CHAPTER V

—Hrysívë—

"What did you tell Hestáryn?" I inquired of Atharys as we walked down the corridor a few nights after the council meeting.

"Nothing more than what he asked," Atharys told me, turning a corner.

"Hm," I said. "I wonder where he heard of my former skill in swordplay."

"I'm sure it's still brilliant," he assured me.

I laughed. "You are such a green boy, Atharys. Why else would I be asking you to do this?"

He shrugged and kept walking. The torchlights upon the walls made the guards look ghastly like living statues; I could not see their faces veiled by their helms. Outside the sky was dark, for it was a new moon and only a few of Elbereth's stars revealed themselves tonight. Watchers paced upon the newly built gates, torches flaming in their hands. I wondered how long it would be until Gil-galad discovered this place—then Mairon would be forced to reveal his true identity and there would be war.

"Is this the place?" I asked as Atharys halted before a heavy iron door.

"I should hope so," he said, grunting as he hefted the doors open.

I glanced at the guard a little away from us in the corridor, and threw a pouch of coins at him. It landed before his feet, but he did not waver in the slightest. I approached the guard and leaned into his ear.

"Share that amongst your friends here," I told him. "Say nothing of our presence. We were never here."

I left the guard there in the corridor and when I turned back, the guard was in the same position as before but the gold pouch was gone. Atharys grabbed a torch, handed it to me, and dragged the doors close behind us.

"You are quite determined about your reputation, aren't you?" Atharys remarked as I handed the torch back to him. He held it up against the gloom and began lighting all the other torches upon the walls.

"I do have to live up to the expectations, don't I?" With the fires, I found myself in the middle of a circular chamber, the perimeter of it filled with dusty bookshelves. There was a cart of old swords to the side and different styles of chain mail on another. At the other side of the room I found a smaller brass door which led to a long rectangular chamber that was something more like a corridor. A target was centered at one end, and there was an ample supply of arrows with their respective bows at the other. Atharys was watching me when I turned back to the first chamber.

"Shall we begin?" I said, though the words were not truly a question.

"If it pleases Your Highness," he jested.

I did not smile, however, and unsheathed the sword I had strapped onto my back. It was heavy to my unpracticed new hröa, and I had to heft it in my hands. Atharys studied me as he unsheathed his own, the torchlight reflecting in its blade.

I stepped forward and our blades met. They clashed, swerved, hissed like fire snakes in the night. After a mere minute my entire body burned and my fighting arm felt as heavy as stone, and I was terribly angry at myself for doing a fraction of what I could before. My brow was furrowed in concentration and I clenched my jaw so hard I felt it would break, though neither of these did me any good. Atharys was being too polite in his attacks, which made me all the more angry.

When a few more minutes had passed, Atharys stepped back and lowered his sword. "You need a rest."

"I do not," I hissed, though I was breathing hard.

Atharys sat upon the floor, making dust fly in the air. "Are you going to toss me a pouch of coins?"

"No." I spun my sword in my hand. "Get up. We're going again."

He sighed but did as I said, this time making the first move. I parried the blow and ignored the burning in my arm, charging forward.

It was a mere five minutes before Atharys halted again and let his sword fall to the ground. "It might be more helpful if we worked without them so you could become more accustomed to this hröa."

"If you must." I threw my sword to the side as Atharys kicked his to the door, and curved my arms into the first fundamental stance. Though it was considered a basic position of defense, it could be used as an offensive technique also, as how I needed to be—the serpent in the shadows. This form was very specific to its stances and technique; the body scarcely moved when it attacked because extra movement wasted energy. Atharys evidently had never learned this form, but I still had trouble. I required more of my strength, and he was taller and stronger than I was, thus again I found myself fuming and spitting in his face. My blows seemed to do nothing while his left bruises on my arms.

"Fucking bitch," I seethed when he backed down.

"You asked for it," Atharys said apologetically.

"I know. Doesn't mean I enjoy it." I seized my sword from the ground. "Again."

This continued for about an hour or so, but I not once overtook Atharys. Towards the end, Lord Nínquë, the Noldo from the court, came to summon Atharys up to speak to Mairon, finding him with a blade at my throat. I kicked Atharys off and went to the back room before Nínquë could even say a word. Atharys knew better than to come to me before he departed, so I was left alone by the dusty, crumbling arrows until the torches burned out and I was left in darkness.

—Atharys—

Atharys entered the chamber and bowed. "You called for me, my lord?"

"I may have." Mairon continued to scrawl words in black ink upon a parchment, finished the page, then stood up. "Have a seat, yondonya." After Atharys was ushered into the chair across from him, Mairon seated himself again and gazed out the window. "It is past midnight."

Atharys followed his gaze. "It is."

Mairon's eyes glinted, as if he knew why he had been awake. "How is Hrysívë?"

"All right."

"That is good to know." Mairon sighed and looked at something to his right. "Like any wine?"

"I don't see why not." Atharys accepted the glass of red wine, tasted a sip, then set it down upon the table between them. There was a brief pause as he waited for Mairon to speak.

"Do you remember what you told me before the council a few days ago?" Mairon inquired.

"About the Númenórean? Yes." Atharys paused. "What of him?"

"I would like you to retrieve him from Lond Daer."

Atharys wavered and looked down, lifting the glass to his lips and drinking a little to hide his surprise. "How soon?"

"Soon enough, I would expect," Mairon said. "I heard his brother, the Lord of Lond Daer, has condemned him to an execution to ease the vengeance throbbing in his heart. Quite amusing how they quarrel, isn't it, Aþārithīr yondonya?"

Atharys disregarded the comment. "Should I tell my half-sister of this?"

Mairon leaned back in his chair and took a swig of the wine himself. "Preferably not."

"As you command, my lord." Atharys bowed and made to excuse himself, but Mairon called him back.

"Leaving so soon?" Mairon pouted.

Atharys turned back. "Is there anything else you require of me, my lord?"

"Can a father and son not sit and have a pleasant talk without any fixed reason?" Mairon was putting on a fine act of looking shocked. "Come, yondonya, reclaim your seat. More wine?" Though Atharys had scarcely touched it, Mairon poured him some more. "How have you been doing yourself?"

"Fine," Atharys said.

"Have you nothing else to say?" Mairon asked. "I am your father, you can tell me anything."

"Nothing," Atharys answered.

"Ah, how unfortunate," Mairon sighed. He took a long drink of his wine, his feet crossed in the table. "If you are so eager to carry on your task, you have my leave."

Atharys bowed and retreated out of the chamber. His hand was at the doorknob when he paused again.

"One more thing," Mairon said. "Would you retrieve Norkáwen for me?"

Atharys did not reply and exited the room. In the corridor, he found one of Lord Undanya's little spies waiting to report. The ellon's face was ghastly in the dimly lit torchlights as he bowed before him.

"Speak," Atharys commanded.

"The Númenórean Rhystórë's trial is on the morrow, Your Highness," the informer said.

"How convenient," Atharys mused. "Tell Lord Undanya he will be well rewarded for his assistance in this case. And go retrieve that slave girl for Lord Mairon—Norkáwen."

"As you command, Your Highness." The informer bowed and marched off into the gloom of the corridor.

Atharys watched him leave until he could not see nor hear him then chuckled to himself and headed in the opposite direction.

—Norkáwen—

It was a few hours after midnight that they came to summon her. Beneath the new moon, Norkáwen had been sleeping, but fitfully. Ever since she had seen Khamûl swear his fealty to Lord Mairon that day, it seemed she could not sleep. It had been Eressë that had restrained her from stopping him, though Eressë was mostly gone from the brothel now, gone to serve some princess of Morinórë. Norkáwen didn't know whether or not she was glad for that.

The guard roused her sharply, jabbing her with the end of his wooden spear. His words were curt, and she scarcely heard them, but she heard that it was Lord Mairon calling for her and that was all she needed to know. She threw off her sheets and dressed quickly, not wanting to anger the Lord of Morinórë by her slowness.

There was no need for an escort, for Norkáwen knew where Lord Mairon's chambers were. In fact, everyone did, though few ever had the opportunity to serve him there; it was at the center of the utmost floor of Lúmë-mindon's towering heights. Norkáwen glanced up at its rough location and began to ascend the stairs.

By the time she had reached her destination, her legs were burning and she was breathing heavily. She braced a hand upon the wall for a moment as she caught her breath and regained herself; she knew she had to be presentable to the Lord of Morinórë, as then perhaps he would find something in her and reward her with a better place in society. The thought vanished, however, when she remembered she was only a little slave girl—she was nothing, and she did not even remember her name before.

Norkáwen entered Lord Mairon's chambers with her head bowed, as every good slave girl should be. "Your Norkáwen is here, my lord."

"Very well," Lord of Morinórë said. "You may rise."

Though Norkáwen was permitted to rise, she knew that she must not wholly embrace that, for it could be mistaken for a ruse of irreverence if she did so. Thus she rose from the ground but kept her head down to convey her submission and respect for the Lord of Morinórë. "What is it that you desire of Norkáwen, my lord?"

"I have a favor to ask you," Mairon said.

"Anything for my lord." When Norkáwen glanced up she saw that he was scarcely paying attention to her. "Norkáwen is yours to command."

Mairon looked up from his paper and propped his chin up with his arm, fingering his pen. Ink dripped off the point and made blots upon the parchment, but he seemed not to notice. "Do you remember your name, Norkáwen?"

She fought to remember. "No, my lord."

"Do you remember who you were?" he inquired. "Your past may be beneficial for my purposes now."

"I remember. . ." Norkáwen faltered, wondering if this was a test. "I do not dare say it before His Majesty."

Mairon laughed. "I am no king. I am only here to set what is right in this world. My children play that game, however, insisting on their titles. I am afraid it began with the audacious one, Hrysívë." He dismissed his musings and turned back to Norkáwen. "Say it."

"My lord," she began. "Norkáwen was a bastard child. Her mother's husband was killed in Doriath and her mother wounded. Another ellon healed her mother after the battle and she fell madly in love with him. He broke her heart and she leapt off a cliff shortly after birthing the child. Norkáwen. . .Norkáwen does not know who this ellon is."

"Go on," Mairon said.

"The child's uncle raised her. His name was. . .his name was Oropher of Doriath. Norkáwen does not know where he is now. She remembers, nonetheless, that he was a kind ellon."

An unreadable emotion resonated in his eyes. "But the Lord of Gifts knows where he is."

Norkáwen looked up in astonishment. "You do?"

Mairon nodded. "Yes, I do." He leaned forward. "Dear Norkáwen, I am asking you for a favor. Will you oblige?"

"Anything for my lord." Her words were breathless. "Norkáwen is yours to command." She bowed deeply and vehemently.

"That is good," Mairon whispered. "Norkáwen, your uncle is in Eryn Galen. I ask for you to go and find him for me, and tell me what he is doing."

Eldarin References:

Ellon. (S) Male Elda, plural ellyn.

Elleth. (S) Female Elda, plural ellith.

Hröa. (Q) Physical body, plural hröar.