Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters
and/or places thereof
*****
I focused on the spider crawling across the wall. It was of a deep brown colouration, and moved so strangely--but then, any creature having eight legs would move quite differently from the perspective of one with only two. It was walking along the wall only a few centimeters above the floor, and as I watched it move with it's odd, staccato leg-placement, imagined I could hear a small click every time it set one foot (have they feet?) upon my wall. The world was spinning, everything drifting away from the spider. I felt my eyes half-close, for I knew what was coming upon me and for once welcomed it. At the last second I felt a sharp tug at the back of my head.
"Nana, I want to wear my hair down today," I decided of the sudden, sitting perfectly still as Nana brushed back my hair and pinned it up in a stiff knot. "It itches, Nana!" Nana only laughed, for I always made a fuss of having my hair pinned back and pulled up. Many seasons passed before I grew out of this, although I cannot account for the reasoning: it was certainly much hotter with a heavy black curtain over my back and shoulders. Despite my half-hearted protests, Nana finished the job of pulling back my hair and kissed the top of my head.
"There now, this is not so terrible, is it Arwen?" she asked.
"No, Nana!" I replied, spinning around and embracing her tightly. She was not expecting this, and it was a moment before she returned the gesture.
"Thank you, Arwen," she said. "Now come, before your father and brothers awake." I giggled as she took my hand and led me out of the room. We tiptoed quietly down the corridor, though this was completely unnecessary and, I would later learn, illogical. It was the first day of autumn, and I was thirteen years old. The sun's glory had not yet kissed our little valley, but in spite of this the hairs rose on the back of my neck, a forewarning of the heat to come. Birds sang, and as we crept down the hall I shook the sleep from my head as one cleans the cobwebs from a dusty room's ceiling. Every year, every first day of autumn, Nana and I had held this ritual. Until that year, I never thought to inquire as to the origins of our ceremony.
We reached the kitchen without awaking anyone, and Nana produced an apron for me and one for her, clean white linen. That would not last very long! Her own golden tresses had been tied into a bunch at the nape of her neck, and she tied the apron strings just below the end of her hair. It is in this manner that I prefer to remember my mother: creamy white elbows exposed, arms bent behind her head as she worked, smiling with her lips and with her bright blue eyes. Nana did not need help with such things as like tying on an apron, but I did. As soon as she was finished with her own apron I turned, holding out the strings to her, and she tied a deft knot. "Ouch, Nana, not my hair!" I cried, although she had hardly tugged on a few strands before realizing her mistake.
"Ready, Arwen?" she asked, spinning me around to face her.
I grinned. "Ready, Nana!"
"You know what to do, Arwen," Nana said. "The flour and the water, eggs, butter, milk, yeast, salt, and sugar."
"I know, Nana, I have been helping you for years and years," I replied good- naturedly as I hurried to gather the materials we would use to bake our bread. Why did we choose bread, and why on the same day? I cannot say. This is simply the way things were. It was not worth it to ask questions, and anyway, I did not care much for reasons, not then at any rate. Most of the ingredients could be found within the kitchen or pantry, only the water would be collected from the freshwater spring nearby. Nana and I always used spring water in our bread. As she took the first small loaves from the shelf where she had left them the night prior and unwrapped the wet cloths with which they had been kept fresh, I took two wooden buckets from the countertop and went to collect the water.
It was a brilliant day, and the sun had yet to arise! The trees were so vibrantly green, a few birds trilling brilliantly in the trees, a bullfrog croaking somewhere and a cricket chirping. A thin mist hovered in the forest, blanketing the tree-trunks and muffling the spirit-voices. At this time I believed in spirits, and believed that they roamed the forests when we slept. I stopped to listen to the stream-song as I tied my skirts up around my knees. This was indecent, but there were no men around to see and I surely considered myself a child still. As I knelt beside the spring, I marveled at the grey-blue predawn sky. Not a star was visible, yet there was light. The waning moon was just fading, though not below the horizon. So distracted was I that I plunged the bucket right to the bottom of the spring, dislodging a number of smoothed-over rocks and submerging my hands in the freezing water. Perhaps not quite freezing, but at the least quite cold! With a gasp I drew out, and set the nearly full bucket by the side of the stream. I was more careful filling the second bucket.
The buckets were far heavier on my way back to the kitchen, and while I had trotted to the stream I walked slowly back, for the weight and also because I did not wish to spill any of the sharp, sweet water. My feet were bare and because I was going slowly I felt the wet grass stalks bend beneath my feet, though they did not break. Grass stalks are amazingly resilient, as I well knew, and could be stepped on even by heavy boots and not break at all. The air was surprisingly chill just then, as days may be before their heat settles. Imladris was warm that year, but very early in the mornings the water was terribly cold and the wind so crisp! It is one of the most intense beauties I have ever known. I might have realized this then, but had not the wisdom, though I felt it wriggling just in the back of my mind. Pathetic as I was, without having been told to do so I would not likely notice my surroundings or appreciate them. Then the door opened and there stood Nana. "Come on, Arwen," she called. "Are the buckets too heavy?"
"I can manage, Nana," I replied, and hurried indoors. The kitchen had grown warmer in my absence; Nana had started the bread-ovens warming. Soon the room would smell of the first new loaves, our breakfast. But for the time being, it smelled of eggshells and pleasant burning and fresh water and flour and a hundred things I shall never name. The buckets I replaced on the countertop, noting the many herbs and spices lined along beside the flour. "What is all of this, Nana?"
"Oh, just things I thought we might test," she said. "Look Arwen, cinnamon. How do you fancy that would taste in your bread?" She went on to name the other oddments, to which I respectively made faces and felt my mouth water. "So, what do you think, Arwen? What shall it be?"
"I think, Nana," I said slyly, that we should bake some bread!"
"Let us do it, then!" she replied just as over-enthusiastically, and we began. For nearly an hour we mixed, stirred, poured, measured, and generally made our dough until we were both aching and covered with flour. It was a lucky thing we were wearing aprons then! By this time we had a fair amount of dough made; one batch of it with cinnamon in, another using rosemary and olive oil, although I had protested that olive oil would make the bread far too slippery, and so on. By now the kitchen smelled of those hundred unnamable scents, as well as freshly baked bread, dough, and-- "Honey!" I exclaimed.
Nana laughed. "Well, that certainly ruins the surprise!" She knelt and opened the oven. Hot air billowed into the room. Then Nana took out the newly-baked rolls and quenched the fire, leaving but a few smoldering embers. As she did so, tossing the rolls into her apron, I covered our various bowls of dough with damp cloths. Nana took a dry square of flannel and dropped the rolls onto this, shaking out her skirts and apron. Then she plucked up the four corners of the flannel and tied them into a neat little sack. "Shall we go outside to eat, or remain within?"
"Ai, Nana!" I cried. "It burns within, let us go out to the dewy grass and have our breakfast," I decided, and so we did.
We settled down beside each other. Nana untied the bundle of rolls, leaving them sitting between us. She had shaped the rolls perfectly, and now their round tops were golden and I longed to eat one. I felt Nana watching me, felt her smile knowingly, as I reached out and took up a roll. It was too hot for me to hold for very long, but I was quick in taking the first bite, then dropped the bread to my lap, where it heated my legs through my skirts. The steam felt good against my face for that brief moment, and made the world smell of honey and, of course, newly baked bread. I rubbed the crumbs from my fingers, slightly sticky from the honey, and said through a half-full mouth, "Nana, did you and Grandmother bake bread together every autumn, when you were small?"
"Hm." Nana tested the rolls lightly, found them too hot yet and replied, "Nana and I were very close, but it was rare that we cooked together. No, this is my own ritual. I suppose it feels good, for once, not being a Lady and actually seeing the results of my work."
"Does it not bother you that I am here, also?" I asked, taking a large bite of bread. It had been fully cooked, luckily, for I should have hated too bite into a lump of raw dough. Newly baked bread takes a time to harden, and now was as a forest of threads, very fragile threads. The effects of this were somewhat ruined by the churning in my stomach. Suddenly I felt as though I was imposing upon something private and very important.
But Nana shook her head. "It means very much for me to be able to share this with you, my daughter. When I was young. . .Nana and Ada had so much history between them. They had seen darker days, days they did not wish for me to feel the burden of. They loved me very much, but wanted to protect me from far too much. One reason I married your Ada--aside from the fact that I love him and could not imagine spending my life with another--is that he never kept anything from me. He wanted me to know everything he knew, he wanted to talk to me about important things and for me to understand them. At this time I was only just considered an adult in the years of the Elves and. . .he opened the world to me. When I look back, it is amazing how little I truly knew."
"Did you love your parents, Nana?" I asked then. "Were you very close with Grandmother?" Whenever my grandparents came to visit, my mother was enthusiastic and warm with them. It had never occurred to me to ask whether she had ever been less so; for me, things were as they were and always would be. My world, I realized then, was as limited as the one Nana had just described to me.
"Always," replied Nana at once. "Although at times not by choice. I never dared keep a secret from her, least she find out--and she would. I knew of her mirror, and deemed it better to tell than to have things seen." She took a roll from the flannel cloth and began to eat, but her mind was elsewhere. "Despite this, I always harbored a deep love for my parents. My memories of them are all fond."
"Nana. . .did Elladan and Elrohir ever. . .that is. . .when they were my age. . .when. . .before I was born. . .Did Elladan and Elrohir bake bread with you?"
"They were not interested," she replied. "They would sometimes wish to be around me, but Elrohir only sat about on the counter, never helping or being at all interested, though he tried to pretend he was. Elladan cared more about eating the ingredients." She laughed. "No, they never helped me bake my autumn bread. You are my bread-heir, Arwen, and must always bake this bread!" Now she was joking, but my word was given to her that day, and though for many years alone I would have dough, misshapen loaves I would bake every autumn with fresh water from a stream and cinnamon to flavor a few special loaves. "You know you are special to me, Arwen," she said quietly, as though afraid, and I realized then that in my recent attempts for independence--as all youths have, upon occasion--I had been pushing her away.
I looked at her, my chin quivering. I was so sorry, but words seemed insufficient to express this at all. My eyes grew large and it was all I could do to keep from crying. At last I submitted, tears breaking as I threw myself at her, wrapping my arms around her with a shout of, "Nana!" Once the crying had begun, the words came and would not stop. "I love you Nana, really I do, you know that, do you not, Nana? I truly love you, truly, please never think different, please!" As I sobbed this she put her arms around me and rubbed my back and drew me into her lap. Nana held me until there were no tears left to cry.
"Here now," she said. "Sure I know it, Arwen. Do you want to go back to bed for a bit?" I was grateful for her knowledge of the exhaustion of crying fits, but I shook my head.
"Nana, there is bread to bake," I replied.
Half of an hour had passed. The sun was close to the horizon, but the valley was bright and boiling with the day's heat. Nana and I remained in the kitchen as our bread baked. Now I heard voices calling, and faces appeared by the window. It was my brothers! "Hello!" I told them brightly, pointedly enjoying another of the honey-dough rolls. "Good morrow to you, boys!"
"Good morrow, and good bread!" replied Elladan.
"Oh, aye indeed!" I said, displaying my honey-dough roll for them to see.
"Would there by any chance be some of those to spare?" asked my brother.
"Yes, Nana and I made enough for Ada and Glorfindel, as well," I replied, which was not a lie so much as an omission of certain aspects of the truth. We had made enough for Ada and Glorfindel, but also for the twins. "There were two more, though. . .Who do you suppose they were for?"
"Iluvatar only knows," replied Elrohir with a wry grin. At this point I handed to them the two rolls, saying, "They are best just out of the oven. Too bad you slept through that, sleepy-heads!"
"I would take my sleep any day," replied Elrohir. "Thank you Arwen!" Said the twins in perfect synchronization, and they waved as they headed off to spar.
"You're welcome!" I called after them, cleaning my hands on my flour- spotted apron. Returning to the bread-ovens, I helped Nana take out the last of our cinnamon bread. As usual, the loaves were perfectly formed and evenly risen. "How do you do it, Nana?" I asked. "How is your bread so perfectly. . .perfect?"
"Practice makes perfect, I suppose," she said, to which I wrinkled my nose.
"I practice sewing every day, and I am no good at it," I replied. We laughed.
"Perhaps we all have our talents and quirks. I bake bread. Your Ada is a natural-born diplomat. The boys have each their own skills, as you have duly noted."
"What about me?" I asked.
"You have yet to show where your spirit dwells," Nana replied. "But never fear, for soon we shall know."
After that I went out for a wander. My head was a little dizzy from the warmth within the kitchen, and I splashed cold water from the stream on my face to clear my mind. The mist had burned away from the trees and different birds sang now: not more or less, simply different. I did not notice that my skirts were tied around my knees still or that my hair had come free and was hanging limply around my shoulders. My entire being was awash in sweat.
The day was young, but my muscles ached from heat and the mixing and kneading. Listlessly I wandered about, not having any particular destination, but enjoying the clearing of my muddled up head with the fresh air. Yet when I rounded a corner, I saw Ada walking with an easily recognized figure. She must have arrived that morning for Nana and I not to have known of her presence. "Grandmother!" I cried, my energy returning in my excitement. "Grandmother!" By this time I was running towards her, the last of my hair slipping free and flying out behind me. I rushed to her and swung my arms around her neck, holding her tightly although I was far too small for this to have the full effects of a proper hug.
"Arwen!" she exclaimed in surprise. "How wonderful to see you again, child." When I drew back she looked at me as though seeing me for the first time, and this is how I felt towards her also. Never before had I seen her as such a similar form to my mother, yet there were those golden tresses, those sparkling blue eyes. It was a strange sensation, seeing my Nana and Grandmother as actual people. The flour from my apron was now all over Grandmother's clothes, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing at this.
Having heard my cries, Nana came out as well, wiping her hands on her apron. "Naneth!" she exclaimed. "Forgive my appearance, your arrival was unexpected."
"You look as I have always thought you ought," replied Grandmother, and she and Nana kissed each other once on either cheek. I never understood their relationship, but I saw the resemblance between the two woman, the closeness, the way they might have been sisters. Such was the manner of Elves, that my unkempt, flour-swept Nana should be so akin to my neat and tidy grandmother. I smiled, feeling myself the next link in a very special chain.
*****
To be continued
Arwen's strange sensation at the beginning will be explained later, probably next chapter. Remember, good readers review!
*****
I focused on the spider crawling across the wall. It was of a deep brown colouration, and moved so strangely--but then, any creature having eight legs would move quite differently from the perspective of one with only two. It was walking along the wall only a few centimeters above the floor, and as I watched it move with it's odd, staccato leg-placement, imagined I could hear a small click every time it set one foot (have they feet?) upon my wall. The world was spinning, everything drifting away from the spider. I felt my eyes half-close, for I knew what was coming upon me and for once welcomed it. At the last second I felt a sharp tug at the back of my head.
"Nana, I want to wear my hair down today," I decided of the sudden, sitting perfectly still as Nana brushed back my hair and pinned it up in a stiff knot. "It itches, Nana!" Nana only laughed, for I always made a fuss of having my hair pinned back and pulled up. Many seasons passed before I grew out of this, although I cannot account for the reasoning: it was certainly much hotter with a heavy black curtain over my back and shoulders. Despite my half-hearted protests, Nana finished the job of pulling back my hair and kissed the top of my head.
"There now, this is not so terrible, is it Arwen?" she asked.
"No, Nana!" I replied, spinning around and embracing her tightly. She was not expecting this, and it was a moment before she returned the gesture.
"Thank you, Arwen," she said. "Now come, before your father and brothers awake." I giggled as she took my hand and led me out of the room. We tiptoed quietly down the corridor, though this was completely unnecessary and, I would later learn, illogical. It was the first day of autumn, and I was thirteen years old. The sun's glory had not yet kissed our little valley, but in spite of this the hairs rose on the back of my neck, a forewarning of the heat to come. Birds sang, and as we crept down the hall I shook the sleep from my head as one cleans the cobwebs from a dusty room's ceiling. Every year, every first day of autumn, Nana and I had held this ritual. Until that year, I never thought to inquire as to the origins of our ceremony.
We reached the kitchen without awaking anyone, and Nana produced an apron for me and one for her, clean white linen. That would not last very long! Her own golden tresses had been tied into a bunch at the nape of her neck, and she tied the apron strings just below the end of her hair. It is in this manner that I prefer to remember my mother: creamy white elbows exposed, arms bent behind her head as she worked, smiling with her lips and with her bright blue eyes. Nana did not need help with such things as like tying on an apron, but I did. As soon as she was finished with her own apron I turned, holding out the strings to her, and she tied a deft knot. "Ouch, Nana, not my hair!" I cried, although she had hardly tugged on a few strands before realizing her mistake.
"Ready, Arwen?" she asked, spinning me around to face her.
I grinned. "Ready, Nana!"
"You know what to do, Arwen," Nana said. "The flour and the water, eggs, butter, milk, yeast, salt, and sugar."
"I know, Nana, I have been helping you for years and years," I replied good- naturedly as I hurried to gather the materials we would use to bake our bread. Why did we choose bread, and why on the same day? I cannot say. This is simply the way things were. It was not worth it to ask questions, and anyway, I did not care much for reasons, not then at any rate. Most of the ingredients could be found within the kitchen or pantry, only the water would be collected from the freshwater spring nearby. Nana and I always used spring water in our bread. As she took the first small loaves from the shelf where she had left them the night prior and unwrapped the wet cloths with which they had been kept fresh, I took two wooden buckets from the countertop and went to collect the water.
It was a brilliant day, and the sun had yet to arise! The trees were so vibrantly green, a few birds trilling brilliantly in the trees, a bullfrog croaking somewhere and a cricket chirping. A thin mist hovered in the forest, blanketing the tree-trunks and muffling the spirit-voices. At this time I believed in spirits, and believed that they roamed the forests when we slept. I stopped to listen to the stream-song as I tied my skirts up around my knees. This was indecent, but there were no men around to see and I surely considered myself a child still. As I knelt beside the spring, I marveled at the grey-blue predawn sky. Not a star was visible, yet there was light. The waning moon was just fading, though not below the horizon. So distracted was I that I plunged the bucket right to the bottom of the spring, dislodging a number of smoothed-over rocks and submerging my hands in the freezing water. Perhaps not quite freezing, but at the least quite cold! With a gasp I drew out, and set the nearly full bucket by the side of the stream. I was more careful filling the second bucket.
The buckets were far heavier on my way back to the kitchen, and while I had trotted to the stream I walked slowly back, for the weight and also because I did not wish to spill any of the sharp, sweet water. My feet were bare and because I was going slowly I felt the wet grass stalks bend beneath my feet, though they did not break. Grass stalks are amazingly resilient, as I well knew, and could be stepped on even by heavy boots and not break at all. The air was surprisingly chill just then, as days may be before their heat settles. Imladris was warm that year, but very early in the mornings the water was terribly cold and the wind so crisp! It is one of the most intense beauties I have ever known. I might have realized this then, but had not the wisdom, though I felt it wriggling just in the back of my mind. Pathetic as I was, without having been told to do so I would not likely notice my surroundings or appreciate them. Then the door opened and there stood Nana. "Come on, Arwen," she called. "Are the buckets too heavy?"
"I can manage, Nana," I replied, and hurried indoors. The kitchen had grown warmer in my absence; Nana had started the bread-ovens warming. Soon the room would smell of the first new loaves, our breakfast. But for the time being, it smelled of eggshells and pleasant burning and fresh water and flour and a hundred things I shall never name. The buckets I replaced on the countertop, noting the many herbs and spices lined along beside the flour. "What is all of this, Nana?"
"Oh, just things I thought we might test," she said. "Look Arwen, cinnamon. How do you fancy that would taste in your bread?" She went on to name the other oddments, to which I respectively made faces and felt my mouth water. "So, what do you think, Arwen? What shall it be?"
"I think, Nana," I said slyly, that we should bake some bread!"
"Let us do it, then!" she replied just as over-enthusiastically, and we began. For nearly an hour we mixed, stirred, poured, measured, and generally made our dough until we were both aching and covered with flour. It was a lucky thing we were wearing aprons then! By this time we had a fair amount of dough made; one batch of it with cinnamon in, another using rosemary and olive oil, although I had protested that olive oil would make the bread far too slippery, and so on. By now the kitchen smelled of those hundred unnamable scents, as well as freshly baked bread, dough, and-- "Honey!" I exclaimed.
Nana laughed. "Well, that certainly ruins the surprise!" She knelt and opened the oven. Hot air billowed into the room. Then Nana took out the newly-baked rolls and quenched the fire, leaving but a few smoldering embers. As she did so, tossing the rolls into her apron, I covered our various bowls of dough with damp cloths. Nana took a dry square of flannel and dropped the rolls onto this, shaking out her skirts and apron. Then she plucked up the four corners of the flannel and tied them into a neat little sack. "Shall we go outside to eat, or remain within?"
"Ai, Nana!" I cried. "It burns within, let us go out to the dewy grass and have our breakfast," I decided, and so we did.
We settled down beside each other. Nana untied the bundle of rolls, leaving them sitting between us. She had shaped the rolls perfectly, and now their round tops were golden and I longed to eat one. I felt Nana watching me, felt her smile knowingly, as I reached out and took up a roll. It was too hot for me to hold for very long, but I was quick in taking the first bite, then dropped the bread to my lap, where it heated my legs through my skirts. The steam felt good against my face for that brief moment, and made the world smell of honey and, of course, newly baked bread. I rubbed the crumbs from my fingers, slightly sticky from the honey, and said through a half-full mouth, "Nana, did you and Grandmother bake bread together every autumn, when you were small?"
"Hm." Nana tested the rolls lightly, found them too hot yet and replied, "Nana and I were very close, but it was rare that we cooked together. No, this is my own ritual. I suppose it feels good, for once, not being a Lady and actually seeing the results of my work."
"Does it not bother you that I am here, also?" I asked, taking a large bite of bread. It had been fully cooked, luckily, for I should have hated too bite into a lump of raw dough. Newly baked bread takes a time to harden, and now was as a forest of threads, very fragile threads. The effects of this were somewhat ruined by the churning in my stomach. Suddenly I felt as though I was imposing upon something private and very important.
But Nana shook her head. "It means very much for me to be able to share this with you, my daughter. When I was young. . .Nana and Ada had so much history between them. They had seen darker days, days they did not wish for me to feel the burden of. They loved me very much, but wanted to protect me from far too much. One reason I married your Ada--aside from the fact that I love him and could not imagine spending my life with another--is that he never kept anything from me. He wanted me to know everything he knew, he wanted to talk to me about important things and for me to understand them. At this time I was only just considered an adult in the years of the Elves and. . .he opened the world to me. When I look back, it is amazing how little I truly knew."
"Did you love your parents, Nana?" I asked then. "Were you very close with Grandmother?" Whenever my grandparents came to visit, my mother was enthusiastic and warm with them. It had never occurred to me to ask whether she had ever been less so; for me, things were as they were and always would be. My world, I realized then, was as limited as the one Nana had just described to me.
"Always," replied Nana at once. "Although at times not by choice. I never dared keep a secret from her, least she find out--and she would. I knew of her mirror, and deemed it better to tell than to have things seen." She took a roll from the flannel cloth and began to eat, but her mind was elsewhere. "Despite this, I always harbored a deep love for my parents. My memories of them are all fond."
"Nana. . .did Elladan and Elrohir ever. . .that is. . .when they were my age. . .when. . .before I was born. . .Did Elladan and Elrohir bake bread with you?"
"They were not interested," she replied. "They would sometimes wish to be around me, but Elrohir only sat about on the counter, never helping or being at all interested, though he tried to pretend he was. Elladan cared more about eating the ingredients." She laughed. "No, they never helped me bake my autumn bread. You are my bread-heir, Arwen, and must always bake this bread!" Now she was joking, but my word was given to her that day, and though for many years alone I would have dough, misshapen loaves I would bake every autumn with fresh water from a stream and cinnamon to flavor a few special loaves. "You know you are special to me, Arwen," she said quietly, as though afraid, and I realized then that in my recent attempts for independence--as all youths have, upon occasion--I had been pushing her away.
I looked at her, my chin quivering. I was so sorry, but words seemed insufficient to express this at all. My eyes grew large and it was all I could do to keep from crying. At last I submitted, tears breaking as I threw myself at her, wrapping my arms around her with a shout of, "Nana!" Once the crying had begun, the words came and would not stop. "I love you Nana, really I do, you know that, do you not, Nana? I truly love you, truly, please never think different, please!" As I sobbed this she put her arms around me and rubbed my back and drew me into her lap. Nana held me until there were no tears left to cry.
"Here now," she said. "Sure I know it, Arwen. Do you want to go back to bed for a bit?" I was grateful for her knowledge of the exhaustion of crying fits, but I shook my head.
"Nana, there is bread to bake," I replied.
Half of an hour had passed. The sun was close to the horizon, but the valley was bright and boiling with the day's heat. Nana and I remained in the kitchen as our bread baked. Now I heard voices calling, and faces appeared by the window. It was my brothers! "Hello!" I told them brightly, pointedly enjoying another of the honey-dough rolls. "Good morrow to you, boys!"
"Good morrow, and good bread!" replied Elladan.
"Oh, aye indeed!" I said, displaying my honey-dough roll for them to see.
"Would there by any chance be some of those to spare?" asked my brother.
"Yes, Nana and I made enough for Ada and Glorfindel, as well," I replied, which was not a lie so much as an omission of certain aspects of the truth. We had made enough for Ada and Glorfindel, but also for the twins. "There were two more, though. . .Who do you suppose they were for?"
"Iluvatar only knows," replied Elrohir with a wry grin. At this point I handed to them the two rolls, saying, "They are best just out of the oven. Too bad you slept through that, sleepy-heads!"
"I would take my sleep any day," replied Elrohir. "Thank you Arwen!" Said the twins in perfect synchronization, and they waved as they headed off to spar.
"You're welcome!" I called after them, cleaning my hands on my flour- spotted apron. Returning to the bread-ovens, I helped Nana take out the last of our cinnamon bread. As usual, the loaves were perfectly formed and evenly risen. "How do you do it, Nana?" I asked. "How is your bread so perfectly. . .perfect?"
"Practice makes perfect, I suppose," she said, to which I wrinkled my nose.
"I practice sewing every day, and I am no good at it," I replied. We laughed.
"Perhaps we all have our talents and quirks. I bake bread. Your Ada is a natural-born diplomat. The boys have each their own skills, as you have duly noted."
"What about me?" I asked.
"You have yet to show where your spirit dwells," Nana replied. "But never fear, for soon we shall know."
After that I went out for a wander. My head was a little dizzy from the warmth within the kitchen, and I splashed cold water from the stream on my face to clear my mind. The mist had burned away from the trees and different birds sang now: not more or less, simply different. I did not notice that my skirts were tied around my knees still or that my hair had come free and was hanging limply around my shoulders. My entire being was awash in sweat.
The day was young, but my muscles ached from heat and the mixing and kneading. Listlessly I wandered about, not having any particular destination, but enjoying the clearing of my muddled up head with the fresh air. Yet when I rounded a corner, I saw Ada walking with an easily recognized figure. She must have arrived that morning for Nana and I not to have known of her presence. "Grandmother!" I cried, my energy returning in my excitement. "Grandmother!" By this time I was running towards her, the last of my hair slipping free and flying out behind me. I rushed to her and swung my arms around her neck, holding her tightly although I was far too small for this to have the full effects of a proper hug.
"Arwen!" she exclaimed in surprise. "How wonderful to see you again, child." When I drew back she looked at me as though seeing me for the first time, and this is how I felt towards her also. Never before had I seen her as such a similar form to my mother, yet there were those golden tresses, those sparkling blue eyes. It was a strange sensation, seeing my Nana and Grandmother as actual people. The flour from my apron was now all over Grandmother's clothes, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing at this.
Having heard my cries, Nana came out as well, wiping her hands on her apron. "Naneth!" she exclaimed. "Forgive my appearance, your arrival was unexpected."
"You look as I have always thought you ought," replied Grandmother, and she and Nana kissed each other once on either cheek. I never understood their relationship, but I saw the resemblance between the two woman, the closeness, the way they might have been sisters. Such was the manner of Elves, that my unkempt, flour-swept Nana should be so akin to my neat and tidy grandmother. I smiled, feeling myself the next link in a very special chain.
*****
To be continued
Arwen's strange sensation at the beginning will be explained later, probably next chapter. Remember, good readers review!