LOTR Fic: Lady of Gondor Ch 7
Jun. 13th, 2007 12:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
martasficTitle: The Lady of Gondor Ch 7
Summary: The deeds of Mellamir, sister of Boromir and Faramir, before and during the War of the Ring. Novel-length.
Word Count: 2084
Rating: Teen (for violence)
Timeline: Mid-Third Age and Late Third Age (bookverse)
-------
2996-3002; Minas Tirith
-------
The harvest came and went. Time, as it is wont to do, went on. Summer passed into winter, and then into summer again. Denethor at last managed to find a fitting tutor: Delagond, the son of sages for many generations and from a respectable enough family. He was liberal-minded and willing to teach a girl--under the pretext of her being trained as an heir of the steward, of course--if it also meant the honour of tutoring the future Steward of Gondor. As he would.
At Gandalf's suggestion Denethor made Boromir page to the Captain of the Tower Guard during the day, but twice a week he spent his mornings in the library with Faramir. At night he often studied under Delagond, and occasionally he learned from Gandalf as well.
What Gandalf had said should not imply that Boromir was ignorant; his father had seen to much of his education. Boromir could read script as well as any of the boys of the City, and he was very good at practical math. Of course, being his father's son, he knew legends that had never been recorded in Gondor's books, to say nothing of those lost over time or hidden in some musty library and never studied.
Faramir knew how to read, of course, and some basic lore, but not much else. He was not as clever with numbers as his brother, but he was good with time: if he had to be home by lunchtime, he knew how long he could walk before he needed to turn back and how far he could get in that time.
Faramir's real love, however, was the world around him, the plants and animals that lived all about. He could tell from looking at a seed what plant would grow from it, and what its leaves would look like. And by examining footprints he knew what sort of animal had made them, and when they were likely to hibernate, in the summer or in the winter; and when they would have babies, since Arabôr would not hunt them them.
Yet Faramir was to be brother of the Steward, not a wild man of the fields, so he needed more "cultured" knowledge if he were to someday help Boromir in his task of governing Gondor. That was why he had to be tutored, to learn about the ancient Númenóreans and all the peoples descended from them. On Gandalf's advice, he also studied in more general terms the other free folk of the West with which Men occasionally had dealings.
Yet Boromir was not steward yet, and so Faramir would not become his administrator for some time. Until then Faramir had other duties to see to, as Denethor constantly reminded him. Gondor would soon be at war, its borders were already threatened, and Faramir had a duty to train in sword and bow. So twice a week, after Boromir had joined Faramir for their morning lessons, Faramir would accompany his brother to the Tower Guard and the two would practice swordplay and archery. Much of the time Mellamir joined them.
Denethor searched long for a woman to tutor Mellawen, but in vain. He had suspected he would not find one, as the only women qualified for such a position would be high-born. Those already married would be busy with their own family, and the others would be of marriageable age. What family would ruin their daughter's prospects for a good match by having her work outside the family, no matter how noble the cause?
He thought at first of sending her to Dol Amroth where she might be tutored by her aunts with her cousins there, but the thought of her being so far away pained his heart. No, he would not send her away. Not yet. Instead, Delagond tutored her with Faramir, teaching them much the same things.
This was fine when Mellamir was eight and Faramir thirteen. Then, the people of their father's court seemed to brush it aside. She's only just lost her mother, poor dear, some said. She'll grow out of these odd ways. Or, She has no mother and has not for a year. She needs someone to show her how to be a lady. Why doesn't her father marry? But perhaps the most common explanation was, It's that meddling wizard. He does not understand our ways and has no right ruining the child. If he would just let her be, she would settle down and develop some sense. But as the years passed people became less forgiving of her oddities. Plenty of girls did not have mothers for one reason or another, and they all turned out all right. What's more, that wizard was seen less and less with her; no excuse there.
That name, Mellamir, was another bit of nonsense. At first people called her by it and had a good chuckle, thinking it a childish lark, but then she stopped answering to anything else. Now, if someone meant business, if Mellamir was in trouble, they would call her "Mellawen, child of Denethor"--she wouldn't answer to "daughter of" even then. At other times, though, she wouldn't even respond to Mellawen. It was "Mellamir, son of Denethor," and no one seemed able to convince her to do otherwise.
As the years passed nature took its course in all things, not least of all Mellamir. Back at Arabôr's farm she had worn loose, long skirts, torn about the knees, and Faramir's old trousers under them so she could run and climb trees. Before that, though, she had worn dresses like all the other girls her age, always in the finest fabrics--befitting the daughter of the steward, and no less would do. After she became Mellamir, however, she refused to wear the dresses and skirts. No one would believe she was a boy, she told her father, if her hair was long and she wore dresses all the time. So Mellamir cut her hair like Faramir's and took on the trousers and tunic of the boys of Minas Tirith.
Mellamir's clothes had always been cause for gossip, but they did not become truly problematic until she began to develop. The britches were no longer simply boyish, they were now immodest. "Take back the skirt," Denethor often asked her, "for love of me if not for respect of my court." Mellamir, however, refused, and Denethor did not have the heart to force her. Not yet.
By then Mellamir had taken up the sword and found she could not move around as well in a skirt as she could in britches. But what does a daughter of Gondor need with a sword? the wagging tongues asked. The questions circled through the Citadel and trickled all the way to the Rammas Echor. Every gossipy woman, it seemed, felt the need to discuss Mellamir's private business in the streets, shops, and surrounding fields, whatever her station.
They thought that Gandalf had stopped bothering the girl for what he doubtless considered weightier matters. perhaps they were, but the wizard far from neglected the young Lady of Gondor. Many nights after everyone had gone to bed the sentry saw an old hooded man and a boy of the Steward's household sitting on the outer wall, looking toward forgotten forests and talking.
They spoke of old legends and living beings many thought little more than legend: short people, wizards (other wizards; the people of Minas Tirith did not believe there could be another like Gandalf, if he was half he claimed), walking trees, eagles with a sense of honour. Gondorians accepted that Dwarves and Elves had at one time lived, but they had not bothered Minas Tirith for so long that, if they still existed, surely they did not matter much to the modern man, save for small troublesome pockets like those Arabôr had found. Mellamir, however, learned from Gandalf the names of their lords and where they supposedly still lived far away.
Most people could not blame the wizard for anything specific; the guards were the only ones who saw them together, and they could not tell anyone outside the Guard what they saw on duty. Yet every man, woman, and child, from the nobles in Denethor's court to the boys who swept the streets, sensed that something was horribly wrong, and most guessed that Gandalf was somehow at fault.
Of course, Gandalf taught not just Mellamir but Boromir and Faramir as well. Faramir loved his stories and sensed the truth in them. Sometimes he joined his sister in her talks with Gandalf, but usually he smoked alone. This pipe-smoking was a curious thing. At first Denethor was dismayed to learn that, when not with Mellamir, his two sons often sat on the city wall smoking pipes, an activity hardly fitting for the heirs of the steward.
He convinced Boromir to stop smoking by appealing to his sense of duty--a future steward must keep up appearances--but Faramir refused. His father had taught him how to smoke, and somehow he always felt closest to Arabôr when he lit his pipe. And Denethor could not bring himself to ask Mellamir to stop; sitting on the outwall or under a tree and talking with that wizard gave her more joy than almost anything else.
That was a bit disconcerting. Denethor and nearly all of the rest of Minas Tirith saw the wizard for what he was: a wandering freeloader who was always looking for answers and never finding them. Yet for some reason Mellamir and Faramir did not see him like that. Boromir had never put much trust in his wizard's tales; he thought them pure nonsense, probably more than half a lie, and anyway, if a person only had stories to tell, what good did that do but keep tots out of the way when work had to be done?
The Valar be blessed for that, Denethor thought, but what of the others? Mellamir he could excuse, it must be a woman's fancy; they never grew up anyway. But Faramir! He would be the chief advisor of the steward someday, and if anything happened to Boromir, Denethor did not want his kingdom handed over to someone whose best use of his time was to hear stories of people who ate six times a day.
-------
Mellamir had never been an early waker, preferring to let the sun rise without her and join it later, but after returning from Arabôr's farm she often watched the sun rise from the Tower of Ecthelion. Perhaps she developed the habit from Boromir and Faramir who, out of necessity, usually beat the sun out of bed. Maybe her near-death experience in the river had given her a new appreciation for life, not to waste even an hour sleeping. Most, however, agreed it was Gandalf. His teaching her of far-away places gave her an interest in sunrises and sunsets. That was when her attention was naturally drawn to those far-away horizons where half-myths might still live.
Whether Mellamir would have actually risen before the sun that morning will never be known: Gandalf beat them both. He shook the girl gently, and slowly her world came into focus.
"Gandalf?" Mellamir asked sleepily.
"Yes, I am here."
She squinted at him, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "What are those?" she said, her eyes resting on the saddlebags beside him.
"One is for me and one is for you," Gandalf explained. "There are clothes, blankets, food--fruits, dried meats, bread, that sort of thing--and water flasks of course; everything for our journey. I could not pack your pipe because you and Faramir were smoking last night. Do you have it now?"
"Yes, of co--what journey, Gandalf?" she asked. "What are you talking about?"
Gandalf smiled mischievously. "Your father thought you might like a trip out of the city. We have spoken of the Tree-herds, of course. We--Denethor and I--have decided it is time you met one." Mellamir sat there dumbstruck for a moment. "Don't you want to meet them?" Gandalf asked. "Then get dressed. We must be out of sight of Minas Tirith by the time people start waking up. Join me in the stables at the Fifth Circle when you are ready, but no later than twenty minutes from now." And he hurried off, leaving her to get dressed.
Summary: The deeds of Mellamir, sister of Boromir and Faramir, before and during the War of the Ring. Novel-length.
Word Count: 2084
Rating: Teen (for violence)
Timeline: Mid-Third Age and Late Third Age (bookverse)
-------
2996-3002; Minas Tirith
-------
The harvest came and went. Time, as it is wont to do, went on. Summer passed into winter, and then into summer again. Denethor at last managed to find a fitting tutor: Delagond, the son of sages for many generations and from a respectable enough family. He was liberal-minded and willing to teach a girl--under the pretext of her being trained as an heir of the steward, of course--if it also meant the honour of tutoring the future Steward of Gondor. As he would.
At Gandalf's suggestion Denethor made Boromir page to the Captain of the Tower Guard during the day, but twice a week he spent his mornings in the library with Faramir. At night he often studied under Delagond, and occasionally he learned from Gandalf as well.
What Gandalf had said should not imply that Boromir was ignorant; his father had seen to much of his education. Boromir could read script as well as any of the boys of the City, and he was very good at practical math. Of course, being his father's son, he knew legends that had never been recorded in Gondor's books, to say nothing of those lost over time or hidden in some musty library and never studied.
Faramir knew how to read, of course, and some basic lore, but not much else. He was not as clever with numbers as his brother, but he was good with time: if he had to be home by lunchtime, he knew how long he could walk before he needed to turn back and how far he could get in that time.
Faramir's real love, however, was the world around him, the plants and animals that lived all about. He could tell from looking at a seed what plant would grow from it, and what its leaves would look like. And by examining footprints he knew what sort of animal had made them, and when they were likely to hibernate, in the summer or in the winter; and when they would have babies, since Arabôr would not hunt them them.
Yet Faramir was to be brother of the Steward, not a wild man of the fields, so he needed more "cultured" knowledge if he were to someday help Boromir in his task of governing Gondor. That was why he had to be tutored, to learn about the ancient Númenóreans and all the peoples descended from them. On Gandalf's advice, he also studied in more general terms the other free folk of the West with which Men occasionally had dealings.
Yet Boromir was not steward yet, and so Faramir would not become his administrator for some time. Until then Faramir had other duties to see to, as Denethor constantly reminded him. Gondor would soon be at war, its borders were already threatened, and Faramir had a duty to train in sword and bow. So twice a week, after Boromir had joined Faramir for their morning lessons, Faramir would accompany his brother to the Tower Guard and the two would practice swordplay and archery. Much of the time Mellamir joined them.
Denethor searched long for a woman to tutor Mellawen, but in vain. He had suspected he would not find one, as the only women qualified for such a position would be high-born. Those already married would be busy with their own family, and the others would be of marriageable age. What family would ruin their daughter's prospects for a good match by having her work outside the family, no matter how noble the cause?
He thought at first of sending her to Dol Amroth where she might be tutored by her aunts with her cousins there, but the thought of her being so far away pained his heart. No, he would not send her away. Not yet. Instead, Delagond tutored her with Faramir, teaching them much the same things.
This was fine when Mellamir was eight and Faramir thirteen. Then, the people of their father's court seemed to brush it aside. She's only just lost her mother, poor dear, some said. She'll grow out of these odd ways. Or, She has no mother and has not for a year. She needs someone to show her how to be a lady. Why doesn't her father marry? But perhaps the most common explanation was, It's that meddling wizard. He does not understand our ways and has no right ruining the child. If he would just let her be, she would settle down and develop some sense. But as the years passed people became less forgiving of her oddities. Plenty of girls did not have mothers for one reason or another, and they all turned out all right. What's more, that wizard was seen less and less with her; no excuse there.
That name, Mellamir, was another bit of nonsense. At first people called her by it and had a good chuckle, thinking it a childish lark, but then she stopped answering to anything else. Now, if someone meant business, if Mellamir was in trouble, they would call her "Mellawen, child of Denethor"--she wouldn't answer to "daughter of" even then. At other times, though, she wouldn't even respond to Mellawen. It was "Mellamir, son of Denethor," and no one seemed able to convince her to do otherwise.
As the years passed nature took its course in all things, not least of all Mellamir. Back at Arabôr's farm she had worn loose, long skirts, torn about the knees, and Faramir's old trousers under them so she could run and climb trees. Before that, though, she had worn dresses like all the other girls her age, always in the finest fabrics--befitting the daughter of the steward, and no less would do. After she became Mellamir, however, she refused to wear the dresses and skirts. No one would believe she was a boy, she told her father, if her hair was long and she wore dresses all the time. So Mellamir cut her hair like Faramir's and took on the trousers and tunic of the boys of Minas Tirith.
Mellamir's clothes had always been cause for gossip, but they did not become truly problematic until she began to develop. The britches were no longer simply boyish, they were now immodest. "Take back the skirt," Denethor often asked her, "for love of me if not for respect of my court." Mellamir, however, refused, and Denethor did not have the heart to force her. Not yet.
By then Mellamir had taken up the sword and found she could not move around as well in a skirt as she could in britches. But what does a daughter of Gondor need with a sword? the wagging tongues asked. The questions circled through the Citadel and trickled all the way to the Rammas Echor. Every gossipy woman, it seemed, felt the need to discuss Mellamir's private business in the streets, shops, and surrounding fields, whatever her station.
They thought that Gandalf had stopped bothering the girl for what he doubtless considered weightier matters. perhaps they were, but the wizard far from neglected the young Lady of Gondor. Many nights after everyone had gone to bed the sentry saw an old hooded man and a boy of the Steward's household sitting on the outer wall, looking toward forgotten forests and talking.
They spoke of old legends and living beings many thought little more than legend: short people, wizards (other wizards; the people of Minas Tirith did not believe there could be another like Gandalf, if he was half he claimed), walking trees, eagles with a sense of honour. Gondorians accepted that Dwarves and Elves had at one time lived, but they had not bothered Minas Tirith for so long that, if they still existed, surely they did not matter much to the modern man, save for small troublesome pockets like those Arabôr had found. Mellamir, however, learned from Gandalf the names of their lords and where they supposedly still lived far away.
Most people could not blame the wizard for anything specific; the guards were the only ones who saw them together, and they could not tell anyone outside the Guard what they saw on duty. Yet every man, woman, and child, from the nobles in Denethor's court to the boys who swept the streets, sensed that something was horribly wrong, and most guessed that Gandalf was somehow at fault.
Of course, Gandalf taught not just Mellamir but Boromir and Faramir as well. Faramir loved his stories and sensed the truth in them. Sometimes he joined his sister in her talks with Gandalf, but usually he smoked alone. This pipe-smoking was a curious thing. At first Denethor was dismayed to learn that, when not with Mellamir, his two sons often sat on the city wall smoking pipes, an activity hardly fitting for the heirs of the steward.
He convinced Boromir to stop smoking by appealing to his sense of duty--a future steward must keep up appearances--but Faramir refused. His father had taught him how to smoke, and somehow he always felt closest to Arabôr when he lit his pipe. And Denethor could not bring himself to ask Mellamir to stop; sitting on the outwall or under a tree and talking with that wizard gave her more joy than almost anything else.
That was a bit disconcerting. Denethor and nearly all of the rest of Minas Tirith saw the wizard for what he was: a wandering freeloader who was always looking for answers and never finding them. Yet for some reason Mellamir and Faramir did not see him like that. Boromir had never put much trust in his wizard's tales; he thought them pure nonsense, probably more than half a lie, and anyway, if a person only had stories to tell, what good did that do but keep tots out of the way when work had to be done?
The Valar be blessed for that, Denethor thought, but what of the others? Mellamir he could excuse, it must be a woman's fancy; they never grew up anyway. But Faramir! He would be the chief advisor of the steward someday, and if anything happened to Boromir, Denethor did not want his kingdom handed over to someone whose best use of his time was to hear stories of people who ate six times a day.
-------
Mellamir had never been an early waker, preferring to let the sun rise without her and join it later, but after returning from Arabôr's farm she often watched the sun rise from the Tower of Ecthelion. Perhaps she developed the habit from Boromir and Faramir who, out of necessity, usually beat the sun out of bed. Maybe her near-death experience in the river had given her a new appreciation for life, not to waste even an hour sleeping. Most, however, agreed it was Gandalf. His teaching her of far-away places gave her an interest in sunrises and sunsets. That was when her attention was naturally drawn to those far-away horizons where half-myths might still live.
Whether Mellamir would have actually risen before the sun that morning will never be known: Gandalf beat them both. He shook the girl gently, and slowly her world came into focus.
"Gandalf?" Mellamir asked sleepily.
"Yes, I am here."
She squinted at him, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "What are those?" she said, her eyes resting on the saddlebags beside him.
"One is for me and one is for you," Gandalf explained. "There are clothes, blankets, food--fruits, dried meats, bread, that sort of thing--and water flasks of course; everything for our journey. I could not pack your pipe because you and Faramir were smoking last night. Do you have it now?"
"Yes, of co--what journey, Gandalf?" she asked. "What are you talking about?"
Gandalf smiled mischievously. "Your father thought you might like a trip out of the city. We have spoken of the Tree-herds, of course. We--Denethor and I--have decided it is time you met one." Mellamir sat there dumbstruck for a moment. "Don't you want to meet them?" Gandalf asked. "Then get dressed. We must be out of sight of Minas Tirith by the time people start waking up. Join me in the stables at the Fifth Circle when you are ready, but no later than twenty minutes from now." And he hurried off, leaving her to get dressed.