CHAPTER 43

Mistress Poppy dozed lightly at the foot of the patient’s bed. Viola sat in the large chair, watching over him, and studying the notes she had been taking on his illness. She knew her mistress would be quizzing her about some of the things she had observed.

There was a tap at the door, and Viola gave a start, and Mistress Poppy sat up instantly, conditioned by her many years as a healer to sleep only lightly. The door opened, and it was the King’s aunt, Lady Eormangilda. Viola had seen her only briefly, and thought her very imposing. There was another woman behind her, looking hesitantly over the lady’s shoulder.

The Lady looked at Mistress Poppy. “Mistress Poppy, this is Gertrude. She has some experience in watching over the ill and injured. If you will it, she shall stay here. Then you and your apprentice may go to your chambers, where baths have been prepared, so that you will be able to get ready for the feast tonight. The--menfolk--of your party, they have bathed and dressed already.”

Menfolk? Viola was puzzled, and glanced at her mistress, who simply shook her head briefly. Suddenly, Viola realized that Lady Eormangilda had meant the male hobbits of their company; she put a hand up to her mouth to suppress a giggle.

Mistress Poppy said to Lady Eormangilda “That is very thoughtful of you.” Then she looked at Gertrude. “Do you speak Westron?”

Gertrude gave a tiny bob of her head. “Yes, my lady holbytla, I so speak it a little.”

“Very well,” said Mistress Poppy. “It will be nice to have a real bath. Come along, Viola.”

Lady Eormangilda led them back down the staircase, and Viola was relieved to realize they would not be sleeping on an upper floor, as they had in Tharbad. She was quite impressed with the arrangements that had been made in the solar; apparently Mistress Poppy was pleased as well, for she was quite effusive in her thanks.

There was only a maidservant in the room. She was putting water into two copper tubs that seemed perfectly enormous to Viola.

And, oh bliss! The water smelled of lavender!

___________________________________________

Berilac took a deep draw of his pipe, and looked around him. He and the others had already bathed and dressed for the evening’s feast, and in order to leave the chamber free for Mistress Poppy and Viola, had come out to the front steps of Meduseld to enjoy their pipes. Gimli had joined them, although Legolas was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, Beri,” said Freddy at his elbow, “we are here at last. What do you think of it all so far?”

Beri looked out over the rooftops below--a rather dizzying sight for hobbits--and at the busy streets, narrow and cobbled. Bree had been much as he expected; he’d heard firsthand accounts of Bree from both his father and those of his uncles who had been there. While outwardly there were many similarities in the buildings and streets, Edoras seemed more open to the sky. It was windy--he’d had a time lighting his pipe, and even now the wind whipped through his hair and clothing more briskly than he was accustomed to.

He grinned at Freddy. “I scarcely know what to think,” he said.

Freddy shook his head, smiling. “It is a bit overwhelming. I’ve read many tales of Men and Elves, and I’ve listened to Merry, and the others since their return. And even our long talks with our Men on the journey here, still it’s quite different than I imagined. And the City of the High King where we shall head next is said to be even more imposing. I get the feeling from what we’ve been told, that it shall be so much grander than Edoras, as Edoras is grander than Bree.”

Mosco, who’d been standing silently at Freddy’s elbow, burst out “Mercy!”, his eyes wide.

Berilac took a deep breath. “Well, this is what we came for.” He meant more than just seeing the cities, of course, but the realization that they must return to the Shire and try to convey what they had seen and experienced to the rest of the Shire. How would they ever accomplish that? He glanced at Rolly and Denny, who were sitting a few steps down, talking to one another earnestly, and pointing out various sights to one another, and Jolly, who was talking to Gimli and laughing at something the Dwarf was telling him. All of them were changing by this journey.

“I’m beginning to understand a bit about Merry and Pippin and Frodo and Sam,” he said to Freddy. “I know that we’ll never begin to realize how difficult the dangers and horrors they went through were; but it’s not only the bad things they can’t really explain. It’s the good things as well. Can anyone who’s never been out of the Shire *ever* understand how big the world is?”

Freddy looked at him. “It will be our job to try and make them understand, not only how big it is, but how small it is as well.” He blew a smoke ring, and shook his head with a rueful smile.

“What do you mean?” asked Mosco, in a puzzled tone.

But Beri understood. “We see now how vast the world is, Mosco. But the Shire was affected by events that took place far from it, from here and even further away, in Gondor and…and Mordor” he added in a low tone, feeling even now that it was a word filled with dread. “That’s what Freddy means by ‘small’--it’s all connected, one way or the other.”

Mosco nodded thoughtfully. “I see…”

Suddenly Berilac had another thought, and laughed. “And just think, our Men are going to have to explain the *Shire*! Imagine that!

___________________________________________

It was lovely to be all clean again. Viola sat at the edge of the large bed, which had the legs cut down, so that her feet reached the floor, and brushed her curls thoughtfully, and contemplated what she was to wear.

She had only time, when they came away from the Shire, to make a brief visit to her home in Overhill. Her sister and aunt had been appalled at first at the idea that she would be leaving the Shire. After she had calmed her Aunt Rhody’s anger and Verbena’s tears, they had come to understand that she was doing what she needed to as Mistress Poppy’s apprentice.

And after she had talked them round, and explained where she would be going and what she would be doing, both of them had the same reaction:

“You will be meeting kings? What will you wear?”

Viola had to admit that she’d not thought of that. Most of her clothing was serviceable enough, sturdy linen and wool, bodices and skirts in practical colors such as green or brown. “I do have the gown I wore to the Ball,” she said.

“You will need more than one good dress, Viola, if you are to be among kings and queens,” said her sister.

“But I’ve no time to make new frocks!” she had exclaimed in dismay.

Aunt Rhody and Verbena had given one another sly smiles. “Leave that up to us, Viola dear,” said her aunt.

So Viola looked now at the lovely garments, taken from their wrappings among her baggage--there was the nice frock of pale green, given to her by Mistress Poppy when first she had arrived at the Great Smials--“for you never know when the Thain will want us to waste our time at a party”. That was the one she had worn to the Ball, where she had danced with Pippin. And two more, a high-waisted gown of rich blue, with a deep neckline trimmed in creamy lace, and a sash of an even darker blue. The dress had been ordered by a customer of Aunt Rhody’s, who had failed to pay for it when it was finished. It had needed only a little taking in at the shoulders to fit beautifully. It was very elegant and expensive, and Viola thought perhaps she should save it for when they got to Minas Tirith.

The last was a bodice and skirt of dark rose, with a blouse of white lawn. Her sister had embroidered the front panel of the bodice with a spray of Viola’s nameflowers. Viola felt a prick of homesickness, and wished she could see her sister. That was a dress Verbena had been making for herself, but she had finished it for Viola, staying up all through the night, the last night before Viola had left, to do the embroidery. Yes, that was what she would wear tonight.

She smiled over at her mistress, who had brought with her exactly two good dresses, differing only from her usual attire in being of somewhat finer material, and the fact that the blouse had a bit of lace at the sleeves and throat. That and the fact that the one she had chosen to wear this evening was of a rich wine color, rather than her usual dark green attire--and, like Viola’s bodice, it laced at the side, rather than the front. Mistress Poppy was grumbling and muttering as she struggled with the laces.

With an indulgent chuckle, Viola stood and went over to her. “Here, Mistress, let me help you with that…”

___________________________

Berilac and the others had gone into the Hall, where the tables were being set out for the Feast. As the other guests began to arrive, the hobbits clustered together, somewhat apprehensively.

It was with a collective sigh of relief that they noticed É othain approach, a young woman, whose pale hair was nearer to white than to yellow, on his arm. Beri noticed that though she was certainly tall enough, she was a good deal shorter than Éothain.

“My friends,” the Man said, grinning, “I would like you to meet my wife, Grissell.”

She greeted the hobbits graciously, in flawless Westron. Berilac found himself quite surprised. They had traveled with É othain for weeks, and never realized he was married!

Then Targon joined them, bringing with him another Man, an older Rohirrim whom Berilac had noticed in the King’s court earlier. He introduced him as Elfhelm.

The Man gave a grin on being introduced to Berilac. “So you are a cousin of our Holdwine?”

Beri chuckled. “Well, most of us are, to one degree or another. I’m somewhat closer in blood--we share the Brandybuck name, and are first cousins on our father’s sides.”

The Man laughed heartily, shaking his head. “You hobbits are so precise in figuring your kinships! We do not reckon ours to nearly the same degree! Perhaps when you see your cousin again, you will tell him that Elfhelm sends ‘Master Baggage’ his greetings!”

Berilac agreed with amusement, wondering what was behind the jest, but suddenly his attention was caught. Lady Eormangilda was leading Mistress Poppy and Viola into the Hall.

Beri was stunned. He’d known all along that Viola was a lovely lass, but tonight in her fine dress, and her glossy curls worn down, rather than out of the way for convenience’s sake--

She was looking around, and he suddenly realized she was looking for him. His heart gave a decided leap. “Excuse me,” he said distractedly, and headed in her direction.

_______________________________________

Viola was content. Someone--perhaps Mistress Poppy--had clued Lady Eormangilda in, and she had seated Viola and Berilac together at the High Table. She smiled to herself, remembering how he had quickly come to her side, as soon as they had entered.

Now she sat by him. On her other side was a large and jolly Man, whose name she could not now recall. Next to Berilac’s other side was Éothain and his wife, and to the other side of them was Fredegar, seated next to the King. The King was listening intently to Freddy, and laughed heartily at something Freddy said.

Berilac had been talking to Éothain during the meal, but Viola had been quiet, content to listen to him, and to watch him, and to enjoy the food, which had been excellent.

There had been much food--a good deal of it unfamiliar in form, but quite delicious nonetheless. There had been some sort of savory pottage, thick with barley; bread and butter; fresh trout, stuffed with herbs--Viola identified rosemary, sage and thyme; stewed quail, cooked with bacon, mushrooms, hazelnuts and garlic among other things; there had been a salad of fresh greens as well. And for afters they had brought out a lovely dish of berries and hazelnuts, topped with breadcrumbs and served with cream. All through the meal, their goblets had been kept filled with mead--a sort of wine made from honey, which Viola had never tasted before. It warmed her all over, and made her feel a bit flown. She hoped that she’d not overindulged--she was not used to wine.

Every once in a while, Beri would turn to her, and their eyes would lock, and Viola would find herself blushing.

Suddenly, there was a call for attention. A bard was stepping up before the High Table. He bowed, and said something to the King in Rohirric. Éomer King nodded. The bard raised his voice to address the room at large:

“For the sake of our guests from the land of the Shire, I will now proclaim this in their honor, the tale of how one of their own came to the aid of Rohan!

Hearken now and hear of the holbyltlan, little people out of legend,
Small in stature yet stout-hearted , they rode to the rescue of Rohan.
In the darkest of days, war was wont to loom upon the land;
Now from the North came Meriadoc Saradoc’s son, strong and sturdy.
For love of the lord of the land, Théoden, kind and kingly,
He promised and pledged his faith and fealty.
With Éowyn Éomund’s daughter who bore him to battle,
He followed his lord through death and destruction,
And with his sword-sister, shield-maiden most valiant,
He helped her to fell the foul dwimmerlaik with his blade bespelled
Striking the sorcerer to save his sword-sister
Upon the bloody battlefield before the great gates of Mundberg
In the last desperate defense of his liege and lord.
His sword shattered, his heart heavy with woe
To the side of his stricken sovreign he came to hear last hope
Théoden King, found him faithful, and breathed his last.
In deep despair and the clutches of the Black Breath
Forgotten and failing, footsore he trudged…"

Viola was caught up in hearing this tribute to Merry, as the tears welled up, all unknowing her hand sought Berilac’s. His hand closed about hers, though his own tears were falling at this tribute to his cousin. They listened to the bard tell of how, following those who bore Théoden and Éowyn off the battlefield he had become lost, sad and dying, until he was found by his kin Peregrin, and taken to the healing hands of the High King.

There was silence as the bard finished, and then Freddy rose, and made a toast, to all the Travellers. This was graciously returned by the King, and soon enough, the bard began to sing a somewhat more cheerful song, this one in Rohirric, which of course none of the hobbits could understand.

Beri let go of her hand, but not before giving her an unapologetic look. She blushed and took another sip of her mead.

Just then, Mistress Poppy came to collect her. “Come along, Viola dear! I think you have had as much wine as is good for you! We need to check on our patient, and then to make our way to bed. Good evening, Mr. Brandybuck!”

Beri chuckled, and told Viola good night, as she walked off with her mistress.