CHAPTER XXV
—Tyelpe—
Narvi could really be quite bawdy and raucous when he drank. In fact, it seemed that that was the nature of all Naugrim, from the extended time that Tyelpe frequently spent with them. He visited Khazad-dûm often and joined in their feasts; he had become quite fluent in Khuzdûl by now, and could converse freely with the natives. A melancholy thought drifted in his head as he suddenly remembered how ecstatic his uncle Morifinwë had been when he learned the Taliska tongue. He had learned a bit of Khuzdûl too because of the trading alliances that he formed with the Naugrim. Nelyo, nevertheless, had been the most fluent in Khuzdûl especially after he became good friends with that Naugrim lord of Belegost, Azaghâl. They had fought alongside all the Eldalië in the Union during the times of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, but Azaghâl had died in that battle, felled by the vile Glaurung.
Fëanorian, the others always called him. No, he was not. He did not want to be. He never asked his father to do what he did, never approved of it. Yet he too remembered loving his family once, before they fell into darkness, one by one, until they were all gone.
It was these hapless thoughts that poisoned his mind tonight and had him wandering out of the tavern before Narvi and the other of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain were quite finished with their gathering.
"Tyelpe!" Narvi hiccuped from all the wine and seemed about to fall as he stood up from the bench. "Where do you think you're going?"
"You can hardly see straight, Narvi," Tyelpe said. "Do sit down, before you—"
Narvi raised his eyebrows in a absurdly comical way. "Hm. . .avoiding the question, are we?"
Tyelpe rolled his eyes. "I'm going out for a mere breath of air."
"All right, all right," Narvi said, waving his hand dismissively. "Have it your way."
Thus now Tyelpe had ambled out of the gathering and begun on a saunter upon the street with no place in particular to go to. He had not wanted to stay, but he had no place he wanted to go either. . .
"Wandering around so late at night?" Annatar drawled behind him.
Tyelpe turned. "Where have you been?"
"Business," Annatar said. "We all have our own doings, don't we?"
Tyelpe huffed and continued at a leisurely pace down the street, Annatar strolling loosely behind him.
"Didn't enjoy the gathering?" Annatar mused.
Tyelpe kept walking, his gaze directly forward. "Why does it seem that you know everything, Annatar, Lord of Gifts?"
Annatar chuckled. "All the truth is written upon your face, Tyelpe. I don't need informers to know that."
"Where did you reside in the First Age?" Tyelpe inquired. He had realized suddenly that they had not spoken much of personal matters, but had rather bonded over craftsmanship.
"Himring," Annatar said immediately, as if he had had the answer prepared.
Tyelpe was tempted to snort. "So you lived in the city of my late uncle."
Annatar, likewise, had a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Ah—yes. The redhead. He was quite an interesting one, that Noldo."
Tyelpe did not answer.
"And you?" Annatar asked. "Where are you from?"
"Don't mock me," Tyelpe said, resorting to a bitter chuckle. "I'm sure all in this city know of it. All Quendi living in a city know of it."
Annatar turned to one side, gazing at the holly trees that they passed. "All right then," he said softly.
"Himring," Tyelpe said.. "You must have joined the Union."
"I, in fact, did not." Annatar spoke quietly. "I was in Doriath at the time."
"A Noldo in Doriath. How interesting. I wonder of the great kindness dearest King Thingol must have given you."
"Such great kindness," Annatar agreed. "His Grace was very kind." He paused. "Lady Alatáriel came by looking for you today."
"Artanis?" Tyelpe looked up at this. "At the headquarters?"
"Yes," Annatar said, nodding. "Églanim told me of it."
"What did she want?" Tyelpe asked.
"Églanim did not say," Annatar said, "but it seems that he may want to speak with you of it in private."
"Hm." They were approaching the headquarters of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain now, and promptly they went in through the western gate. On the other side of the archway was a garden adorned with a multitude of flowers and numerous ilex. Annatar brushed his hands upon the leaves as they wandered by, picking some of the holly berries off the boughs.
"You can't eat these, can you?" Annatar said.
"No," Tyelpe told him. "They make you sick."
"Isn't that an interesting feeling?" Annatar mused. "To be sick when it a gift received by only the Atani?"
"You would know," Tyelpe said. "You're the Lord of Gifts." He wandered into the corridor to his chambers. "How long do you plan on following me for?"
"You must be sorely mistaken, Tyelperinquar. I am not following you, but merely relieving you of the loneliness that you so often feel. On the other hand, my chambers would be reached through this very same corridor."
Tyelpe sighed. "All right then, have it your way."
—Norkáwen—
She did not, after all, have to find musicians; Lord Mairon found them for her and had them sent to her ere she had any time to even prepare for the occasion. The three musicians sent also happened to be handmaidens like herself, but at Mairon's command they bathed and dressed her in a fine silver dress that complemented her eyes and hair exquisitely as if she were some highborn lady, not a bastard girl and a slave.
The council room was quite a lavishly decorated chamber. It was not massive as the throne room must be, yet it was not small either. There was just enough room for everyone to have their own personal space. The design of the chamber could be said to be divided in a five by five arrangement, with the dais for dancing or other things at the top one-fifth and the long rectangular council table taking up the rest of the four-fifths. The musicians played behind the dais in soft tones as the lords conversed; they comprised of a lutist, a guitarist, and a harpist.
Lord Mairon himself was not present at the council meeting, which was quite unexpected to Norkáwen and all the rest of the lords. In his absence, Atharys, his part Maia son, took charge. He was the Prince of Morinórë, and the others said amongst themselves that his birth name was Aþārithīr, which meant something in Valarin that they all seemed to fear. When Norkáwen looked at Atharys, she absently thought of the girl she used to know in Harlond—Narbeleth, although the latter had moved far away from her some time ago, even ere the girl before Norkáwen had left herself. But Norkáwen the bastard slave girl had never been in Harlond, and she had never known a girl named Narbeleth.
Atharys had dark hair that was down and undone although he wore a silver circlet upon his head like a crown. His eyes were violet, however, and when he was angry, flecks of scarlet would show themselves forth in his irises. The garb he wore resembled the beauty of the night sky; it was the very same hue as his hair and adorned with intricate diaphanous jewels that scintillated when he moved. He carried himself with a sort of a demeanour of dignity, lifting his chin, so as to make every lord who came before him save his father lower his head and bow in reverence. They all did that now and murmured a greeting as he entered the room, walking brusquely toward the council table unlike his father's usual seemingly lazy amble.
Along the rectangular council table sat an assembly consisting of four other lords in addition to Atharys. The one on Atharys' right, who had just seated himself at the head of the table, was a balding middle-aged man donned in a brown-hued travelling cloak, and he had a skittish look on his face, verifying his uneasiness of the Prince of Morinórë—this was Lord Angaino. He likely had been an Easterling yet called a traitor by his own kind for joining the enemy; Lord Mairon had conquered a few tribes under his dominion and made them into his workers, the foundation of his kingdom.
On Atharys' left was a Quendi, a Noldorin one by the looks of it, although he had hair of a lighter brown rather than the usual dark of his kind, and he always put on a stern countenance. Whenever someone looked or spoke to him, he would lift his chin as if to enforce that he had authority in this place, as if to prove that he was just as powerful as the others. Norkáwen soon found that his name was Lord Nínquë. He wore garb similar to Atharys as if to mimic him—a dark sapphire coat along with a cloak of the same tone.
By Lord Nínquë was a Maia called Lord Tiríssë, and that is vigilance in Quenya. Norkáwen did not know what he stood vigil for, but he carried himself in a way that seemed like he was always watching and waiting for something; he hardly moved and did so only when necessary and in the most contained ways possible. His eyes were blue and melancholy like the sea and his hair silver like the moon.
Across from Lord Tiríssë and next to Lord Angaino was a young Sinda who would have been somewhere in his early twenties in Atani years—they called him Lord Hestáryn. He had swept into the room last with an insolent smile on his full lips and his grey cloak billowing behind him like a cloud. It seemed as if he had tried to make that smile apologetic yet it had turned out presumptuous after all his efforts. Lord Hestáryn flicked his chestnut hair over his shoulder as he took his seat and folded his hands before the table.
As all of those people were gathering at the table—Atharys, Angaino, Nínquë, Tiríssë, and Hestáryn—Norkáwen was dancing upon the dais. It was quite an unhurried dance, mostly balancing and poses; if she did otherwise she would be tired too quickly, and it might divert the attention of the assembling lords. The three musicians plucked solemnly at their instruments as she danced, their countenances indifferent and beautiful, for if they were not, the lords would not like them very much. Now Norkáwen lifted her right leg behind her in a penché, her arm extended in a first arabesque. As she looked up, she met the eyes of Lord Hestáryn, who simpered at her. But she was no one, just a little slave girl, so she lowered her eyes and shifted into an attitude.
Just as Atharys was about to commence the council meeting, Lord Undanya, the Avar Norkáwen had served a cup of sweet wine not two days back, came sweeping into the room. Bowing before Atharys, his eyes muttered an apology for his lateness, for he had no tongue, and he took his seat beside Lord Tiríssë, the Maia.
It was not until they began formally speaking that Norkáwen realized she would not understand most of what they were saying, for they spoke in the old tongue. Over the past two days, she had learned a few words and phrases from the musicians that had been assigned to her, but still she could not understand very much. So instead, she watched and observed their faces, their movements, their reactions. She found that she could guess parts of what they spoke of; she heard Wainriders somewhere and Noldor and Gil-galad.
They spoke some, argued, angered each other, and regained a phlegmatic composition. Norkáwen found that Lord Atharys did not speak very much, but was silent and observant of every intricate thing that the others did. Lord Tiríssë did not speak very much either; only when the discussion became passionate did he speak. It was mostly Lord Hestáryn and Lord Angaino who spoke, in fact, or rather argued. Occasionally Lord Undanya would put up a hand and write something on a piece of paper for them to read, but he mostly spoke with eyes. He was not Calaquendi, thus he did not have the ability to use ósanwë.
Hestáryn was in the middle of denouncing Angaino when the High Lord of Morinórë strode in the room. Immediately Angaino fell silent, but Hestáryn refused to be daunted, until Mairon seated himself at the head of the table opposite of Atharys and smiled a very daunting smile.
To Norkáwen's surprise, Lord Mairon spoke in Sindarin. "What complications do we have here, dear Lord Hestáryn?"
At Mairon's implication, the intuition to speak Sindarin suddenly surfaced. "I was merely telling Lord Angaino how foolish it would be to conquer all the Easterling tribes by force, my lord. Nothing more."
"I see," Mairon said. "For my part, I do agree with that. Our beautiful armies have not yet blossomed. . .thus we cannot yet bestow the gift of Morinórë upon them. Lord Angaino, must I tell you again of the power of words? You are a creaky man, I must tell you; you should know this. What can swords do against the likes of you?"
Lord Angaino bowed his head. "I was wrong, my lord. Forgive me, and I will learn from my wrongdoings."
Mairon smiled balefully. "How delightful. Yet I must say. . .why do we continue on matters that have already been gone over, when we should be discussing what next to do?"
"I am sorry, my lord," Lord Angaino said, his eyes cast to the ground.
"I do hope you are." Mairon turned to Atharys. "What progress has been done today?"
"Lord Undanya has brought us tidings of the Númenóreans in Lindon," Atharys said. "He has planted numerous informers there."
"It seems that one of their lieutenants is particularly in disfavor of the Noldorin High King Gil-galad, which has provided evidence of some stirring strife amongst the Númenóreans and the Eldar," Lord Nínquë said.
Mairon raised his eyebrows. "Oh? What has he done?"
"This man has openly told one of his handmaids of the revolt he plans to begin."
"Revolt?"
Nínquë cleared his throat. "Something along those lines. It seems his brother, a lord of Númenor, is promising him the lordship of Lond Daer for Gil-galad's head."
"Names?" Mairon said.
"The lieutenant is called Rhystórë and the lord Belyswë," Lord Nínquë told him.
"Hm." Mairon turned to Atharys. "Anything else?"
"The Easterling boy you asked to track is scratching a living off rocks with his mother and sister and two dead brothers," Atharys said. "The wild is not kind to them."
The corners of Mairon's mouth tilted upward in something like a smile. "It never is."
They spoke more of other things for an hour or so until Mairon clasped his hands together and nodded at the lords.
"The council is called to an end," he said. "Atharys, if you would stay."
Mairon and Atharys stayed seated as lords Nínquë, Tiríssë, Hestáryn, Undanya, and Angaino filed out of the room, the latter limping a little as he went. When they were gone, Atharys flicked his eyes up at Norkáwen and said something to his father in Valarin.
"Ah, yes," Mairon said in Sindarin. "No matter."
Atharys narrowed his eyes and continued in Valarin, speaking with a more dire tone now, but Mairon only smiled.
"Don't be troubled, dear Aþārithīr," Mairon crooned. "Speak what must be spoken, and it will be done much swifter."
Atharys leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Go on, my lord."
Mairon clapped his hands at the musicians. "If you would."
The three musicians got up stiffly, bowed, and went from the room. Norkáwen made to follow them, but Mairon spoke again.
"I think Atharys and I would enjoy some more performances from our dear Norkáwen, wouldn't we?"
Norkáwen halted in her steps and went slowly back to the dais. The musicians were gone now, and it was only Mairon, Atharys, and Norkáwen in the room.
Mairon turned and smiled at her. "You are from Lindon, Norkáwen?"