Tidings by Himring  

I was out shopping when we heard the news. Of course, it spread through the streets like wildfire. I heard a muttering arise among the crowd, farther off, and it became louder and clearer until I heard the name clearly, in many voices.

Sauron… Sauron…

Someone shrieked, as if he was already in front of the gates.

He was not, but unbelievably he was back, all right, and way too close for safety or comfort, that was what I worked out from the babble. He had attacked and overwhelmed Minas Ithil, advancing out of his old stronghold of Mordor. It was only to be hoped that Anarion—and the governor of Pelargir, with his troops—could defend us.

Minas Ithil, Tower of the Moon—fallen. I thought of Auntie.

Auntie was not, strictly speaking, my aunt. She had only taken lodgings with us when she first moved to our city from Minas Ithil. My parents had taken no more than a day or two to decide they were adopting her, no questions asked, just as soon as Auntie’s health issues, and that she had no relatives or close friends in the area, became evident. My parents were like that. Auntie responded by spoiling us children especially. I had loved sitting in her little parlour, being fed delicacies and listening to her stories. I used to volunteer to take her tea tray up to her for the chance.

Auntie had loved Minas Ithil. I enjoyed her beautiful, dream-like descriptions of the place. I could never quite work out why she had moved away, although I felt lucky that she had, because now she was with us.

Auntie would have been devastated to hear that Minas Ithil had fallen, that Sauron had been lurking behind the Ephel Duath all this while.  Auntie had been reluctant to talk about Numenor and the Fall, had hardly talked about it at all until I was older. By then she was sometimes too ill for conversation, but there were things she thought I should know.

Yes, Auntie had loved Minas Ithil but admitted she disliked the looks of the Ephel Duath, I remembered. She could give no reason, had thought it was just having heard the old tales or even a quirk of personal taste. But she had lived in Numenor while Sauron was in power. Maybe… But there were other Numenoreans around, still living, Isildur above all, who must surely have been even more familiar with the Zigur's power, and they, it seemed, had guessed nothing and not seen this attack coming. And now there would be war.

I had been standing stock-still in the street, with my shopping-basket on my arm, half a dozen eggs from the market as well as assorted vegetables, while all this was rushing through my head, and people were going crazy around me with fear and excitement. Suddenly, I started to tremble, badly, and my legs started to shake. I  just wanted to be back home, but that seemed too far away to walk through the chaos, right now.

I looked around and realized I was close to the herbalist’s shop. The sight seemed to promise an oasis of calm, and I pushed my way over there, climbed a couple of steps and opened the door.

‘Azruphel!’ exclaimed the herb seller. ‘Come in, come in! Oh, what a day this is!’

She took one look at my face, took me by the arm, and led me to a chair.

‘You look all done in, my dear, and no wonder! Oh, the day's tidings from inland, what terrible news!’

‘Indeed,’ I sighed, as I sat down, gratefully.

‘I think we need something to calm ourselves, don’t we? Even if the Zigur has returned from the bottom of the Sea, we will get nothing done if we all just run around like flapping chickens! We are too overcome to be thinking as clearly as we need. Just wait here and rest a bit, and I will make us a nice pot of tea. Lemon balm, I think, camomile and valerian, that should do it.’

She bustled away into the back of the shop.

Just sitting there quietly for a little in the dimmer light inside and breathing in the scent of all the dried herbs around me already helped. Thyme, marjoram, juniper, myrtle… It did also remind me that many of these came from Ithilien, and that that fair land now lay exposed to the Enemy. But already, however terrifying, I could at least think about that threat now without falling into a blind panic.

The herbalist came back with the pot and two cups. She poured. I breathed in the steam.  The delicate tea cup made me think of Auntie again. She would not be there, for the hard time ahead, and in a way that was a good thing, but also not. I would have loved to be able to lean on her shoulder, knowing she had been through such things before and yet had lived. I lifted the cup to my lips and drank.

Chapter End Notes

"Auntie" in this story is the unnamed first-person narrator of Heat Wave in the City of the Moon.

Azruphel is from the name list on Real Elvish Net and means "sea daughter". Her family is meant to have settled in Pelargir quite some time before the Fall of Numenor. Her name should perhaps be in Westron rather than Adunaic.

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