When the Sun Rises
By: Eärillë
Camp NaNoWriMo project, July 2013: Evandar, the King of the Elves, is portrayed as "stern and proud" and silver-haired in the Cycle. But was he always like that? What could be the beginning that saw to the making of the King that we glimpse in the series? I assure you, it was truly unexpected.
Chapter 1
The Cousin
One bird rises in a short, sweet, high-pitched song. I yawn and stretch a little. The bed is so nice and plump and fluffy, and the sheets are so soft and comfy and cool against my skin. My bedroom is still dim and cool and silent too, the perfect sanctuary.
Another bird pipes up with its own song, just as sweet and high-pitched as the first but longer. Then another, and another, and another join the choir, with varying pitches and length but all the sweeter. All the noisier too … Time to wake up, perhaps. But it is so cozy here …
The choir of songbirds spread out, and I hear feather-flapping amidst the songs. My lips twitch. The birds are up before I am, today. But I am feeling lazy this morning anyway. I blink, yawn, rub my eyes, stretch out completely, luxuriate in the feeling of the downy bed sinking under my weight and the sheets rustling against me.
"Andar … "
I flop over onto my belly with a sigh. Ata is calling. It is really time to get up, then. But I do not really want to get up this morning. Something is niggling in my heart, telling me that I will not like what the day may bring, and I believe in it. Still, I have been observing sunrise over the treetops of our home forest for as far as I can remember, usually with Ata and sometimes with Ama too, so there is no getting out of it today.
I wriggle half out of the sheets with deliberate slowness, then crawl just as slowly to the edge of the bed with the sheets still dragging behind me.
Ata appears on the door, setting aside the curtain of vines by shouldering his place in-between them. I grin guiltily at him. "Ata," I chirp at him. I completely forsake the sheets and jump down onto the soft, fluffy rug Ama made for me when I was born. A pair of arms are ready to catch me as I dash across the rug and fling myself at Ata. And in short order, I am already climbing up his body and settling in my usual place hanging from his shoulders.
He laughs. I grin again, wider this time. I am feeling lighter and merrier already, by the sheer proximity to him.
"You are twenty years old already, son, not five," he chides me. But my grin is still very much in place, and I answer him only with an impish chuckle. He shakes his head, even as we cross the family room and he ascends the stairs to the top of our house.
I am still clinging triumphantly at him, and despite his words Ata does not seem to mind my weight or childish attidue. Well, I am still a child after all!
We look to the east. I am perched on the railing, while Ata stands behind me with his arms around my middle and his chin propped on the top of my head. The forest is a sea of green below us, glinting with dew under the grey light of predawn and swaying gently in the breeze.
The sun peeks over the snowy mountaintops like a huge, glittering eye peeping over a broken windowpane. It rises slowly but surely, sending all sorts of brilliant hues scattering across the eastern sky: elegant, unhurried, but cheerful. The birds below tweet even more energetically than before, as if welcoming back their king and protector to the heavens. But the sun rises on its own unhurried pace, which makes it breath-taking to behold as it at last breaks free from the mountaintops as a round, vast, brilliantly-yellow shield. And with that, as if a sheet has been drawn back from the world, the sky springs into shades of light blue and light grey, the air warms as if from a loved one's embrace, and the forest shines brightly as if burning.
I beam at the sun, greet it a silent good morning, welcome it back to the sky in my own way. Ata tightens his arms around my middle, and I can feel the muscles of his face stretch into his own beaming smile from where his chin connects with my head.
I can never grow tired of watching the sun rise, especially when I am watching it with someone who appreciates it just as much. And that is why, more than all others, I am happy and proud to be counted in Alantra: the House of Sunrise. Sendis, Ama's House, already has twice or thrice the number of members of Alantra, anyway. And speaking of which …
"Where is Ama, Ata? I did not hear her anywhere in the house."
Ata sighs and slumps a little. My heart twinges in worry. My jubilation on the sunrise and its warmth subsides into cool discomfort. "Where is Ama, Ata?" I persist.
He sighs again, then after a brief silence murmurs, "Ama is visiting her cousins, son. Then she is going to help me arrange for the arrival of the Shur'tugalar."
Oh. Them. Ata is never happy when they are around. Ata does not like dragons. Ama too, come to think of it again, but Ata seems to dislike them more. From my interaction with the other inhabitants of Osilon so far, I have long realised that Ata and Ama are the odd-ones-out in that regard. Other people praise the dragons so much and so endlessly, and in turn the partners of those dragons get some adulation as well. Neither Ata nor Ama ever told me why they do not rain sweet words and flattery and gifts upon the dragons and their partners, hence my opinion is quite different from theirs; it does not mean that I will fall into singing profuse adulation to the dragons, still, given how I have been raised.
But those huge, talking, fire-breathing lizards are indeed beautiful, in a deadly sort of way … I want to meet them at least! And the Shur'tugalar only come here every five years or so, so I will not get any chance to see them for years if I do not go now. Who knows if they bring some dragon eggs for testing now? But will I hurt Ama's and Ata's feelings if I somehow become a Shur'tugal?
Only one way to find out.
"Ata?" I ask tentatively, leaning back against Ata, but I cannot bear to look at him now so I stare at the eastern horizon instead. He hums in acknowledgement, tightening his grip around my middle at the same time, makes me feel bolder, so I blurt everything out: "Can I go with you later? May I see the Shur'tugalar too? Do they bring any egg with them?"
Ata just sighs again, heavier this time, and turns me around on the railing, now embracing me properly. I put my arms around his shoulders and lay my head on his left shoulder. "Ata?" I murmur, now staring at the necklace of coloured stone-beads hanging around his neck. But he is not looking at me anyway. He is staring straight ahead. I bet he is staring at the eastern skyline too.
I do not know how long I wait; but at last Ata says, "Yes, you may, son. We are going after breakfast. Now let us prepare ourselves." But he does not let me go. He does not put me down on the floor and let me scamper off like usual. Instead, he puts his arms under my bum and carries me inside like a child of three. To think that he complained about how I was behaving like a small child just before the sun rose … but I do not dare tease him now. He just seems so sad, accepting but sad, as if he has foreseen this moment for a long time and tried to prepare himself to let me go – to no avail, apparently. But it does not really makes sense – I am not going anywhere!
But how if a dragon chooses me to become his or her partner?
Oh well.
Ata has not put me down, even though we are now amidst the hubbub of the town. I am mortified! How if Rolva sees me like this? She will not like me then! And We are the only two children of any similar age to each other here currently; who will be my playmate then? And where are we going anyway? This is not the route to the central field, the only place big enough for dragons. And where is Ama? She was not home for breakfast, and Ata and I ate alone from whatever Ata scrounged up from the kitchen. She is not usually like this …
I gape. Ama is here! Somehow, Ama has been waiting for us in front of a house ringed by fruit trees and berry bushes, which I have only ever passed twice in all my years of wandering the town. She looks just as melancholy as Ata does, for some reason, but she beams at me when our eyes meet so I am not too concerned about it.
"Ama!" I chirp at her, then wriggle down and out of Ata's arms. She catches me as I streak towards her, and lifts me up to settle in her arms.
"Amaaaa," I protest, try to wriggle down and away from her but to no avail. What is wrong with the both of them today? Am I not allowed to touch the floor for the whole day? Then how will I meet the Shur'tugalar? I would rather not see them at all to being carried everywhere like a tiny baby!
"Down, Ama, please," I beg. But she just turns around and carries me into the house, without even so much as a knock on the doorjam or a greeting to the occupants of the house. In fact, it is what makes me freeze on my own, without so much as a word from her. This is just … wrong! Ata told me a long time ago that he is the leader around here and helps people with things especially in big events, so he must be a good example for other people in Osilon. But what Ama is doing now is not –
Who is she? Who are they?
Another woman, who bears some resemblance to Ama, stands in the vestibule with another child in her arms, a child who looks to be of similar age to me. But they seem … weird. The woman looks so tired and wary, as if she has been hunted or ridiculed for a long time, and the child …
The boy does not glow, not like how children should, like Ama told me when I was two and asked why I shone brighter than Ama and Ata. The same wariness fills his gaze, coupled with mistrust and hopeless longing, and tempered down by sorrowful timidity. My heart twinges painfully when our eyes meet, and I get the urge to hug him and tell him that it is going to be all right, that I at least shall not hurt him. But how can I hurt him anyway? I do not even know his name. And why does he think I will hurt him? I did not even know that he exists before now.
"Meet your second cousin and her child, son," Ama murmurs in my right ear. "Narítha-aelúith, this is my son Evandar."
"Greetings and well-met, Narítha-tílúith," I murmur at the woman while pressing my index and middle fingers to my lips, to which she responds likewise and also with a wan smile. "Greetings and well-met to you too, third cousin. Might I know your name?" I add to the boy, to both women's and the boy's surprise – which baffles me greatly.
"Nellon," he murmurs. I love his voice: soft and sweet and pleasant, like the gentle gurgling of a brook. Why does he not talk more or even sing? I bet he can be a great singer. And why does he refuse to look at me now anyway? It is rude to look away when one is introducing oneself, Ata and Ama always say to me. But perhaps he is just shy? Oh, I can remedy it, if that is so.
I look up at my new-found second cousin, want to ask her if Nellon and I can play somewhere together while Ama stay with her. But before I can speak, she beats me to it, with tears glittering brightly in her eyes: "You have a wonderful son, Vínas-aelúith, a wonderful child."
Wha?
I gape at her. But I dare say it would be rude if I asked her what she means by saying so, so I keep my silence about it. Ama is letting me slide down onto the floor anyway, so I had better behave and not risk being carried again by her, or worse: punished. Now I can play too!
"May I go play with Nellon, Ama?" I beg her in my nicest wheedling tone, while tugging a little at her left hand. "May I? I promise I shall be good. I shall not even wander far if Ama says not to."
But ama does not immediately answer, not even for a yes or a no. I cease tugging at her hand. The small circular room has just plunged into a shocked silence, and I am made frightened by it. I press closer to Ama's legs, as the result. I do not care if I will be teased for being a big baby boy later; I just want some comfort and security now, and I can care less about all others. The situation is just too bizarre and incomprehensible, and I for once in my life lose all sense of composure.
And then, quite abruptly, Ama says a short "Yes," and then nudges me gently towards Nellon, whom I now see has been put down on the floor also. Oh well; at least I get my wish now. Time for some fun!
I do not know what is wrong with him! Nellon is skittish as skittish gets, and he refuses to play outside in the nearby creek, and he refuses to sing even though I have wheedled and praised him many times over, and he refuses to look at me straight in the eyes like he did when we firstly met each other. And the annoying thing is: he keeps glancing timidly at me when I am not looking at him, or when he thinks I am not looking at him. Am I a monster? Or an alien specimen of the zoology world, perhaps?
We are currently in a spare bedroom of sorts: small and filled with just a bed on a simple raised dase grown from the floor, a small wardrobe similarly grown from the floor, and a nightstand which is oddly not so attached to the flooring as the others are. But Nellon was silent when I asked him if this is his bedroom, and we are currently doing nothing: just sitting on opposite ends of the bed, feedling with the sheets and, in my part, staring moodily around. I cannot hear anything from the vestibule also; a ward of silence and secrecy is protecting it like a sphere of water. It is making me antsy as the result, and now I am beginning to get as skittish as the weird boy is. Not fun at all. I do not know how long we have been doing this, and care nothing about knowing it. All that I know is that I am on the last point of my patience, and I have to be doing some other thing now or I shall get mad.
I glare sulkily at the weird boy, willing him to look up straight at me, willing it with all my being that we can be more open to each other, if not becoming friends like I firstly hoped. Really, what is wrong with him? We are both boys, and kin, and of quite similar age if not the same, and we do not have anything to do this morning too. My home would be lively with my chatter and tinkering right now even if it were I alone there, if I were gifted with this great circumstance.
And he is not looking up, although I am sending him my best glare.
An insult to my glaring capacity. I can usually attract people's attention by glaring at them, when I am displeased with something or somebody, although I will then get in trouble for glaring in the first place. But Nellon simply does nothing.
I am tired of this.
With a light leap and a little jolt on landing, I am crouching in front of him and seizing his right foot, tickling the sole with every trick that I possess.
He yips, yelps, then breaks into uncontrollable laughter and tries to tug his foot away from my fingers. Giggling hard myself, I redouble my efforts while dodging his grabbing hands. I wish I thought of this sooner! A good tickle can solve many things indeed, from Rolva's occasional moodiness to Ata's rare state of despondency.
I – Eep! He has just found my neck – Eep!
Ama holds me close. I am still giggling. She has just separated the both of us from each other and lifted me up into her arms, and I cannot stop giggling yet somehow. It was quite fun! Wrestling with another boy is different to wrestling with a girl, it turned out. It was funner this way!
I look down at Nellon, who is now sweaty and palid-looking and sprawled eagle-spread on the bed, panting heavily with his chest heaving. He is grinning from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling with laughter, and I reciprocate just as fiercely. I do not know why he looks so exhausted, while I am feeling not the slightest bit tired and feeling rejuvenated instead; but I am no less glad and proud to have coaxed that expression onto his sickly complexion. "See you later?" I ask him hopefully. And, perhaps unable to articulate his affirmation, the no-longer-so-weird boy waves enthusiastically at me with both of his hands.
I wave both of my hands back at him, smirking cheekily, and he wheezes out a bout of laughter. "See you later then!" I chirp as Ama pats the top of his head. I smooch out a mock kiss when Ama's back is turned, to which he retaliates by lolling out his tongue at me, with his eyes crossed. His expression now is so comical that I burst into a gale of cackles.
Life is perfect right now. And I have just gotten a new friend!