Fic: Wine and Figs (1/2)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Note: If you know how this story got its title, you know that, once again, I owe a huge debt to the brilliance of Saki.
Summary: Soon after Eldarion's coming of age, a member of the Minas Tirith City Guard is in need. Aragorn's friends find an unusual way to help.
Wine and Figs
"I cannot help feeling sorry for Patyr," Eldarion announced into the chatter of his parents' sitting-room, which was fuller than normal. Several of their friends had gathered for Eldarion's coming-of-age ceremony, and had lingered to spend time with the King and Queen of Gondor.
"When you say something in that tone," Elladan observed, looking up from the book he was poring over, "it means you hope that somebody will do something to help your… friend?"
"Friend? No. I barely know him. Patyr is one of the City Guard. His mother is gravely ill."
"Does he want us to help her?" Elrohir demanded, from where he and Legolas were sitting by the window bickering about the result of some archery contest they had had in Imladris four hundred years ago. "We do not know as much as our father, but we can try."
"Oh, no. I suggested that to him, but he says his mother wants no Elvish medicine."
Eldarion blushed as he spoke, but none of the four Elves in the room reacted. Patyr's mother was not the first woman, and she certainly would not be the last, to refuse Elven healing. It was a choice they would respect, even if they did not understand it.
"What does he want, then?" Legolas asked.
"He wants to ease her pain and make her comfortable. He needs money." Eldarion shrugged. "Patyr is paid well, but he is the eldest of six children and his father is dead. He ran a tavern - Patyr's father, I mean. His sister Alys runs it now - his mother is too ill, of course - but she is young and inexperienced and… it is not doing as well as it was. I offered to help him, but he said he did not want… pity."
"The King's help would hardly be pity," Legolas objected.
"It would suggest that Patyr and Alys cannot provide for their family," Aragorn explained. "And that would be an insult. If that were not so, I would gladly give Patyr whatever he needed for his mother."
"But there must be something we can do to help them!"
Legolas looked distressed, but Elladan leaned across the table to prod him with a rolled-up parchment and a wicked grin. "Of course there is something we can do. Did you know, Legolas, that there are rumours about you in Minas Tirith?"
Elrohir's eyes brightened. "Indeed. I have heard it said that you were forced to leave Eryn Lasgalen by your father - peace, Legolas! I was not the one who said it," he laughed, putting up his hands to fend off the knife that had been whipped from his friend's belt.
"I have proof to the contrary," Aragorn said, joining in the laughter. "I can personally vouch for the disasters your father promised would befall my realm if I allowed one hair of your precious golden head to come to harm - and I think I have said enough." He got to his feet hastily. "By your leave, my friends, I must retire. The hour grows too late for mortals."
"Indeed it does, laddie." Gimli had been sitting quietly in a corner. The Dwarf had grown more thoughtful of late. "And I have learnt to stay away from the youth of the Eldar - and their children!"
The last remark was aimed in Eldarion's direction, and then the Dwarf followed the Man from the room.
"What do you have in mind, Elladan?" Arwen asked, when the door had shut. "Nothing drastic, I trust."
"Certainly not. I only want to help Patyr. He does have a strong constitution, Eldarion? He will not faint from sudden shocks?"
Alys was setting up the tables. The tavern was empty save a couple of her regular customers who were sitting at the bar. They were rough men who drank too much and began too early. In the old days, her father would have refused to serve such people. But Alys was young and alone, and in desperate need.
She finished her work quickly and stepped behind the bar to arrange tankards within easy reach.
The door opened, slamming back against the wall, and a Dwarf ran in.
Alys stared. She could not help it. She had had Dwarves in her tavern before, although not often, and she had certainly seenDwarves in the city, but she had never seen a fully-armoured Dwarf carrying his battle-axe.
"My lord," she began, but he interrupted her, waving aside her greeting.
"Have you seen the Elf today?"
"The Elf, my lord?"
"Aye, lass. The pointy-ear with golden hair and blue eyes."
Alys knew who he meant, of course - every unwed woman in the city, and several who were wed, would have known who he meant. The heir to the Elven-king of the north, dwelling now with his friends in Ithilien, was a source of great interest to Minas Tirith. Not all of it was positive, of course. There were some, especially men, who disliked Elves in general and were particularly opposed to one who caused their young daughters to abandon their drawing and needlework and cluster at windows and balconies to stare when he rode past.
The tone, however, surprised her. He sounded like a schoolchild reciting a lesson, like he was repeating words that had been taught to him. It made her a little nervous.
"Prince Legolas?" she asked.
"Aye." The Dwarf shook his grizzled head. "Has he been here?"
"No, my lord. I have never had an Elf here."
The Dwarf snorted. "Elves are unreasonably prejudiced against good ale." His voice, which had gained a hint of animation, grew wooden again with his next sentence. "All the same, he might come here looking for me. If he does, warn him to stay away from the blue cloak."
"The… the blue cloak?"
"Aye, lass." He looked around the bar, and then leaned in close to Alys to whisper, "The blue cloak. His life depends on it. You must remember."
With another glance around, he was gone, leaving dead silence in the tavern.
Word spread, as word does, and an hour later two more men were sitting at the bar nursing ale, four were scattered at tables with bowls of stew in front of them, and a goodwife who lived on the same street had come in to enquire if Alys would lend her a cup of sugar.
Alys could not help but laugh. She did not know how many were hoping for a repeat appearance by the Dwarf and how many that Legolas would come, as promised, looking for him, but she was happy that people were eating her stew. It was good stew, nearly as good as her mother's, but people had stopped asking for it after her mother had taken ill.
It was well into the night, nearly closing time, and the last few lingerers were getting ready to leave, when the door opened again.
If Alys had been drinking something, she would have choked. As it was, she could only gape.
Legolas - Legolas - stood there, framed in the light of the lamps outside. His hair shone like burnished gold. He, too, was dressed as though for battle. Alys could see the strap of his quiver over his chest. His bow he held lightly in one hand.
"My lady." He bowed formally, letting the light catch on his warrior braids. "Has Gimli been here?"
"Gimli?" Alys squeaked. His eyes were blue.
"My friend. A Dwarf."
Oh, of course. Gimli. "This morning, my lord."
"Praise be to Elbereth," the Elf breathed, coming fully into the room. "I feared I was too late. We are so short of time." He looked around the room and shook his head. "Thank you, my lady. I will not linger here to endanger your house. Farewell."
Legolas was nearly at the door before Alys remembered the Dwarf's message.
"Wait!" she cried.
He paused, hand on the handle. She hurried out from behind the bar and ran to him, lowering her voice to a whisper as she said, "He - your friend - he said you should be careful of the blue cloak."
Legolas stiffened, and for a moment she was certain his hand twitched towards the knife tucked into his belt. Then he shook himself, inclined his head to her, said, "By your leave, my lady," and slipped out into the night.
Whenever anyone asked her about it later, Alys always denied that she opened her tavern an hour earlier the next day. What she would say, entirely truthfully, was that when she did open the doors, there were at least fifteen people standing outside waiting to be let in.
There had not been so much demand for the stew since her father had been alive.
The tavern was as crowded as it had ever been, every chair and bench and stool occupied, even the windowsills taken by those willing to clamber onto them. Alys had had to summon her sister Marin to tend the bar while she served the guests. She heard snatches of conversation as she hurried from one table to the next, people far more interested than they should be in their King's friend and his mysterious enemy, but -
The door opened.
Alys looked up, mouth open to apologize and say they had not a single free seat.
It was an Elf. One of the twin lords of Imladris.
He wore a blue cloak.
His grey eyes were hard, glinting like stones as he strode into the room. Silence fell, thick and fast, as people saw him, gaped at his cloak and gawked at the sheathed sword hanging from his belt.
"Has an Elf been here?" he demanded, looking straight at Alys. "Golden hair, blue eyes?"
Alys was torn. She did not want to lie, certainly she did not want to lie to the Queen's brother. But he was terrifying in his cold fury. What did she know of Elves and their politics? She remembered Legolas and his warm smile, and she knew she could not possibly betray him.
"I have seen no such Elf, my lord," she said clearly.
She saw his eyes widen in surprise, even as she heard the whispers start in the tavern. She lifted her chin in defiance.
"If he comes here, tell him Elrohir and I will find him. He cannot run from us forever."
The Elf pulled his cloak about him and was gone.
Alys, ignoring the myriad of voices shouting questions at her, hurried into the stockroom to calm herself.
She was still there, pacing up and down the room, when Marin came in to say Ma wanted her upstairs.
Alys straightened her skirts and went.
Her mother sat in her armchair by the window. The chair was old, the velvet worn threadbare and the stuffing coming out in places. Her mother's gown was old as well, though if the daily takings kept up, Alys might be able to buy her a new one soon, in something that would be softer and more comfortable than the coarse linen she wore.
"Ma, I'm here."
"Come sit down." Alys sat on the little footstool by the armchair. "Marin had an interesting story for me."
Alys scowled. "Marin talks too much."
Her mother shrugged. "She was excited. You know it is unwise to get involved in the affairs of… others."
"I know you do not like Elves, Ma."
"I lost too much to their magic. My father died in the terrible war, and his three brothers, and one of my own brothers - and all for a trinket of Elven sorcery. I cannot approve of you having dealings with any Elf - saving, of course, our beloved Queen. They are a proud folk who care nothing for others. Do not get involved with them, Alys. No good can come of it."
Alys nodded acknowledgement, but she could not make promises.
For the first time, Alys had to threaten to summon Patyr to remove people by force if they didn't leave at closing time.
She had no idea why Elves and Dwarves had chosen to make her tavern the headquarters of their plotting. Everyone she knew assumed it meant she was involved. Rumours had flown around the city by now. There were people in her tavern from all over Minas Tirith, even some of the City Guard and one or two noblemen who looked at everyone with narrowed eyes as though seeking out spies.
It was an hour after her normal closing time when the patrons finally, reluctantly, started to trickle out. Only the last few stubborn drinkers were left, swilling the dregs of their beer around their tankards.
Alys was more surprised than anyone when their persistence was rewarded.
Just as she was about to turn them out, there were heavy footsteps outside. Patyr opened the door, and was shouldered aside by the Dwarf - Gimli.
"Lady Alys," he greeted gruffly. She did not bother to ask how he knew his name. "He has been here?"
Alys hesitated, glance flickering to the few men who were suddenly all attention.
"Have no fear to speak." Gimli stumped up to the bar. He still sounded like a child reciting a lesson, and that frightened Alys more than open threats would have done. "Was Legolas here?"
"Yes," Alys faltered. "I gave him your message." She lowered her voice. "And - the other -"
"Hush. Say nothing of him." Gimli lowered his voice. "This is a bad business, Lady Alys. If only the King would act." Alys's eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly. "No, no, I do not incite you to treason. It is not your King I mean. This is not an affair that concerns Men. Or Dwarves."
"You mean…"
"Aye." Gimli nodded. "Him. The Elven-king."
"I have heard…" Alys spoke so softly Gimli had to lean in to hear her. "I have heard the Elven-king is hard. And cold. They say he loves his gold more than anything, even more than his son."
Gimli's beard twitched, and for a moment she feared she had gone too far - he was Legolas' friend, and while she had been far politer than the people who had repeated those rumours to her, the Dwarf might not appreciate insults to his friend's father.
At last Gimli said, "What would you say, Lady Alys, to a father who refused to speak to his son, would not acknowledge his letters - would know his son was in grave peril and do nothing to help?"
Alys could tell Gimli was trying to speak quietly, but Dwarves were not made for whispering. The five remaining patrons were listening for all they were worth.
She knew she should not display vulgar curiosity, but she could not help asking, "Surely not? No father could - and - his son - you mean - Legolas? The Elven-king will not speak to Legolas."
"Legolas has no brothers. He is his father's only son." Gimli settled down on a barstool. "As to what he has done, who can say? Elven memories are far longer than yours and mine."
"And - Legolas - how does he feel?"
Gimli's eyes darkened. "Legolas… It is not easy to explain. His friends are not to blame. I absolve them. What would you do, Lady Alys, if forced to choose between one of your dearest friends and the King who has ruled your realm for more than an Age?"
"Lord Elladan?"
"No, no, Elladan and Elrohir - they follow their own will, now that Master Elrond has sailed. They certainly do not owe allegiance to Thranduil. I speak of Legolas' so-called friendsamong his own people. He is here alone. Surely you noticed that. Not a single Elf of Ithilien stayed to keep him company on the ride back."
Gimli shook his head.
Then he hopped off the stool, axe clanking against his mail. "I must take your leave, Lady Alys. Remember - not a word to a soul."
Part II