Stories of Arda Home Page
About Us News Resources Login Become a member Help Search
swiss replica watches replica watches uk Replica Rolex DateJust Watches

Where the Merlin Cries  by Lindelea

A/N: Hats off to FantasyFan, who noticed that this chapter was missing. Apologies for posting chapters out of order. There are some important plot-threads running through this chapter, which give continuity to following chapters.

Chapter 20. See Now What Love

The winter rains had finally arrived, putting an end to picnics, but Sam and Rose did not have to fret about their daughters spending too much time underground, for Verbena had proclaimed the girls ready to travel homewards. She had also pronounced Reginard fit to travel to the Great Smials, in easy stages.

Regi fretted at this, thinking of the waste of time, taking three days to make a two-day journey, but Ferdibrand waxed so ridiculous, talking of stopping at every farmstead along the way, 'for a good rest, and a meal, and perhaps a change of ponies, for we would not want the ponies to be wearied any more than yourself, my good Steward,' that Regi overcame his irritation enough to laugh at the chancellor. To his relief, the laughter did not threaten to shake his innards loose.

Ferdibrand invited Fastred and Leotred to join them, as his invaluable assistants. 'I have come to lean heavily upon these youngsters,' he informed Pippin. 'Were you to take away my props, I might fall upon my face and flatten my nose.'

'We cannot have that,' the Thain said dryly. 'Must I offer them each a position?'

'I really think you must,' Ferdi replied solemnly. 'Leotred, now... Verbena tells me he has absorbed all the knowledge she has to give, and she was about to send him away, in any event, to learn more of healing. Who better than Woodruff, to finish his training?'

'Who better, indeed?' Pippin agreed.

'And Fastred... I have great hopes for the lad. He has so much energy, if we can just channel his restlessness into a useful direction. He reminds me of someone...' Ferdi mused.

'Yourself, perhaps?' Pippin said.

'Myself, restless?' Ferdi said, astounded.

'You,' Pippin nodded.

'Let us say, rather, that I prefer not to let the grass grow beneath my feet,' Ferdi said with dignity.

'Restless,' Pippin said firmly.

Ferdibrand changed the subject. 'Nell has agreed to come and attend my Nell.' Translated, this meant that Elanor would help Pimpernel with the children, some of whom took after their father in Tookish restlessness. 'And the Mayor and his wife have agreed to spend Yule at the Great Smials, along with the rest of the Gamgees.'

'It will be a lively holiday,' Pippin said, and then looked at Ferdi from under his eyebrows. 'You are not matchmaking again, I hope.'

'Matchmaking?' Ferdi pretended astonishment. 'I have much too much serious business to attend to, I assure you.' He humphed, and left the room, grumbling to himself. 'Matchmaking...'

Pippin watched him go with a smile.

'He is matchmaking,' Reginard said.

'Of course he is,' Pippin answered. 'And since he has a kind of instinct for these things, who am I to protest? However, I really think it ought to be up to the Mayor and his wife, to approve their daughters' suitors.'

'It ought to be...' Regi said. 'But they'll accept the inevitable, I think, if Ferdi gets his way. As he usually does.'

Pippin laughed. 'At least it keeps him in a good humour,' he said.

***

The army had marched through the Lion's annexed territory and now camped outside the gates of the capital city and port of Haragost, between the road and the banks of the river that fed into the Sea near the break in the cliffs that blessed Haragost with its natural harbour.

The Lion had ordered business to proceed as on any ordinary day, and so wains rolled through the gates out of the city, coming from the harbour, or farmers pulled their hand-carts, returning from the market after selling their crops. One enterprising farmer brought his half-empty cartload of melons near the camp of the visitors, drew out his curved blade, neatly sliced the melon, and proceded to eat, licking the sweet juice from his fingers.

A dwarf stalked over and offered a silver coin. The farmer snorted and held up five fingers. The dwarf snorted in return, holding the coin out again. An exchange of snorts and gestures resulted in the dwarf's buying three melons for two silver coins, a satisfactory exchange in the opinion of both parties, though they put on their sourest expressions to seal the bargain.

Gimli brought the melons back to where his dwarves had settled. Thin slices of succulently sweet melon made the cram go down more easily, and there was a little less grumbling from that quarter of the camp than usual. Gimli took the last two slices of melon to where Legolas reclined, holding one out to the Wood Elf.

'My thanks, friend,' Legolas said. 'Did you get a good price?'

'Highway robbery,' Gimli replied. He lowered his voice and said, 'I hope he doesn't report my thieving ways to his king...'

Now the palace workers were setting up tables before the city gates, laying down long rugs for seating, jabbing tall torches into the ground, as yet unlit, but ready to be put into action as soon as the westering sun dipped below the horizon. The Lion had invited the so-called king of Gondor and his captains to a feast that evening. Cooks were busy in the kitchen, turning out delicacies fit for kings and their advisors. The activity reached a frenzied pitch as the sun kissed the horizon and began to sink into the Sea.

Great platters of food began to appear, carried out through the gates to be set upon the tables. Slaves with fans came to brush away any insects that might try to join the feast.

'An enticing sight,' Legolas murmured.

'Yes, quite the ambiance,' Gimli answered, and Legolas smiled grimly at his choice of word. 'Skillfully arranged food, arrayed against the beauties of the city, also decorated for the occasion,' Gimli went on, nodding to the head- and skull-topped pikes that stood on either side of the open gateway.

A messenger bowed before the elf and dwarf. 'The King has ordered a gathering of all his captains,' he said. Gimli nodded, and Legolas gracefully regained his feet, slipping his knife back into its sheath after wiping away the sticky juice.

'A delicious treat, my friend,' he said with a bow. 'Probably lembas and a bit of fresh melon would be more wholesome than whatever will be served there.' He turned away from the pikes with their grisly adornments, and the two walked to the King's pavilion.

Elessar was sober as he gave his instructions. 'Poison is not unknown to these people,' he said. 'Watch what they eat. Take only food from trays that you've seen our hosts serve themselves from. Eat sparingly. If food is pressed upon you, an acceptable excuse for refusing is to say you are sick with the heat.'

Gimli grumbled at that, and the King looked at him sternly. 'Better to appear weak than to die of poison,' he said.

'They would poison their guests?' one of the captains asked.

'If possible. We are, after all, an invading army in their eyes, and if they can cripple us by poisoning off the leaders, they will have no compunction at doing so, and blame it on natural causes.' His gaze swept the captains gathered there. 'Be alert, be cautious, be excessively polite. And keep your eyes and ears open. The halflings were seen in the court, by the messenger.'

'It is too much to hope that they would be at the feast,' Imrahil murmured.

'If there were a way for them to be there, without our noticing, this Lion would arrange it,' Elessar said grimly. 'Keep your eyes open.'

***

Bessime walked boldly into the laundry, basket of clothes on her head. 'What are you all still doing here?' she said sharply to the workers who were sorting the piles of clothes. 'The feast is about to begin, and more servers are needed. Out!'

The workers bowed and scattered, not thinking to ask why she was bringing more... but of course, she was of the family of a minor noble, and perhaps she'd been ordered by a superior to see to some last-minute washing.

Bessime walked over to the corner where the already-sorted baskets waited for the washing on the morrow. Putting her basket down, she began to sort clothing into the ready baskets, and one of the workers nodded to herself. It was as she thought. Someone wanted their laundry done first.

'Well?' Bessime snapped. 'You have a question? Do you need more work to do?'

'No, ma'am, I was just leaving,' the lingering worker said, and hastened away. Serving food was certainly better than sorting laundry, and she might be able to sneak a few bites, if she were careful.

Bessime continued to sort, then reached into the bottom of her basket for the three bags concealed within. Pulling away the top layer of clothes from the first basket she said slowly and clearly. 'You understand me?'

'A little,' Celandine answered.

'Good,' Bessime nodded. She handed the bag to the little one. 'Food, water, pot,' she said. 'Must hide. Not leave basket. Use pot. Understand?' She dug in the bag to bring out the little brass pot with its tight-fitting cover. Celandine nodded. The Big Folk had thought of everything, even taking care of bodily needs... the stay in the baskets was not over, it seemed.

'How long?' she asked carefully.

'Tomorrow,' Bessime said. She bit her lip, trying to think of the simplest words to explain. 'Pick up baskets. Go to river. Put down baskets.' She pantomimed washing clothes upon the riverbank.

Celandine nodded. On the morrow, someone would carry the baskets of laundry outside the gates to the riverbank. She had seen it, herself, over the high wall one day when Jessamin and Bessime had been walking their charges and had lifted the hobbits up to look over the plain.

'Little ones quiet, very quiet,' Bessime said. 'Clothes lifted off, little ones run! Run to king!' She spoke the last words in a whisper. Should anyone hear her treason, she'd be providing exercise and food for the coursers herself, on the morrow.

'King?' Celandine breathed.

'Your king,' Bessime whispered. 'King Ha'alassar.'

'Elessar is here?' Celandine said, and there was a squeak of excitement from the next basket.

'Yes,' Bessime said impatiently. 'Now hush!' She rapidly supplied the other two baskets of little ones with their bags of necessities, then turned back to Celandine. 'Explain to children,' she said. 'Stay put. Stay quiet. Eat. Drink. Use pots.'

She listened as the little mother rapidly whispered instructions, heard with relief the assenting whispers from the tween in each of the other baskets. 'Explain "run to king",' she prompted, and Celandine complied.

'Good,' Bessime said in satisfaction. 'I go now. Jessamin greets.' On impulse she gathered the little mother in a hug. 'Love,' she said, and then she stopped trying to speak simply, for there were no simple words to express her feelings. 'I will miss you, little ones. May the Maker watch over you and bring you safely to the other side.'

'Go with grace,' Celandine answered in her own language.

The two understood one another, and after a quick, fierce hug, Bessime released the little mother and Celandine buried herself, Poppy and Blossom beneath the dirty clothes once again.

***

Author's Notes from previous posting:

Note to Readers:

I am just returning from vacation (hoorah! Vacation is fun, but not getting to write daily is very wearing on the nerves).

"The Law" as used in this story is not meant to resemble any modern system of belief. In other words, I made it up, after thinking about how a society of proud warriors not recognising the beliefs of Numenor might be ordered.

Thank you for the comments! Was going to comment on everyone's comments, but my relatives just noticed that I'm on the computer, so I must get off again. Ah, well. Will go ahead and post ch 20 before I bail out of this airplane, anyhow...

Have written well ahead in this story, and "Flames" as well, so look forward to daily updates for the nonce, unless something happens to interrupt.

I have added a new chapter to "Flames" as well, in case you are following that story.





<< Back

Next >>

Leave Review
Home     Search     Chapter List