Brotherhood, Chapter Twenty-one.
Well, the daughter felt well enough to go on the 7am boat this morning, en route to Amsterdam, and has rung to say that, apart from a really bad cough, she is bearing up! She has been to a pharmacy and got some cough medicine, and so hopes to be able to survive the holiday.
Here is the next chapter of Brotherhood.
For new friends who are interested, it is part of a crossover series which started with Return of The Key - in which Dawn, from the Buffyverse, was the one who closed the Hellmouth - but fell through it, and landed amongst the dead at the end of the Ring War in Middle Earth. Where she didn't fall in love with Legolas - or Aragorn or Frodo for that matter!
Anyway - Brotherhood is the fourth, and longest, story in the series - and is much more ME than BtVS these days!
So - Previous chapters are Here.
Chapter Twenty-one.
Rating 15
3,160 words.
Beta'd, as usual, by S2C.
Chapter Twenty-one
The twins fretted over breakfast that they were too obvious to do any of what Tindómë described as ‘undercover investigations’. Even though Arwen was probably right about there being little immediate urgency to uncover people plotting against her husband, her daughter and herself, this was their family and they wanted to help gather as much intelligence as possible, as quickly as possible.
Estel planned to see the young librarian; Tindómë was to spend time with Arwen in the garden, and then to talk to her maid, but it was difficult to think of anything any of the ellyn could do. Then Legolas suggested that, rather than wait to hear what Anarion said, or Faramir, Éowyn, or Tindómë might discover, the twins should join him and the other ellyn at the butts.
“My father has found, in his dealings with men,” he said, “that much can be learnt by someone who doesn’t speak their language… or, at least, by someone whom they assume doesn’t speak their language!”
As expected, when Legolas, Orophin, and the twins practiced with their bows they quickly gained an audience. Rumil sat to one side, sketching, whilst Galanthir busied himself retrieving arrows, checking the fletching and so forth, clearly Legolas’ servant.
The archers spoke among themselves in the Common Tongue and any onlooker would have concluded, as Rumil and Galanthir looked blankly at the speakers and waited until addressed in Sindarin, that only the archers understood the Common Tongue. Rumil and Galanthir spoke to each other in Sindarin, well aware that some at the butts might understand, but looked puzzled if any of the men spoke to them.
The morning passed quickly; the twins were happy to be bested by Legolas and Orophin and even engaged in some banter, about the way they were bested, with some of the bystanders.
Now as the royal couple, the steward and his wife, and all the elves, met over lunch, Rumil and Galanthir reported that, very quickly, the men spoke around them as if they weren’t there. Anyone who remembered Rumil from his previous sojourn in the city knew he spoke only three or four phrases of the language - and didn’t consider that he might now understand a good deal more. Anyone watching Galanthir recognised that he was a servant - and since when did a servant receive an education?
Galanthir explained this, with a fleeting grin, in the Common Tongue; his accent only slightly more noticeable than that of Legolas.
Tindómë looked at him with her eyebrows slightly raised.
“When gambling, nethig,” Legolas said, “it is always well to keep some cards close to your chest…”
Estel had spoken to the young librarian straight after breakfast and now had the name of one of the two men Tindómë had overheard in the library; a nobleman of the court, but not one of the king’s close advisors. Perhaps, Elladan suggested, he thought he should be closer? Did Faramir know what expectations the man might have had under Denethor?
Faramir did not know the man well, but thought the man’s father had been on closer terms with Denethor than the son was with either King or Steward. Perhaps Elladan was right - this could be reason enough to be unhappy.
Anarion had not known the identity of the other man at all, describing him simply as dark haired, middle aged, and ordinary. Estel was sure the young librarian was telling the truth; not only was he totally loyal but, Estel commented, it seemed likely that he would do anything, including attempting the impossible, if the request came from Lady Tindómë.
Elrohir glanced over at Tindómë and was not surprised to see that she had dipped her head a little and was blushing. She sometimes, still, seemed unsure of her own attractiveness. They might need to make use of the… what was Tindómë’s word? Crush. They might need to make use of the librarian’s crush yet.
He looked at Rumil. There was the glimmer of a smile there; no longer the hint of worry that had touched Rumil’s face occasionally, only a few weeks ago, at the mention of mortal men and Tindómë in the same sentence. There was now, Elrohir thought, a deeper level of understanding.
“Wouldn’t we all do anything, including attempt the impossible, for my lady Tindómë?” he asked, with a sweeping bow in her direction.
“Most certainly!” agreed Elladan, and the lady in question overcame her embarrassment enough to roll her eyes at both of them.
Before Galanthir and Rumil went into any detail about what, if anything, they had learnt while the other four were at practice, Tindómë spoke about her conversation, earlier that morning, with her maid. Nessy, she said, seemed quite puzzled at the idea that people might not be happy with the King and Queen (may-the-Valar-bless-them).
In fact, Tindómë said, when she spoke to Nessy she got the impression that, in many ways, for those ‘below stairs’ little had changed in their day-to-day lives. They still washed, cleaned, polished, ironed, prepared, cooked - whatever their role. The main difference was that they did it without fear of Sauron, or orcs, or the Haradrim, setting fire to the city, the citadel, or themselves. They attributed this improved long-term outlook to the King and his companions - “Horse lords, elves, a dwarf, periain - like something from the stories - oh! Begging your pardon my Lady!”
Even those members of the citadel staff who had lost loved ones in the battles, as Nessy herself had, were sure that the arrival of their King had saved them from slavery or death.
“So,” Elladan whispered in Elrohir’s ear, “less need to worry that the cook will poison the soup, then…”
Once a couple of those very servants had cleared the remains of lunch Rumil brought out his sketch book and everyone gathered around. As he flicked through the first few pictures of Arwen, Gilraen, and Aragorn, and then one of Tindómë in conversation with Legolas, both Faramir and Éowyn exclaimed at the skilful portrayals.
“Did they think Grandmother and Grandfather would send an ellon to make portraits if he couldn’t draw with skill?” Elrohir shared the thought, silently, with his twin.
“They think of him as a warrior - it is hard for them to understand the length of time he has already had to hone both skills.”
The tone of his brother’s mental voice was sombre - thoughts of the limited length of mortal life were now all too close to home.
Rumil seemed unruffled by the surprised compliments - but then the only time Rumil ever showed any emotion in public, even visible to another elf, was when it concerned Tindómë.
‘One day,’ Elrohir thought, ‘when we have decided for certain to stay or to sail, together, then I would want that for myself… and for Elladan.’
He was drawn back to the conversation as Rumil said, in his careful Common, “There are drawings that you may have. Brother, will you bring the pictures from Rohan?”
“All of them?” Orophin asked, looking, Elrohir thought, suspiciously innocent.
He glanced quickly at Tindómë; she was trying to keep a straight face, and pointedly not looking at Orophin. Hmm - Elrohir wondered what pictures might exist that might not be suitable to show Faramir and Éowyn - he must ask, sometime!
“There are too many. Those tied with the green thread, muindor-nín.” Rumil was not going to be unsettled by the question, but there was certainly something going on.
‘How sad it must be,’ Elrohir thought, ‘to not have family to share such private amusements. How good to see that the little one shares the joke with them - she is developing proper family ties, and,’ it suddenly occurred to him, ‘tying some of us together into a family that did not exist before!’
Somehow Tindómë seemed to be ‘family’ to elves from Lothlorien, Imladris, Mirkwood (or perhaps he should say Ithilien for Legolas now), and, if he had read his sister correctly, Gondor too.
While Orophin went to get whatever pictures Rumil meant, Rumil and Galanthir spread four or five sketches out on the table.
“This man,” Galanthir said, “does not like the fact that the King ‘is surrounded by elves’.”
There was a definite, un-elven, snort of derision from Legolas.
“This must be the first time, since the burial procession of Théoden King, that there have been enough elves in Minas Tirith to ‘surround’ you, and then only if we stand very close to you!”
Whilst the elven Lord of Ithilien sounded almost amused the human Prince of Ithilien looked more shocked.
“But that is… ridiculous!” Faramir said.
“So most of those around him said,” Galanthir commented. “Including one of the others, who had been practicing before we arrived, who said that if he was given the choice of bodyguards as skilled as himself, or as skilled as Legolas and Orophin, he knew which he would prefer!”
“Do you know who that man is, Faramir?” Estel asked. “Is he one of the men from the library, Tindómë?”
“No,” both answered.
“I am afraid,” Faramir continued, “that I spent too much time away from Minas Tirith, in the years before the final battles, to know all the people of the court.”
“My dear Faramir,” Estel’s voice was warm, “you were involved in work that was much more important to the well-being of Gondor than any minor court official - you were where you should have been, my friend.”
Éowyn put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Do you have a picture of the man who told him he was being ridiculous, Rumil?” she asked.
“Here,” Galanthir gestured to another picture of five or six men.
“Do you know him, my love?” she asked her husband.
“Yes, yes, I know him - Baranor, he was with me in Ithilien in the darkest of times.”
“Then he will know who is displeased by the elves ‘surrounding’ our king - and is, surely someone you could trust,” Éowyn said.
“There are some others of my company who dwell in the city,” Faramir said, thoughtfully, “and all are true to Gondor and hold you, Aragorn, in high esteem. I will invite them to join me for a meal tomorrow and ask them if they have heard anything to worry us.”
“Thank you,” Estel answered.
“This man,” Galanthir drew their attention back to Rumil’s sketches, “is more interesting. Legolas told me last night, in readiness for our trip to the butts, just what Tindómë had overheard. This man commented to another that they would have to leave the best stands now that ‘our elven overlords, as Lord Lomion calls them, have arrived.’
“The man he spoke to asked what he meant, and he said ‘well, Lord Lomion says that if those two unnatural males are the King’s brothers then we are ruled by an elf - he will rule us forever and we will all be enslaved.’ I am pleased to report that the man he spoke to laughed, and pointed out that the King is clearly not an elf as he has a good beard.
“I almost expected the man in Rumil’s drawing to suggest that you, my Lord King, must then be the offspring of Lord Elrond and a dwarf - possibly Lord Gimli himself - but he put his nose in the air and marched off…”
As Galanthir finished speaking, apart from amusement at his final sentence, it was clear that the relevance of what he had said seemed clear to everyone, as a number of voices spoke together recognising the phrases ‘elven overlords’ and ‘unnatural males’ from Tindómë’s original account, and that ‘Lord Lomion’ appeared to be suggesting these things.
It was also clear that neither Aragorn or Faramir recognised the name Lord Lomion - more questions would need to be asked.
“An unfortunate name,” Legolas commented. It had been the given name of Maeglin, betrayer of Gondolin.
Before any more thought could be given to that, or any more plans could be made, Orophin returned with a bundle of paper just as a page arrived. The page apologised for interrupting, but said that he came with an important message from Rohan for the King. He also bore a private letter for Prince Faramir and Princess Éowyn, and another addressed to the twins, Legolas, Orophin and Rumil.
The King of Gondor quickly scanned the official declaration sent to him from the King of Rohan and shared the contents with the others. Éomer King was proud to announce the birth of a fine son to Lothiriel Queen; the child would be called Elfwine.
Elladan opened the letter addressed to the five ellyn, four of whom had so recently been in Rohan. Éomer wanted them to know that he and his queen had chosen the name for the heir to the House of Éorl in recognition of the roles played by Legolas, the twins, and the elves of Lorien in overcoming the Dark Lord and keeping Rohan a free country.
‘Although I cannot guarantee that these deeds will always be remembered by the men of Rohan, they will be remembered as long as my son’s name is in the ballads of our people,’ Éomer had written.
“Wow! Elo! That is so cool!” Tindómë said.
Sometimes it was hard to say which was odder, Elrohir thought; her choice of words, or the fact that he understood what she meant…
“A toast,” Estel suggested, and it was some minutes before the other drawings Orophin had brought were remembered and admired. They were portraits that would never have been drawn by a Gondorian court artist. Some must have been drawn from memory, in the hours or days after the moment captured, the advantage of Elven recall.
Here was the arrival of the éored at the Hornburg with Éomer’s standard fluttering in the breeze. Éomer in formal dress, by torchlight, his head raised in song; clearly at the memorial ceremony for the fallen elves. Now here was Éomer dancing with Tindómë; the embroidery on his tunic, and the jewels in her hair, glinting in the lamp light in the Great Hall of the Hornburg. Lothiriel, her hand in the small of her back, stretching to ease her obvious discomfort; finally Éomer and Lothiriel, his arm around her shoulder, her hand on her clearly swollen belly, eyes only for each other.
Apart from the informality of the drawings, no Gondorian painter would ever have shown a queen so obviously having been swayed by the desires of the body - and looking as if, even encumbered by the as yet unborn Elfwine, she was ready to be swayed again the minute she got her king somewhere more private.
“Oh my goodness,” Éowyn said, “Rumil these are wonderful - they show not just their outward likeness but their very souls shining through!”
“Now you understand,” Arwen said, “why my grandparents wanted Rumil to come and draw some pictures of Aragorn, Gilraen, and I. For they will be all my grandmother will have to remember us by.”
She was so brave, her brother thought, to speak of this sorrow without any sign that she was anything but calm about it. Perhaps as well that Estel did not feel her every emotion as an elven husband might nor, unless he was even better at disguising his feelings and thoughts from his brothers than they thought he was, even feel them as much as the twins did…
“We will dine formally tonight,” Estel said firmly. “I will have it announced that we will join the court, and ask for all to be present. Arwen will remain in the private apartments, to maintain tradition, but Éowyn will act as hostess as we celebrate the birth of her nephew.
“Tindómë can then look to see if the other man from the library is present and we will also ask to have Lord Lomion introduced. Would anyone wager against them being one and the same?”
‘This,’ thought Elrohir, ‘is Estel being a King; making clear decisions and planning actions.’
“In the meantime,” Éowyn said, “Tindómë and I are going shopping. I can buy a gift for Elfwine, and we can find out whether the people of Gondor agree with Tindómë’s maid, and with most of the archers at the butts, that you, King Elessar, are the best thing to happen to this country for a long age.”
She paused, and looked at Rumil, “Could I possibly have one of these pictures of my brother? They make me feel as if he is here with me…”
Rumil dipped his head, in a slight bow, and answered carefully.
“You may have these. If you choose a favourite I will do a coloured one. Which would you want?”
“You work in colours too? You would do that for me?” Éowyn sounded as if this would be more than she could have hoped - she, too, must miss her brother, so far from her own people.
Rumil nodded slightly again, and pulled out another sheet. “Colours,” he said.
Tindómë’s slight start when she saw that Rumil was unrolling a picture of herself asleep, with her hair spread across a pillow with green and gold embroidery, followed by a softening of expression, as she looked first at Rumil and then at Orophin, gave Elrohir a hint of what some of the ‘too many’ sketches might show.
He shared the thought with Elladan, and was not surprised to ‘hear’ his brother answer “We really must try to see those!”
………………………………………………………………………………………
Tindómë looked in the mirror, trying to decide the best way to dress her hair so that it looked Gondorian, rather than Elven, without showing the clear set of teeth marks behind her ear. At least, she thought, when Rumil had playfully placed similar marks on her butt, back in Caras Galadhon before they set out on their journey, no-one else could see them. Not that any elf that saw them would have been shocked anyway…
The ellyn would all have been able to help arrange her hair, but they weren’t here in her room. Arwen would have been able to help but she was having her, now Lady Geoghel-approved, quiet time with her husband and daughter. Not knowing whether Éowyn would be amused or shocked it was better not to ask for her aid…
Eventually she brought the hair down at either side, behind her ears, but into a loose knot at the back of her neck - it would have to do. She made her way to the appointed meeting place with Éowyn.
“You are all absolutely right,” Éowyn greeted her, “if it was not for your height I would not have recognised you as the elleth I was speaking to only a short time ago.”
She continued to look Tindómë up and down but it seemed as if she was trying to make a decision about something; then she spoke again.
“Faramir says that you are a half-elf but you look more like an ordinary woman than you do like Arwen. Tell me truly, Tindómë, are you a stolen child?”
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The BtVS characters do not belong to me, but are used for amusement only. All rights remain the property of Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, and the original TV companies. The same is true of the LotR characters for whom all rights remain the property of the estate of JRR Tolkien and the companies responsible for the production of the films.
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Hmm - not sure what name to give this chapter when it goes to Twisting the Hellmouth and Open Scrolls... 'Getting the Picture?' Any better suggestions?
Here is the next chapter of Brotherhood.
For new friends who are interested, it is part of a crossover series which started with Return of The Key - in which Dawn, from the Buffyverse, was the one who closed the Hellmouth - but fell through it, and landed amongst the dead at the end of the Ring War in Middle Earth. Where she didn't fall in love with Legolas - or Aragorn or Frodo for that matter!
Anyway - Brotherhood is the fourth, and longest, story in the series - and is much more ME than BtVS these days!
So - Previous chapters are Here.
Chapter Twenty-one.
Rating 15
3,160 words.
Beta'd, as usual, by S2C.
Chapter Twenty-one
The twins fretted over breakfast that they were too obvious to do any of what Tindómë described as ‘undercover investigations’. Even though Arwen was probably right about there being little immediate urgency to uncover people plotting against her husband, her daughter and herself, this was their family and they wanted to help gather as much intelligence as possible, as quickly as possible.
Estel planned to see the young librarian; Tindómë was to spend time with Arwen in the garden, and then to talk to her maid, but it was difficult to think of anything any of the ellyn could do. Then Legolas suggested that, rather than wait to hear what Anarion said, or Faramir, Éowyn, or Tindómë might discover, the twins should join him and the other ellyn at the butts.
“My father has found, in his dealings with men,” he said, “that much can be learnt by someone who doesn’t speak their language… or, at least, by someone whom they assume doesn’t speak their language!”
As expected, when Legolas, Orophin, and the twins practiced with their bows they quickly gained an audience. Rumil sat to one side, sketching, whilst Galanthir busied himself retrieving arrows, checking the fletching and so forth, clearly Legolas’ servant.
The archers spoke among themselves in the Common Tongue and any onlooker would have concluded, as Rumil and Galanthir looked blankly at the speakers and waited until addressed in Sindarin, that only the archers understood the Common Tongue. Rumil and Galanthir spoke to each other in Sindarin, well aware that some at the butts might understand, but looked puzzled if any of the men spoke to them.
The morning passed quickly; the twins were happy to be bested by Legolas and Orophin and even engaged in some banter, about the way they were bested, with some of the bystanders.
Now as the royal couple, the steward and his wife, and all the elves, met over lunch, Rumil and Galanthir reported that, very quickly, the men spoke around them as if they weren’t there. Anyone who remembered Rumil from his previous sojourn in the city knew he spoke only three or four phrases of the language - and didn’t consider that he might now understand a good deal more. Anyone watching Galanthir recognised that he was a servant - and since when did a servant receive an education?
Galanthir explained this, with a fleeting grin, in the Common Tongue; his accent only slightly more noticeable than that of Legolas.
Tindómë looked at him with her eyebrows slightly raised.
“When gambling, nethig,” Legolas said, “it is always well to keep some cards close to your chest…”
Estel had spoken to the young librarian straight after breakfast and now had the name of one of the two men Tindómë had overheard in the library; a nobleman of the court, but not one of the king’s close advisors. Perhaps, Elladan suggested, he thought he should be closer? Did Faramir know what expectations the man might have had under Denethor?
Faramir did not know the man well, but thought the man’s father had been on closer terms with Denethor than the son was with either King or Steward. Perhaps Elladan was right - this could be reason enough to be unhappy.
Anarion had not known the identity of the other man at all, describing him simply as dark haired, middle aged, and ordinary. Estel was sure the young librarian was telling the truth; not only was he totally loyal but, Estel commented, it seemed likely that he would do anything, including attempting the impossible, if the request came from Lady Tindómë.
Elrohir glanced over at Tindómë and was not surprised to see that she had dipped her head a little and was blushing. She sometimes, still, seemed unsure of her own attractiveness. They might need to make use of the… what was Tindómë’s word? Crush. They might need to make use of the librarian’s crush yet.
He looked at Rumil. There was the glimmer of a smile there; no longer the hint of worry that had touched Rumil’s face occasionally, only a few weeks ago, at the mention of mortal men and Tindómë in the same sentence. There was now, Elrohir thought, a deeper level of understanding.
“Wouldn’t we all do anything, including attempt the impossible, for my lady Tindómë?” he asked, with a sweeping bow in her direction.
“Most certainly!” agreed Elladan, and the lady in question overcame her embarrassment enough to roll her eyes at both of them.
Before Galanthir and Rumil went into any detail about what, if anything, they had learnt while the other four were at practice, Tindómë spoke about her conversation, earlier that morning, with her maid. Nessy, she said, seemed quite puzzled at the idea that people might not be happy with the King and Queen (may-the-Valar-bless-them).
In fact, Tindómë said, when she spoke to Nessy she got the impression that, in many ways, for those ‘below stairs’ little had changed in their day-to-day lives. They still washed, cleaned, polished, ironed, prepared, cooked - whatever their role. The main difference was that they did it without fear of Sauron, or orcs, or the Haradrim, setting fire to the city, the citadel, or themselves. They attributed this improved long-term outlook to the King and his companions - “Horse lords, elves, a dwarf, periain - like something from the stories - oh! Begging your pardon my Lady!”
Even those members of the citadel staff who had lost loved ones in the battles, as Nessy herself had, were sure that the arrival of their King had saved them from slavery or death.
“So,” Elladan whispered in Elrohir’s ear, “less need to worry that the cook will poison the soup, then…”
Once a couple of those very servants had cleared the remains of lunch Rumil brought out his sketch book and everyone gathered around. As he flicked through the first few pictures of Arwen, Gilraen, and Aragorn, and then one of Tindómë in conversation with Legolas, both Faramir and Éowyn exclaimed at the skilful portrayals.
“Did they think Grandmother and Grandfather would send an ellon to make portraits if he couldn’t draw with skill?” Elrohir shared the thought, silently, with his twin.
“They think of him as a warrior - it is hard for them to understand the length of time he has already had to hone both skills.”
The tone of his brother’s mental voice was sombre - thoughts of the limited length of mortal life were now all too close to home.
Rumil seemed unruffled by the surprised compliments - but then the only time Rumil ever showed any emotion in public, even visible to another elf, was when it concerned Tindómë.
‘One day,’ Elrohir thought, ‘when we have decided for certain to stay or to sail, together, then I would want that for myself… and for Elladan.’
He was drawn back to the conversation as Rumil said, in his careful Common, “There are drawings that you may have. Brother, will you bring the pictures from Rohan?”
“All of them?” Orophin asked, looking, Elrohir thought, suspiciously innocent.
He glanced quickly at Tindómë; she was trying to keep a straight face, and pointedly not looking at Orophin. Hmm - Elrohir wondered what pictures might exist that might not be suitable to show Faramir and Éowyn - he must ask, sometime!
“There are too many. Those tied with the green thread, muindor-nín.” Rumil was not going to be unsettled by the question, but there was certainly something going on.
‘How sad it must be,’ Elrohir thought, ‘to not have family to share such private amusements. How good to see that the little one shares the joke with them - she is developing proper family ties, and,’ it suddenly occurred to him, ‘tying some of us together into a family that did not exist before!’
Somehow Tindómë seemed to be ‘family’ to elves from Lothlorien, Imladris, Mirkwood (or perhaps he should say Ithilien for Legolas now), and, if he had read his sister correctly, Gondor too.
While Orophin went to get whatever pictures Rumil meant, Rumil and Galanthir spread four or five sketches out on the table.
“This man,” Galanthir said, “does not like the fact that the King ‘is surrounded by elves’.”
There was a definite, un-elven, snort of derision from Legolas.
“This must be the first time, since the burial procession of Théoden King, that there have been enough elves in Minas Tirith to ‘surround’ you, and then only if we stand very close to you!”
Whilst the elven Lord of Ithilien sounded almost amused the human Prince of Ithilien looked more shocked.
“But that is… ridiculous!” Faramir said.
“So most of those around him said,” Galanthir commented. “Including one of the others, who had been practicing before we arrived, who said that if he was given the choice of bodyguards as skilled as himself, or as skilled as Legolas and Orophin, he knew which he would prefer!”
“Do you know who that man is, Faramir?” Estel asked. “Is he one of the men from the library, Tindómë?”
“No,” both answered.
“I am afraid,” Faramir continued, “that I spent too much time away from Minas Tirith, in the years before the final battles, to know all the people of the court.”
“My dear Faramir,” Estel’s voice was warm, “you were involved in work that was much more important to the well-being of Gondor than any minor court official - you were where you should have been, my friend.”
Éowyn put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Do you have a picture of the man who told him he was being ridiculous, Rumil?” she asked.
“Here,” Galanthir gestured to another picture of five or six men.
“Do you know him, my love?” she asked her husband.
“Yes, yes, I know him - Baranor, he was with me in Ithilien in the darkest of times.”
“Then he will know who is displeased by the elves ‘surrounding’ our king - and is, surely someone you could trust,” Éowyn said.
“There are some others of my company who dwell in the city,” Faramir said, thoughtfully, “and all are true to Gondor and hold you, Aragorn, in high esteem. I will invite them to join me for a meal tomorrow and ask them if they have heard anything to worry us.”
“Thank you,” Estel answered.
“This man,” Galanthir drew their attention back to Rumil’s sketches, “is more interesting. Legolas told me last night, in readiness for our trip to the butts, just what Tindómë had overheard. This man commented to another that they would have to leave the best stands now that ‘our elven overlords, as Lord Lomion calls them, have arrived.’
“The man he spoke to asked what he meant, and he said ‘well, Lord Lomion says that if those two unnatural males are the King’s brothers then we are ruled by an elf - he will rule us forever and we will all be enslaved.’ I am pleased to report that the man he spoke to laughed, and pointed out that the King is clearly not an elf as he has a good beard.
“I almost expected the man in Rumil’s drawing to suggest that you, my Lord King, must then be the offspring of Lord Elrond and a dwarf - possibly Lord Gimli himself - but he put his nose in the air and marched off…”
As Galanthir finished speaking, apart from amusement at his final sentence, it was clear that the relevance of what he had said seemed clear to everyone, as a number of voices spoke together recognising the phrases ‘elven overlords’ and ‘unnatural males’ from Tindómë’s original account, and that ‘Lord Lomion’ appeared to be suggesting these things.
It was also clear that neither Aragorn or Faramir recognised the name Lord Lomion - more questions would need to be asked.
“An unfortunate name,” Legolas commented. It had been the given name of Maeglin, betrayer of Gondolin.
Before any more thought could be given to that, or any more plans could be made, Orophin returned with a bundle of paper just as a page arrived. The page apologised for interrupting, but said that he came with an important message from Rohan for the King. He also bore a private letter for Prince Faramir and Princess Éowyn, and another addressed to the twins, Legolas, Orophin and Rumil.
The King of Gondor quickly scanned the official declaration sent to him from the King of Rohan and shared the contents with the others. Éomer King was proud to announce the birth of a fine son to Lothiriel Queen; the child would be called Elfwine.
Elladan opened the letter addressed to the five ellyn, four of whom had so recently been in Rohan. Éomer wanted them to know that he and his queen had chosen the name for the heir to the House of Éorl in recognition of the roles played by Legolas, the twins, and the elves of Lorien in overcoming the Dark Lord and keeping Rohan a free country.
‘Although I cannot guarantee that these deeds will always be remembered by the men of Rohan, they will be remembered as long as my son’s name is in the ballads of our people,’ Éomer had written.
“Wow! Elo! That is so cool!” Tindómë said.
Sometimes it was hard to say which was odder, Elrohir thought; her choice of words, or the fact that he understood what she meant…
“A toast,” Estel suggested, and it was some minutes before the other drawings Orophin had brought were remembered and admired. They were portraits that would never have been drawn by a Gondorian court artist. Some must have been drawn from memory, in the hours or days after the moment captured, the advantage of Elven recall.
Here was the arrival of the éored at the Hornburg with Éomer’s standard fluttering in the breeze. Éomer in formal dress, by torchlight, his head raised in song; clearly at the memorial ceremony for the fallen elves. Now here was Éomer dancing with Tindómë; the embroidery on his tunic, and the jewels in her hair, glinting in the lamp light in the Great Hall of the Hornburg. Lothiriel, her hand in the small of her back, stretching to ease her obvious discomfort; finally Éomer and Lothiriel, his arm around her shoulder, her hand on her clearly swollen belly, eyes only for each other.
Apart from the informality of the drawings, no Gondorian painter would ever have shown a queen so obviously having been swayed by the desires of the body - and looking as if, even encumbered by the as yet unborn Elfwine, she was ready to be swayed again the minute she got her king somewhere more private.
“Oh my goodness,” Éowyn said, “Rumil these are wonderful - they show not just their outward likeness but their very souls shining through!”
“Now you understand,” Arwen said, “why my grandparents wanted Rumil to come and draw some pictures of Aragorn, Gilraen, and I. For they will be all my grandmother will have to remember us by.”
She was so brave, her brother thought, to speak of this sorrow without any sign that she was anything but calm about it. Perhaps as well that Estel did not feel her every emotion as an elven husband might nor, unless he was even better at disguising his feelings and thoughts from his brothers than they thought he was, even feel them as much as the twins did…
“We will dine formally tonight,” Estel said firmly. “I will have it announced that we will join the court, and ask for all to be present. Arwen will remain in the private apartments, to maintain tradition, but Éowyn will act as hostess as we celebrate the birth of her nephew.
“Tindómë can then look to see if the other man from the library is present and we will also ask to have Lord Lomion introduced. Would anyone wager against them being one and the same?”
‘This,’ thought Elrohir, ‘is Estel being a King; making clear decisions and planning actions.’
“In the meantime,” Éowyn said, “Tindómë and I are going shopping. I can buy a gift for Elfwine, and we can find out whether the people of Gondor agree with Tindómë’s maid, and with most of the archers at the butts, that you, King Elessar, are the best thing to happen to this country for a long age.”
She paused, and looked at Rumil, “Could I possibly have one of these pictures of my brother? They make me feel as if he is here with me…”
Rumil dipped his head, in a slight bow, and answered carefully.
“You may have these. If you choose a favourite I will do a coloured one. Which would you want?”
“You work in colours too? You would do that for me?” Éowyn sounded as if this would be more than she could have hoped - she, too, must miss her brother, so far from her own people.
Rumil nodded slightly again, and pulled out another sheet. “Colours,” he said.
Tindómë’s slight start when she saw that Rumil was unrolling a picture of herself asleep, with her hair spread across a pillow with green and gold embroidery, followed by a softening of expression, as she looked first at Rumil and then at Orophin, gave Elrohir a hint of what some of the ‘too many’ sketches might show.
He shared the thought with Elladan, and was not surprised to ‘hear’ his brother answer “We really must try to see those!”
………………………………………………………………………………………
Tindómë looked in the mirror, trying to decide the best way to dress her hair so that it looked Gondorian, rather than Elven, without showing the clear set of teeth marks behind her ear. At least, she thought, when Rumil had playfully placed similar marks on her butt, back in Caras Galadhon before they set out on their journey, no-one else could see them. Not that any elf that saw them would have been shocked anyway…
The ellyn would all have been able to help arrange her hair, but they weren’t here in her room. Arwen would have been able to help but she was having her, now Lady Geoghel-approved, quiet time with her husband and daughter. Not knowing whether Éowyn would be amused or shocked it was better not to ask for her aid…
Eventually she brought the hair down at either side, behind her ears, but into a loose knot at the back of her neck - it would have to do. She made her way to the appointed meeting place with Éowyn.
“You are all absolutely right,” Éowyn greeted her, “if it was not for your height I would not have recognised you as the elleth I was speaking to only a short time ago.”
She continued to look Tindómë up and down but it seemed as if she was trying to make a decision about something; then she spoke again.
“Faramir says that you are a half-elf but you look more like an ordinary woman than you do like Arwen. Tell me truly, Tindómë, are you a stolen child?”
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The BtVS characters do not belong to me, but are used for amusement only. All rights remain the property of Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, and the original TV companies. The same is true of the LotR characters for whom all rights remain the property of the estate of JRR Tolkien and the companies responsible for the production of the films.
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Hmm - not sure what name to give this chapter when it goes to Twisting the Hellmouth and Open Scrolls... 'Getting the Picture?' Any better suggestions?