For EluredandElruin
I'm afraid I was unable to reply to your review directly, as you reviewed as a guest, but I always make sure I do. Firstly, thank you for your review, it always makes writing that whole lot more worthwhile to know people enjoy reading what I produce. I do like to take things slowly when writing and proof-reading so I myself can be satisfied. Here is the next instalment; I hope you enjoy it as much as the first…
DISCLAIMER: It is called fanfiction for a reason, so just sit back, relax, and read… no questions asked.
CHAPTER 2: A MERRIER WORLD*
Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore?(*1)
…The shoemaker cut out all sorts of shoes: men's shoes, ladies' shoes, little children's shoes, dancing shoes, party shoes, shoes with laces, shoes with straps and buckles. He became well known for the excellent shoes he sold, and each week he took even more money in his shop.
One evening, just before Christmas, his wife suggested they should peep around the door of the work room to see if they could find out who was making the shoes. As the town clock struck midnight… (*2)
The soft lilting voice was so clear in Cressida's mind. Her mum's – just her mum's, for which she was glad. Her mum had always read to her when she was little, at every turn impressing upon Cressida both the importance and sheer enjoyment of reading. Books could take a person anywhere, anywhere away from life's realities. If one's imagination was fed and kept healthy, it would always be there, ready and waiting.
Yet Cressida's current reality was very different from what she was used to. She kept her eyes tight shut… just a little longer… trying to hold onto her mother's voice, but sounds and smells were starting to invade. Birdsong, not so very unusual, it was true, as were the smells of cooking, but there was also wood-smoke and horses. Horses seemed to pervade everything here – even way up in her room, Cressida could detect a faint whiff of manure.
But she could avoid it no longer.
She let out a small breath and opened her eyes: There were the chests – hers apparently – filled with clothes and other personal trinkets; and there were the table and chairs, and the fireplace. Everything was as it had been when she'd turned in.
Throwing off the blankets, Cressida hopped out of bed and instantly wrapped herself well up in a thick, woollen shawl. It was bitterly cold again; she supposed it was winter. At least it wasn't snowing. She began to wonder what was supposed to happen now, for there was no ensuite and Mistress Hild hadn't mentioned anything about shared facilities. The charming experience of the trip to the outside privy last night told Cressida that that was not the place in which one should try to get clean. She'd have to ask.
Pulling on her boots, Cressida ventured out into the corridor. She didn't get very far, for she was soon accosted by Mund, who came bounding up the stairs, his booming barks reverberating around the building. He was quickly followed by Master Aldus.
"Mund! Leave her be – leave!" Mund backed off. "Ye be wantin' summat to wash in, Miss?" He had quite a nice country burr when he wasn't angry or drunk, as he had been the previous evening.
"Yes please."
"Right ye be." He turned on his heels.
Before Cressida turned back to her room, she looked down into Mund's big brown eyes and gently scratched his ears.
"Mund!"
Cressida flinched slightly at the harsh tone, but Mund complied.
A little while later, there came a soft tapping on the door. Guessing its purpose, Cressida opened it.
"Thank you, dear."
Cressida was almost glad it was Mistress Hild.
The plump woman bustled in and set a ewer and bowl down on the table, along with some linen cloths, before bending down to stoke the fire back into life. Cressida couldn't stop herself.
"Mistress Hild, Master Aldus seems a little tense this morning… especially with Mund…"
Mistress Hild smiled understandingly.
"Now don't you worry about that, dearie. Aldus is a little rough-mannered, but t'is just his way. As for Mund, well, they're thick as thieves. Aldus would rather cut off his hand than set it against beast or woman."
Cressida slowly nodded her acceptance.
"Now then, you wash up and I'll see you downstairs for break of fast."
With that, Mistress Hild took her leave, humming one of the tunes from the bar last night as she did so. Cressida turned back to the table, hands on hips, eyeing the implements newly placed there. This would certainly be a new experience; she supposed the nearest thing to fresh, running water there was around here was the river she'd found. She cast around in her mind – it must be the Snowbourn. Yes, that was near Edoras, flowing towards the Entwash. She was determined to commit all this to memory so she could compare things when she got back.
However, on with the task at hand. Cressida first removed what she presumed was soap from the bowl, and then the cloth covering the top of the ewer, thereby releasing a cloud of steam. It was this same cloth that Cressida used to support the deceptively heavy ewer as she was lifting it to pour the water into the bowl. The soap was rougher than she was used to and it didn't look all that appealing, but as she gingerly sniffed it, she thought she could detect a fresh, herby smell. At least it was soap.
She started to lather her face and neck, but then decided to de-robe and scrub the rest of her body as best she could. Cleanliness about her room didn't seem to be an issue – the bedsheets were white and fresh, and all the surfaces gleamed – but she couldn't be sure of the local bathing protocol. As uncomfortable as 'bathing' standing up was, it was better than nothing.
Her washing done, Cressida slipped on a white, linen shift, and then a new dress. Less rough than the other, it was a pleasant shade of pale green and its bodice was embroidered with tiny flowers of white, pink, and yellow. Once she had tugged on some boots, she turned her attention to her hair. Cressida had always enjoyed having her waves of thick, golden hair as it meant she could experiment with styles and accessories. The girls at the perfume store where she worked even had running bets on what would happen to her hair next. It had become a sort of contest between them all.
At least her father has… no, Cressida! After all her years of blocking him out, he could still 'pop up' unexpectedly. Even now, she could still see his hand… but Cressida shut her eyes against it, and hummed A Whole New World from Disney's Aladdin all the while she was plaiting her hair. She had decided on a French side-braid today, and the act of delicately collecting each strand of hair was found to be very soothing.
She was still humming even as she descended the stairs and found her way to the kitchen, where Mistress Hild was bent over a large cauldron, stirring the glutinous contents.
"My, that sounds a cheerful tune, dearie, maybe you could share some of it tonight? I trust you slept well? You must have travelled some distance yesterday."
"Hmmm? Oh, yes, I was very comfortable, thank you. Did you need any help?"
"Dear me, no! You're a guest. You just sit yourself at the table."
It was not long before they were all sitting down to bowls filled with steaming porridge, while Mund gnawed on a bone by the fire. Mistress Hild waited only for a couple of spoonfuls before she began talking.
"What might you do today, my dear? As it's your first time in Edoras, you may perhaps like to have a look round? I'd accompany you, but I've got my usual chores this morning, and then market this afternoon – although you'd be welcome to join me?"
Cressida chewed on her porridge thoughtfully, what would she like to do? She was still trying to get her head around it all: to hear the name Edoras being bandied around, it was almost too surreal. But then a little exploring couldn't hurt – just to make the most of things. Quite unbidden, the image of Wilfrith surfaced in her mind. He had offered to show her the 'sites'; she could at least wander up to the gates to see if he was around.
"I will go out."
XXX
Fortunately, Cressida met Wilfrith in the square outside The Stag's Rest. He had been coming the other way and smiled upon sight of her. Cressida noticed he was not dressed in his uniform, but instead in rough leggings and boots, along with a faded blue tunic, leather jerkin, and a thick, woollen cloak.
"I'm not on duty today," he called brightly, "And I seem to remember making a lady an offer. I came this way in the hope that she hadn't forgotten."
Cressida returned his smile.
"Indeed you did… and here the aforementioned lady is, ready and waiting."
Wilfrith chuckled and bowed regally.
"Shall we, My Lady?"
They set off, retracing the route they had taken the previous day. Meduseld was always within sight, rising above the other buildings on its rocky outcrop – rather like the Parthenon, Cressida mused. They soon came to the foot of the Meduseld hill. Here Wilfrith paused, looking up and sighing sadly.
"Poor Théoden; I can still remember him investing me into the Riders. It was barely three years later that rumours started circulating as to his weakening state. He hasn't set foot outside for four years now. It's heart-breaking really, he was so strong, but now the Worm has him fully within his grasp. I know I should be loyal to my king, and I am, but would that Lord Éomer would return. I'd rise up for him."
Cressida looked round sharply; she caught sight of two Riders coming the other way. Hopefully they hadn't noticed.
"Are you sure it's safe to be speaking so openly?" she almost hissed. "Gríma Wormtongue must have many spies around."
Wilfrith harrumphed.
"Has his reputation spread that far? Then few of us are safe."
"How far?"
"Wherever it is you come from."
"Oh yes… of course."
But Cressida was distracted, for she was doing some rapid mental arithmetic. She knew from her readings that Saruman started to weaken Théoden in 3014, so four years on from that meant it must be about 3018 – the year the Fellowship began. Then there would be Helm's Deep and the Pelennor Fields… It was all Cressida could do to not utter a very anachronistic expletive.
XXX
When they walked back, the conversation turned to dreams and prospects. Wilfrith's of course were already fairly well set: work his way up the ranks and hope for glory in battle. He did also hope to travel to other parts of Middle-Earth, maybe to somewhere like the Bay of Belfalas, for he had never seen the sea before.
Cressida's were a little hazier, even though her experiences and home were so different. She hadn't gone to University, even though she was easily intelligent and hard-working enough. She'd done her A-Levels, but hadn't wanted to go further just for the sake of it. Just the thought of all that debt… No, Cressida knew she could do just as well going down another path.
"I've always liked writing – you know, stories. I had a dream of having something published. In fact I was working on a tale about a warrior-princess who…" Cressida paused, suddenly noticing that Wilfrith had been staring at her with a mixture of curiosity and fascination. "What?"
"You write for pleasure?"
"Yes. The markets back home are saturated with books. We can't seem to get enough of them."
Wilfrith was quiet for a moment, for Rohan contained few books and most Rohirrim had very little in the way of schooling. He had been fortunate to have long prepared for a life in the Riders, where illiteracy was discouraged, especially if one hoped to rise to a rank of command. It was not uncommon for a man to join up and then make a request for extra education.
"Most of our tales are passed on by word of mouth," he finally offered. "But I bet you know some interesting ones. Your home sounds wonderful, where is it again?"
"A long way from here – I think."
"Well, why don't you share some of your tales with us? We always like hearing new ones."
"I don't know that many," Cressida cautioned.
No, wait a minute… Perrault, Shakespeare, Chaucer… and that was just three… in Western literature. Surely they wouldn't mind… maybe with a bit of editing… and it would mean a whole new audience.
Hmmm.
XXX
That afternoon found Cressida and Mistress Hild heading to the market. As luck would have it, the previous exploration of the chests in her room had revealed a sizeable bag of money. Cressida had no idea of the monetary system in place in Middle-Earth, merely hoping it would be enough to see her through until she's established a regular income for herself. After all, she didn't know how long she'd remain and wanted a little financial security.
Being the nearest thing to a major city Rohan had, Edoras proved to be a positive magnet to all the farmers, small-holders, and craftspeople who lived in the surrounding area. But Cressida was less interested in these temporary stalls at the moment, instead wanting to visit Master Gladwine's shop. Master Gladwine seemed to be a kind of Rohirric stationer, selling parchment, inks, and the like to the small minority of people who actually had the time or need for such things. People such as the King's Councillors; other merchants; or occasionally the daughters of the wealthier houses of Edoras, who wanted to expand their 'accomplishments'.
Cressida's whole face lit up when she entered the little shop. It was crammed with everything a budding writer could wish for: leather-bound ledgers filled the top shelf, while the lower ones held rolls and sheets of parchment all graded according to quality. There were drawers brimming with quills, charcoal sticks, chalk, ink-pots, and brushes. A special glass-fronted cabinet behind the counter displayed its contents of multi-coloured inks almost proudly.
"Good afternoon, Miss."
The kindly voice broke through Cressida's reverie, making her start slightly. She looked over to where it came from. A man in his 40s or 50s was standing in front of a curtained doorway. His dark shoulder-length hair was only just showing flecks of grey, and he was dressed in a long russet-coloured robe that was quite unlike the leggings and tunic combination which Cressida had come to expect. The man's smile broadened, evidently already recognising a kindred spirit.
"I am Master Gladwine, proprietor. Welcome to my humble shop – is there anything specific you were looking for?"
"I don't really know, I'm afraid. I've got so many ideas in my head, it's difficult to know where to start."
"Do not fret, Miss, there is plenty of time. Take as long as you need. I stock most things and there are baskets behind you should you need one. I can help with anything out of reach."
In the end, Cressida came away with a long roll of rough parchment for making notes, writing implements, and a large notebook for neater writings. The latter was bound in purple leather, which made it almost double the price of the others, but Cressida just couldn't resist. She and her mum had always believed the odd indulgence couldn't hurt. Also buried amongst the quills was a small collection of charcoals, for seeing the coloured inks had given Cressida another idea.
XXX
Back at The Stag's Rest, Cressida bagged herself a corner table big enough for her to spread out on. She couldn't wait to get started. Mund padded over and lay down at her feet, he was followed closely by Mistress Hild.
"Have you got everything you need, my dear?"
"Oh yes, thank you, Master Gladwine was very helpful. I'll just sit here and write, if that's OK?"
"Surely, dearie, just you mind out later, it gets pretty rowdy in here."
Mistress Hild wasn't wrong. As the afternoon changed into evening, the inn got fuller and fuller. The humdrum of chatter was punctuated by shouting, laughter, and the odd snatch of singing. There was clouds of smoke, too, from all the pipes men used. Cressida hadn't realised how used she'd gotten to smoke-free rooms until now. In fact she was on the verge of retreating to her own room when a shadow fell across the table. It was Wilfrith.
"Hello there."
"Hello. Are you here on your own?"
"No, I came with some of the lads."
Wilfrith indicated behind him. Five Riders, including the Captain from yesterday, were standing at the bar grinning.
"Go on, Wilfrith, buy your girl a drink!"
Wilfrith flushed.
"Erm, would you care to join us?"
"Won't your friends mind?"
"No, they're harmless enough… in their own way. They will tease, though"
Cressida smiled at the look on his face.
"I'm sure it's nothing I haven't heard before. I'll just put my stuff away."
When Cressida re-entered the bar, Wilfrith and the others were crowded around her table.
"Right, lads, make way for the lady," the Captain ordered.
They all shifted and bunched up until there was enough room. Wilfrith handed her a small tankard.
"It's cider, I thought you might prefer it to ale."
As Cressida sipped at the tangy liquid, a small band of musicians started playing. There were a couple of fiddlers, someone with a big hand-drum, and someone else with a set of pipes. The tunes were very lively, instantly reminding Cressida of the dance-scene in Titantic. Even now, a space was being made by the crowd and a handful of couples got up to dance. Beside Cressida, Wilfrith was draining his tankard, and then he stood, holding out his hand.
"Will you join me?"
Cressida hesitated, then nodded. The rest of the group stayed stoically silent, only exchanging their coins when their young colleague was safely out of the way.
As the musicians started anew, Cressida felt herself relax and become swept up with the wild dance. She didn't know the steps, but no one cared a jot. All around them people were clapping along and Mistress Hild watched from behind the bar. Her face was holding an almost wistful expression.
TBC
*"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." (J.R.R. Tolkien)
*1 Henry Ward Beecher (1813-1887).
*2 The Elves and the Shoemaker by The Brothers Grimm (1806).