DISCLAIMER: It is called fanfiction for a reason, so just sit back, relax, and read… no questions asked.
CHAPTER 1: IN A LAND FAR, FAR AWAY
You can find magic wherever you look. Sit back and relax, all you need is a book.(*1)
Cressida was walking towards a great river that was flowing dreamily along. There was grass all around her, stretching out as far as the eye could see, like a great rippling ocean. And there was wind – lots of wind – catching at her skirts. She was wearing a heavy, woollen dress, faded-red in colour, which was quite unlike the jeans and blouse combo she usually wore. Her boots were hard-wearing, heavy, and not very well fitted, but at least her toes were wrapped in coarse, woollen socks. In spite of the fierce wind, Cressida felt warm, especially with the addition of a linen shift, a thick grey-green cloak, brown leather gloves, and a woollen scarf. Her hair was also done up against the elements: a tight braided-bun intertwined with silken ribbons.
Where the hell was she? Cressida cast her mind around; it landed on Shakespeare's Henry V. She began to recite the St Crispin's Day Speech:
What's he that wishes so?
My cousin, Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive. (*2)
It was oddly soothing standing there, reciting Shakespeare. At the very least it meant Cressida was still Cressida.
She knelt down by the river's edge and dipped her fingers into the perfectly clear water. It was like ice, but not very deep. She sank her hand down to the bottom; her fist closed round a pebble and brought it back to the surface. Weighty and smooth, it was something to hold on to.
Unconsciously, Cressida put her hand to her chest, glad that her treasured Tinkerbell pendant was there as always. She couldn't imagine going anywhere without it.
All you need is faith, trust, and just a little bit of Pixie-dust. (*3)
Cressida would certainly need faith and trust now in this strange land. Turning her head, her eyes lighted upon – not too far away – a small, fortified town. Laying at the foot of a great mountain, the little hillock was peppered with timber-and-thatch cottages. To someone who was used to all the sights, sounds, and smells of Edinburgh, it was rather rustic. Still, it appeared to be the only vestige of civilisation nearby. Her only hope now was that the inhabitants would be friendly.
XXX
The closer Cressida got to the settlement, the hillier the terrain became. As one generally does in new surroundings, she kept craning her neck to look up at her destination. Her eyes alighted upon a flag fluttering upon the roof of what appeared to be the grandest building, set high above the others. The flag was emerald green and had a white and gold horse rampant upon it.
She was now moving along a kind of avenue lined with lots of small mounds, each covered in tiny, white flowers. They reminded her of the round-barrows that frequented the landscape around Stonehenge. She swallowed, something was beginning to stir in her mind, but she was not yet ready to explore it further. Not that she would have had much of a chance, as she was rapidly nearing the gated entrance. There were two official-looking types standing to attention at either side. Bearded and muscular, the fact that their hair was both blond and long did nothing to detract from their masculinity. The green of their cloaks matched that of the flag and each was armed with at least two weapons: a spear and a sword. They remained silent and slightly quizzical as Cressida came to a halt in front of them.
"Sorry, but do you understand me?" she addressed the elder of the pair.
He exchanged an odd look with his partner, but nodded.
"We do indeed, Miss, for you speak the Common Tongue, do you not?" His accent was an odd one, quite unplaceable.
"Ye-es," Cressida drew the word out, "I suppose I am, but would you mind clarifying something for me: where am I?"
The men both blinked in surprise, shock even.
"You, erm, are at Edoras, Miss."
Now it was Cressida's turn to look shocked.
"What did you say? Edoras? As in Rohan? As in Middle-Earth? As in… Tolkien?" she fair whispered the great author's name.
"I don't know about any Tolkien, Miss, but Edoras is the capital of Rohan, and the seat of Théoden-King."
"Much good it does us," mumbled the other.
His elder glared at him.
"Wilfrith, hold your tongue! I'm sure the young miss does not want or need to hear such things."
"But he hasn't been seen in public for ages and…"
"Idle Meduseld gossip."
"And he's said to look like an old crone."
"He's just getting on in years."
"He's more or less the same age as you, Captain."
Another glare.
"Anything I can help with, Miss?"
"Where do I go from here? I know no one in Edoras."
"In that case, you won't make a much better start than by heading over to The Stag's Rest, where you will find good board and lodging."
"But I…I have no money to speak of."
The Captain's face softened.
"Don't you worry about that – Mistress Hild is very accommodating. I'm sure she'll come up with some arrangement that suits you both."
"Thank you – how do I get there?"
"Wilfrith will show you, and then on the way back he can sign up for extra stable-cleaning duties."
Wilfrith scowled.
"Yes, Captain."
They set off, Wilfrith guiding Cressida through the thatched cottages and shops. Towards the centre of the town, at the far end of a large square, stood a building separated from the rest. There was a side-gate leading to what Cressida assumed was a service or stable-yard. A sign above the entrance swung in the wind, it was carved with a brown stag resting against a tree.
"Well, here we are," she said slightly apprehensively.
"Don't you worry, Miss. Mistress Hild is lovely; she'll set you right. And… if you're ever in need of a guide about town, I'd be happy to oblige."
"Thank you, Wilfrith, I like the sound of that."
"My pleasure, Miss…?" He left the question hanging.
"Lewis, Cressida Lewis."
There was a pause.
"Cressida… daughter of Lewis? From Lewis?"
"No, no, just Cressida is fine."
"Miss Cressida, then. Good day."
Wilfrith made a small bow, smiled, and turned on his heel. Cressida watched his helmed head disappear in to the crowd. Then, letting out a small breath, she stepped into The Stag's Rest.
As the clichés had told her to expect, Cressida found that there were very few patrons inside the inn, and those that were all turned toward her. She smiled nervously, looking around. The bar was across the room, although no one was behind it. She moved in that direction and could soon hear clatterings coming from behind a door.
"Hello?" she called, loudly as she dared, painfully aware of the eyes still fixed upon her.
"Be with you in moment, dearie," came the answering shout.
Whilst Cressida waited, she studied her surroundings. A fire was crackling away in the hearth, in front of which lay a dog. Large, grey, and shaggy, it reminded Cressida of an Irish Wolfhound. There were chairs and benches arranged around the scattered tables. A couple of tapestries lined the otherwise bare walls. One was very Rohirric in nature, depicting a herd of wild horses galloping across the plains. The other was a forest scene, with a small, thatched cottage standing in a clearing. There was nothing else in the picture, but Cressida felt somehow drawn to it; she couldn't stop looking at the greens of the trees, the little cottage with the blue door, the curve of the path…
"Hello, my dear, how may I be of assistance?"
Startled, Cressida turned back to see a plump, grey-haired lady, in a brown dress and apron, smiling at her from behind the bar. She held a metal tankard in one hand and a cloth in the other, which she using to idly wipe the aforementioned tankard, seemingly more out of habit than anything. Cressida wondered how long she'd been standing there.
"Err, I was told you might have a room available?"
A shake of the head.
"'Fraid not, dearie, we're a full house tonight."
"Oh… well, I'm sorry to bother you."
"Please don't go." The woman hurried round to stand in front of Cressida. "I'm sure we can find you something. I would be ashamed to let a young lady wander these streets alone, especially in these dark times. Why don't you come through to my private rooms, where we can talk about it? At the very least let me get you something hot to eat and drink. You must have come a long way, and such a little thing like you… look at you, there's barely a scrap of flesh to your bones!" She tutted in a motherly fashion. "Come along. Aldus?" she called out. "I'll be in the parlour."
"Right ye be, dear."
Cressida felt something soft being inserted into her palm. It was the dog, who had left its cozy berth and was now looking for attention. It had to belong to the woman, who could only be Mistress Hild, for it evidently meant to follow them. Mistress Hild led the way to a snug little room that was lined with shelves full of knick-knacks and useful objects. Two chairs and a table were arranged in front of the fire, which had been carefully banked to allow for easy relighting. A pile of knitting had been left in one of the chairs, so Cressida was chivvied into the other. Mistress Hild then set about building up the fire. Once it was beginning to crackle, she left the room with an airy adieu.
Whilst she was alone, Cressida took the chance to remove her wrappings. The dog sidled up and laid its head in her lap, looking so baleful that Cressida couldn't help but scratch its ears. Already she felt at home here – it was warm and everyone had been so welcoming. Mistress Hild even reminded Cressida somewhat of her own grandmother.
"Faith and trust," she said to herself, causing the dog to prick up its ears. "That's what I need, isn't it, boy?"
Further ear-scratching elicited a slow wag of the tail and Cressida relaxed back into the chair. It wasn't long before Mistress Hild returned with a tray laden with steaming beakers and a plate of biscuits.
"Do help yourself, my dear," she said, indicating the tray, "They're my own recipes. I pick and steam the berries myself."
Cressida took a beaker and sniffed the heady aroma.
"But where are my manners? I am Mistress Hild, Keeper of The Stag's Rest along with my husband, Master Aldus. This one here is Mund, our most faithful companion."
The dog, having changed allegiance when his mistress sat down, thumped his tail at the familiar sound of his name.
"And you, my dear?"
"I'm Cressida Lewis."
"Miss Cressida? Why didn't you say? We've been expecting you."
Cressida blinked.
"You have?"
"Of course, we prepared your room only this morning."
"There must be some mistake; there has to be another…" Cressida halted. 'Cressida Lewis' was not exactly your average Rohirric name. "But I know no one in Edoras and I had to be directed here."
"I assure you it's all arranged. Let me show you the register."
Springing up, Mistress Hild hurried away. She returned holding a brown, leather ledger, embossed at the top with a golden stag. Opening it about two-thirds of the way through, she handed it over. Cressida stared at the parchment. Clearly printed in black ink was her name – her full name.
"But, Mistress Hild, I – I have no money to pay you."
The old lady smiled gently.
"Now don't you worry for one more moment about that. I'm sure an intelligent-looking thing like you will find a respectable way of earning coin in no time. Please say you'll stay. Aldus and I like having a full house, and it would be nice for me to have a bit more female company hereabouts."
It was so very tempting; Cressida's heart was telling her that she was being offered a comfortable place to stay for free – at least for the moment. Of course there were all the dark tales about things being too good to be true, but these were rapidly being over-ruled by thoughts of what it would be like outside by herself at night. In this weather, she could very well end up like Hans Christian Andersen's Little Match Girl. There could be thieves – or worse. Cressida shivered. Surely neither the Captain nor Wilfrith would have recommended this place if it was dodgy? Staying here would at least offer her some breathing space. And who else could say they'd actually been to Rohan?
"OK, I will."
Mistress Hild beamed.
"Wonderful! Now you drink up, and then I'll take you to your room. Maybe you would care for some mutton stew later? Firstly, however, I'll need you to sign the register."
She fetched a quill and inkpot from one of the shelves. Cressida smiled gingerly as she took up the feather and loaded the nib with ink. She soon realised that writing easily with a quill was definitely not something you mastered overnight, especially as said quill seemed to be cut with a right-handed person in mind. Eventually, however, a somewhat legible job was made of it.
Once their biscuits and drinks had been consumed, Mistress Hild led the way upstairs.
"We've put you on the second floor, dear. We're on the first, but we thought our guests might prefer a quieter setting, seeing how rowdy the inn gets in the evenings."
They soon came to a corridor that ran the length of the building and from which a handful of doors led off. Mistress Hild stopped in front of one and produced a bunch of keys. She unlocked the door.
"Here you are, dear. You'll find your key on the table. Now don't you forget about the stew; we'd be happy to share our table, or I could bring you up a bowlful?"
"I hadn't really thought…"
"Of course you hadn't. You must be tired. Tell you what, I'll let you know when I'm preparing it and you can decide then, hmm?"
As Cressida looked apprehensively into the room beyond, Mistress Hild took hold of her hand.
"Don't you worry, dear, we can be your family now."
It was an odd thing to say, but it was meant in kindness. Cressida smiled and nodded before stepping into her room. Once the door had closed behind her, she leant against it, exhaling slowly. Here she was, in Rohan, in The Lord of the Rings – a book for crying out loud. How the hell did she get here? And, more importantly, how did she plan on getting back?
TBC
*1 Dr Seuss (1904-1991).
*2 Henry V Act 4 Scene 3, 18-29.
*3 Disney's Peter Pan.