The Follower by Ivanneth

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Chapter 2: Cousins

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II. Cousins

I woke some hours later, still stupid from a tangled dream, to Telperion's silver glow. Somewhere outside a crowd was at work. Stonemasons, I thought sleepily; from infancy those sounds are as familiar to our ears as our mother's voices. When I turned my head, a flood of color washed over my eyes. I climbed off the bed and walked to the window; when Maitimo had brought me to this chamber high up in one of the towers, I had been far too beset by overall novelty to take a closer look.

A delicate tracery of stone cut up the view to the west, but many of the openings had been fitted with sheets of tinted glass. Glass in a window -- how odd, I thought, never having known it used for anything but lanterns, or the occasional fancy drinking cup, and then assuredly not colored.

Walls grant privacy, a roof affords cover from rain, but a window's sole purpose is to let in the Light. I might repeat here that shelter is of small matter in the realms of Aman; unless one travels far to the north, no frost ever numbs fingers and toes, no bitter gale ever cuts tender flesh. If during the quiet season the breeze brings a chill, one piles a second blanket on the bed or chooses a sturdier cloak.

That someone should place a piece of glass in the Light's way, for no other reason but to alter it, seemed bold, a sacrilege almost. Yet my dutifully mustered disapproval lacked warmth. Perhaps this place was already starting to wear on me.

Nose pressed to a crimson glass, I beheld the wooded hills waxed gray as smoldering ashes, the sky a sea of blood and fire, lines blurred and details warped by the glasses' tiny flaws. Then a fancy of brooding blue, tranquil sweetness of rose next; I sampled every pane, those higher up with the aid of a chair.

Having tired of my game at last, I dressed, straightened the bed covers and stowed the clothes, shoes and books from my bags into the chest at the foot of the narrow bed. The chamber was simple indeed, as Maitimo had warned. A writing desk and a chair aside the bed and chest, and little more would have fit the cramped space. But the walls were painted with leaves and flowers, and the rug covering the stone floor, though old and worn, was soft on my feet.

As I made to leave, I hesitated and turned to the window once more, wondering what new hues Laurelin's gold might bring forth.

No one troubled with me on the way to the hall. I had brought the last of the cakes from home in a satchel, and my plan was one of lengthy and leisurely exploration. Perhaps Maitimo could be coaxed to come along; he had promised to show me the stables.

The hall was nearly deserted but for a few pages at the far end, and two men lounging by the massive hearth, throwing dice. Both were wearing scarlet tunics with gold borders; I remembered seeing them the day before. But I saw nothing of Andamaitë or Sérondo, though I did look for some time.

I found Maitimo - and just about most of the household, it seemed - as soon as I strolled around the house. A building site, still in its raw stage, loomed before me. Five rising walls, low enough as yet to show the new building's hexagonal shape, the sixth side part of the main house itself. The north wall, the highest so far, already had scaffolding. Nearby the stonecutters were carving blocks. Dust hung in the air, glimmering and dancing in the bright Light, and coating their aprons. Others measured and mixed sand into troughs of lime-putty. By far the most were busy moving the cut blocks to and up the walls, their singing sprinkled with laughs and mock groans.

For a while I watched, then I ambled over to Maitimo. He glanced up and broke off in mid-song to greet me, then returned his attention to the layer of mortar he had just spread. He was bare to the waist, a rag tied about his brow, his striped kilt drab with grime. There were dark shadows under his eyes. I wondered how long it had been since he had last slept.

"What will it be?" I asked.

"Father's new study."

"It's large, no? For a study?"

Maitimo shrugged. "He said he wanted at least six or seven chambers. Hence the shape; I thought arranging the rooms around a middle one might make it both convenient and pleasing."

"You drew the plans? Are you a master mason, then?" I was impressed. Older than I he certainly was, but he seemed young to be a master.

"Yes in part to the first, a firm no to the latter," he said, scraping the last of the gritty paste from a pail by his side, "I drew what came to my head, and handed the sketches to Ondoher. What you see is his doing." He nodded to a lanky man who stood brooding over a long list, rubbing his chin. He had on one of those peculiar headscarves, green and silver, and a square dangling from his belt.

"A grand name for a builder," I said under my breath.

"My dear lad," said Maitimo, pointing his trowel at me, "once you've become a bit more learned in our ways, you will find that few here are held in higher regard than Ondoher -- or Hallanar, master of the forge."

Feeling chastised, I shuffled my feet for some time, sneezed when a whiff of quicklime from the mortar troughs stung my nose, and finally said, "Will you be finished here soon?"

"In time," he said. "You ask a lot of questions, son of Nolofinwë."

"I only wondered when you might show me the stables."

Without a word, he handed me the pail. I sighed, put my satchel aside, and set off for the troughs.

The Mingling of the Lights came and went, during which work ceased for while. Andamaitë showed himself and joined in. He seemed friendly with a good many folks here; conversation tended to be lively in his corner. By the time Laurelin was in her last hour, my arms ached and my palms were raw from lugging the pails and working the ropes of the pulleys, but as long as my cousin carried on, I swore silently, so would I.

At last the master called out softly to Maitimo, signaling that the day's work was done - even I knew that walls can only be raised so much before the mortar must be left to set - and began to gather up his tools and drafts. Maitimo cried "Enough!" and work ground slowly to a halt all around.

"Come," he said to me, tossing his trowel to one of the apprentices.

I followed him to a well, where we washed off the worst of the grime. He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the gardens.

"Lively now." He glanced back over his shoulder, quickening his pace. "Let's be away, or we'll have not one moment of peace."

The stables lay bordered by orchards and grazing land: a fine structure, slender-pillared and high-gabled, but smaller than I had thought, and yet far less occupied than it might have been. Maitimo explained that most of their horses stayed out in the pasture all days, even wandering off into the hills at times. "City-boy," he said, laughing at my expression.

We settled on a grassy slope overlooking the horse pasture, I against the trunk of a gnarled willow, Maitimo stretched flat, arms folded behind his head.

"Show me your hands," he said.

"No."

"They'll heal by tomorrow. But I ought to have told you sooner to quit."

"I'd scarce have done so."

He looked me over, as a carpenter might a board full of knots. "You do as you please, eh?"

"As often as not."

"What does your father make of it? Or your mother?"

I shrugged. "Mother? She has a baby to mind. You ought to know how it is; you have a brother. No, you have three - or was it four? And when are they to return?"

"I've three brothers. But I asked about your father, don't try to shift matters."

I was silent.

"Ah," said Maitimo and laughed. But he sat up when he saw my face, his forehead creased in bewilderment. "I meant no hurt, Findekáno. Listen. I am sorry."

I scowled at the pasture, where the horses had broken into a wild run.

"What did he do, cuff your ears?"

"Cuff my ears!" I cried, appalled. "Does any father? Has your father -- ever?"

"Now and again."

"For being insolent?"

"No, he seemed to rather like that. For being slow -- I think. I don't quite remember. Look, I meant to ask you this and then clean forgot: how old are you?"

I hesitated, then said, "Not forty."

His brows rose, almost disappearing under the knotted rag.

"Eight-and-thirty," I mumbled. "And you?"

"I've graced this world," he said with a languid stretch, arching his back as he nestled back into the tender grass, "for five score years and one. But what a shame that close-kin need ask one another's age! Findekáno, little cousin I never troubled to meet -- would you know more of me, the cousin no one told you about?"

"By all means," I said. "Were you born in this house? Have you always lived here? Do you know my father?"

He laughed aloud. "Ah, but you do let your arrows fly fast. I was born not here, but in a tent in the hills, to parents little older than you are now. I traveled across Valinor tied to my father's back or astride my mother's hip. Oromë gave me my first pony, and for a time I was the darling of Aulë's court. I'm told I once fell asleep in Yavanna's lap. And yes, I know your father. We played together, though he was ten years the elder. He taught me how to carve a shepherd's flute, how to dance a round without tripping over my own feet, and the three proper ways to throw a knife."

"You lived in Tirion? At the King's court?"

"For a short while, yes."

"And then?"

"Then we left." His tone had changed of a sudden, and having picked up scraps of hearsay here and there over the years, I let things lie, for the moment.

"And now," he said, " you must tell me a bit about yourself in return."

So I did, and moreover griped about the dullness of my life compared to his; at that age one does not know any better. Maitimo wisely observed that, in the absence of chance, the burden of giving my life distinction lay with me.

I said, "But Maitimo, I can't for Manwë's mercy think of a way how!"

"Oh, you will, Findekáno son of Nolofinwë," he said. "Or perhaps I will."

We both laughed, and then we sat in silence, watching the clouds drift by and listening to the song of a thrush. Thinking that he must be hungry, I offered the pastries from my satchel, and we ate them together.

"These are good," he said through the last bite. "I hadn't noticed I was so famished. Listen, we ought to get back to the house. Laurelin's well nigh come to her last; dinner will be served up soon."

Neither of us moved.

"What I should like," I said dreamily, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree and looking up at the sky, "is to become a mighty hunter, and one day ride out with Oromë Aldaron to slay fell beasts. And might it not be grand to see the land under the stars that grandfather tells of? Pity we can't go back. No monsters here."

"Aman is great," Maitimo said, laughing. "There may yet be one hiding somewhere for you."

"Indeed! But I shall need your help. Better to have two on a chase."

"Well, you've my promise, and my blade."

Thus we talked, and thought it a splendid joke.

He fell asleep soon after, looking a tad wistful and very young, for the long lids with their dark fringe hid his eyes, and the set of his mouth had softened.

"Estë grant you peace," I whispered.

I kept company with him well into Telperion's hours. At some point two of the household's retainers came looking for him, but I put a finger to my lips and a frown to my face, and exchanging a glance, they shrugged and left.

Time passes in an oddly grave manner in a new place. Every thing is noted, seen and heard more keenly. I recall, even now, with painful clarity every moment of my first days at Fëanáro's court. Yet all is touched by my cousin's presence; I cannot part Maitimo from a single memory. Whether or not he was near, like the many-hued window in my chamber he transformed all, even the journey itself: a parting from home no more, but a fated course.

He fast became my beacon; if he was for a while, however briefly, eclipsed by one who shone brighter, it is of small consequence now.

He alone still colors my world.