A month had passed since Elfhild had become a student in Nurn, and already she was committing acts of blasphemy against the Gods.

It had started out innocently enough. When she had learned that she had some degree of choice in what she studied at the School of Industry, Elfhild had chosen the theatre class as her primary elective, leaping at the opportunity to pursue the fantasies of the stage she had entertained when she was younger. The first three weeks had been what one might expect from a course in acting: lectures on the history of Nurnian theatre; exercises in improvision; experimenting with characters; conveying emotions through both voice and body language; setting the mood of a scene; and various storytelling techniques. However, at the beginning of the fourth week, Mistress Sa-li announced that she would be giving her class a new challenge: to practice a longer skit that they would perform at the end of the week.

The Music of the Gods, a humorous retelling of the creation of Arda, was a traditional play which was popular in Mordor and Nurn. Unlike the version of the tale told by Elvish scholars and Gondorian lore-masters, however, the Mordorian rendition portrayed the song of Melkor as the only beautiful and harmonious melody in the entire symphony. The actors who portrayed the other Ainur did their best to play their worst, making a dreadful racket which sounded like a host of braying donkeys suffering from extreme flatulence. Because the dialog mostly consisted of vocalization and screaming, there were few lines to memorize. The skit was relatively easy for beginning actors, and required less practice than a more complex production. In fact, inexperience was actually favorable, for the actors portraying the Valar had to sing as terribly as they could and do an abominable job of playing their instruments.

Assigned the role of Tulkas, Elfhild was given a masculine costume complete with padded biceps and tightly corded abdominal muscles. A spike fiddle was shoved in her hands, and she was told to play the thing. She was having a difficult enough time learning how to play the lute in music class, and the sudden introduction to this strange new instrument had left her completely baffled. Naturally, she caused the most horrible screeching noises to come out of the fiddle, which, of course, was the desired effect.

The people of Rohan had their own legends and myths which they brought with them from the distant North, and so they knew little of the ancient tales told by the Eldar and Dúnedain. The first time that Elfhild had heard the story of the world's creation was in Master Guli's class, and that was the Mordorian version which depicted Melkor as a victim of the other Gods' petty jealousies. Tales told in Mordor could not always be trusted, however, and Elfhild wondered how a more truthful account of the Music of the Ainur might sound. Perhaps it had been the other Gods who were the victims of Melkor's envy and spite.

Of course, even though Elfhild did not know the true story, she still felt that the depiction of the Valar in the play seemed disrespectful. She feared to protest, however, lest she incur the wrath of her superiors or the enmity of her classmates. So far, she had not gotten into any trouble at the School of Industry, and she wanted to keep it that way. Over the course of the long journey, she had learned that it was better not to speak up or stand out, because defiance was met by swift retribution. She did not wish to be punished, especially not in defense of Gods of whom she knew little. If the Gods were so offended by their depiction in a play put on by oppressed slaves, perhaps they would do something to stop the injustices which had caused this situation in the first place. In the meantime, Elfhild determined that she would do her best to please her audience and earn their applause.

Melkor, He Who Arises in Might, stood alone, singing a song of sublime beauty in his rich, velvety contralto voice, a powerful melody which stirred the heart and enchanted the senses. He was played by Dokela, a talented senior apprentice who sometimes participated in the theatre class when she was not involved in martial arts. The Dark Lord's deep amber eyes shone resolutely as he sang, his dark brown hair framing his warm beige skin, which was heavily painted with stage makeup. Upon his head was a crown of gold, tall and conical and banded with glass gems, symbolizing his position as most powerful of all the Gods. No Silmarils graced the magnificent headdress, of course, for that part of the story had not yet come to pass. As if on cue, a breeze began to blow through the open window, causing Melkor's pristine white robes to flutter in the gentle wind.

Enraged by the magnificence and ingenuity of his brother's song, Manwë raised up his voice in discord, for his heart was consumed by jealousy. The Lord of the Airs and Wind was portrayed by Anahilli, whose voluptuous frame had been padded out with pillows to give her a squat, stocky appearance. Shaking his clenched fist in the air, his legs spread apart in a stance of defiance, Manwë bellowed out a song of challenge to the beautiful melodies of Melkor. Then he began to march around, banging a pair of cymbals together, his snowy wig and curly white beard bobbing with each step. With his short stature and padded chest, he resembled an angry pigeon squawking out in rage after a gardener threw a rock at it after it had befouled a statue. Beside Manwë was his wife Varda, who was portrayed by Mirsana, a novice in the theatre class. She looked every bit a goddess, her flaxen blonde hair done up in an elaborately braided chignon and crowned by a headband from which rose a spoked halo of silvery stars. However, while she might have looked like a goddess, she acted like a spoilt brat, stomping her feet and flailing her arms about in a disgraceful temper tantrum.

Tempers flared and trumpets blared as Melkor's enemies tried to drown out his sublime melodies with their awful music, for they were all driven mad by jealousy. Aulë shrieked out in rage, swinging his lute wildly about as though he were hammering a piece of metal upon the anvil. When the lute grazed the top of Yavanna's head, knocking the flower garland upon her crown askew, she wheeled around and started beating her husband over the head with her own lute. Aulë and Yavanna were portrayed by Esma and Koairy, and the two apprentices skillfully played off each other's responses to hilarious effect. Whilst this quarrel was transpiring, Nienna – portrayed by the inexperienced but emotive Haya – wailed and moaned like a paid mourner at a rich man's funeral, clawing at her face and tearing at her hair. The other Ainur lifted their voices and struck up their instruments in anger and jealousy, making a dreadful cacophony as they vied against Melkor's song, which somehow managed to rise above the chaos in its divine purity. A few of the lesser Ainur, thoroughly disgusted by the shameful spectacle, clasped their hands over their ears and fled to Melkor's side, where they joined him in singing a song of order and imagination.

The thundering tumult of riotous sound rose to near unbearable levels, and then Mistress Sa-li strode forward and struck a large gong with a hammer, causing silence to fall upon the classroom.

"And thus was Arda created," she proclaimed, "with Melkor's Song constantly being interrupted by the disharmonious warblings of the jealous Valar. Much of the suffering in Middle-earth is caused by this ancient and eternal struggle between the False Gods and the Rightful Lord of Arda. But do not despair, for it is prophesied that Lord Melkor will return one day and set all wrongs to right." Smiling, she clasped her hands together and looked over the small audience which had gathered in the theatre classroom. "This concludes our production of The Music of the Gods. It is our hope that our humble performance has brought amusement and joy!"

The assembled students clapped and cheered for their friends, who bowed and waved from the stage. A few of the girls had plucked flowers from the courtyard garden, and they showed their appreciation by showering the actresses with a rain of blossoms. Because the play mostly served as a way for the theatre students to practice their craft, the production had not been held in the great hall, and only a small audience was in attendance. These sorts of skits and short plays helped the students prepare for the yearly production, an extravagant affair which required months of practice and brought the entire school together in its grand instrumentation.

After the actresses collected their flowers and departed from the stage, Sa-li called for silence once more so that she could relay a very important announcement. "Students, I have marvelous news," she proclaimed, clasping her hands before her. "In his graciousness and generosity, Shakh Esarhaddon uHuzziya has granted permission for the theatre class to perform our annual play in the spring! The Tale of the Dissatisfied King has been set for the first week of March, and will take place over the course of seven days."

"What will the play be about?" asked one of the students in the audience. Her curiosity was shared by her classmates, who eagerly echoed variations of her question.

Mistress Sa-li smiled broadly at the show of enthusiasm from her audience. "The Tale of the Dissatisfied King is the tale of Dalhamun, a young ruler who discovers that he was born under an ill-fated star, and that a premature death lies in his future. There is a small chance that he can escape this dire fate, but it does not come without great sacrifice: the king must abandon his throne and kingdom and assume the life of a beggar. Turning over command of the realm to his chief advisor, Dalhamun embarks upon a journey which takes him to faraway lands. During his travels, he accumulates a small band of loyal companions, and together he and his new friends have many adventures as they wander the wilds of Middle-earth… and beyond." The theatre instructor said those last two words with a dramatic inflection of her voice and a mysterious lift of her eyebrows, causing a murmur of excitement to rise up from the intrigued students.

"The main roles are the Narrator, King Dalhamun, Princess Shàhúla, Bànda the Voiceless, and the Pirate Captain. I will be playing the part of the King, but we need volunteers to audition for the other roles. The part of the Narrator is more suited for an apprentice; no one should audition for this part unless she is able to read. Since Princess Shàhúla, Bànda, and the Pirate Captain are main roles, experienced students might feel more comfortable playing them than novices. However, I will accept novices who show talent and seem a good match for the characters. Smaller roles include Chief Adviser Dangal, Manwë, Varda, and the Herald of the Gods. Other performers will be needed to play the parts of villagers, astrologers, guards, pirates, and elves." She ticked each part off on her fingers as she spoke.

"The auditions will be held a week from today, so be prepared. Even if you do not receive one of the main roles in the play, your talents are still very much needed. Someone will be needed to prompt players who forget their lines. Others will need to learn the lines of the major players in case they become ill and cannot perform. While the sewing and art classes will be helping out with costumes and sets, we need all the volunteers we can get. We must all work together to make The Tale of the Dissatisfied King a satisfying production." Smiling at her play on words, Mistress Sa-li dismissed the assembly.

After the theatre students had changed back into their uniforms, they headed over to the great hall, where they looked forward to enjoying the evening meal and celebrating the successful production of The Music of the Gods. As Elfhild took a seat at one of the low tables which had been reserved for the theatre class, she glanced around at her fellow classmates and smiled. Their faces were aglow with excitement as they breathlessly recounted their exploits upon the stage.

"Oh, Hild, you played absolutely horribly today!" Anahilli giggled, lowering the chunk of flatbread she held in her hands lest her laughter cause her to become choked upon it. "One would think that you were actually doing it on purpose and believe you to be the greatest of actresses!"

"Shhh, do not let anyone in on my little secret!" Smiling mischievously, Elfhild put her finger to her lips and cast furtive glances about the great hall.

"The good thing about The Music of the Gods is that anyone can participate, regardless of musical ability or talent," Koairy remarked, turning to Elfhild. "Mistress Sa-li is wise to choose that play to be one of the ones we practice in class. It is a great boon for inexperienced actresses." As school crier, Koiary held a higher position than most students, but rather than lording her rank over the others, she always tried to encourage her fellow classmates.

"I quite enjoyed engaging in acts of buffoonery and raucous shenanigans as Aulë," Esma laughed with a wicked grin, her dark eyes twinkling. "Although my lovely wife almost knocked my head off with her lute!" Crossing her arms over her chest with a huff, she glared playfully at Koiary, who was sitting beside her.

"Hey, I worked a long time to make Yavanna's hair look this good." Pride infusing her features, Koiary lightly touched her dark, cloud-like hair. She had fluffed her dense, coily tresses up into an enormous circle and then adorned her coiffure with dozens of tiny silk flowers, giving her hair the appearance of the lofty crown of a flowering tree. Yavanna was the Giver of Fruits; therefore, it was only fitting that she should take the form of the trees which she loved.

"Not only do you play a goddess, but you look like one, too," Esma murmured, her voice soft and teasing as her eyes met Koiary's.

Smiling and biting her lower lip, Koiary touched her hand to her cheek and looked to the side. "Ahem." She cleared her throat discreetly and turned back to the others present at the table. "So, did our newcomers to the theatre enjoy their first big performance with our little group?" She looked expectantly at Elfhild, Haya, and Anahilli before casting a quick gaze in Esma's direction, her eyebrows lifting in a subtle promise.

"I certainly enjoyed my time upon the stage this afternoon," Elfhild nodded enthusiastically, fighting the feeling that she was interrupting a private moment between Koiary and Esma. "I must say, however, that I became quite hot with all the padding I had to wear to disguise myself as a big, burly fellow."

"Ah, 'tis an unfortunate annoyance that oft accompanies breeches roles or creature roles," Esma chuckled knowingly. "You do learn to bear the discomfort after a time, but you still get miserably hot in some of these costumes, especially in performances held during the summer months." Scowling, she furiously scratched at her cheeks and chin. "Ugh, I can still feel Aulë's beard on my face. It was like wearing the pelt of a goat!"

"I felt like a giant dumpling as Manwë! I was sweating so much with all those pillows strapped to my body." Anahilli shook her head in dismay. "Nevertheless, I still had a good time. I have been looking forward to performing for months!" Bringing her lightly clenched fists up to either side of her mouth, she gave a little wiggle of excitement. "Being an actress on the stage is so much different than being a stagehand working behind the curtains!"

Haya glanced around the table at all the actresses who had played male roles in The Music of the Gods. "After hearing the three of you express your complaints, I am certainly glad for the simplicity of Nienna's costume." For her role, Haya had worn a mourning gown, white as a shroud and unadorned by any decoration. The most dramatic thing about her costume was the copious amounts of kohl which lined her eyes and ran down her cheeks in black streaks.

"I loved the gown and headdress I wore as Varda." Mirsana sighed wistfully, remembering the beautiful black and silver dress and starry headband she had donned during the play. "I hope that a wealthy and influential Mordorian lord purchases me to be his companion, so that I can wear pretty gowns every day."

"Even though the crown was a heavy weight upon my head, it was an honor to play the Master of Arda." An expression of rapture upon her face, Dokela closed her eyes and brought her clasped hands up to her cheek. "I pray that my singing pleased Him."

"Your singing moves the soul." Turning to Dokela, Koiary pressed a hand to her heart. "I am sure I speak for all of us when I say that I am very glad you enriched The Music of the Gods with your delightful presence and wonderous voice. It is my earnest hope that you will audition for The Tale of the Dissatisfied King."

"I would love to participate in the upcoming performance, though perhaps not in a main role this time," Dokela replied. "I am far too busy in Mistress Zora's fighting class. She is planning on hosting a wrestling tournament this winter, and I need to concentrate on building up my strength so that I might crush my opponents." She raised her arm, clenching her fist and flexing her muscular bicep.

"It seems there will be plenty of smaller roles in The Tale of the Dissatisfied King, so perhaps you will be able to practice your fighting skills and get to perform with us as well." Koiary smiled. "What roles would everyone like to play?" She cast a curious glance around the table.

"I wonder if Princess Shàhúla wears pretty dresses. If so, I would like to play her." Mirsana giggled behind her hands. "Or I could play Varda again. I know she wears beautiful gowns!"

"I think I would make a good pirate captain, if I do say so myself." Thrusting her hands upon her hips, Esma lifted her head up high, an expression of smug pride upon her face. "Piracy runs in the blood, you see. 'Twas said that my grandfather was one of the Corsairs of Umbar."

Dokela, who had just taken a long drink from her cup, coughed and set the vessel back down on the table. "Then why are you a slave in Nurn?" She looked Esma up and down, a dubious expression upon her face.

"I did not say that my grandfather was good at being a corsair," Esma remarked with a sheepish grin. "He kept getting drunk and botching up raids, and so his crewmates sold him off to a caravan bound for Nurn."

"I will probably end up being the narrator… again." Koiary sighed with preemptive disappointment.

"Well, you are the school crier, so it is only natural that you make a good narrator as well." Anahilli gave her friend a consoling smile. "You did a wonderful job narrating last year's play."

"I wonder just how voiceless Bànda the Voiceless is," Haya mused, thoughtfully tapping her chin. "Though Mistress Sa-li said that this was a more advanced role, I think it would be easier for a beginner like me to play a character with few lines."

"You underestimate yourself, Haya," Koiary told her, reaching across the table and giving her friend's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I know you might be new to acting, but I have seen you upon the stage. You will be wonderful in any role you are given."

"How big will our audience be?" Elfhild spoke up hesitantly. While she was relatively comfortable performing for her classmates, she was uncertain about entertaining a larger audience.

"Originally, the plays were put on for the enrichment of the students and the amusement of Shakh Esarhaddon and his family, but over the years that has changed," Koiary explained. "The Master's wives began inviting their friends to see the yearly grand production, and when word got out about the quality of the theatrical performances put on by the school, the Master decided to invite a select number of guests of his own choosing. The number of outsiders who attend our productions is relatively small, however, for large though it might seem, the Great Hall of the School of Industry is not equipped to house a crowd of enormous size."

"I am extremely grateful for that," Elfhild muttered, and the other students laughed good-naturedly at her chagrin.

As she listened to her classmates talk about the upcoming audition and the play which would be performed in the spring, Elfhild reflected upon her month spent exploring the theatrical arts. Mistress Sa-li's class had such a festive atmosphere, and the theatre students had eagerly welcomed her into their group. It was like going to see a mummer's play every day, but instead of watching actors on the stage, they were the actors. Sa-li with her flamboyant dress and exuberant personality had quickly become one of Elfhild's favorite teachers. Even the classroom itself seemed like a magical place filled with wonder and enchantment. Elfhild loved to explore the storage room where the sets, props, puppets and mannequins were kept, and she could spend hours looking at all the colorful garments, jewelry, and masks contained within the costume wardrobes.

Almost every day, the theatre class practiced a short skit or comedy routine. Elfhild discovered that she liked comedy skits the best and found it especially rewarding if she could get her small audience to laugh. Laughter meant that people were happy, that they were having a good time. It had been so long since she had heard real, honest laughter, the melody of a light, carefree spirit, instead of the forced cackle of tormented souls who were clinging to their last shred of hope. The world needed more laughter, and less war.

Elfhild was constantly amazed to watch her fellow students transform into different characters before her very eyes. They could be strangers, friends, enemies, or lovers — whatever the plot required. Elfhild often felt intimidated by the sheer amount of talent that her classmates possessed. Even those who were new to acting, such as Haya and Anahilli, seemed to know what they were doing. Elfhild tried to remind herself that this was not a competition, but a collaborative effort, and that everyone had a part to play, whether it was on the stage or behind the curtain.

Though Elfhild was enjoying trying her hand at acting, she sometimes felt as though she were playing a theatrical character in her daily life, that she was pretending to be someone else. This world of academics and domestic servitude was far different from anything she had ever known. Weeding gardens, tending to crops, milking cows, and gathering eggs: these were things she knew, not wealthy merchants' palatial estates and prestigious academies. Though Elfhild found that she enjoyed parts of her new life, she often felt out of place amongst scholars and well-appointed surroundings... Sort of like a pig wearing an ermine cape and a circlet of precious stones; beneath all the fuss and finery was a simple farm animal that rooted in the mud and was followed by a cloud of flies. Whenever she could, she made an effort of surreptitiously observing her classmates so that she might copy their behaviors and mannerisms. She did not want to seem like an ignorant foreigner amongst her more sophisticated peers.

How different her life was now than it had been only a year ago! Elfhild had never thought she would venture more than a few miles from her village back in Rohan, but here she was, thousands of miles away from her home, living in the land of her enemies. Or were they her enemies now? Though she was a slave from a foreign land, she had been made to feel welcome at the School of Industry. Most of her teachers treated her with patience and understanding, and the students she had befriended made for pleasant company. If it were not for the constant emphasis upon the greatness and majesty of the Dark Lord that was haphazardly inserted into every subject, it could be easy to forget that she was deep in the heart of Mordor. A dangerous mistake to make, for it was said that Mordor had a corruptive influence over all who fell under its shadow.

Though the journey to Nurn seemed as though it had taken forever, now that she was here, everything felt like it was moving too fast. She had not left the grounds of the villa once during her month there, but yet by the end of each day she felt as exhausted as she had during the journey. Her brain was being stuffed with knowledge, as though it were a pillow packed with straw. The brief periods of free time she was given were often spent discussing the topics which were covered in school that day, or practicing newfound skills. She felt the pressure to conform to the culture around her, and the pangs of guilt when to do so went against her conscience. Her desire to be liked and respected by her classmates and teachers was often another source of guilt, for many of them were in league with the enemies of her country. She felt torn between the obligation to remain loyal to her former homeland, and the innate desire to find contentment and stability in her new home. These inner struggles oft left her feeling frightened and lost, as though she were being borne away to parts unknown upon the back of a runaway horse. How new and strange her existence seemed! Sometimes she had to stop and try to comprehend all that had happened and was happening. When she thought about last September, it felt so far away, like an entire age of the earth had passed since then.

If war had never come to the fair lands of Rohan, Elfhild would have been busy helping her family harvest the last of the wheat from the fields and the summer crops from the garden. A share of the harvest was given to the thane as rent; the rest the family kept for themselves to sustain them through the long winter. Like many other villages in the Mark, Grenefeld held a fair to celebrate the harvest. Although the midsummer fair was her favorite seasonal celebration, Elfhild always looked forward to the harvest festival. Farmers from the surrounding countryside would come to the market to sell produce and livestock, and local artisans would have their wares on display for all to see. Sometimes merchants from other regions traveled to Grenefeld during festivals, and those with enough coin could purchase goods from distant lands. Though Elfhild could never afford such luxuries, she still enjoyed browsing all the stalls. There was also food and drink aplenty; minstrels and mummers galore; puppet shows and plays; thrilling feats of skill and athleticism; and games for all ages. After the harvest and all its associated festivities were over, there was the task of preparing the fields for rye, and tending to late autumn crops such as turnips and cabbages. Every year was the same, dictated by the seasons and the cycle of the crops.

Elfhild wondered what course her life might have taken had she not been carried away by uruk raiders. Would Osric have approached her with an offer of courtship? Would she have ever summoned up the courage to tell him her affections for him? She had fancied the blacksmith's son since she was a child, but she had always been too bashful to reveal her heart's longings. While he had always regarded her with fondness, she did not even know if he ever considered the possibility that she could be more than a mere friend. She might have the courage to stand upon a stage and make a fool of herself in front of the entire village, but when it came to love, she was the most cowardly of cowards.

Perhaps the rigors of the journey had imparted upon her a slight degree of courage. After all, it was not too long ago that she had confessed to Esarhaddon that she wanted to be his slave. Inquiring about her escape from Kafakudraûg Cavern, he had expressed doubt when she told him about the ruse she had played to keep the goblins from tormenting her. He had asked her to demonstrate her acting skills in a brief skit, and she had played the part of Luthien to his Melkor. Pleased with her performance, he had told her that with enough training she could be an actress upon the stage. This praise had deeply troubled her, for the prospect of performing before Mordorian nobility filled her with dismay. It was not fame that she desired, but rather stability; she had hoped that she might find it with Esarhaddon. After all, she had traveled in his company for brief part of the journey, and there was a part of her which harbored a conflicted sense of affection for him. He had dismissed her heartfelt pleas, however, and since then he had spoken little to her. Perhaps that was for the best, since it was doubtful that she would ever have a future with him.

But it was useless to dwell upon the future or the past. This was her life now. After her schooling was complete, she would be sold to a stranger. But until then, she would keep learning, and trying her best, and attempting to make her audience laugh.