Chapter 3
Decisions and Compromises
Alassë sat by the small window, her long, silvery tresses caressed by the salty wind. Outside, seagulls fearlessly braved the storm, while the livid sea roared, splashing the white ships anchored in the Haven.
She sang softly while she was busy embroidering a small blanket.
Go on, go on
Go bravely on
Into the blackest night
Hold my breath
'Til your return
My love will never die
A sudden bolt of lightning made her jump. Instantly, her hand ran to her belly, over the small bulge that could be seen beneath her elegant blue dress. A thunder rolled, above the black clouds.
"Don't worry, little one. You are safe here. Nothing and no one will harm us."
The house consisted of two tiny rooms, but it was cosy and clean. The elleth was aware that she had been lucky enough to be able to afford the place, and that she found someone willing to let her use it, in exchange for a small compensation. The long hours spent learning the art of embroidery now guaranteed her independence.
Away from the overwhelming control of her parents and her two brothers, away from the manipulations of her suitor. She would no longer be a pawn in their hands, a warprize to trade for some favour.
Alassë was also aware that she would just have to ask, and he would come. But she would not be selfish. Far more serious matters weighed on his mind.
Alassë was strong enough to get by on her own. Time would have accommodated everything.
Though now all she possessed was freedom and a handful of dreams.
A sudden movement inside her made her smile.
"You will have quite a temper, Nariel... my daughter of flame. I haven't forgotten about you." she chuckled. The little life growing inside her was what had given her the strength to fight. She did not care that she had lost her privileges, her old life.
The insults of her family no longer affected her.
Alassë turned her gaze to the small hearth in the room. The flames danced happily, flooding the small room with light and warmth. And the elleth's mind flew far beyond the barrier of dreams.
An elf with raven hair and silver eyes. A dance under the stars, in the White City on the hill of Tùna...
The light faded, Alassë's smiling face vanished into the mist. The fire died, leaving behind a chill that soaked her bones.
A gloomy clearing in a gloomy forest. She was running, bewildered, aimlessly.
Amil? Mother? Mother where are you?
She could still feel her fëa, her mother's soul, somewhere. Her emotions, her feelings. But everything was so distant, evanescent.
Voices, infinite voices from the darkness. A dark chant that paralyzed her.
Please, don't leave me alone, again…
Indefinite words that gradually became clearer.
Too long have you allowed
The past to haunt today's fresh breath.
A lost jewel to your kin.
Your place is no longer where you wake.
Soon there will be nothing but dust.
This land shall remain a desert
If a choice is not made.
In the last house, seek advice.
Under golden blades
You will find what you yearn to uncover.
Ancient promises will see sapling's embrace again.
Spring will bless the king who has
Yet to adorn his curls with a
crown of shrouded blood.
If you should ever allow the darkness to
Hide your footed path unclear,
The half man will show you the way.
The litany went on endlessly as darkness devoured her.
Nariel sat up, gasping for air, and shaking. Her skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat and she was tangled in her sheets.
The same nightmare, again. By now she had lost count of how many times she had awakened in this way. The beginning of her dreams differed in place and time but, lately, her mother was present in each of them. Sometimes just as a voice, other times as a tangible figure.
Of Alassë and her earliest childhood, Nariel kept few, meager memories.
A small house outside the Haven, the smell of salty water, her mother's melodious voice and the infinite sadness in her songs. She remembered the long silvery hair, the eyes as blue as the sea she loved so much. Alassë sat on a white chair by the small window, intent on embroidering or contemplating the sky, as in eternal waiting.
But then, the dreams twisted, and Nariel always found herself trapped in that forest, deafened by those voices. Dark words that she was unable to comprehend.
The elf stared at the rock ceiling as the last traces of the nightmare washed away, leaving her in an unpleasant numbness.
She looked out of the window carved into the stone. Some stars still lingered as the sun was starting its way through the sky.
With a sigh, Nariel forced herself to get up. She had fallen asleep looking at the moon, still wearing the light leather armour she used for travelling, and now her whole body was sore.
Another restless night.
The elleth shook off the feeling of discomfort that gripped her. She had a lot of work to do and had no time to waste on the tricks her mind played.
What happened at the feast was a bad sign and she needed a clear mind to reflect and arrange a few things. She could still feel her blood boiling just thinking of the two Wômaw.
Since her arrival the previous day, she had not yet unpacked her belongings. To get to the sietch in time for the feast she had worn out the horse borrowed from the Raìs menagerie.
Nariel quickly nibbled some bread and fruit as she carefully placed her equipment on the large stone table in the forge room. Her fingers lingered on a sword kept in a shabby scabbard and wrapped in rags. She had not polished it in a while.
The elleth emptied the contents of her backpack. Various small pieces of ivory and some stones bought in the markets of Harad, a couple of rations, the few spare clothes she had. And, lastly, her dagger and her hand crossbow, both of her own making.
With a critical eye, the elf examined the blade, which needed a sharpening, and counted the remaining bolts. Less than a dozen.
Too few.
She had cautiously avoided any bad encounters while travelling, but she had used several bolts to hunt, and it had not always been possible to salvage them. She would have to make new ones.
After carefully reorganizing the old journal in which she wrote down stories, crafting techniques and models, Nariel realized that something was missing.
"Where did I put it?"
Puzzled, Nariel shook the leather backpack. A small silver locket slipped out of a tear in the inner lining and clinked on the table.
Thank goodness, I was afraid I really lost it this time. I'll have to mend that gash, sooner or later...
Knock knock.
Nariel stared at the door. It was too early to be one of the sietch dwellers looking for her service. And she had not even started the forge.
The knocking on the door continued.
Would it have been so rude not to answer, ignore the nuisance, maybe pretend to be sick?
Elves do not get sick.
Knock knock. Knock knock.
"One moment, for Varda's sake!" she exclaimed.
"Nariel? Nariel I know you're in there!"
The knocking became incessant.
Sihaya's unmistakable voice stole a sigh from the elf. Sighing, Nariel quickly strode across the yali, grabbed the handle firmly and pushed the door open. A whirlwind of braids, colourful robes, limbs, and foxes almost trampled her.
"Would anyone have the grace to explain to me the reason for this commotion? It's barely dawn."
Despite her stern gaze, Sihaya and Dris chuckled.
"We just wanted to see how our favourite blacksmith was doing!" said the warrior princess.
Nariel raised an eyebrow. "I'm quite fine, unlike my poor door." she replied. "So? What do I owe your visit to?"
Sihaya ran a hand through her black hair. The numerous metallic beads in her braids tinkled like bells.
"Look... I know you are angry, and you have every reason. Yesterday Father was wrong to throw you out of the assembly, but you should not blame him. It was a bad situation for everyone."
"You say? He treated me like an outcast, denied me the right to speak but, at the same time, kept those cutthroats at his table. Tell me, why shouldn't I feel offended, exactly?"
"You know he has great respect for you, heval."
"That's not the matter: he humiliated me in front of the most important members of the sietch. It wasn't you who got thrown out." Nariel replied bitterly.
"I think you missed the good part of the show..."
Nariel looked at Sihaya questioningly.
"It's true!" Dris commented, biting into an apple he had just snatched from a basket on the table.
The elf smiled. "Really, my adorable little thief? What did I miss?" she asked, ruffling the kid's ebony curls.
"Father scolded everyone because they didn't behave well. And then he sent those ugly thugs away."
Sihaya glared at her little brother. "If I remember correctly, someone was snoring in the meantime."
Dris shook his head. "I heard Mezyan talk to mom about it. He got so angry because Father didn't want to listen to him..."
Nariel weighed the child's words and stared at her friend.
"I think you should tell me what happened after I left. I have some work to do, but your company is dear to me. Make yourself at home."
With a sigh, Sihaya took a seat on a rustic bench by the door and began the long recap of the previous evening. Meanwhile, Dris played on the floor with some scrap metal, along with Mizar and Dubhe. The fennecs were the child's shadow and followed him everywhere. No one had yet figured out how the little boy had managed to tame them without any help.
When Sihaya concluded her tale, Nariel had just finished starting the forge.
"So, the Raìs hasn't come to terms with the Wômaw and, instead, he declared neutrality?" the blacksmith asked as she moved nimbly around the hearth. A small bellows operated by foot quickly rose the temperature of the fire. Consistent heat flooded the cave.
"Do you consider it a wise choice?" inquired Sihaya, looking at the flames.
Nariel pondered the question for a long time.
"He acted for the best." she finally commented. "Despite how he treated me yesterday, I admire Barur's courage. He has not bowed to Sauron's false promises, and that does him credit. I had grown fond of this place, but the Ihaggaren hadn't set out for a while, and a change never hurts."
"Master blacksmith, can I help you clean your weapons?" Dris asked at that moment. Adult talk bored him after a while.
The two girls exchanged glances. Nariel nodded. "All right, but be careful not to get hurt."
With a big smile the child took a cloth and started with Nariel's dagger. He was fascinated by the exoticness of that weapon, so different from the wavy-bladed kris that the Ihaggaren learnt to use since childhood. Dris studied carefully the hunter knife profile featuring a skinner guthook and a circular hole in the middle of the blade, and began to clean it with the utmost care.
Smiling at the kid's focused expression, Nariel turned his attention back to Sihaya. The concern in her friend's eyes had not escaped her.
"What scares you?"
"Father does not intend to call an exodus."
At those words, the elf froze.
"Has he lost his mind? We are no longer safe here. Barur has stalled to stem an immediate threat, but no one refuses Sauron."
"Father guaranteed free passage to his Southron armies on our lands, in exchange for our neutrality. I tried to reason with him, explaining that we can no longer count on our defences, but there was no way to convince him. He said our power lays here in the desert and not even Gorthû will dare to put his armies at risk attacking us."
Any trace of colour on Nariel's face vanished.
She had heard similar words before, a long time ago. An entire city that was believed to be safe behind its walls had been torn down from the inside.
Betrayal, greed, revenge: everyone had a price, and the Darkness knew well how to pay it...
The cave seemed to close in on her.
No. I must stay lucid. I will not look back. Breathe.
Nariel decided to focus on her own gestures: she put on a pair of thick leather gloves, took a pair of long tongs, grabbed a piece of blackened iron, and placed it in the furnace.
Her crazed heart slowed.
"For the sake of the Ihaggaren, I hope Barur is not wrong." Nariel managed to whisper, after a while.
"I don't know. Maybe it was the wisest choice for the sietch, but-" The Amìra replied bluntly, feeling that honesty would form the best answer she could give. Nariel was the first person to care for her opinion. To be honest, the elf was often the only one who asked her what she thought about an issue.
"But?"
The human girl closed her eyes and bowed her head. "Forget it. Father is right, mine is just a vain folly."
"Sihaya, I've known you since you were born. I know when you want to say something, and you hold back. I have always listened to you." Nariel retorted.
"We shouldn't have put ourselves in this situation. Father showed us weak, not independent. We are trapped: to the north Gondor prevents us from migrating, the list of our allies from Khand and Harad is growing thinner as they are all bewitched by Gorthû's promises. We ignored the signs of his return, and now my father thinks hiding in the sand is the solution!"
Nariel removed the hot iron from the forge and began hammering it into an elongated shape on the large anvil in the centre of the room.
"If you don't think he can rule the sietch wisely, then challenge him."
A look of horror painted Sihaya's face. "I can't challenge my father, are you crazy? No one has ever called their parent out in the pit, not even for a similar reason."
The elf shrugged, between hammer blows. "That's not true, there have been some cases in the history of the Ihaggaren, and they had their reasons. This is the way of the desert, after all. I am not suggesting you to challenge your father in single combat, Princess. But you know very well that if you do not present a valid solution, no one will listen to you in the assembly."
Sihaya looked at her friend in disbelief. She had known her for a lifetime, yet Nariel still managed to surprise her with her detachment in addressing even the biggest issues.
Elves are strange people. But she's right.
"We once had an alliance. Those allies continued to fight the Darkness even after we left the drowned lands, while we simply fled like beaten rabbits."
Nariel put down the hammer and tongs, and placed the hands on her hips.
"The alliance you are talking about died long time ago, along with everyone who made it, do you realize that?"
"You seem alive and in good health." Sihaya pointed out.
"Don't be silly. I've never really been a part of them as I had no value." The elleth snorted. "I thought I heard enough nonsense from Mezyan that almost sold us to Sauron, but you're now talking about seeking the elves for help!"
"And why should this be nonsense, Haldamìrie?" asked all of a sudden a raspy, old voice from the doorway. "Thin is the line between hope and madness. Are you able to notice it?"
The eyes of all present fixed on the newcomer.
The man was tall, as his shape obscured the small entrance, and he was old, certainly; he had a short, well-trimmed white beard in the style of the Ihaggaren, and his face was browned and wrinkled by the sun, but his light blue eyes twinkled vigorously. Over worn blue robes, he wore a cloak of the same colour that probably had seen better days. The man carried a crudely carved wooden staff.
Dris smiled joyfully. "Master Morinehtar!"
The old man returned the warm greeting. "Good morning, little prince."
He bowed his head slightly in Sihaya's direction. "Amìra, my respects."
Then, the blue eyes met Nariel's steely gaze. "Welcome back, Haldamìrie. I hope you had a pleasant trip."
"Nothing too adventurous, old man." the elf replied dryly, picking up the hammer and tongs. The iron had cooled, so she put it back in the coals. "I guess you just came here to wish us a good day, didn't you? We were discussing something urgent and-"
"Oh, come on, Haldamìrie! You are still mad at me, after fifty years, for that little accident with your forge, aren't you? " Morinehtar chuckled in his croaking voice.
The elf's eyes narrowed. "Your experiments with black powder blew up half of my yali, you charlatan!"
"The dangers of being a wizard, my dear."
Sihaya and Dris followed the amusing exchange with wide eyes.
"Explosion?"
Morinehtar nodded in amusement, ignoring Nariel's grim look.
"Another member of my Order, and a dear friend of mine, delights in combining a kind of black powder with magic, to create... how can I explain... aah, I think they can be called 'fireworks'. But, after careful experiments, I came to the belief that his talent is something unique and not imitable."
"What a pity, I would have liked to see these fireworks..." muttered Dris, disappointed.
"And maybe it will happen, young prince. My friend is very fond of travelling, you can never tell if one day we will find him in our sietch. Incánus is his name in your language, the Grey Pilgrim."
Nariel looked worried at the wizard. "If he is like you, I hope not to meet him. It took me months to fix the mess you made! And you still owe me a forge."
Morinehtar smiled and winked at Dris. "And this, my young prince, is a valuable lesson: never anger an elf lady, because she will hold you grudge for a long, long, long time."
Everyone laughed, including the elleth.
Although the elf had some doubts about the aura of mystery surrounding the old wizard, the two had known each other for ages, and had shared a place among the Ihaggaren for over twenty centuries. Each of them kept their own secrets, but basically the respect was mutual. Morinehtar had arrived at a very dark time for the tribe and Nariel herself, and his wisdom had proved invaluable. He had reminded them that the Powers, those who sat in the Circle of Doom, had not forgotten the descendants of the loyal men of the East. And this had kept the Ihaggaren away from Sauron's plots.
"Well, old charlatan, take a seat and have a cup of tea with us. Something tells me you didn't just come here by chance." sighed Nariel.
From a bucket full of water collected in the underground well, she filled a teapot which she placed to heat over the embers. Soon after, the blacksmith removed the hot iron from the furnace and put it back to cool. She would not be able to craft anything this morning.
Morinehtar took a seat on a rickety bench facing Sihaya and Dris.
"My deepest gratitude for the hospitality, heval," said the old man, bowing his head. "You're right. I am not here on a whim."
Morinehtar peered at Sihaya with his light blue eyes. "Amìra, I heard what happened last night and I share your concern. A threat hangs over the tribe and your father must act quickly."
Sihaya sighed. "Master wizard, I think you are aware the Raìs has revoked my right to speak at the assembly. The same occurred to my brothers."
"A gesture dictated by the concern of seeing you involved in such a serious matter. But I dread it will come a time when no more difference will be made between children and adults. Darkness makes no distinctions and fighting will be inevitable."
"I'm not afraid to fight," Dris muttered under his breath, now busy polishing Nariel's sword.
The wizard smiled benevolently but said nothing.
The child had carefully removed the rags that wrapped the weapon, and then the plain scabbard.
His face lit up with wonder.
In his small fingers, gleamed the silver filigree hilt of a one-and-a-half-handed sword. Of elven workmanship, the lustre steel was free of scratches or signs of aging. An elaborate inscription in Tengwar ran down the straight blade, while in the centre of the hilt shone a large fire opal set in a golden sun.
Nariel, intent on pouring tea for her guests, stopped the child by placing a hand on his arm. "Be careful little one, the blade is sharp as a razor. It would be better if I take care of it." Slowly she took the sword from Dris's hands.
"But I'm a good apprentice! I could handle it, you taught me! " the little one protested.
The boy's embittered eyes made her smile.
"I know, but you see, taking care of it is part of a promise made to a dear friend who gifted it to me, many years ago. Anyway, I say that for the excellent work done with my other weapons, you have earned another apple!" replied the elleth with a grin.
Dris did not miss the opportunity; everyone knew that the child was particularly fond of apples, which were quite rare in the desert, as only few merchants traded them.
Unusually silent, Sihaya gripped the hot cup in her hands, contemplating the steaming liquid. Not even the strong mint aroma could calm her down. A deep unease was set in her ebony eyes.
"My father won't command an exodus, but you know that too, right? What should I do, Morinehtar? My every action is a failure in Barur's eyes."
The old man put a wrinkled hand on hers. "Amìra, you shall never doubt your father's love, however severe his judgment may seem to you."
"I am not ready for this." Sihaya took her head in her hands. "Everyone has high expectations of me. I was trained from birth to handle such difficulties. But now I don't know what to do!"
Morinehtar gave her a reassuring smile. "You already know the answer, Sihaya. Follow your heart."
She widened her eyes. "B-but… He would never forgive me! I can't do that! "
Nariel, who was busy cleaning the blade of her sword, stiffened.
"Do what, exactly?"
The human bowed her head, embarrassed. "Nothing."
She felt the elf's searching gaze burn upon her.
"What shouldn't he forgive you for, Sihaya?"
The princess dared not look at those steel irises.
"For doing what is right for the tribe."
Morinehtar's voice rang like a bell in the cave.
Nariel's gaze snapped at him. The Amìra had not refrained from getting into trouble several times during her short life, but the elleth had never seen her friend so fearful of her own actions. Realization dawned on her.
"Tell me you're not going to run away and go begging the elves for help!" she exclaimed.
Sihaya stammered something incomprehensible even for Nariel's subtle hearing.
"Your place is here, as Raìssa of the Ihaggaren!" the blacksmith urged her. "You can't be so foolish to believe in old fairy tales!"
"Old promises aren't fairy tales, Haldamìrie, and you should know that." Morinehtar intervened quietly.
The old wizard's calm irritated the elf further.
"Promises? Tell me, wizard, what promises are you babbling about? Honour? Loyalty? I have seen Gondolin destroyed at the hands of those who swore to defend it. I have seen elves break their own blood ties to get what they wanted. And I have seen elves forget the men of the East who gave their lives for their cause! Because of Ulfang's betrayal, the survivors of Bòr's clan were left to fend for themselves. I was there, Morinehtar. I left Beleriand with them after Gondolin fell in Morgoth's clutches."
Nariel's voice trembled with an ancient rage. She gripped the hilt of her sword so thightly that her knuckles turned white.
The wizard's eyes stared at her impassively.
"Great fear lurks within you, and your words are dictated by the rejection of your past. You have known great grief, but a lot of time has passed, and it is not in your power to know how the world has changed, Haldamìrie."
"You don't know anything, old man. And stop calling me that essi!" snapped Nariel.
"And why shouldn't I call you by your name?" Morinehtar retorted, maintaining an unnerving calm. The wizard reached out with a dry hand on the table and grabbed the silver medallion thrown among the other objects and swung it in front of the elf's eyes. A round disc, barely the size of a coin, with the delicate engraving of an eight-pointed wind rose surrounded by waves, and a single inscription in elven runes: Haldamìrie.
"After all, it is one of your names. How can such a precious name hurt? Or isn't this yet another attempt to escape who you are, Haldamìrie?"
Morinehtar dropped the medallion. With a twitch Nariel grabbed it before it touched the table.
"Don't speak about things you barely understand. It may be one of my names, but it reminds me every single day of the irony of fate. I am no one's hidden jewel. My mother is dead, those I used to call my kin never cared about me or left me alone. Why should I use the name chosen by a father who never showed up?" Nariel almost growled.
Suddenly the elf felt two little hands hug her. "Please, heval, don't say that. I care about you, my sister too... we all love you. Do not be angry with Master Morinehtar. He also doesn't like to see you sad."
Nariel felt a tear streak down her face.
Children are the voice of truth, humans said.
Dris' emerald eyes stared at her intently. Then she saw Sihaya with a similar expression. The princess held out her hand. "We are with you. I am with you. And now I need you, more than ever, my friend." she murmured.
Nariel let out a long breath.
If I look back I am lost.
Her tired grey eyes met the wizard's blue ones. "Forgive the harshness of my words and my anger."
The old man nodded. "No offense taken. But, please, do not withdraw into yourself, Haldamìrie. You have been doing it for a long time, and as you can see there are people who notice it."
The elf bowed her head. "I'm sorry."
Too long she had allowed her fears to dominate her. In that moment, she had to be focused and present, for the sake of those people who had welcomed her as one of their own.
After a few instants, Nariel raised her head and stared at Sihaya. "What are your intentions?"
Caught unprepared, the girl looked questioningly at Morinehtar.
"This decision is up to you alone, Sihaya." replied the wizard. "However, I invite you not to procrastinate: we don't know how much time we have left."
The princess bit her lip. "I... I do not know what to do. I can't abandon my father and the sietch like this, out of the blue."
Nariel gave her a nod. "Whatever you decide, remember I'm with you."
The turmoil was devouring Sihaya. She suddenly felt the weight of a whole world crushing her. "I ... can't do it. I…I need to think. Alone. Excuse me."
With those words, the princess stood up and quickly left the yali. Dris started to follow, but Morinehtar stopped him. "Let her go, little prince. Your sister needs time."
Obediently, Dris sat back down.
She ran at breakneck speed, leaving the cliff and the sietch tents behind. She ran under the merciless sun, until her legs held up the effort. Only when the market buzz was a distant buzz did Sihaya allowed herself to collapse into the reddish sand.
It was a sunny morning, one like many others, but the princess felt cold.
Why had that fate fallen to her? Why not Bahsis, or even Mezyan? Anyone could have been a better leader than her.
Follow your heart.
Morinehtar did not realize how difficult it was for her.
Sihaya peered from the top of the dune into the small sandy valley that stretched to the cliff. From up there it looked like a colourful anthill: the market, the brave peasants who tried to cultivate something in that merciless desert, the coming and going from the underground spring that allowed them to live, the training ground of the warriors, the fighting pit, her father's tent.
The Rais was sure of his decisions: the war would rage elsewhere, and the sietch was well defended. For the Ihaggaren the honour of a promise came first.
The warrior princess counted the guard posts. There was room for improvement: she would have told Bahsis to raise the sentries and increase patrols. That was still in her power.
And, in the meantime, she would try to mediate with her father, so that she could leave in search of help, without having to flee like a thief in the middle of the night.
Long minutes of silence passed slowly.
Normally, Nariel did not mind quietness but, in this case, it was unnerving.
After Sihaya's flight, the elf had expected the wizard to take his leave, but Morinehtar still sat on the bench, muttering to himself.
Mizar and Dubhe wandered around the yali, hunting for small insects, their favourite snack.
"Nariel, can I tell you something? About a strange dream?"
Dris's voice distracted her from the old man's incomprehensible words.
A dream?
"Of course, my little sun."
The child fidgeted, looking for words.
"Mezyan made fun of me when I told him… Every now and then I dream of being on top of a big tower on a very high mountain. In the sky there are many stars. Suddenly a big eagle arrives, bigger than a grown man, and I find myself flying on that eagle. It takes me high in the sky, and far away. He tells me 'You must be strong, as spring will sprout in the hands of those who will know how to see beyond the darkness that devours everything.' Then, I always wake up."
Nariel mulled over his words. A strange dream indeed.
"It's nice dream indeed. Why is your brother making fun of you?"
"Mezyan says that I cannot tell a vulture from an eagle and that eagles are the emissaries of the Great King of the Winds, and only the chosen ones can speak to them."
The blacksmith scoffed. Mezyan urgently needed a lesson in manners.
"Don't listen to your brother," Nariel said. "Dreams can hide a deep meaning, but many are not-"
"Able to listen?" Morinehtar interrupted the elf with a chuckle. His gaze, lost in the void just a moment before, now sparkled with keen interest.
"Old man, I thought you fell asleep," Nariel retorted.
"A wizard sleeps very rarely, my young blacksmith. I find the dreams of little Dris interesting but, even more curious, the advice you give. Tell me, Haldamìrie. How are your dreams lately?"
Damn nosy wizard.
Nariel clenched her jaw. Sometimes she had the impression that this charlatan could read her mind. In the past she had tried to tell him about her nightmares, but when the wizard tried to revive the memories hidden in them, it had been so bad that it forced her to leave the sietch for nearly a century. Since then, she had categorically refused to reveal her dreams.
And now she was terrified of discovering what the words of the nightmare that lately haunted her might be connected to.
"None of your business." She replied dryly.
Morinehtar raised his hands in surrender. "I did not mean to intrude, my lady. But, if you change your mind and want to talk about them, you know where to find me."
The wizard stood up, holding on to his staff.
"Little prince, how about you accompany me to the horse pen? The tanner's mare had a foal last night."
"But I've already seen a lot of foals, Master wizard! Would you take me to the dark quarry to see the alchemists work the black powder, instead? Please? Mom doesn't want me to go there alone, she says I'm too young and those are dangerous weapons!"
The old man gave a hint of a smile. "Your mother is right. All weapons are dangerous, little prince. However, Ihaggaren are said to be born with kris in hand and arcane knowledge in their hearts and-"
"And that death in battle is the most honourable end. I agree with his mother Alya: he is too young for this." Nariel concluded dryly. "Old man, don't lose sight of him and don't get him in trouble. And try not to blow up anything."
The kid put a hand to his heart. "I'll be good, Master blacksmith, I promise! Can we go, now?"
"Why don't you go ahead of me?" the wizard said, chuckling. "Wait for me at the entrance to the lower caves, I'll join you shortly."
With an excited cry, Dris jumped to his feet. "I can't wait! Master blacksmith, thank you for everything! Mizar, Dubhe, let's go!"
Nariel smiled as she watched the boy run out, closely followed by the two little foxes.
Morinehtar cleared his throat.
Nariel gave him a skeptical look.
"What is it, Master wizard?"
"Sooner or later, you will have to decide to come to terms with yourself, Haldamìrie. You have been running away for too long, aimlessly. In this desert you won't find the answers you don't even know you're looking for."
With those cryptic words, without adding anything else, Morinehtar left her.
The wooden door closed with a snap and a shiver ran down her spine.
Again and again, the words of her nightmares plagued her.
Too long have you allowed
The past to haunt today's fresh breath.
A lost jewel to your kin.
Your place is no longer where you wake.
In another place...
Elegant, long fingers moved swiftly across the loom.
A graceful elven lady wove skillfully, her dark eyes intent on observing every single thread. Regal was her dress, and a thin silver crown held a black veil over her head.
Not far from the loom, another figure was intent on observing an infinite row of tapestries, which covered the walls of the room and went away along infinite corridors.
Suddenly the rhythmic sounds of the loom fell silent.
The fingers, so quick until an instant before, stopped.
"Why do you hesitate, Þerindë?"
The veiled lady turned to look at the other figure, who had now diverted her attention from her tapestries. This was a Lady of imposing height, with hair as white as snow and shiny as silk. Eyes of amethyst gleamed behind thick black lashes. Her pale complexion seemed to glow in the room.
"It is still that ruined thread, my Lady." Þerindë uttered in a whisper. "I fear there is nothing more to be done."
The Lady approached and examined the weave of warp and weft.
A small scarlet thread, which was lost in the part already woven, was so frayed that it could have snapped at any moment.
"I see." asserted the Lady. "Yes, it has completely worn out."
With a sigh, Þerindë grabbed a pair of small silver scissors. Many other times she had to cut a damaged thread, but it was always a cruel torment. That tapestry meant everything to her.
The Lady noticed her hesitation and felt her anguish.
Is there no other way? How many more threads to cut, how many more bitter tears?
She looked out of the windows at the everlasting stars that adorned the sky.
A flicker of light swept across the firmament. She smiled, softly.
Here comes an unexpected response.
With a delicate touch, she stopped Þerindë's hand before the scissors closed. The elven lady gave her an uncertain look.
"This is not the time, my faithful broideress." The Lady said.
Surprise showed on Þerindë's face, but she dared not voice her thoughts.
"Often, it is easier to remove what is damaged instead of mend it. But do you see this other lonely thread? It is old, almost burnt and ruined. And yet," the lady took a long needle and gently moved the threads, intertwining them. "by doing so you can save both."
Þerindë's eyes widened. "But, my Lady, how?"
"On other occasions it has not been possible, my dear. There is damage that cannot be mended. However, nothing is fixed, and the warp and weft flow like water on my loom. There are things that not even I can foresee. Have faith in your work and in my guidance."
The fingers resumed moving on the loom. Before the elleth's eyes, two intertwined scarlet threads, destined to break, were now crossing with many others: gold, silver, blue, red, and black. And not even Þerindë's talent was able to predict the outcome.
Satisfied, the Lady left the room, and went out into a garden of pale asphodels, looking at the stars again. For a long time, she contemplated the night sky.
"It will be no small feat, my Queen. But this time, with your leave, I won't act alone." she sighed at last.
The stars twinkled in silent approval.
A light mist rolled over the garden.
The violet eyes turned to observe a tall figure waiting among the white flowers.
"I know that I am asking a lot of you and I do not intend to deny what has been imposed by the Doomsman of the Valar. However, nothing is immutable in the Music, and I intend to act accordingly."
The tall figure bowed in respect, and he replied in an ethereal voice: "I will do everything in my power to honour your request, Vairë."
The Lady nodded in gratitude, and Irmo of the Fëanturi, the Master of Dreams, vanished into the mist.
Here we are. I feel like I am a mechanic putting the pieces of an engine back together.
Bringing Morinehtar to life was remarkably interesting. I tried to think of various film and literary models, and I imagined him as the old Obi Wan "Ben" Kenobi from Star Wars. A person worthy of trust.
Seriously, I tried to rhyme that kind of vision ... I wish I had a competent English literature teacher, instead of a crazy hysteric who made me hate the subject. Perhaps by the time I do the story review, I will have acquired enough skills to be able to do so. However, I am satisfied with the result. I wish I could use a courtlier language for Vairë and Irmo but it would have been easier for me to write in Latin. But I am studying to improve :-)
As always, opinions and comments are always welcome!
Thank you all for the support you are giving me, for the messages and the discord chats for those who hang out on my creative writing server.
See you soon!