Blaecwyn opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. The same ceiling she had been staring at every day since she had first awoken in this place. It was high, wood-panneled and etched with odd swirly patterns inlaid with gilt. She hated it. It was so... rich, so fancy, so... something she couldn't place her finger on right now. It made her feel uncomfortable.
Worse than the ceiling, though, was the bed. Thick plush pillows, silk sheets, the finest woollen blankets she had ever lain under. It felt like being cuddled by a swan. After so many years of spending the majority of her nights on the hard, cold rock of Nan Gurth, this room and everything in it just felt so wrong. It was all too soft for her liking, too foriegn to her sensibilities.
A knock sounded at the door. She knew before it began to open that it would be Mhelindra coming through the portal. No-one else could contrive to knock loudly and yet in such an apologetic way. Blaecwyn sighed as she heard the rattle of cutlery against a tray. Breakfast time it was, then. Thin gruel, most likely. Again. Mhelindra had brought little else in the weeks that Blaecwyn had lain abed, insistant that gruel is good for a mending body and if she had wanted solid food then she should not have let her jaw get broken.
"Good morning, miss Black," Mhelindra said in her infuriatingly calm voice as she bustled over to the bedside table and laid the tray down.
Blaecwyn grunted in response. She was used to being referred to as 'Miss Black' by now, for the maid was a local woman and seemed to have a lot of trouble pronouncing Rohirric names. Instead, she aimed for the nearest word of her own tongue with a similar sound. Blaecwyn just wished she would drop the 'miss' part.
"Fallidir tells me that your jaw should be mended well enough by now," the woman continued as she turned to help Blaecwyn sit up. "That means we can take this terrible bandage from around your face and that you can have some real food. Nothing too hard, mind you!"
Blaecwyn grunted again but this time it was not a response to Mhelindra. She ached abominably and sitting up was something of a chore right now. There was very little of her that wasn't tightly wrapped by bandages and, she was certain, at least some of it was there just to annoy her.
Sure, her right leg, side, arm and shoulder had gotten a bit roasted, and her left ankle had been badly sprained. Her jaw had been broken in three places, the fingers on her fight hand broken, her left arm fractured and the muscle twisted and a couple of ribs on her left side had been a bit battered too, but that was no reason to cover her from head to toe in bindings! She could barely move from all the swaddling and when she was helped to do so, it pulled terribly tight.
She made a grumbling sound at the back of her throat as Mhelindra set about removing the bandage around her head and face. As the white material slowly unwound, Blaecwyn thought of Mhelindra's earlier words. Solid food. Oh, how she longed for solid food. Sausages, crispy bacon, cheese, bread, a good thick piece of ham... the list was endless!
She looked to the tureen expectantly as Mhelindra finsihed with the bandages and turned to retrieve the tray. She placed it down on Blacwyn's lap, then moved her hand to the handle atop the cover. Blaecwyn watched avidly, awaiting the first waft of bacon and sausage smells, waiting for the first sight of a proper breakfast only to be greeted by the sight of watery scrambled eggs. Her disappointment must have been palpable for Mhelindra gave her a softly sympathetic smile as she sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the fork.
Blaecwyn stifled a groan, instead breathing a heavy sigh, and settled back to be tended to. Never in her life could she remember having to be spoon-fed by anyone. It was degrading, demeaning, intolerable for someone who prided herself on being strong and protecting others, but alas it was necessary.
She turned her thoughts to the recent past as she was fed.
Eovad had visted once or twice. She could not remember much about those visits, save that he stayed perched on the windowsil ready to flee should anyone else come in. He had said something about acting on a whim and hurting Siwards friend Rab, breaking a promise he had made to her some time ago about not causing any more trouble with Siwards household. Given that Blaecwyn now lay in a room inside the large manor house belonging to Siward and his tiny wife, Jenn, she could understand why her friend might want to go unnoticed. He didn't visit often, but his being here at all was a good sign, she thought. He must have forgiven her treatment of him in Ram Duath.
Siward popped his head inside the room from time to time, checking up on her. He never stayed to speak with her for long, but that was understandable. She had not been able to communicate much anyway, save for a few grunts and the occasional badly mangled word.
Likewise, the lady of the house, Jenn, had come in a few times as well, but the short petite woman always kept her distance and left as quickly as she could. She struck Blaecwyn as a nervous sort, a mouse of a personality to fit with her small stature.
The feeding done, Mhelindra rose and took away the tray, then flapped out the blankets before laying them across Blaecwyn once more, tucking them tightly about her legs and hips.
"Not long now," she spoke with an unflappable cheerfulness that grated on Blaecwyns nerves. "And you'll be right as rain! You'll soon be up and about and spreading terror amongst the orcs, you'll see!"
The woman carried on in that vein, spreading light fluffy thoughts of encouragement and optimism as she wafted about the room straightening things that had already been straight and fussing over things that did not need fussing at.
In truth, Blaecwyn quite liked her. She had been searching for work when they had first met, so Blaecwyn had hired her as a nanny for the twins. Serious about her work, punctual and with a seemingly endless supply of patience and gentleness, she had, in some ways, been more of a mother to Lahessa and Vorondir then Blaecwyn had ever been. However, at this present time, Blaecwyn was in no mood to be fussed at or cheered up, so the womans pleasant and caring demenor only served to make her more edgy.
Finally, Mhelindra had tackled all of the room that she could and, with a promise to visit later, moved on to do her chores about the rest of the manor house.
Alone once more, Blaecwyn laid her head back and worked her jaw. She could not understand why she was here, why she had been saved.
She was just a farmgirl from Rohan. The daughter of a blacksmith. She may be considered freakishly large and overly-muscular for a woman and she was a hardy fighter, good at weilding her spear and shield, but that was all. She was no great heroinne, nothing important and was most certainly not possessed of one of the Destiny things that she had heard so much about in tales.
Why, then, was she alive?
Twice now, she had tried to find her death in battle, and twice now she had survived. The first time had been a response to a black fit of depression brought about by a series of betrayals from those she had held in the highest esteem and cared for very deeply. Ironically, it had been Flowlen who had finally taken that cloud from above her head, showing her that there was light in the world still and that love lost could also mean new love to be found. But now he had been taken from her as well, along with the fruit of their union.
Did the Valar hate her, she wondered?
They must if she had somehow survived fighting herself to death. Twice.
What had she done to deserve such scorn, though? What had she done to deserve such suffering? Had she not always done what was right? Had she not always fought with honour on behalf of people who could not or would not fight for themselves? Had she not sacrificed enough already to do her duty and fulful her oaths?
She had. She knew she had.
I should have been there, she thought as she closed her eyes. I should have been with them. Maybe they'd still be alive. Maybe I could have saved them. Maybe I'd have died with them. That would have been better than living without them. Why couldn't I stay just that little bit longer? Why did they have to die? Why?
Inside, her heart wept bitter bloody tears of loss. Inside, her heart broke again with every beat. Inside, her mind howled out her agony, her guilt, her lonliness. Her voice, however, remained silent and her eyes remained dry.
