Aw, thanks, Elenriel!
Chapter two: Queen Aranelle
As Arwen neared the gates of the city of Lebennin, she felt rather frightened because she was still unable to think of an alias. Every elven name she could think of she feared might too easily give her away. Finally she decided on Aranelle, only for lack of a better, for Aranelle was not a common name of that age; but she felt sure no one here in south Gondor, far from the countries of the elves of old, would suspect anything about the name. Satisfied with the alias Aranelle, Arwen relaxed and let her driver take over, and she settled down and closed her eyes to get a little sleep.
It was late in the afternoon when the disguised queen arrived at the orphan asylum. She knocked at the front door and it opened instantly. A rather chubby woman with auburn hair and grey-green eyes and looking completely exhausted asked eagerly, “Hello, are you the new volunteer?”
“Yes, my name is Aranelle,” Arwen smiled cheerfully. “Are you Miss Anna?”
“That is me! Oh, bless you, child! We dearly need more help-but-”
Arwen winced inwardly as the woman stopped, taken aback by Arwen’s beauty, and curiously inspected her face with a slight sign of recognition. “Why…why would you want to work here? You’re so young and beautiful, child! You don’t seem to me to be hard up for a job. And yet you look so familiar…it seems that I have seen-”
“Is it quite manageable for me to board here?” Arwen asked quickly, pulling her old cloak closer around her face.
Miss Anna’s eyes sparkled again, absentmindedly forgetting about the strange name and the strange visitor in her eagerness. “Oh, bless you dear, there’s plenty of room here!” she answered cheerily, standing aside to let her new volunteer in. “Come right in! When you reach the top of the stairs ask Sara to show you your room…Aranelle. What an interesting name! Rather hard to pronounce…” Anna then disappeared into the kitchen.
“Aranelle” started up the stairs but paused when she heard Miss Anna and another young girl’s voice conversing below.
“What were you trying to do, mistress?” cried the girl. “Cause her to change her mind? We need as much help as possible!”
“Of course not, Amelia, dear,” Anna answered. “And we’ll put her to work right away, no fear. She does not quite know what she is getting into, and that is a fact! I only wondered why she chooses volunteer work here when she could be anything, and marry anyone she pleases.”
“I wondered that, too,” Amelia admitted. “She walks so gracefully, and with her head held high, as if she believes herself to be a great lady. Perhaps she is a young widow, and was married to a great warrior of Minas Tirith, only he died in the battle and she was so heartbroken that she came here to try and forget! Wouldn’t that be such a lovely romance? And under our very roof!”
“Amelia, you silly girl!” laughed Anna. “Keep to your duties and do not fill your head with such nonsense!”
Arwen continued up the stairs, smiling inwardly at Anna and Amelia’s ignorance of the facts that she was quite happily married, and had already had quite a life, and was in no way a young girl looking for work. She now realized that she was going to be treated as a very young person, because of her looks, but she didn’t mind. Her maturity and wisdom, though not guessed, were still there, and this was all that mattered to her.
When she reached the top of the stairs she looked around with uncertainty, until a door near the end of the hallway opened, and yet another asylum volunteer appeared; only this girl was much younger than Amelia, appearing to be no more than fifteen. Arwen felt rather sorry for her, because she was able to see deep into Sara’s brown eyes past the blank stare, that this was the girl’s only life, and she knew nothing more. She longed to reach out to her and teach her; but maybe they would both be too busy caring for children.
“I suppose you are Sara?” she asked the brunette, as the girl halted in her tracks, and gazed with amazement at the fair newcomer, a reaction which Arwen was already becoming use to in Lebennin.
“Yes-yes, I am,” Sara faltered. “But you-I mean-begging your pardon, but who are you?”
“I am-that is, Aranelle!” said Arwen, and unable to contain herself any longer she laughed. “I am the new volunteer Vilandir sent word about. My main intention is to help with the orphans, but I hope that you and I will be friends as well!”
Sara continued to stare, as if unable to comprehend such a thing. “Why, thank you,” was all she could manage. “I will show you to your room.”
Queen Aranelle was relieved to finally be alone in her room, which was small compared to her quarters at Minas Tirith, but perfect for her new self. She was very tired after her journey and planned to rest for the evening, and begin her work fresh the next morning. She knew she would have no trouble awaking early, for that had always been her habit, which would undoubtedly prove convenient for her new job.
Arwen settled into her new room, unpacking everything and setting her silver clock (the only costly thing she planned to display here) on a stand next to the bed. She had been resting on the bed, surveying the beautiful view from the window, when she heard a soft crying directly on the other side of the wall. “My imagination must be playing tricks,” Arwen reasoned, but cautiously she listened again, and again heard the child crying. It was so quiet that it could barely be heard, but Arwen’s quick ears caught it. Instantly she sprang up, hurried out of her room and went into the next, determined to discover what the child was crying about.
She found herself in the east room, full of bunk beds, all rather tousled and untidy as if no one had bothered to make them that morning, and it seemed to be quite empty, until she saw the bed in the far corner that Anna had stood by three days before. There lay Abigail, her cold blue eyes turned upward, as if she neither knew nor cared that someone else was in the room.
“Hello,” said Arwen to the tiny night-gowned figure. “Did I hear you crying, dear?” There was no response. “If you would rather not speak of it then I will leave. But if you need to tell someone your troubles…I am here.”
The child seemed to waver, at hearing this new and understanding voice, but she turned calmly to Arwen. “I was not crying, and I will not tell you anything,” she replied in a cold and stiff voice that did not belong to an ordinary child. “You would not understand. No one here does. They do not know what it is like to lose a mother, and neither do you!” With that, she angrily turned on her side and faced the wall.
“Yes…yes, I do,” said Arwen softly. Unfortunately this unpleasant reminder touched a nerve deep inside her and without thinking she added rather sternly, “And you should not treat people so rudely when they only try to befriend you.”
She felt extremely sorry the minute she had spoken this, but all the icy chill left Abigail’s eyes and she sat up, staring in amazement at this new approach. “Who are you?” she asked in wonder. “None of the other girls here speak to me like that. They all call me a poor little dear and feel sorry for me, and they try to take the place of my mother. That is why I would rather go hungry then go downstairs with the rest of them. They treat me like a baby, and they don’t believe I know anything.”
“My name is Aranelle, and the others do not mean any harm,” Arwen explained. “They can never take the place of your mother, or understand how you and I feel when we lose someone we love, but they did not have to take you in, and you should be grateful for their kindness.”
The child appeared to be considering this thoughtfully. After a pause Arwen asked gently, “Won’t you tell me why you were crying, dear? Perhaps I can help.”
Abigail sighed, and nodded. “I would never want to keep a secret from someone like you, Miss Aranelle. I think that I can trust you, so I’ll tell you everything.”
Arwen smiled, and sat down on the edge of the bed, and listened to the child’s tale.
“My name is Abigail,” she began. “And I used to live with my mother and father here in this town. My mother was so pretty and kind, and she used to sing to me every night when I went to sleep. I was only three when she died, and so no one believes that I even remember her, but I do! I remember her voice, and her lovely golden hair. After that my father’s sister, my aunt Laura, came to live with us to take care of me during the day. She didn’t like me, though, because she said I looked and acted so much like my mother, and she did not like mother. My father told her not to, but she was always telling me that my father never should have married someone so poor, and while my father was there my aunt treated me well, but when he left she never stopped telling me that I was good for nothing, like my brother. I never knew my brother, because my father sent him away when I was only two years old. Father was angry with him for becoming a soldier and he had told my brother to go and let his precious country support him, and he never came back. But when the war began, my father took me aside and told me everything. I cannot remember what he said my brother’s name was. It was hard to pronounce. But my father told me my brother had loved me, and didn’t want to leave me. My father apologized for sending my brother away, and he said he had to go off to war for the same reasons as my brother’s.” The girl gave a small, sad sigh. “He promised that he would bring my brother back home and we would all live happily together after the war. But later,” she added, her voice catching, “My aunt and I received a letter that said they had both been killed, and my aunt left to go and live somewhere alone, telling everyone I had died of a fever, and left me in the woods by myself. I was so sick that I didn’t know what was happening, but when I awoke here Miss Anna told me that some hunters had brought me here to the orphan asylum. She made me tell her everything, but I wouldn’t say much, only how my father and brother died and that I had no family.”
Arwen sighed, feeling the child’s pain. “It sounds as if you have been through quite a lot for such a small child,” she remarked, after some silence. “But you can begin your life over here. This is a very good place, and you ought to be good and learn all you can, until you are old enough to leave and perhaps marry, or until someone wishes to adopt you.
“I know,” Abigail agreed. “I’ll try. And I think that I will like it here, as long as you are here. Will you stay forever and ever?”
“I don’t know,” Arwen answered quietly. There was a pause. Downstairs a short clanging could be heard, followed by the noise of loud excited voices.
“That’s the dinner bell,” said Abigail. “But I usually don’t go downstairs when the rest do. I stay here until Miss Anna comes in and begs me to go down, and then she brings me something to eat on a tray when I don’t go.”
“Perhaps it is time for a change,” Arwen suggested. “Will you come downstairs with me?”
Abigail agreed, but not too reluctantly, and the two hurried down the stairs. Abigail tentatively took a place at one of the little girls’ tables in the large dining room. Arwen stopped in the doorway and looked around in disgust at the chaos. Sara was nowhere to be seen, but Miss Anna, Amelia, and another girl about Amelia’s age were the only ones in control, or rather, as Arwen perceived, out of control.
“Timothy, come back here!” shouted Amelia, running in circles chasing a tiny boy, who was knocking over everything in his way.
“No!” wailed the boy, still running frantically. “I will not eat! I don’t like chicken!”
“Oh, yes, you do, you silly boy!” Amelia snapped, ineffectively. “You won’t even try it!”
“Amelia!” Arwen called, remembering the voice she had heard fantasizing earlier that day. Amelia stopped and turned in surprise to Arwen, questioningly.
“You and your friend-” the latter concerning the other girl, who had straight dark hair and snappy black eyes, and did not look as if she was able to smile, and was exhibiting behavior similar to Amelia’s. “-go into the kitchen and finish preparing the food and help Miss Anna bring it out. I’ll manage the children!”
Amelia gave Arwen a look of disbelief as if to say, “Gladly! But you are foolish to think that you could try!” She said something to the other girl, and they disappeared into the kitchen, closing the door with a decided bang.
Arwen summoned every ounce of her skills of leadership, supervision and command, and commanded, “Everyone quiet!”
For one quick moment the little ones turned in surprise at this new worker, so tall and beautiful, her dark grey eyes so stern, and her voice so full of power and confidence. She was a far cry from the scolding young maids who never meant what they said, and who chased each individual child around until they were tired out.
Arwen grasped at the quick second of silence. “The one who is sitting in their seat more quietly than any of the others will get their food first!” Her words produced enormous results, because the shy children who were already in their seats sat up quickly, folding their hands in their laps, and the ones who had intended to play a game of chase before sitting down were now scrambling to their seats, and soon sitting quietly and orderly. “Very good, everyone! Now let’s see how long we can all stay like this.” Arwen opened the door of the kitchen.
“Why, how did you manage this?” gasped Anna, entering upon the scene and nearly fainting at how quiet and well-behaved the children were being.
“I…don’t know,” answered Arwen, being almost as surprised herself.
“Thank you for being so good, children!” Anna announced with pleasure. “Now I want all of you to know that we have a new volunteer worker that will help take care of you. Her name is Miss Aranelle, and I think you are all going to have a good time with her and obey her! Right?”
“Yes, Miss Anna,” they agreed in unison, still rather in awe of the newcomer. Anna brought in several plates of boiled chicken, while Amelia carried in the other dishes. Arwen and the still unknown volunteer began to pick up the plates and forks that had been knocked off the tables and set them neatly in front of the children, and then helped Anna pour milk for all of them. When every child was eating contentedly, Anna, Amelia, Arwen, and the other girl ate quickly at a larger table, and told Arwen to eat with them. “I will in a minute,” replied Arwen, and approached Timothy, who was still standing in a corner, pouting.
“Timothy,” Arwen called. “Don’t you think it would be best if you ate supper, so that you won’t be hungry tonight when you go to bed?”
“I don’t want any supper,” he insisted, though it was apparent that he was weakening.
“But have you ever tried chicken?” she asked.
“Noooo…” he admitted. “But I don’t like it.”
“How will you ever know if you like something if you will not try it? You will never grow properly if you do not eat good food. Won’t you try it… for me?”
Arwen led him to his seat, and waited for him to try a bit of the tender white meat on his plate. He tasted it, and then shrugged his small shoulders, saying, “It isn’t very bad.”
“You see?” said Arwen, smiling triumphantly, and she went to sit down and eat with the others, while Amelia continued to stare at her in amazement. She had never been able to persuade the boy to eat anything that he had taken it into his head was unpleasant, and had always found something else for him to eat when he had refused long enough.
Supper had been served so late that it was beginning to grow dark when everyone finished eating, and though Arwen was a little tired, she longed to explore the building and see all of the rooms. First of all, though, she wanted to meet all of the other volunteers, simply because her curiosity was overwhelming her.
“Aranelle, dear,” Anna said to her when the children had all left the tables (Arwen could see that she was in the habit of addressing everyone in that way). “I see that you have a way with children. Our dining room has never been so orderly and organized before, and I am rarely ever able to get Abigail to come downstairs. I see that you will be of some good to the child.”
“It is no trick of mine, Miss Anna,” Arwen explained. “This group of children you have happens to be the competitive type. They are eager to contest each other in everything, so all you need to do is make a contest out of it, and they will rush to do it.” Then she added carefully, “That is not the best method for one or two children if they are your own, but you must always use it for a large group or you will never be able to control them.” How Arwen came to know so much about caring for children was quite a mystery to Anna.
“Yes!” said Miss Anna, brightly. “I see what you mean! But I cannot find Sara anywhere, if you see her will you just tell her that we need her help in the kitchen, that’s a dear. Darling, why don’t you take the children into the living room and just watch them for a while, and Amelia and Annabelle and I will go and clean the kitchen.”
“Perfect,” Arwen smiled, now knowing Amelia’s dark-haired friend was named Annabelle. She felt sorry that she had chosen a name so similar to another volunteer’s that her mistress might soon confuse the two. As Miss Anna had told her she rounded everyone up and told them to make two straight lines behind her, one for the boys, and one for the girls. Unfortunately this simple request confused them and they began to argue. “The girls line up here!” said Arwen loudly, motioning to her left. “And the boys line up here!” motioning to her right. “Now let me see how straight your lines can be!” This worked, and they all followed her to the right of the kitchen door, down the hallway, and into the sitting room, following the mental directions Anna had given her.
As all the children dropped down in front of the fireplace, enjoying its warmth, Arwen told them that if they stayed quiet, she would bring them back her drawing kit and let them paint pictures, and that she would tell a story to whoever painted the best one.
Needless to say, her little charges agreed quite heartily to this plan, and Arwen hurried up the stairs to her room to get her drawing kit. It was in a sack under her bed, the colors, the paper, and several fine drawing articles, too fine, as Arwen realized anxiously. But she felt sure that children would not notice, and she hurried back downstairs.
Arwen smiled with pleasure as the little ones became engrossed in drawing their pictures. She walked around the table, praising each one, and when she stopped at Abigail’s chair she stood amazed. For the child was drawing her, Arwen, standing in the doorway of a palace, wearing a long flowing dress almost identical to the ones she sometimes wore on grand occasions at the palace. Despite its many imperfections she actually saw a resemblance of herself in the picture, and was amazed at Abigail’s talent.
Abigail smiled and looked up, pleased with Arwen’s attention. “I’m drawing you,” she explained. “I made you a queen because you’re so pretty you should be one.”
“It’s beautiful,” Arwen breathed, touched and flattered, and she made up her mind to tell them the truth about who she really was before she left.
“Is my picture bootiful?” a small boy, who Arwen recognized as Timothy, wanted to know, as he splashed violet-colored paint into the shape of an apple.
“Oh, yes!” Arwen answered truthfully. “Everyone’s pictures are beautiful.”
“I can’t draw straight lines yet, though,” he answered, flattered, as two adorable dimples Arwen had never noticed before appeared in his face.
“Well,” Arwen laughed, seating herself in a rocking chair as the contestants all handed her their paintings. “I really think everyone has won, you all drew such lovely pictures. So I suppose I will have to tell all of you a story!” She sighed, pretending this was a great task, as all of the children gathered delightedly around her in a half circle, waiting to hear the story.
Arwen fired up her imagination, and returned her mind to the old days. She related to the children a true story about Legolas the wood elf, and how he, as the prince of Mirkwood, had been charged to keep the evil creature Gollum in captivity, and how it happened that he escaped. At first several of the children appeared confused, as if being unacquainted with elves, but the rest grew pleased and excited, having loved tales about elves. Near the end of the story, all of the children wore smiles of eagerness, as if unable to wait to hear what would happen.
“So,” Arwen finished. “Legolas leaped onto his horse, and without looking back at the home he had known for so long he rode off to Rivendell. And that is the end.”
“No, no!” begged the children. “Tell us what happened when he reached Rivendell!”
“Not today,” Arwen answered. “It is a very long story, and parts of it are too difficult for many of you to understand. But the tale, in full, is in one of my books. Perhaps when you have learned to read I’ll let you all have it.”
“I’m going to learn to read as soon as ever I can!” Abigail announced determinedly.
As the children began to scatter, and to amuse themselves with other things, Arwen raised her head, and to her amazement she saw Miss Anna, Amelia, and Sara, who had apparently been found, peering around the corner. Arwen laughed inwardly at the thought of her “child’s” tale captivating the asylum workers. Anna and Amelia quickly scuttled off at her glance, but Sara paused for one moment to smile in Arwen’s direction. Her blank stare was gone, and her eyes were now filled with reflection, as if hearing about the past had opened her mind and set her thinking of what had passed before and what was to come.
After interacting with the children a bit, Arwen was glad when Miss Anna entered and announced that it was their bedtime. Anna would have liked to stay up later and talk to her some more, but by now Arwen was very exhausted, and she climbed the stairs to her room. Tomorrow she would tour the asylum, meet everyone, and visit the babies’ room. But when she reached her door she heard sounds coming from behind it. Someone was in her room! Arwen flung open the door. There, cringing on the rug with a stack of Arwen’s books in her arms, was Sara!
“I’m so sorry, Miss Aranelle!” she cried, terrified of Arwen’s steady stare. “But I couldn’t help myself! I only came in to dust the shelves, remembering how they needed it and I had forgotten to do it before you came. Then I saw your books on the shelf and I thought to myself, ‘Why, the story Miss Aranelle told to the children must be in one of those books’ and I did so want to know what happens next so I couldn’t keep myself from opening the books to find it and-and-“
“Sara, Sara, Sara,” sighed Arwen, pretending to be extremely annoyed. “I cannot have you in my room, searching through my belongings, and reading my books. So…”
Sara winced, wondering how she would be punished. “So,” said Arwen, her face breaking into a smile. “You must come to me and ask me first, and I will let you read them any time you wish!”
Sara gasped. “Me-but I couldn’t-I mean-oh, thank you, Miss Aranelle!”
Arwen could see that she could not escape being an honored lady no matter where she went, but she was pleased to know that here she was loved not for her high rank and riches, but for her helpfulness and partly for her beauty.
But if Arwen believed she had the orphanage under control, and would have no more trouble with anything, she was entirely mistaken.
