Chapter 18

July 1st, TA 3020

They hadn't spoken about it. Ahlam didn't say a thing about her newfound happiness, and Mehreen didn't ask. From the outside, nothing had changed, yet if a stranger were to peer through the window of their room in the evenings – and Mehreen knew no-one did because of the long, vicious thorns that grew beneath it – he would've noticed Ahlam spending more time on her own clothes rather than Mehreen's while Mehreen read aloud in Westron from a book she'd borrowed from the library. Ahlam never thanked her for it, no more than Mehreen had ever thought to express gratitude for the work she'd done as a slave.

The days were long, spent at the Houses of Healing where Mehreen did her best to accomplish as much as she could while being seen as little as possible. She often caught herself searching the corridors for Saineth's rounded form while avoiding the scrutiny that always followed Redhriel's upturned nose, or the sharp-faced, tawny-haired healer who'd chastised her so harshly for what was an honest, if grievous, mistake. And while Mehreen's hands were now hardened against the blisters, they were also covered with the pinpricks of the needle she handled so ineptly, so that Lord Elladan's pot of salve was growing emptier by the day.

The only excitement came from the uproar caused by Lord Elladan's latest orders. The entire staff had been summoned into the courtyard for Saineth to proclaim them from the gallery.

"A new ward shall be established in the basement," she'd announced in a clear voice. "In order to achieve that, we shall receive help from both Caelben and Berendir's people." Cue more excited whispering, for unlike the Houses of Healing, Caelben and Berendir, respectively responsible for the sawmill and the smithy, mostly employed men. "The south-west staircase is now closed until further notice, and is not to be used. The adjacent stocks will be moved to…."

Mehreen's mind had wandered away in the middle of her speech and she'd stood, worrying her lip while thinking about what Saineth had said.

A plague.

Even now, two days after the announcement, Mehreen had to pause every time she thought about it, fighting back the melancholy that never failed to swell inside her chest. She remembered the texture of her mother's skin, as tangible as the rough-spun fabric of the linens in her hands, and the comforting sound of her voice. What she couldn't recall was her face; perhaps was it because of the way the sickness had deformed it, or because of how young Mehreen had been, back then.

That year had been marked with a dark stone in the walls of Jufayrah – the year an illness had descended upon the land, borne by the desert winds. Entire settlements had succumbed in silence before word had reached the city and by then, it was too late. For all her father's wealth, the palace hadn't been spared, no matter how many times the slaves had washed the marble floors with lemon-scented water, and changed the sheets imbued with the perspiration of the sick. Lalla Sahar, the Sheikh's second wife, had been the first to succumb, closely followed by her youngest son Abdul, a boy of four.

Yet even those who'd survived hadn't been spared.

One of the slaves had once told Mehreen it was her mother's exotic beauty that'd bewitched the Sheikh, prompting him to buy her and make her his wife. That her green eyes had made him her slave, just as she'd been his. That was before illness had stolen said beauty, and the Sheikh's love with it.

Lalla Laila's intervention had put an end to the story, and the woman was gone in the morrow, before Mehreen could question her any further. Of her mother she only knew the name she'd received upon entering the harem: Sunaa, the golden one.

oOoOoOo

The book's translation was halfway done. By the time of Lord Elladan's return, she should be able to present him with a finished work, her stack of parchment growing thicker every day. Her only regret was that she couldn't bind them together, living in fear of losing a page and having to comb over the rest to identify what was missing. Surely there was something to be done about it, she mused, returning from the laundry after a day much like the ones that came before. If she'd managed to get her hands on parchment and a quill, then it must be possible for her to find something to bind the pages with, now that her skill with a needle was improving.

Thus thinking she passed in front of Saineth's study, where the magnificent crib still stood, visible from outside through the cracked door. Upon the edge rested a delicate hand, holding onto the wood. It was only natural for a woman to admire the father's gift for the unborn, so Mehreen thought nothing of it until she heard a long, muffled moan escape the room.

It was Saineth's voice, yet it was as far from her usual whetted tone as Bar-Lasbelin was from Jufayrah.

Mehreen halted, hesitating beyond the door, unwilling to repeat the same blunder as before. "Mistress Saineth…are you well?"

A shaky breath; Saineth's grip on the crib tightened, so that her knuckles grew as white as the wood. "Mehreen," she croaked out. "Go…fetch Redhriel." The order came out hashed, pushed out through clenched teeth as though Saineth was struggling to keep her voice even.

Which, of course, she was.

Cursing herself for her foolishness, Mehreen picked up her skirts and dashed down the corridor. Redhriel's study lay on the other side of the Women's Ward and, if Mehreen had often feared to meet Redhriel's gaze each time she walked past, this time she despaired not to.

"Mistress Redhriel!" She barged in, belatedly realizing that such a behavior could land her in more trouble with the Steward than she already was, "Mistress Redhriel, come quickly!"

The study was empty.

Raking her mind for ideas, Mehreen turned on her heels and ran out, all but colliding with a woman carrying a stack of rolled bandages. Would any healer do? she frantically thought, trying to remember how the births in the harem went without ever having seen one. It was customary for a soon-to-be-wed daughter to assist with the delivery of another's child, if only to see what awaited her; yet Mehreen's 'betrothal' had been as hasty as it was undesirable, and thus no-one had thought of including her.

"Sorry!" she breathed out as she bounded along the gallery once more, this time heading for the Women's Ward.

Despite the urgency of the situation, Mehreen paused in front of the sculpted doors. She feared to go inside; feared what and whom she'd find there, the scars on the woman's back still sharp in her memory, and her anguish sharper still. In the corridors, the patients' stares draped a weight over her shoulders, and only with great effort did she manage to shrug it off. Here, she feared to buckle under their pain, clinging to certainties that frayed under her fingers.

Only the image of Saineth's trembling hand gave her the necessary strength to push the doors open. "Mistress Redhriel!"

The elf turned around, abandoning her post by one of the beds. "What is it?"

Inside lay a girl much younger than Mehreen, with a pretty, round face drawn in exhaustion, framed by lank blond hair. Her right arm, which had been bandaged up to the elbow, rested over the sheets. Other than the two of them the ward stood empty, the long curtains billowing in the evening breeze.

"Mistress Redhriel," Mehreen panted, "it's Saineth."

Redhriel pursed her lips, displeased to be interrupted. "Yes? What about her?" She made to resume her work, her hand suspended over a vial that stood on the nightstand as the reason of Mehreen's hurry dawned on her. "It has begun, has it not?" she asked and, without expecting an answer, strode towards the exit. "Bruiven," she called out, "see that Saehild takes her potion before going to sleep tonight."

Mehreen trotted in her wake, her dress getting in the way as she tried to keep up with the elf's long, purposeful strides. Redhriel seemed to have forgotten her presence, hailing this or that healer on her way down the corridor: "Gulwen, go set a cauldron of water to boil. Bring it to Saineth's chambers as soon as it is done. Lanthiriel, run fetch Caelben. Yes, now."

Her forbidding demeanor only softened once she reached the door of Saineth's study and peered inside, hiding the room of Mehreen's view. She spoke again, this time softly and with admiration, in the tongue of the elves. Much to Mehreen's relief, Saineth answered in a calm voice – a sign that the contractions had subsided, if only for a moment.

"Now there is no longer need for your presence," Redhriel told Mehreen as she slid inside the study. "You can leave."

And shut the door in her face.

Mehreen remained, dumbfounded and anxious both, fearing for Saineth and her child. Redhriel knew what she was doing, she told herself firmly, just like Lalla Naifiyah, when Lalla Raeha's time to give birth had come. The Mother had sent flocks of servants running with a simple wave of her hand; what Mehreen had thought to be blind panic, impressed as she'd been by Lalla Raeha's screams, had turned out to be a well-practiced dance where everyone knew their place.

Everyone but her.

The dream of holding a child of her own grew as distant as the previous winter and, once again, the cold reality of her new position could not be denied. Mehreen had become a part of the Houses, a cog in the smooth running of the household; but no more than one fell in love with a pot or a table, had Mehreen any hope of ever being cherished.

She lingered on the doorstep, listening to the muffled noises within, before the arrival of Gulwen and her pot of hot water forced her away. Her workday was long since over, but there was nothing for her to return to. No doubt that Ahlam was eager to spend her evening with some of her new friends before joining Mehreen in their small room for lecture and prayer.

"Please," came a timid voice on her left, "is anyone there?"

Mehreen startled, realizing she'd retraced her steps back to the entrance of the Women's Ward, whose doors had been left ajar by Redhriel's hurried exit. There, in the depths of the vast, white hall now plunged into twilight, sat the girl from before, her worried face peering from between the curtains that had been drawn around her bed.

"Hello," she called out once more, "Bruiven? Anyone?" her voice growing more dejected with every word.

Taking a deep breath so as to blink back the tears that had started to form, Mehreen smoothed out her skirts and took a step inside. "I'm still here," she said in what she hoped a gentle tone, "I can help you, if you want."

She'd not expected the girl to smile back. Mehreen's presence, and the sight of her brown skin, usually warranted more wariness than relief, yet the girl relaxed and all but leaned out of the bed, to the point where Mehreen hurried to her side, all doubts forgotten, lest she fell out and injured her arm even further.

"I think it's there," she exclaimed, half-happy half-sheepish, while pointing to something under the nearby bed. "It slipped out of my grasp."

"What did?"

"My ring." The girl studied Mehreen briefly before turning her attention back to the floor. "Will you get it for me? Please?"

Mehreen knelt in search of the ring, spotting it immediately in the shadow of the bed, where it glimmered silver against the blue and white of the tiles. "Here." She rose and held the ring out to the light. "Is it this one?" Before adding, red-faced with embarrassment at the sight of the elf who'd entered the ward – the same elf who'd taught her how to make a bed: "Of course it is. There mustn't be many rings just lying around Middle Earth, are there?"

"Oh, thank you!"

The girl reached out to seize it with her left hand; Mehreen's heart missed a beat upon seeing the thick, puckered scarring on her forearm that stretched down to her wrist, covering part of her palm and fingers. She averted her gaze, choosing to focus on the ring instead. The girl had slipped it around her right thumb, right beneath the cast that Mehreen had mistaken for a bandage, and now rubbed it with her index finger. In the light of the lamps that hung above, dimmed for the insetting night, the ring twinkled with every stroke.

"It's a very pretty ring," Mehreen commented, wishing to bring the poor girl some comfort.

Why was she alone? Where was her family? Those were questions to which she might not like the answer, as confirmed by the slow, resigned way in which the girl sank back onto her pillow.

She must be tired, and sleepy after the potion Redhriel had her take. Mehreen made to leave.

"Lord Elladan gave it to me."

"Really? How…kind of him."

The girl grinned. "He's kind indeed, isn't he? I never would've thought he'd care about a simple girl like me. And yet he came to visit me again before he left, and gave me this ring." She brought her hand as close to her eyes as the cast permitted, admiring her gift. "He said: Saehild, here's something to help you take your mind off things. I think it's been made by dwarves, by one of Lord Legolas' friends in Rohan. I wish I could thank him properly – Lord Elladan, I mean, not the dwarf. I did, of course, but you know…there's not much I can do in return while I'm in this bed."

Much to Mehreen's despair, her lively chattering dwindled down into a mutter.

"You could give him flowers," Mehreen suggested on a whim. "Or make a bracelet for him to wear." She thought of the many-colored yarn she'd brought from Harad, and the woven cords she and Hanaa used to wear in sign of their friendship. "I'll help you make it, if you want."

Anything to see her smile again.

"You'd do that?" the girl beamed and tried to rise, her cheeks flushing in anticipation. "Oh, that'd be wonderful!"

"Only…you'll have to keep my help a secret," Mehreen warned her, suddenly uneasy, loath to spoil the gift by her involvement. "So that, you know, he thinks it only comes from you."

"Alright." She lay back down, fingering the ring. "I don't suppose we could start tomorrow?"

The hope in her voice tugged at the corners of Mehreen's lips. "We could," she conceded. "I'll come see you after my shift."

"Goodnight," the girl called after her. And then: "Wait! What's your name?"

Relieved she'd asked, so that Mehreen could do the same in turn, she smiled. "My name is Mehreen. And what is yours?"

"Saehild."

Not an easy name to remember, but she'd think of something.

"Now go to sleep. I might just do the same, now that I know you're in capable hands." Mehreen thought of the tiredness on the girl's face. "Try to think of the colors you'll want to use, if you can't."

Exchanging a knowing look with the elf who busied himself by the doors Mehreen exited the ward, unable to shake the feeling she'd forgotten something. Not the girl's name – not yet, anyway – for she kept muttering it under her breath like a prayer. Saehild. Saehild. Saehild. As she made her way through the settlement, admiring the roses and oranges of the sunset over the mountains beyond the Anduin, Mehreen remembered what it was that she'd left behind, caught as she'd been in Saehild's enthusiasm.

Her sadness.

oOoOoOo

In the morrow, anything that walked and breathed inside the Houses only spoke about Saineth's delivery. Speculations ran wild about the child's name and gender, with wagers being made amongst the human healers of the Houses regarding both. The elves seemed to regard the entire affair with various degrees of disinterest – that, or they simply were better at hiding their curiosity.

The door to Saineth's study had been locked; in her absence, Redhriel ruled unchallenged over the Houses. She started her reign by convoking Mehreen, who'd been stealing a moment with Elladan when the elf from the night before came to fetch her in the gate room.

"Good morning," he called out just as the last slice of apple disappeared from Mehreen's palm, plucked by the donkey in a moment of inattention.

"Stealing is a dishonorable thing to do, Elladan, even for you," Mehreen chastised him at once before realizing what she'd just said.

If the elf had overheard, however, he showed nothing of it other than the crinkling of his eyes. "Redhriel has asked to see you in her study," he announced, standing to attention at a comfortable distance. "As soon as you see fit."

Though Mehreen doubted Redhriel had truly said something of the sort, she decided not to risk the Steward's wrath, neither for herself nor for the messenger. Wiping her hands on her skirts as discreetly as she could, she followed him up the stairs, regretting that she'd not managed to retain his name. In Saineth's absence and aside from Saehild – whose friendship was as new as it was fragile – he was the only living being in the Houses not walking on all fours who didn't scowl at her.

The elf knocked on the door and opened it to let Mehreen in.

"Oh, Mehreen."

Redhriel was standing behind her desk, rummaging through a pile of books and parchments in apparent search of something that evaded her. A few auburn locks had escaped from her usually impeccable bun, curling down her neck, and she attempted to swat them away with an absent-minded hand. Her dress was rumpled, and only the apron remained pristine, like a figurehead for her efficacy.

"It is good that Bruiven has found you." Bruiven. Mehreen would need to remember that. "As you may know, we are two healers short, this morning, and with Lord Elladan's latest orders…." She trailed off, frowning at something she'd read on one of the scattered pages, before snapping back to Mehreen. "Would you be willing to stay in later than usual to help us out?"

"Of course, Mistress," Mehreen nodded, before remembering her promise to Saehild. "How long will you need me for?"

"Nothing that should require you to stay after nightfall. Come in!"

The elf who'd just knocked entered upon hearing Redhriel's command, carrying a stack of letters. "The mail, Mistress," she announced, setting the missives onto a free corner of the desk.

"Any news from Emyn Arnen?"

"I would not know, Mistress."

"Hmm."

Another elf peeked into the study. "Mistress Redhriel? It appears we are short on linens for the quarantine ward. Mistress Maerwena has asked me to inform you they should only be ready tomorrow afternoon. She has complained that…." He quivered under her gaze. "…I shall tell Mistress Maerwena tomorrow will do."

Redhriel sighed. "However Saineth has managed so far, I do not know."

"How is she?" Mehreen meekly inquired, torn between the desire to escape the room and that to be reassured regarding Saineth's wellbeing.

"Resting." She hesitated, as though wondering whether to trust her with additional information. "It is not up to me to reveal the child's mother-name, but know only that it is healthy."

The news came as a relief to Mehreen, who released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Lord Elladan will be proud."

"Lord Elladan?"

"Yes!" And as Redhriel frowned, confused, she proceeded to clarify: "Both his wife and child are faring well…."

A giggle interrupted her. The messenger woman had covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle her mirth. One glance from Redhriel silenced her, wiping all trace of glee from her face.

"You think it funny?" the Steward drawled. The air in the room had grown still and heavy, as though the storm had returned to loom over the Houses once more.

"No, Mistress." The woman clasped her hands before her, head hung low.

"Mistress Redhriel," Mehreen stammered, "I apologize if I…."

"Get out."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Not you." Redhriel marched the other woman out, awaiting until she had slunk out of the study to shut the door. It closed in a whisper, like a blade being drawn. "Sit down."

Mehreen collapsed into a chair, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Whom did you hear this from?"

"What?"

Mehreen stared stupidly back at Redhriel – or so it felt, the brunt of the Steward's suspicious stare pinning her to her seat. Redhriel pursed her lips, the tips of her fingers resting on the desk as she leaned forward to glower at Mehreen. "Do not lie to me. Who told you this?"

"No-one!" She squirmed under the scrutiny, wringing her hands in her lap in indignation. "I'd simply assumed…."

"You have assumed wrongly." Redhriel heaved a sigh – one unlike her previous huffs, which conveyed annoyance rather than weariness, and rubbed her temples. "Listen, child, I shall speak plainly. I am sometimes told I am too harsh, but I far prefer harshness to hypocrisy. In our line of work, an erroneous assumption can lead to death, and even a wrong word can have severe consequences…as you surely know by now."

The singing woman.

Mehreen slowly nodded.

"So far, you have proven competent enough in your tasks. I strongly advise you to keep it that way, and avoid any such…assumptions in the future. Lord Elladan has been most understanding in taking you in, after what happened in the kitchens. And the washery. Yes, I do know all about it. It is a small place, after all…" her voice turned disdainful, "…and some elves are prone to gossip. As I was saying, he has taken you in despite your reputation, and the least you can do is do him the courtesy of not slandering his name."

"How is that a slander?" Mehreen gasped in outrage on Saineth's behalf. "Saineth…."

"…Is married to Caelben. A fact most obvious to anyone of our race, but I understand how it could have escaped your notice. Rumors are far too easy to start, especially when Lord Elladan is concerned."

In the silence that followed, Redhriel attempted to bring a semblance of order to the contents of her desk, her hands flitting about as though nothing had happened. Once she was certain the meaning of her words had had the time to sink in, she folded her hands over a stack of books, and looked Mehreen in the eye.

"Know your place, child," she said with more compassion than ever before. "You have courage, I will grant you that. But courage alone will not suffice. Saineth knows it better than anyone…this is why she believes in you. You would do well not to disappoint her."