| Subject: Fire and water |
Author:
Namün
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Date Posted: 16:49:34 06/14/02 Fri
Curled up in a tiny ball on the hard mattress of her bed, as if by making herself as small as possible she could shut out the rest of the world, Namün cried softly. Her tears were now reaching their end; her sobbing had abated. Yet that did not mean that she had in any measure calmed down. Where before her agitation had been dissipated into tears, it now began to focus, growing into anger. Namün was familiar to anger. The emotion had lived with her through much of her life, from almost as soon as she had been old enough to understand why she was different from the other girls in the slums. She could use anger, become strong through it, in much the same was that fear can evoke bravery in the darkest of hours.
And I need to be strong. I have to be strong. Never give up.
She repeated the mantra to herself, trying to gather her thoughts and work out exactly what it was that had upset her so much. Her emotions had been stronger than usual lately, and she cried and raged far more easily, but today she had cried with a passion that had surprised her. Strange as it may seem, it wasn’t just the conversation with Madjael and memories of the attack. She had been upset before then, near to tears.
Because of Aragorn.
When it came down to it, Namün had never been the type of girl who was willing to be a shadow. She’d been educated- she had her own opinions about things. She liked to be independent. Aragorn was a king, and used to having his own way. He wasn’t used to compromising about anything, let alone listening to her point of view. He would indulge her objections for a short time, nevertheless expecting to be obeyed in the end. And she wasn’t used to that. For two months now she had been dutifully obedient, but he wasn’t showing any signs of a change in behaviour, and she felt trapped.
Even worse, she was beginning to feel like a performing pet. She was supposed to come when she was called, perform on command, and then leave again to be kept out of sight until the next time she was wanted. Her short bursts of tantrum were laughed off as if she was little more than a wilful child, while good behaviour was rewarded with hugs and kisses. It would probably not be long before he patted her on the head.
Then there was “My dear girl.” That made her angriest of all. She didn’t belong to anyone, and hated his assumption that she did. Namün hated being patronised. Things were going to have to change.
Mind finally clear, Namün sat up and dried her reddened eyes. The crying spell had done her good- she now knew exactly what she had to do. Rather than dousing her fire with tears, the anger that had followed had inflamed her spirit, burning even brighter than before. He wouldn’t win her over with carefully timed kisses this time.
She loved Aragorn, and desperately wanted to be with him. But not so much that she was prepared to sacrifice her beliefs to please him. If remaining his mistress meant that she had to stifle all her passion and become a dutiful shadow behind him, she wouldn’t do it. And if he wanted her to, then he couldn’t truly love her. Not if he wanted her to become someone she wasn’t.
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