Moon-magic

Elboron

In the weeks that followed her acceptance of Eldarion Fíriel was much out and about in our little country, riding alone whenever possible: alone as, I was sure, she would never be again once she was married and had become the greatest lady in the land, after Queen Arwen. It was easy to guess what she was about: she was making her farewells, and they were many and grievous, for there was not a wood or hill, river, fountain or spring, homestead or farm that was not dear to her. Nor was there a house or farm where she was not known and, though received always with honour, also welcomed as a favourite daughter. Like me, she had accompanied Father on many visits as a child: it had been his way of making us one with our people.

It was a beautiful spring that year: exceptionally beautiful even for Ithilien, which could never fail in beauty at any time or season. On perhaps the loveliest evening of all, in early May before the gentle springtime warmth gave way to the summer heat, I was visited with sudden restlessness and went walking in the gardens, and something drew me to the old orchard where little Húrin lies buried under the white cloak of simbelmynë which grows thicker and fairer every year. I would have drawn back and left her to her thoughts, but she looked up and smiled, motioning me to join her, and we sat together in silence for a while, until the first nightingales began their tentative early evening song. Presently Fíriel, pale and tired, leaned a little against me, and I couldn’t help thinking how much Eldarion would envy me if he could see me; but in a few weeks’ time Eldarion would have no need to envy anyone where Fíriel was concerned.

‘It’s rather odd,’ she said softly, after a while. ‘I know that if Húrin had lived he would be grown up now, not much younger than you, but I always think of him as a baby who needs to be taken care of.’

I nodded; I had the same feeling myself, and I was sure Mother had, though she had never spoken of Húrin in my hearing. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll still be here to take care of him.’

Firiel smiled, but her face clouded again immediately. ‘Elboron, I heard a strange thing today.’

‘A strange thing? What do you mean?’

‘It was at Mablung’s farm. I went there because I knew there was to be a gathering there today for Heleth’s birthday and I could say many farewells and so save time, when there is so little time left.’  She paused and shivered a little. ‘Heleth wished me joy and so did the other women, but Mablung looked at me almost angrily and asked if I would be dancing the moon-dance this year. And I said yes, this year and then never again, since only a maiden can dance the moon-dance. And he said, “Aye, so I thought, and I tell you this, Moon-child: if it were not to the Prince Eldarion you were going then we would never let you go, and as it is we shall have to look to our crops and our herds next year, and it’s likely that it will all go awry.” And the other men muttered in agreement and even some of the women.   Wasn’t that strange?’

I hesitated. ‘Well, it was, but – well, it isn’t the first time I have heard something like that.’

She was amazed and a little indignant. ‘Where else have you heard it?’

‘Oh, here, there, and everywhere. Many of the bailiffs have heard it too.’

‘Does Father know?’

I found this question far stranger than the tale she had told me. As if Fíriel needed to ask me what Father knew or did not know! And yet, when I came to think of it, she had not been much in his company these past weeks – she had been more often with Mother – and if it had not been a rank impossibility I should have thought they had quarrelled.

‘He does know, but he thinks it is nonsense, and has told me and the bailiffs to say as much to anyone who comes out with the idea.’

Fíriel was silent for a while, and then said wonderingly, ‘Nonsense indeed, to look on the moon-dance as harvest magic! Haven’t there been bad years since I began to dance the moon-dance – enough anyway to show that my feet cannot command the weather?’

‘I dare say, but those who believe the story forget the bad years and remember only the good ones.’ 

She shook her head, half-laughing, half-crying. ‘And if next year, when I am gone, there is a bad harvest, what will happen then?’

We looked at each other and the laughter went from our faces. ‘We shall just have to hope the harvest is a good one,’ I said, and she nodded and squeezed my hand.

Emboldened by our accord, I ventured to ask her, ‘If the thing troubles you, why not talk it over with Father?’ I was asking more than the bare question implied, and she answered accordingly, with more than a touch of her old vehemence.

‘I can’t! Don’t you understand that every word we exchange now is a dagger in our hearts, because it brings the parting closer? Do you think I can bear to be with him, and think of a time coming closer and closer when I can’t be with him?’

Her distress bit me as it always did. I answered lamely: ‘He won’t be alone. He’ll still have Mother – and me, for what that’s worth.’

Her face was still vivid with anger; she looked very like the child who had charmed and terrified the household, not so long ago. ‘Do you think I’d dream of leaving him else? I tell you, Elboron, if Mother were not here, I’d let them hack me in pieces before I’d go away and leave Father alone!’

As always with Fíriel, I had an uneasy conviction that what in anyone else would have been exaggeration for effect, with her was the exact truth. I could find no answer.

‘And as for you, and “what that’s worth”’ – she half-turned and punched me in the chest with a small, angry fist, just as she used to do when we quarrelled as children –  ‘Oh, Elboron, you are a fool! Can’t you see how proud he is of you?’ 

And she scrambled to her feet and ran off, leaving me to puzzle things out in Húrin’s silent and sympathetic company.