It has been a VERY long time since I last updated; I hope you all will forgive my long absence. It is very hard to keep writing with grad school and work piling up. This is an incredibly long chapter that I couldn't bear to break apart. A lot of things are going on here and I hope they are understandable, as always constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged.
For many hours into the night they had walked, 100 Utashtegu warriors all clad in black, 98 horses, 23 Gondorian men and two Istari. The tracks they would have made would have been easy to see even at night yet in the rear of their troupe several Utashetgu lagged behind sweeping away footprints and horse dropping so expertly that it would have taken an expert tracker several hours to even discern their direction. Every so often at different intervals 10 or so Utashtegu warriors would break off from the group and make other paths, some leading north toward the looming mountains; others would tread south toward the Valley of Fire. Others made their way back the way they came and others merely lingered perhaps waiting for the main body to leave out of sight before making their own winding paths. In this way were the paths of the Utashtegu kept secret for many detours and dead ends were made to lead the trackers of the enemy into ambushes or to keep them off track.
Pallando spoke much to Mithrandir about his years in the East and how the Seven Nations came to be; it was not a long tale for it had only been in existence for a short while and had grown quickly. It began primarily in the confederation of separate roaming bands in the Orocarni; people who had fled to the mountains to separate themselves from the whips and torments of the Harad loyal to Khamul. Some were rebellious groups and tribes of the Harad, others were of the Khand and others were merely independent peoples who fell under Khamul's foot. The Utashtegu were once one of these small bands and were the most welcoming, inviting these desperate groups into their lands. In a few short years the Utashtegu had formed alliances and marriage bonds with several of them, forming a great network of tribes who joined their warriors under the leadership of the Utashtegu chieftain, the young Dhraloku.
In the matter of a few short years the Utashtegu had grown and began offering their protection to other maligned tribes and peoples near the Orocarni. Under the direction of Dhraloku, Pallando and Allatar the fledgling nation began to grow more boldly, even bringing rumor to Khamul himself and other nations. It was at this time that Khamul faced the army of Ciryaher the first time and busied himself with the thwarting of Gondor's attack. In that short time the Utashtegu and their small allies expelled Khamul's forces from the Orocarni. Khamul, having defeated Gondor in its first assault upon Khahalazhul, sent his forces to recapture the Orocarni, yet even his influence in the lands of the Ayab-Mamuk failed him and his assault force was less than was needed to retake the easily defensible Mountains. And so, just as the desert had been Khamul's greatest defense, it had been his greatest defeat when he tried to retake the Orocarni with a massive force, fed only on one river which had its source in the mountains. So Khamul retreated back to Khahalazhul to defend his Western borders from Gondorian attack from Umbar.
Charged by this small victory other tribes and peoples came by various ways to the Orocarni and thus began the forming of the Seven Nations, which was in truth several networks of allegiances but named after the first seven "nations" who gathered and defended the Orocarni from attack: the Ayab-mamuk, the Utashtegu, the Crow and their allies, the Hamadjon, a splinter of the Khand empire, the Mayab, and the Kashri. They and their refuges were now spread throughout the roots of the Orocarni and some even had enclaves in the very heart of the Khand Empire which stretched out to the Eastern Sea. All this happened in a few short years and was maintained by a secret gathering of leaders and representatives called the Council who ruled their own peoples separately and maintained their own independence rather than transfer power to one individual, regardless of how adept they were at leadership. Pallando admitted,
"Things move slower than anyone would like, they have been deliberating helping Gondor for several years, it was not until Ciryaher stumbled into these lands last year that their debate has seen any movement. I think after yesterday's attack things may move quicker."
The two Istari sat in the dawning morning beneath the shade of an over-hanging cliff; by the time they set up camp for the night before the traveling band of over 100 men had dwindled to the 23 Gondorian soldiers and the two Istari. Yet every step they took was watched and every so often an Utashtegu warrior would meet them on the path and speak to Dhraloku. By the time they pitched the camp Dhraloku bid them goodnight and went into the wild desert alone saying only that they slept in safe lands, though they were out in the open. When morning came they found water and food beside the fire along with three young boys who had long bows and slender arrows; they were not dressed as the other Utashtegu warriors and the almond shaped eyes were much more slanted, their skin lighter and they did not speak Alamb-harad the common tongue of the East; these were children of the Khand Empire yet of one of the rebellious bands that opposed Khamul. Beside them stood Dhraloku, youthful still in his own way, as though the entirety of the surrounding war did not touch him; as grave as Celebrin was for an elf, Dhraloku was youthful and spirited for a mortal. Perhaps this is why men are drawn to him, thought Mithrandir, he promises a peace they hope for, a freedom from the tyranny they now live under. The gray Istari turned to Pallando and asked,
"Surely this youth could command the attention and devotion of all those warriors, could he not move this Council to side with Ciryaher?"
"Indeed yes, Dhraloku is well loved and respected by all the members of the Seven Nations and were he to ask for their aid they would gladly give it to him. Yet the Utashtegu know very well how great power placed in one man's hand, even with good intentions, can corrupt, it is how they lost Khahalazhul to the might and power of Khamul."
Mithrandir looked at Pallando with a question upon his brow, which was read quickly
"According to their legends the Utashtegu were once farmers in the Khahalazhul valley and they built the city as a marketplace for trade. Khamul took over and coaxed one of their leaders to take control of the whole city. And through this man he and his ilk took control of the whole valley and turned it into the desert. The Utashtegu have not forgotten how they fell, and will not, at least for the time being."
After they were fed and the young Khandi boys sent away they began their march through the rocky hillsides again, Dhraloku leading as Uial the elf had done before, picking out paths that twisted this way and that. The young chieftain hummed to himself and walked lightly upon the floor, to the point where he left little in the way of tracks and spoke often to Mithrandir whom he called "Grandfather". They spoke often of the West and what manner of people lived there; the youth seemed to know a great deal about the Tales of Beleriand and often asked about what happened to the elves, which he called Kadjinai- earth spirits.
The towering pillars of rock around them became taller and taller, almost the size of mountains and slowly they realized they were walking through an old dead river bed that spanned wide as a great lake. The towers were like tall islands that would have stood menacing in the river's flow. The mountains lay beyond them to the West for they had circled the southern finger of the range and had re-entered the valley of fire, which was dominated by these towers of red stone. A yellow river to the west was all that remained of the dried up river bed and yet it was still a sight to behold for it was about the size of the Anduin and flowed warm and slow. No vegetation grew beside it save for a few minor bushes and stunted trees, but here and there a few scattered remnant of people could be seen gathering water at the river's edge and sifting out a large amount of yellowish sediment just to make the water more clear. Dhraloku led them to one particularly large tower and stopped. He turned to Mithrandir and said
"Grandfather, you shall follow Shalquidlku and I up the tower, your men must remain upon the ground. If they wish to be safe they can climb the other towers but only you can follow me and no other."
If he wanted to Mithrandir could have easily refused and demanded his troops follow him but instead thought it best to follow the young man's orders. He ordered his men to climb one of the smaller towers which had a long slope that made the climb less strenuous for them. He followed Pallando and the young man up the rocks, every so often using his staff as leverage to get his body up the steep climb. Suddenly and without warning the rocks and slippery sandy ground of the incline gave way to actual caved stone stairs. How and why these steps found themselves carved into the red stone towers he could not fathom and looked toward his fellow Maia with a question laden upon his brow. Pallando looked at him with a smile and said,
"It looks familiar does it not Olorin? It took me a long time as well but these towers are indeed the feet of Illuin the tower of old. How easily I had forgotten that it once stood towering over the highest heights of the Orocarni- lighting the North of Arda."
"And this Valley of Fire, is the sea bed of Helcar is it not?"
"Indeed it is, the land has changed much since we last walked it. The sea is no more and the very spring of Cuivienen has dried up or located its self elsewhere, once the forests were cut and burned by the wars that ravaged these lands."
A slight sound from the youth silenced them and they continued their assent; looking over the edge Mithrandir saw that his men had reached the summit of the tower he sent them to. It, like all the other towers was flattened on the top producing a wide table on top. He also saw that on some of the minor towers there were others encamped there; he saw different banners and tents of different peoples and cultures. He could discern a small encampment of Hamadjon with their rounded and domed tents; and also some of the Ayab-Mamuk with their bright red banners. Half an hour had passed and Mithrandir felt the air grow drier yet cooler and enjoyed the respite from the heat; it was also at this time that they had reached the end of the stairs, which broke off and made ascent to the summit impossible. They halted for a time taking in the wide view of the surrounding area.
To the North lay a wider plain filled with more of these towers; they were laid out in a circular pattern and Mithrandir remembered they were placed in a spiral pattern each at different heights and widths climbing higher and higher till Illuin reached its pinnacle where a lamp burned brightly, ere Morgoth Bauglir destroyed it. To the West lay the foothills of the Orocarni, which arched Northwest in a cresent till the center of the mountain range and then they arched Westward until the great red mountains ended at the beginnings of the Iron Hills. To the South lay the vast Valley of Fire and beyond it a dark speck could be discerned amid the distorting vapors given off by the sandy abyss. This dark speck was the dark pinnacle of Khahalazhul, the tower from which Khamul commanded his forces and controlled his Empire. To the east lay the golden river, wide, muddy and slow moving; the river cut in a southward trajectory toward Khahalazhul in a wide bright golden arc. And finally, toward the farther East the Valley began to slope upward again into a distant hill area, beyond which human eyes could not see.
A slight whistle of a nightingale pierced Mithrandir's ears and for a moment he thought, A nightingale? Here? In this wasteland? But suddenly it was made clear when a thick rope descended from the top, notched in equidistant points as a form of ladder. The old man smiled, knowing the nightingale call was obviously the work of the elf, a sound which only the Doriathrim , as of yet, could produce flawlessly. The young man climbed up the rope effortlessly, with the grace of youth and the muscled dexterity of a trained warrior; Pallando did as well, slinging his staff over his shoulder, producing a strap as if from nowhere. When Mithrandir grabbed the rope he marveled at how light it seemed and how it could have been made given the lack of vegetation anywhere in sight. He then realized that the rope had been fashioned from the fibers of human hair, for some parts of it were pitch black and others lighter brown and others, strangely red or gold. When he ascended the top a hand was thrust out to help him with the last foot. He looked up and there in the amber glow of the setting sun stood Uial, elf of Mithlond, Imladris and Lorien. He smiled gravely and wore what would have been considered in the West scandalous. Unlike the full head to toe coverings he wore when Mithrandir first saw him, the elf now wore a loin cloth and a red cape wrapped around his shoulders and nothing much else. His smooth chest supported turquoise and obsidian necklaces, which also incorporated different bundles of bird feathers. Each bundle signified an independent tribe in the nation of the Utashtegu.
When Mithrandir stood at last he looked about him and found that the tower they stood upon could have fit two large halls of the Gondorians yet also understood why only he could have ascended the tower and not his men, for the entire summit of the mesa was filled with a variety of people in different garb, some familiar to the dress of the Harad or Khand, and others were altogether strange. Some wore headdresses of feathers or crowns made of iron with flecks of silver; others wore loin cloths and some wore full robes; some wore blues and others green, and still some wore colors that had not been seen in the halls of men and elves in the West. Yet one thing combined them in their difference, all their faces, save those of the elf, Pallando, and Mithrandir were covered by some veil, scarf or helmet- for even Dhraloku had covered his face with a black scarf. Each delegation sat around a fire in the center; the fire was clearly symbolic for it was small and unnecessary given the heat. To the East sat a delegation that looked primarily Khand by their dress; they wore black and green silk clothing and even had shells blended into their jewelry, obviously a sea-people noted Mithrandir.
Toward the South sat different tribes of Harad and the Ayab-Mamuk, grudgingly sharing a place beside each other as people of the south. To the West sat a delegation of Hamadjon and beside them Narmacil who sat to the left of a tall woman Mithrandir assumed was Hipholuta by the familiar double-edged axe she held in her hand. Narmacil gave a slight smile to Mithrandir reassuring him he was safe still. To the North, finally, sat the leader of the Crow, he was tall, even when seated, and his long straight hair fell over his shoulders and onto his firm bronze chest. He wore a crown of black feathers and he held a staff upon which hung gourds that rattled like rain when they moved.
His chin was smooth and rounded and his piercing black eyes seemed teeming with a quiet flame. He looked upon Mithrandir with a general reserve, cautious and yet inspective; in front of his face he wore a gray scarf that covered his nose and mouth. To his right sat Ciryaher, at least in face and form it seemed to be Ciryaher- he now had a full beard surrounding his chin and jaw and his hair had grown beyond his shoulders in large wavy curls. His formerly white tunic was now slightly beige from age and use and parts of it had been repaired. His leggings were now mostly made of patches and did little to hide the fact that he had grown from the youth he once was in just a short year. His shoulders were broader, his arms thicker and covered with more golden wisps of hair. His bright blue eyes shone out from a sun-reddened face and he appeared to be smiling at the old Istar; he was not bound, which was a blessing yet he sat on the floor below the seated figure of the Chief of the Crow and Dhraloku beside him. Behind them sat a strange and enigmatic figure. She sat beneath a dais and of all was the most ornately dressed.
Upon her head, nestled in her braided hair she wore a crown which fanned in the back forming a crescent moon. The crown had a veil descending covering her face. The veil was sheer and a bright purple color, with silver embroidery covering it. Through the thin veil deep black eyes gaxed out, which like Dhraloku's, peered into Mithrandir with an uneasy familiarity. Her eyes were accentuated with a deep black make-up that finely curved around the almond shape of her eyes. She wore a sable dress also embroidered with gray and blue designs that seemed to resemble a variety of figures, one of which was Menelmacar, the constellation of the hunter. She wore a scarlet sash about her waist and upon her hands and bare feet were ochre tattoos that curved this way and that about her body. She sat almost perfectly still amid a larger circle of women, both young and old which surrounded the council.
Mithrandir was bidden to sit upon the floor beside Pallando and Uial; as he did a tall Ayab-Mamuk stood and spoke in Alamb-Harad, the common tongue of the East,
"Friends and associates, brothers and sisters in the Unending War! We have come here this night to the Tower Plain to hold our Council. Three years have passed since this council last met in full assembly; and one year has passed since the tide in the war has changed. The Ayab Mamuk were among the first to warn this council that the Great Kingdom of the West was stirring to make war, and look it has now happened!"
The tall man pointed to Ciryaher and said,
"This boy, came to us, and said he was a king. He promised us great wealth if we helped him, and great power if we called our men and warriors under his banner- the Dark One has done this before and has promised the very same. Would he have come to the Ayab-Mamuk first he would have been slain as nothing more than a messenger of Khahalazhul; for it is not uncommon for the spies of the enemy to feign opposition while seeing where our havens lie. Yet the wisdom of the Utashtegu proved well, for he now sits before you, awaiting your judgement. Is he false? Or is he to be trusted, only you must find this out. Let him speak! Let him answer to our demands now!"
Mithrandir felt the anger and resentment rise in the crowd so suddenly he nearly forgot the hospitality the Ayab-Mamuk showed him a few days ago. Ciryaher looked frightened then as the tall, black man shook his finger at him and uttered these words in his direction. Yet Mithrandir saw that his eyes had anger also and he hoped this would spur him to defend himself and his country. Yet instead of him rising the leader of the Crow stood and addressed the crowd,
"Friends, I have lived in these mountains and in this desert all my life. My grandfather built the very foundation stones that encircle Khahalazhul and once claimed his fealty to the Dark One; my grandmothers worked the fields that surrounded the city and bathed in the cool waters of blessed Khavulo, before it faded with the sun. I have known the servants of the Dark One all my life, and this boy, this man, cannot be one of them. For one year he has stayed in my home, and humbled himself. His only sin is pride at meeting a nation he thought small and powerless, but we are not so are we?"
A great cry rose up from the crowd, they hung on every word he said, and some even raised their swords in acceptance of what he said. He raised his hand to calm them and when their shouts subsided he said softly but firmly
"So listen to him; as head of this council I beg of you, listen to him as he has listened to us…"
He presented an open palm to Ciryaher and ordered him to stand up. Mithrandir was amazed at the young man's change; no longer did he saunter or raise his face to the sky as a peacock; as that petulant and foolish king who ordered men to walk across an unending desert. He bowed his head and walked softly to the center of the council; there were sneers and some looked upon him with regard, while others spoke in whispers to their companions. Ciryaher spoke out, in a voice at first quivering and then growing strong, his grasp of Alamb-Harad was limited and produced some snickers from the crowd which were quickly quieted.
"Good meetings, Ciryaher of Gondor am I be; I come from many miles, to be for the fighting against the Dark One, the one we call Khamul. I now come thinking I find no one only Barbarians."
At this boos and shouts erupted, particularly from the Harad, Ayab-Mamuk and even some Utashtegu, who brandished their swords and beat their scabbards upon the ground. But the veiled woman raised her hand and the women on the outer circle whispered something to the men they sat behind. The shouts quieted down and nervously Ciryaher corrected himself,
"I…I came and I thought I would find Barbarians, but I found, good hosts and warriors very skilled and strong be. Warriors, who I now ask for help, who my country now for help is asking…"
As he continued Mithrandir looked at the veiled woman who looked intently at Ciryaher, her hands tying knots with thread, making a rope with a series of knots at different places. He leaned toward Uial and whispered in his ear,
"Who is she that seems to be able to control all that are gathered here and who are these women?"
Uial looked at her and said in a faint whisper,
"The women are easier to answer; they are the wives and mothers of the delegates gathered here, they are here to ensure that their husbands and sons do not forget the people they represent. The only one who is not here is Hipherom, the husband of Hipholuta, his voice would have been needed here and he was well respected by the other women. When they were told of his death they almost stopped the entire council.
Understand Mithrandir were they not here the Council would be just a gathering of warriors and leaders, the wives represent the other people who cannot be here, it is for this reason that they have such great power, but power you cannot see.
As for the woman, their leader, well, she is known by many names; she is both revered and feared among the leaders of the Council, for she holds the only power to turn away any decision made by the Council and bind them to oaths and action. They owe her allegiance and respect…you have only heard of her as Queen Ashthera. One woman from the outer circle is chosen for this role; she could be the wife, sister, daughter or mother of any one gathered here and she is chosen only by the others of the outer circle."
Mithrandir looked at her and said,
"Then she is Dhraloku's wife, or his mother? For Hipholuta said she was of the Utashtegu."
Uial smiled and said,
"She could be any one's wife Mithrandir. Have you not been listening? The Utashtegu cement their alliances with an arcane and ancient tradition of marriage contract. They marry their young people to other tribes and forge bonds that ensure their protection and strength. Queen Ashthera could be the wife of the Ayab-Mamuk, or the husband of one of the Hamadjon generals there…or she could even be the wife of one of the lower men here on the ground."
Mithrandir, understood when he was being played with; the elf was telling him to listen to what he was being told, which he had been doing, but the elf was also reminding him that much of what was done in this council was done without words. The subtle, gentle nudging the wives gave their husbands, telling them what questions to ask. The silent whispers and eye movements which directed who was to talk next. This was true power, the power to rule from behind and in secret; that is why this council had no qualms about meeting on an open mountain top where any flying spy of the enemy could see them. For to the untrained eye, the Council was chaotic, unmanned and unruly, and surely Khamul underestimated their organization, but they had endured his assaults and thrived in a desert that would have destroyed lesser peoples. Mithrandir's quick eyes followed the eyes of Queen Ashthera and understood now that everyone gathered knew who was going to speak next and what question they would ask to get the answer they wanted. Ciryaher turned from question to question, speaking in his broken Alamb-Harad, about the cause of this war and what he could offer them. He spoke of Gondor and how large its army was, he spoke of his father, and even spoke of Saruman and his forces in the south.
All the while those gathered talked amongst themselves and a greater conversation was whispered on the outer circle and it seemed to Mithrandir to be like a musical symphony. Many instruments playing their own part; playing an independent song amidst the din, but also part of a greater melody, culminating to myriad climaxes and crescendos. And one unifying theme rang out among the chaos, and Mithrandir saw it after it was too late. The Council had already decided the fate of Ciryaher and what they would do; they were merely gathering the truth out of the king like drawing water from an urn.
By the time he figured it out Ciryaher had told them of Gondor's armies and their secrets; the foolish boy of a king was unprepared for what he had walked into. The chieftain of the Crow stood silencing the crowd, the Queen's eyelashes blinked slowly and the conversation in the outer circle stopped. Ciryaher stood dazed and wide eyed at what had happened, like a child who confessed to a lie to his parent without even realizing it. He sat back down upon the floor and the tall raven haired man spoke,
"We have ended this debate, for one year we have talked and debated…well no more! You have heard the truth from his own mouth, you know he plans to go through with this war. As head of this Council I move…no I demand that we usher our decree now!"
The other delegates looked at each other and spoke in their own tongues to one another. The Queen silently folded her hands over her lap and ceased tying knots; her hair blew listlessly in the wind, sparkling in the moonlight. Uial leaned in to Mithrandir's ear and said,
"The Queen has the final vote in this matter; they will look to her to see if they are bound to the council's decision or not. Understand Mithrandir, Ciryaher and Gondor's fate was decided long before you arrived at our doorstep, what was missing was Gondor's part in all of this. They have heard only half-truths and rumors till now and Ciryaher, like a good King and Commander kept Gondor's plans close to his heart. These people have known the trouble with secrecy and half-truths; it was the only way to know the truth."
Mithrandir furrowed his brow and a thought arose in his head, they did not torture the young king, they did not ransom anyone for his secrets. No they brought it out of him in such a slow way that he was unaware he had done it. And, afterall, this was their land Ciryaher wished to bring war to, true it was not against them, but it would have affected them deeply, whether they helped him or not. Did they not have the right to know what Gondor was bringing upon them?
The Council deliberated for almost an hour before Dhraloku stood and said,
"It is enough, daylight comes soon and we have been doing this for a long time. The Utashtegu have decided: We shall help the foreigners in any way we can. They promise to bring peace to these lands and recapture Khazhul the jewel of the Utashtegu nation, and we trust them in that act."
He sat and the delegates talked amongst themselves again. The chief of the Crow stood and said plainly,
"The Crow have long been a part of this war, and we want to see it brought to a final end; our voice is settled to aid the King of the Western Lands."
The eyes of the delegates looked to the Khand whose delegates picked up their swords silently and threw dirt into the sand, they abstained from voting. The Harad delegates stood and said,
"This is not only Utashtegu land being fought on, it is Harad land also, Khahalazhul is also the land of our kin. Would that we no longer lived under the yolk of the Dark One… The cost is too high to expect us to turn against our kin. We hold true to our oath and bond and shall not attack others of this Council. But we shall not turn our swords and arrows against our kin even if they serve the One Who is Hated. We say, No!"
The delegation from the Ayab-Mamuk stood after a few others had spoke, some agreeing to help, others abstaining and still others refusing. The delegate from the Ayab-Mamuk looked upon his comrades and said,
"They cannot promise a victory so we cannot promise our help will work, or that our men will not die in vain. The Ayab-Mamuk refuse to let this council send our men and our precious Mumak to war."
Finally the delegate from the Hamadjon stood, she was quiet at first and then she placed her hand upon Narmacil's shoulder,
"This youth faced great danger to return our beloved Hipherom to us; he was willing to die to ensure that his body was given the last rites of our people and sent to the loving bosom of our goddesses. Before this, we too did not trust the men of Gondor, but now there is some valor in them. And we Hamadjon have never backed away from the fight. We say yes!"
A collective sigh went out, Mithrandir took account of the verdict. Of the 15 nations gathered there who spoke and gave testimony, 4 abstained, 3 agreed to help, and 8 refused. It was clear to him that Ciryaher and his army would be sent back to Gondor or killed, he was not sure. Then he realized that all had gone silent and all eyes were turned to the Queen. A woman on her right whispered into her ear and when she had finished the Queen stood. In a deep, husky, voice she uttered these words,
"The Council shall not be bound to aid in this war…however, those who have uttered their support shall be allowed to act upon their decision and those who have voiced their descent shall not be bound to sacrifice warrior or food for this war. In one year's time this Council shall gather again under the crescent moon, and decide its path. Go now and struggle on"
She raised her hands in defiance to the small speck of black in the distance,
"Until the end!"
To which all gathered replied,
"Until the end!"
After the council they left one nation by one tribe in silence; Mithrandir could tell by the look on Uial's face he should not say anything until they were alone. He looked at the distance toward the West, where he left Radagast his dear friend by the cool woods of Lorien; he wondered then what his friend was doing and what the affairs in the West were, a place that he had begun to know as his home. He then looked at Uial who was looking into the West as he was, perhaps trying to use the keen eyes of the elves to see the place he once called home also. The elf's thoughts turned to Cirdan who sat alone in his hall, peering at a map of Middle-earth. It was the first time he had been alone in many days and in those brief moments he would look at old maps of the east, not making plans but wondering in the depths of his heart where was the one he called his perion, the half son of a brother long dead. And in those brief moments the Shipwright once called Nolwe would wipe a rare and brief tear from his cheek.