I'm back! I know it's been a while, but this is my longest chapter so hopefully that will make up for it. Thank you to Marie and BookL0ver1998 for there reviews!
Chapter 12
Nemir felt an unpleasant pressure in her head as the sunlight hit her eyes late the next morning. She rubbed her temples and massaged her forehead, hoping to relieve some of the discomfort, but only managed to dull it slightly. She stretched her limbs and she found a causeless tightness that she hadn't felt since her early training days, and her body felt heavy in the bed. She had never experienced sickness beyond a physical injury and this new development worried her, especially since she couldn't spare the day to rest. She hoped she would feel better after she moved around a bit and stretched her muscles. It had been a very eventful 6 days and perhaps it was catching up with her. She slowly approached the wash basin to bathe, and felt considerably better afterward, forcing herself to ignore any pain that remained. After dressing and tying a long scarf over her braided hair, she headed down stairs to get a late breakfast and wait for Morfindir.
The common area was surprisingly quiet and she easily found a table before ordering a meal of soup, bread, and cheese. She was halfway finished when she spotted Morfindir enter and waved him over, "Good morning," she greeted her mouth full of bread.
"More like good afternoon," he said with a smile as he joined her.
"Are you hungry? This soup is rather nice," she said before taking another mouthful.
"No, I'm fine. I'd like to get the day started. There's to be an archery contest in an hour followed by the javelin if you're interested," he asked.
"I'd like that. I'll hurry up here and then we can leave," Nemir quickly slurped her soup and gathered the bread and cheese to munch on as they walked toward the arena.
The competition was held at the training grounds she visited just the day before, and they wedged their way through the crowd to find a seat along the wooden benches. It was pleasant enough and Morfindir was able to explain the rank and backgrounds of many of the participants. "That's Losson," he said motioning to the middle aged man approaching the targets, "He's the man to beat. They say every orc he shoots dies with an arrow in it's eye." Nemir watched excitedly as the man hit the center of each target, forcing squires to push them farther and farther back till they reached the walls of the arena, yet he didn't falter. Each competitor tried to replicate his skill and while some came close none could match him. She kept an eye out for the Steward's sons, but to her disappointment neither of them appeared.
Nemir held tightly to Morfindir as she was jostled by the large herd of people exiting the stadium, clutching his shirt knowing that separation would have her washed away in the sea of people. They pushed, weaved, and shuffled their way till they were finally free.
"Where to now?" she asked turning to face her guide.
"Well, I was thinking I would take you to The Dented Shield and introduce you to old Himon and get a bite of lunch," he said
"Lead the way," said Nemir as she rubbed her head; the pain from that morning has getting harder to ignore.
"Is something wrong," he asked worriedly.
"I have a slight headache, that's all," she said forcing a smile and powering through her discomfort.
"It's probably the crowd, once we get to the tavern I'm sure you'll feel better," he insisted as he led her toward the hopefully quieter location.
The tavern was marked by a metal, circle shield with a sizable den at it's center hung above a heavy wooden door. The building was a made from a mixture of stone walls and thick wooden beams. The rustic construction reminding her of the simple home she left only a few days ago and it caused a bitter happiness in her chest.. The limited light and noise inside the spacious common room instantly reduced the pounding in her head, and she found a quiet table while Morfindir found the owner. He soon returned, followed by a tall, portly man with an impressively long, dark beard. "Master Himon, allow me to introduce you to my old friend Nemir. Nemir, this is Master Himon," he said motioning between them.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," she greeted standing from her seat and offering a small curtsy.
"How did you manage to get tangled up with this rascal," he joked dryly with a small twist of a smile.
"We grew up in the same village," she said returning to her seat, "It was very small so he couldn't be avoided."
"I have no doubt that he made sure of that," he replied nudging Morfindir's side with his elbow.
"Nemir is making her bardic debut at the festival…" started Morfindir, but he was suddenly caught off by Himmon.
"I see where this is going. I'm up to my eyeballs in bards, minstrels, balladeers, jugglers, acrobats, and poets," his words caused her heart to sink.
"None as good as she is, I can guarantee that," boasted Morfindir with confidence.
"That's a bold claim, most of these performers have been practicing their trade longer than this girl's been alive," the owner countered.
"I guess you'll just have to judge for yourself," he said, "and even if she sang like a crow men would come just to admire her."
Himmon considered his words for a moment, "I'll tell you what, give me a couple days to let the visiting performers clear out of the city. After that, I'll let her perform for one night only, and if she does well she is welcome anytime. If you've let her beauty deafen your ears, however, you'll be buying rounds to keep my customers satisfied."
"Deal!" Morfinder enthusiastically grasped the man's hand. Himmon returned to the bar and a young lady approached to take their orders. He ordered half roast chicken with roasted potatoes, and she asked for a glass of wine to sip upon.
"I wish you hadn't done that," she said feeling guilty.
"Why not?" he asked.
"I don't like you risking your wages on me," she explained.
He chuckled, "There's no risk and you know it. No need to be modest with me Nemir."
Nemir just took a sip of her wine and enjoyed its warm, spicy flavor as it flowed down her throat. She was already beginning to feel better, and settled down to enjoy a rare moment of quiet. "Prince Imrahil is hosting a feast this evening and has invited the city guards to attend, would you like to accompany me?" he asked.
"It was certainly gracious of him to extend the invitation to the guard. Are you certain I would be welcome?" she asked not wanting to intrude.
"I'm entitled to bring an escort," he said as he broke off a chicken leg.
"Well, if you're certain, it would be foolish to refuse. It's not everyday you get the opportunity to dine with nobility," agreed Nemir excitedly.
"You won't regret it. There will be food, music, dancing, and wine and beer from the Prince's private reserves," he added.
"I hope I have something decent to wear…" Nemir started to mentally sort through her limited wardrobe.
"Oh, you won't be expected to wear anything formal, but those nobles never miss an opportunity wear the tightest and itchest clothing they can buy," he said with a smile.
The couple chatted casually as he finished his meal, and Nemir was feeling the slightest buzz after finishing her glass of wine. This seemed to be stronger than what she drank back home, she made a mental note to be wary of the wine served at the feast. With lunch concluded, they returned to the streets to stroll amongst the various activities for a while, but Nemir was quickly feeling drained and Morfindir could tell she was not as engaged as before.
"Let me take you back to the inn to rest," he said his brows furrowed in concern.
"I think that's a good idea," she said feeling relieved. It felt like weights had been tied to her arms and legs and the effort to move them was exhausting. Once they reached the Inn, Morfindir insisted on assisting her to her room. "I don't want you to over exert yourself, if you don't feel better by this evening please stay here and rest."
"Don't be such a mother hen," she gave him a weak smile, "I'll be fine, just be sure not to forget about me."
"That's not possible," he said slighty caressing her brow, "You feel a little warm, I hope you're not fevered."
"Shoo you," she waved her hands at him, "Your worrying will be the death of me."
He rolled his eyes. "As the lady wishes," he said with a mock bow before exiting the room.
Nemir stripped down to her shift, and soaked a rag in some water from the basin to place upon her head before collapsing onto the bed. She sighed with contentment, enjoying the feeling of being supported by the bed. She closed her eyes and in moments she drifted off into a deep sleep, but was forced from her nap when noises from downstairs drifted their way up into her room. The clattering of mugs and plates, conversation, and even a fiddle forced her eyes to open in alarm. "It's dinner time already," she thought panicking, "I didn't mean to sleep this long. Morfindir is going to be here soon and I'm not ready."
She jumped from the bed and rushed toward her bag to search for something decent to wear to the feast. The only dress she had was a soft blue, floor length gown that wrapped around her waist, and flowed around her legs. It was similar to those her mother wore and lacked the popular heavy petticoats that added volume to the skirt. She paired it with her grey corset in an attempt to make it appear a little more formal and add some structure to the outfit. She retrieved the silver circlet embedded with an aqua gem and pearls, and examined it in her hands, contemplating adding it to the simple outfit. She had lacked opportunities to wear it since it was presented to her on her birthday, and her desire quickly overcame any reservations. It rested comfortably at the top of her forehead, and she made several loose braids with the front half of her hair, twisted them together, and pulled them to the back to pin in place. She examined her handywork and after making a few adjustments felt very impressed with herself.
A knock at her door, caused her to jump slightly. "Nemir, it's me. Are you awake?" Morfindir's voice came through the door.
Nemir rushed to open the door and found him standing on the other side looking dashing in a clean and crisp uniform. "That uniform suits you," she said admiring his appearance.
"You look stunning," he said his face full of awe.
She could feel warmth growing in her cheeks, "Thank you, it's not too much is it? I managed the best I could…".
" And you will still outshine every other lady there," he insisted.
"You're too kind. Give me a moment to fetch my cloak and I'll be ready," she gathered it from the bed and placed it around her, making sure the silver pin was secure. She faced her friend to find him staring at her with a confused expression plastered on his face. "What's wrong? Do I have a stain?" she quickly examined herself searching for the source.
"Could you remove your cloak?" was all he said.
"Yes…." she said uncertainty, unfastening the clasp and removing the fabric, "What is this all about?"
He entered into the room and stepped toward her, his eyes searching, "How odd... please return it."
Nemir was losing patience, "What is this all about Morfindir?".
"I'm not sure, but please humor me," was all he said.
She let out a long sigh, "If you insist," she placed the blue cloak around her shoulders and faced him eyebrows raised.
"How curious," he gently rubbed the fabric between his fingers, "I don't know how I didn't notice it before, but whenever you wear this you appear... dimmed."
"Dimmed?" she repeated, confused.
"I don't know how else to explain it. It's like if you covered a lantern with a blanket, the light is diminished," he tried to explain.
"Laegwen," she said in realization.
"What does your aunt enter into it?" he asked.
"She made this for me as a parting gift," she once again took off the cloak and turned it so the blue was on the inside, exposing the camouflaging fabric. "It's supposed to mimic its surrounds to conceal the wearer," she said demonstrating by stepping into a shadowy corner, "I guess she added a similar enchantment to help hide some of my more unusually qualities."
"What are the chances of me getting one of these?" he asked as he marvelled at the way Nemire dissolved into the shadows.
"I'll ask her next time I see her, but don't get your hopes up," she said with a smile returning the blue fabric around her shoulders, "Now let's get going before we miss all the fun."
"Agreed," he extended his arm to her and she happily accepted.
The sound of music and conversation traveled over the impressive castle walls as they approached the illuminated grounds. Groups of people were funneling through the gate, many wearing uniforms similar to Morfindir's, and they joined the procession into a vast courtyard. A large fire sat at its center and long, wooden tables were arranged to provide additional seating. Her eyes then followed the steps to open double doors, and she caught a glimpse of the dining hall beyond and the people rushing about inside.
"Come, my Captain, Berenor, promised to save us a spot at his table," he said as he guided her up the steps.
Nemir's mouth dropped as they entered the vast banquet hall and she strained her neck struggling to observe the ceiling that towered above them supported by massive stone columns. Shiny grey and white marble floors and colorful tapestries depicting various scenes draped along the walls. At the front of the room, she spotted a raised dais that supported a row of tables and at its center a tall, intricately carved chair flanked by smaller, padded chairs, and vases filled with flowers. No one was seated there, but it was easy to assume that it was for the Prince and his family. Extending from the head table was seating for nobles and their families, Swan Knights, and officers, but as the distance from the head table grew the ornamentation lessened until it was nonexistent for the outermost tables.
"If you don't close your mouth, you'll catch a fly," he joked as he pulled her toward the edge of the tables.
She mouth shut with a snap, "It's certainly not something you see everyday," she muttered.
"Certainly not in Fish Farm," he said giving her an encouraging smile, " I think I see Capt. Berenor, this way."
The two weaved through the tables till a booming voice carried above the noise of the crowd, "Morfindir!" They scanned the faces and spotted a large, barrel chested man with grey streaks in his dark hair motioning toward them. The couple approached the table already occupied by three men all wearing uniforms who stood to greet Morfindir and his guest.
"This must be Nemir," said the older man as he took her hand and brought it to his lips, "We've all heard so much about you."
"Is that so?" she said surprised, "All good things I hope."
"Well, we were beginning to doubt your existence," added a younger man with green eyes and brown hair. "He would go on about this beautiful girl, from some no name village and how she had promised to meet him here one day."
"Oh did he now," she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at Morfindir who suddenly became engrossed by a tapestry as a red touched his cheeks.
"Speaking of which, don't think I've forgotten our wager Harthon," said Berenor.
"You'll get your money," grumbled Harthon as he took his seat.
"You made a wager? " said Morfindir surprised, "How many participated?"
"Just these three idiots here," said the Captain with a chuckle.
"Don't take it personally," added another soldier who was a little shorter than the rest, his dark hair tied back, "It was all in good fun, and a great way to separate Harthon from his money."
"I should have known you were involved Amathion. You never miss an opportunity to free someone from their hard earned coin," laughed Morfindir good naturedly, "but I expect the winners to use their earnings to buy drinks later on."
"Deal!" exclaimed Amathion, "We'll save it for when this lovely lady performs at The Dented Shield."
"You told them about that?" she said confronting Morfindir.
"Of course I did," he explained, "I had to ensure that you have the best audience possible."
"The way Morfindir talks, we are in for quite the treat. I'm looking forward to it," said the Captain.
Their conversation was cut short as horns blasted from the dias signaling the arrival of their host and the beginning of the banquet. Everyone rushed to their feet as they watched for the Prince who entered through a side door at the front of the room, followed by his wife, young children, two familiar brothers, and the Prince's brother.
"I welcome you Lords, Ladies, and honorable members of our guard!," he addressed the great hall his voice echoing off the tall ceiling, "Tonight we celebrate another successful harvest and the continued safety of our borders on land and at sea!" The nobles politely clapped while cheers and whistles exploded from the outer ring of tables, "This wouldn't be possible without the dedication of the brave men who venture beyond these walls to face the monsters of Mordor. Tonight belongs to you." Imrahil took his seat signaling the start of the banquet and allowing for the other guests to take their seats. Waves of servers carrying massive platters of bread, beer, and wine traveled amongst the tables providing each with refreshments. This was followed by a parade of the most glorious dishes Nemire had ever seen, each so large it took several men to carry just one. The procession started with roasted swans but the feathers were arranged in such a way that the animals seemed frozen in time, followed by several suckling pigs, wild boar, venison, and piles of pheasants.
The platters were placed to the front of the room to be carved and distributed. The men grumbled impatiently as they munched on bread and butter, and Nemir's mouth watered as the smells of the roasted meat wafted through the room. After what seemed like ages, a platter hosting an assortment of meats was placed at the center of their table and quickly attacked. To avoid scavenging scraps, she claimed her choice by assertively stabbing it with a dinner knife and placing it upon her plate. She received a few startled looks, and answered them with a fierce grin. She poured wine into her goblet and appreciated it's fruity fragrance before taking a sip of the deep burgundy liquid. It was the perfect balance of of sweetness and spices, and she savored it on her tongue. When the main courses were finished, trays of pastries and tarts were provided as well. Eventually all had their fill and the men proceeded to moan about their stuffed stomachs. Nemir sat satisfied as she enjoyed her second glass of wine, feeling very content and a little buzzed.
The strings of a several instruments cut through the haze in her mind, and she saw that an area had been cleared for dancing. Several nobles in their elaborate gowns and tunics were approaching the floor and lining up to perform a choreographed dance.
"Look at those peacocks prance," joked Harthon motioning toward the dancers.
"I think it's lovely," said Nemir.
"Of course you do, you're a girl. You like frilly nonsense," he scoffed.
"And I think you just don't know how to dance," she challenged.
"Not true!" he puffing up his chest.
She leaned forward and gave him a sly smile, "then prove it."
"I can't" he stammered, "the dance has already started."
"Next one then," she insisted.
"You're not going to be able to talk your way out of this one," interrupted Berenor, "your foot is firmly implanted in your mouth. No one else is going to offer to dance with you that's for sure."
Harthon just glared and folded his arms across his chest, "I'll show you. Next song I'll prove you all wrong."
The song concluded causing Nemir to stand and drag the pale man toward the clapping crowd. He resisted slightly but she only tightened her grip. The others followed to observe the spectacle, cheering and jeering their friend as they pushed him along. Morfindir stood to follow but was stopped by Capt. Berenor when he placed a hand on his shoulder. He gave him a confused look but returned with him to the table.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
"No, I just wanted to talk with you a moment before they return," said the Captain as he leaned toward Morfindir. "I find it odd that out of all the times you talked about the lass, you never mentioned her elven blood."
Morfindir blinked for a moment in surprise, "Elven blood sir?"
"Don't play simple with me," he grunted, "I have eyes in my head and there's no denying it. So you want to tell me how that mud hole produced that woman." His eyes travelled to Nemir who was flawlessly performing the motions with a struggling partner, "I know they don't teach that down at the docks."
He sighed and pushed his hand through his hair, praying that she forgave him for what he was about to do, "She's only half," he lied.
"Half, that's nothing to sneeze at," he said surprised, "How did she come to live in a fishing village? Are there other elves there?"
"I don't feel very comfortable talking to you about this," he tried to explain, "She is very private about that part of her life. You know how small towns can be, she wasn't well loved. I was her only friend and she trusts me."
"As long as I don't have an incident on my hands, because one of my men offends an elven lady who decided to play peasant," insisted the older man
"No, her father is a simple fisherman. I worked with him at the docks and his family has lived there for generations," he assured.
"And her mother?" questioned the captain.
"Not much is known about her. She appeared one day with Reavor as his wife and hasn't left since. There were rumors of course, but nothing certain. She was always pleasant to me," he added.
"Curious. Elves rarely go beyond their borders now, and to have one living amongst men is unheard of…" the man pondered.
"Please keep your thoughts secret. She came here to escape suspicious glances and vicious rumors," begged Morfindir.
"Don't worry lad. Just know that I won't be the only one asking questions," he replied.
Nemir laughed gleefully as she spun around Bereon who attempted to copy her movements. Though he wasn't the most skilled partner, she still enjoyed the beautiful music as it pulled her along like the tide. She was swimming in a sea of silks, furs, and embroidery, and the flashing colors only added to the experience. The song came to an end and she joined the others in applauding the performers.
"Shall we go again?" she asked her partner who was breathing heavily with a flushed face.
"I think I've proven my point," he gasped before fleeing the area.
Lucky for her, the next dance didn't require a specific partner as the men and women divided into two groups on either side of the floor. Each arranged in a line and faced the other, she was paired with an nobleman in his 50's wearing an elaborate feathered cap. She curtsied and approached him her arm extended; he bowed and mirrored her movements a friendly smile on his lips. They were together for a few moments before switching partners with the person beside her. This continued as everyone worked their way through the line and she lost track of all the faces, until grey eyes met hers. She paused as she looked into the face of a surprised Lord Boromir, but she quickly recovered and flashed him a smile.
"A pleasure to meet you again, my Lord," she said as their arms met.
"Well, this is certainly a surprise," he replied as they circled.
"Hopefully a pleasant one," she said as they stepped in unison.
"I always welcome a dance with a beautiful lady," he said with a slight grin,but their time together grew short. "Would you do me the honor of saving me a proper dance?"
"Looking forward to it," she answered before moving on to the next person.
She headed back to the table where Morfindir was seated with his companions, her heart pounding in her chest. She tried to contain the stupidly large grin that grew across her face and decided to stop by the refreshments table to give herself time recover. "It's just a dance," she thought as she sipped the glass, "and not your first with him either." She took a deep breath and calmed the jitters in her stomach before rejoining the group.
"You look like you were having fun," said Morfindir as she sat beside him at the table.
"Not as much fun as Harthon," she smirked.
"That was treat, I must say," chuckled Amathion, "I haven't seen him sweat like that since his first day of training."
"Don't be too rough on him," she scolded, "he tried which is more than I can say for any of you."
"Challenge accepted," bellowed the captain as he extended his hand to Nemir.
"It will be my pleasure," she said placing her hand it his and following him back toward the music. Bereno was a surprisingly good dancer and light on his feet for an older man. He easily lifted her body into the air with flourish. A giggle escaped her as her feet were placed gently back onto the ground, "You are full of surprises Captain," she complimented, "that was wonderful."
"You're kind to an old man," he said, "it's been some time since I've moved like that."
"May I have the next dance?" a voice came from behind her and she turned to see Boromir.
"Lord Boromir," Bereon instantly straightened to attention before transitioning into a bow.
"No need for formalities, this is a celebration." he insisted.
The older gentleman relaxed slightly, but eyed her oddly as he backed away, a respectful slight tilt to his head. Boromir took her hand and brought her closer as the music's tempo decreased drastically ushing in a slower dance.
"You have me at a disadvantage, Lady Bard, for you know my name but I don't know yours," he said placing a hand lightly at her waist.
"I suppose it's the least I could do after I ambushed you the other night. It's Nemir," she said shy smile setting on her face. She couldn't help but admire his winter sky eyes.
"Do you have a habit of forcing strangers to dance in the streets?" he asked.
Her face blushed slightly, "I apologize if I caused you any embarrassment, my Lord. I simply wanted to remove the frown from your face."
"You certainly accomplished your goal," he slowly spun her outward with his right arm before returning her to his chest. "Are you from Dol Amroth?"
"Unfortunately not," she replied, "I'm from a small fishing village two days journey from here. This is my first time in this magnificent city."
"It's beautiful to be sure, but it doesn't compare to the majesty of Minis Tirith," his face lit up as he spoke about his home.
"I hope to experience it for myself one day," she said. The conversation paused as they sperated to complete a series of turns and steps. "Congratulations on your victory at the tournament." she complemented as they rejoined.
"You were there?" he asked.
"I was and it was an impressive display of skill. You are a formidable opponent. I did observe a few occations where you took risks that some might say are unnessisary," she commented.
"There is no reward without risk, and you saw for yourself my success."
"Yes, but you leave your defenses weakend," she said.
He chuckled and she answered it with a challenging lift of her eyebrow. "Forgive me," he said struggling to contain his smile, "I mean no insult, but wielding a sword is different that plucking a harp."
"And my skills couldn't possibly extend beyond that?," she responded coldly.
"Wielding a knife in the kitchen doesn't make you a blade master," he jested.
The dance concluded, she made a stiff curtsy and turned to make an abrubt exit. She was barely containing the frustration that boiled within her and wanted to get away before she voiced her annoyance. His position meant she couldn't risk offending him.
"Wait," called his voice behind her, but she pretended not to hear and continued walking.
"What happened?" asked Morfindir instantly spotting her expression as she returned to the table, "What did he do?"
"Nothing I shouldn't have expected," she muttered as she grabbed her goblet and downed its contents, "Long story short, he mocked me and then told me I belong in a kitchen."
"How did this come about? he asked.
"I congratulated him on his victory at the tournament and commented that his technique involves taking risks that weaken his defenses," she explained.
"You tried giving Lord Boromir, the tournament champion, fighting advice" guffawed Harthon slapping the table, "That man was born with a sword in his hand, and has killed more orcs than you could imagine."
"Her observation isn't wrong", commented the captain, "but you can't blame the man for not taking your advice seriously."
"I certainly can, he laughed in my face," she countered still annoyed.
"Come, let's get you some fresh air," said Morfindir, offering his arm which she accepted. He guided her out into the courtyard where the fire was still going strong but many of the tables were empty. They strolled around in silence and Nemir took a few calming breaths. "I'm being foolish aren't I? I should have expected this."
"He certainly could have handled the situation with more tact, but you let your temper win this one," he said.
"I'm feeling my head-ache returning, I think I'll return to my room," she said rubbing a temple.
"I'll walk you home," he stated.
"No, stay. Enjoy the rest of the party. I don't want to ruin your fun," she tried to insist, but he refused to release her arm as he guided her toward the gait.
Well...? I hoped you like it. Please leave your thoughts and reviews. It really means a lot.
