Loyalty: A Tale in Three Voices by grey_gazania

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Part I, Chapter VI (Tókhesh)

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FA 463

 

I nearly ran straight into Grandfather on my way to meet Nâr. It was something of a relief to see him, for my uncle said that he had not returned to our tent at all last night, and we were all worried. He looked hale enough, if tired, and I found my mind already resting easier.

 

"Are you all right?" I asked him. "Lúrep said you were out all night."

 

"I'm fine," he said, patting my cheek. "I was seeing to our people, making sure they had enough blankets and food."

 

Of course he was. On impulse, I hugged him, resting my head against his warm, broad chest and feeling his beard scratch against my skin. He took such good care of us, my grandfather, that I sometimes thought my heart would burst with love. Small wonder our people were so loyal to him.

 

He wrapped his thick arms around me in return and kissed the top of my head. "You're a good girl, Tókhesh," he murmured before pulling away. "Now go find Nâr. Learn all you can."

 

I nodded and set off, grinning as he shooed me away. It was brisk and dewy, and while my cloak kept most of my body warm, I soon wished that I had worn thicker socks. By the time I reached the roadside, my toes were uncomfortably damp. But Nâr, bless him, had brought hot broth in one of his strange brass flasks, the ones that the Kházad refused to sell. Trade secret, he'd said years ago, winking at me when I asked.

 

"May Mahal smile upon you," I said, accepting the cup he offered me and wrapping my fingers tightly around it, feeling the warmth seep in through my gloves.

 

He laughed. "You don't worship Mahal, Tavoreth."

 

"No, but you do," I said. I found my new name more pleasing than my father's and my uncles'. The sounds were familiar and the stress fell in a sensible place. Theirs were more difficult — Ulfast, Ulwarth, Uldor. It was so tempting to aspirate at the beginning, to speak of the House of Hulfang. Even my aunt's name, Duineth, was difficult, with its strange combination of vowels. But we would have to grow accustomed to them, it seemed. I had even gone through the rest of my family's names in my head; Pesseth for my mother, Ulthor and Ulýg and Ulbadhor for my dead brothers. But I would pray for them with their true names, still.

 

"You said you have new words for me," I reminded Nâr.

 

"And so I do. But I have something even better." He gestured for me to follow him and set off along the road. It was easier going than the field, for the Kházad took great pride in all their crafts, and the road was smooth and dry. Even my broth barely sloshed in its cup as I walked.

 

"Salph," he said, pointing to my hands. "That's broth. Plural seilph. And judging from the way you've got your cloak pulled tight, You're feeling ring, cold. So if I tell you that Lord Caranthir's brother, Lord Maedhros, rules at Himring, what would you deduce about his home?"

 

"Him…ring… Well, ring is cold, and him is…always? 'Always cold'? That does not sound like a place I would want to live."

 

"Nor I," Nâr said. "But you've got it right."

 

I slowed, as we were approaching the guardposts — one manned by the Kházad, the other by the Noldor — that marked the border between the two peoples' lands. But Nâr continued apace, so after a moment's hesitation I followed. "Nâr?" I asked. "What are we doing?"

 

"Having a real conversation," he said cheerfully. He waved to the two Dwarves who stood by the road, but led me instead to the Elves.

 

"Daro!" one of them said, lifting his spear. Halt. That word I knew. Nâr spoke — something about the weather, I thought, though I wasn't sure — and then beckoned me forward. "This is Tavoreth, daughter of Ulfast," he said. "She needs to practice her Sindarin."

 

"Nar, no," I groaned.

 

"Hush," he said. "You do your best. I'm right here if you get stuck."

 

I peered up at the Elf who had spoken. His eyes lacked the terrifying light of Lord Caranthir's, which was some relief, and I thought I caught a hint of laughter on his face as he studied me. He had lowered his spear as well, clearly not deeming me a threat. "Eh, mae govannen," I said. "Manen le?"

 

We made successful smalltalk. His name, he told me, was Argon, and his companion was Taraharn. They had been guarding this road longer than my grandfather had been alive and had both been born in Beleriand. They had never crossed the mountains, but Argon had seen the ocean, a fabled body of water even greater than a lake and full of salt. I still was not quite sure I believed that it existed, in truth. But I did quite well, I thought, and Nâr seemed pleased by my progress.

 

"I think we'll do this every morning," he said as we took our leave. "Find an Elf for you to talk with. The more time you spend listening to them, the better your accent will be."

 

"It wasn't as awful as I expected," I admitted, and he laughed once more. "Ever the optimist," he said. "Now run along. I have business to see to."