The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 25

As we emerged from the catacombs in the late afternoon, after that long, long day, a guard was waiting for us. Or rather, for me, specifically. He greeted us politely, and then asked that Azruhâr, son of Narduhâr, please follow him.
Immediately, the feeling of being hunted that had accompanied me through my dream was back at full force. My success, it appeared, had been short-lived. I stood very stiff, forcing myself to remain outwardly calm, and asked, "What is this about?"
"Your reward, sir," he answered.
Nothing in his voice or stance suggested falsehood, but I still hesitated.
Master Târik, however, gave me an encouraging smile. "Go ahead; we'll let Amraphel know that you'll be late again." I nodded and tried to return the smile, but the sense of dread wouldn't lift. I couldn't help feeling that the King must have changed his mind again, that the Crown Prince had poisoned his father's thoughts against me once more, and that this was just a ruse so I would come quietly. I trotted along with the guard, trying to calm my anxious thoughts. I told myself that there would not have been only a single man if I were to be arrested, and that nobody would have been polite about it. But perhaps they wanted to lull me into a false sense of security to get me away from my colleagues and leave me no time to prepare myself. That suspicion certainly intensified when I realised that we were headed towards the plaza that held the watch house and the executioner's scaffold with the stocks and the block and the gallows and the blood-soaked floorboards. I would have thought that the Crown Prince would not forego the delight (for him) of seeing me dragged there under the yoke of shame, but perhaps he was acting against his father's will and hoping for secrecy? I wondered whether I would be able to grasp the little vial and drink the poison without anyone noticing. I wondered whether I should do it now.

But then we walked past the scaffold while my heart beat in my chest so hard that it hurt, and turned into one of the broad avenues that led up the other side of the mountain. My breath came a little easier – it was a pleasant enough road, paved and clean. A sign on the wall of the first house proclaimed that it was called the Woodworkers' Road, and accordingly, most of the houses had workshops of carpenters and joiners and cabinetmakers on the ground floor, and two to three floors of accomodation on top of that – and I realised that I had walked all the time in wary silence instead of making conversation with the guard.
"I apologise," I said, my voice rasping a little, "but I am very tired--"
"It's not far now," he replied.
My sluggish mind concluded that it wasn't worth striking up a conversation now, since we had almost arrived wherever we were headed. In retrospect I assume he thought I was asking for rest. Either way, I responded "Very well," and then fell quiet again.
We turned into a pretty alleyway that was lined on one side with cherry trees. They had mostly stopped flowering, and the withered remains of their blossoms hung limply from their twigs or lay on the pavement, browning. In a few days, the leaf buds would veil the trees in tender greens, but right now they were looking sad and wasted. I wondered – the mind does funny things when you are very tired – whether I was one of the dying blossoms or one of the nascent leaves.

The guard took another turn, through a garden gate, and bid me wait while he found the groundkeeper. The groundkeeper's little house was pretty, whitewashed and crowned with a roof covered in the green roof tiles that had been in common use some hundred years ago, the kind you frequently saw in the older quarters. I very deliberately turned my back on the whipping pole in front of the ground-keeper's house, and contemplated the rest of my surroundings instead. The main house had a green roof as well, the verdigris colour of old copper. Maybe it was meant to imitate copper. It was a stately house in a well-tended garden, with three broad steps leading up to a pillared porch that could provide shade and protection from rain while you waited to be admitted in. The double door in its centre, as well as the heavy-looking shutters on the window, had been painted the same pale green as the roof. The path through the front garden was paved with sandstone, and the blade-like shoots of jonquils were rising among the evergreens in the flowerbed. In the summer, the place would be overshadowed by a tall sweet chestnut tree, but now, the afternoon sunlight made the golden star-flowers of celandine in the lawn shine like tiny reflections of the sun. The air carried that strange mixture of rotting leaves and the promise of young growth that you get only during the early days of spring. I breathed it in deeply and tried to calm down. Whoever we were visiting, they had not used force so far. That must be worth something.
The guard returned with the sour-faced groundkeeper, who opened the door for us. I gave him a polite smile and thanked him, for which he gave me a look of such loathing that I was suddenly certain that this must be the Crown Prince's private home, even though I would have expected that to be closer to the citadel, not in this respectable but entirely common part of the town.

There was no-one inside, and no bowl of water and fresh towels at the ready for us to clean our boots. There were no refreshments, either. It was dark, too, since the windows were shuttered, and only thin shafts of light fell inside through their wooden ribs. But as the guard and I walked further into the house, the groundkeeper marched around on the outside to open the shutters. Specks of dust were dancing in the air as light fell in. The owner of the house must be an elf-friend, I thought, because the hall we entered from the antechamber was decorated with elaborate murals depicting the Valar, watching (as I felt) reproachfully as we disturbed the silence of the large, empty room with its ancient floor tiles and handsome coffered ceiling. I cleared my throat, which echoed unnaturally, and asked, "Whose house is this?"
The guard shot me an amused look. "It used to belong to some Faithful traitor. It's yours now," he said in the business-like tone of a man stating the obvious.
He might as well have punched me in the stomach. I felt nearly nauseous. The floor tiles were alternating between black and white and the classical multi-coloured cornflower design, and they seemed to be spinning around me. "You must be mistaken," I said. One day earlier I'd been made to believe that I'd be sent to a traitor's cruel fate, and now this man told me that this was my house. Whatever next?
"I am not mistaken," the guard said, sounding affronted. "I have very clear orders from his Majesty the King. Would you like me to show you around?"

I had fallen asleep again and was dreaming another strange dream. That must be it. I decided that it was better not to question the logic of my dream, lest it turn dark, and agreed to follow the guard through the house. A good house, even in its current state of half-emptiness. All moveable things, chairs and chests and carpets and suchlike had been taken away when the former owner had been disowned, and the only furniture left where large pieces that had clearly been too cumbersome to dismantle and remove: the massive tables in the dining hall, the cabinets, the bunk beds in the servants' dormitories, the large four-poster beds in the bedrooms upstairs. It made the house look half-robbed and sadly abandoned, but even so, it was evidently a very good place to live. On the ground floor, aside from the dormitories for the male and female servants, there were some smaller rooms for storage and the like, and the latrines, and (on the opposite side) the larders and kitchens – one for baking, one for general purposes, one for dairy, and one for meat – and also a marble bathroom that held not just a tub but an actual basin that was too small for swimming, but certainly permitted comfortable sitting for several people. And the dining hall, where marble sculptures depicted (presumably) the past owners of the house, or maybe their ancestors. And a room for receiving visitors, and a room with a great fireplace that was evidently meant to host the Heart of the House, but was now cold and empty except for the dead ashes in the corners. All these rooms were arranged around a central courtyard that had a drawing well in its centre, and a sort of mosaic made of large round pebbles on the floor. A trellis of fruit-bearing trees had been trained up the south-facing wall. Some were still barren, some bore the first pale pink flowers that might grow into apples or pears or apricots, it was impossible to tell at this stage. Upstairs, there was a study with a large desk and sturdy strongbox, and another study full of empty shelves. There was a row of bedrooms for guests and children and the master and mistress of the house. That latter room was painted with naked Elves in a landscape of lakes and little waterfalls, staring in astonishment at the ceiling, which was dark blue and dotted with stars. The stars were white, not silver, which I suppose was some small mercy. The bedrooms had one door to the gallery that looked down into the courtyard, and a second door on the other side to a balcony that looked down upon the garden. I could see a lawn and some flowerbeds still covered with straw and old leaves for the winter, and a kitchen garden neatly hemmed in by boxwood, and the expansive growth of a fig tree with gnarly branches, and a deciduous hedge separating the garden of this house from those of the neighbours. A small orchard, a row of bee skeps, and a great deal of rose bushes to the left, cut back savagely. Plenty of ever-green scrubs and a round water basin on the right. Straw-covered flowerbeds arranged in geometric patterns right across the garden. The garden next to it contained a proud fruit-bearing tree that had not yet begun to flower, and the one on the other side was dominated by an ancient walnut tree that had evidently thrown a goodly part of its leaves onto the lawn that belonged to this house. I wondered whether it would also drop some of its nuts on this side of the hedge. Not that it should matter to me, because this could not possibly be my house, my garden.

There was a strange conical stone hut in one corner of this garden, and I asked the guard about its purpose, since it looked too small to be a gardener's hut or the like.
"An ice house," the guard explained, and when I stared at him blankly, he explained that you put ice and straw in there in winter, and because the house really covered a deep underground excavation that was cool all year round, the ice would keep until summer, and you could store perishables there or just enjoy a nice cool sherbet with crushed ice in it when you desired it. "You've never heard of an ice house?"
"I am a man of very humble origins," I said, both to him and to myself, in case my dozing mind had forgotten. "And what's that?" I pointed at a brick structure at the side of the house.
"The furnace for the hypocaust, of course."
Of course. It was the kind of house that had a heated floor. A stupid question that just showed how little I belonged in this place. Even for a dream, this was too much.
"I cannot possibly live in such a house," I heard myself tell the guard. "I wouldn't know how to go about it."
He raised his eyebrows and eyed me sceptically. "There are harder challenges in the world," he said. "I daresay you'll figure it out." He clearly expected me to say or ask more, but I was completely overwhelmed by the bizarreness of it all, and in the end, the guard shrugged and said, "If that is all, I shall leave you to it. I'll relay your thanks to his Majesty, shall I?"
"My abject thanks," I agreed absent-mindedly.
We walked back through the blue bedchamber, past the studies, down the stairs (plaster and polished olive wood and a bannister made of iron shaped like flowering reeds) back into the hall where the painted Valar kept watch over the comings and goings. I thought of my modest household and of all these empty rooms. Well, I suppose I would have to make good on my promise to my neighbours, that I would employ more of them as the opportunity arose. A gardener. Someone to tend the Heart. One or two people to do the cooking. Amraphel probably wouldn't mind some people to take care of the cleaning, or the laundry, or whatever else needed to be done in such a huge place. She would figure it out. After all, she had been raised to reside in a house like this, with separate kitchens and its own well, with an ice house in the garden and a heatable floor and a master bedroom with allegorical Elves on the walls. And a whipping pole in the frontyard. If this really was to be my house, I thought grimly, the first thing I'd do was to have that cut down and burned in the Heart.

As the groundkeeper, still looking very angry, brought out the keys to the front door and the garden door and the strong-box and the larder, the guard remarked off-handedly, "You can take this one into your service, or bring your own groundkeeper, that's entirely up to you."
I thought I understood why the man was looking so furious, and told him that he was very welcome to stay. "I see you've taken good care of the house and garden, and I'd be glad to have such a conscientious man working for me."
But that was evidently not what he'd wanted to hear, because his eyes narrowed in hatred instead of brightening with relief. He threw the keys at my feet. "I'd rather starve before I serve the likes of you," he spat.
I sighed. I was too tired to argue, so I just said, "Suit yourself. If you change your mind, you know where I live." Where I am supposed to l live, I thought. Where I am going to live somehow. The thought was outrageous. It wasn't even the fact that my fortunes had, once again, been changed drastically, by an old man who threatened you with torment and death one day and gifted you with a beautiful house the next. It was the house itself, as if the place had a mind of its own and I was afraid that it would resent and combat me, the lowly intruder that usurped the place of its fallen master. The house of a dead traitor, given to me who had turned out not to be a traitor. There was a certain symmetry in it, perhaps, but I was certain the house wouldn't appreciate it. I picked up the keys – heavy, serious keys – and locked the front door after casting one last look into the abandoned hallway. The floor with its checquered pattern reminded me of Lord Atanacalmo's chess board, and I whispered to myself, "Checkmate". I hope the other two didn't hear me, but then, they probably thought that I was mad, anyway.

When I came home, Azruphel upbraided me for forgetting her paper, and that tore me out of the tired lethargy that had gripped me. "I am sorry, my dearest," I told her earnestly. "I've had a couple of very busy days, and so it slipped my mind. I will make up for it tomorrow." I would buy her proper paper, I thought, not scraps put aside at work but good strong drawing paper from the artists' shops. I would send Balakhil there while I was working.
"Are you well?" Amraphel asked gently. "Are you hurt?"
I shook my head and slumped down heavily in my chair. The key ring on my belt jangled, and the little vial pressed into the flesh of my bottom. "I'm just very, very tired." I did not want to explain about the house, I decided. Not tonight. It would probably turn out to be a dream or a mistake when I woke up in the morning, and I didn't need to make more of a fool of myself.

My heart sank when Quentangolë was waiting for me after work the next day, holding a rolled-up scroll in his hands. He was smiling, but I was still too weary and worried to return his smile.
"Another summons?" I asked.
"No, no; it's the deed to your house," Quentangolë said cheerfully. I unrolled it.

Ownership of the house number fourteen in Cherry Lane
in the old craftsmen's quarter of Arminalêth and the corresponding grounds
is hereby made over to Azruhâr, Narduhâr's son, apprentice embalmer
for the length of his life
as of Súlimë the Twenty-fourth in the year two thousand three hundred and eighty-five.
The owner of the house may employ up to fifteen servants
but no more than six male servants at one time.
The owner is obliged to secure and maintain the house and grounds.
Annual dues for the ownership of the house--

I looked up at Quentangolë, blinking as if blinded. "So it is real," I said.
"It is certainly real," he confirmed, grinning broadly. "Congratulations. About time you moved into a proper house, too!"
"I like my old house," I said, a little put out, "Thank you very much."

I did like my old house. My father had built it – well, built the original hovel – with the money he had saved during his ill-fated service in the house of some high-ranking army official who had owed Grandfather a favour after he'd been injured. Father had never told me the man's name or what had caused him to quit his service, only that it had been harsh and that Grandfather hadn't done him a favour in getting him that position in the first place. He had always told me to stay well away from people of rank, but I obviously had not been able to follow that advice in the past years. Nonetheless, I felt deeply indebted to my father, and it had made me happy to add the kitchen and the separate bedrooms to the house, and to whitewash the loam walls and tile the loam floor. And now it made me unhappy to leave that house, even if I was moving into such a pretty place that, objectively, was certainly much better.
"You can turn it into the meeting-hall for the Welfare Society," Amraphel tried to console me. "It'll do well enough once we've cleared it out." I had explained my thoughts to her, and she was sympathetic, even though I suspected she didn't quite share my love for the small house in the paupers' quarter.
But to my surprise, she said she did. "It's where I looked after you before we married, remember?" she said, gently. "Where we spent the passionate first weeks of our marriage. Where our children were born. Where we've gone through worse and better – of course I love this place, too." She smiled and kissed my nose, and then she said, "So it is fortunate that you will not have to sell it, but have a good purpose for it."

The next week was the free week preceding Erukyermë, which gave me the time to oversee the preparations for our relocation – although in all honesty, Amraphel could have done most of that without me. It was she who found a nearby stable where we could rent boxes for our horses, since apparently it was frowned upon to keep horses in your backyard in our fancy new neighbourhood. I had handed her the keys, and she had gone through the empty house and made a list of things that we would have to bring from our old home or buy anew – chairs and benches, but also loads of bedding and blankets and sheets, and bowls and cutlery, pots and pans and towels and all the many things that a household needed. She asked among my neighbours who – aside from Balakhil and Enrakôr – might consider coming along as our servants, and there was an astonishing number of volunteers, not only among those who had long been helping with odd jobs around the house all along, but also among the girls Amraphel had taught during that hungry winter.

"How do you feel about servants who are married, or who have children?" Amraphel asked me. I had no opinion on the matter. I knew that servants were generally expected to be and remain unmarried. But then I thought of Andúnië, where several of the servants had had their own families. "Will the children count towards the number of servants?" I asked, cautiously.
"Not until they are twenty-four," Amraphel said. "Then they are half a servant until they come of age."
"Huh. Who do you have in mind, anyway?"
"Zâbeth, Narâk and their children," Amraphel explained. "The girl is sickly, but maybe she will get stronger when she's no longer living in that damp hovel. And Tîmat can pull his weight, young as he is."
"Maybe they can have the groundkeeper's house." I had spoken with the groundkeeper once more, when I had shown Amraphel the house, but he had been as hostile then as he had been on our first meeting. He had been in the process of packing his modest belongings and announced that he and his family would leave on the first day of the holiday week. I had given his round-eyed little boy an apologetic glance, and again told him that I would be happy to keep him employed, but he had only spat out again. "I don't want your charity, Death-dealer," he'd said. So his house would be empty. I hadn't wanted to look inside while the old groundkeeper's family still had their belongings in there, but it had looked comfortable enough on the outside, and would no doubt be a vast improvement on the family’s current hovel.
"That would do nicely," Amraphel said. "So that means you don't want to make Balakhil your groundkeeper?"
I very nearly groaned. "I suppose I should. Can't he be the groundkeeper but live in the main house? Narâk is probably just as willing to look after the garden." He was. Most of my neighbours weren't picky about the position they'd hold, and didn't seem to be too bothered whether they'd be cleaning latrines or cooking meals, as long as it gave them a steady income, bed and board. Fair enough. Ten year ago, I would have felt the same. Balakhil, in the meantime, was a little disappointed that he wasn't given his own house, although we did give him one of the smaller ground-floor rooms to himself and I felt that should appease him.

By and by, we brought the furniture we needed up to the new house. Amraphel bought much of the missing materials second-hand or off the shelf, since the craftsmen who could have taken commissions were currently enjoying the holiday week or presenting their masterpieces in the trade fair, but even so, my funds were as good as drained by the time that we had completed the move. All the money that I could put in the strong-box rightly belonged to the Daytalers' Welfare Society, and I did not dare to touch it lest I end up accused of embezzlement. I did not like being out of money at all; it made me feel vulnerable and brought back memories of my hand-to-mouth youth, even though I knew that it was only temporary, and that Lord Eärendur or even my colleagues would help me in a pinch. Lord Eärendur himself was still in Andúnië, and wouldn't return until the holiday, of course; but his steward had been very reassuring when I had brought back the unused vial and the silver Tree, and had even offered me to keep the coin for the time being. It had not seemed necessary then, so I had gratefully declined. Now my money-bag was empty. My new servants would have to sleep on their old straw-stuffed mattresses for the time being, and use blankets instead of featherbeds. None of them complained or (most likely) even noticed, since they had not yet tasted the luxuries of living in a grand house, but I would have liked to do it properly from the start. At least we could make the crammed dormitories spacier by removing a couple of bunks – the former owner of the house had clearly been of higher rank, and permitted to employ more servants – and that made it somewhat more comfortable for them. Târinzil would sleep in the nursery, Balakhil had his own room right next to the entrance hall, and Zâbeth and her family had moved into the groundkeeper's house, which consisted of two rooms and a small kitchen, giving them far more space – and far more pleasant surroundings – than they were used to. But they all would have to wait for their first wages until the end of the next month at the least, and that made me feel woefully inadequate as an employer. I was unable to even host a proper housewarming feast. Instead, we marched through the streets in a rather solemn procession as Râhak, my newly appointed Keeper of the Heart, carried the last embers of our cooking-fire in a fire-box I had borrowed from Master Târik, to light the Heart of the House in our new domicile. It had been Amraphel's idea to use the last fire from our old house to kindle the Heart of the new house, and I suppose it was a fitting ceremony, but still it would have been nice to have more than pottage and tea to celebrate the occasion.

I slept very badly in the grand bed, and it wasn't just because our old mattress was much too small and I kept rolling off at the side. I felt uncomfortable under the ever-open eyes of the Elves on the walls, as if they were watching me. I could not see them in the dark, but I knew they were there. Even the beautiful stars, pale dots against the surrounding darkness, could not ease my troubled mind. I tossed and turned until Amraphel wrapped her arms around me, holding me close, and unbidden, I wondered whether I would ever be able to perform the act of love under the keen gaze of the awakening Elves.
When I told Amraphel about these thoughts in the next morning, she had a good chuckle, but she suggested to move our resting place to a different room, which had perhaps belonged to a grown-up but not yet married child of the former house-owner, or had perhaps been used for honoured guests. It was nearly as spacious, also held an impressive carved bed that was too large for our bedding, and also had stars painted on the ceiling. But here, that theme of a starlit sky had simply been continued down the upper two thirds of the wall, whereas the lower third was panelled with wood that had been painted white. It was, perhaps, less prestigious, but I found it a lot less discomfiting. We agreed that we could turn the master bedroom into our best guest room, in case we ever needed to host someone noble. Lord Eärendur, for instance, probably wouldn't have been troubled by the painted Elves. He was probably related to some of them.

My colleagues came to pay their respects and bring housewarming gifts – bread and salt and wine, and in Master Târik's case, a very nice carpet that we put in the nursery. There were plenty of neighbours who hadn't moved in with us, who were curious to see what a grand house looked like beyond the kitchen, or who came to discuss Society matters with us. Târazôn, who had moved into Old Palatâr's house, since Târinzil did not currently need it, would look after the meeting-place, and Elzahâr would support him, so there was much to discuss with these two. Master Amrazôr and Mistress Râphumil called to find out where we had ended up, bringing more bread and salt and wine, and probably went home jealous.
On Erukyermë, I finally saw Lord Eärendur again, who was mortified at what had almost happened during his absence. During the feast at the palace, after the briefest of appearances by the King, he took me aside. "I very much regret that I wasn't here to help you," he said quietly. "I cannot apologise enough."
"I know you didn't do it on purpose," I said. "And you… you put precautions in place. That meant a lot."
He grimaced, dissatisfied. "That was a last resort; hardly proper help. No, I should have been there to speak to Ancalimon and assure him of your dedication – to talk him out of his rage! But I cannot stay in the capital forever..."
I nodded, slightly ashamed, because I had of course wished that he didn't have to go to Andúnië so often, and I knew that I was being unjust, since I knew how much he loved his own province, and moreover, if I had been in his place, I probably wouldn't have returned to Arminalêth at all. "It probably happened precisely because you were gone, and couldn't speak to the King," I mused. "I bet that was no coincidence."
"You may be right," Lord Eärendur said, and then fell silent because Lord Atanacalmo was approaching.
"Ah, Eärendur," he said with his customary smirk. "Back to the toil and tedium of the capital?"
"As always," Lord Eärendur responded evenly, with a studied smile. "As you see."
"And Azruhâr. Settling in well in your new neighbourhood? I expect you'll be campaigning for the betterment of woodworkers next?"
"No, my lord, I think I'll stick with the people who need it," I said, bowing low to make up for my somewhat pert response.
"Hmmm," made Lord Atanacalmo. "It's been a long time since I've seen you. I'll be expecting you on Aldëa – the fifth hour?"
"I will be working until the fifth hour, my lord. I would be very grateful if you would give me time enough to eat, and then come to your house."
"Nonsense! You can eat at my house. Come at the fifth hour." He didn't even wait for my confirmation, but smiled to himself and nodded to us both. "Eärendur. Azruhâr. A good day to you."

"I don't know what to make of him," I confessed to Lord Eärendur when Lord Atanacalmo was out of earshot. "I think he hates me. But he's done some good things. I don't understand what he wants at all. Why can’t he leave me alone?"
"Maybe he will tell you," Lord Eärendur said, sighing. "Better be careful, though. I am not certain that he means you harm, but I am not certain that he’ll keep you out of harm's way, either. Anwer his questions, but volunteer as little information as possible. And don't let him provoke you. If something feels like a trap, it probably is." He looked at my face and must have realised that I was frightened, because he gave an encouraging smile that didn't entirely convince me. "We should not be talking alone lest they think we conspire. Come, we will join Tarmo." He gestured with his head towards Master Târik, who was conversing with Master Ipharaz of the coffin-makers and Mîkul and Karathôn and occasionally casting anxious glances around for Lord Terakon. "Let us speak further when I visit you at your new home. When would be convenient to you? Tomorrow? The day after?"
"Whenever you'd like," I said. "I'm working until the fifth hour, as you heard, but it doesn't take me very long to reach the new house..."
"Let us meet at the gate to the citadel when you have finished your work, then. We can walk together."

We walked together, the next day, but we didn't speak about anything important while we were walking through the busy street – I was talking about the hassle of moving house, and he told me how his family and my acquaintainces in Andúnië were doing. He was carrying a basket that contained small gifts - "mere trifles, I'm afraid, but I will think of something appropriate when I've seen the place and know what you can use" - and a letter from Tuilwendë’s family. He had brought no bodyguard, and I was glad to be walking without Balakhil behind me, too. It was a mild, pleasant day, and when we arrived at the house, Narâk was busy trimming the grass for the first time. The cheerful noises of my playing daughters were audible from the backyard, but as we walked through the door, the firm walls locked these sounds out. I always found the experience alienating, as if the house was a world onto itself that had nothing to do with the life outside. It was particularly strange today, when spring was in full swing but it was still cold and silent and wintery inside. The house was not a part of my world – that was it. I was a stranger here; I did not belong.

Before Lord Eärendur could clean his shoes of the dust of the road (not that there was much dust in this part of town), I took a towel from the stack that Balakhil had prepared, and dipped it into the water-bowl and knelt at his feet. He jumped up, scandalised. "Azruhâr, you don't have to – in your own house, what's more..."
I smiled to show that I didn't mind the task. "No, please let me do this. It will help me to explain something." He was still frowning, but very slowly – watching my face all the time – he sat down again, and I set to work.
"You see," I began, "when I was younger, I used to dream about living in a house like this. I thought how comfortable it must be, firm walls where the wind doesn't creep in, actual windows that let through light but not the cold or the summer heat, pretty decorations on the walls, soft beds well away from the smoke of the fire… it thought it must be wonderful. And I knew it wasn't feasible, because the men who lived in such houses did not commonly hire day-talers, it was hard enough even to be allowed to assist the gardener or to unload a cart of deliveries, but… I dreamed."
"And now you have achieved that dream," said Lord Eärendur, his brow smoothing once more. "And well deserved it. Congratulations, Azruhâr." He reached down to take the towel from my hands, but I shook my head.
"No, Lord, you don't understand. I dreamed that I would live in such a house – to do something like this. I was dreaming that I'd manage to get hired as a boot-boy. A stablehand. Something along those lines." I looked up urgently, desperate to get my point across. "That was the only way how I could envision living in such a house. That was my wildest ambition. I was never cut out to own such a house! How can I be its master?" I breathed in deeply, washed the towel in the bucket, wrung it out. Lord Eärendur was watching me, and his forehead had creased again. There was something in his eyes that I assumed was pity, but also a great deal of worry. I had made him more uncomfortable than I’d ever seen him.

I took another deep breath. "I don't know how to do this. Any of this." Then I got up, walked up the step that led from the vestibule to the hall, and spread my arms in what I hoped was an inviting gesture. "But here we are. Welcome to my house, Lord… Eärendur." I tried to smile, but I’m afraid it ended up rather lopsided.
Lord Eärendur rose. Even when I was standing on the steps and him in the lower vestibule, I had to look up at his eyes when he stood before me. They looked soft and a little sad, but there was also a light in it that might have been joy or just his Elven blood. He put his hands on my shoulder and placed a blessing kiss on my brow. "Thank you, Azruhâr. May you live here long and happily."
We walked together through the hallway, still as empty and echoing as I had first seen it because we didn't yet have anything to put there, and he said, "Concerning what you said earlier – maybe you can look at it from a different angle. Think of yourself as a man who has been able to make it beyond his wildest ambitions. Is that not a great achievement? Clearly, you were not cut out to be a day-taler. You were cut out for something else. So you have not overreached yourself; you have merely outgrown your old dreams. You can grow into new dreams, and I am certain that you will grow into this new role, as you have grown into the role of embalmer before." He was smiling now, and although the warmth of it couldn't drive out my uncertainty, I was grateful for it.
"I will try," I said.