New Challenge: Potluck Bingo
Sit down to a delicious selection of prompts served on bingo boards, created by the SWG community.
"I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by."
John Masefield, “Sea Fever” (1902)
“I’m so cold!” Galadriel said. “Can we find somewhere warm to sit?”
Gil-galad thought she actually looked peaked. And she was still shivering. “Of course,” he said. Wrapping an arm around her, he bellowed, loud enough to hurt his own ears, “Carvor! Where is Carvor?”
Just as he had expected, Carvor popped up in front them, seemingly out of nowhere, carrying an elegant floor-length, midnight-blue velvet cloak, luxuriously thick and warm-looking. It was remarkable how he could do that.
“Sir,” he said bowing deeply.
“Thank you. That’s perfect.” Gil-galad smiled, smug and self-satisfied at Carvor's efficiency. “Look, cousin. He’s brought you a warm wrap. Just like magic.” He took the cape from Carvor and wrapped it snugly around her shoulders, her shivering had begun to lessen slightly since they came in out of the wind.
“Carvor! You are a wonder,” she said cheerfully. “I do envy Ereinion to have you.”
“Thank you, Ma'am.” He turned to Gil-galad. “May I make an unconventional suggestion, Sir?”
“I doubt if it would be wise for me to try to stop you.” Gil was pleased to notice that Anardil caught his eye and grinned. He could not resist surreptitiously brushing the back of the man's hand with his own. The chemistry was unmistakable in a tiny intake of breath he discerned on the part of the prince. Gil still believed he should perhaps slow down and yet, more and more, he found his resolve weakening.
Carvor gently cleared his throat. He missed nothing.
“Sire, your private office is too small for all of you and most of the conference chambers are so big and so drafty, especially, when their tall windows are being buffeted by wind and rain coming from the north. I know a lovely, cozy room which can comfortably accommodate this group. It is used as a sitting and dining room for visiting servants when the palace is full.” Gil cocked his head at him intrigued. “I did say unconventional! I’ve already laid a fire in there and it’s right next to the kitchens . . .”
“You are kicking in an open door. Lead on!” Gil said, turning from Carvor to meet Anardil’s eyes. He thought it was unlikely such a suggestion would ever have been proffered in the court of Númenor. “Carvor is never wrong about things like that,” he explained--half an apology, half an explanation. The lad gave him a winning smile which assured Gil that he was losing no points with him by exposing him to his eccentric colleagues and habits.
They trudged down a half-flight of stairs following Carvor, who led them around a corner, opening a door with a flourish, revealing a warm and cozy, low-ceilinged room. Hanging lamps strategically placed lit the room in a tawny glow. Exposed red bricks ran half-way up the walls and, on one side, a row of windows just below the ceiling were sealed against the rain.
A fire already blazed in the hearth, heating the room against the inclement weather. A simple wooden dining table and benches gave a rustic feeling to the chamber. A somewhat uneven semicircle consisting of a sofa and three overstuffed chairs had been arranged in front of the fireplace and completed the atmosphere of warm and homely comfort.
Galadriel swept by Gil-galad and claimed the chair with a footstool closest to grate, pulling her borrowed cloak tightly around her. “Honestly, Gil, this is magnificent.”
Maybe not magnificent, Gil thought, but nearly perfect. He shrugged out of his slightly damp jacket and hung it on a coat rack near the door. As he passed the table again he noticed several steaming pots and pitchers.
As though taking his cue from Gil earlier in the day, Anardil addressed Galadriel. “My lady, may I fetch you a drink. There is quite a selection of warm beverages—kaffe, tea, hot cider, spiced wine. . .”
“Yes, please. I will start with the cider.”
Everyone charged for the table at once. Gil raised his voice to be heard above the tumult. “My dear cousin, would you like a shot of apple brandy in your cider? I see we have that and also a decanter of Miruvor if you need instant heat.”
“I’d very much like my cider spiked with the apple brandy,” she chirped. “Such hospitality and excellent service also! Thank you both.”
“We aim to please.” He caught Anardil’s eye and winked. “I always wanted a home so I could entertain guests. If I am ever deposed, I will run a tavern.”
“Don’t brag, Gil,” Glorfindel drawled, stretching out his long legs and wriggling his stockinged feet in the direction of the fireplace. “All of us have marketable skills. Erestor could be one of those scribes who sets up shop with a folding desk on street corners and composes letters and legal documents for all comers for a pittance. Galadriel, of course, could follow the circuit of village fairs telling fortunes or even run a household or a kingdom.” He waggled his eyebrows at her in the style of a stage villain. Seeing Glorfindel through the eyes of their visitor, Gil thought he made an unconvincing heavy. “And the newest member of our circle would be much in demand as an able-bodied seaman.”
“What about you, you scoundrel?” Erestor demanded of Glorfindel.
“Obviously, I would hire myself out as an armed guard to traveling merchants.”
Carvor popped in again with two platters of impressively large ham and cheese sandwiches redolent with the scent of fresh-baked bread and spicy mustard. “There now,” he said with his usual self-satisfied impudence. “The bread is right out of the oven, you should eat it before . . .”
Gil interrupted, “We’re fine now. Thank you. We will ring if we need anything.” Carvor hovered glancing dubiously at Galadriel, who looked to be happy and at ease, holding her warm cup with two hands and snuggling down into her cozy chair. “Cousin, please tell Carvor you are feeling better or he will never leave us!”
“Oh, thank you, Carvor! Much, much better. You’ve thought of everything.”
Gil then dashed over to the sofa and plopped down, “I claim the sofa for me and Anardil.” Sounding entirely too much like Elrond as a boy, but he got the laugh he had hoped to get from the handsome prince. He hoped his flirting would escape remark. One never knew with this company. Apparently, they were feeling charitable or indulgent because they appeared not to notice and he was certain Erestor, at least, was aware of his growing attraction to Anardil.
After everyone had eaten and was comfortably working on their second or, even third, drink in the case of Gil. He considered how much it felt like a real holiday. Alas, he had relaxed too soon.
“Well, now,” said Galadriel in her haughtiest voice. “I believe that Anardil is here, among other things, to ask us to give him our trees.”
Glorfindel choked on his Miruvor, narrowly avoiding spitting it on himself.
“What gives you that idea?” asked Gil, who exercised enough control to not visibly grind his teeth at her.
“Do not play ignorant with me, Ereinion! Your sources are better than mine and I am quite sure you’ve already guessed. Although, I think it is more likely he has by now raised the topic with you.”
“May I address Lady Galadriel’s concerns, Sir?” Anardil asked Gil, switching to the formal form of address, but not sounding cowed by Galadriel’s less than diplomatic introduction of the topic. Another rush of affection swept over Gil. He was not a young pup who, under any circumstances, would rely on someone else to fight his battles for him.
“If you like,” Gil said.
“I did touch upon the subject of an exchange of resources with the King. I did mention my need for wood and your vast forests. But we both chose to defer any substantial discussions until I was more knowledgeable of your lands and peoples and the plausibility of my speculations. It also was clear to me that the King preferred to share such discussions with his trusted counsellors although that was not made explicit either,” Anardil explained in a soft, strong voice. Only the increasing density of his Númenórean accent revealed his tension.
“So, should I trust you, young man? Should I perhaps seek to teach you? Or should I believe that you will make better choices faced with complicated circumstances than I was able to do myself earlier in my life?” she challenged. “I will not be your strongest opponent here in Middle-earth. My spouse, Celeborn of Doriath, is capable of fighting tooth-and-claw over every tiny tree. Have you heard of him?”
Anardil smiled. “I have indeed. I attended to my studies. That was my bargain with my father—in exchange for spending time amongst shipwrights and sailors, I was required to excel in my studies of language, literature, and, most of all, our history. Would you trust me more, my lady, if I were to first tell of the worst that I have done? Then you could judge for yourself if I am willing to admit to my errors and eager to learn from them.”
“You do not lack in courage, Captain,” Galadriel said, gifting him with a dazzling smile. Gil recognized something in her tone that he was certain that Anardil could not. The prince had more than halfway won her over to, at very least, consider this alliance with guarded favor.
“I will accept your challenge,” she said. “Tell me your worst.”
He turned to Gil and gave him a shaky smile. “Sir, could you perhaps give me just a small taste of that Miruvor?”
“Of course,” Gil said. “I should, however, warn you that, although it goes down smoothly, it has a kick like a mule.”
“Are you saying that I shouldn’t?”
“Far from it! You are among friends after all,” Gil said. Anardil reached for his hand, squeezed it and just as quickly let go, giving him a weak smile.
“All right then. Where do I start? Building ships requires vast quantities of wood. A ship the size and weight of Númerrámar, which you may have seen at anchor in the harbor, requires over a thousand trees to build. A mature tree of the type required may take as long as sixty years to grow and the trees harvested for masts take longer. For many years, we have been struggling to find sufficient Oaks of the quality needed for the hulls. And, by now, we have entirely depleted our native forests of trees suitable for masts.
“At first our shipbuilders were not conscious of the degree of deforestation they were causing. Later they were shocked to discover the profound effects of the same—such as soil erosion, loss of species of plants and animals, and even changes in the weather. We have since begun to take steps to remedy that initial careless destruction. But it is easier to destroy than it is to rebuild. As I keep reminding anyone who will listen, we are an island with a growing population. My father is in the process of trying to ban the harvesting of lumber for use in the shipbuilding industry.
“Meanwhile, I have been organizing large scale efforts of planting trees to try to restore lost forests and reclaim devastated landscapes. The stories of our past have told us of endless forests of Middle-earth and we have heard through people like my grandfather of the rumors of your current hardships and the ongoing threats that your peoples endure. I could not help but be aware of the possibilities of forming an alliance to help one another.”
Galadriel looked at Anardil, steely-eyed and skeptical. But Gil recognized by her struggle to control the smile muscles around her mouth that she was impressed with his analysis.
“Well,” Galadriel said. “You rushed through the details of at least one hundred years of poor judgment and wanton eradication of the most valuable natural resources. The tale does not lend one to want to cast an immediate vote of confidence in any of your schemes. For example, are you proposing that we should support you by granting you complete access to our forests now that you have consumed your own?”
Gil’s heart lurched in sympathy with how his captain—so young and earnest—would react to her brusque remark. Everyone else in the room was riveted as well, watching Anardil’s face for a reaction. Instead of the crestfallen look that Gil had expected, Anardil released a soft huff of a laugh and shook his head with a smile.
“If it sounded that way, dearest lady, then I did not express myself clearly. I do not need all of your largest first-growth trees.” Cheeky rascal, Gil thought.
“Oh,” she said, laughing. “That is a relief.”
“Actually, I had hoped to stay for a year or so, visiting different parts of this vast continent. As I mentioned briefly to Gil-galad, I do not come simply to rob you, but to offer help, be it settlers who bring knowledge and expertise, economic contributions, technology, and defense. I would not presume to offer concrete proposals until I knew much more than I know.” He turned to Gil and took hold of his arm, “I would consider you both an ally and mentor, Gil. I am a fast learner. I would look to all of you and others for guidance and opinions. I do not expect your woodlands to solve my shipbuilding problems, only advances and improvements in technology can do that.”
Galadriel said, “I do not have a closed mind, far from it. And, Ereinion is my king and this land is his responsibility. I may seem like an interfering older kinswoman, bossy and ready to throw cold water on any propositions. Quite the contrary, I trust Ereinion and respect his ultimate authority.”
Erestor grinned and Gil chuckled shaking his head. “Indeed, I believe her when she says she is a loyal subject. She interferes enough to keep me honest and force me to question myself. Right, Galadriel? She is totally disinterested and altruistic.” That got a laugh from everyone.
“I might admit to some modest plans of my own,” Galadriel said. “Someday I hope Lord Celeborn and I can find a corner somewhere to stake out a small realm of our own.” Gil had heard her talk of that aspiration his entire life and felt at times like it could not happen soon enough.
Carvor popped his head in the door. “The kitchen needs to know if you want a regular full dinner in the dining room or would you be satisfied with a little supper here? Cook is making fruit pies and cakes.”
After the small supper, everyone else drifted off, satiated from food and drinks and what felt to Gil like a cathartic and emotional discussion, leaving him and Anardil alone.
Gil threw a couple of logs onto the fire, sat down on the sofa, and held his arms open. Anardil blushed but did not hesitate to accept the invitation and snuggled into his arms, burrowing his nose into Gil’s neck. They stayed like that for a long while.
“I was proud of how you held your ground with Galadriel,” Gil said. “You wrung out of her one of the few compliments she has given me, not to mention an explicit declaration of fealty.”
"I am happy if that is true. Your presence gave me courage. I feel an unusual connection to you," Anardil said.
"As I do to you."
"I think I would like to go upstairs . . . .”
“That can be arranged,” Gil said. He wanted to kiss him then and there, but he was still second guessing the signals he was receiving.
TBC