1: Grey Morning
It was the second hour before dawn and the city of Minas Tirith lay hushed as with slumber, removed from the chill that rested ever upon these hours.
Brin pulled a thick green shirt over her brown felt leggings and beaten black boots as she passed through the little kitchen, adjusting the worn leather belt around her waist as she went, on which was hung a sword of little lineage in an even more worn brown leather scabbard. Her long, rich brown hair she tied in a single braid that hung almost the whole length of her back. She paused to stoke the dying embers of the fire that she had left to dwindle only six hours past and threw on the two faggots left from yesterday before she passed soundlessly out of the side door. She paused in the alleyway and turned her head to see the sinking moon and her green-brown eyes, the irises ringed with a soft grey, shone and sparkled in its light. She bowed her head in greeting and moved out into the street.
The Kings Hearth Inn was in the third circle and as she passed through the city all about her was quiet but not still. Here and there in the middle distance guards moved about the walls and once a swift messenger from Ithilien passed her, clad all in green and horseless. The tower of guard did not sleep.
When she reached the gates of the citadel Brin stopped and leant against the cold stone walls of one of the finer dwellings of the city. It lay now empty and cheerless. She was late, but Beregond was later coming from duty. Now, standing still, the morning air wrapped itself around her and she thought longingly of her old green cloak hanging on its peg in the kitchen. Her breath came out in little silver clouds that whirled away as if caught in the wake of the larger ones that slid across the paling sky, marring those stars that still endured. And though it was partly due to the cloudlessness that she shivered she begrudged even this slight parting. She turned her face from the sky but the star shimmer in her eyes remained.
Now, some sixty strides distant, she saw the figure of Beregond coming from the dusky gloom, and it was welcome indeed. Beregond was a soldier of the Third Company and had long been her friend in the city. He was strong and tall in stature and though humble was worthy of great praise for his deeds and bearing as a soldier.
She walked forwards out of the shadows to meet him and they turned together towards the lower courtyard.
The moon glinted white on the steel as they drew their swords. For more than a year Beregond had been instructing her in the sword and though he often protested he was inadequate for the task, she knew she could find no better teacher within all the realm of Gondor unless it was Captain Faramir himself. But their training was erratic, for neither one could get away every morning, nor indeed could often be present even when meetings were arranged for there were many demands on the time of a guard of the tower and just as many on the time of a multi-purpose maid in a popular Inn. Though in these latter days popular meant a lot less work than it used to.
They were not long into their first round when Brin sent the sword from his hand and had her own blade at his throat. He fell back on the frosted cobbles and laughed, "Too good, too good." Brin extended a hand and pulled him up. He brought his sword with him and advanced on her again. Four more times they fought and four more times Beregond was bested. At last he stood back from her and raised his hands in surrender. He smiled at her and said, "Little light, you outshine me." Brin laughed and sheathed her sword. "It has been many weeks since I have been able to teach you anything. Alas, I think our time as teacher and student is at an end."
Brin remembered the first time those words had been said to her, by the elf, Aldalöme. Weary of Mirkwood and making his slow way to the sea, he had journeyed south to see the lands he would leave, one last time so as to remember them better. He had tarried in the city, long in her short life but only a brief space of time for him, and had taught her the elven tongues and the elvish versions of lays taught to her by Mithrandir in her youth, which were far fairer than their counterparts in the Westron. Mithrandir had been the only teacher to part from her saying "You have much yet to learn". But she said only to Beregond,
"That is well, for it will give us more time to be friends." They clasped hands and Brin, seeing how the sky had lightened, took her leave of him and turned back towards the inn.
It was a long winding way back through the city and as her road turned her towards the east she saw the first yellow gleam of a sun still clinging to the pallor of winter and she thought again of Mithrandir. Unbidden into her mind came the words he had spoken to her as a young girl.
"When I found you as a babe, in a bed of soft spring flowers, wild violets and fallen cherry blossoms they were, amongst the roots of an old tree, it was as if the whole forest had come to care for you and make you smile. The finches and sparrows sung for you in the bowers above, rabbits and other such woodland creatures that gathered by your bed and the moon and stars shone down upon you as bright as I have ever seen them. I think, had there been a creature amongst them large enough, it would have carried you away and raised you as its own. But it was your doom that an old man was the first creature of adequate size to reach you in his wanderings."
He had painted a beautiful picture in her mind but always she had known that only a stones throw from the rabbits and the finches her mother lay dead with an orc arrow in her back.
Now she longed to see Mithrandir again and have his company and council. Doubts and troubles had played on her mind since his last visit two autumns ago. He had come to her briefly while on some other business in the city to say only that he had found the kin of her mother in the north. She was a daughter or the Dúnadan. It had meant little to her that day for she was also a daughter of Haelwen, who owned the Kings Hearth and had taken her in and raised her and given her a means by which to earn her keep. But ever after that day she found herself looking north and wondering, for there was always a pull from those countries beyond the border that she had not yet seen and now the feeling had a thought to go with it. She would not leave the white city but her heart would not have her altogether forsake the north. So she went to the young lad who cared for the horses and brought him his meal in the evening and he taught her to ride. And it chanced that in her labours she met Beregond and Aldalöme, who besides teaching her the grey and high eleven tongues taught her all he knew of archery and weapons craft.
She was suddenly aware that she was completely prepared and almost all of her excuses no longer held. She could ride to the satisfaction of those who trained the city's cavalry. She could wield sword as well as any man on guard in the city though she was unseasoned in battle and she could draw bow better than most men for only elves have truly mastered that craft. She knew herb lore, for healing. Forestry and hunting, for living and her work at the inn had trained her for long weary hours. She knew well the lore of all lands for in her time with Mithrandir their minds had wandered together through time and throughout all the lands of middle-earth. The maps of all lands men had ever visited were ready in her mind and her journey was planned. All her shortcomings were only in experience of the world. And yet she walked back to the inn in calm silence and passing through the kitchen, now warmed by the fire, she came to her own small room. Noiselessly she changed into her soft wool liene and the courser blue wool dress she wore over it.
As was her chore everyday she came to the kitchen as the rest of the house was stirring and began to make the days bread. Soon Haelwen would come and make the breakfast for what few guests they had and when she thought of Haelwen, Brin felt she could not leave. Though she knew if she didn't that her heart would wither inside her like a flower drawn early from the soil and left long by the fire and the light would go from her eyes. There was nothing left to learn in the white city. Empty home of kings.
It was the second hour before dawn and the city of Minas Tirith lay hushed as with slumber, removed from the chill that rested ever upon these hours.
Brin pulled a thick green shirt over her brown felt leggings and beaten black boots as she passed through the little kitchen, adjusting the worn leather belt around her waist as she went, on which was hung a sword of little lineage in an even more worn brown leather scabbard. Her long, rich brown hair she tied in a single braid that hung almost the whole length of her back. She paused to stoke the dying embers of the fire that she had left to dwindle only six hours past and threw on the two faggots left from yesterday before she passed soundlessly out of the side door. She paused in the alleyway and turned her head to see the sinking moon and her green-brown eyes, the irises ringed with a soft grey, shone and sparkled in its light. She bowed her head in greeting and moved out into the street.
The Kings Hearth Inn was in the third circle and as she passed through the city all about her was quiet but not still. Here and there in the middle distance guards moved about the walls and once a swift messenger from Ithilien passed her, clad all in green and horseless. The tower of guard did not sleep.
When she reached the gates of the citadel Brin stopped and leant against the cold stone walls of one of the finer dwellings of the city. It lay now empty and cheerless. She was late, but Beregond was later coming from duty. Now, standing still, the morning air wrapped itself around her and she thought longingly of her old green cloak hanging on its peg in the kitchen. Her breath came out in little silver clouds that whirled away as if caught in the wake of the larger ones that slid across the paling sky, marring those stars that still endured. And though it was partly due to the cloudlessness that she shivered she begrudged even this slight parting. She turned her face from the sky but the star shimmer in her eyes remained.
Now, some sixty strides distant, she saw the figure of Beregond coming from the dusky gloom, and it was welcome indeed. Beregond was a soldier of the Third Company and had long been her friend in the city. He was strong and tall in stature and though humble was worthy of great praise for his deeds and bearing as a soldier.
She walked forwards out of the shadows to meet him and they turned together towards the lower courtyard.
The moon glinted white on the steel as they drew their swords. For more than a year Beregond had been instructing her in the sword and though he often protested he was inadequate for the task, she knew she could find no better teacher within all the realm of Gondor unless it was Captain Faramir himself. But their training was erratic, for neither one could get away every morning, nor indeed could often be present even when meetings were arranged for there were many demands on the time of a guard of the tower and just as many on the time of a multi-purpose maid in a popular Inn. Though in these latter days popular meant a lot less work than it used to.
They were not long into their first round when Brin sent the sword from his hand and had her own blade at his throat. He fell back on the frosted cobbles and laughed, "Too good, too good." Brin extended a hand and pulled him up. He brought his sword with him and advanced on her again. Four more times they fought and four more times Beregond was bested. At last he stood back from her and raised his hands in surrender. He smiled at her and said, "Little light, you outshine me." Brin laughed and sheathed her sword. "It has been many weeks since I have been able to teach you anything. Alas, I think our time as teacher and student is at an end."
Brin remembered the first time those words had been said to her, by the elf, Aldalöme. Weary of Mirkwood and making his slow way to the sea, he had journeyed south to see the lands he would leave, one last time so as to remember them better. He had tarried in the city, long in her short life but only a brief space of time for him, and had taught her the elven tongues and the elvish versions of lays taught to her by Mithrandir in her youth, which were far fairer than their counterparts in the Westron. Mithrandir had been the only teacher to part from her saying "You have much yet to learn". But she said only to Beregond,
"That is well, for it will give us more time to be friends." They clasped hands and Brin, seeing how the sky had lightened, took her leave of him and turned back towards the inn.
It was a long winding way back through the city and as her road turned her towards the east she saw the first yellow gleam of a sun still clinging to the pallor of winter and she thought again of Mithrandir. Unbidden into her mind came the words he had spoken to her as a young girl.
"When I found you as a babe, in a bed of soft spring flowers, wild violets and fallen cherry blossoms they were, amongst the roots of an old tree, it was as if the whole forest had come to care for you and make you smile. The finches and sparrows sung for you in the bowers above, rabbits and other such woodland creatures that gathered by your bed and the moon and stars shone down upon you as bright as I have ever seen them. I think, had there been a creature amongst them large enough, it would have carried you away and raised you as its own. But it was your doom that an old man was the first creature of adequate size to reach you in his wanderings."
He had painted a beautiful picture in her mind but always she had known that only a stones throw from the rabbits and the finches her mother lay dead with an orc arrow in her back.
Now she longed to see Mithrandir again and have his company and council. Doubts and troubles had played on her mind since his last visit two autumns ago. He had come to her briefly while on some other business in the city to say only that he had found the kin of her mother in the north. She was a daughter or the Dúnadan. It had meant little to her that day for she was also a daughter of Haelwen, who owned the Kings Hearth and had taken her in and raised her and given her a means by which to earn her keep. But ever after that day she found herself looking north and wondering, for there was always a pull from those countries beyond the border that she had not yet seen and now the feeling had a thought to go with it. She would not leave the white city but her heart would not have her altogether forsake the north. So she went to the young lad who cared for the horses and brought him his meal in the evening and he taught her to ride. And it chanced that in her labours she met Beregond and Aldalöme, who besides teaching her the grey and high eleven tongues taught her all he knew of archery and weapons craft.
She was suddenly aware that she was completely prepared and almost all of her excuses no longer held. She could ride to the satisfaction of those who trained the city's cavalry. She could wield sword as well as any man on guard in the city though she was unseasoned in battle and she could draw bow better than most men for only elves have truly mastered that craft. She knew herb lore, for healing. Forestry and hunting, for living and her work at the inn had trained her for long weary hours. She knew well the lore of all lands for in her time with Mithrandir their minds had wandered together through time and throughout all the lands of middle-earth. The maps of all lands men had ever visited were ready in her mind and her journey was planned. All her shortcomings were only in experience of the world. And yet she walked back to the inn in calm silence and passing through the kitchen, now warmed by the fire, she came to her own small room. Noiselessly she changed into her soft wool liene and the courser blue wool dress she wore over it.
As was her chore everyday she came to the kitchen as the rest of the house was stirring and began to make the days bread. Soon Haelwen would come and make the breakfast for what few guests they had and when she thought of Haelwen, Brin felt she could not leave. Though she knew if she didn't that her heart would wither inside her like a flower drawn early from the soil and left long by the fire and the light would go from her eyes. There was nothing left to learn in the white city. Empty home of kings.
