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The letter lay, accusingly, in the little pigeonhole for his mail in the front hall. With trepidation, he opened it to his mother’s flowing cursive.
“Ah there, you’re back!” Duinion stuck his head out from the front parlour - which had now taken on a different character after Lord Ecthelion’s recollections. “Your mother came by … and I see you have her note. Anyway, she came by two days ago and I said you’d gone to Emyn Arnen and would be back today … was I not supposed to?”
Thorongil forced his jaw closed. “Er, well, I hadn’t told her, you see,” he mumbled awkwardly, “She usually doesn’t come to town this time of year - not until the harvest is over, and even then if the roads aren’t too bad. She’s not supposed to be here until the spring at the very earliest.”
Duinion gave him an incredulous look. “With all the fuss you’ve set off?” he snorted. “Even my mother would come and descend upon me if it got out I had so an invitation to tea at Emyn Arnen—and you and the Lady Idis …"
“What about me and the Lady Idis?” Thor’s voice took on a tone of alarm.
Duinion exhaled with great patience. “Never mind that. I take it your mother’s summoned you to dine with her?”
“Yes, tonight, with my brother and his wife.” Thor folded the note back up and shouldered his saddlebags. “I suppose I had better change.”
Duinion followed him up the stairs and through the sitting room and stood there as he unpacked his saddlebags, gaping as Thor unwrapped the wooden box that Idis had given him. Opening it carefully, Thor saw that most of the biscuits wrapped in waxed paper and linen had survived intact.
“Do you want one?” He offered the box to Duinion who took one gingerly.
“You know there are Council members who have never been to Emyn Arnen, or had these,” Duinion said, through crumbs.
“I should tell my mother I’m coming.” Uncomfortable with this realisation, Thor scribbled a note and then went back downstairs and looked out the door and, as expected, there were several boys loitering there, at this hour, just after school, and hoping for a chance to earn a few coins running errands. He gave the note to one with a few coins and instructions to Denethor’s house, and returned to the house to finish unpacking, rescue the biscuits from Duinion, and put himself into a reasonably fit state to face his mother.
At the appointed hour Thorongil arrived at his brother’s house. Denethor and his wife Lady Lúthien lived in an elegant townhouse in the Fifth Circle, in an elegant street, populated by various senior members of the civil service, judiciary and military, minor and middling nobility, and most of the smaller foreign embassies.
The door opened scarcely as he removed his hand from the knocker, and his mother stood behind the butler, quivering with nerves.
“There you are, dear Gil!” Mama threw her arms around him, almost making him drop the box. “You DO look well! I have been SO worried about you!”
“I’m sorry to have worried you, Mama.” Thor carefully stepped away to remove his coat, just as Denethor and Lúthien came into the entrance hall.
“O there you are, dear Thorongil!” Lúthien came up to him and presented a perfectly painted cheek for him to kiss the air beside. “We were so surprised, so surprised, were we not, dear Denethor, and Mama, that you had an invitation to Emyn Arnen!”
“Er … yes, I returned this morning.” Thorongil was not accustomed to Denethor or Lúthien being remotely interested in his social affairs or movements, other than the occasional invitation to dinner during the major holidays or letting them know when he was going to Harad. “I … brought some biscuits,” he indicated the box he was holding, and noticed that Lúthien’s eyes widened at the simple limed wooden box with its inlaid moons.
If Lúthien had been anyone else, Thorongil would have said that she snatched the box away from him, but since she was Lúthien and she never did anything inelegantly, she merely helpfully offered to hold the box while he took his coat off.
As they walked towards the dining room, Thor heard a sound and looked up, to see his two young nephews in their nightshirts hanging from the bannisters and smiled as Ciryandil and Hyarmendacil waved at him.
“Would it be acceptable if I let them have a biscuit each?” he asked his brother and sister-in-law “They really are very nice and might be stale by the morning—” this he finished just as Hyarmendacil appeared next to him, now almost up to his elbow, as both boys looked imploringly at their parents.
Thor opened the box and unwrapped the wax paper and linen as he explained “I’ve been to see some friends in Ithilien and their cook makes these almond and honey biscuits.” Both boys stared before casting a wary look at their parents. There was clearly some imperceptible indication of permission somewhere behind Thor, because the boys each took a single biscuit before retreating up the stairs.
The dining table was beautifully laid for the four of them, and after facing and bowing to the West, they took their seats, the box with the biscuits placed on the sideboard.
“Now,” Lúthien began, as the footmen started to bring out the first course and the butler poured the wine, “how are you Thorongil; was it a very hard journey back this morning?”
“No, quite easy—the roads were clear and we made very good time.”
The first course was some sort of mixture of fish and tentacles on some leaves.
“We?” Denethor raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, Lord Ecthelion and his friend Lord Beren were coming back today as well.” Thorongil poked at the scraps on his plate, half expecting them to poke him back.
“I’m sure it was a very nice time of year to go to Emyn Arnen,” Lúthien continued, “is it as beautiful as they say?”
“O, it’s very nice—” Thorongil carefully speared a tentacle “—it’s much bigger than it looks from the city—just the house is like a town all by itself, going up the hill—it’s all terraced, which isn’t obvious from this side of the river, but it’s fortified in levels, and it’s really very clever how it blends into the hillside, but there’s room for archers and trebuchets, and very deep moats all around, but they’re all stocked with fish and to filter out all the waste water before it gets to the river.”
The tentacle was slightly undercooked, and much chewier than he had anticipated.
Swallowing with some difficulty, he continued, “I mean, the main house is built all in wings, and then there are other houses all around as well.”
The others were staring at him. He wondered what he had said.
“Well then,” his mother took a sip of her wine, “it sounds VERY grand. Were there very many people there?”
“Yes, I think it must be a regular party for them this time of year, as there were lots of people—most of Idis’ brothers and sisters, except for Lady Finduilas who is in Arnor, of course, and O!” He stopped. “So some of the Elves came, including Lord Legolas—and there were some Dwarves, and with them, Lord Gimli so we had two members of the Fellowship of the Ring there … no, I mean, three, really, but …”
His mother was blinking at him. “The third?”
Thorongil felt a little shamefaced. “Well, the King was only there for a few days, and then he and the Queen had to come back for some meetings—”
Denethor was blinking at him identically, a habit that he’d inherited from their mother, and then cleared his throat nosily. “I see. So it must be for the harvest?”
“I think so.” Thorongil picked a smaller piece of fish, this time. “I mean Lord Carandir joked that he’d brought his own containers, for he said that he was coming for the food and the baths.”
Denethor inhaled sharply. “The Lord Chief Justice was there.” It was more of a statement.
“Yes, and the Lady Soriel.” Thorongil fiddled with one of the leaves, folding it up so he could spear it neatly with his fork. “He and the Prince would just talk for ages in the baths—”
“O the baths,” Lúthien interjected, “are they are magnificent as they say?”
“Yes,” Thorongil replied, “they’re even more impressive than the ones in the Great Dome in Harad, you see, because Emyn Arnen is built on a series of springs, including one which is directly fed from deep within the earth, and the water comes out hotter than you can bear to have your hand in it. So it’s piped into the houses, and it warms the floors, and then it comes out into the baths, and they have pools that are hot, or warm or cold—there’s cold springs too, and—they also have steam rooms like the ones in Harad, and dry steam like they have in Rohan, because they have a lot of Rohirrim coming through, like the Princess’ brother the King.”
“Éomer King was there?”
“Yes,” Thorongil nodded, “and Queen Lothíríel, their younger son Prince Elfden, and his wife Lady Galwyn and their children.”
There was a slight pause as the footmen returned to take away the plates from the first course and serve the second, which was a rather grainy, lukewarm soup. The wine was changed from the light, sparkling white to a slightly different, golden one.
“But, dear Thorongil,” his mother continued, “you haven’t said ANYTHING about the Lady Idis. Is she very beautiful?”
“Yes,” Thorongil replied, “lovely.”
His mother seemed to be expecting some further detail, but after another breath, she started again. “You never DID say how you met?”
“In the Great Archives.” Thorongil was sure he had mentioned it in his letter. “She helped me find some records.”
“She sounds like a very studious young lady. What does she like to do?”
“Read, mainly.”
The soup was really not very good.
“This is a very nice soup,” Thorongil said to Lúthien. “I’ve not had it before. What’s in it?”
Denethor and Lúthien were staring at him with expressions he couldn’t read.
“Ah, well it’s a new one,” Lúthien said after a breath, “quite the fashion, almonds and leeks and cream and a little stock. What food did you have at Emyn Arnen?”
Thorongil tried to assemble his thoughts in something approaching order. “I mean, quite a lot of things, because there were so many people. There was lots of the smoked trout, and everyone seemed to like it and it was very good, and pork, and beef, and goose. Bread—lots of different types. And sausages. Cakes. Lots of apples and such. And Master Pippin Gardner was there, son of one of the other members of the Fellowship of the Ring, actually, son of the Ringbearer’s batman. It really is true, how prodigiously hobbits can eat—I wonder if it is like the sand hamsters in Harad, who eat continuously and require more food than a much larger creature.”
Mama put her spoon down. “It sounds like a very GREAT party—” she said at last “—almost like a grander version of the Harvest Balls?”
“I suppose so.” Thor stirred the soup. It clumped a little. “Lady Idis said it’s a bit like what they do in Rohan, to give thanks to the gods after the harvest, so that would be right. And everyone comes, but they don’t do it quite that way they do in Edoras, because it’s so hilly, it was too dangerous to run the horses through the fires like they do there, especially in the dark.”
Denethor noted with a touch of dread that Thor actually blushed slightly, though, luckily, it seemed that neither Lúthien nor his mother noticed.
“I imagine you spent quite a lot of time in the Library, then, if I know you?”
“Yes. Idis showed me through it! It is really quite magnificent—” Thor looked up “—it’s not at all like the Great Archives, with the dome, it’s a long room with shelves that branch out on both sides, and it’s all lit with windows high up and angled to follow the sun, so that it’s lit from dawn to dusk but the noon light doesn’t get directly on the books and fade them.”
“And there must be a prodigious number of scholars there, are there not?” Lúthien said, “for the Prince’s children are all very well read.”
“O yes!” Thor’s eyes lit up. “They are, and the Prince makes a point to try and collect every book of note published, and he and Lady Éowyn have been working on a consolidated history of all the realms, for decades. It’s really quite a magnificent collection, and it’s got a more complete record of the tales of the Rohirrim anywhere except for Edoras, they believe—because when they had Rohirric skalds come through on their saga-writing journeys and stop at Emyn Arnen and tutor in Rohirric—they also left copies of their tales and songs, well, except the ones that aren’t to be written down of course.”
“O, of course.” Lúthien stumbled a little, uncharacteristic for her, as the footmen came with the next course. There was a tenderloin of beef, covered in truffles and then wrapped in pastry. It was quite the latest thing.
“This wine is LOVELY, Lúthien.” Mama sipped the red that had come with the beef.
“O thank you, Mama,” Lúthien replied, “it is actually from Ithilien actually, it came very highly recommended. But I’m sure the Prince’s cellars would rival the King’s!”
Thor did not seem to notice this invitation, and Lúthien tried again, “The wines were excellent, I expect?”
“O, yes, they were,” Thor replied rather vaguely, “I mean, during the day it was cider, mainly, because it was just coming off the press and with the bubbles—the children really liked those I think—and they had the wine in the evenings really.”
“O, I had not realised that there were children who attended!” Denethor looked at Lúthien sharply—her tone was suddenly excited, but Thor didn’t seem to mark it.
“Just the children who live at the estate, of course, Lord Elboron, Cirion’s children, and of course Lords Eomund and Eodred and Lady Eohild were visiting, and the Lord Chief Justice brought two of his grandchildren, and then of course Idis’s nephews and nieces …” He paused. “There were quite a lot of them, actually. It sounded like they were having fun.”
“O!” Lúthien’s voice was faint. “I’m sure there is plenty to do out there.”
Thor looked like he was contemplating a reply. “Yes, I mean, they invited everyone after all the actual harvest was over so we wouldn’t be in the way I suppose, but it was very pleasant.”
It appeared that Thor was not going to be of any further assistance, Lúthien gamely took up the task of conversation again.
“Were there many festivities and amusements there? I suppose there must be: masques and plays and dances?”
Thor looked a little confused. “No, not really. I mean, it was really everyone doing whatever they liked. There was some picnics, but everyone did as they pleased—I mean, it’s a very homely sort of place, if that makes any sense—it’s just like an enormous sprawling manor house and whether you like food, or drink, or reading, or storytelling or whatever, it’s sort of that… Fishing!” He changed the subject abruptly. “It was the time of year for the trout, so we spent quite a bit of time at the stream—did you know that you don’t need a line or hook for trout? When the river is low, you can just stand in the stream and if you’re very still and patient, they will just swim into your hands—I mean, the Rangers did it all the time for a break from field rations, it seems, which makes perfect sense to me, and his Majesty the King said that there wasn’t a finer stream anywhere he’d encountered, which is saying a lot when you’re as well traveled as he.”
Denethor tried to say something, but his first attempt was unsuccessful. He tried again. “You went fishing with your bare hands with the King.”
“Not just me,” Thor replied diffidently, as the footmen came with dessert, a confection of meringue and spun sugar. “I mean, there was the Queen, and Prince Eldarion, and the Prince Steward of course, and the Lady Éowyn, and Idis, and quite a few of her siblings —it was a fairly big party.”
There was a moment of silence as Thor tapped the back of the desert with the spoon. The spun sugar bent, but did not break, and the spoon sunk into the soft meringue.
Mama, however, looked like she was quivering out of her seat. “But of course, dear Thor, you’ve been so very SECRETIVE about the Lady Idis. Are we to expect a HAPPY event very soon?”
Denethor felt grateful that Mama probably did not notice the sudden tensing of Thor’s shoulders, but it did nothing to ease the return of his own faint feeling of dread.
“Well—” Thor sounded almost shy “—we haven’t finalised a date yet, but we were thinking of a winter wedding—”
There was a minute of stunned silence.
“O my dear!” Mama all but stood up from her seat, while Lúthien breathed, “So soon?”
Both women stopped, looked at each other, before Lúthien deferred to Mama, who repeated.
“O what wonderful news, my dear! But why did you not say so EARLIER?”
“Because we haven’t really decided on a date, as …”
“O of course, I mean, what with your duties and the rest of her family, of COURSE, it must be very difficult to find a day that suits, but of course, we are COMPLETELY at their disposal, are we not, dear Denethor?”
Denethor was saved from the necessity of a reply by Lúthien repeating. “So soon? Is not a year betrothal customary?”
Denethor did not feel this question improved the state of affairs.
“I suppose, but they don’t do that really.” Thor put his cutlery down. “I mean, the Prince and Lady Éowyn only had three months between meeting after the Battle of Pelennor Fields and marrying. … And Lord Cirion, of course, had only a six week betrothal, too, and…”
“O of course!” Lúthien nodded, “Mama, will you write to the others? If it is to be soon I suppose that they must make arrangements for travel—O, and for wedding clothes! Thor, has the Lady Idis given any thought to her colours? I would not wish to clash?”
“I … um don’t know.” Thor fidgeted. “I think Lady Morwen likes pink a great deal so Idis will probably not want pink.”
“But WHEN shall we meet her, dear Thorongil?” Mama put her spoon aside, since it was of no assistance in trying to break apart the meringue, which was soft and sticky. “This is all quite sudden, and you have met HER family after all.”
Denethor barely held back a choke.
“She’s still in Emyn Arnen,” Thor said diffidently, “and, I suppose we will know ...”
“O yes, of COURSE, she needs to write to her other brothers and sisters about their commitments, I understand completely,” Mama nodded. “But when she does return I would so DEARLY like to meet her. She sounds like a MOST special young lady. I have been so fortunate in my daughters-in-law, and all so delightful. I am so delighted, dear Thor!”
“Thank you, Mama.” Thor gave a small smile. “I am too.”
After dinner, as Thorongil put on his jacket, and waited for Lúthien to fetch the box that the almond biscuits had come in; they had almost forgotten the box on the sideboard after they had removed the biscuits to have with their after-dinner café, Denethor gave his youngest brother a stern look.
“Gil,” he said, and not sure he wanted to hear the answer. “Do you need any … legal … assistance with the marriage contracts?”
“Hmm?” Thorongil appeared to be only half-listening. “I mean, yes, I think, when the contract arrives, you may review it, but obviously I will go through with this regardless. We thought it would be more efficient to have an idea of the date before sending around drafts, and Idis said we should know by the end of the week or so if we have to move it sooner.”
The faint feeling of dread grew and migrated to Denethor’s stomach, possibly via his windpipe, as he felt his throat contract. “Gilly,” he said levelly, keeping an eye on the dining room door. “Please tell me that you have not behaved dishonourably?”
It gave Denethor absolutely no comfort that Thorongil was saved from having to make a reply by the emergence of Lúthien with the box, which Thor took with a rather absent expression as he said his thanks, kissed both their mother and Lúthien on the cheek, and slipped out quickly.
Denethor exhaled very slowly and counted to ten. “Well then!” he said, brightly, to his wife and mother, “I suppose we need to write to the others!”