Naurthoniel and the Heroism of Housekeeping in Mithrim by Himring

Chapter 1: Sneaky For A Noldo

A little more firmly than necessary, she pushed the tray with the left-over onion pasties back into the oven to re-heat them. In the shadowy corner, concealed behind a stack of firewood, sat the carrier-basket she had packed with so much care and thought. She stopped herself from glancing anxiously that way again. Better not be careless now--although the evening meal was over and there was no one except for her in the kitchen any longer, somebody might still come in any moment for this or that, the way they did, and notice.

She herself had eaten nothing. Her stomach was cramping with tension, too much even to consider the idea of food.  She stared at the oven—she needed to pay more attention to what she was doing—and sniffed. Where those pasties hot enough? No matter, they would do. She was running out of time. She pulled the tray out and slid the pasties onto a wooden platter.

She bit her lips, listening for steps. There were none, just the rise and fall of voices some distance away. She grabbed the carrier-basket—it was heavy, filled to the brim—and slung it over her shoulders, stopped to listen again,  picked up the platter with the pasties in her left hand and, opening the door with her right, slipped out into the darkness.

Trying to walk unobtrusively between the tents and huts without actually hiding—there was no reason why she shouldn’t be carrying a heavy basket around this evening, if she wanted to, but oh, how conspicuous she felt! She told herself: Don’t run. Don’t look anxious and draw attention to yourself. You haven’t even done anything yet…

She reached the agreed spot and, as expected, nobody was around at this hour. She slipped the basket off her shoulders and leant it against the wall. Then she took a deep breath, let it out again, and walked casually around the hut to the guard post where Ceredir would be keeping watch.

He was there, and another on guard with him.

‘Aiya, Carindo!’

‘Narye! That’s a surprise! What brings you here so late?’

‘I made onion pasties tonight. There were some left over. I remembered how you like them and that you would not have had a chance to have any, on guard out here, so I thought I would warm them up a bit and take them out to you.’

‘Narye, you are a treasure!  Minyo, have you tasted any of Narye’s onion pasties before? No? Then you are in for a treat, I can tell you!’

She placed the platter into Ceredir’s hands, smiling. It felt almost natural.

‘Enjoy!’ she bade them, warmly, and left.

She made as if to walk back into the centre of the camp, but reaching the shadows under the eaves of the last hut, she turned sharply, circled a bush and headed straight back out, sure all the while that Ceredir and his companion were watching her every move and any moment now would call out and ask her what she thought she was playing at. She should have told Ceredir what she was planning to do. He would have understood; she was almost certain of that. She had not wanted to get him into trouble.  Was she even sure that there was any trouble to get into? All this was so ridiculous, playing hide and seek with Ceredir as if they were still children together…

No call came. Maybe her plan had worked and Ceredir and his friend were too engrossed in the pasties to notice her odd behaviour. Or maybe Ceredir had seen her, immediately guessed what she was doing and decided to keep his mouth shut. And in truth, the task of the guards was mainly to keep orcs—and maybe, just maybe Fingolfinians—from getting in, not anyone of their own from getting out. But, because of the possible dangers out there, nobody could go for a lonely midnight stroll without raising questions she did not want asked.

She had passed through the open space around the edge of the Feanorian camp. She had made it; she was outside. She had not been confined to the camp, of course; in fact, she had been out here frequently, although more often during the day and hardly ever alone, but tonight things felt different. There was a border she had crossed.

The black bushes that now sheltered her from the sight of the guards should have felt friendly and quite familiar. Instead, they felt alien. She was reminded that she was a Noldo in exile, standing in foreign territory. It was she herself who had picked a night of no moon to undertake this venture and yet...

There was an almost inaudible rustle. She was sure that even that sound was solely for her benefit. Suddenly, the Sinda was there, almost in front of her nose. As her eyes began to adjust, she saw that the Sinda was carrying her basket. So she had retrieved it from where Naurthoniel had deposited it for her to find.

‘There you are. Very sneaky, for a Lachenn’, said the Sinda. She sounded amused, perhaps even mocking.

‘Hush’, muttered Naurthoniel. ‘Let’s get going, quickly. It’s quite a long way.’

The Sinda shrugged. ‘That’s a heavy basket. Shall I carry it for you?’

‘No! I’ll carry it. You look out for…things.’

Without more ado, the Sinda helped her to shoulder the basket again. The weight of it felt almost comforting now; it seemed to steady Naurthoniel. She lifted her head.

‘Lead the way’, she murmured.

Together, the Noldo and the Sinda disappeared into the night of Mithrim.

Chapter End Notes

Name fudge:

Naurthoniel and Ceredir were named originally  (in my Aredhel story),  before I knew whether they were Noldor or Sindar, so I named them in Sindarin. Sadly, I suspect Naurthoniel translates into something awful-sounding in Quenya (Nar-Tintalle??!), so for now everyone's using the pet form Narye, unless I can figure out an alternative.

Ceredir  translates as Carindo. Maybe.