This chapter dedicated to all those who already have or will be starting school. Best of luck!
Standard Disclaimer- Tolkien's World. Not mine, but he lets us play in his backyard.
Chapter Five - A Bid For Time
Imladris, 3441, Second Age, Taking place immediately after the events of Chapter Three
"And it was deemed that the dealing of death, even when lawful or under necessity, diminished the power of healing, and that the virtue of the bess in this matter was due rather to their abstaining from hunting or war than to any special power that went with their womanhood...On the other hand, many elven-men were great healers and skilled in the lore of living bodies, though such elven-men abstained from hunting, and went not to war until the last need." - from The Later Quenta Silmarillion in Morgoth's Ring
"But low in the South one star shone red. Every night, as the Moon waned again, it shone brighter and brighter. Frodo could see it from his window, deep in the heavens, burning like a watchful eye that glared above the trees on the brink of the valley." - from The Ring Goes South in The Fellowship of the Ring
Background Music: Xena: Warrior Princess, Volume 6, CD 1 - "Valhalla"
Elrond always had been and always would be associated with the knot in her stomach, of that Caffrawen was certain. There was no mistaking the cool power in his voice, the subtle power in the very swish of his cloak. Just as certain of that was she of the fact that he was on the side of Light and Good.
So if he was averse to her, what side was she on?
Pushing aside such thoughts, she strode briskly up the stairwell, richly hung with embroidered tapestries to warm the bareness of the stone. Pausing before the great wooden door, she listened closely, attempting to discern any others closeted with Elrond. If Gil-galad, King of the Elves, or Elendil, King of Men, were taking counsel with Elrond in his study, she would turn around and make herself presentable. If it was Elrond, he could deal with it, in the same fashion that both he and she had put up with each other's habits and barbs.
Discerning that only Elrond was within, Caffrawen rapped on the door sharply, pausing as her knocks shattered the silence of the stairwell, unnaturally loud in her ears.
"Enter." Elrond's voice was still smooth as silk, playing on her ears before descending to knot in her stomach.
Pushing the door open, Caffrawen found herself in Elrond's private study. He had not looked up at her yet, so for the moment, she was able to study his face in profile.
Inky black hair, restrained with archer's braids, fell down his back in rich waves. As he leaned over the desk, head bent as he inscribed a few last letters, Caffrawen realized that his head was encircled by stars, the crown of his head silhouetted against the night sky visible through the balcony. The rest of him, however, was firmly entrenched in his natural habitat - a candlelit library. His features were nobly set, high cheekbones rising to meet grey eyes that were half-lidded as he finished whatever parchment he had been working on. His nose was large, but since it was in proportion with the rest of his golden-skinned face, it did not figure prominently in his features. A lean, muscular frame was draped in a purple tunic. Handsome? Much as he irked Caffrawen, she knew that to deny the truth of his beauty would be an outright lie in anyone's book.
This Elf, or rather, half-Elf, was an eternal puzzle to Caffrawen. How could one Elf have so many skills in so many opposing areas? Elrond's healing skills were unmatched, for he could bring back Elves that most had bidden a farewell to Mandos*. Scholarly, he had a bent towards reading and writing that Caffrawen had never had, besides the old Smithing manuals. Most unfairly, however, he could wield nearly any weapon with grace, as befitted the adopted son of King Gil-galad.
No Elf could be both a healer and warrior; it was against their nature. If a healer Elf took up weapons and started practicing with them, he lost his skill with medicine. Likewise, if a warrior Elf began to study and practice the healing arts, he lost his fighting instincts. It was as Illuvatar decreed - that an Elf have the power to protect Arda, or to heal it. So how was it, she wondered with great vexation, that Elrond could be of dual nature? Men were said to have the power to excel in widely different skills, and Elrond did have the blood of Men in him, even though he had chosen to honor his Elven heritage. It was the only explanation that Caffrawen could come up with, though she'd thought long and hard on the matter, until her friend Giliath remarked that she was entirely too preoccupied with the question.
Elrond turned to her, eyes briefly taking into account her disheveled, sweat-soaked appearance before fixing on her face, framed with curly red tendrils. If it gave him pause, he did not show it, and the half-dozen taunts he could have made about her physical appearance went unsaid. He is nothing, if not surprising, Caffrawen admitted to herself.
"You wished to speak with me, Lord Elrond?"
"Yes, Caffrawen. Please sit down." He gestured vaguely towards a wooden chair behind her. Caffrawen obliged with conscious grace, and then raised her eyebrows expectantly at her Lord.
He made no preamble, but went straight to the point. "Caffrawen, it has come to my attention that certain members of the household staff - Cugufain, was it, this morning? - find your continued presence in this household most distressing. As Master of the House, I feel it is my place to step in and stop matters before they grow out of hand."
Wild hope flared within Caffrawen. Was Elrond finally coming to her side, symbolically forgiving her and her House by championing her? "It surprises me not, given the times as of late."
"Oh?" Elrond cocked a surprisingly limber eyebrow at her.
"Besides the fact that several of them have lost members of their family to my family's swords, there is the matter of the upcoming march on Mordor. Sauron rose to power quickly, through the aid of myself and the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, and if we had listened less to Sauron and more to the warnings in our hearts, Numenor might not have been destroyed, and we might not be facing this upcoming war." She waited, breath suspended for his response.
"Whether the lesser Rings were crafted or not, we would be facing a war." Elrond's crisp voice reassured her.
"But the fact remains that less Elves and Men would have died if the Rings did not exist, which makes you, in part, a Kinslayer, making the behavior of the household staff justifiable." he continued, as impersonal as a stranger.
Caffrawen's head jerked up at the damning word. Fury raged within her, and her grey eyes blazed with a fire attributed only to the House of Feanor.* "I...am...no...Kinslayer!" she hissed. "No Elf died by my hand!"
"Not by your hand perhaps, but by the works your hand helped create." Elrond was mockingly unperturbed by her anger.
Caffrawen wrestled her rage to the ground, restrained it, and then swallowed it, knowing that she would need full concentration to match the Lord of Imladris in this battle. "I had no way of knowing that our creations would be used to such a purpose - they were intended to protect all Free Peoples of Middle-Earth, not destroy them."
"It makes little difference whether you are the one who crafted it, or the one who wielded it. And do not attempt to pretend that no warning was given. King Gil-galad sent messengers to Ost-in-Edhil warning them of the workings of Sauron-"
"Not of Sauron, my Lord," she broke in, "but of an untrustworthy presence. The name Sauron would have stood out on the messages, more so than 'untrustworthy presence.' Celebrimbor decided to trust another, and since my trust in my cousin - the leader of my craft - was stronger than my suspicions of an evil presence, I obeyed."
"Do not try and pass the guilt on to your cousin."
"I am doing nothing of the sort. Celebrimbor has had more than his share of grief for three immortal lifetimes. But I was his craftswoman as well as his cousin, and I obeyed orders."
"Even when those orders carry ill consequences?"
"My Lord, if King Gil-galad ordered you to accompany him on an impossible mission, to create a possible victory against a terrible foe, to craft a battle-plan that could just as easily save Middle-Earth as doom her, what would you do?" Her reference to the upcoming march on Mordor led by Kings Gil-galad and Elendil was unmistakable.
Elrond drew a deep breath. "I would follow orders."
"As would I. Because I knew, that if Celebrimbor ordered me to walk over a cliff, there would be something to cushion my fall." She paused for breath, then beat him to the pause and continued to speak.
"First things first, Elrond." He raised his eyebrow again at her lack of a formal title for him. "We knew exactly how dangerous the Rings were. After all, we crafted them! And we fought and died to great ruin to keep them out of Sauron's power. It is not as if we handed them over with a smile. Furthermore, Gil-galad himself wields one. Do you label him a Kinslayer? Should I be a Kinslayer for helping craft one Ring, and a blessing for helping craft another?"
"And secondly, if the wise and mind-reading Lady Galadriel could not discern his true identity, then how were we simple Smiths supposed to figure it out?"
He opened his beautiful mouth, shut it like a trap, and thinned his lips. The potent reminder of the faults of the Lady Galadriel, Elrond's possible future mother-in-law, had sealed her small speech. She had won this round with him, at least.
Shifting in his seat, well aware of her small victory, Elrond spoke again. "In any case, that is not why I summoned you here." Caffrawen felt a small surge of amusement at the speed with which he changed course.
"You cannot be happy here, Caffrawen. Most of the household staff reviles your very company, and but for a few friends out of Ost-in-Edhil - Elimani, Giliath - you are quite alone. Perhaps you would be happier somewhere else?"
Caffrawen stiffened, offended by his solution. "Somewhere else? Pray tell, my Lord, where would that be?"
"Mithlond is always in need of Smiths..."
"Smiths that do not bear a head full of red hair. I resorted to fifty years of living in the Wilds rather than live in Mithlond - which was, incidentally, much more lonesome than here. Anywhere else?"
"King Oropher's forest kingdom - Greenwood the Great, he calls it. Rather primitive - I hear that Oropher's hall is naught but a cavern, like a Dwarf-hall, but still quite livable."
"I hear that his folk are Silvan. In any other case, it might be an ideal option, as they are fairly indifferent to my background. However, I believe that King Oropher is Sindarin - a direct descendent of the Telerin folk."
"Why should that be a problem?" Damn him, Caffrawen thought, he knows very well why it is a problem!
"Most of my male relations instigated and carried out a massacre of the Teleri. Ergo, the Telerin folk don't care much for my family or its descendents."
"That is no fault of mine."
"Nor is it of mine!"
"Well then," Elrond continued calmly, amused at her irate tone, "there is always Lothlorien. Many folk that can still tolerate you have relocated there, and the majority of the Elves living under Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn are Noldorin Exiles. You would be well-received."
The thought had occurred to Caffrawen, and she had considered leaving for Lothlorien more than once. As Elrond made the proposition, she toyed once more with the notion. As always, she scotched the idea once she remembered her reason for staying in Imladris for so long, for no apparent purpose.
"Elrond, you are aware, are you not, that the Lady Galadriel is still banned from entering Valinor?"
His jaw clenched a bit at the casual mention of the wrongdoing of his beloved Celebrian's mother. For her part in defying the Valar, a ban had been placed on Galadriel, preventing her from ever returning home to the blissful Elven haven.
Or perhaps he was annoyed at the fact that she had, for the second time, omitted his title.
"There is not an Elf in Middle-Earth that is not aware of it, Caffrawen." he said curtly. "I fail to see how this relates to your continued presence in my home."
Caffrawen gritted her teeth - had not she helped conceive and construct his home? Had not she worked in his home as meekly as a mouse in the nearly two millennia since then? Patience...think through your anger...
"Galadriel was exiled for defying the will of the Valar. The lesser Rings of Power, though made with the intent for protection, were used for evil purpose, used to dominate the wills of those who bore them. When I helped make the Rings, I was well aware that the power within the rings could dominate forms of life, bend them to the wielder's will. I assumed that this would not matter, as the Rings were intended to dominate evil."
"If you have a point, feel free to come to it, Caffrawen."
"My point is that I have now come to wonder if perhaps I am also exiled from Valinor. The power to dominate another's will is one that not even the Valar exercised. It is...a terrible crime...to exercise a power that our race was not meant to have."
"Such as the will to take the life of another Elf. Yes, I think I understand that. I do not see why that should make you reticent to abide in Lothlorien."
"Don't you?" she asked, unable to resist baiting him. "My crime - along with being a Noldor, and with being of the House of Feanor damns me triply. So if I should wish for forgiveness and for an eventual passage to Valinor, I must find a task to complete for the good of the Free Peoples. The best place to be to find that task, is, naturally, with the combined army of Elves and Men."
Elrond gave her a very shrewd look. "So what you are saying, is that you are lingering about my abode, looking for a good deed powerful enough to wipe out your terrible crimes."
"Some might say I had already fulfilled that good deed by living under your rule for the past two millennia." Caffrawen amusedly watched Elrond's brow furrow as he attempted to determine whether her comment was flattery or insult.
"Whether you fulfill the deed or not, it is not my charge to care for you while I do so. Your continued presence here has served to agitate other members of my household. Ergo, it is time for me to solve the problem. You cannot change what you are, and I cannot but sympathize with the sentiments of the other Elves. I believe it is time for you to remove yourself from Imladris."
Caffrawen stared at him in shock. Surely he couldn't mean it? Even being among those who reviled her was more appealing than endless centuries of loneliness. She'd had her taste of hermit life, and found that it did not appeal to her in the least.
"You are not content here, I am not content to have you here." he continued. "Perhaps there is a village of Men you might find residence within. But you cannot stay in Imladris."
Find residence with a village of Men? The idea was intriguing, made even more so by her meeting with Naimi, Romera, and Seatra earlier that day. They were certainly pleasant enough...would they react to news of her heritage with the same intensity of emotion that Elves did? But no, tempting as it was to spend more time with them and learn the ways of Men, Caffrawen knew that her own fate would be contingent upon her actions with other Elves. For now, she must abide with her own kind.
"I quite agree, Lord Elrond. Few things would please me more than to bid Imladris farewell. I will be leaving."
Elrond looked both delighted and suspicious - suspicious about my easy acceptance, she supposed.
"Very well," he said slowly, "I will see to it that you are well provisioned for the journey. Would the end of this week be acceptable?"
"Elrond, I did not say when I was leaving. I am not leaving for some time yet."
"Then tomorrow will do nicely, I suppose?" he pressed further.
"It will not. I am not leaving, not yet."
"I am Lord of this home, Lady Caffrawen, and you would be wise to remember that before your refusal."
"But I do remember it. I remember that you are Elrond the Wise, famed for the exercise of your benevolent guidance to the rest of Middle-Earth. Skilled in debate, accounted with the gift of foresight, having the ability to sense a good offer when it comes your way. Therefore, I have a proposal for you, my Lord."
"And that would be..."
"Risielwen needs every available hand in the kitchens to keep all mouths fed and tempers soothed. It wouldn't improve her own temper to know that you had needlessly sent away a pair of capable hands, and the last thing you want in your kitchen is a disgruntled cook, my Lord."
She paused for breath. "So I propose that you allow me to stay in Imladris until the Armies leave. I shall never again step willingly into Imladris once they are gone." She could almost see the thought process through the other Elf's head, his grey eyes turned away as he considered her request.
Suddenly, with the force of a blow, his turbulent eyes met her own, measuring her, examining her, weighing both benefit and likelihood with his penetrating glare. Caffrawen felt her insides quake, as if she had not fully understood his power until that moment.
He held her gaze unblinkingly for several moments. "I find your proposal acceptable. On that very day?"
"Not a moment later."
He nodded acceptance. "Agreed then. A good night to you , Lady Caffrawen."
"And an even better one to you, Lord Elrond." She gave an ironic little bow before turning her back to him and stepping quickly out of the library, before the storm of her rage broke. Consciously focusing on shutting the door quietly, she chanced to hear a noise from Elrond that might have been a chuckle or a growl. With swift, purposeful steps, she made her way to her chamber. Any Elf that she passed deferred their step or glided out of her way, uneager to be on the receiving end of a Feanorian's ire.
With every intention of beating her pillow senseless from the insults she had received, she was surprised, and more than a little pleased to note that Elimani had left her wooden practice sword propped up innocuously beside her chamber door. Caffrawen's bad mood began to abate, and, upon opening the door, discovered a scrap of parchment in the clear and legible handwriting of Elimani the scribe.
Couldn't fit the sword under the door. Tomorrow evening, then? You bring a small dinner, I'll bring my charming self. I suggest the small landing on the path to the Bruinen.
Hope Elrond didn't roast you too badly. Or perhaps the other way 'round?
-Elimani-
Lightness touched her heart, and an unbidden image of Elimani's grinning face came to the forefront of her mind. With a blush that confused her more than it embarrassed, she closed the door.
Instantly, she was aware of the enclosing darkness, the feeling of not having enough room to move. Never before had she felt claustrophobic, but at this moment in time it rushed upon her like a maddened dog, Compounded with the pent-up emotion from her interview with Elrond, she acted purely on impulse and dashed out onto the long balcony that was shared by all bess on the hall.
* * *
Background Music: Xena: Warrior Princess - Volume 6, CD 2 - "Sounds of Life and Death"
The cool breeze was the first thing to shatter her sudden feeling of panic, a breath later she was caught by the scent of late-spring roses wafting up from a lower level. Opening eyes that she had not realized were closed, she focused on the push of glittering stars through the intensely crisp and clear evening sky. Earendil had only just begun his voyage through the sky, his pure light both a blessing and a torment to the daughter of the House of Feanor*.
She drew a deep breath to restore the tranquility of her mind, and became lost in a rapturous study of the stars. It was as if she had not truly discovered the grandeur of the night sky until that moment, as if she had never felt the cool radiance of starlight, nor realized just how many stars were in the sky.
Caffrawen felt very small at that moment, her sardonic facade and her calm composure lost, her fea* naked and exposed to the penetrating presence of Elbereth*, humbled and awestruck at the same moment. She lost her awareness of the stone beneath her, of the sheltering valley walls, of the vaguely raucous singing wafting in from Elendil's camp.
For her, there were only the stars, and her fea rose up in glory to meet them. Elbereth! her mind cried out, Tell me, for you have seen many a destiny rise and fall below you! What is the destiny of Middle-Earth? What is the destiny for the Elves that linger? What is my own destiny?
There was, as she expected, no answer, and with that thought, her fea was once more comfortably housed within her body. She sighed, and took another breath. Looking southeasterly from the balcony, she saw a brightly burning red light, glimmering hotly on the horizon, filling her with disgust that it sought to add its glow among the stars.
Caffrawen suddenly became aware of something clutched within her fist, and looking down, recognized it as the practice sword Elimani had gifted her with. Frowning, she realized that she could not remember carrying it out the balcony entrance. Yes, she clearly remembered pushing the door open with both hands free.
Uneasily, she turned her gaze from the sword to the stars, eyebrows knit in consternation. Her eyes slid once again back to the red light on the horizon.
Mordor. Mount Doom. Sauron.
Caffrawen's grip on the sword became tighter, glancing from the stars, to the faint crimson light of death, and to her sword.
My destiny?
She took up the sword in both hands, studying it as if seeing it for the first time. It was not so different from a quarterstaff, now that she thought about it. Her old familiar defense patterns, with some modifications, could just as easily work for the sword.
Of course, it was not simple, she discovered, upon attempting to do a defensive twirl with her sword, and discovering that there was no counterbalancing weight. Other old patterns worked well, allowing her to form a series of cuts and blocks that was intended to eventually catch her opponent in his right thigh, or his heart.
The night wore on, and still she practiced. Giliath poked her head out onto the balcony once, but Caffrawen never registered her friend's amused gaze, so intent was she on her swordplay. Her concentration was born, half of her fury at Elrond, at Feanor, at her heritage. The other half was born of a sheer fascination with the movement of the blade, the manner in which she could turn it, the way in which she imagined her opponent to be fighting, the manner in which she responded.
Sometimes her thoughts were not even on the sword, and she lost herself in planning for times to come, how to achieve what was set before her.
Earendil continued on his nightly voyage, and the red glow from the southeast grew the slightest bit darker by early morning. When the steady chorus of crickets and cicadas began to die down and be replaced by the pre-dawn melody of birds, they found themselves accompanied by the swish and whoot of a wooden sword wielded against the air.
When the first ray of sunlight broke over the horizon, Caffrawen stopped short, momentarily dumbstruck by the passage of time. But then she shrugged it off, feeling that her body did not require any slumber for some time.
What I do need, she thought wryly, stretching her arms above her head, and wrinkling her nose at the smell of her own rancid sweat, is a good, long, soak! Tiptoeing to the communal bathroom, she rejoiced when she realized another bess had just left, having left a pool full of lukewarm water, and began her daily ablutions.
* * *
Feeling a bit fresher, and determinedly cheerful about her time in Imladris to come, she stepped briskly through the hall to a small alcove where the kitchen crew dined. Only Giliath sat at one bench, calmly spooning porridge into her mouth, completely in contrast with the sparking energy of Caffrawen.
Plopping with no fanfare onto the bench opposite Giliath, she made no morning greeting, no inquiry to her health, fixing her friend with a stare that might have pinned an Elf against the wall. Most unnerving to Giliath was the steady, cheerful gaze that was at odds with the Elf's usual wry smirk.
"Giliath, I think I've finally figured it out!" she crowed, giving in and speaking first. Giliath opened her mouth to question, but her friend cut her off, getting to the point first.
"What you've been trying to make me understand all these years, what both you and Elimani have been putting under my nose. It doesn't matter. It truly doesn't matter!"
"What doesn't matter?" Giliath said in a rush, still bewildered with Caffrawen's behavior, and truly irritated at being cut off.
"My bloodline! What people think of it! What people think of me because of it! It doesn't matter because it truly doesn't matter!"
Giliath's eyebrows knit together as she attempted to process and make sense of Caffrawen's ecstatic ramblings.
"Why doesn't it matter, Caffrawen?" A bit grumpily, she wondered if she would have to recite the 'who, what, where, when, and why' repertoire she'd developed as their friendship had grown. Caffrawen's moods were as changeable as the breeze.
"Because I care about what you think - and it doesn't matter to you! Because I care about what Elimani thinks - and it doesn't matter to him!" Caffrawen's grey eyes were dancing as if lit by flame. "Therefore, my dearest friend," she continued, clapping her hands on Giliath's shoulders from across the table, "If you ever, ever see me in a bout of self-pity, or frustration, or I give you some sad, pathetic smile, I want you to punch me squarely in the jaw."
"No, the eye."
"Beg pardon?" Caffrawen seemed to relax a bit, sinking back onto the bench.
"If I punch you in the jaw, there's a bruise that could be explained from a natural accident. A bruise on the eye - that's harder to explain away, and it's even more deterrent to keep you from your bouts of sadness. Now, before you interrupt me again, might I ask what brought this all on? Elimani said Elrond called you in last night, and I saw you chopping at the air on the balcony. Now this change? What in the blazes of Mordor is going on?"
"What brought on the change? I have a hard time understanding that myself." Her thoughts shifted uneasily to the previous night, when she had felt the stars embrace her fea, when she had begged to know her destiny. A small shudder racked her frame, and she picked up the line of questioning before Giliath could notice it.
"Elrond has informed me that I am to leave Imladris. The day that the Armies leave, is the day that I leave."
"The day that you..."Giliath trailed off, her face a study of pain. They had been pleasant friends in Ost-in-Edhil, but since coming to Imladris, their friendship had become a steady source of support upon which to rely in times of trial.
"The day that I leave." Caffrawen finished resolutely, her cheerful demeanor gone. "Elrond feels that a member of the House of Feanor in his abode causes too much strife and friction. I negotiated to stay until the Armies leave. Then I intend to go with them."
"You're leaving?" Giliath's voice cracked noticeably.
"I'm leaving to go fight. If we are victorious, then I can perhaps seek shelter in Greenwood - Oropher's kingdom. He might warm up to me if I fight, let me stay in his kingdom. If we aren't victorious, it won't really matter."
Giliath rubbed her eyes in frustration, and became even more irritated when moisture spilled out onto the digits. Chagrined, Caffrawen moved swiftly over to her friend's side. Defeated, Giliath accepted her friend's comfort and leaned her forehead against Caffrawen's shoulder, tears falling gently from her face and landing the sleeve.
"This war...it's real...isn't it?" she managed to gasp out.
"Aye." Caffrawen stroked the flaxen head leaning against her in despair.
"I thought that...I had seen the worst...it couldn't get worse...that we were safe here...and I didn't pay...attention...didn't want to...but if Elrond is...sending out bess to...to fight...it must be...very bad." she managed to work out between quiet sobs.
"Aye. It is bad. But not so bad that Elrond would change his mind about such a thing. All Elrond knows is that I am leaving the day the Armies leave. He knows not that I am accompanying them."
Giliath's tears quickly melded into laughter. "So that is why you bounded in like a frog! Oh, the look on his face..." she dissolved into a messy mixture of tears and giggles. Despite herself, Caffrawen managed a small grin.
"He'll have a hard time swallowing that." she confirmed.
"Why?" Giliath questioned, aware that she was, once again, going through her litany of 'who, what, when, where, and why'.
"Why am I going?" Caffrawen questioned, partly to herself. "I suppose you could say that I am motivated by guilt, revenge, and spite, or perhaps a mixture of the three." She laughed, a short, barking cackle that had nothing to do with mirth.
"I also - however addled this thought is - feel my destiny lies toward the South - towards Mordor." The red light's malice had not faded from her mind with the glow of early morning.
"This isn't just some Feanorian attempt at sacrificial drama, is it? I'll punch you if it is." Caffrawen couldn't decide if her friend's voice was sarcastic or sorrowful.
"It's not. Honest to Illuvatar, I believe that I am meant to go that way." As she said the words, Caffrawen felt the ripple of excitement grow in her belly again. To death or glory, whatever the end result, she'd be doing something!
Giliath sat up, resolve evident in the stiffness of her backbone, the tautness of her features. "So when do we leave?"
"End of summer, probably. Wait...we?" Caffrawen looked in astonishment at the pale and proud bess.
"We, Caffrawen. Or have you decided to pull an Elrond on me? I lost my blood-family when we came here, I'm not about to lose you or any of our other friends."
"I understand what you mean in coming, Giliath." She encircled the other gwenn's shoulder, the pressure in her grip thanking her friend for her support. "But the others...we can't ask them to walk into possible death."
"Better that than leave them to certain death if we fail." She nodded to herself, grimly. Then, switching to a brighter note, "So shall we start learning to walk and talk like benn? If we're to tag along, we'd better start learning the ropes."
"No. Elrond's going to let us join his ranks, very aware of the fact that we are female." Caffrawen's grin resurfaced, and she felt a bit of anticipation rise within her at the thought of trapping the Lord of Imladris with his own words.
"How?" Giliath, her tears dried, an expression of perplexity crossing her face, followed quickly by suspicion.
The grin from the diminutive Elf as she rose from her seat turned into a frankly devious expression. "Learning the ropes, learning to fight, that we'd better do. As for allowing us to join the Armies, you let me worry about that. I'll see you at lunch? We've some real planning to do."
Giliath smiled back in answer. Stepping lightly outside, Caffrawen headed out to the stack of soiled linens in the laundry closet. Once she was out of Giliath's earshot, she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Merciful Valar, how am I going to convince Elrond?"
* * *
Background Music: Xena: Warrior Princess, Volume 6, CD 2 - "Catching Fish"
A peal of uninhibited laughter rang out from the Bruinen, followed by much splashing. Hefting her bulky withy-woven laundry basket, Caffrawen hurried her steps, cheered by the sound of mirth.
The women had arrived before her, and from the looks of it, Seatra had challenged Naimi to a water fight. With a crow and a leap at odds with her grave appearance, Naimi had Seatra on the run, as they thrashed about, rinsing and stomping on linens on the rocky bed of the river. A quiet chuckle issued from a cove, where Romera patiently soaped and sanded the laundry against the heat of a sun-warmed boulder. Looking up, she spotted Caffrawen coming through the trees and waved a greeting, calling out to Naimi and Seatra to greet the newcomer as well.
Naimi waved, but Seatra took the opportunity to tackle her, and the battle began anew. Dropping her bundle on the bank, Caffrawen clambered lightly up to Romera.
"I thought that humans reached their maturity by Naimi and Seatra's age." she said in greeting. The easy grin spread across her face to show that she meant no offense.
Romera snorted, amusement lighting her eyes. "Try telling them that." She resumed her task, grinding away sweat and dirt from the cloth with a circular motion of soap and sand. Taking the linens and soap from her own pile, Caffrawen gathered a good handful of sand before seating herself next to the wraith-like woman and attending to her work.
"Are they sisters?" she asked Romera in an undertone, her eyes flickering over the similarities in the two young women. Same aquiline nose, same brown hair, same determined glint in their eyes.
"No," Romera said, a quiet smile lingering on her features, "Cousins. They grew up together in the same village. Swam together, gardened together, went off to help the family together."
"Went off to help the family?"
"The little village they lived in...was destroyed due to a band of rampaging orcs. They were extremely lucky, they had warning, and the family was able to hightail it to safety before the orcs arrived. They destroyed their own village...made the orcs think that no one lived nearby, that another band had already raided in that area. So they left it in peace, and have not yet returned. But since everything was destroyed, Naimi and Seatra have been working here, sending on what they've earned back home, to help their family get back on its feet."
Caffrawen looked at the girls with new respect. To see something of such value to you destroyed by another...she could well appreciate that pain. But to destroy your home, your fields, your world...that required an immense amount of courage. Frivolous they might seem at the moment, but theirs was a mission of need. She said as much to Romera.
"Courage? Aye, they've courage enough between the two of them for the entire camp." She paused, and Caffrawen could feel a conversation change approaching.
"Have you heard any news of when the camp is moving out? One of the soldiers told me it would be in a fortnight, another...girl...told me they would move in a month." She gave a tight, unhappy smile. "I'm eager to hear the gossip of the Elves."
Caffrawen pressed her lips together in a tight line, giving a face to the general mood of tension and worry of every female in both camps. "I couldn't say for certain, but I think that we will move before the end of summer. Imladris would be hard-pressed to supply both camps over the winter, and Elendil and Gil-galad will be wanting to move before winter settles over the valley and over their path."
Romera looked down, her face a mirror of Caffrawen's.
"The end of summer?" she asked, her voice only a whisper. Peripherally, Caffrawen was aware of Naimi and Seatra halting their water-fight, and coming to stand alongside the rock, water streaming down their flushed faces.
"I think so. Fear not, our Men and Elves are bold, and with our two nations working in concert, Sauron cannot stand." She attempted to give her voice more confidence than she felt, suddenly imagining the forces that could be contained within the Vale of Imladris, against all those that could be contained within Mordor and beyond. Had she spoken words to Giliath that morning that she could not live up to? The question was pushed to the back of her mind. There it shifted as uneasily as a pile of leaves caught in an autumn wind.
"Oh, our Men and Elves are brave enough, I suppose." Seatra's overly bright tone caught their attention and pulled them from individual miseries. "And since we are speaking of only the happiest, most optimistic things, shall we move on? Caffrawen, you haven't yet asked me if I had a sweetheart back in camp."
Caffrawen, relieved that no one would break into tears in the five minutes since she had arrived, felt a small smile tug at her lips. Romera looked grateful, while Naimi regarded her with vague irritation.
"So, Seatra, what's this I hear about you having a sweetheart back in camp?"
The girl grinned immodestly. "Oh, I have no sweetheart. Tirick's betrothed himself to me, and I do suppose that I allow him to kiss me on occasion. But sweetheart? Nay, his heart is bitter as a rotten walnut." She giggled, a happy, careless sound that reminded Caffrawen's heart of her buried longing.
"Congratulations. May Illuvatar grant you the happiest and most fruitful of marriages!" she cried, genuine happiness in her voice. She attempted to conjure up an image in her mind of the patient man that could endure Seatra's mercurial moods. Somehow, she could only see a husky bear of a man to contrast with the girl's slim elasticity.
"And may you provide the sunshine that warms the bleakness of his life." Naimi said with heavy irony, resuming the high-stepping and splashing method that rinsed the linens beneath her feet.
"Nay! I simply make him smile, turn his head, forget what he was thinking or doing..." Seatra also resumed her work, with many coquettish turns of the heel and delicate little splashes.
"And in turn, he can make you go on like this for ages. Fair is fair, I guess." Naimi was quicker on the draw than the idea her reticent appearance projected.
"Can you claim your own sweetheart, Naimi?" Caffrawen turned the question on the slight girl, expecting her to blush, or perhaps smile secretly.
Instead, she pursed her lips and tilted her chin upwards, reminding the Elf of a vexed cat. "No. No I can't, and it's going to stay that way."
Caffrawen stared at her hands, mortified at her gaffe. Glancing at Romera, she asked a question with her eyes. Romera gave the smallest of nods. The silence once again pervaded, and, again, it was Romera that broke the tension.
"Tell us, Caffrawen, are you married - or otherwise betrothed?" she asked, in much the hesitant way she had used the day before.
Damn it all, why did she have to get so confused? It was a simple answer - No. But something made her hesitate in the formation of the syllable, arrested her hands, which had been so busily scraping at the rank armpit area of a soldier's tunic. A certain soldier? Irrelevantly, she thought that it was rather a forward question from someone who had known her for only a day. Yet, it was her turn.
Again, Romera broke the silence that Caffrawen's hesitance had again wrought.
"I would be willing to say from her reaction that she has noticed someone, but has not revealed this love and longing to the Elf in question. Or to herself, even." Romera grinned at the other girls in a conspiratorial manner. With a surge of joy, Caffrawen realized that she had been welcomed into their teasing banter. She was now both hunter and fair game.
"Who knows? Apparently, I myself do not even know." Caffrawen remarked offhandedly. "And I mark that someone else hasn't answered." she insinuated, turning an innocent glance to Romera.
Where there should have been a tranquil face, lip curled in private amusement, only a raven-colored head hung, its owner focusing rather intently on the trousers she sanded. Seatra had suddenly and inexplicably become silent, not daring to meet anyone's eyes, except for the equally affected Naimi.
Caffrawen had had enough of being awkward. She covered Romera's hands with her own.
"I am truly sorry, Romera. I did not know that he had...passed beyond the realms of Arda.*" she said softly, eyes full of regret at having caused the woman pain.
A small sigh escaped Romera, and her hands halted their frantic motion. "He is not dead. He does not exist." she said, in a defeated tone.
Now Caffrawen was puzzled. "Er...does not exist?"
Romera kept her eyes on the glinting specks of mica in rock that she sat upon. "I am...not a woman to enter King Elendil's camp with...marriage on her mind." She twisted the trouser-leg in her hands for a moment before releasing it from the anguish of her torment.
The Elf, however, was aware of none of this. Then, remembering her conclusions of the previous day, she heard the pieces click in her mind.
"Oh! I am so sorry, Romera. I did not know you were the daughter of a nobleman. Did he pick out a husband for you?" But upon the earnest apology, the anguish of Romera's fair features turned to confusion.
"I am sorry, Romera. I figured out that you were a Lady of some high standing yesterday, and I did not remember it until now." Some wry part her mind noted that this was the third time within two minutes that she had apologized.
"A Lady?" the woman squeaked out, finally looking at Caffrawen with astonishment plain in her eyes.
"Well...the perfume, the sash...they made you stand out. I just assumed..." Caffrawen broke off, beyond mortification. All she seemed to do today was make a sharding fool of herself!
"It is...you see...what I can't..." The normally tranquil Romera was twisting in indecisiveness, and, from what Caffrawen could tell, shame.
She moved to touch Romera's back with a gentle hand. "Whatever it is, you need not tell me. I can understand...after all, we've not known each other more than a day..."
"No!" Romera exclaimed, inexplicably vehement about whatever was going on. "Better...better that you hear it from my lips..." she trailed off, despair in her eyes.
Caffrawen momentarily wondered if she was estranged from her husband. Celebrimbor had once remarked to her that human marriages could come apart under various forms of stress. What could cause such a fracture confounded the bess, but she accepted that humans were different, and perhaps also subject to different pulls of the heart.
"I...I am...I am a camp-follower." As Romera struggled out the words, her thin shoulders sagged, as if relieved of a great burden, or as if facing shame.
"A what?" Caffrawen said, embarrassed by her confusion, and at the pain this was causing the woman to confess. Beside their rock, neither Naimi or Seatra had resumed rinsing the clothing, their ears fixed with a terrible intensity on the conversation above them.
"A camp-follower." Obviously, Romera thought that Caffrawen had not heard her.
"A camp-follower...what is that?" she queried softly. At that, she was treated to looks of shock from the girls around her, and felt more awkward than ever.
"A camp-follower is another name for a...tart." Romera said, studying the Elf's face closely.
"A tart?"
As one, all the girls knit their brows and looked at each other in bemusement. Caffrawen was strongly reminded of the days in which her early attempts at jewelcrafting and smithing had gone awry, and she had had to present the laughable products to Celebrimbor's scrutiny.
"A...good-time girl?" At Caffrawen's blank stare, she saw Romera and Naimi's faces flush a deep crimson.
Seatra was less affected.
"Do you have no she-El...sorry...no bess that are employed in...less than desirable straits?" she asked softly.
"The worst employment I can think of is the cleansing of the outhouses, the spreading of the lime over the outhouse pits. But no specific bess is appointed this duty. What does a...a camp-follower do?"
Romera seemed to have found the deep well of dignity that resided in her backbone, and her posture and bearing had once again settled into the calm mask that she often wore. "A camp-follower sells her body to men in the camp. I sell my body to men in the camp."
Her body? "Do you mean, you sell your hair? Or do you do chores for the men in the camp?"
"No...I..." Romera looked despondently at the ignorant Elf, and decided to take a more basic approach.
"Caffrawen, do you know how new life is created?" she asked, slowly, as if to a simpleton.
The bess felt a bit insulted. "I have lived in Middle-Earth for some three-thousand years. Give me some credit."
Naimi and Seatra were taken a bit aback by her declaration of age. "And you know about the physical union between a man and a woman to achieve that creation?" Romera pressed on, unrelenting.
Now Caffrawen was the one to blush. "Yes."
"Well," Romera continued, perversely eager for this being to know the extent of her shame, "I allow men to...unite...with me for a cost."
Instead of the revulsion they had expected from her, there was, once again, the confusion that was fast reigning over the day.
"I don't understand how that is possible. Does not the act seal a bond between two souls? Does it not wed them for all eternity?"
"Perhaps it does for Elves. For humans, it is a different matter." She paused meaningfully, then continued on in a rush. "I do not do it for base pleasure, of that I can assure you. I need the extra earnings, need them most terribly, and this is the only way to do it." She cast her eyes down, drawing away from Caffrawen as if frightened. "I am sorry for not telling you earlier, my lady. I shall go." And up she would have got, and down the path she would have fled, if not for Caffrawen's quick restraining arm.
"So they...they look down upon you for doing this?"
"Yes."
"Even though it is done for the best of reasons?"
"To support my boy. My little Romeron...yes."
"And some of the other men and women revile you for what you are, refuse to see the good inside?"
"Ye-es." The syllable was broken by a sob, quickly muffled as the bess pulled the camp-follower in her arms for a quick embrace.
"I can most sincerely sympathize, Romera. I know something akin to that shame." Naimi and Seatra came behind, offering their friend support. The quiet murmurings of all four were lost in the loud waters of the Bruinen, as early summer staked its claim in the valley of Imladris, preparing the way for the inevitable march of autumn, and of the Armies of Men and Elves.
* * *
* When Elves die, they depart to the Halls of Waiting, presided over by Mandos, one of the Valar. There, they wait to be reborn into new bodies.
* Earendil is the Mariner who travels through the sky nightly with a Silmaril on his brow, from which the radiance of the light comes. As an Elf, Caffrawen could take joy in the stars, but as a Feanorian, she knew the bloodshed her family had caused to recapture the Silmarils. To see the star of Earendil would cause both joy and guilt for her.
* Elbereth was of the Valar, lady of the stars, highly regarded and revered by all Elves. To her they look for guidance and comfort.
* A fea is the immortal soul of an Elf.
Canon Deviations
-The Last Alliance spent 2-3 years in Imladris. I have changed this to a duration of a few months.
- Once again, I feel compelled to note that, at this point in time, Elrond's character had not been developed to the kind, patient, eternally wise Peredhil we see in the Third Age. Nor did he have a Feanorian to needle him, so his personality may be a little less...mannerly than he became after marriage and fatherhood.
- Did Elendil have camp-followers in his army? It is not recorded that he did, but I'm playing on the proclivities of Men. Since Elves bind themselves eternally to the one they join with, prostitution would be unknown among the Eldar.
No Elves or Men were harmed in the writing of this chapter. The author recommends that, if you should have an experience with the stars such as Caffrawen did, you go straight to a local psychiatrist or physician for a CAT scan.
