Chapter Seventeen: By the Grace of Our Lady Kementari
Aragorn awoke in stages. Far away, eyes yet unopened, songbirds trilling a tune for the morning sun, his first sense of the day. A good, good bird-whistling. He found himself suddenly in his body, as he did every time he came out of sleep, and joyously contracted and expanded his limbs, twisting his agile little frame up, down, to either side, and back into a tight ball. He laughed and called out his greeting to the day, and opened his eyes to the bright sunlight in the Hall of Fire.
So bright, that he had to cover his eyes again, but not before he saw the beloved form of his mother, reclining on a divan close by. "Momo!" he cried, still not taking his hands from his face. "Bright sun, Lady Arien!"
Gilraen laughed and came to his side, placing herself in the early sun-rays and shading the child's face. He had fallen asleep the night before on a wide couch that faced both the eventide fire-hearth and the daytime window; a debate had arisen over the question of taking him elsewhere to sleep out the rest of the night, and all had finally agreed to let him stay as he was. "He is, after all, safe..." she had thought, "and someone will surely sit here yet for hours..." She had gone to her own rest with the healers, and had awoken early to come and watch her little son rise out of sleep... as she seemed to never tire of.
"Was your journey pleasant, my love?" she stroked his tousled hair and he took his hands away. His bright eyes blinked into focus, and he took one of her long tresses lovingly, brushing the ends over his nose and cheeks.
"Hungry, Momo," he said happily, "hungry very hungry. We must go to see Vaneta and eat good food with her." This purpose burned him far more than the autumn sun, and he jumped up to hug Gilraen like a little bear.
Her heart ached, and she fought to press down the rising tears. "Let us go, my love. You lead me, for I have not yet seen Vaneta's kitchen."
"It is wonderful," said the child in ecstatic anticipation, taking her hand and pulling her out almost at a run. "There is Brother Jim Jam, who watches out for good flavors to stay on our plate, not fly out the window with good smells..." he recited the vital task seriously, then laughed again. "Very funny, this pot with big ears and good, good sweet jam inside!" He described with gestures and then made the Brother Jim Jam face, drawing a giggle from his mother.
They trotted along the hallways and soon came to the happy kitchen. Vaneta was indeed there, up to her elbows in flour dough and singing at the top of her lungs, along with three other elves, two seeming youths and a maiden, who added dancing to the funny song. Aragorn joined instantly, clapping and leaping, quickly figuring the steps and following the tune with "Lo-lo-lo" and other wide-open sounds.
They whirled to a stop, the elves laughing and applauding their spontaneous partner. "And who is this graceful dancer, Vaneta?" asked one of the youths. The others took notice of Gilraen, quietly standing in the doorway, suddenly shy and far-removed from dance and song.
"I am--" began the child.
"Estel!" his mother put in quickly, coming forward and taking his hand to lead him to the table. He looked at her strangely, then turned his attention to the fine spread set before them. While they had been finishing the final twirls of the dance, Vaneta had arranged on the table plates and platters, large and small, open and covered, flagons of hot, warm and cool. She turned from the hearth-stove shaking a frying pan with one hand and emptying a sheetful of fresh cakes into a basket with the other. She set aside the baking sheet and covered the cakes with a napkin, pushing the basket to the center of the table. Still shaking the frying pan, she came around to her two new patrons.
"Are you ready?" she said cheerfully, taking up a sharp knife and deftly slicing in two parts the contents of the pan.
"Yes!" shouted the child, then suddenly subdued his tone with a sidelong glance at his mother. "Yes, Vaneta, thank you," he amended.
"For my favorite hungry boy," she said, turning onto his plate a half of an omelette and then sliding the other onto Gilraen's. "You must taste and tell me, later, what you think is in this egg-torte. You will surely know, my lady," she said to Gilraen, "but you must let the boy find out for himself, if you please."
"Of course," said Gilraen graciously, "although I believe this portion is far too large for me. I will taste a bit, and give the rest to Estel," she could not avoid stressing the name slightly, "who is almost done with what you served him." She took a small bite and marvelled at the subtle and yet piquant blend of flavors. "Indeed, Vaneta," she said, "delicious. Thank you."
Estel watched her take another small bite, then gazed down at his own empty plate. Gilraen chuckled and said, "Yes, yes, my son, here is this more." His eyes opened wide and eager as the piece of omelette passed to his plate, and muttering his thanks he applied himself gravely. Gilraen took a little cake from the basket and reached for Brother Jim Jam, while Vaneta poured out a hot fragrant brew in a large cup for her.
The other three elves watched in silence as mother and son fed themselves in such different fashions. She, barely nibbling, easily distracted; he, stashing away with enthusiasm just short of ferocity. "Such a small boy," said the maiden, "where does he put it all?"
The egg-torte dispatched, Estel had already reached into the basket and was spooning jam from the Brother onto his plate. "One other color, today, from Jim Jam," the child pointed out to Vaneta.
"Yes, my love," she said. "This jim-jam is different. Another color, another smell..." she sniffed demonstratively, "and... taste... another flavor..." She dipped a bit of cake into the jam and handed it to the boy. "Taste."
Estel, grinning widely, took the cake and popped it into his mouth. His eyes went wide, and searched back and forth as he chomped the bite and finally swallowed. "A new jim-jam, a new flavor... very good. Very good, Vaneta!" He licked his fingers and then stopped, turning his little hands over and regarding the sweet traces. "A fine color, also. It is beautiful," he said almost sadly.
"What is it, my son?" asked Gilraen attentively. "What are you thinking?"
"This fine color, like Agadil makes the jim-jam. The color... the same," he displayed with his fingers, "the flavor... not the same..." His fingers strayed apart. "But good," he brightened, "good Vaneta jim-jam, good Agadil jim-jam..."
Gilraen scooped her son up and held him in a tight embrace. She whispered into his ear, very softly, "Speak not of our far-distant home, my love. Speak not of Dada," she choked back a sob, "and speak not your Dúnedain name. Say not Aragorn, and come to me when I call you Estel."
"What is Estel, Momo?" he whispered in turn.
"Estel is hope, my love... you are Hope... you are Estel."
"Hope, Momo... ho-o-o-o-ooo-pp..." the child explored the unknown word. "Ooo-o-a-a-AA… hap- hap- py… Happy, Momo! Estel is Happy!" So pleased with his conclusion, the boy struggled out of his mother's embrace and hopped a jig along the bench to the three elves watching him. "Dance again?" he incited them: needlessly, as they were wont to express as much in twirling and stepping as in speech or even song.
They took his hands and swirled him into a round, trotting now right, now left, and kicking their heels backwards as if running together into the center of the circle. He crowed with laughter as they came to a halt with a final Ha!, and only then noticed that the three lady-healers had appeared and were now surrounding his mother with their embraces.
"Beloved ladies," said Vaneta, showing them to seats next to Gilraen, "you are welcome to this table. Will you have some little cakes, a bite of cheese?" she quickly turned the contents of a pot onto a plate and set it before the sisters, pulling the basket towards them as well. "And a cup of warm brew?"
"What have you given the lady Gilraen to drink?" asked Lariat, coming to the hearth and sniffing appreciatively.
"This brew, dear lady," said Vaneta, serving a mug and passing it to Lariat.
"Hmm," said the healer, "it is perfect. Thank you, Vaneta. Always you know the most fitting food or drink… She must have more of this. And for us all, never too much of a wonderful vigor-essence."
"Did you not teach me yourself, lady, that food and drink are the building-stones of all healing?" Vaneta took a dry spray of herbs tied with a red string, and placed it in the hands of Lariat reverently. "For the basket," she said with a smile.
The healer bowed her thanks and turned back to the table, where Lynael and Milia were tasting the contents of the platter Vaneta had set out for them. Estel, too, was interested in the shiny yellow balls the size of a cherry. Gilraen alone abstained, but lightened her mood watching all the greedy fingers picking cheese-globes out of the oily froth so deliciously.
"Allow some for me, if you please," said Lariat, taking a seat in front of the platter at Estel's side. She quickly plucked and ate three in train, and rolled her eyes in bliss, exchanging joking gestures with the boy. "And what will this poor, hungry child wash his breakfast down with, maker of wonders?" she called to Vaneta.
"Special for him, shacorot, from my secret hoard," answered the elf-woman from the hearth. She returned with a decorated gourd set in a little round wooden frame with three legs, wisps of steam drifting out to tickle nostrils and taste-buds. "Drink slowly, my love, for it is somewhat still hot, perchance…"
Estel turned the curious vessel a full round, gazing closely at the designs carved into the gourd. "Momo," he said, turning to his mother.
"Tiny bits of fire, my son, placed for a moment against the face of this well-formed gourd, dry and hollowed." She, too, admired the minute markings on the drinking-cup, and then took a whiff of the contents. "And what is inside would be just so…"
The boy took the gourd carefully and brought his lips to the rim, watching the others from the corner of his eye. Then his full attention was captured by the first sip of the liquid in the gourd, and he heard no more until the last drop was gone. He stared at Vaneta and said nothing, barely forming silent syllables with his mouth still wet with the sweet brown liquid. She replied in the same fashion, and between them a pact was sealed from that day forward.
"We will take this lady now to her bath and rubbing," said Lynael.
"Estel will stay with us for a while, will you not, my love?" smiled Vaneta quickly at the wondering child.
"Ye-e-e-s," he said uncertainly, looking at each lady one by one. His eyes rested at last on the spray in Lariat's hand, and he jumped up purposefully. "Car-mi-la-e!" he shouted in triumph. "You have carmilae… but… very…"
"Dry," Lariat completed the thought. "You see, Estel, plants may become dry, and yet retain their scent. You caught it with your clever little nose…" She tickled the tip of his nose with the spray, and then laughing all they turned away and whisked Gilraen out of their sight.
"Will you come out and greet the carmilae on the terrace, little master?" said Vaneta with a gesture towards the sunlight pouring through the door into the kitchen. "Also, you must smell a new herb. Did we not say?"
"We did," said Estel intensely. He trotted out to the terrace, followed by Vaneta and the other three elves, silent all this while. "Here is carmilae," he stopped at the little bush he had acquainted himself with, the day before. "Hello," he whispered into the leaves, "I am happy to see you… I am happy… happy… I am Estel, happy," he finished softly and touched his lips to the little bush. He remained so for a moment, then rose to see what more Vaneta would display for him.
"This," she beckoned quietly. He approached with little cat-steps, and jumped nimbly onto a stool she indicated. She held him close by the shoulders and drew her face next to his, whispering, "This pretty white flower, not the most beautiful of all, but surely the true love of this tiny angel," she pointed discreetly at the little black bee emerging from the corolla of the waxy white blossom.
"A bee," breathed Estel. "Little, black… new!" The millipon flew away, and Estel gasped and covered his mouth. "I frightened the bee…" he whispered apologetically.
"I don't think so, sweetness. I believe her work was done in this white flower." Ranon came close to Estel and pointed his attention to the petal the bee had pattered out on. "See the tiny, tiny specks of yellow, like a little trail she left behind?"
"Yes, yes," whispered Estel excitedly, "into the flower…"
"This is her work, the millipon. We call this bee like so, millipon," Ranon added, upon seeing the question in Estel's face. "She takes the tiny yellow specks from flowers to her home, hers and her sisters', and they make honey."
"Yes," said Estel conversationally, "bees make honey." He spotted another millipon and inspected it closely.
"You had never seen a millipon, little master?" Estel shook his head. "Well, then," continued Ranon, "I'm sure you would like to taste her honey." Estel nodded brightly. "Come," she took his hand and they skipped back to the kitchen to inspect the larder. "Vaneta and the boys will come, too."
Estel was astounded by the wealth in the larder. His eyes darted from vessel to basket to hanging net, and his fingers twitched. Ranon, less impressed, quickly found the special honey-pot and took it back to the table. She spooned out a dab and handed it to Estel. "Taste," she commanded.
The other three had come to the doorway to watch the appraisal, and were rewarded by the funny faces Estel made. He clearly could not make up his mind, and finally held out the spoon and said, "More." He grinned at them and added, "Maybe… this honey is strange." He gulped down the other sample, however.
"We use the millipon honey for special brews, and for healing wounds and illnesses, little master," said Niboi. "Other bees make our honey for eating. You know them."
"Yes, I do," said Estel, "in the forest."
"Ranon is the lady of the bees, my love," Vaneta said to the boy. "She knows them all, and their homes, and their love-songs, and work-songs…"
"And angry-songs!" crowed Estel, suddenly remembering.
They chuckled in agreement, and then Vaneta returned to the sideboard where she had left the flour-dough. "Will you come and see, Estel?" she called, pointing.
"Yes," the child answered, then gasped. "I must smell the true love of this tiny angel, Vaneta!" He turned back out onto the terrace, and climbed to carefully sniff the plant, both the leaves and the blossom. Satisfied, he hopped back to the kitchen on one foot.
Darmel, the other elf, said, "The true love is called sersan, young Estel."
"Sersan," the child repeated seriously. "Yes."
"Now, Estel!" called Vaneta once more, "we will cook little cakes! Come!"
The boy ran to her and climbed onto a high stool. She poured a bit of fragrant liquid onto his palms, and gestured for him to rub them together. He did so, curious and tickled, and finally she wiped his hands with a cloth. "Now, my love, look to the mass of veyat-meal, take what will fit in your hand and pull it away… now roll, and roll, and turn over and roll, and pat…" she guided his motions with her own, and his cake began to take shape. "Now, pick up… careful… on the sheet… into the fire…"
Estel watched attentively each step of the baking, made several more cakes himself, and finally turned his attention to the remaining dough. "What is this, Vaneta?" he asked, poking the soft mass.
"This and this," she answered, pointing to a measure full of meal and a vessel with a creamy content. "And some of these," picking up an egg, "and bits of ab, yan, sus and mof," she indicated four small pots, lifting each cover in turn. "And mix, mix, mix, and turn, turn, turn, and roll, roll, roll. Then pinch, then pat, then fire, then cool, then eat, eat, eat!"
The child's eyes were shining, his taste buds quickly registering new memories while his mind reviewed and followed the sequence. "This…" he said, pinching a bit of meal and showing it to Vaneta.
"Veyat, my dear," she said. She turned and uncovered a large stone jar, twice the height of Estel, and lifted him to see inside. "Veyat." She put him down and reached into the jar, took a handful of grains out and spread them on the table. The boy took one and looked it over, put it between his incisor teeth and crushed carefully, then inspected it once again. Vaneta took the grains and put them in a grinding vessel, then applied a pestle in circular movements, counting in a singsong rhyme. She stopped and took out the pestle, and Estel craned his neck to see inside. He reached in and took a bit of the light-colored meal. His eyes lit up again.
"Veyat," he said dreamily, "cakes. Good."
"Veyat comes to us from Our Lady Kementari, Estel," said Darmel. "It grows in the fields and up the mountain. Will you come and see?"
"Oh, yes," said Estel. "We go now?" He looked to Vaneta for reassurance.
"Go, my love," she said, stroking his cheek. "It is not far. Darmel, Niboi and Ranon will show you the treasure-places where our food is born. Some, today, and others later. Bring me a pretty stone!" she added as the four tripped out the door into the sunshine, then whispered, "…one that sparkles like your eyes, child of the starlight."