Chapter Eleven
"...it had been many days since the lady knight Briyann and her prince, the brave Chiarlon, had set forth from her father's castle. They had ridden, side by side, for fourteen days and nights, into the wildness beyond her father's country. Briyann rode with her flaming hair unbound, and Chiarlon, when he looked upon her, found his heart so full he dared not speak. And so it was in silence that they rode, and the hooves of their horses made no sound on the soft ground, and it was thus that they happened to hear the cry of a damsel in much distress."
"Damsel in distress? Wherever did you get that horrible term?"
"Be quiet Pippin, Rhian's the storyteller."
The Fellowship- with its attractive additions- sat clumped together in a large cavern, where they would camp for the 'night'. Though glad they could rest, Rhian liked this cavern little better than the treacherous passages. The dark, gaping maw of an ancient well was in the room's center, and something about it- other than the fact that it would be all too easy to fall into- made her apprehensive. She wasn't sure if she smelled something odd in the air about it, or if perhaps she heard something, the faintest of sounds from far below.
"Rhian, go on with the story."
She returned to her audience.
"The cry they had heard came from far away and above, where Charlon could see- for the prince had the eyes of a hawk- a ledge or cave cut deep into the stone face of the cliff, with no steps to ascend, nor any kind of ladder. And as he stood in his stirrups and looked to the rocks all around, he saw a dreadful creature, a creature with the back legs of a lion, and the beak and talons of an eagle, and the wings of a dragon. And in its claws the creature clutched a fair maiden, white of skin and golden of hair, who wore a crown. And as he described to his lady all that he saw, she bethought her of a tale she had once been told, some time ago in the hall of the king whose daughter she had saved. The tale had been told by an old woman, a teller of tales and master of her trade. She had spoken of such a creature, and had given it the name of 'Gryphon. So 'tis called,' Briyann said, 'and it is as fell a beast as ever was. Let us seek to rescue this dame,' and so it was that Briyann rode forward to challenge the beast, and Chiarlon came after her, for his horse was of not the same stock, and less swift. When the gryphon saw Briyann, and the white smoke that rose behind her steed like a plume, he released his captive, leaving the maiden trapped on the outcrop of stone. He spread his great wings- so great that they blotted the sky from Briyann's sight- and plunged down upon her. Her spear he grasped in his black talons, wrenching it from her grasp, and her shield he buffeted with his dark wings, such that it was knocked from her hand and the blazon of the silver falcon was marred by dust and stone. Though she took her sword from its sheath, its bright edge fell useless against the creature's armored feathers- for if a gryphon is to be slain, it must be struck on the soft underbelly of its lion parts, or else be driven through the eye to the brain. So Briyann's blade was splintered apart from its hilt, and Briyann herself was caught up in the gryphon's talons, though she struggled mightily, and was carried in his hateful grasp far above the earth and to a place high in the mountains to the north- Such a place as Chiarlon had spied, where no steps or ladder made way for the escape of human feet, and only winged creatures could come or go as they wished. Briyann, though valiant, had neither feather nor pinion, and her arms, though skilled, had not the way of catching her up in the air and supporting her in flight. So the brave daughter of King Arthur was trapped, well and good, with no means of attaining freedom."
"And did your loving prince sleep through all of this?" Boromir demanded.
Rhian fixed him with a haughty stare. "Did I not say, sir, that the steed of Chiarlon was not of the same sort as that of his lady? For there was no steed in the world to equal that of the lady Briyann's Talien, who was a foal of the Fire mare, and a creature of the wind. But great was Prince Chiarlon's grief and pain, when he reached the place where his lady's spear lay splintered on the ground, and her brave shield lay dented in the dust. Talien, at the loss of his mistress, ran free upon the wilds, mad with grief of his own, and Chiarlon did not deign to try and capture him. But he knelt in the dirt and took up the blade from his lady's sword, where it lay naked of sheath and hilts, and having no place else, he put it among his arrows in the quiver on his back. Her shield he also reclaimed, and tied to his horse that it might not be lost, and as he bound it he wept, so that his tears bathed away the dust from his lady's symbol, and caused the silver falcon to gleam bravely again. And when he had done all these things, through his grief he heard the call of the maiden whose cries had first brought them to this spot, and who was entrapped still upon the gryphon ledge. Seeing her, Chiarlon though to seek how she might be freed from her aerial prison, but found no means of reaching her until-" Rhian paused before she went on. She had been about the decide that the fabled prince had a magic ring among his possessions, but, knowing her audience, thought better of it. "Until," she continued, "he remember that in his saddlebags there was a...a..." she cast about for a less traditional magic item. "A tiny ball of purest spun glass," she said finally, "which glowed a pale gold under the starlight, and had, so the woman who had given it to him said, magical properties to aid the truehearted. She had spoken curiously when she placed the strange thing in his hands- 'Be true,' she had said, 'to the other half of your whole, for if ever you lose the part of you that is not yourself, then you shall lose all of what you are.' He did not know of what she spoke, but he had cause to respect her words- although that is another story- and had sworn to do as she said. Now in his hand the ball glowed silver in the sunlight, and hummed against his palm, ever so faintly. He knew not what good it might do, and so he simply spoke quietly to the ball, murmuring all his tale of woe, and the sorry plight of the maiden far above. As he finished speaking, the magical light left his palm, swirling up into the sky above until it was no more than a speck, and as he watched it, found that of all things the light melted into a twining strand, on end of which fastened itself to the stone above the captive's prison, and the other end fell lightly into his hands. In this way the fair lady was made to descend until she reached the blessed ground, and the light resolved itself once again into a ball of glass, and settled itself in the prince's hand."
"What about Briyann?"
"Yes, why doesn't he go rescue her?"
Rhian yawned. "Briyann can go unrescued until tomorrow. I am going to sleep."
"You can't sleep now! What if the gryphon comes back?"
"If he does, it will be to eat you."
Merry and Pippin retreated, cowed for the time being. Pippin stared idly down the deep darkness of the well. "I wonder," he thought to himself, "just how deep it might be?" Looking around, he picked up a stone from near at hand and let it fall. Silence.
plunk
"What was that?" Rhian was roused from her dazed half sleep by Gandalf's cry. She blinked, trying muddily to figure out what had made the wizard angry. As Pippin began a stammering explanation, though, she felt herself falling back asleep...falling...
_________________________
Hours later Rhian woke, disoriented and bewildered. The darkness seemed to press around closely, like a physical weight that restricted her breathing. She blinked, feeling as though her eyes weren't really open, hating the feeling that she was suddenly blind. This was too close to her childhood nightmares of being lost and unable to see somewhere....She felt for her cloak, drawing it over he head.
"Briyann," she whispered to herself, "had paced the length and breadth of her prison more times than can be counted, and the cold wind swirled her fiery hair around her, so that she looked less like a warrior, and more like the princess she was by birth. Or so thought the magician, when he came..."
_________________________
"...For he did come, the magician who was the master of the gryphon, and stood and marveled at her as she slept on the cold stone with her hair spread around her like licking flames." Two days in the darkness, with shadows all around, and the weight of the mountain above her. Rhian walked steadily uphill, focusing her eyes on the light of Gandalf's staff, and her ears on the sound of her own voice. She was far beyond having any idea where the story was going. She simply let the words run out in one long flow, a stream that pulled her along. "Stone," she murmured. "The very stones of the mountain itself shivered when this magician set his foot upon them. the very earth felt the presence of his darkness. Not darkness without, for he seemed to the eye fair and young, both tall and straight and most proud- but darkness within, where his desires conquered all. What he saw, he wanted, and what he wanted, he took."
Rhian fell silent, her voice fading away into the shadows around them. Erin, behind her, stumbled, and she offered a supporting arm. Rhian knew the darkness was wearing on her sister, just as it was wearing on her, but more so. Erin had never liked the dark, had never liked being enclosed, where there was no moving air.
"Go on, Rhian," Aria sad quietly.
"The magician," Rhian began again...
_________________________
The man stirred, wincing in pain as harsh agony stabbed through his head. "Be still," a feminine voice commanded. "You will disturb the bandage." As the throbbing receded, he opened his eyes cautiously, to see filtered sunlight casting soft shadows over delicate carvings in the wooden beams above him. He looked around as much as he could without moving. Beside him, a face slowly came into focus.
"Erin?"
A tiny frown crossed her forehead. "What did you call me?"
"Erin...but...that's not your name, is it? But somehow it goes with your face."
He tried to concentrate, to push his way through the fog surrounding his mind.
"It is not so far off. You struck your head, and were badly hurt. To be confused is natural." The woman sat lightly on the edge of the bed a moment. "Eventually, perhaps, you will remember."
He lay very still, and she rose to go, her hair casting off flickers of sunlight.
"Bryan," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"Bryan. That is my name."
"...it had been many days since the lady knight Briyann and her prince, the brave Chiarlon, had set forth from her father's castle. They had ridden, side by side, for fourteen days and nights, into the wildness beyond her father's country. Briyann rode with her flaming hair unbound, and Chiarlon, when he looked upon her, found his heart so full he dared not speak. And so it was in silence that they rode, and the hooves of their horses made no sound on the soft ground, and it was thus that they happened to hear the cry of a damsel in much distress."
"Damsel in distress? Wherever did you get that horrible term?"
"Be quiet Pippin, Rhian's the storyteller."
The Fellowship- with its attractive additions- sat clumped together in a large cavern, where they would camp for the 'night'. Though glad they could rest, Rhian liked this cavern little better than the treacherous passages. The dark, gaping maw of an ancient well was in the room's center, and something about it- other than the fact that it would be all too easy to fall into- made her apprehensive. She wasn't sure if she smelled something odd in the air about it, or if perhaps she heard something, the faintest of sounds from far below.
"Rhian, go on with the story."
She returned to her audience.
"The cry they had heard came from far away and above, where Charlon could see- for the prince had the eyes of a hawk- a ledge or cave cut deep into the stone face of the cliff, with no steps to ascend, nor any kind of ladder. And as he stood in his stirrups and looked to the rocks all around, he saw a dreadful creature, a creature with the back legs of a lion, and the beak and talons of an eagle, and the wings of a dragon. And in its claws the creature clutched a fair maiden, white of skin and golden of hair, who wore a crown. And as he described to his lady all that he saw, she bethought her of a tale she had once been told, some time ago in the hall of the king whose daughter she had saved. The tale had been told by an old woman, a teller of tales and master of her trade. She had spoken of such a creature, and had given it the name of 'Gryphon. So 'tis called,' Briyann said, 'and it is as fell a beast as ever was. Let us seek to rescue this dame,' and so it was that Briyann rode forward to challenge the beast, and Chiarlon came after her, for his horse was of not the same stock, and less swift. When the gryphon saw Briyann, and the white smoke that rose behind her steed like a plume, he released his captive, leaving the maiden trapped on the outcrop of stone. He spread his great wings- so great that they blotted the sky from Briyann's sight- and plunged down upon her. Her spear he grasped in his black talons, wrenching it from her grasp, and her shield he buffeted with his dark wings, such that it was knocked from her hand and the blazon of the silver falcon was marred by dust and stone. Though she took her sword from its sheath, its bright edge fell useless against the creature's armored feathers- for if a gryphon is to be slain, it must be struck on the soft underbelly of its lion parts, or else be driven through the eye to the brain. So Briyann's blade was splintered apart from its hilt, and Briyann herself was caught up in the gryphon's talons, though she struggled mightily, and was carried in his hateful grasp far above the earth and to a place high in the mountains to the north- Such a place as Chiarlon had spied, where no steps or ladder made way for the escape of human feet, and only winged creatures could come or go as they wished. Briyann, though valiant, had neither feather nor pinion, and her arms, though skilled, had not the way of catching her up in the air and supporting her in flight. So the brave daughter of King Arthur was trapped, well and good, with no means of attaining freedom."
"And did your loving prince sleep through all of this?" Boromir demanded.
Rhian fixed him with a haughty stare. "Did I not say, sir, that the steed of Chiarlon was not of the same sort as that of his lady? For there was no steed in the world to equal that of the lady Briyann's Talien, who was a foal of the Fire mare, and a creature of the wind. But great was Prince Chiarlon's grief and pain, when he reached the place where his lady's spear lay splintered on the ground, and her brave shield lay dented in the dust. Talien, at the loss of his mistress, ran free upon the wilds, mad with grief of his own, and Chiarlon did not deign to try and capture him. But he knelt in the dirt and took up the blade from his lady's sword, where it lay naked of sheath and hilts, and having no place else, he put it among his arrows in the quiver on his back. Her shield he also reclaimed, and tied to his horse that it might not be lost, and as he bound it he wept, so that his tears bathed away the dust from his lady's symbol, and caused the silver falcon to gleam bravely again. And when he had done all these things, through his grief he heard the call of the maiden whose cries had first brought them to this spot, and who was entrapped still upon the gryphon ledge. Seeing her, Chiarlon though to seek how she might be freed from her aerial prison, but found no means of reaching her until-" Rhian paused before she went on. She had been about the decide that the fabled prince had a magic ring among his possessions, but, knowing her audience, thought better of it. "Until," she continued, "he remember that in his saddlebags there was a...a..." she cast about for a less traditional magic item. "A tiny ball of purest spun glass," she said finally, "which glowed a pale gold under the starlight, and had, so the woman who had given it to him said, magical properties to aid the truehearted. She had spoken curiously when she placed the strange thing in his hands- 'Be true,' she had said, 'to the other half of your whole, for if ever you lose the part of you that is not yourself, then you shall lose all of what you are.' He did not know of what she spoke, but he had cause to respect her words- although that is another story- and had sworn to do as she said. Now in his hand the ball glowed silver in the sunlight, and hummed against his palm, ever so faintly. He knew not what good it might do, and so he simply spoke quietly to the ball, murmuring all his tale of woe, and the sorry plight of the maiden far above. As he finished speaking, the magical light left his palm, swirling up into the sky above until it was no more than a speck, and as he watched it, found that of all things the light melted into a twining strand, on end of which fastened itself to the stone above the captive's prison, and the other end fell lightly into his hands. In this way the fair lady was made to descend until she reached the blessed ground, and the light resolved itself once again into a ball of glass, and settled itself in the prince's hand."
"What about Briyann?"
"Yes, why doesn't he go rescue her?"
Rhian yawned. "Briyann can go unrescued until tomorrow. I am going to sleep."
"You can't sleep now! What if the gryphon comes back?"
"If he does, it will be to eat you."
Merry and Pippin retreated, cowed for the time being. Pippin stared idly down the deep darkness of the well. "I wonder," he thought to himself, "just how deep it might be?" Looking around, he picked up a stone from near at hand and let it fall. Silence.
plunk
"What was that?" Rhian was roused from her dazed half sleep by Gandalf's cry. She blinked, trying muddily to figure out what had made the wizard angry. As Pippin began a stammering explanation, though, she felt herself falling back asleep...falling...
_________________________
Hours later Rhian woke, disoriented and bewildered. The darkness seemed to press around closely, like a physical weight that restricted her breathing. She blinked, feeling as though her eyes weren't really open, hating the feeling that she was suddenly blind. This was too close to her childhood nightmares of being lost and unable to see somewhere....She felt for her cloak, drawing it over he head.
"Briyann," she whispered to herself, "had paced the length and breadth of her prison more times than can be counted, and the cold wind swirled her fiery hair around her, so that she looked less like a warrior, and more like the princess she was by birth. Or so thought the magician, when he came..."
_________________________
"...For he did come, the magician who was the master of the gryphon, and stood and marveled at her as she slept on the cold stone with her hair spread around her like licking flames." Two days in the darkness, with shadows all around, and the weight of the mountain above her. Rhian walked steadily uphill, focusing her eyes on the light of Gandalf's staff, and her ears on the sound of her own voice. She was far beyond having any idea where the story was going. She simply let the words run out in one long flow, a stream that pulled her along. "Stone," she murmured. "The very stones of the mountain itself shivered when this magician set his foot upon them. the very earth felt the presence of his darkness. Not darkness without, for he seemed to the eye fair and young, both tall and straight and most proud- but darkness within, where his desires conquered all. What he saw, he wanted, and what he wanted, he took."
Rhian fell silent, her voice fading away into the shadows around them. Erin, behind her, stumbled, and she offered a supporting arm. Rhian knew the darkness was wearing on her sister, just as it was wearing on her, but more so. Erin had never liked the dark, had never liked being enclosed, where there was no moving air.
"Go on, Rhian," Aria sad quietly.
"The magician," Rhian began again...
_________________________
The man stirred, wincing in pain as harsh agony stabbed through his head. "Be still," a feminine voice commanded. "You will disturb the bandage." As the throbbing receded, he opened his eyes cautiously, to see filtered sunlight casting soft shadows over delicate carvings in the wooden beams above him. He looked around as much as he could without moving. Beside him, a face slowly came into focus.
"Erin?"
A tiny frown crossed her forehead. "What did you call me?"
"Erin...but...that's not your name, is it? But somehow it goes with your face."
He tried to concentrate, to push his way through the fog surrounding his mind.
"It is not so far off. You struck your head, and were badly hurt. To be confused is natural." The woman sat lightly on the edge of the bed a moment. "Eventually, perhaps, you will remember."
He lay very still, and she rose to go, her hair casting off flickers of sunlight.
"Bryan," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"Bryan. That is my name."