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Chapter 10 – A little dirt with your tea, sir or the Story of Buh Buh Bobbin
The usual disclaimers apply. You know who I am and you know who I
ain’t. You know what I claim and you know what I cain’t. IF that
don’t to it, go find the prologue…
A little dirt with your tea, sir or The Story of Buh Buh Bobbin.
Chapter 10
The room was open, really more a patio, framed by beautifully draped
trees. The wind was nippy, cold even and the area was filled with
people. Music filled the air and the Voyeur saw among the throng…
The Woman.
The Big Elf.
They stood at the front of the gathering, she dressed in a heavy
red woolen dress, exquisitely worked. The Big Elf was in blue hues
with fur trimming. The Voyeur watched her look at the red-headed
Elfling standing in front of the crowd with the Elf Lord, his
clothing resplendent as well.
Appreciative murmuring through the crowd.
“Lle naa vanima. She is beautiful.”
“Of course she is! Look at her father… her grandfather…her
mother as well…”
Two Elves the Voyeur recognized walked through the crowd. The
Prince of Greenwood, Legolas. His daughter, Orelinde…
“My son did well. She was a fine mate for him.”
The Voyeur grimaced. “I must sit through weddings, now? I think I
prefer vomiting.”
The Elf raised an elegant eyebrow. “You did specify happy memories.”
The Voyeur’s fingers flicked at unseen dust. “So tell me, was he
forced to marry her?” He remembered well the two being caught in such a… reprehensible manner…
“You mean, did he impregnate her, thereby rushing or forcing their
bonding? No. Unlike my youngest daughter and her husband-” the Big
Elf pointed out a petite blonde elleth and a tall Elf – Heridil – “-
Beckett and Orelinde had the sense to wait until after the bonding
ceremony to agree.”
“Agree?”
“Yes. Agree.” Amused blue eyes looked into the Voyeur’s black
ones. “In Elven society, two must agree mutually in order to have
children. Beckett and his lady chose to wait. Anselm and Heridil, on
the other hand…”
The Voyeur looked closely and saw the small bundle the Elf held close
to him. A tiny face peered upwards, attempting to focus and the Elf
smiled down indulgently.
“Our first grandchild. A male. An Elfling.” The Big Elf was lost in
thought for a moment. “Lord Celeborn told me once that male Elflings
were a source of pride to an Ada. A father.” He focused his eyes on
the Voyeur. “Sons who grow to be strong Elves. Girls, Elleths, she-
Elves, on the other hand, are a father’s sunshine. They are moonbeamsdancing on the linens at night. Harken to my words, there is something special about putting that pile of ruffles on your arm.”
The wind blew and seasons changed.
The Voyeur watched as the Big Elf walked the elleth through a
small group of people to the tall Elf who had become her husband.
“That was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. Baraermin
dealt with it much better.” The words were whispered in his ear and
the Voyeur sought out the Woman. Again the Elf Lord stood, speaking
solemn words, the Big Elf reluctant to turn loose of his child,
finally transferring his tight grasp to his wife, who watched with
maternal pride.
The wind blew again, whipping cruelly about the Voyeur and he found
himself standing in a huge hall, in the midst of crowds of richly
dressed people. A beautiful, dark-haired she-Elf, gently rested her
hand on the arm of a stoic, hard-muscled Man, who looked strangely
out of place and uncomfortable in his rich clothing.
“Arwen. The Evenstar of Imladris.”
“My relative…” The Voyeur was struck by the beauty of the she-Elf.
“Nay. As much as I would love to say she was too beautiful for you
to be hers, you are her direct descendant. You are one of the few to
come from her line, not the twins. You are the descendant of a great
king, one who did not want the title, one who would prefer to stay in
the background, doing what needed to be done. Quietly protecting. You are also the direct descendant of a great Elf Lord…” the Big Elf
held out his hand, gesturing…
“Behold. Lord Elrond of Rivendell.”
The Elf stood in the corner, watching his daughter. His robes were
rich in dark proportment and his face was etched, lined. He had sharp
features, a sharp nose and his mouth turned downward. His sapphire
blue eyes glittered.
“He is unhappy with his daughter’s choice.” The Voyeur mused.
“Very unhappy.”
“Why? She married a king.”
“She embraced, preferred mortality rather than life. By marrying
Ellessar, she chose a mortal life. At his death, she went into the
Golden Woods and lay on the hill of Cerin Amroth and faded. She could not bear to live without him.”
The wind blew again.
It was summer, warm, a beautiful day. A large, but intimate
gathering of people stood around and the Voyeur heard her voice.
“Celeborn? Am I getting married today?”
Apparently, she was. Escorted by the Elf Lord, Celeborn, and
dressed in a simple lace gown of white, the Voyeur watched as she was led towards the top of the hill, where the Big Elf and the Elf Lord
Elrond waited. Along the way, she was stopped, handed a rose and
whispers of love and good wishes were heaped upon her.
Except one.
“Must you marry the big, mean, ugly Elf?” The Halfling peered up at
the Woman, his eyes searching. Hers were wide in astonishment.
“Pippin was always frightened of me. I do not know why.” The Big
Elf looked nonchalantly thoughtful.
“Perhaps, it as because you are a mean, big, ugly Elf?”
The Big Elf’s smile was mirthless.
“Listen.” And from the hill, the voices of the Big Elf and the
Woman could be heard easily.
“…I’d give up forever to speak with you,
to hear my name on your lips.
I would give up forever to talk with you,
to share with you your dreams.
I would give up forever to sing with…”
And the Big Elf’s vows droned on. She answered in an equally strong
voice.
“Entreat me not to leave thee or to return from following after thee:
for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge, thy people shall be my people and thy God, my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.”
The scenery froze.
The Big Elf turned towards the Voyeur.
“The hardest thing I had ever done was give my beloved daughter away to an Elf. A strong Elf, a loving Elf, who I liked and admired. He
was good to her and for her. He was a wonderful Ada, father to the
children she bore him.”
“But now, I am asked to do something even more difficult. I must give
my Heart, My most precious jewel, to one I do not know. To one I do
not think appreciates her. To one who does not understand her. You do not comprehend her gifts, her calling, nor her burdens.”
“She is the very air I breathe. Saes… please. Help her. Help her
find her bow.” The Big Elf laid a single finger across the lips of
the Voyeur and he found himself chanting with the Elf…
She is our greatest treasure, our Air, she is our heart.
Our heart… our heart…
Ours…
***
Well you think that you can take me on
You must be crazy
There ain’t a single thing you’ve done
That’s gonna phase me
Oh, but if you want to have a go
I just want to let you know
Get off my back and into my game
Get off my back
Bryan Adams
***
Celeborn stayed for three days, talking to Dumbledore, Rumil, riding
with Bronwyn and Hagrid.
Observing Snape.
Which was fine with Severus, because he watched the Elf Lord in
turn.
The Wizard did not understand or like the touchy-feely relationship
Bronwyn had with Celeborn. It unnerved him, made him feel…
If he did not know better, he would have sworn he was feeling the
stirrings of jealousy.
But he knew better and just continued to watch.
And when the Elf Lord left, Bronwyn and Snape escorted him to the
train.
“Tithen Aras, I will return soon for Rumil. Please be prepared.”
The petulant pout Snape was so familiar with presented itself in its
full glory.
“Do not do that to me, Celeborn. Please. He is a great source of
comfort.”
An elegant eyebrow arched, as the Elf raised a long, graceful finger
and wagged it under her nose. “Do not attempt to gainsay me,
sweetling. You have had him an enormous time, however I need my March Warden and you need to prepare for your students.” His eyes raised to the Dark Wizard beside her. “Not to mention, you have other things that need attending.” Bronwyn scowled at him.
Celeborn playfully scowled back.
“Do not think to use your tears on me. I am immune!”
“Bull shite.”
For all of his beauty and elegance, Celeborn’s snort was neither. He
drew her into his embrace and kissed her on her forehead. “Do not
scowl so. You will get a furrow identical to this Wizard’s here and
then we would not be able to tell the two of you apart.” Severus
snorted at that. “You have much to do. I will be back soon. Hopefully, the two of you will have made some progress. I will be most happy to hear about it.” And with a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth, Celeborn boarded the train.
Bronwyn waited and waved until it rounded the corner and was
completely out of sight.
“Come, Bronwyn. I have cauldrons to administer to and you have things to do.” Severus tucked her hand in his elbow and led her back to the school.
***
The days passed slowly. Knowing their time together was drawing to a
close, Rumil and Bronwyn spent an enormous amount of it together,
shooting, fletching arrows, talking, singing, remembering. Celeborn
had loaned her his lute, as her guitar was not usable in its current
state. She had Haldir’s harp, but it sat on her mantle, in a place of
honor of sorts next to her teddy bear. Many evenings, she and Rumil
would sit outside Hagrid’s door, each with an acoustical instrument
and `folk-jamming.’ And if Wizards and Witches seemed to stroll by
often, or sit outside to enjoy the weather, it was not noted or
remarked on too terribly much. The music was elaborate in its
simplicity and while Hagrid was not a lovely singer, he did make
lovely melodies on his wooden flute, harmonizing with the strings of
the Elf and Woman.
***
Get out of my way and out of my brain
Get outta my face or give it you best shot
I think it’s time you better face the fact
Get off my back
Get off my back
Bryan Adams
***
His head hurt. His neck hurt. His back hurt. Hell, everything hurt
and Bronwyn was purely vexed at his refusal to do anything about it.
So she decided enough was enough.
“Severus!”
She was in her accustomed spot – on a stool in front of his caldrons,
poking her nose into each and every one. She was swinging her feet
and ruffling Amadeus’ fur with each pass.
“Bronwyn, do you have nothing better to do?” Severus scowled, eyes
glittering through the steam. “Where is Rumil?”
“With Madame Hooch.”
“Ah.”
“Or is it Minerva tonight? Maybe Russ…” her voice trailed off. “I
don’t know…”
“Whatever. Go pester Remus.”
“Full moon tonight.” She shrugged an apology.
“Filch? Albus?”
“Severus!” He completed his stirring and looked wearily at the woman
sitting across from him. “Your head aches. Please let me help.”
“No.”
“Bah!” She smacked the counter, the sound rousing the sleeping wolf
at her feet. “You are worse than any two year old I have ever
met. `No’ to this, `no’ to that. You are an irritating man!”
Snape raised his eyebrows and began to pull ingredients from a nearby shelf.
When he turned around, she was gone. He looked around the counter. Amadeus still lay where he had been, under her chair, dark blue eyes staring holes…
“Do you not wish to join her?”
Amadeus proceeded to gnaw on the leg of the chair, flashing white
canines shining eerily in the gloom of the room.
She breezed back through the door, carrying vials, several pouches,
and a small pot. She passed the chair, the counter, heading straight
across the classroom, into…
… his private chambers?
“Bronwyn. What are you doing?” Scowling, he came around the counter and followed her.
She was not in the sitting area.
Damn it all, she was…
“Get out of my chambers! You have quite a bit of… what are you
doing?” He watched as she set the small metal container next to his
bed and proceeded to arrange oils next to it. Quickly, she measured
different liquids and poured them into the bowl and with the flick of
a lighter, lit the small candle beneath it. She turned back around
and scooping up the vials, she brushed past him as she exited the
room.
“Bronwyn. I ask…”
“Uma, yes, yes, you asked a question.” She never looked back. “I am
going to see what I can do about your headache, whether you like it
or not.” She went around the counter and gently placed the vials
down. She began to look around, under the counter, on the shelf.
Amadeus continued to gnaw quite happily on the stool leg.
In response to her rattling around his bins, Severus rubbed his
temples. “I do not desire your help in this.”
“Dammit to hell! You don’t get it, do you, Severus?” Bronwyn turned
on him, hand on her hip. “Your headache is giving me one! I don’t
know why…”
“Hal – DEAR never gave you a headache?”
“No!” She smacked the counter again. “HalDEAR had the good sense to allow me to minister to him when they began!”
The Potions Master continued to rub on his temples, vexed at her
argument. “I really do not desire your Elvish magic…”
” Listen close and listen carefully, you self-serving, uptight
Neithadol! I really don’t give a warg’s arse what you do or do not
desire at this point.” Her voice was clipped, sharp and his eyes
popped open at her angry tone. “Your headache is killing me! You
aren’t resting, you haven’t had a decent nights sleep in even you
don’t know how long. And you talked about me not being any good to
you if I didn’t eat! Well, you are no good to me if you are falling
over exhausted with a migraine! I promise I will not embarrass you or
ask you to do something unnatural… well… whatever is unnatural
for you!” She began to look around again. “I need a small pot…” she
made a small circle with her hands, eyes never leaving the
shelf, “… about so big…”
Severus sighed angrily and rolled his eyes, setting the headache off
on another tangent of throbs. “I do not have pots, madam! I have
cauldrons!”
“Fine! A small cauldron will do!” She held her circled fingers towards him.
“Bronwyn, I do not desire your help in this!”
She narrowed her eyes in anger. “Fine. I’ll just use this one here.”
She nodded to a rather large cauldron that was empty. She flicked her
lighter, the flame dangerously high.
“Bronwyn, no!” He reached out a grabbed the lighter from her
hand. “The one on your left is dangerously flammable!” She swung her hand over the cauldrons, attempting to grab the lighter from him.
Realizing that she would be unable to retrieve the small appliance,
she reiterated her request, her fingers encircled. “About so big!”
He stared at her, unbelieving her cheek. “Bronwyn, I…”
“Severus. Please.” she pleaded softly. “Saes.”
She looked completely worn down. Did he truly affect her as she
affected him? “Honestly, Severus, what could it hurt?”
Let her try.
“Over there.” he pointed. “There are beakers on the top shelf.” She smiled, nodding her head in thanks and quickly retrieved a small
receptacle from the spot. He had her set up away from the different
cauldrons and watched with interest as she began to carefully pour
different oils into the small vessel.
“What is all that?” It was interesting as the tables turned and he
sat on the stool, watching her through the steam, for a change.
“Chamomile, lavender, peppermint.” She carefully watched the tiny
drop slowly fall into the glass. “Just a small bit of peppermint.”
She made a funny smile and poured a healthy dollop. “Alright! A lot
of peppermint!” Another drop. “Rosemary. Melissa.” She switched to
the pouches and began to sprinkle herbs. “Sage, French Clary Sage, to be exact, piperitol… would you conjure large pot of tea?… ah…”
she was digging through the small leather bags, “there it is… aloe
and glycerin!” The oils were simmering and she used a long, glass
stir stick to swirl the combined oils. “Is the tea ready?”
Severus nodded towards the teapot the house elf had brought and
levitated it her way. Watching it set gently next to her, she removed
the lid and began to drop differing herbs into it.
“What are you putting in the tea?”
“I have no idea.” She admitted. “Lord Elrond gave it to me when I
needed to relax and I need you to relax.” She took in his look of
apprehension and laughed. “Loosen up, Severus. I am not going to kill
you. As much as I hate to admit it, I need you alive and well! So
here!” She stirred the liquid and put the lid back on, handing it to
him. “Drink up! It’s not addictive and it won’t knock you out!”
He poured out a cupful and sipped.
And promptly spat it back out.
“Madam! This tastes like…”
“Dirt. I know.” she smiled. “I often accused Elrond of trying to pull
one over on me and lying to me, but he insisted it was not and it
does work.” She flicked her fingers at him. “Besides, you gave me
that nasty shite when I had the bruises, so drink up!”
Slowly, he sipped the vile liquid, watching her closely.
Watched her swirl the oils in the vessel.
Watched her fingers caress the top, slide up and down the neck.
Watched the heat of her gaze…
“How much longer, Bronwyn?”
She did not look up, smiling down into the oils. “When you finish
your tea.” She removed the glass vial from the flame. “And as soon as
this cools.”
Severus poured the final dregs from the teapot. “And exactly what are
you going with that mixture and that which is in my room?”
She blew into the beaker, attempting to cool the oil faster. “The
oils in your room will create a pleasant scent designed to soothe
you.”
Oh joy, he thought, snidely. A soothed Snape. Wouldn’t his students
love to get a hold of that mixture!
“And the oil you have brow-beaten me into concocting here in my lab?”
She walked around the counter and looked at the beastie at Severus’
feet.
“Amadeus. Stop chewing on Professor Snape’s stool.” The wolf took one long look at the woman, mouth open and clamped on the wooden leg. Growling low, he took one last vicious chomp at the wood and then stood up, trotting into the Potions Master’s private rooms.
“Bronwyn, I do not want that hound in my chambers. And you did not
answer my question!”
She had moved behind him, soft hands planting themselves on his
shoulders.
Her lips on his ear.
“What was the question?”
He felt her playfulness, her desire… her need to…
Let her try.
…relax him…
“The question was how will you use the oil in that beaker to ease my
headache?” He continued to stare at the cauldrons in front of him. He
felt her smile against his ear.
“Khila Amin.” She squeezed his shoulders and turned loose. He spun
around quickly, only to see her heading towards his door.
“In English, madam!”
Bronwyn stopped in the doorway. The man was simply exasperating! “I said `khila amin’, Severus. Follow me.” Before she could get through
the door, he had pulled out his wand and levitated her back in front
of him.
She was not happy.
“I asked and I asked very nicely, madam, exactly how you plan to use
that oil,’ he used his wand to point to the beaker, “to ease this
headache?” He used the same slender rod to gesture to his head.
“You know, if you insist on using your magic on me, I’ll be forced to
use mine on you!” she gently chided.
“Ah.” He replaced his wand and nodded. “You will shatter all my
beakers with rap shite and then melt me like you did that most
unfortunate dragon.”
Her eyes fell, smoldering embers on the floor. Snape noticed the wolf
now standing in the doorway of his chambers, eyes on her. She
clutched the beaker and the pouch close to her breasts. He felt
her…tamp down…
“You know, ” her voice was forced between clenched teeth, “I wanted
to do this nicely. But you won’t allow it. No niceties in your life, nope!” Her head jerked up and he could see eyes shining in angry, unshed tears. “You think I glory in my grief and maybe I do. Well, you glory in your own self-inflicted guilt. And you enjoy it!”
Severus rose up, standing over her and was minutely pleased that she did not back down. “What would you know of guilt, madam? What would you know of the atrocities I have committed in the name of good and in the name of evil?” He took a breath to continue, only to have her hand shoved up in his face.
“Talk to the hand, arsehole! What do I know of guilt? One word. Smut.
Okay, I lied. Three words; Smut the Dragon. But he is neither here
nor there. The point is, I’m trying to help, you are being a total
wanker and I’m tired of it! I can’t rest when you thrash…”
“I cannot sleep because your husband will not give me a minute’s
peace!” he roared over her.
“Haldir isn’t the issue here, so fuck Haldir!”
“You have fucked him, madam! Perhaps you could have a little chat
with him?”
The furnace was stoked and he felt her tamp down once more.
And she smiled.
In that second, he knew what a smile for an Orc was.
“You have a choice.”
“Really?” he snarled. “That would be a first.”
“Yeesssss!” Her eyes narrowed. “I am giving you a choice. Choice A:
You allow me to tend to your headache.”
“And choice B?”
“You suffer until the Valar cry `uncle’. And, Severus?” she leaned
towards him and smiled sweetly, “I’ve had major dealings with one or
two of the Valar. They NEVER cry `uncle’.”
The wolf stared, grinning.
“Your choice.” she stepped back, totally engrossed in her pouches.
Let her try…
Severus rubbed his temples. Now that wretched husband of hers was
haunting his thoughts in the day…
“You can guarantee… relief?”
“Trust me.” She held her hand out to him. “Saes. Khila Amin.” As
quickly as the fire had risen, it lowered, changing… “Please. I
just want to help.”
As he followed her into his rooms, he realized her scent had
changed…
…to that of late summer raspberries.
***
There’s something about the silent type
Attracting me to you
All business baby none of the hype
oooh… just
Shut up and kiss me…
Shut up and kiss me
Mary Chapin Carpenter
***
By the time he reached his room, she was there. The scented oils had
enveloped the room, permeating it with a pleasing… alright, damn it
all… a relaxing essence. It pained him to admit it, but that much was right. He stopped behind her, as she turned around and looked up
at him.
“I need you to take off your shirt.”
Eyebrows arched up. “What?” It was whispered, a dangerous tone every student feared.
But she was not a student.
“I need for you to take off your shirt.” She flipped her fingers. “Hurry. I don’t want this to get too cool.” The vial was offered up; a sacrifice for the relief of his pain.
“Bronwyn. We are back to my original question that you have never
answered. What, pray tell, are you going to do with that oil?”
“You haven’t guessed yet?” Her smile widened. “I am going to give you a backrub…”
“A backrub?”
The smile was replaced by a rather screwed face.
“Severus? Are you having difficulty hearing me?” She took in his
serious face, unaltering , deep stare. “Mass-sage…” Her fingers
worked in an infinite circle. “Come on, the oil is cooling. Take it
off.”
“Madam, I truly think…”
“Look!” She tossed the pouch on the stand next to the bed and that
same hand went directly to her hip. “You have nothing that I already
haven’t seen, so don’t be shy! Now your shirt… sir!”
His fingers went to the buttons, slowly undoing the fastenings. “Is
there anything else you would like removed?”
“No, but would you give me my lighter back? The oil has cooled to
much!”
Instead, Severus, with his shirt now unbuttoned, took the glass flask
from her and with a few words, reheated the small vial. As he
concentrated on the task, she took the free moment to admire the
finely ribbed abdomen, the muscles across a lean chest, the slight
layering of crisp, black ha…
“Madam?” He was holding the vial towards her.
“Ah, yes.” her smile brightened and she watched as he shrugged from
the fine linen clothing. She quickly looked around. “I guess you
should lay on the bed. I can reach you better.”
His eyebrow arched sardonically as he advanced. “Are you quite sure
that I am… safe from your… charms?” His eyes never left hers.
“My charms? I have no charms! I have a warm bottle of oil and that’s
it!” Her voice was too bright, too fast, her smile, too wide. Just
wait, he thought to himself.
He did not have to wait long.
The moment he turned his back to her and turned towards the bed, the gasp he knew he would hear escaped from her.
“Oh, sweet Elbereth. Who did this to you?”
It was a whispered, pained and despite trying to prepare for it and
pretending it mattered not, Severus closed his eyes in self-loathing,
despising the pity in her voice.
His back looked as if someone had beat him with a whip. The skin was not broken, yet the muscles beneath were lashed, knotted. Her hand immediately went to the scarred muscles, the anguish in her
utterance…
“Who did this to you? Tell me!”
“It does not matter, Bronwyn.” He did not realize he had reverted
back to her name. “He is dead.” His tone was harsh, clipped.
“Fine!” She pushed herself in front of him. “Resurrect him, so I can
kill him properly!”
Her anger was righteous and he grimly smiled at the fierce, small
tiger in front of him. Had it been not five minutes previous, she had
stood up to him and with the same anger aimed at him, told him the
Valar did not cry uncle?
“Bronwyn, it does not pain me. It is tight at times, stiff…”
She moved behind him, her touch cool, gently stroking the ridges
created. “Small wonder you have a headache.” Like a sigh, he felt her
lips brush the middle of his back, her fingers lightly caressing. “What did this? What curse?”
“I would suspect a dozen too many Cruciatus.”
She peered around him, worry etched on her features. “A Cruciatus?”
“A rather ugly, Unforgivable curse.”
It was quiet for a few moments, while she continued to stroke his
back. “Voldemort?”
Usually.
Sometimes.
“Aye.”
More silence. “His death. It was painful? Wretched?”
“It was not pleasant.”
“Good!”
Snape turned and gazed down at her. Her countenance was fierce,
protective…
She is the Mother; protective of those she cares for…
He shook his head, to get the Big Elf’s voice from his thoughts.
“Blood-thirsty little thing, are you not?”
Her eyes slid, upwards into his. “Lie down.”
Severus lay on the large bed, resting his head on curled arms. He
felt the mattress dip, as she climbed on the bed and straddling him,
settled herself gently on his posterior.
“Are you… comfortable?” His tone was mocking. He felt her fingers
brushing his long hair to the side, exposing his spine, his neck. She
wiggled, pressing him into the mattress.
His body responded and he was glad he was on his stomach, hidden from her. The desire to turn over and impale her was overwhelming.
“Ah, I believe I told you some weeks back I rather like hard arses.”
He felt the warm liquid drizzle onto his spine. “And you have a hard
arse.”
Ah, he thought to himself, but my arse was not what you were talking
about at the time. Her fingers roamed, making small circles. Her
right index finger dragged slowly up his spine, to his neck. Gentle
music rose in the air, complementing the serene atmosphere of the
room.
“Your headache,” she began, “is sharpest at the right temple. It
radiates outward and behind your right eye, making it throb. Both
temples ache and your forehead is numb.”
She was right.
“How can you tell all that?”
“Just know. Your neck does not feel right.” He felt her press the
heel of her hand against the bottom of his neck. “Tuck your chin in.”
He did so and as she pressed upwards hard, he felt the bones of his
neck pop.
The pain at his temples quickly dissipated. The heel of her hands
moved back down his spine. She instructed him to pinch his nose hard and focus on the pain he was creating. Within minutes, the throbbing behind his eye lessened.
“And now for these nasty mothers.” Slowly, her fingers trailed along
the ridged scars. She drizzled more heated oil and slowly began to
knead, work the muscle back and forth. “Severus, I know I can help
with the headache I cause, but I don’t know if I can do anything
about…”
“Do not worry.” His voice was soft, lulled. “It has helped a great
deal already.” He was focusing in on the lilting music. “Bronwyn.
What are we listening to?”
“Teleman” she whispered. “A flute concerto.” She paused in
thought. “Funny, I forget which one in which key. Strange.”
“Pretty.”
Slowly, methodically, she worked his shoulders and back, kneading the injured muscles. Her fingers worked in circles, stretching, pulling
back, softening, wound and knotted strips of flesh.
His breathing began to deepen.
“Severus?”
“Yesssssss…”
“Any cauldron in there that will need tending in the next few hours?”
Quiet.
“The Arin… the royal blue one on the far right. I will need to stir
it at 11:45.”
“Any type of stroke in particular?”
Deep breathing…
“Forty… three… coun…ter clockwise…”
Within minutes, he was fast asleep.
Bronwyn continued to work on twisted muscles, diligently tending to
the charge under her care, occasionally seeing the curse thrown that
caused it, the pain and suffering he had endured. She came across a
fading tatoo… mark on his arm that caused her heart to catch when
she saw it. Lightly, she brushed her fingers over it and …
Screams, endless screams, pain…
A woman’s face, terrified…
“Please do not hurt me! I’ll tell you anything, please…”
“I am sorry…”
Regret.
Sorrow.
Deep sorrow.
Guilt.
She jerked back her hands.
Severus had been correct. She knew nothing of his guilt. What he had
done for The Cause…
Tears falling into the oils, she continued her ministrations, her
mind working on what she had glimpsed. After 45 minutes, the muscles, while not perfectly smoothed, were greatly improved and she looked down at the sleeping man between her legs. She stroked the lines, not as pronounced on his face, in sleep. Tucking an errant lock of hair behind his ear, she leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on the lobe.
“Haldir, please let him sleep.” she whispered. “He is no good to me,
exhausted.”
Amadeus sat at the foot of the bed, listening intently.
***
I need a sign to let me know you’re here;
‘Cause my TV set just keeps it all from being clear.
I want a reason for the way things have to be;
I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope inside of me.
And I’m, calling all angels.
Calling all Angels
Train
***
It was after midnight.
Bronwyn sat in a leather chair, Amadeus at her feet. She had sent
Bobbin to get Professor Dumbledore to stir the cauldron Severus
needed stirred. As she had no magic, she doubted her ministration
would have been enough. The elderly wizard had stirred and counted
and told Bronwyn to get some rest. As he stepped up to the fireplace
to floo back to his quarters, he turned back to her.
“You have been good for him. To him. I thank you for that.”
She had rolled her eyes and waved him on.
Now she sat, several books from Severus’ private library stacked next
to her. Bobbin had stoked the fire and brought her a blanket to tuck
around her feet. He had fetched her a glass of white wine and sat in
the darkened corner, expectantly. The book in her hand dipped
dangerously low.
“Bobbin?”
“Yes, Missy Bronwyn?” The house elf felt comfortable with this
professor. She had a soft voice with him and was kind. She thanked
him. He crept from the corner and stood in front of her. “Would Missy
Bronwyn be wanting food? Another drink or book?”
“N’uma.” Bobbin liked it when she spoke her Elvish language. It
sounded soothing, melodic…
Familiar.
“Come, sit near me.”
Looking around and hearing nothing but the snoring from the bedroom
where Snape slept, the diminutive elf crept up and perched on the arm
of the chair where she sat.
“May I ask you some questions?”
“Oh, Bobbin will answer anything, any question Missy Bronwyn has.”
His face dropped somewhat. “Bobbin does not know if he knows the
answers, but he will try.”
Bronwyn smiled and patted the tiny being on the hand. “How old are
you?”
“Oh, Bobbin is quite young. 104!”
“And how old will you live to be?”
“Bobbin’s grandparents are still alive. They are over 300.”
“Interesting.” she mused. “Bobbin? What can you tell me about your
ancestors? Are you kin to the Elves I came with from Valinor?”
Bobbin regarded her for a moment, as if to size her up.
“Bobbin’s ancestors were Orcs, Missy Bronwyn.”
She caught her breath. Orcs were Elves, captured, tortured, by
Saruman…
“What happened? How did Orcs become house elves?”
Bobbin’s eyes grew bigger, deep in thought.
“Some Orcs does not wants to fight. Does nots want to die. They live
peacefully to the East.”
Bronwyn had recorded whispers of quiet Orc communities, lying far to
the east of Mordor. They came to agreements with Aragorn, Ellesar, King of Gondor. Living away…
“But some want to… atone…”
“Atone for what?”
Bobbin seemed to shrink, frightened of the information she
requested. “They wish to work their way. Be forgiven. For wrongs.
They wanted to be Elves again.”
Bronwyn was mesmerized by the story the little elf was telling her.
“What happened?”
“They went West.” His eyes dropped downwards and his voice became a hoarse whisper. “They found the Warrior Twins.”
Bronwyn sat up at the news. Warrior Twins. There could only be one
set of Warrior Twins…
Elladan.
Elrohir.
Her grandchildren’s fathers.
“And what did the Warrior Twins do?” The sons of Elrond slew every
Orc they could lay hands to. After the capture and torture of their
mother, Celebrian, they had been relentless, merciless in their attempts to
eradicate the abomination of the Orcs. Their prowess was legend;
Bronwyn had seen it first hand, they worked together as a well oiled
machine. That the Orcs had sought them out, they must have been
desperate indeed.
Bobbin was becoming rather agitated, his fingers winding, threading
amongst themselves. “The Orcs pleaded with the Warrior Twins. Said
they do anything to prove themselves and be forgiven. They would even be servants.”
“So they became servants to the twins and their children.”
“Yes, Missy Bronwyn. They… we don’t want to be bads anymore. We be good elves.” His eyes were pleading, begging for acceptance. She
leaned over and took the elf’s hand.
“Yes, Bobbin. You are good elves.” She squeezed his fingers gently
and smiled. For a moment, the little elf, sighed in relief. “One more
question, Bobbin. Are there any stories of the Twins death? When they died? Where they died?
Bobbin smiled, a beautiful sight, really and they were so rare.
“Missy Bronwyn. They are not dead.”
“Not… dead?”
Bobbin leaned forward, his whisper, conspiratorial . The smile left
his face and he became suddenly serious; awed…
“Oh, no, Missy Bronwyn. The Warrior Twins still live.”
***
TBC
***
As before, Haldir’s vows were written by Lisa Dawn Doyle. I have permission to use it. Bronwyn’s vows are from the Book of Ruth
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