Chapter 33 – All Is Revealed

The fourth morning of the king’s absence dawned light and fair. The initial shock of the king’s flight into the night had faded with Prince Faramir’s calm reassurance that Elessar would be soon to return. The speculation was no less rampant, though people had moved from discussing why the king had to left to wondering with what he would return. The popular theory was that he had gone to retrieve a lost heirloom of the throne, the Star of Elendil perhaps, or the Sceptre of Annúminas. Some bold enough asked Faramir, but if the Steward knew anything he made no mention of it.

Merry began that day by dressing in his livery and eating a quick first breakfast before heading to the Rohirrim’s house on the fourth circle. The little house looked lonely and forlorn since the Haradrim’s departure, as the surrounding homes were still empty of occupants. Smoke issued from the chimney in the kitchen. The household would be awake and preparing for their day as well.

Tucking his helm under his arm, Merry entered the little patio and strolled around the corner to enter the house through the kitchen door. There he found Adda and Feologild cooking what the Riders considered an adequate breakfast. They had cut a melon already, and over the stove bacon and ham was sizzling enticingly.

“Morning, lads!” he greeted and sniffed the bubbling concoction over the hearth fire. “Too much water. It’ll be runny. It’s too late to add more oats. Best to sift in some flour to thicken it and add two cups of sugar and a teaspoon of salt while you’re at it.”

“Sugar?” Adda asked, looking into the pot with interest. One would think the dour young Rider had never heard of such an ingredient before.

“What do you mean by sift?” Feologild asked. He had sifted through ruin and wreckage aplenty, but he had never before sifted flour.

“Or honey if you have any,” Merry said, answering Adda first. “By sift, I mean get some flour in a cup or bowl, then slowly add it to the porridge, mixing as you go so it doesn’t clump.”

He found the flour and scooped some into a mug, then demonstrated briefly. He then watched Feologild as he mimicked the hobbit, looking up for approval. Merry nodded and patted the large man on the arm. “That’s the trick! And the bacon and ham are finished.”

Adda interrupted his search for the elusive sugar to remove the meat from the oven. Merry left them to their own defenses and went in search of Erkenbrand.

He could hear some of the Riders upstairs moving about, fixing their rooms and dressing for the day ahead. Wiglaf and Offa he knew would be standing guard at the tombs today. He was about to wonder where Erkenbrand might be in the house when he entered the parlor and found the Marshall helping Penda, Osric and Ceorl polish the swords before their training session.

“Good morning all!” Merry said cheerfully.

“Good morning, Master Bag!” they replied.

“My lord, I have a missive for you from the Citadel,” Merry announced.

“Lord Aragorn has returned?” asked Erkenbrand, putting his polishing rag aside.

“Nay. The seal appears to be Southron. Bergil said it was from Sador,” Merry said, showing him the scroll. “He also says it’s urgent, hence the red seal.”

“Bergil?” Osric asked, clearly wondering why the young esquire was not present himself.

“He stopped by the house to pick up our extra rations to disperse amongst the neighbors. He likes to pick them up early when he can, to prevent the neighbors from spying him,” Merry explained. “Since I was coming here anyway, it made more sense for me to deliver the letter.”

Erkenbrand leaned his sword against the wall and stood. “Let’s go into the study,” he said and led the way. He closed the door behind them and gestured for Merry to open the scroll.

Merry broke the seal and opened the scroll, his brow scrunching up into his curls almost instantly. “This is odd. It says, ‘My Lord Erkenbrand, I regret to inform you that the Queen’s citrine is not adapting as well as had been hoped previously. Every day it grows more agitated with despair and I begin to worry for its health. If it is at all possible, I think it would be prudent to allow Osric to come and see it before too much more time can pass. With respect, Sador.’”

Merry rolled up the scroll and frowned. “Isn’t the citrine a jewel? How can a jewel despair or be unhealthy? It is an Elven jewel? The Haradrim never mentioned having elves in their lands, though I did notice they were rather unimpressed with Legolas and the twins.”

“This is a most unusual jewel, though in no way Elven,” Erkenbrand said.

“What does Osric have to do with it? I thought the citrine was for Éomer,” Merry said.

“Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?” Erkenbrand asked.

“All the time,” Merry said and let the matter drop. There was time enough to unravel this little riddle later.

“It is unfortunate that Bergil did not come so I could send a reply,” Erkenbrand said, looking uneasy. He paced back and forth for a time, thinking fiercely. “Very well. Osric and I will report to the Citadel after practice. Hopefully, Sador will be able to make the citrine available.”

“If it’s for Éomer, why does Sador have it?” Merry asked on impulse.

“Sador can better protect it than we can,” Erkenbrand said and stowed the scroll in the desk. He opened the door and returned to the parlor, ending the conversation.

Merry joined the Riders in polishing the swords. They finished just as the others came down the stairs. Cuthred grinned at the little knight. A moment later, Adda entered to announce that breakfast was ready.

“Have you eaten already, Master Holdwine?” Cuthred asked.

“I have, but I can eat again,” Merry said, following them into the dining room, where Feologild was finishing setting the table.

They all took a seat, Erkenbrand at the head of the table, and Adda circled them with the cauldron, spooning the steaming porridge into the awaiting bowls. Feologild followed, giving each man a few slices of bacon, ham and melon. They waited until Adda and Feologild were seated before digging into their fare. Exclamations of surprised delight sounded all around the table.

“This is good!” Wulf complimented the chefs.

“This is almost like my mother makes it,” Osric added. His shaved and painted head looked even more foreign and jarring against his livery and hauberk. Merry blinked and wondered when exactly the paint was supposed to start fading. It still looked as vibrant and bold as ever.

“You can thank Sir Merry for that,” Adda said. “In fact, I think we can thank him for all our meals which ended up tasting far better than usual.”

“It was nothing, really,” Merry said.

“Are you certain you want to return home?” asked Ceorl. “You can come with us on our campaigns and cook our meals.”

“That does sound like an adventure,” Merry said, “but now that you understand that heating up food is not the same as cooking it, you will fare much better.”

They finished eating and put the dishes to soak while they went to their practice. The morning passed languidly. The summer sun heated up as it climbed the sky overhead and by midmorning they were all sweating heavily under their armor. They preserved however, intent on their practice. When the sun was directly overhead, they stopped and cooled down with a jog around the field.

They were on their way to the baths when Bergil found them. The boy ran up, his face alight with excitement. “Sir Merry! Sir Merry! Lord Erkenbrand!”

“What is it, Bergil?” Merry asked.

“Lord Elessar has returned! Mithrandir is with him and they are bringing something!” Bergil announced between pants.

“They have been spotted?” Erkenbrand asked.

Bergil nodded. “They entered through the gate in Rammas Echor just about a half-hour ago. They should reach the city in another hour.”

“What about Elrohir and Elladan?” Merry asked.

“They were not with them,” Bergil said with a shrug. He did not look very concerned over the missing elf brothers. “The guards on the wall say that Mithrandir and Elessar carry between them a great package, wrapped in the king’s standard. Surely it must be some lost heirloom indeed!”

“We shall soon discover the truth,” Erkenbrand said with a kind smile. “Return to the wall and discover what other information you may, then report back to us if you are able. We will be at the baths.”

“Yes, My Lord!” Bergil said and turned to run back to the Gate.

“So the mystery is about to be solved,” Osric said as they watched the lad dash off.

“More than one,” Merry muttered, looking up at the Rider. If Aragorn’s secrets were anything to go by, Merry thought he suspected just what – or more precisely, who – this citrine of Queen Farzana’s was.

They speculated anew about this mysterious package as they soaked in their bath. All their theories about rings, staffs or crowns now seemed improbable. The object must be of some size for the guards on the wall to be able to spy it. What then could it be? By the time they finished their bath and were heading for the tavern where they took their noon meal, they had got no further than ruling out what it could not be.

There was a certain excitement in the air as they navigated through the streets. The news had spread quickly of the king’s return and people were gathering at yard posts and in the market squares to discuss this latest development. The tavern was more full than usual, and Erkenbrand was about to use this as a very poor excuse for going to the Citadel instead when Bergil found them again. He ran up to them and grinned.

“They are nearing the Gate!” he announced. “The king has sent forth a message that you are to meet him before the White Tower in two hours.” He did not wait for a reply but dashed off again, on his way to deliver the message to anyone else who was privy to an invitation.

Deciding that another two hours would hardly hurt anything, and that the King’s command made for a far better excuse to journey to the Citadel than did a crowded tavern, Erkenbrand followed his men inside. They were instantly approached by the bar wench with a pitcher of foaming ale.

“Isn’t this exciting!” she exclaimed and glanced around the tavern. She whistled over the din of the patrons and shouted for a group of young lads to vacate the table where the Riders usually sat. “Your usual?”

“Thank you,” Erkenbrand said. They navigated their way through the common room and couldn’t help but notice that everyone seemed to be discussing the same thing.

“What do you think our liege is bringing, Sir Meriadoc?” asked an older man and the room quieted for a moment to allow Merry to answer.

“I am as much in the dark as the rest of you, I fear,” Merry said to the disappointment of all and settled himself into his usual seat.

They spent the next hour and a half gossiping and speculating with the patrons, then dismissed themselves. They reached the Citadel and found all the lords and princes within the city gathered around the courtyard in front of the White Tower. Gandalf and Aragorn stood near the dead tree, the bundled package lying on the ground between them. Merry left the Riders and went to stand with his cousins and Sam.

“What do you know?” he asked.

Pippin shook his head. “Not much.”

“It’s a tree,” Sam announced, looking at the bundle.

“You think so?” Merry asked, taking a better look. It was indeed tree-shaped, and they were standing at the pool of the White Tree.

“Where are the twins?” Frodo asked, looking around.

“They didn’t return to the city,” Merry said.

Aragorn stood forward then and held up his hand for silence. When all gathered were quiet, he turned to Legolas, who went to the withered old tree and placed his hand upon its ancient bole. He closed his eyes and seemed to commune with the tree for many long minutes. At last he stepped back and nodded.

“In Númenor stood Nimloth, a White Tree given to our forebears by the Elves of Eressëa who befriended them, and it became as much a symbol of the Kings of old as did the crown and standard,” Aragorn announced. “Its image is stenciled upon the standard and the uniforms that our Guard wear so proudly and boldly, and its blossoming image is seen upon the wall behind the throne in the Hall of Kings. Yet only by the quick wit of Isildur, son of Elendil, does its descendants survive. At Sauron’s bidding, Nimloth was destroyed, for in it he saw a link to the Valar, his once companions and now eternal enemies. Isildur rescued a fruit from the boughs of Nimloth before it could be destroyed, and upon coming to Gondor, he planted it in Minas Ithil. Alas, that Sauron took siege of that fortress and again destroyed the tree, but again, a seed was rescued and planted here in Minas Anor by King Tarondor. Sauron sought to destroy our link to the Valar, and failed, for still does this tree stand, though it be now old and withered, while Sauron is perished. Here it has rested its roots for many hundreds of years, its one-time glory lost to the depths of time, but still it has continued to guard the Tower. Alas, it has no descendants, but we shall honor it always and place it to rest in the Silent Street.”

Then Gandalf threw open the standard that held the sapling he and Aragorn had retrieved from the hallows in Mindolluin. The sapling was no bigger than the tallest man and its thin limbs bore no blossoms yet, though the buds were many. Still it seemed to shine with a light of its own and all those gathered there looked upon it with reverence. Then Faramir and Imrahil removed the old tree, which gave away its hold on the earth with ease, and the ancient tree was hauled off to Rath Dínen with care by a small contingent of Guards of the Tower. Aragorn lifted the sapling and placed it in the earth where the old tree had stood just moments before, and as Gandalf held the sapling in place, Aragorn filled the hole with new earth. Water was brought from the pool and poured over the fresh soil, and Aragorn said an Elven prayer over the earth.

“May this sapling grow and bloom with all the promise of the new age to come,” Aragorn finished.

The ceremony over, the men lined up to walk past the sapling and admire it up close. The hobbits were near the front of the line, and as they drew near it, Pippin looked up and shook his head. “All this noise over a tree?” he said.

“It’s a very pretty tree,” Sam said, looking up at the sapling with a smile. “It’ll give good shade once it’s grown out some.”

“A new king, a new age, a new tree,” Frodo said. “It seems appropriate.”

“I still don’t understand why Strider didn’t tell us why he was leaving,” Merry said. “We wouldn’t have told anyone.”

“It’s a gift, Merry,” Frodo said, “as much for us as everyone else. He didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

They walked past the tree and Merry spotted Erkenbrand and Osric in the distance, speaking with Aragorn and Sador, the latter of whom looked most distressed. In fact, he looked quite tired, as though he hadn’t slept well since the Haradrim and his cousin departed the city.

“Let’s go,” he said and led the way towards the men. They reached them just as they were turning towards the King’s House. “That’s a lovely tree, Strider.”

“Thank you, Merry,” Aragorn said.

“I didn’t know that one hunted for trees,” Pippin quipped. “Does Treebeard know about this little habit of yours?”

“If you decide to go hunting for lilies, you best take Sam along,” Frodo said. “Some of these plants can be dangerous, you know. Sam can identify them before you get too close. We don’t want our new king rummaging around in poisonous or prickly plants. That won’t do at all.”

“I hear there’s ferns growing wild on the banks of the port,” Merry said, grinning. “Perhaps you could tame it where no one else could.”

“How long until you stop pestering me about this?” Aragorn asked with a laugh.

“A week at least,” Frodo said. “Maybe more. We haven’t decided yet.”

They came to the King’s House and settled in the parlor. The hobbits immediately began to question Aragorn and Gandalf about their trip. Aragorn and Gandalf happily told of their journey to Mindolluin, but of the twins they said only that Elrohir and Elladan parted from them after leaving the city.

“Tell us more about the White Tree,” Frodo said, as Mistress Porcia entered with a laden tray of tea and scones.

“Pardon me, Lord Aragorn,” Erkenbrand said, seizing the opportunity while Porcia was here. He stood and bowed his head to the company. “I had come to see your maid about your newest apprentice. As Master Merry so cleverly made clear this morning, we are in dire need of a proper cook.”

Aragorn lifted an eyebrow at this and shot a quick glance at Sador and Osric. “Very well,” he said, dismissing them; he would get the details later.

“Osric, let us leave old friends to catch up. Sador, join us if you will. You know more than us what to look for in a cook,” Erkenbrand said.

“Gladly,” said Sador, and the three men followed Porcia to the kitchen, while the others continued speaking.

The kitchen was warm with low hearth fires and the air was flavored with spices and simmering meat. The afternoon sun slanted in through high windows, lighting the space with a soft white glow. At a small table in the corner were a handful of cooks and maids taking an early supper. They were speaking jovially when Porcia entered, but upon seeing the three men, they quieted and concentrated on their food.

“How is she?” Sador asked as they continued into the butler’s pantry.

“She is doing well enough,” Porcia said, coming to a stop. “She listens well and does as she’s told. She’s a quick study, but the poor dear’s heart isn’t in it. I’ve yet to see her smile, and she’s shy about speaking to the others.”

“She’s been shy with Brondir also, which is most unusual. She is not shy by nature. Bring her to us,” Sador requested.

“Right away sir,” Porcia said and retreated through the dining room.

“Thank you for coming so swiftly,” Sador said to Erkenbrand. “I worried when I did not get a response to my letter.”

“There was no opportunity to send one,” Erkenbrand said. “Is it truly as bad as you said? It has only been five days.”

“More time will help, but this will help more,” Sador said.

Osric looked back and forth between the two in utter confusion. Whatever they were talking about, it was clearly not a cook. “What is this about?” he asked.

“The queen’s citrine,” Sador said, looking at Osric for the first time. “You are not allowed to touch women.”

“Not for another twenty-five days at least,” Osric said, examining the dye lines on his arms. “Does the paint fade all at once, or does it simply take longer to begin to fade?”

Sador took Osric’s arm, then the other, and examined them closely. “There should be some fading already, very subtle, but this looks the same as it did the night of the feast. How often do you bathe, if I may ask?”

“We bathed just this morning,” Osric said.

Sador released his arms and nodded. “I had forgotten that it is the custom of our people to only wash their hands and face on a daily basis. The Haradrim, however, bathe every day. The palace alone has over a dozen bathing chambers. I suggest, unless you want your month of sacrifice to turn into three or four, that you begin bathing every day as well.”

Osric nodded. “No more nights in the taverns then, as that would be the only time I’d be able to bathe every day. It’s just as well. The taverns aren’t as much fun when you can’t drink anyway. Now, why does Mistress Porcia have the queen’s citrine, and who were you talking about before?”

“They are one and the same,” Sador said. “Let us go into the dining room. We will have more room to speak, and there is something we need to tell you before Porcia returns.”

They went into the dining room and sat at the near end of the table. Sador and Erkenbrand exchanged looks, then Sador turned once again to Osric. “Jamila remains in the city. She will be going with your company to Rohan.”

There was a moment’s silence as Osric absorbed this information. He looked to Erkenbrand for confirmation. “This is true? Why was I not told before? Why did she not return to Harad?”

“She is to be given to Éomer,” Erkenbrand said. “However, Éomer will have no desire to have a former Haradrim slave serving in Meduseld. There are too many secrets for her to learn there. He cannot simply put her out though, so she will need to be married to someone. Farzana determined that someone should be you. I see no reason why Éomer would not agree.”

“Marry? I do not understand,” said Osric, more confused now than before.

“Do you not love her then?” Erkenbrand asked.

“I do,” Osric said. He looked stunned, as though he could not believe what he was hearing. “But, is that what she wants? Why would the queen care?”

Sador nodded thoughtfully. “I believe that she cares for you. She admitted so to the queen at any rate. As you may recall, it is forbidden for any man to touch a maid of the queen. It is equally forbidden for a maid to allow a man to touch her. Jamila gave her heart to you, and that is seen as the same. The queen released her of her bonds and left her here, for if Jamila had been permitted to cross into Harad, Farzana would have had no choice but to try her in court. There could only be one result of such a trial.”

“That is barbaric!” Osric exclaimed, feeling sick and outraged. “To punish someone for love! How can they do such a thing? How can the queen allow it?”

“She did not,” Sador said. “Jamila remains.”

“She remains?” Osric said. He stood up and started pacing, trying to understand the strange customs of the Southrons. “Why couldn’t Farzana simply ignore it?”

“There would have been talk. The truth would have been revealed eventually,” Sador said. “The people would demand a trial. The queen cannot simply change the customs and laws merely to suit her own desires, but she does what she can, when she can. She questioned Jamila here, where our customs could not be carried out. Jamila was left, with the understanding that if you so choose, you will be married. She has a chance for a free life, hopefully a happy life. Jamila understands this, but she has been unable to accept her new life. She is not adjusting well. I am hoping that seeing you will give her back some of her spirit.”

“Why is she here in the King’s House then?” Osric asked next, coming to a stop behind his chair. He was still too restless to sit, so he stood there with his hands on the chair’s back, and every few moments he glanced at the doorway.

“So she can learn to keep house and cook,” Erkenbrand said. “It was my idea. She knows nothing except dancing and waiting on her queen. Those skills will help her little on a farm, as a wife of a soldier. Unless you do not require her to know those things?”

“I just… I’ve never thought about it,” Osric said. He was still trying to understand everything that he had learned, but that word – wife – had dropped like a stone in the pit of his stomach. All of this had happened because he had permitted himself to flirt with the pretty maid. She had lost everything, been exiled from her homeland to escape execution, because she had returned the favor. And Sador had warned him, warned them all, what the punishments were for touching a maid. Yet it had seemed so innocent at the time. How could he have been so foolish?

“You better start thinking about it,” Erkenbrand advised, breaking into Osric’s thoughts. “This poor girl has been through enough without having to worry about you getting cold feet.”

He would have said more but at that moment the door opened and Porcia entered. He waved her inside and she opened the door wider, revealing Jamila behind her. Jamila followed Porcia into the room, her head lowered, her eyes on the floor. The young maid wore the grey smock and white apron of the house attendants, and her long raven hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Of all the things Osric had learned and seen so far today, this was the hardest. Such an exotic creature should not be dressed so plainly. Worse than that was the maid’s demeanor. Gone were the proud step and confident back, the shining eyes and the quick smile. In just a few days, she had withered away, a mere ghost of her former self.

“Jamila,” Osric said, stepping forward. He stopped an arm’s length away from her, conscious of the sacrifice that bound him while the savage symbols remained on his flesh.

Jamila’s head jerked up at the sound of his voice and her eyes latched onto his. She blinked quickly, then pulled her eyes away to find Sador, who nodded his approval. A slow smile graced her lips and she looked to Osric again, drinking him in. Then she remembered herself and curtsied as she had been taught to do. “Master Osric,” she said, eyes again on the floor. “You have come.”

“Of course I did,” Osric said. “I will always come for you.”

Sador and Erkenbrand stood and circled the couple to join Porcia at the door. Sador caught Osric’s eye over Jamila’s shoulder. “Perhaps you can ease some of her fears and tell her what life will be like in Rohan, maybe teach her some more of your language. We will give you an hour to talk, but remember your duty.” He repeated the same warning to Jamila in Haradrim, then left with the others.

Jamila and Osric stood facing each other for endless moments, neither quite able to believe their luck in having each other still. Then Osric remembered his manners and pulled out a chair for Jamila to sit. She only glanced at it.

“Do you want to sit?” Osric asked.

“Do you wish for me to sit?” Jamila asked, confused by the question.

“Only if you want to,” Osric said. “We can stand here, or sit somewhere else.”

Jamila hesitated for a time, then sat upon the floor where she was, her legs folded to her right side. She propped herself up on the palm of her left hand, for lack of a pillow. Osric put the chair back and sat tailor-fashion across from her, as close as he dared to get so he would not be tempted to reach out and take her hand.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Many things to say, but I am most happy to see you.”

“As I am you. I thought I would never see you again. It was a feeling darker than the Nazgul’s cold dread. And now they tell me we are to be married. That is what you want, isn’t it? I will not take you if you do not want to be with me.”

“I want,” Jamila said, smiling shyly.

Osric grinned in return. “So then what do you want to know about Rohan?”

Jamila glanced around the room, but Osric had the sense that she was seeing more than just these four walls. “Is it much like Gondor?” she asked.

“Edoras is our capitol, but it is nothing like Minas Tirith, all this stone and mortar. It is more like the Pelennor, open plains and farmlands. All of Rohan is like that actually. There are stone forts of course, but our buildings are made of wood, mud and hay usually. We live very simply, most of us are farmers of some kind, or horse-breeders. I tend my father’s farm…”

Erkenbrand and Sador stepped away from the door, leaving the couple to their privacy. “Thank you again for brining him. I think it will help.”

“We shall see,” Erkenbrand said, thinking of Finduilas, Faramir’s mother and the last Lady Steward. She too had left behind all she loved and in not so nearly dramatic a fashion. She had not adjusted well to the change and had spent her last years in a state of dull unhappiness. Yet perhaps Jamila was made of sterner stuff. “I hope so, for both their sakes.”

To be continued…

GF 10/30/09
Published 11/17/09