Nessa sitting down at a table (in public) with a Byronic hero, their interaction causing le gasps and the clutching of pearls
There was a marked contrast between the jocular
Beren who teased and flirted with Lady
Isys (although the Lady was not amused by his dalliance and did not react the way he had perhaps expected her and/or wanted her to react) and the sombre man who walked over to the table, took one of the mismatched chairs and sat opposite her.
Nessa observed him, cataloguing the myriad of differences that had made a mark on him from the last moment they talked until now.
Aileen was rightfully worried, the healer thought with a heavy heart as the brooding man attempted to stall for time by fidgeting with his mug and blowing on the hot liquid in an attempt to cool it. As he took a sip and flinched, her lips curled upward into an amused smile. Apparently, the hot-blooded Byronic hero was not overly fond of spicy food and drink, and he made his preferences known to the not so amused Lady ranger turned bartender.
Nessa smiled fondly watching their interaction.
With a hint of that fond smile still on her face, she moved slightly in the chair, adjusting her posture, aware that they were in public and had already attracted curious glances.
Addhor’s son might have thought he was being inconspicuous, but the lad had much to learn in the art of discretion. It was well-meant,
Nessa was sure of it, but what might be overlooked when a man was in question would not be so easily tolerated when a woman was concerned. Especially a married woman, currently unaccompanied by her husband, sitting in a secluded corner (how secluded a table at an inn could be was always opened to interpretation) talking to a man of a certain reputation.
Turin knew that
Beren was her patient, she did not keep secrets from her husband, despite not being at liberty to say the reason why
Beren was seeing her (or rather supposed to be seeing her) in the Houses of Healing. However, she neither needed nor wanted idle gossip about her spreading around the White City and reaching the ears of her husband, friends and family. Most people were not aware that the post War years had been difficult for her and
Turin, and their unintended separation put an additional strain on their relationship. For the past year, both of them had worked hard on repairing their marriage. The trust and respect they had for one another and most of all the love between them (always the love between them) helped them come to terms with all the trials and tribulations they went through. It came at a great cost, but it was a price they were both more than willing to pay. Nevertheless, gossip would spread, such was the nature of things.
Still, it was best not to poke and prod too much at the wasps’ nest that was Minas Tirith’s gossip circle. Or circles seeing as the White City itself had 7 of them. None of these thoughts and concerns reflected on her face as she watched
Beren who was also troubled by his thoughts. He swirled the hot liquid in his cup with a cinnamon stick, his gaze was fixed on the dark and smooth surface of the
lebethron table. Something weighed heavily on his mind, she could see that clearly from his behaviour and posture. He seemed to her like a man who somehow sleepwalked or stumbled to the crossroads in a fog and was uncertain which path to take. She sat across from him in comfortable silence, something that came quite naturally to her, patiently waiting for him to speak.
When he finally did speak, he managed to surprise her. She had expected him to evade and deflect by telling her a funny story, or embellish his latest heroics courtship that might or might involve him being slapped one too many times because he was behaving like an idiot. Although, he would most certainly say he was being a perfect gentleman and had not deserved such mistreatment. He wasn’t the type of person who would easily open up to someone, to show how vulnerable he really was. Perhaps, all things considered, she shouldn’t have been surprised that the story he chose to tell her was a grim one. He was troubled by it, and the need to speak of this burden to her, his councillor and someone he trusted, was stronger and outweighed his reluctance to show vulnerability to her and the unsuitability of the inn for such conversations.
It was like a dam broke, words suddenly rushing out from him, unleashed from their chains. This memory was relentless, holding him in its claws, gripping him tightly, almost choking him. It demanded that the story be told. Resistance was futile, there was nothing he could do but tell it, and she could not distinguish if he had no control over his choice of words or he simply could not find the energy to choose his words with care. She could not suppress a shiver as he described the scene of the massacre at the fort, his descriptions of the horrors he had witnessed detailed and precise… As he spoke “
mutilated (…) severed heads mounted on the battlements (…) still wearing bedclothes (…)” her mind conjured and depicted these scenes in vivid detail. She was no stranger to blood, she knew well the sight, smell and taste of it. She was a healer who had seen and experienced first hand the horrors of War…
These things were not unknown to her, although people could not tell that by looking at her dressed as she was in an elegant wine coloured dress (the colour of blood) and holly woven in her hair. Still, she was shaken to the core as he continued “
hacked apart in their dormitories (…) their bodies, a feast for flies and vultures (…)”. She tried to push the images away by narrowing her focus on
Beren, watching his reactions. The trembling of his hands and how his body tensed in a fight or flight reflex before jolting in his seat at the sound of a dog barking in the street. Soldier’s heart, the healers of old had named the state that plagued him, but soldiers weren’t the only ones affected by this condition…
When he placed his hands on the table again
Nessa reached out to touch him, propriety be damned! Let them gossip, let them talk if they so wished. Dam them all to Udûn!
Beren was her patient, her friend, someone who needed her help and so she reached out with her slender fingers and gently held his hand in comfort, in support. It was the smallest of things she could do for him here and she hoped he understood. She could curse society and propriety to Udûn and back, but Irene de Argosy raised no fool. She could not tell if
Beren was aware of this, his mood changed like quicksilver and with it his tone.
“I took the Paws scouting. We tracked the Orcs across the Harnen Road for a day, ignoring the rain, until we came upon their riverside encampment that foggy night. We annihilated the horde… but not immediately. We repaid them well. You can do a lot with a knife.”
His words loosened like arrows that could not be called back. His green eyes locked on her hazel ones. She went rigid, paralysed by what he said. The words he used… “
You can do a lot with a knife” echoing in her mind. The way he said this, the way he looked at her at that moment. She could not move, her breath suspended… This was not the
Beren she knew. He was a complex man, a kaleidoscope of personalities – an outrageous flirt, a loyal friend, a mercurial Byronic hero… Many different complex and messy things, but always a good man… Above all things a good man, she reminded herself. She didn’t know this side of him and the image he allowed her to see shook her. She struggled to come to terms with this, to reconcile the image of a knight he tried so hard to present (to be) with this new image he allowed her to glimpse, the one of a berserker. Meanwhile, he continued seemingly unaware of the effect his words had on her. “Our brutality matched theirs. We were surgical. I wasn’t feeling merciful; neither were my boys or my girls. And we found out where they came from, springs in a riverine valley in the southern range of Ephel Dúath.”
He stopped suddenly, perhaps aware that he had said too much… She was hyperaware of everything around her. Of the glances not so subtly cast their way, of her hand touching his, how still and rigid she still was, how haunted and devastated he looked. His sudden silence that spoke louder than words… Her mind conjuring horrific images based on his descriptions, her imagination running wild by his silence… The fact that she was still holding her breath and that if she didn’t want to faint there and cause an uproar she needed to force herself to breathe… She exhaled, the breath rushing out of her mouth seemed louder than the rush and thunder of the Falls of Rauros.
She needed to breathe, to calm and centre herself so she could think clearly. “
Face the facts,” the memory of
Quintus de Scardena’s voice came vividly to mind. “
Then act on them. It’s the only mantra I know, the only doctrine I have to offer you, and it’s harder than you think, because I swear humans are determined to do anything but.*” The memory of her mentor’s impromptu lecture in the study of the Houses of Healing, while she was still his apprentice, helped her and (as always) guided her.
Quintus de Scardena was an unconventional healer and mentor, but he was a wise man.
Nessa took a deep breath, thankful for the silence between them that gave both of them time to collect their thoughts. Or face the facts in her case. She knew this wasn’t over, that there was more to this than he was prepared to tell her. Perhaps it was the moment and the place, for
Beren looked surprised himself with the number of things he confessed to her. In words and in silences, with his eyes and body language. She too was aware of the story she told him, not in words, but with her actions. Her facial expressions, the adjustment of her posture as they sat down on the table, her hand reaching out to touch his in comfort and still there, her paralysis and shock as his words “
You can do a lot with a knife.”
Nessa looked at him and faced the fact, trying to come to terms with what she knew and what she learnt. She was not a person prone to making decisions on the spot. She tended to be careful and preferred to think things through, although sometimes (perhaps more times than she’d like to admit) with
Turin she made spontaneous but still small and calculated risks. Her husband drew that from her. The background noise of the Inn, it’s patrons and staff served as a reminder that she did not have the luxury of time to reflect and carefully break apart and analyse everything. She could muse about this later tonight, at home while she wrote a letter to the
dotorésa about the state of their mutual friend and patient.
Despite the lack of time for careful reflection and analysis, she was not surprised by the fact that she did not think any less of
Beren.
Nessa admitted to herself that the rage and violence inside him frightened her. The thought that he could lose control over himself frightened her, the same way it frightened and tormented him. It clashed with the code of chivalry he held himself to, and the image of a knight he aspired to be. But she could not and did not think any less of him.
He was very human at this moment, and endearing o her, as he continued speaking. He mentioned a letter that waited for him after his return to the farm. The content of this (according to him) emasculating letter, she presumed, had pushed her already troubled patient over the edge… The foolish, prideful, stubborn man had turned to drink instead of reaching out to
Morana or her. Perhaps worrying that the two women would judge him or think less of him. The only judgement he would probably receive was a slap on the head from
Morana who would spend a good while carefully explaining (her explanation most assuredly peppered with choice Pelagriri profanities) why he was
a half-witted, scruffy-looking Fleeg herder. But he would undoubtedly survive the
dotorésa’s scolding; she was clearly very fond of her Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to know Man.
It seemed that they were both thinking about her; for after grumbling about how embarrassed he was to talk about
this to a woman (causing an arched eyebrow in response), he gave her his word that he would return. And if not she was allowed (ha!) to sic
Morana on him.
“She would like that, you know,” she said with an amused smile. “Morana is worried about you, Beren,” she told him, her tone serious. “She might be reluctant to admit this, but she worries about you.”
He looked away from her then, flabbergasted and uncomfortable by her comment. From what she could tell the relationship between the Byronic hero and the
dotorésa was complex, but neither was willing to say more on the matter. She respected their decision and their privacy, although she had heard rumours that they were lovers. Pelargir might not have 7 gossip circles, but people were still people and gossip and rumours flowed as fast as the Anduin to the sea, meandering around and tangling in the canals. There was a sudden shift in his mood as something or someone caught his attention. He made a rather silly face as he whistled and called out “Hey starshine!” and she smiled radiantly knowing who it was. She moved her hand from his and turned in her chair to see where her daughter was.
By the looks of things, her daughter was having a one-way chat with the little girl (
Dina) who was holding her cloth doll close. The blonde girl stuck close to the boy (
Berrik) who had his hands in his pockets.
Nessa looked over to
Hannah who was speaking to Lady
Isys and appeared to be awkwardly flustered. Her smile widened watching the scene and she wondered what happened between the children. And perhaps she might find out, for
Ellin turned round to see who was calling her and grinned widely when she noticed them.
“Uncle Bear!”
Ellin cried and waved before turning over to the blond girl and apparently offering a somewhat quick explanation of who she was greeting.
Nessa watched, her heart overflowed with joy and love, as her daughter sailed over to them and hugged
Beren freely, without a care in the world. Her smile turned soft and gentle as she noticed how
Beren relaxed and enjoyed her daughter’s affection. She was painfully aware that he craved and needed the comfort of a human touch after the harrowing experience he just relived in his confession. She could only do so much, bound by societal norms, but her daughter did not operate within those restrictions. She was a child still and free to openly show affection whenever and to whomever she wished.
Nessa felt a sharp pang in her heart when
Ellin turned her head to her with questions in her eyes; her daughter remembering her lessons in etiquette and wondering if this was appropriate. She nodded her head approvingly, fighting with tears that came to her eyes as she watched the scene before her. Her little girl was growing up so fast, and soon, all too soon she would be pushed into the world of adulthood…
She turned her head away from them so neither could see her distress and as her starling chirped at
Beren, she sought out
Hannah. The russet-haired girl could not have looked any more uncomfortable and torn between so many things that needed her attention.
Nessa swiped the tears from her eyes and gestured at
Hannah to go with
Pele as Lady
Isys was apparently directing the group of kids. The teen still looked uncertain, a concerned look on her face when she saw her mistress wiping away her eyes.
Nessa smiled at her and once again motioned to her to go, mouthing that she’d be there soon.
Hannah reaching new levels of teen awkwardness and feeling like she’s making faux passes left, right and centre with Ellin, Berrik and Dina
Hannah had the sinking feeling that she had somehow, quite unintentionally and unknowingly, done or said something to offend
Berrik. Ever since they entered the inn the boy was morose, with his hands stuck in his pockets and standing as far away from people as possible. He looked like he was uncomfortable to be in her company and so she wondered what was it that she had said or done to make him feel this way. She didn’t think she had been rude or said anything hurtful and insensitive. The girls seemed to be getting along fine, well
Ellin was chatting merrily at
Dina who was still there, albeit holding her cloth doll tightly to her. She didn’t seem scared or overwhelmed by her charge and that was a huge relief to her.
So
Hannah was the one that committed a terrible
faux pas and she bit her lip trying to figure out what she had done. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked the proprietress if they could wash up before they have something to eat. Maybe she should have kept quiet and not draw attention to that. She flushed, embarrassed by the thought, the right and proper thing to do would have been to let him ask himself. She meant well, but by meaning well and not asking him if it was alright to do this she offended him. She was just about to apologise for causing offence when two things happened.
Finally, the Lady ranger had a moment to spare for them and spoke. “We shall find you some nice water to make dirty,” the Lady said and continued gesturing to the Master Healer “Go with Pele there.”
Hannah blinked, slightly confused. Was this how high-born nobles spoke to people in Minas Tirith? The White City was indeed a strange and confusing place.
“Thank you milady,” she quietly told Lady
Isys unsure if she used the correct title. Before she could second-guess herself a whistle and a call came from the table where mistress
Nessa was talking to the unknown gentleman. She turned to look at the same time when
Ellin exclaimed “Uncle Bear!” and waved.
Hannah blinked in surprise, she was not aware that
Ellin had uncles. Mistress
Nessa had no siblings, only cousins, and master
Turin never mentioned his family… At least not in her earshot…
“That’s uncle Bear!”
Ellin said to
Dina like it all made perfect sense. “He’s a ranger just like my daddy! He’s with my mum,” the girl continued her explanation excitedly gesturing to her lady mother who was looking at them with a wide smile. “She didn’t mention he was coming to see her! I’m going to go say hi to him quickly. I’ll be back and then we can eat something!” she finished, nodded her head at
Dina and rushed over to greet the man.
Hannah stood where she was looking at her charge, then at
Berrik and
Dina, who was handling the chirping whirlwind that was
Ellin really well. She was unsure what to do, torn between her duty to watch over
Ellin, want to help her mistress who looked at the verge of crying and taking
Berrik and
Dina to the kitchen so they could all wash up before they had something to eat.
Luckily for the very indecisive and anxious teenager, her mistress saw her distress and signalled to follow the Master Healer. Pausing for a moment, still unsure, she saw that
Nessa was again gesturing her to go so she simply nodded and turned to
Dina and
Berrik.
“Let’s follow the Master Healer and wash up shall we?” she said trying to sound cheerful instead of flustered and clumsy as she felt. “I’m sure Ellin won’t be long,” she finished with a smile as the three of them obediently followed
Pele like ducklings. As the Master Healer set up a bucket of water in the corner next to the door along with a bar of soap and towel,
Hannah carefully rolled up the sleeve of her fine dress. Luckily for her, the sleeves were not as billowy as was the fashion now, so she could roll them up easily. She stepped up first and quickly but thoroughly washed her hands, just as the Master Healer instructed, and dried them on the towel. After she finished she moved away and gestured to
Dina to go next.
“You can wash your hands now, it’s alright,” she spoke to the girl as she knelt next to her careful not to touch her or her toy. “If you’d like you can leave your doll on the chair while you wash your hands. I promise no one will touch it. Or give it to Berrik if you’d like,” she suggested with a small smile looking at the girl. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” She got up slowly and moved slightly giving both of them space. Before she entered fully into the kitchen proper she gently touched
Berrik’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out looking at him, her cheeks flushed. “If I offended you somehow. It was not my intent. I’m sorry for making you or Dina uncomfortable…” she paused for a moment and looked at the floor and then continued quietly. “I’ll be here in the kitchen, helping out if you need me… I’m sure Ellin won’t be long and Dina can play with her if she wants too… If she doesn’t, come tell me and I’ll find something for her to do.”
Hannah felt too awkward to look
Berrik in the eyes so she turned her head to look at the kitchen. Kitchens were safe spaces, warm and comfortable, filled with delicious scents of foods. It didn’t matter how rich or poor you were the scent of cooking was always comforting. So she looked at this kitchen trying to see what she could do to help, but not be a nuisance at the same time. She wouldn’t want to ruin any of the food that was already on the stove. The sheer amount of vegetable peels under the table indicated that someone, perhaps the young man (
Unalmis) who stepped outside before they entered the kitchen did that, was busy. However, he left quite an amount of peeled potatoes on the table.
Smiling slightly
Hannah took a ribbon she tucked in the belt of her dress and quickly gathered her hair and tied it. She looked around for an apron so she wouldn’t ruin the dress she was wearing. Firstly, she was going to slice those already peeled potatoes on the table into thin slices, dry and salt them. Then she was going to fry them. She didn’t see any fish, but she never saw anybody refuse crisps, even the rich folks seemed to enjoy the poor man’s food. Maybe after that she could do make potato halves, that was a quick and easy dish. You simply washed the potatoes thoroughly, cut them in halves and seasoned them and drizzle with oil. You then put them in an oiled pan and shove them in a preheated oven and bake around 40 minutes. She’d usually serve them with bacon, but they’re fine just by themselves. Nodding happily to herself she found an apron, put it over her dress and tied it and got started on making her potato dishes.
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Author's note: Dear reader
4000+ years words later here we are. I offer my sincerest apologies for the trauma(s) you might have endured while reading this. @Tharmáras is to blame for 3/4, 2/3 surely half of the post I take sole responsibility for bringing Lord Byron into ME and turning him into a Noldor who will heroically die liberating ME from Sauron. He will surely one day appear in AoA for everyone's amusement The part marked with an * is taken from Richard K. Morgan's Broken Angels. Apparently, Quintus de Scardena is a Quellis. Quelle surprise. If you made it this far I thank you! You are far too kind. ))