Chapter 14 - Harnen

Rick wakes several hours later, the heat inside the tent nearly stifling. If he had thought the stuffiness of the caves had been unbearable, he now finds himself reassessing his definition of the word. He feels nearly suffocated lying on the tent floor, the heat coming down on him like many blankets, thick and heavy. He longs to throw off his robes but he knows it will do little good. Perhaps later, he will take a dunk in the river.

He blinks up at the alabaster roof of the tent, wondering what could have woken him. The hobbits are sleeping soundly beside him, Sam snoring softly between him and Frodo. On the other side of Frodo is an empty bedroll; Sauron will be taking his turn at the watch. Rick yawns and rubs the sleep from his eyes, then turns away from the others to face the wall of the tent, shifting to find a comfortable position on the hard desert floor. 

That is when he hears it: Sauron’s voice outside and he sounds mildly irritated. Rick props himself up on his elbows, expecting to hear at any moment a return reply but all he hears is an indignant snort from one of the horses – his horse. A moment later, Sauron enters the tent, a bemused expression on his otherwise smooth face.

“What’s going on?” Rick asks, startling Sauron, who looks up sharply. 

“You’re already awake?” Sauron says, then hurries on before Rick can reply. “Good. We need to talk while the others are asleep. And that horse of yours doesn’t seem to think that anyone else should be allowed to touch him.”

Rick can’t help but to smile at this, but he quickly puts his pride aside to focus on Sauron’s original statement. “What do we need to talk about?” he asks cautiously, as most of their private conversations lately revolve around Semira and their opposing viewpoints of her trustworthiness. 

Sauron does not respond immediately but instead busies himself with settling comfortably onto his bedroll and observing the hobbits’ slow, slumbering breathing. Sam’s face is smooth and soft in sleep while Frodo’s is slightly pinched. He stares at Frodo without really seeing him, and Rick knows that Sauron is choosing his next words very carefully. 

“I know that you’re fond of Semira,” he begins at last, “and I shouldn’t have used that to put you into the position of spying on her earlier, but I needed to know if she was marked.”

“And she is,” Rick says.

“Yes, she is,” Sauron responds, but says nothing more.

“But you still think she’s lying to us?” Rick says.

“There have been other signs, for one who knows how to read them,” Sauron says. “That night watchman for instance.”

“What watchman?”

“The watchman of the tribe we passed shortly after entering Near Harad, the one who made those signals that are supposed to ward off dead spirits,” Sauron answers. “Didn’t you notice that he was the only one to make such signals?”

“Well, maybe the other watchmen just waited until we passed. Maybe that watchman was more superstitious than the others,” Rick suggests. “You can’t hold Semira accountable for the actions of some stranger we pass in the night.”

“Unless he wasn’t a stranger,” Sauron says.

Now it is Rick’s turn to consider his words before responding, being careful to speak softly so as not to disturb the hobbits. “I think, Sauron… and don’t take this the wrong way! … but I think you have a tendency to see deception where there is none. You spent three Ages of the world deceiving everyone around you, it just comes automatically to you to expect them to deceive you right back. But not everyone is like that. Most people can be trusted, and King Elessar trusts Semira. If he didn’t, he would have warned us to be cautious around her.”

“Or, if he did, he would have told her the truth,” Sauron counters. 

“By that logic, Prince Faramir would know what we are doing also. So would Éomer King,” Rick says. “But they don’t, do they?”

“No, they don’t,” Sauron says, smiling triumphantly. He is slowly getting better at figuring out ways to get Rick to make his arguments for him. Now there is no way Rick can reasonably argue against him, and Rick knows it. He sighs resignedly and waits for Sauron to continue. “This is a secret mission, Rick, and it will remain that way. Besides, we won’t be in her company much longer. Another week and we’ll never see her again. If I were you, I would work on getting over that crush real quick.”

“What do you mean? I thought we were supposed to be coming back through Near Harad to return to Pelargir,” Rick points out. “She’s to escort us back.”

“We can get a boat from the port here and take that to the Sea. Once there, we’ll find a ship to take us to the Grey Havens. The quicker we can get the Blue Wizards to the Sea, the better and safer it will be for all of us,” Sauron says. “We’ll leave the horses and ponies at the port for Semira to retrieve when she’s able.”

Rick nods, looking suddenly forlorn. “I knew we’d have to leave her eventually,” he says regrettably. “I just kept hoping that, maybe, if everything worked out, she might want to come with us. She could travel with us. I think she’d like Rohan.”

Sauron pats his shoulder a few times in solace. “I know,” he says simply. He gives Rick’s shoulder a final supportive squeeze before pulling away. “But it never could have happened, you do realize that, don’t you? Semira will never leave her country or her people. Get some more rest. I’ll take your watch.”

Rick shakes his head heavily and stands up. “You need your sleep just as much as I do, Maia or no,” he insists. Besides, he is too awake now to sleep even if he wanted to.

He slips outside into the stifling heat and finds his horse watching for him dolefully. When Rick appears, the stallion swishes its tail eagerly and whinnies happily, tossing its head in greeting. Rick distracts himself with currying the horses and ponies under the shade of the tarp Sauron and Semira had stretched between the two tents. He stubbornly avoids looking at Semira’s tent or thinking about the day they will have to part ways.

Before setting out that night, Sauron announces that they will change from their mourning robes into everyday robes. They will be reaching the bazaar and port the next morning, and it will be easier to navigate through the port and collect the supplies they need if they are not being avoided by everyone. 

He produces four sets of beige robes which, except for their color, are nearly similar to the mourning robes they now wear. The other difference, they discover, is how they wrap the linen around themselves. Semira shows them the correct way to fold and tuck the cloth, and once she returns to correct their efforts they discover a few more differences. These robes are tighter-fitting and shorter in the leg. They are still comfortable though, and a few of the tucks and folds have even created pockets in which to hold things. 

Rick and Sauron tie their swords around their waists, and it is now that Rick realizes another reason why Sauron has made this change. In their mourning robes, they have not been able to wear their swords, as it would have been a sign of disrespect, not to mention conspicuous. ‘Sauron must be expecting trouble in the market, some ploy of Semira’s,’ Rick thinks but he wisely refrains from saying anything.

They reach the port early the following morning, just after sunrise. The wide river glitters amber in the early morning rays, and the small boats and rafts tied to the docks in the port bob gently on the water. The bazaar, a large and sprawling array of makeshift avenues, straddles both sides of the river just south of the port and already it is bustling with people, all of them speaking swiftly in their odd tongue. 

The women wear flowing dresses of bright colors, similar to Semira’s. Many of the men wear robes, but some also wear kilts, two knee-length pieces of cloth tied around the waist by a cord; the pieces do not fully meet at the sides, allowing for circulation Semira explains. As the kilts also do not cover the torso, many of the men also wear shirts of simple design or what Rick can only describe as waistcoats, only these waistcoats are not meant to be worn over a shirt or have fastenings. 

Rick and the hobbits look around with open curiosity, and Sauron keeps a vigilant eye on the various goings-on. When they reach the middle of the market, Semira turns to them and says, “How many days’ supplies will you be needing, Master Odolf?”

“We shouldn’t need more than three weeks’ worth,” Sauron answers, handing her a small purse heavy with coin. “Water is of the most importance, but I’ll get that. You know everything else that we need. Some fresh produce and meat will be nice. We may as well enjoy a hearty meal or two while we can. We’ll meet back at the port by the bridge.”

Semira bows her head in acknowledgement of this. She separates from them, taking the pack horses with her, and makes her way into the tangle of tents, booths, tables and stalls. Sauron watches her progress, and Rick knows that the Maia will not be going directly to the port for the water. He will be trailing her and watching her movements. Their eyes meet as Sauron pulls his eyes away from the bazaar.

Again, Rick says nothing but holds out his hand. Sauron holds his accusatory gaze but easily gives him a handful of coins. “Be vigilant,” he says under his voice. “Don’t let them out of your sight. I won’t be far away.”

Rick pockets the money and takes the hobbits’ hands. “Come on,” he says to them, “let’s find something to waste our money on.” He leads the hobbits away, leaving Sauron to look after the horses.

Rick first takes the hobbits to one of the food vendors and buys them all a plate of a hot, sticky pastry filled with mashed berries and lightly covered in a honey glaze. After that, they find a vendor selling small grilled meatballs and meat cakes spiced with a sweet and tangy sauce. The vendor laughs with delighted surprise when the hobbits ask for a third helping. He’s says something, probably about their healthy appetites, Rick guesses, and then gives them all another helping for free. They bow to thank him, and the vendor laughs with delight again. 

Their bellies now full, they next begin to wind their way around the tangled streets of the market, looking at all the things for sale. Sam is fascinated by a stall full of gardening tools, many of which are similar to the ones he has back home but they have been modified to better work in the hard earth of the desert. Both hobbits linger over a booth selling various weaved goods. Frodo finds a couple of small blankets of brilliantly-colored patterns that Merry and Pippin would enjoy immensely, and Sam finds a child’s periwinkle shawl stitched with a flower-and-leaf pattern that would be perfect for Rosie. Not knowing the language, or even which coins equal what amounts, it takes some time for Rick to figure out how much the vendor is charging for the goods and then haggle her down to a lower price. 

As they are making their way to the port, they pass Semira at a booth selling fish. She is haggling with the vendor, a well-muscled man of dark brown skin wearing a kilt and a head-cloth that he has wrapped around his shoulders in place of a waistcoat, revealing a smooth bald head. The man is smiling at her in an easy, teasing manner, his black eyes crinkling at the corners. Sam discreetly nudges Frodo and points at the man’s ears, each of which are pierced with three very small gold hoops. While he appears kindly, Rick doesn’t much care for the way he is looking so possessively at Semira, who isn’t very pleased with his apparent lack of desire of wanting to sell to her. He says something to her in a deep, rich voice and laughs again. 

“What is going on?” Rick calls, at last making his and the hobbits’ presences known. Semira turns around and gives them a small, tight smile. The man barely acknowledges their arrival.  

“I thought fish would be most delicious for our meals today,” Semira says in a harassed manner, and Rick notices that her accent is more pronounced now that she has been speaking in her native tongue. “We could catch some ourselves if only we had the time. This oaf would rather talk than work. Not a very proficient businessman.” She scowls prettily at the man, who smiles toothily in return. 

“How much does he want?” Rick asks, giving the man what he hopes is a stern, no-nonsense look. 

The man’s smile wanes only a little, then he looks down at the hobbits and turns back to Semira. He says something to her, pointing at the hobbits, then picks up a twine of small, fat red fish with white bellies. Semira shakes her head, picks up a line of tuna and pushes some coins into the man’s pocket, speaking firmly as she does so. The man counts the coins and begins to protest but Semira has already turned and walked away from the booth. Rick and the hobbits follow quickly.

“Are you all right?” Sam asks her.

She nods. “He is just an oaf,” she says in a would-be casual voice, but she still looks upset and she swings the line of tuna in an almost lethal manner. Rick takes the fish from her, as well as the lead ropes for the pack horses.

“Why didn’t he want to sell to you?” Frodo asks.

Semira points ahead of them to their destination. “He wanted to sell. I did not like his price,” she answers shortly. 

“Why? How much was he charging?” Sam asks, not understanding. Rick though begins to have an inkling and Semira’s answer confirms it.

“Too much,” she says quietly, folding her arms in front of her.

Rick quickly shakes his head at the hobbits, silencing any further questions they might have, before addressing Semira himself. “I can go back and threaten him for you. Granted, he’s a rather large man. I don’t know how much of a match I would be for him.”

Semira smiles genuinely for the first time and even gives a little laugh. “You are a sweet boy,” she says.

Boy. The word hits him like a fist. Is that really how she sees him?

They make their way through the bazaar to the port, where they can see Sauron towering over the others as he waits by the bridge. He has already exchanged the empty jugs and water bottles for full ones, but he gives Rick a sympathetic look that lets Rick know he has been watching them even from a distance. They join him and together, he and Rick load the jugs and bottles onto the pack horses. Once everything is stored away, they cross over the bridge and make their way through the other half of the bazaar. Sauron keeps a sharp eye on everyone as they pass, his left hand resting on his belt just inches from the hilt of his sword. 

They reach the end of the bazaar without incident and mount their beasts. Before them is more open desert, but here and there are groups of tents clustered together belonging to nomads who have come to sell or trade at the bazaar. Semira points to a vacant spot beyond the last of the encampments. “If we go beyond the camps, we can set up our tents there. I can make the Mourning symbol in front of our tents so that no one will approach while you sleep.”

Sauron negates this. “I think it would be best to travel as far away from the port as we can,” he says. “Just a couple more hours should do it, and then we can rest.”

Semira bows her head again and says, “If that is your wish, Master Odolf.” 

The hobbits are not very eager about this plan. They have been traveling all night and spent much of the morning walking around the bazaar. They are exhausted and growing hungry again, yet while they would have preferred to stop now, they do not consider continuing to be a hardship. After all, compared to their last quest, they are much better off this time around. They are in the hands of someone who knows the way of the land, they are better supplied and they are only having to skip a meal or two a day, a luxury indeed. They are not as pressed for time, though certainly time is a factor, and while the dangers awaiting them are no better than the ones they faced in Mordor, the journey to get there has been quite tame and mild. With all this in mind, they happily ride along, peering around at the encampments they pass with curiosity, nodding and smiling to those who meet their eyes. When they reach the last of the encampments, they entertain themselves with traveling songs and by asking Semira to explain the various oddments they had seen in the bazaar. 

Sauron does not call a halt for another four hours and by then the sun is high overhead, burning down on them unrelentingly. Semira alone is immune to the brutal rays, claiming that the weather is cooler than usual for this time of year. When they stop to make camp, she agrees to take the first watch to allow the others a respite from the sun. Rick and Frodo are already turning a mild shade of pink, and even Sauron and Sam are looking darker after their short time in the sun. Semira produces from her bag a clay jar of aloe, which she says will alleviate the burn. She has had it with her the whole time and is much impressed that she is only now having to use it. She had expected to have run out long ago, before she realized they would be traveling primarily at night. 

Sauron thanks her for her thoughtfulness, taking the jar and sniffing at its contents. Then he nods and hands it to Rick. Once the tents are up and the afternoon meal consumed, they go inside their tent, leaving Semira to keep watch. Rick opens the jar again and scoops a small amount of the cool gel into his palm. 

“It will not help the burns to heal any faster, but it will give relief from the pain,” Sauron explains. 

They each rub some on their burnt arms and faces, and instantly the burns sting less. The hobbits lay down between Rick and Sauron, and they are all asleep instantly.

It is with many mixed feelings that they reach the borders of Khand a week later. Sauron and Rick have not spoken again about Semira, and while the hobbits sense that their friends continue to disagree about her, they can see nothing untoward about her behavior or intentions. Sauron alone is glad to reach the end of their joined road together, but the others are each saddened in their own way. 

They make their final camp together, and after a rather bland morning meal of buttered bread, broth and water, Rick does something unusual. Instead of sitting with Semira and the hobbits to speak about whatever might come to their minds, he stands in front of them until they cease all activity. Even Sauron pauses to see what the lad has planned. Rick smiles grandly, bows dramatically and announces, “I thought that, in celebration of the New Year, and in honor of our last day together, I’d tell a story of the War and its aftermath on one very special family.”

“New Year?” Frodo asks with sharp surprise. “Is that today?” He has quite lost track of the days since they set out from Minas Tirith at the beginning of March.

“March the twenty-fifth,” Rick confirms. 

“What sort of story?” Sam asks politely. “Not anything too dire, I hope,” he adds, with a worried glance at Frodo, who looks pale and alarmed by this innocent announcement. 

“Well, it is rather dire to start,” Rick admits, “but it has quite a happy ending. Would you like to hear it?”

Sauron sits down as way of answering, and Sam nods eagerly. Semira places her hands in her lap and waits inquisitively, wondering what a tale of the War’s end would sound like from the perspective of the Pale Skins. 

Only Frodo is lost in thought as he quickly counts the days backward to his nightmare in the cave and that long, horribly bleak day: March the thirteenth. A cold chill spreads through him. How had he not realized it before?

“Sir?” Sam asks gently after a few more moments. 

Frodo shakes himself from his stupor and forces a smile. “I would love to hear your story,” he says and he tries his best to listen to the tale.

Rick clears his throat, pauses for full effect, then begins his tale.

“There once was a Gondorian woman named Ioveta, and she lived with her three young daughters on their farm in the Pelennor. Her husband, a great man named Leufred, was a soldier of Gondor, and three years before he had been part of an embassy to South Gondor to negotiate the release of prisoners from the Haradrim. The embassy, sent in peace, was ambushed when they reached the borders of Harad, and it was told that no one survived the assault. The bodies were said to be dumped in the Anduin to float to the Sea, staining the waters red as they went. 

“She had been with child when he left and now she would have to work the farm and raise her daughters on her own, including the new little one to come. She had no family to help her, being an only child, and her parents had passed away many years before. She had a few good friends, and they helped her when they could, but they too had their own troubles and very little time to spare. 

“Her third daughter came during a bitter cold winter and she named this daughter Leudreda, in honor of the father she would never know. Her eldest daughter, Ogiva, by then aged eight years, was given the task of being her sisters’ caregiver so that Ioveta could see to the running of the farm. Her middle daughter, Gerwinda, aged four, was so distraught about her father’s disappearance and her mother’s sadness that she stopped talking to anyone and spent the days in the corner of her room, playing silently with her dolls, which her father had made for her before he left.

“And so the seasons passed. Ioveta could not keep up with such a large farm and over the seasons more and more of the fields went unplanted and were allowed to grow over with weeds and wildflowers. Soon, she was maintaining only enough of the farm to keep her family fed, but she had no surplus to take to market for trade or sale. They had no new cloth or thread for making or mending clothes, no wax for making candles, no wood for fires to keep the house warm on cold winter nights. The house was neglected. Needed repairs could not be made, and when it rained the roof leaked so badly that one would never guess they were indoors. 

“Then, after two years had passed, Ioveta heard a remarkable rumor. It came into the city that some of the Steward’s scouts had spied the oarsmen of the massive Haradrim ships late one night. It had been very dark, due to the new moon, but the scouts were positive that some of the oarsmen were Gondorian soldiers, captured and taken prisoner, to work as slaves for the Haradrim on the dromunds, not wanting to waste their own soldiers on the ceaseless task of rowing the mighty ships. The scouts had not been able to get close enough to see faces, and so there was no way of knowing who the soldiers were.

“As you can imagine, there was much debate over the validity of this report, and even more debate as to who the enslaved soldiers might be. Ioveta dared not hope that her husband was among them and she refused to allow the rumors near her daughters. She couldn’t bare to give her daughters false hope, and she pretended that she had never heard the news at all, though there were many nights that Ogiva woke to the sounds of her mother's crying.

“Then the War came and the Pelennor and the City by order of the Steward was evacuated. Ioveta was forced from her ramshackle house. She gathered together what few treasures still mattered to her: her husband’s fife, her daughters’ most favored toys, her mother’s quilt, her father’s reading glass. She packed the few clothes they had and met the cart that had come to gather the refugees and take them to the shelter of the mountains. 

“They lived there, crowded together with the other refugees, for many months. While she was there, she took to leaving the caves at night and wandering the forest until she came to a high cliff that gave her a view of the Anduin. Every night when the moon was bright enough she could spy dromunds sailing up and down the mighty river, Despite her resolve she began to imagine running down to the dromunds, somehow getting onboard and finding the oarsmen. She would then run up the flanks of oarsmen, looking at each one of them frantically, and when she came to the last oarsman, he would look up and he would be her husband. They would embrace and rejoice and they would be together again, even if that only lasted as long as it took for the Haradrim to discover her and kill them both. 

“She never went beyond her cliff though. How could she leave her daughters behind, orphaned, to chase a fancy that could never be true? Still, she couldn’t stop the dream from coming and oftentimes she would fall asleep there while she watched the distant ships slide across the water, her husband’s fife clutched in her hands. 

“Then one night, two weeks after coming to the caves, she saw the impossible: the black ships of the Corsairs were no longer little specks at the edge of her vision. They were growing steadily larger. They were coming north, towards Gondor, and hope at last failed in her heart and she wept for all that would soon be lost.

“There were many runners who slipped in and out of the caves during the day, bringing news of the War. They too had seen the ships sail by in the night, and the news that was coming down from the Pelennor was no more hopeful. Of course, the news was also a day old by the time it reached them. They heard that the Enemy’s army was by far larger than Gondor’s, and the Rohorrim, though they had been beckoned, were not coming. Everything looked to be lost, there were fires alight all over the Pelennor, homes and fields destroyed utterly. The city was being besieged, and its walls would not hold much longer. The Enemy had a magic fire that blasted holes into the Rammas Echor, and once the out-wall was down, there was no stopping the Enemy. The City was being overrun - and the ships had yet to arrive with the Enemy's reinforcements.

“The next morning, everything had changed. The sun for the first time since the Dawnless Day showed herself in all her majesty. The runners now told stories of the Rohorrim riding into the city from the South, emerging from the mountains mere miles from the caves. This gave everyone hope, but Ioveta remembered the ships and she waited to hear news of their arrival at Harlond. The battle would not be in their favor for long. 

“Yet the news grew even more astounding after that. One of the Nazgûl had been slain by one of the Rohirrim; the Corsairs reached the City and unfurled the banner of the High King. That night came the news that the battle had ended, the Enemy had been driven back, and the King had returned at last to Gondor. Many had perished and amongst the celebration was grief too heavy to bear and an unspoken trepidation of what the coming days would bring. 

“Ioveta wasn’t sure how she survived the following weeks. Her daughters occupied much of her time and for that she was grateful, for she could not linger over dark thoughts and despair while she was caring for them. When at long last, the news of the Enemy’s defeat reached their ears, it was almost too miraculous to believe. At first she was wary and held back from celebrating with others, until at last one of the King’s soldiers came to tell them they would soon be allowed to return to their homes. They were warned that the damage sustained to the lower levels of the City was substantial, and that the Pelennor was a wasteland. 

“When they were finally permitted to leave the safety of the caves and were escorted back to their homes, they were shocked at what they saw. Ioveta led her daughters to where their house formerly stood. Only a couple of charred beams remained, standing out of the dirt like tombstones, marking the burial ground of their one-time home. She searched amongst the rubble and found that only one trinket had survived the battles unscathed: a pair of tin knitting needles. She added this to the bag that carried her few remaining belongings, then led her daughters to the City. 

“They were put in a small house on the fourth circle and there she found a job helping to reconstruct the City. She was not strong enough to lift the stones that rebuilt the walls and the broken buildings, but she used her knitting needles day and night to create works of such beauty that she soon became the preferred sempstress in the City. She was given a sewing wheel and supplies for her work by the King, who had somehow come to hear of her plight, and over the next several weeks she became very busy. For the first time since her husband died, she was happy. She found she was now able to provide for her daughters, not only food, but clothing and other necessities as well, and as she taught Ogiva and Gerwinda to sew, Gerwinda began to utter a few words. Soon she was speaking again and making friends, though she was still more quiet than she had been.

“Ioveta could not believe her good fortune, and when she finally plucked up the courage to request an audience with the King to thank him personally for his generous gift, she was most pleased by his personal letter saying he and the Queen would be delighted to meet her. She met with the King and Queen a few days later, and they were everything she had been told: gentle and mirthful, kind and compassionate, wise and just. 

“At the end of their interview together, an old weathered soldier of the City came into the room. The Queen sat herself next to Ioveta, who gathered her daughters to her. They looked up at the soldier with wonderment and fear, and Ioveta’s heart began to beat fast within her chest. She knew before he spoke what he was going to say. He placed his hand over his heart and bowed deeply to her and her daughters. When he straightened, there was much pride and gratitude in his eyes and in his voice when he spoke. 

“‘I am Willibald,’ he said, ‘and I served on the embassy to Harad with your husband, Leufred. He was a great man and though I knew him only for a short time, we became good friends. He spoke to me often of his wife and two daughters and how he hoped he would be able to return in time to see his third child born into the world. In turn, he listened often to my stories of my son and how proud I was to have such a compassionate and intelligent son. When our company was attacked, I was injured early, and he stood over me and fought any man who came near me. He died protecting me, and for that I owe him my life and breath. I thought I would be worked to death on the ships, but I was resolved to bring you his final message: that he loved you all with his final breath and that he would only be at peace when you are happy again.’

“The tears Ioveta and her daughters cried then were bitter and hard, but with them came a cleansing of their fears and doubts. They were happy, and it gave them joy to know that Leufred was at rest. Yet there was one more obstacle standing in her way to true happiness and this she did not realize until the coming year.

“At the beginning of the following spring she was given the news that her home could be rebuilt if she so wished and her farm restored to her. She left her daughters in the care of a friend, and returned to the Pelennor for the first time since coming to the City. There she met the workmen who would be rebuilding her house and planting the first crops for her. She walked around the vacant fields, unused for so long, and when she reached the spot where her house once stood, those two burnt beams still sticking out of the ground in the spot where she had watched her husband ride away from her for the final time, she fell to her knees and wept. 

“It was some time before she came back to herself and was able to stop her tears, and when she did, she realized she was being held by one of the workmen and that she had been crying into his shirt. She pushed herself away in horror and tried to utter apologies, but he would not hear of it. He had lost loved ones due to the war as well, and knew the impact that coming home again could have on a body. He had lost his uncle, three cousins and his dearest of friends, and he would have even lost his father had a great man not saved him. 

“The man’s name was Merovech, and his father was none other than Willibald, whom he had feared dead for so long. He wiped the tears away from her astonished face and told her that crying is not always an evil. He suggested she plant a rose bush in the spot where she had cried, to remind her that with pain also came beauty and joy. He promised to help her with the farm, in debt to her lost husband, and because he had always wanted to grow things. 

“They married in the autumn in the glow of the harvest fires before the newly built house and the blossoming rose bushes, and there they have lived happily together ever since.”

A moment of shocked silence follows this unexpected ending. Sam and Frodo are sniffling quietly. Semira’s face is scrunched up with consternation. Sauron is just pleased that Rick had left out mention of the Ernil i Pheriannath, for it had been Pippin who had learned of Ioveta’s hardship and carried the news to the King.

Finally Sam blinks and wipes the tears from his eyes. “I always rather hoped it’d be her husband as walked through the door, not that old soldier. I never heard what happened after that. It is a happy ending, as you say.”

“That’s a lovely story,” Frodo agrees at last. “There’s hope in it. I am glad they found each other.”

Sam nods his agreement but Semira only stares at the extinguished fire thoughtfully. Sauron stretches and yawns. “A wonderful story,” he says, “but if we’re going to cross over to Khand tonight, we better get to sleep now. I’ll take the first watch.” With that, the others go to their bedrolls and are soon asleep.

To be continued…

GF 5/27/07