Post by Admin on Jan 2, 2021 22:15:07 GMT
Author: Linda Hoyland
Ranking: Tied for 3rd place
Summary: A letter awakens old memories for a grandmother.
Rating: G
The familiar characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. I make no profit from this story.
Firiel patted the letter in her apron pocket yet again to reassure herself that it was still there. She shook herself inwardly. She was a foolish old woman- foolish not to open the letter and more foolish still to have written to the Steward in the first place.
How could she expect Lord Faramir to remember her after all these years? She could well imagine what his reply would say. It would be a curt, dismissive note from the Steward’s secretary saying that his master could not be expected to remember a woman he had last seen when he was twelve years old.
Forcing herself to concentrate on other matters, she walked over to the bed where her grandsons were sleeping. Beren, the elder lay with his arms curled protectively around his younger brother; just like those two other boys she had known long ago. Firiel tucked the blankets more snugly around the two boys. She thanked the Valar that her daughter had known the blessing of children before the war tore her husband away from her, lost in the mud beside the Anduin, defending the bank from the Dark Lord’s forces.
Beren stirred and opened his eyes for a moment. He smiled at the sight of his grandmother and settled back into sleep. Firiel watched the children for a few more moments then looked in on her granddaughter. The little girl was fast asleep with her thumb in her mouth. Satisfied all was well with her grandchildren, Firiel re-joined her daughter in their small living room.
Indis was sitting by the fire mending. She looked up when her mother entered. “Beren has torn his shirt on the nail by the door yet again, the scamp! Are the children all asleep now?”
Firiel nodded. She sat down beside her daughter and took a small sock out of the mending basket to darn. “ Nerdanel fell asleep sucking her thumb and the boys are curled up together.. They reminded me so much of the old Steward’s sons just now.”
“I doubt Lord Denethor’s sons ruined their fine clothes like mine do!” said Indis.
“You would be surprised,” said Firiel. “High born they might have been, but in most ways they were just like any other children. Beren reminded me of Lord Boromir tonight as he was sleeping with his arms around his little brother. When I first joined the Steward’s household as a young nursery maid, Lady Finduilas had only been dead a few weeks. Lord Boromir knew how to put a brave face on things, but Lord Faramir was only five. The poor lamb would cry himself to sleep or wake up crying in the night for his mother. I would sit with him when I could, but I often had other duties.
One night, when I looked in on Faramir, I found him fast asleep in Boromir’s arms. Boromir awoke with a start.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Why are you sorry, Lord Boromir? You have done nothing wrong.”
“Father says we must be brave because we are sons of the House of Húrin, and Nanny says Faramir is too old to be cradled like a baby.”
“I was angry I can tell you. Being brave is all very well, but these were but young children! I told him I would rouse him early so Nanny would not scold. I was left to supervise the nursery at night. After that, Boromir often comforted his brother and Faramir was more settled at night.”
“Poor mites!” said Indis. “I would never try to keep my boys apart.” She laughed wryly. “Not that we will ever have the money for separate rooms and beds like the high folk do. It does not seem that all Lord Denethor’s wealth and power bought him much happiness, though, nor his sons.”
Firiel finished the sock she was darning and took another out of her mending basket. “Happiness was a rare treasure in the Steward’s household,” she said. “I recall one night when Lord Faramir could not sleep, not even with the comforting presence of his brother beside him. The poor child missed Lady Finduilas so much, and that day Lord Denethor had scolded him for asking questions about why she would not be coming back.”
“Would you like me to tell you a story, Lord Faramir?” I suggested.
“I’ve already told him a story,” said Boromir. He sat up, obviously, every bit as wide awake as his brother.
“It was about battles,” said Faramir. “Don’t like battles.”
“It was about Captain Thorongil beating the corsairs,” said Boromir. “Father doesn’t like me talking about Captain Thorongil but Uncle Imrahil says he was a great hero. I want to be a hero just like he was. Do you know any stories about him?”
I racked my brains for a story about the great captain that might amuse both boys. Then I remembered seeing a strange- looking old cat glaring at me with age-clouded eyes in the kitchens one day when I was telling the cook what we wanted for supper in the nursery. I asked the cook what manner of a cat it was and she told me the tale of its origins. How much was true and how much was embellished I’d no idea, but I thought it would make a good bedtime story for the Steward’s sons.
“Once upon a time, Captain Thorongil was fighting in a battle against the Men of Harad, “ I began.
“Don’t want a story about battles,” Faramir protested.
“I promise you that this story only begins with a battle,” I told him. “It is a story about a cat.”
“I like cats,” said Faramir.
“Captain Thorongil slew many fierce warriors from Harad and soon the battle was over and Gondor had won the day,” I continued.
“Gondor has the best and bravest soldiers,” said Boromir. “I want to be a soldier.”
It tore at my heart thinking of my young charges as men upon the battlefield, but such were the times. I continued my story. “Captain Thorongil and his men searched the battlefield for wounded men to take to the healers. Suddenly, the Captain heard a piercing cry and a kitten crawled out from beneath the body of a slain warrior from Harad. It was the strangest kitten he had ever seen with creamy-coloured fur, a black face and tail and piercing blue eyes. It seemed that it was the pet of one of the slain warriors. Thorongil’s men were impatient to leave and didn’t want to be bothered with a kitten, especially not one that belonged to an enemy soldier.”
Faramir’s grey eyes filled with tears. “They didn’t hurt the poor kitten did they?”
“My stories have happy endings,” I assured him. “Thorongil had a kind heart and picked up the little cat and placed it in his pack. He was unsure what to do about it, though, as a soldier’s life had no room for a kitten. Then he remembered that your Grand-sire, Ecthelion, had told him the cook had complained of rats in the Citadel’s kitchens. Maybe this kitten might help solve the problem? So he took the kitten to your Grand-sire’s cook.”
“Did the cook help the kitten?” asked Faramir.
“Indeed, she did, and the kitten grew into a fine cat and is still catching rats and mice to this day.”
“Truly?” Boromir sounded unconvinced.
“Truly,” I assured him.
“Can we meet him then?” asked Faramir.
I was unsure what Lord Denethor would make of his sons visiting the kitchen cat so I simply replied, “We shall see, but the cat is very busy catching rats and mice.”
“I like that story,” said Faramir. “I want a cat like that when I grow up.”
“His voice sounded sleepy so I tucked the covers securely around them both and sat with the boys until they drifted off to sleep. After that, I often told the boys stories about Captain Thorongil.”
“Did their father ever find out?” asked Indis. “I’ve heard the old Steward hated Thorongil.”
Firiel shook her head. “He rarely came near the nursery. I suppose I wasn’t a very good nursery maid to defy Lord Denethor by telling my stories, but what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. I felt sorry for those boys; they needed a hero to look up to. They had the best of everything when it came to food and clothes and toys, but what use is that without a mother and father’s love? Lord Denethor did used to send for Boromir to spend time with him, but it was as if Faramir didn’t exist. Maybe the poor child was too like his mother, but that was hardly his fault. I used to tell Faramir all the old tales too. He loved lore even from a very early age. I was fortunate my mother was so fond of the old stories and used to tell them to me.”
Indis took up another sock to darn. “What about Lord Boromir?”
“He was quite different than his brother. He only wanted to hear tales of battles and would much rather be practising with sword and bow than listening to my tales. He had a huge collection of toy soldiers which he would arrange in elaborate battle formations. Faramir would play with him when they were older and they would act out the great battles of old. They were good days, though, with those brothers. I was sorry to leave.”
“Was it because you met my father?” asked Indis.
Firiel look thoughtful.”That was one reason, but he had been asking me to marry him for years before I agreed to. I didn’t want to leave those poor motherless boys, but when Faramir started to grow up, they had no need for a nursery maid any longer so I married my handsome guardsman. I always missed my boys though, especially Lord Faramir.”
Indis hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Were you disappointed I wasn’t a boy?” she asked.
“Never, my girl!” Firiel exclaimed fiercely. “I feared I’d left it too late to have children. It was the happiest day of my life when you arrived a year after I wed your father.”
“I wish I could remember my father,” said Indis.
“He was a good man who gave you to be before getting killed fighting the Haradrim.” Firiel sighed. “At least we managed. For all his faults, Lord Denethor saw that war widows and their children were provided for.”
Silence fell between mother and daughter. They both concentrated on their sewing, but Firiel’s hand kept stroking the letter in her apron pocket.
“What did Lord Faramir say in his letter?” Indis asked at last. “I could not help but notice the Steward’s seal when it arrived this morning.”
“I haven’t opened it,” said Firiel.
“Why ever not?”
“It will no doubt be a note from his secretary simply thanking me for writing. The Steward must get dozens of letters every day.”
“Not from his former nursemaid, though. Please read it, Mother. I can see that you want to, but are afraid.”
“I'm not afraid!” Goaded by her daughter's words. Firiel carefully broke the seal and unfolded the sheet of parchment. Contrary to her expectations, it was a long letter. The words swam before her eyes. She pushed the letter into her daughter's hand. “You read it, Indis. My eyesight isn't what it used to be.”
Indis took the letter and began to read,
“My dear Mistress Firiel
What a pleasure to hear from you! Over the years, I have often thought about you and about how kind you were to me in those long- gone days in the nursery. I would have written to you, but I had no idea where you lived.
I am glad to hear you and your daughter and grandchildren are in good health. You have suffered much as you both lost your husbands in the service of Gondor. From this day forward I shall ensure you will be well provided for if you have any needs.
As you no doubt know, I have prospered since the war. I still greatly miss my brother, but my life is far happier than I could ever have dreamt in my youth. Gondor is at peace, I have wed the fairest and best of ladies who has given me a fine son and I serve the best of Kings whom I love and admire.
I would be most happy to see you again if you would like that. I should also like to meet your daughter and grandchildren. Elboron would surely welcome some new playmates, as would Prince Eldarion. I should like to invite you and your family to eat the day meal at my rooms in the Citadel next Tuesday. The King and Queen are eager to meet you too as we often speak of our childhoods.
I will send a messenger for your answer on the morrow. If Tuesday is not convenient, we will arrange another day. I will send a carriage for you and your family.
I look forward to seeing you again, dear Mistress Firiel. We have so much to talk about,
Faramir son of Denethor.
“What a lovely letter!” Firiel exclaimed. “He remembers me and wants to see me! “She dabbed her eyes with a corner of her apron.
Indis grinned from ear to ear. “We are going to meet the Steward and the King and Queen! The children will be so excited! I hope I'll know what to say to such grand folks.”
Firiel smiled. “Lord Faramir might well be grand now, but whenever I think of him; in my mind's eye, I see two young brothers much like your lads.”
Ranking: Tied for 3rd place
Summary: A letter awakens old memories for a grandmother.
Rating: G
The familiar characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. I make no profit from this story.
Firiel patted the letter in her apron pocket yet again to reassure herself that it was still there. She shook herself inwardly. She was a foolish old woman- foolish not to open the letter and more foolish still to have written to the Steward in the first place.
How could she expect Lord Faramir to remember her after all these years? She could well imagine what his reply would say. It would be a curt, dismissive note from the Steward’s secretary saying that his master could not be expected to remember a woman he had last seen when he was twelve years old.
Forcing herself to concentrate on other matters, she walked over to the bed where her grandsons were sleeping. Beren, the elder lay with his arms curled protectively around his younger brother; just like those two other boys she had known long ago. Firiel tucked the blankets more snugly around the two boys. She thanked the Valar that her daughter had known the blessing of children before the war tore her husband away from her, lost in the mud beside the Anduin, defending the bank from the Dark Lord’s forces.
Beren stirred and opened his eyes for a moment. He smiled at the sight of his grandmother and settled back into sleep. Firiel watched the children for a few more moments then looked in on her granddaughter. The little girl was fast asleep with her thumb in her mouth. Satisfied all was well with her grandchildren, Firiel re-joined her daughter in their small living room.
Indis was sitting by the fire mending. She looked up when her mother entered. “Beren has torn his shirt on the nail by the door yet again, the scamp! Are the children all asleep now?”
Firiel nodded. She sat down beside her daughter and took a small sock out of the mending basket to darn. “ Nerdanel fell asleep sucking her thumb and the boys are curled up together.. They reminded me so much of the old Steward’s sons just now.”
“I doubt Lord Denethor’s sons ruined their fine clothes like mine do!” said Indis.
“You would be surprised,” said Firiel. “High born they might have been, but in most ways they were just like any other children. Beren reminded me of Lord Boromir tonight as he was sleeping with his arms around his little brother. When I first joined the Steward’s household as a young nursery maid, Lady Finduilas had only been dead a few weeks. Lord Boromir knew how to put a brave face on things, but Lord Faramir was only five. The poor lamb would cry himself to sleep or wake up crying in the night for his mother. I would sit with him when I could, but I often had other duties.
One night, when I looked in on Faramir, I found him fast asleep in Boromir’s arms. Boromir awoke with a start.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Why are you sorry, Lord Boromir? You have done nothing wrong.”
“Father says we must be brave because we are sons of the House of Húrin, and Nanny says Faramir is too old to be cradled like a baby.”
“I was angry I can tell you. Being brave is all very well, but these were but young children! I told him I would rouse him early so Nanny would not scold. I was left to supervise the nursery at night. After that, Boromir often comforted his brother and Faramir was more settled at night.”
“Poor mites!” said Indis. “I would never try to keep my boys apart.” She laughed wryly. “Not that we will ever have the money for separate rooms and beds like the high folk do. It does not seem that all Lord Denethor’s wealth and power bought him much happiness, though, nor his sons.”
Firiel finished the sock she was darning and took another out of her mending basket. “Happiness was a rare treasure in the Steward’s household,” she said. “I recall one night when Lord Faramir could not sleep, not even with the comforting presence of his brother beside him. The poor child missed Lady Finduilas so much, and that day Lord Denethor had scolded him for asking questions about why she would not be coming back.”
“Would you like me to tell you a story, Lord Faramir?” I suggested.
“I’ve already told him a story,” said Boromir. He sat up, obviously, every bit as wide awake as his brother.
“It was about battles,” said Faramir. “Don’t like battles.”
“It was about Captain Thorongil beating the corsairs,” said Boromir. “Father doesn’t like me talking about Captain Thorongil but Uncle Imrahil says he was a great hero. I want to be a hero just like he was. Do you know any stories about him?”
I racked my brains for a story about the great captain that might amuse both boys. Then I remembered seeing a strange- looking old cat glaring at me with age-clouded eyes in the kitchens one day when I was telling the cook what we wanted for supper in the nursery. I asked the cook what manner of a cat it was and she told me the tale of its origins. How much was true and how much was embellished I’d no idea, but I thought it would make a good bedtime story for the Steward’s sons.
“Once upon a time, Captain Thorongil was fighting in a battle against the Men of Harad, “ I began.
“Don’t want a story about battles,” Faramir protested.
“I promise you that this story only begins with a battle,” I told him. “It is a story about a cat.”
“I like cats,” said Faramir.
“Captain Thorongil slew many fierce warriors from Harad and soon the battle was over and Gondor had won the day,” I continued.
“Gondor has the best and bravest soldiers,” said Boromir. “I want to be a soldier.”
It tore at my heart thinking of my young charges as men upon the battlefield, but such were the times. I continued my story. “Captain Thorongil and his men searched the battlefield for wounded men to take to the healers. Suddenly, the Captain heard a piercing cry and a kitten crawled out from beneath the body of a slain warrior from Harad. It was the strangest kitten he had ever seen with creamy-coloured fur, a black face and tail and piercing blue eyes. It seemed that it was the pet of one of the slain warriors. Thorongil’s men were impatient to leave and didn’t want to be bothered with a kitten, especially not one that belonged to an enemy soldier.”
Faramir’s grey eyes filled with tears. “They didn’t hurt the poor kitten did they?”
“My stories have happy endings,” I assured him. “Thorongil had a kind heart and picked up the little cat and placed it in his pack. He was unsure what to do about it, though, as a soldier’s life had no room for a kitten. Then he remembered that your Grand-sire, Ecthelion, had told him the cook had complained of rats in the Citadel’s kitchens. Maybe this kitten might help solve the problem? So he took the kitten to your Grand-sire’s cook.”
“Did the cook help the kitten?” asked Faramir.
“Indeed, she did, and the kitten grew into a fine cat and is still catching rats and mice to this day.”
“Truly?” Boromir sounded unconvinced.
“Truly,” I assured him.
“Can we meet him then?” asked Faramir.
I was unsure what Lord Denethor would make of his sons visiting the kitchen cat so I simply replied, “We shall see, but the cat is very busy catching rats and mice.”
“I like that story,” said Faramir. “I want a cat like that when I grow up.”
“His voice sounded sleepy so I tucked the covers securely around them both and sat with the boys until they drifted off to sleep. After that, I often told the boys stories about Captain Thorongil.”
“Did their father ever find out?” asked Indis. “I’ve heard the old Steward hated Thorongil.”
Firiel shook her head. “He rarely came near the nursery. I suppose I wasn’t a very good nursery maid to defy Lord Denethor by telling my stories, but what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. I felt sorry for those boys; they needed a hero to look up to. They had the best of everything when it came to food and clothes and toys, but what use is that without a mother and father’s love? Lord Denethor did used to send for Boromir to spend time with him, but it was as if Faramir didn’t exist. Maybe the poor child was too like his mother, but that was hardly his fault. I used to tell Faramir all the old tales too. He loved lore even from a very early age. I was fortunate my mother was so fond of the old stories and used to tell them to me.”
Indis took up another sock to darn. “What about Lord Boromir?”
“He was quite different than his brother. He only wanted to hear tales of battles and would much rather be practising with sword and bow than listening to my tales. He had a huge collection of toy soldiers which he would arrange in elaborate battle formations. Faramir would play with him when they were older and they would act out the great battles of old. They were good days, though, with those brothers. I was sorry to leave.”
“Was it because you met my father?” asked Indis.
Firiel look thoughtful.”That was one reason, but he had been asking me to marry him for years before I agreed to. I didn’t want to leave those poor motherless boys, but when Faramir started to grow up, they had no need for a nursery maid any longer so I married my handsome guardsman. I always missed my boys though, especially Lord Faramir.”
Indis hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Were you disappointed I wasn’t a boy?” she asked.
“Never, my girl!” Firiel exclaimed fiercely. “I feared I’d left it too late to have children. It was the happiest day of my life when you arrived a year after I wed your father.”
“I wish I could remember my father,” said Indis.
“He was a good man who gave you to be before getting killed fighting the Haradrim.” Firiel sighed. “At least we managed. For all his faults, Lord Denethor saw that war widows and their children were provided for.”
Silence fell between mother and daughter. They both concentrated on their sewing, but Firiel’s hand kept stroking the letter in her apron pocket.
“What did Lord Faramir say in his letter?” Indis asked at last. “I could not help but notice the Steward’s seal when it arrived this morning.”
“I haven’t opened it,” said Firiel.
“Why ever not?”
“It will no doubt be a note from his secretary simply thanking me for writing. The Steward must get dozens of letters every day.”
“Not from his former nursemaid, though. Please read it, Mother. I can see that you want to, but are afraid.”
“I'm not afraid!” Goaded by her daughter's words. Firiel carefully broke the seal and unfolded the sheet of parchment. Contrary to her expectations, it was a long letter. The words swam before her eyes. She pushed the letter into her daughter's hand. “You read it, Indis. My eyesight isn't what it used to be.”
Indis took the letter and began to read,
“My dear Mistress Firiel
What a pleasure to hear from you! Over the years, I have often thought about you and about how kind you were to me in those long- gone days in the nursery. I would have written to you, but I had no idea where you lived.
I am glad to hear you and your daughter and grandchildren are in good health. You have suffered much as you both lost your husbands in the service of Gondor. From this day forward I shall ensure you will be well provided for if you have any needs.
As you no doubt know, I have prospered since the war. I still greatly miss my brother, but my life is far happier than I could ever have dreamt in my youth. Gondor is at peace, I have wed the fairest and best of ladies who has given me a fine son and I serve the best of Kings whom I love and admire.
I would be most happy to see you again if you would like that. I should also like to meet your daughter and grandchildren. Elboron would surely welcome some new playmates, as would Prince Eldarion. I should like to invite you and your family to eat the day meal at my rooms in the Citadel next Tuesday. The King and Queen are eager to meet you too as we often speak of our childhoods.
I will send a messenger for your answer on the morrow. If Tuesday is not convenient, we will arrange another day. I will send a carriage for you and your family.
I look forward to seeing you again, dear Mistress Firiel. We have so much to talk about,
Faramir son of Denethor.
“What a lovely letter!” Firiel exclaimed. “He remembers me and wants to see me! “She dabbed her eyes with a corner of her apron.
Indis grinned from ear to ear. “We are going to meet the Steward and the King and Queen! The children will be so excited! I hope I'll know what to say to such grand folks.”
Firiel smiled. “Lord Faramir might well be grand now, but whenever I think of him; in my mind's eye, I see two young brothers much like your lads.”