Chapter 6: Might your blood be blue azure

Alternative title – 'Might this be a soliloquy?'

Chapter summary: Minastauriel, under the care of Lurlosel, starts to piece together who she is. Lurlosel perpetuates Elrond's skill at finding evidence for a forgone conclusion.

Notes:

Glossary at the end
Please DO NOT add to any private collections

8th March 2931 – POV Minastauriel of Rivendell

As Lord Elrond quietly left, Minastauriel pondered at his expression regarding her island homeland. She wasn't certain if elves suffered from stomach ulcers, but his eyes had taken on an intensity that made her wonder if he was even breathing. 'As soon as he saw Númenor in that sketch, he couldn't take his eyes of the paper. But it hadn't look like a star until he added to it! Surely Elrond is too wise to think I am from his brother's kingdom. It's just impossible. I would remember something more significant that a craggily line if I was from such a famous island continent, wouldn't I?'

Or would she? Perhaps the thought was foolish to be from a person whose memory banks had more holes in it than Hobbiton.

In the tranquil atmosphere of her private room, Minastauriel methodically began to relearn her mind, sifting through her memories, thoughts and newly found opinions, like pages in a long-neglected book. Page by page, fragment by fragment, Minastauriel let the busy day wash over her and identified pieces of herself. Some things came more easily than others. As she continued to rest to the sound of waterfalls and a distant harp and flute, she became more acutely aware of the gaps in her identity and knowledge.

This was not a new task – she had been getting to know herself all day. That morn, within half an hour of waking up in a small, scarcely yet elegantly decorated room, she quickly came to learn two important revelations. Firstly, no one knew her; not her identity, nor her origin – and that included herself. Though she had awoken some self-awareness, with more coming to light as time went on, there were significant gaps in her memory. Whilst there was much missing of her personal knowledge, one of the largest gaps was language. Expressing her thoughts and questions proved challenging, her understandings muddled by the limited recollections she retained.

Secondly, she was the enigma in this place. Everyone else seemed familiar with each other. That said, laying eyes upon Lord Elrond had triggered a sudden rush of knowledge; memories of him and further details flooding her mind that she just knew, despite her awareness that this was their first meeting. Once she recognised him, she couldn't help but smile.

In less than a day, there was a third startling truth: her knowledge, though patchy in many places, far extended beyond the present, delving both into past and future with an uncanny level of detail in some events. She knew things as if she had learnt, read, or witnessed events without being directly involved. She knew many times more about the history of Eä than she knew about herself. She knew how significant hobbits would be in determining the world's fate at the end of the fourth age. Despite this wealth of insight, spanning thousands of years… her personal memories remained elusive, and she was left to continuously grapple with her identity.

It was strange, knowing so much about someone without being able to articulate it, or recall ever having met a person before. She knew of several elves that lived in Imladris, Erestor and Glorfindel for example, though she had no memory of meeting either of them.

The best example was of her host. She had already known Lord Elrond as soon as she awoke, long before they ever met, though it had taken a moment to recognise him. She did not remember if she had any family, but she knew Lord Elrond had a twin brother. Elros Tar-Minartaur. She knew who Elrond's parents were and their extraordinary fates. She knew who Elrond had married and the children the pair had had together. She knew the fate of Celebrían, and that Elrond was good and kind and had lost far, far too much to still be so generous and true-hearted. That her host would someday watch his only daughter choose the choice of Lúthien; would choose mortality for love; and consequently, father and daughter would be sundered until the breaking of the world. Arwen would choose the Man she loved, the bitter and the sweet, aware of the price her choice would bring. Minastauriel already knew the elf-maiden would be afraid when it came to make the choice, that she would doubt, that she would fear the loneliness she was doomed to face.

Lurlosel's eyes met hers for a moment, openly concerned and Minastauriel schooled her face back into a smile. 'Ah, I made myself sad...'

The healer waited for a moment before resuming her jobs, moving on to checking over Minastauriel's knees and ankle. Lurlosel had picked up without a word how exhausted Minastauriel was from such a tumultuous day and didn't try to initiate a conversation beyond a few soft murmurs to move her leg this way or that. Minastauriel let her eyes shut whilst she nestled into the citric scented pillows and let her mind wander into less poignant paths. Beyond her slightly disturbingly detailed knowledge of Elrond's family history, her knowledge extended far into many subjects but rarely was it autobiographical.

She had a level of intellect but was aware of its limits; clever but nothing extraordinary. She remembered being told she was smart as a child, remembered the pride that came with such distinction, and from there recalled being a scholar or academic of some kind.

She had worked alongside her natural ability and accomplished much after years of hard work.
At her current state, she couldn't recall a single accomplishment and whilst there was a sense of sadness to have lost what she had worked for, Minastauriel couldn't suffer the loss of what she didn't recall. She would have new achievements.

Her first would certainly be reaching some level of fluency in Sindarin. While she appreciated the unwavering understanding and accommodation shown to her by all she encountered, she wanted meaningful conversations. She wanted to understand how she got into such a situation and know where she stood in the new, and yet so familiar, world.

There were also so many things she was eager to try, to learn, to do. Every time she recalled she was in Imladris she felt abuzz with excitement and had to resist the urge to giggle or kick her feet back and forth in delight.

Once she could communicate, she could learn. Reading elvish tales in Tengwar, learning to play elvish music on elvish instruments, archery taught by elves themselves! Would these pursuits be open to her partaking? What about cooking elvish recipes? Learning elvish songs? Could she learn healing? Embroidery?

Even the mundane task of fetching water from a well had an inexplicably appealing novelty. She sensed she was rather unfamiliar with physical exertion but not out of laziness, more due to a past where such laborious days were unnecessary. Once upon a time, when her memories were intact, she may not have enjoyed such activities or simply hailed from a place where such efforts were unneeded. Perhaps once she had tried something she would immediately lose interest. She wouldn't know until she tried, and she was desperate to find out.

Minastauriel didn't know if she had learnt languages before but knew now that it was a task measured in years if one was aiming for true fluency. But learning Sindarin was going smoother than she could have hoped for. Granted, learning a language completely immersed in it and surrounded by native speakers was second only to being raised in it as her mother tongue. But each word learnt needed only a few repeats. Even without memories, she knew she should be proud of picking them up so quickly. It had only been a few hours. She already was – even already - grasping a brief, if somewhat convoluted, understanding of conjugation and the aspects of grammar she had previously forgotten. She imagined learning Tengwar would be trickier, but she already knew some things there as well.

….It had only been a few hours – and she had already made such a huge amount of progress. That was a little odd; she knew she was not a naturally gifted linguist.

Perhaps Elrond was using a small charm to help her learn quicker? She wasn't sure how she felt about that, particularly having not been asked about it…

Or perhaps she was relearning a language she once knew? She had already known some words in Sindarin. Obscure words, but she had known them. The names of the healers had rung bells in her mind – both being named after plants with medicinal uses.

She hoped it was the latter – even with pure intentions, her skin crawled at the idea of a spell being cast on her for such a superfluous reason without her consent.

Her knowledge of some Quenya was more to her determent though, and she already knew her knowledge of the ancient language was odd. Children of Men who spoke Quenya were few and far between, she recalled. Even odder was the complete lack of any Mannish language. Lord Elrond had tried some Sindarin in a Mannish dialect early on; she couldn't understand it any better (worse in fact) but she had been able to 'ask' Lord Elrond if it was Gondorian Sindarin.

Which of course, it was.

See – she was clever! Learned! And... upon introspection, she really was rather… happy?

Or was that even a surprise? She couldn't remember a reason to be sad; didn't remember a family or home to miss. She was sad to a point that she had lost such things but didn't remember enough to feel the grief that should accompany such tragedy.

Lord Elrond had managed to convey that curing her of some nature of mental ailment had involved a powerful spell – so strong it caused a very sudden and very hot fever. No one could have predicted it would burn through the majority of her memories.

Perhaps that was merely the price to pay for her health? Speaking as an amnesic but otherwise healthy person unable to remember enough to feel bereavement, who already knew her family, whoever they were, were now far, far away, beyond any distance she could ever travel... She'd say she got a fair trade.

Perhaps it was tragic. But she wasn't going to spend time making herself mourn what she couldn't remember. She had other intentions. Even just from these moments as Lurlosel busied herself around the room, Minastauriel was relearning her personality. Now she knew, for better or worse, if she couldn't fix something or resolve something, she would prefer to simply avoid the negatives in her life. There was little else to do whilst she was alone in her mind, confined to bedrest and not yet able to read, but it would be wretched to spend it sorrowful.

Her eyes fluttered open and she slightly smiled from where she snuggled into her bed.

As it was, whatever she was missing, what could she be doing right now that could be better than sitting in the most beautiful – sparse yes, but beautiful nonetheless – healing room she must have ever seen? The sound of waterfalls coming through the window that Tatharon had not quite fully shut, filled her mind with peace. How could she ponder over all she lost when there were elves (Elves!) eager to talk to her, teach her, help her.

Idly she traced her fingers along a line of flowers painted on the crockery her last meal of the day had been served on. They were a similar design as the ones on her shift.

Minastauriel sighed and let her gaze wander, admiring the room's simple, elegant design. And this was merely a side room of the healing ward! Pale wood furniture, pastel bedsheets matching the linen curtains drawn away to let light shine into the room during the day. The south-facing window across from the bedside was slightly arched and decorated with fluttering under-curtains of lace. When Minastauriel had seen them closer earlier that day, she noticed the intricate pattern of star-shaped flowers the made up the bulk of the curtains. Now she though the lace must have taken anyone, even elves, weeks if it was made by hand.

Not that there was any other option to do it but by hand, she slightly frowned at the odd thought. 'How else could it be done, but by hand?' She shook her head slightly in bemusement. 'Can I not exist for a moment without confusing either myself or someone else?'

A small burst of energy had her sitting further up. Running her finger through her hair – noting the telltale feel of a desperate need for a hair wash, she continued looking about the room, though most things were out of focus for her eyes. And yet she was sure she had seen much of this valley before, with her own eyes, crystal clear and without any issue. 'Imladris, the Hidden Valley of Lord Elrond Peredhel, the Last Homely House east of the Sundering Sea. I am here. I have... I remember wanting to come here; from wherever I was before. I guess I foresaw it? But now I am here and I literally cannot see it!' It was like a horribly ironic payment for a granted wish...

That last thought was flippant but nonetheless lingered in her mind. Here she was, in a magical place she could remember longing to visit. Learning the language of the elves and apparently highly welcomed. The payment? She had already paid - everything. Or nearly everything she had ever had before, bar the clothes she had been dressed in. Memories of home and family, whatever plans she had had for the future beforehand. Friendships and goals. Her language. Her ability to communicate. Her knowledge she had studied for years to acquire. Oh, she knew much even now, but she was quite an expert on identifying gaps in her memory. She knew the composition of matter, even the air, was of tiny, tiny particles – though she couldn't recall the name of such things. She understood what a simile was, despite her vast difficulties in language, and mathematical concepts of various kinds. She knew of the spherical nature of the world. Unless you were an elf; then it was flat… or something. There in her mind were benefits of honey and mint against lesser diseases, and old wives' tales like adding a pinch of salt to milk to stop it from turning so quickly. She couldn't envision what her home looked like but could remember that everything was covered in tiny (but not tiny-tiny) living, disease-causing creatures. If she concentrated, diagrams of such creatures appeared in her mind's eye faster and clearer than her pathetic attempt at drawing her homeland.

But huge gaps were present everywhere in countless aspects. If she concentrated, she got some idea of what had been lost. Her knowledge of history and geography for example; of her homeland specifically. Yet perhaps it was a blessing that her vast swathes of knowledge encompassing the histories and geography of Arda's Western lands had been spared.

In the face of such loss, one person may cry, another rage. Certainly, she had felt such emotions readily when she first came to learnt the depths of her missing memories. But in the aftermath, Minastauriel had been blessed with a long wick on her temper, and the kindness shown to her by the elves prevented anything more than a spark of indignation at the circumstances. Like it or not, Minastauriel already knew; she was here to stay. There was no way back.

So, instead she would fling herself into this new place, and draw enjoyment from anything and everything. Easily done, or perhaps she was just easily impressed? Even the sight of the delicately pointed ears of the elves she was so far acquainted with was enough to make her somewhat giddy.

A gentle hand drew her attention, not realising her eyes had slipped closed again, posture slouching again into the pillows. "Lady Minastauriel, are you awake?"

Minastauriel wasn't sure what the word Erianneil meant but she could recognise the -il ending. Whatever it was, it was referring to her. Useful. "Lurlosel?"

"I think we should change your shift now," Lurlosel said slowly, pointing at Minastauriel's baggy ward dress so she understood. The mortal nodded then pointed at the buddle of clothes she had apparently arrived in, that lay folded on the pale dresser opposite the bed.

"Not those, not for sleep," Lurlosel shook her head and pointed at the clean shift and additional layers she had placed on the seat by the window, then looked consideringly at the smudges of charcoal decorating her skin, before adding with lots of explanatory hand gestures "But you need to bathe; to be clean; before you change your shift."

Dark grey eyes followed Lurlosel's careful movements closely, as she listened intently to the slowly spoken sentence.

Oh – cleaning! Yes – that was an excellent idea. Minastauriel was very aware she could not recall the last time she had bathed, and memory-issues notwithstanding, it made her quite eager to get cleaned up, particularly her hair.

She didn't know for certain but given how long she had been asleep; but her placement in a private room implied it had been some time. Given Minastauriel did not feel like her skin – aside from her scalp - was crawling, then she must have been bathed or in some fashioned cleaned at least once whilst unconscious.

Which was completely fine as long as Lurlosel understood she was now awake and aware and very capable of cleaning herself. She had been told her ankle had sustained an injury before her arrival in Imladris, but aside from some generic tightness caused by 'five eraid of bedrest', even that seemed completely healed. She was fairly certain eraid meant days.

"Yes Lurlosel. I clean me before I wear clean clothes. I understand. Where?"

The elleth raised a brow ever-so-slightly at that for some reason but made no comment.

8th March 2931 – POV Lurlosel, Head of the Healing Wards of Rivendell

Normally, a sponge bath using a small cistern of warmed water and soap would suffice for a patient. And indeed, earlier when the woman had been unconscious and Lurlosel had more helpers available, including Tatharon (who was currently busy with a case involving some berries of dubious quality and two ellyn old enough to know better) it had sufficed. But the woman's hair now also needed cleaning and it's length - even longer than her own was; hers being appropriate for a working elleth, the mortal's several inches longer than that – meant she really needed at least a proper bathing area, or a small team of attendants...

Lurlosel's last healing assistant had stopped working full days a century before her current only full-time apprentice Tatharon had decide to all but move into her Wards until she agreed to take him on as an apprentice. All her other healers were only here at certain times unless there was a great incident or dire circumstances. Otherwise, they shared their time in other pursuits and duties; herbalists, gatherers, kitchen workers, housemaids and servants in the Main house or lesser. The day the woman awoke would be the day she had the least helpers assigned to her wards.

So a bathing area it would be.

The public bathing area was naturally built next to the river, but as it had to be downstream from anywhere water may be taken for drinking, this was quite far away. It was also very cold this time of year and she was wary to risk a mortal's delicate constitution so flippantly. Lastly, it was not exactly a place any person of nobility, visiting or resident, would be expected to use. Particularly not a noble adaneth, who she knew could be very particular about public bathing. So, it would be choice between the Family or Guest bathing rooms. Until she heard otherwise, one of the Guest bathing rooms it would be.

Quickly gathering a few extra needed pieces - not much, as the room would already have towels, wash brushes, soap, oils, and tonics needed for a proper bath - the head healer directed her patient to stand and slip on some delicate slippers.

As they made their way through the corridor, the soft glow of starlight trapped in Fëanorian lamps adorning the walls cast intricate patterns of light and shadow that danced on the forest green walls around them. The air carried the faint smell of herbs from the ward-gardens, and incense from the chambers of Elrond's immediate family. The polished oakwood floor gleamed underfoot, reflecting the warm radiance of the lamps lining the corridor. Tall arched windows framed glimpses of verdant gardens and courtyards, or the tall walls of the valleys. Even inside the deepest, most protected part of the stronghold, nature remained in harmony with the settlement, adding effortless beauty to the elegant surroundings.

"Beautiful! So pretty!" These were the latest additions to the mortal's vocabulary.

Lurlosel hoped Minastauriel knew she was driving her healer to quiet dismay, even if she couldn't bring herself to feel much aggravation from it – it was difficult to be annoyed at someone who was showing such delight in a home you were so proud to be a part of. Edain could be so charming in their fascination of Edhellen culture. Minastauriel had insisted she could walk under her own means and had started walking side by side with the healer. Unfortunately, the interior decorations present along the corridors proved too much for her to resist and soon Lurlosel found herself having to turn around every ten paces or so to hurry along the woman who would be busy admiring a painting or carving.

Or a small statue or flower arrangement.

...Or a view from a window, a particularly sweet swell of music coming from behind a door or a friendly introduction to three housemaids... And two assistants to the Chief counsellor Erestor... And four assistants to Lord Erestor again but this time with respect to his duties as Seneschal, since, may Elbereth Gilthoniel watch over her, Lady Celebrían departed these sorrowed shores...

...

And a very eager Lindir who Lurlosel had to literally drag Minastauriel from when she, not realising the danger she was in, expressed an interest in learning elvish songs. They barely escaped! It was late enough as it was; her patient needed a bath then bed in that order, with no spare time for a three hour (minimum) musical interlude from Lindir, sweet voice though he might have. This had happened before!

The current 'so pretty' distraction was a delicate gold-embossed carving over a small stained-glass window, depicting several musical instruments. Minastauriel was smiling at both carving and glasswork. The carving was another one of those 'inconspicuous' Fëanorian stars her lord had sneakily included in the décor of most of the rooms in his main house, of which this corridor took them through to access the guest bathing area. No doubt her Peredhel lord thought he was being subtle.

Ha. Like a fifth of the population of Imladris and the surrounding land were not Fëanorians 'in hiding' by his own invitation from all the way back before the valley's foundations had been laid. In hiding meant no one talked about it except when Lady Galadriel visited, in which case no one talked about it even harder and several (dozen) people (with the strongest Fëanorian features and/or accents) just happened to visit Lindon for the duration of Lady Galadriel's presence in the valley.

Personally, Lurlosel felt they all might as well stay – those stars hardly allowed Lady Galadriel to forget what Lord Elrond never put words to. Everyone in the valley knew, and no one ever, ever said, who their Lord and Master claimed as his true parents. Just like everyone knew and never said Lord Elrond was effectively High King of the Ñoldor and Sindar for all that he would never claim either throne. No one mentioned who had taught Lord Elrond such an aggressive swordsmanship or how to fight so well with his left hand.

It was true that Lord Elrond and Lady Arwen looked almost as similar to each other as Elladan did to Elrohir. Despite the differences in their features as expected between a male and female elf, more than once had the Lady Arwen been mistaken for her father by visitors. For all that it had been remarked how Lady Arwen looked like the second coming of Lúthien, by those who had actually seen the famed daughter of Melian, the same had been said of Lord Elrond.

Quietly, one-night centuries ago during a festival, Erestor had shared in confidence to few others that if one looked at their Lord's differences in features compared to his daughter, one could see how Elrond was a flawless mixture of Fingolfin and Lúthien. That same night, Glorfindel had agreed and pointed out his own observations; that the twins could have been triplets with Finwë, an elf who was as much a figure of legend to a Sindar like herself as the Valar. Erestor had reminisced sadly at this, before agreeing it was so when the twins dressed formally, otherwise, their more mannish features distracted oneself from any similarity. One Sindar, long now passed to the West, had shared in hushed tones that the twins' anger took heed from Dior Eluchîl, the ways their eyes gleamed with a storm unlike the starlight they had heard the Lady Galadriel still held in her own.

Their joy – both smile and laugh, rarer to see these days – were reflections of their mother's, in Lurlosel's opinion.

Here in the valley, among a dwindled and eclectic group, secrets would eventually come out but never be outed. Imparted but never declared. Truths implied but never revealed, never outright discussed. There was an etiquette to it, unsaid rules they all knew. The Last Homely House was a place for the healing of wounds and the fading of scars. Lurlosel hoped this little lady would not inadvertently 'put her foot in it', as few as her words may be. She hadn't yet been taught what not to say! Even Lord Glorfindel had to be... initiated in such things when he had been first arrived here to assist and defend Lord Elrond. Initiation, indeed, had needed to take place.

...After Erestor nearly throttled him for breaking half of the unsaid rules within a week of his arrival.

The guest bathing room selected by Lurlosel for Minastauriel exuded a level of elegant grandeur befitting its purpose of accommodating visiting nobility. Adored with intricate leaf embossments in bronze and copper, and tastefully arranged dried floral displays, the room emanated an air of refinement whilst capturing the essence of Imladris in the early Autumn months. Small bowls filled with herbs and salts, artfully placed around the chamber, awaited guests' preferences for enhancing their bathwater, although there was little time that day for an indulgent soak. As the light of Anor began to wane, Lurlosel remained mindful that her patient had only woken up from a five-day coma that very morning, despite the invigorating effect of their walk to the chamber.

Featuring large, shuttered windows of cherry wood designed to maximise the access of natural light whilst ensuring privacy for the occupants, the room boasted ample space to accommodate a noble along with their attendants. With the natural light starting to dwindle, the Fëanorian lamps found in each corner of the chamber were beginning to glow; as they would be in the rest of Imladris.

Various tubs were sized to cater for different needs; a petite one of maple wood for very young children, or for use to soak one's feet or in assistance when washing hair, a medium brass tub for an adult to sit in, and a large one carved directly into the floor for full body submersion. The first two were portable, required filling with hot water acquired from the side room whilst the latter connected to an underground spring. This clever design provided a continuous flow of refreshing water that would not freeze even in the coldest of winters and otherwise remained cool but not unpleasantly so for the rest of the year, perfect for soaking and removing the soap suds from oneself.

As Lurlosel set about heating the water, Minastauriel, instead of waiting as instructed, followed her into the side room, immediately requesting clarification on various items. 'Ah well,' thought Lurlosel, heating water alone would be far less intriguing than engaging in conversation with her curious patient.

Late 8th March 2931 – POV Minastauriel of Rivendell.

"Ah, Lurlosel... are you Lady Lurlosel?" Minastauriel inquired, her tone tinged with uncertainty. The term 'Hiril' had been used with her name often and whilst she was very aware of what Hir meant, she was not sure if Hiril was the direct equivalent. Was it exactly comparable and thus a sign of honour and respect, or was it more like Dess or Brennil? And whether it was or not, if people were using a polite address for her; shouldn't she respond in kind? No-one had corrected her yet; understandable given her language difficulties; but she would like to learn these forgotten rules of etiquette quickly and show her hosts their due respect.

"No, I am not a lady. Lady is like Lord. Lord Elrond, Lord Glorfindel. Lady Minastauriel. Lord Erestor. You know Hir already. Hiril is Hir for women." Lurlosel explained patiently. "Though technically, only servants need address Lord Glorfindel or Lord Erestor as such. I am Lurlosel. Officially I am Healer Lurlosel, Second-in-command of the Imladhrim Healing wards. But all of that is excessive. Lurlosel is Lurlosel, yes? Do you understand?"

Minastauriel nodded along, understanding most of what was said, brow furrowing slightly. "But I am not Lady."

"No? You remember you are not?"

"Ahh..." She furrowed her brow further. "No, I do not remember. But I-" She gestured to her heart, then pointed to her head then heart again "Word please."

"Heart, mind, heart… to think... to feel? I feel cold" Lurlosel shivered. "I feel hot" then fanned herself whilst panting. "Yes?"

"I feel hurt – ow!" Minastauriel pretended to pinch herself. "Yes – I understand word?"

"Yes. What do you feel?"

"I feel not like Lady."

Lurlosel chuckled softly, her laughter reminiscent of birdsong, as she carried the first pail of wonderfully warmed water to a large wooden tub. "What would a lady feel like?"

Late 8th March 2931 – POV Lurlosel, Head of the Healing Wards of Rivendell

The mortal woman paused for a moment, an impish glint dancing in her eyes and the corner of her smile - the likes of such she seen when Elladan and Elrohir had learnt a certain use of concentrated dandelion tonic. Unbeknownst to the other twin, each had been planning to prank the other with the herb that night.

Though Lurlosel had not been privy to the full details of their mischief, she had heard plenty from the laundrymaids. Their gossiping accompanied by merry laughter had attracted many others and, as typical for Imladris, the matter was known by all before the week had finished. Lord Elrond had punished the twins with weeks of laundry duty.

"A lady, a lady adaneth is feel like," the woman said with a conspiratorial smile, playfully putting on a haughty air, complete with sticking her nose high in the air and wrinkling it as if she had smelt something unpleasant. A dramatic gesture with her hand added it to the flair, and after a breath they both started laughing. When she finished her chortling, Minastauriel continued, "And, I feel... a lady adaneth not – um – would not feel words like this. Not... think, think to remember." She gestured at the various objects she could now name from her most recent vocabulary lesson. As if to exemplify this, when Lurlosel lifted filled one bucket with warm water to take to the bronze tub, Minastauriel followed suit and filled another bucket before following Lurlosel to the tub, though some water did end up splashing over her bucket's rim.

Lurlosel pondered this observation; it was a good point. Nobles had servants to attend to mundane matters such as heating water for baths. A noble woman would know the words for pail and alike, but if they did forget such words as pail or terms for food preparation; would they even notice they were missing?

Perhaps not. As an Imladhrim, Lurlosel could not resist the urge to tease. "Ah, you are not a Lady Adaneth then. Perhaps," She gave an exaggerated shrug, "You are a princess! Perhaps you have a little Eldar in your blood," she suggested, tracing a line along the mortal's wrist vein.

It took a moment for Minastauriel to comprehend, but she had learnt the term for blood when Lord Elrond had explained the injuries around her eyes earlier. "Brethil? What is brethil? Is a brethil less haughty?"

"Brethil is the daughter of King or Queen. With noble blood - when there were kingdoms in Eriador, their royalty were descendants of Elros Tar-Minartaur – they had no need to be haughty to command respect." Lurlosel continued to explain. It took time to explain the terms command and respect to her ward, but it made the ferrying of warm water to the tub far less monotonous.

Soon enough, Minastauriel understood. "But I am not Princess and Lady. I not daughter of King and, ahem! No." Flustered she started again, "I am not Princess or Lady. I am not daughter of King or Queen. I no wore metal-oh" Minastauriel stopped mid spiel, a slight look of surprise in her eyes as she gazed to the side, swept up by another memory.

"I do... I remember!" she uttered, bewildered. "I am have before little metal hat. When I am eleven years. Ama and Ada gift to me when big... day."

Lurlosel made a mental note to relay this information to Lord Elrond. Progress was being made.

"Big day? A celebration?"

The mortal whined, clutching her head. "I know what I remember but no words to say and Lurlosel understand."

"Was the day about you, or for something else?" The woman's memory was slowly returning in fragments and Lurlosel was happy to spend some more time, amid the fetching and carrying of water, guiding her ward through the unpicking of these memories and articulating them.

"So Minastauriel was declared the official Crown Princess on this big day – when you were eleven years of age?"

"No! Yes and no!" exclaimed the even more flustered woman. Lurlosel almost felt bad. "No, no Princess Minastauriel. No remember Princess Minastauriel. I remember metal hat- er, head?"

"Head piece" Lurlosel slipped in.

"Thank you. I remember metal headpiece. Wearing a metal headpiece does not cook a princess." Lurlosel blinked in confusion before thankfully recalling overhearing Lord Elrond earlier that day teaching her about food preparation. Make and cook had been interchangeable at the time...

"Make. I cook food. I make you into a Princess." She went over this a few more times, the mortal clearly exhausted from learning even if her body had woken up.

Minastauriel nodded energetically, though Lurlosel could see tiredness creeping into her eyes even as she next spoke. "Wearing a metal hat – no – metal headpiece does not make me into a princess."

'Ahhh but dear little mortal; there is no proof on the contrary. And I would say you are more likely a princess than a lady. Any rich adan can make themselves a Lord or Master. But you must have a bloodline to be consider royal and that bloodline bears a kind of nobility that no gold can buy. The Dúnedain show this.'

No hint of where her thoughts went showed on her elvish features. Smiling, Lurlosel merely said, "Yes Lady Minastauriel, a metal headpiece does not make you a Princess" and then returned to heating water as Minastauriel watched curiously or perhaps was just enjoying the heat of the flames. Mortals felt the cold more severely... perhaps a towel to wear as a cloak whilst the tub was filled? Though it was nearly done already...

"No look!" Minastauriel stated firmly when Lurlosel had tried to assist her in undressing. "I no clothes. I will be wear no clothes. Lurlosel please no look." The healer backed off, confused. Did that mean she did not want Lurlosel to assist her in bathing either? Surely a noblewoman would be used to help when cleaning, especially with hair that long? Or was it because Lurlosel was still effectively a stranger, pleasant interactions this day aside.

"You do not need help to clean?"

"No! I no need help to clean many years. I am –" She looked around flustered for a second, holding onto the fabric of her shift as if Lurlosel was about to rip it off at the first chance she had. "-Not baby. I clean me."

Obligingly, Lurlosel nodded and instead showed the woman where various things she would need were going to be; most on a shelf next to where the tub had been placed, next to a vent that sent air warmed by the fire in the side room directly into the bathing room. Then she showed her where she was putting her clean shift and warmer overlayer, and where the towels were, and finally where she could leave her current shift so it too could be collected and cleaned. Then she left the room, waiting just out the door whilst considering her patient. The healer couldn't help but wonder about the woman's past. Had she always been so independent, or was this behaviour a result of her memory loss?

Only a short while later, Minastauriel's sheepish voice came through the door.

"Er – Lurlosel? Sorry I, I no remember. Please help."

Re-entering the room, she saw the woman curled up as modestly as she could in the tub, looking miserably at the various bottles on the shelf, a few having been opened but clearly not used. Sighing morosely, the mortal continued whilst playing idly with a long strand of water-darkened hair as it floated in the bath water, "I feel I remember before. Before before. Now? I am sorry, I, I do not remember. Need help please?"

Smiling warmly and without skipping a beat, Lurlosel immediately stepped in to assist, explaining the purpose of each item carefully. The next time her ward bathed, her independent patient would likely want to do it herself. Bathing took longer than Lurlosel had wanted it to because of this, and the water was definitely cool when they were done, but the mortal was smiling again now. Minastauriel seemed to grasp the routine, repeating the bathing lesson under her breath and pointing at the bottles in the order they should be used in, and where on her body their purpose lay.

It wasn't a complex process, but the bottles were not standard in the bathing areas and Minastauriel had not begun any organised Tengwar lessons yet to be able to check the labels. With her recovery progressing steadily, Lurlosel knew it would not be long before Minastauriel could be moved out of the private wardroom into a room of her own, or even a set of chambers. Lurlosel would also need to pass this on Lord Elrond: as much as her patient wanted to look after herself, highborn ladies – be they eldar, edain or cadhad - typically had lady's maids. It wasn't a rule, nor a requirement, but - if nothing else - the healthy maintenance of long hair, and the dressing and undressing of complex outfits, did lend itself to assistance of a second or third pair of hands.

Minastauriel may or may not appreciate it, but for bathing at least, the maids could just be there to point out what she needed to do and teach her what she had forgotten, as Lurlosel had been doing?

As Lurlosel was currently doing, when it became apparent that the reason Minastauriel had come in such odd clothing – particularly the undergarments - was because those garments were all easy to put on by oneself. The mortal woman had fumbled awkwardly with the simple lacing around the collar of the shift, pulling at random parts in efforts to open up the neckline. Or perhaps this too was knowledge she had forgotten?

She had checked, curious, if the woman actually recognised the common items. They were as simple as the ward shift she had worn earlier; fit for sleeping in comfortably and yes, sure enough Minastauriel could convey the purpose of the shift and linen stays – the kind with no boning that served as little more than an extra cover to the shift, for sleep - as Lurlosel did not know for certain when edaineth wore stays exactly. There were no riding undergarments, if that's the term for the tiny scrap of fabric the woman had been wearing on her bottom half when she had arrived. After all, the woman was going straight to bed, not out riding. Explaining this logical conclusion to the woman was not so simple. As if it was somehow immodest when she was by now wearing the layers of shift and over-slip to cover her nether regions. Perhaps she would like to wear another shift? Ladies in Mannish courts wore many layers, didn't they?

Thankfully, the woman was too tired to make much more fuss once Lurlosel finally explain she was going to bed and would have new clean tiny riding undergarments for when she woke up, ("but no. Tomorrow will be no horse riding. No horse. Put the slippers on your feet.") And then back down the corridors they went. Lurlosel couldn't help but smile at the woman now dozily nodding off as she clung to the healer's sleeve, far too sleepy to be distracted by the décor this time. Putting the woman into her bed in the private healing room that had cooled significantly since they had left, reminded Lurlosel to towel dry the woman's hair, before plaiting it away from her face. Then the healer made sure the window was fully shut, so her ward's delicate mortal constitution did not catch cold from a draught, and the woman was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

It was time to call it a day. 'I think Lindir mentioned he was trying out a new star song this night.'

Quietly checking the blankets covered the woman's feet, drawing the curtains and extinguishing the candles, a smile played on her rosy lips. 'And of course, it will be quite nice to refuse all questions regarding the mysterious adaneth. All those disappointed faces.'

9th March 2931

Minastauriel drifted into a deep slumber, stirring briefly in the dead of night from the tendrils of a peculiar dream that dissipated before comprehension dawned. To the mellifluous melody of waterfalls and a nearby harp, she quickly surrendered to a dreamless sleep.

Before the sun rose that morning, Elrond sent word to Gandalf inviting him to Imladris with just enough and just as little detail about the woman currently asleep in his Healing wards as to no doubt pique his old friend's interest. After the morning meal, he was joined by his chief counsellor and two sons in his personal morning room where all servants knew not to disturb him when within.

Notes:

Context: Elrond is one of the most beautiful elves in Arda, you cannot change my mind. As brilliant as I found Hugo Weaving's portrayal, he could not capture how beautiful this Peredhel lord should look 3
Little metal hat – Minastauriel is remembering having her 'First Holy Communion' which included dressing up in a beautiful dress and a tiny tiara. As no such sacrament exists in Arda, and Minastauriel will never remember any other details about the day, this memory is going to be interpreted as the day Tindómiel was declared the Crown Princess of Númenor. Basically, I'm adding experiences she could have had from our world, that could then be mistaken for evidence of a noble upbringing in the Tolkienverse.

Glossary:
Brennil: Ñoldorin for lady. Brannon is the male equivalent
Brethil: Sindarin for Princess.
Cadhad: Sindarin term for Dwarves. (dh = th sound)
Dess: Ñoldorin for young woman
Dior Eluchîl: the son of Beren and Lúthien, Eluchîl means "Heir of Elu," Elu being another name for Thingol - King of Doriath - Lúthien's father.
Finwë: An ancient elf-king, the father of Fëanor and Fingolfin among others.
Hir: Sindarin term equivalent to "Lord".
Hiril: Female version of the above, equivalent to "Lady".
Lindon: A region of Middle-earth, home to the Grey Havens.
Lurlosel: Sindarin name I created from Lurlos. Lûr (to sleep) and loth (flower) give the meaning Poppy. I'm using -el as a suffix meaning elf. Her parents named her wisely.
Tatharon: Another Sindarin name I created from tathar meaning willow-tree and -on as a male suffix.
Valinor: The Undying Lands, the realm of the Valar, located in the west of Middle-earth.