Humor is starting to get old...how about some angst, instead? *innocent smile*
Wednesday
I was starting to come to the startlingly logical conclusion that my World History class was out to get me. Wednesday's topic: bubonic plague. Ordinarily, I would have found that fascinating. Add two Elves who already looked down on Humans, one Maia I was sure was going, 'And *why* did Atar design them like this?', and 'fascinating' dropped out of the picture to be replaced by 'Oh, for the love of the Valar, why me?'
Oodles of fun.
Thankfully, my Irish Genealogy class had been cancelled, or I would have skipped, having absolutely no plans on introducing the Ambarussa to fast food.
I like my head where it is.
Unfortunately, the likelihood of me being able to keep it there was slowly but steadily dropping. The Elves were not bothering to really hide their condescension towards me, or their hatred towards Mairon, and both were starting to really, really annoy me. I am not the most patient of people, and when I get upset I tend to do really stupid things.
I asked Mairon to go to the store to pick up something that I semi-needed, because I almost trusted him with my money, and because I desperately need to split up him and the Ambarussa. That was a mistake. The only good thing was that Mairon was able to give me the names of the Twins before he left, so I knew which one was which.
As the Ambarussa continued to make snide comments about the 'frailty of Mortals', I began to retort back. Before I really knew what was happening, the conversation had become a debate on the edge of an argument.
"Yes, we have instances in our history where large sections of the population die, but as a whole, our species has not been devastated by them," I argued. "In fact, you could say that because we do face such loss and yet keep going is a sign of resilience. It's not like one plague, and suddenly, Men are doomed."
"What do you know of doom," Amras spat.
"Tears unnumbered ye shall shed–" I began to retort without thinking.
In hindsight, throwing the Doom of the Noldor in their faces was one of the stupidest things I could have done. Before I quite knew what was happening, Amrod had grabbed my wrists, and both the Ambarussa were yelling, their voices overlapping until it was hard to understand what they were saying. I winced as the grip on my wrists tightened to a truly painful level. Then yet another voice cut through the cacophony.
"Let go of her." My body reacted before my brain had even made sense of the words, jerking backward so I hit the counter sharply. I quickly came to realize two things. One, over the long ages, mortals had lost the ability to deal with the Maiar in their wrath; even if such an ability had once existed.
And I was undeniably mortal.
Amrod and Amras responded as well, falling silent as Amrod dropped my wrists. They turned to face Mairon, who was glaring at them.
"If that is how you repay hospitality…" Mairon trailed off, shaking his head. "Just get out."
Surprisingly, they obeyed him, and silently left, door slamming as it always did behind them. I took a deep breath, feeling oddly detached from everything. Raising a hand, I noticed I was shaking like a leaf, which was decidedly odd, as even when nervous I rarely trembled.
Mairon sighed, low and controlled, and I returned my attention to him. Keeping his movements slow and obvious, he walked over to me and put an arm around my shoulders, gently pulling me away from the counter and over to the couch. There he left me and went back to the kitchen. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, only opening them again when Mairon's deliberately audible footsteps halted in front of me. He had towels and ice in his hands, and idly I wondered how he knew where the towels were. Carefully enfolding the ice in the towels, he wrapped them around my wrists, which were already beginning to bruise and swell, then sat beside me. I leaned into him, my normal aversion to touch overridden by the fact I was suddenly very cold and very tired.
"Here, lay down," Mairon murmured, shifting me easily, snagging a pillow and pulling the flower-crocheted blanket that draped over the back of the couch over me. A soft-hummed melody further calmed my ragged nerves, and I quickly fell asleep.
I halfway woke an indeterminate time later to a quiet but vicious argument between Mairon and the Ambarussa: about me.
"She is not telling us everything," one of the Elves hissed. "She keeps secrets from us, and will not tell us what we need to know about this world."
"She has tried to do so, and you have refused everything she has tried," Mairon retorted. "Have you ever actually asked her a question about what you need to know? She doesn't know what you want to know instinctively, you realize."
"She must realize we need the information about this culture she knows. Why does she keep that a secret?" Ambarussa shot back. There was a short pause.
"You feel threatened by her," Mairon said, scorn clear in his voice. "You feel threatened by a young Adaneth, who is scarcely more than a child. Which is, of course, the answer to your question: she has never contemplated having to explain her culture to anyone, and really has no idea how to. I have found, however, that she is quite willing to answer questions, which again leads me to: when have you ever asked her anything? Ever since you have arrived you have looked down on the Secondborn, and she is not blind to your attitude."
"Men are weak," one of the Ambarussa replied to that. "They can never measure up to the craft of the Eldar."
"And Elves are weak, and can never measure up to the craft of the Ainur," Mairon retorted. "Even your father never created a star. Men have their own strengths, as do the Eldar. And considering the brevity of their lives, their achievements are all the more remarkable." Here, Mairon gently ran a hand down my face, and the soft touch sent me back into Irmo's realm of dreams.
It was hunger that woke me next. Oddly enough, instead of wanting to fix something quick and easy, I was craving goldenrod, a Great Depression-inspired family recipe. It's fairly simple, just eggs and a flour-based white sauce over toast. It did require actually cooking, but it didn't take long until Mairon and I were eating. I had no idea where the Ambarussa were, and frankly, I was glad they weren't there. I had made enough for them, and left it out, if they ever came back they could eat it if they wanted to.
I headed back to my room, utterly determined to find something to read. Now usually, I'd find some gripping fanfic to take care of this, but I didn't want something dark or heavy, which those fics generally were. Fluff was definitely the genre I wanted. I thought about jumping fandoms, but that old saying about getting back on the horse after being thrown was on my mind, and I decided to stay with LotR. Now, in LotR, fluff generally means Hobbits, of which there are quite a few notable authors. But to combine fluff *and* Hobbits…Well, Shirebound is the first to come to mind.
So I spent the rest of the evening reading Shirebound's Quarantined universe, and surfing TV Tropes, staying up until one in the morning, until I couldn't keep my eyes open for much longer, having been surreptitiously watched by Mairon most of the time. I didn't care. I simply numbed myself as much as possible, and hoped that I wouldn't dream that night.
Here, I have to give the disclaimer that I am *not* making up the topics in my World History class. That really is what we talked about that week. The beginning and end of this chapter just *did not* want to be written, which was really, really annoying, but finally I got them...well, written, if not exactly written well. Whatever. I'm still really trying to get this finished before I leave in a week and a half. I only have two more chapters to write...
