(Part II)
SCENE IV.i
Gower:
--Truth, bereft of mask and veil,
doth not ever show most fair; to eyes
deceivéd, or by darkness or disguise
rare, when concealments doth fail
the unhid that which is well may seem
as must be, would be, but troubling dream--
[The Hall]
[Finarfin enters and leans heavily against the
arch of the door, covering his face
with his hands. Beren notices and gets up from
the game quickly without saying
anything, before any of the others can ask him
why, and hurries over to him -- two
of the Ten rise and follow him at a cautious
distance]
Beren:
Sir . . . don't blame
yourself, it really doesn't help--
[Finarfin turns, startled, and sees him, just
as Beren is about to try to take
him by shoulder]
Oh! I thought! -- I mistook you for him -- I don't see very well here--
[the Noldor Elf stares at him, at first bewildered,
then taking in the differences,
and making the deductive leap]
Finarfin:
--Thou? -- it is --
needs
must be--
[Beren drops instantly to one knee, bowing his head]
Beren: [stammering worse]
My lord -- I--
Finarfin: [tightly]
So thou also art of
the party that refuses to acknowledge, and yet proffrest
respect -- and mockery
-- in one.
[Beren looks up, confused]
Beren:
Sorry?
[Finarfin recognizes his complete ignorance of the situation]
Finarfin:
No matter. I comprehend
it better now -- to my bitterest regret.
Beren:
I'm sorry, Sir, but
-- I don't understand.
Finarfin: [as if talking to himself as much as Beren]
When word came that
my eldest sibling was slain, it did come so close upon
all the other ills of
the time, that it seemed but part of the same, and
fitting end to such
meteoric journey. And when our middle brother perished,
and my sons were slain
in that great War of theirs, the horror of it and
the grief was made a
little less impossible to bear, for the glory of
Fingolfin's deed, and
the great valour of their defense -- they to stand
by their adopted people,
him
-- to strike at the Dark King himself and
wound him with his own
hand no less, though but an Elf, as though he might
have been a lesser Power,
and the gods themselves did him honour for his
deed, that weighed against
the wrongs of his working.
[he shakes his head]
And then it came but
a short whiles after, the news of mine eldest's fall,
or that which I believed
to be the whole and sum of it, and it seemed but
pitiable and grotesque
by compare, to be taken and slain but by a lesser
Power, and in confusion
and stealth, as a prisoner, not in open battle nor
for his own name's sake
-- a foolish end to a path of folly. --Thou dost
look froward at my words.
Beren: [terse]
I would have died if
not for him.
Finarfin:
And yet thou art dead
nonetheless, and what in end achieved? One year or one
yen, what is either
set against my son's life?
[Beren says nothing]
Thou wert with him for the whiles.
Beren: [in a whisper]
Yes, my lord.
Finarfin:
Thy lady -- Stand up
and let me see thee plain.
[Beren obeys -- Finarfin shakes his head]
Thy lady --
[he breaks off again]
--Where is my son, since by thy words I guess he is not here?
Beren:
No idea, sir.
Finarfin: [aside]
I would both converse
with him, and would not ken the least what word should
say to him.
[to Beren:]
--Thy lady spake at no small length concerning his ordeal, and theirs, and thine.
[pause]
Beren:
Tinuviel -- found us.
It wasn't easy for her.
Finarfin:
--Dost say she overshoots,
and thus doth miss the mark of truth?
[pause]
Beren:
Probably not.
[awkward silence -- into which a snatch of a
rather inappropriate mortal song and
laughter is heard from the vicinity of the fountain:
". . . all over the town--
Our bread it is white
and our ale it is brown--
Our bowl it is made
of the white maple tree . . ."]
Finarfin: [knowingly]
And hence this dull
and gloomsome place doth seem small burden -- mad though
that seemeth to all
else -- after what hath passed, to them.
Beren:
--Us.
Finarfin:
Thou wouldst still claim
place with my son?
Beren:
Would or wouldn't,
doesn't matter. We were there.
Finarfin:
And hence -- ye
-- will not forsake him. That much now I do comprehend.
[shaking his head]
That such things be done
-- be thought of --! I had not dreamt -- that his
death should be of such
a fashion as to make that which transpired at the
Havens seem nigh civilized,
nay, --glorious--
[his lip curls at the word]
--never that it was not quick, nor of the least dignified . . .
Beren: [most definitely not conciliatory tone]
Why did you think it
was? Because things like that just don't happen to good
folks? --Or people you
know? You think there's some kind of rule that no one
you care about can get
killed and eaten by monsters? --Or because you'd rather
not think about those
kind of things?
[Finarfin clenches his hand, giving Beren a ferocious
glare -- Beren gives it right
back to him.]
Finarfin:
Aye.
[breathing hard]
And to my lasting shame
-- I had in my grief yet some satisfaction, that
being flouted and set
down by him in sight of all our people, I should be
proven right in end,
and have some vindication, in the fulfillment of the
words of Doom.
[his control breaks and he breaks down for a
moment, leaning back against the
pillar, sobbing, before pulling himself together
a little and wiping his eyes
on his hand. Beren's expression changes to reluctant
sympathy.]
--How couldst mistake
me for him? Is flesh so light a thing, that mattereth
not to thee?
Beren: [very different tone again]
Because what I see --
is mostly light, from a distance. Close to -- yeah.
And you -- have a shadow.
[Finarfin wipes his eyes again, forcibly getting control over his emotions]
Sir -- would you care
to -- that fountain, it's real, not just an illusion,
you -- you could wash
up, have a drink there -- if you wanted--
Finarfin: [changing the subject]
How is it that we are
comprehensible to one another? For I think thy people
would not have the same
speech as ours.
Beren: [struggling]
Uh -- because of thoughts?
Partly? Because we did speak Elvish, only it
wasn't the way you speak
it here. Only some of the words were close. That's
what he told me.
Finarfin:
Thoughts?
Beren: [giving up]
The King would be able
to explain it better.
Finarfin: [coolly]
Which king? Four
kings of the Eldar are in this place.
Beren:
I meant -- your son,
Sir.
Finarfin:
I have four sons, three
of whom are here.
Beren: [desperately]
--Finrod, my lord.
Finarfin:
Thou dost babble like
to an infant scarce past walking.
Beren: [glum]
I'm not always this
bad at it. --Sometimes worse.
Finarfin:
How old art thou?
Beren:
Somewhere going on thirty.
Ah, years -- the ones with four seasons, not the
ones that are twelve-twelvemonths
-- I don't know how long I've been dead
now -- or does that
even count . . . ?
[winces]
Finarfin:
And yet thou'dst think
to counsel my eldest child, whose years thou hast not
one twenty-fourth part
yet seen -- wherefore?
Beren:
Because he's my friend.
Finarfin:
Thou deemst self worthy
to name thyself friend to my son?
Beren:
I don't -- but he
does. And if he calls me that, how can I not call him the
same back? Wouldn't
make sense.
[pause. Finarfin just looks at him, bleakly]
Are -- are you sure -- you wouldn't like to -- the water, over there?
Finarfin:
Such a multitude is
more than my spirit can bear at this hour.
Beren: [heartfelt]
I understand.
[looks away -- sudden inspiration]
The little hill over
there, -- that's real, and we didn't make it, a goddess
did -- if you wanted
some privacy -- the roses are getting a little out of
control, but that's
only on the one side--
[pause]
Finarfin:
And dost thou own this
place, to deal as thou wert host here, and never
guest uninvited?
Beren:
She offered us -- Tinuviel
and me -- the use of it -- Nessa, it was -- so I'm
sure it's all right
if I offered you my place -- unless you know she would
mind you doing that
for some other reason--
[he fumbles to a stop while Finarfin just looks at him again. A longish pause]
Finarfin:
I shall do that, then,
and sit upon the grass, and think -- upon the deaths
of kings . . .
Beren: [hesitant]
Sir -- what did you
mean,
four kings? I only know -- there's Finrod, and the
High King, his uncle,
-- uh, your brother -- I'm sorry about that -- and . . .
Oh. Your father.
[brief pause]
That's still three.
Finarfin: [precisely]
In the outside world,
among the living, the three tribes of the Eldar also
hath each their king.
There is Ingwe, who is lord over the Vanyar, and High
King of us all in holy
Valmar. There is Olwe, that is -- thy -- wife's --
uncle, and ruleth over
the Teleri in Alqualonde. And of the Noldor, the
headship hath fallen
by default upon -- myself.
[Beren drops to one knee again.]
Beren:
Your Majesty.
Finarfin: [tired]
Do not mock me, Aftercomer.
Beren: [getting more and more tongue-tied]
S--Sire, why -- would
I mock you? I -- never got -- to go to court, and
learn the -- the ways
of the High Elven court, but -- I was too young, and
the Battle, and the
invasion and you don't want to hear about that -- I
always -- we
always, it wasn't like it was me, on my own -- honored you.
Finarfin: [acerbic]
Before we met, at the
least.
Beren: [shaking his head]
--You understand about
that.
[Finarfin nods, reluctantly]
It meant a tremendous
deal to Da that the ring had belonged to you as well
as the Ki--
Finrod.
You were one of the good guys in our stories. We were
proud to be fighting
for the House of Finarfin.
Finarfin:
--My ring? Stories?
Beren: [desperately]
Your son gave my father
his ring. To us. Our House. --And the stories. But
those were earlier.
A lot.
[pause]
Finarfin:
Thy thought is as the
several links of a broken chain, mortal -- both
disordered and impaired
it seemeth.
Beren:
I'm sorry, sir.
[winces]
--Your Majesty.
Finarfin:
Peace.
[grimaces. Aside:]
What doth he see in thee, or in thy folk?
Beren: [shaking his head]
I don't know.
Finarfin:
I spake not to thee.
Beren:
It's hard to hide the
truth here, Sir. --I know you'd like to hit me -- and
I understand why.
Finarfin: [abruptly]
Thou didst speak of
my signet. Hast it, then?
[Beren reflexively moves as if to take it off,
remembers, laughs bitterly and
holds up his hand for the other's inspection.
Finarfin in turn reflexively
reaches forward to touch it, but their hands
pass through each other as though
neither had substance. The Elf-king stifles
a sob.]
Beren: [whispering]
You loved him best .
. .
Finarfin: [shaking his head]
I ever strove -- not
to remake my own father's error -- and in the Song
I truly believe that
I neither set one child above the rest, nor each at
rivalry to another .
. .
[looking off in a reverie]
. . . yet did their mother
from the first declare . . . that surely I gave
equal of strength and
spirit to his forging, no less than she . . . for ever
our thought and heart
were as one, so that he might finish whate'er I did
begin, of hand's work
or of speech, and his joy was ever my healing, when the
strife of my elders
was a weariness and a chill upon my soul . . . and never
were we wroth with one
another . . . saving once only. --And now the hand I
did close in mine to
teach the shaping stroke of burin, and laughed to see
grown to match mine
own, is cold as the clay that devours it -- but no colder
than his soul to me
-- aye, as the winds off Helcaraxe . . . and that is
hardest hurt of all,
and all of my doing, and naught of thine.
Beren: [softly]
Sir, he spoke to me
of that -- to regret that parting -- and to claim part
of the responsibility--
[Finarfin turns a quelling stare on him and he is silent]
Finarfin:
Not merely to counsel,
but to console, thou didst endeavor -- because he
is thy friend.
[Beren nods, mutely]
--Would there were one that might serve me in such wise--!
[he walks off towards the hill; Beren rises and
turns back towards the falls.
His two watchers move to meet him and put their
arms over his shoulders as all
three return to the group.]
Warrior: [anxious]
What was that about?
Beren:
He didn't know.
Or -- he didn't understand.
Youngest Ranger: [fiercely]
--He can't.
Beren: [regretful]
I think he knows that
now . . .
[Returning to the chess-game, he still gives
a worried look over to where
Finarfin is seated with his chin resting on
his forearms, staring into the
middle distance.]
[Elsewhere: the council chamber]
[Luthien who has again taken the floor, stands
paused in mid gesture, tearful,
distraught, and indomitably stubborn.]
Nerdanel: [amazed]
He gave up a Silmaril
for
thee? Child, never let him go!
[Luthien stares at her, wary, not expecting anyone
to be on her side any more,
and thinking this has to be mockery -- the others
present exchange dismayed looks:
this is not working well at all.]
[Elsewhere: a wide columned space of indeterminate size, very dim, fading into
shadows on all sides. Finrod is standing alone (apparently) in the middle of it,
in a listening attitude]
Finrod:
I know this is an imposition,
and I'm awfully sorry. But I do need help,
and you do have leverage
that I haven't. If you'll just let me explain,
and then decide whether
or not it's worth your while, I will be deeply in
your debt . . . because
I feel quite certain that once you hear the story,
you'll be only too willing
to lend your assistance.
[pause]
And I know I'm being
impossibly presumptuous, but at least I'm honest about
it. And you can always
send me away afterwards if I'm wrong.
[silence -- the darkness starts to acquire a
texture in front of him, with a very
elegant, rather ornate but quite delicate carven
archway in the middle of a ghostly
wall, slowly becoming visible. (In the old days
such an illusion would be worked
with scrims and lighting, and mirrors, instead
of computer effects.) Finrod bows.]
Thank you, cousin.
[he enters the gate which stands invitingly open,
and which closes behind him,
the entryway fading into the greyness once again.]
[The Hall]
[Beside the fountain-basin: Beren and the Youngest
Ranger are back to playing
tafl; the rest of the Ten are scattered around
apparently randomly, passing
the flask and talking, or working on the waterfall
-- but a trained eye would
recognize how easily they could pull into a
defensive formation should the need
arise. At the moment the frieze behind is getting
a high-relief sculpture of
trees as a screen in front of the geometric
Noldorin-style bas-relief surround,
and the two artists working on the project are
arguing hotly about it.]
Soldier: [defensive]
But hemlocks are bilateral.
This is a completely accurate depiction of
their schema.
Ranger:
But it doesn't look
real!
[The Captain enters, Nienna's Apprentice in tow.
The latter does a startled
double-take on seeing what has happened to the
fountain -- the Captain looks
critically at the progress on it.]
Soldier:
I know! But why?
Third Guard: [breaking in]
Look -- you're not randomizing
and that's why they look like a line of cirth
instead of a forest.
You've got to vary the groupings by factors of--
Captain: [to the chessplayers]
--What are those three
going on about?
Beren: [shrugs]
I think they're
arguing about aesthetics and symmetry in nature. It could be
they're just talking
about trees. "Algorithms" never used to be part of my
everyday vocabulary.
Captain: [innocent]
And it is now?
[they both grin]
So, nothing I need to worry about or get involved in.
Youngest Ranger:
No, sir. --Not yet at
least.
Captain: [to the arguing Elves, offhand]
Lady Vaire's going to
have conniptions when she sees all that, you know.
Ranger:
We'll put it all back
the way it was after, sir.
Apprentice: [still piqued]
--"Conniptions?" What
is a conniption?
Ranger:
Conniptions --
it's always plural.
Apprentice:
What sort of a word
is that?
Captain:
You'll have to ask Beren
-- it's one of his.
Beren:
It's Taliska, sir. It
means, um, getting really annoyed and losing your temper.
With a lot of noise
and so forth.
Apprentice:
Then why not just say
so?
Beren:
Dunno. "Conniptions"
is shorter?
Apprentice:
Not that much
shorter.
Beren: [shrugs]
I guess we just liked
the way it sounded. It's one of those old words that
everybody kept using.
And it's not just ordinary getting-angry. It's, you
know, when you . . .
say, find the little kids playing sword fights with
your best skinning knives
because sparks come off real metal and you don't
whether to yell at them
for doing something so incredibly dumb because it's
dangerous or because
there's three hours worth of sharpening to do now to
get all the nicks out.
Apprentice: [frowning]
I . . . suppose I can
see what you're getting at.
Beren:
Or like when you tell
your brother and your younger cousin that the adults
don't care if they jump
on the smokehouse roof because you're angry at them
for telling about the
hole in the big kettle and all the hams fall down and
all of you get
screamed at because you should have known better than to
believe him any more
than he shouldn't have said it.
[pause]
Apprentice:
Ah.
Captain:
Or, for example, Morgoth,
after discovering that someone's nicked a Silmaril
off his crown.
Beren: [straight-faced]
No, none of my elders
ever set the hearth-guard on us, not even when we
accidentally ruined
some of the laundry testing to see if wet fabric really
was fireproof.
Captain:
Perhaps more like Feanor
discovering that someone had invited his siblings
to dinner and hadn't
bothered this time to give him the opportunity to turn
the invitation down?
--Though I only heard about that at second-hand, so I
can't vouchsafe that
it would
quite fit the definition.
Apprentice: [dry]
I do begin to get the
picture.
[to Huan]
--What are you about?
[Huan only grins and wags his tail -- it's perfectly
obvious that he's in dog
Elysium, lying down having lots of different
people to pet him]
Captain:
Well, run along -- go
find out something useful and report back here when
you have.
Apprentice:
You're enjoying this,
aren't you?
Captain: [smiling]
Clever, aren't you?
[shaking his head, Nienna's Apprentice goes off.
The Captain lounges on the rocks
next to where they have set up their game, watching.]
Ranger:
What happened to Lord
Edrahil, sir?
Captain:
We lost him to chess
again.
[his subordinates shake their heads knowingly. Beren gives them all questioning looks]
Fingolfin's an absolute
fiend for the game and not too many are good enough to
give him a decent match.
Those who are tend to be rather . . . wary of being
conscripted, these days.
Princess Aredhel saw an opening and bolted, and in the
interest of winning
the High King to our side he stepped into the gap. --Not
that it would take much
prompting in any case. Since he's also too proud to
lose quickly and get
it over with, it could be quite a while.
Youngest Ranger: [gesturing to the tafl setup]
Speaking of chess --
do you want to play, sir?
Captain:
And see how fast he
can break his record for trouncing me? No, I'll just enjoy
the calm until the next
crisis hits. Who's winning?
Youngest Ranger:
We are. Beren's won
four, and I've won four.
Beren: [frowning]
See, I would have said
"nobody." But you're right, we're both winning. It's
funny -- same situation,
two totally different ways of looking at it.
Captain: [bland]
You know, that's practically
profound.
Beren:
I thought you liked
kingstone, sir.
Captain:
Oh, as a diversion
it's all right. But it isn't my preferred diversion, if
others are to be had.
Like watching ice form, for one.
[pause]
Beren:
Oh. --That boring, huh?
Captain:
Ice crystals are quite
fascinating, the way they sheet over a pond.
Beren:
Yeah, but you usually
watch stuff like that when you're waiting for something
to actually happen.
[without looking up from the board]
Run into House Feanor on your mission, sir?
[pause]
Captain:
Ah -- no.
Beren:
You didn't ask me why
I asked that.
[silence]
You're favoring your arm, too. What happened?
Captain:
. . .
Beren:
All right, that means
that the reason for it was something about me.
[everyone now watching with interest -- the Captain
looks away, with an expression
of self-directed exasperation]
But it wasn't the Feanorians. Huh. --Was it that guy who came in with you?
Captain:
Beren--
Beren:
'Cause Huan likes him.
He was the one who brought Amarie in here. And I think
he's the same one who
brought us over here from wherever I was at the beginning,
only I'm not sure because
everything was really hazy then. If it was him, there
was something besides,
or else I don't think Huan would still be happy to see
him, if he was trying
to hurt you.
[pause]
I don't think he's really an Elf, either.
[those around him share looks]
Captain:
Why would you think
that, now?
Beren: [shrugging]
Doesn't look the same
as Amarie. Something about the -- not color, but something
like that -- of the
light. Like the difference between a real piece of rock-
crystal and a piece
of glass, kind of. I remember once there was a case my uncle
had to try, where there
was a foreign merchant who sold a brooch to somebody in
Drun that turned out
not to be real -- it was real, but not what it was supposed
to be, see -- So anyway
the barbarian guy claimed he'd been cheated in turn and
gave back the money,
but my uncle kept the brooch to keep him honest after and
paid him for the price
of the tin and the glass, which wasn't much. He showed
it to us after they
got back, and the funny thing was, it looked the same --
I mean, it looked right,
you'd say, oh, that's gold and gems, all right --
until my aunt put hers,
that came from here--
[he stops for a second, and closes his eyes]
--came from Nargothrond
and was actually made of gold and crystal, not just
a thin -- wash?
right? -- over the cheap metal. And then when you had the one
that was solid and the
fake one side by side, you'd never think that they were
the same thing at all.
Only this is more like the difference between a little
bit of light coming
from a coal, and a little bit of light coming from a candle
in a lamp that's mostly
closed. One of them still has more light -- only you
can't see it.
[long silence -- the Ten look meaningfully at each other.]
Captain:
Very interesting. --As
it so happens, you're right. --But he'd be much obliged
if you didn't mention
it.
Beren:
Okay.
[he moves a piece on the board and takes two pawns]
Your move.
[looking up]
Is that good enough?
[the Captain nods]
Captain:
No more oaths. I trust
you.
Beren:
Thank you.
[pause]
I don't know what you
guys think you're doing, let alone whether it will
work , but -- thank
you.
Second Guard:
I wonder how it is that
you
can tell? None of us could be quite sure.
[Beren shrugs again -- the Captain laughs not unkindly]
Captain:
Perhaps any Man's ghost
might, or perhaps . . . only one who's touched a
Silmaril, or is married
to an Elf, or has passed through Melian's labyrinth,
or been healed by a
deity's child, or . . . so many possibilities, and no way
at all to put them to
the proof. Normal rules don't seem to apply to Beren
any more than to Huan
here.
[Huan, hearing his name, looks over and thumps his tail]
That reminds me--
[frowning]
You kept saying something
odd, but I didn't want to interrupt you any more --
you kept on saying,
or seeming to say, that Huan said things. Now I presumed
I was misunderstanding
-- surely you meant that Luthien was with Huan when she
berated you -- not that
the two of them took you to task for running away.
Beren:
That's right.
Captain:
Beren.
Beren:
Uh, that's right, Huan
was yelling at me too.
[realizing that this is getting him some very strange looks]
What? He can talk.
Warrior:
Well, to animals,
of course. We've seen him speak with other kelvar, not
just the pack, but --
speak?
Like us?
Beren:
Yeah.
[at their expressions]
I'm not joking. Or crazy.
He doesn't do it very often. But you can ask
Tinuviel, she was there
too.
[everyone looks at Huan, who grins happily and
whines for more attention, waving
a forepaw where he's lying down]
Warrior: [smiling uncertainly, not sure if it's a joke, still]
So . . . what does he
say?
Beren: [shrugging]
Different things. He
told her what to do in Nargothrond, and he told me to
stop being an unthinking
idiot and what we had to do to get into Angband
that might work. And
. . .
[he gets quieter, looking into Huan's eyes]
. . . he . . . told me
good-bye, that this was the fate he'd Foreseen us meeting
maybe, and he was sorry
he hadn't been able to save me, and that we'd meet again,
and not to be afraid
. . . and he called me brother.
[very subdued, they look at the Hound, and at Beren, and at each other.]
Captain: [very softly]
You said he sent
the Eagles to you.
[Beren nods]
I think . . . perhaps friend Huan is lord of far more than dogs.
[into the awed, no longer doubting silence, Huan
makes a short, sharp, "don't
stare at me!" bark and elbows closer until he
can jam his head under the Captain's
arm for a hug before stretching up into a half-crouch
-- then grabbing at the
nearest Guard's trailing scabbard and worrying
it playfully like a stick]
Fourth Guard: [dragged half-sideways]
Hey!
[Beren slaps at Huan's forepaw, making him settle down]
Beren:
Definitely more
-- but still Lord of Dogs.
[the Captain laughs, and then suddenly freezes, shaking his head]
Captain: [carefully not looking over at Finarfin on the hill]
And now I win
the distraction prize. I do hope you lot are aware that his
Majesty's father is
in the vicinity?
Youngest Ranger:
It's all right, sir
-- they already had it out, and Beren told him off. We
didn't even have to
intervene.
Beren: [sighing]
For the last time --
I didn't tell him off.
Captain:
Oh, I doubt it.
Beren:
Doubt what?
Captain:
That that was the last
time. So what is it? --Damn. I really don't need this
right now.
Beren:
I don't think he's going
to hassle you again, Sir. I guess they only got the
really short version
in Tirion. He assumed it was different from the way it
really happened and
then Tinuviel told about it in more detail and he realized
it was different from
what he had imagined had happened to us and he's really
upset.
[pause]
He might come
apologize, given how much he and Finrod have in common, unless
maybe he'd think it
would be too rude to bring it up to you.
[several people glance over at Finarfin in the distance]
Captain: [not sounding at all enthusiastic]
Perhaps I should go
over and talk to him, then . . .
Beren: [shrugs]
He doesn't really want
to talk to anybody right now, except maybe Finrod, but
he doesn't really want
to talk to him either . . . okay, I guess I did kind
of tell him off. --But
I wasn't as tough on him as he was on himself.
Captain: [running his hands over his face]
No, I don't imagine
that you were. Oh Lady -- more complications for Himself
to deal with. What'll
be next, I wonder?
First Guard: [looking over at the empty doorway]
Ware!
Beren:
Sir, you know you're
never supposed to ask that.
[enter two Noldor shades, elegantly outfitted
and armed -- James Purefoy
(Mansfield Park, A Knight's Tale)
and Ben Browder (as "Captain Larraq," Farscape)
might portray them -- wearing expressions both
sardonic and disdainful. Next
to them, Finrod's people suddenly look a lot
scruffier and more motley; Huan
straightens up a bit and whines, but does not
get up or make any other sound.]
Captain: [snorting]
It would be him.
And he's learned to bring a second. Damn, damn, damn. Beren--
Beren:
--I know, stay out of
the way.
Captain:
Actually, I was going
to say, use your discretion. That's the former Lord
Seneschal of Formenos,
who learned the hard way that ambushing an ambush of
Balrogs is a bad idea,
and making fun of King Finrod an even worse one --
and his counterpart
from Aglon, who didn't make it to Nargothrond during the
Bragollach. They're
likely to say absolutely anything and do whatever they
think they can get away
with. I'm planning on letting someone else deal with
any necessary violence
myself right now.
Beren:
Sounds like a good plan
to me.
[the Feanorian lords stop a short ways off (ie, a safe distance) and address each other:]
Lord Seneschal of Formenos: [loudly]
What an impossible place
this is -- if it weren't enough that the facilities
should be dismal and
the amenities nonexistent, the service too must be a bad
joke on top of it all!
Things were much better managed under my control at
Formenos.
Lord Warden of Aglon:
Even in the barbarous
circumstances of the Old Country we did better than
this. --Of course, the
company
at Aglon was far preferable as well.
Formenos:
That . . . would
not
be difficult to accomplish, I think. Saving yourself,
of course.
Aglon: [graciously]
Likewise. --Stars above,
what have we here . . . ?
[their attempts to suddenly "notice" the others
lose some of the effect as the
affectation of surprise is overtaken by the
real thing at the realization of the
scope of the project which has taken over most
of the back wall by now. The Lord
Warden of Aglon rallies valiantly, though:]
I'm afraid that I can't
approve of the results of such economizing efforts.
Charity projects given
to students never equal work created by fully-trained
and reimbursed professionals.
Formenos: [sniffing disdainfully]
Do you think that's
it?
Aglon:
Well, I can't see anyone
paying for that, can you? --At least, I would most
certainly hope
that they're not.
Formenos:
Oh, I don't know --
I've had grave doubts about the aesthetic sensibilities
of our lords and masters
ever since I asked the Earthqueen about those bizarre
little animals with
the horns and she replied, and I quote, "But they're so
adorable, in a homely
little way." It's one thing to say that they serve a
useful purpose in irrigating
impacted root systems in grasslands, but to claim
to find them "perfectly
charming" argues a blindness born of partiality.
Aglon:
Which kelvar were those?
The ruel?
Formenos:
No -- though I agree,
they also seem badly-constructed and unnecessary to me.
If you want a goat,
why not make a goat? and if a deer, well, we already have
various sorts of deer.
How many of these betwixt-and-between herbivores does
Arda need? I was speaking
of those middling grey animals, something like a
cross between hounds
and swine, with spiked snouts -- I've no idea what they
are, since she
only asked me -- with what, in my opinion, was most unseemly
levity -- what I
wanted to call them. I understand, however, that they are
remarkably docile and
requiring of attention, which may explain the attraction
somewhat.
[various of their targets swallow grins]
Still, I find it difficult
that that even the Powers would want this mess --
though equally, I can't
believe they'd let anyone make such a chaotic construct
in their offices were
it not by design.
[Huan makes a plaintive grumble -- the Lord Warden
of Aglon scowls at him, and he
puts his head down on his forepaws for the moment,
unhappy at the conflict, but
not ashamed of his decisions.]
Captain: [genial]
This is "let" as in
"not worth one's time or trouble to make us desist or
undo, for the present,"
not "let" in the sense of "certainly, do whatever
you please." Rather
like Lady Yavanna letting Feanor make the Silmarils,
as a matter of fact.
We didn't ask permission to be back here, or the rest
of it, any more than
you've done.
Aglon: [coldly]
They seem to let you
get away with an awful lot.
Captain:
You haven't figured
it out yet, have you?
[as they haven't gotten this cryptic remark either,
the Feanorians ignore him
-- the Lord Seneschal of Formenos scrutinizes
the mural with a critical eye,
while his junior associate strolls over to frown
upon Beren.]
Aglon:
So you really have got
an illegal mortal back here as well.
Beren:
Is it my move or yours?
Youngest Ranger:
Er -- yours.
Aglon:
Mortal!
Beren: [looking up]
What? The name is Beren,
by the way, since you didn't ask. Seems kind of
silly bothering about
titles now, but there used to be a "Lord" in front
and "of Dorthonion"
after, too.
Aglon:
Do you presume to ignore
me, Usurper?
Beren: [sighing]
--This again? What is
it with you people? Were you even talking to me before?
'Cause it didn't sound
like it.
Aglon:
Stand up when
your superiors address you.
Beren: [calling over]
Were they ever
in our chain of command?
[the Captain shakes his head]
Sorry. We're busy.
[the Lord Warden of Aglon steps forward and disarranges
the pieces with his foot;
the players exchange disgusted looks]
Aglon: [pleasantly]
Again, I repeat my request.
--Stand up when I speak to you.
Fourth Guard: [undertone]
Not what I call
a request. And they complain about the language changing
over there!
Beren: [tolerantly]
You know, I'd learned
not to do stuff like that by the time I was eight.
Of course, getting walloped,
or extra chores, and having to apologize is
a good incentive to
mind your manners and actually think before acting
on impulse.
[the Youngest Ranger starts putting the game back together, not saying a word]
Aglon: [looking down with folded arms]
You've an insolent mouth
for one here but on sufferance, human lawbreaker.
Beren: [nods]
Horse thief, dog thief,
jewel thief, breaking and entering, infiltration,
sabotage, assassination
attempts, you name it. I've got kings, warlords,
demigods, princes, armies
and now gods upset at me, so you're going to have
to wait your turn. --Though
some of those do overlap. --Your former bosses
must be pretty steamed
over the fact that I succeeded where they didn't even
have the nerve to try
-- I imagine that must take some of the satisfaction
out of his curse coming
true for Celegorm. And if even half the story's
gotten around by now,
people have to be looking pretty strangely at Curufin
for trying to kill the
one person who actually succeeded in defeating Morgoth
in a duel.
Aglon:
You! What claim is this,
braggart? You, defeat the Lord of Fetters?
Beren: [shaking his head]
Not me -- my wife. The
King's daughter of Doriath. I just chipped off the
Silmaril after she was
done. --Which is still more than any of you guys ever
accomplished.
[the Warden of Aglon goes to kick Beren over
where he is sitting -- which proves
inadvisable, as the Sindarin Ranger quietly
slams a fist -- with chessman -- into
his supporting knee, knocking him painfully
flat and following by leaping on him
before he can recover, yanking his arm up behind
his back and setting the point
of a realistically-remembered dagger to the
back of his neck. As his senior
associate moves to assist him the Captain extends
his uninjured leg, tripping him,
upon which the nearest of the Ten efficiently
subdue and disarm him as well,
more-or-less assisted by Huan, who has bounded
exuberantly in over the gameboard.]
Formenos: [almost speechless with fury]
You -- dishonorable
ruffians--
Captain:
I beg your pardon? Beren
wasn't doing anything to you -- to say nothing of
the rest of us.
Formenos:
Setting upon us with
guile and greater numbers--!
Captain:
I don't understand.
Aglon: [snarling in pain]
You outnumber us, idiot!
Captain: [puzzled frown]
Er -- yes, surely you'd
noticed that already? That's usually the way it is.
Formenos:
But -- you --
Captain:
Changed the rules. It
happens, in war. I should think he'd be aware of it,
even if you didn't live
long enough to learn that lesson.
[getting up, looking casual but in fact being careful, points to the door]
Bring them along, this is getting boring.
[his subordinates do so, with a little more enthusiasm than necessary.]
Aglon: [shouting as they drag him along]
The Weaver will hear
of this!
Youngest Ranger: [patiently, still holding him up at knifepoint]
Yes, milord. I'm sure
she will, if she hasn't heard you already.
[over on the hill, Finarfin is jarred out of
his introspection by the ruckus,
and stares over through the shadows at the fray]
Formenos: [ice]
I will bring my complaints
to the Lord of the Halls himself, and your lord
will be answerable for
your behaviour.
Captain:
Can you be sure to do
it while we're around? I want to hear what his Lordship
has to say after hearing
you complain.
Warrior:
I'll wager the buckle
with lions on it that I used to have that he'll ask,
"Why are you wasting
my time with this?"
Captain:
Hm, no, I think it'll
be, "You should be grateful you got off as lightly as
you did, since you won't
the next time you try kicking one of their friends
in the face." --Pitch
'em out.
[the Nargothronders expel their rivals out into
the corridor, where the two other
Noldor shades pick themselves up and after a
moment's temptation, consider the
advisability and limp off, their expressions
boding no good. As the victorious
party returns to their companions, Finarfin
catches the eye of the Captain and
beckons him over to the hill; after a moment's
hesitation the latter obeys the
summons. As Beren's opponent kneels down and
finishes restoring their match:]
Beren: [undertone]
Is he going to be okay?
Youngest Ranger: [whispering]
He's too swarn
to give in for anything that would in life heal of its own.
He'd rather just put
up with it until he can forget about it. Mind over mind,
I guess you'd call it.
Beren:
Does it hurt, to . .
. disappear?
Youngest Ranger:
No. A little bit disorienting,
that's all. It's just a matter of honour not
to give anything he
isn't prepared to take.
Beren:
I see.
[still worried, nodding towards where the Captain
is coming to stand before the
living King]
What about . . . ?
Youngest Ranger: [shrugging]
You didn't have
any trouble managing him.
Beren:
No, but -- he wasn't
my boss, ever, either. If I was his liege it would have
been different.
[he sighs and frowns at the board, trying to
remember what he was going to do,
since nothing else is in his control. The camera's
focus shifts to the hill,
where the Captain bows, his expression a bit
wary, to Finarfin:]
Finarfin:
Dreamt I, or did in
truth behold, deed of mayhem at yonder egress?
Captain:
I wouldn't call it mayhem,
sir -- a spot of rowdiness, perhaps. But nothing
so much as mayhem.
Finarfin: [disapproving]
Thou dost seem somewhat
worse for wear, and yet hast not learnt lesson to
avoid affray, than enter
it. For I am certain thou dost go somewhat halt,
nor that my fancy,
for all thou wouldst conceal.
Captain:
Oh, that's nothing.
That lot can't touch me. --Couple of scratches from a
friendly set-to with
security.
Finarfin:
Art not content to be
rebel, and thy offense forgiven, but still must thou
challenge the gods?
Or dost thou jest? --I cannot longer tell, with thee.
Captain: [mischievous]
Don't worry about it,
sir -- sometimes I can't either.
Finarfin: [grim smile]
And were those known
to me, that thy confederates did thus discharge from
here in such high-spirited
glee?
Captain:
I'm not sure, my lord.
I can't recall if they ever visited the House in the
old Days, and you might
have met them around the City, but I don't really know.
They're followers of
your eldest brother. They felt like starting some trouble,
beginning with Lord
Beren, so we obliged.
[pause]
Finarfin:
I ken not whether I
should commend, else condemn -- yet neither, I deem, will
make any difference
to thy deeds.
Captain:
I'm afraid not, my lord.
Finarfin: [dryly]
Nay, and why should
it, at this late pass, that did not formerly?
[the Captain winces a little. Pause]
Captain: [hopeful]
Was that all, sir?
Finarfin:
Nay, thou shalt not
'scape so easily, lad.
[checks briefly, and continues with a faint grimace:]
When I did ban you from my doors, I spake in anger, not in considered judgment.
Captain:
But not without justice.
Finarfin:
Still 'twas of wrath,
that word of mine, and so I would temper it with mercy:
thou mayest of a certain
come to see thy kin, when ever thou dost will, when
thou departest hence.
Captain:
Thank you, sir.
[he sighs]
--Assuming they want anything to do with me, of course.
Finarfin: [dryly]
Make no doubt of that.
[aside]
And that indeed hath
weight upon my clemency -- for I would not gladly face
thy sister with such
a decision of my making!
Captain:
At least I've
given up slamming doors when I lose my temper.
[Finarfin gives him a sidelong look]
It doesn't do for a senior officer -- far less for a spy.
Finarfin:
The singular -- openness
-- of these Halls is far from convenient, and eke
most disquieting to
we that are little used.
Captain: [sympathetic]
That it can be.
Finarfin: [sternly]
Yet still thou shalt
not have place nor post again, among my people, that
hast deserted aught
thou didst have.
[the Captain nods --silence. Relenting:]
--Unless thou canst not
find other station, and work betimes. There shall
be place always at hearthside
for thee.
Captain: [gently]
I thank you, my lord.
But that will not be necessary, I think. I wouldn't want
to take anyone's job,
not just hers, and I don't know that I'd be comfortable
peeling potatoes and
plucking fowl -- not that I've objection to such work as
such, but I doubt that,
quite frankly, anyone else would be quite easy around
me -- or that
I could keep from trying to reorganize any situation you put me
into, for efficiency
as I saw it.
Finarfin:
I would not have thee
forwandered and wanting for want of friends.
Captain:
You needn't fear for
that, Sir. Aman's a big place, and I know how to live
off the land: so long
as I don't kill any white deer by mistake, I should be
quite all right.
Finarfin:
Thou wouldst live as
our ancestors in the wilds, ere thou'd dwell 'neath
my roof?
Captain: [still more gently]
Would you make me a
lord, set among your highest counsellors, and give me
authority to do as I
saw fit throughout the land?
[they look at each other without speaking]
I didn't expect so.
Finarfin: [cool]
So it is power thou
dost hunger for, more than all else.
Captain: [untroubled by the accusation]
My lord, I know as well
as any that you never coveted power over others, nor
pride of place, nor
anything saving the first love of your father. And yet --
now that you have had
this task of rule, that never was wanted, and surely
cannot be quite so light
a burden, despite the peace of Valinor without us
to trouble it, could
you ever set it aside, and gladly return to the quiet
of study and song and
your arts, leaving it to another while you stood by
powerless to correct?
[Finarfin starts to say something, and cannot.]
Interesting -- it is
not only we unhoused who cannot speak counter to what
is held at heart, in
this place.
[the King gives him a Look of mingled exasperation and admiration]
Finarfin:
Was't ever so, that
thou wert so wise, and only kept thy counsel to thine
own self, in former
Day?
Captain:
I . . . don't recall,
truly, any more. I don't remember that it mattered much
to me, one way or the
other, what was said by you and your brothers, and your
father, save that it
distressed you, and Lady Earwen, and the children, and
so us for your sakes,
that were your people -- except to make remark upon
someone else's words
to amuse those near me. The arguments and rivalries didn't
change the fact that
I had to make sure there was meat on the table, and didn't
prevent me from riding
out in the wind and the light of the Trees, or wandering
through the salt-marshes
when it looked like the water was the sky for stars.
Finarfin: [shaking his head]
How dost thou support
this,
that wert ever restive within doors? Is't not
passing heavy on thy
soul?
Captain: [frankly]
Yes. --But I have friends,
and we are not wanting in amusement, and it is
only for a time. I can
wait.
Finarfin:
If mine eldest son's
true-love reconcileth not with him, I think he will
not go from here.
[pause]
And thou wilt bide here
as well. --Why? Why hast thou not reproach, nor for
this, nor for the manner
of thy -- death?
Captain: [after a brief pause]
I would not, I think
ever have cared for greater matters, had not the world
we knew ended, and I
caught by the lure of lands still more strange and distant.
And then -- there was
need,
and I understood it, and my skills as slayer of
birds and deer made
an obligation to protect as well as feed in time of famine,
and it turned out that
I could see better than most the best ways to do that.
And my attentiveness,
in noting this Elf's scowl or that one's smile, that had
been no more than a
private aside to friend on envy, or alliance, or hope --
proved matter much more
serious, when we were at war. And your son led us
through all of it, the
Ice, and the Dark, and the bitter days when we nearly
slew each other in the
Old World, before the Deed of Fingon, and trusted me
with the defense of
his kingdom, for many a Great Year -- nor blamed me, when
I failed in the end.
[silence]
Finarfin:
I have wept for thee,
as for all my rungate House, in anger and in soreness
of heart and in bitter
shame that might not save ye from that madness. And
now -- but only now
-- have I wept for thee. But though it be but little of
while, think it no less
true than those most selfish tears. I shall yet fear
for thee, though thou
dost urge other.
Captain:
My lord, please don't.
I'm sure you have troubles enough with your family
and Tirion and all.
There are possibilities, prospects, that may come to
pass. And if not --
there are worse things than to be known as "the lunatic
who set out to map the
entire continent on foot," after all.
Finarfin:
And if it cometh to
worse pass than that?
[silence]
Thou dost not speak thy thought, then.
Captain:
I do not need to --
and I would rather not distress you further. --But
it's true.
[Finarfin discreetly rubs at the corner of his
eye. Glancing over towards
the waterfall:]
Sir, will you kindly
excuse me? My friends are growing concerned, and the
Beoring most of all.
[the Noldor King nods without speaking -- as he turns to go:]
Er -- should I pack a lunch, my lord?
Finarfin:
Thy pardon?
Captain:
When I come to see my
family. You said you didn't want me scrounging off the
House, and so I thought
maybe I should arrange to bring my own meals along.
[he looks perfectly serious -- Finarfin is not fooled by this apparent innocence]
Finarfin:
Nay, I had forgotten
how much we shall have missed thy freakish jests as
well. An thou didst
come and partake of none but thine own provender, and
such insult to the House
revealed as mine own insult unto thee, I had
ne'er heard end of it
from thy mother nor my son's mother. --But--
[forestalling with a raised hand]
--an thou wouldst bring,
as guest-gift, such kill as thou wouldst, brace of
partridge or other thou
hast taken, nor should we take amiss, nor seek to
find insult where none
be meant. My son hath given thee discretion in great
matters -- I will not
doubt you in such lesser ones. Go, join thy friends,
I'll not trouble thee,
nor they need send rescue -- not that I deem thou
truly needest such,
that hast held command over many, and come back from
the War far changed
from the youth that left us, though no more, verily,
than Enedrion, that
hath learned to serve without argument nor haughty look,
though stranger yet
that he should cast himself willingly against me for
thy sake, that formerly
had never a care for any whose art was not noble
nor enduring.
[at the Captain's surprised glance -- faint smile]
--Nay, didst thou think I perceivéd not? Peace -- go to thy companions.
Captain:
Will you stay here,
alone, my lord?
[he looks meaningfully over to the falls]
Finarfin:
I should not be so welcome
as thou dost deem, I misdoubt.
Captain:
If I say so, you will
be, sir.
Finarfin:
Belike -- belike after.
For the nonce -- I would have peace.
Captain: [bowing]
We'll try to be quieter,
then. Afraid I can't promise anything, though.
Especially if Huan gets
going again.
[Finarfin waves him off, struggling to restrain an inappropriate smile]
[Elsewhere: the council chamber]
[things have settled back into the everyone-talks-at-once,
usually with energetic
gestures, and nobody listens, mode. Somehow
Aule's Apprentice has inserted himself
into the discussion, by means of an empty chair
and assuming that he must have
something to contribute, most likely. Overlapping:]
Irmo:
Even if nothing had
transpired to interfere, you wouldn't have had more than
a half-yen at the most--
Vaire:
I think that you're
simply wrong, dear, in your opinion that his commitment
is equal to yours--
Luthien: [interrupting, to Irmo]
--But if you consider
how many years many couples spend not seeing each
other, then fifty or
sixty years all together can come out the same almost--
Nerdanel: [aside]
Thy words cut deeper
than any chisel--
Namo: [quietly to his wife]
Excuse me, I need to
check on things.
Vaire: [nodding -- to Luthien:]
But he did leave you
repeatedly--
Luthien:
Not because he wanted
to.
Assistant: [with a slight emphasis on her title, not enough
to come across as rude]
Your Highness -- no
one forced him to part from you, by means of capture
or other duress. I'm
afraid that the fact of Lady Vaire's assertion is not
open to denial
Nerdanel:
Yet, sir, nor mayest
thou
deny, that to go from another for fear of that
one's further safekeeping,
is far other than to go from one for love of
another, or others,
or for seeking after property, or vengeance, or to
make such departure,
and compel choice of same upon another, in manner
of test, that one does
truly love -- all these be most greatly differing
from the former?
Aule:
And yet this Man too
did in fact leave her for the same piece of property,
and revenge--
Ambassador: [reluctant both to contradict a Power, and to
defend Beren]
But, my Lord, there
might indeed be said to be compulsion, in the choice
my King set upon him--
[the Apprentice comes in, answering Namo's summons,
and looking extremely harried
as he goes over to the Lord of the Hall's bench]
Namo: [peremptory]
All right, what's going
on now?
Apprentice:
Erm . . .
[he looks rather panic-stricken]
Namo: [exasperated]
The rogue? Remember?
That's one of the four things you're supposed to be
doing -- waiting for
security to check in, taking complaints, forestalling
trouble and running
errands as needed. How come you're so distracted all
the time?
Apprentice:
It -- isn't all
the time, my Lord: by my calculations it's only fifty-seven
percent of the time--
[at Namo's Look]
Sorry, Sir.
Namo:
So?
Apprentice:
Yes? --Ah, no -- I mean,
nothing is going on, the rogue hasn't been seen again
yet, and I did put a
stop to the rioting in the halls. That is to say--
[he fumbles around, the Lord of the Halls covers
his eyes, and the Weaver is
sympathetic in turn:]
Vaire:
Don't worry, dear, we
understand. Just do the best that you can -- I don't
expect the impossible
of you.
Aule's Assistant: [undertone]
And a good thing too!
[the Apprentice looks even more abashed and defensive]
Vaire:
Who was it this time?
Apprentice:
Fingolfin's daughter
and her recusant husband. At least to start with--
Vaire: [shaking her head]
Whatever possessed that
boy to introduce such an appalling pastime? And of
all the people to think
of it! And he isn't even embarrassed about it.
Namo: [lacing her fingers in his own consolingly]
You must admit, though,
they get it over with a lot faster now that he
devised swords. At least
we don't get the shouting matches that go on
until they run out of
insults. I think the shortest one went on for a
fortnight nonstop.
Vaire:
--Yes.
[they share one of those rueful smiles typical
of those who share a longtime
work/life experience,
like ships' crew, or parents. To the Apprentice:]
Just -- what's that expression
you like to use? -- "keep bringing out the
fires," or however it
goes.
Apprentice:
"Putting out," --
it comes from summertimes in droughty regions, or an
alternate possibility
is that it derives from the buildup of internal heat
in mulch heaps, but
in either case it comes from agrarian societies lacking
the ability to reliably
control the weather, or so Finrod informs me. Ah --
sorry, my Lady, I don't
expect you're interested in that.
Namo: [apparently completely serious -- surely not with any
wicked amusement?]
Look at it this way
-- you may be obliged to spend time with the involuntarily
discorporate, but at
least you're picking up cultural contexts for your trivia
that you couldn't easily
get out of the Archives.
Apprentice:
Erm . . . yes, Sir.
Luthien: [offended]
What's wrong with being
dead?
[he gives her a nervous look and laugh]
I'm serious! Why does he say it like you think it's punishment?
Apprentice:
Ah -- please --
[he looks over at the Lord of the Halls, who
just raises his eyebrows back at
him -- no help there.]
I -- please don't get
angry, Princess Luthien, it's -- just -- not normal,
for people to be going
about without any bodies on.
Luthien:
Mom always said there
were lots of spirits in Valinor who weren't solid and
lived in the air.
[her compatriot the Ambassador nods agreement;
Irmo covers a slight smile, and
the Earthlord's aide is far too bland in his
expression to be innocent of
amusement at his counterpart's discomfiture.]
Manir and Suruli, she
called them. Oh, and some who live in the water, and
simply are water,
or more like waves in the water. No bodies either -- do
you act different around
them?
Apprentice: [desperately]
Yes, but they never
had
them -- they didn't have them to start with and then
lose them.
Luthien:
What difference does
it make?
Apprentice:
It's -- it's just creepy.
It's not the way things are supposed to be!
[Luthien gives him a narrow Look]
Luthien:
You seem almost scared.
Why? Does it make you think it might happen to you?
Or have you been listening
to too many spooky stories about people getting
killed after seeing
a ghost or being led into some danger or being possessed?
I bet I can tell you
plenty more you've never even heard of, about headless
warriors and haunted
bridges and the ghosts of bulls on the roof, and I bet
I can even make up some
more just as good as those, too!
Apprentice: [austerely]
From my studies in the
Archives I know that not all of those are fiction,
your Highness.
Luthien:
Yes, but more of them
are than aren't. Maybe you don't sit up late making up
stories in Valinor,
but trying to come up with an even better story than the
next person is something
we all do -- mortals and Elves -- in Beleriand. I
can see you know I'm
right.
[curious]
Are you really that afraid of us? Even you Valinoreans?
[she turns to look right at Nerdanel, catching her in a slight flinch]
It seems strange that
you'd be haunted without even being haunted, after
a manner of speaking!
Nerdanel: [with a wry smile]
Nay -- for in the reality
beneath the Moon and Sun, few needs must think
upon such matters, when
they are not forced upon our recollection. --Or so
it is for many, I do
believe.
Luthien: [looking back at Nienna's Apprentice]
Why? Have any of us
"discorporates" actually done anything to harm you here?
[the Apprentice looks guilty]
Have I done anything
to you except "yell at" you? -- which is only what I'd
do if I were here in
the flesh as well.
Apprentice:
Well -- no, your Highness.
Luthien:
So what's the problem,
hm? Why are you so troubled by us? You're not really
scared, are you? You
seem more disgusted and curious at the same time.
Apprentice: [pleading]
My Lord--
[the Lord of the Halls shakes his head]
Namo:
When you arranged with
my sister to take you on, you already knew she spends
much of her time here.
Did you think she was going to leave you home to sweep
out her Halls or something
to teach you patience? This is another learning
experience. Now either
answer Luthien's question, or don't.
Apprentice: [sighing]
Yes, Sir.
[back and forth between Luthien and Vaire]
--Partly. It's also the
constant complaining that I have to listen to -- not
from you, your Highness
-- about how there aren't any bright colors or lights
or proper sensations
-- though part of that's the decor, begging your pardon,
ma'am -- and how dull
and boring it is with nothing to do except remember and
talk -- at least until
your cousin arrived -- though I do agree -- well, think
that they have a point,
at least -- with the Sindar who say it would be much
improved by some potted
plants, at least--
Vaire: [nettled]
If you want plants,
you
can figure out a way to make them grow in here.
[pointedly]
--If you haven't enough to keep you busy, that is.
Apprentice: [getting distracted]
What if we took species
that already thrive underground and, oh, sort of
changed them to make
them look like ones from Outside? I'll bet that--
Vaire: [half-rising]
No! It's hard enough
ensuring that fungus doesn't grow in here, given the
atmospheric conditions,
I won't have you encouraging it on purpose!
Apprentice: [meekly]
Yes, my Lady.
Aule's Assistant: [thoughtful]
What about artificial
plants? It seems to me, -- subject of course to your
approval, noble ones
-- that one might be able to fabricate versions of
imperishable materials
that would be equal to, or even superior, to the
originals in appearance.
[Nienna's student raises his hands]
Apprentice:
I don't know that anyone
would be pleased by that. It's the absence of
growing things, you
see. I try to explain that, well, these are the Halls
of the Dead, you know.
Assistant:
--Primitives.
[the Doriathrin lord gives him an affronted look
-- his Princess is less
inhibited by reverence]
Luthien:
We are not! We had exactly
the same problem in Menegroth, and we solved it
in several ways. One's
to bring in live plants in vessels, and just keep them
in for a little while,
and then put them out in the sun again after. Cut
greenery also works
nicely to embellish a hall seasonally.
Vaire:
But then they dry out,
and bits drop off them onto the floor, and have to
be cleaned up.
Luthien: [shrugging]
So? Anyway, that's just
one thing you can do. What we mostly did, was to make
sculptures like he--
[nods towards Aule's aide]
--was talking about.
My mother designed a lot of it, and the Dwarven
architects built in
spaces for the trees and things to go, and some of it
was carved out of stone,
and then painted, and some of it was enameled
metal attached on, and
some of it's glass with colors and wire inside to
make the leaf-veining.
There's all sorts of things one can do.
Nerdanel: [sniffing]
Myself, I have always
favoured the use of stones most aptly colored in
themselves, the which
possess inherently the fitting sheen, as though nature
indeed had intended
for the purpose of the work.
Aule:
But it's very slow,
'Danel. If you can make exactly the hue you need, why
not do it? Why waste
time hunting about for it?
Assistant:
My thoughts exactly,
Sir.
Nerdanel: [obstinate -- an old argument, obviously]
Yet must I aver, my
Lord, that never doth the made piece hold full richness,
nor true depth nor variety,
that stone which hath grown by longsome layering
and the free changes
of the water, and fire, and weight upon it, shall
inevitably compass.
Aule:
But it's exactly the
same process! Only faster, in the workshop. I really
do believe that you
only think you can tell the difference because you know
that one's synthetic.
Luthien:
Well, and of course,
they're never exactly the same as real leaves. But they're
pretty, and it's fun,
in a way, to have something made out of something that it
isn't, especially if
it's very different. It wouldn't be half as interesting if
they were made of wood,
even if you could make ones that looked so much like
them out of wood, which
you can't, because it isn't translucent.
Nerdanel:
Nor is there translucency
in paint!
Luthien: [shaking her head]
You can make it like
enamel, in thin layers, and mix mica in with it. Daeron came
up with that, to make
letters show up on a dark background.
Ambassador: [sadly reminiscent]
--He was so frustrated
that people only ever used the ideas for monograms on
doors and such.
Luthien:
Or paint over metal
leaf and have the shininess show through that way. We put
stars on ceilings with
that.
[looking up]
I bet you could do that in here. And not as much work as any of the rest of it.
[Vaire and the others look up as well, frowning thoughtfully; --maybe, maybe--]
Assistant:
Though it would appear
terribly derivative, I fear, as though you were trying
to copy Varda's designs
for Taniquetil.
Irmo:
But the stars are
her designs, so any stars are going to be based on her
work. You might as well
say that she was being repetitive herself and
criticize the inside
of the mansion, at that. --I think it would be very
attractive, Vaire.
Orome: [half-smiling]
Remind me: how did this
turn into a discussion of naturalistic decorating styles?
Namo:
Very good question.
[he gives the Apprentice a raised eyebrow]
Apprentice:
I think I should be
getting back to keep an eye on the stone in case anyone
tries to report in.
[he makes an unceremonious exit/retreat]
Irmo: [to his brother]
Do you really think
Nia has any hope of succeeding there?
Namo: [remanifesting his mug]
If not, she's going
to be taking me on next.
[The Hall]
[A new individual arrives on scene -- but after
a brief alert everyone relaxes
and the outer sentinels do not change position
to block the newcomer. She is
another shade, but somewhat different in appearance
from any other Elves we have
seen so far -- for one thing, she's a good bit
shorter (though still taller than
Beren) as well as barefoot. There should be
a somewhat windblown, beachcomber
look to her outfit, and her jewelry is all of
strands of small pearls. Her speech
is not as archaic as the other Valinorean Eldar,
but should have somewhat of a
precise intonation -- slightly "old-fashioned"
in tone. Julia Ormond might be
good in this part.]
Teler Maid:
So you're the
ones who have been running and shouting in the halls. I might
have known it.
Captain: [dignified]
We were not "running
and shouting in the halls." We were conducting an
experiment. Wh--
[they tend to cut over each other's sentences
like relatives or very old
acquaintances often do, without noticing or
taking offense.]
Teler Maid:
You could have fooled
me. Is--
Captain:
--So what are you doing
here, Curlew?
Teler Maid: [rolling her eyes]
It is not "Curlew."
Captain:
--Sanderling? --Murrelet?
--Lapwing? It's got to be some sort of shorebird,
you're standing on one
leg again.
[she adjusts her posture]
Teler Maid: [mock exasperation]
It is Maiwe,
and well you know it.
Captain: [shrugs]
Curlew, Sea-Mew -- you
can't expect me to keep them straight. Next thing
you'll be saying "jib"
and "clinker" like those are real words that mean
things.
Teler Maid:
I was going to rail
at you, you know.
Captain:
Rail -- isn't
that some kind of waterbird? --Any particular reason? I mean,
you could do it now,
if you wanted.
Teler Maid:
Are you just going to
keep on being silly?
Captain:
Well -- until you get
really annoyed. Or perhaps a little bit before that.
So why are you
here? --Does it have anything to do with why you wanted to
yell at me?
Teler Maid:
Not you personally.
All who were disturbing of the peace.
[frowning]
If you're here, does that mean that he is back, as well?
Captain:
You didn't hear?
Teler Maid:
Hear what?
Captain:
Er . . .
[she looks up, much as Finrod did just before
Finarfin's entrance, and simply
disappears, not as the Powers, but gradually
blending into the background]
Beren:
--Wow. --Who
was that?
Captain:
Ah--
[he looks extremely perturbed]
Maiwe--? Are you all right?
[she does not reappear]
She -- used to be a colleague of mine. I -- don't--
[Beren looks at the Sindarin Ranger, who only shrugs helplessly]
--Ah. I wonder-- I'll bet that's--
[the Captain grimaces, shaking his head and calls to the empty air:]
--Maiwe, if it's the
Lord Seneschal again, don't worry -- he can't hurt you
if you don't allow him,
and he'll probably be so embarrassed he'll ignore
you anyway. And if he
isn't we'll send him packing.
Beren:
What--
[at that moment the Steward reenters the Hall,
looking quite pleased with himself.
The Captain puts his forehead down on his knee,
grimacing.]
First Guard:
Hullo, Sir. We didn't expect
to see you back any time soon.
Warrior:
We thought you were
playing chess with the King's uncle.
Steward:
I was. I won.
Second Guard:
How, Sir?
Steward: [a trifle smugly]
That is for me
to know, and the High King to endeavour to find out.
[on the further side of one of the columns, the
Sea-elf girl reappears and
leans back against it, her arms folded tightly
about herself, visibly in the
throes of indecision]
Captain:
Edrahil . . .
Steward:
What? --Do not,
I insist, involve me in another such scheme which requires
me not to come
to your assistance while you get cut to ribbons. I have better
things to do, believe
me on that--
[the newest visitor makes up her mind and leaves
the shelter of the pillar,
coming out to confront him in silence]
Captain: [unnecessarily]
A mutual acquaintance
of ours is here and has been asking after you.
[they are staring at each other without hearing
his words, she still with folded
arms and and narrowed eyes, he in total shock
and disbelief]
Teler Maid: [grim satisfaction]
I see that you are returned
at last.
[the Steward continues to stare at her, completely
stunned. Beren gets up and goes
over to him, looking worried, but not interrupting]
Teler Maid: [acerbic]
I suppose I should not
be surprised that you have no greeting for me, when you
had no farewell
before.
Captain: [pleading]
Maiwe . . .
[it takes the Steward several attempts before he can manage to say anything]
Steward: [horrified]
But how -- how
long--?
Teler Maid: [tossing her head]
As to your second, for
as long as you have been gone; as to your first, -- can
you not guess, then?
Steward: [in denial]
But -- I made certain
that your family were all safe, and . . . they were as
certain as I, that you
. . . were at your cousins' home in Tirion . . .
[he breaks off, grimacing at his own words]
Teler Maid: [sharply]
I do have other friends,
you know. --Or I did.
[he flinches again]
After that our last fight
I returned home, but did not wish to hear my kin tell
me what I already knew,
that there was for us not a jot of hope of any bliss,
and I went to a certain
house of my acquaintance, where my childhood friends
would not tell me aught
whatsoever, and I might have some small amount of peace
before going back to
my work where I must see you again..
[with a certain bitter satisfaction:]
And we went out on their
boat, and you were not there to dispraise it, or to
speak with displeasure
of the weather, or the canting of the deck, or the
noise of the wind, or
our crude chanteys, or the food -- and we had but put
in to port when the
Lights went out, and I would have gone back to make sure
mischance had not befallen
you, but my friends persuaded me to wait, that it
was not safe, and so
we waited for word, and then--
[she stops, not broken up, just angry, staring at him with tight lips]
Steward: [shaking his head in dismay]
But why -- why not --
why are you here yet, and not returned to your parents?
Why should you remain
in this place for so long, when no Doom bars you from
going Outside?
Teler Maid: [ice]
Because I did not wish
to learn that you had been party to it.
[he staggers, taking an involuntary step backwards
and would fall if Beren did
not catch him]
Beren:
What's wrong, sir?
[the Steward only shakes his head, overcome, leaning on Beren's shoulder]
Sir?
Steward: [choked]
If -- if you had somehow
survived your encounter with the Wolf, and the King
of Doriath had not
-- would you not judge there was something far amiss between
you, if your lady's
first assumption was that -- you were in some way directly
responsible?
Beren:
Uh -- yeah. Wait --
I know you weren't part of the Kinslaying, so -- oh. She
thinks you were
--?!
[to the Sea-elf, urgently:]
No, he didn't,
and not only that -- he would never, ever do anything like
that. He's one of the
most upright and kind people I've ever known in my
whole life.
[She gives him a look of increasing curiosity]
Teler Maid:
Who are you?
[pause]
Beren:
The reason he's dead.
[the Steward makes an exasperated noise]
Teler Maid:
Are you a creature of
the Enemy? For you do look somewhat like, at least in
accord with the tales
I have heard.
Beren:
Uh . . .
Captain: [solemnly]
I assure you, the Lord
Beren is no more nor less of an Orc than I am.
[she gives him a sharp look in turn]
Teler Maid:
You are making fun of
me.
Captain:
I'm making a joke, is
all. Have I ever made fun of you?
Teler Maid: [sulkily]
You were much used to
tease me.
Captain:
To make you laugh. And
you gave back just as good, hm?
[she nods, quickly and unwillingly, and moves on]
Teler Maid:
Then what manner of
creature are you? Surely our folk who remained have not
become so rough and
wild in the meanwhiles!
[Beren shakes his head]
Beren:
I'm a Man. Or was --
the ghost of one, now.
Teler Maid:
You are one of the Secondborn?!
[amazed, she reaches unthinkingly towards Beren;
equally unthinkingly, the Steward
deflects her hand before she can touch him]
Teler Maid:
Do not presume to push
me about so, my lord!
[he freezes, expressionless]
Beren:
My lady -- please --
it wasn't you, people have been trying to beat me up
a lot and it was just
a reflex.
Teler Maid: [speaking to him, but looking at the Steward]
I am no lady. I am a
"humble rustic," and no more, who should be more
comprehensible of the
signal honour done me by the King's house, in
securing for me such
a fine post and an opportunity to raise myself
beyond my simple origins
in the home of his daughter.
[the Steward hides his face against Beren's shoulder]
Beren:
Did he -- did you --
really say those things to . . .?
[head still bowed, the Steward nods]
Teler Girl:
Does he not speak slightingly
to you, then, nor is ever critical of
your words and manners
in the sight of all?
Beren: [honestly]
--Sometimes.
[pause]
But that isn't the whole
of it by a long shot. He died rather than betray
me, or King Finrod --
and that means way more than just words.
[pause]
Teler Maid:
Lord Ingold is dead?
He is here as well?
[for the first time she looks more upset than angry]
Captain:
He's the one mostly
responsible for the disorderly conduct that bothered
you. It wouldn't have
occurred to us to try without him.
Steward:
You . . . did not know
we were here, ere now?
Teler Maid: [sniffing]
I keep to myself: I
have no wish to be snubbed by Exiles here, as if this
were Tirion. I only
came to complain to Lady Nienna about the noise having
resumed once again.
Captain:
But even if you didn't
realize -- I'm sure someone would have told you it
was us.
[the Sea-elf looks simultaneously guilty and stubborn]
Teler Maid: [defiantly]
I never asked.
Captain:
--Oh.
Steward: [with difficulty]
Forgive me--
Teler Maid: [cutting him off]
--Still you would tell me
then, fine sir, what I should say or must think?
I have a name
-- however little you have liked it, and called me "a half-
savage, yet" for taking
it to my heart -- and if you would have me hear you,
then needs must address
me by it.
[he stares at her, unable to keep going, and she tosses her head]
I did not think you would.
--Or that any word of mine would make you change
your ways.
[he shakes his head helplessly]
What, then? No words
at all for me? Not even to answer me, that I may have
peace from wondering,
if you were among those who slew us in the Darkness?
Steward:
I swear to you -- upon
mine own name -- never have I raised bow or blade
against any of our people,
in life or in death, saving in gaming or in defence.
Teler Maid:
Defence! Was that not
what it was called, when Fingon and the companions
of Fingon came to kill
us too?
[he does not say anything more]
Why could you not even
come to speak to me, not even to bid me farewell
before your going?
Steward:
I -- we did not think
it would be so long. --Home before the last Leaf fell,
some of us said at the
outset, and thought it possible.
Teler Maid:
And still you did not
think to seek me out, and ask me whether I would or no?
Steward: [as though unable not to answer her]
As we had fought, and
you were angry enough to depart the House that we might
not meet even though
it be a high Feast, and your Lady deeming you so
aggrieved that she did
chide me for it though I a guest at table, and the
chill of your temper
like the mist off the surf -- I judged it should be "no."
--Should it have been
other?
Teler Maid: [tossing her head]
Again you presume to
know my mind without my speaking it. --And no farewell,
not even in anger, that
would have told you in the seeking-after and not
finding, that I was
not in Tirion that hour--?
Steward: [in the same compelled manner]
It was a madness upon
us, like a fire within our hearts, scorching away all
other thought and reason.
And it seemed to me that I and all of us might
return in blaze of glory,
having done deeds worthy of the gods, and I should
make the songs of this
our victory that every lip should sing -- and then you
would no longer dare
disdain me, nor turn from me in the coldness of your anger,
and in your eyes I should
see naught but myself reflected in your admiration.
And so in pride, and
anger, and insanity -- I left without farewell.
[silence]
Teler Maid: [softly]
You speak of fire,
my lord. --Do you know how I was thieved of my body,
while you listened to
the words of the Spirit of Fire and dreamed your
bright dreams of battles
and great journeys? To make the defenders leave
off the fight, or else
choose betwixt protecting ships and breathing
children, his
people fired the homes along the waterfront, and set all
quayside alight, and
the rafters burned, and the wooden galleries that
crossed the streets
between the upper stories, and I was trapped when I
would flee, under the
wood and the fallen tiles --
[he shakes his head but she does not stop]
--and none could hear
my screams above the roaring of the flames. What was I
to know, but that you
were amongst the ones of those warriors, that numbered
so many of them as your
friends? --And ever did speak, even as those friends,
speak slightingly of
our poor Wanderers', Thirdlings', Latecomers' ways?
[he opens his mouth and tries to say something,
but it is not audible -- perhaps
her name]
And what of you, fine
sir, Edrahil Enedir's son of House Mahtan? Did you find
glory, beyond the waves,
did you find what you dreamt of that I could never
give you, enough honour
and power and admiration to quench your limitless thirst,
and deeds enough to
busy your restive heart, that would not rest beside mine,
and yet would not set
me free -- was there wealth and renown enough to please
you in those lands?
And at the end did you meet your Doom in manner fit for
the songs of your leader's
boast, that all have heard, living and dead? What
mighty deed for our
people's remembering cost you your life? Surely it was no
panicked, headlong flight
into a trap, like a fish into the nets -- not you!
Steward: [shaking his head]
You -- you don't want
to -- to know about such things--
[she stamps her foot impatiently]
Teler Maid:
O most wise and
clever and eloquent of Elves, when we two were on the green
earth together, it was
you
who would speak, whether I wished to hear or to
speak myself, and who
would be silent when I prayed you speak to me, and not
to turn your face aside,
or speak to another as if I were not there, for your
ill-temper and your
pride. And now you will answer me, will you or nill you,
and you will not
tell me what it is that I do not wish to hear.
[he answers as before, unwillingly but under compulsion]
Steward:
No songs will be made
of our end -- I died unknown, a thrall, enchained,
blind, my voice long
worn away in weeping, food for a hellspawn beast, and
none of my days' work
across the years before meant anything by comparison,
nor shall I be remembered
for accomplishment in the places where I served,
nor any there mark or
miss my leaving.
Beren: [earnest]
Sir -- that -- that
can't be true. They'll find out how much they needed
you, if they haven't
already.
Teler Maid: [chill]
And -- in all those
days and years -- was there ever an hour in which you
thought of another left
behind, or missed me?
Steward:
There were few that
I did not. When I could no longer call your face to mind
or make your voice sound
in my thoughts I remembered the Sea, and dreamed of
the gulls' cry until
my turn came to perish.
Teler Maid:
But you have always
feared the Sea.
[he nods. Wonderingly:]
--I did not know that
until I only now did utter it. I thought . . . that
you considered it but
a dull and formless wasteland, unlike the gracious halls
of stone . . . and thus
you would not willingly go to it. And all the time --
it was but fear, that
you hid in guise of pride.
[he cannot answer. Suddenly loud:]
Edrahil! What will you
do to me, mad lovesick fool that I was, and am, that
left me so long cold
and grey before I was brought to this, and now are come
back to trouble my rest
and drive me mad once more with your aloofness and
your mistral moods,
that I cannot follow, being that they change quicker
than the wind, so that
not even my namesake gull could match them?
[he clutches Beren's arm harder, too stricken
to notice or care about the audience
or the audience's distress]
Beren:
Please, don't--
[she turns her attention towards him again, waiting, and he sighs]
I was going to ask you
not to be angry with him any more about leaving, but
that isn't it, is it?
You two had problems way back before the Return. That
was stupid of me. But
he is different now.
[She moves even closer
to them and reaches her hand out to Beren, brushing
aside his hair to get
a better look at his ear and touching his unshaven
cheek -- not in a rude
way, but very childlike in her curiousity -- while
staring into his eyes.
(Note: all her gestures and attitudes should be very
natural and unformal
-- it is only dealing with her ex that she is tense
and self-conscious.)
The Steward checks his defensive reaction, looking
away with an anguished
expression.]
Teler Maid: [amazed]
--Aftercomer. You
are so very different from they who company you.
Beren: [nods]
So are you.
Teler Maid: [suspicious]
Howso mean you?
Beren: [smiling]
You don't tower over
me.
Teler Maid:
Are all your folk so
short, then?
Beren:
Nah, I'm about in the
middle. I was kind of tall for my tribe, 'cause my
mother's folk are tall,
as tall as Noldor most of them, but the Haladin are
a lot shorter than we
are. I should explain -- the People of Haleth are
another tribe of Men
who live in a different part of Beleriand. So did Hador
-- that's Ma's side
-- but they lived in another different part, up by the
High King's holdings.
[she frowns at him doubtfully]
I probably shouldn't have brought that up, because of the Kinslaying.
[the Sea-elf continues to give him a dubious Look]
Only maybe you don't
know about how Fingon is the High King now -- only that's
just the High King in
Middle-earth, not here, of course. Or does everybody
here know about King
Fingolfin? Not that this is really relevant . . .
[he trails off]
Teler Maid:
I am not following your
words well -- but I think that it all comes to your
first "no."
Beren: [wry]
Everyone here will tell
you that I do a real good job of confusing people
with my explanations,
not just Lord Edrahil here.
Teler Maid: [challengingly]
You know that he
was one of those most resenting of the notion that your people
should have our place,
and those lands of Middle-earth that had been ours, and
should have been yet,
had we not ever crossed over the Sea?
Beren:
Yeah. He told me all
about how Morgoth used to play on each person's vanity
and goals like a harp,
even the ones that he never said out loud, and how
nobody realized it until
it was all over.
Teler Maid: [short laugh]
If he had but listened
half so well to me!
[None of them can say anything to this -- she
turns away distractedly and begins
to wander off, oblivious of the curious and
concerned looks of former acquaintances.]
Steward: [whispering]
Maiwe . . .
[she turns back and looks at him, waiting.]
Did you truly think -- that I had taken part -- in those murders?
[pause]
Teler Maid:
Sometimes. --When I
was most particularly angry, or surpassingly sad. --Which
was the most of the
time. --I want to see Lord Ingold.
Captain:
He's off on a mission
at the moment.
Teler Maid:
What quaint manner of
jargon is that?
Captain:
Sorry. He's gone upon
an errand and he didn't say whither.
Teler Maid: [uncertainly]
Is Lady Nienna here?
I think -- that I need to talk to her.
Captain:
I haven't seen her about.
But she might well be. --Do you want me to go with
you and help you look
for her?
Teler Maid: [shaking her head]
No. I need to think
-- without being talked at.
[she vanishes abruptly -- the Captain sighs.]
Steward: [sharply]
Say what you would.
Captain:
All right.
[he does not say anything further]
Steward: [tiredly -- to Beren]
As well yourself.
[Beren shakes his head]
Beren:
You didn't owe me that.
It wasn't any of my business before.
[the other stops leaning on him and moves a few
paces away, still looking dazed
and lost -- Beren follows, staying at his elbow]
Steward:
It is not necessary
that you hover so.
Beren:
I don't want you to
fade, sir.
Steward:
Unlike yourself, there
is no place else for me to go.
Beren:
Couldn't you go all
sort of not there like she did, or like the K-- like
you said Finrod did
about me?
Steward:
I have too many responsibilities
for such self-indulgence.
[quickly]
I do not mean to accuse
our lord of such -- only that there are those whose
behavior is disproportionate
to their suffering. --Nor would I imply that
your near-fading was
of the same.
Beren:
I know, sir.
Steward: [less remotely]
Thank you for your kindness,
and your support. I know well that I am . . .
Beren:
--pernickety?
Steward:
--I would have
said, "exacting"--
Beren:
Exactly--
Steward: [brief involuntary smile]
--and waspish of humour,
and despite what you have often alleged, it is not
"all an act" -- I truly
am of a chill and critical nature, against which I
must ever contend--
Beren:
Well, you keep winning.
Steward:
You're most kind.
[straightening his shoulders]
I am all right. I shall manage.
Beren:
You're still shaking,
sir.
Steward:
I am still undone.
[Huan gets up and comes over, somewhat uncertainly,
to lean his head over the
Steward's shoulder -- the latter does not shrug
him off, but rather pats his nose
a little absently as if it were the Hound who
was in need of comfort]
Captain: [hesitant]
You should also know
-- Lady Nerdanel is here. She arrived after you left,
in conjunction with
him--
[he nods towards where Finarfin is lost in meditation;
his colleague glances over,
then looks at him bleakly]
I thought you might not
have noticed yet, either. It seems only the broadest
outlines of our disaster
reached them before. However it goes, it's probably
going to be not unlike
the Princes towards their brother, only worse.
[the Steward continues to regard him in silence.]
I thought you'd rather be surprised now than surprised later.
Steward:
The notion of retreating
for the rest of the yen has ever-increasing appeal.
Beren: [gloomy]
My problems hardly seem
much compared to yours. I mean, even our fights -- we
only had a couple months
of arguing and it was all about the same thing. Not
centuries. And
how complicated can it get? Who here doesn't have family mad at
them here?
Youngest Ranger: [quiet]
--Er . . . me.
--As far as I know.
Beren:
I swear, this is worse
than any of the grazing-drainage disagreements in Drun!
I mean, you all knew
each other, or worked for each other, or were related to
each other, and then
you fought, and went away, and now you're back and people
aren't speaking to you,
or each other because of you, and these are all the
same people.
Soldier: [aside to the Warrior]
That's got to be the
shortest version of the Noldolante ever.
Beren: [getting more upset]
What are you going to
do?
Even if you wait a hundred and whatever years, is
it going to fix things?
If she's--
[glancing at the doorway]
--still furious with him --
[to the Steward]
--and your girlfriend's
still angry at you -- and all your parents! -- after
what, four hundred sixty
years? That's not going to make a difference. What's
going to happen
to you out there?
Steward: [anxious]
This, at least, is one
trouble for which you cannot blame yourself.
Captain:
Don't underestimate
Beren. Dangerous thing, that.
Second Guard:
I'm sure that if we
give him a little bit of time, he'll manage to figure out
some way he's responsible
for Alqualonde.
Captain:
Why stop at the Kinslaying?
Why not everything in the world? I'm sure that with
some thought, every
possible misfortune in Arda could be laid at Beren's door.
Beren:
--Guys--
Steward:
An interesting problem,
to be sure. --Are we limiting ourselves to material
causality, or are we
admitting metaphysical causality as well? For if the
latter, I think it should
hardly be any challenge at all.
Beren: [raising his hand in protest]
Oh, come on--
[The Steward gives him a very small, very knowing smile -- distractions.]
Captain:
Start making the list,
Edrahil--
[Elsewhere: the council chamber]
[It's very loud and the discussion quite animated.]
Aule:
But if you made all
the gears out of crystal, then the water wouldn't
corrode them--
Ambassador:
Would they not be so
heavy then that they'd sink, my Lord?
Aule's Assistant:
No, they'd be on rods
lifted off the bottom, at varying heights -- quite
possibly adjustable,
sliding along a series of paths not unlike a clock's
elements--
Nerdanel:
'Tis a great challenge
to capture the depth of iridescence natural to plume
or scale in enamels,
for the layers seek to obscure and oft groweth milky
like to ice--
[Looking more than usually sardonic, the Doomsman
of Arda snaps his fingers and
a flash, similar to that of a white phosphorus
flare, illuminates the room, though
without the "bang" that usually accompanies
such intensely-bright fireworks. Instant
silence, followed by looks either abashed or
irritated from the participants as the
glare fades back into the basin and the lighting
returns to normal.]
Namo: [flatly]
Well. Now that we've
talked about the technical requirements of preparing
limestone to receive
paint, the best way to create the effect of sunlight
indoors, the problems
of dust in relation to various artistic and domestic
processes, and determined
that neither my wife nor I have any desire to have
fake trees or
replicas of small woodland animals affixed thereto -- not even
realistic ones fetchingly
rendered in lifelike tones of striated agates with
polished jet eyes, Nerdanel,
Tavros -- cluttering up our house, though the
decision is still pending
on small, restrained, and I do emphasize restrained,
sculptures of plants
in hanging baskets, we'll have to think about that --
could we, possibly,
return to our original discussion? Or am I being totally
unreasonable in asking
that?
[pause]
And no artificial goldfish either, unless Vaire wants them.
Irmo:
I really don't like
it when you're sarcastic, brother.
Namo:
That isn't on topic
either.
Vaire: [trying not to smile]
--Darling--
Luthien:
Why? We're only all
going to say the same things all over again to each other.
[pause]
Namo:
Very likely, yes. --Particularly
if you're going to take that attitude from
the start.
Luthien:
You're not being fair
-- it's not just me who's being obstinate, so please
don't make it sound
that way.
[he raises an eyebrow to her; Irmo struggles
not to smile. (Orome doesn't even
bother trying.)]
Nerdanel:
I confess I do
not find the matter so simple as 'twas first present--
Vaire: [aside]
I suppose it would be
impolite -- not to mention giving the wrong message
entirely -- if I were
to fetch some knitting?
[The Hall.]
[Finarfin is sitting with his head bowed on his arms, when shouting from over by the waterfall makes him look up]
Ranger: [very loudly]
But what about Ungoliant?
Eh? What about Ungoliant?
[Finarfin is compelled to leave the hill and come investigate]
Soldier:
Well? What about her?
Ranger:
You can't just keep
saying, "Because of the Silmarils," for everything. You have
to say something like,
oh . . . "Because if Ungoliant hadn't crossed through
Beleriand leaving her
little brood, there wouldn't have been any giant spiders
for Beren to fight through
on the way to Doriath."
Warrior:
Excellent! We can take
her
off the list. What about Helka and Ringil, though?
I don't see any way
we can connect Beren with them.
[They notice that Finarfin is present and observing
them, and go suddenly quiet.
Several of the Ten rise and bow, uncertainly;
the Captain nods, while the Steward
stares ahead fixedly]
Finarfin:
--Dare I ask, knowing
shall regret . . . ?
[pause]
Beren:
They're trying to cheer
me up by proving that I'm responsible for everything
that's ever gone wrong
in the universe.
Finarfin:
. . .
[starts to speak, stops, then has to ask]
And doth it have th'effect intent in it?
Beren: [bemused, nods]
Actually, --yeah.
Finarfin:
Oh.
[pause]
Such exceedingly -- strange -- friends.
[starts to walk away, shaking his head]
Youngest Ranger: [whispering]
Who's he talking about?
Third Guard:
Beren, I think.
Ranger:
I thought he meant all
of us.
Finarfin: [turning back]
--Strange, but -- admirably
loyal.
Beren: [smiles]
I know.
[in the background two of the Ten are having a whispered argument:]
Warrior: [nudging his neighbor]
Go on, ask them!
Youngest Ranger:
No! Stop it! It would
be rude.
Warrior:
Well, if you won't,
I will --
[louder]
Psst! Beren!
Beren:
Hm?
Warrior:
What was it like, when
you two intersected?
[the Sindarin Ranger closes his eyes and looks
very much as though he'd like
to vanish]
Beren:
What?
Warrior:
You and his Majesty's
father -- we saw it when you were talking.
Beren:
Oh.
[he glances up at Finarfin]
Not much. Like light,
I guess, -- like when the sun bounces off something like
a horse-brass or a sword,
you know how you don't really feel it unless it's in
your eyes, but you can
tell sort of.
[giving Finarfin another hesitant look]
For me at least.
Finarfin: [looking at the cavalry officer's shade]
Of what matter is thy
question?
[the Warrior is too embarrassed now to say; Finarfin
turns to Beren with an
inquiring expression.]
Beren: [shrugging]
What it felt like, when
you tried to take the Ring from me. We were wondering
-- earlier, that is
-- what would happen if someone living hit one of us.
Finarfin: [lips tightening]
I did not strike thee,
boy, nor did e'en attempt such.
Beren: [very polite]
No sir. We meant colliding
in general as well -- even only by accident.
[he glances over at his friends, and then back at the Elf-King]
Um, did it -- feel like anything to you?
[pause]
If you're not offended for some reason by me asking that.
[Finarfin only looks at him, not saying anything,
and he get embarrassed -- then
looks back up with a self-amused hopefulness]
Finarfin: [shaking his head]
Less than twenty-four
and six--!
[even more mildly]
--Like to naught but
to a shadow passed suddenly 'neath on summer's day, or to
a chill air, that moveth
off the water -- and to naught else.
[pause]
Thou art a curious folk.
Beren:
Ah, did you mean that
"curious," like we wonder about things, or "curious" as
meaning really strange?
--Your Majesty.
Finarfin: [slight smile]
Aye.
Beren:
Okay.
[he looks away, hiding a grin]
Next dumb question, were you talking about my people, or about us?
[gesturing around at them all]
Finarfin: [bland]
Most assuredly.
Beren:
You know, I can see
now where he gets it from.
[the King's expression darkens]
You sure you don't want
to sit down, sir? There's plenty of room, even with
Huan taking up half
of it.
[the Hound and he share a grin]
Finarfin:
Nay, I think not so.
Beren:
Only think? 'Cause if
you're sure, that's one thing, but if you only think
you shouldn't because
you feel awkward about everything in the past, that's
not gonna be fixed by
you pretending we're not here, and if you think we have
issues with you that
we're being too polite to say anything about but you
won't ask, it won't
go away either by you not saying anything.
[Finarfin gives him a long, level stare]
Finarfin:
Thou kennst ne'er when
-- nor dost heed plain sense! -- shouldst cease, I think?
Beren:
Nope.
[brief pause]
I'm not just doing it
because I feel sorry for you, sir, or because I don't
want th-- Finrod, to
think we weren't welcoming to you. My parents would be
furious with me for
not doing right by a relative, if I didn't even make the
effort.
[silence -- Finarfin stares at him, frowning]
--We're -- kin, s--Sire.
[longer pause]
Really. Even if it's
just by marriage and by marriage again. That's why they got
thrown out of Doriath
by your lady's uncle, so it would still be true.
Finarfin:
To what dost thou refer,
boy?
Beren:
You know, sir -- when
Thingol -- oh wait, you all used to call him something
else here, not even
Elu -- Elwe? -- he kicked them out of Menegroth -- only
just on a temporary
basis -- after -- wait, I'm assuming you know where
Menegroth is, but that's
not necessarily so, is it? Or maybe you would have
heard, from gossip?
--Would somebody please make me shut up and help?
Fourth Guard: [obliging tone]
All right.
[he grabs him and claps a hand over his mouth,
effectively gagging him, until
Beren elbows him hard in the ribs and there
is a brief scuffle which ends when
Huan gets up to participate, stepping on people
in the way, and they break it up.]
Beren: [to Huan]
Sit! --Sit!
[to the royal Guard]
--I meant take over,
you loon -- Now you all are going to have to suffer through
my version of it.
[to Finarfin, who is staring with a completely bemused expression]
What I heard was, and
somebody'll correct me if I'm wrong, probably all at once,
that the King and --
that is, your kids -- were visiting Tinuviel's family again,
which they did kind
of a lot, only this time it was because they were visiting
their sister too, since
she was living with them then, and somehow rumors had
gotten around about
the Kinslaying in Doriath and Thingol called them on it and
it was a big mess and
there was a lot of yelling and not as much listening, at
least at first, and
then even after it got straightened out on how you all
weren't involved, her
dad was still really furious with them for first off not
stopping it, and then
for being okay with House Feanor afterwards, and then for
keeping it a secret
from them.
[thoughtful]
--Though Tinuviel said
her mom had figured out a lot of it on her own, or at
least that it was something
big they weren't talking about. --Because they
were -- are -- related
to Thingol since he's their granddad's brother. So he
threw them all out for
a while, only not th-- your daughter. And he let them
come back later. And
if you want better information than that, you need to
ask someone who was
actually there and remembers it--
[looking around very pointedly at his companions]
--like certain people
here who are letting me flounder around telling it, or
else ask my wife. --So
if Tinuviel is your kids' cousin because she's related
to your wife,
that's a direct blood relationship, but she's related to you,
right, by marriage,
because your in-laws are kin, too, at least the way we
consider it back home,
and I think it's the same for you, right? At least,
I always assumed it
was.
[he looks over at the Steward, who nods]
So I'm related to your
kids now, by marriage, but that means I'm also related
to you. Well, obviously.
[ducking a little under Finarfin's expressionless stare]
--Sorry. --Your Majesty.
[silence]
Finarfin:
We cannot, so the adage
goeth, of our kindred by our own choosing make selection.
[Beren looks down, accepting the cut]
Being ignorant of thy
people as of thee, 'twould ne'er hath occurred, to choose
so -- yet of
all whom I perforce must name my kin, thou art by no means worst
in my esteeming, nor
last whom I had chosen, had choice been given me-- Peace;
I'd walk a little while,
and think upon all that I have heard this day, and
likewise seen, and perchance
then 'twill suit me to take place with ye, and
hear this curious manner
of speech, and more curious tales, brought back from
afar.
[He turns towards the door again, and is halted
by a discreet cough as the Captain
tries to get his attention]
--Aye?
Captain:
Would you -- that is,
should one of us accompany you, sir?
Finarfin:
What have I said, that
thou shouldst think to say so?
Captain:
You aren't afraid to
walk the Halls alone, my lord?
Finarfin:
Is there aught of danger
to the living in these Halls? Or wild beast, or storm,
or precipice, or folk
of violent disposition, the which might work to my harm?
Surely were it so, my
Lord and Lady should have forewarned -- or say ye nay?
[Beren starts to explain, but is discouraged
(though not quite so rowdily) by the
Guard beside him]
Warrior:
Not to the living, my
lord. But -- most -- few Eldar I think would be at ease.
Not even the Lady Amarie
was comfortable here, though she hid her fear well.
[pause]
Finarfin: [with a peculiar, thoughtful expression]
Amarie, thou
sayest, is eke come hither? By request? Or hers, or his, or
other's yet?
Warrior:
I -- we think it is
the Lady Nienna's, my lord.
[awkward pause]
Finarfin: [calmly]
Were the Song known,
none should e'er know surprise. Peace, I'll not yield to
speculation, nor ask
of thee the same. --For what, then, dost think I fear?
Or tell the old tales
of the dark far past before the Crossing of the Sea the
truth, of unquiet dead
that steal souls of a night, or lure with deadly pity?
Would ye guard me then,
that none might dispossess?
Captain:
No, sir, it can't be
done here. Lord Namo wouldn't have it.
Finarfin: [with a touch of pride -- he is, after all a King]
Think ye, then, that
I do fear where is no ground beneath?
[they are somewhat abashed]
Beren:
I think the only thing
you're afraid of is doing something wrong. --Sire.
[long pause]
Finarfin:
Thou hast taken the
lead.
Beren:
Sir?
Finarfin:
Again: hast thou not
marked it? --Nor ye?
[the Ten and Beren look at each other uncertainly]
This child speaketh as
were a lord among ye, nor ye to take affront, that he
should speak for all,
nor claim such precedence, even as there is no contending
betwixt thee and thee--
[to the Steward and the Captain respectively]
--that share authority
as 'twere a cup at banquet without strife. Are ye come
to Vanyar then, in death,
or hath this change earlier nascence yet?
[pause]
Captain:
Er -- Beren is
a lord, milord. He hasn't got a place anymore, but -- none of
us do either, really.
Finarfin:
He is a child
-- not even old enow to wed, far less to rule over many.
Captain:
Not by their
years, sir.
Steward: [speaking up at last, in an out-of-duty way]
Of thy brother's following,
the mortal House of Marach has held his chief
fortress in office over
both their own folk and ours, and two lords of Men
-- to my knowing not
a third -- have died in its defense, Galdor son of Hador,
and his father before
him in the Sudden Flame, who was a most valiant warrior,
and a skilled commander
as well as faithful to his liege lord, and not uncivil
in his mastery.
[pause]
--Nor is their skill
but in violence, as some aver: the sons and daughters
of the Secondborn are
apt to learning, and possess even wisdom no less than
discernment, for all
their brevity, nor are their songs lacking in all beauty.
Finarfin: [very dry]
That is most
high praise, from thee.
Captain: [slipping from addressing Finarfin to the Steward
to Beren by turns very confusingly]
But it's more complicated,
even, than that with regards to young Barahirion here, because he is --
or was, depending on how you look at it, and if you ask your eldest,
and
what mood you catch him in -- a liege lord to the King in his own right,
and I think that the Princes are cheating there, claiming authority over
him, because they predeceased Barahir, so I don't see how they can claim
that Beren ever owed them allegiance himself, except when he was
simply part of the hearth-guard of Beor, but certainly not as Lord of Dorthonion
--
[turning back to Finarfin]
--and thus no less truly a peer of the realm, though admittedly a junior one on several counts, and then proved himself worthy again and in his own right by demonstrating discretion, restraint, and being able to follow orders, which I'm sure you'll appreciate, sir -- even when said orders turned out not to be well-advised, and if you bring up the question of whose fault it is one more time I'll dunk you myself -- and now he's practically family even before we realized that he was family, so to speak. So--
[raising his hands]
--if he wants to speak
for the rest of us now, instead of hiding behind us
having panic attacks
and episodes of agoraphobia and unworthiness, that's
quite all right. If
we disagree -- we'll say so, believe me.
Finarfin: [amused despite himself]
'Tis like a conflagration,
this manner of speech -- the spark of it hath caught
in thee as well.
[glancing around at them]
The War hath changéd
ye, nor for all the worst. Strange, belike, but not more
cruel nor--
[he looks up at the water sculpture]
--unvaluing of beauty
nor of graciousness, for all the bluntness of thy thought.
--As some have feared
it should.
[almost smiling]
--Passing strange,
that rebellion should return ye trained to obedience even
as to command! --Lord
Edrahil.
[this first instance of being addressed as an
adult in his own right catches the
Steward by surprise]
Will't please thee walk
with me, and converse upon sundry matters, and perchance
it may be to advise?
Steward:
No, my lord. --But I'll
do it all the same.
Finarfin:
I did but ask,
sir -- not ordered thee.
Steward:
And I but answered:
it will not please me, and I will do it. I cannot answer
other, save to refuse
either word or compliance.
[Finarfin starts to say something, then checks and nods. Shrewdly:]
Finarfin:
Thy crest hath fallen
since last we held converse.
Steward:
True.
Finarfin:
For what the cause?
[with great reluctance, clearly debating silence, the other replies:]
Steward:
I . . . have learned
that she who bore the choice-name Sea-mew and was your
lady's handmaiden, --
and that I did most poorly love -- was among the Kinslain
these long years, that
I had deemed had long forgotten me with a better.
Finarfin: [surprised]
Thou didst not ken?
Steward:
How should I, sir?
[Finarfin looks at him, puzzled]
These Halls are large
and there are many here. Give me a little to recover
my composure, and I
shall overtake you.
Finarfin:
Shall't have no trouble
then, for all its largeness?
Steward:
Most assuredly not,
for two reasons -- the first that you being complete and
undiminished even by
your sorrows, do shine like a cresset on hilltop, and no
more trouble to find
than such a beacon -- the second, that does one know that
one whom one seeks is
present, it is much lighter work to find that one.
[the King frowns]
But do not think thus
to find the King your father, sir, nor even your elder
brothers, for none may
be found saving only that he -- or she -- does choose so.
Finarfin: [clearly unsettled]
Doth the truth of these
walls extend so far as to grant vision of one's inmost
heart, that nothing
be concealéd, nor unsaid, nor spoken?
[the Steward shakes his head]
Steward:
In life, in the eastern
lands, I stood upon your son's right hand in all things.
I know you thus -- beyond
the knowledge of the past Outside, when all of us were
other, and stood
in wise far different to each other -- through my understanding
of him, and doubtless
imperfect for that double remove; yet from my words, and
your return, I guess
that those two mirrors have not distorted past all truth.
--I'll come to find
you anon, my lord, I pledge: and then you may bespeak me as
you will, and ask,
and I shall endeavor to answer in such wise as you shall find
comprehensible, nor
give offense.
[pause]
Finarfin:
I would not increase
the burden of thy sorrows, still.
Steward: [with a glint of his usual self]
Nor I yours, -- who
can say? Perchance we may even succeed at that, my lord.
[with a faint smile Finarfin gives him a polite,
acknowledging nod, and another
generally to the rest of the company, and goes
out through the archway]
Beren: [frowning]
He did say that he didn't
mind so much having me for part of his family,
didn't he? Not just
that there were relatives he hated worse.
Steward: [nods]
The exactness of the
phrasing was ambivalent: either might have been meant by
the specific words employed.
But I too believe you have the right of it. --He
is very like our lord.
[he gestures for the flask, and his colleague
passes it over, but holds onto it
long enough that he has to look up and meet
his gaze]
Captain:
Are you going to be
up to this? Is dealing with him, now, a good idea?
Steward:
It will, most like,
forestall the brunt of his remorse from falling on the
King, and equally his
long-held wrath, and at a time when our lord can least
withstand either nor
spare thought to defend from it. It is my task, and my
place. But my strength
is not yet equal to my resolve.
Captain:
Is there anything I
can do to help?
Steward:
--As, for example, standing
by to watch a duel of words, where the aim of it is
seemingly to lose?
[they share a wry smile]
It will -- disengage my mind from other troubles.
Captain: [earnest]
I don't think
it's as hopeless as all that for you two. It's going to take work,
but I feel sure she'll
give you another chance.
Steward:
Yes, but you would,
being an unreasonable optimist.
Captain:
Well -- I've been right
so far, have I not?
[pause]
Steward:
I can almost not believe
you said that -- but I've known you too long.
Youngest Ranger:
--Ware!
Captain:
I mean, it seemed the
worst luck that Lady Amarie wouldn't hear a word from
Himself, but look what
came of it -- we're still here to help Beren and the
Princess now that they
need it. And--
Youngest Ranger:
--Sir--
Captain:
Yes, lad, I know.
[Aegnor returns, alone, quite composed (at least
apparently) and not fazed by the
unfriendly and wary looks directed towards him.
As he comes towards their group--]
Our liege lord has not returned yet, I'm afraid.
[he puts a slight emphasis on "Our" not unnoticed by the Prince.]
Aegnor: [superior tone]
On the not-unlikely
chance that he's taken off again and is haring about
somewhere as usual,
Angrod is looking for him throughout the levels instead.
--Which I see was a
correct assumption. I'll stay here and wait for him, then.
Captain:
I don't recommend that,
Highness.
Aegnor:
Why? Have you claimed
this Hall in your own right, then? Going to stake out
a realm of your own
now, are you?
Captain:
No, it's simply that
I doubt you can keep a civil tongue.
Aegnor: [raising an eyebrow]
"Fly pride, quoth the
peacock" --!
[he does not say a word towards Beren, nor the
rest of the Ten, but strolls a short
distance off and settles down where Finrod had
been playing, taking up the harp that
the Steward had manifested earlier. Looking
it over critically:]
The design of this thing
is so squat and ungainly, I've never understood how
you could bear to be
seen with such a clumsy piece of work, let alone claim
the design of it for
yourself!
Steward: [still sounding tired]
It stands travel better,
and the breadth of the soundbox prevents it from
toppling when there
is not secure and level place for it, as is often the
case when journeying,
nor requires additional carry of a stand.
Aegnor:
At the sacrifice of
tonal quality, no doubt.
Steward: [shortly]
The dimensions of the
chamber are calculated to compensate for the lack
of height.
Aegnor:
"Calculated"--
[he snorts and flicks at one of the strings contemptuously]
Such an approach, I guess,
is only to be expected, from one who has not a drop
of Teler blood or intuition--!
Third Guard: [polite but firm]
Strictly speaking, your
Highness, none of us have any blood, whether Teler,
Noldor, or Vanyar --
not even yourself.
[Aegnor does not answer, only fiddles with the tuning, a patronizing smile on his face]
Beren: [loyally]
I thought it
sounded fine, Sir. I couldn't tell any difference between it and
the Ki-- and Finrod's.
[the Prince gives him a sharp, sidelong Look at that]
Aegnor: [aside]
Yes, well, you wouldn't,
would you?
[the Captain catches the eye of both Rangers
in turn and makes a covert set of
hand-signals. Separately, throughout the following
conversation, they get up and
go over to the mural as if critiquing it. To
Beren, though addressing him obliquely,
not looking at him:]
Though I suppose that you cannot help that.
[pause]
You do not answer, Beoring?
Beren:
Not to you.
Aegnor: [setting aside the harp and leaning forward as he
gets down to business]
You subscribe, then,
to my eldest brother's belief that all are equal in
death, then? Or are
you merely being insolent?
Beren:
Neither. My father was
killed six years after the Battle. I was only ever
the King's vassal. --Directly,
I mean.
Aegnor: [shrugging]
There is of course mere
common courtesy, when another addresses one. --What
became of the mithril
hauberk and arms I gave to your great-grandfather Boromir?
That gear was pretty
nearly priceless.
Beren: [tersely]
Lost it.
Aegnor: [venomously pleasant]
You lost everything
that was entrusted to your care, didn't you?
[Beren does not respond]
The lands themselves
-- well, that's understandable, you couldn't exactly do
anything about being
outnumbered. And I can understand why your people would
have left when you could
no longer take care of them as well. Property, even
your life -- for none
of that can you justly be held accountable for, in the
end. --Only for your
honor.
[he looks up, then, at the still-silent Beren,
ignoring the dark expressions of
the Ten]
None of your House
would have behaved as you did. Such a disgrace to the memory
of Bregolas, of Bregor,
of Balan himself -- to lose the life of the King whose
life your own was sworn
to protect: even to accept his assistance, when the
price of it was merely
disgrace and dethronement, should have been beneath you.
Beren: [pushed past self-control]
I couldn't stop him!
There was nothing I could do--
Aegnor:
What would your father
say to that? Surely he never uttered those words.
[strangely, Beren gives him a faint smile, not changing as the Prince continues:]
Surely Barahir
would say, indeed, that you should have fallen on your sword
first, before accepting
such a boon.
[long, tense silence among the Ten, Huan whimpers
-- and Beren keeps giving Aegnor
that odd smile]
Beren:
I may be remembering
this all wrong, but I thought it was explained to me that
you and Orodreth and
Angrod were pretty good friends with your cousins and used
to spend a lot of time
with them, and that's why you set up your holdings in the
East so close to the
Pass, and why he was with them at Sun-Return, and why they
moved in with him and
Finrod when the Leaguer broke.
[with an acknowledging look towards the Steward]
I'm sure it was more
complicated than just family, but even with there not being
all that many places
to go, after the Sudden Flame, the thing I'm wondering is,
if maybe you
feel a bit guilty, since maybe you all being so tight with that crew
had something to do
with Finrod giving them such a warm welcome, if it was partly
for your sake. --Just
going on how things were in Dorthonion after it started
getting bad, and the
way people react, how it isn't all just what's the most
reasonable thing to
do.
[silence]
Steward:
A most interesting question.
--Is that the case, I wonder?
Aegnor: [glowering]
I do not choose to answer
your unworthy speculations.
[the Captain lifts his hand as if to interject, then lowers it.]
Steward:
I believe that you have
quite
well, your Highness.
[In the background, the attentive Rangers swing
up via the high-relief "forest"
onto the stones forming the ascenders of the
waterfall and edge over the top of it]
Aegnor:
Still defending him?
[shaking his head, scoffing:]
No doubt you'll say that
it was not so bad, after all, since it happened in a
noble cause, for the
sake of a greater good.
[Beren's expression goes grim -- the Soldier
puts a hand on his arm, reassurance
as much as restraint]
Steward: [thoughtful]
No, I should never say
that.
It was far worse than I could ever have conceived
of, worse than the Ice,
worse than the Flame, singly or together.
[this gives Aegnor pause, but only for a moment before he comes back:]
Aegnor: [furious]
Then he, at least,
should show a trifling amount of reverence -- at least --
[the Captain rises to his feet]
--rather than taking
for granted and without gratitude the continued generosity
that's been shown him.
[with enough nonchalance to convey a distinct
menace, the Captain walks slowly over
to where Aegnor is sitting, rests his foot on
a boulder just short of him, and leans
over him, smiling all the while and keeping
his eyes steadily on the Prince's]
Captain:
--Enough.
Aegnor:
What, are you going
to challenge me at last, then?
[the other shakes his head, still holding his stare]
Captain:
I will not fight you,
sir.
[pause -- smiling wickedly:]
I've no need to, you see.
[his associates ambush the Prince from above-and-behind
and drag him backwards to
the edge, whence they toss him in with extreme
enthusiasm. Aegnor's attempts to
recover dignity and land are not aided by Huan's
deciding that this looks like a
fine idea and leaping in with him. After a couple
of tries he manages to climb out
and stands there looking intensely disgruntled,
sopping, and enough humiliated on
several levels not to try to retaliate]
Aegnor: [glaring at the Steward]
Is this the consequence
you were hinting so darkly about?
Steward: [serious]
Evidently so. One
consequence, at least. There could be others too, I suppose.
[As Aegnor starts to say something else, Huan
climbs out and shakes vigorously,
splashing everyone, who react with good-natured
annoyance -- but coincidentally
standing right next to Finrod's brother.
It couldn't be on purpose, after all...]
Aegnor:
Huan!? What's wrong
with you, dog?
Beren: [offhand]
That's what Celegorm
wondered,
too.
[Aegnor turns a furious Look on him, getting a raised eyebrow back at him]
Aegnor:
You--
Ranger: [interrupting, to the Captain]
--Might we again, sir?
[he gets the glare instead; his commander
looks over to his senior colleague for
confirmation]
Steward: [shrugs, smiling a little]
It doesn't matter to
me either way: I'm feeling much heartened already.
[Aegnor incautiously puts a hand on his sword-hilt
-- and is shoved back in with
the additional help of a possibly-unnecessary
boot behind the ankles to prevent
him from getting his balance, by the other Rangers.
Huan follows suit again
voluntarily.]
Ranger: [to Beren, as Aegnor crawls out onto the rocks again,
very bedraggled]
You know, you're right:
it is both fun, and funny. In a very curious and
primitive sort of way,
of course.
Beren: [solemnly]
Of course, you're really
supposed to do it to your own relatives, not your
liege lord's family.
Or to your friends. And remember, you have to watch out
on account of it usually
escalates into retaliation.
[looking consideringly at Aegnor]
Only I don't think you
really have to worry because first off, he's worried
about his dignity and
secondly, you've got him way outnumbered if you count
everybody, plus Huan,
which goes back to the first point.
Ranger:
You should have helped,
then it would have been all right and proper.
Beren: [shaking his head]
Oh, I doubt he's gonna
like the fact that I'm kin now any more than that we
decided he wasn't actually
in charge of me. Though I do think Celegorm's worse,
all around, than me.
[he and Aegnor lock stares, much more serious this time.]
Steward: [earnestly]
My lord, you provoke
him much, and some might say needlessly.
Beren: [quiet and slow, like someone reporting on distant
troop movements]
I know, but . . . we've
got the truth lying here between us like a hot coal,
and . . . he can either
pick it up and deal with it, which is going to hurt,
or try to kick it away
by walking off or picking another fight. I'm betting
. . . that he's going
to leave it there and walk off again. Given the fact
that the last couple
fights weren't too satisfying . . .
[Aegnor stands there looking at him, dripping
and frustrated, not saying anything,
for a long moment. (Note: sfx -- the drops do
not land on the floor, but vanish
continually as they fall, unless (as with Huan
shaking himself off) they strike
another spirit: the Platonic Form of Water doesn't
leave puddles.) Abruptly he
turns and walks evenly away with as much dignity
as he can pull together. To his
chagrin and annoyance the Captain accompanies
him, and follows him to the door]
Aegnor:
Are you so petty in
your triumphs, then, that you must make them last so long?
Captain:
No, sir, I was wondering
if you'd learned anything from this, and if we should
be prepared to do it
again -- if not you, then Angrod in his turn.
Aegnor:
Fear not, I'll tell
him you're mad and violent when I speak to Finrod about this.
Captain:
Good. Since the Beoring
has no hard feelings towards you, I'll give you a word
of advice, then: you
may be deceived thinking you discern the King your brother,
though perchance not;
but Lord Beren at first mistook the King your father for
Felagund instead. You
might warn him about that, as well as our diversions here.
[Aegnor gives him a stricken look]
Aegnor:
F -- my father is here?
Captain:
And in good health,
though not spirits.
[pause]
The Powers requested
him to speak with the Lady your cousin, and he accepted
the task. But her words
unsettled him too much to go on, and so he came back
here for a while --
until we unsettled him too much in turn.
Aegnor:
What -- did he say about
me?
Captain:
Nothing, Highness, nothing
at all.
Aegnor:
What did you talk about,
then?
Captain:
Of my treason, and its
consequences, the ones past, present, and it may be
to come.
[pause]
Aegnor:
He said nothing
about me whatsoever?
Captain:
Not to me, my lord.
He might perhaps to Lord Beren -- they spoke for a brief
while apart -- but you
would have to ask him.
[nodding towards the mortal -- Aegnor gives him a glare]
But I don't think it
very likely. I gather the substance of their conversation
was . . . similar to
yours, but with differences.
[another, worse glare]
Well, I just don't know,
your Highness. I wasn't present, and they've not told
me, and you've indicated
extreme dislike for conjecture, so I shan't venture to
do so. Sorry, but there
you have it.
[pause -- the Prince does not leave, and the Captain relents.]
I think your father is
far too troubled at the moment by discovering the same
facts concerning our
mutual lord's death that so much aggrieved you twain, to
think on your long-held
resolution, that is not news nor new grief to him --
I believe the information
has been nearly as great a blow to him as your words,
and the ones which you
did not say, were to the Beoring, who nearly faded from
this Circle before we
might convince him that no fault in it was his, no more
than part. --Now
do you understand why we shall not permit you to do so again,
even if you judge us
mad to name him yet friend?
[they match stares for a long moment -- Aegnor tosses his head at last]
Aegnor:
Only now you said you
would not speculate.
Captain: [shrugging]
I didn't expect you
to thank me for it, my lord.
Aegnor:
That's as well then,
milord -- I'd not have you disappointed.
[with that retort he turns to go -- and barely
avoids a collision with Nienna's
Apprentice, entering, due as much to the agile
recoil of the later as to his own
attempts to sidestep. The Apprentice stares
at him with astonishment -- the Prince
gives him a savage Look and vanishes, leaving
the other quite bewildered.]
Apprentice:
That was your lord's
brother.
[the Captain nods]
He was very wet.
Captain:
He insulted the Lord
of Dorthonion, again. --I hope you weren't thinking of
doing so?
Apprentice:
Believe me, it had not
even crossed my mind. --Nor will it, I promise.
[he shakes his head, looking over his shoulder into the corridor]
Captain:
So have you anything
useful for me?
Apprentice:
I -- er, I hope so.
Nothing has been resolved or decided, except that your
friend's lady is one
of the most stubborn souls ever to have been born, and
the only development
has been that far from discouraging her romantic illusions
-- that isn't my wording,
please don't be offended -- Nerdanel has rather
taken her part and argued
her case for her. Up until the discussion . . .
got off the trail onto
another course, rather, and she and the Hunter started
trying to convince my
Master's family to let them decorate the Halls with
tree-toads.
Captain: [startled]
Tree-toads!?
Apprentice:
Carved from chalcedony
with garnet eyes. --It's a longish story and not very
relevant, which is what
Lord Namo was pointing out. Unless you want me to go
through it?
Captain:
No, that's right. --Hm.
And your Master hasn't turned up yet either, has she?
Very interesting.
Has Lady Yavanna returned?
Apprentice: [shaking his head]
Nor her sister. The
only people left now are Lord Namo and Lady Vaire, Lord
Orome and Lord Aule,
and Lord Irmo. And Luthien, of course. Oh, and Nerdanel
-- but I already said
that -- and Curumo -- that's Lord Aule's principal
aide, he's like me,
only -- of a different -- kindred. And not -- pretending
to be anything else--
[aside]
--and failing miserably at it!
[frowning]
--Perhaps you know whom I'm talking of?
Captain:
I didn't know him back
in the Day, but the brief encounter I observed earlier
between him and my master
gave me the distinct impression that he's a bit
conceited and given
to causing trouble if he can get away with it. Of course
you'll no doubt say
that I say it as shouldn't, as the saying goes.
Apprentice:
No, you're spot-in --
spot-on? -- from target-shooting, correct? But not the
kind of trouble you
lot are always making.
[glum]
He just -- says things -- sometimes, clever things, and one looks such a fool--
[guilty]
--You really should not
be commenting on nor criticizing your elders and
superiors, don't you
think?
[to his annoyance, the Captain struggles not to laugh out loud]
--What?
Captain:
Sweet Cuivienen, how
do you think I got this job? --The intelligence part?
That's what I did for
amusement, watch people and imitate them at gatherings.
It took Himself to show
me what use was in it, even before the Rebellion and
the founding of the
Kingdom -- how the things I noticed were often more than
simple mannerisms, and
not infrequently something that the individuals them-
selves were unaware
of, and how much less guarded the lordly folk were about
the cheerful fellow
who only talked of bows and hounds and hawks and points,
than about each other.
Very useful to Lord Finarfin, when the rest of House
Finwe was intriguing
like mad.
Apprentice: [snippy]
Still, I don't expect
you ever -- parodied him, or his family!
Captain: [bemused]
Why?
[pause]
I repeat, how do you think I earned this responsibility?
Apprentice:
And . . . he didn't
mind?
Captain: [frowns]
Well, I'd not say that.
He rather minded falling off his horse for laughing,
but not the imitation.
Not as much as his sister did -- she wouldn't speak to
me for a whole day,
which got tiresome with her having to ask my sister to
ask me whatever it was
she wanted to know, though when I started doing it
back she decided it
was a bit funny and left off for the rest of the hunt.
Which was just as well.
--I presume you're speaking of Finrod Felagund, and
not Lord Finarfin?
He
thought it a bit childish, but harmless. --Little did
he know! But little
did we all, then.
Apprentice:
You're trying to put
me at ease and teach me something at the same time,
aren't you?
Captain: [approving]
Very clever you are.
--Can you tell me what?
Apprentice:
I'd guess -- something
about not assuming things about people one hasn't a
long acquaintance with;
something about paying attention to the things and
persons one doesn't
usually pay attention to, something about not being being
too proud to laugh at
one's self. --And how to put another at ease -- and off-
guard -- in a conversation.
Captain:
All that just from that!
Amazing. --But what I'd prefer you to be learning is,
what's going on at the
Council.
Apprentice:
Oh, I am.
Captain:
But you're here,
not there, unless you've some other abilities beyond Elven
ken to employ.
Apprentice:
Well, no -- yes -- both,
in a manner of speaking: I have friends keeping track
of it and reporting
to me.
Captain: [flatly]
You've involved others
in this?
Apprentice: [increasingly anxious]
I just -- delegated,
too.
Captain:
Friends -- on the staff,
here.
Apprentice:
Is that wrong? You --
didn't--
Captain: [sighing]
No, I'll not second-guess
you. I didn't tell you how to do it, nor set
conditions. It would
be ill of me to meddle now, when we chose you for
confidence in your abilities.
[sighs again, and starts back towards the waterfall,
the Apprentice tagging
along with a worried look]
I trust your friends
are as trustworthy as discreet -- and if they're not,
there's naught I can
do concerning it now.
Apprentice:
I'm sorry--
Captain:
Why? You haven't failed
yet.
[as the Apprentice is mulling this over, frowning,
they come up to the rest of
the group beside the falls]
Ranger:
Yes, but if you take
the easy route you're practically in Thargelion! Then
you've got to cross
all that distance again, and you've nearly doubled your
travel time. Much better
to take the shortcut through the cleft at Aglon.
Beren: [embarrassed, trying to pretend to be angry instead
of grinning]
--Would you just shut
up about that?
Captain:
You're not giving poor
Barahirion a hard time, are you?
Ranger:
But you do it, Sir.
Captain:
Yes, but I'm
allowed. "Rank hath its privilege" and so on.
[to Beren]
So, which route do
you think was the better before the War, the one through
the mountain pass at
Aglon, or the long way around across the rolling country-
side in the east?
Beren: [to the world at large]
I hate my life.
Captain: [settling down on the ledge and reclaiming his flask]
Well, that's all right,
then -- cheer up, you haven't got it any more.
[the Apprentice gives him a shocked look]
Both Rangers: [outraged]
Sir!!!
[Beren laughs -- and casually reaches over to
shove the Captain playfully on the
shoulder, coincidentally as he's just about
to take a drink]
Captain: [grimacing and shaking his hand]
Seems as though someone
isn't feeling guilty for having been killed any more.
--If that had been the
real thing you'd be in trouble for wasting it, whelp.
And not just the usual
background level of trouble, either.
[to the Apprentice, who is slightly agog]
Was there more that you've still to say? Or did you need something?
Apprentice:
Actually -- you see,
I was wondering -- if you're allowed, that is --
Captain:
It's a good thing I'm
patient, isn't it--
Apprentice: [abruptly, distracted]
--Ah, what was
it that you were angry about, Lord Beren?
Beren:
Oh--
[struggling not to grin again]
Not really. --Nothing.
Ranger:
It's because we found
out that he gets flustered over perfectly ordinary
words. Like "mountain
pass." Or "rolling meadow."
Apprentice:
Why on Arda--?
[Beren looks up at the ceiling and sighs]
Ranger: [serious]
Because of the way you
say them in the High Speech.
Second Guard: [just as seriously]
Or what the same expressions
are used to mean.
Apprentice: [puzzled]
But what's wrong with
saying "the bosom of the earth"--? Or "cleavage," for
that matter?
Second Guard:
That's what we've been
trying to find out. He just gets more and more speechless.
Apprentice:
I don't think one can,
actually -- shouldn't you say, "less and less speechful"
-- hm, that doesn't
sound very well either, does it . . . ?
[to Beren]
Do you think you could
explain the reason for such reactions to simple
concepts? I don't know
all that much about Secondborn customs, you see, and
I find them fascinating,
but I so rarely get the chance to speak to mortal
shades, and I hardly
know what to ask or where to begin.
Beren:
You guys are going to
pay
for this. --Um, no, sir, I really don't right now.
[sudden inspiration]
You should really talk
to His Majesty -- my wife's cousin, that is, and ask
Finrod. He's the language
expert, after all -- Elvish and human.
[Touché -- the Apprentice looks around
at their expressions, knowing there's a
joke going on that he's missing. Before he can
ask further, Huan, who has been
clambering about on rocks like a mountain goat
or a puppy, suddenly bounds down
and goes running off with ears trailing like
a mad thing into the distant shadows
of the Hall, and then back again -- and then
does it over again]
Apprentice: [shaking his head, looking after the Hound]
Why is he doing
that?
Beren:
'Cause he's wet.
[the Apprentice looks at him doubtfully]
And he's a dog.
[at the continued dubious Look]
Dogs do that sometimes, is all. I guess you don't have any, huh?
Apprentice: [drawing himself up]
I am familiar with dogs,
milord. I -- am just uncertain as to whether you're
aware who Huan is.
Beren: [mischievously innocent]
He's our hound. He used
to belong to my wife's cousin, and before that Celegorm
got him from Orome himself.
He's the Lord of Dogs.
[Nienna's student sighs a little]
--And he's like you. Immortal. Or like Tinuviel's mom. Only different, I guess.
[the Apprentice recovering from his start, gives a slightly wounded look to the Ten]
Captain:
Beren figured you out
all on his own. Perception, not deduction, though.
Apprentice:
Oh.
[looking around at them, uncertainly]
Can I rely on you . . . not to, er, what was that phrase you used?
Captain:
Blow your cover, as
if you were a pheasant pretending to be a thicket.
--We're safe,
but I can't say the same of anyone else who might be here.
[glancing around meaningfully]
Apprentice:
Oh, we're alone.
Captain:
Are you sure? We thought
there might be company earlier, and there has been
at various times, in
various states of presence.
Apprentice:
No, I'm certain.
Beren: [very curious]
You can see if anyone's
here who's vanished?
Apprentice: [a touch patronizing]
"See" is not the proper
word, given that it is a perception or apprehension
of the Unseen.
[Beren looks puzzled, and gestures to get the Steward's attention]
Beren:
Am I imagining it, or
isn't "perceive" like "grab ahold of" --?
Steward:
There is indeed a common
root.
Beren: [to the Apprentice]
So why's that make more
sense, when you're not actually touching them, than
for me to say "see"?
Apprentice:
Ah.
[pause. Changing the subject:]
--Still, you didn't come
up with a real explanation of your answer as to why
he's dashing about like
a dragonfly up and down the room.
Beren:
I already said. Because
he's a dog, and dogs do that. Even Immortal ones.
Also in the new snow,
they run like crazy back and forth. Sometimes he chases
his tail. In the woods
he'd find fallen branches and drag them around, only
they were the size of
small logs, and we joked that he was a firewood-hound too.
[frowning]
We had a pony that used to do that with big sticks, too. Never figured out why.
Apprentice:
And that's got what
to do with Huan?
Beren:
Nothing. Except they
were doing the same thing, and almost the same size.
[the Apprentice frowns -- and then looks suddenly worried]
Apprentice:
Erm -- you wouldn't
say I was rude, would you?
Beren: [confused]
Uh -- considering I've
only talked to you what, three times maybe? that I know
of, and I never heard
anything about you until today -- whatever -- and that's
hardly anything at all,
I really am not the one to ask.
Apprentice:
No, I meant -- to you.
Just now.
[pause]
Beren:
No. A little sarcastic,
maybe, but not really rude.
[as Nienna's student looks relieved]
--Why?
Apprentice: [glancing sidelong at the Captain]
I -- ah -- well, I haven't
any wish to follow Aegnor's lead, let's say.
Beren:
Well. You haven't told
me I should've killed myself, let alone twice yet, so
you've got a long way
to go to catch up, if that's any reassurance.
Apprentice: [startled, increasingly, and dismayed]
Oh. --Oh.
[looks around, trying to ascertain if this is a joke.]
I -- really wish my Master were about. And I were home.
Captain: [slyly]
On Taniquetil, I presume?
[this does not make his victim any happier]
Apprentice:
Ah -- could you tell
me what I did wrong? How you -- figured it out? Please?
[He sits down, a little uncertainly, socially
awkward among the Ten, on a rock
across from the Captain. Huan comes back and
flops down not far, looking at the
Apprentice and grinning.]
Captain:
You didn't do anything
wrong.
[pause -- the Apprentice looks exasperated]
Not any one thing.
The things that you did -- or didn't -- have almost certainly
not been noticed by
anyone else. Most people don't, after all, if it doesn't
concern them directly.
Now, what I imagine you've been doing -- and correct me
if we're wrong -- is
that you vary your persona depending on whom you're among.
I expect you're Vanyar
most of the time, except on Taniquetil, since you'd have
the most anonymity that
way, whether in Tirion or on the seacoast, -- or in here.
I also expect that you're
Teler
when you're in Valmar?
[the Apprentice nods, his expression mixed between chagrin and admiration]
Again, you'd be rare
enough, wherever you went, to be something of a curiosity,
but so long as you have
a decent reason for being there -- like being a servant
of Lady Nia's, that's
usually acceptable -- that rarity would mean that no one
would be able, or likely
so, to call you on it. And the curiosity -- assuming
that firstly people
here haven't changed that much, and secondly you don't do
anything too
eccentric--
[his erstwhile adversary grimaces slightly]
--is bound to fade very
quickly as people do have for the most part their
own lives and affairs
to manage, even here. --In a manner of speaking, of
course. A good friend
of mine back home in the Old Country excels at that,
fitting in. But--
[he pauses until the Apprentice can't take it
any longer; the Youngest Ranger
starts a bit, and looks thoughtful]
Apprentice:
But what?!
Captain: [teasing]
Patience, lad, patience--
Huan:
[sharp bark]
Captain:
Oh, all right. Due to
a circumstance quite beyond your control, there is
now someone here who
is familiar with the Vanyar enough to mark such small
discrepancies in your
stories that others might not even notice, and attentive
enough to matters of
culture and diplomacy to worry about them. To wit, Finrod
grandson of Indis, betrothed
of Amarie, and also a certain number of those who
were formerly of Finarfin's
House, such as myself. --Not that the rest of us
aren't good at spotting
details, either, though not necessarily knowing the
significance of them.
But those remarks and reported comments helped build
the mosaic over time.
Apprentice:
But what were they?
There must have been some specific things!
Captain:
Lack of specifics, actually.
Too vague on the details of what family you were
related to, who were
your kin, what was your House, all a very large part of
it. The fact that none
of us knew you we discounted at first, on the assumption
that you must have been
born after the Rebellion.
Steward:
And yet -- though such
only could explain -- to counter that, ever the slight
recoil, the lifted brow,
the secretive smile whenever any addressed you as
"young."
Apprentice: [crestfallen]
So it was me.
Steward:
Few would have marked
your responses -- nor made much of them: both slight,
and not inappropriate
as annoyance from one impatient of being dismissed for
his youth. Only in the
combination, and in consideration with other things,
and observed consistently
over time -- and, I venture to say, only because
I was watching
you. One does that, when one must report how a message is
received: the mere words
themselves being useless without the setting, as
a stone cannot be worn
without its fixture.
Apprentice:
Hm. So what else was
it?
Soldier: [to the Captain]
The children, sir--
[the Captain nods]
Captain:
That was another thing
that was marked, by us, how you conducted yourself
laboring in the Hall
of Play.
Apprentice: [anxious]
Am I not sufficiently
well-disposed towards them?
Captain:
Not at all -- you were
too
good. Even parents sometimes find the whims of
their offspring to grow
tiresome, as you'd know if you'd ever been either.
But your patience had
a sort of fascinated wonder about it, as if you were
a loremaster studying
some strange new phenomenon, or a traveller come to
a place where the wild
birds settle for winter, overwhelmed with bounty
and hardly to be pried
away from watching, when most people would have gone
off with a headache,
or at least requested a little more quiet, less frisking
about, long since.
Beren: [startled]
There are children
here--?
[the others look at him, and his dismayed expression turns to bitter realization]
Of course -- I -- didn't think--
Huan: [pawing over at his foot]
[thin whine]
Apprentice:
Not so many, now. --And
they do not stay long, usually.
[Beren sighs, and nods after a moment. Curiously:]
--You sorrow for those you've never met.
Beren:
Don't you?
Apprentice:
Yes, but -- you -- your
people -- aren't like us--
Second Guard: [aside]
Which "us" do you mean?
Beren: [intense]
--Aren't we?
Captain: [breaking in]
So after a while we
started paying closer attention, after Himself pointed out
that you never actually
said "Ingwe" or "Valmar" when you were speaking of your
King sending you to
the Lady, and that everyone just assumed that was who you
meant, when you spoke
of your lord on Taniquetil. Things that startle you, things
that annoy you -- you
seem to find it very annoying to have to go up one hallway
and down another to
get to a place that's physically adjacent but not connected
by a doorway, for example
-- and things that delight you. Such as very small
people who talk nonstop,
for another.
[rasing his hands]
--Does that help you?
We could spend a lot longer going into greater detail,
but I thought you had
things you were supposed to be doing for Lady Vaire.
[the Apprentice nods, looking a bit piqued again
-- then starts and looks much
more dismayed]
What's wrong, lad?
Apprentice:
I just realized something.
--Well, not just, but I've been too busy to do anything about it.
Captain:
And?
Apprentice:
I didn't win.
Captain:
And?
Apprentice:
Not really. You let
me win.
Captain:
I thought we'd established
that already.
Apprentice:
And -- we didn't finish.
Captain:
Only just realized that?
Apprentice:
I -- I hadn't thought
about what it meant! You could have demolished me,
you were pushing me
hard before you started giving me openings, and -- and
-- I don't have a chance!
Captain:
Oh, you've got a chance,
all right. Blind luck and random factors play a great
part in these things.
Someone might do something to distract me, or say something,
or I might forget about
a step in the Hall and trip, you never know. You could
luck out, as they say
back home.
[the Youngest Ranger reaches over and pokes the
nearest of his companions hard in
the arm, but his superior does not notice]
Apprentice:
But unless something
happens, unpredictably, like that, your friends will "bet"
on you, and they'll
win.
[the Captain shrugs]
I thought I was free,
once I did this job, and instead I have to look forward
to -- to -- what would
happen if you'd actually landed a blow?
Captain:
How should I know?
Apprentice:
! ? !
Captain:
I gather that you've
been rehearsing and studying with other -- members of your
family, from the level
of skill you displayed, what happens when you connect
with each other?
Apprentice:
Erm . . .
Captain:
Does it hurt? Do the
effects last? Simple questions, I'd think,
Apprentice:
Well, yes, but it's
-- different. There's a lot more -- noise and light, for
one thing.
Captain:
Ah. You're not fighting
in this form, then.
Apprentice:
Not -- not exactly.
Captain:
So you're cheating.
Apprentice: [sullen]
I suppose you could
call it that.
Captain:
Well --
[setting his left hand on the hilt of his sword]
Only one way to find out--
[in a quick gesture he draws it left-handed,
in a second move flips it up into
the air, catching it to heft it correctly --
and sweeps it over to swat the flat
of the blade hard against the side of the Apprentice's
neck. With a strangled
yell the "Vanyar Elf" tries to move out of the
way too late, and scrambling falls
down in a heap, holding at his neck. He looks
up at the Captain in dismayed outrage]
I should say that it
does. I don't know if you'd have to re-embody if I
"killed" you, --I don't
suppose you want to find out, eh?
Apprentice: [stunned]
You -- that -- I can't
believe you did that--!
Captain:
Strange -- the effects
seemed pretty believable to me.
Apprentice:
You know what I mean!
How -- how -- that was so unfair!
Captain:
Not at all.
[he gets up, sheaths the blade and holds out
his left hand to the Apprentice, who
stares at him in revulsion and scrambles to
his feet on his own.]
You had a fast three-count
while I was drawing and turning it, and you sat there
"like a bump on a log."
You think an animal would stay still for such a threat?
Go out and try catching
turtles, if you think so. Not my fault you've not got
the sense nor speed
of a turtle.
Apprentice:
Turtles? Turtles
are so slow, it's proverbial.
[Beren laughs, as do several of the others]
Ranger:
Didn't I say something
like that when you told me to go catch turtles for my
first arms practice?
Captain: [dryly]
Among many other things.
Let me tell you, after being in charge of a unit
for six months, I had
even less idea than before why anyone would want to
be ruler over the Noldor.
[to the Apprentice, as he sits back down among
the company, very lecturing, but
not harsh:]
Lad, nothing that fears
for its life or death can afford to be wrong in that
regard. And we, who
have to worry about doing wrong as well, can still less
afford mistakes. To
be alert, to assess swiftly and accurately, that's the
only answer. Else a
delusion of the Enemy might cause you to fail, and cost
not only your own life,
but all those you're tasked to protect -- or too
great haste to guard
against such might lead you into murder.
[to Beren]
If I didn't remember
to apologize then, I'm sorry for saying that I wished I'd
not seen the Ring, and
shot you as a servant of the Enemy from far off.
Beren:
You--
Captain: [interrupting]
I did mean it, then.
Beren:
I was going to say,
you have to be fair, Sir -- you were only agreeing with me.
Apprentice:
Agreeing --?!?
Beren:
Yup.
Apprentice:
But -- you'd be dead.
--Then. And not even have succeeded in liberating
a Silmaril.
Beren: [flatly]
And nobody else would
be. And the Silmarils would be where they were for
hundreds of years.
Apprentice:
You -- you'd rather
have died without accomplishing anything -- by mistake
-- than . . . ?
[he looks around at the Ten with a troubled expression]
Warrior: [proudly]
That's because he's
Edain.
Apprentice: [frowning]
Isn't that just a dialect
form for "Secondborn"?
Warrior:
Not the way we use it.
Apprentice: [sniffs, grasping for the superior manner again]
Even if one grants that
you are perhaps not all crazy, you're still very
confusing people. And
no chivalry, no sense of sportsmanship whatsoever!
[he gives the Captain a very stern Look -- the latter is not fazed at all]
Captain:
Lesson one, friends?
The Ten, and Beren: [chorus]
"War is not a
game--"
Captain:
That's why I call duelling
"that silly ritual combat nonsense." It creates
all kinds of bad habits,
and worse assumptions, such as the one that your
opponent will follow
the same rules as you.
Apprentice: [rubbing at his trapezoidal again]
I'm doomed.
[pause]
Captain:
You don't have to be.
If you'd like, we can train you properly, and not
finish our match
until you feel you're ready.
Apprentice: [bleak]
I'm not as good as you
are -- and unless I . . . cheat . . . I never will
be, will I?
Captain:
I've no idea. Only one
way to find out--
[Nienna's student flinches]
--Nothing like that fast.
Or
that easy. Same principle, though -- you have
to try.
Apprentice: [faintly]
Oh joy.
[pause]
Captain: [serious]
Do you want me to let
you off? Call it even, once your task is done, and
we're quits?
[the Apprentice is clearly thinking hard about
this, but after a moment he shakes
his head, though with a very unhappy look, knowing
he's going to regret it --
probably more than once]
Good lad. --Second lesson:
it always hurts. No matter what you do, or do not
do, the results are
going to be unpleasant in one way or another. That's the
way of it. You simply
have to pick. Would you rather live with: having walked
away? --Or being beaten
like an ingot until you don't stand there like a rock
asking yourself -- "I
say, can he really do that, now?"
[the other grimaces at the imitation, and the
fact that rest of the Ten think
it's funny]
--or stand there afterwards
saying "Hey, I've been hit! This can't be happening
to me!" for another
few moments before reacting. --Shock of it, and the fear,
hurts nearly as much
as the blow itself, doesn't it?
[the Apprentice nods, unhappily -- then checks]
Apprentice:
You hit me with the
flat, and it hurt that much.
Captain:
Don't worry, we'll train
with blunted and dulled equipment until you're safe
to handle live edges.
Apprentice:
No. That's not
what I meant.
[getting more upset]
I wounded you with edge
and point, and I didn't pull the blows either. If --
is this what
it's like? To be wounded? Only worse? To be--
[he breaks off, distraught]
Captain: [gently]
I knew what I was in
for.
Apprentice:
But--
[he looks at the Ten, anguished, and is not entirely reassured by their expressions]
Captain:
Are you afraid that
I will exact punishment from you for that?
[giving him an intense stare]
You've already called
my honor into question a second time, and you know that
I can slice the truth
fine enough to weave nets for even such a soaring bird-
of-passage as yourself
-- are you worried I have trapped you yet again?
[pause]
Apprentice:
No. You've only made
trouble to defend your friends -- or, well, out of boredom,
and --
[frowning]
--I suppose I could be
as mistaken as before, and quite foolish saying this,
but -- I don't think
any of you bear me any ill will.
[turning and bowing graciously towards the Steward]
Not even you, sir, despite some cause.
[after a second the Steward gives him a neutral
nod in return. To the Captain,
reluctantly:]
I am worried --
about what I did to you. Can I at least see how badly your arm
is hurt?
Captain:
There's naught to see
-- we that are but mind and memory have no blood to spill,
it's but the thought
of it that counts with us, so to speak.
[brief pause]
But I'll give you my hand in fellowship, and to seal our bargain, if you will.
[longer pause]
Apprentice:
Forgive me -- I am disquieted
and -- revulsed, I have to admit, by your state.
--It's nothing personal,
you understand.
Captain: [wry smile]
Do you think I haven't
noticed that as well? Why do you think I baited you so
hard and left you no
time for second-thoughts of any sort? Had to encourage
that hot-headed impulsiveness
to the point where both your common sense and
your reservations were
swept away.
Apprentice: [dry]
Which, I must say, you
managed most adroitly.
[sadly]
How you must despise me--!
Beren: [frowning]
I think I'm missing
something. What's the matter?
[he looks at the others, who look at the Apprentice, who looks at the floor]
Apprentice:
I am not -- easy, among
the -- the discorporate, though I do try not to make
it obvious, or be --
insulting, about it.
Beren:
You mean dead,
right?
Apprentice:
I -- suppose, though
the term seems rather clumsy, seeing how, well, it doesn't
mean just those who
are temporarily lacking as your friends, but your own
permanently-transient
situation.
Beren:
But you don't mean spirits
like in the stories that are invisible servants
of the gods--
[breaks off]
--Is that why I couldn't see them? Is it just as simple, as stupid, as that?
Apprentice:
Er . . .
Captain: [urgent]
Don't trouble over it,
Beren. The answer's yes, of course, and perhaps, because
what does "invisible"
mean? Only that you can't see something. Does it matter
why now? --That
much?
[the mortal shakes his head -- his friends are much relieved]
But I don't think that he means them in any case.
Apprentice:
Well, as a matter of
fact, no. --The involuntarily discorporate, to be exact.
First Guard:
What about people who
choose
to fade? Like the late King's first wife?
Ranger: [a bit aggressively]
Right -- does that bother
you less than people who've been killed? And if so,
why?
[Nienna's student is increasingly flustered and defensive]
Apprentice:
You have to understand--
Beren: [breaking in]
He's afraid of ghosts.
That's all. I guess it isn't any weirder than for me.
Ranger:
Yes, but why? It isn't
like we could do anything to him, even if we wanted to.
Youngest Ranger: [conscientious]
Well, that's not quite
true--
Ranger:
Yes, but not really.
Not "Undeath" or possession or anything like that. Being
dumb enough to pick
fights, that's doesn't count. Besides--
[giving the Maia a dark Look]
--he didn't get hurt, in any event.
[his commander gestures him quiet]
Captain:
Don't be so hard on
yourself, lad, you were gracious enough to help me up,
troubling to you or
not.
Apprentice:
Yes, but -- I had to.
I'd injured you, after all.
[pause]
Beren: [thoughtful]
--Horses don't like
going near blood. Takes a lot of patience to convince a
green pony to carry
kill, or go to war. They know it's wrong. Not the way
things're supposed to
be.
[Nienna's student gives him a wary look]
--Not trying to insult
you, by the way. Just talking about it being in the
nature of things.
Warrior: [abruptly]
What about you?
Apprentice:
What?
Warrior:
You change, don't
you? That's what we've been guessing. --Though I suppose it
could all be illusion,
depending on whose company you're in. But when you talk
about
going home,
you're like them again, aren't you? The rest of the Manir?
So aren't you being
unreasonable to feel as though there's something horribly
wrong with us,
when you go back and forth from being housed yourself?
[an expectant silence]
Apprentice: [still more defensive]
When I -- forsake this
form, I -- am not diminished. It's only a change in
states of being. I --
can't understand what it would be like to lose -- part
of one's self. And I
-- I really don't want to, but I can't help wondering.
[Beren raises an eyebrow]
Beren: [coolly]
Not fun.
Apprentice:
Ah -- oh. That -- I
-- forgot. I didn't -- I wasn't--
[he sits down abruptly and covers his face with his hands]
Beren: [even]
It's not just that,
it's everything else, too -- you don't know how much you
take having both hands
for granted until one's gone. It's not like having the
arm broken or injured,
either. I stumble just walking sometimes, because of
that little imbalance
in weight.
[the Apprentice, hanging his head, does not answer]
Captain:
It's all right, we won't
drench you for honest stupidity.
Apprentice: [muffled]
It's hopeless.
Captain:
What is?
Apprentice:
Everything.
Captain:
Oh, I hope not.
Apprentice:
Me, at least.
[Huan comes over, whining, and tries to snuggle,
leaning over his shoulder and
pressing his head and muzzle against the forlorn
Maia's face]
Gyah!!
[he tries to pull away from the sympathetic Hound]
Beren:
That's one of the dangers
of sitting around feeling sorry for yourself when
there's a wet dog around.
He might feel sorry for you, too.
[the Apprentice is treated to some more canine sympathy, not much to his delight]
You better figure out
what you want to do, because otherwise he's going to
keep trying to cheer
you up.
Apprentice: [polite but edged]
Huan, please.
Would you stop doing that?
[this has no discernible effect]
Beren:
The way that works best
when he's being like that is to push him hard with
both hands, just like
a horse. Otherwise you're just going to keep on getting
wet.
[pause]
I haven't been very good at it in any sense since I lost my hand, of course.
[silence. Nienna's student grimaces and resolutely
shoves Huan's nose away from
his ear, straightening up]
Apprentice: [sighing]
I'm being insufferable,
aren't I?
Beren: [shrugs]
You're being a kid,
is all. And everyone gets like that under stress.
[he glances over at his friends, laughing at himself]
Apprentice:
But I'm not a
child. Not compared to any of you, at least. I'm not all that
much younger than the
rest of my kind. I just -- have a hard time settling
down. Everything's so
interesting and different, and why limit one's self?
I thought I wanted to
be an Eagle, but -- it turned out to be so much routine
work, I wouldn't be
able to just go off and explore as I expected. And --
there were other incidents.
Beren:
Can't figure out what
you want to be when you grow up, huh?
[the Apprentice bristles, then looks a bit worried
when Beren only smiles and
leans back to look at the Ten again]
He could talk to -- to Finrod about that too, eh?
[ducking quickly to avoid a retaliatory cuff
from the Captain -- even the Steward
smiles a little at the by-play]
Apprentice: [frowning]
You're trying to encourage
me.
Beren: [shrugging again, pulling Huan down next to him by
his collar]
Hm, yeah. --You offended
by that?
Apprentice:
--No. But -- that isn't
how it's meant to work. You're supposed to be helped
by us, not the
other way round.
Steward:
Indeed? I had heard
otherwise, but I must presume myself mistaken. At least
with regards to who
was also in need of help, if not who should give it.
[pause]
Apprentice:
You make simple things
more complicated, you know.
Third Guard:
Are you sure? Or is
it only that they really were complicated all along? Lord
Edrahil's usually right,
even if he's got the most annoying way of putting things.
Steward: [slight smile]
One may learn patience
from the most unlikely of sources, I have found.
Apprentice: [mournful]
And I thought Lady Nienna
was being hard on me with that business of the candles!
Beren:
Candles? What was that?
Apprentice:
They're sort of like
lamps, only more convenient: if you can imagine a stick
of wax, with a cord
running through it, the way the pith goes through a twig--
Beren: [pleasantly]
Actually, I used to
help making them sometimes when I was a kid. On account of
how they always made
me get the combs out anyway because of not getting stung,
and hanging around afterwards
I usually got to scrounge some of the bits that
were too small to be
worth pressing, and plus it was boring, but not as boring
as having to clean up
the leftover wax after.
[the other blinks]
Apprentice: [chagrined]
You meant what was that
business, not what "candles" meant.
[sighing theatrically]
She gave me a basket
of candles, and sent me into Tirion late one afternoon,
telling me to light
one and give it to each person I met, if they'd accept it,
and ask them to carry
them around until they burned out. I didn't realize the
basket was attuned to
the storeroom!
Steward: [raising an eyebrow]
I take it you didn't
expect them to last as long as they did?
[he looks quietly amused]
Apprentice: [exclaiming indignantly]
Do you know how
many people there are in Tirion?
[the Ten exchange looks]
Soldier:
Not any more.
Apprentice: [morose]
Lots. And they
all
think I'm mad, now.
Beren: [frowning]
So what was the point
of it?
Apprentice:
I beg your pardon?
Beren:
Some kind of lesson,
right?
Apprentice:
Yes. I thought it was
along the lines of a practical joke, to keep me passing
out candles so that
every time I'd got to the end of it, and was just starting
to feel hopeful, it
would be filled again. And when she came to meet me at the
end of it, in the great
square by the Tree, and asked me what I'd learned, I
said that I'd learned
not to ask how things could get worse. And she asked me
if that was all, and
if it was all, what would it take to open my eyes? Because
I hadn't even looked
past the pile of candles for -- oh, hours.
Beren:
Well, that's something
you never want to ask, but what was the problem? And
what else was it you
were supposed to figure out?
Apprentice:
I was frustrated and
I'd asked her earlier in the day what difference it could
possibly make whether
I ever -- attained the virtues she was supposed to be
instructing me in, how
could it possibly be worse or better for my part, what
affect could I have
one way or the other on the world. And she handed me the
basket, and sent me
to Tirion.
Beren: [fascinated]
And?
Apprentice: [increasingly rapt in memory]
I was so tired, and
footsore, and embarrassed at the end of the day, and
I couldn't wait to be
rid of the wretched basket, and she took me by the
shoulders and said,
"Next, I want you to name me the visible stars," and
I groaned, and looked
up -- and couldn't see a one. There was so much light
in Tirion from the candles,
and people were standing on roofs and balconies
and walkways talking
and laughing, and they weren't really laughing at me,
they weren't even
thinking
about me.
[frowning]
--And that was -- worse,
in a way that I'm not happy about. The whole City
was -- almost as it
had been, before the Night, but different: you could
hardly even see the
Beacon, and the White Tree was almost as gold as the
Lady Tree before She
died, and -- it was so beautiful I couldn't even speak,
and I hadn't even noticed
how many people were carrying my candles, or how
much difference it made
as Narya came home and it got dark. And we sat there
in the square and watched
until the flames died away and we could see some
of the brighter stars
and did that and then we went home.
Beren: [quietly]
What tree was that?
I thought -- both of them . . . ?
Apprentice:
--Oh. No -- that was
the White Tree, Galathilion, who lives in Tirion. He --
he was a little version
of Telperion, almost like a portrait, but alive, not
made of anything inorganic.
When the wind blows he flickers just like living
flames, but silver.
You should see him, when you're--
[he breaks off]
I -- I'm--
Beren: [looking at him intently]
I have. Just now, through
your words.
Apprentice:
It hardly seems enough.
Beren:
Never is. But you take
what you can get.
[the other gives him a troubled look]
Sounds to me like you learned stuff from that.
[Nienna's student smiles, hesitantly and after
a briefer physical hesitation,
holds out his right hand -- even as he realizes
his mistake and falters Beren
pulls him to his feet, left-handed, and leads
him the few steps to where the
Captain is sitting, giving him an encouraging
slap on the back as his victorious
opponent slowly rises and looks at him consideringly]
Apprentice: [resigned, and formally polite]
I'm very grateful for
your kindness and trouble, milord, in--
Captain: [shaking his head]
Not yet, you shouldn't
be. You're going to hate me, and every single one of
us, many times over,
before you're through.
Apprentice:
. . .
Captain:
But -- if you train
properly, you will learn not only self-defense but a certain
amount of discipline,
and very definitely focus, or you'll wash out very quickly.
Can't promise anything more than that, and only
what you're willing to learn.
[daunted but resolute, the Apprentice holds out
his hand again and does not look
away in discomfiture or embarrassment as they
shake on the deal]
Apprentice:
I promise you, sir,
I will learn whatever you can teach me. Nor to quit before
you say I can't learn
anything more.
Captain:
And I pledge I will
not ever, ever push you harder than I truly believe you
equal to -- in training.
In a testing match, that's a most different story.
But even there, I will
never
punish you, not least for being good -- that
is, I will never deliberately
hurt you in retaliation for the same, of anger,
or humiliate you for
making me look the fool as you improve.
[his adversary looks shocked at the notion; he smiles grimly]
Oh yes. You don't think
I've been tempted -- or that you will be too? Just
wait until some half-yen
recruit walks in out of the woods and splits your
arrow without even half-trying--
[glancing over at the Sindarin Ranger, who looks away with an embarrassed grin]
--and then does it again,
without any more work, so it's clearly not one of
those random incidents
that sometimes happen -- and it's equally clear from
the minute he draws
his sword that he's never used it for anything but a
machete to cut reeds
with, or possibly to play at swordfighting with other
children. If you don't
think the temptation'll be there to flatten the little
punk so that he -- and
everyone else who's witnessed it -- will remember who
was the one who looked
the fool at day's end, then you've never been in that
situation.
Ranger: [wonderingly]
We would never have
guessed
you felt that way, if you hadn't apologized for
it when it was his turn.
[Nienna's student gives him a puzzled frown -- answering the unspoken question:]
In the Pit, sir.
[the Apprentice looks quite ill]
Captain: [to all of them]
One learns things about
one's self, inevitably, as a teacher, if one does
the job properly. And
if one learns -- then one has a choice that must be
made. I didn't much
care for the destination if I set foot on that path --
it led due North, to
my mind. Or who would be left at the end of it.
Apprentice: [pulling himself gamefully together]
So, what, you just beat
people up for the sheer fun of it now?
Captain:
Mostly. Or because they
need it, as per those who are trainees. --Sometimes
for being repellent,
arrogant twerps who need it, regardless of the amusement
value, to remind them
not to humiliate those they think weaker for their own
amusement. But not because
I've
been slighted, however slightly, in front of
others.
[stern]
Though if you
do things that are not within Eldarin abilities to get out of
trouble, in the future,
you'll make that much more difficult for me.
[the Apprentice nods, rueful]
--Of course, you and
I are going to disagree significantly on what you're
capable of.
Apprentice: [stoic]
This is going to hurt.
A lot.
Captain:
Third lesson -- it always
hurts. No matter how good you are.
[the disguised Maia rubs at the side of his neck once more]
Apprentice: [a touch resentfully]
Did you enjoy scaring
me like that?
Captain:
A little. You were quite
obnoxious, crowing like that earlier, you know, and
I'm still going short
for that last blow.
[pause]
--Not anywhere near as
much as you not backing down, though. I look for the
best in people, and
sometimes--
Both Rangers: [coming in simultaneously]
--he's not disappointed.
Captain:
--I'm not disappointed.
Apprentice: [sour]
You're all enjoying
this.
Warrior:
Consider it thus, gentle
sir -- you've been here to be learning patience,
well, you've found the
shortest way to it. Nothing like learning from the
best, is there now?
Apprentice: [wary]
Indeed?
Warrior: [nodding]
Why, the commander will
patiently drub you sixty times running, if need be.
Where another instructor
would say, "go off and practice at the pels until
you get the hang of
it," he'll keep after you until you start paying attention
and actually learning.
Apprentice:
Oh joy.
[but he doesn't sound quite as gloomy as might
be expected -- this is, after all,
a major challenge to look forward to.]
Beren: [musing]
You know, where I come
from, we seal bargains with a drink as well as a handshake.
[he and the Captain exchange a meaningful Look]
Captain: [offhand]
True. --You want to
do it all right and proper as per the Old Country?
Apprentice: [getting interested]
Oh, that's with a drinking
horn, and that beverage that they make out of bread,
right?
Captain:
Something like that,
yes.
[the Apprentice does not notice the attentive
and hopeful aspect of the other
shades, not excluding the Steward, for all his
attempts to seem disinterested,
in his enthusiasm for arcane lore and living
history--]
Apprentice:
Oh, how fascinating!
A genuine new-fashioned custom from another culture --
this will be something
exciting to tell my family next time--
[meanwhile the Captain has manifested a drinking
horn with rather ornate fixtures
and offered it to Beren]
Beren:
Hey, I've seen this
one before --Wow! I guess it did come from Nargothrond
like everyone said.
Captain:
Yes, I thought you had.
You want to make sure I've remembered everything right?
[Beren takes the horn carefully, bracing the
tail of it on his forearm, and tries
the contents]
Beren: [judiciously]
That's not bad at all.
Captain:
Himself will be happy
to hear it. It's always tricky, replicating someone
else's art, especially
when one hasn't a tradition of it, such as brewing.
[he reclaims the horn, solemnly drinks from it
and with a formal gesture passes
it to the Apprentice, who unwarily takes a large
gulp, and is horrified. Everyone
else is much amused.
Apprentice: [gasping]
What -- what is
this?
Captain:
That's ale.
Beren:
Also called beer.
Apprentice:
It's supposed
to taste like this? Bitter?
Beren:
Nearly. I mean, it tastes
the way I remember it, which isn't the same as really
tasting something.
Apprentice:
And people drink this
voluntarily? Not just because you haven't any wine?
Steward: [aside]
Incredibly, yes.
Apprentice:
And you -- you like
it?
Second Guard:
Mortals do.
Beren:
Most. Not everyone.
Steward:
And a very few mad Eldar.
--Most definitely not everyone.
Youngest Ranger:
His Majesty likes beer,
sir.
Steward: [haughty]
His Majesty has not
ever been able to determine whether he likes it or loathes
it. Hence his continuing
tests across the centuries, culminating in the experiment
which served to prove
that it would never under any circumstances replace the
vintners' work in popular
esteem. --Nor even rival it, saving among certain
lunatics and risktakers
both here and in Doriath. --Though I always suspected
it was at least in part
an affectation, to appall more civilized folk.
[the Captain grins]
Apprentice: [shaking his head]
It's like some horrible
perversion of mead.
Beren:
It is not! Mead is something
completely different. And a lot sweeter.
Steward:
He means something entirely
other by it, in any case. The word was simply
applied by analogy --
it isn't what they drink here.
Beren: [plaintive]
Why did you all do that?
How come you didn't just make up different words
for different things?
Steward:
Alas, I was not consulted
when our ancestors first devised language, not
having been born then,
or rest assured I would have insisted upon a more
logical state of affairs
-- I warn you, however, that the result would have
been even more
words, and thus more nouns to decline.
[pause]
Beren:
There's that.
Apprentice: [a bit sulky]
You're enjoying yourselves
at my expense again.
Beren:
But that's good. That
means you're welcome.
[the Apprentice gives him a doubtful Look]
Apprentice:
But -- they engage in
humor at nearly everyone's expense. It doesn't mean that
-- oh, the Warden of
Formenos is welcome--
Ranger:
Seneschal.
Apprentice:
Hm?
Ranger:
He'd be very put out
to hear you. Formenos was a much grander stronghold than
any of their holdings
in Beleriand, because they didn't stop to pack the way
we did, and so he has
to have a grander title than anyone else.
Apprentice:
Don't they mean essentially
the same thing?
Beren:
You'll have to ask--
[he does not duck quite soon enough]
--ow!
[rubbing his head -- to Nienna's student]
See? That's what I meant. He wouldn't have dinged me like that otherwise.
Apprentice: [bemused]
But how do you know?
What's teasing-to-show-ease, and what's simple mockery?
Are there any rules?
Beren:
Nope. It just depends.
--Do you want that?
[nodding to the drinking-horn which the Apprentice
is still holding as though it
were a poisonous snake]
Apprentice:
Ah -- no.
[with a very dubious expression, not sure what's
going to be perpetrated on him
next, he starts to pass it across -- but Huan
gets up and leans over, intercepting
it, and starts lapping out of it.]
Is that part of your joke?
Beren: [chagrined]
No, I think that's Huan
teasing both of us.
Huan:
[enthusiastic tail-wag]
[Beren tugs him away by the collar again as if
he were a horse and claims the
drinking horn]
Apprentice:
Is -- that also
a mortal custom, sharing one's vessels with one's livestock?
Beren: [swallowing]
--Not ordinarily. But
it's Huan, and it's a shame to waste good beer.
[the other grimaces in recollection]
Besides, we're both ghosts, so I don't think it matters anyway.
[this gets him a damp bit of doggy affection in turn.]
Apprentice: [frustrated]
I'm still baffled. I
don't know why he's doing this.
Beren:
What?
Steward: [comprehending]
Being a dog? Or remaining
discorporate?
Apprentice:
Both.
Beren:
But didn't he choose
to keep going in the Rebellion? So isn't he under the
Doom with them, too?
Until Lord Mandos judges him?
Apprentice:
Well, yes, but--
Beren:
You think he's gonna
cheat and, what, use special privileges to get out of
here? Like it was all
a game, and now because he's a demi-god he's going home
and everyone else has
to suffer through?
Apprentice:
Erm--
Beren: [earnest]
He's Lord of Dogs.
He's got way too much honor to do that.
Apprentice: [hurt]
You needn't talk to
me as though I were stupid.
[Beren nudges at Huan's foreleg with his foot,
and the Hound grins up slyly from
where he's resting his head on his paws]
Beren:
I'm not saying anything
that he might not tell you. He called me "witless"
for being about to try
to walk into Angband alone.
Fourth Guard: [innocent]
But what you haven't
told
us, is -- was that a conditional statement or not?
Beren: [nodding towards the Maia]
You want for me to teach
him that reaping song that has a hundred different
verses that all sound
the same?
Apprentice: [frowning]
What? That's
a contradiction in terms.
Beren:
Not really. There aren't
any real words, and each verse is just a note different
from the other one,
and when you finish all of them the changes bring you right
back to the first one.
It sounds really neat when you do it right.
Apprentice:
How can you sing it
if there aren't any words?
Beren:
Well, there are words,
only nobody knows what they mean any more. They don't
even mean anything in
our
Old Tongue. There are a lot of working songs like
that. And they all sound
kind of the same, but they're different. So the
threshing song is actually
the reaping song done backwards.
[pause]
They seem really easy
to sing, but they're not easy to get right, and if you
mix it up you have to
start over, and your friends throw chaff at you for
breaking the changes
because if one person gets off then everyone loses
their place.
[with a rueful smile towards the Steward]
Lord Edrahil absolutely
hates them, on account of how they're boring and
complicated at the same
time.
Steward:
You left out the fact
that once one hears one such -- tune, one cannot banish
it from memory.
Captain:
And you've left
out the fact that you made certain that someone was humming
it, in response to your
peevish reminiscences, just when the Warden of Aglon
was happening along
to scoff at Himself for having been set down by Amarie.
Beren:
See, that's humor-at-someone's-expense.
Captain:
And a particularly-ruthless
employment of a Gift, as well.
Steward: [extremely patronizing]
--Delightful as this
has undoubtedly been, I must leave you to your . . .
simple diversions, now.
[he gets up and bows to the Apprentice, just
a shade too deeply -- his composure is
mostly recovered and his expression is faintly
ironic, ready for verbal combat.]
Beren:
But not this. This
is just friendly joshing around.
[the Steward taps him lightly on the head as he goes past]
Steward:
Don't bedevil your elders,
child -- or at least make a serious effort, if you
can't do better than
that.
[they share a quick smile]
Beren:
I promise I'll follow
your example, sir.
Steward: [sniffing]
Did I advise you thus?
I think you'll find not.
[as he edges through, his companions all reach
up and clasp his hand or pat
his arm]
Captain: [serious]
Good luck--
Steward: [very dry]
It can't be any worse
than explaining to the Lady how it was that a conduit
was inadvertently sheared
across. --And no, I'd not have another instance to
verify comparisons.
Apprentice: [staring after him]
You are all insane.
Captain:
Yes, but you have to
admit, we do have so much more fun.
[the disguised Maia tries to look prim and disapproving
and responsible -- and
fails utterly]
Any bets on how long it'll take before he's tripping people into fountains too?
Apprentice:
. . .
First Guard: [cheerfully reassuring]
You'll fit right
in.
Apprentice:
Ah -- was that meant
as a compliment? Or as humor?
Beren: [nodding, very seriously]
You got it.
Apprentice: [lightly, but with a more thoughtful look than
his words indicate]
--Melisma, but you've
caught the habit of cryptic Elven -- erm, I suppose
I've got to call it
wit? -- as well!
[Huan stretches his way up, leans over, and snuffles
him enthusiastically, evoking
another strangled yell]
[Elsewhere: the council chamber]
[the feeling of a long diplomatic standoff or
cross-examination pervades -- all
that's missing is a long polished table. Luthien
is sitting with her elbow on her
knee, her chin in her hand, looking rather bitter
as well as tired; Nerdanel is
sketching quickly away on some sort of small
folding tablet with a crystal stylus,
apparently not paying attention at all, occasionally
showing her work to Aule's
Assistant for comment. The Doriathrin Ambassador
is watching the Powers carefully,
particularly the two quiet ones, Aule and Orome,
and the Lord and Lady of the Halls
are stoic about it all.]
Irmo: [with a lifted eyebrow towards his brother]
I dare say most
of us will express loud and vocal dismay if the word
"inflexible" is used
once more, Luthien.
[she rolls her eyes at this sally]
Luthien: [forced patience]
What am I saying
that is so complicated, so hard for you all to understand?
--You're just
like my parents, really.
[the Lord of Dreams looks put out; Namo starts
to say something, and checks
himself, earning a sympathetic look from his
wife -- and Nerdanel looks up
from her notebook with a keen expression:]
Nerdanel:
Aught is there that
confoundeth me, Tinuviel, I must perforce confess: couldst
not with all thy manifest
and obscure powers, whilst yet in the Old Country,
thou to have prevented,
ere ever he came to maiming else to death, thy true-
love from his madness
and his mad designing?
Luthien:
I already explained:
I tried. I did everything I could to convince him to give
it up and forget about
it, that we in fact were free and no one could stop us
from living our lives
as we pleased from now on, and that he wasn't under any
sort of obligation to
my father since the task had been given in bad faith,
and that no one, least
of all Finrod, would have expected that he had some
sort of other duty to
finish getting killed since he hadn't managed it before.
I tried reason, I tried
simple begging, I tried tears -- nothing I could do
made any difference.
Nerdanel:
Thou hast said -- but,
methinks, not so. --Or wouldst say, in truth, that mortal
Men be stronger of will
and thought and deep-held resolve than ever the gods,
than the Dark Enemy
of us all and all his bonden Servants be?
[as Luthien frowns at her, Nerdanel not giving ground:]
Might thine own might
not have served where 'suasion of plainer means did fail,
and bend thy rebel lord
to thine own temper, and held him rather by thy side
perforce?
Luthien: [snorting]
Of course I could
have. I could have taken Nargothrond, too, if Beren would
have gone along with
it -- it wouldn't have been nearly as hard as the Gaurhoth
or Angband, I already
knew most of the leaders and I knew them better, in any
case, being Eldar like
me, from a spiritual standpoint. There might not even
have had to have been
a civil war at all, no matter what he said. With my power
back I could have scryed
Celegorm's thoughts like Carcharoth's, and shown him
himself as if
in a mirror, and made him admit that he knew, really, that what
he'd done was wrong--
[Nerdanel flinches, though controlledly, and shifts, her expression pained]
Vaire: [meaningfully]
You've thought about
it, then.
[Luthien starts to say something outraged and haughty, and doesn't]
Luthien:
I --
[she tries to speak again, and stops herself, looking both horrified and furious]
Vaire:
You cannot deny it?
That you have considered both the possibility and
the logistics of the
deed, using your power to remove that obduracy and
intemperate resolve
from your lord's heart, and fill the wound with
forgetfulness and pleasure
at your approval, instead?
[long pause]
Luthien: [shouting]
Of course I thought
about it! How couldn't I? Beren wasn't being reasonable
at all. It -- it would
have been -- it would almost have been -- I could have
told myself it was really
only healing, if I'd tried it. That it was wrong of
me not to do
it, not to save him from himself.
[pause]
But he wouldn't have
been
Beren then. If -- I'd done -- anything like
that -- he'd--
[she clenches her fists, unable to go on]
Vaire: [reasonably]
--He would still be
alive.
Luthien:
No! It -- it wouldn't
be
him.
[silence]
And I wouldn't be me, any more, either.
Vaire:
So it is more important
that his spirit be whole and undiminished, unshackled,
than that you possess
his outward seeming and presence, notwithstanding either
the fact that already
he was injured and bound by the effects of Melkor's deeds,
or that the consequence
of it be risk, and eventually the actual event, of your
losing him? --In your
own estimation?
[silence -- Luthien gives her a very angry Look]
Luthien: [sharply]
That's not fair.
Namo:
On the contrary.
Vaire:
You do see it,
then, don't you, dear?
Luthien: [shaking her head violently]
No, no, NO! You're
missing
something that's so important that I don't know
how to explain it besides
showing you who we were, and why you can't measure
Beren, measure
us,
by any ordinary standard. It's like my parents' choosing
each other -- maybe
it doesn't make sense from a practical point of view, but
there are other things
that are more important, that are what the point of
all the practical things
really are--
Orome: [acerbic]
You'll find that's not
a comparison that's going to make your case more popular
around here.
Luthien: [hotly]
Don't change the subject!
[long pause, in which everyone looks expectantly
at her, and she looks extremely
defensive]
--Stop scorning me because
I was tempted, all right? You don't know what it's
like to watch someone
you love destroy himself.
Aule: [with a faint, bittersweet smile]
No? You don't think
so, hm?
[Nerdanel glances up quickly at his words and they share a long, meaningful Look]
Ambassador: [quietly]
Little Luthien . . .
[she gives him an angry glare]
. . . no longer. We
were not so wise, we your elders in earth's growing -- but
not in the Unseen realm,
I fear.
[her expression changes to sadness, both regret
and pity: both of them know there
is no going back to what was.]
[the Hall]
[Beside the falls, the Apprentice is happily
ensconced in the midst of the Ten,
scratching Huan's ears and laughing at something
someone has just said.]
Captain: [mild]
Shouldn't you be getting
back to work? We really aren't trying to make trouble
for you, after all,
simply to employ your talents.
Apprentice:
Yes, but . . .
[he sighs deeply]
It's so much more pleasant
to listen to your stories than, well, to be nagged
and insulted by everyone
else. I really ought to, I suppose . . . but it isn't
as though the complaints
are going to cease, after all. If only you could throw
-- I shouldn't say that,
should I?
Ranger:
Say what?
Apprentice:
Hah. No, you'll not
catch me that way.
Fourth Guard: [shrugs]
Depending on whom you're
thinking of, we might have already done them one better.
Soldier:
That's right -- they
could be looking for you right now to report us, since
the Powers are still
in the meeting.
First Guard:
But, of course, we can't
be sure, since you won't say.
Apprentice: [grinning]
Confound the lot of
you! What have you done to those two this time?
Soldier:
Injured dignity.
Youngest Ranger:
And kneecap.
Beren:
Shoulder-sockets, too,
looked like.
[Nienna's student sighs, in an almost-convincing display of sober maturity]
Apprentice:
What did they do now?
Beren:
Insulted us.
Captain:
--That is not
why they were forcibly removed from the premises. It was the
attempted unprovoked
assault on him that got reciprocated in advance.
[pause]
Apprentice:
There's something skewed
in your reasoning.
Fourth Guard:
Stick around long enough,
it'll all make sense.
Apprentice:
I'm afraid that's probably
true.
[for just a moment he looks daunted, thinking about what he's gotten into]
Beren: [curious]
So, do you have to stay
like--
[the Apprentice raises his hand, in a sudden
and very authoritative gesture,
silencing him]
Apprentice:
Do you recollect what
I said earlier, when you corrected me as to the
negligible difference
between
perceive and see? --That circumstance will
no longer hold true
in a moment.
Beren:
Uh -- oh. --Oh.
[he nods, doesn't say anything else; the disguised Maia gives him an approving nod]
Apprentice: [standing up and squaring his shoulders]
Duty -- or duties --
call. I'm not sure when it will be, but I'll bring you
news as soon as there
is news.
Captain:
Unless you get distracted
meanwhile.
Apprentice: [stalwart]
That won't happen, I
promise you.
[pause]
Probably.
Captain:
I appreciate the frankness.
Apprentice: [serious]
It may--
[glancing at Beren]
--not be good news. --Though--
[with a bemused expression]
I've got to admit I'm
feeling irrationally optimistic, since you involved me
in all this.
Soldier:
"Irrational" is right.
[at the Captain's Look]
Sorry, sir, but someone's got to give you a hard time while he's gone.
Captain:
Yes, but are you going
to remember to stop when he gets back?
[Nienna's student turns a chortle into a cough and bows extravagantly]
Apprentice:
I pledge you, I shall
be back anon.
Captain: [with a casual wave]
And we shall be here,
most likely.
[as the Apprentice goes jauntily off, the Captain asks Beren:]
Did that confounded dog leave us any ale?
Beren:
Some. Not much.
[he passes over the drinking horn -- the Captain
finishes it and lets the vessel
disappear]
Captain:
Anyone else feel that
we've company?
[the rest of the Elven shades look at each other; several nod, while others shrug]
Beren:
Is it -- her
-- again? His girlfriend?
Captain:
Perhaps. Or not.
[Beren looks around at them, shrewdly]
Beren:
You know who it is,
don't you?
Second Guard: [correcting]
Who it could be. There
are a lot of possibilities.
Captain: [like someone trying to coax a timid animal out]
You really are welcome
to join us. None of us will trouble you -- not even
the mortal -- not unless
you start it first.
[Lady Earwen's former handmaiden appears softly
from the shadows, wearing a
rather sulky expression]
Teler Maid:
I know that.
Beren: [pleased]
Hey, I was right.
Captain:
Oh. --Hullo again.
[curious]
Why were you pretending not to be here, Sea-Mew?
Teler Maid: [haughty]
I do not like that young
Elf of Lady Nienna's Household.
Captain:
Why not?
Teler Maid:
He does not understand.
He chides me for malingering and is overbold to tell
me that if I do not
dare to go Without, then I must not blame it upon any
other, and also much
to say that I ought at the least to go amongst others
nor keep so entirely
unto myself.
Captain:
Oh.
[pause]
You know, those sound
exactly like the sorts of things I would say, if I had
thought of them.
Teler Maid:
I did this once already
to tell -- I have had enough of being set down and
disregarded in life,
by Noldor, that I should wish to meet it more within
these walls? I think
not!
Captain:
Now, Maiwe -- be fair.
Not everyone treated you badly in Tirion. Didn't the
Family do everything
they could to make you feel at home and make the most
of being in our City?
[she doesn't answer; Beren et al torn between
politeness and curiosity, curiosity
leading]
And my parents, too?
Teler Maid: [reluctantly]
Yes . . .
Captain:
Everyone of House Finarfin,
in fact. Didn't we all include you in things when
Lady Earwen didn't need
you -- which was most of the time -- and when you'd
let us? Short of picking
you up and carrying you away like an infant, there
wasn't anything more
we could do, was there?
Teler Maid:
I know that you meant
well, but it was not -- it was so far from what I was
used! You and Suli'
and Lady Nerwen and all those big noisy horses and big
noisy dogs and big noisy
birds with flapping wings!
Captain: [innocent]
Big noisy people too,
eh?
[she grins for a second before remembering not to]
We were rather a rowdy
lot, I'll admit, and perhaps we tried too hard to put
you at ease by being
easy ourselves. --But it's noisy enough along the coast,
what with the waves
crashing on the rocks and under the piers, and the wood
creaking, and booms
hitting, and the wind in sails sounding like a drum and
all -- and I do seem
to remember the occasional large white bird shrieking
and flapping its wings
for a morsel after coming back from hunting for fish.
Teler Maid: [lifting her chin]
It is different, in
the harbour.
Captain:
What you're used to,
you mean.
Teler Maid:
But I had no wish
to go dashing about the woods and fields like that!
[playful -- what follows is an old joke, clearly]
--And you do not hunt
fish, you catch them, silly. --And it was dull, for me,
since I had not skill
nor strength for your bows and could not contest with ye.
Captain:
And we weren't Edrahil,
either.
[the way she doesn't answer is answer enough]
You know that if you'd
kept with us -- I don't mean going out in the field,
if you really cared
naught for it -- but with the House, you'd have been far
happier, met much nicer
people who would have taught you all kinds of things
and learned from you,
too. But instead you had to go trailing after him like
a poor little puppy
dog all over Aman, getting stepped on or patted on the
head by those who thought
far too well of themselves already, and not being
sure enough of yourself
to show your teeth and make them at least treat you
with respect and think
better of your people, if not with liking. You did
hoose a good deal of
your unhappiness, Sea-Mew, you've got to admit. Even
if he did alternate
between encouraging you and ignoring you, or worse.
[she gets more stubborn-looking throughout this lecture, and counterattacks:]
Teler Maid:
How can you say such
hard things of him, if you will call him friend?
Captain:
That's how. Because
he knows my failings as well as I know his, and does me
honor regardless.
Teler Maid: [intent frown]
Why? I do not understand
how it is that you and he have become friends, far
less so fast.
Captain: [shrugs]
I could tell you it
was because he saved my life overseas, but that wouldn't
really account for it,
particularly because it was largely his fault I got
shot in the first place.
Teler Maid: [narrowing her eyes]
Would that not have
the effect most opposite, in fact?
Captain:
That wasn't the important
part. What followed was what mattered. And followed
naturally from the fact
that he'd long since become someone I had come to
respect, during the
crossing of the Grinding Ice.
[pause]
Teler Maid: [still doubtingly]
So he did not go upon
the Ships, then?
[he shakes his head]
Why did he not?
Captain: [shaking his head again]
You must ask him that,
yourself, else you'll have but a friend's guess,
whether it be true or
false.
[she looks down, and does not say anything. Very seriously:]
--Did you really
think he was with House Feanor, that Night, or that he would
have joined them, or
even stood idly by and not tried to defend you all? For
not even the gods can
say for certain what would have been, but I would stake
my life upon it -- if
I had it -- that not even as he was in those Days would
Edrahil have done any
such thing, though he would mock me for such faith.
[long pause]
--Maiwe?
Teler Maid: [suddenly and sharply]
--I did not think that
any of our people would kill us, nor thieve us of our
artistry, as they were
robbed of treasures of life and jewel, either!
[pause]
Captain: [sighing]
No.
[awkward silence -- curiosity winning strongly over discreteness among the onlookers]
Teler Maid: [trying not to sound like it's important]
He is gone again, then?
Captain:
As you see.
Teler Maid:
Whither?
Captain:
To be harangued by Lord
Finarfin.
Teler Maid:
Oh.
[clearly torn between asking why and being too proud to do so]
Second Guard: [hesitantly]
Hey, Maiwe . . .
[he gets the glare]
. . . how come you've
come back to join us again when you said we were
disturbing you and you'd
rather have peace-and-quiet?
[long expectant pause]
Teler Maid: [folding her arms defiantly, spoiling the effect
by absentmindedly
standing on one leg again]
'Tis dull to be elsewhere,
now that I do know that ye are come, and the Lady
Nienna I might not find,
for all my seeking, nor any of the Household of this
Hall, saving those few
who would not stay at my summoning but left in haste
with excuse. What great
matter is it, that all must be away about it?
Beren:
Some of it's my fault--
Fourth Guard: [cutting him off]
But most of it
isn't. One of Morgoth's Ainur has been spotted prowling about
the Pelori, and everyone
else is trying to roust out the intruder and reinforce
the defenses. Or so
we have it on pretty good authority.
[pause]
Teler Maid:
That was not much by
way of an answer, still, 'tis better than I have had ere now.
Captain:
So, rather than suffer
the pangs of boredom and the worse torments of not
knowing what's going
on when you know there's something going on, you'll put
up with our disreputable
and often-over-noisy company?
[she gives him a very scathing Look]
--Aren't you worried
about losing your balance and tipping over one of these
days?
[she puts her foot down and straightens with
rather a definite stamp, and then
breaks into an unwilling smile and hops up onto
one of the boulders, very much
at ease.]
Teler Maid: [teasing]
At the least you have
not hawks and horses and dogs about.
Captain:
Only the one.
[she thinks he's joking]
Teler Maid:
Which? Not a horse,
surely--!
Ranger: [grinning]
Well, almost . . .
[he snaps his fingers at Huan, who sits up from
where he was lying with his head
on his paws and looks over alertly]
Teler Maid:
Oh!
[she leaps off the ledge and stands there staring at the Hound, not at all happily]
I thought that was another rock!
Beren:
That's Huan. He--
Teler Maid: [grimly]
--I know who
that is. I recollect -- and do well recall when last I saw--!
[not taking her eyes off Huan]
'Twas at your master's
heel, before the House of my King, when your lord's
father mocked ours,
and would not hear any word of Olwe's wisdom, nor any
counsel save his own.
[her fists clench]
--Do you not remember, dog?!?
[Huan jerks his head aside, breaking eye contact, and barks sharply]
Deny it now, would you indeed, wretch? I saw you with mine own eyes!
Huan:
[double barks, rising
in pitch, dog-objecting-to-things-as-they-are]
Teler Maid:
You! Orome's dog, you
were, but wicked, and untrue did you become. --Bad dog!!!
Huan:
[very loud, distraught
bark]
Beren:
Hey! He isn't a bad
dog. He saved Tinuviel's life. And mine. Several times.
[she looks briefly at him, then glares at Huan again]
Teler Maid: [through her teeth]
How nice for you. --But
he did not save mine. --Did you? Did you, Hound of
Celegorm? Bad,
bad
dog!
[as she speaks, getting louder, Huan alternates
between barking and yelping in
horribly-unhappy-dog fashion, backing away with
his tail clamped between his
hind legs. Unfortunately this means he's not
looking where he's going...]
Third Guard: [slapping at his paw]
Ow! Huan, stop it!
Captain: [very stern]
Get back here. You're
not slinking out of this.
[Huan does the negative yelp-head toss thing
again and starts trying to back up
once more]
Huan! Stay!
[he lunges up and secures a grip on the Hound's
collar, since words aren't working,
hauling on the other's neck as the Hound pulls
back and then skids a bit, stiff-
legged, on the stone floor -- very much like
someone contending with a stubborn horse.]
Dammit, you Hellhound! --Down!!! I'm not equal to this, you bloody idiot!
[as everyone else scrambles to not get trampled,
Huan gives up abruptly at these
words and drops into a crouch, the Captain leaning
heavily on him and grimacing
in pain and exasperation as he recovers from
the struggle]
Beren:
Sir, why--
Captain: [tightly]
Shut up, Beren, you
don't understand -- yet.
[to Huan]
I don't care if you're
a demi-god, a demon, or King Manwe himself in disguise,
Hound, you're going
to carry on a civilized conversation while I'm around. You
will not go slamming
out of here treading on people, and you will not shout
and carry on like the
Glamhoth if you don't like what's being said. --Is that
understood?
[he shakes Huan's collar once]
Huan:
[repeated pathetic whines]
Captain:
Enough.
[a shocked silence follows-- to Beren]
What? You've owned dogs.
Beren: [faintly]
Yeah, but -- that's
Huan.
Captain: [edged]
I'm well aware of that,
trust me.
[Huan whines again, and Beren instinctively kneels
down to comfort him, but the
Captain fends him off]
Don't interfere. You'll understand -- all too soon.
[he nods a little and the other Rangers move
up, not to restrain Beren but as moral
support in what's coming]
Huan.
[the Hound rolls his eyes, but he waits until getting his full attention.]
I'm sorry I called you
a Wolf -- that was pain speaking -- but I'm not sorry
for calling you a bloody
idiot. Now, calm down and behave yourself. I don't
like this any more than
you do, and it's only going to get worse, I know. But
you know you're stuck
until you own up, no matter how many times you sneak away.
[Huan whimpers and tries to twist around to lick
his hands, but gets another shake
for it]
Stop that. Pity won't make me let you off.
[to the Sea-elf, in a very grim and formal tone:]
--Daughter of Alqualonde,
self-named Sea-Mew, what complaint bring you
against the Hound Huan,
for which he shall answer?
[she looks a little wild-eyed, now that it's come to this, but doesn't back down]
Teler Maid:
When Celegorm his master
and his master's brothers did join with their father
to steal our ships,
and used sword and -- shield? -- shield, all with the tools
of the hunt, the spear
and the bow and the gutting-knife, to slay those who
would bar them from
the piers, and drive them from their own works by pain and
terror -- this Hound
was there, with the other Hounds of Orome's gift, in the
following of Feanor.
[Huan starts to make some loud noise, and is
preemptively checked with a strong
pull on his collar]
Captain: [even more grim]
Are you saying, then,
that the Lord of Dogs took part, and led his folk to
take part, in the assault
on your City? That he is guilty as well of the blood
of the Kinslaying? For
that I have never yet heard said.
[silence, broken only by almost subvocal canine whining]
Teler Maid:
Not of the former --
but yea, of the latter, indeed. For he was there, and
stood by, and did naught
-- naught! -- either to dissuade his lord, nor his
lord's folk, neither
to defend us, save to make noise of his distress, and
to run to and fro, but
what availed that, oh mighty and noble Huan?
[she stares at him, and he cannot meet her eyes,
but turns his head away with a
small yelp]
Captain: [dispassionate]
What judgment would
you have, what recompense, that your accusation is admitted
truth?
Teler Maid: [ice]
None. What can give
back what is ruined? Life, or honor -- once burnt, they are
as lost as any ship.
That the truth be admitted is enough. Let him bear the shame,
with the knowledge of
what was not done, as I have borne the witness of it in my
heart all this long
time since.
[Huan makes a half-hearted scrabble to get away
with his forepaws, but not serious,
since the Captain keeps firm hold of his collar
and he gives up as soon as it tugs him]
Huan:
[single sharp bark]
Captain:
If I let you go, --who
are you going to go hide behind? There isn't a one of
us whose ignorance will
protect you from the truth. And it's a hard, cold
truth, as hard as the
Ice, and no mistake. If you'd come with us at the first,
we might not have been
taken by Sauron's werewolves, and the King might not
have been killed, and
Beren wouldn't have had to live with that. Or it might
have all gone wrong,
and the Terrible One might have fought you and won, and
turned out to be the
greatest Wolf the world will ever see, and we might have
ended up in chains the
same, waiting for death with wrists flayed to the bone,
knowing that there was
no breaking free and unable to stop myself regardless.
--And you'll never
know.
[he stares intently at the Hound, ignoring everything
and everyone else, including
Beren's distress and attempt to curl up hiding
his face against his knees, thwarted
by the Rangers who compel him to accept a sympathetic
shoulder instead]
--And we all know
this, even Beren, even if he's never let himself think about
it. And we welcomed
you back among us, regardless, for what you did do and the
choices you did make,
even before we knew the end of the story. If I let you go,
Huan, you can vanish,
and refuse to face what you didn't do -- worse than fire,
isn't it? And none of
us, nor even the Lord and Lady of the Halls, can stop
you -- not even Lady
Nia.
[Huan keens a short, piercing note]
Of course, you'll be
abandoning Beren, and failing the trust Himself laid
upon you, and turning
your back on your own liege lady who's relying on you
to look after her lord
-- but if you truly want that, want to judge yourself
more harshly than any
of us, then go--
[he turns the Hound loose with a little shove,
sitting back with a frown and
watching him closely. Huan continues to hunker
there, keening, getting louder
with each whine until the hint of a yelp is
to be heard at the end, trying to
look as small as a horse-sized animal possibly
can but still very much visible.
Beren pulls away from his friends and stands
up, looking down at the miserable
Hound, his face a mask of grief.]
Beren: [roughly]
Huan.
Huan: [flinging his head back]
[echoing howl]
[everyone flinches -- the Sea-elf actually covers
her ears -- except Beren, who
keeps looking at the Lord of Dogs.]
Beren: [voice still ragged]
Come here, boy.
[crawling by pulling himself forward on his elbows,
Huan creeps up to Beren and
stretches his neck until his head is between
the Man's feet, in the most vulnerable
and submissive of dog/owner positions, especially
for dogs with long floppy ears.
Very carefully Beren steps over and kneels down
again, putting his arms around
Huan's neck and resting his cheek against the
top of Huan's own head.]
You're still my good
dog. You try to look out for your people, look out, do
the right thing, we
don't make it easy for you, do we? I know, I know, --
I'm sorry -- I love
you too, pup, okay, get up, you're fine--
[as he speaks randomly, almost, crooning reassurances
to the Hound, the latter
huffs an enormous sigh, carefully and stiffly
stretches back and up, and after
nosing him gently in the face, goes over to
the Captain, still very carefully
and in the manner of a dog who's not sure if
he's back in everyone's good
graces yet.]
Captain: [wry]
Willing to forgive me?
[he reaches out his hand, but before Huan can
push his nose under, he catches hold
of the Hound's lower jaw and shakes it as Beren
did earlier, a gesture not so much
of disrespect nor even familiarity but complete
trust, as the returning gleam in
the Hound's eyes shows. Huan lifts a paw to
brush him away, but he lets go first
and reaches up to lightly push down the bridge
of his muzzle, making the Hound's
head nod like a horse's. Huan bounces back like
a puppy, stiff-legged on all fours.]
Huan:
[short, joyful barks]
[he turns around in place, wagging his tail with
extreme enthusiasm, and makes
short little bounds up to the rest of the Ten
in turn, looking completely crazed
as only a happy dog can. When he comes up to
the Elf from Alqualonde, however,
he does not receive any such greeting from her:]
Teler Maid: [biting off each syllable]
Stay away from me, Lord
of Dogs.
Huan:
[sharp whine]
Beren: [covering the situation]
Hey. Hey! You're being
obnoxious, settle down.
[he tugs Huan down on the floor, where the Hound
presses up next to him as
closely as possible, a little forlorn, but not
wretched any more. The Sea-elf
does not weaken, even when the Captain gives
her a meaningful Look.]
Teler Maid: [coldly]
You are kinder and more
gentle of heart than I. For myself, --I cannot forget,
and do not wish to give
up my wrath, merely because another justly suffers
sorrow for mine own
anguish.
Youngest Ranger: [hesitant]
I understand, a little.
[she turns on him, but he keeps going, stronger as he continues:]
It was hard for us all
when we found out. About the Kinslaying. My people,
I mean, for I wasn't
born yet then. Even knowing . . . or believing, rather
-- that the King had
nothing to do with it -- and couldn't have, one way or
the other -- a lot of
folks couldn't deal with it. A few tribes who'd never
done so in a thousand
years, went and gave their allegiance right to the
Greycloak instead. Even
almost sixty years ago, there were still people in
my village who weren't
happy when they heard about me wanting to go to the
King's War, not just
work on the City and study there.
[she looks at him closely]
Teler Maid:
You are one of us.
[he nods]
And yet you are with them.
[everyone nods, not just him]
And you are a warrior.
Ranger:
One of the best. Better
than me.
[his Sindar colleague looks away, abashed, and
mutters something unintelligible
except for the word "swords"]
Yes, but you know your weak points and work on them and around them.
Teler Maid: [to the Noldor Ranger, narrowing her brows]
You are conceding
that one of us Latecomers is better at any single thing,
save for boats, than
you?
[he gives her an embarrassed smile]
Ranger:
Stranger things than
that have happened, Sea-Mew. --Not just one thing, either.
Captain:
--I don't think that
was what she was remarking on, though -- was it, Maiwe?
[she shakes her head, slowly; to the other Teler]
Teler Maid:
You are not foremost
in skill with the sword -- but you carry one none the
less. And your bow is
no light implement for catching marsh-fowl or fish,
-- unless it is that
ducks and trout in the Old Country have grown very
large and fierce since
my family left there?
Beren:
Youngest Ranger: [simultaneously, dead-pan]
Huge.
[the Youngest Ranger is indicating with his hands as they speak]
Beren
--Bigger than swans.
Teler Maid:
Which?
Beren:
Both.
Youngest Ranger:
My cousin spent a fortnight
wrestling one out of the river, once.
Beren:
No, that was my
cousin.
Youngest Ranger:
Are you sure? Perhaps
it was its nest-mate.
Beren: [frowning]
I don't think trout
have nest-mates, strictly speaking.
Youngest Ranger:
I was talking about
a duck.
Beren:
I thought you were talking
about your cousin.
Ranger: [snorting, to the other Ranger]
It was so much
less annoying for the seven-twelfths of a day that you were
too much in awe of The
Terror of the Northlands to actually say anything to him.
Beren: [shrugs]
Shouldn't have dropped
your whetstone, then.
[the Sea-elf has been regarding them dubiously
with a not-altogether successful
attempt to keep from smiling]
Teler Maid:
What means that?
--Is this yet more of the strangeness of speech that followed
on the dividing of our
peoples, that you have brought hither with you?
Ranger:
No, I -- was upset and
distracted and when we made camp the first night, I
dropped my whetstone,
and both of them said at once, "Look out, it's trying
to rejoin the herd,"
without knowing the other was about to, and it sort of
kept on from there.
Turns out that someone--
[nudging his younger colleague]
--is a lot less serious
and quiet at heart than he ever let on all these
years. We now think
there's some sort of cultural shift to silliness that
goes along with the
quesse-parma and sule-thule changes, and that explains
much of mortal humour
too.
Youngest Ranger: [stiffly]
I was trying to behave
appropriately among the High-elves and not embarrass
my family for being
a yokel. And you're not supposed to elbow a superior
officer, I don't think.
Ranger:
We aren't on duty, Lieutenant.
Youngest Ranger:
Yes, we are, we're guarding
Beren.
Ranger:
But if we're in the
field, on duty, and someone spots something, and is right
next to another, one
always
elbows them to get their attention. Because it
would be stupid and
a waste of time to go through the hand-signals to point
out them that there
was something they needed to know about, when you're
right there. Right?
Youngest Ranger:
Well . . .
Teler Maid: [dryly]
If your theorem is correct,
then the condition must come about when you begin
to use our dialect as
well. But I think it cannot be so, I think it is more
a state to be passed
from one to the other like damp or paint, for--
[pointing at the Captain]
--he was ever
so, and so I can well assure you who did not know him well
in Tirion before.
Warrior:
That's why he went native
so quickly over there.
Captain:
Really? And here I thought
it was the chance to live out-of-doors most of
the time without being
considered completely daft for wanting it.
Teler Maid: [narrowing her eyes]
Silly -- and
most deviously endeavouring to distract me from my questions
and mine outrage.
Beren:
Nope, that was just
a useful consequence. Mostly we're kind of upset and
stressed right this
moment and my people tend to make dumb jokes that some
people don't even recognize
at times like that.
Soldier:
What was it you were
asking, anyway?
Teler Maid:
. . .
Beren:
See? Useful --
but complete coincidence. --I think she was trying to ask how
come we don't just let
the violent warmongering Noldor look after all the
fighting for us back
home.
First Guard:
Well, there weren't
enough of us, for starters, not even before the Bragollach.
Youngest Ranger:
And you didn't come
along until after we'd already almost lost once and had
been fighting for a
long time before and after. --Only not me, because I
wasn't born yet then
either.
Beren:
And it would just have
felt wrong to sit around enjoying ourselves and
looking after our stuff,
and not helping, when they gave it all to us in
the beginning to start
with.
Teler Maid:
You said that twice.
Beren:
What?
Teler Maid:
"In the beginning,"
and "to start with," for those are entirely the same.
[Beren just shrugs, with a rueful smile]
Fourth Guard:
If you correct Beren
every time he says something that sounds weird, you're
going to spend an awful
lot of time doing it, --and you'll miss a lot of
things you'd have done
better to hear. Oh, and you've changed the subject
this time.
[pause]
Teler Maid:
You are all ganged up
against me.
Captain: [reasonable]
On the contrary. You
are all against us, and have driven us back together.
Teler Maid:
But there are many of
you, and only one of me!
Captain:
And--? Still all of
you, right?
[pause]
Teler Maid:
Cease this! You are
making me laugh, to think of you mighty warriors fleeing
before me like a school
of fish before a dolphin.
Captain:
Oh, not fleeing -- but
definitely at bay.
[he pats the stone next to him, inviting her to sit down again]
Teler Maid: [glaring at Huan]
I am still much wroth
with him.
Beren: [nodding, reasonably]
Yeah, that figures.
I bet you will be for a long time.
[he thumps Huan's withers gently as he speaks, and the Hound sighs]
Teler Maid: [frowning at him]
You are not quite so
ill-favoured as first I had thought, though indeed
very untidy and unkempt.
[he raises his eyebrows at that]
But of that -- a great
part is your devotion to your friends, even in despite
of me, and for all that
I am unfriends with them. I am much confused, for it
seems me that I should
like you less, that you defend the lords Edrahil and
Huan counter to me --
and yet it inclines me to your part.
Beren:
Um. Okay. I--
[sees behind her the Steward returning, alone]
--heh, guess we'll test it out some more.
[she senses the Steward's presence at almost
the same moment and turns, tensing
up very obviously, with a flicker like wind
going through her visible manifestation
as though she were about to disappear again,
but changed her mind. He sees her a
moment later, and looks if possible more drained
and disheartened than a moment
ago, but resolutely comes up to them. Huan whines
in a distraught way, but quietly
enough not to be obnoxious.]
Steward: [hesitantly]
The Hour's joy to thee,
Maiwe.
Teler Maid: [brittle]
There are no hours here,
milord.
Steward:
I know. But I could
not remember any other of the old greetings that should
be fitting.
Teler Maid:
Why, do you hold that
one fitting, then?
Steward:
No.
Teler Maid: [caustic]
What then, you'd not
have me joyful?
[he starts to say something, cannot, gesturing -- the Captain breaks in, rescuing]
Captain:
--What passed with his
father? And how?
Steward:
Much, and ill, yet not
so ill as might have been.
Captain:
How did Lord Finarfin
take it?
Steward:
Badly -- yet, again,
not so ill as he might. He--
[breaks off]
Captain:
Yes?
Steward:
He was far kinder to
me than he wished to be, -- or than I merited.
Warrior: [quietly]
Not true, sir.
Captain:
Is he coming back again,
or does he return to the council with their Lordships?
Steward: [shrugs]
As to that, he knew
no more than I or you, himself. He would walk longer,
and think--
[the Sea-elf is getting more and more tense at
each exchange, until she finally
snaps.]
Teler Maid: [fiercely]
Will you now again pretend
I am not present, that you are among your friends,
and do not know why
I am hither even as I did come hence with you?
[all of them stare at her]
I tell you, I shall not
longer be quiet! No, not though you should mock at
my fashion of speech,
nor yet be silent when your companions do so!
Captain: [mildly exasperated]
Maiwe, none of
us here is going to say anything about your accent. Firstly,
we're not Maglor's following,
and none of us ever did, at the House or
anywhere else, and second,
we've been speaking Telerin, the way they do
in the Old Country,
practically since we left Aman.
[gesturing at the Youngest Ranger]
One of us is Teler, for that matter, you do recall.
Beren:
'Sides which, he hardly
even blinks when I say things, and my accent's way
stronger than yours.
Teler Maid: [frowning]
That is true.
[glowering even more]
You would dissuade me from my anger!
Beren:
Um -- yeah.
Teler Maid:
I tell you you will
not!
Beren:
But you're not really
angry with him.
Teler Maid:
What?
Beren:
You're angry with the
guy who left you without even saying good-bye. But this
isn't him any more.
So he doesn't deserve to be treated the same way.
Teler Maid:
What nonsense is this?
But of course he is the same who left this shore!
Beren:
Not exactly, just on
account of being dead. But more important, from what you
were saying, the Elf
you knew wouldn't have put his life on the front lines to
try to help an Aftercomer
like me. So because you didn't recognize him in that
description, he can't
be the same person.
Teler Maid:
If not he, then who
is to blame for it? If it is not he who belittled me, and
stood by while others
belittled me, then how is it that he does remember it
and admit to it?
Beren: [agreeable]
Okay. But you're talking
to him like he's gonna do it again, when five hundred
years ago--
[checks]
--Whoa. Five hundred
years of being angry. Definite disadvantage to being
immortal. Anyway--
[shaking his head in disbelief]
--five hundred years
ago, when you were both alive he wouldn't have admitted
that it was his fault,
right? So you both admit that there's something different
about you now. Right?
Besides being dead.
Teler Maid:
You are giving to me
a headache.
Beren:
Nope, just sharing.
[she snorts angrily]
Steward: [very quiet and carefully]
I'm sorry, Maiwe. You
were not pleased to have me greet you, and the matter
we were speaking of
did not concern you, and for that, and for the second,
and for the fact that
I am much distracted by it, I did not think to include
you in the discussing
of it.
Teler Maid: [raising her voice]
Ah, now you will
call me and use mine own name, but to quiet my dissatisfaction
and defer my anger at
your disrespect!
Steward: [baffled]
Did you not demand that
I acknowledge your chosen-name?
Teler Maid:
Must you ask? or are
you but speaking in twists to snare me in a net and
make me contradict me
for your satisfaction? I know this dance, milord!
Steward: [crystal-clear emphasis]
How would you
have me bespeak you, then? How might I address you, that will
not awake either your
wrath or your suspicion of mockery or of manipulation?
--What should I do?
[she flings her hands out in a wild frustrated gesture]
Teler Maid:
Nothing. Nothing
at all. --I wish I had not known you were dead! I wish
I might not have to
know it now, and then I might have peace yet!
[she spins about and starts to walk off -- not, however, vanishing]
Steward: [loud enough for her to hear]
And I the same.
[she does not turn nor answer, but stops at the
closest pillar and leans against
it, hiding her face, her posture both furious
and forlorn. He bows his head,
accepting her rejection -- but his friends don't.]
Captain:
Go over and embrace
her, you idiot!
Steward:
She doesn't want to
have anything to do with me. You heard--
Beren:
--If she didn't want
you to go say something, she wouldn't be staying around
waiting for you to do
it.
Soldier:
He's right, sir.
Steward: [bleak]
I should be most surprised
if she did not strike me for the effrontery of
such a gesture.
Beren: [uncompromising]
From what she and you
said -- you deserve it.
Soldier:
He's right about that,
too, sir.
[the Steward looks at them, sighs, then braces
himself and goes over to where
the Sea-elf is standing beside the column.]
Steward:
Maiwe.
[she does not answer -- he puts his hands on
her shoulders, leaning over her
a little]
Sea-Mew, please hear--
[in a flash she turns and shoves him hard, flinging
him away and back with such
violence that he stumbles and falls to his knees,
not trying to catch himself]
Teler Maid:
How dare you! How dare
you think that you might come and call me after all
that's passed, and I
to answer to your song like an errant breeze charmed to
your sail, for so long
as you fancy my small strength to buoy your spirits,
and then forget, or
shun me, when stronger winds lure you to higher, swifter
joys! No, I say, I will
not be yours to disdain ever again!
[he does not answer]
"Maiwe," you say now,
but do you not remember the times in Tirion when your
friends would make jibing
turn upon the word, and you allow it, or do the same
even, that I was but
a whining beggar, shrilling for your attention? How you
should urge me to take
some finer name, as I would not yield to your wish that
I should give up my
own House's way, to take a name when we should come of age,
of that beast or bird
most near to our own hearts? And would not hear me when
I told you Swan and
Heron were not for me, but only the dancing gull that
silvers all the air?
Steward: [quietly]
I remember.
Teler Maid:
Would you now caress
me, that would ever turn from me when I would take your
hand and walk beside,
nor let me set my arm about your waist when we were
anywhere but Lady Earwen's
halls, and did I make so bold, you may likewise
hold in memory, then
would you walk along the streets and square with such
long and great strides
that I must ever hasten to keep pace with you, nor
might we talk, for the
haste of your going no less than the silent trouble
of your mind -- else
you should grip my hand so fast that I take pain of it,
nor ever admit that
there was aught of deliberation in it, nor failing saving
of mine own weakness?
Steward: [not looking away, in the same low-voiced manner
throughout]
Yes.
Teler Maid:
Do you not recall how
you disdained my gift to you, that I had gathered all
of myself, and fashioned
by my hands, and crude it was, perhaps, but my Lady
praised it and thought
it fine, and when I gave it you, you frowned, and but
said that no bard should
wear a wristlet, for that the beads would strike
against the sounding-board,
or 'gainst the strings, and so I should have
known, nor asked me
to fashion of it but armlet or collar that I would have
done, had you but spoke
the least, the least word of pleasure at my gift!
Not so many pearls did
I scatter that Hour in the gardens as I did tears--
Steward:
I do recall.
Teler Maid: [tossing her head]
But what should I
know of music, that did but sing simple songs, knowing naught
of the forms and sciences
of it, the modes and mathematics and the harmonics
of the heavens that
should order all? What was my melody, made but on a reed
pipe, that I did cut
with mine own knife and give back to the water when it
had served its time,
but the whistle of the wild breeze in the grasses and no
art at all, rough and
unshaped as the winds or my namesake's cry? But a buzzing,
as of the blue-black
shore bee, a silliness to divert children at their skipping
-- or so did one say,
who would be known as harper full great as his reverenced
companion was at song!
Do you not remember him, and the words he said one
twilight Hour, when
I would have given a tune to the Silver One?
Steward:
That, as well.
Teler Maid: [jeering]
No more to say than
that? Where is your skillful debate, to set me at a loss,
and make all my thoughts
and words seem but the chattering of a tiny babe, and
turn my sorrow and my
righteous anger into folly before all these your friends,
as ever did?
Steward:
Against the shafts of
truth there is no shield strong enough, nor mail fine
enough, to withstand
its pangs. Be it enough that I can answer you at all,
for even that is almost
beyond my enduring. Knowing what has befallen you,
and what part I had
in it, is grief enough I think to kill me, were I yet
living.
[long pause]
Teler Maid: [slowly, softly]
I wanted to see you
before me humbled and broken-hearted, as I have wept
over your coldness to
me. And now I have my wish -- and -- I do not much
care to have it.
[she makes a slight, half-turning motion, looking
briefly at the rest of the
Ten, and then away into the shadows, poised
as if about to take flight]
Beren: [approaching them, carefully]
Don't.
[she gives him a sharp glance as he comes to
stand protectively over the Noldor
shade, guarding, yet without projecting any
menace towards her.]
Don't run away again. It's not gonna help. Trust me on that.
Teler Maid: [returning to the fray with a vengeance]
And what, pray, shall
help?
Words, that he has ever used to tangle me and bind
me into such confusion
that I might not speak, or silence, that left me becalmed
and moorless and far
from harbor, finding no way to follow him nor homeward fly
instead? I am no fool,
I know how it shall end, as ever it did, with my self
alone and in tears and
a fool in the sight of all for loving him!
Beren:
You wanted him to be
someone else. And he is. But now you have to deal with
this Edrahil, not the
old one.
Teler Maid:
For what shall I trust
this change, that I shall risk my heart again, as in
past Day, to find that
it should last only until we again should leave my
Lady's House for other
halls?
Beren:
Because you're not a
fool. Because I'm here, and you know how much that
means by way of changes,
because you said so. Besides, what have you got
to lose?
[silence]
Teler Maid:
Mine own valuing, that
I be not the same poor silly child that could not help
but cling to one who
loved me not.
Beren:
But you do still love
him, so that's just an illusion you're holding on to.
Teler Maid:
But I did promise myself
that I never again should yield so!
Beren: [wry]
Did you swear an oath?
[she gives him a puzzled look]
How much is that worth to you?
[he lifts his wrist]
Your hand? Your life? --Forever? Pride's a damned expensive prize. I know.
[she looks away, then sidelong at the Steward, before meeting Beren's gaze again]
What have you got to gain by risking it? --'Cause that's the question.
[long pause]
Teler Maid: [very softly]
I am not sure . . . I am not sure--
Beren:
You came back . . .
I think you're brave enough to find out.
[she looks at the rest of the Ten, doubtfully
and very defensive, to find that all
of them are troubled, anxious, and none of them
enjoying her discomfiture at all.]
Teler Maid: [to the Steward, suddenly]
It is said by sundry
and by all that you are no longer the same proud, vain
soul that was so uncaring
to me when we were yet alive. Perhaps 'tis true --
yet there is this as
well that you have likely not to thought of, that I might
not care for this stranger
that you have returned, that bears your same name.
What of that, my lord?
What say you to that chance of a chance?
[pause]
Steward: [with the merest hint of his normal manner]
I'll chance it.
[they lock stares]
Teler Maid: [suddenly very sad and quiet in turn]
Perhaps it shall be
the other way about, and it is he who shall not care now
for one who stayed perforce
and by her will to stay and never see the changes
of the world nor to
take part in any of their making, but only to hide in
shadow--
Steward:
No chance of that.
[she stares at him, warily, for another long moment]
Teler Maid: [sharply again]
One chance you
shall have, Edrahil, for I cannot spare you any more than that,
to prove your change
of heart, that before your friends and mine -- but more
yours than mine! --
you will not be ashamed of me, nor wish me changed, nor
silent, nor away.
[abruptly she turns back and takes a place by
the waterfall, next to the edge
of the spill pool, closest to the Sindarin Ranger,
and waits with a very
challenging expression as the Steward accepts
Beren's (unnecessary) help to rise.]
Beren: [undertone, but intense]
Whoo boy, this is not
good--
Steward: [as quietly]
How many chances does
one require? If one does not fail.
[he doesn't exactly sound cheerful, but . . .]
Beren:
This isn't a fair setup.
Steward:
Such is the way of the
world.
[still leaning on Beren's shoulder, he goes back
and sits down beside the Captain,
who presses the flask of miruvor on him without
objection. Huan slinks over from
where he was lying and drops down behind them,
rather absurdly trying to keep as
much of himself hidden from the Sea-elf's angle
as possible.]
Teler Maid:
Now. --Tell me about
the world, and what it is like in these days, and the
other Children who dwell
in it now, and your War against the traitor-god,
and everything else
I am ignorant of--!
[Elsewhere -- the empty area of shadows, in which the semblance of a gated
archway has appeared again.]
[Finrod is standing in front of it, addressing
the unseen someone through
the lattice, in a concluding-business manner.]
Finrod:
Thank you again for
hearing me out. I won't say you'll not regret it --
but I promise you'll
find it worth your trouble.
[the gate fades away completely once more, but
he does not seem discouraged
as he turns to leave.]
[Elsewhere: the counsel chamber]
[the dynamics have changed again -- this time
it is the Lord of the Hunt who is
going at it animatedly with the Elven members
of the group, living and dead, while
his colleagues look on.]
Ambassador: [earnestly]
But it is not the same,
my Lord. It may indeed be better, here -- but it is
not what we are used
to.
Orome:
And? Reason considers
the objective values of each circumstance and judges
between them on that
basis. Alone.
[to Aule]
Right?
[scowling at the Middle-earthers]
--Not on the basis
of sentimentality and a hidebound reluctance to embrace
change.
Luthien:
Then you could
have all just moved back, couldn't you?
[silence]
Vaire: [sighing]
You don't seriously
think that people are going to be able to just leave
everything they've built
and pack up and go to the other side of the world
again just like that?
Luthien:
Oh, come on!
Ambassador: [quietly]
Princess, regardless
of the validity of your views, you do yourself and them
no service by this incivility
and uneducated language.
[aside]
And you make us look bad, as well.
[she snorts and folds her arms angrily, giving him a sidelong Look]
Nerdanel:
Nay, but 'tis but truth:
our parents needs must make shift unto the same,
even as -- I deem
-- Melian's daughter would declare. Her question -- if
I do interpret aright
-- is not without all reason, wherefore it should
behoove us better to
remove hither, than ye to remove hence.
Luthien:
I really don't see what
the difficulty is. After all, that's what Mom did.
Vaire:
Your mother had nothing
tying her to Valinor, dear.
Irmo: [aside]
Except for a job. But
-- pfft -- what's that matter? You don't even need
to tell people you're
not coming back -- they'll figure it out eventually,
after all!
Luthien:
After all, if that had
been the case then there wouldn't be any Return,
because we would all
be here--
[checks]
I mean, there
-- anyhow, there wouldn't have been any Kinslaying or any
reason for people to
treat each other differently, because we'd all be
the same.
Ambassador:
I fear you're being
overly optimistic, my Princess.
Aule: [with a disbelieving smile, ironic]
And what about the Trees?
It isn't as though my wife could have made Them
over again, and They
were a little -- just a trifle -- large to dig up and
transplant like chrysanthemums.
Luthien:
We did fine without
Them.
[to her compatriot, not waiting for agreement]
Right?
[very patronizingly to the Smith]
--They could have stayed
here, and you could have remade the Lamps there,
if you wanted.
Namo: [adamant]
No.
Aule:
There were -- serious
design flaws -- in the Lamps. The risks--
[Luthien interrupts again; Aule's Assistant rolls his eyes]
Luthien:
--But there was only
a risk because Morgoth was out-and-about, and since
he was locked up then
it would have been safe, right -- who else was going
to try to get at them?
Irmo: [patiently]
Well, as a matter of
fact, there was Ungoliant. We didn't know about her at
the time, of course.
But dangers one is unaware of are not non-existent--
Luthien:
--Don't talk down to
me!
Irmo:
Then don't ignore the
obvious. You--
[shaking his head]
You're acting as though
none of these sorts of problems ever came up in
discussions, as though
they
never would have crossed our minds until you
suggested them.
Luthien:
Well, make them sturdier,
or -- put some sort of covers on, or barriers
about them, or something.
A solution could have been found.
[Aule covers a smile; the Weaver leans over and whispers to her husband]
Vaire:
Is this reminding you
of anyone we know?
[he nods briefly, inspecting the contents of
his cup as an alternative to
the debate]
Luthien: [gesturing widely]
It's not critical anyway,
we didn't need them -- we didn't need anything
besides the stars.
Irmo: [raising his hand in turn]
There are all kinds
of issues that -- we could spend decades considering
them in-depth -- where
to set up, the distance from the Sea, the
transportation issues
of bringing all of our work and re-establishing
it in Middle-earth again
-- the not-inconsiderable emotional effects of
returning to a place
of such mixed memories -- these Halls themselves --
just to begin with a
few.
Luthien: [with a dismissive shrug]
Something could have
been figured out. It would have saved so much trouble.
Nerdanel:
Nay, 'tis not so simple
of a matter as wouldst make it. Manifold and deeply-
meshed as the ore ere
it is smelted be the elements of these our Kindreds'
difficulties, and eke
that is changed doth change a dozen other of diverse
sort, and eke in own
turn still more, so that in end what was should be so
changed that none might
guess how had it befallen from the first, that be
but one change and that
but slight -- and each various end bring both ill
and good in company,
and what serveth one should disservice render to another,
or harm, else displeasure.
--Thy mother and father should have been more glad,
had thy true-love ne'er
crossed thy path, and they have suffered even of the
same cause that thou
hast taken joy, and thou as well joy and sorrow at once
hath found, and shalt
thou -- or any -- sever the twain?
Luthien: [calm]
That's because they
were stupid.
[the Ambassador winces]
If they hadn't been selfish
idiots, nobody would have suffered. We could have
been happy, and everything
would have been all right for everyone, not just us.
Instead, they started
a chain of events that's killed I don't know how many
people so far and made
even more people miserable. It's their own fault, and
it isn't complicated
at all.
Nerdanel: [very quietly]
And yet -- thy lord
is mortal.
[Luthien ignores this, though her chin goes up a little more]
Ambassador: [sighing]
Highness, Highness,
you know it is more complex than mere folly. You know
that your father's Sight
long forewarned him that disaster and trouble
should attend the coming
of humans into our lands, that your mother has
contended with encroaching
Doom for Ages, and you know your parents'
wisdom is to credit
for our realm's ancient safety and prosperity. Why
should he -- or we --
misdoubt any of his forebodings, nor make light of
the risks that Men should
pose? Were not the doubts he held of our foreign
kin most sadly proven
well-founded?
[she doesn't answer; everyone in the room looks a little grimmer at that]
Then why should they
not deem it so that -- he -- should be the fulfilment
of that dark vision,
and his beguiling of you, my lady, the catastrophe your
father so long ago Foresaw?
Orome:
That's a good argument
right there against having that information just
out there. People make
bad decisions based on incomplete data and set in
motion events that are
far beyond their ability to control. If Elwe had
just stuck with the
plan, and brought everyone here, we wouldn't be dealing
with this mess.
Luthien:
But if we had all just
stayed in Middle-earth then it wouldn't have mattered,
because then mortals
would simply have come along when it was their time just
like the Naugrim and
there wouldn't have been any reason to be suspicious and
none of the troubles
that followed would have happened.
Ambassador:
Once more I must declare
I think that a far-from-warranted assumption, my lady.
Irmo: [frustrated]
There are two distinct
problems that you're conflating and that's creating chaos.
One is whether or not
we should have brought, or tried to bring, your people here
to a defensible place
and a place of safety. Which it is, by every possible
standard of comparison.
There have been three instances of murder, in Aman,
all connected, in all
of recorded history. The number of deaths at Alqualonde--
[raising his hand, giving his brother a meaningful Look]
--I'm not minimizing
them, I'm just being accurate -- do not begin to
approach the tallies
of those killed in Beleriand before Morgoth ever
returned. --Needless
deaths, which would not have happened had your
father carried out his
obligations instead of tarrying to seduce your
mother and leave your
people to fend for themselves--
Luthien: [hotly]
--That isn't what happened!
Irmo: [keeping going]
The other problem is
whether or not we should have informed you of the fact
that you were not intended
to be alone in the world and that other sentient
life-forms would eventually
appear on the central land-mass, which is an
entirely different
topic, despite the efforts of--
[giving Nerdanel a troubled glance]
--various parties to connect them in discussion.
Nerdanel: [didactic]
Thou knowest I do hold
and ever have, that yon long-made choice to withhold
counsel from our kindreds
concerning the coming of the Secondborn was grievous
error, nor without some
part in the cause of my husband's festering madnesses.
Ye should ne'er have
left unto the Dark Lord that knowledge to convey, and
impart withal the taint
of his own jealousy.
Aule: [creasing his brows]
No, 'Danel, I'm afraid
I can't remember you saying that . . . more than,
oh, six or seven thousand
times this Age.
Irmo: [admonitory]
That sort of sarcasm
is
very inappropriate, you do realize?
Nerdanel: [smiling]
Nay, but we of his Following
are well used unto his ways, my Lord--
Luthien: [cutting her off, to the Lord of Dreams]
--Who was being
sarcastic about my mother just a few minutes ago?
Vaire:
Luthien. Would you please
stop interrupting like that?
[Luthien subsides with a very bad grace]
Orome:
It wouldn't have become
an issue anyway, if he had stayed locked up.
Irmo: [leaning forward, very definite and stern]
We don't know
that.
Orome: [snorting]
How could it
have been an issue? How? You tell me.
Aule: [steepling his fingers]
Developments in better
scrying technology.
Irmo:
The fact that no one
had Seen the Secondborn yet proves nothing about
whether or not anyone
would have Seen them eventually, either.
Assistant:
Or that the curious
might have made eastward expeditions in time without,
or with, Feanor's involvement,
my Lord.
Luthien: [caustic]
We would have
known, as soon as humans turned up. Once you meet someone
it's sort of difficult
to keep on not knowing they exist.
Assistant: [dryly]
Highness, -- do you
not think it might be fitting to show oh, at least as
much respect to a Power
here as you do at home?
[the Lord of the Hunt fights back a grin]
Orome:
Oh, trust me, she is.
Ambassador: [hoping against hope]
You were not really
this rude to your lady mother--?
Luthien:
. . .
Nerdanel: [dauntingly]
So much of empty breeze
is this talk. I stand in great amaze, noble ones,
that any yet
should yet aver, that darkness of intellect should be preferred,
e'en but in fancy and
conjecture, as conducible to light and peace -- when
manifestly hath it been
far otherwise!
Aule: [patient]
'Danel, we're just talking
hypotheticals. Discussing possibilities is casting
light on them, don't
you agree--
Luthien: [frowning]
What are chrysanthemums?
Are they something new?
Namo: [aside to his wife as the debate spirals on]
There are many
reasons why I'm hoping they track down that rogue soon.
Vaire: [mock reproach]
That's hardly fair,
darling.
Namo:
Oh, I'll need you to
coordinate operations. A perfectly legitimate reason to
adjourn for a while.
Vaire: [smiling briefly]
It won't make the problem
go away, you know--
[she flinches as the Hunter pounds on the arm of his chair to reinforce a point]
--Tav--!
Orome: [not hearing her]
All right. --All
right. If that's what you want we can go through every single
reason for and
against--
[the Doomsman, sighing, reaches up to snap his
fingers again, filling the room
with a blinding burst of light . . .]
[the Hall]
[beside the waterfall -- the Ten are gathered
in a loose circle, at ease, though
not entirely careless: there is a wary attention
both to the shadows around and
to the latest addition to the company, who is
seated among them with only a
slightly-less hostile and confrontative demeanor.
Beren is on her left, on the
other side of the Teler Ranger, and Huan is
curled up behind the Captain and
the Steward, (who are using him for a backrest)
with his nose between his paws,
though his expression betrays the fact that
he is paying attention to the
conversation. The Sea-elf is looking across
the circle at her ex with rather
a critical tilt to her head.]
Teler Maid: [to the Steward, wonderingly]
I do not think I have
ever heard you be silent for so long.
Steward: [nods]
It is -- most awkward
to engage in a conversation when the matter of it is
one's own praises.
Teler Maid: [acerbic]
I do recollect it never
troubled you before, that you should be hailed amidst
your peers, and those
you'd have hold you as such. --And what's more: since
when is "madly fixed
upon every least detail unto the weight of a single grain,"
a word of praise?
Third Guard: [breaking in]
--Since it meant the
difference between life and death to an awful lot of
families, my own included.
Soldier:
And not just ours, but
the High King's following as well.
Third Guard:
That's what I said.
Soldier:
Oh. That's right, you
were with them originally, weren't you? I'd forgotten.
Teler Maid: [turning sharply on him]
Are you a Kinslayer,
then?
Third Guard:
No. We were with Lord
Turgon and their father, not his siblings.
[pause]
Teler Maid: [darkly]
I could almost wish
it were so that one might speak untruth here, that I
might deny you.
[Beren leans forward to get her attention]
Beren: [chiding]
Hey. You want to take
your anger out on someone, yell at me, why don't you?
Teler Maid:
But you were
not party to it -- you were not even born yet, then.
Beren:
Doesn't seem to make
much of a difference to most folks, so far. But that's
my point.
[she scowls at him]
Teler Maid:
I do not like you so
well now.
Beren: [shrugs]
Sorry.
Teler Maid: [distracted]
--How do you manage
without your hand?
Beren:
Not too good.
Teler Maid:
--Do you not mean "well"--?
Beren: [shrugging again]
That too.
[as he answers she catches herself, guiltily,
and gives a quick look over in hopes
that the Steward hasn't noticed. No luck, though
he does not say anything and looks
down at once; she glares hard at him and crosses
her arms in defensive defiance.
The Youngest Ranger taps her elbow, and nods
meaningfully towards the mortal.]
Youngest Ranger: [not meanly, though]
You want to really drive
yourself mad -- and everyone else for good measure
-- try counting how
many different ways he's got for saying yes that aren't
the word "yes."
[pause]
Teler Maid: [stiffly]
I am sorry, Lord Beren.
I ought not to make a fellow guest to feel unwelcome
here.
Beren: [terse, staring straight in front of him]
--Wouldn't be the first,
won't be the last.
Captain:
Beren.
Beren: [abashed, bows his head]
Sorry.
[to the Elven girl]
--S'okay.
[she looks away, still annoyed, and gives a quick
glance at the Captain before
addressing the Steward again:]
Teler Maid:
He said you did
not treat me well when we were both alive.
[the Steward sighs, nodding]
You are not angry at that?
Steward: [bemused]
For what should I be
angry? It is no more than the truth.
Teler Maid:
You were not always
so easy with the notion that you might possess them --
far less to hear any
chronicling of your faults.
Steward:
That too, I cannot deny.
[pause -- very reluctantly]
You do ill, Maiwe, to seek to make division between us.
[she tosses her head and looks away, obstinate]
Captain: [shrewd]
Do you think it betrayal,
this friendship of ours, of yours?
[she does not answer]
But that was our friendship's foundation, Murrelet.
Teler Maid: [challenging]
How?
Captain:
That he should talk
of you to one that knew you well, and speak of how ill
he'd treated you to
one who'd not gainsay him.
Teler Maid: [still very skeptical]
Why?
Captain: [looking to the Steward]
--Shall you, or shall
I?
[the other raises his hands in a resigned gesture]
Steward:
You will enjoy
it far more.
Captain: [shaking his head tolerantly]
--For one who'd have
been a bard, you've a curious distaste for telling stories.
Steward:
Only mine own.
Captain:
And those you're
involved with.
Steward: [with a cool Look]
That is what I said,
is it not?
Captain:
Not exactly, no.
Steward: [still more acridly]
On the contrary: if
I was involved, even on the periphery, then it is to
however small a degree
my
story as well.
Captain:
Well, by that principle,
then everything that ever happened involved you,
for if you weren't present,
someone known to you was, or related to you,
or it had some consequence
direct or indirect upon your life. Therefore
I maintain my assertion,
that you are signally unfond of recounting tales.
Steward: [icy patience]
You are, as usual, exaggerating
grossly again.
Captain: [leaning back against Huan with a smug grin]
--Never.
[long pause, during which the Teler girl stares at them in wide-eyed disbelief]
Steward: [sighing heavily]
Go on, finish the story
-- or begin it, indeed.
Captain: [shaking his head]
Oh no, clearly you'd
rather correct my speaking than hear me speak, so I'll
be silent.
[pause]
Steward:
No. No. It is
entirely too twisted for you to compel me to beg you to
humiliate me in public.
One
must draw the line somewhere.
[his friend only smiles innocently, and says nothing]
--My Lady, if you're attending, your help would be most welcome now!
Captain:
The thing about help
is, you don't get to say how it comes, you know.
Steward:
Shut up.
Captain:
Absolutely.
[the other, after a visibly-jaw-grinding moment,
raises his hands in capitulation
and asks:]
Steward:
Would you then be so
kind as to answer this gentle's question that I might be
spared the painful necessity
of doing so myself? --This is utterly wrong.
Captain: [cheerfully]
All right.
[he sits up straight again and prepares to go
on, while the Steward leans his
forehead on his hand -- but is interrupted by
the Sea-elf, who is too shocked
almost for words:]
Teler Maid:
But -- but -- he is
not
angry with you?
Youngest Ranger:
That's just their way.
They've been doing it since before I was born.
Teler Maid: [skeptical]
In truth?
Beren:
Oh yeah. Apparently
generations of my relatives on both sides of my family
used to regularly lose
bets to these guys--
[gesturing at the rest of the Ten]
--expecting one of those
two was going to haul off and hit the other, and
they never did, of course.
Teler Maid:
Bets?
Beren:
Er, wagers?
[she shakes her head]
Teler Maid:
I do not understand
the notion.
Beren: [helpless]
Oh.
Youngest Ranger:
It's when you don't
know what will happen, and so you make a promise with
someone else that if
it falls out one way, you will give them something
valuable, but if it
falls out the other way, they will give you something
valuable instead.
Teler Maid: [puzzled]
Why?
[he shrugs, embarrassed and unable to explain better]
Second Guard:
It makes things more
interesting that way.
Teler Maid:
I do not see how.
[uninterested in the subject, to Beren:]
Where are your kinfolk?
Beren: [taken aback]
Uh -- dead, mostly.
Teler Maid:
But they are not here?
[completely thrown by this question, Beren looks around at the others for help]
Captain:
Mortals don't abide
here, Sea-Mew. But surely that's known to all in the
Halls, certainly after
the Bragollach?
Teler Maid: [shrugging]
Mayhap. But I have not
cared to attend much to all that's said or done herewith.
[to Beren]
Then for what are you here? I had thought you must be the first of the Secondborn.
Beren: [starting to get agitated]
--No. Not by a long
shot.
Teler Maid:
But then why are you
yet here? Or do you but ignore my questions as was his wont?
Beren: [increasingly distressed]
No. I -- I'm not supposed
to be here. It's this big mess.
[on his other side the Warrior grips his shoulder,
deeply anxious -- Beren answers
the unspoken question through set teeth:]
--I'm okay. Really.
Teler Maid: [total frustration]
But why--?
Captain: [half plea, half exasperation]
Maiwe--
Beren:
Because I'm trying to
stay with my wife.
Teler Maid:
But--
[the realization takes place]
She is one of us . . . ?!?
[he nods, once]
But--
[she trails off, her brow furrowing]
Beren: [very dry]
Believe me, I don't
think there's a variant of "What on the gods' green earth
does she see in you?"
that I haven't heard yet.
Teler Maid: [shaking her head
That was not what I
would say, only -- I do not know what I would say. There
are too many things,
I think, that I must know to ask what I must know!
[she pushes back her hair with both hands and
lets them fall in a gesture of
resigned dismay]
I did not comprehend
that it should be so new upon you, nor that yours should
such a different matter
prove, else I'd not have pressed you so hard for answer.
I shall not more, for
I like it little when others do ask me hard questions I
would not answer.
Beren:
Thanks.
Teler Maid: [worried]
Are you much angered
with me?
Beren: [gently]
No.
Teler Maid:
I do like you, truly,
I do believe.
[at this admission the Youngest Ranger stops
glowering between them; abruptly
she turns back to her original question:]
So, then, tell me --
how
did it happen that you should happen to talk of
his unmannerliness to
me?
Captain:
It's a long story--
Fourth Guard:
--but not that
long, don't worry.
[Beren gives an exaggerated sigh of relief]
Teler Maid: [affronted]
You do jeer at me again.
Captain:
No, we're teasing Beren
this time.
Fourth Guard:
Or he's teasing us.
Teler Maid: [wary]
Then which, pray tell,
is it?
Beren:
Oh, definitely both.
--Probably.
Teler Maid:
Now you do tease me
indeed.
[she can almost completely keep from smiling]
Beren: [blandly]
Could be.
[she makes a dismissive gesture, rolling her eyes, and turns back to the Captain]
Teler Maid:
Was that before or after
he shot you?
[the Steward grimaces, covering his face]
Captain: [shaking his head]
He didn't shoot me,
Curlew, not by accident or purpose. He simply ignored my
warning and ventured
into a dangerous situation.
Teler Maid:
Then whence came you
to mischance?
Captain:
We were riding escort,
and that's what the job entails, dangerous or not.
[there are looks exchanged among the Ten]
Ranger: [reluctant]
Er, sir--
Steward: [irritable]
If you insist upon telling
it, then tell it properly, at least!
Captain:
Yes, but by that you
mean painting yourself in as bad a light as possible.
Steward:
I mean leaving out no
pertinent detail.
Captain:
Very well, I'll do my
best, though you'll not be pleased of course. --The
reason we were riding
to a parley with minions of the Enemy was that against
my counsel (but not
mine alone, I wasn't as senior at that point, but all of
us with much field experience
thought it a bad idea, not myself merely) he
had persuaded our lords
to permit him to respond, saying that as it was then
known (or at least rumored
through his contacts among House Feanor's following)
that the ill-fated parley
had gone wrong because the Noldor side had gone with
far more than their
promised number in hopes of taking the Enemy's emissaries
as hostages, and broken
faith first, it wasn't certain that negotiations were
truly out of the question,
as a good-faith attempt had never been undertaken.
Teler Maid: [shrewdly]
But was not Melkor given
his freedom in good faith, and did break that faith,
ere ever you reached
the other shore?
Captain:
Did I say I thought
it a good idea? I didn't, many of those who had seen
combat didn't, none
of those who were born in the Old Country, veterans or
not, thought it so,
and Lord Turgon, whose Following had already attracted
a great many of the
locals and thus had direct access to a great deal more
information unmitigated
by protocol, never did agree with it.
Beren: [interrupting, shaking his head]
I still don't
see why they did. I mean, maybe that's hindsight, because of
us fighting the War
for so long and that was early days, but still . . .
Captain: [lifting his hand in a small shrug]
Well, between the appeal
to Family rivalries implicit in the assumption that
we could do it
because we were smarter, as well as more honest -- which
captured the support
of Prince Fingon and their father from the first, before
any operational details
were discussed -- and the moral high ground of trying
to solve things peacefully
as well as honestly, which lured Himself into it
eventually, we skeptics
were outshouted, -- which is an exaggeration, true,
voices were raised but
it wasn't quite shouting. We didn't know then that the
Enemy had also sent
a force vastly over the agreed numbers to the Feanorion's
parley, but nobody should
have been surprised by it.
Steward:
I was not surprised
-- by then.
Captain: [caustic]
I should hope not. --So
he won permission to make the attempt, and the contacts
were made via their
spooks, and a time and place appointed for it, and it was
my luck to get the assignment,
and we went. Now I wasn't happy with it for
several reasons, one
of which was that although the location was open, and the
country open, there
were a lot of rocks and it was far from flat, meaning lots
of good cover.
Teler Maid:
--Of what?
Captain:
Er, hiding places. For
the foe.
Teler Maid:
Oh. Like quail.
Captain:
Exactly. So there was
that -- but then it was to be held in broad daylight,
which was also in our
favour. But the morning started clear and then started
getting overcast, and
I got suspicious about that, and the closer we got the
more cloudy it got,
and then a bit of fog started coming in as well, and I
started objecting strenuously,
only to be told that there was nothing unnatural
about it, days often
got gray as they wore on, and was this part of the country
not known for its mists?
Teler Maid: [narrowing her eyes]
I think you are not
saying it quite as he did say it.
Captain: [shrugs]
Near enough. --And that
was all true, only I still didn't think it was natural
at all. And I kept saying
so, and we just kept getting closer to the destination,
and yes we had a large
company, all within the agreed on limits, and I just kept
on thinking to myself,
Balrogs. What if the rumours about the Balrogs were right?
[she shivers]
Teler Maid:
I have heard of them,
even in my solitude there were whispers of them. Are they
so terrible as all do
tell?
[he nods, very seriously]
Captain:
And reminding myself
that neither of us was a prince of the blood, nor any
particular prize, didn't
help much against all the warnings from my Sindar
colleagues that the
Lord of Fetters didn't care who you were so long as you
could make weapons for
him.
Teler Maid:
But you know
naught of smithing.
Captain:
But they wouldn't know
that, would they? And there's plenty of work that
requires no particular
art, merely coordination and strength.
"We're all going to end
up thralls in Angband, or dead," we all kept thinking,
though we hoped we were
very wrong. And now we're at the edge of the place
where the parley's to
happen, and the visibility's poor, but not terrible,
and if it were any other
business I'd be worrying about rain starting and
slippery footing for
the horses most of all, not an iron collar -- but there's
no one there in the
center of the ring of flat stones that was the designated
spot, and no one in
sight for leagues around, and there was no way beneath
the hidden Sun I was
going to walk us out into that unprotected area.
Huan: [not moving]
[low, but rising, growls]
Captain:
We were about three
bowshots from it, and I told my riding to stay put in
the gorge we'd just
come through, that I wasn't going to budge until we saw
some signs of a good-faith
effort to meet us, namely some visible enemies
coming to parley, we
were going to wait, watch, and be late if we must, but
we were not going
to put ourselves in the open.
[he reaches back & pokes the quiescent Hound]
Stop growling, you.
[Huan gives a penitent tail-wag-in-place]
And -- since he wants
me to tell you it as if he were telling it, there was
a lot of unpleasant
conversation at that, and I wouldn't let him embarrass
me into going through
with it, and he wouldn't agree that I knew what I was
talking about with regard
to the number of troops that could be hidden in
this apparently open
countryside, so he says to me, "Do as you please, and
I will do my duty,"
and goes to ride out there alone.
Ranger:
We couldn't tell if
you were insanely brave, or just insanely overconfident.
Steward: [snorting]
Neither. I was petrified.
But I did believe in the mission.
Captain:
So obviously I had to
go along (though I really wanted to take the flat
of my sword to his skull
and drag him back home regardless) with strictest
orders to my company
to stay put, regardless, and dire threats of what would
happen if they didn't
-- and all of us so rattled it didn't occur to any of
them to ask me how I'd
manage that if things went badly. And we get halfway
there, and nothing stirs,
not even the wind, and you could not have offered
me a Silmaril to keep
going, and he just keeps steadily on at a walk, and
we're about three-fourths
of the way there, and something spooked my horse
-- but it might only
have been me, so I circled about a little--
[making a descriptive gesture with his hand]
--trying to catch another
glimpse of what it was that I'd thought I'd seen,
and apparently that
worried our adversaries into thinking we were about to
give up and go. So someone
from their side lets slip a little too early,
from behind one of those
scattered boulders on the heath, and that's how
I got shot. Our armour
wasn't so good then, before we purchased proper mail
from the Dwarves and
learned the art of making it ourselves.
Teler Maid:
Where? --Nor do you
say, "in Beleriand"--!
[he indicates a point on his upper arm]
Ranger: [with exasperation]
Sir--
Captain: [offhand]
Might have been a little
higher--
[the Steward elbows him]
Oh, well, that too, -- but it was the other side.
Teler Maid:
How many arrows by which
you were struck?
[she is nervously twisting one of her braids
tightly around her fingers, not
even realizing that she is doing so]
Captain:
Just one.
[she frowns]
Teler Maid:
Then how--
Youngest Ranger:
--Nailed right through
to his ribcage and into his lung. That's what I heard,
at least. I wasn't there
for it, as I wasn't yet born.
[she gasps, wide-eyed, and then turns an absolutely furious glare upon the Steward]
Steward:
I had seen death, and
I had seen those slain, and even wounded, but only
after significant time
and sufficient for medical attention to have begun
-- never anyone so gravely
injured and yet living, or halfway. Not at that
early point.
Captain: [to the Sea-elf, trying to reassure her]
It was not that
bad.
Steward: [grimly]
It was very bad, and
would have been so had not the arrow been poisoned
as well.
Captain:
I thought I was
telling this story.
[silence]
It could have been much worse.
Ranger: [quiet]
It was bad, sir.
Captain: [resigned]
I didn't say it wasn't.
But at least -- no, wait, I can't say that, can I?
At any rate, we were
able to get back to the others where I'd left them, and
there were some sharp
words, but quick, for the need to hasten past our foe's
reach, and by the time
we reached a distance where we might alight in some
surety, if briefly,
the poison had taken strong hold, and our company healer
didn't want to draw
the arrow, but didn't dare leave it in for the sort of
riding we had yet to
accomplish, and I was starting to lose my grip on reality,
and so were my companions,
with less excuse, and there were some very harsh
words given to, though
not exchanged with, our Herald.
Steward:
--Deservedly.
Captain:
And yet they're
not here, with one exception.
Steward:
Many died before at
the Bragollach, or in the retreating actions of the
subsequent years.
Captain: [looking at him directly]
And I repeat: with one
exception, those Rangers who rode at my command in
that hour are not here,
nor those who fell beside us in the Fen. And yet
you are.
[the Steward looks away. Simultaneously asking:]
Beren:
Teler Maid:
Why not?
[the two Rangers look downcast and upset, but say nothing]
Captain:
It's -- complicated.
We -- as has been said before, are a disreputable and
disorderly lot -- well,
you've seen it, Beren, though Maiwe's only heard us
before, and not everyone
is quite comfortable associating with us. Or at
least, not on any sort
of formal and regular basis.
Beren:
But you said people
follow him anyway. Like with the battles.
Captain:
Yes, but it's all most
informal, and . . .
Warrior: [filling in]
We got into trouble
for it. Some people aren't very happy at the idea of
having the Powers possibly
angry at them again.
[aside]
--Like me.
Captain:
There's a sort of unofficial
official recognition which is quickly disavowable,
and tends to alternate
between unthinking enthusiasm for projects -- no, not
us, I meant with the
reenactments -- and a wait-and-see-if-They-toss-him-or-
them-in-the-non-existent-dungeons,
first, attitude. Essentially folk ask him
for advice and help,
and he makes recommendations and doesn't ask anyone else
for anything now. Except
us.
Teler Maid:
I do not quite follow
you.
Beren: [flatly]
I do. Sounds like a
repeat of Nargothrond, again.
Captain:
Not quite that bad.
Beren:
Doesn't he mind?
[pause]
Captain:
I'm not the one to speak
on that.
Steward:
Nor I.
Beren: [grim]
That's why he got so
upset when he thought I turned on him.
[pause]
That's why you're all here tearing up the gods' living room on my behalf.
[to the Sea-elf]
Sorry, I didn't mean to talk around you. Long story.
First Guard: [reassuring]
We'll not desert him,
Beren.
Teler Maid:
I -- would almost hazard
you mean that some have forsaken Lord
Ingold . . . ?
Beren:
You'd be right.
Captain:
But it is, as Beren
says, a long story, and another -- or at least a lot
later in this one. --Which
I am going to resume telling, in the absence of
objection. I was not
doing terribly well at that point, but it was crucial
to keep on as speedily
as possible, not simply for my sake but because of
the likelihood of pursuit.
They kept changing me from rider to rider for
the horses' endurance,
and despite the unwillingness of my followers for
reasons of sentiment,
even to Edrahil, for reason of principle. And he
kept saying something,
and I assumed he was trying to apologize, and wanted
to tell him to just
stop,
dammit, but that would have taken too much breath.
And then I realize that
what he's actually doing is the same thing our
medic did, as best he
can manage, having memorized, or nearly, his words
when they were patching
me up. And at that point I stopped worrying, for
I knew things would
be all right.
Teler Maid:
But -- might you not
have died despite, before ever you might be brought
back to safe haven?
Captain:
Oh, yes.
Teler Maid:
Then why say you 'twould
be well?
Steward: [quietly]
Because he is mad.
[she gives him an afrronted glance]
Captain:
Because I knew from
that that he was recollected enough to withstand panic
and other disorder and
to make sure that all the rest would make it home
safely, whether I returned
there or here. And I was right. There was a motion
to cut directly over
some rough country that gave a more direct route to
Fingolfin's command
post--
[to Beren]
--not the one you're
thinking of, the castle at Eithel wasn't built at that
point -- and strongly
urged in the interest of time -- and does he give in?
Not at all.
"We are not crows," he
retorts, and refuses on the grounds that none of them
knew the ground, and
if it were passable, or for horses, or for a casualty,
and insists upon the
longer, surer route, and carries them all by force of
cold reason, despite
the fact that not one of them but wished it were he
bleeding there, not
me.
Steward: [irritably]
Have you any idea how
many times you've changed tense already?
Captain:
Yes, you get more tense
each time. You'll not change the subject that way.
--So instead he sends
one warrior by that shortcut, and another to go
breakneck (only hopefully
not)
ahead of us, with my horse for a spare,
and the rest together
to bring me back as quick as they might without
killing me altogether,
while whichever messenger might reach the encampment
first should bring a
company of medical personnel to intercept us along
this our known route.
Exactly
what I would have done, had matters been the
other way round. Though
I only learnt of this after the fact, not being
fully-conscious at the
time. And when that happens, and it's not only those
he requested but Himself
as well, trying to keep me alive, he says nothing
whatsoever about the
mission nor his own actions, but only stays out of
the way until they dared
to take me back home at last.
Teler Maid: [extremely grim]
What said you,
to account for your wound then?
Captain:
I was still unconscious.
They
might have said a lot, but oddly enough they
didn't -- for some reason
they elected to give him benefit of honour, to see
what he would say before
making their report.
[the Noldor Ranger smiles wryly]
And what he said was
essentially what I have said, though with longer words
and more of 'em. No
attempt to justify himself, nor discredit any claim they
might make, by reason
of their having been back of our position, nor to assign
any of it to me. He
made a full admission to the Princes, not in private mind
you, but before all
of the folk of Finarfin and Fingolfin as well, and submitted
himself to whatever
judgment our lord and his siblings should come to, but first,
meanwhile, he said,
he intended to learn what he might of healing for himself,
that never should he
be in such a situation again and of so little use. --And
so, of course, they
gave him more jobs like that, and harder, but didn't manage
to get rid of him that
way.
[longish pause -- the Sea-elf glowers at the
subject of the story, clearly not
as amused as the teller]
Teler Maid:
Why do you not speak,
sir? Surely you are not content with a tale told by
another not you, still
less when it is of yourself it does tell!
Steward: [shaking his head]
The trouble is this
-- shall I agree, and seem more arrogant yet? or correct,
and seem a most ungracious
ingrate? Better to be silent, and leave the matter
in
some doubt
at least.
[several of the Guards snicker at this, and she
gives them a sharp Look, and then
a quick glance back, her expression becoming
more thoughtful]
Teler Maid: [still taunting, though]
What would you correct,
then, my lord?
Steward:
It was made implicit,
though not said outright, that I added healer to the
chronicle of my accomplishments
-- when, in fact, I merely completed a
course of studies in
that field.
Teler Maid:
And is that not the
same thing -- for you?
Steward:
My teacher and the chief
of that avocation thought not so. She made -- if
you will pardon the
unseemly-yet-appropriate human levity, gentles all --
no bones about
my lack of anything remotely akin to the proper empathic
spirit required of a
Healer. "Perfect pitch is necessary but far from
sufficient," and "You
can't improvise to save your life, can you? -- so
how do you expect to
save anyone else's?" were phrases I very swiftly
tired of hearing.
[the Sea-elf giggles -- then checks abruptly
and gives him a wary glance,
continuing to scrutinize his expression covertly]
Soldier:
Yes, but she didn't
forbid you from attempting, Sir.
Steward:
With the proviso
there was none else certified at hand. "You probably won't
kill anyone who wouldn't
die otherwise," is hardly endorsement.
Soldier: [sighing]
It could have been worse,
though -- back after the Glorious Battle, when there
was such a rush to become
Healers among people who'd never have thought of it
otherwise, she told
my lady to stick with the books, for at least parchment
and quills were dead
and couldn't be hurt.
[the Steward winces, then looks up as if struck by a sudden thought]
Steward:
Wait -- if I remember
correctly, there was a request for a new lighting
arrangement and several
pieces of furniture were commissioned for your
apartments at about
that time. Not coincidence, I gather?
Soldier:
Well, after we cleaned
up what was left of the desk she did admit that a
temper which built up
like a blast in a kiln for a fortnight after being
set down fairly, probably
wasn't
suited for medical work. There's patience
and there's patience,
love, I told her, and they're both important, but
you've the sort that
can spend months hunting down references or laying
down a page of colors
in lines as thin as thread, not the sort that takes
being thwarted well,
or criticism as other than insult.
Steward:
That, I have
not either.
Soldier:
True, sir -- but you
just get more and more sarcastic, instead of breaking
things.
Steward:
Nor should that
be most welcome at an invalid's bedside.
Captain:
Yes, but that only bothers
you because you're an insane perfectionist. If all
you're doing is patching
someone up so they'll last long enough to get into
competent hands, calling
them six times a fool the whiles hasn't any detrimental
effect that I've ever
noticed. Makes 'em more determined to prove you wrong
by surviving -- right?
[at this the Noldor Ranger, who has been trying
to look oblivious with decreasing
success, ducks his head with a chagrinned expression]
Ranger:
That was a calculated
risk, Sir, only -- I miscalculated. You didn't have
to say it shouldn't
make a damned bit of difference, since I had rocks for
brains anyway.
Captain:
Yes, but you never assumed
after that that an enemy without a bow wasn't a
danger from a distance
-- and made damned sure that everyone else took the
danger of slingstones
seriously, too. And being angry at me kept you awake
despite your concussion
until we were able to get you to a fort and a bone-
drill within safe walls.
[his subordinate gives him a rueful smile while
Beren supresses the sort of
expression most people evince at the thought
of trephanation]
Could have been worse,
though -- you remember that report about the accident
in the storage caves,
right?
Ranger: [grinning]
The one where a bystander
was quoted as saying that no one was ever going to
ignore safety precautions
down there again, not so much for fear of severing
an artery, as for dread
of learning yet more formulations of "I told you so,
did I not?"
Steward: [with a slight edge]
I -- was panicked, as
I'd never had call to employ that training ere then,
far less upon something
so grave as that!
Captain: [ignoring him]
That's the one -- my
personal favorite was, "However, given precedent, I
am inexorably forced
to the conclusion that the majority of you will adjudge
it to have been a random
occurrence, and not until as many times have passed
will you concede that
indeed my reasoned apprehensions were well-founded --
but no matter, for it's
clear as well that we've no shortage of overconfident
idiots within the City,
and can well-stand attrition of the same."
[the Steward leans back against Huan, looking
up at the ceiling with a resigned
expression]
--But I don't remember
any sarcasm in word or tone when I was delirious with
poison, or after when
I woke at last without the taste of my own blood in my
throat, and found a
solemn and uncommonly quiet still-chief Counsellor waiting
to beg my forgiveness
-- and give me report of the cygnets I'd been watching
all through the season,
though the thought of him crawling through cattails to
view the nest was so
strange I admit I laughed, to my immediate regret . . .
[rubbing at his side with a grimace of recollection]
. . . and tell me that
my fear, that I had not spoken aloud to him, nor any
Healer betrayed to him,
was groundless -- that he had Seen me seeing them in
flight, before the bulrushes
should have blown to seed, and so I knew that I
should not remain purblind,
nor long, which not even the King had been able
to assure me of. --A
great deal of awkwardness, and much formality, and more
embarassment -- but
nothing of mockery whatsoever.
Steward: [distantly]
You forgot confusion,
at being thanked and commended for bringing all home
without further casualty
or loss. I thought you were still delirious. Or
that your vision was
so affected you'd mistaken me for one of your officers.
[the Captain only smiles]
Teler Maid: [with a doubtful expression]
And that is the way
of it that you did find friendship?
Captain:
No, far from it. Courtesy,
yes -- courtesy, concern, deference, exaggerated
deference even, but
these things do not add up to the other. We were not
friends until after
our first visit to Doriath.
Teler Maid:
I think I have overheard
that name upon a time or three. There are mountains
there, are there not?
Beren:
There's no mountains
in Doriath. I think you're thinking of my country,
Dorthonion.
Teler Maid: [frowning]
That sounds not right
either. Is that where the horses are?
Youngest Ranger: [knowingly]
Ah, you mean Dor-lomin.
That's surrounded by mountains. I've been there.
[The Sea-elf looks over challengingly towards the Steward]
Teler Maid:
Did you not know that,
my lord?
Steward: [after visible hesitation]
--Indeed I did, Maiwe.
Teler Maid:
Then for what did you
not correct me?
Steward:
There was no need for
me to speak. The children had answered you well.
Teler Maid:
Hah, then, my questions
are but fit for children, do you say?
Steward:
No. Only that the younger
were swifter to speak. And that is often true,
in many things, but
I mean no slight to you or any other.
Teler Maid:
But I think--
Captain: [interrupting]
Did you want to hear
the rest of it, or do you just want to fight, hm?
[she scowls, but stops her needling for the moment]
All right, then. --We'd
gone to the domain of His Majesty's kindred -- though
we hadn't acclaimed
him as King yet, that happened after, when we set up our
own capital at Nargothrond
-- and now that we were settled and the border
growing ever more secure
that all of the Noldor Houses were cooperating--
Teler Maid: [interrupting, grim]
I am still very much
angered concerning that.
Captain: [evenly]
I know, and if you cut
me off one more time to say that again, I am going
to start calling you
"Rail," Sea-Mew. Trust me, we all know you're not happy
with us for making peace
with the Feanorians, and neither was the lord of the
realm we were about
to visit, when he found out either. But you're never going
to hear the end of this
if you don't stop expressing your feelings on the
subject every time it
comes up.
Teler Maid: [scowling]
You--
[stopping abruptly, disgruntled; she looks down,
letting her hair fall in front
of her face]
Captain:
What?
Teler Maid: [through her teeth]
I would have said you
do not like me longer, but I cannot.
Captain:
To borrow another mortal
saying, --no kidding. --Because the northern lands
were growing safer,
we thought it a good time to go and pay a visit of state
to the Lord and Lady
of Doriath, and so we went to pay our respects and make
offers of such alliance
as they might wish, and to see the legendary Thousand
Caves and their still
more legendary rulers. We rode through the forest --
but that word doesn't
mean anything like the same, here -- those trees were
older than any that
ever were in Valinor, and taller than any but the Two
themselves, and so powerful
that all of us, even those who love the woods,
were daunted entering
their shade.
Teler Maid: [disbelieving]
Even you?
Captain:
Even me. And then we
came to the main gate of Menegroth, where Queen Melian
with her nightingales
on her shoulders and King Elu Greycloak were waiting as
tall and fair as trees
themselves to greet their grand-niece and nephews, and--
Teler Maid:
Who?!?
[before he can answer]
You do not mean kin in the sense that we are kin, but kin?
Captain: [struggling to keep a straight face]
That sounds like something
Beren
would say. Ah, --yes.
Teler Maid:
Do not foible with words!
What is this, that the rulers of the Old Country
are parents' siblings
to any of the Noldor, when they must be of the same
kindred as him--
[gesturing to the Youngest Ranger]
--unless--
[she frowns, looking around at them]
--you do not -- surely you mean not -- but how might it happen? -- but--
[pulling herself together]
It can only be that you
do mean that my lady's uncle is yet well and free and
does rule and they but
call him by another name! Am I not right?
Captain:
Of course.
Teler Maid:
What befell Lord Elwe
that he came not hence?
Fourth Guard: [mischievously]
That's a long
st--
[his immediate neighbors suppress him quickly]
Captain:
Short version is, he
ran into the Lady Melian and that's why she didn't
come back either.
Teler Maid:
Who is she?
Captain:
Do you recall the stories
about the Maia who went missing in the Old Country
whilst exploring there?
Teler Maid:
I remember some such
tale. --Not well.
Captain:
That's her. So there
was this incredible reunion--
[as the Steward shakes his head]
--well, I'm not sure what else to call it, Edrahil, what would you recommend?
Beren:
We used to call
them family reunions even if not everybody there had ever met
everyone else because
of not being born in the same place.
Captain:
Thank you. --And
welcomes, and introductions, and talk, and Themselves brought
out the gifts they'd
made for their aunt and uncle, and there were thanks, and
more talk, and then
we were most graciously invited inside, which we'd all been
most anxious to see,
having heard so much in the way of rumour, and not having
believed half of it
as to what the Thousand Caves were really like. I'll tell
you all about it in
detail some other time, Maiwe, since everyone else already
knows, and I could spend
months and not be anywhere near through.
[Beren makes a quiet exclamation of disappointment]
But you've been there, lad.
Beren:
Not like you all have.
The first time was rushed and all I saw was the throne
room and a back staircase
and the doors on my way out, and the second time was
longer but not all that
much and even crazier. And--
[he breaks off]
Teler Maid: [curious]
What?
Beren: [with a touch of reluctance]
Even if I had been there
like them, not the way it was, it would have been
different. I wouldn't
have seen it the way they did, or been treated the same,
even if I was welcome.
I would have always been a stranger, like at Nargothrond,
because I was mortal.
[beside him the Warrior touches his arm in an apologetic gesture]
Youngest Ranger: [troubled]
But your lady could
tell you.
Beren: [wistful]
Yeah, but she's so mad
at them all that it isn't easy to get her to talk about
it, because when she
does, even when she isn't starting out to yell about them,
that's what ends up
happening, and everything she does talk about she ends up
tearing into like you
wouldn't believe.
[running his hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture]
I mean, I know it can't
have been all bad for a thousand-whatever years, that
she had to love it there
or she wouldn't be so hellishly angry at her parents,
relatives, and all the
court and the entire population of Doriath for treating
her that way, but it's
like -- I -- I try to remind her about how she was before,
when we were together
in Neldoreth the first time, and it's like that doesn't
even exist for her any
more. I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't
gotten killed, if we'd
stayed there. She didn't actually ever say that they
deserved having the
Wolf break in on them, but -- I could tell -- it was like
a thunderhead overhead,
it was gonna break out sometime. Maybe she did say it
to Melian, quietly,
I don't know.
[he shakes his head]
But, you know, with nobody
paying attention to her, how was it gonna work if
she came back to be
Lady there? I guess I didn't think about that so much when
I just wanted her to
be safe. I don't guess that her father thought about that
much either. Just wanting
her back, but when she was, it wasn't her. --But
Doriath was different
too, because of what they did to her.
[increasingly upset]
She just kept saying
one thing after another after another, and I think he
would have given her
his crown if that would have made her happy again, like
she was before. But
that couldn't happen, because of me. --She doesn't want
to hear that from me,
either.
Teler Maid: [blinking]
The daughter of the
King of Doriath that is my lady Earwen's uncle?
[the Ten nod or murmur assent, though their attention is on Beren]
Beren: [making it be true by sheer force of will]
I'm okay.
[he pulls himself together, though his jaw is set rather hard]
Teler Maid: [astounded]
But -- your wife is
my
King's niece? Lord Olwe's long-lost brother is your
lady's father?
[Beren nods]
What mad story is this?
Beren:
No, it's the truth.
[pause]
Teler Maid:
I think we mean not
the same by it. How did you come to find lost Lord Elwe,
and what of his family
and yours? That is what I did mean.
Beren:
Oh. --That's really
a long,
long story. I'm not sure I can explain it at all,
let alone well, and
they can do it better, but probably, and I'm not joking
around this time, guys,
you should talk to H-- Finrod about it, because he
was around for more
of it, he knows everybody, and he studies this kind of
stuff. Um, I mean, Lord
Ingold to you.
Teler Maid: [sharply]
I know that is also
his name. I call him Ingold because that is what we
called him mostly. Do
you not think that I am ignorant, too!
Beren:
Sorry. I didn't mean
that, either. I just get confused by it still, so I didn't
want to confuse you.
Teler Maid:
Ah.
[reluctantly]
I thank you, then. I will do so, when he does come back.
Captain:
All clear on that, now?
We were in Doriath, at the Thousand Caves, which
were fully as spectacular
as local legend had painted them and more so,
somewhat to the -- I
guess you'd say chagrin, though mostly awe -- of us
all, who'd assumed that
tales of how much finer it was than anything we'd
set up there were partly
local patriotism and partly due to the fact that
we still had fairly
simple encampments at that date, visiting with King
Olwe's brother and his
Lady, and their daughter, who's now married to Lord
Beren here, but wasn't
then, since neither he nor any of his people had
been born then.
[to the Youngest Ranger before he has a chance to interrupt]
--Nor you neither, lad,
since you weren't born yet either, though I think
you said you'd a cousin
there.
[the junior officer nods agreement]
Teler Maid: [to the Sindarin Ranger, very seriously]
Was that the one with
the giant fish?
Youngest Ranger: [just as (un)seriously]
No, that was Beren's,
I think.
Captain:
--Ahem. Anyway, we were
there for a long time, being feasted and furrowed
for information and
gawked at by everyone who'd not ventured out to meet us
before, and everyone
who had as well, I think, and if you think you were
the object of undue
curiosity in Nargothrond, lad, take my word (though it's
little consolation)
that it can be far worse. Though of course the most
attention was upon our
lord and his brothers and Lady Galadriel--
Teler Maid: [interrupting]
Who is that?
[confused pause]
Captain:
Ah. Right. That's the
name that their sister goes by these days. It was a
present from her husband,
means the same as her old nickname, though Himself
will tell you it means
"Tree-girl" instead, just to make her laugh.
Teler Maid:
Lady Nerwen is married
too? To whom?
[the Captain and others look a bit taken aback
at how much catching-up there is
to do; before they can answer:]
Beren:
Oh, I know this one.
The King's sister's husband is a lord of Tinuviel's
kindred named Celeborn
-- only I haven't met them, just heard about them
-- on her father's side.
Er, my wife's father's side, if that wasn't clear.
Teler Maid:
He is one of
us as well?
[she is both surprised and triumphant, and gives
the Steward a keen look before
asking them]
What is he like?
Captain: [frowning]
Serious, fair-minded,
thinks things through carefully before acting and
then acts decisively,
very polite and rules his temper well -- though he
does have one, make
no mistake. --A lot like their father, in fact, were
Lord Finarfin to become
a warrior and commander of warriors, I'd hazard.
[he looks at the Steward for confirmation of
his assessment; his friend nods
agreement.]
Teler Maid: [uncertainly]
They are not
here, are they?
Steward: [fervent]
--Stars, no. Not
everything has gone as wrong as might.
Captain:
--What did I just hear
you say?
[this gets him a very cool Look]
Steward:
That there are always
exceptions, and that nothing can be relied upon to
be constant.
Captain:
Damn, I thought I'd
caught you. Good recovery.
Teler Maid: [rubbing her temples]
So -- if it is so that
none but my lady's youngest children do remain in
the Old Country, which
of them does lead? For you said that it was Lord
Ingold and Lady Nerwen
of the House that were most foremost to arrange
the efforts of the March
-- then now he is dead does it fall to her last
brother, or to her and
her lord, to rule your folk in that City you have
spoken of to me?
Captain:
Well, in fact they're
not there any longer.
Teler Maid:
Then where?
[impatient]
Must I ask and ask and ask, for every least thing?
Captain: [a little tired-sounding]
I'm sorry. I -- was
thinking about how much telling this is going to take
for all the relatives.
It's a bit daunting. A lot daunting, really. --They
took off a little while
back on their own with some like-minded sorts and
struck out over the
Blue Mountains to explore and set up on their own and
hadn't got back yet
when the War hotted up.
Beren:
You call it a
little while. I wouldn't.
Captain: [shrugs]
I guess it was a while
ago, at that.
Teler Maid:
I have missed a great
deal of news.
Captain:
Yes, you have. So one
night there was a grand celebration, partly for the
Family, partly because
it was the New Moon, and partly just because. And
there was every sort
of music and dance and diverse arts--
Beren: [interrupting]
--Magic, right?
[the Sea-elf looks over at him curiously, sharing
the strange look among his
neighbors as the Youngest Ranger and the Warrior
simultaneously elbow him in
the ribs to make him shut up]
Captain:
That too, but also contests
of skill and strength with weapons and other
sport -- and the speaking
of tales and verses besides, and we were all
having the grandest
time of it, being at home as it were with all the
advantages of being
someplace else -- in other words, somebody else
looking after all the
things that have to be done, plus it's unexpected
and charming because
it's all strange, but not so very -- and then I
noticed that someone
wasn't taking part--
--and then I noticed
him go skulking
off along to the edges
of the crowd, in spite of the fact that Master
Daeron was playing then
for the Queen herself to dance, and even a stone
would not have been
so deaf and blind as to turn away from that. So I
followed him from the
clearing before the Green Throne at Hirilorn's feet
-- I'm putting that
in for Beren, Maiwe: it's a huge tree beside the City
of the Lord and Lady
of Doriath, where they hold court, betimes, I'm not
trying to confuse you
with strange names, all right?
[she nods]
And to my great surprise
I saw him go off to the shadows of the wood and
stand there glaring
at his harp, and brace it in his arms as though he were
going to break it, and
I deliberated calling to him, but then he changed
his mind before my eyes,
and went back to the gathering and looked about
as though seeking out
someone in particular, and then goes up to a villager
that to my knowledge
had never spoken with any of us before, of a party come
from great distance
to the celebration, and offers the harp to the stranger
as a gift. And then
-- still unawares that I was shadowing him -- he left
the clearing again and
returned to the Thousand Caves, quite unobserved by
any other, all being
under Queen Melian's spell and the spell of the flute--
[to Beren]
--even us, though not
quite
the same way it happened to you -- and I, being
much troubled by what
I had seen, followed. He wasn't hard to find -- there
was no one else in the
place, everyone was out on the greensward enjoying
themselves; I found
him in the grove the Queen had made, sitting by the
fountains looking at
the water and not seeing it, so to speak.
"What -- is -- wrong?"
I asked him, like that, as forcefully as I might.
And he looks up at me,
not quite seeing me either, and answers, "I am here,
and she is there, and
the Ocean is between us." And I said, "Oh," not
expecting that at all,
and not knowing anything else to say, and he pulls
himself together a bit,
and returns, "Or were you asking something else
entirely, sir?"
[he glances at the Steward, who is sitting with
his chin resting on his forearms,
looking off with a resigned expression]
Teler Maid:
What said you?
Captain:
Nothing. I had, with
my usual and quite mundane foresight taken care to
provide myself with
a pitcher of wine and two cups, and also a few sundry
small edibles from the
varied spread outside--
Youngest Ranger: [aside at large]
I heard people
wondered if a bear had visited the tables.
Captain:
It was not that much,
Lieutenant, and I was merely implementing the lesson
you shouldn't have forgotten,
that one secures resources as they are available.
Beren:
I think those rule each
other out, actually.
Youngest Ranger:
Which was it, then,
sir?
Ranger: [aside, but not discreet]
--Bear.
[the Steward gives a quick nod]
Captain: [ignoring them]
So I poured him a cup,
and while I was unrolling the cloth -- and it wasn't
a tablecloth, whatever
these louts tell you -- he's holding the wine, looking
at it, and at me, wondering
when the joke was going to happen, and I poured
myself a cupful, and
he kept on watching me, very wary, and I, in a stroke
of, if you will allow
me to say so, brilliance, made the toast to absent
friends. And
he whispered, "Yes," and drank with me, and so we had our own
little feast on the
steps of the dais, under the golden trees, and we talked.
And listened. And I
learned that the noble Edrahil, esteemed counselor of
the eldest of Finarfin's
scions and lord entrusted with the most vital matters
of our lord's household,
and accounted of no small skill with word or note
either, considered himself
a failure and a squanderer of his time and a
miserable excuse for
an Elf besides.
Teler Maid:
Indeed.
Captain: [disregarding her cold tone]
Indeed. For, so he said,
he had thought himself excellent, and although he
was willing to concede
the Vanyar our superiors in song (though naught else
of skill) and to be
accounted in the second rank after the children of the
King (meaning in this
case our first lord, Finwe)
[with a quick glance to make sure Beren understands]
--he had never been content
to allow any other might be his better, nor rival,
and yet here so many
were his equals, and it was easy as breathing to them,
for all that they had
not the same scholarship here (meaning there) and he
could not dismiss it
as but a rustic sort of music, and of a different kind,
and hence no competition,
for he'd heard compositions of the greatest, like
Elemmire, learned in
a few hearings by the Doriathrin and changed into their
own modes and sung back
with the most elaborate variations. And that was many,
not a few, before
ever he should speak of Daeron, whose mastery he had no more
hope of equaling than
he had of the Powers' --
[to the Steward]
See? I can do your style as well as your tone of voice pretty fairly, hm?
Steward: [grimly]
You're just remembering
it.
Captain:
Not just. There's
skill and effort involved.
[to the Sea-elf]
And I couldn't figure
out what this had to do with you, and I wanted to say
something about him
conceding that the gods could manage to do something
better than us, but
I restrained myself.
[raising an eyebrow, as the Steward visibly restrains from speaking in turn]
--Of course, my mouth
was full at the time. And anyway he soon cleared that
up talking about how
he'd constantly made light of your pipe-playing and your
people's songs and how
everyone and everything here made him remember you,
in spite of the fact
that the cultures were so different, and he had been so
thoughtless not to realize
that his words to you would have had the same effect
on you as Lord Enedir's
telling him to stop wasting his time on that for which
he was not suited to
him, only worse, for his family thought him much talented
in painting and would
have had him study that, but he had never praised any
deed of yours at all.
[she snorts and tosses her head at his words,
her eyes very hard at the memories,
as he continues in the same mild nostalgic vein]
I remember being most
confused over his berating himself for his cruelty
in deriding you as childish
for skipping, and climbing in trees, and not
understanding what that
had to do with the Moon Feast at all, though I
agreed as I had all
along.
[looking meaningfully at Beren]
And he says that who
was he, after all, to declare what was childish, and
what was unfitting of
the Eldar, when our lord's eldest cousin and the King
of this land's own daughter
had been up in an elm the day we arrived, and
but a day before had
enlisted all that she could find unoccupied into a
complicated game of
tag that involved, among other steps, skipping. And
he'd attempted to explain
it as having some deep metaphysical and ritual
significance, but when
he inquired of Lady Galadriel-also-known-as-Nerwen
what it meant, she answered,
after she'd got her breath back, that it but
made it much funnier,
to have to obey the rules of the dance, even if it
makes the game harder.
Teler Maid: [bemused]
Skipping. --Lady
Nerwen.
[he nods seriously, while she shakes her head in amazement]
Not even your sister
skipped with me, though she never chid me for it, nor
for scaling the bannisters
as though 'twas a hawser. --Nor did you.
Captain:
Well, she would have
if she'd been there. Joined her lady in the game, I
mean. Princess Luthien's
hard to argue with, as Barahirion could tell you.
[Beren hides a grin]
Skipping -- backwards
-- and with her hair falling down all over the place
like Treelight, and
laughing "like a loon"--
[he nudges his companion, who affects indifference]
--till she could hardly
stand up, by the end of it, and the rest of us
not much better. Though
I did notice that she wasn't waving off offers
of a supporting arm
as we would all expect, when it was young Celeborn
doing the offering.
And nobody saying anything scathing about being silly,
or shouldn't we be less
frivolous, or was this any way for adult Eldar
to behave?
[to Beren]
I think that the real
blow was when your lady's parents lamented the fact
that they'd been too
busy with organizing the feast to join in.
[Beren joins the Teler girl in looking both amused and half-disbelieving]
And he kept on explaining
about how he realized now how wrong he had been
to disdain you, Sanderling,
and I kept on agreeing with him all the while,
and yet he didn't once
get angry with me for presuming to do so. --So, did
I tell it to your satisfaction?
Steward:
No.
Captain: [dismissive]
What have I left
out?
Steward:
That you spent the whole
of the time listening to my complaints without
complaint of your own,
when you had far rather been at the dancing and
under the stars and
moon, nor made reproach for having missed it, but
only to jest about having
failed to secure enough wine for such a thirsty
night of talk when the
flagon ran dry.
Captain:
Well, it wasn't all
on one side, I wasn't just commiserating with you --
I do recall ranting
as well about the fact everything was strange and much
of what I knew didn't
apply to animals in this continent (which is to say,
that continent)
and that I'd tell people to do things and they'd listen and
go off and do something
else altogether, and so on.
Steward:
Truly, I did not notice--
Teler Maid: [breaking in]
But of course you did
not notice -- for when did another's concerns ever
concern you? Nay, Edrahil,
you need not even say so much!
Captain: [mildly]
I think he meant
it as a common courtesy, Curlew.
Steward:
Nonetheless it was equally
the truth -- against my own cares I fear yours
mattered not, so that
you might have complained of mutinies or plagues of
vampire bats and I'd
not have noticed while I bemoaned my state. Moreover
you have omitted what
followed -- how upon the morrow I was so dismayed to
have disclosed my cares
and uncertainties to your hearing that I avoided
you for days thereafter,
all the while in a fear that you'd make merry over
my admissions among
your friends, or presume upon me in public fellowship
before all, and spent
the whiles in an agony of regret and shame over my
weakness.
Captain: [bland]
The whiles I
thought it was because I'd tried to convince you to join a
proposed excursion to
the southern marches and then perhaps if the weather
held good out to the
site of the First Battle. --I still think it would
have cheered you up.
Steward: [snorting]
To be trapped with you,
Captain Beleg, the Lady Galadriel and a collection
of the least-sane followers
of Elu Thingol and House Finarfin combined,
for weeks on
end? --And innumerable trees, of course.
Captain:
There would have been
serious cultural and historical stuff too, visiting
Amon Ereb.
[the Steward just Looks at him]
--And bugs, and no furniture,
and rain, and songs sung most uncarefully of
technicalities, and
whatever we managed to scare up for dinner, and you
could have complained
for weeks on end while enjoying the whole business
just as you did in after
years.
Steward:
That was after,
and not unconnected with the events you insist upon
recounting.
Captain: [very smug]
Got you.
Steward:
What?
Captain:
You finally admitted
to a liking for cross-country excursions and hunting
trips and the whole
outdoors life.
[the other grimaces in self-directed disgust]
--What did I say, people?
[there are groans and resigned sighs from around the circle]
Pay up, now.
[one by one the other eight find or manifest
some small article of value and hand
over the items to their commander, who pockets
them all into his wallet, while the
subject of the bet affects dignified obliviousness
to it all.]
Beren: [aside, to the Sea-elf]
That's a wager.
Teler Maid: [shaking her head]
I still do not see the
purpose of it.
Steward:
Would you just finish
the confounded story?
Captain:
You mean you want me
to tell it?
Steward: [not fooled by the innocent tone of the query]
No, I want it over with.
Captain:
Oh, all right. --As
he said, for a couple of days he moped about, dodging
out of my sight and
worrying me still more -- though not much since I had
some of my people looking
out for him meanwhiles -- and then abruptly and
quite unpredictably
abandoned that policy by coming upon me unexpectedly and
collaring me, and demands
without any sort of explanation, "What do you
think you're about?"
Steward:
You exaggerate shamelessly.
I did not lay a hand on you, and you knew quite
well at the time the
matter whereof I spoke.
Captain:
So? And I meant "collared"
figuratively, the way it's usually meant.
[continuing]
--And I said, "Er, what?"
and he snarls back, "Why did you tell him I was
not doing well?" and
I said, "Because you aren't. Are you?" And that shut
him up quite, for a
bit at least. And then he gives me a look that would
have frozen boiling
water solid and asks me, "What are you looking to get
out of this?" and I
said, "--I beg your pardon?"
[the Steward clears his throat]
Well, what I actually
said was, "Er, what?" again, which admittedly doesn't
sound so intelligent
but means the same thing--
[his former colleague giggles before recollecting herself]
--and while I was trying
to figure out which of several possible meanings of
"this" was intended
he reiterated, in very simple syllables and extremely
slowly and then over
again in Quenya too--
[the Steward's expression becomes more pained]
"What -- do -- you --
want -- from -- me?" And I told him the plain truth
again: "That you not
be so gloomy."
"Why?" says he, which
was such an idiotic question that I gave it an equally
foolish answer: "Then
you won't have to spoil any more perfectly fine evenings
by moping off in a corner."
At which point he gets all haughty again and tells
me, "If you minded it
so much, then you ought have said something at the time."
"If I had, I would have,"
I told him. I swear it felt like the Helcaraxe in
there, for all 'twas
midsummer. So, of course, I made a joke: "The House of
Finwe already has one
grim, bad-tempered Elf -- we don't really need another
Caranthir about, do
we?" Which threw him for a moment, and then he comes back
ever so smoothly, "Belike
you will be less high-humoured yourself when you
have heard my message
for you: our lord would speak next to you, and upon
the moment."
"I doubt it," said I.
"You have not
the Sight, I think," he tells me, just like that, and I said
back, "Don't need it
-- he's just going to tell me that you've agreed to the
mission I suggested
and ask me to take care of the necessary arrangements for
the journey, and I'm
going to tell him I've already done so." And he stands
there scowling at me
like a pup that's got out of its nest and can't find its
way back to the litter,
ready to try to chew your fingers off when you try to
fetch the poor mite
from behind a cask or under a chest or wherever it's backed
itself into. "Just mind
you don't get me shot, this time," I said as a joke,
and he stops looking
angry all of an instant and gives me a look completely
guilt-stricken, which
wasn't what I'd meant for to happen at all.
[he stops, and does not go on, despite the Sea-elf's
expectant look; the Steward
clears his throat]
Captain: [easily]
Your turn. I'm tired
of talking.
Steward:
That is so unamusing
that it cannot even be considered a joke.
[continued silence -- he gives the Captain an even sterner Look, to no avail.]
Captain:
You said you wanted
it finished. Well, prove it.
[after a moment of impasse the other capitulates, shaking his head]
Steward: [acerbic tone]
This lunatic stood there
grinning, and while I was distracted with the
consideration of my
prospects for surviving a journey halfway 'cross
Beleriand with a mad
Elf who deemed it a fine jest to be shot, he declared
to me, "You'd best not,
for I'll haunt you if you do, I vow it," and dealt
me a blow that sent
me reeling to the wall before turning to go answer his
own summons.
Teler Maid: [troubled, to the Captain]
For what did you hit
him, that were not angered with him beforetimes?
Captain: [snorting with disgust]
I clapped him on the
shoulder, is all. I didn't realize that the shock of
it would knock him off
balance like that.
Ranger:
You have to admit, sir,
you're the only one that was ever so bold to slap
Lord Edrahil on the
back. Not even the King does that.
Steward: [extremely austere]
Finrod Felagund is a
most civil, courteous and gracious lord whose humour
never exceeds the limits
of decorum; I leave you to your own conclusions
as to the corollary.
[picking up as though he'd been telling the story all along]
--And so I found it even
as he'd said, that my gear should have been readied
and horses called and
the other riders all waiting upon us, and so we gave
thanks and farewell
to our hosts and companions and betook ourselves upon
the journey to the High
King's holdings. And for those days and nights I
sulked exceedingly and
my wrath that I should be so judged and dealt with
for mine own good, as
were but a child, contended for precedence with
indignation that a mere
fighter's counsel should count as high as mine in
our sovereign's sight
(and also that manifestly should be deserved), and
that his friendship
should be so divided (for so I saw it) and both of those
with the truth, which
was that answer that I might not deny, and relief that
the King should know
and take thought for the burden of my griefs, and anger
that it had been made
known thus and in my despite, and I be reproached for
keeping mine own counsel
and my cares so long; nor was I good company the
whiles, as might well
be imagined--
Captain: [impatiently]
--You take so long about
even the simplest story. What happened was this:
we kept having horse
races -- which we always did, when the ground was
level and clear, as
a way to make the journey more fun, just as you'll
recall from here --
and he kept losing and getting more annoyed, mostly
because he wasn't concentrating
on the course but getting distracted by
his inner turmoil, and
so his mount kept getting put out with him and back
at him by doing
things like going forward at an angle or splashing through
the muddiest parts that
could be found, and annoying everyone else -- and
I ignored it all on
the assumption that he'd get over it soon enough.
[with a sidelong glance]
--How hard is that to recount?
Teler Maid:
Do not be fooled --
he but did so of a purpose, that you would resume!
Captain: [smiling]
I know. We're almost
done. He'd said nothing for the whole of the day --
if you can believe it
-- and we'd almost reached the end, when we stopped
to watch the sunset
on the water, and he rode off a little ways on his own,
so of course I went
along. After a bit he asks, "Am I truly like Lord
Caranthir?" which I
wasn't expecting.
"Not so much," I said
back, which was the truth. And he didn't say anything,
so I said, "You're not
really giving up your music, are you?" And he answers,
"It was not sturdy enough
for the journeying that lies ahead of us." I wasn't
sure I liked the sound
of that -- I mean, he'd managed to bring the instrument
unbroken over the Grinding
Ice, after all -- but I wanted to get on to the
High King's hall before
it got too late so instead of getting into that, I
said, "You could make
another that will be."
"I don't want your pity,"
he says to me, not angry nor sharp nor anything of
the sort.
"I know," I told him.
"I'm sorry." And he gave me a look to match the tone
of voice, very plain,
very straightforward, -- not like him at all, you'd
probably say -- and
returns, "Then since you will not rescind it, I must
thank you for it." And
She went down and we got back on the trail and went
on from there.
[silence]
Teler Maid: [not entirely happy still]
So it is of mercy that
you did befriend him . . .
[suddenly, rather fierce]
For what do you spend
so much of your time speaking but of him, when have
you not your own lives
and stories and deeds to be telling?
Beren: [reasonable tone]
But that's who you're
really most interested in, and you know it and we
know it.
[pause]
Teler Maid:
You are unkind and do
amuse yourselves at my expense, to find diversion
in my folly.
Fourth Guard: [earnest]
Would you rather
hear about the building of the City, Maiwe? I worked on
the Gates: do you want
to know about dressing stone so that a dry-set wall
will line up perfectly
and still appear completely natural from the outside?
It isn't at all easy
to make an ashlar facing look like weathered rock, you
know, even though it
does seem that it would be the easiest thing in the
world to make broken
stone look like broken stone.
Teler Maid: [coldly]
You do make sport of
me.
Captain:
Do you mean you want
us to talk about him, or you don't want us to talk
about him?
[somehow his former colleague finds her toes more interesting than anything else.]
Sulking's also an option, I suppose.
[she looks up at him with an angry expression]
Steward: [tightly]
You're not helping matters,
you realize.
Captain:
On the contrary, that's
exactly what we're doing.
Steward: [disgruntled]
I didn't ask
for your assistance.
Captain:
Well, not in so many
words, no.
Steward:
Not in any words.
Captain:
You don't think we can
make it worse, do you?
[pause]
Look, all you're doing is imitating a statue, and--
Steward:
--Exaggeration--
Captain: [not missing a beat]
--not by much, when
the Sea-Mew wants to know what happened to change a
self-centered, neurotically-insecure-yet-overconfident
musician into an
unselfish, self-effacing
hero?
Steward: [through grit teeth]
I am not any
sort of a hero--!
Ranger: [earnest]
But you are, sir.
Soldier:
Even if we didn't see
it before, we couldn't help it after Serech, when the
King was down and you
held us long enough for Beren's father to get there.
Steward: [exasperated]
What else could I have
done?
Second Guard:
Run.
Youngest Ranger:
Given up and died.
Captain:
Forsaken your duty because
it was hopeless, instead of proving that sometimes
it's a good idea to
have a pessimist in charge, since it comes as no surprise
to him not just that
things could go wrong, but that there's no hope of them
going otherwise. Instead
of the chap who was convinced that yes, we could
easily take out Melkor-now-Morgoth,
retake the Silmarils (ignoring the problem
of the Gloomweaver),
and make Endor into what Valinor ought to have been, all
in time to hear his
epics chronicling it at dinner.
[looking over at the three youngest members of the group:]
--We were idiots, if you haven't realized that by now.
[the object of their praises struggles with embarrassment,
and then takes the
offhand approach]
Steward: [lightly]
--What became of him?
He faded, for the most part, unmarked and unmourned,
during the crossing
of the Ice; when it became most eminently clear that
a talent for remembering
was of far more worth put to the accounting of
consumables and not
for the rehearsing of lore, and a gift of eloquence
more valuable employed
in passing on a leader's instructions than any new-
fashioned verse of his
own devising. What little was left of him did not
survive the knowledge
that his ambitions had set another far on the Westward
path, in his own place
-- or in the stead of a Northern destination -- and
a hard reckoning of
the worth of that exchange, listening for heartbeats in
terror of silence. He
did not return from that parley, and none missed him.
Captain: [musing]
--Unregretted,
perhaps, but not unnoticed. --Though I was late in recognizing
it, I must admit. We
were well-settled along the Lake by the time it occurred
to me that you were
saying things because they were the sorts of things that
you would have
said, and well aware of how arrogant and pompous they sounded,
and allowing folk to
laugh at you not to have the better laugh on them, but
as a strange way of
joining in with the general mirth.
Steward: [loftily]
What curious notions
you do come up with.
Teler Maid: [narrowing her brows]
Do you know what
he would say, when gone from among the House, and neither
Lord Ingold nor any
other of the family to reprove him present, -- how he
would declare that there
was scarce any art whatsoever in the making of
gardens, for so much
did the plants do of their own, without care, and to
but arrange them in
differing place was the play of children, not of minds
full grown--
[in a rush, aside to the Steward]
--and when I did say
that it was insult to the Earthqueen to say such you
would but disclaim that
it was honor to her to say that no hand could better
hers, and your friends
laughed at me behind their wine-cups, but can you
say here that
you did not twist words like hawsers?--
[not waiting for him to answer]
--and of those who followed
the Rider that there was little greater skill
in those that did hunt
than among the beasts themselves, for so much did
they do indeed, that
it should take no thought nor speech, nay, for must
be silent when stalking
prey--
[to the Steward again]
--and that was much of
mirth between your fine lord Maglor and his brothers,
and all of the general
bandying of words about, in that so-witty company --
but you did think
it, I knew then and know it to be true!
[to the Captain, demanding:]
It does not astonish you to learn that?
Captain:
Er -- no, I can't say
it did when he told me.
Teler Maid: [outraged]
Is there nothing
that he might do or yet have done, that would aggrieve
you then?
Captain: [rueful]
What, you think it's
easy, having a compulsively-hypercritical despondent
type who's harder on
himself than anyone else for a friend?
[she shoots a Look at the Steward in turn]
Teler Maid:
And you say naught to
that?
Steward: [very dry]
Rest assured, I would
contradict him, -- if there were any point on which
I might. But there is,
for good and ill, nothing I can say.
[she snorts angrily, her lips tightening]
Teler Maid:
Only that is not so.
There are many things you might say, many things hard
and sharp and pointed
as swords, cold as iron, burning as fire, that should
wound the spirit, --
only you choose not so, but let them make game of you,
and answer not, but
smile from your high vantage point and fancy yourself
most generous, that
you withhold your mockery! And these are grateful for
even the crumbs of your
notice that you so jealously grant them!
[Beren and the Youngest Ranger exchange a startled glance]
Beren: [whispering, to the Youngest Ranger]
Whoa, does that sound
familiar or what?
Youngest Ranger: [nodding, as quietly]
It sounds like the Fall
of the Noldor, the bits with Feanor.
[through the rest of her tirade they carry on
a low-level exchange of nervous
banter, making it increasingly harder for the
nearer of the Ten to behave]
Beren:
--Yeah.
Teler Maid: [glaring around at the rest of them]
You sit at his feet
in eagerness and hope that he should approve ye and make
remark of your words
as though he were Lord Ingold himself!
Captain: [straightfaced, not showing any anger in response]
Oh no, we never get
them mixed up. They don't look anything alike. --Sound
different, too.
[this just makes her lose her temper still more]
Teler Maid:
You know whereof I mean!
You are pleased even to have his mockery, as though
you merited no more,
as though such attention were honour of itself and enow
for your content!
Youngest Ranger: [aside]
Only we never thought
of him as a god.
Beren: [aside]
Speak for yourself.
Teler Maid:
Are you blind,
then, that can see all else so clearly, and nothing of this?
What fog misleading
has he set upon the lot of ye, that should be so fondly
led and misled that
have not my excuse for it?
Youngest Ranger:
Well, perhaps a demi-god.
Teler Maid:
You are even yourselves
Noldor, -- well, for the most part -- and that high
precedence he cannot
claim against you. --Oh, but you came to the Light sooner
than we -- and yet you
left it fast enough in truth as well!
Beren: [shrugging]
I'm not really one to
say, though, being mortal.
Teler Maid:
Or is it that you believe
in his assurance of greater wisdom, and that you
less skilled in words,
less truly are the Quendi than he and his honored
companions?
Youngest Ranger:
You met all the same
Powers I did when we were alive.
Beren:
True.
Teler Maid: [gesturing sweepingly]
Only not any of ye has
not the gift of thought nor song, but instead to it
do add other skills,
so far from diminished that are not bards or scribes!
Youngest Ranger:
Except Morgoth.
Beren: [quick headshake]
Didn't meet him.
Teler Maid: [impassioned, not noticing (or caring) that no
one is disagreeing with her]
But what of that which
all must have to live, nor there might be speaking
without?! Is it not
so -- that to grow and catch the stuff of food, of
clothing, to make the
things that must be had for other making, is that
not as worthful as to
make words and letters to hold them in?
Youngest Ranger: [nodding slightly towards the Steward]
--He's not much like
Queen Melian.
Beren: [biting his lip]
N--nope.
[there is some suspicious coughing from his left
as well, but Earwen's former
servant is too caught up in her harangue to
notice them.]
Teler Maid:
Or why are things of
stone more noble than the same designs when made in
woven rushes, more worthy
a vase than a basket, tell? Or why is a house of
stone more noble than
a ship of wood?
Youngest Ranger:
Nor Huan neither.
[the Hound perks up his ears and rolls his eyes
to look at them without lifting
his head]
Beren:
Oh, I don't know, you
haven't heard Huan being sarcastic--
Teler Maid:
Is there not no less
skill in either, and so too in the makers of them?
Youngest Ranger:
Well -- perhaps so.
But really I'd say--
Beren: [interrupting, glancing at his neighbor on the left]
--Don't say it.
Youngest Ranger:
But--
Beren:
I know what you're gonna
say. Don't.
Teler Maid: [rhetorically]
Well?
Youngest Ranger:
You can't.
Teler Maid:
Have you not anything
of respect left for the worth that is your own? But
must you cede it all
up to him, who does not give any back?
Beren:
Yes I can.
Youngest Ranger:
Prove it.
[Beren looks apologetically at the Warrior, who
is trying with supreme effort
to keep a straight face, and leans over to try
to whisper his guess too quietly
for anyone else to overhear -- but the strain
is too much and all three dissolve
into sputters of laughter, drawing wrath upon
themselves]
Teler Maid: [snapping about to direct a furious Look their
way]
What do you mutter
when I attend you not?
[now the object of scrutiny from all about the
circle, the culprits attempt to
display a spirit of reform: the Warrior by straightening
up, eyes front, the
Sindarin Ranger by bowing his head apologetically
under his commander's stern
expression, and Beren by looking innocent. None
of this works particularly well.]
Pray, what of my words does so greatly amuse you?
[she leans around to glare at them; Beren leans
back, trying to stay out of the
line of the glare]
Youngest Ranger:
. . .
[she reaches around behind him and pokes Beren
hard, making him look at her
guiltily]
Beren:
Uh -- we were just --
ah -- being silly.
Teler Maid: [innocently]
Nay, and I thought you
but spoke of the winds.
Warrior: [uncertain]
But -- there isn't any
weather in here.
Teler Maid: [grimly meaningful]
Even so.
Beren: [looking at the senior officers]
Er, sirs -- we have
to tell the truth, right?
Steward:
Or else remain silent.
Beren: [glancing nervously at the Teler girl, who is leaning
around still scowling at him]
I don't think that's
an option right now.
Steward:
Then, as you understand
it, yes. But you will find it simply to be so, not
something to be worked
at.
[aside to the Captain]
--And no, we are not
going to explain how to get around it, things are bad
enough as it is.
Beren:
Can I leave things out?
Teler Maid:
No.
Beren:
Damn.
[he sighs heavily]
Promise you're not gonna yell at me?
[she keeps glaring at him, and he squares his
shoulders, sighs again -- and
breaks into helpless snickers once more.]
Youngest Ranger: [aside]
--Just run for it, Beren.
Beren:
Oh, you're volunteering
to explain?
Youngest Ranger:
No, I'll be retreating
right alongside you.
Captain:
Lads -- you're straining
my
patience, now.
Beren: [straightening up]
Yes, sir.
[to the Sea-elf]
When you started saying
we were all being like a bunch of dumb kids just
looking up to Lord Edrahil
even if he was looking down on us, it reminded
us of what Feanor said
about the Valar and the Noldor, or the Noldor and
the Valar rather, and
when I say "reminded us" I mean "about" since the
two of us weren't around
for it, so we can't actually get reminded of it,
but you know what I
mean, right? So -- that -- just got us going about the
Powers we did
know, and if they were like him at all or not, and he--
[lightly elbowing the Teler Ranger]
--was just about to bring up Morgoth's second-in-command, and I lost it.
[his co-offender gives a huff over being proven
wrong; the Sea-elf's Look
becomes still icier]
I know it wasn't really
appropriate, but we weren't trying to be rude, and
I guess it wasn't really
all that funny either--
Warrior: [aside, straightfaced]
--Melian.
[Beren breaks down again, but the Youngest Ranger
manages to maintain his
composure -- for all of a half-second. The Captain
just shakes his head, sighing.]
Sorry, my lords.
Steward:
One supposes you were
incapable of refraining, and hence not culpable.
Youngest Ranger: [nodding seriously]
That's it precisely,
sir.
Teler Maid: [furious]
Even you! Even you that
are of the free kindred that went upon your own
ways, you too are content
to be his thrall and fool and make jest even of
yourself for his amusing!
[her distant compatriot bows his head, trying
to avoid conflict, but the Steward
looks up at last and leans forward, his eyes
blazing]
Steward: [fiercely]
Think you so, my lady?
--That I know not the worth of these my friends, nor
rate theirs properly
against mine own, but deem it no more than due? That no
more do they,
but like fools do believe a glamour of words and certainties
and pride, as they were
deceived by the Enemy himself? Listen, then, and
then
judge them as you will--
[she glares back, not backing down, though the others do not look happy]
You will hear whether
or not they know my limit, and the boundless depths and
heights of my cowardice,
and if their kindness and care of my uncertain temper
is of aught other grounds
than their compassion!
[the Captain grips his shoulder, but does not
make any attempt to interrupt; but
when he goes on the heat is absent from his
voice almost completely, and the edge
is replaced by a calm, if somewhat wearied,
factual tone]
When we were taken prisoners,
and sentenced to die unless we should betray
which among us were
our leaders, and what our mission had been, I held at
first that I should
endure far better than my fellows, for my greater
understanding of all
things, that I judged but second to our royal master's,
and for that those things
which grated so heavily upon certain of us, and
that some had no power
whatsoever to withstand--
[he looks apologetically at the Youngest Ranger,
who is watching him with a
serious, intent gaze]
--to me were almost nothing,
compared to those burdens which did trouble
me deeply. But that
confidence, which was indeed pride, and in equal part
fear that another less
able to resist would break and give Sauron the
Abhorred the word he
wished, and thus the keys that might unlock not only
Nargothrond but also
haply Doriath, did news of our fate come to King Elu's
daughter. --We did not
at that time know that she had already learned some
part of it, and even
then was making effort to come to Beren's rescue, but
had been twice thwarted
before reaching more than halfway to our holding-place.
[he frowns, looking off thoughtfully -- she snaps
her fingers impatiently to get
his attention]
Teler Maid:
But?
[to his confused look]
But what of that confidence--?
Steward:
Forgive me -- I am somewhat
distracted with many things, and this is not
so easy a tale, nor
one I am much used to tell.
Second Guard: [aside]
Huh --That's
an understatement.
Teler Maid: [aside, suspicious]
Who
is this,
that addresses me in such a fashion?
Steward:
As I had begun, but
finished not, that confidence of mine was far from
well-founded. Instead
of other and more noble cares, the one that came
to prey most upon my
mind was fear, not of pain but of being unhoused:
the certainty grew upon
me that I should be lost there, unable to find
my way, unable to escape
the snares and power of our captor, and the
dread of it was worse
than sleeplessness, nor the burning of the chains
that caused it, nor
the dark itself. So great did this conviction become,
and so wholly did it
consume my attention, that I grew to most bitterly
resent the giving of
my place to you--
[glancing at the Captain]
--and to waste much fruitless
energy in wishing to have the deed undone; and
in fury, that Barahir's
son might not be obliged as we to spend a measureless
Age in yet another prison
after that one, but should go free, nor be held
shelterless within these
Halls--
[to Beren and the rest of the Ten, wryly]
--I am often wrong, you see.
[Beren shakes his head]
Beren: [tightly]
Nobody Saw this one
coming. Not even Lord Mandos.
Steward:
In any case, Maiwe,
you must surely concede that none that were present can
have any doubt of my
vanity, nor my weakness, nor my inability to rule the
same--
First Guard: [interrupting, very definitely not rudely]
--That -- wasn't how
it seemed -- to us, sir. That you could be that frightened,
and not give in, and
still care about us, the worse it got -- how could
we do
any less?
[the Steward bows his head in embarrassed acceptance]
Teler Maid: [shaking her head]
But that does not make
sense. How could one not come here, when your body is
not there to stay in?
What foolishness is that, to worry about "finding your
way"--?
Captain: [aside to her, urgently]
It -- isn't the same,
for
everyone.
Steward: [shrugging]
--Unreasonable, perhaps,
but reason had long abandoned me. I strove to conquer
it, and thought I had
at last, by virtue of silencing my mind, that I thought
of nothing, but only
the ever-changing, ever-familiar, never-silent vistas of
the Sea; and thus could
not afflict my companions with my fear, nor they to
shake me with their
own. But I had not escaped it, only hidden for a while,
and again the dread
of it grew so strong upon me that I could no longer speak,
for it drowned out all
other thought, so that when my time came at last, I had
not strength even for
wrath, or for any other thought than that I should at
least no longer be obliged
to hear his coughing--
[nods towards Beren]
Teler Maid: [confused]
Was there smoke?
[the Steward shakes his head]
Then what was it made you cough?
Steward:
Not us. Only he.
Teler Maid: [frowning still more]
Why?
[the Ten exchange looks of dismay and distress,
while her expression changes
from confusion to anger at being apparently
treated as unworthy of response.
Huan starts whining, very softly, and gets a
light tap from the Captain to
make him shut up.]
Beren: [to the others, earnestly]
She doesn't understand.
How can she? No one who stayed has ever met us.
You said that not even
animals get sick here the way they do back home,
there's no blight on
crops, things don't grow wrong, they just grow until
they get old and stop,
or something eats them first -- they don't start
dying while they're
alive.
Teler Maid: [sudden understanding]
That is what they meant,
those I did overhear talking that are returned,
when they spoke of the
Sickly Ones--
Ranger: [fierce]
You mustn't say
that--
Teler Maid: [concerned]
Is that unmannerly?
Was that insult, then?
Beren: [shaking his head]
Not from you,
no.
Steward:
No living thing fares
well in chains, in darkness -- not even the Children
of Aule could bear such
forever, I think; but for we that were born of earth
beneath the sky, it
is death to be held under stone, and falls hardest on the
youngest of us. No more
than a bird or a green plant might live without free
air or light -- yet
the bodies of the Secondborn still strive to mend and to
live despite the harm
even as our own, and that is sickness.
[pause]
Teler Maid:
For how long were you
imprisoned?
[none of the Elven shades answer her -- they do not know]
Beren: [in a weirdly-detached manner]
The leaves were partway-turned
when we reached the southernmost edge of the
delta, the farthest
point north we got. The trees were bare when Huan broke
Tinuviel out of Nargothrond.
Closer than that, can't tell. I don't even know
if that means anything
to you, if you had seasons here before like we do now.
Teler Maid: [quiet]
But a long time -- longer
than days--
[he nods]
Beren: [shortly]
Yeah.
Steward: [quietly]
But not so long as years,
as those that are thralls of the Iron Lord must
serve without hope,
until, and if, they are allowed to die.
[she stiffens, her expression growing hard]
Teler Maid:
They are Kinslayers,
and such is their fate.
[the Youngest Ranger starts and looks grim, but
the Steward replies before he
can say anything.]
Steward: [still dispassionate]
Not all. Many are of
your tribe of our people, and guilty of no murder --
for the Lord of Fetters
cares nothing for the deeds or misdeeds of those he
takes for slaves, saving
only as he might use them against his foes. It is
a terrible choice to
be given, between dying and giving slavery to those
that have been one's
friends.
Teler Maid: [chill emphasis]
I had no choice.
Steward:
And for that I do envy
you.
[she makes as if to say something, and he waits,
until it is clear she will not,
before he goes on]
But even though I did
make it, there was no respite there, no satisfaction
in the deed of choosing,
for the slave-demon made no haste in its work to
end my time of captivity,
and the fear of being stranded as an unquiet ghost
grew to outmeasure what
dread I had known before as a true hurricane that
uproots ancient trees
and hurls the Sea upon the land and casts down the
sand cliffs into it
outpaces the wind and tumult of a common thunderstorm.
[again her braids are being turned into knots without her realizing it]
And that was worst of
all -- I had not dreamed that fear could be so strong,
nor that any emotion
might consume so without killing, and I was still bound
there to life, even
as I was torn from it and from my friends, who might
not save me, no more
than I might aid them. All that was left of my mind
was fear, and
a longing to be free of it, as might a wild bird trapped in
a burning cage know,
and in my yearning I reached for that dream that had
given me rest when no
rest was to be had, and the Sea was there.
[at these words the Captain slides his arm across
to grip his other shoulder,
and he leans his head back against his friend's
elbow in acknowledgment of the
gesture, but doesn't hesitate or stop:]
And I understood at last,
in the place beneath all speech, all mastery of
words, beneath the biting
roots of that fear that had devoured my wits more
thoroughly than the
Enemy's beast devoured my body, that it was no mere
memory nor fancy born
of my own wishfulness, but truth: that the voice of
the Sea is wherever
the Lord of the Waters holds dominion -- and the salt
currents run endless
through our hearts, through every least inch of our
flesh, through our brains
and our bones living, and never can we escape
the Deep, though it
lies so near to us that we do not even mark it for
the most part.
[smiling grimly]
And I knew also that
my fear,
for me, was the truth -- that I had so weakened
myself in my lonely
war against it that I might not have the strength to make
my way Westward against
the dark winds that blew across Middle-earth, and I
should indeed perhaps
be trapped by the Enemy's might, if not as his slave,
then as a lost thing
that once had a name, within the shadows.
[pause]
Teler Maid: [doubtful and resentful at once]
But -- you did mean
it for mercy's sake -- to keep your fears to yourself.
Steward:
So I did indeed.
Teler Maid:
But that is not fair--
Steward:
That I should be free
to harm myself for good cause as for ill? 'Twould be
hard, I think, that
I should be let Doom myself for vainglory, and not to
protect those I loved,
whether it made any difference in the end.
Teler Maid:
Yet--
[she subsides again with a troubled expression]
Steward:
Only might I turn to
the Waters, while yet they ran within my emptying veins,
and forsake the dry
cliff from which I watched the breakers in my thoughts,
and let the god of the
Deeps protect me, and thus find safety -- and this I
knew, as one knows the
embrace of one's parents from the first, before ever
word or name is known,
and yet -- I did not dare to enter the Sea.
Teler Maid: [baffled]
But why should you yet
fear the Sea, and more so than houseless death?
Steward:
But I did. Nor was it
all unreasoning in its root, though there was no reason
in me then; for your
Lord nor his folk had cause to love me, being Noldor.
Teler Maid: [with suppressed intensity]
But you have sworn
to me, Edrahil, most solemnly, that you had not any part
in our deaths!
Steward:
I have, and ever shall.
But many were on those ships that had not wielded
blade, and I had seen
the sorrow of the Long-Haired Lady more terrible than
the wrath of Feanor,
ruining that which he had accounted more worth than
lives, and with their
destruction those lives as well.
[pause]
Teler Maid: [taut]
They did consent, still.
--Though it be after.
Steward: [gently]
And might I have been
among them, had I not feared the Deep so much even
then, full as much as
I did trust Finarfin's son, and refuse the urgings
of those that had been
among that company you recollect, that smiled at
you behind their cups,
and praised me for my wit. And despite my innocence
of blood, I dreaded
that my unkindness to you and to your kin, and my
contemptible thoughts
of all your tribe, should be known to them of the
Sea and I tarried in
dread, while the tide ran ever lower, and I wished
that the decision might
be made for me without my making it, that a
crashing breaker might
sweep me from the rocks; but that might not be.
[he sighs; the Captain swats Huan preemptively again]
Teler Maid:
But you did at last.
Steward: [nods]
I did. As reluctantly
as I had eagerly fled thence did I turn West at last,
and yielded and cast
myself into the mercy of your Lord, and the Sea took me,
and all the tangled
ambitions and regrets and certainties and remembrances
dissolved as I had feared,
and I was free, no shred cohering to be caught by
grasping foe, nor caught
upon that other shore, and there was peace, though
I cannot well say for
me -- for where is difference, once the berg has melted
into the summer wave?
[she is looking at him seriously, without her previous skepticism or hostility]
A time passed, and the
tide washed upon this shore, and here did I remain,
bodiless and broken,
upon the land where I was born, blind, and without
remembrance even of
my names, that I might from that small coal of knowledge
rekindle my self's shaping
-- and thus might I have remained even to this
instant, for all of
mine own strength. None of my ability or wisdom or will
should have sufficed,
so far had I lost myself in my wanderings, had not
these sought
me out most loyally and lavished their sorrow upon me and
called me by my names
and stayed me until I returned from my darkness --
all that endures, that
is to say.
[as he finishes he looks now at Beren, who is
watching him with an expression
both grief-stricken and under control.]
Beren: [whispering]
I'm sorry.
Steward: [as softly]
I know.
[the moment is one of complete mutual acceptance,
and recognition of that
acceptance, and consequent peace, broken almost
immediately]
Teler Maid:
But for what does he
ask your pardon, that was taken in the same cruel
punishment? --Only--
[looking at Beren uncertainly, then back again]
--he did say he was the cause of your coming hither . . .
[she trails off; Beren starts to answer, but
the Steward raises his hand
commandingly]
Steward:
Hush, child, she did
ask of me.
[to the Sea-elf]
--The Lord of Beor begged
aid and guestright of Earwen's son our King, that
never should have needed
to do the same, but such have the times become in
the lands beyond, that
news be scarce, and help scarcer. And he in his turn
repaid his life-debt
and kept his promised word to give such help, though
the price of it be life
as well as kingdom, robbed of him by faithlessness,
though none should have
prevented him from answering the mortal with silence,
and barred doors, nor
obliged him to honor pledged faith save his heart's
honour.
[the detatched, factual tone is displaced by great intensity]
And none did compel
me, nor any of these our friends to follow, saving
our own hearts likewise,
though any could see, nor the King alone, that
for this endeavor should
be no likely ending save disaster. And so we
were taken by the demi-god
who now rejoices in a name of loathing, and but
little more than half
our journey made, though the way in end did prove far
longer than any had
guessed. And there we perished, that he might not.
[she looks at him with a wide, fixed stare -- then suddenly springs to her feet]
Teler Maid: [through clenched teeth]
I do not want
to pity you, -- nor to honour you!
[silence -- she turns to look at Beren]
I wish I could hate you. I wish--
[in a rush]
--I wish I had never
to have left my home for Tirion, that never should I
have known any
of ye, nor should I have perforce to cared, that had I been
slain upon the Night
yet would the Doom upon you meant no more to me than
justice done, nor I
to have stayed here when most all have long gone home,
to wait for you that
now are strangers all, for love and hate for him that
ever was a stranger!
I wish I were not here--
Captain: [reaching his free hand up towards her]
Maiwe--
Teler Maid: [cold]
You are kind and will
urge me peace regardless. Let him speak, that I should
stay, or go -- as he'd
rule me.
[the Captain winces and looks away; she does
not rescind her no-win mandate, but
continues to stare down at the Steward, who
does not flinch at her anger]
Steward: [very simply]
Please -- don't leave
-- like this.
[long pause]
Teler Maid: [in bleak admission]
If I go, where shall
I go? Where is there for me to be, but here, and beside
you? If I go -- I shall
only return, like fish to a bow-lantern, drawn to
your light and your
song--
[looking around at them all]
--from my shadows, for
I cannot unknow what I now know. Only might I stay
hidden, that none might
discern or touch me -- and I to affect none in my
turn, silent as mist.
Long enough was I quiet beside you! -- or would you
have me in death as
in life, Edrahil, silent in your shadow, when you would
not have my chattering
to interrupt you nor shame you amid the wise?
Steward:
Not though your words
be harder than hail upon my soul.
[she stands with her fists clenched, then in
abrupt, disjointed motions in
succession puts her hands on her hips, folds
her arms, and lets them fall
to her side]
Teler Maid: [tired and frayed-sounding]
I am much overset with
all that I have heard and seen and learnt this day.
Beren: [quietly, with the hint of a smile]
Join the crowd.
[he gestures to her place, and after a moment's
hesitation she sits down again
with a heavy sigh]
Teler Maid: [to him, dispirited]
Moreover if I were to
hate you then these all should hate me in turn.
Captain: [in a good imitation of his usual tone]
We'd not hate you, Ternlet
-- though we might toss you in the drink if
you're too obnoxious,
to be sure.
Teler Maid: [startled]
Why?
Captain:
Well, if I were
involved, it might be considered a much-belated revenge for
the time you incited
my sister to help you push me off of the sea-wall at
your lady's parents'
House.
Teler Maid: [affronted]
That was not mine, that
idea was hers!
Captain:
That's what she
said.
Teler Maid:
I tell you, it was Sulilote
thought of it! --First.
Captain: [shaking his head solemnly]
Led astray by my perfidious
sibling. And you didn't say, "Oh, that wouldn't
be nice, when he's got
his pack still on and all his gear there, think how
long it will take him
to dry it all out and clean the salt off and polish
and wax everything so
stuff doesn't rust (and the bowstrings are going to
be ruined anyway) so
why don't we let's not?"
Teler Maid:
Um . . .
Captain:
Of course not, never
even crossed your mind, I'll wager.
Teler Maid: [stubborn]
You did think
it most droll, as well.
Captain: [raising an eyebrow]
And you think that excuses
it, Sanderling?
[she makes a strange little exclamation, half-laugh,
half-sob, and looks
away quickly, scrubbing hard at her eyes with
her hair]
Teler Maid: [forlornly]
Not even you
can make me to be cheerful now.
[pulling herself together]
But why should you do so to me?
Beren:
Apparently it's something
they do on a regular basis. Only usually it just
involves pushing unsuspecting
hecklers into puddles or something. Nothing
quite as elaborate
as all this.
[nodding towards the waterfall. Simultaneously:]
First Guard: [wistful]
We never thought of
doing
this before.
Captain:
They tripped, I assure
you, on my honor! All of them.
Beren: [dryly]
Yeah, just like Prince
Aegnor.
Teler Maid: [wide-eyed, not sure if this is for real]
You flung him
into the water?
[they nod, and Huan's tail thumps twice before
he remembers he is being
unobtrusive and a Sorry Dog.]
Wherefore he spoke hatefully
to your friend? --And what said Lord
Ingold of it?
Warrior:
Oh, he said we could.
Steward: [sighing heavily]
That is not exactly
correct. What he said was, if you'll recollect, in
essence, that he could
not stop us. Which, strictly interpreted, is the
truth -- but rather
begging the question, if you ask me (which no one
did) of whether or not
he had any intention of trying. --Which, as he
had not, made it entirely
impossible for him to do so, by logical
necessity.
Captain: [to the Sea-elf]
See? He can still manage
a properly supercilious set-down when it's
appropriate.
[she gives him a quick, forced smile]
Teler Maid: [frowning suddenly]
Was not his brother
angry with him?
Captain:
I expect so.
Teler Maid:
What said they following?
[he shrugs]
Captain:
He wasn't here. --Himself,
I mean, not the younger one. --You really are
a bad influence, Barahirion.
Beren:
Sorry, sir. I'm trying
my best.
Fourth Guard: [patronizing]
Yes, Beren, but that's
the problem, you see.
[the Sea-elf ducks her head quickly, letting
her hair fall forward to screen
her expression]
Beren: [aside to his neighbor on the right]
--If you made a pebble
and gave it to me, do you think I could throw it at him?
Youngest Ranger:
I don't see why not.
[obliges; Beren tosses it accurately though left-handedly
at the Guard, who
catches it without effort and goes to flick
it back]
Steward:
--Children. Behave.
[the pebble mysteriously vanishes]
Captain: [bland]
How you do go on about
nothing.
Teler Maid: [harshly, still hidden behind her long hair]
Keep on with the telling
of this tale of yours, for there must have been
things to happen between
your sojourn by this lake and your deaths, I think--!
[Elsewhere: a long hallway, perhaps the same one where the duellists were
earlier, perhaps another one much like it. There are massive columns lining
it, as large as those along the portico of the Pantheon, but more prismatic,
(squared or octagonal) and the vaulting is subtly more geometric than rounded,
where visible -- just enough to convey a distinctly not-human origin; in other
words, as everywhere, the Halls should not look like they're modeled on any
historic architectural style or styles, but the reverse.]
[Aegnor appears (literally) at one end of the
corridor, still a bit bedraggled,
and stands hesitating, looking towards Finarfin,
who is pacing slowly down the
hall with his back towards him. He makes an
uncertain movement as if to draw
near to him; seeing Amarie approaching from
the opposite direction beyond,
however, he ducks around behind a nearby column
before either living Elf can
become aware of him.]
Amarie: [curtseying deeply]
--Majesty.
Finarfin: [with equal politeness]
My lady.
[pause]
Is't not passing strange,
this exchange of high formality that so late did
customarily use other
greeting?
Amarie: [brittle]
Thou dost know well,
this present state -- 'tis none of mine own doing.
Finarfin: [meaningfully]
None?
[she doesn't answer. The camera turns to reveal
that behind the column, Aegnor
is battling surprise at finding it already in
use as cover by not one, but two
of his siblings -- Angrod on the further side
wearing an expression of stoic
dismay, while Finrod, now in the middle, is
endeavoring to restrain laughter.
His amusement at the absurdity of their situation
is not appreciated by either
brother, Aegnor giving him a glare as he pushes
him to move over and give him
more room.]
Finrod: [manic whisper]
That's Father. Not
me.
Aegnor: [whispering also, very caustic]
Really. --Any
other relatives here?
Finrod: [nodding]
Aunt 'Danel, too.
Aegnor:
Not -- Mother?
Finrod: [grim]
No.
Angrod:
Shh!
[out in the hallway, Amarie is still looking
obstinate, but not quite as haughty;
Finarfin's expression is wistful]
Amarie: [resigned]
There's naught to be
said else upon the matter.
Finarfin:
Belike.
[she tosses her head, folding her arms]
Amarie:
Thou hast spoken, my
lady Earwen hath spoken, he hath spoken -- all the
world and mine own kin
have had their say thrice over. Should words mend
the world -- there'd
be no Marring.
Finarfin:
Thy certainty doth put
me in mind of another Elf, upon another time,
long gone past.
Amarie: [hotly]
My lord, let thou not
compare me unto Feanor!
Finarfin: [raising his eyebrows]
Named I my brother?
[silence]
Amarie:
I am no rebel
-- nay, nor should ever be!
Finarfin:
In truth?
[she gives the King a Look sharp but troubled]
Hast not even yet received
petition from the holy Powers, to lay aside thy
wrath, and dost thou
not cling fast with both thine hands in their despite--?
[long pause -- behind the column Finrod's brothers
stare at him, while he looks
straight ahead, ignoring them. Aegnor gives
an angry snort. Finrod does turn at
that, and then frowns, feeling the other's sleeve,
and then touching his hair
before Aegnor shoves his hand away. Angrod shushes
them again.]
Amarie: [ice]
It hath not been commanded
me.
Finarfin:
Nor should e'er it be.
[she turns away, her mouth set. He holds out his hand to her]
Come, walk with me, an thou will't, --daughter.
[Amarie turns back, startled, and her lips tremble
-- there is, it seems,
a chink in her armour]
Amarie: [not letting it affect her voice]
My lord, there is naught
that may be seen, the way that I did come. Nor
have I met any other
within, saving only thine own self, though betimes
I have methought that
I did glimpse, still were there none either of shade
or spirit when I did
go thence.
Finarfin:
Then it shall matter
not, the which direction we choose to take ourselves,
is that not the truth?
--Or wouldst rather have thy solitude, my lady?
[she sighs, pulling her scarf about her as if cold again]
Amarie:
Nay.
[sharply]
--Nor yet would I be adviséd.
Finarfin: [in the same gentle way he has addressed her throughout]
How then, if thou shalt
hear my heart's disclose, and thou advise, rather
than to hear counsel
given?
[Again he gestures for her to accompany him,
and this time, after a moment's
hesitation, she begins to retrace her steps
by his side, her posture very tense,
until they can no longer be seen in the darkness.]
[Finrod looks at Aegnor, who is trying to look
nonchalant instead of guilty,
without terribly much success]
Finrod: [innocently]
You're damp. How come?
Aegnor: [grimacing]
I don't know. By rights
it should have been as evanescent as any decapitation,
but the condition remains
regardless.
Finrod: [reasonable tone]
Being wet is a much
more common experience than being killed, hence the memory
of it should naturally
persist far more strongly. And you evaded my question.
What happened to you?
[brief pause]
Aegnor:
Your people are maniacs.
Finrod: [still mild]
You were hassling Beren
again.
[Angrod makes an exasperated noise]
Angrod:
Would you stop
using that mortal slang?
Finrod:
No. Nor will I let you
change the subject.
[to Aegnor, the same calm manner, only now it seems rather chilling]
Your behaviour is not
only a disgrace to the family, it's utterly unreasonable.
--Why do you blame him
for making the same mistake that his kinswoman made long
before he was born,
rather than rebuking our cousin for presuming to be wiser
than the rest of us,
and showing us our folly as in a mirror?
Angrod:
Brother, you go too
far--
Finrod: [ignoring him, fixing Aegnor with a Look]
Unless it's simple cowardice
-- sorry, prudence -- that so wisely durst not
challenge Luthien. You
got off lightly indeed.
[they tense, and Aegnor glares at him, but he
matches stares with the other
calmly, until finally Aegnor breaks down and
demands furiously:]
Aegnor:
--Why did you
tell him we were guilt-ridden over the fact that our friendship
with Cur and Cel led
to your death?
Finrod: [startled]
I did no such thing!
[narrowing his eyes]
Is it true?
[he looks at Angrod as well; they don't answer]
I see. --Interesting. That -- hadn't occurred to me.
Aegnor:
It doesn't change a
bloody thing! You're still behaving with a besotted
obsessiveness that begins
to rival our eldest uncle for self-destructive
insanity!
Finrod: [smiling faintly]
Is that the way you
both see it?
Angrod:
Yes! Can't you see that
you're setting yourself on a headlong path towards
disaster again, that
you're bent on a course that will inevitably lead you
into another conflict
with the gods?
Finrod: [shrugging]
Well, at least it will
be all my own doing, this time.
Angrod:
No, it's the same damnéd
thing. Haven't you learned? You're going to let
your softheartedness
lead you into making the exact same mistake as before,
throwing yourself away
to defend those who have fallen prey to their own
rashness and impulsive
folly!
Finrod: [slowly, cold iron]
They were your
people too. You claimed lordship to Beren only now -- and yet
you will not defend
him in his need.
Aegnor: [sounding an awful lot like his eldest brother]
We know perfectly well
that we are among those for whom you threw your own
freedom and safety aside,
by our wanting to carry forward with our cousins,
after Morgoth, over
the Ice -- we condemn ourselves equally and without
reservation. If anything,
we are more qualified than any other, to warn
you against this mistake.
Isn't twice enough, that you must make it a third
time?
Finrod: [still more slowly]
Mistake or not, I will
make it.
Aegnor: [grabbing his shoulder]
No. We are going to
make you see reason, brother.
Finrod: [mild curiosity]
And how exactly do you
plan to do that?
[he takes hold of their wrists, ducks under and
turns all at once, pinning
their crossed arms against the pillar, and stands
facing them with a look
of extreme exasperation]
I should bang your heads
together, but I doubt it would make any difference
at this point.
[they try to pull free, but he does not budge,
and when Aegnor raises his free
hand to pry away his grip he speaks with the
same tone of power that he used on
Beren in Act II, with equal effect]
Be. Still. --Look at me.
[he stares into their eyes in turn, and this time his voice is extremely gentle:]
Do you think, my brothers,
that I have not place enough in my heart for all
my kin? Must your jealousy
bring you, too, to violence against the youngest?
Or do you hold that
I have loved you the less, that I have loved Beor's
children also?
[Angrod doesn't speak and will not meet his eyes;
Aegnor stifles a sob, flinging
his head back hard against the pillar]
I did not forget you
-- nor do I forget you now. But I must take care of my
own. --Do you
need such help as those two now? If there is anything you'd
have of me, you know
you've but to ask. --But you've not.
[pause -- when he goes on it is in a slightly harder tone:]
Or is it that you need
me to stay thus docile, that you may act as though you
were my elders,
and slight me with your words as though I were a fool, and
half-mad, and yours
the turn to shepherd me, in private as in the multitude,
as not even they that
have earned the right to it do presume -- and strange
it is to me, for all
that you as much as I must surely know that I but do
indulge you in it. That
-- I cannot give you.
[he pauses again, briefly, but they do not speak]
I have indulged you,
because it did not trouble my peace, as to rebuke you
should, as a father
permits his children to make game about him, and set
chains of blossoms upon
him, and give him fond names of folly, while he
muses in the garden's
quiet. But that time is ended, as I knew it must,
-- though I did not
See it coming so soon, nor in such wise, I do admit --
and I must rise to be
King once again, as I had not thought to do, neither
for hope nor dread,
though my realm be nowhere and my following but a dozen
as mad as I, and my
only ally one half-goddess and the other half madness
as well, and all of
us naught but air and dream and that divine spark that
kindles all that is.
[fiercely]
And yes, I will stand
as I must, against whomever I must, and you may continue
your play, as you will,
for none can make you cease, but you shall not impede
me in my duty. --Nor
cross me, as you are wise.
[Angrod is crying silently, tears sliding down
his averted face; Finrod lets go
of their forearms and lays his hand along Angrod's
cheek, turning him to meet his
eyes. He flinches, expecting judgment, and finds
something else entirely. In a
gesture of acceptance he leans against Finrod's
shoulder and lets his brother
hold him while he regains his composure]
Angrod: [raggedly]
--Sorry--
Finrod: [smiling, if rather sadly]
--No lasting harm done.
[he pats Angrod on the elbow as the latter straightens,
wiping his eyes, and
turns to Aegnor, who is standing with his arms
tightly folded, a far greater
look of misery on his face. Taking hold of his
shoulder:]
Finrod:
Aegnor, it isn't hopeless--
Aegnor: [snarling]
If you dare speak
one
more time to me again of your visions and your foolish
hopes and your mad heresies,
I will break your jaw, brother, elder, King,
or not--!
[Finrod lets go of his arm and steps back, with a very slight bow]
Finrod: [ice]
As you please. But I
commend you not to do so before the Lord of Beor. I warn
you, I'll not intervene
on your behalf in this case either.
[the other snorts, shaking his head]
Aegnor:
What do you think he
could do -- even if he tried to defend you . . . this
time?
Finrod: [ironic]
Come now, you've heard
the echoes of the tale by now -- the air, the very
stones are humming with
it, born on the tide of whispers. Have you a wish
to share Curufin's fate?
I think our royal cousin will not intervene, even
were she at hand --
she's much displeased with you at present, as I have
warned you.
[pause]
Aegnor: [sullen mockery]
He had both hands,
then.
Finrod:
And Curufin was armed
and ahorse. Take your chances, if you will. --But do
not count too much on
my restraint, either. There are limits to my patience
as well.
[to Angrod]
You're coming with me, at least--?
[neither of the other two stirs]
Angrod: [gloomy]
He will not be pleased
to see me again.
Finrod:
It would be better if
you'd let him decide that -- and forgive you your
words himself.
Aegnor: [sardonic]
Why do you think he'll
be willing?
Finrod: [coolly]
Because he is Beoring.
--Because he is mine. Do you think he will not?
[they don't answer this, either, but the defiance
goes out of their expressions,
leaving them standing there stubborn but forlorn
as he turns on his heel and
leaves them behind in the shadows.]
[the Hall.]
[Huan lifts up his head, and gives a soft, low
noise somewhere between a bark
and a growl, interrupting the conversation,
a moment before the other Elven-
warriors look over at the door, where a solitary
figure is hanging at the edge
of it, looking warily around the door frame.
Seeing them by the remodeled
fountain, he gestures urgently for someone to
come over to him -- the Third
Guard winces and covers his face with his hand.]
Fourth Guard:
You should just vanish.
Third Guard: [getting reluctantly to his feet]
That would only make
it worse. Then he'd complain about that, too.
[he goes towards the door resignedly; as the
camera follows, leaving the Falls
behind, Beren asks:]
Beren:
Who's that?
First Guard:
His nephew. It's . .
. a long story. --And quite dull. You can ask him
about if you really
want.
[at the doorway, the Royal Guard stops and folds
his arms a short distance off,
looking at his kinsman with an expression of
combined exasperation and pity.
The other Noldor shade waves urgently for him
to come the rest of the way]
Nephew: [whispering]
Come over here.
[he does so after a moment.]
Third Guard:
Why can't you come talk
to me in a civilized manner?
[the younger Elf looks around the Hall, and at
the Loom and the Thrones, with
a disbelieving expression]
Nephew: [earnest]
We need you to help.
Guard: [sighing]
I'm not interested.
You need to ask King Felagund.
Nephew: [getting exasperated himself]
Why won't you help?
What's wrong, that you can't even do a favor for your
relatives?
Guard:
Because it's going to
drag on and on into endless helping. I told you,
I haven't any interest
in your hobby and I'm not about to get caught up
in it on your behalf.
Nephew: [aggrieved]
That's most unkind of
you.
Guard:
It's most unfair of
you
to try to coerce me into doing your work for you.
Nephew: [his voice rising]
I'm just asking--
Guard:
Just stop --
please.
[the newcomer gives his uncle a dark look]
Nephew:
One would think you'd
be ashamed to push me off like this, after what
happened to me.
Guard:
Don't do this
again. The fact that you were taken prisoner a yen and a half
ago has no bearing
whatsoever on your confounded project.
[the other gives him an even more reproachful
look, resulting in a still-more
exasperated tone in response:]
Look, I'm sorry you were
a slave. I've said so. I don't know why you think
that means I should
be your slave. It wasn't my fault you didn't listen to
your commander and got
cut off and captured, was it now?
Nephew:
It isn't just
that.
Guard: [sternly]
And that you
should not be bringing to me, either. Take it up with your King.
Nephew:
It isn't fair!
Guard:
You knew the risks.
You knew the rules. And you knew the reasons for them.
Now, go work on your
own things -- I'm busy right now.
Nephew: [hurt]
So you don't care that
I was a beaten thrall for ninety years, before I
managed to break free,
and find my way to safety -- only to be turned out
to live in the woods
like a Green-elf or a human, to live with those
savages, until I couldn't
take it any more?
Guard: [meaningfully]
You said you
escaped.
Nephew:
I did! You know I'm
telling the truth!
Guard:
I know you believe
what you're saying. It could even be true. That doesn't
mean you weren't
let
to escape.
Nephew:
You don't really think
I
would be a spy for the Enemy? Your own sister's-son?
Guard: [quiet]
Can you honestly say
that you weren't bound?
[pause]
You know, don't you?
Nephew: [changing the subject]
You tell me not to blame
my troubles on everyone else, but I've heard you say
that it's the fault
of the sons of Feanor you're here. And Sauron. And Morgoth.
Guard: [patient]
Yes, but I've got the
order straight in my head. I refused to turn back at
Araman. And I paid the
price for it. If I hadn't done that I'd never have
been in that situation,
or fallen into the Terrible One's clutches.
[he looks at his younger kinsman expectantly,
waiting for the obvious
corollary to be made.]
Nephew: [pounding his fist softly against the doorjamb]
It isn't fair. At least
you chose yours.
Guard: [unsympathetic]
Well, you weren't very
fair to the Teleri, were you?
Nephew:
You don't understand
-- you weren't there--
Guard:
Don't give me
that. If you didn't know what was going on, the obvious thing
was not to leap
in and start killing people, is that not right?
Nephew: [sulkily]
It's easy for you to
say.
[the older Elf half-turns, nodding towards the Waterfall]
Guard:
I'm not going to stand
here halfway in the door all day. If you want to talk,
come in and sit down
with us and do it in a civilized fashion.
Nephew:
No!
Guard:
Why ever not?
Nephew:
You're going to get
into trouble. --He'll be angry with you.
[from the lowered emphasis and awe in his tone
it is clear he is referring to
the Lord of the Halls -- his uncle shakes his
head]
Guard:
No. He just looked a
bit annoyed, that's all. They're busy too, and we're
not hurting anything.
Now run along, would you?
Nephew:
You're so selfish!
Guard: [with a frustrated exclamation]
When are you going to
stop thinking the Sun and Moon and the Stars revolve
around you? There
are
other people in the world.
Nephew:
Don't talk like that!
Guard:
Sorry. But it's the
truth, and you know it. Go complain to the High King
about the fact that
he wouldn't change the banishment rule for you. I wasn't
there, complaining to
me now is as useless now as it would have been then.
Why don't you gripe
at your friends from Eithel, that would make more sense.
Nephew:
You're no help.
[he turns away abruptly from the door back into
the corridor beyond; the Guard
sighs and returns to his companions, sitting
down with a groan of despair and
puts his head down on his forearms. The Captain
leans over and pokes him with
the flask, which offer is accepted quickly.]
Beren: [sympathetically]
More crazy-making relatives,
huh?
Warrior:
There's never any shortage
of them.
Captain:
What's the lad want
now?
Third Guard: [capping the canteen and passing it back]
Same as ever. Trying
to get me to work on their Theoretical Chronometer
again. And throwing
his Doom in my face when I won't. --And our kinship.
Beren:
What's a -- Theoretical
Chronometer?
Captain:
That's their imaginary
clock. It's something that a bunch of Fingolfin's
people have been working
on, some of them for most of this Age, and it
occupies them pretty
thoroughly.
Third Guard: [snorting]
Obsessed, some might
call it.
Warrior:
At least it keeps them
quiet. Mostly. By comparison.
Beren:
How can a clock be imaginary?
Is it real or not?
Captain:
It isn't real in any
way that you'd think of real, Beren. Moreover it's not
going to become real
without His Majesty's help, and they haven't got it.
They're designing a
clock that would allow them to know how much time has
passed Outside, but
they haven't got anything to make it out of, so all they
can do is talk about
how they would do it, if they had.
Beren:
But that sounds like
exactly his kind of project.
Captain:
The Leaguer wore out
his patience with fools. He thinks they're being stupid
in insisting on doing
it as they are, and he thinks it's all a waste of time
additionally. Sometimes
he does help them in discussing ideas, on a purely
hypothetical basis,
but I can't tell if he's doing it because he feels sorry
for them, or because
of the intellectual challenge, or just to bedevil them.
Because usually the
result is to require them to tear apart everything they've
done so far and start
over again, afterwards.
Steward:
All. No question.
Teler Maid: [doubtful]
How can they take it
apart if it is not real?
Beren: [nodding]
That's what I was gonna
ask.
Soldier:
The equations and, er,
mathematical processes.
Captain:
--Plans. They have to
throw them all out and redraw them. So to speak.
Teler Maid:
Like to designing hulls
and coming to see that the keel will not hold the
height, before it is
ever laid.
Second Guard:
Yes. I suppose so, at
least.
Beren:
Why won't it work? I
guess I mean, how could you tell if it would work or
not, when it isn't something
like a house, where you can say -- that's not
going to fit any way
like that?
Captain:
Erm...
Soldier:
That's part of the problem.
Trying to figure out what would be a check on the
processes is most of
the designing of it so far.
Beren:
So what do you mean,
they won't ask for help? If they're asking him about it?
Third Guard: [shaking his head in disgust]
They won't ask him to
help.
Captain:
You see, there isn't
any way to tell time without some connection to outside,
because nothing changes
here except us -- what we do. There's no regular
pattern of light or
anything to set it against, no day or night, no stars
moving, no seasons --
so what are you going to measure? You understand the
difficulty.
[Beren narrows his eyes]
Beren:
It's not just a clock
you're talking about. It's a calendar. You have no idea
when it is for the living.
Captain:
Exactly.
Steward:
Though some argue that
they are but the same thing, on differing scale.
Beren: [decidedly]
Nah. A clock is a thing,
like the one in the City. A calendar is just --
out there --
it's something that's real because it comes from the Sun. The
Chronometer, you could
have that play whenever you wanted, it just breaks
up the day wherever
you want to, not like a sundial . . .
[trails off, frowning]
So is a sundial a clock
or a calendar? And what about the days of the week?
How do you know where
to make them start? 'Cause when there wasn't any more
people around me I didn't
know any more what was what. So did we just decide
where they went? Or
you guys, I guess, probably. --Huh.
Steward: [approvingly]
You begin to work out
the problem on your own.
Captain:
We started over with
Sunrise, by the by. Then you changed it around some on
your own. --Or else
you had your own and put it together with ours, I'm not
quite sure.
[mischievously]
You'll have to ask Himself about that.
Beren:
But what would the problem
be that he would have to help them and won't? Or
I mean, how could he,
I don't think you could make a clock out of stone, that
wasn't a sundial, could
you? How would that work?
Third Guard:
Water. It would be possible
to turn one of the fountains into a measuring
device, either simple
or complex, since the water is constant--
Ranger: [cutting in]
--Well, that's part
of the whole argument, does anything progress here as
it does outside--
Third Guard:
--assuming that
the water's rate of flow is constant, it could be calibrated,
and then this could
be correlated with known temporal coordinates, and the
accuracy -- or constancy
-- could be checked thereby.
Beren:
So what's the problem?
Captain:
He won't do it, they
can't.
Second Guard:
Or rather, they won't
ask him to teach them, and they haven't been able to
figure it out on their
own yet.
Ranger:
And the calibration
process would require asking some of the staff for
information, and they
won't.
Teler Maid:
Give it?
Ranger:
Ask.
Beren: [thoughtful]
You know, I thought
I
was proud and stubborn.
Soldier: [grinning]
Well, you are. Only
we're worse.
[Beren glances up at the bas-relief behind the waterfall]
Beren:
Couldn't you
do it? Or did he tell you not to?
Soldier:
Oh no. We just won't,
because they didn't ask originally and were obnoxious
about it.
Teler Maid: [frowning]
How can you be obnoxious
about something you are not doing?
Soldier:
They didn't ask.
They just demanded.
Youngest Ranger: [gloomy]
They said, "We need
you to make this for us," and I said, "Why?" and they
said, "You wouldn't
understand," and I said, "No, I won't until you explain
what it's in aid of,"
and they got more and more unpleasant about it, and
I still wouldn't until
they said what it was for.
Third Guard:
Tell them what it was
they said to you, exactly.
Youngest Ranger:
I said I wouldn't do
things without understanding why, except for someone
I trusted, and I didn't
trust them, because they were Kinslayers, some of
them. Which was rather
rude, I guess. But I didn't know if they were trying
to do something to harass
the Lord and Lady.
Steward: [aside]
As opposed to us who
manage it without trying.
[the Sea-elf flashes a hurried look at him, looking away before he notices]
Youngest Ranger:
So then they said --
some of them -- that they'd tell the Powers that I wasn't
Noldor and shouldn't
be staying here. And I told them, "Go ahead, and I'll
tell them what you were
doing as well," and that was the end of it.
Soldier:
Only not really, because
then they did ask the rest of us -- most politely --
who know how, only it
wasn't any good, because we'd already heard all about
it and that cruel bluff
of theirs.
Third Guard:
So now we get occasional
bouts of complaining and guilting, like that just now.
Captain:
They won't talk to Himself
because they'd have to apologize, then. And for
some reason they won't
ask anyone who works here, which would be the simplest
thing -- I think they're
partly too proud, because they don't want to look
like they care, and
then there's this weird conviction that the answer is
going to be no, and
so there's no point in asking, though none of them will
explain why they're
so certain to be refused.
Steward:
Guilt. --It is
possible that the answer might be incomprehensible, you know.
The Powers care not
about time as we do, and I've always had the sense that
they consider any of
our efforts to measure it a little odd.
Warrior:
And of course, they
might be told, no, that wouldn't be helpful to you.
Fourth Guard: [chuckling]
Yes, but they'll never
find out, at this rate.
[two more visitors appear in the archway of the
door, coming in a little
uncertainly, and looking around. Huan starts
wagging his tail vigorously,
ears happily pricked in their direction]
Captain: [a touch grumpily]
What is this,
the Crossings of Teiglin?
[Beren peers over at them, frowning uncertainly]
Beren:
I think one of them's
a ghost, and the other has red hair. I don't think
I know them. Do you?
[the Captain straightens up, surprised]
Captain:
As a matter of fact,
yes. That's the King's aunt and one of the Greycloak's
counsellors.
[he taps the Steward, who is looking morosely
and distractedly into the spill pool,
on the shoulder.]
More old acquaintances of ours -- do you want us to cover your escape?
[the Steward looks over, startled, and then shakes
his head, getting up with almost
a relieved expression]
Steward:
Best get through it
now, than go on dreading it.
[waving off offers of help before they are made]
I need no assistance
in this -- the lady is reasonable, and kind, and such
pain as comes cannot
be borne by another.
[the others look after him with a bit of worry,
but not so much, knowing he's
right, except for Beren, who scrambles up a
moment later to follow him. Huan
does not, but looks as if he wants to, his tail
still brushing the floor softly]
Captain: [to his former colleague]
You're awfully quiet,
Ternlet. How come?
[she shrugs, not looking at him]
I see.
Teler Maid: [hesitantly]
Are you much angered
with me, then?
[he shakes his head]
Captain:
Not much. He would never
have spoken for himself if you'd not attacked us.
--And are you still
angry with me?
[she shakes her head in turn. Looking after Beren:]
Teler Maid:
They are not
very biddable, are they?
Captain: [sighing]
No more than we, Sea-mew,
no more than we.
[the focus shifts to where Nerdanel is receiving
the Steward's greeting with a
bemused, anxious smile, while the Ambassador
stares past suspiciously at Beren
who in turn is watching his friend with a worried
look from a few feet off.]
Nerdanel:
So, then -- what wouldst
thou of me, Enedrion?
Steward: [bowing]
I would offer my apology
to your House, my lady, if you in turn would be so
gracious as to convey
such in my stead.
Nerdanel:
What, dost deem a yen
sooner matterest, that it should rather be half-and-three,
than half-and-four,
that might not proffer thine own words unto my father?
[he winces at the dry note in her words]
Steward:
Please you, my lady,
I entreat you to withhold your righteous indignation at
my misspent years, for
mercy's sake, not mine own, as I have had my fortitude
sorely tried of late.
[pause]
Nerdanel:
Never thought I to hear
thee
seek for pity, youngling -- no more than witness
thy granting of it.
[giving up on being discreet, Beren comes forward
to stand at the Steward's shoulder
once more]
Beren:
Excuse me, but -- you
really shouldn't give him a hard time, ma'am. He's had
plenty already.
Steward: [stiffly]
My lord, I said I required
not assistance.
Beren:
Yeah, but you were wrong.
Steward: [nodding acquiescence]
--True.
[Beren touches his arm reassuringly]
Beren:
It's okay, I'm not going
to get hurt by words now.
Nerdanel: [slowly, fascinated]
So, thou -- art
he
-- Aftercomer that hath undone Immortal design, and
confused the counsels
of the great of Arda. I must perforce confess I had
conceived of thee as
. . . other -- nay, far more imposing of thy presence
withal.
Ambassador: [aside]
As had we.
[Beren turns and gives him a cool Look]
Beren:
Do I know you?
Ambassador: [unperturbed]
We were not introduced,
milord. I was present at your -- introduction,
to the court of Elu
King of Doriath, but no doubt you were far too . . .
preoccupied to remark
or regard my presence among their Majesties'
counsellors.
Beren: [drily]
--Yeah. Just a bit.
[to Nerdanel, not mocking, but with a touch of humour:]
--Sorry to disappoint, my lady.
Nerdanel:
Less that, than a marvel,
that thou shouldst find so light that which all
mine own sons and spouse
alike did strive for in vain attempt--!
Beren:
Er, light? -- no.
Also, from what I know about the War, actually going and
trying did make
a huge difference.
Nerdanel: [frowning, confused]
All that, and 'twas
not attempted? For what, then, yon wild pursuit, nor all
this Age's doings?
Beren:
After Feanor got killed
--
[she winces, and the Steward shakes his head in dismay]
Sorry -- I--
[Nerdanel gestures him to continue, though her expression is grim]
Just keeping him contained
-- Morgoth, that is -- so that he couldn't get
out of Angband. Until
he did.
[glancing towards the Steward]
He can tell you better
than me, 'cause I wasn't born for most of it, or
even him--
[nods towards the Sindar lord]
--'cause Tinuviel's people weren't involved in most of it.
Steward: [serious]
The tale is long, and
all is yet not known, and my lady's nephews I believe
hold the greatest knowledge
of its finer points -- but my friend has told
the heart of it: after
hard defeat, no endeavor to break within and seize
the stones was made,
before the Beoring and his well-named love did undertake
the deed.
[pause]
Nerdanel:
So. That which was begun
in fiery and utmost haste, did shortly end in slow
and moveless state,
as the flux will run cold to congeal that hath flown
swift in blaze, that
is not banked and channeled that the coals do catch.
[shaking her head, with a bitter half-smile]
A dreary tale,
yet, but curiously apt unto the madness of it all. --How it
must gall them, that
Secondborn hath mastered Morgoth's might!
Beren:
"Mastered" is way too
strong a word for it.
[she gives him an appraising glance and he shrugs. Reluctant:]
Ah. I have to tell you, ma'am, I -- I tried to pull your son's head off.
Nerdanel:
Indeed -- and which?
Beren:
C--Curufin, my lady.
Nerdanel:
Nay, forasmuch as he
hath ever been the image of his sire, that doth little
'maze, then. --For what
offense? or any, or all?
Beren:
Huh? Um, yes -- that
is, he was trying to kidnap Tinuviel then -- or he had
been, before I grabbed
ahold of the bastard and got him by the neck -- sorry.
Nerdanel:
For why? Surely such
deed should merit answer, if any might -- yet, I gather,
didst not gain thy way.
Beren:
Oh. --No, she made me
stop and let him go.
Nerdanel: [shaking her head]
This tale groweth more
confused ever the more I do learn of it. Could any set
it out in such wise
that sense shall come of it? --But I confess I have not
apprehended all thy
thought: what is yon word "bastard" thou didst name my son?
Beren: [chagrined]
Um. It -- it's an --
it's a mortal insult. I mean, it's in our language. It's
not necessarily mortal
. . .
[trails off]
Nerdanel: [dry]
Nay, and I had deemed
it a laud, no less. For certes an insult, as thou dost
aver -- yet of what
its construing? For surely hath something of sense to
signal scorn withal.
Beren:
. . .
Nerdanel: [interested]
Worse, belike, than
even "thrall," else "deceiver"--?
Beren: [giving up -- very rushed]
Please understand, ma'am,
I didn't mean it literally and I wasn't even
thinking about it when
I said it and what it means is someone whose parents
weren't married or not
to each other only what we use it to mean most of
the time is someone
who goes out of the way to be a mean-hearted, envious,
arrogant, troublemaker
who deserves to be beaten into a bloody pulp. --Sorry.
[she raises an eyebrow but says nothing]
Like I said it's just
an expression we use and I didn't mean when I said
it that you . . .
[he breaks off in embarrassment]
Nerdanel: [frowning]
Thou meanst to say,
that thy folk might 'get and give forth children into
Arda, without ever to
bind soul to soul in unity as parents? Even as the
kelvar? That one might
have a dozen mates, or choose anew with the tide
of spring each year?
[completely humiliated, Beren nods]
Beren:
We don't think it's
a good thing, but--
Nerdanel: [interrupting]
Then thou needst not
to have remained by Luthien, for all she was thy true-
love, nay, neither before
nor after thee and she were wed, but might even
have gone from her to
another's love, without thy mind and soul reft by
madness, nor she to
needs must die first--?
Beren: [adamant]
No. I mean -- yes, I
did. Have to.
Nerdanel:
But I think that such
was th'implicit burden of thy former words, or am I
greatly uncomprehending
of thee?
Beren:
I couldn't. Me.
Maybe some other Man could've walked away from Tinuviel, but--
[he shakes his head]
Nerdanel:
Thou, at least, had
other choice open to thee, to find other match, than set
thy life for hazard
and thy house with House alike in forfeit for thine only love.
Beren:
No. But yes. --I know
it sounds crazy.
Nerdanel:
Dost speak to me,
of madness? Madness I have seen, a-plenty: thine is small,
and thy lady's less,
by mine own accounting.
Beren: [uncertain]
You -- you don't
think I'm crazy, then -- my lady?
Nerdanel: [raising one eyebrow]
That, I said not.
[Beren frowns]
Beren:
Wait, shouldn't it be
"Your Highness?" If Feanor's your husband, and he's
the son of the first
King, then wouldn't that make you a Princess as well?
Nerdanel: [acerbic]
Dost deem me
mad, then, to care of this contention and striving after title,
after aught of glory
than work well-fashioned? My folk doth require none;
stone requireth
none; how shall I require it, as though else might not ken
mine own self's self?
[he is abashed]
Beren:
Sorry -- I didn't mean
to insult you, ma'am. I was just trying not to.
Nerdanel:
Nay, then, neither doth
offense be taken, that was not offered up.
[pause]
Elwe's daughter is far more blessed than ever she doth discern.
[she turns her face away, but recovers her composure quickly.]
I have heard rumour,
that mine eldest hath suffered e'en such loss as thou,
and would ask of ye,
if thou'lt forgive the discourteousness of't, and blame
me not for my presuming,
if that be so or no?
Beren: [answering first]
Er -- yes. I'm afraid
that is true.
Nerdanel:
I did not doubt it overmuch.
[she sighs]
Passing strange it is,
that the first to wield blade amongst us should die
first in battle, and
firstborn should forfeit hand that did wield such blade,
to blade's bite -- as
though the earth itself were but a great balance and
either land each pan,
tilting across the Sea -- I speak mad fancies; I cry
ye pardon, gentles.
--Of thy pity, lord of Men, canst thou say to me how
farest thou, then, that
I might ken yet so small a part of my son's life,
for--
[lifting her own hands and looking at them]
--I cannot guess how
'twould be, to have naught save memory of limb, nor
how I might easily compass
all that should be needful, scanted thus, though
I do confess I have
oft thought upon it.
[pause]
Beren: [awkward but sympathetic]
It's different for him.
I mean, he's an Elf, and I'm not, and that was
obvious and stupid for
me to say. Ah. I mean, he's had a lot longer to
get over it and your
people heal better than we do anyway, and he's still
a great warrior as well
as leader of House Feanor in the east, kind of a
legend. Well, not kind
of a legend, a legend, and . . .
[looking disgusted with himself]
. . . both of those are
things that you probably aren't too happy hearing
about either. Sorry.
[she looks at him with an odd expression, as
if struggling to maintain a
precarious balance between tears and laughter]
Nerdanel:
I do endeavor to comprehend
how it must be for thee, that art so changed
and forcibly set amid
all that's strange to thee, and how it, and we,
should all appear, that
hast heard belike, yet not in same wise as we
shall have heard of
another here, and yet dost seek to comprehend in turn
and maintain ever. --I
confess I cannot.
Beren:
Not everything's strange,
ma'am. I remembered what I was told about the King's
aunt being wise and
always willing to stand up for what she believed in.
Nerdanel: [shaking her head]
'Tis given me to understand,
that untruth's far from possible within these
walls, so then alike
must flattery e'en be: therefore thy sincerity, at the
least, might not gainsay.
--I thank thee for thy courtesy, sir.
[to the Doriathrin lord]
Thy pardon, my lord,
as well -- I fear I do leave thee daunted, thus forgrasping
all this our discourse.
Pray, do not hesitate thee from speech, but make free
as thou wilt.
Ambassador:
Less overawed, my lady,
than uncertain, at this juncture. I've had no choice
but to see this Man
through her vision, and I begin to think, -- little as
I most certainly like
it -- that -- perhaps we were in error.
Beren:
There's a lot of things
I could say to that, but I won't.
Ambassador: [holding his own, with an ironic half-bow]
Thank you, milord.
Nerdanel:
Yet a third way that
differest from mine husband, that didst give aside
Silmaril as second to
the price of love, and strove not to lead astray,
nor didst not care that
any might follow in thy despite regardless, and
that for love, not vengeance
nor of hate; that now dost willingly hold
peace--!
Beren: [whispering to the Steward]
What did she just say?
Steward: [quietly]
That unlike Feanor,
you know when to be quiet, sometimes.
Beren:
Oh.
Steward:
Also that you were neither
indifferent to nor desirous of the fate of all
who chose to accompany
you. And gave up the Silmaril for your lady.
[while Beren is still frowning]
All of which are compliments,
given the circumstances and their source,
since you're yet doubtful,
Lord of Beor.
Beren:
Okay.
[to Nerdanel]
Thanks.
Nerdanel: [to the Steward]
How hast changed, and
yet hast not, and yet art all other than thou wert, in
the Wild world beyond!
Beren:
Please don't insult
him, ma'am.
Nerdanel:
Nay, nor did I, or is't
insult in thy speech to say but that one has changed,
from harshness and vainglory
to gentleness of heart?
Beren:
No . . .
[the Steward bows slightly]
Steward:
I believe that it is
so, and do so hope, even as you speak, my lady.
Nerdanel:
I confess I must hold
it a good thing, that thy heart's allegiance was at
the last given unto
my nephew, and not my son, else I deem this conversation
should ne'er take place,
nor thou stand guiltless of murder, nor find peace
from battle hither.
Steward: [very dry tone]
Something of a most
relative peace, my lady, I fear -- but indeed, your
words, though sad, are
in keeping with mine own thoughts as well.
Beren: [breaking in]
Hey, how come you're
here?
[as they all turn to stare at him]
I mean, what about the meeting? How come you're not there, and what's going on?
Ambassador:
Talk -- much
talk, and little else.
Beren: [ironic]
Well, yeah, it's a council
-- that's what's supposed to happen at them.
Anything else, you got
a problem.
[the Sindarin lord visibly bites back a return]
Nerdanel:
Nay, 'tis much talk
of sundry things, and not so much as might be thought,
of thee and thine own
concerns, forasmuch as the gods' concern of all that
is doth make
the direction of the discourse to shift more indeed than e'en
we Eldar at our conversing,
and with less heed of time its passing.
Steward:
That is but half his
question, my lady.
[Nerdanel and the Ambassador share a wry Look]
Nerdanel:
Thy lady is most obdurate,
and requireth no further assurance of the rightness
of her course, the which
is all that I might well provide.
Ambassador:
Our contributions were
not considered relevant, milords.
Beren: [dawning realization & growing amusement]
You got thrown out.
Ambassador:
That is, I must say,
rather an overstatement--
[Beren shakes his head, grinning]
Beren:
You -- got thrown
out.
[brief pause]
That's great. That's just great--
[he laughs out loud, then struggles to control his expression]
Sorry, ma'am, I wasn't
being insolent to you, it's just that it finally
happened to someone
else -- especially from Doriath--
[with a sidelong Look at the Steward]
--About time, eh?
[unable to help himself, he starts laughing again,
ducking behind the Steward's
back until he can regain his composure]
Steward: [without irony or embarrassment]
Gentles, I entreat you
excuse my friend, in consideration of the trials of
his present and recent
situation.
Ambassador: [mildly]
I endeavor to remind
myself of his extreme youth, which renders it more
comprehensible.
Nerdanel: [very curious]
In truth, he hath so
few of days?
Steward:
Alas, yes.
[over beside the pool, Huan is wriggling and
whining quietly, with his tail
going nonstop, while the Captain looks at him
indulgently]
Captain:
You don't have to stay
here any more. We needed you to be cover for Beren
last time, but that
doesn't matter now. Go say hello if you want.
Huan:
[sharp yip]
Captain: [pushing his shoulder]
Go on, don't be an idiot,
you can go and greet her--
[the Hound gets up, but stands hesitantly, looking
back at the Captain for
reassurance]
Go on--
[as if fired from a bow, the Lord of Dogs goes
tearing across the Hall to
where the others are standing]
Teler Maid: [looking after Huan]
You do like him greatly,
even.
[her former colleague nods apologetically]
But you shouted at him much. To make him answer me fairly.
[he nods again, and she puts her forehead down
on her knees again -- it is
clear she is crying, hidden behind her hair.
He pats her on the head]
Captain: [gently]
You're not up to being
shouted at, Curlew.
[Huan comes skidding to a bouncing halt and looks
adoringly at Nerdanel --
the Ambassador flinches back, though this is
not noticed by his companions.]
Nerdanel: [sadly but fondly]
Oh, thou Hound -- little
had I thought to see thee so soon!
Beren:
You know each other?
[realizing]
Of course you do.
Nerdanel: [to Huan, seriously]
Alas, I have brought
nothing -- I did not even ken thou shouldst abide
here, ere I heard the
story of thee and these thy rife adventures, hence
have I neither dainty
nor trifle for thy pleasing -- moreover I much
misdoubt I might give
unto thee, as thou presently art, withal.
Beren: [trying to be helpful]
You could pretend
to throw something, he likes that -- then he pretends to
bring it back, or he
just brings back all kinds of stuff, like rocks or pine
cones until you give
up and tell him he's won . . .
[he trails off at the increasing grief visible
in her expression despite her
struggle to control it]
Huan: [panting, grinning]
[attention-seeking whines]
[Nerdanel unthinkingly reaches out to pat him,
and her hand goes through his
muzzle, making them both recoil violently, the
Hound flinging up his head in
Very Startled Dog alarm]
Nerdanel:
Oh--!
Huan: [wild-eyed]
[loud, repeated barking]
Steward: [firm]
Quiet, boy!
Nerdanel: [covering her ears]
Ai, yet else that hath
not changed--!
[Beren grabs the Hound's head like a horse's
and pulls him down to shoulder
height, making him stop for the moment]
Beren:
Why don't you go run
up and down the Halls instead and work off some of
that energy?
[checking]
I sound like a parent.
--You go do that, and I'll whistle for you if we
need you. Okay?
[he lets go and whacks Huan on the flank, again
as though shooing a horse out
into the paddock, and the Hound bolts out the
doorway, running low to the ground,
ears trailing like a mad thing.]
--Bet we're all thinking the same thing.
Steward:
I trust were any immediately
without -- we should have heard the cries of
dismay by now.
Nerdanel: [shaking her head]
I mind me not that he
was even so vast, in th'old Day --
Ambassador:
--That -- is
Huan? That -- creature -- captured our Luthien?
[he looks very shaken]
Steward:
I assure you he is Good
and would not harm any of like mind.
Nerdanel:
Aye, for all my son
did most lamentably indulge him in his whims, yon Hound
hath ever most mannerly
and gently midst folk displayed his temper.
[she is still rather sniffly & blinking hard]
Beren: [half to himself]
I -- don't expect you
will, but, hey, might as well offer -- um, you want
to come sit down with
us, and talk more sociably instead?
[he gestures towards their encampment]
Ambassador:
I -- I think not, sir;
the Hound has greatly unsettled my spirit.
Beren:
We won't let him jump
on you when he comes back. Promise.
Ambassador:
. . .
Steward: [shrewdly]
Indeed, he is disquietingly
like unto one, in seeming, at a glimpse.
[Thingol's emissary draws himself up in useless
pride, but does not deny
the implication]
Beren:
Oh. --I didn't think
about that. Sorry. We're all just so used to Huan,
but you don't know him,
and you just got killed -- not long ago, at least
-- by the Wolf. You
did good not to run when he came charging up like that.
[silence]
Ambassador:
Your accent grates heavily;
less so your intent of courtesy.
Beren
Er -- you're welcome.
[doubtfully]
So . . . what are you going to do? --Gentles.
[Nerdanel is not missing any of the way her son's
former friend reacts (and
doesn't) to Beren's presence, and speaking,
including taking control of the
conversation, watching them both keenly. Now
she replies, having managed to
swallow her tears, and turns to include the
Sindarin lord in her address:]
Nerdanel:
I, also, am even yet
whelmed with the renewal of so many heart-deep griefs,
and with such confounding
news of the old land as ye have given to mine
uncertain consideration
-- if thou'ld be so kind, my lord, belike shalt
companion me, and say
unto me more, and fill the gaps of my comprehension
with some measure of
thine own informing; meanwhiles we shall but walk,
and gaze upon the most
strange and rare sights herein.
[with a dash of her ordinary dry wit, nodding at the Ten]
--Nor mean I ye, nor else of yonder company.
Beren: [dubious]
Well, okay, but -- there's
not much here to see. Except the Loom, I guess.
[she shrugs]
Nerdanel:
Then I trust we shall
see it, shall not, upon our meanderings?
[she holds out her hand to the Ambassador, in
a gracious, careful, gesture,
not quite taking his arm, but very definitely
walking with him, not evincing
any fear or repugnance at his ghostly state,
though clearly under so much
stress right now that a little more or less
would hardly make much difference.
The Steward lays his hand on Beren's shoulder
to turn him back towards their
own group, then pauses and calls to the daughter
of his family's hereditary
liege lord:]
Steward:
I must inform you, gentles,
that the Lady of this Hall has most stringently
requested that none
should interfere with her Loom.
[pause]
Nerdanel:
I confess myself much
curious, whence such injunct be deemed necessary.
--My nephew must be
sorely galled by the command.
[it is the Doriathrin Ambassador's turn to laugh
out loud briefly, if much more
temperately than Beren]
Doubt not, we'll meddle not.
[as they begin their walk, she looks back over
her shoulder at the Steward, and
says meaningfully]
--Verily, youngling.
Steward: [sighing heavily]
That could have been
far worse.
Beren:
Don't worry, I won't
tell anyone you said that.
[sighing in turn himself]
Poor lady.
[as the Steward frowns curiously at him]
Saying Tinuviel was lucky, being married to me.
Steward:
I assure you, she was
not referring to the brief duration of your match.
Beren: [shrugging]
Yeah -- and?
[Elsewhere: the Council chamber. Everyone looks tired and serious and frustrated,
in a let's-buckle-down-and-solve-this-now sort of way -- even Luthien has largely
given up being sarcastic.]
Luthien: [shortly]
Why do you think that
having "fewer distractions" will help any? Nothing is
going to change. You
want me to give up Beren, I won't. There's no middle
ground for us to reach.
Namo:
What do you think
should be done? So far you've only stated negatives.
Luthien:
Not true -- I want him
to stay with me.
Namo:
But you have no concrete
suggestions for how that could be accomplished.
Staying here
as discorporate spirits is not a workable solution -- for
either of you, willing
or not. It isn't right, and it will end with him
hating you, and vice
versa.
[pause]
Luthien:
All right, here's a
concrete suggestion: consult your Queen and King for
their advice. See what
they say.
Orome: [incredulous, leaning forward in his chair]
You want us to ask Manwe
and Varda for their opinion?
[pause]
Do you have any idea how long it would take to explain it all to them?
Luthien:
Oh, I don't think it
would be very long at all. Don't they watch and listen
to what happens everywhere
in the world? I expect any parts they missed,
Thorondor and his family
would have told them about already.
Vaire: [amused & appalled]
Dear me, you really
do
think the heavens turn about you, child!
Luthien:
But you were all watching,
mostly. Weren't you?
Aule:
Do you really -- without
any reservation -- think this is of the same
magnitude as
the crisis following upon the Treeslaying?
Irmo:
Crises.
[at the other Lord's frown]
There were multiple separate situations.
Luthien: [simply]
It is to us.
Aule: [to Irmo]
It's all part of the
same mess.
Irmo:
But there are distinct
and several causes, though they are connected
causally as well as
chronologically.
Aule's Apprentice:
I fear I must agree
with my Master, that it's a mistake to isolate and
focus on selected incidents,
without considering them as belonging to
a centrality of causation
-- namely, the sad case of Feanor.
Irmo:
But there's no making
sense of the disaster if you merely lump it all
together and blame it
on the Eldar.
Orome: [in his most matter-of-fact, annoying tone]
Look, it's very simple.
It all started when we let him out. Therefore
-- we should never have
let him out. I don't care what your sister says,
she's just wrong.
[this sets off a chaos of fellow deities all speaking, or shouting, at once]
Vaire: [raising her voice over the fray]
No, that's not true,
Tav, Miriel's tragedy predated it--
[Luthien sighs, and leans her chin on her hand,
not looking hopeful of any quick
end to this. Accidentally she catches Namo's
eye as he lurks behind his teacup,
shaking his head at it all, and as he quirks
his brow at her she snaps her head
away, not wanting to admit to a commonality
of any sort. After a moment, as if
struck by a sudden thought, she scrambles forward
and dipping a handful out of
the light basin, proceeds to start finger-spinning
it as if it were a ball of
carded roving with the same intent, pensive
look as someone doodling on a
clipboard during an interminable board-meeting
. . .]
[the Hall: beside the falls, where the story has apparently concluded for the moment]
Teler Maid:
I still cannot fathom
it that none of your families stood by you, but only by.
[pause]
My lady will be most put out with Lord Orodreth.
[the Captain chuckles at that, and she is affronted]
I know that she shall, and I am most certainly right!
Captain: [dismissive motion]
Yes, yes, that's not
why I'm laughing. I -- couldn't help but imagine the
Prince's mother scolding
him, and what they might say.
Steward:
It isn't at all funny.
Captain:
Oh, come on, can't you
just hear Lady Earwen going--
Teler Maid: [louder and more emphatic]
--But still less do
I fathom it out that Lord Olwe's brother and his wife
locked their child away
-- has any one of ye ever heard of such a thing?!
What right had
they to do thusly?
[on the other side of the Hall, where Nerdanel
and the Ambassador are
surveying the Loom, the Ambassador turns and
looks over at her, then
quickly pretends he didn't hear]
If they did not approve
of her chosen, then indeed had they right to say
so, even as Lady Amarie's
kinfolk, and make it clear wherefore they
thought the choice not
wise, or--
[looking directly at her ex]
--as my own family --
and perhaps yours, for all your denials to them of
intent towards me --
did make it clear, but to set a wall and a ward against
their own, as were an
enemy -- or as if they were of the Enemy, keeping
her thrall! What have
Elves come to, in the time between!
Steward:
In fairness, it was
not until she threatened to follow Beren into Angband
that the King and his
counsel made such restraints upon the Princess, for
her own safety.
Teler Maid: [heated]
So, they set themselves
above the gods, then! For it is little different, I think,
between his lady seeking
to redeem him from the Enemy in a far-off land,
and your lord Feanor
seeking to rescue his treasures from the Enemy in
distant journey--
[several of the Ten protest her use of the pronoun "your", but quietly]
--and they did
not stop you, nor seek to do so by other means than
persuading words,
and yet it was the same manner of dangers, that you
did risk and she did
risk, that they did lock her up!
[somber silence]
Beren:
I hadn't thought of
it that way. Her parents wouldn't like to hear it --
but Tinuviel would agree
with you, absolutely.
Teler Maid: [sharply]
And you do not?
Beren: [dismayed]
I didn't say that.
Teler Maid:
But did you not imply
it?
Beren:
Um -- no.
[aside]
Wow, someone who's even more paranoid than I am--
[at his unintentional remark she snorts indignantly]
Captain:
Maiwe, calm down. Not
everyone is out to get you. In fact, no one,
here, is out to get
you.
[she looks away, scowling, just as the Youngest
Ranger starts to attention and
directs his companions' attention towards the
door, through which now enter the
Lord Seneschal of Formenos and the Lord Warden
of Aglon -- but accompanied
by some dozen or so extras, "gentles-at-arms,"
clearly looking for trouble. The
Sea-elf freezes, looking ready to leap up and
flee.]
--Not even them. Actually, they're after me, most likely.
[as the hostile shades approach]
Soldier:
What should we do, sir?
Captain:
Maintain a defensive
perimeter -- that's what we're best at, after all, isn't it?
[there are dark grins and laughter from several of the other Elves]
Ranger:
What about you, sir?
Captain: [flexing his bad wrist carefully]
I'll manage, if I must.
But we'll try to keep it from getting that far.
[he looks at Beren very seriously while the rest
of the Ten get up and arrange
themselves in a serried, if informal, rank against
the intruders]
You're going to stay
here, and you're going to stay out of it. No arguments.
I don't know what will
happen if you get hurt, and the more I've thought
about it the less I
like the notion. You're taking no chances. Understood?
Beren: [unhappy]
Yes, sir.
Captain:
In fact, call Huan back
-- he can do his job and look after you now.
Beren:
But--
Captain: [setting his hand on Beren's head as if talking
to a much younger sibling]
--You call him, or I
will. The only options, lad.
Beren: [nodding]
Okay.
[he whistles, several short, high notes, as if
calling any ordinary dog, and remains
kneeling by the waterside as the Captain rises,
followed by the Elven girl.]
Captain: [to his former colleague, just as seriously]
Curlew, this could get
-- rowdy. You probably don't want to be around
for it, and I certainly
don't want you hurt, even if you'll not leave this
Circle for it.
Teler Maid:
Do not tell me what
to do!
Captain: [sad half-smile]
I didn't.
[turning away he goes to the center of the group,
shouldering through to stand
on the Steward's right, facing the Lord Seneschal.
The Sea-elf tags along,
hanging back a little, with a worried expression,
but not willing to stay out of it]
Quick learners. --Now
why don't you learn even faster and stop this
before you come out
the worst again, eh?
Formenos:
Shall we hazard
upon it, in your foreign custom, then?
Aglon:
My quarrel's not with
you, anyway.
[he is staring menacingly at the Youngest Ranger]
Captain:
As a matter of fact,
it is. He acted but under my orders.
[none of them appear to notice that the Doriathrin
shade and the Noldor lady
have left their sightseeing and come to stand
at the side of the dispute,
attending closely]
Aglon:
Nevertheless I'll not
fight you, my lord.
Captain: [approving]
A prudent policy.
Formenos: [cynical smile]
And a prudent bluff,
huntsman. The White Lady mentioned your clumsiness,
and its consequences,
and thus incidentally explained your carefulness to
avoid outright combat
at our last encounter. Thus -- we will not quarrel
with you: our
numbers are but to ensure fairness, that none should interfere
in what passes.
Captain:
Then they will interfere
with nothing, for the responsibility for what transpired
is entirely mine, and
I will not allow it to pass to those who but followed my
commands. --Immortal
or mortal.
Aglon: [very proud]
That may be, but I will
not fight you, for my honor's sake, while you are
injured. If you
wish me to treat you as worthy adversary, restore yourself,
and I will engage you,
sir.
[the shade from Alqualonde edges between the
two subordinate Rangers,
standing with her arms folded and an imperious
look on her face]
Teler Maid:
What is this "honor"
that I hear you speak so much of? Will it keep you
from smiting me,
then?
[he makes a disdainful gesture]
Aglon:
I don't fight children.
Or maidens.
Teler Maid:
I recollect otherwise.
Formenos: [gallant & disarming - if you didn't know better]
And who might this
charming creature be?
Teler Maid: [defiant]
--"Collateral damage"
-- I think that is what you have called us.
Formenos: [shaking his head]
I've never had dealings
with your folk -- I was the first killed in Middle-
earth, after our noble
lord was foully murdered by the same demons
that slew me.
Teler Maid:
False, false, false!!!
Formenos: [frowning]
Are you not his
true-love, following him hither?
[he nods towards the Youngest Ranger]
Teler Maid: [indignant]
I am from the Havens!
Can you not tell the differences 'twixt us?
Formenos:
Ah. My error: I do apologize,
that I did not at once recognize you one
of the Calaquendi, if
Latecomer.
Teler Maid:
You -- do make apology
for misnaming me -- but not for killing me?
What madness is this?!
Formenos: [voice of reason]
Blame your elders, for
their selfishness, not us. Blame your king, not ours.
Youngest Ranger: [shortly]
You brought your troubles
on yourself.
Aglon:
Go back to your trees,
Dark-elf. --Or else fight me, if you wish to consider
yourself truly Eldar.
Captain:
Now then, what's wrong
with tr--
Teler Maid: [interrupting, sharply to the Feanorian lords]
Do not -- not speak
so!
[she is so upset that she is stammering, but stamps her foot emphatically]
Formenos: [bored]
Be quiet, infant, and
return to the Hall of Play.
Teler Maid:
Oh!
[in the background, Finarfin and Amarie enter
the Hall via the archway, together,
and taking in the scene of conflict, come quickly
over]
Aglon:
Well, boy, if
you will not give me satisfaction by honorable duel, then I must
take it as I can --
if you've the courage for it: is it not your people's way to
flee from blows rather
than return them, to fight from cover and to vanish
before retribution falls?
[the Sindarin Ranger does not answer him, except
to clench his jaw, standing
his ground, the tension in his companions rising
as tempers are held forcibly
in check]
Steward: [slow emphasis]
Leave -- him -- be.
[the Lord Warden smiles and moves forward threateningly;
while the nearer
of the Ten move to grab him, the Sea-elf darts
in between to obstruct his
path completely, scowling up at the taller Noldor
warrior.]
Teler Maid:
Go away!
[the Warden of Aglon doesn't answer -- instead
he takes her by the shoulder and
spins her aside, continuing to push towards
the Sindarin Ranger. Without another
word, the Steward reaches to his right, rips
the Captain's sword from its scabbard
and runs the Feanorian through -- no flare,
all business. The wounded Elf crumples
to his knees as the blade is withdrawn, while
his companions stare at the assailant
quite aghast--]
Steward: [cold]
You should have listened.
[several of the victim's friends kneel around him, trying to help him get up]
Formenos:
But -- he had not drawn
yet!
Captain: [disgusted]
Sweet Cuivienen, can't
you tell us apart, either? That's me, not him.
Formenos: [shouting at the Steward]
Where is your honor!?!
Steward: [calm & obnoxiously complacent tone]
If by honor you
mean a willingness to be cheated without complaint -- I fear
that remained
with the rest of my belongings in Nargothrond.
[raising an eyebrow]
Anyone else wishing to try my patience? None?
[he reverses the hilt and returns the Captain's sword with a gracious nod]
--Much obliged, my lord.
Captain: [loftily]
Any time, any time--
[to the hostile Elves]
--Dolts.
[to the Steward]
That was better,
but you still leave yourself wide open laterally when
you lunge that way--
Amarie: [outraged]
Ai, what hast thou done?!?
[giving up the effort, the Warden of Aglon vanishes
with a final grimace of
agony -- the Teler Maid shrieks, cutting it
off at once by clapping her hands
to her mouth. ]
--Minion of the Enemy thou art in truth!
[there is a moment of shock as everyone stares
at each other, and the Ten realize
who all was watching and what it looked like]
First Guard: [to Amarie]
Milady, it wasn't what
it seemed--
Steward: [looking only at the Sea-elf's horrified expression]
Yes, it was.
[he shakes his head, laughing quietly and hopelessly]
--Of course.
Formenos: [enraged almost beyond speech]
You--
[tries again]
Indeed, you were well-disguised
as Morgoth's vermin! I wonder that you
needed any camouflage at all!
Nerdanel: [tense]
Thou seest the error
of thy ways, then?
[he does not look at her nor otherwise acknowledge her words]
Finarfin: [very harshly]
I am most grieviously disappoint
in thee, young sir. 'Tis well thou art
restrained, within these Hall's
confine, and all such destroying souls.
Captain: [earnest]
But you really shouldn't count
this against him, my lord, as if he too were
no more than a Kinslayer,
because none of it was real.
Finarfin:
Upon the contrary --
though thy loyalty aye deserveth praise -- nor thou
nor he can answer me
that 'twas not done in th'intent of the deed its fullness,
nor that the wish and
will of't was to act and it were most potently the very
blade 'gainst yon rival's
flesh, save merely that these phantasmic figurations
must needs serve in
place for ye.
[looking sternly at the Steward, who is still
gazing in bleak dismay at the
Teler Maid, who has recovered somewhat from
her emotions at the mayhem
and is staring at him with a very troubled expression
of mingled revulsion
and worry]
--Nay, canst thou, Enedrion?
For thou didst belie me with the truth, but
not the full of it, when at
our first meeting thou didst make of merest need
but virtue, nor confess that
thou might not speak other than of truth, to
set thyself higher in my estimation.
Steward: [hollowly]
Indeed, your words are
true, my lord Finarfin -- all of them.
Captain: [still more earnestly]
But he wouldn't have
done it, if it would have had any real effect on that nitwit.
[No one denies this assertion]
Amarie: [tightly]
Mayhap -- yet still
'twas a deed most harsh, violent, and bloody--
[glancing at the entirely-unmarked floor, grimacing, and is forced to add:]
--in yon ghostly fashion.
Formenos: [savagely]
I'll serve you now in
kind, Enedrion--
[he draws his sword, advancing on the Steward, who does not pay any attention to him]
Nerdanel:
Nay, answer me,
that didst answer to me in the Day, and wast even Keeper
of our household stores,
when yet was peace in Tirion!
[she moves to bar his way, her eyes flashing
indignation, but he still ignores
her -- even though refusing to admit her presence
means he must walk right through
her, (sfx) leaving her mute with shock and anger]
Captain: [blocking the Seneschal of Formenos far more effectively]
You don't exist, my
lady -- as far as they're concerned. Sorry about that--
[to the other warrior]
--Not you.
Formenos:
I will not fight you
unprovoked, and play into your games, King's Fool.
Captain:
All right.
[smashes him hard across the face, backhanded, almost knocking him over]
How's that?
[with a roar of fury, the Lord Seneschal rallies,
so quickly the Captain barely
has time to get his blade free and parry --
but he does. If the hits taken in
the last duel are bothering him, it isn't obvious,
as they "have at it" in a flurry
of blows in the suddenly-widening circle that
forms around them. Beren
leaps to his feet, but obeys orders, though
his anguish at doing so is obvious;
the Teler Maid covers her ears, wincing at each
blow, just as distressed
as the human, if not for exactly the same reasons.]
Finarfin: [shocked but not at all uncertainly]
--Hold!!!
[there is Power in his word as well as anger:
in momentary surprise the
combatants stop, but only for a moment -- although
the Captain obeys,
the Seneschal presses the advantage, forcing
him upon the defense again]
Captain:
Sorry, Sir--
[they set to savagely again, no quarter on either
side, just the same kind of
ruthless fighting as against Eol earlier; the
Captain stumbles, and this time
it's no "accident" -- but as the Feanorian lord
moves in for the kill his
sword-hand is transfixed with a very real-seeming
arrow, and as he tries
to recover with his left, looking as all do
to the source of the shot, his
opponent regains his footing and presents once
more no easy target.
The Youngest Ranger is kneeling with another
arrow nocked and already
set to loose.]
Youngest Ranger: [terse]
Next time, your eye.
[there is a pause, a sort of momentary truce,
or rather recognition of impasse,
and one of the other supporters of House Feanor
comes up and sets about
drawing the arrow, casting the pieces aside
into thin air.]
Formenos: [disgusted]
--Damnéd archers!
No honor whatsoever.
[both the Ambassador and Amarie start to say
something, but whatever it is
is cut off by the baying from without, as Huan
returns -- with rider. As the
Lord of Dogs and the Lord of Caves make their
dramatic entrance, five
very bemused law-abiding Eldar alternate staring
from each other to the
newly-arrived to the denizens who seem to regard
this as nearly, if not
the height of normality.]
Nerdanel: [aside]
Hall of Play, in truth!
[Finarfin gives her a surprised Look; explaining:]
Hath not any ridden Huan
since of thine and mine the youngest were little
more than babes.
[her brother-in-law nods ruefully, as his eldest
son's ghost dismounts and
strides over, looking around first to make sure
that Beren is all right, as
Huan plows through everyone else, still barking
fit to raise the roof, to
get to Beren himself]
Finrod:
Would anyone care to
explain to me what's going on?
[there is a chaos of everyone talking at once
-- the Lord Warden of Aglon
remanifests to make his case personally, much
to the startlement of the
living witnesses; Finrod waits until the roar
dies down somewhat.]
Now, -- would anyone care to explain to me what's going on?
Steward:
There were words, escalating
towards blows. I struck first. All else
followed from that.
Finrod:
Whence the provocation?
Steward: [before anyone else, and louder]
From both sides.
Formenos:
No insult had been offered
you, you slave of a slave, but you cut him
down without warning
nonetheless!
Amarie: [earnest]
Though little had I
e'er thought, that I should speak in such as that one's
just defense, he doth
speak truly: 'twas a blow most villainous and cruel
-- if 'tis not falsehood in
its own right, to imply withal that any might be
otherwise!
Aglon: [furious]
And I will take my recompense
in the same way, d'you hear?!
Steward: [chill calm]
I will accept such,
if it is my lord's decree.
[the Teler Maid stares at him, her face frozen]
Aglon:
As if he'd ever give
fair judgment against any of his own!
[loud jeering and countering from the Ten, matched
by their Feanorian
opponents, with even a few barks from Huan added
in; Finrod holds up his
hand for silence, and there is instant attention
from all, adversaries and
supporters alike]
Finrod:
The temptation is strong
to take the way of water and avoiding resistance
give you both what it
is you wish--
[looking at the Warden]
--to you, satisfaction of your anger, and to you,
[turning to the Steward]
--expiation, of yours. But --
[smiling grimly, to the Warden]
--in no small measure
is that owing to the desire to let you make a poorer
showing than you already
have, disgracing yourself in the sight of the living
and the dead, as well
as the gods. Which is not justice, at all.
[he shakes his head]
No, it is too complicated.
I cannot decide: I must defer this entirely to a
higher authority.
Formenos: [snorting]
I trust your uncle to
give us fair hearing no more than I trust you, Finarfinion.
Finrod: [still graciously]
Not the High King, I'm
afraid -- I meant an authority that outranks all of us,
living or dead, royal
or no. Take your complaint of my people's conduct to
Lord Namo or his Lady,
and let them judge it, and whatever finding is theirs
in this matter, we will
submit to -- however little it is to our liking.
[he matches stares with the chief lords of House
Feanor's supporters in Mandos,
and does not give any sign of uncertainty, until
finally after a long moment, the
Lord Seneschal, still cradling his right arm,
nods to his people and the hostile
contingent storms out in a jostling, angrily-glaring
mob. To the Ten:]
Sorry, that took a lot
longer than I expected. I see you've got things under
control, though. Good
idea sending Huan for me right away.
Captain:
Er, well, actually--
Finrod:
Oh -- more of his own
initiative, I take it?
Captain:
He didn't tell you?
[his lord chuckles briefly, thinking it's only
a joke. Beren, with Huan at
heel, comes up quietly now that the immediate
danger is past, not interrupting]
Ambassador:
So easily you dismiss
them, Sire, and have full confidence they will not
return when your guard
is down, to take the vengeance they hold to be
their own? --And yes,
I am here, and would rather not be, whatever
possible construction
you wish to place upon that statement, and I have
equal confidence in
your Majesty's courtesy and intuition revealing my
wish not to dwell upon
any particulars of it.
[Finrod gives him a pensive Look, but honors
his request, answering him
only (while maintaining an aloof disinterest
in his family members standing
nearby)]
Finrod:
Oh, they won't take
it any further. They'd have to explain to the Lord
of the Halls, in detail,
you see, and even for them it would be difficult to
justify their motivations,
and so they'll simply drop it. --They might bring
it up again when the
next trouble starts--
[looking at the Steward]
--and you'll probably never hear the end of it.
Steward:
My lord, I--
Finrod: [putting a hand on his shoulder]
If they succeeded in
provoking you, it must have been bad. I trust -- that
your conscience is more
than equal to any reprimand I might bestow on
you, my friend.
[he turns to look at the others -- and frowns in amazement]
What are you doing here, Maiwe?
Teler Maid: [bitterly]
Trailing about after
him, what else to expect?
Finrod:
--Oh.
[he starts to ask further, then defers it for later. To the others:]
What's been going on, while I've been busy elsewhere?
Steward:
Your brother Aegnor
returned and provided us with some diverting
moments, I fear.
Finrod: [sighing]
Yes, I've given him
a bit of a talking-to about that. I don't think it'll happen
again. Anything else?
What set that lot off?
First Guard:
They came looking for
trouble and found it. The Lord Seneschal's flunkey
went to kick Beren for
-- if you'll believe it, my lord -- discourtesy.
Finrod: [with an angry snort]
What then?
Youngest Ranger: [embarrassed at drawing attention to himself]
I -- Sire, I -- I knocked
him down and bashed him in the knee. But the other
way round. That's why
he wanted -- wanted to challenge me.
Finrod: [warmly]
Good job. Don't worry
about it -- either of you--
[he looks at the Steward]
--they won't take it
further, I'll warrant. And if they do, we'll deal with
it then. I need a volunteer
for a quick errand, now--
Finarfin:
What dost thou presently,
indeed?
[pause]
Finrod: [very guarded tone]
Why do you ask?
Finarfin
I had but concern, for
these thine own concerns, that seeketh to fulfill its
own lack by learning
how all doth transpire, perchance to aid.
[longer pause]
Finrod: [formal politeness, undercut by irony]
The concerns of the
dead are not yours, Sire, nor, I believe, is there
anything your
will may accomplish here. --Unless you claim Lord
Namo's role here in
addition to your own lawful title -- which I
somehow doubt is the
case.
Finarfin:
Nay, my son -- I seek
to compel thee not.
[they stare at each other for a brief moment,
taut and unhappy; but this time
their position is subtly reversed, with Finrod
being the one giving stinging
barbs and Finarfin the wary, restrained recipient
of them.]
Finrod: [turning back to his following]
All right then, who
among us is worst at chess? All forms of it -- and doesn't
like it, either.
It's no good if he can tell you enjoy learning, you'll never
break free.
[the Third Guard steps forward, and Finrod gives an approving nod.]
Please go and ask my
uncle to come here, without delay, as a favour to
me. Phrase it as graciously
as you can, but make sure it's clear that
I need him to come talk
to me now, not six hundred years from now, and
I do mean here.
Er -- not in those words, of course.
[the Guard bows and hurries off, leaving Finrod
to deal with his family and
others. He looks at them a bit warily, recognizing
that there is something
going on, but not having any information as
to the source of their (additional)
tension. Polite:]
Did you wish to speak to me, father?
Finarfin: [equally]
An thou'lt not converse
upon thy present concerns, belike thou might
willingly relate some
account of thy kingdom, yon realm that thou didst
found for thyself upon
the other shore, and the workings of thy rule.
Finrod: [bemused]
You want to hear about
Nargothrond? I shouldn't have thought you'd be
interested in the forbidden
doings of a bunch of rebels, now.
Nerdanel:
Nay, but ever must parents
wonder and yearn for word of children's faring,
doubt it not, though
thou hast none.
[there is an awkward moment]
Finrod: [clapping his hands together]
Very well, why don't
we make ourselves comfortable over there and we
can try to give you
something of an idea, at the least, of what we've been
up to on the other side
of the Sea.
[he gestures towards the Falls, and there is
another awkward moment, as
the four guests look at each other, and at him,
uncomfortable but not willing
to be the first to speak.]
Is there a problem, then?
Captain: [smoothly interjecting]
I'm rather afraid that
milord your father is overwhelmed by our inability
to recount tales singly
and in good order, your noble aunt still very much
unsettled by so many
houseless spirits, your lady wife wishing us very
much still at the other
side of the Sea, or better yet the bottom of it, and
your royal uncle's servant
thinking nigh the same of the Beoring. Have I
read the situation aright,
gentles all?
[four rather chill Looks would seem to indicate so]
Finrod: [wry]
This is as bad as diplomacy
back home. I might as well not have died, for
all the good it did
me. Very well, then--
[he looks around, oblivious to the reflexive
flinches of his family and the background
collecting of a wager by the Youngest Ranger,
and shakes his head]
I'm afraid there are only the two chairs, and I really don't dare move them--
[brief expressions of confusion are replaced
by utter bemusement as they realize
which "chairs" he is referring to]
--so it seems there is only the rather rustic alternative over there--
[pointing to the hill]
--if you do not find that unacceptable.
Ambassador:
Surely none of our race
could ever object to the comfort of the greensward,
but one must ask of
direst curiosity -- whence comes a piece of the growing
earth to enliven these sunless
Halls?
Finrod:
A gift, lent by the
grace of Lady Nessa, I hear tell.
[with a polite, edged smile to Amarie]
It is both real, and untainted by any rebellious craftsmanship, my lady--
[her lips tighten, but she does not retort]
Nerdanel: [firmly]
--Nephew. Keep
thy private quarrels to home. --Thou kennst well what
I do intend; moreover,
herein lieth not thy true home.
[he stops, forestalled before he can respond, a touch chagrined.]
Finarfin: [soothing]
Ample accommodation,
in truth, and a most pleasant spot, yon turfen hill -- to
which, gentles, let
us repair, that we may hear the wondrous and most strange
news from the land of
our Awakening.
[with a shepherding gesture he takes Amarie's
hand and motions the others
to accompany them, allowing no room for objection]
Beren: [aside to Finrod]
Is this? -- I mean --
you -- you know-
[looking over at Finarfin and the others, raising his eyebrows]
Finrod: [blunt]
No, I'd rather be thrown
off a cliff than deal with them, as you correctly
surmise. But in courtesy,
they can't be left to their own devices, and
absent any higher authority
to foist them off on, it falls to me to entertain
them. Don't worry, I'll
survive -- so to speak.
[squaring his shoulders, he assumes a look of
determined pleasant calm and
goes to play the part of the lordly host among
welcome guests, leaving worried
companions behind]
Beren: [alarmed, aside to the Steward]
Does he know?
Captain:
Know what?
Beren:
--He doesn't,
does he?
[narrowing his brows, the Steward shakes his head]
Steward:
I do not see how it
is possible he should.
Beren:
I bet his dad's not
going to say anything, either.
Captain:
Oh-h.
[he grimaces, glancing quickly over to the hill]
Beren: [looking across and back]
This isn't good. --Do
you think that all of 'em know?
[the Steward follows suit as well]
Steward:
Most probably.
[Beren & the Captain wince]
Beren:
Except him. Nothing
we can do about it, though, is there?
Steward: [nodding towards the rest of the Ten & companions]
No, save trouble our
friends to no purpose by our conversing on it.
[the Sea-Elf, suspicious, comes up to their urgent consultation and demands:]
Teler Maid:
Do you talk of me?
Captain: [gently]
--No.
[to Beren]
I don't think there's
anything we can do, that won't make things more
difficult than less
all round.
Steward: [shaking his head]
I see no discreet way
of imparting the information to our lord at present.
[the Elven-maid continues to stand there, with
a chafing expression, caught in
the awkward state of bystanding a conversation
without belonging to it and not
wanting to go away in embarrassment or to cause
a scene; she looks up
frowning darkly at the Steward, who glances
down at her in the same moment,
and very seriously moves aside a little, leaving
a deliberate place for her. After
a moment she steps in a little closer, her arms
folded, still wary and half-outsider]
Beren: [frowning]
Hm.
Teler Maid: [after another hesitation]
What would you have
him know?
Beren:
He doesn't know that
they didn't know what happened to us and now they
know, and they don't
know that he didn't know they didn't know, and that
now they know. And they
said things to each other that they probably
wouldn't have if they'd
known -- mostly his dad. And Amarie. And now
he's saying stuff back,
and they're not going to know what to say.
[longish pause]
Teler Maid:
I could go and say that
someone needs him without, and then tell him
myself when we are from
here.
Captain:
Yes, but then they're
bound to ask him what the matter was, when he
gets back, and it's
the same problem, I'm afraid.
Beren:
Good idea, though.
Captain:
Nothing for it but to
hope Himself doesn't say anything too sharp, before
a chance to apprise
him comes along.
[he shakes his head, sighing]
Beren: [deadpan]
He might figure it out
anyway. He's pretty smart.
[the Elven-girl looks at him strangely]
Teler Maid:
That is a most simple
and manifest thing to say -- yet I do not think you
are simple of wit --
so why say you what all well know, that Lord Ingold
is most wise and clear-sighted?
[Beren shrugs, a bit embarrassed]
Captain:
That's more mortal humor.
[pause]
Teler Maid:
'Tis strange.
Captain:
It is indeed.
[pause]
Teler Maid: [frowning, changing the subject]
What is that matter
of chess Lord Ingold did speak of? For I think it
must be a pastime, but
I know it not.
[Beren and the Captain share a Significant Look,
while the Steward covers his
face with his hand]
Beren:
I think we can find
someone to teach you.
Steward:
--No. That would
not be prudent.
[as the Sea-elf looks at him with an uncertain
expression half between automatic
outrage and wariness, Beren is the picture of
injured innocence]
Beren: [bewildered]
I wasn't talking about
you.
I don't know why in the world you would think
I was meaning you, sir
-- it's like you think I've got nothing better to do
than cause trouble for
you--
[the Steward gives him an eyebrow-raised Look
of arctic frostiness, while he
continues to protest disingenuously]
Teler Maid: [to the Captain, decidedly]
'Tis very strange
indeed.
Beren:
--I mean, we all
know how to play chess, I don't see why--
Steward: [curious, resting his hands on the mortal's shoulders]
--Beren, what
would you do, if I did indeed answer you as from your tales
you would expect
your cousins to have answered such incessant japery,
by half-wringing your
neck in jest or impelling you beneath the outlet of
yonder cascade?
[pause -- Beren looks up at the much-taller shade thoughtfully.]
Beren:
I'd win, on account
of having made you respond without using any words again.
[brief pause]
Steward:
--Hina.
[he brushes his knuckles lightly against Beren's
cheek, almost smiling, and
turns to the falls, going over to where Finrod
left his harp -- instead of
sitting down apart, however, he carries it to
where their comrades are
waiting, uncertain as to what's all going on,
and takes his place in their
midst, to their obvious pleasure, and begins
to play very quietly.]
Teler Maid: [troubled]
Why does it misgive
you not, that he dismiss you as but a child?
[Beren shakes his head]
Beren:
Kinsman.
Teler Maid:
No -- the word is child,
in their speech--
[she nods sharply, including the Captain and
all the Ten (& even Huan) in her
gesture, all of her insecurities coming to the
fore in her tone]
Beren: [gently]
But it means
kinsman, when he says it to me.
[she looks back and forth to see if they're teasing
her, and then across at
the Steward, providing background music for
the warriors' conversation and
games, and appears distraught.]
C'mon, somebody over here can teach you how to play chess, if you really want.
Teler Maid: [fretful]
I do not know what I
want.
[but she accompanies them back to the waterside
nonetheless.]
[Elsewhere: the council chamber]
[Vaire, Irmo, Aule, Orome, and Aule's Assistant
are all leaning forward in their
chairs talking animatedly, while Namo sits back
with an abstracted frown
on his face, clearly thinking about something
entirely different from their
argument. Luthien is crosslegged on the floor
next to the bowl of silver
light, working intently on what looks rather
like a cats'-cradle, except
that when she lets go of the shining strands,
they remain as if floating on
water while she moves the other threads across
them. She is not paying
any more attention to the debaters than they
are to her, at the moment . . .]
Irmo:
Yes, and doesn't that
give you pause? The fact that someone who thinks
that every problem can
be solved by beating something up agrees with
you? Ordinarily you
wouldn't be claiming Tulkas' opinion as legitimizing
your own!
Aule: [growing impatience, waving his forefinger didactically]
I didn't say that the
fact that he agrees with us proves that we're right.
I only mentioned his
support as an example of the fact that diverse opinions
-- and diverse personalities,
and diverse viewpoints -- were united against
the opposing position.
Which--
[another emphatic gesture]
--should indicate to
some small degree that Nienna's stance was untenable
and her overly-optimistic
assessment of that wretch's state of mind should
have been discounted
by them from the beginning--
Vaire: [speaking over him]
--Aule, it really isn't
fair of you to characterize her position when Nia isn't
here to articulate it
for herself--
Orome: [frowning]
--Why isn't she
here? I don't understand it at all -- this is exactly the kind
of situation where one
would expect her to be in the thick of it, trying to
smooth things over and
make everybody happy--
[Namo looks up at the door, just as Nienna's
Apprentice enters, looking a little
wild-eyed but not quite as stressed as before]
Nienna's Apprentice:
You called me, Sir?
--Er, there's been no news from the search teams yet--
Namo:
Forget about that --
for now. I don't mean that literally, either. I just have
something else I want
you to look into for me.
[he manifests a rolled scroll and holds it out to the Apprentice]
You wanted to go dig
in the Archives, well, you've got your wish. Get to
it -- I want everything
you can find about what's on there, as fast as you
can find it.
Apprentice:
But--
Aule's Assistant: [shaking his head, very much in imitation
of his Lord's manner and tone]
Honestly, Olorin, I
swear you're never contented. No wonder you can't settle down.
[the other gives him a quick, disheartened look, but pulls himself together.]
Apprentice: [to Namo]
Yes, my Lord. But --
what about keeping an eye on the stone?
Namo:
Get someone else to
look after it -- or why don't you give me that toy of
yours and then we won't
have to worry about you forgetting while you're
doing something else.
[silently the Apprentice gives him the "sympathetic"
version of the palantir and
takes the list instead; Namo looks at the shiny
bead doubtfully.]
It does work, you're sure of it?
Apprentice:
Erm -- I don't see why
it shouldn't, at least.
Namo: [flatly]
Great. Just -- take
care of this stuff quickly. And don't get distracted
and start looking up unrelated
things, all right?
[turning back towards the door, his sister's student nods gloomily.]
Vaire: [looking over from the discussion]
Oh, and tell that dog
of Tav's to stop running up and down the Halls
barking, there's a dear,
he's making my headache worse than it already is.
Apprentice: [to the room at large, with exaggerated patience]
Anybody want anything
else while I'm at it? Cosmic harmony, anyone?
The Silmarils? Just
one, perhaps?
Luthien: [bland]
Just my husband, thanks.
[she looks up with a raised eyebrow as his expression
becomes briefly
chagrined, but then he winks, quickly, so that
her expression changes to a
puzzled frown as she watches his departure.]
Orome: [picking right back up where they left off]
Now, if you ask me,
what Varda should have done instead was . . .
[to be continued...]
