Steel Rose by HannaGoldworthy

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A Housewarming Gift

Oyunjargal had promised Steel Clan a new home, warm and welcoming in comparison to the high steppes in the East from where they had come.  This “March of Maedhros” was home to none, and colder than anything they had ever imagined.

 

Oyunjargal had promised Steel Clan richness, jewels that tumbled out of the mountains by themselves, rather than the metal they had to trade to the dwarves for their best furs at home.  These mountains had little to offer but granite, which they as a nomadic tribe could not afford to carry.

 

Oyunjargal had promised Steel Clan open land and plentiful game, when their land back home had been fraught with strife between too many clans, fighting over too few resources.  This land was much the same, only it was filled with different clans with pale faces and heavy hands, who looked at newcomers with open hostility.

 

Oyunjargal had promised Steel Clan peace.  And Gansarnai’s mother had died in an orc attack the moment they crossed the mountains.

 

Obviously, Oyunjargal’s word was not to be trusted.  That was why, when their new hosts made an effort to welcome Steel Clan to the neighborhood, Gansarnai was inclined to accept them.  Oyunjargal had woven a picture of this strange people – these elves, the sons of Fëanor at their head – that made them easy to hate.  They were supposed to be arrogant, and murderous, and faithless even to their hateful people, unkind to their vassals, uncaring to strangers.  And five of them stood before her father now; their eyes were distant, perhaps, but they made a point of carrying the heaviest parts of the three slaughtered deer they had brought as a gift.

 

Gansarnai looked these men in the eye, and saw nothing of the bloodthirsty marauders of which Oyunjargal had waxed poetic.  Instead, she saw Steel Clan; lonely, wounded, and homesick people, who had come to this spirits-forsaken, barren land at the behest of bad advice and poor decisions.

 

“Thank you,” she said, scrambling to find the correct words in Sindarin; her mother had been quicker to learn the language, but her father and brothers still could not string a sentence together, so she was the only one left to translate.  “We thank you much.  Please, eat with us tonight?”

 

The two elves at the front – she supposed they were Fëanor’s sons, judging by the color of the one’s hair and the circlet on the other’s head – shared a glance which exchanged a thousand words, most of which seemed to be an argument.  Then they nodded, first the scarred redhead with firm decision, then the black-haired one, with a glimmer of hesitation.  “We will.”

 

***

 

“Who taught these Elves to butcher meat?” groused Ganbaatar under his breath in their tongue, as they ate in their father’s yurt.  “There’s no flavor.”

 

Her younger brother severely underestimated the strength of their guests’ ears; all of the men looked toward him, and then to her for translation.  The red-head – Maedhros, she reminded herself – seemed almost amused.

 

“My brother asks about…about…how you kill deer.”

 

“With arrows,” answered one elf, and he received a gentle swat on the leg from his companion.

 

“They know that, moron.”

 

“You ask how we cut up the deer – butcher?” Maedhros inquired gently, with the patience of someone who had taught languages many times.

 

Gansarnai shook her head, though she gladly filed away the vocabulary for reference.  “No, kill…uh, what you did after you killed deer.  Did you keep blood in the body?”

 

Maedhros’ younger brother, Maglor, furrowed his brow in confusion.  “How…?”

 

“They probably get the body upside down as soon as they can, so the wound drains into the meat.”

 

She nodded, relieved that someone, at least, understood.  For his part, Maglor looked somewhat sickened.

 

“They eat blood…?”

 

Maedhros laid a hand on his brother’s knee.  “Yes, brother.  The taste of the meat is probably considerably altered compared to what they usually eat.”

 

“Bland, is the word, I think.”

 

Just to illustrate the point. Ganbaatar pulled a face and made a retching noise.  Maedhros laughed, and all the other elves blinked in surprise; obviously, the hardened warrior had not done that for many moons.

 

“Well, to make it up to you, shall we hunt with you?  See how your people do things?”

 

Gansarnai repeated the question to her father, who made a show of considering before he nodded once.  “We’d like that,” she said, and felt her cheeks burn when Maedhros returned her smile

Chapter End Notes

Steel Clan is based (somewhat) on nomadic Mongolian tribes, with accompanying names.  I am trying to do as much research as I can (and speaking with my uncle, who has lived with Mongolians in the past), but if anyone is more familiar with the culture and sees something terribly wrong, don't hesitate to correct me.

Also, Oryunjargal roughly means "blessing of wisdom."  Guess who's been giving out gifts again?

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