Did you know that Boromir son of Denethor was once called the sword arm of Gondor? That is not so very different from being a sword hilt. I did not know that either until Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, told me.
He is a kind man, eloquent in speech and laughs easily. He is a warrior, although he prefers the library to the battlefield and ink stains to scars. Eowyn, his wife and my lady Eolasse's cousin, told me that. I was helping her to mind her son, Elboron, who Faramir says takes after Boromir, and bouncing their daughter Morwen on my knees.
I think if Boromir was like Elboron then he was a good man.
It is winter now, and the snow blankets the world like a crystal-cold blanket. It makes everything quiet, except the king's hall which is always noisy with feasting and drinking and laughter, even more so now the cold weather's set in.
It is warm inside the hall, sometimes even too warm with so many bodies pressed together. The water is too cold to bathe in even here, so baths are limited and smells are pungent.
It is the solstice soon, which is why the prince and his lady are here. Eolasse and her elf have returned as well, after leaving to be with Legolas's people for the last of Autumn and the first snows.
We always celebrate the Solstice, or both Solstices, I should say, although it is a much grander celebration here than it would be in Emnet.
I am a handmaiden to Queen Lothiriel of Rohan, which means I repair her gowns and heat her washwater and mix her ink, an increasingly difficult task as the water keeps freezing. My lady the Queen is wonderful, she is good and kind and clever, and her laugh, like little silver bells, rings out often. I know what silver bells sound like now, just another thing I've learned since my arrival here.
I'm even learning how to write, as I gleefully told one of the Hall's mousers, a lithe grey cat with eyes like green marbles.
Our conversation went like this.
I am going to learn how to write, Puss.
Writing is overrated, girl.
But useful. You can do all sorts of things with it.
Like what?
I could record this conversation.
Why would anyone want to do that?
Puss, you are being cruel.
So you're learning to make squiggles of ink. My kits can do that.
Well, I'm excited about it.
Excitement is overrated.
Oh.
Did you bring me cheese?
Yes.
Now, girl, cheese is something worthwhile.
I'm glad humans have some uses.
Did I say they didn't?
No, Puss.
Meow.
I fed her the cheese, which had turned crumbly in the cold air, bit by bit from my fingers. She rubbed against my legs and then pranced away.
That's the thing about cats.
They never say goodbye.