- Joined
- Nov 28, 2022
- Messages
- 3,752
Aranya Estiel walked alone down the hot, dusty road leading from Tirion to its outlying villages. Her feet and back ached, her joints felt sore and stiff, and her heart didn’t know what to feel. The journey home took at least half a day on foot. And when she arrived, she wasn’t sure if she would be comforted by reuniting with her parents and childhood home, or if she would once again feel stifled and controlled. She had worked so hard to find some sense of freedom from the well-meaning parents who had chosen her occupation and tried to choose her husband. Would this holiday visit, short as it was, take away some of that hard-earned freedom?
And somehow the whole morning had slipped away from her. She had awoken in a panic that morning as she remembered the preparations she had forgotten about the night before. They were just a few small chores, but somehow they ate away her entire morning as she scrambled to get them done. So she had made most of the journey during the heat of the day. Her clothes clung to her body, her dark hair was damp and frizzy, and she felt disgusting overall. Though she had packed lightly, her basket felt heavier by the minute, and it kept thumping against her leg in an increasingly annoying way.
Maitimo had offered to send her a horse to borrow for the journey, so appalled was he when he learned how far she had to walk. But if Aranya had taken such an offer, she would have earned the scrutiny of the entire village.
Which reminded her, she’d have to be careful not to talk about Maitimo at all. Last time she had visited home, she had eagerly told her parents all about how she had helped him recover from his horse riding accident, and they had warned her not to get too attached to a patient. So that meant if anyone asked, she took her afternoon lunches all by herself. Absolutely no Fëanorian princes were picnicking with her, thank you very much! And she had not heard from Maitimo since his accident but could only assume he was doing well. What reason would someone of his status have to talk to her, after all? Oh yes, and if she did have to talk about him for some reason, he was Prince Nelyafinwë, not Maitimo. Aranya’s mother had raised her eyebrows to hear her refer to the prince with such familiarity.
However, the sight of the familiar old cottage, nestled amongst some birch trees at the top of a hill, made Aranya forget her annoyances, and the ache of comfort and longing settled into her heart. Even though she had rarely been home for the past several years, whenever she returned, it always felt like she had never left.
Her parents, who were called Antamo and Almanis, must have noticed her coming while she was still some ways down the path, because they both came running out of the house to meet her. They threw their arms around her in a warm embrace, and she laughed and embraced them in return.
“I know I’m disgusting,” she said with an apologetic smile.
“Greetings, Disgusting. I’m Atar,” her father said with a twinkle in his dark brown eyes. He rumpled her hair teasingly, and she rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but smile. Antamo wasn’t a particularly tall Elf, but he was strong and muscular from his years of carpentry work, so Aranya always found his embrace to be especially comforting—even if his jokes were a bit cheesy.
“We have a bath heated up for you already. There is some fresh lavender you can use if you’d like it,” her mother added. She was small and slight with dark, wavy hair like Aranya, but her gray eyes always held a look of seriousness.
“That sounds wonderful,” Aranya said. For all the annoyances that came with coming home, taking a bath here was practically enough to make it all worth it. No other servants were waiting to use the bathtub, so she could relax in the hot water and daydream as long as she wanted, and she could add whatever fragrant herbs and flowers she liked.
As they walked towards the house, Aranya noted the colorful, neatly arranged array of flowers and bushes adorning the front façade of the cottage. Peonies and rose bushes rustled softly in the breeze, daffodils and tulips added bright pops of color, and delicate forget-me-nots filled any otherwise unoccupied space on the ground. Her mother had always been an avid gardener as well as a healer, so the front of their house practically rivaled the gardens of the royal houses. Especially when this was combined with the stately wooden beams of the house, which Antamo had built, the cottage was a fine example of Noldorin craftsmanship, even if it was small.
Aranya had told Maitimo all about this place. He told her it sounded lovely and he wanted to visit it. If only…
“Oh! Before you bathe, I think there’s something you’d like to see,” Almanis said with a wink. She took her to the back gardens, which were much more extensive than the front, though a little less aesthetic. Almanis grew herbs and vegetables back here, and her father kept a beehive, so the place was always scattered with tools and flowerpots and bags of soil. However, there was something else towards the very back. Around the trunk of a tree grew an orchid, and Aranya gasped in delight when she saw its light purple and white blooms.
“It’s still alive!” she muttered in disbelief, fingering the velvety petals.
Almanis chuckled. “Have some faith in me! Did you really think I would forget your special flower? It nearly died on me a few times, but after I figured out how much water it does and doesn’t like, it has been thriving.”
During Aranya’s last visit home, she had discovered the plant just beginning to wrap its vinelike roots around the tree trunk, and she had carefully watered it and protected it until it started to bloom. She had told her mother about it, but not expected her to add such a fussy plant to her already-enormous list of plants to care for.
“Well, I know you already have so much to do and think about around here,” she said, smiling. “Thank you, Ammë.”
“It reminds me of you.” Mother’s voice was characteristically cool and composed, but a faint smile and sparkle in her gray eyes betrayed some warmth in her countenance. “And so I easily remember to check on it often.”
Aranya would have jumped in the bath immediately, but as soon as they walked inside, the smell of supper in the kitchen made her stomach growl. Her parents insisted she sit down and enjoy the roasted chicken, homemade pasta, and vegetables from the garden. Though the food was nowhere near as fine and rich as the things Maitimo occasionally brought her from the royal kitchen, it was leaps and bounds better than the practical yet plain food they served in the servant’s hall in the House of Nolofinwë. And most importantly, it tasted like home.
As the family sat down to eat, Almanis asked Aranya about her work in the healing halls. At first, Aranya didn’t get to eat much because she was too busy telling her in detail about the guard who had come in with a badly broken ankle, which had required a complicated surgery to treat.
“I thought for sure we’d have to send him to the House of Finwë,” Aranya explained. “But as it turns out, Arcamë knows how to do that exact procedure, having done it before when she worked with King Finwë’s healers. And she let me help!”
Aranya’s food grew colder by the minute as she excitedly explained the details of the procedure, and her mother smiled and nodded in approval.
“I believe you are more than capable of working alongside the healers of King Finwë,” she said. “It is such a shame you declined the invitation. Have you reconsidered it at all?”
Aranya’s smile faded, and she felt as though a dark cloud had suddenly crashed in on her mood. Why did Almanis feel the need to remind her of how she had humiliated herself in front of Prince Fëanáro and earned the scorn and judgment of Finwë’s healers? And how those healers were so strict and legalistic in their moral ideals that Aranya couldn’t stand the idea of working with them, and declined their invitation when they offered her a second chance?
“No,” she said coldly, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork. “I am quite happy at the House of Nolofinwë.”
“I know you are, but I wonder if it is the sort of place which would benefit you over the long term. The House of Finwë may still be open to you if you were to reach out to them again, and that opportunity may not be available forever.”
Aranya forced a smile and nodded, but did not respond.
As usual, her father came to the rescue by changing the subject. “Is that Tecno fellow still bothering you?”
Here, Aranya’s smile returned as a mischievous grin. “No… not since Prince Nolofinwë gave him a little talk. I’d give anything to know exactly what he said! Tecno seems terrified of me now.”
“As he ought to be, and should have been from the beginning!”
Aranya and Antamo laughed heartily. Almanis seemed less amused, primly cutting and eating her vegetables.
“Well, going back to what I said earlier about second chances,” Almanis said, “you do know, Aranya dear, you have much better options, and one who is close to home and still open to you, at that.”
Aranya groaned inwardly and tried not to roll her eyes. How many times did she have to communicate that she wasn’t interested in Moldo? He was a perfectly nice nér, and a respected carpenter in the village whom her father worked with, but Aranya just didn’t find herself enthralled with him. He was nice as a friend, but she couldn’t see him as her husband.
“I saw Moldo at the village dance last night, and he was so thoughtful to ask about you last night,” her mother went on. “He was asking about your work and your studies, and he had rather hoped you would be at the dance, since it was technically the beginning of the holiday week. And you know, a nér of quality like him won’t be available forever.”
Aranya was aware she could have possibly arrived home in time for last night’s dance. The healers had only worked till noon that day, but Aranya had chosen to spend the afternoon goofing around in the garden with Írissë rather than start her journey back home. She hadn’t been thinking about Moldo at all, but rather how much she wanted to avoid her village’s dance in general. Before she had moved away, she used to love these village dances. But ever since Maitimo had taught her ballroom dances, secretly in the woods, she found the unrefined dancing of village peasants to be utterly dull. Perhaps this was an unkind thought to have, but it wasn’t Aranya’s fault she had experienced near perfection in a dance partner!
Thankfully, her parents started talking to each other about Antamo’s work instead. Perhaps it was this conversation that caused Aranya to notice there was something different about the kitchen. The dining chairs were new: carved of birch wood, with legs resembling tree trunks. An ornate carving of a tree decorated the back, and these were painted gold on two of the chairs, and silver on the other two.
“Atar! Did you make these?” Aranya exclaimed.
“You only just noticed?” Antamo crossed his arms, feigning offense. “And I thought these were the crown jewel of the dining room!”
“Well, they can’t compete with this food,” Aranya said solemnly, joining in on his joke.
He nodded in defeat. “I suppose that’s fair.”
Aranya ended up being glad she ate before bathing, because it would have been hard to enjoy the bath on an empty stomach. Feeling full and content, she relaxed in the bath with its lavender and rose petals for a good long while. She soaked her hair in the water so it floated gracefully near the surface, and the flower petals settled into it. She found herself imagining she was a Maia of Ulmo; they often presented themselves as half-Elda and half-fish. It sounded like an odd combination, but based on the graceful statues and paintings she had seen of these creatures, they were a magical sight to behold.
The first real frustration of her visit came when she decided she wanted to break out her old art supplies and do some sketching before bed. She opened up the chest where she kept her art supplies and… they weren’t there. Some of her mother’s herbs and vials were in there instead.
She walked out to the sitting room, where her mother sat embroidering while her father read out loud to her. “Ammë?” she asked. “Where are my art supplies?”
“Hmm?” Almanis glanced up from her embroidery with a blank look on her face. “Why would I know where they are?”
“Because I found some of your medicinal supplies in my art chest.” Aranya hoped she didn’t sound as annoyed as she felt. It would be one thing if her mother at least had a good memory of the way she rearranged Aranya’s things. But no, Almanis liked to put Aranya’s things in places that made no sense and then forget about it.
“Oh! That’s right, I remember now. I put them in a storage box in the cellar. I figured it’s been years since you last used those supplies.”
Aranya nodded silently and returned to her room. It was all she could do to hold back the words on the tip of her tongue: It’s fair that you use my room for your own purposes while I’m gone. But why do you have to rifle through the contents of my boxes and make judgments on my behalf?
Regardless, she felt far too tired to go rummaging through the storage cellar. She’d relax with some embroidery for now and take up her sketching tomorrow.
Her irritation was forgotten, though, when she settled into her old bed for the night. It was still covered with the quilt she had made as a young girl. It had been her first real sewing project, and her mother had helped her with it quite a bit. It didn’t quite suit Aranya’s preferences anymore, since it was a hodgepodge of whatever loud colors and patterns had caught her eye back then. Now, she would have preferred a calmer color scheme of various pinks and purples. But the nostalgia of it was comforting. With that and the familiar feel of her old mattress, she fell asleep almost in an instant.
It was a good thing indeed that she hadn’t searched for her art supplies that night. She set to it the next morning, and it took her over an hour to move around, and look through, the various dusty crates and chests. Finally, she found her parchment and charcoal and paints in a plain-looking box, buried near the bottom of the pile.
To her disappointment, the paints were dried up. No matter; she could make do with just the parchment and charcoal.
Without bothering to put on shoes or do her hair, she took the supplies out to the woods, so her parents wouldn’t ask her what she was drawing. She sat on the swing which her father had built for her as a child, and rocked gently back and forth as she began her sketch. This was something she’d been wanting to try for some years now, but she never dared to at the House of Nolofinwë for fear of someone discovering it.
It was trickier than she’d expected without having Maitimo in front of her, and her sketching skills were rather rusty. But after several attempts, she felt satisfied that it was indeed his dimpled smile and his soft eyes staring up at her from the page.
Her heart yearned to show it to somebody, after spending so many hours of work on it. And it looked just like him, based solely on her memory of him! This was something to be proud of! But… who could she show it to? Perhaps it would be safe to show it to her parents, since they didn’t know Maitimo, and without the recognizable color of his hair, it could have just been some random good-looking Elda for all they knew. But they’d want to know who it was, or how she got the inspiration, and that she couldn’t explain.
She couldn’t take it back to show to Maitimo. He was mortified enough whenever his mother sculpted him in uncanny realism and anatomical correctness. This was different, but still, she didn’t want to risk embarrassing him any further.
Perhaps Írissë might like it, but then again, this was her cousin, so that could again be awkward for Aranya to explain. Írissë seemed to be strangely supportive of Aranya spending time with Maitimo, but Aranya had never told her openly about it.
In fact, it was probably safer to leave the drawing here at the cottage, and not show it to anybody, sad as it was. Aranya didn’t dare risk one of the other servants of Nolofinwë finding this.
As she sat on the swing, contemplating this, she nearly jumped when something soft brushed against her ankle. Glancing down, she saw the source of the touch: a fluffy white cat, staring up at her with big blue eyes.
“Oh, hello! Who might you be?” Aranya was unable to resist reaching down to pet the silky white fur. The cat pressed her head firmly into Aranya’s hand, and Aranya both heard and felt the low vibrations of a purr in the creature’s throat.
“Are you looking for a home? I can’t help, I’m afraid. They wouldn’t let me keep someone like you in the servants’ quarters, and I’m going back there soon,” Aranya said sullenly. But the cat didn’t seem to mind, and she kept brushing back and forth against Aranya’s ankles.
She glanced down at the drawing in her hands and had a very silly thought. “I guess you’re the only one I can show this to. Promise not to tell anyone? I’ll get in big trouble if anyone finds out.”
The cat looked her in the eye and blinked slowly.
Smiling, Aranya sat on the ground and presented the drawing to the cat, as though she were a discerning art critic. “If you only knew my subject, I think you’d say this is a remarkable likeness.”
The cat gave a chirplike meow as though in response, and then started to rub her face on the edges of the drawing. Out of instinct, Aranya nearly pulled the drawing away. But then she realized, if she couldn’t show the sketch to anyone else, Maitimo might as well get some love from this cat.
Besides, the cat didn’t damage the drawing by smudging any of the charcoal. As though she understood and respected the art, she only rubbed on the edges. Then, seemingly satisfied, she turned and trotted off into the forest, and promptly disappeared.
Aranya shook her head and smiled before standing and heading down the path towards home.
Upon returning to the cellar, with a heavy heart, she tenderly placed the drawing in that plain little box. Giving the Maitimo of her sketch one last look, she blew him a kiss and closed the lid. Then she put the box back where she found it. At least it wasn’t likely that her mother would look here again, and if she did, she wouldn’t know the subject of the portrait.
As she returned upstairs, Antamo was waiting for her in the kitchen, holding two baskets. “We are about to harvest the tomatoes,” he told her. “Would you like to help?”
“Gladly.” She took the basket he offered her… and a sudden intrusive thought entered her head. Tecno was always going on about the “excellent roasted tomatoes” frequently served in the House of Nolofinwë. Next time he bothered her, she suddenly imagined herself shoving one of these ripe garden tomatoes in his face. She could just picture the red juice and slimy seeds sliding down his face, and his already-round eyes wider than an owl’s.
“What are you smiling about?” Antamo asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“Just… shoving some overripe vegetables in the face of a deserving nér,” Aranya said, blinking innocently.
“Ah… well, make sure to take the ripest ones back to Prince Nolofinwë’s place. They’ll spoil too fast for us to use, and they may be of good use to you.”
They both laughed heartily and walked arm in arm to the garden.
Aranya might not have been able to bring a cute cat or her heartfelt drawing back to the House of Nolofinwë. But she could bring some weapons of self-defense with her father’s blessing. Weapons she was not forbidden as a healer to use.
She thought back to her earlier worries of losing her freedom by visiting home, and realized that had not happened after all. This holiday, she had gotten to enjoy her parents’ company without surrendering to their control. While the comments from her mother affirmed her choice to go to the House of Nolofinwë, at the end of the day, she was going back there, which was where she wanted to be. This was not the path her parents had chosen. Aranya was walking down the path she had chosen for herself.
Notes
Quenya words and names:
Almanis: flower woman
Ammë: mother
Antamo: one who gives
Aranya: free
Atar: father
Moldo: laborer
Nér: male elf
Tecno: one who writes
