A/N: This one's for Mija. They are multiplying.
77. Poppies on the Pelennor
When you are busy, time just flies.
I was kept so busy that sometimes was not sure if I even remembered my name. As the weeks went by, I grew more comfortable with the servants and the intricacies of managing a noble household. As the weeks went by, and my proficiency in reading and writing the different versions of runes increased, I found myself surrounded by ever increasing heaps of scrolls, bits and pieces of parchment and the heavy tomes that go by the designation of "book" around here.
It was an evening at the end of March, the year 3020 that saw me sitting at my desk in the library of Dol Amroth. I eyed the chaos on my desk and half-heartedly moved one heap of papers and stuff – history of Gondor – next to another, even more substantial heap – history and culture of Rohan. Then I turned to a third, slightly smaller heap. The elvish languages and some books about the history of the elves.
I heaved a sigh and turned to Imrahil who was sitting at his desk. My adoptive father had been watching my feeble efforts at ordering my desk with a faint grin. "They are multiplying," I declared. "There is no other solution to this riddle. These books and scrolls and pieces of parchment – they are breeding. Every time I sit down to work, there is more of this mess on my desk." I gestured helplessly at the desk. Somewhere in there had to be my inkpot. Hopefully screwed shut tightly. The vision of those heaps collapsing, the inkpot exploding all over this was sickening. Most of the books and scrolls that I used in my efforts to familiarize myself with the history, society and culture of my new home was irreplaceable, invaluable.
There are no printing presses in Middle-earth. Almost every single one of the books and scrolls on my desk were absolutely unique. There were only very few books that existed several times, most of them elvish books. Thinking about the destruction of any one of the precious writings that littered my desk made my blood run cold.
Not for the first time I tried to imagine just how a printing press worked. I knew of so many things that could be useful here. I pressed my lips together. But keeping the advice of Sir Karl Popper, a famous philosopher of the 20th century, firmly in my mind – the bit about the unforeseen consequences of any action, apart from the consequences you desire – I had not tried to introduce anything new to Middle-earth. My responsibility about my knowledge of the war had passed, but I was still responsible for everything else that I knew. And from the history of earth I knew only too well how easily an innovation that was introduced to help people could go wrong. Very, very wrong. But a printing press. It would be so wonderful to have a printing press. I was fairly sure that if I told Gimli what I knew about the concept of a printing press, he would be able to construct one. I sighed, recalling the many evenings during the winter when the crabbed writing of some long dead scribe had almost driven me nuts. No, I thought. Without asking a wise one, elf or wizard, for advice, I would not mention printing presses to anyone. On the other hand I had no compunctions about trying to improve the icky white paste that went by the name of tooth paste around here.
But there's a difference. The system with scribes and parchment works, even if it is most annoying at times. I don't think that the slimy white-grey substance that is sometimes used as tooth paste in Rohan and Gondor does work – except as possibly as poison. And unfortunately I have seen how healers work on teeth in Gondor.
Poor Helmichis. I shuddered with the memory. Helmichis had grown a wisdom tooth. At 19 that is not unusual. From what I know about teeth it is also not unusual that the tooth went bad. They made him drink some strong liquor. They had some incense that was supposed to make him relax. I would not have been able to relax at the sight of those huge forceps either.
Two men had held Helmichis in place. At least it was the healer of Dol Amroth, a grey haired chap called Master Lalf that did the job and not the smith, which is the rule in the villages.
The forceps went in Helmichis' mouth. The healer went red in the face with the effort. Then there was a sickening crunch and a wet, slimy popping noise, the healer stumbled backwards, the forceps held high. Helmichis yelled bloody murder and vomited blood and pus and other obnoxious things onto the floor.
I would talk to the Lady Elaine about devising a real tooth paste when we passed through Tarnost on our way to Minas Tirith in a few days' time. Definitely.
That was actually the reason for my sitting here and moving my papers back and forth on my desk. I had to put the papers away. My time in Dol Amroth was almost over. At the beginning of April, Víressë, we would set out for Minas Tirith. In May, Lótessë, Éowyn, would be married in Osgiliath. I would stay with Éowyn or Arwen until it was time for me to travel to Edoras in August, Úrimë, for my wedding in September, Yavannië. When I had arrived in Dol Amroth last autumn, I had thought the long months of autumn and winter would never go by. Now they seemed to have vanished in the blink of an eye.
Time is a strange thing. It can go painfully slow and rush by like rapids of a river at the same time. At times I had had the feeling that the long months of autumn and winter would never go by. I had missed Éomer so much that thinking about him, longing for him and missing him had turned into a constant ache in my heart. At other times I had been horrified how quickly the time passed, especially when I realized painfully just how slow and feeble my progress in Rohirric, tengwar and sword fighting was. There simply was not enough time to learn everything that I thought necessary to know for me to become a good queen for Rohan and its people.
At that thought my heart sped up.
My brief respite was over. Now I had to go back into the real world. However deficient my knowledge was, I had to try and make do with it. My stomach knotted with the cold fear of not knowing enough, not being up to what would be asked of me. I clenched my teeth and firmly pushed those thoughts away from me. There was no sense in mulling over the many areas where my knowledge was still lacking or virtually non-existent. I had made it through Moria. I could finally read tengwar. I had made it here, I would make it again.
I rose to my feet and began to put the books and scrolls back on the shelves and in the drawers where they belonged. Outside the sky was grey with low clouds and a brisk wind indicated that another spring storm was on its way, blowing in from the West. A servant entered and lit the large chandelier that was suspended from the ceiling.
Finally my desk was empty. Only the ink pot, my rather mangled quill and my journal were left on the dark gleaming wood.
I sat down again, opening the inkpot.
Somehow I had found the time over the winter to write down my story again and continue the tale with an account of my days here at Dol Amroth. I had left a little space at the end of each entry so I would be able to add things later if something came up. I have no idea why I took such care to write down my strange story. Or for whom I was writing it. Perhaps it was just a cheap form of therapy. It soothed my agitated thoughts.
Wednesday, 25th of March, Súlimë, 3020 of the third age
In two days we'll be leaving for Minas Tirith. We will be travelling with a proper entourage, so we will need about fifteen days to get from Dol Amroth to Minas Tirith. We should reach it on the 11th. If all goes well – that is, if the weather stays good and there are no unforeseeable difficulties, like an attack by some orcs or similar nonsense.
Imrahil has to be in Minas Tirith for the spring session of the High Council. The kafuffle about Harondor is about to go up in a fountain of sh... that will go as high as the ceiling of the Hall of Merethrond or the throne hall of Gondor. I guess I should start praying that they will keep talking and arguing this year and only go to war next year.
Míri and I have to get my dowry together. I will spend weeks with the Lady Darla of the Golden Scissors. She will give me her famous hard look and say that she had expected me to add weight. I will wilt under her censorious glance. Then she will get to work, using just a little more fabric than necessary in the hope that I will get my curves back when I have born my first child. I guess I will. Probably sooner if I am not forced to keep up my sword training.
At the beginning of May Éowyn will marry Faramir. Everyone will be there. It will be wonderful to see everyone again. I hope that Merry and Pippin will make it. I hope even more that Merry will stay for my wedding.
I hope, oh, I hope so much! (…)
I turned around and looked back at the red walls of the town and the castle of Dol Amroth. It was early in the morning. A cool, clear morning in spring. I think it was the first morning without mist swirling up thick and white from the ocean. Gulls were wheeling in the light blue sky above the castle. I inhaled deeply. The sound and the smell of the sea were all around me. Suddenly I felt all shivery inside. It was time to say goodbye. The short time when I had called Dol Amroth my home was already over.
Mimi must have felt me tense up in reaction to my emotions. The Meara whickered softly and turned her great white head, gazing at me with her deep, dark eyes. I bent forwards and stroked my hand over her gleaming coat. The warm, strong feeling of her muscles under my fingers made me feel better instantly.
"Are you coming, my lady?" Helmichis asked politely. He would accompany me to Edoras and be the captain of the Queen's guard. Today he had tied back his blond hair in a thick pony tail. His dark, green-brown eyes were calm. The burly young warrior was like a rock – strong, calm, and comfortable. I was grateful that he would accompany me to Edoras. Rhawion would return to Dol Amroth after he had put together the Queen's guard for me at Edoras. It was my right to put my guard together as I wanted it. The shield-maiden's right. But as I was no judge of the abilities of a warrior, it had been decided that Rhawion would oversee this for me. Very appropriate, too. So he would accompany me to Edoras, too.
Accompany me to Edoras…
I turned Mimi around and joined the company with Helmichis and Rhawion at my sides.
Númendil would also accompany me to Edoras. He would be Éomer's page, and later his squire. I was so very happy to have him along. By this time I really thought of Númendil and Meluir as my little brothers, and the thought to have Númendil at my side in Edoras comforted me no end. Ini, the shy, dark haired maid-servant would come with me, too.
And - here my heart skipped a beat - I had asked if I could have Sorcha and Solas come with me. I wanted Sorcha to be one of my ladies-in-waiting, and later to help me with any children I might have. Míriël had given the matter some thought and finally decided that it was "more or less acceptable". We had written Sorcha a long letter about it. The answer we would only get when we reached Tarnost in a few days. I was very nervous about this. I wanted to have a friend with me in Edoras. Someone who would tell me exactly what she thought. Gods, I would need Sorcha. To my absolute surprise the Lady Elaine had asked to be my first lady-in-waiting. I knew that Imrahil and Míri had considered asking her, but Elaine had offered before they had had the chance to ask her. I was honoured and awe-struck. With Elaine and Sorcha along, I would be able to make it in Edoras. And I would get my tooth-paste…
In the free city of Edhellond we stayed in the mansion of the mayor. It was a very white, art nouveau kind of villa, very elegant and beautiful. Master Daerion's wife, a very graceful and lithe golden haired woman called Anna. It is said that elvish blood is found in some families of the Bay of Belfalas besides the family of the Prince. Looking at Mistress Anna, I was almost sure that this rumour was true.
But we stayed only for one night in Edhellond, eager to use the good weather as long as it lasted.
We reached Tarnost on a rainy day. It was not cold, only grey and wet and riding along the river Ringló I felt as if I could hear the world around me inhaling and growing with the slowly returning warmth and life of spring. The fields at the sides to the Ringló were freshly tilled and the reddish earth exuded a powerful fragrance. I tasted it at the back of my mouth. It was a rich, humid taste. Spring is near, it said. Spring is near, said the many shoots and small flowers at the sides of the road in the newly awakened grass.
It was almost invigorating to ride through the soft rain of spring towards the high grey battlements of the fortress and town of Tarnost.
Almost. By the time I was finally in a guest room somewhere on the second floor of the castle of Tarnost and in a hot tub, I was frozen to my bones. At the end I had barely felt the reins in my hands. Now I gasped as I slowly lowered myself into the wooden tub that was filled with clean, hot water. The feeling of hot water was almost painful to my frozen legs and hands.
Finally I was able to relax in the hot water. Ini set about washing my hair. Up until now I had always insisted doing this myself. Today I fell asleep under her gentle ministrations.
The next morning Sorcha came to the castle of Tarnost to give us her answer.
We had taken over the study of the Lady Elaine for the talk. Elaine and Míri would do the talking. They knew what Sorcha would have to do, should she agree to take on the job. It was as it would be yet for some time to come: Lothíriel, shut the hell up, listen closely and learn.
I prayed that Sorcha would agree.
A very prim, brown haired servant finally led Sorcha into the room.
Sorcha was dressed in her best clothes, a green dress and a brown apron, a brown kertch covering her hair, the black shawl of a widow covering her shoulders. She was just as plump as I remembered her, her eyes were bright green and twinkling. She winked at me. I almost sighed with relief. She would do it! I was sure of it! A weight was lifted from my heart.
We welcomed Sorcha, she curtsied prettily. Tea was served. Míri started talking when I was still too dizzy with relief to understand a word of what they were saying.
When I had my feelings under control, Elaine was talking to Sorcha. "You have to understand that it is a little unusual for you to become a lady-in-waiting for a queen, as you are not of noble birth. But Lothíriel will need an able seamstress and later someone who is good with children. And there is also her unusual background to be taken into account. She will have need of people in her household she can trust."
Sorcha nodded. "I understand, my lady. You can trust me. You can be sure of that."
Míri smiled. I could see in her smile that she approved of Sorcha. I felt an answering smile creep up on my face. I sighed happily and allowed my shoulders to sag. "Very well. Sorcha, you will accompany Lothíriel to Edoras as one of her ladies-in-waiting. It would be good if you could stay with us already in May, for the Lady Éowyn's wedding. We will stay either at Minas Tirith or at Osgiliath. You may take your daughter with you. When she gets older she can be trained as a handmaiden or she could be apprenticed as a seamstress. We'll find a solution. Could you manage that?"
Sorcha had risen to her feet and curtsied deeply. "Of course, my lady. I could come with you at once, should you desire me to. And thank you for allowing me to take my daughter with me. I promise she will be no trouble, my lady."
"I know she won't," Elaine said and smiled at the stout young woman in front of her. "But you should have time to set your affairs to rights. May will be good enough. For the time being I will be with Lothíriel and Ini is turning out very well as a handmaiden."
Elaine turned to me and smiled. "We can be really grateful that you are so undemanding because of your origin." I raised my eyebrows at that comment, but I did not really know what to reply to that. For a noble lady of Gondor I was probably undemanding. Simply because I still felt way too strange to allow myself to be washed, dressed, waited upon and fussed with.
However the mentioning of my background made me think hard.
I realized that Imrahil, Míri and for some bizarre reason the Lady Elaine as well (perhaps because she was curious about earth?) were taking a lot of care at assembling my household. They were also departing considerably from customs to ensure that I would have people I trusted and people that could help me around when I moved to Edoras. When I was ready to depart for Edoras in August, I would have a household of ladies-in-waiting, a secretary, a herald, guards and servants that would probably still be a lot smaller than that of the usual noble lady, but every member would be handpicked with an eye to the future.
Sadly Sorcha had to leave without the two of us having the chance to chat up on things. Mostly because Prince Imrahil was eager to hit the road again.
We left Tarnost in the early afternoon, riding through a weather that changed between sunny spots, clouds and short drizzles of rain.
That day we rode hard to make up for the miles lost during the morning we had spent at Tarnost. When we finally arrived at the bridge of Ethring I was almost asleep on my horse.
The following day we rode southwards on the road to Linhir. The road was in a fairly good condition, if a little muddy from the rains. In the evening we reached the Gap of Tarnost, the narrow stretch of perhaps thirty miles between the hills of Tarnost and the foothills of the Ered Nimrais that are called the hills of Ethring. We stayed in the castle of Ethring that is built upon an outcropping of the Hills of Ethring, keeping watch on the Gap of Tarnost from the north-east. It is a fairly small castle with little in the ways of comforts and serves as a garrison for a company of knights from Dol Amroth. If you get closer, the handsome knights of Dol Amroth are just as rugged and rough warriors as you can find anywhere. For one night I enjoyed the company and the wicked songs and tales they shared at the fire side.
But when we rode into the blooming country of the Lebennin the next morning I was happy that we had to stay only one night at the castle of Ethring. I am simply not quick enough at witty repartee to hold my own among the company of those hardy warriors. Éowyn would have had the time of her life.
In the Lebennin spring was already at its height. We rode along the east road, up and down the soft swells of the foothills of the Ered Nimrais. You have never experienced spring until you ride on a soft, balmy day of spring across those green hills and look to the South, to the flowering orchards and emerald meadows of the Lebennin. They have many orchards there close to the rivers Gilrain, Serni and Sirith. The cherry, apple and almond trees were in full flower, shining white and pink across the distance. Looking back, I have the impression that during the six days we crossed the Lebennin, the sun was always shining, the air was filled with the sweetest perfume of spring and somewhere above us larks were singing.
Sometimes it was not only the larks singing, but Elrohir and Elladan.
The sons of Elrond had accomplished their task at Dol Amroth. The task had been – as I knew by now – to sail the white elvish sloop from Mithlond to Dol Amroth and put it into up high and dry in a cave under the lighthouse of Dol Amroth. Once day the small white ship would carry the sons of Elrond to Aman, the Blessed. For the time being they had been allowed to stay on in Middle-earth and postpone their choice between an elvish and a mortal life, to support their sister. But when their sister had gone and the children of her children were grown, the twins would have to make the Peredhil's choice. The elvish ship would be waiting for that day in the cave below the lighthouse of Dol Amroth.
Now, their task done, and on their way to meet their sister and their foster-brother again, the twins were light of heart and easily moved by the beauty of spring.
I can only say again you do not know what spring is, until you have ridden across the Lebennin, listening to larks and elves singing a song of spring.
We passed between the hills of the Emyn Arnen and the Mindolluin and the southern gate of the Rammas Echor early in the afternoon of the 11th of April.
I have to admit I was apprehensive about seeing the fields of the Pelennor again.
Too vivid were my memories of the day when I had arrived at Minas Tirith a year ago, when the dead were not yet completely buried, when the fields had been a swamp of blood and death and the air filled with the cawing of crows and the stench of putrefaction and smoke.
But when the road veered eastwards and the fields of the Pelennor lay open before us, I gasped with surprise.
All through the last year nothing had grown on the fields of the Pelennor, no weed, no grass, no flower. There had been nothing but bare, dead earth when we had left Minas Tirith in September a year before. I remembered how I had turned at the southern gate and looked back, from the small southern corner that had escaped the slaughter to the desolate fields to the north and the east. Then I had thought that nothing would ever grow there again.
Now, a year later, the fields of the Pelennor were a sea of green grass and shining red flowers.
Poppies were growing all over the fields of the Pelennor. Bright red flowers were swaying in the gentle spring breeze where a year ago death and destruction had tilled the earth. Only the on the grave mounds at the sides of the road leading to Osgiliath no flowers were blooming. But between the white stones that covered the dead heroes of the war of the rings green grass and soft dark moss had started to grow, relieving the grim appearance of those stony hills.
I reined in Mithril and stared at the Pelennor. At that moment Elladan and Elrohir were riding at my side and they halted their stallions, too, following my gaze.
"They will bloom that way only for one single year ," Elladan said finally. "They grow wherever the earth has been moved thoroughly, and then left alone. Most often that is the case on battle fields. A year a battle field will lie as dead as the warriors that died on it. Then the earth will wake again. A short summer poppies will flower where the blood of many has been spilt. A tribute of the earth to the fallen heroes, or so it seems."
Elrohir added, "And next year the farmers will return to the fields of the Pelennor and till them and sow them. Wheat will grow here again and vegetables. And only the silent hills at the road to Osgiliath will remind a passer-by of a dark day in March in the year 3019 of the third age of Middle-earth."
A/N: Aeneid of HASA has taken up my challenge of writing the story of Helmichis' parents. IMHO Aeneid is one of the greatest fan fiction writers out there at the moment. It is a high honour for me that she will tell this story for me.
I will tell you when to look for the first chapter. And you really should!