Faded Light: Book II

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

Chapter 7
Dark Days

Mena called it a Shadow Stone.

For a long time the name had puzzled him; until he understood what it revealed were only shadows of what had come before or the future might bring, which he had learned long ago was never certain.

Its surface was like the smooth black stone of a Palantir, but otherwise it was round and flat rather than spherical and traced it origins to a different source than the ancient Seeing Stones.

With the priest’s guidance, Dafi had learned much of the power of the Stone but had no control over what it would show, and had to always guard his mind lest he reveal those things he would keep to himself.

The gray-eyed Man he saw as he looked into the Stone now was somehow unlike most of the Men the courtesan had known in his life.

He was different from the Men of Harad and Umbar, there was an unfamiliar nobility about him; the slave could not guess what interest Mena or the Dark Lord could have in such a Man. But if he was revealed in the stone, Dafi was sure it could only bode ill.

The Elf closed his eyes, as he felt the priest standing behind him. He could smell the foul scent of wine on Mena's breath and the recent smell of sex clinging to him, as he bent down into the Elf’s neck.

"Do you know how many I have seen come and go over the years?" he asked almost to himself.

"Yet you, pretty one, remain," he went on, by his tone, not expecting a response, as he ran his thumbs over the Elf's throat none too gently.

"Though, I do know myself how gifted you are; that anyone could easily lose himself in your charms. It is no wonder Javad has so long been mesmerized by your wiles.

“In fact,” he said, “I have it on good authority that on his next trip to Horondor, he is taking you with him."

"My lord,” protested the Elf, “King Javad has never before taken me on any journey outside the city."

"This time he will.

“Now," he went on, in an instructive tone, pressing something into the Elf's hand, which he immediately saw was a small paper packet; filled doubtless, with poison, “that man you see in the Stone...

“He will be at the palace in Horondor. You will catch his attention and find your way to him. You know what you must do after that,” Mena whispered into the slave’s ear.

"It will be quick, I promise,” he went on conversationally, pulling back slightly, but maintaining a firm grip on the Elf's shoulder to keep him still, while his other hand delved under his clothes.
“There is no need for him to linger."

"You know I cannot refuse you, my lord,” he managed in a low voice, not for the first time, wishing his use here would be simply the same one Men had always had for him.

That was always bad enough. But this...this doing away with one he had never even met in the name of the Dark Lord was something he could never pretend away.

The Man laughed vulgarly. “Very good. And that is part of your allure, pretty one. Always so very...accommodating."

By his tone and his movements, the Elf knew to harden himself for what was surely coming, especially when the Haradrim priest leaned over and captured his mouth in a deep, brutal kiss.

When he stepped back instead and began straightening his clothes slightly, the Elf was surprised.

"You know the enjoyment I have often taken from your company," smirked the priest, licking his lips, "however, tonight Arya has sent me something a bit fresher, which I intend to savor. You may show yourself out.

"And be careful with that little packet," he added. "We wouldn't want it to end up anywhere dangerous."

He nodded silently and watched out of the corner of his eye, as Mena disappeared back inside his adjoining bedroom where he suspected the other Elven slave waited.


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“Lord Ruthlagor was not at the council meeting again.

“How long can it go on like this, Hiril Nin...the king's chief advisor avoiding any occasion when he might be required to speak to his heir?”

"Orcs ravage settlements on our southern border; Men again threaten to the east…”

Mereniel thought she had never seen the ancient Elf, who had been around nearly as long as Oropher's line had been on the throne, look more uncomfortable as he confessed his concerns.

“I have seen these things as well iaur pen," said the king's sister, smoothing her gown as she continued through her private garden. "But I fear my husband and elder son are both too stubborn for anyone’s good.

“However,” she said, trying to sound hopeful, “His Highness tells me Saelbeth may let Gwirithniel come for the wedding. Our grandchild may yet help to soften my husband’s unsympathetic heart.”

“Or remind him of his son’s faults...

“Forgive me, Princess. It was not my intention...”

“You surprise me Elavorn,” she said, “for I do not forget Feredir is your grandson; the child of two Ellons who shared the same faults, as you call them, as my son and Saelbeth.”

“You are right of course; though I would never have pushed my son aside, as Lord Ruthlagor has chosen to do.

“His opinions are his own affair, but it is the kingdom his pride threatens...

“If Haryon Leralonde and his father do not put and end to this foolish feud,” the elder elf continued, “I do not know what may happen.

"...our warriors look up to Prince Leralonde, Hiril, but in more conservative circles...”

"...in more conservative circles?" she frowned and looked up from the rose bush she had stopped to examine.

"We both know, that the old allegiances have never completely waned to the old line; though such sentiment has always remained in the background out of regard for your Highness’ father.”

A quick flash in her blue eyes was the only evidence of anger on the eternally youthful, flawless face of the Princess.

And it is those same insipid moralists who do not tire of praising Oropher who now vilify his grandson, she thought, and I include my husband in that number.

I would swear there is hardly one among them who really knew my father...

“There is already talk among the people, Highness,” the ancient noble visibly hesitated but went on, “they say the rule of Thranduil and his heirs is failing; that perhaps another should follow the king...one whose conduct is above..."

"One whose private relations are not a source of public gossip you mean."

“Unless there is some way to appease public sentiment, it may grow into real demand for a change…"

“A return to an old line...yes, I can well imagine from what quarter this sentiment is stirring."

"Of course, in the long run, it will not matter,” he said, walking beside the princess again. “Only a prince may succeed to the throne. So unless His Highness has another child, a son, Ethiel and Glaerwen will remain next in the succession.”

"To think I was once a champion of that marriage..."

“Perhaps, if his highness were persuaded to take a wife...”

She ignored Elavorn’s last comment, knowing how absurd a suggestion it was. Her elder son was far too honorable, despite what other’s might think, to enter into a sham marriage with a wife he would never find in his heart to look upon as such.

"...if they do not start at least speaking to each other again soon there may not be much of a kingdom left to defend...”


TBC...


Elvish Translations:

Iaur Pen / old one

Hiril Nin / My Lady

Haryon / Heir, crown prince