The Choices of Mayor Samwise -- III Election (f)
With nothing worse than the disorganised slowness of the Haradri to vex him, and all Gondor running smoothly so far as he could tell, Aragorn had found a more relaxed and satisfying routine. Breakfast and early morning were sacrosanct, times for him and Arwen alone in all consciousness of the life growing within her and the uncertainties inevitably attending it. Before lunch he dealt with whatever business came up, receiving, reading, signing, corresponding, and occasionally having to sit in justice ; afternoons varied between the Houses of Healing, weapons training with the Citadel and City Guards, the rebuilding work at Osgiliath, the continuing settlement of the former slaves, and just walking openly in the city, visiting shops and markets, inns and guildhalls, asking and listening. Faramir and Éowyn had undertaken the wearing task of interviewing the Umbari prisoners, sifting grim and often clashing testimony, and sooner or later there would have to be formal hearings and sentences, but not yet. Unless there was an official dinner he always ate with Arwen, and any friends who were in the city, but afterwards used the Palantír to survey his realms, seeking problems to solve or avert, observing the slow greening of Mordor, and speaking to Halladan about what passed in Arnor - though his Lord Steward had become distinctly reticent about the Shire, telling him only that the Periannath would let him know themselves what they had decided.
Arwen’s condition was becoming visible, so he had made the formal announcement that an heir was expected to be born near mettarë. There had been much jubilation but also a new descent of noble ladies far more eager to surround Arwen than she to be surrounded, shocked to find that even now she preferred working in the garden or with her needles to sitting idle, and disinclined to respect her choices or need for privacy until Aragorn became sufficiently irritated to post additional guards with stringent instructions. Peace was then restored to their breakfast-times until a warm Úrui morning when they had barely sat down to eat before the door swung open to admit Elladan and Elrohir, who had apparently arrived overnight and were both appallingly cheerful. Their joy in seeing Arwen and her delight in them were a boon, as always, but they also bore packages - several of them, including a scroll-case he recognised and something large and heavy - and had an air of elven satisfaction that stirred a degree of alarm not eased when they sat and Elladan promptly filched the bread he’d just buttered.
“We come bearing much, Estel.”
“And have done King Strider’s bidding.”
“So we have much to say of the Shire and the Periannath.”
“Observing whom is hungry work.”
“So I see.” He went to ask the duty maid for more breakfast to be brought. “Did the Periannath not feed you? That seems unlike them.”
“Oh they fed us well.”
“But we were working so hard we needed it.”
“And since then we have ridden the long leagues of Eriador and Rohan.”
“With only our own cooking to savour.”
“A sad fate, I grant. So what are these things you bear?”
“A scroll, a letter, and a book.”
“You may not be so happy with the scroll.”
“But you have no choice about it.”
“The vote was overwhelming.”
“And it does address your concerns.”
“Rather well, actually.”
“Though not all your guildmasters may think so.”
“And from what Sam told us the letter may have them hopping also.”
“Though you should like it better.”
“The book will rivet your attention for a week.”
“And leave you wondering about many things.”
“So you get it last.”
“And the scroll first.”
Elrohir handed him the case, and after clearing a space on the table he opened it, slid out the large, tightly coiled scroll it contained, and unrolled enough to begin reading.
“This is Sam’s hand?”
“At his most formal.”
“With some advice from a perian who is their Clerk of Records and believes in swashing a capital most thoroughly.”
“So I see.”
It was addressed to him with every title and dignity he possessed, declared itself to be sent by the duly elected Mayor of the Shire with the consent and endorsement of Thain Paladin II Took and Saradoc Brandbuck, Master of Buckland, and further declared that it faithfully represented the will of the Periannath of the Shire as expressed in a vote held on Midsummer Day, 1427 SR, in accord with his request. Then it got down to business. The Periannath were delighted that he should proclaim the Shire a Free Land within his Kingdom of Arnor, under their Thain and with control of their own laws and business, and expressed thanks for his care of them in proposing that Men should be forever excluded from it - but respectfully submitted that this would make for grave difficulties with trade ; would moreover conflict with Charter duties concerning the maintenance of Roads imposed on and accepted by them from the late King Arvedui ; and would in any case make it impossible both for them to host his majestical self when he came north, as they hoped and expected him to do, and for individuals among them to host such friends among Men as they might wish to invite. They could therefore only accept his proposal if certain clear provisions were attached, as wide debate and a decisive poll confirmed, and a long list began. He was halfway through the first item when he came to a halt.
“Shire law really defines ‘close kin’ as great-grandparents, grandparents, parents, siblings, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, spouses, parents- and siblings-in-law, and all cousins on both sides within three degrees?”
“It does.”
“Sam showed us the records.”
“It is a term used in their law in many respects.”
“Be glad the definition of distant kin was not required.”
He shook his head and went back to reading, ignoring the bustle as food arrived in generous quantity. Everything was exquisitely precise and at first heavy with nobility, though he found himself smiling at the careful wording surrounding any future creation of Princes of Arnor, the supposition that they would in their nature be of equal rank with the Princes Faramir and Imrahil, and the distinction to be drawn between any such princes and the duly appointed Lords Steward of Gondor and Arnor, however they might at any given time be one and the same. The shift to Éomer and the Marshals of the Riddermark, all with their respective close kin, surprised him until he realised Merry would have insisted, and the next item brought him to another halt.
“King Bard? Why should Sam think Dalemen would visit the Shire?”
“He doesn’t.”
“But he thought it would be rude to allow two kings and ban a third.”
“And he said Bard’s ambassadors had been very polite when he met them.”
“With which Halladan agreed.”
“Huh.”
Then he came to the provision about King’s Men, widely defined, and any to whom a King of Gondor, Arnor, Rohan, or Dale gave a warrant.
“Do they not see how dangerous that could become? I cannot bind my successors to be careful in such a thing, nor Bard at all.”
“We made that point.”
“And Sam said, if the King’s Warrant didn’t guarantee sense and moderation, no King’s Law would prevent trouble.”
“Which is true.”
“And the matter was raised at two of their Moots, and that argument accepted.”
“I suppose. They’re also asking me to let Éomer and Bard know.”
“Naturally. You have ambassadors at both courts already.”
“And any travelling to the Shire must cross Arnor.”
“Mmm. That’s true enough.” He read on. The Men of Bree had troubled him from the start, and the provision concerning those resident in the Breelands for at least two full years, whom the Breeland Council (meeting in due session with a quorum of both Big and Little members) would unanimously agree to be of good character and honest practice, was one he could genuinely accept with a good heart. But then came merchants whom he, Éomer King, and King Bard, or their duly appointed and properly competent deputies in such matters, equally agreed to certify as good and honest, and he blinked.
“I’m supposed to certify everyone going to Arnor?”
“No, Estel. Only those wishing to trade.”
“Halladan approved whole-heartedly.”
“He did? It’ll be a nightmare.”
“Nonsense. And you are ignoring politics.”
“Guild politics.”
“Eh? The guilds’ll be foremost in denouncing this.”
“And what is it to do with them?”
“They are guilds of Gondor.”
“And they must have your approval to trade in Arnor.”
“As must anyone of Gondor.”
“Whatever a guild might say.”
“We deemed it a marvellous opportunity.”
“You did?” Aragorn sat back, scowling. “And how did you manage that? The guilds are far too narrow in their memberships and obsessed with wealth and status above competence and honesty.”
“So we have heard you say.”
“More than once.”
“And now your appointed and instructed deputy can ask, in a most sorrowful and concerned voice, how it is that a certain merchant or craftsman, clearly honest and well qualified, as shown by his or her licence to trade in Arnor, is deemed unsuitable for admission to his or her proper guild.”
“Or alternatively, how it might be that a merchant plainly neither honest nor well qualified, and quite unable to gain a licence for Arnor, is accepted of a guild in Gondor.”
Arwen’s laughter was golden. “Oh, you have heeded my chastisement about studying the politics of the Edain. Adar would laugh. You know I have made a start with the Embroiderers and Seamstresses, my heart, as you with the Healers and Kitchen Masters. But we have neither of us had purchase with the rest, and this gives us much. Just think - you can appoint men and women of Lebennin, Lamedon, Dol Amroth, Anórien, and Ithilien, who will judge strictly by merit and be delighted past measure to embarrass the more stubborn guilds.”
Aragorn thought about it, and found himself smiling again. “Yes, alright. I shall have to summon Faramir and Imrahil to finesse this, which will delay the Umbari trials. But I can live with that, I dare say.”
“Dare you, Estel?”
“Keep reading.”
He did, scowling slightly, and discovered the final clause.
“Anyone approved by Thain, Master, or Mayor? That’s anyone at all!”
“Whom they choose.”
“As is their right, Estel.”
“Would you accept their rules about who might visit you?”
“You wouldn’t like it.”
“And neither did they, rightly.”
“It’s those gawkers, isn’t it? They want them to come?”
“They do not mind them.”
“And they welcome the coin.”
“Sam says he can understand folk wanting to see the mallorn.”
“Which is a truly wondrous tree.”
“Think of a mallorn attuned to Periannath”
“A hobbity one.”
“Like Sam’s Sindarin.”
“And you have it. Marvellous.”
Aragorn scowled some more and Elladan shrugged.
“This enables them to limit numbers.”
“And deal with those who might come for better reasons than gawking.”
“Did you speak to the nodcock?”
Arwen laughed again and Aragorn had to smile. “Lord Gilminas? Yes, we had him to tea one day, much to his surprise, and Sam was quite right about him - more than one arrow short of a quiver but rather charming with it. Except for his verse, which was unspeakable.”
“But harmless, as our sister’s laugh attests.”
“So what is the problem?”
He went back to scowling. “Sam really doesn’t mind stupid nobles turning up to gape at him? I find that hard to believe.”
Elrohir sat back, sighing, and idly snagged some bacon from Elladan’s plate. “Sam is sometimes a great deal more sensible than you, Estel.”
“Including this time. He thinks the gawkers are noodles, nodcocks, and ninnyhammers.”
“Or nafflewits and naplacks.”
“But he also thinks they come to honour Iorhael, as well as the mallorn, and both ends very proper. That they come to honour him does not cross his mind, nor does he quite believe it even if they say they do, and so long as they observe common courtesy he is content.”
“And if they don’t?”
Elrohir grinned. “Then he … Sindarin lacks a word, but the Westron would be squelches them, most wonderfully. We saw a minor lord of Pinnath Gelin who had come with his family, and whose half-grown son audibly observed that such very short beings as Periannath could not have cast down Sauron. Sam looked at him in a way that made him wriggle a great deal, and observed that if he yet believed physical stature most important he was quite the addlepate, and did he suppose Lúthien had been bigger than Morgoth?”
“At which point Bregalad, who had been resting beside the mallorn, picked the foolish child up, very gently, turned him to look him in the eye, and said with exceptional gravity that while the Periannath were undoubtedly hasty the Lord Perhael was most wise, and he would be well advised to listen, as the Onodrim had done.”
“The child spent half an hour in his grasp, returning to earth both chastened and wiser.”
“And the parents made a very handsome donation to the Mayor’s Fund before they left.”
“It was as fine a set-down as Adar could have delivered.”
“Or Glorfindel, who also saw it and laughed himself silly.”
“And who has decided Frodo echoed Beren Erchamion as well as Sauron.”
Aragorn blinked again. “He has?”
“He has.”
“So it is time for Sam’s letter.”
Having made sure the rest of the scroll was only formal signatures and seals he returned it to its case and opened the packet Elrohir handed over. It contained a thick sheaf of numbered sheets and as he read he passed them to Arwen, who passed them in turn to her brothers. The self-mocking account of how Sam had been tricked and baffled into running for Mayor made him smile, the description of one of Olo Proudfoot’s speeches made him frown, and the tale of how Elanor had (with the twins’ whistling assistance) brought him low nearly made him choke on a sip of tea.
“I said observe, not intervene.”
“Elanor intervened.”
“We merely assisted her.”
“At her request.”
“It was splendid.”
“She actually stamped her foot.”
“And asked him if he realised Daernaneth was our gammer.”
Arwen laughed. “Shall you call Daeradar gaffer then? I wish to be there when you try.”
“We considered it.”
“But believe discretion may be the better part of valour.”
“And have instead made a Ballad of Ellanorella, which we will sing for you later.”
Aragorn shook his head. “A rare outbreak of sense. And Sam does say it stopped this Olo Proudfoot’s unpleasantness very effectively, so I suppose you did right. Is there much of this ugly scaremongering about the fair-haired children?”
“No. They are deemed a sign of the blessing of the bounteous year, no more.”
“And those others we saw, while fair of face as well as hair, have nothing of Elanor’s beauty nor her precocity and fierce intelligence.”
“Now she is much wondered at, as well she might be. But she is already beloved of many.”
“So it’s really just the Proudfoot and some few cronies?”
“That we saw. He is fearful where most are only wary, and mean-minded with it.”
“He received fewer than one in thirty votes, Estel.”
“And though we cannot know, the ballot being secret, those few who supported him openly were all older, rejecting any change.”
“And some yet grieving and embittered by losses during their Troubles.”
Aragorn nodded. “Alright. Good. I have to say I’m surprised there isn’t more of that sort of feeling.”
“Thank Sam. Those trials Halladan held set a strong marker, while the collaboration of some of their own made for much heart-searching.”
“And then the huorn groves have made the strange more welcome than feared.”
“The wergild has helped also, and is used wisely and well.”
“In which we think Sam has had a greater hand than appears. Mayor Whitfoot implied as much, telling us about things Sam has done with the monies and properties left to him by Iorhael, including the Sackville-Baggins bequest.”
“But read on.”
As he did so Aragorn’s eyebrows rose considerably, and when he came to the end of a section disturbed by things Glorfindel had said he waited to let that sheet circulate.
“Thingol and Melian? What has possessed Glorfindel?”
Elladan shrugged. “You saw Sam’s and Rose’s lights in the Palantír, Estel. The favour of Lady Yavanna is clear to see, and Glorfindel avers the contrast reminds him of them, as Elanor’s of Tinúviel. We did tell Sam no-one else yet in Arda save Daeradar could give an opinion.”
“Unless it is Iarwain Ben-adar, maybe.”
“As he writes, he finds the thought of Iorhael and Beren Erchamion comforting, and he told us he hoped it was something Iorhael had been led to understand in Tol Eressëa, to set against his self-loathing for echoing Sauron in Eru’s design.”
“We believe Glorfindel thinks that is so.”
“But he was very close about it.”
Arwen was frowning slightly. “But what made Glorfindel say anything in the first place? It is unlike him to speak of such things without cause.”
“There was cause, sister.” Elrohir tapped the remaining heavy package. “But it must wait a little yet.”
“And will it help me to answer Sam, as he asks?”
“Yes and no.”
“Wonderful.”
“He is merely disturbed by the idea of his own greatness, Estel. It will settle.”
“He is growing into himself most wonderfully, as you will see if you read on.”
“Gah.” But Sam’s crisp, clear, and thoughtful discussion of the talents of the Periannath for cookery and foraging, the possibility of their serving with wagon trains, and the interesting issues raised by Gondorian law and guild practice was impressive, while news of his scheming to make adventures respectable things to have made Aragorn laugh aloud. Mindful of the twins’ bland looks he read on through the personal news to the end, amused by the account of Pippin’s wedding nerves and the emotions of the vows, and sat back.
“Well, plainly you are right I have no choice but to accept all their special provisions, and while I might still wish for more it is well enough, I suppose. Éomer and Bard will be scratching their heads, I dare say, but that will be their problem. But this business of cooks, now - how does Sam know so much about Gondor’s laws and guild rules?”
“Only those concerning food.”
“He says the cook assigned to the house you had them use mentioned it, and he was curious.”
“So he then asked food-sellers in the markets and cooks in the inns and eating-houses they visited.”
“He was struck that anyone could not know good food from bad.”
“Trust a Perian. But it’s a good idea and an interesting problem. And I like the idea of having Periannath coming to the city more often. We’ll have to be careful, though - people will be very curious and excited.”
“True, my heart, but if all happens as Sam hopes it will become routine soon enough. And I will be glad to meet more Periannath - knowing well only dear Bilbo, and the four travellers but a little, my view is rather biased, I fear. And those others who came to Orthanc with Merry and Pippin were fair-spoken and interesting.”
“You need not wait so long to know many more by report, sister. For this” - Elladan at last unwrapped the package to reveal a large, plainly bound book - “is a window on many things.”
“And a new thing in Arda.”
“Yet not entirely what it proclaims itself.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Read the title.”
Elrohir handed the book across and Aragorn set it down so Arwen could see as well, before turning back the cover and a protective end-paper, curiosity bubbling. Then his heart lurched.
the downfall
of the
lord of the rings
and the
return of the king
(As seen by the Little People ; being the memoirs of Bilbo and
Frodo of the Shire, supplemented by the accounts of their friends
and the learning of the Wise.)
He took a very deep breath, mind spinning. “Frodo wrote this? The hand is yours.”
“We copied it for you.”
“And how is it not what this proclaims?”
“It is no less, but it is more.”
“That Bilbo had written his tale we all knew, and that Gildor took it at his request to Frodo.”
“Who added his own tale, to his own satisfaction.”
“But not to Sam’s, because he left himself out, it seems.”
“And Sam has put him back in, with much else besides. Half of it at least is his, but he would not allow the title Frodo used to be changed.”
Aragorn turned the page with a hand that trembled slightly and found a list of chapter-heads divided into groups. The first long group he recognised from readings Bilbo had sometimes given in Rivendell, but the shorter groups after that were new and yet utterly familiar. His own name leapt out at him, then Elrond’s, Galadriel’s, Boromir’s, and he saw the shape the tale must take as the single journey had become many and rejoined again. He leafed on, frowning, then looked at some random pages further on.
“A prose tale of this length?”
“Oh yes, and such a tale, Estel. No Elda, Man, or Dwarf would write such a thing in such a way - it would be either epic verse or bald chronicle. But two Bagginses and a Gamgee have between them made a new form as well as bearing witness to twist the heart.”
“And it shows, better than anything we have ever seen, the hand and design of Eru so cunningly woven in events that none save the wisest catch even a glimpse of it.”
“Frodo had seen how the design affected himself.”
“But Sam sees more. Much more. His conversation after he spoke to you with Rose and Elanor was exceptional.”
“And all is there, seen rightly, with a good deal more to command deep thought while bringing hearts to mouths. We think it was his account of his temptation by the Ring in Cirith Ungol that prompted Glorfindel to speak.”
“Though he was also very interested in a moment at Amon Sûl, when you would not let Frodo tell aught of Gil-galad and instead yourself sang the meeting of Beren and Lúthien.”
Aragorn’s mind went back, marvelling. “There is that kind of detail?”
“Throughout, Estel. We spoke of it with Legolas and Gimli as we rode, and they affirm all, even for those times when no perian was present.”
“They have read it?”
“They have copied it.” Elrohir grinned. “As did Glorfindel, Legolas, Gimli, three of Halladan’s men, Merry, and Pippin. Arnor is about to have an outbreak of reading.”
“You should start, as our sister already has, for it will take you a week.”
“And we will tell the court you are not available for anything less than a matter of life and death.”
It wasn’t quite that easy, of course, but Aragorn did cancel everything he could to spend the hours turning pages, Arwen beside him, and when eyes grew tired they would speak of what they had read. If the harried days from Bree to Parth Galen were already familiar to him, he yet marvelled at the tale that had been wrought from them, so much broader and more detailed than a lay could be but possessed of its own patterns and disciplines, and for Arwen it was a glut where there had been only outline. The twins had taken care copying the few illustrations, and the deadly force of the Ring’s inscription in ancient Fëanorian characters yet the Black Speech made them both shudder, while the sharp detail in which Frodo or Sam had recalled the design of the Moria gate was astounding. Khazad-dûm and the fall of Mithrandir terrified, Lothlórien consoled, and Arwen was enchanted with the descriptions through hobbit eyes yet left shaken by the account of her Daernaneth’s refusal of the Ring. And as Gollum joined them, knowing now the end to which he had come, Aragorn began to see what the twins meant about Eru’s subtle and binding design: at the time he had thought it just his ill-luck that the creature had found their trail, but now the orc-assisted escape from Thranduil’s guards glimmered as another strand of the pattern whereby evil undid itself.
The first real shock came with the account of the breaking of the Fellowship. Of Frodo’s experience with Boromir and on Amon Hen he had known something from Boromir’s own words, from what little Frodo had told Faramir at Henneth Anun, and from Mithrandir, but to read it so vividly set forth was painful ; and what followed made him cry out his surprise.
“I have spoken to none of Boromir’s last words save to Faramir, and that only last year, when he asked me directly. Yet here they are set down even as I heard them.”
“Lord Irmo must have given it to one of them to see, my heart. How strange! Yet perhaps it is no surprise that in all of this the Valar desire the truth to be known.”
“Even so, love. I must be glad I told Faramir, yet I must also now tell him many will know.”
“Certainly he and Éowyn must see this as soon as may be.”
But when he mentioned this to the twins they shook their heads.
“We asked Sam about that bit, and he said it is exactly as Frodo set it down.”
“He believes that once they had learned of Boromir’s death from Faramir the Ring showed Frodo visions of it.”
“As of much else, perhaps. Certainly it assailed him, and grief is an opening.”
“And who can say what its powers were as it waxed? Certainly they increased greatly, as you will see in Cirith Ungol.”
“That is a grim thought.”
But the accuracy of what followed concerning events in Rohan and Gondor was indeed striking, and though Aragorn remembered Frodo having taken various notes when all the surviving Fellowship had been reunited in Cormallen and Minas Tirith there were details he was sure had never been mentioned. Arwen reminded him that Legolas had said he and Gimli had spoken of much at Sam’s wedding, and more at Merry’s, as well as exchanging regular letters with Sam. Aragorn wasn’t convinced but even that nagging wonder was swept aside by the tale of Frodo and Sam with Gollum in Ithilien, and their passage of Cirith Ungol had his and Arwen’s hands tightly entwined as they read. The unfolding disaster had both wanting to leap ahead but they forced themselves to keep on through the return to Rohan and Gondor and Aragorn’s sense of amazement returned with force.
“Elladan and Elrohir are surely right about the hand of Eru.”
Arwen nodded thoughtfully. “Of a surety. And if Sam had seen so much about the use made of the Palantíri, it is no wonder he was wary of looking into one.”
That was a thought to ponder, and to read of the cascading effects of the Palantíri once the Orthanc stone made its unexpected appearance disturbed him, despite Arwen’s soothing. Both were transfixed by the journey in Mordor and the account of the Sammath Naur, in which Frodo’s self-indictment was softened by Sam’s understanding. And it was Arwen who needed his comfort as they read of her parting with her father. When at last they came to the end, returning with Sam to his waiting family, they went hand in hand first to the gardens, talking softly, and then to the Place of the Fountain. Elladan and Elrohir found them there, looking out over the great sweep of the Anduin and the green flanks of the Ephel Duath notched by the pass of Cirith Ungol.
“You have finished it?” Aragorn nodded.
“And what do you think?”
“I do not know what to think, only to be amazed.”
“We agree about the hand of Eru, though.” Arwen had one of the kitchen cats on her lap, slim fingers inducing a rumbling purr. “And I am humbled so to be made aware of all that was endured that I might sit here now, joyous and free.”
Her brothers were uncharacteristically solemn.
“That we all may, sister.”
“But what has struck us most is that the design is unfolding still.”
“Sam ends by saying he is back.”
“When but for Rose and Elanor he might have gone with Frodo.”
“And look at what has flowed from his return.”
“And continues to flow.”
It wasn’t until the sun had set behind the Ered Nimrais that they went in.
Arwen’s condition was becoming visible, so he had made the formal announcement that an heir was expected to be born near mettarë. There had been much jubilation but also a new descent of noble ladies far more eager to surround Arwen than she to be surrounded, shocked to find that even now she preferred working in the garden or with her needles to sitting idle, and disinclined to respect her choices or need for privacy until Aragorn became sufficiently irritated to post additional guards with stringent instructions. Peace was then restored to their breakfast-times until a warm Úrui morning when they had barely sat down to eat before the door swung open to admit Elladan and Elrohir, who had apparently arrived overnight and were both appallingly cheerful. Their joy in seeing Arwen and her delight in them were a boon, as always, but they also bore packages - several of them, including a scroll-case he recognised and something large and heavy - and had an air of elven satisfaction that stirred a degree of alarm not eased when they sat and Elladan promptly filched the bread he’d just buttered.
“We come bearing much, Estel.”
“And have done King Strider’s bidding.”
“So we have much to say of the Shire and the Periannath.”
“Observing whom is hungry work.”
“So I see.” He went to ask the duty maid for more breakfast to be brought. “Did the Periannath not feed you? That seems unlike them.”
“Oh they fed us well.”
“But we were working so hard we needed it.”
“And since then we have ridden the long leagues of Eriador and Rohan.”
“With only our own cooking to savour.”
“A sad fate, I grant. So what are these things you bear?”
“A scroll, a letter, and a book.”
“You may not be so happy with the scroll.”
“But you have no choice about it.”
“The vote was overwhelming.”
“And it does address your concerns.”
“Rather well, actually.”
“Though not all your guildmasters may think so.”
“And from what Sam told us the letter may have them hopping also.”
“Though you should like it better.”
“The book will rivet your attention for a week.”
“And leave you wondering about many things.”
“So you get it last.”
“And the scroll first.”
Elrohir handed him the case, and after clearing a space on the table he opened it, slid out the large, tightly coiled scroll it contained, and unrolled enough to begin reading.
“This is Sam’s hand?”
“At his most formal.”
“With some advice from a perian who is their Clerk of Records and believes in swashing a capital most thoroughly.”
“So I see.”
It was addressed to him with every title and dignity he possessed, declared itself to be sent by the duly elected Mayor of the Shire with the consent and endorsement of Thain Paladin II Took and Saradoc Brandbuck, Master of Buckland, and further declared that it faithfully represented the will of the Periannath of the Shire as expressed in a vote held on Midsummer Day, 1427 SR, in accord with his request. Then it got down to business. The Periannath were delighted that he should proclaim the Shire a Free Land within his Kingdom of Arnor, under their Thain and with control of their own laws and business, and expressed thanks for his care of them in proposing that Men should be forever excluded from it - but respectfully submitted that this would make for grave difficulties with trade ; would moreover conflict with Charter duties concerning the maintenance of Roads imposed on and accepted by them from the late King Arvedui ; and would in any case make it impossible both for them to host his majestical self when he came north, as they hoped and expected him to do, and for individuals among them to host such friends among Men as they might wish to invite. They could therefore only accept his proposal if certain clear provisions were attached, as wide debate and a decisive poll confirmed, and a long list began. He was halfway through the first item when he came to a halt.
“Shire law really defines ‘close kin’ as great-grandparents, grandparents, parents, siblings, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, spouses, parents- and siblings-in-law, and all cousins on both sides within three degrees?”
“It does.”
“Sam showed us the records.”
“It is a term used in their law in many respects.”
“Be glad the definition of distant kin was not required.”
He shook his head and went back to reading, ignoring the bustle as food arrived in generous quantity. Everything was exquisitely precise and at first heavy with nobility, though he found himself smiling at the careful wording surrounding any future creation of Princes of Arnor, the supposition that they would in their nature be of equal rank with the Princes Faramir and Imrahil, and the distinction to be drawn between any such princes and the duly appointed Lords Steward of Gondor and Arnor, however they might at any given time be one and the same. The shift to Éomer and the Marshals of the Riddermark, all with their respective close kin, surprised him until he realised Merry would have insisted, and the next item brought him to another halt.
“King Bard? Why should Sam think Dalemen would visit the Shire?”
“He doesn’t.”
“But he thought it would be rude to allow two kings and ban a third.”
“And he said Bard’s ambassadors had been very polite when he met them.”
“With which Halladan agreed.”
“Huh.”
Then he came to the provision about King’s Men, widely defined, and any to whom a King of Gondor, Arnor, Rohan, or Dale gave a warrant.
“Do they not see how dangerous that could become? I cannot bind my successors to be careful in such a thing, nor Bard at all.”
“We made that point.”
“And Sam said, if the King’s Warrant didn’t guarantee sense and moderation, no King’s Law would prevent trouble.”
“Which is true.”
“And the matter was raised at two of their Moots, and that argument accepted.”
“I suppose. They’re also asking me to let Éomer and Bard know.”
“Naturally. You have ambassadors at both courts already.”
“And any travelling to the Shire must cross Arnor.”
“Mmm. That’s true enough.” He read on. The Men of Bree had troubled him from the start, and the provision concerning those resident in the Breelands for at least two full years, whom the Breeland Council (meeting in due session with a quorum of both Big and Little members) would unanimously agree to be of good character and honest practice, was one he could genuinely accept with a good heart. But then came merchants whom he, Éomer King, and King Bard, or their duly appointed and properly competent deputies in such matters, equally agreed to certify as good and honest, and he blinked.
“I’m supposed to certify everyone going to Arnor?”
“No, Estel. Only those wishing to trade.”
“Halladan approved whole-heartedly.”
“He did? It’ll be a nightmare.”
“Nonsense. And you are ignoring politics.”
“Guild politics.”
“Eh? The guilds’ll be foremost in denouncing this.”
“And what is it to do with them?”
“They are guilds of Gondor.”
“And they must have your approval to trade in Arnor.”
“As must anyone of Gondor.”
“Whatever a guild might say.”
“We deemed it a marvellous opportunity.”
“You did?” Aragorn sat back, scowling. “And how did you manage that? The guilds are far too narrow in their memberships and obsessed with wealth and status above competence and honesty.”
“So we have heard you say.”
“More than once.”
“And now your appointed and instructed deputy can ask, in a most sorrowful and concerned voice, how it is that a certain merchant or craftsman, clearly honest and well qualified, as shown by his or her licence to trade in Arnor, is deemed unsuitable for admission to his or her proper guild.”
“Or alternatively, how it might be that a merchant plainly neither honest nor well qualified, and quite unable to gain a licence for Arnor, is accepted of a guild in Gondor.”
Arwen’s laughter was golden. “Oh, you have heeded my chastisement about studying the politics of the Edain. Adar would laugh. You know I have made a start with the Embroiderers and Seamstresses, my heart, as you with the Healers and Kitchen Masters. But we have neither of us had purchase with the rest, and this gives us much. Just think - you can appoint men and women of Lebennin, Lamedon, Dol Amroth, Anórien, and Ithilien, who will judge strictly by merit and be delighted past measure to embarrass the more stubborn guilds.”
Aragorn thought about it, and found himself smiling again. “Yes, alright. I shall have to summon Faramir and Imrahil to finesse this, which will delay the Umbari trials. But I can live with that, I dare say.”
“Dare you, Estel?”
“Keep reading.”
He did, scowling slightly, and discovered the final clause.
“Anyone approved by Thain, Master, or Mayor? That’s anyone at all!”
“Whom they choose.”
“As is their right, Estel.”
“Would you accept their rules about who might visit you?”
“You wouldn’t like it.”
“And neither did they, rightly.”
“It’s those gawkers, isn’t it? They want them to come?”
“They do not mind them.”
“And they welcome the coin.”
“Sam says he can understand folk wanting to see the mallorn.”
“Which is a truly wondrous tree.”
“Think of a mallorn attuned to Periannath”
“A hobbity one.”
“Like Sam’s Sindarin.”
“And you have it. Marvellous.”
Aragorn scowled some more and Elladan shrugged.
“This enables them to limit numbers.”
“And deal with those who might come for better reasons than gawking.”
“Did you speak to the nodcock?”
Arwen laughed again and Aragorn had to smile. “Lord Gilminas? Yes, we had him to tea one day, much to his surprise, and Sam was quite right about him - more than one arrow short of a quiver but rather charming with it. Except for his verse, which was unspeakable.”
“But harmless, as our sister’s laugh attests.”
“So what is the problem?”
He went back to scowling. “Sam really doesn’t mind stupid nobles turning up to gape at him? I find that hard to believe.”
Elrohir sat back, sighing, and idly snagged some bacon from Elladan’s plate. “Sam is sometimes a great deal more sensible than you, Estel.”
“Including this time. He thinks the gawkers are noodles, nodcocks, and ninnyhammers.”
“Or nafflewits and naplacks.”
“But he also thinks they come to honour Iorhael, as well as the mallorn, and both ends very proper. That they come to honour him does not cross his mind, nor does he quite believe it even if they say they do, and so long as they observe common courtesy he is content.”
“And if they don’t?”
Elrohir grinned. “Then he … Sindarin lacks a word, but the Westron would be squelches them, most wonderfully. We saw a minor lord of Pinnath Gelin who had come with his family, and whose half-grown son audibly observed that such very short beings as Periannath could not have cast down Sauron. Sam looked at him in a way that made him wriggle a great deal, and observed that if he yet believed physical stature most important he was quite the addlepate, and did he suppose Lúthien had been bigger than Morgoth?”
“At which point Bregalad, who had been resting beside the mallorn, picked the foolish child up, very gently, turned him to look him in the eye, and said with exceptional gravity that while the Periannath were undoubtedly hasty the Lord Perhael was most wise, and he would be well advised to listen, as the Onodrim had done.”
“The child spent half an hour in his grasp, returning to earth both chastened and wiser.”
“And the parents made a very handsome donation to the Mayor’s Fund before they left.”
“It was as fine a set-down as Adar could have delivered.”
“Or Glorfindel, who also saw it and laughed himself silly.”
“And who has decided Frodo echoed Beren Erchamion as well as Sauron.”
Aragorn blinked again. “He has?”
“He has.”
“So it is time for Sam’s letter.”
Having made sure the rest of the scroll was only formal signatures and seals he returned it to its case and opened the packet Elrohir handed over. It contained a thick sheaf of numbered sheets and as he read he passed them to Arwen, who passed them in turn to her brothers. The self-mocking account of how Sam had been tricked and baffled into running for Mayor made him smile, the description of one of Olo Proudfoot’s speeches made him frown, and the tale of how Elanor had (with the twins’ whistling assistance) brought him low nearly made him choke on a sip of tea.
“I said observe, not intervene.”
“Elanor intervened.”
“We merely assisted her.”
“At her request.”
“It was splendid.”
“She actually stamped her foot.”
“And asked him if he realised Daernaneth was our gammer.”
Arwen laughed. “Shall you call Daeradar gaffer then? I wish to be there when you try.”
“We considered it.”
“But believe discretion may be the better part of valour.”
“And have instead made a Ballad of Ellanorella, which we will sing for you later.”
Aragorn shook his head. “A rare outbreak of sense. And Sam does say it stopped this Olo Proudfoot’s unpleasantness very effectively, so I suppose you did right. Is there much of this ugly scaremongering about the fair-haired children?”
“No. They are deemed a sign of the blessing of the bounteous year, no more.”
“And those others we saw, while fair of face as well as hair, have nothing of Elanor’s beauty nor her precocity and fierce intelligence.”
“Now she is much wondered at, as well she might be. But she is already beloved of many.”
“So it’s really just the Proudfoot and some few cronies?”
“That we saw. He is fearful where most are only wary, and mean-minded with it.”
“He received fewer than one in thirty votes, Estel.”
“And though we cannot know, the ballot being secret, those few who supported him openly were all older, rejecting any change.”
“And some yet grieving and embittered by losses during their Troubles.”
Aragorn nodded. “Alright. Good. I have to say I’m surprised there isn’t more of that sort of feeling.”
“Thank Sam. Those trials Halladan held set a strong marker, while the collaboration of some of their own made for much heart-searching.”
“And then the huorn groves have made the strange more welcome than feared.”
“The wergild has helped also, and is used wisely and well.”
“In which we think Sam has had a greater hand than appears. Mayor Whitfoot implied as much, telling us about things Sam has done with the monies and properties left to him by Iorhael, including the Sackville-Baggins bequest.”
“But read on.”
As he did so Aragorn’s eyebrows rose considerably, and when he came to the end of a section disturbed by things Glorfindel had said he waited to let that sheet circulate.
“Thingol and Melian? What has possessed Glorfindel?”
Elladan shrugged. “You saw Sam’s and Rose’s lights in the Palantír, Estel. The favour of Lady Yavanna is clear to see, and Glorfindel avers the contrast reminds him of them, as Elanor’s of Tinúviel. We did tell Sam no-one else yet in Arda save Daeradar could give an opinion.”
“Unless it is Iarwain Ben-adar, maybe.”
“As he writes, he finds the thought of Iorhael and Beren Erchamion comforting, and he told us he hoped it was something Iorhael had been led to understand in Tol Eressëa, to set against his self-loathing for echoing Sauron in Eru’s design.”
“We believe Glorfindel thinks that is so.”
“But he was very close about it.”
Arwen was frowning slightly. “But what made Glorfindel say anything in the first place? It is unlike him to speak of such things without cause.”
“There was cause, sister.” Elrohir tapped the remaining heavy package. “But it must wait a little yet.”
“And will it help me to answer Sam, as he asks?”
“Yes and no.”
“Wonderful.”
“He is merely disturbed by the idea of his own greatness, Estel. It will settle.”
“He is growing into himself most wonderfully, as you will see if you read on.”
“Gah.” But Sam’s crisp, clear, and thoughtful discussion of the talents of the Periannath for cookery and foraging, the possibility of their serving with wagon trains, and the interesting issues raised by Gondorian law and guild practice was impressive, while news of his scheming to make adventures respectable things to have made Aragorn laugh aloud. Mindful of the twins’ bland looks he read on through the personal news to the end, amused by the account of Pippin’s wedding nerves and the emotions of the vows, and sat back.
“Well, plainly you are right I have no choice but to accept all their special provisions, and while I might still wish for more it is well enough, I suppose. Éomer and Bard will be scratching their heads, I dare say, but that will be their problem. But this business of cooks, now - how does Sam know so much about Gondor’s laws and guild rules?”
“Only those concerning food.”
“He says the cook assigned to the house you had them use mentioned it, and he was curious.”
“So he then asked food-sellers in the markets and cooks in the inns and eating-houses they visited.”
“He was struck that anyone could not know good food from bad.”
“Trust a Perian. But it’s a good idea and an interesting problem. And I like the idea of having Periannath coming to the city more often. We’ll have to be careful, though - people will be very curious and excited.”
“True, my heart, but if all happens as Sam hopes it will become routine soon enough. And I will be glad to meet more Periannath - knowing well only dear Bilbo, and the four travellers but a little, my view is rather biased, I fear. And those others who came to Orthanc with Merry and Pippin were fair-spoken and interesting.”
“You need not wait so long to know many more by report, sister. For this” - Elladan at last unwrapped the package to reveal a large, plainly bound book - “is a window on many things.”
“And a new thing in Arda.”
“Yet not entirely what it proclaims itself.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Read the title.”
Elrohir handed the book across and Aragorn set it down so Arwen could see as well, before turning back the cover and a protective end-paper, curiosity bubbling. Then his heart lurched.
the downfall
of the
lord of the rings
and the
return of the king
(As seen by the Little People ; being the memoirs of Bilbo and
Frodo of the Shire, supplemented by the accounts of their friends
and the learning of the Wise.)
He took a very deep breath, mind spinning. “Frodo wrote this? The hand is yours.”
“We copied it for you.”
“And how is it not what this proclaims?”
“It is no less, but it is more.”
“That Bilbo had written his tale we all knew, and that Gildor took it at his request to Frodo.”
“Who added his own tale, to his own satisfaction.”
“But not to Sam’s, because he left himself out, it seems.”
“And Sam has put him back in, with much else besides. Half of it at least is his, but he would not allow the title Frodo used to be changed.”
Aragorn turned the page with a hand that trembled slightly and found a list of chapter-heads divided into groups. The first long group he recognised from readings Bilbo had sometimes given in Rivendell, but the shorter groups after that were new and yet utterly familiar. His own name leapt out at him, then Elrond’s, Galadriel’s, Boromir’s, and he saw the shape the tale must take as the single journey had become many and rejoined again. He leafed on, frowning, then looked at some random pages further on.
“A prose tale of this length?”
“Oh yes, and such a tale, Estel. No Elda, Man, or Dwarf would write such a thing in such a way - it would be either epic verse or bald chronicle. But two Bagginses and a Gamgee have between them made a new form as well as bearing witness to twist the heart.”
“And it shows, better than anything we have ever seen, the hand and design of Eru so cunningly woven in events that none save the wisest catch even a glimpse of it.”
“Frodo had seen how the design affected himself.”
“But Sam sees more. Much more. His conversation after he spoke to you with Rose and Elanor was exceptional.”
“And all is there, seen rightly, with a good deal more to command deep thought while bringing hearts to mouths. We think it was his account of his temptation by the Ring in Cirith Ungol that prompted Glorfindel to speak.”
“Though he was also very interested in a moment at Amon Sûl, when you would not let Frodo tell aught of Gil-galad and instead yourself sang the meeting of Beren and Lúthien.”
Aragorn’s mind went back, marvelling. “There is that kind of detail?”
“Throughout, Estel. We spoke of it with Legolas and Gimli as we rode, and they affirm all, even for those times when no perian was present.”
“They have read it?”
“They have copied it.” Elrohir grinned. “As did Glorfindel, Legolas, Gimli, three of Halladan’s men, Merry, and Pippin. Arnor is about to have an outbreak of reading.”
“You should start, as our sister already has, for it will take you a week.”
“And we will tell the court you are not available for anything less than a matter of life and death.”
It wasn’t quite that easy, of course, but Aragorn did cancel everything he could to spend the hours turning pages, Arwen beside him, and when eyes grew tired they would speak of what they had read. If the harried days from Bree to Parth Galen were already familiar to him, he yet marvelled at the tale that had been wrought from them, so much broader and more detailed than a lay could be but possessed of its own patterns and disciplines, and for Arwen it was a glut where there had been only outline. The twins had taken care copying the few illustrations, and the deadly force of the Ring’s inscription in ancient Fëanorian characters yet the Black Speech made them both shudder, while the sharp detail in which Frodo or Sam had recalled the design of the Moria gate was astounding. Khazad-dûm and the fall of Mithrandir terrified, Lothlórien consoled, and Arwen was enchanted with the descriptions through hobbit eyes yet left shaken by the account of her Daernaneth’s refusal of the Ring. And as Gollum joined them, knowing now the end to which he had come, Aragorn began to see what the twins meant about Eru’s subtle and binding design: at the time he had thought it just his ill-luck that the creature had found their trail, but now the orc-assisted escape from Thranduil’s guards glimmered as another strand of the pattern whereby evil undid itself.
The first real shock came with the account of the breaking of the Fellowship. Of Frodo’s experience with Boromir and on Amon Hen he had known something from Boromir’s own words, from what little Frodo had told Faramir at Henneth Anun, and from Mithrandir, but to read it so vividly set forth was painful ; and what followed made him cry out his surprise.
“I have spoken to none of Boromir’s last words save to Faramir, and that only last year, when he asked me directly. Yet here they are set down even as I heard them.”
“Lord Irmo must have given it to one of them to see, my heart. How strange! Yet perhaps it is no surprise that in all of this the Valar desire the truth to be known.”
“Even so, love. I must be glad I told Faramir, yet I must also now tell him many will know.”
“Certainly he and Éowyn must see this as soon as may be.”
But when he mentioned this to the twins they shook their heads.
“We asked Sam about that bit, and he said it is exactly as Frodo set it down.”
“He believes that once they had learned of Boromir’s death from Faramir the Ring showed Frodo visions of it.”
“As of much else, perhaps. Certainly it assailed him, and grief is an opening.”
“And who can say what its powers were as it waxed? Certainly they increased greatly, as you will see in Cirith Ungol.”
“That is a grim thought.”
But the accuracy of what followed concerning events in Rohan and Gondor was indeed striking, and though Aragorn remembered Frodo having taken various notes when all the surviving Fellowship had been reunited in Cormallen and Minas Tirith there were details he was sure had never been mentioned. Arwen reminded him that Legolas had said he and Gimli had spoken of much at Sam’s wedding, and more at Merry’s, as well as exchanging regular letters with Sam. Aragorn wasn’t convinced but even that nagging wonder was swept aside by the tale of Frodo and Sam with Gollum in Ithilien, and their passage of Cirith Ungol had his and Arwen’s hands tightly entwined as they read. The unfolding disaster had both wanting to leap ahead but they forced themselves to keep on through the return to Rohan and Gondor and Aragorn’s sense of amazement returned with force.
“Elladan and Elrohir are surely right about the hand of Eru.”
Arwen nodded thoughtfully. “Of a surety. And if Sam had seen so much about the use made of the Palantíri, it is no wonder he was wary of looking into one.”
That was a thought to ponder, and to read of the cascading effects of the Palantíri once the Orthanc stone made its unexpected appearance disturbed him, despite Arwen’s soothing. Both were transfixed by the journey in Mordor and the account of the Sammath Naur, in which Frodo’s self-indictment was softened by Sam’s understanding. And it was Arwen who needed his comfort as they read of her parting with her father. When at last they came to the end, returning with Sam to his waiting family, they went hand in hand first to the gardens, talking softly, and then to the Place of the Fountain. Elladan and Elrohir found them there, looking out over the great sweep of the Anduin and the green flanks of the Ephel Duath notched by the pass of Cirith Ungol.
“You have finished it?” Aragorn nodded.
“And what do you think?”
“I do not know what to think, only to be amazed.”
“We agree about the hand of Eru, though.” Arwen had one of the kitchen cats on her lap, slim fingers inducing a rumbling purr. “And I am humbled so to be made aware of all that was endured that I might sit here now, joyous and free.”
Her brothers were uncharacteristically solemn.
“That we all may, sister.”
“But what has struck us most is that the design is unfolding still.”
“Sam ends by saying he is back.”
“When but for Rose and Elanor he might have gone with Frodo.”
“And look at what has flowed from his return.”
“And continues to flow.”
It wasn’t until the sun had set behind the Ered Nimrais that they went in.