Seeds of the White Tree

Chapter 54 - New Days

Time has always had a strange way of moving. In days of fear and turmoil, when all a person wishes for is the hope of tomorrow, it can slow until each minute feels like a life-age of the earth. Thus it is almost cruel how time can just as easily turn around to fly by, fleeting, leaving behind moments which otherwise would have been treasured and lingered over.

And so it was that two-and-a-half years flew past, during which time peace reigned over the lands of Gondor, Rohan, and Harad. The White Tree gifted to Sufyan by Aragorn was planted and grew tall in the gardens of Harmindon, where it came to be known as Serfermandarê Serayan, or 'The Serpent's Staff'. Just as Na'Man hoped, Myriam would often play under the cool shade of the tree's eves. She now had a playmate to join her too; a younger brother named Arthas. The two were the delight of their parents and grandparents, with Sawda and Na'Man plying the children with sugared dates and painted toys in Harmindon, and Aragorn and Arwen always awaiting their visits with an endless supply of stories and pastries. As she grew, Myriam became very much the younger image of Sufyan, with thick dark curls and an expressive little face that revealed her every emotion. Just as she had inherited her father's compassionate heart though, she also possessed her mother's daring soul. Even at only three years old, Myriam was already notorious in both Harmindon and Minas Tirith. Fiercely possessive of her blue-eyed, chubby-cheeked baby brother, Myriam had caused more than one panic by carrying off little Arthas from his nursery unannounced to join in her childish adventures. Thankfully, Túrien was always at the ready to track them down, while - equally thankfully - Sufyan was always at the ready to reassure Túrien. 

True to his word, Na'Man had indeed retired, handing over the reins of the chieftain's Mûmak to Sufyan. The first time Sufyan, Túrien, and their children returned to Minas Tirith afterward, poor Greyhame nearly had a fit. If Gïdjls had been big, Uthegental was enormous. The old, scarred veteran of the War of the Ring stood so tall, a rider on his back would need to step down off the howdah to reach the top of Minas Tirith's outer wall. Whenever Sufyan and Túrien were visiting The White City, folk as far away as Osgiliath could tell at a glance whether they were still there. Uthegental's massive form was hardly possible to miss, grazing stoically upon the Fields of Pelennor. Missing an eye and half a tusk as he was, it was easy to sympathize with Greyhame's nerves whenever the Mûmak was around. For all his fearsome appearance and vast size though, Uthegental was utterly devoted to Myriam. The little girl could walk right up to him and wrap her arms around his trunk, and he would simply stand there, carefully stock-still save for the pleased waving of his ears. 

Harmindon was not the only city to be graced by the presence of a royal child. In Minas Ithil, young Barahir quickly outgrew his uncertain beginnings to become an exceptionally beautiful boy. Already he could speak in the beginnings of short sentences, his sweet little voice like the trilling of a bird as he hung on his mother or father's hand. Just as everyone had declared at his birth, Barahir did indeed have the grey, piercing eyes of the Peredhil family, and those combined with his reddish-gold cowlicks and matching dimples never failed to reduce the people around him into a delighted, cooing mess. Elboron often joked that, when Barahir grew up, he might use those eyes and smile to devastating effect in the arena of politics. It certainly was already hard enough to deny the child anything, a fact which, like any good two-year-old, Barahir was uncannily good at leveraging. The only people who appeared immune to the boy's charms were Eruthiawen and Arwen. Both knew better than to fall for that lovely, soul-deep stare, no doubt since they themselves had also weaponized Lord Elrond's inheritance in their lifetimes. 

As for Eldarion, life for him took on a pleasant, comfortable sort of rhythm. Most days he spent in Minas Tirith, serving in his duty as Captain of Gondor and learning the arts of political leadership at his parents' side. With Galieth beside him now, Eldarion also made strides toward growing his role as a public face of the House of Telcontar. The two of them would often travel, as he had promised, representing the crown both within the borders of Gondor and beyond. They met with Lord Elphir in Dol Amroth, and there finalized plans for the reconstruction of the old bridge at the abandoned elf-harbour of Edhellond; the first of many steps toward the dream of settling Anfalas. They spent a month in Kazabhâd, the young capital city of Harondor, signing trade deals with Ramyah Yusannah over mugs of spiced chai. Eldarion and Galieth even made the long journey north to Annúminas, where Eldarion was thoroughly put to shame by Galieth's father and brothers (and Galieth herself!) in the traditional Dúnedain arts of hunting, climbing, and fishing. Thankfully, Lady Gwynnis was always happy to revive Eldarion's wounded ego each evening over dinner with her endless praise and not-so-subtle hints toward future marriage and children. Such talk never failed to turn Galieth as red as a northern sunset, a sight which Eldarion in turn never failed to find utterly endearing.