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Seeing Things Differently
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As dawn came over Gondolin, Rûsa actually woke up by herself without feeling drowsy or sick—a sure sign of improvement. She lay there, relaxed for once in her pajamas, no longer expecting any imminent summons to work. But she didn't stay long—restlessness was starting to nag her, and Rûsa began to rise.
Feeling around her bedside table in the dark for a candle she touched the scarf Maeglin had given her. Her fingers grasped it with suddenness. Caressing the soft fabric—a dainty thing of silk and wool—Rûsa struck a match and lit her room. Whatever those feelings that he tended to wake up inside her were, she did not find them strange. Rather more in a way that warmed than making her cold with fear. It was a pleasant change for her, after a lifetime of little joy.
"To think that one single person can change my life so much…" she thought, trying to ignore that her cheeks reddened a little bit.
A crash from outside the bedchamber—followed by an outburst of profanity that would have shocked noble-born ladies if they had heard it—caused her to jump, a hand searching for something sharp to hold on. Purely out of habit.
"Who's there?" she called out.
Barely a moment later came Bereniel's apologetic reply, "It was the carpet again, Miss, I'm sorry if I had wakened you. The maids forgot to replace the padding again, methinks, after their cleaning so it was slippery. Better myself than you, Miss, and again I am sorry for waking you."
Rûsa smiled, relaxing a little. Poor Bereniel. She couldn't have known that she always woke up around this time of time in the wee hours of the morning, and that her crash had come as a surprise rather than a disturbance.
Noises of something being moved in the other room, as Bereniel returned to her morning duties.
Rûsa looked down at her hands, which felt a little empty without a dagger. That shard of Fingolfin's helmet now buried inside a bag at the foot of her bed had been very useful in protecting herself and her possessions in captivity, be it from Orcs or even her own fellow slaves. Desperation forced them to do things no sane man would contemplate, even with the fear of Sauron hanging over them, and it sometimes took a few jabs with it to get them to leave her alone. Then there were the smaller shivs one could hide in a sleeve when she couldn't take it with her.
How life had changed that she no longer felt the need to keep a weapon by her side. Instinct was hard to overcome, but she had made good progress in adjusting.
"But…" she began, concerned for the maid's health.
"I am fine! Gonna get a bump in the head and a sore butt for the rest of the day, but that is nothing that will trouble me during work!"
Bereniel moved away, bustling around, leaving Rûsa alone in her room. At least she didn't need help in dressing herself, or bathing. That had been the hardest part of her new life, letting someone else take care of her. Bless Idril, for letting her have her own autonomy back again.
She climbed out of bed, wincing as her feet touched the floor again and reached for the stockings so she would not be barefooted for too long. Despite the liberal use of rugs, the cold was everywhere. One of the very few things she missed from her old life, the constant heat.
"You are very happy," Rûsa ventured, trying to ensure that she would not get the chemise wrong when dressing; it had felt awkward with the neck part pressing into her throat the first time she had tried to do it herself and had needed to pull her arms out from the sleeves so she could twirl the garment around so it was right. The corset was next, the chemise meant to be worn under it so her skin would not get nasty red marks. Thankfully, the pale blue overdress was easier since the buttons was in the front, closing the dress there. "Do you have any difficulties when working?"
"It can take some time to get used to the staff here in a grand house, Miss, especially if you have lived outside the city for your early life, but we all help each other if there is trouble."
As she cleaned in the other room, Bereniel, from the other side of the door, told of how her family—or at least her parents now when all the children had moved out after growing up—lived a bit outside the city walls on a farm.
"They are not exactly city people, my folks. My siblings also work in the city, in other houses, but they all have homes outside the walls. Since I have not met any future husband yet, I am still living here with the other maids. We share three large chambers to sleep in so the other rooms can be used for something else. Like that secret chamber only Lord Rog has the key to… "
That last part, whispered as if it were part of a conspiracy, piqued Rûsa's attention. She paused while fastening the last of her buttons. "What secret chamber?" she asked.
"No one really knows, pure guessing. He has never allowed anyone to enter that chamber, but he has been seen at times carrying a full set of jewelry in there, maybe just a private collection of what he views as his finest work. I think he only has one key to ensure that nothing gets stolen from that chamber." Bereniel explained, her voice betraying that she and her fellow maids must have tried to explore at least once, but been unable to do because the door had been well locked to prevent entry.
That was something Rûsa could understand, the hoarding of valuables, but it was odd nonetheless. Rog was a Lord, and didn't need to hide anything, or sneak about so obviously that his servants could see his activities. What did he have inside that chamber that sparked servant gossip? She had heard that the house servants got some nice jewelry to wear at important events, so why? Was it because of that his finest works was in there and no one knew what they looked like?
"Come on, miss Rûsa, time to face the new day!"
Once Bereniel had finished with her morning chores in this part of the palace, she came in to check on Rûsa. Deeming her clothing satisfactory, all she had to do was brush the other woman's hair, to which Rûsa consented to after some hesitation.
Sometimes it was good being served.
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In his private office with a nice cup of tea to wake up properly before breakfast, Rog looked over a small message that he just had gotten from Idril. She, in turn, had gotten it earlier this morning and sent it with an older errand boy almost as soon as she received it.
"Well, that should help with her bad eyesight, at least."
He could only imagine what she had endured with that dim vision. Even in his own deprivations he had been lucky to never suffer a loss of his sight. Now, the Grinding Ice had rendered not a few Elves almost virtually blind following the crossing, but it was a rare thing, praise Eru.
The snow storms had been the worst, with the falling snow and strong winds preventing anyone from seeing. Just getting the tents up, or building shelter on snow when they were in a hurry to get it done as quickly as possible, had been a nightmare in itself. Thankfully only the Moon had risen when they reached Beleriand, and not the Sun. The far stronger and brighter sunlight would have been too much after so many years of darkness when the light of the stars were rarely seen through the dark clouds.
"I should bring Rûsa to get the glasses after breakfast. The sooner she learns the reality of being able to see well and truly, the more she will realize the richness of the world." This was more musing than spoken aloud; Rog had this unusual habit of talking to himself when alone.
In all fairness he was not that surprised that his newest ward had trouble with her eyes. Living in dark, underground places where no natural light could be found… it would almost have been a honest blessing that she was not completely blind from a such life. Now, even with her eyes beyond hope of fully recovering, she could be given a chance to truly see the world. Perhaps one day he could show her the rest of Beleriand. After all, a map and illustrations in the library was no substitute for the reality. He made a mental note to ask the King for an armed escort and a pathfinder. Expeditions outside the Echoriad had to have royal permission, especially after Maeglin's capture.
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Just like the day before, Rûsa was in honest awe of the various dishes served at breakfast, so they could choose something freely. For her, however, there was a bit of a new sensation to become used to something such simple as a cup of hot tea, unused to hot drinks as she was, and warm meals had been a rarity for slaves.
"Rûsa? After breakfast I would like you to come with me on an errand out in the city, it could be useful for you to learn where to take the main street," Rog spoke to her once they both were finished with what they had eaten.
"Where?" she asked, through not before accidentally knocking over a wooden cup with the remaining tea she had not finished yet. She looked horrified at seeing the stain, which Bereniel hurried to clean away before a possible panic attack could come.
"Don't worry," Bereniel said. "This usually happens once a day in the kitchens."
Judging from the confused look, Rûsa did not truly believe her words. Thankfully Rog managed to get her attention before she could be distracted further and worry needlessly over her accident.
"Come, we should try and leave before the morning traffic starts."
Since some of Rog's own workers had suffered eye problems in the past he knew the way to Cethrion's office quite well. At his side Rûsa remained silent as she tried to keep up with his longer strides.
"I… do not understand why people insist that my eyesight is bad and that it needs to be fixed. It is the same for all the other slaves, unless you count those who are newly arrived or very young," she was bold enough to complain.
"It might have been fine for a slave, but here in the free outside world it can be an obstacle. Perhaps shorter distances like things close to your body are all right, but as yourself must have noticed it is difficult to see at longer distances. In fact, there have been accidents where Elves actually died because they could not see something in front of them thanks to weaken eyesight. A hole in the ground, for example, could become dangerous," Rog took his time to explain in a simple way, so she would not feel like she was singled out for something bad. He did not mention such deaths happening on the Grinding Ice, but rather neutral things that could happen anywhere.
"I see…" Rûsa shivered, no doubt remembering of similar things. Rog knew what was on her mind—all too clearly could he see Elves falling to their deaths in the cavernous ravines of Utumno. He closed off the memory before it threatened to overtake him.
"Well, do not worry. Cethrion is the finest eye specialist we have here in Gondolin, he would never try and harm someone in the eyes if he could avoid making it worse. Ah, here we are," Rog said at seeing the wooden sign above the door.
"I know, he was patient with me last time I was here, with Idril."
They entered the office. Unlike last time Cethrion was ready to see them immediately. He spoke with Rog for a few minutes while Rûsa took a seat in the corner. Their conversation finished, Rog beckoned her over.
"Good day, miss Rûsa," Cethrion said. "As promised the glasses are ready." He went to his desk and took out a box. Opening it he showed her the contents.
Rûsa peered at them. They were smaller than the spectacles she had seen on some of the other Elves, mostly healers and librarians. The frame was shiny and dark-colored, meaning it would stand out on her face, and the lenses she almost didn't see because they were invisible in the light. "These are what I'll wear?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered. "Here, allow me." He took them out and opened its thin arms.
Rûsa flinched as they neared her face, and closed her eyes. Therefore she did not see how he carefully placed them on her head, avoiding her face. But she did feel it when it settled rather ticklishly on her ears and nose.
"You can open your eyes now."
Rûsa did as she was instructed, slowly at first. Her vision unfocused and went blurry for a split second as her pupils adjusted. Then she could see. The first thing that appeared was Cethrion, whose face took on sharper definitions and looked rougher than the general smoothness of before. His eyes, which had been a dark blurr, resolved into twinkling blue—Rûsa could even see his pupils moving as he inspected her face, turning her head from side to side as he peered at her.
"Incredible," he said. "You aren't light-headed at all. This is wonderful."
She didn't answer, her mouth falling open as she looked around. Cethrion's office had lost its darkness and she could actually see the highlights illuminating the oaken walls, see the bas relief on the molding where the ceiling and floors met with the walls; the ceiling was clearly visible, she could see its arches and wood details; the floorboards she could clearly make out their lines and stains and knots.
Whirling around, almost so quickly that she fell over (prevented only by Cethrion's sudden catch), Rûsa looked at Rog as he smiled, encouraging her. Now she could see how he had made several small braids to frame his face, which stood out because of his white hair colour; the finer embroidery details in silver thread on on his red tunic; how intense the green colour of his eyes became against his dark skin. In fact, she would not have been the first to feel like those green eyes were something you could drown into, for there was something hidden in the depths… the strength of a survivor, someone who had faced hell before and lived.
"Tell me if you start feeling light-headed, it is rather common to feel a minor headache before your eyes have completely adjusted. It may take a few days before it feels normal to have the glasses on." Cethrion's voice came distantly as she looked around in wonder. Rûsa nodded in a absent-minded way, too focused on all the new wonders that showed themselves now for her to listen.
Since she was otherwise occupied, it fell to Rog to oversee the final details of the transaction, and he promised to let Idril know how much she needed to pay Cethrion for this unexpected job. He offered to pay for it himself when he had learned of the operation, but Idril politely refused him in her gentle way.
"Help her to remember to polish the lenses from time to time so they remain clear," Cethrion advised "and to be careful, since a sudden fall can cause cracks."
That information would prove extra useful during winter, when the city streets could become slippery thanks to snow and ice. Accidents and injuries caused by slipping was not too uncommon during those months, the coldest season.
"Rûsa, would you like to see how the outside looks like with the glasses?" Rog suggested to gain her attention. Given her reaction only here in the room, she would be keeping herself busy the rest of the day in wonder how clearly she could see now thanks to the glasses. Her whole life would be changed by something such simple as actually being able to see properly. Her transformation from a unimportant, malnourished slave into a reasonably normal Elf-maid had taken another important step.
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As the morning went over to become forenoon, Turgon struggled a little with the daily paperwork. By now, all the invitations for the winter gala—or the Gala as his courtiers were fond of saying—should have been sent out to the listed nobility and merchant families who had eligible maidens. Hopefully one of those ladies would the right one for Maeglin, perhaps he would see her at the Gala immediately. Personally Turgon would have preferred to let things happen the natural way, but as things were right now, he needed to push his nephew into the right direction that led to marriage. Really, how had Aredhel raised her son before taking him to Gondolin? Recalling how wild his sister had been as a child and in her youth Turgon had some good guesses, given how she refused to submit to the social responsibilities that came with being a royal princess and instead running free out in the woods with no care how such actions caused gossip about her in Tirion, both at the royal court and among the common people.
"Hopefully Maeglin will not be looking for a wife with a similar personality, I have had enough trouble with Aredhel…"
A servant opened the door, telling Turgon that Egalmoth had arrived. But not just the Lord himself, his wife and daughter had came along. While not all the Lords of Gondolin were married, it was rather unusual for them to bring their families along to a work day since there generally was not much they could do. After Turgon had told the man to bring them in, he settled back down to checking his paperwork, only to jump as Egalmoth walked on in with no little agitation.
"Good day, Your Majesty. It was not really planned, but my dear Meril and Tinwen wished to come to the palace today… "
What Egalmoth left out, but no less implied, was that his wife had nagged him all morning to take them both or else the rest of the day would be miserable for him.
Turgon inwardly signed. If Aredhel was at one end of the spectrum, lawless and wild, then women like Meril lay at the other, scheming and backbiting. He hoped for Maeglin's sake the eligible maiden would not be half bad. No one deserved to have a wife that felt impossible to please in everyday manner, or even a law-mother who was just as difficult.
"It is not often we see the two jewels of your House here together, Egalmoth," Turgon spoke affably as well as he could despite the intrusion. As an unwed lady of the court Tinwen was more commonly seen at the palace rather than Meril since married women of noble status preferred to stay at home unless there were grand events, especially if they had children or other young relatives to care for. So he had to put on his "royal mask" for occasions like this. One of the good things about wearing a mental mask is that it eventually became second nature, easy to take on and off.
Both mother and daughter curtsied deeply in greeting to the King. Meril stood slightly behind Tinwen, so her daughter was at the forefront for Turgon to look over. She was dressed in a silk dress of a soft and lovely pink colour that had been created by a natural dye made from various red flowers growing on the Tumladen, like the Sun rising at dawn. Here, with no other young maidens to worry about, she could get the attention she deserved. Turgon noted that her mother was a master at getting what she wanted in that subtle way women were wont to have.
"Mother and I thought that you would be pleased with some female company for a few hours, my King, even if it may not be that of your daughter the Princess Idril."
Tinwen spoke in the way of the royal court where it was seen as very rude to not use the royal family's various titles when talking about them or to them directly. Some court etiquette from distant Tirion still lived on, even here in Gondolin.
"I would be gratified to spend my time with you," Turgon answered, secretly relieved to have a break from his work. With any luck, this could prove to be what he needed. The mother he was wary of but the girl seemed innocent enough. "Please, let us retire to someplace more suitable than my office."
They went to a favorite place of Turgon's, a vast balcony that was in the light and warmth of the Sun all day no matter which season it was, with a view over nearly all of Gondolin below the royal palace. It was not uncommon for the survivors of the Grinding Ice to crave the warmth of the Sun, especially if they felt that the feeling of everlasting cold had never truly left their bodies even after so long time. It was commonly known that Idril had faint scars on her bare feet from the Ice, from when she had outgrown her childhood shoes and her relatives had needed to quickly make new ones from whatever materials that were available before she got frostbite. Although Turgon hid it well with his clothing, there was times when he could not properly close his fists unless he had thick mittens on his hands, or become very stiff in his limbs making him limp slightly when walking and unable to walk quickly or even running if he so needed. Fortunately this was not one of those times, though the coming winter cold would mean more of it.
"Some music could fit this morning, do you not agree?"
At hearing the King's words, the ever present and invisible servants which hovered around his office disappeared to bring out one of the larger harps from the palace's music chambers. Once it was brought in, Tinwen took a seat before it and started strumming. Among the noble classes, the only legal excuse for not being able to play music or sing was if the young miss in question still were at the toddler or very early childhood state.
And Tinwen was good. Outside the harp, she was well-known among her friends for her skill at playing harpsichord. While her singing voice was not among the best ones that could give her a secured career as singer, she had a clear tone fit for gentle songs. While Turgon first said nothing, his body language spoke of attention towards any possible mistake and that he did find her skills to be in his view of what was acceptable in singing and music. Once she finished playing, he spoke:
"Why are you here, miss Tinwen?"
When Meril started to speak he hushed her.
Being uncomfortable at being put on the spot so quickly, Tinwen answered with some hesitation. "To… to be appraised."
"What for?"
"For your nephew, Prince Maeglin. I… like him and would have your permission to see him, at least a little more often when he is free from his own duties as Lord of the House of the Mole. I did not find it proper to do so without you knowing, my King."
Turgon was satisfied with that. At least this girl was honest.
"You do realize that the position is not coming with just the glory, right? There are duties you must be able to do, both as a wife and princess by marriage."
His dear Elenwë had been willing to accept both glory and duties when marrying him. Sure, as a prince lower down in the succession back then Turgon had lesser duties to carry out, but now as the High King he needed to be far more mindful of his words and actions.
"Mother has taught me how to be a hostess, my King, I have just not gotten a chance to put them to test yet."
"And bookkeeping of household expenses?"
For every question, Tinwen did her best to answer with a clear voice with any nervousness. This was turning out good, the last thing Turgon wanted was a law-niece who could not stand his presence which was said to be rather intimidating depending on his mood.
Throughout the proceedings Egalmoth had fidgeted with nervousness but as Tinwen continued without faltering he settled down. Meril was unreadable. When her daughter at last paused for breath she said, "Well, my Lord, have we passed inspection? I assure you that Tinwen is proper as any woman of the Noldor—certainly not like those rustic Sindar. Why, those poor people of Doriath, hounded and trapped in caves. I wonder how it must have been."
"What is this?" he asked, with some edge to his voice. Was this woman one of the conspirators?
"It was nothing, my Lord, I spoke out of turn. I was reminded of Doriath in the course of my comments. So sad they are lost."
"Yes, indeed, but they are not our problem any more than my law-cousins are."
"Of course, my Lord." Meril inclined her head.
"My Lord Turgon," Tinwen said, looking between her mother and him, "the few times I have met Maeglin he seemed rather… lost in mind, as well as in body. He didn't look like he was… all the way here, if you catch my meaning. It's like he's living in two different places. Do you know what is the cause of this?"
"Inherited some of my sister's restlessness, that may be what haunts him. And a need for a calming presence in his life after being lost last winter, it took a hard blow on him to recover," Turgon quickly spoke as he did not want to discuss that in front of them.
"Oh, I am sorry, my Lord. I didn't know."
"It is of no trouble. He was never the same since his parents died."
Turgon did not say that he had never really known Maeglin before losing his parents, the few days between Aredhel returning with her son and her death was too short to gain much information about his nephew as a person before things had been turned upside down. Maeglin withdrew into himself in his grief and became much more on guard about his own feelings, barely showing anything that might hint to personal interest. As far as Turgon knew, his disappearance had caused that shell to crack, though how remained beyond his knowledge. Whatever horrors he had been subject to had done, they at the very least gave Maeglin—he hoped—a new perspective on life.
"But enough of that, now. You seem to be more than adequate. I shall arrange for you and my nephew to meet." Turgon inclined his head.
"I shall do my best to not disappoint either him or yourself, my King," she responded with a small smile.
As Tinwen and her parents left, Turgon felt pleased. Perhaps that was something Maeglin needed? A chance to meet one of the maidens a few times before the Gala? He had forgotten that his nephew was not a social creature, with none of the graces expected of him. Indeed, now that he thought about it, Maeglin was awkward whenever he was invited to the family meal—that one time where he had attempted to put him at ease had shown success, but alas it devolved into an argument over Gondolin, of all the things. So, the plan was—Turgon's mind whirled with plans, but this in particular was special—to make Maeglin feel comfortable and relaxed, especially around this woman-child, as he called Tinwen due to her young age, and get to know her. All the better to it if he could keep the mother away. Parents spying on such meetings were awkward for the two youngsters involved; Turgon had gotten a taste of that himself once by Fingon when his elder brother had ratted about him meeting Elenwë to their parents. Looking back, it had perhaps been done with no harm intended, as that had taken off some attention from Fingon as an unmarried prince, the eldest son of the family.
"With some luck, Eärendil may get the first of several second-cousins before his tenth birthday if this goes well…" the King through in a good mood as he returned to his paperwork to finish them.
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"Travel by… carriage?" Rûsa asked in confusion, trying to take in the scene as much as she could, still surprised by how much her eyesight had become improved simply by with the glasses. Still, that was a model she never had seen in Angband, a cart meant for only two people.
"Yeah, I got permission from Lord Rog to make a quick journey to the farm my parents own, they had asked me to come over with some jars so they can store the last late-ripping fruits from the trees in their yard," Bereniel explained while checking so the other servants had tied two boxes properly on the back of the cart she was going to drive. "And you do not need to worry, old Goldberry is a trusty girl who is tasked with people who are beginners in travelling with a cart. Mothers with infants praise her for being so calm despite all the noise that a small baby can cause."
Rûsa still was not sure what to say, so she simply allowed Bereniel to help her climb up so she could sit in the seat. It felt very odd to be above ground in a such manner, since she was used to walking or running to come somewhere. She had a faint memory of Maeglin carrying her in his arms when her feet had become too injured to walk without leaving bloody footprints that could reveal them to trackers, but that was more and more of something out of a bad dream. She felt tingly when she passed over that memory, and shuddered. Thankfully Bereniel's back was turned, and she missed the involuntary gesture.
"Alright, Goldberry. Let's go, old girl."
This was not the first time that Bereniel drove the cart and with this mare, so she kept things calm as they came out on the city streets. Rûsa took the chance to look around so she could see more of Gondolin than what she already had done.
Wide was the word that came to her mind. The streets were white and broad, as opposed to narrow passageways tunneled into the earth. There were towers everywhere she looked, framing the lesser two- and sometimes three-storeyed buildings that nestled between them like eggs under their mother. The sky overhead was a deep azure, almost cloudless—a memory from a book came to her, that this signified there would be rain shortly—and the Sun was blindingly brilliant overhead. They passed gardens and fountains, full of laughing children and twittering birds; they passed through a market street, loaded with vendors and customers; they even passed along a section of wall, where soldiers in dark-blue-and-silver patrolled with tall spears. Through it all Rûsa was astonished by the sharpness of detail and color. Before, it had been hazy for her, a great mass of blurred shapes and colors moving in and out, overwhelming to a poor slave who had never seen sunlight, much less the things illuminated by it. Now…
"This… this is amazing!"
How could she have lived her life in any other way, devoid of this beauty? She was suddenly very grateful that she couldn't see well back in Angband, for the memory of the smoke of Doriath the Dark Lord had her see had been bad enough.
"I never knew an Elf needed glasses unless they were really old or those who had their eyesight damaged from the Ice," Bereniel said, looking over to her. "Something bad happen to you?"
"Yes," Rûsa answered absentmindedly.
"Oh my. What was it? Hit in the face with a branch? A fall?"
"No."
"C'mon, you gotta tell me—"
"No!" Rûsa cut back in a almost hissing voice, a warning undertone, that would never have been accepted in Angband among her fellow slaves. In fact that reaction would have been viewed as completely out of character for her, as she always had fallen into the background.
"Okay…" Bereniel looked at her with some concern, and not so little shock over the anger underneath, before returning to the reins. Oh well, sometimes people simply did not want to walk about how they had gotten injuries or minor disabilities.
Maeglin had taken the chance to ride out from Gondolin and just be out in the valley of Tumladen. Even now when autumn slowly was beginning to turn into winter somewhere in the coming weeks, the valley was still a pleasant green colour. Sometimes it was nice to simply get out from the city for a while.
"Autumn is said to be a season of changes, indeed…" he thought while watching other riders in the far distance. The household on one farm had requested help in catching a live mole that was causing trouble for them by making molehills out in the fields and lawn, a problem that could grow seriously dangerous over time. Having a reason to get out from the very city, Maeglin hoped to catch the mole without harming it despite that would not be the most easy of tasks.
It was at that point his attention was caught by something else: a small cart for two persons, drawn by a single horse. One he recognized as the maid he had spoken to, and if he was not all wrong, it had to be Rûsa seated beside her. Perhaps Rog had wished for his newest ward to learn more of the world outside the city walls, that would be really something Maeglin could imagine. After all, Gondolin was just not the city, the farms out in the valley counted all the same.
"Looks like we got some company! Lord Maeglin!"
At the mention of his name, and seeing him riding closer, Rûsa pulled down the hood to hide the blush on her face. Thankfully neither Bereniel or Maeglin commented about it when they greeted each other.
It was only after the first greetings, as Rûsa looked up slightly, as Maeglin saw the glasses she now wore.
"You needed to visit master Cethrion for an eye exam?" he wondered in surprise, to which she nodded without a word. Thankfully, Bereniel caught his attention by another question.
"Well, then we appear to be on the same way, for that farm belongs to my parents. No mention of a mole problem in the last weekly letter, or they did not want me to worry about it since I moved out several years ago." Bereniel commented when Maeglin mentioned which farm he would ride to.
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Bereniel's parents were very grateful for some help, as the mole in question was a very stubborn animal when it came to escape any earlier attempt to capture it. Lucky, Maeglin had learnt a lot of various tricks to capture moles alive by Aredhel in his childhood, through Eöl had been less thrilled over his son's choice of pet.
"Alright, keep those thick leather gloves on your hands, moles can bite pretty hard for a such small animal," he commanded while carefully adding water into the active molehill mouth to trick the mole into thinking that it would be flooded out of its tunnels. Bereniel and her parents were already standing at other nearly molehills, ready with some wooden buckets.
Apparently Rûsa had chosen the right molehill and caught the mole in short order. However, rather than being disgusted as most other She-elves may have been—moles was not exactly cute in the same manner as kittens or puppies—she actually seemed to find the mole adorable of all things. That alone was pretty unusual behavior in itself.
"First time she's seen a mole? They are not always seen by city people, after all," Bereniel heard her mother say in a whisper to her husband. Well, it would be awkward to explain some of the young miss' behavior for them without betraying the trust Rog had in that the household servants would not speak badly about his newest ward, so Bereniel smiled slightly in an attempt to distract her parents.
"Not very common in the city, yes…" she said, using a local saying that often was used to show the differences between people born in Gondolin and those outside the city walls, an unspoken limit that was visible in plain sight, one could say.
"Please give me the mole, Rûsa, before it bites you," Maeglin spoke with one hand reached out.
She slowly gave it to him, transfixed by the squirming creature as his hand took it. He had a small wicker basket ready with some soil inside and put the mole in there so he could bring it to another place later.
Bereniel's parents offered to give them a tour of the farm as thanks for helping with their problem. Rûsa showed much interest in the animals, especially the older and placid beasts. Two draft horses were in there, both of tall stature and far more muscular build than the slender and fast-footed riding horses used in Gondolin by the guards and knights, like the one Maeglin had been riding on. They were unlike the massive black horses some of the Dark Lord's soldiery rode, or even the smaller, stockier breed ridden by the Easterlings in his service.
Sixteen cows and one bull shared the nearby cattle shed with some sheep and goats. Hens and ducks were in another corner, their henhouse off to the side in a little enclosed yard, guarded by a friendly dog which came over to lick her outstretched hand.
"In spring there will be a lot of baby animals here," Bereniel's father explained, "so if you want to see them then, I can try and bring you—"
He was interrupted by a loud shriek behind him, and turned around to see Rûsa trying desperately to avoid a tiny spider that was in a hurry across the barn floor. Judging from her terrified look, she held no great love for spiders at all.
"My, did that spider scare you?" Bereniel asked, just barely restraining the laugh that tried to leave her, as Rûsa made a point of trying to add even more distance between herself and the fleeing spider; the look of legitimate terror on her face was something Bereniel did not want to add to. She understood intellectually Rûsa's fear of them, as there were many maids who sometimes fainted upon meeting a single creepy-crawly in the kitchen or storerooms, but could not for the life of her figure out why she was so terrified.
"I… just don't like them," Rûsa stammered, keeping her eyes on the tiny arachnid until that she backed into a wall, still dancing nervously on her feet. "They get everywhere, on your clothes, your bed, ugh… and I really hate the feeling of their legs on my skin!"
The truth of the matter was that she had suffered from a vicious bite from a poisonous spider in Angband as a small child, and had nearly died from it. Only her will to live, and the kind ministrations of another healer, had saved her. Ever since after, even a small spider of this size was enough to make her remember that horrible feeling of helplessness as she fought for her life.
This left Bereniel confused—where had this girl been in that she had spiders crawl over her? Before she could ask her mother called from the kitchen:
"Honey, can you collect some eggs for the dessert? I do not have enough in the house."
Her husband was quick to do so, using a small wicker basket to lay the eggs in, so the wife could get them though the window. What surprised Rûsa more, however, was when the husband openly kissed his wife on the cheek as he handed her the basket and she giggled in return. So unlike what could happen in Angband, where such tenderness was unheard off between the slaves, unless it was between a mother and her child before the mother had to give up the child after weaning. For Rûsa, as a orphan among so many other slaves from birth, the very meaning of family had been a alien thing for her. Until now.
"Did that ever happen between my parents…?"
She knew from looking at herself in the mirror every morning that she could not be a full Noldorin Elf, there was traces of a different group in the shape of her eyes. If there was more, she did not know. A Noldo on her mother's side, from what Sauron once had told her, and a unknown father.
Meanwhile Bereniel was chattering on about her family:
"That is something you and one of my nephews have in agreement, he tends to flee at sight of a spider, being a toddler and all that young age."
One of the times when Bereniel was pleased to not have a sweetheart yet, knowing to enjoy the struggle of her older siblings with their children the time being since she did not doubt that one day, is that she would be in the same situation and they being the ones watching.
"Really?"
"Yes. I have a lot of such tales to share if I get some time over between work."
"I'd like that." The spider made its way across the floor and disappeared into the wall. Rûsa breathed a sigh of relief. The less she saw of those, the better.
Once Bereniel had checked all the glass jars had been given to her parents, they were invited to stay overnight as it already was becoming darker outside and travelling in a carriage would take longer than riding back to Gondolin as Maeglin would do.
"What are you planning to do with the mole, lord Maeglin?" Said mole was carefully locked inside the small wicker basket that now lay in one of his saddle bags.
"I will release it somewhere far from here—"
"Maeglin?" Rûsa asked. "Can I have it?"
That was not what he had expected her to ask. Moles were not common animals in Gondolin due to fear that molehills could ruin lawns and the other green areas in the city, and his House only kept a few of them for studying.
"I… well… moles can be a bit tricky to care for as pets. They are wild animals, and not used to be handled like cats or dogs, and you can't hold them… much," he added at seeing her face frown. "But I'm sure with the right things you can take care of one."
And if she had trouble caring for it later because of her inexperience with a pet, they could move over the mole to the darkened study chamber with the rest.
"Thank you."
"I am glad to help if I can," he smiled at her, making Rûsa blush slightly in a manner that was not caused by the autumn winds. Both not really sure what to talk about, they pretended to not look at the other.
"I… spoke with the housemaids about the tapestries that hangs upon some of the walls…" Rûsa ventured, to break the sudden awkward silence. "I said that I would like to try something like that, but they said that I need some proper embroidery needle and thread first before I try on something…"
Maeglin was not so surprised over that, not when recalling how even she had managed to sew his wounds together so there now was several well-healed scars on his body. Especially at the sides, where the whip scars was not so deep, could he sometimes trace the tiny, faint scars left by the bone needle on each side of a whip scar.
"You do not become an expert on something right from the start. We all need a start of practice before moving onwards."
Rûsa nodded in both agreement and understanding. She knew that herself, since all the slave healers in Angband only started on that path because they were viewed as useless for other tasks.
After that, they had a pleasant dinner of mashed potatoes and boiled meat with a dessert of a sweet dessert called a apple pie, and good company with Bereniel's parents, Athaenir and Elwil. Bereniel took her childhood room while Rûsa was given the guest room, and despite their offering Maeglin graciously produced a bedroll from his saddle to lay out in the living room rather than take their bed.
~X~X~X~X~X~X~
Watching the sun setting as the day gave away to the night, Rûsa picked up a new item from her small bag. It was a diary with blank pages, which Rog had given her earlier that way on the way back home.
"It can be used for training on your writing outside the classroom while helping yourself to keep track of what happens on various days. Personally, I tend to write in my own diary like I am writing a letter to someone else," he had explained when giving it to her. Now Rûsa wanted to try it out, but who could she imagine writing to? Idril and Maeglin she met pretty often, and Rog with his staff was daily contact.
Taking some time to think, she soon dropped the quill in some ink and wrote:
Dear Lord Fingolfin...
Somehow it felt safe to try and pretend to write to the dead High King, given the impact his duel against Morgoth had on her in the past and with him being the shared grandfather of both Idril and Maeglin. Besides, no harm could come from writing a message for the dead even if they could not reply, right? A diary was meant to be a private item after all, according to Rog, and those who gave in to the temptation to read in other's diaries often encountered serious trouble for themselves once they were discovered or caught spreading gossip about something only the owner of the diary would know.
Smiling to herself, she began to write in earnest, with all of the misspellings and grammar mistakes a beginner had. Her handwriting too was not very good. But with practice she would improve. It was how she survived.
~X~X~X~X~X~X~
Back in the living room, Maeglin had seated himself in a chair at the window to watch the sun vanish behind the mountains and the night fell over Gondolin. As usual he thought of the day and its events, before he took out his own diary from the small locked box he had it inside his bag whatever he might be away over the night and began to write down what had happened this day. Similar to Rûsa without neither one knowing about it, he had chosen Fingolfin and also added Fingon after his elder uncle's death. In another diary left behind in his own chambers at the House of the Mole, he wrote to his parents.
…well, Grandfather, things seem to have gone well today. I hope to get a time with Rog and speak about possibly meeting Rûsa more often. I enjoy being with her, she is much more easier to talk with than those silly court ladies… and no, that was not an insult to Grandmother Anairë, I know from mother's tales that she was a court lady before marrying you, Grandfather…
Over the years, Maeglin had let out a lot of emotions simply by writing down his thoughts and forming them as letters to his relatives. One-sided and unlikely to never be answered, yes, but his heart always felt lighter when the words were formed on the pages. Others, such as the rather awkward love letters to Idril, had been burnt as soon as he had finished writing them, either by a candle or in the fireplace, in fear that someone would discover his secret and reveal the contents of the letters to his uncle.
"So, this should be enough for tonight. Things really have gotten more interesting here, simply by that I brought Rûsa with me from Angband..." he thought, recalling her own words that she could not have lived longer than a year at most if she had stayed behind because of her then living conditions. No, it truly was for the better that he had brought her along. Now she was free to live her life as she wanted, once she had learnt all the secrets of what a life in freedom meant. She was showing good signs, but there was still a long way to go and most likely she would never be truly free of her former life as a slave.
"Well, things could have been a lot worse, really…"
Maeglin knew that had things gone just a little bit different, he would suffer under the guilt of betraying Gondolin for his forbidden feelings towards Idril, dooming so many innocent lives for a single She-elf who did not even feel the same way towards himself. He had truly been a fool, blinded by jealousy over what he could not have and greed for power, like a small child that could be easy led astray by dangerous promises. No, Rûsa had opened his eyes when it was needed, forcing him to mature and let go of childish wishes without even knowing about it. It was something in her personality, wise in her own manner and yet unfamiliar with simple everyday life. No matter what her actual lineage was, she had the shadow of strong blood in her veins, if her ability to speak wisely and powerfully was any indicator. Even without any earlier schooling, once her stutter was gone, and if she used force in her voice, she held a command that made people listen.
Oratory skills, powerful ones. The kind which people could not refuse, which they could be swayed by if she knew where to strike in their hearts, the sign of leadership.
"Whoever in her unknown family she might have inherited that from, I would love to know…" was Maeglin's last thought before sleep claimed him for the night.
~X~X~X~X~X~X~
~X~X~X~X~X~X~
A/N1 (from Rogercat): readers from the original LOTR book may recognize the name Goldberry from the wife of Tom Bombadil.
Given that Maeglin would feel very lonely after the deaths of Aredhel and Eöl, I thought it logical that he may start having diaries to write down his most private thoughts and feelings that he may not want to reveal to others and possibly trying to feel a spiritual connection to Fingolfin, who he never met in canon and he only met Fingon during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad where Fingon sadly was killed.
A/N2 (from OAC - Qi): Athaenir means Beneficial/Helpful/Kindly Man (Male) and Elwil means Wholesome One (Female). Both names are taken from realelvish-dot-net.
Do be on the lookout for another story of mine. It is a reboot of an older, four year old story I have been revising for the past six months. It will feature characters from Tolkien in it despite being set in another fandom. In the next chapter I'll announce its update. See you there.