Théo and Faramir: Delving into History
Nov. 25th, 2005 12:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rohansonThéo: Dave and Paris kindly agreed to allow Faramir and I to spend some time together. My recent conversation with Mer has left me curious about many things, one being the history of this world and how it meshes with our world, and can think of no-one better to help me find out more. I remember well his love of books and the look of surprise on his face when he found out my own passion for them, something I thank my grandmother for. And Faramir himself was a good influence on me during a time when I was younger and had forsaken reading for more earthy pursuits. I smile at the memory of a lad with serious grey eyes who was as passionate about his books as he was about his sword practice. Not that his father ever acknowledged either skill. But I banish all thought of Denethor as Dave nods a farewell to me, and my old friend replaces him.
“Faramir!” I pull you into a hug. “It has been too long.”
Faramir: The hug is warm and very welcome. It has indeed been too long. "Théodred! I was beginning to think you had run off with the hobbits and forgotten me. So, what would you like to do today? Play pool? Go off carousing in the taverns? Ride?"
You've got an odd look on your face, one I can't quite discern. I have to admit it intrigues me. I've not been in Wellington much of late, since Dave and Paris have come to some agreements of their own, I have left them in peace to discover the new levels of their relationship. While I am glad for them, and celebrate their coming to terms with their union... I have to admit that I've craved some time of my own in this land I have adopted as my second home, and have missed those I consider friends. Foremost among those is Théodred, and now we have a day to ourselves. "Tell me of what we will do this fine day in Wellington, old friend"
Théo: “No taverns or drinking today … unless perhaps there is a place that serves coffee?” I look hopeful. “I want to know more of the history of this place, this world, how it changed from the land I know into this one, and knowing your love of books, I thought you could help me with this.” I smile at the shocked look on your face. “Ah, I suppose you never expected to hear me ask to be taken to a library.” My eyes dance with amusement. “I do have a little civilised Gondorian blood flowing through my veins! Although I must insist that if we do not walk to our destination, we travel by bike."
Faramir: "Ah, right, the fabled Gondorian Blood of Théodred." I laugh, my spirits light, quietly relieved that you're not in the mood for some of the baser activities you might have chosen from. And I believe I know just the place that might slake your thirst for knowledge... as much knowledge as you'll be able to find once I take the owner aside, that is. "We shall travel by bike, then!" I rummage in the hall closet for Dave's leather coat, unable to resist taunting my old friend even further. "The old legends tell the tale of the day Gondor accepted Théodred as a blood brother. In fact, the thimble that held the full amount your wild soul was able to accept is still on display in the tower of Ecthelion, as I recall."
I shrug on the jacket, grateful for its thickness, as I fully expect to be pummelled at any moment.
Théo: I roll my eyes at your teasing, glad to see you are in a good mood. I poke you in the ribs making you yelp and punch you playfully on the arm on my way out to start up Leelu. “We will have less talk of the “old” legends, young pup, or I will have to remind you of the things your own wild soul led you to do in your youth, despite all that culture and breeding running round your veins, or will I get the blame for leading you astray?” I wink at you as I turn the key and the engine purrs into life.
You open the yard gate while she warms up, and then lock it again after I have driven her out. “So where are we going?” I ask as you climb on behind me.
Faramir: I wrap my arms tight around your waist, and lean in so you can hear me over the revving of the bike's engine. "A bookstore I know of. It is called The Helvetica. I think you will find yourself quite welcome there, old friend."
You clear the driveway and turn onto the street, the bike tilting at an angle that both feels exhilarating and causes me to grip you tighter, and I let loose a laugh to be captured by the wind. Again I am forced to lean very close so that you may hear me. "It is not far from the Firkin. Drive towards there, I will tell you when we get closer." I have to speak loudly to conquer the noise this beast of a machine creates, though you seem to love the thing so... "And you will always be to blame for my lack of innocence. I shall never deny it, nay, will always celebrate in the education you gave me."
Théo: Grinning, I head in the direction of the drinking establishment you have pointed out before, and then take a couple more turns before ending up in front of a shop. It is different from other shops I have seen whose bright displays seem to be designed to draw customers inside. The windows of this place are quite scruffy, and hold displays of old dusty books which do not look like they have been touched in some time.
We climb off Leelu, take off our helmets, and I smile wickedly at you and push an unruly lock of hair back from your face. “Alas, I was not the one to take your innocence from you, but I am glad that I was a good influence.” I wink at you as you smile and lead me inside. A bell rings as you open the door, announcing our presence to whoever may be inside.
Faramir: "Innocence is in the eye of the beholder, Théo, and what I saw through the slats in that barn so many years ago most definitely swept mine away." I feel my cheeks heat at the memory and cough to clear my throat. Today is not the day to rouse those memories, I need to let them sleep until another time.
Today is to be spent in more scholarly pursuits, and I find that prospect thrilling! It also presents a small challenge, and that needs to be attended to directly. "There is a coffee pot in the corner, why don't you pour us each a coffee while I greet the shop owner? I will be right back."
I nudge Theo in the right direction, then quickly move to the sales counter, where Andre's familiar face greets me with a smile. "What can I find for you today, Mark?" He uses the common name I affect when mingling with the townsfolk of Wellington. I smile and shake my head. "It is not what you can find for me, but what you might be willing to lose for a short while. I am here with a friend, and I would wish him to be able to explore without stumbling upon the works of Tolkien." I lean in close, and whisper confidentially. "It's for his own good, and yours. That author just sets him off something fierce, and I wish a peaceful afternoon. If you could tuck those books behind the counter, I shall bring you a small hunting knife for your collection upon my next visit."
Théo: I wander off in the direction you indicated, following the delicious smell in search of the coffee. This is indeed an interesting place, with rows of tall bookshelves, and books stacked in piles and in large baskets with signs indicating the price. I pour us a mug of coffee each, and set yours down on the table beside the pot while I look at the books on the closest shelf. I chuckle to myself as I realise they are books full of recipes, and pull a couple off the shelf to flick through, including a volume entitled “One Thousand and One Things To Do With An Onion”, and the memory of Mer’s first encounter with them makes me smile.
I am engrossed in another book of meat cookery, trying to discern from the picture exactly what noodles are, when I hear you walk up behind me.
Faramir: My arrangements made with Andre, I pick my way carefully around a large stack of books, squinting at the title on the topmost one. "A Stress Analysis of a Strapless Evening Gown and Other Essays for a Scientific Age". I pick it up and fan through the pages, unable to decide if it's funny or serious. Andre passes by me with an armload of books he's just quietly removed from the shelves, and gives me a wink. "It's funny, if you don't mind engineering humor."
I set it back down, and pluck up an ancient, thin bundle of papers, bound with thin metal clips. Batman, yes, he's become a favorite, for reasons that often feel quite personal. You're holding up a cookbook and have a look of concentration on your face. I grin and sneak up behind you. "If you are wondering what to cook me for dinner, I like prime rib, medium rare."
Théo: “I was thinking that this Stroganoff looks good, but it requires sour cream. Why would anyone want to cook with food that is spoiled?” I sigh, perplexed, and put it down. As much as cooking has begun to fascinate me, that is not what we are here for. I pass you your coffee and take a good sip of mine.
“Which shelf are the history books on?” You lead me through the shop as I talk. “I was curious as to whether you had researched the history of this world, and where it touches our world. I cannot imagine you have been coming here for as long as you have without it grabbing your interest.”
Faramir: Theo is quite right. Back in the days when I frequented the Wellington Library nearly every day, I came upon many of the personal thoughts of the writer, Tolkien. His dream was to give England it's own fables, something not borrowed or passed down from other times in other lands. I deliberately pass by the biography shelves, and am relieved to see a gap in the volumes beginning with "T".
You will learn of England, it would be impossible to shield you from full knowledge. How best to help satisfy your wish for knowledge, without letting you learn what you must not?
Well. It is a large world, with large countries. I may need to ply you with diversions into some of the more scintillating times in history. I believe you might like the Greeks, perhaps sharing the similarities between Middle Earth and New Zealand will help you find these connections you crave without delving deep into English history. Ah, and that Calgary Stampede I read of not long ago. There are tales of bravery and horsemen in this world. I tuck that thought aside, in case I need a quick distraction.
Théo: I follow you until we stand in front of a large bookshelf. Your eyes narrow, and a look of concentration settles on your face, your brow furrowing slightly. I have seen this look before. You have a quarry in mind, and will not now be swayed from the task at hand until you have what you desire. You begin pulling books off the shelf and handing them back to me, your eyes darting around, reading the spines and selecting more volumes until my arms are full. There is a table not far away, with a couple of comfortable chairs, so I take our spoils over to it and sit down, grabbing the top book and flicking through it. And you have made a good choice, so I settle back to read a few paragraphs.
* "The Scythians were an Irannic people with Turkic and Mongol culture who lived in the area which is now the Ukraine and expanded down to the Caucasus Mountains. They were known to have two major goals in life: Horse trade and war. The Scythians were excellent horsemen, and they influenced the Greeks heavily, and quite frankly frightened them to death, and not without cause. The Scythians were known to be quite cruel …"
I read on, finding out exactly how cruel this race could be, and wonder if these barbarians could be my descendants, but there is more, which makes me wonder …
* "The Sarmatians were a group of Turkic tribes, with the Alans being the most powerful, and, like all the populous in Eurasia, were excellent horsemen. They were recorded by the Byzantines to be “tall, handsome, and blond”. They were originally nomads, but soon settled down along the black sea coast with the Slavs, and it is here that they traded with the Byzantines, and they developed an artistic sense, making jewelry and other artistic crafts. One of the Slavic tribes that lived among the Alans was the Rukhs, who eventually became known as the Rhos tribes, hence the name “Russians”. The Rhos were a Slavic tribe, but their adherence and culture was Irannic with Norse influences …"
Tall, handsome and blond. That fits, and the name, Rhos. A coincidence? I pass it to you to get your opinion, thinking that it will be one to buy and read from cover to cover later.
“Faramir, where is the Ukraine? And what are Norse influences?”
Faramir: "There is one famous Nordic hero, called Erik the Red, I have read about him." I look sheepish, and then explain. "Dave has a book on him. I think someone gave it to him as a joke, seeing as he has red hair...but the book was quite engrossing. He discovered a country called Greenland. Their language bears a likeness to that spoken in Rohan... but this Ukraine, it puzzles me. I have not learned of it."
I dig through the stack of books, but find nothing on Ukraine. I wave Andre over, and ask him if he has any books on the subject. He thinks he does, and I stand to follow him into the maze of shelves. I open a large book as it's handed to me, and am greeted with a picture, one that causes me to gasp. I stammer out my thanks to Andre, and practically run back to the table, dropping the open book in front of you. "This is in the Ukraine. A golden hall, and a hero on his horse. I can see the influence!" I flip through the pages until I find a map. "This is Ukraine. It has some coastline, but most of the land lies away from the sea. I have a feeling you might be at home in these lands."
Théo: The domes and spires in the picture look so much more refined than my own Golden Hall, and the statue is magnificent. I fleetingly wonder if the horse and rider represented by the statue could possibly be descended from Rohan stock.
I run my fingers over the map, tracing the rivers and borderlines. My fingers move north, through other lands. It is frustrating not to have images in my mind to match the marks on the parchment. Show me a map of Rohan, and I can see in my mind’s eye every stream and copse, every detail, but not here.
“Nordic … Norse …” My fingers reach Norway. “This country is part of … Scandinavia? I struggle a little with the pronunciation and you nod. “Scandinavia …” I head back to the history shelf, eyes moving over the book titles until I come across one that interests me. Scandinavian History and Culture.
I bring it back to the table with me and flick through it, finding the descriptions of these people to fit my own well. Tall, powerfully built, mainly blonde, fearless warriors … I sit back and ponder out loud.
“So these people influenced the riders of the plains, these Rhos …”
Faramir: My admiration for the writer Tolkien grows as we research. I learned during a visit to England with Dave years that he was a scholar and researcher in his own right, but I am starting to grasp the full extent of what that means in regards to the creation of our world. He was a Professor in truth and not just title, indeed. I wish I could tell you of him, but I know for your sake I cannot.
But even as you and I pore over this Scandinavian history book, commenting on statements and grinning at illustrations, the deeper part of my mind is racing, and it is with some effort that I keep my expression from reflecting this.
Tolkien had learned vast amounts of his own world's history - quite enough to be able to dip into it and scoop up enough truth to weave into his tales. He needed to. He wished his stories to become accepted and special to those who would read them. I know his wish was to give his country legends of it's own. England had relied too heavily on borrowing stories from other lands. Ironically, he borrowed from many ancient legends of other lands, but the stories ultimately told were his own. This was his gift to his homeland. And unbeknownst to the Professor, he gave us the gift of life. It is quite overwhelming to consider.
"Yes, it seems that they did. These Rhos are most likely your ancestors, Théo. Ah, look at that one, in this woodcut illustration. He resembles Théoden King, I think!"
Théo: I smile and nod. “Yes, I can see the resemblance.” The line of the subject’s jaw and the set of his eyes do bring my father to mind. I am quite excited at the prospect of reading these books we have found, delving deeper into the history of these people who may be my descendants, even if the only chances I get to read are mainly during the nights I shift in while Paris sleeps. There is a touch of frustration at not being able to take them back home with me, but it is outweighed by being able to read them at all. If I did not shift, I would never have had the chance to do this.
I add the Scandinavian history book to the pile, and you pass me a small leather-bound volume entitled “Beowulf”. Reading the title page, I realise that it is a legend of these people, and add it too, trusting your recommendation. I think I am almost at the limit of my funds, but I am curious as to what else is to be found in this place. So I wander further through the shelves, pulling books off them at random.
The first one is entitled “Sheep Shearing for Beginners”. The man you were talking to earlier walks past and notices which book I am holding. “Ah, a New Zealand classic. A best seller in these parts!” He says with a wink, and leaves me wondering what the joke is. I stick it back on the shelf and move on.
Faramir: Andre brushes past me and manages to mutter "He's a keeper, Mark. You two look great together." I'm startled, as I know that Andre has a wife and five daughters, but then I chide myself. One does not need to partake of a feast to enjoy the sight of the food, do they? I reach to hold his arm and quietly speak back. "He is truly one of a kind, and precious to me. But I do not hold his heart… Andre, if you see him in here on his own, would you remember my wish that a certain author not fall into his hands?" I look directly at Andre, and meet his eyes full on. This is important to me. "Perhaps I do hold a bit of his heart, at least as its caretaker." It is all Andre needs to know of our relationship.
Andre gives me a strange smile, nods, and continues onward. I turn back in your direction and walk closer. "You have enough books now to hold you till springtime. What could I say to persuade you to settle your tab and go have lunch with me? I'm famished!"
Théo: I nod enthusiastically at your suggestion, as my stomach has already been growling.
“It will take very little to persuade me! Is there somewhere near here we can eat, or will we have to take the bike?” I am happy to defer to your judgement as to where we eat as you know Wellington much better than I do.
Your friend adds up the cost of my books and suggests he delivers them to save us from having to carry them on the bike. There is a moment of confusion when he asks for the address I want them delivered to, but you step in and help out. I only know the place as “Paris’ Warehouse” and know that in a city this big, that would not be enough.
After bidding Andre farewell, we emerge from the cool shade into warm sunlight.
“Lead on, my friend. I have a large appetite to satisfy.” I wink at you and clap you firmly on the back. “And it is long since you and I have sat together and enjoyed each other’s company.”
* This is the article that I used for the book extracts Théo reads:
http://www.uselectionatlas.org/WIKI/index.php/Early_Russian_History
“Faramir!” I pull you into a hug. “It has been too long.”
Faramir: The hug is warm and very welcome. It has indeed been too long. "Théodred! I was beginning to think you had run off with the hobbits and forgotten me. So, what would you like to do today? Play pool? Go off carousing in the taverns? Ride?"
You've got an odd look on your face, one I can't quite discern. I have to admit it intrigues me. I've not been in Wellington much of late, since Dave and Paris have come to some agreements of their own, I have left them in peace to discover the new levels of their relationship. While I am glad for them, and celebrate their coming to terms with their union... I have to admit that I've craved some time of my own in this land I have adopted as my second home, and have missed those I consider friends. Foremost among those is Théodred, and now we have a day to ourselves. "Tell me of what we will do this fine day in Wellington, old friend"
Théo: “No taverns or drinking today … unless perhaps there is a place that serves coffee?” I look hopeful. “I want to know more of the history of this place, this world, how it changed from the land I know into this one, and knowing your love of books, I thought you could help me with this.” I smile at the shocked look on your face. “Ah, I suppose you never expected to hear me ask to be taken to a library.” My eyes dance with amusement. “I do have a little civilised Gondorian blood flowing through my veins! Although I must insist that if we do not walk to our destination, we travel by bike."
Faramir: "Ah, right, the fabled Gondorian Blood of Théodred." I laugh, my spirits light, quietly relieved that you're not in the mood for some of the baser activities you might have chosen from. And I believe I know just the place that might slake your thirst for knowledge... as much knowledge as you'll be able to find once I take the owner aside, that is. "We shall travel by bike, then!" I rummage in the hall closet for Dave's leather coat, unable to resist taunting my old friend even further. "The old legends tell the tale of the day Gondor accepted Théodred as a blood brother. In fact, the thimble that held the full amount your wild soul was able to accept is still on display in the tower of Ecthelion, as I recall."
I shrug on the jacket, grateful for its thickness, as I fully expect to be pummelled at any moment.
Théo: I roll my eyes at your teasing, glad to see you are in a good mood. I poke you in the ribs making you yelp and punch you playfully on the arm on my way out to start up Leelu. “We will have less talk of the “old” legends, young pup, or I will have to remind you of the things your own wild soul led you to do in your youth, despite all that culture and breeding running round your veins, or will I get the blame for leading you astray?” I wink at you as I turn the key and the engine purrs into life.
You open the yard gate while she warms up, and then lock it again after I have driven her out. “So where are we going?” I ask as you climb on behind me.
Faramir: I wrap my arms tight around your waist, and lean in so you can hear me over the revving of the bike's engine. "A bookstore I know of. It is called The Helvetica. I think you will find yourself quite welcome there, old friend."
You clear the driveway and turn onto the street, the bike tilting at an angle that both feels exhilarating and causes me to grip you tighter, and I let loose a laugh to be captured by the wind. Again I am forced to lean very close so that you may hear me. "It is not far from the Firkin. Drive towards there, I will tell you when we get closer." I have to speak loudly to conquer the noise this beast of a machine creates, though you seem to love the thing so... "And you will always be to blame for my lack of innocence. I shall never deny it, nay, will always celebrate in the education you gave me."
Théo: Grinning, I head in the direction of the drinking establishment you have pointed out before, and then take a couple more turns before ending up in front of a shop. It is different from other shops I have seen whose bright displays seem to be designed to draw customers inside. The windows of this place are quite scruffy, and hold displays of old dusty books which do not look like they have been touched in some time.
We climb off Leelu, take off our helmets, and I smile wickedly at you and push an unruly lock of hair back from your face. “Alas, I was not the one to take your innocence from you, but I am glad that I was a good influence.” I wink at you as you smile and lead me inside. A bell rings as you open the door, announcing our presence to whoever may be inside.
Faramir: "Innocence is in the eye of the beholder, Théo, and what I saw through the slats in that barn so many years ago most definitely swept mine away." I feel my cheeks heat at the memory and cough to clear my throat. Today is not the day to rouse those memories, I need to let them sleep until another time.
Today is to be spent in more scholarly pursuits, and I find that prospect thrilling! It also presents a small challenge, and that needs to be attended to directly. "There is a coffee pot in the corner, why don't you pour us each a coffee while I greet the shop owner? I will be right back."
I nudge Theo in the right direction, then quickly move to the sales counter, where Andre's familiar face greets me with a smile. "What can I find for you today, Mark?" He uses the common name I affect when mingling with the townsfolk of Wellington. I smile and shake my head. "It is not what you can find for me, but what you might be willing to lose for a short while. I am here with a friend, and I would wish him to be able to explore without stumbling upon the works of Tolkien." I lean in close, and whisper confidentially. "It's for his own good, and yours. That author just sets him off something fierce, and I wish a peaceful afternoon. If you could tuck those books behind the counter, I shall bring you a small hunting knife for your collection upon my next visit."
Théo: I wander off in the direction you indicated, following the delicious smell in search of the coffee. This is indeed an interesting place, with rows of tall bookshelves, and books stacked in piles and in large baskets with signs indicating the price. I pour us a mug of coffee each, and set yours down on the table beside the pot while I look at the books on the closest shelf. I chuckle to myself as I realise they are books full of recipes, and pull a couple off the shelf to flick through, including a volume entitled “One Thousand and One Things To Do With An Onion”, and the memory of Mer’s first encounter with them makes me smile.
I am engrossed in another book of meat cookery, trying to discern from the picture exactly what noodles are, when I hear you walk up behind me.
Faramir: My arrangements made with Andre, I pick my way carefully around a large stack of books, squinting at the title on the topmost one. "A Stress Analysis of a Strapless Evening Gown and Other Essays for a Scientific Age". I pick it up and fan through the pages, unable to decide if it's funny or serious. Andre passes by me with an armload of books he's just quietly removed from the shelves, and gives me a wink. "It's funny, if you don't mind engineering humor."
I set it back down, and pluck up an ancient, thin bundle of papers, bound with thin metal clips. Batman, yes, he's become a favorite, for reasons that often feel quite personal. You're holding up a cookbook and have a look of concentration on your face. I grin and sneak up behind you. "If you are wondering what to cook me for dinner, I like prime rib, medium rare."
Théo: “I was thinking that this Stroganoff looks good, but it requires sour cream. Why would anyone want to cook with food that is spoiled?” I sigh, perplexed, and put it down. As much as cooking has begun to fascinate me, that is not what we are here for. I pass you your coffee and take a good sip of mine.
“Which shelf are the history books on?” You lead me through the shop as I talk. “I was curious as to whether you had researched the history of this world, and where it touches our world. I cannot imagine you have been coming here for as long as you have without it grabbing your interest.”
Faramir: Theo is quite right. Back in the days when I frequented the Wellington Library nearly every day, I came upon many of the personal thoughts of the writer, Tolkien. His dream was to give England it's own fables, something not borrowed or passed down from other times in other lands. I deliberately pass by the biography shelves, and am relieved to see a gap in the volumes beginning with "T".
You will learn of England, it would be impossible to shield you from full knowledge. How best to help satisfy your wish for knowledge, without letting you learn what you must not?
Well. It is a large world, with large countries. I may need to ply you with diversions into some of the more scintillating times in history. I believe you might like the Greeks, perhaps sharing the similarities between Middle Earth and New Zealand will help you find these connections you crave without delving deep into English history. Ah, and that Calgary Stampede I read of not long ago. There are tales of bravery and horsemen in this world. I tuck that thought aside, in case I need a quick distraction.
Théo: I follow you until we stand in front of a large bookshelf. Your eyes narrow, and a look of concentration settles on your face, your brow furrowing slightly. I have seen this look before. You have a quarry in mind, and will not now be swayed from the task at hand until you have what you desire. You begin pulling books off the shelf and handing them back to me, your eyes darting around, reading the spines and selecting more volumes until my arms are full. There is a table not far away, with a couple of comfortable chairs, so I take our spoils over to it and sit down, grabbing the top book and flicking through it. And you have made a good choice, so I settle back to read a few paragraphs.
* "The Scythians were an Irannic people with Turkic and Mongol culture who lived in the area which is now the Ukraine and expanded down to the Caucasus Mountains. They were known to have two major goals in life: Horse trade and war. The Scythians were excellent horsemen, and they influenced the Greeks heavily, and quite frankly frightened them to death, and not without cause. The Scythians were known to be quite cruel …"
I read on, finding out exactly how cruel this race could be, and wonder if these barbarians could be my descendants, but there is more, which makes me wonder …
* "The Sarmatians were a group of Turkic tribes, with the Alans being the most powerful, and, like all the populous in Eurasia, were excellent horsemen. They were recorded by the Byzantines to be “tall, handsome, and blond”. They were originally nomads, but soon settled down along the black sea coast with the Slavs, and it is here that they traded with the Byzantines, and they developed an artistic sense, making jewelry and other artistic crafts. One of the Slavic tribes that lived among the Alans was the Rukhs, who eventually became known as the Rhos tribes, hence the name “Russians”. The Rhos were a Slavic tribe, but their adherence and culture was Irannic with Norse influences …"
Tall, handsome and blond. That fits, and the name, Rhos. A coincidence? I pass it to you to get your opinion, thinking that it will be one to buy and read from cover to cover later.
“Faramir, where is the Ukraine? And what are Norse influences?”
Faramir: "There is one famous Nordic hero, called Erik the Red, I have read about him." I look sheepish, and then explain. "Dave has a book on him. I think someone gave it to him as a joke, seeing as he has red hair...but the book was quite engrossing. He discovered a country called Greenland. Their language bears a likeness to that spoken in Rohan... but this Ukraine, it puzzles me. I have not learned of it."
I dig through the stack of books, but find nothing on Ukraine. I wave Andre over, and ask him if he has any books on the subject. He thinks he does, and I stand to follow him into the maze of shelves. I open a large book as it's handed to me, and am greeted with a picture, one that causes me to gasp. I stammer out my thanks to Andre, and practically run back to the table, dropping the open book in front of you. "This is in the Ukraine. A golden hall, and a hero on his horse. I can see the influence!" I flip through the pages until I find a map. "This is Ukraine. It has some coastline, but most of the land lies away from the sea. I have a feeling you might be at home in these lands."
Théo: The domes and spires in the picture look so much more refined than my own Golden Hall, and the statue is magnificent. I fleetingly wonder if the horse and rider represented by the statue could possibly be descended from Rohan stock.
I run my fingers over the map, tracing the rivers and borderlines. My fingers move north, through other lands. It is frustrating not to have images in my mind to match the marks on the parchment. Show me a map of Rohan, and I can see in my mind’s eye every stream and copse, every detail, but not here.
“Nordic … Norse …” My fingers reach Norway. “This country is part of … Scandinavia? I struggle a little with the pronunciation and you nod. “Scandinavia …” I head back to the history shelf, eyes moving over the book titles until I come across one that interests me. Scandinavian History and Culture.
I bring it back to the table with me and flick through it, finding the descriptions of these people to fit my own well. Tall, powerfully built, mainly blonde, fearless warriors … I sit back and ponder out loud.
“So these people influenced the riders of the plains, these Rhos …”
Faramir: My admiration for the writer Tolkien grows as we research. I learned during a visit to England with Dave years that he was a scholar and researcher in his own right, but I am starting to grasp the full extent of what that means in regards to the creation of our world. He was a Professor in truth and not just title, indeed. I wish I could tell you of him, but I know for your sake I cannot.
But even as you and I pore over this Scandinavian history book, commenting on statements and grinning at illustrations, the deeper part of my mind is racing, and it is with some effort that I keep my expression from reflecting this.
Tolkien had learned vast amounts of his own world's history - quite enough to be able to dip into it and scoop up enough truth to weave into his tales. He needed to. He wished his stories to become accepted and special to those who would read them. I know his wish was to give his country legends of it's own. England had relied too heavily on borrowing stories from other lands. Ironically, he borrowed from many ancient legends of other lands, but the stories ultimately told were his own. This was his gift to his homeland. And unbeknownst to the Professor, he gave us the gift of life. It is quite overwhelming to consider.
"Yes, it seems that they did. These Rhos are most likely your ancestors, Théo. Ah, look at that one, in this woodcut illustration. He resembles Théoden King, I think!"
Théo: I smile and nod. “Yes, I can see the resemblance.” The line of the subject’s jaw and the set of his eyes do bring my father to mind. I am quite excited at the prospect of reading these books we have found, delving deeper into the history of these people who may be my descendants, even if the only chances I get to read are mainly during the nights I shift in while Paris sleeps. There is a touch of frustration at not being able to take them back home with me, but it is outweighed by being able to read them at all. If I did not shift, I would never have had the chance to do this.
I add the Scandinavian history book to the pile, and you pass me a small leather-bound volume entitled “Beowulf”. Reading the title page, I realise that it is a legend of these people, and add it too, trusting your recommendation. I think I am almost at the limit of my funds, but I am curious as to what else is to be found in this place. So I wander further through the shelves, pulling books off them at random.
The first one is entitled “Sheep Shearing for Beginners”. The man you were talking to earlier walks past and notices which book I am holding. “Ah, a New Zealand classic. A best seller in these parts!” He says with a wink, and leaves me wondering what the joke is. I stick it back on the shelf and move on.
Faramir: Andre brushes past me and manages to mutter "He's a keeper, Mark. You two look great together." I'm startled, as I know that Andre has a wife and five daughters, but then I chide myself. One does not need to partake of a feast to enjoy the sight of the food, do they? I reach to hold his arm and quietly speak back. "He is truly one of a kind, and precious to me. But I do not hold his heart… Andre, if you see him in here on his own, would you remember my wish that a certain author not fall into his hands?" I look directly at Andre, and meet his eyes full on. This is important to me. "Perhaps I do hold a bit of his heart, at least as its caretaker." It is all Andre needs to know of our relationship.
Andre gives me a strange smile, nods, and continues onward. I turn back in your direction and walk closer. "You have enough books now to hold you till springtime. What could I say to persuade you to settle your tab and go have lunch with me? I'm famished!"
Théo: I nod enthusiastically at your suggestion, as my stomach has already been growling.
“It will take very little to persuade me! Is there somewhere near here we can eat, or will we have to take the bike?” I am happy to defer to your judgement as to where we eat as you know Wellington much better than I do.
Your friend adds up the cost of my books and suggests he delivers them to save us from having to carry them on the bike. There is a moment of confusion when he asks for the address I want them delivered to, but you step in and help out. I only know the place as “Paris’ Warehouse” and know that in a city this big, that would not be enough.
After bidding Andre farewell, we emerge from the cool shade into warm sunlight.
“Lead on, my friend. I have a large appetite to satisfy.” I wink at you and clap you firmly on the back. “And it is long since you and I have sat together and enjoyed each other’s company.”
* This is the article that I used for the book extracts Théo reads:
http://www.uselectionatlas.org/WIKI/index.php/Early_Russian_History
