Weight of Water
It's a warm, late summer afternoon on which Muirgheal has chosen to keep her own company. In her full beautiful gown- she has no other clothes here, except her dirty ones- she has made her way through the woods to a familiar spot, the shore of Lake Ivrin. The idea is to relax, and seek peace of mind, but Muirgheal finds that even the water isn't soothing her temper. The sun bears down hard on the sand, and so she tosses off her dress, a flash of emerald briefly airborn before it settles in a heap, the cloth shimmering in the heat like the gossamer wings of an insect. Muirgheal strips down to a thin white shift, and then lies in the sand, letting the sun bake her pale limbs and face. She closes her eyes, but is still restless.
There are footsteps barely heard, making their way through the surrounding woods at a careful pace. Another set of heavier steps accompanies them, following a brief flash of blue among the trees. There is a note of white to join the blue, before both disappear into the dark shadows cast by the thick leaves. The elleth Rochwen are her mare are well hidden, moving nearer and nearer to the lake with a practiced ease. The Healer slowly raises her head once she has taken a few more steps, eyes upon the shore, even as the mare moves further ahead.
Muirgheal becomes tired of lying down, the sun bearing down on her directly becoming too much. Black eyes open to the world again, and look to the cool-seeming lake water. She is brightly burning from the inside out, and the sun does not ease this. Perhaps the water will. She walks slowly into lake Ivrin, cold blue swallowing up her feet first, then ankles, devouring the warmth of her. The water sucks at her shift, and the murky bottom at her feet. Soon, she is in up to her neck, and where her feet can still touch bottom, this is a fun game. She tries to swim a little, though she doesn't really know how very well, and she splashes on either side of herself with her good arm. Cool, incandescent drops from her splashing collect on her face and hair.
There's a sudden sound from the shore. A hunting dog, his coat a tawny color, has emerged from the woods. He's barking, a sharp, deep sound, but not distressed. More like he, too, wishes to play. He comes down to the place where land and water meet, but he doesn't enter the lake.
A tilt of her head is the way Rochwen acknowledges the presence of another by the lake, as the sound of splashing meets her ears. The gray mare Fainrandis pauses in her trek to the shore, glancing back toward the elleth. "Go on, my lady," she whispers simply, "I will call if I have need of you." With this, the mare trots off, leaving Rochwen to look toward the shore once more at the barking of a hound. A smile alights on her face, for she perhaps recognizes the creature. After a long moment, she begins to make her way to the clearing surrounding the shore, coming throug the trees.
Muirgheal looks toward the sound. She finds herself smiling a little for the first time since her arrival. She knows that dog, a huntress' hound, for he frequents the lake and she's met him here before. She waves at him with her good arm, the one in her now-soaking sling being quite useless. Then she dunks her head beneath the water and opens her eyes. Everything is different down here, floating serene, a soothing feeling. Giddy, Muirgheal wants more, but it's hard to stay down, she has to fight for it. The surface wants to reclaim her, but she'd rather be down here, just another quiet part of the blue. She kicks her way further down, though her lungs are burning. With no air, she's delirious. She'd like to live in the murky underworld of the lake, grow gills, depend on this place for survival.
From shore, all that can be seen of the young woman in the lake is a flash of white, her shift floating up, and a little disturbance where she's kicking her feet so furiously.
The sun peeks over the Misty Mountains and illuminates the valley again.
Upon nearing the shore, Rochwen smiles, for she does indeed know the hound. Trapping an errant strand of auburn hair behind one hand, she calls, her voice bright and clear, "Mallennen, it is good to see you." She slips into Elvish next, as she draws closer. The elleth halts, though, when she suddenly realizes the woman she has been looking after, however secretly, has disappeared. A quick glance is afforded to the water, and she lets out a sigh of relief when she sees a bit of white. Carefully, she settles in the sand to wait.
However badly Muirgheal may want it, for a moment, the lake will not have her. So she returns to the surface, taking in deep breaths and trying to get her feet back to where they can touch the bottom. It's hard going, and exhausting, with only one arm to paddle. Still, she makes her way out of the water, and after several minutes have gone by, she's made good progress. Her shift clings embarassingly tight to her small curves, and so she's grateful to see, when she's standing only waist deep in the water and walking out, that it's Rochwen waiting for her on the shore and not a stranger. Her black eyes are a little glassy and dazed from her time underwater. "Mae govannen, mellon." It's nice to speak the few words of Sindarin that she knows. She's still breathing heavily, as though her lungs can't get enough air.
"Mae govannen, Noruiwen," Rochwen greets, looking up from where she sits cross-legged in the sand. She spares a glance, and a hint of a half-smile, to the hunting hound before her eyes return to Muirgheal. "How are the waters today?" she asks simply.
Muirgheal comes out of the water and sits down in the warm sand, but still close enough for the water to touch her toes. "Lovely, cold, and not so dangerous. I am perhaps the greater danger. But I love my children. I miss them." Much more of an answer than Rochwen perhaps expected. She reaches out a hand to see if the dog will come near, and he does. She scratches his belly, and smiles just a bit.
The Healer watches the woman for a long moment, before she nods in understanding. "His name is Mallennen," she begins, gently nudging the hound's foot with the toe of one boot, amusement in her eyes. It fades just a touch, though, replaced by calm. "If you wish them here, mellon...I might yet see if permission could be gotten to send one of our messenger birds. They are quick, and smart as well. I know of none here that could travel back to Bree, but perhaps the bird might find one of my kin, returned home from the sea. They could surely bring the children with them if they knew we resided here."
Muirgheal is still playing with the gentle hound. "Mallennen." She repeats. "I like him. I've seen him here before." She isn't looking at Rochwen anymore, but rather at the trees beyond the lake, distant. She replies, though, "Yes...I'd like that. I need that. Them here. I am beginning to think we will be here for quite some time, and I did not intend to be away from them for so long." She tousels the dog's fur on his head and looks back at her friend. "I also need to find something I'm not useless at, to pass the days here. I am no help to my husband, but...is there anything I might do? Some sort of...you know, honest work?"
A small smile. "He is my sister's, though he runs off on his own often enough," Rochwen says, focusing her attention on the waters edge. She looks thoughtful for a very long moment. "If you would like work that will keep you busy, the stables are always in need of help. Any of the duties of those of the House & Field Guild, I think, might perhaps work." There is a pause, before she looks to Muirgheal. "If you wish to stay busy, that is. Mellon, I know things have been...hard, the past few days, but...if you are willing, there is another task I would request of you."
"Sure," Muirgheal says, looking at Rochwen now with eager eyes, hungry for a better purpose here. "What is it you'd like me to do? Keep in mind, I only have one arm, but...when it heals, I can do harder labor." She's thinking about what she might do here.
Rochwen hesitates a moment, as if she might speak, then stops. Something flickers in her eyes, and she looks at the water again, quiet for a few minutes as she thinks. Finally, she says, "I...will need your help, mellon, with...any healing that might be done." Just a sentence, nothing more, for she nows how hard the subject is for both of them. There is a great deal more behind the request though, and such might be hinted at in the heaviness of her voice. It is a moment before she adds, "I have an idea, once that might keep you busy and allow you to help. Part of the day you might aid me in my Healer's duties, and the rest we shall find you some type of work to do. Be it with the horses, perhaps cooking some..." She looks up, wondering what her friend might be thinking.
"I'm not a true healer, I told you. I only fix cuts and things. Ask Cordelia. I fixed her arm." A strange grin follows that. Then, sensing that there is more to Rochwen's words than what she's just heard, she prompts, "Aid you in what healer's duties? I know some about herbs and things." A little shrug, then. "Ask Lord Elrond what he'd have me do?"
"For the type of healing I suspect will be needed, you maybe well be our greatest asset," Rochwen says, frowning a bit as she thinks. "But I must speak with Hir Elrond first he will know what to do. Until then, though..." A small smile, "Would you like to help with other things? Caring for some of the herbs, mixing things for teas and salves...I might even show you what we use for treating horses, sometimes. It is a different way of healing, but similiar nonetheless." A pause, then, "What I truly meant for needing your help, though, is the...things involved your husband, if you would wish it?"
Muirgheal nods, "I can mix things and make tea. That's easy enough." A smile at the idea of such simple work follows. "And I can do anything else that Lord Elrond would wish, to show my appreciation for being welcomed here a second time." The second half of what she asks takes a little more consideration. "I'm already mourning him for a second time- nothing could make my pain greater than it is now. So I suppose going along with whatever you have in mind, it wouldn't hurt me much."
Mallennen is tired of being ignored while the women are talking. He barks, then puts a dirty paw on Muirgheal's shift. She starts in surprise, then playfully swipes at him. The result? She winds up chasing him back and forth across the sand, losing badly because of how much the soft surface slows her down.
"Do not mourn just yet, my friend," Rochwen whispers, even as Muirgheal stands to chase after the hound. She smiles slowly, standing to watch the pair with an amused expression.
