Chapter 22

July 6th, TA 3020

The room was plunged into darkness. Mehreen lay unmoving, failing to remember where she was, until the memories of the last weeks, days and hours came back to her, down to every miserable moment. For an instant she wondered what had roused her, but all was silent; even Ahlam, who slept in the narrow bed across of hers, breathed too softly to overhear over the rustle of the leaves beyond the window.

Mehreen was thirsty.

In the light of the single candle, left alight so as to chase away the darkness Ahlam had ever feared, the room seemed larger than it truly was, as if the shadows in the corners had grown a depth they didn't possess during the day. The chapped skin of her lips pulled uncomfortably as Mehreen winced while pushing herself up, the marks left by Lord Elladan's hands lancing with every contraction of the muscles. She didn't dare touch them, for fear it'd waken the feelings she'd been trying to repress ever since: the shame, the shock, and the strange plummeting inside her lower belly.

Mehreen tiptoed across the room, towards the chest that stood in the corner opposite of her bed, upon which rested a small basin they used for their morning ablutions, a jug filled with water, and two cups. She poured herself some water, feeling the ache in her arms once more.

"How are you feeling?"

Ahlam's voice sounded from her corner of the room, slurred with slumber. Already she was pushing herself up from the mattress, wearing a dress instead of her usual nightshift.

"Go back to sleep," Mehreen whispered before downing the water in avid gulps, grateful for the relief it brought to her parched throat. "It's nothing. I am well."

Her arm trembled as she set down the cup.

"You don't look well."

Almost giving in to the urge to rub the bruises, if only to hide them from Ahlam's sight, Mehreen padded back to her bed. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, still colder than what Mehreen was used to, but not unfamiliar. No longer did she stiffen upon touching them, anticipating their coolness…welcoming it, even, as it drew the heat away from her cheeks.

"Nobody told me what happened." Ahlam sat up and rubbed her eyes, cursing under her breath. "May the One punish him swiftly for such savagery. How right you were to fear him!"

Was I?

One of Lalla Nafiyah's favorite sayings was that night brought good counsel. To Mehreen, it had offered little but an uncomfortable clarity regarding her own behavior, up to the moment when she'd almost uttered something so vile that her guts twisted with disgust even at the mere thought of it.

She, of all people, should know the power wishes could hold.

Dimly wondering when her resolution to hold her head up high and treat Lord Elladan with nothing but cold disdain had vanished, Mehreen squirmed under Ahlam's scrutiny. Kind, loyal Ahlam, who thought her to be faultless and pure.

"What could you have done to anger him so?" Ahlam wondered in the meantime, rescinding the question in a gasp. "Nothing, of course. He's a monster, just like your brother was."

Mehreen inhaled sharply. "Harun was an honorable man," she snapped, weary at the idea of having the same quarrel with Ahlam, "and the future Sheikh. I should hope that you, at least, won't ask me to apologize for his decisions that neither you nor I, as women, have a right to judge."

"Is that what's happened, then?" Her lips pressed into a thin line, Ahlam sat back against the wall, drawing her knees to her chest. "Has Lord Elladan demanded you apologize?"

"He hasn't…demanded it, but the suggestion itself is revolting." Mimicking Ahlam's position, Mehreen sat cross-legged in her bed, picking at a corner of her woolen coverlet. "I am a daughter of Harad. I was taught to respect my father and the One who, is in his wisdom, has given men a greater courage…."

Ahlam scoffed. "Courage? What courage is there in tormenting women and children?" Her voice rose above the whisper, breaking the unspoken truce.

"And how is killing men better? Did Harun deserve to be slain because he came to Gondor?"

"Yes!" Ahlam hissed, leaning forward "Yes, he did. Don't you remember his boasting, in the days before he left? How impatient he was to kill as many men as he could?" The glimmer of vengeance in her eyes, so unlike Ahlam's usual meekness, startled Mehreen, like a child cutting herself on the edge of her favorite toy. "All his life was spent sowing violence and pain," Ahlam continued, growing pensive. "This time, he must've found someone stronger even than he."

"I thought you were on my side," Mehreen muttered.

Worse even than the pain of betrayal was the sentiment of being lost, of treading a path that once was familiar before finding it overgrown with vines, thorny and treacherous. What remained of her certainties, Ahlam was crushing one by one: that she adhered to Lalla Nafiyah's teachings. That she was compassionate and mild. Even Mehreen's faith in her affection was shaken, the foundations trembling under the merciless assault against her brother.

"I am." Mehreen huffed and crossed her arms, refusing to look at Ahlam, pretending to be fascinated by the flame of the candle upon the windowsill, which trembled in the stream of night air that entered through the cracked pane. "And I wish you opened your eyes and saw, at last, that there's no honor in behaving in the way Harun did." Ahlam's voice softened. "There's no honor in cruelty, nor in arrogance. And sometimes," she added so quietly that Mehreen had to strain to overhear her over the noises of the forest outside, "ridding the world of an evil man is more honorable than to let him live."

Mehreen clenched her teeth, her throat tight with tears of hurt and unfairness. She was behaving like a spoiled child, she heard Lalla Nafiyah's stern voice say, but still she refused Ahlam the honor of an answer.

"Have you truly forgotten how he was…what he was? Must I remind you?" A rustle of fabric as Ahlam undid her dress. Mehreen swallowed, her stomach churning with the knowledge of what she'd see, should she raise her eyes to Ahlam's now bared shoulders. "Remember what he did to me. And if that's too far from your heart," Ahlam added, her voice growing resigned, heavy with dignity and sorrow, "remember what he did to Lilith…."

"Oh, Ahlam, how can you say that?" Mehreen choked, hiding her face in her hands. "I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry…."

She sobbed, bent over in anguish and remorse, her knees now pulled tight against her in an attempt to shrink, and even disappear, if it hurt less than to remember. The mattress sagged under Ahlam's weight; her warm arms wrapped around Mehreen's shoulders, drawing her head against Ahlam's chest.

"You couldn't have known," Ahlam murmured into her ear while her fingers stroked Mehreen's hair. "You'd asked for justice. It was the right thing to do."

"It was just a cat," Mehreen blubbered, "I should've let Harun…."

"No." Ahlam squeezed her tighter, emphasizing her words. "No matter what that serpent Laila says, you are a true daughter of Harad. We are the Aadilim, the Just. What is justice if not about standing up against the wicked, and speaking the truth even when it hurts? Harun was a monster, Mehreen." They both stilled at Ahlam's use of her name – something that neither had yet dared, and that had seemed impossible but mere months ago. "I, for one, am glad he's dead. He can no longer hurt you…I just wish that no-one else ever could."

Mehreen heaved a deep, shuddering breath as her sobs subsided into a dull aching inside her chest. Now reassured that Ahlam loved her fully, unconditionally, she felt that she owed her the truth. "Lord Elladan didn't hurt me," she murmured as she nested against Ahlam, burying her fingers into the warmth of her dress, "or at least he didn't mean to. I think."

Ahlam sniffled in disdain somewhere above. "Is that what he told you? That's hardly an excuse.

"I know, but…I really think he didn't intend me any harm."

"Has he…?"

"No!" The denegation escaped her lips before Mehreen even knew it, sounding much like Saehild's outraged denial. "He's grasped me in his wrath. Nothing more. He's not like Harun, Ahlam."

Mehreen knew anger. She knew it well, for having seen her brother's features twist into a mask of rage at the slightest provocation, and more than once without any grounds. The dread that sparked inside her belly as a moment once innocent and joyful brutally turned into a silence heavy with pent-up violence. One wrong look. One wrong jest. Even the weather itself was pretense enough for Harun to unleash his savagery, like the time he had slipped upon the rain-soaked tiles of a hallway. Mehreen had seen the servants sop up the pools of blood left by the unfortunate eunuch who'd happened to cross her brother's path, that day, the red mixing with rainwater, running down the corridor as though trying to flee.

Lord Elladan had been angry with her, not against her. The urgency of his voice, hoarse with fury and something else, something Mehreen couldn't yet name, had haunted her dreams. His eyes delving into hers, searching them for something Mehreen wasn't sure she even possessed, dark and demanding and…scared.

"I wonder what'll happen to him now."

"No doubt he will be punished."

"How?"

"I don't know, habi. I'm sure Lord Legolas will deal with him justly."

Yet Mehreen couldn't shake the dread that gripped her at the thought of what Lord Legolas' idea of punishment could be, the fate of the servant who'd told her about her mother still fresh in her memory. A cold sweat erupted upon her back at the memory of the women's screams as the lashes rained upon her skin. The voice changed, turning into Ahlam's cries of pain; Mehreen shivered, and pulled her closer.

Would that satisfy you?

Searching her heart for an answer, Mehreen found she had no desire to see him suffer any more than he already did.

Saehild loved him. Saineth respected him. Redhriel admired him. Even those patients whose names Mehreen didn't know, the weakest and most vulnerable of those under his care, trusted him with their lives. A man in power who treated those around him – even the women, even his enemies – with equity and kindness. A man whom no-one else had feared, while shrinking away from Mehreen herself.

People remembered deeds, Lalla Laila had once sneered after yet another of Mehreen's desperate promises to be better and behave in a manner expected of a Sheikh's daughter, cowed by Lalla Zahra's shame and forever obedient in the wake of Ahlam's punishment. The people of Bar-Lasbelin remembered Lord Elladan's actions…and those of people like Harun.

"Rest." Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Ahlam shifted her weight so as to allow Mehreen the space to lay down. "If it's true what you said about him sparing your…."

"Of course, it's true!" Propping herself on one elbow, Mehreen tried to rise, only to be ushered back down by Ahlam's firm hands.

"Then Mistress Redhriel is right, and we shall speak of it no more. I don't want you thinking about it for a moment longer, nor distressing yourself over his actions." She pulled the covers over Mehreen, and smoothed them absent-mindedly, just like when Mehreen was little. "I shall speak to Maerwena, and…."

"Absolutely not!"

"But habi," Ahlam despaired, taken aback by such a sudden and vehement resistance, "you cannot possibly go back there!"

"I can, and I will. And if Lord Elladan doesn't want me to, he can well say so himself."

"But why?"

"Because," Mehreen said as she finally settled down, "if he's not blameless in this, neither am I." She drew her knees towards her chest, feeling small and weak, but no longer powerless. "We are the Aadilim, Ahlam, you've said so yourself. And what is justice, if not confessing one's faults, and atoning for them? It's the purpose of this very place, isn't it?"

"I still believe this is a rash decision," Ahlam groused as she cast a last, dubious glance to Mehreen before shedding her dress and slipping into her bed. Her dark eyes glinted in the candlelight, flickering towards the flame as though fearing it would go out.

Mehreen smiled, hiding beneath her covers. "So it may be. Yet it's the very first one I'm certain of."

oOoOoOo

Only in the morrow did Mehreen fully grasp the meaning of Redhriel's warning. The previous day's events had spread like wildfire amongst the dry grasses that grew along the coast of Harad. As soon as she set foot onto the courtyard, whispers arose amongst healers and patients alike, making Mehreen glad for the thickness of her sleeves. Her skin crawled under their scrutiny but without proof of what had happened the rumors, at the very least, remained both sterile and easily quenched. Groups and gatherings parted in her way, conversations hushed before swelling anew behind her back. Judging from the looks Mehreen received, incredulous as well as hostile, speculations ran wild regarding her role in the story. Instigator or victim? they seemed to wonder.

Mehreen made her way down the gallery towards the statue of the weeping woman which marked both the entrance to the basement, and that of Lord Legolas' study.

The door was shut.

No doubt that even Lord Legolas had grown tired of the whispers, or the passers-by bold enough to petition him about them. Raising a trembling hand Mehreen took a deep breath, reminding herself of why she was here, and knocked.

Nothing happened.

She fidgeted, pulling on a thread inside one of her sleeves before knocking again, louder this time, encouraged by the silence within and the sliver of hope that, perhaps, Lord Legolas wasn't in and her ordeal could wait for a moment longer. She startled as the door swung open and Lord Legolas appeared, his wan face drawn in annoyance.

"Mehreen," he frowned, appearing surprised by her visit, his usual, indifferent demeanor slipping for a heartbeat to reveal the worry beneath. "I was not expecting you."

"I wasn't expecting it myself," Mehreen confessed, eyes downcast as he, too, studied what was visible of her unmarked skin, "but I wanted to speak with you, if you'd allow it."

"Of course."

Perhaps did he think she'd come to complain, as was her right in a world so unlike the one she'd known all her life; still, he let her in, closing the door behind them before preceding her into the study. Mehreen followed, unable to resist her curiosity as she studied her surroundings.

If she was to describe Lord Legolas' study to someone, 'bare' was the first word that came to her mind. The furniture, so similar to the one in Saineth's study, stood unencumbered by books or reports, unlike Redhriel's or, even moreso, Lord Elladan's office, except for the desk itself, made of shimmering green stone. All that Lord Legolas required had been shuttered behind the glass panes of a cabinet or locked into one of the drawers of a chest that stood by the wall, beneath the staircase that ascended into the upper stories of the tower. No armor in sight, but a quiver hung from a chair nearby, unfletched arrows and grey feathers lain out side by side in front of the window.

Only once had Mehreen seen a similar state of order inside a room inhabited by a living being, at that being had been Marussia, the oddest of her father's many wives.

For one, Marussia had always refused the title of Lalla, preferring to be called by her name only. She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman with thick arms and legs, and hair as white as the lashes that framed her eyes. Her room in the harem had stood almost empty, save for Marussia's belongings upon her arrival – a saddle and its blanket, intricately stitched with flowers and lined with tassels. A long leather coat lined with fur, and a similar hat with floppy ears that tied beneath the chin – Mehreen knew that for she'd tried it on, once, on a dare from Gamila, before being caught red-handed by Marussia herself.

Much to Mehreen's astonishment, the woman hadn't punished her, nor had she denounced the would-be thief. Marussia had burst with a booming laughter at the sight of little Mehreen and the hat that fell over her eyes, before pushing up her chin to look into said eyes and say: "There's Northern blood in you, and us Northerners must stick together."

Thus distracted by her memories, Mehreen barely noticed as Lord Legolas cleared the few letters that lay open from the expanse of his desk, setting them aside to rest his forearms upon the stone.

"Would you like to sit down?"

"What?" Remembering the awkwardness of Redhriel's interrogation, Mehreen squared her shoulders. "Oh, no, thank you. I won't be long."

Acknowledging her decision in the form of a nod, Lord Legolas steepled his fingers, waiting with the patience of the immortal until, at last, she was ready to speak.

"Regarding what happened yesterday, between Lord Elladan and myself…." The oddness of the expression struck Mehreen as soon as it left her lips, as though there could ever be something, between the two of them, other than resentment and wounded pride.

"A grave matter indeed," Lord Legolas acquiesced at once, "and one that I take very seriously. Please accept my apologies on his behalf, and the assurance that the matter will be dealt with."

How easy that had sounded, how heartfelt and sure. Lord Legolas, who'd been nothing but irreproachable and courteous with Mehreen so far – in fact, if anything could be said about him, it was that he'd been perhaps too polite to meddle into her state of mind – had apologized on another's behalf without so much as a blink. Yet he didn't appear weakened, quite the contrary, owning the mistakes of those under his rule as though he also wielded the power to correct them.

Could it be that Lord Elladan had been right?

"Lord Elladan isn't to blame," Mehreen declared with remorse, unsettled by such a realization. She clasped her hands together in front of her, finding some confidence in the familiarity of the gesture. "Well, not entirely. I…may have provoked him."

Lord Legolas frowned. "How so?"

"My brother has died in the battle of the Pelennor, and I've long held Lord Elladan responsible for his demise."

"I see." He leaned back in his seat, his hands mimicking hers over his stomach.

Mehreen fought the urge to ask him what it was that he saw, exactly. He, Lord Elladan, they all seemed to read her like a book; yet it was up to Mehreen to ensure that her intentions didn't get lost in translation.

"Is it true?" she asked, her voice breaking so that she had to clear her throat before she could continue, "what he said about…dying?"

In his seat, Lord Legolas appeared to deflate, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly at her question. "It appears so, yes," he muttered, his former confidence shaken and the mask of indifference, cracked.

Surprised to find that he did, in fact, care for his people, Mehreen straightened her stance, her own conviction thus steeled despite Ahlam's renewed attempts to dissuade her, that very morning. "Then I don't want him punished."

"Lady Mehreen, with all due respect…I am afraid this is not for you to decide." As though to soften his words Lord Legolas glanced out the window, seeking perhaps an agreement from the swaying green boughs. "It is my duty to ensure the safety of all the people of Bar-Lasbelin. Your well-being, in particular, has been entrusted to me by your father, as you well know."

Mehreen raised her chin. "Then I'm afraid you'll have to either forfeit that vow by punishing me along with Lord Elladan, or forgiving us both." And added, as his eyebrows shot up in surprise: "I wouldn't presume to tell you what to do, my Lord, and I'll accept my sentence, whichever it may be. All that I ask is that you don't punish Ahlam for my behavior. She's blameless in all this."

She hoped he didn't see her hands trembling, squeezing them tighter so as to hide her trouble. The fear of punishment had been ingrained into her ever since she was old enough to understand what that meant. Not having sweets while the other children gorged themselves with pastries. Staying in her room, her ear pressed against the door, listening to her brothers and sisters playing in the fountains. And, later, that same locked door standing between them as Ahlam's screams echoed down the hallways. Lord Legolas seemed fair enough to hearken to her plea and, if anything, Ahlam's good work in the washery had earned her Maerwena's protection. Mehreen, who had long learnt to fear for the sake of others, now quivered for her own fate, the thought of passing under the arches of her father's home – a walk only meant to be taken once in a woman's life – robbed her legs of their strength.

Lord Legolas, in the meantime, had risen from his chair. After another glance towards the woods surrounding the manor, he came to stand by the window, his pale fingers adjusting the lined-up arrows into a faultless array. "Would you truly renounce your right to a retribution?" he asked, turning to look her in the eye.

"If using that right means Lord Elladan will no longer be able to serve the people who need it most, then yes. They've suffered enough, I think." Mehreen recalled the fleeting sadness on his face, like waves rippling across a pool upon a gust of wind. "And so has he."

"Very well." The nod Lord Legolas gave her was stiff, yet it seemed to Mehreen that some of the tension had left his shoulders. He turned away. "I will state my decision in the days to come."

"May I return to my duties in the meantime?"

"If you so wish, then yes."

It made little sense to curtsy when he wasn't looking, yet Mehreen did so anyway before heading towards the door. At the very least, she'd bought herself a few more days with Ahlam, Saehild and Elladan. A few more days of belonging to a place where, at the very least, she was useful and free.

"Mehreen?"

She halted. "Yes, my Lord?"

"You have my gratitude." He was looking at her, his expression unreadable, yet Mehreen couldn't help but feel offended at the insinuation.

"There's no need for it, my Lord," she tersely declared. "I'd never say a word to anyone."

It was then that he astonished her by smiling – a grin of genuine amusement and relief that lit up his eyes and formed dimples around his mouth in a manner that must've had more than one woman in Bar-Lasbelin sighing in her daydreams. For the very first time, Mehreen wondered who he truly was, beyond that formal façade and the sense of duty, and whether there was someone, somewhere, who was privy to such smiles.

"It is not your discretion I am grateful for," Lord Legolas clarified and, in spite of what mirth he'd found in Mehreen's reply, his tone remained as solemn as before, "but your compassion. Elladan is my friend, and I suffer to see him so astray."

She pondered his words with a hand on the door handle, and turned to meet his gaze so that the truth of her answer would not escape him. "Then, my Lord, I believe your decision will be an easy one."