Disclaimer: Don't own it, didn't write it (the original LotR I mean). But does thinking about it constantly and pretty much living for it count for something? How about missing valuable notes in class to write a cheap story?
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Ch. 4: Nostalgia
Empty, dingy, and messy. That was the first thing Sìrëwen noticed about the room Amrun had just led her into. "Manen vàra, it's so dirty!" she murmured, looking around the room.
"Hm?" Amrun either hadn't understood, or simply hadn't heard her. Most likely, she'd simply been too excited to pay any mind.
Sìrëwen took this to her advantage. "Nothing," she sighed, and took another look around. Amrun watched as her young friend dropped her heavy traveling bag onto an empty cot in a corner.
"Sìrëwen?" She'd noted her friend's melancholy mood and had decided to speak on it. "Mellon'nin, my friend, what is the matter?" she asked, her tone expressing her worry. She came over to Sìrëwen. They both took a seat on the cot, and Sìrëwen was surprised at how hard it was. "What is bothering you?" Her prodding only got her another "nothing". She decided to go with instinct. "You're homesick aren't you?" she asked.
Calling it homesickness, Sìrëwen thought, was like saying a starving man was only a bit hungry. She could never get used to living here. Her home was bright and welcoming. Her home was always warm, heated steadily by a kindly fire. In her home there was a soft bed to look forward to after a day's hard work; there were animal-skin rugs -- kills her father had made, cured by her mother. There were familiar scents and sights everywhere. Memories of her childhood: her father... and her mother.
This was not her home. It could never be her home. The very thought broke her into tears.
"Ooooooh, no. Don't cry child," Amrun cooed. "Don't cry; it'll be alright. You know, I was homesick too, when I first came here. Shhh, it'll be all right, love. It'll be alright." She rocked her distressed friend back and forth.
At that moment, the door to the room burst open. "Amrun, the mistress is on her way down! Put everything-- Oh, who's this?"
"Lieril, this is Sìrëwen. She will be working here, with us, from now on. She's just suffering from a bit of nostalgia."
"Well, that's to be expected," the other girl said coming over to the cot. "I understand how you feel. But right now we have to clear the room: the servant mistress is coming."
"The who?" asked Sìrëwen, looking up at the new roommate. "What's going on, Amrun?"
"Remember earlier when I was talking about Miriènn? She's the servant mistress here and very strict, doing routine checks of the maid chambers. If she finds the slightest thing out of place she'll start screeching about tidiness and how it's our job to keep things in order and other senseless things," Amrun explained. "I've even heard that if your chambers look particularly bad she'll beat you!" Seeing her friend's eyes widen she knew her job as gossip was effectively done.
Lieril picked up where the other girl had left off, "But there's always someone on look-out for her. That way we know to tidy up our chambers. That means getting rid of crumbs, paper, dirty clothes or sheets, and in Amrun's case, boys. Now up with you, let's get this place in order before she--"
"What's going on in here, ladies?" came a voice from the doorway. It belonged to a large, burly woman, her dark hair pulled tightly back into a bun. She had an intimidating look about her that made even Sìrëwen shrink back a bit.
Amrun and Lieril immediately stood up and gave the woman a quick curtsy. "Good day, Mistress Miriènn. We hope you find the chambers clean and ready for inspection.
"Save it for when I care, scum. Right now I'm here to see about the new girl. Where is she, whatever her name is."
Sìrëwen, feeling the large woman meant her, took a timid step forward. "I think that would be me. I'm Sìrëwen and I just--"
"It doesn't matter what your name is. And who taught you your manners? They're atrocious. Speak only when spoken to and when you do you are to address me as 'ma'am', is that clear?"
"Yes, ma"—
"Who said I was finished? How dare you interrupt me!" the mistress snapped.
"I'm sorry ma'am--"
"Twice your impudence! And you forgot to curtsy when you first addressed me. That's three times." This was beginning to be more than Sìrëwen could take. "What do you have to say for yourself?" There was no reply. "I asked you a question, wench! Answer me!"
"Sorry, ma'am. I wasn't sure if you were quite finished ranting yet," Sìrëwen replied. It was a dangerous remark, but she said it as if it were a simple answer. It left the mistress speechless for a moment. Amrun and Lieril stared at her in awe: the girl who had just seemed so helpless and frightened had suddenly become a smart-mouthed rebel. "Are you finished?"
"Shut up, wench! I can't believe that anyone could have such nerve!" Miriènn screeched back.
"Neither can I," whispered Lieril to Amrun.
"Be quiet, you. No one asked your opinion." The servant mistress began to vent her rage at the other two. "New girl, with the smart mouth, come with me," she stomped out the door and down the hall. Sìrëwen followed with her head held high, apparently unafraid.
As they left, the two maids who were left behind hurried to the doorway. "I've never seen her so angry," commented Lieril, still in a shocked whisper. "Nor anyone with so much brass, especially after crying their eyes out."
"She gets cocky sometimes. That smart mouth of hers is bound to get her into trouble one day. But that's 'Rë for you."
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A/N: A nice decent sized chapter, and I've still got some muse left—double bonus. Maybe I'll start work on the next chapter now... But remember: please review! Say whether you like it, hate it (and tell why!), anything! Just seeing the Review Alert brightens my day. Well, that's all for now, but hopefully I'll update soon.
