woven in a braid
The captain lounged bonelessly on a bench in the shelter of the courtyard, his
keen senses tuned to his surroundings. No one who knew him would have put money
on anyone's chance of taking him unawares, in spite of his relaxed attitude
and the unaccustomed grin on his face as he breathed in the fresh spring air
on the heights and soaked up the sun indolently. It made a nice change of pace
to draw duty like this.
How does it go, soldier? he inquired of the single man in his charge.
Fine, Captain, replied the quiet voice. We are advancing well.
The small dark head did not look up, and the sturdy little body moved a bit
further along the flagstones to keep up with the line of pebble soldiers as
they marched toward the wall. Starting again on the left side, he pushed each
stone forward, one by one.
As the line came to a halt and the little fingers reached again for the first
man in line, the captain leaned forward and offered advice in a soft, serious
voice. You should not always start them so, with the same man. The
little face looked up, grey eyes met grey eyes and took the captain's measure.
Your enemy will soon figure out that is your way. You should mix them
up a bit.
The little one considered carefully, then nodded. Thank you, captain.
That was well thought.
He watched the tiny, well-formed hand reach toward the other end of the line
with a smile. But the little one seemed to reconsider, and pushed forward a
pebble about a third of the way down the line. One by one, they marched toward
the bench, advancing on the captain's position, though what they could
hope to gain from him when they got there, except perhaps his pipe, the captain
did not know.
Eventually the men of stone surrounded the captain from the city of stone, and
the small commander climbed up onto the bench and demanded surrender and tribute.|
I have naught of value that I can buy my life with, the captain
conceded. What will you have of me?
The small commander considered carefully, brushing his long dark hair back behind
one ear, leaving a trail of grime like a sooty scar on his brow. He leaned back
against the wall, crossing his arms and legs to echo his friend's, and
looked him up and down, letting his eyes come to rest on the rayed star the
Captain always wore pinned to his cloak.
I think you might have something of value, Captain, he ventured.
Thorongil looked at the spot where the star was pinned to his shoulder, touched
it gently and smiled, turning his eyes to the boy. Indeed. But not that
I could offer for my ransom.
Why not?
The steel-grey eyes were curious as they watched his face, and he responded
seriously. There are some things, soldier, that are worth more to a man
than their value. If I were to give up my star, I would also be giving away
my honor and then I would not have a life worth saving. So what I told
you was the truth, and you must offer me other terms, or accept my surrender.
I see, the small commander nodded, and the Captain had to admit
it looked as though he had. Then his face slowly broadened into a grin and he
became a child again.
I am afraid I will have to ask papa to open the dungeons for my captive
he chuckled, will you sing to me, Thorongil? That would be nice!"
Trying very hard not to laugh, the captain let the little body lean against
his and warm in the sunlight. He chewed the stem of his pipe and thought it
over. It seems a very fair proposition. But I am afraid I don't know
any song I think you would like – just very long ones in the elvish language.
Would you like one of those?
The bright eyes considered, but the brow was furrowed. he said
at last. They sound tiresome. I will have to teach you one I like.
The captain coughed to cover his bark of surprised laughter, and offered his
hand, which the little one solemnly shook, just once, as hard as he could.
they agreed.
Pay attention, the little one admonished. This is an easy
one. His voice was pleasant, and surprisingly strong, and he waved his
hands about in time to the rhythm.
step into the shadow
step into the sun
shadows chase the sunlight,
see the evening come
sunlight chases shadow
nighttime fades away
both of them together
make another day
A very old memory wrapped itself about the captain's heart as the small
soldier sang. A voice – soft, a sweet tone – whose was it? He could
not quite remember.
He realized the little one was waiting expectantly. Go on, soldier,
he encouraged. That was very good, indeed. Sing me the rest.
That's all. The grey eyes were fixed on his face. That's
all there is. That's all I know he amended, in case there might
be more to draw out of his friend.
Well, let's try it together, then the captain said. You
are a very good teacher, and I would like to avoid the dungeon.
All right, the small one nodded.
They launched into the verse together, the captain tripping only once, surprised
to find it coming back to him.
Not bad, the little one smiled.
All right, the captain agreed, and they started again. The little
one was laughing, but the captain was still hearing a voice he could not quite
place, and other words almost there
That is a most excellent song, he said, stroking the small head
beside him. And you sing very well. Where did you learn that? From your
mother?
the little head whipped back and forth, hair flying. From
father. He knows lots and lots of songs and poems and stories.
The captain's eyes widened just a little in surprise. The steward's
son was certainly learned, and obviously captivated by his boy, yet the thought
of him taking the time to tell a bedtime story, or sing a nursery rhyme had
not occurred to him. Though there was something about this particular rhyme,
something that was just beginning to come back to him. No not yet. He
sighed. Perhaps there was more to consider about the man, he thought as he moved
one of the boy's pebbles with the toe of his boot.
Is there more? The grey eyes were once more watching his face, hoping
for new words.
I am not sure I will remember it all but I will try if you like.
the little one declared, and after only a moment added,
Holding the little hand in his, the captain closed his eyes and reached for
that voice
twilight comes at morning
twilight comes at eve
gold and silver holding hands
in and out they weave
shimmer like a moonbeam
glisten like the sun
dark and bright and starlight
all of them, and none."
Good! cried the small voice with glee. Again. Teach me?
They sang the new words several times, and then they tried putting them together
with the first verse. Is there more?
I think so. I will do my best to remember, and perhaps we can sing again
together before I go south.
Thank you, Thorongil. I would like that! Father will be pleased when I
teach this to him! the little one crowed.
The captain nodded, pointing over to the gate, and the little one spun about.
When you teach me what, Boromir? Denethor asked, smiling at the
joy on the little face.
New words, Father! Listen!
The captain stood and released the little fingers. Nodding to the father, he
stroked the soft raven hair. I will take my leave before you begin,
he smiled. Thank you, he whispered by the child's ear, about
the dungeon
It was a deal, came the soft reply.
***
The captain stood by the wall behind his rooms, looking out at the deepening
dusk. He still could not remember the voice that had sung him the words, or
where he might have been – just a deep soft comforting warmth, a strength
he did not doubt, and the rhythm of the voice in the gathering dark. And one
more thing – the words. The little one had given him back something he
had not realized he was missing. Smoke wreathed his head like memory as he tried
to call back the words, murmuring into the dusk
step into the shadow
step into the sun
shadows chase the sunlight,
see the evening come
sunlight chases shadow
nighttime fades away
both of them together
make another day
twilight comes at morning
twilight comes at eve
gold and silver holding hands
in and out they weave
shimmer like a moonbeam
glisten like the sun
dark and bright and starlight
all of them and none
the shadow of a raven's wing
the brightness of a blade
dark and light are brothers
woven in a braid
*******
Author's Notes:
A piece of rhyme in an almost impossible to remember father's voice
A different piece of that rhyme, in a strong protecting and comforting voice
in the moving dark. But now, it also speaks of the strength of brothers –
as twins embrace their new little brother, though none of them quite know that
yet.
A grown man in a strange land who has that bit of rhyme returned to him by a
child and his love for his father
And a broken verse that is supposed to end with the idea that sometimes all
light is the same if he could just remember if I could just write
it.
I hope to find out the rest of the poem before Thorongil does.For now he will
have to try to remember how the verse goes and who taught him about the strength
of brothers who stand together. My subconscious is very literal, and it may
be telling me that Boromir cannot truly learn about the strength of brothers
until he has one...and, I wanted to create that feeling of things that are lost
from childhood unless we are careful to preserve them.
I gave the obvious, daylight/darkness or sun and shadow to Boromir – its
theme of working together seems right for Gondor.
I gave the or verse to Thorongil - his
childhood was spent with the people of the twilight – that was why I let
this verse be the one he remembers best. And the concept that twilight is made
of dark and bright and starlight / all of them, and none refers also to the
theme of brothers/family for him – he has all of them, and yet none.
I thought I would address what he is remembering in another story, but I am
not sure I will ever write it now, since Avon and I seem to be finishing each
other's thoughts. So, until I do write it, you can follow the early part of
Thorongil's memory in a very similar story to the one I envisioned by reading
her story Forgotten Memories
--gaudete--
*******
This was written for the Nursery Rhyme challenge at Henneth Annun.
Happy Birthday, Rachel / Shadow975
April 28, 2003
You are SO not the oldest!
They tell you shadows are the place to hide, but listen: no one looks into the
sun. - M.E. Davidson