Naurthoniel and the Heroism of Housekeeping in Mithrim by Himring

Chapter 4: Have A Rose

When she was finally caught, it was because she no longer expected to be. As she was crossing the yard with yet another basketful of baked goods and miscellaneous other items, she was partly wondering whether she ought really to have included that pair of socks she had just finished knitting and partly fuming that all this secrecy was still necessary. Oh, how could those negotiations have just failed again and why?

At this point, she passed within a couple of feet of Maglor and his brothers Curufin and Caranthir and Maglor—preoccupied and distracted by his anxieties about those same negotiations but rousing himself to take a kindly interest—asked her: ‘That looks rather heavy, Narye. What have you got in there?’

She could simply have told him the truth and got away with it. It would not have occurred to him to question her further. But because she was unprepared for the question—because she had forgotten for a moment just how much she was trying to avoid drawing attention to that basket—she froze. Icy fear travelled down her spine and clouded her thinking.

A fraction of a second before her common sense kicked back in, she heard herself blurt out: ‘Roses!’—and then she froze again, this time in horror. Idiot. Oh, idiot!

Maglor, startled but still too distracted to be suspicious, asked: ‘Roses, in this season?’ At the same time, he reached out and, before she could draw away, he had opened the lid of the basket.

There was a moment of utter silence. Maglor had always been prone to moments of profound absentmindedness when the music of the Ainur sang too loudly to him, but he had never been a fool. Naurthoniel knew she ought to be studying the expression on his face to find out what fate might be in store for her—however her king chose to regard her transgression: at the least lying and theft, at the worst treachery and fraternization with the enemy—but terror seemed to have struck her blind; she could not see.

Then Maglor’s voice rang  out about her, golden and vibrant: ‘Ah, roses! What colour! What scent!’

He had been a poet and a magnificent performer, of course, before he became a king saddled with an impossible legacy, and even now the power of his voice was such that Naurthoniel, completely befuddled, found herself staring into her basket as if the miraculous transformation might actually have taken place—and also considering, absurdly, what a waste that would be.

She looked up again, wide-eyed, to see Curufin furiously open his mouth just as Caranthir’s elbow crashed into Curufin’s ribs with an impact that made Naurthoniel wince. Curufin took a look at Maglor and thought better of what he had been about to say. Caranthir’s ruddy face was completely expressionless.

Naurthoniel thought that Caranthir said so little, except for his rare, violent outbursts, that she had quite forgotten just how much he knew about people. And because, poor man, he could not really stand any of them at all, she had entirely overlooked the possibility that he might actually be on her side in this.

‘Have a rose then’, she said in confusion, still looking at Caranthir, and pressed a freshly-baked bannock into Maglor’s hand.

And then she took to her heels and ran, because at their usual meeting-place on the outskirts of the camp Huntress was already waiting for her.

***

‘I turned out not to be all that good at adventures and exploration’, she said to Maedhros. ‘Maybe I should stay behind this time.’

She spoke with reluctance. The imagination of some of the Fingolfinians had seized on the rose incident and they had decided that she was an exception, the one good Feanorian who proved the rule. That was completely wrong, she felt, a highly embarrassing misunderstanding, but it did mean that she was unlikely to encounter obstacles or harassment if she stayed in Mithrim.

Maedhros sighed and rubbed his hand across his face. She wondered whether those unnatural scars that were refusing to fade perhaps still itched at times.

They had not talked much about past events. She knew when Maglor had told him about the rose incident because Maedhros had sent her a formal letter of condolence on the death of her aunt from his sickbed, penned by a secretary, together with a pot of roses in a small basket. She had supervised his meal trays, charting the progress of his recovery. Every time too much of the solid food came back uneaten, she had substituted thin gruel again.

‘There will have to be a certain amount of exploration’, said Maedhros. ‘But when we are done exploring, I am planning to build a castle out there, Narye, a large castle with thick walls. And it will not only be for warriors—although many of us will have to be warriors for we will be at war there as much as here. It will also be a refuge in times of danger for all those who live round about.

‘A large castle, Narye, a permanent garrison and perhaps refugees—that is a lot of people to be fed and kept warm and clothed! And I confess I was hoping you and Ceredir would help me with that.’

Naurthoniel looked at him and remembered him as he had been in Tirion: the eldest son of Feanor descending onto the benches in front of their inn with a flock of young people like brightly-coloured birds.

‘And now you must—all of you!—order one of Narye’s famous cinnamon buns’, he had said to them, lightly, playfully, but with astonishing authority. ‘I promise you they are bound to induce a helpless craving in you to have just one more, just another bite, ever after!’

She had sold out that afternoon and every afternoon he came.

They had had a running joke between them about his alleged vanity, going back to the moment she had found herself reassuring him:

‘No, no, don’t worry—I am not at all serious about you! I just admire your looks!’

They would have to find something else to joke about now.

‘Yes’, she said, ‘I’m coming. I’ll run your castle for you.’

***

It took her completely by surprise when Huntress decided she was coming, too.

Chapter End Notes

The Miracle of the Roses is a story told about St Elizabeth of Hungary (and, later, other saints). The plot needed some major adaptations to fit a Feanorian context!