Lady of Gondor Ch 2 - Anniversaries
Sept 2996; South of the Pelennor Fields
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Spring faded into summer and summer slipped into fall, until a boy of fifteen could hardly see over the edge of the cornstalks and the wheat looked full and golden. If a stranger happened by he'd see many people beginning to harvest and probably would wonder why this one family was so late in starting. Arabor and Borlin should have started quite a while ago, but Arabor could never bring himself to begin until he had commemorated Ivriniel's death. Since Arabor she had died in late September Arabor and Borlin always began their harvest well after their neighbours.
This was the twelfth year that Arabor had sat around eating cold leftovers. That was how they commemorated Ivriniel's death-day for many years. At first Arabor became so overwhelmed with grief that he couldn't even look after himself, let alone his sons. As the years passed his pain dulled but by no means disappeared, and Arabor preferred to sit in quiet reflection. Borlin, however, felt a need to celebrate his mother's life, and the year after he turned eleven he decided to do just that. He woke up early and made a picnic lunch of crusty bread, steak pies, broiled potatoes, mushrooms in a chicken gravy, and cherry cakes, and put it all in a picnic basket. Then he went and woke up Farlin, dressed him, and carried him all the way to their mother's special spot. Ivriniel and Borlin often went there when Borlin was a child. A tree grew along the dried-up creek bank, with branches strong enough to sit in, and the hills with its steep cliff wall hid the spot from even the closest farmhouses. Several years earlier some of the area farmers had built a dam to help keep the creek from flooding, and as the river dried it left all sorts of rocks and fish bones along the dry riverbed downstream, and up above a still pond where Borlin and Farlin liked to swim. They spent those death-days playing in the fields, swimming in the pool, eating the good food, and just remembering. After all, Farlin had only been a baby when Ivriniel died, but Borlin remembered. He owed it to his brother to help him know the mother he'd never known.
Of course their Aunt Finduilas didn't know about any of this. All she knew was that the corn grew taller, the wheat thicker, and the nights colder. One day after dinner she asked, "Arabor, shouldn't you and Borlin start harvesting? Winter's well on its way, you know."
No one said anything for a long moment; no one dared. Finally Arabor replied, "We never bring anything in until we're past the anniversary of Ivriniel's death. Somehow it doesn't seem . . . fitting."
"Of course, of course," Finduilas said. "I'm sorry, I completely forgot about that. So how are you going to commemorate the day?"
Another long silence ensued, after which Arabor said, "The boys go off by themselves. A picnic of sorts, I suppose."
This caught Borlin off guard. "You know about our, um, little outings?"
"Of course I know. I'm your father; it's my job to know." Then he turned to Finduilas. "Mellawen is welcome to join them, of course. You too."
"I asked about you, not your sons."
"I'll remember her in the only way I know how. In the only _place_ I know how: here."
They finished eating, then went on to their evening work, saying nothing more on the topic.
That night a great storm hit the farmhouse, one of the worst Mellawen had ever experienced. Certainly the worst since she'd left Minas Tirith. Out here all the thunderstorms seemed so much worse, with the open fields for the thunder to rumble across instead of the close buildings to break up the sound. The rain pounded and a lightning bolt struck not a quarter-mile from the house, splitting a sapling in half. In between the rolls of thunder, Mellawen could hear muffled conversation out in the parlour.
"Arabor, I really think --" Finduilas started before she was interrupted by a loud burst of thunder.
When at last the storm subsided, Arabor was still answering, " -- doesn't seem fit, damn it, it just doesn't --"
This went back and forth for quite some time, but what with the booming storm, the creaking of the wood of the house, and the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof, Mellawen could hardly follow a single sentence.
That next morning Arabor was much quieter than normal. He seemed to be struggling with some decision that had been made for him rather than one he had made. Not until Finduilas looked at him pointedly did he ask Borlin, "When you boys go off together, what exactly do you do? What were you planning to do tomorrow?"
Borlin looked nervous, afraid that Arabor might be offended by his sons having so much fun on so serious a day. But he had to tell the truth; his father would never believe a lie. "Well, we usually pack a good lunch and lots of snacks. Then we go off to Mother's special place, you know, on up the creek a bit." As he talked, Borlin became less and less nervous. They weren't doing anything wrong; this was how Mother would want to be remembered. He continued more confidently, "And we just play around, and sometimes we swim up above the dam. Then in the afternoon, when it gets hot, we lie under the tree and talk about Mother. Farlin never knew her, so there's lots for me to tell him."
Everyone looked over at Arabor, waiting for some kind of a response. After what seemed like ages, a smile crept across his lips. "Well, it's been raining so hard that it won't be safe to swim. And if it's going to be worthwhile, you'd better start cooking."
"Are you sure?" Finduilas asked.
Arabor nodded hesitantly. "It is against my liking, but I suppose you're right; it is time."
The garden was already harvested, but Finduilas had a special job for Mellawen and Farlin: "Berries," she said, handing them buckets, "and lots of them. All you can find. Tomorrow will be a day to remember if I have any say in it." By the time they returned, Finduilas had lunch on the table. And what a lunch! That was a light and cheery meal, full of the smell of good foods, but not a taste of the fresh bread and baked treats Finduilas was making for tomorrow. They dined well, though not on what they wanted.
After lunch, it was off with their clothes and into bed for Borlin, Farlin, and Mellawen: Finduilas wanted to wash their clothes. Borlin and Farlin got undressed and into bed immediately, and a few minutes later Finduilas came in. "Borlin, where did your father go?" she asked.
"I don't know," Borlin replied; "he just said he had business."
"He didn't go -- not to Minas Tirith?" Finduilas asked.
Borlin frowned. "He didn't say."
"Well, this really is a bother," Finduilas sighed. "I was counting on him to haul the water and keep the fire going."
"Oh, I can take care of that," Borlin offered, "don't worry."
"Wearing what?" Finduilas asked sceptically
"Father's got another change of clothes. I'll wear them."
Some time later, well after dinner, Arabor came back. He pulled the cart behind the shed and more than a few minutes later came into the parlour.
"Arabor!" Finduilas exclaimed. "Now just where have you been?"
He smiled coyly. "Just getting a surprise for tomorrow. You'll see." He looked fondly down at Mellawen. "Did I ever tell you -- your eyes remind me of Ivriniel's? I remember her standing on her balcony, watching the morning sun and dreaming. You look so much like her. Maybe tomorrow I can tell you more about what she was like."
Not long after that they all went to bed; after all, tomorrow promised to be a big day. And finally tomorrow came! The sun woke Mellawen. It was the first time since she had come to the farm that she had been allowed to sleep that late. When she finally opened her eyes Borlin was sitting at the foot of her bed.
"So you finally decided to wake up, sleepy-head? The sun's been up for hours, and it's time you joined it. Nay, raced it. Your mother's ironed your dress, and Arabor brought back good blood sausages yesterday. Can't you smell them?"
"I smell them," Mellawen replied. "Is that the surprise?"
"Aye, or part of it at least. Hurry, get dressed now." And he left her to it. Sometime later, she came down the stairs to find her mother in the kitchen, but the rest of the house was strangely empty.
"Where's the sausage?"
"So your cousin told you about that, did he? He is already at the field, along with Arabor and Farlin, and the sausage. Hurry, now is the time to run." They raced out of the house and down toward the field until Mellawen almost fell over from exhaustion. Finduilas scooped her daughter up in her arms and kept running.
"Oh, this is good!" Finduilas said to Mellawen. "I haven't run like this since I was a little girl. 'Twasn't ladylike, they said. But today we run." They sprinted across the fields to where Borlin sat under a tree smoking a pipe while Arabor and Farlin set a table laid with a bright tablecloth, putting out platter after platter.
As soon as Borlin saw them coming he lay down his pipe and called to his father some distance away, "They're here!" Arabor and Farlin stopped what they were doing, and Finduilas set Mellawen down on the ground.
They had breakfast: the blood sausages, muffins Finduilas had made the day before, and some of Farlin's and Mellawen's berries. At last, Borlin put down his fork and said, "Mistress Mellawen, do you know what today is?"
"Why, it's September 23, of course." Then she thought for a second and added quickly, "The day your mother died."
"And the day you were born," Borlin added. Mellawen smiled at that. She had of course remembered that today was her birthday, but she had not wanted to detract from her aunt's death by mentioning it. "You were born eight years ago today," Borlin continued. "Anniversaries are important things, cousin. Today we celebrate not only Ivriniel's death-day, but also your birthday." And at that, he clapped twice.
Farlin jumped up, ran back behind the table, and came back carrying a simple garland. As he got closer, Mellawen saw that it wasn't just a circlet of weeds but a crown of the most beautiful pale blue flowers from their garden. "This is for you," he said, "as you are queen of the day. Kneel, please." Mellawen obliged, and Farlin placed the flowers on her head.
Finduilas then walked over to the table and picked up a single book, a handsome volume, green leather with gold thread to bind it together, and pages of the finest vellum. Mellawen took it anxiously and opened to the first page but was surprised at the strange letters staring back at her.
"Mother, I can't read this."
"Of course you can't; not yet, at any rate," her mother replied. "It's Sindarin, a language the Elves speak. But you'll learn to read it. It's time you started your education in earnest."
"Really? You'll teach me?" Finduilas nodded. Many of Gondor's nobility taught their children Sindarin, as it was considered a mark of culture.
Mellawen sat down and started thumbing through the book immediately, until at last Borlin cleared his throat. She put the book down and looked up. "And now for my gift. I don't know you like my brother does, nor do I know much about girls in general, so I'm at a bit of a loss. But tell me your wish and I'll do it if I can."
She thought for a second, and her face lit up -- then fell again, almost as quickly. She looked at her mother, a bit unsure. "I couldn't ask . . . it's so . . . boyish."
"Mellawen," her mother asked, a confused look on her face, "what are you talking about?"
"Well, it's what Gandalf was always doing. And I saw Borlin doing it just now, so I know he could teach me, but it's . . . Borlin, would you teach me to smoke a pipe?"
Whatever Borlin had expected the steward's daughter to ask of him, it surely wasn't smoking lessons, judging from the look on his face. Mellawen had no way of knowing it, but Gandalf's smoking caused no small controversy in Minas Tirith: dwarves smoked, perhaps, but precious few men do. The only exceptions within living memory were Thorongil, who must have learned the habit among his travels through the wild lands of the north, and those soldiers who had learned the art from him, including Arabor. Borlin and Farlin had asked their father to teach them after seeing him doing it, and Arabor largely overlooked it, seeing they hadn't had the advantages of a mother or a civilized upbringing. But for Mellawen -- completely out of the question!
But slowly a sly grin spread across Arabor's face. When was he ever one to bow to custom? "Any habit that's good enough for your famed Gandalf is good enough for my niece. Borlin, you'll start Mellawen's lessons this afternoon. I hope you brought enough weed?"
"I suppose, but --"
"You did say any wish within your power, did you not? It is now within your power. I give you permission. So after lunch I expect you two to get to it. Now, Mellawen, there's one gift more, and that gift is mine. If you will just look on the other side of that hill, over near the dam, I think you'll find a surprise."
They all climbed over the hill which dropped down to a steep cliff. Down past where the river would have been stood the tree under which Borlin and Farlin usually sat when they came here. On every limb, a beautiful hair ribbon hung with some small treasure attached, treats ranging from candied nuts to the finest toffee, a stuffed bear, and, stranger still, pieces of rag all bunched up and other sculptures Mellawen couldn't identify.
"Arabor," Finduilas said angrily, "you said you didn't go to Minas Tirith, but if you didn't, then where --"
"Lithienal," he said, "an old fort about seven miles from here. Recently someone opened an inn that sells little treats for the soldiers' wives and children, and those of area farmers -- candies, hair ribbons, wooden dolls, that sort of thing. A few weeks ago Gandalf sent me a letter asking me to be there on the twenty-second of September, so I went. A boy no older than Farlin appeared, said he had gifts -- those sculptures and the rags." He turned to Mellawen. "Now, the figures are fireworks. If I touch a flame on one of the strings at the end, they will explode into a thousand colours. At least that is what your wizard friend said in his note. But he warned me to wait until tonight so we can see them better. Those little wads of cloth, they're another mystery. When they are placed in cold water, they change somehow. Farlin, will you run up to that pool and get us some water? Let's try them out."
They all walked down to where the bank was lower, then climbed down and walked back up to where the old oak stood to get a closer look. Borlin started handing Mellawen some of her presents, and Farlin went to the pool. He filled his bucket with the good, clean water, then started back down. At first none of them noticed the water trickling through the heart of the dam.
It was an old dam, built years ago, and the area farmers had been talking for some time of repairing it; some of the stones had started to loosen. Whether Farlin accidentally kicked some small stone out of place or whether the dam just chose that moment to break may never be known. However it happened, suddenly two or three leaks sprung through the heart of the dam, then four, and then five. Arabor's eyes filled with a look of blind panic. Finduilas stood there for a moment, paralysed with fear. Borlin, without being told, dashed to Farlin, grabbed him, and threw him up on the bank of the hill, lower here than where they had stood; neither Finduilas nor Arabor dared, fearing to disturb the dam further. Borlin pulled himself up onto the hill and yelled to Farlin, "Stay where you are!" as he ran to their supplies for rope; they might need it. Arabor grabbed Finduilas and forced her toward the cliff face, hoisted her onto his shoulders, and urged her upwards. Her skirt caught on the cliff face, and Arabor hastily tore it off, allowing her to climb up in her petticoats. At last she reached the top, but she couldn't reach Mellawen to pull her up, let alone help Arabor.
"Climb that tree over there," Finduilas cried, sweat already coating her face. "It's strong; it will stand." So Arabor and Mellawen quickly climbed the old oak, seconds before the water rushed around them. In ordinary weather that tree might have lasted, but with all the rains it didn't stand a chance. Borlin came running up, panting, carrying two lengths of thick rope. Finduilas threw the end of one out to Arabor; he caught it and tied it to a strong branch of the tree he and Mellawen had climbed. Borlin set his foot against the roots of the tree near the cliff's edge, steadying the limb and bringing it near the bank.
Finduilas, by now badly shaken, managed to tie the second rope around the trunk of the tree behind her and threw the free end over a thick branch well over her head. She then threw one end to Arabor. He missed, and the rope sailed through Finduilas' outstretched fingers. As the rope turned back over the river she caught it in one last desperate grab, then threw it back toward Arabor. This time he caught it. Arabor gave the rope to Mellawen, then gathered her into his arms and threw her toward the shore, into Finduilas' waiting arms. She started to throw Arabor the rope again but stopped. "Wait!" she called over the rushing water, and she turned to Borlin.
"I'm not strong enough to catch your father," she said hoarsely. "Here, let me hold that first rope. I can steady the tree, but your father would knock me over and swing back over the river, perhaps fall in." They switched places, and Borlin threw the rope to Arabor. This time his father caught it on the first try. He inched slowly along the branch, the tree groaning under his weight. Arabor was about to swing to safety when the branch gave way with a loud crack. Suddenly Finduilas was not holding onto a steady tree but a loose branch being pushed down into the raging river by a full-grown man. She did not have time to let go or do anything; a split-second later they both were in the river, the raging flood pulling them downstream. Mellawen stood beside Borlin, near the edge of the bank.
And then, time stood still. The water raged around Arabor, but he held tight to the rope Borlin had thrown him, and the river raced past him. Finduilas had grabbed hold to his waist as the river pulled her past, and she, too, fought the current. The tree on the bank bent, groaned, and finally the branch snapped. It flew across the bank toward the river and caught Mellawen's ankle, knocking her off-balance. Borlin reached for her, but too late; she fell over the bank and down into the river.
For what seemed like a very long moment she stayed there until, some time downstream, her small head bobbed through the surface and Mellawen gasped for air. Before he knew it, Borlin was running along the bank with a long branch he had gotten from somewhere; he didn't know how, or when. Somehow Finduilas, holding Mellawen, was able to grab the branch and fight the current for several more seconds. Borlin thought they might just win, and his heart leaped in his chest. But then all hope was lost as the branch gave way and broke in half.
Sept 2996; South of the Pelennor Fields
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Spring faded into summer and summer slipped into fall, until a boy of fifteen could hardly see over the edge of the cornstalks and the wheat looked full and golden. If a stranger happened by he'd see many people beginning to harvest and probably would wonder why this one family was so late in starting. Arabor and Borlin should have started quite a while ago, but Arabor could never bring himself to begin until he had commemorated Ivriniel's death. Since Arabor she had died in late September Arabor and Borlin always began their harvest well after their neighbours.
This was the twelfth year that Arabor had sat around eating cold leftovers. That was how they commemorated Ivriniel's death-day for many years. At first Arabor became so overwhelmed with grief that he couldn't even look after himself, let alone his sons. As the years passed his pain dulled but by no means disappeared, and Arabor preferred to sit in quiet reflection. Borlin, however, felt a need to celebrate his mother's life, and the year after he turned eleven he decided to do just that. He woke up early and made a picnic lunch of crusty bread, steak pies, broiled potatoes, mushrooms in a chicken gravy, and cherry cakes, and put it all in a picnic basket. Then he went and woke up Farlin, dressed him, and carried him all the way to their mother's special spot. Ivriniel and Borlin often went there when Borlin was a child. A tree grew along the dried-up creek bank, with branches strong enough to sit in, and the hills with its steep cliff wall hid the spot from even the closest farmhouses. Several years earlier some of the area farmers had built a dam to help keep the creek from flooding, and as the river dried it left all sorts of rocks and fish bones along the dry riverbed downstream, and up above a still pond where Borlin and Farlin liked to swim. They spent those death-days playing in the fields, swimming in the pool, eating the good food, and just remembering. After all, Farlin had only been a baby when Ivriniel died, but Borlin remembered. He owed it to his brother to help him know the mother he'd never known.
Of course their Aunt Finduilas didn't know about any of this. All she knew was that the corn grew taller, the wheat thicker, and the nights colder. One day after dinner she asked, "Arabor, shouldn't you and Borlin start harvesting? Winter's well on its way, you know."
No one said anything for a long moment; no one dared. Finally Arabor replied, "We never bring anything in until we're past the anniversary of Ivriniel's death. Somehow it doesn't seem . . . fitting."
"Of course, of course," Finduilas said. "I'm sorry, I completely forgot about that. So how are you going to commemorate the day?"
Another long silence ensued, after which Arabor said, "The boys go off by themselves. A picnic of sorts, I suppose."
This caught Borlin off guard. "You know about our, um, little outings?"
"Of course I know. I'm your father; it's my job to know." Then he turned to Finduilas. "Mellawen is welcome to join them, of course. You too."
"I asked about you, not your sons."
"I'll remember her in the only way I know how. In the only _place_ I know how: here."
They finished eating, then went on to their evening work, saying nothing more on the topic.
That night a great storm hit the farmhouse, one of the worst Mellawen had ever experienced. Certainly the worst since she'd left Minas Tirith. Out here all the thunderstorms seemed so much worse, with the open fields for the thunder to rumble across instead of the close buildings to break up the sound. The rain pounded and a lightning bolt struck not a quarter-mile from the house, splitting a sapling in half. In between the rolls of thunder, Mellawen could hear muffled conversation out in the parlour.
"Arabor, I really think --" Finduilas started before she was interrupted by a loud burst of thunder.
When at last the storm subsided, Arabor was still answering, " -- doesn't seem fit, damn it, it just doesn't --"
This went back and forth for quite some time, but what with the booming storm, the creaking of the wood of the house, and the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof, Mellawen could hardly follow a single sentence.
That next morning Arabor was much quieter than normal. He seemed to be struggling with some decision that had been made for him rather than one he had made. Not until Finduilas looked at him pointedly did he ask Borlin, "When you boys go off together, what exactly do you do? What were you planning to do tomorrow?"
Borlin looked nervous, afraid that Arabor might be offended by his sons having so much fun on so serious a day. But he had to tell the truth; his father would never believe a lie. "Well, we usually pack a good lunch and lots of snacks. Then we go off to Mother's special place, you know, on up the creek a bit." As he talked, Borlin became less and less nervous. They weren't doing anything wrong; this was how Mother would want to be remembered. He continued more confidently, "And we just play around, and sometimes we swim up above the dam. Then in the afternoon, when it gets hot, we lie under the tree and talk about Mother. Farlin never knew her, so there's lots for me to tell him."
Everyone looked over at Arabor, waiting for some kind of a response. After what seemed like ages, a smile crept across his lips. "Well, it's been raining so hard that it won't be safe to swim. And if it's going to be worthwhile, you'd better start cooking."
"Are you sure?" Finduilas asked.
Arabor nodded hesitantly. "It is against my liking, but I suppose you're right; it is time."
The garden was already harvested, but Finduilas had a special job for Mellawen and Farlin: "Berries," she said, handing them buckets, "and lots of them. All you can find. Tomorrow will be a day to remember if I have any say in it." By the time they returned, Finduilas had lunch on the table. And what a lunch! That was a light and cheery meal, full of the smell of good foods, but not a taste of the fresh bread and baked treats Finduilas was making for tomorrow. They dined well, though not on what they wanted.
After lunch, it was off with their clothes and into bed for Borlin, Farlin, and Mellawen: Finduilas wanted to wash their clothes. Borlin and Farlin got undressed and into bed immediately, and a few minutes later Finduilas came in. "Borlin, where did your father go?" she asked.
"I don't know," Borlin replied; "he just said he had business."
"He didn't go -- not to Minas Tirith?" Finduilas asked.
Borlin frowned. "He didn't say."
"Well, this really is a bother," Finduilas sighed. "I was counting on him to haul the water and keep the fire going."
"Oh, I can take care of that," Borlin offered, "don't worry."
"Wearing what?" Finduilas asked sceptically
"Father's got another change of clothes. I'll wear them."
Some time later, well after dinner, Arabor came back. He pulled the cart behind the shed and more than a few minutes later came into the parlour.
"Arabor!" Finduilas exclaimed. "Now just where have you been?"
He smiled coyly. "Just getting a surprise for tomorrow. You'll see." He looked fondly down at Mellawen. "Did I ever tell you -- your eyes remind me of Ivriniel's? I remember her standing on her balcony, watching the morning sun and dreaming. You look so much like her. Maybe tomorrow I can tell you more about what she was like."
Not long after that they all went to bed; after all, tomorrow promised to be a big day. And finally tomorrow came! The sun woke Mellawen. It was the first time since she had come to the farm that she had been allowed to sleep that late. When she finally opened her eyes Borlin was sitting at the foot of her bed.
"So you finally decided to wake up, sleepy-head? The sun's been up for hours, and it's time you joined it. Nay, raced it. Your mother's ironed your dress, and Arabor brought back good blood sausages yesterday. Can't you smell them?"
"I smell them," Mellawen replied. "Is that the surprise?"
"Aye, or part of it at least. Hurry, get dressed now." And he left her to it. Sometime later, she came down the stairs to find her mother in the kitchen, but the rest of the house was strangely empty.
"Where's the sausage?"
"So your cousin told you about that, did he? He is already at the field, along with Arabor and Farlin, and the sausage. Hurry, now is the time to run." They raced out of the house and down toward the field until Mellawen almost fell over from exhaustion. Finduilas scooped her daughter up in her arms and kept running.
"Oh, this is good!" Finduilas said to Mellawen. "I haven't run like this since I was a little girl. 'Twasn't ladylike, they said. But today we run." They sprinted across the fields to where Borlin sat under a tree smoking a pipe while Arabor and Farlin set a table laid with a bright tablecloth, putting out platter after platter.
As soon as Borlin saw them coming he lay down his pipe and called to his father some distance away, "They're here!" Arabor and Farlin stopped what they were doing, and Finduilas set Mellawen down on the ground.
They had breakfast: the blood sausages, muffins Finduilas had made the day before, and some of Farlin's and Mellawen's berries. At last, Borlin put down his fork and said, "Mistress Mellawen, do you know what today is?"
"Why, it's September 23, of course." Then she thought for a second and added quickly, "The day your mother died."
"And the day you were born," Borlin added. Mellawen smiled at that. She had of course remembered that today was her birthday, but she had not wanted to detract from her aunt's death by mentioning it. "You were born eight years ago today," Borlin continued. "Anniversaries are important things, cousin. Today we celebrate not only Ivriniel's death-day, but also your birthday." And at that, he clapped twice.
Farlin jumped up, ran back behind the table, and came back carrying a simple garland. As he got closer, Mellawen saw that it wasn't just a circlet of weeds but a crown of the most beautiful pale blue flowers from their garden. "This is for you," he said, "as you are queen of the day. Kneel, please." Mellawen obliged, and Farlin placed the flowers on her head.
Finduilas then walked over to the table and picked up a single book, a handsome volume, green leather with gold thread to bind it together, and pages of the finest vellum. Mellawen took it anxiously and opened to the first page but was surprised at the strange letters staring back at her.
"Mother, I can't read this."
"Of course you can't; not yet, at any rate," her mother replied. "It's Sindarin, a language the Elves speak. But you'll learn to read it. It's time you started your education in earnest."
"Really? You'll teach me?" Finduilas nodded. Many of Gondor's nobility taught their children Sindarin, as it was considered a mark of culture.
Mellawen sat down and started thumbing through the book immediately, until at last Borlin cleared his throat. She put the book down and looked up. "And now for my gift. I don't know you like my brother does, nor do I know much about girls in general, so I'm at a bit of a loss. But tell me your wish and I'll do it if I can."
She thought for a second, and her face lit up -- then fell again, almost as quickly. She looked at her mother, a bit unsure. "I couldn't ask . . . it's so . . . boyish."
"Mellawen," her mother asked, a confused look on her face, "what are you talking about?"
"Well, it's what Gandalf was always doing. And I saw Borlin doing it just now, so I know he could teach me, but it's . . . Borlin, would you teach me to smoke a pipe?"
Whatever Borlin had expected the steward's daughter to ask of him, it surely wasn't smoking lessons, judging from the look on his face. Mellawen had no way of knowing it, but Gandalf's smoking caused no small controversy in Minas Tirith: dwarves smoked, perhaps, but precious few men do. The only exceptions within living memory were Thorongil, who must have learned the habit among his travels through the wild lands of the north, and those soldiers who had learned the art from him, including Arabor. Borlin and Farlin had asked their father to teach them after seeing him doing it, and Arabor largely overlooked it, seeing they hadn't had the advantages of a mother or a civilized upbringing. But for Mellawen -- completely out of the question!
But slowly a sly grin spread across Arabor's face. When was he ever one to bow to custom? "Any habit that's good enough for your famed Gandalf is good enough for my niece. Borlin, you'll start Mellawen's lessons this afternoon. I hope you brought enough weed?"
"I suppose, but --"
"You did say any wish within your power, did you not? It is now within your power. I give you permission. So after lunch I expect you two to get to it. Now, Mellawen, there's one gift more, and that gift is mine. If you will just look on the other side of that hill, over near the dam, I think you'll find a surprise."
They all climbed over the hill which dropped down to a steep cliff. Down past where the river would have been stood the tree under which Borlin and Farlin usually sat when they came here. On every limb, a beautiful hair ribbon hung with some small treasure attached, treats ranging from candied nuts to the finest toffee, a stuffed bear, and, stranger still, pieces of rag all bunched up and other sculptures Mellawen couldn't identify.
"Arabor," Finduilas said angrily, "you said you didn't go to Minas Tirith, but if you didn't, then where --"
"Lithienal," he said, "an old fort about seven miles from here. Recently someone opened an inn that sells little treats for the soldiers' wives and children, and those of area farmers -- candies, hair ribbons, wooden dolls, that sort of thing. A few weeks ago Gandalf sent me a letter asking me to be there on the twenty-second of September, so I went. A boy no older than Farlin appeared, said he had gifts -- those sculptures and the rags." He turned to Mellawen. "Now, the figures are fireworks. If I touch a flame on one of the strings at the end, they will explode into a thousand colours. At least that is what your wizard friend said in his note. But he warned me to wait until tonight so we can see them better. Those little wads of cloth, they're another mystery. When they are placed in cold water, they change somehow. Farlin, will you run up to that pool and get us some water? Let's try them out."
They all walked down to where the bank was lower, then climbed down and walked back up to where the old oak stood to get a closer look. Borlin started handing Mellawen some of her presents, and Farlin went to the pool. He filled his bucket with the good, clean water, then started back down. At first none of them noticed the water trickling through the heart of the dam.
It was an old dam, built years ago, and the area farmers had been talking for some time of repairing it; some of the stones had started to loosen. Whether Farlin accidentally kicked some small stone out of place or whether the dam just chose that moment to break may never be known. However it happened, suddenly two or three leaks sprung through the heart of the dam, then four, and then five. Arabor's eyes filled with a look of blind panic. Finduilas stood there for a moment, paralysed with fear. Borlin, without being told, dashed to Farlin, grabbed him, and threw him up on the bank of the hill, lower here than where they had stood; neither Finduilas nor Arabor dared, fearing to disturb the dam further. Borlin pulled himself up onto the hill and yelled to Farlin, "Stay where you are!" as he ran to their supplies for rope; they might need it. Arabor grabbed Finduilas and forced her toward the cliff face, hoisted her onto his shoulders, and urged her upwards. Her skirt caught on the cliff face, and Arabor hastily tore it off, allowing her to climb up in her petticoats. At last she reached the top, but she couldn't reach Mellawen to pull her up, let alone help Arabor.
"Climb that tree over there," Finduilas cried, sweat already coating her face. "It's strong; it will stand." So Arabor and Mellawen quickly climbed the old oak, seconds before the water rushed around them. In ordinary weather that tree might have lasted, but with all the rains it didn't stand a chance. Borlin came running up, panting, carrying two lengths of thick rope. Finduilas threw the end of one out to Arabor; he caught it and tied it to a strong branch of the tree he and Mellawen had climbed. Borlin set his foot against the roots of the tree near the cliff's edge, steadying the limb and bringing it near the bank.
Finduilas, by now badly shaken, managed to tie the second rope around the trunk of the tree behind her and threw the free end over a thick branch well over her head. She then threw one end to Arabor. He missed, and the rope sailed through Finduilas' outstretched fingers. As the rope turned back over the river she caught it in one last desperate grab, then threw it back toward Arabor. This time he caught it. Arabor gave the rope to Mellawen, then gathered her into his arms and threw her toward the shore, into Finduilas' waiting arms. She started to throw Arabor the rope again but stopped. "Wait!" she called over the rushing water, and she turned to Borlin.
"I'm not strong enough to catch your father," she said hoarsely. "Here, let me hold that first rope. I can steady the tree, but your father would knock me over and swing back over the river, perhaps fall in." They switched places, and Borlin threw the rope to Arabor. This time his father caught it on the first try. He inched slowly along the branch, the tree groaning under his weight. Arabor was about to swing to safety when the branch gave way with a loud crack. Suddenly Finduilas was not holding onto a steady tree but a loose branch being pushed down into the raging river by a full-grown man. She did not have time to let go or do anything; a split-second later they both were in the river, the raging flood pulling them downstream. Mellawen stood beside Borlin, near the edge of the bank.
And then, time stood still. The water raged around Arabor, but he held tight to the rope Borlin had thrown him, and the river raced past him. Finduilas had grabbed hold to his waist as the river pulled her past, and she, too, fought the current. The tree on the bank bent, groaned, and finally the branch snapped. It flew across the bank toward the river and caught Mellawen's ankle, knocking her off-balance. Borlin reached for her, but too late; she fell over the bank and down into the river.
For what seemed like a very long moment she stayed there until, some time downstream, her small head bobbed through the surface and Mellawen gasped for air. Before he knew it, Borlin was running along the bank with a long branch he had gotten from somewhere; he didn't know how, or when. Somehow Finduilas, holding Mellawen, was able to grab the branch and fight the current for several more seconds. Borlin thought they might just win, and his heart leaped in his chest. But then all hope was lost as the branch gave way and broke in half.