The gift . . .
Derufin watched as his wife . . . yes, he could say that now, he thought, with a certain sense of swelling gladness in his chest . . . he watched as she spoke with the little girl. His mind slipped back for a brief moment, recalling his other family. A scene much like this one . . . when they were still alive, just before he had gone off with his townsmen to answer Minas Tirith’s call. His wife had crouched down beside his daughter salving some little hurt with words and soft touches. He steeled himself against the sudden pain he knew would come from the memory . . . only to find it did not surface. There was an aching tug, no more than that. Then the memory retreated, and there was Zimzi, her hand in his, leaning against his arm. ‘Are you alright?’ she asked in a soft voice as she waved and nodded to those who wished them well as they passed by. ‘Never better,’ he murmured back.
Cook had taken over the duty of slicing the cake, he saw, And looked quite happy to be greeting the guests and prompting them for a compliment on ‘the finest specimen of a wedding cake made to date’, as she so modestly referred to it. He laughed as she buttonholed one sour looking old biddy and gave her a piece with extra frosting to sweeten her up.
Zimzi’s eye had been caught by the mathom table. She drew him along with her toward it, wanting to look at all the lovely presents. ‘Are we allowed to open them now?’ she whispered, fingering a soft leather pouch that she’d spied tucked under one side of a good sized iron kettle replete with lid that had obviously been well used before. Before he could answer, she untied the little thong that bound it, and fished out the contents. ‘How beautiful!’ she said, gasping at the clear gem stone hung on a simple leather cord. She placed one in Derufin’s outstretched palm, and he touched the stone gently with his finger. ‘There’s light within, isn’t there,’ he asked. ‘Like a star,’ Zimzi said. ‘Here, lean down a little and I’ll put it on you.’ He did the same for her, watching as she picked up her long hair so that the necklace rested against her neck, the stone lying just over her heart. She danced about in front of him. ‘Who gave them to us, do you think,’ she asked, coming to a stop.
Derufin looked about the crowded yard for a moment, then took her hand. ‘It was Uien, I’m sure who made them and with Falowik, gave them to us.’ The two walked over to where the man and Elf stood watching the dancers and the band. They smiled as they approached, and Zimzi put her arms about the Elf, startling her a bit as she gave her a hug. ‘They’re lovely gifts . . . the both of you . . . thank you,’ Zimzi said letting go of Uien and taking Falowik’s hand to give it a squeeze.
Derufin reached out his hand to clasp Falowik’s, intending to say thanks when a gleam against the man’s shirt caught his eye. ‘Aah! You have one, too . . .’