Chapter 6 – Ambassadors Abound

If Merry was disappointed at the lack of swords in the training yard, he no longer was by the end of the session. Pippin had insisted he wear gloves before choosing a cudgel to practice with, yet despite this, Merry’s hands were still smarting with blisters by the time he put down the club. His upper arms, shoulders, neck and lower back were also going to be sore by the morning without preventative measures, so he joined the soldiers in their baths to soak away the majority of his pending pains and aches.

He followed Pippin through the maze of lockers afterward and changed back into his everyday clothes while Pippin changed into his clean livery, though he retained the hauberk he had been wearing at practice. Washed and cleaned, they followed a group of the Guards on their way to the buttery for luncheon through the barracks to the front door, which led out onto the lawn.

As they walked down the stone steps, one soldier pointed to the far left corner of the lawn in the direction of the King’s House. A long line of people were coming from the House, Gandalf and Aragorn at the head with a pair of brown-skinned Haradrim. The ambassadors had arrived.

The second lieutenant, seeing this and being the highest-ranking officer among the bunch, quickly ordered them to attention. The soldiers formed two short lines and stood tall and still. Merry held back, curious about these ambassadors. He also thought he might not be allowed in the buttery if he arrived without the others, so there was little point in going ahead.

The procession made its way slowly across the lawn. From the way Aragorn or Gandalf would occasionally point in this direction or that, they were showing the ambassadors around the citadel, brining them to the barracks first so that they will understand how close at hand the elite forces were to the King's House, the Tower, the White Tree and the Steward’s House. The tour would circle around the citadel until it ended at the guest houses where the chief ambassadors and their servants would be living while in the city. The rest of the embassy would reside in the City below.

At length, Aragorn and Gandalf arrived at the barracks. By this time, many more soldiers had joined the two lines, falling into formation without provocation. This was something they were accustomed to doing by this point. The second lieutenant was relieved of his duty by the arrival of the major, who quickly marched up and down the rows, inspecting the troops for appearance and neatness. Satisfied, he met the king and his guests at the head of the line.

Free to look at his leisure, Merry conducted his own inspection of the Haradrim. He was surprised to discover that there were a number of women among the group; up to now, all such groups had included only soldiers and their masters. Unless the women were soldiers also. Merry frowned at this thought but continued his inspection.

The ambassadors appeared to be a man and a woman, both regal in their stature and appearance. The man was large, both of height and musculature. He looked like a brick wall and Merry gulped, imaging what such a warrior might look like coming at him with full war paint and scimitar ready for slaughter. The man wore his long black hair in plaits, pulled away from a round, broad face. The woman, while slighter of build, was nearly as tall and equally imposing in her bearing. Her head was covered in a bejeweled white veil so that no hair could be seen, but her face was one of great beauty, soft yet stern. Her slanted violet eyes shinned out from dark painted lids, giving the impression that she could see right through at whomever she was looking.

While the rest of the embassy wore plain tunics or kilts and linen shirts of white or brown, the two ambassadors wore deep blue sarongs, wrapped about their bodies in appearance of a robe. Nearly all of the embassy had pierced ears, and many had tattoos of odd symbols on their faces and arms, the only parts of them visible outside their clothing other than their feet, which Merry was surprised to see were bare. No, not bare, he realized on closer scrutiny. They wore an odd sort of shoe that covered only their soles and were kept in place by straps that wound halfway up the calf, leaving the rest of the foot open to the elements.

Aragorn finished speaking to the major and slowly made his way down the lines of Guards, the lines of the embassy trailing behind them. Aragorn started speaking again, but he wasn’t making any kind of sense. Merry realized then that Aragorn was speaking, or attempting to speak, in the Haradrim’s own language, which even with his jilted accent was strangely lyrical, with many ups and downs in tone and rhythm that reminded Merry of a song. Every now and then, Gandalf would add to whatever Aragorn said, to make the point clearer for the ambassadors no doubt.

The ambassadors had passed up the spot where Pippin stood in the front line, but one young man in a deep blue kilt and tunic stopped short when he caught a glimpse of Pippin’s feet. Those behind him were forced to stop and he grabbed the arm of the man before him. He said something in an excited tone of voice, pointing at Pippin’s feet and grinning widely. The soldiers nearest Pippin immediately stiffened, ready to grasp their swords in an eye’s blink if necessary. Pippin merely looked bewildered. Merry imagined Pippin was wondering how he could manage to cause trouble just by standing still and wondered if Aragorn might make Pippin start wearing his boots.

The two men exchanged animated chatter while those around them peered over shoulders and around bodies to get a glimpse of Pippin. The chatter was now going back and forth in a chorus of lilts, trills and breaths of awe. The young man who had started this disturbance suddenly called over the growing din. The ambassadors stopped, turned and glided back to where their lost embassy was standing. They listened to the young man’s declarations, and the male ambassador looked with much amusement at Pippin.

The woman, whatever her thoughts and feelings were in the matter, looked only disgusted, not at Pippin but at her co-ambassador and embassy. She spoke sharply and with an authority that made even the Guard of the Tower stand yet more rigid and upright, their caution forgotten. Her embassy immediately fell back into order, her co-ambassador looking chagrined but not particularly apologetic. He continued to look at Pippin with curiosity.

Aragorn and Gandalf returned. The woman said something to them, then turned to Pippin and said something to him in that same clear voice, her tones polite but edged with a sharpness intended only to remind her people to behave themselves. Aragorn turned to Pippin, amusement in his own eyes, but he translated her words with graveness.

“Queen Farzana apologizes for the rudeness of her embassy and the young Prince Shahzad, and wishes that the… stunted one… does not hold their rudeness against them. They are merely curious of this strange land and its people, and in their excitement, they forgot their manners. She wishes that the stunted one can forgive them their offense,” Aragorn said.

There was some surprise among the ranks to realize that the ambassador was in fact a queen. Her companion then was likely a king, for he looked close to her own age if not older. The prince then must be their son, for while he resembled the man in stature, he had the queen’s softer nose and chin and her same violet eyes.

Pippin blinked at Aragorn and the queen. Merry could tell that he wanted to blurt out offense at being called a stunted one, but Pippin restrained himself, bowed most gallantly, and said, “No offense is taken. I often allow curiosity to get the better of me as well, so I understand their enthusiasm for learning and seeing new things. I look forward to learning more about them at tonight’s feast.”

Aragorn tilted his head slightly in approval of this, though the twinkle in his eyes showed that he too had guessed Pippin’s thoughts on the use of ‘stunted one’. Aragorn translated for the queen, making a point of saying ‘hobbit’ as often as he could. The queen tilted her head at Pippin, barked more orders at her embassy, and gave the king a stern glare. The king began to protest, but he was smirking when he did this, and he bore her further comments without complaint. The queen finished her rant, shook her head in a ‘what am I going to do with you?’ manner and rejoined Gandalf and Aragorn at the head of the line. The king gave Pippin one last look, bowed in apology himself, gave the prince a ‘we’ll talk about this later’ glance, and joined his queen. The embassy moved away from the barracks then, heading towards the Steward’s House.

“Well, that was an eye opener,” Merry said, coming to join Pippin as the guards fell out of attention and disbursed towards the Tower and the buttery.

“Yes, but for whom?” Pippin asked, watching the departing embassy with interest.

“For all of us, I suppose,” Merry replied. “But enough about them. I’m famished, and there is food waiting to be consumed just a few clicks away. Shall we go?”

“Yes,” Pippin said and led Merry across the lawn, still glancing now and then at the embassy.  

After luncheon, Merry left Pippin’s company and headed down into the city to the third circle. He pulled out Bergil’s note and read the directions, written for someone who was ten times more familiar with the city than Merry. Still, there was enough to go by and a description of the house besides that Merry felt he could find it with little trouble.

Twenty minutes later, Merry was grimly muttering to himself that at least he wouldn’t be lying when he told the ladies he had been turned around and lost, and that he could then get proper directions from them on how to get to the thrift shops. Another fifteen minutes later, he finally spotted the house, a small cottage tucked beneath the barrier wall to the fourth circle and sitting between two larger homes on either side. The house had a red door and green eves, and there were potted plants hanging from the portico. Smoke rose from the chimney, curling white fingers disappearing into the warm spring air. A sign hung from the small wooden gate, proudly announcing ‘No. 21’.

Merry let himself into the yard and knocked upon the door. A few minutes passed and Merry knocked again, hoping desperately that they were at home. He didn’t think he could find the house again if he had to come back. He knocked again, more loudly this time.

Another minute passed before the door was opened by a young girl of about eight years. The girl had straight brown hair and wide eyes of dark brown. She was just over Merry’s height by an inch, and she tilted her head at him with open frankness as a woman’s voice floated down the hallway towards them.

“Who’s there? Gerwinda? Who’s at the door, dear?”

The girl did not respond but continued to look at Merry with interest. Merry suddenly understood how Pippin must have felt under the gaze of the Haradrim, though Merry’s audience was thankfully much less imposing than Pippin’s had been.

He smiled cordially. “Hallo,” he said. “May I speak with the lady of the house?”

The girl nodded and stepped aside to let him pass. He stepped into the house and waited for the girl to do something else, but she simply continued to stare at him.

“Gerwinda?” the voice came again. Soft footsteps could be heard approaching from the rear of the house and a moment later, a woman appeared.

Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a bun and the lines of her face were knotted in agitation. Her face cleared as soon as she saw they had company, but grew distressed when she realized who that company was. Her hands flew to her hair. Finding that tidy, they next darted to her wardrobe, a flour-covered, batter-caked apron over a homely brown dress. She came to stand behind Gerwinda and took the girl’s shoulders in her hands, though Merry thought this was more to hide herself than to offer the girl comfort.

Merry bowed. “Good day, Mistress,” he said. “Merry Brandybuck, at your service. I am sorry to impose so rudely upon you. I was told that there are thrift stores on this level of the city, and in trying to find them, I quite lost my way. I’ve been wandering around for nearly an hour and hoped you might be able to provide me with some directions.”

“Of course, Sir Meriadoc!” the woman said. “Do come in. You look parched if I may say so. Take some refreshment in the parlor. Gerdi, show the perian to the parlor and see him to a seat. What would you like, Sir Meriadoc?”

“Just water will be fine,” Merry said, bowing again.

The woman disappeared down a side hallway. The girl took Merry’s hand and led him down a cramped hall to the parlor. She took him to a seat and motioned for him to sit, then went about the room opening curtains and windows. Light pored in through tall windows, revealing a room sparsely furnished with a settee and two chairs, which shared a small, round table. A rug that has been much scrubbed lay over the tile floors. The walls, aside from the sconces, were bare.

“Gerdi, is it?” Merry asked the lass. She nodded. “You may call me Merry.” The lass paused before nodding again. “Do you talk?” She shook her head. “In that case, you can call me…” Merry held up his fist and shook it in agitation “…MERRY!” The lass giggled at this and mimicked him. “Very good!”

The woman returned then, her apron abandoned. She held a tray loaded with wooden cups, a pitcher of water, a stack of water-biscuits and sliced oranges. She placed the tray on the table, poured him some water and made a plate for him. She handed these over before sitting herself.

“You have a lovely home, and a lovely daughter,” Merry complimented.

“She is not my daughter, Sir Meriadoc,” the woman said. “This is Gerwinda, the middle daughter of my tenant. I am Lady Bodil.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Bodil,” Merry said, grateful that this was indeed the right house. “Is your tenant home as well?”

“She is resting, Sir Meriadoc,” Lady Bodil answered. “Her oldest daughter is in the kitchen. She would love to meet you. Might I fetch her?”

“Of course,” Merry said. He snacked on his water-biscuits and orange slices while he waited, sipping water. Gerwinda had taken a seat on the settee. When the water in his cup began to get low, she poured him more from the pitcher. “How old are you, Gerdi?”

Gerwinda held up her hands, putting down three fingers on her right hand.

“Seven? Why, you’re nearly a lady yourself.”

Gerwinda nodded.

“Do you like living here?” Merry asked. The lass shrugged. “What is your favorite thing about living here?”

The girl took his hand again and waited for him to put his things on the table before pulling him to the window. There was a small garden on the side of the house and she pointed at this.

“You like the garden?” Merry guessed but she shook her head. She put her hands together at the palms, flapped them back and forth and pointed again. “The butterflies?”

She nodded and proceeded to stare out the window at the many butterflies flitting about the garden. Merry watched with her until he heard the woman’s return. He turned around and was surprised to find not only the older daughter but a young woman who must be the mother. Both were dressed in simple grey dresses, the maid’s hair falling past her shoulders while her mother’s was pinned back. 

“Sir Meriadoc, might I introduce my tenant, Ioveta, and her daughter Ogiva. Her youngest, Leudreda, is at her nap,” Lady Bodil said.

They all took seats, Merry returning to the chair. Lady Bodil took the other chair, and Ioveta and her daughters sat on the settee. There was an awkward pause as the ladies and girls regarded Merry with astonishment. Ogiva untangled her tongue first.

“Is it true you killed the Witch-King?” she asked.

“Ogiva!” Ioveta chided.

“No, it’s all right,” Merry assured. “It is true, to an extent. I cut the Witch-King’s leg with my blade, which distracted him long enough for the White Lady, my sword-sister, Éowyn, to kill him. King Aragorn and Gandalf, who you call Mithrandir, think that my sword, which was a blade of Westernesse, was able to cut through the spells that protected the Witch-King, and that’s why Éowyn was able to deal the fatal blow.”

“You know the king and the White Wizard?” Ogiva asked.

“Ogiva, that is enough,” Ioveta said. “I am sorry for her rudeness, Sir Meriadoc. It has been some time since we have received company. I fear she has forgotten how to behave around guests.”

“She is merely curious,” Merry said and bit back his own curiosity about Gerwinda’s muteness. He had heard her laugh and didn’t think the lass mute by some deformity to her vocal chords. “I must thank you again for allowing me to intrude upon your day. You must have things that need seeing to.”

“It is no intrusion, Sir Meriadoc,” Lady Bodil said.

“Please, call me Merry. I’m only ever called Meriadoc when I’m in trouble,” Merry said, winking at Gerwinda. The girl smiled broadly. “You have a lovely home, I must say again. How long have you resided here?”

“I have lived here since my marriage to Lord Tarlas thirty-two years ago,” Lady Bodil said. “I have kept it as best I can since he fell in battle two years ago.”

“I am most sorry for your loss,” Merry said. “It is no easy matter to keep up a home in such trying times. Do you have children, may I ask?”

“We do. Two daughters. They married merchants and moved to Linhir. They are doing well, though my oldest daughter’s husband was injured in the wars. He lost an arm but considers himself lucky to be alive. He’s adjusted quite well, according to her letters,” Lady Bodil said.

“You are blessed to have your family,” Merry said.

“I am,” Lady Bodil said. “I have been thinking of retiring to Linhir, once things are settled here. I want to hold my grandchildren.”

“I’m sure they are a joy and a comfort to your daughters,” Merry said. “What of you, Mistress Ioveta, if I may ask?”

“We have only been here since our return to the City,” Ioveta answered. She was youthful, no more than thirty if that old. It was the lack of light in her eyes that made her appear older than her years. “We had a home in the Pelennor, but it’s lost now.”

“Is it to be rebuilt?” Merry asked. “The king has commissioned soldiers and crafters to begin rebuilding the homes lost in the battles as soon as the outer wall is repaired. The replanting of the crops has already begun. It is late in the year for the sowing, but any harvest is better than none.”

“I don’t believe so,” Ioveta said, lifting her chin in sudden defiance. “I could not keep up the farm by myself and have no family here to help, nor to return to. I am beginning to find work as a sempstress and I am doing well. I believe we shall remain in the city.”

Ogiva and Gerwinda wilted at this statement, but their mother was too intent on Merry to notice. Bodil looked tempted to say something but she remained silent.

“I am glad to hear that you are doing well,” Merry said, forcing himself to look into Ioveta’s fierce brown eyes. He knew now why Pippin had suggested coming to this family first. She reminded Merry of Frodo in every possible way.

He finished his water and food, declined further refreshments and stood. His hostesses rose to their feet. “I thank you again for allowing me to impose upon you. I will not take up more of your time. Now, if you could point me in the direction of the thrift shops?”

Ioveta herself led Merry back to the door and pointed to an alleyway just a few houses down. “Follow that alley to the street, then turn right. The thrift shops are past the gate to the fourth circle, on your left.”

“Thank you, Mistress Ioveta,” Merry said. He bowed and stepped outside. He expected her to close the door as soon as he exited the garden gate, but when he reached the alleyway and turned back, she was still standing there.

“That’s the one, Sir Merry!” she called.

Merry waved his gratitude and entered the alleyway, coming to the street just a few moments later. Now, why couldn’t Bergil have given him these directions? He looked up at the buildings that stood at either side of the alley and committed them to memory before trotting off in the direction of the thrift shops, already making plans for inviting the ladies to tea. No, luncheon.

“Forget about golf. These people need a teatime,” he muttered.

He passed the gate leading to the fourth circle, missing the three figures that stood in the shadows on its other side. One figure stepped into the light as he continued down the street and narrowed his eyes at the hobbit.

“What are you up to?” Legolas said.

“I doubt he’s planning treason,” Elrohir said as he and Elladan joined him. “Are we to trail him all afternoon then?”

“I just want to know where he’s going,” Legolas said. “Come on.” They slipped into an alleyway and headed in the direction Merry had taken, foxes after a single hare.

To be continued…

GF 1/12/09
Published 4/6/09