Woohoo, there are now more reviews to this story than chapters published! A small thing to celebrate, but I'll do so all the same. It means a lot to me when people take a little of their time to leave a heartfelt feedback regarding this story, no matter how short! A collective thanks to everyone who did.
the-moon-says-hi: Mehreen is a bit green, isn't she? Though I'm glad you're finding her likeable. Wisdom takes a long time to acquire (cue Legolas' pointed look in Elladan's direction ;)), and she's still young...
Chapter 30
August 1st, TA 3020
"The One be merciful! Mehreen, habi, are you alright?"
The question assailed them as soon as Elladan had stepped foot back onto a firmer ground than the cesspit behind them, dragging rather than leading Mehreen out like a frightened mare. It had come from a dark-skinned woman wearing a bright yellow coif of wrapped fabric, who had emerged from the restless crowd to snatch Mehreen out of Elladan's hands before he could further ascertain she was unhurt.
Ahlam, no doubt, Mehreen's former servant and chaperone. She cast Elladan a worried glance as she rubbed Mehreen's arms in concern. This one has heard all about my courtyard prowess, Elladan glumly guessed, bristling at the underlying accusation.
As if he had been the one to drag Mehreen to the front row!
All too soon, his stupefaction gave place to anger.
What was she thinking, leaning so wantonly against the shoddy excuse of a barrier Morion and his men had erected! And where, by Angainor, was Morion himself? Elladan could think of a few choice words he would address the young elf with. His recklessness during Déordred's rescue still stuck in his craw, in spite of its happy outcome, and of the small voice murmuring into his ear that a few millennia ago, Elladan would have done the exact same thing. When added to the accident Elladan had so narrowly avoided, the toll was getting high indeed.
"It's my fault," Mehreen murmured, shaking, her eyelids fluttering like a pair of wounded birds. "I stood too close to the edge, and someone's pushed me in without meaning to…."
A tug at his sleeve prompted Elladan to lower his gaze; her muddy fingers had absent-mindedly caught the equally filthy fabric while she stared back at Ahlam, as though daring her to chase him away. Elladan gaped, both astonished and oddly endeared, at her flimsy attempt at protecting him.
As if he was the one in need of protection!
No matter how ridiculous, however, the gesture touched him, so that his anger faded into a dull sense of regret. The celebration was spoiled, and Legolas would be saddened for it. As on cue, Elladan spotted his friend striding over to them, his eyes narrowed in concern.
"Are you unhurt?" Legolas asked Mehreen, watching her closely for injuries.
Elladan refrained from pointing out that, as the one who had stopped Mehreen from cracking her skull open on the collapsed beam, and as Legolas' Chief Healer to boot, he was better placed to answer such a question…but refrained. Often had Legolas accused him of carrying the weight of the world upon his shoulders, yet there was many a time Elladan could say the same of his friend.
"I…I think so." She was still dazed, but her tremors had subsided to a slight twitch in her fingers, which she pulled away upon noticing where they had wandered off to, blushing copiously. While she still clung to Ahlam for support, her eyes were limpid and brave as she turned her face towards Elladan, and added in that husky voice of hers: "You saved my life…again."
Elladan cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away from the green depths of her misplaced gratitude. "I have done no such thing. Still, I would rather not make it a habit." He turned to face Legolas. "Does anyone else require my help?"
"We are fortunate in our misfortune, it seems, for there is no other damage but a scraped knee and a few scared mothers." Despite the lightness of his words, Legolas was far from amused. "Speaking of which, I should return to the duty that is mine of pacifying them, before they beleaguer Morion with accusations of endangering their offspring."
They turned as one to watch the young Master Carpenter – who had found the time to change and wash, it seemed – bow in apology before a group of women, holding someone's child in his arms while he addressed them in an appeasing tone. As the little girl tangled her tiny fingers in Morion's hickory-colored hair, he smiled at her and reached to gently dislodge her hand, earning a collective sigh of approval.
"He seems to have the situation well under control," Elladan quipped.
He accompanied Legolas to the deep holes that once held the posts, and which were filling with brown, murky water that welled up from the depths of the earth.
"My Lord Legolas," Morion started, having appeared beside them – sans child – as if summoned, "I accept full responsibility for his new failure." With no other public than the two of them, he no longer bothered to hide his chagrin, his shoulders slumped as he crouched to examine the shafts. "I fear I have not done Caelben the honor his teaching deserves. Should you choose to replace me, there is a very diligent young Master I would recommend…."
Upon seeing Morion so defeated, Elladan's anger would not be roused again, like a cat content with its meal, uncaring for its master's call after having settling down in the sun. He probed the mushy soil with the tips of his fingers; the black loam stuck to his fingers, grainy to the touch. "The recent rains have overfilled the earth," he muttered. "Even a deeper shaft would not have retained the barrier. Not with the folk pushing against it."
Back in Eriador, abundant rainfalls were no rare occurrence, and posed more of a threat than here, on much more even terrain. Landslides had buried entire villages overnight – villages that had nested by the feet of the Hithaeglir for generations, unsuspecting of the danger – so that those who remained had learnt to fear the power of water.
A fire could be quenched, at least, but no obstacle could hold in a tide.
"You see, Morion?" Legolas clasped a hand to Morion's shoulder, "Caelben's faith in your abilities was not misplaced. And so should yours remain unshaken by today's events. As for my trust in you, it was never in doubt in the first place."
"Thank you, my Lord." The Master Carpenter pulled himself up to attention, a visible relief washing over him. "I feared the celebration had been ruined by my fault."
They rose to watch the crowd slowly mill away from the ditch, all trace of alarm forgotten in favor of the scents of roasted corn and fresh bread that wafted in from the Great Hall, and the promise of further entertainment in the form of an archery contest.
"At least you have given them quite the show," Legolas nudged Elladan, chuckling under his breath. "Leaping into the mud to save a hapless woman. Very heroic."
"The men would beg to differ," Elladan answered dryly with a surreptitious glance to where Mehreen still stood, occupied with the dismayed examination of her ruined dress. The more she tried to wipe the mud off, the worse she made herself look. The fact that she tried at all was beyond him, having been dipped into the sludge up to her ribs. All that remained untouched was the upper part of her bodice, where Elladan had caught her under the arms before she could sink beneath the surface, and the very top of her head. The rest could hardly be qualified as clean, between the foul-smelling smudges, splatters and handprints of all sizes – his and hers both.
Still, Elladan could not help but smile at her stubbornness.
"Some things are more important than others," Legolas declared softly, following his gaze and, as Elladan turned to face him again, he found he did not like his smug expression one bit.
"Wipe that smirk off your face," he hissed under his breath. "You would have done the same thing." Yet, not only did he not regret his decision, but was also glad it had been him who had rescued Mehreen, rather than Legolas.
Not because helping her had been the right thing to do. After all, such was Elladan's calling, was it not? Neither was it because of her gratitude. He was used to receiving the thanks of his patients and their kin, so much that he no longer bustled with the pride he had once felt. All that remained was the obligatory politeness, and the lassitude that set in at the realization his deeds were but a droplet removed from an ocean of suffering.
Perhaps was it the surprise in Mehreen's eyes at the realization he had thought her worthy of saving – more so than the silly game she had been watching with such an unfeigned, childish joy. Perhaps was it that very wonder, transcending her usual timidity through parted lips and bright eyes with refreshing novelty, and which made Elladan long to feel such rapture again.
Or perhaps was it the fact she had thought of him, had wanted him near before her fear had worn off.
Would someone notice, once he was gone? Would someone hunch their shoulders at the sudden absence, thinking they were warmer by his side?
Of all the people supposed to consider him a stranger, only Mehreen would and, if the same thing were to happen again – even now that he realized she had never been in the danger he had imagined her to be – Elladan would do it again, for the selfish pleasure of that whimsical little touch.
Even if it meant enduring Morion's teasing for the twelve months to come.
oOoOoOo
"I can't wear my salwar again. It'd be unseemly. What will people think?"
Mehreen's voice was a pained mutter, hastily thrown into Ahlam's sympathetic ear for fear, no doubt, he would overhear. Which Elladan had, obviously, yet had no intention of showing. Besides, the matter was of no concern of his – something about clothes not being dry yet, and the lack of a clean dress to change into. Hardly something he should know, let alone trouble himself with.
Elladan rubbed his hands together so that the dry mud fell off in flakes to his feet, and looked around.
Half-battlefield half-bog, the glade had all but cleared of onlookers, with only the men Morion had pulled out of the celebration to inspect the fallen barrier busing themselves by the pit while the Master Carpenter gave out brisk commands to do the same with the other structures built for the occasion. They rubbed their necks under the sweltering summer heat, their festive shirts hanging as limply off their frames in the non-existent breeze as the ribbons from the nearby trees.
Even Legolas had gone, no doubt to inform those awaiting the archery tournament of a delay due to safety reasons and, if some degree of disappointment was to be expected, the casks of mead being opened in the Great Hall would make up for it. For the first time since that fateful day, Elladan may even allow himself to enjoy some. But first, he would change out of the shell he had once called a shirt, and which now crackled as it dried, releasing the unmistakable odor of sun-heated silt and chafing in all the wrong places.
He started on the path uphill, his boots squelched merrily with each step. It would take a while for the leather to dry, and even then, getting the stains out would be a nigh-impossible task.
"Look at her. The poor dear."
"To have ruined such a pretty dress…what a waste."
Word-to-mouth travelled quickly in a place like Bar-Lasbelin – Elladan would have lied, had he pretended his own people took no part in such gossip – and small groups came trickling in, attracted to the scene of a disaster like wolves to freshly spilled blood. Their whispers reached Elladan's ears well before Mehreen could make out the words; he chanced a glance to where she stood and was relieved to find that, for the moment, she remained oblivious of the condescending stares and the snide comments being made about the state of her garb.
"I'll lend you something of mine," Ahlam was soothing her, kneading her shoulder with the tender familiarity of a lifetime habit. "Come, habi. Let's get you changed."
"But," Mehreen protested and, while she did clutch the proffered hand, she made no further move to follow Ahlam. "What about the embroidery contest you so wanted to see?" She looked uphill, where the Houses of Healing loomed behind copses of beech and juniper. Elladan had agreed to lend the shadowy courtyard to the competition, which was to take place under Mistress Meldis' vigilant arbitration. "You'll miss all of it!"
Even as Ahlam shrugged to indicate there were more important things in the world than this, Mehreen remained undeterred, digging her feet into the lumpy slope with petulance.
As stubborn as ever.
"Oh, my. She looks like a sparrow covered in daub."
Mehreen startled, darting a mortified glance at the author of the comment – a woman standing some paces away who, upon catching her eyes, had the grace to blush and splutter some afterthought meant to sweeten the insult. The same disdainful stare that had grazed Mehreen's mud-covered form then came to rest upon Elladan, travelling up his caked leggings and shirt, to finally meet his stony face. He made a point of staring back, daring the woman to comment upon his appearance so that she blanched and, grasping her husband by the arm, dragged him away in stumbling haste.
"Perhaps I can be of assistance," Elladan offered, his eyes still boring holes in the embarrassed couple's backs. He noticed Ahlam doing the same, and felt a sudden connection to the woman's protectiveness of Mehreen. "I shall accompany you back to the dormitory, so that Ahlam can attend the embroidery contest in the meantime."
After all, there was nowhere else he was supposed to be, and his presence would offer her some protection, at least. Redhriel had mentioned some time ago that between Mehreen's origins and her upbringing, she was the topic of many a discussion in the Houses, despite the Steward's efforts to quell such unseemly talk. Now that Mehreen had fallen, both literally and figuratively, some sharp tongues could be tempted to rejoice, but those bold enough to laugh at her misfortune would think twice before doing so in his presence.
"Oh, you'd do that?" Mehreen piped up, evading Ahlam's fussing hands, and regarded him with renewed hope from under matted locks.
She did look like a sparrow covered in daub. A fragile and much too trusting thing, its wings glued together, wrapped into feathers too drab for her spirit. Elladan fondly remembered the vibrance of colors she had worn, in the weeks following her arrival; now, gone were the striking pinks, the sunny yellows and the eye-catching oranges. And while Mehreen's new dresses were an outfit both more practical and better suited for her duties, Elladan could not help but regret she had had no other choice but to blend in.
Even his charcoal sketches did her no justice in that prospect.
"I fail to see why not," Elladan shrugged, ignoring the way Ahlam's eyes darted between the two of them, as though doubting the good sense of leaving the two of them alone together.
Elladan held his tongue, so as not to bite out the question of what it was, exactly, that she feared he would do to Mehreen in their present state of squalor. He was itchy, thirsty and crunched with every move. So, if he did, indeed, long to part with his clothing, it was only to wash himself free of the sand and the stench.
"So, you're not angry with me?"
He quirked an eyebrow, surprised by the question coming from Mehreen. "Why would I be?"
"Because I've ruined your clothes. And caused you to lose," she added after a moment's thought, biting at her lip in needless guilt. She had raised her eyes to meet his but faltered, so that her gaze kept wandering back and forth between him and the woods behind them.
"Oh, habi! This wasn't your fault."
Elladan could not agree more. "First of all," he declared, fighting the urge to catch her chin so that she would finally look at him, "the mud ruined my clothing. You fell into it, and I went to fetch you. There is a nuance here and, while it is subtle, I trust you to understand the difference." A small nod…and the hint of a smile. Good. "Secondly, if anyone caused the team to lose, it was me. You cannot be held responsible for my choices, and such shall be my answer to anyone who would bring up the subject."
If they dared to, that is.
"Oh." Still chewing on her lip, Mehreen turned to Ahlam. "See? You can go and not worry," she murmured, touching a dirty, if light, hand to her friend's arm. "I'd really hate for you to miss it."
"Are you sure?" Ahlam whispered as she caught Mehreen by the elbow and led her a few steps away. "It's only a silly contest…."
"…Which you've been telling me all about for the last month. I'm sure. Besides, what can possibly happen to me, here in the open?"
Judging by the look on Ahlam's face, the other woman had a few ideas that Mehreen, perhaps, could not envision in her naivety. Yet she ended up relenting, much to Mehreen's happiness, and not without making her promise to join her in the Houses as soon as she was done, so that Elladan had one turn of the sandglass to accomplish his duty as a guardian. Not much, but not as little as one in his position could have hoped for, either.
Yet, a complaint could not have been farther from his mind.
The prospect of seeing the celebration through Mehreen's eyes instead of his own jaded gaze was compelling enough to make Elladan forget the itching and the smell. As she silently envied the children racing between beechen trunks, their cheeks smeared with juices of bilberry pie, he mused that to guard the light in her from those who would dampen it through mockery or scorn was an even worthier reason.
A.N.: the 'salwar' are ankle-length trousers traditionally worn by women in Eastern Europe and Asia.