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Chapter 3.  Rat-slayer

“Tulkas come save us!  Ulbanís, how did you let it get this bad?!”  Laurefindë threw a couple more dispatched rodents into the filling crate of corpses and slammed down the lid.  Flamboyantly pulling off his gloves, he released them from shoulder height to drop on top of the tightly closed container.

“If I had known this wretched species bred so proficiently,” her angry voice reverberated against the sides of the large storage bin she was half inside and aggressively scrubbing out, “I would have taken the time to encourage them to find another place to despoil!”

She pushed herself out into the open air.  Charcoal-colored water dribbled from the heavy bristle-brush firmly gripped in one of her strong hands as she held it out and away from her hiked up skirt.  Fruitlessly blowing straggling strands of hair away from her sweaty brow, she wearily straightened up to wipe her empty hand on her soaked apron; plainly disgusted and as worn out as her scrub-brush.

“Merciful Elentári,” she said, in a tone wrought with bitter sarcasm.  “Are we not fortunate that so glorious a warrior as you needed a place to hide out anon!”

“Who is hiding out?” he asked, innocently blinking at her.  “Why, I am only quietly visiting a...” a boldly suggestive grin bloomed “... special friend.”

She automatically flushed at the innuendo and became so furious with him for choosing this moment to tease her that she threw her scrub-brush at his feet with enough force for it to land with a flat splash in the pooling water, splattering dirty streaks over both their clothing as well as the bin she had just cleaned up.

“I asked you not to call me your special friend anymore!!” she practically screamed through clenched teeth.  “I am sick of your clever wit!  Do you mean to ruin my reputation?!”

“No! Certainly not!” he protested, completely surprised at her vehement response – and, she could see through the haze of her anger, suddenly afraid that his almost habitual joke might be having the stated detrimental effect.  He raised both his hands either in surrender or to ward her off – it was hard to tell.

Then all of a sudden, he was looking past her and uttering another vain plea to the Ainur, this time to Oromë.  So she also looked.  A large, slinky brown rat was scurrying along the stone foundation of the infested storage barn intent on running across the open yard to the animal barn.  Flashing out a steely throwing knife from the full holster hanging off his belt, Laurefindë took quick aim and flung it at his sprinting target.  It pinned the animal to the ground, delivering a swift death.  Ulbanís cried out; a natural reflex to Laurefindë’s vicious, quicksilver move and the resulting mortality.

“That makes an even twenty,” he said, deftly whirling a second gleaming blade – pulled in case he missed with the first – before executing a showy flip and returning it to the holster.  “Pretty good for one morning’s tally, if I do say so myself.  I ken them now.  See if I do not get twice as many in the hours ‘til night.”

Ulbanís moaned in despair; her shoulders drooped under defeat.

Empty bins were on her right and spilled out mounds of contaminated wheat were on her left.  The stock-piled grain that was meant to be bartered for all the necessities of the guesthouse was now unfit even for pig feed.  As they stood here over the bloating bodies of the perpetrators, precious grain was still being lost; continually ruined by an exponential foe.  Three harried sisters and one young helper were simply too few hands to get ahead of the voracious rats and also care for the reborn.  She bent down and overturned her mop-bucket, spilling the sudsy contents onto the already squishy grass.  Then, she plopped down to sit upon it, bowed head in hands.

“Amillë!”  Laurefindë immediately came to her side, falling to his knees with a splash in the grey puddle.  He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and leaned her head against his chest.  “I am so sorry!  I should not have killed the creature right in front of you like that!  That was very callous of me!”  She shook her head for that was not what had overwhelmed her.  “You are right,” he said thoroughly contrite.  “I am a thoughtless cretin.  I should never have presumed.  I do not show you the proper respect.”  She shook her head again.  “Uh... I should not have arrived unannounced?  I am abusing our friendship and your kind hospitality... ?”  He was at a loss – because everything was always about him.  So why should he understand that this was about her?  Annoyed, she shook her head again.  Best if she just admitted the truth.  But, a sob escaped her throat instead of words.  She swallowed hard and strove to get control of her voice.

“... ‘tis nothing you have done...”  Another sob leaped out and tears began to flow.  “... we have all worked so hard... and this is all my fault... “  She drew a shaky breath.

“Nothing of the sort!” he adamantly declared. 

“... we needed this grain... ”  She pulled back and looked with unmasked anguish into his confused face.  “... I... I may have to close our gate!”   

Having said it, she broke down bawling.  The villagers had already been kind to a fault and could not be asked for more!  So many sponsors, some who could ill-afford it, had faithfully placed their donations into her inept hands!  How could she go back and tell them she had failed their trust?  She impulsively wrapped her arms around Laurefindë’s chest and clung to him, devastated.

“Please!  Please do not cry!” he begged, starting to become empathetically weepy.  “This is not all your fault!  You are not the only one to underestimate these trespassers!  They are spreading like a filthy plague across the countryside and should have been exterminated at the docks ere they were allowed to leap onto Aman’s blessed soil!”  He adjusted his position to more comfortably sit back on his heels while holding her.  “All will be well.  Everything will be fine,” he said, speaking to himself as much as to her.  He began to rock her and rub her back as one would a colicky infant.  “Please stop crying!  You will not have to close.  I will replace the loss myself.”

“... you have not the means…” she managed to say, muffled against his shoulder now damp from her tears, “... not any more than I...”

“Well, I will earn some means,” he assured her – peeved at her dismissal of him.  “I have some skills.”  Of course, he did – knowing he was more than good at his warrior arts was what gave him his great confidence.  He had proven his significant worth in dire battle – even to the Valar by dispensing vital training to the Host before it had embarked upon the war against Melkor.  But then after all he had done to prepare them, Laurefindë had been forcibly restrained from returning to Ennor – something he greatly resented.  “And I have an even more valuable skill now,” he declared.  “Along with your well-respected recommendation, I hope!”

He abruptly extricated himself from her and, standing up, took on the exaggerated pose of a theatrical hero.  She looked up at him in his grimy clothes and thought how truly impressive he was despite the sagging muddy knees, fly-away hair, and self-mockery.

“Rat-slayer for Hire!” he proclaimed with a gleaming faux smile, his fists planted firmly upon his hips.  “Rats, snakes, spiders and vermin of all kinds – eradicated!!”  He threw a hand up, executing a flourished snap of the fingers.  “Balrogs are extra.”  She could not help but laugh. 

“Alas, I cannot afford you, Master Rat-slayer!” she melodramatically replied, pretending a swooning helplessness.  “Have pity on a poor sister!”  Relieved that he had stopped her weeping, he swashed down beside her again on one soggy knee; gently lifting her roughened hands to hold between his calloused ones.  “An amusing game, Laurefindë, but no solution,” she said, sniffling but comforted enough to carry on.  “We are not your responsibility.  I will apply to Caloron for further relief.”

“No, you will not!”  For some strange reason, he had formed a dislike of her landlord.  Caloron was not high born, but when Laurefindë called him common – it sounded like an insult.

“No, you will not!”  He actually blushed as she fixed him in another fuming stare.  She sat up straight and withdrew her hands from his.  It occurred to her then that she had not ever seen him so taken aback by anything she had said – her tears had wholly overwhelmed him!  Recognizing her best opportunity, she went for it.  “If you truly wish to make me happy, go back to Ilmarin instead of sailing to Eressëa.”

“How – ?!  I never said anything about – !”  He sprang to his feet and stared down at her at first in disarray then offended.  “I suppose, you always will know my mind even without knowing my thoughts.”  She would not be enjoying her small victory – he knew exactly how to retaliate and would.  “How disconcerting you servants of Nienna are.  No wonder you have so few return visitors.”  Her life had indeed become one of isolation compared to the gregarious days of her youth.  Laurefindë was one of the few of their kindred to have actually visited her, and more than once, in this distant countryside.  However, he liked to think of himself as a disciplined warrior – and his derision spoke not of offense as much as mortification.

Yestereve during her welcome of him, she had sensed that this visit was a prelude to an important decision on his part.  He had purposely arrived under cover of night so he was clearly worried about being stopped from going wherever he was going.  His behavior at breakfast had denoted something of a parting ritual, so she figured he was thinking of leaving Eldamar.  Ever a courtier, it was not difficult to guess that the Lonely Isle was his destination and not some solitary wilderness.

In his present emotional state, if she silently beseeched him, appearing as if she were on the edge of tears again, which she was, he would be unable to bear it for long and have to say something.  She would then get the truth from him.  So, she held his eyes with hers, encircling his guarded heart with her plaintive one – and he could not turn away.

The sharp-edged shadow cast by the barn slowly crept towards them.  The grass began to dry; the smoky water seeping slowly into the ground.  Small birds came to frolic in the sloppy puddles formed around the bins.  The moldering grain began to stink.  Fat, glistening flies attracted by the spoilage, started buzzing around the closed crate seeking entrance.  The young barn cat, understandably cowed by the rats, came from across the yard and stealthfully stationed himself in a spot where he could bid his time until ready to pounce; his unwavering stare fixed upon the carefree birds.

Much sooner than Ulbanís anticipated, Laurefindë caved.  He huffed and crossed his arms; exasperated and reluctantly yielding to the situation he had brought upon himself by coming to see her.  Then unfolding his arms, he again knelt down beside her and hesitantly reached for her hands.  She quickly grasped both of his with both of hers.

“You are the only person I shall truly miss when I go,” he said with some umbrage, averting his angry eyes by looking down at their clasped hands.

“Why?” she gently asked; knowing the answer, but also selfishly eager to hear it.

“Because I love you most of all, Amillë,” he stated without any hesitation – then added more than she wanted to hear.  “For though you are my second mother, you are better than my first.”

“Your amil does not deserve what you just said,” she reprimanded him; disappointed he was still not able to set aside his grievances against his parents.  “How could she ever understand you, seeing as no other in your family has ever set foot off Taniquetil since settling there?”

“Did that give her and atar the right to disown me?” he asked, barely holding back his bitterness.

“In their eyes, yes.  In yours, no.  In mine, you have always expected too much from them.”

“Your family still talks to you.”

“My family is not as virtuous as yours.”

He looked at her and scowled.

“Very well then – as pious.”

“I tried to do everything that was asked of me when reborn.  I went back to their house repentant and they still refused to acknowledge me.  How can they continue to hold my going to war against me now when so many others including Ingwë’s own son have gone as well?”  His pained expression showed that his whining hurt even his own ears.  “I do not think that I should discuss this with you.”

“Who else is there?”  She squeezed his hands.  “Do not deceive yourself about the difference between you going to Endor under Their condemnation and Ingil going with Their blessings.  Are you angry that you do bear some of the fault for your being shunned by certain people?”

“No, I ... I do not wish you to be found at fault for abetting me.”  She realized with little satisfaction that she had been right to accuse him of hiding out when he came to her door.  He had obviously sneaked away from the Holy Mountain – without obtaining proper leave.  The last thing she wanted was for him to get into irremediable trouble.

“Then you do indeed intend to leave Eldamar for very foolish reasons!”

“You know nothing of my reasons!”

“Are you so blind to your own ambitions?” she taunted him.  Of course, he was not unaware of his wants, but he would not tell her everything if she did not push him.  “Save for foolish reasons, you would by now have regaled me with every detail of your little plot, when and how and why.  You know your plan is utter folly and you are embarrassed, not concerned for me!”

“But not so distracted that I cannot see what you are doing, Seler.”

“Well, I am glad you are paying such close attention.  Listen closely to this!”  She tightened her grip so he would not easily slip away from her.  “You are feeling useless – nothing more.”  She felt some of the tension go out of him which assured her that she was right.  “I can understand that feeling.  It is the greatest reason we became friends.  Your forbearers and mine were not the sort that would ever sit blissfully at Manwë’s feet.  We have been gifted with discontent.  Although, your parents – and mine as understandable as they are – would probably call it a bane and not a blessing.  Many cannot understand why we must act or that we need to do something more than bask in Ilmarin’s glory and compose praises!  My way is to be a mother to the reborn and yours is to be a captain to a prince.  But, being unordinary does not mean we must also be unwise.  I sought guidance – Their guidance! – in following my vocation and you should be doing the same.”

“You are not in such great straits as a result of that guidance, now are you,” he pointed out, with some malice.  “They have cheated me of my free choice once already,” he growled.  “I should have gone with the Host!”  He angrily jerked his hands away from her and stood up; his hands fisted at his sides.  He stepped away, but did not leave.

“And you would have been slain for a second time!” she fervently explained.  “Then what great straits might you be in?  The Halls of Waiting until the End?  Do not presume to always know what is best for you, child!”

“I am not a seldo but a nér!”  Now, she thought, he will tell me.  “And I have to go elsewhere for there is no prince here that will take me into his service.”  His pride had been deeply wounded and, knowing that pain so very well herself, it struck her hard.

“Oh, Laurefindë!  How miserable for you!” she cried, going to him and embracing him.  “But, why?” she asked, leaning back to see his face.  “You are supremely qualified!”

“Why do you think?  All to whom I have applied repeat Eönwë’s assessment of me.  That I am too single-minded.  Not the true reason, of course.  But, it is unconscionable to be unprepared for war!  Look at what has already happened following such a policy!  In Avallonë, there are those who share my opinion!”

She had heard his view on keeping a standing army many times before and she was still not convinced of the wisdom of it any more than King Ingwë.  And it was the High King of the Eldar’s opinion that the other Kings and princes were expected to follow.  Which was the true reason for Laurefindë‘s lack of a position just as he had said.  Nevertheless, he would not set his disruptive conviction aside – even for the sake of loyalty.

“Enough!” she ordered, alarmed.  “You need to go back to Ilmarin and avoid getting caught in the tangled nets of disgruntled Exiles, pardoned or not.”

“I am done with The Powers!”  But, she instantly knew differently.

“No, you are not, Laurefindë Vany’aráto,” she replied, calmed by the sure knowledge.  He glowered at her, obstinate.  He did not want to trust her, but was unable to dismiss her wisdom and past good advice – her advice perhaps the unacknowledged reason he had come to her before deserting the mainland.  However this time, she felt, her advice would not necessarily be followed when it absolutely must.  “If you will not do it for yourself, will you please do it for me?”

She watched him struggle to say the answer he wanted and not the answer she wanted.  Eventually, he did answer; although he was so frustrated at giving in that he could not use words.  Only a nod, yet it bound him as would an oath.  She was exceedingly relieved.

“Please,” she pleaded, embracing him again, “do not give up.”  Releasing him, she stepped back taking hold of his hands and searching his gloomy face for forgiveness.  “Strive as hard as you ever have.  If you are steadfast, Manwë will hear your petition for suitable employment.  And remember that you do have a home and family in Eldamar.  With me, wherever I am.”

“What if once again Súlimo simply sends me down to sit on Taniquetil in sublime meditation?”

“You slipped away this time, did you not?” she asked, intentionally flattering his skill and will.  “If there is no other recourse, you shall come to me for I will never send you away again.  I promise.”  She let go of his hands.  “Take courage,” she said and patronizingly patted his chest.  “They might make you Exterminator Lord General and commission you anew to train a troop of rat-slayers and save Eldamar from these fell beasts.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny. You could join a comedy troupe if this living does not work out for you.”  His cheerless countenance changed to a rueful smile before he kissed the cheek she offered with the added aid of pointing out with her index finger the exact spot where his lips should land.  Then scanning the surrounding scene, he said with a sigh, “Well, Mother, I will not go back to make a further mess of my life until this mess is cleaned up.”

“Thank you, my son,” she said in her most condescending aramillë voice.  “Would you then please turn that heavy bin over for me?  And this time brace it up so it may properly dry out.”

 >>->>  >>->>  >>->>

The stiff pages of the letter rustled in her shaking hand, rattling like autumn leaves.  She wiped away tears lest they fall and smear the ink.  She was laughing that hard.

Ulbanís laughed not just because she was relieved that someone she loved was alive instead of having once more been brutally slain.  Or that the disheartened reborn, who had become her disillusioned friend and an exile for an unprecedented second time, was instead happy and fulfilled and looking forward to coming back.  No, welcomed relief was not the whole reason for her glee.

What made her laugh so loud and hard was the florid signature on the last page: Laurefindë Nyarro-nahtar.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

seldo/selde/selda – boy/girl/child Quenya

amillë/amil/amm‎ë – mater/mother/mom Quenya

aramillë – mother superior high mother Quenya

seler/toron – sister/brother who is not a sibling Quenya

nér/nís – elf male/female Quenya

amil/atar – mother/father Quenya

Súlimo – another name for Manwë, Wind(breath) Lord(person)

Elentári – another name for Varda, Star Queen

vany’aráto – fair champion (beautiful hero) Quenya - An anessë from Ulbanís, not Tolkien

nyarro-nahtar – rat-slayer Quenya

Ulbanís and Rostaro are OCs from another fanfic: Beech Leaves.