A/N: Enjoy this chapter! Please review, to tell me what you think!
Nimrodel was a very pretty elleth, Elrond thought as he leaned back in his study chair. She was slender and delicate, with large, slightly slanted blue eyes that twinkled when she laughed and rounded pink lips. Whenever she smiled, which was often, her eyes crinkled prettily and a dimple formed in her left cheek. Her hair was a peculiar chestnut brown color, tinted magnificently with reds and golds, and it usually roiled down her back in thick waves when it was unbound. Today, however, her hair was tied back in a rope and her smile was replaced by a knot of concern between her slim brows. She fidgeted slightly as she looked at Elrond, hands disappearing into the hidden pockets of her skirts. She wore tasteful, simple, modest clothes - a blue woolen skirt, to keep her warm for the upcoming winter, a white bodice, and a green corset. She looked, Elrond mused to himself, like a bluebell coming out in new spring. Her apron, which usually was tied firmly around her middle, was hanging on a hook by the door. It was stained and spotted by numerous spills and slips from the kitchens, dusted finely with flour and smeared with what looked like apricot jam in several places. Elrond stood, impassive gray eyes regarding the beautiful elleth with interest. "Nimrodel, what did the elleth say?" he asked, deep voice low and slightly rumbled.
Nimrodel pushed her hair away from her face, automatically tucking a stray strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. "She is very frightened, my lord," Nimrodel sighed. "She has…terrible markings. Bruises. Cuts. Nothing serious, from what she let me see, but there were many scars and some serious looking bruises that might need tending to by a healer, my lord." She opened her mouth to say more, and then shut it with a snap, licking her lips. Elrond turned to her, arching one eyebrow.
"Yes?" he said quietly. "What were you going to say, Nimrodel?"
She took a steadying breath. "Only…Only that she asked me if you struck any of us. I said no, sir," she added hastily, "But she wanted to know…wanted to know if you beat us, my lord, and if so, with what."
"She asked you that?" Elrond asked, bewildered. He had no idea about slavery; it was a disgusting practice which the elves of Imaldris have never taken part in. But to beat another elf, simply because they were mistaken in their orders or purely for entertainment value made his blood boil. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, gathering himself. When he resettled his thoughts, he turned to Elrohir. "Elrohir, what of the ellon?"
"He has bruises," Elrohir replied instantly, his dark eyes vengeful. "Many bruises, Ada, and some of them are fresh. I was only able to see his arms - he would not let me see more - but he bears signs of being bound and collared. Ada, if you will let me, I shall take a troop of warriors and find the men responsible for these actions -"
"There shall be no bloodshed," Elrond said firmly, overriding his son's energetic description of revenge. "These elves are safe now - we must work hard to show them that they have a place in society. Do not push them too hard, but you must bring them to me after they have eaten so I may examine their wounds. I want to be sure there is nothing serious, especially on the ellon - he limps as if his leg is troubling him. Now, Nimrodel," he turned to the pretty elleth, who hastily wiped a few stray tears from her eyes, "Bring our guests down to the kitchens to get some food. I understand it is slightly early for our midday meal, but they need to eat good, solid food as soon as possible."
Nimrodel curtsied quickly and left, wrapping her apron back around herself and knotting it around her slim hips. Elrond watched with detached amusement at the look on Elladan's face when he watched the subtle feminine sway of her hips. Putting this fact aside for later, Elrond kissed his sons and allowed them to depart. When he was alone in his study, he turned to the stained glass window and sighed, massaging his temple. The young ellon was broken, he could see it in his eyes - but the elleth still had a spark in her. The fact that the ellon - Legolas, what a curious name - could not speak Elvish was very troubling. He had never heard of an elf who couldn't speak Elvish. His thoughts turned to the girl - her instinctive flinch when he touched her, the way her head ducked instantly whenever he reached for her. And those eyes, Valar, those poor, scarred eyes. Urrinan must have had hands as steady as a surgeon to place such precise markings across her eyes without gouging them completely. The pain must have been hideous - but the scars were old. No doubt the elleth had them put there when she was naught but a child. He rubbed his eyes and looked out the window, wondering what she was doing now.
09
Amariel sniffed at the food suspiciously. It smelled like thick, rich meat stew, but there must have been some mistake. Slaves weren't allowed to have this much food, judging by the size of the bowl, and she couldn't remember the last time she had actually had warm stew. Legolas, having the same doubts as she, leaned over to her. "Is it poisoned, do you think?" he asked worriedly, dipping a wooden spoon into the stew. It was thick and creamy, studded with hearty chunks of meat and a few shreds of celery, coupled with a cornbread dumpling dominating the center of his bowl. Slaves weren't allowed such fine food - could there have been a mistake? The elleth who gave them the stew looked friendly enough - she had two black braids gathered at the nape of her neck and dimpled, smiling features. She looked at them concernedly when she noticed neither of them had touched their delicious looking stew.
"Something wrong, love?" she asked Legolas, who was looking at his stew as if it had just called him an insulting name. Legolas looked up, frightened.
"M-my lady," he stammered. She smiled at him in a motherly fashion and clucked her tongue. She thanked the Valar that she still knew how to speak Common - who had ever heard of an elf who couldn't speak Elvish?
"My lady nothing! When you're as old as I am, little one, you'll start calling people their real names. Estella's good enough for me, child. What is it you want? Is the soup too hot?"
"Lady Estella, has there been a mistake?" Legolas asked shyly. "This soup…it's too good. We don't deserve it. Is there anyone else who wanted stew?"
Estella looked at him for a moment with her mouth slightly open, looking at the bruised young ellon with astonishment. "Love, this stew is for you," was all she could stutter out. "Eat it, it's good." When he opened his mouth to argue, her mother instincts kick in. "No, no, not another word. Eat it, both of you."
They took a tentative bite of soup, registering the wild, gamy taste of the meat which perfumed the stew. The dumpling was rich and deep, flavored with unrecognizable spices. More than that, the food was warm, and it formed a pocket of heat in his belly. He burned his tongue as he inhaled the stew, but he noticed Amariel was pushing her stew around her bowl, not really eating. "It's good," he whispered.
"I don't trust them," Amariel said quietly. "I'm not eating anything of their's until I know it isn't drugged." It was a common ploy - give the female slaves some fair-tasting good, but lace it with drugs so they would be sleepy and complacent. Estella, unfortunately for Amariel, heard this. She marched over and took the spoon from Amariel's hands, and took three mouthfuls of the stew. She didn't look angry, merely shocked that the girl would think the food was drugged.
"It's good food, love," Estella said firmly. "I wouldn't play with your food."
Amariel took a tentative bite of the stew.
09
Their rooms were connected, parted with a crimson curtain. On Amariel's side, there was a small chestnut nightstand with two drawers in it. A pale white candle in a brass holder was resting on the smooth surface; there was a bed with two quilts in the corner. The mattress was straw, much more comfortable than the ragged strips of cloth which served as a bed back in Mirkwood. A braided rug, colorfully dyed blue and red, lay on the floor by the bedstead. A window, facing out over an ambiguous green field, was on the eastern wall, which would no doubt be an excellent place for watching the rising sun. The door was solid oak, with a firm iron latch on it, which soothed her slightly.
Legolas's room was similar, except he didn't have a window. The rug on his floor was green and white instead of red and blue, and his dresser had three drawers, and was made out of oak. A book, bound in a red leather cover, was lying innocently on his bed. The quilts were faded but clean, simple earth tones striking out against the pale stone walls. The curtain which separated their rooms was dark green, heavy, and embroidered with gold thread at the bottom, depicting trailing ivy leaves and a sturdy oak tree with scrolling, twisted branches. Nimrodel offered a little smile to Legolas. "There are clean sheets on the bed," she said, "and Elrohir is working on getting you fresh clothes. For now, you can sleep in the tunic you have. When you wake up, I think Lord Elrond wishes to see you."
The young ellon sat down on the bed and touched the book. It was a slender tome, full of markings he didn't understand. "What is this book?" he asked, turning it over reverently in his hands. He had never been permitted to touch books at his various Master's houses - he knew his alphabet, in Common, of course, from Amariel sketching out the shapes in the dirt whenever he was sick or badly injured. They would do the best they could to stay near each other whenever the other was sick. If Legolas broke his ankle (he had three times, from various mistreatments), Amariel suddenly developed a raging fever and collapsed on the spot. They would huddle together, talking quietly as they "recovered", and was during these times she tried to teach him to read. But the symbols meant nothing to him - these were not Common runes, this was Elvish, a language she had tried to teach him and gotten whipped for.
"It's an Elvish dictionary," Nimrodel said, opening the book. "Elrond wishes you to learn Elvish. We'll arrange a tutor when you feel up to it, all right? For now, get some rest."
She left the room, watching him from out of the corner of her eye. He wasted no time in curling up in a ball and falling asleep, boots and all.
Amariel was standing in front of her window, nose almost pressed to the clear glass, touching the slick surface with her fingertips. "It's glass," she said hoarsely. Nimrodel came up to her, a sad little smile on her face.
"Yes, it's glass. And if you could see, you would see the pretty field behind the glass. It's fall, so the colors aren't as vivid, but in the springtime, all the blades of grass are glistening with dew and it's so green it makes your eyes hurt." Nimrodel said softly. She touched her elbow. "I wish you could see it."
Amariel kept staring sightlessly, touching the glass with her bruised fingertips. "So do I," she said to herself. "So do I."