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Chapter Two: In Which Eldarion Makes Ink

When he was finished with the book he had borrowed, Eldarion did not immediately go back to the princess. He was not certain exactly what to discuss with her. He had been absolutely delighted with the tale, but it was a story, not a history, like the Elvish lays his tutors drilled into his head. His tutors had never read him fiction, deeming it unimportant for a prince. He loved those poems, but they were not the same as pure imagined story. They had actually happened. And so Eldarion was quite beside himself as to how he was going to talk to Lady Seraphine without sounding like a fool. In desperation, he sought out the person most likely to know how to solve the predicament.

“Mother?”

Arwen was sitting at her desk, writing a letter while Eldarion’s younger sisters played on the floor. Eldarion guessed, from the length of it, that the letter was probably to Lady Eowyn in Emyn Arnen, his mother’s closest mortal friend. Arwen looked up at him with a smile.

“What is it, sweetling?”

Eldarion handed her the book about the moving castle and posed his question. Arwen studied the tome curiously for a moment before answering.

“I would start by telling her your favorite part,” she said at last. “And then go from there. You need to read more literature, Eldarion.”

Eldarion blushed. “Master Tavor didn’t like fiction. He said it was for people who are uneducated.”

Arwen frowned. “Your father and I both read fictional tales, Elda. Perhaps it is good that the venerable tutor is leaving us.”

“Would you like to read this one?” Eldarion asked on impulse. “It’s awfully fun. I think that Elboron and Elfwine would like it, too.”

Arwen reached out and hugged her young son. “I would love to read it. Write to your friends. Perhaps we can send them copies.”

Eldarion grinned, delighted. This idea was a fine one, and he immediately borrowed pen and paper from Arwen and wrote to his “cousins” in Rohan and Ithilien. The three boys were in close contact, although they did not see each other often. He planned to run down to the princess’s home after the letters were sent, but he soon became involved in a game with his sisters, which involved flinging their toys across the room on a makeshift catapult. Their mother watched for a while before joining them. The queen was not one to have her children kept from her, nor to shun a bit of mischief.

The next day, however, Eldarion set off to the princess’s villa with several jars of Emyn Arnen honey and a few beeswax candles, and an explanation as to why he had not yet brought her book back. A housekeeper let Eldarion into the house and showed him to a room he had not been into before. It was obviously a workroom of sorts, for there was a high oaken table and a simple fireplace inside. Lady Seraphine was there, mixing something in several stone bowls. She looked up at him and smiled.

“Hello, Eldarion,” she said. “Fare thee well?”

“Yes,” Eldarion replied. “Mother sent you some honey and candles from Emyn Arnen. Auntie Eowyn makes them; she keeps bees. The honey is the best in Gondor. Father says it’s because she’s from Rohan.”

The princess laughed and took the basket. “Thank you! Thank your mother. This is a gift indeed.” She sniffed at the candles, nodded, and set the basket on the table, then surveyed him majestically for a few moments. “I am twenty-five.”

“I am eleven,” Eldarion replied, grinning. It was a neat loophole around formality.

“I was almost eleven when I first came here with my grandfather. I believe I gave your father and the halflings a monkey.”

Eldarion hooted, delighted. “Elrohir! They named him after one of my uncles.”

Seraphine laughed aloud. “I imagine he appreciated that.”

She went back to her mixtures, and waved Eldarion over to look. Up close, he could see that each of the bowls contained paints. He asked if she painted.

“No. I am making these for the Librarian at the Great Library. His supplier recently went the way of all men, and he has no one to make the inks he uses to illuminate his manuscripts. I know how to make ink, and so offered to make his colors,” Seraphine said.

“Oh.”

Eldarion watched with interest as Seraphine crushed berries to add juice to her mixtures. There were all sorts of things on the table; bowls of foul smelling liquid added a pungent aroma to the air. Eldarion realized that the only reason he didn’t have a headache was because the windows were open. As the princess reached for each item, she explained to him what she was doing.

“You must crush the berries to get the juices out. Berries are good for bright colors, which is what I am making now.. Add salt and vinegar to the juices, as they keep the color fresh and prevent the mold from getting to it. This is a pomegranate from the fruit stall at the market; its juices are a sort of deep red. I have elderberries, blackberries and walnuts, as well. Each makes different ink. I daresay you known all of these items?”

“I didn’t know how to make inks from them,” Eldarion replied carefully. He did not want to seem a fool. “All of our ink is made for us, at home.”

The princess nodded. “I can teach you how to make your own, if you like. There is an old tunic hanging on the back of the door. Go and put it over your clothes.”

Eldarion did as he was told, pulling the long tunic on over his fine one. He noticed, as if for the first time, that the princess was wearing a long smock over her own dress, and had her hair tied back in a colorful scarf. It made sense to protect their clothing; both her smock and the table were liberally spattered in juices. Seraphine handed him a bowl and a strainer, and set him to grinding berries into juices. It was, Eldarion thought as he helped produce a deep red ink, the funnest lesson he had ever had with anyone apart from his parents. When he left Seraphine’s house later that afternoon, fingers stained purple and a huge grin on his face, he carried a small glass bottle, which he delightedly presented to his father that night.

“Where did you get this?” Aragorn asked, holding the bottle up to the light and admiring the red-purple color.

“I made it! Lady Seraphine taught me how. She was making some from the Librarian, but she let me make some for you, too. She said it’s ink like the Haradrim make, and that it will last much longer than normal ink.” Eldarion clasped his hands behind his back and bounced a little, altogether pleased. “Do you like it?”

Aragorn smiled as he set the bottle down. “Very much. Thank you, Elda.”

That night, after Eldarion and his sisters had gone to bed, Aragorn and Arwen sat together in their parlor. Aragorn took the bottle of ink and spread a sheet of paper on the table. He took a quill, dipped it into the ink, and wrote, “Aragorn Arathornson, trying ink made by his son, Eldarion.” The ink flowed smoothly, writing his words clearly on the paper. Good ink, not thin or stripy. He wasn’t surprised. Haradric ink was generally well made and expensive.

“Eldarion seems to be learning more enthusiastically these days,” Aragorn remarked. “Do you think it is the Haradric princess’s doing?”

“Yes. He was telling the girls all about her this afternoon, and promising to show them how to make ink. I had to disallow that until they are of an age to not throw it at each other. But it seems that Eldarion’s interest is peaked.”

Aragorn cleaned his pen and put it away, obviously thinking deeply. Arwen watched him, nimble fingers embroidering tiny golden flowers into the hem of her oldest daughter’s new blue gown.

“His current tutor retires to Lebennin next week,” Aragorn said at last. “Eldarion is in need of a tutor who will broaden his horizons and interest him. Perhaps Lady Seraphine will be willing to take on his education.”

“I think she is a wise choice, as well,” Arwen agreed, smiling. “I will invite her to tea tomorrow, to discuss the proposition.”

Accordingly, the next morning a handwritten note from Queen Arwen reached Lady Seraphine. The princess read the invitation to tea and sent back a positive response. When the page had gone, she went to dress. An audience with the Queen, no matter how informal, was not to be taken lightly.

TBC