Gold, Silver and Lead by Agelast

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

It seemed as if we have been marching forever, or at least my poor feet felt that way. My brother bade me to be patient and to set a good example for the women who followed behind us, as he did for the men. I turned away so he couldn’t see me roll my eyes. It was not out of laziness I complained -- at least, I didn’t think so.

It was only that, in the last hundred miles of our journey, my shoes, never sturdy to begin with, had given up altogether. Now the rough ground tore at the soles of my feet and I feared that I would never run again.

Perhaps my brother thought that this would not be a bad thing. He always said I was too obsessed with winning, with showing off.

I thought he disliked that I was faster than he could ever be.

But still, my feet did hurt, and my pace slowed. My brother did not notice that I was no longer at his side, and was consequently swallowed up in the crowd. I did not yell for him, though I did begin to feel little pinpricks of fear. He was the only family I had, you see. Our parents were snatched away when I was just child.

Our people, always the smallest group, passed away swiftly.

The people who surrounded me now were of Tata’s group, most dark-haired and tall. They were not unkind -- some offered to carry me on their backs, but they were usually imprudent boys who smiled and looked at me and saw only a girl, though I was tall enough to look them in the eye. And I was not a girl.

The line split off around us and older people sigh heavily at the frivolity of the young and moved slowly along.

“O beautiful Indis,” one of boys shouted, and made a grab for my hand. I pulled away, and he pressed his own hand against his breast and sighed, “Give me a kiss and so if I am carried away by hell-beasts tonight, at least I can die happily!”

“You need not worry about being taken away,” I said sweetly, “I can finish you off right here.” And I flourished the stone knife that I had with me at all times. There were shouts of laughter around me, and my sparring partner took it with good grace -- but I could also hear quiet murmurs of disapproval, and my heart sank. My brother would hear of this.

I looked away for a moment and saw two people approaching us. One was handsome and dark and so very tall. My heart hammered painfully in my chest upon seeing him, because he was Tata’s son, Finwë, and I thought I must be in love with him. Why else would I have felt so awkward around him, and so wretched?

He was my brother’s friend and one of the few who could make my dour brother laugh. Now, he was accompanied by a girl I had never seen before, whose silver hair was braided into a crown over her head. It was an odd color for one of Tata’s people, as she so clearly was.

Unique, perhaps.

She lifted her eyes and looked at me, and I stepped backward, startled. I knew her! But how could I, for surely I would have remembered her silver hair and her deep, dark eyes? I noticed with a stab of unfamiliar pain that she and Finwë were holding hands as they came up, though now they separated decorously.

Oh, they were betrothed. I knew it, and there was no hope for me!

The group I was with welcomed Finwë as both their lord and their great friend and I was forgotten in the merriment. Near the path, there was a great dark bush laden with dark green leaves. I ducked behind it so no one would not see me and think less of me.

But alas for my rotten luck, my bush already was occupied! A frightened porcupine ran out and I stumbled out behind her, my left foot in terrible pain. To my surprise, the first person to reach me was not Tata’s son, but his companion, who caught me when I fell.

She was far stronger than she looked.

*

My brother called a stop to the march on my account and I burned with embarrassment. The healers had come and peered at my foot, and prodded it, and nodded with satisfaction when I cried aloud. Then they extracted the quills from my poor, abused foot and tsked over my foolishness. As they lavished the injury with a sticky, ill-smelling poultice, they told me that I was very lucky. I didn’t feel very lucky.

But in truth, I was lucky, because most of porcupine’s quills missed me and those that did not were easily extracted. However, the fact remained that I could not walk for some time.

Frustrated, my brother said that we will stay here until I am healed. Finwë advised gently against this measure. “We are already hopelessly delayed,” he said, taking a meaningful glance backward. Every time there was a stop, more and more people would turn aside, finding glens and valleys that suited them better than this endless slough to a place none of them had seen. Finwë did not say the latter, but it was true none the less.

“Besides, we are close to the sea,” he said, sniffing the air. “A few more cycles of walking -- a week at most -- and we will be there.”

“I will stay here,” I said sullenly, pulling a blanket over me, and wincing when the fabric grazed my foot. My brother opened his mouth to protest, but he was interrupted by a cool, clear voice.

“I will stay with her,” said Míriel. In the few hours I had known her, I had discovered that she was not a great talker, that she was betrothed to Finwë, and that she was my rival in all things.

Suddenly, I wished I could drag my maimed foot to the sea and drown myself in it. Wisely, however, I said nothing of the sort, and instead smiled at her and said, “How nice of you to offer.”

*

We were well-set up there, in a clearing just off the main road. In a matter of hours, Finwë and his men had constructed for us a marvelous little dwelling and left us enough supplies to last some time. My brother would not go until he had extracted from me a solemn promise that I would not seek him until my foot was completely healed.

He kissed me on the forehead and departed. I felt a pang as I saw him go, for as stiff and as absurd as he could sometimes be, he was still my brother and I loved him well. I watched as his figure dwindled and faded into the darkness, as the lines of people swelled and grew, and shrank again until there was no one left.

I turned back to Míriel, who had settled into our hut. Her hands never sat idle, it seemed. She concentrated on knitting a dark-colored shawl for herself. She did not look up when I approached and I sighed inwardly, consigning myself to a week of inactivity and boredom.

*

Despite my injured foot, which had been bandaged up thoroughly, I could still set traps and hunt. Míriel, as a proper lady, was not much interested in such things. She was content to sit still for hours on end, intent only upon her task. But when I brought back a fine, fat rabbit that had been caught in one of my traps, she looked up and smiled. I could not help but smile back.

Our fire was small and smoky, but eventually the rabbit had cooked through. As we ate, I wracked my brain trying to remember why Míriel had seemed familiar to me. I knew she was not one of Unbegotten, not just because of her … understanding with Finwë (and here my heart sighed sadly), but also because she had another name -- though if it was a mother-name or an epessë, I didn’t know...

“What is it?” I said aloud, and Míriel gave me a quizzical look.

“What is what?” She delicately removed a thin sliver of bone from her portion of rabbit and flicked it away.

“Your epessë. What I’ve heard Finwë call you.”

“Oh,” she said, looking down. Her cheeks were red, though that could be the glow of the fire. “It is Þerindë.”

I mulled this over for a moment and said, “Well, both of your names are better than mine.”

She raised an eyebrow and waited for me to continue, which of course I did.

“I do not know whose bride I should be,” I said, brushing bits of leaves from my lap. “I have met no man alive who I would give my love to -- or whose love I would gladly receive.” Quickly, I got up and began to busy myself with disposing of what was left of the rabbit.

I barely heard her say that perhaps I only needed only some time...

“Oh yes!” I said loudly. “I am sure I will find someone as perfect as Finwë, given time!” I froze and closed my eyes, wishing that I could take back my hasty words. I was so stupid! When at last I open my eyes, Míriel was regarding me thoughtfully. There was no hostility in her eyes -- perhaps because she was already so sure of his love that no jealousy was needed.

I wanted badly to flee, but I stayed under Míriel’s cool grey scrutiny. At last she said, “He would not do wrong to choose you.”

“But he did not,” I gritted out, “and now it does not matter.” And finally, I did flee, as fast as my injured foot would let me.

*

“Here,” Míriel said abruptly, handing me the shawl. I took it gingerly and held it up. I could not help but gasp at the fine, tight weave and subtle pattern she had embroidered into it -- yellow thread as bright as gold in the dark cloth. It was astonishing -- it was as if she had made it out of nothing!

“This is beautiful! But I can’t accept it,” I said, putting it around my shoulders. “I have nothing to give you in return!”

Míriel looked vaguely embarrassed at my praise. “It’s nothing,” she said, and took out another piece of fabric from her cloak and began to work again.

*

I was asleep when I heard a snuffling noise outside. Míriel was still beside me, fully awake and silent. Her face frightened me more than anything outside, she was deathly pale and her eyes burned like white-hot coals. She clutched at at my arm.

“Have they come for us?” she whispered.

I extracted myself from her grasp and went to see what was the matter.

Míriel gasped and sat up. She hissed, “Do not go out! They will find you!”

But it was no evil creature that stalked our campsite, but a young black bear, attracted by the smell of rabbit. I watched him paw sadly at the ground where I prepared our meal, and then slowly, lumber back into the forest. Behind me, Míriel asked me what was happening.

“It is only a black bear, hoping for some rabbit,” I said, turning back to her. She gave a tight nod and took out her ever-present needlework and began to work. I came to sit next to her and remembered one of the saddest stories I had ever heard and have never forgotten. It had happened during the long years when my brother and the others had gone off to see the Blessed Realm for themselves.

There had been a large family of weavers and embroiderers who worked on the banks of the Cuiviénen. The story went that they were so prodigious in their work that in a span of a hundred years the elves of Cuiviénen went from walking around nude or clad only in animal skins, to wearing woven clothing, however rough they might be.

The family had become famous for their skill -- and very much envied…

But then tragedy struck -- or lightening did -- or perhaps it was the work of the Enemy, and longhouse where the weavers worked and kept their stores went up in flames. The heat was so intense that it was impossible to attempt a rescue -- only one of a once numerous family survived.

A jewel among the ashes.

“Míriel!” I say softly, “forgive my rough ways and unkindness.”

Míriel did not look up from her work, but the set of her shoulders were less stiff than before. Eventually, she put down her needlework and took my open hand. Her hand was smaller than mine, but felt rougher. She had worked hard with these hands.

I tried to remember what had happened to the weaver’s daughter after the fire, but could only guess at the rest. Then, as now, it was difficult to even feed yourself, much less your children, your family. A young, friendless girl would not have had many options…however talented she might be. It was well that she and Finwë had found each other, I thought.

But Míriel took my soft look as pity and she snatched her hands from mine as if they were burnt. She said fiercely, “Don’t you dare pity me! I won’t have it!”

 

*

After another period of rest, I declared my left foot completely recovered and told Míriel that we should start heading for the coast. She chewed her lip as she thought about it. “Your brother and Finwë seemed to think that they would come back for us...”

“Surely it will be quicker for everyone if we meet them on the way,” I said, buff and cheerful.

“It is not very safe…”

“Of course it is! The road has no one on it except travelers like us -- the first of the Lindir must become coming through soon, I shouldn’t wonder. We’ll have plenty of company. Have you met Beleg? He has the biggest bow you’ll ever see! On someone else, I might say that he is compensating for something, but Beleg’s not that sort.”

“Compensating? For what?” Míriel’s expression was perfectly innocent but there was a hint of sly humor in her eyes that I hadn’t seen before.

“Never mind,” I said quickly, going back to packing. For weapons, I had my knife and the short sword that Finwë had once gifted me. I was still pleased with it; it fit my grip perfectly. Míriel was more than competent with the bow, and even now she tested the string thoughtfully. Even people like my brother could not deny that in such dangerous times, everyone must be able to defend themselves -- even their little sisters.

Before we left our little hut in the clearing forever, I carved out an invitation on a tree within sight of the road, for anyone who happened to pass by. The woods were calm as we walked, not on the road but near it, for we were only two and there was no safety in those numbers.

Neither of us spoke much as we walked. Perhaps we had run out of things to speak about. My lingering anger toward Míriel has drained away until there was nothing left of it. I felt emptier than the situation warranted.

When our pace finally slowed and my foot began to ache again, I suggested we rest in the trees. Míriel gave me a doubtful look, but did not protest as such.

Sleeping in trees was not as delightful as it sounded, or perhaps I was simply not the type of Elf to enjoy it overmuch. I struggled to find a secure spot for the night when I heard the crack of breaking branches. I held my breath, but it was Míriel, who looked down at me from her perch above my head. The sky was clear and the starlight, brighter here than in the forest below. I stretched out -- as much as I could in the confines of my perch, and said, “My brother says that in Aman there is more light than one can even imagine.”

Míriel’s voice was low when she said, “Finwë says that there are two great trees…”

“Of silver and gold.” I said, smiling.

“And at times their light mingle,” she said, smiling back.

“But still,” I sighed, looking back to the stars and breathing in fresh air. “With such magnificent lights, will we forget the stars?”

I heard a quickly shifted laugh.

Míriel said, “I confess that I didn’t take you for a philosopher, Indis.”

I replied somewhat haughtily, “I see that my reputation as a poet and a singer has not reached you, Míriel Þerindë! With such lofty talents, what is philosophy to me?”

“Ah, forgive my ignorance!” And then in a different, less teasing voice, she said, “Sing something for me.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Despite my confident words, it felt as if all my songs had fled me. I thought for a minute before giving up and settling upon an old lullaby that mothers would sing to their babies as they bathed them in the shallow, warm waters of Cuiviénen. I sang it softly and by Míriel’s look, I knew that she recognized it too. She joined in at the third line, and we finished together.

“I know it is not my song, but..,” I admitted shyly.

“But you sang it well,” Míriel said, reaching down to touch my hand. I reached up and I felt like kissing her, but since I was in a tree, I sensibly resisted the urge to do so. And to a woman betrothed! Oh, what would my brother think?

I was about to say something about perhaps getting down again when I heard something moving down below. This time it was not a black bear, nor any animal nor any Elf. A sense of wrongness invaded my mind, and I did not have to see Míriel to know that she felt it too. She got her bow out and notched an arrow and I took out my knife.

They spoke, but not with the clear, beautiful tones of the Quendi, but harshly, with ruined voices. There were two of them, coming closer and crashing through underbrush, careless of the noise they made.

Before I could fall upon them, two arrows in quick succession flew past my ear. Everything stilled after that.

When we climbed down later, cautiously, we did not have to go far to find them. My gorge rose when I saw them. They were manacled together, their skin was greyish and rough, scarred in a dozen places. Míriel’s arrows had found one at the heart and the other in the neck. Quickly, I retrieved Míriel’s arrows and wiped them against the grass.

I tried to forget what I had seen: the lank, lead-colored hair plastered against one of the Orcs’ skull.

We quickened our pace through the forest, but there were no more of them. At least, I ventured to speak. “Perhaps they were -- perhaps they were running away?”

I looked back at Míriel, but her face was stony and blank. But by this time, I knew her well enough to know that she needed a push, from time to time, to speak.

“Míriel?”

“Then we have helped them immeasurably,” she said, finally. “They can have no freedom here, not marred as they are.”

“I suppose…”

We walked along silently for a few more hours. The forest had finally begun to fall away and was replaced by a broad field. I spotted the first cooking fire in the distance and began to run towards it. But Míriel soon outpaced me and then ran past me, which she wouldn’t have done if I had not still been injured. People called out greetings and I waved them away. The sea spread out before me and my pace slowed. I was awe-struck. I had never seen the sea before. It was nothing like Cuiviénen -- it was immense, immeasurable to my eyes. Impossible!

Someone was shouting my name and it was my brother, who enveloped me fierce, tight hug before he began to shout at me for leaving behind the guards. I pushed him away impatiently and said. “What guards?”

He looked pained. “You don’t suppose I would have left you and Finwë’s betrothed behind to make your way to coast alone, do you?”

In truth, I had been too annoyed to consider how unusual our circumstances had been. To cover my confusion, I resorted to blustering. “Well, they did not make themselves known! How was I to know that I left them behind?”

By this time, Finwë and Míriel came to us, attracted, no doubt, by my brother’s shouting. I found that it was not painful for me to see them together. Though it did annoy me to see the way his arm was draped around her shoulders, casually possessive.

My brother turned to Finwë for support. “Did you know about this?”

But it is Míriel who speaks up. “I sent them away, Ingwë.”

“But -- why?”

“One, because he was eager to be gone -- his wife was pregnant and he wished to be by her side, and the other because one could not go alone.”

My brother still looked as if he was going to protest, but I led him away firmly.

*

Later, when we had a private moment, I asked Míriel what the real reason was that she had sent the guards away.

“I wanted to be sure of you,” she said and leaned over to kiss me firmly on the lips. I was staggered, elated and cast down at the same time. I got and after bidding her farewell distractedly, I wandered outside of the tent.

Of course, given my recent run of luck, the first person I ran into was my brother. He was still irritated at me, I could tell at a glance, so I sought to distract him by taking him by the arm and facing him towards the water. “Now,” I said firmly, “I suppose we will have to cross that, I presume.”

He stopped frowning and glanced out to the sea, which raged and broke against the stony shore. His expression lightened and I knew that he was back in Aman, seeing wonders that would soon be a part of our future.

“Yes,” he said, softer now. I took his hand, and we watched the waves. I happened to glance behind us and saw Míriel, some ways off -- with Finwë. She gave me a small smile and I returned it. Finwë bent down and kissed her forehead, and suddenly I was not entirely sure of whom I should be jealous.

I tore my gaze away from them and turned back to the sea. “We are on the cusp of something new,” I said, and my brother gave me a pleased look, glad that I understood it.

“Yes,” he said proudly.

“Now,” I said, “how do we cross?”