Little Sparrow by Himring

Little Sparrow

Fat dripped into the hearth fire below, which hissed, flared and spat. Pínfileg backed off as well as she could, while continuing to turn the spit, a rag wrapped around hand and forearm for protection. She sighed soundlessly. Her stomach was pinching with hunger again. She wished she could have saved some of that wasted fat for drippings.

But Lorgan was more interested in a display of luxury than in keeping his thralls well fed—or even preferred to keep them perpetually hungry, with barely enough food to keep the able-bodied working—and his fellow Easterlings followed their leader’s example.

Easterlings, thought Pinfileg, were people, most of them, even if they did serve Morgoth. Some of them would have been capable of occasional kindness to thralls, if they had not themselves feared Lorgan so much—and also the opinion of their peers. She had heard rumours that life was easier in smaller settlements.

About Lorgan, Pinfileg was less sure. She had heard that he had been to Angband twice and that even the Easterlings thought the second time Lorgan had come back changed. Maybe he had learned too much in that dark place—and maybe it was worse than that.

She saw Tuor enter the hall, hair bright in the gloom, still bearing up boldly under Lorgan’s treatment. Whatever the Easterlings claimed about the malice of Elves, those who raised him must have treated Tuor well. He stood out among the thralls, tall and strong and unbowed. Pinfileg wished that Tuor had not been so foolishly confident to give away his lineage to Lorgan, after his capture, but maybe he had just been unable to conceal it.

Now Lorgan was clearly trying to draw out any pockets of rebellion and resistance among the thralls by mistreating Tuor before their eyes.

Across the hall, Tuor’s eyes, fearless and clear, met her own, too unexpectedly for her to avoid it.

Unwise, unwise! she tried to convey to him silently. We would love to help, but it would only end up the worse for you and for us, both. Can’t you see that he is watching for that, watching all the time?

She was not sure whether Tuor understood any of this. She was being unwise herself; this was not a time or place even for silent exchanges.

It was almost with relief that she heard Lorgan’s steward outside call her Easterling name.

Chapter End Notes

The name "Pínfileg" means "little sparrow" in Sindarin and also supplies the title. It is from Chestnut-pod's wonderful Elvish name list, with much thanks. (Maybe this OC has a Sindarin name, because she is of part-Beorian ancestry.)

The piece was inspired by discomfort with a remark by Tolkien (which he might never have decided to publish in that form) that seems to suggest that Tuor found the Hadorian female thralls too pitiful to consider them as proper women. I did not want to ship him with any of them, but I felt they deserved more respect.

If I had managed to write something longer, there would have been a scene in which my thrall woman deliberately knocks over a laundry kettle in order to distract the Easterlings from Tuor. Maybe that will happen one day.

For now, this is 4 x 100 words in MS Word.