CHAPTER XXIV

—Khamûl—

His sister Khalentharia was a little girl of eight with long dark hair to her waist and warm brown eyes that was like a vestige of their father's mien. When she was younger, though it was not that much time ago, she had complained of the intolerable thickness of her hair and tried cutting it all off, but her mother had stopped her from doing so; it was custom for Wainrider women to leave their hair long and tied in a special braid that was distinctive from any other cultures. She could be terribly rebellious like her father had been in youth and in manhood, and sometimes Khamûl thought she was favored more than he was although he was the oldest and a boy. Khalentharia was quite different than the other girls—fierce like her father and stubborn like her mother. Sometimes Khamûl thought that when he saw Thaelin his mother looking at her daughter, she was looking at a mirror of herself. If Khalentharia caught her gaze, she would smile sadly, and other times she would look away and continue her drudgery. At times even Khamûl would be envious of his sister's seemingly overwhelming confidence in what she did.

The three of them were in their makeshift shelter now; Thaelin was making interim spears and sharpening them with her dagger, and Khamûl and Khalentharia were skinning the mice they had caught on the road and preparing the stew. There was nothing else to be caught on the road than rodents and lizards now, for winter was drawing nigh. Khamûl was unnerved by the thought of it; if they were out by themselves in the wild for much longer he was afraid that they would be wearing animal pelts for clothing and living like the prey they ate. How soon would it be before the process reversed, the predators prowling in the forest crossing their paths, and they became the prey themselves?

Thaelin handed the spear she was honing to Khamûl. "That'll have to do for now." It was quite flimsy actually, and the binding on the point looked so fragile that he was afraid that it would break off at the slightest attack. She began on the spear for Khalentharia.

"Mother," Khalentharia said, "perhaps you could make a two-pronged spear, to catch fish in the river." It seemed as if she spoke just to be rid of the silence. Ivanned and Risto, the spectres still whispered into their ears. Ivanned and Risto. Have you forgotten us so quickly?

"That would be slightly more challenging," Thaelin remarked as she worked.

"It would hardly be possible," Khamûl countered, just to spite his sister.

Thaelin laughed. "That was rash."

Khamûl pursed his lips and dumped the wild fungus into the stew as Khalentharia and Thaelin exchanged a knowing look, trying not to laugh. They fell back into silence nonetheless; it seemed that the burden of Ivanned and Risto's deaths troubled them once more. Have you forgotten us so quickly? You dare laugh when we are dead? You let us die, remember that. You let us die.

It was later when Khalentharia was asleep and the fire had gone down to embers that Khamûl went to his mother still working outside. The wind was bitingly cold like daggers upon his face; he felt that if he walked any faster his face would begin to bleed from the frigidity of it. As he stood beside his mother, he rubbed his hands together and breathed on them, hugging his arms together to keep in the warmth.

"Do you know how I first met your father?" Thaelin said at last.

Khamûl shook his head.

"Your father kidnapped me from my betrothed and made me a wife of his own," Thaelin mused, a curious smile on her face. "He was only eighteen, if I recall correctly."

"That is like Father," Khamûl said, and Thaelin laughed. "How old were you?"

"Ah—something around sixteen, I would say." She put the spear on the ground. "You should get to sleep, Khamûl. You'll be needing your strength in the morning and it is late."

Khamûl turned to go back to where Khalentharia was sleeping, but he halted in sudden decision and looked back. "Mother, I think I would like to be the Great Chieftain of the Wainriders someday."

Thaelin smiled wanly. "I'm sure you will, Khamûl. Now get to sleep."

He nodded and went slowly back to the shelter. Khalentharia did not awaken when he came, for he had walked in fairly quietly. He bundled himself in his cloak and turned to his side, staring at the embers of the fire. We all strive so hard to be like Father, Rharlun had said to him once. Rharlun had been his half-brother, murdered by the new Chieftain in fire. Khamûl shifted his position, trying to bring himself to sleep, but his mind kept swimming back to the new ambition, perhaps even hunger, that he had newly invented.

The Grand Chieftain of the Wainriders.

—Taeloth—

Morinórë

Taeloth put one foot in front of the other lightly and in a moderate pace that she never made too sudden a noise or movement. She set the tray carefully on the table, her head bowed, and served Lord Undanya a cup of sweet wine. It was said that Lord Undanya was once one of the Avari, the Quendi that had refused to make the Great Journey in the history of the Eldalië. He was different than them, however, so one day he had gotten into some trouble and they tore his tongue out. The accusation was something around the likes of speaking treason on the king, but it really had been something more like a jape on the king's temper. He must have really liked to talk before he was silenced, Taeloth thought.

She slunk out of the chamber, Lord Undanya never turning to look at her; he had been writing at his desk when she entered, and he was writing at his desk when she departed. From the never-speaking slaves in the kitchens, she retrieved another cup of wine and went to serve the Lord of Morinórë. He went by so many names—God of the Earth, Lord of the Earth, Lord of Gifts, and now he was the Lord of Morinórë. Taeloth wondered what other titles he had.

"Your wine, my lord," Taeloth said when she entered the chamber, the tray balanced delicately upon her hands. She served him just the same as she had served Lord Undanya, her head bowed.

"I thank you." The Lord of Morinórë grasped the cup in his long, slender fingers and brought it before his lips yet did not drink from it. Taeloth had not had a chance to speak to him ever since she had arrived at Lúmë-mindon; she had been working with the others in the tower. He did not even know her name. She made to leave then, but made a sudden decision and turned back.

"My lord," Taeloth said, her tone asking for permission to speak.

The Lord of Morinórë tilted his head in approval.

"Am I to be a mere servant all my time here, my lord? I remember the words that you told me well: I see a certain power in you. Power—it gives you strength, it gives you courage. It gives you many things. The Lord of Gifts can give you many things. You said you would train me, my lord. Will you not honor your oath?"

The Lord of Morinórë laughed. "I swore no oath, little one. What you do not know is that I am training you now. You need to learn patience, child. I have been waiting for a thousand years and I am still waiting."

But Taeloth only lifted her chin. "I have been waiting for quite long myself. I have been waiting all my life for something greater than I have ever received. Though that may be nothing compared to as long as you have waited, my lord, it has been long for me. I think it is time for me to learn something new and have a change come into my life."

"Has a change not already come into your life? I don't recall being abducted by Easterlings a normal part of your life."

Taeloth refused to be swayed and fell suddenly to her knees, kneeling before him. "My lord, I beseech you."

The Lord of Morinórë watched her kneel with an amused smile on his face. "What are you willing to do for me?"

"Anything, my lord. Anything."

He was still smiling. "Very well. Get up." Getting to his feet, he clasped the girl's hands in his own then looked her in the eyes. "Can you dance, little one?"

"Dance?" She looked up, bewildered. "My lord, I do not understand—"

"You would do well to answer the question and not falter," the Lord of Morinórë said, his eyes suddenly fierce and daunting.

She glanced down. "Yes, I can." It was custom for the Eldalië to learn so.

The Lord of Morinórë smiled again. "Spectacular. You will dance while I meet with my council in two days' time."

"While you speak?" Taeloth did not understand.

"Yes," he said. "I would do well to find musicians too, for the task. You would not want to simply have empty dancing without any music, would you?"

Taeloth wanted to question the purpose of that but she decided to keep her mouth shut on the matter. "No, my lord. I would not want to have empty dancing without music. I will most certainly find musicians and dance at the council meeting in two days' time."

"Very well," the Lord of Morinórë said. "You are dismissed." He stood up and sat back into his chair, but Taeloth had not moved.

"My lord," she began slowly.

"Yes?" The Lord of Morinórë sipped on his wine.

"You said. . .you said that the elleth that the Wainriders found dead by the stag was your daughter. You said that she was the Lady of the Earth, and you were the God of the Earth."

"Please ask, dear child," the Lord of Morinórë said. "I cannot bear to see you so discontent."

"Who are you?" Taeloth asked. "Are you a Maia?"

At that the Lord of Morinórë painted a bitter smile upon his lips. "I once was one of the Maiar, indeed."

"Where are you from?" Taeloth had only grown more curious.

"Where all Maiar come from."

"But who are you?" she pressed. "Why is it that the others do not know of you back in Lindon?"

The Lord of Morinórë laughed. "I think they do know of me, child. You may have the pleasure of knowing me as Lord Mairon, if it pleases you. That was what they used to call me."

She had not heard the name before. "I knew Lady Híthriel when she lived. If you are her father, then. . .My lord, I do not understand."

"You do not need to understand, child. At least not now. A servant's duty is to obey. You have already asked too many questions."

"I am sorry, my lord. Please forgive me. I will know my place better from now on."

The Lord of Morinórë was smiling again. It seemed that he smiled that amused smile very much. It was almost sinister, in a way. "You learn quickly, child. I know the true reason that you have brought this up. You want me to ask you for your name, because you cannot bear for me to be in ignorance. Or is it that you deem yourself necessary to be named?"

Taeloth kept her head bowed and did not reply.

"The name you had kept for yourself is nothing to me. Sindarin, by the looks of it. We speak Quenya here; only the lowest ones speak Orkish. It is a privilege to be speaking Quenya. Do not lose it once you have received it. You have already irked me somewhat with your Sindarin tongue, child, and you would do well to not speak." The Lord of Morinórë gazed out of the window. "Your name is Norkáwen." Slave girl. "Whoever you were before is gone and lost. It is behind you, because now you are my Norkáwen and none of that matters anymore, isn't that right?"

She did not dare speak because she did not know the word in Quenya.

"The words are náto, herunya," the Lord of Morinórë said.

"Náto," she whispered. "Herunya."

—Églanim—

Narvi, the Naugrim craftsman of Khazad-dûm, had recently come to Ost-in-Edhil for a visit to the Gwaith-i-Mírdain and his old friend Celebrimbor. The renowned city he had come from was in a Golden Age; it had reached the height of its glory in wealth and craftsmanship. They profited mostly from the mithril that they mined under the mountains of Hithaeglir, for that was the most precious metal of all, stronger than steel but much lighter in weight. Narvi himself and Celebrimbor had carved the mighty Doors of Durin which was the West-gate to the mining city.

It was because of this visit that Angamaitë and Telemmirë were left to take charge of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain for the night, for Narvi and Celebrimbor had gone to a place in the city to speak. Annatar, the other new recruit, had also vanished someplace else. He seemed to do that very much, and no one could ever really say where he had gone. However Angamaitë and Telemmirë were quite wearied of their duties, so instead they joined Narvi and Celebrimbor in their place in the city.

That place was something like a tavern lounge, in fact; they served liquor, and Églanim liked to consider anyplace that served liquor a tavern, which would quite evidently count most places in Arda. Yet he did not accompany them to the gathering, however, and instead stayed behind at the headquarters of Gwaith-i-Mírdain, left to the massive place in solitude.

For the most part, the candles were unlit, making the halls feel more vast and lonely that it likely should have been as Églanim wandered around. He had planned on finishing his project in the smithy, but when the candle died out he lost his resolve and put his work down, instead wandering aimlessly through the halls and occasionally stopping to admire the works of art upon the walls.

There was a place upon the summit of a tower in Gwaith-i-Mírdain's headquarters in which the entire expanse of the city could be seen. Églanim found himself there after a half an hour of wandering, staring out of the long, open window. Ost-in-Edhil was a big city as the capital of Eregion; if Mithlond was grand with the palace of High King of the Noldor Gil-galad, then Ost-in-Edhil was beautified with the architecture and art that the Gwaith-i-Mírdain brought with its presence.

In all his musing, Églanim heard the soft padding of feet coming up the stairs and turned from his place by the window to find Lady Galadriel standing at the doorway, quite bewildered.

"Lady Galadriel." Églanim dipped his head, just as baffled as she was. "Forgive me. I did not know you were coming."

"Ah, no matter." Lady Galadriel regained her composure. "May I ask—are you the new recruit of Gwaith-i-Mírdain?"

"I am one of them," Églanim told her. "There were two."

"I see." Lady Galadriel nodded in understanding. "Pleasant to meet you. What should I call you?"

"My name is Églanim, from Harlond," he said.

She nodded again. "And if you may, I would prefer to go by Lady Alatáriel rather than the other name."

"Of course, Lady Alatáriel," Églanim said.

She looked around the room. "Do you happen to know where Tyelpe is?"

"I apologize. . .Who?" Églanim inquired.

"Ah—I meant Celebrimbor. Do you know where Celebrimbor is?"

"He has gone somewhere with the others tonight, with Narvi of Khazad-dûm," Églanim said. "They likely will not return until late today, I fear."

"No matter." Lady Alatáriel waved it away. "And the other new recruit—has he gone also?"

Églanim frowned. "No, I do not think so. I have not seen him."

"What name does he go by?" she asked.

"Annatar," Églanim told her. "Lord of Gifts."

"Hm," Lady Alatáriel said.

"If I may inquire, why do you ask?" Églanim said.

Lady Alatáriel smiled fleetingly. "A matter from His Grace Gil-galad. Pray excuse me, Églanim. I'm afraid I must return."

"Novaer, híril nín." Églanim raised a hand in farewell.

She dipped her head. "Novaer, Églanim. I suppose I will see you around here sometime."

When Lady Alatáriel had left, he turned back to the window and found that the city below was lit and alive, like a fire.

—Atharys—

"When did Sindarin become an illegal language?" Atharys said, slipping out of where he had been standing behind the pillar. The Quendi girl had come when he and Mairon were speaking; when they heard her footsteps, Mairon had told him to step away.

"When I said it a half a minute ago." Mairon sipped at the wine that the girl had brought him. Norkáwen, he had named her, and that is slave girl in the Quenya tongue. "I think the law will be in favor when our dear princess wakes again."

Atharys' eyes flicked up to him. "What do you mean to say."

"Speak to your father with more respect, won't you, sweet Prince Aþārithīr yondonya?" Mairon placed the cup lightly on the table and sauntered around his desk to stand before Atharys. "Do you know what your name means?"

"You have told me many times, Father," Atharys said.

Mairon chuckled. "Indeed I have, but now I will say again. Aþārithīr—Valarin for the appointed light upon a golden throne. If I am gone, you will rule in my stead. If I fall, you will take my place."

Atharys kept his eyes indifferent and said nothing.

"You asked me a question?" Mairon sat upon his desk in a lazy movement that irritated most people.

Atharys spoke softer this time. "What do you mean to say?"

"On. . .?" Mairon liked to pretend he did not understand and have people repeat themselves to please him.

"'I think the law will be in favor when our dear princess wakes again,' you said." Atharys looked directly at his father to detect any sense of ambivalence or untruth.

"Ah, yes." Mairon stood up again and took Atharys' arm. "Come, sit."

Atharys knew he could not refuse and did as he was bid. Mairon leaned back to grasp his cup and took another long drink, then stood and began pacing the room slowly.

"Your sister," Mairon said. "Is dead."

I knew that. Atharys could scarcely keep his patience.

"Death is death." Mairon took another long pause as he walked to the window and stared outside. At the summit of the tower, a full expanse of the land could be seen—the bone-tree forest surrounded the eastern side and stretched across the terrain, on the southern side the Sea of Nûrn lay in the distance, but on the western and northern sides the budding foundations of a kingdom festered and grew. "But Mandos is only one Vala," he continued, "and our powers here have grown greatly."

Atharys lifted his head in astonishment. "You mean to steal her back from Mandos."

Mairon smiled bitterly and gave a slight nod of his head.

"If that fails—"

"We may bring the wrath of all the Valar upon us," Mairon said, "but they may be reluctant to do anything. Do remember, Atharys, the War of Wrath has only just ended a millennia or so ago. I know you are too young to remember."

Atharys pursed his lips. He did not like to be reminded of his age.

"That is why I am making Quenya the official language, at least for the more distinguished people," Mairon said. "The others can continue speaking that cursed Orkish tongue."

"You think she is still bitter about the Sindarin king's banishment of the old tongue."

A spiteful chuckle sounded in Mairon's throat. "Dear Atharys, you do not know how deep old grudges can cut, how long they can act as poison."

"She knows the girl, or if not the girl knows her. If the former, there is something that might be—"

"What girl?" Mairon said sharply.

Atharys narrowed his eyes, and when he spoke, the word was clipped. "Norkáwen."

"Ah, yes." Mairon sipped at his drink. "The wine she brought me is quite sweet."

Atharys knew that those words were not what they seemed to be. "There is one thing obstructing this all, however. How do you plan on deceiving a Vala with the power of Mandos?"

A wicked smile curved onto his lips. "Oh Atharys yondonya," Mairon whispered. "There is so much you don't know. I have always been so sensational at deception. Eregion will soon be at our disposal, and our princess of Morinórë will rise again."

Eldarin References:

Lúmë-mindon. (Q) Barad-dûr.

Nato, herunya. (Q) Yes, my lord.

Novaer, híril nin. (S) Farewell, my lady.

Yondonya. (Q) My son.