Appendix C: The Queen’s Companions

On the second day after the Lady’s marriage, Lord Celeborn himself came to the chamber Calmiel shared with her sister in one of the guesthouses of Minas Tirith.

She had just returned to the quiet of the room, having seen to Aithron’s noon meal. He ate better for her than for others, doubtless remembering in some distant way the trials they had shared. Sometimes she wished she might have shared the last trial with him also. Perhaps they might have kept one another strong where a single spirit could not hold.

It was a bitter thing to see her once-proud Captain brought low. He did not speak – might, so said Master Elrond, never speak again until he found the healing of Valimar – and he moved only as prompted. He shied from sudden sounds, and in the darkness there was nothing that would comfort him. On the southward road he had been assigned a little tent all his own, that a lamp might be kept burning through the nights. In other circumstances so wounded a soul would not have been brought on a long journey, but these were strange times. Lady Galadriel had hoped that Master Elrond might mend Aithron, or at least allay his suffering a little. But even the greatest of healers yet left in Middle-earth had been able to do little.

They were the last two left of their little company. Rimbir had been slain in the first terrible assault upon the borders of Lothlórien, and Hithfaer had fallen before Dol Guldur. Calmiel wished he might have lived long enough to see the hostages recovered from the clutches of the Ularí, that he might have known Aithron was once more among friends. She supposed he knew now. In Mandos, it was said, all things were known.

So it was with a heavy heart that Calmiel retreated to the guest chamber that day. Had she not been so mournful she would have gone out to join the revels. The whole City was abuzz with merriment, for the feasting and song and libations in the wake of the wedding of the new King were still at their height. It had been a thing of beauty, that mortal rite before the people, the gathering in the high hall near the tall White Tower, and most of all the look of joy unrivalled upon the Lady Arwen’s face as she and her beloved withdrew at last to be married in truth.

All of Calmiel’s life, the Evenstar had been a figure of beauty and a model of grace unrivalled. She remembered how, as a small child in Rivendell, she had haunted the Lady’s steps like a fawning pup hungry for the slightest attention. She had never had to hunger long, for the daughter of Elrond was kind and she was possessed of a great patience for small children. She had been ever ready with a tale or song as she went about her business or sat stitching in the sunshine. Still better, she had been glad to teach the rudiments of her crafts to eager little hands. Though Calmiel had pursued a martial path rather than an artistic one, she still had the skills learned in the lazy afternoons of her girlhood.

How wondrous it would be to see the Lady Arwen with children of her own! She had longed for them, Calmiel knew, since her betrothal beneath the spring splendour of the mellryn years before. As one of the few folk of Imladris dwelling in Lórien, Calmiel had passed what time she could in the presence of the Lady. She knew how quiet, how pensive she had been upon her return after that first visit to her father’s house after the mountains had been cleansed of orcish filth. Not so long settled in her new home, Calmiel had felt still more removed from all she had known by her Lady’s strange solemnity. Not until much later did she understand. Even then, before he came to her in the raiment of a great lord of old, the last of the Heirs of Elendil had held sway over Lady Arwen’s heart.

Now together they were in bliss: radiant in their joy. Calmiel was glad. That good most of all the joys of this new world stirred her heart. She had known him also, who reigned now under the name of Elessar. She had not remembered him at first when he stumbled upon the borders of the Golden Wood with his strange and foul captive in tow. Only after Lord Celeborn’s coming had Calmiel recalled the keen-eyed fosterling who had dwelt in the Last Homely House in those last few years before the march to cast out the Necromancer. She had had no dealings with him, but a merry mortal child left ripples wherever he went, most of all in a sedate and ordered valley. She remembered.

She wished this might go on forever: these glimpses of their bliss. Would that she could watch them live and flourish, and make all this stony place flourish with them. Mayhap she might learn more of Elessar, who had come to her swath of woodland as Aragorn. Mayhap she might become not only a subject but a friend to her beloved Lady. But it was not to be. Soon the Elven hosts would depart, and Calmiel would go with them. She would be Aithron’s nurse for a time, until he departed into the West, and then…

She did not know. Not until the second day after the wedding, when Lord Celeborn came to her chamber.

The knock upon the door was light and courteous. Calmiel had supposed it was one of the King’s servants, bringing her own noon meal, and it was with little enthusiasm that she had gone to answer. She had no appetite now.

But she dropped into a curtsey at once as she opened the door, the skirts of her light silken gown billowing with the motion. Her customary marchwarden’s garb was unsuitable in this place where the roles of male and female were so rigidly defined. She bowed her head in respect even as she rose again and stepped back to admit the silver-haired Lord.

‘Lord Celeborn!’ she breathed, more astonished than awed by his presence. She honoured him and respected him greatly, but he was not lofty and remote to her. Not since that day when she had come to Caras Galadhon bearing the name of Estel upon her lips.

‘Calmiel the Hawk-sighted,’ he said equably, smiling as he came into the room and closed the door with a gentle hand. ‘I hope I do not keep you from your repose?’

‘No, my Lord,’ she said. She tried to smile, but her eyes were sad. ‘Why do you honour me with your presence?’

‘I wish to speak with one of my loyal warriors: is that not reason enough?’ Celeborn’s smile, too, had sadness in it, but also fondness. ‘Shall we sit?’

They went not to the little table by the window, but to the handsome rug before the unlit hearth. There was no need for fire in these glorious summer days: the cool of the stone walls was welcome instead of bitter. Cross-legged Celeborn sat, and Calmiel knelt to face him. Almost they might have been back in the quiet clearing where the marchwardens had dined with their Lord and the ragged but most honoured guest.

‘What is your intention, child?’ the Elf-lord asked.

‘My intention?’ she echoed, unknowing.

‘Will you depart these shores with Master Elrond and my own dear Lady?’ said Celeborn softly. ‘Do you mean to sail the Straight Road to Valinor?’

‘I do not know,’ said Calmiel earnestly. ‘I am not weary of Middle-earth. Still it is new and beautiful to me, and it will grow more beautiful still with the Shadow overthrown at last. I would not leave it yet, had I the choice.’

‘You have the choice,’ Celeborn said. ‘Each one of us does. Nor is that choice irrevocable, save for some.’ There was a wistful sorrow in his eyes for a moment, and then he smiled. ‘I too shall sail one day, but not until my work here is done. There is much yet to heal and make whole, and much beauty, as you say, to bring into this newly freed world.’

‘Then I may tarry with you if I wish?’ asked Calmiel. ‘Even now there will be a use for my bow: that much is plain. Though the Enemy is gone, many of his servants remain. Not all will cast down their arms at the feet of a good King, whatever clemency he offers.’

‘No, not all will cast down their arms,’ said Celeborn. ‘And some will come by night and stealth, and seek to undo the good that has been done and to rob the King of all that he has gained. Against that the folk of Gondor will have to guard, for it is none of my affair save in one particular. One treasure I share with Aragorn son of Arathorn, and though it be not my chiefest duty to safeguard her I would do what I may.’

‘Of course!’ Calmiel explained. ‘Of course you will do all you can to protect her. I had not thought… it did not seem possible that even thralls of Mordor could bear to harm one so kind and so fair.’

‘That is precisely why they would wish to harm her,’ said Celeborn with a sad listing of the head. ‘You are too young, I think, to remember the first Lady of Imladris?’

‘Your daughter,’ whispered Calmiel, dropping her eyes to her lap. The sorrows of the Lady Celebrían had haunted Rivendell all her life. ‘But surely such a thing could never happen to the Queen.’

‘Never, if there is strength in the King’s arm to prevent it,’ said Celeborn. ‘Yet there are many labours yet laid before Aragorn son of Arathorn. He cannot be always at her side, nor can he afford to fear for her when he is abroad securing his kingdom and the safety of his people. Long he trusted in us, in the folk of Lothlórien and of Rivendell, to be her defenders if ever the need arose. Now he must trust to short-lived Men and walls of stone. I would give him one more surety. I have spoken to my granddaughter, and she is in accord.’

It sounded prudent to Calmiel. It was a broad and dangerous world, however free, and the Lady Arwen had never dwelt beyond the bounds of an Elven realm. It could do no harm to protect her in every possible way. Perhaps, too, it might give some peace of mind to those who were to leave her behind as they sailed for the Twilight.

‘What surety?’ she asked.

‘A guard,’ said Celeborn. ‘The Queen’s Guard. A small Company, no more than ten, to be the innermost line of defence for the Lady Undómiel. They would walk in other guise, their true duty known only to a few, and they would dwell within this City or travel in her company as the need arose.’

‘That is wise indeed,’ agreed Calmiel, nodding. ‘Do you wish me to help you choose from among the male marchwardens? The folk of this place would never accept a guard of maidens, if they cannot even countenance the wearing of a pair of hose.’

Celeborn smiled. ‘That is true, and in that would lie the great strength of this proposed Company. None would know they were warriors, for in dress and deportment they would appear the Queen’s companions and handmaids. Yet though delicate their hands would be deadly at need, and their eyes watching sharply for more than fair flowers and finery.’

Calmiel’s lips parted. This she had never considered, but it was indeed a remarkable concept. A secret Guard for Her Majesty, to go with her where the Men in their sable tabards and high helms could not. She scarcely dared to hope, but she spoke anyhow.

‘And you wish me to be among them, my Lord?’ she asked tremulously, fearing his denial.

And he did shake his head. ‘Nay, child. I would have you lead them. No more fitting Captain can I think of for such a Company, and you have known my granddaughter in both her homes. You may prove a touchstone for her in this new one. Your valour in my service has been exemplary, and Elrond also praises your skill and your courage. It would ease his heart, I think, to know that one such as you stood close by his daughter.’

‘Captain? I? But I am so young, so inexperienced beside the great warriors of my people; beside the Noldor of old. Why, Lathil fought beneath the standard of Gil-galad—’

‘And Lathil will sail with Master Elrond when he goes,’ said Celeborn. ‘It is the young among our folk who will wish to tarry: the young and those, like I, who have known the forests of the earth since before the coming of the Noldor. If you do not wish this duty, it shall not be pressed upon you. Nor need you be bound to it indefinitely. Yet I have come to you first of all because you are my prime choice, and the Queen’s.’

‘What of Aithron?’ Calmiel asked.

‘He shall be cared for,’ said Celeborn. ‘He could have no better nurses than they who studied under Elrond Half-Elven. Your own sister will be among them, at least as far as the Havens.’

Calmiel nodded. Faeliel was the elder of the two, and she had turned to the gentlest of arts where her sister had chosen the harshest. She was patient and kind, and she would heed Calmiel’s words about the former marchwarden’s care. She had already taken some small hand in it: she would do well. Master Elrond, too, would be ever present if there was need. It would be another sad parting, but she could bear it.

‘When shall I go to her?’ she asked. ‘When shall I begin my service to Queen Undómiel?’

‘As soon as you wish it,’ said Celeborn. ‘Yet you must assemble your Company also. Among the ladies of Lórien and Imladris there must be those known to you who would take joy in this duty.’

‘There are!’ Calmiel pledged, three names springing already to mind. It remained only to ask what had been asked of her: whether they intended to sail or no.

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In the end, she chose eight. It had proved a simple task, far simpler than it would be to grow used to the noblewomen of Gondor and their blushing daughters. There came a morning when Calmiel gathered her maidens, clad in graceful gowns and fair colours instead of serviceable woodland green, and brought them to the House of the King.

She was greeted by a chamberlain who treated her with the deference due a highborn lady. Her Majesty’s Companions, it seemed, were held in awe by the mortal denizens of the Citadel. The others were given refreshment, which they accepted with sweet thanks and knowing glances. They understood that in secrecy lay their greatest strength and none would speak of their true role, but it would take time before their amusement at the playacting waned.

Calmiel herself was brought to a splendidly furnished room set with great windows that let in the sun almost as freely as a flet would have done. There, shoulder to shoulder upon a tall couch, sat the King and Queen of the West.

‘Do not kneel, Calmiel,’ said the Queen, smiling warmly as the marchwarden moved to do just that. ‘Come near, that I may look upon you. The gown suits you beautifully.’

It felt strange to walk in such fine garments, long and trailing, and to plait her hair with velvet ribbon instead of leather, and to walk without her bow. She had a long knife bound to her calf, invisible beneath the folds of violet silk. At need she could call for other weapons. Yet it was with her eyes and her knowledge that she would best guard her Queen. She drew near and stopped three paces from the couch, humbled and elated at once.

‘You remember Calmiel,’ Arwen said, turning to the King with a smile. ‘She was one of your minders when you came so unexpectedly upon a hallowed border with a thing of malice at your heels.’

‘Verily I remember,’ said the King. He looked so young and fair, so joyous. That was what had first struck Calmiel when he met the hosts of the Eldar at the City Gate: how transformed he was by the passing of his greatest labour and the fruition of his hopes. Now his eyes glinted playfully. ‘Calmiel alone counselled clemency, and she was upbraided for it – accused, so I recall, of being a marchwarden of Imladris, and of wishing to bathe my companion in rosewater.’

A laugh sprang from Calmiel’s lips at the memory, before she could reflect upon whether it was fitting for a Captain to laugh before her King. But the Queen was smiling, and Elessar himself laughed. Then he halted, as if startled, and laughed again all the harder.

‘What is it?’ asked Arwen, twisting to regard him quizzically. ‘You are not as witty as all that, my love.’

‘Nay, it is not that!’ said the King. From amid his fine garments he produced a silken handkerchief edged in the Queen’s ephemeral whitework, and he blotted at his tears of mirth. More sober now but still grinning, he explained; ‘Not once in all that long journey, nor in the sorry time that followed, did I think I might one day laugh to think of it – however the world was changed. For that I must thank you, Calmiel.’

‘The thanks is not mine alone, my King,’ she said. ‘It was Aithron who devised the plan for your prisoner’s putative welcome.’

His smile grew graver, a strange expression both sorrowful and filled with pride in those who had been taken by the Shadow. ‘I was grieved to hear of his torment. It is said the Ularí wounded his mind beyond the means of these hither shores to mend.’

‘So it is said,’ Calmiel acknowledged. ‘Yet he fought valiantly the foe until the last.’

‘It is only in the fighting that such hurts may be done,’ said Elessar softly. ‘He will be remembered with honour, and I shall remember him as a comrade. For all his stern words he was kind to me, and never spiteful in the discharging of his duty.’

‘It is of duty that I wished to speak, beloved,’ said the Queen, taking his arm and lifting loving eyes to his. ‘Calmiel has not come to bring you mirth alone.’

That was when she, simple soldier that she was, realized at last that the King had not been told of these arrangements. Unsure of how to take this, she stood still and silent and waited for the Evenstar to speak further.

‘I present to you, Elessar the Renewer, the chief among the Queen’s Companions,’ Arwen announced, wafting her free hand to Calmiel. ‘Or as they shall be known between us, the Queen’s Guard.’

For a moment the King was puzzled. Then understanding dawned and his face changed. Such delight and relief did Calmiel see there that she understood at last what Lord Celeborn had said to her. This Guard he had mustered was no gift for the Queen in her new home, but for King Elessar. It was the gift of peace of mind; for this City was his new home also, and its Men yet untried in many respects though they had flourished at other trials. Nearest his beloved would stand those he knew well, in their ways if not in their individuality. It was a comfort and a joy.

The Queen bade Calmiel sit, and they sat for a time discussing the particulars of the arrangements. The King had his own thoughts to add, for in the art of disguising the extraordinary as the common he was a master to rival any of old. When at last the other maidens were sent for, Calmiel understood well the scope of her new command. She would discharge it with all the skill and courage given to her. A new and wondrous day was dawning, and she would tarry on these shores to witness it.

And perhaps, she thought as she looked upon the King and Queen seated together as near as was possible, she might see her Lady with a child of her own yet.

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