Chapter 37

August 16th, TA 3020

Mehreen had seldom run before. There'd been that one time, when she'd first met Elladan, and his contempt had sent her hiding in her room with her tail between her legs. Other than that, and save for childhood races in the harem hallways – where she and Hanaa would try and glide upon the shiny expanse of marble, wearing the soles of their slippers thin in the process – Mehreen had woefully little practice of it. All too soon, heaving quite resembling a Mûmak's snort filled her ears, forcing her to a drudging stalk before a stitch in her left side slowed her down ever further.

Clutching her ribs, Mehreen shuffled up the narrow trail which, at this point, could no longer be called a path without unduly flattering its ego. All around, the woods seemed to watch her plodding with keen interest; as soon as her wheezing had subsided, silence had settled in, plugging the spaces where the noise had been, expectative and disdainful.

"I'd like to have seen you in my stead," Mehreen mumbled at a hunkering boulder cloven by the roots of a small, knobbly pine. "You're just a tree. What do you know?"

The pine, of course, said nothing.

The slope rose steadily, and with each step uphill a new droplet of sweat soaked her shift or trickled down the small of her back. Gnarly roots jutted from the earth, hoarding dry, crackling leaves into wide treads that rustled under the brush of Mehreen's gown. Ashes and hazels grew tall and dense amongst large stones scattered about like a child's toys, their facets patched with downy moss. Even the light was soft and dim, lending the woods an out-of-timeness as eerie as it was reassuring. Here, at least, Mehreen could gather her thoughts before she returned to the settlement and faced the consequences of her actions.

She'd made a fool of herself, running away the way she had. Truth was, she'd panicked, but it now seemed a sorry excuse for her cowardice. Poor Beylith must've thought her mad, but that wasn't the worst of it.

Elladan….

He'd vouched for her. Never, after all the kindness he'd shown her, could he have expected such ungratefulness in return, and Mehreen's insides twisted with dread upon imagining the look on his face when he'd learn all about it. Mehreen was no child; she knew she was unlikely to be congratulated for her apology, as a toddler was wont to be, so as to teach him of humility. In truth, there were only two options to be anticipated.

Elladan would be furious.

Mehreen faltered in her progression, anxious and hopeful at once. Oh, please, let him be furious! Eyes flashing like lightening, jaw spasming with a snarl of reproach he'd bite back, but that'd find an echo in the flaring of his pupils. Let Elladan be angry with her. Then, at least, she'd know he had cared, if only a little. Anything was better than indifference, and the terrible listlessness, so full of pain and doubt, that sometimes lurked beneath those long, mismatched lashes. And if Mehreen must disappoint him, then let it be with how she behaved, rather than who she was.

That, at least, she could someday hope to change.

Something rustled under the carpet of pergameneous leaves, and Mehreen startled, her eyes searching the ground for something that slithered.

Were there snakes, in Ithilien?

When Mehreen had turned seven, her father had taken her to the temple that stood in the center of Jufayrah; one could see its minarets from the palace roof, its rounded domes piling one over another, resembling the spice stalls Mehreen had glimpsed from the window of the palanquin on their way across the city. The high, heavy doors had stood ajar, glimmering in the morning sun, and her father had whispered into her ear they were made of the purest gold as an offering to the One. Inside, the air was suffused with incense, thick with blue smoke. A reverent silence reigned beneath the vaults; a silence that was shattered by Mehreen's shrieks of fright, as soon as she saw the High Priest coming to greet them.

Later, Gamila had told her that all servants of the One underwent a similar transformation, their tongue slit to resemble that of a serpent – the form He took when addressing His people. But it hadn't been the man's appearance that'd sent Mehreen running. It was the chalky, amber-eyed python wound around his neck.

A shudder crept up her spine at the memory, and she contemplated perching atop a boulder, much like the scruffy little pine down the trail. Despite having been born in the City of Serpents, Mehreen had never managed to overcome her fear. She'd had little choice but to bow before the idols carved out of ivory enthroned in the prayer room, their ruby eyes glinting in the sparse light; at times she'd even found them pretty, garlanded with fresh flowers, a cup of milk mixed with vermilion and turmeric curdling in front of the altar. Her father had never told her what bleak fate she'd been predicted after her involuntary offense, but Mehreen trusted Lalla Laila to have invoked it more than a decade later, so as to persuade him to send her away.

The rustling faded and, after a while, Mehreen dared breathe again. A field mouse, nothing more. She resumed her wandering, refusing to consider it might be vain.

She ought've told Beylith the truth. Her disappointment, at least, Mehreen could bear, and it may have spared her the agonizing, and now inevitable moment, when Elladan would send her along to some new master, and she'd never see him again. True, he'd promised she could stay in Bar-Lasbelin if she wanted; but what would happen if he no longer wanted her to? Mehreen would've wrung her hands, had they not been so busy holding her skirts out of the way of her feet.

Oh, why did she have to ruin everything she'd managed to build?

The stream babbled somewhere to her left, beyond the decaying trunk of a fallen oak, its ripped insides exposed to the elements, so she wasn't lost. Not yet. But since Mehreen now struggled to make out the ridges upon the steely bark of the nearby beech, the afternoon must be nearing its end, and she should turn back – a sentiment confirmed by a distant rumbling. An empty threat for the time being, but growing closer still. Mehreen contemplated trudging on aimlessly until the world came to an end, much like the man from Lalla Nafiyah's cautionary tales – the one who'd disbelieved His powers, and was cursed to walk Middle-Earth until His return. Briefly, Mehreen wondered what'd become of him.

Did he regret his choices as much as she did?

A warm light sparkled between the trees, on the other side of the brook, beckoning to her. For an instant, Mehreen thought she'd come upon a new settlement, one that'd never heard of her foolishness and where, perhaps, she could find a place if the people were merciful. As she came closer, however, what she'd taken for the uniform grey of the woods turned out to be the stone walls of a familiar-looking building straddling the stream. Women's voices wafted from the open windows, mingling with the splashing of water, and Mehreen understood she'd circled back to the washery. There was no new beginning to be hoped for.

Another rumble rolled in, pregnant with the threat of rain as the wind picked up, sending the fallen leaves into a circle dance. Mehreen paused, peering through the casing from a distance, envying the women's easy comradery as they curfewed the fires in the hearth while chatting amongst themselves, and wrung out the last of the linens with the help of those odd, rotating devices Mehreen had seen during her short time there. Their naked arms flashed like bone in the twilight, streaks of fire painting the walls with their silhouettes, like a shadow play where each and every one of them had a role of her own.

Ahlam was amongst them. What would she say upon hearing how Mehreen had managed to lose her place in the Houses?

Waiting until the door closed on the last of Maerwena's crew, and the patter of joyful voices faded beyond the blackthorn bushes that lined the path, their steps hurried for fear of the downpour, Mehreen shivered. The sun had set over the treetops, and her perspiration-soaked shift beneath her dress now brushed uncomfortably against her skin with every rising gust, as cold as a fish. She'd not thought of taking her shawl with her; it lay within the comforts of her room, where Ahlam would soon be waiting, worrying….

Her boots clattered over the flagstone walkway as she crossed the stream back into the settlement, worrying at her lip regarding what to do. She was cold, and hungry, and direly unprepared for any of the drastic measures her mind kept coming up with. Yet, before she knew it, Mehreen found herself standing before the squat body of the stables. For an instant, she contemplated borrowing a horse – for she refused to even think about it as stealing – but she'd never been taught how to ride. That alone would pose a problem. There was the cart used for ferrying the linens, but Mehreen was stumped about how to even begin harnessing Elladan to it.

It was then that the skies opened, pouring a bright, golden light onto her little patch of forest. Mehreen gaped in rapture, turning her face to the skies, persuaded that the One, in His leniency, had taken pity on her and sent her a sign. What came, however, pelting her face with fat, heavy droplets, was the long-awaited rain.

Mehreen yelped, dashing under the low overhanging of the stable roof in time to see the rain turn the hard-packed earth into a bubbling sludge. There she leaned against a wall, her arms wrapped around her for warmth, wondering how to interpret His will.

He must've sent her here for a reason. All that remained, was to discover which.

"It does not resemble you. To run from a challenge."

Mehreen gasped, and all but jumped back under the rain in mindless fright. How could one move with such stealth? she wondered, heart pounding wildly, as she watched Elladan emerge from one of the nearby stalls, carrying a bridle, his tall riding boots powdered with dust. Unruffled by the storm, his inky hair had been gathered into a higher knot than usual, enhancing the impossible sharpness of his features.

He knew.

"I always thought a challenge was something one could overcome," she muttered.

For all her earlier bravado, her alarm peaked at the thought of facing him, here and now, when she was still so unprepared to part with everything she'd found inside the Houses. Mehreen craned her neck to read his stance, from his swift, decisive movement of hanging the bridle onto its rack – she winced as the bit chinked against wood, for the long leather reins could be used as a whip if one so fancied – to the way he tossed his dark hair out of his eyes as he turned to face her. Was she to run, or to submit? Such attentiveness had saved her time and time again, back in the harem, the tides of Harun's temper as unpredictable as the sea.

Elladan pinched his lips. "And the herb garden cannot be? I had heard it had grown out of hand, but perhaps had I underestimated to what extent…?" He took in her wavering form, and frowned. "I thought we had established you had nothing to fear from me."

"I'm not afraid of you."

It was the truth. Instead of the ire or the disappointment, all Mehreen could discern, in the unfathomably deep yet boy-young lines of his face, was worry…and a mild amusement at her expense.

"Then what is it?" Elladan's gaze flickered downwards, no doubt attracted by her nervous fidgeting. "Has someone hurt you?" he growled through clenched teeth as soon as he'd noticed the scratches, and took a step towards her.

In Harad, molten gold was a gruesome means of punishment, but Mehreen suspected liquid silver to be no less excruciating. The simmering rage inside Elladan's eyes, directed at someone else than her, was a formidable sight to behold and, had Mehreen been its recipient, her knees would've buckled with sheer terror. Her mouth went dry at the fierceness of Elladan's stare and the protective, almost possessive gaze he raked over her drenched body. If anyone had a right to do so, it was him, she reminded herself, but it was too much. Too much for propriety, too much for her to bear without quivering and, at the same time, not enough in a way Mehreen couldn't explain.

Out of instinct, she raised her hands to her eyes, if only to check whether she'd somehow cut herself deeper than she'd thought. "What? Oh, no. I've done it myself. Unwillingly." And stupidly.

"Hmm." The low hum reverberated under Mehreen's ribcage as Elladan tilted his head, studying her as if meaning to pry the true culprit's name from her parted lips. However did he intend to do that? Mehreen wondered dimly, the prospect of submission suddenly not as daunting as moments before. "Allow me?"

He fished a vial from one of his pockets before extending Mehreen a hand. A surge of gratitude welled inside her chest as he waited for her to accept it, quenched as promptly as it'd arisen by the realization it could well be their last moment together. The rain pounded on the roof, burbling in the gutters and dripping off eaves, but inside the stables, a bated silence reigned, only broken by the occasional munching or the sizzling of oil lamps. As Elladan slathered her scraped skin with the fresh-smelling ointment, his fingers left a blazing trail in their wake. Mehreen swallowed. He must've felt her pulse wantonly flinging itself against the skin of her wrist, right beneath his touch, but she found she no longer cared.

This was the last she saw of him; she might as well make the most of it.

"You are trembling," Elladan murmured as he moved on to the second hand which, Mehreen had noted, he'd claimed without asking. "You are afraid. But not of me."

"Not of you," Mehreen agreed in a whisper, before adding on a whim: "I'm sorry."

He quirked an eyebrow, his fingers slowing to an agonizing caress. "For what?"

"For having failed you. Beylith said you'd vouched for me, and I…."

"I stand by what I said. You are skilled beyond your belief. Though perhaps have I overreached, in my desire to help Beylith." Elladan's voice had taken a wistful tone. "I may have underestimated the magnitude of the task. I shall bid Redhriel to free you all day, in the morrow, so that you can try again."

"No!"

Jerking her hand free of his grasp Mehreen retreated and, this time, the hammering of her heart had little to do with his proximity. "I…I can't."

His eyes flashed in the near-darkness. "You cannot, or you will not?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

"I cannot." Mehreen shook her head, startling as her back collided with the wall. "I really can't," she pleaded, wringing her oily hands, before offering lamely: "You wouldn't understand."

"You could at least try, before deeming me unable," Elladan quipped wryly. "Or perhaps do you think me a stranger to fear?"

Why, yes. Mehreen did, unable to fathom what, in the whole wide world, could possibly scare him, who'd slain the best warrior Harad had ever produced, but she wasn't about to tell Elladan that. In her stubborn refusal to elaborate, the silence stretched between them and, this time, she found little comfort in it. At length, Elladan sighed and, pocketing the vial, wiped his hands on the fabric of his trousers.

"When I was a boy, I feared nothing." He strode towards one of the stalls to nuzzle the jaw of the horse stationed there. "No darkness nor creature frightened me. Not even after I received my first wound did I wizen up in that prospect. I was ruthless. Reckless." Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, he offered the horse a rueful smile as it swiveled its ears forward in curiosity. "More reckless than now, at least."

The lamps cast arresting shadows upon his face, clinging to the masterfully chiseled bones and hollowing his pale cheeks. Yet, it seemed to Mehreen that his skin glowed, as smooth and ageless as only stone had a right to be. Hard. Unyielding. What tenderness Elladan possessed he's stashed deep within, beneath a façade of remoteness.

"What happened?" Mehreen found herself asking, drawn to his solitude like a moth to a flame.

Elladan ran his fingers through the forelock, and along a slender neck. "My mother was…injured."

"But…you healed her?"

"I tried, but she would not remain on these shores. She had suffered too much." Elladan chuckled as the horse reached beyond the door to sniff at his pockets, but it was a pained, empty sound, out of place amongst the comforting scents of rain and hay. "She has sailed shortly after."

"This means…."

Mehreen's voice petered out as the implications dawned upon her, and she sagged against the wall in dismay. From Lalla Ishtar she'd heard about the elven realm beyond the seas. When she was still a child, she'd thought it to be the heavens she'd been promised if she behaved as she was told. After all, wasn't it where the elves went, if – or when – death happened upon them? But Lalla Nafiyah had wasted no time correcting her mistake, driving every word home with a smack of her cane over Mehreen's little fingers. Elves were elves, and to hope mingle with them was to betray the One Himself.

She'd wept in her bed, that night, cuddled against Hanaa, but not because her hands smarted in the wake of her punishment; Mehreen had mourned a land she'd never get to see, mortal that she was and, if Lalla Laila was to be believed, unworthy of the heavens reserved to her kind.

From his position by the stall, Elladan nodded, and Mehreen's eyes prickled with tears at the realization that he, too, would never see his mother again.

"Is this why you became a healer?"

"This is why I help people, yes." With a last, gentle pat upon the horse's forehead, Elladan abandoned the stall to come to her side, and Mehreen hastily wiped her cheeks before he could notice their wetness. She watched him lean against the wall with his arms crossed, his temple touching the stone. "Hundreds of people, over centuries of existence. So many, I have forgotten their names. And yet, I still harbor that same fear, the fear I have found the day my mother left Middle-Earth. That someday, I might not succeed. That my skills may not suffice." Elladan's voice was a mere whisper, the fire in his eyes smoldering under lowered eyelids as he leaned towards her. His lashes flickered with an emotion she could not name. Grief, most likely, for what else could elicit such a ragged longing? "But still I rise every day and keep trying, for every single wound I mend takes me closer to my goal: to rid Arda of that same evil that hurt my mother. So that I do not have to wake, someday, and discover myself a new fear: that to find it in the same state as the year before."

A muffled shriek cut through the pitter-patter of the deluge, and the splashing of feet over puddles as a woman hurried past the stables, urging her companion to follow. Mehreen startled and drew back, tearing her eyes from his Elladan's face to glance towards the rain-beaten courtyard.

The spell had been broken – the one that'd allowed her to believe they were alone in the world. Sobered by her own childishness, as well as the ridicule of her qualms in comparison to Elladan's loss, Mehreen shivered and turned away, unable to meet his gaze any longer.

Picking up a rope hanging from a nearby rack, she fingered its frayed edge. Anger would've been more merciful. Now, what was she to do with the bittersweet tugging inside her chest, akin to a string tied to her heart by some skilled puppeteer?

"Look at me."

She began the deliberate task of unraveling the strands, one by one. Perhaps, if she was stubborn enough, he'd give up…? Only, she didn't want him to, but what reason could Elladan possibly have to persist?

"Mehreen, look at me." There was an imperious edge to his voice. Robbed of her will to resist Mehreen obeyed, expecting the long-awaited dismissal; instead, Elladan's eyes softened upon noticing her turmoil. "Tell me. What is it that you fear?"

"That I'm not good enough. That I'll never be good enough. I…." Like a dam being broken, the words poured out of her. Fear. That didn't begin to express how it felt to be her, trying to juggle orbs of glass being flung at her. Sometimes Mehreen caught one, but for every time she did, more and more orbs shattered around her, cutting her skin. And there was the high-pitched laughter, drilling into her ears, hurting her as surely as the broken glass did. "I always forget things, ofttimes as soon as I read or hear them. Instructions. Pathways. Names, of people…." Remembering Elladan's hollow laughter, she offered him a small, apologetic smile. "…As well as of herbs."

"I see."

"I'm not as clever as you told Beylith I was." Mehreen faltered, swaying with exhaustion, drained of all emotion besides resignation. "I'm not clever at all."

With a non-committal huff, Elladan shifted his weight, pressing his back against the wall, and gave a clump of straw a small nudge with the tip of his boot. "Does intelligence reside in the acuteness of one's memory?"

Pausing in her sullen unravelling of the flaxen fibers, Mehreen frowned. Hadn't he heard how witless she truly was? If so, too bad, for she didn't have the courage to reiterate that mortifying statement. As the rope grew thinner, however, so too did the heaviness in her heart, slowly untangling along with the unspooling fibers.

He hadn't banished her. Yet.

"Does a library disappear, when its faithful librarian dies? Does a soil turn sterile, simply because one failed to plant a seed inside it?" Slowly, Mehreen shook her head. "What is more commendable, then: to hit the bullseye from the first try and never attempt it again, or try, over and over, until you succeed?"

"So," she managed in a small voice, daring to look at him once more, "you're not disappointed?"

"I am," Elladan declared gravely, and quickly added: "But only because you thought were not enough. You are enough, Mehreen, and as long as you remember to come find me when you next doubt it, we can find a way to manage the rest."