Chapter LII: Reunion
The following day, Pallando and Nerwen resumed their search; Alatar hadn't pointed out where his instructions to create a passage were stored, nor in which form they were – if scroll or book or a bunch of loose sheets – but they could be reasonably supposed to be found in his private office. His bedchamber, too, could be a good place to look for them and indeed the Wizard had spent the best part of the night rummaging everywhere, but to no avail.
In the afternoon, the funeral ceremony of the one who everybody thought was Pallando took place, and they had of course to attend. According to the customs of Qos, they would have him cremated and then his ashes would be scattered into the lake; this made sense, as the island was densely inhabited by the living and there was no place for the dead.
During the rite, Nerwen was careful to appear deeply afflicted, because everyone must think she was mourning her father's death; when it was over, they got back to Alatar's office to continue the search.
They had luck: in the late afternoon, Pallando found what they were looking for in a bunch of sheets written in Valarin tongue.
"I think this is it!" he cried, excited, showing the pages to Nerwen. He had recognised the idiom as the same of the missive she had him delivered through the pigeon, but even if he had been able to read that simple message, the complex instructions of Alatar's document went beyond his ability to understand it.
Nerwen examined the parcel, her heart beating fast in the hope, which increased as she went on reading.
"Yes, that's it indeed!" she confirmed animatedly. She and the Blue Wizard embraced enthusiastically in their joy.
"Is it complicated?" Pallando enquired then. She shook her head:
"Not much, but we need a significant amount of energy, that's why Alatar alone wasn't able to do it. And he couldn't have the monster helping him, because the energy of a Balrog is the antithesis of ours, therefore they cannot be used together… that's why the monster needed to steal our strength, changing it into his and finally use it for its purposes. Probably the energy of the sole Alatar was not enough, hence he insisted on having someone else," she looked at Pallando, "I am stronger than the average of the Istari, because I haven't been as much diminished; therefore I think that the joining of our energies will be enough."
"Alatar thought the same," he revealed, nodding, "At the point of death, probably some entirely Maiarin capabilities came back to him and he could see through you…" he was silent for a moment, pondering, "Where do you think his soul has gone?"
"It's surely back in Valinor," Nerwen affirmed, "in the Halls of Awaiting. Mayhap the Valar will decide to let him reincarnate in his ancient form of Maia, if they forgive him his almost fatal naivety to ally with an evil spirit; or mayhap he'll prefer going back to Ilúvatar, who knows…"
"I hope I will meet him again, one day," Pallando declared, "if possible, remembering my past, and consequently him. But I am afraid this could happen only if and when I, too, return to Valinor…"
The Aini nodded, agreeing.
"Meanwhile, let's think about going back to Arda," she exhorted him, "Are you ready?"
"I am."
"I think we'll need several hours," Nerwen considered, "Better mayhap have something to eat, to keep our strength up."
So they did, asking for dinner in Alatar's office. If the servants were wondering what their sovereign and the young daughter of the dead were doing, they never showed it and kept their curiosity to themselves. After all, it was not for them discussing their lord's decisions or behaviours.
After dinner, the two Istari got ready to begin.
"I suggest moving to Alatar's secret chamber," Pallando said, "so, should there be noises or strange lights, no one will come to investigate. If all goes well and we will able to return home, tomorrow morning they will not find us in our beds and will come looking for us, and will wonder forever what happened to us; otherwise, we will come back here and go to sleep, and then we will try again tomorrow."
"Good idea," Nerwen approved. Hence, they went down to the underground chamber, taking special care to put back in place the bookshelf behind them, so that nobody would find out – or at least, not immediately – the secret passage, then they began the process, following the instruction Alatar had left.
At first, on the wall they sketched a drawing replicating the shape of a door: a rectangle with a knob, an architrave, a threshold. To do so, they used some charcoal crayons they asked for along with their meal.
Then they sat down – they brought two pillows with them, not knowing how long they would have to sit like this on the bare rock – and joined hands and minds, trying to melt their energies. It was different from the way they did the previous day during the fight with the Balrog, when Nerwen lent her strength to Pallando: then it had been about sending her energy to him, while now they had to act in unison. Once their power would join, they had to learn to manage it simultaneously, exactly as if they were a single entity.
The first obstacle they had to overcome was the fear to lose their own individualities; each one trusted completely the other one, but it wasn't an easy task; the process looked very alike the learning technique from mind to mind that Nerwen had already experienced, both as the receiving part and as the giving part, however now it didn't involve only a small part of the mind, but the entirety of both parts, and it wasn't easy letting go to something that looked like going irremediably lost in a place from where one had no chance to come back. Hence, they had to fight the instinct to withdraw at every step, advancing slowly one toward the other.
At last, after a long time – surely over two hours – their minds were totally joined, the thoughts of one undistinguishable from the other one; and so began the next phase: the building of the passage. The simultaneous managing of their joined powers proved less difficult than they had anticipated and, at the fourth try, they succeeded in beginning the creation. Slow spirals of a green-blue light – their blended colours – began to emanate from their bodies, channelling into the drawing of the door sketched on the wall and covering the marks of the charcoal crayon on the rock. Little by little, the image became three-dimensional and changed into an actual door of pure energy. The thoughts of the two Istari imagined it opening on Arda, precisely on the same cavern from which they had been taken by the Dark Portal, but in another spot, so as to not superimpose it on the latter.
As if they truly were one person, they stood slowly up and walked to the door, which opened under the push of their joined minds, revealing a cluster of white light – as much as the darkness that had brought them here had been black – from were came elegant bright coils that enwrapped them softly, lifted them gently and brought them into the gleaming cluster. The light that enveloped them was blinding, to the point their eyes began to water and they were forced to close them.
Then came nothingness.
OOO
Aryon Morvacor glared at the young recruit standing in front of him, between two guards; the youngster lowered his gaze, intimidated.
"Delkar, your behaviour is unspeakable," he barked, "Drinking like a fish, wandering around in the streets blind drunk and take off your clothes in front of the Burgomistress' daughter!"
"I wasn't aware of what I was doing…" the youth tried to defend himself.
"Shut up!" Aryon boomed, leaping to his feet and slamming his fist on the desk; the unfortunate jerked, frightened by his fury, "The fact you were drunk does not justify, in any way, your conduct! A city guard must always behave in an irreproachable way, I'm very strict on this, and when you enlisted, you knew it perfectly!"
The prince took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
"You're a disgrace to this barracks," he went on, sitting again, "For this reason, you'll get one week in jail on bread and water and a fine equal to a month's wages."
"But, sir…!" Dalkar tried to protest, but was struck dumb at the glare, as sharp as a razor, he received from his captain.
"Thank the Valar I don't pillory you, publicly disgracing you," the prince growled, then he made a commanding signal to the other two, who seized Dalkar and dragged him away. One didn't mess with the rules captain Aryon Morvacor had established, everyone knew that, and one of the rules was never drink in public until drunk, for no reason whatsoever, on duty or not. If one wanted to do it, it had to be at home.
Aryon went back checking the documents the quartermaster had brought him, about the estimate on the supplies of the next month, a task he thought tedious but he knew was necessary. It was late in the afternoon and he wanted to finish before going home.
Half an hour later, he heard a commotion coming from the street. He crossed over to the window and at the far end of the road he caught sight of a jubilant throng, lining up around a small group of guards escorting two shapes, one tall and white-haired, the other small and brown-haired, a wolf at their heels.
His heart stopped in his chest.
F or an endless moment, he was incapable to move, breathe, even think. He was afraid he was hallucinating; but the vision didn't fade nor changed.
With an unarticulated cry, he sprang to the door, wrenched it open and ran outside, toward the crowd.
Nerwen saw him coming forth, tall, black-clothed as usual, a reddish halo around his head because of the sun at his back; his face was so incredulous that it looked almost frowning. She pushed aside one of the guards who were accompanying her and Pallando, a little rudely, but at the moment she didn't care; then she began to run and flew in her husband's arms.
Overwhelmed with joy, Aryon lifted her off her feet and held her tight, closing his eyes now suddenly full of tears. He clutched her like this for a long minute, speechless, an indescribable happiness dazing his mind; then he placed her down, gently, and withdrew a little to look at her, staring hungrily to those adored features he didn't see for over 20 years, but the memory had never faded in his mind and heart. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her.
Neither of them had noticed that the crowd had surrounded them, following the scene with bated breath; now, it burst out into general jubilation, adding to the euphoria for the return of their beloved king Pallando.
Aryon took off his lips from Nerwen's; he would have kissed her again and again, breathlessly, but the joyful rumble of the throng dissuaded him.
"You're both so beautiful!" a female voice shouted; affirmative screams echoed it.
Pallando had stayed behind to let the married couple reunite; now he approached them smiling and placed his hands on one shoulder of each. Aryon cast him a glance.
"I'm glad you're back, Pallando," he declared under his breath, but his gaze had already moved back on his wife's face: he wasn't able to take his eyes off of her. At that moment, he felt something tapping on his leg; he frowned, annoyed, but lowering his gaze the prince saw Túdhin watching at him from below and he smoothed his scowl. Glad to see him again, he kneeled down and caressed him affectionately, as the wolf licked his hand.
"Welcome back to you, too, my friend," he said.
A plump middle-aged woman with hazelnut-brown hair, the energetic Burgomistress of Tarsad for three years, arrived at that moment.
"What's up, captain Aryon?" she asked in an authoritative voice. The prince stood up, turning to her, and she gaped amazed at his wide smile, something she had practically never seen, in all the years she had known him.
"Burgomistress Rovena, your king, Lord Pallando, is back… and so is my wife Nerwen," he informed her. The woman's green eyes widened, staring at the two Aryon had just mentioned. She recognised the king from the paintings she had seen, while for Nerwen she trusted the captain of the city guard's word.
"Welcome back, my liege," she said, spreading her skirt and curtseying formally, "We've been awaiting you for a long time."
As if realising they had kept maybe a too familiar behaviour, everyone there knelt down in front of their king. Even Aryon bowed to him, and so did Nerwen.
"Thank you, thank you all!" Pallando cried, casting a circular glance at the kneeling crowd, "There will be celebrations, I promise, but not now: at the moment, I just want to take a nice bath and sleep, I am very tired."
"Of course!" Rovena hastily declared, straightening her back, "Here in Tarsad we have no proper lodging for you, my liege, but if you'll be happy to come to my house…"
"An inn will perfectly do," he interrupted her, refusing to expel a family from its own house. It was typical of him, worrying about other's wellbeing: he was anything but a haughty monarch.
Therefore, between two rows of cheering crowd, Pallando was taken to the best inn in Tarsad, where the innkeeper almost fainted because of the thrill to welcome the lost king in person.
Aryon and Nerwen instead sneaked away; taking her hand, the prince hurried to his house. Noticing she had almost to run to keep up with him, he slowed down and addressed her a tiny apologising smile.
"Blossom… how are you?" he asked her.
"I'm fine," Nerwen answered, slightly out of breath, "And you?"
"Now that you're back, I'm great!" he assured her, taking one of her hand to his lips to kiss it, "Good Valar, I feel like my heart is about to burst…"
Nerwen halted abruptly in the middle of the street and hugged him. For her, only one day had passed since she had seen him the last time, for him who knows how many years… she hadn't dared to ask yet. He kissed her brow, holding her tight.
"I take you to Thilgiloth," he said under his breath. He was dying to be alone with her, but he knew how much the mare was important to his wife.
However, Nerwen had already contacted the Chargeress' mind as soon as she had emerged from the narrow passage; Thilgiloth had been so happy to sense her friend's thoughts, she had begun running wildly around in the paddock hosting her, so much that the grooms were highly worried. Knowing the mare's touchiness, they didn't dare to approach her, and finally she had calmed down, hence they had left her alone.
"No need for it," the Maia therefore told her husband, "I already talked to her. I'll go and see her later."
Meanwhile, they had come in front of a house of light grey stone, with green painted shutters; on the windowsills stood geraniums and violets decorating the façade.
Aryon led her to the door, opening it for her; Nerwen entered into the living room, furnished with a table surrounded by chairs and two small couches in front of a large fireplace. From a side door arrived a blonde woman on her early thirties, with a girl of about three years in her arms, with long blond curls and large blue eyes.
"Lord Aryon…?" she began in an puzzled tone, looking from him to the stranger who was accompanying him, followed by a dog looking very alike to a wolf.
"Nerwen, this is my housekeeper, Convena, and her daughter Beryana," the prince introduced them, "Convena, this is my wife Nerwen."
The servant gaped in wonder for a moment, then she smiled broadly:
"What a magnificent surprise! I'm so happy for you, Lord Aryon…" she curtseyed, a little clumsy because of the child in her arms, "Lady Nerwen, it's an honour to meet you."
"My pleasure, Convena," the Istar said, glad of the warm welcome.
"If you're back… does it mean that King Pallando, too, is back?" the housekeeper enquired. Aryon nodded:
"Yes, they came back together. Now the king is housed at the Enchanted Sword and wants to rest, but he promised celebrations."
"Can I go and tell my husband?" Convena asked, "His grandmother was in the original guard that accompanied here the king from Pallàndim and he's waited for ever his return…"
"Of course you can go," the prince authorised her, "My wife and I can surely make without your service, today…"
Convena smiled to both, then her smile widened as she grasped also the hidden message in the consent: it was apparent the couple wished some privacy.
"Then I'll see you tomorrow," she said, "I'll come at the usual time to prepare breakfast."
With another curtsy, she exited, while little Beryana waved at them; smiling, Nerwen reciprocated her and thought she was a truly charming child.
F inally, they were alone; Aryon turned to Nerwen, staring at her adoringly; he took her hands in his and placed them on his chest. Under her fingers, she perceived the pounding of his heart, strong and slightly irregular.
"Sweet Vána…" the prince whispered, "I can't believe you're here with me… I'm terrified it may be just another dream…"
"It isn't, my love," she reassured him, a sudden lump stuck in her throat, "I'm truly here, in the flesh… It's not a dream, and not even Olorendor…," she slid her arms around his neck and lifted her face to his, "Kiss me…"
Aryon wrapped her in his arms and bowed his head, kissing as he did earlier, but this time he parted his lips in search of a deeper kiss. Nerwen responded to his solicitation and their tongues met, caressing one another in a lovingly and sensual way; their bodies clung, seeking one another. With a groan, Aryon picked up Nerwen and carried her in his bedchamber.
Túdhin watched them disappearing beyond the door; his species, too, mated for life, so he understood perfectly the two partners' wish to be alone. He trotted in a corner and laid down, prepared to wait patiently.
Their clothes flew off them, in the eager desire of the two lovers to be skin to skin. Even if for Nerwen the last time she made love with Aryon had been just the night before, Aryon's desperate urgency soon caught her, too.
Aryon needed Nerwen madly, like he had needed her the first time they had made love, in that wonderful place now so far away in time and space; but now, as then, he refused to give in to his body's demands and, instead of focusing on himself, he focused on her.
He made her lay down on the bed and stretched out next to her, embracing her. He rained kisses on her face, brow, eyelids, nose, cheekbones, lingering on her lips; meanwhile, his hands caressed her, finding again each curve, each form of this body he knew so well, but that now, because of the elapsed time, he rediscovered like it was the first time. He slipped down her hip to her thigh, then moved on her rear side, sliding past her buttocks and back, up to her shoulders; she responded brushing his chest, touching his nipples with feather-light fingers and making him shiver.
"Please, no…," he murmured, kissing her neck, "I don't want to lose control…"
Nerwen sensed his need, due to a number of years of celibacy she didn't dare to imagine; the regard he always had for her touched her, but this time she decided to do it her way.
"I don't want you to control yourself," she whispered, slipping her hand down his abdomen and caressing him daringly; Aryon started and groaned, closing his eyes for a moment. He tried to protest, but she hushed him with a kiss, "Love me with all your passion, Aryon…" she invited him huskily.
Her bold request left the prince breathless and he gulped. He stared into her eyes – those irises of the sweetest brown he had ever seen in all his life – and glimpsed in them a firm resolve and a clear encouragement.
So, he kissed her, fervidly, deeply; when he left her mouth, he travelled down her neck and chest. Nerwen arched her back and, with a gasp, threw back her head to offer herself to his kisses. Aryon moved further downward, on the soft mounds of one breast, nibbling it with his lips as he cupped the other one in his hand. He took one peak in his mouth, caressing it with his tongue and then suckling at it; at the same time, he brushed the other one with his fingers. This time was Nerwen the one moaning.
Aryon continued his descent along her beautiful body and reached her belly, where he saw the ugly scar traversing it diagonally, memento to her almost deadly fight with the Balrog. He had already caught sight of it when they had met last time in Olorendor, but nevertheless a sob escaped him at the thought that, unlike with Meledhiel, this time he had truly risked losing her, because of the monster of shadow: from the way it looked, this injury would surely have proved fatal for anybody else. He kissed the scar reverently, caressing it with his lips, thanking Oromë and all Valar because she was here with him, in his arms, warm and vibrant with life and not cold and dead.
Nerwen heard the muffled sound Aryon had uttered; guessing the reason, she felt her heart clenching. The full burden of not being allowed to reassure him about her safety weighed once more on her soul, but the veto she received and the respect she felt for those who had imposed it were simply too strong for her to break. Then he touched the threshold of her femininity; she started in pleasure and didn't think about anything else.
Aryon caressed her with trembling fingers, finding it hard to believe this warmth, this softness he felt under his fingertips were truly real. He placed his lips on her secret flower and parted it petals, savouring its nectar, his head spinning.
Nerwen trembled, relishing in his ministrations, but she was aware that he, in spite of her exhortations, was still holding back.
"Stop," she begged him, trying to withdraw, "Please… I need you…"
Aryon guessed his wife's purpose; he was immensely grateful, but he was aware that, should he accept her invitations, all would be over in a few moments, for him, while she would surely fall behind; and this, he wouldn't allow.
"Let me have my way…"
He went back savouring her, wanting to take her as much as possible near to the goal before joining their bodies. He felt her quivering and heard her exhale a broken sigh; he listened to her moans becoming gradually higher and watched her tossing more and more uncontrollably in the bed, until he realised he had brought her where he wanted. At this point, he laid down over her and entered in her welcoming warmth, forcing himself to do it slowly, so as not accelerating too much his release; but she had other ideas, as he realised when he felt her rising to him to speed up their joining. He lost his head now; with a muffled groan, he began to move convulsively, incapable of any control. In a few thrusts, he reached the peak and, just a moment before getting over the point of no return, he heard her utter a satisfied sigh; then, with a long moan sounding more like a cry, he emptied himself inside of her. For an endless moment, he felt as if the world had disappeared and time stopped, as if the universe had crystallised in this sublime moment that went far beyond the mere carnal gratification.
Coming again to his senses, for a moment he feared he had not taken Nerwen to the top, but he realised he had heard her loving whimper and that she was still trembling in pleasure around him, her eyes closed and her lips parted on her laboured breath. He thought she never looked so beautiful and his throat tightened.
Slowly, Nerwen reopened her eyes, focusing her gaze on Aryon's face and noticing his bright blue irises were slightly fogged. She needed some moments to realise it was tears; moved, she cupped his face and pulled it down to hers.
"My beloved husband…" she whispered against his lips, before kissing him desperately. He returned her kiss with equal ardour.
"My sweetest wife…" he murmured, before kissing her again, "You're the light of my life…"
They went on exchanging tender caresses and kisses for an indefinite time, refusing to part, and then they made love again, this time in a much calmer way; later they had something for dinner – simple bread with some cheese they found in the larder, unwilling to waste time in cooking – and fed Túdhin, who had stayed quietly dozing in the living room.
As they were eating, Nerwen finally asked the question she hadn't dared to ask so far:
"How long has it been since we disappeared?"
Aryon placed down the beaker from which he had just sipped his wine.
"Today is October 21st, 3018, following the Numénorean reckoning," he answered in a low voice, "It was exactly 75 years, one month and ten days ago."
Nerwen closed her eyes, troubled, and took a slow breath.
"I'm sorry…" she began, feeling on the brink of tears; Aryon quickly took her hands in his.
"No!" he exclaimed, "It wasn't your fault. And not even Pallando's, even if he was the one reading that accursed inscription. It was a dreadful misfortune. To prevent anything like this occurring again, from that day two guards watch constantly the entrance to the cave…" Nerwen nodded: exiting from the passage, they had found them, giving them a terrible shock, "and now that you're back, we'll have it walled up."
The Istar gulped down her tears.
"A wall can be knocked down," she observed slowly, "Better deactivate the spell: now that we know how it works, Pallando and I will need only reversing it to cancel it."
The prince nodded his approval.
"Tell me about these years…" she exhorted him.
Hence, Aryon told her roughly what had gone on in the three quarters of a century that had gone by since the day she and Pallando had been sucked in beyond the Dark Portal. Thalion's death grieved Nerwen greatly, as she had been very fond of the faithful packhorse; Allakos' demise was less bitter, as the stallion, unlike the gelding, had descendants, among which there was now a namesake who was practically his copy, and this somehow made his death less sad.
When they finished eating, Nerwen announced she had to contact Yavanna.
"She's surely very concerned, not having heard from you for so long," Aryon considered, accompanying her to the bedchamber.
"Only partly," she revealed, "Like between you and me, also between she and me there's a bond: even if I was never able to contact her, like you she felt I was still alive."
She laid down on the unmade bed and smiled at her husband:
"As I just had dinner, after my trip I won't be very hungry; but if possible, would you make me some hot milk with honey, by the time I return?"
"Of course," he assured her. Therefore, Nerwen closed her eyes and leapt to Valinor; as soon as she knocked at the door, it opened wide and Yavanna held out her arms to her:
My friend! You are finally back…
They embraced, not the formal way but the friendly one. The Valië held her disciple for a while, then she let her go and stepped aside from the threshold to let her in. This time she recreated an imagine of her library.
Tell me, what happened? Where have you been, and what prevented you to contact me? she enquired.
I ran into a Dark Portal, Nerwen began, and then told her about how she, Pallando and Túdhin had found themselves in a place that all evidence suggested to be outside Arda, about how they had walked until coming across other persons, looking like Men, and about the shock to find Alatar as their lord, and finally she dwelled on the description of their battle with the Balrog.
One of the Valaraucar that eluded capture when we overran Utumno, the Queen of Earth considered, thoughtful, Only Eru knows how that Dark Portal could take him beyond Arda… Are you sure the monster has been destroyed?
Yes, I am. Alatar used all of his power against him when Pallando had just hit him with his most powerful spell, Oromë's Arrow.
She completed her tale speaking about the Blue Wizard's death and his instructions for the creation of a passage that would take them back to the starting point.
As soon as possible, Pallando and I will reverse the spell of the Dark Portal and we'll seal if forever, she concluded.
I will inform Oromë that his follower could now be in the Halls of Mandos, Yavanna said, If he is there, he has to be judged... he did wrong, allying with a Valarauco, but in his defence it must be said he didn't know what it actually was; besides, in the end he redeemed himself by sacrificing his life to save you and Pallando.
They stayed silent for some moments, then the Queen of Earth spoke again:
During the years of your absence, Sauron's power has grown again, she informed her gravely, We feel very strong energies moving, both in his favour and against him. An epochal battle is preparing, which will involve with no exceptions all peoples of Middle-earth and on which outcome the future of the entire world will depend. This terrible battle will end one age and a new one will dawn, but if this new age will be bright or dark, we cannot tell: all depends on the number of those who will be strong enough to oppose Sauron, but even more on the strength of their courage. Both sides will deploy massive armies and, no matter which way it will go, the world will change...
The Valië was silent again, as Nerwen tried to assimilate this feral news; but Yavanna hadn't finished yet:
From the news Ulmo has collected from the waters, the peoples of Harad, the pirates of Umbar and the Easterlings have allied themselves with Sauron. Other peoples to the farther East are looking favourably to the idea to do the same: if Pallando's people would be able to keep them occupied, they will prevent them to go to Mordor giving support to the Enemy...
Pallando's people is basically peaceful, even if they can be formidable enemies, Nerwen considered, talking slowly, I have no doubt they'll fight fiercely against Sauron, but even mustering their allies, they aren't very great in number…
She broke off because Kementári was shaking her head.
And here is where the Entwives come in, she affirmed, You must find them and convince them to support the free people of the East in their fight against those who want to ally themselves with Sauron.
But the Onodrim aren't a warlike race, Nerwen objected, The males aren't, even less the females.
I know it well, Yavanna nodded, yet the latter are capable to become very aggressive, if they must defend their land.
This is true, the Istar admitted, Then, I have only to convince them their land is not only the area where they have settled, but all of Arda.
Excellent argument, Kementári approved.
I know I'm near, now, geographically speaking; I'll resume the search for the Entwives as soon as I'll be able to sort myself out.
Very well, because time is running out…
She broke off, because Nerwen's eyes had suddenly become distant, a gaze she knew well: it happened when her Second Sight kicked in. For long moments, the Istar stayed still, staring at something only she could see, then with a start she came back to the present place and moment.
What did you see? the Queen of Earth enquired.
Two small shapes… Hobbit, mayhap, from the size, her disciple answered, They were climbing the side of a volcano in restless activity, in a dark and barren land… Not far away stood an immense tower, on top of which I've seen Sauron's Eye, she collected her thoughts, trying to analyse what she had seen; the conclusion she came to left her flabbergasted, After all, I don't think that it'll be the number of soldiers of one side or the other, or the efficiency of war machines, that will decide the ultimate outcome of the final battle, but something or someone so small and insignificant that Sauron has overlooked it in his plans…
We will see this only when the time comes, Yavanna commented gravely; Nerwen could only confirm with a nod.
At this point, Kementári stood up, ending their talk; the Istar stood up in turn. They parted with affectionate words.
When Nerwen opened her eyes, she saw her husband next to her, sitting on a chair at the bed's side, while clutching lovingly her hand.
"Welcome back," he said in a low voice, "Everything's alright?"
"Rather disquieting news, unfortunately," she answered, "but before telling you, I'd like to drink that hot milk…"
"I fetch it immediately."
The prince hurried to the kitchen, where he had warmed up the milk in a pot that he had then left next to the fire to keep the temperature. He mixed in a spoonful of honey and poured it into a mug, taking it to Nerwen.
Meanwhile, she had sat up. Seeing him coming back with a steaming mug, she smiled at him gratefully; she took it and sipped at it a couple of times, slowly in order not to burn herself, and then she told him what she had learnt from Yavanna.
"You're right, it's not encouraging news," Aryon observed, "We have to resume as soon as possible the search for the Entwives. In the meantime, Pallando will gather information about which among the eastern peoples are willing to ally themselves with the Dark Enemy and then wage war against them, a diversion distracting them from their purpose."
"The Yorva are not a warlike people like the Rohirrim, for instance, or the Gondorians themselves," Nerwen pointed out, "They will be able to face up to such a war only if I convince the Entwives to support them," she sighed, "If they bear the same attitude as Treebeard, it won't be an easy task…"
Aryon looked at her, intrigued:
"Who's Treebeard?"
Only then did Nerwen realise she had named the Ent, breaking therefore the promise she had made him not to speak about him or his kin living in Fangorn; but after all, 75 years had passed and they were half the world away, and she trusted Aryon like no other, with the only possible exception of Gandalf, and of course Yavanna and Melian.
Hence, she told her husband about her encounter with the ancient Shepherd of Trees and about what she had learned from him, which had convinced her to undertake the search for the females of the Onodrim. She recommended him absolute discretion, and of course, he promised. Then Aryon took the mug back to the kitchen and got back to his wife.
That night, they slept very little, intent on sharing more sweet embraces.
OOO
When they got up, the next morning, they found the table already set and Convena in the kitchen, busying herself in preparing breakfast.
"Good morning, Lady Nerwen, Lord Aryon," she welcomed them, smiling, "Your dog is very well-bred: when I arrived this morning, I saw he kept clean. I opened the door to the garden and he went out. Now he's still there, looks like he loves better staying outdoors than indoors."
"Yes, he does," Nerwen confirmed, "Did you feed him?"
"No," Convena answered, "because I don't know what he's used to, I gave him only water."
"Well done," the Istar approved, "I go and say good morning to him."
She exited through the backdoor, stepping into the garden; being now well into autumn, it was rather bare, but she could see it was well kept. The Maia recognised oleanders, azaleas, hibiscuses and fuchsias, mimosas, chimonanthuses, rhododendrons and camellias; in spring and summer, it must be a feast of flowers and colours. She advanced a few steps and perceived a warm sensation of recognition that left her marvelling. Then she saw Túdhin running toward her and she forgot about it.
Is everything well? the wolf asked her, even if there was no need to, as he sensed her state of physical and psychological wellness, so high that it touched ecstasy. Nerwen bent down to caress him.
"Yes, now finally all is well," she confirmed, "except that two dear friends of ours, Allakos and Thalion, are no longer with us. As I told you, time goes by differently in the place we have been to: there only a few days, here many years…"
The wolf exuded a feeling of sadness.
I'll miss them, he declared.
"I, too…"
Together, they got back in the house; Túdhin approached Aryon to greet him, then he laid down next to the table; husband and wife took their seats and Convena served them a very bountiful breakfast, with pancakes topped with strawberry jam, bread, butter, honey and – to Nerwen's delight – ertan: all this came with bergamot tea.
"I feel like back in Bârlyth," the Aini considered, tasting her ertan that, as usual, she had topped with a spoonful of honey.
"Lord Aryon told me you love it," the servant smiled, "as much as strawberries, that's why I chose this jam for the pancakes. Do you like them?"
Nerwen smiled her back and nodded:
"They're delicious. I've never had such."
"They're a specialty of mine," the woman revealed, blushing slightly in pleasure for the compliment.
Aryon leaned back, patting his stomach.
"I'm bursting," he jested, with his typical grin, "This morning you've been very plentiful," he added, pointing out to Convena all the food on the table. She winked:
"I thought you could be in need to get your strength…"
The Istar chuckled, genuinely amused, while Aryon made a funny face, so she laughed even harder. Nerwen exchanged an impish glance with the housekeeper and realised she had found a friend.
Later, Aryon accompanied her to see Thilgiloth; of course, Túdhin went with them.
The Chargeress was hosted in the stables next to the barracks of the city guard and she was presently trotting indolently in the paddock along with Allakos, the descendant of his namesake.
As soon as she caught sight of her two-legged friend entering the paddock, Thilgiloth neighed joyfully and ran to her; she stopped in front of her and lowered her head on Nerwen's shoulder. The Istar surrounded her neck with her arms and hugged her affectionately.
You're back, at last! the Chargeress welcomed her, I missed you so much…
"And I missed you, my old friend," the Maia answered, "You have no idea how many kilometres I had to walk, down there where I had ended up…" she jested. Thilgiloth caught the irony in her friend's tone and tapped her with her muzzle, feigning indignation.
So you missed me just as a transportation mean, huh?
Nerwen burst out laughing and Aryon was charmed by the sound. He had missed his beloved wife's laugh so much… he gulped down the lump that was tightening his throat and pushed away the melancholy caused by the long years of solitude he had lived, focusing on the present moment alone, with her who was – finally again – at his side.
Meanwhile, Thilgiloth and Túdhin had warmly greeted one another, with the Chargeress lowering her head to brush the wolf's nose.
Whistling, Aryon called the new Allakos to introduce him to Nerwen, but the stallion refused to come closer: he had scented the wolf's smell and he feared him. Noticing it, Nerwen sent her thoughts to the stallion, who was of course amazed to be able of hearing her. After telling him who she was, the Aini assured him there was no peril, because Túdhin was no ordinary wolf; then she asked the predator to reassure the horse as he had previously done with his ancestor and Thalion. Therefore, as Allakos was approaching, Túdhin stayed still, and then laid down belly-up, showing he trusted the stallion. Allakos watched Thilgiloth's relaxed attitude – he had known her since the day of his birth – and, even if hesitantly, he followed her example, lowering his head and tapping the wolf on his bare belly.
How about a good race together? the mare asked Nerwen. The Aini stroked her side.
"Not now," she said, "But we can do it in the afternoon," she turned to look at her husband, "Thilgiloth asked to go riding together, but before I'd like to report Yavanna's news to Pallando."
"Yes, I think that's best," Aryon agreed.
They took therefore their leave from their mounts; they were about to exit, when a young she-soldier arrived:
"Beg your pardon, captain, but Lieutenant Ryol is looking for you."
Aryon had sent word he would take this day off, therefore, if his deputy was seeking him, it had to be important.
"Duty calls," he excused himself with his wife.
"Don't worry," she told him, "I'll go to Pallando; see you home."
Home, he thought, thrilled. Now that she was there, his abode wouldn't be just the place he was living at, but home. Even if, probably, only for a short time, because soon they would leave in search of the Entwives.
He addressed her his typical little smile and went away to look for Ryol.
Nerwen, accompanied by Túdhin, headed for the inn where Pallando was staying; the Wizard received her immediately.
After she had told him the news she had learnt from her Mistress, the king remained thoughtful.
"Beyond the Great Forest dwell warlike populations we had to defend ourselves from, in the past," he said at length, "We are a peaceful folk, but we can fight, if needed, and luckily we have some allies; but starting a war ourselves?" he shook his head, "I do not know if we would be able to. However, with the help of the Entwives..."
Remembering Treebeard's opinion, Nerwen shook her head in turn:
"First I must find them, then I must convince them to act, not to lock up themselves in a false peaceful haven that, should Sauron win, would last only until he would decide to wipe them out, as he will do with all those who oppose him or who will even only not recognise him as their lord and master. I don't know how much time I'll need: mayhap you'll have to act before I'll be able to come back with the alliance of the Entwives. Assuming I can convince them, of course."
Pallando tightened his lips.
"We must do what is necessary," he stated firmly, "We are peace-loving people, but we love our freedom and no one can take it away from us easily."
OOO
When she got back home, Nerwen found Convena busy cooking their midday meal, while her child, Beryana, was playing with a rag doll on the floor in the parlour.
"That smells good!" she cried, sniffing the scent coming from the kitchen.
"Beef stew cooked in brown ale," the woman announced, beaming, "Lord Aryon likes it much, I hope you'll like it, too."
"Judging by the scent, doubtlessly," Nerwen declared, laughing, while heading for the bedchamber. There, in a chest, during all those years Aryon had jealously stored her house garments. She freshened up in the nearby bathroom, then she returned in the kitchen.
"I baked also a honey sweetbun," Convena announced, pointing out the golden cake she had just got out the oven and placed on the windowsill to cool, "You can have it with a nice beaker of the sweet cider my husband produces," she added, winking; Nerwen arched an eyebrow in surprise and the woman laughed, "Yeah, I know also about the sweet cider. Lord Aryon didn't speak often of you – even if it was evident you were constantly in his thoughts – but I've been in his service for ten years, and before me, my mother was: between the two of us, we have collected some information that now I'm happy to put into practice," she concluded with another broad smile.
Waiting for her master to come back home, Convena fed her child.
Aryon returned half an hour later; seeing him on the threshold, Nerwen got up and went to meet him. He bent down and kissed her lips, then engulfed her into an embrace. It was wonderful coming home and finding her; until this day, his dwelling seemed to him always cold and empty, even if there was a fire burning, a hot meal laid out and somebody to welcome him; but that somebody, so far, had never been Nerwen.
"Convena cooked a delicious stew, and a cake for dessert, too," his wife informed him.
"Excellent," he approved, then he whispered in her ear, "Even if the best dessert I could wish is you..."
He withdrew to see how she felt about his statement and saw a naughty glint in her eyes.
"...but we surely need food to keep up our strength for our special activities," she pointed out to him, retorting. He grinned:
"You're absolutely right."
He took off his jacket and sat at the table with Nerwen; Convena arrived with their dishes filled with steaming stew, served with the same brown ale she had used to cook it and coming with spinaches and mushrooms, both flavoured in butter and onion.
"Any problems, at the barracks?" the Aini enquired.
"Not at all," Aryon answered, "It was just about informing me of the preparation for the celebrations for Pallando's return. Rovena wants to go big: a banquet with all the leaders of the town – including me, and therefore you, too – followed by a dancing party and finally fireworks. She already hired half of the cooks in Tarsad and the best musicians. The city guard will be very busy and Ryol is getting very nervous, because being me one of the guests, he'll have to do it by himself."
"Is he capable of it?"
"Yes, he's been my deputy for 18 years, he can handle it perfectly even without me. But he seems not aware of it," he concluded chuckling.
It was simply wonderful being able to share with her his daily events, he thought. He grasped her hand and kissed it fervently, his bright eyes gleaming with love. Nerwen brushed his cheek, moved by his adoring gaze.
Convena was coming from the kitchen to pick up the now empty plates and saw them exchanging these endearments. Having a romantic soul, the woman felt her heart melting; she was happy for her master, whom she loved like an elder brother – after all, she had known him all her life and had grown up in this house, as much as Beryana was now doing. She decided she would leave them alone as soon as possible.
She returned discreetly in the kitchen, then she made some noise before returning.
"My compliments, the stew was soft and very tasty," Nerwen declared.
"Thank you," the woman replied, very pleased, "I fetch you the cake."
Shortly after, she was back with the sweetbun, which she served with cider, fresh from the cellar.
"This afternoon I have errands to run," she declared, "Therefore, I'd like to go out as soon as I've finished cleaning the kitchen, if you give me permission."
"Of course," Aryon answered, "don't worry, take your time. We can manage dinner by ourselves."
Convena took the hint, but played it cool.
"Very well, then I'll be back tomorrow morning for breakfast."
"No, tomorrow will be a celebratory day for everyone," the prince revealed, "We celebrate the return of King Pallando. Stay with your family. You'll resume your job the day after tomorrow."
"Oh, I thank you so much, Lord Aryon!" the woman smiled, happily. She went back to the kitchen to begin cleaning it, so she could go home early.
Aryon and Nerwen savoured the cake, finding it deliciously fragrant; the cider, cool and sweet-scented, was perfect with it. Convena came to take the empty dishes, so they stood up to let her clear the table. Túdhin trotted to the backdoor, looking at Nerwen expectantly; the Istar guessed he wanted to go out, so she opened the door and the wolf ran outside.
"Do you like the garden?" Aryon asked her under his breath, "I designed it for you... too bad it's not blossoming."
"It has to be stunning, in spring," Nerwen considered, then turned to him, "Thank you."
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hair.
"I took care of it, thinking of you," he said, "Every single plant, if it has perceived my thoughts, has so much heard about you, that it's like it knows you."
"Oh... now I understand why I perceived a sense of familiarity..." Nerwen murmured, "Yes, Aryon, they heard your thoughts, and when I stepped foot in the garden, they recognised me..."
Her voice trailed off; wordless, she held him tight. She couldn't imagine 75 hours without him, and for him it had been 75 years, with only one night here and there spent with her...
"I love you, Aryon," she whispered, "I love you so deeply..."
"And I love you, Nerwen," he said in a low voice, brushing her back.
"Beryana, let's go," they heard Convena calling for her child; they withdrew from their embrace to say goodbye to mother and daughter.
Alone at last, they devoted themselves to one another; forgetting about their intention to go for a ride, they spent a long afternoon of love in each other's arms.
OOOOO
Author's corner:
Gastronomic curiosity: the beef stew with dark ale is none other than the famous and delicious Irish Guinness stew, which I had the luck to taste in Ireland.
Finally, husband and wife are back together; for Nerwen it was just about ten days, while for poor Aryon it was three-quarter of a century. Okay that "a hundred years is nothing in the life of an Elf" (cit.) but nonetheless this time has been very hard, for our Avar prince.
Did you notice the date? October 21st, 3018: Frodo Baggins' great adventure has started... time is running out, Nerwen must find the Entwives as soon as possible and convince them to play their part in the War of the Ring that's about to begin, even if neither them nor Nerwen know anything about it.
Lady Angel
