And There Make a Garden by Arveldis

And There Make a Garden

Written for Tolkien Gen Week Day 4: Solo & Work and Craft.

Read And There Make a Garden

Éowyn walked through the rows of the garden that sprawled beyond the house, her hand laid over the swell of her stomach. It was high summer, and the garden grew in wild abandon, hardly distinguishable from the fragrant wilderness that rippled and tumbled over the hills of Emyn Arnen. But Éowyn knew every plant in her garden, for each was dear to her and held memories of the person she connected it to.

Her garden had grown larger than she had ever thought it would, stretching behind the veranda of the low stone house for many yards, but it was just the right size for her to complete her morning walk without feeling too winded. Ioreth had insisted on Éowyn’s last visit to the city that it was important she walk daily—both for her health and her child’s—even in these late days of her pregnancy, when she felt more like sitting, catching her breath, and sparing her back than walking.

But walking in her garden passed the time while Faramir was away in Minas Tirith, governing in Aragorn’s stead, and made the long summer days without him pass by more quickly, if only a little. He had promised to return before her lying in, even if Aragorn was still campaigning in the south, and she counted down the days until he would return home. 

Lothíriel had written that she would arrive shortly before then, to provide Éowyn female company at her “outpost of men,” and Éowyn was grateful for her sister-in-law’s thoughtfulness. Lothíriel seemed to have an innate knowledge of people’s needs and gracefully wove her way to where she anticipated she would be needed.

In the meantime, Éowyn walked in her garden, under the watchful eye of Beregond, who sat some paces away beneath an ash tree, whittling a toy for Borlas. He had taken to heart Faramir’s charge to watch over her while he was in the city, accompanying her every time she left the house, even if she only ventured out to her garden. 

And so Éowyn walked in her garden as he watched on and talked to the child growing within her, feeling as if she had some small measure of companionship in doing so. If Beregond thought her strange for behaving thusly, he said nothing, too gentle-hearted and loyal to let an unkind word slip from his lips.

“These are sunflowers from Master Samwise in the Shire far to the west, planted in soil he collected from his own garden,” she said, brushing her fingertips beneath the flowers’ bobbing heads as she walked by. The flowers just barely reached her shoulders, but as the summer wore on they would stand as tall as her or Faramir.

“And these are several kinds of pipe-weed from Master Meriadoc in the Shire,” she said, pointing to the bushy plants that grew next to the sunflowers. Their blooms let off a gentle fragrance that wafted through the garden. “The leaves are crushed and smoked in pipes in the Shire, but no one does so in Gondor, other than the king. The custom is very popular in the Shire, according to Merry, but it has never spread here, much to his dismay.”

She pointed next to the sprawling patches of kingsfoil that were beginning to outgrow their section. “This is athelas, the plant that brought your father and I back from the shadow of death by the power of the king's hands. We keep it in memory of how nearly we were saved from the brink, and of the hope we found in the days afterwards.”

Next to the kingsfoil grew the lavender Lothíriel had gifted to Éowyn on her first visit to Emyn Arnen, shortly after she and Éomer had wedded. Éowyn fingered the blossoms fondly. “Lothíriel brought lavender seeds from Dol Amroth in memory of Finduilas, your grandmother who died untimely many years ago, for they were her favorite flower, and Lothíriel thought your father might like to have a token of her here.”

At last she came to her mother’s roses. She always ended her walks here, where the sun spilled gently through the cedar trees that rose along the slope girding the house and limned the roses' petals with light. “And these are my mother’s roses,” she said fondly, brushing their petals with her fingertips. “Sam helped me collect cuttings from Meduseld’s rose garden and grow new roses from the cuttings, so that I might have a memory of my mother when I came here.”

Éowyn rubbed her hand over her stomach and smiled. “Perhaps one day you will work by my side in the garden and add your own memories to the garden, so that it becomes a living tapestry of all that our family holds dear.”