Chapter Text
Alphel adjusted her veil with a sigh and continued to grind the bits of eros root into an evil smelling paste, careful not to get any on her gloved hands. When it was pungent enough, she added some over-ripe selta berries and the mixture grew even more sharp. She watched the color in her pestle change from brown to red, and when the fumes from the mixture made her eyes water she carefully stood and brought it to Cauneth.
Cauneth’s grey-streaked hair and lined her face were also veiled, but Alphel recognized her. She could recognize all those who worked in the Poison Room, despite everyone wearing the same white robes and veil. For some it was height, for others, the way they hunched over there work table. Cauneth tended to hold her gloved hands in front of her as she moved about the room.
“Passing,” Alphel called out to the others as she walked past the tables to where Cauneth was working. She placed the bowl in front of her.
“Hmm,” Cauneth said, giving the sludge a stir. “It’s ready for the boil beetle powder, but we’re out. You’ll need to get some from Ioreth.”
Alphel looked over their small supply cabinet. The ingredients needed in the Poison Room were very dangerous, and thus kept in small quantities, usually enough for just a day's work. To get more meant a walk to the House of Healing and their locked supply room. She looked over to see if there was anything else she would need to get, and pulled a nearly empty jar from the shelf. “We’re nearly out of Thornknot root as well,” Alphel said. “I’ll fetch some while I am down.” She put the empty jars in a lined basket and left. Cauneth locked the door behind her.
Alphel hurried down the stairs to the Healer’s supply room. She understood the wisdom of keeping the Poison Room far from the House of Healing, but her legs always ached when she had to climb all those steps on the journey back. She passed few people on the stairwell, though the halls were slightly more crowded.
Alphel remembered when the halls were filled with people rushing to and fro. The threat of Mordor was pulling more and more people out of the city and to the west.
She arrived at the House of Healing and searched for Ioreth, who kept the key to the Healer’s supply. She found her talking to a man dressed in a ranger’s uniform. He was tall, and rather handsome. He also seemed vaguely familiar.
“My lord, please do not worry yourself, I’ve seen such injuries before. He will be fine,” Ioreth was saying. The man opened his mouth to say more, but then he saw Alphel and stopped. His eyes widened and he gaped at her.
Alphel blinked in confusion.
Ioreth turned around to see what had distracted him and burst out laughing.
“Forgive him, Alphel, I don’t think Captain Faramir has ever been to the Poison Room before,” Ioreth said. “He must think he is seeing a ghost.”
“Oh!” Alphel said with a laugh, realizing she’d left her veil on. She quickly pulled it off. “I forgot to take it off when I left.” She stole a glance at the copper-haired man. Faramir? The Steward’s Son? She thought. That’s why he looked familiar! She had seen both of the brothers at social functions, but only from afar. Her family wasn’t important enough to be in the Steward’s inner circle.
“I beg your pardon,” Faramir said. “I thought I was seeing a specter.”
“All the poisoners are veiled to keep us safe while we mix ingredients. Some can be dangerous if they get into our eyes or mouth,” Alphel said. “I get used to wearing it, sometimes I forget to take it off when I leave home. I scared my mother by accident a few times.”
“I can imagine,” Faramir said, looking at her veil curiously.
“I know why you’re here,” Ioreth said to her, holding up a key attached to a chain around her waist. “What is it you need?”
Alphel handed her the basket. “boil beetle powder and thornknot root.”
Ioreth nodded and took the basket. “I’ll be back in a moment,” the healer said.
Faramir watched her leave and then turned back to Alphel. “I feel ashamed to say, but I didn’t know we have a Poison Room,” Faramir said.
“I believe in better times there was less use for it,” Alphel said. “Mistress Cauneth used to handle all the work with one apprentice. They made poison for rats that were safe for the kitchen cats, things like that. Now there are 6 of us, and much of the work is for soldiers, like the poison tipped arrows Rangers and guards use. We make those.”
“Well then, I must thank you,” he said. “My men and I use those arrows. Your work is much appreciated.”
Alphel smiled. “I’m glad to hear our work is helpful. It’s a relief to assist with the defense of Gondor, even if it is in a small way,”
“How did you come to work in the Poison Room?” Faramir asked.
“Lord Gannon mentioned to my mother that the Poisonward, Mistress Cauneth, needed help,” Alphel said. “I volunteered, and after proving that I had a steady hand and a strong stomach she let me stay.”
“Steady hand and strong stomach?” Faramir asked with a raised brow.
“Some ingredients are more dangerous than others and must be treated with great care,” Alphel explained. “If you're clumsy you put everyone in the Poison Room at risk. And the strong stomach is because, well some of the concoctions smell rather foul.”
“Be careful, Alphel,” Ioreth said, reappearing next to Faramir. “Now that Captain Faramir knows of the Poison Room he will want to know all its secrets. He has a terrible hunger for knowledge.” She handed Alephel the basket, her bottles now full and carefully wrapped in old rags.
Faramir gave Ioreth a fond smile. “Ioreth knows what she speaks, I have been a thorn in her side since I scraped my knee as a boy.”
“You are welcome to visit our lonely tower, Captain, but I must warn you that Mistress Cauneth loves talking poison-lore. If you give her the chance to share her knowledge she will happily tell you all, and tell you three times,” Aleph said. “You may wish you had kept to warcraft.”
Faramir smiled. “Ah but this is the wrong thing to say if you wish to keep me away. When it comes to knowledge I can’t resist a challenge.”
“Now you’ve done it, Alphel,” Ioreth teased. “If Mistress Cauneth complains to me about having unwanted visitors, I’ll tell her you're to blame. Now get on with you before the Captain makes you explain to him all the uses of Boil Beetle powder.”
Alphel took her leave with a curtsey, and let her mind wander on the walk back to the Poison Room. She had met the Steward before, and had expected his son to have the same grave and formal manners. She was pleasantly surprised at how open and friendly Faramir was, no awkward courtly manners at all. Alphel shook her head. It didn’t matter, she’d likely never see him again.
**************************************************************
The next day Cauneth pulled her aside when she arrived. “We’ve a new addition,” Cauneth said.
For a wild moment Alphel thought Faramir had come, but when Cauneth nodded to a figure standing by one of the preparation tables covered with flowering stems she could tell immediately the veiled figure was too short to be the Captain.
“Who is it?” Alphel asked.
“Her name is Lomil, she’s the daughter of Lord Henion,” Cauneth said. “He spends most of his time at his country estate, but he is here now and wants his daughter to be doing something useful.”
Alphel’s heart sank. She could tell by Cauneth’s voice that she was not enthusiastic about their new addition. “Could you not send her to help sew banners or write letters?” Alphel asked.
Cauneth sighed. “Her father believes helping more directly with the needs of the soldiers will help Lomil to catch the eyes of Denethor's eldest. I think he’s got his work cut out for him.”
So that’s how it is. Alphel thought, glancing back at the woman. It was impossible to tell anything about her except that she was tall and thin. “Maybe she just needs some guidance,” Alphel said, trying to be positive.
“I’ve started her off by picking all the flowers from those stems of Kendlebush,” Cauneth said sourly.
Alphel looked at the small pile of flowers Lomil had plucked. They were intact and not torn, so there was hope. “She’s being careful at least,” she said.
Cauneth rolled her eyes. “She’s been on that stack for an hour .”
“Oh,” Alphel said. “That’s-”
“Valar help me, just make sure she stays out of trouble.” Cauneth said, pushing Alphel towards Lomil.
Alphel nodded, grabbing a bowl and taking the seat next to Lomil. “Hello, I’m Alphel,” she said. “Cauneth said you’ve recently arrived and have come to help us.”
“Yes, father brought us back to the city so I can get married,” Lomil said. “Hopefully I won’t have to be here too long.” she tugged on her veil. “Must we wear these? It’s hard to breathe with it on.”
“It’s actually very important to keep you safe,” Alphel said. “Once we crush these flowers, if you touch your eyes they would get red and itchy, and if any got in your mouth your face would swell until you looked like a chipmunk wearing rouge.”
Lomil asped and she dropped the branch she’s been lazily plucking from. “Oh my!”
Alphel picked it up and handed it back to her, willing herself to say nothing too sharp. “You know,” Alphel said carefully. “There are many ways you can help the city. I know our work can be dangerous. If it’s not to your liking you could perhaps help the healers?” She suggested.
“Oh I can’t stand the sight of blood. Plus the sickroom always smells foul, I couldn’t possibly go there,” Lomil said, plucking a flower and dropping it on the table.
There was a knock at the door and Alphel motioned to Cauneth that she would get it. Lomil followed her and watched her unbar the door.
Some soldiers stood holding crates of arrows ready for their tips to be poisoned.“Thank you, you can bring them over here,” Alphel said, pointing to an empty worktable. She held the door open for them, and Lomil giggled excitedly as they passed, much to Alphel’s annoyance.
To Alphel’s surprise she recognized the last man who entered: Faramir. She knew he couldn't recognize her , veiled as she was, and was glad he couldn’t see her blush. Lomil’s giggles turned to a gasp and she gave an elegant curtsey. Faramir gave a polite nod, unable to do more with his arms full.
Once the crates were stacked, the soldiers left, all save Faramir who stopped to speak to her.
“I beg your pardon, but can you direct me to Mistress Cauneth? I had some questions for her,” Faramir.
Before Alphel could say anything Lomil appeared by her side. “Of course, she’s over here,” she said, taking Faramir’s arm. He looked taken aback, but followed her. Unfortunately for Lomil, Cauneth had left her work table, and the new edition couldn’t tell which of the veiled and robed figures was the one she was looking for. She turned back to Alphel. Rolling her eyes Alphel pointed to Cauneth, who was at the far table helping Horthion chop fresh picked sellfall leaves.
Alphel wasn’t surprised that Cauneth quickly banished Lomil back to her worktable after introducing Faramir.
Her companion let out a huff. “You would think she’d give me a chance to talk with him,” Lomil muttered. “I’m unmarried after all.”
“Cauneth cares not about such things,” Alphel whispered. “At least while we are in this room.”
The rest of the afternoon dragged on as Alphel tried to teach Lomil about the different plants they used and some of their basic recipes. Lomil’s attention was half-hearted. She constantly looked over her shoulder at where Cauneth and Faramir were talking, and Alphel kept having to repeat herself.
Alphel wasn’t sorry to leave her table that day after hours of carefully doing her work and trying to help Lomil not make a pig’s ear of her own. Alphel waited for Horthion to finish putting away his batch of Fleshbite so he could lock the door after her, and found that Faramir was looking at her. He smiled and for a second she forgot she was veiled and gave a slight curtsey, thinking he remembered her from the other day. Then Horthion came and opened the door for her and she remembered her covered face. He was being polite, there was no way he knew who she was, or even remembered her from their brief meeting the other day.
Was there?”
***************************************************************
The next few weeks Cauneth had Lomil shadow several different poisoners, but her skill did not improve much. Somehow Alphel ended up getting paired with Lomil more and more as other poisoners started losing patience with her.
One morning Cauneth informed her that she was working with Lomil yet again. She tried to protest, but Cauneth waved her words away. “I know, you’ve had more than your fair share of her, but Horthion’s already made her cry, and today she made Tognis cry. I have to get this Gnat’s Bane finished for Ioreth, and I need someone who can keep her in line.”
“Alright,” Alphel said with a sigh. When she approached the work table Lomil stood up.
“Hello, I’m Lomil.”
“Yes, I know, I’m Alphel, I worked with you on your first day,” Alphel said. “I suppose we do all look the same in these robes and veils.” she set down a mortar and pestle, along with the ingredients for Fleshbite.
“Oh,” Lomil said, looking at Alphel’s offerings and wrinkling her nose. “This place smells work than the sickroom.”
“At times,” Alphel said. “We're going to make Fleshbite, it's one of the poisons we use to treat the arrows.” She placed a motor and pestle in front of Lomil and a jar of selta berries. “You’ll start by crushing these berries. Do it gently, so they don’t splatter.
Lomil grumbled, and slowly started adding berries to the mortar, one by one. Alphel tried not to hover, but Lomil was easily distracted and often just stopped working altogether if Alphel didn’t keep a close eye on her.
“Does Boromir ever come to the poison room?” Lomil asked, examining a selta berry between her fingers.
“I’ve never seen him here before,” Alphel said. “You’ve done a good job of crushing the berries, but you’ll need much more than that.”
“I would have preferred one of Prince Imrahil’s sons,” Lomil continued, leisurely dropping the berry in the pestle and daintily crushing it. “Dol Armoth is so beautiful and Elphir is exceedingly handsome, but father thinks one of the Steward’s sons would be better.”
Alphel took a steadying breath. “I’m sure you will find someone in Minas Tirith that will suit you,” she said, adding a handful of berries to Lomil’s mortar. “Once all of those are crushed I can show you the next step.”
“I’m surprised you aren’t married yet, you must be at least five seasons older than me,” Lomil said, poking at the berries Alphel added.
“And yet, I have found things to occupy myself with,” Alphel said curtly.
The afternoon went by with Alphel constantly having to redirect her charge, repeating instructions, and in some cases redoing her work. Alphel finally took the Fleshbite from her and gave Lomil some foxslip to pluck leaves from. Such a task was simple enough that Alphel could focus on finishing the Fleshbite. Lomil continued to talk, but Alphel had realized that a grunt now and again was all that was required as a response. She sent Lomil to take her meal break and after cleaning up from Lomil, finished the Fleshbite and started on antidote to be sent with the arrows in case of any accidents.
“That saxell root is ready,you don’t need to grind anymore,” Cauneth said. Alphel looked up at her, blinking in surprise. She saw how far the sun had set and realized she’d worked right through her meal break.
“Did Lomil…” Alphel looked around, and saw her charge was chatting with someone at another table.
“She’s been back and bothering everyone. I figured you needed the break. Go stretch your legs and clear your head,” Canueth said, grabbing Alphel’s mortar and pestle and pushing her towards the door. “And eat something!”
Alphel didn’t argue. She’d been so tired and annoyed after shepherding Lomil around that morning, that her focus had dissolved. She left, hearing someone lock the door behind her. She pulled off her veil and grabbed her satchel.
Armed with a slightly bruised apple and a sausage roll, she ate as she navigated the labyrinthian halls until she found the refuge she’d been searching for: The Old Archives. Alphel had discovered after she started helping in the Poison Room. She had gotten lost after her shift and found the Archivist asleep and the halls dim and quiet. She’d wandered the stacks and found they contailed journals, letters, and official records of the city. In one aisle she found letters of several old noble families. Alphel had no idea why such things were in the Archive, but she found many pleasant and amusing stories amidst the crumbling parchment. Some tomes contained ancient stories and lore from ages past, but she most enjoyed the letters telling of domestic life and family squabbles.
Alphel finished the last bite of sausage roll, wiped the crumbs from her hand, and went inside.
The Archivist was asleep at his desk, and snoring softly. From experience Alphel knew that it would take someone yelling in his good ear to rouse the old man. She smiled and walked past him. The archive was cool and dimly lit, and blessedly quiet. Alphel felt that the Archive was not as appreciated as it should have been, but the negligence of the city folk meant she often had the place to herself when she slipped away from the Poison Room.
Alphel headed for the third row of shelves, her current favorite. She’d found some letters from a lady of the court from several decades ago, that contained wonderfully entertaining gossip and some delightfully terrible poetry. She turned down the row and was shocked to find someone else already there.
Captain Faramir was sitting on the ground, his back against the stone wall with shelves on either side, reading from a small red leather bound book. He looked up and seemed equally surprised to see her there, pushing himself up and then giving a polite bow.
“Oh, no you don’t have to get up….I only, I never see anyone else here,” Alphel said, feeling off kilter.
He smiled politely at her. “Nor I,” he said. “I thought The Archive was my secret alone, but I’m glad to know that it’s not wholly unappreciated. Was there something you were looking for?”
Alphel hesitated. She wasn’t sure that she was technically allowed in the archive, or how the son of the Steward would feel about her reading habits. But he didn’t seem bothered by her being there. “Lady Cadworiel’s letters,” she whispered. “Third shelf on the left, they’re bound in yellow with little gold Lady’s Slipper stamped on the binding.”
He pulled the book off the shelf, raised a brow and handed it to her. “I had no idea the letters of Lord Trenaron’s great aunt would be of interest to anyone,” he said.
“If you had read them, you would be interested,” Alphel said with grin. “She was very witty, and a bit naughty.”
Faramir laughed, “I struggle to imagine any of Trenaron’s relatives being either of those things.”
“Oh, I assure you, she was very shocking,” Alphel said, carefully thumbing through the delicate pages of letters looking for where she had left off. There was no response and when she glanced up from the book she realized that Faramir was looking at her expectantly. “Oh, for example,” Alphel said, “She was betrothed to a Lord Padon. He was rich, and friends with her father, but boring, and a bit of an idiot, if her letters are to be believed. She convinced him that she loved the wild roses that grow on the coast of Dol Armoth, so he would make trips there to get her roses. While he was gone, she would sneak off to go meet his younger cousin, Berethor.”
“That is rather shocking,” Faramir said with a grin. “Especially since I’ve met Lord Berethor. The man is ancient now.”
“You’ve met Berethor?” Alphel asked, her delight loosening her tongue. “Did you know he sent Lady Cadworiel a tame ferret named Padon and told her that ‘At least now you’ll have Padon worth loving’?”
“A ferret? Stolid, proper, old Berethor sent her a ferret?” Faramir couldn’t contain his laughter.
“She was wild for it, called it ‘Paddy’ and took it everywhere,” Alphel said.
“Did she marry Padon?” Faramir asked.
Alphel’s eyes widened. “I don’t know, the last letter I read she told her friend that Lord Padon left for Dol Armoth again and Berethor has asked her to run away with him.”
She told him more of Cadworiel’s escapades and and soon the both of them were laughing loud enough Alphel wondered if it would wake the archivist. Eventually their laughter was interrupted by timewarden’s bells.
“Oh, no,” Alphel exclaimed, wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long. Cauneth will think I fell down a wall drain.”
“Perhaps next time I visit the Archives you can tell me more of Cadworiel,” Faramir said.
“I shall, but you must talk to Berethor,” Alphel said, grabbing her discarded veil, “and ask him what happened to Padon!”
“Berethor’s cousin?” Faramir asked.
“No, the ferret!” she called back to him.
Alphel ran back to the Poison Room, and nearly forgot to put on her veil before knocking on the door. She expected Cauneth to scold her, but the older woman just gave an indulgent shake of her head.
“You’ve got your head on straight now, I can see,” Cauneth said. “That’s all that matters.” She glanced toward the table where Lomil was messily chopping Thornknot root. Alphel grinned and went back to her spot next to Lomil.
“That’s a good start,” Alphel said, grabbing a knobby bit of Thornknot.
Lomil looked alarmed. “A good start?” she asked, looking over the chunks of root in front of her.
Alphe nodded as she started mincing her Thornknot. “Maybe we’ll be done by supper.”