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V. A Dinner-Party By Manwë's eagles, why? Thorongil stared at the piece of parchment in stunned disbelief. Sealed though it had been with the plain white wax of the Steward, he had assumed it was some last-minute order before he left the next day to return to Ithilien. Instead it was an invitation to dine that night with the Steward, his Heir, and the Prince of Dol Amroth and his children. What purpose will my presence serve, in that group? He shook his head. But I shall have to attend. Gesturing to the messenger to wait, he quickly wrote out a polite note of acceptance, letting none of the surprise he felt show through in the formal phrases. He sealed it with a hasty drop of red wax and thrust it into the man's hands with a small coin. "To the Steward, of course, and thank you." All but one of those to be present I should enjoy spending an evening with - little though I know young Imrahil, he seemed a bright lad, and certainly Finduilas is a more than pleasant companion. He sighed. With Adrahil and Ecthelion I can always discuss military or political matters, at the least. But Denethor - he and I have ever been unfriends. I do not know why, since I have done naught that I can think of to cause him offense. I have risen fast through the ranks, but how can that do the Steward's Heir harm, when all men acknowledge him able and worthy of his high position? At the appointed hour that evening, Thorongil presented himself at the Steward's private quarters and was shown to a richly furnished room, lit in part by the last rays of the setting sun and in part by great white tapers. Ecthelion and Denethor were already present, and from the set look on the latter's face, it appeared that father and son had been having words. Thorongil ignored the tension and greeted them. "Ah, Thorongil. A pleasure to have you here; you leave tomorrow, do you not?" said Ecthelion. "Yes," said Thorongil. "Indeed I had intended to leave this morning, but was unable. A lucky chance, it would seem, or I would not have been here tonight." Denethor arched a brow at the phrase "lucky chance"; it was all too clear that he considered it rather an unlucky one. Nevertheless he bowed formally and murmured an appropriate phrase of welcome. "I asked you here," said Ecthelion, "because… well, as soon as Adrahil and his family arrive, we will discuss it. In the meantime, would you care for a glass of wine? From Dorwinion - a rare vintage, I think it very fine." Thorongil accepted a goblet from the unobtrusive manservant hovering nearby. Tasting the rich flavor, he complimented the Steward on his choice. Ecthelion waved him to a seat. "Yes, the pressings of Dorwinion’s vineyards produce headier draughts than any in this country. One must be careful with them - they are not for ordinary occasions. But at times one wishes to be extravagant. Ah, I think I hear the Prince now." All three men rose, and Denethor and Thorongil bowed, as the door opened and Adrahil entered, followed by his daughter and son. Ecthelion held out his hand in greeting. "Welcome, my old friend. Come in, be seated. Take a glass of wine. Finduilas, Imrahil, do not be shy - come and take a chair." Amid the bustle of service Thorongil noted that Denethor's eyes lingered on Finduilas as she spread her skirts to sit, and that when she glanced back, she had to visibly compose herself. What is this, then? He could not at that time make private inquiry of the lady, though, as Ecthelion called him over. Perforce he had to leave Finduilas to the company of Denethor, as the two men of Dol Amroth were already in close conversation with the Steward. "I had not expected this so soon, my lord," Adrahil was saying. "His mother will be distressed not to see him again before he takes up his post." Imrahil's face was eager. "Yes, Father," he said, "but it is far more sensible for me to leave directly from Minas Tirith than to journey home and then turn around and leave again immediately. Captain Thorongil," he looked up, "it would seem that I am to join your company." This came as a surprise; usually Ecthelion would have given some warning that a new officer was to be appointed. "I see," said Thorongil. "Well, I shall certainly be pleased to have you. What rank will you hold?" Ecthelion intervened. "He will begin without any rank, Thorongil. This is by his own choice; he wants to see how the common Rangers experience their duties. So if you can, do not treat him out of the ordinary way. I do not believe any of the men presently in your company are from Belfalas, much less Dol Amroth?" "No." "Good. Then Imrahil can remain anonymous to them for the time being. If and when you need an additional junior officer, and assuming that you think him up to the task, then promote him, of course." Imrahil grinned. "I know I have not the experience, yet, to justify placing me in command. Better to learn things from the bottom up, don't you think?" Thorongil smiled back. "If that is what you prefer, I am happy to accommodate you. I really have no need for an extra officer at the moment, but we can always use more men on patrol. I will talk to you about your skills and abilities as we travel; no need to do so tonight. Are you prepared to leave tomorrow? I am already a day delayed from my intended departure, and I would rather not wait any longer." Imrahil nodded firmly. "All my fine things are packed up to be taken back to Dol Amroth; I have kept out only what would be practical for my new duties." He laughed and plucked at his sleeve. "Except for tonight's attire, of course." Adrahil sighed. "If you are determined on this, Imrahil, then I shall have to let you do it. But do write a message to your mother that I can take; you know she will be worrying about you." "Of course. I have already done so; Finduilas has the letter." "It is all settled, then," said Ecthelion. "Let me interrupt the pair over in the corner, and we may dine." Dinner was an elaborate affair, punctuated with conversation mostly about the events of the past month of Ringarë; which families had been in Minas Tirith, and what everyone had done. Thorongil listened with only half an ear, as the niceties of social engagements held little of immediate interest. He would have liked to speak with Finduilas, but she was seated on Ecthelion's right hand, at the opposite end of the table, while he sat between Adrahil and Imrahil. "Why did you decide to take up your post so soon?" Thorongil quietly inquired of Imrahil when the latter paused from telling a tale of a race he had run against Duinhir of Morthond. Imrahil looked uncomfortable. "Two reasons, really, one that I would prefer not to discuss just now. But the other is because it was a chance to serve under you, sir, and I have heard you spoken of very highly as a captain. They say that you use every man to his best advantage and yet hardly lose one even in the worst situations. And they say that training under your supervision is as good as training under any other three - well, nearly," he added with a glance at Denethor, who was looking grim at the compliment to Thorongil. I wonder what the other reason could be? On the journey, perhaps, he will be willing to speak more freely. If he is trying to avoid the consequences of some scrape, I want to know. "Well, for whatever reason, I am pleased to have you. Your sister has told me that she hopes for frequent letters from you in your absence; I warned her that it might not be possible, but if you are serving in my company, then I expect she will be reassured that I will keep an eye on you. Do not worry that I will coddle you, however; there is no room for that among the ranging companies. Each man must bear his full share of duty. In some ways it is more difficult, but in some ways easier than being in, say, the Guards of the Citadel." Thorongil nodded at Denethor. "We have a greater chance of being attacked directly by enemies, but we need pay less attention to certain kinds of training, such as drill formations, and have not the tedium of guard duty. It may be more dangerous in Ithilien at times, but it is also more beautiful there. I would not trade it for the greater responsibilities that the lord Denethor has." Denethor nodded curtly, and returned his attention to Finduilas for the rest of the meal. When the table had been cleared and they were once again mingling more freely, Thorongil was able to snatch a moment to speak with Finduilas. "Did you encourage your brother to join my company?" he asked. She blushed and admitted it. "But he was bound to join one of them, sooner or later," she pointed out. "All I did was speak highly of you as a friend; he made his own decision. Though I am glad of his choice." "You will probably receive less interesting letters this way, you realize," he warned. "We shall undoubtedly have similar things to tell you." "Oh, I do not worry about that," Finduilas replied, "so long as I hear from you both to know that all is well - or as well as can be expected. And I shall certainly feel less concern over my brother's welfare knowing that you will look out for him - and the other way around, as well," she said, looking Thorongil in the eyes. "I would be devastated to lose both of you at once." "Both your brothers?" jested Thorongil. "Yes, both of you," she said. Both, she says, but says not "brother." No, do not read into that more than she might mean. At that moment Imrahil came up to them and claimed his sister's attention, dragging her off to answer a question that Denethor wished to ask her. Thorongil murmured to the servant to refill his cup with water, not wine, and moved to speak to Ecthelion and Adrahil. "I hope to hear good news of my son," said Adrahil, "once he has had a chance to prove himself." "Oh, I doubt not that he will turn to good account, sir; you are known as an excellent swordsman yourself, and I am sure that you have seen that Imrahil has had all the proper training. Granted that practice and reality are far different, yet I would expect him to do well," Thorongil said politely. Adrahil nodded. The Steward added, "And though he is a bit young yet, that will make little difference since he starts among the ranks rather than taking an officer's post. I remember that I had difficulties with that, being younger than any man I commanded when I first held an appointment. Your son is wise, Adrahil, to choose the path he has." The three of them turned to look at Imrahil, gaily recounting a story to his sister and Denethor. Finduilas was laughing and even Denethor smiled. "Ah, but the hour begins to grow late," said Thorongil. "If you will excuse me, my lords, I would like to oversee my last preparations for departure and enjoy a last night in a soft bed." "Certainly," said Ecthelion genially. "Have you told young Imrahil when and where to meet you in the morning?" "I will do so now, and then go," Thorongil replied. "I thank you, my lord Steward, for a most pleasant evening. Lord Adrahil, it was a pleasure to see you again. Please convey my best regards to your lady; I understand she is not well at present, and I am sorry not to have met her this season." "Thank you," said Adrahil gravely. "I appreciate your kind thoughts." Thorongil moved over to the younger party and waited for a break in their conversation. "Imrahil," he then said, "I will meet you at the stables between the sixth and seventh circles, shortly after dawn tomorrow. Have you your own horse here? If not I can assign you one." "I do," said Imrahil. "I will be ready when you say." "Lady Finduilas, it was my pleasure to see you. May your journey home be swift and safe," and he bowed over her hand. "Thank you, Captain Thorongil," she said. "May yours be so as well." "Lord Denethor." "Captain Thorongil." They bowed stiffly. Rising, Thorongil nodded once more to the company and departed. So I am to have her brother with me, then. I will have no excuse not to write often. He sighed. This may prove more tangled than I had anticipated when I first agreed to Finduilas's proposals. What can she be thinking? She calls me brother, sometimes, but is that indeed how she sees me? Do I think of her as sister, or friend, or something else entirely?
VI. Epistolary Seasons I
My dear Imrahil, As I am sure you could have guessed, Mother was very disappointed that you decided to take up your post immediately, rather than coming home to see her first. But Father reminded her that it made far more sense to send you with your new commander rather than doing all that extra traveling, and I think she has accepted the situation. You might want to write her just a short note, when you have a chance, and apologize, though. She is not looking very well; I think while we were all gone she did not eat and sleep as she should have. But our return has cheered her up. It has been quite rainy and gloomy here, our usual winter weather. The tides are running exceptionally high and all the older folk of the city shake their heads and predict bad weather for the whole of the year. I do not believe them. We had even higher tides when I was a little girl - I think you were just two - and I remember that year as being wonderful. I recall pulling you around the gardens on your little wheeled horse! [omitted] Lord Denethor has already sent me a letter; he must have written it only a day or two after we departed. Father encouraged me to respond quickly and so I wrote to him even before writing you. It was difficult, though; he has never been aught but kind to me yet his letter was so formal and stilted that I could not easily think how to reply. I know that Father would be pleased if I were to decide that I would marry the Steward's Heir - that is clearly what all this is about - but he is not pressuring me except to tell me to be polite and answer without delay. I miss you, brother. Write to me as soon as you may. Your loving sister, 29 Narvinyë 2974 Dear Finduilas, As you were most urgent that I should write soon and often, I am complying to the best of my abilities. Having been gone for some weeks from my company it was a little time before I was able to snatch an hour or two for myself to write to you. Your brother was an excellent companion on the road with the several other new recruits: cheerful, carrying out his assigned tasks without complaint, keeping his gear in order. His skill with weapons is good for one of his age, although like all of us, he will improve further with practice. I do not think it likely that he will have difficulty finding his feet among the company, and I fully expect to be able to promote him on the field within two years. That may seem long to you, but believe me, it is rapid indeed. Ithilien at this season is sad - the rains of winter strip the leaves from the trees and leave them blackened and barren, reaching for the sky as if longing for the return of the sun to warm them again to life. One could almost imagine them pleading with Yavanna for her blessing. We move among the dells like - I nearly said wraiths, but that is a term of ill-omen. Like cats, I will say instead - silently stalking. Luckily winter is a season where little fighting occurs, and both the enemy and we stay close to our camps and fires much of the time. I meant this to be a longer and more cheerful letter, but I fear that I have not time to write further if I wish to send it with a messenger tomorrow. I hope that your journey home was safe and that all is well with you and your family. Kindest regards, 11 Nénimë 2974 Dear Finduilas, Your letter was most welcome to me. I am sorry to hear that Nimíril remains unwell, but I trust that with you and your father there she will take comfort. I was reading the other day in the early records of the realm and was reminded that many of our great philosophers and thinkers wrote in Quenya instead of Sindarin. Do you read Quenya at all? I assume you do know Sindarin, since your father is fluent. If you would be interested I could have a copy of Aegnor's treatise on moral metaphysics sent to you, either in the original Quenya, or translated into Sindarin or Westron, whichever you would prefer. † [omitted] Your humble servant, 24 Nénimë 2974 Dear Thorongil, Your letter did cheer me, though it sounds like Ithilien is as dull in winter as anywhere. Has my lazy brother not been able to find time to write, with all his practice at arms and scouting? Would you act on my behalf and encourage him to do so? [omitted] Despite the rainy weather of this season, the sea is beautiful. I wish that you could be here to enjoy it with me. Sometimes I think I love the waters best when the skies are cloudy, for then there is no glittering surface to distract from the complexity of its depths. There is a hill not far away - Imrahil knows of it - where I go to stand and watch the shifting greens and blues and greys of the water, and can almost believe that I swim among them. In warmer seasons I do swim in the sea, naturally. At times I have imagined that I have heard the voice of Uinen, or Ossë, or even great Ulmo himself. Have you ever thought that you have heard the call of one of the great Powers beyond humankind? Am I simply being a flighty girl? But truly, I have wondered if they care yet for mortals, or if they have turned their backs on us and all our woes. It is a lonely feeling, to think that we might be abandoned to our unknown fate. There may be a drop of Elven-blood in yet in my veins, but I have never seen any Elf or Dwarf myself - can such creatures still live? I apologize for my ramblings today. I trust that all is well with your and your company. Fondly, 3 Súlimë 2974 Dear Finduilas, Please forgive your tardy brother. Since you laid such emphasis on the need for me to write Mother as soon as I could, she got the first letter. Not that I had much news to tell her, but it is probably just as well that you get this one since there is some news, and not all good. Maybe you can read it to her and omit what you think best. Choosing to be anonymous was a good move. I hear a lot of griping about how the officers are chosen half the time from among the young bloods, without much regard for their abilities, while some really worthy men get ignored because they haven't the right family connections. Well, I can see that for myself in a few cases already. It is hard to see how to improve things, though. Not that I could do anything now, mind you, but someday if all goes well I'll have a command of my own, and of course eventually I'll rule in Belfalas - though I hope that is many years away! The tricky thing is that officers have a duty to help finance their company's expenses, so the higher your rank, the greater your resources must be. If you have no family wealth, you have to have a patron or sponsor to help out. I think Ecthelion is sponsoring this company - Thorongil doesn't discuss it, but I've heard rumors, and certainly he doesn't seem to have any significant funds of his own - his beautiful horse and his few fine clothes all seem to have been gifts, and otherwise he lives pretty close to the bone. Now that spring is near, and it's easier to move about the country, we are starting to see some fighting. I was in my first real skirmish last week, against some Orcs. There were four of us on a reinforced patrol, and we ran across this group of six Orcs. We took them by surprise and won pretty handily - one of our fellows got a nasty wound in the leg, but the rest of us were hardly scratched (reassure Mother of that, please!), and we killed all the enemy. It wasn't quite what I expected it would be like, though. I wasn't scared while I was fighting, but afterwards, I threw up. Don't tell that to Mother or Father, though. [omitted] There, now wasn't that worth the wait? I've filled three leaves of parchment on both sides, and I’m afraid you’ll have to pay extra for the carriage of such a long letter. I'll try to write sooner next time, honestly. Love, 25 Súlimë 2974 Dear Lord Denethor, I look forward to the treatise by Aegnor, whenever the translation is completed, but you need not apologize for the delay. The poem you sent me on the fall of Númenor in the meanwhile is lovely - I particularly like the image of the drowning queen with pearls in her hair. I believe I read that once before, many years ago. Have you ever considered writing your own verses? Spring is fully upon us here in Belfalas. The niphredil blooms in the palace gardens - it grows almost wild, here, at least none tends it, but I have been told that it flourishes nowhere else in all of Gondor save close to Dol Amroth. But all sorts of other flowers flourish - the apricot trees' bloom is nearly over, but the lilies are reaching their peak. What is the spring like in Minas Tirith? I have seen her gardens only in winter, and had difficulty picturing those stone-walled spaces full of light and leaf and color... [omitted] I remain, etc. 14 Víressë 2974 Dear Finduilas, Spring in Minas Tirith is, I think, much as it is anywhere. We have blossoms here, surely, and some plots of grass and trees. She is of course a city built for defense, not beauty - though I see great loveliness in her proud white walls and sturdy gates and spacious streets. Regarding which, we have recently made those streets safer than they were when you were here and had that unfortunate incident. The penalty for thievery has been raised to the loss of a hand; though if there are mitigating circumstances, such as a mother stealing a loaf to feed her child, a lesser punishment can be imposed. Further, we have increased the numbers of the City Watch, and they will henceforward patrol during daylight hours as well as after dark. I believe all of these changes will improve life in the city for ordinary folk as well as preventing occurrences such as the one you experienced. [omitted] As you particularly requested me to try writing a bit of verse of my own, I have acceded to your will. I shall let you be the judge of my humble efforts. Whither the lady Hair dark as nightfall, Another time I may perhaps try a lengthier form, but for now this is my limit, I fear. Your obedient servant, 8 Nárië 2974 Dear Thorongil, I fear at least one letter you sent must have gone astray, as I just received your last in which you asked if I no longer wish to correspond with you. Far from it! I greatly enjoy hearing from both Imrahil and from you - though he is in your company and I imagine does many of the same things day to day, the two of you write very different sorts of letters. His are more chatty, more about what is going on in camp and on patrol, while your poetic descriptions tell me much about where you are. And I must thank you for convincing Im to write more often, too. I read portions of his letters to our mother, who appreciates them no end. How do I keep busy, you ask? I expect I am at least as busy as you are! Mother still does all she is able, but a good part of the supervision of the household is on my shoulders now. She keeps the account-books, but I must check them too, against daily expenses, for instance. Why, I get up at dawn, most days, and if I am lucky I can find a bit of time in the evening to write a letter, or read a story or a poem. What nonsense is my born brother trying to feed my adopted brother now? [omitted] Love, 13 Nárië 2974 Dearest sister, I can see why Thorongil's men are so devoted to him now. Of course I have admired him since I joined this company, and before by reputation, but... well, let me tell you what happened last Aldëa. The Rangers in Ithilien have a number of more-or-less permanent camps, but we don't always stay at the same one. It's thought to be good to shift the companies around occasionally so that we learn different parts of the country and don't grow stale going over familiar territory all the time. Last week was the first time we had shifted since I arrived, though. It's a fairly substantial undertaking and we had to borrow horses, mules, and wagons from several other companies to haul everything. Obviously moving makes us more vulnerable to attack as well, and the Orcs are clever enough to have discovered our procedures. They set a trap for the wagons while we were all strung out along the trail, but you would have thought the captain expected it, because he brought the leading group back at just the right moment to catch the foul creatures in their own trap and kill them all. [omitted] I find that I enjoy many things about this service - having friendships with other soldiers, seeing the beauty of these lands, knowing that what I do defends my home. But I cannot love the sword for its own sake. Many seem to do so. A few of my companions go into a kind of frenzy in battle, hardly seeming to know what they do, ignoring wounds in their lust to fight and kill. It's effective, I suppose, but rather dreadful to witness. I think Thorongil feels as I do - glad to serve our people as he is most needed, but regretting that this must be the way of things. But enough of these serious musings! There are lighter incidents as well. The fellow who generally dosses next to me is becoming known as a practical joker - one night he switched around every man's boots, so that in the morning we all found they were too large or too small and had to scurry around trying on pair after pair to find our own again. He was given four weeks on latrine duty, plus night watches, for that one. [omitted] With love, 2 Cermië 2974 Dear Finduilas, I apologize most heartily for my unwarranted leap to the conclusion that your silence meant you no longer wished to write. Out here in lands rapidly returning to wilderness, I should have known better than to assume every letter written will be delivered to the intended recipient. To reach us here, yours go first to Minas Tirith and then travel by courier, if we are lucky, or with resupply trains if we are not. And the same applies in reverse; so there are plenty of opportunities for a message to go astray. I thought you might enjoy this little verse as something different. So is it not with me as with that muse [omitted] Fraternally yours, 17 Cermië 2974 Dearest Im, I have ill-news for you this time. Mother is not at all well - even the kindly warmth of this season has done little to restore her health. There have even been days when she has been unable to leave her bed - and you know how unthinkable such a thing has always been for her. I really begin to fear that she may not live to the year's end. I will write as often as I can to keep you informed of her condition. Do you think there is any chance that Thorongil might grant you leave to come home before the end? Can you ask him, please? As if it is trying to make up for the sadness within the walls, the garden is blooming as I have hardly seen it before - walking among the roses, more than once I have been dizzied by their fragrance. I have pressed several of the deepest red blooms to preserve them, and as you can see have enclosed one for you. A foolish thing, I know; you have little place for such frivolities as a Ranger. But bear it in memory of your loving sister, Finduilas 24 Urimë 2974 Dear Finduilas, As my lady commands, so must I oblige. Ever at your service, I stood alone, then saw you moving
near - * Regarding dates and seasons: In the later Third Age, Gondor followed the Stewards' Reckoning, in which each month had 30 days and there were five holidays (six in leap years) that were counted outside the months. The names of the months, beginning in midwinter, were: Narvinyë, Nénimë, Súlimë, Víressë, Lótessë, Nárië, Cermië, Urimë, Yavannië, Narquelië, Hísimë, Ringarë. The holidays were: yestarë (day before Narvinyë), tuilérë (between Súlimë and Víressë), loëndë (between Nárië and Cermië - doubled in leap years, and then called the enderi or middle-days), yáviérë (between Yavannië and Narquelië), and mettarë (day after Ringarë). The days of the week were: Elenya (Stars' Day), Anarya (Sun's Day), Isilya (Moon's Day), Aldëa (White Tree's Day), Menelya (Heavens' Day), Eärenya (Sea's Day), Valanya (Valar's Day). [Valanya was sometimes called Tárion, the Powers' Day.] The seasons were: tuilë (spring), lairë (summer), yávië (autumn/harvest), hrívë (winter); two additional terms used for late autumn or early winter were quellë and lasselanta. [All this information is from Appendix D in The Return of the King.] † Shades of Immanuel Kant here, yes. I really do not know his philosophy well enough to discuss it, I merely borrowed a phrase. ‡ This is really William Shakespeare, sonnet 21, with a couple of words modified. I fear I cannot write sufficiently good sonnets for Thorongil, so I had to borrow.
VII. Epistolary Seasons II 26 Urimë 2974 Dear Thorongil, You may have heard - I hope you have heard - from my brother the sad news of our mother's rapid decline. I am sorry that you did not meet her before, for it certainly seems unlikely that you will now have the chance, and I believe you would have liked her, and she you. I hesitate to ask, for I realize that your company's need must prevail, but do you suppose that it might be possible for Imrahil to get leave sometime this autumn to come home to see his mother one last time? Certainly I will understand if it is not, and my mother and father will as well, but I know that she would dearly love to see her son again. I sent to Imrahil last month a rose from our garden here, and it occurs to me that you might like one as well, a token of affection to carry perhaps. A few nights ago I read an old poem about a rose that I thought you might enjoy, as I did the verses you sent me recently. Traditionally the author is supposed to have lived in the reign of Atanatar II, and to have written in vain to the king's niece. Take thou this rose, O Rose, Smell thou this rose, O Rose, Look on this rose, O Rose, Kiss thou this rose, O Rose, O Rose, this painted rose I may hope that the pressed rose that I give to you contains the fragrant soul, still! It seemed to me that I ought not to show favoritism between my two brothers. [omitted] With love, 17 Yavannië 2974 Dear Finduilas, The nights grow chill again here, and the days shorten more quickly than in the south. Our enemies begin to withdraw to the east, to their lairs and strongholds there, and Thorongil tells us that soon we will reduce our patrolling somewhat for the season. We will be changing camps again, too, and perhaps joining up with another company into a larger camp for the winter. Herion, our sergeant, says that he has always enjoyed that; there are usually contests between the men of each company, at archery and wrestling and swordplay and so on, not for money directly (though I'm sure some betting goes on) but more for the honor of the company. He says that since Thorongil has been a captain, his men have nearly always been victorious in such matches. So I look forward to that. But tell me, sister, is the mighty lord Denethor's wooing actually succeeding with you? From your accounts of his letters it sounds to me as if you enjoy them and even look forward to them. Now that surprises me. He seemed not a bad fellow, when we dined with the Steward last winter, but old and rather stuffy, not really to my taste, and I would not have thought to yours, either. I should have thought you'd like Thorongil better. I know you do write to him too. What are you up to? If I get leave to come home to visit Mother, you can be sure I'll make you tell me. Oh. I forgot I'm supposed to go on patrol, here, so I have to end this. Give Mother my especial love, and love to Father too. Love, 9 Narquelië 2974 Dear Imrahil, [omitted] I know you do not care for Denethor all that much, but he is really not as stuffy as you think. He has been very attentive and solicitous all year, sending me little gifts, asking after Mother, even writing poems for me. They may not always be the match of the greats of the past - he is no Daeron - but he tries so hard, that they are charming despite being sometimes awkward. And he very clearly means what he says. I am quite certain he wishes to wed me, but he has said nothing directly, as yet. Which is as well, for though I do enjoy his letters, my heart is yet unsure. But I have had little to delight in this year with Mother unwell and Father either busy with all the cares of Belfalas or else distraught. It is the letters I exchange with you, with Thorongil, and with Denethor that bring me such pleasure as I can find. I do hope that you will be able to come home, at least for a little while; I miss you so. With love, 13 Narquelië 2974 Dear Finduilas, I thank you for your kind words about my limping lines. I have not had the time lately to write another poem of such length, but perhaps you will like this brief verse? Seabird wandering northward - hearken
now to my calling. Do you yet know if you will be able to make the journey to Minas Tirith this winter season? I should very much like to see you again in person, delightful though our correspondence has been. My father adds his voice to mine. But if your responsibilities to land and family hold you in Dol Amroth, of course I understand. [omitted] Yours with all respect, 17 Hísimë 2974 Dear Denethor, I do apologize, very much indeed, for the delay in my answer to your last two letters. Please do not think that any slight is intended; my mother's health has taken a very serious turn and I have hardly been able to leave her side except for the most pressing matters of the household. This sad event does mean, I fear, that I will not be able to come to Minas Tirith this Ringarë. I am sorry for I would have liked to come to the Steward's Ball again and danced with you. But it will not be possible. My father has not yet decided if he will be able to make the journey north either; I believe he will wait until the very month before he decides, for though he would not want to be negligent in his duties, if he were absent at the moment of crisis he would find it hard to forgive himself. The sorrow in our household cannot be inflicted on all our people, though, so we have held festival as usual, and the celebrations of yáviérë were carried out in great style. All the houses were bedecked with boughs and the last of the autumn flowers, and we had our traditional dance here in the great hall, to which many in the city come. So you see, even in the midst of our unhappiness there are moments of cheer. [omitted] With kind regards, 5 Ringarë 2974 Dear Finduilas, [omitted] Of course I will do all I can to get Imrahil back to Dol Amroth, especially now that you have warned me that it may be a matter of weeks only. He is to take leave on Eärenya next, and travel with the returning supply wagon to Osgiliath, and thence down Anduin. He must return by early Narvinyë, of course, but unless something goes wrong he should be able to spend rather more than a week with his mother and the rest of the family. I shall not be going to Minas Tirith myself this season; not every captain of the rangers may do so every year! So instead we shall celebrate mettarë and yestarë here as men do in such circumstances, by eating too much roast meat and drinking too much ale or wine. Although generally the officers manage to organize some competitions to keep the men occupied, as well, mostly of one sort of combat or another but also storytelling and singing. I hope that you can enjoy the season despite your troubles. In return for the charming verses about the Rose that you sent me - and I keep the rose itself safe, you may be sure - let me offer you this one: She stood in her scarlet gown, Fondest regards, 20 Ringarë 2974 Dear Finduilas, I anticipate that this will reach you in time for mettarë; I certainly hope so. In the parcel you will have found two books; one is the History of Gondor that I spoke of to you last year, that I had commissioned from a young scholar. Golasgil tells me that he has more to include, and will continue working to improve it, but I insisted that he must create an acceptable version by this month so that it could be distributed among the lords of the land for their use. So that book is for Adrahil, though you may also wish to read it, and I hope you do. The other is a copy of the collection of poems and stories that you saw in Angrim's shop, that you liked so well. Since you were not able to visit the city and buy it for yourself, as I know you wished to do, I trust that you will accept this as a humble gift from me. Someday, perhaps, you might read to me your favorite verses from it. [omitted] Ecthelion sends his best wishes for the season, and hopes that your mother may recover some strength with the sight of her son, as of course do I. With best wishes for the
new year, 11 Narvinyë 2975 Dear Thorongil, Having Imrahil home was wonderful; I cannot thank you enough for allowing it, and I hope what he hinted about his comrades being jealous of his special treatment is not true. He seemed so pleased overall with his accomplishments this past year, and especially that he stood on his own merits and did not trade on his name and blood for respect. It would be a shame if his love and loyalty to his mother were rewarded so. But I am sure that there is nothing you can do here, it is simply human nature. Mother was so overjoyed to see him that it almost seemed she was not ill - for a little while. Now that he is gone she withers daily, though physically more resilient than I or the healers would ever have imagined. Though two months ago they gave her only weeks to live, now they shrug their shoulders and will make no guesses. But she is in great pain, much of the time, and reluctant to take the syrup of poppy that they recommend for it. I can hardly bear to see her agony, yet what can I do else? Comfort me, my brother! I need your support... [omitted] Love, 11 Nénimë 2975 Dear Finduilas, You know you have my greatest sympathy and respect for your endurance of this trial. I speak with Imrahil on occasion, to try to give him encouragement, but he is reluctant to discuss the matter; I know not whether he fears that my notice will break his anonymity, or if he simply does not want to think of it. But it speaks well of you that you maintain your adherence to all your responsibilities; it is easy to do so when all else runs smooth, yet to do so in adversity shows true character. To that end I have another verse to send you. They that have the power to hurt and
will do none, You are no such lily, Finduilas, but a rose, upright and sturdy, perhaps a bit prickly at times but none the worse for that. I shall write again as soon as may be - I am called now to arms. With love, * This poem is translated from the anonymous late 12th century Latin work known as the Carmina Burana. The last verse is a personal favorite of mine, and it seemed like something Finduilas would have liked too. † This is another poem from the Carmina Burana. ‡ Yes, Thorongil is channeling William Shakespeare again. This is sonnet 94, with a word or two modified.
to be continued...
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