DISCLAIMER: It is called fanfiction for a reason, so just sit back, relax, and read… no questions asked.
CHAPTER 3: GHOSTS OF CHRISTMAS PAST
Books have led some to learning and others to madness.(*1)
Ella was so happy, for she'd gotten into Art College to study Illustration. It was her dream to join the publishing world – maybe even create her own books one day. Ella had always been good at art and her father boasted proudly, maybe even a little cynically, that she didn't need some academic ponce telling her so. Still, Ella was determined; she would learn new techniques and maybe even get a few contacts in the industry. She'd certainly meet a lot of new people.
With all this in mind, Ella threw herself into student life and joined a variety of the societies advertised around the campus. She began to learn Italian, joined a book-club, and even continued with netball. Yes, life was good.
At least, life was good...until she met Melvin.
Life with Melvin was good in the beginning. He was a bouncer in the nightclub Ella occasionally went to, and everything about him was just so different from the men who inhabited the little West Country village she grew up in. He was like a drug that Ella couldn't get enough of, and of course it was natural she stop going to netball so much… and she could learn Italian anytime. Melvin seemed to like that.
She got pregnant.
Ella was in shock when she saw the little blue line appear; she'd always thought herself more careful than that. And what did she know about babies anyway? It would be so much hard work: Nappies in all the cupboards, hardly any sleep, breathing in the scent of sick and used nappies. It wasn't all that ideal time-wise. It was… it was wonderful. The more Ella thought about that little bundle of cells growing inside her, the more she realised it was always with a smile on her face. She couldn't wait.
Melvin seemed excited, too. He promised to take care of both Ella and their son, but she would have to drop out of Art College, as he couldn't be expected to support the three of them whilst Ella was living the high life, could he? Ella reluctantly agreed, but she could get a job and maybe work on her art on the side.
She didn't get a job.
Melvin wanted her at home.
On the bright side, this gave her plenty of time to draw.
She didn't tell Melvin.
Ella's parents were far more sceptical about this new arrangement, and they didn't altogether approve of Melvin, but Ella wanted to make it work and they determined to do all they could to help. One of the things Eric and Regina didn't like was Melvin's temper, which he could be rather free with. He eventually took things too far at work and ended up in prison. It wasn't much of a surprise, even to the club who had employed Melvin on the understanding that such behaviour was behind him. It was hard on Ella though, who didn't seem to be able to function without him, but at least she had her mum when her time came.
Little Cressida Sophia was first introduced to her father outside the prison gates when he was released. Eric had put his foot down at the prospect of his grand-daughter being actually taken inside the place. Ella knew things would work this time – they had to – after all, Melvin was so happy to be with his family again. True, he never actually banked on having a daughter, but he was soon boasting to his mates down the pub that she was already as beautiful as her mother. Melvin liked to joke that they were like mustard and cress. It wasn't all that funny, but Ella always laughed to please him.
He couldn't go back to being a bouncer, so he ended up doing favours for people, and then went on the dole. Times were tight, so it was only natural that Melvin was a bit sad and angry. He could be excused the occasional light relief that drink brought him, couldn't he? He was working his fingers to the bone, after all.
XXX
Cressida would always remember that Christmas. She had gone to bed promptly, so that Father Christmas would come quick as quick. Mummy had read Rumpelstiltskin to her. It was one of her all-time favourite stories. They always played a game when it came to the guessing part: Cressida would shout all the most outlandish names she could think of while Mummy would go, 'No, that's not my name!' in response.
Cressida liked those private times with Mummy, when it was just them in the flat. Daddy didn't like such games. Daddy always smelt funny when he gave her a bear-hug. Alice's Daddy didn't smell like that. Alice's Daddy was nice.
Cressida woke up. It was still night-time and she could hear Daddy's voice – it was raised and angry. Then there was Mummy's voice, no longer soft but edged with an urged tone. Daddy's voice rose again, and then there was a strange sound that was like a clap. It was not a happy sound.
Silence.
Clutching her Minnie Mouse doll, Cressida crept out of her room and along the corridor to the sitting room. She peeped through the crack. Mummy was crying and holding her cheek. Daddy was looking cross.
"How dare you badmouth me in my own home? After I've slaved away all day trying to keep a roof over our heads, all I do is to go to the pub with the lads and watch a match. I DO NOT NEED YOUR BLOODY BLEATING!"
"Yes, Melvin, I'm sorry – I won't ever…"
"Oh, piss off."
Daddy stomped towards the door, causing Cressida to reel back sharply. She screwed up her eyes in reaction to the sudden light.
"Well, well, well, look who it is. You're as bad as your mother, sneaking around behind my back. Go on, then, how much did you hear?"
"Mummy?" Cressida's voice quavered.
"Excuse me? I asked the question. How much did you hear?"
"Melvin, please."
Mummy came up behind Daddy.
"Don't you interrupt; I make the orders. Cressida. What. Did. You. Hear?" There was a sourness to his breath.
Cressida could feel a pounding in her chest.
"Please leave her out of this, Melvin. Cressida, you-"
Daddy leapt up. He began jabbing his finger at Mummy's chest.
"I told you not to interrupt. Don't you listen to anything I say? You stupid, careless bitch."
"Mummy's not stupid, you are. You're a mean, horrible man and I HATE YOU!"
Daddy froze. Slowly, he turned round and walked towards Cressida, who backed into the corridor. Daddy smiled, but it was the wrong kind of smile, and then a sharp, stinging pain enflamed Cressida's cheek, knocking her sideways. Mummy started shrieking and threw herself at Daddy, who was shouting back. Cressida's head was ringing...
Mustard and cress…
Mustard and cress…
Mustard and cress…
Cressida sat up, a cold sweat soaking her body. Yes, she remembered that Christmas very well.
XXX
Cressida was rather subdued the next morning. Maybe it was because Yule was coming up and, for once, she and her mum weren't together. They'd always tried to make it an extra special time of year. Along with all the festive frills, they also made time to spend with a domestic violence or women's charity. They had been lucky and had managed to escape her father's clutches; now they wanted to give something back.
Things would certainly be different this year.
Cressida had just returned to the bar, having collected her cloak, when she clapped eyes upon the forest tapestry. Again it seemed to call to her, but she couldn't see why.
"Mistress Hild, where did you get that tapestry?" Cressida pointed.
"Why that, dearie, bless my soul if I can remember. I must have liked the scenery – t'is so different from Rohan. Are you going walking again?"
"Yes, I think I will."
"Well, just you be careful. Snow's in the air. It will be a bitter Yule this year, and there's talk of evil creatures roaming Rohirric lands. I'd advise taking your young man with you as an escort."
"Wilfrith is not my 'young man'."
"Whatever you say, dear."
Cressida never went all that far anyway, just up to the Snowbourn. She'd just watch and wait, to see if anything happened. It seemed the most logical starting point.
The thing was, Cressida was finding herself becoming more and more a part of Edoras life. She was now established as a Wordsmith – a teller of tales – and her reputation grew by the day. She awoke each morning brimming with ideas. She'd started off with Fairy Tales, such as Snow White and Rapunzel, then she'd branched out into Chaucer and Shakespeare. She would read aloud in the square, and sold story and picture-pages. She had rapidly become one of Master Gladwine's most eager customers. The trips to his shop always took more time than necessary because they chatted so much.
Cressida had also made a few friends amongst the young women of Edoras, but the people she interacted with most were Mistress Hild, Master Aldus, and Wilfrith. Wilfrith seemed to like accompanying her when he could; they'd even gone riding a couple of times. They danced more, too. Cressida enjoyed these times most, when she could just throw herself into the fun and forget everything else.
Yule was something else she could throw herself into. As per Rohirric tradition, there was to be a big festival in the central square, with food stalls, dancing, and other entertainments. Cressida was to have a spot there, too. She was going to read one of her stories, and she knew just the one. She was currently painting some big pictures to go with key moments of the text. She knew her pictures could never be as good as her mother's, but they were something never seen before in Rohan, even in Edoras, so they were very popular. Another good reason for them was to help convey the story to those who couldn't read, rather like stained-glass windows in churches.
When the big day finally arrived, Cressida could feel an extra fission of excitement in the air as everyone busied themselves with decorating the town. There were boughs of foliage; bright banners and ribbons; and special fretworks and candles adorning every window. Men were performing tricks with their horses, and various smaller games of skill were being played.
Partway through the day, Cressida set up her wares in one of the larger refreshment tents and told A Christmas Tale by Charles Dickens. She wanted to make it an extra special performance so she had roped in Wilfrith and a couple of other Riders to help. Situated behind the cloth screen at the back of the stage, they recreated all the sound effects, like the ghostly rattle of Jacob Marley's chains.
When she had finished reading, Cressida was surrounded by people wanting to order copies of the pictures she'd made. She would be busy for quite a while after Yule. After this, she, Wilfrith, Leofstan, and Elfnod packed up their equipment and made their way out of the slightly fuggy tent to the pleasant chill of the afternoon air.
"Excuse me?"
A tall lady stood behind them. Her dove-grey cloak was edged in red and gold, and was held at her throat by a pearl brooch. It was being whipped up by the breeze to reveal a dress of pure white beneath. The deep bows of Cressida's friends confirmed it; she sank into a curtsey.
"You honour us, my Lady," said Leofstan.
"Oh no, please, it is you who have honoured me. I thoroughly enjoyed your performance."
"Thank you, my Lady." Even though Cressida had been living in Edoras for several weeks now, she was still in shocked awe.
"Miss Cressida, I have often heard the maids speak of you. I just wanted to let you know I'm glad I ventured out today."
"Thank you, my Lady," Cressida repeated, a little more confidently this time.
"I won't tarry you any longer. You must get back to the festivities, as I must get back to Meduseld. Good day."
Once Éowyn was out of earshot, Leofstan whistled lightly.
"My, that was…" he stopped abruptly.
Everyone followed the line of his gaze. Even in the hustle and bustle of the square, the pale-skinned, dark-haired man was easy to spot. He slipped away quickly.
"Come on, let's go," said Wilfrith.
The arm about Cressida's shoulders remained in place until they reached The Stag's Rest.
XXX
The tradition of gift-giving seemed to be as eagerly followed in Edoras as it had been back home. Cressida had given each of her friends a small picture of a favoured scene from a story – either one of hers or a traditional Rohirric one. In return, Wilfrith had nervously pressed a small cloth-covered parcel into her hand. Inside the folds, Cressida found a delicate, wooden hair-comb, which had been carved to resemble an apple.
"Like in Snow White," Wilfrith explained.
Cressida had promised to wear it that very evening, when the festivities would be given over to dancing. She also wore her new dress: a beautiful confection made of teal-green velvet, which Cressida had been steadily saving for. Her friend, Elfleda, had made it into a dress as her Yule-gift, but she'd also added some golden ribbon-work as a surprise. It was easily the finest dress Cressida owned. She felt it, too, as she slipped it over her head, for it seemed to make her carry herself differently. Finally, she opted for a simple half-up, half-down hairstyle that her new comb could crown with pride.
"Why, don't 'ee look fine, lass," remarked Master Aldus as Cressida descended the stairs.
They were all attending the dancing that evening, as Master Aldus and Mistress Hild had already done their duty by their patrons, having provided several barrels of ale and cider in anticipation of the evening's events.
The noise of the crowd drifted over to them as they left the inn; music had going for a while and the dancing was well under way. Wild boar was being roasted on spits and there were sweet meats for sale. Cressida found her girlfriends and they stood in a little group, supping their drinks and chatting. Elfleda and Eoforhild were idly eyeing up a group of young men Cressida recognised as apprentices. She, on the other hand, was looking out for Wilfrith, and only spotted him when an elbow in the ribs from Eoforhild turned her in that direction.
Wilfrith had evidently had a bath and he had tidied his hair away from his face. He wore his usual outfit of tunic, jerkin, and leggings, but they looked cleaner and crisper than his other off-duty clothes, and his boots were shiny. Wilfrith had dressed with effort and care; Cressida's heart skipped a beat at the thought. But then it was natural for him to do so, for Yule was a big occasion, and… and what if things went back to the way they were? She shouldn't really encourage anything.
Those thoughts were half-hearted at best and were swiftly locked away as she was eagerly pulled into the next dance.
Wilfrith kept Cressida occupied all evening what with one thing and another. They would form a little group with Elfleda, Eoforhild, and their two partners Wulfric and Ecgberht in between dances. The girls looked out for each other and it was all very proper, although it was generally acknowledged that social protocols were relaxed slightly for this one particular evening.
XXX
As predicted, Cressida had a very heavy workload after Yule. Not that she minded so much, as it gave her a good excuse to remain inside for much of the day. The weather had finally done what it had been threatening to do ever since her arrival: it snowed. And in Rohan, snow meant snow. Fortunately, the Rohirrim well used to such weather, so life more or less continued as normal, just with the occasional snowball fight thrown in for good measure. Another good thing was that the tent which Cressida had utilised for A Christmas Carol was kept erected, and it duly played host to more readings.
It was after one such event, as Cressida was packing up her things, when she felt a movement behind her. The few people who remained in the tent gasped. Cressida turned; she was now face to face with none other than Gríma Wormtongue. He was flanked by two Riders, who looked distinctly less friendly than Leofstan and Elfnod.
"How may I be of assistance… Sir?" she said carefully, hoping to sound more confident than she actually felt. Wilfrith was away with his Éored at the moment and Cressida wanted to be brave for him. It was easier to think of Wormtongue as 'The Worm'.
Said Worm pulled out one of Cressida's picture-pages and looked at it sneeringly. It was a scene from the Heath Ledger film A Knight's Tale.
"You would teach the peasantry such nonsense, when they have little chance of ascending to such heights?"
"Everyone has the ability to better themselves, all that is lacking is the chance. Take me, for example, before I came here I worked in a shop. Now I-"
"Sell dreams … unlikely, unobtainable dreams." The Worm scrunched up the piece of parchment and let it drop to the floor, where he ground it under his boot. "You'd best learn now, Miss, that hope has forsaken Rohan."
"There is always Hope."
The Worm scoffed.
"And what would a seller of dreams hope for?"
"The same thing that every loyal daughter of Éorl hopes for: that Théoden-King recovers his strength to lead his people to greatness in battle once again. Surely, as his Chief Advisor, you want that as well?"
"Alas, I fear that His Majesty is far too weak." The tone was one of concern – he even had a hand over his heart – but the challenge never left those cold, pale eyes.
"I don't believe that. I believe in the Second Line of Éorl and I believe that we will see Hope renewed."
There was a murmur of ascent from the surrounding crowd. The Worm glanced about him, a calculating look now in his eyes.
"As you will, Miss." Another sneer caressed his mouth. "But we shall see."
He turned on his heel and swept from the tent followed closely by the Riders. Cressida crossed her arms.
"Yes we shall."
TBC
*1 Remedies for Fortune Fair and Foul by Frances Petrarch (1365).