A busy day
In which Faramir reflects on a fairly typical day in Ithilien.
Ohtar (imagined) is an elderly retainer, in charge of the Steward's house in Minas Anor. Mablung and Damrod are de-mobbed soldiers now turned farmer. Anborn, also de-mobbed, is Faramir's seneschal.
5.30 a.m. Rudely awakened by riotous children. I don't want them to be denied access to me, but there are limits. May have to insist they are confined to barracks at least until after breakfast. Éowyn says their devotion is very touching and so it is, but it would have been just as touching an hour later, and, as I forbore to point out at the time, it wasn't her chest they were sitting on.
7.00 a.m. Breakfast rather spoiled by bad news about the plumbing in the town house. No progress appears to have been made and we are due there at the end of the month. It was never satisfactory as far back as I can remember, but standards in Minas Tirith (sorry, Minas Anor – old habits cling) have risen since the War and I don't see why the family should have to put up with it any longer. We agreed to send message to Ohtar, enclosing large flea to put in ear and saying that if the problem is not reported fixed in ten days' time, we'll get the dwarves in. Éowyn says it's either that or she'll go herself, and while Ohtar is an inefficient ass, he's not as young as he was, I'm rather fond of him and I wouldn't want to expose him to my dear wife's wrath unexpectedly. Men have perished for less.
8.00 a.m. Deluged by correspondence about imminent visit of Haradian ambassador. The King seems to think it will soften him up if he is received here first, because I 'struck a chord' on my last mission there. I don't know about striking a chord – I felt my head wobbling on my shoulders every minute I was in the cursed place, and I have never looked into as many eyes blazing hate. Luckily they still seem to have a healthy respect for the wrath of Gondor, but we shall never get anywhere unless we can establish some sort of trust. Perhaps they perceived some honesty of purpose in me after all. On the other hand, an excess of obvious goodwill would be taken as a sign of weakness. Coo like a dove, watch like a hawk, is the way to go. Mental note. Must brush up my Haradian – not to use on His Ex., of course, but to listen in to any incautious remarks they let fall on the assumption I can't understand them.
9.30 a.m. Chaired opening session of discussions with trade delegation from the Shire. They are uneasy about competition from our growers who have taken to cultivating galenas, or pipeweed, as the Shire-folk quaintly call it. I can't abide the stuff myself, except as a garden flower, but now that the King has made smoking it fashionable, there's a huge market opening up and the Halflings not unnaturally think they should have the lions' share. On the other hand, we have an ideal climate for producing it here, and if we can supply the southern market with a quality product at a lower price, this seems fair enough to me; we have no plans at present for exporting it beyond the Misty Mountains, though I have seen the odd speculative gleam in a grower's eye when the prospect is mentioned. We shall either have to define separate markets, introduce quotas, or open the whole trade up to competition and see what happens. At the moment I'm open to suggestions. I wouldn't want to fall out with Master Samwise over it; we owe each other too much respect for that.
11.00 a.m. Another hearing in the Land Settlement Court. Mablung and Damrod are still squabbling about that strip of land between their two farms, the one with the freshwater spring. Each of them seems to have a sheaf of plans going back to the Second Age, showing the spring on his side of the boundary, and I'm dashed if I can tell which is the more reliable. I'm sick to death of the subject and am minded to cut the knot by confiscating the whole strip under the Prince's prerogative and making them both buy the water by the bucketful. However, justice must be seen to be done, so adjourned the hearing pending further evidence (confusion worse confounded). They'll be back next session, I have no doubt.
1 p.m. Lunch. Blessed period of peace cut short by messenger from Legolas, who is still unhappy about his last invoice for the water garden project. Told the messenger Legolas wasn't nearly as unhappy about the invoice as we are about the flooded cellars. Éowyn has promised to deal with this one and I'm quite prepared to let her loose on it. She knows Legolas better than I do, anyway.
2 p.m. Visited the school. Smallest children rather comical, as usual: paralysed by fright to start with, then gradually coming out of their shells until I was virtually mobbed, not that I mind that. In the higher classes there are some bright boys, and girls, coming on and their universal ambition seems to be to join our household. How we'll find room for them all I don't know, but we'll do our best. More trained staff will certainly be needed soon; the busier I get, the more I have to deputise, however regretfully.
3 p.m. Beregond came to report. He's still uneasy about the farms just below the Ephel Dúath and I can see why: we just don't have the men to patrol frequently enough to guarantee that area is kept secure from raids. I have warned every would-be settler individually that that is the case, but the fools never think it'll happen to them. They seem to have forgotten the nasty sights we saw in the very early years, and I'm not at all convinced the risk is over just because we've had a comparatively long period of quiet. There are some ominous rumours going round: dark shapes in the night, tracks leading back into the mountains, and so on. May be nine-tenths imagination, but can't be dismissed out of hand. I may have to ask the King's permission to seek some additional recruits from outside Ithilien.
4 p.m. Riding lesson for Elboron. The little varmint seems as intent on breaking his neck as ever – Boromir would have been proud of him. I'm afraid Éowyn rather encourages risk-taking as well; of course we don't want to cramp such a bold spirit, but a little caution must be introduced now and then. Otherwise I will perish prematurely from heart failure.
5.30 p.m. Petitioners. What was I saying just now about deputising? When we first came here I vowed that the people would always be able to approach me if they needed to, and I've kept to that, but it is getting out of hand (put it down to original inexperience and good intentions). While there are a good many small but genuine grievances which are better resolved here than in the courts (no more Mablung and Damrod, please), a good third of the people who came today seem to want no more than a cosy chat, and there is simply no time for it. Have told Anborn to weed them out more rigorously in future, but will have to watch him, or he'll be weeding out the whole consignment. He's always seen it as his duty to protect me from my own better impulses.
7.30 p.m. Bedtime story for the children. Left a dozen or so petitioners howling at the door, but this is one thing I am adamant about. I'm not having the children forgetting what their father looks like, and it could easily happen. As usual they clamoured for the undisputed favourite, i.e. Gollum and the Ring. I bless the day when Frodo (may his name be ever honoured) told it to me: it never fails, especially as it comes with my personal seal of authenticity. (How long ago it all seems now.) However, it's hard work in the telling and gets ever longer. This is entirely my own fault: once they knew the original riddles by heart, and would shout out the answer before I'd recited the riddle, I had the bright idea of inventing a new one, and since then I've had to add a new one every time and let them guess at it, which they are excruciatingly bad at, and use as an excuse to prolong the whole process indefinitely. Moreover, I've just about run out of riddles. Mental note: must think up a few more in my spare time. Spare time? If only.
Oh, and I must ensure they get a chance to meet Master Samwise. They'll be thrilled to bits.
8.30 p.m. Dinner. A formal one, which we hate – we scarcely ever get a quiet evening to ourselves. No help for it, however, because we are entertaining not only the Shire delegation but two councillors just arrived from Pelargir, which the King suspects of plotting something with that perpetual thorn in our flesh, Umbar. Two oh-so-polite, smooth, convivial individuals whom I'd trust just as far as I could throw them. As usual, a nice friendly invitation to Ithilien is considered a suitable softening up routine before they are exposed to the full glare of royal disapproval. The best way to soften up people like that is always to drink with them until they lose their caution. In the good old days Boromir and I had this to a fine art, when we wanted to pump somebody: he did the drinking and joviality and I did the watching and listening. In the morning they were always appalled to find out how much Boromir appeared to know, when he hadn't seemed in a fit state to remember anything the night before. He didn't remember anything, of course, but I did. It's very useful sometimes to be the one that's overlooked. Doing the drinking as well as the thinking is much harder work – one of the innumerable reasons why I still miss my dear brother. Éowyn got the hobbits out of our way by taking them for a stroll in the garden. Lucky hobbits. Strolling in the moonlight with my lovely wife ought to be my prerogative.
1.00 a.m. Finally managed to drink the councillors under the table – at least, they were under the table. I was still upright, and considerably enlightened. I hadn't drunk nearly as much as they thought (there is an art to this), but it was still more than I wanted. I may be needing some of Éowyn's patent hangover mixture, ugh! – her rule seems to be the fouler it tastes, the better it works. Must dictate a memo on what the Pelargians let slip before I turn in. Hard luck on the duty secretary, but they are all used to it by now. Anyway, they get time off in lieu, which is more than I do. After that I had intended to start looking through papers for the Great Council, but just can't face it. It will have to wait till tomorrow, or whenever.
1.30 a.m. Bed. No, honestly, darling, I am just too tired … really … oh well, if you insist, perhaps not quite as tired as all that…