Chapter 66. The Eyes of the Queen

Arwen sat on the wide floorboards of the summer house by the shores of the great Lake, little Gamgees crowding about her on every side, giving “oohs” and “ahs” of wonder and delight. Rose sat in a fortress made of cushions dragged from the furniture and arranged on the floor by enterprising young Gamgees. Pip-lad hid in his mother’s lap under her shawl, but he kept stealing glances as the grown-ups talked.

Sam sat leaning against one of the “citadel” walls, his splinted leg propped on a soft pillow. ‘Very pretty, those,’ he observed. ‘Are they real jools?’

 ‘No, Sam,’ the Queen said, her eyes on her fingers. ‘They are merely glass, cleverly tinted and formed into pleasing shapes. But how they sparkle in the light!’

She lifted her hands, a string of bright baubles sparkling in the sunshine, and little Goldilocks clapped her hands in delight. ‘Pretty!’ she cried.

The shawl moved again as Pippin-lad craned for a better look, and Arwen’s smile brightened though she kept her eyes fixed on the beads.

 ‘Pretty, indeed, Goldi,’ she said, her voice low and pleasant and not at all threatening, but Pippin-lad pulled the shawl over himself again when she spoke.

Arwen lowered the string and bowed her head over her lap, humming a little tune, and then she lifted the completed necklace over Goldilocks’ head. ‘There you are!’ she said. ‘As fine an ornament as any queen might wear.’

 ‘Ooo,’ Goldi said, while Elanor smiled and told her little sister that she looked quite elegant.

Rosie-lass fingered her own necklace with satisfaction. ‘Will you make another?’ she asked.

 ‘No,’ Arwen said, glancing at sleeping Daisy, even in slumber clinging tight to the first necklace made this morning, ‘but there are plenty of “jewels” for each of you to make another!’

 ‘I’ll make one for the kind flower-lady in the market,’ Frodo-lad said. ‘She always saves the freshest blooms for Mum!’

 ‘I’ll make one for the lass who sells sweets,’ Elanor decided. ‘She always gives the littlest ones a sample when we pass by.’

 ‘No wonder we must always visit that corner of the market!’ Rose said with a laugh.

 ‘I’m going to make one for Mama!’ Merry-lad pronounced.

Pippin-lad stirred again.

 ‘You do that, Merry-lad,’ Queen Arwen said. ‘You make the necklace, and I’ll show Frodo and Elanor and Rosie what to make to add to the necklace.’

 ‘Add to it?’ Rosie-lass said.

 ‘Here,’ the Queen said, taking something from a bag. The children bent closer, watching intently, and soon fresh exclamations of wonder broke out to make Pippin-lad sit up, craning from his safe perch.

 ‘It’s wonderful!’ Frodo said. ‘Like magic!’

 ‘How do you do that?’ Elanor said, and Rosie-lass clapped her hands together.

 ‘Here, I’ll make another,’ Arwen said, not seeming to notice that Pippin-lad had crept from his mother’s lap and was inching closer. ‘Watch closely!’

She bent her head, and the young hobbits murmured as they followed her fingers, though the parents were rather mystified, not able to see what the Queen was doing. Pippin-lad couldn’t see, either, and so he moved out of the stronghold and across the floor, foot by foot, silent, scarcely breathing. He jumped, startled, when the Queen spoke again, but did not retreat.

 ‘Here you are,’ Arwen said. ‘I’ll give you each a length of wire, and you pick the colours you wish to use from the box of baubles...’

 ‘It’s so soft!’ Frodo-lad marvelled. ‘Why, it breaks if I bend it back and forth...’

 ‘Yes,’ Arwen said, ‘so do take care when you wind it to join pieces together...’

 ‘ ‘Tis a flower,’ Pippin-lad breathed, for he was close enough now to see the fruit of Arwen’s labours. The Queen did not move or look up, careful of frightening the young one, but kept working at her next flower.

 ‘You see?’ she said softly, eyes intent on her work.

Rose reached out a hand to Samwise, and he took it and squeezed it, hope shining in his eyes.

 ‘I’d like to try!’ Merry-lad said, putting the half-strung necklace aside.

 ‘Ah, but where will we attach our roses, if the necklace is not finished?’ Arwen said, and then, ‘Never mind. Here you are, Merry-lad. Frodo will help you over the tricky bits.’

She sounded so like a hobbit in her speech, and not serious and courtly and... Big.

The flower-makers continued their craft, paying no mind to Pippin-lad. At last a nice little heap of “roses” lay cupped in a fold of the Queen’s skirts, and Arwen said laughing, ‘Very well, my lads and lasses! We have nearly enough flowers for a garden, and no necklace to hang them upon!’

Elanor caught her breath then, and Arwen looked over to see Pippin-lad standing at her side, holding the finished necklace that he’d silently strung while all had been busy with the “roses”. Moving very slowly and cautiously, the Queen lifted her hand, palm up, and Pippin-lad lowered the necklace. The Queen stared at the bright beads pooled in her hand and whispered, ‘What lovely work. See how the colours alternate: red, blue, green, violet...’ She took a slow breath, not wanting to startle the hobbit lad who still stood at her elbow and added, ‘Watch now, children, and I’ll show you how to fasten the flowers to our garland!’

By the time the last rose was added, Pippin-lad was seated in the Queen’s lap, watching the process closely.

Arwen said, her voice soft and gentle, ‘And who would like to take this treasure to Mother Rose?’

The other little Gamgees held their collective breath until Pippin-lad looked up shyly and said, ‘I will, if I may?’

Arwen nodded, and though she felt like hugging the lad she refrained, saying only, ‘You do that, Pip-lad! And then come back to sit with me and we’ll share a story!’

The heartfelt cheer that arose from all the Gamgees, large and small, seemed rather more than a mere story would garner. But then hobbits do like stories. They do, indeed.

***

Hilly tapped at the door to the Queen’s sitting room and heard Arwen’s pleasant voice call, ‘Enter!’

He pushed the door open and marched in, standing stiff and straight before the Queen. ‘The Thain said that you wished to see me,’ he said, meeting her eyes and then dropping his gaze. He fixed his eyes on the stitchery in her lap. Pretty, intricate work it was. Why, her fingers were as clever as a hobbit’s!

 ‘Yes, Hildibold,’ Arwen said. ‘I wanted to see you about the matter of your reward.’

 ‘I need no reward,’ he muttered, and realising how rude that sounded, he forced himself to look up, to say politely, ‘No reward is necessary, my Queen. I could not have stood by and done nothing, after all.’

 ‘Of course not,’ Arwen said, her eyes warm and understanding and making him think of... Hilly caught his breath. He did not want to think of Liliana. He wished only to live in the present moment, for as long as the present moment contained Posey, anyhow. He’d closed off the past, save those flashes of memory that he couldn’t help—why could he not have saved his Liliana as he’d saved Liriel? A Shirriff had pulled Hilly’s little daughter from the freezing stream whence she’d fallen after wandering over the low wall, down the bank, onto the ice, while they were visiting the festive Yuletide market in Tuckborough, but the lung fever that followed had claimed her in the end.

Breathing hard, he shoved the memory away once more, trying to think only of the present. The future reared, dark and empty. The present moment, that was the thing.

It was better to be thought rude than to meet that unnerving regard. He fastened his eyes on the bright threads in the embroidery again, trying to make some sense of the pattern, though it was barely begun.

 ‘No reward is necessary,’ Arwen agreed, ‘but I would still give a gift, for the burden of gratitude lies heavily upon my heart.’

Hilly maintained a stubborn silence.

Seeming to change the subject, the Queen said, ‘And how is your dear wife this morning?’

 ‘Well,’ Hilly said, and dropping his eyes still further he shuffled his feet. ‘Well enough,’ he amended. ‘The healers say she took no harm from the fright she suffered the other day.’

 ‘Not enough to set her back,’ Arwen said softly. ‘My brothers have told you all they know...?’

 ‘Only that I shouldn’t lose her for some years yet,’ Hilly forced out past the lump in his throat. ‘ ‘Tis a slow-creeping malady, and though there is no cure, at least she’ll live in peace and comfort nearly to the end of her days.’

 ‘A Man whose wife suffered this illness might expect to have his wife for half-a-dozen years more, perhaps,’ Arwen said, her voice still soft.

Hilly squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to control his breathing. Half-a-dozen years...

 ‘My brothers believe hobbits to be a hardier folk. In any event, they heal from injuries and broken bones at a faster rate than Men do,’ Arwen went on. From the sound of her voice she was bending closer, but Hilly did not open his eyes to see, not when he was still fighting the battle against tears.

 ‘They think Posey might well resist for twice that time. Ten years, or even a dozen, before she feels the grip of pain.’

 ‘And how long,’ Hilly said raggedly, looking up, ‘how long will it be, then? How long must she suffer?’

 ‘Her release will come not long after the first onset of pain,’ Arwen said. ‘She will not suffer long.’

Hilly bowed his head, tears spilling over his cheeks as he lost the fight with grief. ‘So long,’ he whispered. ‘Ten years, or perhaps a dozen... and I’ll take it all, and welcome.’

He heard Arwen rise from her chair, heard the whisper of her skirts, and then her hand took his in a gentle grip, raising it palm upwards, as something cool cascaded into his palm. He opened his eyes and gasped to see a fine silver chain pooled in his palm.

 ‘My Lady,’ he whispered. ‘I—’ Arwen’s hand still supported his, and so he did not drop the chain to the floor in his surprise and consternation.

 ‘A gift,’ Arwen repeated. ‘An heirloom of my father’s house,’ she added. ‘Pick it up, Hildibold.’

He swallowed hard and took up the chain with his free hand, lifting it, uncoiling the links until he saw it was a necklace, a small, exquisitely-cut elf-stone depending from the delicate chain.

 ‘For Posey?’ he said, beginning to understand. Not a reward for him, but a gift for his wife? He might be tempted to accept such a thing.

 ‘Elves cannot cure all ills,’ Arwen said, ‘but we have been given a gift of maintaining. If your wife were to wear this jewel, wear it at all times, mind, and never take it off, it would slow the progress of her illness.’

 ‘Slow it?’ Hilly said, scarcely daring to breathe as he stared at the stone.

 ‘She might know twenty years more, before her ending, or even two dozen,’ Arwen said, ‘and pain would be withheld from her. She would know only an increasing weariness until in the end she would close her eyes in a last blessed sleep.’

Hilly swallowed hard again and squeezed his eyes shut. ‘I cannot take this,’ he faltered, lowering his hand and feeling the chain pool once more in his palm, cool and somehow soothing to the touch.

Arwen’s fingers closed over his, gently cupping his hand round the necklace.

 ‘You cannot take it,’ she agreed, ‘not to keep. When Posey needs it no longer, it must be returned.’

Hilly nodded absently. He’d see to it. He’d leave instructions with one of his brothers, that after Posey died the chain would be sent back to the Queen.

 ‘You must return it yourself,’ Arwen went on.

 ‘But...’ Hilly protested. He could not envision going on, after his Posey was gone.

 ‘I place it in your hands, to clasp around Posey’s throat,’ Arwen said, ‘and when she no longer has need of it, your hands must unclasp it, and bring it back to me. It must be so.’

Hilly nodded, for elf-magic was a strange and wondrous thing, and who was he to question it? This necklace could buy another dozen years of time with Posey, but at what cost to himself?

 ‘How?’ he whispered.

 ‘It would be too dangerous, to travel by Road with such a treasure,’ Arwen said. ‘You must go to the Grey Havens, to Cirdan.’

 ‘Cirdan,’ Hilly repeated, his mind spinning as it tried to encompass this new thought.

 ‘The ships that sail from the Havens sail not only into the Uttermost West, never to return,’ Arwen said, a hint of a smile in her voice. ‘They ply the waters between North and South Kingdoms as well. When you bring this stone to Cirdan, he will find you a place on a ship bound for Gondor. You will bring the stone to me once more.’

 ‘I will bring the stone...’ Hilly said as if in a dream, and then he shook himself, raising his head, and looked directly into the grey eyes that were looking so intently at him.

 ‘But...’ he said, and his resolve hardened as confidence rose in him. No one could tell him what to do, save the Thain. He’d sworn an oath to the Thain, after all. No oath bound him to the Queen who knelt before him, staring into his eyes.

 ‘What if I refuse?’ he said.

It was Arwen’s turn to swallow hard. Hilly watched the muscles in her throat work, and then he saw the grey eyes blink. ‘It is your right,’ she said. ‘I cannot force you to accept this gift, and I will not order it.’

The corners of Hilly’s mouth tightened slightly in the faintest of smiles.

Arwen’s smile met his. ‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘You take orders from the Thain alone.’ At the hobbit’s look of surprise she laughed. ‘It has not escaped my attention, nor my husband’s, that every order you are given must be confirmed by Pippin before you will accept it.’

Hilly looked away in chagrin before meeting that calm grey gaze once more.

 ‘I will not order it,’ Arwen said, ‘nor ask Pippin to order it. But I will ask.’ Unbeknownst to Hilly she now held her breath, hoping the hobbit’s stubborn pride would not refuse this gesture.

Hilly lifted his chin. ‘Ask?’ he said clearly.

 ‘Please,’ Arwen said, dropping her gaze. She bowed her head and waited.

Hilly stared in perplexity at the Queen, kneeling, head bowed, waiting for him—him!—to refuse her gift. Or accept it.

Quite without his meaning to, he heard his voice answer. ‘As you ask it, my Lady, so do I accept this gift with thanks.’

Arwen raised a beaming face, and as if on impulse she took Hilly’s face between her two hands and laid a kiss upon his brow. ‘Bless you,’ she said, releasing him, ‘and I thank you for restoring my daughter to me.’

 ‘Will that be all, my Lady?’ Hilly said, hardly knowing what he ought to say or do next.

Arwen rose and returning to her chair, took up her hoop and needle once more. ‘That will be all, Hildibold,’ she said formally.

He bowed and took his leave, necklace still clenched in his fist.

Arwen relaxed and let out a gusty sigh, laying down her needle. Tooks!