12. Farewell in the Dawn
All in one day I had felt horror and great joy, disappointment and bitter shame, amazement and an unexpected, inexplicable peace. And now, looking at him, I felt nothing at all. For a few seconds I gazed at him as if he were a stranger. He looked pale, I noticed, tired and tense.
„What are you doing here?"
My voice sounded oddly impersonal even in my own ears, and I saw him wince.
"I wanted to speak to you," he said. "I lost my temper back there. I'm sorry."
"You had every right to lose your temper," I said quietly. "I ambushed you with a story that must sound completely insane, told you I could vanish at any moment – I can't blame you for being angry."
He bowed his head and took a deep breath.
"I… it…" His grey eyes were dark with sorrow.
"I felt as if you had used me, only to abandon me when you leave like a forgotten toy. But – you are not that sort of woman. I suppose I must have tramped through half of Minas Tirith these past few hours, thinking. And I remembered every single moment we have had together. I know you're not that sort of woman! You're friendly and clever, you're strong… and you are generous. That you took me for your lover…"
A faint smile played around the corners of his mouth. "You didn't use me, you gifted me. And –"
He blushed. "— and I know that I was your first man. You never played with me; I should never have said that. And I should not have forced that… that embrace, that kiss, on you. I am ashamed, Noerwen. Can you forgive me for that?"
"Of course," I said softly. "I should have trusted you. It was not only your fault; I should have told you the truth earlier."
"You are generous… more than I deserve, I fear." He sighed, turning his back to me and going over to the window. "Still, one truth deserves another." He spoke so quietly that I had to step closer to hear him, but I didn't touch him.
"I am thirty-seven years old," he went on. "I told you that I grew up with Faramir… and when he took up his service in Ithilien, I volunteered for his company. That was nearly seventeen years ago. My mother was still alive then… My father built a house for her, before they were married, about a half hour's ride from Cormallen, on the banks of the Anduin. It is built of wood and stone, not very big, but still the rooms are spacious and bright. You can smell the scent of the cedar shingles on the roof, and hear the rushing and murmuring of the river…"
He laid back his head shortly, without turning back at me.
"When my mother died of consumption fifteen years ago, I closed up the house. By that time the rangers were already wandering around Ithilien like secret shadows, and the threat of Mordor was so dark that most of the people had drawn back to Minas Tirith, or further on into Lebennin. (1) There was a woman… she had often been a guest in our house during my mother's last years, and I liked her very much."
"Who was she?" I asked with some hesitation, not certain if I really wanted to know.
"Her name was Idril," he said. He turned around and looked at me directly. "She was a dainty little thing, pretty and vivacious, with a bit of a temper. She used to make jokes about me; she thought I was much too serious, and terribly slow."
There was a glint of laughter in his eyes, but it vanished almost at once.
"As it turned out, I was slow indeed. I was caught up in one skirmish after another with Faramir's company, for mobs of orcs were traipsing through Ithilien, a growing threat to those who refused to leave their homes. Finally Idril grew tired of waiting for me to declare myself, and she married one of the farmers who still remained.
"Were you very unhappy?" I asked cautiously.
He grimaced.
"Yes. I had taken her for granted for too long, and suddenly it was too late. I tried to put it behind me, and for some time I was transferred to Minas Tirith. Then the Steward decided to evacuate Ithilien completely, and one family after another moved slowly across the river to safety. But Idril's husband refused to leave."
His face was stiff; he turned away from me and I saw his hand clenched around the window sill as if he would force the imprint of his fingers into the very wood.
"Faramir told me about it, and I rode as fast as I could to Ithilien. Men of Gondor and two companies of the rangers kept the roads to the Anduin secure as good as possible, and I reached the farm just at evening. Idril was feeding the hens. She wanted to invite me in, give me a meal, but I refused. They hadn't even started to pack up their belongings. They acted as if nothing could harm them, as if everything I said, trying to get them to leave, was no more than the unreasoning panic of a child."
"You could not convince her?" I whispered. I did not want to hear the end of this story; already I guessed what it must be, but I would not stop him.
Damrod laughed harshly. "It was like arguing with a stone. She stood before her house, casting grain in a wide arc, while the chickens scratched the ground around her and pecked at my boots. I talked until I was hoarse, and she just smiled, without even looking up at me. And finally she came and put her hand on my chest, and cut me off right in the middle of a sentence. 'I will stay here,' she said. 'If Erestor will not leave his home, neither will I.'"
The room was very silent. I stepped behind him and gently touched his shoulder. For a moment he was tense, resistant, but then slowly his body relaxed.
"I rode back across the river that same night. Later on I learned that the farm was attacked and the house burned over their heads the very next day. They were both dead."
'I'm so sorry," I whispered. "How horrible…"
"Yes, it was horrible," he said. "And as I wandered around the city, trying to understand what you had told me – I thought of Idril again. All these years I have blamed myself for not speaking sooner, when I could have had her to wife. And wished that at least I had taken her away to safety that last night, even by force…"
He turned to me.
"I realized today that it wasn't my fault: she knew her own mind, and she challenged her own fate. But I don't want to make the same mistake a second time. In the years after Idril's death, I gradually accepted that I would never have a family of my own. The company was my home, the men were my brothers – Mablung, especially, and Faramir as well. And then suddenly you came, brave and loving and strong, and I could hardly believe the miracle of it."
"I know." I swallowed. "I felt the same way."
He took my hands between his. I stared up into his face, thinking how intense his gaze was, almost stern.
"I do not want to lose you," he said. "I don't want you to go back… there. But if I understood you correctly, there is nothing we could do to prevent it."
I shook my head, unable to speak.
"And I don't know if I would be able to follow ;you into your… your world," he continued. "Therefore we can count on only what we have now, this moment, and we must use the time that is given to us to be together. I received orders this afternoon to return home tomorrow; Faramir travels to Rohan with the White Lady to bury the old king, and we have much to prepare in Ithilien. I will open up my mother's house again, and put everything in order. And then, in no more than three weeks, I will return to Minas Tirith and take you with me."
I gasped. "Are you certain, my love? You would take that chance…"
"I am certain." His hands cupped my face gently, and then they slid down to my waist and he drew me into his arms. "I don't know if you will ever be my wife, according to law and custom. But you are mine, you will always be mine, whatever comes to pass." He spoke close to my ear, his voice soft but emphatic, his breath stirring wisps of hair against my cheek.
"You are crazy, and reckless, and gambling with fate. You should turn and run away from me as fast as you can manage… but I am so thankful that you don't." My voice was trembling between laughter and tears. "I love you so much that it hurts, do you know that, you madman?"
"Oh, yes, I know," he answered hoarsely. He lifted my chin with his hand and kissed me: no gentle, tender kiss this time, but a passionate attack on my mouth, urgent and fierce. The breath was caught in my throat and came out in a burst of heat when he released me at last.
"Ahhh…"
His mouth returned, and never in my life had I been kissed like this, not even by him. I felt his fingers unbuttoning my robe, stripping the shirt from my shoulders, and then his hands were everywhere, and my naked skin trembled to his touch. For a moment he drew away, and I heard the curtains pulled across the window, blocking out the late afternoon sun. The bolt on the door slid home, and I waited, motionless, with my eyes shut tight. And then he was beside me, lifting me, and his skin was bare against mine as he carried me to the bed.
"Noerwen… Noerwen… my love…" And he was above me, and then with a single, flowing movement he was in me, and I clung to him, overwhelmed at his onrush… and I understood that he was laying claim to me with every touch, with each powerful thrust… each centimeter of my skin his flesh, his woman, his own.
And as he took possession of me, I was set aflame in his arms as a forest fire leaps from one treetop to another. All that he gave me I gave back with growing ferocity. I barely recognized my own voice, husky with passion, pleading for mercy and all the while begging for more, more and more, and he rose above me, moving faster and harder, and his eyes were open, never leaving my face. The mercy he gave me was sweet torture, and his fierce climax carried me away, redeeming us both.
He fell asleep afterward, still molten with me, and I pressed my face into the dark waves of his hair, savoring the good, vital smell of him. I thought about tomorrow, how he would be leaving, and I thought of Idril, whose love and stubbornness had brought about her death, and I was wracked with pity and understanding. If it had been him...
I smoothed the hair away from his face and kissed his temple; he murmured something I could not catch and his arms closed more tightly around me as he sank back into his dreams.
I would have stayed with the man I loved, the same as she did.
vvvvv
I woke up just before sunrise to a hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. I opened my eyes to find a single candle burning on the desk, and Damrod leaning over me, fully clothed.
"What… is something wrong?"
"No, my heart, all is well. But the rangers will leave at first light, and I wanted to say goodbye."
I sat up, still half asleep.
"Why didn't you tell me yesterday evening?" I murmured, rubbing my face. He laughed softly.
"I didn't want to think of farewell, only of you," he said gently. He gathered my hair, loose and tousled over my naked breasts, and plaited it into a loose braid. All through the past weeks he had played with my hair, braiding it and combing it out again with his fingers, blunt and strong.
"I will miss you," I whispered.
"I'll be back soon, my dearest." He kissed me and ran his hands down my back caressingly before he stood up. "Will you get dressed and come out in the gardens with me before I leave? I have something for you."
So I slipped into my robe and sandals and followed him out. The herb garden was shiny white with dew, and rosemary and lavender filled the air with their strong, balsamic fragrance. As we went hand in hand among the garden beds, the eastern sky turned from a pale grey-blue to pink, heralding the sunrise.
I leaned against the wall, rough and chill against my back. A fresh wind coming down from the mountains blew strands of hair into my face, and Damrod stood smiling down at me with his hands in the pockets of his cloak.
"How lovely you are," he said. He drew one hand out of his pocket, holding up a small bag of dark blue velvet. He loosened the drawstring and up ended the bag; something small and shiny dropped into his palm. Then he reached for my right hand, and something cool and heavy slid onto my third finger.
I raised my hand to look at the ring he had given me, and caught my breath in wonder.
It was shaped like a natural tendril with delicate leaves, slender and narrow like a poplar, but the silver-colored metal gleamed bright and cool, like moonlight on the water. Brighter than any silver I had ever seen, and the tendril blossomed into a half-open flower whose outer petals formed the setting for a shining gem of deep, mossy green, clear and round as a forest pool.
"Damrod..." I was half bewildered at the gift; never had I seen any ring so beautiful, so obviously a precious heirloom.
"This is the ring my grandfather had made for my grandmother," Damrod said gently. "It is Dwarvish work.. My mother inherited it when my grandmother died, and she wore it to the last day of her life."
"You must not give this to me! What if I..." I could feel the tears welling into my eyes.
"Quiet, love." He took my face between his hands and silenced me with a kiss. "For years I had no hope that I would ever have a wife to wear this ring, and I want to see it on your hand."
"Damrod..."
"Noerwen." He drew me close, gazing into my eyes. "Do you remember, I told you once that blind fear is the death of every warrior?"
I nodded, my face pressed into his soft doublet.
"It is the death of love, as well. My heart, I don't know why you came here, but I bless every day I have been able to hold you in my arms. I don't want to live in fear of losing you; I want to look forward with hope to a future with you by my side. You will live with me as my wife in Ithilien."
"Do you really believe it will happen?"
"I am sure of it." He smiled and stroked my hair. "We will build on a storage room for herbs, and the sick will come for you to help them. And in the evening we will sit on the bank of the Anduin, and I will as you all the questions we have no time for now. Then you will tell me about your world, and when it gets dark we will go inside and close the door behind us. I will make love to you, and you will fall asleep in my arms."
I listened as if to a dream, soothed and comforted by the steady confidence in his voice. Finally he raised my chin to look deep into my eyes.
"It was not a coincidence that you came here, my love," he said. "With all my heart I believe this, just as I believe that I will come and bring you back with me in a few short weeks. I will send a message first, so you can be ready."
He kissed me once more, tender and lingering, and I clung to him, my senses full of his warmth, the scent of his body and the pulsing life of his skin beneath my fingers. Then he stepped back.
"Good-bye, my Noerwen." His eyes held me still, even though his arms hung at his sides. "Soon, my heart."
"Soon," I repeated. "I love you, Damrod."
He turned and walked away. I watched until he vanished behind the hedge that bordered the herb garden; then I leaned against the wall again. It took nearly an hour before the troop of rangers rode out through the gate below me, but I did not leave my place until I saw the men on their horses - six ranks, four abreast, all clad in dark green and brown, one hardly to be told from another in their uniforms, and all of them growing ever smaller as they followed the narrowing road across the Pelennor. When I could no longer see them at all, I turned finally to go back in the house.
vvvvv
It was fortunate that I had no time to give in to melancholy. There was only time for a quick wash and a hurried breakfast in the refectory, before my day's work began. Oroher and I had just started our rounds when a mason from one of the countless building sites around the city was brought in. He had fallen from a scaffold and his back and legs were heavily bruised, but the worst injury was his left wrist. It was broken in several places, and some of the bones were utterly smashed.
"If we only splint the wrist, it will heal stiff, and he will lose the use of it. I was told he has a wife and three daughters," said Oroher.
"What else can you do?" I asked. Splintered bone ends protruded from the wound, and I was grateful that the man lay in a deep poppy slumber. This was one patient I could empathize with completely; I knew what it was to have a break like that.
"You have clever, steady hands, Noerwen. If we work together, I think we can save most of the flexibility of his wrist."
I looked doubtfully at the warden.
"Oroher, I don't know. It's like a puzzle, and I'm not sure how it will come out." Desperately I tried to remember the exact structure of the human wrist. Oroher interpreted my frown correctly; he stepped over to a cupboard set into the wall and unlocked it with a little brass key. He brought out a sheet of parchment and unrolled it with care, and to my surprise I saw a drawing of an arm with all the bones clearly delineated, even the small wrist and finger bones. As far as I could judge it was anatomically correct in every respect.
"Wonderful!" I breathed. "Who made this for you?"
"Ah, well, Mardil's passion is herbs, but mine is bones." He smiled. "Perhaps this can serve as our guide."
And so we struggled to rearrange the smashed wrist of the mason as carefully as we could manage. The forenoon passed and still we sat under the bright skylight in the surgery ceiling, leaning over the injured arm. There was a sudden movement at the door, and without looking up aI heard someone stepping over to the examining table, and Ioreth's soft voice whispering in Oroher's ear.
"Noerwen, try to stretch the joint a little before you bandage it," he said. "I will be back in a moment."
From the corner of my eye I saw him pass through the doorway. I stretched the joint carefully and reached for one of the clean bandage rolls on the tray beside me. At that exact moment the drugged mason moaned and jerked his arm, and I swore under my breath.
"Perhaps I can be of assistance?" I looked up to see an unknown man close beside me, and I wondered how he had come in without my hearing him. He was tall and muscular with a good face, strong and intelligent, and his shoulder-length hair was dark but streaked with grey. In spite of that he did not seem old; there was a sense of vitality about him, and a quirk to his lips that hinted at a sense of humor.
"Perhaps," I said. "He must lie still enough for me to put on the bandage. Can you manage that? But be careful not to touch the wound; your hands are not clean."
He kept a straight face, but a smile appeared in the deep grey eyes.
"I will try my best." He moved to the other end of the table and laid his hand on the forehead of the unconscious man. The mason had been shifting about and wincing in evident discomfort, but at the stranger's touch he sighed deeply and lay still.
"Very good!" I said in amazement. I reached again for the bandage material and worked as quickly as I could to bind up the broken wrist in a secure bandage, clean and white. At last I straightened up and stretched. My back hurt from bending over the patient hour after hour, and I gave an involuntary moan.
"May I" The stranger stepped behind me and, without waiting for an answer, he laid both hands on my shoulders, sliding them down my spine to my waist with strong pressure. The result was astonishing - warmth spread through the cramped muscles and the dull pain eased and vanished. The man backed away and I turned to look at him.
His doublet was simply cut, but its velvet was rich, the folds luxurious. A kind of brooch was pinned to his shoulder, an eagle with outspread wings, holding a gem of golden green in its claws. Sunlight flooded into the room through the skylight overhead, and the sunbeams seemed gathered into the jewel, making it glow... like the sun shining through the leaves of spring. (2)
I looked up to meet the man's eyes, and then I bowed deeply.
"King Elessar," I said. "Forgive me, that I did not recognize you earlier."
He smiled, tilting his head quizzically. "But how would you know me?" he asked. "We have not met before this, have we?"
"Well, I have seen you before." I began washing the blood from my hands. "On your wedding day... but I was far in the back of the crowd, and you looked hardly bigger than my thumb."
"And in black mail and a winged crown," he added, his mouth curling in humorous resignation. "I probably wouldn't have recognized myself."
I dried my hands and regarded him thoughtfully. All at once I could picture him as a man in worn leather and soft boots, sitting by the campfire at dusk, the dancing flames mirrored in his eyes. Almost I could smell the tobacco in his pipe, and I wondered if he looked back on those days with longing... at least some of the time.
"I am sure a high calling like yours takes some getting used to. Sometimes it must seem to like a strange new world," I said gently. I held the wrist of the unconscious mason in my hand, counting the pulse, and when I looked again at Aragorn his expression was impassive.
"You are speaking out of your own experience, are you not, Noerwen?"
He leaned forward and his eyes held mine; I could not have looked away even if I had wished to. Abruptly the realization came to me, how much power was in this man.
I answered with an effort. "Yes. And you know that, obviously."
He nodded. "Indeed. I know because Gandalf spoke to me of you."
"He did? Oh."
"I assume you agree that it is helpful for a king to know what is going on in his city. Especially if he has such an...unusual guest." His voice was gentle.
I took a deep breath. "Who else knows?"
"I fear that would be me, child."
I startled and whirled around. Oroher had come in and stood gazing at me with a mixture of guilt and curiousity. I stared back.
"How long have you known?"
"Only since yesterday. Gandalf spoke to me, as well as to the king."
„For heaven's sake... and what happens next? A public placard on all the great places of Minas Tirith? Fanfares and heralds?"
The king laughed, but his eyes were still serious. "Gandalf told Oroher at my request. If you suddenly vanish away, it is better if we keep confusion to a minimum."
"Very prudent of you," I said dryly.
The smile moved from his mouth up to his eyes. "Oh, I confess to being curious, damsel! As soon as we return from King Theoden's funeral and have leisure for long conversation, I want to hear about this strange world you come from. And I suspect that Oroher is burning to hear all you can tell him of the wonderful methods of healing in use there."
I bowed. "I am no longer certain which of us can learn more from the other... he or me."
"I have no doubt the discussion will be of great interest," said the king. "But now I must leave you; several dozen counselors are waiting to shower me with questions... and I am quite sure the gentlemen could answer at least half of them without my assistance."
He sighed and went toward the door, then suddenly turned to look at me once more.
"Ah, yes - I have no secrets from my queen. She wishes to meet you, and she is expecting you two hours from now in her chamber."
He was hardly out the door before Ioreth came whirling in, her eyes shining, and caught me in a hug.
"My goodness, dearie!" she exclaimed, breathless with excitement. "An audience with the Queen... what an incredible honor!"
I returned the embrace, then gently pushed her away.
"Very true, Ioreth." I gazed down on my robe and blood-stained apron. "But you will have to find proper clothes for me to wear. I can hardly go looking like this!"
I took a hasty bath, and within the hour Ioreth managed to find an appropriate gown for me. Her niece, Aragwen, whose sandals I had worn until the battle on Pelennor Field, took charge of my hair, plaiting it into thick braids and winding them into a coronet about my head, pinning them in place with a handful of pins from the pouch at her belt. The gown was deep green, with a round neckline and wide trumpet sleeves, its hem and waist embroidered in silver thread with graceful vines and leaves intertwined. It was a surprisingly good fit, and so were the silken shoes they had found for me. When I was all ready, both women circled around me, examining every detail of my appearance.
"Beautiful!" Ioreth said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, "But something is still missing..."
"A pity you don't own any jewelry... a silver chain, perhaps, or earrings," Aragwen mused.
"But I do have something."
I went to the small commode next to my bed and opened the top drawer. The little velvet bag lay on top of a pile of white under-dresses. I undid the drawstring and let the ring slide out into my hand, heavy and cool; then I slid it onto my third finger and turned around, holding out my hand for them to see.
Ioreth's eyes grew big. "Oh, my dear child, but this is marvellous!" She took my hand and held it up, turning it from side to side with a child's delight to watch the changing highlights in the shining gem. Then she met my eyes, and a smile spread across her face. "Damrod?"
I nodded, blushing.
She embraced me with some caution, to save the dress and avoid mussing my hair.
"I am so glad for you! When did he give it to you? Will you be going to Ithilien to live? How soon? Oh, how I will miss you... but you will surely be very happy, now that things over there are better, and you will come to visit us, surely. And if there are children..."
I could not hold back my laughter. "Slowly, slowly!" I said. "I am still here, and the only place I am going right now is to the Queen's chambers."
The door opened and Oroher peeked in.
"Noerwen? There is a court lady outside who wants to take you with her. You... good gracious!" He stared at me in amazement and then he did something I would never in my life have expected from the dignified Warden of the Houses of Healing: he whistled appreciatively through his teeth
I grinned and made him a low bow, then I gathered up my rustling skirts and sailed out of the room with my head high.
vvvvv
The court lady who had come to escort me was in no way arrogant, but rather visibly excited about her new status as a member of Arwen's court, and very friendly. She complimented my dress and led me a short distance up the winding road to a gate guarded by two men in black livery. Beyond the gate was a vast, paved courtyard, in the middle of which stood a fountain surrounded by a broad marble bench, strewn with bright-colored cushions. Beside the fountain was a very young tree with bark as white as snow.
My companion noticed me looking at it and beamed with pride.
"Yes, damsel," she said, "this is a sapling of the Eldest Tree. Our King dug it out of the mountain with his own hands, and planted it here, and Lord Gandalf helped him. And nearly every day our Queen comes here to sit for a time and sing in the Elvish tongue. Some say the tree will grow better because of the music."
She guided me across the courtyard, past more guards and into the palace. I followed her through one glorious hall after another until we came to a broad flight of stairs that curved upward to the floor above. I would have liked to have more time to look around; it was like walking through the grandest of museums. The walls were covered with tapestries of shimmering silk, obviously precious heirlooms, and tall windows of colored glass let in a dazzle of sunbeams, staining the white marble steps every color of the rainbow.
Finally we came to a richly carved oaken door, and a man in livery who stood there swung it open, bowing deeply. I stepped in, hearing the court lady announcing my name, and my most vivid memory of the moment is the two dozen hair pins holding my braids in place, which seemed all to dig into my scalp at the exact same time. The multi-layered skirts of my court dress, so voluminous after my light, loose robe, threatened to entangle themselves around my knees, and I kicked at them impatiently, trying to be discreet about it.
At that moment I would willingly have foregone the great honor of meeting the Queen, and found myself back in a peaceful sickroom, splinting a broken leg or sewing up a wound.
"Welcome, Noerwen."
The Queen of Gondor came forward to meet me, and whatever courteous greeting I had ready died on my lips.
I had never been able to imagine what Elrond's daughter looked like; the description given by the Pengolodh had not been enough for me to get a clear mental picture of her. White skin, black hair and grey eyes... he might have been describing Snow White or some other colorless fairytale princess. But now Undómiel, the Evening Star of the Elves, stood alive before me, and she took my breath away.
White skin indeed, but not colorless - it was like alabaster, translucent and lit from within. Her eyes were the grey of the ocean after a storm, friendly and perhaps a little curious, but deep with suffering endured and overcome, and glowing with life and new joy. And the black hair was a cloak of midnight falling in silken waves over her shoulders and down her back.
Her gown was long and loose-fitting, seeming to be fashioned of many thin veils of silk from palest moonlight to darkest anthracite. Her arms and hands were bare and unadorned, her only jewel a teardrop pearl that hung from a delicate silver thread across her high forehead. Such was her loveliness that the most elaborate gown, the most precious jewelry, could have added nothing to her beauty, for you cannot improve upon perfection. Beside her I felt myself garishly overdressed.
"Welcome to Gondor. Although as I think about it, in truth you have been here longer than I have." Her voice was musical, making the most mundane words almost like a song, and her laughter washed over me like sunshine, warm and enlivening, so that I lost enough of my frozen awe to at least bow properly to her.
„Sit down." she went on and guided me over to a little table with inlays made of ivory and gold, standing near the window. It was set with small plates and precious crystal glasses, and on a tray stood a lusciously filled bowl with fruits and a plate with fine cakes. „The Ringbearer told me you don't eat enough."
I stared at her with astonishment and hesitatingly sat down on an elegant, richly stuffed chair. When I leaned back one of my hair pins painfully pierced the skin of my skull and I winced fiercely.
"Are you in pain?" The queen looked worried. "I was told that you were wounded during the battle for Minas Tirith."
"No, Your Majesty, that is long healed," I said. "It is only that some friendly souls pinned up my hair to make me presentable to come to you, and these hairpins are killing me."
I clapped my hand across my mouth - what a thing to say to the Queen? Whatever would she think of me!
But Arwen laughed merrily and shook her head, making her dark hair fly about her face.
"Take them out, dear child," she said. "And then drink a glass of wine and eat one of those almond cakes, so I can tell Frodo tomorrow that you liked them."
I plucked pin by pin out of the ornate hairdo, thinking as I did so of the little picnic with Frodo in the garden of the Houses of Healing. I recalled his quiet face, his fear and pain hidden so skillfully behind a mask of calm, and his soft voice that betrayed nothing of his agony at not being able to find his home.
I wondered how much I should say, and took refuge in pouring wine from a jar that stood at hand in a bed of crushed ice. Obediently I took up one of the cakes. "We ate together and told each other our dreams," I said at last. "He longed to go home and I... I was afraid I might have to go."
"Indeed?" The Queen leaned forward.
"Aragorn told me you come from the same world as the Pengolodh. I knew him, you see. He came regularly to Rivendell for a long time, and spent whole days in my father's library." She smiled. "He knew my father didn't like it, when he smoked the hobbits' weed there among the books and parchments, so he would go out on one of the terraces in the evening and smoke. I remember him pacing up and down quoting verses in Quenya and Sindarin, with a spicy-scented cloud of blue smoke about his head and the sound of the waterfalls mingling with his voice."
"He knew Bilbo, didn't he?"
"Oh, yes - and he knew him already before he even came to Rivendell. He had visited him often in the Shire. But I have not seen him now in ten years or more."
"He will come to Minas Tirith," I said. "Perhaps not yet, but he will come. He has written the whole story of the Ring War in a book, and in my world many thousands of people have read it. He will have to come here again, for someone to tell it to him."
I had succeeded in getting rid of the last hairpin, and let my hair fall over my shoulders with a sigh of relief before I took a sip of wine. The flavor was sweeter and fruitier than the wine I had shared with Frodo; it had a deep golden color and a rich aroma, like a heavy muscatel.
"You know, I am racking my brain to think why I was sent here," I said with a sigh. "The i Pengolodh /i goes in and out of this world as effortlessly as a child at play. Perhaps he is the chronicleer of Middle Earth. But what am I?"
The Queen looked at me attentively. "You have earned the greatest respect for your service in the Houses of Healing. Gandalf tells me that you lifted his spirits more than once when he was near to losing his courage. Do you not think that these things have merit?"
"I don't know." I avoided her gaze, sipping my wine. "I knew that the old Steward would run mad and burn himself alive, and try to burn his son as well, but I did nothing to prevent it. And the Ringbearer..."
I fell silent, but Arwen leaned forward, looking at me sharply, her face tense. For a moment I thought I had a clear image of what her father looked like.
"What is wrong with the Ringbearer?"
I took a deep breath. "It was a good idea, giving him your jewel. Then he at least has a way of escape, when he cannot bear his memories any longer." My voice broke and to my embarrassment, I burst into a flood of tears.
"Child...child..." The grey gown rustled softly and suddenly the lady wife of the High King of Gondor was standing beside my chair. Her soft, cool hand cupped my cheek, and with her other hand she stroked my hair, her voice a soothing, wordless murmur in my ears.
"I'm sorry..." Unsuccessfully I tried to check my tears. "You have to understand... I knew Frodo Baggins only as a character in a book, and even then he was so very precious to me... But now I have met him, now I know him as a real, living person, and..." I buried my face in the silken napkin she handed me.
"Frodo's fate does not lie in your hands," Arwen said quietly. "You are not responsible for his peace of mind."
"That is not my only worry." I wiped my eyes. "There is a man... he is from this world, not from my own. I told him the truth, and for a while he was very angry with me. But he forgave me, and I love him, and he gave me a ring and he is crazy enough to even want me for his wife... and all the while I don't even know if I will be allowed to stay!" I pressed my hand against my mouth, shaking my head helplessly.
"Is that the ring on your finger?" The Queen's voice was gentle. "May I have a closer look?"
I drew it off my finger and laid it in her hand. She turned it from side to side, letting it catch the light, and the green gem shone darkly against her skin, the metal of the setting glittered like white fire.
"This is wonderful craftsmanship," she said, "and a marvelous gem. Look, it is completely smooth on top, but the bottom side is cut with small star-shaped facets. It makes the light dance inside the stone like sunbeams glancing off water. Do you know where it comes from?"
"I was told it is Dwarvish work," I replied.
"That explains the material," she said. "Did someone else wear the ring already, before you had it?"
"Yes, his mother and his grandmother."
"So it must be nearly a hundred years old. Do you see that the ring has no scratches, no signs of wear?" The Queen let one slender white finger slide along the circlet. "That would hardly be possible if it was made of ordinary silver. This is mithril, child."
I stared at it wide-eyed, and Arwen smiled as she took my hand and gently slid the ring back on my finger.
"For a man to give you such a jewel, he must be very sure of you, and of himself. You have given, and received, so much love since you came here, Noerwen. Do not lose heart now." Her smile deepened. "And wherever you may live in the future - in Ithilien, here in Minas Tirith, or in your own world - you will always be welcome at this court."
vvvvv
Ioreth was waiting for me when I returned to the Houses of Healing just before sundown. In my room, she helped me to unfasten the tight bodice of the green dress and hung it up, while I slipped with relief back into my robe and washed my face.
After a while, she stopped showering me with questions about the audience and pressed me down on a chair, taking up a brush and running it through my hair with long, smooth strokes.
"Ioreth?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Don't you think it is time to reconcile with Mardil?"
The brush stopped moving.
"Why should I?" Her voice was tense.
"Because you loved him once... and he loved you." I turned to look into the friendly old face with the dark, birdlike eyes, so familiar to me after my months in this city.
"It makes me sad, the way you treat him. Mardil is a wonderful, wise old man, and he is like a grandfather to me. Does it really matter that he forgets things from time to time? You should be enjoying your age together, but instead he tries to escape from your sharp tongue."
"Child, it is more than forty years ago..." she murmured uneasily.
"Exactly." I took the brush from her hand. "And the embarrassment he inflicted on you, out of pure absent-mindedness, you know, and not with any bad purpose - that is forty years ago as well. Therefore it is time to forgive him."
I hugged her, smelling her comforting scent of dried herbs and freshly ironed linen - for the rest of my life I would connect that aroma with the Houses of Healing, and with Ioreth.
"I want my best friends to get along with each other," I whispered in her ear, and then I kissed her on the cheek.
vvvvv
I had barely slept the night before, and the day had been exhausting enough; during dinner in the refectory my eyes closed involuntarily more than once. I retired to my room and went to bed before it got really dark, and slipped into a dream.
I was wandering across a summer meadow. The grass was soft under my bare feet and isolated trees scattered here and there across the landscape cast moving shadows on the land. As I walked, there were more and more trees, and the sunlight turned from golden to a shimmering green under the branches. And then the trees opened up again onto a wide clearing, and at its far end was a row of willows. Beyond them I could hear the cool rushing waters of a stream.
To one side of the clearing there was a house. The ground floor was built of natural stone, and above that was an upper level with many deep dormers, built of oak timbers which had taken a warm dark patina of age. The sun slanted through the trees, and the narrow shingles of the roof shimmered like silver.
I knew whose house this was, and I knew he was waiting here for me. Only another moment, and I would see him.
"Damrod?"
I quickened my pace and came closer to the house, and suddenly the bright sunlight dimmed, becoming a misty grey and then, without transition, turning black as midnight. I stumbled, hesitated, and stood still.
Gradually my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I looked up to see the familiar tengwar fittings and massive, shining metal. For the second time I stood before the gate... and once again on the wrong side.
I opened my eyes.
The room was dark and very quiet. My panting breaths seemed loud in the silence, and I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, only slowly returning to its normal rhythm. I got up and went over to the window, pushing the casements open. Cool air streamed in, and I looked out at a sky that displayed the gentle, rosy reflection of approaching sunrise.
I had slept for nearly eight hours before the dream startled me awake, and I had no inclination to go back to bed. I slipped my robe on over my nightshirt and wrapped myself up in a shawl Ioreth had lent me two days before and I had forgotten to return.
The gardens lay silent in the dim light. The grass was wet with dew under my bare feet as I made my way to the wall, and the light grew stronger as the sky brightened.
I reached my favorite place by the wall and sat down under the huge chestnut tree. Somewhere a cock was crowing, his voice a shrill fanfare, calling for the day. In a few hours a great company would march out through the gates: Aragorn and his Queen, Faramir and Eowyn, who would announce their engagement in Edoras, and Theoden, being carried to his final rest. Also four hobbits, going home.
I leaned back against the tree trunk. I still hadn't met Sam, I realized, nor Galadriel and Celeborn, nor Legolas and Gimli. Well, probably many of the citizens of Minas Tirith would be at the gate to bid farewell to their king, so why not me? I would wash quickly and dress for the occasion - the green gown was still hanging on the door of my room - and I would go down to say goodbye. I thought of Merry and his encouraging humor, of Pippin who had regained his joy at his cousin's side. And I remembered Frodo, the sadness in his face...
I am longing for old familiar paths, for the smell of the books in my study and the clattering of Sam's clipers in the garden... the sound of rain on the grassy roof, and the scent of the honeysuckle that hangs down over my bedroom window. I want to go home. I thought. I don't long for home, or at least not for the place where I was born. I yearn to find that house by the river, and the man I know is there, preparing for my arrival. I want to be with Damrod.
The dew was soaking into my robe, making me feel damp and chilled. I got up and brushed off bits of grass and bark; then I started back toward the house. Perhaps I could find water enough for a hot bath.
Not me,
Suddenly the earth seemed to shift, throwing me to the ground. I felt the gravel of the path grinding painfully into my palms and my knees, and the garden around me vanished behind a dense and soundless white. I raised my head, confused and terrified. What was happening to me?
And then I understood, and I heard myself screaming, my voice sounding shrill and far away. No, oh no! This can't happen, not now. Not now!
I clawed frantically at the ground, trying to hold on to my world, but I had no control. I was tossed like a stick going over a cataract, right out of the fragile frame of my body and into blind nothing. But even there I was not permitted to remain, though I longed for it with all the desperation of my last conscious thought. Forgetfulness closed around me, and a name echoed through my mind, echoing in the void into which I had fallen.
Damrod! Oh my God, Damrod.
vvvvv
I can barely see at all. A thick mist seems to whirl around me, and there's a strange, droning sound in my ears. I recognize that my feet are bearing me forward, my steps stumbling and uncertain, but I don't know where I'm going. My knees feel as if they might buckle beneath me, and I reach out with both hands, searching desperately for something to hold on to. Finally I stop, shivering with fear, my breath coming in painful gasps.
I'm trembling horribly. A piercing wind cuts through my pullover, as chilling as if someone had poured a stream of icy water over me.
It is pitch dark, and cold. So cold.
vvvvv
(1) The quote in italics is taken from "Farewell to Lórien" in FOTR. The brooch is a kind of wedding gift, previously given to Aragorn by Galadriel.
(2) The "Tale of the years" in the LOTR-appendix tells of the evacuation of Ithilien and gives the date of 2954. I took the freedom to place it 50 years later (3004) to make Damrod's tragical first love possible