CHAPTER 53

The Great Hall of Meduseld gleamed in the light of candles and torches and the fire in the mighty hearth at the center of the room.  It was a welcome warmth, for the evening had begun to be chill, although it was likely to become too warm for comfort by the evening's end.

At the high table, Eómer King sat in his accustomed place in the centre.  At his right hand sat the Lady Lothíriel and on his left, her brother Amrothos.  He had spoken at length with Amrothos before the feast began, for he had become fast friends with all three of the sons of Imrahil after the Battle of the Black Gate and during the time the Armies of the West spent at Cormallen.  It had been pleasant conversation, as they spoke of their time after the War was ended, but Amrothos had sturdily and steadily evaded any questions about his sister.  When Eómer had ventured to press the issue, Amrothos had laughed and said, "It's better if you and my sister get to know one another without any interference on my part.  I told her little enough about you when she asked.  But I have confidence in your ability to win her heart, my friend!"

Eómer wished he had that same confidence.  He peered at her sidewise, where she was speaking with his Aunt Eormangilda, who sat to *her* right.  They did seem to be getting on well, which was a relief.  Eómer knew his aunt hoped to see him wed soon.  She wished to return to her own home as soon as she honourably could.  On his left,  Amrothos had turned his conversation to Legolas, who sat next to him, and Eómer realised he was going to have to speak toLothíriel soon, or risk appearing rude.  He placed a hand to the pouch at his side, and patted it, feeling the rustle of the letter within.  He had asked his friend Holdwine for advice, and now was the time to take it. 

He leaned towardsLothíriel  and took a breath to steady himself.  "Tell me, Lady Lothíriel , have you ever heard the tale of how my grandfather Thengel won the heart of my grandmother Morwen?"

She gave him a smile that made his heart turn over.  "No, I do not believe that I ever have, although I know that she was a kinswoman on my mother's side of the family."

This made him grin.  "Now you sound like a hobbit!"

Her laughter made him send a silent thanks to his friend.  Bless you, Merry, he thought.  Aloud, he said "This is how they met, then, as I used to hear the story from my cousin Théodred..."

Soon she was engrossed in the tale as he spoke.

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Freddy sat between the Elf and Gimli.  Gimli and his father Glóin had been telling him some of Bilbo's adventures that sounded quite different than the versions he had often heard from the old hobbit's own lips.

"Do you mean to say, you could not understand the speech or the songs of the goblins who captured you?" he asked Glóin.

"Save for that of the Goblin King himself-- who spoke roughly, but well, in the Common Tongue.  But among themselves the speech they used was quite unintelligible.  I've always thought it must have been some form of the Black Speech it was so dreadful to listen to, harsh and foul."

"But--" Freddy paused.  "There was this song--"Clap, snap! the black crack!...down, down to goblin-town". I don't remember it all right now, though I daresay I could in time.  I haven't heard it since I was a small child." 

Gimli nodded.  "I remember that.  It was quite popular among the younger Dwarves!  Bilbo always said that's what he thought they were singing, but of course he was making up his own interpretation.  I daresay it was a good deal milder than what the foul creatures were actually meaning."

Glóin chuckled. "Still, it sounded close enough, all that "whip! crack!" and "grip, grab!" caught the sound of it well enough, I should think.  Bilbo always did have a knack for languages-- not only could he learn them easily, but he had a good sense of the sound of them!  He could somehow capture the spirit of the meaning, even without really understanding the words."

Freddy darted a quick glance over at Legolas, and then back to Gimli and Glóin.  "What about that song of the Elves in Rivendell?" he asked quietly.  That particular song had always struck him as a bit silly for the Elves of whom he had heard so many solemn and tragic tales.

Glóin burst out laughing, and then cleared his throat.  "It was not all that far off the mark.  I am sure it was something they were making up on the spot to discomfit us Dwarves, though I believe Bilbo was guessing at the 'tra-la-lally' part.  It was very silly of them, and I have heard that a few of those Elven merry-makers were rather embarrassed to find their silly verses had been immortalized by our Mr. Baggins!"

"So, *that* was what happened!"  Freddy shook his head.  "I know as I was growing up, there was much debate among young hobbits as to how true Cousin Bilbo's stories were!  A very few of us staunchly believed every word, though many who believed when they were small outgrew it.  But he certainly knew how to spin a tale.  Sometimes he would as much as admit he was pulling our foot hair, but I always thought that the stories he told most often must have happened, for he would get such a faraway look on his face sometimes, as though he was remembering.  Yet I never could understand how he had accomplished so many of his feats, for he never once mentioned or hinted at, the existence of the Ring."

"That does not surprise me," said Glóin.  "It was long before he told us about it, and when he did, the tale did not exactly match the one he told at the Council of Elrond."

Freddy nodded.  "Well, it's just as well he kept it secret while he was in the Shire.  While I have no doubt that most hobbits would have dismissed a magic Ring that could make one invisible as so much moonshine from 'Cracked' Baggins, it would certainly have gained credence after his vanishment at the Party!  And I shudder to think what might have happened if Lotho had somehow managed to get his greedy hands on it."

The three briefly paused to imagine such an appalling thing, and when they continued, it was on a completely different subject.

"So," asked Freddy, "did Beorn's animals actually serve the meals at his table?"

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Lady Arien sat farther away from the Lady Lothíriel than she would have liked.  But as she had pheriannath on one side of her, she was glad enough that the conversation would be in Westron.  She understood not a word of Rohirric, though if her lady did decide to accept the King's offer, she supposed she would have to learn.

On her right was the young woman hobbit she had seen earlier. She was quiet, mostly casting shy glances at her other companion.  He was just as engrossed in her, the two of them smiling at one another, looking away, blushing and laughing at things that had not been said.  It was quite clear they were courting, and Arien thought it charming to watch.  She wondered at the courtship customs of this small people, and she wondered at what it had seemed like to the girl to have come so far from her own home.  She had been told that pherriannath were not a well-travelled  race, and that the four who had come to Gondor during the War were quite exceptional.

Just then, it must have occurred to the young hobbit that she was neglecting her manners.  She looked up at Arien, and said, "I do not believe we have been introduced, my lady.  I am Viola Harfoot at your service."

Lady Arien was charmed at her artless informality, and gave a gracious nod.  "I am Arien of Dol Amroth, at yours.  I have come here as companion to the Princess Lothíriel ."

Viola's face lit up in a sweet smile.  "Oh! The Princess is ever so beautiful, isn't she?  I do hope she falls in love with the King!  He is a very dear Man!"

Arien could not help but chuckle.  "It is good to hear your opinion of him.  I would hope that the two of them do make a match of it.  It would be very suitable, and I have a feeling that he might make my Lady very happy."

"Well, you only have to look at his face to know *she'd* make *him* happy!"  At this, she cast a sidelong glance at the hobbit on her other side,  and blushed prettily.

Arien laughed, and  lowered her voice.  "And is there one that would make you happy?"

Viola's face flamed, and she bit her lip.  "Is it that obvious?" she whispered.

"I think that it is clear to see," was Arien's response.  "I hope I have not embarrassed you." 

Viola giggled. "Well it probably should embarrass me, but it doesn't-- or at least not very much."

Arien smiled.  "Why are you so far from your home?  I have seen no other women of your people."

"My Mistress Poppy did not come to the feast tonight.  She is watching our patient.  We are healers-- at least, she is a healer, and I am her apprentice."

"You are an apprentice healer?" asked Arien in amazement.  This little one looked so young. 

"Yes, that's why we came.  Mistress Poppy heard all about the new King being a healer, and some of the amazing things he could do, how he saved Mr. Pippin, and Mr. Frodo and Mr. Merry and Mr. Sam as well, from certain death.  And she wants to learn all about it, and bring such ideas to the Shire."

"I do not know that the 'healing hands of the King' are a thing that can be taught," Arien said.

"We know that now, but there are other things to be learned, and Mistress Poppy is quite determined that we *shall* learn them.  Oh!  Look! *Mushrooms!*"  Viola grinned widely as one of the servants put a large dish before them, of mushrooms that had been battered and fried.  "I really like them this way!  Look, Beri!"  And her attention was turned away from Arien.

Berilac had noticed Viola's conversation with the lady who had come with the Princess and he turned his attention to the food, which was excellent.  He was nervous about later in the evening, for he planned to have a few words with Viola.  He fingered the object in his pocket, and hoped she would not find him foolish or old-fashioned.  Just as the aroma of mushrooms reached his nose,  Viola turned to him to draw them to his attention.

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Mosco sat next to Captain Meneldor.  The Captain had been speaking to Eothain, who sat on his other side, but now he had turned his attention to the food, so Mosco felt it would not be rude to talk to him.  He had soon learned that Men were not so interested in talking about food as Hobbits were.

But the Captain spoke first to him.  "Master Mosco? Do I understand correctly that you also are related to the Ringbearer and the others who came with him?"

"Yes, I am first cousin once removed to Frodo.  My grandmother Asphodel was sister to his mother Primula.  I am also second cousin to Merry, through the same grandmother-- she was sister to his grandfather Rorimac*.  I'm a bit more distantly related to Pippin, through his grandfather Adalgrim, who was nephew to both my grandmother and my Great-Aunt Mirabella through his father Hildigrim. And the three of us are also related in varying degrees on the Baggins side through my Great-Great-Aunt Rosa.  However, so far as I can recall, I am not related in any way to Samwise Gamgee. The only one related to him in the delegation is Jolly Cotton. He's Jolly's brother-in-law, Jolly is the twin brother of Sam's wife Rose. I also think that Sam and Jolly are cousins in some degree." Mosco frowned. "I'm sorry I can't recall the exact relationship. The Gamgees and the Cottons are more recent names in the Shire."

Meneldor blinked.  Amrothos had dared him to ask one of the hobbits about his relatives, and now he knew why.  He cast a glance at the Prince, further up the table, beyond the King of Rohan.  "That's very fascinating..." he said.

Mosco chuckled, and then blushed.  "Truly?  Because I have been warned by all and sundry that Men are not so interested in hobbit family trees as are we.  Still, it is hard to remember that once I've begun.  Why, the first thing any hobbit wants to know about another is to whom he is related!"

"Well, perhaps not interested in quite such detail as that." Meneldor confessed ruefully.  "Yet I do find it amazing how easily it all comes from your lips!"

Mosco grinned, and picked up another of the lovely mushrooms from his plate.  After he had eaten it with every expression of delight upon his face, he said "Well, it is one of the first things a young hobbit learns when he is out of faunthood.  We learn our families and all our relations, and we learn to cook.  We learn the basics of those things even before we learn to read or do sums."

"Your people sound very content and peaceful!"  He stole another glance at Amrothos, who was laughing at something Legolas had said to him, and an idea came to him.  "But there are a few of Gondor, most especially those of high and noble families, who are also very interested in genealogy.  I am sure that if you ever get the chance to speak to him, you will find that Prince Amrothos is *very* interested indeed!  Why, he told me himself that he found the knowledge of pheriannath family histories to be quite amazing!"

Mosco smiled.  "Thank you for telling me!  I was wondering what on earth I should ever find to talk about with the Prince!  Now, perhaps, you will tell me a bit of Gondor.  Since we are going there next, I'd really like to know more about it all."

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Bergil and his father sat at one of the lower tables, with Jolly on one side and Rolly and Denny on the other side. Bergil had been regaling his father with stories of his visit in the Shire. His letters, while dutiful enough, had never seemed to him quite the way to tell his father of all the amazing things he had done there.  "And Sir Pippin's aunt, Sir Merry's mum-- I mean, mother-- but Sir Merry calls her 'mum' all the time-- she is so very kind!  Do you know, Father, I ate too much my first night there, and was quite sick, but she was very nice to me.  She gave me ginger tea, and sat up with me!  I quite like her, and I promised to write to her when I got home.  Oh, and father! I am Sir Merry's and Sir Pippin's honorary cousin!"

" 'Honorary cousin'?" Beregond asked.  "And how did that happen to come about?"

"Oh--er, they just asked me.  They said they wished it."  Bergil suddenly turned his attention to his food with a concentration that would have done a hobbit proud.  Beregond shook his head; clearly there was more to this 'honorary cousin' business than his son wished to say.  Likely one of Pippin Took's ideas, if he were any judge of things.  But Beregond could not help but feel grateful.  While in many ways his son had grown, and his sense of duty and responsibility was as great as ever, somehow Bergil seemed *younger* than he had in the years before the War, or even in the months immediately after.  It felt as if his time among the hobbits had given Bergil some of his childhood back.  And for that, Beregond was very thankful.

Jolly, who sat next to Beregond said "What can you tell us of this Minas Tirith we are going to?  We've heard somewhat from Captain Merry and Captain Pippin and Mr. Frodo, and from Sam too.  But they wasn't there all that long.  What's it like to live there?"

"Well, I do not live there any longer, as I am now dwelling in Ithilien, as one of Prince Faramir's guards."

"You are a captain, Father!" Beregond interrupted stoutly.

"So I am.  At any rate, I lived in the City all my life, save for about two years when I was sent as a soldier to Lossarnoch.  They had suffered some raids there, and asked protection of the Steward.  It was there I met Bergil's mother."

The three hobbits nodded, but asked no questions-- they already knew poor Bergil's mother had died.

"But the City I grew up in was a solemn place, under the Shadow of the Enemy, and the Lord Steward was a stern ruler.  He tried to be just, but he was rarely merciful.  He felt there was no room for such, pressed about as we were by foes, and in all fairness I should add he was as stern with himself and with his family as he was with the people of the City.  I hear that now the White City is different-- that the King and his fair Queen are trying to make it once more a place for joy and music and beauty." 

"Why do they call it 'the White City'" asked Rolly. "Is that what Minas Tirith means?"

"No, 'Minas Tirith' means "Tower of Guard'.  But it is called the White City because it is built almost entirely of white stones, and sits in the embrace of Mount Mindolluin, against the White Mountains.  In the distance, the City gleams as white as snow."

"You will not believe how tall it is," said Bergil. "Why it is far larger than Edoras!"

The three hobbits exchanged glances.  They had been hearing this for weeks, but it did not seem possible to imagine.

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Gléomund had sung a number of songs as the feast went on.  He had sung in both Rohirric and the Common Tongue, and now as the evening drew to a close, he finished with the last song his uncle Gléowine had made, of the Ride of the Rohirrim and the last battle of Theoden King.  When the song was ended, Eómer declared the feast at an end, and servants came to clear away the tables.  The guests broke up into groups to talk more, and musicians set up to play for the dancing.

Beri approached Viola.  "Viola, would you like to take the air with me for a few minutes?  The Hall has grown very stuffy."

She nodded, and he offered her his arm.  There were no gardens here as there were at the Great Smials or Brandy Hall, but he led her out, and they went down the steps to sit on the bottom one.  They sat silently for several minutes, enjoying the breeze and the cool night, the stars and the quiet.  Berilac turned his gaze to her, and reached for her hand with one of his.

She gave it to him readily.  Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she was sure he could hear it beating.

"Viola, I don't suppose it is any surprise to you to say that I am in love with you."

She shook her head, and her eyes met his. 

"In Buckland, we have an old-fashioned custom.  It used to be rather commonplace in the rest of the Shire as well."  He reached in his pocket with his other hand and drew it forth, clenched.  "I'm not sure you will know what this means..." His face flamed, and he held his hand out.  "It's not silk, but..."

Viola reached out and took the length of yellow, and held it up.  It was finely woven, of two shades of yellow, a design of intertwined knots making its way down the center.  It was more a narrow braid than a ribbon, but Viola had no doubt of the meaning.  Still, she found herself breathless as she looked at it.

Beri swallowed.  She'd said nothing; perhaps he had been mistaken all along..."Er, in Buckland, if a lad gives a lass yellow hair ribbons it means they are officially courting..." But anything else he would have said was cut off, as her two lips met his.

She drew back quickly, red-faced. "I do know what it means! And yes, I do return your feelings! And..."

And now she was the one cut off, as he leaned in towards her.  This time the kiss lingered briefly, and they drew apart more slowly.  Then Viola took the ribbon and tied it about her curls.  She stood up with a laugh, and held her hand down to him.  "Shall we go see if the others notice?"

Berilac laughed, and hand in hand they raced back up the steps.

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*My thanks to GamgeeFest, who caught a couple of small boo-boos here in my family tree recital, and assisted me to fix them.