74. Ringare

I sat on a wooden bench at the outer wall of the hall that served as the gym – training area – exercise room in Dol Amroth. I was thoroughly wet with sweat, my hair escaping from the bun in long, damp tendrils. I was barely able to move my left arm, and if I tried to stand my knees were shaking.

So I remained where I was, polishing Tínu, my elvish blade in an absentminded fashion and watching the spectacle unfolding before me. Elladan was sitting a few feet away from me. He was already training again, but only a few hours each day.

At the moment Elrohir and eleven years old Númendil were having a go.

Númendil had not yet started his teenage growth spurt. He was a slender boy with a still childish figure. He flicked around the room in a blur of grey tunic and silvery blade. He twisted, darted, attacked, and countered with the smoothness of six years of continuous training. Although he did not have the strength or experience to actually defeat Elrohir, of course, he was leading him a merry chase. Númendil knew his advantages, and played them out to the best of his ability. He was fast as hell, he was lighter on his feet than the adult elf, and his small size made Elrohir miss now and again, used as the elf was to taller opponents.

I felt completely wrung out. I had had my turn out there already. I was out of breath, bruised and battered. If there had been any doubt at all that I was a) not a ranger and b) not a fighter, now, after training eight weeks with the sons of Elrond, I knew better. Not that I had had much of a doubt to my (altogether missing) abilities as a shield-maiden even before I started this training.

I am a loser where martial arts are concerned. I'm just too timid and scared to train as I should. I hesitate when I should strike with all my strength and I duck when I should throw myself against my opponent's lunge. I had picked up the basics from Glorfindel back in Rivendell last year, and I know that I was improving a little every day, but only a very little. It's just so difficult for me to even try to hurt Elrohir or Elladan or Dil (he's a child, for heaven's sake!). But of course that's how weapons' training works.

Throw some orcs at me, and I might survive long enough for them to kidnap me and carry me off, but that about sums up my skills with a sword. And in that case it's better to be killed at once. Take my word for it. Been there, done that, not liked it at all.

Nevertheless I would have to keep up my training, hoping that I would improve in time.

I would be the shield-maiden of Rohan. I would have to be able to uphold the honour of my people. The title of shield-maiden of Rohan refers to the duties of the Queen of Rohan in times of war and during certain ceremonies.
If all else fails, it is the duty of the Queen to be the shield of her people – and do whatever is necessary. That has never happened in the history of Rohan, so the descriptions of those duties are kind of vague. But that is anyway where the title comes from.

In times of peace the shield-maiden dances the "dance of swords" with the king at the mid-summer bonfire, to call on the blessing of the Valar. As I had seen what such a dance of swords is supposed to look like, I did not object to training with the sword several hours a day, much to Míri's dismay.

The Lady Míriël wanted me to learn real dancing and sewing as well. No. Not sewing. It's called "embroidery". Noble ladies do that apparently. Even in Middle Earth. Well, I knew that Arwen did that. After all I had seen the banner she had made for Aragorn.

I must confess that I did my best to ignore Míri's effort and tried to keep going from weapon's training to those blasted runes and brushing up my Sindarin and my feeble efforts at Rohirric and back. Rohirric… I had to learn that language. I wanted to learn that language. Trust me, Latin is easier.

All in all my days were so full from dawn till early dusk that I had no time to worry about assassins, politics, or even missing Eomer. Mischief needs idle hands. I was kept out of mischief pretty effectively.

I sheathed Tínu and exhaled deeply. Only now my breathing was back to normal and my heartbeat was slowing down. My stamina was better than it had been. But training with elves keeps any feelings of accomplishment to a minimum. However, it improves your character. Modesty and all that.

At that moment the door of the hall opened and Mel slipped into the room. For a moment the small boy watched his older brother fighting against Elrohir, and then he slid down on the bench next to me.

"Númendil is really excellent." He remarked. "Ada says he's born to the sword. Ada says not even Elphir was as good with the sword at Dil's age."

Mel was careful no to mention the two older brothers who had not returned from the war. Grieving and remembering was done in privacy. Life had to go on. Elphir had sent word that he could not make to Dol Amroth for mettarë. Security at Minas Tirith had to be kept at a high level. There had been an attack by orcs on the company at Osgiliath and the negotiations with the Duke of Harondor, Herion, were difficult. The ambassadors of Harad and Khand insisted on being included in the negotiations, and the representative of Umbar had refused to participate. The original plan had been to do it exactly the other way around.

It was all about re-establishing the kingdom of Númenor in Middle Earth as it had been once, long ago.

So, trip down memory lane – by now I was able to read "A History of Númenor for Beginners". Of course that's not really the title of the book in question. But it is a fairly short, easy to read account of the most important facts and figures of the third age.

What had happened to Gondor and Arnor after Isildur had perished?

After Elendil's death and the death of his sons, Arnor and Gondor, which had originally been only separate fiefs under the supreme authority of the King in Minas Tirith had developed into two separate kingdoms. But of course it had not stopped at this. It never does. Although the laws of Númenor were made to have only one son – the oldest son – inherit the respective kingdom, times and customs had changed, war and the enemy had not increased the stability of these kingdoms. The Númenorean hold on the southern and eastern lands had always been tenuous; there has always been trouble there, battles, rebellions and wars flared up on a semi-regular basis.

I still don't know much about Harondor, Umbar, Harad, Khand or the far eastern lands of Rhûn. But there are people in each of those lands that had been there before the Númenoreans came and set themselves up as lords. Harondor and Umbar profited immensely from this arrangement, growing rich with trade and the inventions brought across the seas by the Númenoreans. But there the climatic conditions are not as severe as in Harad. And the lands are not quite as vast as in the case of Khand and the far eastern lands that are called Rhûn. Anyway, as the power of the king in Minas Tirith waned, problems arose.

"Nature abhors vacuum". One of the sillier quotes used on way too many inappropriate occasions. But it describes fairly adequate what happened.

When there was civil-war in Gondor over the question of succession to the throne, the corsairs of Umbar quickly turned their minds onto the thought that they could manage much better without a Númenorean lord up in the castle of Umbar. That was the end of that lord up in that castle, though they welcomed the rebellions of the Gondorian civil war with open arms into the circles of their nobility.

At around the same time Haradwaith ceased paying tribute to Minas Tirith with the full support of the Númenorean lord set up in their capital. A hundred years went by until a king of Gondor finally defeated Harad again. And only three hundred years later Umbar was retaken for Gondor. But only for a short period of time. About fifty years after that success at Umbar, the eastern and southern territories were in effect lost to Gondor.

Though, of course, Gondor never officially relinquished its claim over Umbar and Harondor as Gondorian provinces, or on the status of Harad as a tributary state. Now that the northern and southern kingdom is reunited again, the question of the borders between Gondor and Harad is up again, too.

Not that there were many people left in Harondor at all. But obviously the Duke of Harondor, Herion, quickly realized that there was more profit to be had from an alliance with Gondor than as the outermost province of Harad. He was more than ready to come home into the fold of the kingdom. Aragorn wanted to include the corsairs into the talks, because a solution had to be found to stop the frequent incursions of their pirates on the coasts of Gondor anyway. More power to him, Aragorn wanted to try talking first before giving out the call to the weapons. What he did not want was to include the question of Harad into this business. He maintained that Harondor had always been a province of Gondor and had never ceased to be that. Therefore it was a question of domestic policy. Nothing of interest for Harad. But it was, of course. The King of Harad in his desert city Hyarmendaciliath was loath to give up the most fertile lands of Harad and an important strategic outpost of his realm just like that.

To add to those difficulties, for the first time ever the great Realm of Khand wanted to be included in the process of establishing the political order of Middle Earth. They wanted Nurn, and would have liked to "have" all of Mordor. Aragorn wanted to keep Mordor and Nurn neutral. Even desolate and destroyed after the eruption of the Orodruin, Mordor is one hell of a natural fortress. Aragorn naturally did not want to end up face to face with yet another enemy behind the Ephel Duath.

All in all, the situation was more or less impossible, verging on hopeless.

Gondor and Rohan were still in the middle of rebuilding. Mustering troops for another war so soon after being nearly destroyed by Sauron and Saruman was next to impossible. Harad, Khand and Umbar knew that very well.

So much for turning the swords into ploughshares…

The situation was a mess. Shit, to be honest. Deep shit. Neck-deep and rising.

That much was clear even from my worm's eye view of the high politics going on far above my head. The knowledge of the basics of Gondorian history and the on-going politics made a move to kill me or Eomer almost logical. A logical move for all too many players in that great game. Power hungry nobles in Rohan. Corsairs in Umbar just for the hell of it. Harad, Khand… and Elrohir had told me of the famous death squadrons of Harad. Think ninjas. Yeah. Black arrows, assassins clothed in black… I don't believe in chance either.

You'd think they'd come up with a different costume in a different world. I ask you, is that original?

I came out of my musings in time to watch the spectacular end to a spectacular fight.

Finally Elrohir made the deciding move. He suddenly dropped to his knees. All at once the advantage of coming at his opponent from underneath was with the elf. He thrust his blade up and around, jumped back to his feet and danced backwards. Númendil's sword went flying.

The fight was over.

They bowed to each other. They walked over to the bench. Númendil was positively drenched in sweat. Elrohir was breathing only a little faster and his hair was just a little damp.

"You were great, Dil," I told the boy.

He smiled at me, glowing with pride. "Thank you. But you were good today, too."

"Please don't tell me that you watched!" I groaned. "I know by now that I will never get the hang of it."

Elrohir grinned at me. "Perhaps I should wear a mask?"

He shook his head at me. "I keep telling her that I would not be worth my mettle as a teacher if I could not keep a beginner from hurting me, but she simply does not believe me. When you are back in form, we will have to show her what a real fight looks like."

Elladan nodded. "When mid-winter's gone I think I'll be able to match you again."

He grinned at his brother. "That will be fun."

I grimaced. It is interesting to watch a sword fight. But my nerves are not quite up to it. Half the time I want to cover my eyes and my ears like a child. I'm simply not made up to be a fighter. Eowyn would be thrilled to watch the match, though. But Eowyn was in Edoras, pining for her betrothed. Life's unfair.

Weapon's training done for the day, we went back to our respective rooms to get washed and ready for the rest of the day. For me that meant a lesson of household management with the Lady Míriël and Master Enho, and afterwards another session with the twins. More Rohirric, more runes.

Back in my room I stripped and carefully slid a washing cloth dripping with hot water down my sweaty body. Every now and again I winced when I touched a bruise. I enjoyed the soft foam of the lavender soap on my skin. It's not the same as shower gel, but it is nice. And the way the soap is made at Dol Amroth the fragrance of the soap clings to your skin all day. Nice.

As a noble lady I am entitled to a real bath once a week. I remember from the stories my grandmother told me back on earth how much she always looked forward to Friday evening and the bath in the tub in the kitchen. Here, the tub was brought up to my room, but I was looking forward to Friday night just as much. To get completely warm and clean. Bliss!

Clenching my teeth I slathered athelas salve over my bruises. King's wort, oh, kingly, heavenly herb!

Then I dressed in a simple blue linen dress edged with satin. Míri insists that I wear dresses now and again. The blue one is actually quite comfortable and looks nice, though it does nothing for my eyes and my hair colour. I have to wear greens and golds and browns to emphasize the drab colours nature chose for my hair and eyes. Oh, well. I am used to my looks by now.

Fumbling a bit, because there was naturally no mirror in my room, I coiled up my hair to bind it into a tight bun again. Adding a little pale powder to my cheeks I felt ready to go down to my lessons.

Managing a noble household really is very much like the management of a business. The Lady of the Manor is in charge of everything pertaining to the management of the household. She employs the servants. She pays the servants and the personal guard. She is responsible for the roster of duties of the servants. She is responsible for the up-keep of the castle, including facilitating all necessary repairs. She has to oversee the costs for food, horses, and clothes. She is also responsible for arranging the marriages of the servants, although it is the lord's word that gives the public permission to marry.

I could go on and on. The list of duties is endless. And I was only beginning to learn the titles of the different posts in a noble household and at court. At the moment I felt utterly bewildered at the end of each lesson. It was a headache. A pain in the…

I sighed and succumbed to temptation.

Only a few minutes of staring out to sea. Only two minutes. Maybe three.

I opened the window and, carefully holding up my gown, knelt down on the window seat. Now, in December or Ringarë, the weather had turned fairly cold even this far to the south. There was no snow, of course, but the sea was steel-grey and the sky barely lighter in colour.

I loved watching the grey waves rushing towards the peninsula of Cobas. The eternal motion of the sea comforted me and calmed me. And the western horizon always seemed to be lighter than the rest of the world. I knew, of course, that this was only imagination. Aman was somewhere up in the sky, beyond the tides of time and sea. But still… the Uttermost West held that magical promise… and looking into the West gave me the same feeling of awe and calmness that I had felt on earth when I entered a cathedral.

I inhaled the cool, salty sea breeze. A flock of white gulls were bobbing on the waves down below. It was low tide and a beach runner, a tiny silvery grey bird was running across the beach pecking at worms and shells.

A cathedral…

It was the 23rd of December. Almost Christmas. Another sigh.

A year ago I had had not thought to spend over the coming and going of Christmas. I had even forgotten my birthday. This year, more or less peacefully cooped up at Dol Amroth, it was different.

On the first of  December I had thought about what the day would have been like in Germany. It had been a Sunday. We would have lit the first candle on the Advent wreath. I would have opened the first little door on some silly Advent calendar, eating this small piece of chocolate with a nostalgic happiness derived from my childhood. Perhaps there would have been snow. Sometimes you get the first real snow in southern Germany as early as the beginning of November. On the 24th we would have gone to church. Then we would have gone home together and read stories under the Christmas tree. When I was little I had played a tune on my recorder. I shuddered at the memory. Afterwards we exchanged gifts and had a wonderful dinner of at least three courses.

No Christmas in Middle Earth. And no church. I had been not much of a church goer on earth. Christmas and Easter and at weddings, that was about it. It was strange that I should miss this now, here.

Mettarë, the feast of the winter-solstice is celebrated at the end of the year in Arda. It is actually the day between the years. Between December, Ringarë, and January, Narvinyë. On Mettarë, we say goodbye to the old year and exchange gifts as a symbol of the good things the year has brought to us. There is a feast and a bonfire, a silver coin is hidden in the grits, there is dancing and singing and story telling. On Yestarë, New Year's Day, there are a lot of funny customs about discerning what the future might bring and also some praying and offering to Eru and the Valar.

I was looking forward to those feast days, since last year, huddling around a fire somewhere in Hollin they had not been much fun. I knew that the same could not be said for the rest of my new family. Until this year, the family of Prince Imrahil had always spent those days together. This year, two of his sons were dead. And the oldest son was kept by his duties. Mettarë and Yestarë would be difficult for Míri, Ada, Dil and Mel.

Eru. They were with Eru. In His Hallowed halls. But there was no belief even among the humans as to where the souls went from there. Perhaps they stayed on there forever, at peace. Perhaps they returned to earth or to another world, with a new life. Hope and belief is always a precarious thing. But here, in Middle Earth, it was even more so. Or so it seemed to me at least. No Christ the redeemer here. The Valar, those divine figures in the Uttermost West, had never dealt much with the humans, no matter how much they were revered by the humans of Arda in a saint-like way.

We pray to Eru and ask the Valar for their blessing. The mountain tops are the place to be close to Eru. But there is no church and no bible. Faith in Middle Earth is even more intangible than back on earth. In a way that's a relief. There's nothing to start a war over in the beliefs of Middle Earth since Númenor sank down below the Sundering Seas. But when times are hard, there is little to cling to in terms of hope for a better world, not much of a promise as to what lies beyond.

I shivered in the cool wind and shook myself. Where had all those thoughts come from, all of a sudden?

I closed the window and headed for the door.

Míri would already be waiting for me. And it did not do to keep Master Enho from his duties.

A/N: Thank you for all your kind reviews!

…Lothíriel's miserable moments at the end of chapter 73 owe much to Yavannië's wonderful story about Hannah in Rohan, which gave me the courage to write down what had to go in there. Thank you! And I really hope that you continue with your story.