Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back when I’m done.

Author’s Note: I feel that if Tolkien took things from our world and used them in his, than it’s all right to do the same here. But then, his world is a pre-history of ours, isn’t it? I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Chapter Four: In Which the Royal Children Learn Henna

“Elda, where are we going?”

Eldarion stopped mid-stride and spun to glower at his sister. Miriel was a bright girl, normally, but she had an audacious knack for stubbornness. She was currently standing on the roadside, arms folded, glaring at him.

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” Eldarion told her. “But you will really like it!”

Miriel drew herself up to her full and inconsiderable height, tossed her dark head, and continued to glower at him. She had a good glower; it was just like their father’s, only female. “I don’t like surprises! Tell me!”

Eldarion sighed woefully. “I can’t. I guess I will just have to go on by myself. It’s a shame, really. But you know the way back home, Miriel, so I’ll see you later.”

He turned and strode off down the street. Moments later he heard Miriel running to catch up, and grinned. Sometimes being tricksy was the only way to be with his sisters.

Eldarion led the way to Lady Seraphine’s door, and bowed to the housekeeper when she opened it. They were shown to the back garden, where they found the princess lounging on cushions beside a low table. Perhaps lounging was not the correct word, as she was painting her hand.

“Good morrow, Eldarion,” she called, glancing over at him.

“Good morning, Lady Seraphine,” the little prince replied. “I brought my sister, Miriel, to meet you.”

Miriel curtseyed politely, and Seraphine brought her hands together and bowed.

“A pleasure to meet you, princess,” she said.

Miriel blushed and nodded. She was not normally shy, but being in the presence of this exotic woman, in her orange dress and jewels, seemed to have robbed her of her tongue. Eldarion patted her on the shoulder; she followed him closely as he went to the low table.

“What are you doing?” he asked curiously.

Seraphine was dotting an intricate pattern in dark paste on her fingers and nails, using a small paper cone. The paste covered her other tattoos, which appeared to have faded.

“Fixing my tattoos,” the princess replied. “It must be done every so often you see, as the skin on the hands sheds. Normally a servant would do it, but I have no servants who excel at henna, and so I must make do.”

Eldarion and Miriel sat down on the plump cushions she waved them to, examining the various items on the table. Miriel seemed more interested in the tabletop, which had been decorated with inlaid stones in a neat pattern.

“You must add essential oils to the powder, to bring it to the right consistency,” Seraphine explained, indicating several small glass bottles. “It also helps with the color, which should be dark, not orange. You must make the paste the night before, using just the henna powder and a bit of lemon juice. Keep it in a cool place, and add the oils to it in the morning. Some sugar helps the paste to stick to the skin better. The paste should be smooth, like a light pudding. It must mature for a day before it will be good enough to work with. When it is ready, you spoon it carefully into the applicator-usually a paper cone like this one-and you are ready to paint.”

Seraphine waved the paper cone under their noses, and smiled when Miriel breathed in the fragrant scent deeply. She held up her hand for them to inspect. The design on the back of her hand was a peacock, and there were vines on each of her fingers. The children gaped in amazement.

“I thought those were real tattoos on your hands, like sailors have,” Eldarion said in amazement.

Seraphine shook her head, setting her hand down on the table and blowing on it gently. With her other hand, she tidied.

“In Harad, we use it for nearly everything: festivals, rituals, celebrations.” She smiled reminiscently. “At weddings the bride’s hands and feet are covered in intricate designs, even more so than what I have now. After they fade, she wears certain designs that denote her married status.”

“What is it like in Harad?” Miriel asked eagerly. She had found her tongue again.

Seraphine leaned back and contemplated for a time. At last, she spoke.

“It is very hot there, even hotter than here. Cities rise up from the desert, usually by the oases where the precious water is found. There is not much natural color, just the dull gold of the sand and the bright blue of the sky, which is just the color of your dress, princess Miriel.” Seraphine fell silent for a moment, gazing off into the distance. “And so we wear color. Pinks and blues and reds and greens. The colors of life. Even the poorest individual has some garment in a bright color. On special days, everyone dons their finery, so that the cities resemble flower filled gardens.”

“What sort of special days?” Eldarion asked eagerly.

“Oh, festivals and wedding days,” Seraphine said. She carefully blotted her hand with a damp cloth that smelled like olive oil. “Much like how it is here, only different. On weddings, we take a mumak and paint it with bright colors, and decorate it with gold harnesses and bells, and with richly embroidered fabrics. The females are the ones used, as they are smaller than the males. The newlyweds ride it in celebration.”

Eldarion and Miriel exchanged a delighted look. They had heard of mumakil before, or course, but only in the context of fear and war. They were a legend of terror in the City. Never before had they heard that you could ride on one for pleasure.

“I want to go to Harad,” Eldarion announced, and Miriel nodded vigorously. “Our parents went there once, long ago, but I have never been.”

A shadow passed over Seraphine’s face. “It is in turmoil now, Eldarion. Perhaps in a few years. For now, I would not venture there.”

They were all silent for a time, after that. Seraphine stirred the henna mixture in its porcelain bowl and spooned some into the paper cone. She turned to Miriel, smiling, happy again.

“Come, princess Miriel, let me henna your feet. That way you can still wear your fine dresses, but have lovely feet as well.”

Miriel’s odd shyness returned and she blushed. “I would have to take my shoes and stockings off.”

“’Tis all right. I am wearing sandals, myself,” Seraphine said, stretching her bare feet out for them to see. They giggled.

“Miri, we’re half-Elves! We are allowed to go barefoot! Mother goes barefoot all of the time,” Eldarion said, nudging her. “Go on, it’s all right.”

Miriel grinned and tore her shoes and stockings off. She needed no more urging.

When lunchtime came, the royal children were both barefoot and hennaed, and were playing chess at the gaming table Seraphine had brought out. The housekeeper was clearing the low table of the fragrant henna materials and laying out a sumptuous lunch. When called, they abandoned their game and came to sit on the cushions again.

Eldarion looked over the dishes on the table. There was a large bowl of rice, a bowl full of a thick, yellow sauce, and a plate of flat bread. Two goblets held water; Seraphine’s contained a deep red wine.

“You have had curry before?” Seraphine asked, arranging her orange skirts as she sat down.

Eldarion nodded. “Yes, at big dinners. It was very spicy.”

“I like it,” said Miriel.

“Then eat!” laughed Seraphine. “It is not particularly fancy; just a regular dish that families eat often. But it is filling.”

The children sat and ate. This was good food, certainly spicy, but hot and filling. The curry was filled with chicken and onions, and was poured over the rice. Eldarion chewed his bread thoughtfully when he had finished it, while Miriel stretched out on the cushions and fell asleep with her head on his knee.

“Lady Seraphine? Do you miss Harad?” he asked.

Seraphine sipped her wine, contemplating. “No, not really. It is a good place, but not at all like Gondor. Most women of the higher classes, for instance, rarely leave their homes. Your lady mother helps your father rule the kingdom; it is not so in my country. But I do miss the music.”

Eldarion frowned. There was good music in Gondor! There were often concerts in the palace or at the homes of nobles, concerts of sweet music, and often the Elves performed their lays. The people of the city often formed bands and played loud, raucous, fun music that you could dance to. Last autumn, he and his father had dressed in simple old clothes and gone down to a pub in the lower circles, where such music was played. They had eaten simple fare and sang along, even danced a bit, and Eldarion hoped that they would go again soon. Did Seraphine not know about the music of the city?

“Someday I will show you my instruments,” the princess continued. “But for now, I think that it is perhaps time for you to take your sister home. It approaches the rest hours of the afternoon.”

When Eldarion and Miriel returned to the palace a short time later, barefoot and with Miriel’s skirts kilted up to keep them from swiping the henna on her feet, the servants looked at them in askance, but did not speak. Miriel went off to finish her nap, and Eldarion left his shoes in the family parlor and went to find his father. He banged on the study door and entered when Aragorn called out.

“Hello, Ada,” he said. “Look!”

Eldarion stuck his feet out for inspection. Aragorn grinned, leaning his arms on his desk.

“I take it Lady Seraphine has showed you another aspect of her culture,” he said.

“Yes, and she fed us. She said that when you get married in Harad, you get to ride on an oliphaunt! Can you believe it? They’re not all vicious, like the ones in the war.”

Aragorn nodded. “Aye, riding an oliphaunt is in fact quite an adventure. Lots of fun.”

“You rode on an oliphaunt?” Eldarion gaped at his father. “I want to! And I would like to write to Mr. Gamgee and tell him all about what Lady Seraphine told Miriel and me. May I?”

Aragorn nodded. “Of course! I am sure that Sam would love to hear all about it.”

He handed Eldarion a sheet of paper and some ink, and Eldarion set to writing the letter. He made sure to detail all of what the princess had told him, and drew the tattoo designs in the corners of the paper. Last of all, he added the recipe for the curry, which the housekeeper had been more than willing to give to him. Eldarion was merely returning a favor, for the Gamgees always included recipes for things in their letters. Aragorn said it was because they were hobbits, and that a letter from a hobbit that did not mention food was certainly not finished or normal.

“Ada?” Eldarion asked as he folded the letter up and sealed it with wax. “Have you selected a new tutor for me yet?”

Aragorn looked up from his papers. “We thought we would give you the summer away from your books, Elda. It will give you the chance to get some sunshine and to learn more about what life is like outside of the library.”

Eldarion grinned, delighted. “Good! I want to keep going to Lady Seraphine’s house. She is fun!”

He left to seek his mother out then, and did not see Aragorn laughing silently into his papers.

TBC