Chapter 25 – Grooms and Tombs

The Rohirrim visited the stables every day of their stay in Gondor, to visit their steeds and help the grooms to care for them. Horses were little employed in the White City, used only by the errand-riders from the Citadel. As such, the stables were small and humble compared to those in Rohan, and more than a few of the horses now housed there were required to share their stalls to accommodate the visiting steeds. The horses, accommodating by nature, were more than happy with the arrangement, and the grooms soon found they had extra hands as well, for the Rohirrim cared for their beasts as well as they did each other.

Four Riders set out for the stables the morning after their night of frivolity at the Peeking Eagle. Wulf, Penda and Ecgberht had left the inn well after midnight, along with nearly all the others and the hobbits. They had slept little but enough to keep them alert and on their feet throughout the day. Osric had not returned until the grey, pre-dawn hours. From his puffy, half-mast eyes, his incessant yawning and near inability to navigate the cobbled streets without stumbling, his companions deduced that whatever he had been doing with Jamila once they disappeared from the inn, sleeping had clearly had little to do with it.

“Are we going to have to ask?” Wulf asked when they passed through the gate to the fifth circle.

“Wherever you were, you didn’t get much sleep,” Ecgberht said. They were all tired, and he, Wulf and Penda would likely fall asleep in their broth at tonight’s farewell feast to the Haradrim, but they were at least rested. Osric didn’t look fit to handle a curry comb, much less a lead rope. They would have left him behind, only…

“Will Jamila be equally as tired?” Penda asked with an impish grin. “You certainly overcame your shyness quickly.”

“You’re a sod,” Osric mumbled.

“You’re a stallion,” Wulf said, cuffing him on the shoulder. “Was she a frisky filly?”

Osric crammed his fists in his pockets. Given his current state, he would not last long in a fight. “You’re all sods,” he settled on rebuking. “Nothing happened. I walked her home; I didn’t touch her. That’s all.”

His companions looked at him with identical skepticism and waited.

Osric sighed. “If they are willing to remove my hand for touching her, what do you think they’d remove if we had done that?”

“A valid point,” Wulf agreed, resisting the urge to cover himself. He shuddered instead and pushed out any thoughts of eunuchs. “Still, it doesn’t take five hours to walk to the Citadel and back.”

“She kept wanting me to tell her the names of everything,” Osric said. “And because you had called to me in Rohirric, she wanted to know the words in that language as well.”

“That took five hours?” Penda asked.

“Leave him alone,” Ecgberht said. “The lad’s clearly still numb from the long night. Courting a savage woman must be exhausting work.”

“Couldn’t you have brought Ceorl instead?” Osric asked, sounding much put upon.

“You are exhausted,” Ecgberht said. “He’s standing guard with Erkenbrand today. You know this.” He watched Osric for a few moments and came to a decision. “You can sleep in one of the stalls once we’ve taken the horses for their exercise. Just try to stay awake until then.”

They met the hobbits at the gate to the sixth circle. Pippin of course was in his livery but the others were dressed casually. They would be working in the King’s House again today.

“How goes the remodeling?” Penda asked.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Sam said. “The twins say they’ve been working near round the clock. Don’t know what the hurry is, but they say there’s just a few more finishing touches to do today and then we’ll be free. I mean, finished.”

“Not enjoying your assignment, are we?” Osric asked.

“It’s fine enough,” Merry said, eyeing the Rider closely in the morning light. “Stayed up late, did we?”

“Osie was about to tell us about his night with Jamila,” Wulf said.

“That’s not very polite,” Pippin said with a frown.

“Nor proper,” Sam said.

“Not proper at all,” Frodo agreed. “One shouldn’t admit to doing such things before they’re married.”

Everyone stopped at this and Sam’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Mr. Frodo!” he exclaimed, scandalized.

Ecgberht laughed. “And here we thought you hobbits were innocent, in this respect at least!”

“Who says we aren’t?” Frodo asked. “You weren’t listening.”

“You’re fifty,” Merry said, now eyeing his older cousin. It was the closest any of them had come to asking the question.

“And you’re thirty-seven,” Frodo replied. It was the closest he would ever come to answering it.

“Nothing happened,” Osric insisted, then his brow knitted in concentration. “Actually, something did happen. It was odd.”

“You touched her?” Ecgberht asked.

“No. When we reached the Citadel, that vizier was waiting for her outside their house. She didn’t seem to want to go in, though she did after he ordered her to. I stayed to try to see if she was in some sort of trouble for being out so late or alone or what have you, only no one would talk to me. I finally decided to just wait nearby, in case I heard her cry out and I could go in and hopefully stop whatever was happening to her.”

“As you’re still alive, not covered with contusions and are in possession of all your limbs, I’m assuming that nothing happened,” Ecgberht said.

“No, not to her I don’t think, but while I was waiting, four other women came home, all escorted by a man of Gondor. I couldn’t see all their faces, but at least two were young lords. There might have been more. I nodded off a few times.”

“That is odd,” Ecgberht said. “The vizier was waiting for all of them?”

“I couldn’t see the front door from where I was hiding.”

“Someone should mention this to the king,” Wulf said with a glance at Pippin.

Pippin nodded. “I’ll tell him. Are you lads on groom duty today?” he asked the Riders as they neared the stables.

“We are,” Penda said. “Enjoy your remodeling.”

“We’ll see you at the feast tonight,” Frodo said and grinned at Osric. “We’re allowed to bring a guest.”

Osric mumbled something under his breath. The others grinned. “We’ll be there,” Wulf said. He and his companions said their farewells to the hobbits and turned towards the stables.

The earthy scent of hay, oat and horse filled their noses before they even reached the door. They breathed the scent in deeply, luxuriating in it. The White City might be grand and impressive, but it simply didn’t smell the way a city should, to their minds. They would be glad to return to Meduseld.

“Morning, beauties,” Penda greeted the horses as they entered. The beasts whinnied back in greeting, and his mare came to the stall door and threw back her head in excitement. “I’ve missed you too.”

They each spent a few minutes with their horses, scratching their noses and ears and speaking quietly to them in Rohirric, before returning to the paddock where the grooms were walking the Haradrim’s horses, a most gentle and proud race of beast. The Haradrim insisted they be stalled only with their own kind, and the grooms soon found that the horses grew restless if not walked first thing in the morning and employed in some manner of work throughout the day. They were most eager to please and prove themselves useful, and when they were taken to the Pelennor for a run to stretch out their legs, they proved themselves faster and heartier than even the Rohirrim’s noble steeds.

A couple of the Haradrim men were also there, talking to their horses in the odd clicking and clucking manner that the others had by now become accustomed to. “They speak to their horses only in the tongues of beasts,” Ashtir had explained to them shortly after the Haradrim first arrived. “Horses cannot understand human speech, yes?”

The Rohirrim had doubted the method at first, but it was clear to them now that the horses understood the sounds exceedingly well. Even the Riders were beginning to understand what certain combinations meant, and they had been surprised when, a few days earlier, their own horses had shown the ability to understand them too.

“We will see to mucking out the stables,” Ecgberht called to them.

“Fresh hay was delivered yesterday,” the master ostler told them.

They went back inside and each grabbed a pitch fork. A couple of grooms and Haradrim were already there, working on cleaning the stalls. The Riders joined them and soon were caught in the rhythm of their work.  

Sultana Farzana waited until after her morning bath to gather her attendants into her chamber. She had sent seven of her most honored maids into the city the previous night and she was interested to learn of their finding. Her maids came into her room at her bidding and they all lay prostrated on the ground by her feet, waiting.

“I take it our little experiment was fruitful?” Farzana asked.

Her attendants nodded to the floor. “Yes, my sultana,” they chimed.

“What did we discover?”

“They are men of honor, my sultana.”

“The lords of Gondor were most respectful,” said one maid. “They did not attempt to abuse us. They showed concern for our safety and they each offered to escort us home, much as you supposed, My Sultana.”

“What of you, Jamila? You were to chose one of the Horse-men,” Farzana said.

“He chose me, my sultana,” Jamila said. “He was the one called Osric.”

“He is enamored with you,” Farzana said with interest, “and still he did not attempt dishonor.”

“No, my sultana. At first I thought him lame in some manner, for his speech was most odd. Then I determined he was merely nervous, but he overcame his doubt and proved most intelligent. He was most kind, gentle and sweet.”

“Was he? Look at me.” Jamila lifted her head and looked at her queen. Farzana gazed into her eyes and studied the maid long before continuing. “You speak most highly of him. You were not so foolish as to give your heart to him, yes? Your heart is not yours to give.”

“No it is not, my sultana. My heart belongs to you, and no other,” Jamila said, but Farzana could see the anguish there, mingled with overwhelming hope and desire.

“That is enough. You performed well. Go now to your beds and rest. I will address the King Elessar and the Lord Erkenbrand of Rohan,” Farzana said. “You will be sent for when all is ready.”

She dismissed her maids and watched them as they departed, her eyes following Jamila.  

Aragorn drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne and tried his best to listen to the droning of Lord Dormir. Knowing the status of the final refugee camps and the preparations for their return to the city was crucial, but Dormir could turn a telling of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom into a report duller than a daily update on crop growth. All around the hall, heads were bobbing and shoulders were sagging. Even the scribes’ quills, which moved nonstop during court hours, were taking uncustomary pauses followed by quick, frantic scribbles. By the time Dormir was finished, even Aragorn was having trouble keeping his eyes open, and he didn’t even realize that the lord had stopped talking until Pippin cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Lord Dormir,” Aragorn said, his booming voice causing several people to jerk awake. “Your diligence in handling this assignment is most appreciated. Lord Bermond and Lord Amlich will assist you in making everything ready for the last of the refugees. You may step down.”

Lord Dormir bowed and returned to his seat. The page stepped forward to announce the next speaker, but before he could open his mouth, the great double doors of the Hall swung open. Sultana Farzana, Sultan Ashraf, Vizier Faheem, and Soroush marched into the hall. They were all dressed in their finest garb, ready for tonight’s farewell feast. They carried such an expectant air about them, that everyone in the hall sat forward with much interest.

“Your Majesties,” Aragorn said with a bow of his head.

“Your Kingship,” Farzana said and continued in clear Westron. “I thank you for your audience and for your gracious hosting of my people in your city. I have a matter which requires me to speak with you and with Lord Erkenbrand as well. I ask that you send for him at once.”

Aragorn held up his hand against the murmurings and shocked exclamations that followed the queen’s request. Few had known, or even suspected, that the queen understood their speech. Aragorn himself was surprised that the queen should reveal her secret, now on the final day of her sojourn in the city, and in open court no less. Did this possibly have something to do with what Osric reported seeing last night?

“Lord Erkenbrand is standing guard in the Hallows, at the House of Kings. He cannot be sent for. His shift will end at midnight. You can call upon him in the morning before you depart,” Aragorn said.

“It cannot wait until then. It is to be part of tonight’s ceremony, with both yours and his approval. As it concerns one of his men, I require his approval directly. We will go to the Hallows if we must,” Farzana announced.

“I cannot permit that. I can give approval for him,” Aragorn said.

Farzana lifted an eyebrow, and her violet eyes shined bright with doubt. “It requires certain sacrifices on the part of the men. I must insist on having the approval of the man's lord. I do not wish to say more than that here.”

Aragorn held her gaze and came to a swift decision. “Peregrin?”

“Yes, My Lord?” Pippin said, stepping forth to speak quietly with his king and friend.

“Go to my house and fetch Merry. Ask if he would be willing to stand guard in Erkenbrand’s place until this matter can be settled. Then go to the Hallows and relieve Erkenbrand of his duty until Merry can come there,” Aragorn ordered.

“Go to the Hallows?” Pippin asked, his breath hitching on the last word. His skin crawled at the very thought of going near those tombs. It was bad enough when the wind shifted and brought the lingering stench of ash and burnt flesh to their house on the fifth circle.

“Ceorl will be with you,” Aragorn said, sympathetically. He knew what the tombs meant to Pippin.

Pippin bowed. “Yes, My Lord.” He trotted down the stairs, past the Haradrim and out the doors.

“We will resume court in the morning,” Aragorn said. He stood and everyone rose to their feet. They waited until the king, the pages and his guests departed the hall before breaking into excited conversation.

Pippin dashed up the stairs of the King’s House to the master suite on the top floor. For the house to be nearly completed, there was still much chaos to be seen as he passed through it, and it nearly matched the thoughts running through his mind. Aragorn was clearly intrigued, if not overly concerned, about whatever the queen wanted. Yet the matter did not seem urgent enough to warrant interrupting Erkenbrand’s vigil at the tombs; Ashraf had worn his customary grin throughout the brief interview with Aragorn, and Soroush had actually looked bored while translating for the men.

Pippin was so distracted by his thoughts that he didn’t even notice when Adrik and Amarlicus spotted him and said hello. He walked right past the twins and slammed into the master chamber, surprising his cousins and Sam. Frodo jumped and dropped the hammer he was swinging, catching Sam’s toe with the handle.

“Ow!” Sam cried and hopped up and down.

“Oh, Sam! I’m so sorry!” Frodo exclaimed. “Sit down over here. The head didn’t get you did it?”

“Pippin,” Merry chided. “What are you thinking slamming into rooms like that?”

“I’m sorry,” Pippin said, with an apologetic glance at Sam. “But you need to come, Merry. Now.”

“What? Why? What are you talking about?” Merry asked.

“What is the matter?” Frodo asked, looking up from his examination of Sam’s big toe, which was throbbing angrily.

“Aye, and was it so urgent you couldn’t have knocked first?” Sam asked.

“I am sorry, Sam,” Pippin apologized again. “I don’t know what is going on, though it must have something to do with what Osric saw last night. The queen is in the Hall of Kings asking for an audience with Aragorn and Erkenbrand. Strider wanted to know if you’d be willing to stand in for Erkenbrand until whatever the matter is gets resolved. I’m to relieve Erkenbrand until you can come.”

“What did Osric see last night?” Elrohir asked. He, his brother and the two men were by this time crowded in the doorway, listening intently.

“Frodo and Sam can fill you in,” Merry said. “Let’s go, Pip. Don’t want to keep the Majesties waiting.”

“Be careful, lads,” Frodo said and they all watched as the two knights ran from the chamber. Frodo returned to his massaging of Sam’s bruised foot. “That’s odd.”

“Aye, it is at that,” Sam agreed. “Don’t reckon as it could be a bad thing though, as naught happened. I suppose we’ll be finding out soon enough.”

“No. Your little toe looks like the nail fell off,” Frodo said, peering closer at the newly formed cuticle peeking out from the nail bed. “So does your middle toe!”

“Mordor was hard on both of us, sir,” Sam said. “You do think they’ll grow back normal, don’t you? They’re certainly taking their sweet time. What if they still look like that when we get home and Rosie decides she won’t have me?”

“You really must stop worrying about what Rosie may or may not do,” Frodo said. “Besides, she adores you, mangled toes and all.”

“You really think so?” Sam asked hopefully. "I like to think so too, but she can be a tease, and that's a fact."

“I really think so,” Frodo said, picking up the other foot to examine that one as well.

“So what did Osric see last night?” Adrik asked.

“Oh. That,” Frodo said, standing up. “Well, that’s odd too.” He and Sam told their friends what Osric had reported.

“Estel was forewarned by Peregrin, you say,” Elrohir said. “At least he will not be entirely surprised, whatever happens.”  

Merry and Pippin parted at the gate to the fifth circle. “I’ll come swiftly, Pip,” he promised. “Do you have Gimli’s beads?”

Pippin nodded and pulled them from his pocket where he kept them always. He put them over his head and tucked them under his tunic. He grinned bravely. “I’ll be all right with these, and Ceorl will be with me.”

Merry watched Pippin trot off, then went through the gate and turned towards home. He could be changed within twenty minutes, but he needed to bathe first. A standing bath at the ewer then. It wasn’t entirely proper or respectful, but he felt Théoden would forgive him his haste, considering the circumstances. It was hard enough for Merry to be there in the tombs and stand guard all day and night. He shuddered to think what it would be like for Pippin, even if only for a half-hour.  

Pippin hurried up the road towards the Closed Door. He spoke the password to the new porter and was permitted through. He trotted down Fen Hollin as quickly as he could, but the closer he came to the tombs, the slower his feet seemed to move. He tried to tell himself that his racing heart and shortness of breath were due only to the running, but he knew it was more than that when at last he reached the end of the passage and stepped onto Rath Dínen. It took every effort to continue moving forward, rather than turning around and bolting back in the opposite direction. Straight ahead he could see the House of Kings, and to its left the House of Stewards. It was newly rebuilt, but he could see still the tumbled remnants as they had stood that long ago night, with tongues of fire flickering into the air. He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, then hurried up the street.

The mausoleums loomed high overhead, their white marble gleaming in the midday sun. Then the wind shifted and Pippin once again smelled ashes and burnt flesh, stronger than he remembered that night. He slowed to a trot but did not stop; the nausea would pass. He had to get to Erkenbrand. The House of the Kings would have to be at the end of the road, wouldn’t it?

Ceorl and Erkenbrand saw him approach. They knew something was wrong, but neither broke attention until Pippin reached them. Then Erkenbrand knelt and placed a supporting hand on Pippin’s shoulder.

“Erkenbrand,” Pippin panted heavily, leaning forward and favoring his weak knee. “Aragorn… requires… your presence… private chambers… White Tower… I am… to relieve you… until Merry can… come.”

“Why is my presence required?” Erkenbrand asked.

“The queen requests… an interview with you…” Pippin got out, the words coming easier with each breath. “I think… because of Osric…”

“What happened with Osric?” Erkenbrand asked, baffled.

Pippin took a great breath and held it a moment before letting it go. He straightened up and shrugged. “Nothing, that I know, but he saw something.” He told Erkenbrand as briefly as he could everything that had happened last night. “Now the queen is at court wanting to see you both. I know only that it has something to do with the farewell feast tonight and that it will involve one of your men, with your direct permission. There was mention of a sacrifice.”

Erkenbrand rose to his feet. “I will go then. Tell Merry I will return as soon as I may.” He marched off down the road.

Pippin and Ceorl caught each other’s eyes. The man gave the tiniest of shrugs but remained at attention. Pippin fell into Erkenbrand’s place. Despite the heat of the day, he could feel the cold marble of the tomb behind him, but worse was the House of Stewards glaring at him from the side. He wanted desperately for Ceorl to say something, anything, preferably a joke that would allow him to believe that everything was all right, but Ceorl would not break his guard for so empty a reassurance. Pippin closed his eyes again and tried to ignore the pain of his knee, the squirming of his stomach and the whirling of his thoughts. If he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend he was guarding that dead tree outside the White Tower rather than the tombs of the kings.

‘Please Merry. Hurry.’  

The King’s private chamber was silent. The page stood at the door, awaiting the knock that would announce the arrival of Erkenbrand. Aragorn sat behind his desk, his hands in a steeple before him, and watched the Haradrim and the door alternately. The vizier stood at the long windows, looking out over the porch of the White Tower and the White Tree. The queen and king sat in two stuffed chairs before the King’s desk, and Soroush stood between them, hands clasped behind his back.

It seemed to take ages, but at long last the knock sounded and the page moved to open the door. “Lord Erkenbrand of the Mark for Your Majesty,” he announced and permitted the Rider to enter at the King’s gesture.

Erkenbrand entered, looking purposefully expressionless. He was dressed in his livery and looked nearly as fine as the Haradrim, if somewhat wilted from his long hours standing in the summer sun. He bowed before the King. “Your Majesty,” he said.

“Thank you for coming so swiftly, My Lord Erkenbrand,” Aragorn said. “You may be seated.”

Erkenbrand took the seat next to the queen.

“Sultana Farzana,” Aragorn said. “If you can now tell us why we are here.”

“Of course,” Farzana said, continuing in Westron. “It pertains to the feast. Our alliance is settled, both with Gondor and Rohan. To honor our new commitment to each other, we make to you a gift. We require the seven men who escorted my maids home this morning to be present. This will be six of the lords of Gondor and one of the Horse-men of Rohan.”

“Why do you require them?” Aragorn asked.

“They must bless the alliance with a dance,” Farzana said. “It is an ancient custom. Seven soldiers and seven maids are to dance the Gift of Life, a most sacred rite, and it must be performed lest our newfound alliance grow stale and wither.”

“Gift of Life?” Erkenbrand repeated. “This is a dance they can learn in seven hours?”

“I am quite certain they can learn it in seven minutes,” Farzana said with a smirk. “In respect to your customs, we chose soldiers who were unmarried and not yet betrothed. They could not be told beforehand you see. Their respect for my maids must be unquestioned, their honor of pure intent. Only then could they participate in the dance. My maids, they are untouched after all.”

Aragorn and Erkenbrand paused at this, trying to decipher what the queen was saying. She couldn’t possibly mean…?

Aragorn cleared his throat. “I am pleased, though not surprised, that my men have passed your test. They are all honorable, as you have discovered, and they would be pleased I’m certain to learn of your approval of them. I do not wish to prevent you from expressing your appreciation, and while I am in favor of a ceremony that would publicly announce our alliance, I am afraid that our customs prevent certain rites from being performed in public.”

“Especially at a feast,” Erkenbrand added, thinking of the practicalities. “Everyone would forget to eat.”

Farzana frowned. “As you allowed our rites to be performed at our welcoming feast, I wouldn’t have thought there would be a problem with it now, except that it does require a certain sacrifice on the part of your men. From what I have been able to gather, none of them have ever done this before. And there is of course the markings that it will leave, though those will fade with time.”

“I’m fairly certain Osric has done this before,” Erkenbrand said, bewildered as to how to proceed diplomatically. “Be that as it may, I can’t order him to do such a thing, though I am certain he would have no problem doing it, except perhaps the aforementioned public viewing.”

The Haradrim exchanged perplexed looks, then Soroush leaned forward and whispered something in Farzana’s ear.

The queen’s smirk returned and she chuckled. “I apologize, my lords. I must clarify that I am speaking of a dance, nothing more than that. There are certain preparations for the dance, in the way of… costuming, I believe is the word, that you would be unfamiliar with and perhaps find to be barbaric in their nature. There also are certain requirements they will be expected to follow for a moon after the feast to ensure that the bond is fully set. We are speaking of the same thing now, yes?”

Erkenbrand and Aragorn shared another glance. Sometimes, boredom was preferable.

To be continued…

GF 7/27/09
Published 9/7/09