Nirnaeth am mbar (Homesickness)

Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Tolkien. Figwit, of course, is the pretty elf from Peter Jackson's movies.


Revision Notes: Okay, I've bowed to the inevitable. The alternative name for Figwit was causing headaches with archives. Thus, I've replaced the name with the flawed but better-known Melpomaen. Sorry for the confusion. I've also made some minor changes to the end of the fourth chapter, as suggested by a reviewer.



An Unhappy Start



"Yes?"



Melpomaen looked down, holding tight to his valise as if it were a shield. "I was told to ask for Lord Erestor."



"What? Speak up, child."



"I was told to ask for Lord Erestor."



The butler shook his head impatiently. "Come in. Do you have a name?"



"Melpomaen Trenaronion."



The butler muttered something and hurried off. Melpomaen stood waiting in the foyer, unsure whether to follow the elf or await his return. When the butler had not come back after some time, Melpomaen decided that he was meant to have followed him. He entered the main hall and looked around at the confusing passages. Finally, he took a tentative step in the direction of the largest passageway. Perhaps he would meet someone who could tell him where to go.



"The kitchen staff has retired for the evening. You will have to wait until morning if you are hungry. Come, Lord Erestor is waiting." The butler turned on his heel. Melpomaen followed, his face burning with embarrassment.



Erestor read the letters of introduction slowly. Finally, he looked up at the elf seated anxiously across from him. The child looked like a frightened little bird. He was small - far too small to be a full-grown elf. "How old are you, little one?"



"I will be fifty this summer, my lord."



Erestor shook his head. True, Imladris had taken on students of Melpomaen's age before, but this little elf looked as if he still expected his mother to tuck him into bed. Still, he understood why Elrond had allowed it. The healer to Lord Gildor's people - herself a former student at Imladris - had given the elf a glowing recommendation. That, by itself, would not have swayed Elrond, but the youngster's interest in herbology had proved too compelling to ignore, for few elves chose to study this rigorous discipline. He sighed and called for the butler.



"Please ask Saeladh to come to my office."



A green-clad elf, some years older than Melpomaen, for he had attained the full height of an adult, appeared in the doorway a few moments later.



"This is Saeladh. You will be sharing his rooms. He will show you what you need to know."



A look of incredulity passed over the tall elf's face, and he did not hide the irritation in his voice. "Come. I have yet much work to do tonight."



Melpomaen hurried to gather his single bag of belongings and follow the older elf.



"And Melpomaen," Erestor added as the two students left his office. "Mind the bells. The first will signal breakfast. The second signals the beginning of my lecture. I do not tolerate tardiness."



"You had best keep that in mind," Saeladh said as they hurried up the stairs. The taller elf easily took the stairs two at a time, leaving Melpomaen to scramble after him.



Their rooms included a tiny receiving area and a study. Saeladh led him to the bedchamber. "You may put your things in the dressing room."



Melpomaen nodded. "You are from Mirkwood, no?" The gentle lilt in the older elf's accent could only come from the Northern Kingdom.



"I but but I hardly see why that should concern you," the older elf answered defensively.



"I meant no harm," Melpomaen said desperately. "I was only trying to be…friendly."



"Let us get one thing straight: I have spent the last two years writing a treatise on orc poisons and I will spend the next four months amending it and if it does not then meet Lord Erestor's specifications, I will have to spend another year at my studies. I am not interested in conversation and I have no time to play nursemaid to a child hardly weaned from his mother's teat."



Melpomaen cringed visibly, and Saeladh blew out his breath in exasperation. "Just be quiet, and we will have no trouble." He left the younger elf alone in the dressing room.



With shaking hands, Melpomaen put away his meager belongings. His mother and father were performers among Lord Gildor's people, troubadours who lived a transient life. They lived well enough, but traveled lightly, and the young elf had little besides some clothing and a few books.



When he had finished, he stood in the dressing room, wondering what to do. His roommate certainly did not want to be bothered with him. He supposed that he could start a letter to his family, but what would he say? 'I hate this place and I want to come home'? No, that would never do. Besides, this was what he had wanted, was it not?



He decided to go to bed. His people wintered in the south, and the journey from Gondor had been long and miserable. He changed into a nightshirt and climbed into the bed, a much softer and luxurious bed than anything he had known before. He was used to sleeping on a hammock or, in bad weather, on a pallet in his family's crowded caravan. Despite the comfort of the bed and his exhaustion, elven dreams refused to come to him.



He heard his roommate enter the room and ready himself for bed. Melpomaen moved over to the very edge, turning his back to the other elf and feigning sleep. When the other elf's breathing grew regular, Melpomaen finally let hot tears flow. Lord Erestor clearly did not want him here and his roommate hated him. He would have traded all the soft beds in the world to be back in his family's safe and familiar caravan.



As a rosy glow brightened the sky, Saeladh shook his roommate awake, noting his tearstained face and huddled posture. The little one had called for his naneth in the night, and the Sinda felt a bit guilty for his sour mood. "You had best get up. The bell for breakfast has just rung." He waited while the other elf's blank eyes focused. "There is a basin for washing and chamber pot in the dressing room. The dining room is on the ground floor - turn left when you come down the stairs." He grabbed his cloak and hurried to leave. "I would show you, but I fear I will be late."



Melpomaen nearly fell out of bed, as he had forgotten that he had been sleeping nearly on the edge. Once dressed, he went downstairs, but somehow missed his way and ended up in a long corridor of closed doors. The second bell rang, and the young elf began to panic. He was going to be late for his first lecture. He tried to retrace his steps and only ended up more lost. Growing more and more anxious, he broke a run when he saw a tall figure enter the far end of the corridor.



"Please, my lord, please could you tell me how to get to the library?"



"At ease, little one," he said, with the first kind smile Melpomaen had seen since his arrival. "No need for such panic. Come with me." He put a ge hae hand on the young elf's back and led him down that confusing corridor to a stairway. "Go up the stairway, and you will be in the library."



"Thank you, my lord," Melpomaen answered gratefully. He rushed up the stairs and found himself in the library. All eyes turned to him as he hastily found a place and sat down. Lord Erestor did not pause in his lecture, but frowned at the latecomer.



The lecture ended with a bell announcing the dinner hour. Erestor stopped the new student as he followed in the wake of the other elves. "I warned you that I would not tolerate tardiness." He sent the young elf to his secretary, who set him to cleaning quills.



Melpomaen made certain to get precise directions to the dispensary from the secretary. His afternoons would be spent under the tutelage of the apothecary, and given all he had experienced so far, he felt a little sick to his stomach at the thought of meeting yet another new person.



"Ah, the new apprentice," the apothecary greeted him. "Not many find my craft of much iest.est. The healers are lauded as heroes, and I only hear complaints that my draughts taste terrible." He laughed and beckoned to the young elf. "Well, come in, little one. You may call me Saer-duiw, like everyone else. I have a proper name, but I have near forgotten it after all these years. We must wait for this to boil, and then I think we will work in the garden - it is time to get the soil ready for planting."



Melpomaen looked around the dispensary in wonder. From floor to ceiling, the walls held shelves of bottles and baskets of dried herbs in wonder. Lord Gildor's people seldom had need of their healer. Minor injuries, usually involving injudicious amounts of wine, were the mainstay of her work, though in recent years the troubadours had met evil men and even orcs in their travels. These brought the healer more work than she wanted.



Imladris, with its larger population and active warriors, kept half a dozen healers and twice that many students busy, and often treated men in addition to elves. "That requires a whole different set of remedies," the apothecary explained. "Men get sick and get infected wounds."



The apothecary had a deep love and respect for his vocation, and was genuinely pleased to have a student with whom to share the millennia of lore he had collected. They spent a companionable afternoon in the garden, and for a while, Melpomaen forgot his homesickness. He was surprised when the bell for the evening meal sounded. He realized that he was terribly hungry, not having eaten since the previous day. In the dining room, he saw that there were perhaps two dozen students at Imladris. At the head table sat Master Elrond and his family. With a little shock, Melpomaen saw that his savior of that morning had been none other than one of Elrond's twin sons.



The young elf soon fell into the routine of his strange new life, though he could not say he was happy. He found his afternoons with the apothecary fascinating, but could not get over his terror of Lord Erestor. It seemed he could never please the stern loremaster. Had he been a little older and less self-absorbed, he might have noticed that none of the students seemed to please Erestor.



Spring came, and as ever, Melpomaen thought wistfully of his family. They would be making their way to the Havens at this time of year. His mind on home, he entered the dispensary with less enthusiasm than usual. Saer-duiw looked up from a sheet of figures his student had calculated the previous day for adapting a remedy for use on a Hobbit. "We will go over these figures in a moment, but first, you are to see Rasweg."



Melpomaen frowned. "Were my calculations not right?"



The apothecary laughed. "No, they are quite accurate. You have forgotten one small variable, but we will discuss that later."



Still worried, Melpomaen went to see the head healer, who had day-to-day charge of the healing rooms and answered only to Master Elrond.



"Come into my office, Melpomaen." Rasweg waited for the youngster to be seated. "Lord Elladan suggested that I speak with you."



"Lord Elladan?"



"This will only take a moment." The healer sat down across from him. "How do you like Imladris, Melpomaen?"



"Well enough, my lord," the young elf said politely.



"And your studies are going well?"



"I - I think so, though Lord Erestor is always unhappy with me."



"Are you very homesick?"



Melpomaen looked down. "I suppose."



The young elf had given all the right answers, but his appearance told a different story. He seemed overwrought and anxious. He was too pale and too small for his age. The healer faulted an anxiety-prone personality - the elf probably had not been much different at home. Still, he agreed with the peredhel - the young elf would have a nervous collapse - or worse - if something were not done.



"I am going to send you back to Saer-duiw now, but I will ask him to give you a draught to be taken at bedtime. And you must eat more."



"I know, I am just always late and sometimes I cannot get to the dining room," Melpomaen apologized.



"Well, if that happens, you can always go to the kitchens. You are still a growing elf."



Melpomaen nodded, certain that he would never dare to approach the cook.



As he fell asleep that night, his last thought was to wonder why Lord Elladan would have spoken to the healer on his behalf. And then, with the aid of the draught, he fell into a sleep deeper than normal elven sleep, to the great relief of his roommate, who would not be wakened by the young elf's nightmares.



June came with its warm weather and the first herbs of the garden were ready for picking. Things seemed to be going better. He did not wake late and unrested and even Lord Erestor had been in an unusually good mood. But something else brightened the young elf's spirits.



He was rushing to the library one morning when he ran right into Lord Elladan - or was it Elrohir? He was never certain.



"Always you are in a rush, little one," Elladan laughed.



Melpomaen reddened. "I am late again for Lord Erestor."



The peredhel smiled in sympathy, recalling his own student days. "He is a difficult master, but you could not ask for a better teacher. And I assure you, he is most demanding of his best students." He thought the young elf looked less worried and wan than he had in the spring. He had color in his cheeks and light in his eyes. "You are looking more cheerful."



Melpomaen smiled. It was a rare sight, and Elladan noticed how it changed the elf's lean face into a thing of beauty. "Midsummer is coming."



"Ah, and you are expecting your people to arrive soon."



"Yes, my lord."



"Then it will indeed be a happy occasion, for we always look forward to their songs on Midsummer Night and you will be happy to see your family again. Well, you had best get to Lord Erestor's lecture or he will be certain to devise the most tedious punishment."



The elf nodded and hurried off, unaware of the eyes that looked thoughtfully after him.



Lord Gildor's people arrived several days before Midsummer. While the common folk set up their camp, their Lord came to the main house as an honored guest. Melpomaen wanted to run up into the glen immediately to see his family, but he knew he must first pay proper respect to his lord.



"Well met, little one. I hope you have been studying hard," the lord said, after the youngster had come forth.



"Yes, my lord."



"Well, then you will deserve this break from studying, for is it not true that Master Elrond locks up the libraries and insists that the students join in the merrymaking?"



"So I hear. Yet, mostly I only wish to see my family."



"Your family?" Lord Gildor seemed to be trying to place the young elf with his kin. "Indeed, I am certain it is them," he muttered to himself. "You are the son of Trenaron, are you not?"



"Yes, my lord."



"Then I am astonished that you did not know. Your parents have gone to Tol Eressëa, little one. They left when we came to the Havens in the spring."