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Middle Earth belongs to Tolkien.
SeaSpell
Chapter 17
Nemir stifled a yawn as she lazily listened to the empty conversation happening around her. The hour was earlier then she prefered and her performance at the tavern the night before had run late into the night. She would certainly be taking a nap that afternoon. The ladies set down their embroidery and politely applauded as she finished her ballad.
"That was lovely Nemir," said Lady Iawien.
Lady Iawien was the daughter of a wealthy salt merchant who joined the ranks of nobility by marrying a Barron. She was around Nemir's age with blue eyes, a light dusting of freckles, and light brown hair that was unusual for the area. She contacted Nemir soon after the Prince's banquet and asked her to perform at her weekly embroidery circles which she hosted at her home. It didn't take long for Nemir to realize that very little sewing took place at these meetings as the ladies were too busy gossiping and chatting. This wasn't her normal venue, but the pay was very generous so she continued to accept the invitation.
"Thank you, my Lady," Nemir nodded her head since she was unable to curtsy in her current position. The women returned to their conversation and she resumed plucking the harp strings. Nemir tuned out most of the conversation, only catching snippets here and there. Something about a rejected proposal.
"Nínel must be mad if she believes she will receive a better offer," scoffed a women. Nemir couldn't remember her name, but she always wore too much powder.
"He was already above her station," added another lady, "and she isn't getting any younger."
"She best be careful if she is to avoid becoming an old maid, and this scandle certainly won't help her prospects" said another, her needle forgotten.
"I feel for poor Duke Thosson," said Lady Iawien. "His must possess strong feelings for her to propose such a one sided union."
"I would bet my best pearls, that Lord Ruinel is furious with her. He has been trying to improve his status ever since his wife died. He even tried to court my sister after her husband passed."
The whole situation made Nemir feel uncomfortable. She was thankful that her father would never dream of forcing her to marry someone for financial or political gain. If this Lady Ninel rejected a proposal, she must have a good reason and her choice should be respected.
"What about you Mistress Bard? Are you being courted?" asked one of the ladies. The question was so unexpected that Nemir's hands paused over her harp. She sat frozen for a moment as several pairs of eyes stared at her expectantly.
"No…," she stuttered. "Not at the moment." She could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks and looked away, focusing on her instrument.
"I find that unlikely," challenged the women with a chuckle. "A beautiful girl like you must have a least a dozen suiters."
"Don't push her Beldis. She clearly hasn't chosen one and is showing discretion as all good ladies should," said another noble.
"Just don't take too long in your decision," advised one of the older ladies, "Men like a chase, but you if you string them along for too long, they lose interest."
"When I was your age, I was already married and had produced an heir. The younger you are, the better for producing babies," continued another women.
Nemir, feeling overwhelmed, simply nodded. She suspected that attempting to convince them of the truth would only strengthen their beliefs. Honestly, thoughts of marriage and having a family rarely appeared in her mind. It was something she would eventually consider, but she had so many things she wanted to accomplish first.
"Let's not scare the poor girl," interrupted Lady Beldis, sending Nemir a reassuring smile. "We want her to continue coming back."
Nemir sent the lady a thankful smile and continued playing her song. The noble women moved on to a new, more interesting, topic.
The frigid wind pulled at her cloak as she walked the cobblestone streets back to her home. She pulled the heavy fabric tighter against her body. The growing winter weather had forced her to purchase a thicker cloak trimmed in fur. She wore it over her bard cloak to keep the advantage of its magical properties. While her resistance to the cold was high, she would get the occasional shiver as the temperature dropped more with each day. Snow swept through the city, covering everything a fine, white powder that eventually transformed into grey, ugly sludge as the city's citizens continued with their daily activities.
She could feel a headache forming, and hoped that a nap would keep it at bay. She knew she was pushing her limits, but accessing the ocean just wasn't possible while this snow continued. Without the means to dry herself, her hair and clothing would freeze during the long walk from the docks to her home. The roads were also become less and less passable each day. The city was doing the best it could to clear them, but it was obvious that they were running out of of space to store the towering piles. She just prayed to Ulmo that the snow would relent soon or she would have to get creative.
Energy slammed into her. She reached out blindly, searching for anything to stop her fall as she stumbled. Her hands grasped at the rough stone of a wall as her knees fought to support her on the icy ground. Electricity skirted along the surface of her skin. She gasped, eyes wide, as it settled into her, filling a void she had forgotten existed. Nimmon. The curse she had placed upon him was finally broken. She didn't know how she knew, but there wasn't a double in her mind that this was the source.
She took a deep, calming breath and attempted to straighten her body and brush the dirty snow off her cloak. Her skin tingled, but she felt stronger now and the pain in her head was gone. She was at a loss to describe what exactly happened just a moment before. Her mother had never mentioned such a thing in all her years of training. If she had to guess, Nemir would say that the curse was syphoning power from her all these years and now that it was broken it came rushing back to her. Either her mother's abilities didn't have this side effect, or Naneth failed to mention it for some unknown purpose. Perhaps she thought to use it as a learning experience to teacher her the cost of such a long term spell. Or maybe her mother thought that Nimmon's mortal lifespan would cause the curse to end before the draw became a real concern. Either way, Nemir would certainly be asking her the next time she got the chance.
As she cautiously continued the journey home, she could feel the effects of her returned power. It was as if she had been ill for so long, that she forgot what if felt like to be well. She swore that she wouldn't weaken herself like that again. Especially not for a yrch like Nimmon.
Either Ulmo ignored her prayers or he had a sick sense of humor. A couple days after the sewing circle, a blizzard struck Dol Amroth. The winds thrashed against every wall and window, howling like a deranged animal. The snow was so thick, that Nemir was met with a binding wall when she opened the door. The entire city was helpless and homebound as the storm raged on.
Two days past and their supply of firewood was getting dangerously low. Nemir and Mrs. Gollel had resorted to sleeping in the kitchen to stay near their main source of warmth. The older woman was so covered in blankets and cloaks that only her eyes could be seen beneath the layers. Fortunately they had a hearty food supply, but that wouldn't mean much if they froze to death. Nemir had already started cateragizing the furniture into different fuel groups.
Nemir's head pounded as she leaned down to add another log to the slowly dying fire. She shakally stood, placing a hand on the mantle to steady herself. It had been almost two weeks since she had contact with the ocean, and even with the small boost she received she was miserable.
"Nemir" called out Mrs. Gollel, "Are you well? You look paler than usual."
She tried to force a smile, "I'm fine. Just another headache."
"You have been getting those a lot lately. I hope this weather isn't making you ill."
"I just need some water and to lay down. That's all. Please don't worry," she reassured.
Her elderly roommate answered with a look that said, "I'm watching you," before snuggling back down into her blanket fortress.
Nemir downed glass after glass of water, but she still felt parched. At this point, she was tempted to open the door and shovel handfuls of snow into her mouth. Her hands shook as she refilled the pitcher from the barrel of melted snow they kept near the fire. She was beginning to worry. Her withdraws had never been this bad before. What would happen if the storm didn't stop in time? She was past worrying about frozen hair and clothes at this point. She happily would live in the bay till Spring if it meant this horrible feeling would go away. She collapsed on her pallet, and hoped that sleep would give her some relief.
Pain. Throbbing pain flowed all over her body. Flickering flame offered the only light in the dark room. "Where was she? Why couldn't she hear the ocean?" her thoughts scattered. She tried to stand, but stumbled in her weak state. Water. She must find water. It was too hot. Sweat trickled down her forehead and back. She pulled her body away from the warmth of the fire. Each movement made her muscles cry out. Moving away from the hearth helped with the heat, but she was still too hot. She looked down at her gown. Why was this fabric here? It felt rough and restricting against her skin. She clawed at the laces at the front of the bodice, grasping at the seams and pulled with the frenzy of a trapped animal. The dress tore with a rip, and the fabric fell from her shoulders, collapsing in a puddle on the floor. Better. That was better, but she still needed water. There, in the corner, she saw it. Her savior. The barrel. Suddenly she was there standing beside the large wooden vessel that came almost to her waste. She bent down and fully submerged her head, gulping in large mouthfuls of water. Gasping, she surfaced for air. The water tasted wrong. It was flat and flavorless. What was wrong with it? She growled in frustration. Salt. It needed salt. She frantically raided the bags and jars Mrs. Gollel used to store her spices. Each incorrect choice was dashed on the stone floor.
The clatter must have woken the slumbering old lady because she heard a voice coming from the pile of fabric. "Nemir? Is that you? What are you doing?"
She ignored her and continued her search. Finally after an eternity, she found the jar of sea salt. She released a cry of delight. She turned to walk back to the barrel, but found the old woman standing behind her.
"Nemir! Why are you nude? Look what you've done to my spices!" she exclaimed in anger and confusion.
Nemir didn't care about the old lady. She didn't care if she was upset and she didn't care about those worthless pieces of plant. Only salt and water mattered. She shoved the woman out of her way causing her to stumble and fall in her blanket cocoon. The old lady let out a cry as she hit the ground.
"You will be still," commanded Nemir, "You will sleep!" the lady laid as still as death and entered an instant sleep state.
"Finally," she thought. She stepped around the bundle and to her target.
She dumped the entire contents of the salt jar into the water and took a sip. "Much better," she hummed as she tasted the first hint of relief. She lifted her legs over the rim and sank them down into the water. It was a tight fit, but she was able fit most of her body in the container by folding her knees against her chest. Displaced water flowed over the edge and onto the ground. She released a deep sigh of relief as the aches and pains of the past few days lessened considerably. Exhausted, she dozed off into a deep sleep.
The crash of splintering wood and a stream of bright white light startled Nemir from her slumber. Water splashed as her body jerked. She was blinded from the sunlight invading the room which was intensified by the freshly fallen snow. She shielded her eyes with her arm as she tried to clear the cobwebs from her mind. She was so disoriented she didn't even process the presence of a figure standing in the doorway till a voice called out to her.
"Nemir!" the shadow exclaimed with a concerned tone. If was familiar to her.
"Morfindir?" she answered, the word sounded slurred. She attempted to stand, but her legs were weak from being cramped in the barrel and she slipped. More water soaked the floor.
"Don't move," his serious tone awoke fear in her and it was a sun beam to the fog in her mind. He quickly closed the door, and without the interfering light her vision began to clear. Within few long strides, he had crossed the room and removed his heavy cloak. He held it in front of the barrel like a sheet, creating a barrier between her nude form and his eyes. "What happened here?"
"I'm not sure. The last thing I remember clearly is Mrs. Golle and I going to bed in front to the harth. Everything after that seems like a dream."
"Can you stand?" he asked.
"I think. I just need a moment." She grasped the rim for stability, and caustously put weight on her legs. Gradually, she rose, salted water streamed down her body. She stood for a moment testing her balance, and then carefully lifted her legs over the edge and out of the barrel. "I'm free."
Morfindir wrapped his cloak around her the best he could without looking directly at her. She grasped the cloak and arranged it to modestly cover her body. He was kneeling over a bundle of blankets that lay on the floor. He pushed aside the layers to reveal the still face of Mrs. Gollel. Nemir let out a gasp.
"This fire must be restarted," he began the delicate process of feeding the dying embers.
Nemir's heart was caught in a vice. Her throat tight as tears welled up in her eyes. "Is she alive?"
"She lives. Look closely and you can see the vapor from her mouth, though her breaths are shallow. The blankets kept the cold at bay." His tone, like the room, was cold. He hadn't looked her in the eye since arriving. This served as another stab in her gut. "I'm not sure why she doesn't wake. My entrance would have waked the dead."
"That would be my doing," she whispered as tears trailed down her face. She turned away from them both, unable to look upon the disaster she left in her wake. She wanted to run. Sprint through the streets and down to the docks. The pain couldn't touch her then. The shame would fade and she couldn't hurt innocent old ladies. She stood frozen as the fire roared to life, and watched as he picked up Mrs. Gollel's delicate form and carefully placed it in her favorite chair. She was so pale and still, if it wasn't for the slight rising of her chest, she would swear she had passed.
"Before you wake her, you best tell me what occurred here."
Nemir wiped her eyes, still too ashamed to face him. "I don't deserve your help."
"Nemir," he took a step toward her but paused, "The worst outcome was avoided."
She turned to face him, motioning at the destroyed spices and puddles of water that saturated the floor. "The shouldn't have happened. I must be incontrol at all times! She never should have let a monster like me walk through her door. "
"You are no monster. I have faced real monsters Nemir, and they never feel regret," his face had softened slightly and he extended an arm toward her.
She ignored his offer of comfort. She didn't deserve it. Nonetheless, she recalled the night's events the best she could. The blizzard lasting longer than expected keeping her for the ocean. The headaches, the shakes, waking in the middle of the night and losing herself to the cravings. Raiding the spices looking for salt and placing Mrs. Gollel into an enchanted sleep. Morfindir's face stayed neutral throughout the tale and he made no comments till it was complete.
"You should be able to blame your actions on a fever. It caused you to hallucinate and act erratically," he said. "You were already showing symptoms before bed so it seems reasonable."
"I'm not sure I want to explain it," she sighed. "It might be best if I leave. This proves that I can't be trusted."
"You couldn't have predicted the storm. This is a once in century event and even the city wasn't prepared," he grasped her hand and gave it a squeeze.
"How did you find yourself here? Even with the blizzard ended, the snow is blocking the roads?" she accepted the distracted.
"It was difficult. The snow can swallow a man if you find yourself in the right drift," he explained. " I was worried and wanted to make sure you had enough fuel and food to sustain you till the snow cleared. The elderly often suffer the worst since they can't withstand the cold."
"A knight in shining armor to be sure," she chuckled bitterly. "Saving the damsel from the monster."
He ignored her comment. "How are you feeling now? Are the symptoms of your withdraw gone?"
She took a moment observe her state. The shaking was gone, as was the pain in her head. She was missing the spiritual refreshment she usually received, but that was a minor concern. "Much better."
"Perhaps this is the silver lining to this disaster," he smiled. "You've discovered a way to maintain your withdrawals and hopefully you can use this information in the future to avoid this situation."
"Perhaps," her emotional tormoral wasn't letting her absorb the true meaning of this discovery at the moment. She just gazed off into the flames of the fire, and tried to avoid looking at the sleeping form near her.
Morfinder pulled her against his firm chest. His arms folded around her and the flood gates opened. She sobbed into his shoulder as he gently stroked her hair. She wasn't sure how long they stayed intertwined, but she felt lighter as her tears eventually dried.
"I have an idea," he muttered into her hair before gently shifting her away from his chest so he could look her in the eyes. "You free Madem Gollel the sleeping spell, and then go upstairs to rest. I will relay the story of your fever dream to her, and explain that you need rest. You can come down when you're ready."
She nodded with a sniffle. She missed the warmth of his arms and wished he could join her upstairs. She felt calm and secure in his arms and knew she would sleep better with them wrapped around her. She shuffled over to the delicate looking lady and bent down before her, "In five minutes, You will awaken and be as you were ." The power harnessed sent a comforting tingle through her and she savored it.
"I'm not sure I will ever get used to that," he said.
"I hope I never do." she said approaching him. "I am in your debt. You have my thanks," she turned her face upward and placed a soft kiss upon his stubbled cheek. She wanted to linger there, next to him, but her time was limited. She left his still form and retreated up the stairs to her room, which now felt like a monster lair.
Well, I hope you enjoyed this new chapter. Please review and let me know what you think. :)
