"I did," said Glorfindel, a soft smile lifting his face. "Her name was Payesha; the most beautiful woman ever to walk this world. And no, I do not mean it literally, for though she was comely she could not hold a candle to many of her sisters. But her kindness, her spirit, and the light she bore in her eyes...they set her above all other women."
~From Ash Nazg of Sauron, Huidhenel of Middle Earth
"Glorfindel."
"Elladan."
"Glorfindel."
"Elrohir."
"Glorfindel."
"Oh, for Valar's sake!" he cried out, turning and glaring at the two identical elves, who were muffling their laughter in their sleeves. "Cease your prattle for a while. I want to think."
"How can you think when we two are about?" asked Elladan, spurring his horse onward. Glorfindel sighed. More often than not, he spent most of his time around the mischievous twins, whose especial pride was their ability to heckle him and get away with it. When the two were with their father or sister, their grave eyes and smooth motions could have fooled even the sharpest elf into thinking they were no different from the rest; however, Glorfindel had known them since they were identical babes in their mother's arms. He had learned, over the years, that he was the only one whom Elladan and Elrohir bothered in such a way.
""You two may think you know Middle-Earth like the backs of your polished hands, but neither of you have ever been this far South, and I would thank you to hold your tongues."
"That, dear friend," said Lindir, "would be wonderful. Lord Elrond was too gentle with the both of you," he said, glaring at the twins. "You two never had a good whipping, even when you needed it."
"Trust me," growled Glorfindel, flicking the reins. "I've whipped the two more often than I remember."
"I still don't understand why we had to come," said Elrohir.
"To harass Glorfindel, of course," answered his brother.
Glorfindel gritted his teeth. "We have come here because there was word of an infestation of orcs. As a larger party would be too easy to see, only four of us are coming this far, with a hunddred-strong force a little way behind. You are here because you were tired of the camp and needed some entertainment."
He exhaled in relief when the twins did not reply; knowing them as he did, the very fact that they kept silent should have alerted him to the fact that something was amiss. When Elrohir quietly gasped, he swung his horse around and shouted to Lindir, who was ten paces ahead.
"Draw your bow!"
A black, crawling mass had appeared over the crest of a hill slightly to the east. It was thickening by the moment; Glorfindel's eyes had already gauged the gap left between the orcs and the thorny thickets, and realized with a sinking feeling that there was no way that they could break through. Elrohir and Elladan had already nocked arrows and sent them flying to the east, and it took only a moment for the other two to follow suit.
To Glorfindel, it seemed that only a second had passed before they were surrounded by orcs and his three companions were lost to view. He was soon covered in black orc blood, swinging his head this way and that in a desperate attempt to catch sight of Lindir or the twins. As he beheaded an orc, the strange feeling came upon him that the four of them and the orcs were not the only beings there in the dusty hills. He turned, narrowly dodging an iron mace, and glimpsed a line of glimmering silver at the mouth of the valley. Glorfindel exhaled in relief, thinking that it was the elves whom they had left behind in the camps. The thought entered his head that they must have proceeded extremely quietly to creep around three or four hills completely unnoticed, but then he realized that the faces of these people were dark, burned brown by the sun. The little army was flanked by beasts with immense tusks, ancient-looking creatures with hides like scarred leather.
A sense of awe stole into his veins. The Haradrim were truly a force to behold, and in that instant, Glorfindel would not have cared whether they sided with the orcs or not, even if he had known them to be hard and cruel of heart. The Haradrim were headed by a slender figure hair gleaming so fiercely in the sun that Glorfindel wondered if it was dyed. The woman's eyelids were painted black, and her skin was slightly lighter than that of her fellows. She held a single lance in one hand, and with a strangely fluid movement, she swept it down and the Haradrim plunged into the valley and toward the skirmish below the hills.
His moment of distraction cost him dearly, for as he stood looking at the woman atop the horse, an orc crept up behind him and struck the back of his head with a wooden club.
The woman sat atop a delicately built horse, looking about her. All around the valley, bodies of orcs lay scattered over the sands, with arrows fletched with golden, blue and green feathers piercing their bodies. Three of the four elves had fled, but for one who lay insensible beneath a particularly brutish-looking orc. When she had first passed him, she had thought she was dead; a gaping wound in his head poured blood onto his golden hair. However, when she had stooped to examine it, she had seen that though he had probably suffered a concussion, the wound itself had not penetrated the bone, and he was still breathing. She had no doubt that he could recover. After all, the Haradrim possessed medicine which could rival even the elves. So she had given the order that he be placed upon one of the mumakil and carried back to Kalsini, the capital of Harad.
Anjana scanned the corpses to the west and the north, frowning slightly. The orcs have grown bolder, she thought. Never before have we had to slaughter them across our borders. What is it that they are seeking here? And to whom do they owe allegiance?
"My lady Anjana," said a young man who had come up behind her. "Our scouts have sent word." A plump grey dove sat on his shoulder, cooing softly. Tied to its leg was a tiny scroll, such as those the Haradrim used to send messages over long distances when a scout could not return quickly enough.
Anjana plucked the dove from the man's shoulder. "A camp of elves is in the area; however, a nine-thousand strong band of orcs lie between you and them. Your wounded elf will not be able to rejoin his people for a time."
"It's just as well that we sent him on to Kalsini, then," she said with a sigh. "No one has fallen, and we have an elf separated from his people. Come, Akhat."
The two spurred their slender ponies forward and disappeared into the dust.
Glorfindel awoke in darkness.
He realized, within an instant after opening his eyes, that his head was ringing with an excruciating pain that seemed to originate from the back of his head. In the faint moonlight, he could discern gleaming marble walls, and the shimmer of gold from the ceiling. He sat up gingerly, noting that his head had been expertly bandaged, with some numbing herb packed over his flesh. As his eyes adjusted to the soft glow issuing from the window, he noticed that the room was airy with a high, arched door.
Suddenly, weariness stumbled over him like a tide. As a wave of pain washed through his skull anew, he laid down his head and surrendered once more to sleep.
The sun dawned amid a glory of bright red, as was often the case in Harad. As Anjana had often told her young apprentice, Payesha, Harad was heavy with the blood its people had spilled to protect its borders from the rest of the world. Though Harad had largely gone unnoticed by men, elves, and dwarves, it was bordered to the north by a particularly warlike nation-Rhun. What most of Aksha (called Middle-Earth by most of the other free peoples) considered to be Harad was actually three distinct nations; Khand, Rhun, and Harad. Because all three states wrapped around the east and south of the Rhovanion and Mordor, few people ever went that way.
The reputation of the Haradrim as fierce and warlike was merited. Even Payesha, who had been indignant when she heard how Harad was looked upon, could not deny it. Not even fact that most of that reputation came from Rhun left the Haradrim any doubt to believe that they were any gentler than they truly were.
A truth that had very much fallen below widespread knowledge was the beauty of the Haradrim. It was rumored that the Haradic longevity (which was seventy years longer than that of most mortal men) as well as the characteristic delicate features could all be traced back to the elves; yet not even the most learned scribe could be sure when or even if such an intermingling of mortal and elven blood had occurred. It was the face of Payesha that had convinced Anjana that the essence of the Firstborn must run within Haradrim veins.
Payesha Sainath was a young healer, and exhibited all the beauty of her forebears. She was lovely even among Haradrim women, with flowing curves, large pitch-colored eyes, a wealth of gleaming raven hair, a slender neck, and a rugged brow which cast a look of masculine strength about her face. Her face was, as usual, veiled with a thin piece of tightly woven fabric to keep out the dust, which crept into the rooms of Kalsini even by night. Yet even the veil left no doubt as to the truth of Payesha's loveliness, for Anjana had taught her to carry herself in a manner worthy of her beauty and her blood.
That morning, Payesha was wakened by her mistress tapping gently at her door. Payesha sprang from her bed, rushed across the cold marble floor, and lifted the latch to admit Anjana (who was her teacher as well as her liege).
Anjana laughed softly to see her apprentice in such a hurry. She was already garbed for the day, dressed in a fluid silver armor with her weapons slung across her back. All that remained to be put on her was her general's paint. As Anjana's disciple, it was Payesha's duty to open the little glass jars of smooth black powder, mix their contents with water, and paint Anjana's face. It was a job that enthralled Payesha, because Anjana's decoration was always elaborate. As captain of the guard, Anjana would have stark black eyebrows, black eyelids, black vines and patterns weaving across her cheeks, and, lastly, full black lips. Unlike most of the female warriors, Anjana had no qualms about revealing the outlines of her hips, bosom, and waist through her armor, even on the battlefield. When Payesha had asked her why, Anjana had merely replied that the very fact that she was a woman would compromise her enemy's guard.
"You're up early today, my lady," said Payesha, walking briskly over to her cupboard for fresh pots of kohl powder. She plucked three from a shelf and emptied the dusty black paint into a clay bowl, to which she added a dash of water from the slender jug beside the bed. As Payesha stirred the mixture, Anjana tied her long hair into a bun.
"I am," she said, allowing no sign of weariness to seep past the practiced exterior which every general unconsciously adopted after a few years of command. "We had some trouble with orcs near the northwestern border yesterday, and my legion and I are returning to see that all is still well. As it happens, Payesha, I have a job for you to do today while I am not here. In fact, it will be your work for some time."
"What is it?" asked Payesha, cleaning a little horsehair brush. Noting her movements, Anjana closed her eyes expectantly, and Payesha began applying gleaming paint to the lowered lids.
"Yesterday, after the orcs were taken care of, I found an elf at the brink of death. Apparently, he'd been separated from his party before the battle, for there were only three others with him, and I doubt four elves would ride this far south alone. You need higher training in your healing, and it will be both to his benefit and yours that you complete this section of your studies with the elf."
Payesha nodded, a concerned look entering her dark eyes. "I saw the elf brought in yesterday. Will he live, my Lady?"
"His skull has been cracked, but not badly enough to touch the brain beneath. Beyond that, I doubt there can be much the matter with him but shock. Elves are a hardy people, and he shall recover within time."
"Pardon my boldness, my Lady, but if he will recover within time and you know so, why have you assigned me to his care? Shouldn't I be looking after someone who is more badly wounded than that?"
"You need instruction in the care of a person, looking after the smaller things and making them comfortable," Anjana reminded her. "Do you remember what happened last week? You neglected to numb the wound when you stitched up the gouge in Garaam's leg and gave him such a strong pain cordial the next day that it knocked him out for three hours. I've rather neglected your education in that way, although I know you can disinfect any wound and set any shattered bone."
Payesha blushed violently, and almost ruined the coloring on Anjana's eyebrows. "There, my lady, I'm done."
Anjana cast a critical look at her reflection in the mirror and then nodded. "Well done, Payesha. Go get your breakfast and then go to the infirmary to see to the elf. If he is conscious, try not to alarm him. He should be able to understand Westron, and one can never be sure what Elven language one of the Firstborn speaks, anyway."
"The blonde ones generally come from The Valley of Singing Gold and speak Quenya. I asked the loremaster once," Payesha offered.
"No matter, he'll be able to understand you if you've been properly studying your Westron," said Anjana, getting up and hoisting her bow. "I shall see you in the evening, Payesha, and ask you how it goes."
With a ripple of her shining silver cloak, Anjana left the room. Payesha lifted her green day-dress from her cupboard and changed quickly before hurrying to the dining hall. A chorus of whistles greeted her as she reached the foot of the stares leading into the hall, and she blushed again. Payesha was one of the most sought-after young women in northern Harad, and had suitors in droves since she was sixteen. However, she walked past the gang of boys with her head held high, and went to the girls' table, where she greeted her two friends, Ninitha and Khala.
"What took you so long?" asked Ninitha, pushing a bowl of coconut milk toward Payesha, along with a plate of shredded mutton.
"Anjana wanted her paint done early today," said Payesha. Both Ninitha and Khala were lady's maids, and understood the importance of the adornment. They nodded and then returned their attention to their food.
"What are you going to do today, Yesha?" asked Khala. "Our ladies have given us the day off, and we know the squadron's left. Will you come with us to the pools? We haven't had a good swimming day for as long as I can remember."
"Anjana left me work to do while she's out," said Payesha, feeling the loss of her day off. "Yesterday's legion got in a sick elf from the border, and I've got to look after him."
"After last week's fiasco?" said Ninitha. "You could have easily killed Garaam with that sleeping draught."
Payesha's face flamed scarlet for a third time, and she attacked her meat with a vengeance. Ninitha chortled. Khala's lips went white.
"It isn't funny," she hissed, burying her nose in her bowl of milk. Payesha cast her an apologetic glance; she had forgotten how taken Khala was with the strong, quiet Garaam with his kind eyes and uproarious laughter.
"I'll see you two at dinner," she said, getting up. "I'm off."
"Oy, Yesha!" came Ninitha's shout. Payesha turned.
"What is it, Nini?"
"I've heard that elves are devilishly handsome. Try not to break the fellow's heart."
Payesha rolled her eyes, passed the group of chattering boys, and went towards the infirmary.
Glorfindel had been pleasantly surprised to find it light when he awoke.
At least I have not entered the halls of Mandos once again, he thought. This place is easily lovely enough to be so, but too...dry. It took him a few moments to realize that he could not be far from where he had received the injury. He had been at the border or Harad, and one of the Hasharin soldiers must have come across his body. Glorfindel looked around, taking in the luxury about him with no small measure of astonishment. Veins of gold shone in the walls and it seemed that the very building he was in was made of marble.
The pain in his head, though very much present, was far duller than it had been when he had woken in the night. He settled himself back against his pillows, finding that closing his eyes offered a nearly instant relief. He toyed with the idea of going to sleep again, and regretfully decided that he should at least try to get up and have a look out of the window, which admitted a warm and pleasant breeze. When he looked more closely, he saw that the window was screened by some sort of tight, clear cloth to keep out the sand.
Presently, he heard a gentle knock at his door. He glanced toward his dagger, which was lying close at hand on a strange little wooden table that looked as if it might fold under too much weight. After deciding that he likely had no need of it (his life had been saved, after all) he called, "Come in."
The girl that entered was undeniably one of the Haradrim. She had a gleaming copper skin, long black hair, and a striking, high-boned face which boasted an overhanging brow and full scarlet mouth. Her face was veiled with a light cloth which was much the same as the fabric that shaded the windows.
"Ah, you're awake," she said in heavily accented Westron, setting down her tray on the precarious little table. Glorfindel eyed it for a moment, expecting it to collapse. When it didn't, he turned his attention back to the girl, who seemed to be uncertain as to whether or not he had understood her words.
"Where am I, my lady?" he asked. "And what happened to me?" He winced at how...mortal...and uncultured...his words sounded, but he dismissed it. Finding out where he was and what exactly had happened to him was far more important than trivial courtesy. The girl smiled, relieved at finding herself understood.
"You're in Kalsini, the capital of Harad," said the girl, taking the lid off a pot of some sort of savory-smelling soup. "I'm not exactly sure what happened, but according to my mistress, your skull is cracked, though not very badly. It's more of a flesh wound. I expect your head was hit by an orc's club or something similar."
"My companions!" he cried, remembering Lindir and the twins. "Where are they? Have they fallen?"
"So far as I know, you were the only elf found there. My mistress mentioned that there were three others, but she did not say they were killed or captured."
Glorfindel inclined his head, relieved. "What is your name, my lady?" A look of confusion came over her face, and he realized that she had not understood him.
"What is my name?" she asked, slowly, stumbling over the syllables. "Ah...its...meaning? Is that right?" She furrowed her brow in confusion. "I am mistaking this, am I not?"
"Perhaps, my Lady. I do not ask for the meaning of your name, simply the name itself."
"Oh!" she said. "Then why did you not say, 'how are you called?'" She set a bowl of the fragrant soup before him, and he found with some surprise that he had a hearty appetite. He ate slowly, so as not to jar the back of his head more than necessary.
"I suspect it is nothing more than a difference in grammar between Haradrim and Westron, my lady," he said with a smile. "In that case, I shall ask you properly. Fair lady, how are you called?"
"Payesha Sainath," she said with a sweeping bow, and allowed him to kiss the tips of her fingers. "And you are, Lord?"
"Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, from Rivendell," he answered. "Only my friend's twin sons call me that, however, and it gets tiresome. Call me Glorfindel."
Payesha silently sounded the name out, and he realized that she was trying to pronounce it without a Haradaic accent.
"Glorfindel," she said slowly. Then she cast a look at his bandaged head. "Are you in pain at all?"
"Some. Is this a pain-reducing herb that has been packed under the bandage?"
"Yes, and some mold."
Glorfindel looked up at her, puzzled.
"Mold? You mean the filth upon old fruit?"
"Here, we have a type upon date fruit that routs infection." She drew forth a vial of some white liquid and handed it to him once he had finished his soup.
"What is it?" he asked.
"It will help you to sleep," she said, gathering up her things. "The healers say that sleep is the best thing you can have at this stage after injury, and I shall be back in an hour or so to see to you, and one of the healers will come in every fifteen minutes or so to make sure you are all right."
Glorfindel permitted her to take away the bowl and then uncorked the phial. Payesha had turned away, so he put the phial to his lips and drained it.
Suddenly, Payesha turned back to him. "Oh, by the way, only take a quarter of-" Glorfindel's eyelids fluttered, and he promptly began to snore. In horror, Payesha snatched up the phial and groaned at the sight. The bottle was decidedly empty.
"Shala. No!" She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, wondering what she could possibly do. Another thought came to her and she groaned, banging her head against the marble wall with a resounding thud. "Wait until Ninitha and Khala find out I've done it again!"