Faded Light: Book II

(For additional notes and disclaimers, please see top of Chapter 1. I own none of Tolkien’s world, only the story and my own OC’s.)

- Here's a new one, which I decided to post a few days early. (From this chapter on I have done some editing, so if you read this story the first time it was posted, you might notice a few changes. I didn't really take anything out; I just reorganized the order of some scenes. Hopefully this version works just as well.)

Thank you to those who have been reviewing...BronxWench and Del, I'm glad you liked the part with Ithilhen and Benain; there are other chapters with Benain coming up soon...(and even though it's a long way off, I've had the scene where Legolas finally meets his son written in my head for awhile; I can't wait to get to it...) Enjoy, and thanks in advance for any feedback... -


Chapter 18

Darkness

“...are you planning on staying in that chair for the rest of your eternity?”

The courtesan said nothing, his eyes still on some distant place.

It had been a week since the incident in the garden with Arya and other than the nights when the King had called for him, the Elven slave had done little else but sit in his room, staring at the walls and trying to escape his grief with those mind-numbing herbs...

“If you really want to kill yourself there are faster ways,” said Numair gesturing to the water glasses and half-crushed herbs on the nightstand.

The Elf finally looked up wearily at the Haradrim slave. “I’ve tried those...this is far preferable.

“No one minds, when a whore takes the slow way of killing themselves.”

“I doubt the King would agree...he indulges in many things, but he has a very low opinion of people who give themselves over to this particular vice.” He again gestured to the herbs.

“Worry not,” said the slave, looking away once again. “I always make sure I have a clear head when I go to the King...”

“Did you get it from Mistress Varis? She’s been warned about sharing her bad habits with the rest of the slaves.”

“Are you planning on telling?”

“Of course not.

“All this over a lie that man made up to cause you pain...?” said the Haradrim after a long silence. “After all this time, I would have thought you of all people to be past his manipulations...”

“How do I know he made it up...?” said the courtesan, closing his eyes as he failed in keeping the pain out of his voice. “How can I know my child was really dead when they took him away...? I was never allowed to see him...”

“You know Arya well enough to know the venom and lies that come from his lips...

“And you have told me the child did not cry out when it was born...besides, what would you have done if you had known it was alive? Arya would probably have told you he’d sold it or some equally horrible thing and enjoyed your pain.”

The courtesan took another long sip from his glass, not wanting to hear the sense in the other slave’s words.

After all these years his single, fleeting glimpse of his child still haunted him, A tiny, pink Elfling, so still in the midwife’s hands...a shot of fine, pale hair that matched his own...

And Amalda, the old slave Arya kept as a maid, since she was no longer young or desirable enough to attract many customers as a whore, was there almost every day for weeks afterwards, while he slowly recovered from the ordeal of the birth, much to Arya’s intense annoyance ...and she never said anything, never offered a hint...

How could I simply believe what they wished me to...

It had been a son, Arya himself had confirmed it, as he had always known it would be...a Prince of the direct Royal Line and the next rightful heir to Oropher’s throne.

He was beyond forgiveness.

One was supposed to protect the children one was entrusted with; he had never been able to. He had let Arya take his son and Valar only knew what had become of him in the slaver’s hands, and then the war...

He had failed more than his son, he had failed his very bloodline...

A name was whispered in the back of his mind that he had refused to even think in these seventeen years...but it reminded itself now; the secret name he had given his child in the few months they had together while he was growing inside him...

Novnarion...even the thought was like a cut inside his chest; it was the only gift he was ever able to give his child though he would never allow himself to speak it aloud...

“You have to stop tormenting yourself with this,” Numair was saying, “it has been seventeen years; even if anything Arya said was true, which I do not believe, there is nothing you can do now and nothing you could have done then...

“I do not wish to be cruel, but it’s the truth. “

He took a nearby chair and leaned forward taking the almost empty glass from the Elf’s hand, “If the child did live, and Amalda took it,” he said, his tone more sympathetic than it had been, “maybe it was because she cared enough that she could not leave it in Arya’s hands...

“And maybe they somehow found a safe place...if with nothing else, comfort yourself with that thought...

“Meanwhile, there is another child who needs you now...Mel is worried about you though she stopped coming to the door after the first few days.

“She’ll stay away now, while she thinks you’re still angry,” he said. “No matter how unhappy she is, until she believes you want to see her.”

“I was never angry...I...I should not have scolded her...

“If she and Princess Saterah had not appeared when they did, Arya would have...” he trailed off; what difference would it make now if Arya or anyone else forced themselves on him? he thought. There was hardly a shred remaining of his honor that he should even try to resist...

“So why don’t you go find her?”

The courtesan closed his eyes wearily and sat back in his chair, “I hate for her to see me like this...when I feel so close to drowning...

“I have grown too tired of trying to fight back the shadows...I do not know how much more there is left in me...and she deserves so much more than having someone like me for a parent...”

“Don’t be daft; I’ve seen you together. There is hardly a more doting father, and she adores you...

“And what of Mel if you let yourself die,” chastised the Haradrim, “do you realize Arya probably won’t wait until you’re buried before he tries to buy her from the king?”

“I will make sure Mel is safe,” he said, looking out into the small courtyard outside his window; he had missed the sight of his smiling Elfling playing out there. “And then...”

“...and then? Just what exactly is going on in that Elvish brain of yours?”

“It is better you do not know, Numair...that way you do not have to feign ignorance...”

“You’re scaring me, Dafi. But maybe you’re right...maybe I’d rather not know anything...I’d much prefer to keep my head.”

“Hannon le, Numair,” he said sincerely and smiled.

“For what?”

“For your concern and your friendship these past years...”

“I’m just doing my job,” grumbled the Man, standing up and moving to clean up the clutter the Elf had let gather in his rooms in the last week.

“Thank you, anyway.”

“Why do I feel like this is a preemptive farewell...?”


TBC...


Elvish Translations:

Novnarion / Free child of the green woods

Hannon le / Thank you