Perilous Journeys. Shadow Over Rhudaur III

[Caelen]

November 9, 1347 – late morning, Eryndil’s home at Cameth Brin


"Congratulations, Caelen."

Caelen froze.

"What?" she asked in a quiet but tense voice, as though she couldn't quite believe what she had heard and was afraid to find out that she was right.

Eryndil, who had been looking at his mother, sensed that something was amiss; some long-dormant memory stirred in his mind about etiquette - there was something about "congratulations" now, wasn't there? He turned his head to look at Caelen, and was astonished at the expression he saw on her face. Something was definitely wrong, but he had no idea what it was. He quickly glanced around the room - Hendegil's face wore an expression like Caelen's, but his father looked pained and uneasy.

"I said congratulations, Caelen," repeated Rildorien, looking at Caelen calmly but defiantly. Eryndil looked back and forth between his mother and his betrothed - clearly, there was something wrong, but he had no idea what it was. What was wrong with congratulating Caelen? There was something just on the edge of his memory ... Confused, he waited to see how Caelen would answer his mother.

He didn't have to wait long.

Caelen turned white and slapped Rildorien hard across her face.

"How DARE you insult me like that! How DARE you insult my mother!" she said furiously to Rildorien, who stood immobile, with the imprint of Caelen's hand showing up red and angry on her cheek.

Eryndil's jaw dropped; he stared at Caelen, incredulous.

Camglas looked at Caelen with an expression of reproach mixed with pity for a brief instant, then turned and took his wife gently by her shoulders. "Rildorien," he said sadly, shaking his head, seeming to plead with her. But Rildorien didn't answer - her eyes were fixed on Caelen with an expression of anger and contempt.

Eryndil grabbed Caelen's shoulders and turned her around hard to face him. She wasn't white anymore; she was flushed red and breathing hard, and mixed with the anger in her eyes, there was disbelief and pain.

"Caelen! You apologize to my mother right NOW!" he commanded, angry and embarassed at the behavior of his betrothed. Caelen stared back at him, her eyes flashing. "She owes ME an apology!" she cried out, trying to pull away from his grip.

"For what? he demanded angrily, giving her a slight shake.

But Hendegil interrupted. She put her hand on her brother's arm. "Leave her alone, Eryndil - she overreacted, but ... it was understandable."

Eryndil stared at his sister in disbelief. "Understandable? WHAT is understandable? I certainly don't understand it!" he shouted, angry that he couldn't understand what was causing this disruption between two women that he loved.

Hendegil turned to Caelen. "Go wait for me in your room, Caelen," she said quietly. "We'll defend you." Caelen, after a brief moment of indecision, nodded her head and quickly left the room. Eryndil moved to go after her, but Hendegil stopped him with a hand on his arm. "She needs you here," she said firmly.

The door shut behind Caelen, and Eryndil, feeling like he was drowning in a tumultuous sea of womenly complication, said, "Hendegil! What's going on?!" He didn't want to speak to his mother, who was standing there immobile with that strange expression on her face, the slight imprint of Caelen's hand still visible on her cheek.

Hendegil sighed. "Mother congratulated Caelen," she said, as if that explained everything.

Eryndil stared at her for a moment, completely at sea. "And... ?" he said, with an exasperated hand gesture.

"Don't you remember the etiquette that your mother taught you?" said Camglas quietly. "You congratulate the MAN on an engagement; you NEVER congratulate the woman."

Eryndil, who had been staring at Hendegil with his mouth open, suddenly shut it, trying to think. He now remembered Rildorien hammering this particular point of etiquette into him, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember the reason behind it. To him, it was just one of many such rules that sometimes made sense and sometimes didn't.

Finally he broke the silence. "Why?" he asked simply.

Hendegil sighed in exasperation. "Because you congratulate someone on achieving a goal!" she almost shouted. He looked over at Rildorien, then back to Hendegil. A faint realization of what Rildorien had meant by that single word was beginning to dawn on him.

Hendegil decided to spell it out for him. "What mother was saying to Caelen was that Caelen had purposefully schemed to get you to propose marriage to her, and she had now achieved that goal."

Eryndil looked at Rildorien, shocked. Rildorien was now looking a trifle uneasy. But Hendegil had one more thing to say.

"She basically called Caelen a whore."

[Tarniel]

Afternoon of Nov 9. Cameth Brin. Somewhere in the Palace.

Tarniel stared in disbelief at Odaragariel. So the emerald necklace, Elessya the Green, the heirloom of the House of Dauremir, was gone!

"I wish you had told me of this when it had happened," she said at last, rather piqued at her friend.

"I was so worried that you would be angry at me," Odare confessed sheepishly, her gaze darting to the side.

Tarniel studied the scar on Odare's arm and then looked to her face. "Not really angry, just disappointed. You should have told me when it had happened, not waited all this time."

Odare winced, hearing the irritation in the princess' voice. "I did not mean for it to happen... It was not a careless mistake, like simply misplacing it somewhere."

Tarniel thought back to the chaotic night when the huge bear went wild at the feast. A dignified crowd of lords and ladies instantly became a screaming, running mob of terrified people, like a swarm of ants trying to escape from a destroyed anthill. Chairs were knocked down as their inhabitants had leapt from them and headed towards the doors. Ladies fainted and their attendants desperately tried to get them off the floor so that they would not be crushed under the press of the throng. Personal belongings could easily get lost in such madness.

"You were only lucky that you were not killed," Tarniel replied, her expression softening.

"The chain must have broken, and the necklace got kicked around by the crowd," Odare suggested, her chest tense with the sigh of relief that she did not risk letting loose just yet.

Tarniel cocked her to the side and tucked a loose stray of dark hair behind her ear. "And no one was able to find it?" she asked pensively.

Odare nodded. "I had the feasting hall searched thoroughly. It is my supposition that someone unscrupulous, like one of Broggha's scoundrels, pocketed it, and now it graces the neck of one of their women." Attempting to gain even more pity, she put on her most morose face and then stared down at the floor sadly. "Again, I am sorry, Tarniel. When I borrowed the necklace, I had no way of knowing—"

Tarniel put her hand up. "What happened is in the past and we cannot change that. But we have other problems." A wry smile touched her lips. "What do we do if my father, the king, finds out about this? I do not think he will be very pleased at either of us, especially at me, since if I had not leant you the necklace, then it never would have gotten lost."

The eyes of both girls met, each one wondering what they would do.

[Daurendil]

Cameth Brin Palace, King Tarnendur’s study. Afternoon of November 9, 1347.

“No, Daurendil, it is out of the question!” the King replied to his Heir’s long and heated speech. “I need Eryndil here – there are many others who could be sent to the battlefield.” He frowned darkly and studied his obviously much disappointed son. Despite the Heir’s usual impeccable attire, the dark circles under the youngster’s eyes were plain to see.

“I am a bit curious,” the King continued, “what is the real reason of your sudden interest in the matters of State in general and Eryndil in particular? I have a bad feeling that you are not as disinterested as you want to appear.”

Daurendil squirmed under his father’s piercing gaze as the King had an uncanny ability to see right through all his ruses. Still he tried to wriggle out of it. “What do you mean, Father?” he asked innocently. “I simply … appreciate Lord Eryndil’s … many fine qualities and…”

“That’s why you have paid him an unexpected visit last night?” came a cutting reply. “Or was it just a visit to his house that, as I heard, harbors the famed ostler’s wife?”

Daurendil’s color abruptly changed from white to angry pink. “She is not his wife,” he almost shouted, “she is but his sister and an honorable, innocent maiden!”

“If she is innocent and honorable as you say, then why in Ungoliant do you try to ruin her reputation?” the King hissed back. “First this bloody dress…then this grappling hook… You are a fool, Daurendil!”

“So you have set spies on me?” The Prince knew that he was threading on a dangerous ground, but his anger overcame his better judgment.

The King shook his head in disgust. “Let me put this straight, Daurendil” he said coldly. “As you didn’t return to the Palace last evening, your poor Mother has spent a sleepless night. And so have I. I deemed I had the right to know what kept you in the city so late – so I took measures to learn it. Must I say that I didn’t like what I learned?”

The Heir, his cheeks even redder than before, stood looking sullenly at his boots.

“If you have nothing to say, then you are dismissed” the King barked, suddenly out of patience. “Go and reflect on your unseemly behavior!”

Trying to hide his angry tears, Daurendil turned and fled the room - the door banged violently behind him. He stopped at the landing and cursed several times, using the vilest words in his vocabulary. It helped but little – he still felt … he felt he could kill somebody with his bare hands right then and there. Or, more precisely, he felt he was going to dissolve into childish sobs.

Everything …everyone turned against him! Father, Mother, his friends, Eryndil …even Caelen herself! His sister, the sweet little Tarniel, betrayed him also – for hadn’t he begged her to intervene, to save the day by writing a simple dratted letter? Too much to ask evidently – instead the prissy girl must have spilled it out to her dear Arinya, if not to Mother! Well – she was going to hear what he thought about it!

Daurendil gritted his teeth and stalked towards his sister’s rooms.

[Lieutenant Hyarion]

Fortress of Carn Dum, evening of November 9, 1347

Lord Hyarion, lieutenant of Shedun Fortress, followed the guard down a long empty corridor. The sound of their footsteps echoing on the stone floor was disconcerting to Lord Hyarion, but the guards seemed oblivious to the noise. Behind them followed two more guards carrying the possessions of Silmadan, nephew of the king. Though the hall was deserted, save for the four of them, Hyarion sensed unseen eyes watching them. That was nothing unusual about that in itself, for every time Hyarion had been to the fortress of Carn Dum, he had sensed that he was being watched. This time, however, he detected there was a greater level of animosity than was common. Whether they were eyes of the living or eyes of another kind, he had never been able to determine, but such matters were not any business of the commander of a remote outpost.

"This way, sir," the brisk young guard told him as he opened the door to a chamber. "Here Lord Alassar will receive you."

Nervously, Hyarion walked through the door and bowed formally to His Majesty's steward, Lord Alassar. The grim-faced man acknowledged him with a brief nod and pointed him to a seat across the table from where he sat.

"Lord Alassar," Hyarion began, "all of Lord," he hesitated, "at least I believe I am correct in referring to him as a lord - Silmadan's possessions are intact and contained in those two packs that I brought up with me from Shedun."

"Aye, Lieutenant, I am certain they are. It is not even necessary that I see the packs opened before me." He turned to the three guards. "Men, deliver the packs to his room, and then return to your stations."

The young guard looked at him questioningly. "Should we wait for verification that all is as it is said to be?"

"Nay," Alassar's expression was unreadable, "he is still resting after the journey, but I am sure if something is not in order, we will be hearing from Lord Silmadan soon enough."

"Aye, sir," the guards bowed and were quickly away out the door.

"Wine?" Alassar looked at Lieutenant Hyarion as he reached for the decanter and filled two goblets.

"Aye, a draught would be appreciated," Hyarion nodded as he accepted the goblet.

"Aye, the aroma is exceptional," Alassar moved the glass under his nostrils and then drank. "And how was your journey up here?"

"My lord, uneventful, I am glad to say." Hyarion wished that the man would just get on with whatever it was that he wanted to say. He felt that the Steward was playing some kind of game with him, a game he did not understand, and he was feeling uncomfortable with it.

"Lieutenant, I understand you brought a girl with you, one of the Lossoth. This is the first time you have ever brought one of your women to the fortress. I am curious as to why." Though his manner was friendly, Hyarion thought he sensed a trace of something unpleasant in his eyes.

"Aye, my lord, I must apologize for that, but I came into possession of her while on the trail. There was no opportunity to have her transported back to the fortress." Hyarion hoped that his explanation would be sufficient.

Alassar's expression never changed, and Hyarion wondered if the man had even been listening to him. "Reports which have come to me state that the woman is ill. Surely you must have taken into consideration that she might have been infected with the plague and could contaminate every last person in this fortress?" Lord Alassar regarded him with a sharply questioning look in his eyes.

"No, nothing like that, my lord." Hyarion was becoming more aggitated. I do not think the cause of her malady is physical, but rather of the spirit. You see, the poor girl had a fright - you know how weak females are - and she has not been the same since."

"A fright, you say?" Alassar took another sip from his goblet and then leaned forward, studying Hyarion's face. "What sort of fright?"

"Nothing really, the result of an accident," Hyarion hedged. Although the room was quite cool, Hyarion found himself sweating and took another stout drink of wine to steady his nerves. How much did the steward know about the bizarre ceremony in which Hyarion had participated? He had been a fool to believe Silmadan, who had promised to reveal the secrets of the gleaming blade if Hyarion would but agree to allow him to use Elína in his bizarre ceremony.

"What sort of accident?" Alassar's eyes on him had grown intense.

"The girl was accidentally wounded by Lord Silmadan's dagger." Hyarion looked away and studied the tapestry on the wall. The work was really quite magnificent. The threads had been worked to depict the image of a warrior mounted upon a huge black warhorse. He held a great mace in his hands and had just struck down one of his enemies.

"Wounded by Lord Silmadan's dagger!" Alassar exclaimed, firmly grabbing the edge of the table in his hands and pushing back in his chair. "What kind of dagger?"

"A dagger, just like any other," Hyarion shrugged his shoulders, hoping to minimize the situation so that Lord Alassar would not probe any further.

"Hyarion, you are a soldier and both you and I know that there is no dagger 'just like any other.' All are different, and each possesses its own power. Describe it, man, and do not try to trick me!"

As much as he wanted to devise some cunning lie that would put Alassar off, he knew that he could not deceive him. Perhaps there was some drug which had been added to the wine that made his tongue more eager to speak. By the time the audience was over, he had told him everything. At the conclusion of the meeting, Lord Alassar had no comments, but dispatched guards to take him back to the rooms he shared with Elína. Lieutenant Hyarion knew that they, too, would be added to the many that must now be watching him.

[Alagos and Tyaron]

November 8, 1347, sunset – eight leagues west of the Last Bridge

Tyaron finished re-wrapping Callon's arm and then sat back with a satisfied expression.

"You'll have an interesting-looking scar to tell stories about, and you'll be stiff for a bit, but you'll be fine. Alagos probably didn't need to have cut so deeply, but for these types of wounds, it's better to be safe than sorry - he definitely saved your life."

A serious expression lighted briefly on the face of the normally-smiling Alagos. "I've seen too many die from those wounds - and it's not a pleasant death. If I had come to you a few minutes later, I would have probably used my dagger on you quite differently ..."

Callon drew a shaky breath as he realized what the Elf was saying. He stood up and bowed. "I thank you again for saving my life. I can't imagine ... my sister ... " He shook his head, overcome with emotion as he pictured his sister receiving news of his death.

"Well, she'll get most of you back!" replied Alagos merrily, the momentary serious expression now replaced with his usual smile. "I wish we could have saved all of you, but at least we saved most of you - 99 parts of 100 isn't too bad, considering the alternative!"

Tyaron grinned and made a remark in Sindarin. Callon looked at Alagos with an inquiring expression on his face, waiting for the translation; the elves had started speaking in the various Elvish tongues around him and then translating, knowing how he enjoyed hearing and learning about languages.

Alagos feigned a shocked expression. "I'm sorry, I must decline to translate," he said to Callon in a serious voice, although he was unable to keep a little grin from starting. "My friend has said something shockingly rude - something that I would NEVER consider saying!" He shook his finger at Tyaron in the universal admonishing gesture.

"He's just mad that he didn't think of it first!" replied Tyaron, laughing, as he put away the herbs he had used on Callon's arm and then stood up to join the other two. Callon smiled; even with his limited Sindarin, he had a good guess at what Tyaron had said.

Callon suddenly remembered what he had been setting out to do before Tyaron had stopped him to check his arm. "I need to check the horses - would you like to come with me?" he asked the elves, still a bit tentative around them despite their joking with him. The thought of how old they were, and what they had lived through and seen, still boggled his mind, and he didn't understand why they seemed to like to be around him instead of the other, more experienced soldiers. But whatever reason they had, he was thoroughly enjoying their company.

"Surely - Anka and I have to finish a very interesting conversation we started earlier today, anyway," said Alagos, and started walking towards the horses. Callon, unsure of whether or not he was joking, followed, with Tyaron at his side.

"Anka?" queried Callon, hoping to get the translation this time.

"Teeth!" replied Tyaron with a grin, and Callon chuckled. Both of them had observed the fiery gelding taking bites out of any man unfortunate enough to come within his range.

"Let me do any heavy work," continued Tyaron. "I don't want you straining your arm and re-opening the wound."

"All right, I will - thanks," replied Callon.

Normally Callon would have warned someone approaching the black gelding to be careful, but he had no worries as he watched Alagos come right up to the horse, put his hands on either side of his face and start talking to him nose-to-nose, while the the 18-hand giant nuzzled the tall elf like they had been best friends from birth. The First-Born definitely had a way with animals, there was no denying that!

"I'll keep his teeth busy - you might want to check his off-hind hoof; he seemed to be favoring it just a bit - but I'm sure you noticed that, anyway," said Alagos to Callon as he walked up.

"Oh yes, you must stop thinking that men are made of delicious oats and honey, you great big oaf, you - they don't appreciate being bitten," murmured the elf to the horse, who blew back at him softly through his nostrils. Alagos reached up and scratched the horse's forelock, and then fixed him with a stern look. "And if I hear of you biting again, I'll have to come back and speak to you sternly, and you won't like that!" he added, and the towering animal reached out and gently lipped Alagos's ear, tickling him with his whiskers.

Tyaron ran his hand down the gelding's right rear leg and picked up the hoof, holding it towards the light for Callon to examine.

Callon pulled out a hoof pick from his equipment pouch and started gently clearning the massive hoof, noting at what spot the gelding seemed to pull back a bit. When he had cleared the mud and debris, he pocketed the pick and ran his finger along the inner spongy area of the hoof and found the problem - a small stone lodged deep into the cleft near the center of the hoof. He gently worked it out while Alagos kept the gelding occupied, thankful to have such helpers with such a horse - it would have been a much harder job to manage alone, especially with his injured arm. Pulling a small jar from the pouch, he rubbed a little of the salve it contained into the sore area.

"Is it warm at all?" inquired Tyaron, holding the hoof firmly while Callon worked on the sore area.

All of a sudden, the comfortable noise of men relaxing by fires after a long journey, telling tales rendered more interesting by drink and camraderie, was rent by a loud voice.

"Barund! Will you PLEASE tell your men to quiet down!" came the angry and haughty voice of Gimilbeth through her tent material.

"You could always have the Ice Princess come by and cool it down," came Alagos's voice from the head of the horse.

Callon grinned and shook his head, then retrieved the hoof pick and cleaned the other three hooves. As the three men left to check over the other horse, the black gelding whickered softly and shook his mane at the backs of the retreating elves.

[Lord Alassar]

Fortress of Carn Dum, night of November 9, 1347

"Lord Alassar, be seated." His Majesty motioned to the seat across the table from him.

"Thank you, sire." As he sat down at the table, Alassar attempted a polite smile but could manage only a spasmodic upturning of his lips. While he could conceal almost all traces of any emotion from other men, there was no way he could deceive the dark presence who sat before him.

His hand trembled as he brought the goblet of mulled wine to his lips and took a small sip. He wished he could control the tremor that insistently plagued his hand. Such mannerisms reflected weakness. If it had been another - a man like himself - who sat across from him at the small table, Lord Alassar would have given every appearance of a man perfectly in control of himself - calm, cool and detached. However, His Majesty was formidable enough during a normal audience, but under the present circumstances, it was as though Alassar faced some grim spectre who could see through to his very soul.

"Lord Alassar, what business is so urgent that it should take me away from my warm bed?" While the King's voice sounded offended, Alassar thought that he could catch another quality, almost - his mind stumbled to find the precise word that would describe it. The best that he could do was "concern," or was it "pity?" Whatever it was, it did not ease Alassar's distress. On the contrary, it made him feel more alarmed. There was nothing to do but press on and simply tell His Majesty exactly what was bothering him.

"Sire, as you know, Lieutenant Hyarion and his new mistress arrived here this afternoon." Alassar took another drink of the wine - which was quite good, he thought. "I fear that the girl is most unwell." Alassar directed his gaze at the king in the attempt to gauge his reaction to his words, but he could read nothing.

"Lord Alassar, what seems to be the malady which plagues the girl?" The king lifted up his own wine and took a shallow sip.

Alassar rubbed his fingers over his palm and was disconcerted to discover that his hand was just as sweaty as he feared. "I do not have a name for this illness, for it exhibits symptoms that I have never quite seen before. It does not seem to be any plague or disease of which I am familiar, and you know that I am well-versed in medicine."

"My lord steward, describe these symptoms to me." The king's voice now seemed sympathetic.

"Majesty, the girl - whose name is Elína - complains of chills and aches, and a feeling of cold which she says has penetrated deep into her very bone marrow. At night, she is vexed by terrible dreams of dark places and phantoms. Lieutenant Hyarion told me that she fears that she will fall asleep and never awaken. It seems that she thinks that death is waiting for her just beyond the portals of her room." Lord Alassar looked down at the cuff of his sleeve, which was embroderied with vines twining about runes. "Normally, I would attribute her condition merely to a state of nervous aggitation and hysteria at being in new circumstances and surroundings. This I would do if were not for the fact that she seems so unnaturally cold, and her pulse is erratic. But the name of this disease?" Alassar shook his head. "I could find it in none of the medical books."

Here, Alassar was lying. He knew the name of the illness, but he was too terrified to tell his master how he knew it. Alassar thought back to that day several years ago when he had been summoned to His Majesty's chambers high in the tower. Just when he had arrived, the king had been called away suddenly. After assuring him that he would be back soon, the king told him that while waiting his return that he should feel free to use the library. Alassar had been overjoyed at this privilege, for he had long hoped for an opportunity to see the extensive collection. While exploring the library, Alassar's attention had been drawn to a door which he had not noticed before.

"Unusual that this escaped my attention," he had thought at the time as he walked over to the door. Noticing that the door was slightly ajar, he felt it would do no harm for him to take a quick look inside. There was a treasure of learning contained in all the many scrolls arranged in their neat holders and he was hungry for the opportunity to examine even one. As he looked over them, he was uncertain which one to view. Finally, a title in neat script caught his eye and he took it to the nearby table

Unrolling the parchment, he held his candle high above the document. There, before him, he saw that the scroll was written in a dialect of Black Speech which was so pure and perfect in form and syntax that at first he could only make a few words. Then he saw the order in the runes, and drawing upon his previous knowledge of the language, he was able to translate a small portion of text. "The high tongue!" he realized, shocked at his discovery.

He had pursued a section of the text when a sense of great danger came upon him, warning him to leave the room quickly. Putting the scroll back in its place, he had fled quickly and returned to the library. He had been relieved to find that His Majesty had not yet come back. Forcing himself to breathe slowly and deeply, he calmed his hammering heart and settled his nerves. He appeared quote nonchalant a few minutes later as he loked over the scrolls and found an innocuous one titled "Fishing Off the Coast of Orrostar."

Yes, he knew the name of the malady which inflicted the girl. Even more importantly, he knew the manner in which she had been stricken. Just thinking of the fate which lay in store for the innocent girl caused a heavy sense of despondency to bear down upon him. "Doomed," he thought. "This lovely child is doomed with no hope of escape." However, Alassar dare not tell His Majesty how he had obtained this information.

"Nay, I have no name for the ailment." Alassar found himself repeating what he said previously. "Strange," he thought. Such a thing was unthinkable to his well ordered mind. He was becoming agitated. He must direct his well-trained mind to make his body relax.

"Lord Alassar, are you sure that is quite true?" His Majesty sounded amused.

His nervousness returned and intensified. Alassar forced himself to look up into the face of his master. "Sire, what do you mean?"

"Alassar, you know full well what I mean. Do not attempt to conceal the truth from me, for I have many ways of knowing things. Always be truthful to me. I value candor in a man."

The king could see through him! It was useless to try to hide anything from His Majesty, and so Alassar confessed that he knew of the existence of the hidden room. He did not feel purged of his guilt until he had revealed everything which he had learned in that scroll. At that moment, realization came to him. He was one of the few living men who had obtained the secret of the most dread of the Nazgûl weapons - and what it did. Even more ominious and forebidding than that, though, was the terrifying knowledge of just what His Majesty - and perhaps his nephew really were - undead immortals.

"Now that that matter is out of the way," His Majesty was almost laughing, that cold, sarcastic sound that was part laugh and part hiss, but devoid of all mirth,"perhaps you will tell me how you propose to remedy the situation."

Suddenly feeling extremely weak, Alassar leaned forward and clutched the table with both hands. "Sire, neither of them can leave Carn Dum - ever! When the girl dies or..." Alassar's voice broke in fear, "is... 'transformed,' Hyarion will be very bitter, and bitter men have a tendency to talk too much. He will tell all his colleagues about your nephew, and then, if they do not guess what he is, they will strongly suspect it." Alassar's words sped from his mouth as though he had no control over his tongue.

"Your Majesty, as you are very aware, people will always gossip and spread rumors, and the more extravagant or spectacular the tale, the quicker and farther the stories will travel. Should the kings of the northern and southern kingdoms have any inkling of this - and I do not like to think about the elves in Rivendell - everything you have worked to build here will be in dire jeopardy."

The king was silent, turning the stem of his wine goblet slowly around and around in his fingers. Alassar had the sensation that the king was laughing at him, mocking him. Feeling His Majesty's eyes upon him, as though they were burning a hole through his mind and soul, the steward quaked in horror. Would the dread king slay him for reading the forbidden scroll and then lying about it, or even worse - a shudder of icy cold fear went down Alassar's spine - would he turn one of those Silent Ones after him? Or most horrifyingly of all, use one of those terrible blades upon him?

"Your Majesty, please..." Sweat trickled down Alassar's forehead and his heart throbbed in his chest like the beating of a hillman's drum. The king's form began to shimmer, glowing a silver pale white, and a wave of dizziness swept over the steward. Trembling, unable to see anything except a cloudy image, he rose to his feet and groped along the table to where the king's seat was set. His dry throat began to constrict as though a great hand were tightening around it, and the proud steward began to weep, sobbing like a little boy who had been hurt. Falling to his knees, he gripped the king's robe. "Your Majesty, mercy! Mercy I beg you!"

The king's reply was harsh and cold. "Rise to your feet and return to your seat, Steward! Such fawning and groveling is not worthy of a man!"

Taking his breath in great gasps, Alassar stumbled back and almost collapsed in his seat.

"'Tis true that you have committed a serious breach of trust, but surely you must know that I knew about it all along. Perhaps you feel that the obtaining of such knowledge was not worth the price, and perhaps you are correct. Now that you have it, though, you can never turn back." Alassar was certain that somewhere in the rear of the room, he could hear hollow voices laughing and mocking and sense unseen fingers pointing at him in ridicule. He looked around but saw nothing.

He drew a deep breath and asked the question that was tormenting his mind. "Sire, then you are not--"

The King interrupted him. "No, your existence is safe enough, Lord Alassar. You will not die today." The king was silent for a while after that and then spoke again. "The answer to your other question... the Lieutenant of Shedun fortress and his pretty little slave will remain here forever. Tell him that I have appointed him to a much better position than he had before."

"And the woman?"

The King's voice took on a new tone, one that Alassar recognized as something common to all men. Lust. "Have her brought to my chambers when dawn covers the mountains. There is a... cure... to her sickness... but do not concern yourself with what it might be. You are free to go, my lord Steward."

[Odaragariel of Mitheithel]

Afternoon of Nov 9, 1347, Tarniel's sitting-room in the Palace, Cameth Brin


Footsteps outside the door. Loud, angry footsteps. Odaragariel, who was feeling guilty, gave a start. Had they been found out already? Someone banged the door open, and Odare looked up slowly, prepared to find the accusing gaze of the King on her. Instead she found Daurendil, looking accusing, certainly, but not at her, at his sister. In fact, he hardly seemed to notice her presence.

"You didn't do it, did you?" he began unpleasantly. He had just had a humiliating interview with his father, and he was in the mood to quarrel. As brothers will, the one person he had found whom he could boss around right now, with some reason at least, was his younger sister. "The one, simple, small thing I ask of my sister, and she does not do it. So affectionate, so sweet as she is." He sat down heavily on the best chair in the room and glared at Tarniel balefully.

"What did you ask her to do?" Odare asked, curious, and somewhat relieved that they were safe about the necklace for now.

Tarniel answered, "He asked me to give Caelen a riding-dress. Apparently, he had already presented it to her, but she had returned it as she thought it was improper of her to accept it from him." She shot her brother an angry glance. How dare he barge in here and start haranguing her about this, especially in the presence of Odaragariel! Embarrassed, she felt heat infuse her cheeks.

"And you wanted your sister to make the gift proper, is that it?" finished Odare for her.

"Yes! I don't see that it is something unreasonably hard to do. If Tarniel and you could just say that the riding-dress was a gift from all of us who went hunting with her that day, then, why she could even come back to the Palace from that man's house where she's living. You might make her your lady-in-waiting or something like that!" Odare was looking at him, incredulously. Did he really expect her to pretend to befriend this girl so he could court her?

Daurendil meanwhile, had softened his tone somewhat, almost wheedling, clearly hoping that if he could convince Odare to help him, his sister would fall in line. "I mean, its not right, her living in an unmarried man's house. She was desperate, of course, didn't know anyone and he took her in - but if you two extended hands of friendship, she could just stay here! Besides, I don't trust that man. Some thane's useless son, and he is obviously trying to take advantage of her helpless state. I thought he could come in handy by going North - goodness knows we need loyal men on the front, there are too many Hillmen going anyway. And father just shot me down. Absolutely would not hear of it. First Caelen, then father. What do they see in this Eryndil?" he ended bitterly.

"Are you sure your wish to see him go with the army was purely due to your desire to see him useful?"

Daurendil got up, all haughty disdain. "What are you trying to insinuate, Odie?"

"Nothing much. Except that you are obviously smitten with this girl, but unless I'm wrong, she prefers Eryndil. She returns your riding-dress, but thinks nothing of living in his house. Seems to me I detect more than a hint of jealousy in the works."

"I think you're jealous yourself!" said Daurendil wildly. "You're the one that convinced Tarniel not to do what I asked her. You probably got that hag of a housekeeper to kick Caelen out in the first place!"

"Enough!" cried Tarniel. "I did not take anyone's advice in not doing what you asked, I acted on my own judgement."

"And even if she asked me, I would hardly help you to entrap that poor girl!" added Odare, though it must be added, she hardly thought of Caelen as a helpless girl, and as far as entrapping went, she thought Daurendil was in more danger.

"What have you got against Caelen? Why won't you two help me?"

Tarniel replied in a calm tone, "Well, I can't help you because it is just not right. Caelen returned the riding dress; can you not take a hint? It is obvious that the girl does not want anything to do with you, so stop meddling in her life. Think of your reputation - and hers. Caelen has a penchant for scandal, and it brings shame to the royal family for you to chase after her like a drooling buffoon!" The emotion had risen in her voice, rendering it high and shrill. Pausing, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"As for Odare, you know that - how shall I put it? We all expect you and Odaragariel to marry someday." There, the words, unspoken all these years, were out, and hanging in the air. "In her position, she could hardly hold your rope while you climbed up this girl's balcony!" Her fists clenched at her sides, Tarniel stared at her brother with newfound defiance.

Daurendil was looking shocked, and Odare took this opportunity to add, smiling maliciously, "Oh, we heard about your little adventure. I daresay your father and mother have heard, too. No wonder the King was so reluctant to let you send your rival to his death. Very honourable scheme, Daurendil. Did you come up with it yourself? Such a neat plan. Saves you the hassle and guilt of killing him yourself, but gets him conveniently out of the way!"

"And are you all that honourable yourself? What about your schemes to get Caelen out of the Palace so that you can marry me and become the queen? Why don't you just marry Amantir? Less trouble, and you might convince father to let you rule that barren waste that you own."

Odare had said pretty much the same thing to herself in her head, but that did not make it any less painful to hear Daurendil say it. Half of her wanted to burst into tears, the rest of her too angry to let herself display any weakness.

"You can not say that to me! Do you think that... I care for you and Amantir only so I can snag you as husbands? You and I have not been friends for ten years, for you to insult me like that for a girl who you've only just met, who doesn't care for you, merely because she's beautiful! I owe your father a lot, I owe Tarniel a lot, I owe Rhudaur - but I don't owe you anything. I don't have to spend a minute listening to your filth, if I don't want to."

"But I have to listen to you accusing me of being a murderer." replied Daurendil quietly, shaking with anger.

Odare did not reply. The silence was broken by the door opening, and Amantir entered, looking moody. "I thought I heard loud voices." No one replied to this, so he went on, "Father sent me to look for you, he says he has some good news. But, oh, look, here he is himself. And my mother as well. Quite a royal procession." He smiled at his own joke, and sat down on a chair nearby, as his parents entered the room as well. Tarniel's room, normally a large airy place was looking distinctly crowded, and everyone, even the King, was looking slightly awkward.

"I was coming here to talk to Tarniel alone, but I suppose it matters not that you are all here. You will be relieved to hear that your sister Gimilbeth is safe. I have just received a letter from her." No one looked very relieved, though Tarniel murmured something about being glad. Daurendil was still glaring at Odare and she was looking at the wall, fighting against a lump in her throat.

"And," the King adopted a sterner tone and faced Tarniel, "I also wanted to tell you a strange story I heard from the messenger. Apparently a Hillman was executed by the order of your sister, for being found in possession of an emerald necklace - Elessya, in fact. I thought you had it, Tarniel. If it was stolen, why did you not tell me of it?"

"Oh, stop picking on Tarniel!" Tarnendur, shocked, and more than a little surprised turned to face the wrathful Odare. "I lost it when that bear attacked me and your Hillman must have picked it up then. I only told Tarniel of it today. It was very irresponsible of me and I am sorry. I am glad to hear the necklace is safe, however." Picking up her courage, she added, "I have also decided that I will never marry Prince Daurendil. I renounce any claims I ever had to being his wife. Better to do it formally now that you're all present."

"What are you talking about, girl?" the Queen was looking at her, bewildered.

Daurendil said, laughing, "My dear Odie, I wouldn't marry you if my entire family went down on their knees right now and begged me to. I wouldn't want all my children to end up looking like you, see?"

Odare struggled to come up with something horrible enough to say to him, but words failed her. "Right. I'm leaving."

"Be my guest." he said, bowing her out of the room. "Shut yourself up in your room and howl - see who cares."

"No, I mean, I'm leaving Cameth Brin. I'm going back home, to that barren waste, as you call it." turning to the King, she said, and avoiding looking at Tarniel as much as she could, she went on, "I will be forever grateful to you, sir, and I will always remember that you were my friend. But - I can not stay under the same roof as your son. There is an army leaving to go there right now - Eryndil might not be going with them, but I will be."

(Written by Elfhild and Serenoli)

[Eryndil]

- - - - - - - -

November 9, 1347 – Eryndil’s home, noon

“What do you mean, ‘packing’? Start UNpacking! You’re not going anywhere.”

Caelen visibly tensed at his words. She seemed about to erupt, but as he smiled, she began to soften – seeing this as an insistence of his love, not as a rebuke for her actions. Still wavering, she said, “But I don’t need to be here… stirring things up with your… family. I have some money now… I can, I can…”

Eryndil drew closer, until he stood just inches before her and held her arms at her side. “Look Caelen, Hendegil has explained things to us a bit, and we’ve all had a good long family talk with my mother. For her part, she misunderstood some things – and I think she’s beginning to come around.”

“You mean… you mean it’s not over? Even after I… after I sla…” she couldn’t quite say what she had done.

“No Caelen, it isn’t over. And I don’t think I’ll EVER be over you.”

Eryndil thought it would just be a quick little kiss this time, but after a few moments, Caelen responded enthusiastically. Eryndil hung onto her as well, and found that his hands slid all too easily down the length of her back, to the roundness below. She stiffened and pulled back from the kiss just briefly, but only to look into his eyes. Then she resumed and relaxed herself, her own hands moving up and down Eryndil’s back, until they passed below his belt.

The sensations were driving Eryndil wild. It would be very hard to wait the next 7 weeks – and then some. And… what had he said about waiting 10 days? Or had he promised 10 years? He forced himself to break it off. It was the middle of the day, and his sister would be along soon.

“Now Caelen… I have a couple… errands I have to run today. I’ll be back though, and maybe this evening, we can… talk… a little more,” he said with a smile. “Hendegil will be here soon to stay with you. In fact, I think I hear her coming now. I have to… I really have to… go now.”

It was hard to extricate himself. He didn’t really want to, after all, but it was time. Caelen sat on her bed as Eryndil began to pull things out of her bag. This embarrassed her, especially when some particular items came up – and she stood back up and pushed him away, but they ended up laughing and teasing one another. When Hendegil knocked and entered, Eryndil composed his features and excused himself.

- - - - - - - -

Around back by the Blacksmith’s shop, early afternoon

Eryndil watched Harda work at the small shop they had contrived for him just behind the stables and coachhouse. The man was meticulous with his work – very slow, but very sure once he had begun. Eryndil supposed this to be attributed to his age, though most practised smiths he had watched worked much more smoothly, even well into their years.

Harma was there watching as well, staying by Harda’s side as often as his duties permitted. Camglas sat nearby at a stool – and as he often permitted Harma to stay near Harda by joining the two of them and insisting on Harma’s attending him, the trio had become a frequent threesome.

“So Harda, you say yours will be even better than the one I gave you as a sample?”

“Yes, young sir. You can fasten it to the head of a javelin, or a heavy arrow. And while the hooks at first lay tight against the shaft, when the head strikes something, they will spring out like this…”

He demonstrated the concept on his model – made from scraps of this and that, pressing the hooks against the shaft and shoving it into the side of his anvil, which released the hooks from their places.

Eryndil nodded, trying not to act too pleased with it – but really, it seemed quite remarkable. He wasn’t even sure why he had decided to ask for such a thing, but on a whim it had struck him as something that might be handy to have.

“Alright – get started on the real thing then. I’ll take your sample back to the man from whom I borrowed it.”

Eryndil pulled his cloak and hood closer about himself as he stepped away from the heat of the smithy.

- - - - - - - -

At the Palace of Rhudaur – later that afternoon

The King had kept Eryndil waiting for some time – but that of course, was his prerogative. Especially when Eryndil had come without being summoned. Orefim had mentioned other interviews the King held with family members throughout the course of the day – but it was not necessary. Eryndil knew his place – and it was now his place to wait.

When at last he was summoned and beckoned in to meet with Tarnendur, Eryndil was a bit surprised to see the other family members as well. For while Tarnendur stood before him in the center of the room looking somewhat troubled, in the back and off to one side stood Daurendil, with his mother Queen Eilinel and sister Tarniel sitting before him. The only ones not present were Amantir and Gimilbeth – but she was away.

Eryndil bowed to first his King, saying “Your Majesty”, and then bowed in succession to the Queen and their two offspring. The King gestured for him to come forward and spoke next.

“Eryndil – you have requested an audience with me – for two items, I understand. What are they now? Be quick.”

Eryndil bowed and replied, “Three actually, Your Majesty, for I first must congratulate you on the successful rescue of your elder daughter, the Lady Gimilbeth.”

From the corner of his eye, Eryndil saw that the other family members shifted a bit at this, but King Tarnendur only nodded and asked, “And second?”

“Second, Your Majesty, as a man in your service, I must inform you that I am now engaged to be married.”

The King’s demeanor brightened into joy, “Really now! Well, aren’t you a bit young? But who is the lady, and of what house?”

“She is the Lady Caelen, of a good Dunedain household by Tanoth Methed.” He noted the reactions of all the family. Tarnendur raised an eyebrow and glanced significantly back to the others, Daurendil and the Queen appeared somewhat dismayed and Tarniel showed the girlish delight that young ladies are inclined toward in instances of such announcements. Eryndil smiled at her in a natural response. Was she looking at him with admiration, he wondered.

“We are to wed at the Yule, Your Majesty.”

“The Yule?” asked the King, and the Queen now seemed a bit alarmed. “Had you not heard of our plans for a Royal Ball at Yuletide?”

Eryndil had not, but it made little sense to admit it. “Then it would be my highest honor to wed at sunset on Mettare*, and then to come as newlyweds seeking a royal blessing when we arrive at the ball’s commencement.”

Eryndil had never been to a Royal Ball before – only simple balls in the country. And, he would later learn, that while it was standard practice to marry at high days in the country, those in the city learned to reserve those days for special events such as this.

“Very good then,” said the King, and then after glancing back toward his family once again and looking rather pleased he continued, “I shall be happy to bestow the royal blessing on the newlyweds.”

Eryndil bowed at the compliment and paused, uncertain how to proceed. At last the King looked a bit perplexed and said, “There is then a third? What is it?”

Eryndil glanced over at Daurnedil, now looking a bit sullen.

“You may speak,” continued Tarnendur. “My family must see at times the things that come before a King, and how he would answer them. For before too many more years have passed, my throne and my crown must pass to another.”

Eryndil was rather uncertain, but at last he found the words.

“Long yet may you reign, oh King Tarnendur, but there is truth in what you say. Your years are full, and the son who will succeed you will come to the throne young. And it is precisely of this about which I come to speak.”

Tarnendur looked puzzled, but nodded for him to go on.

“Daurendil is a fine young man, and when he has come into his own, will be without equal in this land,” of this Eryndil felt sure. Daurendil was as tall as his father, about three to four thumbs higher than Eryndil, who was himself quite tall. Daurendil’s stature was still slight, but a Dunedain man of his frame at 20 could be formidable at 40 or 50 – if the years between were spent vigorously, rather than in idleness.

“What he wants is testing… and hardening, Your Majesty. As a young man, he has already learned much of the ways of court and council. But he lacks the learning of a soldier, and a woodsman, and the strength that learning adds to body and mind. Why – I’ve taken such youngsters, yet none who could approach him, and made true men of them, even as was done for me when first I entered your service. The idleness of his life in Cameth Brin, well, it does him less good than he could have otherwise, and perhaps leaves him too much opportunity… for… misjudgments.”

Eryndil paused, and suspected he was being impudent. Even that the King might become angry and order him away, maybe even remove him from his service, for this breach of decorum, and began to doubt his own judgment. This suddenly didn’t seem like such a great idea after all.

But the King merely cleared his throat and asked, “So… what would you propose?”

“Well…” Eryndil went on uncertainly, wondering if he was getting just enough rope to hang himself, “I know that an army is to go afield this winter. The conditions will be harsh – but an expedition of this kind might be just what it takes for Daurendil to become a fit leader for men – to earn the respect he must have from such men in times to come. I ur… I suggest to you, Your Majesty, that your son Daurendil lead the Rhudaurian regulars in the expedition to take Dol Hithaer.”

At first the King displayed no signs of reaction or inclination, one way or another. But at last, looking quite amused, he declared, “Well how very interesting. This very day, I have heard from two different men, each asking that the other be assigned to this venture and sent away from me.”

But, and perhaps with mock seriousness, we went on, “But really I could not be parted from either of you. And you see, Daurendil,” turning back to acknowledge his son, “the man is about to marry. We cannot send him out now – before he weds. Nor would it be good to force his intended bride to marry him early, then separate them so soon, would it?”

Turning back toward Eryndil, the King continued, “But you have a point about Daurendil, Sir Eryndil. He lacks… direction, at times. The type perhaps that a father should rightly give, but a father who is also King, must first be father to his kingdom – to the great loss of his sons. Besides all that, the wildest… rumors pass around at times, oh, all sorts of things, don’t you know.”

The King paused for a moment, as if in thought, and then at last looked up and spoke decisively, “The solution to all this is right before us. Daurendil,” and he beckoned to his son, who came before him and stood beside Eryndil, but not very close. “Daurendil, your habits must change, and you must enter into rigorous training. Amantir will join you in this, and we shall gather other young noblemen of such years, just as was done in Arnor in days long past.” Daurendil nodded his acknowledgement.

“Eryndil,” said the King, turning now toward him, “you shall train them. This shall now become your chief duty, though I do not dismiss you as my advisor. But with Broggha away for the winter, my cares will lighten by themselves – and you may start the day after Broggha leaves. Until this time, we shall gather Daurendil’s young companions in training about him. And of course… you may lighten your own duties a bit at the Yule and just after – for you will have other hard duty come upon you at this time, of your own choosing.”

Eryndil was taken a bit aback, not even sure what part of that had struck him the most. It was all a bit much. But Tarnendur looked quite pleased with himself, Queen Eilinel seemed a bit embarrassed, Daurendil looked rather upset and barely able to keep his self-control. Tarniel had a look of mischief and delight – and only she and the King looked into Eryndil's face.

Eryndil took it that he had been dismissed. But first he turned to Daurendil, “Your Highness, something of yours which you had loaned me, I believe.” He drew the prince’s grappling hook from a bag and handed it to him. Then, retreating backwards toward the door, he made a last bow to the King with a final, “Your Majesty” turned out the door and headed back for home.


* mettare = "last light" in Quenya, and refers to the last day of the Year.

[Caelen]

November 9, 1347 – Caelen's room in Eryndil’s home, noon

Caelen stood by her bed, lost in thought. Hendegil had just left her, after a long and satisfying conversation where she had filled in all of the details that Caelen was longing to hear about the conversation that had taken place after she had left the library ("and then what did SHE say?" "Oh, he really said THAT?") Her heart warmed as she thought back on Hendegil's description of Eryndil's empassioned defense of her to his mother, culminating in a respectful but firm declaration that if anyone was going to leave his house, it would be his mother instead of his wife-to-be, but that he knew that she and Caelen would soon be the best of friends. And Camglas defending her, too, along with Hendegil! It was truly heartening.

"And mother will come around soon, Caelen - she has already almost entirely changed her opinion of you - and really, it was just because ... well, she just wanted her youngest son to marry well, forgetting that "well" doesn't necessarily mean rich or famous. She's really not like that at all, normally - I don't know what was wrong, but ... she'll come around, don't worry."

Then Hendegil reached over and gave Caelen a hug. "And I won't let you go away, either - I want you for my sister!" Then in a more serious tone, she added, "And my brother needs you, too, Caelen - someone with a little spirit in them!"

Caelen laughed, then blushed. "Do you think she'll ever forgive me for slapping her like that?" she asked earnestly. "I can't believe I lost my temper like that!"

"Oh, I think she will - and actually, I think she'll admire you for it eventually!" laughed Hendegil. "I think I would have done the same thing in your place!"

"Well, I hope you're never in that place!"

After a few more minutes of conversation, Hendegil had left Caelen, at Caelen's request. She needed some time to think, and to do something that she knew she needed to do - apologize to Rildorien.

But it was much more pleasant to think about Eryndil, and what Hendi had said he said about her, and about his coming to her room and telling her in that deep, firm, masculine voice that she loved to hear (when it agreed with her inclinations, that is) that she wasn't going anywhere, and that kiss ... and then the delightful explorations - first tentative and shy, then more assured and possessive - that followed.

She could still feel his hands on her body - even more so when she closed her eyes, she found out. She got an idea, hesitated a moment, and then, opening her eyes to make sure the door was closed, took her hands and briefly touched her own body, trying to imagine what it had felt like to him. Did it feel nicer if she just tightened up that muscle a bit, or was it better softer? She tried a few options, then finally laughed rather sheepishly at herself and gave it up - it was just too hard to separate the sensation of being touched from the sensation of touching. Instead, she decided to concentrate on remembering what HIS body had felt like to HER hands - and smiled a smile that, had he seen it, would have made Eryndil feel that even 10 seconds was too long to wait.

[Caelen]

Lunch was over, and Caelen had not come for it. Hendegil had made apologies for her friend, saying that she was rather tired and needed to rest, and that explanation was sufficient for those who had not been in on the altercation in the library. Lunch had been rather a silent affair, but now it was over. The others had left - Hendegil after giving her mother a hug and a kiss - but Rildorien had lingered at the table.

She got up and walked over to the window, looking out at the November shrubbery but not really seeing it. She had begun to deeply regret her intentional insult to her future daughter-in-law, and was wondering what the best course of action would be to mend it. The slap was inexcusable, of course ... but really, so was her comment ...

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," called Rildorien, and one of the maidservants entered the dining room.

"A letter for you, ma'am, if you please," said the maid with a curtsey, holding out several folded sheets of paper to her mistress.

"Thank you," said Rildorien, taking the letter and dismissing the maidservant with a nod of her head. She waited for the door to close, then opened the letter and glanced at the bottom - it was from Caelen ... She quickly went back to the top and started reading:


--------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Madame,

I most humbly offer my sincere apology for slapping your face in the library earlier today. It was inexcusable on my part to do that, even though I felt most grievously provoked by your comment. My mother always said that our actions should not be governed by the actions of others, and even though I was provoked by your comment, it was very wrong of me to act on that provocation in the way that I did, and I humbly ask for your forgiveness.

I don't blame you at all if you don't forgive me, for to strike an older woman in the house of her son is something that even I can hardly believe that I did, now that I have calmed down and am able to reflect on the matter. My mother would have chastised me most severely for it, and very rightly. She always told me that I would have a lifelong battle with my temper, and she was right - and oh, how I miss her guidance and help! However, all I can do at this point is beg your forgiveness and hope that you have mercy on me and my faults of temper.

But madame, here I feel that I must be bold and defend my character to you, for the accusation implicit in your "Congratulations" is one that is abhorrant to me, and is entirely false, and I feel that I must tell you this, whether or not you will believe it. For I am the chosen betrothed of your son, and I think I have the right to respectfully request that you listen to my explanation.

My mother taught us that to say "Congratulations" to a woman on her engagement was one of the worst possible insults to offer, for it infers that the woman was actively trying to entice the man to offer marriage to her for her own personal gain. To put it in the worst possible words, it is the same as whoring, because it is selling love for money.

I have been guilty of many wrongdoings, mostly from my unfortunate temper, but I have NEVER tried to entice a man to marry me - in fact, while growing up, I was never interested in marriage at all, and because of the terrible circumstances during our trip here, the thought of marriage was completely repugnant to me. While I was at your home in Ostinand, I had even made a decision to never marry, and told my brother of this decision.

And even if I did overcome my repugnance and decide to try to entrap a man, I would never have chosen your son - knowing him as I do, I know it would be absolute foolishness for me to even attempt it. For madame, you know your son, and that he is the model of integrity and uprightness, and you know me, at least a little, and have seen many faults, I'm sure. So how could I even think that I could succeed in tricking him into proposing marriage to me? It is an impossibility. His character renders him immune to the types of things that these women would try to trick him into a proposal, and my faults rise up before me and declare that his wanting to marry me is impossible. Even now, I don't see why he wants to marry me, but he kept pressing me to accept in the most insistent way, and so I finally did, because of the honor and respect I have for him, and because I could see that he truly wished to marry me, despite my many faults. So I hope that you will clear me of this charge of entrapment, for I certainly never did such a thing, and would never even consider it, especially with your son.

Madame, your son has pledged his troth to me, and I to him, and I have no doubt that he will carry out his pledge, for that is the type of man that he is. I will try my very best to be a good wife to him, by the grace of the Valar and the help of Eru, and to be an addition to your family that you will be proud of, at least a little. I do not bring position, or talent, or other worldly things to him and his family, but I do bring a heart that loves and honors your son and his family, and a willingness to strive to correct my faults.

Sincerely,
Caelen
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There were many expressions that had crossed Rildorien's face as she read through the letter, but the one that remained was a gentle smile. "The cheeky girl!" she thought, the smile widening as she shook her head at the letter. "Offers me an abject and humble apology, then demands - absolutely DEMANDS that I listen to her explanation! But she's right - she IS the chosen betrothed of my boy (no matter that her boy was now 40 and towered over her - a mother is a mother!) and he WILL marry her, and she deserves a hearing ... and she WAS respectful in the letter ... and perhaps I would have done better to be a little more firm with MY mother-in-law in those early days!"

Rildorien sighed and gazed out of the window, then turned back to the letter in her hand and read through it again. Even before the letter, her feelings towards Caelen had gone through a considerable change after Caelen had left the room and Rildorien's husband, son and daughter had all firmly admonished her, and told her things that she hadn't known, and insisted on her admitting things that she HAD known - and even when she had said the insult, she knew in her heart that she was wrong.

It's just hard for a mother to have dreams for the little boy that she had always favored, and have someone come along that didn't fit those dreams, and that you knew would take him away from you in a large measure. But Rildorien's marriage had been a happy one, and she knew now that it was only her selfishness and misplaced ambition for her son that had made her reject Caelen as his bride. Rildorien was a good woman, and once her little selfish fit had passed, she was wise enough to see and appreciate Caelen's many virtues. And it was very clear indeed to her that her son loved Caelen very much.

She sighed again, but this time with a little smile on her face, and picked up her pen to answer Caelen's letter, but hadn't gotten farther than the salutation before there was a quiet little knock at the door.

"Come in," Rildorien called, and was surprised to see Caelen's head peep through the door, with large eyes and the type of expression on her face that you see on your favorite dog after he's stolen the meat off of the table and he's not sure if you're still upset with him.

"I couldn't wait any longer," she began tentatively, and then boldly stepped into the room. "Do you have an answer for me yet?" she asked shyly, biting her lower lip nervously as she looked at her letter in the hands of her future mother-in-law.

Rildorien stood up with a tender smile on her face and held out her arms wide to her future daughter-in-law. "Here is my answer," she said, and Caelen ran to her.