LOTR Fic: Lady of Gondor Ch 3
Jun. 13th, 2007 01:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
martasficTitle: The Lady of Gondor Ch 3
Summary: The deeds of Mellamir, sister of Boromir and Faramir, before and during the War of the Ring. Novel-length.
Word Count: 3692
Rating: Teen (for violence)
Timeline: Mid-Third Age and Late Third Age (bookverse)
-------
Spring faded into summer and summer slipped into fall, until a boy could hardly see over the edge of the maize and the barley looked full and golden. If a stranger happened by he would see many lords in the fields supervising the harvest; he would probably wonder why this one farm's harvest was overseen by a seventeen-year-old boy. Arabôr should have been in the fields as well, but today was the anniversary of his wife's death, and he could never bring himself to work on that day.
This was the twelfth year that Arabôr had secluded himself to commemorate Ivriniel's death. At first he became so overwhelmed with grief that he could not even look after himself, let alone his sons, and he trusted his servants to see to his children. As the years passed his pain dulled but by no means disappeared, and Arabôr preferred to sit in quiet reflection
Borlin, however, felt a need to celebrate his mother's life as well as her death. Every year on Ivriniel's birthday, two days after the anniversary of her death, Borlin made a picnic lunch and went with Farlin to a place not far from the house; it had been their mother's special spot. Ivriniel and Borlin had often gone there when he was a child. A tree grew along the dried-up creek bank, with branches strong enough to sit in, and the hill with its steep cliff walls hid the spot from even the closest farmhouses.
Several years earlier Arabôr's men had built a dam to help keep the creek from flooding. As the river dried it left all sorts of rocks and fish bones along the dry riverbed downstream, and up above a still pond where Borlin and Farlin liked to swim. They spent those birthdays playing in the fields, swimming in the pool, eating the good food, and just remembering. After all, Farlin had only been a baby when Ivriniel died, but Borlin remembered. He owed it to his brother to help him know the mother he had never had.
Of course their Aunt Finduilas did not know about any of this. After breakfast on the morning of the anniversary of Ivriniel's death, she noticed Borlin and Arabôr leaving the dining room in opposite directions, Borlin towards the door to the fields and Arabôr towards his private study. "Arabôr," she asked, "shouldn't you be going with Borlin to the fields? The harvest looks to be near completed. Surely your records can wait?"
Everyone stopped what they were doing; no one dared move. Finally Arabôr replied, "Yes, the harvest should be finished today or tomorrow. But I never work on the anniversary of Ivriniel's death. Somehow it does not seem--fitting."
"Of course, of course," Finduilas said. "I am sorry, the date did not occur to me. So how will you remember her?"
Another long silence ensued, after which Arabôr said, "The boys go off by themselves. A picnic of sorts, I suppose."
This comment caught Borlin off-guard. "You know about our outings?"
"Of course I know," Arabôr replied. "I am your father; it is my job to know." Then he turned to Finduilas. "Mellawen is welcome to join them, of course. You as well."
"I asked about you," she said stubbornly, "not about your sons."
"I will remember her in the only way I know how," Arabôr said. "In the only place I know how: here."
That evening a great storm hit the farmhouse, one of the worst Mellawen had ever experienced. She happily remembered Borlin's announcement at dinner that the farmhands had completed the harvest that afternoon and that all the crops were safely stored away, as a thunderstorm like this so close to harvest could have ruined any plants still in the field.
Out here all the thunderstorms seemed so much worse, with the open fields for the thunder to rumble across instead of the close buildings to break up the sound, yet Mellawen knew this thunderstorm was bad. The rain pounded and a lightning bolt struck not a quarter-mile from the house, splitting an oak in half. In between the rolls of thunder, Mellawen could hear muffled conversation in the parlour below her room.
"Arabôr, I really think--" Finduilas started before she was interrupted by a loud burst of thunder.
When at last the storm subsided, Arabôr was still answering, "-- does not seem right, it just does not--"
They argued back and forth for quite some time, but what with the booming storm, the creaking of the wood of the house, and the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof, Mellawen could hardly follow a single sentence. The next morning Arabôr was much quieter than normal. He seemed to be struggling with some decision that had been made for him rather than one he had made. Not until Finduilas looked at him pointedly did he ask Borlin, "When you boys go off together, what exactly do you do? What were you planning to do tomorrow?"
Borlin looked at his father nervously, afraid that Arabôr might be offended by so much fun on so serious a day. But he had to tell the truth; his father would never believe a lie. "Well, we usually pack a good lunch and lots of snacks. Then we go off to Mother's special place, near the creek." As he talked, Borlin became less and less nervous. They were not doing anything wrong; this was how Mother would want to be remembered. He continued, now more confidently, "And we just play around, and sometimes we swim up above the dam. Then in the afternoon, when it gets hot, we lie under the tree and talk about Mother. Farlin never knew her, so I have much to tell him."
Everyone looked at Arabôr, waiting for some sort of response. After what seemed like ages a smile crept across his lips. "It has been raining so hard it will not be safe to swim. And if the day is to be worthwhile, we had better start cooking."
"Are you sure?" Finduilas asked.
Arabôr nodded hesitantly. "It is against my liking, but I suppose you are right; it is time."
The garden was already harvested, but Finduilas had a special job for Farlin and Mellawen: "Apples," she said, handing them baskets, "and lots of them. All you can find. Tomorrow will be a day to remember if I have any say in it." By the time they returned, Finduilas had lunch on the table. She had forced the cooks out of the kitchen so that she could see to the baking for tomorrow, and instead of allowing them back in to prepare the noontime meal she made it herself. It was a light and cheery meal, full of the smell of good foods, but there was not even a taste of the fresh bread and baked treats Finduilas was baking for tomorrow. They dined well, though not on what they wanted.
After lunch, Finduilas wanted to have their clothes washed, so Borlin, Farlin, and Mellawen went upstairs to change. A few minutes later Finduilas knocked on Borlin's door.
"May I come in?" she said.
"Yes, I am dressed."
Finduilas opened the door and walked in. "Where did your father go?" she asked.
"I do not know," Borlin replied, furrowing his brow. "He said he had an errand."
"He did not go--not to Minas Tirith?" Finduilas asked.
Borlin frowned. "He did not say."
"Well, this really is a bother," Finduilas said. "I needed to ask him something."
"Can I help?" Borlin asked, a slightly concerned look on his face.
"No, no--it is not urgent," Finduilas replied. "It will wait until dinner." She left the room so that Borlin could change.
Finduilas' question, though, had to wait quite some time. It was well after dinner when Arabôr came back. Galahir met him at the stables and Arabôr came into the house, making his way to the parlour.
"Arabôr!" Finduilas exclaimed. "Now just where have you been?"
He smiled coyly. "Just getting a surprise for tomorrow. You will see." He looked fondly down at Mellawen. "Did I ever tell you--your eyes remind me of Ivriniel's. I remember her standing on her balcony, watching the morning sun and dreaming. You look so much like her. Maybe tomorrow I can tell you more about her."
Not long after that they all went to bed; after all, tomorrow promised to be a big day. And finally tomorrow came! The sun woke Mellawen. It was the first time since she had come to the farm that she had been allowed to sleep that late. When she finally opened her eyes Borlin was sitting at the foot of her bed.
"So you finally decided to wake up?" Borlin asked. "The sun has been up for hours, and it is time you joined it. Nay, raced it. Your dress is ironed, and Arabôr brought back good blood sausages yesterday. Can you not smell them?"
"I smell them," Mellawen replied. "Is that the surprise?"
"Aye, or part of it," Borlin said, pulling back her quilt. "Hurry, get dressed now." He left her room, and some time later she came down the stairs to find her mother in the kitchen. The rest of the house, though, was strangely empty.
"Where is the sausage?" Mellawen asked.
"So your cousin told you about that, did he?" Finduilas replied, dusting her hands on her apron before hugging her daughter. "He is already at the field, along with Arabôr and Farlin, and the sausage." She took off the apron and hung it on a hook behind the door, then retrieved the basket of muffins she had made earlier that morning. "Come, Galahir is waiting." They walked out the front door and across the lawn to the carriage-house where Galahir was harnessing the pair of horses that would bear them to the field. Finduilas helped Mellawen into the carriage, then Galahir climbed into the driver's seat and drove up the lane away from the house.
Soon they saw Borlin sitting under a tree smoking a pipe while Arabôr and Farlin set a table laid with a bright tablecloth, putting out platter after platter. As soon as Borlin saw them approaching he laid down his pipe and called to his father some distance away, "They are here!" Arabôr and Farlin stopped what they were doing and hurried toward the approaching carriage.
After Arabôr had helped Finduilas and Mellawen from the carriage Galahir turned around and drove back to the house; this was a private family occasion, and he would not intrude. They had breakfast--the blood sausages, Finduilas's muffins, and Farlin's and Mellawen's apples--and listened to Borlin's and Arabôr's talk about how successful the harvest had been. At last Borlin put down his fork and said, "Mistress Mellawen, do you know what today is?"
"Why, it is Yavannië 23, of course." Then she thought for a second and added quickly, "The day your mother was born."
"And you, as well," Borlin replied. Mellawen smiled at that. She had, of course, remembered that today was her birthday, but somehow she felt her aunt's was more important, and she had not wanted to detract from it. "You were born eight years ago today," Borlin continued. "Anniversaries are important things, cousin. Today we celebrate the birth of both my mother and my beloved cousin." And at that, he clapped twice.
Farlin jumped up, ran back behind the table, and returned carrying a simple garland. As he approached Mellawen saw that it was no circlet of weeds but a crown of the most beautiful pale blue flowers from their garden. "This is for you," he said, "as you are queen of the day." He placed the flowers on her head and kissed her brow.
Finduilas then walked over to the table and retrieved a single book, a handsome volume, green leather with gold thread to bind it together and pages of the finest vellum. Mellawen took it anxiously and opened to the first page but was surprised at the strange letters staring back at her.
"Mother..." She hesitated. "I cannot read this."
"Of course you cannot; not yet, at any rate," her mother replied. "It is Sindarin, a language the Elves speak. But you will learn to read it. The time has come for you to begin your education in earnest."
"Really? You will teach me?" Mellawen asked, her eyes shining with excitement, and Finduilas nodded. Many of Gondor's nobility taught their sons and daughters Sindarin, as it was considered a mark of culture.
Mellawen sat down and started paging through the book immediately, until at last Borlin cleared his throat. She closed the volume and looked up. "And now for my gift," he said. "I do not know you like my brother does, nor do I understand girls in general over-well, so I am at a loss what to give you. Yet tell me your wish, and I shall grant it, if I can."
She thought for a moment, and her face lit up--then promptly fell again. She looked at her mother, a bit unsure. "I could never ask... it is so... boyish."
"Mellawen," her mother asked, a confused look on her face, "what are you talking about?"
"It is what Gandalf was always doing, and I saw Borlin doing it just now so I know he could teach me, but... Borlin, would you teach me to smoke a pipe?"
Whatever Borlin had expected the steward's only child to ask of him, it certainly was not smoking lessons, judging from the look on his face. He choked on the water he had been drinking and coughed for several seconds before regaining his composure; Farlin simply stared at his cousin in disbelief.
Mellawen had no way of knowing it, but Gandalf's smoking caused no small controversy in Minas Tirith. Dwarves smoked, perhaps, but precious few men did. The only exceptions within living memory were Ecthelion's advisor Thorongil, who must have developed the habit on his travels through the wild lands far away, and those soldiers who had learned the art from him, including Arabôr. Borlin and Farlin had asked their father to teach them after seeing him doing it, and Arabôr largely overlooked the indiscretion, seeing the boys had not had the advantages of a mother or an upbringing among polite society. But for Mellawen...
Arabôr looked over at Finduilas, anxious for some sign. Finduilas in turn observed Mellawen, deep in thought. At last she said, "If it is what the child wishes, then let her smoke. It will do little harm."
Arabôr began to nod, then looked back at Finduilas to make sure he had heard aright. For the daughter of the steward to smoke was no small matter, but then neither he nor Finduilas had ever been one to bow to convention. "What of her cough?" he asked.
"It is much improved," Finduilas replied, "and indeed was always exaggerated. 'Twas not lung fever but city fever that she suffered from, and I as well. And a cough was a good reason to escape the Citadel's confines."
"Very well," Arabôr said, nodding to himself. "Any habit that is good enough for your famed Gandalf is good enough for my niece. Borlin, you will start Mellawen's lessons this afternoon. I hope you brought enough weed?"
"I suppose, but--"
"You did say any wish within your power, did you not?" Arabôr replied. "It is now within your power; I give you permission. And I would not have any son of mine deny his promise to a lady, let alone to his own kin. After lunch I expect you two to begin. Now, Mellawen, there is one gift more, and that gift is mine. If you look on the other side of that hill, over near the dam, I think you will find a surprise."
"Yod go on and look," Finduilas added. "Your uncle and I will join you shortly."
Borlin, Farlin, and Mellawen climbed to the top of the hill and looked down the steep face, almost a cliff. Down past where the river would have been a tree stood, the very tree under which Borlin and Farlin usually sat when they came here. On every limb a beautiful hair ribbon hung with some small treasure attached, treats ranging from candied nuts to the finest toffee, a stuffed bear, and, strangest of all, pieces of rag all bunched up and other sculptures Mellawen could not identify.
The three walked a ways down stream to where the bank was less steep, then jumped down into the dried riverbed. Farlin ran to the party tree, fascinated by the small gifts, but Mellawen was more interested in the smooth stones and fish-bones; dolls and candies she could see in Minas Tirith.
Borlin began to walk toward his brother but stopped when he noticed the muddy ground oozing under his boots. He knew it should not be so muddy, and he considered going back to his father to ask what he thought of the ground. But then he thought better of it; he had, after all, never been here after so heavy a rain, and perhaps the wet ground was only normal.
"Arabôr," Finduilas asked angrily, "you said you did not go to Minas Tirith, but if so, then where--"
"Lithienal," he replied. Arabôr lowered himself into the riverbed, then helped Finduilas down, and they, Mellawen, and Borlin joined Farlin by the party tree. "An old fort about seven miles from here. Recently someone opened an inn that sells small treats for the soldiers' wives and children, and those of area farmers--candies, hair ribbons, wooden dolls, and such. A few weeks ago Gandalf sent a letter asking me to be there on the twenty-second of Yavannië, so I went. A boy no older than Farlin appeared, said he had gifts--those sculptures and the rags."
He turned to Mellawen. "Now, the figures are fireworks. If I touch a flame to one of the strings at the end, the figure will explode into a thousand colours. At least that is what your wizard friend told me in his note. But he warned me to wait until tonight so that we might see them better. Those little wads of cloth, they are another mystery. When you place them in cold water, they change somehow. Farlin, will you run up to that pool and get us some water? Let us try them out."
Borlin started handing Mellawen some of her presents while Farlin went to the pool. He filled his bucket with the good, clean water and started back down. At first no one noticed the water trickling through the heart of the dam.
The old dam had needed repair. Stones jutted out in places, and dirt and mortar crumbled under them. Perhaps Farlin displaced some small stone, or perhaps the dam simply chose that moment to break, but several small leaks began to pour water from the heart of the dam... then more... and more still.
Arabôr and Finduilas both stood paralysed with fright, but Borlin dashed to his brother and grabbed him. He threw his brother onto the bank, then pulled himself up after him. "Stay where you are!" he yelled, and he ran to their supplies for rope.
The shouting pulled Arabôr from his reverie. He grabbed Finduilas and hoisted her onto his shoulders. Her skirt caught on the cliff face but Arabôr tore it off. Once she had climbed to the top she stretched down toward Mellawen but could not reach her.
"Climb the tree," she cried, sweating from fear and exertion. "It is strong." Arabôr and Mellawen hurtled up the oak as the water burst the dam. Borlin ran up with two coils of rope. He threw the end of one to Arabôr who fastened it to a strong branch. Borlin jammed his foot near the cliff's edge, steadying the limb and pulling the tree nearer the bank.
Meanwhile, Finduilas tied the second rope around the tree behind her and threw the other end over a branch and out to Arabôr. The first toss sailed past Arabôr's outstretched hands. She reeled it back in, then tried again. Arabôr lunged over the flood but managed to catch it. Within seconds Mellawen was flying over the flood and then safe in her mother's arms.
"Wait!" Borlin cried, stopping Finduilas from throwing the rope back to Arabôr. 'Father's too heavy for you. Take my rope."
They switched places. Arabôr inched along the branch to reach the rope. Borlin threw it, Arabor lunged, and the branch snapped, plunging Arabôr into the river. He pulled Finduilas off-balance and she slid over the cliff-edge into the water. Still anchored to the tree behind Borlin by his rope, Arabôr grabbed Finduilas, then slowly pulled them upstream against the river's pull.
Mellawen stood frozen beside Borlin as he fought to keep his father and aunt near the bank. The branch above them bent under the weight, groaned, and finally snapped. As it surged along the bank it caught Mellawen's ankle, knocking her off-balance. Borlin reached for her, but too late. Mellawen fell over the edge of the bank and into the river below.
And then time stood still. Several seconds later Mellawen's head broke through the water surface. Borlin dropped the rope and ran along the bank. He picked up a long branch and thrust it toward Mellawen as she rushed past. She grabbed and he hauled, fighting the current for several seconds. He thought they might just win, and his heart leaped in his chest. But then the branch split and broke in half, stealing his last hope.
Summary: The deeds of Mellamir, sister of Boromir and Faramir, before and during the War of the Ring. Novel-length.
Word Count: 3692
Rating: Teen (for violence)
Timeline: Mid-Third Age and Late Third Age (bookverse)
-------
Spring faded into summer and summer slipped into fall, until a boy could hardly see over the edge of the maize and the barley looked full and golden. If a stranger happened by he would see many lords in the fields supervising the harvest; he would probably wonder why this one farm's harvest was overseen by a seventeen-year-old boy. Arabôr should have been in the fields as well, but today was the anniversary of his wife's death, and he could never bring himself to work on that day.
This was the twelfth year that Arabôr had secluded himself to commemorate Ivriniel's death. At first he became so overwhelmed with grief that he could not even look after himself, let alone his sons, and he trusted his servants to see to his children. As the years passed his pain dulled but by no means disappeared, and Arabôr preferred to sit in quiet reflection
Borlin, however, felt a need to celebrate his mother's life as well as her death. Every year on Ivriniel's birthday, two days after the anniversary of her death, Borlin made a picnic lunch and went with Farlin to a place not far from the house; it had been their mother's special spot. Ivriniel and Borlin had often gone there when he was a child. A tree grew along the dried-up creek bank, with branches strong enough to sit in, and the hill with its steep cliff walls hid the spot from even the closest farmhouses.
Several years earlier Arabôr's men had built a dam to help keep the creek from flooding. As the river dried it left all sorts of rocks and fish bones along the dry riverbed downstream, and up above a still pond where Borlin and Farlin liked to swim. They spent those birthdays playing in the fields, swimming in the pool, eating the good food, and just remembering. After all, Farlin had only been a baby when Ivriniel died, but Borlin remembered. He owed it to his brother to help him know the mother he had never had.
Of course their Aunt Finduilas did not know about any of this. After breakfast on the morning of the anniversary of Ivriniel's death, she noticed Borlin and Arabôr leaving the dining room in opposite directions, Borlin towards the door to the fields and Arabôr towards his private study. "Arabôr," she asked, "shouldn't you be going with Borlin to the fields? The harvest looks to be near completed. Surely your records can wait?"
Everyone stopped what they were doing; no one dared move. Finally Arabôr replied, "Yes, the harvest should be finished today or tomorrow. But I never work on the anniversary of Ivriniel's death. Somehow it does not seem--fitting."
"Of course, of course," Finduilas said. "I am sorry, the date did not occur to me. So how will you remember her?"
Another long silence ensued, after which Arabôr said, "The boys go off by themselves. A picnic of sorts, I suppose."
This comment caught Borlin off-guard. "You know about our outings?"
"Of course I know," Arabôr replied. "I am your father; it is my job to know." Then he turned to Finduilas. "Mellawen is welcome to join them, of course. You as well."
"I asked about you," she said stubbornly, "not about your sons."
"I will remember her in the only way I know how," Arabôr said. "In the only place I know how: here."
That evening a great storm hit the farmhouse, one of the worst Mellawen had ever experienced. She happily remembered Borlin's announcement at dinner that the farmhands had completed the harvest that afternoon and that all the crops were safely stored away, as a thunderstorm like this so close to harvest could have ruined any plants still in the field.
Out here all the thunderstorms seemed so much worse, with the open fields for the thunder to rumble across instead of the close buildings to break up the sound, yet Mellawen knew this thunderstorm was bad. The rain pounded and a lightning bolt struck not a quarter-mile from the house, splitting an oak in half. In between the rolls of thunder, Mellawen could hear muffled conversation in the parlour below her room.
"Arabôr, I really think--" Finduilas started before she was interrupted by a loud burst of thunder.
When at last the storm subsided, Arabôr was still answering, "-- does not seem right, it just does not--"
They argued back and forth for quite some time, but what with the booming storm, the creaking of the wood of the house, and the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof, Mellawen could hardly follow a single sentence. The next morning Arabôr was much quieter than normal. He seemed to be struggling with some decision that had been made for him rather than one he had made. Not until Finduilas looked at him pointedly did he ask Borlin, "When you boys go off together, what exactly do you do? What were you planning to do tomorrow?"
Borlin looked at his father nervously, afraid that Arabôr might be offended by so much fun on so serious a day. But he had to tell the truth; his father would never believe a lie. "Well, we usually pack a good lunch and lots of snacks. Then we go off to Mother's special place, near the creek." As he talked, Borlin became less and less nervous. They were not doing anything wrong; this was how Mother would want to be remembered. He continued, now more confidently, "And we just play around, and sometimes we swim up above the dam. Then in the afternoon, when it gets hot, we lie under the tree and talk about Mother. Farlin never knew her, so I have much to tell him."
Everyone looked at Arabôr, waiting for some sort of response. After what seemed like ages a smile crept across his lips. "It has been raining so hard it will not be safe to swim. And if the day is to be worthwhile, we had better start cooking."
"Are you sure?" Finduilas asked.
Arabôr nodded hesitantly. "It is against my liking, but I suppose you are right; it is time."
The garden was already harvested, but Finduilas had a special job for Farlin and Mellawen: "Apples," she said, handing them baskets, "and lots of them. All you can find. Tomorrow will be a day to remember if I have any say in it." By the time they returned, Finduilas had lunch on the table. She had forced the cooks out of the kitchen so that she could see to the baking for tomorrow, and instead of allowing them back in to prepare the noontime meal she made it herself. It was a light and cheery meal, full of the smell of good foods, but there was not even a taste of the fresh bread and baked treats Finduilas was baking for tomorrow. They dined well, though not on what they wanted.
After lunch, Finduilas wanted to have their clothes washed, so Borlin, Farlin, and Mellawen went upstairs to change. A few minutes later Finduilas knocked on Borlin's door.
"May I come in?" she said.
"Yes, I am dressed."
Finduilas opened the door and walked in. "Where did your father go?" she asked.
"I do not know," Borlin replied, furrowing his brow. "He said he had an errand."
"He did not go--not to Minas Tirith?" Finduilas asked.
Borlin frowned. "He did not say."
"Well, this really is a bother," Finduilas said. "I needed to ask him something."
"Can I help?" Borlin asked, a slightly concerned look on his face.
"No, no--it is not urgent," Finduilas replied. "It will wait until dinner." She left the room so that Borlin could change.
Finduilas' question, though, had to wait quite some time. It was well after dinner when Arabôr came back. Galahir met him at the stables and Arabôr came into the house, making his way to the parlour.
"Arabôr!" Finduilas exclaimed. "Now just where have you been?"
He smiled coyly. "Just getting a surprise for tomorrow. You will see." He looked fondly down at Mellawen. "Did I ever tell you--your eyes remind me of Ivriniel's. I remember her standing on her balcony, watching the morning sun and dreaming. You look so much like her. Maybe tomorrow I can tell you more about her."
Not long after that they all went to bed; after all, tomorrow promised to be a big day. And finally tomorrow came! The sun woke Mellawen. It was the first time since she had come to the farm that she had been allowed to sleep that late. When she finally opened her eyes Borlin was sitting at the foot of her bed.
"So you finally decided to wake up?" Borlin asked. "The sun has been up for hours, and it is time you joined it. Nay, raced it. Your dress is ironed, and Arabôr brought back good blood sausages yesterday. Can you not smell them?"
"I smell them," Mellawen replied. "Is that the surprise?"
"Aye, or part of it," Borlin said, pulling back her quilt. "Hurry, get dressed now." He left her room, and some time later she came down the stairs to find her mother in the kitchen. The rest of the house, though, was strangely empty.
"Where is the sausage?" Mellawen asked.
"So your cousin told you about that, did he?" Finduilas replied, dusting her hands on her apron before hugging her daughter. "He is already at the field, along with Arabôr and Farlin, and the sausage." She took off the apron and hung it on a hook behind the door, then retrieved the basket of muffins she had made earlier that morning. "Come, Galahir is waiting." They walked out the front door and across the lawn to the carriage-house where Galahir was harnessing the pair of horses that would bear them to the field. Finduilas helped Mellawen into the carriage, then Galahir climbed into the driver's seat and drove up the lane away from the house.
Soon they saw Borlin sitting under a tree smoking a pipe while Arabôr and Farlin set a table laid with a bright tablecloth, putting out platter after platter. As soon as Borlin saw them approaching he laid down his pipe and called to his father some distance away, "They are here!" Arabôr and Farlin stopped what they were doing and hurried toward the approaching carriage.
After Arabôr had helped Finduilas and Mellawen from the carriage Galahir turned around and drove back to the house; this was a private family occasion, and he would not intrude. They had breakfast--the blood sausages, Finduilas's muffins, and Farlin's and Mellawen's apples--and listened to Borlin's and Arabôr's talk about how successful the harvest had been. At last Borlin put down his fork and said, "Mistress Mellawen, do you know what today is?"
"Why, it is Yavannië 23, of course." Then she thought for a second and added quickly, "The day your mother was born."
"And you, as well," Borlin replied. Mellawen smiled at that. She had, of course, remembered that today was her birthday, but somehow she felt her aunt's was more important, and she had not wanted to detract from it. "You were born eight years ago today," Borlin continued. "Anniversaries are important things, cousin. Today we celebrate the birth of both my mother and my beloved cousin." And at that, he clapped twice.
Farlin jumped up, ran back behind the table, and returned carrying a simple garland. As he approached Mellawen saw that it was no circlet of weeds but a crown of the most beautiful pale blue flowers from their garden. "This is for you," he said, "as you are queen of the day." He placed the flowers on her head and kissed her brow.
Finduilas then walked over to the table and retrieved a single book, a handsome volume, green leather with gold thread to bind it together and pages of the finest vellum. Mellawen took it anxiously and opened to the first page but was surprised at the strange letters staring back at her.
"Mother..." She hesitated. "I cannot read this."
"Of course you cannot; not yet, at any rate," her mother replied. "It is Sindarin, a language the Elves speak. But you will learn to read it. The time has come for you to begin your education in earnest."
"Really? You will teach me?" Mellawen asked, her eyes shining with excitement, and Finduilas nodded. Many of Gondor's nobility taught their sons and daughters Sindarin, as it was considered a mark of culture.
Mellawen sat down and started paging through the book immediately, until at last Borlin cleared his throat. She closed the volume and looked up. "And now for my gift," he said. "I do not know you like my brother does, nor do I understand girls in general over-well, so I am at a loss what to give you. Yet tell me your wish, and I shall grant it, if I can."
She thought for a moment, and her face lit up--then promptly fell again. She looked at her mother, a bit unsure. "I could never ask... it is so... boyish."
"Mellawen," her mother asked, a confused look on her face, "what are you talking about?"
"It is what Gandalf was always doing, and I saw Borlin doing it just now so I know he could teach me, but... Borlin, would you teach me to smoke a pipe?"
Whatever Borlin had expected the steward's only child to ask of him, it certainly was not smoking lessons, judging from the look on his face. He choked on the water he had been drinking and coughed for several seconds before regaining his composure; Farlin simply stared at his cousin in disbelief.
Mellawen had no way of knowing it, but Gandalf's smoking caused no small controversy in Minas Tirith. Dwarves smoked, perhaps, but precious few men did. The only exceptions within living memory were Ecthelion's advisor Thorongil, who must have developed the habit on his travels through the wild lands far away, and those soldiers who had learned the art from him, including Arabôr. Borlin and Farlin had asked their father to teach them after seeing him doing it, and Arabôr largely overlooked the indiscretion, seeing the boys had not had the advantages of a mother or an upbringing among polite society. But for Mellawen...
Arabôr looked over at Finduilas, anxious for some sign. Finduilas in turn observed Mellawen, deep in thought. At last she said, "If it is what the child wishes, then let her smoke. It will do little harm."
Arabôr began to nod, then looked back at Finduilas to make sure he had heard aright. For the daughter of the steward to smoke was no small matter, but then neither he nor Finduilas had ever been one to bow to convention. "What of her cough?" he asked.
"It is much improved," Finduilas replied, "and indeed was always exaggerated. 'Twas not lung fever but city fever that she suffered from, and I as well. And a cough was a good reason to escape the Citadel's confines."
"Very well," Arabôr said, nodding to himself. "Any habit that is good enough for your famed Gandalf is good enough for my niece. Borlin, you will start Mellawen's lessons this afternoon. I hope you brought enough weed?"
"I suppose, but--"
"You did say any wish within your power, did you not?" Arabôr replied. "It is now within your power; I give you permission. And I would not have any son of mine deny his promise to a lady, let alone to his own kin. After lunch I expect you two to begin. Now, Mellawen, there is one gift more, and that gift is mine. If you look on the other side of that hill, over near the dam, I think you will find a surprise."
"Yod go on and look," Finduilas added. "Your uncle and I will join you shortly."
Borlin, Farlin, and Mellawen climbed to the top of the hill and looked down the steep face, almost a cliff. Down past where the river would have been a tree stood, the very tree under which Borlin and Farlin usually sat when they came here. On every limb a beautiful hair ribbon hung with some small treasure attached, treats ranging from candied nuts to the finest toffee, a stuffed bear, and, strangest of all, pieces of rag all bunched up and other sculptures Mellawen could not identify.
The three walked a ways down stream to where the bank was less steep, then jumped down into the dried riverbed. Farlin ran to the party tree, fascinated by the small gifts, but Mellawen was more interested in the smooth stones and fish-bones; dolls and candies she could see in Minas Tirith.
Borlin began to walk toward his brother but stopped when he noticed the muddy ground oozing under his boots. He knew it should not be so muddy, and he considered going back to his father to ask what he thought of the ground. But then he thought better of it; he had, after all, never been here after so heavy a rain, and perhaps the wet ground was only normal.
"Arabôr," Finduilas asked angrily, "you said you did not go to Minas Tirith, but if so, then where--"
"Lithienal," he replied. Arabôr lowered himself into the riverbed, then helped Finduilas down, and they, Mellawen, and Borlin joined Farlin by the party tree. "An old fort about seven miles from here. Recently someone opened an inn that sells small treats for the soldiers' wives and children, and those of area farmers--candies, hair ribbons, wooden dolls, and such. A few weeks ago Gandalf sent a letter asking me to be there on the twenty-second of Yavannië, so I went. A boy no older than Farlin appeared, said he had gifts--those sculptures and the rags."
He turned to Mellawen. "Now, the figures are fireworks. If I touch a flame to one of the strings at the end, the figure will explode into a thousand colours. At least that is what your wizard friend told me in his note. But he warned me to wait until tonight so that we might see them better. Those little wads of cloth, they are another mystery. When you place them in cold water, they change somehow. Farlin, will you run up to that pool and get us some water? Let us try them out."
Borlin started handing Mellawen some of her presents while Farlin went to the pool. He filled his bucket with the good, clean water and started back down. At first no one noticed the water trickling through the heart of the dam.
The old dam had needed repair. Stones jutted out in places, and dirt and mortar crumbled under them. Perhaps Farlin displaced some small stone, or perhaps the dam simply chose that moment to break, but several small leaks began to pour water from the heart of the dam... then more... and more still.
Arabôr and Finduilas both stood paralysed with fright, but Borlin dashed to his brother and grabbed him. He threw his brother onto the bank, then pulled himself up after him. "Stay where you are!" he yelled, and he ran to their supplies for rope.
The shouting pulled Arabôr from his reverie. He grabbed Finduilas and hoisted her onto his shoulders. Her skirt caught on the cliff face but Arabôr tore it off. Once she had climbed to the top she stretched down toward Mellawen but could not reach her.
"Climb the tree," she cried, sweating from fear and exertion. "It is strong." Arabôr and Mellawen hurtled up the oak as the water burst the dam. Borlin ran up with two coils of rope. He threw the end of one to Arabôr who fastened it to a strong branch. Borlin jammed his foot near the cliff's edge, steadying the limb and pulling the tree nearer the bank.
Meanwhile, Finduilas tied the second rope around the tree behind her and threw the other end over a branch and out to Arabôr. The first toss sailed past Arabôr's outstretched hands. She reeled it back in, then tried again. Arabôr lunged over the flood but managed to catch it. Within seconds Mellawen was flying over the flood and then safe in her mother's arms.
"Wait!" Borlin cried, stopping Finduilas from throwing the rope back to Arabôr. 'Father's too heavy for you. Take my rope."
They switched places. Arabôr inched along the branch to reach the rope. Borlin threw it, Arabor lunged, and the branch snapped, plunging Arabôr into the river. He pulled Finduilas off-balance and she slid over the cliff-edge into the water. Still anchored to the tree behind Borlin by his rope, Arabôr grabbed Finduilas, then slowly pulled them upstream against the river's pull.
Mellawen stood frozen beside Borlin as he fought to keep his father and aunt near the bank. The branch above them bent under the weight, groaned, and finally snapped. As it surged along the bank it caught Mellawen's ankle, knocking her off-balance. Borlin reached for her, but too late. Mellawen fell over the edge of the bank and into the river below.
And then time stood still. Several seconds later Mellawen's head broke through the water surface. Borlin dropped the rope and ran along the bank. He picked up a long branch and thrust it toward Mellawen as she rushed past. She grabbed and he hauled, fighting the current for several seconds. He thought they might just win, and his heart leaped in his chest. But then the branch split and broke in half, stealing his last hope.