Written for Suzelle at the rarecharacters 2014 exchange. Request: I would love to get something exploring more of Andreth and Adanel's relationship.
Eliedis is an OC because Middle-earth needs more ladies.
(Betaread by Elleth.)
374 FA: Dorthonion
The house was smaller than Andreth had expected.
She hesitated at the base of the worn grey steps that led through the garden, shoes scuffing at the stone as she shifted from foot to foot. Behind her, the hoofbeats of her father's guard faded down the path, lost in the gathering gloom. A wood-bird twittered in the bushes nearby, and she nearly jumped.
White flowers climbed the steps beside her, delicate blooms the size of her smallest fingernail. They glimmered in the fading light like fallen stars, and she bent to brush her hands along the vine they sprouted from before straightening and following them up to the house. The evening air was cool on her bare arms, and she shivered, half from the chill and half from unease.
The Wisewoman is strange, her mother had sighed that morning, tugging Andreth's skirt straight in the back absentmindedly, as though she were a child of eight instead of thirteen. Insisting that you be the only one to arrive, when your father has not seen his cousin in years – well, it will be worth it, if she can teach you as much as it is said she can.
But she accepted you, Andreth. Remember that. She does not accept just anyone as an apprentice.
Andreth paused on the doorstep, eyes darting from the smooth wood to the light she could see through the trailing vines that obscured the windows. Smoke curled up from the chimney, the scent comforting in its similarity to that of her own hearth. Already, the shadows beneath her feet had lengthened and expanded, driving away the last rays of the sun.
She raised her hand and knocked hesitantly.
The door swung open as if someone had been waiting behind it for her. She found herself face-to-face with another girl, who looked to be only a few years older than herself, with short black hair and narrow brown eyes that were distinctly unimpressed as they swept over Andreth, who had to force herself not to fidget.
"You'll be Andreth," the girl said, voice cool. "Well, come in." Without waiting for a reply (which would not have come, regardless – Andreth's mouth was dry with tension), she turned and retreated down the hall.
After another heartbeat of hesitation, Andreth entered the Wisewoman's house.
She learned that the girl's name was Eliedis, and despite her height, she was only one year older than Andreth herself. Through her few, muttered comments, Andreth gathered that she was another one of Adanel's apprentices – the only other one, chosen by Adanel herself, and no blood relation at all. The last was delivered with a note of pride, as though to say that the only reason Andreth was even there was because her father was related to Adanel's husband.
In any other place, Andreth would not have accepted such a comment. Her mother raised her better than that, she knew, but in this unfamiliar place, she could not do anything more than stew in her own mute denial.
The kitchen was dim, the light from the banking fire casting a red glow over the uneven floor. Andreth perched cautiously on a thick wooden stool and dug her toes into the gaps between the floorboards, watching the lamplight play across them instead of Eliedis' pattering around near the hearth.
It took her some time to realize that the house was too quiet.
She leaned forward, waiting for a pause in Eliedis' busy motions, then asked, "Where is the Wisewoman?"
"The Lady Adanel is away until the morn," Eliedis replied, shooting her a glance. "She had something to attend to in another household. Lord Belemir and his eldest son are on a hunting trip."
Andreth noted that Eliedis was considerably less taciturn when speaking about Adanel. Hopeful, she pressed onwards. "Are you all alone in this house, then?"
"Nay. There are servants aplenty, as the babe sleeps upstairs, and Bainil does as well."
Andreth scrambled for what little she knew of her distant cousins – that Adanel had two children she knew well enough, and this newest one must have been recent. Belemir and her father were often in contact, but it was rare that information trickled down to the children. Adanel's eldest, though, could not be much older than Beril.
"Are you hungry?" Eliedis asked abruptly, and Andreth considered this for a moment, then shook her head.
"Mostly tired, I think."
Eliedis nodded curtly, as though pleased by this answer. "I shall show you to your room, then."
Andreth woke the next morning with a jolt of unease, sitting upright in an unfamiliar bed and glancing around. The room, which had seemed vast and echoing in the dark, was only half the size of her chamber at home – no, back in Ladros; this was her home for the next few years – with unadorned walls and one window set deep in the corner. The air was cold, and her blankets warm, so she curled up underneath them and wondered whether she ought to fall back to sleep or not.
There was a knock at her door. "Come downstairs when you're ready." Eliedis' voice was muffled by the thick wood, but there was no mistaking the irritation there. Andreth rose, keeping a blanket clutched tight around her body, and pulled open the top drawer of the dresser in the corner, wondering how her fellow apprentice could summon the energy to be so unlikable at this time of day.
She found a set of dull brown dresses in the drawers, made of thick wool and free of embellishments. The cloth was soft against her skin, and she shivered as she dropped the blanket and hastily tugged the dress over her head. There was no mirror, so she tugged her fingers through her hair and hoped that it didn't look as untidy as it felt.
On her way downstairs, she passed an open door through which she glimpsed Eliedis helping a tiny girl put on a dark blue tunic.
Breakfast was a porridge of oats and honey, thickened with cream and pinpricked with small black seeds that Andreth probed cautiously with her tongue before biting down. Flavor exploded across her tongue, sharp and oddly cold, and Eliedis seemed to smother a laugh at the expression on Andreth's face.
"Cloves, from the south," she explained, picking one out of her own bowl. "They are a bit strong to actually eat."
Andreth swallowed, curling her tongue against the back of her teeth as the flavor faded to a papery sort of feeling. "So I noticed. What are they in there for, then?"
"Flavor, and to make it smell wholesome."
A voice came from the doorway, low and harried. "Eliedis, did Tavreth's girl come – ah, I see that she did."
Andreth looked hastily up from her porridge, swallowing a honeyed mouthful, and saw the Wisewoman for the first time.
Adanel was shorter than Andreth had expected – only a little taller than Eliedis – with glossy blonde hair braided in tight rows that hugged her scalp before spilling over her shoulders, each tied off with a strand of brightly colored thread. There was a softness to her movements as she came in that spoke of a high awareness of her surroundings, and despite her short stature, she seemed to fill the room simply by entering.
"Welcome, Andreth," she said, laying a hand on Andreth's arm as she pulled a stool up to the table. "I look forward to working with you."
Their first lesson together was at the kitchen table, with Adanel on the stool closest to the hearth and the two girls on either side of her. Eliedis pulled down a box from a nearby shelf and set to sorting out the herbs within. Adanel considered Andreth, and finally asked, "Can you read?"
Andreth bit her lip. "Somewhat," she mumbled, kicking the heel of her foot against the table leg. Her father had seen to it that his children could make out the most basic of words, but Andreth had always struggled with making out the differences in the loops and curls of lettering. She had not expected that to be an issue.
Adanel nodded thoughtfully, then pulled a scrap of parchment across the table towards her and printed a sentence carefully. "Tell me what this says."
Andreth made a pretense of smoothing the paper out to buy time, then cleared her throat. She could see Eliedis out of the corner of her eye, watching her.
She tried to read it – she did. But her palms were cold with nerves, and the words swam before her eyes, making it impossible.
Adanel will see that I can't learn anything at all, she thought, panicked. She'll send me home after a single day and never wish to see me again––
Adanel's hand descended on her shoulder, patting her gently. "There is no shame in not knowing, Andreth."
She shook her head, her throat closing up. If she said anything now, she would start sobbing.
"We'll take it slowly."
"What do you do with the Wisewoman?" Andreth asked Eliedis that night. The two of them were in the hallway just outside Andreth's room, and Eliedis looked as though she would rather be anywhere but here and talking to her.
"She teaches me herbal lore," Eliedis snapped, trying to edge past Andreth. "She says I will make an excellent healer, one day. Now if you will excuse me—"
Andreth stepped out of the way and watched Eliedis' retreating back. Healing, was it? That seemed like what a Wisewoman might do – more so than writing down poems. Perhaps she could learn that, too.
She was tasked with watching Bainil most afternoons. The child spent a good deal of her time lying on her back, chewing on a corner of a blanket and watching the dappled shadows on the ceiling shift as the trees outside swayed in the wind. She was quiet, even for a babe of two, and Andreth found herself more often than not bored near to tears when left to mind her.
That day, Adanel had given her one sentence to copy out over and over – from the fire on the hearth a house is warmed – and Andreth had made a half-hearted attempt, a few neat rows of letters across the top of a page and then wider, visibly incorrect lines following. She disliked how writing made her head hurt, how staring at it for so long made the words spin in front of her eyes.
It had gotten better in the month or so since she had begun, but it was still the most unenjoyable part of her day.
It is unwise to give up on the tasks assigned to you by the Wisewoman, a voice that sounded an awful lot like her older brother remarked from the back of her mind.
(All this time, and Adanel had yet to teach her anything beyond letters and how to amuse a child with clapping games. Hardly the stuff of wisdom, all things considered.)
Bainil rolled over, arm hitting the floor with a soft thump. She looked up at Andreth, the corner of the woven blanket still trailing out of her mouth, and reached up with chubby fingers for the paper.
"Don't," Andreth muttered. Bainil rose up on her knees, catching it with unexpected speed just as Andreth tried to jerk it away, and the paper tore, a long jagged rip down the center.
Bainil made a soft noise and held up her half, brown eyes wide. Andreth caught sight of her own crooked handwriting and felt something careless and wild rise up her throat.
She took her half in both hands and ripped, rending the paper in two. Bainil caught her meaning and giggled, ripping her own halfway apart and tossing it onto the floor. It flopped down, the ink smudged.
"Andreth? Are you done with––" Eliedis appeared in the doorway. There was a long pause as she took in the scene before her: Andreth with a handful of torn paper, Bainil on the floor with ink-stained fingertips.
She smiled, looking nearly satisfied.
"I thought as much. Adanel wants to see you."
The Wisewoman's room was upstairs, at the end of a narrow, dark hallway. Andreth dragged her feet, trying to delay the meeting for as long as she could. Could she have possibly made more of a mess of this opportunity?
Eliedis pushed the heavy door open with both hands, past the protests of the rusting hinges. Adanel looked up from her desk. "Thank you, Eliedis. You may go." She waited until the girl had left before turning back to her work. Andreth shifted from foot to foot, wondering if Adanel had forgotten that she had summoned her at all.
She was just contemplating risking the creaking hinge to sneak back out when Adanel turned, placing her hands on the small of her back and stretching. She eyed the girl at the door, then asked, "Why are you here, Andreth?"
"My mother sent me here to learn from a Wisewoman," Andreth replied, folding her hands behind her.
Adanel's face softened. "And have I not been living up to my title, then, in the month you have been here?"
She swallowed back shame, looked away. "I thought I would be learning – wisdom. Not watching over children and copying out lines." Which I cannot do even the simplest of.
"Wisdom comes in many forms. Eliedis has learned this, and I hope that you will as well."
Oh, yes, because Eliedis is perfect, is she not?
"I do not think that you are upset because I have you writing lines, Andreth."
Somehow, Andreth thought, it would be easier if Adanel spoke sharply to her, if she put her in her place with harsh words like any parent might. Quiet, kind understanding made a heavy weight in her chest, something that mixed embarrassment with you aren't good enough.
She shrugged, hoping Adanel would leave her be.
"Now. Is there anything you want to talk about?"
I'm not good enough for this.
She shook her head wordlessly. Adanel's eyes remained on her – she could feel them, practically boring into her, but she refused to lift her gaze.
Adanel sighed, finally. "Come here, Andreth." She patted the chair beside her, and Andreth moved towards her, reluctant.
"You wish to learn of wisdom?" She lifted her hand and drew a small, withered flower from between the pages of the book on her desk. Andreth recognized it as one from the garden, now dead with the onset of winter. "The first part of wisdom is seeing truthfully. It has become clear to me that you can do this – that you can see. It is not a common gift."
Adanel's hand descended on her shoulder with surprising force. "Look at me, Andreth."
Surprised, she looked up.
"I want you to understand that the wisdom you learn may not be the wisdom that Eliedis learns. And though it is important that you practice those skills which you need practice with, perhaps I have been remiss in encouraging those skills which you do have. Writing lore is one thing, but learning to see – to discover new lore – is something else.
"Wisdom lies in learning the story of the world, which is played out in many ways – in every individual part of this earth, there is a mirror of the whole story. Learn to see the one, and you will see the whole. Now." Adanel held the flower out. "Tell me what you see."
She sat and listened as the afternoon stretched on, the light slanting through the windows turning golden and slipping lower across the wall.
After the first week, she and Eliedis had fallen into a mutual sort of indifference – Andreth stayed on her side of the table, and Eliedis on hers, neither of them intruding on the other at any time other than might be necessary. There was inevitable tension, of course, but nothing that bubbled over beyond a few sharp words.
It was a tentative peace that could not have lasted long under even the most perfect of circumstances.
Andreth was at the table, working a stylus across a clay tablet. Adanel had moved her on to this, having figured out that the slower Andreth worked, the easier it was for the letters to fall into place. Belemir was a potter, by hobby if not by trade, and the workshop was filled with slabs of dried and half-dried clay. Eliedis was at the hearth, filling a kettle. Outside, snow was piling up on the windowsill, drifting against the glass.
"Get me the herb bag," Eliedis called – demanded, really, in Andreth's opinion. She had no right to be so stuck-up when all she did was sort leaves and mix up tinctures. Probably Adanel had never told her that she had a rare gift, like she had at Andreth's most recent lesson with her, outside in the now snow-covered garden.
(Probably Eliedis didn't need personal guidance, because she already knew all of this.)
Andreth kept her eyes on the row of letters. Too often seen is seen no longer. Loop up and around, flourish, dot. She pressed down harder with the stylus, a scraping sound breaking the silence.
There was a sharp noise as Eliedis cleared her throat. "Andreth, get me the––"
She set the stylus down with a sharp noise. "I'm busy."
Eliedis narrowed her eyes. "Doesn't look that way to me."
"Perhaps you need to get yourself some functioning eyes, then, because––"
In the doorway, Adanel cleared her throat. Andreth froze, eyes widening. Eliedis, who had been holding a kettle near the stove, set it down on the hearthstone with a clang.
Adanel raised an eyebrow. "Care to finish what you were saying, Andreth?"
Andreth swallowed, studiously looking anywhere but the wisewoman. "No – no, ma'am."
Adanel entered the room fully, her footsteps light. She pulled up a chair, the scrape of the wooden legs the loudest noise in the suddenly still kitchen.
"Put on some water for tea," she told Eliedis, face betraying nothing.
The long minutes as the water boiled were fraught with tense silence. Adanel gave no outward sign of disappointment, but Andreth fancied she could feel it, coming out of her small body like waves. Eliedis seemed to feel it too. She had sunk into another stool after putting the water on, lacing her fingers through each other and staring down at them.
When the water boiled, Adanel rose, the movement making Andreth flinch slightly. She had yet to see the Wisewoman get truly angry, and did not particularly wish to, either.
"My sister is with child, but from the way she carries, it will be male." Adanel lifted the kettle from the fire and poured it into Andreth's cup, where it pooled around the shriveled leaves she had already spooned in. Beside her, Eliedis reached for the honey. "Even if her next is a girl, there is no guarantee that she will wish to follow this path. The future, at the moment, depends on the two of you."
Andreth took a sip of the tea and winced as it seared across her tongue. She worried the burned spot against her teeth, watching Adanel lower herself into the last seat.
"I am not pleased by the bickering between you two."
It's her fault, Andreth wanted to say. She hasn't liked me ever since I came because you chose her first, because you chose her the right way and she thinks I shouldn't even be here––
(And she's right. I probably shouldn't.)
"I understand that differences may arise among those of such disparate backgrounds and skills," Adanel continued. "But part of wisdom is knowing how to work with other people."
Eliedis nodded earnestly, leaning forward. "Yes, and I have tried––"
"Working with and listening to others," Adanel continued over her, a chiding note entering her voice, and Andreth watched Eliedis slump back in her chair with an uncharitable flash of satisfaction. "It is not enough that the Wise know what herbs ease pain or how to preserve history in song. If those who profess to lead and guide do not understand the people they are meant to guide in the first place, then all is for naught."
She paused and sipped her tea, the steam wreathing her face as she breathed in deeply.
"And such cooperation begins at home," she concluded, setting the cup down. "Which is why I am sending both of you out – alone – for a night."
"Alone – with her?" Eliedis gasped, voice rising to near a squeak. "Lady Adanel, please—"
Andreth closed her eyes and sighed.
"This is your fault."
Andreth bristled immediately, clutching the straps of her travel sack tighter as she struggled up the hill after Eliedis, resenting her shorter legs for her struggles in the knee-deep snow. "How is it my fault?"
"It simply is."
"You started it."
"Oh, that's truly childish, Andreth—"
"I thought Adanel told us not to fight anymore," Andreth snapped, knowing she was only proving Eliedis right – how childish – but taking a savage delight in needling her fellow apprentice.
"Well, anyways," Eliedis snapped, turning away. Her cheeks were flushed with cold, eyes shining bright with barely restrained anger. "If Adanel wants us to bond thus, then it will have to be as she wishes. Set up the tent."
Andreth let her bag slip off one shoulder. It hit the snow with a soft sound. "No."
"What?"
"No, I'm not going to set up the tent on my own."
Eliedis' eyes flashed annoyance. "This is precisely what got us in trouble in the first place––"
"No, what got us in trouble was your propensity for arguing with me over the most trivial––"
"Enough!" Eliedis took a step forward through the crust of snow, trembling with anger. "Were you not the one just now speaking of how we were not to fight?"
"Then it seems," Andreth spat, drawing herself up to the extent of her height, "that we have no option but to cooperate."
"Fine."
They glared at each other across the snow for a heartbeat longer.
"We could start by assembling the tent," Andreth suggested icily, using her boot to nudge the bag closer to her fellow apprentice.
Eliedis bent to pick up the bag and shook it out, scattering canvas and tent poles across the ground. Andreth stared at the jumbled pile, waiting for Eliedis to say something along the lines of oh, this is simple, just put this pole in this loop and this one––
When the silence got a bit long for her liking, she cleared her throat. "So."
"So," Eliedis agreed, deflating slightly.
"Have you ever gone camping?"
"No, in fact. You?"
"Nope."
Eliedis blinked. "Huh."
"Does this look like something important?" Andreth bent down and hefted a long wooden pole about the width of two of her fingers. "I think this is something important."
"Your guess is as good as mine."
They got the tent up with only a few bruises – Andreth dropped a tent pole on Eliedis' shoulder (entirely by accident) and Eliedis retaliated by pulling the canvas down over her head. Amid the floundering that followed, they somehow ended up breathless and tangled up in poles and cloth. Andreth took one look at Eliedis' flushed, shocked face and burst out laughing.
"Sorry," she managed, trying to force down the helpless chuckles, before she realized that Eliedis was laughing too, short quick gasps that sounded just like Beril did when Andreth used to pin her down and tickle her.
"Get off me," Eliedis muttered, but it was without venom this time, no real snap in her voice. Maybe the cold had finally started to get to her.
Andreth stood and dusted off her pants, then frowned at the now even more tangled canvas.
"Well, what're you waiting for?" Eliedis tossed a pole to her, scowling. "Try and figure this out with me."
"Eliedis?"
"What?"
"N-nothing. Just wanted to know if you were – never mind."
"Of course I'm awake. S' too cold to sleep."
Andreth tugged her blanket tighter around her body, shivering. She was careful not to move too much – the tent walls were still a little unstable, even if they had managed to get them mostly even. "It is. Do you think Adanel means for us to freeze out here?"
To her surprise, Eliedis chuckled. "Perhaps." Her voice was strained with cold and exhaustion. "But rest assured, she knows all the secrets of this world – doubtless she could find some way to bring us back."
Despite the cold, Andreth managed a smile. She decided to take a chance, ask a question she'd been wondering for awhile. "How long have you been her apprentice?"
For a second, she thought Eliedis was going to ignore her. "Only a month longer than you," she finally said.
"Really? I thought—"
"Why does it matter?" Eliedis sat up abruptly, silhouetted against the moonlit side of the tent. "She likes you better."
"She – no, she doesn't." Andreth rolled over onto her side. "You're better than me at all the – at everything. Why wouldn't she—"
"You're her distant relative, I don't know, why else does she spend so much time with you?"
Andreth opened and closed her mouth, confused. Didn't Eliedis realize— "That's because I'm so stupid that I need someone looking over my shoulder every second of the day, you're so much smarter."
"That's not—"
She pressed on. "Is that why you hate me?"
"I don't – yes," Eliedis snapped. "Fine. Is that what you want me to say?"
Andreth shrugged, the anger draining out of her. (What else had she expected, really?) Outside, the wind picked up, whistling through the bare tree branches above, sending clumps of snow down around them with soft puffs of noise.
"But I think that's why Adanel sent us out here," Eliedis added, voice soft and nearly conciliatory. "Because she sees things, you know."
The first part of wisdom is seeing truthfully.
Andreth huffed a soft laugh, curling up tighter as though it might warm her up. "She does."
"And I think she wants us to – work together. Complement each other. Don't you think—" She broke off with a shiver. "I don't know. You get her wisdom, and I get her skill, and between the two of us we make a complete Wisewoman."
"Which is hard if we hate each other."
"So this is supposed to fix that, right?" Eliedis rearranged her blankets around her, leaning against the tent wall so the cloth bowed outward. "I just – don't want to disappoint her."
Andreth understood that much, at least.
"We managed to put up the tent well enough," she offered.
Eliedis laughed, the movement shaking the shelter. "True."
"And we haven't strangled each other yet."
"A good beginning," Eliedis agreed. "Perhaps we had better sleep before either of us does anything rash." She hesitated, then pushed away from the wall, squirming towards the center of the tent.
Andreth smiled, recognizing the conciliatory movement for what it was. She, too, moved closer, until she could have reached out and easily touched Eliedis' arm. "Perhaps we ought to."
She lay there and listened to Eliedis' breathing deepen, feeling the quiet vibration of the tent wall against her side. It was warmer there, she realized, now that the two of them were no longer pressed up against the very edges of the space, trying to keep away from each other. Maybe that had been Adanel's intent all along – force them to realize that they could not survive without the other.
Wisdom and skill indeed, she thought, sleep blurring the thought. Or else she thought that we could teach one another the other half, in time. That Eliedis would tell me all the names of those herbs she uses, and I would tell her how to see the story in the world.
She would have to tell Eliedis that in the morning, if she remembered.
Adanel greeted them the next morning with perfect serenity, hands folded in the sleeves of her thick grey robe as she watched the two of them toil up the snow-choked steps. "Have you set aside your differences?" she called down, and Andreth glanced at Eliedis before replying.
"Well enough, I suppose."
Eliedis nodded, biting her lip. "As you can see, we did not kill each other over the night."
The smile they received in answer was wider than any Andreth had seen from Adanel yet – the kind filled with warm, genuine pride.
"Come inside and warm up, then." Adanel turned towards the house, but left the door open just a crack, the warm air within melting the frost on the doorstep. Andreth picked up her pace.
"Race you," Eliedis blurted out, and when Andreth glanced at her in surprise, she shrugged and broke into a trudging run, the best either of them could do in the deep snow. Andreth huffed a rueful laugh and followed.