Disclamer: I do not own Tolkien or anything really.
This story is dedicated to the memory of my recently departed Grandfather who died last week. It is also for all those Grandparents who have many stories to share but no one wants to listen.
My Grandfather
The sun had started to dip in the sky on a warm March night. Nevertheless, the fire blazed brightly with a kettle cooking above. Grandfather got out of his chair and stoked the fire as his bright grandchildren watched. Grandmother was in the kitchen fixing the vegetables to go with dinner and the children could hear her singing songs of elves and hobbits from far away lands.
Grandfather sat back down in his chair and pulled out his pipe. He smiled warmly at the three grandchildren sitting at his feet. After adding the tobacco to his pipe, he lit it and blew smoke rings, which made the youngest grandchild laugh.
She laughed richly and her eyes gleamed.
Grandfather chuckled, "you like that dear don't you?"
She nodded.
Grandfather smiled again and proceeded to blow more smoke rings from his pipe while the youngest laughed again. He was glad to see his youngest grandchild smile and laugh again.
It had been a week since the death of King Elessar and all of Minas Tirith had gone into mourning. Grandfather, on the other hand, felt differently about the death of the king. He had been alive during the War of the Ring all those years ago. He was but a young lad of fifteen at the time and he had seen the battle first hand. Now, it appeared, he was the last human man to remember the war.
Grandmother, carrying a bowl of mashed potatoes, stuck her head into the living room.
"Dinner is ready, will you come eat it while it's hot?"
The three grandchildren nodded and quickly jumped up and ran to the kitchen. Grandfather slowly stood up and grabbed his cane. For the past twenty years he had used a cane to get around and he longed for the days of his youth. He always wondered why King Elessar lived so long in such good health. Grandfather never complained through, he was glad that he still held his faculties and his mind.
He reached the kitchen and sat down. In front of him a big bowl of steaming soup, a plate of vegetables, and a slice of bread already buttered for him. He looked up at his wife across the table and smiled.
"Thank you dear," he said.
She nodded and smiled in response as they tucked in and ate dinner. Towards the middle of the meal the youngest piped up.
"When's mummy and father going to come home?" she asked.
Grandfather set his cup down and smiled at her.
"They'll be home soon. You know the duties your parents perform."
The eldest child, Eradan, nodded.
"Yes and I'll follow in my fathers footsteps!" he exclaimed.
Grandfather's face darkened for a split second and he remembered the siege on this very city. He remembered being the same age as Eradan when he found a discarded sword in the streets and picked it up. He remembered thinking he would not survive the attack but he knew to fight for freedom and honour nonetheless.
It didn't matter now, though, peace reigned and the Gondorian soldiers were not a necessity anymore. But, through age and custom, the soldiers remained. Eradan's father stood guard of the Citadel and his mother became the head cook of the palace.
Dinner continued with no more talk and once the meal finished, Grandmother cleared the table and Grandfather and the children went back to the fireplace. The sky was now completely black and the only light came from the beautiful stars, the fireplace, the torches that lit the city streets, and the twinkle in Grandfathers eyes. Grandfather pulled out his pipe again and proceeded to light it.
"You're still smoking that thing?" Grandmother said with a pained sigh from the kitchen. She could smell the sweet cherry sent from Grandfathers pipe.
"Of course I am dear, besides the children love the smell. Don't you?"
The youngest nodded and Grandfather blew another smoke ring just for her. The middle child looked up at Grandfather with a curious expression.
"Grandfather, will you tell us a story?" she asked.
The other two children looked at him with longing eyes. They wanted to hear a story too.
"Yes Grandfather, a story!" the youngest asked.
Grandfather was very tired and he did not want to tell a story at the moment but the look in his youngest grandchild's eyes was enough to make him melt. He smiled and nodded.
"What is it you want to hear my dear?"
The three thought for a moment and conversed between them. Eradan became the spokesman for the group.
"Grandfather, we want to hear about our Great-grandfather!"
Grandfather's face changed for a second as he thought about his father. It had been many years since he walked the earth alive but still the pain was close. Nevertheless, Grandfather nodded. He motioned for the youngest to come take a spot on his lap and he held her close. Eradan and his sister sat at his feet and listened intently to Grandfathers words.
"Well your Great-grandfather, my father, was an honourable, simple man. You children would have benefited greatly if you had met him," he paused for a second and memories of his father rushed back at him. The child in his lap looked up at him.
"Are you okay Grandfather?"
He nodded and smiled.
"Of course I'm okay my love."
"Did Great-grandfather fight in the siege of Minas Tirith?" Eradan asked.
"Yes, but not willingly. Our house, during the War of the Ring, sat on the first level of this city. I was but a mere lad of fifteen that year. Many friends of ours said we should leave our house and go to the third level. Father would not budge. He had faith in the doors of the city and in its soldiers. Plus, Mother would not have been able to leave. Mother had suffered a broken leg the week before when one of the mule-carts going to market ran her over. Father had weapons, a few swords at most, and said we would defend our house as best as possible. The orcs broke through the door and I became frightened. Father told me to run for it and I did. I never looked back. When the war ended I went back to the house, scared of what I would find, and I found Mother and Fathers bodies. Father died protecting Mother from the orcs."
The door of the house opened and the grandchildren's parents entered. Mother looked worn and Father looked sad. Grandmother entered the room when she heard the door open.
"Mother!" the little one in Grandfathers lap exclaimed.
She jumped up and ran to give her mother a hug. Her mother returned the hug and kissed her on the forehead.
"Did you have a good day with Grandmother and Grandfather?"
She nodded.
"Grandfather was telling us about Great-Grandfather!"
Father looked up at Grandfather and sighed.
"What exactly have you been telling them?"
Before Grandfather could answer, Eradan answered.
"Grandfather told us how he died protecting his house."
Mother sighed.
"You're not going to get bad dreams tonight from this are you?"
The little one shook her head.
"Of course not Mother."
Mother smiled.
"Come on dears, its time to go home. I've had a long day. We finally finished washing dishes from Eldarion's coronation."
Father nodded sadly and sighed.
"It's just not the same," he whispered, "I miss King Elessar."
Grandfather nodded.
"Yes, but remember you are here today because of what happened many years ago. Through trial and tribulation Minas Tirith is what it is. Your children will grow up in a place of peace all their days because of what King Elessar did in his youth."
"And like what Great-Grandfather did too!"
Grandfather nodded.
"Yes, exactly."
The grandchildren hugged and kissed Grandfather and Grandmother goodbye and Mother and Father took them home. Grandmother sat on a rocking chair- one that had been in Grandfathers house when he was a lad- and knitted a new scarf. Grandfather sat on his chair deep in thought.
He recalled the many years that had gone by. He knew there were many stories he could not tell his Grandchildren including the war horror stories of bodies being hewn while they lay dead. He could remember the cries of his friends and the agony in which he felt when he learned his parents had been killed. It had been so many years ago, and yet the wounds felt like they were only beginning to heal.
He recalled the happiness he felt when it was all over. He actually shook King Elessar's hand one day. The man never acted regal, and he seemed to be generally interested in what people had to say to him. As the years went on, the men who fought in the battle and who could remember the olden days when evil threatened the world, became close with the King. He gave a banquet each year in remembrance to those who had perished and to those who had survived to live another day.
Eventually the number dwindled through the years and for the past five years the last two survivors of the War of Wrath were the king himself and Grandfather. In those five years Grandfather and King Elessar became close in friendship. They shared a bond no one else could possibly comprehend. They had never met on the battlefield during the war but they always understood what the other meant.
Now that King Elessar was dead, Grandfather knew that an era had finished.
It was time for him to go home too.