The weather broke two days later, but Halla's health seemed to go with the storm. Once again she felt sapped of all energy, and she got sick until she cried. On the following day she began to shiver uncontrollably, unable to get warm. As much as he wanted privacy for Halla, by dusk Maukurz carried her out to the fire, wrapped her in fur and held her against his chest. Ghuribal looked on for a while, perplexed by the care shown by Maukurz to the white-skin. She was quite fine looking, for a sharlob. And frisky, who'd have thought it? But fine looking indeed, with hands as soft as the Master's. At that moment, Ghuribal decided he'd had enough. He stood up, tucked his empty flask into his trousers, and bowed with a flourish.
"Think I'll be movin' on now," Ghuribal said. "Yuh got the recipes there. If I ever see yuh again, you folks can get me drunk. But I'm outta akrum, and I'd better break for north while those tenderfoot tarks are huddled by their fires."
"Snows come fast, Ghuribal," Baiurz warned. "You sure you wanna go now?"
Ghuribal snorted, looking down on the girl, a pretty ivory-peach face gone chalky and shadowed with whelping: it was a sight he'd seen once or twice, the rare time he had some business on Isengard's lowest levels. Except for the remarkable fact that she wasn't chained or locked up, and she wasn't running or trying to kill herself, but nestled asleep in the Uruk's lap. "Yuh got yerself a high-born one here. Nice little peach meant fer a Rider, no doubt," Ghuribal said, his long arms settling on his fists. "And plucked by that one! Stinkin' all over from his musk, belly full o'his whelp, and she come to it on her own. Nar, I ain't stayin' here to watch what her kin do to you. Good luck, though!"
"They ain't finding us," Maukurz said firmly. He glared at Ghuribal for a long moment, and then he let Isengard, and all its uselessness in his present life, slip away. "Shatauz, lean over and get a couple strips of dried meat from the pit. For Ghuribal's trip." Maukurz looked up at the little Orc once more. "Makes us 'bout even for the drink."
"Obliged, Captain," Ghuribal said, taking the meat. "Commander. All o'you. You all ain't such a bad lot, for half-breeds. Come North, when you can."
With that, the little Orc slipped into the twilight, and began his hard run into the northlands.
Ailith stood in her best dress, a deep blue gown of soft wool lined with black rabbit fur. It was her only extravagance, from the money Halla had given her, and only because she felt she should wear something fine to open her tavern. It was the evening, and her brother and Blythe were on hand to help her. She'd also hired a staff: three women servers, and a cook. Ailith's desire for prosperity reflected the growing village of High Meadow, where lumber money was generous and even as the winter came in, there was enough to go around. Lord Birchleigh would not charge rents until the following year… and many of those saved pennies would pour into Ailith's coffers. The villagers, who had looked at her with deep suspicion and disdain, grudgingly admitted that the young woman had gumption, her building looked good, and her food and drink were more than satisfactory.
"You'll be seeing some outside money soon," Maybel told her. The middle-aged head logger's wife—the unofficial leader of all High Meadow's female life—nodded in approval as she looked at great mass of Men filling the long tables and laughing over their pints. "Brew a fine ale here, Miss Ailith. And a good mead too. It's good to have you."
Ailith wouldn't let her pleasure show on her face. She looked across the hall, at her guests. Some were already singing. Roasts were flying about on trays carried by smiling young women, each one worth a pretty sum. As she thought, the pork ribs were popular as well. Ailith thought she might need more servers.
She looked across the room, knowing that Harlan was watching her. And sure enough he was at a table with several journeymen, enjoying his ale, his eyes searching across the room for her every few moments. Ailith gave him a small smile; she thought she couldn't have succeeded without him.
But it was more than that, and Ailith had no idea what to do. She thought that after she'd so boldly told him all that was wrong with her, he'd wake up and forget her. Every day she had waited to hear news that the eligible carpenter, building a sturdy house of stone that was surely too big for a bachelor, had married a young maiden from High Meadow or Birchleigh. During the War it had seemed that so many were violated… but now, looking about, Ailith felt that the War had happened to her alone. There were several lasses here tonight with their families, shining laughing girls with ribbons in their long, loose hair. Girls whose families had sent them to Edoras or the Eastmark to weather the storm, and now returned like roses to a barren winter field with red cheek and smooth, petal soft skin. Girls like Halla, who had been sent to family away, or otherwise protected, thus had been spared a good part of the horror.
There were likely some other women, violated like Ailith, who had managed to conceal it. In the chaos of a raid, who could know what misery fell on another? There had been fire, and screaming, and death, many bodies dragged screaming to some gruesome fate. Many-especially the younger women and girls-died outright during or after the assault. Those women lucky enough not to be pregnant might have had sympathetic husbands. They might have been widows already. They might have killed themselves, as a good number had. Every so often Ailith thought she saw a commiserating expression, a shuttering glance full of memories that said, me too. But she was the only one who lived in the area who had gotten pregnant, and not managed to be rid of it properly. She was the only one who had needed the midwife, a woman who'd blanched at the sight of clawed and bitten hips and thighs. She was the only one with the stubborn desire to keep living, when good sense told her she ought to hang herself and reclaim some ghost of her honor…
Stop it. I will not think of it. Not tonight, of all nights!
It was a long night, but a profitable one, garnering Ailith a pound in silver coin alone, an amount that would take her months to put away. She lingered for a while after closing, after the last dishes were washed and stacked neatly on the shelves Harlan had made her, and the servers and cook had gone home. Still, there was a customer sitting in the corner, drinking his ale. Ailith took off the apron she'd worn to clean up, washed and dried her hands, and ventured to the table.
Edwyn met her with a warm smile. "A fine job you've done here, Mistress Ailith. Lord Birchleigh would be glad to see it, if he'd not gone off to fight Orcs for Gondor."
Ailith frowned, furrowing her smooth brow and wondering how to ask.
"I've not seen her in two months," Edwyn said, guessing easily. "But I suppose she's well enough. The last time I saw her… she'd recovered her smile, at least."
"Two months," Ailith sighed. "You couldn't know how she is now, my lord. The… the beast might likely have turned on her. And if she's well now… if… She won't be in a few months." Ailith paused, and folded her hands over her belly. "I… I went early. Seven months or so. It would be best for her if it happened that way… and better if she lost it sooner. Seven months… and it was… it was quite full-sized. I just can't help it, my lord… I think of her often, even if I don't want to. I wouldn't be here tonight, if it wasn't for Lady Birchleigh. And yet… she repulses me. Is that wrong of me, to think of my lady, who helped me, with such disgust? And then to worry so much for her? It makes no sense at all."
"I think many would share your sentiment… the disgust, that is. Not likely the concern."
"But you are not disgusted," Ailith said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "As a Man… How is it that you are not repulsed by her and what she's done?"
"Ah… Well… I would love to tell you that all Men think like me. But I fear I am quite wrong-headed. I think Halla is foolish, but am I repulsed by her? No, not at all. I think she's found what happiness she could, and it's not my place to condemn her."
"But you would not…" Ailith flushed, staring at the tips of her shiny black boots. "You would not marry her, knowing where she's… been."
Edwyn laughed, and Ailith had no idea why. She shifted her weight on her small booted feet, ashamed. But the handsome nobleman softened and said, almost tenderly, "If I was of a mind to marry a lady, and that one was free, I think she and I would get on well enough together." For a moment, Edwyn thought of that obscene, thrilling, self-aware light in the Uruk's eyes; he recalled the easy, comfortable swagger of the Uruk's thick, well built body. On his fifth pint and feeling it, Edwyn bit his tongue before wondering aloud if anyone else could satisfy Halla, after such a lover as Maukurz. Ailith did not need to hear Edwyn expounding on the sexual fitness of Halla's Uruk… Edwyn wasn't quite sure he could endure his own thoughts in that respect! Maukurz has danced quite a few times with the boys, I'd wager, Uruk or otherwise, Edwyn thought with treasonous mischief. That slow, feral smile as Maukurz somehow read Edwyn's astonished appreciation for his body smacked of the refugee's experience in that respect.
"My lord?"
Edwyn blinked. "Forgive me, Mistress. To answer your question honestly: I would have no hesitations, if I wanted a wife, concerning where she'd been before me. My only concern would be how well she loved me now."
"But—" Ailith's eyes filled with tears. "You would not be… repulsed? To know she'd been… she'd been used… by them?"
Dear Bema, she's speaking of herself! Edwyn realized belatedly. "Darling… Are you wishing to be married now?"
"Of course not," she said quickly, words all jumbled. "I wouldn't dream of it. I've been blessed enough, far more than I deserve."
Edwyn drained his mug and stood up. He looked at Ailith carefully, and though his eyes were slightly blurred by drink he pronounced, "Kind women deserve everything they want, Ailith. A tavern, a husband, a quiverfull of strong sons. Don't limit yourself, darling. There will be enough people who try to do that for you; why do it to yourself?"
"For decency?" Ailith asked, sweeping his mug into her hands. Since the wash water had already been dumped, she decided to take it home for cleaning, but wound up setting it to the side, abnormally forgetful with such thoughts on her mind.
Edwyn shook his head. "Anyone who would be offended by the marriage of a beautiful hard-working woman is a fool, and perhaps wicked as well, and so not worth the time you'd take to consider them."
Ailith, unaccustomed to compliments, couldn't help a small smile. "Well… perhaps a nobleman can afford such freedom…"
Her words made him think of Finnan, floundering in the struggle to balance his own desires with the responsibilities of his station. "You might be surprised about that, sweeting. I think if you want something in this world, you have to take it, and make it work for you. Come now, let me walk you home. I've had a few too many, and my bed beckons."
"All right," Ailith said. "Thank you, my lord…"
Edwyn waited while Ailith extinguished the lamps, and then together they stepped into the night. Ailith turned around, looking happily at her tavern. "I can hardly believe it…"
"You'll do well, Mistress Ailith. And I'll be sure to spread the word around to my friends about your fine food and drink."
"Thank you, my lord!" she said again, thrilled by the prospect of noble custom. She turned, and then froze.
Harlan was standing behind her, frowning a little to see Edwyn with Ailith. The nobleman was a slight too pretty for Harlan's comfort. But the lord merely looked to Ailith, arching a neat eyebrow in some odd sort of comradery. Ailith nodded tightly, biting her lip over her small smile. He came to see me… even after what I said, he came to see me…
She tried to remind herself that words could not express how ruined she felt she was. And she tried not to be glad to see him, but it was impossible. Harlan's blue eyes were bright with pleasure, and the way he looked at her made her feel beautiful, even if she was sure her looks had been destroyed.
"I'll leave Mistress Ailith in your care, Harlan. And bid you both a good night," Edwyn bowed his head, looking at Ailith pointedly before walking unsteadily into the darkness.
"You were incredible tonight," Harlan said quietly, once the nobleman had gone.
"I could never have done it without you. Never."
A slow, sweet smile crossed Harlan's face with Ailith's recognition of his hard work. "You… look incredible as well," he told her.
Ailith flushed, wondering why her heart galloped away like some wild thing. "Thank you. It's a new dress…"
"It's not the dress, Ailith." Harlan said, growing ever more serious. "Have you given any thought to what I asked you?"
Ailith shut her eyes tightly. It felt so good to have him come to see her this way; it was so wonderful to have his eyes on her making her feel—just for a moment—like a beautiful, desirable woman. "I think of it all the time," Ailith admitted. "But…"
Harlan stepped towards her boldly, hesitating only a breath before he put his arms carefully around her waist. She was stiff and tight in his arms, her eyes wide, and he was afraid she'd bolt, or simply disappear, like some mystical maiden out of a legend. "Don't say anymore," he pleaded in a whisper, before she refused him again. "It is a beautiful night, crisp and clear and full of stars. Won't you just walk with me a while? Let me see you safely home?"
"Oh... Oh, I want to…!" Ailith admitted finally. "I want to… But you'll leave me, you'll listen to all those village biddies, you'll decide you want someone—someone unspoiled—and it will be all the worse for me for having dreamed of it at all—"
Harlan cut her off by taking her face gently in his hands. He could feel the young woman trembling, and her eyes went wide and fearful as he kissed her softly on the lips. He drew back, deadly serious as he said, "I love you, Ailith. I don't think any of those cruel things about you, and I'd take anyone to task who said them! But I don't expect you to be perfect, either. Just your beautiful, steady-minded self. I love you—I want to love you—just as you are. I want you for my wife, Ailith, and I'm willing to wait… As long as it takes until you can trust that I love you, and I won't let you down."
She blinked away her tears, forbidding them to fall. "It's so hard to trust, Harlan. I don't know if I can."
"Just walk with me," he said, smiling gently. "No more, no less."
"All right," she whispered, hardly daring to speak too loud. She thought that indeed she might be dreaming, and if she was, she never wanted to wake again. Harlan offered her his hand, and she took it carefully, and together they walked off under the stars.
From the moment Finnan entered Osligiath, he felt like a different person.
Like Minas Tirith, Osgiliath was a city of stone. When he'd last seen it from across the battlefield, it had been a ruined place, a strong hold of the Enemy and crawling with Orcs. Now Osigiliath had come to life again. Giant crowds roamed the streets, between impromptu fair days and re-established markets making up for lost business. And from everywhere came the clanging of chisels and cries of foremen, echoing off the newest, rising, famed Gondorian towers. Finnan savored the feeling of being a stranger in a foreign land: no one knew him, and he owed no one a thing, save the commander he had signed up with. Even here, he fought for pay, and was free to take his twenty-five and go, or even leave them to fight and take his fee. But Finnan was in it for the mission, not the pay. When the cold, damp wind blew into his face, Finnan smiled at the taste of freedom, and found himself eager to ride on to the center city square, where King Elessar's Orc Hunters were proudly mustering.
After meeting Adanaer, the commander, Finnan and Haldren stabled their horses, sent their hired men to join the growing company of footsoldiers, and went off to have a meal in a recommended tavern. Haldren had arrived a few days prior to Finnan, and was glad to share information.
"We'll be riding with a company of one hundred into the Ash Mountains. The place is rather horrific, so I hear, all blasted with soot and ash and black rock from the bursting of Mount Doom. We'll have to carry rations, that means."
"And the Orcs?" Finnan asked, tucking into his stewed chicken. "Where is their main force?"
"Ahh… we've some targets, but there's no force per se. You remember the last battle, how they scattered?"
Finnan nodded. The memory was, at the moment, a quite satisfactory one. Filthy cowards. Filthy whore, taking it from a filthy coward!
"Well, the Orcs haven't rebanded into any army worth the name. We'll be on the alert for hit and run attacks, but mostly what we're looking for, as I may have mentioned, are settlements. Lord Adanaer tell me that there were entire… um… clans, I believe, kin-groups if you can believe it, dwelling in and around Mordor. What we don't need-what King Elessar forbids-is Orcs settling in the range of Mordor and multiplying. So that is our mission: to eliminate them, all of them."
Finnan frowned, his knife suspended in the air. "For some reason, I never think of them… Well, making more, you understand. The idea of Orc females…!"
Haldren chuckled. "Don't worry, likely you won't know the difference. If it bleeds black and it moves, then it dies; that's the order. I hope you won't have a problem with that…"
Finnan snorted, cutting into his meat. "Of course not. Preposterous. An Orc is an Orc, and I can only hope that my sword will help put an end to their accursed kind once and for all."