Faded Light: Book II

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


Chapter 5

Muindyr


The crowds in the city center had seldom been this thin except for the past two years when a devastating summer plague had swept through this region of the kingdom.

Though in Javad’s Capital, it had struck mainly among the poorer classes, in fear, many wealthy households had now restricted their slaves' movements through the city, until the season and its ills had passed.

The King's Elven courtesan, however, immune as he was to such things, had been drafted, by other of the Palace servants, to carry out whatever errands needed doing in town.

He did not mind, never taking what little freedom he was given for granted; though he knew it was not a task his own assigned servant Numair was ever enthusiastic about.

"I grew up in this quarter, you know,” complained the sullen Haradrim, looking around the shabby street, littered with beggars and rundown dwellings. “The memories are not good ones.

“And do you think it wise to bring the child? You are safe from this pestilence, but she is half Human and may be subject to our illnesses."

"You're probably right,” conceded the courtesan. “She insisted so, that I gave in...I won’t next time...”

“Don’t bother,” he waved aside the rest of the Elf’s statement, “we both know you have a particularly hard time refusing Sararmel anything.”

“I suppose I do,” he said, watching the Elfling who walked cheerfully a short distance ahead of them.

"Numair,” he said, “I must ask one favor of you today.”

"What is that?"

"I have a few other errands today...but I must go to Mena..."

"I think I know your errands well enough," said the other slave. "I will see to them. And to Mel."

"Thank you.

"You'll need to stop by the cobblers as well, on your way back.

"Mel needs to be fitted for a new pair of boots," he said, wanting to think of anything but the coming days and nights, as had been Javad’s arrangement years ago to appease the Priest when he paid off Behdad’s debt and bought the Elf...thus had begun the slave’s instruction in the Haradrim religion.

Several times a year, most often while the King was away, he would be summoned to the Dark Lord’s Temple; though the Priest at least knew never to damage the King's property...

They had turned into the marketplace, and he saw that the Elfling had stopped at an armorer's stand, gazing with particular interest at the bows and quivers of arrows.

She is your daughter after all, he told himself. What is more natural for a child of The Greenwood than to wish for a bow, even when she has never been there?

"I was just a little bit older than you when I got my first real bow," he said, standing just behind her. "My brother gave it to me."

"Do you think I could ever learn to use one," she asked, with all of a child's hope.

"Perhaps, one day, Nin Alasse."

"Were you a good archer, Ada?"

"Everyone seemed to think so," for just a moment, he smiled in a way she had never seen.

"Come along now," he said, the light gone from his eyes again. "I have somewhere I must be. Numair will take you to the boot maker's and finish my other errands."

"Can't I come with you?" she asked unhappily.

"Nay, Little One. Not today,” he said, gently stroking the dark unruly locks. “Stay with Numair and don't wander off."

"Yes, Ada."

"I'll watch her," said the Haradrim slave, taking the Elfling's small hand. "I'll get her safely back to Amanyar."

You just keep yourself together, the Man's dark eyes seemed to say.

"You know where my ada is going, don't you?" asked Mel when her father had disappeared into the small crowd.

They had said nothing more, as they went in different directions, but there was a strange look on both their faces and the glance they had exchanged had deeply unsettled the child.

"Yes, I do. But it is nothing that concerns either of us. Be glad for that," said the Haradrim with finality.

But Mel wasn't giving up yet. "Why is it that every time he goes away like this, for days, he never wants to see me afterwards?" she asked.

Numair looked down at the Elfling, at a loss for an explanation. She seemed so young; he often forgot that Elven children aged differently than Mortals and that she was actually several years older than she appeared.

And all children noticed things, he knew; things their elders would prefer to keep from them, and then they began asking difficult questions.

"Mel, why would you think your ada does not wish to see you...?"

"It's true. Last time, after he went away and came back, he did not leave his room for over a week. Even the windows were shut, and he wouldn't come to the door. And...”

He took a deep breath and would not look at the child now, knowing these were questions only Dafi had a right to deal with. "Just know," he said, "that your father does much to keep those he cares for in one piece."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Valar, give me strength, he thought, doing something he had refused to do for years, having felt forsaken for so long, but his current uncertainty left him little else to do but pray for whatever guidance might come. Let the choices I make now be the right ones, even if there is no hope left for me...

Strolling through the cloth stands, as if it were any other day, he looked around carefully for some recently laid out stall.

Then he saw it; a new shop and a merchant, dressed like any other in the city but who perfectly fit Rumil's description; he was tall and not as dark of complexion as most of the Haradwaith.

Slowly, he made his way to the stand and took his time browsing through the cloths on display, examining their texture and quality, as he watched out of the corner of his eye and made a judgment of the Man, who was helping other customers.

Rumil had called him a friend, but to Dafi all Mortals had come to mean the same thing. They were senselessly cruel, even to one another, and desired only to possess or to destroy anything they thought of value or beautiful.

As a warrior in Mirkwood, he had seen Orcs be less savage. And it always took much to bring himself to trust even fellow slaves like Numair or Mel’s foster mother, Amanyar.

At least Orcs eventually become bored and kill you when they're finished, he recited his oft-repeated mantra.

Having chosen a lacy fabric he thought the king might appreciate and a more durable one for some new tunics for Mel, he caught the dealer's attention who looked at the Elf curiously.

I suppose it is a strange sight; he thought, as he paid, not bothering to haggle. An Elf in Harad, and looking every bit the high-class whore.

"Perhaps you could help me with something else," he said, his voice low.

The look came back into the Man's face.

"I'm looking for someone...an Elf called Haldir. I have news of his youngest brother.

“...if your name is Earnan of Rohan,” he added, turning suddenly to the common tongue.

"Who are you, Master Elf?" the surprised man followed his lead.

"I am no one. And I dare not tarry. But I am told you are a friend.

"Is one of Rumil's brothers here? If not Haldir, Orophin..."

"Perhaps these cloths are not entirely to your liking," said the merchant, returning to a normal tone and to the Haradrim language. "We have others in the back."

He nodded and followed the Man into a small tent behind the stand where a sharp-eyed Elf was waiting, who had been listening in on their brief talk. He was older and more strongly built than Rumil, but there was no doubting the family resemblance.

"Le suilannon," he said. "I am Haldir of Lorien."

"Mae govannen, Haldir." The courtesan did not miss the slight accent, which accompanied his own Elvish now. Though he often used it in private with Mel, it sounded suddenly foreign to his own ears...

"Your brother has spoken of you.”

"You are a friend of Rumil's, then? What is your name, Penneth?"

"The Haradrim call me Dafi."

"You're a slave. That is how you know my brother."

He nodded.

"Please, what news do you bring? He lives, he's well?"

The slave hesitated, unsure of how to respond to the brother's worried questions. And now that he was here, of how to tell Rumil's kin what had befallen him these past months.

"Physically, he is uninjured," he began and faltered. "The Men who brought him here...

“He was sold to one called Arya..."

"Arya?" Haldir looked up at his friend. "That is a name I have heard mentioned in this city."

"He is well-known, though not reputably," the slave went on. "He owns...an establishment, which regularly supplies...pleasure slaves to King Javad’s Court."

All words seemed to leave the other Elf, who stared at Dafi as if he did not understand what he had just been told. It took nearly a minute for the meaning of the tactful phrasing to register.

"Haldir," he merchant took his friend's arm, fearing the blow was too much even for the strong Elf.

But the initial shock in his eyes was quickly replaced with barely checked rage, as he took in the other's words.

"An establishment...a whorehouse you mean?"

He nodded.

"How long since this...Arya," he spat out the word, "how long has he been in that place?"

"We met just after Arya had bought him. That was several months ago."

"Months..." he turned away in near despair, striking the top of a table with his fist.

"It's all right, Mellon," said the Man. "Whatever has happened, we will fulfill what we came to do; we'll not leave him to such torment."

"He's so young yet...he does not deserve anything so cruel.

“Is he...is he fading...?” he asked in a whisper.

“I don’t believe so...not yet.”

“I swear, Earnan, that Man will meet his end on the edge of my blade.”

"Rumil has seen you in the marketplace several times," the slave went on uneasily; thinking, however, how much he would have loved to see it if Arya ever came to such a demise as Haldir promised. "But he could not reach you, and so asked me to come in his stead. I am sorry to have distressed you."

"You've no cause to be sorry," said Earnan. "If your words can aid us."

He nodded and took a deep breath. "You know the low district on the north side?"

"Yes."

"The place is full of brothels. But you'll have no trouble finding Arya's. Nearly everyone with enough coin spends time there.

"Often, however, Arya or one of his servants will escort...certain slaves to the home of some favored patron. Usually one who has been a frequent customer of the brothel and can pay especially well; it's mostly the Court with such privileges.

"They go by cart, if several are wanted, on foot if it's less than three. Your best chance to do anything may be when Rumil alone is taken somewhere else."

There was no emotion in his voice, as he spoke of the workings of the whorehouse, his blue eyes shadowed in pain.

"I must go now," he said softly, returning from wherever he had been. "I will let Rumil know I have seen you. Though I can never tell with any certainty when he and I will be able to speak."

"Tell him for me," said Haldir his back still to them, "unad nuithatha i nîr e-guren nalú aderthad vîn, nin muindor."

"I will."


TBC...


Elvish translations:

Muindyr / brothers
Muindor / brother
Nin Alasse / My joy
Le suilannon / I give greetings to you
Mae govannen ~ Well met!
Unad nuithatha i nîr e-guren nalú aderthad vîn, nin muindor / Nothing will stop the weeping of my heart until our reunion, my brother.