The Others

And in the Darkness Bind Them

A/N – just as a warning, this chapter involves the death of an animal and a fairly gross moment towards the end.

Marillion sat for a long while in the empty dormitory.  Perched on the edge of the least filthy of the unoccupied beds, he clasped his hands and gazed at nothing, while his mind tried to fathom life so far.  His thoughts revolved for a long time around the figure in the gardens.  Had he seen a vision of Yavanna, somehow drawn to this forsaken place?  Hardly likely, he concluded.  Though there was certainly some strange and peculiar aura around the House of Herilmar.  The feeling tickled the edges of Marillion’s senses, as though he ought to know what it meant. 

The place was so unnaturally still.  Even though his parents’ house stood on a rather desolate cliff above the woods, there had always been servants moving around, a constant buzz of occupation that Marillion could sense all around him, in the walls and fixtures.  Yet here there was nothing but utter silence.  For the first time since his arrival, Marillion felt a shiver of fear ripple through him and he found himself wishing his father had stayed.

What manner of place had he landed in? he mused, watching distant birds speckle the clouds through the window.  What Lord of Númenor would not have a steed?  And why would he allow the use of swords within his halls, since such weapons were not wielded save in ceremony? 

Finally, with a deep sigh, he pulled some of his things out of his bag and spread them across the bed he had adopted.  The idea of sharing a room with four or five other boys did not appeal to him at all.  He preferred a space of his own, to hide from other people when they became too much to bear.  What would happen, he thought, if these children took an instant dislike to him, the way most of the villagers had?  He would be trapped with them.  He felt sure he would not like them. 

His heart leapt in fright when at last the door creaked open and his fellow students flooded in with a sudden burst of noise and movement.  Marillion leapt to his feet, pushing back his shoulders as proudly as he could, making himself as stern as possible as he faced the band of teenage boys bustling in. 

Four of them came into the chamber and stood in a line in front of Marillion, their faces all in various stages of surprise at finding the new arrival.  They seemed to form pairs; two tall and slender boys beside two slightly shorter, stockier ones.  All were dark, though the tallest of them all, a bony, narrow figure with piercing blue-grey eyes that seemed keen as one of Manwë’s eagles, had a slighter ruddier complexion and a reddish tint to his shoulder-length hair.  Marillion steeled himself, ready to face any ridicule or suspicion, yet the boys moved off after a moment, spreading out to go to their respective bunks. 

One of the chunkier boys approached him finally, hands buried in the copious sleeves of his emerald coat. 

“Are you new?” he asked, large grey eyes trained on Marillion.

“No, Nillë, he grew in the garden,” sneered the boy with reddish hair, unbuckling his scabbard from his belt, before he laid it reverently down upon his bed.  So they did practice with swords, thought Marillion.

The small boy, Nillë, threw a pout towards his comrade, then skulked over to his bed, which turned out to be the one beside Marillion’s, and continued to observe the newcomer with undisguised fascination.  Marillion shuffled, debating whether to converse with them or wait until he could better judge their mood.

“I am Nillë,” said the small boy finally. 

“Pleased to meet you Nillë,” mocked the redhead, turning to the others for approval and laughter.

“Leave him be, Olwen,” chided the other taller boy, striding forward.  “Ignore their sad attempts at humour.  I am Meldir Ilinwion.  He is Olwen, son of Carnimir, and his tongue is poisonous to everyone…”

“Only to Nillë,” protested Olwen, “and he does not mind, do you Nillince?”

“But,” continued Meldir, “he is the brightest scholar amongst us, and so it does well to keep in his favour.”

“And why should I help you?” laughed Olwen.  “Learn to conjugate your own Quenya!”

“Nillë you have already met,” Meldir went on, ignoring Olwen.  “And this is Rúnyaquar, son of Ehtyar.  Believe nothing he says.  He is a born liar.”

“And how am I a liar?” shouted Rúnyaquar, looking hurt.

“We are all the sons of Lords and great men,” laughed Olwen, “but do not let that frighten you.  We do not let our status cloud our vision.”

“I shall not let it frighten me,” replied Marillion.  “I am Marillion, son of Nairion and of Ilmarnië.  I am nephew to Tar-Súrion.”  He flashed a wry smile towards Nillë, who stared back, awe-struck.  “But I do not let my lineage cloud my vision.”

Meldir held his gaze for a long time, then his features softened and he laughed, sweeping down into a theatrical bow.  “Then we beg your indulgence, my lord, or is it ‘my prince’?”

Marillion smiled, unsure if he was still being mocked, but ready to relax a little.  “There are only four of you,” he said.  “I thought there would be five others?”

“So did we,” muttered Olwen.

“We were told we would have another here,” Meldir explained.  “Lord Herilmar’s son, Hermald.  Yet we have seen him…I should say…perhaps once since we arrived.”

“But I was told the very purpose of our being here was to provide Lord Herilmar’s son with some companionship?” asked Marillion.

Meldir shrugged.  “So was I.  But I have never spoken to him.  And when I saw him it was from far off.  He looked like the sort of person who would need his father to make friends for him.”

“Well, he will not make friends if he stays hidden in his room,” said Nillë, pulling out a bag of boiled sugar sweets, which he offered around.

“I heard Nadroth say the boy had died,” announced Rúnyaquar.  “And Lord Herilmar will not have him embalmed.  He has the body still in its room, and treasures it like it breathed still, though it rots and no longer has its head attached to its body.”

“As I said,” sighed Meldir.  “A born liar.”

“It is what I heard!” protested Rúnyaquar.

“And I am really King Ereinion of the Elves in disguise!” laughed Olwen.

“But whatever the reason,” Meldir went on, “and I do not believe he is dead and rotting somewhere… it would seem that we four will be your only companions so long as you stay here.  So let us hope that like us.”

“I see no reason why I should not,” Marillion admitted, and secretly breathed a sigh of relief.  The group seemed agreeable enough, and not at all childish like the boys he had met in the village.  Though everything still felt strange, he imagined he might survive here.  Perhaps for the first time he would have genuine friends.

“Have you left your home before?” asked Meldir.

Marillion shook his head.  “Never.  Yet when I was at home, I was alone most times.  There is nothing I shall miss.”

“Nillë still keeps a blanket his mother made him,” laughed Olwen.  “He hugs it every night to get to sleep because he misses her so!”

“I do no such thing!” shrieked Nillë, at the same time stuffing something that looked very like a homemade blanket beneath his pillow.

“My mother drinks wine every night until she cannot stand, and must be carried to bed,” said Meldir.  “That is why I am here.  My father thinks I see nothing, but I have seen her sprawled across the floor, unable to speak.  I might miss my father, if only he would not stand by and watch her disgrace herself.”

“My father said I was lazy,” added Olwen.  “That I might be a fine scholar, perhaps advise the court one day, if only I would stop allowing my brothers to lead me into trouble.  I find that slightly insulting, that he believes me so weak-willed.  Any trouble I have ever caused has been entirely my own doing.”

“When he says ‘lazy’,” Meldir interrupted, “he means he only read from dawn until dusk back then, not through the night as he does now.  He is kin to none but books.”

“My mother and father died at sea,” said Rúnyaquar.  “I became the ward of a distant uncle, yet he had no love for me, and so sent me here.”

“Well that is strange,” Olwen cut in, “because last week you told Nillë that your father was the king’s chief clerk for the harbours.”

“You did,” agreed Nillë.  “You said he planned all new ships that were to be built and organised the labour.”

“I did not,” snapped Rúnyaquar.

“You did.  You said he was going to find you work as the captain of a ship once you were old enough!”

“If you must lie, Rúnyaquar, at least try to remember the lies you have already told,” chuckled Olwen darkly.

“How can you say I lie?” Rúnyaquar protested again, but the others ignored him.

“And you, Prince Marillion?” asked Meldir.  “Why would the son of such a great lady be sent to a wretched house such as this?”

Marillion turned and regarded each of them in turn, his face a mask, though an indiscernible glint shone in his colourless eyes. 

“I am here,” he said, “because my mother believes me to be evil.”

Silence followed.  The others stared.

“Well,” breathed Olwen with a dry laugh. “That is hard to top.”

“Are you evil then, Marillion?” asked Meldir.

“So she believed,” muttered Marillion with a smile.  “Sometimes I wish she had told me how I might become evil, then I would know if I am doing the right thing.”

“Well some dark influences might make this place more interesting.”

“It is not interesting?” asked Marillion, glancing around.  His mind leapt instantly to the vision of the woman in the gardens, or the cry he heard in the corridor, though he mentioned neither.

“It is an interesting building,” Olwen admitted.

“When Nadroth disappears long enough to let us see it,” added Rúnyaquar.

“But what do you do here?” asked Marillion.

“History, the elven languages, how to judge the weather to find the best days to be at sea, the laws of the Eldar and of Númenor,” Olwen recited.

“And most days we are permitted to go outdoors to the quadrangle, where we can practice archery or our skill with swords,” Meldir went on.

“You have swords?”

Meldir reached down to his bed again and pulled the sword from its scabbard, holding it to the light so that the engraving on the blade could be seen.

“Hardly something from an elven forge,” he said, “but good enough.  Old Nadroth makes them, and has some skill.”

“But why?”

Meldir shrugged.  “I’ve never had a sword before.  But Lord Herilmar says it is important to learn how to wield one, for the custom of bearing no arms may not last.”

“Is he as strange as he seems?”

Olwen laughed.  “Are you?”

“We ought to show him,” said Rúnyaquar.  “Show him what we found.”

“For the sake of all that’s good, Rúnyaquar,” moaned Meldir, “can we hear about something else?”

“What is it?” asked Marillion.

“Proof that Herilmar is not beyond letting the world rot,” stated Rúnyaquar proudly.

“Just something we found,” said Meldir.  “I suppose we could show him.”

“I don’t want to see it again,” whined Nillë.

“Then you can stay here and hug your blanket,” laughed Olwen, sweeping off his bed.  He strode towards the door and grabbed his outdoor cape as he went.  “So if we are going down there, shall we go?”

Marillion buttoned up his coat and stood up, as Meldir and Rúnyaquar bustled past him to join Olwen by the door.  Nillë sat on his bunk, watching them nervously as though he did not fully believe they would leave him behind.  Then as they started to file out the door, he gathered up his coat and scurried after them.

It felt so good to move as a group, Marillion mused, to have others with the same purpose, to feel them surround him and know that he was not alone.  He had never felt that comradeship with anyone in the village, but then he had never wished to play the games they enjoyed, to roll in the mud or throw stones at birds and fish.

“We must move quietly,” Meldir advised in a whisper.  “Nadroth often roams the corridors, and we do not need him taking an interest in us.  If he spots you at something you ought not to be at, he often follows, unseen, and reports back to Herilmar.”

“Then the place we are going,” said Marillion.  “It is out of bounds?”

“Not really,” replied Olwen.  “That is, no one has said we ought not to be there.  But Herilmar does not like us ‘exploring’.”

They shuffled along the corridor, pausing at each turn to glance around the corner first, before venturing any further.  Finally they came to a narrow door with battered wood panelling.  Meldir listened for a moment then sneaked through when he was certain all was quiet. 

One by one they filed through the door into a cramped stairwell, then descended the creaky, steep spiral down towards the ground floor.  As they bounded off the last step, they were faced with a dagger-shaped archway with bright daylight beyond, then went out into a small, overgrown courtyard.

Surrounded by looming, oddly shaped towers, the boys moved slowly across the broken paving stones, watching every strange shape as they listened out for signs of Nadroth.

“I will bet you have never seen anything like this before,” Rúnyaquar whispered.  “It is grotesque.”  Despite his insistence that ‘the thing’, whatever it was, was definitive proof of Herilmar’s bizarre nature, Rúnyaquar seemed the most enthusiastic of all the students to see ‘the thing’ again. 

“I think it is horrible,” said Nillë.

“No one forced you to come,” Rúnyaquar snapped.  “Go back to your bed if you fear to go further.”

“Do not take out your ill temper on him, Rúnyaquar,” Olwen warned.  “That is my place in life.”

“He is a baby,” muttered Rúnyaquar.

“Perhaps he is,” said Meldir.  “Yet at least he is an honest one.”

They clambered over a pile of old, mossy stones and ducked into a lane between two parts of the house.  A cluster of trees awaited them at the far end and the dead branches scratched at them as the students pushed through into a long strip of yard beyond.  A set of squat, flat-roofed buildings sat ahead, and though many of the timbers had rotted and the wooden doors lay, for the most part, off their hinges, it as still recognisably a stable.

Meldir checked the way, glancing from side to side, then darted across into one of the stalls.  The others followed, though Marillion found himself lingering a little reluctantly.  Nillë gave him a sympathetic glance as if to say ‘I do not blame you for not wanting to see it’, but eventually Marillion inhaled deeply and strode across to join the others.  He would not be classed as a frightened baby.

Coming into the sudden shadows of the stall, Marillion’s eyes took a while to adjust to the grey darkness.  Soon though he made out Meldir and Olwen, standing with their arms folded against the partition dividing this stall from the next, while Rúnyaquar kicked at something on the ground amongst the straw.  Marillion made his way to the fore and looked down at the pile of ancient filth and hay and saw ‘the thing’ for the first time.

“Did I not say it was horrible?” called Nillë from the door. 

Though the light was poor, Marillion could see the shape of ‘the thing’ clearly, especially where the decay was greater and white bones had been exposed.  Yet he had never seen a thing so dead and so neglected before, and the stench of it made his stomach turn great leaps as though it wished to hurl itself out of his mouth.  Flies buzzed around the corpse, around the few patches of leathery flesh still remaining, with no respect for the animal’s once noble status.

“What man could treat a creature thus?” said Olwen, shaking his head. 

“I told you,” Rúnyaquar snapped.  “He has no heart.  His son lies dead on the upper floor and has no more honour in his burial than this horse!”

“Be quiet, Rúnya,” hissed Meldië, moving slowly to Marillion’s side, careful though not to step on the rotting horse.  “So now do you see why we are unsure of Herilmar?  What Lord of Númenor would let his steed rot?  There are strange things here.”

He smiled, glancing at each of the others in turn before his gaze finally settled on Marillion once more. 

“And we five,” he said, grinning, “are imprisoned here, with whatever it is.  Now is that not an adventure, boys?”
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Notes

-ince ending – In Quenya is a diminutive, so Olwen is calling his friend ‘Little Nillë’