Chapter Text
The sun was shining on the spring day, chasing away the lingering coolness and damp of the winter. Eilinel was glad for the pleasant weather which allowed her to sit outside in the garden of the king’s house. It was at times like this that she missed her home most strongly, for Eilinel had grown up in the south of Gondor - in Pelagir-on-Anduin, where the river widened and flowed through the city watering its gardens. Compared to that Minas Tirith was a city of stone and to Eilinel it appeared to remain the fortress it had been built as, even since it had become the capital of Gondor.
However, as she sat in the garden watching her daughter Fíriel play with the daughters of other nobiles, Eilinel could almost believe that she was back in Pelagir. It was not that she regretted her marriage for it had brought her much happiness and many advantages. Yet every winter she longed for her home, where it never grew so cold as it did here under the eaves of the mountains. She watched Fíriel, playing amongst the early flowers, for a moment before turning back to her hand work. She had many maids who were more skillful at their own specialisms, but still she preferred to have sewing to keep herself busy. Currently she was embroidering a dress for Fíriel to wear at the next formal banquet. Eilinel smiled at her memories of Fíriel’s last attendance - how beautiful she had looked, glowing in the attention of all the young members of the court. Eilinel sighed softly, wishing this could last, but knowing that Fíriel was destined for a political marriage as Eilinel herself had been, something that would benefit her brothers. She wished that her daughter would be happy with her marriage as she was, but feared that it would not be so. Yet she did not speak of it to Fíriel, rationalising this by saying that she was still young and should be allowed to enjoy the years of her childhood. Too soon Eilinel would have to tell her and prepare her to leave her home and family, to go wherever her husband lived and start her life there.
“Mama. Come look at the birds.
Fíriel’s cry shook her out of her musings, it seemed silly to be thinking of marriage for a girl not yet twenty. Eilinel walked over to see what her daughter was looking at before catching her hand to draw her back to the abandoned work. Fíriel did not complain, as she knew that she should have been working all afternoon but she had escaped about half of it already and so was well satisfied.
***
It was at dusk that the riders arrived, from the north, from Araphant, king of Arthedain. Ondoher had received them formally as benefited their sender, before taking the letter to read later. After dinner the family had assembled, as was their custom, in the parlour. Eilinel was weaving, whilst listening to her younger son, Faramir boast of how much he had achieved in arms practice that day. When she glanced across, her other two children were sitting together by the fire. If she listened carefully, she could just about make out the words that Artamir was was reading aloud to Fíriel. She was curled up next to him, holding her embroidery, but not seeming to be making any progress on it. Eilinel sighed, it was one of her great regrets that Fíriel did not seem to be interested in sewing of any kind, although she had, naturally, learnt to sew very well. She glanced across towards her husband, the last occupant of the room, he was sitting at a desk reading the letter from Araphant. She returned her attention to her weaving.
After a little while Ondoher looked up from his reading,
“Children, leave us. You may spend the remainder of the evening as you wish.”
All three scrambled to their feet, not willing to risk missing a rare gap in their ordered lives. Ondoher waited until they had left before he continued speaking,
“This letter contains an offer for Fíriel’s hand. Araphant’s son and heir Ardevui. It is a way to strengthen the bonds between the two kingdoms.”
Eilinel nodded, after a minute she asked,
“And do you intend to accept it?”
“I must consult with the council, but it would certainly be a good tie, none better.”
Eilinel bowed her head, and fought to control her tears, if this marriage when through her daughter would be lost to her, and sent to dwell in the cold, uncivilised north.
“Do you wish me to inform her?”
“No. Let it wait, there are too many details to negotiate before anything is certain.” He looked at her directly, “You are disappointed?”
“Yes. I had hoped that she would remain near. It is sending her away into exile.”
He stood and took her hands.
“I know it is hard for you, my love, but maybe she will be happy in time, and we need their cooperation.”
“Very well. She is too young to understand this yet, but I will do what I can to prepare her.”
He nodded, then gently let go of her hands and returned to the letter. She sat back at her loom and returned to her weaving, thankful that the pattern was relatively simple and required little concentration. She felt cold and tired, thinking of Fíriel with the youngsters of the court, she knew that it was too late. She was old enough to imagine herself already in love and would resent being taken away to the North, away from everyone she knew and cared about. Eilinel sighed and wished that she had been more strict from the start, but realised that she had refused to face up to the possibility - not only for Fíriel’s sake but her own as well. She wondered what she could do to atone for her errors, but realised that it might be too late. She wiped the tears that were starting to fall and wished that she was stronger or wiser to face these trials. Eilinel realised that there were others who could have been in her place that were these things, but she had been chosen for other virtues. Realisation struck her hard, she shook from it, she had been chosen for this place, it was up to her how she handled that. She looked across at her husband and determined that she would do the best that she could for her daughter and country.