DISCLAIMER: I only own Aldamir, Camthalion, and the Elf whose name isn't stated. I also own the construction workers and the doorwardens, and the random advisor who comes knocking to find Éowyn . . . but I think that's it. I don't own anything else. The rest all belongs to Tolkien, may the lawyers never strike me down.
This is a response to a challenge from my friend Aerlalaith. She set me five terms, and they are as follows:
1. 1-2 chapters long.
2. Must be posted in a week and a day (eight days).
3. Must include Éowyn and her mothering abilities, Glorfindel, and Erestor's old reports.
4. Faramir cannot be in it (you may mention him, but that's it)
5. Must feature five of the listed: Mosquitoes, feather pillows, a cartload of bricks, 3 construction workers, Gandalf's hat, a small pipe, three lbs of pipeweed, drunk somebodies or sleepwalking.
I did my best to include Glorfindel, although it wasn't much, and I may have stretched the limit on Faramir a bit. I hope you like it, Hannah!
-----
"Why?"
There it was, again. The simple question that was surely to be the bane of Éowyn's existence.
"Because, my love," she explained as patiently as she could manage, "there are lots of bugs outside at this time of year. They will not bite you if you wear it." Aldamir was still wiggling in displeasure at the mosquito lotion's venomous smell. "Don't you remember what happened to poor Beregond last year?"
The child shook his head, and Éowyn smiled. "Would you like me to tell you the story?"
At the offered chance of a tale, Aldamir's struggles ceased almost immediately. Éowyn pulled the reluctant child into her lap. "Last year at this time, Beregond was traveling back from Minas Tirith with ten of your father's warriors." Éowyn discreetly popped open the mosquito lotion and slopped a small bit onto her hand.
"Someone – er – accidentally switched his personal supply of no-bug lotion for a lady's perfumed lotion. Mosquitoes love the smell of fruit." Aldamir's face was wrinkled in silent contemplation. Éowyn grabbed his arm and began slathering lotion all over it. She chuckled
"It was very hot out, and because the road between here and where the Elves live is not very dangerous, most of the men did not wear shirts for the last part of the journey. When Beregond got home, he was simply covered in red mosquito bites that itched like the Black Breath." She finished rubbing lotion over Aldamir's back and waited several moments for him to digest this new information.
"Did it itch very badly?"
"Oh, yes. So badly, in fact, that Beregond went swimming for five whole hours as soon as he got back. Your father had to pull him in to sup, and he missed the midday meal entirely. Beregond has kept a close watch on his mosquito lotion ever since, so that such an 'accident' never happens again." Éowyn lifted the boy off her lap and opened his wardrobe door. The tunic she was looking for was right on the end. She pulled it out and laid it on Aldamir's bed.
Aldamir gasped. "Mother, that looks just like Father's Ranger tunic!"
Éowyn was pleased. "You are going to be a Ranger today, are you not? You must dress just like a Ranger ought." She handed him a shirt and leggings, trusting the boy to put them on without mishap. He very nearly tripped over his own leggings in his excitement about the new 'grown-up' tunic. But when he did put on the hardy brown and green tunic, he pulled it on slowly, smelling the new cloth in fascination. His distress over foul-smelling lotion seemed to now be a thing of the past.
When Aldamir was only just completely dressed, someone rapped on the door. Éowyn shooed the boy to answer it while she scurried about, picking up a discarded towel, the jar of lotion, and other small artifacts strewn about the room.
The man at the door was one of Faramir's advisors and warriors. He grinned at the child, who waved back. "Lady Éowyn, my Lord Faramir requests your presence at the stables, if you are finished with my friend Aldamir, here."
"I am quite finished," Éowyn told him, wiping her hands on a handkerchief. "Though Aldamir must fill a knapsack with his own belongings to take on this outing. There are two more tunics just like that one in your wardrobe, my dear, and remember that you may only fill one knapsack, unless you wish to carry more."
Aldamir nodded. "Yes, mother. I remember."
"Good." Éowyn planted a kiss on the top of light-brown head. The boy took after his father in looks, but Faramir insisted that his temperament was just that of his brother Boromir's. He always said this with a wistful, faraway look in his eyes. It was the same look of remembering Éowyn always wore when she spoke of her uncle Théoden, her cousin Théodred, her parents, and many others she had known.
"Tell Father I shall be along shortly," Aldamir told her, so seriously that Éowyn had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing. He was clearly very proud to be wearing 'Ranger clothes' and was trying to adopt the manner of a brisk, on-task adult. He showed his mother to the door (the man waiting there was coughing in a suspicious manner) and, bowing, shut the door.
Éowyn smacked the advisor lightly on the shoulder, who was now guffawing heartily out of sight of the child. "You take my son for a mere child, friend Farothir? For from this day forth, he is a hardy Ranger, and not to be toyed with."
"Yes, my Lady. Is that forever, or from this day until he is returned to your mothering care?"
"More likely the latter."
-----
In his room, and rid of his lady Mother, Aldamir pursed his lips in contemplation. His knapsack was already packed, of course, except for the new tunics. He dragged these from the wardrobe, folded them just as he had been taught, and stuffed them into the knapsack. He was done. But his mother's story had given him other ideas.
It would be interesting to conduct an experiment that showed the dangers of not wearing the repulsive lotion that mosquitoes – and Aldamir – hated, and stayed away from. What if he wore it, but another Ranger in his company did not? Then he would see what happened when Rangers travelled without mosquito lotion. Aldamir was very curious, now.
Aldamir pulled from his bed his feather pillow and examined the case. It was just the right size for what he was thinking of. Satisfied, he removed his prized – and blunt, though he did not know it – knife from under his bedclothes (Rangers, he was told, always slept with a weapon hidden in their bedroll), and after some sawing, managed to slit the pillowcase. He tugged at the slit, ripping the pillowcase open.
There were lots of feathers inside. Aldamir lifted his blankets, and dumped them onto the mattress, then covered them with the sheets. He imagined it looked just like another pillow was under the covers.
On top of a chest of drawers sat the lotion. Aldamir looked at it for several moments, memorizing the color, then stuffed it into his recently vacated pillowcase. He grabbed his knapsack and boots, and trotted out into the hall, and stopped for a moment, frowning.
His mother did not wear perfumed lotion, but Aldamir knew that most of her female attendants did. He padded to her room, which happened to be right next to his and cautiously cracked the door open.
Peering in, Aldamir saw that the room was quite empty. He tiptoed across to the vanity mirror, on top of which sat several jars of lotions. Most of them were about the same size as the jar which held Aldamir's mosquito lotion. Standing on the his toes Aldamir pulled a likely-looking jar off the top, but replaced it when he saw it was filled with something colored dark red. The next one, however, contained something cream-colored, and he pulled the top off.
Sniffing it, he coughed. Now he knew why Beregond had not recognized the difference between the mosquito lotion and the lady's face cream that he had mistaken for it. It smelled almost as bad, if not even worse.
For Aldamir's purposes, it would do quite nicely. He replaced it with the jar of mosquito lotion, and put the face cream instead into his pillowcase. Then he ran out of the lady's room, shut the door, and hurried to the entrance hall, throwing his knapsack on as he went.
-----
Beregond, Éowyn and two other Rangers Aldamir knew by sight were waiting there for him. He skidded to a halt several yards away from his father, and bowed hurriedly, effectively putting the hand holding the pillowcase with the jar of face cream behind his back. "Mother, I am ready. Are we going now? Are they coming with us? How long will it take to reach the Elves? Will we be riding horses?" They were all questions that he had asked earlier in the day, at the morning meal, but he wanted to ask them again. He was very excited!
"We shall leave once my Lord Faramir bids the Lady Éowyn farewell and joins us. We are all coming with you. It shall take us two days to travel to the Elves, and we will be bringing horses." They would be going slowly for the child's benefit. Normally, it would only take a day to travel to the Elven Colony of Ithilien, but Aldamir had never been there before. If they had wanted to travel quickly, they could still get there by nightfall, as it wasn't quite ten in the morning yet.
Aldamir smiled innocently up at Beregond. "Beregond, do you also have to wear mosquito lotion? I wish I did not have to. It does not smell very nice," he said cautiously. Beregond's grin was indulgent and amused, which pleased Aldamir.
"Yes I do, little one. Though I have not put it on yet."
"You may use mine," Aldamir offered. "I don't want it anymore." He offered the man the jar of scented lotion.
"My thanks, Aldamir," said the man, accepting the gift. "Let us go out to the stables and see to our horses. Faramir, Mablung and Camthalion shall join us there. But say goodbye to your mother, now! You shall be gone for a whole week!"
Aldamir ran to Éowyn, who wrapped him in a hug. She kissed the top of his head, then knelt down and held his shoulders at arm's length. "You will mind your manners, won't you? Be good, and I shall see you again in a week. Do not cause Beregond, Camthalion, or Mablung too much trouble, or I will be forced to come on the next excursion, to look after you and your father!" She crushed him in a hug again, and when he was finally released, Aldamir kissed her on the cheek.
"I'll be good, Mother. And tell Barahir that I will miss him!" He bit his lip and looked down at his feet. "I'll miss you too, Mama. I love you." Éowyn smiled and squeezed both of his much smaller hands in one of hers.
"I will see you again in not so very long, my love. Now, go! They are waiting for you! And I must harry your father along – he is being very slow."
Aldamir turned and saw Camthalion and Beregond waiting for him by the doors. His old excitement returned in favor of the fear he felt at leaving his mother, and he ran and grabbed a hand of each Ranger. Camthalion held his boots, and he shoved them on before pulling the other two our of the double doors that four grinning doorwardens held open. He waved to them, and the three construction workers by the stables with a cart of bricks. One of these men frowned as Beregond passed him by, his nostrils flaring. Then he shook his head. Rangers did not smell of peaches or pears. No respectable Man of Gondor did, except maybe the King.
-----
Nightfall saw the five travelers bedded down in the woods of Ithilien. Aldamir and Faramir had gone to sleep early, both exhausted. Beregond thought that the former had been simply running on adrenaline all day, and the latter had been chasing his energetic child for most of it. He smiled, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. He knew what that felt like.
Camthalion had taken the first guard duty, and Mablung was rummaging through somebody's pack. Beregond, who was relaxing and smoking by the fire-embers, was very taken aback when he heard Mablung give a muffled snort of laughter.
"What ails, my friend?" he inquired without turning around. "Does Faramir sleepwalk again?"
"Nay," the other man answered, chuckling. "But pray smell your arm, Beregond."
Beregond suddenly felt a sense of foreboding. He pushed his sleeve back, smelt it, and exhaled loudly. "Peaches!" he groaned. "Peaches and pears!" He turned and glared at Mablung, who was shaking with silent laughter. "Is this again your doing, good Mablung?"
"No, not mine! Not this time, I say. But was it not your lord's own son who offered you his no-bug lotion in the stead of your own?" Beregond nodded, and Mablung fell back on the ground, helpless with laughter. "A child! And he is not even eight years old! You have been bested by a child, with a trick you thought yourself prepared against! Poor, poor Beregond."
"Do we have no extra?" Beregond asked, though he already knew the answer.
"None at all, save what the child may have. It stays on for at least three days, though I wager yours will be gone by the morning. And though we had clouds today, I predict hot and humid weather for tomorrow. Your cloak will become very sticky, and your shirt and tunic are already dirty, after chasing young Aldamir into a mudhole." Mablung got up and joined him at the fireside, clapping a hand to his shoulder. "Your luck is very bad, my friend. Let it be known that I do pity you."
-----
By suppertime, the small party arrived at the Elves' dwelling. The weather had been as Mablung had predicted, and Beregond had been forced to brave the mosquitoes and strip his shirt off, though he was not happy about it. The result was plain. Personally, Aldamir though his 'experiment' had worked very well, and he even thanked Beregond for participating, getting a very forced smile in return. Aldamir even ran a hand curiously over the many red bumps on his back, making the man yelp and jump away, scratching his back furiously. Camthalion laughed and lifted the child onto his shoulders "so to not irritate him further, the unlucky man."
After supper, a very disgruntled, drunk, and itching Beregond approached an Elf on the subject of mosquito lotion and a bath. After explaining his plight, the Elf laughed.
"Friend Beregond, I dwelt for a time in Imladris, and was an assistant to Lord Erestor. I also rode patrols with Lord Glorfindel, and I survived the youth of Lords Elladan and Elrohir. Come with me to my flet. I have an mosquito lotion, an old report of Erestor's, and a tale that might interest you."
Even though all a drunk Beregond really wanted to see was the lotion, a bath, and a bed, he followed the Elf and listened to his story.
"I remember once," the Elf said, "when the Lady Celebrían was visiting Lothlórien for a time, and the Lords Elrond, Erestor, and Glorfindel were put to manage the Peredhil twins. Ai! They were hard put to it, and when the chance came for Glorfindel to ride a patrol, he practically fled to the stables and galloped out of Imladris. That was the day he told me he pitied whoever would train the twins – not realizing that in only a few years time, he and the Lord Elrond would be begging my Lady to let them begin their warrior training. Of course, that was when Lady Celebrían was back in Imladris."
Reaching the tree, he hopped lightly onto the first branch. Beregond followed, a little less lightly and much more carefully. Climbing up to his flet, the Elf continued his story.
"There was an incident when Elladan toppled a stack of maps during a meeting, and assembled an army of toy warriors under the council table. After this incident, I chanced to read my master's – Lord Erestor's – notes on the council. When he went West, I sorted through his old papers, and kept that one. He included in it a bit of advice I think you may find profound." After hoisting himself into his flet, he reached down a hand to Beregond, who grasped it firmly and pulled himself up.
The Elf padded about, finding first a jar of mosquito lotion and handing it to Beregond, who gratefully grabbed it, pulled the top off, and smeared lotion on every bare piece of skin he could reach. When he was finished, and tried to hand the lotion back, the Elf waved it away.
"Keep it, friend," he said. "I have more. But do read this section of my Lord's old report, and take it to heart. I daresay it is advice you would do well to remember in the future."
Whereupon Beregond managed to focus his – only slightly, he told himself – drunken eyes, and read:
Never underestimate the cunning of small children, for even toddlers prove trickier than a wood-Elf intoxicated with Dorwinnian Wine. I speak especially of small children with Elvish and Man's blood in their veins – the combination is practically deadly.
"His grandmother was of the line of Nimrodel," Beregond sighed. "Indeed, he has Elvish blood."
The Elf burst into laughter. "Worry not, good Beregond! I've no doubt you'll survive his youth, even as his father's personal guard."
Beregond smiled. "Be that as it may, I'll never hear the end of this. Not from my wife, my son, or even my friend the Halfling."
– END –