"A Summer Dream" by Jenn Calaelen

[jenn-calaelen.livejournal.com]

Title: A Summer Dream
Author Name: Jenn Calaelen
Prompt: Use the following image to inspire your writing or artwork: Bright Summer
Summary: Early in their marriage, Fíriel and Arvedui explore Annúminas and try to get to know each other.
Rating: Teens
Warnings: Implied sex, violence
Beta: Shirebound


As Fíriel's first summer in Arthedain came, she was settling into her new life. Almost immediately after their marriage Arvedui had resumed his duties with the northern army – the good weather had apparently encouraged more sorties from Angmar. However, Fíriel had an abundance of work and plenty to learn to adapt to her new life.

The sun was shining down on Fornost as the courtyard within the castle was filled with carts carrying the latest shipment of supplies - the taxes from the last of the southern lords. As expected, Fíriel was working on checking the inventory against the records she had been handed and the tax rolls. The meager surplus of grain from the last harvest had been accounted for and was being carried off the to storehouses. The rest of the shipment consisted of early fruit, which needed to be checked for decay before being sent on to the kitchen - she had two of the under cooks checking over the cases while she recorded the tally. Nearby Morwen, one of the her ladies, inspected the cloth - given her skill she would be able to pick out any problems. Fíriel sighed, hoping the tallies came to enough this time - too many of the lords seemed determined to send less than their share and then she needed to write to demand the remainder of the payment, and get the letters signed when Araphant or Arvedui returned - it was too soon to expect them to deal with her directly.

"My lady, the currants are all ripe and in good condition. Some of the berries are a little bashed from travel, but good enough for cooking or jam."

Fíriel nodded. "Thank you. Please take this tally and the details to the kitchen. Tell Cook to send me her plans by this evening."

The girl curtseyed and ran off. Fíriel smiled at her energy. Morwen climbed down from the last of the carts and walked slowly across to join her.

"The cloth is all in order. The quality is all acceptable and it is undyed." She paused, pushing her escaping strands of hair back out of her face. "I think most of it will want to be dyed for the guard uniforms."

Fíriel nodded. "I think you are correct, but we should check the stores first."

Suddenly the air was full of horn calls. Fíriel gasped, trying to count the number and decipher the message.

"Soldiers returning. Not danger," Morwen said quickly.

"Thank you," Fíriel said. She looked over towards the walls, tempted to climb up onto the ramparts to see for herself. "We should get this cleared away; if they have injured it will be easier if the whole courtyard is not covered with wagons."

Fíriel quickly gave orders, watching as the others hurried to take everything off to the various stores. In what felt like no time riders were coming into the courtyard, escorting a cart. There must be serious injuries. Fíriel half turned to find someone to send for the healer before seeing him come out of the hall. He nodded at her before walking down to the cart. The leading riders swung down from their horses; one of them she recognised from her wedding as a captain and heir of one of the lords, although his name and family escaped her memory. He glanced across at her and grimaced.

"My lady, you should go in," he said to her, coming over and standing between her and the cart.

"Why?" Fíriel asked, coldly, although she already guessed the reason.

"Prince Arvedui is among the wounded. I would not have you distressed by his wounds."

Fíriel took a deep breath and said, "If my husband is injured, it is my duty to care for him. I will not hide from this - it is a part of his life, and thus of mine." She walked past him. He reached out for her arm but did not quite dare to stop her physically.

Arvedui was lying in the bottom of the cart, his torso covered in bandages, and he looked very pale. His eyes were shut, unconscious from pain or medicine. She put a hand to his cheek, then moved back to allow the soldiers to carry him inside. Fíriel waited until all the wondered men had been taken in, then followed, moving quickly through the building, climbing up the stairs to their rooms. When they were alone, Morwen put an arm around her for a moment. Fíriel could tell that she approved - that she had passed another of the tests for becoming a northern lady or princess.

Over the next days she came to learn far more of wound care that she had ever expected to. Even while in pain Arvedui was still polite, still pleasant to her. Eventually the healers agreed that he could be up and around, although still convalescing and not encouraged to go back to weapons training, and certainly not to fighting.

***

After a few days of catching up with all the business of the kingdom – everything that had been waiting for him or Araphant to have time to approve, Fíriel could tell that he was restless. It was hardly surprising, she thought, remembering her brothers and how they had longed to escape the Minas Anor back to their posts. Her heart ached at the thought of them - if only there was a quick way to send messages. Talking through the palantiri was rare - everyone, including her, was busy and thus unlikely to be unoccupied at the same time or even nearby. She could leave messages if there was a watcher, but who knew whether they would pass the messages on and to whom. Pelendur was her most common source of news, as his duties as Steward kept him tied to the city, and she heard of their concerns and gossip - reminders of a life out of her reach.

***

In evening, the summer light only just fading, Fíriel and Arvedui were sitting together in their solar. Fíriel was working on altering one of her southern-style dresses to suit this northern court – the swept back sleeves, open from the elbow with the folds falling far beyond her hands needed reducing, and the skirts taken in. She had enough practice by this point that the work was simple. Arvedui was seated at the desk under the window, going over accounts – military this time from the look of it. He got to his feet abruptly and came to sit beside her.

"We should use this time. I wish to show you Annúminas. I told you of the city, of its place in our dreams."

"Would it not take too long to travel there? Would it be safe?"

"It is safe. The incursions from Angmar have not reached that far. We have time – the healers do not want me fighting again this year."

"What of our responsibilities here?"

"Everyone deserves a holiday." He took her hands, his skin felt so rough in contrast with the fabric of her dress. "Please. Let me show you Annúminas; I believe you will love seeing it. Although it is ruined and linked to the tragedies of our past, it is also linked to the glory of Arnor, and I would have you share my dream of how we can rebuild after this war is won."

She nodded slowly, struggling to find words. "As you wish. It would be my pleasure." Well, she thought, that was partly true. She did not relish another journey – more camping and hard travel – but she would welcome the insights into his character to be gleaned from seeing somewhere that he cared for.

***

The next morning, he had them organised and set off before the sun was fully up. He had ordered a small guard - only five men, one of Fíriel's ladies and three servants - and thus the company was easy to supply. Fíriel, seeing the scant amount of baggage, worried anew that the trip would be uncomfortable. However, the weather favoured the enterprise - the sky was clear and bright blue and the hills were clearly outlined against the sky.

Arvedui rode beside her. "It will be hot later, my lady," he said softly to her.

She smiled. "That would be very pleasant," she replied, not commenting that it was hardly likely to be that hot to her - she missed the coming of the southern summer with the warmth and gentle evenings. Here the days grew so much longer - with light lingering well into the night, making evening seem to vanish.

They rode gently and camped early - reaching a site where tents had been erected and a meal was cooking before they even arrived.

"You sent ahead to prepare all this?" she asked.

"Yes," Arvedui replied, smiling at her. "I know you are not used to much travel and wanted to ensure that this journey is not such a burden on you as our last one."

"I do not understand why this is so much safer," she said.

"Here we are well within our secured borders and not such a visibly good target - your retinue and show of wealth would have encouraged an attack. Here we are dressed simply - and so a small well- armed party is less likely to be a target."

"So long as the enemy does not know to target you here,"

"Indeed, but I do not believe his spies are good enough to know that."

She nodded. He swung down from his horse and helped her to dismount, and led her over to the tent to wash before dinner.

***

A week later, as they rode up a rise, Fíriel could tell that they were nearly there from Arvedui's excitement - this was the goal of this journey, even if the travelling had turned out to be a pleasant break from her duties. He insisted they dismount just before reaching the summit of the hill.

"Here," he said taking her hand and leading her forward. "Annúminas, city of Arnor, seat of the kings."

Fíriel looked down over the rise and gasped. The enormous city there must have rivalled Minas Tirith or Osgiliath in its prime. Now it was ruined and silent. It sat on the shores of the Lake Nenuial, all the buildings shining white in the sun. The architecture was classic Numenorean - built as a safe city, no hint of a fortress.

"It was a great city once."

"The centre of Elendil's kingdom, sitting like a jewel on this lake. A place of glory, an echo of fallen Numenor."

Fíriel looked sideways at him – he was not usually so poetic.

"Is it safe to look closer?"

He smiled and gestured for their horses to be brought up. "Yes indeed. When I was younger I spent days exploring the ruins. Father said it was good – that we must remember where we came from, and what glory we could aspire to after victory."

Fíriel nodded, thinking of her mother and the balls and swirling social calendar of Minas Anor, that determinedly ignored the wars current or impending.

"If we do not, we are truly fallen. Memory and dreams."

He smiled again. "You do understand, I was afraid it would be too distant for you – from what you have said of your upbringing."

"Yet it is the same in many ways." She paused, trying to put her thoughts into order. "It is different, yet the same. We dance, embroider, weave and feast – determinedly holding on to our knowledge and skills, passing these and traditions down from one generation to the next. Keeping our traditions, even as changes come from those around us. Even as we marry and love those who never knew Numenor, even as the memories fade further with every generation that dies."

Arvedui turned and pulled her into his arms, then kissed her, ignoring the presence of their escort. Fíriel resisted for a moment, then leant into his embrace, they were married after all – it was hardly that improper.

***

Later, they walked through the city, hand in hand. Arvedui drew her to the palace, into the gardens planted long ago down to the shores of the lake. The gardens were overgrown, but paths and impressions of what they would have looked like in their prime remained. Fíriel wandered at random, exploring – seeing flowers of every colour familiar and not, stopping to look and smell. The whole area smelt lovely – roses, and so many flowers that she did not recognise, yet all the scents mixed in a pleasant way without being overwhelming. Fíriel ran down to the water, remembering childhood visits to Pelagir-on-anduin, remembering playing on the banks of the great river, and swimming or sailing in the tamed pools. Here there was silence, only distant sounds of birds and wind. It was as if the whole city was sleeping, or dreaming. She sat down on the rocks at the lake shore, looking out over it. What a place this must have been to live – so beautiful, yet it hardly seemed real. She turned to see Arvedui watching her, with a smile on his face.

"Thank you for bringing me here."

"My pleasure," he said softly, coming to sit down beside her. He reached out and pulled her into his arms. "I wish we could stay longer."

She turned and kissed him. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. After a while, he pulled away and looking at her, said,

"So you see, we do have the same heritage – the same desire for beauty and traditions."

She blinked, suddenly realising that she must have hurt him so early in their marriage with her horror of the grim life and the fortress of their home. "Yes. I am sorry. I should never have said that."

He shook his head. "There is no need to apologise. We all did you wrong. At least I went into this with my eyes open and having been included in the plans. I know it is harder for you. You had no choice or warning."

She leant on his shoulder and looked out over the lake, partly to avoid looking in his eyes any longer. "I did not know what would come, but I never expected to have an open choice for marriage – even if it had not been for an alliance, it would have been someone my parents approved of. My life would always have been in to control of others. I will not say I would have made this choice if I had been given the option, but I will do all I can to make the best of it." She turned back to him. "I have been trying out of duty, but maybe there can be more."

He stroked her hair. "I hope so. I have come to value you – your experiences, your company. Let us try and go forward from this together."

"Yes, together." She took his hand, then his kissed her again, then slowly started undoing her gown. Fíriel leant forward to allow him easier access, smiling.

***

Later she would look back on that day and weep.

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