2.

“Sit here, I beg you, my Lady; there is a cushion placed on the chair for your comfort, and the screens can be shifted with the sun,” said Belecthor solicitously, gesturing to the large, ornately carved chairs placed beneath the draped pavilion overlooking the lists.  Eowyn first glanced down at the tourney field, to make sure she had adequate view, then nodded to the Ceremony Master and lowered herself on the rightmost chair, arranging the folds of her blue dress about her.  Her husband Faramir sat beside her, garbed in silver and black, with a simple fillet encircling his dark hair.  His eyes, too, were on the tournament grounds, and the lists within; from the great quadrangle inside the four stands he could descry the tilt, and on either end stands for the heralds, and places for the knights to await their turn at the joust.  Great banners were hung from the swathed stands, heraldic emblems of the knights and warriors represented; pennants and flags flew from all corners of the stadium.  The sun shone high, with white clouds rushing past her in the stiff breeze; birds circled overhead, mistaking the grandstands for a battlefield.  Faramir had had little zeal for the concept of the tournament when it had been suggested to him by Elessar’s Privy Council; he preferred to deal with envoys and ambassadors, not games.  But now that he sat above the field, filled with nobility, gentry, and villagers from all around, and the hum of excitement vibrated in the late summer air, he felt his blood quicken, and wished for the first time his position did not prevent him from entering the tournament himself.

Indeed, it had been at great personal cost (two nights’ broken sleep) he had checked Eowyn’s desire to fight in the foot combat; at last only a firm word from Queen Undomiel herself had restrained his wife; she at least seemed resigned, and even excited by the prospect of scrutinizing such valor, and in less deadly circumstances than most.  Indeed, as Faramir observed her, he noted her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and smiled; she seemed to him still a maiden, young and untried, though in his heart he knew otherwise of her.  Belecthor sat behind them, and Faramir heard him speaking to Eradan and Egalmoth from the King’s Privy Council, discussing the housing of the knights who had been streaming to Gondor since the end of spring, and the great camps that had been struck when Osgiliath’s Tent City had been opened.  A host of noble ladies filed in, nodding and curtseying to their Lord and Lady; he nodded absently to them, letting their chatter flow past him as the voices of birds.  But Eowyn attended, and glanced over at her friend Eodild, and they shared a smile; the conversation of the ladies of the court consisted of the knights themselves; their clothing, and their manners, and their jewels, and their marriage prospects.  Eowyn had little interest in those qualities; to her instead the lances, and the swords, and the cuirasses of the knights were of greater importance.  Yet the chief focus of her attention was on the horses, some of which had come from many leagues hence; she wished to see if any foreign steed could match the ones of her country, or perhaps be improved by selective breeding – at a price, of course; Eowyn was growing ever conscious of economics, in her own kingdom and in her brother’s, and the horse-trade was down these past years.

The stands filled with people, and the noise grew, and with it everyone’s quickening excitement; at last Belecthor, with a look round the quadrangle, signaled down to the trumpeters on the ground below, and they played stirring music on their long, cloth-covered horns.  Then Faramir, at a motion from Belecthor, stood and addressed the now silent crowd.

“My people of Gondor!” he cried, and got no further for the moment, as cheers, whistles, applause and the stamping of feet drowned him out.  He turned to Eowyn, who laughed and said:  “How happy they are!  Let us hope they get their fill of excitement!” and Faramir smiled.

“My people of Gondor,” he tried again when some of the noise had subsided, “and all the outlying lands!  Druadan, Emyn Arnen, Lossarnach, Erui, Sirith and Celos – “ he was forced to pause again, as all the vassals, villagers, and local nobility applauded and cried aloud.  “Linhir and Pelargir; Serni and Gilrain; Ciril, Ringlo, and Edhellond, Dol Amroth – “ there was an especially loud acclamation at that   “ – Rohan – “ The noise became nigh unbearable, and many started a chant of “Eowyn!  Eowyn!  Our White Lady!” until the lady arose and gracefully bowed her head to her subjects, to their great gratification.  “And those from the far lands, from Lond Daer, Loeg Ningloron, and Esgaroth of the Long Lake!  We welcome you to Osgiliath, first chief seat of the realm of Gondor; once destroyed, but being rebuilt – the heart of Ithilien!”  There was a great tumult at this, and Faramir again paused, waiting for calm to speak again.  “Here we arrest ourselves from our great labors in tilth and tillage, masonry and carpentry, farm, field, and husbandry, to do gentle war upon each other!”  There was laughter at that, and many cried aloud.  “Here you shall see archery and wrestling, foot combat and races, and jousting – “  more cheers  “ – And are many knights gathered in this trial of arms, seeking banishment from care, and testing of skills, but most of all, the Prize!”  The people shouted approval, but briefly this time, wanting to hear what the prize might be.  “Our right and noble King Elessar – “  The stands erupted in cacophony as all people rose to their feet, chanting the name of their king, until Faramir waved his arms for silence.  “King Elessar has charged me with awarding a prize to the mightiest knight in joust and foot combat; this knight, when all is won and his opponents vanquished” (This wasn’t quite true, as the judging was to be done in the awarding of points instead) “shall receive from the fair hand of Lady Eowyn herself, five hundred gold pieces!”

Faramir stepped back and let his people call and hurrah and cry out, inwardly pleased that his poor folk, who had been so sorely tried by war and hunger, could unite in the enjoyment of such a glorious pastime.  After a space of two minutes or so he stepped forward and motioned for silence once more.  “So let us begin this Great Tournament of Ithilien with the Parade of Warriors!” he finished, then sat down, and under cover of the noise whispered to a nearby servant to get him a cooling draught of wine.

At this point Eowyn sat forward, leaning her silk-clad arms upon the barrier, and craned her white neck to look down at the leeches’ corner, from which the knights began their march.  The warm breeze stirred her golden hair and the light veil upon her head, and the sun fell athwart her fair face, illuminating her countenance in her husband’s eyes.  He reached out to her and took her hand; she smiled and him and grasped it, then let go and returned her gaze to the tilt.

There was a long stream of knights and warriors, trailed by their esquires and other retainers carrying lances and swords; heralds there were also interspersed in the van, crying aloud the names and provenances of the various knights and noble men.  Their shields were bright and their surcoats of many colors; pennants, flags, and standards flew from lances and bearers, coats of arms announcing the origins of each knight as he passed.  Some knights were garbed gorgeously, with shining helms and richly decorated armour; others were humbler, ambling forward on thin palfreys with naught but frog-mouthed helmets and chain mail.  Upon the horses’ backs the sun flashed on crinet and shaffron, crupper and peytral; some were covered in mail trappers, and some in simple saddles and tack.  Faramir sipped his chilled yellow wine and watched absently, more interested in what his wife and her friend were saying to each other about the destriers and war horses beneath them, than in the splendor of heraldry.

“Sickle hocked – that may restrict his freedom of movement somewhat.”  “Aye, and did you see his calf knees?”  “A docked tail!  What a horrible thing to do to such a beautiful horse!”  “Yes, but see how it is tucked out of the way of the crupper?”  “Ah, now there is a well-set neck!”  “Yes, but see its lightness of bone!  It does not bear the weight of its armour well.”  “Cow-hocked, that one; see how it affects its action?”  “The forelegs are set too close together.”  “What a narrow poll that one has!  I am sure it is not intelligent enough to face a charge.”  “Now, see those powerful quarters – that is a strong horse, there.”  “Aye, and good action too.”  “Oh, heavy in the head, that one – but with good, strong forelegs.”  This went on for some time as the knights filed past, and after some time Faramir stopped listening, but then he heard Eowyn say sharply, “Hold!  What manner of destrier is that?”

A bellowing neigh, like a harsh heralding trumpet, issued from the mouth of a large destrier, bearing a knight in green armour.  This horse was not an attractive animal, having an overlarge head, hooked nose, and large nostrils.  Its clean, hard limbs were overshadowed by the knees, which jutted over the pasterns.  The rear legs were cow-hocked.  But the hindquarters were deep and round-bodied, of great musculature and strength; its huge hooves, nearly the size of dinner plates, were almost obscured by the rich feathering and enormous fullered shoes, the edges of which were worked up the front of the hooves themselves and spiked, so that they tore at the earth as the horse pranced and pawed.  Its armour was equally imposing, the shaffron’s eye opening being flanged like a flaming lid, and beneath the green plume were dragons’ wings sprouting around a vicious central spike.  The nose guard curved inward and was formed to resemble sharp teeth, giving the horse a fearsome appearance.  The crinet was elaborately worked with many individual scales, so that it more resembled a snake’s or lizard’s neck; the peytral was spiked in the form of a dragon’s head flanked by flaring claws.  Its cruppers were also like reptilian scales and there was a spike above the tail.  Even the long stirrups were fashioned to look like claws.

But the destrier, fearsome though he was, was overshadowed in splendor by the knight he bore.  No surcoat veiled this armour, worked richly in verdigris whorls and runes, wound about, no doubt, with spells to protect the wearer from harm.  The frog-mouthed helm had an unusually large eye-slit, protected by twisted ropes of metal from top to bottom, and the reinforcing plate was flanked by broad sweeps of dragons’ wings.  Over the eye slit were set jewels in the form of red lizard’s eyes, enameled about with gold.  The bevor of the helmet was decoratively pierced and slit, and set about the top with golden dragon’s teeth.  The huge pauldrons were made of interlocking metal and fashioned, as the horse’s armour, to look like dragon’s scales, and the besagues like dragon’s claws, flaring out from the breast.  The lance rest, beneath the right besauge, was also a claw.  On the charnel was a dragon’s head with red enameled eyes.  The knight’s manifers were elaborately flanged, like bat’s wings, and the gauntlets were dragon’s claws, the fingers tipped with sharpened, curved points.  The poleyns, between the green intaglio cuisse and greave, were spiked and set with flaring wings, and the sabatons in the dragon-claw stirrups were spiked.  The knight carried a great lance, with a winged vamplate and a coronel fashioned like a dragon’s head spouting flame from its open mouth.  The escutcheon, slung at his back, had a field of green, and its charge was two oak branches, crossed, bearing many acorns and leaves.  The crowds fell silent as he passed, alone, with neither herald nor squire.  The sun gleamed on his fine armour and the breeze stirred his green plume, but the knight did not acknowledge the people; he let his horse neigh and swagger down the length of the tilt towards the main pavilion where the Lord and Lady of Ithilien sat.

The richly tooled armour on man and horse spoke of great skill, and indeed as he approached Faramir murmured aside to Eradan, “That armour is Dwarven make, or I am no judge of metalwork!” 

“Aye,” said Eradan thoughtfully, “but it is no Dwarf riding such a massive beast – and Dwarves do not sell their work cheaply!”  In silence the Green Knight advanced, and when he came to the pavilion to do obeisance to the Lord and Lady, he paused, as though he observed them as curiously as they did him.  Eowyn leaned even further forward, eagerly admiring the destrier, and Faramir in great envy and consternation stared at the knight’s suit of armour.  Then the Green Knight tipped his lance towards them in salute, and inclined his helmeted head.  The destrier gave another bellow and pawed the ground, then turned and stalked away, tossing its huge head and snapping its teeth at the other war horses, making them shy away from him in nervousness.

Faramir took a deep breath, and said in awe, “Who was that splendid knight!” just as his wife asked, “What manner of horse was that?  I have never seen his like before!”  In their box the nobility were buzzing with excited curiosity, and Belecthor turned and asked the royal herald, “Well, who was he?”  The herald, having observed the design on the Green Knight’s shield, sifted through his letters patents until he found it, and said to them,

“His name is Sir Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale, my lords and ladies.”

Faramir frowned, and Eowyn said, “Lasgalen?  That is an Elvish name, is it not, my Lord?”

“It is Sindarin, a language I am not familiar with,” said Faramir doubtfully; “I believe it means ‘green leaves.’”

“But there are no Elves in Dale,” protested one of the ladies.

“Nay!” said Eowyn.  “But does not an Elven King live within a few days’ march of Esgaroth?”

“He does,” said Egalmoth, “and perhaps it is now more customary for the men of Esgaroth to give their sons Elvish names than it was in times past.”

“Perhaps,” muttered Faramir.  “And Dale!  It explains the Dwarvish armour.  It could only have come from Erebor.”

“Oh, yes, Lasgalen of Dale!” exclaimed Belecthor suddenly, standing and leaning out of the box to catch a parting glimpse of the Green Knight’s retreating back.  “Yes, I have just remembered; I have heard tales of him out of the Tent City; already he and his retainers are making themselves a true spectacle before his fellow knights.”

“In what way?” asked Eradan curiously.

“What, is he a braggart?” laughed Egalmoth.  “With such armour and such a destrier, he has some cause!”

Belecthor sat back and folded his thin hands over his knee. “Nay, Lord Egalmoth, no braggart is Lasgalen of Dale,” he said with a smile.  “But I have heard from my men, who labor in the Tent City, aiding the knights and their esquires in their dealings with the merchants, that the reeve of this knight has spent gold like water, procuring the best site, and the best goods to be found in Ithilien.  It was said he bribed Inborg, whom I hired to see to the housing of the knights, securing for his master the finest spot in the Tent City – near the well, close to the ice house, and large enough for his master’s three great tents.  Yet the Green Knight has rarely been seen outside his quarters; indeed, when he arrived five days ago, many esquires and reeves and sundry other knights came to him desiring to know him, yet all invitations are rejected.  He never leaves his tent save he is cloaked and hooded, his face obscured, and he speaks to no one.  It is strange,” the Ceremonies Master mused, “as the feelings of fraternity and brotherhood have so far lightened the hearts of those in the Tent City, and when one walks therein it seems more as a great fair than a tournament of warriors, that this one knight refuses to foregather with his brethren.  Yet great feasts he must set for himself and his retainers, if reports of his grocer’s bills are any indication.”

“Perhaps it is just that he is so rich, he has no need for economy,” said Faramir.

“He must be rich indeed, to be able to afford armour, horse, and journey, as well as all the luxuries to be found here,” said Eowyn.  She looked again at the Green Knight’s retreating back and said softly to herself, “That carriage – I have seen that carriage before.”

“How is that?” asked Faramir in surprise.  “When would you have seen a Man of Dale riding?”

“I know not,” said Eowyn.  “Yet I recognize it, but not the destrier.  It is an odd thing, that I would know the carriage of a man, but not his horse.”  She watched the knight reach the end of the tilt and turn, then squinted her eyes at him and turned her head right and left, looking intently.  At last, to Faramir’s surprise, she gave a great laugh and clutched at her husband’s arm, then leaned in to whisper secretly into his ear.

“Look!  Look!” she said.  “He rides with neither bridle nor reins!”

“What?” said Faramir, looking at her uncomprehendingly.  But Eowyn only laughed again and sat back in her chair and repeated to him:  “No reins!”  Then she lifted her head to the sun and smiled knowingly to herself, leaving her husband to puzzle it out.