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Old 03-01-2006, 11:38 AM   #84
JennyHallu
The Pearl, The Lily Maid
 
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As Æthelhild leaned over Marenil, Lin released his hand, moving back and away, trying to contain her fear for the older man. It was not easy. She curled into herself in a chair in the corner where her view of first Æthel and then a confident healer from Meduseld working quickly over Mar’s still form was unobstructed. She didn’t notice when a mug of warm honeyed ale was pressed firmly into her hand by—someone—and she drank it without noticing the taste. She didn’t notice the silent tears pouring down her face, dripping off her chin to add their saltiness to her drink, her eyes locked on Marenil; her thoughts locked on each memory she had of him.

Linduial had two older brothers, and an older sister with a son of her own. The boys, now grown into strong and good-hearted men, were dear beyond words to their father, and while he loved the pretty, delicate, witty little woman who was his youngest child, it had always been a source of almost wonder to him that he, a rough-and-ready warrior, could possibly have produced her.

He treated Lin as though she were a rose made of glass, exquisite and perfect. He’d gotten her the best tutors he could find, a dancing, dainty chestnut mare from Rohan, the finest silks and wools and brocades from all over Middle-Earth for her dresses. Her brothers were much like him; they were rough and rude and crude, excellent fighters both, but around Lin they were courteous, nervous, trying desperately to speak of things they thought would interest the lady-like little girl (she always seemed so tiny beside their tall muscular frames) who gazed up at them with such big, fascinated grey eyes. They brought her presents from all their adventures, and as they never really knew what to get her, her rooms filled slowly with a delightful mix of delicate treasures, exotic sweets, and completely random things the boys had seen and thought she might like.

The only reason she knew any weaponry at all was because they had found for her a delicately and elaborately carven bow—they’d traded their pack-horse for it, far from home, though they never told her—and had nervously taught her the use of it, flinching with her when she accidentally snapped the string against her knuckles, competing for her smiles, and, both of them, staring at her in shocked admiration when she hit the bulls-eye within her first ten shots. Since then the younger brother had taken to bringing her colorful feathers and fletching her arrows with them. Sometimes they flew a little unpredictably, but her quiver was a riot of reds and blues and greens.

Always, Marenil was there. As steward of her father’s household, his duties were many and never-ending, but he had seen the danger her father ran of spoiling the little girl. Once, when the Lord and his sons had been gone for a long time, little Lin had taken to following him around, lonely and bored. He’d quietly encouraged her, teaching the clever lass accounting and book-learning, and sending her off on little errands. It became a fond joke among her father’s men, the little Lady trotting cheerfully behind the Steward, running her little errands with such earnest concentration, brows furrowed as she worked. When the Lord returned, Marenil somehow convinced him that such an education was necessary, that she must learn how to run a household so that she need never be dependent on her servants, and from then on it was settled. Linduial became Marenil’s special charge.

Her father bought her a fine horse—but it was Marenil who taught her how to ride it, how to fall off and get back on. Her father sent her to learn from many different tutors—but it was Marenil who confined her to her rooms until she worked at her lessons. Her father bought her fine fabrics—but Marenil gave her a few sheep, and despite her father’s protestations, put her in the charge of his wife until she had learned how to spin the wool into cloth. After that her father never questioned Marenil’s treatment of her, for the pride in her eyes as she showed him the rough-woven cloak she had made hushed anything he could have said. As she grew up, she loved and respected her father—but Marenil she adored.

And now, he, her rock, was lying there helpless…and she could do nothing.

Last edited by JennyHallu; 03-01-2006 at 09:11 PM.
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