skip and Othar--friends of Pepper
Blossom Benbow--Pepper's sweetheart
Ferrell--her cousin
Randy Budgeon--a drunkard
Aletha--Verda's sister
Sissy and Lina--Aletha's daughters
Brego--a horse purchased by Radagast
Cinnamon--Serilinn's doll, made by Greenjade

Part III

Nurse Grynhild--nursemaid to Elfwine
Meleth--an elleth, Serilinn's former nursemaid and protector
Mikala--Bergil's fiancee and nursemaid to Aragorn's children
Ruan--her sister
Little Gandalf--younger brother of Mikala and Ruan
Luthien and Elwing--daughters of Aragorn and Arwen
Sweetfern--Moonrise's wife
Jasmine--Ebbtide's wife
Barathon--Fairwind's husband
Emerion, Faelon, Meriadoc, Eowyn--children of Fairwind and Barathon
Crystal, Piper, Summershine--children of Moonrise and Sweetfern
Sandrose and Onyx--children of Embergold
Spinner--Northlight's dog
Finduilas--daughter of Faramir and Eowyn

Part IV

Mistress Amdir--Meleth's housekeeper
Mistress Haldaraina--headmistress at a girl's school
Gilglin, Kaerwyn, Illi--friends and classmates of Serilinn
Nimrodel--Meleth's mare
Lightning--Kaerwyn's mare
Theliel--a troublesome classmate
Ivrenel--daughter of Beregond and Serilinn's friend
Dringon--a stonecutter
Alphi--a female tavern keeper
Tommy Pulver--a hotheaded young man killed in a fight with an orc
Erik--a healer
Utiradion--an Elf who was once an orc, later saves Greenjade's life
Pippin--Serilinn's dog
Queenie--Elboron's dog
Garulf--Greenjade's assistant and later husband of Kaerwyn
Brynnien--a schoolteacher, Meleth's successor
Bryseluthea--daughter of Greenjade and Meleth
Iorhael--their son, who chooses mortality
Amarthedhel--an elleth who was once an orc-maiden, briefly involved with Elrohir
Sam--a puppy
Frodo, Sam, Pippin--Mikala's sons
Branion and Hathol--Northlight's sons
Amaryllis--Northlight's daughter
Iorhael--husband of Amaryllis
Silivren and Meril--Iorhael's sisters
Amonost--Silivren's husband
Edenost--Serilinn's son
Riannor--wife of Olorin/Gandalf
Luthien--daughter of Elrond and Celebrian
Kulu--a falcon
Arwen Undomiel--Bryseluthea's newborn daughter