Faded Light: Book II

(For additional notes and disclaimers, please see top of Chapter 1.)

= I hope everyone is having a great new year, and here is the next chapter. This is part one of a two-parter; the next one should be up by the end of the week. There are a few things going on in this one and the next one, as I am, at this point, trying to set up the story lines that will follow in Book 3...

Enjoy, and please don't forget to review; I'm a review junkie and haven't had any for a couple of weeks... =


Chapter 24

The Letter Pt. 1


The courtesan sat alone for a long time that morning, pen and paper in hand and once more considered carefully the plan that had begun to form in his mind, and the heartache that he must endure with it.

Long ago, he had ceased to imagine any sort of redemption for himself, but with the help of Rumil and his brothers, he might yet find freedom for his child.

Valar, give me strength enough, he pleaded. It is time I let go; no matter how much it pains me...she deserves better than being the child of a Haradrim raw mul. And if I should finally fade, I must know she will be safe...

Never had he thought to be so close to her; oftentimes in the beginning he had feared his heart might have become hardened or closed off even to his child. He had been glad then to entrust Amanyar with Mel’s upbringing, grasping what little joy he could from their moments together...yet, somehow, from an early age, the Elfling had become very much attached to her father; maybe because he was the only other Elf she had ever seen.

But Mel was growing up...what would she think when she was old enough to understand what her Adar was...?

He could never bear to see it if she despised him for it.

He looked at the paper apprehensively. Many times, he had imagined what he would say to his loved ones, should he ever meet them again, but it was far more frustrating trying to actually put such thoughts into writing.

“I hope you will understand, Feredir,” he said into the air and set his pen on the white paper.

“There is so much I would like to say to you, Gwador Nin...”


==================================


“...it seems this is my week for renewing unwelcome acquaintances,” said Tadion, dropping his horse’s lead, as he entered the stable and found the last person on Arda he wanted to be within a hundred miles of. “What do you want?”

“Can’t a person pay a friendly visit to one’s family,” said the other Elf, his tone as smooth-sounding as it had ever been even at his worst, but Tadion knew better, “especially after such a very long time...”

“There’s nothing friendly about you,” said the healer, trying to appear completely self-possessed, and show none of the panic that was quickly threatening to undo him, “and we’re not family; you’re no better than an Orc...”

“...it seems you’ve developed quite a quick tongue since I’ve been away, nur-haer o nin...”

For a second the youth thought of trying to make it back out the entrance, but he knew from experience what trying to run would probably get him, so he took another step inside and along the wall near where he knew there should be a convenient pitchfork leaning behind a beam, assuming it was still there...

Tadion stopped, as the other came closer and reached out, “…you don’t know how often you’ve been on my mind, Irima Quen...”

His skin crawled at the old hated “endearment,” and he felt his last meal trying to escape, but he kept his eyes on the floor, pretending to still be the helpless victim Funion had always expected...just long enough...

“Don’t - tempt - me...” said the youth slowly, passive expression changing completely, as Funion stopped and looked down, seeing the unusually large dagger Tadion had begun carrying upon learning of Funion’s reappointment to the Palace pressing just slightly into his abdomen...

The dark-haired Elf smiled wolfishly and took a step back, “It seems you have learned a few new things while I’ve been gone...

“Though I had heard you were a Healer now,” he said, “isn’t there something in that Oath of yours about protecting life...”

“Did you really think after four centuries I would still be the same helpless Elfling you abused...?

“I completed my warrior’s training just like every other Elf in his four-hundreds, and I had more reason than others to make the most of it,” he tightened his grip on the knife, “so believe that I know how to use this...

“And I am quite a skilled healer, so you can be sure too that I’d know just where to aim to kill you or just make it hurt a lot...though I did not need to study the Healing Arts to teach me about pain, did I; you provided those lessons more than adequately...

“As for my Oath,” he said, “ridding Arda of you should be considered a service to Elvenkind...and Humankind, and to any other unfortunate race your path may have crossed...” he took two more steps backwards, gesturing for Funion to stay where he was, and with his free hand reached for the pitchfork which the other had fortunately left in its place or simply not found.

“...now get out of my house...!” he managed through clenched teeth...

“We’ll see each other again, tithen nur-haer o nin...don’t think things have changed that much...”

He laughed mockingly as he reached the entrance, “You know, I’ve heard about you and His Highness,” he said, “even in the wilds to where Hirgon has kept me exiled.”

“I must remember to send him a thank you note,” said the young Healer, sarcastically. “He may have been a worthless brother, but at least he did me that one favor...”

“What would your prince say, I wonder,” the dark-haired Elf went on and laughed again, ignoring the comment, “if he knew what kind of vara you really are...? Tell me, did you really let him think you were still nesse the first time he bed you...?

“Someone really should warn this one...after all, we wouldn’t want the King’s heir to end up like Tahlsalion...”

“Get out...”

Funion’s mocking words and hateful laughter lingered in the barn in his ears even after the Elf had gone...

The young Healer sheathed his knife again but kept the pitchfork handy while he bolted the stable door and checked the windows; he then went into the house thankful for the hidden entrance he had had put in when he took this house, his knife back in his hand and twice checked every other door and window and every room downstairs and up, including the cellar and its windows, before going into his room...blocking the door with one of the side tables just in case...

It was there that Leralonde found him later, in the midst of what seemed to be a complete nervous breakdown...still, holding the knife in a death grip, with a look as if he were just waiting for some fell thing to come through the door...


==============================


At the end of a blazing Harad summer, the palace kitchens always became an inferno second only, he was sure, to the depths of Mordor.

He seldom went down there unless he had to and hated the thought of his daughter in such a place. Though he knew firsthand there were in fact far worse places for a slave.

“Amanyar...have you seen, Mel?” he tried to shout over the din, as he found the old Haradrim Woman in the middle of preparing that night’s supper, the pain in his throat an immediate reminder to keep his voice down.

“She ain’t here,” she said, a stern look on her haggard face, as she scolded a young slave chopping up some unsavory-looking vegetable.

“I kept her busy in here all this morn, so I let her go off and play a little while ago with that friend of hers, Katya...”

The slave went on giving instructions to her beleaguered staff, apparently forgetting the Elf.

For some reason, he was reminded of the first time he had met the old kitchen woman, the first time she had brought Mel to him during the long, excruciating convalescence, which followed her birth.

...he had been sitting in his cot in the healing tent, still in too much pain to move around much and bored out of his mind with nothing but his dark thoughts for company, contemplating his new future as part of the King’s harem when the old Woman entered the tent, a bundle of blankets in her arms...

“Excuse me,” she curtsied politely, “...Prince Emau said I should bring the child this morn...

“I’m Amanyar...” she curtsied again.

He sat up straighter, ignoring the pain, his eyes fixed on the small bundle she carried...

“His Highness told me you don’t speak,” she moved to the side of the cot and carefully placed the infant into his arms...

It had been the first time he had ever been allowed to hold a child of his...he had lost all hope that he ever would...though he had the Prince’s promise that the child was well and would be brought to him when he felt stronger, he was sure he had not really believed it until this moment.

“She seems to know who you are already...” said the Woman.

For a long moment, he couldn’t take his eyes off the little face gazing up curiously at him...when he finally looked he found Amanyar watching him closely.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You just seem so much younger than I imagined...”

For some reason those words had only made him feel worse...

“You two should spend some time together...I’ll be back in an hour or two...she’s been fed and changed, so she shouldn’t fuss...

She smiled, “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a sweet-tempered baby...”

He couldn’t speak then, so he laid a hand on her arm as a gesture of thanks, which she seemed to understand...


==============================


“Can I talk to you a minute,” said the slave woman turning back to the courtesan, and pulled him slightly to one side, her face a little less harsh. “It’s about that necklace you gave Mel...”

He frowned; he had expressly told Mel to keep the necklace out of sight.

“...I don’t know anything about it,” she went on seeing the look on his face, “you know I like to mind my business...

“I don’t even really know what it looked like...but she lost it...”

“Oh...”

“She was upset, she was afraid you’d be angry with her...”

“It was only a trinket,” he said, “easily replaced...but thank you for telling me, I’ll talk to her...”

“She and Katya are probably over by the wall,” she told him, as she went back to her work, “they like to watch the caravans coming and going...”

“Hannon le, Amanyar.”


===========================


“...it looks like it’ll be raining heavily by morning,” said the Princess gazing out the closed doors to the terrace. “It’s been an unusually dry winter, but we should still be able to make it up, if we get enough rain before the start of summer...”

“You’re preoccupied...” said Elrond pouring himself another cup of warm tea.

She looked at him askance.

“I think I’ve known you long enough to interpret that look, and your method of evading a subject you find particularly troubling,” said the Lord of Rivendell.

“Aye,” she crossed her arms and looked back out her window. “More centuries than I care to count.

“Do you remember that day Adar introduced us? It was not long before the Last Alliance and you came to Mirkwood...”

“That was a most memorable visit...” he smiled fondly.

“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if we had made other choices...?”

“I have,” he said. “But I think we make far better friends...

“Besides, we both knew you would never have left Mirkwood for Rivendell...especially, after the War...”

He shrugged, “And we both fell in love with other people...the people we were meant to be with...

“Do you have regrets?” he asked curiously.

“Nay...my place has always been here. And I do love Ruthlagor; even if his obstinacy infuriates me sometimes...”

She came back to sit behind her desk and picked up her barely touched teacup...

“Now, tell me, Mereniel, what’s on your mind?” he asked.

She set the cup back on the tray, regarding the bowl of apples slices for a moment before taking one and offering the dish to Elrond, which he politely declined.

“...I see you still have a fondness for those sour apples,” he said. “It’s not a taste I ever acquired...

“You’re thinking about what happened yesterday in the garden...” he tried again.

“I’ve thought of little else,” she admitted. “I did not think such magic existed anymore in Mirkwood...


'I’ve also been thinking of Palanel...”

“He was one of my best students,” he said regretfully, thinking of the Ellon who had been Feredir’s Colindo and gone to Valinor so many centuries ago. “He would have been a great Healer...if so many things had not happened as they did...”

“I remember Thalielwen telling me how he used to find injured animals in the forest when he was a child and heal them,” said the Princess, “...like that little bird Benain found...”

“What has Thranduil said about what happened in the garden?”

“You know, Elrond, how I love my brother, but he is the most stubborn Elf; he would try our father’s patience...”

"He did more than once, as I recall..."

She took a deep breath and sat back in her chair, “He said he would look into the old reports of any missing children over the past twenty years. He thinks you might have overlooked something when you investigated the matter after Feredir found Benain.”

“I don’t think it’s stubbornness alone, Highness...” said Elrond.

“He has spent all these years grieving for his lost son; if it were I, I doubt I’d be any more willing to cling to a mirage...”

“What if it’s something more than a mirage?”

“Maybe the King’s attitude is not entirely a bad thing.

“If someone else suspected this child is somehow connected to Legolas, and they thought the king believed it too, the boy could be in danger...”


===========================


TBC...


Elvish translations:

Raw mul / whore (from raw / flesh and mul / slave, so “slave of the flesh.”)

Adar, ada / Father, dad, daddy

Gwador nin / my brother (literally, sworn brother or, in this case, adopted brother)

Irima / lovely, desirable

Quen / one

Tithen / little

Nur-haer o nin / (first) cousin, from: (-nur / kinsman; haer / side; nin / my; o(h) / from.
(Literally, kinsman on my (mother’s) or (father’s) side. Some terms for Elvish relationships are apparently non-existent, so I’ve been playing around with what Tolkien did create and improvising...)

Vara / dirty, soiled

Nesse / virgin (From: Venesse / virginity)

Hannon le / thank you

Aranel / Princess

Colindo / bearer, carrier (For the purposes of this story, a fertile male who bears a child.)