Deeper Waters

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DEEPER WATERS
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Chapter 6

For the sixth or seventh time Celaeren paced to the end of the alleyway and looked about him. The street was quiet, as might be expectarlyarly on a Sunday afternoon. A few family groups drifted by, dressed in their best and chatting happily, in holiday mood. None stopped at the door to the Golden Oliphaunt, none entered the public lounge that Celaeren knew to be dark and empty. This was no surprise; it was hardly a salubrious location, and those unfortunate enough to have no place of their own in which to enjoy their midday meal would surely choose a more welcoming alternative. None the less, the gloomy interior of the tavern was calling loudly to Celaeren, and he grimaced as he fought off the urge to enter, to set himself in the darkest corner and appease his thirst with a glass of spicy red Ithilien wine.

He would wait another five minutes before giving in to his craving.

She had not let him down so far. For six nights in a row he had stolen from the palace, as early as he could without being detected, and hurried to the latest venue for her dangerous swindler’s games. On each occasion he had found her already established in the bar at the centre of attention of one grou ano another, holding the laughter of the men around her like a shield. Two evenings ago, in the Halfling’s Horse down by the market, he had thought to intervene when the talk had turned nasty and one of her victims had accused her of unfair play. He had fingered the dagger at his belt and waited for the moment to storm across and come to her aid, but she had rendered his help unnecessary with a few choice jests and a spectacular losing hand. That night she had been glad of his company and the meal he had offered her; he knew she would be returninme eme empty-handed.

She had not let him down so far, but this was different. This was not just a question of her being where she had said she would be, according to her own private agenda. It was a meeting of Celaeren’s instigation, and he had worked to gain her agreement. He had been surprised when she consented, but had placed enough faith in her promise to go to some trouble absenting himself from Court and making the other necessary arrangements. Perhaps he had been foolish to do so.

Kicking a stone across the alleyway, Celaeren cursed under his breath. He could practically taste the wine on his tongue now, and knew he had waited long enough. He would have to speak to the boy in the stable yard, and then he would satisfy his thirst.

aereaeren.”

He whirled around, not even trying to conceal his pleasure at the sight of her. She stood at the entrance to the alley, a faint quizzical smile on her face.

“Beremund! You are here! I had begun to think . . .”

“What? That I was not coming?” A shadow crossed her sharp features. “You should not doubt me. I may have fallen on hard times, but I still have my honour. I do not make promises I do not intend to keep.”

“I have waited long,” said Celaeren pointedly.

“And I would have been here sooner, but the crook to whom I pay rent chose this morning to make trouble with I w I was forced to show him the point of my dagger. I doubt he will trouble me again, but it seems it is time for me to find new lodgings.”

Celaeren grinned. “You are here now; that is all that matters.”

She held his stare unblinkingly. “Where are we going?”

“Out through the West Gate, and where the wind takes us, I suppose. But first I have something to show you, through here.”

He turned to the door that led into the yard and waited until she joined him. Together they walked inside and round the corner of the buildings to where the animals were waiting, the great chestnut and the smaller grey, side by side at the trough.

One glance at her was enough to tell him that his gamble had paid off handsomely.

“You brought me a horse?” She whirled to face him, a broad smile on her face, before hurrying to the animal’s side.

Watching her, Celaeren realised that in her happiness she could almost be called beautiful. There was something altogether different about her today, and not only due to her delight at the sight of the horse. Her clothes, whilst no different in essence from the tunic and breeches she always wore, were clean and freshly pressed; her hair no longer hung lank about her shoulders, but was tied back under her hat and gleamed corn-gold in its newly washed softness.

She had made an effort for this meeting, as he had. The idea warmed Celaeren and yet made him shiver.

“Does he have a name?” she asked.

“None that I know. I am sorry, he is not as fine a beast as you are accustomed to, but the best I could find for hire at short notice.”

”No matter, he is lovely.” She stroked the coarse grey mane and pressing her face to the horse’s muzzle whispered to it quietly, re tre turning to smile at Celaeren. “He will suit me well; I shall call him Greyshanks.”

The beast shook its head and whinnied softly, as if recognising its own name for the firste.
e.

They led the horses out of the yard, down the alley and across to the West Gate. Once through the great arch, Celaeren turned to grin at Beremund. “Shall we?”

She nodded, and after briefly checking the grey horse’s tack, she leapt lightly onto its back. “Come on, then!”

Celaeren swung himself into the saddle and turned his bay around. Beremund was already off, walking for now, learning the measure of her steed before urging him faster. But as Celaeren caught up with her, she dipped her head and whispered to Greyshanks, pulling the reins in close. The horse neighed once, and picked up its speed.

They rode for an hour or more, down over the flat river plain and along the edge of the forest. It was good country for horses, the ground even and firm, the air fresh and keen. Celaeren would have enjoyed the experience greatly in any company. With Beremund at his side, the pleasure was more than doubled.

She rode like one who was born to it, moving with the horse as if she and the animal were of one mind. Once they were out of sight of the city gates she had removed her hat, and the band retaining her hair; the bright locks streamed behind her as she laughed at the wind in her face.

Celaeren realised that if he had thought that she lacked grace, it was simply because he had not, until now, seen her in her proper setting. On horseback it seemed that she revealed her true nature, her inherent beauty. So does a great sea bird hopping along the shappeappear comical; yet in flight there is nothing to match the effortless grandeur of its motion.

As surreptitiously as he could he drank in the sight of her, noting every instinctive shift of her position in the saddle, every expression of delight that moulded her mouth into a generous smile and made her eyes shine. There was little to be gained by denying his own response. He had wanted her since the night they met, although he could not have articulated the reason why. Now he had to accept that his desire was rather more far-reaching than that.

There had been women in Celaeren’s life, of course. What combination of dark good looks and royal status attracted them, he had never cared to question; but there were plenty who were prepared to overlook his drinking habit for the sake of a night or more with Dol Amroth’s youngest prince. Since reaching his majority he had not been short of conquests and propositions, and some of the liaisons had extended over periods of months. But never had any provided more than an agreeable diversion, a few moments of physical bliss and some entertaining conversation. No woman of his acquaintance had presented a challenge, nor led him to believe that beneath the alluring surface lay a prize that might be worth striving for.

None, that is, until now.

At a turn in the river where a clear-running stream fell to join it they dismounted, and led their steeds to drink and graze awhile. Celaeren filled his waterskin and offered it to Beremund. She drank deep, and locked eyes with him as she passhe she skin back.

“Thank you. I cannot tell you how much I have missed riding.”

“You do not need to tell me. It is quite apparent.”

They sat and watched the horses for a while, handing the water back and forth, enjoying the sun on their backs.

“You sit a horse so well, you must have learned to ride even before you could walk,” he ventured.

“In effect, that is so. I cannot remember a time when I was not at home in the saddle.”

“It must be nigh unbearable for you, living as you do, having lost so much.” Celaeren knew he was taking a risk, breaking their unspoken rule whereby her past was not mentioned.

Beremund turned to look at him directly. “Of course. Yet I do not believe that speaking of it will lessen the pain.”

“Are you sure? If that is the only means by which I can help you, I would gladly listen.”

“But that is not why we are here, is it?” There was a strange tone in her voice.

“What do you . . .” he stopped, startled by the sudden fact of her hand on his thigh. Before he could recover his wits, she was shifting onto her knees close to him, and bringing her face to his.

The first touch of her lips on his own sent a wild shiver of excitement through him. Yet his shock was so great that he did not at first respond, but merely sat and let her take the lead. Eventually his arms came up to encircle her back and his mouth opened to admit her tongue. Her fingers moved down his chest and began to fumble with the front of his tunic as she kissed him forcefully, desperately.

He had thought of little else for the past week, but now that it was actually happening, something about it did not feel right. He knew the signs of desire in a woman. This was another emotion entirely.

“I cannot do this.” Celaeren finally broke from the kiss and pushed her away gently.

“Why not? You want it badly enough!”

“Of course I want it. But what is your motivation?”

“How else am I to repay your kindness? I know what will make you happy.”

“And you will only be content if I treat you like a whore?” Was it anger, or some other emotion that had put the ice into her blue eyes? “I do not even know your name,” he added more gently.

“Why is that so important? Giving me a woman’s name will not make my nature any more feminine, nor my breasts any fuller.” Now there could be no doubt that it was bitterness colouring her speech.

“Can you really believe that is of any concern to me? I only want know who you really are.”

“Is what you see not enough? Do you need to know everything about a woman before you can lie down and take your pleasure with her? I had thought you more of a man.”

Sensing that she was trying to provoke him, Celaeren struggled to control ang anger. “Must you be cruel? I have lain with women about whom I knew nothing, and would do so again if that was all I wanted from you.”

As the words left his mouth he saw her eyes widen and felt a sinking in his stomach.

“What makes you think that I want any more than that?” She spoke each word carefully.

“Quite evidently you do not!”

Beremund opened her mouth as if to speak then shut it again. Celaeren watched her intently and let out a short mirthless laugh as an unpleasant thought occurred to him. “I think you do not want me at all. You simply want to prove to yourself that you resprespond to a man’s touch, and I happen to be a convenient subject for your experiment.”

She looked away, but did not attempt to deny his accusation.

“Well, you can find another fool to play your game, Beremund, or whoever you are,” he continued, “For I will have none of it.”

She waited until he was on his feet before crying out, “Are you mad, Celaeren?” Her voice held no hint of mockery, only despair. “What more could there possibly be for us? Do you not understand the position I am in? I am betrothed to a great Lord of the Mark, and the moment I come out of hiding my brother will find me and take me back by force, if necessary. I have no doubt of it.”

He crouched before her and gazed into her pleading eyes. “And have you forgotten that I am the son of a great Lord and not without some influence myself?”

“What are you saying?” She spoke slowly and very quietly.

Celaeren swallowed hard. “I want to be with you, and not just for an afternoon of illicit pleasure. And I am prepared to work, if needs be, to make it happen.”

“How can you say that? You do not know me!”

“Then let me know you! Tell me the truth!” raisraised his voice to match hers. They stared at each other for what seemed an age, and as he watched the emotions warring on her face he thought that shght ght at last capitulate.

But when she spoke, her voice was sorrowful. “I cannot, Celaeren. Forgive me.”

“Then there is nothing more to say.”

Indeed, they exchanged hardly a word as they headed back to the city. Celaeren tried to focus his attention on the ride, and to block from his consciousness the turbulent mass of emotions twisting his gut in upon itself. As they approached the great stone walls, however, another feeling surfaced, and this one he clung to gladly. Here at least was one urge he knew he could satisfy, and soon. Once the horses were stabled and Beremund out of his sight, he would drink himself utterly senseless.

He could not bring himself to look at her as she stiffly thanked him, not only for the ride, but for all his kindness throughout the week. He accepted her thanks graciously, as befitted Prince Imrahil’s son; and did not turn to watch as she walked away.

The bar of the Golden Oliphaunt was dark and clammy, despite the warmth of the day outside. Half a dozen unprepossessing types sat around drinking quietly in corners. To Celaeren’s eye, the place seemed perfect. He did not waste time on beer, but ordered at once a flagon of the strongest wine. The serving maid glanced at him warily, but he stared her down and she brought the drink to his table without comment.

By the time he had drained the third glass, the edge of his pain was blunted, but the knot of anger inside him had only pulled tighter. Two glasses later he found a focus for his rage. A short burly man with a badly set broken nose was seated near the bar, watching him without any attempt at subtlety. Celaeren returned his gaze, but the man did not look away; in fact it seemed that a smirk briefly touched his features as he looked the prince up and down. It was enough. Celaeren stood and strode across the room, his fist already formed into a ball at his side.

“Tell me, sir,” he poured as much derision into the title as he could. “What is it that you are looking at?”


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Celaeren opened his eyes and rapidly shut them again to block out the painful glare. Somebody was clattering around the room, and the noise seemed to intensify the agonising pounding inside his skull.

“Leave me be,” he muttered.

“It is well you are awake. We need to talk.” The voice was not loud, but it held a note of authority which cut through the befuddled mess in Celaeren’s head. He peeled his eyelids apart and gradually managed to focus on the figure seated in the large armchair.

“Faramir!”

“There is water by the bed,” replied his cousin. “Drink.”

Celaeren pushed himself up onto an elbow, trying to ignore the rising swell of nausea induced by the movement. He located the water goblet and drank thirstily, then turned back to Faramir. “What happened?”

“You do not remember? I suppose not,” Faramir responded. “You were thrown out of two taverns for brawling, and would no doubt have repeated your exploits in a third, had my men not caught up with you and brought you back to the palace.”

Celaeren groaned and shut his eyes again, waiting for the inevitable lecture.

“A most unfortunate incident, and one which does not reflect well on our family. That, however, is not what I wish to talk to you about.”

At this, Celaeren sat up a little further and stared at his cousin.

“We must talk about the woman you call Beremund.”

“What do you know of her?” He was suddenly fully awake.

“Far more than you might guess. I know, for example, that she is actually Rosalind, daughter of Aldwine and sister to Fréadren; and I have known of her presence in Emyn Arnen since the day she set foot in the city.”

“How in the name of the Gods did you know?”


“It is my business to be aware of what goes on in my realm,” said Faramir mildly, “But on this occasion I had some forewarning. My wife received news that Rosalind had run away from her home; she told me that without doubt the girl would turn up here. I had the gates watched for her.”

“And you have been watching her since, I take it?”

“My men have kept an eye on her, yes. They have also gambled with her from time to time, and lost handsomely, on my instructions.”

Celaeren frowned at the other man. “Why did you not say something to me sooner?”

Faramir sighed. “In truth, I pitied the girl, and Eowyn insisted that I should not interfere for the time being. When I learned that you had met her, and were showing her some kindness, I was glad. I did not ct ict it to come to this.”

“To come to what?”

The older man cast him a sympathetic smile. “Do you love her, Cousin?”

Even though Celaeren shut his eyes yet again, he could feel Faramir’s gaze boring into him. He sighed. “It may seem totally ridiculous, but yes, I believe I do.”

“There is nothing ridiculous about it.” Faramir spoke gently. “We do not choose when or how love should strike us; and she has the blood of Rohan in her veins. I understand all too well how compelling that can be. It is, however, a very difficult situation.”

“I rather think the difficulty no longer involves me, as Beremund – Rosalind – clearly does not reciprocate my feelings.”

“Ah, well, things are a little more complicated than that.”

His hangover quite forgotten, Celaeren sat up straight and glared at Faramir. “What do you mean?”

“You were not the only one to get into a barroom brawl last night. Rosalind overstretched herself somewhat, attempting to win enough money to leave the city. My men had to extricate her from the resulting fight. They brought her here. Eowyn and I have spoken to her.”

“Is she hurt?” His heart was thumping at the thought of her here in the palace, in spite of their painful parting the day before.

“No more bruised than you are, Valar be praised. And for all her protestations, I think she is relieved to have been found out.”

“Will you send her back to her brother?”

“ I cannot conceal her here for long. We shall have to resolve the matter somehow. But Rosalind herself is adamant; she will not return to marry the man of her brother’s choosing. If I am to send her, it will be by force, and I am loathe to take that route.”

“Is her brother such a brute that he will accept no compromise?”

“I do not know him, but Eowyn does. She says he is both stubborn and powerful. He will not easily be persuaded.”

“But surely . . .” Celaeren b.
.

“No, not even by Eomer,” Faramir said firmly.

“So what is to be done? It is an intolerable situation.”

“All I will say is this. Rosalind herself is very clear on the matter. She will not return of her own volition. And Celaeren, she told me that if she must marry, she will have you, or she will have no one.”

Celaeren stared at his cousin in astonishment for a second, and then leapt from the bed to search for his clothes. “Truly, she said that? Then by the Gods, I must see her!”

“Celaeren! This does not solve the problem!”

He finished pulling on his breeches and crossed the room to his cousin. “Faramir.” He placed his hands on the other’s shoulders. “There must be a way to sort this out.”

“As a start, I suggest sending for your father. I have a messenger ready.”

“Yes.”

“And another thing . . .” Faramir’s face softened into a grin. “You might want to bathe before you see her.”


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He knocked softly and waited for her reply before entering the room. His opening statement had been well rehearsed while he bathed, but when he saw her, he discovered that words had deserted him.

She wore a simple dress of bright blue, with a white trim around the neck. Her hair was pinned up away from her face, although a few golden tendrils strayed down over her ears. Where before she had seemed angular and awkward, she now appeared elegantly tall and slim. But it was her smile that captivated him. It was so open and warm, directed through his eyes straight to his heart. The sensation was enough to overwhelm him.

“Celaeren, I am so sorry,” she said.

“Do not be. You had your reasons.” He stepped towards her, and after hesitating for a moment, enfolded her in his arms. Her hands felt warm against his back through the fine linen of his shirt.

“What are we going to do?” She spoke, muffled, into his shoulder.

“We will find a solution,” he replied, stroking her hair gently.

Her mouth sought his then, and this time he did not pull away.

To be continued…