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Chapter Ten – A Masculine Touch

Aurthôn had forgotten how crowded the palace might be when he raced back inside, spurred by Elrovail’s message.  Just inside the crystal doors, a thick wall of noisy people blocked all passage into the main halls.  He swore under his breath; his desire to swiftly rescue his beloved so instantly frustrated.

At most events such as this night’s, after the main gathering in the great hall was closed, any appropriately dressed person would be allowed into the public sectors of the palace.  However, this time the heavy second tide took Aurthôn by surprise.  He would not have thought that he and Celebrimbor had been outside long enough for this amazing number of people to have swept in.  Normally, he would in there swimming among them.  In fact, he and Laerlínath had planned for tonight to be her social debut.  At this very moment, he was supposed to be proudly introducing his wife to every friend and acquaintance he could find.  Ironically, she was in the Meadow Room, the exclusive parlor of the rulers which opened directly onto the dais at the front of the great hall.  The chamber’s entrance was not that far down the long gallery from this very door.  But all these accursed people!  How had Elrovail navigated through this logjam so quickly and remained kempt?  Because she is Elrovail.

But, he had none of her advantages.  So he literally plunged in and began to push his way through, excusing himself many times over before he made it out of the foyer to the hallway.  Here at least there was movement, although it was as busy in both directions as a main thoroughfare on festival days.  Why are the so many people?!  He gauged the flow and daringly jig-jagged his way across into the long gallery with the necessary speediness to avoid getting caught in a strong current.

The gallery was not as packed as the foyer, but there were so many people, happily socializing with much laughter and impromptu dancing to the music rolling through the air, that he soon stopped apologizing when he bumped against anyone.  None of these guests were anxiously making for the main venue like the wave before them.  They were more than content to revel wherever they drifted, ordering food and drink to be paid by largesse when not provided by the lordly hosts.

Aurthôn forged as straight a course as he could.  More than one friendly person beckoned to him by name.  He ignored them, letting the serious expression set upon his face inform them that he had very important business that must be attended to and that he did not intend to be rude.  In truth, he could not stop – Laerlínath needed him.

He had not been overly concerned that Galadriel would actually harm his beloved.  So far as he knew, the Lady had never resorted to clever or artful punishments to salve her pride.  Unlike her lord husband, the remedy to her displeasure was usually not complicated by any goal of instilling some discipline into the transgressor.  Aurthôn had thought Laerlínath would be reprimanded or banished from the family’s presence.  Others had been likewise sentenced for her sort of offenses.  Instead, Elrovail had made him believe that Laerlínath was deeply wounded – more deeply than if she had been shamed or even dealt a physical blow.  His guilt at not preventing her mistakes in the first place trebled in weight.  The thought that he should have somehow excused himself from his employer instead of allowing work to keep him away when he knew she might have need of him crossed his mind for the first time since their marriage.

Theirs had been a rather formal courtship.  Laerlínath had never been allowed to be completely alone with him.  Limits had been set on the activities she was permitted, such as sailing only with her seafaring cousin and no climbing cliffs or trees – ever.  The restrictions were understandable; she was her parents’ only child and their most precious treasure.  A greater aggravation for Aurthôn had been having to give account of his every action to her father.  Bearing such impositions had been the level of dedication required to assure her family that he was serious in his suit.  Nonetheless, the higher status of his many rivals had been the most difficult barrier to over come.  Until Celebrimbor appeared, he had had nothing of real substance to make her parents consider him a worthy husband for their daughter.

Through it all, Laerlínath had remained certain of their future together.  The bleak day when he had been at his lowest and told her to give up on him, to choose another, she had said “Not ever”.  The morning he was saddled to ride for Eregion, she had suddenly appeared there at his stirrup to bid him farewell and demonstrate to everyone her confidence in him.  Decades later when he had bid her come to Forlond and wed before he must go back to Ost-in-Edhil, against her father’s wishes she did come and they were married.  When deemed safe enough, he had sent for her, delighted to inform her parents that their final criteria was met – the Lady Galadriel had not turned around and left after seeing the wretched place.  Without hesitation, Laerlínath had set out, traveling practically on her own.  He berated himself as being the worst kind of fool ever for even thinking she had somehow been using him.  Her eagerness was only natural, a heady reaction to new-found freedom from someone who must have felt stifled in her former life.  To protect her from harm was his duty, which up to now he shamefully realized, he had rarely done as he should.

Aurthôn walked unwavering down the corridor that lead to the dais antechamber, the hall was lined with a boisterous gauntlet of people freely participating in the latest attempt to consort with royalty.  Scores of people always hung about there waiting to catch a glimpse of the elite and to see who would or would not be admitted in.  The prerequisite humiliation of passing inspection to enter was gladly helped along by vulgar taunts and heckling from the spectators.  It seemed wrong to allow this kind of crude behavior in such a high residence, except that the process did detour all but the most brazen from intruding even further into the generous rulers’ lives.  Aurthôn had watched on occasion and he could anticipate that as a clerk he was certainly not on the entree list, thus perfect fodder for jeering.

No matter that he was well-acquainted with the door-warden, an excellent fellow but one who would follow form regardless of Aurthôn having the endorsement of Lady Mirathel and Lady Elrovail besides.  He would have to give the entire embarrassing explanation before he was allowed to remove his wife.  So we shall become one more display put up for the entertainment of gawking uidhoril.  He fervently wished he could spare Laerlínath having to face that upon their escape.  That is if I can accomplish one.  Before this fretful hour, he had never gone inside the room himself, but then he had never thought to try.

By escorting the little princess to her lady mother, Laerlínath would have entered easily. 

Indeed, his wife would have found it all very enjoyable until brought before the Lady.  What had happened at that point he hated to speculate.  Galadriel may have decided to make her a warning to like-minded others.  His aristocratic wife was not that careless in her speech or conduct, but even polite silence was no defense against Galadriel if she suspected something was awry. 

For the Lady could see into weaker minds; he had been witness to it.  Rumor even claimed that she could speak her thoughts directly to Celeborn.  Although, Aurthôn had never seen any clear signs of that power.  Still, Melian had certainly imparted some of her skills to her friend.  And to Celeborn too, for that matter.  But, the Lord did not care as much as Galadriel about what someone might be thinking, rather what they might think to do.

Ahead, he could clearly see the solid, closed doors into the dais antechamber; an armed grey guard on each side.  His Laerlínath was suffering just behind those doors.  With that thought, it occurred to him that Galadriel might yet be present instead of gone into the hall.  What shall I do if she is there?  He had no answer to that now.  First just get in.  Possible, but it would not be quick or pleasant.

For between him and those doors stood Cón Saidhirnon, the door-warden; an impressive Sindarin maethor and former rochon of such demeanor that no one common dared step over his set perimeters, physical or personal.  The captain had this mundane duty because he was a wounded veteran, his right arm taken off during the War of Wrath.  Well, for that and a phenomenal ability to stonewall.  Besides the missing arm, his right leg had healed twisted.  Despite these infirmities, Lord Celeborn continued to keep him on as a warrior when he should have been retired and gave him suitable assignments.  One of the first things Aurthôn had learned about him was that the rochir had a remarkable set of principles which included an unusual one about staying free of favors.  Saidhirnon did not play favorites nor victimize whatever his detractors might assert.  He simply followed protocol.  He always followed protocol because he truly believed that by doing so he had lost only his arm and not his life or the lives of his entire herth.

At the moment, the lame knight was barring the way against a petty lord and his overdressed lady, explaining firmly – with his own brand of superbly annoying politeness – that they would not be permitted within no matter whom they were or who was one of their closest friends.  Aurthôn did not pause as he resolutely strode forward; he would not wait his turn.  From a flicker of his eyes, Aurthôn knew Saidhirnon saw him coming and he steeled his nerves. 

Yet as Aurthôn got closer, the cón gave a little jerk of his head telling him to go on past.  Sliding his one hand behind his back, he subtly signaled for the guards to let Aurthôn in.  Surprised, he worried what this might mean in terms of Laerlínath’s condition.  As he whisked past without breaking stride, he nodded his heartfelt thanks for what he knew was an act of pure kindness.

The barred guests gave Aurthôn a nasty stare for he was not a server and certainly not of their class.  Some in the throng clapped at Aurthôn being given unchallenged precedence; others  goaded the refused applicants by calling them storekeepers.  The lady turned indignant at what she declared was shabby treatment.  Saidhirnon’s calm agreement only further infuriated the foolish lord who became incensed and threatening.  But, not brave enough to go around the captain.  Enthused by the lord’s show of temper, the spectators amplified their provocations.

Aurthôn knew the guards at the doors as well.  On the right-hand side was Cúrond.  The Galadhel gave him a sympathetic look and silently opened the door, something unusual for a gregarious ellon who always offered a friendly word even when on duty.  He certainly would have commented on the disgraceful incitement by the crowd so his silence only made Aurthôn more anxious about Laerlínath.  Pausing for scarcely a breath, Aurthôn quickly straightened his disheveled clothes and smoothed back his hair before stepping through the doorway.  Cúrond quietly closed the door after him.  Both the irate lord with his noisy agitators and the pervasive music were noticeably muted within the empty room.

Relieved that the Lady was absent, Aurthôn ventured further in, oblivious of the elegant décor surrounding him.  Guren, where are you?!  A grumbling serving maid with a tray abruptly came in through from the service door to clear the small tables scattered throughout the room.  She must have reckoned who he was for she gave him the same sympathetic look as Cúrond before jabbing a pointing finger in the direction of a curtained opening to her left.  Going swiftly to what was the sheered entrance to a small alcove, he lightly brushed aside the gauzy hangings with the back of his hand and apprehensively looked inside.

Aurthôn had seen his beloved frightened before, but never so utterly intimidated.  The terrible sight halted his breath.

As Elrovail had said, she was very pale; her face an expressionless, ineffective mask behind which she cowered in crippling trepidation.  She saw him, but as if frozen in place, she could not rise from her seat nor speak.  Her clinched hands rested on her lap, her fingers so tightly wrung up in her handkerchief that they appeared to be turning blue.  He frantically tamped down his shocked reaction and the desire to grab her in a desperate rush.  Panic would only increase her anguish.  Willing himself not to shake, he went to calmly sit down next to her on the small divan and placed a comforting arm gently around her rigid shoulders.

Holding her lightly against him, he covered her cold hands with his warm one.  Outwardly, he stayed steady and reassuring.  Inside, he was seething.  Nothing Laerlínath could have said or done warranted this cruel treatment, especially from one so high.  A cutting remark, a significant slap, banishment from court, any one of these should have been enough punishment for her petty aspirations and scandalous folly!  This was not the lesson he had wished upon his wife when he had been so upset at being slighted.  Forgive me!  Forgive me for not being here to protect you!  He pressed his forehead against her icy temple, remorse replacing his ire.  Whenever the Lady returned, he would beg her forgiveness too.

A trembling began deep within Laerlínath’s body.  He felt subtle tremors rippling outward into her limbs and rejoiced.  Whatever gripped her had been made to let go by his mere presence.  In a short while, her shivering subsided and she turned her face towards his.  Aurthôn slid the hand of his encircling arm along her shoulder to rest his fingers upon her cheek and she gratefully leaned into that touch.  Twisting around, he was able to look directly into her face.  Her color was returning; her eyes glimmered with mortified tears as she returned his concerned gaze.

“May we go home?” she softly asked.

His relief that she had not crumbled into hysteria under this awful spell was overwhelming.  Tears of his own threatened to dissolve his bravado.  To stave them off, he tenderly kissed her lips.  As expected, she blushed prettily and he was able to smile instead of weep.

“Of course,” he gently replied.

It required firmness to untwine her fingers; he vigorously rubbed her hands to revive them.  He helped her to stand, reluctant to remove his support once she was on her feet.  The creased handkerchief, he tucked into its proper place in her sleeve.  Blinking away her unshed tears, she shook him off when he started to lift straggling wisps of her hair back into place.  Though bumbling a bit from stiffness, she straightened up her clothes and hair on her own.  Hands pressed to her stomach and shoulders pulled back, Laerlínath strove to regain the poise that until now Aurthôn had thought ingrained.  Impressed by her fortitude, he patiently waited for her to indicate she was ready to leave.  Sighing deeply, she moistened her lips.  For a few moments, she simply breathed while staring anxiously at the curtained entrance.  Finally, she put out her hand for him to support and he attentively led her out of the alcove. 

As they came up to the doors, she held back, tightening her nervous hold on his arm.  Aurthôn shared her hesitance, loath if only for her sake to again face the rowdy crush outside.  Perhaps Saidhirnon would continue to feel sorry for them and allow Cúrond to escort them out of the palace.  Not very likely, but I will ask.  Laerlínath suddenly spun around with a slight catch of breath to look behind them, grasping for his hand.  He caught up her shaking hands and instinctively placed his other hand on her back at her waist to steady her before looking to see what had startled her.

In the middle of the room stood Lady Mirathel, a vision of noble grace, resplendent in soft summer hues.  The Lady’s companion appeared quite pleased that Aurthôn had come for his wife.  He had had very little dealings with Mirathel.  But if he ever had to choose an elleth to act as a mother to his yet-to-be-born children because they had – Elbereth, watch over us! – lost Laerlínath, Aurthôn would feel confident choosing this matron.

“Laerlínath, remember to come to the salon tomorrow morning within the fourth hour,” she said hurriedly as if that was all she had materialized to say and would immediately vanish.

A lightening jolt of fright passed through his beloved.  In a flash, Aurthôn’s anger returned in full and he instantly sprang to Laerlínath’s defense.

“Has this not been enough?” he demanded, indignant.  “What more must she suffer to satisfy the Lady?!”  This lady’s smile flattened into a tight line.  With a narrowed glance, she silenced him making him red-faced and ashamed for his presumptuous manners.  He had indeed forgotten to whom he was speaking.

A hiril of northern Beleriand, Mirathel had lost everything including most of her family during Morgoth’s first assault, a massive offensive meant to destroy Thingol and take Menegroth.  She had led a barely surviving remnant of her people until they were saved by the returning Noldor; ultimately accepting the lordship of the Exiles as did most of the Sindar in those regions.  For they had had no stone walls or Girdle of Melian to protect them.  Many had decried the Aran as forsaking them when he marched his army south, forcing Círdan and his weaker host to retreat or be decimated.  Eventually, Mirathel had come into the care of Finrod and had become Galadriel’s companion.  As it was with the realm so it was with her household, the Lady might rule but another governed.

“Laerlínath, tell me if it is not your wish to serve Galadriel,” the lady ordered, pointedly ignoring Aurthôn.  Confused, he looked at his wife and she looked back at him just as bewildered.  He voicelessly urged her to answer Mirathel.

“I do not know what that service could be,” Laerlínath hesitantly responded, distressed; her voice almost a whisper.

“She will tell you that herself,” replied Mirathel again kindly smiling.  “But, it is nothing you do not already know how should be done.  Certainly, you can remember what it was like growing up an only child, the daughter of prominent nobility.  I am sure it was just as difficult for your parents to find suitable tutors for you.”

Laerlínath swayed on her feet and Aurthôn went agape – both suddenly understanding the implication of Mirathel’s words.

“She is to be a lady-in-waiting?” he asked, stunned.  Then recovering from the shock, he turned to his wife wearing a wide glad grin of pride.  ’Tis more than what you wanted!  But, Laerlínath was shivering again.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:
All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

rochir/rochon – knight or horse-lord/cavalryman or horse-rider

cón – captain, commanding officer

herth – troop

hir/hiril – lord or sir or master/lady or mistress

uidhoril – hoi polloi ‘unthoughtful people’