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The Green Knight  by Le Rouret

S

5.

            Éowyn’s opinion of the fussy Belecthor was raised considerably when she saw him faced unexpectedly with the appearance of the Queen, riding her white palfrey and attended by numerous ladies and men-at-arms.  At once he sent his servants scurrying for chairs and cushions and additional screens, and determining immediately his King would arrive forthwith provided for him as well.  The Lady of Emyn Arnen was delighted to see her Queen:  tall and gray-eyed, fair and wise beyond tale or thought of mortal ken was Arwen Undómiel, yet beneath the alabaster breast there beat the merry heart of a young maid.  In the few years they had dwelt as noble ladies in the same kingdom their spirits had twined like blossoming honeysuckle, sweet and pungent; together they had explored the unknown frontiers of new kingdoms, and new relationships.  Though at first Arwen had been to Éowyn too lofty and noble to aspire as friend, yet the heart of Arwen begged Éowyn to see her as kin, so that as sisters they cosseted together and whispered secrets before low fires in darkling rooms.  And Elessar and Faramir, thrown also together in conflict and council, rejoiced to see the union, counting themselves twice-blessed that their beloveds had found in each other the bloom of sisterhood.

            “Have you come straightway from Minas Tirith?” asked Éowyn, embracing her friend as the Ceremony Master and his minions whirled about them with screens and benches.

            “No, indeed!” laughed the Queen.  “I stole me first to your secret house, following my Lord there, yet I was too late to delay him.  But I in wickedness did waylay your servant, and he being merciful did allow me to use your bath and to eat your food, so that I could come to the Tournament resembling a Queen and not a vagabond.”

            “Will you stay with us in the City then?”

            “Nay, you have not the room; besides our vanguard has arrived and has set up great tents and sleeping-quarters for us on the other side of the tournament grounds.  I will rest better, I think, sleeping upon the ground than within cold stone.  Have you seen aught of my husband?”

            “I did see King Elessar,” said Éowyn, motioning Arwen to sit; “he and Faramir were watching the foot combat, whilst I peered child-like from above, behind the back curtains.”  She gestured behind them to the back of the enclosure, and Arwen saw the coverings were pushed aside, and daylight streamed through.  “You can watch the fighting from there,” Éowyn explained.  “It is easier than sitting on the benches, and much cooler.”

            Arwen laughed, a delightful sound, like falling water into a deep pool.  “No doubt!” she said.   She sat upon a soft cushion and thanked Belecthor, then gave her formal greetings to Eradan and Egalmoth upon her other side.  To Éodild her greeting was warmer, knowing Éowyn’s affection for her cousin, and after she had accepted a glass of cool white wine from Belecthor’s serving boy she settled back upon her cushions and sighed.

            “I am glad to be here,” she confessed to Éowyn with a laugh, “to be outdoors watching great knights spar in errantry.  I love Minas Tirith, but there are not enough trees!”

            “They have had little ease for planting gardens these past years,” said Éowyn.  “Perhaps now the white city may grow green once more, and gardens and parks adorn its crowns like jewels.”

            “So we have been promised,” said Arwen.  “Wood-elves from the northern realms will return soon, bringing with them more cuttings from their own gardens, to plant with their blessings and water with their songs.”

            “By spring, I guess,” said Éowyn, “will the Elves of Mirkwood start their journey, to dwell in Emyn Arnen and beautify our woods and groves.  So we have been promised, and indeed we have already set aside lands as their dwelling-places.”

            “Then will Ithilien bloom indeed,” smiled Arwen, “and all your peoples have a place of rest and beauty.”

            “That is our hope,” admitted Éowyn.  “Ah!  And here comes Aragorn.”

            All in the front box stood as King Elessar stepped in, with Lord Faramir at his side.  Elessar was now dressed in robes as befit a king of his stature, black with the star-crowned tree worked in silver, and upon his head was a silver circlet.  He kissed his wife’s hand, and Lady Éowyn’s cheek, and greeted his surprised Council members.

            “Why, I thought you would be still in Minas Tirith!” gasped Eradan, clasping his King’s hand in his own fat paw and placing a flustered kiss upon his fingers.  “Were you not going to stay in council with the rest of the financial advisors?”

            “I was, indeed,” said Elessar, “but I missed my favorite Councilor, and decided not to forego the pleasure of his Tournament.”

            Eradan laughed.  “Then I hope you will have your fill of entertainment!” he said.  “More wine!” he called to Belecthor’s servants.  “More wine for His Majesty!  A long ride breeds a deep thirst.”

            Meanwhile Faramir sat next to his wife, and leaning into her ear he said in a low voice:  “My lady, I believe I have guessed the name of your champion.”

            “Why, my lord,” smiled Éowyn, “his name is upon the letters patents as Lasgalen of Dale.”

            “Indeed!” said Faramir.  “And your lord is asking himself why the Green Knight is listed upon the letters patents as Lasgalen of Dale.”

            “No doubt, my lord, because it is his name!” said Éowyn with a laugh.

            “No doubt, my lady!” smiled Faramir, and sat back.

            The trumpeters sounded forth a musical blast, and Faramir stood to address the crowd once more.  Under cover of his words, Elessar leaned over to Belecthor and asked, “Have the standards of the winners of the foot contest been added to the jousting figures?”

            “They have,” said Belecthor.  “See, there are the standards, upon the winner’s wall:  Malbeth of Celos in black, Lasgalen of Dale in green, and Hallas of Lossarnach in brown.”

            “The Green Knight is my Lady’s champion,” said Éodild impishly to King Elessar.  He held no awe for her, lady of Rohan though she was, and younger than the rest of Éowyn’s lady’s maids.

            “Indeed!’ said Elessar, glancing at Éowyn, who laughed.  “You surprise me exceedingly.  I watched him in the foot combat earlier, and though he is certainly skilled he is no match for the best knights, either Malbeth or Herion or Hador.”

            “You have yet to see him joust, my Lord,” said Belecthor excitedly.  “Tall and true to the tip he is, an excellent horseman – “

            “His destrier is disgraceful,” put in Egalmoth, pursing his thin lips and crossing his arms.  “Surely the ladies of Rohan will agree!”

            “He is not beautiful, I will admit,” said Éowyn.  “But even you, Lord Egalmoth, must acknowledge his strength and courage.”

            Elessar laughed aloud for sheer pleasure.  His relief at the thought of Thranduil’s monetary aid nearly overwhelmed him, and suddenly it seemed to him that, with the assistance of Elf, Dwarf, and Hobbit-kind he would soon be beset by no more enemies or other woes.  The sun shone in the turquoise sky, wisps of white cloud scudded by, and the tops of green trees waved and bowed over the edges of the tournament stadium.  The breeze brought with it the fresh smells of the pine forests, pungent and sharp, and even the musky and over-ripe smell of Eradan, perspiring in his heavy red robe and calling for more wine, could not dampen his spirits.  At his left was his beloved Undómiel, whose eyes gazed at him in love; to his right would sit Faramir, chief amongst his counselors and friends; before him was the great brown quadrangle, surrounded by his subjects:  At that point Elessar’s cup of happiness was quite full.

            To prove that even the Valar do not wish to see a mortal too happy, Faramir had wound up his speech with, “I present to you, lords and ladies, my beloved of Ithilien, his Majesty, the hope of the Dúnedain, the Heir of Elendil, Elessar, the Elfstone, King of Gondor and the Northern Marches!”   And Elessar was required at that point to rise and address his people.  He stood and spoke in merry generalities for some minutes, his joy hardly giving him eloquence for deeper topics; his populace, enchanted by the thought their King had perhaps imbibed too freely, cheered him in great elation as he sat, sweating slightly in the heavy doublet, and instantly Belecthor’s servant handed him a chilled and dripping goblet of cool wine.  After he sat the trumpets sounded once more, and the knights in that afternoon’s competition filed into the list.

            “See, my lord; there he is!” exclaimed Éodild excitedly, pointing to a shining silver figure coming in behind Aldamir of Amon Din.  “Do you not see his destrier, how it prances and paws, and how all the other horses shy from him?  He is a terrible horse, fierce and belligerent, worthy of the knight who graces his swayed back.”

            Elessar looked and beheld the Green Knight, riding upon a gray roan mostly obscured by its armour; there was no surcoat upon the cuirass, so he flashed in the sun and pierced the eye like lightning.  At that point the breeze caught up the pennant on his lance, and the King saw the crossed oak branches on the brown background.  He looked more carefully at the Green Knight, frowning, for there was something about the kit that disturbed him, though he could not think of it.  As the knights filed in towards the royal box, Éowyn suddenly stood, to the great surprise of her husband and friends, and said in a loud and clear voice:  “Lasgalen of Dale!”

            The Green Knight halted, and lifted his frogmouth helmet to her inquiringly.  At her gesture he urged his snorting mount forward and stopped before the draped and decorated stands.  All leaned forward, eagerly studying his armour and horse, and Eradan seemed so entranced by the sight he might have fallen, had not Belecthor’s aide pulled him back suddenly.

            “Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale,” said Éowyn, eyes alight with gaiety as she unfastened the brooch upon her shoulder.  “Will you wear this, and proclaim yourself my champion by this token?”  She held up a richly embroidered scarf, blue with yellow figured flowers, which fluttered in the breeze.

            The Green Knight hesitated but a moment, then lowered his great lance.  The coronel, an intricately carven dragon’s head with an open mouth spouting metal fire, rested before Éowyn on the banister of the box.  She fastened her scarf to the end of the lance and stepped back.  The Green Knight bowed in the saddle, raised the lance with its new pennant, and turned and joined the other knights in the file.  A great murmur surged round the stadium, and Elessar and the others in the royal box stared at her in amazement.

            “Éowyn!” exclaimed Faramir.  “What do you mean – “

            “Oh!” interrupted Arwen suddenly, then covered her mouth with her hands.  All looked at her from Éowyn, but she was staring at the Green Knight’s back, eyes wide, and did not notice them.  She turned to her friend and gestured; Éowyn leaned forward and they whispered together urgently.  Then they both laughed and sat back, smiling.

            “May we know the object of this joke?” asked Elessar gently, taking his Queen’s hand.

            “Nay, my lord!” she laughed, gray eyes sparkling.  “The lady of Emyn Arnen has chosen her champion; that is all!”

            Elessar and the members of his Council exchanged glances, but it was clear none quite understood the reason for the ladies’ mirth; indeed, Éodild seemed ready to laugh aloud if circumstances had permitted.  Only Faramir sat silent, biting his lip.  Elessar leaned over to him.

            “My friend, what troubles you?” he whispered.

            Faramir looked into his lord’s eyes, hesitating; then he said,

            “It is nothing, my lord.  But perhaps you should look to the Green Knight’s tack.”

            “His tack?” asked Elessar in amazement.  “That is another riddle you set me!  What do you mean by this?”

            “Look, look!” cried Éodild again, quite overcome with excitement and interrupting the King’s questioning.  “Here is the Green Knight, coming against Vorondil of Lossarnach!”

            Indeed the commoners and gentry in the crowd seemed to share her exhilaration, for they cheered and waved green and gray pennants, and some cried “Dale!” while others cried “Lossarnach!”  Elessar, distracted by the noise, left off his interrogation and looked to the lists.

            Vorondil’s steed seemed uneasy, and rightly so; the Green Knight’s destrier screamed and bellowed and pawed fiercely, and when the herald dropped his pennant and ran, the knight of Dale leaped forward, Éowyn’s scarf whipping back from the polder-mitten where he had tied it.  Elessar caught his breath as the war-horse surged ahead, powerful legs churning the earth like a dust devil.  The bright sun flashed upon the Green Knight’s armour and set the onlookers’ eyes to watering.  The great bat-wings flared out from the shining helm, looking to the King as though the knight himself were about to rise from the ground in flight over his adversary; he could see the clawed gauntlets at the end of the brilliant vambraces clutching the haft behind the vamplate.  Lances lowered, Vorondil and Lasgalen met; there was a crash and a clatter, and Vorondil was on his back like a tortoise, waving his arms for assistance, while his frightened steed bolted into the leeches’ corner, upsetting the pavilion in front of the healer’s tent.

            In the ensuing madness, Éodild and Éowyn laughed and embraced, and Arwen applauded madly, cheering in a most un-regal way for the Green Knight.  Egalmoth and Belecthor began arguing about the legality of the coronel, and Eradan called for more wine.  Elessar took a deep breath and looked over at Lord Faramir, whose expression was unreadable.

            “Remarkable!” said Elessar, smiling at his friend.  “He is avenged upon me for my disparaging remarks concerning his swordplay.”

            “Think you so?” asked Faramir warily.  “Watch, and pay attention!  You may learn more of him than you wish.”

            Once Vorondil’s destrier had been retrieved and remounted, the two knights stood again, and the pennant dropped.  The Green Knight bounded forward, blazing in contrast to Vorondil’s gray surcoat; like lightning piercing a cloud was the great lance, which shattered against the Gray Knight’s cuirass, sending the dragon’s head spinning across the lists.  “Two!” cried Egalmoth, and Eradan cursed loudly, then apologized, red-faced, to the ladies, who had not even attended his words.  Then Elessar espied a boy running across the lists to retrieve the coronel.  He blinked, caught his breath, and sat up suddenly.

            “Faramir!” he said.

            “My lord!” said Faramir, looking at him in consternation.

            “That – “ he pointed to the boy, who was no boy, but proved himself to be –

            “ – is a Hobbit!” he finished, aghast.

            “Yes, my lord,” said Faramir unhappily.

            Elessar looked at Faramir in amazement, then turned his attention back to the lists.  The Green Knight stood at attention at the end of the tilt, and beside him was his armourer –

            “Gimli!” hissed Elessar, and Faramir winced.

            -- And up ran the Hobbit, holding aloft the shining coronel, while the dwarf handed the Green Knight another lance.

            Elessar ground his teeth together in anger and frustration as the pennant dropped.  Faramir looked over at him in concern.  But no one else in the stands had noticed this interchange; all were focused on the joust, eagerly watching to see if the Gray Knight could salvage his points.

            It would not be so.  The third charge brought the Gray Knight’s destrier almost to its haunches, so great was the impact of the lance upon his knight’s cuirass, and the pennant of green and brown crossed oak branches was hung up again on the winner’s wall.  As the Green Knight rode back past the tilt to the exit, with Lady Éowyn’s scarf fluttering still from his arm, Elessar beckoned to Bergil, his messenger, and said:

            “Give the King’s regards to Lasgalen of Dale, and he will wait upon me in my tent immediately after the joust!”  Bergil nodded and ran out.

            Faramir looked over at his King, and noted Elessar was angrier than even he had feared he would be.

           





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