Chapter 23: Time and Time Again
We woke up to the pitter-patter of the season's first showers and I sighed, knowing that Gander would be soaking wet when he laid down next to me tonight.
It was perfectly safe to travel, Stithulf and his father assured us. In this part of the season the rain never lasted longer than a few hours as dry-cold turned to wet-cool.
True enough, the rain trickled away within a few hours and we completed several days in the sun at a good pace.
On the third day deja vu hit me, our initial trek to the west overlaid on this one so strongly that I nearly fell from Damascus's back. It took me several minutes to compose myself.
I was right by where Cressie sat on a driver's bench, so she of course saw. She sees everything and always misinterprets it. "You miss him, don't you?" she asked knowingly.
Oh no. I wasn't going there, but I had to. "Well, yeah, but-" I gestured vaguely forward. "Life goes on." Ain't no time for feelings.
"It isn't a bad thing to miss him, you know. Even if you've only been together, what, a week?" Cressie assured.
At the same time, I winced at her very clear implication. "Yeah, so we all move fast. Apparently that's just the thing here," I snapped.
"You know, when I asked the old potato peeling guy, he said that there's never been a long engagement as long as he's been alive," Liam put in from the other side of the bench, more fiddling with the reins than steering, "King Theoden's dad was already married when he came back here from Gondor as a young man, his sister married within a week of meeting Eomund- that's Eowyn and Eomer's parents- and Denethor over in Gondor also got married within a month of meeting his wife. It's really interesting how much you can learn from the elderly."
"Not the library?" Cressie teased, "We barely saw you after they didn't let you enter the tournament."
He scowled. "None of the books are in English. I had to ask the minstrel to make me a chart," he ranted, "Because apparently we're speaking English and they're hearing Common Speech, which is an entirely different language, meaning there's magic translation mumbo-jumbo going on and we're illiterate!"
The journey home was awkward just as the trip to Edoras had been, two people who had no idea how to communicate with each other outside of what needs to get done right then. Somehow Brise was even more perplexing than her sister and Boromir gladly dropped her off at her home on the way to his.
Animal slavery? Racism? Cholesterol? Every third thing was a thing he didn't understand, and he didn't like that feeling. At least in the Citadel or at Osgiliath he knew what he was doing.
When Boromir gave his report (much more embarrassing than expected), he received the blistering tirade that he definitely expected. Theodred, he could justify losing to: the prince of Rohan was a mighty warrior with years of experience, and Boromir wouldn't embarrass him at his own wedding. But being forced to surrender to the women of some backwater town, and then marrying one?!
"It was unintentional," Boromir explained, "I never expected anything to happen between us. But there is something there, Father." He withdrew the letter from inside his jerkin and offered it. "Cass wishes for an audience to apologize."
Face pinched but eyes curious, Father slit open the parchment and his eyes moved- then they pinned Boromir to the spot. "What is this?" he demanded flatly, showing the letter.
Horrified amazement swept through Boromir as he realized that he couldn't read it either. There was no tengwar or even cirth. Instead he saw swooping loops and sharp spikes that were either short and dotted or tall and crossed, none of it legible. "Should we call for her sister to read it?" he suggested.
"Yes, do so. I have some questions for her as well," Father said with one of those deep tones that meant he would learn far more than Brise would say, "And the innkeeper's boy, afterward."
"Of course, sire," Boromir replied and had a quiet word with a guard by the door. He continued his report, finishing with his escorting his sister in law safely back.
She handily arrived just a few moments later, hastily changed from her working clothes; some dough and flour were still on her arms. Already working after just a couple hours back? "You called, sir?" she asked of Father with a little bow of her shoulders.
"Read this, for me," Father ordered, eyes already analytical.
Her eyebrows went slightly upward but she looked more suspicious than anything as she took the parchment. When she unrolled it, the surprise took over before she mastered herself. "To Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor," she read off easily,
"I have come to realize that my conduct during our previous meeting was unbecoming. If you are amenable, I would like the chance to apologize to you in person. Please send a reply. Sincerely, Cassandra van der Zee." She then rolled it up and offered the parchment back.
With a little signal Boromir took it instead.
"You are this woman's sister, correct?" Father questioned.
"Correct, sir," she confirmed.
"Tell me about her. From childhood," Father ordered.
When Brise stopped to think, frowning, Boromir knew that she would want to leave things out. By now she knew that Lord Denethor could see into the minds of lesser people so the words came in little showers of stammering words, always expecting to be told to stop. Surprised and suspicious when she wasn't stopped.
Clearly Cass had understated their childhood home and sudden understanding came about things that had puzzled Boromir previously. When one is treated like an animal, they would either bite or flee the moment they saw a chance. And if the military is the only real option...
"We didn't see each other, really, after that," Brise finished lamely, "Not until we came here."
"And your opinion?" Father asked silkily.
"Besides being a hypocrite who forgot how to use her upstairs brain the minute she got some attention from a man, and being more muscle than brains in the first place, Cass is a good person. Or at least she tries to be," Brise replied with a shrug, "Which is still better than most people."
At such an opinion Boromir tried to hide his grimace. This was not helping.
"And?" Father asked expectantly.
Brise winced at the sharper scrutiny. "I mean, she's usually chill unless she thinks people she likes have been insulted or hurt, and she's got a sense of humor, but-" Yet again, she shrugged, but this time folded her arms defensively. "She changed after the grenades.
"Anything that can't be proven without doubt is imagination, from mermaids to mind reading to dreams that come true later. We used to all talk about having one half of a dream and someone else having the other, or a dream that came true later, or Cressie being an empath-" Brise cut herself off to add, "None of us are really sure that she is though," before continuing, "But then she came back and it was our imaginations or pattern matching or remembering wrong. She and Cressie got into such a screaming match that they didn't talk for years and now we just avoid talking about anything not real or provable around her."
"Such things are common in your bloodline?" Father questioned intensely. After all, the gift of prophecy is uncommon outside of royal and sometimes noble lineages.
"Every single one of us has seen something," Brise replied simply.
Thoughtfully Father nodded to himself.
The interview continued to the rest of her family- who was who, and what did they do before? What were their plans now? Her plans?
The answers Brise gave were vague, yet honest. It sounded more like she didn't know than that she was hiding or omitting. "None of us really expected to get this far. We're winging it," Brise confessed in summary, "I guess I'll stay at the bakery if I can and with Lance if he still wants me."
Deep in consideration, Father sent her away.
The innkeeper's boy, Lance, had even less information than Brise. He had met his lady's family only the day before they started traveling and he didn't like many of them. They were dumb or boring or (worst of all) fat and/or ugly, and later on became smelly and started expecting way too much from him. Only Brise made it slightly bearable, he had declared. On Cass specifically, he had even less to say; she failed at being funny, completely lacked sophistication, and he couldn't stand her face, but that was all.
The whole time, Boromir mentally cursed. How was he going to salvage his proposition after this new, unexpected damage to his case?
"Hot-tempered. Masculine. Unsophisticated. And unable to write even in Common Tongue?" In the silent hall, each word was even sharper than usual. "While I deem her more intelligent than her sister thinks, that is no comfort.
"A ragged House, bereft of lordship for untold time, and suddenly here from the east with their claws in Theoden's House and in Tharbad?" Father sneered, eyes hard. "I do not blame you, Boromir, for your passions and feelings; women have their ways around men, even those without beauty. Yet you must think of Gondor first!"
"Cass would be a valuable asset to Gondor," Boromir argued in return, "Stronger ties to Rohan and revived trade to the lost northern kingdom can only be good. She herself would bring foreign knowledge, new ideas, and great personal courage in battle. She is a skilled healer. Tempers can be managed. Literacy and some level of sophistication can be taught."
Father's eyes softened somewhat and he looked like he pitied his son more than anything. "I'm sorry, my son, for what I must do and the hurt it will cause you. This woman is too much of a risk to our country and our people. I accept her apology, yet I must uphold her ban," he said in the way of Father instead of Lord Denethor, a distinction that Boromir had seen less and less over the years.
The decision felt like being stabbed in the gut. "You are certain?" he questioned, voice barely calm.
"I am. Go and rest for today," Father answered, "Tomorrow's needs will be many."
Mouth tight and heart twisting, Boromir bowed and left the audience chamber. He kept his expression mostly neutral to avoid alarming the staff but once he was in his chambers, he swore and stormed in a circle as he thought.
A danger to Gondor? Their family hadn't known a thing about Middle Earth when they arrived, outside of what a map could tell them! They had even assisted the Gondorian army, albeit by accident!
There was no ignoring this order, or going around it. Minas Tirith was the only real settlement within days of travel and Boromir couldn't be spared from Osgiliath for long.
Suddenly his shoulders dropped and body felt heavy. His journey was over, it had changed everything, and now he was back to his ordinary life. How strange.
There was a series of knocks on the door that always brought a smile to his face. "Come in, Faramir," he called and pulled himself back up.
His ginger little brother slid inside, grinning delightedly. They laughed as they embraced and Faramir got a mischievous gleam to his eyes. "Did you really get married in Rohan?" he teased, "Or are they exaggerating again?"
There was no need to put up a front for Faramir, so Boromir sighed heavily and pinched his nose to try relieving the headache that was starting. "Tharbad, actually, the Rohirrim way, and completely on accident," he corrected, "And she's still banned from the City."
For a second Faramir blinked, thinking. Then his eyes went wide. "The one with the scars?" he questioned, "No wonder Father disallowed it."
"He accepted her apology, yet…" Boromir waved a hand, frustrated.
Sympathetically Faramir nodded.
Then Boromir decided that enough was enough; he was back to his life, and had to get used to that. "What's happened since I was gone? How is Osgiliath holding?" he asked suddenly.
That look came up; Faramir knew what he was doing. Thankfully he went with it, at least for now, and started sharing the news. Who's injured, what attacks came, who's died…
Talking with Faramir was a joy and this was no different. It was a quick conversation this time however, Boromir exhausted and Faramir having things to do; within twenty minutes Boromir was alone again.
He barely got his clothes off before he rolled into bed.
That day a messenger was sent out from the Citadel to Tharbad via Edoras. Unfortunately for Cass but very conveniently for Lord Denethor, said messenger was killed by orcs in the Firien Wood.
No second attempt was made.
On the fourth day of the journey from Stithulf's (and now Dezzie's) village the rain really hit, harder than I had ever seen. The road turned to mud and it was at times unnavigable. Where the hell did this come from? I wondered while I kept beside a carriage I could barely see.
For three days of the foul weather it was too dangerous to even try travelling so everyone sat tight inside the carriage and wagons, horses attached but not hitched to keep them from wandering off. Sitting with my Electra, Liam, and Aaron in the back of a half-full wagon was uncomfortable but not terrible despite Liam's long legs and Aaron taking up an unreasonable amount of space.
Several times I had to keep Gander from jumping in for fear of ruining the grain with even more moisture and felt terrible about it each time. In the end he slept under the driver's bench, at least out of the mud.
"Where did this damn storm come from?" Electra or I would grumble occasionally. It had been so sudden, blue skies to dark grey in half an hour or less.
On the second day Aunt Libby and I conferred with my grandparents in the carriage about what to do if this kept up. There were three options that we saw: stay in place, go back to the village, or put our best drivers on the benches and hope that our knowledge of the land ahead would bring us home safely.
Gran suggested going north to Isengard but Nan hadn't liked that place, so I refused. Besides, there was apparently a wizard living in the tower and I didn't want to deal with some half-insane old guy.
We'd give it one more day and then go back, we decided. The risk of blundering into the Fords of Isen was too big while the land behind us was flat and generally safe.
By some miracle the storm lessened overnight and by morning was a refreshing spray, easy to navigate in. We went forward.
Our perseverance was rewarded with a rainbow across the distance. It felt like a test had been passed. The going was tough for a further day and a half before the ground was no longer inundated with mud, just an occasional light shower that reminded me of Olympia.
Then the stone towers of Tharbad slowly grew over the horizon and my heart skipped a beat. We were home.
The couple who'd been managing the place and the many dogs emerged after hearing a storm of barking, greeting us with smiles and news of what they'd done while we were gone. Dunstan and Leofflaed had pruned and planted, collected eggs and began preserving like they planned to stay.
In fact, that was their plan. Their marriage was a bit of a scandal due to differing social statuses and they found life in Tharbad agreeable so far. They'd acknowledge our leader as their Lord, or Lady, they had assured us like it was obvious, but could they also still be of the Rohirrim?
Might this be one of the first dual citizenship cases? Of course they could stay. And of course they could still be Rohirrim, they were assured immediately.
The question of who was officially in charge was a bit more troubling. In practical terms that was Aunt Libby and if it came down to a vote, I was sure she'd win. But what would be the limits of her power and what if she lost her mind or died? Were we going to be a democracy or a monarchy?
For that night things were calm, restarting our lives and resting after days of long travel. An easy soup got put on the fire and Papa made a wonderfully quick flatbread and there was no talk of politics yet.
Over the next several days while we helped Dunstan and Leofflaed repair their chosen building and started chores, there was intense discussion over what to do. Democracy didn't exist here, so how would that stand with our neighbors? We were all wary of monarchy.
Debate (and argument) lasted weeks, including a full rotation of the wagons from Tharbad to Bree then back. The beginning of summer brought most things to consensus. On July 4th we all put together a constitution reminiscent of the American document and immediately afterward declared Aunt Libby as Queen Elizabeth I of Tharbad.
Of course, there were limitations on the monarch put straight into the constitution. Any executive action she takes can be countermanded with a vote, and 60% of the vote or more can get rid of her at any time. If a succession crisis arises, it would be decided by a vote. The monarch had power but only as long as the people allowed it.
It tickled my fancy to scribble my name at the bottom of a new freaking constitution. Every adult in town did, including Leofflaed's thumb print (she was illiterate) and Dunstan's flowing tengwar. It was then stashed in Nan's old trunk for safe keeping.
The mind boggled that we were an official city-state now. A declaration of such had gone out to King Theoden with the eastern leg of the caravan journey, carried in my saddlebag while I circled the lone wagon.
The declaration to King Theoden was received well, a reply given that Mackey painstakingly transcribed. Since Dunstan was of noble blood and good temperament he was declared the ambassador, an assignment that was thankfully important enough to quiet his relatives who were still angry about his marriage.
There was no reply to my letter from Gondor. But it was still very early and Denethor probably needed time to think, so I didn't mind.
Another rotation came and went, Edoras to Bree with a rest at Tharbad in the middle. There was no reply.
Autumn arrived and a bumper crop with it, weather pleasantly crisp but not cold. Still no reply.
That's okay, it's only been half a year, I told myself. That's a bit of time in Middle Earth but not as long as it seemed to me.
Stevie was brought on the autumn leg to Edoras where he got his new prosthetic fitted, now that his stump was healed enough. To my surprise, there was a second much further in development: a relatively simple piece with buckler and push/slicing dagger at the end. The knowledge that he could properly defend himself again made him visibly light up.
A package for Aditi was also handed over, packaged in leather and a canvas bag. I could feel a handle like the main body of the creation was supposed to be projected outward from the fist, but had no idea whatsoever what it was. When had Aditi gotten together with the blacksmith anyways?
The look on her face when she got it was near devilish. When she pulled the blade from her sheath it looked to me like a long push-knife with some hand armor; her brother and father whooped and cheered. Then she pushed a button on the handle and one blade sprang apart into three. She called it a katar; in awe, I called it a giant murder fork.
On the next journey to Edoras, Madhav sent an order for a katar of his own.
Slowly, a year passed from the wedding.
There was still no reply from Minas Tirith.
Despite how it felt like my chest cracked open every time I was told there was no message for me at Edoras, I kept going. There was too much to do and either too much time or not enough.
Sometimes in the dark when everything was quiet I would remember the sincerity in Boromir's face and wonder if there was some terrible misunderstanding. I briefly even thought of going to Ithilien to speak to the lauded Faramir, but that idea got tossed out the window when I remembered how many duties I had at home. Besides, If he couldn't even send a fucking letter on our anniversary-
Did this even matter to him anymore? Did I? Or had he met some pretty young thing back in Gondor and decided that he was starting over? There was no evidence for someone else but it crossed my mind more often than I liked.
That year was busy for everyone and apparently Tharbad's main medic was needed everywhere at once: once my forceps and tongs were ready I got the IUDs out so that everybody could start having babies like they were supposed to; Fedemid had another baby; I was in Edoras when Godiva gave birth and she asked for me. Usually Aditi was by my side and I got the feeling that she was almost ready for her 'residency' period.
The rangers were in and out, friendly and courteous but often quiet. It was good for everyone (except Cressie) since they got a few nights of rest and we learned a great deal from them. My medical repertoire definitely benefited. Meanwhile Beornraed spent so much time hanging around that he had an assigned room and even did chores when he saw that they needed doing.
Within half of that year a message came that Andy, Mackey, and Dezzie were already expecting and I sighed, both grateful to be wanted and amazed that it was all happening so fast.
A second year passed. Still no word.
Finally, I decided that it was long past time I looked for another future. While I cared about Boromir and perhaps even loved him, this couldn't continue as it was.
I gave myself three days to be sad and depressed, and then put all thoughts of Gondor out of my head. Ain't no time for that.
Another two years passed and life went on. The caravan route was successful and our monopoly on the dangerous route gave us a tidy profit margin; the many splitters of the family grew at a rate that boggled me. All the married couples had at least one child during the years since the wedding, sometimes two if they found it particularly hard to keep their hands off each other. Beornraed officially moved in- with Aditi, to Pitaajee's joy, and they had a kid. Even Dunstan and Leofflaed got into the game.
It all made me feel a little lonely if I had the time to think about it. So I made sure that I never did.
Somewhere along the lines Tharbad became seen as a sort of Middle Earth Gretna Green: come here to elope away from your folks and their disapproval. Cressie finally saw some damn use around here as a sort of marriage and family counsellor to reconcile the newlyweds and their families back home. After the main issue was resolved the couple would usually go home or to another village. Sometimes they stayed and the town grew. Four and a half years after its founding it had gone from uninhabited to a full 34 residents.
Our trade relationship with the Senones continued, field produce and grain for nuts and timber. A few meetings with Theodred had helped their relationship but the Rohirrim were still suspicious and skittish of the Wild Men who now journeyed to trade with them. As time passed tensions eased, making scenes almost common that never would have happened even five years before.
Not everything was perfect, however. That snake Grima had somehow wormed himself into Theoden's good graces and something was happening to the king's mind that made Mackey fear early onset dementia. While I never examined the king, he did seem old and tired, a little forgetful, the few times we met in those years.
Strider came through Tharbad fairly often, though with each visit he grew quieter and surlier. In Edoras he apparently hijacked Matt to help him look for some wretched creature, without success, though neither would say exactly what was going on. All either would say is that it was horribly important; finding a lost nuke kind of important, Matt clarified when Mackey had pressed him, and it needed to stay quiet.
At the same time orc attacks became more common on the southern end of the caravan route. Only the best of us with weapons were sent out now: Electra, Liam, Anahera, Madhav, and me. Never all at once in case of an ever more likely attack on Tharbad, but always at least three traveling between Bree and Edoras.
It was a good life, I thought at the end of the day, I could be content with this. And for a while, I was.