88: Arafinwë at World’s End

Oddly enough, walking the rest of the way to Lady Nienna’s demesne seemed to steady Arafinwë. He found himself striding along at a good pace, rather than dragging his heels to delay the inevitable. Nor did he ever feel the need to test Lord Manwë’s threat and attempt to leave the road, though he found himself in a quandary when along the way he needed to relieve himself. He certainly didn’t want to do so on the road itself but he did not want to try to leave it for the bushes and trees that sat some distance from the road. He was wondering how long he could hold out when he came to a part of the road that cut through a series of low tree-covered hills and it was with more than one kind of relief that he saw that technically he would not be leaving the road, since the trees came right down to it and he was soon walking in their midst. He took a few tentative steps into the woods and when nothing dire occurred, hurriedly did what he needed to do and then set off again.

He did stop for a time to rest once but he did not linger, deciding the sooner he got to Lady Nienna’s the sooner he might be able to bathe and sleep in a real bed. Or, perhaps he would be forced to sleep on the floor, seeing as how Lord Manwë had made him carry his sleeping furs. He shrugged. It really didn’t matter to him anymore. It would be what it would be.

His pace slowed somewhat when he realized he was smelling brine in the air and knew he must be close to the Ekkaia. Now some of his earlier anxiety returned, but in the end he knew he had no choice but to continue. And so, eventually the road brought him to Lady Nienna’s demesne. He stood outside her manse and stared about in consternation. The front door — a heavy door of bog oak — was closed and there was no one to greet him. He was somewhat put out at first, then shook his head at his own arrogance. He was a thrall and apparently a bad one, else he wouldn’t have been sent here. Did he really expect anyone to greet him with open arms, singing and dancing their welcome?

Even as he was thinking this and chuckling to himself at his own folly, the door opened and Lady Nienna stepped out. Arafinwë gave her his obeisance without hesitation. She gave him a wintry smile.

"About time you got here," she said a bit acerbically.

"I came as quickly as I could, Lady," Arafinwë said neutrally. "Walking is slower than riding."

"So I’ve been told," she replied. "Well, let’s get you settled."

Arafinwë expected the Valië to usher him into her house, but instead, she closed the door behind her and started off at a brisk pace to the north. For a second or two, he just stood there in bemusement and then with a half-suppressed sigh, followed her along the headland. They did not go far but it was far enough that the manse was hidden behind bluffs. Here the cliffs were somewhat lower. Nestled in a small dell was a stone cottage with a wrap-around porch. Arafinwë could see a light through the shuttered window.

"You’ll be staying here," Nienna said as they reached the front door. "I think you would be better off on your own for a time. You’ve never really been on your own before, have you?"

She gave him a knowing look and he returned it with a more confused one. "I don’t know what you mean, Lady," he said. "Of course I’ve been alone...."

"I didn’t say ‘alone’, Pityahuan, I said ‘on your own’. There is a difference." When Arafinwë just stood there, his expression still bemused as he tried to puzzle out her meaning, she shrugged and gave him a slightly warmer smile than before. "Ah well. I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually. Now come. Here is your new home for a time." She opened the door and stepped across the threshold and the ellon followed.

He found himself in a single large room with a stove at one end where something savory simmered in a small kettle. At the other end was a sofa where one could sit and look out the north-facing window. A table sat in the middle of the room on which stood a lamp, its light giving the room a warm welcoming feel. Another door across from him he suspected led to a bedroom. It was a very plain cottage, its appointments not even as ornate as his atar’s hunting lodge located near Lord Oromë’s forest, yet Arafinwë thought it to be rather cozy. Swags of dried herbs, onions and garlic hung from the ceiling beams, and a bowl of dried flowers sitting on the table filled the cottage with a pleasant homey scent.

"Bedroom, bathing room and privy are through there," Nienna said, pointing to the door opposite them. "This cottage is your responsibility. You are to keep it clean. You’ll be cooking your own meals, though your first meal is already cooked for you. If you don’t know how to cook anything I will have one of my People show you some simple recipes. There’s a well around to the north where you can draw water. You’ll also need to chop wood for the stove yourself. If you’re not sure how to go about it, again, one of my People will show you. As for provisions, I don’t think I will trust you to hunt for your supper, at least not yet, so I will send someone along with fresh meat or fish every once in a while. Personal laundry is also your responsibility. I will have someone show you the stream where you can wash your clothes."

"I’m to have clothes?" Arafinwë asked in surprise, having resigned himself to the possibility that once he arrived at the manse he would be required to strip down to his loincloth again.

Nienna gave him another smile. "Unlike my brother, I prefer my servants to be properly dressed. I’ll have someone come by in a while with some suitable cloth. We’ll measure you and you can help make another set of trews and a tunic so you can wash one set and wear the other."

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow at that. Make his own clothes? He wasn’t sure he even knew which end of a sewing needle was which. Well, he would deal with it when he had to. "Thank you," he said, knowing it was expected of him, and frankly, he was grateful.

Nienna simply nodded and pointed back out the door. "Down that way is a path that leads to the beach. You are free to wander there but nowhere else. So, you are confined to this cottage or the beach below, or if you wish for company, you may come to the manse and find me. Stay on the path between here and my house. Wandering off it may prove... unfortunate."

Arafinwë wasn’t sure how to take that, so he merely nodded. Nienna gave him a piercing look and he forced himself not to flinch or look away. "You will notice some woods behind the cottage. They are forbidden to you. All the wood that you will need for your stove is stacked in a shack around the corner. You will need to chop it but that’s all. Any questions?"

Arafinwë actually had many questions but he wasn’t sure if any of them were appropriate. Nienna must have sensed something of his ambivalence, for she gave him another warm smile. "Don’t be afraid to ask questions, Arafinwë. It’s the only way you’ll learn."

Arafinwë licked his lips. "Why am I here, Lady? Why did Lor...I mean, why did my master send me here? Is this supposed to be my punishment for what I did to him?"

For a moment, Nienna did not answer. When she did, it was with a question of her own. "And do you think you deserve to be punished, child?"

"I’m a thrall and I disobeyed my master and... and I... I attacked Mánatamir... and...." He stuttered to a halt, feeling a mixture of shame and sorrow. "Why did I attack him?" he asked, his tone one of confusion. "I... I never thought I could actually...."

And then it was as if some dam had been breached and a flood of emotions assailed him and a kind of horror swept through him. The next thing he knew he was kneeling outside, retching into the tall grass that covered the bluff. He felt, rather than saw, Nienna kneeling beside him, supporting him until the last of the spasms shuddered through him. He felt weak and disoriented and meekly allowed himself to be led back inside the cottage. A Maia was there, one he did not know. He wore the grey surcoat with the fountain emblem of Lady Nienna on its front.

"Tiutalion," Arafinwë heard Nienna say to the Maia, "let’s get him out of these clothes. I’m afraid he’s sicked-up on them."

Arafinwë tried to protest, but Tiutalion quickly had him undressed and then he was being led into the bedroom and urged to get into bed. He was still feeling dizzy and confused, so his protestations were rather half-hearted. He gave a grateful sigh as he stretched out on the bed, the first bed he’d slept in since becoming Lord Manwë’s thrall. Nienna placed a cool hand on his brow and the dizzy feeling left him, but now he was growing sleepy.

"Rest now, Pityahuan," the Valië said softly. "We’ll deal with the whys and wherefores of your actions later. For now, sleep and be refreshed."

Arafinwë sought to stifle a yawn, but failed, and soon he was fast asleep, unaware that Nienna sat there through the hours of his slumber, keeping watch.

****

Arafinwë woke to confusion, not sure where he was. At first, finding himself in a bed, he thought he was back in Tirion and wondered if he’d just dreamt being Lord Manwë’s thrall and sleeping on a bed of furs. But as he became more awake and saw that he was in a strange bedroom, he realized that it had not been a dream. He struggled out of bed, wondering how long he’d slept. Even now he wished for the Light of the Trees. Their waxing and waning and mingling had delineated the hours for him, so that he only had to look at the light about him to know the hour. Now, he had no sense of time and it frustrated him. He sighed and climbed out of the bed, only just noticing that the trews and tunic he’d been wearing were spread across a chair, clean and freshly pressed. He went into the bathing room and splashed some water on his face and, after using the privy, he returned to the bedroom and donned the clothes. Pulling on his boots he stepped out to the main room to find that he was alone. The kettle of stew that had been simmering when he arrived had been moved to the hob and was still warm. He found himself feeling hungry and took a few minutes to hunt for a bowl and spoon. He discovered some bread and a decanter of wine as well. Soon he was sitting at the table happily eating. As simple as the meal was, it felt like a feast to him after having to eat that tasteless mush. He idly wondered just how long he’d been forced to eat it.

As he was sopping up the last of the stew with the bread, he was startled by a knock on the front door, nearly choking in surprise. Taking a quick swallow of the wine, he rose and went to the door, opening it to find a Maia standing there, one whom he vaguely recognized. The Maia smiled.

"Greetings. I am Tiutalion of the People of Nienna," he said.

Arafinwë nodded warily, remembering the name.

"May I come in?" the Maia asked gently.

Arafinwë blushed and stepped aside to let Tiutalion in.

"Ah, I see you’ve eaten," the Maia said brightly. "Good, good. Lady Nienna will be pleased."

Arafinwë shrugged, not really caring if Lady Nienna was pleased or not. Tiutalion flashed him a knowing smile. "Well, my lady sent me to teach you whatever you need to know to make yourself self-sufficient while you are here. Since you’ve finished eating we can start with that."

He rummaged about one of the lower cabinets and pulled out a cast-iron pot. "This will do," he said as he handed it to Arafinwë. "Fill this from the well if you would and we will heat it to wash the dishes."

For a moment, Arafinwë just stared at the pot, remembering the last time he’d been ordered to fetch water from a well, then he shook his head in self-disgust, grabbed the pot and went outside to the well, returning a few minutes later to find that Tiutalion had stoked up the stove. There was a tea kettle on the back burner.

Tiutalion smiled at Arafinwë as he came in. "I decided to cheat a little and save you another trip to the well," he said, placing a finger to his lips and giving Arafinwë a conspiratorial wink. That simple gesture warmed Arafinwë and the ellon found himself smiling in return, looking furtively about and whispering, "I won’t tell if you don’t."

"That’s the spirit," Tiutalion said in approval, giving a small laugh. "While we’re waiting for the water to heat up, let me show you how the stove works and where everything is."

And so, for the next several minutes, Tiutalion showed Arafinwë the stove, pointing out its features, showing him how to bank the coals and cautioning him against allowing the fire to go out completely. Then he showed him the cupboards and the various kitchen supplies. There was a cold-storage cupboard and Tiutalion watched as Arafinwë poured the rest of the stew into a smaller pot with a lid, placing it in the cupboard where there was already a round of new cheese and a bottle of milk, the cream on top.

"I suppose I should show you where the goats are kept so you can milk them yourself," Tiutalion said, "but I suppose we can deal with that later."

Arafinwë said nothing, keeping his expression neutral, silently vowing that they wouldn’t deal with it at all if he could help it. Finally, the water was hot enough and while Tiutalion busied himself with the tea things, Arafinwë washed and dried what few dishes there were, putting them away before joining the Maia at the table where he poured out some peppermint tea into delicate china cups. There was also a plate of ginger biscuits and Arafinwë nibbled on one as he drank his tea.

"Tell me what you already know how to do," Tiutalion said after a few moments of silence between them. "There’s no point my insulting you by telling you what you already know."

Arafinwë leaned back in his chair. "Well, I can scrub floors that are already clean and polish balustrades that don’t need polishing, and white-wash walls that have never needed a coat of paint and...."

Tiutalion held up his hand and Arafinwë stopped. The Maia gave him a considering look. "Bitterness ill becomes you, Pityahuan," he said.

"My name is Arafinwë," the Elf retorted, pushing his chair back to stand, pulling on the hated chain. "And if you remove this blasted collar, I’ll prove it."

Tiutalion remained seated, staring up at the ellon glowering at him. "It would be better for you to prove yourself Arafinwë with the collar on," he said quietly.

"Why?" the Noldo demanded angrily. "And how, with all of you calling me Pityahuan and patting me on the head like I was a good dog? As long as I have this around my neck," he pulled on the chain for emphasis, "I’ll never be Arafinwë. I’ll always be your Pityahuan."

"The collar has meaning only if you imbue it with such," the Maia countered. "Show us that you can indeed be Arafinwë even with that collar around your neck, show us that you are Noldóran, and it will not matter if the collar is removed or not."

Arafinwë glared at the Maia. "I am not Noldóran," he hissed angrily.

"Then, in that case, you shouldn’t mind so much being Pityahuan, because Pityahuan is not the Noldóran, only Arafinwë is." He stood up and took the tea things over to where the pot of washing water still sat on the stove and quickly rinsed them out and put them away, ignoring the Elf for the moment. When he was finished, he gestured at the pot. "Go empty this out," he ordered Arafinwë, "and then I’ll teach you a couple of simple recipes so you don’t starve. From now on, you will have to make your own meals. Someone will come along later to show you how to make bread."

Arafinwë took the pot and went outside, dumping the dirty water and returning to find Tiutalion rummaging in the cupboards, pulling out neatly labeled jars and bottles and placing them on the table. "We’ll start with soup and work our way up," the Maia said and then he proceeded to show Arafinwë how to make stock.

****

By the end of the cooking lesson, Arafinwë felt confident enough to be able to make soup and stew and roast a chicken in the oven and make meat pies. Another Maia, someone named Marilliën, came in at some point when Tiutalion was called away to other duties and proceeded to teach him a simple bread recipe and another for making ginger biscuits. "So you have something sweet to nibble on for afters," she said with a smile. Arafinwë deigned not to answer. In fact, throughout both cooking lessons he had remained silent except to ask a question or two. Otherwise, he went about his tasks with studied indifference, tucking the hated chain inside his tunic (he had yet to be given a belt) so it was out of the way. He carefully wrote out all the recipes as instructed into a book with blank pages that Tiutalion presented him.

"You can use this as your own cookbook as well as for writing down your observations, thoughts, and dreams, a journal if you will," the Maia explained and Arafinwë dutifully nodded, though he had no intention of ever recording his thoughts for others to read, least of all the Valar. Something in his expression must have alerted the Maia, for he gave the ellon a piercing look.

"This book is for you, child, and for no other," he said firmly. "No one, save Eru Ilúvatar, will ever know what you put in this book unless you choose to share it with them."

"I’m surprised," Arafinwë said somewhat disdainfully. "I thought thralls weren’t allowed to think or have opinions or dreams or anything save what their masters tell them."

"Well, as Lady Nienna will be happy to point out to you, Pityahuan, you may be Lord Manwë’s thrall, but you are not hers and she will deal with you as she sees fit and she sees fit to treat you as she would any Elf, whatever their status. If you choose to use this book solely for recording recipes or instructions for how to do something, that’s your prerogative, but Lady Nienna hopes you will use it for other things as well."

"What use is it for me to keep a journal?" Arafinwë protested.

"Perhaps no use," Tiutalion shot back with a shrug, "or perhaps you will discover something about yourself about which you were unaware. Self-revelation can be a powerful thing."

So, once the cooking lessons were done, he was left alone for a time. Marilliën assured him before she left that if he needed help with anything he need only call out her or Tiutalion’s name and they would come. "At least, at first," she said with a smile. "Eventually, you will be expected to figure things out for yourself. For now, enjoy your free time. Someone will come along in a while after you’ve rested and measure you for clothes."

For a time, Arafinwë was at a loss as to what to do. He was sitting on the sofa staring out the window, but every once in a while he found himself glancing to where the cookbook or journal or whatever it was supposed to be sat on the table. Finally, he went over and sat down, opening the book and flipping the pages where he had written down the recipes until he came to a blank page. He stared at it for the longest time, the lamplight flickering shadows across the blank vellum. Then he uncorked the bottle of ink, picked up the quill, checking to see that it was sharp, dipped it into the ink and after hesitating a second or two began writing in a rather haphazard manner, with no thought of coherence, merely writing whatever came:

I am a thrall I am a thrall I am a thrall but I don’t want to be a thrall but I don’t know how to be anything else my name is Arafinwë but it isn’t Arafinwë it’s Pityahuan but I don’t want to be Pityahuan but how can I be Arafinwë please help me someone please help me I don’t know what to do anymore I am a thrall but I don’t want....

Tears he didn’t realize he’d been shedding fell upon the page, smearing the ink even as he kept writing the same words over and over again upon the page:

...help me please someone....

He wrote for the third time and then he dropped the quill and wept in earnest, great sobs wracking his hröa, the tears dropping heedlessly upon the book, the ink running until only a single phrase was legible:

... áme resta iquista....

... help me please....