~ Chapter 67 ~

And Aragorn said to Halbarad: ‘What is that that you bear, kinsman?’ For he saw that instead of a spear he bore a tall staff, as it were a standard, but it was close-furled in a black cloth bound about with many thongs.

ROTK: The Passing of the Grey Company

~oOo~

~ TA 3019 20^th day of Narvinyë:  I know not how Lord Elrond discovered it, but it seems he has had news from the east.  He knows little, but conveyed reassurances that my lord lives and there is yet reason to hope.  He then begged my aid in sending missives to the Angle, for which, too, there is yet hope.  There, he advises our lord’s Rangers gather as swiftly as could be made possible, and attend upon the Lord of Imladris for counsel ere they travel south along the River Anduin to meet him. Long has my lord and his kin debated such a prospect and planned for it.  I have thus commanded it. 

~oOo~

Baskets and baskets there are of brightly colored fibers lining the shelves of this room, hidden as it is from the greater hall by its woven hangings.  I can bare breathe for the desire to open them all and feel silken, warm, or nubbined textures hidden within.  Oh, had I more time for it!  A guilty pleasure it is, for, her duties to the House of the Hidden Vale done for the day, the Lady and her companions have abandoned the weaving hall with its terrace and open windows in favor of sitting in the Hall of Fire for its greater warmth.  The wind gusts chill down from the mountains, bright and sharp and full of the scent of snow as it is, it drives all indoors afore its rabid bite.  My fingers shall soon grow stiff for the coolness of the room even behind its curtains, but rather would I choose my own wool than ask, yet again, for Tithiniel to make my choice for me because I am too timid to dare face the Lady whose room this is.   

After some time, my days have begun to take a new shape.  It seems, now the Lord of Imladris and I have come to a better understanding, I profit greatly from it.  I have returned time and again to the libraries of the Imladris, and there he and I speak of tales and remembrances of loss, defiance, and mercy.  There I continue my campaign of begging his aid atimes for the Dúnedain.  And though he is sympathetic and patient with my attempts, and indeed seems fair willing himself, his answer remains the same.  Ai!  I confess I am nigh to despair of how next to proceed, for my efforts have been welcomed, but seem to bear little fruit.  And I can think of naught else to do.

Where he can act on his own, Lord Elrond has been most generous.  For he discerns where my thoughts tend ere e’en I am aware, and lays out books and scrolls upon a table he has chosen for my use.  There they await me after I have broken my fast, and I spend much of my mornings studying the treatises and accountings of the Halls of the great among Elves and Men and Dwarven folk.  We speak there of both the failures and successes of policy, diplomacy, and politics o’er the known history of the world. 

There I bring, atimes, my daughter.  To my shame, I found, at the first, I must beg Master Elrond’s forgiveness for Elenir’s inquisitive little fingers and the patter of her feet running between his tables and shelves and colonnades until it seemed the Lord of the Hidden Vale unable to attend to aught he had afore him.  When I would gather my child and remove her so he could have quiet, he arose and begged her to stay, so long had it been since his halls had harbored a child as young as she.  Indeed, not since her father had been her age had it been, and for many long years ere that.

Ever after, then, a basket appeared tucked beneath the table filled with balls of felted wool, cast off clothing of various makes, carved figures, brightly painted blocks of wood, and a curious instrument of strips of thin metal plucked with the thumbs for her eager fingers.  When he repaired hither from his morning Council, the Lord of Imladris took to entertaining Elenir with the eternal games of childhood for a little while I read, making a great game of hunting for her while she breathed noisily behind shelves or wall hangings and peered out at him.  He then found pieces of a white chalk and he and my daughter, his brother’s distant kin, knelt upon the floor together.  There upon the slate tiles warmed by the hot water springing from deep within the mountains, he taught her her first letters and encouraged her attempts to master them until all of our belongings bore her scribbling upon them.  

So enamored of him she became, after some time strewing the toys about the floor and running through the hall so that the cloak she wound about her neck flew behind her, she would cease with her play and await his coming.  Hanging upon the carven vines about the door, she stared down the long hall through which he would stride, only to brighten at the sight of him rising upon the stairs and run to him.  He would then emerge into the sunlight streaming into the hall with his face warmed with fondness and my daughter upon his hip babbling at him in a mix of Elven speech and the common tongue.  

I must not tarry long in the weaving hall. Though she seems to take delight in it, Tithiniel’s time is not always her own to spend on my daughter.  Within a box of curved pine bark I find a finely-carded wool of long and loosely curling hairs.  ‘Tis the color of the snow upon the mountain, unblemished by soil or moth. Quickly I roll the roving into a large, loose ball and drop it to the basket I have set aside for my own work.   It joins the ebony spindle there and two stiff-bristled carding-combs I have come upon in a basket of the odd tool.  

Opening the next basket reveals skeins of a thin, deeply-gold silk and swiftly I close the lid upon them.  No matter its luster and the ache in my hands for the forbidden pleasure of touching it, I dare not leave the oils of my skin to spoil its sheen.  At the next, I stare into its depths.  It seems much neglected, stuck as it was upon the bottom of the shelf and deeply packed with fibers.  These are the tattered ends of silk spun from the casings, combed into a rough form of roving and waiting to be spun into a slubby-textured yarn.  This I dare touch and do, my breath sighing from me for the slip of fiber against skin.  It seems I touch upon naught but the air warmed by the rays of the spring sun.  

My hands deep in the fine stuff, I wonder.  Aye!  Would it not be lovely could it be done?  Had it ever occurred to the folk of the Elves to combine the two, silk and wool in one strand?  Surely it has, but I have seen naught of it about.  I dare not attempt the spinning of the silk alone.  I comprehend none of its ways and can only stare at the large-spoked wheels upon which it is worked.  

Oh, but the temptation is strong as heady wine and I am drunk with it.  How shall the fibers latch upon one another in the fulling?  Or shall they not, and the silk shine in thin threads bundled amidst the shrunken wool and give the surface of the cloth a curled texture?  I know not, but my hands work swiftly to gather enough silk for the attempt, only to find it is to little end effect.  For I pull out what I think is a coherent swathe only to be led, fiber by fiber into yet another bundle of threads.  What a curious thing the way they cling one tother as should I seek to unwind a spider's web.  However shall it take to the carding?

I am eager to attempt the carding of a mix of the two, just enough to see how it spins up ere I take on the bigger of the tasks.  Far too long has it been since I have felt this quickening of blood upon the imagined feel of yarn and, my heart lightened with the news I have heard, I am glad for it.  And so it is with swift hands and feet that I take up my basket and fling aside the rug, so I might make my way to my own rooms and begin.  

The ranks of women of high birth from which the Lady draws her companions have thinned.  I know not if she is in the habit of running her own errands, or no longer has one to ask, but she is there, far upon the other end of the hall, bending to her basket and searching therein, and my joy fades from me as so much dew rising beneath the hot sun.   

Between us sit the long looms of the elves.  Strange contraptions, their frames sit upon the floor, with treadles to raise the heddle bars and shuttles that fly across the warp threads as so much fish darting amidst the reeds.  They will not hide me, though greatly tempted am I to shrink against the wall.  The Lady rises, her eyes keen and searching, though the sound I make is slight.  

Nay, I shall not slink from the room as a thief, for I am none.  Instead, I nod my greeting and turn to stride quickly from the room, looking upon her solemn eyes no more.

"Why do you run from me?"  

I halt.  She has dropped what she held in her hands back to its basket, and now faces me.

"I cannot think, lady, you would wish to have me anywhere near.”

"Think you so?"  She draws close and her eyes flash with a sharp and sudden light.  "You broke no vow to me. It is not thee with whom I have quarrel, Lady Nienelen."

She has come upon me and, of the first, I can see her close.  She holds herself with a tension that breaks to glimmers of light as she moves, as were I catching a glimpse of somewhat tamped down and hidden about her person.  

"So you have found aught you would enjoy of your own, then?" she asks, her fingers straying to the contents of the basket I hold. 

It is all I can do to hold my voice firm and not stammer.  I feel caught out as were I a young child stealing from her mother's belongings.  

"Aye, lady, I would, with your permission."

"You do not need it," she says and withdraws her hand.  "You may choose what you wish.  Have I not decreed it so?"

"Aye, lady."

I think then, mayhap, the interview done, and I may retreat to the rooms assigned us and trouble the lady no longer, but it is not so.  For, gathering her skirts about her, she then sits upon the end of a near weaver’s bench.  

"Will you not join me?" she asks and motions to another bench nearby. “I am glad to have found you, though we come together only by chance, it seems.  I have long desired to have speech with thee."  

Indeed?  I do not think I have longed to hear much of what the Lady of Imladris may say.  But, still, drawing her enmity will do me little good.  I sit upon another bench and set aside my basket.  She does not speak at first, and I wonder at her thoughts, for she does little but look closely at me, her face keen and searching as were she taking my measure. 

"My father tells me I know little of the ways of Men," she says, as had she long rehearsed the words.  "But I do not see with my father's eyes. I need not know the ways of all men, just one. Nor must I know the ways of all mortal women, just the one."

Her hands lie pale and still, clasped tightly together upon her knees.  "Forgive me, but I have found no words that are not cruel. Though the spirit may speak plainly, flesh may yet doubt.  I know this of the race of Men.  

"This, too, I know,” she continues.  “You love him."  

At this, I must cast down my eyes.  I care not for this feeling, of being laid bare afore her, and my face heats beneath the intensity of her gaze.  

"And so here we are," says she.  "A strange kinship we have, you and I, do you not think?  Our hearts are much the same.  We both have given our love to the same man and are the cause of the other's pain."  

I rise and, grabbing up my basket, turn away for the door with no thought of giving farewell, for I see no reason to speak of this.  It is but a wrench of a knife within my heart, this thing that only causes us hurt.  Should I desire to achieve aught in my time here amongst her kin, mayhap ‘twould be wise I shun all contact with her utterly. 

"Stay, lady!" she calls after me.

"To what purpose?"  I turn swiftly about, my foot scraping upon the stone floor, to find her standing to match me.  

“You owe me a debt, Lady Nienelen, and I would see it repaid.”

“Do I?”  Stung, I can only think she would put me in the role of usurper of her love’s regard and would have me pay for it.  My back stiffens.  

“Aye, lady, for when first you came here,” she says and takes a step to me, her light eyes as steel, "Lord Aragorn came to me on your behalf.  He asked naught for himself; no forbearance, no mercy, no forgiveness.  He said he would bear whatever harsh words I would wish on him, but he begged my aid.  You were alone, he said, and bear a great grief, and he begged you not be left comfortless.  And so, when you and your daughter charmed my father, I gave him my blessing.  I have done this for thee."

“You wish me to repay you for the common courtesy owed a guest in your father’s House and permission to associate with whom I will?”

At this, she is surprised into laughter and halts, sharp though her delight may be.  “Aye!  My father said your wit was quick.  

“Good!” she cries, coming close, “I doubt not you shall have need of it.”  

Enough of this!  "What couldst thou wish from me that I could possibly have within my power to give?”  

"Come with me,” she commands with a lift of her chin.  “I have a thing to show thee.  I think you will wish to see it." 

Sighing, I clutch my basket close, for she moves swiftly and is already gone, her feet light in their travel through the hall.  I shall be hard put to keep pace and I must wonder if she hurries for this purpose.  And yet, what else is there to do but follow and see what ever this is through. 

"Come," she says again when we reach the door to her rooms.  

I have ne'er entered the private rooms of the Lord and his family.  I linger under its lintel, for it seems an unwarranted intrusion.  We had passed through covered terraces where once must have hung curtains and burned fires in the sconces but now only blow the thin and tattered leaves of winter.  And now we come to a room warmed by the heat beneath the floor, where light streams through tall, glazed windows to light upon hangings of silk and bright flowers that look naught so much as blooms but birds fluttered to brief rest upon the vase in which they are kept.  

I am reluctant to continue much further.  I think I wish not to know more of the Lady's life, to see the rooms my lord might know and wonder what memories he has of this settle with its mattress covered o’er in velvet, that view of the frothing falls of the Bruinen and the westering light that strikes the dome of the glass gardens, and the sweet smell of flowering vines that steals upon it all no matter it be in the depth of winter's chill.  

The Lady has preceded me into the room and goes to a tall chest, not waiting for me.  There she flings open its doors and takes from it a carefully rolled bundle of linen.  Soon she has it unbound and spread out afore me on a table in the reflected sunlight, where I may see it to best effect.  

I can do naught but come close, abandoning my basket by the door, for it draws me there.  Oh!  Aye!  This!  I have seen it afore in dreams that still come atimes, flying upon a cross of dark wood and men in black and silver gear of war beneath it, the stink of death rising from about them.  The cloth is not truly black but made of fine silk threads of brilliantly dark colors, that, seen from a fair distance, tease the eye as were it made of the rich hues of raven-dark feathers.  Now I see it close, I know it for what it is.  It is a thing of power as only the Eldar can make, each stitch imbued with the uncanny chasm between Elder and Latter born.  

No matter the dread that tightens my throat and fills my thoughts, I find I cannot look upon it without a great stirring of my heart.  Oh, but I wish only to see it flying high where all can look upon it and know the King is come. Let his allies be heartened and his enemies be cast down at the sight!  

And yet, for all its power, it is unfinished.  The crown is but laid upon the fabric and fastened, not yet bound to the cloth.   

Her touch lingers upon the gems affixed as stars upon the king's standard.  Ah, how they will catch the light when my lord's herald shall display his royal colors, argent and sable of the Citadel of the South Kingdom.  I wonder from what fine work that once graced her neck or wrist did she prize them.  Who had gifted them to her?  Did she now regret their sacrifice?  

“There may be little left I can do,” she says.

Her words startle me, though they are lowly said, so lost was I in the sight of what she, daughter of Celebrían and kin to the Lady of the Golden Wood, had wrought.  When I look up, it is to find her sharp look upon me, assessing I know not what.  Oh, ai!  She does not know!

“But this I can,” she goes on.  She lifts her hand from the cloth as could she bear its touch no longer.  "Will you not take it?  And send it when it is time?"  

“No,” I say, and her frown is as a sudden shadow that falls upon her face. 

“Why would you not?”

"Should I ask it of you, could you find it within you to forgive him?" I ask, though I hardly recognize what words have formed themselves upon my lips.  She blinks at me.

 "To what end?" bursts from her.

"Should he set me aside in your favor, would you go to him?"

I have caught her so by surprise, it seems she has lost all strength to her voice and can do naught but stare at me.  

“What is this?”

Ai!  I had thought her father would have told her, but, again, mayhap not, should he not wish to raise unfounded hope within her.  

“Why should I wish such a thing upon you?” she asks, her brow drawn in a fine, taut line. "Even after all this, I had not thought his heart so fickle!  Has he done this thing?"

"Nay, he has not,” I say and turn to face her, for she has come from about the table to stand afore me, “but the choice has not yet been forced upon him. I can no longer bear him a male heir and it shall leave much in doubt after his passing.  All our struggles may yet be for naught, in the end for it. But, of this I am sure, I, and his people, have sacrificed too much to allow it."

At this, her voice sharpens.  “Think again should you wish to use me as an enticement.  ‘Tis a cruel abuse of his heart that is more like to enrage than tempt him.  With what power he could command, should he oppose you, by what means could you make the attempt to force his hand?”

I do not answer this and see no need to.  Ai!  I need to find some way to end this ere I have angered her.  

“Do what you will, Lady Arwen,” say I, shaking my head.  “I cannot force you to it.  I can only beg.  We are all but gone, his Dúnedain of the Northlands.  We cling to what little we have, but even that has been worn away with little effort expended on the part of the Nameless One.  Should you wish my aid?  I would beg yours.

“You said I love him.  I do.  But I would have you complete your banner and send it to him of your own.  Ever has your shadow ghosted upon my days as his wife, but what is my pride to the survival of those I love?  The fate of my people rests upon his choice.   And I will use whatever I have to hand and humble myself here afore you and beg it of you should it be asked of me.”

She stares at me as one stunned and then breaks into full laughter.  

Her laughter turn sharp and then, of a sudden she falls heavily to the chair at her back.  

“Ai! I am a fool,” she cries. “I had thought to test you!”  

A silence falls between us.  In it comes the distant cry of cooing of doves where they have alighted upon the terrace canopy outside her windows.  I know not should she wish me gone, but she says naught for a little, her fingers playing upon the hem of silken cloth.  I, in turn, do little but watch her as light sparks off the gems against their black setting as her fingers move them. 

“I must beg your forgiveness,” she says, though she does not look upon me and speaks low.  “It seems I have wasted far too much time in anger.”

She laughs.  It is soft and carries no mirth.  “I think I had wished to hate you, Lady Nienelen.  I had hoped you were cold or indifferent to your husband, or cruel to his children and so I could dismiss you from my thoughts and know he wore out his days in regret.  I had hoped you dull and uninterested in the ways of the world, and then my father comes to me with tales of your keenness for it when he asked my permission to tutor you.”

Here she motions at the banner laid out upon the table.  “I had hoped to offer you this and thought myself the nobler for it.”  She laughs outright.  “But here you, too, confound my attempts.”

She stares at the work of silk and mithril and gems upon her table.   I am unsure what it is I see in her, but I pull away a chair from beneath the table and sit upon it.  I know not what it is, but there is somewhat just beyond grasp I must know. 

“Come with me,” she says, and leaves off stroking the line of silk to look upon me, “early upon the morrow, we travel to the southern slopes to oversee the pruning in the vineyards there.”  

I cannot think she does not have women of her acquaintance she would rather have with her than the wife of her lover and mother of his children. 

“Why?”  

“Oh,” she says and laughs a little at that, though sadly.  

“Do not think we have seen naught of suffering and the ills of war here,” she goes on, glancing briefly out upon the spires and roofs of her father’s house lit in golden light.  “Our memories are long, and the hills, though green and high reaching still, bear yet their scars.  Its beauty is but a glimpse of what it once was.  The years bring naught but a twilight upon us here, so many already have left.  My mother’s leaving still pains my father, though he will not say it.  Soon, I think, he, too, shall weary of the long fight without her.”

I think I know what she shall say, and it stops my throat and my heart aches.

“He will leave,” she says and looks away from me.  “And I must then go with him.  

“When the thought that watches o’er this valley is gone, those left of our folk will be alone and unprotected.  All I have worked to preserve here for them will be gone. They shall fade, or be lost, and then forgot.”

She presses her lips tightly together ere speaking again.  So greatly am I stunned, I can only stare at her.  My heart beats so that it pounds in my ears.   For though she clearly fights against them, tears start in her eyes and her voice trembles a little.

“And I will have abandoned them to it.”

Ai!  It strikes at my heart and my hand flies to my lips, there to still their shaking. 

“I think you, too, know what that is like,” she says and I see it again, that glimmer of light about her.  “It is beautiful there this time of year, when the sun first lights upon the frost of the high meadows.  I think, after all, I might like your company.”  

Her grasp is surprising strong.  I can see little but the relief that brightens her face and makes it beautiful.   

My heart lifts with the trembling laughter that shines through her tears, and I know she must see much the same when she looks upon me. 

~oOo~