Surrogate Jewels - Chapter Seven
Maglor
The children are not well. Were they full-blooded elves, I would be doubly as worried. As it is, I merely cannot sleep for my anxiety. They, on the other hand, could very well die for their grief. Or can they? They are Peredhil. Only partially Elven on each of their parent's sides... even descended from Melian the Maia by their mother's line. I admit that I truly do not know if that leaves them susceptible to every Elvish weakness, few though there are. I do not know if these grieving brothers will perish if not brought from their despair, or if they will simply live miserable lives.
Again, I remind myself that I have done this to them. Should they not mend, and indeed expire, 'tis my actions which would have delivered them unto death.
I pace my room, unable to stop. They hardly even speak to me... I pour myself some wine, then some more. They will scarcely even eat... My restlessness brings me to the recreation hall, where I remove anyone in my aimless path with a dangerous glare copied from my brothers. And what's more, the children have already tried to escape, repeatedly.
When they are not in my company and thoroughly ignoring my very presence, they are I know not where, hiding from their other caretakers. And they hide admirably well. In fact, it takes the servants all the time between events just to locate the twins for the next occasion. And when that meal or lesson or nap or bathing session is over with, the clever little Half-elflings always manage somehow to disappear again. And so the cycle repeats itself. Woe be unto those poor servants whose chore it is to hunt uncooperative Peredhil night and day. And their behavior is as innocent as it is convenient! For it is during their unsupervised excursions that they have twice slipped past the watch sentries unnoticed, and made it as far as beyond the first boundary circle!
Even still, I feel nothing but relief upon their safe return. I do not believe they act as they do to spite or anger me- though the suspicion did cross my mind in the beginning of our... association. Rather it is now my belief that they act as they do out of desperation and unhappiness. Where they would go if I gave them leave I do not know. I hope I never find out.
Eventually my wandering takes me to the afternoon's destination; the children's bedroom. I dally there, waiting. At length a female Elf-servant enters the room with a huff. She does not notice me until she removes a cloth from her forehead, immediately bowing in acknowledgement. I greet her with a nod, noticing the sheen of sweat covering her exposed skin.
It is a warm day, true, but it takes much to make the Eldar sweat. More than mere summer heat... Like a desperate sprint through the woods, carrying two young Peredhil after an afternoon of panicked searching. By the exhausted, exasperated expression on the poor nurse's face, I wager that I am correct in my imaginings.
"Forgive me, Lord Maglor..." she sighs and straightens her soiled, disheveled clothing, "they got away again. A thousand apologies for that, and our lateness. I am sincerely sorry." Her eyes remain downcast, but I know she means every word. She, like all others, understands how much Earendil's sons mean to me.
Momentarily, two male guards step through the open door. They each carry one of the twins, and they each appear nearly as worn as the nursemaid before them.
"Lord Maglor," they both salute and bow. I notice the children in their arms grasp them tighter in alarm as the guards bend at the waist to acknowledge me, their Lord. Apparently the Peredhil expected a prompt deposit onto the floor... I personally would not have blamed the guards.
"All is well," I assure everyone with a nod and a relaxed expression. "You three are dismissed."
The guards nod in turn and set the children to the ground. I think by their faces that the young Peredhil will not be missed.
Then the nursemaid catches my eye with an unsure look. "Pardon, Lord, but the children are in desperate need of a bath and have not yet eaten... Should I attend to them before I go?"
I consider this as a great opportunity and shake my head. "Nay, I shall see to their needs personally this noon. And you needn't return to put them to bed, either, for I've no other engagements today, and shall remain with them until they retire." I see the nursemaid is taken by surprise, but she does not betray her manners.
"Yes, my Lord, as you wish. Good day."
"Good day," I return, and wait until she is gone. Then my little troublemakers are awarded my full attention.
"Had some fun today, did we?" I say it smiling, and there is no malice in my tone or meaning, but still they regard me warily, through slightly narrowed gazes.
"Now, children... Did I not say that all is well? Have you no doubts! I am an elf of my word." I sit on their bed and pat both hands to either side of me. "Why not come sit a while, and tell me of your adventure!"
They glance at each other but do not budge. I sigh, already becoming frustrated. This is invariably what happens every time I try to spend time with them. They rarely answer me, they never initiate any communication, and by their stormy eyes I am always left feeling that I have been judged and found wanting. Which I very well may be, but must they remind me of it?
I decide to be forthcoming with them, as I often do. "Why do you flee, children?" My voice sounds defeated and tired. I do not expect an answer.
"Because we don't like it here," one of them says simply.
I blink and a frown takes control of my face. "So now of a sudden you answer me when I speak?"
"He thought you really did not know," says the other one.
They only reply to questions of which they think I do not already know the answers? Well, their little game is not without flaws.
"I know not your names, and have asked you for them several times... Why then do you not answer me?"
The children look down, and say no more. I refuse to be annoyed. If I am to remain in their company for hours yet, 'twill not be spent in anger.
"Very well; I shall make some up for you!"
That gets their attention, and they nearly glare at me. "We will not keep your names," one replies for both, and the answer seems acceptable to his twin, as he affirms with a nod.
I sigh again and ask tiredly, "What else am I supposed to call you?" My head is beginning to ache. "Surely you do not wish to be known only as 'Peredhil'."
"Call us free," starts one pointedly.
"And then all shall truly be well," finishes the other.
All words fail me as I behold their faces. So young to have already been so cruelly slighted by fate... I pray they will not grow to be bitter. "I cannot free you, children." Certainly they would rather not know that I am quite fond of them, whether they hate me or not, and that I have no intention to be without their company, no matter how... arduous. So I shall not tell them that. But I say, "You are safe here, because I will protect you. But I also need... certain things, and you provide me with such. Do you understand?"
One of them looks down in thought, but the others' eyes bore into me with antagonism. "And who shall protect you from us?" he asks rather seriously. I carefully do not laugh out loud. Clearly he believes himself to be a threat, and I shall not be the one to disillusion him on this day.
"Perhaps your brother will," I counter smugly, "for he seems the wiser of you two."
The one in question looks up at that, and at first his innocently beautiful, boyish face is to me completely unreadable. Then he speaks.
"Give to me a weapon of defense, Feanor-spawn, and I will slay thee with it."
And thus his thoughts are made known. This little thing, this tiny Elf-boy who is not yet old enough to prepare his own meals, has just threatened the life of the mighty Elf-Lord Maglor, second son of Feanor, a Kinslayer. And yet still, even still, I am just as glad that he is at least speaking to me. This crossbred whelp, my prisoner by all intents and purposes, who has not in all this time even told me his name, has bewitched me so! How? How could it be, that I am so thoroughly smitten? How is it that my only thoughts now are bent towards how Earendil ever managed to sail himself away from these sons of his?
I push the thoughts away, and gather myself to stand. Perhaps I am doing this all wrong. Perhaps it would be best as Maedhros said, and I should be working to put distance between these children and me, instead of the other way around...
Perhaps, but I already dismissed the nursemaid, and made a claim which I shall honor. But today will be the last day of 'bonding' with Earendil's sons. After this, they are my prisoners of war; not my personal guests, not my adopted wards.
"It is time for your bath, Peredhil, for I shall suffer the stench of you no longer."
Both children stare, first at me and then at each other, first surprised and then embarrassed. They do not really stink, in fact, and I find myself unsatisfied to have successfully offended them.
They lead themselves to the nearest bathing chamber, and I remember that as I sent the nursemaid away, there is no warm bath prepared; I shall have to draw their bath.
I do not even draw my own baths...
I sense their eyes on me, their amusement almost palpable. I do my best to ignore their stares and go about filling a tub. I put a pot over a fire to heat -a fire that I first must light- and draw up fresh well water from a pulley rigged to the window. That bucket I bring to the fire, deposit its contents into the pot to warm, and go to retrieve more water. Upon returning with the second amount, the first is ready to be poured into an empty washing basin, then I return to the window for more water as the other batch heats. And repeat, and repeat. The process takes me longer that it would if I were accustomed to the chore, I deem.
Meanwhile the twins, I remain certain, are ever finding great delight in my task. Achieving emotional distance from them suddenly feels insufficient. Physical distance seems much more appealing.
When finally the basin is filled high enough with warm enough water, I turn at last to my charges. They are not grinning, as I might have expected, but mirth or something like it does dance in their duplicate set of eyes. I bid one of them come forward, but neither moves. I grumble without intention and step towards them both, dropping to my knees and taking to the job of undressing the child I happened to choose first. In all honesty I still cannot tell them apart.
They watch my every movement with utmost alertness. I take care to be gentle and slow, remembering well the only other time I tried to undress them. 'Twas early in our time together; during the journey home from Sirion, in fact, and also for the purpose of a bath. At that point their fear of me exceedingly outweighed any form of trust. They began to weep then, and I still know not exactly why. Perhaps it was that being undressed made them feel even more vulnerable, or perhaps it was simply that they did not want me to touch or see them thus. Since then a servant or nurse was appointed to those aspects of their needs, and never again did I take it upon myself to care for them in such ways. Until now.
Having the one stripped to his trousers, I set the small, filthy shirt aside and make a note to bid the maids stop dressing them in white! Before continuing I check both twins' faces to evaluate their degree of unrest. Though their eyes never leave me, I see more curiosity than disquiet.
Assured, I move on to the child's waist and untie his pants. I wonder if they remember the last time I did this, and the unhappiness it caused. I think to ask, but decide against it. Gain distance, I tell myself. Not understanding, Maglor; distance.
Once finished with the first I gesture to the other. To my surprise they switch places immediately. I again take the same caution with the next child; being slow, gentle and as unobtrusive as possible -if possible at all when undressing someone. Again they both keep studious watch of me, and I cannot help but wonder if they eye their other caretakers in the same manner, or if I am just special in an unwelcome kind of way. I must remind myself to stop seeking their acclaim! No longer will I strive to appease these children -these prisoners.
When at last I have them both unclothed and their garments set well aside to await a much-needed cleaning, I go to the side of the tub. Both children follow behind me. I find no words of direction are needed as I heft one and then the other into the bath. They watch me perpetually, quietly, deliberately, and at once I think I may go mad in such judgmental silence. No, no, I must not care. Not about what they think, and not for what they do. If anything, I should have their behavior curbed so as not to vex me so. Yes, that is how it should be...
I take a deep breath and begin to wash one child, and then the other. It does my heart a terrible injury to observe their naked bodies... It is worse than I thought. Their depression has already begun to take a physical toll. They have hardly grown at all since Sirion, and that was too long ago now for no change to be apparent- or was it? Will they mature at an Elven rate or closer to that of a human? Or perhaps somewhere in between? Regardless, for what trivial amount their limbs may have lengthened, little to no muscle has been added. They are far too lean, far too delicate. It pains me more with every touch, every glance. They are only going to worsen, unless something does change, unless I can-no, no, I must not think that way! If prisoners do not eat, if prisoners become ill and have no desire to get better, then there is nothing to be done.
When next I look up, one of their faces is concerned, and the other confused. I blink, taken a bit aback by the remarkable change from their previous stares of unnerving scrutiny. Had my expression slipped to mirror my thoughts? Was I scowling? I meant not to alarm them... Though even still, they do not speak, and I care not to ask questions that I feel certain they will not answer. So instead I ask a question which I at least have great hope may interest them.
"Are you hungry, sons of Earendil?" My voice betrays my hopefulness, and my anxiety makes me go on before they could answer or no. "I will be joining you for your afternoon meal today. I shall have prepared anything you wish."
Not being aware of my private concerns for their health, I imagine they wonder why I am so eager to feed them. I suffer their silence only a moment before dropping the subject. They will eat whatever I feed them, as any prisoner should... and if they don't... I shall feed them something else.
"Well," I begin, my optimism significantly depleted, "we're all finished here. Out you go."
One by one I remove them from the water. My attention is diverted for a moment as I go to fetch towels from a nearby shelf. Turning back around, I am startled and heartened to witness them frolicking around the room a bit, either dancing or chasing each other I cannot tell; neither can I tell if they are happy to be clean, or less modestly, happy to be naked.
The display does not last long, for as soon as I kneel down with an open towel they come to me to be dried, one after the other.
It occurs to me that I haven't brought anything to dress them in for our return to their room. I scan the bathchamber, thinking perhaps to find extra robes or undershirts... no, there are none. Naturally; when everyone else comes to bathe, they think ahead and bring with them all they should need for the task.
I consider my embarrassment should I pass anyone in the halls while carrying two damp Half-elves clothed only in over-large bath towels... No doubt they would salute and bow and ask if I wouldn't like them to take the prisoners off my hands... But what they would be thinking is 'poor Maglor, who is as good at fulfilling his vow to care for Earendil's children as he is at recovering his father's Silmarils.' Or perhaps not... either way I pray the halls will be devoid of passers-by until we reach the children's bedroom.
I turn to gather Earendil's sons, wondering if I might catch another glimpse of them celebrating their cleanliness and/or nakedness... only to find that I am alone in an otherwise empty room. So this is what it feels like to be a nursemaid in the service of the second son of Feanor: madness.
***continued***