As ever, my sincere thanks to all who take the time to read this and especially to those who review. I hope you are still enjoying it. I love reading all your comments and responses, and all con crit is gratefully received. If I haven’t got round to editing old chapters yet it is down to time constraints and being a bear of little brain, but I will, I promise! So, please keep any corrections coming my way. Thanks. :)

Chapter 29 – “A Cold Dish”

Penny was late for her meeting with Erestor, but then the chimes from the bell on the Tower of Ecthelion confused the heck out of her, so it was perhaps to be expected.

The hours were counted from sunrise, thus seven chimes was seven hours since sunup and not ‘seven o’clock’ as Penny thought of it. She had made a mental note to stop counting the chimes by the end of her first full day in Minas Tirith since it involved too much effort to try and work out what the time probably would be in her own terms. Thus, when she had finished lunch she had no clue if it was coming up to the sixth, seventh or even the eight hour.

Actually, truth be told, she had been so involved with the chatter around her as she had finished eating that she had not even heard the hour sounded, much less remembered to count it out.

The reason for this was simple enough.

Some time after Eleniel and Penny had sat down for lunch, the group from the sparring areas had joined them, looking freshly groomed and in clean tunics. The subsequent conversation had started as inconsequential, but soon enough it had changed…

“Glorfindel, would you kindly stop smirking at me. I slipped, I tell you!”

“Of course you did, Rhimlath.”

Sniggering broke out from around him, and even Faramir coughed into his cup.

“Ah, yes, how did you find the sparring area?” Arvain had finished his meal and was just enjoying the last of his wine.

“Excellent,” Lindir replied. “A little full of gangly persons underfoot, perhaps, but…”

There was a roar of laughter and Rhimlath turned puce.

“I HAD understood it to be a standard bout of practice moves,” he spluttered furiously, “not an opportunity to lash out like some deranged maniac!” He glared at Glorfindel as he spoke.

“Always be prepared, Rhimlath,” Glorfindel retorted as if he were teaching some elfling the very basics of swordplay. “I have to say if that is how you respond to an orc attack, then…”

“Oh, so you admit you behaved no better than an orc?”

More spluttering, choking and stifled laughter from the warriors at the table at that.

“WHY YOU…!”

“Now, now,” Lindir intervened. “Glorfindel simply caught you offguard, Rhimlath. It could happen to the best of us.”

“It could?”

“I was being generous, Glorfindel.”

“Ah, of course.”

Rhimlath looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.

“I am glad this is so amusing to you, Lindir.”

“It is, actually, yes.”

“I would like to see how Glorfindel fares with a bow against me.”

Glorfindel made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“I do not need to accept such a challenge, Rhimlath, I have already made my point…”

“I SLIPPED!”

“Well, if it makes no difference to you either way, Glorfindel, why not accept his challenge?” Celebdor reasoned with a faint smirk on his face. “What is the worst that could happen?”

“I would not wish to humiliate Rhimlath twice in close succession, Celebdor.”

“Ah, now, Lord Glorfindel, I do think that may be over-stating it a little…” Faramir interjected politely, clearly feeling Rhimlath was being hard done by.

Rhimlath, however, just laughed.

“I think you forget I am a Galadhrim, Glorfindel. We fight from the trees – we are skilled archers.”

“Do you think I have had no time to learn how to draw a bow in all my years, Rhimlath?”

“Ah, but did you learn from amongst the best? From those who themselves learnt from Beleg Cuthalion himself?”

Glorfindel muttered something under his breath.

“What was that, Glorfindel?” Penny was enjoying this immensely.

“I believe he said that Beleg was not the only archer in Beleriand,” Lindir said.

Round about him everyone winced, even the Dunedain, but Lindir was smiling sweetly at Rhimlath as he spoke as if thoroughly looking forward to the inevitable explosion that would erupt as a consequence.

And sure enough, as if on cue…

So, perhaps it was understandable that, in the middle of Rhimlath telling Glorfindel in no uncertain terms what he thought of him and Glorfindel responding that ‘just for that he would accept his challenge and show him just how well a seasoned Noldo could wield a bow’, Penny forgot the time.

It was Halladan, sitting opposite her, who had been the one to gently point out that the seventh hour had already sounded.

“Were you not meant to be meeting Erestor?”

He had chuckled and grinned as Penny gasped, thanked him and then dashed off in a mad panic.

“Forgive me, Erestor,” she said, panting a little as she jogged up to him. “I had not realised the time.”

“Oh, the hour is not long past.” Erestor smiled, carefully closed the book he was reading and rose from the small bench. “Shall we?”

He led her off down to the Sixth Circle, then turning left towards the gate to the Fifth, and eventually up a set of steps to a small door set into the side of a very large building. The door opened into a small, dark vestibule with panelled walls and a wooden floor. There was a long, low bench along one wall and a wooden staircase that spiralled upwards.

“This way.”

Penny followed him up the staircase and then into a corridor, long and also wood panelled and dimly lit. All down one side were doors to various small rooms, and as they walked down it, Penny glanced into the few that were empty and had their doors ajar. In contrast to the corridor, these rooms had long, high windows to let in a lot of light. She could see benches and lecterns, inks and quills ranged ready, and some had huge and very ancient tomes left open on stands in front of the lecterns waiting to be copied.

“Ah, Lord Erestor!”

A man had stepped out into the corridor from a room near the far end and, on looking up and seeing them, came up to meet them. He was greying, had a slight stoop to his back, and small eyes that shone with warmth and sharp intelligence.

“I got your message and had wondered if you might arrive shortly. I was on my way down to the front door to await you. I take it this is your student with you, yes? A pleasure to meet… Oh.”

He had stepped towards Penny but now halted, taken aback as he realised she was not only female but human. He recovered himself well and smiled thinly, though not unkindly, inclining his head.

“Well met, my dear. I had no idea… I mean, I had assumed that… But no matter, no matter.” He threw one last curious glance at Penny as he turned back to Erestor.

“Lady Pen-ii has a great interest in history and learning, and particularly in the history of Gondor and Minas Tirith, and all the peoples related to it. I thought who better than your good self, Master Istdor, to answer all her questions.”

The librarian’s face lit up.

“Oh, but of course, Lord Erestor! I would be delighted. Come this way, Lady Pen-ii was it? Yes, yes, please, do follow me.”

“I will leave you in Istdor’s capable hands,” Erestor said as he turned to go.

Istdor was already bustling off down the corridor.

“Oh, ah, right. You are not…?”

“No, no, I have matters I need to attend to. Istdor will take care of you. Do not let him bore you – if you feel you have had enough just say so.”

Penny wondered if that was some sort of warning. Just what had she let herself in for?

Istdor had finally realised Penny was not glued to his side and had turned back to them, an expectant and slightly impatient look on his face.

“Go,” Erestor gestured down the corridor, a reassuring look on his face. “Trust me, you will learn much from him that I know you will find endlessly fascinating.” He was grinning.

“Thank you.” Penny steeled her resolve, smiled at Istdor and headed off down the corridor towards him. The moment he saw she was finally moving, he did not wait but disappeared round a corner. Penny sped up to catch up, leaving Erestor watching and chuckling slightly before he turned to leave back the way they had just come.

Istdor walked fast, and talked incessantly. He asked many questions of Penny at first, some of which she was able to answer, but others were so quickly superseded by others that she had no chance at all. It seemed something of her story had preceded her. Istdor had immediately realised she ‘must be the woman who had travelled south with the elves,’ apparently, and in so saying made Penny realise just how much she stood out to the locals.

She had little chance to dwell on it, though, since Istdor had moved on from that to asking her about Erestor and his tuition. He seemed impressed, if clearly slightly surprised, that a mortal female should be learning or interested in doing so.

“Well, your Sindarin is most impressive, I must say. A slight elvish accent to it, mark you, but that is to be expected, and given it is an elvish language by origin, that is no bad thing, no bad thing at all. Gives it a certain class and quality, I think, do you not agree?”

Meanwhile he was leading her down a large staircase, talking all the while, explaining when the library had been built, which families had donated what moneys towards the financing of it, and what sort of books it contained.

“We are quite proud of our collection.”

And Penny did not blame him in the least. Books on all sorts of subjects from all sorts of cultures had been collected over centuries, then painstakingly translated into Sindarin or Westron and were kept housed in various rooms and vaults within the library building.

“This is the larger reading room,” he said at last, opening a door into a small hall with tall windows high up in the far wall. A row of shelves lined with thick, aged tomes were set at right angles all along one wall and the rest of the room was filled with benches at long low tables and a few individual desks and chairs. There were only two people reading, but they were both ellyn, Penny noted.

“I see some of my companions are taking advantage of your lore.”

“Ah yes.” Istdor laughed as he replied. “Yes, yes, we have already had much interest in what books we have here. Of course, I do not doubt that with memories as long as theirs they can better remember what we have here in black and white…”

Something in his tone made Penny look at him closely. Had someone ruffled his feathers?

As he led her down the hall towards the far end, they passed by an elf Penny recognised as a Galadhrim.

“Ah, Istdor, I wanted to have a word with you about this History of Doriath. I think you will find there are a few errors in regard to some of the blade names borne by the guards of the Western Marches…”

“Indeed? How gratifying. Please do make a note, and I shall be back presently to learn all you can correct me on.”

Penny did everything she could to suppress the smirk. She suddenly felt terribly sorry for Istdor. They must be driving him crazy. She wondered if Rhimlath had found out about this place yet. She also wondered what sort of state Istdor would be in after two weeks of that kind of ‘helpful criticism.’

“It is a great benefit having such founts of knowledge here among us,” Istdor muttered conspiratorially to Penny, “but I do fear they will leave us with much work to be done once they have left.”

“They are only trying to be helpful, I am sure,” Penny replied diplomatically.

“Oh, indeed, indeed! Yes, yes, quite, quite. I am not complaining, no, no, not by any means. It is fascinating to meet so many elves in the flesh, truly it is: all that history and knowledge… I am quite taken by them all, I must admit, and I would learn as much as I can from them whilst they are here.”

Which admission kick-started him into a million and one questions once more, this time about her impressions of the elves, of Imladris, of Lothlorien and anything else Istdor could think of that he wanted to know about.

Eventually he reached a section of bookshelves and explained these were a few basic histories of Gondor.

“You are welcome to read through any you wish. They are all in Sindarin, so you should have no problems with the language. It may be there will be a few grammatical differences perhaps between our usage and the purer form used by the elves, but not enough that it will cause you problems, I should have thought. Of course, it is a subject dear to my own heart, so I will be happy to answer any questions you may have, but for now, if you will excuse me, I must just go and see what ‘errors’ are apparently in that book on Doriath…”

And he hurried back up the room to the waiting ellon.

Penny was in her element. The Tolkien-nerd in her was busy jumping up and down with wild abandon. She was having great difficulty suppressing a shit-eating grin. She would have to hug Erestor when she next saw him, she decided.

She picked out the first tome she came across and, taking it to the table and opening it at random, she found herself in the middle of the detailed life story of King Tarannon, husband of the infamous Queen Beruthial.

“Fantastic!” she breathed.

She did not get much opportunity to read, though, since Istdor was back in an hour, offering to give her a guided tour of the rest of the library.

“Or all of it that is generally open to most students of lore, at least.”

Penny wondered what would be completely off-limits, but did not get a chance to ask as Istdor carried on talking.

“Very delicate and ancient texts or parchments are stored elsewhere, as well as some that do not bear regular use.”

‘Do not bear regular use’? What did that mean? There was something heavily implied in that phrase but, for the first time since she had met him, Istdor seemed tight lipped. Penny made a mental note to try and make discreet inquiries of Gandalf, though she now had visions of books in Black Speech or tomes full of pornographic etchings squirreled away somewhere. Either possibility seemed a tad alarming, frankly.

Istdor’s tour was nothing if not comprehensive. He showed her the copying rooms and explained the process by which old books were carefully copied out, page by page, some with astonishingly beautiful illustrations. He showed her the smaller workrooms on the ground floor where the smell of leather and glue lay heavy in the air as books were rebound or newly copied books bound for the first time. He even introduced her to one or two of the scribes hard at their work with ink-stained fingers and a similarly bookish, intelligent look about the eyes as Istdor’s. One had a fairly rudimentary set of ‘pince-nez’ which Penny could not help but stare at – it was the first time she had seen anything resembling a pair of glasses since she had arrived in Middle-earth.

“Oh, these are a most intriguing invention,” Istdor was explaining, presuming she was staring because, being a strange foreigner, she could not have any idea what they were, “the glass… you see the glass here, how it is shaped and rounded? Well, the glass, when you place it against the eye helps someone with poor sight to see better.”

“Yes, we have things like this in my society.”

“Oh. Do you?” Istdor seemed really quite deflated to hear this.

“But not as beautiful as these,” Penny added quickly, noting the silver frame and the delicate silver chain attached to them.

Istdor beamed.

As the tour continued, Istdor seemed equally pleased with Penny’s genuine interest in everything he was telling her. Her many questions were answered with great enthusiasm and a bewildering amount of detail.

He was like a human Rhimlath.

“Ah, but I must be boring you, my dear.”

“Not at all. But do you not have work to do? Important cataloguing or copying to oversee or attend to?”

“Well, yes… but I am glad to have been able to teach a little of our culture and history to one so eager to learn. It is something of a novelty, especially given you are a woman.”

Penny bit her tongue.

“Have you seen the rest of the city yet? You seem so interested in Gondor’s past that really you need to have someone who can explain in detail the significance of various districts, the way certain areas are constructed and the like.”

Penny beamed. “Are you offering to show me round the city, Master Istdor? I would be honoured! Truly!”

“Oh, well, ah, now…” Istdor, a man nearly old enough to be Penny’s grandfather, seemed slightly embarrassed at such an effusive response. “I am glad that it would interest you.”

“Very much! I do not want to take up your precious time, though.”

“Oh, no, no, think nothing of it.” Indeed, as he had said, Istdor seemed only too happy to have a willing audience.

He left her back in the reading room. There she immersed herself in the details of Kings and Queens of yore once more until a gentle voice roused her from reading about the Battle of the Dagorlad from the Gondorian point of view. It was Istdor pointing out that it would soon be time for supper.

“May I walk you up to the Seventh Circle, Lady Pen-ii?”

She thanked him, put her book back on the shelf where she had found it (little leather markers were left in a box at one end of a bookcase for you to place where you had taken the book from while you had it with you at the table), and then dutifully followed him back through the maze of corridors.

As they made their way up the street, Istdor pointed out things of note, explaining heraldic symbols carved above doorframes, what centuries or fashions were denoted in the shapes of windows or the style of brickwork, or else what families of note lived where and what their ancestors had gone down in history doing. Indeed, by the time they reached the courtyard with the White Tree, he was in full flow, so much so that Penny had to cough discreetly and gently take him by the arm since he seemed to have forgotten about supper entirely.

“Oh, ah, yes, of course, of course. Yes, yes, do carry on…”

As they entered the Hall of Feasts Penny paused, scanning the room quickly to see if she could see… Ah, yes. Perfect!

“Master Istdor, there is someone I must introduce you to.”

Penny headed over to the far side of the Hall where a small group of elves and Dunedain had just settled themselves at the far end of a table.

“Ah, Pen-ii!” Rhimlath looked up from across the table and spotted her. “Where have you been all afternoon?”

“The library. Erestor took me. It’s the most wonderful place!”

The elves smiled approvingly, the Dunedain looked pleasantly surprised and the few Gondorians within earshot looked astonished or amused. Istdor hovered next to Penny, smiling at the Dunedain he already knew.

“Do, please, take a seat, Master Istdor. You are most welcome.” Halladan, seated to Rhimlath’s left, smiled and gestured to the space opposite him between Lindir and Celebdor.

Penny seated herself on the other side of Lindir and introduced Istdor to those he did not already know as she did so.

“And this, Master Istdor,” she said at last, “is Lord Rhimlath. I think the two of you will get along famously. Lord Rhimlath is a great lover of lore and history, so you will learn much from him, especially regarding Lothlorien which is where he hails from.” Istdor seemed very pleased to hear this and smiled broadly at Rhimlath as Penny continued. “Master Istdor is in charge of the library here in Minas Tirith, Rhimlath. He has extensive knowledge of Gondorian history as well as access to an extraordinary number of books from far and wide and collected over what even you would call ‘a long period of time.’”

Rhimlath looked nearly as pleased to meet Istdor as Istdor did to meet him. Indeed, almost immediately the two fell into a deep conversation asking umpteen questions of the other. Fairly soon, however, it settled itself into mostly a sort of impromptu lecture by Rhimlath to a one-person audience, with Istdor barely touching his food as he listened with rapt attention, hanging off Rhimlath’s every word. Very occasionally Istdor would respond with a very lengthy and tedious question, or pick up a point Rhimlath had made about Lothlorien history and compare to some equally obscure and esoteric aspect of Gondorian culture. The pair seemed to be absolutely in their element and as happy as Larry.

Penny felt quite pleased with herself.

Lindir, sitting opposite one and next to the other, seemed less impressed, however. Indeed, he seemed to be eating as fast as possible so as to make a bid for freedom at the earliest opportunity. Once done, he refused a top-up of wine and pushed his plate forward, making as if to rise from his seat with a muttered apology.

“Oh, are you leaving?”

“Er, yes, Pen-ii, there is something… I have to… I am sure that Erestor mentioned that…”

“Oh, but you must not leave just yet. Master Istdor? Forgive me interrupting, Rhimlath, but I feel Master Istdor would be most interested to learn who he is sitting next to.”

Lindir froze, looking at Penny in horror.

“Oh, but of course! Yes, indeed, how remiss of us, Pen-ii.” Penny’s prompt had been all the encouragement Rhimlath needed. “Lindir is amongst the most famous writers of epic ballads and songs still resident here in Middle-earth, Istdor. I feel sure you will find him more than willing to discuss his pieces and the detailed history upon which they are based. Not only that but as a resident of Imladris, he will be able to give you some idea of life there which is, of course, a little different to Lothlorien.”

“A writer of songs!” Istdor turned to Lindir, beaming broadly. “Oh, but this is too wonderful! Over many years I have been trying to make a collection of great epic ballads, as I was telling Lady Pen-ii earlier…”

Lindir flashed Penny a furious glance. She adopted her best innocent expression and smiled brightly back at him.

“…it may well be I have collected one or two of yours, Lord Lindir, without even realising it! Ah, what a thrill it would be if that were the case, would you not agree? I absolutely insist you let me learn as much from you as possible while you are here. I must write down as many of them as you care to recite so that they may be recorded for future generations of Gondorians to enjoy…”

“Oh, I am sure Lindir would thoroughly enjoy that,” Rhimlath answered for his friend, clearly oblivious to the fact that Lindir would have thoroughly enjoyed anything but. “He is a dear friend of mine, and I am sure he would not mind me saying this, but some of his ballads on the great battles in the north, against the Witchking and the like, are sung even in Valinor itself.”

Istdor’s eyes opened wide in admiration. “Oh,” he breathed quietly, looking at Lindir in near reverence. “You really must allow me to copy those down, my lord….”

“But of course,” Lindir replied, through gritted teeth, forcing himself to smile politely. “I would be delighted.”

“Splendid, splendid!” Rhimlath seemed terribly pleased that Lindir was so willing to humour his new friend. “We should make a start right away. There is much to be done, but in the meantime, why not tell Istdor here a little of life in Imladris?”

“I will leave you, if you do not mind,” Penny said, rising from her seat. Lindir turned in his seat.

“No, no, please do stay,” he urged, his eyes narrowed. “After all, it was you who introduced us to-”

“I am afraid I cannot, Lindir,” Penny replied as quick as flash, smiling serenely. “I said I would seek Lady Meresel out after supper, and I do believe I have just seen her making her way out into the courtyard. Besides, Istdor has had enough of my company for one day, I am sure. Thank you, Master Istdor, for today. I shall look forward to my tour of the city. In fact, why don’t you join us, Lindir?”

Lindir stared at her in shock before wheeling in his seat to splutter at Istdor.

“Well, I, er…”

“Oh, yes, you must, Lord Lindir. I think you will find it particularly interesting. You also, Lord Rhimlath.”

“But of course,” Rhimlath replied. “Lindir and I accept your offer gladly.”

Lindir blinked, looking not unlike a rabbit caught in headlights, while Penny left the table with an unmistakable smirk on her face.

Understandably enough, perhaps, no one else stayed at the table either to keep Lindir company and listen to any more of Istdor and Rhimlath outdoing each other in academic verbosity. Poor Lindir was stuck there, marooned and fuming, thanks to Penny counting on his innate good manners and affability.

She glanced back at the three to see Istdor giving chapter and verse about who knew what.

She sniggered.

“Pen-ii?” Celebdor shot her a curious glance.

“I said I would get him back for Lothlorien, let alone the umpteen other occasions he’s caught me out, did I not?”

Halladan, Arvain and Celebdor looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

As they stepped outside, they found that dusk was drawing in but it was still warm, though there was a pleasant breeze this high up in the city that meant it was not uncomfortably so. Penny spotted Eleniel, Meresel and Mireth and went off to join them, leaving the three males still chuckling and sniggering at the top of the steps.

“Ah, I have to say Lindir has only himself to blame,” Celebdor said, laughingly. “She has warned him for many weeks now.”

“Well, from what Father told us she was never a woman to be under-estimated in that respect. ‘Strong-willed’, I think was his description.”

“That was one of the more polite terms, brother,” Arvain sniggered.

“Ah, well, yes…” Halladan looked a little embarrassed at admitting such a thing in front of Celebdor.

“Oh, I would not fear,” Celebdor said, slapping Halladan on the back. “Your father said as much to us back in Imladris at the time. Would have said it to her face more than once, I do not doubt, if she had understood him.”

“Oh, I believe he did on several occasions during their journey alone together,” Halladan replied, now laughing in his turn.

“Where is she?”

The three turned to see Lindir behind him, looking if not furious, then certainly not his usual, happy-go-lucky self.

“Now, Lindir, you have to admit she has given you fair warning that she would...”

“I just wish to congratulate the little minx on a hand well played, Celebdor.” Then he spotted her. “Ah, Pen-ii.” He started off down the steps towards her. “No, do not try and hide behind Mireth… I want to have a word with you…!”

“There you are, Lindir! Where are you rushing off to? No, no, this way. Istdor wants to introduce us to some of his students, including one who shares his love of ballads. They may know some you would be interested in hearing…”

Rhimlath dragged him back inside.

“Tell her I will find her later and give her a piece of my mind,” Lindir muttered to Celebdor as he left.

“I would start running now if I were you,” Celebdor shouted down to Penny, grinning hugely.

Penny then had to explain what had occurred at Eleniel’s insistence. She and Mireth were giggling hysterically, especially after Meresel said she felt sorry for Lindir.

“Well, if he is anything like Rhimlath…” Eleniel began.

“Oh, he is,” Penny interrupted, “He is like a mortal version.”

Mireth’s eyes opened wide in horror before she collapsed into hysterics. “Ai, poor Lindir!”

“Be fair, Mireth,” Penny replied. “You enjoyed Rhimlath’s tours of Lothlorien as much as I did. And I feel sure Istdor’s tours of Minas Tirith will be just as fascinating.”

“Yes, that is a fair point,” Mireth conceded. “I still do not think Lindir will appreciate it.”

“Tough,” Penny replied. They started laughing again.

“I have to say I do think it rather unkind to use Master Istdor in such a way for some personal joke.” This was said in Westron.

“That is not what happened, Sidhwen, and you know it.”

“Do I? Forgive me, Meresel, if I have misunderstood. After all my Sindarin is not fluent, as you know. It is a shame we cannot converse in Westron, but then Lady Pen-ii’s Westron is limited, of course.”

“Why don’t you go and see if the minstrels plan on playing any dances,” Meresel suggested, her tone kind and friendly. “Lord Arvain looks most bored there on top of the stairs. I am sure if you asked him nicely, he would have a turn or two with you on the floor.”

Sidhwen tried to look as if she did not realise that Meresel was just trying to get rid of her.

“Do you plan on going back to the library?” she asked Penny, still speaking in Westron quite deliberately. Meresel translated.

“Oh, yes. Library very good.”

Sidhwen raised an eyebrow. However, several other ladies-in-waiting were murmuring things about perhaps paying a visit or badgering their brothers to lend them some books. Sidhwen, hearing such comments, made a noise expressing both annoyance and disgust and finally took up Meresel’s suggestion. She took several of her friends with her, collecting Arvain en route, as she headed back into the Hall.

Meresel, Penny was pleased to learn, turned out to be a charming woman. Kindly, warm, witty and quietly spoken. She began explaining to Penny some of the intricacies of courtly life and the characters therein.

“And he got married far too young to a rather unattractive but very nice woman who has a lot of land south of the city, but we all know where his heart truly lay. Alas it was not to be, but it does mean he and the man his true love married have never really seen eye to eye. There was a scandalous incident some years back when they had both had a little too much to drink at a wedding feast and nearly came to blows.”

“Oh, yes, I remember that,” someone interjected. “It was Lord Boromir who stepped in to separate them, was it not?”

“Yes, indeed.” Meresel sighed. “It’s their wives I feel sorry for.”

For all the bitching and sniping that went on, there was also a clear sense of camaraderie amongst many of the ladies of Gondor. The War had helped, so Penny, Mireth and Eleniel were told. Several women had stayed behind to help in the Houses of Healing, whether as nurses or simply to provide food, provisions or even just company to the wounded and dying.

“Of course, some would not have demeaned themselves to such menial labour,” Meresel added, naming no names but clearly with a few in mind. “So it was perhaps no bad thing that those were among the women who had followed Lord Denethor’s edict and fled south for safety. No one forced those of us who remained to help, but once we did, it was only right and just that we should all do what little we could, no matter our upbringing or status. I for one was glad to do what I could, whether it was chopping up vegetables for a healthy broth for those invalided, or simply reading out loud to those who were bedridden to help keep their minds off their woes.”

She went on to explain briefly that her children had left the city with her mother to stay with relatives near Dol Amroth while her husband had been in the stand in Osgiliath, returning in the terrifying rout led by Faramir.

“I am not sure which would have been worse – to have been far away not knowing how he fared, or to stay as I did and then know full well the horror he faced with every passing minute during the siege.”

He had gone on to fight bravely on the Pelennor and in front of the Black Gate, and was one of the few who had survived relatively unscathed… physically at least. He was, though, not quite the same man he had once been, so Meresel confessed quietly - more withdrawn and at times quite sad.

Meresel also introduced Penny to several ladies of the court whom she described as ‘good friends’. Several were a fair bit older than she, and one was her mother (a matronly figure with a deceptively haughty expression who Penny took to instantly when she made a passing comment on seeing Sidhwen dragging Arvain around the Hall for a dance along the lines of how she felt sorry for Arvain being ‘badgered incessantly by that idiotic girl’).

Eleniel had been proved right: Penny did like Meresel, and it seemed it was mutual.

Throughout the evening there was already much talk about the upcoming fete and more than once Sidhwen could be heard declaring loudly to anyone who would listen that for ‘a low event for the average commoner it should provide some meagre entertainment,’ but most people ignored her.

When Penny told Meresel that Faramir had persuaded the elves to show some of their archery skill, Meresel declared that that would be nearly as entertaining to watch as the wrestling.

“I used to enjoy it as a young girl. Of course now I am a grown woman, and married to a noble at that, it is not wholly appropriate, but my husband’s young cousin will no doubt take a turn so I will see that bout at least.”

Penny blinked.

“Wrestling?” (She had had to have the word explained to her).

“Do you think some of the ellyn will get involved? I am sure some of the Dunedain might, even if some of our nobles disapprove. The men from the North seem much more at ease with different levels of society which is no bad thing in my book…”

Penny had a very hard time keeping images of Rhimlath or Faelon dressed in nothing but very tight, 'up-to-the-waist,' 50’s-style underpants, a pair of lace-up boots and brightly coloured gimp masks out of her head. She had to bite her cheeks to stop a fit of the giggles. She was sure that was certainly NOT the Gondorian idea of a wrestling match. No, it would be serious stuff. For a brief moment she thought of Olympic bouts she had seen and then had image of Rhimlath in an all-in-one lycra bodysuit.

NOT good.

Penny spluttered into her cup of wine, earning a strange look for those round her. She tried covering the laughter with a coughing fit.

Author’s note:

Yes, authorial/poetic licence in the ‘pince-nez’, but I consider they would be terribly basic and not much use if you were very, very short-sighted. Consider, also, that Bilbo has a clock on his mantelpiece – thus some flights of fancy in terms of technical ability is allowed in Middle-earth on occasion (or at least – that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it). ;)

Please also be advised I have reworded the author's note at the end of the last chapter since I think I expressed myself badly - my apologies.