Chapter 20
July 3rd, TA 3020
"This is stupid," Saehild huffed, her cheeks growing crimson in frustration, her tongue pointing out from between her lips as she struggled to weave the threads one over the other. "I can't do it. See?" As evidence to her words, she opened her fingers, undoing the knot she'd just managed to create and scattering the yarn all over her lap. "I can't."
"What are you talking about? You're almost done."
Perched upon the edge of her bed, Mehreen repressed a sigh at the girl's uncooperativeness. Not that she blamed Saehild. After days of dreary skies and drizzle, the sun had come out once more, and still the girl was cooped up in the Women's Ward with little to no company. Even Bruiven's affable presence was no match to the distractions Saehild was in the right to enjoy with the other girls her age.
"Hold still." Mehreen reached out to untangle the threads: the blue and the grey, trying to ignore Saehild's impatient squirming. "You never told me why this choice of color," she remarked, trying to lighten her new friend's mood, and was surprised to see Saehild blush.
"It's none of your business."
"Oh." Biting her lip so as to hide her hurt, Mehreen glanced out the window, where the long summer day had made way for a warm, starry night. She proceeded to pick up the balls of yarn. "Perhaps we should resume when you're better inclined."
"Wait!" Saehild clamped her left hand upon Mehreen's wrist. Her lower lip trembled, eyes filling with tears that she wiped away in haste. "Please don't go. If you do, I'll never manage to finish it myself, and I'll never get to give Lord Elladan his gift."
"I'm sure Lord Elladan will not mind if you…."
The grip upon her wrist tightened. "Please."
Mehreen sighed. "Very well." Returning to her previous position, she ensured that the threads were still firmly tied at the foot of Saehild's bed, where she'd made a loop around one of the bars. "Try again, slowly."
Saehild obeyed, sticking out her tongue in concentration, propped up on pillows so as to spare her arm which, as Mehreen had learnt sometime earlier, had been broken in a fall. The fact that Saehild remained unusually tight-lipped about the circumstances of her accident led Mehreen to believe she wasn't proud of what had happened. Now that she'd seen the girl blush she'd put two and two together, suspecting it wasn't unrelated to the men-folk of Bar-Lasbelin.
A delicate matter, especially since the girl's mother wasn't around to see to it that she didn't get hurt, be it in body or reputation. Perhaps it had been a small mercy that Saehild's injury had prevented her from doing the One knew what with the One knew whom…. For an instant, Mehreen had considered telling Redhriel about it. As the highest-ranking woman in the Houses after Saineth, she was in charge of protecting her wards' virtue, after all. Yet the memory of their last conversation still disturbed her, and thus Mehreen deemed Redhriel as fit to manage the matter in a suitable manner as she, Mehreen, was able to run the Houses in her stead.
"When I was young, my sister Hanaa and I used to make such bracelets for each other," she said softly, catching a loose thread before Saehild's latest knot came undone. She handed it over to the girl, pointing to a loop through which to slip it next. "She always chose red and black – the colors of our father's sigil. I used to choose green and orange. Would you like to know why?"
Saehild nodded, pausing to flex her stiff fingers, the ring around her thumb glittering as she did so. Mehreen gently took the weaving from her hands, moving her own in a sequence so well-practiced she could've done it with her eyes closed.
"I used to have a cat, a tabby with orange fur. Her name was Lilith. As for the green…." Mehreen smiled, her throat constricting with the words she was about to say. "You may have guessed, but my mother had green eyes, and even after she left, I wanted to keep remembering."
Saehild was watching her, her expression cautious, as though she itched to know more but dared not ask. Much to Mehreen's satisfaction her curiosity eventually won. "What happened to her?"
"She fell sick."
"Like the people Saineth has told us about?"
"Something like that, yes. Would you like to finish it?"
Saehild nodded before taking the proffered piece, staring at it for an instant before she let her hands fall into her lap. "I chose blue because it's Lord Elladan's favorite color," she mumbled, so low that Mehreen strained to overhear her. "I know it because he wears blue all the time."
"I…see." Tilting her head, Mehreen tried to remember what exactly had Lord Elladan been wearing the day before, when she'd encountered him by the river. What she hadn't forgotten, however, was his storm-grey of his eyes, soft one moment and flashing with anger the next.
Blue and grey.
Poor child.
"It's a lovely combination," she prudently agreed.
"Do you think he'll like it?"
Upon seeing her face light up Mehreen very much wanted to confirm that indeed, Lord Elladan would be delighted by her present, yet her worry only grew. Redhriel's caution regarding rumors surrounding Lord Elladan boded ill for any woman who'd find herself the object of his attentions; even moreso one as young and candid as Saehild. Perhaps had Redhriel meant well, or perhaps was she protecting what she thought was hers…whatever it was, Mehreen could not deny there was something deep and dangerous about Lord Elladan, something she couldn't yet put her finger on.
"Perhaps it would be best," she ventured, "if you asked someone else to give it to him?"
Saehild's face closed in suspicion. "Why?"
"Um." Fumbling for words, Mehreen tried to come up with as gentle a reason as she could, so as not to hurt Saehild's prickly feelings. "It's just that you're still young, and…."
"…And I don't know my heart, that's it?" Flinging the threads onto the coverlet, Saehild crossed her arms upon her chest – or tried to. "I'm thirteen! My mother got married at only a year older than I am."
"Oh, Saehild." Mehreen's heart sank at such naivety. "Trust me, it's nothing to be proud of."
Not when the mother was still a child herself.
There were many things Mehreen had vowed to remember about her homeland. The bubbling of the fountains in the harem gardens, casting shimmering lights upon the intricate mosaics of lapis and pearl adorning the walls. The serenity of the city rooves in the morning, when a distant call broke the silence, joyful and beckoning. The scent of Ghizlan's baklava, warm honey dripping down her hand, and the game of licking it off when Lalla Nafiyah wasn't looking.
Yet there were also things she wished she could forget.
In the sickness' wake, Lalla Laila had forbidden Hanaa to accompany the other girls in their trip to the Sheikh's seaside palace, invoking her fragile health as a pretense to keep her away from Mehreen. And while the sisters had parted in tears, Mehreen had soon found herself another companion her age: Inaya, the youngest daughter of one of Harad's richest Emirs, whom her father had sent away in hopes of quelling the extinction of his bloodline. Inaya had been as lively as Hanaa was collected, as daring as Hanaa was obedient and, for the span of a few weeks, they'd frolicked unchecked and unrestrained amidst the waves, profiting from the other wives' indolence in the absence of men and weaving dreams of an impossibly bright future. When the summer had come to an end, the thought of leaving Inaya had left Mehreen disconsolate, despite the other girl's promise to visit her in Jufayrah.
Little did she know the circumstances of their reunion wouldn't be what she'd expected.
"I know how I feel." Defiant, Saehild had jutted out her chin, her budding chest puffed in indignation.
At that instant,Mehreen saw her childhood friend in Saehild. Inaya too had burned with the insolent hope of making the most of what life had to offer. That those who'd protected her so far would do so always. Last Mehreen had seen her, she was pregnant with her second child, swollen and weary, limping in the wake of a husband much older than herself…at only sixteen years old. It was then that Mehreen had realized how lucky she was that her own father's riches had offered her an unbroken childhood.
Poor Inaya. How the men of your life have failed you.
Speaking of men…. "Is it Lord Elladan who…?" Unable to finish, Mehreen nodded towards the cast as she wrapped her arms around her aching, heavy chest.
"What? No!" Saehild snorted, half-amused and more than a little offended. "Lord Elladan would never hurt anyone." And, as Mehreen bit her lip, swallowing the reply that almost escaped her, she sheepishly added: "That was me. I…jumped out of a window."
Mehreen gasped. "What?"
"It wasn't even that high! It's just that it was night, and I didn't see where I was going…."
"But why?"
"Because…." This time, Saehild hung her head, hiding her blush in the shadows of her hair. "Gárdred told me he wanted to see me. Only he ran off after I'd hurt myself," she mumbled, "the coward."
"…Oh."
"I don't ever want to see him again…him and his floppy ears." With a sigh as heavy as though laden with all the world's sorrows, Saehild threw herself back against the pillows, pulling the coverlet up to her neck with her left hand. "Men are weak," she asserted dejectedly, and proceeded to pick through the tangle of threads in her lap.
"Oh, Saehild."
Covering the girl's hand with hers, Mehreen rubbed it gently along the faded scars. Her fingers remembered the familiar gestures, learnt from Lalla Nafiyah herself as a means to soothe the ordinary aches of the body…and the heart. As she massaged the soft triangle between Saehild's index and thumb, she felt the girl relax, her skittishness replaced by a fatigue tainted with misery.
For that, too, Mehreen's fingers knew a remedy.
"Do not hasten yourself for the sake of a man," she murmured, rubbing her thumb in circles inside Saehild's palm. "Not here, when you can first build a life of your own." As she said it, Mehreen felt the truth of her words inside her very bones. For all her dullness, Lalla Zahra would've deserved a second chance such as the one offered to the women of Bar-Lasbelin. Inaya would have thrived here, in companionship and purpose. "This Gárdred is unworthy of you…whoever he is."
"But Lord Elladan isn't a mere man."
Saehild yawned and rolled onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest. Mehreen adjusted the covers over her small body before pushing a stray strand of hair out of her face, her heart swelling with tenderness. She trailed her fingers through the pale locks, humming under her breath.
Saehild closed her eyes. "And he's handsome." she mumbled, already half-asleep.
"Who is?"
"Lord Elladan. He's handsome, isn't he?"
A last caress upon her brow before Mehreen tucked the girl in, surprised at the intensity of her own relief. For an instant, she'd reeled at the thought of Lord Elladan harming one so young, the image impossible to reconcile with his behavior of the day before. This was the kind of man she wished for Saehild, Mehreen caught herself thinking: one with eyes as soft as Lord Elladan's, when he'd listened to her silly prattle about genies and skipping stones. Saehild who was watching her, fighting the warm embrace of slumber, expecting an answer.
"Yes," Mehreen conceded, as much to quench the girl's curiosity as to quell her own doubts. "I suppose he is."
Soon, a soft snore escaped Saehild's lips, parted against the pillow that she clutched with her hale arm, like a child grasping its toy even in her deepest dreams. Cautiously untying the threads from the foot of the bed, Mehreen wrapped them around her hand so as to obtain a loop she could slip into her pocket without risking to worsen the web Saehild had created. With one last glance towards the sleeping girl she slipped out of the ward, wishing upon her the happiness she'd once hoped for Inaya. She couldn't decide which was worse as a choice of a husband: a tempestuous Lord Elladan, or a spineless Gárdred with the floppy ears. Surely there must be a better alternative…?
The settlement was plunged into darkness, unveiled stars shining over the path, the distant lights of the women's dormitory guiding Mehreen back to her bed. The night was still young and, remembering Saehild's despair at the thought of leaving Lord Elladan's kindness unanswered, she resolved to finish what Saehild had started.
Debts were meant to be paid, after all.
Mehreen tried to imagine his reaction when gifted with a simple bracelet of woven yarn, dreading and hoping all at once. She didn't know what to make of him and his persistence to surprise her whenever she thought she had him figured out. A murderer and a healer both, with hands that could kill as well as they could soothe and mend…and even create, if the drawings she'd glimpsed inside his study were to be believed. A voice that cut and whipped as surely as it inspired her, with a face as sharp as a blade that thawed into a disarming smile…. If Lord Elladan had treated her harshly, he'd also given Mehreen courage in equal measure. He'd gifted Saehild with something so thoughtful Mehreen had all but teared up on the girl's behalf.
Had someone told her he had a twin, Mehreen would've believed it, readily attributing his wrongdoings to another.
Lord Elladan isn't a mere man.
The gratitude she owed her father demanded she believe he was a monster; what she witnessed everyday whispered she did not, and it was with a heavy heart that Mehreen made her way back, afflicted by her own disloyalty. Even the song that wafted out of a nearby window, thrown open so as to let in some fresh air during the night, didn't raise her spirits. A lullaby, Mehreen guessed, though she couldn't recognize the words. In one of the nearby windows moved the red-haired woman whose son liked to play hide and seek inside the Houses. She smiled, combing her fiery mane to the tune and, for an instant, Mehreen got a glimpse of who she used to be.
Even as she crossed the threshold of her room the melody stayed with her, cloying and tender, so different from the song Mehreen's own mother used to sing, and yet so alike.
"You're back late," Ahlam softly remarked, sitting cross-legged upon her bed, a long-toothed comb in one hand. With the other she'd swept the mass of her dark, coily hair over her shoulder and was attempting to work the knots out before she wrapped it for the night.
"I was with Saehild. The girl from the ward."
Gone was the time of titles and reverences. No longer did Ahlam feel the need to address Mehreen as 'my Lady' and Mehreen, after a moment's thought, had accepted it as part of her new life in Ithilien. After all, it was nothing but the truth; she was no longer a lady. Even her hands, once soft and idle, had grown almost as rough as Ahlam's. As she pulled out the unfinished bracelet from her skirts, Mehreen stole a glance at her fingertips, despairing at the state of her cuticles. Back in Jufayrah, she would've lathered them with a rosewater-scented cream. Here, she must make do with a small bottle of kitchen oil, which she mixed with what jasmine essence she still possessed and which, just like the room, she shared with Ahlam.
"Poor thing. Have you learnt what's become of her parents?"
"Not yet. "Mehreen sighed as she sagged onto her own bed and proceeded to unlace her boots. "She hasn't been very…cooperative."
"Oh?"
Mehreen shrugged. Saehild's secrets weren't hers to share, not even with Ahlam, who no doubt now harbored a collection of her own. "She's lonely."
"She must be," Ahlam agreed as she lay down the comb. "It's good that she has you, at least. Being plucked from one's home is never easy, for one so young."
The words had been spoken in an unassuming, even tone, but Mehreen looked up from her feet to stare at Ahlam, struck by the realization of what her own former maid must've gone through. As far as she remembered, Ahlam had always been by her side; yet she must've had a life before Mehreen, one she knew nothing about. A family. And maybe even a child.
"The war is over," Mehreen murmured, and folded her hands in her lap; her feet still stood inside the boots that now slouched around her ankles, undone. "You could go home. Your home, I mean. And…." She trembled under the intensity of Ahlam's gaze. "You could get your life back, if you wanted to. Lord Legolas would surely…."
"I have a life." Ahlam had paused in the wrapping of her hair, the swath of oil-stained fabric falling limply down her back as she did so. "Not the life I would've chosen, perhaps, but the One knows what he's doing. He chose for me." Mehreen sensed Ahlam's eyes upon her face, yet the effort of raising hers suddenly seemed too daunting. "He chose well."
Ahlam's breath hung between them like a veil. Mehreen willed her own throat to unclench, and release the painful lump it held there.
"I've been happy. I found a family…I raised a child."
Squeezing her eyes shut, Mehreen inhaled sharply, her chest constricting with shame…and something less tangible, something warm and sweet. Something that tasted like tears, and smelled like the butter Ahlam used to apply to her hair, back in the harem.
"Look at me."
Ahlam's arms around her, whenever she'd scraped her knee or was scolded by Lalla Nafiyah. Too many memories to count, all of them taken for granted. The woman with the scars, back in the Houses…she and Ahlam were no different.
"Habi, look at me."
Mehreen obeyed. In the light of their only lamp, the strong line of Ahlam's jaw contracted as she chose her words with care. "I don't regret what we had. And I don't blame you. You shouldn't either."
Ahlam resumed her wrapping, the tremor of her hands the only sign of the turmoil within. Mehreen remained seated, slowly coming to understand that another one of her wishes had come true in a manner she'd not anticipated.
She'd wanted to find her mother, only she'd forgotten to look by her side.
A.N.: 'habi' is a made-up Haradric word for 'darling'.