Forth Again, to Behold the Stars by feanorusrex

Chapter 4

inreth was ordinary. To live in a place that was not ravaged by Easterlings, or by dragons, or anything violently evil and antagonistic, was mind boggling to her. Niënor almost could not believe that such a place existed, and normal life was a new and novel thing to her.

And yet this quiet town had been her home for the past seven months. She begun to work at an inn to earn money, while Brandir was an assistant to Linreth's one overworked, aging healer. She found that to work was rewarding. She learned to do tasks efficiently and well. Niënor had friends, something that, save Brandir, she had never possessed, because even in Doriath, she and her mother had kept to themselves. Nienor thought that eventually she would like to leave the work at the inn, and join Brandir at healing, but at the present a steady income must be had. But now she could plan for her future. Nienor possessed goals for her life. This was all new.

Sigren wrote to them faithfully. Brethil was alright, she reported. Hilda had indeed become chief, but her leadership remained untested as the town was currently at peace. Sigren often included brief greetings from other villagers from other villagers, those who probably felt guilty, at Brandir's departure. Nienor would have snubbed such people blankly- where was their generosity when Brandir sought aid for Túrin?- but Brandir relayed messages back to them all in his responses to Sigren. "You are too kind," Niënor told him, watching him write back.

"They were my friends and neighbors for all my years of life. I can at least be cordial," he responded. Brandir would eternally seek the good in all people, and Niënor admired that, even as she knew that she would not be capable of the same.

Her new life was not all easy. During the night she often woke with a gasping, shuddering fear, a fear that though she had cheated death and doom, but that it was not satisfied and pursued her still. Her cries carried over to her waking where she lay, shaking on her portion of the bed that she and Brandir still shared, because furniture was quite expensive.

She knew that Brandir heard her crying out- and she hated that he did- but he would not speak to comfort her, for Niënor acted strong, even around him, and he seemed to believe her act, or know that she was trying to be so. He would not hold her either, as he has when she was Niníel, not with them in the same bed and all. So Niënor bore the grief and terror over something that she could not name, alone and still, in the darkness, not crying. She stroked her belly, large with another person dwelling inside, thinking that if a child could sense the moods of its mother, she should try to reassure morning sickness stopped in time, her stomach becoming accustomed to the weight against it.

The one thing from her past that she carried into her her new life, besides an unborn baby that she strove to want, were the memories of her mother. Where was Morwen Eledhwen now? In the dark nights, Niënor mentally traced her family across Middle-earth. Turin was dead and buried at Cabed-en-Aras. Húrin was dead, or captured as Morwen always insisted, at Angband. A blonde older sister was dead at Hithlum before Niënor had been born. And she was alive. Where had her mother gone to, after they were seperated? If she had fallen under Glaurung's sway, he was dead now, and her mind would be free. Unless she was dead. But Morwen had not been old in body when they left Doriath, and the women that Nienor ahd known would not let an inglorious death take her- surely? So many unknowns.

Finding her father was impossible, even though the one place where he would be was known, and finding her mother was equally so. It frustrated Niënor, that her mother could possibly be so close, and yet she knew no place to begin searching, so she would stay put while Morwen remained lost. At night Niënor prayed for protection for that proud wandering women, having spent enough time among the elves to have at least an acquired reverence for their gods.

When Niënor finally gave birth, she was in more pain than any other time in either of her previous lives. It was late fall, and her skin felt feverishly hot nonetheless as she convulsed on the bed, her body wracked with movements not her own. Brandir was there, and one of the new healers that he had been training. Everything was progressing as it should be he said again and again, as the birth continued, reassuring her. There seemed to be no real need for assistance, and Nienor wished that she could send them away, to suffer alone, so that she would not be seen like this, sweating and helpless. But Brandir was her supposed husband, and her friend, and she she submitted to their ministrations. Her mind came back to her earlier fears about this child being a monster, maybe that was the cause of the pain, they would have to kill it after she gave birth, and Brena, the other healer here, because she could not know about this, she would figure out what Niënor had done, with her own brother...

I shall die, she thought, her mind clear beyond the pain. I shall die like this, weak and passive, killed by Túrin's worse deed, as Glaurung had called it. And then she heard crying and saw blackness, and when she woke, there was a child, a girl, and the dragon had been wrong, for this baby was the most perfect thing that Niënor had ever seen.

Now she cried, for the first time in her new life, overcome with the emotion but utterly happy this time, as she held the tiny red faced infant that had the same color eyes as her own. Lalaith, she thought, for a name. That had been the name of her mother's first child, the happy little girl who Niënor had only learned about from servants, because her mother had never mentioned her. Lalaith, meaning laughter. She, mourning, had given birth to joy.

The baby looked like her, and Niënor was glad, for it was her child, never to be touched by the shadow of Túrin's life. Now that she was a mother, Niënor could fully understand the grief it must have caused her own mother to send Turin away, the only thing that she had left in the world, to Doriath for protection. She could not part with Lalaith, who wrapped her tiny hands around Niënor's large ones, for anything.

And it was good, too, that the child resembled her too, because it was supposed to be Brandir's child, and Túrin and he looked nothing like the latter. She had gotten used to the little things that came with pretending to be married.

It was wrong, what people said, about having the innate ability to mother a child. All the skills were not there at her disposable after giving birth. Lalaith's mind was as Niníel's had been, young and learning about the entire world around her, and so Nienor began parenthood terrified that she would do accidentally do some ill and hurt this tiny person she had been given. Has she done something wrong? She wondered as Lalaith cried intermittently during the nights. Did she cry this much when she was a baby? Niënor forged ahead, wishing for Morwen's help. "I am sorry," she said to Brandir during one such night when Lalaith's cries woke them both up. "She is not even your child, you should not have to hear this-"

"All babies cry, you need not apologize. You wept often as Niníel, because you had no words with which to express your feelings. She is the same." Brandir said, rising and lifting the baby from her cradle. His comforting of Lalaith seemed to work, and Nienor fell back into sleep instantly, exhausted, grateful.

Watching her child grow served to spark Niënor's interest in memory and the human mind. Lalaith will eventually speak, later read and write, and learn about the world around her. But babies did not need to learn languages in the way that she had. Niníel was taught how to speak again, but Lalaith would eventually call her 'Mama,' after only hearing it said by those around her. She would understand that was what people called parents, instinctively. Similarly, the concept of numbers was understood by young children, but back in Brethil, Niníel had sat with a slate while Brandir explained that certain quantities of things were called one word, and others were called a different name. What made the difference? What was so different about a child's mind? If she sang Elvish lullabies to Lalaith, would she be able to speak their tongue as well?

And as for human personality, Lalaith would be shaped by the things that Niënor told her about the world. But if she has stolen away and raised by Easterlings, or Orcs, or Elves, she would be a completely different person.

Niënor wondered about this endlessly to Brandir, and he gave her what books to read on the subject, but there was precious little material. She hoped that she was not bothering him, by bringing up details of her, and indirectly his, past, but he seemed content to talk with her about the subjects for hours. "You should write your own story down," he advised. "Who else has experienced two childhoods?"

"I remember everything from when I was first found. I remember what it is like not to have words to describe anything I saw around me," she mused. She would have to write anonymously of course, and leave out the personal bits. "You know, speaking of children's minds, I was thinking of how I became attached to Túrin. He was the first face that I ever saw, and it puts me in mind of baby chicks. I wanted to be with him at all times- remember how I used to follow him around?" She had come far enough from him and tragedy that memories of that time could be spoken of without tightness in her chest and unease.

"Yes," he said grinning. "I do remember that."

"Really it should have been you that I fell in love with," Niënor said, in the same light hearted vein. "Because it was you who cared for me, you who taught me everything, you who confronted me-" she broke off jesting suddenly, realizing how her words could be taken. "I mean- not that I do not love you, just not romantically…" she trailed off, looking downwards to rock Lalaith's cradle with her foot. She did not bring up the subject again, feeling that she had injured her friend by talking about love. Brandir had never married, and because of his disability, there was little chance that he ever would. Niníel had wondered about this, as she saw that most people his age had partners. When she asked him why he was not married like everyone else, he only replied that not everyone had a spouse.

"But do you want one?" She had persisted with childlike earnesty. Niníel was not sure exactly how people got married, who did the choosing or picking.

"Maybe," he responded, always patient with her questions. "Were I in love with someone." Niníel had not understood about love. Even when she had married, understanding of love had eluded her. She knew that it was when two people cared for each other, did everything to keep the other safe, protecting each other. But this definition was confusing because while Brandir had done these things for her for as long as she had been in Brethil, but Brandir did not want to marry her, and Turin did. And she had said yes because Niníel thought that she loved Túrin- imprinting, she thought now.

Now here in Linreth, with her little blonde child, and her oldest friend, and her memories of her mother, and she understood much more about love. But perhaps not everything, she thought, laying next to Brandir in the still one bed that they had because neither of them had gotten around to buying a second one. But it was a freezing cold winter now, and Niënor has a new baby, and no time for whatever this was.