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Tales from the Past

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I know your name. I know your face; your touch and grace. All of time can not erase, what our hearts remember stays; forever on a song we play.
—Star Sky, Two Steps from Hell

The dark cloud of pure wrath that shrouded Rûsa had not gone unnoticed by the residents of Rog's House when she returned. Even the youngest maids and wards cleared themselves from her path, an unexplained fear coming over them. So it was that Rûsa fled to her own chambers without seeing anyone. She tore open the door, not caring if it wrenched her muscles, slammed it shut again once she was inside and went straight to her bed where she collapsed in a most un-Rûsa like manner.

Such was her anger that tears began flowing, bathing her freshly laundered blankets.

After all we have been through, came the fleeting thought, he goes and sees another woman?! If the mind could kill so would she have sent a swarm of such sharpened thoughts towards him, and Maeglin would likely know who the sender was, as he had seen her before she stormed off.

She had never felt… felt like this way before. Not even as a slave—betrayal had been common, they had to do whatever it took to survive, and altruism nearly often got oneself killed. And then he had come along and showed her a new world, and helped her escape with him.

And for that he abandons me for a silly, mindless girl?! she screamed in silent fury. Rûsa had known that the world outside Angband would be different from what she was used to as a slave, but to see it like this…

No, she really did not want Maeglin to replace her with another girl.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Rûsa did not show up for the evening meal. And it was the same at breakfast the next morning, which was alarming in itself.

"Whatever it is that the girl is angry about, this sort of behavior, not showing up for two meals twice in less than a day, is unacceptable, Lord Rog! She needs to eat or she will lose that hard-gained weight quickly!" one of the female cooks lamented at seeing the empty chair, recalling the list from the healers about how important it was to ensure that Rûsa did eat because she could not risk losing weight for the sake of her health.

"I will speak with her and bring some food along to her chamber." Rog finished his porridge with some tea "It could be that she needed some time alone in order to calm down from her bad mood yesterday." He set his empty cup down, not noticing he had drunk it all at once, listening to the maids and his wards come up with varying theories as to Rûsa's bad mood.

"Do you not think it is that five-year-time for her that could have started?" one offered, concern creasing her fair face. "I was really bad-tempered when I started to mature into a maiden, too, despite being told what it would mean. I have never been so foul-mouthed as back then because of my mood swings!"

"No way, she is too young for that physical change," another interrupted, waving her arms about without really noticing it. "Far from having finished growing in height, that tends to be the first sign, remember? With that height she has currently, she will not mature into a maiden for at least another two decades!"

She might actually be older than any of you, young ones, but her former life as a slave has messed up with her growth, Rog thought privately as he took one of the open sandwiches when a plate was offered. It wouldn't have been the first time such a thing had happened before, he remembered. Some of those who had survived Utumno had never truly recovered and had remained stunted well into their mid five hundred to eight hundred years—and those were the lucky ones.

As the breakfast meal was nearly over, he chose to not put a bowl with porridge and milk on the tray he would bring Rûsa, since cold oatmeal porridge was far from tasty unless it was heated up again. Instead, he placed a plate with open sandwiches with cheese and ham, some boiled eggs, a glass of apple juice and a huge cup of steaming hot tea on the tray. He took up the tray and went, moving quickly before anyone noticed he was leaving.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Of course, Rog did not expect that the knock on the door to her chamber would be welcomed.

"Leave me alone!"

The sound of something being tossed towards the door in response to the knocking, likely a pillow or something similar soft, for there was no sound of a fragile item breaking. That was good, as he would have hated to add a demerit to her otherwise good track-record for breaking something. But this tantrum could not continue.

"You have not eaten for two meals now, Rûsa, and not eating means that the healers might be told about it."

"Not their business!"

Right, she did sound surprisingly aggressive, completely at odds with her ordinary self, but this would hardly be the first time Rog dealt with someone who acted very unlike themselves.

"All right, young lady."

Being the one to have built the house since Gondolin's founding, Rog had no problems opening the door. His master key opened all in his house. When he entered the chamber, Rog was somewhat surprised by what he found.

Rûsa stood in the middle of the room, shoulders heaving with deep breaths. The walls were covered in paintings that could perhaps have been intended as some form of curse or her only way to let out her feelings, had she not run out of the water colours during the night. Her dress, not changed from yesterday; her face and hands still held dried drops of colour on them. But it was her eyes that showed her anger—a burning, intense glare that somehow felt familiar to Rog… as if he had seen it before, and, even more confusing, from the same person.

"If you wanted to repaint the rooms, you only need to ask about it," Rog said, placing the tray on a small table. He made no movement of coming closer, for now Rûsa acted like an angry cat that would strike out with claws out at any attempt of touch. Another thing that felt like she were someone he had known once before. Most curious.

"I am not hungry."

Words spoken out of habit, no doubt, while pretending that the food was not what she desired. Something he had done himself once, long ago. He knew exactly what passed through her mind.

"The maids spoke of you returning home yesterday in a fury most unlike yourself. Was there something you found displeasing on your walk?"

Was it possible to enter an even deeper level of resentment? If so, that might be what Rûsa did right now. Her eyes were full of it, some invisible emotion made manifest as a simmering fire. "Maeglin… was with another girl…!" she began, her words tripping over one another.

Rog's left eyebrow lifted up, but otherwise there was no other change of facial expression. He could put two and two together easily—some people, never mind that they were Moles familiar with his own house, had seen the King's nephew walking together with the daughter of Egalmoth in the rose gardens. And poor Rûsa, having only ever known the life of slavery, had no idea of how to respond to this except through anger, her only outlet.

For her, Maeglin was a savior, someone who had freed her from the hell of Angband. She had trusted him with so much, and now news of this… It must seem like a betrayal, though in what manner, Rog was less sure of.

"Sit down on the bed, so we can talk. Perhaps it might help to speak about it."

The tension in her body was still there, but it seemed like her feelings of hunger defeated her anger for a moment, for Rûsa did glare towards the food tray and then away again. She gave a slight nod but did not move until Rog had seated himself.

Once he was seated she moved over, sitting as far from him as possible, out of a combination of self-righteous indignation and slowly growing shame. For her sake Rog did not move any closer. He waited instead of speaking; and his patience was rewarded.

"Why was he with that girl?" she asked, her body still shaking.

Rog thought for a bit, gathering his thoughts in a manner to hopefully explain and not confuse. Rûsa was smart, as having proven that many times over, but there still was much about the world she was shockingly ignorant of, for someone of her supposed age.

"In Angband, you had to sometimes team up with the others, yes?"

She nodded.

"To keep food safely away from the orcs, to hide a wounded comrade," he pressed his point.

"What does this have to do with it?" she asked.

"Here in Gondolin, we call those efforts alliances. What is happening is this: Maeglin is being courted to secure an alliance into the king's family, to enrich the family of the prospective lady, and to secure new blood for the King's line. It is likely he had no choice in the manner to be seen with her."

Her eyebrows moved as if she tried to make sense of it.

"New blood… as in that she will be the mother of his child? That is what Sauron called it, that the Noldor slaves were brought to avoid children born between those who already were born as slaves in Angband."

Something in her body language told Rog that she did not like talking about it. Was it related to something personal?

"Yes, there is a legal term for it: incest, and it means that someone has feelings for a close relative to the point of wanting that other person as a spouse. It is taboo among the Elven customs, and has severe consequences for the resulting individuals born from such couples. Not only are the resulting offspring unhealthy in various ways, they also risk being stillborn. Apart from the outward dangers, the emotional damages are just as severe, and can often drive the afflicted to suicide."

She seemed uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable, as her words proved.

"I… was born between a newly arrived Noldo and a male slave who had already sired other children," she began slowly. "As far as I know, my birth was meant to avoid such breeding."

"Then you understand what I mean. Gondolin is in similar straits, as much as we'd like to deny it. Our nobility is limited, and there are no other royals for consideration. They are either dead or gone. The King is desperate, and I imagine he may have approved of the girl's family to begin their courtship of his nephew over Maeglin's protests."

"Oh…"

Her discomfort grew. "So… I was mad at him… for no reason?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. The best way to find out is to talk to him yourself," Rog advised. "You won't get any answers if you sit here and paint on my walls."

This made her actually blush, if only very little.

"I still do not like the idea of Maeglin being with someone else."

In all fairness, Rog agreed. Romance was a tricky feeling, especially for those who were not familiar with how one could lose both sense and wit because of how intense your feelings could be. "And people wonder why I am still unmarried after all these years," he muttered, almost absentmindedly. "It was not enjoyable to see her be courted by someone far higher in status."

Now this caught her attention, no doubt.

"What do you mean?"

Rog raised a hand to his chest, pulling out a very expensive-looking but also slightly worn from age, gold medallion from its hidden place in a pocket on the inside of his vest. It was the type to hold a small portrait inside, but he did not open it.

"You have been told about the Exile and that we left Valinor, right? Well, long before that happened, I was a common blacksmith in the city of Tirion. One day, when I worked beside one very famous blacksmith, said to hold the favor of the Vala Aulë himself, I saw the nearly-grown daughter of a Noldorin prince arrive to ask a favor of that smith. She was well-known for her beauty, but in that moment, dressed in trousers and tunic since she had been out riding with her brothers, she seemed more overwhelmingly magnificent than if she had been wearing one of those finely decorated dresses and bedecked in jewelry used at the royal court."

A princess of the Noldor, that was the lady of his heart. So long ago that almost no one nowadays would know which one of the princesses it could be. While there had been five, two daughters of the King and three granddaughters—one born to each one of his three sons—very few here in Gondolin would recall that event, and of those who did had more important things to attend to. The affections of a lowly blacksmith, even if he were a Lord of one of the Houses of the City, were of no major importance to Gondolin.

Yet even in spite of this he understood, all too well, what it was like to fall in love with someone who was so far elevated in social status as to be as unreachable as the moon was to the silvered lakes of the world. For Rûsa it would be the exact same—she of no class, and Maeglin, a King's own blood.

"As she was still unmarried at that time," he continued, "I thought that I could at least try to court her, despite my lack of status. From that day on my finest jewelry and other gifts were made all for her, taking great care in crafting something that she would look her best in. But because my gifts to her were always sent without telling my name, and because I worked hard enough to rise in status among the blacksmiths, someone else took the chance to court her in person. A young noble, who had gained his family-owned wealth from viticulture."

As Rûsa had no idea what that was, Rog paused the story temporarily to explain how wine was made from grapes, of how the aging process proceeded exceedingly fine and delicious drinks, and how the best wines in Valinor could be really expensive so only the upper classes could afford those. Even though it was a subject he was not experienced in, he possessed enough to know how it worked.

Even after all these years, that arrogant smile always worn by Lord Nárion in triumph over winning her still angers me to remember… the unwanted thought intruded.

"Did they end up together?"

Oh, this part of the story was something he still enjoyed with great fondness. "Actually, no. She found out, in a not so pleasant manner, that he was only after her social status because he would gain a lot of power by being her husband, and did not care much for her as a person. According to what I learned with time afterwards, she ended the courtship in front of the whole royal court on the very same day as he had intended to offer her marriage and make her his fiancee."

Even today, Rog enjoyed the tale of how the noble fell from grace, all because of his own actions and arrogance. Sure, he felt pity for the princess because of how that event had soured her view on courtship and made her fear that other suitors might only want her for their chance to become elevated in rank, but he had hoped that with time, her wounds from the disastrous courtship would heal enough much to try again at love.

"Please, keep telling the story," Rûsa demanded, like a young child eager for a very interesting tale of adventure, the half-eaten sandwich in her hands betraying that she had not been able to resist the food anymore. The sight made Rog smile again, hoping that some of her anger had cooled down for now.

"Unfortunately, just like any other storybook tale, she ended up out of my reach again. Not because of a new suitor, but because of the circumstances that led to the Exile. My group of Exiles was split up, and when we finally gathered together again… she had changed once more."

A change that had been at a great cost. A change that had transformed her into a person no one could imagine back when she still was a young princess.

"I last saw her in the battle of Unnumbered Tears, where King Fingon died, and while she was not slain or captured, it was very visible even from a distance that this battle would haunt her."

Just like how the battle had haunted him. What could have gone differently? Could he have done something to change the events? Would he finally have caught her eye, as a warrior?

"So she is not here in Gondolin?" Somehow, Rûsa felt oddly disappointed by this. That mysterious lady sounded like she was not someone easily forgotten, and to leave such a lasting impression…

"Nay. She would actually hate to not be allowed to leave the city, and she would not give King Turgon an easy time either, if she was here. Back in Tirion, I actually witnessed them clash over a disagreement in front of the public and while they avoided using their fists, she was used to not letting her brothers win a battle of wits without letting them have a taste of what she thought about the situation. The future King of Gondolin ended up leaving with some toes broken from her stomping on his foot with full force."

"She did not kick him in the groin area?" Rûsa giggled, having witnessed more than once when female orcs did not hesitate to do such against male orcs to rebuff their advances. She knew that it was a very effective manner of "keeping the peace".

"That sort of response is not acceptable for a lady to do in the upper social classes, I am afraid. But yes, she would have done so if she had been able to get away with it."

Rog could tell that this had gotten more of her attention, and told more of Valinor for Rûsa. Basic things like how it had no Orcs or other evil creatures in it, unless one counted Morgoth when he was freed from the Halls of Mandos, but he did not tell her that story; how craftsmen and craftswomen could create wonderful items thanks to Maiarin tutelage; how the Noldorin, Vanyarin, and Telerin peoples ended up gradually diverging in their culture in spite of their physical proximity.

"It was a paradise, yet not without its flaws. For all of the good the Valar had done, I fear they had ultimately done more harm than good by bringing us all there. The blood of the first Elves appeared from time to time as the younger generations grew up and married, and had children. The… the late Prince Fëanor and his seven children are one such example. They always hungered for more in spite of all they had. It is an inner restlessness, a feeling of not truly belonging to a such peaceful land, and a need to challenge themselves to be able to survive danger," Rog paused, remembering the discontent that Morgoth had stirred up with his honeyed words and deceitful gifts, too subtle at the time but clear as sunlight in the here and now. How much of that was due to Morgoth and how much was simply because the Elves, as a people, were unsuited to long-lasting peace? he would never know.

Turgon and others who were pleased with their life here in Gondolin pretended to not see it, but Rog was not as blind. Such restlessness was beginning to form in some Elves here, not merely Maeglin, a longing to leave the Hidden City and stop being sheltered from the outside world, even if they would face danger that could prove fatal if not being careful. It was a most troubling thought.

To get away from such matters he changed the subject; it would not do to have Rûsa dwell on this. "Rûsa," he began, "as one of my wards, it could become so that you may be taken along as a guest to social events. You need more than schooling to prepare you for life, you need skills. Such as how to handle situations like this with… more grace, shall we say?"

Somehow she got a little nervous at that warning. "Okay," she said. "What kind of skills?"

He smiled. "I know where we can start."

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A few hours later, Rûsa wondered once again why nobles were expected to learn skills different from those of the common classes. Having been shown various dance steps had become exciting after the first few tries, and Rog clearly had been enjoying the sight of her reactions, but needing a special dress for such events? Anyway, the seamstresses discussed details that she did not really pay attention to, because she had never known such words before. The conversation they had went something like this, and Rûsa felt flattered by the compliments.

"We should send the youngsters to gather red pine needles, if these are added to boiled water it will be a forest-green dye bath."

"Yes, that shade would be great against her red hair when it has grown out more, making her look like a rose!"

Having agreed on a colour for the dress that would not be a bad choice with her pale skin and hair in thought, they then began to talk about which form the dress would be. But they all made a note to not adjust the dress to Rûsa's current state; she was still intending to add weight and nothing felt more embarrassing than a nice dress that suddenly no longer fit in a comfortable way since the last time it was tested. No, better to make the dress a few sizes too big, so they could adjust it when she was closer to a healthy body weight. It was easier to sew in a piece of clothing, than needing to add on more fabrice and trying to redo the seams so people did not notice that it had been made differently originally.

Getting closer to a mirror near the window, Rûsa suddenly noticed something on her face. Surely it could not be dirt, Bereniel made sure to always help her clean herself! A bowl of lukewarm water and a tower was placed on a small table right under the mirror, so she placed her glasses next to the bowl and tried to wash her face with a wet corner of the towel. However, to her displeasure, the brown spots remained and her skin now was a little red from the attempt of rubbing the towel over her cheeks and nose.

"Ah."

At that moment, Rog looked through the door to hear how things with the dressmaking were going.

"Going well, ladies? Oh, Rûsa, you seem to have started to get freckles now when you are out in the sun."

"Freckles?" she wondered in confusion over her shoulder, again only seeing Rog as a blurred mess in the distance without her glasses on. As she raised the towel to her face once more the Lord of the House gently stopped her.

"Yes, those brown spots on your face. It is not unheard of for them to appear on people with very fair skin, often from birth though they generally are not visible until the child is a little older in age. Those having red hair are especially noticed to get them when out in the sun for longer periods. Most likely, you have been having them all your life, but not been aware of them until now."

Because you were a slave in a place where the sun never gives light.

Even she could sense the unspoken words that Rog could not say around the servants. Undoubtedly, he must have seen other Elves with red hair over his long life, yet Rûsa herself had never seen anyone here in Gondolin. Perhaps they were really rare, like those pure white warg cubs that she had spotted maybe three times in her life when she passed by the dens where the mother wargs would breed to have offspring. It was not a comforting thought—in addition to her legal status as a nobody, she was also a unique nobody. She stood out. And in her experience, standing out was a terrible thing indeed…

"You may need a soothing chamomile balm for your face though," Rog was saying, not privy to her inner thoughts. "You are clearly at risk for getting sunburn even now during autumn." He smiled at her reflection in the mirror, Rûsa catching it as she replaced her glasses on her face.

"If you say so, mi'lord…"

Rog privately thought that, given enough time and for her confidence to mature, Rûsa would become a lovely woman, full of grace, charm, and empathy for all. The birds and beasts of the field would bow before her radiance if she smiled, and the Sun herself would dim to give obeisance to this wonderful, innocent creature. With a start he caught himself. Now, now, you old man, he accused himself. She is not that woman, no matter what your heart says. Even so, the resemblance between her and his long-lost love was strong.

Casting about for a suitable subject, Rog found it came almost instantly to him. Not only would it allow him to assess her true ability, but it would serve to further the Union's plans to evacuate the city. "Say, Rûsa, would you like to learn how to use the bow?"

"The what?"

"Ohhh! Are you going to show her how to use a hunting bow? Please, can we come too? Can you show us?"

Rog sighed to himself. He had meant it to be a private matter between them, but all the other women had apparently decided it would be a group lesson. He had been slacking off, now that he thought about it. "Yes, you all may come," he heard himself saying, to everyone else's obvious delight and Rûsa's increasing confusion.~X~X~X~X~X~X~

She soon found the answer in what Rog had meant by a bow, as they all came out to a smaller training ground not far from the backyard of the house. He meant archery, of using a bow and arrows.

"C-can females be trained in this too?" she managed to whisper to Rog as he helped some of the younger Elves to take the correct hold on the training bows. In Angband, few female orcs had been soldiers sent out in battle, raiding or scouting missions, mainly because Sauron and Morgoth wanted a steady providing of new generations of those monsters, to quickly replace those who died in one way or another.

"Oh yes. Only a narrow-minded fool would think that women are not worthy of training. In fact, the late Princess Aredhel, the mother of Prince Maeglin, became well-known from a young age for her skill in hunting with the bow. I am sure that those skills are what helped the Princess in difficult situations."

It clearly had saved many, when Aredhel had helped to hunt seals and other animals on the Grinding Ice to help with finding food as they had to walk over the frozen glacial desert to Middle-earth. But when Gondolin had been built and he had started to expect ladies at the royal court to take after how his Vanyarin grandmother Indis and her noble ladies-in-waiting had been, Turgon had gotten the idea that Aredhel was becoming too unladylike to successfully attract suitors who wanted her hand in marriage and forbidden her to use the bow so she did "not scare away" said suitors. The relationship between the two royal siblings had soured over time thanks to that and Rog had even heard arguments between them at times when Turgon and Aredhel did not think no one was nearby to hear.

"Right, try to pull the bow string back."

While she was far from the only one to not be successful to pull the string back, clearly many of the maids being beginners as well, Rûsa soon felt a growing frustration over how little physical strength she had in her arms. Rog did not openly scold any of the young She-elves, but he was a strict teacher nonetheless and showed several times how the bow string would be pulled back and how important it was to aim.

"If you do not aim right, someone else can get hurt, or as it often goes in battle: an orc coming straight at you with the goal of killing you!"

After more than a hour just to try to pull the bow string, Rûsa took a small break. But a part of her was not in a good mood even if she was not the only one with failing that, and it felt like the practice targets were mocking her. Suddenly, bow training felt a lot less fun and more like hard work.

"I want to get in a hit…"

Then she saw some daggers laying beside the training swords and similar weapons. Testing two of them, it did not take long before she found some that were suited for tossing.

"No, Bereniel, you risk injuring your shoulder like that…"

Suddenly two daggers flew past Rog, into a straight line into the practice targets.

Crack!

A perfect score hit, quickly joined by two other daggers. When everyone looked at who had tossed them, it was Rûsa, taking aim with one last dagger.

"Now that is a way to defend yourself from a distance… as well…" Rog said in an impressed voice over how his newest ward clearly must have gotten those skills in Angband, while Bereniel stared in disbelief at the score hits with the daggers.

"Keep the young miss away from the meat knives, keep the young miss away from the meat knives…" she muttered to herself, suddenly feeling a little alarmed over what might happen if Miss Rûsa got her hands on those in a cooking lesson or even the cleavers used by the butcher to cut up meat. Sure, she did not think that the young Miss would harm anyone on purpose, but unforetold accidents with sharp items were a pain, especially if they could be avoided in the first place.

Once the lesson was over and they went to the kitchens for a cooking lesson, Rûsa showed all signs of being in a better mood. Walking with much greater self-confidence in her movements, she seemed to be a far cry from having been near death, as Rog recalled from when he had found them.

"There is something about her that pokes on my memories somehow, but it is not clear enough to be a telling sign…"

That Rûsa must be a descendant in some form from the Wood clan, one of the various Avari clans, that Rog was sure of. The shape of her eyes alongside the black color of her pupils and her dark red hair, all of them had been common in that clan. Exactly who her father was, impossible to say, but most likely the one with the blood ties to the Wood clan, because she had said that her mother had been a Noldo.

"And yet her Noldo blood seems to be a mystery as well."

Lady Maedhros was not the only one who had been captured by orcs from Angband in attacks or raids upon camps when the Noldor arrived.

In the aftermath from the Battle of the Lammoth, where the host of Fingolfin had first faced the creatures and Fingolfin losing his youngest son Argon, many had noticed that the number of slain Elves from the followers of Fingolfin did not match the number of those who was missing. Even with the warriors defending themselves well, Rog recalled that an ambush at the very back edge of the host had taken a smaller group of unprotected females, half-grown youngsters and children by surprise. Only the hunting skills of Lady Aredhel and the quick use of her bow had prevented herself and Idril from being among those taken, managing to sound the alarm as she came running with her terrified niece in her arms. Yet those who were taken before the warriors could save them and brought to Angband, had most likely been used to breed new slaves like Rûsa.

After all, Rûsa herself did not know exactly how old she was, despite her appearance and behavior at times making her seem much younger. But it would explain her Noldo blood, and a rough guessing of when she had been born.

Rog supposed it was something to figure out for another time. What was more important was Bereniel's own sudden fear—a repeat of Rûsa's anger in the kitchen would be… extremely… deadly, given that she was no stranger to using daggers as weapons. He made a note to keep all sharp things locked up from henceforth.

Poor Maeglin.

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A/N: Hello all. I'm back again, along with Rogercat's endless patience. But… good news! I've been writing again, a lot more than just this story too, so this means my "writing" won't be as sporadic anymore. Mostly. All your comments are welcome. Rogercat carried the day here for this chapter, not me, I did the fine touchups. So, all praise to her!