Spoils of War - Chapter 7
Well, JJ's Social Security funding is flowing again, at last. To celebrate - and because his chances of taking his brother and sister-in-law out to lunch are getting fewer by the day (they head off to Oregon on the 5th of next month) we went out to Fat Cat's. It's windier than all get-out right on the ocean, and we hit during the lunch rush.
This is one eatery that isn't going to go out of business very fast, I tell you! It's a very comforting thing to see how their patronage - both from the locals and from the tourists - keeps them hopping. The food's good too, which helps! BIG portions (I brought home half of mine because I was stuffed, and so did everybody else!) and good service too.
Wish it would decide if it's gonna rain or be nice weather. Hubby is out "following the lawn mower" again, while the skies look either like they're clearing (if you look in one direction) or like the storm's moving in (if you look in the other.) The breeze is chilly, so I gotta keep doors & windows closed lest my bronchitis kick up again. Lathron is helping Súl getting her apartment painted; today's tasks are to paint the ceiling tile runners and work on the accent panels of the living room walls. The place is certainly going to look very different from the way her grandparents had it for so long.
OK. Enough yammering. Here's the next chapter of this one. Enjoy!
Chapter 7 - Object of Interest
It was very dark, and Inzilanî was having trouble holding her eyes open. Everything was wrong: she was wearing clothing that was finer than anything even the Chieftain's daughter possessed back home; she had been told to sit at the table with Borongil and his lady and eat of their food, which was tastier than even the venison, as if an honored guest; she had been led by the hand to a chamber in which there was a narrow bed and told through gestures that she would sleep there; been told to change into another simple sleeping gown, and the fine gown laid aside apparently to be worn again in the morning; and finally and most incomprehensibly, tucked in beneath warm blankets by the mistress herself.
And now, in the dark, reality demanded to reassert itself. Inzilanî knew she was a slave. She knew she should be sleeping on a thin pallet at the foot of the master and mistress' bed, ready to do their slightest bidding at whatever hour of the day or night she was needed. She knew that she should be eating scraps, the bits and pieces of the fine food that the master and mistress didn't want. She knew these things, and yet the nimîr who owned her now evidently didn't.
What was more, she knew she should be dead, that she had no business being claimed by the nimîr, not even as a slave treated with proper strictness and discipline. She had… she had… Her eyes slipped shut, despite her best efforts.
"You! I should have killed you with the others!"
"But you didn't. That was a mistake."
The dagger made short work of shredding the trousers while the uruk roared with rage at the indignity of being helpless against mere slaves. She looked down at that most offensive part of him and then looked at the boys sitting on his legs. Their slowly growing grins of encouragement were all the incentive she had needed. She ran her finger along the edge of the dagger and found it sharper than anything the uruk owned. It would do nicely.
And the way those evil, red eyes widened when they realized what she intended made her heart beat all that much faster.
The dagger fell the first time, and the urkan began screaming…
And suddenly everything shifted, and it was she who was on the ground, and the urkan was on top of her, that part of him was again ripping into her viciously, making her scream, over and over and…
"Inzilanî!"
She flinched at the touch of gentle hands catching at her as she flailed, and she fought the strength in them until their reality penetrated the dream and forced it to evaporate back into the swirling black mess that was her memories. Frightened out of her wits, heart still pounding hard from the nightmare, Inzilanî stared at what she saw. Standing in the doorway, clad in a sleeping gown much like her own, Malheril held a single candle high with a shocked and horrified look on her face; it was Borongil, though, who sat on the edge of her bed and finally relaxed his hold on her as he saw she was seeing him again.
"Sidh, nethben." His hand smoothed over her brow as it had the last time she had had one of these dreams. The nimîr words that followed were soft, intended to calm. Inzilanî lay very still, the tears from the dream still running down the sides of her face into her ears, completely humiliated and scared now. She had awakened the master and mistress, no doubt disturbed their reunion - surely they would have been enjoying each other after such a dangerous and upsetting separation - and brought them to her side to stop the racket.
Why weren't they beating her for her audacity? Even Attô would have cuffed her hard for such behavior, if it had interrupted his time with Ammê!
Finally her wits and her training kicked in again, and she scuttled around Borongil and then off the little bed to the floor, where she planted her face in the soft pile of the rug. She was sorry, so very sorry! She would try harder not to sleep anymore, she decided; when she slept, these things got away from her control. Maybe moving to the floor from the bed, after the mistress left her, would help…
The moment she heard Borongil's frustrated sigh, she knew she had made yet another mistake. The nimir didn't like it when she prostrated herself and kept picking her up when she did, even though she had been beaten bloody by two previous owners for not doing so quickly enough or gracefully enough. Immediately she sat back on her heels, dismay at her mistake making her almost nauseous. She thought for a moment as she studied the pattern of the rug, then folded her hands over her heart in the salute that she had learned from him and bowed deeply, not quite putting her face to the floor.
Even that wasn't good enough, she realized, when Borongil's strong hands simply picked her up and brought her back to the bed and - to her absolute horror - onto his lap. Malheril moved as well, parking herself on the edge of the bed next to her mate, and suddenly Inzilanî found herself embraced by both nimîr! Borongil began to sing, and Malheril joined in only a few moments later. Inzilanî was pulled against his chest, regardless he wore no shirt or tunic, and Malheril's fingers toyed with her hair.
Now she was certain that her new owners didn't understand who she was - what she was. The worst part of it was that there was no way for her to tell them. She cursed the spirits and Destiny itself for giving her to someone who didn't know not to treat her as a slave. Now she would have to tolerate the kind of care that wasn't supposed to happen to people like her until she had enough of their words to tell them of their error. She shuddered to think of their anger and retribution when they discovered their mistakes. She would pay later for these kindnesses, and pay dearly.
Helpless at the moment, however, all she could do was lean against Borongil and softly weep, trying very hard not to feel the way his arms had tightened around her, or the way Malheril's fingers slipped through her hair and cupped her face. It was so hard to remember her place, when her place seemed to be so far away.
oOoOo
Inzilanî worked her cloth with the skill of long practice, easing the spot of dullness from the otherwise shining silver platter. Her morning had been just as frustratingly contrary as the evening before - climbing into clothing too good for her, eating with the master and mistress at their table again, having the mistress insist on combing her hair for her and having it left loose about her shoulders except for a tiny braid back from both temples that kept the rest from her face - but she had finally stumbled onto a task that they didn't deny her.
She watched the nimîr out of the corner of her eye, curious about them but unwilling to be too blatant in her interest. She knew the penalty for that. They, in turn, sat in the comfortable chairs near the hearth, watching her without shame, as was their right; and they spoke their words so quickly, though, that she resigned herself to needing a long time to learn enough of them to be able to say anything important. Still, at least they were allowing her to be more herself and make herself useful to them.
There! The platter now gleamed uniformly, and she carefully replaced it on its shelf after using the cloth to quickly dust around its place. Ah! That was something else she could do that maybe wouldn't anger them. She looked around the room that was the more public area of the quarters they occupied. There were plenty of shelves and small nooks and crannies that would attract dust. With a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't making them angry, she wielded the cloth over the graceful carvings that were the sides of the shelf the platter sat on, not sure if she were doing any good or not. There wasn't much dust there; perhaps there were other slaves that she just hadn't met yet?
A knock on their door made her flinch and drop to her knees, folding the cloth carefully and laying it over the top of her thighs and then folding her hands over it and lowering her gaze to the rug. Slaves were to remain unobtrusive when guests were present, and she was partly behind a chair…
"Inzilanî, tolo si."
She didn't know the last word, but the first one she understood. She tucked her cloth into a pocket she'd discovered in the skirt of her new gown, rose from her knees with all the grace that her Umbari owner had forced her to learn and walked over to her new owner. Without looking at him, she kneeled before him and gave him the deep salute of his people, then sat up while keeping her eyes trained on the rug. This action she could understand quite well. Owning a new slave was a jump in status, so it made sense for Borongil to want to show her off.
She heard her owner sigh and didn't understand it. Was she not graceful enough? Had she not sat up fast enough? She knew that the nimîr seemed to possess a natural grace; she was beginning to think that there was no way that she would ever match that. But he couldn't tell her, and she had no way of guessing; so she remained utterly still, waiting for her next command.
The nimîr words trickled from the newcomer's lips almost like song, and Inzilanî wished she dared look up to see just who would possess such a musical voice. Both her owner and his lady answered, and Inzilanî deliberately turned her mind away from trying to follow even the tones of voice. That would have been disrespectful too.
"Inzilanî." Again Borongil called for her attention, and this time she did look up at him. He held out his hand. "Cam lîn."
He wanted her… hand? Training made her offer her hand immediately, no matter the questions in her mind. Borongil pushed the delicate sleeve material back from her wrists and turned to the guest, and Inzilanî again looked down at the rug. The bandaging over her sores from the manacles was gently removed, and then a knowing but strange hand took charge of hers. Only the greatest discipline kept her from flinching back and pulling her hand away; this was a guest, to be offered any and all privileges. If her owner gave her hand to him, then it was his to keep for as long as he wished.
Then the other hand was retrieved from her lap without command, and again the bandaging removed. The knowing fingers of the guest touched the one sore that had been the most painful as if he knew how much it hurt, and the discussion was one-sided for a moment. At last, both of her hands were released, and she returned them to their properly folded state on her thighs.
Inzilanî felt Borongil's hand land on her head and remain there, warm against her hair, and she closed her eyes for a moment. No slave should be offered such caring, for it only made her want more, and she knew that her owner belonged to Malheril. She even was coming to like her mistress. The two of them were so kind to her.
"Inzilanî, tolo si."
This time it was her mistress, and when Inzilanî looked up, unsure of what was wanted, she blinked in surprise to see Malheril patting the couch cushion next to her. She couldn't mean that - to have her sit next to her in the presence of guests? But the mistress smiled and nodded. "Na. Tolo si."
A command was to be obeyed, even if it violated every rule that had been beaten into her over the last years. Inzilanî rose to her feet, again using every last bit of grace that had taken her so long to learn, and perched herself next to the mistress, carefully keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the rug. Just because the nimîr around her had forgotten or never learned proper behavior didn't mean she could set it aside herself.
But evidently Malheril had had a reason to call her over, for the mistress' fingers made quick work of undoing the laces of her gown at the back and gently pulled the material away. The guest had half-risen to his feet, but Inzilanî clearly heard the gasp. She wondered if the guest would now tell her owners what all the scars truly meant: that Inzilanî was a lazy slave who was slow to learn and had needed frequent beatings. Her face flushed, and she had to work not to cry.
Once more she felt fingers following that weal that still itched in its healing, touching the curved scar that went from just below her shoulder blade to nearly her tailbone. And then the gown was being closed and the laces tightened again. The stranger's hand cupped her cheek and then lifted her head, forcing her to look at him. Below dark brows and hair that looked like the finest silk, his eyes were a solemn grey, but they held kindness and a deep sadness. His thumb stroked her cheek, perhaps as a gesture of good will, and Inzilanî wished she dared glance at her owner to see what it was that he wanted her to do now.
The moment the guest's hand was withdrawn from her, the mistress' arm wrapped her shoulder and pulled her close. Inzilanî held very still so as not to offend or anger the lady, and let her gaze return to the floor where it belonged. The nimîr continued to talk among themselves, and Inzilanî again turned her mind away from the voices, even when Malheril's hand lifted from her shoulder to stroke her hair.
She had a hunch that the nimîr were discussing her, and hopefully not in a way that would mean that she would have to leave her wonderful new owners. But it made sense that Destiny would have shown her this short moment of beauty and humiliation just before taking her back into the dark world where she truly belonged.
Vocabulary (A)dúnaic (S)indarin
ammê - (A) mother
attô - (A) father
cam lîn - (S) your hand (cam=hand, lîn=your)
na - (S) yes
nethben - (S) little one (courtesy of Darth Fingon)
nimir - (A) elf
nimîr - (A) elves
sidh - (S) peace
tolo si - (S) come here (imperative)
urkan - (A) - orc (nom. case)
uruk - (A) - orc (obj. case)
This is one eatery that isn't going to go out of business very fast, I tell you! It's a very comforting thing to see how their patronage - both from the locals and from the tourists - keeps them hopping. The food's good too, which helps! BIG portions (I brought home half of mine because I was stuffed, and so did everybody else!) and good service too.
Wish it would decide if it's gonna rain or be nice weather. Hubby is out "following the lawn mower" again, while the skies look either like they're clearing (if you look in one direction) or like the storm's moving in (if you look in the other.) The breeze is chilly, so I gotta keep doors & windows closed lest my bronchitis kick up again. Lathron is helping Súl getting her apartment painted; today's tasks are to paint the ceiling tile runners and work on the accent panels of the living room walls. The place is certainly going to look very different from the way her grandparents had it for so long.
OK. Enough yammering. Here's the next chapter of this one. Enjoy!
Chapter 7 - Object of Interest
It was very dark, and Inzilanî was having trouble holding her eyes open. Everything was wrong: she was wearing clothing that was finer than anything even the Chieftain's daughter possessed back home; she had been told to sit at the table with Borongil and his lady and eat of their food, which was tastier than even the venison, as if an honored guest; she had been led by the hand to a chamber in which there was a narrow bed and told through gestures that she would sleep there; been told to change into another simple sleeping gown, and the fine gown laid aside apparently to be worn again in the morning; and finally and most incomprehensibly, tucked in beneath warm blankets by the mistress herself.
And now, in the dark, reality demanded to reassert itself. Inzilanî knew she was a slave. She knew she should be sleeping on a thin pallet at the foot of the master and mistress' bed, ready to do their slightest bidding at whatever hour of the day or night she was needed. She knew that she should be eating scraps, the bits and pieces of the fine food that the master and mistress didn't want. She knew these things, and yet the nimîr who owned her now evidently didn't.
What was more, she knew she should be dead, that she had no business being claimed by the nimîr, not even as a slave treated with proper strictness and discipline. She had… she had… Her eyes slipped shut, despite her best efforts.
"You! I should have killed you with the others!"
"But you didn't. That was a mistake."
The dagger made short work of shredding the trousers while the uruk roared with rage at the indignity of being helpless against mere slaves. She looked down at that most offensive part of him and then looked at the boys sitting on his legs. Their slowly growing grins of encouragement were all the incentive she had needed. She ran her finger along the edge of the dagger and found it sharper than anything the uruk owned. It would do nicely.
And the way those evil, red eyes widened when they realized what she intended made her heart beat all that much faster.
The dagger fell the first time, and the urkan began screaming…
And suddenly everything shifted, and it was she who was on the ground, and the urkan was on top of her, that part of him was again ripping into her viciously, making her scream, over and over and…
"Inzilanî!"
She flinched at the touch of gentle hands catching at her as she flailed, and she fought the strength in them until their reality penetrated the dream and forced it to evaporate back into the swirling black mess that was her memories. Frightened out of her wits, heart still pounding hard from the nightmare, Inzilanî stared at what she saw. Standing in the doorway, clad in a sleeping gown much like her own, Malheril held a single candle high with a shocked and horrified look on her face; it was Borongil, though, who sat on the edge of her bed and finally relaxed his hold on her as he saw she was seeing him again.
"Sidh, nethben." His hand smoothed over her brow as it had the last time she had had one of these dreams. The nimîr words that followed were soft, intended to calm. Inzilanî lay very still, the tears from the dream still running down the sides of her face into her ears, completely humiliated and scared now. She had awakened the master and mistress, no doubt disturbed their reunion - surely they would have been enjoying each other after such a dangerous and upsetting separation - and brought them to her side to stop the racket.
Why weren't they beating her for her audacity? Even Attô would have cuffed her hard for such behavior, if it had interrupted his time with Ammê!
Finally her wits and her training kicked in again, and she scuttled around Borongil and then off the little bed to the floor, where she planted her face in the soft pile of the rug. She was sorry, so very sorry! She would try harder not to sleep anymore, she decided; when she slept, these things got away from her control. Maybe moving to the floor from the bed, after the mistress left her, would help…
The moment she heard Borongil's frustrated sigh, she knew she had made yet another mistake. The nimir didn't like it when she prostrated herself and kept picking her up when she did, even though she had been beaten bloody by two previous owners for not doing so quickly enough or gracefully enough. Immediately she sat back on her heels, dismay at her mistake making her almost nauseous. She thought for a moment as she studied the pattern of the rug, then folded her hands over her heart in the salute that she had learned from him and bowed deeply, not quite putting her face to the floor.
Even that wasn't good enough, she realized, when Borongil's strong hands simply picked her up and brought her back to the bed and - to her absolute horror - onto his lap. Malheril moved as well, parking herself on the edge of the bed next to her mate, and suddenly Inzilanî found herself embraced by both nimîr! Borongil began to sing, and Malheril joined in only a few moments later. Inzilanî was pulled against his chest, regardless he wore no shirt or tunic, and Malheril's fingers toyed with her hair.
Now she was certain that her new owners didn't understand who she was - what she was. The worst part of it was that there was no way for her to tell them. She cursed the spirits and Destiny itself for giving her to someone who didn't know not to treat her as a slave. Now she would have to tolerate the kind of care that wasn't supposed to happen to people like her until she had enough of their words to tell them of their error. She shuddered to think of their anger and retribution when they discovered their mistakes. She would pay later for these kindnesses, and pay dearly.
Helpless at the moment, however, all she could do was lean against Borongil and softly weep, trying very hard not to feel the way his arms had tightened around her, or the way Malheril's fingers slipped through her hair and cupped her face. It was so hard to remember her place, when her place seemed to be so far away.
oOoOo
Inzilanî worked her cloth with the skill of long practice, easing the spot of dullness from the otherwise shining silver platter. Her morning had been just as frustratingly contrary as the evening before - climbing into clothing too good for her, eating with the master and mistress at their table again, having the mistress insist on combing her hair for her and having it left loose about her shoulders except for a tiny braid back from both temples that kept the rest from her face - but she had finally stumbled onto a task that they didn't deny her.
She watched the nimîr out of the corner of her eye, curious about them but unwilling to be too blatant in her interest. She knew the penalty for that. They, in turn, sat in the comfortable chairs near the hearth, watching her without shame, as was their right; and they spoke their words so quickly, though, that she resigned herself to needing a long time to learn enough of them to be able to say anything important. Still, at least they were allowing her to be more herself and make herself useful to them.
There! The platter now gleamed uniformly, and she carefully replaced it on its shelf after using the cloth to quickly dust around its place. Ah! That was something else she could do that maybe wouldn't anger them. She looked around the room that was the more public area of the quarters they occupied. There were plenty of shelves and small nooks and crannies that would attract dust. With a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't making them angry, she wielded the cloth over the graceful carvings that were the sides of the shelf the platter sat on, not sure if she were doing any good or not. There wasn't much dust there; perhaps there were other slaves that she just hadn't met yet?
A knock on their door made her flinch and drop to her knees, folding the cloth carefully and laying it over the top of her thighs and then folding her hands over it and lowering her gaze to the rug. Slaves were to remain unobtrusive when guests were present, and she was partly behind a chair…
"Inzilanî, tolo si."
She didn't know the last word, but the first one she understood. She tucked her cloth into a pocket she'd discovered in the skirt of her new gown, rose from her knees with all the grace that her Umbari owner had forced her to learn and walked over to her new owner. Without looking at him, she kneeled before him and gave him the deep salute of his people, then sat up while keeping her eyes trained on the rug. This action she could understand quite well. Owning a new slave was a jump in status, so it made sense for Borongil to want to show her off.
She heard her owner sigh and didn't understand it. Was she not graceful enough? Had she not sat up fast enough? She knew that the nimîr seemed to possess a natural grace; she was beginning to think that there was no way that she would ever match that. But he couldn't tell her, and she had no way of guessing; so she remained utterly still, waiting for her next command.
The nimîr words trickled from the newcomer's lips almost like song, and Inzilanî wished she dared look up to see just who would possess such a musical voice. Both her owner and his lady answered, and Inzilanî deliberately turned her mind away from trying to follow even the tones of voice. That would have been disrespectful too.
"Inzilanî." Again Borongil called for her attention, and this time she did look up at him. He held out his hand. "Cam lîn."
He wanted her… hand? Training made her offer her hand immediately, no matter the questions in her mind. Borongil pushed the delicate sleeve material back from her wrists and turned to the guest, and Inzilanî again looked down at the rug. The bandaging over her sores from the manacles was gently removed, and then a knowing but strange hand took charge of hers. Only the greatest discipline kept her from flinching back and pulling her hand away; this was a guest, to be offered any and all privileges. If her owner gave her hand to him, then it was his to keep for as long as he wished.
Then the other hand was retrieved from her lap without command, and again the bandaging removed. The knowing fingers of the guest touched the one sore that had been the most painful as if he knew how much it hurt, and the discussion was one-sided for a moment. At last, both of her hands were released, and she returned them to their properly folded state on her thighs.
Inzilanî felt Borongil's hand land on her head and remain there, warm against her hair, and she closed her eyes for a moment. No slave should be offered such caring, for it only made her want more, and she knew that her owner belonged to Malheril. She even was coming to like her mistress. The two of them were so kind to her.
"Inzilanî, tolo si."
This time it was her mistress, and when Inzilanî looked up, unsure of what was wanted, she blinked in surprise to see Malheril patting the couch cushion next to her. She couldn't mean that - to have her sit next to her in the presence of guests? But the mistress smiled and nodded. "Na. Tolo si."
A command was to be obeyed, even if it violated every rule that had been beaten into her over the last years. Inzilanî rose to her feet, again using every last bit of grace that had taken her so long to learn, and perched herself next to the mistress, carefully keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the rug. Just because the nimîr around her had forgotten or never learned proper behavior didn't mean she could set it aside herself.
But evidently Malheril had had a reason to call her over, for the mistress' fingers made quick work of undoing the laces of her gown at the back and gently pulled the material away. The guest had half-risen to his feet, but Inzilanî clearly heard the gasp. She wondered if the guest would now tell her owners what all the scars truly meant: that Inzilanî was a lazy slave who was slow to learn and had needed frequent beatings. Her face flushed, and she had to work not to cry.
Once more she felt fingers following that weal that still itched in its healing, touching the curved scar that went from just below her shoulder blade to nearly her tailbone. And then the gown was being closed and the laces tightened again. The stranger's hand cupped her cheek and then lifted her head, forcing her to look at him. Below dark brows and hair that looked like the finest silk, his eyes were a solemn grey, but they held kindness and a deep sadness. His thumb stroked her cheek, perhaps as a gesture of good will, and Inzilanî wished she dared glance at her owner to see what it was that he wanted her to do now.
The moment the guest's hand was withdrawn from her, the mistress' arm wrapped her shoulder and pulled her close. Inzilanî held very still so as not to offend or anger the lady, and let her gaze return to the floor where it belonged. The nimîr continued to talk among themselves, and Inzilanî again turned her mind away from the voices, even when Malheril's hand lifted from her shoulder to stroke her hair.
She had a hunch that the nimîr were discussing her, and hopefully not in a way that would mean that she would have to leave her wonderful new owners. But it made sense that Destiny would have shown her this short moment of beauty and humiliation just before taking her back into the dark world where she truly belonged.
Vocabulary (A)dúnaic (S)indarin
ammê - (A) mother
attô - (A) father
cam lîn - (S) your hand (cam=hand, lîn=your)
na - (S) yes
nethben - (S) little one (courtesy of Darth Fingon)
nimir - (A) elf
nimîr - (A) elves
sidh - (S) peace
tolo si - (S) come here (imperative)
urkan - (A) - orc (nom. case)
uruk - (A) - orc (obj. case)