Chapter Three: Learning to Live

The banquet hall was a suitably grand, elaborately furnished room for this "Lord" to take his meals in, though it seemed to be a rare occasion that it was actually used. Covering the long table was a shimmering white cloth that fell to the marble floor like water, and lining it were china plates and crystal goblets of burgundy wine. Dishes I had never before seen were placed in two rows, their cool, refreshing scents wafting over to the doorway where I stood.

I was hungry, truly hungry for the first time in my life.

And then, at the head of the table, sat the Lord upon a sort of jewel-encrusted throne. He bowed his head in deep thought, then lifted it to Master Shadow and nodded, ever so briefly. Master Shadow nodded toward me and guided me to the chair at the other end of the table, which faced the white-robed man directly. Perfect, I was sitting so far away, yet near enough to feel whatever wrath he could incur.

For a moment I gazed at a point behind his head before he gave me a look that meant, "Take a seat". Hurriedly I sank onto the carved wooden chair, hands in lap, chin raised to level my eyes. The food was so tantalizing, though…and it would be the first real meal in days. Then the Lord spoke.

"Sarelaine, I trust you have enjoyed yourself in the castle thus far?"

I nodded mutely in response, not daring to trust my own voice. Melodious some had called it, but it had a tendency to shut down under pressure. An inclination of the head would suffice.

He seemed amused but continued in the same treacherously condescending tone. "Then for an undetermined period of time, you shall remain here and familiarize yourself with bow, knife, sword, hand, music, etiquette, medicine…" And on and on he listed the crafts I was to learn, until I cut in softly.

"I know archery, fighting, swordsmanship, music, and nearly everything you have listed." For it was true; living with the nobles entailed a careful study of many arts. I had not forgotten any of them, or so I felt, when I had left to the wood elves, and time was wasted. Or perhaps time did not pass for such a brilliant, powerful man like it did for the rest of us.

He sighed softly and let a bony hand fall from his chin to the table. "Alas, I was afraid of this," murmured the man in a sad voice. "I was afraid that you were not of the correct mindset to undertake this endeavor. Sarelaine, look at me."

Grudgingly I raised my eyes to meet his, shaded and cold as they were. Instead of the warm gray that could have been expected, they glimmered with a calculating light. Instead of pushing outsiders away, however, they drew others into the dark recesses.

"Better, better. I see more clearly now, I see that a fire of ambition and restlessness burns deep within you, fighting to be released. I see how you hope to be another face, and yet, at the same time, standing starkly in contrast with the world, white on black. And I see you are gray, neither white, nor black, and you are ready to serve. Is not all that true?"

"Yes." It was all I could manage to utter the single word, my face flushed slightly in awe and shame. How terrible it was to have the secrets of one's heart laid out upon a dish with the same coolness and impartiality that had built towers and killed men. All he said was true, except the last phrase. I was not ready to give anyone everything, but somehow it seemed stupid to respond otherwise. Tact was helpful at times, despite my constant reluctance to follow the rules.

"Then," he set down the goblet of wine, which clinked softly on the table, "let your new life begin tomorrow."

My fate was sealed, so to speak.

* * * * *

At dawn, I awoke not to the sound of chirping birds, as was customary, but to the harsh scraping clang of a bell. I sat up slowly and began dressing in the loose, full breeches and forest green shirt that I had worn for the time that I traveled dirt paths. The mirror caught the reflection of the silver wires around my neck, a memoir and symbol of my woodland brethren. But now they were gone, and so was I.

Breakfast was a simple process, and immediately following were private lessons in the lute, medicine, and various other scholarly arts. Master Shadowman, I soon realized, was a good deal more relaxed than he had let on at first. Indeed, he appeared to be more afraid of the Lord than careful of myself, and I was sure that if it weren't for that fear, he would never have spared the time nor allowed me to peruse the libraries alone. There were books of all manners, but most involved complex and ancient magic dating back to before the Third Age. I could understand none of it, yet the words, when read out loud, held a curious ring and attraction. They wanted to be heard and needed to be revealed, but it was dangerous as well. Quickly I decided to focus on healing lore and the herbs that could kill and revive, depending on the quantity and age.

Books and learning were fascinating me again, especially those which were mysterious and tempting to the eye. No doubt some were not meant for me to see, but the reasoning held that if it were so, I would not have been allowed to enter those sections of the library. So I read and read, awed eyes poring over thin, yellowed parchment and faded spidery handwriting, until at last, I found the tomes of histories long passed.

Then Master Shadowman ushered me outside hastily and gave the command, "Run."

So I ran. I ran as far away from the black tower until an invisible wall sent me falling to the mossy ground, at which time I began running back and realized that I was trapped. The only directions to run in were forward and backward, and I chose forward.

The rhythm of soft springy footsteps echoed in my ears for a few minutes afterward, and I struggled to regain control of my breathing. Running was no great challenge…or at least a mile or two wasn't. But constant motion where the scenery had no discernable change was maddening; I saw no evidence that I had been moving forward at all until Master Shadowman suddenly appeared and halted me with a wave of a black-sleeved arm.

"Fire at the wreath."

He handed me a bow made of the finest wood in Lothlorien and strung with a flaxen hair. I hefted it for a weight and felt nothing. A Lothlorien bow was light as the cloud cover in autumn. Then I bent it carefully and felt no resistance, but upon release, the curve shot back into its original position sharply. The wood was flexible, yet strong, and it was a weapon suited for kings and queens.

A confident smile flitted on my face and immediately vanished when I took note of the target, a pine wreath with the diameter of a hand-span hanging on a wooden peg 100 paces away. Only one archer I had ever met before could hit such an object with any reliability, and he had died by his own craft, such was the irony.

My hands blanched, if that was even possible, as I fitted an arrow, long and balanced, to the string and narrowed my eyes in concentration. When the line between bow and center had been fixed, I released the tension and let fly. The bow hummed softly while the arrow sang through the air, taking a slightly curved path off the one I had intended. My hopes fell; it was not possible for it to land anywhere near the center of the target now.

And then the arrow struck the great trunk with a splintering crack of wood, and I ran over to inspect its position. I gasped in genuine surprise. It had fallen just inside the pine needles, far from the exact center, but inside the confines of the target. Turning to Master Shadowman, I tried to subdue jubilation into humbled pride.

He glanced at it indifferently.

"Again."

AN: After saying I wouldn't be back…here I am! Seeing Return of the King was definitely inspiring, and while this chapter isn't wonderful by any means, it had some thought behind it. So review away, and the next one will come sooner…

L8er,

-cybErdrAgOn