Disclaimer: I own nothing. Power Rangers belong to whoever they belong to
know. Elvish belongs to Tolkien or whoever his stuff is copyrighted to.
Author's Notes: I know, it's another slow chapter but it will pick up in the next one, I promise. Translations are at the end. This chapter has, probably, the largest amount of Elvish I'll be using for this whole story. And, as always, much thanks go to my dear beta, who is far better than any Elf, except for that hot one I want to...never mind. :-)
Chapter 4
If anyone had been out in the slaves' dingy courtyard, that was only there because sometimes the barracks over flowed and people had to sleep outside, they may have seen the figure stealing across the grounds. May have seen, for he was so swift and silent that he blended into the inky night as if he were nothing more than a shadow.
He moved with the night on his side, as if the very shadows bent to conceal him as he stole out of the slave quarters and to the courtyard reserved for the royals, heading toward a very old, very large tree. The first branch was higher than most could reach but the figure had no trouble springing into the welcoming branches.
It was an odd sight. No normal slave would risk getting caught and possibly tortured just to climb a tree.
But no one could claim Jason was a normal slave.
It was clear that once upon a time he had been so much more than what he had become. Everything about him, from his appearance to his mannerisms, stated firmly he was of an educated class if not noble birth. It baffled the slaves, for he always had an encouraging word for them, and angered the nobles, for he had a greater presence and bearing than any that resided in the court of Daemon. It was both a blessing and a burden for many held him on too high a pedestal and others did their best to knock him off it, to the dirt where they thought he belonged.
It was all very tiring for the man who now sat amid the branches, high in the elderly tree.
Jason let a sigh escape his lips as he gathered his tattered cloak close to him, more for the comforting feel of the fabric than the warmth it provided. At least he had this small sanctuary where he could escape to rid himself of the despair that tried to linger in his heart.
He lay back against the supportive tree branches that seemed to have formed a place to rest just for him. Most would say such a thing was absurd but most did not venture into tall trees when they needed to escape.
And most would not have heard the whispers that carried on the air as Jason lay back and rested his tired eyes.
"Elenmelda, cuilë kémimelda, haryasenda sín. Estel ná lá vanwa. Haryasérëlla mí mando mí olwa, undu isilmë ar slime. Narvarnalyë halda. Narvarnalyë." The words whispered through the branches on a wind that did not exist and pushed the leaves to caress Jason's back in a gentle, soothing motion.
"Axo yernanyë ar enda laiwa. istanyë lá man min. Merënyë mando ar senda aurë nan nut sina cólo. Estel ná qualin." Jason murmured, comforted by the embrace of the Earth.
The branches swayed in the wind that was not there, as if forming a protective shield around Jason to keep him safe from the ugly world he had to face, as if they thought a being of such light as him should not have to see such times. "Narlyë estel qualin. Alca selma lá vanwa holyë. Narlyë mando mas kémi. Narlyë kémimelda."
"Kémi antasendan." Jason's voice was soft and thick as he drifted to sleep, safe in the cradle of the branches.
"Sérëlla mí mando olwa." The whispers quieted as Jason slipped into dreams. A soft singing could be heard, used to sooth the troubled mind of the man who too often strayed into night terrors. "Sérëlla."
Jason would have to leave before the early light of the golden dawn rose to touch her fingers gently to his handsome face. In what seemed like another lifetime he had risen to meet the dawn, to embrace that moment when day began anew.
He would have to wait for the rebirth of Nóndil before he could feel such a moment again.
*****
"If you are not going to take this lesson seriously I may as well have you spar against a guard." Jason shook his head. He was knocking his young student to the ground far too easily today. He knew Thomas was better than the half rate effort he was putting forth. He had seen it before.
"That is all right by me." Thomas agreed, far too easily.
Jason's eyebrows raised in question. "It takes you weeks to learn enough to begin sparring with me for just a few minutes a day and today you wish to forsake this?"
"Yes." Thomas answered quietly.
"Why the sudden change of heart?" Jason questioned.
Thomas remained silent, his eyes focused intently on his shoes. Jason spoke again, "Why the change of heart or shall you run the length of the courtyard until your memory is jarred?"
"Your back..." Thomas looked uneasy. He knew he would not escape this and did not wish to collapse of exhaustion before having such a discussion. "What happened to it?"
Jason was not wearing a tunic. His tunics did not survive more than a few days and those that were not left where they had been discarded in what had become his cell were ripped and stained with blood. Sometimes the stains could be cut out so they could be fashioned into clothes for others but more often than not it was simply the unaffordable loss of a garment. Jason did not want to keep using the meagre supply of extra clothing his fellow slaves had managed to obtain.
Jason's face was a mask of indifferent stone when he answered. "What do you think, Thomas?"
"I do not know." Thomas replied, trying to shrug off the queasy feeling in his stomach.
Jason raised one eyebrow and then nodded slowly. "It is no matter. It does not hinder me." He suddenly stretched, the skin shifted and a few scabs cracked just a little, not enough to let new blood spill, just enough to make Thomas see many of the welts were fresh. "Face off; it is not wise to waste time."
"I do not wish to fight you while you are injured. It is not a fair fight." Thomas insisted. He hesitated, unsure of why such a thing mattered to him when facing off against his instructor, and then added, for the benefit of those who might be watching. "I would not have victory over you at half strength and cheat myself."
"It will not end so you have no choice." Jason told him. "I have already said it does not hinder me nor will it do so in the future."
"Why?" Thomas demanded, impatiently. "Where do these marks come from and how often do you receive them?"
Jason's gaze was hard and so cold Thomas could nearly feel a chill biting at him. "Your father's dungeons are very active, little prince, and every night the guards find sport there as they have since I first arrived here."
"You have been beaten repeatedly." Thomas summarized.
"Aye, and you would do well to remember that the first to give me a beating under the eaves of this palace was you." Jason remarked, as if he were correcting an error in Thomas' swordplay. "You knew of this before, you relished reminding me of what your father would do to me many times in the past."
A barely noticed blush tinged the prince's ears. He remembered that well, it had been the only time he had been able to land a blow on the slave who instructed him. He was also very well aware that his father had taken the slave to the dungeons many times after his lessons ended. Thomas knew what went on in those dungeons; he barely repressed a shudder thinking of it.
"Are you ready to begin again?" Jason questioned. He had seen the change in the prince, for a moment he had seen what was beyond Isorfir but Thomas was not ready to take the next step and reveal what lay beneath freely to him. Jason could do nothing more until he was and would not try to for it would do too much damage. He could wait.
"Yes." Thomas replied absently, his mind still mulling over what he had been forced to see.
"Good. Correct your stance." Jason instructed very nearly smiling as Thomas did as he said automatically. At least he was not so rebellious about being corrected.
Unfortunately Thomas remained distracted and Jason had him on the dirt floor more easily than he had all day. Jason sighed and shook his head before calling for a guard to take his place. "I cannot teach you if you cannot stay on your feet while sparring and as taking up arms against me is too much of a distraction another must do."
Jason's eyes shifted to where he knew Daemon was watching though the flicker of his gaze was not noticed by any. He knew he would be punished severely and that Thomas too would probably hear from his father. Jason trusted the boy's ability to talk his way out of it. He would receive a lecture at the worst, a prize for reminding Jason he was a beaten, filthy slave at best.
The next day Jason was clothed in a dingy tunic, a castaway from the guards' outfitters. Daemon smirked from the balcony he occasionally observed the lessons from as Thomas put all his skill into fighting the rebellious slave, his guilt fading when the wounds Jason bore were hidden from sight.
Translations:
"Elenmelda, cuilë kémimelda, haryasenda sín. Estel ná lá vanwa. Haryasérëlla mí mando mí olwa, undu isilmë ar slime. Narvarnalyë halda. Narvarnalyë.": Beloved of the stars, beloved of the living Earth, have peace now. Hope has not vanished. Have your rest in the safety in the branches, beneath the moonlight and the starlight. You are safe hidden. You are safe.
"Axo yernanyë ar enda laiwa. Istanyë lá man min. Merënyë mando ar senda aurë nan nut sina cólo. Estel ná qualin.": I am bone weary and heart sick. I know not what to do. I wish for the safety and peace of the forest but am tied to this burden. Hope is dying.
"Narlyë estel qualin. Alca selma lá vanwa holyë. Narlyë mando mas kémi. Narlyë kémimelda.": You are the dying hope. The light shall not fade from you. You are safe kept by the Earth. You are beloved of the Earth.
"Kémi antasendan.": The Earth gives me peace.
"Sérëlla mí mando olwa. Sérëlla.": Rest in the safekeeping of the branches. Rest.
Author's Notes: I know, it's another slow chapter but it will pick up in the next one, I promise. Translations are at the end. This chapter has, probably, the largest amount of Elvish I'll be using for this whole story. And, as always, much thanks go to my dear beta, who is far better than any Elf, except for that hot one I want to...never mind. :-)
Chapter 4
If anyone had been out in the slaves' dingy courtyard, that was only there because sometimes the barracks over flowed and people had to sleep outside, they may have seen the figure stealing across the grounds. May have seen, for he was so swift and silent that he blended into the inky night as if he were nothing more than a shadow.
He moved with the night on his side, as if the very shadows bent to conceal him as he stole out of the slave quarters and to the courtyard reserved for the royals, heading toward a very old, very large tree. The first branch was higher than most could reach but the figure had no trouble springing into the welcoming branches.
It was an odd sight. No normal slave would risk getting caught and possibly tortured just to climb a tree.
But no one could claim Jason was a normal slave.
It was clear that once upon a time he had been so much more than what he had become. Everything about him, from his appearance to his mannerisms, stated firmly he was of an educated class if not noble birth. It baffled the slaves, for he always had an encouraging word for them, and angered the nobles, for he had a greater presence and bearing than any that resided in the court of Daemon. It was both a blessing and a burden for many held him on too high a pedestal and others did their best to knock him off it, to the dirt where they thought he belonged.
It was all very tiring for the man who now sat amid the branches, high in the elderly tree.
Jason let a sigh escape his lips as he gathered his tattered cloak close to him, more for the comforting feel of the fabric than the warmth it provided. At least he had this small sanctuary where he could escape to rid himself of the despair that tried to linger in his heart.
He lay back against the supportive tree branches that seemed to have formed a place to rest just for him. Most would say such a thing was absurd but most did not venture into tall trees when they needed to escape.
And most would not have heard the whispers that carried on the air as Jason lay back and rested his tired eyes.
"Elenmelda, cuilë kémimelda, haryasenda sín. Estel ná lá vanwa. Haryasérëlla mí mando mí olwa, undu isilmë ar slime. Narvarnalyë halda. Narvarnalyë." The words whispered through the branches on a wind that did not exist and pushed the leaves to caress Jason's back in a gentle, soothing motion.
"Axo yernanyë ar enda laiwa. istanyë lá man min. Merënyë mando ar senda aurë nan nut sina cólo. Estel ná qualin." Jason murmured, comforted by the embrace of the Earth.
The branches swayed in the wind that was not there, as if forming a protective shield around Jason to keep him safe from the ugly world he had to face, as if they thought a being of such light as him should not have to see such times. "Narlyë estel qualin. Alca selma lá vanwa holyë. Narlyë mando mas kémi. Narlyë kémimelda."
"Kémi antasendan." Jason's voice was soft and thick as he drifted to sleep, safe in the cradle of the branches.
"Sérëlla mí mando olwa." The whispers quieted as Jason slipped into dreams. A soft singing could be heard, used to sooth the troubled mind of the man who too often strayed into night terrors. "Sérëlla."
Jason would have to leave before the early light of the golden dawn rose to touch her fingers gently to his handsome face. In what seemed like another lifetime he had risen to meet the dawn, to embrace that moment when day began anew.
He would have to wait for the rebirth of Nóndil before he could feel such a moment again.
*****
"If you are not going to take this lesson seriously I may as well have you spar against a guard." Jason shook his head. He was knocking his young student to the ground far too easily today. He knew Thomas was better than the half rate effort he was putting forth. He had seen it before.
"That is all right by me." Thomas agreed, far too easily.
Jason's eyebrows raised in question. "It takes you weeks to learn enough to begin sparring with me for just a few minutes a day and today you wish to forsake this?"
"Yes." Thomas answered quietly.
"Why the sudden change of heart?" Jason questioned.
Thomas remained silent, his eyes focused intently on his shoes. Jason spoke again, "Why the change of heart or shall you run the length of the courtyard until your memory is jarred?"
"Your back..." Thomas looked uneasy. He knew he would not escape this and did not wish to collapse of exhaustion before having such a discussion. "What happened to it?"
Jason was not wearing a tunic. His tunics did not survive more than a few days and those that were not left where they had been discarded in what had become his cell were ripped and stained with blood. Sometimes the stains could be cut out so they could be fashioned into clothes for others but more often than not it was simply the unaffordable loss of a garment. Jason did not want to keep using the meagre supply of extra clothing his fellow slaves had managed to obtain.
Jason's face was a mask of indifferent stone when he answered. "What do you think, Thomas?"
"I do not know." Thomas replied, trying to shrug off the queasy feeling in his stomach.
Jason raised one eyebrow and then nodded slowly. "It is no matter. It does not hinder me." He suddenly stretched, the skin shifted and a few scabs cracked just a little, not enough to let new blood spill, just enough to make Thomas see many of the welts were fresh. "Face off; it is not wise to waste time."
"I do not wish to fight you while you are injured. It is not a fair fight." Thomas insisted. He hesitated, unsure of why such a thing mattered to him when facing off against his instructor, and then added, for the benefit of those who might be watching. "I would not have victory over you at half strength and cheat myself."
"It will not end so you have no choice." Jason told him. "I have already said it does not hinder me nor will it do so in the future."
"Why?" Thomas demanded, impatiently. "Where do these marks come from and how often do you receive them?"
Jason's gaze was hard and so cold Thomas could nearly feel a chill biting at him. "Your father's dungeons are very active, little prince, and every night the guards find sport there as they have since I first arrived here."
"You have been beaten repeatedly." Thomas summarized.
"Aye, and you would do well to remember that the first to give me a beating under the eaves of this palace was you." Jason remarked, as if he were correcting an error in Thomas' swordplay. "You knew of this before, you relished reminding me of what your father would do to me many times in the past."
A barely noticed blush tinged the prince's ears. He remembered that well, it had been the only time he had been able to land a blow on the slave who instructed him. He was also very well aware that his father had taken the slave to the dungeons many times after his lessons ended. Thomas knew what went on in those dungeons; he barely repressed a shudder thinking of it.
"Are you ready to begin again?" Jason questioned. He had seen the change in the prince, for a moment he had seen what was beyond Isorfir but Thomas was not ready to take the next step and reveal what lay beneath freely to him. Jason could do nothing more until he was and would not try to for it would do too much damage. He could wait.
"Yes." Thomas replied absently, his mind still mulling over what he had been forced to see.
"Good. Correct your stance." Jason instructed very nearly smiling as Thomas did as he said automatically. At least he was not so rebellious about being corrected.
Unfortunately Thomas remained distracted and Jason had him on the dirt floor more easily than he had all day. Jason sighed and shook his head before calling for a guard to take his place. "I cannot teach you if you cannot stay on your feet while sparring and as taking up arms against me is too much of a distraction another must do."
Jason's eyes shifted to where he knew Daemon was watching though the flicker of his gaze was not noticed by any. He knew he would be punished severely and that Thomas too would probably hear from his father. Jason trusted the boy's ability to talk his way out of it. He would receive a lecture at the worst, a prize for reminding Jason he was a beaten, filthy slave at best.
The next day Jason was clothed in a dingy tunic, a castaway from the guards' outfitters. Daemon smirked from the balcony he occasionally observed the lessons from as Thomas put all his skill into fighting the rebellious slave, his guilt fading when the wounds Jason bore were hidden from sight.
Translations:
"Elenmelda, cuilë kémimelda, haryasenda sín. Estel ná lá vanwa. Haryasérëlla mí mando mí olwa, undu isilmë ar slime. Narvarnalyë halda. Narvarnalyë.": Beloved of the stars, beloved of the living Earth, have peace now. Hope has not vanished. Have your rest in the safety in the branches, beneath the moonlight and the starlight. You are safe hidden. You are safe.
"Axo yernanyë ar enda laiwa. Istanyë lá man min. Merënyë mando ar senda aurë nan nut sina cólo. Estel ná qualin.": I am bone weary and heart sick. I know not what to do. I wish for the safety and peace of the forest but am tied to this burden. Hope is dying.
"Narlyë estel qualin. Alca selma lá vanwa holyë. Narlyë mando mas kémi. Narlyë kémimelda.": You are the dying hope. The light shall not fade from you. You are safe kept by the Earth. You are beloved of the Earth.
"Kémi antasendan.": The Earth gives me peace.
"Sérëlla mí mando olwa. Sérëlla.": Rest in the safekeeping of the branches. Rest.