Chapter 9 – Eat, And Drink to Your Fill!

The Hall of Feasts slowly grew silent as everyone waited for the performance to begin.

The Haradrim man on stage sat still, quietly plucking the three strings of the long fingerboard and adjusting the sit of the small, circular body of the instrument in his lap. He seemed to be waiting for his audience to conclude their observations and settle back into their seats. At any rate, he did not acknowledge the audience until the hall had again fallen into silence. He looked up for the first time, revealing eyes of emerald green to the further approval of the ladies and disgruntlement of the men. He looked up to the booth where his king and queen sat, bowed his head, faced forward and began play.

Frodo understood then what Radigis had meant. The lute, or whatever it was called, made a sound that was indescribable and the rhythms used were unlike anything he had ever heard before. They went straight to his core and he could feel their echo strumming within him. The quick and intricate finger work of the player created a music both primal and intimate, a sound so thrilling and strange as to inspire curiosity, awe and enchantment. It was at once low and deep, an earthy rumble of stone, and high and sharp, hail pinging against armor.

The first player was soon joined by another musician, who had been standing unnoticed in the shadows near the back of the stage. This new musician stepped into the light and set his lute upon the floor; a long spike protruding from the bottom of the lute’s belly settled into a groove in the stage. He pulled a bow across the strings on the soundboard, adding a new range of sensations and notes to the tapestry of the music. Frodo could imagine the call of cats and children, and the buzz of bees, the drone of dragonflies, the whisper of wind.

Two other musicians stepped onto the stage, blowing reed flutes with a low, throaty tone, sounding more like wind over wide open plains than any kind of instrument. They were quickly joined by a couple of men holding a flat, circular instrument, soon revealed to be a sort of drum. Simple enough, as a drum is a drum, but then they shook the frame adding the element of pouring sand.

The combined result was a sensation so powerful that the room and everyone else in it fell away. Even the musicians themselves dissolved, lost in the power of the music. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered. Until the women appeared.

Frodo wouldn’t have thought it possible for anything to break through the haze created by the music, but he soon became aware of several glimmering objects floating towards the center of the stage. He focused with some difficulty and was stunned to see a half-dozen women, clad head to foot in blossoming long-sleeved dresses of beaded silk and flowing lace, their dark hair veiled with lace. The lace was a pure white for all the ladies, but their dresses varied in color. Two wore saffron, two periwinkle and two moss green. All the women were beautiful and enchanting. Their movements were like water down a parched throat, and the shimmer of candles and flames off the beads of their gowns were like the beckoning light at the end of a long tunnel. Had Frodo had a thought to spare, he would have thought that cold water might still be required, despite the conservative dress of the dancers.

The ladies floated down the stage to the hall floor and glided up and down the aisles. As they reached the end of the hall where the cooking fires were now glowing, they were joined by a dozen other ladies, all dressed in bright and vibrant colors. They fanned out so that each table had their own lady dancing for them. Frodo wasn’t sure what story they were telling, but it was one of joy and hope, of the pure pleasure and delight of living.

Suddenly a voice rose up over the music and the swirl of cloth. The voice was clear as crystal, high and sweet and soon was joined by the powerful bass and tenor of the musicians on stage. They sang no words that Frodo could understand but the power of them was such that it stirred his heart and sent shivers of exhilaration down his arms and legs, setting his whole being to buzzing with the music.

Slowly, a strand of brooding was weaved into the music, so subtle at first to be only felt rather than heard. Something was wrong, but what? A second strand and then a third worked their way into the tapestry; the dancers continued as they had been but with a misstep there, a confused shuffle here. The feeling of not-rightness lingered, growing more obvious as the dance became more disjointed. A black figure floated out from behind the stage and suddenly all was madness and despair. For a time the dark and the light warred against each other, but the dark won out. The music grew heavy and lumbering while the dancers became slow and sluggish, struggling to continue. Then the candlelights were blown out and the shutters over the lanterns drawn shut, plunging the hall into darkness, with only the fires of the cooking hearths behind them, casting long shadows on the walls that danced over the women, bearing down upon them.

Frodo closed his eyes and tried to shut out the music, tried to push it out of himself. He was only vaguely aware of reaching out to clutch Sam’s hand and finding that Sam had already done so. He kept his eyes clenched tight and felt himself transported again to Shelob’s lair. He began to shudder, the strain of pushing away the music tightening every muscle of his being, until he was pulled taunt as a bowstring. He could not bear this a moment longer. Surely, he would go mad if this continued.

Then suddenly, the hall exploded into light and there was a great joy of surprise and excitement from the dancers. Frodo opened his eyes to find the dark figure shriveled on the stage. The black strands of music quickly faded as elation and triumph took over again. The joyful music and dance were the same as before, yet it was grander, filled with such hope and celebration as to be even more unbearable than the darkness that preceded it. Frodo noticed then that his hand was still clutched in Sam’s and his friend was crying, a smile on his face and in his eyes that nearly made Frodo weep with joy as well. Tears were already spilling unheeded down his own cheeks, and he slowly came to realize, as the dance grew to a fevered pitch, that he was grinning too.

Now the dancers converged onto the stage, jumping, twirling and leaping to the music as the song began anew, now filled with sorrow as well as joy, enough to shatter hearts and mend souls. Who was the woman who was singing? Frodo searched the stage quickly and spotted her to the side of the stage, a vision in ocher red, with orange and yellow gemstones sewn into blooming patterns upon her dress and veil. He pulled his eyes away from her and back to the dancers and noticed then that a couple of other drummers had joined the musicians. These drums reminded him of a goblet in shape, and the drummers beating upon their tops and sides were glistening with sweat, as were the other musicians. The women must be drenched by this point, but that didn’t stop them from escalating the dance to a flurry of skirts and lace until at length they dropped to their knees, their arms raised in the air in triumph, and the music ended with a deafening bang.

A moment of absolute silence preceded a thunderous applause, accompanied by many whoops and whistles of appreciation. The performers then all fell into a deep bow, their heads upon the ground. At a word from their king, they raised to their feet. The ladies left except for the one in red ocher, who stood talking with the musicians.

“Are you lads all right?” Gimli asked, eyeing all the hobbits sharply. They were all paler than before and their eyes were red with hastily wiped-away tears, but they looked otherwise fine.

“Yes, we’re fine,” Frodo said. “That was an eye-opener, as Sam would say.”

“Aye, it was at that,” Sam agreed.

“I wouldn’t have thought the Southrons would find the coming of the Dark Lord so grim,” said Penda. "They were his allies after all."

“Not from what the queen said, and I don’t even think those as marched against us were all that willing,” Sam said. “You told us how Saruman lied to the Dunlanders to get them to rise up against you. I wondered if it might’ve been the same for them.”

“Sauron was surely no kinder to his allies than he was to his enemies,” Elladan said.

As they had been talking, servers had begun to file into the hall, carrying bowls of food that they spooned onto the plates of the diners. When the servers were at the halfway point, King Ashraf stood in the booth and waved his hand towards their plates, speaking jovially. The translator clarified, “Now it is time to eat, and drink to your fill! Enjoy!”

There was a pause now as the everyone rose, including the Haradrim, and looked to the West. Whether the Haradrim had been instructed to do this, or if this too was their custom prior to dining, they could only guess. After a few moments’ pause, they took their seats again and the festivities continued uninterrupted.

On stage, the musicians formed a half-circle along the back edge of the stage around the woman in red ochre. They started to play softly and the lady removed the outer layer of her dress, revealing a red lace skirt beneath that hugged the curves of her hips and tapered down in a loose fall to her ankles. The shirt, if it could be called that, covered only her bosom, the thick straps falling off her shoulders to rest on her upper arms. The bottom of the shirt was fringed with several tiny gold baubles that rattled when she moved, and there was a ruby pierced through her bellybutton.

The chatter stopped abruptly at this sight, and several of the men borrowed their wives’ fans as the single dancer began to sway her hips and move her arms to the rhythm of the music. So entranced were they that many of them forgot the food they had just spooned off their plates or ignored the servers completely when it was their time to be served.

“We’re supposed to eat while she’s doing that?” asked Osric, a sentiment shared by many of the men.

Pippin turned away reluctantly; an odd prickling sensation had broken out over his skin, and he felt if he didn’t get air soon he might catch fire. As getting up was out of the question, he settled on adverting his gaze as much as possible. “I think maybe I should ask Strider to cuff my hands to the table.”

“Hopefully, she’ll stay up there,” Merry said, patting him on the shoulder. “I can see now why the warning was necessary. I wonder what folk in the Shire would think if our lasses dressed in such a manner when they danced.”

“They’d likely die from the shock of it,” Sam said.

“I’m sure there are some who would appreciate it,” Frodo said before he could stop himself. He blushed fiercely and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I’m surprised you’re not passed out already, Merry,” Pippin said; teasing Merry always distracted him from anything else. “You nearly passed out when we came across Pervinca and Estella skinny-dipping in the Brandywine once. You couldn’t even look at them.”

“That was years ago,” Merry said. “And you’re talking about your sister!”

“And Estella.”

“And your sister.”

“What is this?” asked Sam, bringing them all back to the matter at hand, that being the food which was currently being scooped onto their plates. Sam was looking at the food rather too closely. A high flush showed on his face and neck as his eyes darted back to the stage for a brief, most improper glimpse.

Contemplation of the food provided a much-needed distraction. The servers were carrying many large bowls of some sort of mush. The hobbits caught the scents of mint and mutton, as well as many other things they couldn’t quite identify. Sam caught the server’s eye. She was dressed in a simple billowing robe of beige, as were the other servers, men or women.

“What is this called?” he asked, pointing to the mush with a questioning expression.

The young woman bowed her head. “Haleem,” she answered, speaking it slowly so they could understand.

“Thank you,” Sam said, bowing his head back.

“Who’s going first?” Gimli asked, sniffing the stuff suspiciously.

“Oh, it can’t be all that bad, if they eat it,” Pippin reasoned and dipped his spoon into the brown mush. He took a generous bite, and his eyes lit up. He smiled and nodded, and motioned for more. The woman obliged, spooning another lump into his bowl before moving on to the next diner.

“It’s like pudding, made of wheat,” he explained once he swallowed his bite, but the explanation was unnecessary. The others were already eating with enthusiasm, except for the elves. Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir ate slowly, lingering over the unexpected burst of flavors.

“Is there nothing to drink?” Legolas asked as a slow burn began to develop at the back of his throat.

As though waiting for this question, another woman came along behind the first, a heavy pitcher in her hand. She poured a frothy, pale white juice into their cups. The juice fizzled excitedly for a moment or two before settling into its new container. They all took a sip of this and were surprised at the hint of mint and the taste of yogurt.

“No ale?” Gimli asked, echoing the hobbits’ disappointment. Legolas though nodded in approval and took a longer drink, discovering that this effectively quenched the burning sensation in his mouth.

“We do not drink spirits,” said the woman, surprising everyone with the fact that she understood them. Her voice was soft and pleasant, and her accent was as lyrical as the music being played on stage.

“You speak Westron?” asked Frodo.

“I do, kind sir,” she answered, glancing at the translator sitting behind the king and queen. The translator was currently employing his hook as a fork. In Pippin’s opinion, the man was too adept at using the hook for it to be a fake.

“Why don’t your people drink spirits?” Elladan asked.

“It is forbidden,” the woman answered. “It clouds your mind, makes men violent, so they do stupid things.”

“What is this called?” Merry asked, deciding a change in subject was in order.

“Doogh,” the woman answered. “It is yogurt water, with mint.”

“What is in this?” Pippin asked, pointing to the pudding.

“Oh, many things. Lamb bone-meat, stewed for many hours, and wheat seeds mixed with water, mixed altogether with mashed lentils. We add mint, ginger, coriander, turmeric… onions… eh, the eh… lemons,” the woman recited the list, stumbling now and then on the correct words. “There is more.”

“It’s very delicious. What else will they be serving?” Merry asked.

Before she could answer, one of the male servers came behind her and asked her a question, frowning at her and the others. She answered him casually enough, and he nodded, apparently appeased. Even so, he made a shooing motion and she scooted off to pour drinks for the remaining diners at the table. The man watched her as she finished and disappeared through a side door; they would not see her again for the remainder of the evening. When she was gone, the man turned on his heel and went back to patrolling the hall, watching the servers and looking for people to raise their hands for more food or drink.

“Are we not supposed to talk to them either?” Wulf asked from the next table, having seen the encounter. Osric still had his eyes glued to the stage, while the others were at least able to alternately eat and stare at the dancing woman. Wulf ribbed Osric hard. “Eat before you pass out in your pudding.”

Osric gave him a dirty look but obliged him by stuffing a spoonful of pudding down his throat.

“Well, that’s just silly,” Pippin said. “You can’t talk to them or touch them? You can only ogle at them? What sort of way is that to enjoy a lass’s company? It would get awfully boring, if you ask me.”

“I think Osric would disagree with you,” Penda said, grinning at his fellow Rider. “Wouldn’t you, Ossy?”

“Maybe this is their plan,” said Ingold. “Starve us by feeding us: entertainment included.”

“In that case, they can starve me with more of this pudding,” Sam said, licking his lips as he reached the bottom of his bowl.

“It is delicious,” Frodo said. “We will have to see if we can figure out how they make it, since it appears we won’t be allowed to ask.”

The pudding was followed by the main course: a small bowl of nearly-black stew, a plate of deep red pie-like soufflé, a gooey ball of rice and cherries, and thin strips of meat. When a male server came past their table with offer of more drink, they asked about the dishes, curious about the tantalizing blend of the flavors.

He did not speak any Westron and there was a great deal of pantomiming before they could make him understand that they did not require more food but merely wanted to know the names of the dishes. He supplied these easily enough, but he was required to repeat himself several times before they could understand the words.

The beef-and-lamb stew, which included at least kidney beans, onion, parsley, garlic, and turmeric, was called khoreshe ghormeh sabzi. In the vegetable soufflé, called kookoo sabzi, the hobbits could identify the taste of walnuts and many of the same spices as the stew, plus a few others. The cherry rice, or polow, also had onions and tumeric, as well as cumin and beef broth. The strips of meat, which the man called shish kebab, were grilled lamb meat, and seemed to be marinated in a sauce of green peppers, onions, and tomatoes. Sam guessed it also had some of the yogurt, as well as lemon.

“We’re going to have dreams again tonight,” Sam lamented, but was unable to stop himself from eating.

“Maybe they’ll be good dreams,” Frodo said. “The food isn’t exactly spicy, not like dwarven food is.”

“This is nothing,” Gimli confirmed around a hearty bite of kebab and polow. “This is so mild, a weaned babe could eat it and not be bothered.”

“It does only leave a mild sort of burn in the throat,” Sam said, still sounding doubtful. “I think that’s just because of the juice though.”

“At least I won’t be dreaming about chickens,” Pippin said, thinking of his own nocturnal adventures after eating too much of the rum cake Glóin had made in Rivendell. “I wonder what they have planned for dessert,” he continued, raising his cup for more of the yogurt drink. He sat back with a smile when a serving woman came to fill the cup and glanced up on the stage.

Throughout the meal, the dancers had changed every few songs, and they all now wore costumes similar to the woman in red ocher. The performance seemed to be winding down. The last few songs had been slow and wistful. Now they finished the current song, and the performers all kowtowed on the stage, until a word from their queen permitted them to leave.

The diners applauded as the performers left the stage. Osric, who had some time ago been goaded into eating his food by threat of being blindfolded, applauded the loudest. With the musicians and dancers gone, the hall seemed to shrink in size and presence, empty now of the wonderment that had filled it to the corners for the last two hours. The servers came around, replacing dirty dishes with clean ones, and then they too were gone.

Merethrond filled again with the buzz of conversation, most of it focused on the entertainment and food just consumed. Most everyone agreed that the food had been delicious, though a few maintained it was not at all to their liking. There were many mixed sentiments on the performers, some feeling the music too foreign and outlandish – which was the whole point, argued the others. The men were careful not to be too enthusiastic in their praise of the dancers, while the women tactfully refrained from mentioning the musicians’ many aesthetic attributes.

A half-hour later, King Elessar rose from his seat and called everyone to attention. “Let us all thank our honored guests for hosting us this evening. I entreat them now to enjoy the entertainment of our minstrels as we await their final treat.”

Applause ushered the court minstrels onto the stage. Despite it being empty of the bulk of the head table, they took up their customary positions on the front left corner of the stage. Frodo watched the Haradrim as they observed the minstrels. The minstrels' costumes were quite different from that of the Haradrim musicians, and there were no women among them. Frodo wondered if the Haradrim would find them dull, devoid of color, and their music tame enough to put the beasts to sleep, lacking the primal call of their own compositions. The Haradrim appeared to be genuinely interested though, watching the minstrels keenly, taking in their appearance in brown breeches, green tunics and brown coats and listening attentively as they began to sing a popular folk song, accompanied by their fiddles, lutes, tambours and fifes. It occurred to Frodo that the minstrels and their ordinary tunes would be as outlandish to the Haradrim as their music had been for the Gondorians.

The dessert was brought out a half-hour later. As with all the other dishes, the dessert was served on their plates by the servants, in portions the diners had at first considered conservative before they realized how filling the food was. The men and women were still stuffed to the corners but politely accepted the two small... things... that were placed on their plates. Merry, Pippin and Sam naturally asked for extra, Frodo being given more by default. He felt that he would have to somehow relieve himself of his dinner before eating any of the dessert,whatever it was, but he could not think of a way to politely excuse himself from the table.

He contented himself by poking at his dessert; he was not the only one to do so. Never before had any of them seen anything like it. A bright, glowing swirl of stringy yellow something shined up at them from their plates. Ever the crusader, Pippin tore at the treat – they had been given no utensils for this portion of the meal – and popped a fair portion of the stuff into his mouth. Everyone watched him intently as he chewed, waiting for a sign of sickness, a glow of pleasure, a blank expression of indecision. Pleasure finally won out and everyone reached for their own treats, taking at first tentative nibbles and graduating to full bites of appreciative delight soon after.

“Tastes like yogurt and sugar and… I don’t know what else. It’s subtle,” Merry assessed.

Sam wrinkled his brow in astonished surprise. “It’s roses.”

“Roses?” Elrohir asked, intrigued.

“Rose water,” supplied a male server who was walking by and had caught one of the few Westron words he knew. He smiled in agreement with their expressions of delight. “That zoolbia.”

“I never did cook aught with rose water afore,” Sam said, looking at the confection with interest. “Reckon you’d have to be careful what kind of roses you use.”

“Rose water, yes,” the man said, bobbing his head, unable to follow anything else that had been said.

Gimli lifted his mug for more drink, his face carefully neutral. The dessert was rather too sweet for his tastes. They must have dumped a whole bag of sugar into the mix with this rose water.

The man poured water into their cups; the yogurt juice had not been served since the fourth dish. Whether they had run out or this was simply custom, they did not know. The man filled everyone's cups, turned and looked around the hall for other raised cups. Seeing some, he trotted off, eager to serve.

“I hope the woman we spoke to before is not in any trouble,” Pippin said, with a glance up at the Gondorian translator

Frodo ate as much of his dessert as he could manage. When he could eat no more, Sam reached over his plate and plucked up the other morsels so casually that no one else noticed the gesture. Frodo reached for his placard only to notice that it had been cleared away with the dinner plates. Having nothing with which to fan himself and feeling as though he might explode at any moment, he remained at table making small conversation as long as he could stand it, that being about twenty minutes. Then he was on his feet, excusing himself.

Merry and Pippin had been absorbed into conversation with the Rangers and the Riders, who were making bets on the authenticity of the translator’s hook. Sam was speaking with a baron and his wife about the rot overtaking their fichus. Frodo motioned for him to stay and finish his instructions; he would wait outside.

Frodo stepped into the welcoming night. The gusts of mild summer evening air felt like a blast of snow on Caradhras compared to the stifling heat of the hall. He sighed deeply, letting go a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding, feeling already much relieved. He stepped out of the doorway, standing a few yards away in the glow of the moonlight overhead. He breathed deeply again and let it out slowly, wondering how long Sam would be.

A few minutes passed before he heard footsteps crunching through the grass behind him, coming from the far side of the Hall of Feasts. He turned and looked up into the smiling face of the guard Adrik.

“Good evening, Lord Frodo,” the young man said, bowing.

“Good evening Adrik,” Frodo replied. “Have you been standing guard out here this whole time?” There were always guards on duty during feasts, in case of brawls or other forms of drunken disagreement. The troop on duty tonight was double the usual number, despite the lack of alcoholic influence. ‘Never hurts to take precautions,’ he mused to himself.

“I have, Lord Frodo,” Adrik said. “I was able to hear the music though, now and again.”

“I hope you at least got to enjoy the fare. The food was quite delightful,” Frodo said.

“We took our sup in the buttery, Lord Frodo,” Adrik said.

“Please, do call me Frodo. The ‘Lord’ part makes me uncomfortable,” Frodo said.

“Why?” asked Adrik before he could think better of it. He saved Frodo from having to fish for an answer by quickly apologizing for his rudeness, his eyes widened in horror.

“It’s quite all right,” Frodo assured him, just as quickly. “Do you often stand guard during our feasts?”

“We take turns,” Adrik said. “The others are enjoying the entertainment at the taverns, no doubt, or wisely taking their rest for tomorrow. I am most excited about tomorrow myself, are you not?”

Frodo paused at this. He had not heard that anything in particular was taking place tomorrow. Perhaps the lad simply meant the embassy from Far Harad being in the city. “Our guests will make the city an exciting place during their stay, I am sure,” he said.

“Oh indeed,” Adrik said, with a distracted wave in the direction of the hall. “There will be feasts and galas and rumors run amok. We shall be exhausted from speculation by the time they leave.”

Frodo laughed, though he was still confused. Adrik spoke as one accustomed to such extravagance, as though he hardly saw fit to even entertain such delights as exciting. What could he be talking about then? “I am sure everyone will be sleeping as they walk by the time the Haradrim depart.”

Adrik nodded, beaming again at Frodo. “Long before then, for some of us,” he said with an expectant air. When Frodo failed to find a reply to this, he went on. “I was most excited to learn from my king this morning that Amarlicus and I will be continuing to help you, Lord Samwise and Sir Meriadoc with the redecoration of the House. He has approved all of our suggestions and has already made contracts with some of the laborers in the city. We need only go to them and tell them what we will need and when.”

“Oh,” Frodo said, in his surprise rendered speechless, his usual eloquence in the face of the unexpected failing him in a most betraying manner.

So, Aragorn had discovered a way to keep Frodo and Merry distracted from their pursuit to slaughter each other by forcing them to work together in the most arduous of pastimes – remodeling. Either Aragorn was hoping they’d be so exhausted after the day’s work that they would have no energy left to plan any pranks, or he was counting on Amarlicus and Adrik to quickly separate them when the work became too tedious and they sought relief by attempting to cover each other head to toe in paint and sawdust.

“What about Pippin?” Frodo muttered. This was, after all, his doing.

“He is of course free to join us whenever his duties allow, Lo— Frodo,” Adrik said, catching himself just in time.

Frodo nodded, stifling a sigh. Pippin and his duties. “What time are we to start in the morrow then?”

They talked over the details, as far as Adrik knew them, until Legolas and Gimli emerged from the hall. Sam, after explaining to the baron how to save his suffering garden, had then been entreated upon to answer other inquiries of gardening disasters. There seemed to be no shortage of them after the neglect of the last several months, and Sam had been unable to get away.

Frodo said farewell to Adrik and joined Legolas and Gimli for the walk to their house. He would tell Sam about their forced activities when he came home tonight. Merry, he decided, could find out about them when they woke him at six to go up to the Citadel.

To be continued…

GF 2/28/09
Published 5/5/09

* - If you would like to listen to some samples of Persian music with traditional Persian instruments, you can go here. The instruments being played in this chapter are the setar, the kamancheh, the ney, the daf and the tombak.