Chapter 18. Just Before Teatime

It was nearing teatime when Arwen found Elessar, sitting in a secluded corner of the Golden Hall, half-hidden behind a great carven pillar. ‘Estel?’ she said quietly, settling to the floor beside him. He raised his head, and she saw that he had not yet rested, and that worry gnawed at him.

 ‘How is Ferdibrand?’ he asked at once. ‘Have they been able to persuade him to eat?’

 ‘No,’ Arwen answered, shaking her head. ‘Not even his wife was able to place a cup to his lips; he struck out blindly when she tried to do so.’ Pimpernel, unmarked by the madman’s attentions, now bore a blackening bruise on her face from her husband’s hand.

 ‘We will have to try the athelas then,’ he said, dropping his gaze to the leaves he cradled. ‘I have but two leaves remaining; I had hoped to gain more when we reached Gondor.’

He pondered a moment, then began thinking aloud. ‘Merry is wounded in body and spirit; he shrinks from touch, turns away from song, and must force himself to eat and drink. He has lost all pleasure in the simple ways of hobbits.’ His eyes darkened. ‘He cannot very well resist dark thoughts, the memory of Shadow, in his present state.’

 ‘Yes,’ Arwen said encouragingly.

 ‘Pimpernel is in much the same straits,’ Elessar continued at last. ‘Though her body was not injured, her spirit is in tatters, her nerve is shattered and her only thought is to guard her husband from further harm.’

 ‘At least she is not buried in her own miseries,’ Arwen said.

Elessar shook his head. ‘She has hardly spoken to her children—have you seen? They crowd around her, seeking her touch, her voice, her attention, but she scarcely acknowledges their presence.’

Arwen nodded, tears coming to her eyes, and she had a sudden sharp desire to seek out her own youngest daughter, draw her into her lap, croon a song.

 ‘Pippin...’ Elessar said.

 ‘He is improving by the hour,’ Arwen said.

 ‘His memory is returning slowly,’ her husband answered. ‘I have hopes that athelas could quicken his healing. It distresses his children that he does not know them as they are, but remembers them as they were some years ago.’

 ‘And Ferdibrand...’ Arwen prompted, when her husband fell silent once more.

 ‘He’ll will himself to die if no one can reach him,’ Elessar said soberly. ‘He is lost, walking in the darkness of remembered evil.’ He sighed. ‘An ill choice lies before me... Ferdibrand’s is the most pressing need, yet we may lose Merry to the Shadow before more athelas can be gathered and sent here.’ 

 ‘The healers here...’ Arwen said.

Elessar shook his head. ‘I’ve asked for kingsfoil and athelas and all the other names I could think of. They have no reason to keep it here, for I’ve always carried it with me on visits. It does not grow here on the plain.’

 ‘Then...’ Arwen said. A smile bloomed upon her face. ‘But of course!’ she said.

 ‘What?’ Elessar answered, and she saw the hope stir within him.

 ‘Hobbits draw hope and courage from one another,’ Arwen said. ‘Why not...’ She saw that her husband was holding his breath, and reached out to place her hand over the leaves he cupped so carefully. ‘Why not bring them all together, use the athelas where all can have the benefit of it? Even the hobbits who were not injured by the madman have been affected by this.’ She felt his hands tremble beneath her fingers.

 ‘My Lady Undomiel,’ he said. ‘You never fail to meet my need.’

She kissed him tenderly and rose. ‘I will make the arrangements,’ she said. ‘Go, eat something, take some rest and renew your strength. I will send for you at sunset.’

***

Faramir Took reined in his pony, laughing. ‘You win again!’ he said. ‘It is hardly fair! There must be some trick to it!’

 ‘Your pony carries the greater weight,’ Goldi said smugly. ‘You’re taller than a hobbit ought to be, and you carry as much weight as a proper hobbit of your height ought to carry...’

 ‘If there were proper hobbits of my height, which there are not,’ Farry put in. Goldi had to stand on tiptoe to kiss him, though of course on ponyback the problem was not in height but in steering their ponies close enough together for lips to meet without leaning too far, overbalancing and ending on the ground. Practice made perfect.

 ‘...not to mention you’re carrying most of the baggage,’ she murmured when the kiss ended.

 ‘What do you have in your saddlebags?’ he said, sitting up straighter.

 ‘A few necessities,’ Goldi said. ‘All I needed. Laurel Bolger has fine taste in clothing, and we are of a similarity and can wear each other's clothes, so I’ll just play sister to her and borrow all her prettiest frocks whilst we’re visiting. When she tires of it, I’ll put on my travelling clothes and we’ll come back home. It’s like having all new clothes!’

 ‘Laurel’s?’ Farry asked, wrinkling his brow.

 ‘No, mine,’ Goldi said with a laugh, ‘for we’ll be there a week or two, and my clothes will seem new and fresh when we return to the Smials.’

 ‘You’re a devious one,’ Farry said.

 ‘You ought to be thanking me,’ Goldi said with a smirk, ‘for instead of fussing that I’m tired of my things and need a new set of dresses, the cost of which would make you stagger, I simply persuade you to take me visiting and...’

 ‘You are terribly rude,’ Farry pronounced. ‘Whatever do people say about us behind our backs?’

 ‘All sorts of awful things, I’m sure,’ Goldi said airily.

 ‘Sometimes you bring trunks full when we go visiting,’ Faramir said.

Goldi laughed again. ‘Some people have no taste in clothes,’ she said, ‘or no sense of humour. Laurel has both.’ She peered ahead. ‘I see the inn!’ she cried. ‘I’m famished, aren’t you? Let us eat up the last of the distance and settle to a delectable and substantial tea!’

 ‘Your least wish is my greatest desire,’ Faramir said, bowing his head.

 ‘Just so long as you remember that, we shall get on famously,’ Goldi quipped, and laughing together, the two rode on.