As their first week at the School of Industry drew to a close, Elfhild and Elffled had become well acquainted with the new routine which would dictate their lives for the foreseeable future. Each morning, they were awakened by the discordant clash of the gong; after donning their uniforms, they went down to the great hall to eat breakfast. Then the school day began, and they were busy with their studies until late afternoon. After that, if they had not been assigned any chores, they could explore the school or spend their time in the courtyard garden until the gong rang for the evening meal. If they had no prior obligations, they were given freedom to do what they wished after supper, before they were directed to go to the bathhouse, and then to bed for the night. While this new system of order was still quite strange to them, the twins found it far more pleasant than their previous routine, which involved being awakened each morning by snarling guards, marching for hours in ropes and chains, and then falling asleep in restless exhaustion when the day came to a close. While they were still prisoners at the mercy of their jailers, at least they had a larger cage, and could walk around freely within its confines.

Elfhild enjoyed learning about her fellow students and the exotic lands from whence they hailed – exotic to her, at least; she was equally as strange and foreign to them. A goodly number had been born in Nurn, given as gifts by merchants and nobles who wished to curry favor with Esarhaddon, or purchased directly by the House of Huzziya, which paid a bounty for slaves who displayed exceptional talent or skill. Others came from distant kingdoms and tribes from all over the vast regions of the South and East, and had been brought to Nurn in great caravans of lumber, ore, precious stones, spices, and other goods. Some, like Rufina, had once dwelt in lands that were unaligned with Mordor and its allies, which meant that they were fair game to be captured by enemy raiders and taken to Mordor as booty. Others were tribute slaves given up by their own people, either as a stipulation of their country's alliance with Mordor, or as part of a dark covenant that their rulers held with Sauron, whom they had worshiped as a god since the Elder Days. Many of these young women came from poor families, although there was at least one nobleman's daughter who had been abducted by raiders, and a trio of sisters who were the daughters of a disgraced Nurnian merchant who had been forced to sell his family into slavery to pay off his substantial debts.

Some of the maidens, especially those whose peoples had harbored enmity towards Mordor or had sought to remain neutral in the conflicts of Middle-earth, resented the evil fate which had been thrust upon them, and considered their days at the School of Industry as a trial which they must endure. Others saw the scholarship and prestige that the school would give them as a way of improving their lot in life, of rising above the lowly estate of slavery and possibly even joining the esteemed ranks of the Mordorian elite. The wheel of fortune was always turning in the Land of Shadow; one might toil in the fields today and rule over the estate in the morrow, or plunge from the immense heights of Barad-dûr to the deepest pits below. "'Tis just the way of things," as the saying went.

Elfhild did not know how she felt about rising up through the ranks of Mordorian society. She had accepted her fate as a slave, but to attempt to advance one's self, to embrace the corrupt system and the evil empire which facilitated it… Perhaps it was better to stay a lowly thrall with few ambitions, for then she would be a victim of cruel masters, and therefore not responsible for any transgressions she had been forced to commit. However, she did want to live a pleasant life – as pleasant as one could live in Mordor. After all the horrors she had endured, she longed for peace and stability… and her heart, ever romantic and sentimental, pined for love and affection. If she were to become the companion of some Mordorian official, perhaps it would be best to think of her lord's occupation as little as possible, to pretend that his allegiance did not lie with the Great Enemy, to turn a blind eye towards the blood which surely stained his hands. At least she would not have to worry about such matters of conscience until after she was deemed fit to graduate from the School of Industry.

Elffled, on the other hand, was intrigued by the prospects of improving her situation, and dared to harbor a forbidden hope. Ever since the dark tides of war had swept over the plains of Rohan back in the spring, she had endured misery after misery: she had been torn away from everyone and everything she had ever known and loved, witnessed horrific death and destruction, bore the torments and humiliations of both man and orc, and suffered from extreme hunger, thirst, and exhaustion. Never again did she wish to return to those dark days of anguish and terror! She had long determined that her survival depended upon her compliance with the rules and how well she could appease her captors. If she were quiet and obedient, her captors paid little heed to her, and thus her life was tolerable. But what if she wanted a better life, something beyond a wretched existence spent in a state of constant fear? The only way she could ever have safety and security was if she had power, something which a lowly slave did not possess. The education she would receive at the School of Industry would make her more desirable to those who did have power, however. Perhaps one day she could rise above her current station, but she would have to be clever, ambitious, and willing to compromise. In Mordor, the only way to avoid being whipped was to be the one who wielded the whip.

Even though they found many of their classes to be challenging, even frustrating at times, Elfhild and Elffled tried to comfort and reassure each other by repeatedly reminding themselves that it had been only a week since they had been at the school. It was far too soon to determine how well their progress was faring. The school environment, with its rigid schedules and lists of rules to follow, was so strange and alien from anything they had ever experienced, and it would take time for them to adjust to this new life. For that matter, Elffled was still undecided about which secondary courses she should take. She had pretty much determined that she would remain in the art class, for she thought that she would like to expand upon her own small level of skill, and she enjoyed working alongside Rufina. However, she remembered watching the students sparring in the courtyard that first evening she had spent at the villa, and considered the benefits she would receive from learning how to defend herself against those who would harm her. She was also still torn between needlecraft, herbalism, and cooking. While she would be taught new embroidery techniques in the needlecraft class, she could also learn those same skills from Elfhild or some of the other girls in her free time. She felt that a knowledge of herbalism or cooking would be far more useful in an unfamiliar land, for it would be good to know which fruits and vegetables were in season and how to utilize them in dishes, as well as how to make healing tinctures and salves from native plants and herbs.

During her brief time at the school, Elffled had been grateful for the patience that the teachers showed her and the other new students. Whenever she could not understand something, they took measures to explain the subject in a clearer manner; whenever she made a mistake, they encouraged her to keep trying. In fact, the teachers were so patient and understanding that Elffled frequently became suspicious of their intentions. After all, this was Mordor, a land not known for its kindness and compassion. Still, though, she appreciated their leniency, even if it did seem too good to be true.

Towards the end of the week, Mistress Neshinara felt satisfied enough with the progress of the new art students that she decided that they were ready to start practicing their drawing skills. The first project was to copy a stylistic illustration which depicted a cluster of white poppies surrounded by gracefully curling leaves. "The flowers of the Morgul Vale," the teacher explained, her voice filled with awe and a trace of fear. "Famed for their ethereal beauty and perilous charm, these enchanted blossoms have led many a traveler astray. Fortunately, the flowers in this illustration have no such power, but perhaps the artists in this class will cast a spell upon me with their skill in depicting them."

Elffled thought back to the journey through the Morgul Vale, recalling all the bizarre vegetation which flourished there. In the meadows below the Dead City grew luminous flowers with petals as white as the milky eyes of a corpse. Her sister had been bewitched by the sorcerous blossoms, which possessed the power to overwhelm the senses and subdue the will. She had fallen from her horse in a swoon and lay in an enchanted slumber among the pallid flowers, as insensible as one drunken upon too much wine.

Drawing upon her memories of the pale meads, Elffled copied the illustration of the poppies. As she worked, Mistress Neshinara came up behind her and watched her progress.

"You are doing very well," the teacher told her.

"Thank you, Mistress. I enjoy drawing flowers."

Mistress Neshinara beamed her approval. "Of all the flowers which grow in the land of Mordor, I believe that the Morgul Poppy is the most beautiful. Unfortunately, I have never seen them outside of illustrations in books."

"On the journey east, we passed through meadows filled with poppies," Elffled remarked. "The tales told about these unusual flowers and their magical properties are not exaggerations."

"How fortunate you are to have seen such wonders!" Mistress Neshinara pressed her hands to her heart and sighed wistfully. "Perhaps one day I shall go on a pilgrimage to the City of Moonlight and Magic, and experience its splendor myself."

Elffled did not consider herself fortunate at all to have been forced to endure the horrors of the Morgul Vale. However, she felt it was wise to learn all she could about her teachers, from the circumstances of their lives to the innermost desires of their hearts. Knowledge was power, and the more she knew about Mistress Neshinara and the other instructors, the better she could mold herself into the perfect student.

While Elffled still harbored some doubts about which secondary courses she should choose, Elfhild felt far more confident in her decision to study theatre and expand upon her needlework skills. Over the course of the week, she had participated in several short skits, learned about various stock characters, the language of the theatre and stage, improvisation, pantomime, the various genres of plays, and theatre history and traditions. She had been fascinated by all the props and costumes, and marveled at the skill which had gone into creating each piece. It was often difficult to keep from being distracted by the costume wardrobes, with all their beautiful gowns and ornate fashions. And then there were the masks. Above a long credenza which contained smaller props was a shelf of masks, some fair to behold, others quite grotesque. Elfhild found the sight of them to be quite disconcerting, for they resembled a row of severed heads.

"The costumes are the best part about the theatre class," Esma had told her when she had noticed Elfhild's interest in the well-stocked cabinets and wardrobes. "For a brief moment, you can be someone you are not. As you see me now, I am but Esma, humble maiden of Nurn…" She reached for one of the masks which lined the shelves and placed it upon her head. "But now I am a fearsome demon of fire! Raaawr!"

The mask was enormous, encompassing all of the wearer's head so that naught of their own appearance could be seen. The disguise depicted some sort of monster with a mane of fire, eyes of yellow flame, skin like burning embers, and a roaring maw filled with rapacious fangs. The hideous visage was terrifying to behold, and Elfhild took a step backward in dismay as Esma playfully lunged towards her, roaring like a lion, her fingers tensed like talons.

"I did not mean to scare you," Esma laughed as she pulled the mask from her head. A section of her hair got caught in the adornments of the disguise, and she struggled a moment to disentangle herself. Returning the mask to its proper place, she restored her hair to order, shaking out the long, thick mane and then raking her hands through the tightly coiled waves of raven black.

"I – I was not afraid," Elfhild stammered, flushing. "Just a little startled, that is all."

"Awww, I am disappointed." Smirking, Esma leaned up against the wall and crossed her arms over her full bosom. "You should have been afraid, for that would mean that I did a good job at playing the part. Now I shall have to work more on my skill."

"No, no, I did not mean to say that you were not frightening," Elfhild hastily added. "That is quite an intimidating mask!" And its wearer is quite intimidating as well, she thought to herself, her cheeks burning hot. With hopes of one day becoming a court entertainer, Esma was very serious about acting, and it showed in all her performances. She had a penchant for portraying bold, dynamic characters, and drew the attention of the audience like a lodestone drawing iron. Elfhild could not help but be awed by Esma's vibrant presence upon the stage, and envious of her skill.

"So, what is your favorite part of the class so far?" Esma inquired, tilting her head to the side.

"Oh, I like everything about it." A bright smile lit up Elfhild's face as she reflected upon her brief time in the theatre class. "As you said earlier, donning a costume allows one to become someone else, at least whilst upon the stage. Perhaps I would rather be someone other than a lowly peasant."

"In the theatre, you can be anyone!" Stepping away from the wall, Esma spread her arms above her head in a wide arc, a dramatic gesture for a dramatic young woman. "You could be rich or poor, woman or man, or maybe even an animal! That is what makes acting so enjoyable. You can escape from the woes of daily life, at least for a time."

But you must always return to the confines of your cage, Elfhild thought sadly.

During her days in the theatre class, Elfhild had learned more about her fellow students. She spoke often with Haya, the novice who had portrayed the unscrupulous horse trader in Mistress Sa-li's skit. While Haya had been a student at the School of Industry for several years, she had never participated in the theatre class, and so in this regard she was just as new as Elfhild. She was no stranger to the performing arts, however, for she was a highly celebrated dancer with the school's dancing troupe. Since she was skilled in the art of graceful movement, she wanted to expand upon her knowledge with the addition of pantomime. Haya also admitted that she was rather bashful when it came to speaking before an audience, and so felt she would be more confident with silent roles instead.

Anahilli was a shy young woman who hid a cheerful, mischievous side beneath a well-crafted mask of dignified reserve. Having endured many hardships in her life, she often found it difficult to trust other people or act like her true, undiluted self. Her family had been farm laborers upon a large estate, but the lord of the manor had been found guilty of treachery against the Tower. After he and his family were executed in a bloody purge, the lower ranking slaves were auctioned off and distributed throughout the realm. Anahilli's heart still bore the scars from all the horrors she had witnessed, and the theatre was her escape from adversity. Koairy, the school crier, also possessed a love of theatre, and Elfhild learned that she served as the narrator for many of the skits and plays performed by the class. The other students spoke of Koairy with fond affection: she was one of the most brilliant scholars at the School of Industry, and often helped tutor students who were having difficulties with their studies. The future seemed bright for Koairy, and many believed that she could easily become a scribe of the Tower. However, she wanted to stay at the School of Industry for as long as she could, for her parents were farm laborers at the villa. When she came into her own and had coin to spare, she planned to purchase freedom for her mother and father. That would take time, though, and she was not yet ready for so long a separation. So she volunteered for every opportunity, and took every class she could, in an attempt to make herself indispensable.

There were other students in the theatre class, but Esma, Haya, Anahilli, and Koiary stood out the most to Elfhild. Back in the Mark, she never had friends who were interested in performing, and so this was a new experience for her. At first, she had been hesitant about taking classes without her sister, because they had been through so many hardships together and every time they had been separated on the journey it was against their will. She kept reminding herself that the school was a place of sanctuary, and that both she and Elffled were safe there.

In Mordor, however, safety was an illusion, and peril was everywhere. Even if one forgot that stark truth for a brief moment, a reminder would come all too soon.

The Mordorian Culture class was meant to introduce new students to the laws and customs of the Dark Land, and so it was one of the most important courses at the School of Industry. Novices were taught proper etiquette, protocol, custom, convention, and what was considered to be good form. They were instructed in how they should regard various members of Nurnian society, what forms of greeting they should use, and the degree of obeisance they should observe. "Survival lessons," Elffled mused with a silent chuckle and a wry smile. "Who not to offend, and who not to worry about offending."

The instructor, Mistress Shireen, was a pretty young woman with golden tan skin, light brown hair, and bright hazel eyes which sparkled from beneath rose-colored eyeshadow and winged kohl eyeliner. She was as cheerful as a songbird, and her sunny disposition made it easy to forget at times that the entire purpose of her class was to indoctrinate the students in the ways of Mordor and teach them how to be docile, obedient slaves. The midweek lesson had been upon the Lord of Mordor Himself — "That is definitely one whom I would not wish to offend," Elffled had thought with a shudder.

"The Lord of Mordor goes by many titles and epithets, the greatest of which are King of Men and Lord of Middle-earth, but His true name is Mairon, the Most Excellent and Admirable," Mistress Shireen had informed the class that day. "Under no circumstances are you to use the name of 'Sauron,' for this title was given to Him by His enemies, and its meaning is 'The Abhorred.' Only high-ranking officials use that title, and usually only when dealing with Westerners, for the name strikes fear into the hearts of those who dare oppose the Great Power in Barad-dûr."

Elffled marveled at this new knowledge. Given that Sauron did not like to be called "The Abhorred," she surmised that "The Nameless Enemy" and "The Evil One" were probably prohibited as well.

"The Lord of Mordor is often called the Giver of Gifts, for great are the blessings and rewards He gives to those who serve Him," Shireen continued, smiling at the class. "To show the gratitude that Nurniags feel towards the Giver of Gifts, slave children are taught the song that I am about to sing to you. It teaches young slaves to give thanks to our Benevolent Ruler, as well as inspiring them to labor industriously with joy and contentment in their hearts."

We thank the Lord of Gifts for our land
For the blessings flowing from His hand
For our master, whom we all adore
And promise to serve forevermore
We are thankful to work and toil
Whether in the home or in the soil
Of our tasks we will never complain
Finishing each chore 'til none remain
All labors we do, we do with mirth
To honor the Lord of Middle-earth!

"Now that you have heard the song, we shall all sing it together."

"Must we be forced to sing yet another paean of praise to the Enemy?" cried out Ceolwen, one of the Rohirric maids who had been chosen to attend the School of Industry. "The one we are forced to sing every morning before breakfast is bad enough!"

The classroom erupted in horrified gasps and angry murmuring as everyone turned to stare at the newcomer who had dared to speak so boldly. Frightened by the commotion, Elfhild and Elffled exchanged tense glances. What calamitous fate had Ceolwen brought upon herself?

Her loud, clear voice taking on an authoritarian tone as it rose above the din, Mistress Shireen held up her hand for silence. "The Lord of Mordor is not your Enemy; He is your Master."

After months of suffering the hardship of captivity, Ceolwen was incensed by the prospect of singing paeans to the oppressor of her people. "You people call the Evil One the Lord of Gifts. What gift has He given Rohan? What has He given us, other than death and destruction!"

"It is indeed unfortunate that your people were dragged into a war out of an ancient obligation to the corrupt empire of Gondor, but those who would vie against the rightful Lord of Middle-earth are doomed to suffer His wrath." Mistress Shireen looked down upon Ceolwen with pity, as though she were a foolish child. "But you ask what gift the Great One has given Rohan. He has granted your people a second chance by sparing those taken captive in war and bringing them into the very heart of His domain so that they might know the joy of serving Him. You, Ceolwen, are most fortunate indeed, for you have been chosen to attend this illustrious school, where truth might free you from lies. You should show proper gratitude for the gift you have been given."

"This is a gift?" Ceolwen demanded, her voice breaking with barely contained anger. "I was brought to this land against my will, and now I am forced to attend a school where lies are called truths and truths are called lies. No gratitude have I for this so-called gift. The Lord of the Dark Land can keep it!"

"That is enough, Ceolwen." Anger flashed in Shireen's eyes, but her demeanor remained calm and collected. "I understand that you are new here, and so I am willing to be lenient when it comes to minor transgressions. However, neither disrespect nor disruptions will be tolerated in this classroom, nor blasphemy." She turned back to the class, her gaze falling upon two senior apprentices who were in attendance. "Dokela and Nedali, you are to escort Ceolwen to the chambers of Headmistress Juna, where she will await judgement."

Elfhild and Elffled recognized the two senior apprentices from the sparring match they had witnessed upon their first evening at the school, and from what they had seen of the pair, they knew that they were quite skilled in the arts of combat. The twins cringed as Dokela and Nedali seized Ceolwen and dragged her kicking and screaming from the classroom. What would happen to Ceolwen? The twins dreaded to find out.

After the class had quieted and Mistress Shireen had composed herself, she continued her lesson. "I understand that many of you might be loath to praise the Lord of Mordor, as you have spent your entire lives hearing falsehoods about Him and believe Him to be a great enemy of your people. However, you dwell in Nurn now, and it would behoove you to show respect for its Ruler. Whilst you may not love Him yet in your hearts, your tongues should still speak His praises, for He is the Master of the Wide Earth, and we are all His subjects. There are harsh penalties for those who break the rules of this land, and it would indeed be a tragedy if any of you promising students ran afoul of the laws and incurred the ire of the Mordorian Inquisitors." As she said those words, her eyes widened and her voice trembled, and a visible shudder ran through her body.

The dread which seized Shireen and caused her to quake in terror seemed to be contagious, and Elfhild and Elffled looked around fearfully, expecting at any moment that a group of Mordorian soldiers would barge in and drag them off to some horrible fate. Grudgingly, their voices mumbling and stumbling over the hated words, the remaining Rohirric students repeated the loathsome rhyme. "These are just words; their only meaning comes from what they are given, and I give them none," Elffled thought to herself, justifying what would probably be considered treason. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elfhild, her face pale, mouthing the words of the rhyme but not actually using her voice to speak them. Elffled supposed that this tiny act of rebellion made her sister feel more at peace with her capitulation to the demands of the enemy. Fortunately, Shireen deemed the lackluster recitation as acceptable, and moved on to the next subject in the class.

The twins did not see Ceolwen for the rest of the day, and when they caught a glimpse of her at the evening meal, her eyes were red from weeping. She barely touched her food, and refused to speak with anyone who inquired about what happened in the chambers of the headmistress.

"She is fortunate that she was not disciplined more severely," Rufina had remarked in low, furtive tones when she noticed the twins' concern for their fellow classmate. "Mistress Shireen has a kind heart and does not like to dole out punishment, but Ceolwen's words were treasonous."

"What… what happens to those who incur the ire of the Mordorian Inquisitors?" Elfhild remembered the words of Mistress Shireen, and the fear that had come over the gentle teacher when she spoke of the fate of those who disobeyed the laws of Mordor.

Rufina's face grew pale, and her breathing came more quickly. "They are removed."

"Removed?" Elffled sensed that the word was heavy with ominous meaning. "What happens to them?"

"We do not talk about those who are removed." Rufina's voice sunk into a whisper as her wide blue eyes took on a glassy appearance. "They do not exist." Her body seemed to shrink in upon itself, her slight stature becoming even smaller as she tried to compress herself into invisibility.

"How does one avoid being removed?" Elffled inquired, the thudding of her heart seeming to echo within the walls of her chest.

Rufina's trance seemed to break, although her eyes remained slightly unfocused. "Obey the rules without questioning. Do not call attention to yourself, but let your skills speak for you. Do not associate with traitors and rebels, for you will be assumed to be guilty of the same crimes. And most importantly of all, speak no ill against the Lord of Mordor."

An oppressive cloud, as dark and heavy as the ash-laden smokes which hung over Mount Doom, descended upon the table, and the three diners fell into an uneasy, worry filled silence. Indeed, that day had been a day of learning for the twins, who were discovering that, not only did Nurn have its own laws and customs, but it also had its own unique language as well. One was not dragged off by Mordorian soldiers, one was removed. From time to time, an entire household was removed, if its lord or lady were found guilty of committing some dire transgression against the Tower. Dozens of people might be slaughtered for the crimes of one person, and even speaking the names of the disgraced would be akin to uttering a curse. Despite all these atrocities, life went on as usual, for it was just the way of things.

The incident in the Mordorian Culture class cast a pall over the rest of the day, and even though the twins enjoyed acquiring new knowledge in their classes, their thoughts kept returning to poor Ceolwen. Whatever happened to the girl must have left quite an impression, for her defiance had turned to sullen deference, even though resentment still simmered in her eyes. Elfhild was desperate to know what had transpired in the headmistress' chambers, but she did not know Ceolwen well enough to ask the questions which would relieve her morbid curiosity.

The following evening, Elfhild found a peaceful spot in the courtyard garden, and was soon industriously engaged in her embroidery. She was joined by Nurma, who brought with her a basket of sewing notions. It was still early, and so there was plenty of light for the two girls to work on their respective projects. Elfhild was practicing a new technique she had learned in the needlework class, while Nurma was stitching together a series of small pouches crafted from rectangles cut from plain, undyed material. Under normal circumstances, Elfhild would have used this opportunity to talk about the events of the day, but she felt unusually taciturn that evening. Nurma could sense the thoughtful mood which had come over her friend, and so she inquired what was on her mind.

Elfhild sighed heavily and set her embroidery hoop to the side. "While this place seems like a sanctuary in the midst of a cruel world, I oft wonder how safe we truly are."

"Safe?" Pulling back her needle in mid-stitch, Nurma raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Why would you worry about a thing like that? This is one of the safest places in all of Nurn."

"Oh, I do not know." Elfhild shrugged her shoulders and looked off to the side. "It just seems like it is so easy to run afoul of the rules and then be subjected to some dreadful punishment." She fidgeted uncomfortably, dragging her feet through the gravels beneath the bench.

"Every action has consequences, but if you do not seek out trouble, it is less likely to find you," Nurma remarked sagely as she sewed up the side of the pouch on which she was working. "You must never break the laws of Mordor, but the rules of the school can be broken, in moderation, of course. Even I break the rules from time to time."

Her eyes widening with curiosity, Elfhild turned back to her friend. "Oh? What do you do?"

Nurma gave her a sly look. "Perhaps I shall tell you one of these days."

"Say, what is this project you are working on?" Elfhild inquired, looking down at Nurma's growing collection of pouches.

"Oh, just sachets to perfume clothing and bed linens," Nurma replied, far too casually. "When I am finished with these little bags, I will adorn them with embroidery and fill them with fragrant herbs… and other things." A faint smile played over her lips, and for the briefest of moments, her face seemed to glow with an ethereal beauty. "Would you like one? I have several finished sachets in my basket."

"Certainly, I will take one," Elfhild replied, eager to continue gaining her new friend's trust and affection.

Nurma rifled through her basket for a few moments, and then drew out a small pouch which had been embroidered with purple runes. "This one has lavender, mugwort, and chamomile. Put it under your pillow for good dreams."

"Thank you for such a fine gift." Elfhild took the sachet and held it up to her nose, closing her eyes as she inhaled the sweet fragrance of the herbs.

That night, for the first time in what seemed like ages, her sleep was not haunted by nightmares.