Chapter 30 – “The Madding Crowd”

Lindir managed to catch up with her in the end. Admittedly, it took him most of the evening to do it, what with Istdor attached to him like a limpet or else Penny hurriedly steaming off in the opposite direction if ever she saw him coming, but at last he managed to escape ‘the Istdor and Rhimlath double-act’ and corner Penny between Gandalf and Arvain.

“You! You are a cunning, tricksy madam!”

“I shall take that as a compliment coming from you, shall I, Lindir?”

“What? No!”

“Ah, yes, I heard you introduced Istdor and Rhimlath, Pen-ii,” Gandalf interrupted. “Are you sure that was entirely wise?”

“If I had not, then I am sure Erestor would have done soon enough. Or else the moment Rhimlath found out about the library, he would have gone round there and introduced himself.”

“Ah, yes, most probably.” Gandalf chuckled into his wine, sharing a grin with Arvain.

“Yes, and now I have to put up with the pair of them prattling at each other about what shape chisels were used to carve the flowers in this hall’s roof beams, or exactly how many orcs were at the Dagorlad to the nearest half dozen (about which point there was a good hour long discussion, might I add)…”

He glared at Penny as he said this, making it clear that he had not particularly enjoyed being party to such anal retentiveness.

“And was the matter decided once and for all?” Penny asked serenely. “After all I would assume that Rhimlath, given he fought in that battle, would know…”

“Ah, but you see, some weighty and well-respected tome covered in dust in Istdor’s library insists that it was one number, and Rhimlath is equally adamant that it was another. There is a very polite debate still going,” he gestured behind him vaguely, “as to the accuracy of mortal and immortal chroniclers.”

Penny tried not to laugh. It was not helped by her catching Gandalf’s eye, since even though he raised an eyebrow at her, she could see the hint of a smile on his face.

“But such things matter to the historian, Lindir,” said Arvain, looking terribly earnest and straight-faced for a moment. “I mean, one thousand orcs or one thousand and one? That is a very serious question. It makes all the difference, you know.” He winked at Penny, and they both started laughing.

“It may be a serious question to the historian, Arvain, but Elrond looked less than impressed when Rhimlath grabbed hold of him and dragged him into the conversation just now, though it did at least give me the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. Not only that, but I now have to spend days of my time here recounting every song I have ever written and explain my process in minute detail!”

“Oh, Lindir, I am sure you are actually terribly flattered to have someone of Master Istdor’s learning and intelligence showing such an interest in your skill and artistry,” Penny protested. “Your songs are rightly famous even amongst the noblest of elves, so what can it hurt for a mortal to show some appreciation of your work?”

Lindir looked suitably mollified by that.

“Besides,” she continued, “I did not intend for it to happen, really I did not. My main objective was to introduce Rhimlath to a fellow lover of lore. You just… well, you just happened to be sitting in the middle of it all, and it was too perfect an opportunity to miss because I knew it would annoy you.”

She looked at him, trying to suppress a grin.

“I will get you for this,” he muttered.

“Ah, now, Lindir,” Arvain remonstrated, “from what I understand, Pen-ii was only retaliating for various things you and Celebdor have put her through all the way down.”

“Oh, she gives as good as she gets, Arvain, trust me!”

“Does she now?” Gandalf raised an eyebrow.

“There are limits, Gandalf, I assure you,” Penny replied. “I for one would never dye a certain balrog slayer’s hair green, for example.”

“Quite,” Gandalf replied, smooth as you like and ignoring Lindir’s spluttered protests of innocence. “Master Istdor is a mine of useful information. Even as a boy he showed great promise with a quick brain and an ability to retain huge amounts of information. Of course his father was a scribe and became Chief Librarian in his time, so it was perhaps to be expected. He is a kindly soul, gentle, but understands more than might at first appear. He does not miss much and is a ‘wise old bird,’ as they say. Having the likes of these elves around, rifling through his collection and correcting every other sentence in them, will be a sore trial for him, I expect, but he will bear it with much patience and grace, I do not doubt.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lindir looked most affronted on his race’s behalf. “A sore trial?”

“Indeed,” Arvain said, grinning broadly. “Such are the hardships we mortals must bear when in such august company as yours. Elves are noble, tall, have lived many years and they never forget.” He paused. “Much like oliphaunts, now I think of it.”

“I beg your pardon!” Lindir looked furiously at Arvain as he and Penny collapsed into hysterics.

“Now, now, Arvain,” Gandalf chided. He was trying to look severe but completely failing to hide the smirk.

“Well, I like Istdor immensely,” Penny interrupted even as Lindir opened his mouth to start ranting at Arvain. “And you have to admit, Lindir, if you can put up with Rhimlath and consider him a good friend, then…”

“True,” Lindir admitted. “Master Istdor is nothing if not well-meant and perfectly pleasant.”

“Just occasionally long-winded, often absent-minded, and unfailingly obsessed with minutiae,” Gandalf finished for him. “But then,” he added, glancing knowingly in Penny’s direction, “That is not always a bad thing.”

His eyes twinkled slightly as he said it, and Penny, though she said nothing, grinned back and agreed with him absolutely.

“That reminds me. Gandalf, what would Master Istdor have been referring to when he spoke about some books in the library that were hidden away and ‘did not bear regular use’?”

Gandalf’s face became dark.

“Ah, right. Forget I asked. I did wonder if that was one possibility.”

“Why? What did you think the other possibilities would be?”

“Er… Oh, look, there is Mireth. Would you excuse me?” Penny hurried off as fast as she could, hoping she was not blushing too furiously.

Behind her, Arvain took one look at Gandalf’s and Lindir’s astonished expressions and roared with laughter.

The following day was not terribly remarkable, perhaps, but Penny had more than enough to distract her. She made another trip to the library in the morning and found Rhimlath already there, perusing the tomes with a fine tooth comb looking for ‘unfortunate errors’ that he was only too pleased to point out. He told her with some pride that Istdor had made arrangements for him to sit with a scribe for an hour or so a day so that he could leave his knowledge on Lothlorien’s history for future generations of Gondorians to enjoy.

“Of course, it is entirely understandable that he should ask such a thing of me. The few tomes I have looked through regarding Lothlorien here are woefully inadequate, and there is almost no other elf who knows the detailed lore of our people as well as I do.”

“Has he asked Lord Celeborn or Lady Galadriel to share their knowledge of Lothlorien?” Penny asked.

It had been a genuine question but it had the added (if unintentional) bonus of flummoxing Rhimlath completely. He muttered something about ‘well, of course, I would not dare to presume… I did not mean to suggest that I… they should not be troubled by mere mortal whims and I am only too happy, in their stead, to um …’ and then hurriedly made his way back to the bookshelves with a faintly embarrassed cough.

After lunch, Meresel, accompanied by Eleniel and one or two other ladies of Gondor, showed Penny round the royal apartments (or at least the Queen’s royal apartments and those open to the court as a whole). Arwen told Penny she should spend more time with them all.

“Come and practice some of your sewing,” she said. “There is often an hour or two in the afternoons when we are all together, talking and gossiping. I am learning much about the city and its people from the ladies at court.”

“And about the ladies themselves,” Eleniel murmured into Penny’s ear.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the company of the hobbits as they recounted some of their adventures to her.

At breakfast that morning she had let slip that she missed her cups of tea. She had had no opportunity since her arrival in the city to make it herself as yet and felt too shy to start ordering servants about and ask for boiling water herself. Frodo, of course, had overheard and with a cry of delight had translated to the other three who eagerly demanded to know if it was true: did she really have some tea with her?

“Yes, of course. Bilba insisted I bring some with me as well as a teapot and strainer.”

“Ah, good old Bilba!” Frodo had laughed. “In which case, you must bring some with you when you join us for afternoon tea. We have called it that even though we have had no tea to drink with our cakes and sandwiches. Indeed, I meant to say to you yesterday that you should join us, but I forgot at lunch and then there was no sign of you all afternoon.”

So it was she found herself in an antechamber with the hobbits in the mid-afternoon, with the sun streaming in through a large window at one end and making the tiles in the intricately designed floor shine brightly.

Apparently they had at first been offered some sumptuous rooms for this daily ritual at Durion’s insistence, but they had been equally adamant that being surrounded by so much gilding, brocade and finery was not conducive to good digestion.

“We are a simple folk,” Frodo had apparently told him. “We appreciate the sentiment, Master Durion, truly we do, but a plain room with chairs enough for ourselves and the few as may join us is all that we require.”

Even so, Penny suspected this was far from being the plainest room available. No doubt it served as a happy compromise. The walls were plastered and half-panelled with a dark wood. There was a tapestry on one wall and a fireplace opposite. Chairs with padded seats were ranged about, some near the fireplace, and a large table below the tapestry where the trays brought from the kitchens were placed, laden with cakes, fruit, bread, jam, fruit juice and milk. Pippin only managed to join them every other day but they always saved him something from their meal.

The tapestry itself showed a fair maiden wandering through rolling green fields and flower strewn meadows with woods in the distance and cottages in the foreground. Penny wondered if someone had picked this room with this particular scene in it especially since it was probably the nearest thing to a scene from the Shire as could have been found (bar the fact that the cottages were above ground, of course, and the maiden was no hobbit lass).

She had brought the tea, as promised, and soon enough a huge pot of it had been made. The hobbits were savouring their cups of it with happy sighs and contented smiles as if it were a rarefied wine. Merry declared that it was nearly as good a moment as when he and Pippin had come across the Longbottom Leaf floating about in Isengard, and in so saying kick-started the topic of conversation.

It was a very strange sensation for Penny to hear this story she knew so well (and knew from the hobbits’ point of view, no less) told from the horse’s mouth so to speak. It was wonderful and a little unnerving in many ways, though it was a relief to know that any indication she let slip of prior knowledge of the tale they told would not be considered strange since just about the entire world, his wife and his dog knew the intimate details of their stories by now (aside from the inhabitants of the Shire, that was).

The most unnerving moments came when certain bits of the story were skirted over, or else told by others on someone else’s behalf.

Thus Merry and Pippin did not relate what they had gone through at the hands of the uruk-hai, let alone the terror and horror of it, and jumped from Amon Hen to Fangorn quite quickly, though Sam and Frodo both commented on how horrible it must have been and how brave they were to keep their heads and find a way out of it.

Nor did they speak overly long of Boromir’s fall. Frodo did not translate Sam’s murmured comment of ‘And she was rather taken with him too, was she not?’ but Penny did wonder at the sad, sympathetic looks all four gave her at that point.

Merry did not speak of the battle on the Pelennor at all, though Pippin did start to explain who Merry had faced up to and what had happened till he caught Frodo giving him a meaningful look, glanced sideways to see Merry was looking at nothing in particular out through the window, and hurriedly changed the subject with a muttered apology.

Mordor too was barely mentioned. The only direct references to what Sam and Frodo had gone through were when Sam murmured something about not having a head for heights and hobbits not being made to ride about on giant birds and then going on to laughingly tell the tale of how he had had to face a spider in his bath tub not too long ago and had found it rather difficult.

“Had to call on Raz here to come to my aid!” He chuckled as he spoke. “’Now then, young Ban,’ I said to myself, ‘you are being nothing but ridiculous…’ which I was being, but then perhaps it was only to be expected in some ways. ‘You faced the darkness of Mordor itself and you cannot shoo one tiny spider out of a bath? Shame on you! The Gaffer would think you a right fool and no mistake,’ I said.”

They all laughed, but it was clear Sam was not letting on that the incident had probably put the wind up him a little – trying to use his usual self-deprecating humour to cover what had probably been quite a distressing moment for him. Frodo also looked a little strained round the eyes as he translated for Penny, as if he too would have been just as alarmed both by such a situation as well as his reaction to it.

“I think I should be scared of spiders in baths if I had been through what you went through,” Merry said with some feeling. “And it was not that small a one either from what Raz says.”

Raz indicated his palm as if to say it was nearly as big as his hand and Penny grimaced. Pippin laughed.

“Ah, but Pen-ii if you think that was bad, then how about one...”

He spread his arms wide to indicate something horribly, nightmarishly gigantic. Even if she could not follow all the Westron, Penny was left in no mistake as to what he was referring.

“Of course Bilba faced down such things in Eryn Lasgalen,” Frodo said quickly, trying to interrupt Pippin. “And Legolas has dealt with them on many an occasion.”

“Not as big as…” Pippin started.

“Is there any more tea?” Penny asked. Frodo glanced at her gratefully as Pippin jumped to his feet to take her cup and pour her some.

That night after supper she felt a little subdued, no doubt as a consequence of her tea with the hobbits and having heard them speak of such things. She refused various offers for a dance and went outside instead. She spotted Halladan, as ever sitting by himself, on the steps with a pipe in one hand and a tankard and his stick beside him.

“May I join you?”

“Of course,” he replied with an easy smile.

He turned back to gaze out at the night sky once more, pulling gently on his pipe. They said nothing for a few minutes.

“You do not enjoy the company?” Penny gestured with her head, indicating the Hall behind them.

“Oh, it is not that so much, just that I am used to a quieter life and solitude. Such is the Ranger’s life. I am not the only Northman out here.”

He held the bowl of his pipe and gestured with the stem out at the courtyard. Penny could see several of the Dunedain ranged roundabout. Faelon was among them, chatting quietly to a group of Gondorian nobles.

“It must be difficult for those of you who fought to live life as before.”

She was not quite sure how to phrase it and tried to sound as vague as possible, not wanting to seem overly-familiar or prying.

“Not as before, Pen-ii. All has changed now He has fallen. Nothing will be the same and we all have to readjust, but I am glad: it is a great thing that has occurred. A great thing, unlooked for and almost beyond hope, and yet it came to pass.”

“I realise, I just meant…”

“I understood what you meant.”

There was a finality, a weight given in the way he spoke that told Penny that, as politely as Halladan could, he was making it clear that that was the end of the matter: whatever subject she may or may not be trying to broach was not to be discussed further and was none of her business.

It was a very Halbarad moment, Penny realised, since it was clear he would not be gainsaid on this, or indeed on any matter once he put his mind to it. Halladan really was like his father in some respects.

She wondered if he had truly understood what she had been driving at. Somehow she suspected he did.

“You were quiet at supper.”

“Was I? Perhaps I was a little preoccupied. I had tea with the kuduk. They were telling me something of their adventures since they left Imladris.”

He looked at her.

“Indeed? That must have been… difficult for you.”

“Oh, no more difficult than it was for them to relate in parts,” she said, attempting to sound breezy and reassuring, though she was not sure she managed it. “But there were parts that were not related at all,” she added, a more serious tone to her voice, “if you understand me.”

“I understand you,” he replied. He turned back out to contemplate the sky once more and muttered quietly so Penny could not hear him, “Yes, I understand you completely.”

They fell into silence once more.

“You should take up Legolas on his offer,” Halladan said at last. “Talk about such things with someone who will not be as affected in relating them and also understands your situation.”

Penny agreed he was right and promised she would do so. She noted that he did not offer to speak of such things, but then she could hardly blame him, and he had also made it fairly clear such a topic was off-limits.

There was no such opportunity to speak to Legolas immediately, however. Penny was still easily tired and went to bed soon afterwards, and the next day was market day.

Not everyone was hugely interested in the market itself since markets are often much the same no matter where you go, except that the local produce may change. However, there was also to be the fete, of course, and not only that but the fact that many traders would be coming from far and wide on hearing there were a huge number of foreigners (and clearly very rich ones at that, it was assumed) newly arrived in the city meant that there was likely to be more on offer than just various kinds of cheeses, fruits and vegetables and the odd bit of basket-weaving. Thus if only for this week the market was elevated above the status of your ordinary bog-standard one, and even those who already knew the Minas Tirith market well would be wandering down to see what new wares were on display.

The previous evening Penny had shyly asked Faramir if he thought there would still be the same sort of things for sale the following week. She had a few coins the elves at Imladris had given her in exchange for the items of pottery she had decorated that had been taken to be sold, but she wanted to see what there was on offer before actually attempting to spend any money. She had no idea how much the coins she had were worth, very little she suspected, and it may be when it came down to it she would have enough for a couple of apples and no more, but that was not the point.

No, the point was that she was used to being fairly independent. This living on others’ hospitality made her feel a little uncomfortable, but at least at Imladris she could chip in and help with the work. Since they had left, however, she had felt a growing… not unease exactly, but a discomfiture that only seemed heightened now she was surrounded by bricks and mortar, stones and paving. That vague sense of familiarity only brought home just how very different her life now was, and it was a very small thing, perhaps, but the idea of buying something herself with her own money was something she was greatly looking forward to.

Hence her question.

She did not want to make a rush decision, especially if her funds were as limited as she suspected they might be, and then regret it. She would prefer to look over what was available and then come back the following week and make a considered choice.

Of course she did not dream of trying to explain all of this to Faramir.

“Oh, I would have thought so. Yes, the fete will mean there will be many people there, but it will be busier than usual for as long as the elves are here among us I suspect. Indeed, it has been busier than it has been in many years for a good few weeks…”

So today would be ‘window shopping’ in Penny’s eyes.

Not that there would be any ‘windows’, admittedly, but no matter.

Penny, Mireth and Eleniel decided to have breakfast in the hall. Rhimlath and Istdor, who had spent nearly the entire day together yesterday, were already there seated side by side. Rhimlath was explaining he would be most interested if there were any artisans from further afield than just Minas Tirith.

“Oh, almost certainly, my lord Rhimlath. Almost certainly.”

“Always interesting to note different styles in even the most basic of accoutrements, I find.”

“Oh, indeed, indeed. Yes, yes, quite. I have quite a collection of spoons, you know. You would be amazed at the subtle differences in length of the handle or width of the bowl…”

Pippin was in full flow, explaining matters to Celebdor, as Penny, Mireth and Eleniel sat down.

“…stalls with the most wonderful fruit on them - apples and pears and plums, three different kinds of plums at least last week, as well as fruits native to these climes such as peaches and apricots...”

“Oh, now those ‘apricot’ fruits are delicious, I must say and no mistake,” Sam interrupted. “They had some of those in with the wedding food, Celebdor, so you will remember them, I do not doubt. They dry terribly well too. I will have to take some back to Suza with us, the dried, I mean, and maybe even a couple of the stones, because you never know, I have a nice south-facing bit of wall that might just suit…”

“I have heard they make some particularly good linens here in Gondor,” Eleniel began. “I will certainly be looking out for things that may be useful for us in Imladris. Now the War is over, trade will be that much easier…”

“…and oranges and lemons…”

“…need to look out for any silversmiths from Dol Amroth…”

“…spectacular colours of dyes, because they have such different native plant species here. There is a very vibrant blue cloth that comes from the desert lands in Harad…”

The table was buzzing with excitement just about the market alone.

“And what about you, Pen-ii? Anything you are looking forward to casting your eye over?”

“Oh, all of it, Halladan!”

He laughed.

“It is true! I have not been to a market in… well, in a very long time. They give such a good sense of a place, of a people. I have been looking forward to this for days!”

“It is quite something,” Legolas admitted. “Such bustle and noise and people everywhere you look. The spice stalls are particularly extraordinary. The colours…!”

“They could still do with some good, basic metalwork to my mind,” Gimli grumbled.

“Well, no doubt when you bring some of your fellow dwarves here, you can show them how it should be done,” Legolas replied.

It was not entirely clear whether he was being sincere or facetious. Gimli raised his eyebrows at him but Legolas just helped himself to another bread roll and said nothing.

“Pen-ii? When you are ready…”

Penny glanced up to see Erestor, armed with his Westron grammar, standing behind Halladan. She blinked at him.

“You are joking?”

“Not at all.”

“But… but the market, the fete…”

“They will still be there in an hour.”

“Surely one day will not matter, Erestor.”

“Perhaps not, Eleniel, but then again we will only be here in Gondor for a short time. I would prefer not to miss any opportunity.”

Penny looked round the table, appealing for help.

“There will be no denying him,” Mireth murmured. “Best go. We will wait for you.”

“No, no, go ahead. I can catch you up.”

“Nonsense,” Halladan retorted. “Erestor is right. One hour will not make much difference, and besides the fete itself will not really get going for a few hours yet. Some of us have seen much of what the market has to offer already, so an hour here or there will make little difference.”

“Exactly,” Legolas agreed. “We will meet you in the courtyard when you are done.”

Penny, glowering at Erestor for making her feel like some schoolchild half her own age, thanked the others and headed off for her lesson.

She was still peeved when she came out into the bright sunlight an hour later.

Across the courtyard, near the little alley that led to her lodgings, she could just make out Legolas, Halladan, Mireth, Celebdor, Arvain and Eleniel in a group waiting for her, and she was glad they had waited for her. She had not brought her Westron ‘Quenta Silmarillion’ to breakfast, and Erestor had not insisted she fetch it for his lesson, so she had no reason to return to her chambers and thus they could set off straight away.

They took their time strolling down through the circles, chatting and laughing as they did so. Even by the time they made it down into the second circle the numbers in the street had noticeably increased, and all of them heading downwards. Already the group had met many other elves and Dunedain, and Merry and Sam could be seen darting in and out of the crowds up ahead somewhere. Somehow being with this large a number of people made it easier for Penny to ignore the obvious signs of war damage, for which she was grateful. It was only the second time she had been here in daylight, after all.

Once in the first circle, the main thoroughfare was alive with locals and visitors alike, many of the former armed either with baskets or servants to carry their purchases. Every now and then a small voice would shout for people to make way and the crowd would part to let a boy pulling a small cart laden with foodstuffs come past them and take his load up to richer, wealthy families in the upper circle or even all the way to the Citadel itself.

Penny, Mireth and Eleniel had soon formed a girlie huddle, with the males sauntering along behind them. There was much staring and pointing by the locals. Even Halladan and Arvain, though familiar faces by now, were worthy of note given they were ‘north men, kin to King Elessar and among that band of warriors who had fought so fiercely in the field’. Many shouted out to them by name as they passed by, and several times the brothers stopped to talk to whoever it may be, introducing their friends as they did so.

The market was held in the huge main square in front of the main gates, though it also spilled over into the surrounding streets and out onto the Pelennor a little as well. Hence even before they reached the marketplace proper, there were stalls in the street or sellers with baskets all round them, filled with their produce. In the side streets the local artisans had their shopfronts open and stuffed full with examples of their craft.

Penny was blown away by it all. It was everything she had hoped, and more.

There were fruit merchants, farmer’s wives with umpteen kinds of vegetables, live animals of various sorts in baskets and boxes, penned or newly killed and being busily plucked at someone’s request (and they would be charged extra to take the feathers away with them). There was a man with baskets of apples here, a woman with three wicker boxes of chickens piled high there. Nearby there was another woman selling numerous stoppered pots of honey on a small trestle table along with boxes of candles and blocks of wax. Next to her a swarthy looking youth with half a dozen geese penned into one corner was taking money for them one by one hand over fist, and someone who was likely as not his mother was sat on a stool selling goose eggs from a large basket at her feet.

It went on and on.

Away from the best spots in the markets (which were all taken by locals and regulars, with the most prominent pitches reserved for the highest bidders) were some of those traders from further away. Here were found fishmongers with great boxes of dried and salted fish and pots of that infamous fish paste Penny had learnt about at the wedding; traders from Dol Amroth or further south who had fruits and wares not often seen before the end of the War, such as dates and fragrant incense; other traders had brought spices with them and great sacks of the stuff lay open round them, little wooden measuring scoops in each one, and the smells as you passed by, let alone the colours, were extraordinary.

There were cheeses, butter shaped into pats with designs in the top, sausages both dry-cured and fresh for cooking which you could buy by the yard if you wanted. Shoes were mended; buttons were sold that were made from knotted leather, carved bone, wood or mother-of-pearl; and if you did not have enough coin for whatever it was you wanted, you could trade or barter (or try).

Then there were the leather workers (who would buy skins as well as sell them along with their finished bags and water sacs), the basket weavers with their stacks of trugs and baskets of every conceivable shape and size, the carpenters with rough spoons and bowls, brooms and tool handles, the silver-smiths, the potters and glass blowers.

Most of these were to be found in their little workshops in the side streets – nothing more than large rooms with one side open where you could watch them work and see piles of finished items around them – but several from further afield had trekked in by cart or donkey with a few small items to sell to the ‘new rich folk in town’ and were in the main market square or else forced out by the numbers of traders onto the edge of the Pelennor itself.

The place was buzzing, and the morning fairly flew by.

Eleniel found two different sellers of linens and cloths, and was much impressed by what she saw. The fine, yet light cloth that was distinctively southern would be delightfully cool in the height of summer and Eleniel ordered for several bolts to be sent up to the Citadel for Arwen’s assessment. She also found some dyed in the electric blue of the desert nomads – it was every bit as astonishing as she had described, and even Penny could not quite believe it was a natural dye (though it could, of course, be nothing else). A bolt of that was sent up to the Citadel as well because even if Arwen did not like it Eleniel said she would take it back to Imladris with her.

“Covered in silver, gold and white embroidery, with gems and pearls… Ah, it would look exquisite!”

Penny did not doubt it would.

They soon met up with others, since just about everyone was taking a look at the astonishing array of goods for sale. Lindir joined them, having shaken off Istdor and Rhimlath who were busy comparing notes over bowl rims and how they were indicative of cultural expression over the centuries. Mireth and Celebdor wandered off together to admire the glasswork, for which Gondor, and Minas Tirith in particular, was well-known.

Then Lindir wanted Eleniel’s advice regarding some material he had spotted that he thought would make a fair tunic, Legolas had headed off back up to the Citadel to fetch his bow for the archery competition later and so for a little while Penny was left alone in the company of the brothers. As they wandered past the baskets and tables of fruit, it was clear there was much that seemed familiar to Penny – things she recognised that the others had either never seen before they had come to Gondor or else would not grow well in the colder northern climate.

“Ooh, limes!” Penny exclaimed in English. Arvain looked slightly mystified.

“Do you mean those green fruits that look a little like small lemons?”

“They are similar to lemons. Same family, but not quite the same. Very different flavour. And we call those ones ‘peaches’ in my tongue, and ‘apricots’ and… oh, ‘avocadoes’! I love those! And how many different kinds of melon?” She gasped. “‘Cantaloupe’! It must be!”

Halladan blinked at her. “You know all these fruits? They have them where you come from?”

“There… are a lot of traders where I come from. We get fruit from all over the place.” Which was true even if it did not fully explain the situation. “Vegetables also.”

Thus they were astonished to learn that she called those brown things on sticks ‘dates’ in her tongue but had never liked them, though she had to admit when the seller insisted she try one that these were far sweeter and more delicious than anything she remembered. She recognised coriander, revealed she had indeed eaten squid before now (though admittedly not pickled), and declared the white salty cheese that seemed to be a speciality in these parts was called ‘feta’ in her language.

So the whole experience was an eye-opener for all concerned, for a variety of reasons.

Eventually, they headed out onto the Pelennor. More traders with stalls and sellers with baskets were ranged around the gate, and there were little tents and awnings all over the place as the fete got underway. Various fires were going and meat roasting over them, being hand-turned on spits. Brewers were already doing a roaring trade, with many having hired boys with trays to go round offering a mug of ale for a small price which they would pour for you then and there from a jug, but wait till you were done with the mug before wandering off to find another customer.

As they made their way through the crowds, it was clear things were gearing up for an afternoon’s entertainment for the masses. Word of the fete had spread far and wide, and it seemed just about anyone with a talent or a trick had arrived in the hope of earning a few coins.

There was an awning over a rude platform on which mummers were performing. It seemed to have a cast of thousands, many of the characters played by one actor just changing masks, donning a false moustache or wearing a different hat.

As far as Penny could make out (it was all in Westron and a particularly thick, local dialect form to boot, so Halladan informed her) the story involved a maiden (played by a boy in dress that was several sizes too big for him and clearly had a couple of oranges stuffed into the front) who had been dragged off by two particularly ugly and stupid trolls (who were the comic relief judging from the huge amount of laughter, hooting and general noises of derision they generated from the crowd) and had to be rescued by the daring hero (who was a well-meaning idiot). The daring hero was aided and abetted in this enterprise by his horse (a man in a rough-hewn horse’s head) who was clearly far more intelligent than his owner and thus the brains of the operation.

Apparently this was all terribly amusing, and possibly even a tad crude: one joke that got a particularly raucous reaction from the crowd made Halladan and Arvain splutter and cough (though whether in surprise or an attempt to not laugh Penny was not entirely sure) and then drag Penny away rather quickly.

There was a troop of puppeteers entertaining adults and children alike with ancient tales of battles and kings. Here too there were puppets of orcs and trolls, and Penny reflected on the fact that such things were the stuff of everyday life to most people rather than pure fantasy and fairytale. Having an orc in a puppet show was probably much like having the crocodile in Punch and Judy.

The few nobles wandering through the crowd kept their distance and smiled indulgently at whatever pastimes came into view. Clearly much of what was on offer was considered rather rustic and beneath them.

The elves showed a similarly detached interest, as an adult may observe a child at play, clearly seeing most of this as a fascinating expression of mortal and Gondorian culture. However, some of it was a little too ‘rough and ready’ even for the elves of Imladris who were more used to mortals and their idea of entertainment, since the mummers came close to being told to sling their hooks at one point after a particularly frank and obscene exchange between ‘Troll Two’ and ‘Hero’s Horse’ was conducted just as Celeborn, Elrond, Faramir and Elladan had stopped to see the show for a moment. Faramir had been most apologetic, but the ellyn, as clearly shocked as they were, muttered something about understanding the mortal obsession with such things and for Faramir not to concern himself.

When Durion heard about it, though, he gave the mummers what-for. They replied to the effect that ‘they only gave the people what the people wanted. Besides elves had children and presumably by the same means that mortals did, did they not? So what, exactly, was the problem?’ Durion’s response to that was quite something, so it was said. ‘Exploding like Mount Orodruin’ would be putting it mildly.

However, at Elrond’s behest the mummers were not put a stop to.

“After all this is a day for the common folk, so let them have their amusement. It is only just.”

Aragorn agreed, adding that he had enjoyed many a bawdy mummers’ performance in his time, an admission that earned him a raised eyebrow from his wife and some chuckles from those around him.

The only thing that was put a stop to was the dancing bears. There was some protest both from the bears’ owner as well as some of those watching, but it was a royal edict from the king that the bears were not to be treated in such a manner. The owner was compensated for the cost of his bears, but was otherwise sent on his way. The bears were kept in an enclosure until Faramir could find some men willing and able to take on the job of releasing them up in the mountains.

Penny was loving every minute of it. She took advantage of the elves’ curiosity and ability to stay relatively aloof and strolled around the place with impunity. Similarly the Dunedain were far more at ease with such things than the nobles of Minas Tirith, so she was in excellent company to get the full experience. She tasted the beer, ate roast meat, admired the jugglers, and basically thoroughly enjoyed herself.

A little further away from the gates there were fenced off areas. Some were filled with livestock of various kinds – mainly goats, cows or geese – brought to market for sale. Other larger areas were where such things as pig-catching or contests of strength were taking place. As Penny and the others neared one, two men were struggling to pull carts loaded with beer kegs. It was here that the wrestling would be held a little later on.

“Ah, my lords, ladies, please do come and take some wine with His Majesty.”

Durion, ever flustered, was pointing towards a large gazebo-type affair with other tents nearby it and flags flying from the poles. Penny could make out the glint of gold and jewels as various nobles and elves took advantage of the shade. They thanked him and went to join their fellows as Durion went hurrying off to try and round up others and send servants hither and yon to do the same.

The field in front of the tents was a long one, and the one in which the archery competition was to be held. The elves had resisted attempts that they join in with the actual contest, thinking (rightly, no doubt) that no mortal would stand a chance against any of them. Instead a show of skill would be held with the best of the Gondorians and amongst the best of the elves.

The competition came first. It was clear from some of the muttering around Penny that the elves thought the targets were laughably close, and the tasks rather simple. A mere elfling could manage it, according to Rhimlath, though most others suggested a young adult elf with little experience was more accurate.

The Dunedain took part, or some of them did. Faelon was amongst them. Halladan sat watching his friend with a serious expression, occasionally smiling and sometimes shaking his head and muttering when he felt he could have made a better shot. Invariably at such times Faelon too would look annoyed with himself. He did well, but it was one of Faramir’s men who won and had even earned a few compliments from the elves, which was high praise indeed. Several of the young men, some barely adult, who had taken part and showed promise were taken aside by various ellyn who discussed technique with them. The youths listened with rapt attention to every tip passed on.

Then came the show of skill. Penny was upset to learn that a lot of this would involve releasing various birds from baskets, even if she was assured that no dead bird would be wasted and every one would be eaten. The Gondorians had shown themselves to be able and skilled archers, and that their bows were powerful, but it was as nothing to the elves, who of course had the advantage of height as well as longer (and thus more powerful) bows.

Rhimlath and Glorfindel were included in the display, not because they were amongst the best of the best (though Rhimlath was a very excellent archer in his own right), but because they had promised they would, and this seemed like an ideal opportunity. Legolas took part so that Eryn Lasgalen might be represented, and Celeborn also in many ways to make it clear to those watching that rank was not an issue – that a leader had to prove his worth in battle as much as anyone else.

As the preparations were made the crowd of commoners swelled quite considerably, with many children pushing their way through the sea of legs to get a good view, or else being hoisted onto the shoulders of fathers, older brothers or uncles.

There were murmurs from amongst the Gondorians – nobles and commoners alike - as the targets were pushed back quite some distance and yet the central bulls-eyes were hit with a deadly accuracy every time. It was clear from the furious glances Glorfindel was giving Rhimlath that Rhimlath deliberately splitting every arrow of Glorfindel’s in two with his own was annoying the Noldo considerably.

Then came the birds. Much to the Gondorians’ surprise, the birds were not hit immediately on release, but rather the elvish archers waited until they were at some distance and preferably flying high and fast. Of course this did mean that some escaped with their lives, since they headed off in the direction of the crowd, but those that could be shot down in safety were done so, to the admiration of the watchers.

The battle between Glorfindel and Rhimlath had reached fever pitch by this point. The archers were put in pairs for the release of each set of birds, and it was clear that Rhimlath was a faster shot since he managed to bring down just about every bird Glorfindel aimed for. Not one did Glorfindel shoot down alone, but rather if he managed a hit, the bird was hit twice: once by himself and near simultaneously by Rhimlath. To most onlookers this seemed to be a deliberate show of consummate skill, but to everyone who knew the pair they understood it had not been Glorfindel’s intention and he had been bested fair and square. He was, however, gracious in defeat, loudly admitting Rhimlath the better archer as he clasped him by the arm warmly and declared he would be proud to fight alongside him. Celeborn added that Rhimlath had done Lothlorien proud and Rhimlath could not have looked more pleased with himself if he had tried. Admittedly Celeborn had brought the house down by shooting his three birds while blindfolded, but Penny had thought that was just showing off. Arwen said as much as to him later and when her grandfather protested, Galadriel backed her up.

There was to be hare coursing next and Penny was in no mood to watch it. So she was grateful when Meresel grabbed her by the elbow and let her know her husband’s young cousin would be wrestling any minute.

“Oh, I will come with you,” Halladan said. “Arvain has insisted on joining in.”

On their way to the wrestling ground, Halladan stopped for a moment beside Faramir who was in conversation with Pippin and a tall man with a kind face who was about Halladan’s age.

“Pen-ii? May I introduce you to someone?” he murmured. “Ah, Beregond,” he said out loud. “It is good to see you.”

Penny smiled broadly if a little shyly as he was introduced, and Bergil also, standing proudly by his father. They were probably within the city limits by being here but on a day such as this no one was going to press the point, and Beregond was not within the city walls and that was the main point. It was clear to Penny he was held in great regard by many there, not least Faramir, who spoke in glowing terms of him to Penny till the poor man was near pink with embarrassment.

“Will you be watching the wrestling?” Penny asked. “We are on our way there now.”

There seemed to be a moment of slight surprise followed by Meresel quickly explaining her husband’s cousin was competing.

“Ah, yes, of course,” Faramir replied.

Penny, Halladan and Meresel walked away just as Bergil started pestering his father about going to watch the wrestling (‘oh please, please, please, please, because if they are going to see it then why not?’)

“It is not quite the accepted thing,” Meresel was explaining. “I am not sure Lord Faramir wholly approves…”

“Oh, I should not worry,” Halladan said breezily. “After all, I do not doubt he has wrestled in his time as a younger man.”

“I do remember…” Meresel was thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, I am sure I saw him wrestle once. But I was really very young – probably no older than young Bergil – so Lord Faramir was probably not much older than Corunír is now.”

“And only a few years younger than Arvain… Ah, and there he is!”

Arvain was standing inside the enclosure, a slightly excited look about him and a grin from ear to ear. Halladan called his name, but the din was too loud for Arvain to hear him. Inside the ring two men were grappling with each other, their faces grim and determined. Around the enclosure a huge crowd had formed. Bets were being taken on the outcome, children were up on people’s shoulders, and there was a somewhat rough and raucous atmosphere. It was clear at once this was not really a sport for the nobility, or at least the nobility did not usually take part in such contests in public like this. That said, Penny recognised one or two Gondorian lords in the crowd, cheering someone on – a young family member, a loyal servant or even a man under their command.

There were very few ladies of a noble class there at all. Indeed, Halladan made a point of escorting Meresel and Penny to stand with Meresel’s husband and his younger brother – both men of Halladan’s age or Faramir’s. A small bench was provided for Meresel and Penny to share, and while Halladan protested at being offered a stool, he did look rather grateful to be able to take the weight off his leg when he sat down at last.

Meresel’s husband’s cousin, Corunír, did well, but eventually lost his bout to a particularly well-built cooper from Lebennin. Afterwards, Corunír came over to the barrier near to where his cousins stood, a cut over one eye from a close encounter with one of the cooper’s elbows, but a huge grin on his face. Penny could see he was indeed young: no more than twenty and probably a year or two under that. He had a cheeky grin. Not quite like Arvain’s. No, this was more roguish. Looking at him Penny felt that this young man had a lot of growing up to do, despite what he had recently been through since she did not doubt for a second he had been to war. There was something about that grin, that ‘devil may care’ smirk that reminded her so much of her brother…

“Pen-ii?”

She almost jumped. She looked up to see Halladan looking at her slightly curiously. She realised her eyes were wet and blinked hurriedly, forcing a smile.

“Sorry, my thoughts were elsewhere.”

She wondered if he thought he had been staring at this young man and if so then for what reasons that might have been. She felt faintly embarrassed at the thought he may have completely misunderstood.

“Arvain’s bout is about to begin.”

Arvain did very well, winning his bout if not easily then fairly convincingly at the last. He and his opponent were fairly well matched, and not just in terms of stature and strength: his opponent was another young noble like himself. No roughing it for the likes of a Dunadan – their reputation and fame went before them and most were known by name by all.

If anyone wondered at Penny being completely unfazed at seeing men stripped to the waist they did not comment. She made no attempt to avert her gaze or seem slightly shy like Meresel or the few other younger ladies of Gondor in the vicinity, and in that respect Penny was no different to the ordinary women, of which there were many round about. Indeed just after Arvain’s bout was won there was a shout of Penny’s name and she turned to see a hand waving in the crowd as Mílves, a broad beam all over her face, pushed her way through the throng towards her.

“Lady Pen-ii, my dear! Well, how very nice to see you here and with some friends too! Well, now, Lord Halladan if your young brother did not do a stand up job just now and no mistake. I was saying to my husband only just this minute about how fine a wrestler he makes and I should know, having seen my husband and five sons take their turn many’s the time before now. And nursed their black eyes afterwards too and wrenched thumbs and I don’t know what else!” She laughed and Penny smiled with her even though she had had to guess at most of what she had said, but Mílves’s energy was just infectious like that. “Now, why don’t you come along with me and meet my boys. They’ve heard all about you, of course, you being the only woman with all them elvish lords and ladies. Quite the novelty, you are, my dear…”

And before she knew what was happening, Penny was being taken by the arm and pulled back through the crowd with Mílves. She glanced back to see Halladan grinning and shaking his head.

“I will come and rescue you if need be,” he called after her in Sindarin, laughter in his voice, and then was lost from sight.

Author’s Notes:

The blue cloth of the desert nomads is based on just such a cloth/dye used by the Tuareg of the Sahara. Similarly the ‘shops’ of nothing more than an open-fronted work room piled high with wares while the craftsman gets on with manufacturing is a common feature of many more old-fashioned markets in many parts of the world. Souks are probably the ones that come mostly quickly to mind, but elsewhere also.

As dull as it may sound, any archaeologist will tell you that bowls and in particular bowl pieces with the rim still attached are very diagnostic things on a dig. Subtle changes in the kind of clay used or patterns and shapes can tell historians a lot in terms of dating a strata and placing the site within a specific cultural context. … Yes, I do watch a lot of Time Team, why do you ask?

My apologies for the obscene mummers. *snerk* They were meant to be serious but me being me they quickly descended into rude comedy mummers. (Surprise, surprise – lol) I mean you can’t have a fete for the ordinary folk without a troupe of rude, comedy mummers, can you?

As ever – my sincere thanks to everyone reading this, and especially those who take time to review, comment and leave con crit.

Oh, and for the many that asked: ‘happy as Larry’ just means ‘extremely happy, pleased with oneself’. No, I have no idea who Larry is or was or quite what he was so happy about. *grin*