Chapter 35 Memories

There were rare moments when tranquility managed to assert itself amid the usual chaos that reigned in the fortress. Nienor reminisced about those infrequent occasions when she experienced a particular tenderness in the arms of the one she had once fled.

On a day from the distant past, Nienor lay in a vast bed adorned with pristine sheets. She felt arms embracing her waist, warm breath caressing her ear, and a body nestled against hers. Although dawn had barely broken, sleep eluded her. Enveloped in a cocoon of warmth, the heat almost became suffocating. The sheet clung to her thighs, prompting her to turn onto her back, using her legs to free the sheet and reveal them. The arms around her loosened, followed by a deep sigh in the serene room, succeeded by a protracted and lingering kiss on the hollow of her collarbones. With her gaze fixed on the ceiling, Nienor struggled to resist her own emotions. She desired... she was determined to maintain a final line of defense. Once again, the arms tightened around her, compelling her to face her assailant. He stole a kiss before running his hand through her hair.

Darken, his face bathed in the pale light of dawn, observed her—or rather, contemplated her—his Nienor in the clear morning. He took pride in her beauty and reveled in the fact that she was his wife. Running his hand through her blonde locks, he slid his fingers to their tips. After studying her carefully, his dark eyes met Nienor's, and it was she who broke the silence.

'It's stiffing in here.'

And Nienor hoped he would get up, go freshen up, and leave her alone to join Farewell. But he did none of that. Contrary to her wishes, he merely nodded and suggested, 'We should open the windows...'

Understanding the implicit command in his words, Nienor rose without bothering to cover herself and went to open the windows of the room. A refreshing breeze immediately greeted her face, bringing with it the sounds of the world outside. From the top of the tower, she could observe without being observed, and she relished in it. During the day, her view stretched for miles—from the waves against the shore to the distant horizon. Nothing extraordinary, she often thought, but here, the wind was pure.

Darken, now seated against the bed's backrest, his black hair cascading over his muscular and scar-marked shoulders from battles and burns, cradled Aradan in his arms. The baby was still asleep. This scene was rare. Standing there for a moment, arms hanging, Nienor watched as Darken meticulously examined every feature of their child. Beautiful as well, Aradan had his eyebrows stroked by Darken's finger, accompanied by murmurs Nienor had never heard—'what a treasure.'

Tentatively at first, then with growing assurance, she joined them in bed, propelled by the understanding that it was their son he held. She had succeeded in making him proud; he was proud of her, and perhaps now, he loved her. A unique feeling of power surged within her, as he now owed her respect. After so many years, so many failures. She, too, nestled against him. The warmth she felt was not unpleasant. On the contrary.

'He's been asleep for a long time,' Nienor said, stroking the light black fuzz covering their son's head.

'Because he needs rest. It's the Gift that makes him like that,' he smiled.

'You should spend some time with him,' Nienor ventured.

'Why?'

'To get to know him better.'

'To get to know him better,' Darken repeated slowly. "He's a baby, what do you want us to discuss?'

'I'm sure he would appreciate it. He'll feel your presence... your interest.'

'But I have things to discuss with Farewell.'

'Postpone the meeting to later,' it was the boldest thing she had said, and the sun had barely risen. 'I really think Aradan would appreciate your presence today. The Gift must surely create something between you two, right?'

'Postpone?' A grimace distorted Darken's usually serene face. Farewell probably wouldn't agree with that and would grumble about the delay they would take. But Nienor was right. Before starting Aradan's training, he needed to know him; they needed to know each other.

Seeing his face relax again, Nienor continued in the same vein. 'Is this meeting of high importance? I could go for you if not.'

'Go in my place?' Farewell wouldn't like it. But the meeting wasn't of the utmost importance as Nienor claimed. Farewell would inform him about the state of their resources and the business going on with Mordor and the progress of the war. Since Aradan's birth, he had never taken the time to hold him for more than a few minutes. Their resources? A bitter smile dried up the serene expression on his face. Farewell was the best strategist he had known. He had even become a friend, a confidant in a way. He was the only person Darken truly trusted. So, he treated him well, with respect and consideration. But it was his kingdom. His dominion. Down there, they were his soldiers, his servants, his horses, everything was his; it was his territory. But Farewell took liberties from time to time, and Darken saw it, corrected it, but Farewell was stubborn and well aware that he was indispensable to Darken's work.

Farewell had learned to despise Nienor, to look down on her, and he didn't hesitate to do so in front of him. Sending Nienor would give her power over him. She would be the one to take the King's seat, open the session, and sign the parchments, and she would be the one to grant him the floor. Oh, that would be amusing, Darken thought.

'Very well, you will go in my place,' he said. 'You will go, and you will report to me every piece of information, understood?'

'I won't fail, Darken.'

'I know you won't.'

A shiver ran down Nienor's spine and froze her. Darken's tone was threatening and soft at the same time. She smiled vaguely, becoming aware of the new responsibility bestowed upon her for just one day.