Faded Light: Book II

(For additional notes and disclaimers, please see top of Chapter 1.)


Chapter 4

Captives


On the lower levels of the palace were located a number of common bathing chambers, where Arya's thralls were often allowed to wash before and after serving at the Court.

Without the whore-master's oppressive presence, these rooms were the only place the slaves could almost relax, so the courtesan sought out Rumil there early the next morning.

The King would sleep late, as he always did after such evenings, and when he awoke, he would find his bed slave still at his side.

The baths were almost deserted at that hour, but after a few polite inquiries, he was led to an empty room with a large pool where the other slave drifted idly in the warm water.

Hitching the hem of his robe to his knees, Dafi sat on the edge and dipped his feet into the pool, watching his friend in silence. Fading, dark bruises stood out on his back and torso, and others, he was sure were hidden beneath the water's surface.

=========================================

It had been over a week ago as he stood in Mena's study...it had been empty when he arrived, the only noise coming from the next room...the sound of something thrown against a wall, something else striking on furniture.

At first, he was ill at ease, uncertain as to whether there was some sort of scuffle going on; but he knew well what sort of amusements this perverse servant of the Dark Lord indulged in and, after several moments, recognized Mena's fevered grunts and moans, and another's, which had more of pain than of passion in them.

Rarely had he felt so awkward standing in a room...to stand on the other side of the door while any noble was having his pleasure was akin to spying. Plus, he had no wish to embarrass whoever else was in there.

But he also had no leave to go.

For endless minutes, he stood and waited; until the Priest's door opened and the dark Haradrim stepped through, still fastening his robe and wiping sweat from a disgustingly fleshly face.

Briefly, the courtesan caught a glimpse of a pale form, crouched in a corner of the bed, clutching a sheet to his body.

He did not let his eyes linger, and the other slave hid his face, but he saw enough to know it was Arya's new Elf.

===============================

"I have been wanting to see how you were, Mellon Nin," he finally said, "after..." he halted awkwardly, "and the feast..."

"Yes, I heard you in Mena's study the other day," said Rumil softly, ignoring the inquiry into last night's revelry. "My body's hurts are mending. Worry not."

He swam back to the ledge but did not raise his head to meet the courtesan's gaze. "I think that I am learning to expect nothing better from Mortals than what is dealt by their so-called princes and nobles," he took a deep breath, resting his head on his arms. "How do you do it?" he asked. "How do you remain among such Men without having faded long ago?

"If I must long endure this place, I am sure I will soon forsake the world," he said bitterly.

"After so many years, I fear I have come to...accept many things. Though there was a time when I was sure I would fall to grief; I very much wanted to."

"And now?" Rumil raised his head, looking at the other curiously.

"Now, I stay for the sake of my child."

The dulled blue eyes met his own.

"That little half-Elf, I've seen running through the gardens..."

"Her name is Sararmel."

"That is a rare gift, Mellon," marveled the other slave.

"Rare," the courtesan smiled sadly, "but not all regard it as a gift." He turned aside again with a pained sigh...the unusual trait of male fertility, which he and Feredir had always known they might inherit and which their father had always feared; though Thranduil never openly spoke of such things. But his opinion on the matter was never in doubt.

"I remember my adar speaking ill of such males," he said. "Abhorrent, I think was the word he chose on one occasion."

"You've never told me much about your life before," Rumil started to ask, curious, "your kin are in Mirkwood..."

"They must think me dead now. And I pray it is so," said the other simply.

"Saes," he whispered, still looking away and wrapping his arms around himself. His face contorted with a pain he seldom allowed to show, looking at something Rumil couldn't see.

"Ask me not about such things, Mellon," he whispered. "Never could I face them, no matter how my heart yearns for it, sullied, broken, as I am...if ever I escape this life, I will certainly go across the sea."

"But I do not understand," said Rumil after a moment, hesitantly letting the former matter drop.

He frowned, "Those herbs of Arya's only work some of the time. And I did not think Haradrim whores were ever allowed to bear a child let alone keep it. I've seen Arya’s...methods when the drugs have failed and one of the female slaves has conceived..."

The courtesan nodded and looked down at his clasped hands on his lap. "Once, I had to face that firsthand," he said, continuing to avert his eyes, as Rumil reached for a towel and lifted himself from the water, his frown deepening.

For any Elf to be forced to abort a child was unthinkable.

"Between that and everything else, my body has been irreparably ruined. Despite the herbs, I've conceived many times; only once successfully."

A fleeting memory broke through, of the birthing of another child…a shot of pale, golden hair, before the midwife hurried from the room without allowing him even a close look at his baby...

He hardened his heart and pushed the image away.

"I'm sorry, Mellon."

"Not long before I became pregnant with Sararmel, however," he went on skipping over the details, "King Javad...had noticed me. He bought me and allowed the child to remain in the Palace. With a foster mother, but I am allowed to see her whenever I wish.

"Arya was less than glad to sell me. He's..." he stopped and his irrational remorse would not let him look at the other, who now sat on the ledge next to him, the towel wrapped around his slim hips.

"I would not have such strength,” said Rumil, in deep thought again. “To look daily on your ravisher's child and not see him..."

"It is no child's fault how they are born. I do not allow myself to think of any of those Men when I look at my daughter. Each day I try to see in her whatever was ever good in myself.

"It doesn't matter who sired her. Mel is my child...she is all I have now." Though one day she must grow up and understand what her father really is.

"I was fading before she was conceived...after, I could not leave her..."

"And so, we remain for those we love," Rumil concluded with a sigh.

"Even so," he said, "I could not so long survive, enduring what you have." His next words were spoken softly, tentatively, as if afraid to speak of such hopes. "My brothers are here, Mellon," he said.

"In the city?" Dafi looked up at that. "How do you know?"

"Twice, I have seen my eldest brother, Haldir, in the marketplace. And Orophin must surely be with him. There is a friend, too, though he is a Man. They are posing as a cloth dealer and an Elven slave.

"I've only seen them from a distance. And I don't know how to reach them, if only to let them know I'm here, before they give up and move on..."

"Maybe I can," said the courtesan without hesitation, taking his friend's arm. He dropped his voice, "Tell me about this cloth dealer.”

======================

Ithilhen was the first to greet Feredir as he came through the door, skipping the last three steps, as he ran into his father’s arms...

“Valar,” he said, lifting the boy, “you get bigger every time I go away...”

“...am I big enough yet to come with you?”

“Let’s just wait a few more decades on that..."

“Nana got a letter from Aunt Mereniel, yesterday,” he said, as if just remembering.

“She wondered whether you weren’t planning on dodging Cousin Ethiel’s wedding.”

“...ah, well,” he smiled and glanced over his son’s shoulder at the Elleth, who had been watching the scene with interest from the kitchen doorway, knowing it was her exact words the Elfling was repeating, “your nana and I will have to have a long talk about that.”

“This is Benain,” he said, setting his son down and turning to the shy boy standing just behind him, “he’ll be staying with us.”

“Mae Govannen, Mellon...” said the Elfling cheerfully.

“He doesn’t speak Sindarin, Ion Nin...”

“Oh...

“Hello,” he started again and smiled, immediately putting the other boy at ease. He extended a hand in greeting as he had seen Humans do, “I’m Ithilhen...”

“...it looks like your journey was not uneventful,” said Alatariel coming the rest of the way into the sitting room.

“This is my Nana,” said Ithilhen, introducing his mother. “Nana this is Benain.”

A pair of the bluest eyes she had seen looked up uncertainly, “...hello, m'lady.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Little One."

She knelt down to the Elfling’s eye level and smiled sweetly, “...and it seems you’ve both arrived just in time…there’s a big batch of blueberry muffins that is just about done...how would like one before dinner...?"

Despite his shyness the Elfling nodded eagerly and actually smiled a little.

“Ion, would you and Benain go upstairs and find some clean linen for the spare bedroom?” she said. “It can be Benain’s room now. And then wash up and come back downstairs.”

“Yes, Nana.

“Come on.”

They watched the two boys disappear up the stairs, proud of their son’s easy ability to make friends, be they Human children or Elflings.

“We found him in a village destroyed by the Dunlending’s,” he told her, setting aside his bag and cloak...

“His family...?”

He shook his head, “...he was the innkeeper’s slave.”

“How awful...he’s just a baby...

“I suppose you’ll be sending a message to Lord Elrond.”

He nodded, “If the child was stolen from Elven lands Elrond will know.

“But he is a half-Elfling," he added. "It is possible that he was born among Men, which would complicate things...”

“Well," she said, sagely, wrapping her arms around her husband's neck, "if he really has no one else, we’ll take care of him.

“I think it’ll do Ithilhen good to have another Elfling around...”

“Do you suppose now he’ll stop asking for that baby brother?” he ran his fingers through her dark hair and pulled her closer.

She smiled seductively. “For a while perhaps...

"I think Dolgaran was about a hundred before he finally stopped asking our parents for a younger sibling...

“I'll take the children into town tomorrow and get Benain some new clothes,” she said, her practical mind, immediately setting to work, “and some things for his room...”

“...have I told you lately how amazing you are...?”

“You can tell me all about it later tonight,” she whispered, leaving a lingering, teasing kiss on his lips before pulling away.

“Right now, I’ve got two hungry Elflings to look after, a spare room to furnish, a letter to answer and plans to make for a trip to Mirkwood...”

She looked at him pointedly as she said the last part, knowing Ethiel's wedding and Feredir's reluctance to return home was indeed something they would be discussing frequently in the coming weeks...


TBC...


Elvish Translations:

Saes / Please
Mellon / Friend
Adar, Ada / Father, dad, daddy
Elleth / female elf
Mae Govannen / Well Met
Ion Nin / My son
Naneth, Nana / mother, mom
Tithen pen / little one