Chapter 3 - Explorations

Pippin found Faramir in the main conference room, sitting to a late breakfast while he awaited Aragorn’s arrival. Guards stood ready at all the entrances and a few of the King’s advisors were already in the room, standing in the wings and speaking in whispers. A young page waited on Faramir, standing behind him at his elbow, ready to pour more drink if needed. The boy, seeing Pippin approach, reached for another goblet, but Pippin shook his head.

“Might I speak with you alone, Captain?” Pippin asked with a bow, using the less formal title so his friend would know the matter was neither urgent nor business in nature.

Faramir nodded and sent the page to stand by the Steward’s chair to be beckoned later if needed.

Pippin sat without waiting for invitation and leaned across the table so he could speak quietly. The marble floors, walls and pillars amplified sounds up towards the high ceilings, where they rebounded down in all directions to the hall below. As such, the royal courtroom did not make for an ideal meeting place to discuss conspiracies. However, Pippin was confident that no one would repeat anything that was overheard, knowing the Prince and Knight were speaking in confidence. It was habit more than the need for secrecy that caused him to whisper.

Faramir heard Pippin’s request, a frown growing. “Do I know anyone who would like to meet Frodo personally?” he repeated in his normal, soft-spoken voice. “Yes. Everyone.”

“Is there anyone in particular who comes to mind?” Pippin asked, raising his voice also and trying his best not to ogle at Faramir’s breakfast.

Faramir swallowed his bite of eggs and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Is Frodo looking to entertain?” he asked in return, remembering only too well the call to battle the previous night.

Pippin grinned meekly. “No, but we’ve decided we don’t particularly care anymore. Frodo is always so overwhelmed at the feasts that he never gets to relax or really enjoy the company. He does much better when hosting a small, private party. As he also doesn’t care much for politics, we thought that inviting some of the citizens to the house would be more prudent.”

“I see,” Faramir said, reaching for his goblet. “That will take some considering then. I might know of a few, but I will need to interview them beforehand.”

“No need,” Pippin said cheerfully. “Merry will want to do that. He’s fond of you and trusts your judgment, but he’ll also want to know what to expect of any potential guests, which will mean meeting them first. Don’t want to scare them off, being interviewed by you and him, now do we? Plus, it’ll give him something to do. He’s been feeling rather useless since Éomer and Éowyn left.”

Faramir’s eyes clouded wistfully at the mention of Éowyn, but he quickly put aside thoughts of his beloved until a more private moment.

“So when you suggested helping Aragorn see to the reordering of his apartments…” he prompted, seeing for the first time what Pippin had wanted to accomplish with that particular suggestion. Pippin nodded, looking smug. Faramir sat back and eyed his little friend critically. “Is this your solution then for the demons that have plagued you and your friends? What is going to keep you distracted from your memories?”

Pippin quirked his eyebrows, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Well, let me think,” he said. “Merry’s bent on doing this prank, which means Frodo will retaliate, likely at the most inopportune time – for Merry leastways. Sam’s been sent to spy on Strider – like Strider won’t see that sailing up the Anduin – and all three of them are annoyed at me for ditching them with redecorating, which none of them much care to do. On top of all that, I have my duties to the King and the Guard, and I have to compile a list of potential houseguests, find their houses and arrange for them to meet Merry. I will then no doubt have to schedule them to come to our house for tea, or whatever passes for tea in this city. I do believe that I have plenty to distract me for the moment.”

Faramir laughed. “You do sound quite busy,” he agreed. “If it will help, I can have one of the pages track down any citizens Merry may wish to interview. They could even arrange the engagements as well, if you were to give me a list of the times Merry would be available for such interviews. If you want to get started on your list, you’re in luck. Aragorn will be holding court with his subjects today. I’ll have the recorder write two lists. You can go over yours with Merry and Sam and let me know which ones you think Frodo will benefit from meeting the most.”

“That would help,” Pippin agreed. “Though, if I may ask, I prefer if Bergil were sent to arrange the meetings. He knows us well enough to be discreet.”

Faramir inclined his head, agreeing to this term with ease. He was about to say more when the side door opened and Aragorn entered. Immediately, everyone in the throne room stood at attention, and Faramir and Pippin rose to their feet and bowed.

“At your ease,” Aragorn requested to the room in general.

“How go the reparations, my lord?” Faramir asked, waving over the page to take away his plate and goblet, thus making room for the recorder to take his seat.

Pippin was dismayed to see that there was still food left on the plate. He eyed Faramir critically for fatigue or dizziness, or any other telltale signs that would point to a lack of nutrition. Seeing none, he took up his position behind the King’s throne and stood at attention.

“They go well,” Aragorn answered. “I am continually impressed at the speed of your craftsmen. There might well be nothing left to repair by the time Gimli’s kin arrive to lend their hands.”

“If only that could be so, my lord,” Faramir replied.

“Are the dockets full today?” Aragorn asked. He smiled gently at Pippin as he took his seat.

“They are, my lord. Your subjects are eager to meet you,” Faramir said. “Shall we bring them forth?”

“Yes, thank you,” Aragorn said, and at Faramir’s nod, the tall double doors to the throne room were opened, letting in the morning light and a stream of people come to see their king.  

The first room the hobbits and the guards entered was the library. Open to the hallway, the ceiling here was supported by wide wooden pillars etched with many Elven runes. The inner walls were covered floor to ceiling by built-in bookshelves with musty tomes and scrolls of all sizes, and there were small round tables and many reading chairs scattered about the room. Light poured in from the long windows of the wall opposite the hallway. A rug of midnight blue leafed with silver and gold lay in the middle of the room before the hearth, a long oak table sitting upon the rug. A chandelier hung from the center of the room over the table, its sconces holding new candles, its metal gleaming.

“Very clean,” Merry intoned.

“What do you reckon this means?” Sam asked, looking at the pillars.

Amarlicus came up behind him and squinted at the runes. “It appears to be a history of the building of the House,” he said. He lifted a hand and ran a callused finger over the pillar, down the lines of runes. “This column tells how the carpenter Darlos felled the trees that became these very pillars.”

“You can read Elvish?” Sam asked.

“I used to be the royal tutor,” Amarlicus explained, smiling at memories long past. “I taught Captain Boromir and Prince Faramir their subjects.”

“You did?” Frodo asked, his interest piqued. He and Merry came to join Sam and the old tutor by the pillar. “Boromir mentioned his tutors a few times on our journey. Are you the one then who would make him write lines when he forgot to do his studies? He told us once that you made him write so many lines that his hand cramped and he couldn’t put down his quill.”

Amarlicus laughed heartily at this, tears of mirth springing to his eyes. “He was a terrible pupil!” he said. “For my lessons at any rate. Like all the other lads, his mind was all for war and battles, not poems or songs.”

“Unless the songs were of war and battle,” Merry guessed.

“Indeed,” Amarlicus said dryly. “But even with that he became bored. He would rather train and could always be found on the training grounds when he should have been sitting to my lessons. Faramir though, he learned all that he could and enjoyed the poems for their own beauty and sadness. Such a pupil is rare.”

“So Faramir told us, when we met him in Ithilien,” Frodo said. “Do you no longer teach?”

“Denethor saw no need for my lessons these last many years,” Amarlicus said, regret etched in the lines of his face. “He was a good man once, before his wife died.”

“Perhaps you could teach again, now that there’s peace,” Merry suggested. “Surely, Strider would be agreeable.”

The old tutor shook his head. “I think I shall retire and return with my grandsons to Ringló Vale when they are well enough to travel home. It has been many years since I have seen my family. King Aragorn has already promised I can go, once they are ready.”

“Look at this!” exclaimed Adrik then.

While the others had talked, he had been busy exploring the library’s furnishings, all of which were polished to a resplendent gleam. The tables and chairs were in good repair, though the fabric of the chairs was faded from their original beauty. Adrik now stood in front of the hearth, examining the portrait that hung over the mantelpiece. The painting was of a regal woman of fair skin and raven hair, a red jewel upon her brow.

“She’s beautiful,” Adrik said, transfixed.

“Who is she?” Merry asked. He and the others joined Adrik by the hearth.

“That is Queen Fíriel, daughter of King Ondoher,” Amarlicus explained. “She was married to Prince Arvedui, son of Araphant, King of Arthedain to the north. When Ondoher and his sons died in battle, Arvedui attempted to claim the kingship of Gondor by means of his marriage to Fíriel. It would have united the two kingdoms, but his claim was rejected. The kingship instead went to Eärnil II. After Eärnil was his son Eärnur, the last king of Gondor, who was lost to Minas Ithil after he heeded a challenge by the Witch King. That is when the Ruling Stewards took control of the kingdom. Meanwhile, Arvedui’s son Aranarth became the first chieftain of the Dúnedain after the kingdom of Arthedain was lost. Aranarth’s line though never ended. His descendant now sits on the throne and the two kingdoms are united, as his forefather would have seen done.”

“Seems like everyone could have saved themselves a lot of trouble by just allowing Arvedui to claim the kingship then,” Sam said.

Amarlicus laughed. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. We will never know.”

“What was she like?” Frodo asked, indicating the portrait.

“Not many stories are told of our Queens of old,” Amarlicus said. “She looks kind though.”

“What other treasures are to be discovered here?” Merry asked.

They went around the room, inspecting everything in their path. The tomes and scrolls were in most need of repair. Well-kept and handled little over the years, their spines were still cracking and the writing in many of them was hardly legible, so faded was the ink and so browned was the parchment. They were intrigued to discover that many of the tomes and scrolls were written in Queyan, Sindarin or Adûnaic, the ancient language of Númenor. The rest were written in Westron, with now and again an especially old text written in Taliska.

“I wonder what these say,” Sam said of the oldest tomes.

Merry pointed at a scroll of Adûnaic. “This is close enough to Westron that I can make out about every seven words.” His hand fluttered to a tome in Taliska but he didn’t touch it, so fragile was the parchment. “This though… A couple of the words look familiar, and some, if I’m reading them right, sound like they might even be Rohirric, but I’ll be smart if I can figure out what any of it says.”

“That is Taliska, an ancient language from the first age, derived from Elvish sources,” Amarlicus explained.

“Can you read it?” Sam asked.

“I cannot. I don’t think there is anyone who still can, except maybe the Elves, if they ever learned it,” Amarlicus replied. “But Sir Meriadoc is correct. Both the Rohirric and Adûnaic tongues branched from Taliska, and Adûnaic became Westron.”

“The tomes are fascinating,” Adrik said, hoping he didn't sound too bored, “but might we explore the rest of the house? There must be other treasures to be found.”

Frodo grinned up from his book, which he thought might be about herb lore from the pictures. “I think that is a fine idea, and we did promise to look over the whole house. We can’t figure out what needs replacing by sitting in here all day.”

“I don’t know, sir. These here chairs are in need of new upholstery,” Sam said, casting a critical eye over the chairs. “Could probably use new stuffing in the seats, I wouldn’t doubt.”

Merry dared to sit on a chair, though he didn’t quite put his full weight on it. “It could be more cushy,” he agreed.

Adrik smiled at this. “Cushy?”

“You know, more cushiony,” Merry elaborated. He stood and walked around the library with Frodo and Sam at his sides. “The wood looks to be in good order.”

“Some rat or vermin’s been a gnawing at this leg here though,” Sam said, pointing to a table leg that had definitely seen better days. “That could have happened in storage though.”

“You think so?” Merry asked hopefully, barely keeping his voice from squeaking in imitation of his dreaded nemesis. He much rather preferred to think of the vermin safely tucked away in storage than roaming through the house at will. Actually, he would rather prefer if the hated rodents suddenly disappeared from the face of the earth. He wouldn’t have been surprised if they had been swallowed up by the desolation of Mordor, gone to the Void with their Master.

“I don’t see any signs of rats here,” Frodo said comfortingly, placing a consoling hand to Merry’s shoulder. “I’m sure we’re safe enough.”

“Mayhap we should make a list of what all needs fixing?” Sam suggested. “I didn’t think to bring any parchment or ink though.”

“I’m sure we can remember well enough,” Frodo said. “Come on. Let’s check the other rooms, shall we?”

So one by one they went through the rooms and floors: parlors, sitting rooms, drawing rooms, dining rooms, bathing rooms, bedchambers, wardrobes, and even, to Sam’s continuing delight, a rooftop garden, freshly planted with herbs, vegetables and perennials. So long as he stayed away from the edges of the roof, he would have been more than happy to remain there all day, but there was still much to explore.

They stopped midway in their inspection to find their luncheon in the kitchen. At their request, Porcia beckoned for parchment, ink and quills, and Frodo began promptly to make their list, room by room, of improvements needed. The list was fairly short thus far but it grew by the end of the day. They focused mostly on the obvious things: cracked portraits, worn upholstery, scuffed furniture: no doubt things of which Mistress Porcia was already aware.

They grew more bold as evening came on and jotted down possible suggestions for paint, flooring or decorations in some of the rooms. The sunroom could use a chaise to sit against the long row of windows, and they all agreed that the rusty-orange paint in the sitting rooms had to go. The hobbits would have preferred the tile and marble to be replaced with wood flooring and they wished for some way to add more curves to the straight lines and sharp corners, but they knew such things were unlikely to be done and so left them off the list.

They finished their inspection just in time for tea. The master chef, a tall lanky fellow with a long sharp nose, looked at them with a blank expression when they requested a teatime meal. He went to work busily though once Sam requested it in more detail: mint tea with cream, water biscuits with butter and preserves, and cheese. The chef had one of his subordinates gather the required items and deliver them to the hobbits and the guards in the reception parlor, where they awaited Pippin and Aragorn’s arrival, going over their list one last time as they waited.

“Don’t forget the candlesticks in the north sitting room,” Merry reminded Frodo. “They were crooked.”

Frodo nodded and added this to the bottom of the list, then sat back and rubbed his hand absently. “Well, I don’t know how much help we were, but at least we know where everything is now,” he said.

“I had no idea this house was so large,” Adrik said. “You could get lost in here.”

“It is a good house for playing hide-and-go-seek,” Merry said. “You could play all day on just one round, I bet.”

“What other games do you play in your Shire, Sir Meriadoc?” Amarlicus asked.

“Oh, lots. You can turn most anything into a game,” Merry said.

“A competition, you mean,” Frodo interrupted.

“That’s what games are, my dear,” Merry returned. “Feeling competitive?”

“Don’t get cocky, love,” Frodo answered. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“We shall soon find out, shan’t we?” Merry replied.

“Shan’t we? Is ‘shan’t’ a word?” Pippin asked from the entryway.

“It is indeed, a rather useful one, if overly flowery,” Aragorn answered.

Amarlicus and Adrik hurried to their feet and bowed to their king. “Your Majesty.” 

“At your ease,” Aragorn said before turning to the hobbits. “Finish your tea. I will be down shortly to discuss your findings.” He turned down the hall to the formal study.

“And we best be leaving,” Amarlicus said. He and Adrik said farewell to their new friends. “It has been a pleasure to serve you this day, Lord Frodo and Lord Samwise, and Sir Meriadoc.”

“We have enjoyed your company and the wisdom that you shared,” Frodo said honestly.

The guards took their leave and Pippin slouched into a chair next to Merry. He looked over the remains of tea on the table and selected a wedge of cheese to nibble. “So I see you all survived your day,” he said with a wink. “Perhaps you could lend your services to the other struggling homeowners wishing to improve the looks of their dwellings.”

“Don’t push it, Pip,” Merry warned.

To be continued…

GF 12/28/08
Published 3/11/09