Blooming Trees

The grains were reddish, sifting through Celebrían's fingers. She tapped the box so that its furrowed contents settled back into a level plane. "Brighter than madder?" she said. "Remarkable."

"Rosier than madder," said Melinna, with a shrug. "More pink than orange."

"It grows on oak trees, you said?"

"Yes, in the east. Very small trees – some are almost bushes – but they have acorns and oak leaves. These grains bloom on the sprigs. The mortal women living in those parts collect them in their mouths."

"Remarkable," said Celebrían again. "Of course, it's hotter there. I wonder whether it would grow here?"

Rubia tinctoria

A pot bubbled over a cheerful campfire. Erestor examined a bundle of roots with fastidious displeasure. "Melinna," he said. "Do I look like a horse? Because if not, what is this madder –"

"That's not for eating," said Melinna and whisked it out of his hands. "I found a patch across the valley. I've been meaning to re-dye your belt for a while; it's faded nearly to orange."

"Of course we must be elegantly dressed," yawned Erestor, "while wandering the wilderness. Galadriel and that child of hers are a bad influence on you. If not madder, what are we eating tonight?"

Genista tinctoria

Broom

It was summer and the downs were aflame with flowering broom, a blaze of yellow across the sunlit hillsides. Melinna took a stem apart a piece at a time, laying out a crown of silken petals in the grass. "Dyer's greenweed," she said and crushed one thoughtfully between her fingers, so that a little juice came out. "We grow this at Imladris. It's good for yellow, almost as good as weld. That's with white alumen. And then you overdye it with woad and get green, of course..."

Whatever else she said went unheard. Erestor had fallen asleep in the sun.

Verdigris

Cavalier

A plumed cavalier plunged into a chasm. Blueness edged his sword and his cloak streamed verdigris-green behind him. They had commented on the nobility of his expression and the stupidity of his horse; and Erestor had supposed the scene was Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and Melinna had proposed Númenor's fall, and they certainly would not have identified Beren Camlost even if Melinna had not commented enviously on the vividness of his painted garments. "Green's a difficult colour."

"The artist managed," said Erestor, imitating the cavalier. "Can't you use paint?"

"It doesn't work like that."

"Why not?"

"Do you want me to explain?"

Isatis tinctoria

Bees

The twins bounced happily away, duty done. After a moment, Celebrían leaned forwards and fished a leaf from the salad bowl. It was long and smooth and glossy green; it was also distressingly representative of the bowl's contents. She considered it doubtfully.

"Well," she said. "It looks rather like lettuce, I suppose..."

"No, it doesn't," said Melinna. "Why were they gathering salad in the dye-garden anyway?"

Celebrían sighed. "Elbereth knows! Curiosity? I told them to keep away when everything was flowering and the bees were out." She peered into the bowl again. "Tell me, did you need any blue thread?"

Indigofera tinctoria

Swamp Grass

This box was packed with powder, black and very fine. "Now I know about this," said Celebrían, tracing a spiral over the surface. Particles clung to her fingertip and darkened the pale edge of her nail. "Twenty silver pennies a pound in Ost-in-Edhil. They used to fake certain gemstones with it – emerald, I think, and beryl as well. Chrysoprase, possibly. It made the bluest paint I've ever seen. Doesn't it come from the slime on the eastern swamp grasses?"

Melinna grinned. "That's what they say. It's a plant, actually, with purple flowers. And it dyes a deeper blue than woad."

Anchusa tinctoria

"No," said Erestor, not looking up. "I don't care to find out, either."

Elrond sank into a chair. "They were giggling," he said incredulously. "I could hear them giggling."

"Women do that sometimes. Don't worry. They probably weren't giggling about you."

He returned himself to Daeron's song and the woods of Doriath. When he glanced up again, Elrond was still there, his eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.

"Erestor," he said. "I smelled alcohol."

"Then I definitely don't want to know."

But he remembered Melinna talking about Celebrían's new recipe for alkanet, and the pansy-bright violet dye they hoped to brew.