76. Midwinter Weal, Plenty, Peace, and Pleasure, Blessings of the Valar, Boons of Eru

Mel and Númendil escorted me to the Great Hall. Actually, Mel tried more or less to tug me along, as I was not walking quite fast enough to suit his excitement.

When we entered the Great Hall, I did not quite know where to look.

Everywhere in the room servants and people from the town of Dol Amroth were hard at work decorating hall with garlands of holly, ivy, mistletoe and other evergreens. The three large chandeliers had been polished and set with new, expensive white candles. On the long wooden table that had been placed to the right side of the room thick, cream coloured candles had been placed on earthenware plates and wreathed with rowan, yew and holly. Between the two large columns at the centre of the hall a young yew tree had been put up, planted in an earthenware container. The tree was a symbol to honour Yavanna, the Valar who had called the two trees to life, who had first given light to Arda. The yew's red berries were shining brightly from between the glossy, dark green needle-like leaves. Here and there small white candles had been placed among the twigs of the yew and teardrops of hand-blown glass had been hung from the tips of the branches.

The mantles of the two large fire places of the Great Hall were already wreathed in garlands of yew, rowan and holly, with a bunch of mistletoe at the centre, held in place by trailing lengths of ivy. In each fire place a huge log of oak wood was prepared for the next day. The front of each log was etched with an elvish rune symbolizing Yavanna. Holly and branches of firs and pines had artistically piled up around the Mettarë logs. Mettarë, the last day of the year, mid-winter's day, is the symbol for the turning point in the darkness of the winter. Light and life will return to the world, and when Oromë and his hunters had passed over the fields during the night between Mettarë and Yestarë, the fields would bear fruit again in the following year.

Mel and Númendil patiently explained the significance of each detail of the ornaments in the hall to me, their eyes glowing with excitement, their cheeks flushed. Mettarë and Yestarë were definitely their favourite feast days.

I felt as if I had been transported into a world of fairy tales. A strange feeling, if you consider that I had been more or less transported into a world of fairy tales. But listening to the bits and pieces of Mettarë-lore, as they were told to me by the children, it was difficult not to be caught up in the magic of the feast.

Rowan, yew, holly and mistletoe to ward off evil wights and spirits. Bowls of porridge to be placed on the window sill to offer food to the beneficial house wights and the passing souls of the dead, the offering of a sheaf of grain to Nahar, Oromë's great steed…

These customs seemed so pagan, so heathen, and so extremely strange to me. Yet I have to admit that I was touched deeply by the preparations of the feast. Once again I was struck by how strangely more real, poignant life in Middle Earth was. Back in Germany Christmas had been more of a chore than a feast day. All too often Christmas had been reduced to stressful days of buying presents and planning on which day which part of the family could be accommodated with a visit or an invitation. The magic, the feeling of mystery and peace, was more often than not reduced to fleeting moments on the side-lines of social life.

Here it was different.

So different!

Mel, Númendil and I had sat down on the wooden bench that ran along the length of the right wall of the great hall. Here we could sit and watch the proceedings without being in the way.

The Great Hall of Dol Amroth is on the first floor of the castle, above the entrance hall.

You have to pass through the entrance hall to get to the staircase leading to the upper floors of the castle, so you enter the Great Hall actually from the back. It is a very high hall, opening to the roof beams. The vaulted ceiling looks like the hull of a great ship and it is made of beautifully carved almost black wood. The wooden structure of the roof rests on three great Doric stone pillars, which divide the hall in two sides. The left side, seen from the entrance of the hall, is the one with the windows, facing to the south-east, across the Bay of Cobas.

The precious easy chairs which are set up there for sitting and talking comfortably on other days had been removed. My lessons in the management of the household in Dol Amroth had entailed an explanation about carpentry and furniture, too. The reason why there is only little furniture about, and especially not very many chairs and stools, is simply because they are very expensive to make. The few easy chairs of Dol Amroth had been made after elvish models and are counted among the most precious pieces of furniture in the castle, with the shelves, armchairs and desks in the Prince's library. That's why the easy chairs had been removed from the hall for the festivities. In their place several smaller tables with wooden benches at each side had been put up there for the feast, leaving enough room at the front of the hall for a dancing and making music.

On the right side of the Great Hall the red carpet – another precious piece of furniture – had been removed as well, to keep it safe. Instead woven mats of straw had been put on the floor on both sides of the Hall. Tomorrow morning fresh herbs would be scattered on those mats, to clear the air.

But back to the right side of the Hall. No windows there, but two great fire places. One at each end of the room, but on the right hand side. The one at the end of the hall shares the chimney of the kitchen, which is situated one floor below. In the corner behind the fire place there is a small door that leads to a separate staircase and then right down to the kitchen, so that the servants can bring up the food when it's still hot. The fire place near the entrance of the hall connects to the Royal apartments, the suite of rooms used by Míri and Ada – or by the King and Queen, when they visit Dol Amroth. It is terribly expensive and difficult to get a castle warm during winter. Therefore every fire place is strategically placed to keep more than one room warm. My room, for example, has no fire place at all, but it is above the Royal apartments, so it does not get too cold.

The long table, which usually stands to the right side of the Great Hall, had been extended. Now it ran along the length of the hall, and had been placed in front of the long wooden bench between the two fire places. The designers of castles are really thrifty. Most everything is designed to be effective and not to waste either space or wood. At the head of the long table to extravagantly carved, high backed chairs indicated where Prince Imrahil and the Lady Míriël would be sitting tomorrow. The places of honour, the only ones with separate chairs. For everyone else there were only wooden benches.

I sat and stared. I realized that I was still not quite used to living in a castle. Even after weeks of living here, I felt overwhelmed at the sheer size of the hall and the grandeur of it.

Mel moved a little closer to me. He tilted his head up, his dark grey eyes filled with sadness. "Last year," he whispered, "last year we went with our older brothers to get the Yavanna-tree."

Númendil clenched his teeth on my other side and stared straight ahead, not turning the head or moving at all. He was keeping his feelings to himself. He would grow into a stern man, I thought. Stern, but fair.

Mel was a lot softer. I sighed. "Do you miss them?"

Mel nodded and hid his face against my side. It had not been possible to recover the dead bodies of the two dead sons of the Prince of Dol Amroth. They were buried deeply under the rubble that had come down from the Ephel Duath with the eruption of the Orodruin and the crumbling of the Morannon. That makes bidding farewell difficult.

Míri and Imrahil were still struggling with the loss, keeping up appearances in public and probably having difficulties with talking about their real feelings in private. And both Mel and Númendil were still little enough to need their parents strong, and not broken down with grief.

I suppressed another sigh.

"They are with Eru now," I said softly. "They are at peace. It's o.k. that you miss them. It's o.k. that you are sad. But not too much. They want you to be happy."

I felt the small boy snuggle up against me. It was the strangest feeling, his small, warm body seeking comfort from me of all persons. I felt my throat tighten up and tears burning in my eyes. Sauron's eternal darkness had been averted. But at what cost. It would be a long time until the remnants of darkness had passed away from the people of Gondor and Rohan and their families.

I woke early the next morning. It was still dark outside. Today was the longest and darkest day of the year, and even here, at the westernmost outcrop of Arda the day would be short, gloomy and cold.

I slipped out of the covers and quickly made my way to the washing bowl and ewer. Ini had come into the room noiselessly and brought the fresh, hot washing water, leaving just as soundlessly, almost like a ghost. Wisps of steam were curling in the air above the ewer. As I stood in front of the chest of drawers, pouring a little hot water over a sponge, and shivering like a leaf in the wind, I noticed that the glass window of my room was covered with frost. It was traced with the most fantastic designs of frostwork. Delicate. Beautiful. Freezing.

I washed quickly. As I brushed my teeth, I realized that I would have to look into a replacement for it soon. I shuddered. The tiniest brushes that could be had here were not really what I would call hygienically adequate. I'd probably have to settle for frayed birch twigs or something like that. And I should give some serious thought to the question of what could be used as tooth paste, I mused. The Lady Elaine would be able to come up with something. Lemons are good for gum and teeth… and the toothpaste I had preferred on earth had been one with herbs.

I brushed my hair, yelping now and again, when the brush got caught in the tangles of the night. It was a fumble to gather my hair into something resembling a bun. I would have to redo it in front of the mirror in the drawing room, apart from a small mirror in the royal apartments the only one in Dol Amroth. Mirrors are expensive. Glass is, too. By now I knew that my room was pure luxury with the glass window looking out across the ocean.

Dol Amroth is still the richest province of Gondor. Generations of princes have carefully managed their fiefdom, preserved its wealth and increased it, year by year. So Dol Amroth sports more glass windows and more extravagant pieces of furniture than any other castle or mansion of Gondor. Apart from the Citadel of Minas Tirith, of course.

I dressed in a dark green gown of a heavy, soft fabric which had been woven from threads of different shades of green. The neckline was embroidered with golden thread. The sleeves flared out, etched in the same golden design. Green silk stockings went with it and my leather slippers matched it quite well.

The gown moulded itself to my body. Heavy, warm, but still elegant. I slid my hands down my sides. I had gained a little weight, but only a little. I was still too thin, but in this gown it was actually alright. I felt beautiful.

For a wistful moment my thoughts went to Éomer, and how his dark eyes would light up with those amber highlights if he could see me like this.

I pressed my lips together. Damn. I missed him. I had never been parted from a lover – no, he was not even a lover, thanks to Middle-earth propriety… – for such a long time. I missed him still. It was a tiny, quiet ache in my heart. A little longing that never really slept.

I guess that's what people call love.

I left my room and softly closed the door behind me.

I went straight to the kitchen. Míri was already there, talking with Mistress Marai. When I entered, she turned around and her eyes lit up. She gave me warm smile. "Look, how beautiful you are today!" She hugged me and kissed my cheeks.

When she released me, I returned the compliment. "You are looking splendid, too! Not that you ever look not beautiful. But this…" I trailed off and blinked.

The Lady Míriël of Dol Amroth wore a long gown of a deep violet colour. The neckline and the tight sleeves were stitched with silver, and there was a silver train flaring out at the back of the dress. She wore silver jewellery with shining amethysts. Her pearly skin and her noble, Númenorean looks – black hair, clear grey eyes – were enough to drive an ordinary woman into despair. But being friends with Arwen, Míri and Éowyn I am getting used to living in despair.

Míri smiled at me. "I hope that my lord will like this. It's new. Darla had it sent to me only a week ago."

I nodded. The art of Darla of the Golden Scissors was unmistakable in the gown. I will never understand how someone can take a piece of cloth and make something like that out of it. That's as far beyond my comprehension as nuclear physics or the magicks of the istari.

Míri turned back to the Mistress Marai, who was intimidating in a clean grey apron that covered a sweeping dark grey gown. "I think that's all. We'll have the Wassail cup for midnight, and then try and gently shoo the guests to their bed or on their way back home. Now, do you have some tírithel ready? It will be two hours until the first guests arrive, and I need something hot now."

"Of course, my lady. And for the young lady, too?" Marai asked me politely.

"Yes, please." I replied gratefully.

"How long are you up and at work already?" I asked, when Míri and I were seated at the far end of the huge kitchen table, as out of the way of the ten cooks and maids and kitchen-boys as possible. Míri sipped her tírithel and covered a small yawn. "Since four o'clock. Mettarë is always exhausting. Somehow mid-summer's day is always easier. People are not as hungry for warmth and food then. And more easygoing about things." She smiled. "And I still miss the snow… I was born close to the Ered Nimrais, and we almost always had snow for Mettarë." She emptied her cup and rose to her feet. "Now we've got to get going. We have to be in the Great Hall to greet any early guests. Just do what I do, and don't worry. These are our people." I nodded mutely, my heart beat quickening. I'm not the most sociable person. I'll have to learn to be one, however. As a queen – my heart skipped a beat – you have to be. Sociable and at ease with all kinds of people.

The fires were already lit in the great hall, although the candles were still out. The tables had been set with apple butter and orange marmalade. There were bowls with apples and nuts and jugs of water and beakers. The alcoholic beverages would be served individually, as a means to control consumption. Baskets with fresh, warmed Ealishd's bread were placed on the tables at regular intervals. The hall was filled with a fragrance made up of freshly baked bread, pine and herbs. The straw mats had been strewn with pine needles, sage and thyme, and Marai had told me that the hall had been "cleaned" of evil influences with incense sticks made of the same beneficial herbs.

Prince Imrahil was already there, standing at the windows and looking thoughtfully out across the bay. Mel and Númendil, dressed like their father in the dark blue livery of Dol Amroth, were seated on the wooden bench next to the first fire place, looking a still a little sleepy.

Imrahil turned towards us with a smile. His light hair had been braided at the nape of his neck, showing off the elegant lines of his head. Under his uniform he wore a silver shirt of finest silk. I had to stop myself from saying "wow".

"I am blessed with two beautiful women," Imrahil told us and kissed Míri lightly on the lips. Her eyes lit up and she smiled at her husband tenderly. They had been married for twenty-seven years this year. I sighed. Would I manage to have such a loving, enduring marriage with Éomer, too? It was so wonderful to see that marriage for life can really work. The once and for all kind of marriage, I mean.

The first guests to arrive were the mayors of the fishing village of Dol Amroth and the town of Dol Amroth. Master Gwaeren and his stout, sweet wife, Mistress Fiona, and Master Samno with his somewhat imperious Mistress Nell, all of them dressed to the nines and beaming happily.

Ini, dressed in servant's grey, etched with the blue and silver of the livery of Dol Amroth, offered Ealishd's bread and cups of tírithel to us after proper greetings had been exchanged. I bit into the piece of bread, slathered with apple butter. I knew that it had been baked yesterday, but it had been warmed lightly, and the apple butter was melting softly on top of it.

I almost sighed with pleasure. The bread was so good. Rich from the barm ale, and firm in texture. The apple butter was fruity and tinged with cinnamon and cloves. For a moment the conversation passed me by completely. I simply enjoyed the taste of bread and butter.

Soon after the mayors had arrived, the musicians entered the hall. They were clad in the traditional harpers' garb of blues, but on the front of their tunics the silver swan of Dol Amroth was stitched. Dol Amroth has always been proud to have the best harpers of Gondor, and excellent singers and drummers, too. They claimed the first small table on the left side of the hall, in front of the space that had been left empty for dancing. They started out right away, with some lilting melodies. The festive atmosphere of the hall became cheerful and merry in next to no time.

Once the musicians were there, a steady stream of guests began pouring in.

The guests were – as Míri had told me – the poorest of village, town and surrounding farms and the dignitaries of Dol Amroth, the mayor, the members of the town council and the judges. But there were only few nobles. Lord Anmir, the captain of the guard, Gawin, the Prince's squire, Amdirion, the Prince's page, a few lords and ladies of lesser nobility that lived in the area, the three ladies in waiting of Lady Míriël, the timid blonde Lady Eiriën, and the dark haired sisters, Lady Lalaith and Lasbelin. I thought the herald, Falanyon, was also of noble birth, but I was not sure of which line he was. I was still confused about the make-up of a noble house-hold and the different blood lines of Gondorian nobility. Rohan is a lot simpler. The heads of the five provinces can trace their blood lines to a male member of the royal family. The lesser nobles are connected to Rohirric royalty only by marriage and through female relatives. That's chauvinistic, but it's easy to remember. Not so in Gondor. Women have been on the throne in Gondor, and they may inherit title and property if there are no sons. In Rohan title and property would go to the brother of the father, along with the munt, the guardianship for the woman.

At noon a winter storm was blowing up outside, driving rain and sleet against the windows of the Great Hall. Inside, the first couples were dancing, and the ginger beef soup was served.

I gasped when I swallowed the first spoonful. That was hot. Hot. And spicy, too. And delicious. When my bowl was empty, I thought my ears were glowing with a brilliant red colour, so hot did I feel from the soup. Mel was dutifully occupied with some of the spinach toast, looking pretty miserable. By now the Great Hall was full of people, men and women, and many children. Although it was clearly apparent how poor some of the guests were from their thin and strained appearance and their shabby, threadbare clothing, all of them seemed to be healthy and clean. Times had been hard, and with so many widows and orphans, it was almost impossible to keep poverty at bay in the fiefdom. Prince Imrahil did what he could, but he had an army to keep up and his own household at the castle to keep, too. But baths were fairly cheep in the bathing houses of the fiefdom, once a day there was free soup for the poorest of the poor to be had at the houses of healing in each village and town and Imrahil had introduced "a widow's penny", a small pension for the widows of the war. It was not much. But it was something.

And this day was something, too.

The day went by with eating and drinking and dancing and singing. Outside the winter winds were icy and piercing. Inside it was blissfully warm and cosy. After I had greeted the guests with Imrahil and Míri, I was very much left to my own devices. For a time I sat with Míri's ladies, but then Mel and Númendil insisted on dancing with me. Afterwards we sat down close to the musicians, so that we did not miss any ballad or poem or story that was presented in the course of the day. Also, sitting close to the musicians ensured that we had always lots to eat and drink, because the harpers and singers were always the first to be served after the Prince at the head of the long table.

The few hours of dim sunlight passed quickly, barely noticed by the celebrating crowd in the Great Hall of Dol Amroth. I was astonished when I realized that the candles had been lit and the trumpet call for dinner was sounded.

Dinner was the most formal part of the celebration.

The Lord Prince and the Lady of Dol Amroth sat at the head of the long table. Númendil and Meluir sat to the right, I to the left of them. Servants hurried from table to table filling cups, goblets and glasses with wine and mulled cider.

When everyone had been served, the Prince of Dol Amroth rose to his feet and lifted his heavy golden goblet to the assembled guests.

"Midwinter Weal, plenty, peace, and pleasure, blessings of the Valar, boons of Eru!"

The Prince called out the traditional Mettarë blessing in his clear, cool voice.

Then everyone else got to their feet, too, the lords and ladies, the musicians, the fishers, the dignitaries, the beggars and the widows. Everyone raised their cups in answer to the Prince's toast. A choir of many voices, old and young, rough and melodic, tired and happy, rang out and filled the hall from the corners to the rafters: "Midwinter Weal, plenty, peace, and pleasure, blessings of the Valar, boons of Eru!"

I felt a big smile on my face. This was a wonderful feast. It meant so much to the people. Fun and warmth, being close to each other, celebrating that the year was done, and done well.

When everyone had settled down again, a huge boar's head was carried on an immense silver platter. "In earlier ages they had a living boar that was chased through the hall. When it was finally caught, holy oaths were sworn on the boar and then it was killed and roasted on the spot," Míri told me. "I am glad that we have abandoned this custom, however. I don't think the decorations were the same after the boar's chase." She looked at the Yavanna tree and the many garlands and wreaths adorning the columns and rafters of the hall.

When a servant put a slice of boar's meat on her plate, she grinned. "And this symbolic holy boar tastes just as well."

I inhaled the rich scent of the meat. "I'm sure it does!"

Imrahil smiled at me. "It should. It grew fat on oaks and chestnuts in the hills of Tarnost. I killed it myself on the hunt a week ago."

The boar's meat was indeed delicious. It tasted fruity of the apples and raisins it had been cooked with, slightly tinged with sage. But the capon of Pelargir, which I tried after the boar's meat, was savoury, too.

"Oaths will be taken at midnight, when the Cup of Wassail will be drunk." Imrahil remarked, returning to the subject of Mettarë customs.

"What's that," I asked. "Wassail?"

"It is an ancient custom of asking for blessing and health for the new year. It is a heated mixture of wine, ale and cider, touched with spices that is served in a huge goblet. Everyone takes a sip. The dregs are taken up with bits of toast; the bits are then placed in the gardens, at the feet of apple trees, mostly, to ensure a rich harvest in the coming year." Imrahil explained.

"It is also drunk to honour our beloved dead," Míri added in a low voice, her eyes brimming with tears. "A cup of it is placed with the porridge for the passing souls of the dead and the sheaf of grains for Oromë's horse outside in the courtyard."

I saw how Imrahil's moved his hand under the table, probably squeezing Míri's hand, comforting her. His light eyes darkened with shared pain.

Luckily at that point the tarts made their appearance to the absolute delight of Mel who actually exclaimed at the sight of cheese tart, cranberry tart, apple pie and pear pie.

Míri sighed and turned her attention to her youngest child. "Meluir, do you remember what I told you yesterday?"

Mel nodded. "I did eat that ugly spinach stuff."

Míri raised her eyebrows at her recalcitrant son. "And what else did I say?"

"Thin slices, not get sick," Mel mouthed around a mouthful of cranberry tart.

Míri sighed and held up her hands in defeat.

Half an hour later I helped Mel to vanish discreetly from the hall and vomit in a quiet corner. I cleaned his small, pale face; valiantly maintaining a straight face, barely keeping from being sick myself – my stomach was sympathetic to the noises of retching. Mel's room was next to the royal apartments. I told him to wait and hurried back into the hall to tell his mother and his nurse that I would get him to bed. Míri fixed me with a gimlet eye, but I only shrugged. I would not betray Mel's little secret. In my opinion a little overindulgence in cakes once a year is not too bad. Especially if you are only five years old.

Mel's room was comfortably warm. The fire was down to a heap of glowing embers. I stocked up the fire for the night without even thinking about it. Then I helped Mel. He was so small and skinny. And tired. He barely managed to wash and brush his teeth with a little frayed birch twig. But in the end he was clean and clad in a nightshirt of white linen.

I put him to bed and kissed him goodnight. I think he was asleep before I even left the room.

I closed the door as silently as I could. For a moment I remained standing in the twilight of the corridor behind the royal apartments. Although the walls were thick and there were no windows here, only small, shuttered slits, I could here the rushing of the waves and the wailing of the winter winds outside. It was a stormy night. I could almost imagine Oromë to come riding down from Aman up in the heavens, racing across Arda on his great steed Nahar, and gathering in the souls of the dead to lead them up to Eru's halls.

It was a wild night.

And it was almost midnight.

I hurried back to the Great Hall.

I was just in time to take my place next to Míri and Númendil.

It was indeed a huge goblet. A huge, heavy, golden goblet.

"In Rohan they use drinking horns," Númendil whispered to me. Númendil would accompany me next year to Rohan, to become King Éomer's page. Everything Rohirric was fascinating to him since Imrahil had told him of the plan. I raised my eyebrows and gulped. Drinking from a horn? That did not sound very appealing. As it was I was glad that the wassail cup was passed along according to rank and birth. In other words, first Imrahil drank from it, then Míri, then Númendil and then me. I know I'm a sissy. But still, the thought of drinking from the same cup as more than a hundred people…

Imrahil raised the cup high, holding it with both hands. "Midwinter Weal, plenty, peace, and pleasure, blessings of the Valar, boons of Eru. Health to the people of Dol Amroth and peace to our dead heroes."

"Health and peace," the toast was echoed throughout the room.

Imrahil carefully tilted the goblet and took a deep swallow. Then he passed the goblet to Míri.

"Health and peace," she said her voice shaking. But she held the cup firmly and drank deeply.

It was time to let go. "Health and peace," Númendil repeated. His mother helped him hold the cup and drink. When he passed the cup to me, he whispered, "Watch out, it's heavy."

I nodded gratefully and braced myself. It would not do to spill the holy cup. It was heavy.

With my heart pounding I raised the goblet high in the air.

For a moment the room around me blurred, but then it was suddenly clear and poignant as a realist oil painting. The many faces all round me, old and young, happy and sad. My new family. The noble and proud features of Prince Imrahil. Beautiful and kind Míri. The musicians. The dancers with their flushed cheeks and bright eyes. The garlands of holly, rowan and ivy, the flickering fires and the golden light of the many candles. And more: the smell of food and drink and fire, the noise of the wind and the sea.

I held the goblet high in the air. My voice was clear and ringing, as I said the ancient words of wassail: "Health and peace!"

In my heart I added: I swear, I will do my best for this Arda, my new home, and my new family. I swear. With all my heart and all my life.

I handed the cup to Elrohir, who smiled at me with sparkling grey eyes. He in turn passed the cup to Elladan, and Elladan gave it to the Mayor of the town of Dol Amroth, Master Samno.

I watched as the goblet circulated the room, again and again blessed with the traditional words.

It was Mettarë.

And quite suddenly, surrounded by the warmth of the people of Dol Amroth and their prayers and their blessings, I understood the meaning of the holiday. When the nights are the longest, and the days are the shortest, it is time to offer thanks to the Valar and the One for the passing of the year and to ask their blessing for the year to come: "Midwinter Weal, plenty, peace, and pleasure, blessings of the Valar, boons of Eru."

It was Mettarë.

And I was happy.

A/N: I hope you are still with me. Let me know if you liked this chapter. The next chapter will see some spring sunshine. And soon we'll be back at Minas Tirith…