Title: Diplomacy 21
Author: Arisma
Rating: R Disclaimer: To the tune of Leslie Gore, "You don't own me"- I don't own it; don't try to claim it in any way. I don't own it; don't hunt me down 'cause I'll never pay! . Feedback: chalice_nazarene@hotmail.com -*--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**-- **--*-
The sun beat upon his damp hair, quickly drying it as they crossed the encampment. He felt his stomach clench with nervousness but kept his face blank. Finally their guide stopped in front of a familiar green tent and lifted the door drapings, watching silently as first Rhya and then Legolas slipped inside.
The interior of the tent was dim, few of the tiny lanterns had been lit so early in the day. The same assemblage met his gaze, three men, two women, shrouded in colors of green and blue. When they entered, the central man stood, bowing low. Instinctively Legolas repeated the maneuver, straightening slowly. "Welcome again, Taren, Tarien. Please, take a seat, our business will not be short."
Waiting until Rhya had been seated, Legolas then took a cushion next to hers, settling onto it with grace and calm. When he raised his eyes from the task the speaker was seated again as well. "I trust everything was acceptable to you?" he asked, his voice caring.
Legolas nodded, prepared to wait out the pleasantries but Rhya said instead, "Who are you?"
As if on cue the other members rose, leaving the tent in a silent swirl of silk. The speaker remained seated, calm, his eyes focused on Rhyalla as his compatriots departed. "My name is Caledan, child." he answered, measuring her with his eyes.
She snorted, eyeing him intently. "You know that is not what I meant. Who are these people?"
"Do you not know?" his voice was a strange combination of amusement and sorrow.
"I would not have asked if I knew." her voice was flat, calm, but Legolas could feel her tremble where their knees touched.
"We are the Quel'a'Har, Tarien Nessar." He said simply.
Rhya took a deep breath, her voice shaky when she stated, "You are but legend. A tale to tell the price of disloyalty... you should not exist."
"But we do, Tarien. We do." there was something of a warning in his tone.
Silence stretched for minutes after he spoke, time in which Legolas felt his ire rising. He had expected answers, not more vagueness and implied truth. Finally, he spoke, saying, "Do I get to share in this revelation?" He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but knew he failed.
In answer Caledan raised his hands and unwound the wrappings from his head and face, revealing perfectly sculpted Elven features. Legolas had suspected these people had shared his heritage and so remained calm as Caledan spoke "Forgive me, Taren Lasgalen. I had assumed the princess would have told you the legends of her people."
Legolas sighed and muttered under his breath, "The princess is not in the habit of sharing unless she has to."
A look of sadness crossed the a'Har's face. "Let me tell you a story, Taren. Perhaps within it you can find the key to understanding your beloved."
Legolas nodded and leaned back in the pillows watching him as he began to speak. "A long time ago there lived a race of elves, the Quel'Jarei. They were a peaceful people, living in a lush wonderland. Flowers grew there the size of your entire body, Taren. Brightly colored birds were trained to sing complicated Elvish songs, small animals brought forth tithes of nuts and berries to their Elvish masters. Life was simple and good, endless days of joyous reprieve. The art of warfare was no longer needed, so peaceful were the lands, and was instead transformed into a bladed dance of beauty."
Legolas heard Rhya hiss in air and turned to face her, her cheeks pale but her eyes locked to the speaking man. Turning his attention back he found the mans glittering blue eyes fixed on her. "Yes, Tarien. I speak of the blade song which you practice. Its origins are in times of peaceful perfection, long forgotten by most who walk this world." He sighed lightly and gestured with his hand, "But as with all things the wheel turned and the world changed around them. Scouts returned with news of foul creatures stalking the outlands. So long had it been since they had seen conflict the Jarei had grown complacent and merely pulled their settlements tighter, ignoring the lingering threat."
"The Jarei were elves of learning and wisdom. Great groves had been planted and in their gilded boughs rested tomes of knowledge the likes of which you can only imagine. One day in the groves the twin princes were at their studies when a fleck of something landed on the elder's arm, and he cried out in sudden pain. This of course roused the others present who ran to attend him. His pain was so great they had to hold him bodily to examine the wound, and when they did there was but a tiny pinprick. They washed it with water but still he screamed, thrashing, clawing at his arm if he were released."
He stopped for a moment, a look of remembrance on his fair features and then he continued, softly. "It had been a very long time since a member of the Jarei was seriously injured. The healing arts had been nearly as neglected as the arts of war. What healers there were worked ceaselessly, tirelessly and after days and nights they were able to draw the offending object from the boys arm. A single grain of sand."
He stopped for a second, shaking his head. When he continued his voice was edged with sorrow. "They had no idea then what that single grain portended, nor the havoc it would cause to their way of life. They kept it to study, noting that it was a most strange shade, sparkling red in the sunlight. Within months there was a small circle of the sand in the center of the grove. It appeared slowly and all feared it, for it sought flesh to bury within. And so they ignored it, even going so far as to create elaborate sculpture to cover the sand, hoping to quash it. But it spread, slowly but surely, eating the land in inches."
"Within a century the princes had ascended to the throne, as was the custom, then, and half of the land was covered with the sand. It wove through their nation like a river of evil, bisecting it neatly. As is the way with boundaries, eventually it became custom for one king to rule the eastern portion and the other the westerly. Bridges were built, arcing far enough over the sand that they could pass safely, for the sand would veritably leap on the unwary passerby. Once again the Jarei knew sadness, hardship."
"And so it progressed, the sand herding them within, the Orcs and Goblins surrounding them without. The kings despaired, watching as their people took on a haunted look, most of them daring the crossing only when absolutely necessary. One day the easterly king's youngest child, a beautiful little Elfling, wandered away from her mother and into the sand." He stopped for a moment, a look of agony in his eyes. "Her shrieks filled the air and all came running, knowing what they would find but praying for anything but. She had wandered into the center of the sand, somehow free of the sands' proclivities until she was very far from the shores. Her parents had no choice but to stand and watch as their beautiful, tiny Elfling was devoured by the sand, writhing and crying for them."
He stopped again, his face calm but his breathing hitching. When he spoke again there was venom in his tone. "And that night, as the families joined to mourn, there was a visitor. The doors to the great hall blew open, the breeze making the candles gutter. Numb with grief they sat, all the nobility f the lands waiting for what fate would deal them next. And in walked a man, garbed in crimson silk, and he promised them their salvation."
An uncomfortable silence fell as Caledan worked to calm his features. As if on cue, several women entered, bowing low and passing out small rounded cups full of water. They restocked and lit braziers, the calming scent of cinnamon again rolling over the company. One of the women rested her hand briefly on the speakers shoulder and he gazed at her for a moment with adoring eyes. As silently as they had arrived the women retreated, and Caledan continued his story.
"His name was Mondane and he promised salvation, and at first the Jarei rejoiced. He assured them it was well within his abilities to seal the sand away, to remove it from their lands. In their grief all they desired was to erase the blight that had stolen their loved one from them. And they naively agreed to negotiate their price with him when he had completed his task."
"When the sun crested the hills the sand was gone, covered with a strange substance which looked like grass, but felt alien, foreign. Mondane stood on this new growth and smiled at them, saying it was time to discuss his fee. So overjoyed were they with the transformation the easterly king tearily promised the wizard anything he desired."
He paused again and took a drink of his water, his eyes closed. "But when he named his price, the Jarei were struck speechless. They had never in all their wildest imaginings pictured what he would demand. His price, of course, was the youngest daughter of the easterly king, as his consort, to live with him in his domain. The Jarei were startled but the young girl decided for herself, awestruck with the man's power. And so they left and for a while the two nations were once again joined and the people prospered."
"It was a century to the day when Mondane returned. The kings greeted him as one would an old friend, mindful of the service he had rendered unto them. The easterly king enquired after his daughter and it was then that they understood just what they had agreed to. The girl was no longer with him, he said, and so he would require another of the royal house to stand at his side. The kings balked, wanting answers as to the princess's fate, unwilling to send more helpless children with this man."
"It was then that Mondane showed his true nature to the Jarei. The sky darkened and the earth trembled. The sorcerer seemed to swell in size until he loomed over the assembled Elves, his face glowering and angry. He roared his rage and demanded the princess be brought to him immediately. Through his terror the westerly king stepped forward and spoke with the sorcerer, begging of him a cycle of the moon so that the kingdom could say its farewells to the girl."
"Reluctantly Mondane agreed and in a flash of light he disappeared. The assembled elves stood stunned until finally the westerly king bade them to enter the palace. Outside a terrible rain deluged the earth, the wind wailing through the trees. The royals huddled together and cast frightened looks amongst themselves. The kings retired to their private refuge and discussed the options."
"The westerly king immediately tried to find a loop hole in Mondane's power, some way to keep their end of the bargain and not sacrifice any of their own to him. His brother was grief stricken, for again it would be his daughter to go to the sorcerer's realm. They argued and debated, searched and prodded but eventually it became obvious to them both that there was no other tithe the wizard would accept."
"It was with great sorrow that they announced their findings to their people. The women wept and clung to each other while the men ground their teeth in frustration at their own impotence. The young princess wept as well and clung to her father, begging him not to make her go. Though it broke his heart he held her as he told her that she must go, that she would pay the price for her people's safety."
"In desperation the girl went to her uncle in secret and begged him to help her. The westerly king was a kind man, known for his lack of malice and his calm demeanor. Looking into the blue depths of his nieces' eyes he felt the small part of him that wanted to submit to the wizard, that part of him that feared the consequences of denying him fled him entirely and he made his decision. The decision that would end the Quel'Jarei."
"He went to his brother and told him his decision. He would not sacrifice this child, any child, to this sorcerer, no matter the consequence. His brother understood for in his heart this was what he wanted to do as well. But he knew that with his daughter's sacrifice his people could survive. Without it they were surely doomed to perish. With a heavy heart he told his brother that reneging on their bargain was simply not an option. At the end of the moon's cycle she would go to Mondane."
"The westerly king was furious at his brother's numb acceptance and railed at him, begging and pleading, eventually raging and threatening. But no matter the argument the easterly king would not budge. No matter how much it hurt his heart he had to do what was best for his people. A long silence stretched between the brothers and in that space the nation sundered."
"Before the moon cycle ended the westerly Elves had departed the enchanted lands, forging ahead into the unknown waste beyond the boarders of their kingdom. Families were torn apart, mostly decided along the traditional geographic lines. Of course some from each side stayed or went, carrying what little they could and leaving the rest behind. And Mondane returned and the girl went with him, crying and pleading with her father to help her. In time the kings made rules and customs to spare them the grief of losing their daughters. But I think that I am not the one to tell this story. Tarien Rhyalla, will you tell us?"
Legolas shifted his sight to his love's pale face as she raised her eyes to meet Caledan's and nodded, barely perceptible. Legolas reached over and brushed her hand with his and was startled to note how cold her flesh was. Caledan nodded, encouraging her to speak and with a sigh of resignation she began her tale.
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A/N-
I need to give some of the credit for the Quel'a'Har to Sara Hubert, a friend of mine and kick-ass author in her own right.. If not for her input and excellent idea bounce-ability they might have gone a totally different way.
So huzzah to Sara, and thank you.
As for reviews, there were more then usual, which makes me happy. Reviews are muse food. The more I read reviews the more hyped the muse gets and the faster chapters get written. I know that seems like hooey, but 'tis true.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I would like to hear what you all thought of it.
Peace
~Arisma~
"Fan fiction is a way of the culture repairing the damage done in a system where contemporary myths are owned by corporations, instead of owned by the folk." --Henry Jenkins, director of media studies, MIT
Author: Arisma
Rating: R Disclaimer: To the tune of Leslie Gore, "You don't own me"- I don't own it; don't try to claim it in any way. I don't own it; don't hunt me down 'cause I'll never pay! . Feedback: chalice_nazarene@hotmail.com -*--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**-- **--*-
The sun beat upon his damp hair, quickly drying it as they crossed the encampment. He felt his stomach clench with nervousness but kept his face blank. Finally their guide stopped in front of a familiar green tent and lifted the door drapings, watching silently as first Rhya and then Legolas slipped inside.
The interior of the tent was dim, few of the tiny lanterns had been lit so early in the day. The same assemblage met his gaze, three men, two women, shrouded in colors of green and blue. When they entered, the central man stood, bowing low. Instinctively Legolas repeated the maneuver, straightening slowly. "Welcome again, Taren, Tarien. Please, take a seat, our business will not be short."
Waiting until Rhya had been seated, Legolas then took a cushion next to hers, settling onto it with grace and calm. When he raised his eyes from the task the speaker was seated again as well. "I trust everything was acceptable to you?" he asked, his voice caring.
Legolas nodded, prepared to wait out the pleasantries but Rhya said instead, "Who are you?"
As if on cue the other members rose, leaving the tent in a silent swirl of silk. The speaker remained seated, calm, his eyes focused on Rhyalla as his compatriots departed. "My name is Caledan, child." he answered, measuring her with his eyes.
She snorted, eyeing him intently. "You know that is not what I meant. Who are these people?"
"Do you not know?" his voice was a strange combination of amusement and sorrow.
"I would not have asked if I knew." her voice was flat, calm, but Legolas could feel her tremble where their knees touched.
"We are the Quel'a'Har, Tarien Nessar." He said simply.
Rhya took a deep breath, her voice shaky when she stated, "You are but legend. A tale to tell the price of disloyalty... you should not exist."
"But we do, Tarien. We do." there was something of a warning in his tone.
Silence stretched for minutes after he spoke, time in which Legolas felt his ire rising. He had expected answers, not more vagueness and implied truth. Finally, he spoke, saying, "Do I get to share in this revelation?" He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but knew he failed.
In answer Caledan raised his hands and unwound the wrappings from his head and face, revealing perfectly sculpted Elven features. Legolas had suspected these people had shared his heritage and so remained calm as Caledan spoke "Forgive me, Taren Lasgalen. I had assumed the princess would have told you the legends of her people."
Legolas sighed and muttered under his breath, "The princess is not in the habit of sharing unless she has to."
A look of sadness crossed the a'Har's face. "Let me tell you a story, Taren. Perhaps within it you can find the key to understanding your beloved."
Legolas nodded and leaned back in the pillows watching him as he began to speak. "A long time ago there lived a race of elves, the Quel'Jarei. They were a peaceful people, living in a lush wonderland. Flowers grew there the size of your entire body, Taren. Brightly colored birds were trained to sing complicated Elvish songs, small animals brought forth tithes of nuts and berries to their Elvish masters. Life was simple and good, endless days of joyous reprieve. The art of warfare was no longer needed, so peaceful were the lands, and was instead transformed into a bladed dance of beauty."
Legolas heard Rhya hiss in air and turned to face her, her cheeks pale but her eyes locked to the speaking man. Turning his attention back he found the mans glittering blue eyes fixed on her. "Yes, Tarien. I speak of the blade song which you practice. Its origins are in times of peaceful perfection, long forgotten by most who walk this world." He sighed lightly and gestured with his hand, "But as with all things the wheel turned and the world changed around them. Scouts returned with news of foul creatures stalking the outlands. So long had it been since they had seen conflict the Jarei had grown complacent and merely pulled their settlements tighter, ignoring the lingering threat."
"The Jarei were elves of learning and wisdom. Great groves had been planted and in their gilded boughs rested tomes of knowledge the likes of which you can only imagine. One day in the groves the twin princes were at their studies when a fleck of something landed on the elder's arm, and he cried out in sudden pain. This of course roused the others present who ran to attend him. His pain was so great they had to hold him bodily to examine the wound, and when they did there was but a tiny pinprick. They washed it with water but still he screamed, thrashing, clawing at his arm if he were released."
He stopped for a moment, a look of remembrance on his fair features and then he continued, softly. "It had been a very long time since a member of the Jarei was seriously injured. The healing arts had been nearly as neglected as the arts of war. What healers there were worked ceaselessly, tirelessly and after days and nights they were able to draw the offending object from the boys arm. A single grain of sand."
He stopped for a second, shaking his head. When he continued his voice was edged with sorrow. "They had no idea then what that single grain portended, nor the havoc it would cause to their way of life. They kept it to study, noting that it was a most strange shade, sparkling red in the sunlight. Within months there was a small circle of the sand in the center of the grove. It appeared slowly and all feared it, for it sought flesh to bury within. And so they ignored it, even going so far as to create elaborate sculpture to cover the sand, hoping to quash it. But it spread, slowly but surely, eating the land in inches."
"Within a century the princes had ascended to the throne, as was the custom, then, and half of the land was covered with the sand. It wove through their nation like a river of evil, bisecting it neatly. As is the way with boundaries, eventually it became custom for one king to rule the eastern portion and the other the westerly. Bridges were built, arcing far enough over the sand that they could pass safely, for the sand would veritably leap on the unwary passerby. Once again the Jarei knew sadness, hardship."
"And so it progressed, the sand herding them within, the Orcs and Goblins surrounding them without. The kings despaired, watching as their people took on a haunted look, most of them daring the crossing only when absolutely necessary. One day the easterly king's youngest child, a beautiful little Elfling, wandered away from her mother and into the sand." He stopped for a moment, a look of agony in his eyes. "Her shrieks filled the air and all came running, knowing what they would find but praying for anything but. She had wandered into the center of the sand, somehow free of the sands' proclivities until she was very far from the shores. Her parents had no choice but to stand and watch as their beautiful, tiny Elfling was devoured by the sand, writhing and crying for them."
He stopped again, his face calm but his breathing hitching. When he spoke again there was venom in his tone. "And that night, as the families joined to mourn, there was a visitor. The doors to the great hall blew open, the breeze making the candles gutter. Numb with grief they sat, all the nobility f the lands waiting for what fate would deal them next. And in walked a man, garbed in crimson silk, and he promised them their salvation."
An uncomfortable silence fell as Caledan worked to calm his features. As if on cue, several women entered, bowing low and passing out small rounded cups full of water. They restocked and lit braziers, the calming scent of cinnamon again rolling over the company. One of the women rested her hand briefly on the speakers shoulder and he gazed at her for a moment with adoring eyes. As silently as they had arrived the women retreated, and Caledan continued his story.
"His name was Mondane and he promised salvation, and at first the Jarei rejoiced. He assured them it was well within his abilities to seal the sand away, to remove it from their lands. In their grief all they desired was to erase the blight that had stolen their loved one from them. And they naively agreed to negotiate their price with him when he had completed his task."
"When the sun crested the hills the sand was gone, covered with a strange substance which looked like grass, but felt alien, foreign. Mondane stood on this new growth and smiled at them, saying it was time to discuss his fee. So overjoyed were they with the transformation the easterly king tearily promised the wizard anything he desired."
He paused again and took a drink of his water, his eyes closed. "But when he named his price, the Jarei were struck speechless. They had never in all their wildest imaginings pictured what he would demand. His price, of course, was the youngest daughter of the easterly king, as his consort, to live with him in his domain. The Jarei were startled but the young girl decided for herself, awestruck with the man's power. And so they left and for a while the two nations were once again joined and the people prospered."
"It was a century to the day when Mondane returned. The kings greeted him as one would an old friend, mindful of the service he had rendered unto them. The easterly king enquired after his daughter and it was then that they understood just what they had agreed to. The girl was no longer with him, he said, and so he would require another of the royal house to stand at his side. The kings balked, wanting answers as to the princess's fate, unwilling to send more helpless children with this man."
"It was then that Mondane showed his true nature to the Jarei. The sky darkened and the earth trembled. The sorcerer seemed to swell in size until he loomed over the assembled Elves, his face glowering and angry. He roared his rage and demanded the princess be brought to him immediately. Through his terror the westerly king stepped forward and spoke with the sorcerer, begging of him a cycle of the moon so that the kingdom could say its farewells to the girl."
"Reluctantly Mondane agreed and in a flash of light he disappeared. The assembled elves stood stunned until finally the westerly king bade them to enter the palace. Outside a terrible rain deluged the earth, the wind wailing through the trees. The royals huddled together and cast frightened looks amongst themselves. The kings retired to their private refuge and discussed the options."
"The westerly king immediately tried to find a loop hole in Mondane's power, some way to keep their end of the bargain and not sacrifice any of their own to him. His brother was grief stricken, for again it would be his daughter to go to the sorcerer's realm. They argued and debated, searched and prodded but eventually it became obvious to them both that there was no other tithe the wizard would accept."
"It was with great sorrow that they announced their findings to their people. The women wept and clung to each other while the men ground their teeth in frustration at their own impotence. The young princess wept as well and clung to her father, begging him not to make her go. Though it broke his heart he held her as he told her that she must go, that she would pay the price for her people's safety."
"In desperation the girl went to her uncle in secret and begged him to help her. The westerly king was a kind man, known for his lack of malice and his calm demeanor. Looking into the blue depths of his nieces' eyes he felt the small part of him that wanted to submit to the wizard, that part of him that feared the consequences of denying him fled him entirely and he made his decision. The decision that would end the Quel'Jarei."
"He went to his brother and told him his decision. He would not sacrifice this child, any child, to this sorcerer, no matter the consequence. His brother understood for in his heart this was what he wanted to do as well. But he knew that with his daughter's sacrifice his people could survive. Without it they were surely doomed to perish. With a heavy heart he told his brother that reneging on their bargain was simply not an option. At the end of the moon's cycle she would go to Mondane."
"The westerly king was furious at his brother's numb acceptance and railed at him, begging and pleading, eventually raging and threatening. But no matter the argument the easterly king would not budge. No matter how much it hurt his heart he had to do what was best for his people. A long silence stretched between the brothers and in that space the nation sundered."
"Before the moon cycle ended the westerly Elves had departed the enchanted lands, forging ahead into the unknown waste beyond the boarders of their kingdom. Families were torn apart, mostly decided along the traditional geographic lines. Of course some from each side stayed or went, carrying what little they could and leaving the rest behind. And Mondane returned and the girl went with him, crying and pleading with her father to help her. In time the kings made rules and customs to spare them the grief of losing their daughters. But I think that I am not the one to tell this story. Tarien Rhyalla, will you tell us?"
Legolas shifted his sight to his love's pale face as she raised her eyes to meet Caledan's and nodded, barely perceptible. Legolas reached over and brushed her hand with his and was startled to note how cold her flesh was. Caledan nodded, encouraging her to speak and with a sigh of resignation she began her tale.
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A/N-
I need to give some of the credit for the Quel'a'Har to Sara Hubert, a friend of mine and kick-ass author in her own right.. If not for her input and excellent idea bounce-ability they might have gone a totally different way.
So huzzah to Sara, and thank you.
As for reviews, there were more then usual, which makes me happy. Reviews are muse food. The more I read reviews the more hyped the muse gets and the faster chapters get written. I know that seems like hooey, but 'tis true.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I would like to hear what you all thought of it.
Peace
~Arisma~
"Fan fiction is a way of the culture repairing the damage done in a system where contemporary myths are owned by corporations, instead of owned by the folk." --Henry Jenkins, director of media studies, MIT