Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Middle Earth or any of the histories
about that world. The characters and what happens to them is all that is
mine.
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"Ro! Where are you? I'm sorry I said that about Da! I really am. I was only saying it in jest. He was a really good man." One of my brothers was looking for me because I had hidden myself to cry in peace. He had made a derisive remark about my father, the one person I could not stand to have anyone think badly about. After only a few months, my brothers have completely forgotten who my father was and what he stood for. He had meant the world to me and after my father died, I thought that I could no longer suffer through my loathsome life. Then my brothers all saw how I was reacting to his death and how I was not reacting to hers. While my father had treated me with love and respect, my mother treated me like everyone else: with loathing and disgust. She had felt that way ever since I procured my scar. Actually, it was only after my scar I finally realized how she truly felt about me. She ever after bemoaned my ugliness because I was once beautiful, and yet I ruined what I had.
I stepped out into the clearing, for I did not want my brother to discover my hiding place. "I know you did not mean to offend, Jayth, but did you not know that it would still hurt? I loved Da more then anyone, and you go and make horrible jokes about him. And he has only been dead for a few months."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know you would take it that way otherwise I would have never said anything about him. Besides, Da has been gone longer than a few months, Ro. You need to remember that. Otherwise you may never fully heal. And I…….well, I don't want to see you suffering like that." Jayth was sincere. How he managed to make fun of someone trying to win approval and the next moment apologize with his whole heart to renew that approval, I will never understand. If he only watched his words better, then he would not have to trip over himself apologizing all the time.
"I know you are sorry. I am sorry for going off the way I did. But you should not have said that all the same. It is still to soon. Too many people in this city have the wrong idea about him. If only they could have known him and not his reputation for having married the most shrewd woman in the town. Then I would not have to take their words, and I could defend our father's good name." I hurried after Jayth following him to the house. While crossing the field I knew I needed to finally tell Jayth what I had been planning to do ever since our father died. "I wish that I could finish my training so I would not have to listen to what people say about him with patience. Instead I would rather make them eat their words." That concession was hard to make: I did not know how he would take it. But his next words proved my trepidation.
"Ro, you know we can't let you do that. Ma, she always insisted that you learn the ways of your sex because ever since the accident, she wanted to keep you far away from weapons." Jayth was always my mother's favorite and even though he was the closest to me in age, being the sixth born, he tried always to win her favor for fear of getting the wrath she freely gave me. And even though she had died about a year before, he still felt the need to stay in her good graces because she might be watching from the Hall of Mandos.
"You need not try to uphold her rules on me, I know how she felt. But think of it this way: if I do not have permission to learn from one of my many brothers, then I will leave and never come back." There was steel in my voice. We crossed the rest of the field in silence, both to our separate thoughts. My father had wanted me to learn how to defend myself and my betrothed wanted me to be learned in the art of wielding a staff. Because of them, my mother conceded to let me learn. I went to the Rivendell Archives with Jepal, and I started my training. Since my accident, though, she did not want me anywhere near something that could ruin my appearance again.
I thought about how after I came back home and healed from the accident, I had desired to continue my education, but my brothers felt differently. After our parents' death they followed my mother's wishes of wanting me to finish learning the ways of keeping house and not something that only men should know. I knew my brothers would never accept my argument, yet I always tried. I wanted to learn how not to rely on others, to be able to take care of myself. For since I had gotten my scar, and after my betrothed ran, it was apparent that I would never marry. And I did not want to stay with one of my brothers, forever indebted to them for shelter and food.
Jayth swung his legs over the fence that separated the house from fields escorting me back to my daily chores. "Talk to Kimel about your decision. Let's see what he thinks." I knew I was doomed. Kimel was the surest defender of my mother's wishes. And being the eldest, he felt he had the full responsibility of taking care and doing what was best for all of us.
I had been in the middle of peeling the potatoes for dinner when Jayth had made his derisive remark. He had come waltzing in on a break from tending the crops, and had made a snide comment to me about what I was doing and what Da would have thought. The way he phrased his statement made my blood boil and my eyes well up with tears. I ran from the room not wanting to give him evidence that I did indeed still suffer.
As I finished my job of pealing the potatoes, I resumed thinking about my father. It was he that first gave me a nickname and called me Rose. Then, because it was a proper girl's name and not some distant unfamiliar relative's, my mother started calling me that and the rest of my family soon followed. I did look like a rose among thorns before my accident, I will admit that. After that dreadful day, my father continued to call me Rose, but I insisted that everyone else call me Ro.
I asked my father once why he continued to call me something that only brought painful memories to my mind. He said he had called me Rose because it was a fitting name for one who would soon deserve to be named after a beautiful flower. He said my character was worthy of a rose title, even though I did not look it. When he died, my brothers wanted to call me Rose again, but it only brought another painful memory to my mind: a dead, loving father. So I insisted yet again that my brothers call me Ro, if they wanted to use a short name. Only my father had the honor of calling me Rose, and I have allowed no one since to call me that. Besides, that name is the farthest thing from their mind when they see my scar.
Though my father was an honorable man, my mother was the opposite. When he was gentle and kind, she would be harsh and manipulative. When he disciplined, she encouraged; when he loved, she despised. Why he ever married her, I will never understand. I never thought they were perfect for each other, and everyone agreed with me. Except for my father. He loved my mother, with so much devotion and loyalty, it almost made me sick. I watched them daily and wondered how he could be so blind to her many faults, striving always to win her favor.
"Why do I hate my mother so?" you may ask. She manipulated me. She promised a rich man twice my age that he could have me in marriage. She, in return for his privilege of showcasing me, would be able to consort with dignitaries. She hated me because I had been beautiful, unlike her, and with my beauty she lived vicariously; she could step up in life. When I had gotten my scar she hated me because I ruined her chance for a better existence. I hated her because I found out what her real motives were through seeing behind her mask. I was able to see clearly her purpose for treating me the way she did after my mistake, and what I saw disgusted me. Before, she had hidden her real intentions by spoiling me and teaching me how to use my beauty to manipulate others. After, she put on a facade of sorrow when malice ran through her blood.
As I continued on with preparing dinner that night, I thought of the time my father saved me from another drastic mistake. Because of my mother's character and attitude toward me before and after my accident, I thought I had lost her love, and thus I wanted to kill myself. If she, a person I highly admired before my scar, did not love me now, then I thought I was no longer worthy of any love or life. My father showed me the error of my ways.
It was after my attempt that I saw the difference between my father and my mother's personalities. It was much later that I saw my father for who he really was. He was a man that loved my mother because of her worthless character. He knew about her faults and married her to teach her there were good things in life. He strove to reconcile her to what was right and good. He tried in every possible way to teach her how to be kind, gentle, and humble. He was the one who told me to take a hard look at my mother's true character before I made any rash decisions. He knew how she felt about me. He helped me to realize that my mother was a hypocrite. He taught me to put aside everything she had taught me and become like him. She had made me cheeky and conceited, she had made me spoiled and stuck up, and she had made me vain and vapid. And instead of hating myself for what I had done, I hated her for what she had made me become.
I finished setting the table for dinner when I suddenly realized my father had known the entire time he was married to her what my mother was doing and what her motives were and how she was raising her children. Yet, despite all of the despicable things my mother had taught us, the rest of my family took after him in consideration for others around them. I was the only one that took after my mother at first, but then I joined the rest of my family after I learned her true nature. I had previously believed everything my mother told me about the world, taking it all in without question. After, my father taught me that my mother's lessons were only superficial and would not take me far in society.
I had finally learned my lesson and finally started to emulate him when he died. It has been eight months and I cannot get over my loss. It is just my luck to finally find someone worthy of my love and respect, and he passes from this world. I do not know what to do. I must admit, when he died, I was utterly overwhelmed.
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"Ro! Where are you? I'm sorry I said that about Da! I really am. I was only saying it in jest. He was a really good man." One of my brothers was looking for me because I had hidden myself to cry in peace. He had made a derisive remark about my father, the one person I could not stand to have anyone think badly about. After only a few months, my brothers have completely forgotten who my father was and what he stood for. He had meant the world to me and after my father died, I thought that I could no longer suffer through my loathsome life. Then my brothers all saw how I was reacting to his death and how I was not reacting to hers. While my father had treated me with love and respect, my mother treated me like everyone else: with loathing and disgust. She had felt that way ever since I procured my scar. Actually, it was only after my scar I finally realized how she truly felt about me. She ever after bemoaned my ugliness because I was once beautiful, and yet I ruined what I had.
I stepped out into the clearing, for I did not want my brother to discover my hiding place. "I know you did not mean to offend, Jayth, but did you not know that it would still hurt? I loved Da more then anyone, and you go and make horrible jokes about him. And he has only been dead for a few months."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know you would take it that way otherwise I would have never said anything about him. Besides, Da has been gone longer than a few months, Ro. You need to remember that. Otherwise you may never fully heal. And I…….well, I don't want to see you suffering like that." Jayth was sincere. How he managed to make fun of someone trying to win approval and the next moment apologize with his whole heart to renew that approval, I will never understand. If he only watched his words better, then he would not have to trip over himself apologizing all the time.
"I know you are sorry. I am sorry for going off the way I did. But you should not have said that all the same. It is still to soon. Too many people in this city have the wrong idea about him. If only they could have known him and not his reputation for having married the most shrewd woman in the town. Then I would not have to take their words, and I could defend our father's good name." I hurried after Jayth following him to the house. While crossing the field I knew I needed to finally tell Jayth what I had been planning to do ever since our father died. "I wish that I could finish my training so I would not have to listen to what people say about him with patience. Instead I would rather make them eat their words." That concession was hard to make: I did not know how he would take it. But his next words proved my trepidation.
"Ro, you know we can't let you do that. Ma, she always insisted that you learn the ways of your sex because ever since the accident, she wanted to keep you far away from weapons." Jayth was always my mother's favorite and even though he was the closest to me in age, being the sixth born, he tried always to win her favor for fear of getting the wrath she freely gave me. And even though she had died about a year before, he still felt the need to stay in her good graces because she might be watching from the Hall of Mandos.
"You need not try to uphold her rules on me, I know how she felt. But think of it this way: if I do not have permission to learn from one of my many brothers, then I will leave and never come back." There was steel in my voice. We crossed the rest of the field in silence, both to our separate thoughts. My father had wanted me to learn how to defend myself and my betrothed wanted me to be learned in the art of wielding a staff. Because of them, my mother conceded to let me learn. I went to the Rivendell Archives with Jepal, and I started my training. Since my accident, though, she did not want me anywhere near something that could ruin my appearance again.
I thought about how after I came back home and healed from the accident, I had desired to continue my education, but my brothers felt differently. After our parents' death they followed my mother's wishes of wanting me to finish learning the ways of keeping house and not something that only men should know. I knew my brothers would never accept my argument, yet I always tried. I wanted to learn how not to rely on others, to be able to take care of myself. For since I had gotten my scar, and after my betrothed ran, it was apparent that I would never marry. And I did not want to stay with one of my brothers, forever indebted to them for shelter and food.
Jayth swung his legs over the fence that separated the house from fields escorting me back to my daily chores. "Talk to Kimel about your decision. Let's see what he thinks." I knew I was doomed. Kimel was the surest defender of my mother's wishes. And being the eldest, he felt he had the full responsibility of taking care and doing what was best for all of us.
I had been in the middle of peeling the potatoes for dinner when Jayth had made his derisive remark. He had come waltzing in on a break from tending the crops, and had made a snide comment to me about what I was doing and what Da would have thought. The way he phrased his statement made my blood boil and my eyes well up with tears. I ran from the room not wanting to give him evidence that I did indeed still suffer.
As I finished my job of pealing the potatoes, I resumed thinking about my father. It was he that first gave me a nickname and called me Rose. Then, because it was a proper girl's name and not some distant unfamiliar relative's, my mother started calling me that and the rest of my family soon followed. I did look like a rose among thorns before my accident, I will admit that. After that dreadful day, my father continued to call me Rose, but I insisted that everyone else call me Ro.
I asked my father once why he continued to call me something that only brought painful memories to my mind. He said he had called me Rose because it was a fitting name for one who would soon deserve to be named after a beautiful flower. He said my character was worthy of a rose title, even though I did not look it. When he died, my brothers wanted to call me Rose again, but it only brought another painful memory to my mind: a dead, loving father. So I insisted yet again that my brothers call me Ro, if they wanted to use a short name. Only my father had the honor of calling me Rose, and I have allowed no one since to call me that. Besides, that name is the farthest thing from their mind when they see my scar.
Though my father was an honorable man, my mother was the opposite. When he was gentle and kind, she would be harsh and manipulative. When he disciplined, she encouraged; when he loved, she despised. Why he ever married her, I will never understand. I never thought they were perfect for each other, and everyone agreed with me. Except for my father. He loved my mother, with so much devotion and loyalty, it almost made me sick. I watched them daily and wondered how he could be so blind to her many faults, striving always to win her favor.
"Why do I hate my mother so?" you may ask. She manipulated me. She promised a rich man twice my age that he could have me in marriage. She, in return for his privilege of showcasing me, would be able to consort with dignitaries. She hated me because I had been beautiful, unlike her, and with my beauty she lived vicariously; she could step up in life. When I had gotten my scar she hated me because I ruined her chance for a better existence. I hated her because I found out what her real motives were through seeing behind her mask. I was able to see clearly her purpose for treating me the way she did after my mistake, and what I saw disgusted me. Before, she had hidden her real intentions by spoiling me and teaching me how to use my beauty to manipulate others. After, she put on a facade of sorrow when malice ran through her blood.
As I continued on with preparing dinner that night, I thought of the time my father saved me from another drastic mistake. Because of my mother's character and attitude toward me before and after my accident, I thought I had lost her love, and thus I wanted to kill myself. If she, a person I highly admired before my scar, did not love me now, then I thought I was no longer worthy of any love or life. My father showed me the error of my ways.
It was after my attempt that I saw the difference between my father and my mother's personalities. It was much later that I saw my father for who he really was. He was a man that loved my mother because of her worthless character. He knew about her faults and married her to teach her there were good things in life. He strove to reconcile her to what was right and good. He tried in every possible way to teach her how to be kind, gentle, and humble. He was the one who told me to take a hard look at my mother's true character before I made any rash decisions. He knew how she felt about me. He helped me to realize that my mother was a hypocrite. He taught me to put aside everything she had taught me and become like him. She had made me cheeky and conceited, she had made me spoiled and stuck up, and she had made me vain and vapid. And instead of hating myself for what I had done, I hated her for what she had made me become.
I finished setting the table for dinner when I suddenly realized my father had known the entire time he was married to her what my mother was doing and what her motives were and how she was raising her children. Yet, despite all of the despicable things my mother had taught us, the rest of my family took after him in consideration for others around them. I was the only one that took after my mother at first, but then I joined the rest of my family after I learned her true nature. I had previously believed everything my mother told me about the world, taking it all in without question. After, my father taught me that my mother's lessons were only superficial and would not take me far in society.
I had finally learned my lesson and finally started to emulate him when he died. It has been eight months and I cannot get over my loss. It is just my luck to finally find someone worthy of my love and respect, and he passes from this world. I do not know what to do. I must admit, when he died, I was utterly overwhelmed.