Lady of Gondor Ch 6 - Wizard's Meddlings
2996-3002; Minas Tirith
------------------------------------
The harvest came and went. Time, as it is wont to do, went on. Summer passed into winter, and then into summer again. Denethor at last managed to find a fitting tutor: Dweinlunde, the son of sages for many generations and from a respectable enough family, yet liberal-minded and willing to teach a girl (under the pretext of her being trained as a son, of course) if it also meant the honour of tutoring the future Steward of Gondor. And so he did. At Gandalf's suggestion Denethor made Boromir page to the Captain of the Tower Guard during the day, but twice a week he spent his mornings in the library with Faramir, and at night he studied under Dweinlunde, occasionally learning from Gandalf as well. Now, what Gandalf had said did not mean that Boromir was ignorant; his father Arabôr had seen to much of his education. Boromir could read script as well as any of the boys educated at the common schools, and he was very good at practical math, keeping accounts and figuring areas of farm plots. Of course, being his father's son, he knew legends that had never been recorded in books, and also those lost over time or hidden in some musty library and never studied.
Faramir knew how to read, of course, but not much else. This was okay, though, because the boys of Minas Tirith didn't normally start their schooling until they were eleven, only a year younger than him. He wasn't as clever with numbers as his brother, but he was good with time: if he had to be back by lunchtime, he knew how long he could walk before he turned back and how far he could get in that time. Faramir's real love, though, was the world around him, the plants and animals that lived all about. He could tell from looking at a seed what plant would grow from it, and what its leaves would look like. And by looking at footprints he knew what kind of animal had made them, and when they were likely to hibernate, in the summer or in the winter; and when they would have babies, since Arabôr wouldn't hunt them then. Yet he was to be brother of the Steward, not a wild man of the fields, so he needed more "cultured" knowledge, to someday help Boromir in his task of governing Gondor. That's why he had to be tutored, to learn about the ancient Númenoreans and all the peoples descended from them. On Gandalf's advice, he also studied in more general terms the other free folk of the West with which Men occasionally had dealings.
Yet Boromir was not steward yet and so Faramir would not become his administrator for some time yet. Until that time, though, Faramir had other duties to see to, as Boromir constantly reminded him. Gondor would soon be at war, its borders were already threatened, and Faramir had a duty to train in sword and bow. So twice a week, after Boromir had joined Faramir for his morning lessons, Faramir would accompany his brother to the Tower Guard and the two would practice swordplay and archery. Much of the time Mellamir would join them as well.
Denethor searched long for a woman to tutor Mellawen, but in vain. He suspected he would not be able to find one since the only women qualified for such a position would be high-born. Those already married would be busy with their own family, and the others would be of marriageable age, and what family would ruin their daughter's prospects for a good match by having her work outside the family, no matter how noble the cause? He thought at first of sending her to Dol Amroth where she might be tutored by her aunts with her cousins there, but the thought of her being so far away pained his heart. No, he would not send her away. So Dweinlunde tutored her with Faramir, teaching them much the same things.
This was okay when Mellamir was eight and Faramir thirteen, and the people of their father's court seemed to brush it aside. _She's just lost her mother, poor dear, some said. She'll grow out of these odd ways_. Or, _well, she has no mother and hasn't for a year. She needs someone to show her how to be a lady. Why doesn't her father marry?_ But perhaps the most popular explanation was, _It's that meddling wizard. He doesn't understand our ways and has no right ruining the child. If he'd just let her be, she'd settle down and develop some sense_. But as the years passed on, people became less willing to look the other way. Plenty of girls didn't have mothers for one reason or another, and they all turned out all right. What's more, that wizard was seen less and less with her; no excuse there.
That name, Mellamir, was another bit of nonsense. At first people called her by it and had a good chuckle, thinking it a childish phase, but then she stopped answering to anything else. Now, if someone meant business, if Mellamir was in trouble, they would call her "Mellawen, child of Denethor" -- she wouldn't answer to "daughter of" even then. At other times, though, she wouldn't even respond to Mellawen. It was "Mellamir, son of Denethor," and no one seemed able to break her of the habit.
As the years went on nature took its course in all things, not least of all Mellamir. Back at Arabôr's farm she had worn loose, long skirts, torn about the knees, and Boromir's old trousers under them so she could run and climb trees. Growing up in Minas Tirith before that she wore dresses like all the other girls her age, always in the finest fabrics -- befitting the daughter of the Steward, and no less would do. After she became Mellamir, though, she refused to wear the dresses. She told her father that no one would believe she was a boy if her hair was long and she wore dresses all the time, so she cut her hair like Faramir's and took on the trousers and tunic of the boys of Minas Tirith.
This all worked fine (at least comparatively speaking) but then Mellamir began to develop, and as her body took on the shape of a woman, tongues began to wag. The britches were not simply boyish, they were immodest as well. Denethor tried to concine his daughter to return to wearing skirts, but to no avail. By this time Mellamir had taken up the sword and found she could not move around as well in a skirt as she could in britches. _But what does a daughter of Gondor need with a sword?_ the wagging tongues asked. The questions circled through the Seventh Circle and filtered all the way to the very outer walls of Minas Tirith. Every gossipy woman, it seemed, felt the need to discuss Mellamir's private business in the streets, shops, and surrounding fields, whatever her class.
People thought that Gandalf had stopped bothering the girl for what he doubtless considered weightier matters. Perhaps they were, but he far from neglected the young Lady of Gondor. Many nights after all the people had gone to bed the sentry saw an old hooded man and a boy of the Steward's household sitting on the outer wall, looking at forgotten forests and talking. They spoke of old legends and living beings many thought nothing but legend: short people, wizards (other wizards; the people of Minas Tirith didn't believe there could possibly be another like Gandalf if he was half he claimed), walking trees, and eagles with a sense of honour. Gondorians accepted that Dwarves and Elves had at one time lived, but the people of Minas Tirith hadn't heard from them in so long that, if they still existed, surely they didn't matter much to the modern man, save for small troublesome pockets like those Arabôr had found. Mellamir, however, learned from Gandalf what they were called and where they supposedly still lived, far away.
She appeared more and more a boy as time passed, despite her increasingly feminine body, and while most people couldn't blame the wizard for anything specific (the guards being the only ones who saw anything, and they couldn't tell anyone outside the guard what they saw while on duty) everyone from the nobles in Denethor's court to the boys who swept the streets sensed that something was horribly wrong, and most guessed that Gandalf was somehow to blame.
When she was first growing up in Minas Tirith, Mellamir was never an early waker, preferring to let the sun rise without her and join it later, but after returning from Arabôr's farm she often watched the sun rise from Ecthelion. Maybe she picked up the habit from Boromir and Faramir who, out of necessity, usually beat the sun out of bed. Perhaps her near-death experience in the river had given her a new appreciation for life, not to waste even an hour sleeping. Most, however, agreed it was Gandalf. His teaching her of far-away places gave her an interest in sunrises and sunsets because that was when her attention was naturally drawn to those far-away horizons where half-myths might still live.
Of course, Gandalf taught not just Mellamir but Boromir and Faramir as well. Faramir loved his stories and sensed the truth in them. Sometimes he joined his sister in her talks with Gandalf, but usually he smoked alone. This pipe-smoking was a curious thing. At first Denethor was dismayed to learn that, when not with Mellamir, his two sons often sat on the city wall smoking pipes, an activity hardly fitting for the heirs of the Steward. He convinced Boromir to give it up by appealing to his sense of duty -- a future steward had to maintain appearances -- but Faramir refused. It was one of the few things his father had taught him how to do, and whenever he smoked he felt somehow closer to Arabôr. Denethor couldn't bring himself to ask Mellamir to stop; sitting on the city wall or under a tree smoking and talking with that wizard gave her more joy than almost anything else.
Now, that was a bit disconcerting. Denethor and practically everyone else in Minas Tirith saw the wizard for what he was: a wandering freeloader who was always looking for answers and never finding them. But for some reason Mellamir and Faramir didn't see him like that. Boromir had never put much trust in his wizard tales; he thought them pure nonsense, probably more than half a lie, and anyway, if a person only had stories to tell, what good did that do but keep tots out of the way when work had to be done? _Thank the Valar for that_, Denethor thought, but what about the others . . . Mellamir he could excuse, it must be a woman's thing, they never grew up anyway. But Faramir, that was a different issue altogether! After all, he would become the brother of the Steward someday, and if anything happened to Boromir, Denethor did not want his kingdom handed over to someone whose best use of his time was to hear stories about people who ate seven times a day.
Whether Mellamir would have actually beaten the sun that morning will never be known because Gandalf beat them both. He shook the girl gently, and slowly her world came into focus.
"Gandalf?" Mellamir asked sleepily.
"Yes, I am here."
She squinted at him, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "What are those?" she said, her eyes resting on the saddlebags beside him.
"Ah," Gandalf replied. "The bags. One is for me and one is for you. There are clothes, cloaks, blankets, food -- fruits, dried meats, and bread, that sort of thing -- and water flasks of course; everything for our journey. I couldn't pack your pipe because you and Faramir were out smoking last night. Do you have it now?"
"Yes of co -- what trip, Gandalf?" she asked. "What are you talking about?"
"Ah, that," he replied, smiling mischievously. "Your father thought you might like a trip out of the city. We've talked about the Tree-herds, of course. Your father and I have decided it is time you met one." Mellamir sat there dumbstruck for a moment. "Don't you want to meet them?" Gandalf asked. "Then get dressed. We have to be out of sight of Minas Tirith by the time people start waking up. Join me in the stables at the Fifth Circle when you're ready, but no later than twenty minutes from now."
2996-3002; Minas Tirith
------------------------------------
The harvest came and went. Time, as it is wont to do, went on. Summer passed into winter, and then into summer again. Denethor at last managed to find a fitting tutor: Dweinlunde, the son of sages for many generations and from a respectable enough family, yet liberal-minded and willing to teach a girl (under the pretext of her being trained as a son, of course) if it also meant the honour of tutoring the future Steward of Gondor. And so he did. At Gandalf's suggestion Denethor made Boromir page to the Captain of the Tower Guard during the day, but twice a week he spent his mornings in the library with Faramir, and at night he studied under Dweinlunde, occasionally learning from Gandalf as well. Now, what Gandalf had said did not mean that Boromir was ignorant; his father Arabôr had seen to much of his education. Boromir could read script as well as any of the boys educated at the common schools, and he was very good at practical math, keeping accounts and figuring areas of farm plots. Of course, being his father's son, he knew legends that had never been recorded in books, and also those lost over time or hidden in some musty library and never studied.
Faramir knew how to read, of course, but not much else. This was okay, though, because the boys of Minas Tirith didn't normally start their schooling until they were eleven, only a year younger than him. He wasn't as clever with numbers as his brother, but he was good with time: if he had to be back by lunchtime, he knew how long he could walk before he turned back and how far he could get in that time. Faramir's real love, though, was the world around him, the plants and animals that lived all about. He could tell from looking at a seed what plant would grow from it, and what its leaves would look like. And by looking at footprints he knew what kind of animal had made them, and when they were likely to hibernate, in the summer or in the winter; and when they would have babies, since Arabôr wouldn't hunt them then. Yet he was to be brother of the Steward, not a wild man of the fields, so he needed more "cultured" knowledge, to someday help Boromir in his task of governing Gondor. That's why he had to be tutored, to learn about the ancient Númenoreans and all the peoples descended from them. On Gandalf's advice, he also studied in more general terms the other free folk of the West with which Men occasionally had dealings.
Yet Boromir was not steward yet and so Faramir would not become his administrator for some time yet. Until that time, though, Faramir had other duties to see to, as Boromir constantly reminded him. Gondor would soon be at war, its borders were already threatened, and Faramir had a duty to train in sword and bow. So twice a week, after Boromir had joined Faramir for his morning lessons, Faramir would accompany his brother to the Tower Guard and the two would practice swordplay and archery. Much of the time Mellamir would join them as well.
Denethor searched long for a woman to tutor Mellawen, but in vain. He suspected he would not be able to find one since the only women qualified for such a position would be high-born. Those already married would be busy with their own family, and the others would be of marriageable age, and what family would ruin their daughter's prospects for a good match by having her work outside the family, no matter how noble the cause? He thought at first of sending her to Dol Amroth where she might be tutored by her aunts with her cousins there, but the thought of her being so far away pained his heart. No, he would not send her away. So Dweinlunde tutored her with Faramir, teaching them much the same things.
This was okay when Mellamir was eight and Faramir thirteen, and the people of their father's court seemed to brush it aside. _She's just lost her mother, poor dear, some said. She'll grow out of these odd ways_. Or, _well, she has no mother and hasn't for a year. She needs someone to show her how to be a lady. Why doesn't her father marry?_ But perhaps the most popular explanation was, _It's that meddling wizard. He doesn't understand our ways and has no right ruining the child. If he'd just let her be, she'd settle down and develop some sense_. But as the years passed on, people became less willing to look the other way. Plenty of girls didn't have mothers for one reason or another, and they all turned out all right. What's more, that wizard was seen less and less with her; no excuse there.
That name, Mellamir, was another bit of nonsense. At first people called her by it and had a good chuckle, thinking it a childish phase, but then she stopped answering to anything else. Now, if someone meant business, if Mellamir was in trouble, they would call her "Mellawen, child of Denethor" -- she wouldn't answer to "daughter of" even then. At other times, though, she wouldn't even respond to Mellawen. It was "Mellamir, son of Denethor," and no one seemed able to break her of the habit.
As the years went on nature took its course in all things, not least of all Mellamir. Back at Arabôr's farm she had worn loose, long skirts, torn about the knees, and Boromir's old trousers under them so she could run and climb trees. Growing up in Minas Tirith before that she wore dresses like all the other girls her age, always in the finest fabrics -- befitting the daughter of the Steward, and no less would do. After she became Mellamir, though, she refused to wear the dresses. She told her father that no one would believe she was a boy if her hair was long and she wore dresses all the time, so she cut her hair like Faramir's and took on the trousers and tunic of the boys of Minas Tirith.
This all worked fine (at least comparatively speaking) but then Mellamir began to develop, and as her body took on the shape of a woman, tongues began to wag. The britches were not simply boyish, they were immodest as well. Denethor tried to concine his daughter to return to wearing skirts, but to no avail. By this time Mellamir had taken up the sword and found she could not move around as well in a skirt as she could in britches. _But what does a daughter of Gondor need with a sword?_ the wagging tongues asked. The questions circled through the Seventh Circle and filtered all the way to the very outer walls of Minas Tirith. Every gossipy woman, it seemed, felt the need to discuss Mellamir's private business in the streets, shops, and surrounding fields, whatever her class.
People thought that Gandalf had stopped bothering the girl for what he doubtless considered weightier matters. Perhaps they were, but he far from neglected the young Lady of Gondor. Many nights after all the people had gone to bed the sentry saw an old hooded man and a boy of the Steward's household sitting on the outer wall, looking at forgotten forests and talking. They spoke of old legends and living beings many thought nothing but legend: short people, wizards (other wizards; the people of Minas Tirith didn't believe there could possibly be another like Gandalf if he was half he claimed), walking trees, and eagles with a sense of honour. Gondorians accepted that Dwarves and Elves had at one time lived, but the people of Minas Tirith hadn't heard from them in so long that, if they still existed, surely they didn't matter much to the modern man, save for small troublesome pockets like those Arabôr had found. Mellamir, however, learned from Gandalf what they were called and where they supposedly still lived, far away.
She appeared more and more a boy as time passed, despite her increasingly feminine body, and while most people couldn't blame the wizard for anything specific (the guards being the only ones who saw anything, and they couldn't tell anyone outside the guard what they saw while on duty) everyone from the nobles in Denethor's court to the boys who swept the streets sensed that something was horribly wrong, and most guessed that Gandalf was somehow to blame.
When she was first growing up in Minas Tirith, Mellamir was never an early waker, preferring to let the sun rise without her and join it later, but after returning from Arabôr's farm she often watched the sun rise from Ecthelion. Maybe she picked up the habit from Boromir and Faramir who, out of necessity, usually beat the sun out of bed. Perhaps her near-death experience in the river had given her a new appreciation for life, not to waste even an hour sleeping. Most, however, agreed it was Gandalf. His teaching her of far-away places gave her an interest in sunrises and sunsets because that was when her attention was naturally drawn to those far-away horizons where half-myths might still live.
Of course, Gandalf taught not just Mellamir but Boromir and Faramir as well. Faramir loved his stories and sensed the truth in them. Sometimes he joined his sister in her talks with Gandalf, but usually he smoked alone. This pipe-smoking was a curious thing. At first Denethor was dismayed to learn that, when not with Mellamir, his two sons often sat on the city wall smoking pipes, an activity hardly fitting for the heirs of the Steward. He convinced Boromir to give it up by appealing to his sense of duty -- a future steward had to maintain appearances -- but Faramir refused. It was one of the few things his father had taught him how to do, and whenever he smoked he felt somehow closer to Arabôr. Denethor couldn't bring himself to ask Mellamir to stop; sitting on the city wall or under a tree smoking and talking with that wizard gave her more joy than almost anything else.
Now, that was a bit disconcerting. Denethor and practically everyone else in Minas Tirith saw the wizard for what he was: a wandering freeloader who was always looking for answers and never finding them. But for some reason Mellamir and Faramir didn't see him like that. Boromir had never put much trust in his wizard tales; he thought them pure nonsense, probably more than half a lie, and anyway, if a person only had stories to tell, what good did that do but keep tots out of the way when work had to be done? _Thank the Valar for that_, Denethor thought, but what about the others . . . Mellamir he could excuse, it must be a woman's thing, they never grew up anyway. But Faramir, that was a different issue altogether! After all, he would become the brother of the Steward someday, and if anything happened to Boromir, Denethor did not want his kingdom handed over to someone whose best use of his time was to hear stories about people who ate seven times a day.
Whether Mellamir would have actually beaten the sun that morning will never be known because Gandalf beat them both. He shook the girl gently, and slowly her world came into focus.
"Gandalf?" Mellamir asked sleepily.
"Yes, I am here."
She squinted at him, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "What are those?" she said, her eyes resting on the saddlebags beside him.
"Ah," Gandalf replied. "The bags. One is for me and one is for you. There are clothes, cloaks, blankets, food -- fruits, dried meats, and bread, that sort of thing -- and water flasks of course; everything for our journey. I couldn't pack your pipe because you and Faramir were out smoking last night. Do you have it now?"
"Yes of co -- what trip, Gandalf?" she asked. "What are you talking about?"
"Ah, that," he replied, smiling mischievously. "Your father thought you might like a trip out of the city. We've talked about the Tree-herds, of course. Your father and I have decided it is time you met one." Mellamir sat there dumbstruck for a moment. "Don't you want to meet them?" Gandalf asked. "Then get dressed. We have to be out of sight of Minas Tirith by the time people start waking up. Join me in the stables at the Fifth Circle when you're ready, but no later than twenty minutes from now."