Lemon Balm, Comfrey and Sage by Narya

Chapter 1

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Darling--

 

It was either this or an artfully nude portrait of your father. The selection here is distressingly limited.

I know you appreciate the sentiment, regardless.

 

Much love,

Mother.

 

Eldarion crumpled the illustrated flax paper and threw it across the room. He had been aiming for the basket of discarded ink bottles and scraps of frayed ribbon on his desk; instead, the wadded ball bounced off the inside of his window and landed in the middle of the rug.

 

Ioreth (who had brought the offending missive, and who was now busying herself with the flowers in the alcove) lifted her head and tutted. “A fine foul temper you're in.”

 

“I'm sorry, Ioreth.” Eldarion ran a hand through his hair, making the dark waves curl out at strange angles, then swung himself around to get out of bed and pick up the letter.

 

“You stay where you are,” Ioreth chided. “Rest that leg.”

 

“I've done enough resting. That's half the trouble.”
 

“That's as may be, but you're not to go putting weight on it yet. We'll find you some crutches, if you must be up and about.” She started bending down towards the screwed-up note, winced, then put a hand on her left hip and chuckled ruefully. “Dear me."  Carefully, she straightened back up.  "Well, it will do no harm lying there. A pity you've spoiled it; your mother meant for it to lift your spirits, I'm sure.”

 

“I don't doubt that.” A portrait of the Witch-King peering quizzically over the inscription 'Thinking Of You' was just the sort of thing to appeal to his mother's bitter-chocolate sense of humour. “Do you suppose they really sell nude portraits of my father at Ethring?”

 

“I'd rather not think about that, my dear, if you don't mind.”

 

“No.” Eldarion smiled, despite himself. There were few in Gondor these days who would so unthinkingly call him 'my dear.' “Perhaps for the best.” Outside, the spring breeze caught between the towers and sang; a cloud shifted, and light like pale honey poured into the room. “Ioreth, please, my leg has given me no pain for days” - this was not quite true, but it was certainly getting better - “and I will go mad if I must spend another day trapped in here. You said you might find me some crutches?”

 

Ioreth clicked her tongue again. “Well, I see no reason why not, although your father was quite clear that you're not to be gallivanting all over the city with those wild friends of yours and doing yourself more mischief.”

 

“My father would want me to make myself useful in his absence.”

 

The old woman smiled, and her cheeks wrinkled up like dried apples. “Yes, my dear. I believe you may be right.”