Chapter Eleven
Now winter nights enlarge
This number of their hours;
And clouds their storms
Discharge upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze
And cups o'erflow with wine,
Let well-tuned words amaze
With harmony divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
Shall wait on honey love
While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights
Sleep's leaden spells remove.
-"Now Winter Nights Enlarge," Thomas Campion
Shouts and laughter were no way to start a winter's morning, Rhoswen thought to herself, turning over in bed and shutting her eyes tightly, trying to muster up the will to get out of bed. The sun was low in the sky, but out in the corridor someone was wide awake, and adamant that the rest of the castle should know so. "Kings and lords must now give way! Lords of Misrule rule the day!"
Suddenly there was a hammering of tiny fists on the door, and the piping voices of the city boys shouting for the occupants to "Open, in the name of the Lord of Misrule!"
We have such customs in Anfalas, but surely they are not so early, Rhoswen told herself with a weary smile, having been warned several days previous about what was to happen today, the last day of the old year. She climbed out of bed, slipping her feet into bedshoes and shuffling towards the door as Maireth turned over, shaking sleep from her eyes to peer through the darkness towards her mistress. Rhoswen drew the bolt back, pretending surprise as she was met with a prickle of practice swords and wooden daggers, brightly painted and held menacingly by the troupe of boys outside her door. "Good heavens, what is this?" she asked, feigning alarm.
"We've come to take you captive, Lady Rhoswen!" one of the younger boys announced, getting a sharp elbow in his rib for his troubles. "Idiot, we're not s'posed to tell her that!" she thought she heard one say.
"Captive! Oh, me, whatever shall I do? I've never been taken captive before," Rhoswen admitted, in that bright voice one always uses around young children. "Should I shout loudly?"
"No!" chorused all the boys. "You'd wake the guards up!" the very talkative younger one who had spoken up earlier said.
"But I daresay it will be much more impressive if you can say you took me by force from a lot of armed guards," Rhoswen reminded them. There was nodding among the boys. Rhoswen turned around and let her best damsel in distress voice echo back into her room. "Help, help, Maireth! We are under attack by the fierce knights of the Lord of Misrule! Whatever shall we do?"
"You'll put something on before you go out into the rest of the Steward's house, first," Maireth announced grumpily. "Shame on you young boys, thinking of taking a lady out in her nightdress. Gentlemen and knights would know better."
The boys shrank back, a little cowed by the matronly Maireth, and they waited quietly at the door while the maidservant helped Rhoswen into a bed jacket, a heavy overrobe of dark blue velvet lined at the sleeves with rabbit's fur. Now at least a little more decent, Rhoswen was sent on her way with the raucous troupe of boys to be lead to the Great Hall, where several other captives were waiting, guarded by the older squires who could still be persuaded to get out of bed early and the very youngest of the boys, those who were not old enough to know exactly what went on at End-Year. Some of the hostages had not been as fortunate as Rhoswen when they were dragged from their beds – Serawen, Rhoswen chuckled inwardly to note, was standing in the hall in a very creased night dress with a shawl thrown over her shoulders. Her betrothed would probably be the one to ransom her; Hirluin of Pinnath Gelin was in the city for end year, she knew, though Rhoswen had not seen him yet.
But however poorly they had been woken, the boys knew how to treat their hostages. Breakfast was broken out, buns and sweetcakes and ale and some of the leftovers from the dinner before. And slowly, those family members who had found red ribbons tied to their doors would be coming down to the Great Hall to ransom back their loved ones for gifts and trinkets for the boys.
Faramir came down to the great hall well before his brother, and looking a great deal more awake than some of the other family members there. "I have roused him, lady," he promised Rhoswen. "He will here as soon as he's found himself fit to be seen."
"I do not doubt he will come in haste," Rhoswen said with a smile. Faramir chuckled.
"Thank heavens he did not come in too much haste – when I told him you had been taken captive he nearly jumped out of bed to rescue you." Faramir leaned closer, whispering. "And he was in no fit state to be seen by anyone else, lady."
Rhoswen blushed a little to consider what that would mean.
No one would say the pages and squires had not been through; no noble family was spared ransom. Arthion's wife had been taken by their son, a boisterous lad among the older boys almost too old for such games. The Lord Hurin, Keeper of the Keys, had also come, ready to retrieve his daughter.
The Ransoming began one captive at a time, the boys shouting the name to the assembled guests and the hastily roused family members coming forward reading for the bargaining table. Rhoswen was paying little attention to the other captives – she had found Faeldes, waiting in the edge of the crowd to ransom back her daughters from a cousin of theirs (her own son was too young yet to participate) and they discussed instead of paying all the attention to it they should have.
Slowly the room emptied – the families and some of the boys left, until Rhoswen was one of the only captives left in the hall. Her name was shouted by a curiously young sounding Bergil, and Boromir stepped out of the crowd, a bemused smile on his face. He looked very princely, Rhoswen thought to herself, remembering that she was still in her overrobe and nightgown. Faramir had said that his brother had rushed to her salvation when he heard of it – what had made him pause before a mirror and rustle the hair out of his face, and make sure that the deep blue surcoat he wore hung just the right way to make him seem so much taller, so much more…noble?
"Ah, now, we save the deepest pockets for nigh near last. Well, Master Misrule, what do you want for my bonny bride?" Boromir asked, standing with his hands crossed and that slight smile on his face as he faced down Bergil.
"A new dagger, from the Tower Armory, with a belt to match it, and a scabbard!" Bergil said decidedly. "A sword, a sword, you should have said a sword!" the other boys goaded.
The Captain Heir smiled and glanced at Rhoswen. "Such gifts are costly, master Misrule, but the Lady Rhoswen is a princely prize. Do you want aught else for her?"
"I want a favor from the lady, that I can wear and be her champion, since I'm the one that got her this morning!" Bergil announced. The rest of the waiting courtiers gasped nearly silently, whispering among themselves that this was highly irregular. "And a kiss," he added, glancing at Rhoswen with a childish glimmer in his eyes. What songs have they been teaching him? Rhoswen wondered. No boy-child would ask for a kiss like that.
Boromir struck his chest as if he had been hit with an invisible arrow. "Master Misrule, do you intend to beggar me? Her kisses are too precious to me to give up one so lightly to another man. Ask for something else. I cannot pay that hostage price."
"My lord," Rhoswen put in, "Is it not my right to give my kisses when I will? There will be plenty left for you when I am done. Come here, Bergil, and take this ribbon, and your kiss." She unknotted the ribbon at the end of her hastily-finished braid and held it out as a lady in a poem might hold her favor out to her favorite knight.
Surprised at what his own boldness had netted him, Bergil hesitated, finally scampering forward and taking the ribbon, looking up at Rhoswen in trepidation. His expression made Rhoswen laugh, and she knelt down, kissing Bergil on the cheek as a mother kisses her child before sending him off to bed. "Arise, little champion. Your lady bids you go and make your merriment. Although you should know," she added, trying to make him feel a little less self-concious about the whole business, "that not even Boromir has a favor like that from me. You should be very honored."
This seemed to help, and Bergil skipped back to his group of boys with a proud note in his step, leaving Boromir to offer Rhoswen his arm and lead her away from 'captivity' back upstairs to prepare for the rest of the day's merriments.
"That was bold of him, to ask for such a thing. Boys of that age seldom like to think of girls as more than a foreign breed. I should know, I was one of them once," the Captain-Heir added wryly.
"It was bold of you to deny him," Rhoswen countered.
"While we are speaking of boldness, Lady, I shall say nothing of your brazen speech of kisses while you stood in your nightdress with your hair unbound and wild. Yes, don't think I hadn't noticed," Boromir added, turning away ruefully. Rhoswen laughed, and he turned back, frowning a little through his smile. "You blush, but yet you still smile. Why is that?"
"Sometimes it gives a woman pleasure, to know she is admired by men."
"And these same women run away when men speaking of pleasing beyond the eyes?" Boromir scoffed. Rhoswen quickly turned her face away, and he could see her cheeks were burning hot. "Forgive me, that was cruel of me."
Rhoswen pursed her lips, trying to think of what to say. "It was true, cruel or not. We are confusing creatures. But then, we are also confused ourselves. Taught to allure, but not let ourselves be lured. To occupy ourselves, but not beyond the limits of ornament. To feel and love, but not deep enough to know the meaning of the word. To seduce, but not allow fruit to the seduction to blossom."
She's thought about this a great deal. "Do I lure you?" Boromir asked, suddenly full of curiosity. No one before told me women thought the same way men do.
In the worst way, my lord, Rhoswen thought to herself, mindful that he could not see her face to know that she frowned and looked afraid. That is why I turn away and hate myself. Would you look on me so lovingly when you see inside my mind? "I am not without my weaknesses. Something in my heart thinks this would be easier, if I were to give you what you want."
"And something of my heart knows that it would not be…easier. Only more dangerous."
They said no more after that, each thinking the same thing, thinking if the worst should happen when Rhoswen was heavy with child her baby would be bastard born, and never to know a father. The silence between them was a brittle thing.
"Is it strange for you, to think of when we will be married?" Boromir wondered aloud.
"A little. But I have always known I would be married. To whom, I never knew. But I could not imagine a better man," Rhoswen said loyally, glancing at her betrothed.
"Oh, you know so little of me, Rhoswen, to think I am a good man. I look at this hair of yours and see it spread across a pillow." He paused in the hallway, wrapping a dark tendril of her fast- unbraiding hair around his finger. I look at that nightdress and imagine taking it off, when I am alone in my bed at night. Yes, this will haunt me when I am in Osgiliath with only stars for bedmates. Men are never good enough for the women who love them.
Rhoswen looked at her braid and tried quickly to bind it up, forgetting that the ribbon that had held it together was gone. "If it is tempting, let me do away with it!" she offered, the gesture warming Boromir's smile. How helpful she tried to be!
"Leave it be. Let me look at it a little while longer. It will do no great damage before its time." He left the lock to fall back to her shoulder, and they continued upstairs.
"So, my lord," Rhoswen asked once they were free of the crowds in the banqueting hall and once again in the more private part of the Steward's house, " What will you do with your damsel now that you have rescued her?"
"Well," Boromir said, "It has been our custom, Faramir and I, to spend the day playing games until our family dinner, in the evening, and to give our gifts. It was father's custom, too, when we were younger," the captain heir remembered with a bitter taste in his mouth. "He has since given up the practice."
"In Anfalas for the Midwinter we would have a large family dinner as well," Rhoswen added. "My brothers and their households would come home, to Mithgaear, and share the meal, and light the candles at midnight."
Boromir laughed. "There are no family dinners here, I am afraid, Rose, only state functions with family present. It will be a feast, not a cozy celebration like you are used to. But there will be singing, and wassail, and good cheer, if we can manage to keep Father sedate enough," he put in, pleased that the joke brought a smile to Rhoswen's face. "So, will you join Faramir and I for a game of chess?"
"I do not know, my lord, if being alone in your apartments…" Rhoswen began, her face falling as the full implications of her betrothed's invitation became clear to her.
"I have taken the liberty of already inviting your brother," Boromir offered. "And you…you need not come if you are…unwell in the idea."
"I should change my gown," Rhoswen said quickly.
"But of course," Boromir said, having forgotten that while he was dressed, Rhoswen was still in her nightgown. They finished the walk upstairs, Boromir waiting outside the door while Maireth bustled around behind it, making her mistress ready for the day. When she emerged again, hair bound back as was proper for her under a set of starry silver combs, Boromir had to smile; her dress, while a deep green that might have made some wonder at her adherence to city style, was embroidered with a nearly invisible lattice of leaves and flowers. The color spoke of evergreen trees and wintertime, a season the city loved for its gravitas – the pattern spoke of spring and Rhoswen's gardens.
"Can you ever dress poorly?" he wondered aloud, taking her hand and kissing her lightly on the cheek.
"You are a biased observer, my lord," Rhoswen submitted gently, taking his hand and following him to his apartments.
Faramir and his two guests stood as Rhoswen and Boromir entered, the younger brother bowing to Boromir and his betrothed in a courtly style Rhoswen seldom saw in the Steward's Halls. Erun she recoginized as one, but the other she could not see."My lady, I have taken the liberty of inviting another to our little gathering. I think you and he may already have an acquaintance," Faramir offered, leading Rhoswen around the gaming table to introduce the third man, who had been sitting with his back to the door when they had arrived. Boromir did not recognize the tall, dark haired stranger, but evidently Rhoswen did, for her face lit up into a wide smile and she opened her arms to him.
"Lord Hirluin!" she exclaimed, greeting the lord (of Pinnath Gelin, now Boromir remembered) with the embrace due to a brother, or a very close family friend. "I did not remember you would be in the city! This is a pleasure I did not expect!"
"When I had heard you had left Anfalas to marry into the House of Hurin, I did not think much of the news, Lady. Now I see the other side of my mountains has lost a rare jewel to the end of the Ered Nimrais," Hirluin exclaimed, his blue eyes twinkling with the look of a man who dearly enjoys making others laugh. The Fair, that was what they called him. Hirluin the Fair. He was the sort of man that women liked to look on, Boromir thought, touching the stubble of his own beard as he pondered Hirluin's Numenorean good looks and smooth, clean-shaven cheeks. Had there been a time when Rhoswen had turned her thoughts to him? "I think it has been more years than I remember since I saw you," Hirluin was saying. "It is not fair, Erun," he said, turning to Rhoswen's brother. "These lords of the east are taking all our women."
"And you are taking back some of ours, do not forget," Faramir reminded diplomatically. Hirluin smiled and shrugged.
"I suppose that is true! The Lady Serawen is no mean prize to give up to the mists and the mountains, I suppose."
"I heard she was a prisoner of the Lords of Misrule this morning," Boromir put in. "Pray tell, what did you pay to ransom her?"
"She was affronted it was only a wooden shield, but I would have paid more if it were asked of me. I hear that you yourself did not go cheaply, either, Lady Rhoswen," Hirluin said, his eyes sparkling as he smiled at Rhoswen. "Alas, my own prisoner drew me away before I could see your own ransoming."
"If I had known it would have caused such a stir I would not have come with them," Rhoswen admitted.
"An Armory dagger and scabbard are a price I am well willing to pay and pay again for Rhoswen. But the kiss wounded more than I want to say," Boromir said, catching Rhoswen's gaze and affecting to be hurt deeply by the morning's events.
"The boy asked for a kiss?" Hirluin asked, surprised and very much amused.
"He is a friend of mine," Rhoswen explained. "I think it was a dare from an older boy, to tell the truth."
"And did you give him one?" Hirluin queried again. Rhoswen nodded and shrugged, and the Lord of Pinnath Gelin laughed.
"I shall have to meet this bold little cavalier!" he exclaimed.
"When I meet him again I shall surely have the bettering of him," Boromir said sourly. "He nearly made a cuckold of me, and we not even wed yet."
"Come, my lord, shall I pay you back again?" Rhoswen asked, looking up at Boromir, Hirluin's high spirits and all four men's smiles making her bold.
"What kind of question is that?" Boromir asked, sliding his arm around her waist to pull her close for yet another kiss, sourness forgotten.
"Now, now, brother," Faramir cut in amid the laughter of the others. "Take care you do not take all her kisses now, else there will be none left to ransom her from other foes."
Boromir rolled his eyes and smiled wider, giving Rhoswen one final peck on her nose before letting go of their embrace so she might sit down beside the game board.
"I think it is an amusing custom," Erun said, sitting back down to the game at hand. "The children get their gifts, the household is turned topsy turvy for an hour or so and the slugabeds may go back to sleep if they wish when it is over. Children need their games."
"As do men, it seems," Rhoswen said, looking at the board, a strange configuration of three concentric squares with paths in between them, as if they were linked roads through a city. "I confess I do not know this one."
"Shall I teach you?" Boromir said, wrapping his arm around her waist again and leaning closer to her. "It is called merels, or morris, if you are among the men of Rohan. The idea is to leave none of your opponent's men on the board."
Erun laughed. "Boromir lies, sister, it is a bit more complicated than that. Faramir has been trying to teach me all morning and I still have not managed to discern a way to set the pieces so a man may win!"
"Then I shall watch, and you will explain as we go along, and then I shall try playing it. If you will let me," she added.
Faramir nodded. "Of course, lady."
The object, as Erun had said, was to remove all the pieces, but the game was further complicated by having to lay the pieces down and then move them along the paths. Three pieces in a row could not be touched, and by moving a piece in and out of these rows of three one could take his opponent's piece off the board. Erun fared badly, with Faramir easily winning all of the six or seven games they played while Rhoswen tried to riddle out the rules, which seemed like they should not have been difficult but were hard to put into practice. After two games she lost easily to Faramir and one game she nearly won against her brother, the merels board was put away and the chessboard, with its ebony and ivory armies, produced to the relief of Erun (who was getting tired of losing so handily) and the amusement of Rhoswen, who insisted on inspecting every piece before relinquishing them to their places on the board.
"Why do you study them so?" Boromir asked, stealing the last of the pawns and setting it on the board so Hirluin could make his opening move.
"Chess sets amuse me – I have yet to see two alike. Father's chess set at home has archers for the pawns, while yours are footsoldiers. My brother Carnil has a set where all the pieces are animals. They are as independent as the people who own them," Rhoswen explained.
"My grandfather," Hirluin offered as his fingers lingered over one of his pawns, deciding something, "had a set where the pawns were waves and the rest of the pieces ships. Made in Dol Amroth, I believe. It was a piece of art I do not thing any craftsman in the city could now replicate. The secret of such fine carving was lost long ago." Satisfied with his decision on the pawns, he sat back in his seat, surveying the board as Boromir took his turn.
"Perhaps I should have a new set made in honor of my marriage, with Rhoswen for the queen," the Captain-heir mused. "Holding roses in her hands. Faramir and Uncle Iorlas for councilors, Citadel guards for pawns…it would be quite a set."
"That it would, brother," Faramir said, lingering near his sibling's shoulder. And you would be the king of that board, I think…and what would happen when the king comes again? He wondered to himself.
--
It was an afternoon without incident – food was brought for the midday repast, and Hirluin made a gift of some vaunted vintage of wine to Boromir to accompany the meal. "For letting him win," the Captain-Heir whispered none too secretly to Rhoswen. The young woman laughed and rose from where she had been sitting on the couch next to Boromir, conscious of his lingering touch against her side as his hand fell away from her hip. Why does it please me to have him touch me when I know it should not?
"Are my brother's hands cold?" Faramir asked, his back to the others and his voice low, the posture of a man intent on keeping his secrets to himself. "You pull away from him strangely."
"I forgave him, Faramir," Rhoswen said levelly, pouring out the wine into the five glasses on the tray. "I did not forget what he did."
"So you have learned caution, then. That is good," Faramir commented, relieving the tray of one of the glasses and sipping moderately.
"Caution?" Rhoswen scoffed and busied herself with the sweetmeats, fidgeting with them on their plate. "Is it cautious for me to appear un-chaperoned with four men in a closed room?"
"One of those men is a close family friend, one your brother…and one the man you will marry. I would not say that is overly un-cautious. The only one you should fear here is…me," Faramir suggested, shrugging a little as Rhoswen looked up at him, her gaze intent.
"You speak to me of caution, Faramir. I doubt I should fear you."
"What do you speak of over there, you two?" Boromir asked from the chess board beyond, and Faramir turned around, his congenial grin back on his face as though he had not been speaking of any matter more dire than the state of the wine, or the lack of pastries.
"We are plotting, brother, to make you lose your next game very badly," the younger brother joked. "Rhoswen will distract you and in the meanwhile I will play exceedingly well."
"It would not take much to win that game," Boromir joked.
"Who speaks of plots?" a familiar voice asked from the doorway, and when they saw who it was, the three men struggled to stand quick enough for protocol.
"Father," Boromir said in way of greeting, while Erun and Hirluin made their bows, dutifully murmuring "My Lord," in almost-unison.
"It was a joke, my lord," Faramir said, watching his father's gaze turn to him, the beginnings of a frown tugging at the corners of the elder man's mouth.
"I only spoke in jest, my lord, about plotting to win a chess game," Rhoswen interceded quickly, attuned enough to her future father-in-laws moods that she knew what might spoil the party. "Faramir offered to aid me in my endeavor; I am a poor player myself but would hate to lose easily against my betrothed." Denethor's frown dissipated, replaced by something almost like a smile. "Will you not take some wine with us, my lord, in the spirit of the day?" Rhoswen pressed on, eager to see the good cheer return to the apartment, which had turned cold with dread when Denethor walked in.
The steward hesitated, and after some deliberation took the glass Rhoswen offered him off the tray, smiling a little and raising it in silent toast. "Your sister is a rare treasure, Lord Erun – a child who knows her duty," he said, and Rhoswen bobbed a curtsey, her skin as cold as ice.
The Steward took a sip from the glass, tasting it with a doubtless discerning tongue. "This is good wine, son," he said to Boromir. "A little too fine for your apartments, I should think."
"It was a gift, Father, from Lord Hirluin," Boromir said, nodding to the lord of Pinnath Gelin, who stood by, wordlessly observing the scene.
"Hirluin of Pinnath Gelin?" Denethor asked. "Your father was Hirmith, I think. You have his look."
"Yes, sir," Hirluin replied. "Often it has been said so."
"What business brings you to the city? Surely I did not send for you!" Denethor blustered.
"Lord Hirluin is to marry Lady Serawen in some months' time," Rhoswen reminded, wondering why Denethor had forgotten that. "He is a friend from childhood, and he sought to see me here as well, and bring my family's best wishes to me."
Denethor nodded again, trying to make his comments seem distracted enough, the words of a ruler who disdains such trivial matters. But they are not trivial to him, Rhoswen mused. Does he truly not remember why Hirluin is here? "We will see all of you for dinner, I expect," the lord of Minas Tirith asked, looking hawkishly at both his sons. "And promptly," he added, fixing both of his boys with an imperious gaze.
"Of course, father," Boromir said.
"I will make sure they attend the clock diligently," Rhoswen promised, smiling for a little bit of levity in the room. Denethor ignored it and nodded solemnly, sweeping out and letting a groom close the door heavily behind him. When he was gone, Boromir let loose a sigh, as if he'd been holding in his breath for the whole interview, and the five young people laughed a little.
"I suppose we should give our gifts now," Faramir said, "if father fears we are going to be late."
"In that case, gentlemen," Hirluin said, rising from his chair, "I take my leave of you. Lady," he said, addressing Rhoswen, " It has been an honor and a pleasure. I am glad you have some joy here, and good people about you."
"I am glad you are here to be one of them," Rhoswen said, curtseying. "Give my good greetings to your own Lady," she added, though she really did not mean it. She was becoming adept at saying things she did not mean, it seemed. Hirluin nodded, bowing out gracefully.
"Let us have Rhoswen open her present first," Faramir said nobly. "It is always the youngest who goes first, and she is both the youngest here and the youngest member let into the family."
It was a heavy package, a large bulk wrapped in thin muslin and tied with ribbon. Rhoswen drew her breath back as she unfolded the garment inside, a beautiful purple-red cloak in a soft, heavy fabric she could not name, lined on the inside with thick, luxurious fur. The color was deep and rich, and around the edge, in gray and crimson threads, were embroidered a veritable rose bower of blooms. It nearly took her breath away. "I have never seen anything so rich, my lord! This is a cloak for queens!"
"Queens would wear ermine," Boromir corrected. "My father taught me that. But this is sable, and fit at least for princesses, which, my darling, you will be soon enough," he added quietly in her ear.
Rhoswen turned to him, the cloak in her hands, smiling. "What did you call me?"
"My darling. Shall I say it again, if you have gone deaf all of a sudden? Look further into the package, there should yet be something else in there for you to wonder over." Boromir sat back and watched with pleasure as Rhoswen rustled through the folds of the cloak, finally drawing out a long, thin hair comb, the kind usually used to bind a lady's hair back rather than remove the knots. The piece was made of ivory, and as she turned it over, the head of the comb, fashioned like the crest of a wave, caught the light and made it dance.
Erun, at least, had the sense to make some small noise of appreciation. "That, my lord, is a princely gift," he said, borrowing it from his sister to examine it for a moment.
"It was my mother's," Boromir said. "That is pearl, I believe, in the wave. There are two more in the package, though doubtless they have fallen to the bottom. Forgive your betrothed for gifting you with what you did not want – I know you said you wished for no more jewels."
"A comb is hardly a necklace or bracelet, my lord – it is infinitely more useful. Thank you – they are lovely," Rhoswen said, slipping the comb back into the cloak and bundling it up again.
"I should add I was not alone in picking them. Maireth had her fair hand in it – it was she who advised me of the combs."
"But…if they were your mother's…surely your father will…"
"Leave father and his anger to me. They will be your caskets soon enough when we marry. I should be allowed to give my mother's things to you. She had no daughters; she would have liked them to be used, I think. Now Erun!" Boromir exclaimed, rising from his seat to fetch another package. "You will have to forgive us; we did not quite know what to get you!"
The sun was gone when the gong sounded for dinner and the four gathered descended to the Hall for the dinner. Boromir and Rhoswen followed Denethor's black-clad stateliness up to the high table, sitting down in the places prepared for them almost as if they were officiating the feast themselves. The hall was filled fuller than usual, with extra tables laid for the guests like Lord Hirluin who were only in the city for the End-Year celebration, who did not often make a habit of attending court. Each came to pay their respects to Denethor, bowing before the high table in renewal of the ancient oaths their families had taken in the times long before the House of Hurin had kept this house and these tables.
Denethor gave no speech and directed no blessing, simply gestured for the servitors to begin passing around the hall with their heavily laden trays. The talk rose to a boisterous hum and the mood settled into a cozy, festive feeling rather easily. Even the steward, it seemed, was far away from the grim, dreary man he had been earlier. Far away in a corner gallery, a handful of musicians accompanied the meal. Several lords came forward to discuss matters of one sort or another with either father or son, and Rhoswen attended each conversation with silence and diligence, trying to remember the details in case it should come to be discussed later. This is what your duty will be at this time next year, she reminded herself when she caught herself yawning, and a thousand other feasts after that.
The wine flowed freely, and the volume of the hall rose, the laughter becoming more frequent. Smiles widened, and the music picked up pace a little. The Steward, meanwhile, was attacking the dish in front of him with particular relish, savoring each bite as thought it held some especial meaning or magnificence. "It has been many years since I have tasted such a fish!" he exclaimed, gesturing for the servitor to fork more of the tender flesh onto his plate. "Salmon, is it?"
"Yes, my lord," Rhoswen offered from down the table. "Cooked in ginger and white wine."
"Father, you hate fish," Boromir countered from his father's right, scoffing a little and taking another sip of his wine.
"Nonsense, I love fish," Denethor declared, far too jolly to be completely sober. " Once, when I was in Dol Amroth, they served a carp at your uncle's table that could have fed an army, it was so large. And tender, too! Finduilas thought it was so funny that I had never seen a fish that size before. How she laughed at me," the steward remembered, chuckling as he shoveled another bite of the gingered salmon onto his fork. "She had such a wonderful laugh. I can...almost hear her laughing now..." He trailed off, the smile falling and his fork slipping a little, clattering to his plate.
"Father, is something wrong?" Faramir asked, leaning in from his father's left and gently touching Denethor's sleeve, trying to be subtle. Rhoswen, too, was in shock; Denethor never discussed Finduilas. His father waved Faramir away.
"I'm fine, Faramir, fine! Cannot your old father be merry? A song, a song! We must have a song! Have we no men here who may sing for thier lord's pleasure, or ladies to do likewise?" He asked, looking around the hall -- the musicians ended ungracefully and the guests looked around, each at his neighbor, looking confused and just a little frightened.
"He is drunk," Faramir whispered to Boromir. "He should go rest."
But his brother, it seemed, was not listening. "Let Rhoswen sing, Father," Boromir suggested, looking like he had drunk a few more gobletfuls than might have been healthy. "She has a strong voice, and a harp besides."
"Spendid!" Denethor exclaimed. "Send for the lady's harp, and then we will have a song! Go on!" He waved away one of the squires serving at the table, who gave a glance at the Lady before he scampered off. "What shall you sing for us, Lady Rhoswen, whilst we are waiting? Tempt us with the story of the song."
All eyes were on her, and Rhoswen's skin felt warm. "There are songs we sing at Midwinter, my lord, but they are poor sport for a single voice," she managed. "And there are none among the company who would know them..." Was that a suitable excuse?
"Lord Erun shall sing with you. Brother and sister!" Denethor exclaimed, delighting in his little game. "Where is the lady's brother? Is he not here?"
"I am here, my lord, and ready to sing, if you require it," Erun said, rising from his seat to stand by his sister's chair, laying a hand on Rhoswen's shoulder, patting it softly as if to assure his little sister that he would help her. "We do not sing overmuch in Anfalas but at the midwinter, and I know the songs well enough."
"And what shall you sing?" Denethor asked merrily.
Rhoswen looked up at her brother, the two of them conferring almost silently. "There is the Pastime..."
"I know not all the words."
"Join Hands? But that is more dance than song."
"The Hunter?"
"Can it be done with two?"
"If it is required..."
"We will sing, my lord," Erun offered, "a song that is very old in Anfalas. It speaks of the hunt that would take place in midwinter." Then, softer, "Shall we, sister?"
Rhoswen smiled briefly, sitting up a little straighter and taking a few deep breaths, trying to remember the words to this song she had been singing since childhood. The words were remembered unbidden, more instinct than anything else, acquired and honed by years of practice.
"Blow thy horn, o hunter, and blow thy horn on high
there is a doe in yonder wood; in faith she will not die
Now blow thy horn, hunter, and blow thy horn jolly hunter
So this deer stricken is and yet she bleeds no whit
she layeth where I could not miss and I was glad of it
Now blow thy horn, hunter, and blow thy horn jolly hunter
There she go'th! See ye not, how she go'th over the plain?
And if ye lust to have a shot, I warrant her barrain.
Now blow thy horn, hunter, and blow thy horn jolly hunter
He to go and I to go, but he ran fast afore;
I bade him shoot and strike the doe, for I might shoot no more.
Now blow thy horn, hunter, and blow thy horn jolly hunter
Here I leave and make an end now of this hunter's lore:
I think his bow is well unbent, his bolt may flee no more.
Now blow thy horn, hunter, and blow thy horn jolly hunter..."
"Excellent, excellently well sung indeed! My son does not lie when he says you have an excellent voice, my dear," Denethor said, patting Rhoswen's hand in a fatherly fashion, still excellently pleased with himself.
"Perhaps my lord's musicians would be better suited to entertain you more, my lord; my voice is in poor health of late and I could not sing again," Rhoswen said softly, coughing delicately. She wasn't sure whether her face was red with shame for herself at having been asked to sing in front of all these nobles or for Denethor for being so unlike himself.
"Of course, of course, my dear," Denethor said, all fatherly condescension again. "We cannot have you sickly now, not with this cold weather."
"Long has it been since men had time enough to hunt for sport alone in Minas Tirith. The townlands are wide and the beasts in the Kingswood few," Faramir said to no one in particular, reaching forward for the wine pitcher and moving it out of his father's reach, giving the servitor a look that he hoped said he should give the Steward no more wine.
"Once it was that the lord's household hunted boar for the Midwinter feast. But it is many generations since the woods of Anfalas held a creature large enough to feed the lord's house," Erun said, turning back to his own seat.
"It is many generations since we saw anything worthy of song in Minas Tirith," Faramir mused softly to himself. "Will we ever see such days again?"
It seemed Denethor's need for songs was satisfied; He settled back into his meal and Rhoswen excused herself from the high table, declaring that she had a head-ache and would go to bed. Neither her brother nor either younger Hurin escorted her out, though it looked as though it hurt Faramir to see her go in such a manner. And it seemed he was still disturbed when he brought Boromir back to their shared rooms several hours later when the candles had burned down low enough and the rest of the company had either trundled back to their rooms or lulled themselves to sleep in the hall itself.
"Singing in front of the hall like a common strumpet," Faramir was fuming. "And you, encouraging father to let her! You should not have said anything!"
"She enjoyed it! She loves to sing!" Boromir said, his voice too generous to be anything but drunk.
"She loves to sing for you, Boromir," Faramir said angrily. "She will do anything to please you!
"Stop fussing, Fara…you're such an old woman sometimes," Boromir said dismissively, trundling off to bed with the stumbling gait of a man who has enjoyed the party too much.
But in the morning when the ache in his head was lessening and he could hear, amidst the buzz around his ears, the whispered comments and laughing asides about the Lady Rhoswen's song he found he could not dismiss it so easily as he had the night before.
----
It's been a long week, but there's only three weeks of school left. I"m not sure how I feel about this chapter, to tell the truth. Quite frankly, I'm not really sure about anything I write anymore. As I said, it's been a loooooonnng week.
