Not All is as it Seems

The boy hunched himself into the dark corner behind the old handcart.  He was not overly large, and his slight figure took advantage of every bit of cover as the gang of lads pushed and shoved at each other, while each accused the others of losing their prey.  He held his breath as they passed the broken gates at the end of the old yard, relaxing only as the sound of their voices faded.

‘Are they bullying you?’

He froze.

‘Are they bullying you?’ she repeated.  She sounded fiercer this time – and less willing to wait for him to respond.  ‘I hate bullies.’

She did not look as if she would have to suffer many.  She stood with her hands on her hips, leaning forward, but with feet apart to ensure she would retain her balance if pushed and, in her hand, she clutched a ... a ... was that a rolling pin?

‘No,’ he replied quickly.  ‘Of course they are not.’

She sniffed.  ‘I have heard that before.’  The sun was behind her, turning her hair to fire, and he could not see her face. Between them, her shadow stretched long and watery.  ‘Come out from there, why don’t you, and I’ll grab you some bread and cheese.  There is nothing like a bite to eat to make you feel better.’

‘No, seriously,’ he said.  He eased past the broken handle, making sure his tunic did not catch on the rough wood.  ‘They just want to do something for me.’

‘Do something to you?’  She bristled.

‘Not ‘to’,’ he explained swiftly, ‘I said ‘for’.  That is quite different.’

Her eyes widened as he stepped out of the shadow.  His tunic was fine linen, embroidered with green leaves and tiny white flowers, and his boots were highly-polished brown leather. At his waist he wore a simple brown belt, but the hilt of the knife that hung from it was finely-chased silver. He was dark-haired, and grey-eyed – and looked much as his father must have done in his beardless youth.

He seemed resigned, as if he had just exchanged one group of followers for another.

‘Well, that is just another type of bullying, is it not?’ she pronounced.  ‘You have just as much right to privacy as they do.  If you want to get away from them, you should be able to.’

‘I do not think that most people would count it as bullying to have others watching you ready to satisfy your every whim before you even know what you want.’

‘Well, most people think they want whatever it is that they do not have.’  She smiled wryly.  ‘And then, if they do get it, they find it is rather less likely to lead to eternal happiness than they imagined.’  She shrugged.  ‘The bread and cheese is still on offer, if you fancy it – and some elderflower cordial.  There is a table outside the back door, and I am planning to take a break while the pies cook.’ 

She was not as young as he had first thought, not if she was in charge of the kitchens – even if the house looked ... well, tired might be a polite way to describe it.  Somewhere that had once been prosperous and well-cared-for, but now looked decidedly run-down. 

‘You live here?’ he asked.  ‘I thought this place had been abandoned.’

‘No.’  She looked around, ‘Only almost forsaken.  I ... the owner still wanders around like a lost soul, remembering its glory days.  And we battle the dust and spiders and try to keep the roof watertight and the walls sound.  No-one comes here these days to get in our way.’

‘I apologise for my intrusion.’

‘You are welcome here,’ she reassured him, ‘or I would not have invited you beyond the gate.’  She looked at him appraisingly.  ‘I like to see a person with enough willpower to face down his so-called friends.  Honesty and independence – they are important.’

‘I am not sure my tutors would agree.’

‘Your sisters might have their doubts, too.’ She smiled as she pushed her hair back from a face that looked thinner and more time-worn than he had expected.  Not a girl, definitely not.   ‘Honesty should be kept within bounds when replying to queries about how they look, but other than that ...’

The courtyard before the wide-open kitchen doors was unexpectedly inviting.  Weeded cobbles were clean, with big tubs of herbs occupying the sunniest spots.  Even a flight of whitewashed steps that led to presumably unused storage areas sported cascades of bright flowers in crimson and white, while a great bay tree loomed over a partially-demolished wall.  Between the tree and the door, a sun-bleached table stood, with a couple of chairs taking advantage of the shade.

‘Sit, my lord,’ she suggested.  ‘I will fetch some food.’

‘I suppose it was too much,’ he said, ‘to hope that you would not recognise me.’

‘I may not dwell high up in the city,’ she remarked, as she disappeared into the dark of the kitchen, her voice distant and amused, ‘but I am not blind.’ 

She appeared with a large tray that she set on the silvered wood.  ‘Your admirers serve some purpose, you know,’ she said, ‘however irritating they might be.  You should not be alone on this level of the city.  There are some unsavoury characters who have taken up residence in these old houses – and they are opportunist enough to take advantage of any innocents who come their way.’

He lifted an eyebrow.  ‘I am not as young as I look,’ he said.  ‘And I am perfectly well aware of the dangers in the city.’  At her gesture, he helped himself to crusty bread and oil and took some of the crumbly cheese.  ‘And I doubt we are as alone as you might think, either.  The best guards, my father thinks, are the ones of whose presence one is unaware.’

She grinned, her smile lightening the shadows under her eyes and adding a look of mischief that rounded her cheeks and made her look younger.  ‘He is not wrong,’ she remarked.  ‘Unseen guards are good for getting you out of trouble.  But never forget that the presence of guards who loom behind you can stop you getting into trouble in the first place.  I am old enough to appreciate the absence of trouble.’

‘I doubt you would shy away from a challenge,’ the youth remarked.  ‘I would not have wanted to face your wrath with that rolling pin.’

She waved a hand dismissively before running a finger round the rim of her glass. ‘You learn as you grow older, my lord.  Boundaries are there for a reason and it is better not to have to learn from harsh experience what can happen when they are crossed.  Not everyone plays a fair game and trust must be earned.  A long time ago, I was young and reckless and thought I could bend the world to my will.  Now,’ she shrugged, ‘I enjoy the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, and the scent of fresh bread and good cheese.’

Reminded of the bounty before him, Eldarion lifted the crust to his mouth before hesitating and returning it to the plate.  Close up, there was something musty about the smell and it felt ... unreal. 

A breath of air touched with the scent of the river spun round the courtyard, raising dust before seeming to focus on the woman, ruffling her blue dress and making her hair fly. ‘There will be a storm later,’ she said.  ‘You should get yourself back to the Citadel before it breaks.’

Eldarion glanced dubiously at the gleaming blue of the sky.  ‘I doubt it will come soon,’ he replied.  ‘There are no clouds and the wind is in the wrong direction.’

‘The worst storms come out of nowhere.’  She leaned back into the dappled shade, blending with the shadows until he could hardly pick her out.  ‘The ones that change everything.’ Her voice was melancholy and she sounded ... distant.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Eldarion rose and gave a slight bow.  ‘You are right,’ he said. ‘I should return home before my father sends out a search party.  I thank you for your hospitality, my lady. May I visit you again?’

‘Perhaps,’ she said.  ‘I will be here ... or maybe not.  Who knows?’  She stood, less clear, less distinct, less there beneath the big bay.  ‘You are welcome, you and your kin. You always have been.’

 Wind stirred, rustling dead leaves and making them dance around each other, as if they wanted to chase him out. Eldarion bowed his head again and walked towards the rotting wood of the broken gates, refusing to look back through the gap to the courtyard.  Common sense told him that the woman was still there watching him and he had no desire to test that conviction.

Outside, his uncle waited, tossing his dagger and casually catching it as it fell.  Eldarion felt a strange relief – as if he had stepped back into the real world and everything he knew as normal was still there.

‘I would not return here, if I were you,’ Elrohir remarked.  ‘She liked you, but there are no guarantees. Another time she might decide that your presence offends her.’

‘There are no such things as ghosts,’ Eldarion declared.  He hesitated.  ‘Are there?’ 

His uncle smiled wryly.  ‘I have lived somewhat longer than you,’ he said, ‘and I would not make that assertion. I have met spirits ... and been glad to survive the experience.’  His eyes looked into a distant past that Eldarion could not see as he stared at the gateway.  ‘Once, I believe, a captain of the guard lived here with his family.  I can remember this house when it was full of life, although I do not recall her ...  But there must have been many other occupants over the centuries.’ He thrust his dagger into its sheath, as if to close the topic.  ‘I am not surprised that these houses are abandoned now – I would not choose to live here.’ He laughed without amusement.  ‘You would not credit that an elf would complain of too much history,’ he said, ‘but there it is.’ 

He looked up at the sky behind the house, where clouds were gathering.  ‘There will be a storm later,’ he said briskly, turning away from the ruin. ‘Let us return to your parents’ house before we get wet.’

 ***

‘It is easy to forget how badly damaged the lower parts of the city were.’  The grey eyes surveyed the broken gates and crumbled wall critically.  ‘I am surprised that no-one has made any attempt to rebuild here.’

‘I am not.’  Elrohir raised an eyebrow in imitation of his father. ‘I suspect that those who arrived with scrolls and quills and measuring tapes, who tried to devise how many could be housed here and to whose profit were seen off pretty rapidly.  And her ways of repelling those who thought to move in without official sanction were probably even less amiable.  Can you not feel it?  She is watching over what she considers to be hers – and hers alone.’

‘There is a presence,’ his brother-in-law conceded, ‘but I do not find it inhospitable.’

The second eyebrow lifted to match the first.  ‘Eldarion did say that she told him that his kin were welcome here. I did not altogether credit it – after all, the gates were reluctant to allow me past.’

The king grinned impishly. ‘Perhaps, for once, it was not so much your bloodlines that she welcomed as mine.’

‘We share bloodlines, Estel, in case you were unaware of that.  Some degrees removed, of course, but we are both descended from Eärendil and Elwing.’

A beam of sunlight broke through the cloud that was all that remained of the storms that had disturbed the night, pointing like an impatient finger through the gate.

‘I think we are being reminded of our purpose,’ Elessar said.  He checked automatically that his sword and dagger were ready at need and stepped through the open space. 

Elrohir followed, only to find himself repelled by whatever force had kept him out the day before. ‘Oh, dragon dung,’ he muttered.  If anything happened to Aragorn under his watch, he did not want to think what his sister might do to him.

‘Nothing against the elf,’ the red-haired woman said, leaning against the wall with her arms folded, ‘but I have little patience with the way they talk and talk for ever and never do anything.’

Aragorn’s hand flew to his dagger, but he controlled his urge to draw it from its sheath.  ‘Elrond’s sons are rather more active than most,’ he protested. 

‘And then, of course, there is the immortality.’

‘It is more of a curse than you might think.’

‘She gave it up for you.’ Her cool blue eyes inspected him.  ‘I hope she thinks it was worth it.’

‘So do I.’  It nagged at him constantly, the fear that one day the Evenstar would turn round and see an old man, fallible and failing  – and wish she had sailed when she had the chance.

He stared at the figure.  Knowing that she was not exactly present, he could see indications that his son had missed.  Her steps failed to stir the dust, and the breeze that moved her summer dress did not quite match the direction of the wind.  Her face was familiar, but he could not recall when he had seen her.

‘You have changed, Thorongil,’ she said. 

‘It happens.’ A memory began to stir.  A fur merchant had dwelt here back then.  A wealthy man, dealing largely in the sable and ermine that trimmed the robes of the elite.  His wife was rarely seen; a woman from the far north who never settled in the city, but his daughter ...  ‘Why have you lingered here?’ he asked.

‘Unfinished business.’ Her face aged as bitterness twisted it. ‘That is what keeps us all, is it not?’  She waved him through to the courtyard.  ‘I would not marry those who came sniffing after my father’s money – and, when he died, they drove us out.  Foreigners, you see.  Untrustworthy.  We had to be in league with Sauron.  They kept the money, though – much good that it did them.  I saw to that.’ 

‘What happened to you?’

A fleeting smile crossed her face.  ‘What usually happens to those without protection?  Without money or a name?  I fought – be sure I fought as hard as I could – and then I came back.  No-one has lived here since.’  She looked at him consideringly.  ‘I could have loved you, I think,’ she said, ‘but you were too honourable to play with a merchant’s daughter.’

‘I loved my wife long before I came to Minas Tirith,’ he said.  ‘There has never been another.’

She shrugged.  ‘It is no matter now.’  Only the great bay still stood before the roofless kitchen, overlooking many decades of dead leaves and cracked pots, old birds’ nest and uneven cobbles.  ‘I am tired and want to go, but I will not let them win.  Neither the burghers nor the thieves will have my home.’

‘I will look after your legacy, my lady,’ the king promised.  ‘None will make a profit from it.’

‘A hospital, perhaps,’ she said.  ‘Or almshouses for those who are left destitute.’

‘I will see to it.’

‘Your son is a good lad,’ she informed him.

‘He is like his mother.’

‘H’mm.’  She faded even as he watched her, leaving her final words to hang upon the wind. ‘I would say he is his father’s son.’

‘Estel?’ Elrohir called, as he pushed past the fading protections. ‘Are you unharmed?’

‘All is well, my brother,’ Aragorn said.  ‘She just wanted to make her wishes known – and to say goodbye.’

Elrohir grinned wryly.  ‘Only you, Estel.’

‘Come, my brother.  We need to send a guard to fetch a carpenter.  I daresay she would return to haunt me if I failed to keep my promise.’  He turned to weigh up the space.  ‘I think I might need to have a word with the city’s authorities, as well.  What she suffered should not have happened then – and, I will not have it now.  If I find such prejudices still exist, I will be most displeased.’

‘I will come and watch.’ Elrohir laughed.  ‘I love to see you channelling Adar, while the victims of your wrath tremble before you.  You can be surprisingly intimidating, you know.’

‘I have had good examples to follow – and I learned from them all.’ He took a last look at what had once been the woman’s home, before turning his back and returning to the city street beyond.  ‘Come, my brother, enough of this.  Let us go and inform Eldarion that his ghost has decided to depart – and involve him in what will come next.’