Numenor That Was by Himring

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The Crane and the Crow

A working-class girl gets entangled in the intrigues at the court of the last King of Numenor.
It earns her mortal danger and heartbreak--and ultimately survival.

Warnings for death of an OFC with canon-typical violence as well as occasional prostitution and class differences, which render the central relationship arguably dub-con.

(Rating: on the Mature side of Teens)

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Inzilmith could so easily not have been on one of the Nine Ships lying off Romenna.

Inzilmith was not one of the Faithful. Faith, of any kind, was too costly an item for one like her. It was something for the noble, the wealthy. Maybe it had been different in the past. Maybe it might be different in Romenna, for those who happened to live there.

It did not mean she was a follower of the Zigur--she was entirely uncertain whether he was able to make good on any of his promises and in any case very certain they were not on offer to one like her. On most days, she was less bothered about immortality than about survival. She had a roof to keep over her head, tomorrow's crust still too earn.

She worked as a seamstress, long hours into the night, ruining her eyes by the light of a tallow lamp. She sold her work and sometimes the fitting sessions gained her a little extra. That had come hard, the first time she sold herself along with her work, but she hadn't eaten for two days and desperately needed to pay the week's rent. She had got used to it. Faith, after all, was for those who knew where the next meal was coming from.

Things had changed a little when she acquired patronage. It had started with the red bodice. She had dared to experiment a little with the embroidery; the pattern showed a crane and a crow flying together, as if in friendship. It had caught the Lady's eye. Soon more orders were coming her way.

The Lady was from Romenna, rumoured to be one of the Faithful--that was potentially dangerous, but the Lady was discreet. Inzilmith had never seen any evidence of association with the Elendili when she visited the household to make deliveries. And the Lady was high-born, a distant relative of Lord Amandil. She was a lady-in-waiting to the Queen. She would be safe, someone like her--the Zigur would not dare to touch her.

Meanwhile, Inzilmith was making presents for the Queen! The Lady had gifted a scarf she had embroidered to Tar-Miriel and even relayed back compliments. Inzilmith fed better. She was working shorter hours and she was beginning to dare to say no to her other employers when it came to that little bit extra.

She had not said no to the Lady. It would have been stupid to say no. And besides... But that was where that thought stopped, always.

Until that night came, when she went to deliver the sky-blue gown and the house seemed darker and emptier than she was accustomed to. Something must have upset the household. The servant who had admitted her clearly had his mind on other things; he almost turned her away before she reminded him that she was expected.

The Lady's room was as bright as usual--glittering with mirrors and silver that reflected the light of many scented candles. But the Lady stood in the middle of the room, facing the door, when it opened, as if she had been waiting--and not for the sky-blue gown.

'Close the door, Inzilmith, please,' she said.

Inzilmith did. She was suddenly afraid, realizing that she should have been all along.

'I've had warning today, Inzilmith. Not a very definite warning--but the most I'm likely to get and lucky to get that. The Zigur--he's coming for me. Perhaps not quite yet, but soon. A matter of days now, I think.'

'The Queen...', Inzilmith whispered, in shock.

The Lady shook her head. 'She would protect me if she could. In any case...'

The Lady picked up a heavy purse from an elaborately-carved three-legged table.

'Inzilmith, I'm afraid you're too closely associated with me. Take this and go hide. Stay out of sight. And if they should catch you, say you stole the money and ran. I will say that, too...'

But you don't even love me, thought Inzilmith. You love the Valar--and the Queen.

It was an entirely stupid thought to be thinking, at that point. But she just stood there, clutching the parcel with the sky-blue gown to her chest, gaping at the Lady--and maybe the stupid thought--the one she had been trying not to think, the one that had already been hurting, even before this--showed clearly on her face, because the Lady came toward her and--for the last time--there was the cloud of her dusky hair and the smell of sandalwood and the gentle touch.

'I'm so very sorry, my Flower,' said the Lady.

She kissed her on the mouth and took the parcel from her and put the purse in her hand.

'Go now,' she said. 'Quickly. Be safe.'

 

***

 

Tar-Miriel stood calm and impassive. She had trained herself some time ago not to flinch at the screams and the smell of burning flesh--for all the good it did her.

She met the Zigur's gaze, for a moment. Then she looked away and straight at the pyre, willing her eyes not to focus.

Oh yes, you've got me well and truly trapped, she thought. I cannot hope to trust anybody around me again--now you've demonstrated so effectively that I can't protect even those closest to me...

As she turned away, she became aware again, with a sharp pang, of the feel of embroidered silk against her skin. She had tied the scarf she had been given around her middle, underneath all her finery, like a sash.

 

***

 

'Go and hide,' the Lady had said. 'Stay out of sight.' She had not said: 'Go to Romenna and ask Lord Elendil for help.'

Inzilmith, weeping and cursing on the road to Romenna, knew that it was no use, that it was already too late, that it was foolish and dangerous, that she was wasting the Lady's money... She guessed she had found her Faith on the road to Romenna, although she would find it hard to say, even later, what that Faith consisted in.

It was foolish and dangerous and useless. By the time she managed to reach Elendil and speak to him, the Lady was burned and dead.

But it got her a place on one of the Nine Ships--and so ultimately survival.

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Chapter End Notes

Whatever kind of feelings the Queen and the Lady  had for each other, in this story, my background assumption is that under the circumstances nothing physical had happened between them, because Sauron could have used it against them (except unfortunately that didn't stop him). But this would not have made Tar-Miriel's loss less intense.

This piece was a late entry for the International Day of Slash challenge at the Library of Moria.
I had a prompt, but did not follow it closely.
The prompt was the following (wonderful) poem by Li Yu:
Beneath the moon, before the steps, all cherry blossom has fallen,
Enwreathed in smoke, she looks sorrowful lying in bed.
She feels the same regret today as one long year ago.
Both braids like cloud in disarray, her face is wan and sallow,
The crimson corset wet from wiping tears.
But what's the reason why she suffers so?
She lies in a drunken dream before the window.

(I read up on Li Yu's biography, which is fascinating and also may have influenced me in tone, but not in any particular detail.)

Also taking inspiration from several prompts from Tolkien Femslash Week (but not as a valid entry for the TFSW Bingo) and a drabbletag prompt by Zdenka